#I drew this for shits and giggles my brain wasn’t involved

[keferon]

CONSIDER. Consider. Based on that last ask. Orca Jazz technically has vaguely fine vision in terms of human ranges. And he doesn't really have a problem with anything as is because everything is always so CLOSE to him in the tanks. But compared to other mers? His vision is SHIT. He cant see through water like he should, can't see as far as he should, every mer has way better vision than he does. And nobody figures that out UNTIL he's out of the aquarium because in the AQUARIUM his vision served just fine. But now that he's out in the ocean, Prowl realizing so quick that he can't see for dick diddly. Bringing him to the fish doctor and getting confirmed "yep you have bad vision" and Jazz proceeds to get prescribed the fish visor

I propose a bit funnier option.

Jazz has shitty vision but he doesn’t realise that something is wrong because he has no one to compare right? And then he meets Prowl and Prowl JUST as fucking blind as him so they both are clueless now and keep using echolocation instead of eyes if they need to see something far from them.

That is until Prowl takes Jazz to a proper hospital and they do aaaaaalll kinds of tests and checks on him. Which leads to an eye doctor (fish-Ophthalmologist?) pointing at Jazz “You need glasses young man!”

And Prowl is like “Huh? why? His vision isn’t any worse than mine?” and eye doctor slowly turns in his direction like in horror movies

[eunchancorner]

The Hungry Vampire (LF!Vamp Reg)

This has just been sitting in my google docs for the longest time sorry y'all

-

“R-Reg, plehease, you- you don’t want toho do this!” Right Hand Man insisted, forcing down giggles as he tried his best to back away. Reginald had managed to corner him on their bed, and RHM could tell from his expression alone that he was hungry. He knew he could fight back, but the thought of even hurting Reginald’s feelings was enough to make that idea completely forbidden to him. He also knew Reg needed to feed, but fuck if how he wanted to wasn’t the most flustering thing.

How Reginald wanted to feed, of course, involved tickling the absolute shit out of Right Hand Man.

“Righty, I don’t just want to, I need to,” the brunette insisted, “Everyone in this damn place is miserable and I can’t feed anywhere. Besides, you know I like your laughter the best, and this is the best way to get it~”

“But- but this is my neck you’re talking about! You know how bad it is!” the redhead argued, covering the side of his neck with one hand. “Everyone’s going to hear!”

“Oh, darling, you know I would never do anything to put your reputation in jeopardy…”

Oh thank god…

“Which is why I had this installed!” Reginald finished before pushing a button on the wall a few inches above RHM’s head. Faint whirring could be heard before a muffled thud from the walls around them.

“What was that..?”

“I had our room fitted with optional soundproofing!” he explained, “That way others can still hear if we need help, but we can make sure they don’t hear what we don’t want them too, including your wonderful laughter~”

“There’s no talking you out of this, is there…?”

“Unless you really don’t want me to do this. Is that the case, dear?” Reginald asked, backing off for a moment. “If you need me to, I’ll stop.”

RHM huffed a sigh as his face reddened even more. He knew he didn’t want Reginald to stop. He tried to tell himself it was because he wanted him to be well-fed, or because he didn’t want to hurt his feelings, but it was impossible to ignore the real reason.

It was because he cherished these moments with him. He loved playing like this. As much as it went against the carefully-built, tough, ruthless image of himself he’d built, he loved letting go of control and just laughing sometimes. Sure, he’d protest before, during and after, but it always left him feeling better, and closer with his beloved husband.

“I… I don’t…” he finally admitted, refusing to make eye contact with Reginald, although he could see that smile return.

“And you promise this is because you want it, not because I do?” the brunette asked, his tone genuine.

“I promise… you lucky bastard…” the redhead mumbled just loud enough for his husband to hear.

“The luckiest…” Reginald drew his attention back with a short kiss. “Ready?”

Despite his nerves, RHM nodded, feeling his anticipatory smile return as Reginald’s face lowered to his neck, forcing down nervous giggles, already knowing what was coming.

“I’m going to warn you now, this is really going to tickle~” he heard Reginald say, the words against his neck already pulling nervous snickers from his throat.

“Ihi- I kn- NAAAAHAHAHAHA! REHEHEHEG!” He was cut off by his own laughter as his husband blew the first raspberry into his neck, clinging to his shirt and trying his hardest not to scrunch his shoulder, despite the electrifying sensations that had his brain screaming for some kind of cover.

“WAHAHAIT! WAITWAITWAITPLEHEHEASE!” he begged, knowing damn well if he had to wait again he would practically explode from anticipation. He just had to focus on something, anything other than the tickles, whether it be his legs kicking out behind Reg, the texture of Reginald’s coat or his own words, which came out as the first thing that entered his mind. “HEHEHEHELP!”

“Now, who’s going to help when I’m the only one who can even hear you?~” the brunette taunted between his ‘attacks’, RHM barely able to hear him over his own laughter.

“IHIT TIHIHIHIHICKLES! PLEHEHEHEASE!” the redhead cackled, unsure of what he was even asking for.

“Oh, I can tell it tickles, dear, your laugh is delicious!” he cooed, once again, between raspberries that kept his poor husband in hysterics. “It must be so awful for you… Oh, but your laugh is still so sweet~”

“SHUHUHUHUT!! IHI CAHAHAHAN’T!!” 

“Can’t what, dear? Can’t bear the teasing? Can’t think with all the tickles? Do tell, I love listening to you try to talk your way out of this~”

“BREHEHEHEAK!! PLEHEHEHEASE?!” he begged, and suddenly the raspberries stopped, though it took his nerves a few seconds to realize. He managed to look up at Reg, who was sitting up, his good eye filled with tears of mirth. 

It took him a while to get his laughter under control, and when he’d finally gotten it down to giggles at least, he spoke again.

“Chrihihist… whahat the fuhuhuck wahas thahahat…?” he asked the brunette, who shrugged.

“I was hungry,” he said simply, though the smile on his face gave away that it was just as fun for him.

“F-feheels like youhuhu wehere stahaharvihing…”

“Actually, I’m still a bit hungry, if you don’t mind?” Reginald requested, earning a rare giggly whine from his husband.

“Stihihill…?”

“I can’t help what it takes to fill me up, but I’ll be alright if you want to stop here.”

The redhead sighed a bit as his giggling finally stopped, trying to find a way to word what he was going to say.

“I… I mean, I only said ‘break’ for a reason…” he finally said, shrugging slightly. He couldn’t help the way his smile grew at the look Reginald gave him, a cross between relief and pure adoration.

“Oh, my darling Righty…” the brunette sighed as he leaned forward, giving RHM a quick kiss on the forehead. “You have no idea how grateful I am to be yours, sometimes…”

“Trust me, you give me enough of an idea already.”

[drabbles-mc]

Mon Amie

Coco Cruz x F!Reader

Request by @elivanah-writes​: So I was thinking what if he met a girl one day or already knows her for some time but she's moved there maybe a few months ago and only speaks french and english. And she teaches him some words in french. And ends up singing a song for him. The song in the fic can be found Here

Warnings: language, alcohol, a split second of light angst, Coco being a cutie pie

Word Count: 2.8k

A/N: So I did tweak the original request a little bit but I hope you still enjoy it! I know zero French so hopefully I did alright pulling this together. I kind of love these two together though I can’t lie. Hope you guys enjoy it!

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“Nah, I’m just saying,” he chuckled as he watched you pull things from your cabinets to start making dinner, “if you’re livin’ this close to the border, you should know some Spanish.”

“I’m not saying you’re wrong,” you shake your head slightly as you bite back a smile, “I’m just saying that trying to learn Spanish immersively when I know none is a bit much.”

“I could teach you,” he watched for your reaction as he took a sip of his beer.

The offer made you turn to face him, “Oh? Could you?”

“What’s that look for, ma?” he laughed.

You shrug, giggling quietly, “Just didn’t know that you were a teacher as well as a biker.”

“There’s a lot you still gotta learn about me,” he paused, “But forreal. I can teach you if you want?”

“Coco, you really don’t have—”

“I know I don’t have to. I want to,” he lightly drummed his fingers on the countertop, “How ‘bout I’ll teach you Spanish if you teach me French? Deal?”

You laughed, twirling the spoon idly in your hands, “You wanna learn French?”

“Why you gotta look so shocked at everything I say?” he flashed you a quick smile.

“Well, like you said,” you smiled, biting lightly at your bottom lip, “I’ve got a lot to learn.”

You’d spent a lot of time with Coco ever since you found yourself in Santo Padre. You couldn’t quite pinpoint what drew the two of you to each other in the first place, but you became fast friends. The first time you’d invited him over to your place for dinner you could see a million different thoughts flash across his face and you couldn’t deny that being flustered looked cute on him. You reassured him that it was just a friendly invite—no pressure whatsoever. And somehow that turned into him coming over on a somewhat regular basis. There was a sense of security for you in the friendship that the two of you had been building.

Once he agreed to start teaching you, though, you felt like the two of you saw each other practically every day, even if he just stopped in quickly on his way home. He was teaching you the basics, the practical things that you needed to know. And in return you taught him the same things in French. Both of you got a kick out of the other trying to master the emphasis and accents of the other language. Every now and then you’d write words down in French for him just to watch him get blown away by how something spelled out one way, was said completely different.

“Ah, mon amie, don’t give up on me now,” you laughed as you looked over the list of words that you had been “studying”, although that was a bit of a strong word for it, “I’ll get this, I promise.”

He laughed, “I know you will,” he paused and you could feel his eyes on you as you read the paper, “What’s that mean again?”

“Hm?” you looked up at him.

“What’s that mean? Mon amie?”

A soft smile took over your features, “My friend.”

He didn’t say anything, simply nodded in acknowledgment. But despite his silence you could see it on his face that there was a certain kind of comfort in the title. Of course the two of you were friends, but you could tell by the look in his eyes that knowing it and hearing you say it were two completely different things.

“Alright,” he snapped back to the real task at hand, “you remember how to ask where the grocery store is? That’s a good one to know.”

“Yes!” you paused, picturing the flashcards you made for yourself in your mind, “Dónde está,” you pressed your lips together, hesitating on whether or not you were thinking of the right word, “el supermercado?”

He smiled, nodding, “You got it. Basically, if you got dónde está, that’s like ninety percent of all those questions. So you’ll be good.”

“How often do you think I’ll be getting lost?” you chuckled as you got up from the table to grab a couple drinks for each of you.

When he didn’t have an immediate response, you looked back over your shoulder at him and you could see that he was trying to think of the right word. You paused, placing your hands on your hips as you waited to see what he was going to say.

“Souvent,” he finally got the word out.

You laughed, placing your hand on your chest to feign offense at his statement, “Really? You don’t think I have a good sense of direction?”

“You text me at least twice a week asking where shit is in town, ma. And the town ain’t even that big,” he chuckled.

You shook your head as you pulled two beers out of the fridge, “First of all, rude,” you laughed, “Second of all, I’m glad the French lessons are sticking when you really need them,” you mumbled and continued shaking your head as you popped the tops off the beer bottles, “Often. This guy…”

“C’mon,” he chuckled as he got up and walked over to you, “don’t be mad.”

“I’m not mad,” you laughed, handing one bottle over to him, “I’m just…” you racked your brain for the right word in Spanish, “decepcionada,” you laughed as you said it, letting him know that it wasn’t true.

“Don’t worry. You’ll be able to talk shit to me in Spanish soon enough.”

“I can’t wait,” you smiled.

There were a few beats of silence and just as you were about to ask if he wanted to stay for dinner his phone went off. He reached into his kutte and pulled it out, and you could tell from the shift in expression on his face that he was about to have to take off out the door. You tried not to feel too disappointed about it, because you knew that you were just a very small piece of the larger picture of his life.

He held the phone up to his ear, “Yo. Yea, yea, alright. I’ll be there in a few.” The conversation was over as quickly as it started. When he looked over at you, you could’ve sworn that you could see it in his eyes that he didn’t really want to go, or maybe you were just projecting, “I gotta run.”

“I figured,” you took a sip of your beer, “I’ll talk to you later?”

He nodded, “Yea, ‘course,” he stepped in and hugged you, and before he could stop himself he placed a chaste kiss on your cheek, “Bonne nuit.”

You smiled, a soft giggle slipping past your lips as you listened to the way his accent wrapped around the French words, “Buenas noches, Coco.”

“See?” he flashed you one last smile before taking off out the door, “You’re gettin’ it.”

Once the door shut behind him, you let out a small sigh. Your bottle hung limply from one hand as your other came up and lightly caressed over the spot where Coco’s lips had just been. Perhaps friend wasn’t quite strong enough of a word anymore.

You didn’t see him for a few days after that. It wasn’t the strangest thing in the world, really. You knew very little about what the club was involved in but you knew that it was time-consuming if nothing else. But Coco popping in had somewhat become a bit of a routine and it was weird to go a few nights in a row with no sign of him. He’d responded to your texts asking if he was at least alive and safe somewhere, and the sarcasm in his response let you know that he was definitely fine, just busy.

You were sipping on your glass of wine as you watched your pie baking in the oven. Baking late at night when you weren’t ready to fall asleep was something you’d done ever since you started living on your own and realized that no one was around to stop you. It was usually an activity coupled with a large glass of wine and mellow music—just a nice way to relax when it was late.

Over the sounds of the music you could hear someone knock at your door. You knew that there was really only one person it could be. You turned the music down slightly before walking over to the door. When you opened it, you saw Coco on the other side—he was safe and in one piece, but you could see the exhaustion on his face.

“Hey, you alright?” you motioned for him to come in.

“I know it’s late. I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine,” you cut him off, not wanting him to feel bad, “I was up anyway.”

He glanced over your shoulder into the kitchen, “You cookin’ at 11PM?” a tired smile crossed his features.

You laughed, “You don’t get to come over this late and then judge my late-night activities.”

It got him to laugh, “I ain’t judging you. I just figured you’d be, I dunno, fuckin’ asleep or something.”

“And yet you’re still here,” you studied his face for a moment, “You sure you’re okay?”

He shrugged, “Just been a long few days. Needed uh, un ami.”

You smiled, taking his hand and tugging him towards the kitchen, “You came to the right place.”

Trying not to get too distracted by how much you loved the way his rough, calloused palm felt pressed against yours, you motioned for him to sit down at the counter. You grabbed another stemless wine glass from the cupboard and poured him a glass. You could see the dubious look on his face and couldn’t help but to laugh.

“Trust me. Wine after a bad day just…hits a little different than a beer. Plus,” you nodded towards the oven, “it’ll taste good with the pie.”

“You’re bakin’ a fuckin’ pie at midnight?”

“Eleven,” you corrected with a smile.

The two of you existed in comfortable silence while you waited for the oven timer to go off. As much as you wanted to ask about what had been going on, to pry about what seemed to have put him in a bit of a mood, you didn’t. Your home was a place away from all of that for him and you were more than content to keep it that way. As the minutes ticked by, you could see it in his face and body language that he was relaxing.

The timer went off, causing both of you to perk up a bit. You took another sip of your wine before setting the glass down and grabbing your oven mitts. You pulled the pie out of the oven and set it on the hot-plate that was on the counter. You smiled when you saw Coco’s eyes light up at the sight of it.

“Espere,” you waved the pie server at him, “It’s hot.”

He smiled for a moment at your recall of the word before asking, “How long we gotta wait?” he took a drink from his wine glass.

You chuckled, “Until I say it’s ready to eat.”

The only sound in the room was coming from your phone as it continued to softly play music from your playlist. You hummed along quietly as you started getting plates and forks out for the two of you. As you were gathering things together, you almost completely forgot that Coco was there and you started to sing quietly, more to yourself than to him.

When you turned around and saw the look on Coco’s face, you became very aware of what you had been doing. Heat rushed to your face and you stopped singing as you set a plate down in front of him.

“I don’t think I’ve heard you sing in any language,” he was smiling, eyes filled with awe.

You laughed nervously, “Singing is usually a Me Time activity.”

“What song’s that?” he nodded towards your phone.

“It’s called Je Vais T’Aimer,” you started cutting into the pie to avoid looking him in the eye.

“You can keep singing, if you want,” he ran the tip of his finger along the edge of his glass, “It can still be You Time.”

“Ask me about it again after I have a few more glasses of wine,” you replied with a smile as you served a piece of the pie onto his plate.

“What if,” he asked through a mouthful of pie, “I said that I’d learn better if I listened to you sing the words?”

You laughed, shaking your head, “I’d say that you’re full of it.”

The two of you sat on opposite sides of the counter and talked about anything that didn’t feel heavy or serious, and it felt good. You each had a few more glasses of wine as you chatted, fingers occasionally brushing against each other as you reached for the bottle. It was already the small hours of the morning before you finally decided to start rinsing off the dishes.

You both had been talking long enough for your playlist to completely loop back around again. You weren’t going to comment on it but you could see Coco’s eyes light up a bit when he heard the slightly familiar piano notes coming from your phone. Making a point to not look directly at him, you quietly began to sing as you started to clean the dishes you’d used while you were baking, the ones that you and Coco had just used to eat.

Coco materialized next to you by the sink, leaning back on the counter. He didn’t say anything as he listened to you sing, and watched you meticulously clean each dish and piece of silverware. You caught smile on his face from the corner of your eye, and it was soft, genuine. For a moment you thought about pressing your lips to it but you stopped yourself.

Even when the song ended, Coco didn’t stop watching you, “You got a good voice.”

You finally fully looked over at him, “I’m glad you think so,” there was a tinge of amusement in your voice.

“Nah, I’m serious,” he playfully nudged your shoulder, “I might not know all the words but I know what sounds good. Don’t gotta be fluent for that.”

You laughed, “I suppose not,” you shut the water off and dried your hands, moving so that you were standing in front of him. Taking a chance, with a little bit of liquid confidence at your back, you reached out and gently stroked your thumb along his cheek, “Feel better?”

He nodded, smiling as he rested his hand over yours, “Yea. Th-thank you. Or, y’know, merci.”

A quiet giggle slipped past your lips as you admired the way his hand continued to envelop yours, “You’re welcome.”

It was evident on his face that he had a thousand different thoughts going through his head at once. You let him get there on his own, saying whatever it was that he wanted to say, “I don’t, um, I don’t wanna fuck this up,” he motioned back and forth between you with his free hand, “but I really…I really wanna kiss you.”

Your heart pounded inside your chest, “Then…do it,” your voice was hardly a whisper.

His eyes widened—he didn’t have to be told twice. He gently tugged you towards him and pressed his lips to yours. You cupped his face in both hands as his arms snaked around your waist, pulling you flush against him. For a minute there wasn’t a single coherent thought in your head as you melted against him. You wished you’d done it sooner.

When you finally pulled your lips off of his, there was a smile on his face and a softness in his expression that you hadn’t seen before. Your hands rested lightly on his shoulders as his fingers drummed against your hips.

You saw his expression shift to one of deep thought and you gave his shoulders a light squeeze, “You okay?”

He nodded, “Yea, yea. I’m good, I just, gimme a sec,” his brows furrowed in thought, “I know this one. Hold on…”

It then hit you that he was trying to remember how to say something. You lightly bit down on your bottom lip, toying with the ends of his hair while you waited for him to remember what he wanted to say.

When he recalled it, it instantly showed all over his face. His eyes met yours, and with calculated certainty he said, “Je t’aime.”

Your stomach erupted in butterflies as you pressed a quick, soft kiss to his lips, “Je t’amie,” you paused, unable to tone down the grin on your face, “That wasn’t one that I taught you.”

He chuckled, “Nah, yea. I, uh, I hit Google Translate for that one.”

You laughed, kissing his cheek, “You’re perfect.”

[wizkiddx]

without making this a sap story ive had some not so great news from home and am in one of them moods to not talk abt it. but i need a tom h to hug me , pls could u write something like that?

hey anon - i am sending u all my love, and hope things get a little easier for u as soon as possible. if u ever do wanna chat abt nothing or rant just send me a pm x  I hope this is at least somewhat what u were looking for <33

summary: life is sometimes not good, but your fave boy makes it just a little easier to deal with (with some original help from his brother too)

a bit angsty but i promise mainly fluff (and a popcorn fight?)

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

What drew you out of the sort-of-trance was a two soft but firm knocks at the door - well Tom’s bedroom door. You’d been relaxing with him and Harry, watching the new ‘Line of Duty’ when your mum had called for the daily catch up. Admittedly, she had already tried to call you twice today but somehow you’d managed to miss both of them. On reflection, possible not that shocking because you’d been at a charity golf day with the boys which involved a fair amount of noise, chat and competition. 

Thankfully the boys had both done pretty well, Tom coming slightly ahead but that was the norm between the two. It meant they were both happily basking in their relative victories and not moody and grumpy like they are oh so often when things go wrong. Because to them, against your pleading, begging and sometimes lecturing…. golf was not just a game.  

You and your mum had always been very close, so usually speaking to her was uplifting and made you feel a little bit more complete - what with travelling with Tom for work, her voice was a slice of home. This time though, it was not so much the case. It was just sad news about your home town. Nothing directly to your family or close friends but still, it makes you feel generally down. 

Who knows how long it’d been since you’d hung up on the phone, just staring at the wall opposite. Everything felt just hollow and empty, lacking in meaning somewhat. You weren’t necessarily thinking, more like devoid of emotion, of thoughts, of anything. Just a bit cold. 

“Y/n…Y/n?” His voice sounded hesitant, as though scared he was interrupting your call. When you didn’t respond, the door cracked open and his fluffy head poked in, not that you noticed - your brain was still half absent. Tom on the other hand, was instantly looking you up and down, very much confused as the why you looked so rigid and not present. Noticing the phone was lying quiet on the bed in front of you, he felt safe to enter. He made a beeline for the bed, perching himself down on the edge, in-front of you - so he was blocking your fascinating view of the grey wall opposite. 

“What’s going on in that little head of yours?” His voice was soft and gravely, choosing not to put much energy into his vocal box as he rubbed up and down one of your arms. 

“Hmmm? Sorry, was miles away.”

“Could tell darl.” As he chuckled his eyes crinkled round the outside. “How was your mum?”

“Yeh…um okay, I-I guess.” As much as you wanted to shake yourself out of it, it just wasn’t that easy. Everything was laced with this underlying chilliness. 

“You sure? You dont really sound it?” 

“No, I um…well I’m not sure. I think I’m okay?”

“What happened?” You shook your head in response, making Tom press his lips together with a small nod. “ Don’t wanna talk about it huh?” 

“Not… not right now. Please?” 

With a permitting nod, Tom stood up and squeezed your hand, urging you to follow. Trailing behind him into the living room, he then instructed you to take a seat on the sofa adjacent to Harry, Tom himself disappearing back into the house. It made you pout a little, you wanted him to just look after you a little this evening but that self pity wasn’t allowed to last long - because a piece of popcorn flew into your cheek. You whipped your head around, with mouth open feigning shock, to see Harry smirking at you cradling a bowl full of other possible missiles in hand. 

“And what was that for?” He shrugged his shoulders, turning his head back to the TV.

“You looked sad.”

“…” Your mouth was open, no words coming out though, as you looked at the frizzy haired boy in bemusement. Sometimes you thought you understood how his head worked but at other points, the boy was a bloody mystery. Instead of explaining his thought process (because there almost certainly wasn’t one), he just smiled evily at you - wiggling his brows. And I know you know what that meant.

Sure enough by the time Tom reentered the room, arms full with different objects he’d collected round the house, the floor had been littered with popcorn kernels. You and Harry were squealing at each other as handfuls of the snack were catapulted vaguely at each other as you chased him round the room. It took Tom shouting at the both of you for you to freeze, slowly lowering your hands in ceasefire with a giggle. 

“I leave you alone for two minutes.”

“ It was his fault!” You protested, causing a 5 minute of ‘ he said-she said’ between the two of you, even if Tom wasn’t listening to the bickering. Instead, he quickly whizzed round the room picking up all the obvious popcorn bits and then spread out all the blankets he’d got from round the rented house on the sofa.

 You knew Harry, in his very own and special way, was only doing all this to cheer you up and you couldn’t appreciate it more. Your relationship with him had recently got so much closer, thanks to Tom being busy on set actually filming - while you and Harry just had some quality ‘almost sibling’ times. And now living with him too - naturally he had grown to know your tells almost as well as Tom. 

“Alright children calm down… thought we could watch movie?” Plopping himself down on the cream seat, Tom made grabby hands to you which of course you had to comply with. 

“I’ll um… I’m gonna leave you to- well to the being in love shit. It’ll make me chunder”

“We love you too bro” Tom called to Harry, who was already on his way out - but the tone of gratefulness in his voice was evident, he appreciated Harry noticing that the two of you could do with time together. 

“Don’t make it weird!” Harry’s response had you sniggering, as you pulled the fluffiest blanket over both you and Tom and nestling into his side. 

After a few minutes of Tom pretending to argue with you about film choice, before ultimately agreeing with your choice of ‘La la land’ as he always planned on letting you. The Holland boys were both very talented at subtly being a shoulder if needed, and yes you knew it was all an act - but you weren’t about to call him out. About halfway through he kissed the crown of your head and murmured. “Can tell you’re not watching darling.” He wasn’t wrong to be fair. Yes, you were looking at the screen - but your mind was far away from the plot line. 

“Sorry I um… minds like a runaway train sometimes.” Tom released a breathy chuckle at that before murmuring a ‘come ‘ere’ to you as he all but lifted you up from sitting by his side. You ended up lying almost onto of him, with both of Tom’s strong arms holding you tightly to him. Smiling into his chest, you nestled closer so the soundtrack to the movie played over the top of his constant thudding heartbeat. It took a few moments of you both just staring into the screen, completely contented for Tom to speak, squeezing you slightly tighter whilst the two of you watched Ryan Gosling and Emma Stone twirling on the road.

“I gotchu now lovie” 

And you swore then that all the thoughts racing in your mind were outpaced by those of a different kind. Still intense ideas, ones that buzzed round your brain, but these were happy. Thoughts of ‘how could I be so lucky’ and ‘I love this man with my whole heart’. 

Apparently these thoughts were also a comfort because when Tom looked down at you after what must’ve been at least half an hour, you were spark out. Breathing deep and unchanging, eye locked shut and mouth slightly squashed against his chest so your lips were pressed together. But what made the boy physical pout was the way you relaxed hand was loosely balled round a fistful of his purple hoodie. As if you were clutching at him to keep him as close to you as possible. 

He felt so grateful - not only for you, but also for the fact that he had the ability to make it a little better. You didn’t need him - Tom swore you were one of the most fiercely independent people he’d ever met - yet it was clear you wanted him. You wanted him when you felt down, the same way you wanted to be around him when you were overly hyper and chatting pure rubbish. You didn’t want him because he was the ‘Tom Holland’ you wanted him because he was Tom. 

He couldn’t fix what was going on back at your home (I mean right now, he still didnt even know what was going on). But he did know how to make everything just a little less shit. He knew how to be your person. 

And that would forever be job Tom was most proud of.

once again sending u all lots of love (esp u anon 💕)

would love to know what u guys think if ya made it this far ;)

tagging (link to join) : @hallecarey1 @hollandfanficlove

[eideticmemory]

GOOD | SPENCER REID

Description: Mindless smut. A detailed account of you and Spencer’s first time.

Word Count: 1,931

Rating: M.

Warning/Includes: Graphic sexual intercourse, oral.

Sex wasn’t good until you met Spencer. You had to give credit where credit was due, and Spencer had earned it. From that first night the two of you stumbled into your apartment, giggling, happy, and holding each other close, it’s been a wrap. Spencer placed his hands on your face, leaned in and pulled you into the deepest kiss of your life. It made you so weak in the knees, to the point you nearly dropped to the ground. But he caught you. He caught you by your waist and pulled you up, his hand dangerously close to the hem of your dress. Your finger tips traced his collarbone, gently and slowly, as you broke the kiss. You tasted him on your lips, your tongue poking out to lick his saliva off of mouth.

You drew in a deep breath, pressed your forehead to his and shook your head. “Don’t start something you can’t finish, Spencer Reid.”

He gulped. So loud you could hear the sound, and feel his hands shaking against your waist. “Take me to the bedroom,” he whispered. “Please?”

And you did. Best decision you’d ever made, if you must say so. Right up there with landing this man as your boyfriend. He was gentle, nervous, wanted you to feel good. Mission accomplished. From the kisses on your neck, to the kisses on your breast, everything was so, so good. He hooked his fingers in your dress, in your bra, pulled it down, and wrapped his lips around your nipple in this soft suction that made your jaw drop. His hand pressed into your back as you straddled him, your hips moving in this real steady groove against his crotch. You ran your hand through his hair, unable to keep your eyes off him, his lips trailing to your other breast where he sucked on the skin.

“F-fuck,” you moaned. “Feel like I could come from this alone.”

He pulled away, licking his lips and then looking up at you. The pressure of his fingers replaced his mouth, his digits holding your nipple between them. “There actually is evidence that females can experience orgasms from nipple stimulation alone if done correctly, since it does activate the same areas of the brain as stimulation of the clitoris.”

“Hm, I love it when you talk dirty to me.” You hummed, earning a great, big Spencer smile. You leaned in, your arms outstretched on his shoulders, and gave him a soft kiss. It didn’t stay soft very long. Soon, tongues were involved. Your hands were sliding under his shirt and you could feel his heart pounding under your palm. He laid back against your stack of pillows, hands finding their way to your face once again. You sat back, with his gaze solely focused on you, as you pushed yourself to your knees and slid your dress off.

“Oh, wow,” he murmured. His fingertips reached out to touch your stomach, trailing down to your panties where he played with the lace hem. You kept yourself focused on his face - the pure amazement, the pure love. And then you were very, very, very caught off guard by the rubbing on your clit. You let out a squeal, a pip, a squeak. A mixture of a gasp in there.

Spencer’s other hand held onto the back of your neck, his body now pressed to yours as his fingers worked their magic. “Good?”

“So, so good. Fuck.” You replied, your chest heaving at the sensation.

A look of pride adorned his face, and he continued his slow circles until your head tipped back. Then, he slowly removed his hand from your underwear, ran his fingers up to your navel, your chest, your chin and finally, your mouth. On instinct, you parted your lips and let his fingers in. They were big, long. They reached the back of your throat and you pursed your lips around them, sucking with enough force to earn a quiet moan from Spencer, who watched you intently.

“Oh, wow,” he repeated.

You chuckled, opening your mouth and sticking your tongue out, allowing his fingers to glide off. You moved in to kiss him again, and this time, you ended up on the bed, back against the pillows. Spencer’s body now laid between your legs and his erection pressed into your core just begging to be released.

“C-clothes,” you huffed. “Off. Off.” You’d suddenly forgotten how to speak. He got the gist though. He allowed you to help him pull his shirt off, and to watch as he undid his pants. His bulge popped out before his pants could fully be removed, teasing you, taunting you. There was absolutely too much space in between to two of you at that moment, so you pounced on him. You climbed in his lap and pushed him back onto the mattress, his feet now at the head of the bed. Leaning in, you grazed your lips against his, “Can I suck you off?”

His eyes went wide, his chest leaping up and down, his face flushed. “Y-y-you don’t .. even have to ask.”

You smiled and kissed his nose, then his jaw, then his neck, until your made way to his chest and began to kiss down his body. He propped himself up on his elbows and watched you, literally pinching his torso to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. Nope, definitely awake. He was definitely awake and you were definitely taking his boxers off. He was definitely awake and definitely in your mouth.

He let out a strangled moan, throwing his head back and gasping for air. “Sh-sh-“ he wanted to swear, but it wasn’t like Spencer to do so very openly, so he bit his lip. He trained his eyes on you once again, as you focused on taking him to the back of your throat and slowly drawing your lips off of him. His whole chest lit up red like christmas lights, heat flowing through every vein in his body. You got a nice rhythm going, so nice that Spencer’s body had started to shake and jolt at the slightest of movement.

“Ah,” he moaned. “A-ah, ah, ah, okay. Okay, [y/n], stop, please, stop, shit.”

So, you did. But not without giving him a sly smirk from between his legs. He shook his head at you with a roll of his eyes and widened his arms. You immediately jumped into them, arms around his waist and lips on his. He eagerly pushed your panties down your legs, you working quickly to remove your bra. Both wound up on the floor and you wound up on your back with Spencer staring down at you. He stood beside the bed, his boner in his grasp and lined up at your entrance. He gave you a look, and you found yourself nodding before he could even ask. With your legs on his shoulders, he placed his tip against your opening, running it over your slit slowly and creating a quiet, sticky noise.

“God,” you laughed. “I’m a river.”

“Yeah,” was all he said, too entranced by the sight below him to respond. His large hands held onto your thighs and slowly, gently, he pressed into you. You’d never felt so full so immediately, his size stretched you out like nothing before. You drew in a breath, gripping onto the bedsheets and going cross eyed. Your toes curled upon the impact of his hips on yours, the tip of his dick practically in your stomach. You finally released your breath, looking up him as you bit your lip.

Spencer’s eyes were closed, his head tilted down, his jaw agape. “Oh, my God,” he groaned. That being said, he tightened his grip on your legs and went to work. His whole body tensed as he slammed into you, his eyes screwed shut and his hips thrusting with every bit of strength he had. It took you by surprise, the pleasure of him drilling into your soul hitting you over and over. You called out his name, “Spencer, fuck. Spencer.”

This encouraged him, and so, he sped up. His bottom lip now pulled between his teeth, he stifled his loud groans. His face contorted in multiple expressions - concentration, tension, ecstasy. And you just watched him, watched him pound into you, watched him clench his teeth together, throw his head back. He was so beautiful covered in sweat and pleasure. Little noises trailed out of his mouth and into the air, louder ones when he looked at you. His eyes held your gaze for a few intense moments before shifting down between your legs. He used his thumb to rub your clit and you fell back against the bed, gasping. “Oh, fuck, you’re gonna kill me.” You moaned, arching your back.

“Just .. wanna .. make you come.” He grunted, his hips and his thumb working in unision to bring you to the edge.

“Keep going,” you pleaded. “Keep going, keep going, keep going.”

So, he did. He pressed into your clit with more pressure, sped up his hips, adjusted his angle and you could barely handle it. You felt your body crumbling and you felt him watching you, even though your eyes were closed.

“Sp-Spencer,” you called. “Spencer, I, Oh, my God.”

It built, and built, and built. And like a bucket tipping over, it was a drizzle and then a flood. Your thighs squeezed together, your back arched towards the ceiling, your mouth dropped into a big ‘o’ shape and you tightened around Spencer cock, which had stilled inside you. Everything around you went blank, blurry, you held onto the bedsheets for dear life. All you could do was ride it out. So, so, so good.

“Fuck.” Was the only way to describe it.

When you returned to earth, Spencer was staring at you, completely mesmerized. You looked up at him through your eyelashes, licking your lips and panting. “Thank you,” you said, grinning.

He smiled, leaned down to press his body to yours, “Your welcome.” Then he was back at it. He moved slowly, but it still overwhelmed you, little shivers crossing over your body.

“You okay?” he asked.

“More than okay.”

He kissed your cheek and got the rhythm back in his hips, your chests rubbing against each other’s with every thrust. You could feel him getting weaker, coming undone, and you just held him. Kissed his neck. Told him you loved him. And that sent him through the roof. He released the most beautiful groans with his final few thrusts, before pulling out of you and jerking himself off.

You moved quickly, hopping off of the bed and landing on your knees in front of him.

“Wait, wait, [y/n], you don’t have to, ah! Ah, ah, ah, oh!” As soon as he was in your mouth, he was filling it up, moaning and groaning as you hummed against him. You pulled back, swallowing everything he gave you and rising to your feet. You sighed happily and fell back onto the bed, smiling like an idiot.

Spencer took his place beside you, pulling you onto his chest to cuddle.

“Phew,” you sighed. “That was a workout.”

“Sex does actually count as a physical activity. It can burn just as much calories as running a mile.”

You grinned, “Spence, I, uh, forgot to tell you,” you looked up at him. “I’m trying to lose weight.”

And you were lost in his lips again, ready to brace a long and perfect night. Sex wasn’t good until you met Spencer. But when it was good, it was perfect.

[pterodactylterrace]

Guys Like You Chapter 6

Title: Guys Like You

Chapter: 6

Chapter Summary: More of a filler chapter, not much Henry, I’m sorry.

Rating: 18+

Warnings: Mentions of abuse, pregnancy, poor self image, bad coping mechanisms, low self esteem.

{Prologue} {Chapter 1} {Chapter 2} {Chapter 3} {Chapter 4} {Chapter 5}

"I already told you, Faye! I don't want anything to do with this!"

"So because I want to keep my babies, you're leaving me? Is that what you're trying to tell me, David?"

"Yes! Shit, I knew you were dumb, but seriously!"

"Excuse me?"

"Are you deaf too, whore? How do you even know I'm the one that knocked you up? You've slept with just about every guy in town!"

"Get the fuck out."

"Don't come crying to me later! You're nothing without me! No one is ever going to want you. Especially once you have kids. Who the hell wants used goods? Have fun living a life of regret!"

Faye jerked awake, her head spinning as she tried to catch her bearings. Did David really leave her just like that? Sure he wasn't the greatest, but he had never lashed out like that before. At least not where anyone else could witness it.

No. David's gone. He has been gone for almost four years now. New life. Starting over. It's all in the past now.

Have to get the baby up before the sitter comes. Work is coming up soon. Life goes on.

"Briar, what are you doing on the floor?" Faye chuckled, crouching down next to her daughter, curled up on her pillow by her bed.

"I'm a puppy." Briar yawned in explanation, holding her arms up to be lifted, promptly licking her mother's cheek as soon as she was up.

"Briar, we talked about licking people."

"I'm not Briar, I'm puppy."

"Ok then, puppy, no licking people. Now what do you want for breakfast?"

"Puppy food."

"Cereal it is."

Feed the toddler, quick shower, get dressed, throw her hair up away from her face, wait for the baby sitter, hugs and kisses goodbye, then off to work. The usual routine she had settled herself into.

Feed the baby, because she's hungry and she comes first.

Shower, because she probably has some sort of mystery goo on her from the toddler.

Get dressed, avoid the mirror.  No one wants to be reminded of how much they've changed. The softness she wasn't used to around her lower stomach, hips and thighs. Her breasts no longer as perky as they used to be. The stretchmarks competing with her tattoo's for attention.

Then, the hardest part of the day. "Ok, Briar, Mrs. Anderson is here. Mommy has to go to work. I love you."

"I love you too, Mommy." Briar responded, hugging her mother tight and kissing her cheek before she was sat back down.

"Have a nice day, Miss Warren."

"I hope she's not too much to handle."

"Never is."

Some days, Faye likes to pretend she's ok. Like she has a handle on things. Like she knows what she's doing and not just blindly stumbling through her life while trying to do right by her daughter.

Other days, she would absently push her sleeves up and her eye would catch on the black lines decorating her forearm, just below her elbow. Some days she's reminded that life is a bitch, and you can't always get what you want. On those days she tried to stay out of her own head, though that rarely worked.

She could slap on a smile with the best of them, but she could never force it to reach her eyes. Her face always remained an open book, free for anyone to read. The past creeps up on you. There's nothing you can do to stop it some days. On a bad day, the ghosts of the past will haunt your mind, echoing the worst days of your life into the void of your shattered heart.

"No one is ever going to want you!"

"You're nothing without me!"

"Who wants used goods?"

"I'm sorry, Miss Warren. There was nothing we could do."

Over and over on a seemingly never ending loop, reminding her of the darkest times in her life.

Why would anyone want her? She's not the same hot twenty six year old she used to be. She was soft. She was saggy. She would never be as attractive as she used to be. Anyone in their right mind would turn around and run once they realized how much she had let herself go.

Days like today were best spent keeping people at a distance. Tell them some story about being tired. Avoid anyone that is going to call her out on her obvious lie. Therein lies the problem with dying your hair obnoxious colors. Among a sea of blonde and brunette, powder blue tends to stick out and make it almost impossible to vanish.

Lie your way out of it. Survive another day. Tomorrow might not be better, but at least it won't be the same.

"Mommy, you're back!" The sweetest sound she could hear all day.

"I always come back, my little love." Faye assured, kissing her daughter's head.

Need to care for the baby. She comes first. She deserves the world. Play time. Dinner time. Bath time. Story time. Bed time. The same after work routine she had established months ago when she decided to drop everything and run.

Her daughter thought the world of her. She would do anything to see her smile. She would wear the stupid costume. She would pretend to be a horsey. She would let her daughter use her as a jungle gym. She would make the same dinner again for the third night in a row for her.  So what if she soaked the bathroom floor during bath time? She was a mermaid, and she wanted to show off her tail. Story time, always an adventure with her imaginative little girl. What world would they find themselves in today? Dinosaurs? Princesses? Mythology? A rhyming book?

Ah, yes of course. Her current favorite, the book about the dinosaur cleaning his room. She was a girl obsessed with dinosaurs at the moment.

"Mommy, where's my Papa?" Briar asked, staring intently down at the page depicting a mother and father watching the dinosaur throw away paper scraps.

"Don't worry about him, sweetheart. He wasn't a nice man." Faye explained, resting her cheek on her daughter's head.

"Can I have a new Papa?"

"Maybe someday, sweetheart."

"Can Spider-man be my new Papa?"

"Why do you want Spider-man to be your new Papa?"

"He's my boyfriend!"

"That's not how it works, silly. If he's your boyfriend, he can't also be by boyfriend! Pick another hero!"

"Batman!"

"Well, he is rich." Faye mused, Briar giggling happily. "Now it's time for bed, my love."

"Ok, Mommy. I love you!"

"I love you too, Briar." Faye whispered, kissing her forehead. The nightlight was switched on and the door was left cracked open, just in case. Now for her seldom used free time.

Should she sketch some more? Finish that painting she started forever ago? Ever since she started a "real" job, her art had fallen by the wayside. She was too drained to do much after work and caring of her daughter.

Maybe some drawing will lift her spirits and keep the nightmares at bay tonight. But what to draw? Not in the mood for still life. Brain too fried for something straight from her imagination. Her usual model was sleeping, and her last few self portraits had been a serious blow to her ego. She just drew what she saw in the mirror. Then, when she was finished, she decided she should have worn more clothing before she drew herself. What was supposed to boost her confidence and empower her as a woman instead left her wondering when exactly she developed that roll when sitting in that position.

"Fuck it. I'm drawing a moose." Faye grumbled to herself, turning the page from her self portrait to a blank sheet. Half an hour later when she was trying to remember what a moose's antlers looked like, she finally picked up her phone. Seven unread messages? That seems like a lot. When was the last time she looked at her phone? Oh yeah, when she got home, five hours ago.

All from one person. So she wasn't ignoring everyone at least. Seven messages, all from Henry. Shit. That's not good.

Are you ok?

You seemed off on set today

You didn't even talk to me

Did you at least make it home alright?

Can you send me a sign of life?

I'm sorry if I upset you or something. Can you please talk to me? I'm genuinely worried.

Please?

Well, fuck. Here she was playing unicorn apocalypse with her daughter, and this poor guy was worrying himself to death.

Sorry, I was drawing a moose

Perfect way of saying "I wasn't ignoring you" while also avoiding his persistent questions about her wellbeing. The good old 'drawing a moose' excuse. Works every time.

I think your moose aged me by ten years. Are you ok?

Just had a bad day

Anything I can do to help?

Squeeze me until I stop struggling and my spine snaps

That's called 'murder' Miss Warren

I knew there was a name for it

Is there anything I can do for you that involves less prison?

Nah, if you're not going to take me out, then I'm not interested

I'm not going to take you out by murder. I will take you out on a date.

Faye froze, staring at her phone. He was just playing around, like he always did. No way he was serious. Henry liked to flirt, and she wasn't about to throw herself at him over a joke. She had more dignity than that. So how does she respond? She can't just ignore him, and taking forever to respond is going to give the impression that she was freaking out over what he said.

She was completely freaking out over what he had said, but he didn't need to know that. Was he just looking to get laid or something? Probably. He had gotten pretty close the last time he had been over. There's a difference between dating and screwing, though. He was probably just looking for someone to fuck while waiting for a woman worth his time to come along. Faye was broken out of her thoughts by her phone going off again, alerting her to a new message. Didn't he know she was busy having an existential crisis?

If you're free on Sunday you can come over and show me that moose your working on

*you're

Smart ass

Sunday?

I'll have to see if Mrs. Anderson can watch Briar

Bring her along. She keeps asking me about Kal

Pretty on brand for her

Sunday?

Sunday.

Sunday. What to wear on Sunday? He was probably looking for a little something something for his time, so something slutty? She got rid of all her slutty clothes after she had Briar in a fit of self hatred toward her new mom bod, so that was out. Besides, he wouldn't have invited Briar over too if he was looking to get laid.

So what does one wear on a casual 'date' these days? She had until Sunday to figure that out.

Tag List:  @Xxxkatxo @Weallhaveadestiny

[avengerscompound]

The Tower: Family - 9

The Tower: Family An Avengers Fanfic

Series Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Pairing:  Avengers x OFC, Bruce Banner x Bucky Barnes x Clint Barton x Wanda Maximoff x Steve Rogers x Natasha Romanoff x Tony Stark x Thor x Sam Wilson x OFC (Elly Cooper)

Word Count: 2443

Warnings:  Pregnancy, mentions of past child abuse

Synopsis: With new powers, Thor now living on Earth full time, a wedding to plan, and Natasha and Wanda expecting, a lot is changing for Elly and her large and rather unconventional family.  When Elise’s parents try to reestablish connections, Elly questions what being a family actually means.

Chapter 9: Ghost of Family Past

It wasn’t long before I felt settled in the new place.  I loved the house out at the compound and I was glad we had it, but it had been so large that it still felt a lot like a hotel to me.  This new layout at the tower and the familiarity of being in the place where I’d spent so much time, I felt at home.  Not to mention it was nice being in the city again.  We could order in food, something that had been impossible out at the compound.  It was great having the big meals where we arranged them all by type and then just took what we wanted again.  People had gone back to stealing things from each other’s plates.  All these little habits that had been a huge part of our collective lives were coming back and I loved it even after a few days.

Things quickly found their rhythm too.  Natasha and Wanda’s morning sickness was hitting hard in the morning so they were generally staying home.  Wanda was in full nesting mode.  She was spending a lot of time with the kids and looking at baby clothes online.  Natasha was working in the office, going over mission briefings, and compiling intel.  She also was adamant that we did not take the kids out without her, so she would finish work in the afternoons and take them and anyone else that wanted to go to the park and the library for storytime.  Her new cloaking powers meant that they were going to be able to live a fairly normal childhood in the end.  Or at least, paparazzi free.

I was mostly spending my time between the lab and home and planned to keep it that way as long as I could.  So far I wasn’t getting any morning sickness.  I was still really only barely pregnant, so all those signs hadn’t kicked in yet, though I was expecting them to start soon.  Mostly I was just relaxed and enjoying life returning to normal.

Bucky had booked Tyr and Spotty in to be groomed and the two of us went to take them to the groomers during our lunch break one day not long after getting back.  It was the first time I had gone out without Natasha since the wedding and so my first experience with the paparazzi after they got word that I had married Tony Stark.

They had been grouped around the front door and security had to push them back as we made our way out with the dogs.  Mostly they were calling out my name and asking about the wedding.  Some seemed to be trying to make Bucky angry for some inconceivable reason.  Yelling out to him about being a second choice.  Luckily he was good at keeping his reactions neutral.  He just put his arm around me and pulled me a little closer.

“Should have gone out the back,” I said.

He shrugged.  “They’re around there too.  Just ignore them.  You’re all glowy so the pics are gonna be nice.”

I giggled.  “‘Cause that’s what I care about.”

“Just keep walking, don't engage.  Security will keep them out of arm's length and if they get past them, they won’t have any arms when I’m done with them,” Bucky said.

“Bucky!” I scolded.

He chucked and rubbed my shoulder.  “I was kidding.”

“How long will we have to worry about them?”  I asked, looking back over my shoulder at the crowd following after us.

“They’re just greedy ‘cause they don’t get how the wedding thing worked.  They’ll get over it soon.  It’s not like they’re gonna catch us going out that way very often,” Bucky explained.  “If it makes you feel any better, the dogs think they’re fucking annoying too.”

I laughed.  “Oh no, babies,” I cooed and reached down and scratched Spotty’s back.

“You better pat Tyr too,” Bucky said. “He’s jealous.”

I bit back more laughter and pet the Cavalier awkwardly as we kept moving.

“Elly!”

The use of my less formal name by someone in the crowd drew my attention and I turned to see who had called out.  The voice was familiar too, and yet it wasn’t until I saw who was calling out to me that I recognized who it was.

“Elly, please.”  My younger sister was being held back by two security guards, looking at me imploringly.  I hadn’t heard from any of my family in years.  I had kept in touch with my sisters for a little while after I ran away from home, but when they started dating what my father would have considered the right people and I remained the black sheep.  The last time I spoke to any of them was around the time I had been kidnapped by Madame Masque and only then was I calling my father once a month so he wouldn’t send out the police to find me.

“It’s alright,” I said the security.  Bucky looked at me confused.   “It’s my sister,” I explained quietly as they let her through.

He nodded.  “Keep walking,” he said, his voice low and serious.

I started walking again letting Amanda catch up to me.  I wasn’t sure what to say to her.  Or why she was here.  It wasn’t like people hadn’t known where I was for the past six years.  I’d been in the media on and off since my first date with Tony.

“Tell us what you want,” Bucky said as she pulled up next to us.  There was a growl in his voice.  He was angry and protective and worried Amanda was here to hurt me.

“It’s okay, Buck,” I said rubbing his hip.  “Let her say what she wants to say.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t keep in touch,” Amanda said.

“I didn’t exactly keep in touch either, Mandy,” I said.

She shrugged a little.  “I know but I was the one that stopped first.”

I could feel Bucky tensing more and more as we walked.  I slipped my hand into his back pocket and looked up at him.  “It’s okay,” I said quietly.  He scowled at me and nodded but he didn’t relax at all.

“So… what?”  I asked.  “You suddenly got into the mood to make amends and you thought rather than calling or reaching out to me online you’d stalk my home?”

“It’s not like that,” Amanda said.  “You cut us all off when you started -” she waved her hand in the direction of me and Bucky.  “-all of this.  We haven’t been able to get through to you.”

“We?”  I asked, not sure who exactly she meant by ‘we’.  Then the rest of what she’d said sunk in.  “Wait… what?”

“Mom and dad.  They’ve been trying to get through to you, but they can’t get past your security,” I stopped walking and it took a few steps for either Buck or Amanda to realize I wasn’t with them anymore.

“El?”  Bucky said, turning back to me.

“Why wouldn’t I have been told that my parents were trying to get in contact with me?”  I asked.

Bucky shook his head.  “I don’t know, doll,” he replied.  “Would you want them to?”

“I - I -” I shook my head, trying to clear it.  My brain was a jumble of thoughts that involved my abusive parents trying to get back into my life and my overprotective spouses not telling me shit that directly involved me again.  “How long?  When did they first try?”

“We need to keep moving, El,” Bucky said.

“When?!”  I shouted.  The paparazzi had all started taking pictures in a frenzy like this was the best scoop they’d ever gotten.  Bucky moved to me quickly, putting his arm around my waist.

“Come on, darlin’.  Not here,” he said quietly.

I nodded and we started walking again.  “When was it?” I asked again.

“When they read about the wedding,” she said.

“Oh, that’d be right,” I snarked, rolling my eyes. “And you haven’t thought about me at all?  You have a niece and nephew and it didn’t cross your mind.”

“Well, so do you,” Amanda retorted.  “You’re hardly in a position to judge me for that.”

“You have kids?”  I asked, frowning as I looked her over.  She looked a lot like me.  Her hair was cut short, in one of those ‘I want to speak to the manager’ styles, and she was dressed in a grey skirt suit.  But aside from the styling differences between us, there was no mistaking this woman was my sister.

“Yes, three,” she said.  “And so does Olivia, and so does Ian.”

“Right,” I said.  “I’m sorry.”

We’d arrived at the dog groomers and Bucky turned to Amanda.  “Wait here,” he growled.

Amanda drew herself up, obviously not used to being ordered around by random strangers.  “Now listen here…”

“No, you listen to me,” Bucky hissed.  “You ambush us while we’re out walking the dogs and you think you get to run the show?  I don’t fuckin’ think so.  You’re gonna wait here while we drop our dogs off and then we’ll talk.”

Amanda took a few steps back like she was facing a wild animal.  Bucky put his hand in the middle of my back and guided me inside.  “You okay?”  He asked.

“I … I don’t really know,” I admitted.  I didn’t know how I felt.  It was a mess.

“Tell her to fuck off then,” Bucky said, picking Tyr up and putting him in my arms.

“She wasn’t the one that hit me, Buck,” I said.  “She was a kid in that house too.”

“Right,” Bucky huffed.  He picked up Spotty and we carried them to the counter.  We checked them in and were given some paperwork and a time to pick them back up and Bucky took me aside.  “Alright, this is what we’re gonna do.  We’ll take her to that bar on the corner.  Get something to eat and get to the bottom of why exactly she’s here.  Then we’ll get the dogs and go home and you can think about it, alright?”

I nodded.  I couldn’t fault the logic.  He went to move and I grabbed his arm.  “Why didn’t anyone tell me they were trying to get in touch?”

“I don’t know, El,” he said.  “I promise if I did I’d tell you.  I’m guessing either Steve or Tony said not to let their calls come through, or they just haven’t got that far into the messages while we were away.”

“Right,” I said.

“You can ask them tonight,” he said.  “It’s gonna be okay.  I promise.  I’m here.  You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

I nodded and we went out to find Amanda.  She was waiting with our security detail and Bucky approached her.  She took a few steps back, and I saw that same kind of terror in her eyes I always felt when I knew I was in trouble.  It made me feel sick and I hurried up to Bucky and took his elbow.  “Mandy,” I said quickly.  “Can we have lunch?  Talk this over?”

Her eyes flicked from Bucky to me and she nodded.  “Yes.  Yes, please.”

We walked down to the bar in silence, me clinging to Bucky’s hand.  We were given a booth in the back and some of the security took a booth near us, while others waited outside.  After a quick peruse of the menu, Bucky went to place an order for us.  I wanted nothing more than to order a whole tray of shots and just drink myself into a coma, but thankfully rationality won out.

“Ended up with someone just like dad after all, didn’t you?”  Amanda snapped when Bucky went to the bar.

“Bucky is nothing like our father,” I hissed, balling my fists under the table.

“Right, looks it,” she snarked.

I clenched my jaw as I tried not to completely lose my temper.  I wanted to just yell at her that she didn’t know him and she didn’t know me.  That I hadn’t ever felt safer with anyone than I had with the people I was with.  But there was no point.  She had her idea of what he was like and while he was in angry protective mode, that wouldn’t change.

“Why are you here?  Really?” I asked.  “And why now?”

Bucky returned to the table with a number, a glass of white wine for Amanda, a beer for him, and a pineapple juice for me.  He sat close to me, putting his arm around my shoulders and resting his hand on my hip.

Amanda’s eyes flicked to Bucky and back to me and she let out a breath.  “Mom and dad asked me to come.  You’d blocked them on most things, and they tried calling the Avengers people, but they weren’t getting through.  They want to see you.”

“Over my dead body,” Bucky growled.

“Buck, honey.  I really need you to not do that,” I said.  He huffed and took a drink of his beer.

Amanda took a sip of her wine and fiddled with the glass.  “They did think about it when you were pregnant.”

“But they waited until I got a rich husband, huh?” I snarked.

“They’ve changed, Elly,” Amanda said.  “Dad’s mellowed out.”

I shook my head.  “Uh-huh.  And the fact they’ve chosen now that I’ve married one of the most famous billionaires to get in contact is a coincidence.”

Amanda sagged a little and blinked her eyes.  “Elly, I know it was harder for you than the rest of us.  I know that when you ran away they just wrote you off.  When it came out you were in this big -” she waved her hands again.

“Polyamorous.  The word you’re looking for is polyamorous,” I hissed.

“Right, that,” Amanda said.  “He completely lost it.  Said it was going to look bad on them.  That if people found out he’d lose his position.”

“You’re not spinning it in his favor there, Mandy,” I deadpanned.

She sighed.  “I know, but… he’s your dad.  And they’re your kid’s grandparents.  They’re really good grandparents.”

Bucky stiffened up.  “If you think for one second, I’m letting my kids near that monster…”

Amanda leaned over the table and put her hand on mine.  “Please, Elly.  Consider it.  For me.”

There was a fear in her eyes and I looked down.  There was a thread that joined me to her.  It was very faint and hard to see with all the other much brighter ones.  I looked at it and I knew… we were family and I was going to have to meet with my parents.

// NEXT

[visceraah]

Unsinkable

My other fic for the @sanderssidesgiftxchange! An analogical titanic fic for @strugglingispointless. And a huge thankyou to @missfay49 for betaing this!!

Rating- teen again! content warnings are in the notes of each chapter

WC- 10873 (I got... very carried away lmao. hope you enjoy!)

Ships- Romantic analogical, backgroundish moceit, and all the sides are in it and interact at one point or another.

AO3

Logan has been the perfect child all of his life. Perfect manners, perfect poise, perfect brain. All that's left is being the perfect husband- marry someone with good status for the family. And he didn't even have to secure his own match, his parents had found one for him.

By all accounts, this should be easy.

Logan learns very, very quickly how wrong that is.

-

There’s no way in hell I’m posting the whole thing here, but the first chapter is under the cut!

Logan didn’t believe anything was ‘perfect’- there was always space for improvement, no matter how miniscule, and settling for anything less with the claim it was already as good as it could be just seemed, as far as he was concerned, lazy.

He pointed this out every time he heard the word, yet it didn’t stop his parents from using it to describe him. The perfect son. Booksmart, eloquent, impeccable manners. But there was always more to learn, and though ‘perfection’ was in itself subjective his social skills could certainly use some work. He, like everything else, wasn’t perfect. His parents didn’t especially appreciate the observation.

The frustrating thing about being ‘perfect’ was you didn’t make mistakes. You couldn’t. Expectations were high and, for the people who put a roof over his head and clothes on his back, Logan refused to disappoint them. So he spent his days studying, learning as much as he could to live up to an expectation he, realistically, knew was unachievable.

It was only natural he spent most of his time in their library, surrounded by dead peoples words. He didn’t mind that much- people were difficult to understand, but books told you exactly what they meant. They weren’t perfect, either, but they were ideal for learning, curling up in an armchair and forgetting about everything and everyone until you’re torn back to reality.

“Logan!” A shrill voice cried, doing just that. He gently shut his book and set it aside.

“Yes, father?”

“Oh, there you are- so small, that’s hardly a gentlemanly way to sit’ now, is it? I could barely see you. Sit up’ now, sit up- there’s my boy!” He doted, Logan’s back instinctively straightening at the command. “Now… Your mother and I have something to talk to you about.”

Logan scanned over his shoulder, a small frown setting onto his face. “I don’t see her.”

“Oh, darling- That’s because I’m doing the talking!” His father exclaimed with a chuckle, seeming to have thought that was a joke. The laugh felt a little patronising, if you asked Logan, and he had no idea why he’d say it’d be a conversation involving someone who wasn’t present, but he nodded like he understood anyway. Experience showed that was easiest. “Well, we’ve got you a match!”

Logan blinked. His father looked at him expectantly. His frown returned. “What would I do with a match...? I’ve told you tobacco makes my lungs feel constricted, and it’s generally Amy's job to light the fireplaces-”

“Oh, Logan!” He laughed again like he’d said something ridiculous. “A romantic match, silly. A fiancé!”

“Ah.” Logan’s eyes flicked back to his book. He’d been reading about constellations before, and though learning of their origins was somewhat less academic than his other studies, it was a passion of his. “Will that be all?”

“You… don’t want to know about him?” His father prodded in that way that signalled he had been meant to ask for details. Logan shook his head anyway.

“I know I’m around that age, and I trust you to choose an adequate match- so long as I live with a library, I cannot foresee any issues.”

There was a beat of silence, for a minute, before his father seemed to come to terms with his answer. He let out a delayed squeal, squishing Logan’s face uncomfortably between his hands and pressing a kiss he had to fight not to move back from to his forehead. “There’s our boy!”

Logan offered him a smile, hand already reaching back for his book.

-

Virgil groaned loudly, tearing a page from his sketchbook and crumpling it up in his fist. He threw the balled up paper at the bin... and watched it bounce off the lid, onto the floor with all his other attempts. He slumped and hit his head on the table. Nothing he drew was good enough. Seemed to be a pretty consistent theme in his life, actua--

“I’m home!” He heard his brother yell, almost like the self deprecation had summoned him. That happened a surprising amount, and Virgil was beginning to wonder if he had some kind of sixth sense for wallowing.

“What’re all these?”

Virgil peered up to see Patton scoop up some of his discarded paper and huffed. “Shit.”

“Hey, language!” Patton scolded, unfolding one. Virgil knew better than to protest because, either way, there was nothing he could do to stop the incoming onslaught of validation. Pretty rude of his brother, if you asked him, breaking in like this and ruining his lamenting. “Kiddo, this is amazing!”

“Kinda loses its meaning when you say that about everything, Patt.” Virgil grumbled, pulling his hood up. “It’s covered in mistakes- I kept having to rub them out but it happened so much the paper just looks messy and flaky, but I kept fu- screwing up and-”

“There’s no such thing as a mistake.” Patton scolded lightly, not wanting to let him fix onto something so negative. “Just-”

“If you say ‘happy accidents’ I’m setting the apartment on fire.” Virgil warned, hiding a small smile.

“You know me too well.” Patton replied with a deep sigh, slipping into the chair opposite him and not quite meeting his eyes. “In other news, though... I’ve got news. Oh! I said ‘news’ twice.” He giggled, and Virgil rolled his eyes- before he registered what ‘news’ meant. It meant something new, which meant change and, yeah, they didn’t exactly have the money to keep going as they were in this shitty expensive flat without any work but where else would they go? Were they homeless now? Was the news that they were being kicked out? He knew they were overdue but they had time, still, surely--

“Kiddo! Kiddo, I’m sorry, I should’ve been clearer.” Patton gently pulled him back to reality, the guilty look on his face enough to make Virgil feel terrible for spiralling. He didn’t admit that, though, because it’d make Patton feel worse, and then they’d just be in their own spiral of upsetting one by upsetting the other and he did not have the emotional stability to deal with that. “I have a job!”

Virgil was pretty much a master in nerves, and he could spot them a mile away- especially in his brother. The wringing of hands and avoidance of eye contact wasn’t exactly subtle. Why he’d be nervous about getting work when they needed it so desperately, though, didn’t seem right. Was he a criminal? Were they going to get arrested? “That’s… good?” He offered, before he could jump to any more awful conclusions.

“It is!” Patton nodded eagerly, latching onto it. “Just…”

“Just...?”

“It’s on a boat.”

Virgil's throat went dry. “We can’t swim.”

“I know, but most of the crew can’t, it’s really safe, and we’ll have our own room and it’ll be warm and-”

Virgil shook his head quickly. “We’ll be surrounded by miles and miles of sea and we can’t keep afloat by ourselves and if it sinks we’re fucked and-”

“We… don’t have much of a choice.” Patton reminded him softly, and they both involuntarily looked over at the red envelopes shoved under the door. Their eviction notices. “Anyway, cheer up kiddo- they say it’s unsinkable!”

[1985keery]

broken - steve harrington.

steve harrington x female!reader

prompt: after 3 years of fighting for her life, steve finally sees how broken she truly is.

words: 2,091

warnings: angst, cussing, mentions of puke, mentions of suicide :( 

The ceiling. It was so pretty, wasn’t it. Maybe it was her drugged mind, but she had never seen a better sight then the starcourt ceiling. The bright lights turned the beige top into a beautiful kaleidoscope. She was memorized. “Woah” she mumbles, her voice strained from the use. “Yeah” he agreed. 

Him. How was it always him? How are they always risking their lives together? It seemed to be something out of a fairytale. Thinking of it made her head hurt. Couldn’t they catch a break? They deserved it. He deserved it.

She subconsciously began to back up into him. He was a comfort for her, always protecting her and things. His tall frame stood above her as she laid the back of her head on his blood stained chest. If she had turned her head slightly, she could’ve felt the way his heartbeat was out of control.

Whatever was in that drug, it was surely doing it’s worst.

“Steve” she whispered. Her stomach was starting to feel rotten. She felt dizzy and unsure if she was gonna make it. It felt as if there was a curse on her or something, like she was due to melt. Her stomach gurgled again, and she started running. 

Working at the mall had it’s advantages, one being the two were able to locate the nearest bathrooms. Her blood stained white chucks squeaked as she turned every corner, She was sure the writing on them had been ruined. Shame, Robin drew such a pretty flower. 

As she heard Steve’s blue sneakers behind her, she felt such a heavy pang of guilt. Why did these things always happen to them? Why did they always have to save the world?

As they finally reached the men’s bathroom, they immediately started puking their lunches into the white toilets. He gripped on to the side of the toilets as she held on to her hair. The small bathroom was filled with the sound of gags and cries.

After a minuet he had finally stopped, grabbing toilet paper and wiping his mouth off, blood and vomit leaving his plump lips. She had finished too, but she just wiped her mouth off with the back of her hand. She was too weak to think logically.

She laid down on the black and yellow checkered floor and put her bruised legs on the red stall. The cold linoleum felt good against her damaged hands.  “The ceiling stopped spinning for me” she said, finally catching her breath. “Is it still spinning for you?”

Even though he could barley see through his swollen eye, he looked up. “Holy shit. No. You think we puked it all up?” She closed her bruised eyes and smiled, relieved at the thought. “Maybe”

Her heart rate was going down to normal, and reality was finally coming down on her. Her brain was on autopilot, almost. Her motives were controlled by wherever her legs were running to.

But now here she was, laying in a bathroom with King Steve after fighting Russians. Shit.

“How do we always end up like this?” she asked, a sad expression on her face. “Puking in a bathroom?’ 

She laughed even though it burned her cut lip. He always had the ability to make her laugh even under the greyist skies. “No, I mean, running for our lives. Fighting evil. I feel like a comic book character.” 

He gave a soft laugh at her comparison. “Nerd”. She smiled, hearing him tease her was a breath of fresh air. “Virgin” she teased.

“You must still be on the drugs” he laughed. She couldn’t see him, but she knew he had a smirk on his face, considering they had slept together. “Maybe. Ask me something. Interrogate me.” she said, mocking the Russian man. “I’ll interrogate you, sure.” he agreed, stopping to think of his question.

The air was light and it finally felt like they could let down their guard. They never did though, they knew better. “When was the last time you peed your pants?”

It was a stupid question, but she still laughed. “Today” she smiled, and she could hear his laugh  “What?” The smile in his voice was evident. “When the Russian doctor took out the bone saw”

“Oh my god” he laughed. There was his silly girl, the one he thought would be gone an hour ago. The one who got her pretty face beaten in by evil Russians. He was so glad she was back to him. “It was just a little bit though” He heard her giggle, and he smiled. 

“Okay, my turn” she said. She got up from the floor and laid her aching back on the stall. She was about to ask a silly question, like if he thought mermaids were real, but she started focusing on her hands. 

There was an equal amount of blood and dirt under her fingernails, and her knuckles were red from trying to defend herself. They would be bruised by the morning. There was blood and vomit on her shirt, she had a black eye and a bleeding nose, a gash on her forehead and every muscle in her body was aching. She looked like a walking pity party.

However, she was nothing compared to Steve. The poor guy couldn’t even see out of his right eye and there were cuts on all his face. She felt her stomach drop and got a quarter sized lump in her throat. 

“Do you think it’s even worth it?”

It was barley a whisper, but he heard it. “What?” He asked softly, noticing the mood change. She put her head in her lap, wanting to shrink as much as she can. She was tired of being seen, of being the one always saving the day. She wanted to curl up in a hole, where the villains could never hurt her again.

Every night there was a new nightmare. 

She couldn’t escape, everywhere she turned there was a new battle waiting to be fought. She felt angry. It wasn’t fair, she was only 19. Hell, she was just 17 when she fought the demogorgan with Jonathan and Nancy.

Even the cool flooring felt like fire to her, As she dug her fingernails into her palms, she shrunk deeper. “Y/N” Steve called, knocking on the wall. His heart started to race at the silence. “Did you OD over there?”

She lifted her head from her lap and wiped her tears, though there were more forming. “Nope. Still alive, somehow”. Her voice sounded so broken, and so scared. She dropped her head back into her lap

Steve slid under the stall, now sitting opposite of her. “Y/N” he said softly, taking her small hands into his rough ones. “Come on baby, talk to me”

Raising her head, Steve frowned at the tears on her cheeks. “Do you think it’s worth it, Steve? Risking our lives, being heros?”

He had never really thought about it. I mean sure, he had nightmares too, but life went on. It never occurred to him that it didn’t for her, that she was struggling. I mean, she would flinch at a lot of things and refused to walk in the dark, but now he realizes it was deeper then that.

“Well, yeah. The world needs heros” he spoke carefully. There was a fire in her chest, and that was the gasoline. “It’s not fair, Steve!” she yelled. Her usually small voice boomed through the bathroom. 

“Why is it always us? It’s not fair! I just wanted to be a normal teenager! But now I can’t sleep, can’t go to parties, and I can’t even put up Christmas lights!” her hands had began to shake from anger, but she was far from done,

“I’m fucked Steve! And I can’t even go to therapy, because they’d think I’m crazy! And Lord knows I can’t talk to my parents. Jesus, everyone gets to have this normal life, but we’re fighting demons once a year. They have no clue about demogorgans, or demo dogs, and- and- a-and they’re happy! I don’t even know what true happiness is anymore because I’m always fucking paranoid!

Angry tears had slipped down her cheeks. She was sobbing at this point. Quiet whines came out of her mouth. A shaky breathe, And her head was back in her lap. 

Steve laid his bleeding head back. She was right. Absolutely right. The air was thick, and it felt like it could suffocate them.  He felt so sorry for her. He grabbed her hand and put his chin on her knee. The yellow lights of the bathroom gleamed down on them. The hopelessly damaged kids.

“I had a plan, y’know” she said, as the silence broke. She licked her lips and sniffed. “At 17, I had a plan. I was gonna graduate, hopefully valedictorian. I was gonna go to Indiana State, get a job and an apartment, and I was gonna get the hell away from here, Have a family, a normal family, and a life for myself”

Jim Hopper and Joyce Byers came to her mind. It wasn’t fair to them either, how they ended stuck in Hawkins again. Nobody deserved to be stuck here.

He took a moment to process her words. He had a plan for himself at 17, too. One that involved Nancy Wheeler and a white picket fence. Now, thinking of it made him shiver. Looking at the girl who was in his plan now, he sighed.

“And at 18?” he asked. She clenched her first and rose up, unshed tears in her eyes. He watched her throat move as she swallowed. ‘I didn’t think I’d be here at 18″

He squinted, and it was clear to her that he didn’t understand. She squeezed her eyes shut, fearful of his reaction. Surely he would think less of her, he might even treat her with pity. 

“But, we survived the demogorgan” the innocent man said.

“Steve”

It was so painful. Having to tell her lover her darkest secrets. She was afraid the bright shades of red and pink around their love would now be black and grey. Steve didn’t deserve her, she thought. He deserved a girl like Nancy Wheeler, or like Tammy Thompson. Someone who wasn’t completely and utterly broken. 

“Yeah?” God, it still wasn’t clicking. She couldn’t say it, she had tried, but the worlds simply could not leave her mouth. So she said it with her eyes.

And then he understood. 

Something in his eyes had changed, and he finally saw how broken she really was. He always thought she was beautiful, but now he saw every detail of her face. He saw the frown lines and the eyebags, and the hurt in her eyes. “Oh” he mumbled.

This was it, she thought. He was gonna call her a freak, or an idiot. The two never made them selves official, but they knew, Everyone knew. “Holy shit”

Her heart was beating again, for the millionth time that day. “Yeah. Holy shit”

She didn’t look at him, too afraid of seeing his expression, but he couldn’t look away from her. His sweet, sweet girl. How stupid he was, to not see how she was feeling. It was his job to make sure she was okay. He felt as if he had failed her. “You OD over there?” she asked, trying to break the tension.

“No” he answered. “Just thinking”. She nodded and felt another lump in her throat. Her fingernails had left inprints in her palms, and she was desperately trying to not cry again.

“I had a plan at 18 too” he said. She finally pulled her eyes to him, “I was gonna join the circus.” 

She certainly was not expecting that. “What?” 

“I was gonna join the circus” he said, smiling, “I’d be one of the clowns, or maybe even the ring leader” She finally laughed again. “Why.... why was that in your plan?”

“I thought it’d be cool, and I’d look hot in a rainbow wig.”  He was rubbing his thumb against the back of her hand, and was relived to see the soothing action was working. She laughed as she said. “You wouldn’t dare mess up your precious hair, Harrington. I on the other hand would make a excellent acrobat”

“Please, you did gymnastics for what, 6 months? And then what happened” They were both smiling now. “My ankle healed!” she defended, as they both laughed. 

The doors burst open and suddenly Robin, Dustin and Erica were in front of them. “Seriously, what the hell” Dustin yelled, clearly pissed. The two only looked at each other and laughed again. Steve stood and reached out his hand. “One more battle?”

Her smile dropped a little, but she took his hand anyway. “One more battle”

[narnie3313]

Let Me Burn-Chapter 2

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Romance, Eventual Smut

Warnings: Language, Violence, Explicit,etc....

Summary: The moment you saw those piercing eyes in the corner of the club, you knew you were hooked. There was never a question about it…You knew this man would burn you, yet you embraced the flames.

Pairing: Dabi x reader

Chapter 1  |  Chapter 2  |  Chapter 3

“It’s you….who are you? Why were you watching me? Who are you? What did you have to do with all this?” At this point you didn’t care that you were rambling and repeating yourself, you were too lost to care.

“I wont hurt you. I put you in the room so you didn’t get hurt. I’ll ex….”

“YOU put me in the room? Why? When? Why don’t I remember?”

“If you’ll shut up for a minute I’ll explain everything but I need to get out of here and I want you to follow me. If you don’t, you wont get your answers and you’ll never see me again.” Without another word he turns around and steps towards the door.  

Shit. I don’t need to be involved in this. But I need to know what happened…I need to know who he is. You turn and quickly snatch up your belongings and follow after him. The front door is gone….a hole where it used to be. That must be what the explosions were before the blue light… You walk out into the cold night air, feeling it more than usual because you would usually be drunk going home so wouldn’t feel the cold breeze. You try to stifle your shiver as you follow the tall man in the black trench coat. What the hell am I thinking. This guy looks like a textbook serial killer or some shit….my mother would kill me. You sigh and shake your head. But something about him feels….safe? He saved you from whatever happened in there and those eyes of his hold too many secrets that you cant walk away without unravelling. I need to know.  

You’re not sure how long you’ve been walking but you keep about 5 paces behind him at all times. It’s not until he stands in a side alley holding a door open and staring straight into your soul again that you notice you’re far away from the regular bright lights and busy streets of the city. He looks from you to the door as if telling you to go inside. You slowly move towards him and look straight into his eyes questioningly then move inside the door and look around. It’s not what you expected at all. You’re led off the street down a short hallway into an elevator where he presses the highest number. As the elevator begins moving, you can feel his stare on you while you’re just looking at your hands. You allow your gaze to move up his body towards his eyes, admiring the body under his open coat. Tight jeans show the curves of his calves and his muscular thighs but his loose singlet shows his collarbones and strong neck. Moving up to his face, you notice his scars, once again feeling drawn to them as if they were magnetic to you. Paying close attention to every one of the staples in his skin, your eyes move to stare into those endless blue pools again only to find him trailing his gaze over your body that you had all but forgotten was only covered in a skimpy black dress.  

“Enjoying the view?” You ask with a roll of your eyes, hoping he’ll ignore the fact that you’d just been doing the same thing to him.

“Could ask you the same thing, sweetheart.” He says with a small smirk as his eyes come back to meet yours.

“Where are we? Where are we going?”

“One of my safehouses. You wanted answers so I’ll give them to you. But I had to get out of there before the cops and heroes got there.”

“What are you, some kinda hit man or some shit? What normal person needs a safe house?” You say as the elevator doors open with a ding.

“I’ll answer anything you ask soon. You’re cold and still in that little dress so go take a shower first and I’ll set some clothes out on the bed for you to warm up first. When you’re done, come out and we’ll talk.”  

“You’re serious? 1. I don’t know where those clothes have been. 2. I’m not just gonna get naked in a strangers apartment and 3. I don’t even know who you are.”

“You don’t have to trust me but you’re safe here. Why would I save you just to hurt you? Seems like a waste of time don’t you think?” He says with a tone of disinterest.

“I guess…” You say as you walk away into the bathroom he pointed to. You couldn’t deny, you were really, really cold. The winter air on the street certainly hadn’t done you any favours.  

You spent longer than you care to admit searching every possible spot for a camera or something suspect but gave up when you found nothing. You got in the shower only after making sure the door was locked like 3 times and allowed the hot water to warm your cold body. Once you were done, you wrapped yourself in the fluffy towel and unlocked the door to peek into the bedroom to see if he was waiting for you. Surprisingly he wasn’t….although not all that surprising. Despite the abnormal appearance that may have frightened anyone else, you weren’t phased by the scars….they weren’t what drew you in, and for some unexplainable reason, the moment you laid eyes on him, you knew you were a goner.  

Warm and dressed into a set of what you guessed were a pair of his sweatpants and hoodie, you walked cautiously out the bedroom door and entered a large, open plan living room/ kitchen surrounded by large windows over looking a dark part of the city. You weren’t sure exactly how high you were but you could see where the city centre was from the bright lights a few blocks away. You looked around for the mysterious man you’d allowed yourself to be taken by…I can’t even say he kidnapped me. Damn it y/n, why do you make stupid choices? Why are you like this? You place the ball of your hand in your eye socket and throw you head back in frustration. You’d made stupid, dangerous mistakes before but they paled in comparison to this. This takes the cake.  

“You know,” that husky voice sounds from to your right, sitting in an arm chair watching you. “Most women wouldn’t follow a strange man home. Do you have a deathwish?”

“I don’t know. I needed answers about what happened and….” You look back down to your hands.  

“And…?” He asks, cocking a brow.

“And……I can’t explain it but….I feel safe with you. Your eyes tell me there’s more to you.”

Your eyes are still on your hands in your lap so you miss the way his eyes widen with shock at your words.  

“I’ll answer whatever you want honestly.”

You’re not even sure what to ask first. You look up at him through your lashes. “Why did you save me from….whatever it was that happened back there?”

“I don’t actually know. Something about the way I was drawn to you the whole night and then the way you approached me and touched me without even a touch of fear in your expression….I knew I had to see you again.”

Your face flushed at that. “Ok, so, you were watching me the whole night?”

“Couldn’t keep my eyes off you, doll.” The way the name rolled off his tongue had your body heating up from within your core as his eyes noticed the change in your breathing and smirked.

“Ok….then….who are you exactly?”

“Dabi.” Your heart sank as each syllable of the name rattled in your brain. Dabi. You’d seen that name on the news. Extremely dangerous, do not approach. Yet here you were sitting in his living room. Your eyes widen slightly, not knowing exactly how to react. The news articles never specified what he was wanted for, just that he was dangerous. But this man in front of you seemed so…..soft? Despite his appearance he just radiated gentle vibes. What the hell is actually wrong with you, y/n? First thing, 9am, I’m booking a therapist.  

“I’m guessing by that reaction, you know who I am.” He sits forward, slouching and resting his elbows on his knees at that statement. You shake your head gently. “No?”

You look up at him with gentle yet cautious eyes. “Well, I mean…I’ve seen you on the news. Wanted and dangerous was all they say so no, I don’t actually know who you are, I just know OF you.”

He can’t help but smile at that. “Hmm.” He sighs, leaning back lazily in his chair. “You’re interesting. You know my name and that I’m wanted for reasons unknown to you but bad enough that they say my name more than twice a day on national television, yet you’re still here, sitting in front of me, without running or looking at me in horror. Why?”

“Well, all I can think about is how you’ve had literally every chance to hurt me but you haven’t. You could have in the club, but you put me in the room away from whatever happened there. You could have while I was looking in the locker. You strike me as the kind of person that would be quiet enough on your feet not to get caught if you didn’t want to be. You had heaps of chances while walking the dark, empty streets here. Hell, you even had me in your bathroom and bedroom where no one would have ever known where I went and you still did nothing except offer me a shower and clothes… I don’t think you want to hurt me. Then again,” you say throwing your hands up and shrugging, “maybe there’s bigger, more torturous plans for me.” You say with a giggle as you watch him smile slightly. “Look, I don’t know why you’re being nice to me or whatever, but thank you. The next question I have is, what actually happened to the club? And why did I pass out while watching you?”

“Both questions I don’t think you’re going to like the answers to.”

“I need to know.”

“Ok. The club was broken into and robbed by the team I’m involved in. That club was actually a front for a black market. They had the biggest stash of priceless stolen items in the city in their cellars. My group needed the money so we took what we could grab and destroyed the rest of the club as a message to the owner. As for why you got passed out, I’m sure you would have been hot from the dancing and the body heat of the dance floor and its not uncommon for people to pass out from heatstroke in events like that, but I’m pretty sure what sent you over the edge was my flames.” As he says the last word, he rotates a hand to rest on his knee palm side up as a small blue flame dances in his palm. “My flames burn way, way hotter than most so it would have knocked you out since you were so close.”

You were mesmerised by the flickering blue light in his palm still, until he noticed your dazed expression and closed his hand into a fist, extinguishing the flames. Shaking your head, you look back at him. “So that’s what the blue light was?” He nods. “Ok. There’s one more question, but I’m afraid to ask.”  

“You want to know what happened to all the people in the club.”

You can only bring yourself to nod, still looking into those glowing blue eyes.

“The flames I released that you saw were aimed for gas canisters being thrown above the crowd. The gas knocked everyone out. Another one of the group teleported all the people into separate areas of the city except for the owner and the people in on the market. When we got what we needed, I used my flames to torch everything that could indicate we’d been there without letting them spread to the outside so no one showed up until daylight.”

“You’re very calculated. What happens to me now? You said you saved me because you had to see me again… but what does that mean? What do you want with me?”

“I don’t actually know about that yet. I’m not evil. I don’t do things just to kill and maim people and I certainly don’t want to hurt you. I can let you walk away and return to your day to day life since I know nothing you could say to anyone would get me caught anyway, but you’re interesting. I want to unravel you.” Keeping his eyes on you, he stands up and takes 3 large steps towards you, stopping when his toes meet yours. His hand reaches out to your face as his thumb and forefinger cup your chin, tilting your head back slightly. “I want to know what’s going on in that brain of yours…” He leans down till you can feel his breath on your ear, causing goosebumps. “I want to know what makes you tick.”

Now, you couldn’t deny this man was enticing, for lack of a better word, but you also weren’t easy. No matter how hot this man was, you still knew he was dangerous and weren’t about to give it up that easy.

Placing your hands softly on his chest you pushed while leaning back to put some space between you, just enough to give him a smirk. “You’ll have to work a lot harder than that.” With that, he stood back upright and chuckled.

Author note: Ok, chapter 2 is up. I’m currently working on chapter 3 but will also be off grid this weekend (8th August - 10th August) so next chapter should be mid next week but don’t hold me to that. As always, let me know what you think as feedback is always extremely appreciated! Thanks for reading!

[thepatricktreestump]

Crush pt3 - peter parker imagine

crush masterlist

part 3 – the homecoming dance

               It seemed as though after spending that evening in his apartment, everything between you and Peter changed. There wasn’t any awkward tension or tip toeing around your feelings. You could simply just feel and not have to be ashamed or embarrassed by it. He started going to meet you at your locker before school, complimenting you on whatever outfit you were wearing, and holding your hand, which was your personal favorite. It was like a reminder that you were finally his. Although neither of you clarified whether you were officially dating yet or not, it was obvious something had changed in your friendship. MJ and Ned were quick to point out this change, teasing you two relentlessly but also congratulating you both.

               Even outside of school, Peter was still tugging at your heartstrings. He sent you adorable texts and even facetimed you before bedtime to talk. One morning before school he had even gotten you some iced coffee, and another day offered to walk you home. He was definitely the sweetest boy you had ever met, and you found yourself falling harder and harder for him each day. As the dance approached, Pepper helped you slowly get ready. She went out with you to find the perfect dress, one that complimented your eyes and cascaded down your hips, as well as some matching jewelry. She also briefed you on some dance lessons just in case your brain went blank in the middle of a slow song. You giggled to yourself as you imagined Aunt May doing the same with Peter.

               Before you knew it, the night had finally arrived, and you were excited and nervous all the same. Staring at yourself in the mirror, fancy hairstyle framing your makeup painted face, you smiled. You wouldn’t have wanted to spend this night with anyone else but Peter. Walking down to the lobby you smiled at your dad, beaming at you with teary eyes. “You look absolutely stunning, y/n,” he gave you a big hug. “Can’t believe my little girl’s all grown up.”

               “Best believe it,” you smirked. “I’ll be up and off to college before you know it.”

               “Ah you won’t be gone long,” he shook his head. “I know you’ll breeze right through it. You’ve got your father’s brains.”

               “If only she had your confidence too,” Pepper teased. “Then she’d be unstoppable.”

               “Yeah right,” you scoffed. “I’m a teenage girl in high school, dad. You probably have more confidence than all of us combined.”

              “A visitor has approached the door. Would you like me to let him enter, Mr. Stark?” JARVIS chirped through the building and you felt giddy, heart beginning to race.

               “That must be Peter,” you smiled and you saw your dad tense behind you as you rushed towards the door.

               “Peter?” he raised an eyebrow, clearing his throat awkwardly.

               “Yeah,” you opened the door, proudly presenting your date to your father.

               He stood there in the doorframe, just as you imagined, but almost even better. Hair swept back neatly, sporting a tuxedo and a bowtie, smelling faintly of cologne, he was handsome as ever. You wanted to kiss him right there on the spot. “Y/n! You look beautiful,” Peter gasped and you blushed, looking up at him, shy.

               “Thank you,” you whispered. “You look very handsome too.” Your dad stepped out from behind you to get a good look at the boy and you stepped back to let them introduce themselves, noting the almost surprised look on both of their faces. Did Peter really think you weren’t going to introduce him to your family?

               “Nice to meet you sir,” the boy extended his hand, looking a bit jittery. “Peter Parker.”

               “Tony Stark…” your dad drew out his voice, seeming very off, and you stared at him strangely, confused. They shook hands slowly, both staring at each other weirdly, and you narrowed your eyes at the interaction, letting Peter step into the room and watching as the two of them struggled to find words to say.

               “Big fan of your work,” Peter nodded slowly, smiling anxiously, entire body tense. “You’re a good man, Mr. Stark.”

               “Going to keep my daughter safe tonight, Mr. Parker?” your dad asked, ignoring Peter’s praise, and you rolled your eyes, sighing, slugging him in the shoulder playfully.

               “Y-yes sir, of course, absolutely,” Peter insisted, almost as if trying to convince himself, and Tony hummed, still skeptical. Your father turned to you and you instantly felt strange yourself, hoping everything was okay.

               “Mind if I have a couple words with Petey here?” your dad asked and you stared at him quizzically.

               “Sure, is everything alright?” you turned your head to the side.

               “Of course, you know, just the regular don’t hurt my daughter or I’ll hurt you type of talk,” he reassured and you chewed on your inner cheek, looking up at him, hesitant.

               You lowered your voice, leaning into his ear to whisper. “Just don’t mess this up, okay dad? I really like him,” you pleaded, and he smiled softly, nodding.

               “It’ll only be a couple minutes,” Tony replied. “Why don’t you go out and wait with Happy in the limo. I’m going to talk to Mr. Parker for a little bit.”

               Reluctantly, you followed his instructions, going out to wait in the backseat of the vehicle with Happy. Meanwhile, your father confronted Peter in the lobby, pulling him aside so that they were alone. “Look, Mr. Stark, I can explain really-” Peter began but Tony shook his head, shutting him up.

               “No. What did I tell you?” he asked bitterly, taking off his glasses, cursing. “Shit. You’re not supposed to be doing these things, kid. And with my daughter? Are you serious? You have a job, people to protect, yourself to worry about. You can’t be involving other people who could potentially get hurt, just so you can boogie for a night in your high school’s gymnasium.”

               “I know, I know. But it’s so much more than that,” Peter sighed, apologetic. “And I swear, I wasn’t the one who approached her Mr. Stark, I would never try to mess with your daughter. I know you told me already and everything, but I swear, she approached me. And I didn’t want anything to happen but she just, she’s really a great girl, Mr. Stark. She’s so smart and funny, and she kept asking me to hang out, and we kept talking and I- I couldn’t help but catch feelings. And there was this dance coming up and my aunt, you know my aunt, she kept bugging me to ask someone, and the only person I could think of to bring was-”

               “Her. Okay, I get it, kid,” Tony sighed, running a hand through his hair. “But I don’t think you understand. She likes you. A lot. She’s really fallen hard. You’re all she ever talks about. And I’m just afraid if this keeps happening, whatever this is between you two, something bad could happen. You having these powers, being, you know, Spider-Man… It’s a full time gig. There’s no option for girlfriends, Peter. If something ever ends up happening to her, that’s not only going to be on me anymore. That’ll also be on you. And you’re just a kid, I don’t think you’re ready for that yet. I don’t think anyone ever is.”

               “I promise I’ll be careful, Mr. Stark. I’d never let anything happen to her, I care about her a lot. I really do,” Peter swore.

               “It’s not a matter of how much you care, Romeo. You can’t control things like this,” Tony argued. “Think of what would happen if anything happened to her. If anything happened to you! She’d be devastated. She wouldn’t be able to take it. And if you two stay together, she can’t know. She can’t know about any of this, about your powers or your suit, or the fact that we already know each other. It would be based upon a lie. And she doesn’t deserve that.”

               “So what? I’m just not allowed to have a girlfriend?” Peter began to get annoyed. “I can’t be a normal high schooler sometimes? I’m not allowed to bring the girl I like to one school dance?”

               “Look kid, none of this is normal. Not a single bit of it. And I know that’s not fair to you, but that doesn’t mean it has to be unfair to anyone else either, okay? Being a superhero, that whole gig, being Spider-Man, that comes before anyone else. Especially girls, no matter who that girl is,” Tony explained. “I’m sorry, but no means no. You just can’t have both.”

               “And apparently I can’t choose either?” Peter stared at him, desperate, but Tony insisted.

               “Being a hero means doing the right thing,” he said firmly, finalizing his statement. Stark looked at the boy, noticing the sadness in his eyes, and shook his head. It was for the best. “Now go. Have a good night. Give her something to remember. Take care of her.” There was a pause and he sighed. “You can plan on telling her tomorrow.”

               Peter blinked at Tony, trying not to either punch him in the face or start crying, watching as your father walked away, unsure of what to think or do. He wanted to swing away, to the highest rooftop, and scream at the sky. But he couldn’t. He had a dance to go to and a girl to take care of. A girl he couldn’t even keep if he wanted to. Walking silently to the limousine, he opened up the door, and you greeted him cheerily, but he remained quiet, making you concerned, furrowing your brow. “What’d he talk to you about? You were in there for a while, I thought you’d never come out,” you chuckled, trying to lighten the mood, but he still looked different. Almost sad. “You okay, Peter?”

               “It’s fine,” he shook his head. “He just uh, he told me to have a good time.” He gave a fake smile and you stared at him, concerned, wondering what the fuck your dad just did to make him look so goddamn depressed.

               “A-are you sure that was it?” you wondered, and you could pick up the same type of tension on Happy. It was like everyone knew something you didn’t.

               “Yeah, just forget about it,” Peter insisted. “It’s fine.”

               When you arrived to the dance though, he seemed distracted and distanced, making you worry even more. Ned and MJ greeted you both with their dates, and you all poured glasses of fruit punch and took silly photos at the booth. When it came time to dance, you begged Peter to join you, and you swayed your hips to the music and twirled around in circles, trying to get him to loosen up, but he still seemed off. “What’s up with Peter?” MJ finally cracked as soon as you had stepped away from the boys and you shrugged.

               “He’s been like that ever since he picked me up from my house,” you frowned. “I feel like something’s wrong.”

               “Did you ask him about it?” MJ wondered and you sighed.

               “Several times, but he won’t tell me what’s up,” you replied. “I’m almost scared it might be something I did. We were fine until he came over. Maybe the tower and my dad and everything scared him off.”

               “I don’t think so, Peter doesn’t seem the type to ignore you,” MJ insisted. “Just let me know if I can help. I hope you figure it all out soon.”

               “Thanks,” you gave a sympathetic smile. “Me too.”

               “Best of luck, buddy,” she winked, going off to grab some snacks.

               You shook your head, hoping everything would work out. Maybe the dance was just making him nervous. You made your way through the sea of people crowding the gymnasium, trying to find a familiar face. A slow song began to play, one of your favorites, and you instantly rushed towards Peter, holding out your hands. “Come on,” you begged. “Slow dance with me? Please?”

               “S-sure, of course,” he smiled, getting up from his chair, making his way to the middle of the dance floor with you. He set his hands on your hips and you rested your arms on his shoulders, smiling as you looked into those hazel eyes you grew so fond of, thinking about just how much he meant to you. Sure, it started off as a silly little crush, having your eyes out for the smart nerdy boy in your chemistry class, but now? You felt like Peter was your best friend, and you wanted him to be something more. He was easy to talk to, to relate to, to be around. When you were with him, it was like the entire rest of the world disappeared.

               “Can I tell you something?” you wondered and Peter looked at you, caught off guard.

               “Uh yeah, yeah, sure,” he agreed. “But um, I have something to tell you too.”

               “You do?” you raised an eyebrow, interested. You secretly hoped it was the same thing. “Maybe you should go first.”

               “Are you sure?” he looked quizzical, almost unsure of himself.

               “Mhmm,” you smiled, still swaying your hips, looking into his eyes, hopeful. What if he was going to tell you how much he liked you too? Or what if he asked you to be his girlfriend? What if he told you he loved you? No! No way. That would be way too soon. Wouldn’t it? Your heart raced as you watched him struggle to find the words to say, excited as ever, but as soon as they left his mouth you wished he had never said them at all.

               “I don’t really think this is working out,” he whispered and you stared at him, beginning to feel your heart shatter into a thousand pieces.

               “W-what?” you stammered, freezing in your place, confused.

               “Us,” Peter clarified, looking down at the floor, embarrassed. “I think I made a mistake. Asking you to the dance. And I’m sorry.”

               “Wait, what?” you almost laughed, trying to convince yourself this was all some crazy prank or something, but you looked up and saw the pain and sadness in Peter’s eyes and you suddenly knew something wasn’t right. Maybe that’s why he had been acting so weird. Did he regret asking you to the dance? He seemed so excited when he had asked you. And he had told you all week how much he was looking forward to it. Was it all just some big lie? You shook your head, still in denial. “You’re joking, right?”

               “I’m sorry, y/n,” Peter mumbled, breaking away from you, walking off the dance floor. But you didn’t know what to do, instead just standing there, tears of your own forming in your eyes.

               Were you fooling yourself? Were all of these feelings just one sided? Were you too stupid to see what was happening all along? You hated yourself for thinking someone like Peter could ever like you. You were just friends, and that was it. God, Ned and MJ probably thought you looked stupid too. Tears welled up in your eyes as you exited the gymnasium, pulling out your phone, sitting on the curb in your dress, hating yourself for messing everything up. Your phone rang several times before you sniffled, clearing your throat.

               “Uh, hey dad?” you whimpered.

               “Y/n?” Tony asked, concerned. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

               “Can you pick me up from the dance? I want to go home,” you told him, voice shaky, wiping tears from your cheeks.

               “Sure thing, kiddo,” he reassured. “I’ll be there in ten. Hang tight.”

[mattzerella-sticks]

Little Secrets Everywhere (a fun little BNHA one-shot, minor Kiribaku)

Mina thought letting Bakugo read whatever was in her folder wouldn't be too bad. Maybe he would snipe at her for her less than perfect English translation and sentence structure, slap her on the head with the balled up assignment. What she wasn't expecting was for him to charge with hellish fury towards her in the common room with all their friends to see.

One careless mistake leads to many things coming to light. Everyone walking away with something new to think about.

           “What’s your problem then?”

           “You wrote about my boyfriend fucking every other guy in the school ‘cept me!”

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

           Mina scrolls through her phone, idly listening while Hanta and Denki trade jabs while playing their game. Hits and explosions backtrack their arguing, along with the occasional comment from Eijiro. The red-haired boy much more involved in who wins than Mina. More than anyone else in the common room, which seems to their entire class – save one.

           He joins a few seconds later, storming over to where Mina sits on the couch. She hears the crackles of his explosions before seeing him, looking up when his shadow looms overview. “Hey,” she says, “what do you think you’re doing, Bomb Boy?”

           “What the fuck is this?” He shakes the crushed papers in his fist, Mina surprised Katsuki hadn’t incinerated them in his anger. Seconds tick by, and his rage compounds at her silence. “Answer the fucking question, Raccoon Eyes –“

           “Bakugo,” Tenya interrupts, sliding next to him, “while you may be angry, you have no right to use that tone on a fellow student – gah!” He flies a few feet away, not truly hurt. His shirt needs a healthy wash after Katsuki scorched it, but he left Tenya relatively unharmed.

           A kindness Mina does not believe he will show her, give the terrifying gleam in his hazy red eyes. “It’s – it’s my homework,” she guesses, panicking, “I gave it to you, to review! Y’know. I didn’t think it was that bad…”

           “Really?” he asks, waving the papers around, “So I guess Yamada’s really interested in our sex lives, huh? Do I need to take this to Nezu?”

           Mina pales, her usually pink skin lightening to an almost human color. “What?” she gasps, “How do you… you can’t…” Suddenly, Mina remembers.

           It was her turn. All the girls messaged her their month’s work, one after another. She dragged each file onto the same memory stick Mina saved her classwork on, tediously double and triple checking the folders to make sure nothing overlapped. Accidentally, Mina opened one of Momo’s documents. Glancing at the title, she found herself succumbing to curiosity and entertained herself with a preview. Only in doing so, Mina stole time from other duties. In a rush, she gathered her bag and left for the library. Printing her English assignment and all the stories in the empty computer room. Attention glued to the door, in case anyone stumbled in on her secret. Barely any time left if Mina wanted to arrive at class without earning Aizawa’s wrath, she crammed all the papers into her folder and ran. Forgetting all about the responsibility now that it was complete.

           Until Bakugo showed up holding them all.

           He knocked on her door, kicking it open. Mina glared at him from her desk, headphones in and textbook open. “What?”

           “You wanted me to look at your work?”

           She waved him closer, rifling for the folder and handing it over without bothering to open it. “Thanks!” Mina said, “you’re a life saver.”

           Reflection makes the irony much more palpable.

           While lost in her thoughts, she didn’t realize all the attention shift to them. Video game paused, Denki and Hanta crowded behind Katsuki. Squawking about letting them see the pages. Eijiro shifted and settled between her and the other boy, trying to calm him down. Mina was surprised that the hand on Katsuki’s chest wasn’t obliterated for lingering. The other boys in the room shuffled closer in their curiosity, while every girl who knew exactly what Katsuki meant glared at Mina with palpable anger – even Toru.

           Reclaiming her senses, Mina huffs. “You weren’t supposed to read those.”

           “Next time don’t hand them to me,” he said, scowling. Finally he scattered the papers, flinging them about the room. “But what the fuck gives you the right – gives any of you the right to write shit like this?” His finger scans the room, finding each accessory and pinning them with a ferocious stare. “It’s an invasion of our privacy –“

           “It was harmless fun!” Kyoka says, slamming her hands on the table. Momo, seated beside her, startles. “We never shared them with anyone other than ourselves!”

           “That doesn’t make it any better –“

           “And what gives you the moral high ground, huh?” Toru asks, bouncing, “I’ve heard what you boys talk about when you think no one’s listening. How is this any different?”

           “Them, not me! I don’t care enough to discuss the usual dribble coming out of these fools mouths…”

           Out of the corner of her eye, Mina sees Denki shuffle some papers together. He reads the first few lines, Mina shrinking in her seat when noticing the flush dusting his cheeks. “Whoa, Midoriya…” he says, interrupting the brewing fight, “this one’s about you.”

           “Me?”

           “You and… Shoto?”

           Ochaco squeals and hides her face in hand, turning away from the green-haired boy. He glances at her slightly. Concern sparking when she lifts off the ground. Midoriya almost reaches towards Ochaco and grabs her ankle, except Denki shoves the papers into his chest. Attention diverted, Midoriya reads the first paragraph of Ochaco’s story. His lips stretch in embarrassment. “But that’s… that isn’t at all what happened after the Sports Festival! I could barely move my arms!”

           Shoto, interest piqued, leans over to see. “Well that’s a little forward of me…”

           “Kill me,” Ochaco mutters, “Bakugo send an explosion through my chest and just kill me…”

           He doesn’t answer her. “That ain’t even the end of it,” Katsuki says, glaring at Mina again. “Deku and the Half-n-Half Bastard… Lightning Bug and the Psychic Freak… Glasses and Tape Face – you even put Rhinohead in here you sick fucks!” Koji points to himself and then shudders, distancing himself from the puddle of papers.

           Mina splutters. The more Katsuki dragged this out in public, the higher her irritation rose. He stoked the flames of her anger, overshadowing any regret she might have felt. “What’s your problem with this anyway?” Mina asks, “If you saw this then you know none of these stories involved you!” Katsuki staggers from Mina’s direct hit. “Wait,” she continues, eyes brightening, “Is that what this is? You’re jealous?”

           “No,” he says, blushing, “I… I think all of this is wrong, but…” Katsuki bites his lip, sullen, “How the fuck could you not include me?”

           “You weren’t the only one we didn’t write about,” Momo says, attempting a smile, “from our class, you’ll see that we didn’t involve Mineta either.”

           The smaller boy pokes at a few pages in Hanta’s hands, the latter frozen in a crouch while reading. “For once I’m glad none of you included me.”

           “Great, so I’m in the same league as Grape Boy…” he rolls his eyes. The lack of protest provokes him. “Seriously!” Eijiro wrangles Katsuki into a steady hold, his arms woven under his armpits and fingers laced behind the blond’s head. Legs not pinned, Katsuki kicks at the couch. “What fucking ego trip were you all on when you wrote these!”

           “We had rules,” Tsuyu starts, perched on a nearby chair. In all the commotion, she remained unmoved. “When we decided to be serious about our works, we sat together and drew up rules to follow. Like not writing about teachers or certain pro-heroes like Endeavor and Gran Torino. The main point was to leave out anyone we were attracted to –“

           “Attracted to!”

           “Yes, Bakugo, ribbit,” Tsuyu blinks, tapping at her chin, “These were supposed to be fun. Why spoil it with people we wouldn’t want to see involved in these situations?”

           Her dry tone distracts Katsuki from his frustration, disbelief the dominant emotion expressed on his face. Some of it dissipates in Mina, too, who laughs at the ragdoll-like pose Katsuki mirrors while swallowing the heavy pill. Limp in Eijiro's strong grip. She giggles silently, recalling the earlier joy of when this all really started.

           It was Tsuyu’s fault. She showed them a story found somewhere deep on the web, about the Wing Hero: Hawks and Kamui Woods. They staved off her attempts at first. But one by one they all read until when Momo, last to fall, finished and breathed. “That was… I don’t know how to feel.”

           “Tingly?” Toru suggested, leaning on Tsuyu, “That’s what I felt. And warm –“

           “Too warm,” Ochaco agreed, tugging at her pajama top. Kyoka nodded, fiddling with her earlobes. “Like, when Woods morphed his tree-fingers into a –“

           “We don’t need a reminder,” Kyoka jumped, blushing, “the image’s still burned into my brain.”

           “Do you think he can actually do that?”

           “He’s one of the Top Ten I’m sure he can do anything…”

           Mina grabbed the phone from Momo while the other girls discussed uses for Kamui Woods’ quirk outside of battle. She scrolled through the story again, skimming, reading only when she spotted moments that tugged at her cheeks. Soon Mina’s laughter overpowered the nearby conversation. “What’s so funny, ribbit?” Tsuyu asked, taking her phone back with her tongue.

           “This writing,” she said, “I mean, sure at first it was hot but… can you believe what they said right before Woods kissed Hawks? ‘Have you ever flown while sitting down? Let me show you’!” Mina howled, punching a pillow, “And when Woods’ pants were being pulled down – ‘Can that grow like your arms?’ I bet whoever wrote this never even had sex!”

           Toga huffed, crossing her arms. “How would you know? Have you?”

           Her laughter cut off, immediately replaced by choking. Everyone else watched in amusement while Mina pounded her chest to restart her heart. “I-well… no!” she admit, blushing, “But I know more about it than whoever did this! I could write a better Woods/Hawks story in my sleep!”

           “Then why don’t you?” Toru asked, “Why don’t we all?” Everyone blankly stared at her, but Toru powered on. “This could be fun! We can make it a competition – whoever writes the best Woods/Hawks story gets a hundred yen!”

           Ochaco quickly intervenes. “No money,” she said, shaking her head, “Maybe… homework? Losers do the winner’s homework for a week?”

           “We’d all still be writing… sounds like no one would be the winner.”

           “I think the prize doesn’t really matter, does it?” Momo told them all, “We can decide on one later…”

           “You mean you’re willing to do this?”

           Momo blushed, pouting. She brushed her ponytail in nervous habit. “I do think this exercise might prove good for developing our skills,” Momo started, wincing, “and…” Swallowing, tepidness shed and revealed shiny confidence. “The spirit of competition will not only unite us closer as friends, it will push us towards doing our best!”

           Awed, any objection immediately died. They agreed to the competition, ending girls’ night early and began thinking up ideas for their stories. In two weeks, they gathered again. Shared each interpretation of the Woods and Hawks relationship.

           Tsuyu wrote about a relaxing fishing trip that ended with hurried intimacy, threats of intrusion hanging overhead. Kyoka made Wings the initiator, helping the Arbor hero relax in the safety of the Lurkers’ agency. Momo kept the rating appropriate and only dipped into the gutter when describing how both heroes edged close to explicitness while kissing. Ochaco, in similar fashion, felt afraid to push the boundaries. However in a streak of courage, five paragraphs contained a blowjob the heroine stuttered when reading aloud. The most mature stories were from Toru and Mina. Toru with ten pages about the two heroes dangerously enjoying each other’s bodies while soaring above the city. And Mina, ignoring plot, kept Hawks and Kamui Woods in the bedroom for non-stop action.

           “How was that for experience?” she asked her friends, trying her best to tamp down giggles. Everyone else fails, laughing.

           “Slightly better,” Kyoka said, leaning on Momo’s legs, “but I couldn’t keep it straight when you made one of Woods’ arms become a riding crop. It was hot but man…”

           After all stories were read, they spent the rest of the night sharing comments and critiques, laughing throughout it all. When midnight sprung on them, prizes were far from their minds. Only ideas for their next creations.

           “By the third time, we realized this was going to become a regular thing. So Momo drew up a contact –“

           “That was a lot of fun, too!”

           “And we agreed to a few rules,” Tsuyu explains, “first and foremost, no teachers ribbit.” Each girl shared similar expressions of disgust, reminded of when Toru shared the All Might story she found on the same website Tsuyu found the Kamui Woods and Hawks one. “Also we limited the amount of Pro Heroes we could write about ribbit.”

           “But that became boring after a while,” Kyoka said, “And amended to include other students. But only the ones we’d want to read about, y’know?”

           Only Katsuki and Eijiro listened to this explanation. The boys of their class huddled around each other and read their stories with bleak faces. Denki’s hands shook while reading a story where he flirted with Shinsou from the general classes while he worked as a barista. “I can’t believe the girls are fujoshis… even Kyoka…”

           Sero nods. He glances at Tenya, very aware of how foggy his glasses are. “What’s worse is that some of these are written pretty well…”

           Midoriya tugs at his hair, muttering to himself. “Quirks don’t really work like this… why would they think my whips could do that? Kirishima would be uncomfortable no matter how rocky he made himself, and I doubt he could make his…” The hand running through his locks slides down his face and over his mouth.

           Mezo, unreadable with the cloth covering his mouth, shows discomfort with the shifting of his tentacles.

           Katsuki rears for another tantrum. “You saying you don’t want to read about me? Well I didn’t want to read all of that! Sparky and Creep Boy… Deku and IcyHot… Kirishima and Tetsu, Kirishima and Deku, Kirishima and Denki –“

           Mina scoffs, “You’re really that jealous we didn’t write about you?”

           “Fuck no, I could give two shits if you find me attractive!”

           “What’s your problem then?”

           “My problem?” Katsuki barks, veins popping into view on his neck. He extends as far as Eijiro will allow him to. “You wrote about my boyfriend fucking every other guy in the school ‘cept me! That’s my problem!”

           Suddenly the girls’ secret obsession becomes the B-plot. Katsuki continues spewing nonsense while every stare lock onto him and his captor. Eijiro, with enough awareness, hides behind Katsuki best he can. Red spikes of his hair poking out, regardless what he does.

           “Boyfriend?” Mina gasps, “You and Kirishima are dating!” Heedless of the danger, she leans on the arm of the couch. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

           Katsuki won’t answer. His reveal was the last coherent sentence before he descended into mutters filled with more curses than actual words. Eijiro stutters under the spotlight, unable to look anyone in the eye. “Y’know,” he finally says, “it’s getting late –“

           “Kiri…”

           “I’ll try and calm him down,” Eijiro drags Katsuki to the elevators, explosions trailing after them, “sorry about the mess. I’m sure Bakugo will apologize in the morning or… whatever!” They successfully escape. No one following, their constitutions failing after suffering through two bombshells shattering their worlds.

           Mina collapses onto the couch, thinking. About all the stories she and the others churned out featuring her sturdy friend and whoever fit the scenario best. What was best about Eijiro, and why he starred in so many stories, was his uncanny ability to have chemistry with anyone.

           Even boys with bad attitudes who everyone figured preferred battlefields over bedrooms.

           Katsuki might have believed they tossed him aside casually, but they debated heavily about including him. “We should take fair out of the conversation,” Ochako said during deliberation, “There’s no room for fair in this.”

           “But there’s some potential for stories, isn’t there?” Toru asked, “I mean, him and Midoriya? Childhood friends turned rivals? Come on –“

           “Gross,” Kyoka frowned, “you’ve seen how he treats Midoriya, though. And that’s the improvement… I’d feel weird whether reading or writing…” Toru agreed, and no one could find any scenario that would allow Katsuki to join the cast. In no way could they make Katsuki seem sexy to them.

           Until tonight.

           “I must say,” Momo speaks first, drawing attention, “Watching that and… learning new things has – well, it’s inspired some ideas in me. Like, I might want to write - “

           Toru latches onto her hand, squeezing it. “Thank God I’m not the only one.”

           “Me too,” Kyoka admits, “I can’t believe this was all it took…”

           “It makes sense though, ribbit,” Tsuyu says, “Fitting of the Beauty and the Beast trope… I’m sure many of us can come up with different ways to explain how their friendship shifted?” The others nod, even Ochaco who finally descended from her embarrassment. They voice their excitement, especially when Momo produces notepads for them to start writing notes for themselves.

           Mina watches, waiting to join. She still reels from the roller coaster the past few minutes were, catching her breath. Shifting, Mina readies to stand. Except movement from off to the side makes her pause.

           The rest of their friends also watch the girls, wariness guarding their features. In a giant group they stand bundled together like statues. Astounded at the casualness from each girl in returning to their hobby that, only moments ago, was secret. “How the fuck,” Denki mutters, “can they do that?”

           “Better yet, are we going to let them?”

           She rolls her eyes, chuckling. “It’s all in good fun guys,” she says, moving towards the rest of the girls. Mina accepts a pad and pencil, pointing the later at them. “Besides, think of this as practice for when you’re pro-heroes.”

           “What?”

           “You’ll need thick skin once all your fans start writing about you.” She winks, scribbling on the first page. “Be glad for the reprieve. With the untapped potential of Bakugo and Kirishima, we’re gonna be fed for months.” Laughter erupts from their circle and shatters the hold on the boys, sending them scattering like cockroaches. Done with them, Mina turns to Momo. “You said you had ideas… what were they?”

[grimmseye]

A Bird in the Hand: Chapter Five

Read on Ao3 here!

Rating: T

Fandom: Critical Role

Relationships: Mollymauk Tealeaf/Essek Thelyss, Mollymauk Tealeaf/Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast (eventual)

Chapter Characters: Mollymauk Tealeaf, Essek Thelyss

Chapter Tags/Warnings: Molly Rez, Amnesiac Mollymauk, Oh My God They Were Roommates, Shower Scene, Nonsexual Nudity, Touch Starvation, Dissociation

This fic now contains spoilers up to Episode 97: The Fancy and the Fooled

— — —

For a blink of the eyes, the world fell away.

The sensation of stone under his knees became cold tile. Mollymauk didn’t know how they’d gotten there, one moment in the market and the next here, but he couldn’t dwell on it. A chill was settling under his skin, offset only by the heat of his wounds, the pressure of Essek’s vice-grip on his arm.

That grip vanished as soon as he registered it. Mollymauk slumped without its support, a whine leaving his throat, panic crawling behind it. Somehow he knew what came after this, and he did not want to be alone for it. He wasn’t the first time, he wasn’t the second, but the third was cold and e m p t y and

He was on the ground, now, panting. Black dots flickered in his vision. He saw the hem of Essek’s clothing dragging along the floor, saw a line of red that streaked from where he laid to where Essek stood. There was a rattling, something fell to the floor and clattered and rolled. The image doubled and then blurred beyond recognition.

And then he was upright, and the rush of it nearly made him vomit. Something was pressed to his lips, Essek’s voice in his ear, rough and breathless. He couldn’t respond, eyes rolling in his skull. There was something he was supposed to do. Something important, something easy, but his brain wouldn’t keep up.

A snarl sounded, making him flinch as Essek seized his jaw and squeezed. Molly’s teeth parted, and a bitter flavor drenched his tongue. He gagged, and a hand clasped tight over his mouth before he could spit it out. He retched, air and liquid expelling between Essek’s fingers but not fast enough. So Molly swallowed.

Essek let go to wrap his arm around Molly’s side instead, keeping him upright as he choked. It dissolved into heaving breaths, all his weight leaned into Essek. He didn’t get a chance to catch his breath before Essek pulled him along, Molly staggering with each step.

The drink — the potion, he realized — had been thick and lacked temperature, but now he could feel a warming sensation spreading from his belly and chasing away the ice under his skin. His wounds crawled and then cooled, the labored beating of his heart eased. By the time Essek lowered him into a seat, Mollymauk’s head had stopped spinning.

He blinked, eyes refocusing as Essek knelt down in front of him. The drow was a mess: his hair stuck out of place, his clothes were torn and sopped with blood. His hands, too, were slick with it, skin drenched red with what was probably Molly’s own blood.

And he was speaking, lips moving and brow furrowed. Molly only caught the tail end of a question, forgetting the words a second later. His mouth opened, tongue rolling out over his lips and not even wincing when he tasted iron.

“We just took a bath,” was what Mollymauk said.

The dumbfounded look on Essek’s face made him giggle, a high-pitched noise that began to slip to hysterics.

“Did you hit your head?” Essek started, only for Molly to laugh harder.

“Maybe,” he wheezed, “because I have no idea how we got here .” He nearly hit Essek in the head as he gesticulated about the room. It was all white tile, an opaque glass door on each side of the room. Circles of runes were etched and painted into the wall, and the floor had a shallow slant to a drain in its middle, letting the blood ooze down. “I think I blacked out on the way.”

“Ah,” Essek said. “No, that would be the teleportation. If we had traveled any other way, you would have expired long before we got any help.”

He reached up, pushing Mollymauk’s coat from his shoulders. Molly let it fall.

“This room functions as an emergency shower,” Essek continued. “You should get cleaned up.”

“What about you?” Molly asked, the words slurring together. He went to lift his shirt over his head, hissed as the muscles pulled at a wound. The potion had stopped his bleeding, and was clearing his head, but the damage remained.

“I can wait.” Essek’s hand shifted towards him, then paused and drew back again.

“That’s…” He failed to find a good word. “Dumb. What you said was really dumb.” Realizing what he’d been doing, Molly gave him a defeated smile and asked, “Mind helping me outta this?”

Elven ears were fun, he noted. They twitched, folding closer to the sides of Essek’s head, where his hair was buzzed short. Did the stubble tickle his ears when he was surprised? Or was that not surprise but something else — acknowledgement, maybe even interest? Probably not, but Molly could dream.

Essek cleared his throat and stood. His feet were on the ground, Molly noted. He himself was startled when Essek did lean in, head tilting up automatically, eyes finding lips before the pale pupils that didn’t meet his gaze. Essek’s hands were warm, brushing his sides as he took the hem of Molly’s shirt and lifted. Molly raised his arms, practically holding his breath as Essek slid his shirt over his head, feeling the slow draw of fingers over his skin, tracing a burning line up his ribs before the material was lifted over his head and away.

“Is that why you wear such wide collars?” Essek asked.

Molly blinked, looking up at him. His ears felt hot. “Uh — huh?”

“Your horns.” Again, Essek looked like he was going to touch one, but pulled back a moment later. “A shirt with a tight collar wouldn’t fit around them.”

“Oh, yeah. No, if it’s got a tight collar it needs buttons. Your tailor friend made note of that, no worries there.” Molly stood as well. Even with Essek touching the floor, Molly was only at eye level with his throat. It wasn’t a terrible angle, looking up at him. And with Essek looking down — a grin toyed at his lips. “Do you pay attention to the cut of my shirt?”

Essek only sighed. Molly watched the swell of his chest, the slump of his shoulders. He didn’t know a lot about anything, not about the world he’d been tossed in, not about the people he was chasing, not even about himself. But he knew things he liked, he knew what was good. Making people smile was good. People were good. And there were a few different ways to enjoy people, and at least one of them involved pressing his mouth up to Essek’s neck and feeling that sigh against his lips.

Bloodloss did funny things to his brain, it turned out. Molly swallowed, dragged his gaze up to find Essek staring back at him. Essek wasn’t shy, nor bold. He couldn’t pin Essek down as much of anything, and that was as disconcerting as it was intriguing. It made Molly want to put his hands everywhere they didn’t belong, search until he could find the chink in the armor and peel it away, piece by piece. What did Essek look like when he wasn’t wearing a mask? He would also settle for learning what he looked like when he wasn’t wearing clothes. Wishful thinking, again.

“We got off topic,” Molly drawled. “Get undressed. We’ll just shower together, this is a big room. Why do you even have a room like this?”

“Arcane materials are dangerous,” Essek said, voice clipped. “If an experimental potion begins eating through your flesh, you’ll want to wash it off expediently.”

“Fair enough.” He snorted. “You could afford to make it look nice, at least! If you’re going to have a giant shower you might as well lean into the luxury and live a little.”

“I have my own casual bathing facilities,” Essek sighed. And that was a treat if Molly had ever heard one. Essek had been holding out on him.

Molly took a step forward, intending to hunt for whatever mechanism turned the water on. Instead his knees buckled. Essek threw an arm around him, Molly clinging to keep his balance. He wheezed out a breath, laughing, “I may — shit, I may actually need your help just to shower. I swear this isn’t a ploy.”

“I didn’t think it was until you said that. Can you stand?”

“I’ll find out.”

“Sit on the ground if you must.”

That was what Molly did, sitting on the cool tile and wriggling out of his pants, tossing his remaining garments aside. Undressed, his body was a mess of scabs and dry blood. More scars to add to his collection, but at least he had the story for these ones.

He watched Essek approach one of the doors, touching a crystal embedded in the nearby wall. Where the rune circles were carved into tile, streams of water began to pour down. “Tell me when the temperature is comfortable,” Essek called.

Molly stuck a hand under the water, feeling it slowly warm. He waited until it was just on the edge of too hot to say, “Good!”

He scooted himself under the stream, finding a pleasant pressure behind the water. It ran a rusty brown, blood chipping away from his skin and running down the drain. Essek was shuffling out of his clothes where he stood, and Molly averted his gaze. He wouldn’t step further than he was allowed, and try as he might, he couldn’t get a beat off of Essek.

It surprised him to find Essek approaching. He had a towel in hand, sat down beside Molly and lifted it in an offer. When he nodded, Essek began to draw the towel over his skin, delicate passes of soft material.

Too delicate, really. It made shivers wrack along his spine, his chest feeling too tight for his lungs. If this were just for some heavy petting, he’d be happy to lean into it and purr, but that wasn’t the case. “You don’t like touching people much, do you?” Molly drawled, letting his eyelids droop.

The motion paused. “I don’t dislike it.”

“Then put a fuckin’ hand on me. I won’t bite unless you want me to, and you’re not getting anywhere treating me like those fancy plates you’ve got.”

More readily than he’d expected, a hand clasped on his uninjured shoulder. His skin buzzed under Essek’s touch, the drag of the towel growing more firm, making him hiss through his teeth. He tried to focus on the hand over the pain, how it slid down to lift his arm, how the pads of his fingers weighed on the back of his neck as Essek examined a ragged bite.

When it was done, and Essek pulled away, he mourned the loss. “You want me to get yours?” Molly offered, catching Essek’s gaze in the corner of his own. “At least the ones you can’t reach.”

He watched Essek weigh that in his mind. Something about the way he calculated things in his silence pinged a memory, someone else who was stuck in his own head, curled in on himself rather than open up to the world. The memory was there, in his grasp, and then it was gone.

“That’s reasonable,” Essek murmured at last. Molly watched the stains on the towel clean themselves before Essek handed it over, and turned so his back was to Molly. And again there was that thought of just bending down and kissing the skin where the water ran over his shoulder blade, and maybe parting his lips and seeing if Essek would like him to bite after all.

Then he set his hand at Essek’s unmarked hip, and he watched his shoulders jump and the breath freeze in his chest.

“You alright, there?” Mollymauk checked, not removing his hand but ready to.

“Fine,” Essek said, in that clipped voice again. So Molly began to wash the dry blood from his skin, abandoning the towel nearly at once to just work with his hands. It ran down Essek’s leg, and he murmured a soft ‘ excuse me’ as his fingers drew down to the back of his thigh, working quickly and brusquely to return to a spot that Essek’s arm had hidden.

Hands came up into his hair, where flecks of dry blood stood out against white. Essek made a noise, then, the muscles of his back winding tight but head seeming to tilt into his touch. The sound replayed in Molly’s head as he teased his fingers over locks of hair, dragged nails along stubble. Short and throaty, shaking into a sigh — it was a good sound.

He was massaging his thumb along the crease of a rib when he realized Essek was shaking. His breaths sucked in too quick and too deep, shuddering on the exhale. Molly’s hand froze in place. “Are you —”

“I am fine, Mollymauk.” The words were jagged things, broken and sharp. Essek yanked away, clambering to his feet. “I will take care of the rest myself, thank you. There are towels through there.” He pointed, hand quivering, to the first door in the room.

Mollymauk was silent as he stood and took his leave.

Towels were located in a cabinet as promised, alongside too-long robes. When Essek emerged, Mollymauk had donned one, black material bound around the waist, hanging open in the front. The drow did not so much as meet his eyes, the towel they’d used now clean and dry and wrapped around his hips for modesty.

Molly caught Essek’s movements in the edge of his vision. They were jerky and rough, reminded him of something — of a construct of metal and blades, of a prison and children in need and friends, one was an orphan like these children and one was like him and one was like Essek and there was a child with seven voices and black feathers and a knife in one hand and Welcome to the —

“Mollymauk.”

He nearly flinched, but held himself steady. Essek had already moved to the other door, levitating now in a robe that fell to the floor, covering himself completely. When he was bare, when skin was on skin with no layers in between, he shook and he cracked like glass struck so many times.

Molly followed without a word.

Essek made himself scarce, after. The day passed, and morning rose. No elven mage was there to literally hover over Molly’s shoulder, nor to show him about the city nor treat him to a day at the spa nor even cook breakfast.

That last number was just fine in Molly’s book. Essek’s cooking implied he usually didn’t cook in the first place.

The house — though it was more of a tower, round and tall instead of a box — was large and stunningly empty for something so elaborately furnished. Of half a dozen bedrooms, only Molly’s saw use. Without Essek around, he had an entire vacant home to snoop through.

The first hour was dedicated to finding the most comfortable couch in the building and the one after that to lounging on it naked. Fifteen minutes following that was the hunt for Essek’s bedroom, another five scrounging around for some hairpins, and then longer than he cared to admit spent on his knees trying to pick the lock before he realized it was magically sealed.

“Fucking wizards,” he growled, and left it at that.

Lunch was burning the most expensive cut of meat he found in the kitchen and then spotting a basket of strawberries for dessert. He wandered the house with sticky fingers, scanning over bookshelves and pulling one title off before realizing he didn’t care much for reading. A study yielded good, thick paper and pencils and pens that Molly scooped up to carry to the dining room table, uncertain what his hands wanted to do with them but willing to find out.

An image of a raven etched itself onto the page. It was crude, abstracted. Turned one way, the bird was falling, feet scraping the air to catch the branch that snapped under its weight. Turned the other, it ascended.

Death, he scratched on one end. Then he spun it around and wrote atop the other: Revival.

The raven had too many eyes. A sick feeling rose in his throat and he crumpled the page in a hand.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, hand locked around paper, staring into the table. When his mind returned to him, the clock on the wall sat at a different angle. His skin felt like cotton, sand filled his head. It weighed too heavily to the side, feeling that if he let it droop too far his insides would come dripping out his ear.

Molly slouched in his chair, realizing distantly that his muscles ached.

What was he doing?

He should stand up.

Mollymauk stared at the paper. He should stand up, he told himself. That wasn’t working. He should move his leg, then. It didn’t move. His head tipped just faintly, making his brains swim in his skull. He could hear his vertebrae creak with the motion. A finger, next, the knuckles smoothing out, index finger flexing. Middle, ring, pinky, and thumb followed, and he found himself able to let the paper go, to push himself mechanically away from the table, walk five paces and sink to the ground there.

He laid there, and then he started shaking, and then he started sobbing.

He didn’t know why he was sobbing. The tears poured off his nose and the breaths left his chest quicker than they came, until he was dizzy and shaking and wheezing into the rug. He couldn’t feel his own skin, he was empty inside, he was empty, he was — he was —

And then his breath was steady again and he was just lying still, wracked with sudden bouts of tremors for a stretch of uncounted time, until the tremors became less frequent and stopped altogether and his body went lax again.

Eventually, he would stand, and the clock had inched even further along.

Molly moved back into the kitchen, craving stew and not knowing why. Something about the idea felt like being surrounded by friendly faces. They didn’t have enough but they made do with what they had. That’s what he told her , the big one, his favorite, his heart.

Faces poured into his mind, faces and feelings, colors and music and days rolling by.

Stew was a meal meant to be shared, so when he thought it was almost done, Molly went to find Essek.

A set of three towers made up Essek’s property, surrounded by a garden Molly knew he didn’t tend to himself. There was a plot of loose earth hidden behind the tower that made up Essek’s actual living space, the shortest of the trio. All three towers were connected by bridges.

Mollymauk paused halfway across one walkway, the cold night air sweeping through his coat. He leaned over its edge, elbows braced on the thin rail to gaze out at the city sprawling around them. In the distance, he could see that house, the one with the glittering tree, the place he’d blindly crawled to and found empty.

The clouds opened up at night, here, allowing the moon’s glow to bathe the rooftops, the stars matching Rosohna’s lights.

His ear twitched at the sound of a door opening. He turned, seeing Essek drifting from the tallest tower, the one Molly had been approaching. As the drow locked the door with an arcane word, he turned his head, pausing when their gazes met.

Molly gave a smile, a faint wave. His voice felt stuck in his throat.

“Mollymauk,” Essek observed. He moved across the bridge, coming to hover a few feet from Molly’s side. His eyes seemed to catch the moonlight, pupils glinting white. “What are you doing here?”

It took a conscious effort to form words. “Made dinner. Have y’eaten?” He had to clip his own voice, wincing at how unnatural it sounded, like he grated each sound between his teeth before letting it out.

“... Not yet, no,” Essek said, meaning he’d likely skipped lunch and breakfast, too. Molly just gave a chuckle, raspy, and swatted his leg with his tail. He reached for Essek’s arm — wanting contact, needing to ground himself — to pull him back to the first tower.

He leaned into Essek, walking slowly to drag out the time he could spend close to another person. The material of Essek’s mantle was surprisingly comfortable, like silk. Molly would happily nuzzle a cheek into it if he didn’t know that would be crossing a line. If he could get skin contact right now, that would be worth the world. But Essek wasn’t offering a hand, he was letting Molly cling to his arm, indulging whatever he thought this was.

As they passed back into the first tower, the scent of cooking meat and spices filled the air. Essek’s stomach rumbled on cue, and Molly laughed. “Glad to have me now, aren’t ya?” He rasped.

Essek gave him a single laugh. It was better than nothing, he thought, until Essek turned that calculating gaze on him. “Did something happen?”

Molly made a vague noise, finally letting go of Essek to move into the kitchen. “Get some bowls down for me, would ya? You keep them in the worst place.”

Essek let the question drop. Molly took each bowl from a mage hand, filling each one nearly to the brim. Everything was cut in thick chunks, beef and vegetables in a rich gravy. He stuck a slice of bread in each and passed a bowl to Essek on his way to the table. It wasn’t pretty, but it was everything a meal needed to be: hot and filling and delicious.

“I didn’t know you could cook,” Essek said, as he sat across from Mollymauk.

“Turns out I lived with a carnival,” Molly shrugged. “Learned that today.” Essek looked like he was going to dismiss the comment, and then gazed at Molly for a bit and seemed to concede. Molly snickered, then said, “Anyway, things like this are easy to make and can fill a lot of bellies. And when you have spices like what’s in your cabinet, it’s better than the ten-gold meals down the street.”

He watched, chin in his hands, as Essek gave his bowl a dubious look. “It does smell good,” he said, picking up his spoon and lifting it to his mouth. The ears and eyebrows went up, and before he was even done chewing Essek had another spoonful.

“Y’see?” Molly grinned. “I’m a pleasure to have.”

Essek only smiled down at his bowl. It was a good look on him.

They ate in a comfortable silence, broken only for Molly to tease Essek about the dainty way he ate his bread, for Essek to scrunch his nose at him when Molly licked his fingers instead of using a napkin. He got gravy on them on purpose after that, just to watch Essek’s displeasure as he licked them clean. He had to wonder if there wasn’t an interest in the fork of his tongue.

“You are repulsive right now,” Essek stated.

Molly clutched his chest in mock pain. “Oh! How could you say that.” He leaned an elbow on the table, grinning as he said, “And why don’t you just use your mage hand, huh? Then you never have to get so much as a spot on your beautiful hands.” He paused in his heckling, then gave a delighted grin. “That started as a joke but I actually need to see this, now.”

“See what?” Essek tore a small piece of bread and dipped it ever so slightly into his bowl, maintaining eye contact as he lifted it to his mouth. His fingers didn’t touch so much as his own lips, and Molly made an affronted noise.

“If you won’t get your hands dirty, use your magic hand.” Molly wagged his own hand at him. “The thing you got the bowls with.”

“Why would I do that.” Essek’s voice was flat.

The answer was easy: “To prove you can.”

He knew he’d won, at that point. Essek sighed, lifting his hands as though in surrender. A swirl of purple magic formed into a third, spectral hand, and Molly rapped his hooves on the ground in anticipation.

“This is inane,” Essek sighed.

“This is entertainment,” Molly corrected.

They both watched as the hand tore a chunk of bread, dipped it in the stew. When the hand lifted up to Essek’s face, looming closer to his half-open mouth — Essek’s will broke. His face pinched, a breathy sound hissing from his lips before he turned his head away. He laughed through his nose, eyes shut and lips spread around a smile, a series of quick exhalations as his shoulders shook.

“You can’t!” Molly crowed, smacking a palm on the table. The hand dissipated as Essek sputtered, covering his face with his own hand. “You call yourself a wizard!”

“What was the point of that,” Essek rattled out, losing the fight to hide his smile.

“Purely for my enjoyment.” His cheeks hurt, he was smiling far too broadly. There was something genuine at last, and it was a smile and laughter and the red tinge to the tips of Essek’s ears. Watching him fight to gather his composure felt like he’d finally gotten a peek under the mask.

He didn’t even care when he was caught staring, Essek spotting him with his chin propped on his knuckles and a smile on his face. For a long moment, they were both just smiling at one another, the warmth of laughter softening the air.

Then Molly asked, “Why are you doing this, anyway?”

Essek’s smile waned at the question. He finally seemed to pull himself in order, straightening up in his chair. “What are you referring to?”

“Just. This.” He gestured about, and then to himself. “Me. Keeping me in your house, getting mauled, dumping your potions on me. No offense, my friend, but I know you’re not just a charitable soul.” He recalled the bodies pulled into Essek’s magic, crumpled and broken, killed by the man sitting across from him without an ounce of remorse.

Essek inhaled slowly, as Mollymauk picked up his own bowl and walked to the sink. “That would be an… accurate assessment,” he said, and fell silent. When Molly had washed and dried the bowl, and was setting it on the counter, Essek spoke again.

“I owe the Mighty Nein a great deal,” he said. Molly turned, and found him hunched over the table. He gave a breathy laugh, said, “Technically, they owe me quite a few favors. But I do not think I will ever claim them. Not how I originally intended to.”

The silence stretched, and then Essek shook his head, a slow and delayed motion. “In any case. They are… my friends. I care for them. And with the weight of what I owe them, returning someone that they love to their sides feels like I may finally be able to alleviate some of that weight.”

He lifted his head, giving Molly a thin, somber smile. “So, no, I am not doing this out of the goodness of my heart. I am simply, blindly hoping to weigh the scales in my favor. I apologize for that.”

And to his credit, there was a flash of guilt.

Molly only shrugged, giving him an easy smile. “Listen. My carnival memories are still fuzzy as a lamb, but from what I can make out… you find your family, and you live and die for those people. The rest are just… the rest.” He holds up a finger, adds, “And that doesn’t mean you get to go fuckin’ everyone over along the way. Everything I did, I was doing for those people and for myself. I’ve lied and I’ve cheated and I’ve cut a few throats when I needed to. But I tried to at least put a smile on the faces of the saps I was scamming.”

He walked to Essek, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Kindness is kindness. As long as you’re not gonna stab me at the end of this, I can appreciate that.”

Essek was still and quiet under his hand. His head bowed low. Molly ran his fingers through short, white hair. He nearly leaned down to press a kiss to the top of his head before he pulled away.

“Mollymauk.”

He paused half in the doorway, looking over his shoulder to where Essek had spun in his chair, gazing back at him. “Yeah?”

Essek pulled in a breath. Let it out, slouching into the back of the chair. “Just… goodnight, Mollymauk.”

A smile graced his lips. “Goodnight, Mister Thelyss.”

[patricianandclerk]

Most Ungentlemanly

My Ask | My Ko-Fi | My Ao3 | Requests always welcome!

Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus. 3k. Bad men being bad to one another. 

The Vint didn’t like Bull.

It was funny: he put up a show of being snide and funny, of being friendly but to a point – he played the perfect Tevinter, a shining figure with a cutting edge who was here as your ally, but you certainly didn’t want to get too close to. Most of the people in Haven were fucking terrified of him, and it was like he couldn’t decide if he liked it or not.

He certainly moved with his staff in a confident way, strode with the slightest movement of his hips that made the hems of his robes sway as he moved. He looked like a force of nature when he moved with that kind of purpose, and that was without even factoring the sickly-sweet energy he left on the air around him as he moved, the tell-tale sign of a necromantic energy field. What it was about necromancers and never turning their shit off, Iron Bull didn’t know, but Pavus fit the bill: you couldn’t stand anywhere near him without feeling the flicker of that purple strain on your skin, making the hair stand on age, making you fucking shiver like you were still drinking from your Tama’s tit.

But there were moments, the Iron Bull noticed, when Pavus looked… uncertain. His confident mask slipped, sometimes, when people flinched away from him, especially kids, when they looked at him and then ran away, when he hadn’t actually been doing anything to be frightened of, except existing as a Vint mage, which was pretty fucking terrifying in itself.

He talked to the Inquisitor, sure.

But other than that, he didn’t actually seem to talk to anybody, much. He squirrelled himself away in his bed when he wasn’t actually out in the field, read whatever books he could get, even took his meals alone if he could… Until he didn’t. Bull kept an eye on him, and he noticed when Pavus began speaking – first with uncertainty radiating out from underneath his brash pretending, and then with more genuine confidence and curiosity – with Solas. He sniped playfully with Vivienne, two nobles fussing about clothes and witty remarks and nastiness like all of them were weapons in their own right. He complimented Varric’s chest hair, and Varric complimented his moustache, and next Bull knew it, the two of them were sharing a bottle of whiskey and giggling together over a passage of some Free Marcher book he’d never heard of.

It never lasted.

It was like Pavus took down his walls for a conversation, relaxed marginally, and then built them rapidly up again, because he was stiff back in camp, when they weren’t in the field together, or when he was with someone one-on-one.

It was the one-on-one thing that made Bull take pause. Pavus tended to engage one person in conversation at a time, like he was scared of joining a group conversation unless he could treat the people involved like they were his audience, like people scared him. He didn’t look scared, when he moved around, didn’t look frightened, and yet…

“Well, if it isn’t the Vint not-magister if you please!” Bull called when he saw Pavus step down from Haven’s main hold, and Pavus turned to regard him. For just a second, he looked upset, but then came the pretty Tevinter confidence, the ease. All fake, huh?

“You know, you watch me so focusedly with your singular eye,” he said. “Imagine how much more concentratedly you might examine me with no eyes at all!”

“What, wanna burn off some energy, big guy?” Bull asked when Pavus took a few steps closer, his expression guarded. Pavus’s body was a little stiff as he turned to meet Bull’s eye, the stiffness of a guy carefully suppressing a flinch at a sudden noise, and he looked at the Iron Bull seriously. His gaze flickered past Bull, too, over the tent – looking for Krem, looking for the other Chargers. “Got space in the tent.”

Bull leered at him. Pavus liked men, that much was clear – he liked big men, too, liked rough men with hair and shields and muscles. Oh, he watched Cullen, sure, but he watched the templars, too, watched Blackwall, even. The Altus drew up his shoulders slightly, raising his chin. His pretty eyes narrowed, but it only made the grey-brown irises catch the glint of the Rift above their heads, making it look for a second like the green was pouring out of Pavus’ own eyes.

“Rumours of the debauchery in the Magisterium have become most exaggerated, I fear,” he said, and there was the slightest quaver in his voice – he was scared of the Iron Bull. He didn’t want to admit it, no, because admitting fear, that was stupid, but he was scared, scared of how big he was, how beastly… Or maybe just how different. “Bestiality goes well beyond even my darkest proclivities, dear man.”

“I meant a spar,” the Iron Bull said, his hands on his hips, his eyebrows raised.

Pavus actually faltered, his lips parting, his eyes widening a little – it was one thing to be impolite when you meant to be, but another when you were impolite for no reason. Sure, there was a reason, and Bull was just fucking with the Vint, but if it worked, it worked.

“But you know, if you think a little fight is always gonna end in me fucking you, I guess I should believe you.”

Pavus scowled. “Curious,” he murmured, “that the Inquisitor should invite one of your ilk amongst his people – and no less, a self-confessed spy!”

“Funny that he’d pick out a Vint mage, too,” the Bull replied, taking a slow step forward, and Pavus stood his ground, but his gaze flickered down to Bull’s feet, then back up to his thighs, his belly, his chest. The gaze lingered just a millisecond longer than it needed to on certain parts, and that told Bull all he needed to know. “But I trust him. Even if I don’t trust you.”

“There aren’t many who would invite a man they don’t trust to spar,” Pavus said softly, and he smiled in the prettiest way Bull had never seen on a Vint. There was something in that smile that made his eyes light up and his cheeks glow, something that made Bull’s mouth dry and his cock give an interested twitch – it was probably the knife edge in it. “Not with half a brain in their heads, anyway.”

“Maybe I’m just interested to put a Vint like you in the dirt,” the Bull said, taking another step closer, and now Pavus stiffened, his grip tightening on his staff. He wasn’t imagining it – there was a slight dilation to Pavus’ pupils that wasn’t just about fear. There was more in it, fear mixed with want, with the forbidden, the taboo, with the big beast and his rippling muscles and his horns. “Polish that thing nightly, do ya?”

“I shan’t hold back with you, you know,” Pavus said softly. “If you wish to test your mettle against me, Bull, I shall allow you to, but I won’t tiptoe for your sake.”

“Tiptoe? Around me?” Bull laughed, the sound a barking thump on the air. It’d be useful, to fuck Pavus. He was here gathering info on the Inquisition, but Pavus knew about the Magisterium, even if he wasn’t a magister – what would he let slip, if Bull gave him what he really wanted, bent him over and fucked him ‘til he cried, scratch that itch that Daddy left when he didn’t buy Pavus a pony for his seventh birthday, or whatever the fuck his deal was? It’d look good, for command. He’d been getting a little too into the Inquisition, for his own sake, for the Chargers’ sake, as much as the Qun’s, but if he could send back info on Tevinter… “This is an invitiation, Altus Pavus,” Bull said lowly. “Little plausible deniability for wanting the monster from Par Vollen to blow your back out.”

“Is it?” Pavus asked softly, his voice quavering slightly – with want or indignation, it wasn’t exactly easy to tell, but there was probably a little crossover between both. “I thought it was an invitation to leave you in the dust.”

“Ooh, the dust?” Bull asked softly. “That where you want me, big guy, on my back? That how your Magister friend used to leave you?”

Oh, there it was. Pavus’ whole demeanour changed, burned with intent, and Bull had to suppress the urge to cheer.

“Fetch your axe,” Pavus whispered. “If you want to choose folly.”

Bull grinned.

He didn’t like magic. He’d rather not actually spar at all with Pavus, but when he had the guy on his back, he’d see where the fake confidence went to. He’d watched Pavus fight – the guy left himself open too often, moved too fast, overtaxed himself… He was a necromancer, but he only ever used the necromancy to bolster his mana a little, so Dalish said…

Bull picked up his axe, and they stepped a little bit away from the path.

“You want to spar?” Pavus asked, smiling sweetly. “Let us spar.”

He threw himself into it just like Bull knew he would, throwing off all these flashy spells like he was just waiting for applause, as he always did, and Bull dodged neatly and cleverly, getting a little closer every time, ready to drop his axe as soon as he could grab the mage and shove him in the dirt. The flashes hurt his eye, but he didn’t let himself flinch away, just waited for the chink in Pavus’ defences—

Yeah. Left himself open on the lefthand side, always did that, even in the field, fucking dumbass Vint with no military training—

Bull choked.

Pavus had turned to face him, and Bull was hovering a foot off the ground. The magic slid sticky over his skin like tree sap, uncomfortable, tugging at the hairs as it roved right over his skin, and it was hot, hot and tingling. It closed around his throat like a fist, squeezing, and Bull couldn’t even struggle, he was caught fast in the stuff. The axe dropped onto the ground.

“You know,” Pavus said softly, “one of the things we’re taught in the Magisterium, the Iron Bull, is that appearance is everything. And do you know what one does when a Qunari spy is watching him at every available moment, scouring him for weaknesses? One puts on a show!” The anger in his voice was palpable, and he shouted when he spat out the words.

Okay, this was Bull’s bad. He misjudged this maybe a little.

“Boss!” shouted Krem, running forward, and Pavus’ hand moved so fast Bull could barely see it: he backhanded Krem hard across the cheek, an orange glow running over the hand as he did so, and he didn’t even look away from Bull as Krem hit the ground hard.

“Do you want to see if I can take them all?” Pavus asked softly, deliberately, taking a few steps closer. Bull felt like he was going to burst into flames, he was trying so hard to fucking move, couldn’t even do more than twitch his damned fingers. Krem was laid out on the floor and he wasn’t moving, and Bull couldn’t look away from him until Pavus was right in front of him. “Stitches won’t be too difficult,” Pavus said in a voice like warm honey. “Grim, well, he won’t difficult at all – and Skinner, goodness, what a joke! Rocky might be a bit of trouble, but not too much. I think the only one that might give me the slightest bit of difficulty is Dalish, but let us be honest with one another, she so often loses sight of defensive capabilities if you stoke her temper a bit, doesn’t she? Will this situation merit that useful fury of hers?”

Bull dropped hard on the ground, still on his feet, but his arms were still stuck at his sides, his feet rooted to the spot – and, stupid, smart Vint, his head felt like it was pinned in place so he couldn’t even headbutt the Vint bastard.

Pavus’ hand touched Bull’s chest. Koslun’s balls, he was pretty when he smiled.

“E-aarvaarad?” he asked, with an almost perfect accent. “Bas-issqun, bas-saarebas issqun?”  My keeper, are you? Master of the bas, master of the bas-saarebas? “Do forgive me, Dathras, but one has to laugh.”

He shoved Bull hard in the chest, and there was magic in the thrust: Bull was thrown back into the snow and he slid on the path, choking, massaging his throat. Pavus was already walking away, out amidst the sparring troops – no doubt finding Cullen.

“Krem!” Bull said hoarsely. “You okay?”

Krem cursed in Tevinter, sitting up from the snow, and he touched the side of his cheek. There was no mark there, not even a slight pinking from the blow, and Bull forced himself to his feet, coming over to check him out.

“What the fuck was that?”

“Me being a dumbass,” Bull muttered. “Guess I didn’t have the measure of that Vint bastard I thought I did. You okay?”

“He didn’t actually hit me,” Krem muttered. “Just looked like he did: the magic threw me down. Cunt.”

--

Bull went to find Pavus, the next morning. He felt… fucking stupid. Guy had obviously picked up enough about the Chargers, and he knew enough Qunlat to bitch in it – knew enough to call Bull a pig. And— Was he faking the weakness to his left side? Just for Bull to go for the shot?

“Where’s the Vint?” he asked.

Solas glanced up from his tea, which he was sipping at in a mild, distasteful way, as though he didn’t like it.

“I am curious, the Iron Bull,” he said delicately. “I don’t know that there’s anyone in the compound that can upset Altus Pavus as you can.” Solas stood, though, and nodded his head, opening up the little house that they and a few of the other mages were bedding up in. Pavus was laid on the far side of the room, on his side, facing the wall.

He looked small. Arms crossed over his chest, legs curled up toward it, breathing slow and even.

Bull stared at him for a long, long moment.

He stepped into the room, bowing his head so that his horns didn’t scrape the doorframe, and he came closer, closer. The Vint didn’t even pretend to be asleep, curled up in his little ball, his eyes on the wooden panels.

“I do apologise,” Pavus said in a very small voice. Not a shy one: it was firm, clear. Just very quiet. “That was most ungentlemanly of me.”

He looked young, like this. He wasn’t that much younger than Bull, only five or six years younger than him, at the very most – he was at least in his late twenties, if not thirty. But like this, he looked small and young and vulnerable, like he’d be easy for Bull to break into a few dozen pieces.

“You don’t touch my people,” Bull said lowly.

Pavus gave a tiny nod of his head. His face was writ with shame. Bull hated how uncomfortable it made him feel, his gut twisting.

“Where’d you learn Qunlat?”

“Qunari raiders.”

“When’d you talk to Qunari raiders?”

“When they raided us.”

The Iron Bull hadn’t lost his patience, just yet, but he decided to pretend that he had: he grabbed Pavus by the hair and dragged him up off the bed, awkwardly on his knees with Bull’s grip so tight he cried out in pain, but he didn’t try to shove off his hands, his grip. Bull and Pavus were nose to nose, and Bull could smell all his pretty, la-di-dah cologne, could smell the peppermint wash he used on his teeth, the mousse in his hair. Pavus was all but limp in Bull’s grip.

“What, no more insults?” Bull asked.

“If you’re going to hit me, hit me,” Pavus muttered. “But then, if you would, please leave me be.”  

Bull frowned slightly, loosening his grip and letting Pavus down on his knees a little. Pavus looked waxen-faced and sad, and he wouldn’t meet Bull’s gaze, instead focusing somewhere in the realm of his nose, his mouth.

“Really crossed a line with what I said about Alexius, huh?” Bull asked quietly, and Pavus looked up and into his eye. “Won’t do it again.”

“Please leave me be.”

“Tell you what,” Bull said, letting Pavus drop down onto his bed. “You and I, we pretend this didn’t happen. Start over.”

Pavus said nothing, and Bull didn’t push his luck with it, just turned around, stepped out of the cabin. At the door, he saw that Dorian was lying down again, facing the wall once more.

--

The next time he saw the mage, he put out his hand to shake, said, “They call me the Iron Bull. What should I call you? Or is pretty Vint mage hiding a bomb under his robes gonna have to do? ‘Cause I gotta tell ya, it’s a mouthful.”

“Oh, I didn’t know Qunari knew the names of spells,” Pavus purred, after only a second’s breathless pause, staring up at Bull like he was made of something magical, like he was carved out of gold and put up in Minrathous town square. “But it’s called Walking Bomb, my beastly friend. That makes me the explosive.”

“I meant your ass,” Bull said, letting some of his genuine discomfort with that particular sentence show through, and Pavus laughed, but he took Bull’s hand, shook it. Bull wouldn’t make the same mistakes, this time, would be a little subtler, wouldn’t run in so fast, so eager. He could probably get the mage into his bed, could get the info out of him – there was no need to rush.

“Altus Pavus,” he said. “But you might call me Dorian. Three syllables is easier to remember than four for you, no?”

“Might struggle with it,” Bull said, grinning and leaning in a little, just to see Dorian shiver. “We’ll see.”

“What the fuck are you two doing?” asked the Inquisitor, looking between them like they’d both gone crazy.

“Making friends,” Bull said.

“Aiding international relations,” Dorian said.

“Right,” the Inquisitor muttered, and turned to talking with Solas.

“Mindless beast of burden,” Dorian muttered when he looked back to Bull.

“Pretty Vint with a pretty smile,” Bull replied, saccharinely sweet, and he didn’t think he imagined the slight colouring to Dorian’s cheeks as he shoved Bull’s hand away.

[ikesenhell]

Summoning Circle XVI

This is a continuation of Summoning Circle. You can find all other IkeSen works of mine here. NOTE: Tagging @katriniac at her request. 

They shoved back the furniture in the living room and prepared another circle. Sasuke prepped instruments she didn’t even know the names of around the room. Some whirred, some beeped, some made scrawling measurements like a seismograph. He monitored them all ceaselessly for a week before clapping his hands together. 

“Good news. We might not even need a machine.”

“How do you figure that?” She asked, propping herself up between two of them on the couch.

“Well, the problem is from the other side. Ergo, we’d need to get through to the other side to block the holes. And I think--” He paused, contemplating his words. “I think it’s a matter of reverse engineering the doorway you made in the first place to place a barrier.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, her brain nigh on meltdown mode. “English please.”

“Remember your sigil you drew to summon them in the first place?” Sasuke flipped the book open, teasing his fingers between the pages. “It’s like an algebra problem.”

“Fuck, Sasuke. The whole reason we’re in this mess is because I’m shit at math.”

He half-smiled, shoving his glasses back up his nose. “Alright. A better analogy. Think of each place in the universe was a door. Naturally, to get in a door, you need a key.”

“Yeah. Sure.”

“So, for instance, to ‘assemble’ the key to our having space travel, we had to map out the lock. The components involved velocity, calculating orbits, etcetera, but in the end it was a key nonetheless.” He tapped the pages to the book. “And this book details keys to other doors.”

She paused. “So basically what you’re saying is the circle is the door, we just have to figure out the components to get us in there. Like a password.”

“Exactly like a password.”

“And once we’re in there...” The details laid bare out before her like the mythical yellow brick road. “Then we block the route back?”

“It’ll take a little doing. But that’s the idea. It’s just a matter of assembling the component to create the block. And in the meantime, we’d have the assistance of Mitsuhide and Mitsunari on the other side.”

It wasn’t a perfect idea, but it was an idea, and it was better than any she had to boot. Besides. Sasuke had never, ever let her down before. Suddenly overwhelmed by the grace of him, she leapt to his side and crushed him in a hug. 

“Sasuke, you’re the very best friend in the whole goddamn universe.”

He pet her back gently. “This is as much a fun scientific adventure for me as it is helping you... but you’re welcome.”

Mitsunari stood in the eye of the circling storm. 

A thousand dreams swirled around him. He extended a finger and watched them ripple around him, fragments of unconscious thoughts flowing through his mind. Oh, he was so, so hungry for them, so tempted to delve in and devour them whole for their knowledge. But he was hunting first and foremost. That stayed him. Faster and faster the tide turned around him. He shut his purple eyes and focused to the full stretch of his will, feeling the ravenous desire in him fight for control. 

But not today. 

He felt the dream and latched on, pulling it out of the slipping current and laying it bare before him. There. She dreamed, and his heart screamed and pulled from his chest, threatening mutiny.

She dreamed of them.

There they were--himself and Mitsuhide, standing in her kitchen, fumbling over sandwiches. The contents made no sense, and neither did the fact that all the furniture was floating--but nevermind that. Dream logic had a way of creeping in. He absorbed himself in the details of her. 

He watched her hands reaching for them, the way she always fell just out of reach. The kitchen drifted farther and farther away until it was only a lonely blip, the infinite hallway extending before her. Mitsunari wanted so badly for Dream-Him to reach out, take her, grab her! But no. He could only stand arrested as at last, the whole apartment slipped into blackness, the shattering of a mirror sprinkling through her mind. 

“There you are.”

Mitsunari shut his eyes and tried not to feel angry at Mitsuhide. “Did we do the right thing?”

The silver-haired demon stepped to his side and stared down at the dream. It turned to a horror so easily. Now she dreamed of blood sprinkled over the vanity, fragments of a vampire skull scattered over her feet. 

“Yes,” Mitsuhide murmured, his voice shaking. “We did.”

“It doesn’t feel like the right thing.”

“The right thing often doesn’t.”

Mitsunari sighed. “I suppose coming from you, that means something. You’re the king of doing the right thing in the worst ways.”

The ghost of an amused smile played over Mitsuhide’s lips, but he said nothing. Instead he extended his hand toward his partner. “You can’t stand here in the stream forever.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re starved. You never made the trade I made. You can’t be away from your books this long.”

“I know,” Mitsunari answered miserably. “I know. But I keep coming back here.”

Nothing other than the rush of swirling dreams around them answered. At last, Mitsuhide sighed. “Whatever you’re looking for, I can stand guard for now. She wouldn’t want you to do this to yourself.”

A bitter laugh escaped him. “She wouldn’t want a lot of things that have happened.”

“No. You’re right. She wouldn’t have.” 

She took her cat to stay with another friend for a while. After all, whenever they broke through to Purgatory, Theodora couldn’t go without food and water. Kissing her pet a thousand times on the head, she finally resolved herself to the unknown. 

Both she and Sasuke threw themselves into working long hours every week, extending their paychecks as far as they could manage to accommodate an unknown length of time away from their respective bills and responsibilities. Each night, they dragged themselves back to the apartment and slaved over the books late into the night. Sasuke pinned an intricate system of notes onto her wall. One night she pointed out it looked like a meme and he struck the same pose, sending them into a several-minute long fit of giggles. 

And at last--at last!--they had something. 

“Holy shit.” Sasuke announced one midnight. “I think I got it.”

She pried herself from her notes to stare blearily at him. “What?”

“I’ve got it.” And he scrambled for chalk, etching the runes into the floor one at a time. Each of them pulsed and warped in tandem, shimmering a bright red through the apartment until a faint light pooled in the center. Sasuke inhaled deeply. “I haven’t set the last symbol, but when we do...”

“Oh my god.” She slammed the book shut, scrabbling over to him. “Okay. Okay okay. Okay!”

“We need to get supplies.” He nodded resolutely, and suddenly the two of them were scrabbling around the room. “Like a can of beans!”

A moment. She stopped and stared at him. “A... can of beans? Like, a singular can?”

Sasuke, astrophysicist and genius, stopped dead in his tracks, eyes glazed. “I... yes. We probably need more than one.”

“Sleep deprivation getting you there?”

“I’d be absolutely thrilled if we could just chalk it up to that.”

They crashed that night in the living room, and by the next morning, they both sent off emails to their respective employers about an unplanned, long-term absence from work. Shuffling their backpacks together, they checked it for the millionth time.

“A compass won’t be any use there,” Sasuke mumbled. “Do you know how to orient us once we’re in?”

“Not a single fucking clue, if I’m honest. I might be able to get us to the hot springs... if it dumps us out in the correct place.”

“Not likely, then.” But he smiled anyway, cranking one of his ten wind-up cameras he’d somehow procured. “This will be very exciting.”

“And scary. We need to be on our guard.” 

“Of course. But the scientific opportunity here is limitless.”

Count on Sasuke to make it fun. Shaking out her nerves, she nodded at him. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah. Let’s do this. Beam me up, Scotty.”

He gave her the usual muted smile and scrawled out the appropriate signs. Just as before, the whole living room began to swim with ruby light. Affixing the last piece, they stepped back as a massive gate appeared before them--and just beyond, a thick, purple haze. 

She exhaled hard and took Sasuke’s hand. “Alright.”

He squeezed it reassuringly. Together, they stepped through, and the gate closed behind them. 

“My friend?”

The demon frowned from his place atop a cushioned chair, but answered anyway. “Yes, Shingen?”

Smirking, the redheaded demon flopped into a matching one across from him, adjusting his red and gold robes. “I don’t suppose you’re in a mood for a patrol?”

Those mismatched eyes flicked open with interest. “Is it a vampire incursion? Perhaps some of those hungering spirits again?”

“No, no no, Kenshin, my friend. Nothing that we need to attack, exactly.”

“Oh.” Kenshin’s face soured immediately. “Then I’m not interested.”

“Come now! It’ll be fascinating.” Shingen chuckled, leaning in. “I heard the most interesting report. We have some interlopers out here.”

“If I can’t kill them, then I don’t know what you want from me.”

“I’m certain you’ll find them of interest.” The demon grinned broad, his horns like an ibex shimmering into view. “Because, my friend, they’re humans.”

[feral-renaissance-cat]

Enjoy It While You Can (Part 3)

Part 1 and Part 2

The first thing the Ruby of the Sea tells the Mighty Nein is, “You may call me Marion, if you prefer. Thank you for keeping my darling Sapphire safe.”

Jester gives her mother a hug. “Mama, I forgot to introduce you to someone.” She reaches into the pocket where Sprinkles often takes naps and pulls out the crimson weasel.

“Oh, how precious!” Marion exclaims.

“This is Sprinkles. We bought him from this guy who had a cart full of animals.” Jester’s tails thrashes excitedly. “Oh Mama, you should have seen! They had this adorable little puppy who could poof from one place to the other and I wanted him soooo much but then I decided I would just get Sprinkles.”

Molly had talked her out of it. The same vendor had a peacock for sale. Everyone in the Mighty Nein expected Molly to buy it. He would have, but then he thought about what would happen if he died again. He couldn’t leave the others to take care of his pet, especially since peacocks could be such assholes. He had discouraged the rest from getting pets as well, especially the Blink Dog, but Jester had to have that weasel. The vendor’s cart had moved away a hundred feet or so before she chased after it waving her handful of gold begging to buy him. At least Beau had listened when Molly said living things should never be bought as an impulse purchase. He couldn’t imagine the chaos that would ensue if she actually got that owl.

“He’s absolutely adorable,” Marion says. “May I hold him?”

“Sure, Mama!” Jester hands the weasel to her mother. Sprinkles looks around sniffing for a moment then relaxes as Marion pets him. Jester taps one of her horns. “He likes sitting on my head sometimes. Maybe he’d like your horns, too.”

Marion smiles excitedly. “Oh, alright. Let’s see.” She lifts Sprinkles and sets him down on top of her head. Sprinkles tries to shimmy down Marion’s right horn to perch on the outstretched portion, but decides against it and merely settles down in the space between her horns. “How do I look?” Marion asks.

“Like you’ve got a weasel on your head,” Beau says.

“You two kinda match, though,” Caduceus points out. “I mean, as the name suggests his fur is more crimson while your skin has a paler shade, like a good strong fermented tea. I like it.”

Marion looks confused for a moment until Jester says in a loud whisper, “This is the guy who makes tea out of dead people.”

That doesn’t entirely put her at ease, but Marion smiles politely and says, “Thank you.”

With that, Jester officially introduces everyone in the Mighty Nein, since when they walked in all Jester said was, “These are my friends!”

Fjord, ever the charmer, kisses Marion’s hand when she offers it to him. Beau clumsily does the same and Molly shakes his head in amusement. He has been thinking about this introduction for the past few minutes and he knows exactly how to make a good impression.

Molly deliberately positions himself to be introduced last. When Marion holds out her hand to him, he takes it delicately and makes a sweeping bow. In Infernal, he says, “The most soulless demons of Hell would weep holy tears in the presence of your beauty.” Then he kisses her hand and smiles. Infernal is a harsh language by nature, but he tried to word the compliment in as gentle-sounding phrasing as he could.

Marion blushes ever-so-slightly, her red cheeks darkening subtly. She wasn’t even on his list, but Molly will accept this as another victory. “You’re too kind,” she replies, also in Infernal.

Jester balls her fists and stamps her foot. Her tail is sticking out straight behind her. “Oh my god Molly stop flirting with my mom!” she exclaims in Common. Her blue cheeks are a shade of purple that make her freckles appear pale by comparison.

Molly’s smile becomes a grin. That’s two unintended successes. “I wasn’t flirting, merely offering a compliment.”

“It’s alright, Jester,” Marion says. “He was the portrait of a gentleman.”

“He looks nothing like the Gentleman!” Nott says.

“A gentleman, not the Gentleman.” Molly pauses. “Though I could look like the Gentleman if I wanted to. I think I’ve got blue pigment and some fake facial hair in my disguise kit…”

Marion chuckles, but there’s something hesitant to it. “What are they talking about?” she asks Jester.

Jester rolls her eyes innocently. “Oh, you know, he’s this guy…that we work for…sometimes…” She wrinkles her nose in thought. “Actually, he said he knows a guy out here somewhere. Maybe he’s come through Nicodranas before? He’s like, this tall, blue—”

“And he’s always wet,” Nott interjects. “Every time we see him! It’s really weird! Like he just got out of the shower or the sauna or something.”

With that, Marion freezes entirely. Her eyes glaze over. “Does he have dark hair?” she asks. “Deep smooth voice with a little patch of chest hair right here?”

“He does!” Jester says. “Do you know him?”

“I might. Or, at least, I know someone who looks like him.”

Jester pouts. “Was he a nice guy or did he bother you?”

Marion smiles wistfully. “He was very nice. Charming, dashing…” She sighs with a soft giggle. “He always wore rings on every finger, but he gave me one when he left as a token of his promise.”

Something clicks in Molly’s brain, like a lock he didn’t know he was picking finally giving way. He checks to see if anyone else has had this epiphany. Fjord is staring hard at Jester. Beau is frowning in concentration at Marion. Caleb is looking around the room, but he’s watching the conversation out of the corner of his eye. Nott doesn’t appear to have caught on, and Caduceus is…well…Caduceus.

Marion reaches out to touch Jester’s hand. “I told you about Babenon before, didn’t I?”

That’s when Jester gets it. Her eyes go wide. Her jaw drops. “But— But that’s not— He’s not the Gentleman, right?”

Molly can’t hold it back anymore. He bursts out laughing. He laughs until he can’t stand up anymore, until tears soak into the collar of his shirt. Everyone is staring at him and he doesn’t care because this is so fucking funny to him. When he can finally breathe again, he cackles, “You— Your dad— Hahahaha, heh— Your dad is a crime lord we just happened to get involved with because— Hehehe— Why do we even work for him?” He snorts and dries his eyes on the sleeve of his coat. “And here I was ready to put money down that The Trickster was your father, but no. Nooo, this is much better.” He bites his lips to keep from laughing again. “And he has our blood! He’s tracking us! Good gods, I wonder if Cree could tell…”

Marion gives Jester a puzzled look. “What is he talking about?”

Jester is purple in the face again. “Shut up, Lucien. We don’t know if he’s my dad or not.”

Molly puts a hand to his chest in feigned offense to hide the fact that he is actually annoyed that she would call him by that name. He coughs to hide a few more chuckles, then stands back to watch how everyone else is processing this. They’re all looking at Jester now. Beau’s eyes are wide and she’s jostling Fjord’s arm as though trying to get him to see what she’s seeing. She doesn’t have to, since Fjord is standing with his mouth agape. Caleb is making that face where he tilts his head to one side and squints ever so slightly. Nott is looking to Jester in confused wonder.

Caduceus speaks up with a big smile. “Wow, what are the odds?”

“Holy shit,” Beau says. “Hooolyyyy shit. What if he is though? What if that’s why you can like, do some of the things you do? Like how you’re never cold? Maybe you get that from him because he’s always sweating!”

Fjord clears his throat. “I think that’s just a water genasi thing.”

Beau nods. “Oh yeah, right, right.”

“But Jester,” Fjord says, “is there a way we could prove this? I mean, maybe it was another genasi. How can she know it was the only one we’ve met?”

Jester pouts pensively, her tail curling and uncurling. Then her eyes light up. “I have drawings of him! In my sketchbook!” She fumbles for her bag. “I drew him for The Traveler. You can tell me if it looks like the same guy.” She flips to the right page and holds it out to her mother. There is a small caricature of the Gentleman dripping water all over the floor. On the same page Molly notes a sketch of Cree holding up a ball of blood, along with a quick scribbled note saying, “Who the hell is Nonagon?”

Marion studies the drawing. “It…it could be him…but I don’t know.”

Molly rests his temple against one finger. “Let me get my disguise kit. I’m sure I could make myself look like him.” As he digs around in the heap of trinkets he has amassed as souvenirs over the years, he grumbles, “Don’t know if it’ll be that great of a likeness, though. If only I were like the rest of you and…and could…change my face…” Molly drops his bag and slaps his palm to his forehead.

There is a moment of silence in which Fjord, Caleb, Nott, and Jester all exchange a look.

“How the hell did we all forget we can magically disguise ourselves?” Fjord asks. He pinches the bridge of his nose, sighs, then transforms himself into the Gentleman.

Marion gasps, one hand covering her mouth. “That is him!” she says with genuine longing and affection in her voice. “That is my Babenon! Older, yes, but oh, he is still so handsome…”

Molly remembers the way the Gentleman kissed Ophelia when they were reunited. Clearly the man has a thing for tieflings, which makes Molly wonder if he could possibly seduce any information out of him about his fling with Marion. However, not only does he think the Gentleman doesn’t swing that way, but if he is Jester’s father, then he’s off limits.

Fjord is clearly uncomfortable with the way Marion is looking at him. It’s odd to see the Gentleman’s normally suave expression give way to awkward bashfulness. “Can I change back now?” he asks. With agreement from the group, Fjord mutters gratitude under his breath and reverts to his normal half-orc form.

Jester grabs her mother by the hands. “That’s my father? You’re sure?”

“Yes!” Marion is beside herself with joy now. “You’ve met him? You know where he is?”

“Yes, he’s in Zadash! You said my dad came from the ocean!”

“That’s what he told me. This is the same man though, I am certain.” Marion cups Jester’s cheek. “Who else could have given me such a beautiful child?”

Caleb speaks for the first time since this all began. “Well, now we know where she gets her complexion from.”

Jester bounces in place. “We can take you to go see him if you want! It’ll be so romantic!”

The delight in Marion’s pale gold eyes dims. She withdraws somewhat. “Oh, no, I can’t— I couldn’t possibly leave—”

“Then we can tell him to come here! I’ll send him a message right now.” Jester takes a step back so she can concentrate on her spell. Her hands are shaking regardless. “Oh my gosh oh my gosh, Mr. The Gentleman, is your name Babenon?”

“Babenon Dosal,” her mother says, a little of her hope returning.

“Yeah, Babenon Dosal?” Jester speaks faster with every word. “Did you ever go to Nicodranas and meet the Ruby of the Sea and did the two of you ever have like a romantic—”

“Woa,” Molly says. “You’re definitely past the twenty-five word limit. He probably heard half of that.”

“Maybe that’s enough,” Jester says. “He can at least tell me if that’s his name or not.”

They all wait. Marion glances around as though expecting him to appear out of thin air. After a minute, Beau asks, “Anything yet?”

“No.” Jester’s tail whips side to side. “Shit. Oh, and I’m out of spells for today so I can’t even send him another. …Unless…” She pulls out her Pearl of Power. “Nobody better need any healing until tomorrow.”

“You should also say who you are,” Nott says. “And that he can reply to the message.”

“I’ve sent him messages before. He knows who I am.” Using the Pearl, she tries to contact him again. Molly holds up one hand to help her count, resting his elbow on his opposite wrist. “Hello, Gentleman. This is Jester.” She looks at the floor while she thinks. “Could you please reply yes or no if you—” Jester looks warily at Molly’s hand, “—know the Ruby of the Sea.” Molly keeps his hand up because by his count she has five more words, so when she starts talking again he keeps counting. “Was that twenty— SHIT WAIT FUCK GAAAAH!”

Everyone in the Mighty Nein laughs. Marion giggles as well, but she’s still watching Jester with rapt anticipation. Jester shushes everyone, then waits. There’s nothing for a moment. Suddenly Jester’s eyebrows dart up.

“‘That’s pre…preposterous.’”

Marion sighs. Her face is crestfallen. “Maybe it was a little hasty to assume…”

Jester shakes her head. “No no! That’s what he said! But he said it the way Fjord says he’s had lots of sex before.”

All heads turn towards Fjord, who is blushing from head to toe and stammering quietly. “I never— I— I— Jest— It’s—”

Molly walks over and claps Fjord on his shoulder. “Jester, look what you’ve done; you broke him. He’ll be like this all night.” However, the mood of the room has Molly feeling more impish than usual. “After all, you should have seen him when he found out I sleep naked. Now he rushes to be in bed early and sleeps with his back to me.” He rolls his eyes and adds to Marion, “The charisma of a dragon and the temperament of a virgin priestess.”

Marion smiles. “I know the type.”

Fjord is as still as a statue but the heat coming off him is so strong Molly can feel it through his armor. Molly pats him on the back affably. “Take it easy, sailor, we’re just teasing.”

Jester taps her foot at Molly, arms crossed and a glowering pout on her face. “Molly, this is serious. What if the Gentleman is really my dad?”

“Jester,” Marion says. “I truly believe this man is your father. Maybe he…he doesn’t love me anymore, or maybe he never truly did, and he doesn’t want anything to do with me, but I did love him, and he did give me you, so for that I am grateful.”

“Oh, Mama.” Jester hugs her mother. “He does have a lot of sex. We’ve seen it. Well, I mean, we didn’t see him having the sex, but we’ve seen him with other women and he is definitely having sex with them.” She rubs at one eye. “I was hoping when I found my dad I’d find out he had been true to you forever.”

Marion smiles and strokes Jester’s hair. “I wouldn’t mind if he slept with other women,” she says. “It would be nice if he remembers me and part of him still loves me, just as part of my heart will always belong to him, but it’s not important. It’s been decades since we saw each other. Of course he has probably moved on.”

Nott pipes up, “How many decades has it been?”

“Don’t answer that,” Jester says hastily.

Marion chuckles. “Long enough that I had given up searching for him in the crowd, but recently enough that I remember him clearly.”

Jester huffs out a sigh. “Boy, I wish we could get him to come to one of your shows. He would definitely make that Algar guy leave you alone.”

Fjord, who has finally snapped out of his bashful stupor, asks, “What Algar guy?”

“It’s not important,” Marion says.

“He’s this guy that keeps scaring away her clients because he wants her all to himself,” Jester says. She puts her hands on her hips with a huff. “What kind of person would be so selfish he’d threaten other people just so he could hog the person he has a crush on?”

Molly bites his tongue. He glances at Fjord, who seems none the wiser. The charisma of a dragon, the temperament of a priestess, and the perception of a corpse. Molly has been meaning to have a little talk with Jester about her behavior. With recent circumstances, he felt it was not the right time. Now is not that time either.

“Do you want us to kill him?” Nott suggests.

“Oh, no, please, it really is nothing for you to be worried about,” Marion says.”

“But Mama, he’s bad for business.” Jester snaps her fingers. “I know! We can tell him you have a disease and he should stay far away from you!”

Marion chuckles uneasily. “Darling, that would be bad for business as well…”

“Oh, right. Oops.”

Caleb says, “Perhaps we don’t need to kill him, only rough him up so he knows he is not welcome here.”

“Nothing that could tarnish my reputation, please.” Marion sighs. “No, I’m afraid there’s nothing to be done.”

“There is something,” Molly says. He’d been contemplating asking the Gentleman to lend them some assassins just to send a message, but he has a better idea now. “If anything it would protect you in the long run. What if we let this guy know you have someone keeping an eye on you? Someone with a lot of power who doesn’t like hearing that your business is being interrupted?” He grins. “Someone with an entire army of criminals and lowlifes at his fingertips?”

There are mixed reactions from the Mighty Nein, but Beau asks, “What exactly did you have in mind?”

Part 4