#I would break and steam would shoot out of my ears with a train whistle

[nadisabug]

How You Meet // Volleyball! reader

Pairing: Bokuto Kotaro / Nishinoya Yu / Oikawa Tooru x fem! volleyball! reader

Genre: Crack. Pure crack.

Warnings: cursing

Word Count: 2.5 k 

Summary: You are a volleyball player in the same position as the boy, and he is taken aback at your beauty and skills. 

A/N: all of the boys would just be so supportive and hrng need me a volleyball boy

Haikyuu Masterlist

Bokuto K. 

Bokuto would prolly be the one that suggested cheering for the Fukurodani girls team

Like he and his bros are bored between matches

And he notices the girls are on in a different court

So he manages to drag akaashi and a couple others to go watch with him

So they enter the stands...

Bokuto walk through the door to the stands and he is immediately blown away.

"Y/n!" Your setter nearly screams. You, eyes still trained on the blockers across from you, answer with a small smirk that sends Bokuto's head spinning.

"Here I come!" You yell in response, vocalizing your claim on the ball. You squat then set off running towards the net. At the last moment you push off of your feet and jump, albeit not as high as Bokuto could, but high nonetheless for your stature. Your arm shoots up and makes contact with the ball with a satisfying smack.

In front of you are two freakishly tall blockers, and Bokuto doesn't know how you'll get the ball past. But, as soon as the ball leaves your hand, it seems to find a small gap in their block and blows past it, landing on the other side of the court in the blink of an eye.

Once everyone lands on the floor again, both teams look up at the referee. He blows his whistle and raises his arm towards the Fukurodani side of the court. The Fukurodani girls erupt into cheers and surround the girl apparently named Y/n.

The setter cheers, claps Y/n on the back and shouts. "That's our ace!"

Bokuto watches her in awe as she flashes a gorgeous smile and shyly tucks a stray hair behind her ear.

"C'mon, are you gonna sit or just stand there like an idiot?" Akaashi tugs Bokuto by the back of his collar, not giving him a choice to stand there for longer.

"She's the ace..." Bokuto mumbles dreamily.

"Yeah no shit, that was insane, blowing through that block." Akaashi mutters, no choice but to agree. He drags Bokuto to where the rest of the team has already sat down and pulls him into the seat.

"She's amazing," Bokuto breathes, his eyes still locked on you.

"Quit it before you start drooling," Akaashi rolled his eyes.

But Bokuto couldn't. From your receives to your serves, every movement you made he was mesmerized. And before he knew it Fukurodani had won consecutive sets.

Once he saw you and your team leave the court, he shot up from his seat.

"I've gotta meet her!"

Akaashi looked up at him with wide eyes. "Wait-"

But Bokuto was already leaping over chairs and scrambling to the door. Akaashi stood up too and, with a resigned sigh, followed him too.

Bokuto didn't stop running until he made it to the first floor. He skidded around a corner and finally locked eyes with you. He couldn't help himself and ran up to you, absolutely panting from the running he had done.

"You-" pant "were fucking" pant "amazing!"

Embarrassment flooded your system and you looked down at the floor nervously. The setter walked up and put herself in between you and Bokuto.

"Back away from our ace, owl-boy," she hissed. "Don't think we didn't notice you drooling over our captain during the game."

Normally you would be more confident, but once one of your teammates pointed out the boy in the stands going absolutely apeshit for you, it started to eat at you. The embarrassment of a guy - a hot one at that - calling your name from the stands and drawing everyone's attention was just too much for you.

"You're the captain too? No wonder! I am too, Im-"

"Bokuto Kotaro, I know who you are," you cut him off and put your hand on your setters shoulder. "It's okay, I can handle him."

Warily, your setter backed down and joined the rest of the team cooling down.

"You know who I am?" Bokuto beamed, his chest puffing up.

"Of course," you rolled your eyes. "You're one of Japan's top five aces. And you go to our school."

"Why hadn't I ever seen you before?" Bokuto gushed.

It was at this point that Akaashi finally caught up. "Because you leave all the grunt work to me," he sighed. He looked at you and gave you a slight nod. "Y/n."

"Akaashi," you smiled and replied.

"You know her?" Bokuto nearly yelled.

"Duh," Akaashi rolled his eyes. "We coordinate stuff together like the buses or practice."

"I wanna know her," Bokuto pouted at Akaashi. Akaashi rolled his eyes and sighed.

"What he's asking if you'd go get lunch with him sometime," Akaashi looked at you, speaking for Bokuto.

You felt a heat rising to your cheeks. 

“Sure,” you smiled. It couldn’t hurt to go out with the absolute hottie who was cheering for you all game. 

“Great!” Bokuto shouted and grabbed your hand. He started pulling you away from your team. 

“W-wait, right now?” You looked back at your setter for help, but she just shrugged. 

“I’ll cover for you!” She called as you got dragged away by the excited boy. 

You had no idea what you were in for. 

Nishinoya Y. 

Noya was definitely the one who suggested watching the girls

Girls playing his favorite sport?? What could be better?

He was able to drag most of Kurasuno to watch the girls 

Daichi ofc came to support the other captain, Yui Michimiya

But little did he know after he sat down that he was in for a big surprise

The whistle blew and a girl with h/c hair stood at the sidelines with her sign. She and another girl from the team switched out, and when they did there was a commotion in the stands. 

“Oh my god, finally! L/n is back in!” A girl in the row in front of the boys cheered.

“I know, I still can’t get over her last receive,” the other girl gushed. 

Noya looked back at you and noted the reversed colors of your jersey. 

So, she’s a libero huh, he thought to himself. He looked you closer and thought that you were a little cute. 

The game resumed and a long volley started. It looked like it was about to end when the other team set up for an unblocked spike. The setter had feinted and sent all the blockers to cover another spiker so that their one player could hit unmarked. Not a single soul was on that side of the court, and Noya could feel himself wincing as the spiker hit the ball. That was going to hurt. They were already down too many points and really didn’t stand a chance of winning. 

He waited for the ball to hit the ground, but in the blink of an eye, you were there and the ball was up. 

You called the name of your setter and quickly she set it up for one of your spikers. Since the other team had thought the had this in the bag, they were not ready for the counter attack and Kurasuno got the point. 

“Did you see that?” Hinata gushed and leaned over Noya’s shoulder. “She totally just did rolling thunder! She was like whoosh and swoosh and the bam!”

Noya nodded enthusiastically. “That was an amazing receive!” 

After that, Noya began cheering every time you made a receive, even if it wasn’t a hard one. You started noticing very early on and part of your attention was focused on the short king in the stands. You did your best to ignore it and keep your head in the game, but its kind of hard to ignore a hot boy cheering for every move you make. 

You were almost glad when the game was over. 

“Hey, Y/n,” one of your blockers smirked. “Looks like you’ve got yourself a fan.”

“I will murder you with my bare hands,” you growled, tired of the team’s teasing. They had not let up on the whole fan thing since Noya had started up in the stand, and frankly, you were tired of it. 

“Ouch, save some of your love for your boyfriend,” the blocker smiled. She then looked at something behind you and smiled even wider. 

“He’s not my boyfriend! Listen if I see that guy again, all shit will break loose- what? What are you smiling- oh.” You turned around to see the boy in the stands standing awkwardly behind you. 

“Hi,” he smiled and waved. He was acting quite demure, a stark contrast from his shenanigans in the stands. Now that he was closer, you kinda had to admit. He was kind of, sort of cute. “You were really good out there. Really impressive. Sorry if my cheers were distracting, you were just so good.”

You seemed to have lost your steam, because you couldn’t bring yourself to yell at this genuinely kind and supportive boy. Instead you rubbed the back of your neck nervously and broke eye contact. “Uh, thanks,” was all you could mumble. 

“Wanna practice together sometime?” He suggested, a nervous smile on his face. 

“Yeah sure, if you can keep up,” you responded. 

“Oh don’t worry, about me,” he puffed out his chest dramatically. 

“Okay,” you laughed a little. You pulled out your phone and handed it to him. He looked at you quizically for a second. “Number?”

At that he flushed bright red. “Oh, uh, yeah,” he stumbled over his words, typing his number in quickly. Once he was done he handed the phone back. 

“I’ll text you sometime,” you smiled and walked back to your team. Immediately after you turned around you heard an energetic voice shout. 

“Did Noya-senpai just get a date?”

After that you heard a scuffle that you only assumed was Noya silencing the other boy. 

Oikawa T. 

Okay lets be honest

The last place he wanted to be was in the stands watching girls play

First of all he could have his ~fans~ doting on him

Second of all he could be practicing

Third of all he could be watching the team they were slotted to go up against next

But all of those other options were out of the question when Iwaizumi decided that Oikawa needed a break

(and also didn’t need to be near his fans)

So grumpily Oikawa will sit in the stands to watch your game, but he’s not really watching

Instead he’s watching a match on his phone

that is until Iwaizumi says something that peaks his interest...

“Holy fuck, that’s the captains fourth service ace.”

Oikawa frowned. It was a simple sentence really, one he had heard a million times. The difference was that usually it was aimed at him, not someone else. 

Oikawa looked up from his phone to see who was apparently the  Aoba Johsai girl’s team captain. It was hard to tell from this far away, but Oikawa’s senses told him that she was a looker. The way she carried herself it was obvious that she was confident in what she was doing, and that to Oikawa was enough. 

He put down his phone and leaned forward in his chair. He was invested now, whether he liked it or not. 

He watched as the referee blew their whistle and you lined up for your serve. You threw the ball up and jumped, hitting it mid air and sending it straight to the other teams side. It landed in bounds with a satisfying thwack, completely unimpeded by the other team’s girls. 

Iwaizumi let out a low whistle. “That’s five.”

“I can count, thanks,” Oikawa snapped dryly. 

Iwaizumi looked over, cocking his eyebrow. “I didn’t know you were paying attention.”

“Well I am now.”

Iwazumi shrugged and turned back to the game. You lined up for your next serve and hit it, but this time the other team’s libero picked it up. After that your team had a chance ball. 

Oikawa huffed. 

“What, shittykawa?”

“She should have kept aiming at their number 4. She got confident aiming for their libero,” Oikawa stated matter-of-factly. 

“How do you know she was aiming for the libero?” Iwaizumi retorted. “What if it was just on accident?”

Oikawa rolled his eyes. “You don’t get five services aces and not be able to aim in the air.”

Iwaizumi shrugged. “I’m just saying it could have been an accident. Like you said, she was on a roll aiming and scoring off of their number four. Why would she switch that up?”

Oikawa pursed his lips. 

“You never know unless you ask,” Iwaizumi added slyly. “Not that you will.”

Oikawa whirled on Iwaizumi. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean,” Iwaizumi started without looking over at Oikawa. “You don’t talk to girls unless they fawn all over you.”

“Not true,” Oikawa huffed.

Iwaizumi just shrugged. 

“That’s not true!” Oikawa repeated in frustration. 

“Then prove it,” Iwaizumi replied bluntly. 

“Besides, how do you know she won’t like me?”

Iwaizumi laughed. 

“What?” Oikawa grit his teeth, starting to get annoyed at Iwaizumi. 

“You don’t remember?” Iwaizumi shot Oikawa a side glance. 

Oikawa just glared at Iwaizumi. 

“Hey, fine.” Iwaizumi sighed. He turned back to the game. “You hit on her at school a while back and she didn’t give you the time of day.”

Oikawa snorted. “I do not ‘hit on’ people.”

Iwaizumi shrugged. 

“Fine, come with me then,” Oikawa nearly growled. He got up from his seat and marched away. Iwaizumi sighed but got up. The game was already over and he was upset that he couldn’t enjoy it, but what did he expect from watching it with Oikawa. 

Oikawa stomped his way all the way downstairs and was a fuming mess when he finally stopped in front of you. You waved off the teammates you were walking with to go ahead and stopped to see what The Oikawa Tooru wanted from you. 

“Did you purposefully aim for the libero after the five service aces?” He growled. 

“I don’t know what crawled up your ass, but usually you’re supposed to congratulate someone on that kind of shit,” you smirked, enjoying Oikawa’s bad mood.  

“Congratulations,” he forced a smile and said sweetly. “Now did you or did you not?” 

You grinned. “How about we make a deal?”

Oikawa cocked an eyebrow but let you continue. 

“You watch out next game, and let me know if I did.”

Oikawa scoffed. “That’s hardly a deal that favors me.”

“You’re smart,” you shrugged. “You’ll figure it out.” You took your leave at that, leaving Oikawa behind, still frustrated. 

But he couldn’t help but want to watch your next game, for some odd reason. Maybe this deal wasn’t too bad. 

Taglist: {OPEN}

[readbythestarlight]

how about 4 - with a promise, and 10 - for luck for charthur???

(no pressure, of course!!)

Alsjfhdjsk I didn’t think I’d actually get anyone asking for Charthur! Thank you Erin! 🥰🤩

Disclaimer because I’ve actually never written them before oops 🙈 and then I wrote this in like two hours. I hope you enjoy it! If anyone sees typos plz let me know I read over it like 30 times I’m typo-blind

—

“This is the last time I let that noisy Irish bastard come anywhere,” Arthur swears, not for the first time.

It’s a valid complaint, he would argue. Off to the left the Irishman sits in the wagon they’ve left on the tracks, singing another bawdy song at the top of his lungs and, as usual, being an obnoxiously cheerful bastard through every second of the long, boring wait for the train. He is earning every single one of the glares and cranky mutterings Arthur sends his way.

And if Arthur has to hear one more verse of Ring-Dang-Do he’s going to shoot him.

Which he tells him, hollering across the gap. To which Sean replies “oh, lighten up, Arthur! I’m the distraction, an’t I now?” and goes right back to it.

“Oh, you’re a distraction alright,” Arthur growls back. “Distractin’ me right outa my goddamn mind!”

“Ignore him,” Charles, who waits beside him, advises. Arthur scoffs at the advice, shifting and muttering under his breath. In the moonlight he can see Charles look over at him, catches the slight arch of his brow and tilt of his head. It makes Arthur a little ashamed of his irritability, albeit only a little.

“Just don’t see why he’s always got to be so damn loud is all,” he mutters, and Charles hums his agreement to that.

“Things have been especially loud lately,” Charles says, and Arthur huffs at the understatement. Between Sean’s good cheer, Dutch arguing with Molly (or Hosea, or Arthur himself), and Micah and his whole… personality. Camp’s been just shy of hell.

Charles knows it, and maybe it’s been eating at him, or else he can just see how it’s been eating at Arthur, because he follows up with, “Once this job is done we should ride out and spend a few days hunting, just you and me. No noisy Irishmen.”

“Hmph. Sounds too good to be true,” Arthur grumbles.

A soft laugh, closer to his ear than he had anticipated, followed by a shoulder bumping against his own.

“Cross my heart,” Charles answers. “Besides, I could use a little peace and quiet myself.”

“Couldn’t we all,” Arthur agrees. There’s a warmth settling inside him, easing some of the tension from his shoulders, lessening the looming threat of the headache that always seems to form whenever they bring Sean on a job.

But if Sean is a headache (and he is, make no mistake) then Charles must be the health tonic that cures it.

It’s been too long since they got off by themselves anyway. Much as he hates to admit it, Arthur could use the break.

From off over the hill a whistle echoes loud. The shrill voice of steam-driven progress which stops for no one. Except, of course, for tonight, when it’ll stop for them; or at least for the wagon stretched across the tracks.

“Sounds like it’s time to get to work.” Satisfaction and relief slip into Arthur’s tone. He never has much liked the sitting and waiting part of robbing trains; he prefers the action. With a grunt he pushes up off the ground and pulls his rifle from his back.

“Best get on across ‘fore they round the bend,” he tells Charles, who accepts the directions with a nod. But rather than move away instantly as expected Charles shifts into his space. It catches him by surprise when a kiss brushes against his cheek, there and gone like a feather.

His face heats up.

“Wha’ was that for?” he asks, voice a low, embarrassed rumble. Charles’ laughter is warm against his ear.

“For luck. Be careful, Arthur.”

“Psch…” Arthur dips his head and scratches at the back of his neck, where heat prickles at his skin. “I will. You too.”

“Always.”

Arthur watches him in the moonlight until he disappears, and belatedly wishes he’d thought to return the ‘luck’ with a quick kiss of his own. Damn. Always just a bit too slow.

Down at his feet pebbles skitter under boots and a figure moves into view just as the train rounds the distant bend.

“Hey, lovebird! Think you can bring your head down out of the clouds, or should we ask this train to give us a few minutes?” John’s voice coming up out of the darkness, and it has the usual effect of making Arthur growl.

“Shut up, Marston, an’ get your ass where you’re supposed to be.”

“Fuck you, Morgan.”

With a sigh Arthur can feel the headache that mysteriously shows up whenever John’s around creeping in, and now Charles isn’t here to relieve it.

He can’t wait to get this job done and over with.

[ais-for-alex]

The Scars of Our Past: Chapter 26

Logan was avoiding mirrors, the moment his eyes caught sight of his own image in the reflective surface he forced himself to look away almost instantly. He couldn’t stand to see the gash just over his eyebrow, still held together by a steri strip, the skin around it purple and blue with mottled bruises. He couldn’t stand to look at it, because each time his eyes caught hold of the physical reminder of that game Logan found himself snapped back onto the ice. Back to that moment he glanced up through bloody fingers to see his normally even-tempered best friend filled with a white-hot rage, beating another man down onto the ice. Logan would see that horrible look in his eyes, the look that if someone hadn’t pulled him off of Carrow, Finn would have continued hitting him until his hands bled.

Almost worse than that though, was the memory of their conversation afterward, in the locker room. Logan could hear Finn’s words, playing over and over, like the needle of a turntable getting stuck creating a fucked-up loop of his voice.

You’re a fucking coward. You’re a fucking coward.

The hardest part was that Logan knew Finn was right, he is a coward. He had been running away from his feelings for his best so long, now it was all he knew how to do. Sadly though, it seemed that while Logan was too busy running with his tail between his legs, he had finally pushed Finn to his breaking point.

In all the years he had known him, Logan couldn’t remember a single time he had actually raised his voice to him, despite all of the shit they had been through together. The sound of hurt in Finn’s voice as he begged Logan to just tell him, was a sound he wouldn’t be forgetting anytime soon.

Coward.

I know.

It felt weird now, sitting in the locker room. The rest of the team seemed completely unfazed, they moved and joked as if Logan and Finn hadn’t flung themselves over the jagged edge of a cliff and were now tumbling through the endless sky. Just waiting to see if there were rocks at the bottom of the fall waiting to break their bodies on impact. In their defense though, the team didn’t know any of that, however, Logan still felt like their cheer was out of place.

Finn hadn’t been there when Logan got in that morning but even without the man himself there, he was avoiding Finn’s stall like the plague. Logan had zero desire to step back into that space, back into those memories so he kept his eyes firmly trained on the floor. He made quick work of getting his skates and pads on, so quick he ended up being the first player out on the ice for practice.

Beginning his warm ups Logan took in a deep breath, held it for a moment, then when he breathed out, he pushed away every thought in his head. He let the scrape of his skates on the ice drown out the memory of Finn’s voice, he let the smooth glide of the puck against his stick ground him in the moment, he let his mind focus on Kasey getting the puck past his sharp eyes into the back of the net. Over and over those were the only things Logan let his mind focus on, scrape, slide, shoot, that was it. He breathed a sigh of relief when he finally heard Coach’s whistle signaling the end of practice and he joined the throng of his teammates shuffling off the ice.

Logan savored the feeling of hot water coursing over his body, the feeling of it rinsing away the sweat that clung to his skin, he closed his eyes and let the spray wash over his face.

“Dude! Drop it,” Finn’s voice echoed through the shower as he wandered into the showers.

“Oh, come on Don Juan, tell us about her!” James said teasingly.

Her, Logan’s eyes opened, the water stung but he didn’t care, her?

“So what? She sees your fight on the ice and suddenly you’re just irresistible?” Logan turned to find James ruffling Finn’s hair.

“Pfft, I’m always irresistible,” Finn laughed and gestured to his naked body, “unlike some of us,” he said, giving James a bit of a shove before turning on the shower head and stepping into the steaming water.

“Ok first off rude,” James said indignantly as he turned on his own shower, “and second I’m not letting this go until you tell me something, hair color, eye color, was she at the game? She’s not a snake’s fan, is she? Ugh,” James shivered in disgust.

“Seriously?” Finn scoffed, turning his head to shoot an exasperated huff. When he did though Logan’s eyes zeroed in on the dark red bruise over his pulse point, distantly it clicked in his mind that this was probably what had prompted James’s probing but in that moment he didn’t care. Logan felt sick, the thought of Finn going out and finding just some random girl after their fight made his skin crawl.

“Please! I live vicariously through other people!” James shouted.

“Fine, blond. You happy?” Finn asked with a shake of his head.

“No, but I’ll accept that’s the only information you’re gonna give me.”

Logan was done, he didn’t want to hear another word, didn’t want to think about Finn and her whoever she was. He quickly shut off the shower, snagged his towel, and hastily moved towards the exit. Out of the corner of his eye though he noticed Finn glance up at him just as Logan slipped through the door back into the main area of the locker room.

He moved mechanically, it felt like his hands had flipped into autopilot as he pulled his clothes on over damp skin, darkening the fabric of his shirt as his hair dripped onto his shoulders until Logan roughly shoved a snapback on his head. Logan grabbed his things at random and chucked them into his bag hoping to make a quick escape, but just as he was zipping it up Logan felt a warm hand settle on his shoulder. Every muscle in his body tensed then melted as a shiver ran down his spine as the soft brush of Finn’s thumb against his neck, Logan couldn’t help the sigh that fell from his lips.

“Hey,” Finn whispered in a hushed voice, “it’s not what you think.”

It felt like his heart was breaking but Logan shoved the feeling aside and shrugged out from under Finn's touch.

“It's fine Harz, you don’t have to explain yourself to me. If you want to go out and screw around with random girls, it’s your right to do so. Not my place to have an opinion.”

“Lo…” Finn’s voice was sad and soft.

“I’m- I’m going home,” Logan said, slinging his bag onto his shoulder, the strap digging into the place Finn’s hand had just been.

“Give me a minute to get dressed and I can drive you,” Finn replied. Logan’s heart shattered even further at that, the small selfless offer, because this man; even when he was mad and hurt he just couldn’t seem to stop himself from caring for the people in his life.

“No,” Logan said firmly, “it's fine, go finish your shower. I’ll see you tomorrow.” With that Logan stepped away, leaving Finn behind standing in front of his stall as fled the ice rink out into the blistering cold winter air.

***

Logan pretended not to notice the slight tremble in his fingers as he slid his phone from his pocket and typed in the pin number. He pretended that the cold afternoon air wasn’t burning his lungs as he made his way down the sidewalk heading home. And he pretended the reason his heart was beating out of his chest was just lingering adrenaline from practice rather than the roiling jealousy in his stomach. Logan pretended he wasn’t turning green with envy over some faceless, nameless woman who got to so carelessly touch Finn the way his fingers had itched to touch him for years. He pretended that the blood running through his veins wasn’t spiked with bitterness, that it was her lips that sucked wine colored marks into the warm skin of Finn's throat rather than his own.

Shakily, Logan pulled up his contacts and scrolled past Finn’s and easily found the number he was looking for, the call rang loud in his ear for a moment before finally connecting.

“Hey,” Leo greeted, his voice filtering through the phone, his breathing was loud like he was panting heavily.

Logan wasn’t entirely sure why he had called Leo, all he knew was that he was sad, and jealous, and hurt, and the one person he would normally turn to for comfort was firmly off the table considering he had just walked away from him. All he knew was that Leo made him happy, and Logan desperately wanted to feel happy right now.

“Hey,” he said softly, “whatcha doing?”

“At the gym,” Leo huffed, “running- grabbed the call- on my- headphones,” his words were interrupted by sharp breaths.

“Oh, um- sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt your work out.”

“S’ok, I’m- almost- done,” there was a faint beeping on Leo’s end of the call as he turned down the speed on his treadmill, he was still panting but his breaths seemed to start coming easier. “So, what’s up?” Leo asked when he was breathing a bit more evenly.

“Ah, not much. Just left the rink and I-“ Logan paused, he wasn’t sure how he wanted to finish that sentence. He what? Ran away like the coward he is? He wanted to be comforted by the man that made his insides squirm just to think about over another man?

“Lo? Are you ok?” Leo asked, voice soft and filled with concern when Logan’s pause stretched a bit too long.

“I- yeah, I’m- I’ll be fine, it’s nothing,” Logan shook his head as if he could shake loose the thoughts in his mind.

“Alright, if you say so,” Leo said, accepting the answer but Logan could hear it in his voice that he didn’t entirely believe it was nothing. “Hey! What are you doing in like an hour?”

“Um, nothing?” Logan answered a bit thrown off by Leo’s sudden question, “Why?”

“If you want some company, I can come over? We can hang out, if you want?”

Logan felt something tight in his chest break loose at Leo’s offer, “yeah?” he asked hopefully.

“Yeah,” Logan could practically hear the smile in Logan's voice, “It’ll be fun.”

“I guess I’ll see you soon then,” Logan said softly, a smile beginning to pull at his lips.

“I’ll see you soon.”

When the call ended Logan sighed and slipped his phone back into his pocket, he glanced up when a car honked near him only to find Dumo’s car pulling up next to him.

“Why the fuck are you out here walking?” Dumo asked through his open window as the vehicle rolled to a stop.

“Ne posez pas de questions stupides, vieil homme. Laissez-moi entrer,” Logan huffed, trudging over to the passenger door.

Logan rolled his eyes at Dumo’s chortled laugh as he popped the lock to let him into the car.

French translation: Don't ask stupid questions, old man. Let me in!

Read on AO3

Chapter 25 Chapter 26

[murderousginger]

Wrong Thing To The Right Girl

Esme's sister (Y/N) meets the newest Shelby man on a night out with Finn and Isaiah. Their first encounter leaves much to be desired.

Warnings: Sass. Alcohol. Drugs. They're criminals guys, they do bad things.

Word count: 3,055

"Ezzy, I'm going crazy here!" You yelled as you stomped through the house to meet your sister in the kitchen. Pouting where she could see your sad face always worked better when you begged your big sister for something.

"All I've been doing is taking care of little ones. ONE NIGHT IS ALL I ASK."

"Mom sent you to me to behave," Esme whined as she worked on making dinner for the children. "If you go wild here, I'll never hear the end of it. She'll send you to a convent and write me off from the family."

"She would never, not with all these rascals with Shelby blues running around," you scoffed as you cupped your sister's swollen belly. "It's one night. One night isn't going wild. It's barely a respite."

"John--" 

"Is off with Tommy and Arthur doing God knows what," you finished for her as she shrugged your hand off.

"The bars don't serve ladies unaccompanied--"

"Which is why I'll go join Finn and Isaiah," you sang, "we've become friendly, we have. They'll let me for the night. With Blinders surrounding me I'll be plenty protected so you shouldn't worry a thing."

Esme sighed loudly, as she stirred the pot of stew in front of her. She eyed you carefully. 

"You have an answer for everything, don't you?" 

You smiled cheekily and wrapped your arm around your sister. 

"One night," you repeated. "I'll help put the children to bed, pour you a nice glass of milk and a sweet and I'll be back before anyone's the wiser."

"One night," Esme warned with a sigh before her features melted into a wry smile and she nudged your shoulder. "Show them how much fun a Lee girl can be. You have been good since you've joined us. One night should be fine."

You smiled back and nodded before erupting into a squeal and let go of Esme to dance around the kitchen. 

"Thank you!" You kissed her cheek and spun yourself to your room to pick out a dress. 

You helped her feed the children, bathe them and get everyone tucked in like you promised before you dressed into your favorite dress and boots. You patted the smallest bit of lipstick onto your lips and packed it into your bag before you brought a glass of milk and Esme's favorite treat to her. You kissed her head and patted her stomach. 

"I'll be off now, sister dear," you trilled and turned to the door. 

"Be careful!" She yelled after you. "And come home if you can't find the boys!"

"Yes mum!" You laughed as you closed the door behind you and rushed up the street to The Garrison before she could change her mind. 

You whistled happily to yourself as you walked through the night. What Esme didn't know was that you had already snuck out a few times to let loose some steam. Living in a house that never moved felt so restrictive and you craved freedom. When your sister brought you around the blinders for meetings and general gatherings, you had quickly become friends with the younger boys. Your age was somewhere between Finn's and Isaiah's and you easily fit between them and their antics at events. It was like having a bit of home and it allowed you to relax. 

You had even found yourself in dark corners sharing kisses with Isaiah a few times. Nothing was expected between you; the kisses were in a haze of the night between raucous laughter and jokes. It never went farther and you held no ill will to the girls that he took home or caught his eye. Sometimes whiskey demanded a blissful kiss or warm touch and you were happy to have a friend that understood.

You and Finn were purely friends, goading each other and joking until the early morning light. Finn was quickly a close friend. You saw how his brothers underestimated him and it made you notice how smart and kind-hearted he was. His eyes weren't hard like his brothers were; he had grown up in the rubble of the war without ever having to be made a killer.

Between them both you always had to sneak back through your window, praying not to wake anyone up.

You saw The Garrison ahead and Isaiah smoking by it's doors, talking to someone you couldn't place. Possibly another Blinder that you had only seen in passing. 

"Oy, 'saiah!" You yelled and raised your hand in greeting as you picked up the pace to reach them before they wandered inside. 

"(Y/N)," Isaiah exhaled his smoke through his smile as he raised his arm to pull you into a side hug. "Got Esme to let you out this time? You're too dressed up for window hoppin'."

You giggled and instantly sank into his side, hugging him tightly before you caught a good look of his friend. The boy was around your age, possibly older than Isaiah but not by much. His hair was perfectly styled and his suit was pressed. His gray-blue eyes were stuck on you as he exhaled smoke only to have it escape his mouth and go back in through his nose. It reminded you of a dragon, and the amused look he was giving you did not help that thought. 

"I got my dear sister to bend for one night," you finally said, turning to look up at Isaiah once again and fighting a shiver as you felt the boy's eyes still watching you. "As long as my gallant gentlemen friends can watch me."

Isaiah laughed as you tugged on his tie to loosen it and slipped it into his pocket. You reached and stole his cigarette, inhaling the smoke before turning back to his friend and eyeing him back. You stepped forward and took up the space between them. He was still quiet as you exhaled the smoke and your face broke into a Cheshire smile.

"Who's your quiet friend, 'Zay?" You asked as you dramatically looked him up and down. "He's awful stiff for a Blinder boy."

"He's a new boss man, (Y/N)," Isaiah laughed as he pulled you back to his side to form a circle again. "(Y/N) is Esme's sister. (Y/N), this is Michael."

"Polly's son," Michael said, explaining his place as he held out his hand. "Tommy put me to work."

You handed Isaiah back his cigarette and took Michael's hand. 

"Pleasure."

"Same to you," he said. 

"Right," Isaiah said, throwing his cigarette down and stepping on it. "Michael's new blood and freshly let off Polly's leash, so Finn and I are doing our best to break 'im in. His little church town didn't teach him the ways of bullets and whiskey."

Michael rolled his eyes and finished his cigarette. 

"New can be fun," you said, looking over Michael again. "Let's get me a drink and see if we can find your Michael a girl."

"And me," Isaiah laughed as he guided you into the bar. "Work your magic to get me a girl tonight, too."

You took your coat off and hung your purse and coat over the small back of the barstool next to Finn.

"And shoot myself in the foot for the chance for a kiss in the dark, I think not," you jokingly scoffed as you placed your hands on the busy bar and slid into the seat. "Since you asked so nicely, I suppose I can."

"That's my girl," Isaiah laughed and sat beside you, nudging your shoulder with his. 

You said your hellos to Finn and ordered a whiskey, playing with the ice cubes by twirling them with the mixing straws as you all carried conversations between each other. 

Over the next stretch of time, you watched the younger girls at the bar and which of the boys you were with they watched. You played into it, carrying on and touching a shoulder here or laughing at something as the girls watched and turned green before you would lean into one of the boy's ears. 

"The girl in the blue dress, Finny," you said into his ear when you leaned in to him. "She likes you. Just lean back and rebuff me. Make your eyes at her and go talk to her. She's willing."

You leaned back and laughed as Finn's eyes lit up and you pressed your hand to his chest. The corner of his lip curled as he politely grabbed your hand and placed it on your lap. You pouted as he leaned in just a tad. 

"Thanks, (Y/N), you're the best."

Finn winked at you as he stood up and straightened his jacket, playing slow as he looked around the bar and found the girl you told him about. He smiled and was off. You faked a scoff and watched the girl grin as she looked from you to him in victory. You turned away to face the bar, rolled your eyes and nudged Isaiah beside you. 

"One down," you laughed as you waved Harry over for another drink. 

"Tell me (Y/N)," Isaiah teased, "is it gypsy magic that makes you so good at this?"

"It's just a woman's touch," you said. "If you can behave around me, you're safe enough to talk to. And women sometimes like a bit of competition. Makes them feel wanted."

You sipped the drink that appeared before you, already delightfully blurry. You looked over your shoulder to check on Finn. He was completely enthralled by the girl, laughing at a table and having a good old time.

"Are you sporting tonight?" You said as you turned back to him. "I've seen you eye a few. The one on the end has been glaring through me the entire night."

"Liza," Isaiah said as he scratched the back of his head, "yeah. We've a bit of history. I could see if she'd like a review of it."

Isaiah went to stand, but you stopped him as he rose. 

"Wait," you said, putting your glass on the counter and facing him. "Before you go, can I have some Tokyo?"

Isaiah smiled down on you as he took off his coat and placed it on the chair. 

"I have my last bit to the bird that turned me down earlier," he said as he trained his eyes on the form behind you. "Ask Michael, he might have some left."

"Right," you said and smoothed his shirt. "Off you go then. Can you walk me home tonight, or will you be otherwise occupied?"

"I can probably walk you home," he said, looking at you for a moment with a big smile. "Now wish me luck."

"Luck," you said as he strutted past you. 

You looked across the empty seat to Michael, who had mostly talked to Isaiah because of the volume of the bar. You smiled and slid into the empty seat next to him. 

"Looks like it's just us for a beat," you said. 

"Looks like," he said as he swirled his glass in his hand. 

"Is there a girl you've fancied tonight?" You asked, looking around. "Maybe I could help."

"Not tonight," he said, jaw clenched as he looked at the bar. 

"Alright then," you said as you watched him curiously. "'Zay said you might have some Tokyo, can I have some?"

"Yeah," he said, finishing his drink and setting it down on the bar. "Let's go to the back, private like."

You shrugged and nodded, standing up with him to head to the back storage area. You nodded to Isaiah as you passed him, but otherwise no one paid any mind to a Peaky boy taking a girl off. When you reached the room with the shelves of alcohol, Michael lit a cigarette and took a breath before he rummaged through his pockets and handed you the small bottle. 

You took it and smiled as you turned to a shelf slightly shorter than you and made a line. Before you could look up, Michael pushed a bill to your face, and you smiled a thanks as you rolled it up. You offered the first snort to him, but he chuckled an exhale of smoke and shook his head. 

"You don't do it?" You asked, amused. 

"Only carry it for pretty girls or selling," he said back. 

"Well, then," you said and plugged your nose to snort the snow. The rush hit you before you could open your eyes. The jolt of energy surged through you and cut through the blur of the alcohol. You would be in a lovely state for the rest of the night and ready for the world. 

"Thank you, Michael," you sighed and held the bill out for him to take. He waved you off.

"Keep it," he said with a smirk. "There are other ways to pay me back."

"Pay you back?" You asked as your brows knitted together. "I don't want your money, I just wanted a bit of fun in the snow."

"And I said you could keep the money and pay me back," Michael said evenly. 

"I have no intention of paying you back at all," you scoffed. "You're lucky I offered to return your bill. Now I'm going back to the bar."

You moved to walk past him and out the door, but he grabbed you by the waist and pulled you back. 

"I'm a Shelby," he said as he placed you in front of him. "And I say we aren't done here."

Your stomach dropped to your feet and you chilled at his tone. The snow and the booze kicked in and your anger grew hot just as fast. Too fast for your brain to catch up to.

"You're not used to being told no, are you?" You sneered. "You're used to being a pretty little boy from a nice village that gets his way. I'd wager you thought that coming here and picking up a gun made you a man. You thought that Tommy giving you a place meant you were a bad man that could get anything he wants. You aren't a man. You're just a little boy that joined into a world you will never understand. Now let me pass."

"Fucking gypsy bitch," he spit as his chest puffed as he looked down at you. "You don't know nothin'."

"I know your mother makes you gypsy blood, too," you spat back. "Your grandmother was a Boswell. And that makes you a hater of your own blood. You aren't better than those of us that weren't raised in your precious boring town. You aren't even smarter, with your schooling. Indeed, you're lacking knowledge that you're too proud to ever gain."

Michael's eyes were aflame and his jaw clenched as you threw his money at his face and shoved past him. You ran back into the safety of the public bar. You slowed your pace as you broke into the room and stomped back to your seat. Finn was back at his chair, taking a drink as you slid by him. 

"Michael's a dick," you huffed, frantically waving Harry for another drink. When it appeared you drank it in one gulp.

"Don't I know it," Finn muttered under his breath. "The girl was fun, but I'm about done tonight. You?"

You stiffened as Michael appeared standing beside Finn, face stone.

"I think I am, too," you said, glaring at Michael. "Finn, walk me back? I think Zay's still off with Liza." 

Finn rolled his eyes and nodded. You stood up, shooting a last glare at Michael before gathering your coat from the seat.

"I'll go along," Michael said to Finn. "Bar's getting a bit boring anyway." 

Your stomach knotted but you didn't fight it. With Finn between you, you didn't think Michael would do anything else. He seemed to ignore you entirely, talking with Finn as you all made your way through the night. You quietly  listened to them talk about sports and girls and snow, realization dawning on you that you had left your purse at the bar. You cursed yourself in your head. Luckily there wasn't much money to steal, but your prized lipstick would surely be missed. Too late now. 

"Ey, (Y/N)," Finn said and cut you out of your thoughts. "It's not five minutes from John's. Is this close enough or do you need walked to the door?" 

"Such gentlemen," you drawled as you rolled your eyes. "I'll be fine here, thank you. Goodnight boys!"

You took a few steps forward and turned around to bow theatrically at them before spinning and walking toward John's house. You took a dozen or more steps before you heard a voice call out behind you. 

"(Y/N)," Michael yelled and you froze. 

You heard him walk toward you and you spun in your boots to see him halfway to you, Finn waiting awkwardly behind. 

"What, Michael?" You snipped, crossing your arms as he stopped in front of you. 

"Thought you might want your bag," he said as he pulled it from under his coat. 

You gasped, taking it from him slowly. 

"Thank you," you said, mouth agape. He sighed and chewed at his cheek. 

"I'm sorry," he said, looking away from you. "I was wrong about you."

"Damn right you were," you growled. 

"I said I was wrong," he said as he squinted at you. 

"And I agreed," you snipped. "Thank you for my purse, though. I suppose you aren't a complete asshole."

His jaw flexed as he looked to his feet. 

"I guess that's fair," he said in a huff. "Have a good night, (Y/N)."

"You as well," you answered stiffly. 

Michael awkwardly took a step back from you and slowly turned to return to Finn. You hugged your purse and slowly walked toward John's door, opening it and going inside before you allowed yourself to peek back at the boys. Michael had lit a smoke on his return to Finn, who was waiting with his hands in his pockets and his hat low. A trail of smoke rose above them as Finn raised his hand in a last goodbye and they both turned to walk away. You shut the door and locked it, letting a heavy sigh escape your lungs as you let all of your tension go. 

Wrong, indeed.

Masterlist

[3rdgymbros]

— pairing; fuegoleon vermillion x reader

— summary; in which fuegoleon wakes up, and saves you

You’re jerked awake in the middle of the night by the door being forced open and a cacophony of heavy boots thundering towards you. Legs tangled up in the blankets, you tumble off the spindly sofa in a panic; the hard landing shocks the dregs of sleep from your mind.

Your voice trembles as you push yourself to your feet. “What’s going on?”

“The sky is red. The capital is burning,” The newest recruit to the Crimson Lions, a small, delicately boned youth with dark burning eyes, draws your attention to your windows.

You’d thrown the shutters back the night before, pushing aside the blackout cloth, and now, in horror, you gaze out into the deep pink sky. Above the black silhouettes of trees, the sky is alight with fiery reflection. The night seems to come alive with pain and suffering.

And yet, you know there’s more. There’s always more. A bad feeling hovers over your gut, icy fingers of dread tightening your bowels. “What else?”

“Vice Captain Randall’s gone berserk and he’s started attacking!” Another member of the squad blurts out. You don’t know his name, though you should by now. “It’s not just him, some others – They all have these strange markings – Leopold went to hold them off, but –”

“Alone?” You cry out in alarm. Worry frays the edges of your voice.

“Some others went with him, but –”

“Stay here. Protect Fuegoleon.” You motion to the man slumbering in bed – your hands and feet already up and moving in a flurry of desperation, grabbing your grimoire off the desk – you’re so absorbed that you don’t notice a hitch in Fuegoleon’s breathing, the twitching of his toes under the thin white sheets.

“Miss ( Last Name ), what are you –”

“I’m going to help Leo. Stay here.”

One of them protests feebly. “But Captain Fuegoleon would never forgive us if you were injured –”

“Stay here.” A delicately sharpened edge comes into your voice. You’re baring your fangs again, showing some hint of a backbone. Mereleona would be proud. “That’s an order.”

It’s with eyes full of pain and apology that you gaze down at Fuegoleon, squeezing his hand for what might be the last time, wishing you were brave enough to kiss him, but again hating yourself for being unable to, and the thoughts echo in your head as you rush from the room in your thin nightgown, forgetting, in your haste, to slip on a pair of shoes. You stumble barefoot on the cold stone floor, not slowing down even when the scrapes and scratches of the stones beneath your feet draw blood.

You burst onto the courtyard in a whirl of white skirts and red silk; almost immediately, you see Leo. His face is a mass of small cuts, and there’s a bloody tear in his trousers, but relief floods through you – he’s alive.

You don’t know how you would have answered to Fuegoleon and Mereleona otherwise.

“Song Magic – Musical Shield!”

Upon your shrieked out command, your magic wraps itself around Leo in a protective cocoon; Randall’s next attack bounces harmlessly off your shield. Randall’s eyes narrow, the flurry of attacks only increasing with intensity. You use the chance to slip close to Leo, grabbing at his arm in worry.

“Leo!”

Relief blooms over his face. “( Your Name )? You shouldn’t –”

“Leo, listen to me. We don’t have much time.” You cut him off mid-sentence. Your eyes burn with renewed intensity as you lean forwards, loosening your grip on his arm and holding onto his hands instead. “I’m going to find the rest of the squad – the ones like Randall, and I’m going to stop them before they can do more damage. We have to keep them here, before they escape and hurt civilians. But I need you to take care of Randall. Can you do that for me?”

“I –”

A crack near you forces your head up to investigate; your eyes widen, your face blanching as you realize that your shield won’t hold out for much longer. Your ears pop, but all you can hear is a train’s approach. A huge, angry train whistling to you right on a collision course.

You have to raise your voice to be heard over the wind. “Leo. Can you take him? Yes or no.”

Leo swallows. You think he might falter, but then he seems to remember the red cloak around both his shoulders, and you can read the stubborn pride spreading over his face. “Yes.”

“Good.” Ignoring the sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach, you give Leo’s hand a final squeeze, almost mirroring the way you’d tenderly held onto his brother’s hand just moments before. “Are you ready?”

“Leave it to me.”

And just as your shield shatters into pieces, Leo sends up a spiral column of flames, and you dart away. Behind you, you hear Randall’s voice shrieking high alarm, screaming out unfamiliar names and demands to stop you before you can escape.

Good, you think grimly to yourself, leaving a trail of bloodied footprints in your wake. Come after me.

The pounding of you heart thunders through your body, but you’re not sure if it’s caused by excitement or panic or dread or some combination of the three. Despite the chill in the air, your skin feels cold and clammy. The smell of ash and burning flesh hangs heavily in the air; Leo’s flames give the scene a weak illumination, and it’s in the glow of these flames that you see how they’ve herded you into a corner, prey herded into a trap.

But when you turn around, on your next breath, you are strong and sure and ready to rise. You wrap yourself around the same silent mantra, the words repeating and reverberating through you. I will not die. I will not die. I have to go back and help Leo. I have to go back to Fuegoleon. I will not die. I will not die.

“Song Magic – Mother’s Lullaby!”

Your grimoire flutters open in a burst of light, the rustling of the white pages filling you with comfort. Thrusting out your hands, you start to sing. Your voice clings to them like a silk shawl, light and cool. You barely have to sing the first bar of the lullaby before they collapse to the ground like dominoes, one after another.

Is that all of them? How many members of the squad are like Randall? Your mind races, trying to find solutions and answers to the problem which you have no idea how to solve.

You hear the splash of cool water before you feel it, but when it envelopes you, it turns your skin to ice, pouring into your still screaming mouth. In a throb of panic, you find yourself reaching for your grimoire, but you only end up gulping down even more water when you open your mouth to cast a spell. It’s a simple but effective way of incapacitating you, and you might even be impressed if the situation wasn’t so dire. Your lungs begin to burn and scream for air, black spots dancing before your eyes.

White-hot pain lances through you, sharp spikes of ice shooting up and piercing through skin. Blood stains the clear water with burgundy poison. Your voice refuses to work as pain, all-consuming pain shoots through your brain, stopping your heart, freezing your blood, killing your mind.

Your mind becomes fuzzy as something orange flashes in the corner of your eye. The freezing temperature of the water changes to a balmy warmth, and despite yourself, you relax, the tension leeching out of your frame. I’m sorry Leo, but it looks like I’m going to be with your brother now. You vaguely realise that the light is moving and that its blurred outline resembles a body before the bubble of water surrounding you vanishes in a cloud of steam.

Your body crumples, but just as you expect to hit the ground with a sickening thud, you’re cradled gently in a pair of warm arms, one made of flesh, and another made of flames. The heat is gentle against the ruined cotton of your chemise, but you wince when fabric brushes over the tender wounds and sticks to the blood painting your body red.

“( Your Name ).”

The affection in that familiar voice is enough for your breath to catch in your throat, your heart faltering in your chest. You’re imagining things. It can’t be him. It isn’t the first time that the pain has gone to your head. But even as you think it, you know that it isn’t in your head, that it’s the same voice you’ve begged God to give you another chance to hear.

Your eyelids feel stitched together, but you force them open, catching a glimpse of red silk, of a shirt in midnight blue. Auburn hair pulled back from a tanned sharp-edged face, eyes the colour of violets.

Those same violet eyes, alight in worry, running up and down the torn flesh of your form, but then hastily averting when he realizes you’re almost naked. He sheds his cloak and wraps you up in it, shielding you from the freezing air. The darkness glows orange, and you feel warmth engulf you, the clatter of footsteps below your back.

“( Your Name ), you’ve gotten strong, haven’t you?”

“If – If you wake up,” You say, gathering your resolve, and reaching out to hold onto his hand, “I’ll practice my magic. I’ll – I’ll work hard. I’ll become strong. And I won’t cry anymore. Please.”

The words wrench a sob from you that you can’t control. You bury your face into the crook of his neck, and break down, his words cutting to the very center of you.

“Fuegoleon. You came back.”

“I won’t leave you again,” He promises, but all you do is cry harder, enveloped in his warmth.

[acequeenking]

Hadestober #6

6) Livin' it Up on Top - Hermes takes his sister back up, but her behavior worries him. (T; mention of Seph’s canon alcoholism.)

Of all his sisters, Persephone has always been his favorite. Always thick of thieves, the two of them, which seems only appropriate, given that thieves fall under Hermes' jurisdiction. Always had been, even as kids; if he dared her to do something, she would do it. If he challenged her to a race, she would run it. Thumb her nose at dad? 'Course she would. The other kids in their generation made excuses -- Persephone just set to beating whatever challenge was put in front of her. Made them quick friends, once upon a time.

Hermes used to joke that she and him  were the only ones who got a drop of daddy's wanderer blood; truthfully, they were just the two who had the most to prove, being the only two living in the mortal realm. Either way, they looked out for one another: Persephone never saw a bit of Hermes' tricks, least so far as any parental unit who might punish him for such was concerned; Hermes certainly never saw her off to the underworld for a midnight rendezvous with the biggest conquest. They've both settled down now, but Persephone, well, let's just say he still escorts her to and fro. 

Her little dalliance Hades may have been what turned her mamma's hair grey, but if she had known even half of what Persephone and her half-brother had gotten into in their travels together -- well, let's just say Miss Demeter's hair would be white if she had any left at all.

Which is, in short, to say: Hermes knows Persephone well. Knows just about everything a brother can know. So it's obvious, to him, when she ain't feeling too good. Not, he thinks, when she's mainlining three rum and cokes before the train even finishes it's first chugga up to the surface.  Barely said a word to her dearest brother before she's deep into the bar: another sign she isn't feeling too good.

"Slow down, green thang," he says, watching her slam back drinks. "Got a whole summer to drink your fill."

"Doubt it. He was early last time," she says. "And the time before that."

Hermes frowns; that much is true enough. Been a few days earlier and earlier every year. But Persephone had greeted him with a smile each time, and he'd let them go down with the last few days of summers still hidden in her bag, because he'd thought his sister would be a bit happier with her man. Hermes hasn't been married, himself; that life was never for him, but his sister, well, wasn't a secret she loved her man, and that her man loved her.

"He'll be early again, too." She smiles sadly, adds a little ice to her drink. Probably because Hadestown has been hotter than hell lately, because he certainly can't imagine she wants to slow down her drinking. "Be early a bit more every time. Give'em a few more years and he'll be picking me up in June." 

"He ain't gonna press it that far," Hermes says; Hades is unlikely to do anything that might ruptures the world order quite so badly. Always a balance between them, even if he tips the scale a bit. Hermes, being the god of rogues, cannot quite blame the man for trying to tip the scales a bit. Lots of times you can tip the scales without it quite being considered cheating.

"He will." She doesn't say anything more, and when he tries to offer her a bit of comfort in his words, she holds her hand up.

"Don't want to argue," she says, and there's an edge to sister-girl's voice, one he hasn't heard before. "Just pour another."

And so he does.

---

By the time they get up top, Persephone's had more than a few. Which...isn't so unusual; his sister has always been prone to her drink. She was never one for moderation, not in her drink and certainly not in her love life. He's sure that it must be hard for her,  coming home, as she does, every year, to a world that relies on her more and more and more, as the human population grows and grows, and leaving a man who resents her absence more and more. An inevitable position, the one his sister has found herself in.

"HEY!" She shouts as they step off his train. She's stumbling a bit, and Hermes puts his arm protectively around her shoulders. "Let's find a party, Hermes, bound to be one somewhere!"  Her volume is far too loud - alcohol working its charms, for sure.

"Why don't we go see see your mama?" He suggests  instead. Demeter has never been one to turn down a visit, regardless of her daughter's sobriety, though it's been quite some time since she's been so soused. Probably have words to say, but odds are Demeter will say them to him, and not to Persephone, and he's willing to take that lecture. 

"Do I look like I wanna be with my momma?" Persephone spits back. "I have been in hell for six months, brother, six months!" She grabs his hand with both her hands, the look in her eyes pleading. "I have been six months at his beck and call, and I ain't going straight to six months of being at hers. C'mon." She bumps his hips with hers. "I know you know how to dance, Hermes."

And Hermes is, indeed, a fabulous dancer. Doesn't mind tooting his own horn when it comes to the smoothness of his footwork. It wouldn't be the first time they'd gone dancing together, and Hermes knows damn well he's one of the few people who could dance with Persephone without her husband showing up in a jealous huff. He and Hades have worked together long enough that the man surely knows that for all he and Persephone have gotten along, they've never quite been tempted to turn their dancing horizontal. Neither of them has ever quite leaned in such a way.

"Please," she says, soft, and that sets all his alarm bells ringing, for Persephone has never been one to beg for anything. "I just gotta let off some steam." 

"Alright, alright," he says, giving in.  She laughs too loud, claps her hands in a childlike burst of drunken joy. "Alright," he says, alarm bells ringing in his head in seventy different percussive beats, all at once. But that said: it is unusual, but not entirely unexpected that she might want to blow off steam. Maybe it's been a rougher six months than it had looked. He'd talk to her about it, once she got some of that energy out.

He tilted his ear, listened for the best environment - ah. Found it. "Come on, sister girl," he said, strolling down to a bar where the booze seemed to be sweet on tap, and the jazz was, as was always his sisters penchant, lighter than air and darker than sin in its sound. "Good cabaret down the corner."

"Yes!" She pumps her arm in victory, and it reminds him of her younger self so much that his heart aches. He realizes, in that smile, just how rarely he's seen it, dropping off letters for the underworld's mister and missus, for the last couple of years. He swallows. Maybe this conversation is a bit overdue. But she's seemed to manage every other year so much better. Always got at least a smile out of her on the train, and a couple mimosas weren't anywhere near this six-whiskey-shots-and-still-going binge.

But he doesn't say anything. Just leads her to the club, where she disappears onto the dance floor. He joins her there for a time, but his bones - ah, they're old things now. Doesn't take long for him to slow down. The same can't be said of green young thang, however; she's still got energy for days in those legs. Makes sense, given how little she's been up top. Maybe Mr. Hades hasn't taken her dancing enough down there. Certainly seemed like he's been more than a little busy with his factories. Hermes tries to think of the last time he came in to them spending time together, and finds he cannot remember when it was.

"Save me a seat at the bar, handsome," his sister purrs, reading the furrow on his brow all too clearly.

"Let's talk when you tire out, sister." He gives her a look, and for a brief moment her composure breaks: the chin wobbles, the eyes look soft and wet for -- just a moment. And if he were not so good a friend, he doubts he would have seen such. He taps his eyes, and points toward her, turning the moment into a joke. The mood breaks, and she laughs and hits his hand in a friendly fashion, and he smile as he goes back to the bar.

He chooses his seat according to what Persephone tends to favor, and waits and waits for the little shoot to make her way over.  Seem simple enough. He'll let her tire herself out, and speak about her troubles in a space too modern for her mother to frequent and too loud for her husband to snoop on them.  But it takes Persephone a long time.

For a moment, his heart beats in hope as she comes closer; she comes to the bar, orders a vodka and cranberry spritz. Drops it down her gullet in one smooth move and winks at him, hoping back into the crowd without a word. His eyes follow her.

He watches her move on the dance floor - never really interacting with another else, but dancing so hard that she's sweating, like she can exorcise demons even her husband can't get out by moving herself on the floor.

"Your friend?" The barman asks, watching Hermes watch Persephone. He sees the concern in his eyes; Hermes looks a lot older than green thang, even if she's not any less ancient.

"My baby sister," he says; when the barman looks skeptical, he turns up the charm. Always has been a charmer. "Same father. Different mothers, obviously."

Bar man whistles. "Your daddy sure was punching above his weight, to get a girl like that at such an age."

True enough, and Hermes honestly laughs. "You don't know the half of it, brother. Not the half. My daddy could charm the wimple off a nun."

The barman laughs with him, and Hermes shifts his attention to flirting with the bar man, still keeping one eye out for his sister. Persephone keeps dancing, only runs to the bar to get another drink, and then another.

He keeps waiting for the talk, but before he knows it, the bar is closing, and the bar man's number is in his pocket, and Persephone is still dancing, still drinking and dancing, and he is very, very worried about her.

"Closing time!" She shouts into his ear; he winces.

"Sure is, baby." He squeezes her hand.

"Let's find another cabaret!" That's the thing about the big cities; never do sleep. He could certainly find her one.

"What about our talk?" He asks. "Besides, got to get you to your second home." She scoffs, and he ignores the scoff. "Orpheus has to be wondering where I am. You don't want to make him worry." Persephone has always had a soft spot for his boy.

But today she wraps her arms around his neck and gives him her biggest, widest smile. "Just one more, please?"

He frowns. He doesn't like the idea of not talking about whatever bug has crawled under her skin, and he doubts more dancing is gonna shake it out for her. Still, they are gods, and they have six months to have conversations, and there are plenty of less-charged times to have them. If there is one thing Hermes has learned, it's that they have time.

So instead of insisting on talking to her about her old man, about her new pains, well, he smiles, and says, "I suppose one more won't hurt," and he holds her hand, and they go dancing.

[kpopisthereasonihavenolife]

Always

BTS

Min Yoongi/Reader [F]

Genre: Drabble, Mafia AU, Strangers-Lovers

Words: 2.3k

“It’s just so hard not to fall in love with you.”

XXX

“And who is this?” Yoongi sat kicked back in his chair as he crossed his legs under his desk.  Two of his men just walked into his office, more like burst and stomped it as they dragged someone with them.  

A woman.  Her hair was a mess as a scowl painted her face.  Her lip was split and a cut bled on her eyebrow as a shiner was forming under her left eye.  She snarled at the man who held her hands behind her back and shoved her forward as she bit at the hand of the other man who shoved her head forward.  

Yoongi ticked his brow up as he interlaced his fingers together to rest on his lap.  

“Sir, this woman was found assaulting a four-man unit and proceeded to fight and resist against us upon capture.”  You jerked at your hand, hoping to free yourself.  The man who held your wrists just tightened his hold, making you wince as you bent involuntarily due to the pain.  You squirmed. 

“Assaulting a four-man unit? Which one,” Yoongi questioned. 

“The one you assigned earlier this week for surveillance in the Southern Districts, Sir.” Yoongi hummed.  This woman looked like a wreck.  Shorts with pocket no deeper than her fingers and a shirt all torn into shreds at the ends.  Though, the twin garter hostlers attached to her thighs caught his attention. 

“She was armed?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Where are her weapons.  I’d like to see them for myself if you wouldn’t mind.”  Yoongi stood from his chair as you shifted your attention from the goons holding you to the man waltzing up to your held back position.  “You both are dismissed.  Leave the woman with me and fetch her firearms immediately.”  

“B-but, Sir-”

“Did I stutter?” His eyes pierced up at the man who was easily twice his size as he peered through the slits in his mint bangs.  The man released you and quickly retreated with his partner out of the office.  

Yoongi looked at you again. You were on edge, in a defensive stance just in case he decided to pounce on you. Your arms out just enough to grab him and put him in some measly hold and legs bent and ready to move if the need arises.  

“Be at ease, I have no intention of causing you harm.  It was not my intent to get anyone involved in a surveillance job. So, put your teeth away; you look like a dog.” Yoongi stepped backward until his rear hit his desk and he leaned against it.  Crossing his ankles in front of him as he placed his hands on his desk to support him. 

You did seem to relax at the distance he place, but not completely.  Of course, it was to be expected.  No one would be relaxed when they were dragged into Mafia Territory and straight into the lion’s den. 

“How did you lose your guns?” Yoongi asked.  You straightened your posture as you placed each hand on each of your empty holsters.  

“Your stupid little lap dogs took them from me.  It’s what started this whole mess,” you seethed.  Even steeped in anger, Yoongi was surprised to find you had a rather pleasant voice. “If they would’ve just left me alone, we wouldn’t be discussing this.”  You tutted as you looked away to direct your glare elsewhere.  “Apparently some of your men have a problem with a woman carrying weapons.  When they tried to take them from me, I decided to use them.”  

Yoongi burst out into laughter.  The unit he had sent out was a small ragtag group of men who really didn’t specialize in anything.  Just thinking about one of them trying to disarm a woman who offered no harm brought a laugh to bubble out of his gut.  As he held his stomach his office door opened and soon a well-dressed man with your guns entered.  

He was young, taller than you by a bit and walked towards Yoongi like he’d known him all his life.  

“Sounds like a party in here,” he said as he moved to stand beside the mafia boss.  “Here you are, two pretty guns that belong to a pretty lady just as you asked.” The man looked over his shoulder and winked at you.  You were speechless, unable to figure out how you should react to that.  

Yoongi swiped your guns as he looked them over.  “Stop flirting and save it for another time, Hoseok.” As Yoongi examined your guns, Hoseok danced over to you in an overly familiar fashion as he got right up in your business.  

“So, you’re the chick-"

“Manners,” Yoongi interrupted. 

“Sorry, the woman that knocked out our survey unit huh?  Wow, you're younger than I thought.”  He crouched down and started poking at your thighs and pulling on your hostler straps and making them snap against your skin.  “Wow, this is pretty durable fabric, how’d you get that!”  You kicked at Hoseok as he now sat on his rear as your face flared in a red hue. 

“Get off my dick!  Just because you have my guns doesn’t mean you can go around touching my thighs you sicko!” You bit at him as you took two very large steps back, you could feel the wall nearly touching your shoulders now.  Hoseok just whistled as he moved to sit more comfortably on the ground, not bothering to get up. 

Yoongi noticed a pair of initials inscribed on the side of the guns. “Are these your initials then?”  

“They are.” Yoongi smiled as he clicked the safe lock of one gun off and pointed it at you.  You were across the room and you froze as you looked at the barrel of your gun.  “What are you gonna do, shoot me after you unfairly capture me?” 

Yoongi shut his eyes as he lowered the gun back down and click the lock back into place. “Not at all,” he then tossed each gun to you as you caught them and immediately slotted them back into their hostlers and clipped them shut, securing your firearms. “I know your initials, but I’ll need to know your name as well.” 

“Why is that?” 

“Because as of today, you’re going to be working under me.” 

XXX

“Y/n!” Yoongi entered the firing range where you had retreated when Hoseok ditched you after combat training.  You had a lot on your mind and the range where you can shot what the fuck you wanted so long as it was in front of you sounded like a good way to blow off steam.  

You halted fire as you pulled your muffling headphones off your head to rest on the back of your neck and shoulders.  You pushed your safety glasses up to your head, moving your hair to reveal your forehead.  Locking your gun, you placed it on the firing table and turned your attention to your boss. 

You wouldn’t forget the day Yoongi forced you into his employ.  He did so rather literally, calling your previous job and quitting for you as he pretty much put you on house arrest at his estate. Despite your literal kicking and screaming, Yoongi was much more resilient than he looked when his sights were set on something.  

He always said he saw some sort of potential in you, but you never believed him.  You knew him for 10 minutes max before he decided that you were going to work for him. 

You worked alongside Hoseok, Yoongi’s personal bodyguard and right hand.  With Hoseok on Yoongi’s right, you were always on his left. 

It’s been almost half a year since then.  Yoongi was every bit the mafia scare he was talked up to be.  Merciless when it came to his trade and taking his work more than seriously.  He was cooped up in his office more than often and when he went out it was always to bars and casinos only to end up in some sort of brawl by the end of the night somehow.  

Though, you and Hoseok both knew he wasn't just that man.  He was someone else too. He was the Yoongi he used to be before he was roped into this stupid, bloody life.  He was someone who enjoyed sitting in his own private home with his dog.  He was someone who always kept tabs on and looked after his parents without dragging them into his own messy life. 

He wasn’t a fan of sweets and liked bitter things.  He preferred coffee to tea and he always slept with two blankets and three pillows.  He absolutely hated wearing socks to bed and had a habit of sleep stripping if he got too hot at night. 

He and Hoseok had known each other since their early years of college before they both dropped out due to where they are now.  They were brothers if not blood-related ones. 

Hoseok had once told you that Yoongi was softer to you that he was to his other female staff.  He treated you different and more delicately.  Although that was almost offensive when thinking about your physical abilities, Hoseok made sure to explain that it was only because Yoongi though highly of you. 

Recently, you’ve been trying your damnedest to try and keep a good profile up for Yoongi as much as possible.  You wanted to impress him and show him you had so much more to offer than just two pretty guns sitting pretty on your thighs.  You wanted to be someone capable and someone Yoongi can rely on. 

Little did you know that Yoongi has been watching you since day one and he’s had enough of you putting yourself through hell.  

“Why are you here?” Yoongi asked as he stood in front of you.  He could see the bags under your eyes and the sheen of sweat from being in this stuffy room for god knows how long now.  He didn’t even see a water bottle around for you to sip on while here.  

“Why else would anyone come to a shooting range, Yoongi?  I’m practicing.” 

“You’ve nearly shot a hole through that target with how many times you hit the same area.  You’re skilled enough as a markswoman.  Take a break.” 

“No,” you defied.  

“Y/n,” Yoongi warned.  He sighed as he grabbed the gun you were shooting from the table and moved you to stand in your slot.  He unlocked the gun and aimed for the head of the metal sheet of a target before opening fire.  

You covered your ears as the shots echoed and reverberated on the walls.  He shot until the gun ran out of bullet and he emptied each magazine laying around.  

The gun was empty and warm when he placed it back down and turned to you again.  He yanked the glasses off your head and took the headphones off your neck before he tossed them onto the table with the discarded gun.  

He took your hand before he started dragging you off.  He stopped as he opened the door and reveal Hoseok twirling a small knife around in boredom. 

“Clean up for her will you,” Yoongi address as Hoseok mosied on inside as Yoongi dragged you off.  You gave up on fighting him not long after he started pulling you along to wherever it was he was taking you.  Not having the energy to fight him off and knowing he was as bullheaded as a bullet, you gave in. 

He made it to his room- a far too grand one to be fair for any person’s sleeping quarters- as he pulled you inside along with him and shut the door behind him.  He pulled you to the bed before he pushed you onto it. 

He rolled over you before he came to lay at your side, holding you down as he held his arms around your waist.  

“What the hell is wrong with you?” You asked him. He closed his eyes as he lay on top of his bed comforter with you.  Not even bothering with shimming it out from under you both. 

“Nothing.  Now go to sleep.” 

“It’s the middle of the afternoon?” 

“And you haven’t slept since yesterday.” 

“You... knew about that?” 

Yoongi opened his eyes and looked at you.  “I’ve known everything since you first stepped foot here.  I’ve never looked away from you and I don’t plan to.” 

“What? Is this some sort of confession or something? Because It’s hardly romantic,” you rolled your eyes.  He was charming, but he sorely lacked in any kind of romance based topic. 

“Does a proclamation of something like this need to be romantic?” 

You looked at him.  “You-you're not actually serious are you?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“You... Do you like me?  Like, like-like me?” 

“Are you in grade school?  No one says ‘like-like’ anymore.  You’re more fluent in your words and yet that’s what you say?” You bicker at him for being a hypocrite as he just laughed at you.  He pulled you further under his chin as he closed his eyes again. “It’s just so hard not to fall in love with you.”  

“Love is a strong word, Yoongi.” 

“A strong woman deserves strong words, don’t you agree?” It was silent, yet you didn’t move.  “Y/n?” He called yet still nothing. moving, he smiled when he saw you already sleeping.  Face bright red as your fists held small bits of his shirt to ensure he wouldn’t be going anywhere. “Sleep well my dear,” he brushed your hair back and kissed your forehead. “We have much to talk about when you wake up, but no hurry. You’re even more adorable when you’re sleeping in my arms like this. Rest and I’ll be here- always.” 

[rueitae]

Bound

Read my whumptober collection on Ao3

Wild West AU!

~~~~~

The world spins as the ground smashes into Lance’s face. The impact worsens his headache and hurts like a headbutt from Ol’ Kaltenecker, but he can hardly find the strength to really register the pain. 

No sooner as he finally manages to place a palm on the prairie ground to lift himself up, he’s dragged to his knees by his assailants. The jerking motion sends fresh, sharp wave of pain through the top of his head and he has to shut his eyes to not throw up at the swirly sights in front of him. 

“What’do we do boss? Shoot him? Hang him?” Levidy squeals in delight. “Maybe… maybe we can scalp ‘im?”

Lance groans. An idiot Levidy might be but he’s under no false pretenses that he would shoot Lance without hesitation if ordered. Not that Lance is any less of an idiot, riding out to check on a cattle rustling tip alone. 

Catch up on the paperwork, Pidge, then I don’t have to do it, Lance mocks himself. I’ll bring you back a nice steak for lunch no problem!

Even in his dazed state, he hears the train whistle. His heart sinks, even if they let him live, he won’t make it to the station on time to collect the package he ordered for Pidge. 

“I think our dear sheriff deserves to go out with a bit more pomp and circumstance, Levidy,” says the leader of the gang. Too smart for his own good, Steelman always seems to be two steps ahead of the law. If he’d just let Pidge come with instead of trying to keep her out of his elaborate surprise...

“Bind him,” Steelman orders. “And make it tight,” he continues almost cheerfully, “he’s proven to be slippery when he wants.”

Lance glares, willing Steelman - blurry as he is to Lance - to drop dead where he stands. Growling, he rises from knee to foot, working for leverage.

Steelman clicks the safety off his custom revolver and points it at Lance. “Let Levidy do his job, Sheriff. We’ll let you do yours in time.”

“I will see you get justice,” Lance vows, though he slumps to his knees, wrists already burning as he tugs at the rope snug to his skin. “You won’t get away with this. Everyone knows the train is coming for this herd, and the time.” He can’t help a smug grin. “You’ll be tracked down before you can take one steer.”

But Steelman’s cruel smile just grows wider and more menacing. “That’s where you’ve provided a surprising boon for us.” The rope winds around his chest, keeping his strained arms uncomfortably close to his body. “You see, trains stop automatically if there is an accident. And you, dear Sheriff, will provide us with that accident.” 

The rope tugs in exclamation before Levidy ties it off. It doesn’t hurt, but Lance’s chest constricts at the knowledge of what is to become of him. 

Levidy hauls him roughly to his feet and Lance refuses to move, he can at least stall for time in the slim chance someone else is out here. “I’m not going to help you with your insane plan.”

Steelman clicks his tongue in disappointment. “I’d hate to blow your brains out right here, it’d be a pity to sully the wildflowers.” He gestures forward with his gun. “Move.”

Lance stumbles forward, pushed from behind. 

He hates being out of control of the situation. The only one he’d ever trust to tie him up like this is back at the office doing paperwork because he was too lazy to bring her along and do it himself when he got back. 

Levidy drags him up the grassy hill by the collar of his shirt. Lance barely keeps up, unable to tell what is up or down, his boots and pants scraping on the dirt, throat tight every time he’s pulled. 

Finally, he’s allowed to lay on the ground. But this ground isn’t hard like the soil, its distinctly iron. 

Rail iron. 

“Nice and easy, Levidy, make the good sheriff comfortable.” 

Lance tries to focus, blinking rapidly until his head settles. The railroad track goes on as far as he can see - in the distance already he can see the steam from the engine of the Continental Express. 

And he lies in its direct path, neck literally on the chopping block when the wheels come rolling through. 

He should move, and he tries, but his legs are stuck. Levidy hovers over them with rope - tying him to the track then. 

Quiznak, he’s really going to die here. 

“Pidge is going to kill you,” he spits - at the very least he has his pride. “I guarantee you that.”

Steelman walks over the tracks and kneels, pistol still in one hand. The madman cups the other under Lance chin, and pushes back punishingly. Lance chokes, his neck strained so far that he can almost see behind him. His captor holds him there, looking him over as if examining golden specks on a rock. 

“I think I will miss you, Sheriff,” he says regretfully, though Lance knows its fake. “But do not worry about your little deputy. Her brains will be put to good use once I have her, and if not, there are other ways to put her to use.”

Lance inhales sharply. “Don’t you touch her,” he seethes.

Steelman lightly pats his cheek, as if comforting a small child. “I will take good care of her,” he says cruelly, “I promise.”

“You worthless piece of s-mmmhhmmmm!” Lance yells angrily, as loud and as obnoxiously as he can even after the gag is tied at the back of his head. 

“Sweet dreams, Sheriff.” Steelman stands and tips his hat in mock respect. “I’ll toast to you later tonight as I take the train and your deputy to San Francisco.”

Then he leaves, out of sight far too quickly for Lance’s liking. 

Lance screams, squirms, twists, every type of movement he can think of to escape, but even as he loosens the rope slightly it holds fast, exhausting him and cutting into his skin. 

The train whistle is closer, he can see the line of freight cars rumbling over the hill. Lance struggles harder. 

Lance has regrets. Though he’ll die on the job - just the thought of being decapitated this way chews at his insides, not that he’ll be around to feel it much longer - he can’t help but think that he always expected to go out guns blazing like Shiro had, regardless of Pidge’s conspiracy theory that he was still alive.

He regrets not marrying Pidge years ago. Waiting until they could pass the badge on to someone else seems like foolishness when he reflects on it. She won’t even get the postmortem cash from the government - at least she knows where his life savings are kept, she can use that to pick up the search for her brother again.

She’s going to receive the package addressed to him, ring intended for her, after he’s died. Because if he’s sure of one thing, Pidge will be able to outwit Steelman.

The ground rattles and him with it. 

The shrieking sound of the train breaking fills the air. It’s stopping, Lance realizes a flicker of hope. But it’s far too late. Even if the Conductor has seen him and applied the breaks he’s still going to die. 

Lance breathes heavy and rapidly, because soon he won’t have a head to do so at all. He cries in fear because no one will see him, there is no one to hide from. 

The train whistle gets louder. Lance can smell the burnt coals and feels the crackle of electricity from the wheels against the rails. The breaking becomes nearly unbearable in his ears, more shrill than barkeeper Coran singing in the saloon. 

The sky goes dark. A wheel brushes up against his neck.

And stops. 

No more squeal of the breaks, only the cooling down of the engine. 

He isn’t dead. In a rare moment, Lance can’t find his own voice as he stares directly up at the front of the engine. If the train had failed to stop any sooner than it did…

“Lance!”

Against all odds, his deputy and the love of his life jumps out of the engine, her signature green boots pounding on the ground. 

Never in his life has he been more overjoyed to see her.

Pidge kneels before him with horrified eyes behind her empty frames, ripping off his gag.

Lance gasps. “How did… you were at the office…”

She flops on top of him, which Lance immediately decides isn’t fair as he can’t exactly hug her back. “Like I was going to stay behind and do paperwork while you investigated something that smelled like Steelman and his flunkies,” she tells him with a choked voice. 

“But.. how did you know I’d be…”

Pidge sniffs. “Because he’s a showman. There’s no way he’d pass up something like this when he sees it in the movies. Quiznak, Lance,” she sobs into the rope around his chest. “I thought I was going to lose you.” 

Lance laughs, though he feels no humor in it. “I guess I can’t die, not as long as you’re my sidekick.”

Though she still cries, Lance catches the briefest of smiles and a distinct laugh among the tears. “We’ve talked about this, I’m not your sidekick, goofball.”

No more waiting. Not after this far too close for comfort incident. “What about my wife?”

A moment of silence before Pidge raises her head, an incredulous look on her tear stained face. “I just spent the last few hours in fear for you life, you nearly died, and you’re proposing now?”

Lance smiles, pleased to get a rise out of her - the thrill of catching his normally ‘prepared for anything’ deputy off guard. “I can’t think of a better time,” he says, pouring all sincerity into his voice. 

Pidge huffs in frustration, but yet she smiles. “How can I say anything but yes if you put it like that?”

He shifts uncomfortably, the soreness of being tied up finally getting to him. “That’s the best thing I’ve heard all day… but can you untie me before we kiss?”

Lance knows he’s screwed when Pidge gets a defiant gleam in her eye. “You don’t need your arms and legs to kiss me.”

Well, Lance thinks as she leans down and meets his lips with her own, at least the kiss is worth it. 

[7scorpion]

Basically Arthur x Micah

Sorry guys i really wanted to write this fic but i got tired halfway thru because i started focusing on my oc a little bit... its kind of messy since i havent written in a while but its basically that

also i only post on tumblr mobile so im preemptively apologizing for the non read-more'd post

Rated R to be safe

Cowboy hatefic

"Talk to me Cowpoke." That old, not quite as southern accent hummed from above a dim oil lamp. Leaning shoulders onto the post of Arthur's tent, Micah set a downcast glance from the brim of his leather hat. Eyes searching the warm, glistening-- pathetic, 'brother' before him. He caught his own thoughts again. His wide, well used palms gripping the edge of his cot upon hearing his voice, strong, but still so ... entrancing?

"Now what? Can't you see I'm busy?" Curtly, Arthur shot back, accompanied by his most serious face.

A chuckle, or two, then Micah sighs again "Ain't you never heard of courtesy? I'm asking you to talk. You can't come back from a job in a huff, causin' a scene and NOT expect Dutch to send someone to check on 'ya" He lied.

Micah came to see Arthur on his own accord. Something always stirred him when Arthur was enraged. Wether it be his incessant comments causing it, or, some unfortunate crossing the big lug's path the wrong way. Micah's seen him shout until he was red in the face, and it sent shivers up his spine. It infuriated him, but he had never had a better orgasm in his life thinking about that deep reverberating shout. The way his lips pulled back over his teeth, his blue eyes lighting with impulsiveness, nearly feral. It was almost a bonus for Micah, knowing from the moment he touched himself to the thought, he had to wind Arthur up constantly. Just to hear that deep visceral sound again.

"Really. Dutch, sent YOU. Of all people, to discuss this with ME." Arthurs voice raising just in that little accusatory tone, had gotten Micah to swing up straight, locking eyes with Arthur. "Oh yeah, Cowpoke. Why? You tellin' me I'm not your favorite around here?" Thick sarcasm, the usual cadence out of Micah's lips as it peels into a grin. A disgusted grunt from Arthur is returned; rejection. It helps with the process, Micah tells himself.

Arthur stands from his cot, clothes unfold from his chest. Dark eyes lock on the little bit of chest hair peeking from Arthur's linen that drives Micah wild. There was something so dainty about him? Beautifully male. Micah stirs his hips again, adjusting his growing discomfort.

Arthur steps closer, eyes meet. Micah shoots his glance down for a moment, he cant stand it for long. Piercing eyes, sad, wonderful - Vile. He gives a low growl at Arthurs new position.

"Git on. I'm not dealing with your shit right now." The words fall out of Arthurs mouth with such certainty, and Micah disliked that.

Detouring around Arthur's pitiful excuse for a blockade, Micah steps to his cot feeling welcome to a seat.

"You think yer being funny? What do you want from me?" Arthur half pleaded, now standing over Micah as he was before, watching the rat bastard make himself comfortable. This was one of Micah's favorite angles to view his Cowpoke, with his strong jaw highlighted by the lamp. Thank the Lord he isn't married.

Micah shook his head. "Well, who do you think you are coming into camp like a bat out of hell?" Micah halfheartedly pitched back, as it was all he could think of.

Plain desperate to continue on. Still dazzled by the beads of sweat on Arthurs cheek. He watched his blue eyes roll like they were falling out of his head, so clearly over what Micah intended to 'pull'.

"Please, not now. I really don't have time for this." Arthur groaned, before collecting his gun belt from his chest. "I'm going for a ride, be gone when I'm back." With that, the younger cowboy sauntered to his horse and saddled up. To ride his stress away until sunset. Micah sat enraged. Utterly boiling. His plan turned, and it hasn't worked in weeks. This was his final attempt to get that sweet release from hearing Arthur raise his voice. Weeks had gone by and the man nearly seemed passive, Micah couldn't get a rise, not even out of himself. Micah left Arthurs tent dejected, he needed something new. Simple wordplay wasn't working anymore. Striding to the campfire, Micah mulled his plans and options, for him it was dire. He held his open palms over the fire, squat on a log, eyes glossed in thought. Oblivious to the negging of the stragglers at the evening fire. Nearly desperate for a piece of Arthur's emotion.

Hours feel like days. Sitting, waiting, checking of pocket watches. The sun had gone down nearly two hours ago. Revelers of the camp were loudly singing, mostly out of tune. Micah had sequestered himself as usual at a table, whittling to pass time. His final decision was simply, to try again. Maybe this time he would break the camels back and get a rise. A deep sigh. Relief at the thought of being able to feel it again. To himself, Micah hoped at least some of the campers would be asleep by that time. He lit a cigarette and took a deep drag, closing his eyes. Desperately trying to reconjure the image of Arthur in his mind. Shouting for his life. Wonderful, wild, absolutely intoxicating.

"Mister Bell." A familiar low, drawl, dripping with honey drifts through Micahs ear. Eyes open in a flash, and dart upwards to the source; his cowpoke walking past him, with a relaxed grin.

Waves of disappointment overtook Micah. Arthur was calm, his plans were ruined. Stunned silence was exchanged, Micah's eyes darted back to his cigarette. Moments passed in thought before the cigarette was thrust between his lips and pulled to the end, nearly burning his fingers. Micah tossed the ember laden paper to the ground and tailed after Arthur, blind from his disappointment turned rage.

Arthur stood in his tent, wiping his face of the few beads of sweat with his back turned. Unaware of Micah's steam whistle mouth coming up behind him.

"Who do you think you are coming up to me like that!" Micah shouts down at the other man, causing him to whip around on his boot heel. Arthur's face twisted to a look of confusion and offense, he wasn't even aware he'd done anything.

"What in the hell are you talking about?" Arthur argues, in a lower voice, noticing Hosea had laid down for the night a few feet away after joining the small festivities. Micah shoved Arthur forward with a strong right arm, extracting the wind from his chest for a moment. Just like that, Arthur's mood turned. He thrust his arms forward and shoved Micah down.

Trying to catch himself, Micah grasped for anything. The post, the table, then, the ties to Arthur's canvas tent and tumbled to the ground. They barely noticed the canvas had fallen around them before they continued to throw punches inside of Arthur's tent. There was a limit to this Cowpoke's patience and Micah was finding it every time.

"I don't have time for this!" Arthur shouts before landing his beautiful, horrible fist into Micah's face. He sat above Micah attempting to restrain him. "What in the hell is wrong with you?!" Strained shouting through gritted teeth. Upon hearing which, Micah needed to adjust his hips under Arthur to accommodate his new rise.

Noises of resistance, grunts and shouts ensued before Micah found an opening. Arthur slipped on Micah's hips and felt something jab him, for a moment he was sure he was stabbed. With a swift motion, Micah flipped his favorite cowpoke onto his back, a new angle. He'd never seen this perspective before, his Adam's apple so pronounced, cheekbones... that chest. Nearly losing his advantage staring into Arthur's flesh, he resettles firmly, pressing the young man's arms over his head. "Now tell me why you do this to me." Micah uttered words he never thought he would. He felt as though he exposed himself for what he was. Obsessed. "Oh, you just cant help yourself, sick bastard." Arthur mumbled through labored breath followed by a low breathy chuckle, his eyes now trained on Micah's pronounced member. It took less than a moment for Micah to return to earth from Arthur basically calling him a freak. Blood pumping and a deep stare, sweat beads forming, deep, deep breaths. Slower and slower.

Lips meet. Fast and sloppy. Arthur's exposed chest shines under his oil lamp, coarse dirty hands grasp and grab at him. "Get naked, pretty boy." Micah growled, crawling upwards and jerking Arthur to his feet by his open shirt. They couldn't keep their hands off each other to do that.

Kissing desperately, chest to chest, the warmth stimulating that little dead part of their soul for passion. Assisted undressing, hats tossed without a care, physical absorption into the act. The world disappeared around them as they fell to Arthur's cot.

Hand jar, petroleum creme. God's gift to horny cowboys without a woman in sight. In this case, horny cowboys with no interest in the women in sight. Much more consumed with seeing how the other reacts to their provided pleasure. Arthur let himself be laid out, and Micah take over. After all Dutch DID want him to start trusting him more.

Not a delicate touch was exchanged as Micah ferociously tore open Arthur's button down and Arthur tossed Micah's hat away. Micah wasted no time, stepping up quickly to undo his current partner's pants, yanking downward without a care. Arthur couldn't complain, he was still wrapped up in all the groping of his various erogenous zones.

He wasn't going to allow himself to be completely nude, after all this was just impulsive and quick. Arthur was also still dwelling on the possibility that someone might be so inclined as to check on them. Though, who really would want to find out the source of those sounds. Micah unstraps his pants, allowing them to fall below his knees, and Arthur's immediately thrown back into the moment.

"You like what you see, pretty boy?" Micah's dark smug chuckle rings in one ear and out the other as he stares at the younger man sat before his hips. Arthur wasn't a man who needed to ask what he had to do next, he coated his hand in the petroleum and got to work.

[ddaddsprompts]

The Dads’ reaction to you owning a pet fox

Somehow, xkit glitched and I accidentally deleted the ask. I’m sorry about that! I feel like I should also mention that, no matter how cool it may sound, even “domesticated” foxes are still wild animals and are illegal to own in many states. They’re not meant to be indoor pets, so please, don’t get one. - Mod Mare

🥃 “You… own a fox.” Your gaze wanders from Robert to Fire, your pet fox. You look back at Robert and, with the most deadpan voice and expression you can muster, say, “No, I don’t.” Robert scowls at you. “Pretty sure that’s a fox right there.” You shake your head. “No, that’s a dog. I think you need glasses.” Robert shoots you a dirty look and crosses his arms in front of his chest. “What’s the dog’s name?” “Fire.” Robert blinks. “Please don’t tell me you named it after-“ That’s the moment you break. Giggling, you bend down and run your fingers through Fire’s plush coat. She yips and rolls on her back, presenting her belly to you. From where Robert is standing comes a surprised noise of delight, which you wisely do not tease him about. “The web browser. Yes, yes I did. And Fire is a she.” Robert sighs. “You’re such a nerd.” He pauses. “Can I pet her?” You give Fire an assessing look. She bites your hand, barely hard enough to even leave marks, but you resume your petting and she releases you again. “Not right away. Foxes don’t really like meeting new people. Give it some time and bring her some socks.” Robert acknowledges what you said with a grunt and leans against the wall. You can tell he’s thinking about something, but let him bring it up in his own time, which he does after a few minutes. “Is she leash-trained?” You look up and narrow your eyes at him. Fire gets on her paws and runs off. “I’m not taking Fire on cryptid hunts.” “But they’re cunning and clever!” There’s a loud crash. You and Robert run to the kitchen, where you find Fire with her head stuck in a box crashing into various objects in blind panic. You give Robert a pointed look. “Are you sure about that?”

🍸 The first time Joseph came to your house, the very day you and Amanda moved in, the fox hadn’t marked her territory yet, so The Smell wasn’t bad. Maybe you should have mentioned what kind of pet you owned before he dropped by the second time in general, and the first time as your boyfriend, but it slipped your mind. Both you and Amanda are used to The Smell, which you’d personally describe as skunk mixed with ammonia. You don’t even notice it anymore. Joseph evidently does. The moment you open your door to let him in, he recoils and coughs. “Ships and sailors, Y/N! What’s this…?” He turns his head away and pulls a face. “Smell?” You rub the back of your head and wince. “I’m so sorry, I totally forgot. Give me like, ten minutes, and it should be better.” Joseph watches you in confusion as you steam clean the carpets, light candles, empty two litter boxes and open all windows. His nose is still scrunched up when he enters, but at least he comes in at all, so you hope it’s not as bad anymore. “Better?” He hesitates, but nods and sinks down on your couch. “Did… did a skunk break in?” Laughing nervously, you shake your head. “No, it’s Fire. She’s my… she’s my pet. Want to meet her? Fire!” You whistle and a ‘bark’ answers you, followed by the scratch of claws on the ground. A second later, Fire appears and yips, waggling her tail happily. Joseph screams. “Th-that’s a fox!” You lean down and scratch Fire behind the ears; she makes a pleased noise and puts her front paws on your knees. “Yup. I rescued her from a fur factory and she’s too domesticated to be released into the wild, so I kept her. The Smell, capital letters, is part of the package. Isn’t she cute?” Joseph looks at you as if you lost your mind, but, being the polite person he was, nods and offers his hand for Fire to sniff at. “V-very cute.” He flinches when Fire licks his hand and only relaxes again when she disappears back to her nest.

☕ Going to the Coffee Spoon had become part of your daily routine. The increased coffee intake probably didn’t do your body well, but it meant getting to see Mat every day, which beat the health concerns, in your opinion. “Hey baby,” you greet and the bells above the door jingle as you enter the shop. Mat waves at you, then continues serving the customers in line. It doesn’t take long until it’s your turn. He leans over the counter to kiss your cheek. “Hey, baby, your usual?” You nod and stand back to watch him work his magic. Despite knowing he won’t accept it, you get out some money to pay for the drink and hold it out to him. He glances up from the coffee machine for a moment and gives you a look. “How often do I have to…” You frown when he trails off and cock your head at him. Mat is staring at your hand, but not the money in it. “Baby, what are those cuts?” He gently takes your hand in his and trails the scratches and bite wounds Fire left after you two roughhoused. “You’re not… you know, right?” “What do you…” Realisation dawns on you. “Gosh, no, Mat, I didn’t hurt myself. I promise.” He visibly deflates and lets out a long breath. “Where are they from?” You shrug. “Fire.” Seeing his uncomprehending, somewhat confused, expression, you can’t help but laugh. “I can’t believe I keep forgetting to tell people about her. She’s my pet fox.” Mat’s eyes go wide. “You have a fox? Is she dangerous?” He gestures to the wounds. “She’s sassy. And she likes to chew on things, including me. And my socks. I don’t think I own a single pair without holes in them.” Mat blinks before breaking into a grin and winking at you. “Can’t wait to meet little Miss Sass-Fire in person then. Just remind me to keep my limbs close to my body and my socks away from her teeth.”

🌹 “Y/N!” It takes you a second to recognise the voice, but when you do, you turn around and smile at Damien. “Hey, Damien, what brings you here?” Maple Bay’s resident goth, currently dressed in his work-clothes, gestures to his trolley, which is filled with various kinds of dog, cat, rodent and bird food. “Shopping for the animal shelter. I didn’t know you had a pet. Or are you planning to finally get Amanda a dog?” You laugh. “Gods, no, she would try to smuggle it into her college dorm and that would only end in chaos. No, I’m shopping for Fire. She’s my pet.” Damien peers into your shopping cart and frowns at the dog kibble. “What kind of animal is Fire, if I may ask?” Instead of answering, you take out your phone and quickly scroll through the dozens of photos you have of her, searching for the best. You finally settle on a cute photo you’d taken of her with Amanda and show it to Damien. His reaction makes you wish you had a camera to record it; his eyes go wide and he snatches the phone from you. After you give him the go-ahead, he swipes his thumb and looks at some more photos, all the while he is cooing. “Why didn’t you tell me you own a pet fox? I have always longed to see one from up close, their behaviour is quite dog-like, from what I know, yet I would never have bought one. How did you acquire her?” “We rescued her from a factory that produces fur. She’s from a line of domestic fur-bearing foxes and through breeding, lost many of her natural instincts, so she’s non-releasable.” Damien sighs and smiles at you. “I’m so glad to hear you didn’t merely acquire her as a pet.” He hands you back your phone and takes a hold of your arm. “Would you be terribly opposed to me accompanying you, dear Y/N? I would love to learn more about Fire.” You smile and wrap an arm around his waist. “I wouldn’t be opposed to that at all.”

🎣 When Brian learned you have a pet (that’s not a cat), he all but demanded you introduce her to Maxwell, despite your protests. You’ve never had Fire interact with dogs before, so you’re understandably nervous as you wait for Brian to arrive. Fire is her usual energetic self, running around her back-door enclosure and digging to her heart’s content, so you hope – pray – she’s in too good in a mood for lashing out on Maxwell. You doubt your relationship to Brian would take well to that. There’s a knock on the front door, which you left unlocked. Brian enters, leading Maxwell by the leash. The corgi stiffens at the smell of the house and cautiously follows his owner to the backyard. “Hello Y/N! Ready to—“ The moment Brian sees the fox in the backyard, he freezes. Maxwell circles his legs and sniffs the air. “That’s… that’s a fox.” You put your hands on your hips and grin. “Yup. Her name’s Fire. You know, because of Firefox. No? Okay. It’s a wordplay. I think you better leave Maxwell on the leash, just in case. I’ve never introduced Fire to dogs before, so I don’t know how she’ll react.” Brian does one better and picks his dog up. Then he sits down in the grass and keeps Maxwell in his lap. You join him and lean against his burly frame. And you wait. Fire stopped digging and is staring at Maxwell intently, her tail swishing back and forth. Without noticing, you’re holding your breath. Then, suddenly, Maxwell wiggles free and runs up to the fox, yipping and bouncing around her. You hold onto Brian’s arm. Fire crouches. Were she a cat, she would probably wiggle with her butt, getting ready to pounce. Which she does a second later, opening her mouth and—Nips Maxwell’s ear. The dog barks and chases after her. You sigh in relief and slump against Brian, who wraps an arm around you and laughs. “See, you needn’t have worried!” He pauses. “I should have unclipped Maxwell’s leash. We’re tied up.”

👟 “Dude, is that… is that a fox?” Craig pulls out one of his earbuds and takes a tentative step closer. You keep a firm grip on Fire’s leash, in case she decides she doesn’t like the new human, but she’s more interested in the flowers that grow in front of your house than Craig. “Remember that organisation I volunteered for in college?” Craig taps his chin, like he always does when he’s thinking hard. Then he grins. “Right! Is-“ “She, her name’s Fire.“ “-Fire, huh? Cool name, bro! Is Fire a rescue animal?” You nod and lean down to scratch Fire’s head. She makes a happy noise. “She can’t be released into the wild, so I took her in. It’s like having a dog and a cat at the same time, but she’s still a wild animal.” Craig gets down and reaches out to touch Fire, but she shies away from the touch, ears flat against her head. Craig immediately backs off and chuckles. “She coming with us on the run?” As if she understood the word, Fire starts getting antsy, pulling on the leash and barking at you. Craig takes this as his cue to start jogging and you and Fire follow him. He goes slow, allowing you to keep up with him. “Might as well combine the two things,” you explain. “She has the whole backyard to herself, ‘s why I bought the smallest house, because it has the biggest garden, but she still needs to run every now and then.” Craig grins at you. “So you should have got more than enough training in the years owning her. Means I don’t have to go easy on you. Come on, bro, let’s go faster!” Without a warning, he picks up the speed, getting ahead of you by a few feet like it’s nothing. Much to your joy, Fire starts going faster too, which means you have to, too, or you risk Fire breaking free, or dragging you to your feet. You groan, which only makes Craig laugh. Sadistic bastard.

📖 “I’m going to the stores, do you want me to get anything?” Without looking up from the newspaper, you answer, “Can you get me some kibble for Fire? I’m almost out and won’t be able to buy some today.” There’s a long pause. “Pardon?” You finally lower the paper. “Huh?” Hugo sits down and looks at you intently, with that intense, unblinking stare that makes students quiver. “Who or what is Fire and why do they need kibble?” The wheels turn in your head. “Oh! Have I never mentioned her before?” Hugo wordlessly shakes his head. “I’m sorry. I have a pet fox, her name is Fire, and she likes having kibble as a snack. It’s not her main diet, of course, she needs Taurine and lots of calcium, so I mostly feed her a raw diet, such as—“ Hugo interrupts you by holding up his hand and you wonder when exactly he trained you to react to his hand signals so well. “Forgive me if I misunderstood you there, Y/N. You said you… own a… pet fox.” He pauses long enough for you to nod. “I hope you have a license, or I’m going to report you to the authorities. That is nothing against you personally, but foxes aren’t meant to be pets, even the ones that were bred to be tame, and—“ Now it’s your turn to hold up your hand and you’re delighted to see he reacts to that as well. “I have a license, Hugo. If you want me to, I can run over to my place real quick and get it?” Hugo shakes his head. “I trust your word, Y/N. How did you end up owning a fox?” “She was rescued from a factory.” Hugo smiles at you and nods, apparently pleased. “Good. It would have irked me, had you bought her for the sole purpose of owning a fox.” He pushes up his glasses and gets that inquisitive, fiery expression you know so well by now. “Now, tell me everything. Start with her dietary restrictions.”