#Motherfuckers will complain about being hot while draped all over you

[tess-from-neverland]

Marauders as things my friends have said pt. This time we're drunk

In the nightclub

Remus: It's so hot

Remus *hugs Sirius*:

Sirius: If you're so hot, why are you hugging me? It's not like I'm cool

Remus *touching Sirius' stomach*: You are here

Outside the nightclub

Remus, without a coat: It's so cold

Sirius, with a coat: No, it's okay

Remus: If only there was a way

Sirius, hugging Remus: Hot or cold you're always hugging me

Remus, holding him tighter:

Sirius: Your nose is cold, Remussss

[havenoffandoms]

Hey congrats on 900 followers! Would I be able to request the touch starved prompt from your list with the pairing Aiden/Lambert please? Love all your writing!

Hello!! Thanks for requesting this prompt and this pairing! I’ve been on a right Lambden kick recently, so I felt inspired. I hope you like it! 

Prompt 13: Touch-Starved

Pairing: Aiden x Lambert

Warnings: None

Prompt List

Lambert was apprehensive about many things concerning Aiden when the two started travelling together. Being stabbed to death in his sleep comes to mind, or having Aiden go all batshit crazy if Lambert dared to beat him at Gwent. Lambert has heard many rumours about Cat witchers in his long life. Cats are batshit crazy. Cats are emotionally volatile. Cats are backstabbing sons of bitches… literally and metaphorically. Cats are bad. Cats are evil, etc, etc. All these rumours circulated in Kaer Morhen long before Lambert even set foot in that ramshackle castle. He was too young to have witnessed the Tournament, but he heard the older witchers talk. Later in his life, when only a handful of wolf witchers were left after the sacking, Eskel gave Lambert a more detailed account of the Tournament.

“The Cats betrayed us, went on a rampage. Killed many wolf witchers in the process. Geralt and I lost many friends that day,” Eskel told him one evening, when the oldest surviving wolf was too far in his cup to notice that he was oversharing. “Radowit’s court mage Astrogarus promised the Cats monopoly on killing monsters within Kaedwen in exchange for attacking the Wolves during the tournament. Turns out Radowit was a backstabbing motherfucker himself. He ordered his soldiers to shoot all of the remaining witchers of both schools in the arena.”

“Lemme guess,” Lambert spoke, his own speech slightly slurred, “pretty boy saved the day?” 

Eskel shook his head. “Fled. Mousesack helped him escape the massacre. Poor bastard never forgave himself for abandonin’ our brothers, but what choice did he have?”

Don’t get Lambert wrong. He’s not saying that Aiden is harmless, far from it. The guy’s lethal with his swords, deadly with a pair of daggers, not to mention a stealthy and clever thief. Aiden is mercurial, hot-tempered and a bit feral when he wants to be, and his morals are at best dubious. Whereas wolf witchers had their emotions beaten out of them at a young age, cat witchers feel too much, too strongly. Lambert’s witnessed Aiden flip tables when peasants beat him at Gwent, but he’s also witnessed the Cat shed a tear after bringing the news to a mother that her son did not survive the ghoul attack two villages down the road. 

Lambert was apprehensive about many things concerning Aiden when the two started travelling together, but the Cat had never ceased to surprise him. The most unexpected trait Aiden has displayed to date is his insatiable need for physical contact. It’s not like Lambert hates being touched - he’s only human, albeit a mutated one, but still human. He enjoys a hug as much as the next person, especially when said hug comes from one of his brothers (or, dare he say, Vesemir) at the end of a long and difficult year on the Path. Lambert has also never begrudged a bed partner a post-coital cuddle session. Aiden’s need for physical contact is… on a whole different level. 

The first time it happened, Lambert almost shoved the Cat off him and sent him packing, until he realised that Aiden was not only hugging him, but clinging onto him. His sharp nails were digging in the soft material of Lambert’s shirt, the fabric creaking in protest under the firm grip. When Lambert looked down, he noticed the pinched eyebrows and tears trailing down Aiden’s face. It wasn’t until a broken sob pushed past the Cat’s lips that Lambert reluctantly returned the embrace, arms wound tightly around Aiden’s trembling body. Aiden eventually settled in the safety of Lambert’s arms, his features softening as he sank back into a peaceful slumber. 

Neither mentioned the previous evening’s impromptu cuddling session, but from that moment one, it was like someone had flicked a switch. Aiden came up with every possible fucking excuse to touch Lambert. Their hands would always accidentally graze each other when they packed up camp, or tacked up the horses. Aiden would bump shoulders with him when they were travelling on foot. If they sat next to one another in a tavern, Aiden would press his leg against Lambert’s, and if they were facing each other, a tentative foot would gently nudge Lambert’s shin and linger there. It’s not like Aiden was trying to hide his intentions, either. They rarely paid for two rooms anymore, because even if they did, Aiden would always end up in Lambert’s bed anyway, arms wound around Lambert’s body like a koala clinging to its mother.

Lambert doesn’t hate Aiden’s need for physical proximity, he’s just… confused by it. Aiden rarely takes any lovers to bed, even though he clearly craves physical intimacy. Lambert is more than happy to cuddle with Aiden, especially when they are forced to sleep under the stars and the early autumn frosts begin to settle over the region. It saves them from lighting a campfire, which may attract the wrong kind of attention to them. That’s all that’s ever transpired between the two, though… cuddling. Lambert enjoys the cuddling as much as Aiden does, but for Aiden it seems to be about more than mere enjoyment. The Cat simply refuses to go without physical intimacy which at times can be… alright, it can feel overbearing, but Lambert’s not about to complain, not when most humans turn away from him in disgust and contempt when he tries to chat them up. 

Over the course of the next few weeks, Aiden almost develops a form of separation anxiety. He refuses to let Lambert out of his sight, going so far as to follow the man everywhere, and that’s the moment when Lambert snaps. 

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” he asks, his tone hiding none of the irritation he feels at being tailed by this overgrown tomcat. Aiden stops dead in his tracks, his eyes growing wide at Lambert’s words. 

“Huh?” 

“You’ve been following me since this morning… I have errands to run and it’s hard to do that when you’re breathing down my neck!”

Lambert instantly regrets his words the minute they leave his mouth. Aiden’s shoulders visibly sag at Lambert’s comment, his content expression melting into something sadder and the sight tugs at the wolf’s heartstrings in all the wrong ways. Aiden averts Lambert’s eyes shyly, the tip of his ears turning a pretty shade of pink as embarrassment washes over him. Lambert heaves a sigh. Way to act like a fucking dick. 

“Sorry, Aiden. I… I didn’t mean to sound like an ass, but-”

“It’s alright, I… I knew this moment would come eventually.”

“What are you talking about?” Lambert asks, a confused frown etched on his face. Aiden doesn’t look at him when he replies in a voice far too small to belong to the lethal, cocky witcher Lambert has come to know over the past few months. 

“You’re gonna ask me to leave for good. I get it. I… I’ll go back to the room and pack my things.” 

As Aiden turns around to leave, Lambert’s hand shoots out and grabs a hold of Aiden’s wrist. Before Lambert’s brain has a chance to catch up, he finds himself pulling Aiden into a nearby alley, away from prying eyes of judgemental humans meandering the stalls of the midweek market. Aiden looks so unsure now, so vulnerable like this, and it makes Lambert want to wrap the Cat up in warm blankets and cuddle him and forget the world for a while. Instead, he settles on pressing Aiden’s back against the wall and draping himself around the Cat witcher as much as he can. 

“That’s not what I meant,” Lambert breathes in the air pocket between them as he locks eyes with Aiden, “you’ve just been… especially clingy recently. Are you sure you’re alright?”

Aiden averts his eyes once again, but Lambert is quick to grip the other man’s chin and force Aiden to meet his gaze. Even that simple touch pulls a small hiss from Aiden, whose eyes flutter shut as he relishes in the feeling of Lambert touching him anywhere. Lambert purses his lips, eager for an answer. 

“Aiden-”

“Winter is around the corner,” Aiden whispers, his tongue darting out to lick his suddenly dry lips. Lambert’s frown deepens. 

“And?”

His question is met with a pointed eye roll from Aiden. 

“And… wolves return to their dens for winter, don’t they? I was just… enjoying the last few weeks in your company before you leave and never come back.”

As the final piece of the puzzle slots into place, understanding dawns on Lambert. He pulls away from Aiden and the small whimper the loss of contact triggers does not go unnoticed. Something old and fragile aches in Lambert’s chest as the meaning of Aiden’s words sink in. Aiden isn’t just worried about being separated from Lambert for a few months, but he’s worried that Lambert will never come back.The wolf links his fingers with his Cat’s, squeezing softly as he leans into Aiden’s space and rubs his bearded cheek against Aiden’s jawline. The latter quickly melts under the soft ministrations, the soft content rumble deepening into a continuous purr as Lambert nuzzles the crook of Aiden’s neck. 

“Why didn’t you say something sooner?” 

“Yeah, right,” Aiden snorts in response, “cause you’re so good with feelings and shit.”

“Not everyone’s a sappy sentimental bitch like you are,” Lambert teases gently, earning himself a half-hearted slap up the back of the head. “I don’t have to go back to Kaer Morhen this winter.”

Aiden tenses, his soft purring stopping abruptly as he takes in Lambert’s words. Lambert continues to rub his cheek against Aiden’s jaw, his neck, his cheek… wherever he can reach, the action meant to soothe the brewing storm in Aiden’s mind.

“It’s your home,” Aiden offers weakly, “I don’t want… I… it’s your home.” 

“I can send a letter to the old man. Let him know I’m alive. We could find a den somewhere else… an attic somewhere, or an abandoned castle.” Lambert nuzzles the spot right behind Aiden’s ear, earning a pleased hum from the Cat. “Or you could come with me.”

“Sure. Cause that’s gonna end well…” 

“That’s settled then. I’m spending winter with you.”

Aiden pushes Lambert away, their eyes meeting once again but this time, Aiden searches for any trace of a lie in Lambert’s amber gaze. He finds none, because Lambert is one hundred percent honest in his offer. He would ditch Vesemir, Geralt and Eskel for a year to spend it with Aiden… and the thought should scare him more than it does, truthfully. He’s only known the Cat for a few months, and yet… well, maybe Lambert was dreading the winter as well. How about that? It’s not like he felt equally anxious about leaving Aiden, it’s just… fuck off. 

“You mean that?” 

“Mhm. Fair warning… I hate the cold. If I’m spending the winter with you, you’ll have to find a way to keep me warm or I will bite your head off.” 

In Aiden’s defence, he does keep Lambert warm all winter long. Their cuddling finally turns into something more, and from the moment Lambert and Aiden cross that fateful line there is no going back. Aiden becomes insatiable, always seeking Lambert’s body in some shape or form, never letting the wolf out of his sight again.  Lambert may have been apprehensive about many things concerning Aiden when the two started travelling together, but it turns out that all his worries were for nothing. Turns out Cat witchers are still crazy, and feral, and mercurial… a tad possessive as well, something Lambert doesn’t hate... but they’re also the cuddliest sons of bitches on the Continent. 

Lambert can live with that, he thinks. 

Request a prompt.

[alrightberries]

glimpse of me and you

❈ pairing: levi ackerman x reader

❈ genre: fluff. ❈ word count: 2.6k

❈ summary: It’s your first day out of the Underground District and on the surface. Levi helps you get settled.

❈ trigger warnings: profanity.

a/n: i would like to confess that i was in A Mood.

mini sequel: truly, madly, deeply

i. morning

The first thing you noticed was that it was bright. Too bright.

Not the kind of brightness you saw in the warm glowing lamps that littered the Underground District, but the kind that made your eyes squint and feel sore- like they were going to pop out of your head any time soon. Your hand slips out of Levi’s to block out the light hurting your irises.

He stops walking up the staircase and turns to look at you.

“Here.” He murmurs. He places down the boxes he was holding and takes off his green Survey Corps cape, draping it around your shoulders and clasping it at the front before drawing the hood over your face. The sunlight is no longer as harsh.

“Better?” He asks, and you nod.

“Much. Thank you, Levi.”

He hums in acknowledgement, one hand picking up the boxes with your luggage and the other one slipping through yours to slowly lead you up the staircase once more. He could tell from how you squeezed his hand and kept taking deep breaths behind him that you were nervous. He couldn’t blame you, either. He remembers being the same with Isabel and Farlan two years ago.

Two years. That’s how long it’s been since he was captured and taken to the surface. Since last saw your face and heard his name slip from your lips.

It took the better part of two years to barely scrape up enough money to buy you citizenship, but as he leads you through the stairway with your warm hand in his, he knows he wouldn’t hesitate do it all again.

For you.

“It’s going to be brighter once we reach the surface.” He says. The last step of the stairway was nearing. “I know you won’t, but close your eyes if you have to. You might get disoriented if you don’t.”

True to his words, you did end up getting disoriented because you refused to close your eyes. But really now, how could you? 26 years you’ve waited for this day to come. And you would be damned if you didn’t take everything in the second you set foot above ground for the first time.

As you reached the surface, Levi notices you flinching, turning your head away from the light and gritting your teeth once you set foot on the cobble stoned streets above. Despite your clear discomfort at the brightness, you made no move to close your eyes. In fact, you even braved to let them roam around.

“Stubborn dumbass.” He scolds quietly.

He leads you a little ways off from the exit of the stairway to put your stuff in the small wagon in front of you. The small wagon was drawn by a gorgeous black horse, and you realize that this was probably the beloved mare Levi spoke of in his letters.

“Is this Estreya?” You ask. Levi hums in agreement and takes the last box you were holding to place it with the rest of your luggage with a low grunt.

When he looks back at you he notices your eyes are still squinted, but your teeth were no longer gritted. The hood was still drawn over your face and one of your hands was still shielding your eyes from the burning light. You weren’t even going to lie, you were half terrified that your eyes were going to melt from how hot the sun was.

“Have you ever ridden a horse before?”

You scoff. “Yeah, because horses are really common in the Underground.”

He doesn’t reply to your quip. Though the way his eyebrows relax and his lips twitch up in the slightest doesn’t go unnoticed by you.

“Ride the wagon. You’ll fall on your ass if you try to go on horseback.”

“If you say so, Captain Levi.” 

It was now his turn to grit his teeth. He knew he shouldn’t have told you about his promotion.

“Tch, just get on. Or I’ll leave you stranded in Wall Sina.”

ii. noon

The wagon ride to Wall Rose was something you could only describe as ethereal.

You hadn’t the faintest idea the sky was so big and blue, and how fluffy the clouds seemed to be. The sky seemed to stretch for miles and miles, and knowing that there wasn’t a ceiling above you almost made you want to cry.

Wall Sina was beautiful, as well. Especially the market. The market you passed by almost made you want to stop the wagon and drag Levi from stall to stall to see what they had. They housed probably the most vibrant colored fruits and vegetables you’ve ever seen, and the smell of freshly baked bread made your mouth water. Not to mention, the air didn’t smell like moisture or piss or shit. 

“Don’t get any ideas.” He says, noticing your longing stare at the colorful tents. “You look like you’re about to jump off the wagon.”

“Will you leave me stranded if I do?”

“Yes.”

“Fine.”

Undoubtedly, though, your favorite view from the ride would be what Levi called “the suburbs.”

The tallness of the trees. The freshness of the air. The sounds of ruffling leaves. Birds and critters running around the ground and flying through the sky. The beautiful greens and blues were the biggest contrast to the drab grays and blacks you typically saw in the Underground District, and now you understood why Levi was so hellbent on taking you to the surface and never looking back.

“We’re almost there.” You hear him call out from in front of you.

Your eyes stop wandering around what Levi called a “valley”. You look past his figure sitting on the horse, spotting a castle made of bricks. It looked small from this distance but the closer you got, the more you realized that distance could be deceiving.

“Is that the Survey Corps’ base?” 

“No, it’s a fucking circus.” He replies sarcastically.

“What’s a circus?”

“It’s— nevermind.”

iii. afternoon

When you got to Levi’s private quarters, you didn’t hesitate to ask for a spare towel so you could take a shower.

You didn’t even bother kissing him or unpacking your things or… making up for lost time, if you will. Instead you made a beeline for the private bathroom connected to his bedroom and spent a good hour inside, talking to him through the door about how you’ve been looking forward to taking a proper shower all week. Levi had to drag you out and stop you from wasting more of the Survey Corps’ water reservoir.

“So, let me get this straight.” You mutter. 

You were sitting on his bed and he was sitting on a chair across from you. Your hair was still damp and your upper half was clad in a spare Survey Corps button down, while your bottom half was clad in nothing but your underwear.

Levi had complained that your clothes from the Underground were too dirty and would have to be washed. You called him rude, only relenting when he offered to do your laundry. But he wasn’t about to complain about the extra chores when it gave him this view.

“You’ve been captain for an entire year and only bothered to tell last week?”

“Yes.” Came his stoic reply.

“But why?!”

“I’m not hearing the end of this any time soon, am I?”

Before you could respond, Levi hears loud banging from his office door (which you noticed was connected to his bedroom) and he sighs as he wordlessly covers your bare legs with a blanket. Confused eyes met his, and all he could do was shrug as he heard the office door breakdown. The loud banging was now being directed at the bedroom door, the only thing separating you from what you assumed was some rabid raccoon.

“Levi motherfucking Ackerman!” You hear someone shriek from the other side of the wood. Okay, so maybe it’s not a rabid raccoon. “Open this door right this instant!”

You hear the lock clicking and the knob turning rapidly. Despite knowing you should probably be scared, you can’t help but smile at Levi’s clear irritation. It wasn’t the genuine kind of irritation. It was the kind he showed to Isabel— the one where he pretends to be annoyed but secretly enjoys their company.

“It’s not locked, four-eyes.” He replies.

Ah, so this must be the Hange he’s been complaining about.

“Then why can’t I open it?!”

“It’s push, not pull.”

Immediately, the banging stops, and silence takes over the room. But the silence is short lived when Hange suddenly kicks the door open and you jump from surprise. 

“Don’t think that I wouldn’t find out about you bringing a civilian to the base, Ackerman!” Hange points an accusing finger at Levi’s bored face. 

“I’d be more surprised if you didn’t. Considering I asked you to sign the authorization letter.”

The soldier ignores Levi’s quip and quickly makes their way over to you, sitting down next to your side and extending a hand.

“The name’s Hange Zoe, Section Commander of the Survey Corps. And you are?”

You warily accept their offer of a handshake. Your eyes briefly flit over to where Levi was still sat, relaxing a bit when he nods to your silent question of whether or not it was safe.

“Y/N.” You give them a polite smile. 

“When Moblit told me Levi brought a civilian to the base, I was ecstatic!” 

What the fuck is a Moblit? You wonder.

Your hands were still joined, and you weren’t sure if prolonged and drawn out handshakes were a custom of the surface. Not wanting to be rude, you continued to shake Hange’s hand, nodding along as they continued on.

“I didn’t peg shorty as the type to play boyfriend.”

“Neither did I.” You chuckled. “But he’s been more than wonderful. He’s more than I could ever ask for.”

Levi bites back the smile teasing his lips.

“Stop shaking Hange's hand. You’ll catch rabies or some shit.”

iv. evening

It was nearing six o’clock when Levi finally convinced Hange to go away, but only with the promise that he would introduce you to his squadron later at dinner. Normally he’d detest the idea of sharing intimate details about his personal life, but as he listens to you ask question after question about the surface, he deems the small sacrifice was more than worth this small moment with you.

“You said the surface was going to be hot. Why is it so cold now?” You ask, settling into the bed. Levi lifts up the blanket and begins to lie down beside you.

“Because it’s almost night.” He says simply. “It’s hot in the day and cold in the night.”

“Is it always like that?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “It depends on the season.”

He feels you shift closer to him, lifting his arm up and placing it around your waist as your head rests on his chest. He takes a deep breath, and the smell that was so uniquely you fills up his lungs. He almost hums in delight because it’s been two years; he hasn’t had this in two years, and no force on earth could ever take it away from him again.

“Season?” You murmur, sleepy eyes staring into his. 

Levi immediately knows that you’re a bedtime story away from snoozing, and he figures the fatigue is to be expected. You were, after all, being introduced to too many things at once. And judging by the bags under your eyes, you were probably too happy about going to the surface to get any sleep last night.

“Yeah. There are four seasons above ground: winter, summer, spring, and fall. Right now, it’s spring.”

“Will you tell me about the seasons?” 

He feels you shift, pressing a kiss against his cheek.

“You missed.”

You smile. A hand gently reaches out to grasp his chin, pulling his face towards yours to give him a gentle kiss. When you try to pull away, Levi pulls you back in.

“If you’re going to kiss me, do it properly.” He muses as your lips broke apart. The arm wrapped around your waist holds onto you a little tighter as you relax to his side once again, nuzzling your face in the crook of his neck. His thumb rubs small, gentle circles into your arm.

“The flowers bloom in spring. Everything blooms.” He explains. “In fall, the temperature gets colder so the leaves start changing colors.”

“What colors do they become?”

“Mostly brown or orange.”

You nod.

“In winter, that’s when things start getting really cold. Colder than the Underground. Snow starts falling and everything gets covered in it. It’s annoying.”

“But don’t you use winter as an excuse to... y’know, convince your bosses to spend more money on tea leaves?”

It was now his turn to nod, and you merely let out a chuckle. He feels your breath fanning against his neck and he doesn’t stop his head from lulling into yours. He really did miss having you in his arms.

“Figures.” You yawn. “You’re obsessed with that stuff.”

He feels a sleepy kiss press against his collarbones, and he places a tender kiss to your forehead.

“Get some sleep.” He murmurs. “I’ll wake you up for dinner.”

“But you haven’t told me about summer yet.”

A small smile makes its way to his lips, and Levi was thankful that you couldn’t see. He’d never hear the end of your teasing if you did.

“If I tell you, will you stop annoying me?”

“Possibly.”

“Okay.”

v. midnight

The first thing Levi notices is that it was dark. Too dark. 

A brief glimpse out his open window confirms his suspicions that it was, indeed, night time. He probably slept through dinner.

The second thing Levi notices is that his entire right side was numb and there was a heavy weight on his body, some of it crushing his arm. He hears your sleepy voice mumble his name in your sleep, and he relaxes once he remembers the events of today.

He kept his promise.

You had an entire future ahead of you, and Levi’s heart warms at the thought. Sure, you were a civilian who couldn’t stay in the Survey Corps base forever; and he should probably start helping you job hunt so you could both start saving up for a new house. He’d fight you tooth and nail if you tried to join the military though, and something tells him you probably wouldn’t listen.

But he kept his promise. And that’s all that mattered for now.

He hears you shift in his arms before taking a sharp inhale, and your eyes sleepily open. They glance around the room, trying to remember where you were, before landing on him. A small smile teases your lips, adoration blossoming in your heart at the man in front of you.

“What time is it?” You softly ask. One of your hands reaches out to rub your eyes before he feels a warm palm come to rest on his stomach.

“Late.” He replies. His free hand lands on your soft cheek, and he tilts your head down so he can kiss your forehead. “Go back to sleep.”

You only nod, too tired to argue. You break free from his grasp and Levi is momentarily disappointed when you turn the other way. But then your hand reaches out behind you to sling his arm over your waist, and he shifts closer when he realizes you wanted to spoon.

“So I don’t kill your arm.” You explain quietly.

Levi presses his chest to your back and his leg wraps around yours. His nose is buried into the crown of your hair and he couldn’t help but take a deep inhale and close his eyes. Your hand intertwines with the one slung around your waist, and he feels you lift up your conjoined hands to place a kiss to his knuckles.

“I love you, Levi.”

This time, Levi doesn’t bother to hide his smile. It wasn’t the first time you’ve said I love you, and it definitely wasn’t going to be the last. But it would never cease to amaze Levi how just three short words could turn his stoic and uninterested demeanor into one of smiles that reached his eyes. 

“Y/N.”

“Hmm?”

“Marry me.”

mini sequel: truly, madly, deeply

alrightberries © 2020. do not modify or repost.

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[geminidentitycrisis]

The Scent of Leather and Hairspray

Present Mic/Hizashi Yamada x F!reader ONESHOT

(WARNINGS! - swearing)

---------

Sooooooo, I have a new favorite Pro, I guess haha

I hope you enjoy, and if you're underage, pretend you're older because I get it, I'd be Hot For Teacher too, but he's not a pedo sorry......

----------

You sighed as, upon exiting the store where you just purchased a frozen drink, the men you passed to enter that store started catcalling you. Just what you needed at the end of a rough day...

"Hey Honey, you'd be cuter if you smiled...!"

"Don't listen to that shit, babygirl, you're sexy as hell, c'mere and hang out a while...?"

Ignoring them the best you could, you kept walking, but they didn't take that very well. "You think you're too good for us, that it, stuck up bitch? Where you think you're goin'?"

You could hear their footsteps approaching behind you and turned to face them after sipping from your drink.

"Guys, please, I've had a hell of a day today and my quirk would probably scar you both for life and what do you say we just don't do this, huh?"

They exchanged glances before fixing you with threatening glares. "You think you're tough, babygirl? We'll see how tough you are when we get through teaching you some respect..." the first one said.

"HEY!"

A voice called from behind you and suddenly an arm was draped gently around your neck. You froze, being caught off guard tended to prompt a panic response when you were so tired.

You smelled leather and an overwhelming scent of hairspray.

"What's the trouble, my homies? Pretty sure ya heard the lady, she ain't jammin' to the vibe ya layin' down, ya dig? Beat it."

Heart skipping a beat or two, your eyes grew wide and a blush flooded your cheeks. "That voice...?!"

You whipped your head up to see the one and only Present Mic.

"Ah! I knew it! I knew I recognized your voice, I catch your radio show every day! You're the Sound Hero, Present Mic!" he flashed a grin down at you, winking.

"Oooh, you've got good ears, Listener! Thanks for Hypin' me up like that! Always great ta meet a FAAAN!" he responded in his commentator voice.

One of your would be tormentors interrupted angrily. "Hey, peacock head, why don't you mind your business?"

"PEACOCK...?! You boys best get ta steppin', aight?! Don't make me beat you up in fronta this pretty girl!" he replied in annoyance after his attention was so aggressively stolen from you.

The blush came back in full force and you couldn't contain a dreamy sigh as your lashes fluttered, eyes lidding contentedly now that you felt safe again.

*he said I was pretty~!* you thought.

"You believe this banana hair lookin' motherfucker? You're about to get your ass whooped, fruity!" the other threatened.

"Hey bro, watch your language! There's a lady here!" with the arm around your shoulders, Mic carefully raised it and guided you behind himself as the two started walking towards you both.

"Enough..."

Another voice came suddenly from the other side of the parking lot and everyone, with the exception of the blonde who was guarding you, turned to see Eraserhead.

Suddenly these jerks weren't so confident.

"Get lost, both of you, and go straight home or I'll bring the two of you in right now for loitering and harassment." he said calmly but with deep authority.

Mic crossed his arms, glaring at the duo as they ran off after a mere moment of hesitation, his cheeks puffed out slightly. "What a couple creepozoids! You okay, Pussy Cat...?" he quickly spun around to check you out, striking a dramatic pose while pointing at you, the trademark grin already back in place.

You smiled up at him with admiration sparkling in your eyes, clasping the cup you held in both hands and tight to your chest, stepping closer to him.

"Yes, thanks to you! You're my Hero~!"

Mic felt his own chest swell with pride a bit, the grin on his face getting bigger as he relaxed his stance and shoved his hands in his jacket pockets.

Usually by now the damsel has already flung herself on Aizawa, but not only were you praising him, you recognized him from just his voice and he was impressed at that.

"I can't believe I was just rescued by my favorite Pro, I am your #1 fan! Please, are you patrolling the city tonight? Please let me buy you a coffee or tea or something?? Just as a thank you...?"

Hizashi laughed rather loudly, one hand emerging from his pocket to be placed over his chest.

"HAHA! Aaaww, how can I say NO when you ask so sweetly?! Coffee sounds like a rockin' idea right about now!"

"Ugh, we don't have time for this, Mic..." Eraserhead complained tiredly.

Eyes rolling in exasperation, the blonde groaned twice as loud. "ugGHHH!! Don't be such a buzzkill, yo! I'll get you one, too, just chill!" with that, he trailed after you back into the store.

You watched as he doctored up the coffee you poured for him, blushing again when he threw a hint of a smirk your way, using the tip of his finger to lift the gold tinted shades he wore and showing you his emerald green eyes. "Don't worry, I'll pay for my boring friend..."

Smiling, you bounced on your heels. "Damn right you will, I'm not HIS fangirl, after all..."

This promoted a slight blush to his face, but he maintained that knockout grin. "Ha! Well, good thing his best friend is here at least, lucky for him I tagged along tonight, huh??"

"Lucky for both of us..." came your soft reply from over your shoulder as you turned to walk away, your hips swaying temptingly had definitely not escaped his notice.

He followed you to the checkout counter and placed some money beside yours, his ungloved fingertips brushing against your own when he does. Leaning down closer to you, he cocked his head, pushing his shades down his nose this time and raising a brow.

"Does my #1 fan have a name...?"

Your smile bloomed again, blushing up at him. "It's  _______...but I might prefer you calling me Pussy Cat...~"

Saying that last bit, you applied a sensual undertone which he picked up on instantly, making his blush spread over his face and grow darker as he chuckled in amusement.

When you guys walked out the door, you noticed Eraserhead seemed really annoyed but tried to ignore him, looking up at the Voice Hero hopefully.

"Listen, I know you're both busy, but if you have just one more second to spare, I can't tell you how much it would mean to me if I could get your autograph..."

Looking away awkwardly, he made a pained expression. "Aw, man, I dunno, we are kinda in a hurry here and stuff..."

You felt your heart sinking when he startled you with another loud laugh. "Hahaha, gotcha! JK! Of course I will, I ain't gonna leave ya hangin' like that, no way, that ain't my STYYYYYYYYLLLE!"

Giddy with excitement, you let out a tiny squeal, quickly fishing out a small notebook and pen from your purse as he set the cups down. When you handed it to him, his fingers brushed yours again, making you bite tenderly at your bottom lip.

They were so warm and soft...

He had started to whistle a cheerful little tune as he spun the pen between his fingers before starting to write in your book, it took longer than you expected, clearly longer than Eraser expected, too.

"Say goodbye to the girl, Mic, it's time to keep moving!" he didn't yell, exactly, too lazy, but he had raised his voice since last.

"YEAH, YEAH, I HEARD YA!!! Gimme a sec, ALRIGHT?!" the volume of the blonde's reply actually made your eardrums flinch and quiver this time, but you smiled anyway as he defended you again.

"There ya go! And hey, just to spite my buddy over there, I wouldn't mind walkin' ya home ta make sure ya get there safe."

The blush came right back, clutching the book to your heart, you gave a weak smile. "No, no, it's okay, really...I took up too much of your time already, and I only live around the corner from here..."

Eyes closing momentarily while you gathered yourself, you took a deep breath before confessing. "...I cannot express how grateful I am for you...not just for saving me tonight, but also for your talk show, hearing your voice over the radio gives me strength and motivation every week...it means the world to me...thank you..."

Beckoning him by flexing a finger, you stood on your tiptoes and pressed a sweet kiss against his cheek when he leaned in curiously.

Eyes widening, his whole face became scarlet red and his grin stretched from ear to ear. "AW, YEAH!"

He jumped, pumping his fists in the air and then proceeded to shoot you with his finger guns while  winking again. "Listen, I dropped my digits on that piece'a paper ya got there, Shawty...hit me up sometime if ya wanna chill! I'm down for whatever!"

You were caught off guard by that and checked the page he signed for you, finally reading what he wrote down as he rambled on as background noise about how he wasn't a creep like those other guys and you could say no without worrying about him making a scene, he just had to shoot his shot, I mean you DID kiss ME first ya know...

"For my #1 fan, _______...Thanks for the coffee and stay outta trouble! ...and maybe call or shoot a txt, if your feelin' this funky vibe, too? Live loud, Pussy Cat ;) don't ever let anyone try an put the mute on ya! XOXOX PRESENT MIC!!!"

Followed by his phone number, and there were little hearts drawn around the page.

You were already blushing when he surprised you again by returning your gesture and swooping in to plant a kiss on your cheek this time.

Reaching up to touch the spot, you smiled up at him shyly. "I can't wait...please be safe out there..."

"You got it! SEE YA SOON!" The Pro nodded vigorously, giving an enthusiastic wave of goodbye before grabbing his and Eraserhead's drinks, practically bouncing with every step.

It made you giggle, but you were trying not to get your hopes up too much. For all you knew, he gave his number out to every girl that asked him for a signature.

"Are you happy now...?" Shouta grumbled, taking the cup being offered as he turned to resume patrolling. "ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! HECK YEAH I AM! I'M ON CLOUD NINE RIGHT NOW, I JUST MET MY FUTURE WIFE!!!!!!!!"

You heard him very clearly, the blush traveling all the way down your neck this time, and you couldn't help another small giggle, your heart fluttering with happiness like the wings of the butterflies in your belly.

He just had that effect on you.

Glancing down at the notebook in your hand as you sipped your quickly melting frosty, you noticed in the bottom right corner was a little arrow, below which was written the word "flip".

You looked up again but the two Pro Heroes were already gone.

Curiously, you flipped over the page.

MARRY ME?!?!!

a. YES!!!!!

b. a

c. b

That smooth sonuvabitch had you blushing and giggling all night.

[aficrepository]

Moving Out of the Friendzone >> Vlamburn RPF >> Rated E

----------

Michael has always been a touchy motherfucker is the thing. Not inappropriately, Jesus, no, but he likes people. Likes letting them know that he likes them and when he really, really, likes someone his boundaries fly out the fucking window.

That’s how it begins. A leg draped over a thigh. A kiss on the cheek that’s too sloppy to be anything but platonic. He doesn’t notice the way his heart does that cartoonish THUNK with every slide of skin on skin because this man is objectively gorgeous and serotonin is hard to come by, you know?

Being around Tyler is a drug in itself and he doesn’t get it until he gets it.

They’re sitting on Tyler’s couch watching a movie he couldn’t care jack shit about and Tyler’s a certified full course meal in a ratty shirt and sweatpants that are so old the garter is hanging on to Tyler’s hips by sheer force of will. Those Little Sweatpants Who Could are giving him a glimpse of tan skin and hipbone and Michael, who’s always thought he was straight until he isn’t, is suddenly thinking thoughts about his friend that would make even Guerin blush.

“What’s wrong with you?”

There’s a beat of perfect comedy where he just stares at Tyler and Tyler stares back, eyebrow raised while on the jumbo TV a grungy ass looking cowboy is frozen mid-sentence.

“You, um, you have a freckle that looks like that one constellation,” Michael finally stutters out.

Tyler frowns and rucks up his shirt to look and holy christ Michael is either a genius or a masochist. The glimpse of tan skin is in full view highlighting washboard abs and a smattering of dark hair. Michael’s mouth is as dry as a Santa Fe desert and the way the internet uses the word thirsty suddenly makes perfect sense.

Tyler is looking at him curiously now. Michael knows he’s gone red, eyes just a shade too dark. He licks his lips and Tyler’s curious expression turns into the slightest smirk as if Michael had just told him his deepest secret. Maybe he has.

“C’mere.”

Tyler pulls him close, gentle as anything. As if making sure he could nope out if he wanted. It’s the last thing Michael wants which is obvious from the total lack of grace that causes him to almost smack their foreheads together.

“You’re eager,” Tyler teases with a laugh once he’s not in danger of an errant headbutt and Michael kind of wants to die, but then he doesn’t because Tyler’s hand is in his hair, pulling him in for a kiss.

Michael has kissed Tyler maybe a hundred times is the thing. He’s talked extensively about Tyler’s mouth and lips and how lucky he is cause Tyler Blackburn is a damn excellent kisser.

What he forgot is that Tyler is also an excellent actor and the person he’s been kissing has always been Alex Manes. This kiss. This one is all Tyler.

Tyler kisses with the same kind of passion and laser focus he does everything else. It’s hot and wet and so fucking deep Michael makes a noise he doesn’t mean to make. A good one judging by the way Tyler surges up against him, licking into his mouth and Michael is moaning all over again. There’s a fire burning low in his belly and he’s hungry for it, impatient for more.

It’s not until Tyler’s fingers clenches in his hair, tugging slightly that Michael breaks off the kiss with a gasp.

“I’m going to start dry humping you like a teenager if you keep that up,” he warns, gratified to see that at least Tyler looks just as wrecked as Michael feels, his pink lips lush and swollen from kissing. 

“I’m not complaining,” Tyler says, the smile he gives Michael so effortlessly sexy it’s almost unfair.

Both of them lose their shirts quickly. Michael’s pants too upon Tyler’s insistence. Strong arms tug at him so that he’s straddling Tyler in nothing but the Batman boxers he’d pulled on that morning not knowing his wildest wet dreams were about to become reality.

Tyler doesn’t seem to mind. He eyes him, hot and hungry, and Michael grins, puffing up his chest a bit. 

“You’re ridiculous,” Tyler says, laughing lightly before pulling him in for another kiss.

The kiss starts slower this time, but just as filthy and so fucking deep that everything in Michael burns. Tyler’s hands are on his hips urging him to grind down and Michael’s moaning, mouth hanging open as Tyler nibbles on his lower lip.

“You’re so hot. How are you so fucking hot?” Michael babbles as he gasps for air, relishing the way Tyler flushes high on his cheeks.

“Don’t you ever stop talking?” Tyler asks against Michael’s neck, his mouth and tongue doing sinful things to his sensitive pulse point.

“Have you met me? I’m like a shark. I die if I stop talking.”

Tyler’s hands trail up Michael’s torso. “Let’s put that to the test shall we?”

“Oh fuck— oh, oh, fuck yes.”

High, needy noises escape his throat as large hands squeeze his chest, fingers rubbing and tweaking his sensitive nipples. He’s never told anyone how much he loves to have his pecs played with and lavished with attention, but Tyler decodes every sound he makes like some kind of treasure map. He’s panting, gasping and out of breath at the repeated feel of teeth scraping against his nipples followed by the wet swipe of Tyler’s tongue.

It’s all too much and not enough.

“Is it— can we—” Michael’s blushing and stuttering like a damn teenager and he doesn’t even care.

“All you have to do is ask, sweetheart,” Tyler whispers against Michael’s mouth, reaching down, down, down, freeing him from his boxers and enveloping Michael’s cock in a firm, wet slide.

“Oh dear fuck.”

Michael has to bite down on his lip, eyes squeezing shut overwhelmed by the contact. He forces his eyes open and drinks in the way Tyler’s eyes are huge and dark as he strokes Michael so fucking sweet that Michael whines as he looks down and sees drops of precome spill onto Tyler’s hand, easing the slide.

“I’m so fucking lucky. Seriously, how did I get this lucky? Jesus,” Michael gasps when Tyler twists his hand on the upstroke making sparks shoot up his belly. “You’re just talented all over.”

“Can you stop,” Tyler says with a fond shake of his head. “You’re making it hard to concentrate.”

“You can do it. I believe in you,” Michael grunted, rolling his hips into Tyler’s tight fist, “Do you have any idea how many times I’ve jacked off thinking about Guerin and Alex just so I won’t feel weird jacking off thinking about you?”

This time Tyler does laugh, eyes scrunching cutely. “You are so fucked up.”

“Your fault for being so goddamned hot.”

As if to get back to him from another compliment, Tyler speeds up, his thumb circling the head of Michael’s cock, swiping against the slit. Filthy, wet sounds fill the room. Michael’s moans and Tyler’s sharp breathing mixing in what Michael can only assume sounds like a really great porno.

He breaks off into another moan when Tyler suddenly thrusts his hips up so Michael’s cock fucks into the circle of Tyler’s fist roughly. Pleasure swells inside him, an intense flame that seems to lick through his every cell.

“I want to—” Michael’s grips Tyler’s shoulders, strokes his biceps, tries to get Tyler to lose his pants in a desperate need to touch.

“Later,” Tyler says with a shake of his head, hands tugging at Michael’s hair and making him groan. “I want to see you come.”

He’s fucking into Tyler’s fist at the same time that Tyler bucks against him, the hard swell of his cock pushing against Michael’s ass and his brain fritzes out at the thought of riding Tyler just like this, but a lot more fucking naked. He’s never had a dick inside him before, but what if, what if.

The image of Tyler sweat-slick and gasping as he pounds into Michael burns right through him and Michael is suddenly, dangerously at the edge. He moans low and breathy, so fucking turned on he feels crazed with it. “Tyler, baby, I’m gonna— oh— oh — oh god— ”

Tyler sucks hard against Michael’s collar bone and that’s it he’s shouting Tyler’s name, jerking against him and coming hard, riding the crashing waves of pleasure until he’s shaking in its aftershock.

Michael presses their foreheads together as he comes down, flushed and sweaty and unfairly naked compared to how Tyler’s still wearing half his clothes.

“Sorry,” he says, without really meaning it when he sees the mess he made on Tyler’s stomach and chest. It’s a fucking gorgeous picture is what it is and it’s going straight into his spank bank.

Tyler pulls him down for a kiss, nice and slow and sweet, then grabs Michael’s discarded shirt and cleans himself off with it.

“Nice,” Michael says, wrinkling his nose at the soiled top. “I’ll have to go home shirtless.”

“Bet it wouldn’t be the first time.”

“First time coming home from your place,” Michael says, an eyebrow raised knowing full well what a bunch of gossips he lives with.

“Maybe we should throw that in the wash.”

“Find something to keep us occupied in the meantime?”

Tyler’s grin is full of light and mischief and something inside Michael warms in a way that has nothing to do with sex. “I do have a really nice shower.”

----------

Standard reminders apply: the F in RPF means fiction, don't repost anywhere and do not under any circumstances show this to anyone related to the show. Other than that, enjoy!

[taetaesbaebaepsae]

#6. Rival AU. Baekhyun. Let's get this fucking bread.♡

A/n: HERE WE GO, anything for my daddy ;) @illneverrecover

Compass

Summary: You and Byun Baekhyun are soccer coaches for your children’s rival soccer teams, and you can’t stand him. At least, until you get lost on a camping trip together.

Warnings: Sex in the woods, public sex, unprotected sex, oral sex (male receiving) P H E W

Word Count:1626 (drabble my ass)

You see him while your daughter is running for the bus and you’re chasing her and you want to scream.

It’s already been a hell morning getting your daughter, Ellie, ready for the soccer team camping trip, and you knew the soccer coach, Baekhyun, would be there, but somehow it just made the day so much worse.

You’re not even sure what it is about him that infuriates you, if it’s his stupid innuendo during practice or how he barked at you for being too close to the sidelines during coaching or his stupid handsome face….but he makes your blood boil.

His little boy, Byungwoo, comes running up to say hello to your daughter and she grins and hugs him.

You finally crack a smile as you approach. Byungwoo is sweet as sugar and loves playing with your little girl. He cried for hours when he accidentally kicked her once during practice, causing a bruise.

How he got to be so sweet with a dad like Byun Baekhyun, you’d never know.

It doesn’t help that your daughter isn’t even on his team and she adores Baekhyun, going on and on about how she wishes she could be on his team instead and what a great coach he is.

You’re her coach, damnit, and also her mother so she should prefer your team.

“Well, hello there, cutie,” Baekhyun drawls, and he winks at you when Ellie squeals as he picks her up.

You scoff and roll your eyes, ruffling Byungwoo’s hair as he looks up at you. “Been practicing your goalie techniques?” You ask, and he gives you a big gap-toothed smile.

The bus is packed already, except for two seats, and Ellie and Byungwoo take one, giggling and talking.

“Uh, Ellie, don’t you wanna sit with Mama?”

Ellie links her arm with Byungwoo’s. “No! I’m sitting with Byung and you can’t make me move!”

You sigh, knowing a sure-fire way to make her throw a tantrum is to separate them.

Baekhyun is already sitting in the empty seat, and he smirks at you and pats the seat next to him.

“Everyone aboard!” The bus driver yells and the bus lurches forward, depositing you directly on Baekhyun’s lap.

“I meant sit next to me, but I’m not complaining,” he murmurs in your ear.

You smack him on the chest, which backfires because it’s surprisingly firm, and scramble to sit upright next to him.

He just chuckles and your blood is boiling, you hate hate hate him and how your heart is racing.

You make it to the campsite without incident, and everything goes fine until someone suggests a hike and two of the other chaperones take the kids up ahead while you’re still struggling to put on your hiking boots.

You’re not what one would call “outdoorsy,” but you figured you could wing it, just like everything else.

Turns out, hiking boots are a pain in the ass, but not as big a pain as Byun Baekhyun, because he ends up trying to help you while also endlessly teasing you.

“Are your feet really this big?”

“Shut up! These boots are broken!”

By the time you get them tied, after begrudgingly accepting his help, the kids and other chaperones are nowhere to be seen, and you take off ahead, bitching at him the whole way.

“This is all your fault, you know. I was flustered from the bus and-”

“Flustered? Aw, cutie, I’m touched that you’re so affected by me.”

You look over at him and you hate his stupid smirk and his whole stupid handsome face and you’re stumbling over roots and trying to take a shortcut to get away from him.

He follows you silently other than a chuckle here or there, and soon enough, you’re hopelessly lost.

“Fuck!” You yell.

“I knew you had a dirty mouth,” he murmurs, right against your ear, and you almost trip over a root, twisting your ankle.

You’re hot and tired and frustrated and now your ankle hurts so you lash out.

“How can you have such a sweet kid and be such a bastard!”

You try to walk away on your wounded ankle and suddenly he heaves you over his shoulder.

You yelp and kick but he just firmly holds you there.

“Byungwoo’s mom ran off when he was six months old. I’m doing my best.” He says, quietly, and you go still.

“Ellie’s dad left when I was pregnant,” you mumble stubbornly. “Still no excuse for teasing me all the time.”

He sets you down against a tree, eyes flashing. “And why do you think I tease you all the time? Why do you think I always schedule our games in the same fields as yours? Why do you think I went on this stupid trip?”

“I dunno. Because you want to cause me suffering?” You mutter.

He’s standing too close and he smells good and you kinda want to disappear into the ground.

“Because I like you, dummy.”

Your mouth falls open. “You what now?”

He puts a hand on your face, caressing your cheek. “I like you. You’re fiery and sexy and you’re a great mom…and when I tease you, you get all cute and huffy…”

“I am not-”

He cuts you off with his mouth on yours and you let out a sound of protest before melting into him. It’s almost embarrassing how quickly your knees go weak when he slips his tongue into your mouth, one hand cupping your ass.

He moves his mouth to your neck and presses his hips up into yours, murmuring against your skin.

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted to kiss that smart mouth?”

“Was it that time I called you a motherfucker under my breath at the last game?” You breathe, trying to keep your composure.

He shakes his head, smiling. “Before that, when you shot me a bird behind Ellie’s back when I told you she should work on her footwork.”

“Her footwork is perfect!”

“It is now. You made her focus on it just to spite me.”

He’s trailing a hand up your shirt, fingertips on your ribcage, teasing under the edge of your sports bra and you’re shaking.

“Baek… we’re lost in the woods.”

“We’re not lost,” he murmurs, kissing your throat. “I once got chased through these woods by a crazy ex, I know exactly where we are.”

“Thank God for your whorish ways,” You snort, but it turns into a moan when Baekhyun gets his hand under your bra to brush his palm against your pebbled nipple.

“We could stay lost just a little while longer….” He twists your nipple between his fingers and you gasp.

You reach down to cup him through his jeans, he’s hard as diamond and he buries his face in your neck, moaning.

“Ah, cutie, I wasn’t planning to fuck you in these woods but if you do that…”

“Why not? The birds won’t tell.” You smirk, unbuttoning his jeans.

“Way to make a guy fall in love,” he says, looking down at your fingers slipping underneath his boxers, breath catching in his throat.

“Shut up.” You release him from his jeans and squat down to take his cock in your mouth and he braces against the tree, and he’s so loud you hope the kids are far away.

“Oh, fuck, I want to fill up that smart mouth…”

You come off him with a smile and a wink. “Next time.”

He looks at you almost awed. “I really am going to fall in love.”

“Shut up!” But you’re laughing and pulling your shorts and panties off.

You hop up into his arms and he slides inside you with ease, and you cry out when he starts fucking you hard and fast.

Your back will be scraped from the tree but you can’t bring yourself to care, he’s talking so much, moaning right into your ear.

“I’ve wanted you so badly, Y/n, in all those little shorts you wear, flashing your thighs at me…it almost made me angry. I thought about how I’d tease you until you were begging to be filled with my cock but you feel so fucking good, you-”

“I said shut up,” you breathe, and kiss him hard, rocking your hips against his, his pelvic bone slamming into your clit in just the right way, and he’s filling you so well, and you come almost in unison, both of you moaning into each other’s mouths, and you bite his lip so hard you taste blood.

You panic only for a moment, when it’s over, and when he lets you down he slides you down his body and kisses your jawline and suddenly you feel better, suddenly you feel like maybe it’ll all be okay, maybe he’s not like your ex-husband.

He’s all handsy and sweet on the way back to the camp, telling you how beautiful you are and how he’s going to take you out when you get back home, and when Byungwoo comes running up the hill and throws himself into his dad’s arms, you realize he’s nothing like your ex at all, and you’d misjudged him all this time.

When Ellie sneaks into him and Byungwoo’s tent later that night so that she can cuddle up to her best friend, you can’t help but smile when you see her little footprints.

You unzip the bag and Baekhyun looks up at you, with both kids draped over him, and beckons toward you with two fingers. You spend the night cuddled up in a pile, and from then on, you’re an inseparable foursome, even though he still tells you that you have a smart mouth every day.

You always respond, “Shut up,” and he’s always smiling when you kiss him.

[waitineedaname]

An Evolution of Friendship

Or: Karkat isn't quite sure why he cares so much about these assholes, but they sure are part of his life now.

also on ao3!

Sixth Grade

“You’re in my seat!”

The kid sitting in your - your!!!! - seat at the lunch table frowned up at you, blinking mismatched eyes, and spoke with a thick lisp. “There aren’t assigned seats, stupid. It’s not your seat.” You clenched your fists and continued to yell.

“I sit there every day!”

“So? I don’t see your name on it!” The kid challenged. “Go sit somewhere else, you’re annoying.”

That’s it. Dad was gonna be so mad if you got in trouble, but he shouldn’t have been the one to teach you the swear words anyway.

“Asshole!” You shouted as loud as your eleven year old lungs would let you.

“Shithead!” The kid spat back, bristling.

“Bitch!”

“Dick!”

You drew in a deep breath, and then yelled so loud it practically echoed. “Fucker!”

There was a brief hush that fell over the cafeteria, and the kid with the mismatched eyes gaped up at you.

“Karkat!” Your teacher had suddenly appeared, furious. “Silent lunch!”

“But-”

“No excuses! You should be grateful I’m not calling your father and telling him what you just said.”

“Hah!” The kid who practically started this by sitting in your seat looked smug.

“Oh no, you too, Sollux.” Your teacher said, and the smug look disappeared.

“What?”

“You were clearly antagonizing him. Both of you, silent lunch. Come on.”

You and the annoying kid - Sollux - were both ushered to the end of the table where the teachers could keep an eye on you. You sat opposite each other, both of you scowling deeply. You stuck your tongue out and got a tongue back.

You spent the rest of the week in silent lunch, making faces at each other from across the table. At first it was to piss each other off, making more and more obnoxious faces while still trying to be quiet, but it didn’t take long for that to dissolve into trying to make the funniest face and get the other to laugh first.

The next week, you were allowed to sit in your regular spots, and Sollux sat down next to you. You were inseparable ever since.

Ninth Grade

You could never understand why teachers fucked with the seating arrangement at least once a year. Just when you’re getting used to the people around you, you have to move? Fucking ridiculous.

Not that you had needed to get used to your table partner. As soon as your earth science teacher had said you could sit wherever but he’d change it after the first quarter, you and Sollux had plopped your shit down together, but still. It was the principle of the matter.

Now Sollux had been moved across the room to be table partners with Terezi, which you were sure you’d hear plenty of complaining about from both of them. Honestly, they would probably end up being the most productive pair in the room. You, on the other hand…

You had been paired with Gamzee Makara.

You didn’t really know Gamzee that well. He’d apparently moved to town over the summer, and he seemed to mostly keep to himself. He sat at the back of the room on the first day and always walked in reeking of weed. That was the extent of your knowledge and all you needed to know to conclude you’d be carrying the brunt of all the group work for the rest of the semester.

You dropped your shit on the table, and Gamzee looked up at you from where he had his cheek propped on his arms. A sleepy smile spread across his face. You answered it with a scowl.

“You better not expect me to pull your ass into a passing grade just because we’re grouped together.” You said right off the bat. Gamzee raised an eyebrow slowly.

“Wasn’t expecting nothin’, motherfucker. I’ll handle my own grade, don’t you be worrying about it.” He spoke with a gently dipping drawl, voice far deeper than a freshman had any right to be.

You were about to snarl something else at him, but the teacher started talking and you didn’t want to get called out for being the loudest person in the room again. After a brief PowerPoint lecture, the teacher passed out a worksheet to each pair with instructions to work together.

To your surprise, Gamzee sat up and pulled the worksheet closer to himself to read it. You had kind of expected him to sleep through the assignments and make you do all of it, but here he was clicking a pen and already scribbling an answer to the first question.

“Hey,” He drew your attention to the second question, “D’you remember the difference between marshes, swamps, and bogs? I always get my shit mixed up with them, ain’t had a chance to study yet.”

“Uh.” You blinked at him, then shook yourself out of your surprise. “Fuck, I don’t think I know either. Hold on-” You started rifling through your notebook, and Gamzee pulled out the textbook.

Well. There might be more to Gamzee Makara than you thought.

—

Tenth Grade

“I’m just saying, it’s a load of shit! They act like their class is the most important thing in the world, when news flash! It’s not! We’re all taking other classes, asshole, and extracurriculars too! But sure, I’ll dedicate two hours a night to all your useless homework! It doesn’t matter that none of this shit helps me understand the chapter any better and I’m having to do it in my scrap of free time between all the other dozen extracurriculars I’m forced to do!”

The three of you were sitting in Sollux’s car after you had finished gorging themselves on fast food, and you were yelling your chosen tirade of the hour as Sollux and Gamzee listened patiently. Or, they would be if “patiently” meant “debating the merits of strangling your best friend” and “two seconds from falling asleep draped across the backseat”, respectively.

“Who the fuck is forcing you? You’re in eight different clubs because you’re an overachieving dumbass and have no self control, KK.” Sollux countered with the exasperated tone of someone who’d heard this same rant a dozen times now.

“College is forcing me! And their unrealistic expectations! Oh, take all the hardest classes and be in all the clubs, and oh! You have to have a leadership position in all of them too! And a job! And then maybe we’ll consider you!”

“Man, you gotta chill out sometime.” Gamzee said with a laugh, shaking his head. “You ain’t gotta worry about gettin’ in anywhere, you’ll get into anyplace you apply at.”

“As much as I hate agreeing with the reigning idiot, Gamzee’s got a point. You stress yourself out way too much, and that’s coming from me.” Sollux grimaced. “I can’t believe I just agreed with Gamzee.”

Gamzee laughed in a loud way reminiscent of a self-satisfied goose. “You know I’m motherfucking right, brother! Wait.” He paused and seemed to be in thought. “Sister? Sibling?”

Sollux’s lips quirked. They’d come out as bigender to the two of you not too long ago, and it hadn’t taken too much trouble to adjust to their pronouns. Things like this still popped up every now then, though.

“I mean, both brother and sister work. I like sibling, though.” Sollux said, clearly trying not their hardest not to be visibly relieved that Gamzee was willing to adjust the way he referred to them.

“Hell yeah, my best motherfuckin’ sibling.” Gamzee grinned, broad and easy, and reached up to ruffle Sollux’s hair, laughing when they squawked and swatted him away.

You watched the two of them for a moment, hesitating. Something had been worrying at the edge of your mind for a while now, and Sollux coming out might be enough to give you the courage to talk about it. “Hey, Sollux?” You said.

“Yeah?” Sollux said, squirming out of Gamzee’s reach. “What’s up?”

“Do you like guys or girls?” You winced as soon as the words left your mouth. There was definitely a more tactful way to say that, but thankfully, Sollux didn’t mention it.

“Uh, both I guess. I’m pretty sure I’m bisexual.” They said with a shrug. You nodded thoughtfully.

“I think I might be pansexual.”

“That’s cool,” Sollux said at the same time Gamzee yelled “Fuck yeah, me too!”

“Wait, what? You too, Gamzee?”

“Yeah!” Gamzee said, grinning. “Motherfuckin’ girls are hot, boys are hot, non-binary folks are hot,” He added with a poke to Sollux’s shoulder, “Everybody’s motherfuckin’ hot!”

“Wow, thank you so much for the validation, Gamzee.” Sollux said, voice dripping with sarcasm as they rolled their eyes. “All my self esteem issues are cured because the head jester of the Kingdom of Stupid thinks I’m attractive.”

“You know I always got your back, sib.” Gamzee said, honking with laughter again. “Motherfuckin’ always.”

—

Eleventh Grade

“Gamzee, stop it! Leave him the hell alone!”

“MOTHERFUCKER BETTER WATCH HIS FUCKING TONGUE BEFORE I RIP IT FROM HIS MOUTH-”

It was taking all of you and Sollux’s combined strength to keep Gamzee from lunging at the little asshole in front of you. You didn’t know him, but he’d been making snide transphobic comments, pointing them in Sollux’s direction. Sollux had been ignoring it; they were used to getting shitty comments about literally everything else in their life, so they didn’t see a point in confronting some random asshole they didn’t know.

Gamzee, however.

Gamzee had completely flipped.

He had always been a little cagey about his life before he moved to your high school, but from what you’d gathered, he’d gotten into his fair share of fights - or at least more than you and Sollux had in your middle school career. It had been hard for you to imagine calm and friendly Gamzee fighting anyone.

It wasn’t hard to imagine now.

Gamzee thrashed against you, trying to get another hit in on the guy, and you yanked him backwards to the best of your ability. “Gamzee, you dumb asshole, chill the fuck out!”

He glanced down at you, fury written on every inch of his face, and softened for just a split second.

But apparently the transphobic asshole had never learned when to shut up.

“Yeah, listen to your boyfriend!” He jeered despite the already purpling bruise on his face. He said something else too, a slur that made your blood run cold, and if your grip loosened when Gamzee tugged against you again, well…

“MOTHERFUCKER, I’LL KILL YOU, TEACH YOU NEVER TO SAY THAT SHIT AGAIN, SNAP YOUR LITTLE NECK-” Gamzee had slammed him against the wall, using the significant height advantage he had over most of your peers to tower over this other kid. You and Sollux took a step back and watched in horror as the adults rushed in, pulling them away from each other. It took two adults much larger than either of you to restrain Gamzee and yank him down the hall to the principal’s office.

The assistant principal told you the crowd that had grown around your scene to go to class, and then turned to you and Sollux. “You two, come with me.”

You opened your mouth to complain, but Sollux grabbed your arm tightly and sent you a look that clearly read don’t you fucking dare.

The two of you followed the assistant principal to his office in sullen silence and sat down in the chairs pulled up to his desk. He sat down opposite you and frowned, looking both of you in the eyes for a moment. “You mind telling me what that was about?”

Again, you opened your mouth to start yelling, but Sollux got to it first. “Some twerp was saying offensive shit he shouldn’t have been saying, and Gamzee got defensive.” Sollux shrugged as if it weren’t a big deal, but you could see the tension in their shoulders.

“That piece of shit was calling us slurs!” You jumped in. “You can’t suspend Gamzee for defending his friends and you sure as hell can’t let shit like that be tolerated!”

“Mr. Vantas, you are in no place to be telling administration what we can and cannot do.” He responded coldly, and you snapped your mouth shut. He then sighed. “I will try to make sure Gamzee is not the only one punished. Okay?”

Both you and Sollux nodded stiffly, and you were escorted back out into the waiting room in the front of the office. He told you that he could write you a note back to your classes, but you made it very clear that you were going to wait for Gamzee. The two of you waited in apprehensive silence for what felt like an eternity until the principal’s door opened and Gamzee slinked out with the other kid. The slimy asshole disappeared out the door in a rush, but Gamzee walked over to you two with his hands in his pockets.

“What’d they say?” Sollux asked.

“If you got arrested, I’m killing you.” You added, and that made Gamzee huff out a quiet laugh.

“Nah, motherfuckers, just suspended.” He stared at his feet, scuffing one of his worn shoes in the flat carpet. “...Dunno how I’m gettin’ home, though. My foster dad’ll be fuckin’ pissed if I make him leave work to pick my dumb ass up.”

Sollux glanced at the clock and shrugged. “Fuck it. I don’t think I could give less of a shit about my English class right now. I’ll drive you home.” Gamzee looked up at them like they’d just promised to pay for his college tuition. “What? Don’t fucking look at me like that. KK, are you in?”

“Why the hell not, I’ll just go full fucking delinquent! This is what you’ve done to me, Gamzee. You’re making me a reprobate. Soon enough, I’m going to be selling cigarettes behind the middle school and stealing cheap alcohol, and it’ll be all your fault.”

You’d never skipped a day in your life, but you spent the rest of the afternoon on Sollux’s couch playing Splatoon. It almost felt like the events of that morning hadn’t happened, and when Gamzee hugged you both very tightly, you hugged back despite your complaints and Sollux’s teasing.

—

Twelfth Grade

“Terezi, I know you know which way the camera is! Will you turn the fuck around already?!”

Terezi cackled at your yelling, which you felt was a good summary of your friendship in five words, but she finally obliged and turned around. You grumbled and put your arm around her shoulders, your other one around Gamzee’s back where he leaned against you. Sollux was on the other side of Terezi and you had to reach over to smack the side of their head to get them to put away their phone.

“Say cheese!” Aradia said, smiling at the four of you from behind your phone as she took the picture. They could call you a mom friend all they wanted, but you wanted to document this. You were graduating, all four of you, and by some miracle, you were all going to the same college.

The miracle in question was actually the combination of you and Terezi’s sheer stubborn natures and determination to not break up the squad that had developed over the years - whether that be a new addition, like Gamzee, or someone who had been annoying you since second grade, like Terezi, or someone who didn’t even go to your school, like Aradia.

You still couldn’t believe it had happened, even though you’d been the one to orchestrate it. When you received your acceptance letter, you might have cried a little bit (okay, a lot, but really, was that so out of ordinary for your overly emotional ass?). Gamzee had been just as stunned - he’d gone through school with people telling him he’d be lucky to graduate, and his disciplinary record hadn’t made that easy, but you think encouraging him to explain himself in his short answer questions helped; an undying loyalty to his friends and defending them at his own expense had to mean something, right? Sollux and Terezi hadn’t been surprised by their acceptances in the slightest, the smug assholes, but you knew they were just as happy as you were.

Terezi dragged Aradia off to do god knows whatever mayhem the two of them got up to together, and Gamzee pulled you and Sollux over to sit down on one of the benches nearby.

“Man, I can’t believe y’all didn’t let me smoke before that.” Gamzee said with a laugh, taking off his graduation cap and undoing the bun he’d had to tie his curls into to get the cap to fit.

“The alternative was you sleeping through your name being called and making the rest of us wait for someone to wake up your useless stoner ass. I think you can fucking deal for a few hours.” You snapped back. “Besides, you have plenty of time to get blazed out of your mind before you come to the graduation party. Just don’t bring your bong or Kankri will throw a conniption fit.”

“Man, he does that already. Dude needs to motherfuckin’ chill out a minute. Hey, do you think he’d-”

“Nope. Don’t even try to get my brother high.”

Gamzee shrugged as if to say we’ll see and glanced down at Sollux who was oddly quiet between you two. He followed their gaze and chuckled softly. You looked too and snorted. Sollux was staring in Aradia’s direction, their face the perfect image of lovestruck fool.

“You’re such a fucking sap.” You said, nudging Sollux and earning yourself a glare.

“What?” They snapped. Behind them, Gamzee started humming something that sounded suspiciously like Sollux and Aradia, sitting in a tree…

“Oh, nothing, just that the biggest asshole I know somehow found a girlfriend that makes them the softest idiot in the world. You’re staring after her like a fucking puppy, who the fuck are you and what did you do with Sollux Captor?”

“Shut the fuck up, KK, I don’t have to deal with this shit from you.” They made a face at you and turned back towards Aradia’s direction. “Just because you and Terezi were dysfunctional, that doesn’t mean everyone else has to be.”

You were about to bluster about you and Terezi’s (failed and long-dead) relationship, but Gamzee poked your shoulder, leaning around behind Sollux to get to you.

“I bet she don’t get all of ‘em soft.” Gamzee said in an overly loud stage whisper.

“Oh my god!” Sollux yelled. “I’m going to strangle you two!”

“Aw, come on sib, y’know you be lovin’ us no matter what.” Gamzee said, squishing his cheek against Sollux’s and only laughing when Sollux put their hand flat in the middle of his face and pushed.

“I changed my mind, I’m switching colleges. If have to spend four more years with you assholes, I’ll end up killing either you two or myself.” Sollux said venomously, squirming half onto your lap to get away from Gamzee despite your protests.

“Aw, but then we’ll be at different schools!” Aradia suddenly appeared in front of you, Terezi at her side. “I’ll help you hide the bodies if it comes to that, though. Terezi, what are the laws on murdering your roommates?”

“Extremely illegal! You would rot in jail forever.” You’d never known someone to be able to perfectly personify a smug “>:)” like Terezi fucking Pyrope. “Of course, justice might have some… blind spots.”

“Was that a pun? Did you just fucking make a justice is blind pun?” You asked, affronted.

Terezi grinned in a way that showed off all of her teeth and you couldn’t help but be reminded of a shark about to tear its teeth into you. “The prosecution refrains from comment!”

“We’re not even on trial! How the fuck would you even be a prosecutor?!”

“‘Sides, ain’t it me and Karkat gettin’ killed here?” Gamzee added, having given up on his mission to squish Sollux. “Wouldn’t you be defending us ‘n all?”

“Gamzee, if a dead man ever found a way to get convicted, it would be you.” Terezi sniffed and looked down her nose at him - or at least she tried. Her face was actually pointed a couple feet to his left. She did her best.

“And if a lawyer ever managed to convict a dead man, it’d be you, Rezi.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment! Anyway, Karkat, your parents are looking for you.”

“Ugh, I’ve probably gotta go help them get ready for the party.” You groaned and extricated yourself from under Sollux. You got to your feet and brushed yourself off. “You’re all coming, right?”

“Duh.” Terezi answered for the rest of them, who all nodded their agreement. “Why wouldn’t we, Crabcakes?”

You grimaced at the nickname, and you knew she knew you were doing that, despite not being able to see you. “Just don’t trash my fucking house, okay? And don’t bring your fucking bong, Gamzee!” You shouted over your shoulder, walking over to where your family was talking to Sollux’s dad.

“No motherfucking promises!” He shouted back. You shot him the middle finger.

College should be interesting.

—

Freshman Year

It was 2:34 in the morning, and your dumbass roommate was still awake.

You’d ended up in doubles, and Gamzee had magnanimously decided to go with a randomly assigned roommate so you and Sollux could room together. It had turned out alright so far; Gamzee’s was living just down the hall with an awkward animal science major in a wheelchair that Gamzee looked at like he’d hung the moon, and you and Sollux had yet to kill each other because of being stuck together in close quarters.

The only problem was you were pretty sure you hadn’t seen Sollux sleep at all in the past week.

“Sol?” You said, your voice raspy with sleep. Sollux glanced over their shoulder at you, then turned back to their computer. “Why the fuck are you awake?”

“Go back to sleep, KK.” They said, not even looking at you. They just continued to type away at some program they were coding. You frowned and sat up.

“What the hell are you even doing?”

“My final project, and you’re fucking with my focus.”

You rubbed at your face, forcing some of the bleariness out of your eyes. “Don’t you have an 8am?”

“Yeah, and?”

“And it’s the asscrack of night, shithead! You should be asleep!”

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead.”

“That might be sooner than later if you keep this up!”

Sollux shrugged and didn’t respond. Alright, time to pull out the big guns. You mumbled something about going to the bathroom that you’re sure Sollux didn’t listen to whatsoever climbed out of bed. You shuffled down past the bathroom to Gamzee’s room and knocked.

There wasn’t a response. You knocked a little louder and heard a muffled “Gamzee, wake up” followed by a sleepy grunt and the creaks of someone climbing down a bunk-bed. The door opened to reveal a half-asleep Gamzee. Tavros looked like he’d already fallen back asleep.

“What’s up, bro?” Gamzee said through a yawn.

“Sollux isn’t sleeping.” That was all you needed to say for Gamzee to nod and step out into the hall with you. Sollux had done this a couple times in high school, usually around exam week, and you both knew they wouldn’t go to bed unless physically forced.

Sollux didn’t look up from their laptop when you came back to the room, but they did jolt to attention when Gamzee leaned over their shoulder to peer at the work.

“What’re you workin’ on?”

“I’m coding something for my final - why the fuck are you here?”

“This is an intervention.” You answered for Gamzee.

“For what? He’s the druggie.” Sollux said, jerking their thumb at Gamzee. Gamzee just hummed lightly and pulled Sollux’s chair back.

“You need to sleep before you end up in the hospital. This is due, what, two weeks from now? I think you can risk one night of sleep.”

“I told you, I’m fine, I just- stop it!” Sollux squawked as Gamzee scooped them up in his arms.

“Nah, the motherfucker’s right. You gotta get some sleep, best friend.” Gamzee plopped down on your bunk, still holding Sollux tight. You saved Sollux’s work on their laptop - you were abhorrent at coding, but you knew how to do at least that much - and dropped yourself on top of them both. Sollux was squirming and scrambling like a cat trying to escape a bathtub, but their scrawny ass couldn’t escape Gamzee’s tight grip and your weight on top of them.

“God, can you calm down for three fucking seconds?” You grumbled, still tired from having woken up in the middle of the night.

“That’s rich coming from Shitfit Vantas.” Sollux snapped, but they finally stopped wiggling around. “I’m gonna fail.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am. I’m going to fail this class and they’re going to kick me out of my major.” It was clear they were getting sleepy despite their words.

“The alternative is death. There’s no fucking dying allowed in this dorm room, got it?”

“I’ll die in Gamzee’s room, then.”

“Good motherfucking luck.” Gamzee mumbled, already half asleep with his face in Sollux’s neck. Sollux groaned and seemed to finally give in.

“I hate you both. You know that, right? You’re the fucking worst.”

“Just shut up and go to sleep, asshole.” You mumbled, passing out on Sollux’s chest.

Sollux slept until 4pm. They missed their 8am, but they didn’t fail their class. You counted that as a win.

--

Sophomore Year

You and Sollux were sitting on either side of Gamzee, both of you holding his shaking hands. The therapist’s waiting room was empty except for the three of you.

The past couple weeks had been rough. At first you’d thought the stress of school on top of working a couple jobs to afford the apartment the three of you shared had been taking a toll on Gamzee, and it probably had been, but it became clear something else was at play.

He’d been acting erratically, his mood swinging from calm to angry much more than it ever had. He shirked his responsibilities, skipped all his classes, locked himself in his room, looked at you and Sollux like he didn’t recognize you. You’d seen him angry before, just a handful of times, and it was a frightening experience, but you’d never had it turned on you before this past week. He seemed like he was itching for a fight and didn’t know where he was.

Whatever episode it had been, it was over now, and Gamzee was miserable. It was Sollux who took the initiative, who insisted he go to a therapist. You both promised to go with him, and you had a feeling that’s what convinced him to go.

“Gamzee?” A kindly looking woman appeared at the end of the hallway. She smiled at the three of you. “You can come down now if you like.”

Gamzee took a shaky breath and you squeezed his hand. “Do you want us to come with you?” You asked, and he nodded. The three of you got up and followed the therapist to her office.

The therapist asked some questions that you expected; this was supposed to be an initial assessment to figure out where to start with Gamzee’s mental health. When scheduling the appointment, you’d mentioned the oddness of the past couple weeks, so that’s where she started. He told her what you’d assumed: he hadn’t been thinking clearly, there was some disconnect with reality, he couldn’t control his mood, how he’d felt like he could and should do anything. That all you could’ve gathered from the outside. But when she asked if he’d been hearing or seeing things that weren’t there, you were surprised, even more so when Gamzee hesitated and said “I-...Yeah. So motherfucking loud…” You had no idea, and it took all your willpower to not bombard Gamzee with questions. She kept talking to him, gentle and comforting the whole time, asking how he felt now (miserable, guilty, exhausted), if this had happened before (not this motherfucking much), if mental illness ran in the family (ain’t never fuckin’ known his dad to be anything but angry, and he ain’t been in the old man’s house since he was a little kid, anyway. Brother get real angry too sometimes, but not that bad, he’s nice enough, ain’t never hurt him).

When their appointment time was up, she pulled out a business card and scribbled something on the back. “I’m going to refer you to a psychiatrist friend of mine. That way you can get a second opinion and get on a prescription.” She said, handing him the card.

Gamzee looked at the card, then at her, confusion written on his face. “Prescription? I ain’t got a cold or nothin’.”

“If she agrees with my diagnosis, she’ll probably prescribe you anti-psychosis medication.” You heard Gamzee’s breath hitch beside you. “I believe you might have schizoaffective disorder.”

“Motherfucker, what?”

“It’s a common disorder where someone exhibits symptoms of schizophrenia and a mood disorder.” She seemed to sense Gamzee’s rising panic and was quick to try to reassure him. “I know it sounds scary, but it can be treated, I promise. Medication and therapy go a long way.” A light flashed on her wall notifying her that her next patient had arrived, and she stood, prompting the three of you to stand as well, Gamzee much more slowly than you and Sollux. “I’m afraid I have another appointment right now, but I’d be happy to schedule you in again next week, alright?”

Gamzee didn’t respond, still staring at the business card numbly, so Sollux jumped in. “We’ll call you.” They said, tugging Gamzee towards the door.

You passed the therapist’s next patient in the hall and found yourselves in an empty waiting room again. Gamzee was still silent between you two.

“Gamz?” You asked. “Are you okay?”

“No I motherfucking am not.” Gamzee sighed. Sollux peered over at the business card.

“That’s the psychiatrist I go to for my meds. She’s pretty nice.” They said, and both you and Gamzee stared at them in surprise.

“Since when the hell do you take meds?” You asked.

“Since this past summer.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because it didn’t come up! Excuse me for not walking around declaring ‘guess what, I’ve been diagnosed with bipolar type II disorder!’” Sollux folded their arms defensively. They looked at Gamzee and sighed, their posture softening. “Look. I’m not gonna lie to you and say this shit doesn’t suck. Getting diagnosed with a mental illness? Realizing you’re not functioning the way you should be? Having to take medication to get your brain to cooperate and release the right chemicals? It all fucking sucks. But you’re not the only one going through this shit, okay? Medication helps. Going to therapy helps. And if you ever feel like your brain is plotting your own demise, chances are high that you can come to me and be like ‘hey Sollux, I hate having a brain right now’ and I’ll be like ‘oh shit, me too!’ and we can lay on the kitchen floor and have a depressive episode together while Karkat, I dunno, yells positive affirmations or something. Trauma thunderdome featuring our loud, encouraging roommate.”

“I wouldn’t yell at you if you were having a depressive episode!” You protested.

“Yes you fucking would. Yelling is just your default state of talking. Is Karkat’s mouth open? Then he’s yelling.” Sollux rolled their eyes. Gamzee laughed weakly and rubbed at his eyes.

“Fuck, y’all, I’m-” Gamzee took in a shaky breath and tugged both of you in with his long arms for a tight hug. “I’m so fuckin’ grateful for whatever motherfucking miracle it was that brought y’all in my life.”

“The miracle was Mr. Webb in ninth grade.” You mumbled, face half squished against Gamzee’s chest. Why were all of your friends so stupidly tall? It was uncalled for. You hugged him back.

“I definitely wouldn’t call Mr. Webb a miracle.” Sollux said, and their thin arms wrapped around you both. “He cared more about the basketball team’s scores than our grades.”

“He’s a motherfuckin’ miracle if he got me to meet my best friends in the whole motherfucking universe.” Gamzee’s voice sounded thick and you pulled back to get a look at him.

“Are you crying?”

Gamzee rubbed at his face and let out a watery laugh. “Guess I motherfucking am. I just can’t believe y’all give a shit about me.”

“Big dumb idiot.” You grumbled, grabbing a box of tissues from a nearby table. “You should know by now that we give more than a shit about you.”

“What’s more than a shit?” Sollux asked. “A full bowel movement?”

“That’s disgusting, but yes. We give a whole bowel movement about you, Gamzee. You’re the food being digested and going through the intestinal tract of friendship. Got it?”

Gamzee laughed and took the tissues from you, wiping at his face. “Yeah, motherfucker, I get it.”

“Come on,” Sollux jingled their keys at you, “Let’s move this cry session home. I’m tired of standing in this fucking waiting room.”

“What, you don’t like the decorations?” Gamzee teased, which was encouraging return to normalcy. “Look, they even got a cute lil clown painting, I didn’t even see this motherfucker earlier.”

“I especially hate that decoration.” Sollux said, making a face.

“If you even think of decorating our apartment with clowns, I’m evicting you. Do you hear me?” You added, backing Sollux up.

“What, not even my room?” Gamzee put his hands in his pockets and started to follow Sollux to the door. “No fuckin’ clown posters? Some juggling clubs maybe? Make a motherfuckin’ carnival out of the place.”

“If you want to turn your room into more of a circus than it is already, I can’t fucking stop you, but it better stop at the doorway, so help me god.”

“Hell yeah, motherfucker. Might pick up the unicycle too.”

“Every time I think I understand you, you just say shit like that and I have to reevaluate how fucking weird you are.” Sollux said, shaking their head. “Are we going or what?”

“Yeah, motherfucker, we’re going.” Gamzee said, and the three of you left the office.

--

Junior Year

“You’re overthinking this, KK.”

“I am not overthinking this! I am thinking precisely the right amount for the situation! It just so happens that the situation warrants a fuck ton of thinking!”

“Man, I told you, just suck the motherfucker’s dick.”

You glared darkly at Gamzee, who was currently stealing grapes from the fridge and giving you an amused look. Sollux spoke before you could verbally rip him to shreds.

“It’s an anniversary gift, GZ. It has to be something he doesn’t do all the time already.” They said, audibly bored despite the smirk they gave you when you turned your outraged look on them. “What? We all know you suck dick.”

“That’s not the fucking point!” You argued. Sollux rolled their eyes.

“Right, get angry that I implied you’re sexually active with your boyfriend. Great fucking logic, 10/10.”

“The point-” You continued, raising your voice even louder, “Is that this is our first anniversary! It demands a grand romantic gesture!”

“Just buy him flowers or something, you overly dramatic mollusk enthusiast. Dave’s fucking smitten with you, I’m pretty sure he won’t give a shit if it’s not peak romance.”

You started to argue, then paused and processed what they’d just said. “What the fuck does mollusk enthusiast even mean? What the hell?”

“You know, mollusks. Because you have a hermit crab?”

You stared at them for a long second. “...You dumb son of a bitch, do you mean crustaceans?”

“Eh, mollusks, crustaceans, whatever, you’re the enthusiast here.” Sollux waved you off. “The point is that you could probably write a love note on Dave’s toilet seat and he’d still have the doki dokis for you.”

“It doesn’t matter if he’s satisfied with the bare minimum! He deserves more.” You huffed and buried your face in your arms on the table. There were a few moments of silence where apparently Sollux was making some kind of facial expression at Gamzee because you heard him say “motherfucker, don’t ask me to help him, I don’t know shit.” That made you shift to glare at Sollux across the table. “Yeah, Gamzee doesn’t know shit, but you do. You’ve celebrated anniversaries with Aradia and Feferi, what the fuck did you do?”

“I don’t know, it’s different for each of them.” Sollux sighed, resigning themself to give you actual advice. “I usually choose an event that they like that we wouldn’t normally go to. Feferi and I have only had one anniversary so far, but we went into the city and I bought her a nice dinner and we saw a concert. Aradia and I have a tradition of going to a graveyard she hasn’t been to yet so she can live out her goth date fantasies. For our joint anniversary, they took me to get beekeeping lessons. It was fun.”

You wrinkled your nose. “I don’t know about a graveyard or beekeeping, but… dinner might work.”

“I can send you some of the places I was considering for Feferi.” Sollux offered, and okay, maybe they weren’t the worst friend.

“Hey, the brother’s at likin’ dead shit, right?” Gamzee asked, sitting down next to you and offering his bowl of snacks.

“That’s the creepiest way of saying he likes paleontology, but yes, he does. Why?” You said, grabbing a handful of chips.

“You know that science museum Tavros’s working at? They’re hosting some collection, full of dinosaur bones and shit. Supposed to be pretty fuckin’ cool.”

“Why didn’t you lead with that, asshole, instead of suggesting I suck his dick a million times?!”

Gamzee shrugged, grinning easily at you. “That idea still ain’t off the fucking table.”

“Hopefully there won’t be any fucking on the table.” Sollux interjected. “We all eat here and I don’t trust you to not have warts on your ass.”

“That’s fucking rich coming from someone greasy enough to put KFC to shame! I don’t know why you ever get your oil changed at the Kia dealership, you could probably just wring out your pillowcase into the tank and you’d be good! Do you have an agreement with Burger King so they can get the formula to their greasy garbage from studying your pores? Are your girlfriends aware that they’re dating a Checkers wrapper?”

“Jesus, KK, take a breath, what the fuck. I don’t want to have to explain to the EMTs that you asphyxiated because you were defending your ass warts.” Sollux shook their head, more than used to your raging at this point. Gamzee patted your head absently, but you were pretty sure he’d already checked out of the conversation.

You huffed loudly, but for all your grumbling, there was still a tiny part of you that was deeply grateful for your friends. They were fucking weird and total assholes, but then again, weren’t you? You’d been friends through the embarrassment that was middle school, the stressful hell of high school, the chaos that was your entry into adulthood. Together for the good times, splurging on bad food and wrecking each other in Mario Kart, and for the bad times, pulling Gamzee away from fights and making sure Sollux ate during their depressive episodes. Sure, your friend group was larger than you’d admit, made up of a combination of the people you’d known since you were a kid, like Terezi, and the new people you’d met in college, like Kanaya, and that friend group was only growing as you got to know a vast web of friends through Dave, but Sollux and Gamzee still stood out. They were your best friends, and they meant the world to you.

Ugh. You grimaced the moment that embarrassingly fond thought crossed your mind. Lucky enough for you, Sollux had started trying to throw grapes in Gamzee’s mouth and their atrocious aim meant you got a grape in the eye at a high enough velocity to make you screech, and the moment had effectively passed.

Yep. These were your friends, and you were stuck with them. For better or for worse.

[rinusagitora]

Gems flow in her bloodstream.

Fandom: BLEACH

Characters: Toushirou Hitsugaya, Rangiku Matsumoto, Momo Hinamori, Shuuhei Hisagi

Pairings: HitsuKarin-centric, minor Rannao, minor ShuuHina, platonic HitsuMatsu

Words: 2,000+

Summary: Modern AU, movie star!Karin, trans!Karin. WARNINGS-- depression and horror themes. Gift fic for @gloomyplum for HitsuKarin Secret Santa 2017. Toushirou, famous novelist, is having his latest and most popular horror trilogy adapted into a movie. Unfortunately, the lead lady is hot.

FFN | AO3 | NEXT

His eyes peeled open, jostled from his slumber, to Rangiku as she smoothed her blonde hair. “Nap’s over, Hitsugaya-kun. We just landed.”

“Motherfucker.” He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms. “These flights are gonna be the fucking death of me.”

“That’d be a lame way to kick the bucket. Your novels portray such artistic deaths. Wouldn’t you be embarrassed to die of jet lag?” she teased.

“Hence my complaining.” He popped his neck. “Do you think my sister will forgive me if we detour for some fucking coffee? I may die otherwise.”

“She has a press at home, doesn’t she?”

“She had one of those coffee bars-- two, in fact. Both defective in the space of a year. She just goes to the Starbucks by her place now.”

“Send her a text, then. You have manners.”

“Yes, mom,” he snort as he switched his phone off airplane mode. “It’s a quadruple shot night, though. I’m not looking forward to tomorrow.”

“Maybe for you. I’m going home to my girlfriend and sleeping for the first time ever, so you’re gonna have to catch a cab. As much as I love you, I miss my girl.”

“That’s fine. Tell Ise I say hello and look forward to seeing her once we start filming.”

“Aren’t you sweet? Will do, Hitsugaya-kun. See you in the morning.” Rangiku grabbed his elbow and kissed his cheeks, ever affectionate. He couldn’t help but smile to himself. She had been his publishing agent for so long she was almost his friend. What was once an annoying gesture made him smile even as exhausted and overall standoffish as he was.

“Get some sleep, Matsumoto,” he told her.

He dragged his luggage behind him and hailed a cab from the entrance. It was only four o’clock in Shibuya, but he swore it was four in the morning. His tour in the Americas fucked over his circadian clock. He, ever a creature of habit, took days to adapt to a new routine, even if it was a return to a year’s-old routine.

In the backseat of a cab with his luggage in the seat beside him, he sighed. “The Kamiyo high rise apartments,” he told the driver.

“Fancy,” the driver replied. “Are you from Shibuya?”

“I live here, if that’s what you mean. I moved to be closer to my sister and work. She owns the Hisagi Gothic Art Gallery with her husband.”

“Oh, hey, you wrote that Haruka trilogy, didn’t you? I knew I recognized you. My wife raves about those books. All that gore makes me kinda queasy, though.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, that’s the point. I love writing nasty stuff.”

“She adores the ghost chick too. My wife normally only likes male characters, but she tells me Haruka was captivating. Congratulations on your movie, by the way. I watched Funeral Home and it was fantastic. I’d love to read it if I didn’t work so much. Got a baby on the way, you know.”

His heart slammed like an emergency brake in his chest. “Congratulations,” he said.

“Shit, my wife is gonna dig this when I tell her, though. She loves your books.”

He smiled. Hearing from his fans in an everyday setting was one of his favorite parts of being a writer. He wasn’t so popular he was swarmed when he was just out and about, but he was recognized just around in coffee shops and bookstores. He didn’t mind so long as he wasn’t bugged at the grocer’s or the mall.

With his fare paid, he walked inside and rang his sister’s suite from the ground floor. He was soon welcomed into an elevator and then his sister’s spacious suite.

Momo giggled, her lips pulled into a wide, ruby-colored smile as she jogged over to him barefoot and wrapped him in a hug.

“Welcome,” Momo cooed with a squeeze to his neck. He rubbed his hand over her chiffon top and kissed her cheek like Rangiku kissed him. “It’s good to see you again. I missed you so.”

“Hey,” Shuuhei cheered from their kitchen.

“You’re all looking splendid,” he told them, shoes and bag left in the genkan. “I come with gifts! Do you guys want them now or after we do some catching up?”

“After dinner. I want to hear all about your time in the States.” Momo pulled him onto the couched and curled her dress and her legs under her.

His sister so easily made him smile, however exhausted he may be. “My god, it was eventful,” he told her. “My English is still shit and I hate road trips, but I got to see a couple of art galleries in New York and a gothic-inspired independent fashion show in Los Angeles which was superb. I got to try a lot of good food. There’s nothing more to say other than Kyouraku driving his assistant up a wall.”

“Ugh, you’re so boring.” She reached into her clutch on the table and pulled out a cigarette. “Tell me about the places you ate at.”

He laughed. “Well, it was either diners or Michelin star establishments where I had to wear a fucking suit and tie. I really liked this one diner outside of Orlando, Florida. It was towards the end of the tour and I was fucking beat. Their cheeseburgers and milkshakes were to die for. So juicy, so cheesy. Just thinking about it makes my mouth water.”

“And those art galleries?”

“I saw one in Houston, another in Seattle, and the final one in DC. None of them were gothic or otherwise related to horror. My favorite was the abstract gallery in Seattle. The artists featured expertly demonstrated feelings and events through color and shape. There was this installation where there were these glow in the dark strings in this dark hallway. I think it was meant to express the feeling of MDMA at a rave, or something. I loved it.”

Momo cackled. “Oh god. It sounds like you had fun. What was the fashion show like?”

“Fantastic! I sat next to Marilyn Manson. We talked a little before the show began. Apparently, he’s read my novels and had wonderful insights on Bear Claw. My English is shit but he was understanding and promised I was understandable.”

“Marilyn Manson?”

“He’s a popular metal musician in the United States. It’s atmospheric and angry. I adore it. I listened to his newest album while writing the Haruka trilogy.”

Momo hummed. “Well, I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.”

“Here you guys go.” Shuuhei deposited three plates on the table they surrounded. Steam wafted up to his nose, sausage and potatoes and oregano. He grinned.

“It smells amazing. Thanks Shuuhei.”

His brother-in-law winked with a click of his tongue. “No trouble. It’s great you have you back, Toushirou. It just doesn’t feel right when you’re not in Shibuya.” Shuuhei kissed Momo’s cheek. “How’s that new book going, by the way? I saw an outline pulled up on your laptop the last time we were over.”

He laughed. “Pretty good. I’m finished world-building for now, I’m working on the cast now. More ghosts, more grunge, violence galore.”

“Look at you, corrupting our children with your books.” Shuuhei and he laughed.

“By the way, how’s your book going?” he asked.

“Oh god. I’m either writing at lightning speed or distracted by my wife,” he answered. “I’ve been researching interrogation approaches so that’s a bit of a speed bump. Can’t read and write at the same time, after all. Nonetheless, progress is progress, as Rangiku-san tells me.”

“Don’t you have researchers to help you out with that?”

“Technically. I’ve always preferred doing things myself, however. I was always taught to do as much as I can and then ask for help when there’s nothing more.”

“I suppose you’re right. Progress is progress either way. That’s the most important thing to remember, especially about writing. Research, writing, working with the publishing company, et cetera. Matsumoto tells me that it’s like a circle filling in at stages rather than a linear progression. She’s wise that way.”

“Rangiku-san is wise in many ways,” Momo smiled. “She’s good to us, especially you, ‘Shirou-chan. I hope you treat her well.”

“I try. She likes making her life difficult, I think, since she’s so opposed to actually doing her job.”

Momo and Shuuhei snort in unison. “Yeah,” Momo replied, “that sounds like our Rangiku-san. But you know what I mean.”

“I do,” he smiled.

He sighed, plate finished, and then stood. “Enough chat. I have gifts! Let me fetch my bag.”

Momo’s sigh followed him to the genkan. He hooked his arm through his rolling luggage, not brave enough to risk Momo’s anger for ruining her flooring. Shuuhei had cleared their plates and he set his bag down. Moments later, he presented Momo a velvet box.

“To start off, for my lovely sister.” He opened the box to a jeweled collar, the color of Momo’s eyes, chocolate diamonds draped with milky pearls. “I thought of you the second I saw this.”

Momo’s eyes bugged out of her skull. “Holy shit….” Gingerly, she lifted the collar out of the box. Shuuhei clasped it behind her. “Toushirou, it’s gorgeous. How did you ever get your hands on this?”

“I have an internationally bestselling trilogy and movie deals. I’m loaded,” he answered.

“Shit,” Momo chuckled, “you spoil me and I don’t ever have anything for you.”

He shrugged. “I don’t mind. You’re my sister. You’re the most beloved person in my life since our grandmother’s passing, I don’t mind giving you nice things. Anyways.” He presented Shuuhei a pair of silver guitar-shaped sleeve cuffs. “For you, my friend.”

“These are nice.” Shuuhei pulled his wrist cuffs to his eyes. “Damn, look at the detail. My publishers are gonna dig these. Thanks so much.”

“No problem at all.”

“Now then,” Momo laughed, “I adore these gifts and I’m sure Shuu does too. I want to hear about your movie deals, though.”

“Obviously, the one for my second book is finished-- thank god. I had to fight tooth and nail for the studio to keep the details and plot to the book. I’m not exactly optimistic about my trilogy’s film adaptation, however. The studio still doesn’t seem to trust my judgement despite my prolificness as a writer. I’m grateful to have Kyouraku directing again, since he’s more open to keeping to my story rather than shooting off with his own, but the company is a pain in the ass.”

“I hope they stick to the book. You’re a very talented writer. You know what you’re doing.”

“Alright,” He slid out of his chair and hugged Momo. “I have an early morning tomorrow. Thanks again for the food, it was delicious.”

“Of course. Don’t be a stranger, now.”

“Of course.”

He called another cab outside. It was silent his ride home. Tours always took a lot out of him, but with the excitement of seeing Momo fading, he was beat. He longed for his plush mattress, his satin sheets, the smell of home.

He sighed as he flipped on the light. He dropped his luggage on the couch, he’d take care of it sometime the next day. He undressed and turned on soft violin music and laid beneath his blankets.

His suite was very open. In terms of music, the acoustics were fantastic. He could turn on the speakers in his kitchen and he could hear it in his room. In the enclosure of his room, the very air seemed to reverberate with melody. His heart felt like the strings the bow slid over.

It crushed his chest like stones.

His home was empty like he. He adored Momo, but they only had so much social energy. Dating took effort he didn’t have the time for. He could barely take care of himself, let alone a pet. He was alone. Even with Momo divorced from Sousuke for years and back in his life, even with Rangiku, he was alone. Ever doomed to be stuck with fame and money and the sound of his keyboard and violins, never to be completed by someone wrapped in his arms.

Tears streamed down his cheeks as he stared wide-eyed at his stucco ceiling. The hollowness of himself and his home made him ache.

[onlymorelove]

fic: my life is for you (and no one other than you) (1/1)

Title: my life is for you (and no one other than you) (1/1)  Fandom: Teen Wolf Relationship: Liam Dunbar/Theo Raeken  Characters: Theo Raeken, Liam Dunbar Word Count: 2293 Tags:  Established Relationship, Future Fic, Post-Canon, Idiots in Love, Romance, Implied Sexual Content, Bisexual Male Characters, Banter, Boys grow into men eventually Rating: T Summary:  It’s a journey they began years before, but one they have to take again and again. Together.  (Post-coital, slice-of-life fic. AKA sass and fluff.)  A/N: The title is a lyric from Sting's Desert Rose.

Read on AO3 or below the cut.

Liam is draped across their bed, one arm flung outward like a starfish, the other resting over his eyes. The resonant bass of Theo’s heartbeat trip-trops in his ears and travels down until it settles, reassuring and familiar, somewhere in Liam’s own chest, while he catches his breath, still riding the high of his orgasm. The pulse of Theo’s heart as it pushes blood through his veins is the music that rocks Liam to sleep every night, an auditory security blanket he couldn’t relinquish even if he tried.

He hears the snap of latex as Theo removes his condom, ties it off, and throws it in the small trash can near their bed. “Ugh,” Liam groans. “I can’t move. Babe, I’m never going to be able to move again.” “Well, that could be a problem,” Theo answers, a smile heating the thick, lush slide of his voice, “considering your come is currently drying in your chest hair.”

Every nerve ending in Liam’s well-loved body wants to light up in response to the caress of that voice . . . But he’s just too damned tired and sated.

Theo tugs at a few of the hairs near one of Liam’s nipples to emphasize his point about the sticky mess painted on his chest.

“I don’t care.” Liam’s mouth sinks into a pout. “You’re disgusting, Liam.” Theo nudges him in the calf with the barest hint of a claw. “Just take two minutes and clean up in the bathroom.”

“You clean it. It’s only fair since it’s your fault I can’t moooove,” Liam says, drawing out the O. “You fucked all the energy and motivation right out of me.” He raises his ass in a half-hearted thrust and hears Theo smother a laugh. The sound is so light and happy, so free of sharp edges, that Liam wants to record it and play it back on repeat. His lips twitch with the desire to arc in a dopey smile; he lets them. It’s nothing Theo hasn’t seen before.

A hand curves around his flank and kneads. The touch, tender but confident, coaxes a sigh from Liam’s kiss-bruised mouth. If he had any sense left at all, he’d stifle it. But that would take energy Liam doesn’t have, and besides, he knows it’s too late: he let Theo in on most of his secrets, the dark ones and the stupid ones and the in-between ones, too, long ago—including the fact that he morphs into something soft, malleable, and totally, utterly, deliciously whipped in Theo’s long-fingered hands.

“Are you complaining, little wolf? 'Cause that sure sounded like a complaint.”

“Mmm-mm.” Liam bites his lower lip and shakes his head from side to side where it lays on the pillow. “Just stating facts. Definitely not complaining.”

“I hope not. 'Cause ten minutes ago you were all, ‘I need you, Theo. Fuck me, Theo.’” Amusement and affection coil around and through the words.

But the wickedly accurate mimicry sends hot blood rushing to Liam’s cheeks. “Are you done?” he says, voice frigid.

“‘I need your cock, Theo,’” Theo adds, undeterred by Liam's disapproval, and apparently not finished eviscerating Liam’s pride. All with a complete lack of malice, of course.

He loves this man—the coyote; the wolf; the shadows; the nightmares; the tender, vulnerable parts Liam can still scratch if he isn’t careful—fuck, does he love him, but Theo knows exactly where to apply pressure when he wants to be a dick. “Idiot. I do not sound like that,” Liam says, and yeah, okay, maybe it comes out a touch whiny. “Shut up.” Eyes scrunched tight, he smacks the bed, not trying very hard to aim for Theo.

Theo tsks and cards his big, warm hands through Liam’s hair in a lazy drag that soothes his bruised pride and threatens to melt him into exquisite, boneless ease. “That’s exactly how you sound, sweet cheeks. You know it; I know it.”

“Do not.”

“Do too.”

“Do not.” Liam surges up, catching Theo off-guard, and shoves him onto his back. “Take it back, you assmunching twatwaffle,” he says, straddling Theo’s lean hips and digging his fingers into his ribs, his favorite tickle spot.

Theo grips Liam’s thighs and beams a laugh at him, with his head thrown back, teeth flashing white, eyes crimped at the corners. Liam blinks; fuck, if normalcy doesn’t look amazing on Theo. “Such a dirty mouth,” Theo says through his laughter, gasping, “for such a pretty face.” The words drip with mock reproach.

Fortunately, Liam can give as good as he gets. He grins. “You love my dirty mouth when it’s wrapped around your dick.”

“Hmm,” Theo replies, sounding non-committal. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right. You really think I’m pretty?”

“Are you fishing for compliments?”

“No.” A pause. “Maybe.” Liam lifts one shoulder in a shrug and rubs his thumb across Theo’s bottom lip. “Is it working?”

Using the barest hint of fang, Theo nips at Liam’s thumb, then releases it. “Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who’s the fairest of them all?” he asks, eyes dancing, just before he rolls Liam onto his back. The pads of his fingers glide over Liam’s cheek; he leans into the touch and fights not to purr his pleasure. His wolf, on the other hand, because it lacks any dignity whatsoever, seems to give a contented snuffle and rolls over, presenting its belly for a thorough rub and scratch.

“Definitely you,” Liam quips.

The mattress dips when Theo leans in closer. The salt sweat scent of his skin sends fresh heat spiraling deep inside Liam. “No, you, pretty boy,” Theo murmurs on a warm puff of air, and Liam’s eyes slip shut again. “Your cheekbones are sharper than my claws.” His voice curls smoky and whisper soft against the shell of Liam’s ear, pulling goosebumps and a helpless shiver from his sensitive, love-drunk body. “And your eyes . . . Those blue, blue eyes . . .” The words trail off; Theo clears his throat.

Liam’s eyes open by slow degrees, as if in a dream, and he glances up at Theo. Strands of dark, tousled hair fall across his forehead—hair that Liam had gripped and pulled while they’d loved each other—rendering him boyish and carefree in a way that Liam knows Theo wasn’t when he was actually still a child. But now . . .  Now his eyes aren’t hollow and edged in bitterness like they once were. Now he doesn’t reek of loneliness and regret like they’re clawed deep into the very marrow of his bones.

Now Liam’s heart speeds up, like a wolf racing through a midnight forest crisp with moonlight.

Theo’s mouth, still kiss-pink and soft at the edges, twists in a knowing smirk, as if Theo hears the increase in Liam’s heart rate. (Of course the bastard hears it.)

“Why are you flattering me, anyway? What do you want?” Liam narrows his eyes and flicks Theo in the stomach, watching with languid interest as the muscles there flex in response. “You already got in my pants.”

“It’s not flattery if it’s the truth, Dunbar.”

“Oh, goody.” He bats his eyes in Theo’s direction. “So I guess my pretty ass is just gonna lie here and be a sloth,” Liam says, and it slips out wrapped around a smile.

Theo’s eyebrow quirks up. “And that would be different from any other day how?”   “Remind me why I keep you around.” Liam lets his eyes flash gold for a moment

“That’s easy.” Theo shrugs, face impassive but for the unholy light in his beautiful eyes. “‘Cause no one else could fuck you like I do,” he says, eyes glowing yellow right back at Liam. Coming from anyone else, that statement would sound ridiculous. Coming from Theo, it simply sounds matter of fact.

“Nope.” Liam presses his lips together and shakes his head. “That’s not why. I bet tons of other people could do what you do to my body—”

“—I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

“Cocky motherfucker.” Liam rolls his eyes and covers Theo’s mouth with his hand. “Let me finish, asshole.” His tone mellows. “But no one else could do what you do to my heart.”

This time Theo’s heart picks up speed; Liam hears it but doesn’t react, just drops his hand and lets a spark of satisfaction ping through him. He breathes into the comfortable silence that covers the room like a worn, nubby blanket and waits for the response he knows will come eventually. Head cocked to the side, Theo asks, “Are you a hopeless romantic, Liam?” A twinkle flares in Theo’s hazel eyes, igniting a traitorous, answering warmth that spreads from Liam’s chest all the way down to his toes.  

He chooses to answer the question with another question. “I married you, didn’t I?” Liam stretches until his fingers find their home, woven together with Theo’s.

Theo swallows, throat working, and Liam’s eyes track the motion. “That you did.” Still naked and radiating toasty heat, Theo rises over Liam, bracing his free hand on the bed, by Liam’s shoulder.

Liam inhales sharply, watching the light and the shadows in their dim bedroom play along the muscles beneath the skin of Theo’s arms, chest, and shoulders. His husband’s pupils are dark and blown wide. He unwinds their fingers, and Liam fights an aching sense of loss at the absence of contact.

“I’m still a mess, Theo,” he feels compelled to announce, gesturing at his chest, when Theo tips his chin back with a single finger.

“Baby, I don’t care,” he says in a low rumble just before he dips his head to mouth at the sensitive skin at Liam’s throat. “So am I. Not sure I ever stopped being a mess,” he adds, almost under his breath, and it has the tenor of a confession.

Liam understands the double meaning, so he circles his arms around Theo and pulls him in as close as he can, taking all his weight, then closer still.

“Fuck, you smell good.” Reverence, awe, and affection entangle the words, and Theo shudders. Liam feels it through every single point of contact between their skin. The scruff on Theo’s jaw prickles against Liam’s neck, a bracing counterpoint to the softness of his words—and his heart. “Like sweat and come and you . . . and me.”

“Ew”—Liam curls his leg around Theo’s and drags his foot against the coarse hair on his calf—“Sounds gross.”

Theo shapes a laugh against his skin. “It should be, but it isn’t.”

“Geez, Theo,” he says, and taps him lightly on the ass, “when did you become this ginormous sap?”

“Probably when you freed me from hell.”

“Best thing I ever did, even though I didn’t do it for you.” Liam moves his hands from where they’re stroking circles on Theo’s back, to his hair.

“About that”—he lifts his head to look Liam directly in the eyes—“I, um, don’t know if I ever said thank you."

"For what?"

"For letting me out. For not sending me back." Theo pauses, mouth open, then sighs with a swift shake of his head. "And for everything after that.”

Liam smiles and pushes Theo’s hair off his forehead. “You never said the words”—he pauses and kisses the smooth skin at Theo’s temple—“but you didn’t have to; I heard them anyway.”

Liam pulls the blanket over them both, then tightens his arms around Theo, inhaling their commingled scent, and damn it all to hell and back, he must be as much of a sap as Theo is, because, well, it is a good smell.  

Theo. Pack. Mine, he thinks, with nary a trace of smugness. It just is.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever deserve you,” Theo whispers against Liam’s cheek, a tremor in his breath and his pulse.

“Shhh”—he presses his hand gently to Theo’s mouth, gaze flickering to the gold band on his ring finger—“Stop. You already do.” They're treading ancient ground now, a dirt path littered with the vestiges of old paw prints and weathered, storm-blown branches that snap and crack under their feet.

Theo shakes his head and swallows, eyes dark as a night with no moon.

Theo, stubborn Theo, always Theo, calls to Liam’s blood with a pull as strong and inexorable as the full moon when she crooks her bone-white fingers and beckons to Liam’s wolf.

When Theo calls, Liam always comes.

Letting his hand drop back to stroke along Theo’s shoulder, Liam raises his head and reaches for his husband’s mouth, slowly, so slowly, a millimeter at a time, giving him a chance to retreat if that’s what he wants. But Theo doesn’t retreat. Instead, he angles his head, light catching on the fan of his lashes as his eyes fall shut, so Liam presses onward until their lips finally meet.

It’s a journey they began years before, but one they have to take again and again. Together. Some of the roads are the same; some of them will be different.

But Liam kisses Theo soft, slow, and achingly sweet, coaxing, coaxing, until he moans his surrender into Liam’s mouth, and Liam thinks he’ll never hear anything more beautiful than that. He kisses Theo and tries to tell him all the things he’s told him a thousand times before. Things like I love you, and I want you, and I need you, and you’re mine, and I’m yours.

And if there isn’t a God, maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe there’s nothing holier than this: naked skin, warm hands, and kisses strung in a rosary like every silent prayer Liam knows Theo never uttered.

I’m yours. I’m yours. I’m . . . yours.

A/N:  Thanks for reading! Please comment if you feel up to it. :) If you want to send me a prompt, feel free.

[swan-archive]

@the-everqueen is i’m guessing the only person who will enjoy this, if you’re not her maybe...probably don’t even bother clicking through to the rest of this tropey bullshit

TL;DR: PSA for pet owners! alcohol is extremely toxic to dogs, even in small quantities, so keep those PBRs away from your furry friends unless you want an emergency vet trip in your immediate future!

“To another battle survived, gents, and another day working our asses off in service of this fair country!” Tilghman announces, smiling around the campfire at the assembled aides and raising a flask of something-or-other in a toast. “And may I just say what a real pleasure it is to see you here with me this evening, all your limbs still attached and no bullet holes in your skulls. Cheers.”

“Not for lack of trying,” grumbles Alex, digging his elbow into John’s side. “I can’t believe you attacked a house with nothing but a sword, you idiot.”

“Come on, take it easy, I’m wounded—”

“Yeah, in your other shoulder.” Alex lays another jab to John’s ribs. “This is what you get for being reckless and ignoring orders. Accept your rightful punishment.”

“I liked it better when you weren’t talking,” John complains, shoving Alex away with his good arm and fussing with his sling. Alex sticks his tongue out at John. It’s not a look quite suited to his features as they are, but Alex just seems happy to be able to access human facial expressions again, so John makes no comment. After the hell of these past weeks, it must be a great relief for Alex to feel his muzzle slowly shrink away and the fur on his face thin and recede. Not that it’s done so very much, yet—Alex still looks rather like the misbegotten offspring of a stray dog and a gargoyle—but John has caught him running his fingers over his face with hope in his eyes more than once in the last couple of days.

For John’s part, and despite all his protests, it’s simply good to hear Alex talk again. Barks and whines and yelps don’t suit him. He should have a real voice, even if all he’s doing with that voice at the moment is harassing John.

“Laurens, you in?” asks Tilghman, walking over to where John and Alex are seated. He offers his flask. John accepts it with good will, takes a nip, passes it back. The drink goes down smooth, and John says a little prayer of thanks in his head that Tilghman hasn’t been so well blacklisted by his bloody Loyalist family that he can’t still get his hands on stuff like this to share.

“How about you, Ham?” Alex looks up in surprise, and Tilghman shakes the flask, holds it out to him. A faint trace of guilt on his face there, but nothing malicious. “You made it out alive too. Worth celebrating.”

Alex hesitates, then reaches for the flask. “Y-yeah. Yeah, I will. Cheers, Tilghman.” After a last you-sure-this-is-okay glance up at Tench, he tilts his head back and takes a long swallow. Splutters. His tail bristles.

“Okay, okay, don’t drink the whole thing, greedy, we gotta make this stretch,” says Tilghman good-naturedly, and Alex coughs and passes it back.

“Khh—fuck—what is that?”

“I have a friend in town, he hooked me up. It’s good, right? Not that cheap shit they have at the commissary.”

“Good, sure. Jesus. Your friend’s trying to poison us, man.”

“Lightweight.” Tilghman moves on around the circle, and Alex shakes himself. Licks his chops where the alcohol has dribbled into his fur. He flattens his ears and perks them back up, a gesture that John is starting to recognize as the canine equivalent of a little frown.

“Did that stuff smell weird to you?”

“No? I mean, it was a little strong, sure, but it was just booze. Nothing unusual. You have got a better nose than me, though. Maybe you’re just not used to the smell yet?”

“That could be it. I guess I haven’t had the chance to, ah, indulge, not in a second. Not since the battle, and before that was full moon, and before that there was all that work I was trying to get done, and before that was, well…Schuylkill.”

“You’re overdue for it, is what I’m hearing.”

“Definitely overdue.” Alex nods decisively. The firelight dances on his face, and for a moment John can discern the vague shape of his smile as it used to be.

The flask makes another half-pass around the circle before being pronounced empty. A bottle of wine is produced, as well as a surprisingly large amount of rye whiskey, the provenance of which Harrison will not expound on outside raised eyebrows and a conspiratorial wink. John is drawn into a game of cards; Alex, in classic form, offers loud criticism on every move made without apparent allegiance to any player, until John gets up and offers his seat on the grounds that well, if you think you can do so much better, show me. Alex plunks himself down confidently, takes up John’s hand, promptly loses several dollars, and swaps out again just in time for John to make a spectacularly bad play and be subjected to a hearty swig of the rye whiskey. It really does taste like Harrison’s been distilling it under his bed. Alex cackles at John’s distress.

“Oughta make you take a shot, too, Hammie,” says Harrison, “you were the one who screwed him over, throwing away all his good cards like that. Aren’t you supposed to be the smart one?” He ruffles Alex’s fur and John tenses, because Alex does not appreciate that sort of treatment from people who aren’t John most of the time, but Alex leans into the touch, albeit with his nose wrinkled in disgust at Harrison’s suggestion.

“No thanks,” says Alex, cocking his head to give Harrison a better angle, “I’ve heard the horror stories about the shit you bring to parties. Just wondering, have you ever consumed anything a human being could actually drink?” Harrison shoves Alex and calls him a little shit and Alex shoots back motherfucker and John would normally join in at this point, but his throat is still burning. He lets out a sad wheeze.

“What’s that face for?” says Alex, abandoning Harrison and poking his snout at John. “You getting weepy already? Because I am not going to hold you in my arms and pet your hair while you bawl about how one time your daddy bought you the wrong color horse and it ruined your life, not until—what time is it—until at least eleven.”

“Shut up,” John manages.

“Okay, ten-thirty, but that’s just because it’s you, John.”

“Will you fuck off,” says John, and Alex snuffles playfully at John’s cheek in that way he has now, canine signifier for just kidding, man, it was only a joke. John feels a little hot under the collar. The drink, right. Alex draws back with a grimace.

“Eurgh, Christ.”

“What’d I do now?”

“Nothing, just—ugh.” Alex looks up furtively, sees that Harrison has moved away, then says, “I didn’t wanna be mean to Harrison, but that shit he made you drink smells like death. You’re lucky you don’t have my nose right now. And don’t,” Alex adds quickly, “do not make a joke about the size of my nose, now or normally, I’ve heard ‘em all and they stopped being funny when I was about six, so.”

“If that was you being nice to Harrison…” Alex makes a grumpy not-quite-growl noise. “Duly noted about the nose though. It is dainty and beautiful and that will be my final word on the matter.”

“I’ll accept it,” Alex says, with haughty magnanimity. “God, I can’t wait to have a proper face again. You know how much of a headache it is trying to focus on the General’s stupid squiggly handwriting down the length of this fucking thing? If I end up needing spectacles before the end of this war, I’m sending him the bill.” He prods at his muzzle. John swallows down the just a couple more weeks and it’ll be gone that wants to come out, which Alex must have heard enough times at this point to render it completely meaningless.

“Well, you don’t need to think about the General’s correspondence right now,” he says instead. “Or for the rest of the night. Come on, you wanna see if Tilghman’s got anything else to drink that isn’t, fuckin’, lantern oil or whatever?”

“I,” says Alex, “am pacing myself. Enjoying myself in moderation, as it were.”

“Ahh, he was right, you lightweight! You get all in my face about being a sad drunk, but three drinks’d knock you on your furry ass, admit it.”

“It’s not the booze! It’s—” Alex frowns. “I’d just be careful about whatever that stuff is, that’s all. I feel a little. I don’t know. It must’ve been cut with something. Just...”

“Don’t trust Tilghman and his sketchy friends. Got it. Come find me when you’re ready to stop being a pissbaby, though, yeah?”

“Fuck off, Laurens,” says Alex, baring his teeth in a not-quite-grin, and John smirks and makes a rude gesture at him and saunters toward a likely-looking knot of colleagues.

The drink continues to flow (luckily supplemented by individuals other than Harrison), and the gathering starts to take on the air of a decent party. Alex drifts back toward John eventually. Whatever malady he��d been complaining of has been forgotten, and he’s high-spirited, almost silly, and he pants happily as he drapes himself over John. The smell of liquor is heavy on his breath. Good, thinks John, means he found something he could stomach, and he scratches at Alex’s ribs through his jacket and waistcoat to show no hard feelings.

“Hoooow stands the glass a-roooound, me boys,” croons McHenry at a lull in the conversation, standing and spreading his arms like he’s the lead tenor in an opera. Someone chucks their glove at his head; several other someones fall in on various harmonies. Alex joins lustily on the middle split while John trips along above, trying to ignore Gibbs’ cheerful tone-deafness. They’ve made it into the second verse, the bit where people start forgetting the words, when Alex tilts his head back on an ascending line and breaks into a ringing howl. The melody wavers with a series of titters.

“OooooOOOOOwwwhhhhyy, soldiers, why,” bellows Tilghman in a clownish imitation of Alex, and Alex redoubles his efforts in apparent appreciation, his howl taking on the shrill wailing quality of a coyote’s. Soon half the aides are trying to out-howl Alex, not that he appears to notice; whenever he pauses for breath he simply lays his head to one side and frisks his tail as if listening to a pleasant tune. And then he’s off again, howling at a pitch so piercing they must be able to hear it behind British lines.

The song limps to an end, somehow, met with general rowdy applause. “And another round for our prima donna!” says McHenry, gesturing grandly, and Alex stands and executes a very wobbly bow, his tail wagging in delight. He collapses back into his seat next to John, fixes him with a wolfish grin, leans forward and licks him from chin to hairline. The other aides hoot and holler in glee and John goes argh and wipes at the slobber on his face with his sleeve. This does not appear to deter Alex, who comes after him and tries to lick him again on the ear.

“You’re fucking drunk,” says John, pushing Alex away with a snort of laughter.

“Noooooooo,” says Alex, still with that stupid grin on his face. “Definitely not drunk. Nope. Only had one.”

“You’re full of shit.”

“I’m not lying! Ask Tilghman, ask anyone, you know, you were right next to me the whole time. Only one. ‘S the truth.” Alex burps, shudders all over as with a sudden chill. “Cold out here tonight, yeah? Or is that just me?”

“How are you cold? You’ve got all that fur under your jacket still and you’re sitting right next to the fire.” Alex mumbles something and goes for another lick, but John puts his hand in Alex’s face before he can get too touchy-feely. Flinches at the cold wetness of his nose—no, not wet, the leathery skin there cool but unusually dry. He’s panting very hard despite that, John notices, hard enough for his tongue to loll out and his chin to dip forward slightly with each breath.

Alex shakes off John’s hand and sits there, just panting. “I don’t feel so great,” he says at last.

“Well, take a break, then, huh? We still have to work tomorrow, can’t have the General catching his best aide hungover.”

“Mhm.” Alex barely seems to have heard John. He stares glassy-eyed at the campfire for a long minute. His panting takes on a different tone, further back in the throat than before, and his ears are pinned. He coughs once. John feels a little twist of worry in his gut.

“Okay, you know what, Alex, up, come on, let’s get you some air,” he says, hauling on Alex’s arm. Alex rises to his feet, swaying.

“Wher’goin’,” he mumbles.

“Just away from the fire a little bit, get you out of the smoke. That’s it.”

“I’m—don’t—” Alex stops dead in his tracks. Licks his muzzle. Pants and pants and pants.

“Alex…?”

Alex doubles over and vomits at his own feet.

John leaps away with a curse, as do a couple of the nearest aides, and Alex crumples to his knees, still retching. “Can’t hold his liquor!” shouts someone from the other side of the campfire, to a lively chorus of jeers.

“Christ, Alex, I thought you said you only had one drink!” says John. “Here—McHenry, help me get him up before he pukes on someone.”

“I did,” slurs Alex, letting John and McHenry set him on his feet and steer him away from the campfire. “Just one. From Tilghman.” He goes huuurgh again, and John and McHenry drag him over to a convenient tree so he can lean on it and empty his stomach without dirtying anyone’s boots.

“Are you gonna tell him he’s not fooling anyone, or should I?” says McHenry, rather loudly.

“Just one,” Alex repeats, as though he’d never stopped talking. He makes a token attempt at straightening up. “Not drunk. Can’t be. It doesn’t feel, it hurts, it—” He staggers hard into John with a groan that has a real edge of pain to it. John catches him clumsily, one-armed, and McHenry grabs the back of Alex’s jacket before the two of them topple over. Alex clutches at his stomach in abject misery. “I said, didn’t I say it was poison?” he wails. “Tilghman’s trying to kill us.”

“I…do not think Tilghman is trying to kill us,” says John, in a brave stab at a reasonable tone of voice.

“Gonna kill him.”

“Do not kill Tilghman.”

“I’m gonna do it, fuck that guy, I’m gonna…” Alex takes several steps in the approximate direction of the campfire before gagging and losing steam. He sits down heavily on the ground, puts his head between his knees. Lets out a couple of wet coughs.

“Ham?” McHenry asks.

“…I would like to go home now,” says Alex in a small voice.

“Takes a while to get back from the Caribbean from he—oof!”

“Not funny, Mac.” John removes his elbow from McHenry’s stomach. “Yeah, probably for the best. Come on, let’s get you in bed.”

Alex looks up at John with the most piteous golden puppy eyes John has ever seen him deliver, fists his hands in the fabric of his waistcoat. “Hurts,” he whimpers. McHenry giggles.

“I know, Alex,” says John.

“…It was only one.”

“Jesus, I know, you said it a million times!” Alex folds his ears back and whines, and John checks himself, lowers his voice. “I…sorry. Sorry. But you’ll feel better if you get some rest, promise.”

“You good to get him back there on your own, Laurens?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. We’re good. Come on, Alex, stand up.” Alex makes another tragic face and tries to scuttle off on all fours with his tail between his legs, but John manages to pull him to his feet. “Here, lean on me—no, Alex, headquarters is this way—there we go…”

They’re barely out of sight of the campfire when Alex has to pull over and throw up again. Just this morning he’d been all excited that his fur was starting to grow out enough to make a real queue; now, John does his best to hold the scraggly strands back and glumly imagines the mess Alex (and by extension, John) will have to deal with tomorrow morning.

I attacked a goddamn house with a sword two days ago, John thinks. Alex makes a noise that John can’t even begin to describe, heaves and drools. There is no way in hell I am qualified to be the responsible friend right now.

—

“I could have told you that it was too close to the full moon for you to be drinking,” says Lafayette severely.

Alex whines and pulls the pillow down over his head. “All right, I get it, I did wrong, won’t do it again, now can you please stop talking so loudly?”

“I will not. Not until you promise me you will make a study of what you ought not to be eating on your wolf days.”

“It’s—urgh—it's just a hangover, Laf.”

“It is not! You are more than half a wolf still, and there are things we can’t—the drink, it’s too strong for us, it doesn’t make us properly drunk, it makes us sick. Could bring you near to dying, if you had more than one at the wrong time of the moon.” Lafayette pauses. “Not that…not that I know this from experience. It is simply what I have heard.”

“Oh, yes. Our dear friend Gilbert, who is the very picture of self-control and common sense,” says John sweetly. “Wouldn’t dream of accusing you.” Lafayette flaps a hand in poorly-concealed embarrassment.

“Whatever, whatever, it doesn’t matter, but if you die in so stupid a way as this, I swear to you, Hamilton…” Laf trails off, wrinkles his nose in disgust. “And it reeks of vomit in here.”

“Alex threw up on himself,” John supplies helpfully.

“Traitor, why’d you tell him that, he doesn’t need to know,” Alex moans from under the pillow.

“You had better get down to the river for a wash, then. It takes forever to get a stink like that out of one’s fur, and since you can’t even change to get some relief from it—”

“Yes, thank you for the reminder that I’m ugly, this is an angle that I had never considered before, certainly not every time I look in a goddamned mirror.”

“Who said anything about ugly? Did I?”

“You did not,” says John. “Someone’s just a little sensitive, sounds like.”

“Shut up. And you were thinking it,” grumbles Alex. He lifts the pillow just enough for the tip of his nose to poke out from underneath. “If we’re all done lecturing me, then…”

Lafayette jabs a finger at Alex. “If I catch you poisoning yourself again before new moon week, I shall bite you so hard—”

“Yeah, someone beat you to the punch there, not a great threat,” says Alex, with an ironic waggle of his tail under the blankets.

“I will tell the General you’ve been making an ass of yourself—”

“What is he, my dad?”

“I’ll—I will—he—you—” Lafayette lets out a truly terrifying snarl of frustration, turns on his heel, and storms out of the room. John can hear him cursing to himself all the way down the hall. It’s a testament to how bad Alex feels that he doesn’t even snicker at having gotten a rise out of Laf, just whines quietly to himself.

“I can go tell the General you’re, uh...indisposed,” John offers after a while.

“I’m not indisposed, I’m gonna be fine just as soon as I—urk—” Alex sits bolt upright in bed and claps a hand over his mouth. John scrambles out of the line of fire, but the nausea apparently passes after a few seconds, leaving Alex to drag his hand down his chin and pull a ferocious scowl. “Unbelievable. Unbe-fucking-lievable. What kind of world is this, where I can’t even get a stiff drink for half the month without almost killing myself? I’m going to find the wolf that bit me and tear him to pieces.”

“So dramatic,” says John, half-joking, half-nervous; it’s always a little uncomfortable to remember that Alex could actually tear someone to pieces now, if he put his mind to it. “Hey, if it makes you feel any better, I promise I’ll take you into town for drinks once you’re good for it again. My treat, even.”

“The catch being…”

“I mean, it’s not like it ever took you more than one drink to get sloppy anyway.”

Alex groans and flops back down onto the bed. “I hate you.”

“No you doooooon’t,” John coos, scratching under Alex’s chin. Alex swats his hand away.

“Cut it—you don’t get to use that against me, asshole, not today.” Alex tucks his chin down against his neck and curls up into a ball to ward off further attacks. Doesn’t get very far; his spine’s starting to be the wrong shape for it. “This is bullshit. You shouldn’t be allowed to be conscious and out of bed and functional before me. It goes against the natural order of things. God’s gonna hit HQ with a lightning bolt for this.”

“You could at least say thank you for not letting me puke myself to death last night, John.”

“…Thank you for not letting me puke myself to death last night,” says Alex grudgingly.

“And for getting me back to bed safe.”

“And for getting me back to—yeah, okay, actually thank you, though. I was in a bad way, everything was all fuzzy, I couldn’t think straight. You saw me, I didn’t even wanna stand up and walk like a person. I thought Tilghman was trying to assassinate me, for Christ’s sake! I could’ve done any number of stupid things in that state. Fallen in the river and drowned, or wandered into camp and gotten myself shot. So. I owe you.”

“You remember all that?”

“Yeah. ’S how I know I wasn’t drunk. It sucked, but I remember every second.” Alex uncurls enough to grimace ruefully at John. “…Sorry I kept trying to lick you. It made a lot of sense at the time.”

“It’s fine. It wasn’t so bad until you were doing it after you’d already been throwing up for half an hour.”

“I was sort of hoping you wouldn’t bring that up.” With a long sigh, Alex pushes himself out of bed at last, stretches himself down to his tailtip, and starts gathering up the scattered pieces of his uniform and pulling them on. “Okay. I’m going for a bath. Get this filth out of my fur so Laf doesn’t spend all day glaring at me.” He pauses with his trousers half pulled up. “And if you see the General, yeah, go ahead and tell him I’m indisposed. Make up some story. Tell him it’s a wolf thing, he usually backs off for those. Gets all weird and grim. Er, weirder and grimmer than usual, I mean.”

“Doesn’t sound very convincing to me.”

“Then help me think of something better. If I have to sit through a lecture on moderation and self-control and manners befitting a gentleman and an officer right now, on top of everything else…” Alex pulls his tail through the hole in the seat of his pants, scrubs at his face to unstick the worst of the matted fur. “Anyway. If I’m not back soon, assume the headache didn’t go away and I decided to put myself out of my misery.”

“Dramatic,” says John again. “Don’t drown yourself.”

“Can’t make any promises.” With a last parting frisk of his tail, Alex steps out into the hallway. John hears his toenails clicking on the floorboards as he makes for the stairs. The noises stop partway down the hall.

Alex retches audibly.

“Really, Alex?”

“Shut up!”

[coincidenceiscancelled]

Where Art Thou Dean Motherfucking Winchester?!?

“Sam?”

Sam didn’t answer even though Dean could hear him breathing down the line. He didn’t have much time. The cop who’d arrested him was already breathing down his neck. Maybe he shouldn’t have jammed his elbow so hard into the guy’s face but who the fuck in their right minds snuck up on someone? In a dark alley on the wrong side of town? He was just asking, no begging to get hurt.

Technically though, aside from assaulting a police officer, Dean had done nothing wrong.

“Sam?” he said again, hopefully, “I need you to come get me.”

“Where are you?” Sam’s voice sounded rough, like he’d been screaming into the void. That, or he was just mad as hell.

Yeah so what else was new?

“I’m at Cowley county jail.”

“How long have you been at Cowley county jail?”

Dean hardly thought that was relevant right this minute…

“What does that-“

“How long Dean?”

Dean sighed, “Five days.”

“I see. And is this the first they’ve let you call?”

Actually, Dean had been hoping to resolve this little snafu all by himself but…sometimes he just rubbed people the wrong way. And he’d never had the best relationship authority figures. Especially authority figures who tried to bully him.

Sam was grim when Dean caught sight of him waiting at the reception of the police station. The look in his eye reminded Dean eerily of Dad that time he’d caught him at the club when he was fourteen. Super crazy to think about.

He didn’t want to think about Sam looking like dad.

He opened his mouth to say, “Heya Sammy!” in that tone which usually got him a narrow look and a “It’s Sam.” But then closed it again. This probably wasn’t a good time.

Sam was driving the rust bucket truck that usually stayed parked somewhere in the back of the MOL garage. Dean opened his mouth to complain about how he didn’t want to be seen in that thing but closed it again. Sam’s face was completely closed off. Even more than usual. His usual schtick wouldn’t fly here. He’d just make things worse. And contrary to popular opinion, he wasn’t as unself-aware as advertised.

“Baby’s parked at this motel I was staying at,” he said instead.

Sam just shot a glare at him.

“I can maybe take an uber…” Dean said.

“Get in the car Dean.” Sam growled, the air visibly cooling around him.

Dean got in the car.

They drove to the motel in silence. Sam didn’t ask for directions. Dean opened his mouth once or twice to say something. To ask maybe how Sam knew where to go. But he closed it without saying a word. They drew up at the motel, Sam parked right next to the Impala.

“How did you-”

“Get out of the car Dean” Sam interrupted him again. This boy really thought he held all the cards just because of one itty bitty possession.

“I will leave the car when I feel like it and not a moment before,” Dean retorted.

“Well then, feel like it now!” Sam said alighting the vehicle and slamming the door behind him. He walked briskly and angrily to Dean’s motel room door, not looking back as if he expected that Dean would just go trotting after him like an obedient puppy.

Dean considered it. For all of half a second.

But no.

He’d already given Sam too much power in this relationship.

“I said get in here,” Sam appeared at the motel room door, glaring back at the car.

Dean got.

As soon as he stepped in the door, Sam had thrown him across the room. More out of surprise than anything, he stumbled, tripping on his feet and landing on the bed. He’d gotten himself a king just to make sure he remembered that his relationship with his brother was broken and there would probably never be ‘two queens’ ever again.

“Sam…” he said warningly because while he was willing to admit to being in the wrong of things here, that did not mean he would allow his brother to fling him about just for the fun of it.

“Five days Dean. Five days without a word. You don’t write. You don’t call. After two days, your phone doesn’t even ring anymore. Straight to voicemail. What was I supposed to think Dean?!? Was I supposed to imagine you passed out with several floozies draped all over you or was I supposed to imagine you dead in a ditch somewhere, probably with your heart ripped out – you know it’s a full moon this week – or maybe exsanguinated from some vampire we encountered way back. Maybe two. Maybe they captured you and were draining your blood slowly. Do you think maybe such thoughts might have passed through my head? Huh? And you were…in jail? Really?”

Then Dean said the most stupid thing ever, “I thought you didn’t care about me like that anymore Sam.”

Sam’s face exploded. Dean had never seen him in such a fury, even at the height of his demon blood addiction or his tumultuous teenage years. He felt a hand on his wrist for just a moment before it was twisted up behind his head.

“Ouch,” he managed to say, knowing that it was definitely sprained. Then two hundred pounds of furious little big brother were on him, tearing at his clothes with his teeth. If he hadn’t known better, Dean might think Sam was the werewolf he’d just finished describing. He felt his shirt tear and then there was a knee in his thigh, pressing down, with no regard to the muscle it was squishing underneath. Clearly Sam was least concerned about hurting him. He pulled his leg from beneath Sam’s knee, inadvertently spreading his legs and apparently giving Sam exactly what he wanted. The hand not holding Dean’s wrist captive went to Sam’s waist and undid his belt. Before he could say, “Sam, wait,” both his wrists were tied to the bed.

Sam was growling.

His eyes were even narrower and red with anger. His whole face was red with anger.

Dean began to struggle in earnest, not completely sure that his brother didn’t mean to kill him slowly. Maybe.

Buttons flying every which way, his shirt was ripped from his body and cast away like yesterday’s Egg Foo Yung. Before Dean could suck in a breath at the cold his chest was left in and complain about the scratches Sam left on his body, Sam’s hands were burrowing into his jeans, pulling at the button and working the zip with furious focus.

Dean opened his mouth to say, “Sam...” but then took one look at Sam’s face and closed it again. Sam’s eyes were blank with the fury of his actions, his face was red, there was a slight shake to his hands and his legs were like steel vices, keeping Dean’s legs spread.

They hadn’t done this in a while.

First, because Sam was ill with the trials, and then Dean wasn’t about to have sex with his brother while he was possessed by an Angel. He’d made excuse after excuse, finding ways to push Sam away without pushing him away. First he said he was too afraid because Sam was still weak and then there were the falling angels and the mess they were creating…any reason he could think of. Of course Sam had been exasperated with his overprotectiveness and overcautiousness but it was so typical of Dean to be those things that Sam didn’t take it amiss.

But now, it was just another reason for Sam to be mad at him.

His jeans were ripped off him as well and thrown on the ground and then Sam’s fingers were questing, seeking, opening him up, dry and ruthless but efficient.

“Okay. So we’re doing this…” Dean murmured to himself and made his body relax as much as he was able to make it easier.

Sam leaned in and bit his cheek.

“Ow! Bitch! What was that for?”

“That was for making me imagine you dead Dean. Dead in the worst ways possible. That was for how much you disregard my feelings Dean. For how much you disregard me!”

“I don’t-”

“Shut up!” Sam said and bit him again even as he pushed into Dean with relentless shoves.

“Anyone tell you, you talk too much Dean? You never know when to fucking shut up!” Sam said punctuating each word with a thrust.

“I (thrust) hate (shove) you (slam) so (ram) much,” he said as he pounded relentlessly into his brother.

“Sam,” Dean breathed, tears in his eyes. Not really tears of pain; tears of guilt and remorse and regret. His brother was hurting and it was his fault. Again.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he breathed as he felt hot liquid fall on his face. He wasn’t the only one in tears.

“Fuck you Dean,” Sam said voice shaking even as his body unceasingly pounded his brother into the mattress, causing the headboard to bang against the wall again and again. Dean opened his legs wider, arched his back up to make it easier, give Sam more access.

That seemed to make Sam even more mad, “No you don’t you self-sacrificing bastard. You don’t get to offer yourself up to me. You do not get forgiven for this!” Sam said increasing his pace even as he pushed Dean back down onto the bed. Dean took hold of his legs at the knee and pulled them right up to his neck.

“Missed you Sammy,” he whispered as the pounding got so fast Sam just might ignite a fire with his ass as kindling.

The crying was getting ugly and snot was pouring out of Sam’s nose and falling on Dean’s stomach. Dean wanted to reach up and wipe Sam’s tears, tell him he was sorry, that he would do anything to make it better…

But that wasn’t what Sam needed.

Dean wiped his own snot against his shoulder, vision blurry with his tears.

‘SamSamSamSamSam’ was a mantra in his head, keeping time with his brother’s thrusts. Suddenly Sam arched, back in extremity as Dean felt the wetness of his come flooding his insides.

It had been so long.

His own orgasm was an impatient afterthought as he savored feeling his brother inside him again, filling him up with the essence of himself.

Sam tore out of him after, stumbling off the bed as he lifted his jeans back up and zipped himself up. He staggered to the door grabbing the keys to his truck and disappearing outside. Dean made his slow way to his feet and hobbled to the door, just in time to see his brother tearing out of the parking lot.

He sighed.

“Guess we’re not fixed,” he said to nobody in particular.

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