#all we have is shitty wiND that throws rAIN in you fACE and it's hELL

[gliptodon]

the parts of our country that had snow this morning: u lucky bitches

[dilly-oh]

Trashy Romance Novel

    “Naruto, you frigging idiot,” Iruka began hotly, barging into the hospital room, “of all the stupid, brainless things you could have done, this is by far the-”

    He stopped. 

    The person lying in the small bed was definitely not Naruto. It was a grown-ass man with messy gray hair and a faded scar over one eye, the sterile white sheets pulled up over his nose, apparently sound asleep. Iruka stared at him for a long moment, dumbfounded, before it clicked. 

    Oh shit, he thought. This is the wrong room. I'm in the wrong room. I need to hurry up and leave before- 

    The stranger's eyes cracked open and he squinted up at Iruka in confusion.

    “...Who're you?” he croaked out. Iruka managed a rather articulate gurgle of dismay, frozen in sheer mortification. He considered the distance between him and the IV drip, wondering if he could dose the man back to unconsciousness before he could scream or buzz for a nurse. “Are those for me?” the man asked, sitting up in bed to regard the bouquet of flowers in Iruka's arms. He opened his mouth to disagree, but then the sheet slipped off the man's face, and Iruka suddenly thought giving him the flowers might not be such a bad idea. He definitely deserved a thank you after gifting him with...that. He didn't even protest as the alarmingly handsome stranger reached out and took the bundle of flowers, opening the card on top. 

    “You're a dumbass. Love, Iruka.” he read aloud, then looked up at Iruka, batting his eyes. “Aww, babe, you shouldn't have.”

    “Whoa whoa WHOA!” Iruka finally blurted out, his face burning half from embarrassment at the situation, half from the thinly-veiled flirting. “I'm sorry, sir, there's been a mistake. I'm in the wrong room and-”

    “You mean you aren't my doting husband I tragically forgot about due to amnesia and now you have to win back my love by passionately recreating the story of our romantic union?”

    “Excuse me, WHAT-”

    “Sorry, I've been reading trashy romance novels. They're the only books this hospital has. Can't blame me for trying.” The man shrugged, then reluctantly handed back the bouquet. “Who's the lucky person they're actually for? Must be someone real special if you're calling them a dumbass to their face.”

    “My kid brother,” Iruka explained with a sigh. “He's here with a head injury.”

    “Ouch.” The man winced in sympathy. “Poor kid.”

    “Not really. He head-butted a brick wall.” 

    “...May I ask why?”

    “Because his stupid boyfriend walked into it and he had to, and I quote, 'defend his honor'.” Iruka paused, looking the man up and down. Despite being a bit on the pale side, he looked perfectly fine, pun very much intended. It was almost unfair how well he pulled off the hospital gown (although Iruka would much rather be the one pulling it off, wink wink, nudge nudge). “So...what're you in for?” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Was...was it the crappy romance novels? Did they rot your brain?”

    “I have an extremely rare, aggressive form of cancer with only two weeks left to live and the only cure is a kiss from my one true love...” The man swooned back onto the pillow and looked expectantly up at Iruka, who rolled his eyes. 

    “Yeah they definitely did-”

    “Alright you got me. Broke my leg.” He pulled the sheet off his lower half, revealing his legs, one of which was wrapped in a cast, propped up on some pillows. Several encouraging words from friends were scrawled on the white surface in marker, one of them a jarring green highlighter. It almost hurt Iruka's eyes to look at it. 

    “...How did you break it?” he asked, unable to contain his curiosity. 

    “I heroically threw myself in front of a speeding car in order to save the life of my beloved-” 

    “Okay how did you really break it?”

    “Tripped chasing after my pug at the park,” the man admitted with a weary sigh, his shoulders slumping in defeat. 

    “...Is the dog okay?” Iruka asked after a long pause.

    The stranger burst out laughing. It was a nice laugh, warm and contagious enough to elicit a chuckle out of Iruka, who was growing more and more intrigued. He couldn't deny the spark of attraction he felt for the other man, spontaneous as it was, and it seemed to be reciprocated. He didn't even know his name, but something about the man made Iruka want to know more about him. Maybe this was like some trashy romance novel, where the two would-be lovers met under unusual circumstances and fell instantly in-

    “Hey, Kakashi,” a man with short brown hair said, suddenly walking into the room, “I brought the next three volumes of your shitty porn series from the hospital library and a couple pairs of clean underwear, so you can stop fucking texting me the specific style and brand you want from home, you're so damn picky-” He stopped dead as he caught sight of Iruka, pausing for a beat, then glanced at the man in the bed, his eyes darting nervously between the two. “Umm...am I...interrupting something?”

    A cold pit of ice yawned open in Iruka's stomach. 

    Oh my GOD. Here he was, borderline flirting with some stranger in a random hospital room, when obviously the man already had a boyfriend and Iruka was just making a complete ass of himself. The flirting had probably been misinterpretation on his part anyway, and if not, the guy was a total dick. Either way, enough was enough. His face aflame with rage and shame, Iruka spun towards the door. 

    “I need to go.”

    “Hey, wait!” Kakashi or whatever his name was called after him. 

    Iruka was already out the door, ignoring the man's cries. Screw him, and screw Naruto, too. He was the cause of this whole mess. Iruka would just text him later. He was probably making out with Sasuke anyway and wouldn't even notice his brother hadn't popped in to visit. Iruka needed out of this hospital NOW. He turned towards the stairs, immediately got lost, and spent the next five minutes growing increasingly flustered as he stormed through the winding hallways, desperately searching for the exit. Why the fuck was the hospital so damn BIG-

    “Hey! Iruka! Hold up!”

    Iruka spun around to see Kakashi speeding towards him in a wheelchair, his boyfriend dutifully pushing him down the hallway at a dead run, IV dangling after him on its cord like a faithful dog. The wheelchair stopped with an audible squeal in front of him.

    “What- where did- did you steal that?!” Iruka hissed in outrage. 

    “Of course not, don't be silly,” Kakashi protested, sounding offended. “The guy it belongs to was asleep in his bed. I'm just borrowing it. I'll return it later. Anyway, Iruka-”

    “Were you flirting with me in there?” Iruka demanded, cutting him off. “Be honest.”

    “Abso-fucking-lutely,” Kakashi said without an ounce of remorse. “So can I have your number or what?” Iruka bristled. 

    “You're a piece of shit! I can't believe you, hitting on me like this right in front of your boyfriend! You have some nerve-”

    “Wait...boyfriend?” Kakashi cocked his head in confusion. “You mean Yams?”

    “The fuck do YAMS have to do with anything-”

    “Hi, that's me,” the short-haired man said, raising a hand. “Yamato, actually. 'Yams' to my friends. Which is what we are. Just...friends.” Iruka scowled at him suspiciously. 

    “Friends? Don't fuck with me. You brought him underwear-”

    “Really close friends,” Yamato reiterated. “Also, roommates. It's awful. I can't get away from him.” Iruka studied him for a moment, but couldn't spot any hint of deception. The man's almond-shaped eyes were surprisingly honest.

    “So you two...aren't dating?” he asked hesitantly. Yamato gave him a horrified look.

    “Dear God, NO. Kakashi is the WORST. He's lazy as hell, procrastinates til the last minute, is perpetually late to everything-”

    “You are a shit wingman-” Kakashi began. 

    “He needs to know what he's getting into,” Yamato snapped at him, then turned back to Iruka. “Seriously, though. You should run while you still can. There's hope for you.”

    “Don't listen to him,” Kakashi cut in. “I'm a fucking catch. Which is exactly why you should let your flaxen hair down, rip your shirt open to reveal your heaving bosom, and throw yourself into my arms-”

    “Will you cut that out?!” Iruka burst out impatiently. “Life is not a trashy romance novel.”

    “You sure about that?” Kakashi said, quirking an eyebrow. “Because I met you in a hospital through total coincidence. After really hitting it off, we had a misunderstanding brought on by miscommunication. Then I chased after you in a fucking wheelchair to declare my undying attraction to you. If that isn't a plot to a trashy romance novel, I don't know what the fuck is. At least it's not raining right now.”

    “I dunno, it might be drizzling,” Yamato said, glancing at a window.

    Iruka paused, considering.

    “I guess it...would make a pretty good book,” he admitted quietly. “The only thing is...I'm not sure what happens next.”

    “That part's for us to write,” Kakashi said, his tone eager. “Only we can complete the story.”

    “Aaaaand I'm going to puke,” Yamato stated. 

    “Sorry, we crossed the line from 'trashy' into 'sappy'.” Kakashi shook his head. “Anyway. Iruka. Please, I'm begging you. Let me sweep you off your feet. Just...give me a chance.”

    “I'll do you one better,” Iruka said after a pause. “I'll give you my number.” Stealing a marker from the nearby nurse's station, he bent and wrote his cell number on Kakashi's cast, then straightened and held out the bouquet. “Here, you can have these. The message works for you too, I guess.”

    Kakashi accepted the flowers with a laugh, taking an appreciative sniff. 

    “And now, I shall ride dramatically off into the sunset,” he said with complete seriousness. “Come, my valiant steed. Awaaaay!”

    “I will push you down the stairs,” Yamato grumbled as he spun the wheelchair around and started back down the hallway. Iruka watched them go with a fond smile on his face, giddy with anticipation. 

    He was eager to read the next few chapters in his life.

    Including the steamy bits. 

(Written for @kakairu-fest KakaIru Month 2021, Day Twelve Prompt: Hospitals)

[birdship]

Leave It In The Sun: Chapter One (a Disco Elysium fanfic)

Warnings: Full game spoilers, eventual spicy scenes, basically the level of adult content in the game itself.

General summary: A slow(ish) burn exploration of life at Precinct 41 after Harry and Kim wrap up the case and Kim makes the move to Jamrock. Mainly just about how Harry and Kim's relationship might develop, and a sort of character study of some of the employees of Precinct 41 in general.

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

Chapter one summary: Two difficult weeks after leaving Martinaise, Harry finally reaches out to Kim. Chapter length: Approx. 4.3k words

The sun is only just setting over the streets of Jamrock, drenched in rain and neon. The city stops to catch its breath in the intermission between day and night.

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT: And so do you. You could’ve sworn the nearest payphone was, y’know, nearer than this. Maybe that bone-shattering gunshot wound also isn’t quite as far along in the healing process as you thought either.

PAIN THRESHOLD: Brilliant claws of pain rake down your thigh as you lean against the payphone and try to center yourself.

You glance at the phone resting in its cradle, with some trepidation. Phone calls are always a bit… difficult for you. Especially these days.

SUGGESTION: You can still change your mind.

VOLITION: No. You came here for a reason.

SUGGESTION: Or… you could always just call her instead.

VOLITION: *Focus.*

You take a deep breath. The late spring air is turning chilly in the slowly setting sun. The rain drizzles lazily as it has all day, showing no sign of stopping. A handful of people are still--or already--out wandering downtown Jamrock, laughing and talking and hurrying home and running errands and entirely focused on just about anything in the world *besides* a washed up middle-aged man having a minor anxiety attack and moderate-to-severe hip pain next to a public phone at 6:04pm in the rain.

INLAND EMPIRE: The loneliness knocks the wind out of you. You thought you were used to it by now. It’s worse outside, around people.

DRAMA: The threadbare costume you created for yourself in the privacy of your dark, trash-strewn apartment doesn’t seem quite as convincing with an audience.

VOLITION: Stop the goddamn pity party and pick up the phone already.

The receiver is light in your hand as you fumble for change and the crumpled slip of paper you’ve had in your jeans pocket for the last two weeks or so. You slowly, deliberately dial the phone number written on it, as if some part of you is afraid that your fingers might just automatically fall into the patterns of *her* number instead.

VOLITION: They might. But you’re done hurting yourself.

CONCEPTUALIZATION: Well, maybe not entirely. Yet. But you’re done hurting yourself *with her* for sure.

INLAND EMPIRE: You still feel like you deserve that pain. But it’s wrong to keep using her as the knife you gut yourself with. She deserves better, even if you might not.

LOGIC: In any case, this isn’t about her. It’s about you, and it’s about--

“Hello?” Kim’s voice is muffled and tinny through the old, worn copper wiring. He sounds tired, but you guess that’s not particularly surprising. You’ve been pretty damn tired too.

“Kim, hey, it’s uh, it’s me,” you reply awkwardly.

“Harry? Do you need something?”

ESPRIT DE CORPS: This is the first time you’ve called him since leaving Martinaise, despite carrying that little piece of paper around for the last two weeks. He’s thinking, why now?

“Yeah, no, I just happened to be downtown this evening,” you ramble, “and I thought--”

“You’re drunk,” he says. It is completely without judgment. A stated fact. The sky is blue, the grass is green, and Harry Du Bois is drunk. “Where are you exactly? I’ll--”

“Wait, no!” you exclaim, a little too loudly. A nearby pigeon makes a mad dash in the opposite direction at the sound. “That’s not it! I swear I’m basically sober right now. Mostly.”

A long pause on the other end. “Alright,” he says plainly. “So what can I do for you?”

ESPRIT DE CORPS: Make no mistake, he’s picking his battles here and gingerly stepping *around* that “mostly.”

EMPATHY: He’s just relieved it’s even that much.

COMPOSURE: How embarrassing.

VOLITION: Just start over. Your first sentence was garbage, but you know you’re under no obligation to continue it, right?

You take a deep breath, then try again.

“Well, it’s really more about what *I* can do for *you*,” you say as smoothly as possible. “You know that big motor carriage exhibition in town? It just so happens I’ve got *two tickets* to it.”

Another long pause. “You mean the one that ends today?”

“Yes,” you confirm.

“And are you aware that it is currently around six o’clock in the evening?”

“Is it? I mean, yes. Yes it is,” you say confidently. “I am aware of the passage of time.”

“And you waited until now to do this?” he asks.

EMPATHY: He sounds more amused than annoyed, though you definitely detect a bit of both.

“Uh,” you falter. “Look, it’s open until 8:00, so do you want to fucking go or not?”

ESPRIT DE CORPS: About half a kilometer away, Lieutenant Kim Kitsuragi is sitting in the kitchen of his new apartment, already in his pajamas and winding down for the evening. It’s a bit early for that, but he figures he should take the opportunity to rest before he tackles that mountain of backlogged cases he was promised upon making the move to precinct 41.

Two weeks ago, he said goodbye to the strangest man he’d ever met. A man he found himself inexplicably drawn to in the week they spent together, and whom he thought about every day since. Wondering if he would take the lifeline Kim tried to throw to him, or if that little slip of paper would just end up forgotten at the bottom of a vomit-soaked trash can in some shitty bar. Wondering if the dawning trauma of everything that happened in Martinaise and the restlessness from sitting at home recovering from its aftermath would combine to pull him down into a dark place beyond Kim’s reach for good. Wondering and wondering to fill the silence. And now finally the silence is broken, but whatever this cry for help is, it is not the one Kim ever expected to receive.

But he knows one thing for sure: it *is* a cry for help.

“Alright,” Kim says finally. He takes a sharp breath. “Sounds good.”

The walk to his apartment takes a bit longer than you expected. It’s not that far from the downtown payphone, but you still wasted a good 20 minutes on the journey.

ENDURANCE: You are expecting too much of yourself too soon.

INLAND EMPIRE: It’s always one or the other with you, isn’t it? Too much or not enough.

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT: Twenty minutes to walk a few blocks? Fucking pathetic. What kind of cop are you? Hell, what kind of *gym teacher* are you? Man up.

ENDURANCE: No. It’s a miracle that you’re still standing at all.

PERCEPTION: Beyond the apartment door, you can hear footsteps and soft humming.

You knock, and the door opens almost immediately.

CONCEPTUALIZATION: Shit. You were hoping you’d have a few spare seconds to think of something really cool to say.

REACTION SPEED: C’mon, say something fun and upbeat to prove you’re not a depressed sack of shit who’s been spending the past two weeks drinking alone in the dark.

DRAMA: Showtime!

“Howdy, pardner,” you hear yourself say.

SAVOIR FAIRE: Finger guns! For god’s sake, don’t forget the finger guns. Without them, you just look like a goddamn lunatic.

You do the finger guns.

Kim does not seem particularly impressed as he slowly looks from your outstretched gun fingers to the twisted grimace that now wracks your face.

“Please, holster those things before coming inside,” he says humorlessly.

You blow the pretend, metaphorical smoke from each of your hot weapons before stuffing your hands in your pockets. As you do this, he watches with an appraising look.

ESPRIT DE CORPS: He’s wondering if this is *regular* weird or *drunken breakdown* weird. However, he is intimately familiar with your brand of stupid bullshit at this point and it doesn’t take long for him to place it in the former category.

“We should hit the road soon,” you comment as you peek curiously into his apartment.

“Hit the road,” Kim repeats with mild amusement, “in what?”

LOGIC: Oh. Right. The Kineema is property of Precinct 57. Not Kim Kitsuragi personally.

“Shit, yeah,” you concede. “But hey, if we call a taxi now--”

LOGIC: You’ll arrive just in time to immediately turn around and go home.

HALF LIGHT: You fucked up. You’re a fuck-up. Great job, idiot.

VOLITION: Try not drinking and blacking out all day next time.

LOGIC: Yes, but then…

“Fuck,” you inhale. “Fuckady-fuck-fuck. Shit. Goddammit.”

Kim waits patiently for you to catch up. You’re almost there.

“I should’ve called earlier, sorry,” you apologize. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

LOGIC: What is wrong with you is that you drank all last night, slept off a hangover most of the day today, and woke up in a daze about 45 minutes ago. But what’s done is done. No point in bringing that up now, right?

“Nor do I,” says the lieutenant with a small smile. “But whatever it is, I am no longer surprised by it, I assure you.”

“Sorry. I’m sorry,” you repeat, leaning on the door frame pathetically, a congealed ooze of mental illness and embarrassment. “Sorry for bothering you in the first place. You’re always so nice to me, even when I’m a pain in the ass.”

CONCEPTUALIZATION: Which is to say *constantly.*

Kim says nothing. Just sighs almost imperceptibly.

EMPATHY: Your self deprecation is frustrating for him, and he does not know how to respond to it constructively and compassionately.

ESPRIT DE CORPS: He *does* think you’re a pain in the ass sometimes, but a pain worth dealing with.

INLAND EMPIRE: For reasons beyond your understanding.

“Why did you agree to go in the first place?” you sigh. “You’ve got a brain that actually works, you knew it wasn’t gonna happen. If you’re trying to make fun of me, then, well…”

You pause.

“That’s just fine, I guess. Good job, carry on.”

He adjusts his glasses and looks away. “I appreciated the intention,” he says finally, in a measured voice. “And since I hadn’t heard from you the past couple weeks…”

ESPRIT DE CORPS: ...He was afraid you wouldn’t bother trying again.

“Sorry,” you mumble. “I’ve been kind of busy. You know how it goes after cases like that.”

“I do,” he says. He hesitates for a moment, then adds, “you’re welcome to come in if you like.”

You hobble into Kim’s sparse kitchen and collapse on a dining room chair. It creaks ominously under the velocity of the assault.

“I’m glad we have an opportunity to catch up,” he says politely, pulling up the other chair and gazing at your pained expression from across the table. “Your injury is healing well, I assume?”

EMPATHY: It is obvious that he does not in fact assume this at all.

You shrug, still trying to get a hold of yourself and push back the ache swirling at the edges of your mind.

He watches you struggle for a moment, then gently says, “it will take time to heal, but it *will* heal.”

ESPRIT DE CORPS: *So please be patient and kind to yourself,* is the silent plea left unsaid. It hangs in the air pitifully. You both know it’s there.

“Time hasn’t exactly been a good salve for me in general,” you mumble.

He’s silent for a while. Opens his mouth to speak, then closes it again.

“Harry,” he says finally. “What happened in Martinaise is not your burden to carry alone.”

“I thought you didn’t like *personal issues*, lieutenant,” you say.

“I don’t,” he says with a frown, “but this…”

ESPRIT DE CORPS: This is about me too, he thinks. As much as he hates to admit it. He doesn’t particularly like his *own* personal issues either. But the past two weeks were hard for him, and you didn’t make them any easier.

EMPATHY: He was worried about you, and--although he will never admit it to himself, let alone you--there’s a part of him that selfishly hoped you were worried about him too. At least a little.

ESPRIT DE CORPS: He’s used to this line of work, and so are you despite the holes in your memory, but it never gets any easier to deal with some things.

EMPATHY: There was so much death that day. It haunts you. And now as you sit in Kim’s kitchen, the alcohol slowly filtering from your blood and leaving behind the dregs of a headache, you realize it still haunts him too. You both added perforations you never wanted to make.

ENDURANCE: It’s too much. Your head swims and your entire body aches in the throes of repressed grief fighting its way to the surface of a sea of quickly evaporating Commodore Red.

INLAND EMPIRE: Warning! Trauma containment center has been breached! Evacuate the area immediately!

HALF LIGHT: You’re going to cry, aren’t you? You’re going to fucking cry. Right here in his kitchen. Why can’t you keep your shit together for more than five minutes straight?

You are entirely unable to keep the tears from rolling silently down your cheeks, unbidden.

INLAND EMPIRE: You don’t have it in you to really cry properly, like a normal fucking person. Not anymore. Something has disconnected the wire from your “press here to begin sobbing during your emotional breakdown” button, and you’re not sure what or when.

ENDURANCE: But human beings *cry.* And despite everything inside you that’s broken and rotting, you *are* a human being. You can’t not be.

Kim’s standing next to you now, his hand resting comfortingly on your shoulder. He doesn’t say anything.

EMPATHY: That’s the point of this whole shoulder-touching business in the first place--your disconcertingly unhinged behavior has left him at a loss for words, yet compelled to offer *something.*

This goes on for the longest five minutes or so the world has ever seen. But finally, you’ve wrung it all out of yourself and the tears stop almost as abruptly as they began. His hand gives your shoulder a squeeze, then he sits back down in the chair opposite you, avoiding your eyes. He rummages in his pocket for something, then hands you a blue handkerchief.

“Where the hell do you keep all these?” you mumble as you reach for it. “Fuckin’... infinite handkerchiefs around here.”

“What can I say? I like to be prepared,” he says.

“For drunk idiots who throw up all over crime scenes and have mental breakdowns in your home?”

“Usually to clean my glasses,” he says flatly. “But at this point, I suppose it *is* fair to say that it’s also for your various crises as well.”

“Well, thank God one of us is prepared,” you say. “What would I do without you, Kim?”

He hesitates, a strange wistful expression tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I don’t know. What *did* you do the past two weeks?”

ESPRIT DE CORPS: As soon as the words leave his mouth, he regrets them.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t… That’s none of my concern,” he says quickly.

AUTHORITY: Who the hell does he think he is? You’re not a child who needs to be minded. You’re a grown-ass man who can sit alone in his apartment and get wasted if he fucking wants to. Assert yourself!

“Honestly? Drink, mostly,” you say with a self-conscious chuckle.

ESPRIT DE CORPS: He just stares at you with the bleakest expression you’ve ever seen cross his face.

EMPATHY: He’s so tired. So frustrated. So disappointed.

INLAND EMPIRE: Oh God! He’s *disappointed* in you? This is terrible. Anything but that, please!

“I thought I was doing better,” you say quietly. “Guess not.”

“You were,” Kim says kindly.

INLAND EMPIRE: Tequila Sunset hasn’t happened yet. Maybe it still will. Maybe it’s inevitable. Maybe when you took up that mantle, it was like some sort of alcoholic event horizon. Tequila Sunset is the only way it was ever going to end. What other force in the universe could begin to exert as much gravitational pull over you?

ELECTROCHEMISTRY: From the void we came, to the void we must return.

“Listen,” Kim tells you, “this is not surprising. It’s got to be harder now that you’re back in Jamrock.”

ELECTROCHEMISTRY: It’s *easy,* baby. All your old favorite haunts are here. You know all the cheapest bars, the sketchiest parts of town with the purest amphetamines… You can’t remember the names of half of them anymore, but the muscles in your legs can trace the steps there perfectly. That shit’s burned into your body forever.

“Yeah.” You swallow hard. “Anyway, what about you? How’s Jamrock treating you?”

EMPATHY: The darkness clouding his expression lightens a bit.

“Good so far,” he says. “I’ve actually only been here for a few days. G.R.I.H. wrap-up took longer than I expected.” He pauses and looks out the window. “But I’m glad to be here now.”

“Really,” you say with a laugh. “In this shithole?”

“It has its perks,” he says. “I’m looking forward to beginning work at Precinct 41.”

“You’re not working solo, are you?”

“For right now, yes I am,” he replies. “I’m fine with that. I’ve done it before.”

INLAND EMPIRE: The idea of sharing a workplace with him and yet not being at his side when he needs you… it makes you feel cold, lonely, somehow.

ESPRIT DE CORPS: You have a duty to Jean. Jean is your partner.

SUGGESTION: Fuck it, just say it. You know what you want to say. Say it and get it over with.

“You should work with me,” you blurt out. “We were such a good team in Martinaise. We could keep those good times rolling!”

“I’m flattered, but,” he says, turning his head. “Satellite-Officer Vicquemare…”

“Doesn’t give a shit about me,” you say. “Fuck him.”

EMPATHY: That’s not exactly true. You know it’s not.

INLAND EMPIRE: But the truth is complicated. It’s easier to just boil it down to *fuck that guy.*

LOGIC: Jean is bad for you, and you’re bad for him. Or, you used to be. And has anything really changed? Are you really any different? Maybe it was just the change of scenery that fooled you into thinking otherwise.

INLAND EMPIRE: Same old Jamrock. Same old coworkers. Same old bad habits. Same old *you.*

“I’m not so sure about that,” Kim says delicately.

“Forget about him,” you push, suddenly more serious about this than you intended to be. “I can arrange this shit with Captain Pryce, and I can deal with Jean.”

“I… uh,” he coughs. “I don’t know what to say.”

DRAMA: You’re in control of this show now. Pull an honest answer out of him.

You point at him and narrow your eyes. “I know what you should say: what you *feel* in your *heart*!” You pound one fist against your chest over your heart to drive home the point, then wince.

PAIN THRESHOLD: Please don’t do that.

You break the dramatic pose and lean back in your chair again with a shrug. “Or just tell me to fuck off. None of this wishy-washy noncommittal shit, though.”

He’s silent for a long time, watching and listening to the rain as it picks up outside. Then finally he gives you an apologetic smile and speaks.

“Harry,” he says kindly. “Fuck off.”

ESPRIT DE CORPS: Translation: maybe. But not now.

EMPATHY: He’s not angry, he’s deflecting. This is by far the nicest way you’ve ever been told to fuck off. Don’t take it too hard.

“Alright, alright,” you say. “Forget I said anything.”

You spend a while just making smalltalk at Kim’s kitchen table. None of it means anything, but it’s nice. It’s a nice, good, human thing to do, sitting and chatting with him. Makes your “regular well-adjusted person” costume fit a little better. The rain begins to let up a little in the fading sunset.

“You know, we could do something else if you like,” he says brightly. “Here in Jamrock, I mean.”

ELECTROCHEMISTRY: Yeah. Lots of stuff to do in Jamrock. Like speed and hard liquor. Or crying in the bathroom of a dive bar because you’re too fucked up on speed and liquor.

SUGGESTION: He probably wouldn’t go for that.

CONCEPTUALIZATION: There’s got to be somewhere else to go. Something else to do with him. Think. What do you want to do with him?

ELECTROCHEMISTRY: Oh buddy, are you sure you’re ready to open that can of worms?

The lieutenant watches you as you rub your temples in an effort to massage the awkward thoughts out of your terrible brain. Then he says, “you know what, don’t worry about it. It’s fine, we can just stay here.”

“Yeah, okay,” you say. “Sounds good.”

“I’m going out on the balcony for a cigarette,” he informs you. “You can--”

“I’ll come with you,” you interrupt.

ESPRIT DE CORPS: He pauses, wondering how many you might’ve had already. Then again cigarettes are, shockingly, by far the *least* detrimental of your *many* vices.

The two of you step out onto the lieutenant’s rather small balcony. It’s still raining very lightly, but this is probably as good as the weather is going to get tonight. Good enough. There’s really not quite enough space for two adult men to comfortably lounge around out here, though. You try to make yourself as small as possible as you fumble in your pockets for a cigarette and lighter.

PERCEPTION: You hear the soft click of a lighter and smell smoke on the gentle evening breeze drifting over from your left.

“Fuck,” you grumble. “I forgot my light--”

You realize Kim is holding out his own lighter wordlessly, still gazing out at the city sprawling out below.

“Thanks,” you say.

He nods. He pockets the lighter again once you’re done with it, then leans on the railing and exhales smoke with a sigh.

ESPRIT DE CORPS: Outwardly, he is silent and pensive. He almost seems anxious in a way. But in truth, he likes this. He’s enjoying standing out here in the rain and the dark and smoking his nightly cigarette by your side once more, just like that first night in Martinaise.

You rest your arms on the railing as well and try to map his sightline. Your arm presses against his in the cramped space, but he does not react.

“Pretty bitchin’ view here,” you comment. “Comparatively.”

“Mhm,” hums the lieutenant. “By Jamrock standards, quite bitchin’.”

PERCEPTION: His hand dangles loosely over the edge of the railing. It’s a bit smaller than yours and much thinner, bonier. Sharp and angled like a marble sculpture.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY: A work of art. Just like the rest of him.

SUGGESTION: Wonder what that hand would feel like in yours…?

“Everything alright, detective?” Kim asks, smoke escaping from his lips as he speaks. You realize that you’ve been staring at his hand for longer than is generally considered acceptable by polite society.

“Just spacing out a little I guess,” you mumble, averting your gaze.

“Par for the course with you,” the lieutenant chuckles.

VOLITION: Don’t make this too weird. Don’t think about that cigarette dangling loosely from his beautiful hands, or how soft his lips must be, or how nice it would be to just give up all pretense and embarrass yourself and hug him tightly right here on the balcony. Whatever you do, don’t think of any of those things.

CONCEPTUALIZATION: Shit.

“Well, it’s getting late,” you say, stubbing out your half-finished cigarette in the nearby ashtray. “I should probably go.”

“Yes, I suppose you’re right. We’ve got work in the morning after all.”

ESPRIT DE CORPS: You do?

VOLITION: Just play it cool.

“Yes,” you say, nodding stoically. “Tomorrow is Monday. I am aware of this, and that is why I said that in the first place, and not for any other reason.”

SAVOIR FAIRE: Nailed it.

“Tomorrow is Tuesday,” Kim says flatly, his face expressionless.

“I know that!” you say defensively. “I was just testing you. Come on, Kim, you don’t think I’m really that stupid, do you?”

He starts to say something, then thinks better of it and instead takes a long drag of his cigarette before trying again. “No, detective. I don’t think that.” Then he puts it out on the bottom of his boot and drops it in the ashtray.

The two of you head back into the apartment as the rain starts up again. You pull on your tarpaulin cloak in preparation for the long walk back home. But as you reach the front door, the lieutenant stops you.

“You know, you could just stay here if that would be easier,” he says abruptly, looking tense. “It’s late, and it’s raining, and…”

ESPRIT DE CORPS: ...And the route from here to your home features at least a dozen bars along the way.

EMPATHY: He’s worried you might not be able to resist the siren song of their garish neon signs and blaring dance music spilling out onto the streets like a red carpet unfurling.

“And your injury,” he adds quickly. “It was causing you some pain earlier, wasn’t it?”

HALF LIGHT: You don’t need his *pity.*

INLAND EMPIRE: Maybe you *do.* He knows you too well already.

EMPATHY: And, for whatever reason, cares about you a little too much. A terrible decision on his part, really.

“Yeah, good point. Plus your place is closer anyway,” you reply. “Thanks. Sorry to impose.”

He gives you a little nod. “It’s no trouble at all.”

Soon, you’re settled in on Kim’s couch under a small pile of blankets that still smell like artificial flowers, cloying and too sweet, freshly laundered.

He says good night and disappears into his bedroom, shutting the door behind him. It’s strange somehow, lying here in his living room alone in the dark. Like you’re somewhere you shouldn’t be. Like sneaking into a museum after it closes.

PERCEPTION: In the hazy twilight of impending sleep, you notice a calendar on the wall across from you. You can just barely make it out in the dim light, and you realize something.

“Son of a bitch,” you shout, “tomorrow *is* Monday!”

Just before you retreat into the blanket nest you could swear you hear a muffled apology from the next room.

[validity-is-powerful]

if you don't tell me I'll find out anyway

[Masterlist]

Warnings: none

Characters: Emily Prentiss, Jennifer "JJ" Jareau, Aaron Hotchner, Spencer Reid, Derek Morgan, David Rossi

Relationships: Prentiss/Hotch, Prentiss & JJ

Genre: fluff

Summary: Prentiss and Hotch have been dating for eight months now, and the team is none the wiser. That changes when Prentiss and JJ share a room after a case, and Prentiss wears one of Hotch's shirts to bed.

Word Count: 2k

Prompt was #20 on this list by @whump-town.

Fic below the cut, or read on ao3.

__

"Okay, so," JJ begins, coming back from the receptionist counter to address the team. In her hands are three room cards. "They're booked and we're here on short notice. They've only got three rooms they can spare us. It was originally two, but one of the customers with a reservation cancelled last minute." She fans the cards out in front of her. "Who's sleeping where?"

"I'm not sleeping with Reid," Morgan chimes in almost immediately with a smile. Reid looks mock-offended, but doesn't protest.

"I'll share with the kid," Rossi says with a heavy sigh.

"I'm not that bad," Reid protests.

"Last time I shared a room with you, you kept me up until four am with rants about sci-fi movies. And don't think I've forgotten the Red Bull incident, either," Morgan says. He pats Rossi's shoulder in condolence. JJ hands the older agent the key card.

"Morgan, room with me," Hotch offers. Morgan nods, and JJ hands their boss one of the remaining key cards.

"That leaves you and me," Prentiss says, but while her voice is heavy, her eyes are anything but. They sparkle with quiet mirth.

"Thank god," JJ jokes. She loops her arm through her friend's.

They make their way to the elevator, all of them, then as they reach the third floor, the pairs go their separate ways. Reid and Rossi are already engaged in a deep conversation, neither of them noticing as Prentiss studies them. Hotch and Morgan look ready to pass out as they make their way over to their room. The two of them are roomed closest to the elevator, she notices.

"God I'm tired," Prentiss says as she and JJ enter their hotel room. She's tempted to faceplant straight onto the bed, but she's still dressed. The case is over and the plane is leaving at nine-thirty tomorrow, meaning she has a chance to get some proper sleep tonight. It'll be more comfortable to get out of the suit she's wearing.

"Only one bed," JJ remarks. Prentiss lifts an eyebrow.

"You handed out the key cards. Did you do that intentionally?" Her friend laughs.

"No. Truth be told, all three rooms are singles." Prentiss makes an amused face.

"Scandalous. And just imagine the boys' reactions." She lounges on one side of the bed, watching absent-mindedly as JJ methodically strips off her outer layers.

As if on cue, their phones ding with a text notification. Prentiss reaches for hers as JJ pulls out a clean shirt.

"Get changed," the blonde suggests, snagging the phone playfully from Prentiss. Prentiss rolls her eyes, also playfully, and gets up. She begins digging through her go-bag for any sleepwear she might have brought, and failing that, something clean and appealing to wear.

"Hotch is checking that everyone's alright and knows what time we're leaving," JJ reports, reading the text.

"That sounds like Hotch," Prentiss says, tossing an old shirt onto the bed. It's a little worn, but it brings her no small amount of comfort. She throws a pair of shorts after it. JJ frowns at the shirt, but doesn't comment.

Prentiss pulls them both on and climbs into bed beside her friend. "JJ. Get under the blankets."

"Sorry," JJ says automatically, still staring at Prentiss' phone. She turns off the lights and gets under the blankets automatically as well, then hands Prentiss her phone back.

"Who's your boyfriend?" Prentiss freezes, then realises that JJ had looked at who she had sent texts to recently. One of the conversations was simply titled '<3'. "Or girlfriend," JJ continues. "You know I don't care that you're bi, beyond supporting you unconditionally." She props herself up on one elbow, smirking as she looks down at Prentiss. "So. Who is it?"

Prentiss clicks off her phone. "None of your business," she says, the words coming out like she's trying too hard for casual. JJ pokes her shoulder.

"If you don't tell me, I'll find out anyway," she teases warningly. Prentiss smirks at her.

"Good luck." And with that, Prentiss rolls herself in her share of the blankets, facing towards JJ as she turns her phone on again. This way, the screen is angled away from her friend. JJ rolls her eyes, but she still looks amused.

"I see how it is," she says, and rearranges her pillow until she's content. She lies on her back and closes her eyes. Prentiss sends off a text to the partner JJ had just asked about.

Emily: JJ's getting suspicious. She saw I had our private messages labeled with a heart.

Aaron: Morgan has some questions as well.

Emily: Chocolate thunder wants to know who you're texting when you should be sleeping?

Aaron: You don't have a healthy sleep schedule either. I told him it was a friend.

Emily: Did he believe you?

Aaron: Yes, but he suspects it's something more. I've appeased him for now.

Emily: I know we've discussed this before, but we should tell the team soon. It's been over eight months.

Aaron: I agree. If we keep this from them much longer, they'll lose trust in us.

Emily: That, and I hate keeping this kind of secret from my best friend.

"Go to sleep, Emily," JJ mumbles, one arm tossed over her eyes. "It's bedtime."

"In a minute."

"Your mystery person can wait." Prentiss glances at her.

"He's my boyfriend." JJ moves her arm and cracks an eye open to look at her.

Aaron: What, that you're dating your boss?

Emily: That I'm dating at all. Speaking of which, I just told her I have a boyfriend.

Aaron: How'd she react?

"Since when?" JJ asks, sounding a bit more awake. "And why didn't you tell me an' Penelope on girls' night or somethin'? We're the people who hype you up for dates."

"We uh, we decided it was best not to say anything," Prentiss says, trying to keep her composure.

Emily: Fine. She wishes I'd told her and Garcia I was seeing someone.

JJ gives her a long, drawn-out, suspicious hum, then turns onto her other side and goes back to sleep. Prentiss is left staring at her friend's back.

Emily: How's Derek doing?

Aaron: He's asleep. Like we should be.

Emily: Sleep is too mainstream for me.

Aaron: ?

Emily: Don't worry about it babe.

Aaron: Riiiight. Goodnight.

Emily: Goodnight, love you.

Aaron: Love you too, Emily.

Prentiss clicks off her phone and sets it aside, then moulds herself around JJ's sleeping form. Her friend presses back against her a little, and Prentiss wraps an arm around the blonde.

She lies awake for a long time, head still buzzing from the case. She compartmentalizes well, but it still sometimes takes her time to wind down. This case wasn't particularly bloody or long, but it did involve an abnormal amount of guesswork and haste, because the unsub was moving from city to city, state to state, then killing and moving on again within a matter of hours. The team's home base had become their SUVs as they chased.

Luckily, the victim count was low, all things considered. But it had been one hell of a few days.

Around one in the morning, the rain starts. It taps familiar patterns against the glass, and she's finally able to doze off as the noise drowns out her thoughts.

*

JJ's alarm goes off, and Prentiss wants to strangle her. The blonde shuts off the noise before it gets to be too unbearable, but by then, Prentiss is already awake. JJ, as usual, is awake before her and is already stirring a cup of hotel coffee, giving it a disappointed look.

"Is it that bad?" Prentiss asks from where she's lying in the bed, blankets ending at her ribcage. JJ just shakes her head slowly.

"It's awful, and not in the good way. Shitty police coffee is one thing, shitty hotel coffee is another." She takes a sip regardless. "Also, we're leaving in half an hour, so you might want to get up." Prentiss groans, but drags herself out of bed. JJ gladly hands her a cup of the hotel coffee when she approaches, then smooths Prentiss' hair out of her face where it had tangled in the night.

Prentiss takes a sip, and makes a face. "Uch. You weren't kidding." JJ laughs a little. They drink in silence, JJ studying her more intensely than usual. Prentiss is about to ask her what's going on when JJ's eyes widen in realisation.

"That's Hotch's shirt," she says, pointing at what Prentiss is wearing with her free hand. Prentiss looks down at her shirt in a mild panic.

It is, in fact, one of Hotch's old shirts that she's wearing. She had swiped it from him, along with a sweatshirt, when they started dating. It's old and faded, but very clearly Hotch, and it brings her comfort to wear it.

Unfortunately, Hotch used to wear the shirt before she asked him out. Around the team, sometimes. Which means JJ knows it.

"No way," the blonde says. She sets her coffee aside, and Prentiss is quick to do the same. "Don't tell me you're dating Hotch."

"Um-"

"Oh my god, you are." An incredulous laugh escapes JJ's throat. She pressed her hands to her mouth in disbelief. Prentiss examines her reaction, but nothing screams hostile. Surprised, a little offended that she wasn't told, sure, but nothing hostile. Mostly surprised. "Wow."

JJ grabs Prentiss' wrist and pulls her to sit on the bed, grinning. "So, what's he like outside of work?" Prentiss raises her eyebrows.

"You mean, in- in private?" JJ makes a 'keep talking' gesture. Prentiss laughs a little. "I'm not telling you what he's like in bed."

"So you've slept together?"

"We have," she confirms. "We've been together eight months now."

"When were you going to tell the rest of us?" Prentiss shrugs.

"I don't know," she answers honestly. "We were planning on doing it soon, but an opportune moment just never came up." JJ grips her hand.

"Em," she says softly. Prentiss looks at her. "Please know I'm happy for you."

*

"We need to tell them," Prentiss says to Hotch as soon as they have a moment alone. The rest of the team has disappeared down to the lobby, and the two of them have a few minutes before their teammates grow suspicious. She and Hotch are standing outside the door to her room. "JJ already pieced it together."

"Will she tell the others?"

"I don't think so. I think she knows it's our secret to tell, and I told her that we'd been planning to reveal it soon." Hotch nods. They're both dressed formally again, in what attire they had worn yesterday for the flight home.

One of Hotch's hands comes up to rest on her jaw. Leaning into his kiss is easier than breathing. Both of them are loathe to separate.

"They'll be waiting for us," Hotch murmurs as she trails kisses along his jaw, pausing to nip the very edge of it before continuing. "Prentiss."

"I know," she says against his skin. She slows, ending with another kiss to his lips.

Hotch's hand grips hers as they walk to the elevators, throwing caution into the wind as they talk, planning together what to say and when to say it.

*

On the flight back to DC, everyone is awake. It's unusual for them to have an opportunity for a full night's rest the night before. Usually, they fly home in the evening. It means that when Hotch stands up, everyone looks over.

"Prentiss and I have an announcement," he begins. JJ breaks into a grin, knowing what's coming. Rossi looks like he's hiding a smile as well. Reid and Morgan just look confused.

"We uh, we meant to tell you guys before," Prentiss says, continuing where Hotch left off. "We're dating." A second of silence. Then:

"Congratulations!"

"I'm so happy for you guys!"

"Reid owes me five bucks," Morgan says with a grin. Reid groans good-naturedly, then looks at Prentiss and Hotch.

"If you guys had waited another four months, Morgan would've owed me ten," he says, and the team can't help but laugh with him.

[korpuskat]

Cinnamon Burn [Dabi/Reader]

[Ao3 Mirror]

Rating: Mature Word Count: 5,296 Summary: An incredibly drunk Dabi hits on you and things get a little out of hand- emotionally and physically. Contains: angst, self-depreciation, whiskey dick, drunken shenanigans, 

Gender and Sex-neutral Reader Insert

Mild Dubcon warning (both parties are inebriated), mild emeto warning

=====

“Don’t let him overdo it, you don’t know what he gets like.” Himiko warns you- or perhaps she meant to direct it to Kurogiri, the only person actually making drinks. Her cheeks are flushed bright red, her mouth hanging open. You’re almost certain she’s only had one shot- something a deep scarlet that made her squeal in appreciation- but she leans hard on the bar’s counter and gestures vaguely with a knife, “He gets all waaa, waa, I’m Dabi,” She breaks off laughing and you can’t help but grin, even if her impression was terrible.

“The brat’s already wasted.” Dabi complains. You think it’s meant to be scathing, but it comes across as playful- like he’s too amused at Himiko’s frankly pathetic tolerance to really be annoyed at her equally pathetic impersonation. “Should get her home before she’s passed out here.”

“Whaaaat?” She squeals, stumbles forward until she’s hanging off your shoulders, one hand raised towards Dabi. “We’ve slept here before, what’s the big deal?”

“Cause Shigaraki’s drinking too for once, not going off to play with his games.” Dabi tips his glass towards your leader. Across the bar Shigaraki stiffens immediately, his sneer plainly visible with Father moved up a few inches so he can join you in drinking, already expecting the insult that’s coming. “Best leave before he remembers he’s never touched a-”

You smack Dabi’s arm, hiss out a shocked but not unamused, “Dabi!” 

He turns towards you, pretends to rub at where the back of your hand has so obviously bruised him. “You’re drunker than you look, maybe you should be the one going home.”

“Thought you all wanted to celebrate a good mission, but here I am stuck with this.” Shigaraki spits, his free hand already raising towards his neck. “Everyone else is already gone, she’s drunk,” His head tips towards Himiko, who giggles too loud, “He’s an asshole,”

Dabi grins into his drink. “Nothing to do with the alcohol on that one.”

“And you,” Shigaraki turns towards you, his nails scraping across pale skin. “You’re not even drinking.”

“I’ve had a drink!” You protest, show off your long empty cup. Even you can admit it’s a shitty attempt to get them off your back.

“Nah, I agree with Crusty on this one.” Dabi says, taking your glass with too much dexterity for someone who’s at least three shots into the night.

“Fuck off.” Shigaraki turns on his heel and marches through the curtain, “Get the fuck out of my bar.”

Dabi sniggers, flaunts your empty glass again, urging Kurogiri to fill it again with whatever sweet concoction he’d made before. “C’mon Giri, give ‘em another drink.”

Foggy hands don’t move, his head still half-turned towards the curtain where Shigaraki had left. His voice rumbles out, “I don’t think that’s-”

“I’m fine, really, Kurogiri. Don’t mind him.” You wave your hand at Dabi’s scowl, choosing to ignore it and nodding towards Himiko- who was already falling asleep, halfway drooling on your shirt. “You mind sending this one home? Don’t think anyone’s at the safehouse in Kashikuu.”

Kurogiri hesitates, eyes up Dabi with a golden, measuring glance before audibly sighing. He crosses from behind the bar, gently taking her off your shoulder- you’re still not quite sure how his misty hands support weight, but he guides her into a dark, swirling portal. Himiko mumbles something as she goes and you wave at her, wish her a good night.

And just like that, you’re alone with him.

Dabi wastes no time. As soon as Kurogiri has stepped through, his knee comes up on the stool, boosting himself up and over the bar. He reaches with one arm, stretches as far as he can to grab some hidden bottle from behind the counter. “You’re no fun.” He complains, already pouring whatever he’s snatched into his cup- and then into your empty glass as well. “One more drink, then you can go be fucking boring somewhere else.”

You snort, “Wow, really persuasive.” He sets the drink before you- and before you can even pick it up, Dabi’s throwing his head back, the amber liquid disappearing behind scarred lips. “Slow down. What even is this?” You give the glass a sniff- cinnamon washes over your senses, makes you recoil and blink.

“Fireball.” He says, his voice gone low and rough from the alcohol. He doesn’t even hesitate, already pouring himself another shot. “And you’re too slow.”

You should’ve guessed with how many cartons of cigarettes he’d blow through on a mission what he was like with alcohol. “Fucking hell, Dabi.” You swallow down half the glass, throat burning- but you can’t tell if it’s the cinnamon or the alcohol.

“Just ‘cause you can’t handle a good time doesn’t mean I’m going to stop.” He lifts the shot glass, before looking over your shoulder. All you hear in turn is a heavy, echoing sigh. Dabi’s gaze turns to you, not bothering to watch Kurogiri return to his place behind the counter. He throws the drink back, not breaking eye contact as he rasps out, “Come on.”

He’s out of his seat before you realize what he’s doing. Right up next to you, he takes your glass and presses it to your lips. “Live a little.”

You shouldn’t. He’s clearly drunk and determined to seek trouble- and with everyone else gone, he’s got no options left but to make it himself. But he’s also right. The mission was pulled off perfectly, not a single hitch- you deserved a little fun. How often did you really get to enjoy Dabi’s company?

So you lay your fingers over Dabi’s on the glass and open your mouth. His mouth parts in a smirk so haughty that pulls at his staples. “Yeah, just like that…” You swallow, pinch your eyes and huff through the burn- bask in his quiet, rumbling praise. Dabi takes the glass, sets it too hard on the counter behind you, and grabs at your hands. “Get up.”

“What, why?” You cough.

“I want to see you dance.” He tugs again, and you’re sure he could force you out of the seat if he actually wanted to. But he wants you to want to.

You sputter, “No way, you’re way too drunk. Besides, I can’t dance.”

He laughs, loose and easy, “Now I really want you.” He steps closer, eases you off the cushioned seat. You don’t fight him. As he pulls away he grabs the still open bottle from the counter with his left hand, holding it by the plastic stem. Upright you watch as his steps waver, a little unsure of his balance.

“No, no, Dabi, come on…” You resist him weakly, embarrassment making your cheeks heat, but still let him drag you over towards the open space in front of the door. “There’s no music!” You complain, “I’m not nearly wasted enough to dance without music playing.”

He lifts his chin, pulls you close. “I’ll give you that. Hey, Kurogiri, you got any music?” You can only sigh, press your free hand against his chest.

“No, we had no reason to install speakers.” Glass squeaks as Kurogiri cleans it and you look over your shoulder to shoot him an apologetic look. You can’t read his amorphous face- his only response is the tightening of his drifting golden eyes.

“Guess we’ll have to rain check our dance.” You’re almost sad, if you’re entirely honest- you’ve never seen Dabi this relaxed, but it feels wrong, somehow. This feeling has been building up too long to finally acknowledge whatever does exist between you while he’s inebriated.

“Mmm, I don’t think so.” Dabi practically purrs, “What about this…” He trails off- and begins to hum. You can’t even place the tune, doubt it’s even a real song, the alcohol too heavy in his mind for him to think of anything other than the same few notes over and over again, winding in a up-beat melody. And with him holding your hand, he begins to dance.

You can’t help but laugh, the pink hue over his cheeks, his off-key humming in place of music, the off-balance way he moves, feet falling heavy where he means to be smooth. Maybe it’s the Fireball talking, but when he spins you, you let him, twirling at the end of his arm- and before you can really think, you’re joining him. Bobbing along with the made-up song that’s getting more and more erratic, unable to keep up with his own melody.

He shifts his weight back and forth, pulling you along with him as he circles the open space, wrapping your arm up into another spin- and catching you halfway through to pull your back flush to his chest. His warmth seeps through his shirt, but if it’s from his quirk or the alcohol you can’t tell- but it’s definitely the alcohol that strips off his inhibitions, lets him shamelessly grind up against your ass.

All at once you’re breathless, heat winding through your body- and you can’t help but push back against him. He sighs, half chuckling as his other arm crosses over your hips, still holding the bottle of Fireball. It pokes at your stomach, but the pressure gives you more friction so you can’t bring yourself to complain. He turns you both, spinning away from the bar as he backs off, lets you turn again to face him. He sways to his own tune, raises the bottle up. You watch, completely enraptured, as his lips wrap around the plastic rim and he drinks. Beads of amber escape between the edge of his mouth and the first staple, run down his chin, wavering side to side as they jump over the thick scars there. His throat bobs as he swallows- and lowers the jug again.

Your throat compulsively swallows with him, mouth suddenly dry. “You’re so drunk…” You laugh, airy and soft.

And something dark sparks in his eyes. He smiles without teeth, lips pressed tight- and he guides you to walk back and back- until he’s dropping your hand, coming to grab your chin and meet your mouth in a hasty, messy kiss. You gasp- and let yourself close your eyes, melt into his warm touch. It’s been so long coming and yet you never expected it all to finally boil over now.

Nor do you expect as soon as you let his tongue- unbearably hot and pierced twice- into your mouth is the sudden rush of liquid that follows. Cinnamon. Fireball.

You sputter, but Dabi only laughs, presses his hips against you again as you struggle to swallow down the drink he’s kissed to you. Your throat burns, but you let him lick into your mouth again, tasting nothing but his drink of choice. His piercings click against your teeth, but you can’t seem to mind with how his tongue rubs against yours. His hips roll against you again, his thigh pressed between your legs- and the meager pressure has you shuddering against his chest.

“You must be the drunk one,” He says, pulling away and fuck, with each word his mouth is practically steaming, puffs of air slipping between the staples in his cheeks. Something shifts in his voice. “If you’re finally letting me kiss you.”

Your face tightens, tries to decipher the change- but settle on pressing one palm against his chest. “You’re way too drunk for this.” You hesitate, then add “So am I.”

“Cause you’d give me a second look sober?” Bitterness. He steps away, his warm grasp gone from your skin, the room going cold.

You swallow thickly, try to fight the pleasant buzz in your head to follow his thoughts. You don’t have to try for long; Dabi steps back again, but the Fireball has shot his balance. He wobbles, foot not quite where he expected it to be. His arms fly out to balance himself, whiskey sloshing in its bottle and you don’t even have to think before you’re closing the distance, slotting yourself up against his side and taking his weight. “Careful,” You say, ignoring the growl from Dabi’s chest. “You should get some sleep.”

“Yeah? You gonna take me to bed, tuck me in?” He hisses, “Or are you too drunk for that, too?”

Exasperated, completely lost by the sudden shift in his mood, you spit back, “Gladly.” You nod towards Kurogiri- and fuck, Kurogiri’s been standing there through all of this, dutifully cleaning the glasses left over by the League’s short night of celebration and ignoring your inebriated nonsense. “Do you mind? I don’t… know where everyone else ended up, what safehouses are left.”

“Got my own place,” Dabi huffs. You blink, look up to him. You misheard him right? You knew Twice and Spinner had their own places to lay low, but as far as you knew- “Just open the portal.”

Gold eyes linger on you, even as the black fog slips over the edge of the counter, spreading wide. Off to the side you can still make out Kurogiri’s featureless face. “Are you quite sure?”

His worry is touching, but with Dabi so wasted he’s having trouble standing, surely you can handle yourself if he does get rowdy. “Yeah,” You say, wobble towards the opening. “You can close it after us, I’m sure it’ll be a while before he’s out.”

Dabi raises his free arm, waving the bottle he’s still holding. Fireball sloshes as he speaks, “I’m taking this.”

You can’t help the sigh that escapes your lips. Not bothering to wait for a reply, you step through into the darkness. On the other side, you’re in some apartment. You blink, look around- because damn, it’s actually in pretty good shape for a squatter’s hole. The furniture is pretty retro, but aside from some light dust on some untouched shelving, it’s practically pristine. You have to rely on Dabi’s lead as he stumbles- veering off to the right as you struggle to keep him walking straight. The arm that wraps around you holds tighter as he sways, unsteady.

He leads you through a doorway tight enough that you can’t stay beside him- letting him walk through first then lean on the doorframe as you follow. Dabi takes the moment to take another big swallow of the whiskey to which you side-eye him, but at this point you’re not sure how much more damage it can really do.

“Holy shit.” You laugh as you realize he’s made it to the bedroom. "Holding out on us." The room has a nice, big bed with rumpled sheets and soft-looking pillows. The pillowcases don’t match the blanket and you wonder if he’s swiped them from somewhere else. You ease him onto the mattress, which groans and dips with his weight. You open your mouth to ask if he needs water or something, if you could leave him painkillers for tomorrow-

Plastic thuds against the floor, ringing as the bottle spins upright-

And Dabi’s hands grab your thighs. He pulls you forward, traps you between his legs- angles your mouth down. He bites at your lips with abandon, keeps you pressed close even as his hands waver, get lost over your body. You can’t help yourself, the alcohol has made you too loose, too pleased with his touch. You kiss back, lean into his touch.

His lips leave yours, nipping at your jawline- and your head tips back of its own volition, giving him permission to continue down your neck. “Come on,” He pleads between wet, sloppy kisses. “Just once, it’ll be worth it.” A groan slips from your throat as he meets your collarbones, teeth clamping over the thin skin there. So quiet you almost don’t hear him: “Don’t even have to look at me.”

What? You push at his chest, careful of his staples, trying to make any room between your bodies, any room to think- “Dabi?”

He doesn’t let you. One hand- warm, much too warm- presses at the back of your head, pulls you down to meet his mouth again. The hand still at your ass squeezes, makes you gasp- and Dabi’s tongue once more slides into your mouth. Hot and cinnamon-flavored, you can’t help but melt into his touch again, let one hand run over the length of his neck, feel over the rippling texture of his scars. He stiffens as you touch him, leaning back, away from you- but settles for pulling you along with him by the hands on your neck and butt.

The motion makes your head spin even with the meager amount you’d had- frankly you’re not sure how Dabi’s still functioning enough to keep his mouth moving against yours, even if his kisses are messy and not quite centered on your lips. You should really stop, stop rubbing your tongue against his, stop sliding the tip between the two hard edges of his barbells- but the hand on your ass slides up to your hip and rocks you down against him. Friction between your legs makes you sigh, closing your eyes and surrendering as his mouth again travels to your neck. His breath is hot, makes your skin erupt into sweat as he guides your hips to keep on working against him. You’re painfully needy- the warmth inside you has been building for too long, the minuscule pressure from Dabi’s strong thigh shouldn’t have you mewling and pliant, but you’re relaxing even more into his too-warm touch.

It’s not fair, you shouldn’t be coming undone with hardly any alcohol in your head while he’s practically unwavering. It’s hard to coordinate your hand worming between your bodies, even harder to remember how to undo his belt while his teeth scrape along your pulse. The click of metal is all you need to hear before you’re ripping at his jeans, ignoring the throaty laugh and the taunting “Can’t wait?” that rolls off his lips with far too much ease. You want to shut him up. Make him moan just like you, come undone with your touch--

and as your fingers slide under the elastic, your mind halts. Dabi keeps on nipping at your throat, sucking a dark mark while his hands try to keep your body sliding on his thigh- completely unaware. “Dabi?” You start, unsure what to say.

“Yeah, doll?” He hums against your skin, keeps you struggling to think straight. You bite your lip, squeeze softly between his legs- and Dabi goes completely still. His panting quiets, keeps his face hidden as the silence stretches on. A single huff of a laugh, exasperated, tired- “Fuck.” and another one follows. His dark hair waves at the corner of your eye as he shakes his head. He falls back flat onto the bed, arms limp at his sides. The heat and bravado in his voice has drained away, leaving something strange and foreign. Hollow. “Pathetic.”

He doesn’t even give you a chance to respond, raising one hand up to rub at his face, the skin stretching, pulling at his staples as he laughs emptily. “It’s fucking pathetic isn’t it? God damn fucking whiskey dick.” He laughs and it makes your chest ache. “Fucking finally get your attention and I can’t even get it up.”

“It happens, it’s okay,” You say, withdrawing your hand to rub soothing strokes over a patch of unscarred skin on his chest. “Just gotta sleep it off.”

“Bullshit.” He stops, stares up at the ceiling. In the darkness you watch as his brow knits, cerulean eyes dancing back and forth as he thinks. And then they settle down against the edge of his scars, staring at you. You blink once, can’t quite read what he’s thinking- before he’s grabbing you around your waist and flipping you over.

If falling forward made your world spin, this leaves you clutching desperately to Dabi’s coat as your vision swims- and his mouth is burning as his lips wrap around your earlobe. You shudder under him and he’s rumbling low in your ear, “Come on… I’ve waited so long,” his hand slots between your legs, “I want to watch you cum.”

It’s a fight to keep your legs from spreading, to stop your hands from shaking as they press weakly against his shoulders. “Dabi, stop…” He huffs against your ear, stilling as you speak. “You’re way too drunk, we can try again another time…”

Dabi raises himself up- and for the first time in what feels like hours there’s finally any space between you. And you wish there wasn’t; cerulean has turned ice-cold, withdrawn as he rolls himself onto his back. “Sure. Another time.” He repeats, twisting your words until they sound sinister. “If you’re so disgusted by me then just get out.”

disgusted.

The word rings in your head, the gears turning despite the heady liquor urging your mind to just stop. Ever so slowly you turn your head, peering at Dabi. Perhaps he’d look disinterested if you didn’t know him, if you didn’t see the tightness in his jaw, how his scarred throat ripples as he swallows compulsively. How his last batch of face-grabbing has torn at his scars. Your chest aches- the patch of scar tissue below his eye has curled back, strains against the staples. Blood runs along the edge, beading around each metal bar before running in one long streak down just in front of his ear where it meets up with the next line of his scars.

Alcohol still fuzzes your decision making- and with one wavering hand you reach for him. His blood is warm and sticky, smearing over your fingers as you touch his cheek. His head tips, but you can’t read his expression in the shadows. Your mouth feels numb from his hot kisses, “You’re bleeding.” You say, already kicking yourself.

You recognize the scowl that warps his face, so you swallow and work your way up onto one elbow. You have no idea what you’re doing, but you reach over and cup his far cheek. In the darkness you feel his eyelashes flutter against your palm as he closes his eyes. “Dabi,” You say quietly, draw him to look to you. Only when you find the tiniest slit of blue under his dark lashes do you continue. “You’re not disgusting.” His lip is already twitching to speak, so you press your thumb over it. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be.”

His lower lip rubs rough against the pad of your thumb. “You’re here because of the Fireball. You’ll go crawling back to the bar as soon as you sober up.”

“I doubt it.” You let a wry smile stretch over your lips, surrender to the remaining Fireball in your veins. “How about I stay here ‘till we’re both sober, and then when I still want to suck your soul out of your dick in the morning-” Dabi snorts, can’t help how the corners of his mouth rise a fraction of an inch- “we can talk about it.” You wait for a moment, give him a chance to tell you to get the fuck out again, but it doesn’t come. “That sound okay?”

“You just want my nice bed.” He says, the playful deflection back in his voice. It’s nice, familiar after the unpleasant rawness of the night.

You laugh, “Oh, absolutely.” It is true- your own crashpad’s mattress was the first thing you could find on ebay but was still only a half-step above a mattress left on a street corner. “Sit up.”

He obeys with unsteady arms, muttering a little “Not how I imagined this going.” as you push his thick jacket off his arms, careful to not pull any more staples. You leave his shirt alone, but slide off the bed to yank at the ties to his boots. With the haze of alcohol still making your fingers loose, you give up halfway through and just pull them off his feet. He smirks as you get him to lift his hips and you work his jeans down his thighs, revealing more patchwork skin before you peel them off.

Freed of all uncomfortable clothing, Dabi immediately turns around on the mattress, pushing himself back and sinking under the covers, claiming the gray pillow as his own. The apartment is so damn nice, he doesn’t even disturb a layer of dust as he pats the blanket, summoning you over. You bite your lip, look to your own pants. You’re not quite drunk enough to pretend sleeping in these would be comfortable either- you earn yourself a brow raise as you fumble with your button for a moment before dropping your pants into the pile of his clothes.

“Don’t say anything.” You warn him as you slide into the bed with him. Already the blanket is warm, cozy. He grins wider.

“I didn’t say anything, doll.”

“Shut up.”

You weren’t sure how this would work before, but now it feels easy. He raises one arm, pushes it under the dark blue pillow and lets you curl up, flush with his side. Your exposed thighs meet his- makes your skin tingle, feeling his staples, the hairless skin of his scars. Heat rises in your cheeks and you dare to look up to him- your heart pounds in your chest.

His eyes, half-lidded and soft, are focused on you. Fingertips land on your arm, running up your skin, jumping from your shoulder to the curve of your jaw. His thumb strokes over your cheek, blunt nail dragging softly. This close you watch as his mouth tightens as though he’s about to speak- but his mismatched lips part and he sighs.

The spiced scent of the whiskey washes over you- and as he leans down you meet him halfway, let the taste of cinnamon cover your tongue. It’s slow, unhurried- his mouth lingering over yours between kisses and you let yourself savor each moment of his closeness. He meets your lips again- tipping your chin until the staples below his lips press against you, the coolness of the metal in contrast to his warm breath making you shiver. Your hands ghost up his sides, sneaking under his shirt to slide along the lines of his scars, over the shapes of muscles and ribs. Dabi withdraws then, but doesn’t go far. His hand again tips your face how he wants, forcing your chin down until he can reach your forehead. The kiss he lays there makes your eyes flutter closed.

Tension eases out of him by inches, occasionally interrupted by the drift of his fingers on your skin, brushing over your cheeks, over the back of your neck, tangling into your hair. The scratch of his nails over your scalp makes you hum in contentment and Dabi’s mouth quirks up as his eyes close again. In his warmth, it’s easy to relax, to nose closer to him until your face is tucked up against him and the steady rhythm of his breathing lulls you to sleep.

.

.

.

A wretched taste coats your teeth and no matter how much your tongue- which is uncomfortably thick and dry- rubs across your mouth, it lingers. You swallow and force your eyes open- only to groan. Vision blurred, you blink over and over to try and force some wetness to gather again. It takes a minute to remember where the fuck you were- but with the heat radiating from your side, the memories return quickly.

In the night you’d kicked the blanket half-off, revealing your bare leg from under the black fabric. With the warmth that’s still trapped by the blanket and the dampness of sweat that gathers along your neck and back, you can probably imagine why. Yet, you’re still side by side with him. He’s pushed the blanket down around his waist while his shirt has ridden up, revealing a twisting line of scars and staples that dips near his navel before winding off under the white of his rumpled shirt.

You grin, reach over and touch him- and he’s just as warm as expected. His healthy skin is taut, covering the muscles of his abdomen and as your fingers slide over his stomach, those muscles clench, twitch-

His hand catches yours and he groans- face twisting into a grimace.

“Sorry,” Your voice comes out rough with your dry throat. “Thought you were asleep.”

“Hung over.” If your voice was rough, his is in absolute tatters, deep and gravelly and caught in his throat. His hand releases yours to come up and lay over his face- which now you can see is pale and sickly, making his scars look even more purple. His fingers touch his cheek, pick at the blood that has dried from last night, peeling and sticking around his staples.

“Need water?” You ask, already beginning to scoot away from him- figure you’ll share a glass with him no matter how he answers.

“That eager to get away from me?” His reply rumbles. Without the fog of alcohol in his veins, he actually sounds teasing. Playful. Blue eyes burn into you through his dark lashes. You think you know better now.

So you come back to him, lean over him with one arm pressed to his pillows- the hand that had been on his face graces your hips. When you lean down, his chin lifts, meets you halfway. It’s simple, not the demanding kisses from last night- hardly more than your lips sliding over his. You break away just enough to rub your nose against his, feel the cool metal of his triple studs as you speak, “I’m still here, aren’t I?”

You don’t give him a chance to reply, pressing a quick peck to his half-open mouth and scooting off the bed. You don’t, however, miss the dazed look that tracks your body as you slide off the bed, nor the pleasantly surprised huff that follows. Dabi eases himself up onto his elbows to watch you as you make your way to the doorway, looking each way down the hallway there, unsure where the kitchen is. You turn back to ask- “Where’s-?”

And watch as Dabi scrambles out of bed, nearly tripping over the pile of clothes in the middle of the room, knocks over still-open the Fireball, as he dashes towards a cracked door- “Dabi?” Alarms set off in your head as you move to follow-- until the telltale sound of Dabi being sick echoes out of the bathroom.

Of course. You turn your back to him, give him a little privacy as he heaves and grab the Fireball and your clothes before the pool of amber alcohol can reach them. The strong smell of cinnamon makes your lip curl, your stomach flipping in protest, so you leave your clothes on the bed and take the offending bottle with you as you explore the little apartment.

Once you’re back in the room you’d teleported into last night, you spot the kitchen. You leave the bottle on the counter, pushing it as far into the corner as you can, then grab a spare rag left out. In the bathroom, Dabi’s heaving has been replaced by the running of the sink- the rush of water occasionally interrupted by what you suspected was his cupped hands or mouth. You peak in as you drop the rag on the floor and are rewarded with the sight of Dabi bent over the sink, forehead pressed to the metal faucet, one hand scooping water to pour onto the back of his neck. The collar of his shirt has turned transparent, clinging to his back.

“Still glad you stayed?” The tiled bathroom makes his voice echo strangely.

You think about it, mop up the Fireball with your foot. “Yeah.” His head turns, one blue eye peeking out at you from behind dark hair. You grin. “Really glad I kissed you before that, though.”

[doc-pickles]

does it ever drive you crazy, just how fast the night changes

Alex comes back to the loft to see Jo but is met with more than he bargained for.

so i wrote a thing.... i know I've said a million times that I wouldn't write a birth scene but uhhhhh here we are. anyways enjoy... or don't... xoxo nina

It’s dark and stormy outside as Alex approaches the loft, the Seattle winds whipping around him as he jogs up the stairs. The route is familiar, one he’s walked a thousand times before, but it feels different this time. He pauses outside the door, wondering if he should actually knock or not. Finally, he does, knocking twice before stepping back and waiting for Jo’s answer. Her car was parked out front, meaning she was at home and not at the hospital. He knocks a second time, thinking maybe the thunder has made it hard to hear.

“Jo? You home?”

There’s a pause and some shuffling before Jo’s voice floats towards him, “Alex?”

“Yeah, it’s me,” Alex lets out a sigh, leaning his head against the door. “I know you probably don’t want to see me.” “You're right.”

“But I drove all the way from Kansas and I’d really like to see you,” there’s more silence from the other side of the door as thunder rumbles overhead. “You still there?”

“Yeah I’m here,” her voice sounds strained as Alex listens intently. “You left me, what are you doing here now?”

Alex lets out a heavy sigh. He knew she would ask why he had come back after over half a year away but he still didn't feel like his answer justified any of his actions, “Because I messed up Jo. I never should have left, I should’ve told you as soon as I found out about the twins. I should have given you a say in our divorce. There’s a lot of mistakes I made but leaving you was the biggest one.”

“Alex…,” even through the barrier between them Alex can tell that Jo is crying,

“I just realized that while I love being a dad I didn’t want to do that without you by my side,” Alex can hear Jo let out a sob as he leans closer to the door. “Will you let me in please?”

“I’m still mad at you,” Jo clarified.

“I know.”

“The power has been out for three hours and the phone lines are down because of the storm,” Alex can hear Jo unlocking the door, his heart racing. “I haven’t been able to call anyone.”

“Why does-”

“Just… Don’t be mad at me, okay?”

The door finally slides open and Jo and Alex are face to face for the first time in seven months.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

Alex could barely make out Jo’s face with the lack of light but she immediately reaches for his hands, squeezing tightly, “Jesus Christ Jo! What the hell?”

Jo doesn’t answer straight away, doubled over in pain as she lets out a groan, “Just shut up, I’m trying to count and you’re distracting me.” “Count what,” Alex’s question is answered as Jo stands up, taking a step towards him. “Oh… That’s what.”

From the small amount of light in the hallway Alex can clearly see Jo, her eyes wide and questioning as she looks up at him. His eyes drift from her face down her body and rest on her protruding stomach.

“I’ve been in labor for hours but I couldn't call anyone because of the storm,” Jo bites her lip, blinking back tears. “I just figured I could deliver her myself but you showed up right on time.”

Alex only hesitates for a moment before jumping into action as if he’s been preparing for this for nine months and not mere minutes.

“How far apart are your contractions?”

“Six minutes, they have been for almost an hour.”

“Do you have a bag packed?” “In my car.”

Alex makes quick work of grabbing Jo’s keys and locking up the loft before helping Jo downstairs and into the car. They ride in silence for a few minutes before Jo finally speaks up.

“I’m sorry.”

Alex glances over at Jo for a second, watching as she traces her fingers across her stomach, “What could you possibly have to be sorry for?”

“I never called you. I’ve had the better part of seven months to call and tell you,” Jo chokes the words out as a swell of tears forms in her eyes “I knew how you felt about Izzie keeping your kids from you and I was just going to do the same thing. I was ready to raise our daughter alone because I was mad you left! I’m already a terrible mother.”

“You're not a terrible mom Jo,” Alex reaches his hand out to grab Jo’s, squeezing tightly. “And I’m not mad at you.” “You’re not?”

“Of course not,” Alex parks in front of Grey Sloan, killing the engine and turning to Jo. “I know we have a lot to talk about but I think we have more important things to worry about right now.”

Jo nods, taking Alex’s hand that’s reached out towards her. She follows him silently towards the entrance of the hospital, stopping just short of the sliding doors.

“Are you having a contraction?”

Jo shakes her head, pulling Alex closer to her as she stares up at him, “Are you really back? You’re not leaving again?”

“Not without you two. I can’t miss any more of this,” Alex places his hand against Jo’s on her belly, the other one coming up to cup her cheek. “When I said leaving Seattle was my biggest mistake I meant it, baby or not. Leaving you is my biggest regret.”

Without an ounce of hesitation, Jo leans up and presses her lips to Alex’s, a chaste kiss as rain continues to fall around them. Jo pulls back after a moment, leaning her head against Alex as she lets out a groan.

“Let’s get you inside, those have been getting closer.”

Given the storm and the fact that it was almost midnight, they make it to the L&D floor with ease. Carina’s brows furrow as soon as she sees Jo, a reprimand hot on her lips, “Jo you should be at home resting, you’re not on call tonight.” A gasp leaves Carina as she notices Alex standing next to Jo, “Oh! You finally called him?”

“No he just has impeccable timing,” Jo squeezes her eyes shut, leaning forward onto her knees. “My contractions are four minutes apart and I was dilated to an 8 when I checked an hour ago.”

Both Carina and Alex stare at Jo with wide eyes at her revelation. Alex knows she can handle pain well, but he wouldn’t have guessed she was so far along in her labor.

“You should’ve been here hours ago,” Carina chastises as she waves over one of the nurses on the floor. “Can you get Doctor Karev settled in room six?”

“You kept your last name,” there’s a tone of surprise to his voice as Alex settles his hand on Jo’s back, following the nurse down the hall. “I didn’t think you would.”

“I didn’t want to have a different last name than the baby,” Jo shrugs as she takes the hospital gown that the nurse has offered her, slipping into the bathroom to change into it. “And I might have forgotten to file the divorce papers.”

Alex is about to respond when Jo lets out a startled gasp followed by the sound of liquid hitting the floor. Jo waddles out of the bathroom, eyes wide as she and Alex stare silently at each other.

“Was that..?”

“I need to push,” Jo takes a few steps forward, leaning over the hospital bed as she let out a loud groan. “That’s a lot of pressure.” “Let me get Carina.”

“Don’t leave unless you want to miss your daughter being born,” Jo reaches her hand out to stop Alex from leaving, grabbing his hand in her own and squeezing it tightly as she let out a loud groan. “Oh god, you weren’t kidding about the big head thing.”

“No, I wasn’t,” Alex rests his hand against Jo’s back, applying pressure as she let out another pained noise. “What can I do for you?” “Catch.”

Alex moves quickly, barely catching their daughter as Jo gives one final push. Carina walks in then, a chuckle escaping her as she helps Jo knot the bed, “Looks like you started without me. How’s the bambina doing papa?”

“She’s perfect,” Alex lets out a wet laugh as he cradles the baby in his arms, a small cry sounding from her. “She’s absolutely perfect.”

+

“I don’t have a name picked out.”

Alex looks up from the sleeping baby in his arms to Jo who’s just woken up, “Why not?”

“Nothing sounded right,” Jo shrugs, concentrating on her fingers. Alex notices the silver band on her left hand that she’s twirling around nervously. Her wedding band sparkles under the fluorescent lights of the hospital room despite the missing engagement ring it usually sat with. “It didn’t feel right to pick something so important without you.”

“Jo-”

“Not calling you was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Every single day since I read that letter I’ve wanted to call you, even more so after I found out I was pregnant,” Jo swipes at the tears collecting on her cheek and it takes everything in Alex to not lean forward and wipe them away himself. “But you left Alex and you never even asked me how I felt.” “I would’ve hopped on the first flight back if you called.” Jo throws her hands up in exasperation, “I didn’t want you to come back just because we have a baby together!”

“It never would have been about that Jo! I love you!”

“Then why? If you love me why did you leave me?”

“Because I was scared,” the baby in his arms stirs but Alex quiets her quickly, lowering his voice when he speaks again. “I was terrified of being a shitty dad and losing you and my kids at the same time. I didn’t want to hurt you, Jo, I never have, but I thought one painful goodbye would be better than months of arguing and heartache and watching the life we created crumble into pieces. I didn’t want that for us, I couldn’t ruin us like that. I wanted to protect you but I ended up hurting both of us in the process and hurting this little one too. I’m sorry Jo, neither of you deserve this. I just ended up becoming the shitty dad and husband I was trying so hard not to be.”

The room is silent as Alex keeps his eyes on the sleeping baby in his arms, not wanting to look at Jo just yet. When he finally does, she has tears running down her cheeks, “Jo I-”

“Come here.”

“Are you gonna hit me?”

“No you idiot, I want to kiss you,” Jo let out a laugh, wiping at her eyes again. “I missed you so much.”

Alex squeezes in next to Jo, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and pressing a kiss to her forehead, “What about Juliet?”

“Mmm she does kind of look like a Juliet,” Jo runs her finger across the newborn’s cheek. “How about Juliet Alexandra?”

“I already have one kid named after me, I don’t need another. Besides,” Alex grins as he leans down to press a kiss to Jo’s lips. “You did all the heavy lifting on this one. What about Juliet Brooke?”

Jo silently nods, settling easily into Alex’s embrace as they both stared adoringly at their daughter, “Perfect. Welcome to the world Juliet Brooke Karev. We love you so much already.”

[dontcare77ghj]

Strength

Tony x reader x Natasha x Bucky

Next part of heart will be out in the next week.

The four of you were the strongest of the avengers. The strength the four of you possessed was something you had worked on for years.

Natasha had crafted her strength during her many years in the red room. It was easier to be what they wanted if she built up a hard shell, built up another persona, for when they were around. It had taken her years to show another person the real Natasha and even now, only a few people were allowed to know the real her.

Tony’s strength had come from years of being neglected and mental health issues. In a similar play to Natasha, Tony had built up a persona for the media. He had become a carefree playboy and this personality still shone through to this day when he felt threatened. 

Bucky had been born in a much harsher time than the rest of you and was then forced to endure seventy years at the hands of HYDRA. His strength was born from a place of survival, to survive and to continue surviving Bucky had to be strong.

You somewhat understood what Bucky went through at the hands of HYDRA. You yourself had lived through years of torture at their hands as they attempted to create the experiments, they’d previously performed on the Maximoff twins. You had to become strong to keep yourself. To keep your mind and self in control.

The four of you were the strongest of the Avengers. It was because of your shared strength that no-one was surprised when the four of you announced you were all together. But everyone’s strength could bend, even the strongest could have moments of weakness.

Any enhanced, whether they had been born with it or had had their genes mutated, would agree emotions could be tricky. Your mood and the emotions you felt could become the deciding factor as to whether or not you would remain in control of your abilities.

You hadn’t been born with your abilities; they had been the result of experimentation at the hands of HYDRA. At first you hated it. You hated the fact you weren’t normal anymore, but over time you grew to love the powers you’d gained and turned your anger towards HYDRA.

It was because of your anger towards the organisation you’d joined the Avengers. A team with people who’d seen similar things to you. People who’d lived through similar experiences. Here, you were normal.

Until you lost control. That was when you lost any sense of normalcy. When you lost control, you lost control. When you had the ability to manipulate and control the weather, and you lost control all hell could rain down.

The four of you and Wanda who had been assigned this mission and despite the shitty conditions and the complete lack of sleep, it had been going fine. It had all been going well until HYDRA had caught wind of where you were camping out.

“I fucking hate these assholes.” Natasha swore as she fired another clip at the agents.

“I don’t think anyone particularly enjoys being around these people, Nat.” Tony said, blasting at the incoming swarm. 

“They should just do the courteous thing and die.” You grunted, creating a mini tornedo and throwing dozens of them as far as you could.

It didn’t seem to matter how well the five of you were doing, the hoardes of HYDRA agents seemed to be never ending. 

“I really don’t like these men.” Wanda grunted, levitating a large mass of agents and hurling them far away.

“No one does.” Bucky smiled as the five of you met up. “We need to pack up and get out of here.” Bucky said, wrapping an arm around you. “More’ll be back soon.”

“Let’s get out of here. We got what we needed.” Tony agreed. The five of you made your way back to the set-up camp and quickly began to pack up the equipment. “Damn it I can’t find my tablet.” Tony cursed.

“You left it in the tent, hon.” You told him. “I’ll grab it for you.” 

“Thanks, darling.” Tony kissed your cheek before you made your way back to the large tent. You’d only just entered the tent when you let out a loud scream. A rouge agent had hidden in your tent and stabbed his knife into your thigh and dragged.

“Y/N!” Natasha yelled, rushing her way over to you as you stumbled out of the tent, holding your hand to your gushing wound.

Natasha made quick work of the man as Bucky and Tony knelt beside you. Wanda was already on the radio alerting them to the situation.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Tony muttered as he attempted to stop the bleeding. 

“Tony you’re not helping.” Natasha snapped, breaking out the medical kit as Bucky knelt behind you.

“I can see her bone, Nat. I can see the fucking bone.” Tony said, pressing his hands tighter to the bleeding wound.

“Oh God, I’m going to be sick.” You gagged after catching a glimpse of the wound. Tears began to sting the corners of your eyes.

“No, no you're just fine. It’s not that bad.” Bucky soothed you as the wind began to whip around you violently. 

“I don’t feel so good.” You groaned. A whimper left your throat as Natasha began disinfecting the area.  

“You’re fine. Don’t say that it’s fine.” Tony said loudly over the wind which was beginning to grow louder and louder with every minute. You couldn’t see past the tears the glazed over your eyes.

“Y/N, you need to calm down.” Natasha told you without looking up from her work. “You need to stay in control.”

“I can’t. Oh God it hurts.” You whimpered, still looking at the gushing wound. The wind was now screaming as it violently roared to life as tears slid down your cheeks.

“No, no, no.” Bucky said, lifting your chin. “Don’t look at it. Look at me. You need to stay in control, honey. We can’t help you if we're dealing with a tornado.”

“I can’t, I can’t control it.” You cried.

“Y/N, look at me.” Tony said, moving next to your head. He gripped your hand tightly as you gasped at the feeling of Natasha stitching the wound. “You can do this. You need to breath with me.” He said, putting your hand on his chest.

You gave Tony a nod and attempted to do as he said. Tony’s heartbeat was slightly faster than normal but was still much calmer than your erratic pulse. The whipping wind died down as you clutched his hand.

“That’s it, you’re doing so well, kisa.” Natasha said soothingly. Natasha quickly wrapped the wound tightly and leaned up to kiss your tears away. “That should hold until someone gets down here.”

“Fury said the team will be here soon.” Wanda said, walking over. “I’ll finish packing up.” 

“Thank you, Wanda.” Bucky said. “You’re okay sweetheart. You did so well.”

“So, so well.” Tony agreed, squeezing you hand. “You’re so strong.”

“Just close your eyes kisa. We’ll protect you for now.” Natasha murmured, brushing hair off your sweaty face.

“I love you. I love you all.” You mumbled as your eyes began to close. 

“We love you too, sweet cheeks.” Tony said, squeezing your hand once more.

Non-reader POV

It had been a quiet day. Well, a quiet day for the inhabitants of the tower at least. There were no explosions coming from Tony’s lab, no building shaking roars from Bruce or yells of annoyance directed at a pranking Clint.

And that day had progressed into a tranquil, quiet, night. A night that for once the four of you had spent together. The four of you had spent a lovely evening together, sharing more than one bottle of red wine, before retreating into the bedroom.

After a couple hours of doing some recreational activities together, the four of you had drifted off to sleep in a tangled pile. An hour later it became clear to Bucky, it was not going to be a peaceful sleep.

Bucky’s dreams echoed with the sounds of gunshots, screams in English and Russian and orders constantly barked at him before pain would ghost through his body.

Bucky let out a distressed noise as he shifted away from his sleeping partners as his dreams took a turn from memory to nightmare.

“Do it.” The voice hissed into his ear.

“Bucky don’t do this!”

“James it’s us! You can fight this!”

“Tin man, you’re not this person anymore!”

I don’t want to do this.

But I have to. Without another thought Bucky raised his gun and with three quick shots he shot each person between the eyes. As the ringing in his ears dulled he suddenly became aware he was in control.

Bucky dropped the gun in his hands and stared at the blood soaking the skin of his hands. Bucky continued to stare at his red stained hands until he saw the blood that was now soaking through his shoes.

His eyes followed the trail of blood until he saw the gruesome sight that sat before him. Two women and a man sat before him, their heads slumped onto their chests and blood pooling around them in a terrifying shade of crimson.

Bucky was compelled to move toward them, needing to know the identities of his three newest victims. He gently grasped the neck of the closest woman to him to revel the face of his Natasha. Her eyes were still opened widely, a bullet hole now featured in the centre of her forehead. 

Quickly Bucky checked his two other victims and collapsed to his knees as he saw his other partners with matching bullet wounds.

He’d done this. He’d killed them. 

Bucky awoke with a loud, distraught, scream which woke all three of his partners. All three began searching the room for the cause of Bucky’s distress and when they saw no threat they turned to see him struggling to breath.

“Bucky, look at me honey.” Y/N said, holding her hands in front of him. Bucky didn’t handle being touched well when he was like this. “You’re safe here with us.”

“It wasn’t real, James.” Natasha tacked on, mirroring your body language. “It was a nightmare.”

“That’s all it was.” Tony agreed. “Come back to us.” The three continued attempting to calm the man without being able to touch him.

It took what felt hours before Bucky able to calm himself down.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Bucky finally said, dropping his head in his hands.

“You have nothing to be sorry about.” Tony said, moving closer to him and wrapping an arm around him.

“Absolutely nothing.” Y/N nodded, sliding into Tony’s side.

“You’ve been doing so well, you came out of it much faster this time.” Natasha complimented him, curling into his other side.

“I’m supposed to be stronger than this.” Bucky mumbled quietly, removing his hands from his face. “I’m a soldier.”

“You’re allowed to have a bad day, Buck” Y/N said, taking one of his hands. “You don’t have to be strong all the time.”

“That’s why we're here.” Tony told him.

“To be strong for you.” Natasha agreed. There weren’t any more words exchanged as the three of you continued to silently comfort Bucky with your presence. You didn’t need words to comfort each other.

Reader POV

Natasha had worked really hard to wipe out the red in her ledger. In her mind she had done too much to ever fully clear the darkness of her past and the red out of her ledger. Her main motivation for joining the Avengers was to help others, to help enough people that she could clear at least a third of her ledger.

But Natasha was a do-er. When it came to missions, Natasha would do whatever it took to ensure the safety of the team, her partners and to make sure the mission was successfully completed. Natasha knew what it felt like to have the blood of innocents on her hands and she didn’t want any of her team to have to go through that.

On missions the rule was, capture and don’t kill but sometimes it was just unavoidable. On these missions you had to kill to survive and it was Natasha, Bucky and Clint that took it upon themselves to protect their team. Their lives and their consciences. 

Natasha had been on a mission with Steve and Wanda when it happened. Steve said they weren’t sure who blew the building, but someone did and Natasha believed it was her fault for the deaths of the civilians. 

In retaliation, Natasha seemed to have been taken over by something as she made quick work of the Hydra agents around them. Steve and Wanda had barely been able to recover from the shock of watching the building collapse before Natasha had killed them all.

That call had been twelve hours ago. Five hours after that, they had arrived home. It was now eight hours later and the three of you had not seen her since she’d arrived home. Natasha had come straight back up to your floor and locked herself in the bathroom as per her custom after a bad mission.

“Nat?” You knocked softly. “Bucky made dinner for when you’re ready. I'll leave it in the oven for you.” You said when she didn’t reply but you didn’t leave. “We love you Nat. Just so you know.” You added going to walk away when you heard the click of the lock.

Taking that as a sign, you opened the door to see her sitting on the floor, still in her uniform and fiddling with a dagger. You didn’t say anything as you took a seat next to her.

You counted out five minutes before she shifted closer and stole your hand. You counted another five minutes before she rested her head on your shoulder and you gently began to run your fingers through her hair.

“How can you even stand to be this close to me?”

“Because I love you.” You said, scratching her scalp lightly. “We all love you.”

“Why would you do that? How can you love these blood-soaked hands?” She asked you, pushing her face further into your shoulder.

“I personally love those hands.” Tony announced, coming into the bathroom. He took a seat directly in front of her and gave her a gentle smile as he took the dagger out of her an and replaced it with his own. “No matter the colour.” 

“They’re the hands of a murderer, Tony. They’re disgusting.”

“They are not.” Bucky said, entering and joining the rest of you. “They are beautiful and strong and delicate, just like you.” He said, sitting on her other side.

Natasha remained quiet for a minute, mulling over your combined words and actions.

“Can we go have some dinner, please?” She asked quietly.

“Yeah, yeah we can do that.” Tony said, standing. “Do you need a hand old man?” Tony asked Bucky, causing Natasha to let out a quiet chuckle.

“Fuck off, Tony.” Bucky rolled his eyes as you and Natasha stood. While the boys argued you and Natasha led the way to the kitchen, your hand never leaving hers.

Though Steve disapproved of the language he would agree with the sentiment that HYDRA, were fucking dicks. Busy fucking dicks. The dicks seemed to be working 24/7 on projects to destroy the world and to ruin your lives.

“Where do you want to go after this?” Tony asked over the comms. “I was thinking some place Italian.”

“Last time we got Italian; you didn’t stop complaining the entire dinner.” Natasha snorted at the suggestion. 

“That’s not fair, Nat.” You chided. “He complained the whole way home too.”

“You're both mean.” Tony whined. 

“You two better be nicer to him or we’ll have to hear him complain the rest of the mission.” Bucky chuckled. 

“Speaking of the mission, maybe the four of you could start paying attention.” Steve suggested, finally cutting in.

“Speak for yourself punk.” Bucky grunted. “We’re already in the building.” He added as you all met up.

“What exactly are we looking for again, Rogers?” You questioned as the four of you began moving through the narrow corridors.

“The informant said there’s a secret room somewhere where they store their experiments.” Steve told you. 

“Yay, secret room.” Tony cheered as you all moved into a large lab. 

“Is there an exact location for this secret room, Steve?” Natasha asked him as you began to cautiously explore the area.

“Yeah what book do I pull?” Tony added.

“Sorry, he just said you'll know it when you see it.”

“Steve, be honest with me. Was Fury the informant?” Bucky asked him, knocking on the walls.

“Fury’s going to kick your ass when he hears that.” Natasha smirked at the brunette.

“Found it.” You chimed as the wall in front of you opened. 

“Aww, I wanted to find it.” Tony whined, moving next to you. “When we get back remind me to fit the tower with secret rooms.”

“I thought we would’ve had some of them already?” Clint spoke up over the coms.

“He’s too lazy to do it.” Natasha said as you all moved from the lab and into the secret room. The room itself was small but had five separate doorways lining the wall.

“Oh this is fucking suspicious. F.R.I.D.A.Y. scan for heat signatures.” Tony said.

“Language.”

“Scans show only two heat signatures behind doors one and four.” F.R.I.D.A.Y. told you.

“Buck and I’ll take door one if you two take door four.” You said, the three each giving you a nod. Bucky aimed his gun at the door as you slammed it open.

There stood a man who had to be in his late thirties with a malicious look on his face. His head snapped up at your entrance and suddenly his skin turned into molten lava. He pressed his hand to the ground and a trail of lava shot towards the two of you.

Bucky quickly took a shot to his shoulder and you shot a blast of ice at molten rock. After you extinguished the flames, Bucky rushed forward and knocked the man out.

“Good job.” You smirked, pulling him out of the room. The two of you rushed towards the fourth door and saw an unconscious man in his late teens next to Natasha and Tony, who was out of his suit, who were kneeled on the floor.

"Tony. Tony, look at me." Natasha said, tapping his face gently. "Come on Tony focus on me."

"What's going on?" You asked her, kneeling next to her.

"The dick over there has Wanda’s powers." Natasha said, still tapping Tony's face. "Come on Tony, we're right here."

Tony let out a loud gasp as his eyes suddenly focused and began darting around the room.

"Tony, breathe it's us. You're okay. No-one's going to hurt you." Bucky soothed, touching his arm.

"Oh shit, I'm having a heart attack." Tony gasped, holding his hand to his chest. "Oh shit, I'm dying."

"You're not dying. You're having a panic attack." You told him, taking his face in your hands. 

"You know how to stop this Tony." Natasha said. "What are the steps the therapist taught you?"

The three of you coaxed Tony through his steps until he could finally breathe again.

For a minute the four of you just sat there, Tony still breathing heavily as the three of you watched him in concern.

"I'm good. It's good. I'm good." Tony said, standing on shaky legs.

"Yeah? You're ok?" Natasha asked him.

"Yeah. I promise." Tony said, giving her a weak smile. 

"You know we're talking about this when we get home, right?" Bucky said as you wrapped an arm around his waist.

"I know, that's okay." Tony nodded. "Let's get out of here. We'll get the clean up team to deal with these two."

Tony wasn't great at displaying weakness around the team so it wasn't until you made it back home he shut down.

The boy had shown the three of you and the team dead and Tony wasn't able to do anything. The three of you stayed with him fort h night ensuring he knew you all loved him and he was doing more than enough for the world.

The four of you were the strongest of the avengers. The four of you had a lot of walls, and it was only when around each other you allowed the walls to fall and show some semblance of weakness.

Taglist

@hopingforbarnes @piper-koko-barnes-rogers @skeletoresinthebasement @rvgrsbrns @agent-barnes40 @jelly-fishy-babie @smilexcaptainx @starlingelliot

Show me your support. Give it a like. Leave a comment. Share with your friends and reblog. Inbox/message me any comments, ideas, pairings, taglist requests, or whatever you wish.

Coming soon;

Dean x reader x Cas

Wanda x reader x Vision

Steve x reader x Wanda

Natasha x reader x Wanda

Tony x reader x Steve

Meg x reader x Cas

[captaindaddykru]

☆for emily☆

today it’s @keiraknighted‘s birthday. i wanted to finish this before today, but everything is flaming garbage, so a preview will have to do. no, i will no be giving out more details. happy birthday to my musical soulmate, the kinkiest queen of them all, em. my ol’ cobber. my favorite drongo. quite the spunk you are. you’re a classic. and you live in the worst possible timezone imaginable. here’s some best friends, pining, sexy, below <10k hopefully. also, sorry for the ugly temporary moodboard???? i was getting desperate at this point and am no grapic designer. i just needed something to distract from what you’re about to read. cheers!

So, by the time their holiday break rolls around, Clarke isn’t only sexually frustrated, she’s also kind of desperate. Which only intensifies when a few days before they’re all flying back to their hometown, Wells casually lets it drop he’s now in a relationship with a girl from his old chess club and things are ‘heating up fast’, whatever the hell that’s supposed to mean. She’s just more aware than ever she’s running out of time. 

Clarke doesn’t even know why it’s such a big deal to her. Maybe it’s her competitive streak coming into play, or the fact she really just wants to get the whole awkward virginity thing over with, maybe it’s the dark inexplicable pang in the middle of her chest whenever she sees the constant rotation of girls on Bellamy’s Instagram and Snapchat. She figures it’s a healthy amount of jealousy, courtesy of their very codependent ways, sharing everything with each other since childhood. They’re all apart for the first time in a decade, going their own ways, perhaps even growing apart. 

She doesn’t think about why Wells’ honest to God girlfriend doesn’t bother her as much when in reality that should make her feel even worse. A girlfriend could screw with their dynamic, a bunch of one night stands rationally speaking won’t. It could be that she knows Wells too well to know there’s still a very big chance he won’t go through with it, that he’ll let the girl down easy before Christmas even rolls around. 

But. Then she finds herself thinking of his jacket covering her shivering body, drenched from the rain, her left arm throbbing with pain, his hand wrapped around hers as he told her it was all going to be okay. She thinks of that time he left Gina’s birthday party early to come pick her up at a friend’s house after almost having a panic attack, the nights he spent sleeping in her bed after her father died, how he never once complained about getting her coffee from the drive through that was more than his hard limit of three dollars, and that one throw-away moment at the end of summer. That goodbye hug that lasted just a little too long, his arms tight around her waist, the intense look mirrored in both of their eyes as they pulled apart, the way she was afraid to say anything in case her voice gave out, before she got into her mom’s car and watched him and Wells disappear in the rearview mirror. 

It’s hard to explain, even to herself. It’s why she never thinks about it for too long. 

Which all brings her to tonight. A new year’s party at the house of someone who went to the same high school as them, that has all the charms of a bad hang-over in the making — terrible beer, music that’s mostly EDM and completely shit-faced people plastered across every surface.

She hasn’t seen Wells since his father’s Christmas party. Clarke finally met Luna there in person. She’s beautiful, easily talked to her about the non-profit she’s interning at for half an hour and had nothing but love in her eyes whenever she looked at Wells. He’s with her at her parents’ ski cabin right now, and from the way Bellamy was clapping his shoulder before he left early in the morning, Clarke figures he’s probably losing his v-card to her there which means that she’ll be the only one out of the three of them not to complete the pact. There’s no way she’s finding someone before midnight that she’d both feel comfortable with taking hers, and is even willing to do so in the first place. 

To make matters worse, Bellamy has totally ditched her to play beer pong with Bree, which she isn’t even sure isn’t code for hooking up in the coat closet. He knows she hates parties, especially when she doesn’t know anyone else there, and that she’s horrific at first impressions. She’s forced to make small-talk with Murphy, the loser who still hangs around their high school parking lot and she used to share one Culinary Arts class with before he got suspended. 

All of it combined has put her in a sour mood. And a drinking mood, but since all there is fucking shitty beer that might as well be toilet water she can’t even get drunk, so that just makes her even more unreasonably upset at nothing in particular. Maybe at the fact she’s so high strung and obsessed with controlling every little detail, that she didn’t just get it over with back on campus with some frat boy she never had to see again after, or that Wells and Bellamy managed to make it happen without even trying. It’s probably because she’s trying way too hard, people can probably tell.

It’s not fair that both of them beat her to it. Clarke wants to just be done with already, too. She wants to get it over with so she can get to the good, non first time stuff like them. She wants to be flirting with boys and girls at parties, or ask for someone’s number at a coffee shop without having to worry about having to explain it’s her first time doing any of it when they eventually invite her over to their room. She wants to be free and nonchalant and spontaneous, not constantly weighed down by the fact that she’s a virgin. It’s not like she’s asking for much. 

Half an hour to midnight, she pushes her way outside to the porch for some fresh air. It’s there where Bellamy finally bothers to leave Bree and her attention-seeking ways behind and come find her. 

“What’s up with you?” He asks, half a chuckle in his voice as he leans his forearms on the railing, mirroring her. 

Clarke grits her teeth together, then slowly exhales through her nose. She keeps her eyes on the tree swing in the distance, swaying softly because of the wind. “Nothing.”

He elbows her playfully, although his tone is serious. Of course he sees right through her. “Come on. Don’t give me that.”

She just grumbles something indecipherable, pushing back her hair from her face with one hand. She still doesn’t look at him, scared she might give anything more away. From inside, there’s the muffled beat of a hiphop song playing joined by the distanced tumult of college kids getting drunk and having fun. Except for the couple making out on the other end of the porch and one stoner sprawled over the grass smoking and staring at the sky, they’re alone. 

“I’m sorry about leaving you for Bree—” Bellamy starts, straightening back to his full height, and before she knows it, a flare of anger rises within her, burning white hot. She doesn’t recognize the feeling, but gets too lost in it to analyze it for very long.

Her head snaps to the side to glare at him, fingers tightening around the railing until her knuckles turn a pale white. “It’s not about Bree and her pathetic fuck-me eyes.”

“Okay,” he replies, sounding a bit too amused for her liking. He leans back, crossing his arms over his chest. It makes his biceps bulge in a way that’s completely unfair when she’s been perpetually turned on since Halloween, and it sends a surge of want pulsing from her core. “Then what’s it about, princess?”

Has his voice always been so deep? She hesitates, not sure she even wants to share this with him. He might be her best friend, but it’s embarrassing on a level she can’t even try and start to describe. “I’m annoyed, okay?” She bites, heated, which immediately makes her feel guilty. It’s not his fault nobody wants her. “I expected that I’d at least beat Wells to it. And since it’s all I can think about all the time now, I’m constantly horny.” A blush forms on her cheeks, down her neck and all over her collarbone, but she refuses to let that or the way his eyes widen slightly stop her. It’s only awkward if she lets it be. “I just feel so stupid. I mean, I had five months to get it over with like both of you, and here we are. What the hell is wrong with me?”

A tense silence wraps around them for a moment, Clarke’s heart pounding loudly in her chest as panic claws up her throat. She’s such a fucking idiot. She shouldn’t have brought it up in the first place. She’s sure neither of them would’ve actually held it against her if she didn’t lose her virginity before new year’s, they’re better than that. She knows they are. Clarke is just so — frustrated.

His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and she finds herself entranced with the movement. “I didn’t know you were so upset about it,” he starts, tentatively. Her blue eyes snap up to meet his, a smirk breaking across his face. He’s teasing her, the asshole, when he says, “I mean, if you’re that desperate, I’ll do it.”

Her eyes narrow, finally pushing off the railing. A gust of wind greets her body, bristling her hair and making tiny goosebumps appear over her arms. She’s seconds away from angry tears, she can tell. “Don’t make it sound like it’s such a fucking chore.”

Bellamy just kind of stares at her dumbly, his whole body grown tense, making her even more furious. Did he lose his tongue all of a sudden? He’s never had a problem sharing his opinions on her, no matter how negative, before. “What?” She snaps, roughly brushing  a strand of hair behind her ear before tucking her hands back underneath her opposite armpits.  

“It wouldn’t be a chore, Clarke,” he corrects her, his eyes still slightly widened as if alarmed by the sound of himself speaking. He swallows visibly, his adam’s apple bobbing up and down in the low glow of the Christmas lights draped across the ceiling of the porch. Bellamy lifts one of his shoulders, casual, even if the movement is stiffer than it usually would be. “I just — I didn’t realize I was an option.”

Her heart trips over itself as silence stretches between them for a moment. She wants to ask him a million questions, but the best thing she can come up with is, “So you were serious?” Clarke raises her eyebrows, trying to figure out if he was just being nice, taking pity on her or if it was something much more dangerous than that. “You’ll do it?”

His jaw clenches briefly, his nostrils flaring. Another second, and he asks, rough, “Do you want me to do it?”

She considers it. This is Bellamy, her best friend. He can always make her laugh, and there’s no one else she feels as much at ease with, and he’s definitely attractive, even she has noticed as much. She likes his stubborn curls, his smile when someone catches him off guard, the sharp line of his jaw. And at the very least he would know what he’s doing. She trusts him. “Yes.”

Now that she’s aware it’s a possibility, she refuses to want anything else. It’d be kind of perfect, actually.

He clears his throat, blinking hard as he tears his eyes off her for a second, scrubbing his face with one of his hands. It’s very big, and Clarke finds herself wondering for the first time if it means the rest of him is big as well. Bellamy sniffs when his dark eyes land back on her. “Have you been drinking?”

“Just half a beer,” she answers, maybe a bit too eager, her hands dropping at her sides after smoothing down the bottom of her glittery top. She doesn’t want to give him enough time to talk himself out of it. “And I think someone diluted it with water so it barely counts.”

He nods, once, then nudges his head to the side. “Want to get out of here?”

Taking one more look around the porch, Clarke worries her bottom lip pensively, shooting him an apologetic look. “My parents are having friends over, so my house is definitely not an option.” 

Besides, she doesn’t want to risk them finding out and making it weird. Especially not if the consequence is going to be an open door policy whenever he or Wells are over. Nothing has to change after tonight.

“Thelonious is out,” he offers, then flinches when he seems to remember something else. “But Octavia might show up with her friends.”

Clarke nods, giving him another long searching look before she makes up her mind. It’ll be fine. This is Bellamy. She’s a pro at compartmentalizing and he’s sleeping with a different girl like every other night. It can just be sex. “Upstairs then?”

[chinatea]

Jikook Sexy Alien AU Part 1

Personas are a product of @satellite-jeon​ ‘s beautiful mind.

This is WIP and still pretty drafty, and I’ll be posting new parts to tumbler as I finish them. I’m planning 4-5 parts overall. 

For my best girl @kmheart​ <3333 Thank you for loving this mess. <333

Warnings: Coarse language.

Jungkook doesn’t know exactly when his life took a dive from awesome to downright shitty.

And even if he did, he wouldn’t be telling that story any time soon ‘cause no one gives a rat’s arse about good ol’ boy Jungkook who scrubs pools for a living. 

It didn’t start that way. In high school, he was a local superstar. The golden jock. The whole fucking trope, baby. With titties of all caliber following him everywhere. Boy did love him some pussy. Dicks, too. He loved everything to do with sex, drugs and rock’n’roll.

He believed himself invincible and it was only a matter of time before he mingled with the wrong crowd. Only back then, he thought of them as friends. His bros for life.

Well.

Now, he cleans pools - the only kind of gig he can scrounge up nowadays, what with a criminal record and whatnot - and trusts no bro. 

And when he’s not cleaning pools, he’s stuck at the garage being bossed around by a dirtbag who happens to be his uncle. His uncle, Sunmu, hates his guts - one of those stupid homophobic fucks who can’t mind their own fucking business. Needless to say, no love lost.

As much as Jungkook wants to punch his stupid teeth out - what’s left of them anyhow - he needs the money and it’s not like his uncle can do much more than run his smelly farthole of a mouth. Which he does. At lengths. The dude just never shuts up. Until one day, Jungkook made him shut up - even his golden-boy patience has its limits. And the dude blew up, called the police, the neighbors came a-running, the whole nine yards.

One hell of a shitshow, that night.

So now, Jungkook has taken to bringing guys to fuck in his garage instead. Totally intentional. He knows the geezer, like the sick fuck he is, had cameras installed all over for his own perverse pleasure. So Jungkook lets him enjoy it while he can.

‘Cause once the summer ends, Jungkook will burn down his fucking shack and hit the road, because he’s this close to being done with the shitfucks that are hell bent on ruining his life.

Another day. Another mindless grind.

Luckily for him, the client has vacated the house for the day, leaving their big pool in his capable hands. A much welcome break from those rich fucks being all smug and pissy and all up in his grill about every little nothing. 

Rich tits always think they know everything.

Not to mention their shitty kids running around, destroying his equipment and yapping his ear off. Or worse yet, their old haggy wives flashing their saggy tits at him - goodness gracious, does his face say he’s into wrinkled-ass pussy or something?

He thinks the fuck not.

Jungkook plops down on a deck chair and pops a can of coke open, taking a long chug. When he doesn’t have people looming over his ass, he prefers taking things slow. At his own pace. That’s what he’s all about. 

As much as he could wrap things up faster and call it a day, he’s not looking forward to trudging back to the garage. Sunmu the dipshit would be there, of course, nagging at him with this shit or that and he’d rather chill out here - the house is off-limits, locked tight, but the scenery is gorgeous. The house sits on a cliff, with the pool area overlooking the city below. 

It’s private and quiet and damn therapeutic. Like, he could just close his eyes and pretend it’s all his. That he’s not a broke-ass dude about to keel over any day now, but someone who is in control of his life. 

And he does just that. Closes his eyes and leans back, cradling the coke to his chest like one does a lover.

Mind blank of any thought.

The sky above crackles in warning, too close for comfort. And it wakes up goosebumps along his skin as he jostles awake from his little moment of inner peace. His hands flap around, knocking his coke over - it drips all over his tank top. 

Nice, Jungkook thinks. 

Of-fucking-course, it must rain today of all days. He scrambles up to his feet, ready to start hauling all the gear back into his truck when IT happens.

At first, he is not even sure what IT even is. One moment, he’s one grouchy mess, spewing dozens of profanities at no one in particular while tugging at his stained top in a retarded attempt to shake the mess off. And the next-

Something, fairly massive and spherical, materializes a few inches above the pool before plunging into water like a dead weight. Jungkook can only manage an undignified squawk before the impact wave sends him flying into the thorny shrubs framing the pool.

Mother-fucker.

When he drags his ass back from the shrubs, drenched from head to toe and covered in scratches, all he knows is that his stained shirt is the least of his problems now, because this…

What the fuck is this? he thinks, staring agog at the offender, hogging the pool now.

It looks like…something.

Maybe a futuristic car or a flying vessel of some sort. He has no clue, really. What it is or where it came from, but it’s here, right in his face, obstructing his work. Like a bastard.

He’ll have to call up a tow truck or something to pluck this sucker out, which will take forever and there go his plans for Friday night out.

Jungkook walks around the pool, inspecting the strange contraption from all sides. It’s slick and round and very, very chrome. Perhaps - a submarine. Some ultra-slick technology with masking abilities. Which apparently can fly, but not very well, otherwise, how the fuck it’d ended up stuck in his pool.

Those rich fucks and their stupid malfunctioning toys, eh. 

Jungkook sighs and kicks the empty coke can lying about. It flies off towards the pod, ricocheting right off its shiny cask with a sharp clank. And now he has even more trash to dredge up from the puddle bellow. What joy.

As he is about to roll over and wail in self-pity, the pod wakes up with a tremor, sending shallow ripples over the water. Jungkook freezes, frantically thinking over his choices - his gut reaction is to hightail the fuck out of here, because the thing is starting to show signs of life and it doesn’t sit well with Jungkook, not one bit.

He better scram and scram fast. Fuck the money and his uncle - especially his uncle - no one told him scrubbing pools involved close encounters of the third kind.

He makes to do just that but doesn’t make it too far as he bumps into someone, loosing his balance and sending them both to the ground. With a groan, he opens his eyes to stare at the unfortunate soul who had to bear the brunt of the fall on their- his. 

It’s definitely a he. A he so stunning Jungkook’s jaw goes slack and his brain radio-silent. Meanwhile, the he doesn’t waste any time making the most of their proximity as he slithers his hands around Jungkook’s neck and presses against him in a soft sweet kiss.

A supernova goes off at the back of his skull. 

It was awesome.

“Hello,” the other says, a quality to his voice that is out of this world. He must be out of this world, because how?

“I’m Jimin.”

“Hi,” Jungkook says.

A dumb grin takes over his face.

He’s tingly all over. He thinks he’s in love. 

“You’re gorgeous, Jimin-ah. Will you marry me?”

“Marry?” Jimin says tentatively as if testing the word on his tongue. His lips are pretty and full, forming a perpetual pout. It’s adorable. “I can’t marry. I need to mate.”

“Oh.” That throws Jungkook for a loop, as his heart swells with emotion. “Mate who?”

“You,” Jimin smiles. “Serendipity has chosen you as the most suitable candidate within this quadrant of our galaxy. We’re compatible.”

“Wow,” Jungkook whispers. He understands jack shit, but it does feel like serendipity, doesn't it. Just a moment ago, he was one miserable son of a bitch and now…he’s the luckiest son of a bitch in the whole fucking quadrant of their galaxy. 

“You do know I’m scrubbing pools for a living, right?”

He props himself up on his hands, hovering over the gorgeous Jimin and eyeing him like a candy on a stick. Jimin has pretty dainty hands. They are always in motion, feelings up Jungkook’s arm muscles, bulging all prettily just for him - this shameless little minx.

“I know everything about you,” Jimin says, his voice washing over Jungkook’s mind like a gentle summer tide.

Turns his brain all mush-mush. 

“Every second of your waking moment. Every dream, every thought you’ve had. Serendipity has shown me all of it.”

Whomever this Serendipity is, Jungkook hopes it didn’t show every single thought he had. After a certain age, they’d gotten rather repetitive and tended to fixate mostly on things below the belt - which is not the image of himself he wants to project into this world. 

“You’re thinking too much,” Jimin purrs, tapping his temple lightly.

His hands wind up in Jungkook’s hair, massaging the scalp and down his neck. His touches are flitting, almost shy and it kindles longing in Jungkook like never before. It tramples all of the questions budding in his head. Melting reason away. Before he knows they’re kissing again and it plays out like a dream. 

He’s doing something, but he’s not really in control. It feels good. Peaceful, he’s in a safe place. Jimin’s touches are weightless and tender as he maps out his body with the very tips of his fingers. 

Like he can reach everywhere - can touch anywhere.

The moment something prods his mind, gentle and soothing - akin to a light breeze caressing the leaves - Jungkook shivers. Falls under. A feeling like no other. Floating, like a little air bubble. 

It’s gone as sudden as it came and Jungkook finds himself yearning.

“We can’t do it here,” Jimin says as they both move upright in sync. He grabs Jungkook’s hand. “Let’s go. Serendipity will have to stay here for now.”

“Serendipity?” Jungkook asks, shaking off the drowsiness as his brain slowly kicks back into gear. “You mean that pod thing?”

“Don’t call her ‘a thing’,” Jimin chides. “She has feelings. Quite a temper, too.”

“Damn, a she-pod with feelings”.

They’re standing now with Jimin plastered against his chest and nuzzling his mighty pec. Not awkward at all. 

“She’s a ship. The most intelligent ship in the whole galaxy. Completely self-aware,” Jimin says, exploring the vastness of Jungkook’s chest with his curious palms now. Jungkook starts to notice a certain obsession here of a tactile nature, but can’t find it in himself to complain. “Be kind to her.”

“I am kind,” Jungkook says. “I’m like...wait, who are you?”

“I’m Jimin.”

“Okay,” Jungkook nods. “But what kind of Jimin are you? Where did you come from? You’re not with the Joneses here, are you?”

With the burden of rational thinking, Jungkook slumps into a realization that he has questions. And he must ask them. 

“No, I’m from space,” Jimin says like it’s not big deal. “We need to go,” he commands, taking charge and dragging Jungkook along.

“Space? Wow,” Jungkook says. “That’s, ah, nice, I guess. Never been myself, what with the radiation and minus fuck-ton degrees, you know. Transportation kinda sucks, too. I don’t know if you’re aware but we’re kinda still in the stone age or whatever, but, ehm...remember when I was lying on top of you, with our private parts perfectly aligned? That was nice too, wanna, ehm, do that again?”

“Here is not safe,” Jimin says and at least, it’s not a no. “Serendipity can hide herself well enough, but it’s a matter of time before he tracks me down. And if that happens, I don’t want him to track me down right next to her.”

“Who’s he?” 

“Just a man who never gives up what’s his.”

“You mean, like, ex-boyfriend?” Jungkook asks, swallowing down an annoying spike of jealousy. “Do you even have boyfriends in space?”

“I meant Serendipity, not me,” Jimin says. “And yes, we do have boyfriends up there in space. You don’t have to worry though, he’s been mated for the past five hundred years. He’s that boring.”

Jungkook lets out a low whistle.

“If his mate looks anything like you, that’s understandable.”

[caracalfeather]

WARNING- Cats and Birds is a mob AU fanfiction of the Arcana game, and is not meant for young audiences and is not meant to offend anyone. Some writing choices were made so characters are out of their canon way of acting and thinking. Please do not be offended by character choices made by the authors and content creators, this story was made for fun and in the way we wanted it to be. The story was not hijacked by any of the authors to make any ships or characters overshadow any other. All content contained in this story has been agreed upon and accepted by all parties in it’s creation.

TW- Cats and Birds contains scenes that may not be suitable with some readers, including themes of violence, smoking/drug use, sex, cursing and various other strong themes. Special warnings for scenes will be posted with chapters. Proceed with caution and Reader’s discretion is advised.

23

Months past, and after everything was said and done Lyra called Rose from out in the park which separated the shop from her apartment.

“I figured you’d call.” Rose chuckled. She was in a car, music playing behind her.

Lyra laughed on the other end, “how did you know it was me?”

“I have your number saved in my phone.” She smiled “What’s up?”

“Well...I thought you’d like to know that Julian and I are getting married.” She smiled, “I wanted to invite you to the wedding. If you have the time.”

“I'm actually going to spain…” Rose sighed “So i don't think i can...”

“Really?” She frowned, “that’s a shame, Julian really wanted you to come.”

“I know…Alright. I'll try to make it.” Rose chuckled

“You better.” Lyra chuckled,”otherwise Madeve is going to throw a fit”

Rose laughed “Noted. I have to go.. Be Careful….okay?”

“I will.” She sighed, “have fun in Spain, oh and if you visit France….please don’t look me up.”

Rose Laughed “Trust me. Neither of us wants to go that deep in history. I'll see you later lyra.” with a chuckle, she hung up.

Lyra smiled and looked up at the clouds coming in. She retreated back into her apartment and sat out on the fire escape with Madeve.

A few more weeks passed, and surprisingly, Rose showed up. She stood at the back during the beautiful ceremony, trying to look a little happy for them.

Lyra and Julian were both in tears. They could hardly say their vows without breaking down. They had both wanted this to happen for so long and now that it was. It was just so surreal. The park between their home and their little shop was the perfect place to host it. They couldn’t have asked for better weather. As the vows were said and the official kiss was shared Julian and Lyra turned to their friends, new and old. Lyra caught sight of Rose first and her smile got brighter as she waved to her slightly, just before Julian swept her off her feet and down the aisle.

Rose couldny help but chuckle at the sight. He was finally happy, thank the gods. She followed the crowd to the reception, staying back to watch everyone party. She hadn't planned on staying long, she had business to take care of.

Julian stood next to her, “you made it after all.”

“Yeah. Lyra called and convinced me to think about everything. So I decided to show up.’’ She looked at the beautiful bride and leaned against the wall “...Finally made the right choice on who to marry.”

Julian shook his head. “I should’ve done it 7 years ago.” He turned to her, “you never answered my question...so I’m going to ask again. Are you pregnant?”

She sighed and glanced at him “...I was.” She left it at that, turning away.

He placed a hand on her shoulder, “oh gods Rose I’m so sorry.”

“Don't pity me.” Rose moved his hand away and looked at him “And...only one died, if that's what you thought.”

Julian’s eyes flashed, “one? Oh wow….if there’s anything that Lyra and I can do...we would be more than happy to help.”

“I'll remember that.. But for right now, you need to focus on being a good husband for her.” Rose looked at him “You were shitty to me. And I was shitty to you. Do not hide shit from her ilya, it only hurts people. And she doesn't deserve to be treated the way I was.”

“You’re right.” Julian sighed, “still it’s exciting knowing that I’m a father. Anyways...you deserve happiness Rose. I hope you’re finding it in Spain, and with our child.”

Lyra came running over, practically tripping over her skirts, she laughed and opened her arms to hug Rose. “I’m so glad you could come!!”

“I'm glad i could too! You're so beautiful.” Rose hugged her back and sighed “I'm afraid I can't stay long, I have business to attend to outside town.”

“Well thank you for coming regardless!” She smiled, Soren, one of the men in Julian’s mob who was now living life in Spain, ran over to Lyra seeing her trip. He grabbed her by the shoulder and examined her, “Lyra Honey! Are you ok?!? Your hem didn’t tear did it? Your hair looks good,” he circled her muttering to himself before approving Lyra with a nod. “You’re fine sweetie. Pretty as a Princess.” Swing Rose his smile changed to a smirk as he flared out his cape. “Well, Well...long time no see Kitten.”

“Don't make me cut your throat Soren. You know not to call me that.” Rose huffed and crossed her arms “...Plume says hello by the way. He figured you’d be here.”

“Of course I’m here honey.” Sorren smiled, gesturing to Julian and Lyra with a proud smile, “who else was going to make these two look fabulous on their big day. And for the last time.”

Lyra blushes and Julian laughed. Before returning to the guests Soren frowned at Rose. “Hey if you see that asshole of a brother of mine anytime soon tell him to come see me. I miss seeing my stupid twin’s dark himbo face everyday.”

Rose laughed and nodded “Will do. He’s pretty happy from what I hear.” She looked after Lyra and Julian with a soft sigh “Well.. I have to go.” Without a goodbye, she disappeared. She had things to do.

Later that night, a storm had started, making the rain pour hard. Outside, someone buzzed the newlywed’s apartment, camouflaged in the night rain. No one could have guessed that the cat was still there. After one final look at the bundle, she ran off.

After a few long hours of lovemaking the storm rolled in. Lyra was cowering against Julian as the storm raged on he lifted his head from the fort he constructed in the bedroom.

“Who the hell is out in this weather?”

Lyra clung to him, “please don’t leave.”

He hushed her and kissed her forehead. “I’ll only be a minute my sapphire.”

Actually putting on some pants he went out the building, searching the doorway for whoever interrupted their night of peace.

The basket was barely noticeable in the night, all you could see was the dark green bundle, holding a tiny whining little girl and the note on her blanket. The wind howled with her whines.

Julian cursed under his breath, he picked up the note and opened it. Sitting down on the steps as he pulled the little angel close.

“Ilya. No child should have to live the life we did. Please. Take care of our little girl. Her name is Vela. After the stars.~ R” it read. Vela nuzzled into his warm chest. She looked exactly like ilya, with a mix of light auburn curls.

He looked down at her with a smile, “Rose you sly cat. She is perfect.” Julian stood up and went back to his home.

Lyra was very excited to have Vela. Rose gave her the one thing she could never have. As soon as Julian explained Lyra welcomed Vela into her arms as if she were her own. And the storm...didn’t bother her for the rest of the night. They just sat in silence, the three of them, today had been the greatest day of their lives. It was only the beginning of the great future The Raven and his Songbird always wanted.

End

Years later

Spain was peaceful compared to the streets of LA. Rose sat on a balcony, sipping some coffee as one of her men, Vice, came to stand next to her. “So. We have the plan set in motion. We just need someone who can do the job.” Rose sighed, setting down her cup “Well i cant call plume, and Naga is busy…” Vice handed her a piece of paper “If i may… We could always employ him again.” Rose was quiet, examining the text and photo in hands before smiling “Vice. Get my phone. We have a bird to find.”

Miles away, out of sight and out of mind. The cell phone of an old friend rang. Looking over his shoulder at his wife he ducked into the kitchen.

“Whatever you want, it doesn’t concern me. The Black Raven is out of commission.”

Rose chucked into the receiver “Oh come on old friend. Is that any way to greet The Queen of spain?” she shited the phone slightly, sitting down “But really…. We need the Raven back. Immediately.”

[theangriestpea]

In the Shadows : Seven

Summary: Jughead Jones, resident werewolf, just wants to protect his family and his pack from the incoming doom of The Red Circle. Sweet Pea and Lily join him to help keep the Southside safe from human tyranny. Meanwhile a demon princess named Myra and succubus named Lavender had a plan to bring on the apocalypse. <ao3> <masterlist> <playlist>

Rating: Mature // Explicit

Pairings: Jughead Jones x OC, Sweet Pea x OC, Kurtz x OC

Warnings: Depictions of violence, (very) minor character death

Word Count: 5k+

A/N:  This chapter felt a bit forced on my end and I apologize for that. Some much needed plot things had to happen and they were, quite frankly, a bore to write except the last scene. That I did have fun with. This chapter has a few warnings, please be mindful of them. Check out my release schedule for upcoming works!

Part Seven: Protection 

Lavender awoke to a new series of hot pain. Her eyes snapped open abruptly and she let out a startled cry only to find Sweet Pea hanging over her. He had been putting the burn salve onto her hand print shaped wound. He said nothing as she struggled to sit up in the bed, tired of laying down. “A little warning would have been nice.” She hissed at him angrily.

Sweet Pea resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Instead his gaze bared down on her. “Do you want her?”

Confusion washed over the demon’s face, “what are you talking about? Do I want who?”

“Our daughter.” He said, voice devoid of any emotion. She really had no idea what brought this on because he himself showed no interest in the unborn child within her womb.

Lav’s hand went to her stomach, her palm placed flat against it. She was looking down and visualizing the aura of the spell that continued to protect her. Somehow she had forgotten all about the pain in her shoulder with this new oncoming conversation. Did she want her?

“I do.” The succubus finally said in a small and defeated voice. “You have no idea what it’s doing to me knowing that she will be ripped from my arms as soon as she is born.” A single clear tear slipped down her cheeks that were stained from the blacks ones she had produced earlier. It looked as if she had cried off an entire tube of mascara. “I’m not all demon, you know. I’ve got half of a human heart still in me.”

Sweet Pea sat down on the edge of the bed, his back to her as he ran a hand through his hair. He let out a tired sigh, having not gotten much sleep that night….or any night since his soul departed his corporal form. Being reminded that she was a hybrid was a bit sobering to him. He supposed she did have human feelings after all.

“Why does she want the child?” Sweet Pea asked, having a feeling that he wasn’t going to get a direct answer. He was right.

Lav tensed at his question. “I am not at liberty to stay.” She stammered, not wanting to anger him when she was really too weak to fend for herself. This wasn’t like back in the storeroom of the Wyrm when she had the necessary power to flip the dynamics if she needed to. She was at a clear disadvantage.

He scoffed at her reply, figuring she would say something of the sort. “Would you fight to keep her? Or do you want to be a slut slave forever?”

She frowned at the back of his head, feeling the urge to push him off the bed with her last remaining willpower. Instead she gripped the sheets tightly in her hands. “I was tricked into slavery, you asshole of a human. I didn’t choose this. Of course I would fight to keep her but Myra...Myra could bind me to hell and make me the sex slave of any demon that wanted to purchase me at the snap of her fingers. Where I’d be starved until I was driven mad. Used in whatever way they wished. Despite what you think, my consent does matter in what I let you do to me. It doesn’t to other demons. I’m strong compared to anyone on Earth but not in hell.”

Lav struggled to get out of bed, having to hold onto the wall. She was so hungry that it hurt. “You think what happened at that shitty bar between us was some kind of revenge fuck against me? It was me having a bit of fun, Sweet Pea. I can make you do all kinds of things because at the end of the day you’re still nothing but a human.”

Sweet Pea stood, an angry breath huffing out through his flared nostrils. “You’re incredibly naive if you think that other demon will take any kind of care of our child. Demons don’t raise children. Your mother didn’t raise you. She abandoned you. Myra, whoever the fuck that is, will do the same. She’ll use her and then toss her into the trash. And where will you be? Still grovelling at her feet? You’re fucking pathetic. You say you have power but you have no power at all. You’re just a puppet.”

Her knees shook under her weight as her own rage surged at his words. She was just a puppet for Myra’s bidding, but that wasn’t at all what she wanted to be. Before she had wanted her freedom more than anything in the entire world. Now...now all she wanted was to raise her baby in peace. “What do you suggest I do then?” She asked, her voice no longer harsh and rigid. It was frail under the complexity of the situation, threatening to crumble with her mind at any moment.

“After I get my soul back, we will find a way to free you from your demon.” Sweet Pea said, moving closer to her, “and we’ll co parent like Lily and I do with Daisy. I’m not going to just throw my child away, even if someone like you is the mother.”

Someone like me, Lav pondered the ache in her heart at the sentiment. Was she really that bad? She figured to someone like Sweet Pea, she was. He grabbed her by the upper arms, pulling her up straight and baring her weight within his grip so she could finally stand properly. “If you’re right, if that dumb ass wolf is her soulmate, then Lily is going to be the most powerful witch in this shitty town. No one will be able to stop her, not even a demon. She can free you from whatever contract you’re bound under. She can protect us all.”

The succubus stared at him, exhaustion evident in her hazel eyes. “Would she do that? For me?”

“No.” Sweet Pea corrected, “She’ll do it for me.”

+++

It was mere hours before the full moon would rise and Jughead was anxiously pacing outside of the small cottage in Fox Forest. His pack was already within the woods, seeking shelter as they knew the threat would come closer and closer with the falling sun.

Lily, Sweet Pea, and Lavender were inside, sitting around a sigil painted onto the floor with various crystals and herbs placed strategically inside their circle of bodies. They were holding hands, their magical energies meshing together.

“Your wolf is ruining my concentration.” Sweet Pea grumbled angrily as they could all three hear him ranting his worries to himself just outside the door. He didn’t want them to see him change. It was not a pleasant sight and it was something he wished to keep to himself. But, the boxer clad werewolf was making way too much noise.

The white witch let out a small sigh as she broke their circle to go to him. She opened the door, closing it behind her as she approached him, “Juggie. Come here.”

“Lils, you should be getting ready for the spell, what are you-” She pulled him down for a kiss before he could continue. Jughead immediately stopped and kissed her back with great care.

Lily pulled away, “Calm down. We can’t concentrate with you out here cursing at all the Archie Andrews’ in the world. It will be fine. We have enough power between the three of us to protect everyone easily.”

He sighed, “I’m sorry. I’ll just...take a seat and wait. I didn’t realize I was being that loud.”

She smiled at him softly, fingers brushing the hair from in front of his eyes. “I know. It’s okay, just relax. We’ll take care of this. Everyone will be okay come sunrise, I promise. I should warn you though, it’s going to rain. Hard.”

“That’s fine as long as you don’t mind wet dog smell.” Jughead said. Although it came off sounding like a joke he was being totally serious. Lily chuckled at him before releasing him and going back inside.

Sweet Pea had a disgusted look on his face while Lavender was smiling brightly. Lily pretended not to notice either of them as she sat back down and held out her hands for them to grab.

Once their energies were well in sync again, Lily began to chant. They would have to hold this spell for several hours for it to be strong enough to last all night. It would also take an enormous amount of energy from all of them but Lavender had brought some kind of powder with her to take once they were done. She wouldn’t say what it was, but Lily had an inkling of what it could be.

Time passed and an unseen aura filled the forest through the veins of the trees. Only those with magical abilities could see the faint green glow on the thriving plants. The dense foliage was alight with a protective magic so strong that it was unprecedented in the history of Riverdale. Light and dark create such a bond that it cannot be broken.

While they were performing the spell, Jughead and the rest of the Southside wolves had turned into their truest form and were doing their monthly run of the woods. All but one ran in large groups for added protection. All but Jughead Jones, heir to the Jones pack, and the dark to Lily’s light. She had sent him on a special quest of his own. One that was important for him to complete if it was at all possible.

The rain came down so hard that the canopy of the trees provided minimal cover. The downpour came in waves, gentle thunder rolling in the background. On the edge of the forest, in the torrential rains were a band of humans led by one with fiery red hair. The Red Circle had arrived and the group were more on edge than ever as howl after howl joined the melodious sounds of the storm.

They attempted to pour the accelerant, but the rain washed it all away. The wind put out their flames as soon as they ignited. They tried for hours, waiting for the storm to subside but alas it only grew stronger with each passing minute. It was no use. The wolves would not perish on this night and the growling amongst the brush had them afraid for their lives. Sure they had their silver bullets but were any of them that great of a shot? Silver bullets were weighted differently, they shot differently, and there wasn’t enough ammo to practice with for anyone to become accurate in firing it. And no one wanted to put themselves at point blank with a werewolf. Not even the fearless Archie Andrews himself.

When the moon reached its zenith, the two and a half witches finally broke the circle. Lily’s energy was low but she was perhaps in the best shape of the three of them. Sweet Pea nearly passed out where he sat on the floor, barely able to keep his eyes open.

“Lily, may I trouble you for some hot water?” Lav asked as she picked up the vile of white powder from the floor. “I can’t even begin to describe how fucking hungry I am after that. If I could go out there then I’d take every last soul from that idiotic Circle of humans and still need more.”

Lily smiled as she stood. “Sure. I think we could all use some tea.” She gave Sweet Pea a sideways glance that he couldn’t quite decipher other than smugness at her remaining strength.

Lavender yawned. She was finally starting to feel the telltale signs of human pregnancy. Mornings were the worst in terms of sickness. All she wanted to do was sleep but she had to eat. She had to feed or Myra would force her to feed. The concoction she had created that was currently in Lav’s hand would do in a pinch, however it was incredibly difficult to make. It required...sacrifice. One that did not sit well with the demon.

She managed to stand and make her way to the couch, sitting down with a loud plop as she waited. Lily brought her the steaming mug and Lav carefully added about half the vile of powder. Tendrils of purple steam rose up from the water, curling with the air before disappearing forever. Lav drank and she drank hungrily.

Both witches watched her, wondering what kind of potion she had just consumed. Sweet Pea was a tad more interested as he was the acclaimed potions expert of the two. He always loved to learn more about new brews, especially unearthly ones. “What is it?” He asked, his curiosity beating his general distaste for her. Well, what he thought was distaste. It was actually just resistance to the fact that they were tied by fate.

“Souls.” Lav said, decided to be honest. “Concentrated souls. Tastes terrible and is most certainly not ethically sourced. I prefer not to resort to it but when I get too hungry Myra likes to pop in and see what exactly it is I’m doing. Obviously we do not want her here, especially after she forbade me from being in the presences of either of you.”

Sweet Pea looked at Lily who was attempting to hide her frown behind her cup of tea. He saw it but the succubus did not. “What do you mean, not ethically sourced. What soul is?”

“I don’t feed on innocent souls.” Lavender said, waving her hand in the air as if she was batting away the accusation that she did. “Full blooded succubae enjoy that, sure. But they were never human. I was a human for nineteen years. That’s why I don’t feed on children, or virgins, or people who have simply lived their lives without doing anything wrong. The list is far smaller than you’d think.”

“So the souls used to make that were from innocent people?” Lily asked, her displeasure showing.

Lav sighed, “which is exactly why I don’t like taking it but it can’t be helped. Myra can’t kill Lily but she can kill every other mortal in this house. Obviously that is worse than me consuming innocence this one time….”

Sweet Pea immediately went on the defensive, “It’s fine, Lily. She’s just keeping Daisy safe.” He didn’t care about himself dying. His soul was already in hell. All he cared about now was his daughter and her safety. Even without a soul he could not forsake her. Which is why a part of him could not forsake the demon in front of him either, as much as he wanted to.

The shorter witch relaxed, if only but a fraction. “Why use an innocent soul? Why not a soul from hell already?” She asked, her voice soft now.

“Because they’re not as strong. One innocent soul is more filling than a handful of damned ones. Myra wants me to feed on the innocent but I refuse. So far she has not forced me to drop my normal feeding habits, but I fear she will the farther along I get.” Lav paused, about to continue when Sweet Pea interrupted her.

“That is why we are freeing you after I get my soul back.” He said sharply. “So you can stop being some demon’s personal incubator.”

Lily nodded her head in agreement, “I should have enough power to break whatever bond you two have. It won’t be easy but it’s not impossible.”

Lav stared at her, wondering if she was truly powerful enough. “If you fail. She will kill everyone you’ve ever loved. Including Jughead. For some reason she can’t kill you but she’ll do something much worse.”

“That is the risk I’m willing to take.” Lily replied stubbornly. She was not about to lose in a battle of wills to some demon princess.

Deep in the forest, Jughead was trying to follow a quickly fading scent trail. The rain was making it incredibly difficult as it would wash away within moments. Luckily he was close enough that time was on his side. He crept through a cluster of bushes, listening to the sounds of teeth gnawing on flesh and bone.

He broke through the thicket and saw the large white wolf with matted fur feasting on a dead deer. The buck’s black eyes seemed to be staring right at the Jones wolf, daring him to make his presence known.

The vargulf was getting sicker. He smelled much worse than he had before, like a wolf knocking on death’s door. While he wasn’t necessarily weaker, his wits wouldn’t be about him as they once had been. Fighting him could easily be a fight to the death and currently Jughead was unsure if that was one he could win.

Despite the clear disadvantage, he knew what he had to do. The vargulf had attacked Lily twice now and it was prowling the trailer park more and more, probably due to Lily spending more time at his trailer. The wolf didn’t seem to recognize her when she was in her feline form. This had been her saving grace thus far.

Jug crept further from the safety of the brush. Once he was completely in the clearing, he put his weight back on his haunches before leaping forward with his mouth open to hopefully clamp down on a vital spot.

Before he could land the blow, the white wolf turned. His muzzle and chest were dyed red from the blood of the deer. He swiftly avoided the attack, quickly turning to launch his own.

Teeth and fangs clashed, claws ripped at weak folds of skin that gave way to blood. They were both strong but in the end only one was stronger...Jughead stood, the throat of the vargulf in his jaws. His grip was vice but it was not deadly. He did not want to kill despite how this wolf’s death would solve so many of their problems. No, in the end Jughead Jones just wasn’t going to be reborn a killer on this night. Instead he chose mercy.

There was a way they could save him, and that thought alone is what kept Jughead from snapping his jowls shut and thrashing his head to tear out the innards of the white wolf’s throat. The deepest, darkest part of him wanted this creature to perish. That part of him did not win on this full moon. Despite being so incredibly far from humanity at this moment, he did something that was perhaps more human than anything. He dropped the flesh from his mouth and watched as the vargulf scrambled to his feet before running away.

Lightning crackled above and the rain washed away most of the blood. He bent down and observed a long gash on his right foreleg. The taste of blood was thick on his tongue, however none of it was his own. He needed it for Lily so she could track the vargulf with magic.

As the moon began to set, Jughead limped back to the cottage. Once he was a few paces away, Lily threw open the door and ran to him, throwing her arms around him in a tight hug, uncaring if she got drenched in the process. “I was so worried,” She murmured to him as her residual magic began to heal his wounds through touch alone. “I could feel every bite, every scratch. I knew you’d win but it still hurt.”

Let’s go inside. Jughead coaxed using their touch to push his thoughts into her. It’s still not safe to be out here.

Lily smiled, unafraid of the impending dangers of inside the forest. She stood and took him inside. “Come to my room so I can collect the blood. And when you change back in a few hours, I’m going to need a recharge.”

Sweet Pea elected to drive Lavender home as he did not want to listen to Lily “recharge”. He himself could use a boost but he found that the demon that usually had no qualms in tempting him into her embrace had been giving him the iciest cold shoulder he had ever received. He knew he had done plenty wrong but he still wasn’t sure why she changed seemingly overnight. After all, she did enjoy sex with him before so why wouldn’t she now?

Lavender was clicking her stiletto nails on the armrest. She could sense his desire and while she did crave the kind of pleasure that only he could give her, she knew she had to resist. Myra would know and the punishment would be greater than just the burning of hellfire on her skin.

“When are we going to tell Lily the truth?” She asked, breaking the silence between them. “Or does she already know?”

Sweet Pea’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. “Later. It can wait.”

Lav turned her head to look at him, “why not just confess? Are you worried she won’t help if she knows that you knocked up another woman during a one night stand?”

He grit his teeth. In fact, that had been the exact reason why he had chosen to omit the detail that he was actually the father of the hybrid growing within the demon. He honestly was not sure how Lily would take the news. If she would finally throw him out for good or not.

“Because she doesn’t need to know right now.” He said, “She needs to concentrate on getting my soul back.”

She rolled her eyes as he stopped outside of her house. After exiting she poked her head back in, “even when you get your soul back, will you be able to handle the weight of the guilt of what you’ve done? Think about it, troll brain, you won’t be able to escape those emotions you feel when you sleep at night. She will not be able to heal the damage done to your soul.”

Lav slammed the car door before going inside, hoping she could change before a very early morning meal.

On the edge of Fox Forest, a heap of mangled fur lay only moving with the flow of labored breaths. The demon princess Myra appeared, falling to her knees and cradling the head of the white vargulf of her own creation in her arms. “My love,” She whispered sadly, “I did this to you. I am so sorry.”

The wolf whined and tried to stand, however his weakness did not allow him to. He simply laid limp in her lap, bleeding out from the wounds Jughead had given him mere hours before. She could heal his flesh wounds but that was about it. His mind and the disease that plagued him...that she could not fix. Not with all the black magic in the world. What she needed was white. Pure white magic. Her tainted love was simply not enough.

After muttering an incantation, Myra was able to reduce his size enough for her to pick him up comfortably, cradling him in her arms as she took him to the closest place she knew. Sunnyside trailer park. The sun was rising but he would not change until she allowed him to. This form she could carry much easier than his human one.

She transported the both of them to the master bathroom as it had a garden tub that would be better suited for soaking him. Lavender had been in her room, adjusting her appearance so that she was blonde. Using makeup and magic to make fake wounds on her as if she’d been attacked. She planned on going after one of those idiot men in The Red Circle. Killing them off one by one would save them a lot of trouble in the future.

She smelled them before she saw them. Kurtz had begun to smell like rotting flesh long before now, but the rain had made it much much worse. Now his scent was worse than roadkill and she had no idea how Myra was going to fix him. She could sense her master’s distress, and was unsure if it was wise for her to check in on them.

“Myra?” Lav called out, appearing in the doorway. Kurtz was in the tub, human and naked now. He was covered in deep wounds that were slowly closing thanks to Myra’s magic. His lips were moving but no sound was coming out as his head lulled to the side.

“Go eat,” Myra hissed at her, hiding her despair with anger, “I don’t have time to deal with you right now.”

The succubus held in a sigh as she put on a pair of Jimmy Choo heels and walked out to find her next victim. Whatever soul she chose, she knew it would never compare to the one she took from her warlock on that night. She was beginning to feel the startings of her morning sickness but ignored it as she set out for breakfast. She realized how much she missed Charlie’s company, but had to tell the wolf to keep her distance for the time being. She didn’t want Myra to kill the one person in all the world who might actually be her friend.

“Kurtz,” Myra whispered as she gently cleaned his face with a washcloth. “Kurtz, please wake up. I need you to wake up now. It’s over. The sun is rising.” Black tears streamed down her pale face.

The man who was once nothing more than a human, opened his light brown eyes to gaze at her. Black rings of exhaustion circled them, making him look more like a raccoon than anything. The holes around his neck caused by teeth were healing, the bruised tissues returning to a more natural color. “What is happening to me?” He said in a struggling exhale. Speaking took more energy than he had at the moment.

She tried to smile, did her damnedest to, but it faltered and fell. “You are sick, my love.” She murmured to him. He had no idea what he was. All he knew was that time would pass and he’d have no memory of it. He’d wake covered in blood, unaware of the death and destruction he had brought. As the weeks went by he lost more and more time. Soon, he feared, there would be nothing but darkness.

“I will get you help, Kurtz.” She murmured, kissing his forehead, “I promise you will be whole once again and no more harm will ever come to you.

+++

“Help!” Lav cried out as she stumbled towards the group, holding one bloodied arm in her hand. “Please, someone help me!”

A tall, buff human man ran to her first as others gasped in shock. “You’re safe now, come on, we’ll protect you.” He would have taken his letterman jacket off and given it to her but it was soaking wet. The blonde wept in his arms, large crocodile tears rolling down her face as he had to carry her to get her to keep up.

“What happened?” Archie asked as his right hand man, Reggie Mantle, came closer with the crying girl in his arms. “Miss, did a wolf attack you?”

“It was a crazy white one, I thought it was going to kill me!” She wailed dramatically as she clung to Reggie, “please, I don’t want to be alone.” With her touch she traced the base of his neck where the collar of his shirt started, forcing her will into him. He wouldn’t be able to resist taking her home.

“You want to stay with me for a bit? You look like you could use some sleep.” He said, body tensing with desire. “I’ll keep you safe.”

“Thank you, thank you so much.” Lav cried, hugging him close and hiding the wicked grin that was spreading across her pink lips.

Once at his apartment, one thing very quickly turned into another. They were kissing passionately on his couch after he made her a cup of coffee that was quickly forgotten. His moves were sloppy and she felt like he was slobbering all of her instead of making out with her. Normally she found fun in the hunt but tonight the guilt of knowing she was hiding a dark secret from Lily was plaguing her.

Clothes were ripped off one another, their naked forms bumping and grinding until he hit his release fairly quickly after entering her. Since having sex with Sweet Pea, all of her little rendezvous with others seemed to fall so very...short. She took very little pleasure in any of this.

As he came she drank in his soul and shifted into her demonic form. Before Reggie could even scream, she was digging into his chest with her claws and ripping his heart out. She remained straddling his corpse as she took a large bite from the organ, savoring the taste of all the misdeeds he had done. At least it was one less idiotic brute to have to worry about.

Lav got off of him, standing and stretching as she found her phone tucked away inside the dress that had been so carelessly taken off her form. She dialed a number, sure that he and Lily would be done for the time being.

“Lavie?” He looked at the time and she heard him groan, “what is it?”

“Do you remember our deal, Jughead?” She asked, putting on a voice full of false innocence.

“You need me to do that now?” He asked, and she could tell how tired he was. It almost made her feel bad. Almost.

Lav was smiling as she made her way into the bathroom of the apartment. “Send some dogs over, it’ll be fine. Just make sure no one sees them. This one was….how do you say it...a VIP?”

The line went silent for a moment. “Who did you kill, Lavender?” Jughead asked, his voice suddenly serious.

She cut on the water, putting it on the hottest setting. “Some meathead named Reggie Mantle. You know, The Red Circle was so willing to help a girl in need. I just simply couldn’t help myself.”

“Lavender…” Jughead said, breathing out an angry sigh, “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

The demon hung up the phone, placed it on the sink basin and stepped into the shower having never been more pleased with herself in her entire life as she was in this exact moment.

Tag List: @the-gargoyle-queen​, @lilhemmo​, @wayward-river​, @southside-vixen​, @princesweetpea​, @redhairdontcare732​  (comment/ask/message if you want to be added or subscribe to AO3)

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[unholyhelbig]

omg haha that was completely my fault for not being specific! especially bc i like the other fic too! if you're considering writing a pt 2 to the one where hope is a surfer you definitely should bc that's my fav ❤️

Read on Ao3 | Send me more Legacies Prompts! | Read Part One Here

[a/n: Thank you so much for the love! As always, writing smut is not my strong suit, so go easy on me!]

Title: Braving the Storm [P2] 

Ship: Lizzie Saltzman/ Hope Mikaelson 

The warm summer wind curled around Hope Mikaelson’s legs, the thick scent of the sea pulled at every inch of her as she walked along the mostly vacant beachfront. The sky was cloudless and large water-washed rocks sat littered with seaweed drawn in from the storm. She reveled in the silence.

Her board had been broken and her keys were somewhere in the sand. Despite the warnings and her pounding headache, she took to searching the stretch of land helplessly. Palm leaves and different patio furniture that hadn’t been bolted down lay crumpled and broken. She had left Lizzie at the store, had flushed, and walked out because she couldn’t even justify what had happened.

Concussion or not, Hope Mikaelson wasn’t one to have a quick fuck in a stock room an play it off like it was nothing. She liked to have a connection, or at least a decent meal with a woman first. Hell- even a last name would settle the odd feeling in her stomach. But no, it wasn’t her.

She frowned and kicked weakly at a pile of sand that could have been a magnificent castle with a trapped princess and a valiant prince who would have been a woman all along; because only someone with the female sense could rescue a girl from a tower that large. Finding her keys was a long shot.

Hope had fastened a pair of fake lifeguard pants around her waist- the word was misprinted and the color was an abrasive shade of red. She flexed her toes in the wet sand and breathed in the overwhelming scent of rain and her own sweat, shockingly glad that Lizzie had forced her to down that much water. It eased the nausea in her stomach.

The world felt like it was on its edge; everyone still huddled in their homes either too drunk to see the light of day or too concerned with the power lines and rising water to venture past thresholds. She stared at the waves like so could see the clear line where it cut off, watched as rolling darkness hurried away.

“You’re following me now?” Hope didn’t tear her eyes away from the ocean.

“I figured if you dropped out of nowhere, you’d want someone around.” Lizzie grimaced before taking a breath “I don’t know how concussions work.”

Hope chuckled and glanced over; Lizzie looked effortlessly captivating in the sunlight. Her hair caught every turn of the wind and her eyes were bluer than the very waves they stared at. Her nose was red and raw and her expression was tired but content. It matched how Hope felt.

“It’s just a little headache, I’ve had a few.”

Lizzie lifted a perfect brow as if prompting her to continue, to fill the unwavering silence of their Eden.

“Before I started surfing, I skated. God, my mom was furious with the choice but knew there was no talking me out of something I was determined to do. She took me to a skate park and without any training, or practice, I took to it. I fell within seconds and she had to take me to urgent care for some stitches. I had a concussion then, too.”

“You sound like you’re stubborn.”

“The best people are.”

Lizzie smiled, and Hope couldn’t tell if it was more to her, or to the world.  Either way, she could feel her palms sweat and her throat tingle. There was an odd pull to Lizzie, one that made her feel like it would be okay to straddle in her a back stock room filled with cheesy t-shirts and multicolored rocks that they bought in bulk.

“I’m not like that,” Hope finally stumbled out.

“Stubborn?”

“No, I’m more stubborn than I’d like to admit. I meant… I’m not someone who plays into that whole surfer stereotype. I don’t just fuck random people because they saved my life, or whatever.” Hope’s cheeks felt hot and she averted her gaze.

Lizzie took a deep breath and turned until she could face Hope entirely, her arms crossed over her chest. “You’re thinking too much. You’re not the only one who got something out of that, you know? Don’t run yourself ragged over something silly.”

“Like morals?”

“Well, I suppose it depends on who you ask, but yes.”

Hope shoved her hands into the pockets of the cheap sweatpants and sighed “it doesn’t bother you in the slightest that I wouldn’t have given you a second glance if it weren’t for this hurricane and a rainbow umbrella?”

“Oh, should it? People don’t tend to notice a girl behind a counter when all they sell is novelty items. Why would someone who lives here have any reason to buy another shirt with the state they live in, embroidered on the breast?”

Hope weighed her options and her outlying guilt. Lizzie had a point- when she first moved here she was captivated by the glass-plated buildings and what they had to offer; the towels that were screen printed with images of sunsets, the key chains flashing with the most common names, and whatever neon toy was on the market.

“So, just sex?” She sounded out.

“Just sex, if that’s something you’re interested in.”

She pursed her lips and turned back to the waves, watching as they pulled a generous amount back out to sea. Hope had never had an offer like this laid out on the table, not so bluntly, anyway. There had been hookups and long term relationships. But never something just focused on the end goal of pleasure.

“Okay,” her voice was slight “Yeah, we can do that.”

Lizzie nodded, seemingly satisfied with herself, before turning and walking back towards the boardwalk. Hope hated the fact that she watched the entire way, and felt an odd type of ache in the bit of her stomach. But maybe that had something to do with the fact that she couldn’t find her keys.

It took two weeks for their small town to feel normal again. The stores had pried wet wood from windows and piled sandbags in sheds instead of at the edges of doors. Hope had been careful and calculated when it came to every visit to the beach after that.

She couldn’t deny the pull it had on her. She had gotten a new board and fished deep in her junk drawer until she found the spare key to the jeep. The beaches were full again and the waves towered enough to get some good days in- and still, Hope couldn’t bring herself to step foot through the doors of the small novelty shop.

She struggled to peel the wet suit from her skin, releasing the top zipper as her bare feet burned against the asphalt. She ignored the wandering stares around her, and the cooks behind the nearest restaurant as they puffed in smoke before slowly letting it fill the air.

Hope moved the rest of the wetsuit down and threw it in her trunk, feeling the stifling summer air against her mostly bare skin. She started to dig helplessly through her backseat in search of a large t-shirt or even a pair of pants.

“I can’t say I’m not enjoying the view.”

She straightened out, a flash of anger moving through her. Hope dug her nails into her palm and turned to face the culprit “Would you still enjoy the view if I- oh,”

Lizzie had a smug smile on her face, and Hope cursed herself for feeling that familiar rush of heat. “I haven’t seen you in a while. You’re not rethinking our deal, are you?”

“No, of course not, I’ve just been a little tied up is all.” Hope spoke too fast for her own good and Lizzie was quick to take notice, but nice enough not to say anything in the first place. She knew her cheeks were a soft pink but chalked it up to the sun that beat against them.

The blonde leaned forward, she smelled like sunscreen “How’s your head?”

“It’s fine.” Hope lifted an eyebrow cautiously “Oh, um, I mean- it still kind of hurts. Maybe you could get a better look at it… in my car.”

Lizzie schooled her stance and her smile twinkled as if she was just given an invitation for a massive masquerade ball complete with freshly clipped roses and fancy platters of food. Not the backseat of a used Jeep that had a healthy coating of sand on the floor.

Hope opened the door further, like a real gentleman and watched carefully as Lizzie climbed in before doing the same herself. And she hadn’t really thought this all the way through- because the riskiest place she had ever had sex was a few weeks back in the middle of a category five.

Now they were in the back corner of a parking lot that was surrounded by a weather-washed fence and the backs of a few shops. She suddenly felt like she was exposing more than Lizzie was- still in her work uniform of jean shorts and a t-shirt while Hope sported a black bikini, showing the full expanse of her stomach, arms, and legs. Lizzie traced every inch while Hope leaned forward and locked the doors.

“Your car is nice,” Lizzie managed

“It’s a piece of junk, but thank you for trying.”

“Come here.”

Hope allowed herself to be guided to Lizzie’s side of the car by the top strap of her suit. It hadn’t been hard enough to unloop it, but she was effectively in Lizzie’s lap, a tongue running over the roof of her mouth in a matter of seconds. She wasn’t sure which one of them moaned first, but it lit a fire deep that ran deep against her skin as Lizzie’s hands wandered.

Hope bit down softly on Lizzie’s lower lip before running her tongue over it and moving her touch to Lizzie’s jaw. “I’m in charge this time,” She spoke in a low snarl.

“And what makes you figure that?”

She moved to Lizzie’s pulse point, feeling it quicken under her lips “My shitty car, my rules.”

Hope didn’t’ hear a further objection, just a small whimper of pleasure as she looped her fingers around the bottom of Lizzie’s shirt and pulled it over her head. Hope hadn’t been one to take control before- the nerves of starting a relationship, or lack thereof, like this was teeming at the back of her mind. But not when Lizzie was under her like this. Exposed.

She unhooked the latch of her bra, throwing the flimsy fabric into the backseat with her wetsuit. Hope could feel her own heart rate rise as she got a good look at Lizzie; the way her skin seemed soft, breasts flawless in the early evening lights. She knew in that moment that she wanted to watch Lizzie unravel completely. She wanted to be the cause of it.

Hope kissed softly down Lizzie’s chest, nipping tenderly, her stomach heaving up and down with hot breath. “Stop teasing.” She hummed through clenched teeth, fingers digging into the leather seats.

The button to Lizzie’s pants were easily undone, and she eagerly lifted from the seat long enough for Hope to slide the shorts down to her ankles before they were discarded entirely among the sandy floors. Hope lowered herself, even more, running her nails against Lizzie’s sides.

“You know,” She spoke against Lizzie’s thigh, biting down soft enough to elicit a moan of pleasure, “I thought this idea of yours was pretty crazy.”

“Uh huh,”

Lizzie wasn’t listening, and Hope knew that. She was trying to scoot down the seat to bring Hope’s mouth closer. But the shorter girl had a good hold on each of her legs, moving just a bit closer to her sex.

“It’s starting to grow on me a little bit.” Hope ran her tongue over the little bite mark she had left on the inside of Lizzie’s thigh “Unless my priorities are all out of wack.”

“Hope, don’t take this the wrong way.” Lizzie moved her hand from the seat to the girl's chin, pulling her gaze up until blue met a deeper hue of cobalt. “I don’t care about your priorities unless one of them is screaming at you to get on with it, and fuck me.”

She blew out a puff of air and smiled “Message received.”

Hope returned back to her task, pushing Lizzie’s legs further apart before shifting the strip of wet fabric to the side. She breathed in the scent of lavender before running her tongue over Lizzie’s slit, just barely tasting her. The girl writhed beneath her and let out a shuddered breath at the quick contact.

She had reveled in the fact that Lizzie hated to be teased, ghosting her lips over her clit, hot and heavy. Hope knew what she was doing, knew how to trace little patterns, and suck with just the right amount of pressure until Lizzie shook under her touch. She dug her hand into Auburn locks.

“Keep going,” Lizzie husked, clenching her eyes shut to avoid staring at the fuzzy gray ceiling.

Hope followed the command, changing her pace as she ran her tongue over the small bundle of nerves in a steady rhythm until she felt Lizzie’s body fall rigid. Her own hair being pulled as Lizzie bit down hard enough on her bottom lip to draw blood, to keep from screaming loud enough to catch the attention of anyone who happened to be in the parking lot.

Her chest heaved, her mouth dry as Hope pulled away and moved her thumb against the corner of her lip, a satisfied grin on her face.  Lizzie was coated in an even sheen of sweat, her fingers grasping at her t-shirt. She pulled it over her head, finally catching her bearings.

“I might like you better when you’re not talking.” She sniffed, sitting up as she reached for her shorts.

“Thank you, I think?” Hope pushed herself onto the back seat, moving her hands against her knees to brush off the rest of the sand. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“I meant it as one. But maybe next time, can we do this somewhere that isn’t your car?” Lizzie moved an old energy drink can from where her back had been resting. “Not that this isn’t great, or anything.”

Hope scoffed and pulled that random shirt that she finally found over her head. Her skin was hot and the sand was scratching close to her skin. But it was better than the sudden blush that bloomed against her skin.

She smiled. “Message received.”

[janiedean]

I'm sorry a portion of the fandom you virtually helped to create is being so shitty to you. I'm shocked people don't realize that half that content wouldn't even exist without you doing the work to make it happen... but if I say that anon was right about everything, can I get a song analysis about Devils and Dust? ;)

thank you dear T__T it’s appreciated ;)

aaand OF COURSE YOU CAN GET IT!!!! thank you very much for the input ;)

devils and dust is a song by his almighty bruceness for his eponymous record from 2005, which was incidentally behind the tour that was my first bruce concert so I loooveee it ;) (also watch that video he’s hot as hell in it), which as usual goes back to his Let’s Tackle PTSD In War Vets topic... except that this time it’s definitely an iraq war veteran and not a vietnam one. you absolutely should listen to it because it’s Very Good before I actually go into it u__u so, lyrics!

I got my finger on the triggerBut I don't know who to trustWhen I look into your eyesThere's just devils and dust

so, opening: we have the straight-up image of someone who’s about to shoot someone and doesn’t know who to trust, so it’s already Not Good A Situation; on top of that, he says he’s looking into someone’s eyes - considering that this introduction is throwing you into the character and then the rest of the song eviscerates those four lines, it has to be his wife as we’ll see later because he doesn’t expect to see devils and dust, but it’s JUST that. now, the dust in this case sounds blatantly like desert sand to me (and it doesn’t give you a vietnam imagery) which is why I think it’s iraq war, also because the record came out just out of the first bush presidency and into the second, and we all know where bruce stands politically.

so: he’s looking at his most likely partner, expecting something in their eyes but he just sees the war he’s left behind, and he’s about to shoot someone without knowing who to trust. bad introduction already, I guess.

then:

We're a long, long way from home, BobbieHome's a long, long way from usI feel a dirty wind blowingDevils and dust

going with the above: bobbie is a female name, so as stated above it’s his wife or partner, and now he also feels a dirty wind blowing and they’re a long way from home, so he obviously came back home but he’s having some ptsd flashback in which he’s back in war, with his partner, feeling the dust around him along with the devils which is obviously a metaphor for the evilness of war/what he had to do. at this point we’re kicking in the refrain:

I got God on my sideI'm just trying to surviveWhat if what you do to surviveKills the things you loveFear's a powerful thingIt can turn your heart black you can trustIt'll take your God filled soulAnd fill it with devils and dust

now: before, he talked about devils, now he says he has god on his side or that’s what he tells himself as he tries to survive (in a war), but what he does to survive kills the things he loves. now, since the guy is obviously back home, we can definitely take it that his survival attempts/at going on with his life kill the things he loves, so since he saw devils and dust in her eyes then maybe they’re killing their relationship (the things you love). then he adds that fear is a powerful thing and and turns your heart black, which means that the fear he (understandably) felt when going to war has so much power over him that now his heart changed and turned evil, and with that... we have the religious parallel ™️ in which is god filled soul ie a soul that once was good/pious is filled with devils and dust (ie war and sand which is what gave him ptsd) which turned him into a worse person than he used to be.

Well I dreamed of you last nightIn a field of blood and stoneThe blood began to dryThe smell began to riseWell I dreamed of you last nightIn a field of mud and boneYour blood began to dryThe smell began to rise

SOOOOO, now it gets upped a notch because now he said he dreamed of her last night but the field of blood and stone obviously suggests it’s a nightmare; also the blood dries and the smell rises, which is a thing he could absolutely have experienced during the war and so he sees his partner go through that, too, and it ups another notch after where it becomes mud and bone - mud is typical wartime stuff because the moment it rains you end up with that under your shoes, and the bones are obviously for corpses/dead people... and her blood begins to dry/the smell rises, so it means he dreams that she’s dead and he can’t save her, so now she is also a part of his ptsd-related nightmares.

We've got God on our sideWe're just trying to surviveWhat if what you do to surviveKills the things you loveFear's a powerful thingIt'll turn your heart black you can trustIt'll take your God filled soulFill it with devils and dustIt'll take your God filled soulFill it with devils and dust

now, this refrain is more or less the same except that now we have god on their side, not I have... but at the end it’s still your heart and your soul so he’s still talking about himself only, not about him and his partner, which means that she is safe from her soul being filled with devils and dust, he isn’t, because he’s been to war and she hasn’t.

Now every woman and every manThey want to take a righteous standFind the love that God willsAnd the faith that He commandsI've got my finger on the triggerAnd tonight faith just ain't enoughWhen I look inside my heartThere's just devils and dust

at which we have the last bomb. now: the first concept is that everyone wants to be righteous and so assumes it is, and god gives them the strength to do it/to be convinced of their righteousness through both love and faith that come from god, right? all sounds good - I believe in got, he fills me with love and faith, I think I’m right, that feeling legitimates my actions, which is what he supposedly thought until he went to war..... but then he says he has his finger on the trigger like the beginning (did he wake up with a gun in his hands? did he go to sleep with a gun nearby? did he hold it up against his partner?) and faith is not enough, which means that his righteousness got shredded and blown to bits in war and there’s no faith that wil make it better, because when he looks inside himself... it’s just devils and dust and nothing else, like in the eyes of his partner in the beginning, so we can retroactively say that in the beginning he saw himself in her eyes and he hated it, and now he looks inside himself and sees that too and he realizes that his righteousness doesn’t exist anymore and tldr going to war has permanently changed his life view and stripped away all his old convictions... and has turned him into a worse person in his eyes (because there are devils inside his heart), never mind that after having gone to war his faith in god is shaken and is not enough to counteract the consequences of what he suffered. 

I've got God on my sideAnd I'm just trying to surviveWhat if what you do to surviveKills the things you loveFear's a dangerous thingIt can turn your heart black you can trustIt'll take your God filled soulFill it with devils and dustIt'll take your God filled soulFill it with devils and dust

at this point, with that context, we can deduce that he still tries to hold on to god being on his side as he tries to go on, it’s not working, his relationship is in pieces and he’s afraid of facing it and of what he did during the war... to the point that his heart is still as black as it was in the beginning and the devils and dust (of most likely desert sand because above implications) have taken hold of his soul and filled it with hate/evilness/fear, and that’s where it leaves you - there’s no other solution, just the implications that he went to war feeling righteous about it and came back with ptsd and that his inability to talk about it or do anything about it or talk to someone is dragging down his relationship, too, and it’s killing the things he loves.

we can also assume that the harmonica parts (after the blood and bone part and in the end) bookend that because they’re in between the righteousness declaration and the last affirmation that it’s only devils and dust in his heart and not god’s faith or love anymore, while the rest is fairly quiet/understated as far as music goes.

in short: as this is also the opening of the record it sets the entire mood (admittedly all of devils & dust is not exactly uplifting stories except a couple songs) and the ending song talking about mexican immigrants dying drowned trying to cross to the us makes it in itself a bookend because it starts with a presumably american soldier who can’t get free of war and might ruin himself for it for good and ends with a mexican immigrant trying to get a better life and dying in the process, so thematically the fact that it gives you no satisfaction nor resolution and just concentrates on how the guy is feeling and what his ptsd has done to him actually makes sense because then you have to listen to all the rest before arriving to the very bitter ending. in short, not the first song about the subject from bruce’s catalog but an excellent addition to it that goes on yet another angle and tackling another war rather than his usual vietnam eviscerating, which was indeed what We All Needed in the year of the lord 2005. ;)

thanks anon!!

[tangentmoth]

You’re one of the living; who’s gonna make it tonight?

Zdravstvuyte, fellow Stalkers!  Tangentmoth is back, with another installment of Scorch the Skies, a collection of loosely interconnected fics bridging Clear Sky and Shadow of Chernobyl, from the point of view of the NPCs our protagonists meet along the way.  (Because someone’s got to care about the Some Gremlins of this obscure, underappreciated fandom, and it might as well be me.)

Chapter 1: Sailor Take Warning

Chapter 2: The Bad Death of General Krylov

There’re a lot of unanswered questions in between Clear Sky and Shadow of Chernobyl, and none so engrossing as the complete disappearance of the title characters of Clear Sky themselves.  Which brings us to this week’s Gremlin: Nimble, the Wedge Antilles of the S.T.A.L.K.E.R. universe, and one of only two known survivors of the Clear Sky faction.  

(A/N: This turned out to be a much longer fic than I expected it to be, and will thus be released in two parts.)

Chapter 3: Ishmael (Part I)

“And only I am escaped alone to tell thee…

     - Moby Dick (paraphrasing the book of Job)

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

He doesn’t know exactly how long he’s been running.  More than a day, is the best he can figure.  There was darkness at one point.  Now it’s light again, for a given value of “light”.  It all blurs together in the storm.

Sometimes there are lulls in the storm, when the downpour lightens and the lightning stops flashing and the thunder quiets for an hour, two, three.  Those are the times when he rests, when he hides among the hummocks and the reeds. The storm is his friend, right now.  The thunder hides the sound of his passage as he slogs through the Swamps, the curtains of rain and wind obscure his movements, the lightning blinds the eyes of his pursuers.  Mutants, mostly.

But not just mutants.  

He avoids the farmsteads and the ruined villages and the tumbledown old Orthodox church, all the places that had once been theirs, or mostly theirs.  He’s dead exhausted and he wants to stop, hole up in one of the old buildings and dry off and fucking sleep, but he can’t afford to take the chance.  They might be waiting in one of the buildings, or all of them.  Better to just keep moving.  He’s got plenty of energy drinks in his pack, two Flashes in the set of lead-lined pouches at his belt, accurate maps on his PDA.  He can run for days.  But which way?

Not east.  Definitely not east.  He knows he could slip past the military outpost’s machine guns and make it to the Cordon, he’s done it half a dozen times running errands for Suslov or Kalancha, it’s how he got his nickname.  He and Vasya had been running that way to begin with, until they’d stumbled on what was left of Suslov.

The circle.  The heads.  

Vasya had freaked out and run.  Hadn’t paid attention, hadn’t noticed the way the rain was warping and spiraling around itself just ahead of him.  No more Vasya.

North.  North to the railroad tracks, then up through Hunter’s Woods.  He could cut over to the Main Road from there…

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

Nimble was lost.  Really, really fucking lost.

He’d gotten to the woods okay.  That part had been alright, except for a couple of Snorks.  Thank fuck for Vasya’s SPAS-12.  Way better than his sad old sawed-off.  He’d taken a couple of swipes, nothing serious, and the combat shottie had laid the Snorks out without much of a fuss.  It was worth the injuries just to be away from the Great Swamps.  No more slogging through the marshes, looking over his shoulder, every minute expecting those...freaks to ambush him and put his head on another pike.  When I get to the Cordon, I’ll buy a bottle and toast Vasya’s memory, he’d thought.  I’ll toast all of their memories.  And then sleep.  Sleep for a week.

Except he couldn’t find the Cordon.  He couldn’t find the fucking road.

He had exited the woods to find himself in rocky, scrubby hill country littered with tangled junk and scrap metal.  The Garbage, according to the maps on his PDA, which told him he was south of some old industrial complex and west of the Main Road.  Good.  Great.  Except then he’d tried to climb a hill for a good vantage and his dosimeter started clicking so fast it was screeching. He’d panicked, tripped and gone tumbling ass-over-end down the hillside in his haste to get back down.  A dumbass rookie move if there’d ever been one. The PDA was still up there on that hill somewhere  With the maps.  

I, Nimble had thought, lying dazed in a bush with his right sleeve shredded to the elbow, am fucked.

There was still the sun to navigate by, at least, but the Garbage was slow going overland.  Terrifyingly slow.  If the dosimeter wasn’t going apeshit, it was the anomaly alarm  It felt like he was wasting fifteen minutes worth of nervous bolt-chucking for every fifteen meters he progressed.  The hills were crawling with blind dogs and the occasional boar, and he was running perilously low on shotgun shells.  Pretty soon he’d be reduced to his shitty little Makarov.  He was exhausted, his injuries were hurting like hell, and he was starting to feel sick despite the Fireball he was carrying.  

Worst of all, the sun was starting to set.

It went down as he skirted around a jumbled pile of what looked like construction crane parts.  For a long minute Nimble just stood and watched, unmindful of the constant click of the dosimeter, until there was nothing left of the light but a faint stripe of slightly lighter blue against the junk-strewn western horizon.  He was alone, in this godforsaken irradiated no-man’s-land, with no PDA to navigate with or call for help, too little ammo and no medicine.  At night.

I am fucked.

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

“Vnimanie!  Anekdot!”

Wolf grinned to himself, listening to the others tell their campfire stories.  He’d never admit it, but this was one of the things he liked best about life in the Zone.  Not the firefights, not the thrill of picking your way through minefields of anomalies (or sometimes just literal minefields, if you spent most of your time in the Cordon like Wolf did), not the strange and hazardous wonder of the artifacts.  Just a bunch of fellow stalkers gathered together around a fire, drinking, playing music, and telling stories to ward off the night.

Tonight he was camped out at the old scrapyard with Bes, Bes’s crew, and a small gaggle of Cordon rookies.  The Garbage was a radioactive, anomaly-strewn shithole he normally preferred to avoid unless he was just passing through, but his new crop of rookies were another story.  The Big Blowout had blasted artifacts out of seemingly every anomaly south of Rostok, enough of them that they were just scattered over the the hills like so much shrapnel and you didn’t even need a detector to locate them.  Most of them weren’t of much use (or value, for that matter), but of course the newbies all had fucking stars in their eyes and had taken off from the Cordon like a bunch of greenhorn Alaskan prospectors who just heard there was gold in them thar hills. Wolf had followed, not because he particularly wanted to but because most of these kids were going to die without a babysitter.  Hideously.

“...so Pravik and me, we’re searching the bodies and we hear a ‘whoosh’, and you know what we saw?  A bandit spinning in midair!  Must have been trying to get the drop on us, til that whirligig got the drop on him!  Stupid gopnik too drunk to throw a bolt.”

Wolf snorted, passing a bottle of vodka Bes’s way.  Good stuff, too, not that Cossacks rotgut that was a hryvnia a dozen in the Zone.  A working relationship with Sidorovich had its perks.  And Bes was a good man and a good friend, an experienced Stalker who knew this whole area like the back of his hand. 

Bes took a swig, nodded his approval, then shot a skeptical eyebrow at the storytelling rookie.  “Your clothes look mighty clean for someone downwind of a bandit caught in a whirligig,” he pointed out drily.

“See, that’s the best part though!  It never went off all the way, so he just stayed up there spinning around like a flying saucer!  Might even still be up there for all we know!”

That got them all cracking up, Bes included, and Wolf almost missed it--would have missed it, if not for the sixth sense most veterans gained after a while in the Zone: the sound of footsteps on gravel.

“Shut up, all of you!” he barked, raising his hand in a curt ‘quiet!’ motion and hoping the rookies would take the hint.  He got to his feet, rifle at the ready.  Bes and his men followed suit, a bare instant behind Wolf.  Good.

The footsteps grew louder as they approached, and now they could see the flicker of a headlamp coming from the western end of the old vehicle graveyard.  Not a bandit, Wolf didn’t think; a bandit would have either darted behind cover or opened fire by now.  A Loner, then, most likely...but why hadn’t he announced himself?

“You there!” Bes called.  “Who goes there?”

The figure staggered on toward them, finally close enough for Wolf to make out in the beam of his headlamp.  A skinny guy in some kind of camo fatigues--it was impossible to make out the color in this light--and what looked like a retooled military flak vest that had seen much, much better days.  One sleeve was completely shredded, and there was a bloody bandage around his right thigh.  His face was white, his eyes wide and starey.  

“What the hell?” one of the rookies muttered.

“...don’t...don’t shoot….” the intruder croaked  “Don’t shoot, please…”  Then he fell to his knees, vomiting.

“Shit,” Wolf muttered, running up to the man and dropping down onto one knee next to him.  Up close, he could see the guy was no older than most of his rookies, and that he was puking up mostly blood and bile.  Shit, shit, shit.  “Hang on, man,” he grunted.

He lugged the sick Stalker to his feet, slinging an arm around his shoulders and half-dragging, half-carrying him over to one of the bedrolls arranged around the fire.  Drifter, one of the brighter rookies and the one Wolf had pegged as Most Likely to Survive a Year, held out a canteen of purified water and a medkit, but Wolf shook his head.  “Get me one of the better ones out of my pack.  Should be in a yellow box.”  He’d traded for those from the Ecologists up at Lake Yantar, and they were worth every ruble.  “And the pack of antirad syrettes.”

“Waste of meds,” one of Bes’s men grumbled as Drifter tossed him the packages.  “Better to put him out of his misery now.”

“When I want your opinion I’ll ask for it,” Wolf snarled back.  The sick Stalker was retching again, groaning.  Wolf ripped the wrapper off of a pre-loaded antirad syringe, bit the cap off, and jammed the needle into the Stalker’s hip.  The kid yelped, and Wolf figured that for a good sign.  He followed the antirads with a dose of morphine out of the scientists’ medkit, then squatted back on his heels to get a better look while the meds kicked in and the young Stalker got his breath back.

In the firelight, at close inspection, the Stalker looked like 500km of bad road run hard.  There was definitely bullet damage to the vest, which probably meant bruised or broken ribs underneath.  The wound on the right thigh looked like claw slashes from an mutant attack, and the shredded sleeve revealed what was either a badly infected scrape or a nasty beta burn all the way up his forearm--probably both, considering the dirt here.  There wasn’t much left of the man’s pack but the straps, but he was very obviously carrying three or four artifacts in the pouches on his utility belt--one of them a Fireball, judging from the heat Wolf could feel radiating even through the lead lining.  A savvy choice that had probably saved the man’s life here, where you could eat 200 rem just picking the wrong path to walk down.

He set about stripping off the vest and cutting off the old bandages so he could get at the unfortunate Stalker’s injuries, talking to him while he did so in the hopes of keeping him conscious.  “Lucky you didn’t get shot for a bandit, wandering in here in the middle of the night like that,” he chided.  “Fuck, you’re lucky you didn’t get shot by a bandit out here.  Garbage is crawling with the scum.  You got a name, friend?”

“...Nimble,” the Stalker managed, voice slurred and gravelly from the vomiting and the drugs. “...was trying to find the Cordon...come up through the Woods, then down the road...thought...I was safe…but I got lost…lost my PDA, dogs got my pack...thought I was dead, til I saw your fire.”

The Stalker’s clothes were filthy, caked in mud and blood, but there was a patch on his shoulder that caught Wolf’s eye--not the usual black-on-yellow radiation symbol that most Loners wore, though.  Two birds flying over the rising sun, on a sky-blue field.  The writing underneath was half-obscured by mud, but Wolf could read it just the same. Chistoye Nebo.

Clear Sky.

Wolf glanced up at Bes, beckoning him over.  “You came up from the Great Swamps?”

Nimble nodded weakly, eyes glassy.  Bes looked him over, eyes narrowing with suspicion  “Nobody in the Great Swamps but bandits.  Call themselves Renegades, like they’re a legitimate faction.”  He spat to the side.  

Nimble shook his head, crying out as Wolf poured antiseptic solution over the inflamed claw slashes in his thigh.  “Not me...not us.  We were down there too. Clear Sky.   Nobody...ah fuck!....nobody knew...just a few people, the trader at the Cordon, a doctor up in Yantar….”

“He’s telling the truth,” Wolf said  “I’ve seen his folks at the village.  They come in to trade with Sidorovich every now and again, if they manage to make it past the military outpost.  Some kind of armed science unit, eggheads with guns.  What the hell are you doing up here in the Garbage, kid, all by yourself?  This is a bad, bad place to be lost.”

“...came up through the woods...” Nimble slurred.  The drugs were really hitting hard now; he could barely string words together.  “...nobody left down there…..just me...Vasya fell in an anomaly and died….they got everyone else, but I outran them….”

Wolf frowned at that.  “They?  The bandits, the Renegades or whatever?”

Nimble’s eyes slowly closed.  “...not bandits...don’t know who they were….came after the blowout, in the night….burned our place, killed everyone...I saw Trodnik, he was with them, but he wasn’t..he wasn’t him....they killed everyone…”  He trailed off, head lolling to the side.

Wolf finished re-bandaging the young Stalker’s injuries and sat back, still frowning.  He looked over at Bes.  “That make any sense to you?”

Bes shrugged.  “Kid’s rad-sick and doped to the gills.  Who knows what the hell he’s talking about.  What are you going to do with him?”

“Take him back to the village, if he makes it through the night.” And Wolf thought he would make it through the night.  Young and skinny as he was, he was clearly tougher than he looked--tough enough and smart enough to have evaded whatever had befallen his comrades down in the Swamps, to have survived wandering the woods and the Garbage for what must have been days.  Wolf knew experienced stalkers who might not have made it.  He admired Nimble for it.  But he was unsettled by the kid’s story, filtered through delirium though it was.  

I saw Trodnik, he was with them, but he wasn’t...he wasn’t him…

He knew Ivan Trodnik.  He was a Guide, a rare, valuable, and dangerous trade here in the Zone, and he was good at his job.  He’d worked the routes from Cordon all the way up through Rostok and beyond, before moving south to map the Great Swamps.  Wolf had last seen him maybe two or three weeks ago, dressed in blue-and-white fatigues and good armor with the same Clear Sky patch on his shoulder, escorting a big Merc to see Sidorovich.  Clearly he’d joined these people at some point.  Had he betrayed them?  To who?  What had Nimble meant by “he wasn’t him”, or had that just been the delirium talking?  It was bothering him.

Something bad had happened to the Clear Sky faction, that was certain, and Wolf wanted to know what the hell it was.  The Great Swamps weren’t far from the Cordon and the rookie village.  If there was a chance of trouble moving north toward them, Wolf wanted to be ready for it. 

They came in the night...they killed everyone...

He stayed awake, smoking, listening to the groans and shrieks of the Zone and the survivor’s ragged, labored breathing, for the rest of the night.

[midorree]

Gay Minds Think Alike

@paperhatcollection co-wrote this with me, they are so fucking talented, and I had a blast writing this with her! Give her as much love as humanly possible, and we hope you enjoy this wreck of a fic! 

Love is a funny thing. It’s hard to define, harder to understand, sometimes changing with the winds and other times a sturdy rock in an otherwise turbulent river. Sometimes it’s like a recurring idea or a thought you can’t shake from your head, or as much a part of your like as your voice or the way your heart skips a beat when you see you one and only soulmate. Sometimes it's slow, built up over a thousand small moments, other times you trip and crash headfirst into a crush.

Sometimes it’s like tripping on the top step of a staircase and tumbling your way to the bottom, where you land at the feet of your crush.

Which is exactly the situation Anti found himself in, laying on his back at the foot of the stairs, his gay dumbass gaze locked onto the face of Chase Brody standing above him.

The first thing Anti was aware of was the way his breath was knocked from his lungs, but he wasn’t sure if it was from the fall or from the way that Chase was looking down at him. Anti found himself captivated by the gaze, his breath caught in his throat by the way Chase batted his eyelashes, or maybe he was just blinking, but Anti didn’t care. He wasn’t sure of the angle did something, or if he’d gotten a mild concussion, but Chase was so pretty. It was as if the gates of heaven glanced upon his pitiful existence just to give a taste of what it all felt like. When Chase opened his mouth to speak, it was as if a chorus of angels backed his words, the light about them nearly forming a halo around Chase.

“Woah, dude, did it hurt?”

Anti felt himself grin, a look he imagined to be sly but in reality, looked rather dopey. “You mean when I fell from heaven?” he asked, almost certain it would end in his favor.

“In what world would you fall from-” Chase frown, shaking his head ever so slightly and sighing, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Never mind. No- when you fell down the stairs, are you okay? That looked like it hurt, dude. And now you’re just kinda… staring off into space, I think?” He added a small wave of his hand back and forth over Anti’s field of vision, checking if his eyes moved along with the movement. Anti blinked. Once, twice, then refocused on Chase, the vacant look finally falling from his face.

“Oh.” Anti tried to ignore the way the lump in his throat turned into a rock in the pit of his gut. “Um… yeah. I’m uh, I’m fine. Yeah. No problemo here.”

Chase shrugged. “Alright man, if you say so. Need a hand up?” he offered, holding out his hand to Anti. Anti’s mouth went completely dry as he looked anxiously at Chase’s outstretched hand; endless possibilities flashing through his mind.

He could grab Chase’s hand and try to play it off coolly, standing to his feet in a smooth motion that would allow him to regain some of his composure. He’d pull Chase’s hand closer, planting a kiss on the back of his palm and wink to him, and totally embarrass himself because he’s got Clumsy Bitch Disease and it’s fatal, so he’d definitely mess up somehow.

Maybe his own hands would clam up and he’d gross Chase out, and then he’d never speak to him again and he’d die alone with fifty cats as his only company. The saddest part being, one of the cats would definitely be named Chase. Maybe even Marvin if he were up for it. One day once he was old and alone he’d wake up to find out Chase the cat had passed away peacefully in its sleep, and he’d mourn the last link he had to his lost love while gazing sadly out his window. It would be raining.

Maybe he’d trip over his big fucking feet again and pull Chase down with him, and then Chase’s weight would be pressed against him, their lips inches apart, their eyes meeting-

Anti made a low whine in the back of his throat, acutely aware of the clock ticking faster and faster as he left Chase hanging for a response.

“No, I- fuck you.” Anti blurted out.

Even before the words had fully left his throat, Anti could feel his internal narration freeze in panic, then go into maximum overdrive. Before Chase had a chance to register what dumbass sentence just came out Anti’s mouth, and before Anti could see the look on his face when he did, Anti had glitched out of the current plane of existence, hoping his useless gay soul would just hang on a string and he would die a quick painless death.

Chase blinked then shrugged, sighing inwardly to himself. Geez, some people.

-----

In the quiet of dawn, when the world was just beginning to wake from its gentle slumber, and the first rays of morning’s light snuck through the thin gap between closed curtains when Chase shot upright in bed with the sudden realization that Anti wasn’t delusional, he’d been trying to court his dumb butt.

If it hadn’t been six in the goddamn morning, Chase probably would have screamed bloody murder. “Oh my god,” Chase whispered-screamed to himself, shoving the blankets aside and nearly tumbling out of bed in his hurry to stand. “Oh my fucking god, oh man, I’m so dense, what the fuck-” his efforts to stand did ultimately end in him tripping and hitting the floor with a loud THUD, but Chase was up the next moment, too absorbed in his breakthrough to notice the collateral damage. “Okay Chase, calm down. Maybe Anti didn’t realize what he was saying- he probably got a concussion falling down the stairs or something, you know how egotistical that glitch is,” He gulped. “I hope.”

“I mean, not that… I… well it has been awhile since I’ve been with someone, but…” Chase paused and gave himself a light slap on the side of his face. “No, bad Chase, you’re projecting. But what if I’m not- I mean, it wouldn’t be so bad, would it? Anti’s not that bad a guy once you get to know him, and he’s got those fucking eyes, that shitty laugh of his that’s always so much louder than everything else in the room like he’s trying to make sure everyone pays attention to him.” And it fucking works, by the way. Chase couldn’t count the number of times he’s felt his gaze pull towards the glitch, his attention stolen in a moment, left breathless as he watches the way Anti effortlessly manipulates the room with a word or a gesture. Chase felt himself shiver just thinking about it, picturing the gleam in his eyes, the smirk tugging his lips up.

“Oh, fuck,” Chase whispers to himself, shoulders slumping downwards. “I’ve got it bad.”

He shook his head, staring blankly at a wall, before returning to his bed. He sat on the edge, letting his head fall into his hands, taking a deep breath as a shudder ran through his body. The worst part was, this could still all be in his head. He didn’t actually know for sure if… oh fuck, this was just like him too, wasn’t it? Chase didn't exactly have a history of… successful relationships, to put it bluntly.

Love isn't fun. Sometimes it’s hard, harder still once you’ve lost at its game. Sometimes love is the thing that fuels you, that keeps you going on during cold nights, while other times it’s the thing that takes half of your soul and throws it into the void. Sometimes it’s like a dream, blissful and sweet, while other times it’s a melancholy memory, bittersweet in the moments you know you’ll never have again. And sometimes… sometimes it feels like your only source of air, like something you could never live without, no matter how many times it chews you up and spits you out.

Yeah, Chase Brody was a dead man.

-----

Maybe, Chase thinks, a bus will run me over and my problems won’t matter anymore.

No such luck was waiting for him, it seems, as he made his way downtown. Maybe the recording studio would be on fire, and they’d have to cancel recordings for today. Wouldn’t be the first time, although Marvin had sworn to Ireland and back that he’d be more careful with his magic from that point on. Or maybe Anti was too busy editing footage for everyone's videos, and he wouldn’t leave his editing room for the entire day, and Chase wouldn’t have a chance to talk to him.

Too bad as soon as he walked into the office, he was smacked in the face by reality, and left breathless by the smug grin Anti was sending his way. Somehow, he seemed to radiate a confidence Chase could only wish he had, even when casually standing by the water cooler and flipping through a script for someone’s video. Chase faltered to a stop, catching Anti’s eye from across the room and giving a weak wave in response. He was almost sure the beating of his heart was audible to those around him.

In reality, Anti was baring the dopiest smile a gay man could bear, staring at his favorite person head-on. Soon enough, he had the thought that Chase may be weirded out by his staring and proceeded to pretend he was doing something important. Such as flip through a finalized script that was already good enough to be on camera, and ‘scan it for errors’. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Chase halt midway across the room, glancing back over in time for Chase to flash him a grin and wave. Anti nearly short-circuited, causing him to drop the papers, which fluttered to the ground and fanned out into a heap around him.

Cursing under his breath, Anti knelt down to recollect them, trying to hide his apparent blush from embarrassing himself in front of his crush two days in a row. From across the room, Chase gasps in surprise when Anti drops his papers, rushing over to help. He wasn’t even sure if Anti noticed him right away, at least not until they reached for the same paper. Their hands brushed, Chase’s resting on top of Anti’s, a slight spark leaping between their connected hands.

Than Chase panicked, jerking back and somehow managing to hit Anti square on the nose.

“Ow! What the hell?!” Anti snapped.

“Fuck- shit, I’m sorry!” Chase blurted out, dropping what few papers he’s managed to collect back onto the floor. He reached out towards Anti, unsure what he’d really be able to do but wanting to make sure he was okay, only for Anti to jerk away and glare at him. Chase flinched and pulled his hand closer to his body, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Uh, um, I thought you might need uh, you might want a hand?”

“I’m fine,” Anti grumbled, gathering the remaining papers together in a pile and straightening them out. They weren't in any way shape or form in the correct order, but Anti didn’t care right now. No, instead he was just focused on the annoyance bubbling in the back of his head, cause that was better than focusing on the bubbly feeling he got when he looked at Chase’s cute, apologetic face. He started to reach out before catching himself, wanting to comfort him, but he knew if he started to do that he’d end up a stuttering, nervous wreck before the minute was over.

“I… I have to go. Gotta, um, reorder these.” Anti awkwardly stammered out, standing and almost dropping the papers again, before catching them against his chest and turning to leave. As he did so, his jacket caught in the air, flaring out and fanning around him like a cape. It was somehow an even more dramatic flair than what Marvin was able to manage, and that guy wore an actual cloak.

“I like your jacket.” Chase blurted out, standing quickly. He coughed into his fist, his throat suddenly remarkably dry, and he nonchalantly edged closer to the water cooler. “I mean uh,” Chase paused to lick his lips, which suddenly felt as dry as his throat did. “That’s a really nice jacket, Anti. It suits you.” He licked his lips again, mostly because his saliva was depleting rapidly from his mouth. He grabbed one of the paper cups from the cooler and finally got himself a drink, drowning it in a single gulp but somehow still just as thirsty as he’d been before. When he looked back up from his cup, he realized Anti had ceased storming off, and was staring at Chase with an unreadable expression. Oh- Oh fuck. Chase had assumed he’d already left. Instead, he’s watched as Chase stopped and gulped down an entire cup of water, in the middle of a fucking statement.  “Uh, I, um. You… jacket, uh, looking good?”

Anti, oblivious to what Chase’s message to him was, stated, “No, you can’t have my leather jacket, you already stole Jackie’s.” and turned around and left.

It was an hour later, after Anti had reordered the script and begun editing footage for Jackie’s latest ‘parkour’ video (it was actually just him on patrol, but no one needed to know that) that Anti removed his headphones, stared off at a blank wall, and realized Chase had been complimenting him.

“FU-

----

“Henrik, I fucked up!” Chase yelled, bursting through the door to Henrik’s makeshift clinic.

Henrik sighed, putting down his clipboard. He didn’t look surprised in the least, just tired. “I knew it. Where did he stab you?”

“Uh… what?” Chase asked, confused.

“You tried to steal Anti’s new jacket, didn’t you?” Henrik paused, sighing. “Oh, I’m sorry, ‘borrow’ his jacket, just like you’ve ‘borrowed’ clothes from the rest of us. I still want my sweater back, by the way.” Chase was pretty sure that sweater was currently folded up in one of his dressers, right next to one of JJ’s spare bowties and one of Jackie’s jackets. But now wasn’t the time for that.

“What? No! I just… had a realization…” Chase began, faltering and adjusting the brim of his hat, glancing around the room as if expected someone to leap out at any moment.

Henrik looked puzzled for a good second before his expression cracked, an assuming smile turning the corners of his lips. “That have certain feelings for Anti?”

“How the fuck did you know that?”

A small smirk teased on Henrik’s oh so smug face. “A little birdie told me.”

And by birdie, he was referring to the fact that he’d listened to Anti rambling on about his crush for hours over the course of his visits to Henrik’s clinic, during which Anti had managed to compare Chase to everything from the sun to a Greek god. The amount of giddiness Anti radiating from Anti could power the entire goddamn planet, and Henrik found watching his half-assed attempts at catching Chase’s eye akin to watching a morning soap-opera you kinda hoped would turn into a trainwreck of gay feelings.

“I mean… Hen, I’ve been out of it so long, what if he doesn’t like me back?” Chase asked, his voice raising several pitches from his panic. “What if he rejects my attempts? What if I try and bring him some coffee to flirt with him, but I spill it all over his shirt and he hates me forever? And the tension in the office raises a lot? And what if because of that, the others start to hate me? And then I have to move out of the country, change my name to Scooter Bronan, and become a drug dealer on the lonely streets of LA!”  

Henrik almost felt bad for laughing, but not by a lot. A drug dealer? Preposterous, Chase wouldn’t be able to sell water, a legal substance, without a license.

“Henrik!” Chase whined. “Stop laughing, I’m serious!”

“Chase, would you do me a small favor for me?” Henrik asked, as he stood up from his desk and walked towards a storage closet. “Get in the closet.”

“Is that a metaphor? I’m openly gay-” Chase began, only for Henrik to cut him off with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“I’m aware, get in the closet, please.” He opened the door, smiling welcomingly, yet Chase was getting mixed signals from the whole ‘get in the closet’ thing. Reluctantly, he stepped into the closet, letting the door shut behind him. Chase settled down on an upside-down bucket, listening to Henrik move around the clinic from the other side of the door. After a moment, he heard Henrik speak up again. “And Chase? Please be quiet for a moment, if you would.”

“Alright…?”

Nodding to himself, Henrik set his plan in motion. First things first: alerting the other disaster gay. One text later, and Anti was coming any moment now, not aware that Chase was in the closet. Literally speaking, of course, everyone knew that Chase swung both ways, and Anti had been over the moon the first time he’d found out about it.

Glitching into existence already sitting on the examination bed, Anti was holding a five-hour energy bottle that he threw back into his mouth and downed it all in one go. “Henrik, you’re not going to believe this shit.”

“Let me guess, you have a crush on Chase?” Henrik asked, grinning to himself as he set about changing the bandages around Anti’s neck. He’s done this so many times, he could probably manage it with his eyes closed.

“Oh, haha,” Anti said with a roll of his eyes. “The usual, anyways,” he tossed the now-empty bottle behind him, where it landing it the trash with ease.

“Show off, how many times did you practice that at home?” Henrik asked.

“Moving right along,” Anti replied without missing a beat. “So you know how eye contact is something important for every humanoid should have a grasp on?”

“Yes?”

“I forgot how to maintain eye contact when Chase was looking at me, and I dropped a bunch of papers in front of him like an absolute clutz,” Anti explained, sighing dramatically. “Now Chase probably thinks I’m the biggest doof in the whole office! And he punched me! I’m never washing my face again, by the way.”

“Yes you are, your I’m forcing you to take a shower.” Henrik cut in. “A crush is no reason to abstain from basic hygiene.” Normally, he’d already been halfway done by now, but Henrik was going slower than usual. “Anyways, I’m sure he doesn't think that. And what really happened?”

“Oh- um, he tried to help me pick up the papers, you know, cause he’s a perfect fucking angel, but then our hands touched and I think maybe I’m not so dead inside? Maybe this man is the cure to fucking cancer?” he sighed dreamingly. “There was a spark between us, I just know it. Or, you know, maybe it was my glitchy electrical powers zapping him, cause he ended up yanking back and smacked me on accident.” Anti paused than shook his head. “It was an accident, so I’m not really upset at him.

“Anti,” Henrik began. “We all know Chase could stab you and you’d be on your knees thanking him for breathing in your direction.”

“Cause he’s fucking perfect, that’s why.” Anti snapped. “Have you seen that guy? He’s so sweet and caring, he puts others well being in front of his own, and just- have you seen the way he looks when he helps someone? That pure smile on his face, I don’t know how he does it, but somehow he manages to make me think that maybe the world isn’t so doomed after all? And when he laughs just makes the room brighter, it makes my entire day when I can make him laugh, I’d do anything for it.”

Anti paused and chuckled. “And I swear every time I hear it my heart’s gonna beat out of my chest. I don’t know how much longer I can take this without bursting at the seams from all these stupid feelings, but I can’t just make a move, what if he doesn’t like me back? I would die alone with fifty cats, one of which is named Marvin, and I have to spend the rest of my life referring to Marvin as human Marvin, and I never speak to Chase again because he’s allergic to cats and he won’t ever come near me. I’ll have to quit and get a new job and move towns and call myself Connor and become a shell of former self.”

Henrik hummed knowingly, glancing at the closet. “What exactly do you feel for Chase?”

“I… I kinda…” Anti began, then muttered under his breath.

“You kind of what, Anti?”

“I kind of love him?” Anti whispered, grinning sheepishly.

“I can’t hear you,” Henrik said, tilting his head and leaning back. “Could you speak up, please?”

“I said I fucking love him?! Okay?! Henrik?! I love him!” Anti screamed,  face turning a light shade of red.

Nodding to himself, Henrik finished applying Anti’s clean bandages and smoothed them out, double checking his work before backing away and dusting off his hands. He spun on a heel, crossing to the closest door, and opening it while stepping aside to reveal a very shocked and very blushy Chase Brody.

“Alright, was that straight enough for you?” Henrik asked than caught himself and chuckled. “Ah- my bad, I should wait for you to come out of the closet, shouldn’t I?”

“Wait, wait, wait, wait, I’m not-” Chase stammered, not prepared for the fuckery that Henrik has laid down in front of them.

“Nonsense!” Henrik cut in, grabbing him by the arm and leading him out of the closet. “We were just talking about you, actually! Weren't we, Anti?”

Anti opened and closed his mouth without saying anything, looking from Chase to Henrik and back to Chase again. “Henrik! You set me up, you son of a whore!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, you were talking about Chase on your own account, weren’t you?” Henrik asked, unable to stop himself from smiling right in Anti’s face. “Why, I couldn’t have stopped you if I’d tried!”

“You could have! You could have stopped me right there!” Anti screamed, pointing at the now empty closet. “Chase was in the fucking closet the entire time, and you didn’t have the human decency to stop me from being gay!”

“It’s called doctor-patient confidentiality,” Henrik explained. “If Chase didn’t want to come out of the closet, I had no right to force him.”

“I didn’t even know what I was saying, I don’t even like Chase! I was just exaggerating to be funny! You like drama, so I gave it to you!" Anti protested.

“You… you were?” Chase asked, his voice soft, broken, and his expression crestfallen. He sniffed, scrubbing at the corner of his eye as he looked off, trying not to appear too heartbroken and failing spectacularly. “I… oh. Well, I hope you had fun, Anti. It’s not like some of us actually care about our feelings.”

“No! Chase, I didn’t mean to- please- I don’t- what- Henrik! See what you did?” Anti asked, turning back to the doctor and unable to keep the desperation from his voice.

“Me?” Henrik asked, putting an arm around Chase’s shoulder and bringing him closer, comforting him. “I didn’t do anything, except listen when my friends came into my clinic of their own accord and start gushing to me about their crushes.”

“I should go.” Chase blurted out before anyone could say anything else. “Anti you… you enjoy your game, just leave my heart out of it.” he pulled out of Henrik’s arms, heading towards the door with a slow, dragging pace.

“No, you’re not going anywhere, we need to set some things in order,” Anti said, sliding between Chase and the door, placing his hands on Chase’s chest. “I… I didn’t mean it,” he admitted, fidgeting in place. “I… Chase look, I’m really fucking dumb sometimes, and I don’t work well under pressure, and I’m pretty sure Henrik has been stealing my brain cells during my visits-”

“Actually, I’ve been trying to replenish them you disaster child.” Henrik cut in.

Anti glared at him than softened his expression when he returned it to Chase. “Chase, the truth is I… I um, I … Feel… good when I’m near you I… you… we… have something? Please? That we don’t have with the others? You… I… love… I love you.”

Chase sniffed, rubbing his face with one hand than looking up at Anti with a sly grin, all traces of his sadness gone. “Is that so?” Chase asked, leaning closer and grinning. “Cause, I think I love you too,” he admitted, planting his lips on Antis in a quick, stolen kiss.

“I… uh, holy shit, what, hands, do, I, um, fuck, Chase-”

“Chase, you broke him, his last brain cell was a gift to you.” Henrik gasped, placing a hand over his heart. That dramatic bitch.

Lifting one of Anti’s hands in his, Chase interlocked their fingers together, smiling at his new boyfriend. Anti still having yet to form a coherent sentence, managed to stammer out something that vaguely sounded like ‘You… smile… good’. Chase giggled and planted another kiss, on his cheek this time, tugging him towards the door. “Common, let’s go break the news to everyone else before you crash completely.”

Maybe love wasn't so bad after all.

[cottonpadenthusiast]

Home

Word Count: 3434

A03: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14915576

The tension in Draco’s shoulders finally seeped away, as the smell of worn books and wood filled his nostrils. Thank Merlin for Muggle libraries, he thought, squeezing himself deeper into the old leather chair. Today had been a Bad Day. One of the worst in a while actually, and it wasn’t as if Draco’s daily life was all that great either. He had decided to venture out for food after he had realised that half a Chocolate Frog and a can of Butterbeer was the only food left in his two-bedroom apartment in London. Draco hadn’t left his house in four days, knowing that outside he would be met with hexes and curses and hatred, nothing unusual for Draco Malfoy. But this time he knew it would be worse. The Daily Prophet had published an image of a very drunk Draco making out behind a club with someone who was very much a man. And put on the front page. And used the headline, “EX-DEATH EATER, NOW ASS-EATER “. How imaginative. It wasn’t as if Draco was trying to hide his sexuality, he just wanted to tell Mother before every wizard and witch across the country knew he was gay. She had been extremely understanding of course, and Draco hated to admit the number of tears he had shed when she told him she still loved him, no matter whom he loved. If Father hadn’t died a year earlier the situation might have been slightly different, but Draco refused to think about that. Aside from the immense relief of his mother’s approval, Draco now knew that he was even more vulnerable to abuse. Abuse that he was met with immediately after entering Diagon Alley that day. Men spat at his feet, mothers steered their children away from him and not only was he now a “murderous bastard”, but a “disgusting faggot”. He didn’t even reach the shop before someone had punched him in the face; his left cheek was now a gruesome shade of purple due to the blow. Draco was used to guilt and shame and regret, but never before had he been punished for doing the only good thing in the world; loving someone.

Draco brought his thoughts back to the book he was holding in his pale hands. A Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde. It was in pristine condition (Draco hated bent spines and tattered covers) and he was over halfway through. His upbringing had prevented Draco from ever reading Muggle literature, but on a particularly stormy day a few months ago, he had run into this Muggle library, seeking shelter from the rain, but what he found was more than just a place to stay dry. This library had turned into Draco’s safe place, almost a second home. He was a nobody in here, not a criminal, or a Death Eater, just another reader, except with a slightly eccentric taste in fashion. Draco visited this library twice a week, and Marge, the elderly librarian, who always smelt of roses and rich tea biscuits, now even kept books for Draco that she thought he would like. She had recommended this particular book to Draco while providing information on Wilde’s background and “preference of men”. Draco was already enchanted with the story, while relating almost a little too much to Dorian’s wish to remain young and sinless. But Draco already had the scars. Draco wasn’t given a choice. It was too late for him.

Draco was just learning of Dorian’s desire to sell his soul when a mop of black unruly hair floated by in the corner of his eye. No. No, it couldn’t be. No way in hell. But as Draco jerked his head up to search for the blob of black between the shelves of paperbacks, piercing emerald eyes caught grey ones. You have got to be kidding me, Draco thought, as Harry Potter, the Saviour of Wizarding World, sauntered over to Draco.

Potter was wearing Muggle jeans and a white top that accentuated his broad shoulders and contrasted with his dark skin. Bloody Potter, Draco thought, tearing his eyes away from Potter’s abs. Draco swiftly set the book down and straightened himself up. Whatever insults Potter wanted to throw at him, Draco would be ready. He didn’t want to deal with Potter’s petty nonsense, today of all days. Potter finally reached Draco, looming over him with a wicked grin on his face.

“Hello, Malfoy.”

Draco glared. “What do you want, Potter?”

“Well, I was just wondering what the hell you are doing in a Muggle library,” Potter replied, his voice full of amusement.

“I could ask you the same thing. I thought only read newspaper clippings retelling your remarkable acts of heroism,” Draco retorted. He was not going to be a source of entertainment for Potter’s sick humour.

Potter snorted. “I know it may seem surprising, but I actually do enjoy books other than textbooks and biographies about my life. I was more confused about the fact that Draco Malfoy is sitting curled up in a corner of a Muggle library, reading a Muggle book.”

“People change, Potter,” Draco replied, his chin raised indignantly.

“I know,” Potter murmured softly. The gentleness made Draco look, really look, into the scarred face. The last Potter had used that voice with him, which made Draco feel warm and fuzzy inside, was over a year ago. Potter had run up to him at the start of the eighth year, his breath ragged, and thanked him for not identifying him that day in the Manor. Potter’s soft, “thank you” had been the first time Draco had felt appreciated in a long time. Those two words, from that one person, often provided Draco with a source of comfort during the dark times of that year.

Potter must have noticed the foreign look on Draco’s face as he bent over to see what book Draco was reading, snapping the blonde back to reality.

“The Picture of Dorian Gray, Oscar Wilde?” Potter’s voice was questioning but there was a hint something Draco couldn’t quite catch.

“Yes… It is a highly enjoyable read. Wilde’s wit and humour really are-” Draco stopped. Oh shit, he thought, because Draco had just realised why Potter was looking at him like that. Oscar Wilde was gay. Draco Malfoy had been outed as gay less than a week ago. He has seen it. Oh Merlin, he’s seen the Daily Prophet. Draco’s brain had gone into panic mode. Harry Potter, his childhood enemy and crush, knew he was gay and had come over here to laugh at him. And the fact Draco had been reading The Picture of Dorian Gray had not helped matters. It was like Draco had been trying to achieve the world record for, “The Gayest Man on Earth.” He needed to leave. Right. Now.

Draco mumbled a quick, “Goodbye, Potter,” before leaping out of his chair, and bolting out of the library. He would not, could not stay to watch the look of disgust on Potter’s face that would appear when Draco’s sexuality was made evident. Draco knew Harry would never feel the same. He had dealt with the turmoil and heartbreak that was involved with being in love with Harry Potter, but he was beginning to accept the unrequited love, beginning to learn to live a life without Harry Potter in it. He had faced Potter’s hatred and suspicion and loathing, but Draco would not survive if he ever saw Harry look at him in repulsion. Draco may be gay, but he did not deserve to be treated like nothing.

“Malfoy, wait! Stop!” Draco was halfway down the stone steps when Potter’s shouts reached him. He quickened his pace, the cool summer’s breeze whipping across his face.

“Please Draco. I’m not angry about you being… gay. I just want to talk.”

“Leave me alone, Potter.” Draco tried not to let his emotions show who through his voice.

“Please, Draco.”

Draco slowed to a stop and glanced over his shoulder. Potter was standing a few feet away, shifting nervously on his feet. He ran a hand through the unruly black hair.

“I’m sorry for scaring you off. I just- I think we need to talk. About everything.” The green eyes were imploring Draco to stay. He seemed genuine. Draco’s heart clenched painfully at the sight of Potter, his shirt rippling in the wind. He sighed heavily.

“Ok, Potter,” he said reluctantly. The two trudged over to the wooden bench opposite in silence. The shadow of an oak tree provided them with shelter against the sun, and the only noises were the rustling of the leaves and the whirring of cars as they drove by. Draco closed his eyes, breathing in the smell of freshly cut grass.

“I’m sorry about the Daily Prophet article.” Draco opened his eyes and turned his head to face Potter. “It’s not right what they did.”

“It’s not your fault. I should have been more careful,” Draco replied. They stared at each other, something unknown passing between them, before Draco broke the gaze and glanced ahead.

“Draco… how did you get that bruise?” Potter asked carefully.

Draco reached up to touch the sensitive skin but swiftly pulled his hand away when a sharp pain spread across his cheek. “That is none of your concern, Potter.”

“It is my concern if someone I care-,” Potter paused. “If someone I know is getting hurt.” Draco could feel the tension rising.

“Well thank you for your concern, Potter, but I am very capable of looking after myself,” Draco retorted.

“Evidently not if you’ve got that on your face. Who was it, Malfoy?” Potter demanded.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Malfoy, would you just bloody tell me!”

“Just drop it, Potter. For Merlin’s sake!”

“No. I’m not dropping it. Who was it?”

Draco spun round to face the black-haired man. “It. Was. No. One.”

“Just tell me!”

“Fine, Potter! I’ll tell you. I was walking to the shop this morning when some stranger came up and punched me in the face. And do you wanna know why? Because I like men.” Draco laughed but there was no humour in the sound. “It’s funny, isn’t it? And it’s not even the first time. But you know what is even funnier? The fact that I’m gay means that I’m not only a “criminal” but also a “vile human being”. Fucking hilarious! I wonder if my life is yet horrendous enough to make up for all the lives my family has ruined. What do you think, Potter? Do you think I can ever make up for all the shitty things I’ve done? Or am I damned to live a life I deserve? A life of suffering and guilt and hurt.” Draco stopped abruptly when he saw the horrified look on Potter’s face. He felt tears prick behind his eyes as he leant back against the wooden bench. I’m going insane, Draco thought, closing his eyes and allowing the darkness to overcome the light of the evening. How did his life end up this way? It was his own fault, he supposed. He was never brave enough to do the right thing and now he had to pay the price. A single tear fell down his cheek, but he didn’t care about Potter seeing him cry. He had lost everything, so what would it matter if he lost Potter too?

Draco heard Potter rustling in his bag, probably getting ready to leave, but he refused to open his eyes, knowing that if he did, more tears would fall. However, his eyes shot open whenever he felt warm, calloused fingers spreading a jelly-like substance on his bruised cheek. Potter was so gentle, Draco could hardly feel him rubbing the cream into his skin.

“What are you doing?” Draco croaked. He could feel Potter’s hot breath fan across his face.

“It’s Hopkins’ Bruise Paste. I always carry some since I have a tendency to knock into things.” Potter chuckled. Green eyes met grey ones, and Draco could almost feel the warmth that passed between them.

“Thank you,” Draco said softly, as Potter pulled away. He could already feel the skin begin to heal, yet he craved the warmth of those rough hands on his face again.

The sky around the two was alive, pinks and oranges and purples spread like paint strokes. Draco wished he could stay here, in this moment, with this boy forever.

“You never did tell me why you were in a Muggle library,” Harry stated, a smile toying at his lips. So Draco told him of the rain, and his refuge from it, and the sweet Marge, and the comforting solitude he found in the library. They talked, and laughed, and Draco realised how much he adored the sound of Potter’s roaring laugh, and how much more he adored it when he was the one causing it. Draco was enchanted with the way Harry’s dark skin glowed in the golden rays of the evening, and the way his hands moved with a gentleness that contrasted with his strong build. Most of all, Draco remembered why he had fallen in love with Harry Potter in the first place, and found more reasons to fall deeper in love with him.

When the sky had transformed to lilacs and purples, Harry turned to Draco and asked him tenderly, “How did you realise you were gay?”

At first, Draco was taken aback by the question. He searched the face for any signs of cruelty but found none, only genuine curiosity and something in the emerald eyes Draco couldn’t quite place. How was he meant to answer this question? He could lie and tell Harry that he had just always known, but he didn’t want to do that. He knew that Harry deserved to know the truth, whatever the consequences.

“You,” Draco whispered. He studied the pavement, not daring to meet Potter’s gaze.

“What?” Potter replied, after moments of agonizing silence.

“You. You made me realise I was gay.” Draco paused, gathering all the courage he had. “I’ve had a crush on you since fourth year, just took me a while to realise that I would much rather be kissing you, than hexing you.”

“But how? How did you hide it? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Draco sniggered. “You are hardly the most observant, Potter. I could have worn a sign saying, “I AM IN LOVE WITH HARRY POTTER,” and you still would have been as oblivious as always. And I didn’t tell you because you hated me.”

“I never hated you, Draco. Maybe disliked you, but I never hated you.” Draco could hear the sincerity in Potter’s voice. He was silent for a few moments. “It’s just-well, I think I might be…”

“Yes, Potter?”

“I think I might be bisexual.” The tremor in Harry’s voice had Draco spinning his head around.

“What?!” Now it was Draco’s turn to be shocked and utterly confused. This had to be a joke. But the terrified look on Potter’s face proved otherwise. “You are… bisexual?” Draco said questioningly.

Harry nodded.

“And I’m guessing from the look on your face that I’m the first person you have told?”

Harry nodded again.

“Ok. Well, I’m proud of you for coming out I suppose. Congratulations.” Draco was not the best at giving emotional support. It seemed enough, however, as Harry sighed heavily in relief, as if a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders. It was a stark reminder to Draco of his own reaction when he told Pansy in sixth year.

“Thank you, Draco. It means a lot,” Potter said, his voice filled with gratitude. Draco gave him a small smile in return. The two sat in a comfortable silence, words seeming unnecessary and inadequate for the emotions they were feeling.

“Wait…” Draco arched his eyebrow at Harry, waiting for him to finish.

“You said you were in love with me. When you were talking about the crush. Do you… Are you in love with me?” Potter exclaimed. Oh shit. He did not mean to say that. At all. This was not good. He had only meant to tell Harry about the crush, not the fact he was head over heels in love with him.

“Fuck, I don’t- I can’t. Shit.” Draco didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t exactly deny it.

“Are you?” Potter persisted.

“Yes! Ok? For Merlin’s sake, I’m completely in love with you. Are you happy now? Do you know how hard it is to pretend I hate you? That I don’t care about you? It is one of the hardest things I have ever had to do. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry for ruining everything. ” Draco swallowed and breathed out heavily. “Sometimes the pain of watching you hate me was worse than any Crucio.” Draco’s voice was soft. He had lost everything. Even the joyful tune of the birds did little to console his aching heart. He had never felt so alone.

He had lost everything.

Potter’s face turned serious and he inched his body closer to Draco’s crouched form.

“Like I said before, I never hated you Draco. But how do you know I wasn’t pretending too?”

Draco’s heart lurched. What? A flutter of hope rippled across his chest.

“You see, for the past few years, I’ve been convincing myself that my obsession with you was just suspicion. That I thought you were up to something.” Harry’s voice was less than a whisper. “Until last year, when you obviously were not doing anything evil, and yet I still had a strong urge to be near you all the time. It seems we were both hiding the same thing.”  

Draco stopped breathing. Harry’s face was inches from his own, and those green eyes were staring at his lips. This can’t be real, Draco thought as he gradually brought his face closer and closer to Harry’s own, until their noses were touching.

“I love you,” Harry murmured, before slamming their lips together.

Draco raked his hands through Harry’s black curls, the way he had wanted to since he was fifteen. Potter’s lips were soft and hot, sending shivers down Draco’s spine while Harry gripped his hips, pulling their bodies against each other. Although the sun was setting, Draco felt as if the sun inside his chest was beaming brighter than ever before, casting away the shadows inside his heart. Finally, Draco thought as his tongue searched Potter’s mouth. Finally, Draco thought as Harry pulled away, trailing kisses down his neck. Finally, Draco thought as he rested his head on Harry’s shoulder and felt as if he had found his way home.

Draco looked up at the stars, the constellations vivid in the clear night. His long legs were draped across Harry’s and his head tucked under Harry’s own.

“I’ve always wanted to learn the constellations,” Harry said, breaking the silence. He was looking at the stars in awe, but when he turned to face Draco his expression didn’t change.

“I could teach you, if you like.”

Harry grinned. “Really? I would love that.”

“Come to my place tomorrow at eight. Although we will have to go somewhere where there is less light pollution, if you really wanna see the constellations. Maybe we could get dinner after,” Draco suggested. He smirked as a flush spread up Harry’s cheeks.

“Yeah, I’d love to. I mean, yeah, sounds good.” Draco sniggered at how flustered Harry seemed at even the mention of a date.

Draco lifted himself up, stretching his tired muscles. “I suppose I better be on my way. A man needs his beauty sleep after all.”

Harry swiftly got on his feet, and pulled Draco into a sweet, but deep kiss. “See you tomorrow. I love you” he whispered into the blonde’s ear. Before Draco had even responded, Harry had Apparated away.

“Cocky bastard,” Draco muttered, touching his lips. He Apparated into his own living room, the warm air closing around his body and a smile still plastered on his face.

As Draco’s mind whirred with thoughts that night in bed, unable to sleep, he knew with a shocking certainty that he had found a home in Harry Potter. Not long before, he had felt he belonged nowhere, his life destined to be one of isolation and solitude. But as he closed his eyes, finally drifting off, he realised he had more than one place to call home; his cosy flat, Pansy, his mother, the Muggle library and, most recently, in the arms of Harry Potter. And he would never let anyone take these away from him, not even a stupid, magical newspaper.

Thank you for reading this. It means the world! I have never actually read, “A Picture of Dorian Gray so I feel like a bit of a fake fan, but I freaking love Oscar Wilde. He’s a gay icon for this gay month. Anyway, hope you enjoyed xxx