#and his hair isn’t gonna be buzzed for this so then they’d have to do all his hair unless it was just lightly dyed

[spideyhexx]

watch the first bts we get is his hair bleached or he's wearing a wig

big fuck no to the wig, his hair is so nice IT WAS SO NICE IN THE LETTERS LIVE AND NETFLIX VIDEO PLEASE NO WIG IM SCARED

[rottenaero]

They were gonna put Eddie down like a damn dog.

The group had insisted that Steve visit the hospital today, one year and two months after the incident. It was a random day, and he thought, ‘ why the hell not?’

Family Video had been closed for months, doing ‘ repairs’, so he really didn’t have much else to do.

He thought it was weird, the way the group was as far away from the bed as possible, and how when he entered the room, Hopper almost blocked the exit.

He doesn’t question it though, sidling up to the open chair beside Eddie, who was still asleep after all this time, and punching his shoulder lightly.

“ Hey, Hero.”

He’d taken to calling it sleeping instead of what it was, a coma. Sleeping sounded more peaceful, because with sleeping came dreams and relaxation.

Eddie doesn’t respond, doesn’t react. Steve didn’t expect him to.

He turns his head to Dustin, the one who’d called him in the first place. “ So, why’re we gathered here today? Any updates?” He asks, addressing the whole room.

The boy swallows, and something tells him something’s wrong. Really wrong.

“ Yeah, actually. Uhm, since it’s been so long, we were thinking-“ He cuts himself off, crosses his arms and starts tapping his foot. Thinking, probably.

Hopper glances to him, and sighs, deciding to lead. “ We’re gonna have to let Munson go.” He states.

Steve takes a sharp breath.

“ What?”

‘ Let him go’ like this is a job. Like this isn’t him losing his life. He wonders when they decided to do this, in the hospital room for the ten minutes they were waiting.

Eddie doesn’t give any indication he hears what’s being said, the beeps from the heart monitor still steady and even as ever. A constant metronome of the exact same sound on the exact say beat, all the time, always.

Except maybe not always.

Dustin takes over again, arms placating. “ It’s been a really long time, Steve. We’ve come to terms that he probably won’t wake up, and it’s doesn’t have to be sad-“

“ You’re killing him.” He hisses, “ You’re killing him and it’s not meant to be sad?”

Nancy steps forward, seeing it as her time to speak. “ Steve. You barely knew the guy, and you spend all your time here, it’s not good for you.”

“ There’s been no good signs, no nothing, not even when El looks into his brain.” Dustin nods at the girl across the room, who’s fiddling with her fingers.

Steve furrows his brow, “ Oh, so I guess you’re gonna pull the plug on Max too?”

Lucas’s eyes widen, mouth dropping open, and Nancy glares. “ That is not fair, Steve.”

“ This whole situations pretty fucking unfair, so I guess you’re gonna have to explain to me how this is different from Max.” He stands, stance wide as he points to the man in the hospital bed.

“ Max is making progress.” Lucas says weakly, and El sets a hand on his shoulder. The boy deflates.

He turns toward Hopper and Joyce, the latter still not having spoken. The Byers family had moved back to Indiana for God knows what reason, and Steve knows that if he had the money, that he could’ve moved somewhere else long ago.

“ Does Wayne know you’re killing his kid?” He asks.

He’d met the man while visiting, and they’d usually sit in silence and watch baseball or whatever was on. He never questioned why Steve was there, or why he was holding a limp body’s hand and taking off it’s rings and putting them back on.

When they did speak, it was stories he had from Eddie’s childhood, about how he buzzed his head because a spider crawled on him and he was convinced it was hidden in his hair, making babies.

Hopper pinched his nose, like he was being a pest. “ Stop using words like killing, and yes. He said he didn’t want Eddie to have to suffer, and his bills are getting expensive.”

And he blinks, realization dawning.

This hadn’t just been decided, had it? This wasn’t a ten minute decision while Steve was getting ready to come here.

He speaks, his voice low and keeping even through each word, “ You guys had a meeting.” The ‘ without me’ goes unsaid, but still echoes throughout the room like if would’ve if he shouted it.

They’d decided this whole thing beforehand, somehow knowing that Steve would hang on. And he would, will. He can’t let him die, he can’t lose.

Will nods, and next to him Mike and Dustin look ashamed. He would’ve thought they’d hold out more.

He racks his brain for any reason they should keep alive, can’t find one. Somehow, even without one for them, he has a million for himself.

“ If the bills are the reason, I’ll pay the damn bills. He’s fucking alive.” He tries.

“ You don’t have a job, Family Video is closed. Just let it be, Steve. Please.” Robin had been eerily quiet during this entire conversation, and it brings him chills him when she speaks.

His best friend had been in on it.

He crosses his arms, “ I’ll get a job. Listen, I’ve been having dreams,-“ He lies. He lies because there’s nothing true to prove Eddie is getting better. “-dreams that he’s alive in like a dark space, I don’t know- his mind maybe? I just- I really think he’s in there.”

The hope Dustin gets on his face hurts, but he doesn’t care. The guy will wake up and it won’t matter that the ‘ dreams’ never existed.

Maybe it’s because he’s an optimist, and that’s why he’s trying so hard, as pessimistic as he can be sometimes.

“ Why didn’t you tell us?” Dustin asks and Steve licks his lips.

Why didn’t he tell them? “ Despite all this crazy shit, me having dreams that he’s alive still sounds crazy.” He doesn’t look at the boy as he says this, eyes roaming over Eddie’s face.

He looks serene, the bat bite on his face as healed as it can get. The doctors had mentioned swelling on his back shoulder blades, but Steve thinks his would be swollen too if he sat on them for a year.

‘ A year and two months.’ He corrects himself.

He stares at the hair that, occasionally when it got matted, Steve would go through and brush it, not wanting him to wake up to being bald because a doctor seemed it necessary.

Wayne mentioned how much he hated the shaved head, and he wouldn’t put him through that again.

As he looks at him, he thinks ‘ I’m doing this for you, so you better wake up, asshole.’

Dustin’s eyes are wide, staring at the members of Hellfire. Steve could only describe the look as ecstatic.

“ Holy shit, I mean, holy shit!” He laughs, and Mike breaks into his own grin.

Jonathan chimes in, disbelief sketched into the lines all over his face. “ Sorry, but doesn’t that seem too convenient? I’m not saying you’re lying Steve, just… If El didn’t find anything, that’s pretty much it.”

His lips form into a line, determined. “ I told you, I’ll be paying for whatever. It’s no skin off your back, or money out of Wayne’s pockets.”

Joyce nudges Hopper when he goes to speak, and nods at Steve. “ If you wanna try, sweetheart, you can. But I don’t want you visiting too much, it’s doing you more harm than good.” She wraps him in a hug, before leading the ex-chief of police out of the room.

Slowly, everyone vacates, until it’s just Steve, Eddie, and El.

She doesn’t make a move toward the door, eyes locked onto his face.

“ You’re lying.” She whispers like a secret.

He nods.

She looks toward Eddie, nervous, and she messes with the hem of her shirt when she starts to speak again. “ I lied too.”

She doesn’t elaborate, walking out of the room without anymore information, and Steve blinks.

The hospital has to call Wayne to confirm the transfer, that's how he learns of the circumstances. He doesn't say much of anything, aside from a promise of a visit on Tuesday before he hangs up.

That night, that same fucking night, he gets a call.

It's the front desk lady, voice distressed rushing through an explanation.

" Eddies gone...Only blood in his bed...We don't know where he is."

Steve stares at the wall, the rest of the words falling upon deaf ears.

Someone had probably found out where he was being held, murdered him a year later for his crimes, and stashed the body away.

He sets the phone back in its holster without saying anything to the other line. Not even a goodbye, or a thanks.

He thinks, it only for a second, that he should've let them just pull the plug, it would've been far less painful.

A creaking brings him out of it, and his eyes dart to his door.

It's dark, too dark, and Steve's aware the Upside Down fucked him up in incomprehensible ways, and now every shadow looks like something,

But there was definitely someone in his house.

He keeps slumped on his bed, the same position as when he'd answered the call. He doesn't flinch when the door pushes open enough for a body to slip in.

There's the sound of something dragging along the carpet as they come closer, probably a shotgun, or maybe they're gonna beat him with his own nail-bat.

He doesn't care to decipher the shape, instead shutting his eyes.

A hand grabs his, sets it on dry skin. His thumb touches a rough patch, a scar like feeling.

One his hands had roamed over while patching up his stomach, refusing to get looked at. That concave patch of scratchy skin that they tell you eventually will just be soft, scarred, but normal.

The skin stretches, and he feels a cheek.

Somehow, he thinks if he keeps his eyes shut, he doesn't have to face the thing in front of him, that it somehow isn't real.

A scratchy, disused, and croaky voice sounds out.

" ' Hey, Hero.' "

[lale-txt]

𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐓 𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐍𝐂𝐇 (𝐎𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐮 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫) ❦ 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟎𝟔: 𝐌𝐢𝐲𝐚 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐛

♫ Habibi - Angel Eyes

Yeah he has a tender tone Seems he's always been alone But his eyes have more to say And I wanna take him home

✰ 𝐜𝐰: vague description of a panic attack (just the beginning, doesn't become a full blown one), written part between SMAU parts.

⭅ back to m.list

“Happy birthday, Bokkun!!”

There’s warm arms engulfing you, kisses pressed to cheeks, a sea of voices as two worlds collide. You hear yourself laugh but it also feels far away, like you’re underwater. Let me put the cake down first, then I’ll give you a big, fat hug, you say, and you swallow down the familiar buzzing in your chest. It’s been there since last night, quiet but there, asking to be unraveled.

Demanding to be felt. 

You were never really good at that, weren’t you? Always shoving those unwanted feelings away, clawing at them, drowning them; in hopes that they’d never surface again, mirroring your distorted self.

The noises around you melt into static noise, and you take a few steps back, trying to quietly pull yourself out of this, just enough so you can breathe again. This isn’t the time for your facade to crack. Your fingers clench tighter around the cake box, holding onto it like a lifeline. 

Your back meets the wall–or so you think.

“Hey there.”

A voice soft and golden like honey. A pair of big, warm hands coming to your shoulders, steading yourself so you don’t stumble. A smile, so gentle it makes you want to flee again. 

The buzzing dies in your chest, replaced by a calmness you haven’t felt in a very long time. How strange.

Osamu spins you around and now you’re facing him, standing a little too close in the cramped hallway, all your friends still in one big pile of hugs and cheers, while it feels like your whole world has just shrunken down to the two of you.

“That looks heavy, lemme help,” he mutters and reaches for the cake box in your hands, slender fingers now on top of yours, brushing over your knuckles. There’s this heat and you think about flying too close to the sun again. The urge to pull your hands back is overwhelming, but you keep them perfectly still.

For the cake, you tell yourself. For me, your heart sighs. 

“Nah, you’re gonna drop it.” “I promise ya, I won’t.” “I held onto it for the past seven hours. It’s fine.” “Wish that was me.” “What?” “C’mon now, I still have some gravy on the stovetop, it’s gonna burn if ya don’t let go.”

Somehow his fingers manage to coax yours off the cake box, and you’re not sure which loss you’re more upset about–the one of the heavy cake in your hands or his skin against yours. Your heart stutters and stumbles in your chest, but instead of running you follow his orbit towards the kitchen. It does smell delicious here and you hate it; hate how you wanna lift every lid and peek inside, have a little taste of everything, a thousand questions burning on your tongue.

Only the sound of his voice draws you back.

“Fuck, this is delicious,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you. Before him on the kitchen counter is the cake, the box already open, his thumb collecting some of the smudged buttercream from the top of the packaging.

“Hey now,” you huff, reaching out to close the cake box with one hand, the other shoving his arm away. Stupid arm sleeves getting in the way of feeling his skin underneath your palm again. “That’s not your cake.”

“Just a little taste test,” Osamu grins, his dimples showing and his tongue swiping across his thumb, licking some leftover buttercream off it. His gaze never leaves yours. “So sweet.”

Well. Fuck.

✽ 𝐌𝐢𝐲𝐚 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐛 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧…

THEY MEET AGAIN

Osamu got jealous for a minute when he believed y/n was kissing someone else

do not worry about Bokuto, he has his head resting in Akaashi's lap who plays with his hair and tells him how pretty he is while all of this goes down

there's a strong alliance forming between Yukie, Makki and Sunarin

Sakusa tried his best at y/n duty but threw the towel when she turned down his offer to leave the party and watch the stars from her new parking lot with him instead

in her defense, she was too busy questioning Osamu about the favorite meals of his childhood and what kind of evil dinner he cooks past 11pm

usually Osamu would have taken the arm sleeves off once he's done with cooking but he noticed y/n ogling and decided to keep them on for the night

Osamu tried one of y/n's pickle recipes and didn't like it

y/n is convinced he did something wrong in the progress because there's no way it tasted bad when she invented it

what a terrible inconvenience that they have to settle this argument once and for all over at Osamu's place (it's where the pickles are at)

✰ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓:

@brithedemonspawn @gigiiiiislife @yuminako @notverymarley @krissiekris

@wyrcan @kentocalls @simp-simp-no-mi @uncovered-mad-man @honey-deku

@yukichan67 @dailyakira @nu-suave @zq13 @morgan-lowell

@ellouisa17 @toges-cough-syrup @lovingjeankirstein

[ejzah]

A/N: Once again, thanks to everyone who has supported this little story and Deeks in firefighter gear.

***

The Agent and the Fireman, Part 9

After grabbing a few hours of sleep at home, everyone returned to OSP to debrief and attempt to track down the man who attacked Deeks. LAPD had put out an APB, but that hadn’t brought any leads so far.

“Ok, so the description we’re working with is a male around 5’10 with brown hair and dark clothes?” Eric confirmed, spinning around from his work center with one eyebrow arched.

“Yeah. Is that going to be a problem?” Callen asked.

“Of course not.” Eric tone suggested insult. “But it’s probably gonna take some time unless he was foolish enough to use a vehicle with a license plate.”

“Based on what we know so far, I’m guessing he didn’t,” Sam said.

Nodding, Eric started pulling up security cams in the area of the latest fire site. Beside him, Nell was reviewing all the evidence they’d gathered up to this point.

“Hey, Kensi.”

She didn’t answer, discreetly pecking out a text. Deeks’ last response had come around 4 in the morning with a quick update that he’d gotten home and was planning to sleep off a massive headache.

“Kens,” Callen repeated, smirking when she jumped and tucked her phone into her pocket.

“What?”

“Did Lieutenant Deeks tell you anything else after we left?” Callen asked, and Kensi rolled her eyes the emphasis he put on Deeks’ title.

“No. He didn’t,” Kensi answered, speaking with clipped phrasing. “Um, but he was pretty banged up last night, so he might remember something else today. I could go talk to him…” She trailed off, as though it was a mere helpful suggestion.

“Hm, what do you think, Sam? Should we let Kensi go visit her boy toy on company time?”

“Mm, I think we should let her suffer a little more. Builds character,” Sam replied with a teasing wink.

“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about,” Kensi maintained, ignoring the buzz in her pocket that she was certain signified a new text from Deeks.

“Oh give her a break,” Nell spoke up and Kensi nodded in thanks. “Her man was hurt, she’s probably worried about him.” Nell let Kensi’s glare roll right off her back, smiling broadly before she turned back to her screen.

“That’s right. Deeks never got his boo-boos kissed,” Sam agreed.

“Ok, I think I caught our guy on a camera from a nearby gas station,” Eric—blessedly—interrupted, displaying a dark capture of a figure much as Deeks described, clothed in dark clothes. He played a 10 second clip, which showed the man darting across the street, through the parking lot, and off camera.

“This clearly isn’t the first time he’s done this,” Kensi commented. “He kept his face out of view the entire time.”

“He didn’t count on running into Deeks.”

“And when he did, it made him a little sloppy,” Sam said. “Good work, Eric. Keep checking surrounding cameras.”

“Will do.”

“And Nell, focus on men who meet the general description we have and also have a connection any of the arson sites.”

“That is going to be a very long list,” Nell warned them.

“Well, while we’re waiting on that, we’ll go down to the latest site and see if anyone in the surrounding area saw our lurker,” Callen decided.

***

In between questioning possible witnesses, Kensi checked in with Deeks. Apparently he’d been cleared to come back to work, but was restricted to the station for the next two days.

That was something of a relief. He’d had two close calls within hours of each other, and Kensi didn’t think her nerves could handle another one so soon.

She spoke to the one owners of three nearby businesses, two of whom hadn’t been open at the time of the incident and didn’t have security cameras. The third did have some footage saved, which Kensi quickly reviewed before getting a copy to send to Eric and Nell.

As she was exiting the third business, a young man in a black t-shirt and turnout pants approached her, jogging the last few yards.

“Are you Agent Blye?” he asked, certain he wasn’t one of the firefighters she’d met before.

“Yes,” Kensi answered hesitantly.

“Oh good. I’m FFT Jimenez. Lieutenant gave a very good description of you.”

Kensi didn’t know whether to be embarrassed or pleased by this information, and ultimately settled on vague curiosity.

“And is there a reason why you’re looking for me?” He nodded enthusiastically at her question.

“Yes! One of our investigators found something of interest. They’d like you and the other agents to come take a look at your convenience,” Jimenez informed her.

“Ok, let me contact my partners and we’ll be right over.”

Callen and Sam had taken the Challenger so they were probably father from the site than she was. She sent a quick text, then headed back over.

This time, no one objected or tried to redirect her when she flashed her badge and ducked under the lines of caution tape surrounding the large destruction zone. Various investigators, arson specialists, and officers collecting and bagging evidence.

She followed a marked off path, peering above the crowd until she saw Deeks standing near a hastily erected tent. His figure was unmistakable to her now. For once, he didn’t wear any part of his typical gear, instead clothed in a black uniform complete with a badge and insignia on his shoulder.

As she walked toward him, another officer passed him a clear evidence bag, which Deeks scanned thoroughly, logging it on a clipboard while the officer watched.

Kensi felt her chest swell with pride at his confidence and skill. He was sure of himself without being cocky or obnoxious, which was evident in the way the people around him looked up to him.

She’d never felt so strongly about anyone before, especially so quickly. Maybe she should be concerned about rushing in, but no one had made her smile so much in a long time. Plus, he was undeniably hot.

“Hey, I thought you were supposed to be taking it easy,” Kensi said from behind him, the warmth of her recent thoughts filtered into her voice. Turning to look over his shoulder, Deeks met her with a welcoming grin.

“Hey! I see Jimenez found you. And don’t worry, I’m solely supervising right now.” He rolled his eyes at that. “Captain Palmy has threatened to put me on cleaning duty for a month if I even think of doing anything more physical than walking.”

“Good. I approve.” Leaning closer, Kensi took his chin between her thumb and forefinger, turning his face to the side. “Here let me see.”

He now had a butterfly bandage on both temples, each gash bordered by purple and black bruising. The skin around it looked swollen and inflamed.

“Mmm,” Kensi murmured sympathetically. “That looks painful.”

“Extremely painful,” Deeks agreed playfully.

“How’s your arm?”

“8 stitches, only superficial damage, no physical restrictions,” he reported dutifully. His voice dropped a little lower. “I’d show you, but the LA Fire Department frowns upon stripping while on the job.”

“Shut up,” Kensi gasped, flushing despite herself.

She absolutely did not have an instantaneous image of Marty Deeks slowly removing his uniform piece by piece to music. She shoved his uninjured arm, hand lingering longer than she intended, which Deeks noted with a smirk.

“Ok, so what’s so important you had to call us away from canvassing?” she asked.

“One of the arson investigators found a gold lighter with an inscription on it around the spot where I tussled with the suspect. I’m betting that just might be why he came back,” Deeks replied.

***

A/N: I hope you all are still enjoying this. I’m sprinkling in the tiniest bits of procedural stuff so we can keep having Firefighter Deeks.

[starfall-spirit]

Renaissance Masterlist

AN: I LIED. It's out tonight, though it is 11:45 here, so close enough.

Feyre tells Rhys she's pregnant won the bonus chapter poll, though the honeymoon was a very close second. I was watching the results like, are y'all serious?

Anywhoseville.

CW: Smut. Tooth-rotting fluff. You know, smluff. The usual.

Word Count: 1188

Bonus Chapter: And Then There Were Three

This was not how she imagined the girls’ trip ending. Mor, being the cool cousin, decided to take Avy on a beach vacation in celebration of her graduation. They’d invited Feyre along, suggesting Rhys and his brothers plan some sort of boys’ trip or hang out. It started out well enough. They’d have five days of lounging in the sun or swimming and then come in for dinner and movies. Maybe a little wine. Then Feyre caught a stomach bug. Or she thought she had.

Until she realized her stomach was only turning at certain smells. Ones she typically approved of. Then she recognized she’d yet to run a fever, and recalled it had been long enough since her last cycle to be concerned, even if she had always been irregular by a few days.

Now, staring down at the pregnancy test she’d gone to buy that morning, that line made her condition clear enough. Washing her hands, she stepped out of the condo’s bathroom. 

“Well?” the waiting pair demanded together, both more than eager to drop the word aunt in front of their names.

There was really no way to tell Rhys first at this point without flat out lying to the girls. “I suppose it’s a good thing you two have been the only ones drinking on this trip.” She flinched at their squeals of excitement, accepting their hugs a moment later. “Okay, okay. Don’t break any ribs, please.”

Her phone buzzed with a text and she detangled herself to grab it. Two messages from Rhys popped up.

Missing you. 

Can’t wait till you’re home.

She smiled. Boys’ weekend that bad?”

Cass is drunk and singing. Az and I don’t know what to do with him until he passes out.

Sing along until someone’s ears start bleeding? she proposed.

I’m glad you find my suffering funny.

I’ll leave you girls be. Goodnight, my love.

Goodnight.

“How are you gonna tell him?” Mor asked when Feyre set the phone down. 

She shrugged. “The same way I’d tell him anything else. I’m not worried. I know he’ll be thrilled.”

She and Rhys had agreed months ago that Feyre could come off birth control. Even as calm as he had been on the subject, she’d seen the new light in his eyes when she said she wanted to start trying for a baby. Neither of their families had been perfect, but they would make it work, whatever challenges came their way.

“The same way you’d tell him anything else? Well where’s the fun in that?” Avy asked.

“Lord help me. You two are terrible.”

~~~~~

In the end they’d agreed on a “souvenir”. In truth, it was a gift bag with a rattle and onesie under a couple layers of tissue paper. Unoriginal, perhaps. But it didn’t need to be a grand affair. “Rhys?” Though his car was out front, the empty house told her enough. She shrugged, heading to the master bedroom to open Bryaxis’ crate and change into pajamas.

She heard the front door open. “Feyre?” 

“I’ll be back out in a minute!” Twisting her hair in a clip, she came back out to the living room. “Hi.”

“Hi.” He stooped to kiss her cheek. “I missed you. You ladies didn’t let my sister get too drunk, did you? She is still underage.”

“She was with two responsible adults, despite what you may believe about your cousin. You and your parents can stop all the fussing. We took care of her.”

“I was teasing.” He slumped into the couch, tugging her into his lap. “Mostly. Right now, the only thing I really want to think about is how dearly I’ve missed my wife the past five days.”

She smiled. “I brought you something bag, you know.”

“Oh?” 

Her smile broadened and she tucked her face into his neck. “That gift back in front of you isn’t for the cat.”

He hummed, shifting forward to pluck it from the coffee table, furrowing his brow at either the lack of weight or the muffled plinking of the rattle. She bit her lip as the tissue paper slipped from his fingers, his body tensing beneath her. “Rhys—”

He laughed, his beautiful smile breaking through that shock. “Feyre, you’re really—I mean, you're certain?”

“I tested positive on the beach trip. I was feeling sick and other things started lining up. I’m pregnant.”

That pure glee softened as he cupped her face, kissing her soundly. “Feyre. My Feyre.”

Her back hit the cushions of the sofa. “At least take me to bed, you mongrel.”

He chuckled, cradling her in his arms once more, practically growling as she stretched to scrape her teeth against his neck. “Fuck. Feyre.”

“Now if we could put those two things together.”

He grinned, laying her down and pulling his shirt over his head. “You’re a mess,” he groaned into her neck before pressing a kiss there. “And you make me a mess. And I thank God every day that you do. I don’t know where I’d be without you, Feyre.”

“Living it up like any other guy in his twenties, I assume. Lucky for the both of us I saved you from that method of dating.”

“You and that smart mouth,” he growled, dragging her shorts down her legs, her panties and shirt joining it seconds later. He kissed down her collar, between her breasts, and lower still, to where their child would soon be growing. Her throat tightened as he lingered there. “God, I love you.” 

He pulled back long enough to peel out of his jeans, rolling over to pull her on top of him, the hard length of him pressing against her. And as eager as she was for that… This time she was the one sliding down the bed, her hands and mouth trailing over his chest and abdomen as she made her way down. He choked as she took him in her mouth. “Feyre.”

One word—her name alone—and he sounded positively feral. It was truly her favorite sound. He hissed as she took him deeper, nearly hitting her gag reflex. She would have taken more, had he not pulled her off of him and back up to a desperate kiss. She sank down on him with a low groan, hands bracing on his shoulders as he gripped her hips to hold her still. To say she was impatient at the moment would be an understatement. “Rhys.”

He cursed as she clenched hard, her nails biting into skin. Though his grip remained firm, he let her shift over him, each stroke bringing her closer to the edge. She cried out as her release crashed through her, at first barely registering Rhys rolling them to flip their position in the bed before thrusting deeper, already working her into her second orgasm. But rather than the pinch of teeth or filthy words, it was a kiss that sent her over the edge. Tender, passionate, and claiming in its own gentle way. 

It was a promise. One they both meant to keep, granting their child the picture-perfect family they deserved. Granting themselves their own happily ever after.

~~~~~

@goddess-aelin // @shallyne // @the-lonelybarricade // @the-lost-changeling // @faeriequeensuriel // @pandavelaris // @s-uppertime // @acotar-fanns // @reverie-tales // @acourtofwips // @jealousveronya // @darling-archeron // @elentiya-whitethorn // @gwynkyrie

[lightning-writes]

good heart (faulty machine of a man) - 1/30

fic summary: bucky meets someone at therapy

word count: 1169

tags: post endgame, pre tfatws, hurt/comfort, slow burn, canon divergent, canon compliant, au

warnings: ptsd, panic attack, character death

a/n: a little intro chapter, a little meet-not-so-cute

AO3 MASTERLIST x

September 2

When he’d cased the building months ago, he didn’t think he’d need an escape route for this. For the rapid panic harrowing his stomach, tightening his chest, crawling up his throat. He doubles over and gulps the summer air in heaves. He might throw up. He’s vaguely aware he’s in the alley, at the back of the building, barely registering the details of his surroundings.

Raynor brought up Steve. With a sympathetic tone but with those sharp and assessing eyes. He knows her job is to assess him, but when she tried to get him to talk about “his loss”, he couldn’t breathe. This time, it’s different. This time, it isn’t ice Steve’s buried in.

(Sometimes, a sick and weak part of Bucky wishes he could turn off his mind and slip into being the Winter Soldier. God, it’d be so easy then.)

“Hey…” A hand lands on his back gently.

Bucky pushes the person back, forearm braces against their chest, pinning them to the door he’d come out of. He feels his wild eyes, and the singularity of his own heartbeat slowing into a nearly meditative state. This is a familiar taste of numbness he needed right now.

“James.” 

The person is the therapist’s receptionist. She’s pressed against the door, her hands are up in surrender, but she doesn’t appear scared. Apprehensive, stunned, but not scared. He registers the dying glow of her cigarette on the ground. Her face is red, but it’s from the heat. Her wrists don a snake tattoo on one and a burning match on the other.

“Breathe through your nose,” she manages to say, “and out through your mouth.”

(Steve is dead, Steve is dead, Steve is…)

He feels her chest rising and falling as she takes her own advice.

(Steve is dead, and I’m alone again, I can’t do this! I can’t do this! I can’t–)

“James,” his eyes snap to hers like magnets, “breathe with me.”

His first breath shakes. She nods and breathes out. If his timing is off, they’d be breathing in each other’s air. He follows, each breath becoming stronger. He feels his wild eyes match her patient ones.

“I’m sorry.” His arm disappears from her chest. He rakes a hand through his hair. “I’m so–”

“I should have known better.” Her laugh wheezes as she absentmindedly rubs her sternum where he’d barred her. Luckily, it hadn’t been his left arm. “Actually, this isn’t the first time a veteran thought I was sneaking up on them during a…” She eyes him, almost knowing that saying the words would make this whole situation worse.

(He wants to ask her how she knows he’s a veteran, but he’s worried about her answer.)

They stand in silence for a minute. The buzz of his panic had dulled his senses. He feels them come back as the seconds tick on. The sound of traffic. People on the street. The smell of garbage and urine wafting through the alley. The whir of the air conditioning units.

“You want one?” The receptionist offers him a cigarette. 

(She’s cute, he thinks, with her dark hair spilling over her shoulders, red-wrapped dress, various tattoos. He’s glad he didn’t pull his knife like his instincts told him to.)

He shakes his head. He’s starting to feel okay. “Sorry about…”

“Going autopilot?” She blows her smoke at him. Playfully. “Protecting yourself? Don’t apologize - I get it.”

“Still.” Then, he says something… odd. “Let me make it up to you.”

She pauses, also thrown off by the gesture, but she gives him a sarcastic smile. “What are you gonna do, pay for my clinic bill?”

His eyes widened. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No, no,” she chokes on smoke and laughs through the coughing. “No, it’s not even that serious, dude. You can make it up to me by taking care of yourself.”

“That’s not–”

“Fair? What’s not fair is you feeling this way.” She takes a long drag, contemplating her next words. “Next time, do a sensory scan. You’re pretty good at that, I bet.”

(As much as he’d hate to admit it, he feels out of his element. Talking to a young woman, who had seen his vulnerable underbelly. His panic.)

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“You know, focusing on what you can see, what you can hear, etcetera.” She waves a hand dismissively. “Scientifically, it helps ground people.”

(He wants to make a joke, you’re giving better therapy advice than Raynor, but he bites his words.)

“Can’t I just buy you a coffee or something?” he winces.

Her laugh, a surprised bark really, echoes through the alley. He finds himself smiling. She pulls a stick note pad and a pen from her dress pocket, scribbling something down. She makes a flourished show of ripping it off the pad and sticking it to his leather jacket.

“That’s my order. Do with that as you will.”

(He peels the note off his chest, feeling a weird symmetry, and studies her complex order. He pockets it.)

“James.” She hesitates before taking his gloved hand with a quick squeeze. “I’m sorry.”

She’s referring to Steve. The panic flares up his throat again like a shaken pop. It’s weird to him that other people know. He lets his hand fall from hers, the alarm dissipating. He nods, burying his hands in his pockets, before stalking out of the alley, into the busy street.

////

It has been fifty two days since Steve Rogers was reported dead. They say it was in his sleep. They say it was peaceful and painless.

The last time Bucky saw him was on his birthday. The Fourth of July. They’d gone to Berry Park for the day, since it was close to Steve’s apartment, and they spent a lot of time people-watching and reminiscing about the old days. Excited civilians, of course, came up to Steve, thanked him for his service, for being an icon of hope and freedom. Steve leaned over to Bucky and his old man voice muttered something about being a sex icon. Bucky laughed until his sides hurt.

(No one recognized Bucky, with his ball cap and tied hair. He was proud to just be on the sidelines for his best friend, his hero.)

They’d finished the day by having dinner at one of the local pubs, where they ended up getting their meals for free, and they were lucky to find a bench by the riverside.

Bucky remembers Steve’s wrinkled face, lit by the reds and golds, only a shadow of the young man Bucky had grown up with. Even in that moment, he had the distinct overwhelming feeling of Steve’s mortality.

On the walk home, Steve stopped to speak to a man living at the corner of his street. Later, he’d told Bucky he’d talked to the man a few times, slowly earning his trust and easing him into the idea of Steve helping him be re-housed. Steve shook his hand and thanked the man, apparently a veteran, for his sacrifice, including the sacrifice of his civilian life for a lonely life of duty. It was the first and only time Bucky had ever heard Steve talk negatively about being a soldier and the life that had come with it.

(Bucky and Steve had shared a nightcap in Steve’s apartment, until Steve started to doze off. In hindsight, it feels fitting that this was their last day together, a foreshadowing of Steve’s passing quietly in his sleep.)

////

On the train home, Bucky drives the heel of his hand across his cheek, stopping a stray tear from falling.

[mrspasser]

Two's company, three's a crowd

Sterek fanfic

I'm having writer's block, I'm feeling blue and my period seems to be neverending, so I sat myself down and wrote porn. Not that I really set out to write smut, but I wanted to write something without plot and too much complications. And then this came out: over 7K of smut, lightly sprinkled with possible complications and even the plotbunny decided to hop by. Whatever. Don't judge me.

Read it on A03.

Two's company, three's a crowd

He’s drunk. Not the everything-is-spinning-and-I’m-gonna-throw-up kind, the nice, buzzing kind. However, he’s never hallucinated when drunk before, so that’s new. Luckily it’s a very nice hallucination. Stiles isn’t gonna complain, not when there are red nails tracing teasing patterns on his thigh and equally red lips close to his ear. “What do you think, stud?” the girl asks. It would probably have been a sultry whisper if the music in the frat house wasn’t so loud. Nevertheless, even at normal volume the question sounds plenty suggestive.

Stiles giggles a little at being called ‘stud’. His geeky hipster vibe does relatively well with the college girls, it serves him infinitely better than it did in highschool anyway. The girls at his old school snubbed their pretty little noses at his plaids and Converses. Here, there are girls who dress the same as him to such a degree that Stiles once grabbed the wrong flannel shirt the morning after. When he returned to switch out the shirt, only her roommate was home. Stiles isn’t one to kiss and tell, yet he stayed for two hours instead of the necessary five minutes to make the shirt exchange, if you get what he means. Oh. And he totally told Scott. But Scott doesn’t count. He tells his brother-from-another-mother everything.

It was actually kind of a coincidence that Stiles ended up at this party tonight. He didn’t plan on it, was kind of trying to be a good person and go to bed early, so he wouldn’t be totally knackered for his five hour drive back to Beacon Hills tomorrow for Christmas Break. He just happened to walk across campus when he bumped into one of his project partners and before he knew it, he had a red solo cup in his hand and was chatting up two girls who he thinks he saw in one of his morning classes once. He got to kiss one of them too, the one with the long blond hair and the fancy red nails across from him. She’s not really his type, he’d actually been after her dark haired friend. But her friend already had a boyfriend and this girl, “Lindsay with an a”, proved to be more fun than he initially thought. She kissed like she meant business, that was one thing. And when Stiles found her in another man’s lap after he returned from the bathroom, she surprised him by calling him over. “Stiles, you never told me you had such a hot roommate!” she tittered, wrapping a hand around his wrist to pull him down on the armrest of the slightly ratty loveseat. The leather - or more likely pleather - was sticky with unnamed liquids, not that Stiles really cared. He wasn’t gonna judge someone’s housekeeping skills at a party, or ever, really.

They’d been talking for about an hour before she kindly suggested a game of tonsil hockey, so the topic of Stiles ‘hot roommate’ hadn’t come up yet. Not that he was in the habit of telling girls about Derek first hand; there was only so much competition that a guy like him could put up with. Because Derek was hot. Hot like burning. Supernaturally hot. Those Greek statues in the museum had nothing on him: Derek’s rugged abs put their puny marble abs to shame.  Stiles took stock of the situation in front of him through his slightly alcohol addled mind. Lindsay was sitting comfortably in Derek’s lap, one arm wrapped loosely around his shoulders, while he had an arm around her waist. “You guys know each other?” he asked, adding the ‘intimately’ in his head when he saw the way Derek’s hand disappeared beneath the hem of her top. 

“We do,” Lindsay admitted with a smile. Derek just arched one cocky eyebrow, yet after almost four months of sharing a room with him, Stiles was close to fluent in eyebrow speak. He had to, because some days it was the only way his roommate communicated. At first, Stiles thought he’d gotten the short end of the stick when he was assigned Derek as his roommate. The guy may look hot, but he came across as a grumpy asshole, especially those first few weeks. Eventually, Stiles liked to say, he got Derek to cave to the Stilinski charm and they actually became quite good friends. Derek could be a cocky bastard, but he was also lowkey funny and a lot smarter than his jock looks suggested. The guy actually read Homer for fun, Stiles even checked if he wasn’t reading it for class. To top it off, his snark game was on par with Stiles’, which was something he didn’t often encounter. In short, Derek was a great guy and there were a lot of girls at their campus who agreed with Stiles. Lindsay confirmed his suspicions of them when she told him: “Our Derek here was looking for a repeat of our first meeting, but I said I already had plans with you.” She playfully tapped him on the nose with a finger. “Isn’t that right, Stiles?” Their make out session had been getting a little steamy, until Stiles unfortunately had to take a little break to empty his bladder. Beer always ran right through him. He’d been ready to cut his losses when he saw Lindsay sitting with Derek, but the girl had other plans. “However, I thought that maybe you boys could share.”

Plans that make Stiles’ jaw drop, especially when she whispers in his ear and calls him stud.

“Aww, I made him blush!” Lindsay leans over in Derek’s lap and puts her hands on the sides of Stiles’ face. His cheeks are indeed burning. She pulls him closer until she can drop a kiss on his nose. “You’re so cute! Isn’t he cute, Derek?” Derek is definitely feeling up the underside of her breasts, so that might be why he agrees so easily. Or he might be a bit high; Stiles thinks his roommate’s eyes are a little red, though it’s kinda hard to tell with the blinking Christmas lights all over the room. He’s feeling a little out of it himself, if he’s honest. He can’t believe what’s happening, that is, if what he thinks is happening, is really happening.  Lindsay catches his lower lip between her teeth, almost making Stiles topple over. He has to catch himself by putting his hands out, one ends up high on Derek’s leg, the other on Lindsay’s hip. The next thing he knows, Lindsay is licking into his mouth and he’s making out with the girl while she’s sitting in Derek’s lap. “I think we can have a lot of fun, the three of us. What do you think, cutie?” she asks, punctuating her question with little nips on his lower lip.

“Oh my god, you’re serious?” Stiles can’t help but blurt out, which only makes her laugh more. He moves his hand on her waist and bumps into Derek’s hand, which is still underneath her shirt. His eyes go wide when all the implications hit him. “Oh. Wow .” 

Lindsay kisses him again and then she turns to Derek, who easily returns her kiss. “Alright boys, here’s how it’s gonna go.” She gets up from Derek’s lap, trailing her fingers down both their jaws. “I’m gonna go tell my friend where I’m going and then we are going back to your room to have a good time, the three of us.”

Stiles stares after her swaying hips in a daze as she makes her way towards the kitchen, where her friend supposedly is. He snaps out of it when Derek suddenly says: “I had sex with her a couple of weeks ago.” 

“Yeah, I figured,” Stiles mumbles, looking back at his roommate and noticing he’s now almost sitting in Derek’s lap himself. “Uh…” he scratches the back of his head awkwardly. “Is this… Are we…?” Are we really doing this, he wants to ask. Because it’s one thing to sometimes fantasize about your incredibly hot roommate, but actually having a threesome with said roommate is a whole other ball game. Heh. Balls . Oh, and now he’s staring at his roommate. Who’s sitting way too close. Or, perhaps Stiles is the one doing that, sliding half of the armrest and almost landing in Derek’s lap.

“I’m bi,” Derek suddenly blurts out and his ears turn pink in the most adorable way. It’s the first sign he shows that he’s not all that suave about this; it’s comforting.

“Oh, thank god, me too,” Stiles rushes out to say, even though he’s pretty sure Derek knows that. “And you’ve already seen my dick, so…”  It's simultaneously the hottest and most embarrassing memory he has of this school year. Or his life, even. Lydia changing her clothes right in front of him in junior year can’t hold a candle to getting caught jerking off by his extremely gorgeous roommate. Derek had stopped dead just inside the door, staring at him with this unreadable look in his eyes. Stiles froze, one hand on his dick and his other hand gripping his balls, his shirt rucked up on his chest. "I'm going to take a piss," Derek had said after a few tremendously awkward seconds, the words clipped. "You better be done before I get back." He turned around and yanked the door back open. "And put a sock on the door the next time, Jesus." Stiles came like a freight train not two minutes later.

And now his hot roommate is telling him he's not just into girls but into guys too?!

The girl is back before Stiles can process this. If she has second thoughts about their plans, they're unnoticeable. "My friend knows I’ll be hanging out with you guys, let’s go." She tosses her hair over her shoulder as she turns, showing them her frankly magnificent ass.

Derek grins at him dopily. He’s definitely not completely sober. “She’s bossy.”

Stiles grins back. “I know, right? She reminds me of my friend Lydia, in highschool. I had a major crush on her for years.” They both get up and follow Lindsay out the door. “Man, I fucking love college!”

Their dorm isn’t too far from the frat house, but it’s far enough for Stiles to properly freak out. He’s never had a threesome, how is this supposed to go? The only threesomes he watched on the internet were with two girls and one guy. Now there’s two guys and one girl. Are they supposed to direct all their attention to her, or will there also be some boy-on-boy action? Oh my god , he’s gonna see Derek’s dick. Well, he’s seen Derek’s dick before, they practically live on top of each other most of the time. But he hasn’t seen Derek’s dick when it is standing to attention, not full on, at least. Stiles has always politely ignored any signs of morning wood in his roommate’s boxers. And now he’s gonna touch Derek’s dick. Possibly. Probably. “I really have to stop saying ‘Derek’s dick’,” he mutters. Even if it’s just inside his own head.

“What?” Derek looks at him quizzically as he holds the door open for Lindsay and for Stiles to follow.

“Nothing, nothing,” Stiles rushes to say, relieved to take the hand Lindsay is holding out for him. She molds herself against his side, giving him something else to focus on. Like the way she sucks a kiss into his throat. “Third floor,” he gasps, gesturing towards the stairwell.

“I remember,” she answers, with a flirty wink for Derek.  Stiles tries to think of where he was while those two were getting it on, but it’s futile. He’s been sexiled by Derek a number of times; he assumes the sock on the door doesn’t mean his roommate was having some quality time with his right hand, not when Derek looks the way he does. By which Stiles means hot. If Stiles can score in college, Derek definitely can. It doesn’t really matter anyway, because in a few moments he will be getting it on, with two people at the same time. Oh my god . The girl excuses herself to the bathroom when they pass it in the hallway. “I’ll be right with you,” she suggests with a flirty smile, before disappearing behind the door of the communal toilets.

Stiles is opening their door with his key when Derek rounds on him. “Quit freaking out!”

“Wha-? Excuse me!”

“You’re freaking out. You’ll scare her off or something.”

Stiles actually laughs at that. “Dude. She’s been running the show all night. I think she’s confident enough for both of us. Or, the three of us.”

“Don’t call me dude.” Derek follows him inside their room. “So, you’re scared of her? Is that it? Does she intimidate you?”

“Hah. If anything, that’s a plus.” Stiles thinks of Lydia, who was the hottest and smartest person in his school. She was, like, the perfect girl. At least in his head. Being intimidated by someone didn’t exactly put Stiles off. If anything, fear boners were a thing.

Derek leans up against his desk, his arms crossed in front of his chest. He shakes his head and Stiles thinks he can detect a slightly fond smile. He has a strong hunch that Derek is checking up on him, in his own rude way. “You can be such a weirdo, Stilinski.”

“Sure,” Stiles admits freely, with an amical shrug. “But it has a certain charm, doesn’t it?” Derek doesn’t answer, not verbally at least. His eyebrows give off a message that Stiles likes to interpret as ‘you’re right, but I don’t want to admit it out loud’. He’s seen it before, for instance when they’re discussing the merits of different Doritos flavors. Or when Stiles argues that socks are the first thing you put on when dressing, not last. He gets cold feet easily, that doesn’t mean he’s not right. “So…” Stiles wants to ask Derek for tips, or directions, or anything that gives him any idea on what to do and how to act when Lindsay enters the room in a minute. He has no idea how to ask that without sounding stupid. From out in the hall he hears the distinctive squeak that signals the closing of the bathroom door. There’s no time for questions now, it’s time to jump into action. Stiles swallows audibly. He watches Derek rifle through the bottom drawer of his nightstand, where he takes out a familiar tin. “Oh, that’ll help,” Stiles sighs in relief.

“Oh, good idea!” Lindsay proclaims as she walks into the room and spots the joint Derek now holds up between his fingers.

Derek offers her the joint and lights it for her, while Stiles quickly locks the door. Their RA will probably see having a girl over through his fingers, but Stiles is not looking to get busted for smoking pot. Not tonight.

When he turns back, Derek has his arms around Lindsay and she’s blowing smoke in his mouth. They kiss, smoke escaping around their faces. Before Stiles can feel left out, Lindsay turns and beckons him over to give him the same treatment.  Okay, this, Stiles can do. He slots into place, with Lindsay snaking one arm behind his shoulders, her fingers coming up in his hair. He meets her lips and breathes the smoke in, making sure to blow it out slowly through his nose. He places his hands on her curvy waist, feeling the fabric of Derek’s henley against her back. Derek has his hands on her hips, so Stiles lets his fingers wander upwards, rucking up her top a bit and moving his hands towards her breasts. Lindsay arches her back approvingly and Stiles takes the opportunity to quickly move his hands beneath her top, pushing it up until it exposes her bra. She’s wearing a lacy lilac number and Stiles hopes she has the panties to match. “Pretty,” he breathes in between kisses, gently massaging the globe of her breasts.

“Yeah?” Lindsay smiles. “You like what you see?”

“Very much,” Stiles admits, because now Derek is sucking her neck from behind and it hits him that he has two very pretty people within hands’ reach. His dick twitches in his jeans, eager to continue. He pulls a little at her top, now bunched up high on her chest. “Can we take this off?” She nods and lifts her arms obligingly. Stiles eases her top over her head and arms, taking the joint from her before it sets fire to her clothes or something. Derek has taken advantage of the situation and has one hand fitted between her skin and her bra, cupping her breast. His other hand is splayed low on her stomach, his pinky finger already disappearing behind her waistband. 

“You too,” Lindsay says, her voice breathy from Derek’s ministrations. Stiles takes a deep hit of the joint and offers it back to her, proceeding to get rid of his flannel and T-shirt. He’d feel self conscious about getting naked, knowing he’s plenty fit, but can’t hold a candle to Derek’s superior physique, yet Lindsay is humming appreciatively and running a hand across his chest, down to his stomach.

Stiles ducks back in for a kiss, putting his hand on the breast Derek isn’t holding. Her skin is warm and soft and Stiles follows the impulse to drop kisses on the swell of her breasts. Derek’s hand disappears and a moment later there’s no more lilac lace separating her skin from the air and Stiles’ lips. She gasps when he closes his lips around her nipple and her breathy “yes” is all the incentive he needs.

He’s vaguely aware of Derek and Lindsay kissing above his head, but he’s more than happy to give his attention to the soft flesh before him. She’s wonderfully sensitive and it’s not long before she writhes and squirms between them. A sharp gasp makes him look up and then down, to see Lindsay has dropped her head back against Derek’s shoulder and his hand has now completely disappeared inside her pants. Stiles decides to help out and quickly pops the button of her jeans, working her zipper down to give Derek more space. Her panties are made of the same lilac lace as her bra and he moves his hands around her full hips to ease her jeans down. They’re tight, but he pushes them down bit by bit, kissing the creamy skin he reveals. His lips also brush Derek’s wrist, which is partially covered by lilac lace. “This is so hot,” he groans softly, raptured by the sight of Derek’s hand moving against her pussy. 

Lindsay’s wearing black ankle boots with a zipper on the side, which are easy enough to remove. Stiles makes quick work of her socks and pants and then the girl is completely naked between them, save for her pretty panties. He stays for a moment on his knees in front of her, running his hands up and down her legs gently while he enjoys the view of two of Derek’s fingers pushing in behind the lace. The fabric is stained dark between her legs and the soft sopping sound makes his dick throb in his jeans. 

He surges upwards, his hands moving up along her body until he reaches her face and can tilt it towards him in a deep kiss. From the corner of his eyes he can see Derek, watching them through hooded eyes. The joint is hanging limply from between his lips, the tip no longer glowing red. He breaks the kiss with Lindsay, panting a little. “Let me get that, big guy,” he mumbles, carefully taking the joint from Derek’s lips. He has to move away a little to deposit the thing on one of the desks, but it gives Lindsay the space to turn around and start undressing Derek. He cooperates easily, quickly shrugging out of his henley. Lindsay moves her hands over his chest, raking her red nails through the short hairs. She kisses Derek, pressing her breasts against his chest. Stiles moves in behind them, grabbing her hips and pressing his still clothed dick up against her ass. He should perhaps do something about that, he thinks vaguely, and starts undoing his belt. His pants follow suit and a moment later he steps out of the puddle of his jeans. 

“Let’s take this to the bed,” Derek suggests quietly and nods towards his bed behind them. It’s the most logical choice, because he is the one who actually made his bed that morning. Stiles’ bed is still a mess of blankets and pillows. He can’t really be bothered by it, because Lindsay pulls him with her and they both drop down onto the mattress to watch Derek get rid of the last of his clothes. Stiles can’t help but bite his lip at the sight of Derek dressed in nothing but tight black boxers in front of him. For a moment, they make eye contact and it’s not awkward like Stiles feared, but heady and promising. He isn’t sure what the promise is, but he’s sure he’ll find out. 

Lindsay takes control again, pushing him on his back and slipping her fingers behind the elastic of his boxer shorts. She doesn’t ask him if it’s okay, probably trusting him to speak up if she does something he doesn’t like or want. Stiles isn’t going to protest, not when she wraps a hand around his hard dick under the watchful eye of Derek, who still stands by the side of the bed. He doesn’t know what he finds hotter: the way Lindsay licks her hand to slick up his dick or the way Derek’s eyes follow the proceedings with obvious interest. When Derek palms himself through his boxers and groans softly, Stiles knows which way the scale tips.

When Derek drops to his knees by the bed, Stiles thinks for a second that he’s gonna get a blowjob from his roommate, but it’s Lindsay who circles her tongue around the head of his dick, while Derek swiftly pulls her underwear off and ducks his head between her legs. It takes a bit of maneuvering from the three of them, but they manage to find a position in which everyone can be fairly comfortable. 

The blowjob is sloppy and more than a little uncoordinated, yet Stiles thinks Lindsay can be excused by account of the effort Derek is clearly putting in. The girl is moaning up a storm, evidently loving it. She gives up on his dick and he moves around to suck her nipple into his mouth, pinching the other one gently between his fingers. It’s not long before she convulses underneath him, giving voice to her orgasm with a drawn out groan. 

“God, that was good,” she pants, dropping her head back against the duvet. Derek emerges from between her legs with a self-satisfied smirk that Stiles can’t really fault him for. His roommate wipes his mouth with his hand, reaching up Lindsay’s prone form until he can drop a kiss between her breasts. She lazily drops her hand on his head, ruffling his hair.  When she looks up at Stiles, it’s easy to shuffle down and catch her lips in a kiss. She cups his cheek to hold him in place. “Sorry about that, stud, I was a little distracted.”

He chuckles, momentarily forgetting that his dick is still hard and wanting. “That’s okay. I think I’d react the same in your place.”

She smiles knowingly and moves her hand to pat his shoulder. “Why don’t you sit back a little and I’ll make it up to you.”

He scoots back obligingly and so does Derek, giving Lindsay the room to get on her knees between Stiles’ legs when he sits with his back to the headboard. She hardly wastes any time to sink her lips around his dick, making Stiles buck his hips. “Sorry, sorry,” he says quickly, his hands petting her head and shoulders in apology. In response, she presses down with her hand on his hip to tell him to not do it again. She’s not moving off his dick, so he guesses he’s forgiven.

Now that Derek isn’t eating her out, her blowjob skills are remarkably better. She can’t take him all the way in, but she makes clever use of her hands and she has a wicked tongue. When Stiles feels his orgasm coming on too quickly, he signals her to take it down a notch and she obliges without question. Lindsay looks back over her shoulder to where Derek is running his hands over her back, legs and ass. “Why don’t you join in from your end?” 

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Derek drawls and leans over to open the top drawer of his nightstand. He pulls out some condoms and lube, making quick work of getting himself ready. Stiles watches him get on his knees behind Lindsay, gently moving her in the right position and then lining himself up. She moans around Stiles’ dick when Derek enters her and Stiles moans too, wondering what he did to be rewarded with such a view. Derek holds her firmly by her hips, his abs contracting beautifully as he undulates his hips.

Stiles closes his eyes to the ministrations of Lindsay’s hands, lips and tongue and the feel of the girl’s body rocking back and forth on Derek’s slow thrusts. He doesn’t think it can get any better than this, until he opens his eyes and Derek’s hooded gaze locks in on his. Stiles comes almost without warning; he manages to push Lindsay’s head up at the last second, warm ropes of cum shooting up his stomach. Some of it hits her cheek and he quickly wipes it off with his thumb. “Sorry,” he offers, feeling sheepish.

Lindsay crawls forward, giving him a kiss. “How are you going to make up for it?” she asks with a sly grin. Stiles looks between her and Derek, who is now sitting back on his feet, no longer fucking Lindsay because she moved away from him. Shit. He didn’t ruin everything, did he? Derek doesn’t look all that bothered, though, more expectant, like he wants to see what they’ll do next. What can they do next? Maybe switch positions? Stiles will need about twenty minutes before he’s ready to go again, but he could eat her out while she gives Derek a blowjob? Would that be okay? Before he can make the suggestion, Lindsay speaks up. “You’re gonna eat me out until I come again.”

Stiles gapes at her. “Okay?” He catches sight of Derek behind her, his head cocked in question. Checking in on him, again. Stiles rallies. “Yeah, okay! Sounds good.” And he means it, he’s certainly willing to do it. He’s just not used to the way this girl takes matters into her own hands. “I’ll just…” He gestures vaguely towards the entirety of the bed, which is very crowded with the three of them. 

Lindsay takes the lead, again. She kisses him and simultaneously makes him move out of the way, so she can take his place. She nestles herself against the pillows and spreads her legs for Stiles to take his place between them. It’s only then that he’s aware of Derek behind him, who’s sitting at the foot of the bed. His roommate is following the proceedings with interest, one hand moving slowly up and down his cock. The condom is discarded next to him. Stiles swallows, wanting to touch but not knowing if he’s allowed. So far he’s only touched Derek in a practical way, nothing deliberate.

“Kiss him.” Stiles whips his head back towards the head of the bed. Lindsay grins at him playfully, reclined against the pillows. She lifts her leg and puts the ball of her foot against his chest. “Go on, kiss him. I want to see you guys kiss.” She pushes lightly and Derek is already close, Stiles can feel the heat of his body against his skin. 

Derek lifts his hand to cup Stiles' cheek, bringing him closer still. “This okay?” he whispers, waiting for his nod to press their lips together. 

Stiles has known he was bi since he was 14. His first sexual encounter was a year later, with a boy: kissing for a drunk dare at a house party led to shared handjobs behind the shed in the backyard. There were more girls than boys after that, the lion share of the notches on his bedpost not acquired until after he enrolled in college. And now he’s kissing Derek, who kisses a lot gentler than Stiles was expecting. His lips are soft, a stark contrast to the ever present stubble. There’s a hint of tongue, just barely touching his lips. Stiles loves it, finds himself sinking into the kiss, into Derek’s touch. He shuffles closer for a better angle, slots their knees together so they’ll fit. When their tongues finally slide together, Stiles almost whimpers. Derek reacts by holding him firmer, the hand on his waist flexing. 

When he feels another set of hands on him, ones with pointy red nails that trail teasingly down his chest, he almost startles. He'd completely forgotten about Lindsay, as lost as he was in Derek’s touch. “So hot,” she whispers in his ear. “You boys are getting me so hot.” Stiles lets her break their kiss, claiming Derek’s lips for herself. Derek doesn’t stop touching him, the hand on his side sliding down to palm his ass. Stiles shifts a little into the touch, so Derek’s fingers slip into his cleft, close to where he suddenly knows he wants him. He slides his own hand down the inside of Derek’s thigh, tracing the warm, softly textured skin of his balls with the pads of his fingers.

However, there’s a lady present and she deftly reminds him of his duty to make it up to her by guiding his free hand towards her pussy. The wet slide of his fingers between her folds piques his interest and he easily lets her guide his head between her legs when she lies back again. He puts her legs over his shoulders and starts by kissing the insides of her thighs, mixed with small kitten licks over her clit. He plays with her like that until she starts squirming. “Getting impatient, huh?” he teases, resting his weight on one elbow so he can rub his fingers along her folds, catching her clit between his knuckles with each move up and down.

“She’s not the only one,” Derek remarks from behind Stiles, where he’s sitting astride one of Stiles’ legs. He’s been running his hands up and down Stiles’ legs, occasionally giving his ass a firm squeeze, but that’s about it.

“Oh, shit.” Stiles realizes suddenly that Derek must be feeling left out. “Uhm…” He wriggles in place, pulling one knee up underneath him and meaning to get up, but Lindsay holds him in place with her hand in his hair. And Derek…

“Can I…?” Derek asks, his thumb skirting softly along Stiles’ now exposed rim. “I won’t… I mean, just my fingers,” he adds, sounding hesitant but eager. 

“Yes,” Stiles immediately answers, arching his back in anticipation. He’s rewarded by the press of the flat of Derek’s thumb against his hole. It's very hard to concentrate on the job he's doing when Derek is massaging his rim and slowly adding lube until his finger slides inside without resistance. His other hand is massaging Stiles’ ass, a firm kneading that somehow compliments the slow slide of Derek’s finger inside him. Unconsciously Stiles times his licking with Derek’s movements, adding his own finger to Lindsay's wet velvet heat. He adds another finger when Derek does, groaning against the girl’s pussy, his own enjoyment copied in her moans. Derek picks up the pace, curling his fingers inside Stiles and starts fingerfucking him in earnest. Stiles cups his hand, his ring finger and middle finger pressing up inside her, and sucks on her clit. He pushes back against Derek’s hand, wanting more but also trying not to get jostled too much so he can concentrate on the girl in front of him.

Lindsay moans louder, pulling his hair. “Don't stop, don’t stop,” she urges and Stiles doubles his efforts. Mercifully, Derek slows down a little, settling on slow, deep drags of his fingers that make Stiles' toes tingle. He doesn’t know if it’s been twenty minutes yet, but his dick is almost fully hard again and the friction he finds against the bedding starts to lack severely. He wants, no, he needs more. But first… Stiles rubs his fingers in a tiny circular motion, pressing up and licking broad, quick strokes over her clit until Lindsay clenches his head between her thighs and comes with a guttural groan. He laps up the excess moist until she gets too sensitive and kisses her folds one last time before crawling up a little and settling down with his head on her soft stomach. She scratches the hair behind his ear, mumbling some unintelligible praise or even thanks. He would laugh, but is distracted by Derek, who gently guides his knees under him so his ass sticks up in the air. When Derek sidles up behind him, his legs pressing against the back of Stiles’ thighs, he thinks for a second his roommate is gonna fuck him. But Derek said he wouldn’t and Stiles trusts him to check in with him if he wanted to get back on that. There’s the click of lube, a slicking motion and then Derek’s large hands settle on the sides of his ass and Stiles feels the hard, wet heat of his dick slide along his cleft. The head catches a little on his rim, but Derek doesn’t push in and continues to slide his dick between Stiles’ ass cheeks. Derek is searching for his own pleasure, angling his cock down to rub against the back of Stiles’ balls. Stiles tries to press his thighs together as best as he can, wanting to provide Derek with the friction he’s looking for. It works, if the quiet moans he hears from Derek are any indication. Stiles mouths idly at Lindsay’s skin, panting with the effort of keeping his legs firm but the rest of his body pliant underneath Derek’s thrusts. The feeling of Derek’s cock sliding between his legs, hitting his balls with every movement, makes Stiles wish he could put a hand on his own dick, but he’s sort of pinned against Lindsay right now and has no other choice than to just take it. 

Derek reaches his climax a few thrusts later, spilling his seed between Stiles’ legs and nearly collapsing on top of him. He presses a kiss against Stiles’ back and then, as if he can read his mind, reaches around to wrap his hand around Stiles’ dick. “Oh, fuck yes,” he groans appreciatively, bucking into the tight clench of Derek’s hand. Derek sets a punishing rhythm from the start and it doesn’t take long before Stiles comes for the second time that evening.

They collapse in a tangle of limbs, Stiles and Derek each on a side of Lindsay so they don’t crush her. Stiles wouldn’t have minded to lie beneath Derek’s weight a little longer, but the hand his roommate still has curled around the back of his leg, just beneath the curve of his ass, makes up for it a little.

“This was fun,” he sighs contentedly, blowing out a breath against the side of Lindsay’s boob. He pretends to gnaw at the squishy flesh, making her yelp in mock horror. The girl giggles and Derek flexes his hand on his leg, making Stiles realize it's a mess of lube and sperm down there. “Ugh, I need a shower.”

“And I need clean sheets,” Derek adds, sounding a little put out about it.

Somewhere in the room a poppy song starts playing. “Oh, that’s my phone,” Lindsay says, pushing herself up. Derek and Stiles roll away from her, trying not to fall out of bed (Derek) or flinch because his back comes into contact with the cold wall (Stiles). Lindsay unearths her phone from her jeans pocket and answers with a cheerful “Hi!”. She bends over to grab her lilac panties from the floor. “I'm totally fine. It was fun.”

“That’s an understatement,” Stiles stage whispers to Derek, even though he said the same thing only minutes ago. Derek merely raises an eyebrow in response, not bothering to hide his content smirk.

They idly watch how Lindsay dresses herself, talking on the phone to her friend. It’s kind of mesmerizing to see how she manages to put her bra on while clutching the phone between her chin and shoulder. “I’ll be right there, see you soon,” Lindsay says and ends the call. Stiles pushes himself up when she puts the phone in her back pocket. 

He grimaces when he feels the cold wet spot against his butt, but ignores it otherwise. “Can I walk you home? Call you an Uber?” Maybe he should’ve gotten his ass out of bed sooner, but he was kinda comfy and it only just now occurred to him that of the three of them, Lindsay is the only one who needs to get home. 

“No need, cutie,” Lindsay says, leaning over the bed to press a kiss to his lips. “My friend lives on the floor above you guys, I’m gonna crash with her.” She turns to kiss Derek. “This was fun, we should do it again.”

Derek smirks and lets his hand trail meaningfully down her chest, but doesn’t say anything. Stiles returns the kiss she blows him with a smile. He leans back on his arms to watch her unlock the door and disappear out into the hallway. 

Derek makes use of the freed up space to move more fully onto his back, intending to get comfortable. He regrets it immediately and makes a face. “Gross. The sheets are all wet.”

Stiles chuckles lightly, feeling more than a little self-conscious. “Sorry about that.”

“Nah.” Derek waves a dismissive hand. “At least some of it is mine.”

“Doubt it,” Stiles admits with a grimace. “Most of that is sticking down the back of my legs.”

There’s a moment of total silence in which their eyes lock and then they both burst out laughing. Derek swings his legs off the bed and lets the momentum get him up, offering Stiles a hand with a grin. “Shower?” 

“Shower,” Stiles agrees. They slip into some clothes and make their way to the communal showers on their floor in companionable silence. It’s almost like every other night when they end up going to bed at the same time, if Stiles ignores the fact that he’s scrubbing Derek’s spunk out of his leg hair. It’s not something he really thought about earlier this night, but things could’ve turned sour with Derek real easily if it all hadn’t worked out the way it did. Stiles never would’ve dreamed he would ever end up in bed with Derek, thinking Derek was way out of his league, if not straight. He certainly learned something new about his roommate in this respect. He’s really glad things are still okay between them, he would’ve hated to lose Derek as a friend.

Back in their room Stiles lets himself fall face first on his bed and wriggles himself underneath his blanket. If there’s a reason why he hardly ever makes his bed, this is it: he can just dive right in.

“Scoot over.” Derek pushes at his shoulder.

“Huh?” Stiles lifts his head from his pillow just enough to look at his roommate. Derek is standing next to his bed dressed in his sleeping pants, chest bare. Just like he always sleeps. In his own bed, across the room.

Derek pulls the comforter up, gesturing for Stiles to move over. He has his pillow underneath his arm. “I’m not gonna change my sheets in the middle of the night. I wanna sleep, so your bed it is.”

“You want to share?” Stiles stares wide eyed at his roommate, who gives him a deadpan look. “Right. Yeah. Sure. Duh,” he stammers. Then he rolls towards the wall, making room for Derek who slides between the sheets like it’s something he does all the time. He settles on his back, with Stiles on his side next to him. Derek lifts his hand to the light switch above Stiles’ bed and the room turns dark. It’s a bit odd to feel nervous about sharing a bed with your attractive roommate, when the guy rubbed himself off between your thighs only an hour before. Yet Stiles can’t help it. They crossed a line tonight and he keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Derek sighs and probably rolls his eyes too, it’s just that Stiles can’t see it in the dark, but he knows he did. “Will you just go to sleep? You're overthinking shit and it's loud.”

“I’m not,” Stiles sputters, feeling called out.

“You are,” Derek sighs. “Just quit it. I thought you always said I was the one who thinks too much, or something.”

Stiles shakes his head against the pillow. “No, you’re brooding. That’s different. And how come you’re not overthinking anything right now?”

“I just had some really good sex. It helps.” There has to be an obnoxious grin that accompanies that answer, hidden by the dark.

Stiles hits Derek’s shoulder with his flat hand. “I was there, you ass.”

“No, I distinctly remember it being your ass.”

“Oh my god!” Stiles can’t help it, he snorts in a definitely not sexy way and then he dissolves into laughter, pressing his forehead against the meat of Derek’s shoulder. He can feel the tiny shocks of movement that mean Derek’s laughing with him. Or at him. Both’s okay, really, because it helps to take Stiles’ nerves down. When their laughter dies down, Stiles stays pressed up against the side of Derek’s arm. Derek is nice and warm, it’s a good place to be.

“So, that was your first threesome, right?” his roommate asks casually. Stiles thinks he turns his head to look down at Stiles, but he isn’t gonna look up to check.

He nods against Derek’s shoulder. “Yeah. For you?”

“Nah.” Well, that’s not surprising. “First time with a man and a woman, though.”

Stiles smiles. “That’s actually kinda nice to hear. Makes me feel like all my newbie fumblings were maybe less obvious.”

Derek jostles him a little with his shoulder. “Shut up. You did fine.”

“I did make her come,” Stiles hums. 

“And me,” Derek agrees easily. Stiles blushes so hard that he’s glad that the lights are off. Though perhaps Derek can feel the sudden burn of his cheeks against his arm.

“Yeah, well, right back at ya,” Stiles answers with a slightly nervous stammer. 

Derek rolls to his side, facing Stiles. The change of position has Stiles facing Derek’s pecs, he can feel the chest hair slightly tickling his nose. He can’t make himself move away, arguing inside his head that he’s comfortable beneath the comforter and doesn’t want to move for that reason alone.

“What was your favorite part?” 

It’s a question that Stiles should probably answer in a more ‘bro’ fashion, say something like ‘when we filled her from both ends’, but what actually comes out is: “Kissing you.” He huffs a shy laugh. “I mean, the orgasms were nice too, don’t get me wrong, but… I really liked kissing you. You’re a great kisser.”

“Yeah?” Derek’s first response sounds a bit smug, but then he rubs a warm hand up Stiles’ arm and his next words are a lot more subdued. “I liked that too.”

He forgets he’s practically hiding in Derek’s chest hair and looks up. “You did?”

Derek continues rubbing his arm and shrugs slightly. “Well, yeah. Of course I did.”

Stiles would’ve never guessed - or dared to hope - that kissing his roommate was something Derek enjoyed. But now that that’s out there… “Wanna do it again?”

Derek hums quietly, his hand moving up over Stiles’ shoulder, across his collarbone and then gently cupping his cheek. “Sure.” Warm lips press against his. There’s that stubble again, the gentle exploration of his mouth, the ease with which Stiles loses himself to it. 

They kiss until Stiles has to yawn. “Sorry,” he mumbles, finding it hard to keep his eyes open. 

There’s a peck on his forehead and then he gets tucked into Derek’s side. “Good night, Stiles.”

Stiles drives back the next day to Beacon Hills on about four hours of sleep, three large coffees, the music turned up all the way to ten and the windows rolled down. He smiles the whole way home. He has a new story for Scott and what a story it is!

[skekilla]

https://www.deviantart.com/skekilla/art/Runaway-Train-Act-III-Scene-2-936559738

After all that excitement, this was kind of deja vu. Did this train go on forever?

The light glancing through the train’s thick-paned windows had slowly changed from the pale, thin glow of the early morning to the bright yellow of sunrise to the strong and even daylight they were getting now. It really had been hours, and Lillian had only led them further and further all the while. Johnny’d tried to count how many cars they went through, but he just couldn’t. Even with walking on only one leg, he’d gotten too tired to think about that. Poor Sally, Orla, and Curtis, too—they’d been holding him up, taking turns being his other leg, this whole time as they trudged on from car to car to car to car. He was grateful—very grateful—but perhaps not quite as apologetic as he would have been a couple days ago. He was still bashful a good deal, of course, but… not so ashamed, maybe. They were his friends now, after all, not strangers. Besides, he was as worth it as any of the rest of them. That new idea was enough to keep his spirits up, just a little, as they went along.

Suddenly, at the end of what must’ve been the five-hundredth or so car, Lillian came to a stop. Johnny’s wide eyes darted around. Everything was as ordinary as ever. Though they’d just gone through all kinds of cars—sleeping cars, bars, casinos, dining rooms, ballrooms, libraries, anything you could think of—this one was just like any other. It made his nerves buzz with growing anxiety, slowly dawning like the sun just had. Why’re we stopped?

A grave silence passed before the rabbit girl took in a breath. She turned around slowly. Gosh, did those dark voids of hers look deadly serious. The suspense didn’t help keep Johnny’s heart from turning cold with dread. “Folks,” she began darkly. Another long pause punctuated her words. Then, finally, when the tension was at the point it seemed like the whole room was going to snap like a twig, she said, “do you think I look alright? How’s my hair? Ugh, I should tuck in my shirt more.”

“Ridiculous!” Curtis snapped, all fear having fallen away. “You’re trying to gussy yourself up? Now?”

“Ugh, well you’d do the same if you were about to see someone you were trying to impress a bit!” Lillian said. Johnny could’ve sworn the inside of her velvety ears went a little more pink than they were a second ago. It’d make sense anyway; she was practically stomping in embarrassment.

Curtis rolled his eyes with a scoff. All the others seemed similarly unimpressed or perplexed. “Wait, we were trying to impress someone?” little Anne asked. “I thought we were trying to help our friend, Mr Johnny!” Johnny himself wasn’t sure at this point. He was getting nervous about this, more and more so by the minute. Even though any momentary dread had been broken, his doubts about this whole thing were only doubled now. What was Lillian’s game here? Gosh… I’m not sure this is gonna work out so good…

A sigh left Ed. In some sort of resolute way, he straightened up and tipped his hat down as he spoke: “Well, we ought to stop dawdling if you’re all so bent on getting anywhere. Fix yourselves up, hm?” That wry smile of his twisted around till his face was lined like worn wood.

Lillian didn’t seem to appreciate his humour. She huffed and crossed her arms. “Yeah? And why do you care so much to help these mortals now, anyway? What happened to hunting Death, huh? Why don’t you just kill some of them already and get him to come?”

“It’s none of your business, is it?” he said bluntly. “Besides, killing things in front of kids isn’t generally good for them, you know.” Under the grave digger’s cold fog, Johnny knew what he meant by what he’d said: it was the kids after all. Keeping them safe or gratitude for their innocent idolization or… something else.

Lillian didn’t care, anyway. With one of her loud groans, she turned back around to face the door. Only a couple minor tweaks to her appearance—fixing up her hair, tugging at her skirt—and a deep breath were her hesitation. Then, finally, she opened the door and stepped through. The kids and Ed followed next, leaving the four other passengers behind. They all looked between each other. Uncertainty was in all of their faces, but something else was there too: resolution. They were going to do this. For each other. For their own lives. They had to do it together. Without any more delay, they all walked in through the threshold.

Somehow, this car was the most curious Johnny had seen yet. It wasn’t bizarre and impossible, like the forest or the ocean, nor unusual or ornate, like the cinema or the dining hall. No, the oddity of this car was such that it was unlike any other they’d been through yet: there were signs of life here. Someone lived in this car. The whole thing was torn up and converted into a sort of workshop; seats were flipped over and turned into workbenches or shelves, bits and pieces of all kinds of strange contraptions were scattered around everywhere—there were even drawings and plans and outlines scrawled over the walls! Now this car was bizarre, impossible, unusual, and ornate, in it’ own way.

Everyone else was in similar awe. “Johnny, you’re from the future, aye?” Orla asked as she looked around the room. “Have you ever seen stuff like all this before?”

“Yes, have you?” Sally murmured. “It’s all pretty off-beat alright.” She turned her eyes to Johnny and then Curtis. “Have either of you seen something like this?”

Johnny could only shake his head no in wordless wonder. Curtis’ brows were furrowed together, perplexed. “Some of the colours are sort of like what the kids are wearing back home, but… this is different,” he said. “No, I’ve got nothing.”

Though both Ed and Anne seemed in a similar way to the rest of them, Salem was in a far different state. They were running around, looking at everything they could. Their eyes seemed to flood their square glasses with how wide they were. “Guys! Look at all this cool old stuff!” they were shouting. “This is, like, what all the big kids wore when I was little! Oooh, look!” They ran around, wild with glee. Suddenly though, they came to a stop at a certain workbench. When he glanced over to peek at what’d caught their eye, Johnny saw something strange: on the surface of the makeshift table sat a pair of rollerskates, coloured a pink so bright it hurt his eyes. Overexcited as ever, Salem reached out their small hands towards the skates. Reverence made their whole face practically glow. They held their breath as their fingertips just brushed the dyed leather.

“Hey! Back off the skates, putz!” Johnny jumped at the sudden command, even though it wasn’t meant for him. The voice that had ordered it was unfamiliar—harsh and energetic, with a certain twang to it. That unfamiliarity only made him more anxious. This person was surely the one who lived here. What if they were taken for intruders? Thieves even, given Salem’s grabby hands? Oh gosh, this is bad! Quick as a whip, Johnny whirled around to look for the source of the voice. His eyes soon found a figure towards the other end of the car. None of them had noticed them before, and honestly, Johnny wasn’t sure how they hadn’t. After all, their hair was the same bright pink as those skates; it was a wonder that they’d missed them with that kind of colour on their head. They got up from where they had been sitting, their hands finding their hips as they came over. Terror crept up on Johnny with each step they took. The stranger looked angry alright, and sure, that did scare the hell out of Johnny, but that wasn’t the reason for his fear. No, it wasn’t even close. There was something very wrong with this person. As they came into the light, Johnny saw their greyish skin, saw the gnashes and bandages all over them. He saw their eyes, lack-lustre and almost dull, though they blazed with feeling. He saw it all. This person was a corpse. They were a walking corpse.

Johnny’s heart went cold. He tried to say something, maybe to scream, but he couldn’t. His mouth only hung open, his jaw trembling. Oh my God. Oh my God. They’re… it’s… DEAD!!

Before anyone could do anything, Lillian twirled around over to the… thing, placing her hands on its shoulders and leaning in (much to the corpse’s perceived annoyance). “Hiii Babs,” she said, her tone somehow more sweet than even Sally or Orla’s had ever been. Over her shoulder, she turned back to the others, meeting their horrified faces. Her bone-white mask was eerily calm, given what its wearer had her arms wrapped around. “Everyone, this is BB. She’s who we’re here for.”

[localhornist]

One second. Two. Three.

Ten seconds passed before Mordred finally let out a sigh, taking his hand from Grey, who took a heavy breath. Things were finally quiet. Carefully, he peered around from behind the crate. The warehouse was empty. They’d managed to escape whoever that blonde-haired twink was.

“Right, I think we’re-”

Suddenly, the air felt humid.

Mordred barely had time to move before the wall erupted, Grey’s scream was drowned out against the sound of several tons of water crashing into the warehouse. Keeping a hold of her as splinters tore against his skin, Mordred leapt up onto the walkway above, sliding across the slippery metal as he drew his sword, glowing against the dust-cloaked room. He pushed Grey behind him as he made his way over to the walkway edge, looking down at the now-flooded floor below. There, he spotted their adversary - tall, at least 6 foot, with long white hair wrapped in a basic ponytail, and a pair of similarly coloured horse-like ears breaking from the top of his head. Ocean-blue eyes stared back at him, and a grin broke his face.

“You’re Mordred, right?” the warrior spoke with a slightly teasing tone, pointing at him with a large trident, longer than Mordred was tall, with three wide prongs glittering from the little starlight that broke through the now collapsed roof.

“Yeah?” Mordred shot back, hoping whoever this was didn't see through his put-on confidence. “What of it?”

“My boss is kinda pissed at you,” cocking his head, the warrior noticed Grey cowering behind Mordred’s leg. “And I think that there’s the reason why, isn’t it? Grey, right?”

Mordred grimaced. This wasn’t good. If this guy was responsible for that flood just now, who knew what he was capable of? Mordred couldn’t do shit against that, not with Grey to protect too.

There was just one thing for it. Quietly, he tapped against his pocket, feeling the radio within buzz to life.

“So, who are you exactly? Kinda rude to not introduce yourself before blowing someone up.” That got a laugh from him.

“Caeneus.” The warrior spoke. “Warrior of Lapith, and servant of Kirschtaria. At your service, oh prince of Dragons.” Caeneus bowed mockingly, but Mordred didn’t budge. Clearly, they didn’t know who they were really up against.

“Kirschtaria? What, that prissy blonde twink?”

Caeneus' eye twitched. “I’d watch your tongue. You might lose it if you speak about my master like that again.”

“Oh really?” It was working. Caeneus didn’t notice the smell of smoke yet. “How come he’s not here then? I’m not gonna give two shits about what someone wants me to call them if they have to send their attack dog to clean up their mess.”

That got him a growl. “I don't know what you think you’re doing, Briton, but trying to get under my skin won’t work. Any attack you try to do against me won’t get through my skin, no matter how much you try to piss me off.” That would explain the lack of armour, at least - all Caeneus was wearing was a white vest over a black shirt, and black trousers, strangely absent of any water, and the sleeves clipped to the elbows. His hair was decorated by some sort of white headpiece, wrapping around from the back. “Now then. I’ll give you one last chance. Give me Grey, and you get to walk away. Don’t, and you die, and I still get Grey.”

…

Mordred regarded Caeneus for a moment, snickering slightly. “What?”

“Oh, I just realised something, that’s all.”

“I’d advise you to say it. Before I decide to take back my offer.”

“Oh, if you insist,” Mordred stepped to the very edge of the walkway, leaning against his sword. “Just, this KIrschtaria guy, sending you off to carry his stuff for him. You’re not really his dog, are you?

You’re his fucking mule.”

Mordred had barely finished before the ground shook, water swirling and boiling as Caeneus growled. “That… fucking… does it…” The water at his feet rose and sprung forth, throwing him into the air as he screamed a cry of war.

“YOU’RE FUCKING FINISHED PENDRAGON!”

And then the roof behind Mordred exploded. Fire poured in, smashing into Caeneus as he was flung right back out of the hole he made. As smog and ash filled the air, AJ carefully touched down, looking at Mordred with a tired expression. “Did you have to piss him off so much?” Mordred just shrugged.

“I think you guys might wanna hurry up!” Astolfo yelled from above, sitting on his hippogriff. “He’s not gonna be down for long!”

“Right.” Mordred picked up Grey, passing her to Astolfo.

“You two sure you’re gonna be okay? He seemed sorta angry.”

“Yeah yeah, we’ll be fone. All we got to do is make it not worth him following you. Shouldn’t take too long to bring him to a draw.” Astolfo clearly wasn’t convinced, but there was no other option, so he acquiesced, flying off again. Mordred turned to AJ with a grin. “Ready to let off some steam.”

AJ just rolled her eyes. “I really wish I didn’t have to keep mopping up your problems, you know.”

[cjsinkythoughts]

Suits, Dresses, and Heels

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader

Word Count: 4000

Warnings: !FATWS SPOILERS!, Cursing, More Mentions of PTSD, Gun Violence, Slight Mentions of Drinking, Club Dancing (You’re all gonna hate me for that part, but I’m not sorry)

A/N: Here’s Part 4.2 - The Second Part to Episode 3 - as requested. This is a little more scene-by-scene, but there are some off-screen moments. I’ll be posting Part 4.3 (which will have the rest of the episode) later tonight.

There’s a bit more information on Reader, but not as much as the last chapter. Sharon comes in during this part, so you get to see her and Reader’s relationship.

Also, I have mixed feelings about Zemo at this point. Not in the story, the Reader’s not a fan as you learned previously, but for me personally, he’s surprised me a couple times by coming back and helping.

Anyways! Thank you so much for reading! This isn’t beta’d so excuse any mistakes! Check out my other parts before you read! Thank you again! Stay tuned, loves!

FATWS MASTERLIST

cjsinkythoughts MASTERLIST

!SPOILERS UNDER CUT!

The dress was far too tight for your liking, and showed way too much skin. Not that you didn’t like being a tease every once in a while, but for this mission, you’d rather have more cover and movement.

You had to admit though; Zemo had nice taste. The dress fit deliciously - which made you wonder how he got your size. The color and cut was devastatingly flattering. Plus, he let you do your own makeup.

Being the only female, you were in a separate area of the jet getting ready. Once you were done, you made sure to knock, even though you’d walked in on Sam changing too many times to count while on the run and had seen Bucky answer the door in nothing but a towel. It was mainly for Zemo’s sake, just a warning that you were walking in whether or not they were ready.

“Damn, girl! You clean up nice!”

You rolled your eyes at Sam, painted lips quirking up as you studied him, shooting him a wink. “You should try a mirror, Sammy.” You turned to Bucky to find him staring wide-eyed and slack-jawed at you. “What do you think, Buck?”

His mouth snapped shut and he cleared his throat, eyes exploring the dips and curves your body. “You…” He blinked once. Twice. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, his intense eyes making you heat up, before he shook his head. “You look good.” He rushed out, before spinning on his heel shoving past Sam who was snickering.

“Where’s Zemo?” You noticed he wasn’t in the main area of the plane when you walked in.

“Rearranging our ride once we get there.”

You huffed, fixing your hair. “Oh God. We’re really doing this.”

“Yup.”

“Okay.” You looked down at yourself before looking up at the boys. “Something’s gonna go wrong, isn’t it?”

“Absolutely.”

“No doubt.”

Giving a slight groan at their simultaneous answers, you nodded. “Let’s try not to screw up too badly, boys, alright? I at least want to live long enough to see Peter graduate.”

Sam rolled his eyes with a scoff. “That kid’s a punk.”

“You’re a punk.” You shot back.

Bucky raised his hand. “I second that punk thing.”

“For which one?”

“Both of them.”

You chuckled as Sam gaped at Bucky, who shrugged innocently. The former assassin tilted his head in your direction to shoot you a grin and a wink, making you laugh more. Shaking your head, you go to make a joke when Zemo walked in.

“It’s time. We’re landing now.”

And just like that, the teasing atmosphere dissipated, leaving you anxious and regretful.

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

You walked by Bucky, arm linked with his metal one, listening as Zemo told Sam about his “character” he was to play.

“He’s a known womanizer - always has a gorgeous lady on his arm.” Zemo gestured towards you. “It’s the only way they’d let in a woman.”

“Aren’t we going to see a woman?” You questioned, gently patting Bucky’s metallic bicep when his hold on you tightened.

“Which makes it more imperative that you don’t act threatening. Women don’t make the same mistake men do; they don’t underestimate other women.”

You nodded. He had a point there. Bucky faced you, a frown on those pretty lips. “I don’t like this.” He mumbled.

“You think I do?” You whispered back. “With you being him again? Even if it’s just pretend? And need I remind you whose idea this was?”

“I know, I know. Just…” He sighed. “Promise me you won’t get hurt on purpose.”

Your forehead creased. “Why would I-?”

“To protect people. You always do. And I get it, I do. It’s why you started this in the first place, but…save yourself first, this time, okay?”

“Buck-”

“Promise me.”

It wasn’t often you could see the fear in his eyes, hear it in his voice, but you could then. Unable to do anything else you nodded, a soft, “okay” falling from your lips. He nodded back, pressing a kiss to your head, before letting you go as a car approached.

Bucky helped you in - the heels you were wearing were no joke - before sliding in himself, Sam getting in on the other side of you. “And you two can’t be…” Zemo gestured to the two of you as the car started moving, eyeing your still connected hands. “Doing that.”

“This isn’t my first theater production.” You snapped at him. “We’ll be fine.”

He raised his hands in surrender, turning back to look out the windshield. Once you arrived, you gave Bucky’s hand one last squeeze, before accepting Sam’s hand to get out on his side, linking your arm with his like you were doing with Bucky earlier.

“I finally get to see one of your performances, baby.” Sam grinned at you.

You smirked back. “Best seats in the house, too, Smiling Tiger.” He groaned at your jest, nudging you playfully with his elbow as you giggled.

“This way.” Zemo cut in, jerking his head in the direction you’d be going. You took a breath, steeling yourself, before the three of you nodded at each other and followed his lead.

You found the fellas reactions amusing, their heads turning to study and scan everything they could see. You were more subtle in the way you analyzed your surroundings, feeling a bit more at home in this situation than, say, fighting super soldiers on top of semi trucks.

Your jaw tightened, as did your grip on Sam’s arm, when Zemo started speaking Russian, the four of you pushing through a crowded bar. Sam ran his fingers over your arms, giving your hand a little squeeze, silently reassuring you.

It was a bit obvious Sam hadn’t done much undercover work, put he stayed in character and you were impressed. Especially when the bartender started cutting up the snake, which you had to look away for because if there was one thing you couldn’t do…it was snakes. You nearly gagged when Sam reluctantly downed the drink. 

Bucky eyed you, lips pursed in a way you recognized as him trying to hold in a smile. That made you feel a little better, hiding your own smile by turning into the crook of Sam’s neck. “Not. Funny.” He growled through clenched teeth, lips not moving.

“Kinda is.”

He grumbled under his breath, before the two of you tuned into the conversation between Zemo and a thug that came up, learning about the apparent power broker of Madripoor, which you a bit of from your time undercover there.

Sam held you tightly when Zemo turned to Bucky, knowing what was about to happen.

You didn’t like it. You didn’t like how easily aggressive he became. You didn’t like the little smirk Zemo gave as Bucky attacked. You didn’t like the cellphones being pointed in his direction. You didn’t like it.

“Didn’t take much for him to fall back into form.” You gave Zemo a warning glare, a shaky breath leaving you.

He’d been doing so well. At least, for someone who had been through what he had. Especially considering it’d only been a few months since he’d been pardoned - half a year since everyone came back. You knew bringing Zemo on board had been a bad idea, but-

A squeeze to your hand pulled you out of your thoughts. You let out an inaudible sigh of relief as Zemo allowed Bucky to let the man he was choking go.

“Selby will see you now.”

One step down. You hoped that would be the hardest part, but you knew it most definitely wouldn’t be.

“You good?”

Bucky sniffed, giving you two a curt nod, before following Zemo. You bit your lip. “That wasn’t really an answer, was it?”

Sam shook his head. “No. No it wasn’t.”

Selby wasn’t exactly what you were expecting, but you’d come to expect that. You stayed on Sam’s arm, giving the guards coy smiles and playing with the fake nails you had on in faux-boredom.

When she purred at the man besides you, you and Bucky glanced at each other, with you resisting the urge to scrunch up your nose. “And who is this gorgeous creature?”

Your eyes snapped back to Selby, giving her a slightly bashful smile. “Celeste Addams. Pleasure.”

“Trust me, dear. The pleasure is all mine.” Alright, you thought as she scanned you with a smirk. She was swinging for both teams. You could work with that. “What’s the offer?” She looked back to Zemo.

Zemo gave her the offer - information about the super soldier serum for the Winter Soldier and the code words to control him. Your blood boiled as Zemo touched Bucky, fingers grabbing his chin. You swore, once this whole thing was over, you would kick Zemo’s ass. You should make a list, just to keep track of all the things he’d done, and no doubt would do, to piss you off. That way he’d know why exactly you were beating his ass.

A name came up, Dr. Wilfred Nagel, along with the knowledge that the super soldier serum was, in fact, in Madripoor. You and Sam met eyes. Second step down.

But before they could get anything else, Sam’s phone buzzed. You ducked your head, closing your eyes, mumbling “fuck” when you saw it was Sarah. Sam’s responses just made you inwardly cringe even more.

“The bank, yeah. We laundered so much mo-” He chuckled nervously. “Yeah. They’ll come around.”

Is he fucking serious? For the love of God, Sammy…

And then she called him Sam. Next thing you knew, Selby was shot and you, Bucky, and Sam were taking out a guard each, you growling at the fact that you couldn’t use your legs because the dress was too damn tight.

You had no choice but to trust Zemo’s lead, but word traveled very quickly here, and less than a minute after walking outside, you were getting shot at.

“C’mon!” Bucky grabbed your arm, pulling you besides him.

“Can you not right now?!”

“I can’t run in these heels!”

You glared at Sam, the killer six inchers on your feet feeling like hell. “Hell no! You did not just say that in front of me!”

“You started it!” You scowled at him, following Bucky into an alley, only to duck as shots rang out. Chest heaving, you looked around for the source of the bullets that killed the men chasing you.  Your “guardian angel” as Zemo put it.

She soon appeared in all her stunning, blonde badass glory. “Sharon?”

Sam quickly explained the situation, trying to get her not to shoot Zemo who she had a gun pointed at.

“I stole Steve’s shield, remember? I also took the wings for your ass,” she pointed the gun at Sam, then Bucky, “so that you could save his ass, from his ass.” And the gun was back on Zemo. She shot you a smile. “And your ass is looking beautiful as always.”

You grinned back. “Thanks. You’re not looking too bad yourself.”

As she spoke, your lips turned down. You had tried calling her after Germany, but it always went to voicemail. First thing you did when you got back was try to get everyone pardoned, but it was a process. And then you found out about Wanda and ever since…

Sharon was your first real friend. She was only a couple years younger than you and had been one of your first partners during your time with SHIELD. And the fact that she’d been on the run for years now, even with the Blip, her family not having seen or talked to her since…that was exactly why you couldn’t take a break. She was family and you found there was nothing more important than family. But when she needed you, you were out searching for someone who didn’t want to be found.

How were you supposed to choose between two sisters? How could you cope with the fact that you chose the wrong one?

“Sharon, we need your help.” She laughed at Bucky’s statement. “Please,”

She glanced at you and you nodded. “I’d appreciate it, Share.”

She gave a sigh before nodding. “This isn’t over. I have a place in High Town. You should be safe there for a while.”

She turned and started walking, and you were about to follow, when you remembered something.

Spinning around, your fist connected with Zemo’s cheek, Sam and Bucky shouting in surprise while the man stumbled back. “Don’t you fucking dare touch him like that ever again, or I will break every bone in your body.” You threatened, your expression twisting into a scowl as you grab his hand and bend it awkwardly. He grunted but didn’t move, knowing one wrong turn would break his wrist. “Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal.” He ground out.

You pushed a little more, making him wince, before letting go and rounding back to Sharon, who was smirking at you. “Let’s get moving.”

“Yes, ma’am.” She jerked her head back over her shoulder to where a car was waiting, leading them over.

You quickly followed after her with Bucky on your heels and Sam dragging Zemo along. Speaking of heels, as soon as you got in the car - getting shotgun for the first time ever at Sharon’s insistence - you prodded the stupid shoes off your feet.

“Nice kicks.”

“Yeah.” You scoffed. “Unless you’re trying to kick.”

“Did you rip the dress?”

“I was tempted to.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll get you in something more comfortable. And you’ll look just as good. Not that you wouldn’t look good in literally anything.”

You chuckled, giving her a look. “Let’s not test that theory.”

She smiled back, nodding. “Fine. I’ll let you pick something out.”

Sam huffed, crossing his arms best he could, being squished with the two other fully grown men in the back seat. “Women.”

The two of you exchanged looks, rolling your eyes at the three pouting guys. “Men.”

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

“I’m gonna go check on the boys. But I’ll be right back.”

You nodded, looking through her closet. No dresses. And absolutely no heels. Flats, if you had to, but you’d definitely prefer sneakers right now. You decided on shorts and an off-the-shoulder blouse, grateful for the looser clothing.

“They’re idiots.”

You laughed and looked over at the door as Sharon entered. “Yeah. I know.”

“Cute.” She commented on your outfit, sitting on her bed. “They explained the situation. Sam said if I help, he’d clear my name-”

“Sharon.” You sighed, biting your lip. “I tried. I really did. I-”

She shook her head, smiling at you reassuringly. “No, I know. It’s why I’m not mad at you. Sorry I didn’t call back. How’ve you been?”

You shrugged. “Fine, I guess.”

“Even with the whole ‘Cap is back’ thing.”

“Walker’s the government’s pet. He’s not Captain America. He’s not…”

“Steve?”

Looking up at her from the ground, you nodded. “Yeah.”

“Do you miss him?”

You smirked, wagging your eyebrows at her. “Do you?”

She rolled her eyes, tossing a pillow at you. “It’s kinda weird now, isn’t it?”

“Maybe a little. But I can’t blame you. Have you seen him shirtless? Good God.”

Sharon laughed, shaking her head as you joined her on the bed. “How come it’s always you getting wrapped up in these things?”

“I have no clue.” You chuckled, crossing your legs underneath you. “First I’m answering a phone call from Bucky at five in the morning and next thing I know, I’m being kicked off of semi trucks, breaking criminals out of prisons and running in six inch heels.”

“You answer Bucky’s calls at five in the morning?”

You gave her a look. “Sharon-”

“No, no. Hey. That’s cool. Some girls like bad boys, some like jocks, others like nerds. You like super soldiers from the 40’s. Everyone’s got a thing.”

A playful shove turned into a pillow fight, which turned into a sparring session, during which you pin her on her back. “You’re getting better.” You complimented, getting up.

She glared at you, taking your outstretched hand and letting you pull her up. “I guess that’s why you’re an Avenger.”

“That’s still weird to say.”

“Why? You’ve been an Avenger since, what? Ultron?”

You nodded, straightening your clothes. “Officially, anyways.”

“Right. Because you were there for the Battle of Manhattan as the secret seventh superhero.”

“Yeah…I miss it. The anonymity. I’m pretty sure I’m one half the Senators’ speed dials.”

Sharon frowned, brows pinching together. “What about the other half of the OG? Where are they?”

“Thor’s in space, Bruce is MIA - which I can’t really blame him for - and Clint’s retired with his family.”

“You think he’s gonna stay retired?”

You shrugged. “I hope he does. He’s been trying to retire for years. He deserves it. Knowing him, though…probably not.”

Sharon crossed her arms, nodding at you. “So that leaves you.”

“Yes it does.”

“Do you ever think of taking a break?”

You gave a half-sigh, half-groan, making her smirk in amusement. “It’s…come up a lot recently. I dunno. I think I’m burning out, anyways.”

“What makes you say that? I was watching you guys with Selby. You’re still one of the best I’ve ever seen.”

“I-I’ve been having…problems.”

Her eyes narrowed, her hands setting on her hips like a mother about to scold her child. “What kind of problems?”

“Just flashbacks. Of different things. It happens at random times. Certain triggers; something someone says or does, or something I smell or hear.”

“PTSD?”

“Something like that.”

“Has it affected you in the field?” Hesitating to answer was answer enough and she nodded. “Then…maybe it’s time you do start considering retiring.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “At 36? There’s no way.”

“C’mon. It’s not too late for you to settle down. Go one a few dates. Meet someone. Maybe have a couple kids-”

“Woah, woah. Slow your roll.” Your features scrunched up in incredulity. “Pump your breaks. No one said anything about marriage or kids.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m just saying…think about it. I heard even Bucky’s been on a few dates.”

It was your turn to narrow your eyes at her, hearing the suggestive tone in her voice and seeing the eyebrow raise. “Yeah. He has. A few. I told him to. Told him it might be good for him to, I dunno, get back out there.

“Or, you could just…go out there with him.”

“Not you too! Have you been talking to Sam?”

“Is it Steve? Is that what’s stopping you? Because you know he’d just want you to be hap-” She stopped as he phone vibrated, grabbing it and reading the text. “Company’s arriving.” She pointed a finger at you. “You got very very lucky. This conversation isn’t over. I’m not dropping this.”

You bit your cheek and nodded. “Alright, mom. Can we go party now?”

She breathed out a laugh and nodded. “Yeah. Let’s go party.”

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

“Hey, gorgeous! There you are!”

You smirked at the boys as they met you near the top of the stairs, eyeing Sam and Bucky appreciatively. Damn, could Sam pull off a turtleneck. And Bucky in black and skinny jeans? Sharon sure had good taste. “Today’s the day for attractive outfits, huh, gentlemen?”

“I’ll say.” Bucky hummed, glancing at your own outfit. “You look beautiful, doll.”

“You look very dashing yourself, Barnes.” You grin, pulling at the lapels of his black blazer and fixing the collar. You smoothed your hand down the front of his shirt, looking up at him with an eyebrow raised when he caught your wrist, keeping your palm over his heart.

He clenched his jaw, taking a breath, before letting it out, almost dejectedly, and letting your hand go. “Um,” He cleared his throat, hand falling down by his side. “Did, uh, did Sharon say anything more about these friends of hers to you?”

“Nope.” You shook your head. “Just told me to enjoy the party.”

“I guess we should go enjoy the party, then.” Sam nodded towards the stairs, where the music was floating up, her guests already pouring in.

You made your way downstairs, looking around the room. Sharon sure did know how to throw one, that’s for sure.

People were pushed together, dancing to the beat of the music, drinking, with colored lights flashing every which way. Bucky’s hand found yours almost instantly, and you smiled at him. “C’mon.”

“What?” His eyes were wide as you dragged him towards the groups of people dancing. 

“Dance with me.”

He shook his head violently. “I-I can’t.”

“I thought you used to be a dancer?”

“Used to. And I was a swing-dancer. Not…” He gestured around to the people bobbing up and down, moving their bodies with each other.

You waved dismissively, pulling him closer. “All you need to do is feel the beat. I’m sure you can do that, can’t you, Mr. Tough and Scary Assassin?”

He licked his lips, looking around nervously. You brought his hands to your hips, making his eyes snap back to yours, your own arms winding around his neck. You started moving rhythmically, nodding your head to the music, smiling up at him and giggling at the adorable concentration on his face.

“You, uh, you go to parties like this a lot?”

“I specialized in undercover operations, remember? I practically lived at these places for some of them.” He licked his lips, his grasp on your hips tightening. “Loosen up a little.” You laughed, catching his jaw between your fingers and making him look at you instead of the crowd surrounding him. You scratched at the scruff, speaking softly, but loud enough for him to hear. “It’s just me.”

He nodded and, slowly, a bit hesitant, started moving his body with yours, relaxing his tense muscles the longer you two danced.

“Nice hit, by the way. With Zemo earlier.”

You shrugged, turning in his arms, biting your lip when he pulled you closer, your back to his chest. “I didn’t like the way he grabbed you. It was unnecessary. I was thinking of making a list, actually.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” Your arms wound around his neck again, your head falling back to his shoulder. “Of things he’s done so far that warrant’s me beating his ass once this is done.”

He chuckled, warm breath tickling your cheek, thumbs tracing circles on the bare skin just above the waistline of your shorts. Your own fingers had found home in his hair holding his head where it was, his lips centimeters away from your ear. “Share it with Sam. I’m sure he has a few things to add.”

Your breath hitched as his metal fingers danced along your bare navel, arm tightening around your waist. “I’m sure he does…I thought you said you can’t dance.”

“I guess I just needed to warm up. I’m a bit rusty after eighty years.”

“Don’t seem that rusty to me.” You breathed out, turning your head to look at him. His tongue ran across his lips again, his eyes glancing to your own.

“Hey, guys!” The world and your situation came crashing down on you, the music you didn’t realize you’d been tuning out, along with the crowd’s boisterous laughter and cheers, rushed back to yours ears. The little bubble with just you and Bucky shattered. You both stepped away from each other; you cleared your throat and pushed down the heat that had nothing to do with the hundred bodies in the one room, while Bucky rubbed the back of his neck, the tips of his ears red with no help from the colored lights. Both of you were panting lightly, avoiding eye contact with the other three staring knowingly at you. Sharon nodded her head, gesturing behind her. “I found him.”

Sam nudged Bucky - who was staring at you, his jaw ticking and his throat tightening as he swallowed thickly - before jabbing his thumb in Sharon’s direction. “Here we go.”

You nodded, eyeing Bucky with a small smile. “Here we go, Buckaroo.”

[zaharadessert]

Canticum Sanguinis Lux - Initium (1/8?)

Summary: Once, all Emma Nolan wanted was a normal life, but when she had a run in with a vampire as a teenager she realised that she couldn’t escape the life of a hunter. Now all she wants to do is prove herself, and she’s going to end up going above and beyond to be the hunter the world needs her to be.

Rating: Explicit. Mostly for graphic descriptions of violence, and some smut.

Warnings: There are hints at the non con nature of the control vampires can have over humans.

Length: should be eight chapters.?

Notes: So, first off, a huge thankyou to the @cssns​ mods for running this event again. Thanks so much for the opportunity. Secondly, thank you to @clockadile​for the gorgeous banner. Lastly, thank you to @kmomof4​, who not only is an amazing beta, but volunteered to deal with my panics and general insanity. Thank you so much, I could not have done this without you.

One final note, thank you for reading. I apologise, I’ve broken my own cardinal rule and started posting before I’ve finished writing. But this is kinda a prologue, so I think it’s gonna be fine on it’s own until I’m done? I hope… hahaha! Thanks so much for reading.

Tagging: @jrob64​ @xhookswenchx​ @kmomof4​ @wefoundloveunderthelight​ @superchocovian​ @lfh1226-linda​ @teamhook​ @jonesfandomfanatic​ @tiganasummertree​ @onceratheart18​ @snowbellewells​ @karlyfr13s​ @itsfabianadocarmo​ @ouatpost @ultraluckycatnd​ @winterbaby89​ @thepirateandhisson​ @xarandomdreamx​ @xsajx​ @captainswan21​ @spaceconveyor @pirateprincessofpizza​ @sparlecorn93​ @hollyethecurious​ @ammelia​

As always, let me know if you’d like me to add you to my taglist for future fics :)

Also on AO3

- - - - -

Emma’s footsteps echoed in the alleyway, the buzz of the streetlamps a distant hum behind her that faded to nothing amid the click of her heels on the poorly laid tarmac. She wrinkled her nose against the smell of the bins stacked at the end, her eyes flicking up to take in the fire escapes on either side. She could feel the shadows pressing in around her, ominous and foreboding.

“Walsh?” she called, her voice sounding timid and worried as she moved further away from the safety of the populated street and into the darkness. Where the hell had he gone? She’d only been a couple of steps behind him and it wasn’t that dark down here… “Walsh, stop messing around. This isn’t funny and you’re far too old for these silly games,” she declared with an almost petulant huff.

A dark chuckle rang out from her left and Emma turned sharply to see him stepping out of the shadows. He was smirking, his stride sure and predatory as he approached her.

“Old enough that games make life interesting, actually.” He sounded almost amused, but his eyes were cold, colder than she’d ever seen them before. He stepped closer, lifting his hand to brush back her hair, threading his fingers into it to cradle the back of her head.

She felt her skin tingle at the contact, as his nails grazed her scalp. She could smell him as she inhaled- he smelled incredible, he had every time they’d met- but standing this close, even over the garbage at the end of the alley, it was intoxicating. He licked his lips as he took her in, taking a deep breath as his eyes drifted shut for a brief moment before he opened them again and stared into her eyes.

“What are you playing at?” she asked, frowning. “A quickie in an alley is not what I dressed up for.” The protest was clear in both her words and her tone.

“No? Could have fooled me…” His voice was as cold as his gaze and his fingers twisted, nails scraping harshly against her skin as they locked into her hair.

She could both feel and see the change in his gaze as his eyes bored into hers. They seemed both darker and brighter somehow, as his pupils overtook his irises. She gasped as it started, her lips parting as her breathing started to elevate. She felt warm all over, and then she felt hot, like her blood was rising to the surface of her skin, moving faster around her body.

“Walsh, I…” She didn’t sound tentative any more, she sounded breathy, needy.

Stepping closer she could feel the hard planes of his lithe body pressing against her, the chill of his skin everywhere hers was bare. She sighed blissfully at the sensation even as she shivered in the cool of the evening air.

“I know, it will all be over soon.” His voice was soft, soothing, a stark contrast to how it had sounded before and how hard his skin felt as her hand moved to his arm. A feeble half-hearted attempt to push him back.

His hand closed over hers, carefully guiding it behind her back and holding it there as he pulled her flush against him. The look in his eyes intensified, her breaths were coming quicker, her eyelids fluttering as the heating of her blood became a heady rush that threatened to overwhelm her. He tilted his head, his nose brushing across her collarbone and up the column of her neck.

“You smell divine, my dear,” he crooned into her ear. “Hold still, and I’ll make sure it’s as good for you as it is for me…”

- - - - -

Continued on AO3

[shorkbrian]

That submissive reader fic with aizawa and present mic? How would they break darling in for the first time to fuck her at the same time? I feel like they'd be perverse enough to take her pussy at the same time

(Ngl I never know how to differentiate between fics and one shots and drabbles and thirsts lol but I’m glad u enjoyed that fic abt them (This fic))

Oh man, they so would.

It would be Hizashi who’s super into it. He bugs Shouta about it, brings it up over breakfast, asks his husband for his thoughts about the idea while they’re brushing their teeth together and you’re already asleep.

Shouta isn’t too sure. You’re so sensitive, and a little bit of a crybaby honestly, scared of most new things that they try to introduce to you. He remembers the first time they had brought out toys to play with one night, how wide your eyes had gotten at the sight of their collection of dildos and clamps and massagers.

You had cried then, had to be restrained before they could show you how the toys worked, using them on each other before using them on you.

So it takes some convincing from Hizashi before Shouta even begins to consider it.

How hot you would look, bouncing on both their cocks, stuffed full and being claimed by both of them. They’d be able to feel each other inside you, their cum would mix and froth in your pussy, you’d moan so sweetly when you got too fucked out to be anxious or scared.

Shouta insists ‘Zashi has to try it out first, taking Shouta’s cock and a dildo in his own hole before subjecting you to it. Lots of lube was involved (they’d have to purchase more to use with you), but the payoff was incredible in terms of sensation and intimacy. Shouta was hooked.

It takes time to relax you.

One of them fucks you, then adds a finger or two while you’re crying and trembling through your orgasm, gasping out that it’s too much, that you can’t take it, no more.

They play with dildos, sizing them up larger and larger until you’re sweetly begging them not to put it in you, that you’d much rather get speared on one of their (smaller) cocks instead. That you’d do anything, you don’t want to get torn apart.

Shouta shows you that you can take it, that your hole will stretch and you won’t break. Hizashi helps.

It’s still way too soon, far sooner than they had planned, but Hizashi is excited and feeling good as he gets to hammer away at your “pretty ‘lil princess parts”.

They’d introduced you to wine and alcohol earlier that evening, Hizashi laughing brashly when you had made a sour face at the taste, claiming you didn’t like it. Shouta sipped his own glass at the end of the couch, suggested to his husband that he should mix a couple of drinks for you.

You didn’t mind alcohol when you couldn’t taste it underneath the sweet tang of soda.

Now you’re buzzed and pliant, tolerating the attention they’re showering you and your body with.

“Sho’, c’mon, slide in here with me. She can take it, she’s a champ.”

You’re so focused on the feeling of his cock hammering into your sweet spot that you don’t really register the words and don’t have time to panic.

“I don’t thin-”

“Don’t think, just do baby. She feels so good honey, is gonna feel even better with you right here with me.” Hizashi pleads, hugging you to his body as you’re dragged along his cock.

Surprisingly, Shouta relents.

You feel his warmth slide up to your back, pressing you ever closer to the blonde, his hands planted on your ribs. Then everything gets wetter, slicker and messier - Shouta’s added lube into the mix, absolutely drenching his cock in the goo and rubbing it onto your pussy. Hizashi doesn’t have the patience to fully pull out, instead just stilling his hips inside you so Shouta can maneuver into place.

“What’r’y-mmhn...” You slur, feeling fingers slip in beside ‘Zashi’s length. They’re warm and familiar at this point as they slowly work to scissor you open, stretch you even more.

Time passes in a fuzzy fog, your world slowly gaining more clarity as you fade from the high of getting fucked, instead just basically cockwarming the pretty blonde while his husband tries to shove four of his fingers in alongside ‘Zashi’s length.

Then the fingers squelch free, and there’s another blunt, hot cock head pressed to your entrance.

Your eyes shoot wide open, panic zipping through your veins. 

“WaIT-!!!!” The frightened shout tapers off onto a terrified squeal as Shouta gives a little thrust, popping the tip of his length past your opening as he let out a little groan.

There’s hands on your waist, hands on your shoulders and on your ribs. You don’t know which ones belong to who, but you’re not quite sure that it really matters at this point.

Not when you’re being slowly fucked by two cocks. In the same hole.

But surprisingly, there isn’t much pain besides a slight uncomfortable burn and the stretch of a filled-to-bursting space. They had done a good job with preparing your body. But hardly any prep had been given to your mind.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, oh my-”

“Sweetie, look at you. You’re so fuckin’ sexy and beautiful.” Hizashi breathed, voice a bit tight and strained. He was holding himself back, blunt fingernails scraping uselessly at your skin as he struggled to keep himself from rabbiting his hips against yours. 

“It’s alright, just breathe.” The dark haired man pressed to your back purred.

The piercings in Hizashi’s cock were hitting you just right, being pressed even harder against your walls as Shouta slowly slid home beside him, both men moaning in pleasure.

A kiss was pressed to your shoulder, then Hizashi was sweetly accepting his husbands lips on his own while your watched with a detached sense. 

Was this really happening?

Did you really have... two cocks inside your poor body?

Hizashi pulled back, and then your lips were connected to his. Moments passed where the only movement was the three of you exchanging kisses, tongues slipping together wetly, gentle little smacks and licking of lips and soft smiles as you all breathed the same air.

Then the blonde had finally had enough. 

“God Sho’, ‘m sorry but I gotta move.”

“Try to-”

“I know, I ain’t trying to hurt our girl.”

His hips moved so fluidly against yours, all three of you gasping at the initial rocking motion that was made.

Shouta groaned low in his throat, falling forward to rest his head between your shoulders blades. You could feel the goosebumps on his arm.

None of this felt real. It was like a bad dream. A very very bad dream.

A dream that kept speeding up, with Hizashi moving against you, encouraging his husband to move, giving the dark haired-man a kiss when he gave in, slowly rolling his hips.

They fell into an easy rhythm, but you still couldn’t keep up - gasping and trying not to move too much, choking up at the dual sensations battering against your pussy, Hizashi’s pubic piercing rubbing quickly against your clit on every upward thrust.

Too much for your body to handle.

“Oh! Jesus chri-” Hizashi choked on his words as your walls spasmed, tightening up and bearing down on their cocks. His thrusts stuttered, then stilled as his thighs shook.

There was no room for his cum inside you.

As Shouta continued to thrust, it began dripping out slowly, warm and viscous. Hizashi didn’t pull out though, breathing heavily as his cock softened, whimpering a bit as it began to raw from overstimulation from Shouta thrusting up against it, from your walls milking you both.

But he didn’t move.

You could feel Shouta smiling against your skin, feel his teeth as he slowly sank them into your flesh, biting down but not hard enough to hurt, just enough to grab and anchor himself.

Their cum mixed together, white and thick and frothy, sliding out of you in thick globs even as Shouta buried himself balls deep.

Hizashi had been right - it did feel good for them.

You still weren’t sure that it felt good for you.

[jarofstyles]

neighbourry part two please!!! pretty please!! 🍒🍒🍒

Hehehe… here we go.

It’s pretty👀 even without true smut.

If you like this, check out our Patreon!

—-

“Kiss?”

Y/N looked at Harry with slightly wider eyes, confusion in them. He wanted to kiss her? Spend time kissing her? In general? What rhe fuck was this dream mixed with nightmare rain?

He couldn’t back down now. He swallowed, nodding and keeping his face calm. “I- yeah. Kissing. Can be fun… and not let ya focus on the rain. Y’know?” He trailed his fingers over her jawline, watching her face carefully. He wasn’t going to push. If she didn’t want to, he would take the rejection and feel embarrassed about it later. But he had to make some sort of move.

He had been a little bitch about it for years and he knew that it was a bit fucked up of him for wanting it this badly and not being fully transparent but he hoped he wasn’t alone in that.

“It wouldn’t be weird?” She felt her heart pounding in her chest at the idea. It wasn’t like she didn’t want to- of course she fucking wanted to. Have you seen his mouth? She had been aching to do that for years. But it spooked her. It really did.

They’d been close since they were younger. Being close wasn’t exactly a new or unusual thing at all. In fact, the pair seemed to gravitate towards one another every time they got the chance. Their parents saw it, their friends saw it, and it was often teased that they’d end up together. But it dawned on her that Harry never really denied it. Simply rolled his eyes or smirked when Y/N would huff.

Harry’s eyes didn’t leave her face as he carefully examined her expression. He knew her so very well, and her emotions were always very much evident on her face when she did have a thought. Simply from the shock alone, he didn’t pull back and let her work through the thoughts. She didn’t hate the idea, she didn’t truly recoil, but it obviously made her blink a few times as it settled in.

“No. Why would it be?” He whispered, grazing his fingertips back over her chin. Keeping himself calm was the best thing he could do despite the thundering in his chest. This was something that could change them but… he didn’t want to think about it right now. He wanted to kiss her.

“I don’t want to make things weird, H.” She whispered, fingers playing with the collar of his shirt. Her eyes avoided his for a moment before looking back up at him with a soft little pout. “It’s not that I don’t want to but what about-“ she was cut off with his thumb pressed to her lip, eyes widening as they crossed to see his finger and then back to his.

“So you do?” He confirmed. His own breathing was a tiny bit heavier as he watched her nod, a tiny smile rising the corners of his mouth. She didn’t make an attempt to move his finger, staying still with the exception of her fingers toying with the worn collar of his shirt.

So she wanted this.

“It doesn’t have to be weird, angel.” His thumb gently pulled her bottom lip, dragging it down just a little bit. It was so warm and soft, beautiful fucking mouth that he spent time thinking about. Much too long thinking of for a best friend. He knew that much.

“We can just… have fun. Y’know? We don’t have to make it a huge deal…” it was. It was a huge deal and he knew it but they both wanted it and she found herself nodding again.

Another rumble of thunder made her tense, pushing herself further to him. She fucking hated storms, but loved that she got an excuse to be all over him like this. Got to have his hands on her… and now he was offering kisses.

“Okay. Okay- yeah. I want to.” Her voice was tender with the tiniest bit of fear but true desire. Their faces had gotten closer as Harry decided not to rush into it. With the thunder rumbling, he hushed her and gently nudged her nose with his own as his hand finally finished its tracing work and held the side of her face.

“Shh. S’alright. Just focus on me.” He cooed. “S’gonna be good. Yeah? Kissing is fun, isn’t it?” He didn’t wait for her to reply before pressing his lips to the very corner of her own. His body was buzzing as he pulled back just enough to speak. “Just relax for me. M’always gonna take care of you. Always have, always will.” He pressed a slower kiss to the same spot, smiling lightly when he felt her exhale slowly.

“Yeah… I know.” She sighed, body burning with an unusual warmth. The spot he had kissed felt like a new mark. Surely she shouldn’t be reacting to such chaste kisses with the heat she felt swelling deep in her belly? Then again, the lingering tension the two had was always going to come to a boil. It was inevitable.

“How’s that?” He asked, moving to kiss the girls cheek. “Can I fully kiss you yet, angel?” Waiting for permission was a bit more nerve wracking than he thought, but he was pleasantly surprised with how quickly she nodded, their noses bumping again.

“Good. Jus… do what you want. I’ll distract you.”

Their breaths mingled as they paused, his face closer to hers than it had ever been. The anticipation was killing her. It seemed like hours as he descended his lips, pressing them fully to her own.

It was like everything else melted away. Y/N feeling his soft, slightly chapped lips pressed against hers for a few moments before pulling back for a single moment, going right back to her. It was gentle. Tender. Sweet. His kisses smoothing over her lips as his fingers held her cheek as if she was the most precious thing to him.

They stayed like this, repeating the actions over and over. Y/N let him be in control but puckered her lips to meet his. Her fingers tugged lightly on his shirt, feeling like she wanted to be closer to him. As if this wasn’t good enough.

He did the opposite, pulling back from their embrace for a moment, smiling lightly when a tiny little whimper from their loss of his lips came from her own. Y/N opened her eyes, a little dazed as she looked at his green eyes. They were different. Darker, maybe.

“Still good, sweetheart?” His words were whispered, barely there. Her fingers tugged him closer again as she nodded, this time gaining a little confidence and pulling him back towards her.

Harry was a little shocked but eagerly went back at it. His mouth connecting with hers again, soft sounds of their lips embracing over and over again filling the room. Whatever show was on in the background and the rain was hitting the windows and roof, but the most perfect noises came from their kisses. They got a little deeper, spit slicking their swollen lips as Harry gently lifted himself up a bit and gave a better angle for them to continue.

The taste of sweet mint and his sugary soda he had sipped on the way here coated his lips. She could only barely taste it but Y/N found herself itching for more. His hands were so respectful, laying under her cheek and the other over her arm, roaming up and down. She didn’t have a ton of experience with kissing or making out- that was more Harry’s area of expertise, so she felt a little embarrassed- but he was a very good teacher.

Feeling her frustrations, Harry shuffled a little bit closer and moved the hair from her face, taking the hand from her arm and laid it on the side of her neck. His thumb was sneaky, rolling over the pulse point to find out what she liked. None of his past kisses or ventures ever made him feel this… odd. In a good way.

“Can y’open up a little for me, angel? S’that something you’re alright with?” Her eyes didn’t open at his words, merely nodding again quickly as she surged forward and kissed him again. It spooked him for a second but ultimately? turned him on a little. Obviously, she was enjoying this just as much as he was.

Her hands decided to be brave, hesitantly moving to his hair and pushing it back. Her fingers carded through it, ever so gently tugging by accident. It went straight to his cock.

Harry grunted, the action making his half stiffy pulse. How she managed to get him to be so… needy during just the beginning of some kisses was unreal. That was y/N though. She managed to exceed all his expectations he ever had for women. It’s just the first time he had gotten to be around her the way he wanted.

“Sorry!” She squeaked, pulling back from their kiss. Their lips were slightly sticky with whatever leftover gloss she had- watermelon, he knew- and their spit, eyes widening af the throaty noise her best friend had let out. Harry didn’t let her get too far though, tugging her right back into a harder kiss. Fuller. His teeth grabbed her bottom lip, nibbling on it a little bit as his hand pulled her closer to his face while he tugged lightly on it.

“Don’t apologize.” He panted. “Felt a bit too good.” Harry was always affectionate with her. He made dirty jokes and they would joke around about sex, but actually… hearing one of those noises? Knowing what he liked? It felt so odd. “But maybe… don’t do tha’ today. Cause m’Gonna get all worked up, and we jus’ Wanna kiss a little.” He nosed at her like a puppy, pecking her swollen lips. “Right?”

If she wanted more… he would ever, ever say no. That would change a lot, but he wasn’t going to say no to it. He wanted her, damn it.

“Jus’ kissing, H.” She promised, returning to her position close to him. Their kissing was paused, his necklace chain taken in her hand as she played with it. It was a comfortable silence, Y/N tucking her head into the crook of her neck. Her panties were wrecked. Absolutely obliterated. If he even spread her legs, he could probably taste it in the air. It was a little embarrassing but more so frustrating. Her poor cunt was aching for some touch that wouldn’t come until Harry was sound asleep and she could get to the bathroom.

“Okay.” He settled back in, taking this as a break in their activity. His mind was fucking reeling though. Did she like it? Did she ever want more? Did she feel the same as him, hungry to touches and just as needy? He thinks he didn’t read it wrong. Surely she wouldn’t be laying like this and cuddle him if she didn’t. “Did you….” He paused to swallowed, looking up at the ceiling. “Did you like it? Was good, right?” His nerves were getting the best of him though. He so desperately wanted to do it again. To have permission fo do it whenever.

“Mhm.” She nodded against his warm chest, stretching her leg over his thigh. “I did. I… I want to do more of it, maybe. Just need a breathing break.” Her voice was delicate and a little raspy, making him melt. She didn’t seem upset or hesitant. Just a little… effected.

“Can do as much as you want. Got the whole night… but I did get you some food. Need to eat.” He tucked some hair behind her ear, allowing himself to kiss the side of her temple. It was allowed. Right? He thinks so.

“M’kay. Will eat but… this stuff… kissing…” she brought it up again. “Is it just for tonight?”

Boom. The question that was on her mind. Harry froze for a second, hoping he hadn’t read it wrong. Her tone didn’t indicate either way, and he took a breath before replying honestly.

“No. If you want to like…‘do it more than today? We can. We can do as much as you’d like… as often as you’d like.” He tried to calm himself so she didn’t feel his heart go harder. “I liked it a lot. Would be a little sad if we only did it once.”

Despite how unclear it was for their feelings, he thinks this may be a good gateway. Getting them closer to the spot he hopes to get to. Her smile could be felt growing against his thin shirt before she pulled up, initiating another longer kiss that had his fucking head spinning.

She was so good at that.

“Okay. Youre Gonna have to be patient with me though.” Her gaze through her lashes made him want to groan again. “Haven’t had nearly as much experience as you do.”

Selfishly? He was glad. His kisses didn’t mean Jack shit compared fo what this was. This? This was a dream.

“Good. I’ll give you whatever you want… teach you whatever you want to know. You’re always callin’ me your ‘simp’ or whatever. Guess I am.”

Her giggle lifted his heart, making his own dimples break out of a smile as he leaned back over and pecked her cheek. “Enough of that.” The thunder wasn’t done yet, but he noticed she hadn’t even flinched. Was that him?

“Alright. Then why don’t you show me how to kiss better?” As if she needed the help.

[radioduo]

roses and riots: chapter 1

i could count the stars (wait until the dawn

notes: apoc au ^-^ this has been in the works for a while, so hope u guys enjoy! thanks to @b1rdza for the title and the letting me plan things w them :}

tws: blood, injury, violence, talks of death and zombies

Ranboo stared at his phone, slightly cracked and looking worse for wear, reminiscing over the photo on his lock screen. A picture from two months ago of him, Tubbo, and Tommy beaming at the camera. Ranboo returned the smile. Probably a picture Wilbur took on their moving day.

Two months ago, Tommy, Tubbo, and Ranboo began living together. Two months ago was the last time everything was normal.

Ranboo leaned against the wall of the now crumbling apartment and laid his head back against the foggy windows with a sigh. He could hear Tubbo in the other room quietly singing a cheerful tune and fiddling with some new gadget on his own. Tommy still wasn’t home from the scouting trip he had left for hours ago, and as the minutes ticked by, more and more anxiety gnawed at Ranboo's stomach.

Speak of the devil, Ranboo thought to himself as the communicator next to him began to buzz. It was Tommy, unsurprisingly. Ranboo gingerly set the phone down and picked up the other device. “Hello?”

“RANBOO, GET - krzzkr - HERE, THERE’S - skrzzkz - FUCKING HORDE HEADING OUR - krzzssz - HELP-”

Ranboo flinched and held the speaker away from his ear as he sprang to his feet. “Oh god, alright. Hold on, Tommy, I’m getting Tubbo and we’re going. Where are you?” He pulled on his boots and grabbed the musty red rucksack that hung next to the door.

“WEST- kzzszrt - NEAR THE DINER-”

“Just stay calm, Tommy, find a hiding place, you know the drill,” he knocked on Tubbo’s door urgently, but there was no response. "Are you k- whatever," Ranboo threw open the door, muttering to himself. Tubbo yelped in surprise as the door swung open, flinging his arm out and knocking his project onto the carpet. “We’ve gotta go,”

Tubbo took a deep breath and raised an eyebrow. “What’s up, bossman?”

Ranboo began to explain, but Tommy seemed eager to take matters into his own hands.

“TUBBO, THEY’RE FUCKIN’ AFTER - skrzztz - YOUR HELP RIGHT NOW, GET YOUR ASSES DOWN HERE - kryzztz - TO GOD I WON’T FORGIVE YOU IF I DIE,” he yelled through the radio. Tommy was breathing heavily, and Ranboo and Tubbo could hear quick, heavy footsteps pounding against the pavement.

“Oh fuck, okay, we’re coming, Tommy!” Tubbo grabbed his yellow bag from the foot of his mattress, abandoning his gadget and nearly knocking over his trash can full of failed prototypes. “Where is he?” he asked Ranboo, straining as he tugged his shoes over his heels.

“West Elm, near the diner,” Ranboo said as he pulled his mask over his face, leading Tubbo into the kitchen and grabbing his crowbar from the counter. “We’re on our way, just stay hidden and stay put.” Ranboo ended the transmission before Tommy could keep shouting at him and pulled open the door. “Let’s go, Tubbo,”

Tubbo hoisted his bat over his shoulder and tugged his goggles over his eyes. Wordlessly, the duo slunk out from the crumbling apartment building and down the street.

Nothing new, Ranboo noticed as the two speed-walked around the dilapidated city. Broken glass lined the pavement in front of shopping outlets, rotting wooden planks covered doors and windows, and the smell of flesh and blood filled the air around them, pungent and nauseating. The acrid scent slithered through the mask over Ranboo's nose and snaked into his nostrils, and he fought back the urge to heave as he swallowed the bile rising in his throat.

Rapidly rounding a corner, Ranboo tore his eyes away from the city scenery, stifling a gasp of surprise as he and Tubbo found themselves face to face with a gathering of the undead.

With bulging eyes and mouths lined with yellowed, broken teeth, the pack shuffled down the debris-covered road in the opposite direction, still oblivious to Ranboo and Tubbo's appearance. They seemed too busy tracking something out of sight to pay attention to the smell of fresh, unspilled blood nearby. Unfortunately, Ranboo realized with a sinking feeling in his stomach, the thing they must have been searching for was Tommy, and to find him, he and Tubbo would have to make it through the horde of the starving dead.

Tubbo stared ahead at the mob, a sour expression painting his face. "Don't tell me-"

"We have to, Tubbo. Unless you want to leave Tommy to die over there."

"I'm gonna be honest bossman, that sounds pretty fuckin' appealing right now," Tubbo replied dryly.

"I really hope you're joking," Ranboo answered. "C'mon," he urged, gripping the crowbar in his gloved hands, and charged forward like a bull.

The zombies, luckily for Ranboo, moved slowly, giving him time to react between attacks. He swiped nimbly with his left hand, slamming the metal bar into the face of a corpse, taking its head off with a satisfying crunch. Ranboo heard a grunt next to his ear and rolled out of the way right as an undead creature swung at him, nearly grabbing his arm and pulling him back. He brought the crowbar down into the skull of his attacker and looked away as the creature made a strangled sound in the back of its throat. Bobbing and weaving through the sea of the undead, Ranboo slammed the crowbar into every shambling body he could reach, over and over again. He yelped as he suddenly felt something grab his arm, sending a wave of pain up his arm from the iron-like grip. He wrenched his hand away frantically and stabbed the crowbar into the zombie's eyes. Breathing heavily, he scrambled away from the horde and into the clear at last. Ranboo gripped his sore arm and anxiously looked over the sea of corpses. Tubbo hadn't come out of the mob yet, and Ranboo's stomach twisted with fear at the thought of something happening to him.

A loud smack came from somewhere inside the cluster of bodies, and at last, Tubbo appeared, waving his bloodstained baseball bat like a madman and shouting a string of curses at the undead hands grabbing at his clothes. He ran to Ranboo's side, gasping for air. "Don't ever fucking make me do that again, okay?"

Ranboo grinned, relieved that he seemed unharmed. "Alright, alright, whatever," he said, flicking a drop of blood from his face. "We have to keep moving or they'll catch up with us."

----------

Tubbo and Ranboo slid open the diner door silently, stepping over the upturned chairs and tables as they walked into the abandoned building. "Tommy?" Tubbo whispered. "Are you in here?"

"Tubbo?" A voice answered. A head of curly blond hair popped up from behind the counter, and an unmistakable look of relief swept over Tommy's face when he caught sight of the two. "Thank fuck," he muttered, breathing a sigh of relief and dragging himself to his feet, hauling his backpack with him. "I wasn't sure how much longer I'd last." Crawling out from behind the counter, Tommy pulled his green bandana down from over his mouth again and faced the duo. "How'd you get through that giant fuckin' mob back there?"

Ranboo and Tubbo held up their crowbar and bat, respectively. "We managed," Tubbo said with a shrug. "That's beside the point though, why have you been gone so long? You were supposed to be back, like, two hours ago!" The three inched towards the door as Tubbo talked, slipping back into the streets and booking it in the opposite direction they came from.

Tommy huffed, trying to keep up with his friends. "Other than those dickheads back there keeping me away, I stopped by Phil's place for a bit to get us some food," he explained through deep breaths. "We haven't been able to get out much, thought it'd help." He held up his lumpy bag, obviously full of cans and boxes.

"Tommy, you know carrying food long distances is dangerous," Ranboo huffed, pulling ahead of the group as they rounded a corner. "Those things can smell just about everything, what made you think that was even slightly a good idea?"

Tommy made an indignant scoffing noise in the back of his throat. "Well, ex-CUSE me, Boob Boy, for wanting to help out you and Tubbo. That's my bad," he said, placing unnecessary emphasis on the last two words.

Ranboo rolled his eyes with faux annoyance as the three of them kept walking. "How many times have I told you to stop calling me that?"

"Not enough clearly," Tubbo answered, amusement obvious in his tone.

"Oh my god-" A hand flew over his mouth as Tommy suddenly took a sharp turn and flattened him against the bricks of a rundown building. Ranboo bit back a pained grunt as his aching arm hit the bricks. "I can hear those fuckers nearby," he removed his palm from Ranboo's masked mouth, and the three of them pressed their backs against the crumbling wall. "Is there another way we can take?"

He pressed his lips into a thin line, eyes darting back and forth as he strained his ears to listen for the familiar groans of the undead. "There are only a few that won't take us, like, two hours," he whispered. "Most roads loop around the city, and-"

"-and there's no way in hell that we'd make it back alive if we travel in the dark," Tubbo finished bleakly. He stared at the ground, lost in thought as though he were hoping the answer would write itself on the sidewalk. "So what now? Just stay here and wait until the morning? Surely not," he looked up at the other two. "I mean, that's a death wish right there,"

Ranboo and Tommy nodded silently. "I guess there's always Phil's place, but that's a couple dozen blocks down the road," Ranboo suggested, glancing up at the sky. It was only marginally darker than when they'd left, but Ranboo knew the light wouldn't last for much longer - especially not with the luck they'd been having. He absently rubbed his sore arm, careful to keep something from hitting it again. "We'd have to leave now to be there before dark,"

"Don't tell me we have to fuckin' walk even more," Tommy griped loudly. "I just got back from his place, are you sure there isn't a faster way home?"

"We can leave you here with the horde, if that's what you prefer," Tubbo retorted. Slinging his yellow bag over one arm and hoisting his worn baseball bat over the other, he dashed down the street, calling to Tommy over his shoulder, "Hurry up, dickhead!"

"Tubbo, wait-!" Tommy shouted back as he and Ranboo followed suit, jogging down the sidewalk behind Tubbo to the safety of their friend's home.

It was nearly dark by the time the three came to the pale blue house. It sat on the city outskirts, barely safer than the houses on the inside but at least ten times cozier. Tommy rapped on the door raucously, and Ranboo and Tubbo cringed as the sound echoed, definitely alerting the nearby zombies to their presence.

They didn't have time to worry about that, thankfully, as Phil greeted them at the door, looking relieved. "You guys scared the shit out of me," he breathed as he ushered the three teens inside. "You can't just be out wandering and knocking on strangers' doors,"

"Phil, if you were a stranger, this would be very awkward right now," Ranboo said, kicking his boots off and shoving them in the corner.

"I'm- oh my god, you know what I mean," he replied exasperatedly. "Be careful out there, is all. I don't know what I'd do if you guys got hurt."

Silence fell over the group as they heard the subtext of Phil's words. 'If you guys got hurt again.' Ranboo peered over at Tubbo, whose hand had subconsciously drifted up to trace the burn scars that outlined his face. Ranboo's own hand had floated up to touch his bruised arm carefully. He wouldn't tell Phil about it. Not yet.

Coughing, Ranboo broke the silence as he drew his hand away from his injury and undid the clasp on his cloak. "Welp, uh, I'm gonna sit down if anyone else wants to come," he invited, plopping the heavy fabric in a pile with the rest of his things and wandering into the living room.

The fireplace was burning, and Wilbur laid next to the orange flames, half-lidded eyes staring sleepily at the ceiling. He blinked and sat up as Ranboo entered the room, still alone as Tubbo and Tommy followed Phil into the kitchen, discussing something Ranboo couldn't quite hear. "Hey, Rhombus," Wilbur smiled, holding back a yawn. "How goes it?" His eyes darted briefly to the yellow sweater Ranboo wore.

Ranboo shrugged, removing his mask and catching the brief smile that flickered across Wilbur's face. "Could be better, I suppose," he replied.

"I think you said that last time," Wilbur noted.

"Yeah, well, it's been hard to be great recently," Ranboo said, barely audible.

Wilbur nodded sagely nonetheless, shuffling away from the fire to sit on the carpet in front of the couch. "You're not wrong," he agreed. There was a moment of silence as Wilbur looked up at Ranboo, who sat stiffly on the sofa, clutching his arm lightly and staring blankly into the fire. "You all good?"

"Y-yeah, I'm fine," Ranboo answered, blinking himself out of his stupor and brushing a strand of hair from his eyes. "Just- pain is all. Nothing a little sleep can't fix," he insisted. Ranboo could see the doubt in Wilbur's eyes, and it made his stomach churn. He wasn't sure why. "I'm alright, seriously," he repeated. "I'd let you know if I wasn't, you know that."

"Right." Disbelief laced Wilbur's words, but he didn't pry, nor did Ranboo want to offer an explanation.

Wilbur opened his mouth to say something else, but he didn't get the chance as Tubbo peeped his head into the room. "Dinner's ready big man, if you're interested," he said, jabbing a thumb behind him towards the kitchen, the comforting smell of potato soup wafting through the house. "You too, Wilbur, I guess," he snickered.

Ignoring the lighthearted banter between the other two, Ranboo inhaled deeply, savoring the scent. It smelt like home, he thought, a small smile painting his face. Wordlessly, Ranboo padded through the doorway into the kitchen, where Techno, Tommy, and Phil sat around the table waiting.

"There you are," Techno greeted him, reaching for the soup spoon. "We were starvin' to death in here, c'mon man," he joked.

Ranboo huffed a laugh through his nose. "Sorry about that," he apologized, running a hand through his hair. "Been a long day." He caught Tubbo's eye, who agreed with a slight head nod.

"It's alright, mate," Phil assured him. He held the bowls as Techno ladled soup into them carefully. "We get it." Phil handed him a bowl, steaming and cozy, and Ranboo gratefully accepted. "Just hang out for a while, alright?"

The six of them sat around the small kitchen table, eating together and listening to the radio as songs old and new alike filled the air. Tubbo and Wilbur sang duets, and Techno and Tommy made increasingly strange parodies as Phil and Ranboo watched with amusement.

Tommy and Techno were mid-song about Phil when the music suddenly stopped, harsh static cutting through the joyful atmosphere like a knife.

"WE INTERRUPT YOUR PROGRAM FOR AN EMERGENCY ANNOUNCEMENT," the prerecorded sample recited. "ATTENTION, ALL CITIZENS OF NEW LENSLING COUNTY: A MANDATORY EVACUATION IS BEGINNING TOMORROW AT 11 AM. ALL PERSONS LIVING IN THE CITY MUST RELOCATE BEFORE THE END OF THE WEEK."

The once bright mood at the dinner table quickly sank, dread and icy cold fear replacing the warm feeling of family and safety.

"What the fuck?" Tommy murmured, turning the radio volume up to the max.

"COUNTY OFFICIALS WILL BE INSPECTING HOMES TO ENSURE THAT EVERYONE HAS EVACUATED. SAFE CITIES ARE AS FOLLOWS: ATTSTONE, WORWICKE, LANGSTEDSHIRE, SHANTOWSEA, AND SOUTH BIRBED. FURTHER QUESTIONS WILL BE ANSWERED AT-"

Wilbur turned off the radio with a harsh slam. "Great," he growled. "What the fuck do we do now? Surely they don't expect us to just be happy with this!"

"All our shit is still at home!" Tubbo added, agitated. "There's no way we have time to grab it tonight, and it'll take ages to get back to the apartment in the morning!" He grumbled. "This is bullshit!"

"Calm down, you two," Phil cut in, trying to curb the anger bubbling in the air. "We'll figure something out, okay?"

Tubbo and Wilbur had the same disgruntled look in their eyes, jaws set and eyes shadowed. "Fine," Tubbo muttered, standing up to look at Phil. "Tell us then, what's the plan? Do you even know what's going to happen to us?"

"Tubbo," Ranboo warned. "Calm down. We're all figuring it out as a group."

Tubbo folded his arms and sat heavily in his chair, still irritated.

Techno was already rifling through his things for a map of the county. "The safe zones were all cities nearby," he said, seemingly to himself. He rolled a thin map out over the table, careful to avoid the drops of soup. "Attstone, Worwicke, et cetera. The closest one to us would be-"

"South Birbed, innit?" Tommy finished, shoving his now-empty soup bowl out of the way to lean over the table. "It's 'bout a week-long trip on foot," he explained. "We could be there in no time if all of us leave first thing in the morning,"

"Hold on, Tommy," Techno stopped him as Tommy took a breath to say something else. "One of us needs to stay behind and let someone know where we're goin', right Phil?"

"They need to send a message to all the safe zones to tell 'em how many people to prepare for," Phil confirmed. "I'll stay behind, tell whoever may stop by that the six of us are heading south, yeah?"

Ranboo and the other four shared a look of hesitance, none of them quite sure how to respond. "I don't want to leave you behind, Phil," Ranboo admitted. "Are you 100 percent sure you'll be alright on your own?"

Phil waved a hand dismissively. "You don't have to worry about me, mate. I'll catch up with you all in no time."

Phil's promise sent a wave of relief around the room. Wilbur and Tubbo looked more at ease, and Ranboo, Techno, and Tommy all breathed a sigh. "We should probably pack up our shit, I guess." Tommy rose to his feet, stretching and yawning. "Early start tomorrow, aye?"

They all stood, some more hesitant than others, and dispersed to their respective sleeping quarters. Tommy, Tubbo, and Ranboo trekked upstairs single file, carrying their bags, weapons, and everything in between into the large bedroom silently. It wasn't like they hadn't done this same thing before, but something about knowing it might be the last time for a while made the mood feel more somber than usual.

Tommy flopped onto the large, pillowy mattress with a sigh. "I can't believe we're being fuckin' kicked out," he muttered crossly, a change in mood from the upbeat leader persona he'd put on downstairs (probably to prove himself to the adults). "And to South Birbed of all places!"

Ranboo snorted, his eyes crinkling up with laughter. "What did South Birbed ever do to you?" He asked, watching as Tubbo crawled onto the bed next to Tommy.

"I dunno, it just seems like a shit city," Tommy shrugged.

Tubbo smacked him with a pillow, and Tommy yelped in protest, shouting a string of curse words at his assailer. "Mercy, mercy!" Tommy begged as he and Tubbo began a pillow fight.

Ranboo looked on with mild intrigue but didn't join the party. Instead, he slipped away from the other two into the bathroom and shut the door.

He pried his gloves off his hands and rinsed his face, desperate to clean the dirt and grime from his forehead and fingers. Ranboo stared at himself in the mirror, watching beads of water run down his face. He looked like a mess, he thought briefly, before drying the water with a towel. He winced, feeling a shock of pain flow up his arm as he blotted the water with the scratchy cloth. Deftly, he rolled up his sweater sleeve to examine his arm.

A little bit of broken skin, Ranboo noticed. He caught sight of a few small indents, which he assumed were from fingernails digging into his arm when the zombie had grabbed him. He made a mental note to keep checking the wound before it got infected and rolled his sleeve down again.

With a newly clear head, he reentered the bedroom quietly. Tommy and Tubbo had already claimed the bed, he noted, as the two laid on either half of the mattress, Tommy's head and Tubbo's feet on one end and the other way around at the foot of the bed. Ranboo sighed as he realized he'd have to sleep on the floor. Swiftly, he snagged a pillow from the bed, careful not to wake the already-snoring Tubbo, and dragged a throw blanket from a basket to sleep beneath. Begrudgingly, he laid on his makeshift bed, staring at the ceiling.

He had never noticed it before, but shining overhead was a galaxy of artificial stars, blinking and twinkling. The question of "why" briefly crossed Ranboo's mind as he stared at the bright little shapes above him. It made sense, he supposed, since the room belonged to Wilbur years before he, Tommy, or Tubbo ever stayed there. Still, he thought, it was surprising that Phil had kept them up there after all this time. Maybe he wanted to keep a little piece of the good times with him.

Ranboo felt a pit form in his stomach as he thought about the future (or possible lack thereof). The uncertainty made his stomach churn as he yawned, eyelids drooping. Thoughts of traveling and an image of the artificial galaxy were fresh in his mind as he rolled over that night, shutting his eyes and letting the darkness of sleep wash over him at last.

[wri0thesley]

A Well Rounded Education (4): Equality Statement (Fem!Reader x Naoya Zenin, 7.5k)

series synopsis: you are a teacher’s aid to teacher Gojo Satoru, training to be able to take over your own class next year by shadowing and helping him out. gojo, unfortunately, does not make things easy for anybody.

chapter synopsis: you make the mistake of crossing naoya zenin at a sports festival and are forced to apologise. but as you well know by now, nothing ever seems to go to plan where any of your student’s fathers are concerned. 

NSFW. MINORS DNI. AFAB reader, fem pronouns. misogyny, weird power dynamics, hate-sex, piv sex, blowjobs. naoya.  

(a well rounded education m.list and navigation)   ♡  (jujutsu kaisen masterlist)

1.

The Saturday morning that your first ever undokai is scheduled for dawns bright and early, and you can’t help the little thrill that goes through you at the golden fingers of dawn lighting up your room. There’d been talk of the weekend bringing rain, and things needing to be rescheduled – but it’s perfect weather, as you put on a comfortable tank top and shorts instead of your neat pencil skirt and suit jacket combination.

This will be your first event of the kind, and you’re excited about it. The kids in the class have been practising all of their cheers and routines and the like constantly, whilst the ones involved in the competitive sports have been cheering one another on and snatching time when they can to race against one another in preparation. It’s been nice to see all of the camaraderie between them – even some of the quieter ones have seemed to come a little bit out of their shell, with so much team spirit in the air.

Well. Most of them have. You’ve noticed Junpei still hanging back, face sad, uncomfortable when other boys crowd him and tug him off to who knows where – probably to get him involved in their own practises or rehearsals.

It’s been long and hard preparing for it, but even Gojo has been focused on something for once.

“There’s just something about events like this!” Gojo chirped to you, once, as he’d held up a megaphone he did not really need and called his class back into formation in front of him. “You know! The joy of youth! I want them to have the best time possible! They deserve it.”

Seeing Gojo’s mischievous eyes sparkle with determination instead of humour had made you smile at him, and you’d felt a strange pull in your chest when he’d smiled back, needing to pull your gaze away to ask Yuuji to stop poking Megumi in the back to get him to look at a weird caterpillar he’d found on the ground.

As a junior high undokai, things are a little more competitive than they might be if this were an elementary school or even a middle school event, but there’s still a big emphasis on the teamwork and the cheering on portion of the day. You’ve watched and applauded what feels like a hundred practises for the cheering section, confiscating whistles when they’re sneakily blown whilst you’re trying to teach a mathematics lesson.

Still, you’re not surprised to see that Gojo’s class have been corralled into his classroom whilst your vivacious teacher and mentor gives them a rallying encouragement that seems to contain a lot of bigging up the fact that they are, in fact, his class.

“I thought the pep talk was for them,” you say, as heads turn to you when you walk into the room. It’s strange to see all of the faces dressed in their gym uniforms instead of their school uniforms – and it’s even stranger to be wearing an approximation of it yourself.

“You look nice!” Yuji pipes up, and you smile at him.

“It is for them,” Gojo brings a hand to his sunglasses to push them down a little, giving you a charming smile and the full force of the galaxies swirling in his eyes. “I’m just reminding them that as Satoru Gojo’s class, of course they’re going to do well! We’re going to be the strongest, and win!” He looks at all of them – bright shining faces turned to him, all lit up with the excitement of competition. There’s something in him that you rarely see right now – something encouraging and bright and compassionate. He genuinely seems to want them to do well. “I believe in all of you!”

The warmth spreading through your chest at Gojo’s words is a new experience. You’re far more used to exasperation and frustration where he’s concerned.

But now, you can’t help the infectious smiles of the children and the determination in their face to do well enough for everyone to be proud of. Maybe Gojo isn’t so bad after all, you think, as he bids the children in the class farewell and tells them to go and join everyone else outside in preparation for the day’s events.

“What d’you think?” He asks you, as Junpei leaves the room, still dragging his feet a little. You can’t blame him. He’s involved in the cheering section, as so many of the less athletic kids are, but the undokai is not optional and you think that Junpei is the kind of boy who hates being looked at. “Are we gonna win?”

“I don’t think that’s quite the point of the exercise,” you say, eventually. “We’re supposed to be fostering team spirit and co-operation--”

“Yeah,” Gojo wrinkles his nose and grins. “But we’re still gonna win, right?”

You sigh.

“With Yuji and Maki? Probably. But that’s not the point!”

Gojo stands up and stretches his arms out above him. He’s in a shirt that clings tight to a surprisingly muscled abdomen,  and dark grey sweatpants. He’s never been the ‘formal wear’ kind of teacher, but it’s still jarring to see him dressed so casually – and even more jarring to realise that he’s handsome, despite the fact you’ve spent most of the last few months rolling your eyes and sighing and cursing the world that you’ve ended up having to endure Satoru Gojo so much.

“I know, I know – but it’s nice to think about, right?” His grin is infectious. “Did you have time to have breakfast this morning? I know it’s an earlier start than usual, I’ve got a spare blueberry muffin in my bag – hope it didn’t get crushed too badly by my stretches--”

“I’m fine,” you tell him, already dreading the idea of him pressing a crumbled muffin into your hand. “I had a healthy, nutritious breakfast.”

“So did I!” He says, hotly. “The blueberry muffin had fruit in it, croissants are glazed with egg so that’s protein, and I had a slice of honey on toast too just because I felt like I’d have to keep my energy up today--”

You are constantly impressed by how he manages to consume all of this sugar without going into overdrive – then again, maybe that does explain a lot about him.

“I don’t really know what I’m supposed to be doing today,” you admit to him. “I mean, I know I’m here to cheer on the kids and stuff, but I don’t know what my role’s supposed to be--”

“Oh!” He comes around and begins to walk out of the classroom, beckoning you to follow him. “Didn’t I tell you? They told me ages ago--” He did not tell you. You don’t know why you find this a surprise. “You’re gonna be in charge of the refreshments table for the first half of the morning – Yuta, you know, the other teacher’s aid, he’ll relieve you for the second half so you can cheer us on and help me a bit. Not that I’ll need it! It’s not a hard job, just be polite to anyone who needs to use it, most of ‘em bring their own lunches and snacks but we find that it’s always good to have a table with some extras – especially when it’s so hot outside!”

“You didn’t,” you say, but you follow him anyway. You have learnt by now that the most you’ll get from Gojo is a shrug and an airy ‘sorry’. And you suppose, in the grand scheme of things, this isn’t so bad. It’s not like you needed to have time to stop and prepare yourself to give people a polite smile and ask them if they’d like you to pour them a glass of water.

The two of you spill out into the grounds of the school, which is already full of excited students and proud parents. You recognise a few of them – your face heats up as you see Nanami forcibly pressing a bottle of sunscreen into Yuji’s hands, and as the two of you walk past Geto who is tying back Mimiko and Nanako’s hair, ensuring the team hats that the students are all wearing sit neatly on their heads.

There’s a man stood with Maki and Mai who you assume is their father; a blond with a sneering face and a presence that makes you feel like you shouldn’t even be looking at him. Maki has her arms crossed, her chin jutting forward – the two of them are clearly involved in some kind of argument. Even as you watch, some other men are walking towards him with their heads bowed, like he’s something special.

You vaguely recall that you’ve heard some tell about the Zenins being a very rich, very old, very respected family. Judging from the way he carries himself and the way people keep looking at him, you think that must be it.

“Is that Maki and Mai’s dad?” You ask, curiously, as you’re pushed past him towards a collection of tables beneath a bright yellow awning. Gojo makes a noise that sounds like a sigh.

“Yep,” he says, sounding short. There’s some kind of history there, you think. “That’s Naoya Zenin. Better for you to avoid him, if you can – he’s not the kind of guy you want to cross, y’know?”

“But Maki’s--”

“Absolutely nothing like him,” Gojo deposits you in front of a table heaped with water jugs, ice cubes and plastic cups. “Really.”

You wrinkle your nose as you look around. At least everyone else seems happy – excited, buzzing with energy and the promise of an exciting day ahead. You can’t help but worry about Maki’s expression, though. She had looked like her and her father were having an argument that had been going on for months--

Gojo waves at you as he jogs across the field, moving surprisingly quickly for a man who ate nothing but sugar for his breakfast. You watch him go, unable to stop a smile forming on your face as he pauses by Maki and Mai. He slaps a hand onto Maki’s shoulder and says something with a bright grin that she seems to respond to with a smile, turning to follow him. Her father’s eyes narrow, as he spits something that even you can work out is venomous at the retreating backs of one of his daughters. He sighs as he says something else to Mai, a smile almost tugging at the corners of his mouth as his attention shifts back to her.

It’s clear who the golden child is there, then.

You try and shake your thoughts away from Naoya Zenin and his two girls and concentrate on the place that you’ve been given, reminding yourself that even if it doesn’t seem like a big role, you all have to work hard to make sure that today is a success. Your students have been practising and getting excited for this event for weeks, and you want all of the parents to be as proud of their students as you are.

You have a good view from the refreshments table of everything that’s going on. You watch a few of the races, a few cheering displays from the other classes to the beat of the drums – and when kids run up to you, sweaty and panting, you hand them a plastic cup full of cool water and they thank you as if you harvested it from a spring yourself instead of merely pouring it out.

Some parents ask you politely who you are, and you tell them with a smile and a bright look, hoping that you being friendly and polite will get back to other people. A few of them exchange looks when they hear that you’re attached to Gojo’s class; the man has a reputation that follows him everywhere. You give out oranges and other pieces of fruit to some of the students who need an extra sugar boost, or the ones who have a bandage wrapped around their knee or grazes from falls that have recently been cleaned. Shoko is busy today, and you often see her direct these injured children to you as a rest stop, and so their parents can find them easily.

You pause for a moment as the names are called for a relay race, and you hear Maki and Mai being summoned. This is the first race that they’re taking part in – if their team wins this one, they’ll qualify for the final this afternoon. You can see Gojo lifting his arms and hollering and hear his loud, excited voice even with all of the other people crowding into the school grounds to watch, and despite yourself you feel a smile spread over your face.

You’re still smiling when you hear a scoff.

You turn around to see what the fuss is – only to see Naoya Zenin, holding a plastic cup of water as if it’s offended him mortally. Seeing you looking at him, his lip curls.

“Is this tap water?” He asks you. He has a curious accent; slow, drawling, and clearly much superior to your own. It’s not an accent that Maki and Mai have inherited – and as he raises one eyebrow, the sun catching the rings in his ears, you find yourself glad of it. “Well?”

“I think so,” you say. You are on edge. He peers into it, and sighs.

“Don’t you have anything better? Cell-gen or Tennensui or even I LOHAS, at least?” He speaks to you slowly, like you’re a child, or as if he’s not sure whether a peasant like you would even know the names of any bottled water brands. You can’t stand being talked down to, and you curl your hand into a fist as you say, trying to keep yourself polite;

“I’m sorry, Sir. There’s just this.”

“You’d think with the money pumped in-- fine.” He sighs, taking a sip of the water, his face scrunching in displeasure at – you don’t know. The disgusting taste of tap water, you suppose. You try not to look at the bob of his throat as he swallows. Everything about this man seems to be unpleasant except the way he looks.

You take your own cup of water, just to quell some of the dryness that has made itself known in your throat at interacting with him.

The cheering gets a little quieter, and you turn to see what’s happened. As it turns out, all that’s actually happened is Gojo has stopped putting forth his own shouts to the fray, his eyes focussed on you and Naoya, a look that you think is almost sympathy spread across his face. You see that the race is about to begin, and you don’t look at Naoya as you say;

“You’re Maki and Mai’s father, aren’t you? Their first race is about to start. Maki’s been training really hard, I think she’ll pip it for us—”

A dark presence at your shoulder, and a sneering, uppity drawl.

“I gather you’re the teaching aid I’ve been hearing so much about from everyone.” he says. It does not sound like a compliment. “Maki has really found you . . . encouraging.” He says it like it’s a dirty word.

You force yourself to remain cheerful, and not ask him what the fuck his problem is.

“Maki’s really talented,” you say. “Mai’s fast, too – they’re both really good representatives for the class--”

Naoya snorts.

“They should be on the sidelines,” he says, coolly. “Supporting the men. Not running. Not getting all sweaty and hot and messing up their hair and their pretty faces.” He shakes his head. “It’s unwomanly, and if Maki listened to a word I’d said, she wouldn’t be doing it.”

“Mai is doing it too,” you point out, hating yourself for getting involved in this. But you just can’t let him stand there and be such an asshole, spewing his narrow-minded ideas when there are impressionable girls around.

“Mai’s already agreed that if they win this race, she’ll ask one of the boys to switch in for her. I’ve sorted it with the principal. It’s not ladylike for her to do any more than she has to. She’s not going to get a husband in good standing based on her athletic prowess--”

Oh, this is too far. You’re seething, though you’re trying to keep your respectable face on. You’re at work, you’re at work, you’re at work--

“Perhaps there are some other things they consider more important than finding a husband, at the age of twelve?”

Naoya’s laugh is nasty, mocking – and you hate that there’s something in it that sends a curl of heat right through you, blooming between your thighs.

“The younger a girl learns her place,” he says, his voice very slow. “The better it is and easier it is for a man to be assured she’ll do her duties. I don’t see a ring on your finger, Miss – I’d hate for them to end up working some dead-end little job just because they don’t have anyone to cook and clean for--”

Nope.

You can’t take it any longer.

You turn and you throw the cup of ‘shitty tap water’ in your hand right over Naoya Zenin’s stupid, smug, asshole face.

2.

Gojo, for what you think must be one of the first time in his life, looks uncomfortable.

“I didn’t know you were going to throw water on him,” he tries to say, weakly. “Look, we all hate him, but . . . ugh. This is so frustrating! I hate all of this bureaucracy bullshit--”

It turns out that Naoya Zenin’s family – and Naoya Zenin himself – donate rather a lot of money to the school for such functions as the one you’re all currently attending. It turns out that nobody wants to piss off the bank-roll that’s keeping their gym maintained, their events fancy and expensive, the library well-stocked – and you get that! You really do! You know that school budgets are overstretched already, and that donors like the Zenin family are something to be gently courted and kept around for as long as humanly possible.

You just wish that the big donor for this school was anybody else.

“I didn’t know all of this,” you say, reasonably. “I know I shouldn’t have thrown a drink over him, but Mr. Gojo--”

“How many times? You can call me Satoru.”

“If you’d heard the way he was talking--”

“Oh, believe me,” Gojo’s full lips press into a thin line. “I know exactly what Naoya Zenin’s modus operandi is. Let me guess: he was all on at you about how Maki’s not a proper young lady, how the boys should be doing the hard work, how he’s trying to make sure his daughters get a proper start and a rich husband – ugh.” Gojo tugs at his shirt, clearly frustrated. “I’ve had it way too much.”

“Yeah,” you say. You find yourself sighing too.

“The Vice Principal’s in his back pocket,” Gojo says, taking a seat on top of the desk that you’re currently sat behind, cooling off some of your anger – Principal Masamichi had sent you inside to calm you down, and Naoya himself had been escorted into the building by Vice Principal Gakuganji to dry off, all the while saying placating things to calm down the school’s meal ticket. “They want you to apologise to him.”

“I suppose I should,” you say miserably. “But it’s gonna feel like swallowing gravel.”

“I certainly don’t blame you,” Gojo says, with a smile, trying to cheer you up. “Hell, I know some of the other staff members have been dying to do it--”

“Ugh,” you bury your face in your hands. “This is a horrible impression in front of the whole school.”

He pats you gently on the shoulder.

“Hey,” he says, “when this is all over, I’ll take you out for ice cream. I know the best places in the city, and they all know me too!”

You summon a smile for him. He’s not so bad, really – sure, he’s chaotic and thinks too highly of himself for his own good, but . . . at least he’s nothing like Naoya. You stand up and pull down your shorts, wriggling your tank top down to cover you as much as you possibly can. You feel a bit exposed, not in heels and stockings and a blouse.

“I should get this over with, then.”

Gojo has too much to do back on the field to escort you to Naoya himself, so he tells you that Naoya’s in the Vice Principal’s office and gives you another friendly squeeze on the shoulder.

“Good luck,” he tells you. “Remember: ice cream at the end of this!”

“Ice cream at the end of this,” you repeat, as you watch him jog out of the corridor. You’re almost tempted to tell him off for running in the halls – Gojo moves so fast that sometimes you lose track of him entirely – but you push back the urge. Gojo is being decent today. You’re thankful to him for sitting with you and helping you calm – and also, evidently, for being one of the things that keeps Maki’s fighting spirit inflamed.

You stand there for a moment, in front of the door to the office, balling up your courage tight and hot in your stomach. You do not want to have to apologise to Naoya, but you know it’s for the best. The sooner you can put this sorry incident behind you and try and avoid Naoya at every single function from herein, the better – so you tap hard on the door and wait until you hear his slow, drawling voice.

“You can come in.”

At first, you’re surprised to see that he’s alone in there – sitting in front of the desk in a comfortable chair, clearly at ease with everything. His arms are sprawled over the back of it, his legs wide apart. You chastise yourself for thinking it immediately – of course the vice principal is busy right now, of course he trusts someone as well-known to the school as Naoya to be alone in his office.

It’s hard not to think about every other time you’ve found yourself alone with the parents of your students, though. A heat crawls onto your face at the very thought of it. You find Naoya repellent, disgusting – but then again, he’s also (and you’re not being glib about it) handsome. You’d be lying if you’d said you sometimes hadn’t ignored a man’s personality for a night in favour of a face and a body that had drawn you in.

Not now.

You close the door behind you, clasping your hands together so you don’t clench your fists, and bow your head so that Naoya can’t tell that you’re grinding your teeth.

“I’m sorry for letting my emotions get the better of me, Sir,” you say, though it really does feel like you are gnashing ice to get the words out. “I should have been more polite. I can assure you it won’t happen again.”

“Mmm,” Naoya says, and you peek up at him through your lashes to see that he’s clearly enjoying having you at his mercy, his lips tilted into a smirk. His hair is still a little wet at the ends, but all that you throwing the water over him seems to have actually done is made his shirt cling tight to a surprisingly chiselled chest and stomach. Asshole. Fuck him. “Yes. I should hope not.”

You straighten yourself up, still a little stiff.

“I hope you can forgive me,” you say. “I . . . I am still learning my place in the establishment.”

He laughs, low and soft.

“Your place?” He asks, the words dangerously sweet on his tongue. “Yes. I can see you still need some help on that one.”

His eyes crawl over you slowly, dragging up and down the length of you, lingering over where your shorts cling to your hips and the tank top hugs your chest. You resist the urge to shift – you don’t want to let him know that he’s making you uncomfortable. You know, though, that he can sense that you have gone hot and prickly all over. He has that smug air; the one men who know what they do to people always seem to have cultivated. The knowledge that they are good-looking.

You suppose for Naoya, it’s the heady combination of knowing he is good-looking and powerful and rich, and you breathe through the force of all of his attention concentrated on you.

“Seeing as you’re still . . . new to all of this,” he says, bringing an arm forward to tap his long fingers on the desk. “And you did apologise prettily, I suppose I can forgive this transgression – just this once, darling.”

The pet name crawls up your spine like ice. He’s still staring at you, enjoying the view like you’re a piece of meat on a market stall he’s considering purchasing.

“Th-thank you, Sir,” you say, hating yourself a little bit but hating him all the more.

“You know,” he says. “You’re not exactly bad-looking.” He stands, rising to his full height, stretching out, frustratingly comfortable in this environment when you feel like a deer who’s about to turn tail and flee at any moment. “You’d be much better off at home raising children than here.” He wrinkles his nose. “Working for a living.” The way that he says the words makes it clear that he considers this a task far beneath the likes of him.

He’s moving towards you now, and your breath seems to get stuck in your throat as he’s suddenly in front of you, stalking elegantly. You want to snap back something about how you’d rather work for a living than have to rely on the whims of a man, much less a man like him – but as he grabs your chin to tilt it up to the light, you find that the words seem to die in your throat.

“Hmm,” he says. “Not bad at all.” He makes an approving noise that sends a flutter right through you, making you dully aware of a pounding ache between your thighs. He leans a little further in, until he’s so close that you can see the pale colours dancing in his eyes, the way the light hits his high cheekbones. “You’re trembling with rage, you know. It’s adorable.”

“You’re very easy to be angry at,” you half-breathe, half-hiss, and Naoya’s smirk is going to be burnt into your memory forever and ever.

“If you’re so angry,” he murmurs, “I can certainly think of a way I wouldn’t mind helping you work out your aggression.”

You shouldn’t do it. But your heart is beating a frantic rhythm against your ribcage and your breath is short, and part of you wants to wrestle him to the ground and dominate him so that he can have a taste of his own medicine. You grab a handful of his hair and drag him down into a bruising kiss.

3.

Oh, and he kisses back. His mouth is soft against yours, but the kiss itself is rough – both of your tongues fighting for dominance, both of you trying to nip at one another’s bottom lip and seize the victory. You’re practically shoved backwards so that your ass catches the edge of the Vice Principal’s desk, even as you tug hard on Naoya’s hair to tell him that you’re not going to be overpowered by him so easily. You feel the feral curve of his grin as he pulls back just enough to whisper;

“Oh? You really think you’re going to get the better of me? You’re cute--” and then you push his shoulders hard, and he stumbles and falls back onto the chair he started this whole escapade sat in. You reach down to tug off your shirt, dropping it onto the floor beside you – Naoya looks for a moment like he’s going to stand back up and resume trying to wrest back the situation into his favour, but as he sees the slight bounce of your breasts in your bra he seems to decide it would be more interesting and beneficial for him to stay exactly where he is and watch you disrobe.

So you do, wriggling your shorts down past your hips – he lets out a low groan at that, as you stand before him in nothing but your underwear with your fists clenched on your hips.

You feel surprisingly powerful like this. It definitely makes a difference from all of the other ways you’ve felt when you’ve been alone with somebody’s father--

“Take off your shirt,” you tell him, and you’re almost surprised at the imperious tone in your own voice. “It’s your turn--”

He raises an eyebrow at you, but he does as you ask. Long fingers curling around the hem of his shirt, taking his sweet time pulling it off his body – and yes, it’s a nice one. Nice, too, are his thighs as he undoes his trousers that probably cost more than you make in a year and pushes them down, sitting before you in nothing but his equally as expensive-looking underwear – an impressive looking bulge outline pressed against the fabric. Even as he looks at you, he takes hold of himself through it and squeezes it, his grin crooked.

Your body does a throb of need.

“Oh,” you say, feigning surprise. “I didn’t realise you were so needy already--”

“Like you’re not dripping,” he says sharply, his eyes zeroing in on the space between your thighs. “Don’t flatter yourself. I can see the damp patch from here.”

“Who’s to say that’s for you?” You walk towards him. You can’t help but feel powerful and in control at how his eyes follow you with rapt attention, how his tongue darts out to swipe across his bottom lip as he drinks in your form in front of him.

“Please,” he says. “As if there’s anyone here more deserving.”

He reaches forward and his hands settle on your hips, dragging you closer to him – hot fingertips brushing your waist, the bare skin beneath your bra before he’s unclipping that too and your breasts are bare. He breathes in deeply.

“Pity,” he says, though his voice is thick with his own arousal. “You’re such a cute little thing, if only you didn’t open your mouth--”

“I’m sure you wouldn’t mind me opening my mouth to do something else,” you breathe, and you reach down to ghost your fingers over his cock through the tent in his underwear. He hisses through his teeth, his eyes half-lidded.

“Don’t just say it, princess,” he says. “If you’re going to run your mouth, the least you could do is make it do something useful--”

“I’d rather die than get on my knees for you.” Your mouth is very close to his neck – to punctuate the statement, you give his earlobe a tug with your teeth, and he practically groans. You’re almost straddling him on the chair, and you do not miss, either, the twitch that his cock seems to give at the tug.

It seems like for somebody who really wants to be in control, and wants women to know their place so badly, Naoya actually is rather enjoying somebody giving him a taste of his own medicine.

He grabs your underwear and pulls it down, clicking his tongue as it bunches about your knees.

“Just give into what your body wants,” he says, all saccharine sweetness in that slow, deep voice. “You’ve made a mess.”

You know you have. You can feel slick when your thighs press too close together, hot and wet between your legs. You really are practically dripping. But it’s not just from Naoya, you don’t think – it’s from the sudden power you’re feeling, the rush of being an equal participant in everything, in feeling like you have the upper hand. And not a small part, you think, is because of the adrenaline that’s coursing through your veins at the thought of putting Naoya Zenin in his place. You tip your head to the side innocently.

“What about you?” You ask, with a mean shade to the pitch of your voice. “You’re so hard it’s a wonder you’re not in pain--”

He grabs a hank of your hair with one hand whilst spreading your legs further with the other, so strong that the breath’s knocked out of you. The tip of his finger skims the outer lips of your sex, gathering your slick arousal on the pad as he growls;

“I’m still a man, darling. I see a pretty cunt to fuck and a pair of nice tits and I want to bury myself into it until the bitch remembers her place--”

“Good luck,” you breathe. “I think you’ll be the one remembering his place, here.”

He laughs breathlessly.

“Oh,” he purrs. “You’re going to be singing a different song when you’re begging me to fuck you harder.”

You give him a smile with your teeth bared; the challenge is obvious. It’s a smile that says ‘we’ll see’, even as you both tug at his underwear to pull it down and reveal what he’s been hiding beneath it.

You don’t want to admit that he’s got a pretty cock, but he has. He’s not the biggest you’ve seen, but it’s still impressive; a slight curve giving it an elegant angle that you realise with a clench will hit you exactly in the right spot when you take it inside of you.

He’s slick with his own pre-come, bubbling from the reddened slit – and as you shift forward and trap it between your thighs, he groans aloud again.

“That’s right,” he grunts, as the tip catches on your entrance and you begin to sink down upon it. “This is what you were made for, princess--”

“What?” You pant. “That would be disappointing. You barely fill me up--”

He grabs you and pulls you into another kiss as you finish off sheathing his cock inside of you – perhaps to save his pride, perhaps to muffle the noise that comes out of him, transferred into your mouth instead of his own. Whichever it is, you hate that you were right about the angle of his cock – you can feel it pressing snugly against the spongy G-spot even now, threatening you with a better time than you’d like to have.

You break the kiss to pull yourself off of him and sink back down, forcibly taking the lead and setting your own pace. You know it’s fast, you know it’s greedy – but fuck, if you aren’t boiling over with need.

You splay your hands across his shoulders, nails digging into his skin with little care to how you might mark him. You need him for leverage, as you continue to bounce up and down on his cock. Naoya tips his head back and groans, enjoying the feeling, before he remembers that you two are engaged in a battle of wits and attempts to get the better of you once more.

“I-is that,” he groans, coming to cling onto your waist and force you down on him with even more strength, helping you along in the too-fast rhythm of your thrusts and bounces. “The best you’ve got?”

“Come on,” you say breathlessly, as his cock continues to stroke that spot. You can hear the sounds of him sliding in and out of you, shamefully loud – too, you can hear the sounds of your skin slapping against one another, echoing and mixing with the breathless pants and the attempts to trade barbed insults. “Y-you’re making me do all the work?”

“Fucking pity you’ve got such a nice cunt,” Naoya snarls, his hips flexing, somehow managing to hit you deeper even as you’re bouncing on the balls of your feet and straddling him on the chair. His words are starting to sound very far away. “You should be in my fucking bed, keeping it warm, better off than wasting away here--”

Both of you are running your mouths, overwhelmed by how close one another’s bodies are and the intense heat radiating from you. There’s a frisson of electricity in the air, showering sparks, as the two of you continue to snatch words in between moans and groans and pants and whimpers--

“You’re pathetic--”

“You’re so fucking tight, I shouldn’t be surprised when you’re such a bitch--”

“F-fuck, harder, c-can’t you even keep the momentum going? You’re weak--”

“Baby girl, you’re fucking shaking – you gonna come first? Women are so predictable--”

You can feel your release hovering on the edge of your vision, blurring it as your eyes squeeze shut and you feel tears threatening to roll down your cheeks. There’s a heat inside of you that’s close to overspilling – and as you come down on him particularly hard, the head of his cock rolls over your g-spot just right, and you feel a dam inside of you break as your nails dig hard enough into his shoulders to draw blood. You bury your face into his neck so he doesn’t get the satisfaction of hearing you cry out his name, teeth worrying into his neck to leave a love-bite reminder of exactly what transpired between you two in the Vice Principal’s office.

You feel yourself twitch and tighten around him as your orgasm rocks your body, heat running through you like veins of marble. You can’t breathe – all you can do is bite, your hips chasing the final aftershocks.

Naoya is still hard inside of you as you lift yourself off him, letting his cock slip out of you as easily as butter. His own hands clench around your hips.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” He asks, his voice rough and hungry. Despite that, though, you can hear the thread of some other emotion sewn in to them – and with a shiver of delight, you realise it’s neediness. He’s been left wanting, and you’ve been handed all of the cards. “I haven’t finished.”

“And you won’t finish inside me,” you snap at him, enjoying the longing in his voice. “Ask me very nicely and I’ll finish you off with my hand.”

“Mouth,” he demands – and he grabs your cheeks, squishing them, pulling you down and reminding you of all of the power that he has even though it’s your body that’s got the advantage of the high ground. “You don’t really think I’m going to be satisfied with your hand, princess--”

“You don’t deserve it,” you spit at him, but you sink to your knees anyway.

You’re not entirely lacking in manners. You suppose you did get to come. It would be rude to just leave him like this. Especially when the whole reason you’d ended up in this office in the first place was to apologise to him politely.

“This is the perfect position for you,” he sneers, as you open your mouth and envelope the head of his cock within it. You can taste yourself on his shaft. “Fuck, that’s right – put your mouth to good use for once--”

You give him a mean, slow lick along the slit of his cock head that makes him groan in the back of his throat. He wraps his hand around the back of your neck, fingers digging into the nape so he can control you at least a little bit, pushing you a touch too far so you almost choke. You pull off it, drooling.

“Choke me again and I’ll bite,” you snarl, and he pats your cheek like you’re an obedient dog.

“You wouldn’t dare,” he says – and you narrow your eyes at him in a way that says ‘try me’ before you return to sucking at him, hollowing your cheeks. You want to do a good job. A part of you wants to make him come so hard that he regrets being an asshole to you, even though you know that’s ridiculous and not going to happen.

Still. You’re not going to back down from a challenge, so you use your tongue to play along as much of his cock as you can.

“Fuck,” Naoya breathes. “Good . . . good fuckin’ girl—”

You’ve been hearing that low, polite drawl swear and curse for what seems like hours, but that one sends another pulse of heat through you – at your heart, you can’t argue that you love being praised. You whimper against his cock, glad that the fast pace you’ve managed to establish and the wet noises of your mouth around him muffle the noise so Naoya can’t dangle it over your head.

The hand on the nape of your neck jerks, so that you’re forced to look up at him and meet his eyes proper. His hips are slamming to meet your bobs now, the noise of him fucking your mouth filling the room. His teeth dig into his bottom lip and you feel him twitch, his voice pitching--

Salt coats your tongue as he fills your mouth.

But he doesn’t let himself finish there.

He pulls out, and he pumps his cock himself two, three times – coaxing out the other ropes of come, that hit your neck and chest and breasts hot and white and glistening. You’re too surprised by it to do anything – you’d expected him to keep your mouth on him, make you swallow down everything he gave you. He seems the kind of guy who gets off on that sort of thing--

But instead, he’s sighing, relaxing back into the chair as he looks at you with lazy eyes.

“You look cute like that,” he says, his voice low and sated. “I should take a picture.”

“Fuck you,” you breathe, getting off your knees. You are so fucking thankful for the box of tissues on the Vice Principal’s desk, as you reach across and grab some to dab at yourself so you’re not sticky and disgusting for any longer than necessary.

If you leave them in his pedal waste-bin, you hope that the cleaning crew will dispose of them before the Vice Principal is even aware that they’re there. Your lip curls as you wipe your mouth. You wish you had a mint – or at least a glass of water. Even tap water would do.

For what it’s worth, Naoya seems a little agitated as he puts himself to rights too. Evidently he was not expecting you to fight back so much – he places a finger on his shoulders and scowls when he sees that you made him bleed.

“I should sue you for assault,” he says. You tap your own body, at the curve of your hips and waist.

“I’m going to bruise,” you tell him. “So I guess it would be self-defence.”

“You’re too smart for your own good,” he tells you, with narrowed eyes – and you give him another smile, one that is clearly fake, as you pull your tank top and shorts back on and re-tie your shoes.

You’re surprised as you go to leave the room and he sets a hand on the small of your back in a mocking echo of polite manners. As the two of you walk down the corridor towards the exit, he does not remove it. To the assembled crowds, you hope it will look entirely innocent – like the two of you have merely had a little chat and come to an agreement instead of heatedly fucking one another’s brains out.

You blink as you emerge out into the light, your eyes taking a moment to adjust. You see Principal Masamichi give you a sympathetic smile – and there’s Gojo, immediately charging towards you like an overprotective bear. He slows down as he sees the way that Naoya is still touching you.

“I hope everything’s alright,” he says, sounding stiffer and more formal than you usually hear. Naoya’s smile towards him is cold.

“Everything’s fine,” he says, “Perfect. You apologised beautifully, didn’t you, Miss?” Naoya looks down his nose at you, a conceited smile on his mouth. “I’ve decided to overlook this little transgression.” He leaves a pause, and you swallow as you realise what he’s waiting for.

“Thank you so much, Mr Zenin, Sir,” you say. Again, it feels like you have to force the words out through a mouthful of marbles – but they make it out of your mouth.

“Oh, don’t be so formal, Miss,” he smirks. “You can call me Naoya. I look forward to seeing you again – soon, I hope.”

“You’re just in time,” Gojo says coldly. “Maki just won the final race of the day for our team.”

Naoya’s gaze is sharp as he looks at him. His lip curls. You can tell that both of them want to do something – maybe have an out-and-out fist fight on the field. But Naoya manages to get a grip (you’re glad about it; you’re not entirely sure whether Gojo would have been able to hold back) and turns on his heel to stalk away.

He does give your ass one last squeeze, though, that you desperately hope that Gojo doesn’t notice.

Gojo’s shoulders stay set, his chin thrust proudly forward, until Naoya has been swallowed up by the crowd at large – and then, he turns to you. For the first time, you see his normally humorous eyebrows draw in with worry.

“You look upset,” he says. “Sweaty. You smell terrible. Do you need a minute?”

Your shoulders fall. Gojo gives you a sympathetic pat on the back.

“It’s a rite of passage to deal with someone from the Zenin family,” he says. “You’re just unlucky it happened to actually be Naoya today. He usually sends an underling or an uncle or someone to pretend to care about the girls.”

Wow. You sure hope the rite of passage has gone differently for everyone else.

“Why d’you think he came here today, then?” You ask Gojo. He looks at you strangely, a spark of something you can’t quite read in his eyes.

“Well,” he says, “he’s related to the Fushiguros, you know. I heard he and Megumi’s father have met up recently for drinks – it ended in a fight, of course, it always does. But maybe he expected Megumi’s dad to be here too?” He shrugs. “He can never resist an opportunity to relish over someone in his family winning, even if he doesn’t want Maki doing anything unladylike. Megumi’s dad isn’t here, though, so looks like that backfired on him--”

Your face feels like it’s on fire as you think about Megumi’s father fucking you on Gojo’s desk – and the lingering way that Naoya had said that he’d heard so much about you from everyone.

[pastelwitchling]

“It’s cloudy, cold and I have a sleeping love of my life in my arms, go find someone else to play your alien catcher games,” Michael whisper yelled and hung up.

When Michael had woken up to a sleeping Alex’s face inches away from his own, he’d been afraid he was dreaming. But as he traced Alex’s cheek with the back of his fingers now and Alex made a soft sound at the back of his throat like a disturbed kitten and burrowed deeper into the warmth of Michael’s chest, as the memory of what they’d done last night and how close they’d been and the time they’d taken to explore every inch of one another’s skin, for once in no hurry, a smile of awe tugged at Michael’s lips.

The wind howled outside, unable to touch them here under the heavy duvet Alex had brought over last night because he’d wanted to make sure Michael was staying warm, and Michael let his hand fall down Alex’s shoulder, his arm, silently reveling in the way Alex shuddered in his sleep and curled up even closer, leaving no room between them.

Alex must’ve been exhausted if even Michael’s quiet giggles into the crook of his neck as he hugged him unbearably close couldn’t wake him. Or maybe, Michael thought, he had worn him out last night. The thought made him bite his lower lip and press his face to Alex’s neck and inhale. He was tired himself, easily able to go back to sleep for several more hours, but he didn’t want to stop staring at Alex. He had neverseen Alex sleep before, never gotten the chance to watch him, to touch his body and watch the way he reacted even in his dreams.

At one point, Alex started twitching slightly, his brows pinched. He made a quiet whimpering sound, turning his head left and right. Nightmares. Michael remembered Alex talking about this once before he seemed to realized he’d mentioned them at all and dismissed Michael’s concerns. Because that was Alex, wasn’t it? Nothing ever hurt him. He couldn’t affordto let anything hurt him.

Michael wouldn’t have that. He pressed his lips to Alex’s ear and softly shushed him, his other finger tracing a line from Alex’s brow down to the tip of his nose and back up again.

“Shh,” he whispered as softly as he could. “You’re okay, Alex. You’re safe here. You’re with me.”

“My Michael,” Alex murmured in a breath barely quieter than a whisper, as if every part of his mind yearned for Michael to be closer, before he pushed his face into Michael’s chest hair and his breaths settled again.

“Yeah, baby,” Michael murmured against Alex’s lips. “Your Michael.”

He opened his mouth against Alex’s, leaning in to kiss him, when his phone buzzed on the counter behind their heads. Alex flinched at the sudden sound, whimpering ever so slightly, before Michael levitated the phone right into his hand and answered his sister through grit teeth.

“What?” he hissed.

“I need you at the Crashdown,” Isobel said. “Max and Liz might have a trail on Jones and Rosa’s working on hearing frequencies.”

Michael shook his head. “Great, sounds like you’ve got everything taken care of. I’ll see you in five hours.” He looked down at Alex, his naked torso, his strong arms, his rosy cheeks and lips. His mouth watered at the thought of what they would do when he woke up. “Make that seven.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Isobel said sarcastically, “did you forget that there’s an evil alien with our brother’s face going around killing people?”

“Alex has a radar set up to find him,” Michael said, unable to help the smugness in his voice. “Tuned in to his frequency and his particular signature. He’s also got an alert system set up so if it finds anything, we’ll know. That said, good night.”

“It’s seven in the morning!”

“Not for us,” he argued.

“Michael!”

“Listen, it’s cloudy, cold, and I have the love of my life sleeping in my arms,” he whisper-yelled. “Go find someone else to play your little alien catcher games,” and he hung up.

Letting his phone float back to the counter, Michael snuggled back down until he was comfortably curled up with Alex again. He was just starting to heave a long breath when heavy knocks came at the door.

“MICHAEL!” Isobel’s voice sounded. “You are not sleeping in when Rosa needs your help, OPEN THIS DAMN DOOR!”

Alex flinched, his eyes flying open this time as he sat upright.

“No no no,” Michael murmured, taking Alex’s groggy face in his hands and pulling him in.

“What’s happening?” Alex mumbled, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“It’s okay, go back to sleep, everything’s –”

“Michael!”

Alex turned in the direction of the door, brows furrowed. “Is that Isobel?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Open up!”

“What’s wrong with her?” Alex started to get out of bed.

“Do not get out of bed!”

“Guerin,” he said, more awake now, “she could need help.”

“Who cares?!”

Alex pulled on a pair of briefs, Michael’s pair of briefs, which made Michael die all over again, and opened the door to Isobel’s knocking.

Isobel’s fist was up mid-knock, and her eyes widened at the sight of Alex, half-naked, in front of her.

“Oh my god,” she muttered, “you really are here. Oh my god,” she repeated, her wide eyes raking Alex’s body up and down. Michael felt a possessiveness force him out of bed in one step. Isobel reached out as if to touch his pecs. “You – uh – sure you’re completelygay?”

Michael came in between them at the last second, keeping Alex behind him, his grip on his arm tight. “Yes,” he said through grit teeth. “Don’t touch him. Nobody touches him but me.”

Isobel raised a brow, unimpressed, and Alex sighed, a half-amused, half-exasperated smile tugging at his lips.

“Oh,” he said. “It’s one of those mornings. I’ll get dressed.”

“What?” Michael whipped around. “No, you’re not going anywhere.”

“Actually, if Alex comes, then you could stay in bed,” Isobel told Michael with a self-satisfied grin. “Isn’t that what you want?”

“I want to stay in bed with Alex,” Michael growled. “Alex, you don’t have to go anywhere, you’ve worked hard enough this week!” He stepped closer to Alex to keep Isobel from listening in, and lowered his voice. “After what happened with the Lockhart Machine –”

“Don’t do that,” Alex said, though everything about him was fond. He cupped Michael’s cheek. “I’m not made of glass, I can handle this.”

“I don’t want you to handle this,” Michael argued, gripping Alex’s waist to keep him here. “Please, Alex, I . . . just not yet. Just give us today. For me, please.”

And as always, Alex seemed able to see into his thoughts. I’m not ready to see you risk your life again, not so soon. You may be tough enough to handle it, but I’m not.

For a moment, Michael worried Alex would dismiss his concerns, tell him he was worrying for nothing. But then Alex’s shoulders fell, he gave a half, soft smile, and leaned in, kissing Michael’s lips. When he pulled back, he spoke to Isobel over Michael’s shoulder.

“Sorry, Isobel,” he said. “We can’t today.”

Isobel, who’d been watching the exchange, had her eyes narrowed, her brows furrowed in concern. She seemed to realize something horrible had happened recently, even if Michael was unwilling to talk about it. She nodded.

“Okay,” she said, then took a deep breath and repeated, “Okay. I’ll – uh – let everyone know it’s your day off. Sorry to wake you guys.” She turned, then stopped, and looked back at Alex. “So definitely gay then?”

“Get out!” Michael snapped as Alex burst into laughter behind him, clutching Michael’s shoulders to steady himself.

Isobel looked more put out that Alex was off limits than for anything else, and as soon as she had driven away, Michael shut the trailer door with his mind and picked Alex off the ground. He tossed him onto the bed and hovered above him. Alex’s eyes darkened as he gripped his arms, urging him closer.

Michael leaned in, pressing their foreheads together, taking just a few short seconds to reassure himself that Alex wasn’t on a ledge, but here, safe and sound in bed with him, before he bit Alex’s lower lip and grinded his hips down.

Alex’s lips parted in a moan and Michael took the opportunity to slot their mouths together. When he pulled back, Alex’s eyes were dazed and his cheeks were flushed.

“Guess I’m just gonna have to wear you out again,” he breathed, and kissed Alex’s eager grin.

I deviated just a little bit, hope that's okay. Prompt requests have been permanently opened, y'all, but no promises on how quickly I will deliver them.