#and now he's out there shoving his tongue down Lou's throat like he gets a million dollar bonus for it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

talesfrombr0k3nm1nd · 11 months ago

Note

I w4nt3d to t4k3 my ch4nc3 and try to write th1s. B3war3 the warnings, th3y're not h3re just for fun!!!

//APOIOg1ze for any gr4mmar m1st4kes!

Prompt; ^^^

Fandom; Mafia; DE

Characters; Tommy Angelo, Dino and Lou, Morello, Morello's goons. (Mention of Paulie, Sam and Salieri)

Pairings; Tommy/Dino, Tommy/Lou, Tommy/Dino/Lou

TW; Kidnapping, guns and violence, dubious consent, Stockholm syndrom {if I forgot any, please, tell me.}

...

It was like a goddamn deja Vu and Tommy felt so, so stupid for falling for it. He was sitting in the car, waiting for Sam and Paulie. They asked him to go with them but he refused, he was tired, a moment of peace sounded nice. He had a few seconds to enjoy it, closing his eyes and slightly melting into the seat, but then it happened.

A bat hit his door window and someone pulled him out. His first instinct was to grab his gun but it was quickly pushed out of his hand and he was brought face first into the ground. He tried to quickly get up and run but he was stopped by a boot on his back. More people stepped into his line of sight. He was grabbed by his arms and pulled into a standing position. He was face to face with Dino again. "You just couldn't take a hint, could you?"

He opened his mouth to call out for Paulie and Sam but before he could make a sound a barrel of a gun was pressed against his tongue. "I wouldn't do that if I were you, buddy. Make a peep and Lou will make a new hole in your head." Dino chuckled, looking over Tommy's shoulder, probably at Lou. Dino glanced at the building where minutes earlier disappeared two of Salieri's most trusted goons. "C'mon, let's take him back to the boss before they come back."

Tommy was thrown into a car, squished between the two. He tried hard not to show his panic but it was proven hard with the gun constantly digging into his stomach. With how the driver drove, he didn't doubt he'll have bruises from it for weeks. Although, when they entered Morello's territory, it came to him that that was probably the least of his problems.

When the car stopped he was grasped once again and dragged forcefully into a building. He swallowed the dumpling in his throat and willed his arms to stop shaking.

Morello. The guy drowned by blind rage and no patience. Standing in front of his door, his brain screaming at him to run, to hide, to do something. Deep down he knew this wasn't a good time.

One of the goons he didn't know the name of knocked on the wood, waiting for the invite. Upon entering the room, Tommy fought the gasp threatening to leave his lips. It was beautiful, noble. Dino snickered at his reaction.

He was shoved in front of the man himself. Thomas looked him into the eyes, hoping that the fear he felt wasn't as evident in his face.

"...Thomas Angelo. What a pleasure to finally meet you.” Morello said, his face smug. Tom didn't want anything less than to wipe that smirk off with a shotgun. "I'm afraid | don't return the sentiment.” He growled, glaring, earning a punch. Don only rolled his eyes. "| see Salieri's men don't have any manners.”

Thomas gritted his teeth and bit his tongue to stop himself from saying anything else. He didn't want to tease a snake with a bare foot.

"Well, you're going to stay here for a while.... Maybe we can teach you some.”

Tommy was thrown into an empty room, tied up, his arms were painfully pulled above his head and bound at the wrists and elbows, his shoulders nearly popping. They left his legs untied, even if he wanted to, he wouldn't be able to kick out for the risk of dislocating his shoulders. Even now he had to stand on his tiptoes.

Nothing happened for a few days. He saw only one guy when he brought him food. He was hand-fed, which, although humiliating, surprisingly did no longer bother him. He refused at first, all it got him was a sore throat from food being shoved down dry, and no water. After it happened numerous times, he heard the door open, he looked at the Morello's goon, and opened his mouth.

It was better from then; he could eat at his own speed, actually got something to drink and weirdly enough, got praised. He didn't know how he felt about that, a "good boy” here and there, a hand lightly petting his hair. It was the only physical contact he had in days and days later, he started leaning into it.

...

Tommy didn't know how much time had passed before he learned about something going on outside. He was hanging from the ropes, the goons hand in his hair. "You know, you're a lot more trouble than you're worth, boy." He let his eyes fall on the guy, staying silent. "Salieri's goons are causing a lot of damage to Don Morello. So the others were very busy..." He put another piece of fruit into Tom's mouth. "I think that Dino and Lou are planning to pay you a visit today, he's still angry about the car. Try not to piss him off any more, okay kitten?" Tommy flitched at the pet name but let it slide.

It wasn't long before the food was gone at the guy left. Tommy was left alone until it was dinner time. The door screached open once again, but this time two figures walked in. They didn't say anything, standing in front of Tommy's limp body with a bowl in their hands. It was silent for a while, Tom's eyes followed the food, while still watching their every move.

"...Beg for it. Say please and I'll feed you." Dino finally broke the quiet, shaking the bowl in front of the bound's face. The smell hit Tommy's nose and he whined. He was hungry, the food he was given in the morning was no longer enough to stop his stomach from growling and being uncomfortable. "...Please?" He rasped, his voice unused, weak. Dino's eyes shined as he smiled brightly with a crooked smile. "Did you hear that, Lou? Do it. Say it again." He said, stepping closer. "Please." Tommy repeated, his voice more sure.

"There we go, such a good boy." He smiled and took a small piece of the meat into his hand and into Tom's mouth. Thomas wrapped his lips around his fingers, flicking his tongue to free the meat out of their clutches. His eyebrows knitted in concentration as he sucked, trying to get as much as possible. The fingers, empty now, pulled from his mouth and the whole hand softly caressed his cheek. "You know, you're really pretty. Such a shame you decided to side with the other idiots. But you know we can give you somewhat of a redemption arc-" his hand slided across his neck to his shirt opening the buttons. "-after all what do they have that we don't?" His hands continued to caress Tommy's chest light fingers causing Goosebumps and muscle shivering. "What are You-" Tom started weakly, breathless. "Shhh, it's okay. Everything's okay. You're doing so well." Dino said and put another bite into his mouth.

Lou couldn't hold himself back any longer and stepped closer pulling the shirt off and lessening the bounds to bring the captive down. Tommy's legs immediately gave out, his arms and shoulders screaming. He fell into the mute's chest, strong hands wrapping around him and petting his hair, he let out the sob before he was silenced by food again.

Lou slowly sat down, bringing Toms weak body into his lap with him. With his shirt off, Lou was free to roam his hands around the upper body of the weaker one. Dino gazed at him longingly. "You're going to play nice, right kitten?" He hummed, feeding him another piece. "You're going to play nice and we'll make you feel so good." He pushed Tommy's legs open, letting them fall on the outer side of Lou's legs. He untied his fly and pulled his pants down, silencing every noise Tommy made with food and Sweet talk. Soon, Tom was naked, and settled into Lou's lap, his back leaning against Lou's chest, hands limply tied in front of him. He was perfectly on display for Dino to see. "You look so perfect like this. Do you see it, Tom? This is where you belong." He stepped closer, palming himself through his pants. Lou made a low hum and a gesture with his hand that Tom didn't understand but Dino shook his head in disagreement. "No, I'm good. I want to see his pretty face."

He looked down on Thomas with a strange gaze. "You've never been with anyone like this before, have you? Not even the dumb and the dumber, even tho they've been staring your ass down since the beginning."

Tom tried hard to not think about Paulie and Sam right now. He blushed, flustered, trying to cover himself.

"aw, don't go shy on us now, sweetheart." Dino laughed. "Don't worry, we'll lead you through it. You don't need those assholes. You have us now, we'll take good care of you." Dino mumbled, leaning back and slowly moving his hand up and down. Tommy blushed deeper and tried to look away but another hand always brought his face back, petting him.

It took a bit longer than Morello's guys wanted but Tommy relaxed, no longer averting his gaze. His eyes followed Dino's movement and his body, letting out quick breathing. His own dick started to wake to life.

Tommy jumped, eyes wide open when he felt a cold, wet finger brushing over his entrance. He let out a panicked 'no' but that was yet again silenced with food. He felt rough lips on his neck gently kissing him and Lou's other hand has moved to his thigh, making comforting circles. The fingers pushed in slowly, his breath stuttering and eyes clutched. The kisses and hand helped. He felt a hand on his chin again and opened his eyes to see Dino running his thumb across his lips. Tommy obeyed after a second of doubt, allowing the other to push his lips against his, tongue entering his mouth in a sloppy, slow kiss. He relaxed and melted into it. Another finger joined the first one, making scissoring motion. Apart from mild discomfort, which quickly dissolved, Tommy didn't feel any pain. Quite the opposite. He gasped, breath catching in his throat as the fingers brushed against something in him. Lou chuckled behind him, kissing the spot behind his ear and trying to move in the general direction of Tom's prostate, making the smaller man squirm and meow in pleasure. Although that was mostly muffled by Dino's lips.

Dino pulled away, breathing quickly and unevenly. "You have such a perfect mouth. Like it was made to be fucked." He purred standing up, his tip resting against Tommy's bottom lip. "It's quite simple, darling. You make us feel good and we'll make you feel good." He put his hand on Tom's cheek, brushing against the soft peach fuzz and smiling as the other leaned into the touch. "What a good boy..."

Tommy opened his mouth, blush covering his face, eyes watching Dino's face. Dino made a sound deep in his throat as he thrust into the warm cave. Lou wasn't long behind, taking his fingers out of the now looser hole, he pulled his trousers lower and pointed his cock against it. He hummed, catching Dino's attention who nodded, understanding. "Now pet, this will probably hurt a bit. You can grasp my pants if it makes you feel better. I promise that It will feel good in just a moment."

They waited for Tommy's nod, the man himself putting his tied up hands on Dino's thighs. He clutched his eyes shut when he was slowly pushed down onto the cock. "Shhh, you're doing so well."

Tommy's eyes knitted at the praise, warm feeling in his stomach, like a butterfly. He didn't understand why they were so kind all of the sudden, but it seemed like his body liked it. He let out a loud moan, a hand had wrapped around his own dick, moving at the same speed as the one in him.

"See? Feels good, doesn't it? We even brought the lube for you, baby. We could give you everything you need if you will give yourself to us." Dino whispered wrapping his hands in Tommy's hair to move it at his own speed.

Tommy was in a heavenly bliss, eyes falling back into his head and he could do anything but feel. Feel the gentle, soft touches worshipping his body, hands in his hair as they pull and pet, the other hand on his pride knowingly kneading it, the dick in his ass hitting that one sweet spot and the non-stopping whispers of praises.

It wasn't long before his dick started pulsing. But when he was nearly there, before he was able to fall off the edge, Dino's hand clutched the head of his pride, stopping him from cumming. Tommy looked at him, pleading look in his eyes. "Not yet, sweetheart. Don't look at me with those puppy eyes. They're not going to help you."

Another minute went by, the three men were sweaty and breathing heavily. Lou gave a growling hum, signaling to Dino who nodded in answer.

"Are you ready, pup?" Dino rasped, jerking the other off quickly, who eagerly nodded, making Dino chuckle. Lou thrusted in 3-4 times before finishing deep into the smaller man's body. Dino wasn't far behind, pushing Tommy's head into his crotch before pulling out and finishing on his face and chest. Lou wrapped his hand around Tom's dick, quickly jerking it until he is spasming.

They were done. Tommy lazily lying against the mute's chest, eyes closed and lips opened softly. Dino climbed, tangling himself into a cuddle pile. "See, Tommy? This is where you belong... Maybe that's what you needed. Just someone to show you your place... Right here with us."

....

1 h0p3 y0u l1ked it! My fr1end 4sk3d M3 f0r m0r3 Dino & Lou c0nt3nt! My h3adc4non 1s th4t M0rello cut L0u's t0mgu3 0ff!

Tommy is captured by Morello and Morello's men want to play with their victim. xd

👀👀👀👀👀

(Love this, gives my imagination enough room to think of all the kinky things they could do to him)

#br0k3n is writing #mafia definitive edition #Dino and Lou #tommy angelo #thomas angelo #Morello

7 notes · View notes

the-soliloquies-of-sadists · 3 years ago

Text

#305

“Well, I’m surprised you didn’t get arrested. You look puzzled. Lou is gone. He left your shit here. I just threw it in the dumpster across the lot. None of it is any value. Your clothes were too faggy for my tastes. Come here. Look I gave Lou a hundred bucks to take you off his hands. He arranged this gang bang of you by putting the word out that he had a cum dump hitchhiker for sale. All those guys that fucked you throughout the night were potential buyers including me. It appears that I was the only one who wanted to pay….

“No problem there. Most drivers don’t want a stray fag to take care of. It costs money. Lou told me that you are hitching without a place to go. He said that he is no longer interested in having you more than a few more days.

“I, on the other hand, like having a cumdump toilet handy. Get over here. I have to take my morning piss. And you must be thirsty…. Now Lou mentioned that you loved drinking from his tap. That is definitely going to continue. Most of my piss, if not all, will be going into your sewer mouth or used to clean out your cunt.

“You probably don’t remember my dick last night. I was driver number three I think. Take it in your hands. Smell it. Smells nasty hunh? It should. I didn’t clean it off after I fucked you. That’s your job. Skin me back. Yup, all that is what coated my dick when I spunked you. There’s probably jiz from the other drivers before me. I certainly felt their loads last night.

“Get to it. Don’t you fucking hesitate. Look faggot. I paid for you fairly. I own those holes. I plan on using them for the sick shit impulses running in my head. If you want to run away, fucking be gone. But shit, we are the only ones here at this vista point. You are naked, and I bet you don’t even know what state you are in. All I have to do is call the cops and tell them that a naked faggot is soliciting to me. They will be here so fast to take you in. They’ll believe me, a hard-working driver just trying to do his job, over you, a naked faggot with jiz leaking from its cunt down its leg.

“That’s the fucking predicament you are in. What’s it going to be?... Thought so. Clean out my foreskin first, I’ll wash it down with my piss. Oh man that feels so good. Your tongue was really made for this.

“Now faggot, expect to be humiliated and degraded. I plan on filling both of your holes with nastier and nastier shit. Don’t you ever hesitate again. I have no problem beating the shit out of you or turning you over to the cops or dumping you on the side of the road somewhere. Right now I have some trust issues with you. So expect to be kept under lock and key of some sort. I will let you have access to your pecker, but you need to ask for permission before jacking off. Now swallow. Mmmm. There really is no feeling in the world like a morning piss pouring into a fag’s throat. Damn you are getting me hard.

“Pull off and spin around. Show me my cunt. Get on all fours, right here on the asphalt. Good god, that cunt has been smashed…. Fuck my dick just slides in without any problem, much different than last night. Jesus! This cunt is full of jiz. How many drivers nutted in you? You probably lost count, typical cum dump. Well fuck! I’m gonna pull out, and I want you to clamp down.

“Stay put until I call you. I have to prepare the bunk. It will only take a minute. In the mean time, this plug will keep the spooge stew brewing inside of you for a few minutes. Shove it in. And put this collar on.

“….Hey cum dump! Get up here. Welcome to your new home. Climb on. I put a rubber sheet down, because this is going to get messy. Straddle me and lean forward with your eyes closed…. Ok, with that click of that padlock you are now installed to the truck. Faggot you ain’t going anywhere any time soon.

“Reach behind you and line up my dick with your semen sewer. Now I am going to pull out the plug and you are going to impale yourself on my cock. Go right to the root. Ready! Go!

“Oh fuck. This cunt feels so good. And you are full! There’s probably a dozen loads here ready to burst out. Start riding me. And don’t worry if you leak any of the spooge stew. In fact, as you ride me, push out that slurry sludge. Let it flow all over my dick, crotch, balls, wherever.

“Go! Ride faggot ride! Push it out! Fuck yeah! Oh man, this is one nasty mess you are creating. But fuck it feels good. I am not going to last. Keep pushing out. I’m gonna cum. Oh fuck. Here it cums. Stop riding. Stop. Urgh! Ahh. Urgh! Fuck. Oh my god. Faggot, you are worth every penny I spent with Lou.

“Climb off of me. Put the plug back in. We’ll play with my load later today.

“Ok. What time is it? Oh! I have another 80 minutes before we can roll out of here. I’m gonna take a nap. You will clean up this mess all over my groin. Make sure my cock and balls are shiny. I’ll turn over so you can clean the spooge that poured down my crack. I expect all this to be cleaned, including the rubber sheet, by the time we head on out. Now get that mouth to work.”

466 notes · View notes

tllthesundies · 4 years ago

Note

prompt idea...more of a guide rather than a specific moment though! stoic dom harry who completely melts for his cute boyfriend lou :)

tags: non au, mexico city hslot, dom/sub, daddy kink, degradation kink, feminization, spanking, coming untouched(?)

"Great show, Harry!" one of his crew says to him as he passes down the stadium hall.

Harry's sweating underneath his suit, red lightning bolts zapping through his veins and blood as he takes steady steps to his dressing room. He nods to each crew member he passes, thanking them and blessing them, continuing on. There's a ringing in his ears that's constant. Every loud step he takes, the clack of his heeled boots, feels important as they knock against the walls and echo through the hall; his hips are walking first, guiding him; and it takes him a good five minutes to find his dressing room, ignoring everyone that passes by him, and when he approaches his door and grabs the knob to push it open, he peeks his head in first.

Louis's sitting at his small vanity, playing with something red in his hands.

Harry stays still.

"I know you're there," Louis then says.

A corner of Harry's mouth twitches up. He walks into the room and closes the door behind himself, coming closer to Louis. "Yet you ignored my presence," he comments, and snatches the red tube out of Louis's hands. It almost looks like lipstick. "What is this?"

Louis stands from his chair and snatches it back.

"Lipstick."

He walks away from Harry to a settee, and Harry tilts his head. He doesn't like that.

"Are you being difficult, baby?"

Harry had the intentions of preparing himself as he walked to his dressing room, for when he entered it, of starting it. But Louis's energy is coming off a little too commanding for the position he knows he's supposed to be in; like he thinks he's going to successfully challenge Harry. So, Harry breaks his character a little, and he smiles at his own words; and he knows Louis hears his smile, because he turns around to look at Harry, a secretive glint in his blue eyes.

"No," he answers, plopping down on the green velvet settee. "I would never, daddy."

Daddy is code.

Harry eases the smile off his face, and, shrugging his fringed suit jacket off of himself, he throws it gently onto the other side of the settee, leaving him in his mostly unbuttoned white shirt and trousers. He picks up a leg and sets his foot on the right side of Louis, all while Louis stares at him, and he leans forward to pluck the lipstick out Louis's hand again.

Louis doesn't protest.

Harry uncaps it, twisting the button to reveal the cool-toned red colour. He assesses it, then uses his free hand to reach and grab one of Louis's and places the lipstick in his hand and looks directly into Louis's gaze, unblinking.

"I want you to put this on," he commands quietly.

Louis blinks.

"Okay."

He does as Harry says--slow and sensual with his movements; it's a little messy in the corners, but it's perfect.

"Now, give it back to me," Harry says, reaching out a hand. Louis complies, but Harry keeps it in his own hand. "Now"--he uses a hand to pull at his collar--"I want you to kiss me right here, darling." Louis gets on his knees to match the height of Harry's shoulders, and Harry points to a spot right before his collar. Louis leans in, carefully leaving a stained kiss, and pulls away. "Kiss me here." Harry uses his same fingers to point to his right jawline. Louis repeats the process. "And, now, kiss me here, princess." Harry trails both hands down to his belt, and undoes the zipper. He puts his foot back on the ground, pulling his trousers and underwear with it just enough to expose his hard prick and balls. His cock is standing tall, blood having rushed from his thrill of the stage and the anticipation of seeing Louis afterwards straight to his dick. He places a hand underneath his cock and moves it up to expose his balls; he uses his other fingers to tap it lightly.

Louis raises his eyebrows at him, but, slowly, lowers himself and angles his head to get close to his ballsack.

Harry feels him leave the imprint of his lipstick kiss, lips cooling against his warmth and musk; but as Louis's head starts to come back up, Harry grabs a handful of his hair.

"Not so fast."

Louis meets his gaze, eyes glistening as he keeps peeking at Harry's cock that's so close to his face.

"What, daddy?" he asks--and his voice is so shy and soft, it almost makes Harry's cock twitch.

Harry tilts his head.

"You know what to do."

He roughly lets go of Louis's hair to see what he'll do.

Louis straightens his posture as Harry lets go of his cock; it bounces right in front of Louis's face, and Louis's caught in a sudden daze at the thickness; at the length; at the girth that he's choked on so many times before.

Harry's hoping he'll choke on it right now.

Louis's lips ghost over the tip of Harry's cock, his gaze flickering up at Harry and what's in front of him. Slowly, he opens his mouth to suck the tip in only. His cheeks hollowing out, he makes sure to treat it like an actual lollipop; Harry's head tilts back slightly at the sensation of Louis's tongue digging and swiping between the slit, then looks down with hands coming to grip his own hips to stare directly into Louis's eyes. He's going to watch him take Harry all the way; and Louis proceeds to: he slowly slides down Harry's cock halfway before re-emerging to his tip, his red lipstick smearing all over Harry's cock; then he slides forward more than he did; and it's a game of taking Harry further down his throat, easing himself on it. And Harry just watches. He doesn't give Louis the satisfaction of moaning and groaning; he holds it in.

Harry grabs a handful of Louis's hair once again as he starts to fasten his pace--he becomes so fast he chokes in between, but that's exactly what Harry wants.

"Stop," he commands, voice stern.

Louis instantly stills.

Harry pulls him off his red-stained dick, shoving him backwards on the settee. Louis doesn't bat an eye as Harry uses one to grip himself and wipe all the lipstick remnants off onto his hand, then he leans forward and, with rough pressure and slow movements, Harry smears the remnants over Louis's face. He starts at Louis's jaw, going anticlockwise, fingers and pad of his hand rubbing over his cheeks, mouth, and nose.

He's smearing Louis's actual lipstick simultaneously.

When he lifts his hand, Louis's looks like a tragedy: smeared, pink and red swollen lips, with smears of lipstick over his nose and cheeks, eyes bright and a deeper blue.

He sneaks a hand behind Louis's head, at his nape, and lowers his head to connect their lips.

It tastes like cosmetics, like dick, but there's still the taste of Louis in there; a little minty, a little sweet; and Harry tears apart his lips. He gnaws at his bottom lip, biting into it, then he slides his tongue in--and Louis's doing his best, trying to match harry, but they're both aware Louis can't keep up with Harry's movements; Harry's too unpredictable and disastrous: the opposite of Louis.

Louis loves feeling helpless under the hands of Harry.

He pulls back.

"Take off your pants and get on your knees facing the back cushions," Harry demands.

"Yes, daddy," Louis says, soft and quiet.

Louis takes his trousers and underwear off together, kicking his shoes off, as well. His small cock is hard and a little red, and Harry feels slight pity for it, but he displays no emotions externally. That's not his part of his job as Louis' dom. Louis gets on his knees and faces the back cushions, arse on display, and Harry bites his bottom lip at the sight.

He gets close to run his fingers over the plumpness of his cheeks, then whips his hand back to strike a hard smack against them.

Louis whimpers.

"Shut up, whore," Harry commands. He lands another smack that echos in the room, and a red spot begins to blossom on the exact spot. Louis hangs his head, whimpering again, and Harry scoffs at him. "Look at you. Crying over a spanking. How pathetic." He uses his other hand to pull Louis's hair, yanking his head back, and keeps smacking him with the other, eliciting groans and soft cries from him. He uses the back of his hand a few times, so, that his rings cause a bigger reaction from Louis's skin. "You're so easy, baby--is this all it takes? A little spanking, a little sucking cock? You choke on my cock and then expect to be rewarded. Whores don't get rewarded. They get punished."

This specific smack is with his fingers, and it's so hard that it elicits a cry from Louis he only releases when he's coming.

Harry lets go of his hair, Louis's head falling forward, and Harry kneels onto the settee beside him to see come oozing from his dick, covering some of the cushions and Louis's hands. It's a bunch of white goopiness.

"Harry," softly, weakly exhales Louis.

That's cue to break character.

"Oh, baby," instantly coos Harry, brushing gentle fingers against Louis's hot cheek. He quickly grabs his own underwear from the floor, the closest thing to a flannel in this dressing room, and starts wiping Louis and the settee off. "I love you so much; you did incredible, my love." Louis's so pliant, it's incredibly easy to bring Louis down into his arms and embrace him, bringing comfort and peace to him. "I could do everything and anything for you, Louis, and it still wouldn't be enough. You deserve the sea, the sunsets, the lakes, the gems found under rocks, and all its bliss trapped within, yet you're too bright for it all. You're an angel sent from above."

Louis lowers his head onto Harry's chest, and Harry can feel him smile.

"I love you, too," he giggles. "Now, wipe this fucking lipstick off my face that you caused."

#drabble #I tried? :D #i hope this is close to what you wanted. i haven't done in depth smut like this in a while

71 notes · View notes

mercurial-madhouse · 4 years ago

Photo

@lululawrence asked, Hiiiii could you write me a friends to lovers a/b/o drabble?? Pairing of your choice! I'd be super happy if you REALLY leaned into the pining and/or resolution of pining :D

>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<

Got My Heart Out (You’re the truth I can’t explain)

“Alright?”

Louis doesn’t turn from the table he’s leaning over, arms spread as he stares at the array of tools—ropes, knives, grappling hooks, other items to help them go unnoticed—neatly laid out before him. “Should I be?”

The harsh light from the bare bulb on the far end illuminates the knot of tension between Louis’ shoulders. Compared to Louis’s countless crossings, Harry’s not nearly as experienced, but if Harry thought the journey perilous before, it’s deadly now.

“Hate that word, should. Nothing good ever comes from it,” Harry mutters.

His nostrils flare at the barrage of emotions coming off of Louis that up until a week ago no alpha could smell. Unease, doubt, and anger seep into the grounding scent of sandalwood and snapdragons. Neither are found in the concrete jungle of a city they live in. Even Louis’ scent is an anomaly, uplifting and invigorating.

Though it’s only Louis’s decision and Harry’s got no right, he still struggles against every alpha instinct wanting to call the whole mission off. Louis’s too special to him. Harry keeps his arms crossed, gripping his biceps to urge his body to stay in place.

He’s not subtle enough. Louis catches his reaction. Harry’s not surprised. Louis was already incredibly perceptive before he presented with all the extra-sensory skills of an omega.

Jaw clenching, Louis hikes his coat up further, popping the collar in an attempt to cover his scent. “Well you shouldn’t be here, Haz.”

Irritation pricks at the back of Harry’s neck. He clamps his alpha down. Most of their small band is asleep in the other room, gathering what little rest they can before the trip across the border tomorrow, but Harry’s right where he needs to be. With Louis.

Harry closes the distance between them until the inebriating scent from the newly-presented omega nearly overwhelms him. Learning to balance both genders with their pheromones yet to settle, those who’ve just presented have the strongest scents.

In this world, Louis’ scent is a death sentence. They both know they’re racing fate, luck, and time now. If all goes well, and that’s a massive if, they’ve got just enough scent blocker to mask Louis for the crossing.

Louis sucks in a breath, eyes closing. He holds it in as Harry steps up beside him.

“Staying away from you isn’t going to help.” It’s never helped Harry at least. Some mornings it feels like his only reason to keep risking it all is for the chance to be near Louis. “You need to get used to our scents or it’ll slow you down too.”

Being this close to Louis is a lesson in strength Harry thought he didn’t need anymore. Everything about Louis was intoxicating to Harry before Louis presented. Now his alpha has joined this grim game. Harry may as well have presented yesterday rather than two years ago at sixteen for all the fighting he’s having to do.

“I’m twenty. This shouldn’t be fucking happening. Who d’you know that presented after eighteen?” Louis’s fingers curl against the tabletop, nails catching in old scars gouged into the wood.

Head down, messy strands shield most of his face from Harry’s view. Harry longs to run his fingers through them, find out if Louis’s hair is as silky as it seems. Harry digs his nails into his palms until twin flashes of pain shoot up his arms, popping the desire before it can lodge in his muscles and become action.

“Been smuggling omegas over the border for four years because at least Southbank treats them as equals.” Louis’ shoulders tense. “If Westminster finds out about me they’ll put a price on my head and send every soldier they’ve got after me. Fuck knows what Southbank will do, but a male omega? Even if I don’t have- they sure as hell won’t let me go free.”

Harry refuses to dwell on what Louis didn’t say. Keeping Louis’ second gender a secret from everyone but the five of them is going to be near impossible enough. Even after a week, the memory of the powerful shock-laced scent pervading their home the morning Louis presented has Harry’s heart beating double-time and his mouth watering. They won’t have much warning before his first heat and right now none of them have any ideas what they’ll do when it happens.

He wishes he had any answers at all.

Louis jerks a hand, motioning at the supplies. “And now I’m stuck trying not to be sick from the thought of picking up a knife. Cards are really stacked right now, Haz.”

And they’ve got no choice. Success hinges on following through with the plan. They don’t have time to change the rendezvous hour. If they’re not over the border in Westminster on time, the group of refugees on the other side risk capture and Louis’s whole system in danger of discovery.

Louis ducks his chin, shaking his head before brushing his fringe aside. The action is ingrained in Louis when he’s agitated, but Harry nearly groans as a fresh wave of sandalwood hits him.

He latches onto Louis’s wrist. “Don’t—!” He needs to back up. It’s not fair to put this on Louis.

Harry forgets what he needed to do when Louis’s head jolts up, facing Harry for the first time since Harry got here. Harry didn’t realize how close they’d gotten. Features a little paler than usual, the dark circles under Louis’s eyes are stark in the unfiltered light as his brows knit in confusion.

Of course Louis wouldn’t understand. He’s been a beta for twenty years.

Harry forces himself to let go, but he only makes it as far as gripping Louis’s coat instead. “Try not to—” his head jerks as he nods. “That makes it stronger.”

Harry’s not sure if Louis heard him.

Noses nearly touching, Louis sways once, reeling forward then away. Pupils blown wide, his gaze flicks from Harry’s eyes to his lips. Louis’s forehead thuds into his own, eyes fluttering shut.

“Shit,” Louis breathes, shaky fingers winding into the curls at the nape of Harry’s neck. He inhales, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “Smell like fucking treacle, Hazza.”

Fuck. Louis’s been deliberate about staying away from Harry, but how long has he kept himself at arm’s length from everyone?

With all his willpower tangled up in not tipping Louis up to catch those lips against his own, Harry’s arms wrap unbidden around Louis’s waist, crushing their hips together. Harry’s alpha settles with Louis against him, but his heart explodes.

It’s only Louis’s omega talking. An omega that’s just presented in a dangerous land and hasn’t been touched in days.

Latching onto that mantra to keep his mind clear, Harry cradles the back of Louis’s head instead, drawing Louis’s face down to his neck. He doesn’t need to say anything. Louis’s instincts kick in and he breathes deeply, body curving into Harry’s as he scents him. A deep shiver rocks through Louis, his muscles relaxing.

Harry tightens his grip, suppressing a shudder as Louis’s tongue grazes his throat. “Lou—”

Harry’s too busy fighting himself to resist when Louis launches himself backwards. Eyes wide but clear, Louis starts to shove fingers through his hair but stops. He twists back to the table, flattening his palms against the surface like he’s forcing them to not wander.

“Go, Haz.”

Anxiety blossoms in Harry’s chest. “Lou, you—”

“Please just,” Louis cuts off, inhales, the hard edge gone when he says, “I need you to fucking go.”

Louis knows better. Three of his siblings are omegas. Everything they’re doing here revolves around helping omegas. Leaving won’t help Louis.

Harry presses his hand to the small of Louis’s back, hoping he’ll turn. “You need to—”

“I don’t care what my omega needs right now.” Louis throws the growl over his shoulder then stiffens, like he’s struggling to keep the commanding tone in his voice. “I’m still the head of this op and I need you to go.”

If it were any other omega, Harry would be grappling with his alpha all over again. Instead he places the entire room between them, pausing in the doorway. “Don’t sleep alone tonight. It’ll help. You know it will.”

Louis doesn’t respond. With one last look at the tension winding Louis’ shoulders again, Harry bites down every urge to stay with him. He disappears from the room, sending up a silent prayer that tomorrow’s mission won’t unravel at the seams.

>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<

(Oh my! I’m in the middle of working on my first ABO fic for the @1daboficfest so how awesome was this chance to practice the trope?! Hopefully there’s enough pining! \o/ Thank you for the prompt, lovey! There was no way this one wanted to be less than 1k. Heh.)

Have something else you’d like to see me write? Go wild! Pairing, situation, feeling… Send me an ask (anon or not) completing the sentence ‘I wish you’d write a fic where…’

Superpowers Drabble

Invisible Drabble

Only one bed (H-POV)

Only one bed (L-POV)

#tracking home #hljournal #hlcreators #1dsource #yourlarrysource #tracksintheam #omega Louis #alpha harry #larry fanfiction #larry drabble

45 notes · View notes

remmushound · 3 years ago

Text

Curse of the Clan part 59! @selfindulgenz @scentedcandlecryptid

There Michelangelo stood before Krang, the giant blob of a being rearing up with help of the wires that supported his gelatinous flesh as it spilled over in thick folds. Michelangelo stepped as far away from the alien as he could, ruby eyes locked on the yokai and trying his best not to let fear shine in them. But Krang knew better; he knew Michelangelo was afraid. He could taste it. Immediately he started to poke and prod into Michelangelo’s mind, just as he had with Donatello during their lovely stay in the forest.

Michelangelo whined and clutched at his head when a sensation not unlike a needle pierced through it. His legs lost sensation, and his thoughts were scattered like leaves on the wind. His heartbeat was like the drums of war pounding inside of him but that wasn’t the only thing that drowned his senses because there was something else, something evil, something poking around in his head that shouldn’t have been! The feeling was anything but pleasant, but no matter how much Michelangelo squeezed his head to try and force it out, it wouldn’t go away.

The voice was inside the cavern of his skull, vibrating along his brain and making his entire body shake and his vision go dark.

“You’re more resistant than the purple one…” The voice inside Michelangelo’s head said, and there came a cold tingle up Michelangelo’s arm that settled around his throat like a noose. “I wonder if you’ll last as long as he did…”

“You… hurt… my… brother…” The words were hard to force out, as heavy on his tongue as a ten pound weight, but he refused to let them stay.

“And it was fun.” The voice was in his left ear, and then his right. “And it was easy. Because he was soft…”

“You take that BACK!” With Michelangelo’s defiant roar and a swipe of his flaming kusari, the cold force prodding him was knocked back.

Krang was slammed back into his body with a furious snarl, a scowl creeping over his features as he rubbed his head with a fore-tentacle. Michelangelo’s aura was strong, a truthful passion powerful enough to form a force field around the box turtle. Krang laughed.

“Donnie is just as strong as I am!” Michelangelo growled, his eyes glowing gems.

The darkness closed in again, and this time Krang was braced for the power that the orange turtle radiated, and he was able to penetrate it. His grip on Michelangelo’s psyche tightened, and bit by bit he pulled out everything he needed and weaved it to fit his own desire.

Michelangelo and Leonardo were back in that supermarket, running from the Gumbus as it chased them down the aisles. They were seperated from April and they were alone, well alone together at least, and they needed to hide. They spotted a place, and they both dived for it, but… Michelangelo didn't make it.

No, that wasn’t right. Leonardo had grabbed him and pulled him into shelter! Michelangelo was sure he had! Why was he thinking of this anyway? It wasn’t unlike him to blank out, drawn into the spiraling colors of his own mind, but this time it seemed far more misplaced than usual, and the memory was wrong! Why was it wrong? No no no, Leonardo had helped him, not left him to the beast—

Michelangelo fell to his knees as another nightmare forced its way to the front of his mind. Him and Donatello, together behind the bushes watching Todd’s RV before they knew the friendly capybara. Whispering to each other. Todd sneaking up behind them and scaring them near out of their shells, and what Michelangelo should have remembered was both him and Donatello scattering, but what came forth through like a crudely patched pair of jeans was Donatello shoving his little brother to the ground and leaving him there for the apparent ‘Spine Breaking Bandit’ to seize.

“Your mind is strong…” Krang’s voice came with a rush of nausea, “I wonder: Is your body the same?”

Michelangelo throwing a boat, using all the power he could summon. His brothers should have praised him, but instead came their vicious scolds and hurtful words and the insults made Michelangelo drop the boat and—

“Is your love for your brothers…?”

Michelangelo wanted to go on his first solo mission. Instead of supporting him, all three of his brothers surrounded him like cruel silhouettes, laughing and pointing and mocking the bravery that tried to shine. Their words and faces twisted with hatred spiraled in Michelangelo’s mind and let nothing else through.

“...too little…”

“...too weak…”

“...too dumb…”

“...all heart…”

“...no brain…”

“You need to grow up.” The voices of all three brothers melted into one. Michelangelo was crying. His brothers wouldn’t say that, his brothers wouldn’t be mean, his brothers loved him

“Or your father?” Krang taunted further. “Would you still love him…?”

Now this was a memory Michelangelo couldn’t recall. It was a place he knew, Draxum’s lab, but it wasn’t the way it was when he had briefly saw it years ago. It was different, older yet newer at the same time. Shiny and alive and now dancing with fire that swallowed everything in his path. He was helpless, the smoke choking and burning his senses. And he saw someone there, his father Lou Jitsu, grabbing items from Draxum’s shelves and tossing them into the flames to ensure their destruction. Michelangelo started to cry; he was a baby, what else could he have done? He reached out for the man and for a moment Lou Jitsu had looked his way, the eyes soft and kind as Michelangelo knew them to be. Then came the veil of hatred pulled over as the flames swallowed Lou Jitsu and he disappeared, leaving Draxum’s experiments to burn up. All of Draxum’s experiments.

“No…” Michelangelo said; he was on his knees now and dreadfully cold. “No… that… that didn't happen!”

“Didn't it…?”

Did it…? All of Michelangelo’s memories were so twisted, so mixed up, that he couldn’t tell what was true and what was a lie and what had happened and what hadn’t happened. He knew his brothers wouldn’t do that but they did do that, he saw them, they were in his head! In his head… it was all in his head, it was all a game, all a lie, everything. Did his brothers really hate him? Did his father despise him? Did Draxum and April and CJ and everyone else think so lowly of him?! Did they...

Michelangelo was cold. He recognized it now. The stinging bite pierced through his skin, and that was something he knew was a lie. Though the sensations pricked and burned at his mind and body, he wasn’t shivering. He hadn’t been cold in Japan and he certainly wouldn’t be cold here. That was a lie. He remembered Knight’s words, that Krang could only tell lies. Maybe the truth could hurt him?

“You’re lying…” Michelangelo said lowly, and the truth cut worse than a knife through Krang.

“What…?” Krang’s face distorted in recoil.

“Your name isn’t Krang, it’s… Knave. And my brothers don’t hate me either…” Michelangelo stood a little straighter, bringing his burning eyes to meet Knave’s. “Or my friends. They’re taking down your ship right now…”

Michelangelo’s voice carried a storm, an auditory thunder like a lion’s roar! But both quickly realized that it wasn’t just Micelangelo’s voice that had done it as an aftershock hit the mech hard and caught both alien and mutant off guard.

~~~

It was harder to reach Raphael than Leonardo had been anticipating. He entered the mind meld state just as easily as he had in the forest to find Donatello, but finding someone was so much different than actually reaching them. Leonardo could send out as many thoughts as he wanted, but which ones could reach Raphael wasn’t something he could control, especially at such a distance. It was only getting farther and farther away as Raphael raced off to find his friend. The way Cassandra had been tossed, the sound made when Krang’s claws met her flesh. The blood, the scream. He didn't even think a mutant could survive that, let along a human, but he still had to find just in case she was—

Raph!

Raphael stopped, his feet skidding across the asphalt as he looked around. The city was evacuated hours ago, and even if it hadn’t been, he couldn’t think of anyone who would be this far away from the fight that would know him. Was his mind tricking him, or was that strange, turtle-shaped flicker of blue light staring at him?

Raph! The voice said again.

Leonardo! That was Leonardo’s voice! Raphael raced to the blue light he saw and stopped short, the projection transparent and glistening but most assuredly a visage of his brother.

“Wha— Leo? How are you doing that?!”

“There’s no time to explain, I don’t know how long I can hold this!” Leonardo’s image was flickering like a camera glitch, blipping in and out of existence at random, “You need to get to the back of the mech! We think we found a way to shut it down but we need you to—“

Leonardo’s voice and transparent body disappeared. Astral projection. So that was Leonardo’s new power!

“What? Need me to what?” Raphael searched the empty road for anything to complete Leonardo’s urgent request, but there was nothing. If he was going to Raphael for help, then that meant it could only be one thing. “Smash? You need me to smash you out!”

Raphael didn't have his smash jitsu anymore, but he could still try! Maybe being so close to Leonardo would help his little brother to be able to reach him again! Not a thought against his plan came to Raphael’s mind, and he was already on the way back to his brothers’ aid when he remembered why he had been all the way out here to begin with. Cassandra! She was still out there somewhere and he had to find her! He started to go back to his search, then winced and hesitated when he again remembered the desperation in Leonardo’s voice.

He had to choose between his brothers and his best friend and he had minutes, if that, to make the choice. Cassandra or his family, Cassandra or his brothers, his friends his families his—

Was that a truck?! It was! A semi-truck was barreling down toward him blaring a horn louder than any alarm Raphael had ever heard in the lair. Fear and shock froze him to the spot like a deer in headlights as the truck kept coming, and in the driver's seat was a young girl who couldn’t be more older her early twenties, hair pulled back by a bandana and an expression that told of pure, mischievous glee.

“Cass?!” Raphael gawked, and then screamed and raised his hands to cover his face when he realized the impact was imminent. Cassandra had the brakes on just in time, the back of the semi-truck practically lifting up off the road as the tip of its hood just barely brushed against Raphael’s plastron.

Cassandra leaned out of the window, “Get in, big guy! Haven’t got all day!”

“CJ!” Raphael scrambled to climb into the passenger seat, immediately grabbing Cassandra from the drivers seat and turning her around looking for the injuries that he knew he had seen! Cassandra’s clothes were in ruin, the cloth stained crimson, but no matter how Raphael searched he couldn’t find a single injury! “How…?”

“Don’t question a good thing Raphie!” Cassandra said, pushing against Raphael’s plastron to get him to let her go. “Buckle up. We’re going for a ride.”

Raphael strapped himself in. “I didn't know you had a truck driving license!”

“I DON’T!”

With that, Cassabdra sped away down the road.

#krang vs Mikey #return of CJ #tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt #tmnt au

16 notes · View notes

sunflowerim · 4 years ago

Text

I LOVE YOU 3000!

-PART 26

Weekend 2

Harry arrived right on time. Louis opened the door to a warm smile and a basket of chocolate.

"Ok, when I said don't bring pizza, I certainly didn't mean, 'bring loads of chocolates'", Louis laughed, letting Harry in.

"What can I say, I'm such a gentleman," Harry replied with an all knowing smile.

Harry had barely stepped into the apartment when Clifford ran to him. Harry was a bit startled, but soon crouched down and started scratching Cliff behind his ears.

"Someone's not asleep today. How are you Cliffy. You gonna watch a movie with us?", Harry babbled on in a childlike voice as Louis shut the door behind them and moved over to the couch, eyes never leaving Harry.

"Do you know what movie we're watching today?" Louis asked.

"The Incredible Hulk. I've done my research thank you."

"Good," Louis smiled getting the remote. Everything else was already set up.

Harry got up and walked to the couch, Clifford on his heel and as soon as he sat down, Clifford settled himself on Harry's feet.

"So what brought this sudden change of demeanor?" Harry asked, patting Cliff's head.

"Maybe he's expecting more treats."

"Shit. I mean sorry. I didn't get anything for him. I mean I wanted to, but I didn't know if he had any preference or restrictions."

"Chill Harry, I have his food stocked up for a whole month. You needn't get him anything. I was just teasing."

"Oh. Okay."

"You didn't answer my question."

"What was it again?"

"Chocolates."

"Oh that. Well, I saw the stash of chocolates on your fridge the other day, so I got you some more. It was good to know that you have a sweet tooth. But seriously, so many chocolates Louis! One would think you're a five year old."

"Hey, those were not mine."

"Cliff surely doesn't eat those. Do you Cliff?" Harry said, looking down at Clifford during the last bit and scratching his ears, to which he gave a joyful bark. "See, he says no."

"Don't turn my son against me", Louis replied, faux-offended. "No really, those aren't mine. My niece and nephew go to the school around the corner, and they drop by randomly to spend time with their beloved uncle and I spoil them with chocolates."

"How sweet. But am I supposed to believe that you never grab chocolates for yourself?"

"I'm only human Harry. Ofcourse I do."

"Thought as much."

"You wanna see their pictures?"

"Sure."

Louis scrolled in his gallery and pulled out a picture of him holding the hands of two kids on his either side. The shot was taken on a football pitch, Louis wearing a white jersey and the two kids wearing red ones.

"That's Lux and Theo. They accompanied me as mascots that year."

"You play football?"

"What does it look like?"

"No, I mean not just casual games, proper matches! Wow. You're that passionate about it?"

"Yeah, you could say that," Louis smiled at the picture.

"Your niece and nephew are so cute."

"I know right. And you must know they're equally mischievous. Little pranksters."

"Wonder who taught them", Harry teased.

"Cool uncle Louis might have had something to do with it, but you didn't hear it from me."

"Never. My lips are sealed."

"Good."

"That reminds me." Harry fished out his phone and paused. "Do you mind if I get a picture if you?"

"Yeah, but why?"

"I'll save it as your contact image."

"Oh sure."

Louis smiled softly and Harry's heart skipped a beat. He kept staring at Louis through the phone and it wasn't until Louis cleared his throat, that Harry realised what he was supposed to do.

"Just a minute. And--- we're done. Looking good!"

Louis smiled bashfully as he saw Harry open his contact to save the picture. That's when he saw the name.

Lou :)

Louis melted into a puddle at his contact name on Harry's phone and instantly felt bad about saving Harry's name as simply Harry Styles. Looks too professional. He made a mental note to change it later.

"My turn." Louis focussed his camera on Harry, as the boy smiled widely, dimples popping up. Louis smiled too and took the picture. He looked at it for a second before shoving his phone back in his pocket. "Movie?"

"Yeah," Harry replied, easing back in the couch.

"Yeah. No wait- shit I forgot." With that Louis jumped from the couch and sprinted towards the kitchen. Harry sat confused for a while before Louis re-emerged with a tray containing a huge bowl and two plates and cutlery.

"I hope you like pasta."

"Yeah. Oh. Wow. You cooked for me?"

"Haha no Harold. Let's not get ahead of ourselves. I can't cook. I had my helper make it."

"Oh."

"Disappointed?" Louis laughed.

"No no, I was just momentarily surprised."

Louis smiled as he set the tray down on the coffee table and and hit play on the remote.

Once again, Louis watched Harry's reaction with great amusement, but this time, he noticed something else too. He noticed Harry's jaw drop every time, the lead actor got shirtless and how terrified he looked everytime he changed to the huge Hulk.

"Don't get too attached Harry. He's only starring in this movie. A different actor plays Hulk in the rest of the movies."

And Harry looked so sad at that, Louis melted.

"Aww, poor Haz."

Harry's lips quirked upwards at the pet name and from the corner of his eyes he could see Louis tense beside him.

"Um, sorry. I didn't mean to--"

"No, nono it's okay. You can call me Haz. I like it."

"Okay." Louis continued after a pause, "remember when I told you not to call me Lou?"

"Yeah, shit sorry, I know last week it slipped off my tongue once or twice."

"Yeah, no I mean, you can call me Lou too."

"Okay," Harry smiled and returned to the screen.

The time passed by pleasantly between movie, pasta, timid glances towards each other and Clifford switching between Harry and Louis' laps.

After the movie ended, Harry turned towards Louis and held his hand out. "Give me your phone."

"What? Why?"

"Just open your Instagram explore page and give. Don't worry I'll not snoop around."

Louis did as told and Harry typed out a username and and clicked on it.

"Here's my private account." Harry said, handing Louis back the phone. "You can follow me here if you want. I can actually post freely on here."

Louis looked st the screen hs94.

Louis didn't want to check it in front of Harry. So he just smiled and nodded. "I will."

Harry smiled back.

"Guess, I should leave now."

Louis ignored the sad voice in his head that had reappeared again.

"Until next week Louis Tomlinson," Harry called walking out the door.

"Until next week Harry."

And as Harry left, Louis took out his phone and edited Harry's contact.

PREVIOUS / NEXT

INTRO

28 notes · View notes

welllpthisishappening · 4 years ago

Text

Should Auld Acquaintance be Forgot

Honestly, Emma was less mad about the whole thing than she expected. Disappointed, that was the word. And everyone knew that disappointed was far worse than mad.

Because being dateless on New Year’s Eve was one thing. Being dateless while pining over a roommate with a secret Match.com profile and apparent relationship-type desires that were the complete opposite of her was—

Disappointing, really.

If Killian kissed anybody, she was going to drink an entire bottle of champagne by herself.

-----

Rating: Teen, kissing, far too many Grinch references

Word Count: 9.2K

AN: Today is our last festive prompt! Or, at least one that’s a stand-alone story. Our said prompts come from @kmomof4 who asked for “i don't wanna get up-- you're comfy."// "i'm cold. come closer." //"i love you a lot, but please stop trying to cook me dinner, you suck.” And I got all three in. As always, I cannot thank you guys enough for clicking and reading and saying such nice things. Here’s to a 2021 that’s full of even more fic, satisfying TV storylines and lots of fictional characters making out.

Also on Ao3 if that’s your jam

-----

“Shit.”

“Merry Christmas.”

Rolling her eyes over the top of the phone in her hand, Ruby didn’t look particularly amused at the distinct lack of enthusiasm in Emma’s voice. That was something of a theme. For like—the last thirty-six hours, but also the majority of their relationship, and none this should have come as a surprise, only she’d had a lot of wine in the last forty-six minutes, and it might have been catching up with her. Was definitely catching up with her.

“How much did you pay for the garbage alcohol you’ve been shoving at me?” Emma asked archly, and she was only slightly worried about getting home. Her head felt muddled. Like there were too many thoughts, and this time of year always did that to her brain, and her consciousness, and at least eighty-two percent of this was Mary Margaret’s fault.

For deciding that they were going to have a party.

On New Year’s Eve.

Like complete cliches.

“I’ll have you know,” Ruby drawled, eyes dropping back to her phone and whatever noise it was making, “that I paid at least twelve dollars for—”

“—Lies,” Elsa yelled, and it was a testament their current situation that she’d raised her voice at all. Nothing like that ever happened, and the overall roll rate of Ruby’s eyes was going to give her a migraine.

Her phone made another noise.

“She’s lying to you,” Elsa added. “Straight to your face.”

She’d still be staring down a dateless New Year’s Eve, but—

Emma scrunched her nose. “What else is new?”

“Oh, I take offense to that,” Ruby cried, but she was almost too obviously distracted, and the inability of this conversation to be concise was starting to grate on Emma’s nerves. Or what remained of them. Maybe she was the Grinch.

No, that wasn’t right. The Grinch had an enlarged heart, which Emma certainly did not have — and that was nice and appropriately festive for the season, the Grinch, not her, and he had a dog. Emma didn’t have a dog. If she had a dog, there was no possible way she’d be annoyed as she was.

Whatever, honestly.

Her date, or lack thereof, was not important, and she was going to drink this entire bottle of Barefoot Moscato, price tag be damned, and then she was going to figure out some way to get home. Without falling over.

Also, the Grinch didn’t have a roommate. Unless you counted the dog, and Emma didn’t think Max could conceivably hold so many titles in a twenty-two minute animated Christmas special, and she imagined the Grinch was also not pining after his dog slash roommate slash stand-in reindeer. That’d be weird.

For a twenty-two minute animated Christmas special.

She’d never seen the Jim Carey version. Or that other one with Benedict whatever-his-name-is.

Away from dating apps and wine that was very likely going to give her one hell of a headache, and Killian would at least make sure she was vaguely hydrated before she collapsed on some sort of horizontal surface. She wasn’t going to be picky about which one, honestly.

“Why are there so many versions of the Grinch?”

Ruby didn’t look at her. Her eyebrows moved, though. Lifted ever so slightly into her hairline, and Elsa’s glance wasn’t exactly subtle, and Emma needed to go home.

“Expand on that for me,” Ruby said, lips twisted as soon as she stopped talking. Something was wrong. Well, more wrong. In an alcohol-saturated sort of way that included all those previously discussed mobile dating apps.

“There are so many Grinches,” Emma said. “You think that’s a commentary on society? Like as a whole? That we need to—”

“—Embrace the spirit of Christmas?”

“Because we as a general population are all assholes?”

“You’ve had too much wine.”

“Not a question,” Elsa mumbled, elbow bumping Emma’s shoulder when she perched on the edge of the sofa, and Ruby’s eyes were still doing that thing. Widening every now and then — a flash of understanding mixing in with surprise, and Emma wasn’t sure how many muscles were in a human thumb, but she figured all of Ruby’s were getting quite a workout, scrolling as quickly as they were.

“If I have,” Emma muttered, “it is entirely Ruby’s fault. Who buys pink Moscato and expects their guests not to drink the whole bottle?”

“Seems to suggest you’re a guest, though,” Ruby said, “and that’s awfully prim and proper.”

Ruby couldn’t possibly be Cindy Lou Who in this metaphor.

Emma couldn’t argue with that. Mostly because she’d drank so much of the pink Moscato. “Ok, ok, forget the wine for two seconds. And the Grinch. Why were you making proclamations before? They were very loud and—”

Nothing changed. The phone was still there — wobbling slightly because it seemed Ruby’s forearm strength was lacking just a bit, but the screen didn’t change, and Emma was certain this was somehow also Taylor Swift’s fault. For rerecording Love Story and letting Ryan Reynolds use it in that Match.com ad.

“So…”

Although really that made it more Scooter whatever-his-last-name-was’s fault, for stealing all of Taylor Swift’s songs and being a noted and massive dick, and Emma’s inability to remember anyone’s last name was clearly something of a personality failing.

“Thoughts?” Ruby pressed.

At least twelve-thousand, but none of them seemed especially interested in being said out loud, and Emma’s tongue felt like it was simultaneously growing and dissolving in her mouth. None of it was particularly comfortable, what legitimately felt like cotton balls bursting out of her cheeks and making it difficult to breathe, and she should have lived in a cave. With her dog and the inexplicable set of antlers she owned to make that same dog look like a reindeer, and then she wouldn’t have to be staring at Killian Jones’ dating profile on goddamn Match.com eight days before a New Year’s Eve party she only marginally wanted to attend.

“Don’t people just use Tinder now?”

Emma’s voice did not sound like her own. Presumably because of the tongue thing and the cotton ball analogy, and she wondered if the Uber driver she was inevitably going to request would be especially annoyed by her desire to blast Taylor Swift in the backseat.

She’d give them five stars.

No matter what — because she wasn’t an asshole, but especially if they let Emma blast Taylor Swift in the backseat.

Ruby rolled her eyes. “You’re very old; you know that?”

Her face was very warm.

“Buy me better wine.”

Emma had never gone into cardiac arrest before, but the sinking feeling in her chest was sudden and a little jarring and she tried very hard to swallow down the wad of emotion currently taking up residence in the middle of her throat. Didn’t work.

“Only nine bucks, honestly?”

Failed spectacularly, quite honestly.

“I don’t want to know,” she announced. “Whatever he put on there is his—”

“What Killian does or doesn’t do in the world of modern dating has nothing to do with me,” Emma said, only a little disappointed because she didn’t think people got multiple miracles in their lives and to having hers ensure her voice didn’t shake over those particular words in that particular order felt lame.

“I don’t care.”

All things considered.

Scrunching her nose, Ruby’s nod lacked a certain sense of honesty. “Sure, sure, sure, well—” She shrugged. “—He’s here. Being available. Presumably for New Year’s, and…”

Emma waited for the rest. All the reasons she’d heard before, and her friends were convinced. Something about inevitable, and happily ever after, but that second part was mostly Mary Margaret and it was likely easier to believe in the fairy tale when you were living it.

Pessimism was also fairly lame. As far as defining traits went.

“What are you—” Elsa started, but then she was moving and her teeth clicked exactly five times, as soon as she looked at the screen, and Emma was not capable of dealing with any of this. Watching her friends gape at her, Ruby’s phone still held loosely in her hand, and neither one of them objected when she finally managed to get to her feet.

And the Uber driver didn’t offer to play any Taylor Swift, but Emma didn’t ask and she didn’t blast it in the backseat.

So, that felt like a victory. Which she desperately needed — to counteract the state of her pancreas and half a dozen other internal organs when her thumb hovered over the button, and it took at least two minutes and twelve seconds for Match.com to download.

She should have waited until she was on wifi.

To say that Emma’s relationship with Killian Jones was complicated would be something of an understatement. And she wouldn’t use the word relationship.

He was her friend.

Her very good looking friend, with stupid eyes that regularly flashed at her like he was too aware of the mush-like state it sent her into, and he was friends with her brother, and once upon a time she’d briefly considered hating him, but that never really stuck and he made hot chocolate better than anyone she knew. Refused to use the prepackaged mix. Did something on the oven that Emma didn’t entirely understand, and never trusted herself to try on her own, and Killian was never late with his half of the rent.

Or any of the utilities.

Living together was a decision born of convenience and the extra room Killian had once Will moved out, but it also made a lot of sense and it was good. Really good. Would have been great if Emma wasn’t pining after him and his stupid eyes like some lovelorn idiot, but she had gotten almost impossibly good at rationalizing the whole thing in the last few years, and—

“Shit, shit, shit,” she chanted, slumped in the corner of the couch with her knees threatening to impale her chin and there must have been a record for frustrated cursing while staring at a roommate's dating profile. She’d definitely passed it, like, seven minutes ago.

Scrolling down only led to scrolling back up, twisting her lower lip between her teeth while staring at photos and lists and options she was sure came from some AI or relationship-type algorithm and coming to terms with the end of the world was harder than she expected it to be.

At least the end of her love life.

Of which there wasn’t much to begin with, so it probably wasn’t very hard for the whole thing to topple over, but Emma was feeling especially melodramatic and they needed to buy some WD-40. For their very squeaky door.

“Hey,” Killian said, shrugging out of his jacket and it was apparently snowing out. Flakes dusted his shoulder, clung to several strands of hair, and Emma couldn’t melt into the couch. They couldn’t afford to buy another one. “That can’t be good for your spine.”

Humming, Killian didn’t bother brushing the snow out of his hair before he walked forward, falling onto the other end of the couch and pulling Emma’s sock-covered feet into his lap. “Are they any cookies left?”

“I’m going to tell Mary Margaret you’re a cookie glutton and—”

Sixteen guys had messaged her already.

“So I’ve heard. Whatcha you doing?”

Maybe that was a compliment. Emma didn’t think so, though.

She couldn’t believe she had to make a profile. To stalk her roommate. And his interests. There were a lot of interests on Killian’s Match.com profile.

Strictly speaking, she didn’t have much experience with shoulders and their proclivity to being rested on, but she liked to believe Killian’s was one of the more comfortable out there. Her head fit very well, at least.

“Nothing.”

So as to avoid any lingering after-effects from its continued failure.

“I’ve got twenty-seven bucks on him asking at the party,” Killian said, “but Locksley thinks he’s just going to lose any sense of self-control and blurt it out before, I just—”

Emma’s phone dinged.

Again. Multiple times, in quick succession — and she should have turned off notifications for that stupid app, but she wasn’t really using it for its intended purpose and Killian was staring at her. With a look that made it all too clear he knew what was going on.

That didn’t make her feel any better.

“Ruby said she was thinking about bringing someone,” he muttered, “to, uh—to the thing. The New Year’s thing.”

The air shifted. Crackled with electricity Emma knew she was imagining, and want she was only barely managing to temper and if Will did propose to Belle on New Year’s Eve she refused to be held accountable for her emotional reaction. She’d totally cry.

“Call it a thing again.”

Ruby would never let her hear the end of that.

Shaking his head brusquely, Killian’s grip tightened around Emma’s ankle. She had no idea he was holding her ankle — fingers wrapped all the way around the joint until the tips threatened to touch because apparently his fingers were that long, and she’d probably only obsess about that for like the next few years, or so. Which seemed reasonable.

“Anyone good?” he asked, low and gruff and whatever was back in the middle of her throat did not appear intent on leaving any time soon. No matter how many times Emma swallowed.

Or how often Killian’s eyes flickered. Towards her throat.

The idea never even crossed her mind, honestly.

Flinching the way she did only guaranteed that Emma’s spine collided with the arm of their couch, but she was at least less inclined to melt and she supposed romantic beggars could not be choosers. “Yuh huh,” she said, “and you’re well acquainted with the noises and the reasons behind the noise?”

That probably wasn’t important.

And just like that—it was fine. Well, maybe not fine, but at last fine adjacent, and something inching closer to normal, and Killian kissed her temple again before he stood up.

“You’re avoiding my question.”

She didn’t pick up her phone until she went to bed, dragging every blanket they owned behind her down the hallway.

On the ever-growing list of problems Emma had during a week when problems were supposed to be non-existent, Killian's Match.com profile had very easily cemented itself at the top of the list.

It didn’t match — her, at least. Every single thing he was apparently looking for in some sort of potential life partner was the exact opposite of every single thing that made Emma her. Musical tastes were diametrically opposed, movies she’d never once seen him watch in the legitimate decades she’d known him were praised with the kind of adjectives even Robert Ebert would scoff at. The pictures were good, but Emma knew that was more a result of her attraction to her roommate than anything else, and he said he liked people who cooked.

She couldn’t cook.

She tried.

Twenty-four hours after the weird couch incident, which was a name only Emma was using, she was sure, and the smoke alarm had gone off and—

This was Ruby’s fault. And Taylor Swift. Whose new album was very good, and made for perfect and consistent pining music.

She was so disappointed she was positive she reeked with it.

“Cooking,” Emma said, like that was an explanation and not an excuse and she was definitely using too many of her personal miracles. “Nothing caught on fire!”

Lolling his head to the side, Killian leveled her with an exasperated expression. Brows pinched together and that shade of blue wasn’t quite as sharp, but was still somehow almost amused and she didn’t think the oven was supposed to make that noise. It was very loud. “Lack of flames is not a sign of success, love,” he said, “and it’s—ah, fuck.”

The smoke alarm was louder than the oven.

Blasting through their apartment and, Emma was sure, through the entire building, the beep hit its rhythmic stride quickly, so she reacted like an adult to the whole situation by gritting her teeth and squeezing her eyes shut. Killian breezed by her, swinging open another squeaky door and fumbling through what sounded like several dozen boxes and he cursed. More than once.

Emma nodded.

Emma cracked open one eye. “We do, I—”

Their neighbors must hate them. Rightfully so.

“We definitely own a broom,” she promised, “we’re not savages. We clean.”

Graham was probably very nice.

“Was there a reason for that?”

Emma swallowed. Still didn’t help.

“Swan.”

“Alright,” Killian said softly, “c’mere.”

Saying that what happened next happened quicker than Emma expected it to, also suggested that Emma expected it to happen at all, which was one of the bigger lies she’d told in the last week or so, and she was really growing a metric shit ton of lies, so that was especially impressive and she yelped very loudly. As soon as hands gripped her hips, lifting her off the floor and directing her underneath the questionably loud smoke detector.

“This could wake the dead,” she proclaimed, shouting the words because if they were going to descend into total farce, then she was really going to lean into it.

Killian’s head fell to her stomach. If she died right there, she hoped he didn’t drop her. Although, she’d also be dead, so—she probably wouldn’t notice.

“Just turn it off, love.”

She hated all that music.

“See,” he grunted, “that makes it sound like we don’t have a broom, and—” Adjusting her, one of her legs twisted around his, something Emma was going to claim as instinct and not that same want that was another one of her more defining characteristics, and he definitely exhaled. Loudly. And directly into her t-shirt. “—Swan, I really need you to fix this, love.”

Using his shoulder as leverage, and keeping her leg exactly where it was, she still had to stretch her arm out and it took far more movement than either one of them could apparently handle silently for her to press the button that fixed everything.

Despised The Godfather, on some sort of fundamental level and Kay deserved better than Michael Corleone, even if that version of Al Pacino was almost kind of attractive, but—

Relatively speaking, at least.

He didn’t lift his head immediately. Or drop her. That probably wasn’t a metaphor.

Emma’s metaphors regularly sucked, anyway.

“Pizza or Chinese?”

Chuckling into her stomach, Killian’s laugh warmed her from the inside out and kept the goosebumps there and she’d kind of forgotten he was shirtless. Idiot bastard, that was her.

Graham Humbert had owned more plaid shirts than anyone Emma had ever seen.

“Order extra egg rolls, and I’m in,” Killian said, finally working her back to the ground and they didn’t move. They stood there. Staring at each other, and conducting more inventory, and Emma could only imagine the penance she’d have to do for keeping her stomach in its correct spot.

“Deal.”

“She’s in love with him.”

“Which part?” Ruby asked. “How in love Emma is with Jones or whether or not we were acknowledging his shitty dating profile?”

“Doesn’t have to,” Elsa muttered over the top of her half-empty glass. “It basically broadcasts out of her.”

They took the batteries out of the smoke detector a day later.

“Either or, I guess.”

Not the safest thing they’d ever done, but Emma kept trying to cook and failing spectacularly and she was certain the people at the Chinese restaurant fourteen blocks away knew their order based solely on the sound of her voice when she called.

“Does this have a name?”

Slumped as she was over the edge of the bar, Emma barely noticed the lift in Killian’s eyebrows, but that also might have been her tendency to be preoccupied with his mouth and he was smiling at her. Wide. Meaningful—ly.

Distractingly.

At some point that afternoon, she’d decided she needed to respond to Graham’s messages. Or, well—keep responding. There’d been some conversation, what might have been construed as flirting if Emma’s thumbs didn’t keep cramping up while they flew across her phone’s keyboard, but that definitely wasn’t a sign either, and the overall lightness in her body was likely a direct result of whatever blue-colored alcoholic concoction Killian had put in front of her forty-seven minutes before. There were gummy—things floating in it.

Or there had been.

She’d eaten them.

Her mouth felt a little numb.

“What do you think we should call it?”

Propping her chin on her hand made Emma wobble a bit, Killian’s lips twitching again. Idiot bastard asshole. Poor Graham. She was a jerk. And his eyes were getting brighter.

Killian’s. Not Graham’s.

She had no idea what Graham’s eyes did.

“Are you serving me unnamed alcohol?” Emma asked, and she was sure she did not slur her words the way it sounded.

He shrugged.

Good thing the holiday season was nearly over.

And Will’s reaction was far too loud, tossing a towel over his back before he draped himself across Killian’s back, hooking his own chin over that slightly lifted shoulder. “He’s showing off, Em. That’s all it is. Are you going to die, though?”

At the bar.

“Your tongue is blue.”

Four seats away from Leroy the regular.

“Don’t move so quickly, Swan,” Killian said, a hand finding her cheek and that was fine. Totally fine. Great, even. Super—

Califragilisticexpialidocious.

So, she was more drunk than she’d been. Like, ever.

“Your fault,” she mumbled. Burrowing further into his palm was not an option Emma had, so naturally that’s exactly what she did and Will made another noise. “Something to add, Scar—” Emma paused, lifting an impatient finger when both men in front of her dared to laugh. “—Let, you jerky jerkface.”

“You will find out whenever else does, kid,” Will guaranteed. “And there were at least four different types of rum in that swill he gave you.”

That would have annoyed Belle.

Humming, Will untwisted his limbs from Killian, a different hand finding her cheek and the strands of hair that were hanging over her eyes and she scowled when he tapped her chin. “Trying to impress you,” Will repeated intently.

“Is he—” Emma’s brain couldn’t keep up. Thoughts rushed through her, firing synapses that were only passably functional, and the lights from the jukebox across the room were starting to float in her vision. Pressing her fingers into her cheek, Emma knew the skin there moved, but she also could not feel a single thing and—“You’re laughing at me.”

Her head hurt. Ached, even through the haze she’d only recently evolved into, and Emma hated bowling. Was absolutely God awful at it. The kind of awful that required bumpers whenever they’d gone, and they used to go when they were kids. On New Year’s Eve afternoon, some tradition that Ruth had come up with and David honored, even after he and Mary Margaret had segued into happily ever after, and Emma could count on one hand how many times she’d crested the 100-point mark.

“I am,” he said, “but you’re also sloshed, so I’m willing to give you a pass. And no.”

She felt oddly similar now.

Playing a game she wasn’t very good at, with more gutter balls than any self-respecting adult should record. Eight pounds of cylindrical force kept rolling through her, threatening anything in its path, but not hitting what it was supposed to, and she also could have eaten an entire tub of bowling alley snacks right now.

“Why are fries better in a bowling alley? Like, better than anywhere else.”

Will’s eyes narrowed. “Better than Shake Shack?”

Blinking continued to be one of Emma’s less impressive reactions, but she was stuck on that bowling ball metaphor and Killian’s arm around her shoulders made it impossible to talk.

“‘S’totally different.”

“You ready, love?”

“We’re leaving, love,” Killian said, and there was at least part of her that was smart enough to pick on repeat endearments. And then promptly cling to them. In her swollen heart.

“For?”

“Make sure you brush your tongue too tonight, Em,” Will advised, “otherwise that blue is going to stick.”

Saluting left her more off-balance than she’d been all night, laughter echoing behind them as Killian pulled the door shut and he’d ordered them a car. Emma honestly had no idea how they got in said car, but then they were moving and she was only slightly dizzy and he—

He made another noise, slumping next to her, which made it even easier for Emma to touch as much of him as possible and he didn’t object. She didn’t think he would. Ever, actually.

“Smell really good.”

God, poor Graham.

She was the worst.

David played hockey when he was a kid.

“Not as such, no,” Killian said, “just thinking we might be able to add something new and—” His shoulder shifted under her cheek, Emma’s soft hum of disapproval making him smile. She still didn’t check. “—Not that we haven’t been making money, but...people gotta have a schtick.”

No sound. Nothing except engines, and there could only be one engine in a car, Emma was fairly positive, so that didn’t really make sense and Killian stared ahead when she tilted her head up. “Sometimes,” Killian admitted softly, “but, uh—like I said, just trying to get something that might help us a little more and weddings are expensive, y’know?”

“Whatever,” Emma groaned, “just—I’m saying it’s a good bar.”

Thinking about melting as often as she was, was starting to become patently ridiculous.

“You’re trying to come up with ridiculous bachelorette party drinks—”

With such God awful interests in the opposite sex.

Emma rapped her knuckles against his chest. “To help pay for Scarlet’s wedding?”

The world was a joke. Happy Holidays.

“You’re not getting ready with Lucas or Elsa or anything tomorrow, are you?”

Huh. No grand slam, then.

Of all the questions she definitely wasn’t prepared for, that was at the bottom of the list. Emma was not actually making any of these lists. “This isn’t prom.”

Being hungover on New Year’s Eve was one of the crueler jokes the universe had played on her in the last week or so.

“Yeah, ok,” she said, letting her head drop back to his shoulder and Emma wasn’t sure why it sounded like he exhaled. In something almost like relief. Eyes fluttering the way they were, she must have imagined it, another ridiculous metaphor and even dumber analogy and her groan was especially pitiful when the car stopped. No way her stomach was going to stay where it was supposed to for the rest of the night.

All of Emma hurt, muscles she hadn’t been aware she was in possession of seemingly rising up in revolt of her very existence, and she couldn’t really turn her head. Which endlessly delighted Ruby in a way that was making her reconsider their friendship, and Killian kept glancing in their direction. His arm bumped Emma’s no less than twenty-four times in the car over.

And for as much as she wanted to crawl under several mountains of blankets and consider all her romantic shortcomings, something in the back of Emma’s mind preened a bit under his flitting gaze, trying not to meet his eyes too often. Only to fail every time — if Ruby’s laughter was any indication, and Will had groaned several times, but he also didn’t appear to be engaged yet and Emma had apologized to Graham that afternoon.

Through text, though. So it only kind of counted. She wasn’t even sure parts of the messages were English. Her head felt like it was going to snap open, which made the champagne she was practically shotgunning at that point a very bad decision, but she’d been on a roll on that front, so she had no intention of altering course and it was nearly midnight.

“This is depressing,” Ruby announced. “He’s staring again.”

Rolling her eyes was an impossibility if Emma didn’t want to make a spectacle of herself in front of her brother and some of the teachers from Mary Margaret’s school, and Ruby’s date was nice. Had a lot of pictures of her dog on her phone, but nice all the same.

More blinking. Honestly, she was a mess. The teachers kept hogging space on the couch. Killian smiled when he looked at Emma, that time. “Elaborate on that.”

“Are you the dumbest person alive?”

“No, this is just our general opinion of you. Both of you, really. I—are you not almost painfully aware of how in love Killian is with you? Em, he is staring at you. Like, right now. Blatantly. Obviously. Some other adverb.”

“We live together.”

Wide eyes and an impressively straight row of teeth were all the warning Emma got before there was a hand on her shoulder and he smelled just as good as she was hopeful she hadn’t mentioned last night, but that felt like wishful thinking and Emma did not, in fact, eject any bodily fluids when Killian turned her. Victories, she was flush with them.

“I’m so bad at cooking.”

“Hey,” she breathed, and Ruby groaned so loudly it likely did damage to the ozone layer.

Frozen to the spot, she tried very hard to regulate her breathing and fix her pulse, and neither thing worked. And then. Something clicked — almost audibly in her brain, and her soul and her heart’s potential for explosion was suddenly something she had to worry about.

Killian’s lips twitched. “You got a second?”

“Please don’t look at me like that,” Killian murmured. She barely heard him. Not when there were fingers tracing up her side and lingering on the small of her back, and Emma’s head moved her head as slowly as she could.

If she moved any faster, she’d either fall over or wake up from this very lucid dream and neither of those things were all that positive.

“Cooking, it’s—I love you a lot, but you are absolutely atrocious at it.”

“You’ve got to stop cooking, love.”

The world stopped. Paused, at least. Gave Emma’s muddled mind a second to catch up, and she’d need several more seconds, but she also wasn’t quite that greedy and Killian’s smile widened. As soon as her fingers curled into his shirt.

He didn’t move his hands.

“I—” she stammered. “I am...but we don’t match!”

“What is happening right now?” Emma breathed, only cautiously optimistic she wanted the answer.

A chorus of angry jeers rained down on them — Will using Robin to keep himself upright while he flipped Killian off with both hands. “Pining piner who pines like a goddamn idiot.”

“Well, I’m fairly in love with you. To an almost ridiculous degree.”

“I do appreciate the cooking effort though,” he added. “But it’s a very old profile, made almost entirely by Scarlet in—”

“I honestly forgot it existed,” Killian continued, “I’ve never used it, really. Just knew that Scarlet had made the thing, and then I ignored the messages and—”

As it was, her fingers were already tight enough that Emma very easily pulled herself up and the hand at her waist helped keep her balanced and they were very good at this. Kissing, specifically. Heads tilted automatically to an angle that made it all too easy for Emma to open her mouth, and Killian’s tongue was even more distracting when it was brushing hers, and someone was groaning, but that might have been her, or possibly him and his hair was soft. Between her fingers.

“Not as many as you did.”

Breathing was suddenly a secondary concern, and Emma’s lungs had already proved they were basically made of steel, or at least impervious to the flames currently exploding between her ribs and none of that was biologically accurate.

She never did find out where her pancreas was.

And she was so busy dealing with the way the solar system appeared to be reordering itself around the pair of them, that Emma didn’t notice the countdown or the metallic crown tossed at her feet. Only that there were eventually cheers and Ryan Seacrest’s face plastered across the TV on the other side of the room, and one of Killian’s hands had worked underneath her shirt.

The sparkly one that had made his eyes noticeably widen several hours earlier.

“How did you figure it out?”

#cs ff #captain swan #captain swan ff #captain swan fic #cs fic #festive fic a thon 2k20 #this ended up much longer than i thought #so really the perfect way to end the year #thanks for reading internet #i think you're all swell

50 notes · View notes

heyyyharry · 5 years ago

Text

Harry thinks Y/N is his secret Santa

(A Flatmate Christmas Special!)

Word count: 3.3k

This takes place before the flashbacks in the Christmas special in book 2 :)

Merry late Christmas ho ho ho 😂

“Why are you guys doing Secret Santa a whole week before Christmas?”

“Most of us will go home for Christmas so we want to do it early,” Harry whispered back to Y/N so everyone at this long table couldn’t hear them. “Fyi, you’re looking extremely nervous. Relax, they won’t bite.”

Despite what he’d just said, Harry knew it wasn’t easy for her to sit there with his friends and have Layla give her the kind of look that he would only see in his nightmares.

“Yes, Layla?” Louis said once he'd finished explaining the rules.

Layla lowered her hand, still glaring at poor Y/N. “What is Harry’s girlfriend doing here?”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Harry blurted, making Layla scoff.

“Then she has more reasons to not be here.”

“She’s here because I want her here. Please shut up.”

Everyone was shocked by what Harry had just said. Even Harry himself could not believe he would live to say that to Layla. His mouth clamped shut as he thought his life would end right there at that table, but Layla was too appalled to even say a word let alone hurt him. Well, at least Y/N seemed proud of him. He felt like a hero.

“The more the merrier!” Niall exclaimed while rubbing Layla’s back to calm her down. “Why don’t we get to my favourite part. Lou?”

“Oh, yes!” Louis chuckled nervously as he turned around and pulled a Santa hat out of his bag. “So now, I will give the hat to each of you. There are eight pieces of paper, each with one of our names. You will close your eyes and draw a name, if it’s yours, take another one and put your name back into the hat. Got it?”

“He’s talking to you, dumbass.” Layla shot Y/N a glare and the poor girl hurriedly nodded her head.

“Don’t worry about her, she’s a dick,” Harry said, making her smile. She seemed less nervous than before, which also made him less nervous.

Louis told Y/N to go first and handed the hat to her. Harry studied Y/N's expression as she read the name on the piece of paper before putting it into her pocket. She seemed indifferent so it couldn’t be him, right? Or maybe she was playing cool so nobody would know.

“Harry!”

Harry blinked fast. Everyone was staring at him.

“It’s your turn," Y/N said, giving him the hat.

He could hear Layla curse him under her breath for taking so much time but he decided to ignore her and closed his eyes to draw a name.

Please be Y/N. Please be Y/N. Please be—

Trix.

His smile dropped as he put his paper away. Giving the hat to Niall, he turned back to look at Y/N, but she was talking to Louis and wasn’t paying attention to him. A part of him was sad that she didn’t seem to care who he got; another part of him was also sad because he didn’t get her.

He didn’t want to sound ungrateful. Everyone would kill to get Trix because Trix got excited about anything. She would love everything you gave her. The hardest person to please would be Layla, but she was someone else’s business, not him. Thank God.

Still, he really wanted Y/N.

“Who did you get?” he asked her when they walked out of the cafe after saying goodbye to their friends.

She seemed chilled so it probably wasn’t Layla. But there were five people left, himself included, who was it?! He really hated second-guessing.

“You know I can’t tell you.”

That was the response he’d expected but not what he wanted to hear.

“Is it Niall?” he tried anyway, thinking he would get the answer based on how she reacted, but Y/N kept that same mischievous smirk on her face and he hated to admit how much it turned him on right now.

“It’d be so funny if you got Layla,” he tried again, adding a nervous laugh, but still no luck for him as her expression stayed the same. “It's not Liam, is it? He already has everything so good luck finding a good present.”

She didn’t even look at him and just kept on walking.

When they stopped at a red light, Harry blurted out, “it’s me, right?”

This time, she glanced up at him.

He tried to look for a clue in that stare she was giving him, and maybe he’d been looking too much into it that he believed he might have got the answer.

“Fine,” she said when the pedestrian light turned green and everyone crossed the road except for them. “I’ll tell you my person if you tell me yours. If I have to break the rule then so do you.”

There’s no way I'm gonna tell her—

“I got Trix.”

Fucking dumbass, said the voice inside his head but he ignored it as always.

“Now, tell me yours,” he said, looking hopeful.

As the corners of her lips turned up, Y/N took a deep breath, tiptoed and leaned in closer. His heart was pounding so hard and fast that he feared it might jump out of his chest and start sprinting across the road. If she said it was him, he might—

“No.”

“What?” His smile dropped in an instant. “But—”

Y/N didn’t wait for him to finish and just walked straight ahead as the light turned green for the second time. He hurriedly chased after her, shouting, “I’m very angry at you!”

But goddammit! How was he still turned on?

“Go to the mall with me.”

“Why?”

Harry sat up on the couch, raising an eyebrow at his flatmate who was already putting on her coat.

He didn’t want to sound crazy but he’d spent the entire day analysing every word she’d said to him to figure out whose name she’d drawn. He could’ve spent all that time trying to come up with the perfect Christmas present for Trix. But sorry Trix, I hope you love snow globes...

“I need your help with the Secret Santa thing since you’re a guy.”

“Ha! Your person is a guy!”

“Congratulations, you eliminated Layla,” Y/N said with the most underwhelming tone as she pointed to the door. “Now can we go?”

He huffed, rolling his eyes. “I hate you.”

If only he could really hate her.

Christmas shopping was the worst! Going to the mall at this time of the year was no different from suicide, but Harry kept telling himself he was doing this for Y/N, and possibly himself too.

It made sense right? If it wasn’t him, she would’ve told him already. It’d be easier for her to find the perfect present for this person with his help since he knew what his friends liked and she barely knew them. Y/N was a smart girl. She knew what she was doing.

“What would you want for Christmas?”

“Me?" He flinched. "Why are you asking me?”

“Because you are a male?”

“Why me specifically?”

“You’re my flatmate! It’d be weird if I asked Niall or Lou or Liam, right?”

He didn’t believe her, but if she knew he’d cracked the code, she might not trust him to go shopping with her anymore. He had to play dumb. It was the only way.

“What are you giving Trix anyway?” she asked as they kept on walking aimlessly ahead.

“A snow globe.”

His answer made her cringe. “That’s lame. Would you get that for me if you were my Secret Santa?”

Of course not! You’re different!

“Why? Do you prefer having me as your Secret Santa?”

“I’m indifferent.” She gave a shrug and he smirked.

“Yeah right.”

As expected, she said nothing and changed the subject, “where the hell are we anyway?! I need a map.”

As Y/N went on and on about how crowded the mall was and she couldn’t see anything but people, Harry stood there, gazing at her.

He had always hated those cheesy scenes in movies where the main character looked at the person he or she loved and everything started moving in slow motion, the noises were cancelled out and the background was blurred as if they were the only two people in the room. But ever since he discovered his feelings for Y/N, he’d been just like one of those lovesick characters.

“Harry?”

The voice pulled him right out of his thoughts. The girl didn’t wait for him to react and just pulled him in for a hug then grabbed his face to shove her tongue into his mouth. He instantly pushed her away, horrified.

“What?!” She scoffed as if she hadn’t just sexually assaulted him. He didn’t even know h—Oh wait.

“Penny?”

“You do remember me,” Penny said with a smirk, twirling a lock of hair around her finger.

Of course he remembered her. She was one of the best sex he’d ever had.

No, no, no, no, no! You do not get to be a whore around Y/N! Get your shit together! said the voice inside his head as he frantically looked around. Wait, where’s Y/N?!

“I gotta go, Penny. Nice shoes!”

Penny immediately grabbed his hand. “You can’t kiss and run, love.”

“I didn’t kiss you...you—”

“Shh!” Penny put a finger to his lips, taking a step forward so their lips were almost touching but just barely. “I’ve missed you,” she murmured, batting her eyelashes at him. “I can’t stop thinking about you. Can I see you tonight?”

If this was a couple of months ago, he would say yes or even take her back to his place right now. But the new and improved Harry, the person he wanted to become for Y/N, would have to decline.

“I’m sorry but I can’t.”

Surprised and confused, Penny raised an eyebrow. “How about tomorrow night?”

“No, I mean...not...ever,” he said cautiously before removing her hands from his shoulders and taking a step back.

He wasn’t going to explain anything, but then he remembered how insecure Penny could get. After every hook up with him, she would ask him if he thought she was pretty and she would continue asking even though the answer was ‘yes’ every time. He couldn’t hurt her feelings now. If he did that, he didn’t deserve Y/N.

“You’re a great girl,” he said as Penny was about to leave. “But...I’m having a...thing with this girl and...um...I can’t be with anyone else...because of her.”

“A thing? Like...a relationship?”

“No.” He scoffed, shaking his head. “I don’t do relationships. It’s just…this thing um...I don’t want to be with anyone else but her.”

“So like a relationship?”

“No!”

“Do you want her to be with anyone else?”

“Of course not!” As he instantly realised how defensive that sounded, he cleared his throat and lowered his voice, “I want to be with her and I want her to be with me. Like...just the two of us. I-I want to be the only person she kisses, the only person who gets to hold her hand, the first thing that comes to her mind when she wakes up, but...I don’t want to be her boyfriend.”

I don’t know why I'm telling you this but it feels good to say it aloud...

“Okay, I get it,” Penny said with a big smile. “Well, good luck with your non-relationship thing. Have a merry Christmas with your non-girlfriend.”

Harry didn’t know how to respond to that so he just waved goodbye and watched Penny disappear in the ocean of shoppers.

That was embarrassing, he thought. But now he had to find his non-girlfriend and get the fuck out of this living hell.

After wandering around on his own for nearly half an hour, Harry finally spotted Y/N in one of the crowded fashion stores. He was about to go in with her but then he saw her grab a blue scarf and wrap it around her neck.

Thinking no one was watching, his flatmate stood in front of a mirror and started smiling at her reflection while posing like she was doing a photoshoot for Vogue. It was so adorably hilarious that he could not let himself interrupt her. He decided to wait outside.

Y/N took off the scarf and stared at it for a long moment before she made up her mind and brought it to the checkout counter.

Harry's heart fluttered as he stood there, grinning like a fool while imagining himself wearing the scarf everywhere he went.

Gosh, she got me a scarf. That’s so thoughtful and intimate. I cannot believe it.

“There you are!”

He almost jumped when he heard her voice, and before he knew it, she was standing in front of him.

“Sorry.” Harry cleared his throat. “I was distracted by a man dressed like an elf.”

“Were you busy shoving your tongue in the elf’s mouth too?”

Shit, she saw the kiss.

“It’s not what it looked like.”

“Whatever. Let’s get out of here before I have a panic attack.”

“Hold on!” He grabbed her wrist, pointing to the bag she was holding. “What’s that? Did you buy something already?”

Y/N tilted her head and squinted her eyes at him. “I’m not showing you the present Harry.”

“Right, right.” He nodded fast but couldn’t stop smiling. “Whatever it is, I’m sure the person who receives it will love it.”

And might or might not be wearing it everywhere he goes, even the shower.

“You’re acting weird,” she said, lifting an eyebrow. “Are we leaving now or do you have another tongue appointment?”

“Okay, I did not kiss that girl. She kissed me.”

“Sure.”

“Stop it, you don’t believe me!”

“Uh-huh.”

“Do not ‘uh-huh’ me like that! Y/N!” he raised his voice, pushing his way through the crowd and chasing after her.

“A snow globe?! Oh my god, how did you know I've always wanted one?! You are the best Secret Santa ever!”

Everyone rolled their eyes as Trix hugged Harry while squealing and giggling like she’d just won the lottery. Before Trix could begin with her thank you speech and start praising Harry for being a great friend, Layla raised her hand and demanded to see her present.

Niall wasted no time to put a huge box on the table, causing everyone to ‘wow’ed, and Layla to grip her chest as if her heart was about to burst with happiness.

“This better be LV or Gucci!” she said and quickly unwrapped her present. To her disappointment, it wasn't neither. "It’s...another box.”

Niall stayed silent as Layla started unwrapping the second box.

“And...another box?! Are you fucking kidding me? Don’t you fucking dare film this, Louis!”

“I’m not gonna post it!”

“You got two boxes! That’s so cool!”

“Shut up, Trix!” Layla grumbled before shooting Niall another glare and taking a deep breath. Everyone was impatiently waiting for her to unwrap the third box...and the fourth...and the fifth...and the sixth...and…

“A necklace.”

“Surprise!!!” Niall cheered, but the look on Layla’s face shut him up in an instant.

“Is Niall going to die?” Y/N whispered, making Harry laugh.

“Layla won’t hurt Niall,” he said, and she sighed in relief.

“Good. He can’t die before he opens my present.”

Harry turned paralyzed right as he heard those words. Everyone was laughing at Layla who was hitting Niall with the biggest box even after thanking him for the necklace, but Harry was just sitting there with a blank face.

He didn’t even react when Niall pulled out the scarf from the box Y/N had wrapped herself last night. And he didn’t react when Niall said how much he loved it and that it was the most thoughtful gift he'd ever received.

Harry knew Y/N had never said the scarf was for him. He had come up with all of that himself, but he couldn’t help it. He was mad at her.

“Ugh, I want the mug Layla got you,” she said as they walked home together. London got more crowded at night which was why she was walking so close to him now. If he hadn’t been mad at her, he would’ve been over the moon.

Y/N was ignorant of his attitude and just kept on talking. “Thriller books aren’t for me. But don’t tell Lou, okay? I’m sure this book is great, just not for me.”

He didn’t say a word when she put the book back into her bag. It was then that she realised he’d been quiet for a reason.

“What’s wrong, Harry?”

“I don’t know. You tell me.”

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking?” She looked thoughtfully at him, smiling. “Is it about the scarf?”

“No.”

Y/N snorted at his short reply.

What’s so funny?! I’m mad at you, Y/N!

“Did you think it was for you?” she asked.

Yes?!

“No.”

Y/N didn’t say anything else as the two of them continued walking in silence. It was getting colder and Harry didn’t want to be petty but he couldn’t help himself.

“Niall got a new scarf to keep himself warm tonight. How lucky was he?”

He was too mad at her to even feel bad or ashamed then, but he didn’t understand why she was smiling. She must have thought he was a joke. Well, he was. He sounded like such a loser. She would never want to date a loser.

Woah, woah, woah, where did that come from?! No relationship, remember?! What’s wrong with me today?!

“A scarf is like the most basic Christmas gift in my family,” Y/N said as they stopped at a crossroad and he finally turned to look at her, taken aback by what she'd just told him. “When you don’t know what to give someone, buy them a scarf. I didn’t know Niall that well so I got him a scarf. If it was you, I would’ve put in more effort and gotten you something meaningful.”

'If it was you, I would’ve put in more effort...'

'If it was you…'

As his brain kept replaying that same sentence over and over again, he didn’t realise how big he was smiling. But as he snapped out of it and saw the way she was smiling back at him, he felt even happier than before.

Her cheeks were flushed and her lips were a darker shade of pink because of the cold. Now that he’d paid attention to them, he couldn’t look away. If only he could just lean in and kiss her right now...

“Y/N.”

“Hmm?”

Her hand is right there. Hold her hand!

“What, Harry?”

Hold her hand, dickhead!

“You’re getting me a cooler Christmas gift, right?” he asked, shoving his hands into his pockets as the voice inside his head screamed at him, “pussy!”

Y/N didn’t suspect a thing as she gave his shoulder a nudge. “Don’t get your hopes up. But...I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Maybe? What’s that supposed to mean?”

The green light came on and the girl walked ahead, leaving him behind again.

“Wait for me! It’s cold!”

“Then walk faster and you’ll warm up!”

“I hate you!” he shouted at her. But goddamnit, he could not love her any more than this.

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfics #harry styles fanfictions #harry styles writing #harry styles series #flatmate!harry #harry styles blurb #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles fluff #harry styles one shot #harry styles one shots

364 notes · View notes

ashintheairlikesnow · 5 years ago

Text

Disaster Lads: A Collab, Part One

This is part one of a five-part collab piece I did with @whumpiary! In which our disaster lads meet and the inevitable ensues.

CW: Referenced drugging, forced drinking, referenced past noncon, some dubcon fuckiness and trauma response headspace. Things get darker as we go, and more explicit, too. But also Kauri flirts and it’s adorable. Just a fair warning. I’ll do warnings for each individual chapter as we go.

Tagging Kauri’s crew: @maybeawhumpblog, @pepperonyscience, @haro-whumps, @18-toe-beans, @burtlederp, @finder-of-rings, @giggly-evil-puppy, @whimpers-and-whumpers, @moose-teeth, @whump-it, @lumpofwhump, @pumpkinthefangirl, @spiffythespook, @slaintetowhump, @astrobly

Kauri isn’t entirely sure how it happened, but somehow his back is against a wall, a drink is in his hand, and there’s a man leaning over him with that grin on his face that Kauri usually likes… but today, he doesn’t.

The bar is kind of dark, and there’s a band playing something that mostly sounds like sad yelling over geese honking to Kauri, but everyone had cheered when the band came onstage so maybe he just doesn’t get the music. He’s not even dressed for the bar, honestly - he’s in his big black zip-up sweatshirt, Dustin’s so it hangs off his shoulders and his hands are mostly covered by the sleeves. A thin thrift-store t-shirt and ripped-up black skinny jeans, the faded old checkered slip-on sneakers he’s had forever… he looks halfway homeless.

The guy has him cornered anyway, and Kauri is feeling all the other drinks he’s let guys buy him tonight, kind of spinning and silly with the alcohol in his veins. It makes it easier not to feel uncomfortable, but part of him is.

He wants to say no, but the word sticks in his throat.

“Come on,” The guy says, leaning over him - it feels like looming - and pushing even closer into his space. “I bought you the drink, the least you could do is a little something for me in return.”

I don’t want to, Kauri thinks in something like a panicked wail.

The man’s knuckles brush the side of his throat and it’s probably a flirtation but Kauri thinks of Owen’s hands around his neck - it feels like a threat.

“Wh-what… what did you have in mind?” Kauri’s voice is airy, a little breathless. His heart is pounding, his face is flushed, and maybe he looks into this… but he’s not. But it kind of seems like the guy maybe knows and doesn’t care.

“A lot of shit, honestly, you’ve been on my radar a while, but first… let’s start with you finishing that drink.” He reaches out and takes the glass out of Kauri’s hand, raising it to his lips. The first sip of syrupy-sweet cocktail seems more like liquid ash on Kauri’s tongue. “You’re a pretty cute drunk.”

“Am… am I?” He asks when the man lets him stop drinking. “I, I don’t want-”

“Have another drink,” The man interrupts, and pushes the rim of the glass against his lips again.

Cass had been watching the guy with the curly hair and the cute smile on and off all night. Partly because he's pretty. Partly because he looks like he’s dressed for a soup kitchen rather than a bar. But mostly because he looks familiar. Annoyingly familiar, in a way that’s maybe more significant than ‘hey didn’t we fuck in a bathroom stall one time?’.

The girl Cass has been chatting to is very, very, very boring. Stupidly boring. So it’s ridiculously easy to focus his attention just over her shoulder at Curly Hair and the guy who’s got him pressed against the wall in the corner, and the pink drink that’s being held up between them, fed to the shorter of the two like it's the holy fucking grail.

Desires are sticky. Syrupy. And in a bar like this, with music like this, with people like this, revulsion is bitter and obvious. Like whiskey in apple juice. Like smoke under perfume.

Cass wishes he'd had more to drink. A couple more vodka tonics and he'd probably refuse to give a shit. But he's annoyingly sober, and he can't help but notice Curly Hair sort of glance around, looking for an exit that doesn't exist.

Cass watches as he smiles, tilts his head. Cass' stomach lurches. He's seen that head tilt. Fuck, Cass has given that head tilt. I want you to want me but I don't want this.

“Hey Kirsty," he says, serving a grin to the blonde next to him. She frowns.

“It’s Kristie.”

“Right. Kristie,” Cass says. Easy smile, a finger tracing circles on the back of her hand. “You wanna go dance? I’ll catch up in a sec”

The girl pouts, grabbing his hand, “Aren’t you gonna come? I kinda thou-”

“Kʀɪsᴛɪᴇ, ɢᴏ ᴅᴀɴᴄᴇ.”

The girl's frown melts into a grin faster than she can notice what’s happening and nods her head enthusiastically, like dancing had been her idea in the first place. And then she’s gone, melted into the pulsing mass of bodies.

Cass needs to get out of here. In a bar like this, with music like this, with people like this, the feeling of I don’t want this is so loud and grating it makes Cass’ heart catch in his throat. And then there’s the other guy. Cass can feel the fucking lust pouring off of the guy. Not just the desire for an easy lay but the absolute exhilaration of a predator who’s got dinner trapped. Or is about to, Cass thinks, eyes following the asshole’s gaze to where they're fixated on a sickening cocktail he’s feeding the smaller guy.

Cass pushes himself away from the bar. He needs to get out of here. He needs to get out of here before he does something stupid because he promised Lou he wouldn't pick anymore fights and because this is none of his business and just because the guy seems familiar doesn't mean Cass knows him but he still finds himself snaking to the corner, anyway, grabbing the tall guy by the elbow-

“Hey, do I know you from somewhere?” he says, feigning rapt enthusiasm.

The taller guy looks Cass up and down. His hair is annoyingly perfect. Like if you tapped it, maybe it'd make a sound like knocking on hard plastic.

“I don’t think so,” the guy says, shark teeth twisted into a grin. Cass watches as his grip tightens minutely on the glass he’s holding. Yeah, fuckhead. Wouldn’t want to lose that, now would we? “If you don’t mind, we’re kinda busy.”

And he's turning back to Curly Hair, who is melting into the wall, a skittish mess of maybe he’ll talk to the new guy - if it’s what you want then I want it - I don't want this - just say no kauri you can just say no - I want this I want you - just say no stop it stop - no just drink it don’t make him mad - I don't want this and Cass really fucking wishes he'd had another few drinks because then he could just walk away, but instead he hits the cocktail careening out of Tall Guy's hand, a spectacular pink mess over the guy's crisp white shit.

Kauri flinches back, hands up over his mouth, staring wide-eyed at the mess.

"Shit, dude. Sorry. I'm such a klutz," Cass grins, holding up innocent hands with a shrug. "That roofie wasn't expensive or anything, was it?"

And sure, maybe this was none of his business, but it's so satisfying when the guy shoves him into the wall. Maybe even more satisfying than the sound of the crunch of the guy's nose breaking as Cass headbutts him in the face.

The guy stumbles back, hands over his nose as blood starts to pour, screaming half-formed curse words that are muffled by his hand and the nasal sound of his voice. From behind the bar, a bartender yells, “God damn it, no fighting! What the fuck, Kauri?!”

Kauri curls back against the wall, his wide, frightened eyes going from the bloody pink-stained man to the new guy who had hit him with his whole entire head and back again. “I’m sorry!” He shouts back to the bartender. “I’m sorry I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

“Yeah, well, do something about it!”

Kauri gives the bartender a look of incredulous terror. He’s 5’7” and all lithe, willowy flexibility and he has the brute fighting strength of a very small kitten.

“Like what, exactly?!”

The guy drops his hand - the bottom half of his face is a mess of blood now - and with a snarl, pulls his fist back to punch Cass again.

“Stop them fighting over your dumb hot ass or I’m calling the cops, Kauri!”

The name sticks in Cass' head as he lets the guy land another punch, hard on his cheek.

"Kᴀᴜʀɪ, ɢʀᴀʙ ʜɪs ᴀʀᴍ," he says, on impulse, because the guy is kinda huge and Cass isn’t particularly strong, and he’s been in plenty of fights but he usually only stops them by not really being conscious anymore.

Kauri’s hands snap out thoughtlessly, grabbing the guy’s other arm and helping Cass shove him face-first against the wall, only to freeze up, eyes widening even more in terror as he has no idea why he just did that.

"You better calm the fuck down, man," Cass says, twisting the guy’s wrist so it twinges just a little behind him. He feels amped up and shaky with adrenaline. He hopes he looks as feral as he feels. The big guy blinks, slow and stupid as he tries to catch up with what just happened. "'Cause either I'm gonna kill you or the bar staff are gonna call the cops on your ass. And we both know what they're gonna find in that glass.”

The guy's eyes widen in shock, then narrow. “You can’t prove-”

“You roofied me?” Kauri asks, as though the multiple comments Cass had made had only just sunk into his mind. He felt himself reel with horror, trying to pull away, but his hands just… don’t want to let go of the man’s arm. Panic was a drumbeat in his mind. He knows what roofies are, Nat told him about those, and that they taste kind of salty but there was a salt rim on the drink the guy bought him-

“You were going to roofie me?”

“That jackass broke my nose!” The guy yells, although it comes out more like dat jackash boke by dose. Cass kind of wants to interject that he probably didn't break the guys nose, but it doesn't really seem like the time. “I’ve been talking to you all night and you just believe some asshole that walks up and punches a stranger?”

“I… I…” Kauri cringes back from the fury in the man’s voice. He’s going to be hurt, and he’s terrified, and the only thing on earth he wants right now is to get out of here and away before the man’s hands are around his neck just like Owen’s, it’ll be like that, he’ll hurt and hurt and then pass out and if he can just maybe make nice the guy will stop being angry-

“I, I’m sorry, you-... you did buy me the drink, that was… that was nice… but, but if he saw you-"

"He didn't see shit."

The guy did not seem to realize that that wasn't exactly denying he'd done it.

Cass feels cold fury run through him. He can feel the lust-turned-sour, good-night-wasted annoyance that the guy in front of him is vibrating with. And the panic pouring off of Kauri, so palpable and crystalline it may as well be his own. The want to run away, to get out of here, to back down, to apologise, make nice. They mingle together in his head.

Who the fuck tries makes nice with the asshole who was gonna drug them? He tries to ignore the ‘you sure used to’ that creeps into his head.

Cass doesn't care. He wants to run away and he wants to get out of here but more than that he wants to make someone bleed. This guy walked into the bar tonight, sought out the most vulnerable guy he could find and thought prey. He deserves to know what that feels like. He flips the guy around, pressing a hard hand to his chest to keep him flush to the wall.

“I think I’m gonna call you Scooter,” Cass says “You look like a Scooter”

“The name’s Matt, jackass,” the guy growls. It takes way too much effort to pronounce the M. Cass grins. Matt, huh?

"Alright, Mᴀᴛᴛ. Tᴀᴋᴇ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇsᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ G ᴛʜᴀᴛ's ɪɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴘᴏᴄᴋᴇᴛ. Gɪᴠᴇ ᴜs ᴀ ʟᴏᴏᴋ,” he says. The guy blinks, reaches mindlessly into the pocket of the shitty jeans he’s wearing and pulls out a nondescript little bottle. Matt is staring at the drugs like he can’t imagine how they possibly got into his hand. Cass grins. It’s nice to stare at a predator and make them feel small. "I think he should have to drink it. What do you think, Kauri?"

"Jesus Christ," Matt says, nasally and strangled. "Why did... What the fuck, I should knock your teeth out!"

Kauri grabs the pill bottle out of his hand and tries, despite his hands shaking so badly the fucking bottle rattles, to look like he's reading, carefully keeping his eyes unfocused so they won't try to settle on or understand the letters. Kauri steps closer to them both, putting his hands up slowly, like a man being held hostage.

"Look, you guys, we can just… nobody has to fight," He says, pitching his voice lower, cocking his head just a little to the side. "The bouncers are gonna kick us all out in a second and, and I don't need-... We don't need that, right? Matt? We don't need to, to have anybody closer than this. Just us, right?"

His heart hammers, heartbeat so strong it's nearly knocking the breath out of him. His voice is airy, and soft, and just a little flirty under the fear.

You can fix this. No one calls the cops, no one tells, no one looks too close.

"You didn't n-need that, I'd have… have gone with you anyway, Matt…"

Kauri, you can't say yes if you don't know how to say no. He ignores Nat's strident voice in his head and slides just a little closer, the rise and fall of his chest and the whites around his eyes the only giveaway of his fear. He can see bouncers and he has to make this better before too many people are looking at them.

Matt snorts a kind of bitter, angry laughter, then winces as that burns his injured nose. "You would. The ones like you always do, right?"

Kauri freezes, all the color draining out of his face. The bottle of pills drops to the floor and rolls away, kicked by someone walking by and getting lost somewhere in the crowd. "What?"

"Tell your fucking White Knight to fuck off," Matt says reaching out to grab Kauri's left wrist. "Kauri Grant."

Cass doesn't have time to figure out why the fuck that name sounds so familiar. All he needs to know what's happening is in that look on Kauri's face. He's seen that look. God, he's given that look. Whoever Kauri Grant is, he needs to be the hell away from here. Now.

"Okay, seriously buddy, we don't want anymore trouble," he tries, taking a quick glance at the bouncers closing in behind them "How about you let this go and we do too?"

"I'm not letting go of shit," says Matt, with a smile full of blood. He has one hand locked over Kauri's wrist, pushing up against the leather bracelet there. "Do you have any idea how much this little whore is worth?"

Cass swings the punch before he even has the chance to think what that could mean. Which is maybe not a great move, actually, with bouncers headed their way and a bar full of patrons who are starting to look over. It's especially not a great move because Matt swivels, jerking out of the way, sending Cass' fist straight into the side of Kauri's skull.

Kauri's world crashes at the impact, stumbling back and falling hard onto his side on the floor, head bouncing against the sticky woodgrain, blinking against the black spots dancing in front of his eyes.

It doesn't stop the panic.

Kauri Grant Kauri Grant Kauri Grant

"Y-you can't," he tries, his voice sounding weird and off to his own ears, pushing himself up. "Can't, can't turn me in-"

"I wasn't going to, before that little shit showed up," Matt says with a nasty note of triumph in his voice, one Kauri knows too well. "The guy who just hit you."

Kauri manages to stand up, catching the bouncers too close, too close, and he grabs onto Cass's arm. "He was… was trying to hit you," Kauri says, voice shaking. "And you-... tried to drug me."

"Like no one's ever drugged you before," Matt sneers, and Kauri swallows, hard, and doesn't protest. Matt waves at the bouncers. "Hey! This is Kauri Grant!"

The frozen fear in Kauri thaws and he jerks at Cass's arm to yank him not towards the door but deeper into the bar, pushing through the crowd towards the other side of the stage.

Kauri Grant Kauri Grant Kauri Grant

Cass knows that name, why does he know that name?

It doesn't matter. What matters is they get the hell away from here right now. He turns in Kauri's grip to look over his shoulder, locks eyes with the asshole who seems intent on ruining this poor bastard's life.

"Mᴀᴛᴛ," he yells as he's hauled away into the crowd, "Sʜᴜᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜰᴜᴄᴋɪɴɢ ᴍᴏᴜᴛʜ."

It's not exactly elegant but Matt slams his jaw closed so hard Cass can see him wince against the jolt of pain through his bashed in face. Cass cackles as they disappear into the mass of bodies on the dancefloor.

He feels high. There's twin feelings gripping his chest, the thrill of a fight and the blinding panic of running away. The rush of beating someone at their own game twisted with the knowledge that they need to get the hell out of here before they're caught. He has no idea what's happening but it's fast and it's thrilling. It's making him dizzy, making his blood pump electric. He barks another laugh as he dodges some random guy's elbow, grips Kauri's hand even harder and lets himself be pulled.

"God, who the fuck is Kauri Grant?"

Kauri pulls him to a small door labeled EMPLOYEES ONLY just to the side of the stage, shoving it open and stumbling out into a dark alley, the sudden chill on his skin the only reason Kauri realizes he's sweating.

Out here the noise is gone, there's the sound of sirens far away, and Kauri's eyes dart around, thinking, before he pulls Cass to the right, further down the alley, stepping over refuse and empty beer bottles.

"I… I am," Kauri says, voice thin. The side door they just left opens and he pulls Cass quickly against the wall with him to hide behind a dumpster. "I'm Kauri Grant." He swallows hard, panic still beating at the back of his mind, and slowly slides down the wall to sitting, putting his head in his hands.

"You hit really hard for how skinny you are, d'you know that?"

Maybe it’s the sudden cold, or maybe it’s the way Kauri’s holding his head, but waves of exhaustion and regret and fear hit Cass all at once. He ducks down as voices and noise filter wide and loud, and then go squashed and muffled again with the swinging of the door.

“Fuck man, I’m so sorry,” he mutters, ducking his head to assess the damage. “I didn’t even think”

He reaches out a hand, pulls it back before contact. He really doesn’t know how to do this. The whole… God, what did Fuckhead McGee call it? The whole White Knight schtick. Is he meant to go find ice? Buy the guy a drink for his troubles? Usually when he finds himself kneeling on the wet concrete of an alley in front of a stranger it’s for a very different reason.

Cass sits back on his heels and laughs, loud and unabashed. He’d listened to that girl at the bar talk about her boyfriend for forty minutes when he should’ve been finding some pretty guy to sneak away with. And then he found a pretty guy and punched him in the face. Which… wasn’t always a dealbreaker, but even in the now relative quiet of the alley his heart is still slamming like there’s something to run away from and his brain feels cracked open and Jesus Christ, this night is already just so fucking dumb.

“Sorry. I’m sorry,” he says between giggles. He tries to calm it down to a grin. “I swear I’m not laughing at you, Kauri Grant. Did I, um…Is your head okay?”

"Yeah, my head's fine. I've been hit before," Kauri says, not quite muttering, rubbing his hand into his black curls. "Not usually in the head, but, you know, it's kinda empty anyway." He flashes a bright, deflecting smile, looking up at Cass.

Kauri's head cocks slightly to the side, something in his smile changing, softening a little. Not quite flirtation, something more in self-defense. "Can you just say Kauri, please? I don't, um, I don't like his name. Very much. It's just, that's what they call me…" His voice trails off. "Thanks for, um. For catching that guy… I didn't know he put something in it... I didn’t know he knew.”

Cass frowns a little, trying to understand. Didn’t know who knew what?

"Okay you have to back up, you're giving me more questions than… than answers right now..."

But then the pieces of Kauri he's seen through the night start falling together. The skittish eyes that didn't match with the flirting smile. Thanking the guy who would have happily held him limp in a basement. The wanting and wanting and wanting paired with the desperate need to run away.

The ones like you, that guy had said, looking at Kauri like he was something to be eaten. The ones like what? The ones who met conflict with apologies and desperate bids for distraction. His eyes flick to the bracelet on Kauri's wrist, thick and leather and out of place amongst the rest of his "robbed a Good Will" ensemble and too wide, really to be stylish. Just wide enough to hide a tattoo, maybe. Or a brand.

I don’t like his name very much. Cass feels himself paling.

"Oh my god, you're somebody's," he whispers. He closes his eyes and scrubs a hand over his face. Swallows the dry lump in his throat. "You're meant to belong to somebody."

Kauri jerks his arms back against himself, pulling the sleeve of his sweatshirt over the bracelet about ten minutes too late.

He looks up at Cass, blue eyes wide and pleading, and reaches out his hand to brush his fingers against Cass's hand, pitching his voice lower.

"You, you don't have to tell anyone. That I'm, um. You don't have to. I can… I can-" He has no idea how to say this. He focuses his thoughts on what he knows, falling back on training. I want this. I want you. I am an active participant in fulfilling my owner's desires.

"I can, um. Whatever you, you want, if you won't say you saw me?" His voice shakes - he can't seem to stop it. He has to hope it sounds like the good kind of nervous and not the terror he really feels.

Cass feels his stomach drop, something catching in his throat as fingers brush the back of his hand again. The tug and pull of I want this. The tilt of Kauri’s head is so tempting it looks rehearsed. I want you.

“That’s…” Kauri’s eyes are gorgeous — huge and blue and desperate — and Cass has to close his own just to think straight. “That’s not what… I, um.”

I want this. I want you. Resolute and relentless against his thoughts. I want this. I want you. Over and over and over again. Frenzied and pleading and wanting and fucking terrified. I want this. I want you.

Cass curls his fingers around Kauri’s, running his thumb along the other boy’s palm. I want this. I want you. Something in him feels shaken up and loose at the hinges from feeling it. It feels wrong. Too familiar, too close to home, too close to… something. Please let me want this. Please want me too.

Cass closes his eyes again, shakes his head. Maybe it’s just the after effects of being knocked crooked. Cass did punch the guy in the face. And it’s been kind of a fucked up fifteen minutes. Maybe they both just need the distraction. The relief of something simple and easy. And if they're both actively participating in something dumb and fun and stupid, maybe it’ll be enough to make them both feel better.

“Look, I’m not… I’m not gonna say anything,” he says, tugging Kauri’s hand closer, tracing a line up his arm. I want this. He smiles, let’s the pulse of it spur him on “We can just have fun, okay? I’m not gonna say anything”

Relief washes over Kauri, a wave of it that nearly knocks him over. He’s doing it right, his voice is right, all the training is working and letting him slide into an easier place in his head. His smile isn’t quite sincere and it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but the relief in it is very real.

Besides, the guy is cute, and Kauri would’ve gone home with him, too.

The ones like you always do.

There’s an unease - he doesn’t always like that things like that are true, about him - and he chases it away by closing his eyes and focusing his thoughts. I want this, I want him - and that part definitely isn’t a lie - and I’ll be safe if I give him this.

“Okay, um, th-thanks,” He says, voice just a little breathy, ducking his head with another shy smile.”I’m, um, I’m up for basically anything, basically always.” He gives a cheeky little grin and a laugh, like that’s a joke he tells to a lot of people and has memorized the timing on. “Just, I’m not trained for-... I don’t go in for pain. That’s it. Hey, so, um, you know my name… what’s yours? So I know what to scream later.”

He’d heard that in a movie once and always kind of wanted to say it.

Cass laughs, broken harmony against Kauri's own. The line is lame but it doesn’t really matter. Kauri makes it charming. He is ridiculously good at this.

"Cass. But usually people just stick with ‘oh, God'," he laughs, moving in closer, grin against grin. He leans in to brush his lip against Kauri's jaw, slow and teasing, hands staying steady on the guy's knee as Kauri hitches in a breath and shivers, turning his head to give Cass a better angle for it. "And I go for anything."

He wants this. They both do. The relief of something familiar and safe. Just a minute of stupid normal. I want this. Cass plants a kiss at the corner of Kauri's jaw. I want him. Cass lets his hand slide from knee to thigh. I'll be safe if I give him this. Cass pulls himself closer in, brings his fingers up to tangle in the dark curls at the nape of Kauri’s neck and… and…

I'll be safe if I want this.

The wave of revulsion that runs through him is slow and sickly, like hot tar, like molasses. Familiar and foreign in the same mouthful.

"Sorry. I, uh," he pulls back and he can feel the ghost of Christopher's hands on his hips, pulling his hair back, lips against his cheek – Don't hesitate, darling boy. Show me what you want.

“Hey… you okay?” Kauri murmurs the words, and it’s with real concern, shivering at the feeling of Cass’s fingers in his hair, slipping his own hands to touch lightly at his ribs on either side, a question and a test.

Cass feels adrenaline gripping him but that's fine, that's good, because wanting and fear walk the same line anyway. I'm an active participant. Which doesn’t feel like the shape of a thought that’s his but is close enough to that it doesn’t matter. He wants this. It's safer to want it. Then you don't have to think. You don't have to feel. That's why places like this are fun, why nights like these are so good.

So like every other night like this, he pulls in close to prettiest guy in the bar, pushes down the resistance in himself, and kisses him fucking senseless.

Kauri’s head tilts back and up for it, twisting his fingers hard into Cass’s shirt to pull him in even closer, until his head bumps back into the wall behind him and he loses his balance, falling back to sitting on the ground with a soft, sweet little laugh, a breath of air before he lets Cass kiss him mindless again.

The safest he’s felt for weeks is times like this, a man’s hands on him, a man’s mouth on his, knowledge and certainty that someone wants him, that he has something to give other people, some way to earn their kindness and repay it. His hands slide up Cass’s neck to tangle in his hair, too, pulling him in as close as he can get on the ground in a dark alley, skin lighting up everywhere they touch.

“H-hey, I can’t, ah-...” He breaks free, and flashes the shy little smile again. He feels so good now, safer, because he’ll be good and he knows Cass meant it when he said he wouldn’t tell, he looks like someone who won’t tell anyone, and Kauri has to trust him. “I don’t… I’m technically homeless. So if you think I’m taking you home, uh… welcome to my house, I guess,” He says, gesturing at the alley around them and then laughing a little to himself.

He’s gotten himself this far, but there’s still a hint of the artificial conditioning twining all his conscious thoughts. I want this is real and true but it’s also what he knows how to say, and I’m safer if I want it, I matter if someone wants me and I want to matter to someone runs under honest desire as he moves to slip his hand up under Cass’s shirt.

“H-how do you, how do you want to… um… this?”

Cass practically vibrates at Kauri's touch and he leans in even closer. Every touch is a relief. His body has been begging for this, for touch, all week

"Well I'd say we could go back to mine but…" Cass thinks of white walls, screaming fluorescents. His tiny quarters with the single bed and the sliding door that Tucker swans in and out of as he pleases. "Mine's not really much of a house either. So I guess we'll just get creative at yours"

He catches Kauri's lips again and pulls himself in closer until he's all but straddling the guy's lap. Kauri moves his body against Cass's like he was custom made for it. He lets his hand come to a gentle rest on the column of the guy's throat, his thumb tracing the line from his chin to his collar and back up again.

This is all Cass has wanted all week. To wrap himself in someone else's wants and just disappear for a bit. And yeah, maybe it feels a little off tonight. A little sickly. Like eating overripe fruit. But it's also been a long time since he's been this close to sober and trying to hook up with someone so who the fuck knows.

"Gotta say, I love what you've done to the place," he adds, breaking the kiss with a grin as he glances around at their elegant surroundings. Kauri laughs, almost a breathless giggle, glad he’s found someone with a real sense of humor even if it’s to keep him from telling anyone who he’s seen. Cass brings his lips to Kauris throat and let's his voice buzz electric along his jugular "I usually swoon for just one dumpster but three? You're such a romantic."

Kauri tips his head back against the wall behind him, staring up into the flat, featureless sky. As soon as Cass says the word Romantic, though, he goes perfectly still. Every muscle tense, for just a second it’s closer to holding a frightened animal than a person.

“Uh, th-thanks,” He manages, shakily, pushing the nerves back down. Just another way to call him a slut, like everyone else does, but he’ll do what he wants and be safer that way. It doesn’t matter if he calls Kauri a whore or a slut or a Romantic, it all means the same thing - people like him. People who can’t stop themselves, who don’t know better, who are nothing and no one unless somebody is touching them.

Cass is nice, and his hands and his mouth feel so good, and it doesn’t matter what he calls Kauri. What matters is giving him what he wants.

He makes himself relax, consciously, and slides his hands around behind Cass, shifting his hips up, letting training take over again until the nervousness could die back down. I matter if someone wants me, it doesn’t matter why or how, I’m safe if I want this.

“If you want, I could, um, could g-go down on you,” Kauri breathes, rolling his hips up.

Cass feels himself grinning at the same moment as he feels his stomach clench in a knot so tight he can hardly breathe. Wanting and fear walk the same line. The latter is easy enough to ignore.

"Fuck yes," he all but moans, swinging his leg around to sit against the wall beside Kauri. Cass fumbles for the button of his jeans. He wants this. Kauri does too. Cass can feel how much he wants this. Kauri wants to feel safe. He wants Kauri to feel safe. And he also wants his brain to shut off and stop screaming discomfort just because the water’s a little muddy.

It doesn't matter if he wants it because it's gonna feel so good once it's happening he won't even care. And then he'll make Kauri feel so good, Kauri won't care either. He won't care about being wanted. He won't care about being safe because Cass will make him feel fucking fantastic.

And all of that would’ve been fine if Cass didn’t look up and catch Kauri’s eyes. He feels the knot in his stomach twist. In less than a second any spark of libido he had had rots and dies. There’s no want in Kauri's eyes. No nervous excitement. It’s not eagerness that’s pulling their bodies in close.

Desperation and terror were just one hell of a cocktail. Especially when finished off with resignation.

Cass closes his eyes and let's his head fall against the wall with a dull thunk.

“No,” he whispers. “No, hold on, stop.”

He really wishes he'd had some ket. Or at least a bit of molly. Just something to blunt the edges of whatever the fuck is happening right now. Something is wrong with him.

"I can't do this," he murmurs, shaking his head. He doesn't open his eyes. "Something's wrong, I can't do this. You don't… you don’t..."

Kauri’s hands are still tangled in Cass’s shirt at first, and he slowly pulls them back, worried, leaning forwards to try and tilt his head and look closer at Cass’s face. No no no no. He’s done something wrong. He doesn’t know what, or how - it had seemed right, like it was all happening the way it was supposed to and soon enough he’d forget to be scared and just feel good things until it was done, and if it was good enough Cass wouldn’t tell anybody about him in case maybe he saw him again.

That’s how it works. Kauri gives, and he gets safety in return. But this isn’t safe.

You don’t even know if you actually want it or if you just think that because they made you. It’s what he thinks the end of that sentence probably is, because it’s what Dustin said when Kauri tried, and it’s what Jake said, and it’s what everyone tells him over and over again. That he can’t even know what he wants, because Owen wanted him brainless and a slut.

“I’m sorry, is it… something I’ve done?”

Cass scoffs a laugh, knocking the back of his head into the brick wall to try and shake his thoughts back straight. What the fuck is he meant to say? Sorry bro, my telepathy killed the mood.

“No,” he says, scrubbing a hand over his face “No you didn’t do anything, you just… you’re just-”

You’re just too fucking close to my kind of broken.

There’s a harsh sort of panic bouncing off of Kauri in waves at the rejection. What the fuck is Cass meant to do though? He can’t pretend like everything’s fine because it’s not. He can’t tell him to piss off because then he’d really be an asshole. He can’t fuck him because it’d be… that’d be...

Cass’ stomach lurches. He slams his hands down against the concrete with a growl, kicks at an empty bottle by his leg. It scrapes harsh against the ground in a loud, grating circle and Cass flinches his foot back like it cut him.

“Jesus Christ, this is fucked,” he says, laughter twisting his voice and making it bitter. He looks over at the person who pulled him out of a bar fight ten minutes ago. This random person who he'd started a bar fight for fifteen minutes ago. This random fucking person he shouldn't give two shits about. Cass shakes his head, "You don't wanna be here, man. Just go home."

Kauri snorts, almost bitterly. “I can’t, remember? I don’t fucking have one. Although I guess I could go sit on the bus…” He sighs, watching Cass - and he’s not always good at reading people’s intentions, but he can read emotions fairly well and he can see that Cass looks nearly sick, either angry or upset, and he just takes in a deep breath, putting his hands up over his face and then down again.

“No, I get it. It’s because I’m a pet, right? It’s, you wanted to see what it’s like with a pet. You saw me with that guy and knew, and you thought you’d try, too, and you can’t… don’t want to, once I’m really here.”

Cass is shaking his head before Kauri even finishes speaking. Who calls themself a fucking pet?

"What the fuck? No. Jesus Christ, no," he screws his face up, rakes his hand through his hair.

Cass can feel something volcanic starting to bubble up inside of him.

He had done everything right tonight. He hadn't had too much to drink. He'd helped some random guy in trouble just because it was the right thing to do. He'd taken Kauri’s lead and then he'd read the warning signs and he'd stopped. He’d fucking stopped. How was he still the bad guy?

"No fucking way are you putting that bullshit on me," he spits. "You're the one who pulled me out here. I was just trying to help. You don't know what you want, then don't fuck with people's heads!"

“Fuck with people’s-” Kauri’s own voice edges with real anger. “I didn’t fuck with anybody’s head! I just, this guy hit on me and bought me a drink, and you showed up and said it was drugged! I didn’t do anything wrong, people talk about wanting to try out pets all the time, I-”

He catches himself, cutting off his own voice all at once like turning off a radio. No no no, if you make him mad he’ll tell someone or he’ll get really really mad or…

Kauri looks away, down at the alleyway pavement, scraping at it lightly with one shoe. “... I’m sorry, I shouldn’t get angry. You were really trying to help, and, and that was really nice of you, to do that. I was just trying to, to pay you back, I guess? Besides, you’re… really fucking cute, so…”

It's the exact same trick he'd tried on the guy inside, Cass realises. Make nice with the wolf and hope that it'll be kind when it eats you alive. It's too familiar and too close and aimed at him and Cass wants to retch. It's burnt sugar disgusting. The desperate need to stay safe, to keep everything calm. No matter the cost. No matter what you give away.

"See, that is exactly what I fucking mean. Two seconds ago you were so mad at me you were basically screaming and now you're apologising and telling me I'm cute just so I'll..."

Cass breaks off, shakes his head, staring up at the hazy not-black of city sky at night. He shoves away the twin claws of rage and confusion as he meets Kauri’s eyes again, tries to keep his voice even and something close to calm.

"Look, I'm not- I'm not gonna say anything, alright? Whatever your deal is, I'm not gonna tell the cops or whatever" Cass tries for a smile "Trust me, I'd be just as fucked."

“Would you really?” Kauri blinks at him, no sign of that earlier flash of anger left, either in his posture or in his expression. He’d done what he’s best at, when it comes to being mad - just pushed it down until he didn’t feel it any longer, and he could see things from the other person’s point of view. Like understanding that Owen was mad because he’d tried to talk to someone when he wasn’t allowed, and that Dustin was mad because Kauri wanted more than he was willing to give, and the way everyone was mad that he wouldn’t sit still.

“And thanks. I won’t tell you what the reward for ‘information regarding my whereabouts’ is, though, if it’s all the same to you.” He tries for a small, slightly sidelong smile, more sincere than his last attempt had been. “Are you a runaway, too? Is there a reward out for you?”

Cass only barely stops himself from balking at the remark. Kauri says it so casually, like having a price on your head is just an everyday annoyance they might be able to bond over. Just all in a day. “Uh… no. No, there isn’t. I would just…” I would just have my contract re-assessed. Risk having my indenture reset. End up permanently locked in the lab. Or back in Christopher’s den. “My, uh, employer wouldn’t be very impressed if you get what I’m saying”

He adjusts his grip on his arm subconsciously, thumb running over the scar that sits along his inner arm. He’s always sort of wondered if one of Tucker’s little chips is there, just sitting by his radial bone, too close to the artery to risk cutting out himself. Guess he’ll never know.

He snaps his attention back to Kauri. Matches the guy’s smile with his own.

“But a reward, huh? Fuck man.” he says. A lofty one at that, apparently. Kauri Grant. Maybe that’s why the name was familiar. He would’ve seen it on the TV or something. Jesus, he’d had to help the one fuckin’ guy with a more tragic backstory than him. He laughs a little, like this is just some sort of watercooler gossip. Mondays, huh? “What did you do, kill your keeper?”

"My, um, my owner. And… no, I-I couldn't-" Kauri's eyes widen with real horror at the thought. "No, I would never have… um, he was, wasn't always that bad… I probably, I just-... I mean I did fuck up, but I didn't hurt anybody."

He looks away from Cass, a little uncomfortably, and says, "He, uh. Got mad when I fucked up. He broke a promise, and I… left. I guess you'd see it eventually, since there's no way I wasn't gonna take my shirt off for you."

He pulls down on the stretched-out neckline of his shirt, and even in the dim alley, a bit of a large, twisted scar shows over his collarbone.

"He paid a lot of money for, for me. I wasn't supposed to be able to leave. I took out the thing he put in to control me."

76 notes · View notes

whumpiary · 5 years ago

Text

shout out to that anon who sent the ask about Cass’ weird relationship with being high. this is low-key for you!

[content warning: drugs and drugging, victim blaming/self-blaming, betrayal of trust, implied noncon, emeto]

Cass is shaking so hard that his teeth are clattering together and his t-shirt is stuck to his back with the wet paper cling that comes with a cold sweat. Every few minutes his stomach lurches and either he spits up bile or he doesn't but either way his body convulses like it's trying to purge his whole fucking soul.

"The fuck did you do to me?"

Tucker is leaning up against the wall, texting somebody or playing fucking Tiny Towers or some shit. Cass wouldn't have a clue. His minder glances up briefly and smirks.

"You did this to yourself," he says, attention back on his screen.

Cass can’t even argue because he’s curling around the bucket again, throat burning, body shuddering.

“You gav-” he can’t even keep his fucking throughts straight he’s shaking so bad “You gave me something”

A chime goes off on Tucker’s phone, equal parts bright and mechanical. The sound makes something like rage flare in Cass’ head numbly, and he wants to slam it through the wall but honestly he can barely lift his hand to wipe his mouth.

“No, Ace, you took something,” Tucker says as he passes him a glass of something orange “I’m just here to get you clean. Now drink up”

---

Cassius raises his hand, his arm feeling heavy and not there until he sees it in front of him, trying to reach for the older man's face. His depth perception isn't quite right. Nothing's quite right. He can't seem to touch anything even as he tries.

He's swimming. Floating. Dreaming. Everything's a haze of soft and delicious and it would be so wonderful if his heart wasn't jack-rabbiting in a fear he can't place.

"Don't… i'dont feel right'" and his voice is thick and fumbling. Rubber marbles over a cotton tongue. He can’t reach Christopher's face until the man leaves forward to kiss his fingertips. That's nice of him. So nice of him. So beautiful. So wonderful, being here. He frowns as the memory of a half formed thought tugs at him "Why…?"

"You don't remember?"

The older man's voice is soft and warm. Like his hand is on Cassius' cheek, along his back, through his hair. He was asked a question and he doesn't know what. He shakes his head.

A low hum. Christopher does that when he's thinking. A low hum in his throat like he can speak without words. Cassius tries it out, feeling the vibrations along his own throat, against Christopher's hand, resting there.

"Would you like another chocolate?"

Cassius tilts his head back, parts his lips. Of course he does. Of course. The chocolates make him feel so, so good.

---

He crunches down on the little pellet without thinking and the taste is bitter and familiar and not at all what he’d been expecting. A smarter person would maybe spit it out but Cass just swallows it, stops in his tracks and waits for Tucker to turn around.

“Okay, so that wasn’t a fucking mint,” he says “What did you just give me?”

“A Skittle”

“That’s hilarious, you should go to the open mic down the road”

Tucker laughs like a jackal but doesn’t offer up any more info.

“At least tell me what the fuck it’s gonna do to me,” Cass says, trying for anger and irritation in the hope that it’ll cover the way his throat’s gotten tight with fear.

“New compound. Won’t know until it’s happening”

It’s probably a lie. Probably some kind of fucked up game that Cass isn’t privy to knowing he’s playing. Definitely, actually, considering they’re partially in public, out of town like this.

“When did I get demoted to guinea pig?”

Tucker shrugs, looking equal parts bored and very, very pleased with himself. It’s an expression he wears almost professionally these days. “When I realised how easy you are to test”

And Cass has a thousand responses, all lined up and ready to go, but he can’t seem to shoot any of them off. Because normal people don’t swallow down poison once they know what it is.

Nah. That’s just him.

---

"Isn't this the little firecracker you had last time?"

"Hm?” Christopher says, barely even glancing up at his guest, fingers still stroking absently through his boy's hair. “Oh, yes. Probably"

Definitely, actually, but his guest doesn’t need to know that for certain. No need to make it obvious that Christopher’s developing a certain attachment.

"Couldn't even get the little bastard to shut up last time,” his guest says, amusement on his tongue. “What did you do? Lobotomize him?”

"Oh God, no. Nothing quite so permanent,” Christopher says, almost offended at the thought he’d blunt such a beautiful thing. “It'll wear off in an hour or so. But for now…"

He brings his fingers to Cassius’ lips, indulging in the way the boy sucks them into his mouth, the way his tongue curls around them, the way the happy hum vibrates against his fingers.

It’s not always that Christopher wants him like this. He usually quite prefers the eyes glinting like knives, the attitude of a serpent ready to strike, matched with a body so wanting that cusses turn to keens with a touch. But just occasionally he wants to see him just like this. Lascivious and soaring.

And, God, when he does—

“So perfect, darling boy”

Dark eyes look up at him. Long gorgeous lashes. Flushed cheeks. A slow blink. Christopher pulls his fingers back. Cassius kisses the tips with a sigh, “You gonna hurt me now?”

Christopher smiles softly. There’s no fear there, no fury. Just the question, loose and curious, almost forgotten as soon as it’s asked. He glances to his guest and then back to his charge, knuckles grazing the boy’s cheek.

“Maybe. Maybe my friend will instead,” he says. “Does it matter?”

“No,” the answer comes so quickly, so sweetly that Christopher nearly gathers him up in his arms and takes him to bed right there “Just prefer to know beforehand.”

His guest chuckles, clearly amused by the exchange. Christopher looks up at him just in time to watch him lick his lips. “Little masochist, huh?”

“No, he just loves me,” Christopher says, only a little bit sardonic.

“He loves ya when you lace his food, you mean”

“Oh, I don't have to lace anything,” the older man says. "He’d be like this all the time if I let him.”

Cassius keeps trying to swim to the surface but the surface doesn’t exist when everything is fog and mist.

“Sounds like masochism to me.”

He wants to protest or at least make a sound but his thoughts are silver glitter and he can’t catch them as they fall, especially with Christopher trailing his fingers down his rib cage like that, trails of sparks and broken glass laying in the wake of his touch.

Maybe he would be like this all the time if he could be. Maybe he loves this.

---

Cass’ head keeps lolling to the side without him meaning to. He keeps barely catching it before it hits the couch cushions, before he hits sleep. He’s been awake a long while, he knows, but he’ll be fucked if he lets himself drift off now, he’ll be fucked if he lets himself let his guard down while it’s still not safe, while he’s still not sure, while he’s still so... while he’s so...

His head is full of smoke and it’s making all of him heavy… and heavy… and heav-

This time as his head snaps up, his eyes catch his mug, focusing on the tag of the tea-bag, still hanging out of it. The tea-bag. The tea. Even through the fog he realises he knows what this feels like. He knows this weight behind his eyes, and the white noise in his veins.

They’d had dinner and he hadn’t eaten it. Lou suggested a movie and they’d put it on. He was cold and Josiah suggested tea and like an idiot he’d taken it.

He doesn’t just feel heavy. He doesn’t just feel tired.

He feels dragged under.

“Oh my god,” he says and once the words leave his lips, he’s not even certain anymore if he’s actually spoken “You… you fuckin’-... oh my god”

Josiah and Lou share a look, but they don’t look at him. They don’t look at him at all. He knows he’s right.

He knows, he knows, he knows.

“Oh my god,” he says. His voice isn’t his own. Nothing is his own. “What the fu…in my… in th’ tea. You were meant to be- you, you were mean’ta…”

“I’m so sorry, love,” Lou says, and her voice is too gentle for a viper. “I didn’t want to. We didn’t want to but... Cass, it’s been nearly four days. You need to sleep”

He pushes up from the couch and the world is tilting and his staticky limbs just barely keep him from falling to the ground, braced against the arm of the couch. He registers, too late, that Josiah’s at his elbow, holding him gently upright, and he shoves him away, not sure if his hands actually do the work that he wants them to or if the other man is just appeasing him by making distance.

“Don’ touch, don’ touch me,” but it’s weak and strained. He wants to sob. He wants to cry. He wants to scream. “You, you, you, you drugged me. You dru- oh my god. Oh my god”

He’s trying to move to the door but his legs aren’t responding and the world is falling down and so is he and oh my god, this was not supposed to happen, this was meant to be the place this didn’t happen.

“This wasn’... You, you, you weren’t mean’to… oh m’god, …” and he’s fading and fading and fading and he can’t believe it’s happening again. He can’t believe it’s happening all over again. “You were meant to be safe”

#implied or referenced noncon #drugs cw #drugging cw #emeto cw #victim blaming cw #abuse of power #betrayal of trust #cassius #christopher #tucker #josiah #lou

105 notes · View notes

winifredsandersonsbitch · 5 years ago

Text

“Radio”

Spike x Summers!Reader

Warnings: S5 spoilers + cursing + violence

Description: You didn’t mean to become friends with a creature of the night. It just happened. But when a demon drives you off the road, the two of you have to develop more than a tentative friendship. You have to trust each other with your lives.

I’m trying to make these all linked, but also as fics that can be read alone? Kind of just can’t commit to doing it as a chaptered series oops

Sometimes, late at night, you and Spike go driving. You make sure to leave a note in case Buffy comes back from slaying early or Dawn wakes up, but you never mention who you’re with. Dawn and Spike get along okay, but Buffy is wary of him even though he’s helped out enough times to proved he’s changed. At least, he’s changed enough so that he’s not an immediate threat. And with all that’s happened, you find yourself so lonely that you almost don’t care that he’s a bloodsucking demon.

It started after your mom died. On the nights when you didn’t work, you would slip out of the house for some solitude and cruise around Sunnydale. Normally, that wouldn’t be the safest idea, especially with Glory around, but your car was stocked with slaying supplies and Willow had given you a charm that you hung from your front mirror, right next to your pair of lucky dice. It wouldn’t protect you from everything, but you figured that anything that wanted to hurt you could just as easily find you at home.

You had driven past the cemetery almost a month ago without any specific purpose in mind. Spike was sitting on top of one of the mausoleums that faced out to the gate, so you pulled into the parking lot. The two of you had been on good terms lately, though it was difficult to gauge how meaningful that really was. You had let him sleep at the house once while you were in class, but only last week he had tolerated the pain from his chip in order to knock the shit out of Xander. You guessed you preferred to live life on the edge.

He hopped down when he saw you coming through the front entrance, tossing the blood he had been drinking out into the bushes. A dribble streaked down his chin, spotting his shirt. Maybe that was why he always wore dark colors.

“To what do I owe the pleasant surprise?”

You couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not. You tucked your hands in your pockets to keep yourself from fidgeting.

“I just wanted to say hi.”

Your pasted smile faltered as Spike stepped into your personal bubble.

“Hi.”

You tilted your head back. His face was shadowed, his pupils as wide and dark and gleaming as oilspots. You had the sudden urge to reach out and comb your fingers through his Billy Idol hair. You had always wondered if it was softened by the gel, despite the bleach. Sometimes he tugged on strands of yours teasingly when it was just the two of you, so it seemed fair to return the favor. But something kept your hands glued to your side.

“Hi.”

“Now that we’ve got that out of the way...” He leaned down, his nose almost-but-not-quite brushing yours. “What are you really here for?”

“Do you want to go for a drive?” you blurted. You dangled the keys in front of him. “I’m... bored. By myself. I’d like some company.”

He eyed you like he thought Buffy was going to burst from the shadows and clock him for even considering your offer, but then he shrugged and joined you in the passenger seat of your mud-splattered sedan. Since then, you had been passing by the cemetery more often and he had been throwing rocks at your window. Both of you, it seemed, were restless.

Sometimes you picked up Anya so she and Spike could talk about the good old days when they could kill people. Neither of them would initiate the friendship themselves and you didn’t exactly love the topic, but it was good for them. A kind of support group. Though God forbid that anyone found out that you thought of it like that. Or that Xander discovered how you had facilitated contact between his girlfriend and the person—vampire?—he hated most in the world.

Tonight when you walked outside to your car, Spike was waiting.

“Took you long enough,” he said, sliding into the passenger seat.

It was a cool night, but true to form you rolled your windows down for the ride. You turned the radio on, loud enough so that you could feel the music in your chest but quiet enough that the two of you could have a conversation. Not that you usually did. Sometimes he would ask about Dawn or school and you’d ask about poker and demon hunting, but mostly you drove in comfortable silence.

When Foreigner came on the radio, you turned the volume up absentmindedly, humming along as the breeze tousled your hair. You loosened your hands on the wheel, tapping on the dashboard. Sometimes you sang along, although it made you a little embarrassed to have Spike watch since you were so off-key. This time he surprised you, matching Lou Gramm’s deep, smoky voice with his own.

“I would climb any mountain.” You could barely hear him over the wind, which made you wonder if your mind was playing tricks on you. But his mouth was moving in time with the music, forming around the well-loved words. “Sail across the stormy sea.”

Your eyes flickered to the road and then back to him. He was watching you, his lips pulled back in a wicked grin, less brooding than you had ever seen him. He could have been any boy you’d known all your life, engaging in the time-honored tradition of late night carpool karaoke. It was all you could do to remind yourself how dangerous he could be if he ever got the chip out of his head, how bad of an idea it would be to let yourself get wrapped up in the fantasy. You could hang out with Spike, try to humanize him, but he would never stop craving the kill. When he got tired of these games with you—

“If that’s what it takes me, baby, to show how much you mean to me.”

Your heart stuttered. Focus on the road, you told yourself, but it was hard when Spike’s fingers began creeping across the barren land of cupholders in between you.

“And I guess it’s just the woman in you, that brings out the man in me.”

He unbuckled the seatbelt that you always insisted he wear, despite the deadness, and his hand hovered over yours for a moment before abandoning it in search of another target.

The two of you were usually a little flirty, but this was something else entirely. This crossed a line that you worried couldn’t be redrawn.

“Spike—”

“I know I can’t help myself,” he breathed, brushing a strand of your wind-blown hair behind your ear. He missed a line as he peeled your right hand off the wheel, threading your fingers with his. He placed your clasped hands over his heart almost playfully, leaning close and whispering, knowing you’d shove him off in a second and taking full advantage anyway. If you glanced over, you’d see him smouldering at you in the way only vampires seemed able to perfect. “It feels like the first time.”

“Spike, sit— Oh, god!”

You threw your arm across his chest to keep him from hurtling through the windshield as you swerved to avoid a demon that had appeared out of nowhere in the middle of the road. It felt like your arm was going to be jerked out of its socket and he still hit his head hard on the dashboard, but he didn’t black out, which you were taking as a good sign.

Spike slumped against the seat, dazed, as you pressed your foot down hard on the gas in an attempt to outrun whatever it was. The engine purred and you let yourself breathe a sigh of relief, but it cropped up again.

“I hope my insurance covers this,” you muttered, deciding to hit it head-on, but your car stopped mere feet before the creature. Everything except the radio shut down completely.

Well, at least my own personal horror movie has a great soundtrack, you thought. Then it grabbed at you through the window and you could barely hear the music over the sound of your own screaming.

I have waited a lifetime.

The yak-headed demon wrenched you from the car, slicing through your seatbelt and tossing you out onto the side of the road. You rolled, scraping every exposed piece of skin up on the tar. Before you could stand, it lifted you by the back of your shirt with one clawed hand, leaving you hanging helplessly in mid-air. Then it dropped you. You bent to your knees to soften the impact and then straightened. It caught your foot when you kicked out, twisting your ankle harshly. The bone gave a sickening pop! and you screeched into the night. You had spent the past few years training to be strong enough to help Buffy, but the Slayer strength was unfortunately not genetic, and you still weighed considerably less than a demon that was the size of a grizzly bear.

It yanked you off balance, dragging your body toward it by your ruined ankle as a deep, hoarse laughter bubbled from its throat. Its jaw unhinged, dropping to the ground, as it opened wide.

Spent my time so foolishly.

You didn’t see Spike drag himself from the car due to the crippling fear, but he got its attention when he clocked the demon on the side of the head. You scooted yourself backward in a weak imitation of the crab walks your gym teacher made you do in elementary to avoid being flattened.

If you could make it to the car, you could grab Buffy’s tools, but it was all the way on the other side of the road. You’d have to crawl. God knew you couldn’t stand, not right now.

You cursed to yourself as you further scraped your tender skin, leaving it raw and bloody where it touched the ground. The demon almost tripped over you, but Spike hauled it off in another direction, trading blows that you could have sworn made the ground tremor.

“Is that the best you can do, mate?” Spike taunted even as blood dripped down his chin. He flicked his tongue out and licked it up in a motion that could only be described as feral. “Her little sister can hit harder than—”

He was thrown backwards on his ass a second later. When you got out of this, you were going to let him have it for that one.

It feels like the first time.

It hurt like hell to put pressure on your ankle, but you hauled yourself up by gripping the car handle and opened the back door. You kept all of your supplies hidden behind your duffel bag of work clothes in case you got pulled over, in a case that you stashed under the passenger seat. You had a couple stakes, a butcher knife, pepper spray... But nothing big enough to hurt something like this.

“Could use a little help over here, love,” Spike gasped. He clawed against the demon’s grip on his throat, failing to even leave surface level scratches.

You tossed him your tire iron in a panic and he caught it with one hand, but he couldn’t get the strength for a hard blow in his position. As his face reddened, you rushed in from behind to crack the demon on the back on the skull with your industrial strength flashlight.

Most lower level demons had a short attention span, and this one was no exception. You got one more hit in before it sent Spike flying and whirled around to face you. With one swipe, it sent you careening into the car.

Your impact actually left a small dent in the side of the sedan. You could barely see straight, the demon doubling and then tripling in your vision, but now you were pissed. You stumbled to your feet, barely succeeding keeping your dinner from hours earlier down.

“Stay... away... from my baby,” you wheezed.

Spike leapt onto the demon’s back, cutting off its air with the tire iron pressed against its windpipe. “No concern for me? Not very nice, pet.”

The demon wheeled backward and tripped over its own enormous feet. It almost crushed Spike beneath it. His grip loosened for a moment, but then he reapplied pressure and didn’t stop until the demon had been lying stock still for two minutes.

It felt like a lifetime.

“Get this thing off me!” he grunted finally, and you found it in yourself to lumber over. You almost got a mouth full of the pavement because your balance was so shot, but together you eased the beast off him.

You collapsed next to them, the three of you lined up like victims of a very strange and supernaturally diverse massacre. The world was still spinning. You crawled off to be sick in the grass.

A moment later, there was a crunching noise and then he was holding back your hair for you, steadying you so that you wouldn’t fall over into your own sick.

“I think maybe I should drive you to the hospital,” Spike said when you had finished. You shook your head, wiping your mouth on what was left of your sleeve.

“We’ve got a social worker visit this week. I don’t want them seeing the records. Just get me to Willow and Tara.”

“Whatever you say.”

He loaded you into the car, buckling your seatbelt for you. You almost reminded him to clip himself in as well, but then you saw the tattered remnants of the driver’s side and closed your mouth.

He turned the keys in the ignition and the radio came back to life. Spike turned it up, ignoring your complaints that it hurt your head.

“We can’t have you falling asleep before we get you all magicked up,” he said, actually hushing you. There was a surprisingly tender expression on his bruised and bloody face. “I’ll sing again, if you want. If it’ll keep you awake.”

He was only teasing, but you could use something soft right about now.

“Please.”

Mötley Crüe was on. It was hard not to close your eyes to the slower, sweeter beginning. You focused on the sky outside your window instead, dark and deep and inviting. You watched it so you wouldn’t watch Spike’s hands wrapped around the steering wheel or his Adam’s apple bobbing as he sang.

Take me to your heart.

He was willing you to look at him. You could feel it. But if you did, his eyes were going to tell you something you didn’t want to hear.

Feel me in your bones.

It was only after he had pulled into the driveway and you were helping each other up the front steps that you allowed yourself a glance. He caught you in it; of course he did. His arm looped with yours, your fingers pressing against his ribs, tangled up in each other in a messy support system, which was how all of this had started anyway. For a moment, you saw yourself from his perspective. Your hair sticking to the bloody cut on your forehead, your complexion a little washed out, an unhealthy sheen to your skin. You wanted to turn your head to make him stop staring at you, but it came to you in a flash of certainty that he didn’t mind. He had never minded.

Just one more night and I’m comin’ off this long and winding road.

Your body drew closer to his without your own consent. You looked up through your eyelashes at him, breathing shallow but quickening.

You had thrown up not too long ago. You felt like you might throw up again. You couldn’t do this. It was— it was wrong. This went past late night drives. This—

He bent down, unwrapping himself from you for a brief second. You almost sunk down onto the stoop, but then he readjusted his grip.

I’m on my way.

“Summers,” he murmured. “Are you feeling all right?”

It was like having a heat flash. The embarrassment could have killed you.

“I— Let’s get inside.”

“Let’s not be hasty.”

The front porch lights snapped on. Neither of you noticed.

I’m on my way.

“Want me to kiss it better?”

Oh. Oh.

His lips sealed themselves to yours, as the hand that wasn’t keeping you from collapsing traced over the curve of your jaw. You ran your fingers through his hair. It was soft, just like you had thought it would be. When you tugged on it, he sighed into your mouth.

He separated himself from your lips to latch onto your neck. He was careful not to leave a hickey as he ghosted over your shoulder, sucked on your collarbones, bit down gently on your earlobe. He felt so warm and alive and human.

Then the door opened and he dropped you.

“Holy fuck.”

Your breath escaped in a low hiss. Your ankle bent underneath you, shooting with white hot pain. Willow burst from the house.

“(Y/n), is that— Oh, my God, you look terrible! What happened? Spike, what happened? Are you okay?”

Home sweet home.

#fanfiction #buffy the vampire slayer #buffy season 5 #spike x reader #btvs

125 notes · View notes