#be really helpfully right now. man this is hard. i think this is the first time im actuallh talking about this dream. ty never knew about

[skyloftian-nutcase]

For the prompts:

Eepy time for eepy Time? Time getting pillow piled? Heck, Time getting cuddle piled? Big brother Everyone? Baby brother Time?

Adventuring was such a strange mix of emotions.

When Time had been little, the thought of adventure had consumed him. He'd wanted to go explore the Lost Woods, he'd wanted to fight monsters and find his fairy companion. After his journey and fight against Ganondorf, adventuring was all he had left.

But once he'd settled with Malon... adventuring still had its pull on him, and he enjoyed it. Truly, he did. And it was an honor to fight for others and protect everyone.

But by heaven did he miss just being home.

It usually took about three days for it to really hit him. He was still a victim of the excitement of setting out for somewhere new, after all, and so the first day or so he would be fine with his new journey. But by the third or fourth day, he'd miss the warmth of his bed, the embrace of his wife, the sound of her singing, the laughter from his father-in-law, the purring of the barn cat, the sound of hooves and mooing and neighing. He missed all of it.

He missed the company. He missed his family.

This journey was a little different, he supposed. He'd never had so many traveling companions, and one of them was family. But he was in charge here, and he had to keep them all safe. It didn't quite hold the same comfort to it.

Yawning, Time stretched and tried not to think about it too much. They'd just left Lon Lon Ranch a few days ago, so he knew the ache was hitting him, but he had to focus.

It was hard to focus when he was so tired, though.

Time huffed somewhat irritably. He was certain he wouldn't have felt this drained when he was younger. Then he huffed again. It wasn't like he was that old. Not physically, at least. He just felt old sometimes.

Time yawned again and scowled at himself for the gesture. Stop that.

"Old man, I think you need a nap."

The words were good natured coming from Wild, but Hyrule snickered, elbowing Legend and commenting that Time truly was old. The eldest Link huffed a little, amused and mildly annoyed, but he just waved a dismissive hand. "Probably so. Let's set up camp, though."

He let Warriors delegate tasks to the group, assisting Wind with gathering firewood. When the little sailor tried to carry more wood than his infinitely larger and stronger predecessor, it didn't go unnoticed.

Honestly. Being older didn't make him decrepit, for Farore's sake. The gesture was sweet and endearing, but slightly exasperating. When Hyrule joined them and Wind very helpfully pointed out that their leader was tired and they should carry most of the wood, Time finally just picked up both heroes, wood piles and all, by the back of their tunics, letting them squirm and wiggle as they protested their predicament.

Twilight laughed as the three reentered the camp. The gauntlets Time wore made the boys' weight essentially nothing, but he still felt even more drained nonetheless.

This was definitely just him being homesick. That and the fact that the hadn't slept well the last few nights.

Well. Probably that more than anything. But he did miss home.

Time glanced at Twilight, smiling at him as the rancher corralled the now grumpy Wind and still cackling Hyrule towards the fire pit Four had made. He could hear Malon's laughter in the man's own, and it warmed his heart.

And then he yawned again.

All right, this is just ridiculous.

Giving up, Time waved off Wild's question about dinner, heading for a corner to unpack his sleeping gear and take off his armor. He noticed Sky had already nodded off, having been in the process of unpacking his own things and just slumped over them instead. How that boy was ever comfortable in any of the places he passed out was beyond Time.

Oh, to be young, he supposed. He could curl up anywhere in his youth and wake up fine. Nowadays if he sneezed wrong he'd pop something.

Well. Youth was fleeting, and time was cruel. There was no point lingering on the matter.

Time plopped down next to Sky, unfolding his bed roll. The boy didn't stir, snoring lightly into his own bedroll that was halfway pulled out of his adventure pouch. The elder Link felt a twinge of sympathy for the exhausted teenager, opting to help get the boy's blankets unpacked so he could rest in a more comfortable position. That would imply he had to wake him up, though.

Well, maybe he should just leave him be. Sky's sleeping habits were all over the place, but the boy made do well enough.

Time yawned for what felt like the hundredth time that day, and he carefully removed his armor. Rubbing his face, he pinched the bridge of his nose, just standing there a moment and trying to muster up the energy to unpack everything. Honestly, he was fine just sleeping on the ground at this point.

He heard movement, and he glanced over to see Sky awake, groggily unpacking Time's sleeping items instead of his own.

"Sky," Time called softly, trying not to laugh at the addled teenager. "Wrong bag."

Sky paused, confused a moment, and then laughed, shaking his head. "No, no, I meant to. You look tired. I just... wanted to help a little. I promise I didn't go through your stuff, your mat is beside you bag."

Time stared at him a moment, and Sky halfheartedly backed away a little, misreading the man's naturally stern gaze. The elder hero was about to reply when Warriors walked up behind them, chuckling.

"Sky, you're such a mother hen," the captain commented. "I'm pretty sure the old man can do it himself. But I brought you both some water since you didn't refill your supply."

It was amazing how little escaped the captain's notice. Time gratefully took the water skin provided to him, settling on the ground beside Sky, who relaxed a little at the proximity.

Twilight joined them soon after. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," Time answered. Honestly, while Warriors kept tabs of everyone in a more tactical manner, Twilight was far fussier. It reminded him of Malon again, and he felt his heart both ache and soften. "Just a little tired."

Wind skipped over, plopping his own supplies down beside Time. "You're not sick, are you? I feel like you're not usually this sleepy."

Time sighed. All this attention was getting to be too much, but it was endearing nonetheless.

Legend wandered over silently, settling close by and pulling out some mending project he'd been working on. It looked like Four's undershirt - it probably was, as the boy had torn it in the skirmish they'd had yesterday.

"I wonder if we'll see Wolfie," Hyrule noted as he made his way over to the group, still armed. "I kind of miss him. He was good at alerting about danger."

"I still wish I could hug him," Wind grumbled. "He's so soft, but he's so grumpy!"

"He's not grumpy," Twilight huffed, and Time laughed. "He just doesn't like being coddled. He's a wolf, not a puppy."

It was probably the sleepiness, but Time found himself overly sentimental. "There's always a little bit of pup left."

Twilight watched him a moment, annoyance gone, eyes a little wide with gentle surprise. He softened slowly, making his way over to Time and sitting down beside him. Time was distracted, watching his descendant, and he missed that Warriors and Sky finished setting up his sleeping arrangements until the captain started walking back towards the fire. Time turned to thank Sky, at least, and found the young knight already passed out over his partly unpacked roll once more.

How...? Time shook his head, outright laughing quietly at the kid's antics, and elbowed Twilight. "Help that poor boy, will you?"

Twilight laughed too, nudging Sky gently. Wild came next, a bowl of warm stew in hand, quietly but earnestly waiting for Time's approval as he ate it. When Time gave him a warm smile and nodded his head, the cook brightened immensely, heading back to get another bowl.

Dinner was usually spent around the campfire, but this time all the boys meandered to Time's corner. The conversations were quiet, and it took a solid hour to convince Hyrule to finally put his sword down, but eventually Time found himself unable to keep his eyes open. Sky leaned against him, steadily falling asleep, and it was somehow the last little push his body needed to shut down.

Time awoke in the middle of the night, neck aching a little from leaning against the tree as he was, his head plopped over Sky's. He couldn't escape his predicament, though, as he found himself completely surrounded. Wind was using his legs as a pillow alongside Four, Twilight was in wolf form curled up on his left side with Wild snuggled in his fur, Hyrule had settled a step away from the others, curled around his sheathed blade, Legend was at his back, eye mask on and snoring, hand ghosting against Time's tunic.

Warriors sat across from him, eyes alert and sparkling in the firelight. When they locked eyes, the captain gave a little smile and a nod.

Time sighed, smiling in return, heart warm. Perhaps he wasn't quite so homesick anymore.

[aziraphales-library]

Hey, hope you’re well! Can you recommend any fics that really focus on the “politics” of Heaven and Hell? There can ofc be other themes, but I’m looking for the main ones to be political-thriller-style struggle. Thanks!

Hello. We have #heaven is a corporation and #hell is a bureaucracy tags with a couple of posts you may be interested in. Here are some more with a bit of politics...

I’m So Sorry My Dear: 1941’s Dance by Waspsfire (M)

It's the evening of the magic show, just after they toast to shades of grey. Azirphale finds the courage to admit his feelings to a shocked Crowley. They spend the next several days tucked away together in the bookshop but someone suspects that they are hiding something from Heaven and Hell. Things escalate quickly with visits from demons and angels demanding to know what has been going on and desparate action, and a proper apology, are needed to avoid destruction.

Face it alone by Angelica_Tree (G)

Aziraphale has every intention of changing Heaven for the better, but how do you change a large organization where everything is apparently working as intended? And who would’ve thought his new position would include so much paperwork? But Aziraphale soon discovers that his problems with staying afloat are nothing compared to what is heading his way; a power struggle between the Almighty’s Voice and Her Son. Aziraphale has to choose sides. Quickly. And without Crowley by his side. This is the second fic in ‘The power of love’ series. Can be read separately, since the first fic (Keep yourself alive) deals with Crowley’s experiences on Earth.

The Myth of Aziraphale by Shay_Moonsilk (E)

“I didn’t really Fall,” Crowley reflected, twisting the apple about in his hands. “Just, you know. Sauntered vaguely downwards.” “Downwards, into ruling the Underworld?” Aziraphale asked, unable to keep the dubiousness out of his voice. He kept his gaze on the demon’s face, lest he be tempted to eat the apple and seal his fate to Crowley. It did look rather tempting. The King shrugged and said, “Promotions come easy to me,” and took a large bite, though it was Aziraphale himself that felt devoured. --- Armageddon never happened. Crowley is the King of Hell. Aziraphale doesn't want to get married to an angel he doesn't love. Perhaps time in the underworld will help them find the answers they need.

tales from a bookshop by Rizandace (T)

Post-season-two. Crowley's moping, Aziraphale wants to fix things, and turns out, there's enough blame to go around. ----- “You’re being ridiculous.” Crowley very nearly falls over. Like, actually. He very nearly loses balance for no reason at all and tumbles to the sidewalk next to his car. He’s been playing Aziraphale’s voice in his head for weeks, he’s been trying very hard to drown out the sound of it, in fact, and now suddenly, abruptly— “What are you doing here,” is all he can think to say. He whirls around, and there he is. On Crowley’s right, standing there like he’d never left. Where he belongs, Crowley’s mind helpfully supplies. He wishes he could punch himself in the brain, knock the thoughts right on out of there.

Taking Your Heaven By Force by Varjo (T)

Gabriel and Beelzebub have a conference after the Apocalypse went down the drain and they failed to punish the culprits. Venom is in the air; they need a new plan, new directions, a new... something to direct their, and their underlings' efforts toward. Also, both of them just very much would like this to be over, thank you very much. Then, how would it be if they just cut the middle man out? If Lady Almighty won't allow them to have their respite, their Elysium, among the shattered remains of a burned Earth, maybe it is upon them to turn Earth itself into their Elysium. Humans should be much easier to sway and influence than their angelic and demonic brethren. One of them will win, in the end, and be able to have their much-needed rest in a world built according to their ideals.

two of hearts by doctormissy (E)

Crowley winced and turned around. He squinted at the King of Hell and his two-day stubble and expensive suit and bloody audacity. His Hell-trained survival instincts really didn’t like this. That ancient part of him who’s known this man-shaped being since he was a hatchling filed away his escape plan for later, however. Or: Crowley and Lucifer are siblings, and sure, they’re not exactly on speaking terms now, but that doesn’t stop Lucifer from knocking on Crowley and Aziraphale’s door on a Sunday morning, asking for help. Needless to say, it doesn’t go exactly as planned… [Or or: on relationships, the Throne of Hell, absolution, and the universe's most dysfunctional family—maybe—coming to senses.]

- Mod D

[jamesthedigidestined]

TaiKouvember 2024, Day 1: Friendship

"Tch... this better be important.” Yamato gripes internally, a backpack slung over his shoulder, a sharp-looking spike squirming out of the half-open zipper.

“Don’t worry, Matt, it’s your friends! They’re always important.” Tsunomon exclaims, bumping into his partner happily.

“I guess, but Taichi just called me over randomly. The least he could do is tell me what’s going on.” Yamato sighs, pulling out his PDA. Its sleek metallic blue shell shimmers in the midday Sun as he quickly opens the GPS to make sure he’s going the right way. 

Admittedly, it was rare for him to meet up at Taichi’s apartment, instead opting to meet them in public or at Joe’s. Not that he disliked the gogglehead or his family, but it was easier that way. 

“Matt, weren’t you supposed to take the next left? You went straight.” Tsunomon helpfully asks, pushing more of his body weight against Yamato’s back for emphasis. 

“Oh, right. Thanks, buddy.” The blonde replies simply, softly rustling the backpack as he takes the proper turn, soon ending up in front of the Kamiya Yagami house. 

Knocking on the door at the appropriate strength soon opens the door, revealing a disheveled Taichi, covered in flour and with a pink apron a few sizes too small. “Hey Yamato! Glad you could make it!”

Yamato, naturally, turns the other way and begins to leave. If only he was so lucky. 

“Oh no, you don’t! Koromon, like we planned!” Taichi yells out, dashing after the quickly accelerating blonde. 

“On it, Tai!” Koromon assures his friend, jumping high into the air and latching onto the back of Yamato’s head, blinding him with his rabbit-like ears as Taichi grabs Yamato, restraining his arms, and forcibly carries him inside. 

“Taichi! Let me go! What’s gotten into you?!" Yamato growls and writhes as Taichi laughs, keeping his superior hold firm. 

"You said you'd help! Now quit struggling!" 

“Let me go, and I’d quit struggling!”

“Promise?” 

“Ugh, fine. Promise.”

“Amazing! Kou, get flour! Koromon, you did a great job!“ 

Taichi begins to loosen his hold on Yamato, setting him squarely in the living room as Koromon readily jumps off, spitting and hacking. 

“Gah, I think I have a hairball.” 

“Do it outside, kid; learned that one the hard way,” Gatomon advises, stretching out on the sofa lazily. 

Yamato, adjusting to the scene in front of him, takes it all in while Tsunomon hops out of the bag and over to Mochimon, who’s playing a game on the TV. Koushirou is in a green apron far too large for his small frame, while Taichi is wearing a pink one that’s far too small for his build. They’re both covered in flour, with a... lump of charcoal on the counter. Oh boy, here we go. *Again.*

“Do I *really* have to be here?” Yamato groans, crossing his arms and sitting at the table before continuing, “I already taught you two how to make eggs; isn’t that enough?” 

“Of course not! My mom says a proper man should know how to cook!” Taichi argues, puffing his chest out properly.

“Then learn from her! I nearly died from stress teaching you the first time!” 

“Please, Yamato-san? I can help with teaching Taichi-san, so you don’t have to worry as much.” Koushirou reassures, and Yamato finds it hard to doubt him. 

“Fine, but I’m making this quick. I have band practice at 2.” Yamato acquiesces to their demands, moving to pick up the only available apron, a “kiss the cook” novelty undoubtedly meant for Taichi’s father. 

“Oh? I didn’t know it was still a band with only one person.” Taichi teases, grinning playfully at Yamato. 

“Why you…! I’ll let you know we got a drummer just yesterday!”

“I believe the proper term would be ‘duo’ then, Yamato-san.” 

“Not you too!” 

While this goes on, Gatomon casually carries the ailing Koromon to the patio before he can hack up the hairball. It was blonde. 

[sabraeal]

Seven Swipes for Shirayuki, Chapter 6

[Read on AO3]

Obiyuki Trope Madness 2024, Semifinal #1: Bodyguard Crush

“Yuuta.” Names have never been Shirayuki’s forte; she struggles with Sarah and Sara, crosses her fingers when she comes across a Siobhan or a Ciaran, and now labors to decipher whether this is a ‘u’ sound or an ‘oo’ sound— gosh, it might even be a ‘uu’ situation, which is a whole other disaster entirely—

“Does he have a last name to go with that?” Obi murmurs, just loud enough for her to catch it. Well, so she hopes. “Or maybe you could just ask him for his number. Skip the whole swiping song-and-dance and just get down to—”

“Could you spell that for me?” she asks, a hair louder than necessary, hoping her smile doesn’t flicker under pressure the way old fluorescents do . “The patient’s name, I mean.”

“Oh! The…the patient’s…” Her well-meaning visitor shuffles, pink flaring up right under the spray of small freckles across his cheeks. It really is just like being back at the old B&B again, trying to smother a laugh as the sweet retriever from down the street keeps bringing back the wrong ball. “Right, of course. You need the patient’s…god, sorry, I wasn’t even thinking…”

“Happens all the time.” She bites back a smile as pink blooms into carnelian red. “We don’t tend to see people at their most put-together here.”

“Haah, right, makes sense.” His tanned hand digs into the tousles mass of his hair, sending it wild. It's a charming look, she has to admit. Makes her wish there were Beggin’ Strips for people too— he looks like he could use a treat. “Just feels a little stupid, that’s all. Not like you could look me up. In a patient registry, I mean.”

“You got a Tinder, though?” Obi crosses an knobby ankle over his knee, pant leg riding up enough to show the chili peppers on his socks. “OkCupid? Plenty of Fish?”

"Uh." The man blinks, first at him, then at her, as if she might confirm that this line of questioning is somehow part of the official visitor registration process. It's not. “Y-yes?”

"Ooh?" Obi pitches forward, fingers poised over the app store. “Which—?”

“Obi.”

“What?” Having reached the end of his leash, her wayward hound finally comes to heel. With a tug of his coat, he slouches back, not a hint of contrition lingering in that smirk of his. “I was just wondering.”

She lets her glare do the heavy lifting as she repeats, “What was the name again?”

“Ah, my dad’s? Katsu. Katsu Baudin.” The man coughs, clearing his throat. “And I’m, uh, his son. Yuuta.”

“We know,” Obi chirps helpfully as she puts in her login. It shouldn’t work— IT’s supposed to update the registry at midnight, and she’s been legally off payroll for three days— but the system only takes a long, hard think and rolls over, displaying patient information with the same enthusiasm as a dog wagging its tail. “With two ‘u’s?”

“Uh…”

Her visitor— Yuuta— glances at her, but she’s too busy tallying the number of security and privacy regulations violated to give him much more than, “Katsu Baudin, Room 7760.”

There should be some palpable relief on the air, or at least the barest whiff of gratitude, but instead their wayward visitor shuffles awkwardly behind the counter, not flushed but— strained, maybe. “Um, sorry, I don’t mean to be a pain or anything, but do you think—?”

“Two floors down.” Wistal is hardly as labyrinthine as Wirant— built into a hill, each wing designed to be the magmum opus of architects thirty years apart, resulting in atria so beautiful they graced the covers of Architectural Digests and hallways so nonsensical as to be be hostile to human life, with entrances on every floor between the first and the fourth besides the third— but with each level laid out exactly like the last, it’s easy to get turned around. “If you go straight out from the elevators, take your second right. 7760 should be down that hall on your left.”

“Ahh, right, thanks. That’s…a huge help.” He hesitates, gaze fixed down the hall as if it were a thousand yards instead of five. His fingers fingers drum nervously on the counter top. “I don’t want to— I mean, it’s just—”

He hangs his head, dark eyes huge and pleading as they peer up from under that fluffy flop of hair, as helpless as a dog that’s found a door it can’t nose open. “I suck at directions.”

It takes every last ounce of her self control to keep only the corners of her mouth twitching. “That’s no problem at all. Just let me call down to their desk and give them the heads up that you're coming. Then you can go there and have someone take you right to the room.”

“Oh!” His head snaps up, eyes so wide she can nearly see a waggling tail behind him. “You can do that? Er, I mean…I wouldn’t want to put you out…?”

In Wilant there would have been some grumbling, some pointed questions about just how many times his parents had dropped him on his head as a child if he couldn’t go two floors down and take a turn without getting it all twisted, but here—

Shirayuki glances across the hall, catching a flash of pale hair above a designer button-down, of a profile that has graced more covers of GQ than she’s got fingers on one hand. As exceptional as Izana is, she doubts that’s even the most impressive statistics on the floor. There’s a husband just around the corner she’s pretty sure has a collection of Super Bowl rings. Recent ones, considering all the rubbernecking outside their door.

“They’re used to worse,” Obi offers, so helpful as he scrolls. “A little hand holding isn’t going to break the scale.”

Yuuta blinks down at him. “Er, all right. If you’re sure.”

“Please,” he scoffs, slouching further into the ergonomic plastic. “Unless you’re bringing your mistress to watch your wife go through labor, no one's even going to—”

“Just a minute!” Shirayuki smiles as she picks up the phone, refusing to acknowledge anything over her shoulder. “Let me see what I can do.”

*

There may be no phone trees or music on internal lines, but there’s still plenty of waiting, especially with no voicemail for stale calls to be shunted to. Still, it’s only a few minutes before someone picks up— a nurse fresh from shift change, happy to take of ‘that old charmer’s baby.’ Watching Yuuta’s back disappear into the elevator makes a nice ending to an unplanned long night, and Shirayuki—

“What, you aren’t going to go with him?” Obi leans back in his chair, straining the ergonomic claims of those cushions. “Make sure the prodigal son makes it back home? Maybe hold his hand a little?”

“I think he’ll manage just fine.” She blows out her cheeks as she sits, letting her mouth settle into her sternest frown. “Now, I trust you deleted that thing?”

“Me? No. I’ve swiped right on three real studs already. And let me just say” —he presses a hand to his chest, the silk of his tie rumpling under the pressure— “I chose better for you than you choose for yourself.”

“Obi!” It’s a strangled noise, one she just barely keeps to quiet-hours guidelines. “I told you that I wasn’t interested in—!”

“Trust me, Miss,” he soothes, entirely too smug. “You’ll be interested in these guys. Or at least their traps.”

“I thought we agreed that—”

“We didn’t agree on anything.” His eyebrows may twitch up to angelic heights, but his attempts at innocence are ruined by the downright sly curl his mouth takes. “You said I should, and I declined to take your advice.”

All at once, the fight seeps out of her, leaving only the weariest sigh in its wake. “Obi…”

“Aww, come on, now, Miss. No need to go borrowing trouble yet. It's not like you've matched.” His lips twitch. “Yet. But let’s be real, who could say no to a knock-out like y—?”

“You are going to delete that,” she informs him with all the authority of a limp dish rag. “Right now. While I can watch.”

“Aw, Miss,” he whines, using only the most pitiful pitches. “I’m just helping.”

Shirayuki stares. “You think this is helping?”

“Of course.” His shoulders twitch, halfway between a shrug and a shield. “What better way to recover from a bad break up then having someone blow out your—?”

“Ah, no!” Her hand flies up, the flimsiest barrier between them. “Don’t— don’t finish that thought.”

“But, Miss—”

“I appreciate your…consideration,” she informs him, gracious. “Really, I do. But I think that maybe you and I process this sort of thing differently. Very…very differently.”

“I didn’t say you had to jump right into bed.” Though he sounds dubious on that order of operations. “But you could let someone take you out, treat you right. And then maybe on date three, you—”

“Three?” It’d taken almost six months for her to even kiss Zen, let alone even think about the sort of activities that might require the removal of clothes. And by then, it took them three months of planning to even get them in the same room. “Do people really…?”

“You know how it is, Miss.” Obi’s sprawled across the chair, lounging in a way its ergonomic bullet points were never supposed to accommodate, but there’s nothing casual about the way his eyes settle on her. “People are busy nowadays. Not much time to take it slow.”

“I have time.”

Shirayuki nearly jolts straight out of her chair. “Ryuu?”

*

(Shirayuki’s not given to believe in the supernatural— not ghosts, not ESP, not sixth senses that seem to only work in hindsight— but she’ll give Yuzuri this: her ability to locate her anywhere in this rabbit warren of hallways is downright occult.

“Have I got the goss for you, girl,” she squeals, stealing a baby carrot out of her lunch box as she slips into the empty seat beside her. It’s all empty seats in the break room right now, but Yuzuri rolls even closer, voice pitched low. “Word on the street is that Ryuu’s got something going on with the new intern.”

“In Imaging?” It’s hard to picture her— she’s a shy thing, always disappearing behind a white coat as a cart turns a corner, just a blonde ponytail above pink scrubs. “I guess they’re around the same age.”

“Same age,” Yuzuri scoffs, gnawing on her ill-gotten gains. “Is that what you think people care about? The same age? No, this girl is like…his type.”

That doesn’t sound quite right, not to her ears. “I don’t really think Ryuu has—”

“Of course he does. Everyone has a type, Shirayuki, even you.” Her voice drops to mutter something that sounds suspiciously like, “Even if you don’t realize it.”

“I just mean that Ryuu hasn’t shown much interest in…anything like that.” Romance, she means. But if she says it, Yuzuri will probably counter with something about sex, and quite honestly, she’s not sure if she can handle Ryuu and... and that idea in the same sentence. “I’m not really sure he wants to, either.”

“Yeah, yeah, normally I’d agree with you,” Yuzuri says with a dismissive wave. “But this girl is like, smart. And super cute. Like freckles everywhere! And her laugh— seriously, you have to hear it. He like, smiled and stuff.”

Well, the smile is a start. “Is that what his type is? Smart and cute? Freckles?”

“I mean, basically right?” Her hand flop open into something between a slouch and a shrug. “That’s what you’re like.”

It’s a good thing there’s no silverware involved in eating hummus, otherwise it would have clattered to the floor. It’s sad enough that she’ll have to toss out this baby carrot casualty. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, you know how it is,” Yuzuri presses on, as if she didn’t just drop a detail more devastating than an atom bomb. “It’s not about you. It’s just that every guy wants to fuck their mom or whatever. Freudian stuff.”

Shirayuki has opinions on Freud— capital ‘O’ Opinions, as Obi likes to call them, along with, the kind that don’t get us asked back to the country’s finest conferences— but all she can manage is, “I think I’m more like a sister than a mother.”

Yuzuri shrugs. “Same difference.”)

*

“Ryuu.” Her hand slaps to her chest, as if that might keep her heart beneath it better than own her ribcage. Which might be true, from how hard its pounding to get out. Shirayuki can hardly blame it. “What are you…? Ah, I mean, were you…?”

It’s still strange to have to look up to meet his eyes, to see the way his face furrows with the beginnings of annoyance. “It’s now or not until after four. Should I come back?”

“Wha— oh, the ultrasound.” Now that she’s on her feet, she can see the cart at his side, loaded up with one of the mobile units he must have requisitioned from Imaging. “Are you doing it?”

“I said I would.”

There’s no humble shrug to go with his words, no inflection to imply emotion, just a simple recitation of the facts. “Well, yes, but I thought you would have one of the techs on shift come up and—”

“I had time.” His shoulders settle into stern angles as his chin lifts, as imperious as any MD. “Is there a problem with that?”

There’s a half dozen, starting and ending with how he’s the Attending today; someone who has a thousand more pressing responsibilities than doing some investigative ultrasound for her patient. But as much as she might try, the words won’t stick together in her mouth, won’t let her make anything but the most unconvincing sputter. “N-no, it’s only—”

“Aw, come on, big guy.” Obi saunters up to the counter, elbow brushing her shoulder as he furls himself up for a lean. It’s nice; steadying. “You know there’s no one else Miss would trust to do this more than you. But don’t big shots like you have busy schedules? I wouldn’t think you’d have the time to come help little old us.”

A stubborn red that clings to the tips of his ears. “As I said, I do. Is it in that room, there?”

His head bobs toward the door. There’s no one behind the window now, just a straight view from hall to window, blinds strung tight across the glass.

“Yes, 9060.” He’s already wheeling the cart towards it when she adds, “Izana should be with her, too.”

The cart squeals to a stop.

“Oh.” His knuckles blanch so white she can see bone where they grip the handle. “Then maybe I should come back. Later. After…”

He doesn’t finish the thought. Shirayuki frowns. “I don’t see why. Is there something wrong with—?”

“Oh, I get it.” Obi’s smirk stretches long into a leer as he leans toward her, voice pitched to be heard as he whispers, “I think he’s afraid of Her Majesty. Intimidated by laying hands on America’s Sweetheart. Little too famous for his blood, I—”

“I didn’t say that,” Ryuu grumbles, sullen. “I’m not laying hands on her anyway. It’s only the probe that will—”

“So it’s His Majesty then,” Obi amends, so considerate. It’s a struggle to keep her mouth from twitching, giggles straining behind her teeth. “Can’t say I blame you for that one, little guy. That guy makes me break out into a cold sweat.”

“I’m not afraid of Izana Wisteria.” The name snaps between his teeth, cold. “I just thought that if she has a visitor, she might not want to be interrupt—”

“You know, Miss.” It’s hard to call something as languid as Obi’s lounging aggressive, but that’s what it is— weaponized slinkiness, the way a cat weaves through legs at dinnertime. “If Ryuu thinks that this is too rich for his blood, you should really just get someone else to—”

“I’m doing it.” The cart squeals as it angles toward the door, wheels grinding with the same single-minded focus as Ryuu’s teeth. “I— I’m already going!”

He doesn’t so much march as storm over, shoulders hiked like pickets by his ears as he knocks at the door. “Excuse me,” he says, swinging it open. “Name and birth date, please.”

It shuts before she can hear Haki’s answer.

*

“Boo.” Obi doesn’t so much sit as he does slump, a puppet with all his strings cut. “He coulda kept that door open a smidge longer. I've heard that America’s Sweetheart fudged the date on her birth certificate to get that role in Mean Girls.”

“I doubt that.” Shirayuki spares him the flattest stare, fingers striking the keys with a pointed power as she logs out from the system. “Her family’s a big deal, aren’t they? Hollywood Royalty, isn’t that what Yuzuri called it?”

“Miss.” His shoulders shake along with his head. “Only you could ask if the Arleons were a big deal.”

Years ago she might have blushed, might have stammered out excuses about the how cable didn’t run out that far until she was in college, and the combination post office/movie theater in town only ran movies two years out of date, but now— now she simply says, “That proves my point, doesn’t it? There were probably newspaper articles about it. An entertainment Weekly birth announcement? Something. It can’t be much of a mystery.”

“There was also some website that counted down to her eighteenth birthday.” He shrugs, casual, as if that isn’t the most horrifying thing he’s ever heard. Then again, knowing Obi, it probably doesn’t even make the top thirty. “But you know, once you get a thing like that in your head…”

He lets his grin do the rest of the talking. Like all of his outrageous behavior, she simply ignores.

“Thank you for that, by the way.” One of his narrow brows hikes up toward his hairline, and she clarifies, “With Ryuu. You’ve always known how to handle him better than I do.”

“You do just fine.” The seat creaks as he tucks his thigh against its arm, elbow lazily hooking over his knee. “He just needs a little heat to get him into the kitchen sometimes. And you’re not someone who’s comfortable with turning it up. Especially when it comes to Ryuu.”

Shirayuki doubts her interns would agree with that particular assessment, but she simply says, “Thank you anyway. If you hadn’t been here, I think we really would have been waiting until four.”

Obi hums. “Oh, I’m not sure about that, Miss. Seems like you handled it just fine the other day.”

She blinks. “The other day?”

“You know.” His shoulders twitch, the laziest suggestion of a shrug. “Ms. Luteal Cyst?”

*

(The cart wheels catch on the threshold, casters making a nasty ka-crack as they struggle over the metal strip. The noise alone has got her grimacing, but when she sees the close-cropped dark hair, so like Obi’s now that all the curls have been left on the barber shop floor, her mouth pulls thinner still.

“Ryuu.” He’s supposed to be on days this week— at least according to the schedule posted up in the break room— but yet he’s here, wincing as the last wheel wails across the floor. Ah, and he’s gotten the squeaky cart. “I didn’t think you’d be…?”

In, she wants to say, but doing the tech’s job keeps trying to elbow its way out at the same time, and instead the question just hangs, awkward.

“Oh, Shirayuki.” He blinks, first at her, then as he leans out the door, as if—

“This is the right room!” she assures him, a laugh startling out of here. “It’s just a slow shift, so I though I might keep my friend here company while she waited.”

“Oh.” The girl sinks further into her pillows as he stares, withering under the stern furrow of his brows. Shirayuki’s half-tempted to tell her that it’s not personal, that without regular reminders, Ryuu’s face defaults to forbidding. “The gel’s going to be cold.”

“I-I don’t care.” She lifts her chin, defiant; a challenge if he means to make it one. “Anything’s fine as along as my baby’s okay.”

Ryuu shoots her a wary glance across the bed— don’t let this girl have emotions on me, it says, loud and clear— before he turns back to the computer, fingers clacking pointedly across the keys. That leaves her to help the girl lift up her johnny, rearranging blankets and drop cloth so her legs and clothes are covered, terrible mesh underwear and all.

“I’m surprised to see you here.” The words might be for Ryuu, but Shirayuki keeps smiling down at her patient, trying to keep her in the conversation. “Usually we don’t have doctors doing untrasound, but Dr Goldregen sometimes helps out when there’s a bit of a scheduling back up—”

“Or when the tech no-shows.”

Her smile stiffens. “O-or that.”)

*

“Ah…” Shirayuki shakes her head. “That didn’t have anything to do with me. Mihaya was late for shift change—”

“Must be nice to have a wing of a hospital named after your family,” Obi muses, head tilted over the back of the chair. “Then you can just waltz into work at any old time, and everyone just says ‘thank you for your time.’”

“I don’t think anyone says that to him,” she snorts. “And he does a passable job when he’s here, so—”

“So no one can fire him.”

Shirayuki struggles against a smile. “So no one can fire him. Ryuu just got here early for shift change and saw there had been a request pending for over an hour. It had more to do with being efficient than helping me.”

Obi hums, unconvinced. “I think you underestimate just how much that kid likes to please you. Maybe he didn’t know it was your patient or whatever, but I bet he showed off once he knew you were there. Probably had good bedside manner and everything.”

*

(The girl yips at the first touch of gel on her stomach, but Ryuu doesn’t even flinch, already pressing the probe down to spread it around. “It’s cold!”

He sends her a sidelong look. “I did warn you.”)

*

“Not…measurably.” It’s effort to keep her tone even. “Ryuu respects my opinion, but he’s really not the sort of person to give special treatment just because—”

“I’m done.”

“Ryuu!” Zen used to joke about putting a bell on Obi— or at least he did, before Obi sent him an Amazon link to a few human-sized collars— but Shirayuki is beginning to wonder if they might need to find one for Ryuu. Last thing they need is for him to startle someone into coding. “A-already?”

He nods. “One sac.”

Shirayuki frowns. That’s hardly what she expected. “Are you sure? Sometimes it’s tricky to see if—”

“I checked for a posterior placenta too.” His shoulders twitch, the barest shrug. “Sometimes hyperemesis gravidium is just hyperemesis gravidium.”

“I guess.” There’s just something unsatisfying about saying it’s hormones; something that feels dismissive rather than diagnostic. “I just could have sworn…”

“What I said before.” Ryuu clears his throat, looking like he’d rather be anywhere than right here, standing in front of the nurse’s desk. “About not doing it again.”

“I know, I know.” She sighs, waving a hand. “It was already kind of you to do it this time— and personally too. I won’t ask again.”

“No, that’s not…” His lips press tight, a white line cutting across his face. “I mean, I���ll do it, if you really need it.”

She blinks. “Really?”

“In a few weeks,” he tells her, stern, as if she might turn around and tell him to go back in there. “There’s things that might not show up now. Rare things. But…things.”

“That’s really kind of you, Ryuu.” For anyone else, she might reach out— pat their shoulder, shake their hand— but for him, she just smiles. But the way he straightens, it’s enough. “But I’d hate to bother you after—”

“It’s not a bother. If you think something’s wrong, I believe you.” It’s been ages since he was the boy genius, a teenager that trembled when he walked onto the floor. But there’s shades of it now in the way he looks at her, gratitude and trust and affection all tangled up into something that makes it hard to look away from his too-blue eyes. “Garrack always told me that you have good intuition. My own experience agrees. It would be foolish to deny that based on something so subjective as statistics.”

It must be a little too earnest even for him, since he shakes himself, quickly adding, “I have other things to do today. Goodbye.”

He rolls off, squeaky cart wheel wailing, and all she can do is stare at his back.

Obi snorts. “No special treatment, huh?”

She’s not sure how to answer, but she’s saved from having to figure it out when Obi’s phone blings obnoxiously. “What’s that?”

He glances down at the screen, mouth unfurling into a terribly devious grin.

“Why look at that, Miss,” he drawls. “Looks like we got a match.”

[walker-extended-universe]

A Killer by Any Other Name, Chapter 2

Chapter 1

Relationship(s): Liam Walker & Cordell Walker, Malcolm Bright & Dani Powell, Micki Ramirez & Cordell Walker

Tags/Warnings: Graphic Description, Murder, Investigations, Wrongful Imprisonment, Mistaken Identity

Summary: Cordell Walker is accused of twelve counts of first degree murder due to some damning evidence. Problem is, he didn't do it. Liam is determined to prove this so he calls on an old friend, Malcolm Bright, for some help. Meanwhile, Sam Winchester hears of the case and it doesn't take him long to figure out Walker has been pinned for one of their hunts. He can't sit by and watch an innocent man go to jail so he resolves to help in any way he can.

Written for @augustofwhump Day 7: Promise

Taglist: @theladywyn, @ihavepointysticks, @klaatu51, @itsjessiegirl1, @neptunium134

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

"So what are we looking at here?" Dani asked.

Malcolm shrugged and settled into his airplane seat. "I'm not sure; haven't had a chance to look at the case file yet." He pulled his briefcase into his lap. "Wanna do that now?"

"May as well; we'll have a few hours to kill."

It was a pretty straightforward case. 12 dead bodies (“Dodeca homicide,” Bright helpfully supplied) and one fateful DNA test tied in with a few witness statements made Cordell Walker, Texas Ranger, their prime suspect. “No one actually saw him do it, right?”

“No,” Bright confirmed. “But the neighbors pegged someone matching his general description being in the area at the time and the DNA is a near perfect match. Plus, he doesn’t have a solid alibi….”

“Seems pretty cut and dry to me, sad as it is. Why are we looking into this?”

“Our suspect’s brother is an old college friend of mine and he’s convinced there’s something wrong with the case. He called me in as a favor to get a second opinion before it gets to court. Just looking at the case, I don’t think we actually have to figure out who solved the case; we just need to prove that it wasn’t our good friend Walker.”

“And how are we going to do that?”

“By creating a criminal profile and proving that he doesn’t fit it.”

“Will that work? I mean, could you convince a jury?”

“I don’t have to convince a jury,” Malcolm said. “I just have to convince the prosecution to drop the charges and return the investigation to the DPS so they can get back to looking for the actual criminal.”

“Assuming Walker is innocent.”

“Yes, assuming Walker is innocent.” Malcolm sighed. “I really hope he is. I’d hate to let down a friend.”

“Hey, if this guy is guilty, then you’re not the one that let your friend down, okay?” Dani said, petting Malcolm's leg. “His brother did that all on his own.”

“I know, I know. I just….” he shook his head. “I just hope he’s innocent.”

“That’s all we can do.” Dani was saved from any further useless comforting by the flight attendants starting the safety presentation. In just a few hours, they’d be in Texas. Then, the real work would begin. Hopefully, they weren’t flying out there for nothing.

—--------

Cordell flipped mindlessly through reality TV channels, trying to find something to distract him from the quiet house. He was lucky to be allowed to come home instead of waiting in a cell, but the drawback was that his family couldn’t be there. Aside from Liam, as his lawyer, and an armed babysitter, he was alone. He was too dangerous to be among humanity and was only given these small comforts by mercy of a few technicalities.

Normally those tiny laws irritated him because they made his job harder. Now, he couldn’t be more grateful. But he knew it was only a small mercy. With no other suspects and some hard evidence against him, he’d likely go away for life, no matter how innocent he was.

Just thinking about where his future was likely heading was depressing. Too bad there was nothing good on TV to distract him.

A knock on the door startled him so badly he almost reached for the gun he wasn’t allowed to hold anymore. He smiled when he saw who was on the other side of it. “Hey, Micki. I can’t believe the guard dogs let you in.”

“Hey.” Micki stopped at the end of the couch. “You look comfy.”

He shrugged. “I’m not going to complain. Could be a lot worse.”

She sighed. “I don’t know about that. I’ve gone over every detail of this case about a hundred times and I’ve got nothing. We might be able to argue against the eyewitness accounts since the crime scene is in such an isolated area but…. It’s hard to refute DNA evidence.”

“I know,” he said softly. “I wasn’t expecting you to pull a miracle. Just- Thanks for trying.”

“Hey, I’m not giving up yet, partner. Everyone knows you didn’t do it. We just have to figure out a way to prove it, that’s all. And I won’t stop until I do.”

“I know. Just- Don’t be too hard on yourself, okay?”

She nodded. “I’ll try.”

They were distracted from any further consolations by another knock on the door. This time, it was Liam- and he had some guests.

“This is Malcolm Bright and Detective Dani Powell. I asked them to help with your case.”

“We already have a team of investigators,” Micki said.

“But do you have a profiler?” Malcolm asked. “That’s what I do. I’ve been talking to Liam and I think if I can convince the DPS that you’re just not the right suspect for the case, that will get you out of the hotseat.”

“You don’t sound very confident,” Cordell said.

“It’s a long shot,” Malcolm admitted. “But I promise I’ll do everything I can to prove your innocence.”

Cordell nodded. For some reason, he believed this stranger. “Alright. Where do we start?”

Malcolm smiled. “Why don’t we start with your side of the story?”

—-----------------

Sam found himself a decent motel room on the outskirts of Austin. If he was going to try to help, he needed a game plan first. This wasn't like a normal hunt, where he’d need to show his face to the cops maybe once and be able to trick them with an ID they probably wouldn’t inspect too closely. A high-profile arrest like this probably already had FBI agents on it and the last thing he wanted to do was attract their attention. He needed a way to anonymously help the investigation without getting close enough that they’d ask questions.

Dean was probably right that he was stupid to even consider this, but he couldn’t let someone else face the consequences for his own mistakes. He needed to fix this, or he’d never forgive himself.

The first thing he needed to do was figure out what went wrong. He got out his laptop and got to work hacking into the Austin DPS case files. There had to be something useful in there. If he could just figure out what evidence he needed to disprove….

After about an hour of poking around their cybersecurity, Sam was able to get in and locate the file for the Ranger’s arrest. And there, he found his answers. Very close DNA match and witness testimony.

Not very easy to fix. Actually, nearly impossible to fix. An eyewitness was bad enough, but combine that with DNA…. There wasn’t much Sam could do to undo that. Not without presenting better evidence that someone else was behind the case, which would be basically impossible.

Unless….

Unless he did get close enough to get involved. Unless he presented himself as a potential suspect. Unless he was suspicious enough to get the blame thrown off of Walker and onto him. Their DNA was obviously close enough and there was an uncanny resemblance.

It was risky, but it would work. He just needed to make sure he didn’t really get caught.

Wouldn’t be the first time he ran out of town by the seat of his pants. What was one more FBI charge?

[wicked-jade]

Tagged by @vimesbootstheory, thank you, dear! 🥰

Rules: You will be given a word. Share one sentence/excerpt from your wip(s) that start with each letter of that word. My word was FUEL.

F: From the next chapter of 'Karate DILF'. Anthony and Johnny finally get a moment.

“For the pizza, dipshit. If you have any left, you should fry it up and add it to the prosciutto pizza you’re making for dad. Don’t get me wrong, your first attempt was good, but it was missing something. And everything’s better with bacon.”

Dumbfounded by the boy’s sudden desire to be helpful, Johnny stared blankly at him for a few more beats before narrowing his eyes in suspicion.

“Thought you refused to be part of this farce. Why are you helping me now?”

“Whoever cooks doesn’t do the dishes,” Anthony explained slowly, like he was speaking to a five-year-old. “House rules.”

“Not what I meant.”

U: I had a lot of problems finding sentences that started with a 'U'. Could've sworn I used the word 'unfortunately' a lot more than this. 😂 Anyway, I had to dig deep into the ol' WIP pile. Here's a snippet from my long-forgotten vampire fic, 'I Ain't Evil (I'm Just Good Lookin').' In this scene, Daniel is have having trouble coming to terms with Johnny being a vampire.

Underneath those soft, threadbare flannels Johnny was all rough edges, not a cultured bone in his body. He wasn’t smooth or particularly stealthy. And he sure as hell didn’t live in a castle. It was hard to imagine him guzzling anything besides his beloved Coors Banquet, needless to say blood.

He couldn’t even get the man to eat raw fish.

And that was another thing. He’d seen Johnny eat and drink! Usually it was absolute garbage, but still… Vampires couldn’t do that, right? Daniel let his eyes roam over Johnny’s weathered skin and sun-kissed hair. It was graying at the temples, just like his own. Silver claimed it’d been two decades, but Johnny had aged. Every year and hardship was carved into his ruggedly handsome face.

“You can’t be a…” Daniel shook his head, lip caught between his teeth. He still couldn’t bring himself to say the word, even if he was thinking it. It was too preposterous. “You can’t! I’ve seen you in the sunlight! Both of you! We train outdoors, for god’s sake!” he pleaded, voice high-pitched, edged with hysteria.

E: 'E' is for Eli, lol. This snippet is from the long-delayed next chapter of 'Delinquent Valley High':

Eli flipped the book open to the flagged page. He stared blankly at it for a good 20 seconds before he finally realized just who and what he was seeing. His eyes widened in shock.

“Is that…”

“Uh huh,” Robby said, fighting back a smirk.

“No way!” Eli cackled. “That can’t seriously be Sensei Lawrence?”

“Why not?” Robby asked, innocently slurping at his milkshake.

“Because this kid’s… he’s, well, he’s a  –”

“Dork?” Robby helpfully supplied. “A dweeb? A total fucking nerd?”

“Actually, I was gonna say he’s a dead ringer for Bert,” Eli said, tilting his head as he squinted at the page. “A taller, blonder Bert.”

L: And this one's from 'Heroes in a Half Shell.' It's a Halloween fic I've been talking about since last year but haven't posted yet. For some context, it's an AU where Johnny is the one raising Robby.

"Like, there probably aren’t any Ninja Turtles left. And if there are, they probably won’t be your size. Maybe if we wait and go to next year’s carnival, I can get you a really badass costume so you can win that contest. How about that?”

Robby looked at him like he’d grown a second head. “But I don’t care about winning. I just wanna go.”

It took all of Johnny’s willpower to not roll his one good eye. Jesus. Didn’t care about winning? Sometimes he really wondered if this kid was even his. Sure, he had the DNA test results to prove it, but those things could be faked, right?

They did it all the time on Days of our Lives.

Thanks again for tagging me! I'm gonna tag @desolateice and @phoomwhoosh and @newlacesleeves and anybody else who wants to play! No pressure, though! Your word is FIRE.

[loverboyjamespotter]

all's fair in love and war

rating: T

pairing: james potter/sirius black

warnings: none

words: 6k

author's note: none of my work is for terfs/transphobes, fuck off right now.

summary: james potter's brilliant plan to fake being bad at algebra so the love of his life will tutor him. remus and lily are good friends (reluctantly). disastrous results ensue. or alternatively: james potter's love life is a comedy of errors.

*

This is such a good idea. 

‘This is such a bad idea,’ says Lily, frowning. 

James scowls at her and flops backwards onto Remus’ bed. 

‘Your negative energy is really putting a damper on my mood.’ 

‘You mean my firm grasp of reality is discouraging you from carrying out the most idiotic plan known to man? How tragic.’

James haphazardly throws one of Remus’ cushions at her without looking and manages to clip her foot. He can tell she’s still unimpressed even without sitting up. 

‘Um. It … is quite an odd plan, James,’ Remus says cautiously from where he’s perching at the edge of his desk.

‘It’s not!’ James says a touch defensively. Clearing his throat discreetly he tries to adopt a more measured tone. ‘It’s not even the worst plan I’ve thought of this week.’ 

Lily makes a face at Remus and says, ‘You know, I really really have to agree.’

Remus glances at her sidelong, ‘He told you about his idea to ask his parents to write to the faculty board to ban orange juice from the cafeteria after someone bumped into him and spilt some in his general vicinity?’ 

Lily leans forward with relish, ‘Try asking the sports department to change the uniforms because and I quote ‘They’re not sexy enough’.’

‘Stop talking about me like I’m not here!’ 

‘Sorry James, it’s just that … You can’t seriously be considering what you just said?’ Remus asks hopefully. A beat of silence. ‘Right?’ He prompts weakly. 

‘I don’t see what else I can do!’

Lily rolls her eyes. ‘How about walking up to him and asking him out? It’s a tried and tested method, I’m told.’ 

James sits up, leaning heavily on one elbow, and narrows his eyes at her. ‘You can’t be serious.’ 

Lily grins despite herself and Remus mouth twitches in amusement although he tries to hide it. 

‘Oh shut up, no one make the joke! Don’t. Don’t make the joke - don’t! It’s literally not funny - ’

‘I’m not serious. But he definitely is.’ Lily says with visceral enjoyment. James groans loudly and flops back onto the bed with the a dull thud. He can tell Remus is trying not to laugh. 

‘You two are no help at all,’ James says plaintively. Remus considers him for a moment and sobers up a tad. 

‘James,’ he says placatingly, ‘I’m sorry it’s just that … it’s not like you to be nervous to ask someone out. You get that, yeah? I suppose that’s why it’s so hard to take this … seriously. You’re not exactly an introverted person. I mean, you’re usually so outgoing. I think that’s why me and Lily are having a hard time trying to grasp the issue.’ 

‘You’re actually the most arrogant person I know,’ Lily cuts in helpfully. 

‘Yeah, thanks a million,’ James retorts irritably, ‘I know I’m not shy. If it was anyone else I would have just asked him out already,’ James hesitates, seems to be about to say something, thinks better of it and stares moodily up at Remus’ ceiling. 

Remus and Lily share a look. Lily sighs and seems to resign herself begrudgingly to kindness. 

‘But?’ She says patiently. 

‘But Sirius isn’t like everyone else. That’s the bloody problem. And it’s driving me mad! I know it’s ridiculous, alright? Three times I’ve gone up to ask him out and if it was literally anyone else in the world ever, I would have done it the first time round! But whenever I walk up to ask him I get …’ James shifts around on the bed in uncharacteristic embarrassment, ‘Nervous.’ He finishes, wrinkling his nose in distaste. 

Any semblance of sympathy seems to instantly evaporate from Lily’s demeanour. 

‘Oh, you mean you feel bad because you, the great James Potter, are going through the mortifying ordeal of being nervous to ask someone out? Oh no, however will you recover? You mean because everyone else is tripping over themselves to date you, you never realised you could feel nervous to ask someone out? Oh God, call the press.’ Lily drawls sarcastically with an astonishing degree of vitriol. 

‘That isn’t what I meant and you know it,’ James whines, sitting up. It’s never more clear that he’s the pampered and adored only child than in moments like this. Remus knows it annoys Lily but he’s mostly unbothered by it. That’s just James. 

‘No please, do go on about how mortifying it is that you’re a bit anxious to ask someone out for the first time in your life,’ Lily says with vehemence. Remus shifts uncomfortably; he really, really hates conflict. 

‘Lily, that’s not what I meant! I know I sounded like an arse, alright? It’s not just that - and don’t be pissed at me okay, okay? - every other time I’ve asked someone out, I knew they were going to say yes,’ Lily makes a snorting noise but James continues his tirade, talking a bit louder to be heard over Lily starting to make some kind of acidic comment, ‘It’s not just that! It’s like this. I like him more than anyone else I’ve ever liked. Even if I knew he was going to say yes if I asked him out, I’d still be nervous because I - I - I can’t even talk to him properly! I like him so much I sound like an idiot every time I even try and say hi to him when he passes me in the corridor! I like him so much that even if you told me right now he’d fall to my feet in raptures if I asked him out, I still couldn’t do it because I can’t even say a single word to him without making a fool of myself! It’s not about me! It’s about him! I like him so much that anytime I try and talk to him I say something stupid!’ 

The fight seemed to drain entirely from Lily when James was ranting and now she leans back in Remus’ desk chair thoughtfully. 

‘So you can’t hate me - I’m too pathetic.’ James finishes weakly. 

Remus blinks at James incredulously, ‘Oh wow. I’ve … never heard you talk about anyone like that.’ 

‘Right? It’s all ‘I know they’re dying to go out with me’ with James,’ Lily says mildly, her tone lacking any real punch. A generous person would say she was edging towards sympathy again. 

‘That’s what I mean! He makes me … feel things,’ James hisses, leaning forward a touch hysterically. 

Lily looks taken aback but Remus can see from his periphery she’s trying to not let it show. ‘Uh, right. He makes you nervous; we established that - ’

‘No, no that’s not what I mean. He makes me feel things which in turn makes me do things.’ 

Lily gives up all pretences of tempering her astonishment. ‘What … what kinds of … things?’ She says slowly. Remus braces himself for the worst. 

‘I mean,’ James says frantically, ‘That when I went up to ask him out the last time, which happened to be yesterday, I panicked and tried to sell him my breakfast bar.’

Lily balks.

Remus blinks at James, horrified. 

‘Why … did you do. That?’ 

‘I don’t know Remus! Okay! I don’t know why I did that! That’s the problem!’ James all but shouts, springing up suddenly and starting to pace around the tiny dorm room. ‘And what makes it worse is that this time I was certain I was going to do it! So I walked up to him - all confident and everything! - and then he turned around and said hi and I forgot how to speak English. I genuinely couldn’t even remember my name. So I was just staring at him and he was staring back at me because I walked up to him and was just standing there silently, not even saying hello or anything and I panicked and asked him whether he wanted to make a small donation to charity by buying a breakfast bar.’ 

‘… Did he buy it?’ Remus asks with morbid curiosity. 

‘I really really don’t think that’s the issue here,’ Lily snaps irritably, but then hesitates and leans forward with undisguised interest, ‘Did he?’ 

‘Yes! Of course he bloody well bought it! Because I said it was for charity and he’s a nice, kind, thoughtful person!’ 

‘How much did you sell it for?’ Remus says, fascinated. 

‘… £1.50.’ James admits reluctantly. Another beat of awkward silence.  

‘Wow,’ Lily breathes wonderingly, ‘That is so pathetic.’

‘I know! I know it’s pathetic! That’s why I need help!’ James shouts, pacing faster, arms linked behind his back like some kind of old war general.

Lily clears her throat and sits up from where she had slumped into Remus’ chair. 

‘Okay.’ She says finally, ‘Alright.’ 

James looks at her impatiently. ‘Alright what?’ 

‘We …’ She starts, then glances dubiously at Remus. She sighs long-sufferingly then says, ‘We’re going to help you. Because you’re so pathetic that it’s sad, really.’

Because James is James he’s literally incapable of letting it go at that. Which Lily knows because Remus can see her steel herself. 

James spins in place then falls backwards onto Remus’ bed again, his hands over his face. 

‘Just forget it,’ He says sullenly, his voice muffled, ‘It’s stupid. I don’t think I have a chance anyway considering I’ve already embarrassed myself in front of him more times than I can count. He’s probably afraid of me, honestly, the amount of times I’ve accosted him.’ 

Lily looks at him with open contempt. ‘Oh, will you stop it? You’ll never know until you try. And you moping on Remus’ bed is perhaps the only thing more pathetic than you pining over Sirius.’ 

‘I’m not … moping.’ James insists petulantly. 

Remus crosses his arms over his chest and raises his eyebrows at James. 

‘Stop looking at me like that, Remus.’ James says balefully from under his hands. 

‘Oh my god, this is ridiculous,’ Lily says, annoyed, ‘Okay. Okay. So.’ She seems to fully resign herself to the ludicrous nature of the task (she’s never been one for half-arsing things) and stands up to loom over James. 

‘We’re going to help you get Sirius Black. We’re going to help you stop being a whining loser.’ Lily says determinedly. Then adds, almost as a note to remind herself, ‘Because we’re your friends. And that’s what friends do.’ 

Remus nods in wary solidarity. ‘Yes. We’re going to … help you.’

‘Really?’ James asks hopefully, scissoring his index and middle finger open to reveal his face. 

‘Yes. Really.’ Lily says reluctantly, as if she can’t believe she’s agreeing to this. Remus nods again. 

James shoots up with his characteristic incredible speed and bounds over to envelop both Lily and Remus in a hug. 

Despite herself, because no one can resist James Potter, Lily grins tiredly at Remus over James’ shoulder. ‘I’m so going to regret this.’ 

*********

The plan which James had mentioned in Remus’ dorm room was this: Sirius Black, after getting notoriously disowned from his affluent (filthy rich) family, often tutored other university students for extra cash. James would pretend to be struggling in his algebra class and ask him for help. After charming Sirius with his many, many qualities, James would swoop in for the kill (ask Sirius to go out with him). 

They’re in Lily’s room this time to hash out the finer details of the plan. 

‘The reason why this is a stupid plan, and dear God this has never been less evident than now, is that you’re really clever,’ says Lily. 

James preens smugly.

‘Yeah, I know,’ he says, grinning, ‘I’ll just pretend to not know anything about algebra.’

Remus looks at James doubtfully, ‘James, you do realise you got top marks in Algebra 1 last term? Why couldn’t you pick another subject to pretend to be bad in?’ 

James shrugs. ‘Because I’m not bad at any subject. I got top marks in everything.’ 

Remus makes a wry face at him, ‘Your modesty is astounding.’ 

James shoots Remus another grin. ‘It’s my strong suit.’ 

Lily grimaces. ‘Can we stay on the topic at hand? Please?’ She says the last part rather desperately.

‘Yes, well. Do you think you can … fake being bad at Algebra? Convincingly?’ 

James’ automatic response, from years of intense confidence, is to scoff and say yes. But then he realises it’s Sirius they’re talking about, Sirius he’s going to have to pretend in front of. Sirius with his characteristic piercing gaze, his disinterested genius. This suddenly seems a monumental task. 

‘Er …’ James hedges. ‘I can … practice? Being rubbish?’ 

Lily leans back in her chair and snorts disparagingly. ‘Jesus, I cannot believe I have to sit in a room with you and watch you practice being mediocre. God, you’re insufferable.’ 

‘I can’t help being good at everything, Lily,’ James says earnestly but the mischievous tilt of his mouth gives him away. 

‘And again, I reiterate: so very humble.’ Remus remarks ironically. 

‘That’s my middle name,’ James says brightly, ‘I’m absolutely awful at algebra, didn’t you know?’ 

Lily chucks a textbook at him. ‘Let’s see if you can put your money where you mouth is.’ She drags her desk chair over to where James is sitting on the edge of her bed. ‘Pretend to mess up a question.’ 

James flips open the textbook to a random page as Remus sits down next to him. 

He glances at the question. He’s pretty sure he can do it in his sleep. (Well, actually he guesses it would be tricky for someone who was actually struggling with algebra.)

He resists the urge to solve the equation correctly and instead confuses the division in the very first step. 

‘Is that right?’ He asks Remus innocently. Remus gives him an amused look but obligingly flips to the back of the book for the right answer. 

‘Not even close.’ 

‘Oh dear! I wonder where I went wrong?’ James says, looking imploringly at both Remus and Lily in turn. 

Lily leans back in her chair, crosses her arms over her chest and nods; impressed, despite herself. ‘There may be hope for you yet, Potter.’ 

‘Really?’ James says anxiously, wringing his hands, ‘You think I’ll finally pass this class?’

Lily rolls her eyes and smacks him lightly over the head with the textbook. 

‘Although …’ Remus says suddenly, ‘The thing is uh. I don’t really know how to say this but - ’

‘What?’ 

‘Sirius Black is known for being …’ Remus shifts uncomfortably on Lily’s duvet, ‘Mean.’

Lily’s face twitches in annoyed recognition. 

‘Oh my God, wait. You’re right. You reminded me. You know my friend Mary? Well, she was struggling with algebra last term and she went to Sirius for tutoring but she said he gets impatient with you if you don’t understand by the second time he explains something,’ Lily frowns, ‘He’s horribly arrogant.’ 

‘God, that is so hot,’ says James, sighing wistfully. 

Lily instantly grimaces in disgust. ‘Oh my fucking God, that’s so disturbing. Jesus Christ, you two are made for each other.’ 

Remus blinks, bewildered and visibly chooses to ignore that entire interaction. 

‘The problem remains that if he gets annoyed when tutoring you, it’s not very likely he’s going to be in the mood for romance.’ 

‘ … Right. Well. I’ll just … I won’t be too rubbish.’ 

Lily looks at him tiredly. ‘That’s the plan? You’re not going to be that rubbish? How are you even qualifying ‘too rubbish’, you pompous sod?’ 

‘I’ll just avoid what Mary did, yeah?’ James retorts. 

‘Oi, don’t you have a go at Mary - ’

‘Alright!’ Remus says quickly before they can resort to bickering, ‘So you’ll what? Mess up every third or fourth question? And get the other questions right most of the time so he doesn’t get annoyed at you?’ 

‘Yeah. And I could you know … ask him to explain stuff twice.’ 

‘Stuff.’ Lily echoes mockingly. 

‘Algebraic equation theory,’ James amends in his best posh accent. Lily rolls around in her desk chair once in exasperation but both Remus and James can see she’s amused, like she always is whenever James makes fun of rich people. 

‘Okay, then. So, we’ve got a plan. That’s something, at least,’ she concedes. 

‘Comrades, I think it’s safe to say Operation: Big Romance is a-go.’ James says, throwing his arms around both Remus and Lily. 

‘I can hardly contain my excitement.’ Remus deadpans. 

*****

James, Remus and Lily are in the library waiting for Sirius. 

Earlier, Lily had looked intensely disturbed. ‘How … how do you know Sirius is going to be in the library today?’ 

‘Because he always goes to the library on Wednesdays before his third lecture.’ James replies without missing a beat. 

Lily winces and looks at Remus pleadingly. ‘That’s creepy, right? You think it’s creepy he knows that, right?’ 

‘… Have you been stalking him?’ Remus says finally, but looking like he’d rather not know the answer.

‘No! I only know that he goes to the library on Wednesdays because he’s reading Wuthering Heights  but he can’t check it out because he’s already checked out the ten books you’re allowed so he reads it before his third lecture then hides it in the astronomy section so no one else can take it out.’ 

‘So you’re stalking him.’ Remus concludes tiredly. 

That was an hour ago. Now, they’re camped in the astronomy section, books deliberately planted around them as if they’re studying. Lily even takes out a highlighter and brandishes it over a paragraph about Venus for good measure. 

‘I hate to say it but … is it very obvious that we set this up?’ Remus says, glancing around at the artfully strewn books. 

‘No, no it looks real. No one’s going to be reading about,’ Lily pauses to read the subtitle of an upside down book, ‘the ‘mathematical grounding behind the convalescence of the planetary alignments and their affects on numerology’. Jesus, only someone who had to read that for a class would pick that book up. Even then, that’s doubtful.’ 

‘Sirius would.’ James mutters faintly. He’s been looking increasingly the worse for wear as they wait for Sirius. He keeps fidgeting then touching his forehead. ‘I think I’ve got a fever. Literally, I have a fever. This isn’t a good idea. Maybe we could do this next week. Or never. Never works really well, actually - ’

Lily cuts off his rambling by elbowing him in the ribs. ‘Shut up!’ She hisses under her breath, ‘Here he comes! Act natural!’ She picks up her highlighter again and squints at the book on the table in front of her. Remus holds up a calculator. James sits frozen to the spot as Sirius walks up. 

He doesn’t notice them at first, he’s too busy reading a slim paperback novel as he walks. He jumps a little to see them all cluttered in an otherwise pretty abandoned section of the library. Lily waves around her highlighter over the page pointedly. 

‘Oh.’ Sirius says. ‘Hi.’ 

The greeting is clearly only directed at James. Lily notes with irritation he doesn’t really acknowledge her or Remus. God, he’s already insufferable and she’s only known him thirty seconds. 

It’s only belatedly Lily realises James hasn’t said anything back. He sits there, staring at Sirius blankly. It’s so absolutely at odds to how she’s seen James that it’s immediately discomfiting. Another agonising second passes where James doesn’t say anything and Sirius looks increasingly confused. Lily elbows James sharply again and he jumps visibly. 

‘Hello.’ James manages, way too formally. 

‘… Yeah. Hi.’ Sirius repeats. He gestures to the bookcase on the left side of the alcove. ‘I’m just here to get the book I’m reading.’ 

‘I know.’ James says automatically. 

‘What?’ Sirius blinks at him. 

‘He means,’ Lily cuts in quickly, then flounders for too long because she can’t think of what to say to disguise James’ blunder. 

‘He means he knows you. That’s what he meant.’ Remus tries. 

James nods desperately, not trusting himself to speak. 

‘I know.’ Sirius says slowly, ‘I know he knows me. We have three classes together.’ 

‘I know that too!’ James shouts suddenly, his short lived self restraint ebbing away entirely, ‘Of course I know we have three classes together! I mean I’m self-absorbed but not that self-absorbed that I wouldn’t notice that I had three classes with someone. Well actually, I have done that loads of times but not with you. I did know we have three classes together. You always sit at the back.’ 

Lily is horrified. She has never, ever in all the years she’s known James seen him be flustered. She resists the urge to turn and gape at him disbelievingly by forcibly schooling her expression into something studious and grave, completely unlike someone who just had to listen to their otherwise perfect friend embarrass himself in front of his crush. What mortifying rant? She can tell from her periphery Remus has adopted a carefully neutral expression to mask the same sinking dread she feels. 

Sirius looks stunned. But after a second something clicks in his mind and he takes James’ rant in stride and thankfully chooses to be bemused. 

‘Seems you’ve been paying an awful lot of attention to me, Potter.’ 

‘You know my name?’ James says weakly. 

Suddenly, Sirius grins at him. ‘Yeah. Don’t know if you noticed but we have three classes together.’ 

James fake laughs stiffly, once. ‘Yep.’ He says awkwardly and then the fights drains out of him and he just slumps in his chair dejectedly, looking anywhere but at Sirius. 

Offence flashes over Sirius’ features at being dismissed so clearly and in such an abrupt fashion but just as quick his usual bored, aloof mask falls back into place. 

‘Alright. See you, then,’ he says dispassionately. James barely grunts in response, seeming to be absorbed in the volume in front of him. Sirius turns coldly on his heel and makes to stride away. 

‘Wait!’ Lily says loudly, garnering some dirty looks from students at nearby tables. 

‘What?’ Sirius asks, turning back and raising an eyebrow at her. Lily sits up to her full height, staring him down and declares, ‘James is rubbish at algebra.’

James groans silently next to her and sinks further in his seat, until his shoulders are almost level with the table. ‘Please, please let it go. He hates me now, please let it go,’ he mutters quietly to her under his breath, chin tucked inside his hoodie. He’s mortified, Lily realises finally. 

Miraculously, the spirit of friendship (and pity) rouses her from her stupor so she leans back confidently in her chair, flips her hair over her shoulder and levels Sirius with a look she perfected when she was Head Girl in Sixth Form. 

‘We’ve heard you tutor, yeah?’ She continues determinedly even as James hisses at her ‘What are you doing!’

‘Yeah.’ Sirius says finally, after looking at her for a second. 

‘Well, James here,’ she says clapping him on the shoulder briefly, ‘Could really use the help.’

‘No! It’s okay! I don’t!’ Says James, embarrassed beyond belief, ‘It’s okay! This was a really bad idea - ’

‘There’s no need to be embarrassed, James,’ Lily tells him firmly without looking at him since she’s still locked in some kind of eye contact battle with Sirius. 

‘He,’ Siris says pointing at James who has now succeeded in sinking further into the depths of his hoodie, ‘Is failing algebra?’ 

‘Yep.’ Lily lies. 

Sirius looks back at her skeptically, ‘The guy who shouted ‘Yes, fuck yes! Full marks again!’ in the middle of a lecture when the Algebra 1 results were released online … is failing Algebra 2 this term?’ 

Remus barely suppresses a wince. Lily bites the inside of her cheek to refrain from turning a withering glare at James. 

‘Yes.’ 

‘Sorry if I find that hard to believe.’ 

‘No, it’s true. He peaked last term, he’s past his prime. His used up all his potential in Algebra 1 and now he’s utterly failing Algebra 2. He can’t understand a thing,’ She pauses to laugh in a horribly fake, piercing way even to her own ears, ‘He’s an idiot, really!’ 

‘I think he gets the picture, thanks very much.’ James interjects acidly, scowling sideways at her. 

Sirius considers James for a moment and when James notices this he visibly squirms in place and goes back to pulling his hoodie string. It must read as genuine embarrassment, which it is but Sirius must think it’s because James is too proud to discuss the fact he’s ‘failing’ the class. 

‘Alright.’ Sirius says after a moment, raising an eyebrow. ‘I’ll tutor you. But you know I charge £25 an hour, yeah?’ 

‘Oh, don’t worry about that,’ Lily answers, waving her hand dismissively, ‘He’s loaded - '

James’ mouth chooses exactly the wrong moment to intervene, ‘It’s true, I’m loaded. My parents bought me a car when I was 14 before I could even drive just because I wanted one - Ow!’ 

Lily had stamped on James’ foot with the heel of her boot before he started ranting about the fact he didn’t even use the car when he turned 18 because it was ‘too old now’. 

Remus runs a very obvious hand over his face and mutters ‘Jesus Christ’ under his breath. 

Sirius smiles without mirth and rallies. ‘Yeah, when I was 14 my parents got me these expensive as fuck leather suitcases with my initials embossed on them. Ironic considering the amount of emotional baggage they saddled me with.’ 

‘Ha!’ James says awkwardly. Then, horrifyingly, as if to explain himself, ‘That was a good one. Childhood trauma. Lol.’ 

A series of deeply stunned silences follow James’ comment. Remus abandons all composure and gapes at James incredulously. Lily feels her face burn in second hand embarrassment, but resolutely resists the urge to look around at James. She can tell James is about two seconds from bolting into the aquatic life section adjacent from them. She thinks he’s absolutely stopped breathing. Even Sirius looks haunted for a good thirty seconds before he visibly gets a grip and nods slowly. 

‘… Right. Uh, I’ll text you to figure out a time and place?’ 

Lily cuts in before James can speak. ‘Yes! Here’s his number!’ She says before scrawling it on a bit of scrap paper. She thrusts it at Sirius and says quickly, ‘Bye now!’ 

Sirius looks up at all three of them once more. Remus is pinching the bridge of his nose, Lily’s face is so red it feels aflame and James has sunk so far in his seat he’s in danger of disappearing under the table altogether. 

‘Yeah. Bye.’ He says shortly before turning and walking away. 

A horrible beat of silence passes between the remaining three in which Lily genuinely feels like she’s catching her breath after a mad sprint. 

Finally, she rounds on James. ‘Lol?’ She demands, appalled. 

James leans forward until his forehead collides with the table with an audible bang. 

******

It’s James first tutoring session with Sirius today. He feels like he’s dying. 

‘You’re not dying,’ Lily says irritably, flipping through a magazine. 

‘You cold, unfeeling woman - can’t you show any sympathy?’

Lily pats his shoulder absentmindedly. 

Remus sips at his mug of tea, amused. 

‘Think of it this way. The chances of spontaneous combustion are very low. So probably things are going to go okay today.’ He takes another noisy drink from his mug, ‘Maybe.’ 

James face plants into Remus’ bed and groans. 

*******

They decided to meet up in the library. It was the best place for it, really. Lots of escape routes in case James messes up and he needs to evacuate the premises immediately. Not that he’s thinking about that. It’s going to be fine. At least that’s what he tells himself as he walks into the library. He repeats it to himself again as he walks up to the astronomy section and then he loses the ability to form coherent thought altogether when he sees Sirius. He’s reading Wuthering Heights turned away from him. James palms are so sweaty that when he goes to wipe them on his jeans he leaves little wet smudges behind. 

‘Hi,’ James says as he draws level with the table Sirius is sitting at and because he hates himself apparently he tacks on ‘Come here often?’ and immediately winces. 

Sirius turns around in his chair at the sound of James’ voice, then processes what he said. 

‘Actually yeah, I do.’ Sirius says mercilessly, clearly not choosing to give James an out on this one. He seems annoyed.

‘Oh. Good. That’s good. Reading is very … ’ James trails off. 

‘Good?’ Sirius finishes sardonically. Yep, definitely annoyed. What a brilliant start. 

‘Will you excuse me a moment? I’ll be right back.’ James says, smiling wanly. He turns quickly and marches into a neighbouring alcove. 

He frantically pulls out his phone and texts Remus. 

James: he’s pissed. 

It takes about a minute for Remus to respond, which seems like an hour to James who’s barely staving off hyperventilating. He jumps when his phone lights up with the notification. 

Remus: He’s drunk???? Wtf? I know he has issues but that seems a bit extreme. U should get ur money back.

James blinks at this text in confusion before he scowls and angrily stabs out out a response. 

James: NO!!!!!!!!!! 

James: I MEANT HE SEEMS ANGRY

Remus replies instantly this time. 

Remus: Y?

Oh, fantastic. What a help. James locks his phone again and tries to take a deep breath. He has to deal with this situation, he can’t just skulk in the library all day. A small, very unhelpful part of his brain cheerfully suggests he could sneak out when they take the rubbish out at night by disguising himself in a wheelie bin. 

He seriously considers this for a moment before he mentally shakes himself. He’s gotten this far. What’s the worst that can happen? Right. Okay. James takes another fortifying breath, pulls his shoulders back and strides quickly back to where Sirius is sitting. 

He’s slumped in his chair looking bored. 

‘You know I’m getting paid for the full hour, whether you actually choose to get tutored or not, right?’ Sirius drawls as James comes into earshot. 

‘Huh? Oh yeah! That’s not a problem!’ James fishes out his wallet and takes out the money for the session. He places it on the table next to Wuthering Heights. 

Sirius doesn’t say anything and instead elects to just stare angrily at the cash. 

James fidgets uncomfortably with the strap of his backpack. ‘Look, are you … alright?’ 

Sirius finally drags his gaze up to James and gives him a grim smile. ‘Why do you ask?’ 

James knows he can be tactless, but most of the time he’s not trying to be rude. He just genuinely prefers speaking his mind. Which is why he says, ‘Cause I know you have like. Stuff going on and everything. You seem angry.’

‘Stuff?’ Sirius says, his smile widening into a grin that’s too sharp to be truly friendly. 

‘Yeah.’ James says simply, shrugging. 

‘What do you know about my stuff?’ 

‘Nothing. Just what everyone else is saying.’ 

 He can see a muscle twitch in Sirius’ jaw. 

‘Well you know what they say. No such thing as bad publicity.’ Sirius articulates slowly. James nods at him cautiously. 

Something James can’t quite place passes over Sirius’ face and he sits up suddenly, ’Alright then. Let’s get on with it.’ 

James sits down opposite Sirius and pulls out his algebra textbook from his bag. He looks up expectantly at Sirius. Sirius is still staring at him with an inscrutable look but the undercurrent still seems to be irritation. 

James really, really doesn’t know where it went wrong this time. Usually he can tell where exactly he made an idiot of himself when he talks to Sirius but this time around, he’s barely said two words to him. God, this was a horrible, awful, terrible idea. 

James clears his throat and dejectedly gestures at the open page in front of him. ‘So, uh … what should I do?’ 

As if animated by some outside source Sirius leaps into Tutor Mode. He seems to materialise a spare bit of paper from thin air and begins outlining the theory behind the first question. 

He goes on for a couple of minutes while James deliberately nods at intervals as if he’s listening really closely. In actuality, he’s trying to figure out why the mood is so tense, why the session is going so badly and finally, why he was ever born. 

‘Did you get that?’ Sirius says finally, eyeing James with alert interest for some unknown reason. 

‘Um … Can you explain the second part again?’ James says. 

‘Alright.’ Sirius says tightly and if James looks closely he can see he’s gritting his teeth. 

James wants to die. This is utterly mortifying. Sirius hates him, okay fine (not fine at all), but what did James do to make Sirius hate him? 

James is trying to figure that out when he finally manages to process what Sirius is saying. He frowns. 

‘What?’ He says, interrupting Sirius’ explanation. 

Sirius points at the equation in the book. ‘If you solve for x in the first instance, that’s going to help sort out the division.’ 

James looks down at the page, bewildered. 

‘What?’ He repeats. 

Sirius gives him a look and says slowly, ‘You have to solve for x first.’ 

James scans the page again and frowns harder. He grabs the pen on the table and starts jotting down the equation in long form. 

‘How did you figure that? That’s possibly the longest way to figure out the question, I mean you just made it so much harder. It would be much simpler to solve for y in the first instance, that cancels out the division portion altogether.’ James says, scanning over the book again and the notes he quickly scrawled. It’s only then he realises what he’s done. 

Oh God. Oh fuck, fuck, fuck. 

His eyes shoot up to look at Sirius and as expected, he’s leaning back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, scowling at him in grim triumph. 

‘Uhhh,’ James says pathetically. ‘I suppose you’re wondering how I knew that?’ 

‘Yeah. Crossed my mind.’ Sirius says coldly. 

‘… You’re a really great tutor?’ James tries weakly.

‘Fuck. You.’ Sirius replies, snatching up his bag and slamming back his chair so hard it squeaks. He turns to start storming away but James grabs his arm desperately. 

‘Wait! Sirius, I’m sorry!’ 

Sirius twists his arm cruelly from James’ grip and looks down at him with such derision James actually recoils a little. 

‘You’re sorry?’

‘Yes.’ James says in a small voice, shrinking back into his denim jacket both from embarrassment and Sirius’ tone of voice. 

‘Yeah, you bloody well should be sorry, you fucking arsehole.’ 

James frowns at him, suddenly a little offended. ‘Sirius, it isn’t that big of a deal - ’

 ‘What?’ Sirius says icily. 

James winces and rubs his eyes under his glasses. ‘Okay, poor choice of words. It is a big deal but - ’

Sirius throws back his head and laughs mirthlessly. 

‘Actually, you’re right. It probably isn’t a big deal for someone like you.’ 

Any explanation James was about to produce comes to a screeching halt. He looks up at Sirius warily. 

‘What … do you mean?’ 

Sirius suddenly leans over the table, right in James’ face and hisses, ‘I know exactly what you’re doing.’ 

James gapes at him. ‘Well, then do you mind telling me? ‘Cause I haven’t got a clue.’ 

‘I don’t want your charity.’ Sirius says furiously. 

James continues to stare at Sirius, slack jawed. After a second he says, ‘Mate, no offence, but what the fuck are you talking about?’ 

‘Do you think I hadn’t worked it out? I know you’re brilliant at algebra you dickhead, we’ve been in the same classes since first year. What other reason would you have to hire me to be your tutor except that you’re taking pity on the poor little disowned heir. Well, you can keep your fucking money.’ 

A loaded beat of silence. 

Absurdly, a giggle bubbles in James’ chest. Before he can stop it, he’s spluttering with laughter. 

Unsurprisingly, Sirius isn’t amused. 

‘This is funny to you?’ 

‘Well, yeah! You idiot, I’m not paying you to tutor me out of some form of pity, or charity or whatever.’ 

Sirius stands up straight, face contorted in contempt. ‘I’m sorry if I don’t believe you. It’s just that you’ve just been lying to me for the last hour.’ 

Suddenly, the situation isn’t very funny anymore. James winces and makes a face, ‘Okay, fair. But you have to believe me. That’s not why I wanted you to tutor me, I swear.’ 

Sirius throws up his hands in frustration. ‘Then why? Why did you?’ 

James opens his mouth to answer but nothing comes out. He seems to have lost his voice. 

Sirius stares at him expectantly for a second before scoffing and turning to go again. 

James springs up from his chair and reaches to grab ahold of Sirius again. 

‘Wait! Please! I can explain!’ 

‘Then explain.’ Sirius says exasperatedly. 

Every excuse seems to flit across James’ mind but when he looks at Sirius standing there, angry and irritated and almost … insecure, James sighs loudly. 

‘Oh fuck it,’ he says finally, ‘I was never very good at this subtlety lark.’ 

And with that, James throws his arms around Sirius’ neck and kisses him long and hard. 

When he pulls back, Sirius is looking at him cautiously. ‘You did … all of that. Because you like me?’ 

‘Um, yeah?’ 

Suddenly, Sirius’ whole face breaks out into a grin. ‘God, you’re such an idiot.’ 

James smiles at him ruefully. ‘A hot idiot?’ 

Sirius rolls his eyes at him fondly. ‘Yeah. A hot idiot.’ 

‘I can take that.’ James says brightly and rushes forward for another kiss. 

[kumeko]

For: altimys

Prompt: Scaramouche solidifies his id as a trans masc as part of his rejection of the will/id he thinks Ei imposed on him

A/N: Thanks for requesting this! I am really grumpy I couldn’t put in the “Scaramouche edgelord misogyny period”, which he totally had after feeling betrayed by Ei and Yae, only to meet Lumine/Nahida and realize maybe some girls are cool and he didn’t choose to be a dude as an FU to mommy dearest. I tried adding in a few scenes so hopefully I hit all the points you wanted now.

…

…

…

…

i.

The first thing it is aware of is darkness. An endless void stretches in front of it, a nothingness that it neither sinks nor stands in. Thoughts enter its mind as it slowly grasps its situation, meaningless words that are slowly given meaning with every passing second.

It—her? that word fits better, but not quite. She is…alive. No, not alive, that isn’t right either. She exists. A creation of another. A strange sense of joy and sorrow fills her at the same time. Her eyes are wet—tears, her mind helpfully supplies.

She has eyes.

She has a body. A collection of limbs and parts that form a singular entity. Ears, which hear a woman call for her. Skin, which feels a hard surface and the cool voi—air. There is something around her. She is not encased in nothingness.

Her eyes flutter open, and she sees the woman now. The woman’s bright, too bright, purple energy (electricity) pulsating off her in waves.

Her creator.

Her tears can’t, won’t stop and she closes her eyes and sinks back into the darkness once more.

ii.

When she reawakens, she is alone.

iii.

She does not have a name. She does not have a purpose. She does not have many things, it seems, aside from a golden feather and an empty mansion. The wind blows through the cracks, a whistling sound that fills in the silence.

She does not like it. She does not hate it. Part of her wonders if she has the capacity to feel anything. Her eyes are still wet though she hasn’t cried since that first time. Idly, she turns the feather in her hand and the soft edges brush against her palm.

This is all she has of her creator: a golden feather and her appearance. If she peeks at the windows at the right angles, she can see her creator staring back at her. Long hair, dark eyes, pale skin like the moon. If she tries hard enough, she can even produce a few sparks of electricity, a purple jolt that jumps from her hands to the ground.

Something is missing. She does not know what, but something is missing. If she were perfect, would her creator have kept her? What makes a doll perfect? Does she feel too much? Too little? Does she need more power?

“Tell me?” she asks her reflection. “Please.”

There is no response.

There never is.

iv.

“Who are you?”

It is the first time someone has entered her home. Sitting on the wooden floor, she leans back and looks up at the stranger. A man, her mind helpfully supplies. A human. Utterly unlike the goddess that created her. He is tall and muscular, his body entirely unlike her lithe frame.

Something about that tickles the back her mind, though she cannot say what or why. Just that she likes it.

She pauses at that thought. Like. So she is capable of that much.

“Are you okay?” he asks again, crouching now in front of her. “Do you—” His jaw hangs open as he stares at the golden feather next to her. “That’s…”

Does he know what it means? Does he want it? It is a puzzle she has never understood, and she holds it out. “Do you want it?” she asks.

“Huh?” He flinches, surprised at the offering. “No, that isn’t—that’s not what—” Letting out a frustrated sigh, he runs a hand through his hair. Locking eyes with her, he smiles kindly. “You are a very special person.”

“I am?” she asks doubtfully. A special person would not be abandoned and forgotten.

“You are,” he confirms, holding out a hand. “This isn’t the place for you.”

A place for her. A place that isn’t here. She swallows and takes his hand.

v.

if Katsuragi is bulky and loud, Niwa is lean and quiet. His arms are deceptively strong as he hammers a piece of hot red metal. Grime and sweat stain his face and he wipes it with a sleeve before continuing. Despite the loud clangs, this is Kabukimono’s favourite part of Tatarasuna.

While the village is nice, it is loud and busy and filled with people who like to talk to her. She likes it, it’s far better than the silent tomb that was her home, but after decades of solitude, it is overwhelming sometimes. No one bothers her when she sits near the furnace. Niwa merely raises a brow and nods whenever she creeps in like a stray cat.

The metal steams and sizzles as he plunges it into water. Pulling it out with a set of tongs, he frowns and sighs as he puts it back on the anvil.

“Something wrong?” she asks. After weeks, she has come to recognize his expressions and what they mean. For quiet man, his eyes say a lot.

“Yes,” he admits, setting side his tongs. Niwa pulls off his bandana and wipes his face with it as he shambles over to her, exhausted. He smells of smoke and iron and something in her coils at his presence. "I struck at the wrong angle.”

A failure. She does not have to ask to know what happens next. The other blacksmiths showed her just what happened to abandoned metal.

If he notices her silence, he doesn’t comment. Niwa keeps his bandana off and pushes back his sweaty bangs. “Have you picked a name?”

“I have one,” she replies, confused. The villagers had given her a name the first day she’d arrived.  “Kabukimono.”

“That isn’t a name,” Niwa replies, shaking his head. He clicks his tongue in displeasure. “You are not a thing.”

That doesn’t make sense. Perhaps most of the village doesn’t know, but Niwa is fully aware of just who she is. Or rather, what. Despite how she looks, she is no more human than a child’s doll. “I am a puppet.”

His jaw clenches, the most irritation she’d seen from him yet. His voice is firm when he disagrees. “No, you’re a human. Just like me.”

“Just like you?” Something light fills her at the thought.

“Just like me,” Niwa confirms, smiling. Taking a deep breath, he puts on his bandana once more and goes back to the forge. To her surprise, he picks up the warped iron once more and lays it in the furnace.

“Isn’t it a failure?” she asks.

“I didn’t say that.” His eyes crinkle as he chuckles. “It can’t be a sword, but perhaps it can become something else."

vii.

Even outside, Niwa still smells of smoke and iron. Maybe it’s embedded in his blood by now, a permanent part of his body. Kabukimono sits on a chair, her toes skimming the grass as he carefully combs her long hair.

“Are you sure about this?” he asks again, an uncharacteristic note of nervousness in his voice. His fingers are gentle as he untangles a knot.

“Yes.” Kabukimono does not have to think about it. The face in the mirror is not hers, but her creator’s. A permanent reminder of the god who abandoned her. A god who most likely has forgotten every part of her existence.

Her creator doesn’t need her. Kabukimono doesn’t need her either. Doesn’t need that long hair, doesn’t need that electric spark, doesn’t need that soft voice or unbound breasts.

She doesn’t need she, doesn’t need the trappings that come with it.

“Cut it,” he says, closing his eyes.

viii.

Kabukimono doesn’t need his creator, not when he has Niwa and his understanding smile and tender touches. He doesn’t need her until he does, until his home is at the risk of being torn away once more. There is no hesitation when he plunges into the water and swims his way back to his creator’s hallowed grounds, desperation on his tongue and fear in his eyes.

Niwa will die if he doesn’t get help. Niwa will die and everyone will disappear and he will once again be a puppet that no one needs.

The guards do not let him in. Though his face is his creator’s mirror, they turn him away with little more than a scoff. If he had known this, he would have scarred his face long ago and saved himself the misery of remembering just what image he’d been created in.

The only one who will see him is a crafty fox with apologetic eyes. She sees the golden feather in his hand, his knuckles white from clenching it, and sighs. “I see she still isn’t ready.”

He doesn’t have to ask who the she is. Something inside him boils at the thought but he pushes it down. There are more important matters at stake. There is little he will not do, so he begs and pleads. “They need your help.”

“I know. She should have listened when you called,” Yae answers, taking his hand. Her grip is strong yet kind.

He rejects it all the same. It reminds him too much of his creator and his lips curl into a snarl as he slaps her hand away. “Then save them!”

If she is offended, she does not say. Yae glances out to the west, as though she can see the island beyond the horizon. Her brow furrows and she nods. “I will.”

x.

It is a lie. He is surrounded by liars.

Yae has sent nothing. His creator does not even look at the destruction.

And Niwa, Niwa is gone, leaving a shriveled human heart in his footsteps.

xi.

His heart breaks twice, three times, each more painful than the last. Even Dottore’s experiments cannot compare, regardless of how hard the mad doctor tries.

In the end, it is all worth it. The electro gnosis pierces his chest, right where his heart should have been.

For a moment, he is a god.

For a moment, he is more than his creator is or ever will be.

For a moment, Scaramouche is satisfied.

xii.

And then, Scaramouche is nothing once more. A failure, from start to the end.

xiii.

He leans against his cell wall when Nahida visits him. A slip of an archon, despite her youthful appearance, her smile tells another story. They are supposedly the same age, but she doesn’t feel like it, as though her wisdom had given her another few centuries on him.

Nahida is quiet as she stands outside his cell, her hands clasped behind her back. There are no guards. She doesn’t fear him. Then again, why should anyone fear Scaramouche? Whether it is as a human or as a god, all he does is lose.

“Are you tired?” she asks, finally breaking the silence.

“Don’t you have something better to do?” Scaramouche asks snidely. Her eyes unnerve him, as though she sees through him and his outbursts.

“I do.” Nahida remains in front of his cell. “What about you?”

Scaramouche lets out a broken laugh. When was the last time anyone asked about him? “Does it matter anymore?”

“That’s up to you.” She holds out her hand and for a moment, he sees Niwa’s shadow behind her, sees a streak of red and a warm smile.

He doesn’t believe in ghosts anymore than he does gods and humans, but he reaches out all the same.

xiv.

If there is one thing his life has taught him, it is that nothing is permanent. Nothing is his. Everything he wants, everything he holds dear, it all slips through his fingers all the same. Even when he tries to change the past, to get back all that he’s destroyed, the result is the same.

Utter failure. Complete loss.

Even his name is gone once more, leaving him with nothing but the Wanderer moniker. A name not chosen by him, but by another traveller.

No, that’s not quite right. Wanderer stands in front of the mirror, studying his reflection. A lean man stares back. Even when he’d lost his memories, he had stayed in this form. His flat chest, his strong shoulders, the masculine cut of his jaw—they were all his.

Part of him had picked this form to reject Ei, to emulate Niwa, but it is more than that. He likes being a boy, being a man. Likes the way he sounds and walks and is seen by others. Likes how he rolls off his tongue.

Even if he loses everything else, this is the one thing that will remain his.

[omies-odd-writing-spot]

Garnets 08 Spaaaace

[Ao3] [ffnet]

Coming online was surprisingly pleasant, Riggs could run an inspection over his digital self. Finding a few edits in his programing but it was to streamline his code to his new system. There was his whole memory, no evidence of tampering, and to him at least another AI nearby.

Vega was not the first larger complex AI that Riggs had worked with. His own programming was made for smaller areas to control, rather than a whole colony.

No…

Not a colony.

Interesting!

Vega had been responsible for a colony, and where they were definitely could be a small colony. If there had been enough people.

Fortress.

Vega helpfully supplied the name of the place, starting to settle his own systems around Riggs. The two AIs examined each other properly and found where they could be 'comfortable' so to say. Riggs found that where he had been placed, was semi isolated and tired to life support.

Riggs was allowed access to the cameras, older recordings and sorted through them going backwards from when he woke up to when Vega did. It took a grand total of five minutes for Riggs to settle in his new system.

Someone typed in the console in the greenhouse-like garden.

"Hello Slayer." Riggs spoke, finding the room, its camera and speaker. Already absorbing the information Vega gave on the Slayer's way of communicating. Noting that the man was out of armor and dressed in some dark leggings and a sleeveless green shirt. Oddly no shoes.

Did he have proper shoes out of the armor?

The Slayer looked up, first at the speaker, then scanned to look for the camera. You okay?

There was a two second pause before Riggs spoke. A little more used to civilian humans and had learned how to interact with them. "It's strange here, but I think I will be fine in this new system. Vega is teaching me how to manage the life support system."

Small flower safe. The man signed as he stood from the Argenta computer panel he had been working on to splice the human technology into it. You're going to keep her safe. Here.

"I will do my best to always keep miss Lily safe." Riggs said promptly, already out of the storage hard drive for his transportation. Watching it get set aside in the panel before it was closed. "Even before Dr. Hawkins made that my top priority, I had agreed to do the same."

Good. The Slayer signed, stretching his back. The movement was oddly fascinating as he started to walk out of this inner area, not detecting really much sound despite his size. I'll get her. The flower.

Riggs pinged Vega, watching the Slayer as far as he could, did the Slayer mean Lily?

Vega checked and confirmed, not fully sure if the Slayer knew the right sign for a lily. Likely just resorting to 'flower.'

It was true, but the Slayer at least was making sure not to sign Daisy. The demigod made it back to the medical area where he had left Lily to recover after coming out of the pod and clearing her lungs.

He reflexively caught the thing thrown at him once the door opened. Blinked at seeing it was the now empty plastic cup that he left. Considering there was not that much force behind the throw, but it was still a good throw.

The slayer grinned, looking into the room at the grumpy human sitting up in the bed she had been left in.

[maybeitsalivescribbles]

“Can you repeat ?”

The woman before you adjusts her glasses. You hate her. You hate her since she has come into your house. You hate her more when she opens her mouth to say:

“Frankly sir, I don’t know why that seems so surprising to you. The facts are damning. Every year on Earth, the number of cartoonish villains is on the rise. You have evil CEOs and corrupt politicians that would make children scoff if they were in a movie. Civilians protests are...fine, I suppose, but we spirits of the earth have decided to help. Magical girls is the only logical solution to that evil. I am the representative of the Dawn goddess, and I have come to bless someone in your family to save your world.”

She doesn’t say “whether you want it or not”, but somehow the way she pronounces her last sentence makes her intention more than clear. Her glasses shine. You clench your fist, but your wife breaks first:

“Maybe when gods will stop being so condescending towards us and clean their own mess we will listen to them, but I am not going to let any of my daughters near you.”

“They’re both eight year old,” you add.

“It’s a traditional age to begin.”

“Tradition can change, in fact I’m all for putting your glasses in a nontraditional place in your -”

“It doesn't have to be your daughters. You could do it.”

Your wife stops her menacing walk, surprised:

“Who, me ? But I have a full-time job !”

“Your husband, then.”

You tilt your head, confused:

“Me ? But I’m…”

You point to yourself, a thirty-seven-year-old, arguably quite muscular guy:

“I mean...I don’t think I fit the picture. I’m a man, to begin with.”

“Oh, don’t be stereotypical. Men can make very decent magical girls if they want to, just as they can be princesses.”

“He does get grumpy if there’s something bumpy under the mattress”, helpfully offers your wife, while you glare at her.

You bite your lip. It’s been a couple of years since you’ve been unemployed. You’re very happy to spend your time with your daughters, but the cost of living is what it is and your spouse works way too much to support your family.

“How much is it paid ?”

The woman with the glasses says the price. Your jaw falls on the floor and you say yes before you have the time to think more.

It’s hard at first. You don’t know much about magical girls to begin with, but you live under the same roof as some experts. Your daughters are very happy to brief you on the subject. You spend hours of intensive training watching old anime on the couch together, while you stuff yourselves with pop-corn (everyone knows that fighting with an empty stomach can do no good. All these girls running with their toasts in their mouths must have a lot of trouble digesting.) You take notes while your daughters explain to you the potential risks, reenacting situations with their toys (you don’t want to notice most of them have lost a limb too much).

The transformation...is nice. Your don’t feel any pain in your joints anymore. Suddenly gravity had no hold on you, no matter how much Training Pop-corn you ate. You can make huge leaps, you feel an ancient power running in your limbs, and your skin is suddenly extremely smooth and glittery. Your main complain is the suit. You desperately try to find a compromise, but the woman and her boss don’t budge an inch: everyone knows that the costume is the most important part to strike terror into your foes’ heart. You don’t know how a weird tutu can do that, but the fluffy skirt is now your nemesis. As you represent the Dawn spirit, it is all pink and orange, and it sparkles so much you want to bring sunglasses with you. The wand shines just as much. The only part you really like is your necklace – a lot of pink hearts made in modeling clay assembled together by a string stolen in the kitchen – because it’s not part of your official costume, but your daughters made it for you. You couldn’t be more proud of it, because if your girls think you’re cool, you’re doing something right. Maybe you’re rocking this costume after all. That’s what’s your wife pretends anyway (even if she changes the subject when you ask if she’d like to wear it someday, the traitor.)

You begin your actual work. It’s the simplest job in the world. At night, you go after a cartoonish villain on your list, break into their lair, point the finger at them dramatically, and if they haven’t changed their lifestyle somehow after your impassioned speech about virtue, you fight them in a duel. (That’s the part you like best. Punching them in the face is your special move. You found this all by yourself.)

To everyone’s surprise, it turns out that an actual trained adult makes better results that a fifth-grader. You win fights in a row, your popularity rises, until the dreaded day when the cartoonish villains decide to counterattack. They invoke their own dark gods, and one dreary night a magical girl all dressed in black rises from the shadows to meet you. You have equal magical powers. But...she’s a teen. She’s literally a teen. You’re not going to raise a hand on a fourteen-year-old who looks like she needs twelve hours of sleep. So you take your scariest voice, the one you use when you discover someone has somehow stuck a pink unicorn on the ceiling (you’re still shivering about that), and you ask if she has done her homework. If not, she’s going to have a lot of problems in life, and she’d better study ! She says no, that she doesn’t care about homework, that you’re cringe and just a mean sexist who doesn’t understand her, and she charges.

Two months later, you sign the adoption papers. Twilight still thinks you’re cringe, but now she says it with a mouth full of pop-corn on your couch (you make very good Training Pop-Corn). To go with your costume, you wear the black ear-clips she gifted you for your birthday. The villains, being cartoonish, thinks that it’s all her fault, and try again. The next year, you have eight daughters.

You still have problems with money.

*

Back to Fantasy Masterlist

magical girls are real, and you have been chosen by a magical creature to become one. The only problem is your a full grown man with 2 kids and a wife.

[casspurrjoybell-33]

Unlikely Places - Chapter 28 - Part 2

*Warning Adult Content*

Chapter: 28 - Warm & Fuzzy

"There's that gutsy little attitude, striking without warning then going back into hiding," Pierce joked.

Gutsy was never a word anyone had ever applied to me.

It felt good that he saw something in me he thought brave.

I liked that a lot.

It made me want to be.

So, saying, I looked up at Pierce and began to talk about my anxiety.

I told him most of my triggers and what I did to avoid them and what I did when I couldn't.

Though he had witnessed firsthand one of my panic attacks and responded pretty helpfully as well, I talked to him about them as well.

He listened attentively and asked questions that proved he had indeed done some reading up on anxiety.

He even asked about my medications and why I had chosen the particular one I was taken.

He even showed relief when I told him the one, I took, commenting that he was glad because in his research that was proven to be one of the least harmful with regards to side effects.

That made me smile.

His concern was genuine.

His taking the time to educate himself for my benefit was sweet.

Thinking about the man I had met two weeks ago today and the man I was sitting with here now, it was hard to believe they were one and the same.

"Thank you for telling me, Jackson," Pierce said, looking pleased.

"Why do you look so proud of yourself right now?" I asked with curiosity.

He had a self-satisfied smile on his face that I didn't quite understand.

"Because you trusted me," Pierce answered simply.

"Oh?" I replied, in surprise.

"Yes, oh," Pierce parroted.

"I like you trusting me. I like you telling me about yourself. I like you."

"Oh?" I repeated again, making Pierce chuckle.

I couldn't find a response other than that.

I liked him, too or at least I thought I did but I wasn't ready to say that out loud.

I wasn't ready to get that kind of personal.

I needed more time to get used to these new feelings.

Get used to him.

Get used to this new me.

Pierce stood up and held out his hand.

I looked at it and then up at him.

After the slightest hesitation I grasped his hand and let him pull me to my feet.

We started walking back the way we had come, this time our fingers were interlocked and a new bond had been created between us.

Pierce started asking me questions about the guys as we walked.

I tensed at first remembering prior talks around my friends that had never really ended well.

I was hesitant to disturb the new level of peace we had achieved but at the same time it wasn't a subject we could avoid.

My friends were a huge part of my life.

They were my 'brothers-from-different-mothers'.

That would never change.

Maybe answering questions and getting past the mental hurtle he had created with them was a step in the right direction.

Pierce asked for names and as I gave them, he asked detailed questions about each.

He seemed to have tensed up a bit himself as we talked,but his voice remained smooth and calm and undisturbed which allowed me to answer in the same manner.

As he asked about each, talking for me became easier.

Talking about people that meant the world to me wasn't difficult.

Genuine affection laced my words as I laughed on occasion as I described the hotheadedness that was Branson, the Latin charisma of Mick, the lazy charm of Noah and the solid strength that was Archer.

These were men that had touched my life when we were boys, defending my weakness with their strength at a time in our lives that most boys wouldn't have.

I told him how they still protected me to this day,and how even when it drove me crazy, how much I loved them for it.

"The friendship and loyalty that the five of us have built up over the years couldn't be bought or exchanged for anything," I said, finally dwindling down.

"So, there really hasn't ever been anything between you and any of them?"

I felt an instant heat rise within me only this time it had nothing to do with blushing.

His question made me really angry.

"So much for your promise," I ground out.

"I've told you before and I'll tell you again. We are all just friends. I have never been interested in anyone until you."

I clamped my mouth shut as I realized my mistake, the unintentional admission I had made.

'Son of a bitch.'

Pierce looked very pleased by my words and I shot him a look of exasperation.

He'd gotten me riled and I had been more forthcoming than I would have liked.

"Anyone?" Pierced had the audacity to ask and I threw him a look that should have terrified him, but only made him grin instead.

"Come on," he pleaded.

"I told you I liked you. You can answer that question at least, can't you?"

Embarrassed I tried to explain, though my voice lowered more to a whisper as I had no desire for anyone to overhear.

I remained face forward, not looking at him at all, as we walked and I talked.

"I'm... I have always considered myself asexual," I tried to explain but Pierce just laughed.

I stopped walking and my face looked up at him with a frown.

What a jerk.

He held his hand up in a placating gesture.

"You misunderstand," he quickly said.

"I wasn't laughing at you."

"Then what were you laughing at?" I demanded, in a small voice.

He paused and looked at me in consideration before answering.

I had the feeling he was hesitating over his answer before finally coming to a decision.

"Just remember you asked," he prefaced before answering.

"I really wasn't laughing at you. Your words stunned me and my very first sincere thought was, I could have shown you, you weren't asexual five minutes after meeting you. Truth be told, I wouldn't mind reminding you again right now," he admitted with a knowing smile and a sexy wink.

For all of my blushes over the years and there had been many, I had never understood the saying 'blushed to the roots of my hair.'

I finally understood now.

Pierce chuckled as he grabbed my hand and walked silently by my side back to the car.

I didn't say a word and neither did he.

My anger with him was completely gone.

He had a knack for turning the tables on me emotionally.

We talked idly in the car as we were driven back to my house to drop me off.

As we arrived, I turned in my seat to tell him goodnight.

He had already undone his seat belt and was closer to me than I thought he would be when I turned.

He leant in and gave me the lightest of kisses and leaned his forehead against mine, the tips of our noses touching lightly.

"Thank you for coming out with me tonight Jackson. I had a wonderful time."

I whispered something similar back but in all honesty my mind was more focused on the closeness of Pierce's lips and the light caress of his mouth.

He leant in and kissed me again.

This one a little deeper, a little longer and little more demanding before pulling back away from me.

Before I could gather my thoughts though, he was stepping out of the car and pulling me out with him.

I know I smiled up at him and I know we exchanged a few words as we said our said goodnights but I couldn't really tell you what was said.

As I walked away from him towards my front door my mind in a cloud-like state I could really only focus on one thing.

His kisses tasted like chocolate peanut butter ice cream.

[avatarskywalker78]

It’s Trivia Tuesday and my first one in a while, so I’m gonna share the original version of the Mike-Daniel reconciliation from make your choice now (for tomorrow may be far too late), which was originally from Daniel’s POV before I decided that the whole fic being from Mike’s POV would make more sense.

As it’s over 1500 words long, I’m having it under a readmore - I’m also debating whether to starting collecting my old/deleted scenes and posting them onto AO3, but I haven’t made a final decision on that yet.

Daniel still felt guilty three days later.

When Barnes had left he hadn’t wanted to believe him, had again felt frustrated that Mr Miyagi wasn’t listening to him regarding Barnes because the guy was clearly trying to cause trouble – he’d ignored the small voice in the back of his head telling him that Silver arriving when he did was quite the coincidence, because he was just…a mess, really, especially since Barnes had oh so helpfully revealed that Daniel had been learning from Silver, because he’d already felt guilty enough about that, that he was betraying Mr Miyagi but he felt he didn’t have any choice…

But Mr Miyagi hadn’t judged him – had, in fact, understood, and had suspected he was taking lessons but hadn’t wanted to push too hard even though he’d been worried about him. Then he’d calmly explained that he’d had his misgivings about Silver anyway, and that Kreese wanting revenge made sense.

“Man who show no mercy does not want mercy shown. Holds that against Miyagi.”

“Wait, he really would’ve preferred death?”

“Hai.”

It did make sense, but there was still the question of Barnes – because the guy terrified him, and Daniel found it hard to believe that he’d had a change of heart after what he’d done. Mr Miyagi had gently reminded him that it wouldn’t be the first time a Cobra Kai student had shown remorse (true), nor would it be the first time a Cobra Kai student had fallen under the influence of a bad teacher (also true), and that it wouldn’t make sense as a ploy on Barnes’ part to warn him of anything – Daniel had signed the document and that had been Barnes’ aim, so there’d be no point in messing with him further if it could be easily disproved.

And that was true as well. He could also tell Mr Miyagi was worried about Barnes, and he’d explained to Daniel that he feared Barnes wouldn’t leave things alone at just warning them. Which, if what Barnes had said about Silver was true, meant that he could well be heading to disaster.

So they’d ended up heading to the dojo – and they’d heard the sounds of a fight and Barnes crying out in pain even before they’d gotten near the door, which Daniel had promptly kicked down, and for a few seconds had been convinced that Silver had actually killed Barnes, because he was on the ground and wasn’t moving, had accused Silver of exactly that, but then Barnes had groaned and Mr Miyagi had fought Silver and Daniel had just felt relief, because like with Johnny, it’s not like he wanted the guy to get killed.

It had been too close, though – Barnes turned out to have a broken nose, several cracked ribs, lacerations on his arms and back, a dislocated right knee and a whole load of bruising on the rest of his body, along with a nasty black eye where Silver had hit him across the face, and Daniel really didn’t want to think about what would’ve happened if they’d gotten there even a couple of minutes later…

And he was still shaken up at seeing Silver’s true colours, that he hadn’t been able to see through that and that he would’ve been caught right up in the trap…

He tried his best not to dwell on it.

“You look terrible.” He told Barnes, when he went into the hospital room.

“Feel worse.”

Barnes was giving Daniel that look again. He’d been giving the same look every time Daniel and Mr Miyagi had visited him – though Mr Miyagi was busy today – like he wondered why they bothered to show up. Like he’d assumed they’d just leave him there after making sure he’d be alright. And, alright, Daniel wasn’t going to be best friends with the guy anytime soon, but Barnes had nearly been killed taking on Silver – even though Barnes had admitted he hadn’t gone there for a physical confrontation, he’d still faced him down.

Daniel still thought that going alone to confront someone he knew was dangerous and unhinged had been a spectacularly stupid idea, but he suspected that Barnes knew that. Also that that wouldn’t have stopped him, because he was seventeen and didn’t have the best impulse control.

“You don’t have to come visit me, you know.” Ah, so he’d finally decided to come out with it. “You already dropped me off here—”

“Come on, Barnes, can you blame us for being worried?”

“After what I did—”

“It was shitty. You were a nasty piece of work, but then you did the right thing and faced up to a psychopath because you realised what you were doing was wrong. I’m not saying everything’s forgiven, and if you really want to make amends to everyone then you gotta make things up to Jess,” Daniel had already explained what had happened to Jess, of course, “But I don’t hate you. Neither does Mr Miyagi.”

Barnes just looked away, and, well, being nearly beaten to death had a way of messing you up – Daniel knew it certainly had last Halloween, though he could safety say none of the Cobras had held a candle to Terry Silver, who was fucking terrifying. Daniel had thought Kreese was bad enough – ordering his students to cheat, choking his star student for coming second – but Silver? The mind games he was playing and would’ve continued playing with Daniel if Barnes hadn’t put a stop to things? Barnes might not have been under Silver’s influence for long, but even so he'd clearly hadn’t had any good guidance before, and so he probably would’ve thought Silver was alright.

“I mean it - Mr Miyagi’s not like that.” Daniel said firmly. “Like I said, things won’t be easy and you shouldn’t expect them to be, but he’s not going to just leave you like this.”

“Perhaps he should. Everyone else has.”

Yeah, Barnes had mentioned a rift with his family, and certainly no one had shown up even though Daniel knew his family had been informed, but still…

“Are things really that bad?”

“C’mon, LaRusso, you’ve seen my anger – I was frustrated with my family and the lack of opportunity in my town for years, and I initially joined karate to try and temper that, but instead it just became an outlet and it got worse and worse. They didn’t approve of me doing karate, so I just threw myself harder into it…”

“You were trying to prove something.”

“Yeah. Kinda lost sight of that along the way, got blinded by greed instead.”

Daniel couldn’t really say much to that.

“But you want to do better.” It wasn’t a question, but Barnes nodded anyway. “Well, look, at the end of the day that has to be down to you, but…we’re not going to just drop you, Barnes. And if your family really aren’t going to come pick you up, then you’re going to need a place to stay.”

“No way,” he said immediately, “you don’t have to do that, I’ll be fine. I can’t expect you to be happy with me just being there—”

“Have you even listened to me? I know you’re not a threat anymore, and you told us you don’t have anywhere else to go – you can’t possibly live in a shitty motel room for the next six weeks. You want to make amends, that’s a good thing, but you don’t have to do that all on your own, Barnes. It was Mr Miyagi’s idea, but I wouldn’t have agreed to it if I thought it was a bad idea or that we couldn’t trust you – because you’ve proved that we can.”

Barnes seemed unsure.

“I’m serious. Besides, you said karate wasn’t helping, but maybe you’ve just been doing the wrong type of karate.”

“…Miyagi’s really offering to teach me his karate?”

“Only if you want to, once your knee’s healed up a bit.”

The other boy looked incredulous, but must’ve decided Daniel was telling the truth, because the tension in his body decreased, and he gave him a wry look.

“You do this with all your karate rivals?”

“Technically you never really reached that stage,” Daniel pointed out, “but no, not really. One left the Valley, the other challenged me to a death-match and I spared him, but I obviously didn’t talk to him after that.”

“He challenged you to a what now?”

“Long story.” Daniel said. “Look, this is gonna be a rocky journey and we both know that, but…I’m willing to try if you are, Barnes.”

“…Sure…” Barnes was still uncertain, but then met his gaze with something like determination. “And…it’s Mike.”

“Daniel, then.” And he held out his hand. “I’m Daniel. It’s good to meet you.”

Bar-Mike was hesitant, but then grasped his hand and shook it.

“I’m Mike. It’s good to meet you too.”

And though this wasn’t how Daniel thought things would go even a few days ago…he had the feelings things would work out just fine.

[chancedarling]

I'm from the cruise ship.

No shit, Sherlock. Everyone Chance had spoken to so far had been. Other than the weird voice over the speaker, there'd been no other presence. No crew from the ship - and it was odds against not a single one of them making it ashore. No rescue party. The weird bracelets. The cameras. The fact no one seemed to remember getting on the damn boat in the first place. The prepared food and now - this - amply stocked and ready to recieve 'guests'. If she hadn't figured out by now that this was some kind of orchestrated event, then she'd have to speed up right quick or be left in the dust.

But rather than rolling his eyes, chance simply nods in reply, a gentle bob of head as he replies,

"Aye, same. I think everyone is in the same boat - no pun intended."

There's a quick smile and another nod as she gives him 'permission' to take the clothes. Not that he needed permission (better to ask forgiveness than permission), but if he can get her to concur with his 'borrowing' - which he has - she has at least some invested interest in his actions here and what else he - or she - may or may not 'borrow'.

"Cool, cool. Because I'm pretty sure that without a wash and a change of clothes by this time tomorrow I'm going to smell like satan's arsehole."

In more important news.

Is it though? Really?

She starts to prattle on about the Muzak... An Chance honestly hadn't been bothered by it at all. Probably something to do with the constant audio and visual feeds that came into his little 'hub'. Streams and announcements and news and reports... Keeping up his 'gambling' persona online to give legitimacy to his expenditure - while manipulating the ebb and flow of global currencies, stocks, shares... And whatever else he felt like dabbling in at the time. He's used to background noise.

Either way - in the grander scheme of their current predicament, it seemed like something to override the background sounds was probably waaaaay down on the list of priorities. So why was it hers? Something to take her mind of their predicament? Something mundane and familiar among all the strange and new? Or just an easy distraction in the moment...

"What have you got there then?"

He even leans forward to emphasise his 'genuine interest' - peering at the box full of smaller plastic boxes, watching as she fiddles with one of them and then turns on the boombox.

"Ah! Casette tapes, right?"

He recognises them, but has never actually encountered one. By the time Chance was old enough to pay much attention to music, CDs had taken over and it was only another few years before streaming and downloading made an entrance. So he knows 'in theory' what she's doing... But he is actually attentive as she loads the little plastic reel into the player. It's a moment of learning for him.

"Every day's a school day."

A quip and he's crouching down by the box. Trying very hard not to wince at her selection. Eyes trail along the spines of the tapes, which were helpfully displaying various album titles and artists - in no particular order. Having made a choice, he picks out one and turns it over in his hands - seeing a list of song tracks (helpful, he supposes)... Before holding it out with a wide smile - The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars

"Try this one. Starman came up on my spotify recs and it was a bit of a banger."

Not to mention a track that didn't seem to be on this particular album - which Chance had been infinitely more enamoured with. 'The Man Who Sold The World'.

Straightening up, he stands, listening as the Spice Girls continue to yell nonsense and a bit of 'Hai Si Ja Hold tight'.

"Y'might be right though - I can barely hear the other stuff over that..."

But it was still there. Right on the edge of his senses. Overpowering and constant. Even though he's telling her she's right... He thinks she's definitely wrong. Whatever was coming out of those speakers was meant to be heard.

The banquet, with all of its splendor and sights and smells, with plates piled high with delicacies, plates and cutlery neatly laid out, all of it, was too much to handle. Lindi needed to get away from it, from their fucked up 'Welcome to Paradise Buffet'. Welcome to Paradise, shoes off inside please, oh so sorry about the cruise ship crash and the nonsense about kidnapping you in the middle of your life, this was supposed to be a surprise! Oh the cameras, well you know what the neighbourhood has become like... And we thought Brexit was supposed to put a stop to all that nonsense- oh, Lindi, you know what we mean. Anyway, help yourself to dinner, all catered, god, I couldn't stand cooking all that, let alone the dishes!

Lindi decided to explore the biggest building first, partially because it was closest to The Hub. And maybe if she kept doing things she could outrun the looming sensation that if she stopped she would have the mother of all panic attacks and probably faint from hyperventilating.

What a lovely evening plan to look forward to.

The building was a warehouse, well stocked and organised. Why? Lindi frowned as she looked over food, the toiletries, clothing, appliances, tools... How long were they expected to be here? Lindi worried her lower lip, pushing through the rows, mindlessly taking in everything like she was just strolling through her local Waitrose. She couldn't let herself linger on anything too long on any one thing, because then she would start thinking about the implications, and she really couldn't handle that right now. Lindi was about to give up and deal with the packed warehouse later, until one section of the warehouse called to her.

Lindiwe's eye was immediately drawn to the clear boxes of cassette tapes, tucked neatly nearby the chunky, overloaded with practicalities boom box. God, remember boom boxes? Lindi let herself indulge in the distraction of nostalgia, flipping open a container and trailing her fingers down the spines of the tapes. Her fingers stopped on a familiar white cassette, Spiceworld brought back a wave of tween memories, dancing about in her bedroom with old school friends, begging Baba to let her wear crop tops and crazy short dresses that, in retrospect, she had been far too young for.

Lindi had just fished the cassette out of the box when her solitude was suddenly interrupted. She jumped, overreacting to what was a curious, but genuine approach by the stranger. Lindi placed a hand dramatically over her chest, giving him a half-chiding smile as she took a breath to calm down. "Hi there," she echoed back, glancing between the man and the clothes he was asking whether it would be okay for him to borrow.

"I uh... I'm from the cruise ship, well, I didn't choose to be on the cruise ship, but, well," Lindi motioned to the air around her, extending out beyond the warehouse, out to this place. Paradise, apparently. "I think you should be okay to borrow those clothes," she finally said, though the raw, baggy linen look was going to make the stranger lean harder into his 'looking kind of like Jesus' thing that he had going on. Should she mention it? Were there other types of clothes available? Maybe that was his style, in which case, no she definitely shouldn't say anything because... yeesh. Did he want to look like Jesus?

"In more important news, I think I've just found our solution to our elevator music problem," Lindi smugly said, popping the cassette tape into the deck of the boom box. She flicked it on, switched the correct input and then slowly wound up the volume to blast the opening bars to Spice Up Your Life. Oh yeah, that was a lot better.

[welcometojackass2022]

This Has Got To Stop (Married!Cheater!Johnny Knoxville x Reader) [Smut]

@jessydestroy So sorry for the wait, but I hope you enjoy! I opted for angst instead of a happy ending with this one, it’s more interesting to write for.

Description: While working on the set of Jackass in the early 2000s, you meet Johnny Knoxville. He’s handsome, funny, kind—and also married. But that doesn’t stop him from initiating a secret relationship with you that lasts for over a year. The sex is great, and Johnny’s lovely to be around, but you can’t help but feel like maybe he’s just using you, and soon enough, you find yourself questioning if this should continue.

Warnings: Smut, Cheating/Adultery, the sex is relatively vanilla but very passionate, Johnny and the reader are very morally gray people, Cursing

Note: I don’t condone cheating, nor do I think Johnny would ever cheat! I just thought this was an interesting premise to write for. Also, this is early 2000s Johnny, not current day Johnny, so he’s married to Melanie here, not Naomi.

“How the hell do you keep track of all of this stuff?” Steve-O shook his head in amazement as he looked through the stacks of paper on your desk, picking up one particular piece of paper with the phrase “rectal bleeding” across the top of it. You snatched it back from him and playfully rolled your eyes, returning the paper to its stack and pushing the stack aside. “My brain’s like a filing cabinet, what can I say? I’ve got a stack for penis injuries, for ass injuries, for ballsack injuries, I’m a one-woman hospital.” You’d been the first-aid girl on the Jackass set for a few years now (just to help with the minor injuries, not the stuff that required hospital visits), and in your time there, you’d seen some of the most disgusting sights known to man. Any other person probably would have quit by now, but you had a pretty good reason for staying as long as you had.

Someone knocked on the door to your office, and you looked up. Speak of the devil. Johnny stood in the doorway, leaning against the wall with that familiar grin on his face. “You busy?” You shook your head and smiled. “Nope! I was just helping Steve-O look for something.” Steve-O helpfully held up the thing he’d been looking for, which was a photograph you’d printed out of a prolapsed asshole, and Johnny nodded. “Alright, cool. If you two are done here, I was hoping to speak you with for a second once Steve-O leaves.” Steve-O took that as his cue to go, leaving the door ajar as he left, and Johnny leaned over to close it, grinning at you as he turned the lock. “Now that he’s gone, I’ve got some official business I was hoping you could take care of for me.” You raised an eyebrow. “Oh, really? How interesting. And what exactly is this official business that I need to take care of?”

He peeked at you over his sunglasses and leaned up against the wall. “Come see for yourself.” You rushed across the room and threw yourself against him, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and smashing your lips against his; his hands slid down to grab at your hips and squeeze at your ass, and then he pulled away and started kissing up and down your neck, his voice a low, growling tone as he passionately whispered in your ear between kisses. “I…have been waiting for this…all fucking day…couldn’t stop thinking about your tight little pussy, baby…fuck, I’m so hard right now.” Your nails scratched at his back as you moaned softly at the contact. “God, me too, you have no idea how much I’ve been looking forward to this.” He pressed one more kiss to the base of your neck and then pulled away to look at you.

“Listen, I don’t have a whole lot of time today, so this will have to be quicker than usual. Is that okay?” You felt a pang of disappointment, but you forced a smile and nodded. “Yeah, baby, that’s fine.” He smiled, satisfied with your answer, and then pulled you back in for another quick kiss before switching positions so you were against the wall. He looked down to unbutton and unzip his pants so he could pull his already hard cock out, giving it a few quick pumps and then leaning down to pull your pants and panties down to your knees so that you could spread your thighs enough to expose your wet pussy. He moved his hand down to press his finger against your pussy lips, rubbing circles over your clit, and you sighed in pleasure. He laughed. “God, you’re always so wet when we do this, I love it.” You smiled. “Hard not to be when you’re so good at this, Johnny.”

Johnny pushed two of his fingers inside you, stretching you out to get you ready for his cock, and then he lined the tip of his cock up with the entrance of your pussy and pushed himself in. You instantly dug your nails into his back, knees practically buckling from the feeling of his cock head pushing against your g-spot, and he lifted one of your legs up and motioned for you to hook it around his body so he could shove his cock deeper inside you. His thrusts were steady and even, pushing his cock nearly all the way inside you and then taking it all the way back out just to push it back inside you again. Your mouth fell open at the intense pleasure, and he took the opportunity to pull you into a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss, forehead pressed against yours as he panted and moaned lowly at the feeling of his cock sliding in and out of your wet, dripping heat.

You slid your hands under the hem of his shirt and ran them up his toned tummy and chest, admiring the way his stomach muscles flexed with every thrust, and he groaned softly. “You like that, baby?” You nodded eagerly, pushing your hips up against his as a silent plea for him to increase his pace. “Fuck yes, you’re so fucking strong, baby, your body is so fucking incredible, you’re like a goddamn superhero.” You’d definitely said the right things, because Johnny instantly quickened the intensity of his thrusts and moved his hand down to rub at your clit simultaneously, hoping to bring you to orgasm faster. Oh right, this is just a quickie. You started to tighten up around him, feeling your orgasm building up, and Johnny’s cock began to twitch inside you.

“Fuck baby, I’m so close. You gonna cum for me?” You moaned loudly, nodding and hooking your leg even tighter around his waist, and he leaned down to kiss you roughly as his rubbed against your clit one more time, your head falling back against the wall as you came around his cock. Johnny leaned his head against yours, his pace slowing down as he came close to orgasm, and then he thrust himself inside you one more time, a low moan escaping his mouth as he came inside you. He buried his face in your neck and sighed, coming down from his orgasm. “Fuck, I love you so much.” You pursed your lips, gently rubbing his back and playing with his hair. He’d said that plenty of times before, usually right after he came. You’d learned not to take it seriously.

After a moment, Johnny pulled away, and he helped you pull your panties and jeans back up before tucking his cock back into his jeans and zipping them up. “How’s my hair?” You smiled. “Wild as hell.” You leaned up to help smooth his hair down, and he grinned appreciatively. “Thanks sugar. Same time tomorrow?” You nodded. “You know where to find me.” He made his way to the door, lingering there for a moment as he watched you adjust your clothes and walk back over to your desk, and you looked up at him. “Did you need something else before you go?” Johnny shook his head and smiled. “I was just thinking…I wish my wife was more like you sometimes.” You stared at him. “More like me?” He nodded. “Yeah, you know. Casual. Laidback. You never get upset when I have to leave quickly. You just go with the flow. You don’t expect anything serious from me.”

You wanted to accept the compliment, but your eyes were now fixed on the band on his finger. His wedding ring. Right on one of the fingers he’d just had inside you. It was easy to forget he was married when he was fucking you, but once the sex was over, the reminder would come flooding back to you, looming over you like a dark cloud of guilt. “Yeah, I mean, I know better than to expect something serious out of this, Johnny. You’re married, I knew that already when I agreed to this. I’m in this for the sex as much as you are.” It wasn’t entirely true, but it was what he wanted to hear, so you said it. Sure enough, he looked satisfied with your answer. “That’s my girl. I’ll see you tomorrow, alright?” You waved him goodbye and watched him leave, eyes still locked on his wedding ring, and then as soon as he’d shut the door and left, you buried your face in your hands.

“This has got to stop.” It was a fact you’d told yourself many times over the year-long affair, but this was the first time you really meant it. It wasn’t that you felt particularly guilty about the fact that Johnny had a wife; you didn’t know his wife or care about her feelings, nor had you ever cared much for the institution of marriage. What bothered you was that, over the course of the year you and Johnny had been sleeping together, the dynamic had changed from “fun, no strings attached sex with Johnny and then maybe a nice conversation afterwards” to “quick, emotionally charged sex with Johnny where he gets weirdly affectionate with you and then brings up his wife afterwards”. The sex was still great, but it was always quick, and it always seemed to be in positions that Johnny had mentioned his wife never wanted to do with him. And then, once the sex was over, he’d always find some way to bring up his marriage and how flawed it was.

He’d complain about something his wife had done, or mention how there was certain things he never got in his marriage that he really needed, or, as of late, compare his wife to you and talk about how he wished she was more like you. You were starting to feel more like a therapist who got to have sex with her patient than like a friend with benefits. It wouldn’t have bothered you that much if weren’t for the fact that you did have more of an interest in Johnny than you’d let on. He was a sweet, sexy, funny guy, and occasionally you did allow yourself to fantasize about the idea of him leaving his wife for you. But it was just that: a fantasy. You knew better than anyone that he was never going to leave his wife for you, no matter how many complaints he had about her, and hearing him say things like ‘I wish she was more like you’ only gave you a sense of false hope.

You sighed, taking your face out of your hands and fixing the stacks of paper on your desk. “I’ll talk to him tomorrow.” You moved to pick up one of the stacks, and then a voice came from the door. “Talk to who tomorrow?” You shot up, startled, but relaxed when you saw Bam standing in the doorway. “Bam! Don’t fucking scare me like that.” Bam laughed, walking over to flop down in the chair across from your desk. “Scaredy-cat. Didn’t mean to interrupt you in the middle of you talking to yourself like a weirdo.” You rolled your eyes. “Whatever. Do you need something?” Bam nodded. “You gave Steve-O a picture of a prolapsed asshole. I want one too.” You shook your head in amazement. “You guys are so weird.” You picked up a picture from the desk and handed it to him, and he grinned. “Thanks. So, what are you going to tell Johnny tomorrow?”

Your mouth dropped open, and Bam smirked. “You think I wouldn’t notice that he comes in here every day at the same time? The other guys haven’t noticed yet, but they’re not experienced with affairs the way I am.” You shook your head in astonishment and laughed. “Should have known. You probably cheat on Jen all the time, of course you’d figure us out. Anyway, I’m just gonna ask him about the nature of…whatever it is we have going on.” Bam grimaced. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those girls who thinks he’s gonna leave his wife for you.” You laughed. “I’m not stupid, Bam. I just wanna know if he’s using me or not.” Bam shot you a look. “You two fuck every day, (Y/n), I’d say he’s definitely using you.” You rolled your eyes. “No, I mean I think he’s using me to fill the void in his marriage. Like, he’s using me to make up for the things that his wife doesn’t give him.”

“Such as?” You looked away in thought. “Well, I mean, as of recently I’ve noticed he only wants us to do positions that his wife apparently doesn’t let him do, which is literally every position except cowgirl and missionary.” Bam shrugged. “So? His wife’s vanilla, let him get his spice from you.” You frowned. “It’s not just that, though. After we’re done, he says all this stuff to me about how boring she is and how much she gets on his nerves and how he wishes she was more like me. He complains about all these things about her and then praises for me being totally different from her, it’s like he only comes to me because I have certain traits that she doesn’t. Like he only comes to me for the stuff she can’t give him.” Bam nodded. “He gets to have it both ways.”

You looked up at him. “What?” Bam started shuffling through the nasty pictures on your desk. “He gets it both ways. He’s got the pretty wife who probably cooks his meals and welcomes him with open arms every time he comes at night, but then he also has the sexy young coworker he can come to every day at work to have hot sex with and dump all his emotional problems on. If his wife’s in a bad mood at home, he can come to you cuz he knows you’ll be in a good mood. If she doesn’t wanna fuck him, it’s fine cuz he can come to you instead. Most people would have to pick one or the other, but he gets to have both. Sounds like a pretty sweet deal to me.” You stared up at him, reconciling what he’d just said to you. “Holy shit, I think you’re right.” Bam nodded. “When am I ever not? Anyway, I don’t see why it bothers you so much, but I guess you better talk to him about it now instead of letting it drag on.”

You nodded. “Yeah, I know. I know it seems odd to be upset about, but the only reason I started doing this with him was cuz I figured it would be all physical and I wouldn’t have to worry about falling in love with him. But now he’s making it all emotional, and if he keeps it up, I’m gonna start having feelings for him and then I’m gonna get hurt. He needs to either figure things out with his wife and stop fucking me or get over his wife’s issues and go back to the friends with benefits thing we had for a while.” Bam stared at you. “You’re an odd woman, (Y/n). But at least you know what you want. Lemme know how the talk goes.” He swiped another gross picture from the desk and promptly walked off, purposefully not closing the door all the way, and you sighed. “Guess I better prepare for tomorrow, then.”

The next day came, and you spent the entire morning sitting in your office stressed out. Johnny wouldn’t be coming by until 12pm (when most of the guys left for their lunch break), so you had four hours to just sit there and think about what you were going to ask him. Should you wait til after the sex is over? Should you just go right into it? Should you just lock the office door and not let him in when he knocks? You sighed, taking a peek at the clock on the wall. 11:45. Just fifteen minutes left. You tapped your fingers on the desk, mind still racing as you pondered over what to say, and then eventually, the familiar knock came and you looked up to see Knoxville standing there with that same old grin on his face. “Miss me?” You forced a smile, mentally deciding that the speech could wait until after the two of you were done. “How could I not?” Johnny laughed, locking the door behind him, and you beckoned him over.

“No wall sex today?” You shook your head and laughed. “No, actually, I was thinking maybe we could do something else today.” Johnny raised an eyebrow. “Like what?” You patted your desk chair. “Sit down and you’ll find out.” Johnny grinned, obediently sitting down in the chair and waiting to see what you would do. You quickly sank down to your knees so that you were seated comfortably between his legs, and Johnny’s eyes widened in excitement. “Oh shit, an impromptu blowjob? You are so fucking cool, sugar, I can’t even begin to-” You cut him off by squeezing at his bulge through his jeans, and he moaned, chuckling under his breath. “I’ll shut up and let you take the reins here.” You unzipped his jeans and reached into his fly, pulling his half-hard cock out and slowly pumping it in your hand and rubbing the tip with the pad of your thumb to bring it to full hardness.

Johnny’s hips bucked forward impatiently, and you took it as a sign to go ahead and put your mouth on his cock; you took the head of his cock into your mouth and swirled your tongue around the tip, feeling Johnny tangle in his fingers in your hair as he gently pushed your head further down on his cock. You pushed your mouth down to take in more of his shaft, massaging his balls in your hand as you sucked on his cock and ran your tongue over the underside of his shaft. His grip on your hair tightened, and he let out a low moan, hissing under his breath when your hot mouth took in the entirety of his cock, your lips wrapped around the base. “Fuck, you take my cock so well, sugar. Try to rub my tip against the inside of your cheek..yeah, baby, just like that. Good girl.” Any nervousness you had faded at the praise, and you instantly started sucking with more confidence. May as well enjoy this before the big “talk”.

You pulled your mouth all the way off of his cock with an obscenely wet popping sound and teased his slit with your tongue, letting your saliva drip onto the head of his cock in order to make it more slick, and then took it all the way into your mouth, resisting the urge to gag as the head of his cock touched the back of your throat. You pulled all the way off again, slurping on the tip of his cock as your hands jerked off his shaft, and he groaned loudly, throwing his head back and bucking his hips up against your mouth. “Fuck, I’m so close baby, just keep going.” You obediently took his cock all the way back into your mouth again, fondling his balls and wrapping your lips as tightly around his shaft as you could. You felt Johnny’s grip on your hair start to loosen, and he threw his head back and moaned as he came down your throat, hips stuttering as he rode out his orgasm.

You swallowed his cum and pulled away to rest your head on his lap for a moment, letting Johnny gently play with your hair as he came back down from his high. It was quiet for a moment, and then he broke the silence. “That was incredible. You’re so fucking great, sugar, my wife never gives me random blowjobs like that, she always complains about–” You pulled your head off of his thigh and looked up at him, realizing now was probably the best time to bring up your issue. “Speaking of your wife, Johnny, there’s something I need to talk to you about.” Johnny’s forehead crinkled in confusion as he pushed his cock back into his jeans and pulled up his zipper. “About what? Don’t tell me you’re just now feeling guilty about this, we’ve been doing this for over a year now.” You shook your head. “No, I don’t feel any guilt.”

“Then what’s the issue?” You got up from the floor and sat down on the surface of your desk, staring back at Johnny with a serious expression. “What are you getting out of this?” Johnny stared at you, utterly confused. “Uh, sex I guess? The same thing you are, sugar.” You shook your head. “I mean emotionally. Do you come in here every day just to fuck me or are you using me as an outlet for your fucked up marriage?” For the first time since you’d met him, Johnny looked angry. “My marriage isn’t fucked up!” You rolled your eyes at him. “Don’t give me that shit, Johnny. You cheat on your wife with me every day, you’re constantly complaining about her, you compare me to her every fucking chance you get, I mean seriously Johnny, do you even like your wife? Why are you still with her if she annoys you so fucking much?” Johnny went quiet, and you knew you’d struck a nerve, so you tried to soften your tone.

“I’m not trying to insult you, Johnny, but it feels like you’re using me to make up for all the shit your wife doesn’t do for you, and I don’t like that. I started doing this with you under the impression that it would be all physical, no emotions, no strings attached. That’s the only way to avoid catching feelings for someone in situations like this. But when you come in here and you rant about your wife and you talk about how much more you like her than me, it makes it hard not to get attached to you, and that sucks because I know you’re never going to leave your wife for me. You’ve got this great situation where you get to have the hot slutty coworker that you fuck and vent to while at work while also getting to have a wife to come home to every night, so of course you’re not going to give that up, Johnny.” He shook his head. “I don’t get what you’re saying.”

You looked away. “I’m saying I think we should stop doing this.” Johnny stared at you like he didn’t believe you. “You don’t mean that.” You shrugged. “Yes, I do. I think we should stop this now before it turns into something else. It’s one thing for us to be fucking behind your wife’s back, but for you to come to me every day just to get the things your wife doesn’t give you–that’s not just sex, that’s us having a relationship behind her back. I’m not gonna let myself fall in love with you when I know good and well you’ll never divorce her for me, so I’m ending things now.” Johnny was staring at the floor, so you continued on. “Tremaine mentioned that another one of MTV’s shows asked for me by name. They want me to come and work for them for at least twice the salary I get here. I was gonna turn it down so that we could keep doing this, but considering the circumstances, I guess I’m gonna take it.”

Johnny looked up, alarmed. “You’re gonna leave? Just like that? Hold on a second, (Y/n), think this through before you just end it like this. Surely there’s gotta be some way to get you to change your mind.” You stared at him. “There’s one. Leave your wife for me.” Johnny didn’t respond, shoulders sagging in defeat, and you nodded to yourself. “That’s what I thought. Listen, Johnny, you’re great. You’re sweet, you’re funny, you’re sexy as hell, and I’ve had a lot of fun, but you need to work some shit out with your wife. You act like you hate her fucking guts, but you go home to her every night like it’s nothing. If you can’t stand her that much, then divorce her. Don’t keep having these affairs behind her back just to make up for the sex positions she won’t try with you and the compliments she doesn’t give you and the affection she doesn’t have for you. Find someone else, someone you actually like.”

Johnny stood up, still silent, and you pulled him in for a hug. “Are you sure you want to end things like this?” You sighed, resting your head on his shoulder. “No. But I know I have to. I’m gonna go talk to Tremaine about that position, so you should probably go. I’ll miss you.” Johnny hugged you tightly against him, burying his face in your neck. “I love you.” You said nothing, just rubbed his back soothingly and then let him go. “Bye, Johnny.” You watched him leave, eyes trained on his ring finger again. For the first time since you’d started the affair with him, he’d taken his wedding ring off. You could see the outline of it in the pocket of his jeans. Maybe, for the first time, he’d actually felt a little shame about wearing it. He closed the door behind him, and you sank down in your desk chair, holding back tears as you reached for the telephone on your desk, dialing Tremaine’s number. “Jeff? Yeah, it’s me. I think I’m gonna take that position you mentioned.”

Barely two years later, the news broke: Johnny and his wife were getting a divorce.

[y2fandom]

Love and Support — Peter B. Parker

→ Summary: Peter is exhausted, thankfully he has you by his side.

→ Genre: Stablished relationship fluff :)

→ Warnings: Tooth rotting fluff, a teeny tiny bit of superhero violence

→ Word count: 1.4K

→ A/N: This has been a WIP for a while and I was really nervous about posting it but I rewatched ITSV and Peter deserves some love so

English is not my first language and this is not beta-read, please let me know if there are any mistakes

itsv masterlist l navigation l fandoms | buy me a coffee

Peter likes staying positive, but he finds that right now, with Green Goblin, it is becoming increasingly difficult to do so. He grunts when he lands on the cold hard concrete and he is tempted to stay right there for a second before he is bursting right back into the fight. Peter sighs, mulling over how usually this confrontation would have been over by now.

He says as much, “Norman, you are being a real pain in the-”

Spider-man huffs, feeling his breath momentarily leave him when the Green Monster throws something at him. He grunts, starting to get annoyed. I have a date, he laments inwardly.

Peter recalls how, just earlier today, he had been on his way to you. He was tired from a long day of patrolling the city and genuinely looking forward to seeing you. And then the Green Monstrosity attacked. Alas, when duty calls…

Peter feels a surge of energy when thinking about you and your date and, using it to his advantage he starts some elaborate web patterns he hopes will finally stop the Emerald Grouch. Stop him from what? He wonders idly but it doesn’t really matter, at this point in time he knows that nothing good ever comes from the mutated man terrorizing the city.

Spider-man tugs at his webs and watches smugly as they fully immobilize the supervillain. The weird bat-snake protests and roars but the webs don’t heed. Spider-man makes sure to reinforce the hold and, once satisfied, swiftly leaves the scene. He is certain law enforcement will arrive soon and he has more important things to do.

Like getting home. Peter complains to himself, he hates taking the long way to your apartment. He has to walk for the most part and he just wishes he could just directly swing by. He knows it’s not safe though and the thought of putting you in danger makes anxiety pool in his stomach.

Peter does his best to drown out the sounds of the city as he walks, preferring to focus his mind on what’s awaiting him. Logically, he knows he is surrounded by gray and drab New York but the thought of you makes everything look a little warmer, a little brighter. His steps gain speed. He feels like there’s a thread connecting you both, and the closer he gets to you the more the tension in his chest eases away.

He keeps on thinking of you as he walks. His beautiful girlfriend. The thought makes him smile involuntarily. Y/N.

You are always so understanding, regarding everything, but especially when it comes to his hero duties. Not only do you understand, you encourage him to be a hero and welcome him back with open arms every time.

Your apartment comes into view and he feels his smile grow on his face. Darkness has descended over New York but your apartment window acts as a beacon to him, attracting him to the warmth that spills from that tiny square in an otherwise drab building. Peter regains his earlier speed, dying to get to the one spot in the whole world that promises light and warmth to him.

The doorman doesn’t even bother stopping him, already recognizing Peter from his several visits. He silently thanks him and immediately starts taking the stairs several steps at a time.

Peter huffs once he gets to your floor but refuses to slow down, sprinting to your door. He slides his hand into his coat, fully expecting to come in contact with a pair of keys. Instead, he grasps at air and a small ball of lint.

Peter frowns, and his brain helpfully supplies him the sequence of his hectic morning, rushing to what turned out to be a false alarm. He swallows down a groan but knocks, ignoring the warmth crawling up his neck.

“Coming!” Your voice pours over him like a balm, immediately having a soothing effect on his whole body. Peter feels every single one of his muscles unwind and despite not having set one foot inside he feels at home.

The door opens and there you are and every semblance of thought has disappeared from his central nervous system. All of it. He is suddenly back to the first time he saw you.

It takes him an embarrassing amount of time to form a word. He breathes out a small “hey” that he hopes doesn’t sound as breathless as he feels.

You duck your head a little but he can see the smile on your face.

Your eyes flutter back to him a second later and you giggle out a “hey” that makes a million butterflies flutter in his stomach.

“Come in, Pete.” you step aside to let him pass through the door.

No sooner has the door clicked behind him, Peter is wrapping his arms around you. A small squeak leaves you but after a second of processing, you melt into the embrace, humming softly.

“I love you,” you mutter, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek.

“You missed,” he mumbles, and before you can say anything he captures your lips in a kiss.

You giggle and the sound makes him melt once more.

“I love you too,” Peter says as he tightens the hug ever so slightly before relaxing again. There's no hesitation in his voice.

“Aren’t you tired, Pete? Don’t you wanna go to the couch?” you suggest after a moment has passed and you are still standing, still in his arms.

Peter pretends to complain but he swiftly complies with your request. Without any sign of struggle, he lifts you up and starts walking to the couch. You let out an amused guffaw and Peter quirks an eyebrow at you.

“You are not even pretending to struggle,” you point out once you notice his questioning gaze, “Do I even weigh anything to you?”

Peter shrugs and you laugh. “It's like carrying a teddy bear.”

“I’m way scarier than a teddy bear.”

Peter snorts. He closes his eyes and lets himself fall backwards onto the couch, a small huff instinctively escapes him and he hopes it gives off the semblance of struggle you wish to see from him.

His spider-sense tingles after a second and he smirks knowingly. “You are staring.”

“I’m not…” you mutter petulantly and by what he can feel you are not lying, you’ve looked away. He chuckles.

Instinctively you place your hands on his hair and start playing with it. “How was the fight?”

Peter opens one of his eyes and promptly closes it again. “Didn’t catch the news?” There’s a light teasing tone to his voice he hopes makes you smile.

He knows he has succeeded because there’s a smile on your voice when you say: “I prefer the first-hand account,”

He chuckles at that.

“Plus,” you add, “you seem tired and I worry.”

Peter opens his eyes, you stare back at him with pure sincerity in your eyes. He pokes your side. “You do?” He teases.

“Just a little.” You answer, trying and failing to keep a straight face.

No longer able to stall on the topic he bites back a sigh and offers you a wry smile. “It was the usual,” he makes a vague hand movement you can’t see, “Green goblin creating chaos around the city.”

“Gettin’ old,” you mutter.

Peter doesn’t contradict you. He doesn’t voice it, but he is tired. Tired of things never improving, of evil and crime prevailing despite Spider-Man fighting it for decades. “Heroes don’t retire,” he says after a while, there’s no bitterness in his tone, just facts.

“They don’t, but that doesn’t mean that they aren’t allowed to feel tired.” You say, giving his cheek a kiss.

Peter smiles under your lips.

Your hands grab the sides of his face, gently making him look at you. “You are not a bad hero, Pete.”

Eyes wide open and stinging with unshed emotion, Peter Parker finds himself speechless. He opens his mouth to say something, tell you how much what you said means to him but nothing comes out.

“I love you.” he laughs through the declaration, his voice thick with emotion and it trembles a little despite himself.

“I love you too, my hero.”

The term makes Peter’s heart skip a beat and he wonders if, in your proximity, you are able to feel it.

You continue placing small kisses all over his face, whispering reassurances in between each peck. He melts underneath the attention, drawing you closer.

Peter sighs, “You are the best.”

You beam at him, making everything around him warm up. “I know.”

And, finally, your lips connect to his. The kiss makes all the warmth explode in his chest and he is glowing with you. Peter finds that he doesn’t mind taking down a few villains now and then if he gets to come home to you.

[superbattrash]

Use Your Words - A SuperBat Tale

*deep inhale* 

Alright, so. I’m in, I’m trapped, I get it. I am now a SuperBat fic writer, there’s no way around it. I would just like to say that this is entirely @katsuyacrimson‘s fault and I am forever grateful only slightly upset. 

So here. Have some SuperBat smut. 

Beware of: Dirty Talk, Dom/Sub Undertones (very mild, tho), Clark Being A Simp For Bruce Wayne, Bottom Bruce, Top Clark, A Lot of Feelings. Oh, and plot if you squint hard enough. 

-- 

“You want me to, what, exactly?” Clark asked, bewildered. He hadn’t expected his advances to be stopped by a solid hand on his chest, but here they were.

“Stop it with the kid gloves. I’m not gonna break,” Bruce told him.  

“I never said you would.”

“But you’re still holding back.”

“I am Superman, remember?” Clark huffed.

“You’re also Clark Kent,” Bruce countered. “And I know for a fact that Clark Kent likes it a little rough.”

“I d-do not.” Cursing his stumbling tongue Clark did his best to look convincing. He’d been raised better, he knew better. There was no need to use excess strength in the bedroom. He’d never needed to, wanted to, not with Bruce. They knew each other in and out, there was no need for either of them to dominate the other. At least that’s what he’d thought up until two seconds ago. So much for knowing everything about each other.

“You do,” Bruce purred, letting his hand trail down Clark’s sternum. The dark knight’s heartbeat was steady, if a little faster than usual. He’s excited, Clark’s mind supplied helpfully. “You want to hold me down, claim me. Make me yours. I can see right through this façade, Clark, it’s not something you need to hide from me.”

“I’m not hiding anything,” Clark muttered even as his cock stirred to life at Bruce’s words. The man had a filthy tongue, even more so in the privacy of his own bedroom. Their bedroom, as of late.  

“You’re not showing me everything either.”

“I’m –“

“It’s okay to tell me what you want, you know,” Bruce baited.

Clark swallowed thickly. He’d never had an issue telling Bruce what he wanted, and he wasn’t hesitating because he didn’t want to be honest, he was hesitating because he wasn’t sure what he wanted that he hadn’t already got, if there was anything at all. Something must’ve shown on his face, because Bruce took a small step back and that just wouldn’t do. Clark straightened his shoulders, determination on his face.

”Fine. I want you on your knees then,” Clark said, trying for a stern command. Testing Bruce’s theory if only to show him that what they already had was perfect. They didn’t need anything else, anything more. Clark was completely content with their sex life, he didn’t need to be in some sort of controlling position, no matter what Bruce might think. And there was no way Bruce would willingly — Clark gaped as he watched as Bruce gingerly lowered himself first down on one knee — and don’t think about Bruce on one knee, Clark, not now, get it together — and then the other.

Bruce raised an eyebrow, smirk barely contained. A challenge, huh. Two could play that game.

“You want me to tell you what I want? Alright, I can do that.” And was that a shiver running through Bruce? A little unexpected, but not unwelcome. Not unwelcome at all. Especially not when Clark could hear his heartrate kick up a notch as well.

“You are a journalist, after all, you should be able to use your big boy words,” Bruce teased.

If Clark didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought this wasn’t affecting Bruce at all. But he did know better. He saw the anticipation in those crystal-clear eyes, the minute shift of his hips, could hear the steady thump of his heart. He was trying to seem coy, trying to cover up his own reaction, but it was clear as day that he wanted this as much as Clark did. And wasn’t that the kicker? Clark had never realized Bruce wanted him to be more assertive, to be dominating. He hadn’t really realized it was something he wanted himself. Bruce always knew though, always saw right through him.

Clark backed up until he felt the bed hit the back of his legs. He sat down slowly, never looking away from Bruce. He weighed the words in his head for a moment.

“Crawl to me,” he then said. Another test and this one had Bruce arching his brow again. He seemed to hesitate but only for a moment, then his hands hit the floor and he was making his way towards Clark. And wasn’t that a sight to behold.

Something warm settled in Clark’s chest. The thought of Bruce – of Batman – obeying his every command was exhilarating in a way he’d never considered. When Bruce reached him, he sat back on his haunches and waited patiently, even as his eyebrows rose, seemingly asking Now What?

“Kiss me.”

Bruce rolled his eyes but dutifully rose to his knees, leaning up and connecting their lips. Nothing could ever compare to kissing Bruce. His lips were soft but firm and the way he parted them to be able to suck Clark’s lower lip into his mouth was maddening. He used just the right amount of teeth, tugging at the reddening flesh. Clark felt his eyes flutter shut at the sensation. He cradled Bruce’s jaw in one hand while the other settled on his broad shoulder. The strength beneath his skin was intoxicating and Clark would never get over how in control of himself Bruce always was. He had worked for every perfectly sculped muscle, pushing himself to his limits every day, breaking himself apart only to put himself back together again. The thought of Bruce willingly surrendering himself to Clark had the Kryptonian moan softly.

He forced his eyes to open as Bruce pulled back, just enough to glance at his lap.

It was clear what he was expecting and even though Clark, ever the gentleman, didn’t want to disappoint his lover, he hadn’t asked Bruce on his knees to have him service him. Not yet anyway. The warmth spread from his chest and out to the rest of his body as he pulled gently at Bruce’s shoulder. Understanding the silent command Bruce rose from the floor.

“Take these off?” Clark asked as he tugged at Bruce’s shirt.

They’d been well on their way to bed before Bruce had stopped him, so it wasn’t like he had to strip off one of his expensive suits; he was wearing a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, very homey. It didn’t matter though, Clark never tired of watching Bruce get undressed, no matter if it was pajamas, an Italian suit or the bat suit. The last one would always be his favorite to tear off Bruce himself though. He’d ripped more than one on accident, but Bruce always forgave him. Eventually.

Clark’s words hadn’t been as demanding as he’d meant, and it was clear Bruce noticed. It wasn’t exactly another eyeroll, but Bruce’s lashes did flutter as he looked to the side, clearly debating whether he’d made the right decision in calling Clark out on his unspoken needs. Perhaps he’d thought he’d pushed too far. Bruce did have a nasty habit of overthinking and blaming himself for little things.

Clark watched the silent battle in Bruce’s mind, not caring nearly enough which side would win. Either way he’d get what he wanted: Bruce. Always Bruce.

Eventually though it seemed curiosity and desire won out. Bruce grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head. It wasn’t a show exactly, but Clark enjoyed it, nonetheless. Bruce pushed the sweatpants down his hips, revealing nothing but bare skin. Clark had to swallow to keep the saliva down. Bruce was half hard already, leaving Clark simmering with a twisted kind of pride he only ever felt when he got to see how much Bruce desired him. It still baffled him sometimes how deep Bruce’s feelings ran, but even more so that the vigilante had actually accepted and acknowledged those feelings.

Bruce had his arms by his sides, palms out as if he was offering himself up. And he was, wasn’t he? Clark wet his lips, trying to find words, any words, and push them out of his mouth.

“Get on the bed,” were the words that found him, and he was slightly surprised by how rough his voice was. Pleasantly surprised that it was steady, though.

If it hadn’t been for the slight skip in Bruce’s heartbeat Clark wouldn’t have been able to detect his nerves. He placed a knee on the bed and sat down, spreading his legs slightly as he rested against the pillows. The perfect temptation just a few inches from Clark’s hands.

Clark didn’t waste any time ridding himself of his clothes. In the blink of an eye, he too was naked and leaning over Bruce on the bed. The dark knight chuckled at the blatant misuse of power. Clark didn’t mind. He could use his powers for selfish desires occasionally. Bruce was the one who taught him that.

Clark leaned in close to kiss Bruce, just once, a gentle press of the lips. He pressed one more at the corner of his mouth, then his jaw, then the hollow of his throat. The slight scratch of Bruce’s stubble against his skin had heat flare in his stomach.

He lowered his head, tracing a jagged line across Bruce’s shoulder with his lips. A knife wound, he knew, though he didn’t know who’d made it. He was certain Bruce wouldn’t tell him if he asked. There was something to be said of Kryptonian anger, after all. Clark prided himself on his self-control, but when it came to Bruce, he was always a little less restrained than usual.

Bruce had never really allowed him to take his time like this, mapping out the different scars running over his strong body. It wasn’t that the man was embarrassed, but he didn’t see the value in spending time exploring old wounds. Now though, he wasn’t complaining. Quite the opposite.

Clark let his hands wander, enjoying the breathless little sounds spilling from Bruce’s lips. He traced an old scar – a bullet wound – on Bruce’s right thigh with his fingertips, splaying his hands over the strong hips beneath him.

Bruce huffed out what would have qualified as a laugh if anyone else had done it. (“Sex can be fun, Bruce, you don’t have to be so serious all the time.”) He was clearly amused by Clark’s tenderness, as opposed to the harshness of his earlier words.

“What?” Clark muttered against his skin. He reveled in the fact that his breath had Bruce shudder, even if it was only his super senses that made it evident to him. “You told me to do whatever I want, right?”

“That’s not exactly –“ Bruce’s words caught in his throat as Clark bit down on his hip bone.

He pushed himself up, deliberately letting his chest press against Bruce’s body, dragging their skin together. Clark had to bite down a moan at the delicious feeling of the heat of Bruce’s body against his own.

“This was supposed to be about you,” Bruce tried, his voice fluttery, like he was short of breath. The thought had Clark grin.  

“It is.”

“How is this –“ Bruce moaned as Clark licked over a nipple. “How is this about you?”

“You want me to tell you how much I enjoy tasting every part of you?” Clark asked. And wasn’t that interesting. Bruce was blushing. “Oh?”

“I –“

“Because I do. I love that I’m the only one who gets to do this to you.” He kissed Bruce’s sternum, feeling the strong heartbeat beneath his lips. “I love that I’m the only one who gets to hear you like this.” He emphasized his word with a sharp thrust of his hips against Bruce’s, just to hear the breathless groan in response.

“You won’t get to hear shit, if you don’t get on with it,” Bruce muttered as he swatted at Clark’s shoulder.

Clark couldn’t help but laugh even as he reached for the lube in the bedside table. He might’ve been inclined to tease more if he wasn’t acutely aware of his own arousal sitting untouched against his thigh. The friction from rubbing their bodies together had been nice but not nearly enough to satiate his needs.

He popped the bottle open and lathered up his fingers, making sure to warm the lube in his hands before reaching down between Bruce’s legs. Bruce instinctively spread his thighs, a small sigh falling from his lips. Clark rubbed against his entrance gently, pushing one finger in to the first knuckle. Bruce groaned and pushed down against him, trying to force him deeper.

Chuckling at Bruce’s impatience Clark pushed the finger all the way inside, his stomach twisting in pleasure at the tight feeling. One finger soon turned to two and because he was considerate (and because he kind of wanted to punish Bruce, just a little for starting this thing in the first place, no matter how good it was), Clark added a third as well. They barely fit inside Bruce’s tight ass, stretching him wide and Clark’s dick twitched against his thigh in anticipation.

“Enough,” Bruce panted, the small amount of patience he’d shown wearing thin.

If he’d had any sort of willpower left Clark might’ve kept teasing, but as it was, he withdrew his fingers and used the leftover lube to tug at his cock once, twice, just enough to make the glide easier. He wiped his hand sloppily against the bedsheets before grabbing Bruce’s thighs again. One hand wrapped around the firm flesh and one hand wrapped around the base of his cock as he guided it towards Bruce’s twitching hole.

And finally, he pushed inside. He’d usually go slow, let Bruce adjust as he sank into him, but somewhere in his mind a small voice – and it sounded suspiciously like Bruce’s – told him to do it fast, do it hard. Do it now. He thrust forward without warning and the punched-out moan Bruce gave in response was absolutely filthy.

His hips lay flush against Bruce’s and Clark had to breathe through his nose slowly to compose himself. The sweet scent of Bruce’s arousal mixed with his own hit his nostrils and Clark groaned quietly. Bruce was so tight around him, squeezing at his cock like he wanted to keep him there forever. His fingers squeezed around Bruce’s thighs and for a moment he wondered if the dark knight would enjoy seeing bruises there later. The thought had him tighten his hold just a bit more.

“Move,” Bruce groaned, jostling Clark out of his thoughts.

Clark rested his hands on Bruce’s splayed thighs as he pulled out almost all the way. Then he thrust forward, hard, pushing Bruce up the bed a few inches. He sucked in air he didn’t really need as he repeated the motion, again and again. He set a punishing rhythm, thoroughly enjoying the wrecked noises spilling over his lover’s lips.  

Despite the tight heat nearly blurring his vision, Clark was aware of every minute expression showing on Bruce’s face and it didn’t take him more than a second to recognize one of pain, real pain, running over his eyes. Clark stilled his movements, but before Bruce could complain – his mouth already opening to bark out another order – he merely rearranged them. Adjusting the angle to spare Bruce’s cramping hip, Clark grabbed the back of his thigh, positioning him so the back of his knee was resting over Clark’s shoulder, and oh. This way Clark could push even deeper into him.

Bruce was stubborn even on a good day and he was biting down on his lower lip, hard. It wouldn’t do. In a move that surprised even Clark himself, he flipped Bruce over on his hands and knees. How he managed without pulling out was a mystery, but he wasn’t going to dwell on it, because the sudden movement had Bruce tightening around him. Clark gave him a short moment to settle onto his hands and knees and then he was moving again.

He was petting at every piece of Bruce he could reach; grabbing harshly at his hips, running his hands over his muscled back, down his strong thighs, spreading his cheeks to reach even further inside him. Clark draped himself over Bruce’s back, melting their bodies together, wanting them to be closer, needing them to be as close as physically possible.

Running his hand up Bruce’s throat, Clark grabbed a hold of his chin, meaning to turn his head for a kiss. But as his fingertips graced Bruce’s lower lip, he couldn’t help but press them into his panting mouth. Bruce’s tongue was soft and warm, his saliva gliding steadily around Clark’s fingers. And then his moans increased. With his mouth held open by Clark’s fingers he couldn’t swallow the sounds and Clark was mesmerized. It shouldn’t be this hot, feeling Bruce’s drool drip from his fingers, but the sounds he was making, the way he tightened around Clark’s cock in embarrassment, it was all driving Clark crazy.

“Let me hear you,” he demanded, words leaving his mouth without him meaning to. Perhaps there was some truth to Bruce’s theory after all. He pressed his fingers down on Bruce’s tongue, opening his mouth even wider.

Bruce’s little ‘ah, ah, ahs’ got louder even after Clark let his hand run down his throat and back over his shoulder. He pressed his palm against the middle of Bruce’s back and pushed down. Bruce’s arms gave out instantly and it was with a satisfied grunt that Clark resumed his hard thrusts. He was immensely satisfied to find that the new angle had Bruce moan even louder, now that he’d finally let himself let go.

As he watched his cock slide in and out of Bruce’s ass, Clark couldn’t stop the words from tumbling over his lips. He wasn’t consciously thinking of it, he just knew that Bruce’s reactions to his words were driving him insane and making him harder than he’d ever been before.

“I could do this all day, every day for the rest of my life,” he panted as he slammed his hips into Bruce’s hard enough to bruise. He’d never realized how much he’d been holding back, until he suddenly wasn’t anymore.

Bruce’s ass spasmed around him and he groaned loudly.

“You’d let me, wouldn’t you? You’d let me use you as a cock warmer for as long as I’d like, wouldn’t you, baby?” All he got in response were high pitched whines and as much as he loved hearing them, he wanted — he needed more.

“Answer me, Bruce,” he demanded roughly.

“Yes,” Bruce hissed on a particularly hard thrust. “Yes, yes, anything you want.”

Clark pushed in once, pulled back and stilled with just the head inside. He had to close his eyes as Bruce tightened around him, trying to keep him inside.

“What I want,” he said slowly as he caressed Bruce’s hips. “Is for you to fuck yourself on my cock, until you come.”

Bruce gasped and there was a clear flush spreading up his neck that wasn’t entirely from desire. Clark had never seen anything more beautiful. And then Bruce moved. Slowly at first, moving his hips forward and back, testing. He braced himself against the bed, fingers digging into the sheets. The pace wasn’t nearly as fast – or steady – as the one Clark had set, but it was almost better, watching Bruce work for his own pleasure like this.

“Just like that, you’re so perfect, so good for me,” Clark muttered, running his hands up Bruce’s back. He bit his tongue to hold back another loud groan, but it pushed its way out anyway. “I love seeing you like this, wanting me so badly.”

“Clark, please.” And oh, hearing Bruce beg for him had Clark’s blood sing. He would never get tired of seeing Bruce, hearinghim like this. Desperate, needy, wanting.

“Please, what?” He teased.

“Please,” Bruce repeated, any other words seemingly gone from his mind.

“Please make you come? Or please keep fucking you?” Clark asked, even as he took hold of Bruce’s hips again. He could never deny him anything, even if he’d wanted to. He reached a hand around to take a hold of Bruce’s erection.

“No,” Bruce whined, swatting his hand away.

“What?” Clark withdrew his hand with a frown. Had he overstepped somehow?

“Not what you –“ Bruce choked on a moan. “Not what you wanted.”

Clark felt a blush rise to his cheeks. Oh fuck. Bruce was so good to him, too good to him. He’d already forgotten his previous demand, but Bruce hadn’t, of course he hadn’t. And he wanted to obey, which was just too good to turn down. But there weren’t any rules in this game of theirs, and Clark could already feel the first tell-tale signs of his impending orgasm run up his spine.

“That doesn’t mean I can’t help,” Clark whispered as he leaned down to press a kiss against Bruce’s spine. The tender act had Bruce shiver underneath him. “Will you let me?”

“As long as you –“ Bruce twisted his head around to look at him. “As long as you keep talking.”

At the sight of Bruce’s messy hair, the blush high on his cheeks, the pure desire in his blue eyes, Clark momentarily lost focus. He nearly missed Bruce’s words but when they finally registered in his mind, he couldn’t help but grin.

“You like it, huh?” He said, not really a question. “You like it when I tell you all the dirty thoughts I have while I fuck you?”

The responding moan was agreement enough for Clark to continue. He straightened his back as he grabbed Bruce’s hips again with renewed fervor. He ground his hips against Bruce’s ass, just once before pulling back. Slamming back in he closed his eyes as he let his thoughts run to his mouth, not filtering through any of them.

“Oh fuck,” Clark groaned. “You feel so good around me. I want to be inside you for the rest of my life. I want to fill you with my come, over and over, have it running down your thighs, marking you as mine.” He took a shuddering breath, thrusting harder. “I want everybody to see, to know you’re mine. Nobody else can touch you, can make you feel like this.”

Bruce whined high in his throat, burying his face in the pillow underneath him.

“Would you like that, Bruce?” Clark asked, voice rough. “Would you like me to fill you up, maybe even use that plug you think I don’t know you have? Leave you full until I can fuck you again? Have you walk around League meetings with my come inside you?”

There was no way he’d actually do that – J’onn would know the instant they’d enter the space station, and he didn’t want to be on the receiving end of his curious stares – but the thought of it. Of Bruce walking around with his cum inside him. The thought of Batman running around the streets of Gotham, his ass stretched tightly around a plug, had Clark growl deep in his throat. He felt his cock throb, so close to release. Just a little bit more.

And from Bruce’s reactions he could tell he wasn’t the only one. His shoulders were tensing up and Clark knew if he could see Bruce’s face, he would see his eyes rolling to the back of his head. The hands buried in the sheets were white knuckled and shaking slightly.

“I can feel how close you are,” Clark said, even as he tried to keep his own orgasm at bay. “You’re trembling. Do you want to come, Bruce? Then tell me. Tell me you’re mine.”

“Yours,” Bruce lifted his head to rasp, trying fruitlessly to push back against Clark’s harsh thrusts. “I’m yours, only yours, please, please, please –”

Clark twisted his hips to brush over Bruce’s prostate; he didn’t need to use any of his otherworldly senses, he knew Bruce’s body well enough to know where to aim by feel alone. He pounded into Bruce’s ass, his cock dragging against the bundle of nerves on every thrust. Soon enough – too soon, always too soon – Bruce’s entire body tensed and then his ass spasmed around Clark as he came. Thick robes of come splashed over the sheets and Bruce was whining, panting, squeezing so deliciously around Clark’s cock.

Clark covered Bruce’s body with his own, pressing him into the damp sheets, as he chased his own orgasm. He wrapped his arms underneath Bruce’s arms, hands settling to grip around his shoulders, using the leverage to push himself deeper.

“Bruce, Bruce, Bruce.” Clark’s hips stuttered and his arms tightened almost painfully around Bruce’s frame as he came. His entire body shook with the force of his orgasm, and he couldn’t move even if he wanted to.

Eventually though he had to move. He was pretty sure he was suffocating Bruce with his weight, even if the other man didn’t say anything. He could feel his breathing slowing as he came down from his high, the even movement of his chest traveling up into Clark’s own.

“I love you,” Clark sighed against the back of Bruce’s neck before he rolled off him. The only response he received was a muffled grunt. Clark popped his head up on his hand as he watched Bruce. The other man was always a little slower to recover after sex.

A few minutes later Bruce rolled onto his back, grimacing at the wetness underneath him. They’d have to change the sheets before going to bed. Clark didn’t mind, it had been worth it. He couldn’t help but admire Bruce’s naked body as it lay beside him. There were bruises forming on his hips and red marks were blooming on his skin where Clark had sucked and kissed and bitten. He let his eyes wander down over Bruce’s thighs, silently wondering if his come was leaking out of him yet.

“’Baby’? Really?” Bruce’s voice snapped him out of his wandering thoughts.

“You told me to use my words,” Clark laughed even as he felt his cheeks heat up. He hadn’t meant to use the endearment, but he didn’t regret it. Not when Bruce was looking at him with badly disguised fondness. Even if he would vehemently deny being called anything but his name. Clark was barely allowed to call him ‘B’ in the best of times.  

“Not exactly what I meant, but alright.” Bruce was quiet for a moment before he continued. “So, it’s not just that you like it rough.”

Bruce didn’t have to say anything else, the self-satisfied smirk on his face was enough to convey his thinly veiled I Told You So.Clark huffed in annoyance, but he couldn’t help the grin stretching on his face. Of course, Bruce had been right, he always was, the bastard. Clark barely held back a whine of I’m Not The Only One. Just barely.

“This doesn’t mean I’ll always want it like this,” he said instead.

“I know,” Bruce said matter-of-factly. “But sometimes it’s good to use your words. Even if these ones won’t win you any Pulitzer Prizes.”

“You’re a jerk.”

“Don’t say –“

“You’re my jerk, though.”

Bruce groaned softly.