#but instead almost dropped it on his foot when he saw Dick fiddling with his new piercing

[celaenaeiln]

something i’d love to see more of is angsty rebellious teenage dick grayson. i don’t know why i enjoy the trope but the image of dick “golden boy” grayson getting plastered with roy as he slowly sinks into depression before somewhat getting his shit together is an interesting picture

also he just seems like the guy to get impulsive piercings. dunno why

oooh yeah that fantasy's a guilty a pleasure of mine.

I am 1000000000% an enforcer of Dick was not an angry robin. And he wasn't because the comics show just how happy his demeanor was and how fun he is. But angsty teen Dick? 16/17 year old Dick?

I LOVE IT.

Again throwing a little bit of canon in

"When we started this you were open and encouraging. You were my father...but these last few years...all you've been doing is trying to control me even more."

This is so loaded.

The anger Dick feels when Bruce is trying control him, trying to lock him in a cage in the batcave because of worry, has so much ao3 potential.

Like angsty teen dick is so complicated to think about because Bruce acts a bit like an alcoholic father and Dick's compartmentalization issues come from his parents' death. So what would this result in?

I have no fcking clue.

Because Dick would totally get wasted with Roy, hazy blue eyes staring emptily into space, watching with a flushed cheeks as his short black hair fans out on the back of a beaten blue couch at Roy's place, just breaking down quietly as Roy rants and screams about life's injustices in the background, slinging an arm around Dick and jostling him.

Or maybe he and Roy would also go bar hopping, both of them sloppy drunk, laughing and crying at the same time while they max out their daddies' credit cards and then crash somewhere in someone's pool. Maybe they end up inadvertently on Katy Perry's Friday Night music video.

Or maybe Dick would be a hurricane of disaster, lashing out with knives of sharpened words stabbing the deepest, sorest spots of pain in people, his anger alighting a fire in all. He would be magnificent, ferocious, and catastrophic.

He could be any of these three and all three at once.

He would feel the need to act out if Bruce was becoming more controlling.

BUT AT THE SAME TIME, Dick raised Bruce and that perpetually sense of responsibility he's instilled into himself from a young age as well as his self-sufficiency is never erased so one night he would be blacked out from the excessive alcohol but next morning 6'o clock his body's walking up and he's going through his morning routine like a machine and out the door to work. He just keeps going like this day and day until he collapses and the titans intervene or Bruce drags him back to the manor, screaming in love and fear and Dick screams back and the cycle begins.

Nightwing (1996) Issue #135

Like canonically Dick ran away from home at 16, got a job, got caught up in a major anarchist group, and did a whole freaking investigation while Bruce sulked in the cave because Dick ran away.

There's so much angsty dick potential that could go in so many ways because he's such a complex character that all of them apply.

LOL!!! I totally think he would get impulsive piercings too. Maybe when he's drunk and pissed and then the next day he would wake up be like wtf. He'd sit in turmoil and a little regret for a while and then be like whatever because these piercing are freaking cool.

Bonus: no one (except the og titans and Alfred bc Dick never keeps anything from Alfred and the titans are family) ever find out about the piercings and it's kept a tightly guarded secret until a decade later when he does something in the batcave and one of the batkids notice and they're like, "DICK YOU HAVE A PIERCING?!" The rest of them just about break their neck whipping their head around to look at him. Dick just shrugs nonchalantly because time has tempered him and goes, "oh yeah. I guess. I forgot." Bruce passes out and wakes up on the floor to Dick hovering worriedly over him while the rest of the family watches in amusement at his predicament and also half brokenly because their golden boy big brother has piercings. Plural.

Bruce gasped out a pained breath, "Piercings?"

Dick stared at him silently, gemstone eyes holding his gaze as the quiet of the cave melted the seconds into hours. His eyes slowly slid from Bruce's to where the rest of the family was standing, watching them with bated breath for his answer, before they met Bruce's hopeful ones again.

"No." Bruce, with all the strength left in his body after recovering, raised a questioning eyebrow as Dick continued, "I don't have any piercings and never did."

"Hmn." But he swore he could've seen-

The kids erupted in protests.

"Dick, come on!" Jason hollered, pushing forward. "We clearly saw it there-"

"Where?" Dick asked, spreading his arms wide and invitingly, offering them to see for themselves.

The piercing they had all gotten the barest glimpse of was gone from where they had seen it on Dick.

"But you said you! You said, 'yeah. I guess so. I forgot.'" Stephanie put her hands on her hips, "Admit it Boy Piercing!"

"Boy Piercing?!"

"Fess up, pretty boy!"

"Steph," Dick visibly bit his lip to keep from laughing, "I was joking. You guys should've see your reactions - they were so funny!! Dick has a piercing. OMG. You people were hilarious."

Damian clicked his tongue. "Enough Richard! Did you implement metal into you skin like a heathen? Richard, how could you?! Who dare touch-"

"No Dami!" Dick quickly interfered to prevent a possible murder on his behalf, "I was just kidding, okay? Besides, did you guys even really see it? Like full on?"

Harper crossed her arms. "Close enough."

Dick quirked his eyebrow at that. "But you didn't actually see it right? You thought you saw something shining and turned to look. C'mon you guys know what it is - peripheral vision hallucinations. Things you see in your peripheral vision that aren't real because you are tired," He pinned a look at each other, emphasizing the words, "and stressed."

Dick pressed his lips together and folded his arms. "Time for bed. Now. I know you all haven't been sleeping for the past few days so you all are going to bed. At the manor." Dick finished, shooting Jason a look when he tried secretly shuffling toward his bike.

The rest of them were unmoved for a moment but quickly caved under Dick's patented "I'm mom-ing you."™ stare as Jason liked to call it.

They trudged upstairs while Bruce and Dick watched in companionable silence.

Bruce turned to look at Dick as the sounds of their bickering and footsteps faded away.

"How did you do it?"

Dick hummed distractedly and tilted his head to look down at Bruce still sitting on the floor. "Do what?"

Bruce growled, impatience, annoyance, and apprehension swimming in his voice, "Don't lie. To me. How did you hide it? Now. And for so long?"

Bruce watched tensed as the tip of Dick's tongue ran over the ridges of his top row of teeth, the first sign of anger he had seen from him in weeks. The pink flesh of his tongue barely avoiding cutting itself on the slightly too sharp canines that Dick loved to call his vampire teeth since he was little. He had even threw a veteran-dentist-scaring-tantrum in the dentist's office when the man suggested shaving them down once.

Bruce watched warily as Dick crouched down, balancing on his balls of his feet like a cat on a fence, and forcefully tamped down the sudden urge to pull out a hidden batarang when the boy grinned, eyes lighting with the wild fire of joy and madness from his robin days that still had Bruce on edge for decades.

"How did you it?" He asked again, not sure if he really wanted to know anymore but the principle remained. There was no way Dick's activities could be hidden for so long. He didn't invest in his detective following skills for something like this to escape his observation. But at the same time Dick had evaded his tracking skills when he was seventeen and ran away from him. But something so obvious as a piercing would never escape his notice. But a whole 17 year old boy also shouldn't have escaped his notice. However, Bruce had improved. He had gotten better at his job and his skills. Right? Right, of course, he was the best in the world. Dick definitely did have a piercing. But...on the off chance...what if he really had just seen a flash of light? Sweat on a body? The edge of a birdarang? Peripheral vision hallucinations? "Do you?"

"Do I what?"

You already know what I'm asking. Bruce thought, frustrated with Dick for lying. Frustrated with himself for not knowing if Dick was lying.

"Do you have piercings?" Bruce ground out.

Dick laughed, his voice echoing like choir bells in the spacious cave and bouncing off the stalactites to create a ringing, haunting melody as he leaned in closer to Bruce.

"C'mon, B! You know every showman's got his own tricks," Dick grinned brightly.

And you're the whole damn circus. Bruce hissed viciously in his mind.

Dick's eyes twinkled back at him.

[honeymoonjin]

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ot7 x reader || ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 5.9k || ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: smut - rated 18+

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ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: cursing, panic attack

A/N: apologies for my tgm crimes here but i gotta keep you on your toes since you have the old plan. also i'm not going to spoil anything but day 25 has one of my fav scenes in the show so far ;;-; so please enjoy this chapter and i will continue to work hard to finish the following one and get back into the posting routine!

DAY TWENTY-FOUR

You’re roused from sleep by the feathered sensation of fingertips on your jaw. Twitching slightly, you try and move away from it, burrowing deeper into the warm, gently rocking pillow your head is propped up on.

Before you can slip back under, however, the fingers give one last attack: a sudden flick to your cheek that echoes with a thwack. You flinch and furrow your brows, grumbling your displeasure since your words haven’t quite found you yet.

“Get up, sleepyhead, unless you’d rather I just piss in the bed.”

That’ll do it. You shoot up so quickly your vision swims, one side of your face feeling cold without the comfort of Yoongi’s chest. “Fuck you, go pee,” you slur, eyes still half-closed, the morning glare peeking through a gap in his curtains.

Yoongi happily but hurriedly trots off to the bathroom, giving you a moment of respite to collect yourself. It takes a few moments to recall the previous night, not just the way Yoongi’s voice had made you cum in your room, but also the way it later lulled you to sleep as he told you hushed stories of his childhood or anecdotes from his days as a sex education teacher.

You can even hear his voice now, just barely slipping under the crack of the door, humming and singing under his breath as he washes his hands.

When he finally exits, you’re propped up by pillows, duvet tucked over your knees and eyes crinkled fondly at his bedhead.

“Oh, no,” he starts with a frown, “you better get that look off of your face.”

Your smile drops. “What?”

Taming his hair with a few flat strokes, he shakes his head. “I need somebody sane in this house to talk to. You aren’t allowed to fall in love with me, it’s conflict of interest.”

Mouth dropping open, it takes you a few minutes to note the subtle curl to his lips. “You dick! I’m certainly not planning on it, don’t flatter yourself.”

“Hey,” he defends in a drawl, no attempt at modesty as he shucks his pyjamas before browsing his chest of drawers, “it’s been done before. You come for the massive dick and stay for the massive heart.” He pauses, shoulder muscles flexing as he reaches in to a drawer, pulling out a pair of dark wash jeans. “Stop looking at my ass, I’m trying to lecture you.”

On the contrary, you lower your gaze and narrow in on it. “You’re starting to develop a little bubble butt, Yoongi. It’s very cute.” Not leaving him time to protest, you barrel on. “Besides, your dick isn’t that big.”

“That’s only because you’re comparing mine to hyung’s. And Namjoon’s. And… And Jungkook’s, I guess. And-�� Suddenly he cuts himself off, throwing himself back on the bed with his back hunched in despair. “Fuck, do I have a small dick?”

“Mm, not really,” you dismiss easily, deciding to finally get out of bed and pick out your own clothes - selecting them from Yoongi’s drawers, of course. He makes no protest, still staring blankly at the jeans in his hands. “You just have steep competition here. There’s nothing wrong with small dicks, either. They’re cute.”

Now visible from your angle, Yoongi’s face twists in a grimace. “But my dick isn’t small, right?”

You shrug, slipping on one of his FG shirts and a pair of sweatpants loose enough that you have to knot the drawstrings. “If it helps you sleep at night.”

He spares one somber glance down between his legs before he slips on a pair of underwear, finally stepping into the jeans. There’s a brief period of comfortable silence, before he lets out a small sigh. “Can I… Can I confess something to you?”

Although a quip would be easy enough to say, you sense the joking is over. “Of course, Yoongi,” you assure instead, sitting cross-legged on the unmade bed beside him. He doesn’t meet your eye, busying himself with slipping a shirt over his head. “What’s up?”

Once he’s fully dressed, he still keeps his eyes low. “When you- On Monday, when you voted out Jin-hyung. I was so glad.”

You pause for a moment. “Because you wanted him out of the competition?” you venture, but he shakes his head dully.

“Because I thought he might look at me again if he didn’t have you.”

Something sinks in your stomach, cold enough to make you shiver. The guilt in Yoongi’s voice doesn’t conceal the open vulnerability of his expression as he fiddles with his bitten fingernails. “What do you mean, Yoongi?”

“What him and I had earlier wasn’t healthy, I know that,” he defends to himself, “but… I still miss it. I miss him. But even when I spoke to him after the elimination, all he would talk about was you. And I can’t even be mad, because I get it. And I- If I’m honest,” he murmurs, feet scuffing restlessly on the carpet, “I don’t even know what I’m wanting to achieve by telling you this, but I couldn’t stand not having anybody know about it. I never wanted it to get this messy. I told myself I wouldn’t let my feelings get caught up. But I think a little heartbreak would be worth it, for him. Is that stupid?”

You feel so unanchored, like there’s nothing for you to grab onto to steady yourself. More so, you feel entirely incapable of helping your friend like you so desperately want to. “It’s not stupid,” you begin, reaching out to cup one of his hands snugly between the two of yours, head resting on his shoulder in solidarity, “and I’m so sorry. Does he- does he know you feel this way?”

“I don’t think so,” Yoongi admits in a low voice, leaning into your touch. “If he does, then he must not like me since he’s not acknowledging it. And if he doesn’t, then he must have never even considered me like that. I know I was a distraction at best.”

You knit your brows together, deep in thought to try and find the right words to say. “Or perhaps he knows and he’s respecting your boundaries by letting you initiate, especially since he was the one who took advantage of you last time. And perhaps he doesn’t know, and it’s only because he’s so caught up in his own feelings that he hasn’t considered that you may feel the same. You just don’t know these things, Yoongi. I didn’t know how you felt either until you told me.”

He nods slowly, jerkily. “Yeah,” he says weakly. “Jungkook said almost the exact same thing, actually.”

You pull back slowly, curiosity colouring your tone. “Jungkook?”

Yoongi manages a shy smile, cheeks colouring slightly. “He approached me. We- we talk a lot, way more than hyung and I ever did. I know Kookie has a crush on me, and we said we’d take things slow, but dammit, I can’t help but like the kid.”

You let a surprised laugh bubble up your throat. “That- I was not expecting that, but I’m so glad, Yoongi. Even if you don’t have Jin, I’m glad you’re letting yourself be happy with others.”

His smile falters. “Is it greedy that liking Jungkook doesn’t make me want Jin-hyung any less?”

You go still, thinking of your own blooming feelings for... Well, for most of the people in this house, if not - at least a little bit - all of them. “I don’t know,” you answer honestly. “I’d like to think not.”

Yoongi lifts his gaze to you, carefully studying your face. “Do you ever worry,” he begins, so softly that you have to strain to make the words out, “that our feelings have been set up. By the show, I mean.” His brows furrow deeper. “We’re living in a practical paradise - luxurious house with no real jobs, our food is paid for, we’re literally getting rewarded to have sex. It’s so artificial, you know? So who’s to say that our feelings are artificial, too? I- I’ve been thinking about that a lot,” he admits with a pensive stare.

You can’t lie. You nod. “I’d like to think not,” you repeat hollowly, “but… I mean, yeah, this feels like some alternate reality, and thinking of any of you in normal, mundane, real-life scenarios seems so strange. Like, can you picture Hoseok sitting down and doing his taxes?”

Yoongi snorts, shaking his head in bemusement as a line of tension eases from his shoulders. “I hope he hires an accountant. I certainly wouldn’t trust him with my money.”

You let out a deep sigh and fall backwards onto the duvet, air punched out of you on impact. “The thing is, Yoongi,” you declare in a matter-of-fact tone, “we have no way of knowing what life will be like once all this is wrapped up so why even bother worrying?”

He turns slightly, just enough to watch you warily over his shoulder. “Maybe because I could get my heart broken?”

You pout at him. “Tell me how that’s any different from developing a crush in real life?”

He opens his mouth, furrows his brows, and closes it again. “I- Ugh. Fuck you for being correct.”

Pleased with yourself, you hide your grin as you playfully knock his side with your foot, making him recoil with a groan. “Be as cautious or as impulsive as you want, but even if all this is fake, you could’ve just as easily developed those feelings outside of the show. Like come on, if you saw Jin in the grocery store don’t tell me you wouldn’t fall in love on sight!”

Yoongi shakes his head again, a wry smile playing at his lips. “I see your point… and now I’m picturing Jin getting groceries and looking hot doing it...wow.”

You cackle at the dazed look on Yoongi’s face, using his arm to pull yourself up off the bed, patting him on the shoulder. “Good talk, champ. I’m off to chow down on the leftover pork from last night. Care to join me?”

His eyes glitter, but the doctor declines. “Yoonji said she blackmailed one of the production team to bring her fried chicken from her favourite place. She’s hiding it in the bunk room, but you didn’t hear that from me. She’s selling some to me for a small fortune, the little devil.”

“Less than half a week here and she’s already set up a black market,” you muse, “I think I may be in love with her, Yoongi.”

“Don’t you dare.”

--

While the kitchen is empty when you first arrive, it only takes the sizzle of pork belly in a saucepan to draw your roommates down.

Jin is first, silently rummaging in the pantry and fridge for some side dishes to add to the mix. In return, you begin boiling some hot water, adding instant coffee mix to two mugs.

As the others join, the line of mugs and glasses on the kitchen island grows, until even the two Min twins are hovering in the kitchen, looking suspicously still hungry after their illicit breakfast.

There aren’t enough chairs at the table to seat you all, but luckily Taehyung and Jungkook are happy hunched over the bench in the kitchen, sharing a set of Airpods and snickering at a seemingly endless stream of TikToks.

At the table, Namjoon, Hoseok and Yoongi chow down on their meals, the latter with a considerably smaller portion made up mostly of meat. Yoonji and Jimin are on either side of you, with Jin on one end, chewing slow to savour each bite.

It’s the first time in a while that you’ve all shared breakfast at the same time, and you’re struck with a deep feeling of fondness at this little family-like group you’re living with.  Jimin sneaks extra strips of meat or spoonfuls of rice into your bowl when he thinks you’re not looking; Hoseok listens enthusiastically to Namjoon’s explanation of a summer school course he’s taking, even as he has to ask for clarification just about every second sentence; Yoongi splits his time between checking up on the two maknaes with a soft look, and scowling at his sister’s teasing comments.

“Any plans for the day?” Yoonji asks suddenly, tugging you out of your musings. She’s dressed sleekly in a black velvet mock neck shirt and high waisted denim shorts, her face as stark a resemblance to her brother as ever, with two sharp lines of black on her lids being the only visible makeup. “Except, I suppose, the mandatory fucking.”

You huff with pink cheeks, never growing used to hearing it so openly. “The days kinda blur together a little when you have no real responsibilities,” you admit, “I should probably find a hobby or something.”

Yoonji’s eyes crinkle in faux empathy. “Oh, honey, you’re gonna be so out of it when you return to the real world. You all will,” she adds, before shrugging, “except maybe Namjoon. Seems like academia doesn’t stop for anyone.”

You can’t help but agree. “He has more brain cells in his pinky finger than I do in my own body,” you swear, “he could break an arm and still type a thesis one-handed.”

Halfway through a mouthful of food, you’re rewarded to the ungraceful yet endlessly endearing sound of her snorting, a hand cupped over her mouth. After swallowing, she turns towards you to respond. “I haven’t known him for long, but that seems to check out. He’s quite the character, huh?”

You don’t miss the meaningful lilt to her voice, nor the quirk of a sharp brow. “He’s a good guy,” you reply under your breath, gaze darting down the table to where the man himself is engaged in an intensely enthusiastic discussion (okay, closer to a TedTalk) with Hoseok, now using pieces of meat to create an abstract diagram in his otherwise empty bowl. The latter looks bewildered, but is nonetheless paying deep attention to every word.

It’s impossible not to feel soft inside as you look at the pair of them, all complementary contrast. Hoseok with his slender nose and harsh facial structure and Namjoon with a round, gentle face. One of them dressed in sleek black and the other in oversized earth tones, the typically reserved one animated and the bubbly one focused in. It had taken you barely a month of shared living to become completely fond of these men, not just Namjoon and Hoseok but all of them, and as much as it was nice to have someone new in the Villa for a while, Yoonji’s presence makes you more aware of the fact that you and the seven guys had developed a certain equilibrium that seemed slightly off-balance with the change.

It makes you worry about what other disturbances this delicate system could hold, and if returning to the real world would be a shift large enough to permanently upend it.

Wishing to dispel the pessimistic narrative beginning to form, you focus in on Yoonji again. “Anyways,” you start, “how are you finding the Villa so far?”

“Certainly an interesting look behind the veil, though it’s really not ideal having to-” Yoonji’s cut off by the chirp of an incoming message on her phone. “Sorry, one sec,” she mumbles absentmindedly, but you don’t miss the way her face falls when she reads the message, immediately glancing directly across the table to where her brother sits.

To your growing concern, Yoongi is also reading a message on his phone, and he quietly excuses himself from the table, leaving his bowl half-eaten. He jerks his head towards the front door, and Yoonji manages a quick apology before they’re leaving the room.

All startled out of their separate conversations, the remaining members of the household sit in confused silence, enough that even Taehyung and Jungkook turn around from their phones.

“What’s going on?” Jungkook asks in a worried voice. “Where’s Yoongi-hyung?”

Nobody replies, Jin just shaking his head with a grim frown and leaving the table himself, going after them.

“Guys,” Taehyung says more insistently, eyes not leaving the empty seats at the table.

“They both got a text,” you say with furrowed brows, “Yoongi and Yoonji. Must’ve been bad news, judging by their faces.”

“Jin-hyung’ll find out what’s going on,” Namjoon assures, though it sounds more like he’s trying to convince himself, “let’s just clean up for them and wait for an update. Yeah?”

The two youngest nod solemnly, still with a single Airpod each bobbing in their opposite ears.

For a while, the group of you remaining sit in silence, as if caught up in some spell that would only be broken once Jin returned with some answers. The absence of Yoongi at the table is so much more pronounced, and you can’t help but feel the sickening worry swirl inside you when you look at his bowl, chopsticks strewn carelessly beside it.

Everyone is just waiting for bad news. You’ve felt this looming dread before, and it either came with a swoop of relief or a blow of despair. Your teeth find your thumbnail as you wait helplessly to see which one it’ll be.

It feels like an eternity before the door finally opens, making everyone jump, but only a few minutes have really passed. Jin is panting slightly, like he ran back from wherever Yoongi disappeared to.

“He’s-” he starts quickly, before a tremor passes over his face and he grimaces, jogging over and falling heavily into his chair at the table, face in his hands. “Their dad is in hospital. Heart attack.”

“Oh my god,” Namjoon breathes, brows knit together in sympathy. “Is he okay? Was it serious?”

Jin shrugs, looking up enough to run his hand over his face and take a shaky breath. “He’s alright for now, but apparently they need to make sure it doesn’t repeat anytime soon. If he settles, he’ll be fine, but there’s a chance that he might suffer another attack. Yoongi and Yoonji are going to the hospital now to stay with him until they’re more certain he’s stable. Just in case.”

“When is he coming back? Yoongi-hyung?” Jungkook’s eyes are wide, shiny. He can’t stop fiddling with his fingers, self-soothing.

“Not for a while, I don’t think,” Jin divulges with a pained expression. “He needs to be there for his family right now. That’s all I know, I’m sorry.”

The front door creaks, and all of you instinctively whip your heads towards it, as if Yoongi himself might be returning already, but you’re greeted with the weary face of Producer Sejin, joining you at the table, taking Yoongi’s old spot. Taehyung frowns deeply at the choice, turning his face away.

“What’s going on?” you ask quickly. “What happens to Yoongi? And us?”

“Yoongi is… He was in a rush to get going, understandably, so we didn’t speak in great depth. But he in short stated that he’d return when his father was in better health if the place was still open for him. I’ve got in contact with the higher-ups, and we’ve agreed to put the show on a temporary hold.”

“On hold?” Jungkook asks in a nervous voice. “What does that even mean?”

Sejin clears his throat stiffly and clicks his tongue. “Well. It means we’re putting a stop to the game for now, in short. If Yoongi is able to return by the end of the week, we’ll resume as usual. Otherwise, we’ll consider him to have permanently left the competition, and we’ll be forced to continue the game without him.”

You frown, fighting the urge to cry. This all feels so wrong, like he’s been taken from you with little hope of reunion, and discussing it like administration feels so clinical. “So we’re just sitting here, not knowing if he’s going to come back home, waiting around in limbo?” As soon as you finish, it feels like the word home lingers in the air longer than the rest of them. And perhaps this house doesn’t feel like home to you, but it certainly seems like six of the seven pieces of home are around you right now, and it’s not the same without him away. By the way the others are solemn and red-eyed, you probably aren’t the only one that’s begun feeling that way.

Sejin just shakes his head slowly, as subdued as you all are. “Listen, I know this isn’t ideal. The boss wanted to film it, make a big drama out of it, and then kick him off the show for views. I’m doing the best I can here to compromise and give him some dignity.”

Eyes widening, you stare at the round eyes of the cameras in the living room. “Are you- are you even allowed to say that?”

“I cut the camera feeds,” Sejin says in a defeated tone, “the show is officially off-air for technical difficulties. You can do what you want here while you wait - hell, you can leave if you want, just please be prepared to come back on the Sunday. We’ll have a discussion about whether Yoongi can return, and what we’ll do if he doesn’t. Understood?”

“Understood,” Namjoon offers up for the group, and the producer leaves with another sigh and an attempt at a comforting smile. You can’t help but feel bad for him, working such an emotionally draining job, especially when you’ve heard nothing but bad things about his employer.

Once the room falls into quiet again, Jin stands up, chair legs scraping against the floor. “Okay, I think we should decide as a group what we’re wanting to do. Stay or go?”

You open your mouth to give your two cents, but before you can, Jungkook suddenly chokes on a sob and covers his face with his hands, Jimin immediately scooting his chair closer to wrap an arm around his shaking shoulders.

“Hey, what is it?” Jimin asks quietly, but the room is so silent that you all catch it. “Talk to me, bun. What is it?”

Jungkook takes a few stuttering breaths to compose himself, sniffling. “I don’t want you all to leave too,” he confesses, Jimin’s thumb catching a tear dangling on the tip of his nose, “isn’t Yoongi-hyung enough?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” the elder promises, pressing a kiss into his hairline before looking up at the rest of you, eyes widening intentionally. “We’ll stick together through this until he comes back, yeah? It’s not all bad. The cameras are off, remember? We can have a break now, we don’t need to worry about the show. Isn’t that nice?”

After a moment’s considering, Jungkook nods slowly. “‘t is nice,” he admits begrudgingly. “But only if everyone stays.”

You can’t help but smile fondly, getting up yourself to come behind him, stroking his hair back. “We’ll stay, of course we’ll stay. Let’s spend some time together tonight, we can put on a movie and snuggle, how about that?”

He perks up at the thought of this, glancing around the table as the others nod in affirmation. “I’ll bring down the blankets,” he bargains, cracking a small smile, and the rest of the room relaxes, immediately bursting into sound as everyone arranges the necessary supplies for a good quality movie night, almost back to normal.

Jungkook, as the member of the Villa in most urgent need of a pick-me-up, is given movie choosing privileges, so the seven of you tuck in for a rewatch of his favourite Spiderman movies, perhaps the only thing that can keep him glued to the screen.

At first, the absence feels overwhelming to you. Try as you might through the opening sequence, you can’t shake it. Your mind counts heads without thinking, keeps looking at the space on the couch where Yoongi liked to put his feet up. Even though you know it’s his father who is unwell, not him, there’s the sick swelling in your stomach that makes you feel like his departure is final, and shortly after the title card plays out, you’re quietly excusing yourself and stumbling to the back door, in desperate need of fresh air.

It’s cold outside, a brisk wind cutting through you. You barely make it around the corner out of sight before your legs buckle, and you let yourself fall into a pathetic crouch, your weight propped up against the side of the house as you try to suck the chilled air into your lungs.

The panic creeps up on you in swells, the irrational fear that Yoongi would leave the show and you’d never see him again and everything would fall apart suddenly feeling like a whole tsunami crashing against you. Your fingers claw at the exterior wall as you fall back onto your behind, unable to even keep yourself in a crouch.

More so than the intrusive thoughts, it’s the image of Yoongi’s face falling, of him rushing out of the house in frantic distress that replays in your mind and leaves you suffocating. He looked so scared, your calm, reliable Yoongi. He was like a pillar, but that news was a fell swoop he couldn’t stay strong against. Your heart burns for him, cramping and aching in your chest.

For a moment, you picture yourself staying out here, gasping for breath until the sun goes down. You feel alone, more than ever since coming here, and even as the thought spooks you, there’s no energy in your body to do anything about it.

Just as your breaths start to sound more like death rattles and you curl your face towards the ground, a warmth envelopes your back, arms circling your middle and lifting you up.

“Hey, breathe, breathe with me, Y/n. I’m here.”

You recognise the voice. You recognise the built torso holding you steady, but your mind isn’t putting the pieces together, and so you simply squeeze your eyes shut and allow yourself to be maneuvered around there are hands on your face and a deep voice instructing you to look at me. I’m here; look at me.

You crack your eyes open, body heaving with the effort it takes to get any oxygen in your lungs, but you’re met with the soulful brown eyes of Kim Namjoon, narrowed in concern.

His hands are warm despite the frigid air outside, and you let yourself melt into him, eyes sinking to watch his lips mouth instructions, demonstrating exaggerated breathing for you to follow.

You feel distinctly like you might vomit, but you force yourself to match his breaths. The shuddering in and stilted out aren’t as fluid as his, but slowly your heart doesn’t thud in your ears and your body doesn’t shake as violently.

You feel damp, sweating all over, and your whole body aches, but your hearing begins to properly tune in again, coherence creeping back. “Na-Namjoon,” you gasp, wishing you had the energy to grab his arms or hug him or something other than lying limp against the wall of the house.

“Shh, hey, don’t strain yourself. Take it easy. I’m here.” He’s crouching in front of you, eyes locked onto you as he continues to hold you steady, jaw kept aloft by his hands. “Keep breathing, and it’ll go away. It’s a panic attack, I’ve had my fair share. You’ll come right.”

Trusting him despite the persisting burn in your chest, you let him coach your breathing for several more minutes, the heightened air influx making your head go light and floaty.

Once a counted breath turns into a yawn of exhaustion, you know the worst has passed. It leaves you boneless, not a single ounce of power left in your muscles, but you can breathe again, and it’s all thanks to the man across from you.

“I’ve never had one before,” you manage, voice cracking, “not like that.”

Namjoon’s lips press together in sympathy, and he turns to prop himself against the side of the house beside you, letting you continue breathing independently. “Is it Yoongi-hyung?”

You nod weakly, and the academic hums in confirmation. “I used to get panic attacks a lot in university. I used to hate them, thought they meant I was weak. Like I couldn’t handle the pressure as much as I thought I could. But, you know, these days I just figure I’m only panicking because it means so much to me. And I don’t think that makes me weak at all. It just means I care. Don’t feel ashamed about this, Y/n. All it means is that you care about hyung a lot.”

All the breath in your lungs leaves you in one rush as you prop your head in your hands, knees tucked towards your chest. “Yeah.” You wish you had something more appreciative to say, but your mind is waterlogged, weighed down and not functioning.

Namjoon doesn’t seem to mind the curt response. “I care about him a lot too. He’s like the glue for us, isn’t he? I’m worried to fall apart without him here keeping us in line. But we survived before we knew him and we’ll survive now. What’s better is supporting each other and waiting to see how we can support Yoongi-hyung, too.”

“You’re right,” you admit with a heavy breath, wiggling your toes to will energy back into them. “We’ll be okay.”

Namjoon bends sideways to bump your shoulder warmly. “That’s the spirit. Now; I’m happy to stay out here as long as you need, but Jungkook was the first one to notice you had been gone for a while, and I think he’s probably getting concerned by now. If you’re up to it, I can give you a hand to get inside and join the others again. What do you reckon?”

You lean your head back against the wall, taking a moment to consider. “What movie is he putting on next?”

“He mentioned wanting to check out Paw Patrol on Netflix.”

“Let me die out here,” you plead weakly.

Namjoon laughs, the sound like comfort itself, and stands up, offering you a hand. “Come on, kitten, up we get.”

In the end, the Netflix viewings manage to distract you for the rest of the night. When your limbs are tangled together and snacks are flowing, it’s easy to tune out of reality a bit and focus on the television screen in the comfort of shared company. Jungkook clears space on the couch for you the second you return, and clings to you for hours, his chin on your shoulder. You don’t complain, feeling soothed by the physical closeness. But the hours pass, and when the majority of you can no longer hold in your yawns, Seokjin gets up to turn the lights back on and clean up.

“Let’s get some rest,” he decides, and it’s that return to the real world that immediately dampens the atmosphere again, the group of you turning solemn. You pause to pull out your phone, sending Yoongi a quick message of support, and that you all missed him already, but no reply comes.

Without words being spoken, the seven of you remaining find yourselves flocking together as you make your way up to bed. Jin flanks the maknae as Namjoon and Hoseok lean heavily into each other, the four of them disappearing into Jin’s room. You naturally fall into step with the remaining two men, Taehyung linking his arm into yours and holding you close all the way to Jimin’s room.

Somehow, the house is too quiet. Even though Yoongi wasn’t a particularly noisy housemate, his absence cloaks the air.

You have no energy to shower. Washing your face is as much as you can manage, and Taehyung is even more despairing than you are, slumped on the toilet seat as Jimin cleans his face for him.

The uncertainty is what makes your heart flutter on edge, unable to wind down, and you know from the restrained looks of fear and distress in the guys’ eyes that they feel the same. The show would be undoubtably ruined if Yoongi couldn’t return. But more important than that, Yoongi would be ruined if he lost his father so suddenly.

Knowing Yoongi is hurting makes you ache, and you cling to your lovers like they’re your anchors in a churning sea, tucking your face firmly into Taehyung’s shoulder. It soothes you a little to be pinned between them, but the three of you still lie awake as the minutes blink by agonisingly slow.

At some point, you must fall into a fitful sleep, because when a sudden noise fills the room, it rouses you aggressively, and you almost kick Jimin’s shin in the process. Grunting, the half-asleep man rubs his face and twists around, fumbling on the nightstand for the offending noise.

It’s Taehyung’s phone, vibrating against the wooden table, and once Jimin blinks twice at the glaring screen he gasps and yanks the charger out, sitting up in bed. “It’s hyung,” he declares in a voice more vulnerable than you’d ever heard from him before. “Wake Tae.”

You force yourself to dispel those last few wisps of sleep from your brain, and gently shake Taehyung awake. According to the clock on the nightstand, it’s almost two in the morning, but your heart leaps as Yoongi’s face fills the phone screen, looking right at the three of you.

“I thought you would be together,” he states with a rueful smile, though you can see that it doesn’t quite reach his reddened eyes. “Sorry for calling so late.”

“Don’t apologise, hyung,” Taehyung whines, half of his weight on you as he leans in close, “we were so worried about you. How’s your dad?”

Yoongi’s brows furrow beneath mussed hair. “Not great,” he admits. “A little more stable, at least, but he’s pretty confused right now. Nurses worry that it might have affected his brain.”

Your heart sinks, both at the thought of a relatively young man suffering such awful health complications, but also at how Yoongi was trying to hide his exhaustion and distress. “Oh my god.”

“Mm, we should know soon what the damage is,” Yoongi explains further, rubbing his eyes with the hand not holding his phone aloft, “and if he’s alright I can head back h- head back to the Villa. He’s just been sleeping a lot today so… We don’t really know how he’ll be until he’s conscious for enough time. Yoonji’s with him at the moment, I just wanted to duck out and give you guys an update. Where are the others?”

“Jin-hyung’s room,” Jimin answers, even as he’s throwing back the covers. “They’ll want to hear from you themselves, just hold on a minute.”

You hear Yoongi’s voice echoing from the phone and strain to make out his words as Jimin heads to the door. “No, no, don’t wake them. I actually wanted to ask if you’d like to come visit? Of course none of you know my dad, and he doesn’t know you, but- Well, Yoonji and I could do with some company.”

You jump up, rushing to Jimin’s side. As he naturally accommodates your presence and pulls you flush against him, you lift your face up to the phone. “We’ll be there,” you assure Yoongi, “just please get some rest tonight. It’s been a rough day.”

Yoongi’s pained smile breaks your heart, and Jimin leads the phone back to the bed so that Taehyung can say a final goodbye before the three of you hang up and crawl, exhausted but somewhat relieved, back into bed.

[forthehpfanboys]

After Class

Pair: Remus Lupin x Reader; he/him.

Summary: You manage to catch up with Remus after class, not that it was hard to do. Lupin likes to keep in professional during school hours until you tell him your feeling lonely.

Warnings: SMUT (MDI), Oral, kinda fluffy, couple bickering because why not? If I forgot any, please dm me.

Notes: Sorry this took so long. Also, I’m sorry if the ending is weird, I’m uploading this at 3:40 AM because I haven’t posted in a day or two and wanted to put something out there.

~DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE~

-

It wasn’t exactly a secret that you and Remus were dating, after all, he did confess his love to you in the middle of the Dining Hall when it was overflowing with students. You always wondered why then , why there and when you asked, you just got a short ‘it was the right time’ kind of answer. 

In reality, Snape had edged him on, calling him a cowering imbecile for hiding his very obvious affection for you and went on and on until the teacher snapped. With that being said, during school, everything was kept strictly professional. No holding hands, no kissing in the halls, only weird sideways hugs and the occasional arm around your waist if he was leading you somewhere and it was driving you nuts. 

On weekends you weren’t trapped in your offices grading papers, which you also did together, the two of you would go on cute dates. Whether it was a nice walk around Diagon Alley or going to the Three Broomsticks for a night out, and it was great, but it just felt like you never saw him outside of school. You didn’t get a lot of time alone with him, which is what led you to feeling lonely  and touch deprived.

It wasn’t like you wanted to shag in the hallways, you just wanted to like- hold his hand, maybe kiss his cheek. You were a couple. You felt you should have the right, since you were the DADA’s boyfriend, to walk down the hallways without a 3 foot gap between your bodies. In fact, you were going to go talk to him about it. A relationship is almost nothing without communication. 

You shut your textbook with a slam, your dominant hand popping the quill down into the ink well as you stood up. You checked the watch on your wrist, taking in the time. Lupin should be finishing class in a few minutes, allowing you two to have alone time, hopefully. You’d finished teaching your students about a half hour ago and were planning for tomorrow's class before you decided to go confront your Moony. 

You walked across the floor of your classroom, weaving between the desks to get to the door. You pulled it open easily and walked down the hall, not really caring about shutting the classroom door. 

You walked down the nearly empty hall, waving to some of your students as you walked past with a smile. You took the familiar path to the outside of Lupin’s classroom and stood across the door, leaning your back against the wall. You thought it’d be best to wait outside then interrupt the class just to talk about a petty idea such as this.

Was this petty?

You bit your lip as you thought, your hands fiddling with your tie. What if you were being childish? You took in a deep breath, barely picking up on the students leaving your boyfriend's classroom. You politely said hello to students who recognized you and waved and walked into the classroom. You couldn’t help but smile at what was laid out in front of you. 

Harry and Remus were clearly arguing over who got to keep the map the Weasley twins found and it was absolutely, heart wrenchingly adorable. You leaned your body against the door frame while Lupin pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Harry, for the last time, no. You can’t have it. I’m letting you get away with the invisibility cloak, don’t push my kindness.”

“But-!”

“I’d listen to him, Harry!” You tried not to giggle when they both whipped toward you. “He might lower your grade.” You put your hands in the pockets of your ves as you walked into the classroom. You couldn’t help but smirk when Harry laughed and Lupin groaned. 

“Oh wow! Would you look at the time!” Harry basically yelled out as he booked it out of the classroom. He was just a blob of blushing skin as he ran, almost running into a desk, then the door frame.

“Don’t you have papers to grade, Professor (L/n)?” Remus crossed his arms over his chest, cocking an eyebrow in your direction.

“I don’t, actually. Just outlining tomorrow's work, but I thought I’d come see my oh so loving boyfriend instead.” You stepped up to him, but turned to Harry when the student faked a gag. “Stop acting like you aren’t drooling over your best friend's sister.” You rolled your eyes.

You couldn’t stop the loud chortle that left your body as you almost collapsed to the ground. You always love it when Remus reverts to his sassy self. You straighten yourself out then walk to the professor, a cheeky grin still spread across your features.

“Don’t act like no one notices Harry!” You called out to him as he sped past you, laughing at his mess of a human state. “He’s so precious.”

“Yeah, but he’s just like James.”

“How so?”

“A pain in my arse.”

“But you love him.” You wrapped your arms around his waist and pulled him into a hug, smiling wider when his arms snaked around your waist. You hid your face against his shoulder when he scoffed.

“No, I love you. I just sorta tolerate him.” One of his hands was rubbing up and down your back now and you basically melted into his embrace with a sigh. “Stressed, love?”

“A little.” You pulled back and looked into his gray eyes. Your hands fidgeted along his waist and your bottom lip became trapped between your teeth as your eyes gazed over his shoulder. “More so just.. Kinda feeling lonely?”

“Ok, well, how about we go to the Three Broomsticks again this weekend? Just the two of us..” Remus gave you a bright smile, his hands moving from your back to your shoulders before giving them a soft squeeze. 

“We do that almost every weekend, Moony. I just- Everyone knows. Why can’t we be a couple during school hours? We spend 7 days a week, who knows how many hours in this castle and I can’t even hold your hand during dinner. Like I wanna do that cute couple walk down the hallway..” You stepped away from him to cross your arms over your chest and kick up some invisible dirt. Remus smiled when your force morphed into a pout.

“Aw, is someone feeling isolated from their loving boyfriend?”

“Remus, this isn’t the time for your teasing.” You stuck your tongue out when he stepped over to you. 

“Ok, you’re right. I’m sorry, (Y/n).” The professor cupped your cheeks gently, rubbing his thumb along your cheek. “Here, how about this, hmm?” He peaked your lips gently. “How about I make it up to you, yeah? I don’t have papers to grade until tomorrow, so I’m free for the rest of today.” Remus squished your cheeks together, pecking your now puckered lips before his hands dropped to your shoulder.

“I.. Yeah, that works.” You smiled gently, giggling a little. “What, Remus!” You squeaked out as he set you on the desk. You watched his hand reach across the desk and pick up his wand. He spelled the door shut and locked it with a charm before closing most of the shades on the windows, diming the room. He set the wand back down on the desk before setting his hands on our thighs.

“What, love? You're the one that said he was all lonely, I’m just gonna help you out.” He licked his lips before attaching his mouth to yours. His arms trailed down your thighs, spreading them slowly and carefully before lowering himself to his knees.

“W-wait, Moony, you don’t have to-”

“It’s ok.” Remus laughed, his eyes gazing up at you while his palm rubbed between your legs. “Let me handle this, ok, love?” His voice was soft and smooth, leaving you wanting more. He grinded his palm into your bulge, his other hand coming up to undo your belt, loving the way your breath hitched in your throat. When his eyes locked with yours, he shot you a wink paired with a dirty smirk. 

Your hands ran through his hair, messing up the gel holding it in place. You bit your lip when he undid your trousers and didn’t even bother pulling them down, just your boxers to reveal your half hard mass. You let out a whine when he spat into his palm and gently stroked over your dick causing you to grow harder. Your eyes fluttered shut when he planted a kiss to your clothed thigh. 

“Godric, you’re amaz-” Your voice caught in your throat when his hot mouth wrapped around the head of your dick. “Oh, fuck-” Your head back between your shoulders and your hand gripped onto the edge of the desk for stability. His tongue moved against your hard flesh like it was a lollipop. A shaky sob of his name escaped you when he pulled off to lick a long strip on the underside of your wood.

“Yes, love?” His hands massaged your shuddering thighs, a chuckle escaping him easily. His eyes were blown up with lust.

Your thighs clamped around his head, your hand coming to cover your mouth. Your eyes squeezed shut as you white knuckled the desk. His throat was so wet and warm it caused your brain to reboot. Your arm gave out when he started moving he started bobbing his head. Your back hit the desk with a thud, causing him to glance at you through his lashes. Remus would’ve chuckled at your glazed expression but he was kinda busy.

“Please, for the love of Merlin and wizards who haven’t experienced your very, very talented mouth, please continue. Please.” You curled and uncurled your toes, spreading your legs wider. “Don’t make me beg, Lupin, I swear-”

“Relax, love. There’s no need to beg. I got you.” Remus cut you off, chuckling before wrapping his lips around the head once again, his free hand rubbing along the length slowly twisting closer to the top causing another moan to echo in the empty classroom.“Sh, (Y/n)! School is still going for some and I’m sure you don’t want them to hear us shagging.” He pulled away to tease you just before slowly swallowing your length. 

He held your hips down against the desk when you tried to hump upward, and only felt encouraged by your whines. His eyes bore into yours as he swallowed around your length. One of his hands from your hip slowly slid upward, traveling up your stomach to your chest. Your back arched off the desk when his fingertips brushed across your nipple.

“Fuck, love. How are you so good at this?” You didn’t even need an answer. You bit down on your palm when he started humming around your length. He was going to suck the soul out of you if he weren’t careful. “Oh, Godric, I’m gonna cum, Remus.” Your voice was as shaky as a newborn fawns legs. 

Remus nodded his head, silently giving you permission to go on ahead. You sobbed into your palm when he went back to humming around your length in his throat. You came quickly, which Remus swallowed down just as quickly. He pulled back quickly before kissing the head and standing up with his hands on his hips. His eyes trailed across your body before landing on your flushed face as you tried to catch your breath and raised an eyebrow.

“Am I really that good, hun?”

“Keep up that attitude and your gonna start sounding like Sirius.” You grumbled while propping yourself up on your elbows to tuck yourself away. You eyed the male standing in front of you before tilting your head. “Do you want help with that?” You lazily pointed to his bulge.

“Maybe that’s a good thing. But no, (Y/n). I’m all set.” Remus chuckled, walking around to the head of the desk, looking down at your face with a smirk. You groaned in response while running a hand through your hair. You stared up at his grinning face before reaching up to the ceiling and making a grabby motion with your fingers. “What’s that?”

“Give me snuggles.”

Lupin rolled his eyes before moving a few things around on the desk to lay next to you. It surprised you when he finally laid down, his arm going under your head to cushion it from the hard wood. You never expected your boyfriend to do something as silly as lay across his very messy desk. 

“What? Do I have something on my face?” Remus whipped away at his mouth, his eyebrows furrowing. You didn’t even notice when you started staring at him. 

“No, no, I.. Just.. You’re so perfect. I love you, Moony.” Your eyes must’ve been reflecting your emotions because he looked at you with a soft grin and eyes filled with admiration.

“I love you too.” He laughed out, rolling his eyes. “So! What do you wanna do this weekend instead of the usual. It can be anything and we’ll d-.”

“Dragon hunting.” You spoke up without hesitation.

“.. (Y/n), no-”

“But you said anything!” You let out a groan.

“You know what I meant! Dragon hunting is dangerous! And why hunt them?” Remus had turned on his side at this point to give you a look with furrowed eyebrows.

“I dunno, sounds fun!” You stuck your tongue out at him. You watched him carefully, waiting for the perfect moment to speak up again. Once he laid back, eyes closed and grumbling to himself about how crazy your ideas could be, you spoke up.”So no dragon hunting?”

“(Y/n), love of my life, apple of my eye.” he cupped your cheek, allowing you to lean into it. His expression was similar to the one he gave misbehaving students and he didn’t even bat an eye when you pulled out the puppy dog eyes. “No means no.” 

“Fine then.” You groaned again, smacking his hand away from your cheek playfully. “Be like that.” You crossed your arms and rolled over and scooted over, your back facing him. However, you didn’t take into account how small his desk was, which led to you losing your balance and falling with a thud to the floor. Remus didn’t wait to scurry over to the edge of the desk and peer over it.

“You ok, hun? Anything bruised?” 

“Only my pride.”

“That can’t be true! Come on, stand up. Let me check you out.” He slipped off the desk with a chuckle and walked over, gently guiding you up to a standing position as he checked over you.

“Oh, please, Remus, I’m fine!” You smiled at him as you brushed dirt and dust particles off your uniform. “It was, what? 2 feet drop? It wasn’t like I went skydiving without a parachute on.”

“I am never letting you go skydiving.” Remus rubbed his temples. 

“Dammit! That was my next request!” 

“In fact, I think we’ll just have a nice evening at the Three Broomsticks again.”

“Oh come on!”

The two of you kept on bickering for what seemed like forever. You kept shouting insane date ideas while he tried to remain rational. What you didn’t know is that your bickering had created a crowd of students just outside your door. The students had even taken sides and were bickering between them as you went. Soon, however, the room became quieter, causing the crowd to disperse. 

The next day, you were seen holding hands with your boyfriend while walking down the halls of the big castle, bright grins on both of your faces.

[needs-to-stop-looking-at-valves]

You know what, go crazy. Write anything about Thunderhoof you want, make it as Tender, as kinky, whatever you want you deserve it go nuts! (Love your writing by the way!)

This one kinda sat here for a while because I didn't know how to go about an ask that's essentially ‘this character, go off’. So, I just looked up an nsfw prompt (i know, original. My writing muse has been fried. My writing...moose, you could say).

The prompt I ended up choosing is “Don't make me take you home and punish you”. I was going to make it Thunderhoof x Sideswipe, but @pastelpaperplanes had other ideas. Enjoy! (please note, this is only tidbits of a few ideas she floated past me, nothing is really canon for her)

“Boss lady aint gonna like this.”

“Boss lady can kiss my aft. I said imma do what imma do. Broad acts like she can lead us.”

Thunderhoof peered around the corner, halting Clampdown next to him. Did he like working with him? Not in the slightest, but he was a fantastic meat shield, and what Thunderhoof was doing more or less required it. Thunderhoof walked into the hallway, and after double checking for witnesses, he knelt down to the doorknob, starting to fiddle with it. He’d prefer to kick it down, but this was a stealth mission.

“You keepin’ an eye out?”

“Past my own shaking? Yep!”

Thunderhoof rolled his optics, and finally got the door open. He pushed open the door, and flicked on the lights. Room was empty. No traps, no way they’d be found out. It seemed too easy. He adjusted his tie, feeling smug for a moment.

“Pfft. Witch thinks she's all that. Can't even protect a room.”

“I-I wouldn't be sayin’ that out in the open, Thunderhoof.”

“Why not? She ain't here.”

“I-I know but-”

“Ya morons think she’s so capable and just damn special. She’s pathetic, when you get down to it.”

Thunderhoof went over to the file cabinet, and sifted through folders. Past the A’s, past the B’s, before he finally found what he was looking for. She had her finances all recorded, all by client name. Was this a bit sleazy? Sure, but honestly, he was willing to stoop so low to take her down a peg. 

“T-Thunderhoof?”

“Hold on, hold on. I need to get pics of these, show our clients we got the goods.”

Thunderhoof’s plan was simple. Sell her financial records to different terfs, get the cash, and pluck the spoils from their little brawl. Thunderhoof pulled out a small camera, and started to take a few photos.

“T-Thunderhoof we really need to-”

“Hold on, I said! Look, soon as I get these, we can bolt. Fem gonna be so broken, she’s gonna be lucky enough to have a penny to her name. Gonna see a wave of buckwheats, lemme tell ya-”

“Thunderhoof!!”

“I swear imma bust ya-”

He turned to unleash his fury, only to freeze. There she was, arms folded across her chest, her heels clinking against the floor in a silent fury. He peered over at Clampdown, trying not to flip shit.

“You had one job. Literally one fuckin’ job!”

“I-I tried to warn ya! Honest!”

Thunderhoof tried not to leap over and turn him into a steam pot, and instead chose to play damage control. As crazy as she was, she was a fem, and no fem could resist his charms. He cleared his throat, and slightly adjusted his collar.

“Look, boss lady, I can explain-”

“Clampdown, leave us. Lock the door on your way out.”

Clampdown gave Thunderhoof a small wave, only to suddenly scatter as Thunderhoof snarled at him. She held her hand out, clearly wanting the camera. He gave it to her, despite his clear hesitation. He opened his mouth to speak again, only for her to drop the camera, and shatter it under her heel. He took a step back as she walked towards him. Then another, then another, till his back was up against the wall. Small as she was, she had enough anger in her little body to fuel an army. She dug her claws into one of his antlers, making him swear as she brought him down to his level.

“I can't even begin to tell you, just how deep in the hole you are. You understand I can kill you here and now. It wouldn't be hard, at ALL.”

Thunderhoof winced as her claws only dug further into his antler, scuffing its paint. He thought that was going to be the extent of it, until she yanked, sending him to the floor. He felt her heel dig right into his chest, keeping him familiar with the texture of the hardwood floor below. He opened his optics, not recalling ever closing them. He had worked for her for a number of years, but she never ceased to surprise. Even as he was being forced to the floor, even though her fangs were eager to sink into his throat and rip out any bit of flesh it could get; she was a sight. Nice set of hips, killer rack, and legs that went on for days, contained only by her fishnet stockings. Unfortunately, she was so full of herself, there was no room for her to get a good dicking. He was knocked out of his horny thoughts when she put more weight into her footing, definitely enough to bring a bruise. That is, until she suddenly stepped off of him, placing her clawed hands at her hips. He lifted himself up weakly, not understanding why the sudden brink of mercy.

“If it aint hard, why didn't ya do it?”

Not that he WANTED her to keep going, he just never saw her as being compassionate.

“You’re good at your job. When you aren't causing me a headache. Not to mention, I have an appointment, so I don't have time to deal with what would be left with you. So today, you’re lucky. However,”

Blackarachnia was as quick as she was sadistic, and suddenly had his face in her claws, scratching up his chin. You’d never think something that smelled so sweet, would be such a hellspawn.

“If I get more of this traitorous attitude from you, I won't hesitate to take matters into my own hands.”

He felt those daggers graze against his throat, and was barely able to register her words.

“Don't make me take you home and punish you.”

With a snarl of disgust, she finally let go of him. Thunderhoof was on his feet in a hot second, more out of reflex than actual fear. He slammed the door behind him, and found himself finally catching his breath. He almost jumped when Clampdown tapped his shoulder.

“Primus, you alright? She bruised you.”

“I...yeah. I’m good.”

At least, physically. Mentally, he wasn't sure. Her last words shot fear into him, as well as a sickening sense of interest. All he DID know, was that he would take her down, one way or another.

If she thought she knew rough, she was dead wrong.

[angelicspaceprince]

for the smut prompts 43 with beej?

I blame the recent chat in the discord group I’m in for this one tbh.

I used this as an attempt at Mafia!Beej, I can only apologise.

Tagging: @justballoonfishthings

“If i have to stop what i’m doing, you won’t be able to walk for the next week.”

This did not end the way you had planned it.

Beej had been working on something big, to be honest you didn’t really pay attention when he was telling you about it because you didn’t really care. All you knew is that, in his mind, you were just his side piece. You didn’t need to know the ins and outs of running his business.

So, when he asked you to join him at his meeting, you could already feel the boredom setting in. Usually you’d just play on your phone in his lap or have a nap, but this was the third meeting this week he wanted you to attend with him and you were over it. So, you decided that you were going to have a bit more fun with everyone than you usually would.

You forwent the striped collar he got for you that he insisted you wore whenever you had to attend anything to do with his line of work, and went with the shortest, tightest dress you had, the one that always got him in the mood, with the hells that made your legs look like they went on for days. Anything that made people know you were his stayed off of your body, any jewelry he bought you stayed at home. You made sure that you had your makeup done perfectly before leaving to meet him at the club which, of course, is why you were late.

Everyone had already gone in and were beginning to get set up, the meeting had yet to start but Beej always enjoyed it when you were there to greet everyone together, his arm wrapped around your waist, keeping you flush against him so everyone knew you were his. He didn’t get that this time around.

He physically relaxed when he saw you sneak through the door but looked slightly confused when you didn’t instantly rush to his side with an apology before slowly turning angry at the lack of collar, or anything that really marked you as his, and the choice of clothing you decided to go with.

Good.

You spent the next twenty minutes working your way around the room, flirting as hard as you could, sitting in different men’s laps whilst throwing your legs across the lap of the man next to your latest target, fiddling with ties and collars as you giggle over stupid jokes and shitty stories, complimenting each guy as you go.

You could practically feel Beetlejuice’s rage from across the room as you drift from man to man, flat out ignoring him as you go. Finally, everyone makes their move to sit at the table ready for the meeting to commence and you make your way over to your seat - Beej’s lap. When he doesn’t sit down, you look at him.

“Did you have fun playing around, doll?” His voice is low in your ear and as rough as gravel.

“I was simply saying hello Beej.” You say sweetly. “You gonna sit down so we can get this over with?”

“Over the table.” You pale slightly. You were hoping to rile him up a little, but that voice only means one thing. “Now.” You quickly move to bend over the table, pressing your face and chest against the cool, hard wooden surface with your hands either side of your head. Something goes over your head and when you lift it to help him get it down your neck, you realise it’s his tie. You choke a little when he pulls it tight, the room otherwise silent as Beej gets you set up.

“Can I stand up now?” You ask quietly.

You yelp when you feel his hand connect with your ass, already feeling the sting from the impact. “Not on your life.” Came his low voice. “Ignoring me, toying with me, not a good idea, was it Y/N?” You swallow as you feel his hand connect with your rear again, shame filling you as your already short skirt is hiked up above your hips and your panties are pushed down. You’re already soaked through, turned on from the idea of teasing Beetlejuice for so long and knowing that you were probably going to get a good dicking as a result. He was, after all, a possessive bastard.

You consider that perhaps he would felt the need to stake his claim in front of those you flirted with.

He clicks his tongue, you’re not sure if in disapproval or not, before you hear his zip and feel him slowly press into you.

You bite back the sound resting in your throat when you feel him stretch you the only way he can, forehead pressing against the wood as he bottoms out. The first thrust surprises you, causing a moan to fall from behind gritted teeth, trying your best to stay quiet as he fucks you hard and deep. You could feel yourself working closer and closer to your edge, you just needed a bit more. The tug of his tie gets your head to snap up and make eye contact with one of his men, who looks clearly turned on and is trying (unsuccessfully) to hide that fact.

“Tell them how it feels.” You shudder at the order, squeezing your eyes shut as you shake your head furiously. “Look at them and tell them how I feel inside of you.” This time, he was firmer. You’d already pushed his limit once tonight, you don’t think you’d survive a second time.

Your eyes snap back open as you go to obey his command. “He feels - oh fuck - he feels so good! He’s so thick, he stretches me so much it nearly hurts!” You let out a loud cry when he hits that one spot that always makes you quiver. “Please, I’m sorry, just let me cum!” You beg.

“Apologise.” You close your eyes again but a hand snatches its way to your hair and pulls so they snap right back open.

“Sorry, Daddy.” You gasp out, hands now scrambling to find purchase on the table as you dig your nails on.

“For?”

“Being a needy, little brat! For pretending to want to whore myself out! For attention seeking! For ignoring you, Daddy!” You can feel his glare on your back as you push back slightly, trying to gain a bit more friction.

“Can anyone fuck you like I can?”

“No, sir!” You can feel yourself reaching the end.

“Does anyone else fill you like I do?”

“No, sir!” So, so close.

“Can anyone make you cum like I can?”

You are practically sobbing at this stage. “No, sir! Daddy, please!” Just a few more thrusts and you’re there.

He pulls out, and you let out a loud noise of protest as he sits in his chair. “On your knees.” You are quick to the floor, moving to where he was pointing under the table. He guides your head over his cock and holds you there. “Keep me warm.” Is his only instruction as he pushes your mouth over him, all the way to the hilt.

You can taste yourself on him, mixing flavours as you keep yourself from sucking, his dick hitting the back of your throat in an almost tempting way. The weight of him on your tongue is distracting, you can barely hear what’s going on above you as you sit, thighs apart with your hands on his lap, waiting for your next instruction as you feel your drool slide out of your mouth and down your chin into his lap.

You don’t feel his feet moving until his shoe is pressed against your already sensitive clit, rubbing at it as you struggle to not rock against him or start sucking his cock, really wanting him to fuck your face as he gets you to ride his foot until you cum.

The moment you’re close to cumming, however, he stops and moves his foot away, leaving you to sob as your body quickly cools down and there is a hum of just needing to get off already. A few minutes pass before his foot returns, you try your best to hide how close you are in the hopes he will let you cum, but he knows your body too well. When you get to that edge, his foot is removed and you are left to suffer in silence.

Again and again, he brings you closer to the edge before removing the one source of stimulation you have as you struggle to not start blowing his mind but instead remain to be the perfect little cockwarmer for him. Your body is almost aching with how badly you need to cum when his hands weave their way into your hair and his hips roll against your mouth, forcing himself in deeper. “Do not swallow.” Was your only warning before he pulls back and cums in your mouth, pulling back once more for the final lot to land across your face. You already know what he wants, so you open your mouth wide so he can see his load on your tongue. He barely looks down long enough to see if you had followed the rules before looking back up, wiping his spent cock across your face so the last lot of spit and cum smears across your cheeks. He doesn’t order you to spit or swallow, so you sit there, cum on your tongue, the only thing you can smell and taste, not daring to spill a drop, as he concludes his meeting.

That’s when he finally looks down at you, a wicked grin across his face. “You can swallow now.” You do so quietly, maintaining eye contact as you do so. He pulls you up and helps you pull your dress down as fair as it will go, kicking your heels off so the emphasis on your legs wasn’t so apparent. “Go say goodbye to everyone.” You look up at him, shaking your head slightly. He can’t be serious.

But he is. The look in his eye tells you that he very much is. “Go on, whore, you wanted the attention. Now get it.”

You shuffle forward to the door to say goodbye to each and every member of the gang in the room, refusing to make eye contact as your face flushes red at the state Beetlejuice has left you in. You can feel his eyes on you but, unlike last time, you weren’t enjoying it. You could also feel everyone’s eyes on you, taking in as much as they dared with the don watching over them. You could hear the arousal in some of their voices when they say goodbye, the fear of overstepping the mark in others. You didn’t catch the few who actively looked you over, a new version of you forever seared in their minds. Beej takes notice of those who do, knowing that they would not survive the week. When everyone had finally gone, you’re humiliated, overwhelmed and so turned on. You turn to look over at the very happy Beetlejuice, a small whine escaping your lips. Everything had flipped on you and you weren’t happy. He pats his lap with a smirk.

Finally.

You rush over to perch on him, but that’s not what he was after. He repositions you so you’re straddling him, cock already pushing against your entrance again. “So, babes, did we have fun?” You shake your head as he guides your hips down, already beginning to ride him slowly. “No?”

“Hurts.” You get out. “Need to cum.” The low chuckle that falls from his lips does not make you think you were going to be cumming any time soon.

“Shoulda thought about that before you decided to make yourself available to every man in the room, sweetcakes.” You whimper at the possessive tone in his voice. “Was that performance all for me?” When you just continue to ride him, not bothering to dignify his question with an answer as you chase your orgasm, he smacks your thigh. “I asked you a question.”

“Yes, Daddy, it was.” Your response is quiet. “Please, can I cum?”

“Not yet.” His hips thrust forward, causing you to lose your pace as he starts to grind up against you, grunting slightly. You feel him cum inside of you with a growl before lifting you up and off of his lap. You fall to the ground, slightly breathless as you look up at him, eyes wet.

“Daddy, please can I cum?” You beg. “I’ll be good, I’m sorry I made you made, please just let me cum.” You babble, almost insane with the need to climax. The look he sends down to you makes your stomach drop, one of disinterest.

“No. Bad girls don’t get to cum.” He growls out before getting out of the chair and begins to get ready to leave. “Shoes on, we’re going.”

“Can I wash my face?”

“Don’t even think about it.”

The walk to the car is short, but you feel like everyone’s eyes are on you. Mascara running down your face, lipstick smudged, with his cum still marking your face. You looked like the $2 whore that you felt like you were.

You don’t even dream about sitting on the seat next to Beej when you enter the car, kneeling on the carpet in front of where you would be sitting, eyes all but glaring at his shoes as he reaches over to pull you closer, hand absentmindedly rubbing through your hair as he plays with his phone. It does little to calm you.

By the time you got home, you were practically vibrating. You’d been fucked twice and still haven’t cummed, you were so close to saying ‘fuck it’ and dealing with it yourself that Beetlejuice could practically feel the frustration coming off of you. He gets out of the car and helps you up, you still avoiding eye contact with anyone. His thumb and forefinger grasp your chin and forces you to look up, making eye contact with him, purring at the sight that greets him. Jaw set, eyes like daggers, still marked up with his cum like a good little slut.

He pats your cheek condescending. “Go clean up.” You storm past him, grumbling something about him being a jerk as you make your way to the bathroom, ready to forget that today ever happened. He watches you go off, smirk still plastered on his lips. That’s what he loved about you, the bite. Always keeping him on his toes.

You make sure to slam the door of the bathroom shut as you make quick work to remove the now dry and flaky cum from your face, followed by your smeared makeup, changing from your dress to a pair of shorts and a loose shirt, ditching the push-up bra for ole ye faithful cotton, deciding to give your girls a rest. You were still buzzing with need, but you didn’t want to push him over the edge. The last time that happened, he didn’t even so much as spare you a glance for over a week. It was torture.

Still. What he doesn’t know can’t hurt him.

You slowly move to the study, throwing his tie against the dresser as you go. If you were going to get yourself off, you were going to be doing it on a soft surface and the best place you had found was in the one chair facing the fireplace, where Beej would sit with you on your knees, fucking your face over and over until you became a pitiful mess. 

The only problem with the sex chair is that it was in the study. Where Beej was most likely going to end up.

You could be quiet, you’ve been quiet many times before. Surely, he won’t notice.

You ignore him as you move past his desk and to the large leather chair, curling up and pretending to be scrolling through your phone. He looks up and rolls his eyes, not even bothering to acknowledge how petty you were being. You broke the rules, you get punished. That’s what happens.

You discreetly move your free hand down your shorts until you find your clit, slowly beginning to rub as you finally feel as if you’re going to achieve what you’ve been wanting since Beej first slid his cock into you. Your entire body warms as you bite down on your lip, hips rotating slightly as you continue to play yourself like a fiddle, bringing yourself closer to that edge that you have been all too familiar with today. You hear Beetlejuice sniff at the air and growls.

“If I have to stop what I’m doing, you won’t be able to walk forthe next week.” He warns. “Stop touching yourself.”

You ignore him and slowly move to slide your finger inside you, feeling your way to your g-spot so you can start massaging that to bring yourself off quicker. You are almost there when you feel someone’s hand lock around your wrist. Your eyes snap over to a very pissed off Beetlejuice, squeezing your wrist tightly. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stop.” You raise an eyebrow and rub your clit with a loud groan, just to spite him. He growls and rips your hand from your shorts before throwing you over his shoulder and marching straight for your bedroom.

You bounce on the bed when he throws you down, but you don’t dare move as he stalks over to the toy cupboard, bringing out his favourite rope and vibe. You don’t care at this point what he has planned, you just gotta cum.

“Strip.” He commands as he shucks off his jacket and slowly rolls up his sleeves. You are quick to obey, sitting on the edge of the bed nude with your clothes thrown haphazardly off the edge of the bed in the direction of the bathroom. He nods his head. “Back on the bed, arms up against the frame.” Once you’re there, he leans over the bed and ties your hands to the bed frame, rope wrapping around your forearms, so they are pressed together before winding up to your wrists, keeping them clasped together with your wrists around the conveniently placed vertical piece of wood. His hands batter your thighs apart slightly, binding them to the other side of the frame with practiced ease, humming along to a tune under his breath as he does so. You are shivering in anticipation when he finally brings the wand vibe up and presses it firmly to your clit, making sure to secure it in place by wrapping the rope around your hips and thighs in a make-shift holster, with the only purpose to hold the vibe flush against you. When he turns it on, you let out a whine and grind your hips up slightly as he backs away and sits down in the chair in the opposite side of the room, toeing his shoes off as he ignores you, texting someone on his phone as you cry out.

It doesn’t take much for you to cum, almost embarrassingly so. The vibe on full power against your already sensitive clit as you grind down makes you see stars in a matter of seconds, your body shaking as you cry out as you finally cum for the first time that day. You fully expect Beetlejuice to get up and turn it off, leaving you tied up to suffer for a while, but you were content with that.

But the room remains silent bar the hum of the vibrator as he continues to ignore you and dread fills every cell of your body.

Oh.

Oh no.

You can already feel orgasm number two creeping up on you and you are not ready as it shatters its way through your body. Numbers three to six come quickly as you scream your way through them, body now trying to actively escape the vibe against your body. You soon lose count as orgasm after orgasm washes over you, not really stopping as the next one crushes over you. You are exhausted, and your entire body is twitching when you call out to Beetlejuice, raising your head slightly so you can see him.

“Beej? Please, make it stop. I’m done, ok? I don’t wanna cum anymore.” You plead. He simply looks up with you, mock confusion marking his face.

“But Y/N. I thought you wanted to cum.” He smirks when you cry out again as another climax washes over you, hands now scratching at each other as you try to wiggle away from the source of your torture.

You don’t know how many times you cum, but eventually you become a babbling mess, not making sense as you plead for it to stop, face blotchy as you cry, spit dribbling down from the sides of your mouth. You were a mess.

Eventually, you stop. You stop trying to escape the vibe and just accept each climax as it comes, even when it begins to hurt your body, like pin pricks in every single part of your skin. Your delirious babbles turn to small whimpers and then nothing, throat aching from the cockwarming from earlier and the screams that have been ripped out of them since. You could barely keep your eyes open as you let out a small, defeated whimper as you feel your body shudder against the vibe once more. You don’t feel Beej crawl onto the bed to turn it off, or him untying each bound with care, kissing the sides of your wrists that are now bruised and chaffed. You barely feel him gathering you in his lap once you were completely untangled, rocking you slightly as he presses kisses against your temple.

“You did so well, little one, Daddy’s proud.” He praises, kissing your temple again. He smiles when you turn in and reach up for a kiss, which he provides as his thumbs rub at your sides. “Let’s get you into the bath, ok?”

He carries you slowly to the bathroom and puts you in the warm, bubbly water. You sigh happily as the heat makes its way into your sore muscles, making your way over to the demon when he slides in with you, resting your head on his chest as he holds you close and lets you drift, hands moving to rub at any sore spots you may have as he continues to praise you gently. You all but purr when you feel his hands in your hair, washing away the sweat that has built up during the day and massaging the final pieces of stress from your body.

Your head is full of cotton wool when you get out of the bath, still clinging onto Beej as he wraps the towel around you and brings you back into the bed. Everything has been cleared away as he puts you in the middle of the bed, leaving for a split second to grab you a bottle of water before joining you, chuckling as you all but clamber onto him, needing that closeness. You drink your water slowly as Beej continues to hum under his breath, the vibrations from his chest causing you to relax in his hold.

You can barely string a thought together as you lay in silence, sleep becoming inevitable as the fatigue hits your bones.

“Did good?” You ask quietly. Beej smiles down at you.

“Did wonderful, sweetheart.” He praises. “Took everything I gave you without much complaint. I’m very proud.” You feel every part of you swell with happiness. “But if you ever pull a stunt like that again, I won’t be so merciful.” You snuggle in closer.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.” You manage to piece together. You can practically feel the eye roll.

“Go to sleep, Y/N.” He instructs, even though you already are halfway there.

Sure, your plan didn’t go as expected.

But it’s not like you’re complaining.

smut prompts

[zombiesbecrazy]

unusual and uncommon allies

Summary:  Something crashed on Damian’s end of the line, and based on the grunt he heard, Damian had stumbled into something. "Grayson," he gasped out and Tim instantly was paying closer attention. "He's been compromised. He…" The line shot out again and Tim could hear a scream in the background. A familiar one. One that he had heard in the times that Dick had lost his temper and exploded in rage. "He keeps attacking me. I don't know how long I can fend him off. He’s feral."

AO3

It wasn't the first time that the three of them had found themselves in some sort of confrontational standoff. That wasn't new in the slightest - one calm and rational voice trying to calm the other two down from threatening to attack, maim, kill each other. It was embarrassing, really. He was definitely old enough not to get pulled into the situation, and he had to admit that it was getting better, but something about each other just rubbed the other the wrong way and most things just ended in a fight - verbal at best, physically aggressive at worse.

Now they did their best just to avoid each other unless necessary. That was working out just fine.

Until tonight when everything just got turned upside down.

This was the first time that Tim had found himself trying to block Dick from attacking Damian instead of Dick being the one between the younger two.

It had been a standard patrol night up until now with Tim in the south end of the city, looking into a few leads about a drug ring that had begun to pop up when he got interrupted by a breathless voice in his ear. "Drake." Tim could hear footsteps in the background, feet running hard, and the fire of a grappling gun into the air, the familiar sound of the line uncoiling at top speed. "Drake, I need assistance immediately." The coil was retracting again, signaling that it had been a short gap, and he was running again.

"And you’re calling me?" Tim couldn’t remember the last time that Damian had called him, and it was even rarer that it would be in an emergency scenario; Tim would be at the bottom of Damian’s list just as Damian would be at the bottom of his, unless the situation required a snarky short kid with a sword. "Well, that's an interesting change of pace."

Something crashed on Damian’s end of the line, and based on the grunt he heard, Damian had stumbled into something. "Grayson," he gasped out and Tim instantly was paying closer attention. "He's been compromised. He…" The line shot out again and Tim could hear a scream in the background. A familiar one. One that he had heard in the times that Dick had lost his temper and exploded in rage.  "He keeps attacking me. I don't know how long I can fend him off. He’s feral."

“Where are you?” Tim jumped off the landing he was on and rushed to where he had parked his bike on the street, kicking it into gear and tearing off at top speed out of the shipyard lot, weaving between maze of crates.

"I'm headed to the old fairgrounds to lure him away from bystanders."

“I’m close. I’ll be there in five.” Tim hung a right and pushed the bike to it’s limits. “Be ready for maneuver B13.”

Tim’s mind was racing as he raced down the street because he wanted to know what was happening to Dick and why. There was a passing thought that maybe Dick was running a training scenario on Damian, but if there was a chance that it would escalate to something that Damian would feel out of his league and call Tim for assistance, Dick would have gave him the heads up. The more likely option was that he was hit with some sort of hallucinogenic and was confused about who Damian was, but the chase factor was throwing that idea off a bit; most of the time when something like that happened, the victim tended to be distracted easily and wouldn’t follow a particular subject for very long before moving on to something else.

Tim pulled under the entrance arch and shifted forward on his bike. He didn’t know where exactly Damian was, but all he had to do was drive around the structures for Damian to follow B13 and drop onto the bike behind hi…

“That was six minutes Drake,” said Damian the second that he landed on the bike seat, wrapping his arms tight around Tim’s waist. Damain’s tone was normal, sharp with a side of condescension but Tim could feel him breathing hard against his back, muscles shaking with adrenaline and exertion. Tim hazarded a glaze in his review mirror and thought he caught a glimpse of Nightwing’s shadow on a rooftop, not far from where Damian at dropped down from, but they were able to outpace him on the bike. The kid must be exhausted because Dick was fast and almost impossible to outrace on foot.

Pulling into an alleyway, Tim cut the engine and turned to look at Damian. His uniform was torn and he had a cut across his cheek. "What happened?" They needed a plan and in order to do that, Tim needed a better idea to what was going on.

Damian’s mouth twitched, before he shrugged and gestured helplessly. His eyes were shifting quickly from rooftop to rooftop, anxiously trying to track where Dick would come from next, but Tim knew that there was at least a couple of minutes of distance between them. They’d have to move again soon, but they were momentarily safe. "We were patrolling and he got shot with a dart in the neck from an unknown assailant and then he attacked me. Quite possibly a neurological agent."

"Is he just going after you or is he attacking anyone who gets close?"

"I believe it's just me,” sighed Damian and he fiddled with his gloves, as he did when he was nervous and pretended that no one knew that's why he did it. "It’s my birthday next week and I suspect it is a test from Mother. To see if I'm good enough to defeat my mentor yet."

“That is a terrible present.” Damian said nothing, which Tim took as a non verbal agreement. He flipped through their options. “If Dick is after you, let's give him what he wants and then flip the switch." He started up the bike again, surely to attract Dick’s attention to where they were, and headed to the dead end area that the carnival games used to run; where the lights used to be bright and the noise was loud, but now it was just as dark and gloomy as you would expect an abandoned amusement park to be. "Damian, you've just been upgraded to bait."

"I despise being bait."

"And yet you are."

Just as Bruce has contingencies against the League, Tim had them for his own allies. Young Justice. Teen Titans.

And his family.

The secret to fighting Nightwing was to watch his feet and to remember that he tended to go high. Stay low. Stay on the balls of your feet. Get ready to dive. Aim for where he's going, not where he is. But the problem was that Dick knew all of that too which meant they had to do what he wouldn't expect them to do.

Damian and Tim climbed off the bike, eyes to the rooftops, watching until Tim caught sight of the black and blue shadow. He extended his staff and shifted slightly forward into a ready position.

"He’s here,” whispered Tim, keeping as still as possible, eyes studying the spot he had saw Dick lurking from. “Nightwing. You don’t want to do this," he called out, hoping that it was something simple to break the control. It had happened once, something that Ivy had concocted had been cancelled out if someone had the decency to ask them to stop. It wasn't the craziest thing that had happened.

Dick gave no indication that he heard Tim, only got closer to the edge of the building, eyes following Damian’s every molecule with hyper focused interested. Politeness was apparently not the solution to this problem.

He had an idea. Damian was going to hate it.

“Robin, run away." Tim gritted out, hoping that the use of his codename was trigger something in Damian to follow the order, even if it was coming from Tim and not Dick or Bruce.

"What?" hissed Damian.

"Run. He wouldn't expect you to run and hide, not when you can stand and fight, either to stop him or protect him. You'd never do that, especially with me here. Run. Find somewhere to hide up high. He'd expect you to go low to avoid him, so go high. I’ll distract him. Call B.” Damian hesitated, and Tim was just waiting for him to argue with him, refusing to take the orders, when Dick dropped down until the alley, and started stalking towards them, twirling his sparking escrima sticks, electricity already flowing through them.

Dick lunged around Tim, seemingly not even noticing that he was there, grabbing for Damian’s cape, and Damian finally took off, shooting his grapple up onto the roof. At the same second, Tim tackled Dick around the waist, momentum throwing them to the ground, hopefully giving Damian an opportunity to escape, or at least a head start if Tim didn’t manage to subdue him.

Dick scrambled to his feet again and tried to start to chase Damian again. Tim had no idea what he was going to do. He had never had to go all out against Dick, had never really considered what would happen if they had to face head to head, but it didn’t mean that he didn’t have theories. He tried to sweep his leg, try to knock Dick off his feet, when he realized that Dick really didn’t care in the slightest that Tim was fighting him. He was allowing himself to be hit, completely ignoring Tim’s actions; all he did was try to keep following Damian. Whatever they had hit him with was absolutely objective based. He needed to attack Damian and nothing else mattered to him. That was both good and bad; it made him sloppy and but it also made him even more unpredictable and it was hard to distract him from his target.

Tim kept jumping in front of him, blocking his path in the direction that Damian had taken off in, matching him blow for blow as Dick fought to get past, treating Tim as an inanimate object, the same way that he would a wall, trying to climb over, run up, smash through without any sort of focused reasoning. Tim managed to knock one of the sticks free from Dick’s grasp, clattering to the pavement below, and Dick didn’t really notice that it wasn’t in his hand anymore, still swinging as if it was.

It was sort of like fighting a drunk person. A drunk person with a deadly set of skills who was black out drunk.

Dick spun around, trying to find a way around Tim another way, trying to find a better way to follow Damian, when Tim saw it; a red glow flashing in Dick’s neck, under the skin. It wasn’t a poison. It was a transmitter. He was being hijacked. Maybe they didn’t need to fight. Maybe all they needed to do was cut off the signal of whatever was under his skin.

It gave him an idea.

It was a risk, but it was the only thing that Tim could think of. He turned his back on Dick and dove at the fallen stick to grab it. Dick took the chance to run, and was already climbing up the building, but Tim was ready for that. He pulled out his grapple gun and shot at Dick’s ankle, cord flying at top speed and wrapping around the leg. Dick yelped at the contact and Tim retracted hard, pulling Dick off the building at high velocity. He hit the ground flat on his back with a loud smack that sounded like it hurt, and Tim pounced on the struggling Nightwing.

“Sorry, Dick,” Tim mumbled, and jabbed Dick in the neck with the electrified end of the stick, Dick’s body flinching hard but the red light on his neck blinked and went out.

Tim was breathing hard, watching Dick’s chest rise and fall as he waited to see what would happen next. He couldn’t believe that he had done that. He had electrocuted Dick. He could have killed him. He could have...

“T-tim?” rasped Dick. “You’re ok-kay? D’mian? Did I h’rt ‘im?”

“You remember?” Tim rushed to check him over. His pulse was fast and thready, eyes dilated and confused, but he seemed to be himself again which was better than nothing.

“Yeah.” Dick coughed. “C-couldn’t do anything. Thank you. St-topped me.” Tim held his hand tight, but Dick suddenly yelped in pain, eyes wide and brought his hand up to his neck, where the tracker had been. Where the same tracker was starting to blink again. Tim had stopped it with the shock, but it was starting up again, apparently only shorted out momentarily, but the signal was back. Dick couldn’t take another shock, not so soon without risking permanent damage. Tim was struggling to think of a next move when Dick tightened his grip and stared at him hard, clearly struggling to hold on to control, to fight the tracker’s control over his mind.

"Tim." He squeezed his eyes tight and sucked in a sharp breath. "I can't fight it. It's…" Dick groaned in pain, clutching his head, pulling at his hair. Trying to distract himself anyway that he could to stop him from hunting Damian again. "Knock me out,” he spit out, and Tim tried to not react when he saw blood start to leak out of his ear and from his eyes under the mask. Whatever the effort of fighting the control of the tracker was doing to him wasn’t good. It was going to kill him if he kept fighting it. "Tie me up. N...now."

Tim didn’t need to be told twice. He hit Dick in the temple with the end of his bo staff, right in the perfect spot, the one he knew would incapacitate someone if hit just right, and Dick went out like a light, just as the light in his neck changed to a solid red. He quickly pulled out all of his restraints and tied Dick to a lamp post.

He did it. He sort of hated that he did, but he did it.

“Timothy?” Damian dropped down beside him, landing quietly on his feet. He couldn’t have gone too far, and Tim couldn’t be sure if he had actually gone to hide at all, but it didn’t matter now. He looked at Dick, at the tracker in his neck, shoulders tight and rigid, trying to cover his fear and worry with a faux confidence that didn’t fool Tim for a second. “Is he alright?”

“No, but he will be.” Tim sat on the ground across from where he had tied Dick up, and motioned for Damian to join him. He expected a fight, but to his surprise, Damian sat down, leaning against his shoulder, eyes trained on Dick, knowing that if he woke up, he’d have to be ready regardless of the restraints.. “Let’s wait for B.”

They both waited in silence, leaning against each other for support, neither of them mentioning the tears streaking down the others cheeks as they kept watch on their big brother.

[burning-up-ao3]

Edge of 17  ch 1/8   New Kid In Town

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22297483/chapters/53255092

“Crosby! Now!”

Sid peeled off out of the drill and skated to the bench. He pulled off his helmet and shook his head, hair gross, sweat soaked and sticking to his forehead.

“New kid, just transferred here.” Coach Sullivan jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the tall boy standing further down the boards, fiddling with his phone. “Introduce him around, help him make friends.”

Yes! With another good D-man or maybe a third line center they could easily take first in the division—

Sid turned to where Coach pointed, and his hopes fizzled. The kid was only skinny arms and spindly legs. One good blast of wind, and he’d be flat on his face. He looked like he didn’t have any muscles, hadn’t done any weight training. How could he be any good?? His only saving grace were his wide hands with thin fingers, more like a wide receiver or a shooting guard.

But Coach told him to welcome the new kid, so Sid shrugged and made his way over the floor, his footing as sure on two blades as if he’d been in bare feet. “Hey. I’m Sid. Glad you’re here—” He skipped his typical captain speech, instead starting with, “Don’t worry that it’s already December. All the important tournaments are—”

The kid looked at Sid, then back down at his phone. When Sid stopped talking, the kid shrugged and walked off, out the rink to the building’s lobby.

What a dick, Sid thought, but it was too late to bitch him out now. He had a half hour to shed his sweaty uniform, shower, and wrestle with the traffic and parking at school. If he were late again for first period, Mr. Lemieux would skin him alive. Or worse—force a Saturday detention, which meant no practice which meant no game. Lemieux didn’t give a shit if it messed with a game or not.

Sid cringed at the thought of missing a game. Anyway he’d worry about the new kid later. Right now, he had to get to school.

~*~

Sid’s hall locker door slammed shut, almost nabbing his fingers.

“What did Sully want?” Flower asked, grabbing Sid’s PowerBar breakfast from his hand and shoving half of it in his mouth. “Ut abo ‘ew ‘id.”

“Yeah. What about the new kid?” Tanger echoed.

With a huff, Sid grabbed his bar back as Flower was trying to pass it to Tanger. “I dunno anything except he’s my responsibility.” Sid hastily spun through his locker combination again and plucked his English notebook out of the locker before Tanger and Flower could shut it again. “I gotta go. Mr. Lemieux will kill me if I’m late one more time. See you at lunch.” With a wave behind him, Sid jogged off down the hall.

“Glad to see you’re on time, Captain,” Mr. Lemieux said, as Sid slid into his chair just after the bell’s clanging finally stopped. “In honor of this occasion, you can start us off. In his lifetime, Walt Whitman was considered shocking and inappropriate. Discuss.”

Sid opened his AP lit book to “Song of Myself,” but he didn’t really need to. He knew this poem inside and out.

“Whitman’s contemporaries thought he was super low class, like, almost a street poet. He didn’t write about rich people like other poets did. He wrote about people he saw every day. Kids having fun, guys working—”

The back of the room snickered, and someone coughed out fag.

The words crawled up Sid’s spine, leaving a trail of cold fear in its wake. He hated that fucking douche Wilson, who thought he could casually drop that word, not caring if Mr. Lemieux could hear him. He didn’t know if it had been directed at him or the poet, but it didn’t matter.

Sid knew what they said behind his back. That he spent too much time with his team. That he didn’t have a new girl hanging off him every other day. That he was gay. A Queer. A fucking fa—

Sid didn’t look, just tensed his shoulders in his tight shirt, and ground out, “Shut the fuck up, Wilson.”

Mr. Lemieux rolled his eyes. “Mr. Wilson. What he said. And don’t do it again. Mr. Crosby, concrete examples, please.”

Sid pulled the textbook closer, scanning the excerpts he’d underlined last night and praying his face didn’t betray his anger.

“Uh, in section 15, he lists workers like the carpenter, the duck-shooter, the deacon. What they do and how they do it. They’re not the rich people, but guys who do filthy work. But, like, the more controversial stuff is the way he talks about men, their bodies and, like, the way the sweat glistens on their chest .And because it was well known he was gay I think that also made people discount his work —”

Sid’s voice trailed off. He wished Lemieux had chosen someone else, anyone else. He could feel the burn of everyone’s eyes on his back, the nerd

“Why you always make it about gay shit?” Wilson scoffed, the aggressive edge in his voice setting Sid’s nerves on fire.

“Because, Mr. Wilson, sometimes things are literally gay,” Mr. Lemieux stepped in. “Good. Who else?”

Sid lost himself in the ebb and flow of the discussion around him—the teacher’s enthusiasm and his classmates’ stumbling responses.

No one knows. No one knows. Sid reminded himself. No one knew he was gay.

Always eyes down in the locker room. His phone history cleared every day. Tom Wilson was just a clown from the back of the classroom.

”Maybe they know,” whispered a tiny voice in his head.

He’d just spend more time with Flower and Tanger‘s girlfriends. They were easy to talk to and popular. And if they posted pictures on their Instagram or Snapchat, then he’d look straight-er. Right?

Because it was his choice what to tell and when to tell it. And no one had the right to force him.

[ingravinoveritas]

Joanlock Fic: Tasting

Title: Tasting Author: Me Rating: R/NC-17 Pairing: Sherlock Holmes/Joan Watson Warning: Sexual content, language Disclaimer: I own nothing here. All characters belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and Rob Doherty (who should give us a break and just let them fuck already). Summary: Takes places in 7x05 “Into the Woods.”       Author’s Note:  My first Joanlock fic done, finally! Shout-out and thank you to @nairobiwonders for your inspiring and wonderful Joanlock drabbles. [Fic is also available on AO3.]

----

Sherlock kept thinking about her hair.

The sun’s unwelcome beams peeked in and woke him first that morning, an event he relished for allowing him the opportunity to watch her in the light.

Her hair--blonde, bright, something to which he was still growing accustomed--looked even more golden in the sun.

He laid beside her for a few blissful moments, one arm propped against his head as he sat up, the sheets sliding midway down his naked torso. Carefully, quietly, he slipped out of bed, drawing the curtains closed, a stark contrast to when he’d thrown those same curtains wide open years earlier.

Joan and Sherlock had been sharing a bed for a long while now, bodies pressed inevitably together. Sometimes they had sex, and sometimes they didn’t, sleeping side by side simply for the need to be close. He was not tired, but sated, having spent the night prior nestled comfortably in the indent the mattress had long ago made for his body.

He would wake her later, he decided. Only when it became necessary.

----

The image of her bathed in sunlight lingered in his mind as they were getting ready for the wine auction that night.

When Joan asked him the question, it throbbed.

Sherlock stood in the middle of his bedroom fiddling with his bow tie, irritated by how impossible the damned things were to put on. Familiar footsteps approached and he turned to see her in the doorway, a vision in red.

“Ah, Watson. You look...” Radiant. Stunning. Luminous. Incandescently beautiful such that the goddess Aphrodite herself would cower in awe.

None of it seemed to do her justice. Sherlock frowned at his brain’s inability in that moment to simply describe the woman in front of him, something he’d done countless times before.

“... suitably attired for this evening’s activities.”

Joan smiled, watching him struggle with the bow tie. She chalked his fumbling up to being distracted before realizing he actually couldn’t tie the stupid thing.

Concern came over her features and she moved toward him to help, reaching for his fingers. Sherlock backed away, quickly completing the last knot and gesturing at himself with a flourish.

“Your assistance is not required. I am, in fact, capable of dressing myself, as you can plainly see.”

Joan rolled her eyes then let her focus rest on him, her gaze slowly traveling downward to drink the sight of him in. They didn’t often have occasion to dress up, and despite Sherlock’s petulance and protestation, he looked exceptionally good in a tuxedo, all clean lines and tailored fit.

He started to leave but Joan stopped him, a hand pressed against his chest.

“Sherlock, wait.”

“...Yes?”

The scent of her so close to him was dizzying, arms and lips and skin all exposed and ready to be caressed, kissed, bitten. He wondered if Marcus would be terribly cross if they were late to the auction, which could no doubt be chalked up to last-minute deductions related to the killer and/or him feeding Watson actual truffles post-coitus.

He noticed Joan’s hand, which was clutching a small object. Despite the room’s dimness, the metal glinted, winking at him.

She’d taken the cock ring from the third drawer of the tallboy in the living room earlier that day. It sat on her night table as she got dressed, blood quickening as memories of past use came to mind, and at the thought of making him put it on that night.

Joan opened her palm, her free hand threading into his hair and pulling lightly. His body twitched automatically in response, his lips parting in a quiet hiss, and heat thrummed in the pit of her stomach.

She looked up at him.

“Wear it under your tux?”

Sherlock swallowed hard. He saw the sparkle in her eye and knew it was to be one of those nights. They hadn’t had one for a while, but just the thought of submitting to her while trying to catch a killer, of being at her absolute mercy all evening--with no one else the wiser--was enough to raise gooseflesh.

He took hold of the ring, observing how she licked her lips in anticipation, a small shiver working its way up his spine. He began to unfasten his trousers but noted her presence and paused, one eyebrow arching impossibly high.

He kissed her long enough to gently edge her into the hall, lifting the hem of her skirt with one hand so as not to drag it along the floor.  

“A little privacy, Watson, if you please. I’ll be ready in a moment.”

Joan smirked, watching the brief flash of his ass in the tuxedo pants as he turned and closed the door behind him.

-----

They had been at the wine auction for ten minutes when Sherlock decided that Jason Wood and his wife were two of the most insipid people he’d ever met.

Five minutes after that, seated at the table, Joan slid her foot up his leg.

It was only a toe, at first; tentative, probing, a touch so gentle Sherlock was sure Wood had inadvertently begun playing footsie with him instead of his wife. Greater pressure followed a few moments later, what was assuredly a small yet strong set of metatarsals inching their way beneath the hem of his trousers.

Joan briefly feigned interest in the dull table conversation, glancing around the room for any hint of their killer and his fatal flagon of fermented grapes. Detecting no signs of his presence, she took a sip of water, breath hitching only slightly in her throat when she saw Sherlock eyeing her through the glass.

Watson, I hardly think this is the appropriate time...

The corner of her mouth edged up in a slight smile. It quickly disappeared as she turned to address Wood, who was muttering nervously about risk and exposure.

“That's exactly why we're here. To get the guy who wants you dead off the street. Minimize your risk.”

She withdrew her foot from Sherlock’s trousers, silently replacing it with a hand on his knee, fingers sliding upward slightly for leverage. Wood asked another question and Sherlock started to answer, gamely ignoring the warmth of Joan’s hand. He tensed as she pointedly stroked a thumb across his leg, pangs of arousal spider-webbing from his stomach downward. He vainly attempted to free himself from her hold, shifting his leg beneath her hand almost imperceptibly.

“...It suggests the appeal of this little scheme is anonymity.”

Joan twitched at that last sentence. She renewed her grip on him, roughly pulling his leg to the side, and silently sank her nails into his thigh.

Blonde. Sun. Breath. Heat.

Flashes of her raced through Sherlock’s mind, memories of the night before blending into that morning, straight to right then. The un-drunk wine in the glasses in front of them pulsed, red as the blood he nearly drew from biting his lip to keep from groaning out loud.

Fifty-seven was the precise number of seconds he waited to stand up. Sherlock’s eyes darted between the Woods and the back of the room, the index and middle fingers of his right hand rubbing together unconsciously. He opened and closed his mouth, then finally spoke.

"I believe there might be some activity in the hallway which merits investigation. We should inform Detective Bell immediately. Watson?”

That was subtle...

Joan rose and nodded politely, placing her napkin on the table.

“Mr. Wood, Mrs. Wood. Excuse us, please,” she said.

Neither of them spoke as they walked toward the hallway, the edge of her pinky lightly twining with his when they were sufficiently far from the table. He was already half hard, the ring he’d put on for her surrounding the base of his cock with glorious constriction.

By the time Joan pulled him into the restroom, it ached.

Sherlock hardly had time to perform a haphazard check of the stalls before she slammed him against the inside of the door, the shapes of their bodies conforming effortlessly as they had in her bed. She studied him for a moment, grey eyes glassy and cheeks just slightly flush with arousal. His whole body was straining toward her, seeking more contact, yet he held his arms at his sides, waiting.

Good.

Joan kissed him, the softness of her lips starkly contrasting with the roughness she’d shown moments earlier, arms wrapping around the back of his head as the kiss deepened. She licked at Sherlock’s lips, savoring their warmth, and he opened his mouth, groaning as she repeated the motion on his tongue. He rocked his hips up against her, the evidence of his arousal heightening her own through the layers of clothing.

Despite neither of them having had a drop of wine all evening, Sherlock felt drunk from the taste of her.

“My god...” he gasped, breaking the kiss long enough to draw in air.

Joan’s hands were everywhere, one notably taking up residence on his dick. She raised her mouth to his ear and whispered, squeezing him hard:

“Mine.”

“Yes. Always.” The words came out as a half-choked whimper, the tips of his fingers tightening in her hair as she alternated kissing and biting down his throat, leaving bruises that were sure to raise questions he didn’t give a toss about answering.

She led him into a nearby cubicle, shutting and locking the door behind them. They looked at each other for a few seconds, the air between them heavy, Sherlock waiting for a sign of certainty from her.

Now?

Joan took hold of his hand, lightly sucking on his fingertips. She pressed them to the side of her face, then slowly guided his hand over her body, down the front of her dress.

Yes. Now.

“Get on your knees.”

He did so without hesitation, wincing but momentarily for the hardness of the tiled floor. The hand that was still on her dress slid beneath the hem, pushing her skirt up until she helpfully bunched the front against her stomach, holding it for him.

Sherlock lavished attention on every newly bared plane of flesh--ankle, calf, knee--all so deliciously smooth under his lips, sliding deftly over her skin. He moved farther up, the black garter on her upper thigh giving him pause, mainly due to the condom packet tucked inside. He looked at her with a cocked eyebrow.

“Came prepared, did we?” he breathed, curling his tongue over her inner thigh.

“I like to have all my bases covered.”

The heat of her center so close by was driving him mad, but still he couldn’t resist teasing her by sealing his mouth over the front of her panties. He held still, inhaling the smell of Joan’s arousal as he felt her wetness growing under him. He breathed steadily onto her, enjoying the involuntary shudder of her muscles in response.

“One might argue that you could have conserved considerable time and energy simply by electing not to wear these tonight...”

He slowly flicked his tongue over the fabric covering her slit, one thumb tentatively hooking into her waistband.

Joan let out a low moan.

“Oh fuck, Sherlock...”

His erection throbbed in his trousers, desperate for attention, but he ignored it, instead focusing his concentration entirely on doing whatever was necessary to make her say his name that way again.

He pushed her panties down her legs, stopping partway to remove his hands and use his teeth to drag them to her feet. Joan stepped out of the garment, pressing herself against the stall door while Sherlock deftly tucked her underwear into his jacket pocket for safekeeping. He lifted her leg onto his shoulder, placed his mouth on her folds, and began to go down on her in earnest.

A combination of tongue, lips, and teeth had Joan panting in no time, her hand snaking into his hair, holding on tight. She ground her hips against him, biting back a scream as he slid one, then two fingers into her, curling them against her walls as his lips found her clit and closed over the swollen bud.

“Oh, god...faster...” Joan directed him, her knees weakening when he immediately complied, ribbons of pleasure flowing from her toes to the rest of her body.

Her orgasm followed swiftly, his name falling from her mouth in a heated groan, her head thrown back against the stall door and legs shaking, the stubble on Sherlock’s cheek brushing like electricity against her thighs. She bucked her hips against him, her internal muscles clenching around his fingers as she rode out the waves of her climax.

Joan reached for his arms, pulling him to stand up. Sherlock looked at her from beneath long eyelashes, his lips and jaw slick with her and red as the fabric she was now hiking up to reach the condom packet underneath.

“Can I...”

He’d unzipped himself before she had even noticed, his erection leaning thick and hard against his stomach, the tip already wet with precum. The ring had done its job well, and Joan burned with the need to have him inside her.

“Can I have permission to take it off?”

Her eyes drifted to the base of his cock, admiring the juxtaposition of metal and flesh, which somehow became even filthier against the backdrop of his tuxedo.

“Not yet.”

She circled an arm around his waist and pulled him close, kissing him softly and tasting herself on his lips. Joan felt his breath quicken as she rolled the condom on and stroked him for a few moments, the touch of her hand alone eliciting strangled whimpers from the back of his throat.

Sherlock half-smiled at her, one hand reaching up to tangle in her hair, twisting the golden ends in his fingers. 

“You’ve been meticulously planning this all day.”

“Ever since you left me alone in bed this morning.”

He would’ve looked surprised had she not chosen then to play with his balls,  his eyes fluttering shut as she roughly squeezed, the pressure making his toes curl.

“I...I didn’t want to wake you,” he tried not to moan and failed, wondering if she intended to torture him like this forever, and if he would really mind.

Joan urged his hands down to her hips as she lifted her legs to wrap around him.

“I can feel you even when you’re not there.”

She’d slept in the same bed in the brownstone for years now, blanketed in Egyptian cotton and the scent of her skin. Her bed, which somewhere along the way had become their bed, scents commingling, every inch of him joined with her so completely that she couldn’t tell where he ended and she began.

She sank down on his cock, both of them panting as he filled her completely.

“Sherlock...”

Joan’s fingers were digging into his shoulders, back arching at the sensation of being penetrated and the sheer perfection of how he was using every ounce of energy to control himself.

“Watson...do please move. I beg of you....”

And how beautiful you sound when you beg, she thought, lifting herself up before slamming back down on him again.

Sherlock buried his head in her shoulder, muffled groans pouring out as she rode him at a steady pace, his hips gradually coming to meet each of her movements. His thrusts grew more frantic and Joan tightened around him, thrilling at the sound of his balls slapping against her as he began to lose himself.

She shifted slightly against the stall door, whining as the angle changed and his cock started hitting that spot inside her, again and again. She brought a hand down between them to rub her clit and was rendered momentarily breathless at the sight of where their bodies met, him so far inside her that the metal just kissed her skin.

“Joan...” his voice was ragged. He’d used her first name, and she knew it meant he was close.

She pressed a hand to his chest, slowing them both down, and he lifted his head up to look at her, his eyes clouded with lust. She pulled away from him, hissing as the head of his cock slowly slid out of her, standing back on the floor on unsteady legs.

“You can’t be serious...” 

Joan pressed a finger to his lips, her other hand reaching down to remove the condom and the cock ring, and Sherlock nearly sobbed with relief. She kept her eyes on him as she reached back to unzip the dress, sliding it down her arms and letting the fabric pool at her feet. Her bra followed suit and she stood naked before him, heart pounding at the reverent look in Sherlock’s eye.

“Let me touch you, Sherlock.”

He did as he was told, pressing his body against her, skin humming with need and very certain that he would die if she didn’t let him come soon.

Joan reached down to grasp his erection and a few pulls of her hand later, he could no longer hold on, the taste and feel and thought of her exploding behind his eyes as he came. Her name spilled from his lips like a chant as his seed spilled all over her, white hot droplets landing on her breasts and stomach, just as she’d wanted.

She looked up at him through darkened eyes, one hand stroking the side of his face, her insides twitching as he briefly sucked her thumb between his lips. 

“It looks like you made quite a mess. Clean it up.”

Sherlock blinked as if he’d suddenly remembered that they were in a bathroom, turning toward the toilet paper dispenser. Joan grabbed his arm, pulling him back.

“I said, clean it up.”

Sherlock sucked in a breath, now fully aware of her meaning, and bent his head. She shivered the moment his long tongue slid across her skin, her fingers tangling in his hair as he licked his own cum from her breasts. He took her nipples into his mouth, biting and sucking each to a taut nub until she was writhing against him.

“Stop. It’s--too sensitive...” Joan panted, feeling the waves of a second orgasm rippling through her. He smiled against her skin, trailing kisses up her neck until he reached her lips again. He held his mouth inches from hers and chuckled softly when she impatiently dove in for a kiss, reveling in the taste of him in her mouth.

They broke apart a moment later and he held her, pressing her head to his chest until both their breathing slowed to normal. Sherlock stroked a hand down her back, enjoying the smooth sheen of sweat on her skin. He reached for her discarded bra and dress with the other, the unfortunate reality of where they were settling back in as they both made themselves decent.

“Zip me up?” Joan asked, turning around and pulling her hair to one side.

“Mmh...” he dragged his lips up her back as he closed the zipper, leaving one final open-mouthed kiss on her neck.

She pulled him out of the stall behind her but stopped before they could leave.

Joan faced Sherlock again, a sudden flush coming over her, rumbling from deep in her belly to a half-dazed grin she couldn’t keep off her face.

“Thank you,” she whispered, squeezing his hand once more before pushing the bathroom door open to face the world with him.

THE END.

[lfthinkerwrites]

A Riddle for a Bat, pt. 12

A Riddle for a Bat, pt. 12

Surprise early update!

Title: A Riddle for a Bat

Fandom: Batman

Pairing: Riddlebat

Rating: T

Chapter Summary: Two weeks after ending their partnership, Bruce meets Edward again.

Previous Chapters: 1/2/3/4/5/6/7/8/9/10/11

AO3 Link

It had been two weeks since the murders that had rocked Gotham's criminal underworld. Two weeks since O'Reilly, the confessed murderer, had been killed himself. Two weeks since Bruce had last seen or spoken to Edward Nigma.

It felt like longer.

He'd spent the first few days in the Bat Cave, going over every detail he could find of O'Reilly's life, trying not to waste time looking at Edward's profile, Edward's picture. That was done.

O'Reilly had been a courier, had served time in New York for arson and assault, and at the time of his death, had a little over $22,000 in his bank account, $20,000 of which had been a cash deposit the day before the bombing of the Maroni restaurant. If there was a direct link between him and Thorne, Bruce hadn't been able to find it. He'd hit a wall after three days. He'd finally left the Bat Cave on the morning of the third day, looking for O'Reilly's girlfriend, but she'd disappeared back into the shadows of Gotham City. Bruce could only hope that her disappearance was voluntary. Falcone had been moved to an undisclosed hospital somewhere in the city limits and Maroni had been taken into federal custody on tax evasion charges. The Maroni and the Falcone crime families were as good as dead, which left Rupert Thorne as that last mob boss of any significant standing in Gotham City.

So for most of the past two weeks, Bruce waited and watched. Most of the foot soldiers of the Maroni and Falcone crime families had gone underground or joined Thorne's organization with little violence. Now that his hired gun was gone, Thorne had seemed to go back to his previous, more cautious demeanor, but sooner or later, he'd slip up. He'd get overconfident, he'd make one fatal mistake, and then Bruce would have him. So he waited.

That wasn't what kept him up at the wee hours of the morning though.

Every night before he returned to Wayne Manor from patrol, he would stop the Batmobile by Edward's office and look up, to make sure that the light was on, that Edward was still there. Each night, the light would be on, and Bruce could just make out a figure pacing through the office. Each night, he'd be tempted to go up that fire escape, to open that window, to tell Edward that he was sorry, to tell Edward that he-but each time, he'd remember Harvey and Andrea and he'd drive on.

Exactly two weeks to the night that he'd called off their partnership, Bruce was sitting in the Batmobile, craning his neck to look up at Edward's office and waiting to catch a glimpse of the man in the window. He hadn't caught sight of Edward since telling him to back off the case, but somehow Bruce knew that he was still investigating. He'd almost hoped he'd catch him out on patrol, so he would at least have an excuse to see him again.

"Master Bruce?"

Alfred's voice on the Batmobile's communications brought Bruce out of his trance. "Go ahead, Alfred."

"It's after 2 am Sir. How goes it out there?"

Bruce caught movement in the office and he sighed. "Quiet. I'll be heading back shortly." He let his gaze linger for a moment longer before he shifted the car into drive. 

He heard Alfred's voice continue. "It's just as well. We do have that charity function we're hosting at the manor tomorrow afternoon."

"Don't remind me," Bruce groaned. A charity function was the last thing he wanted to be involved with right now, but he'd hosted this gathering to raise money for his mother's charity for the past ten years. He couldn't cancel or choose not to make an appearance. "I'll be home in about thirty minutes."

"Very good." There was a pause before Alfred spoke again. "Did you at least speak to him tonight, sir?"

Bruce didn't answer.

Twelve hours later, the cream of the crop of Gotham's upper class was gathered under the roof of Wayne Manor. At least twenty people were gathered in the main hall, while others were scattered about the outer grounds. Dick was sitting on the sofa, dressed in a tuxedo and entertaining the younger women with tales of made up exploits and having his cast signed. Bruce himself was in the living room, making the rounds. "Nice to see you again, Mark. Looking good, Rita. Thank you for coming Paul." It was routine hand-shaking and small talk, but Bruce felt exhausted. As he shook another hand, a flash of red caught his vision. He turned around, dropping the hand in his haste. Was it-The man with red hair turned around and Bruce recognized his old school friend Tommy, who waved. Bruce waved back, trying not to let his disappointment show.

"Bruce! Darling!"

Bruce had to let out a smile when he saw Veronica pushing her way through the crowd. "Hi, Ronnie."

Veronica grabbed his hands and leaned up to kiss his cheek. "You've outdone yourself this year, Brucie. The home looks beautiful! And Alfred outdid himself on the Hors d'oeuvres this year."

"I'll be sure to tell him that," Bruce said. "How have you been?"

Veronica laughed. "I can't complain! Oh, it seems like forever since we've seen each other! How's Dick?"

Bruce nodded towards the sofa. "He's fine. I think he's enjoying the attention."

Veronica laughed, then her face fell a bit. "What's wrong?" Bruce asked.

Veronica played idly with her necklace. "It's Eddie. He's been a bit of a funk the last two weeks. He won't go out, he won't talk to anyone. It's almost like he had his heart broken."

Bruce felt his stomach drop. I think he's in love with you. "And you have no idea what happened?"

Veronica sighed. "None. I actually dragged him out here today to see if a change of scenery would do him any good, but he's hardly said two words to anyone-"

Bruce raised his hand as Veronica's words finally sank in. "Edward's here?"

Veronica nodded. "Yes. Last time I saw him, he was heading out to the balcony." Veronica turned to point to the glass doors in the living room that led to a balcony that overlooked the bluffs. "You know what? Maybe you should try talking to him!"

Bruce shuffled. "Ronnie, I don't think-"

"Oh come on, Bruce! You two seemed to hit it off well enough at my party! Maybe he'll be more comfortable talking to a man than to me about whatever happened."

Veronica clearly wasn't taking no for an answer and there was no way Bruce could tell her that he was the absolute last person who had any right to talk to Edward. So Bruce gave Veronica a quick tight smile and walked towards the balcony.

Sure enough, Edward was standing out on the balcony looking over the bluffs to the sea, his back to the doors. He was only wearing a green suit coat today and no hat, leaving his auburn hair free and blowing in the breeze. For a long moment, Bruce stood behind the glass doors, watching the man he'd broken the heart of, the man he'd wanted more than anything to see the past two weeks. Finally, he opened the doors. Edward jerked up a bit when he heard the noise and hastily raised an arm to wipe something off of his face.

"Edward Nigma, isn't it?" Bruce asked in his practiced jovial tone. "It's been a while." Edward slumped a bit, not looking behind him. Bruce frowned a bit, then continued on. "I'm not sure if you remember, but I'm-"

"Bruce Wayne," Edward said absently. "I remember." His voice was hoarse, far from the confident, brassy tone he usually possessed.

Bruce sighed, then walked to the edge of the railing right next to Edward. "How have you been?"

Edward slowly looked up at him and Bruce quickly sucked in a breath. There were large dark circles under Edward's eyes, stubble on his jaw and his eyes, his brilliant green eyes, were dull and red-rimmed. He looked at Bruce with a glare. "I remember when we last met," he said. "And you didn't want anything to do with me. Why are you checking up on me now?"

Bruce rubbed the back of his neck. He'd have to be careful in what he said to the man. "Ronnie's been worried," he offered as an explanation. "She's a friend of mine and you're a friend of hers, I assume."

Edward seemed to deflate, then turned his gaze back towards the horizon. "Ronnie's a sweet woman, under that society girl nonsense," he murmured. "But she couldn't understand."

Bruce stepped a bit closer. "Understand what?"

Edward sighed, then looked down at his hands. "You're a renowned playboy. Tell me," he said in a small voice. "Have you ever met someone who makes you feel alive? I mean, really alive?"

Bruce looked down at his own hands and thought of Andrea, of Edward himself. "Once or twice."

"I've always had a bit of trouble connecting with other people. Finding people who really understand me, people who I can fully engage with." Edward let out a small laugh. "And then one day, he shows up at my fire escape and it was like a lightning strike. It was so easy to converse with him, it was like he knew my every thought before I could even think it, it was..." he let out a sigh. "It was the most alive I've ever felt. And then as soon as he was there, he was gone, and it's like he took a part of me with him." He shook his head. "Just my luck, I'd have to fall in love with the Dark Knight. I must be either the biggest lunatic or the biggest idiot in all of Gotham."

There it was. The confirmation of Edward's feelings for him. This should be a problem, but instead, Bruce felt almost...elated. He wanted to take the man into his arms when he remembered. It was Batman that Edward loved, not Bruce Wayne, and Batman couldn't be with him. "You wouldn't be the first to fall for him," Bruce said. "I think Ronnie had a bit of a crush on him a while back."

"Why am I not surprised?" Edward asked. His face darkened. "Did he break her heart too?"

Bruce fiddled with the cufflinks of his dress shirt. "Not as far as I know. What happened?"

Edward stared at him from the corner of his eye for a moment, before he continued. "We were working on a case together, I won't bore you with the particulars, but we were making progress. He said he trusted me. And then, he told me out of the blue that not only was our partnership over, but he also didn't want me to be involved in the case at all anymore. The case I've spent so long working on! How could he do that to me? How could he go from trusting me one night to not wanting anything to do with me the next?"

"Maybe it wasn't about trust," Bruce said. "Maybe, he was trying to protect you. Maybe he did what he did because he wants what's best for you." That was what Bruce told himself on the nights he was out of the car and had his grappling hook aimed at the fire escape outside of Edward's window. It was for the best. Edward deserved more, deserved better than to be dragged into the dark with Bruce.

Edward's voice cut through these thoughts like a knife and his words were just as sharp. "The best for me? How would he know what's best for me? He's never bothered to ask me!"

Bruce looked at Edward and was surprised at the look of anger on his face. "Arrogant, self-righteous-" Edward made a frustrated noise. "I'll admit, I don't have quite the physicality he does or the flair for the dramatic, but I'm not some helpless damsel in distress either! If he had genuine concerns for my safety, then he should have at least had enough respect for me to have a conversation with me, not dictate orders!" Edward folded his arms in front of him. "It doesn't take a genius to figure out that he must have had some kind of trauma in his life. No man would put on a suit and fight crime otherwise. Whatever it was, it's clearly affected his ability to really interact with people. I wish I knew what it was. Maybe I could have-" Edward's voice trailed off before he spoke in a softer tone. "If what you say is true, then I don't think he was trying to protect me. I think he's trying to protect himself. I think he's trying to spare himself any more pain."

For a long moment, Bruce didn't know what to say. Was Edward right? Before he could say anything, Edward let out another sigh. "I don't want to talk about him anymore."

"Alright," Bruce said. "What do you want to talk about?"

Edward gave him a wry look. "You don't have to mind me, you know. I'm sure Ronnie will understand if you have a few more rounds to make."

"It's no problem at all. To tell the truth, I think I've made small talk with just about everyone else here. How about I show you around the manor?"

Edward rubbed his chin in thought. "Well...alright. I'd like that, Mr. Wayne-"

Bruce held up a hand. "Please. Any friend of Ronnie's is a friend of mine. Call me Bruce."

Edward smiled a bit and Bruce felt his own heart lift at the sight of it. "Alright. Bruce. Lead the way."

Bruce led Edward off the balcony and back into the Manor proper, giving only cursory waves to the people inside. "So where exactly are you taking me first?" Edward asked.

Bruce hadn't actually thought of that. He knew he shouldn't linger so long in Edward's company, but he didn't know when he'd see him again. A part of him wanted to take advantage of this. "I guess the library would be a bit cliche, wouldn't it?"

"It would," Edward agreed. He shrugged. "But I'm not complaining."

Bruce grinned a bit. "Great. It's just down this hall." Across the room, Bruce caught sight of Alfred passing out drinks to the other guests. Alfred glanced his and Edward's direction and gave Bruce a knowing smirk. Bruce ignored him.

Edward let out a low whistle when he saw the sheer amount of books kept in the library. "No offense," he said. "But I never pictured you having a collection this size."

Bruce shrugged. "None taken. Not all of them are mine. Some of them are Dick's."

"Your ward, right?" Edward's eyes darted between the shelves, before he settled on one hardcover in particular. "Does he or you like to read Chandler?"

"Both of us, though that copy's mine," Bruce admitted. "Do you read Chandler?"

"Do I?" Edward said, opening the book and flipping through the pages. "Only once a year. Double Indemnity is my favorite. You?"

"The Big Sleep. I got into pulp detective fiction for a bit when I was younger, after I watched The Grey Ghost."

Edward looked up, his mouth open slightly. "Did you and I share a childhood? I used to watch The Grey Ghost too! I've got a signed poster from Simon Trent in my apartment."

Bruce had missed that when he'd been in Edward's apartment. He smiled fondly at the other man. It seemed that they had more in common than either could have anticipated. "I used to watch it with my father."

Edward's face grew serious and he placed the book back on his shelf. "You were close to him?"

"Yes. To him and my mother."

"Ah." Edward pulled at his fingers a bit. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to dredge up bad memories."

"It's alright," Bruce said. This wasn't what he wanted to dwell on in Edward's company. "What was your favorite episode?"

"The Mad Bomber, of course," Edward answered the lightness back in his voice. "I figured out how the bomber was committing his crimes before the end of the episode, of course."

Bruce chuckled. "Of course you did. You know, I've got the whole run of the Grey Ghost on film, if you want to borrow an episode."

Edward's face fell slightly. "I'm too busy now, but believe me, I'd love to take you up on it." Edward fidgeted with his hands again before he spoke. "You know, you're not at all like how I imagined you were."

"Oh?" Bruce asked. "I get that a lot."

Edward smiled a bit. "If I didn't know better, I'd almost think that the playboy image was an act."

Bruce nearly did a double take, before he willed himself to relax. Edward was a detective, past and present. Of course, he'd pick up on things. "I could say the same about you," he countered. "Having an autographed poster of The Grey Ghost doesn't exactly fit with your image of 'genius private detective'."

Edward shrugged. "What can I say? I'm a man of hidden depths. You are too, I think."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Bruce chuckled. Edward joined in a bit. Whether he was fully thrown off the scent, Bruce couldn't say. "You know," Bruce said. "When I first saw you on TV, I thought you were a smug jerk."

"Rude!" Edward admonished. "But not entirely inaccurate I suppose."

"I was wrong," Bruce said. He licked his lower lip before he continued. "I don't think that anymore. I think you're a good man."

"Well, thank you, I-" Edward's eyes went wide. "Wait. What did you say?"

Bruce realized that he'd said too much. Edward was looking at him, his brow furrowed as if he was putting the pieces of a puzzle together. "I-"

"Ah, there you are, sir!"

Bruce and Edward both turned to see Alfred at the doorway. Bruce had never been happier to see him. "Ms. Vreeland was wondering where the two of you had gone."

"Well, best not to keep Ronnie waiting," Edward said, walking over to Alfred. He held his hand out to the old butler. "Edward Nigma, Private Investigator."

"Alfred Pennyworth, the butler. I've heard quite a bit about you." Alfred shook Edward's hand politely, then scrutinized his jacket. "Chiefly about your taste in attire."

Edward looked down at his jacket. "Well, I do have an aesthetic to maintain. So, you've been here for a long time, I take it?"

"Before Master Bruce was even born," Alfred answered. "I have many stories I could share about his youthful misadventures-"

"None of which we have the time to get into right now," Bruce said, almost pushing Edward out the door. "Let's go find Ronnie."

Edward pouted a bit. "You're no fun anymore."

"There was something I've been meaning to ask you about Ronnie," Bruce whispered as soon as they were down the hall and out of Alfred's earshot.

"Ronnie?" Edward asked, a confused expression on his face. "What about her?"

"You know she has a crush on you, right?"

Edward's face turned a bright pink. Ronnie had been right all along. The man was adorable. "She-really? Oh. Oh my."

"You really didn't know?"

"I-well, I thought she seemed a bit friendly, but oh my," Edward stammered. "Poor Ronnie. Maybe if she were a Ronald, but-Oh dear. I've never been the one to do the rejecting."

"Don't worry. She'll get over it," Bruce said. "She'll probably still drag you out on the town though."

Edward laughed, dissipating his nervous energy. "There are worse fates, I suppose." They were about to walk back into the crowded living room when Edward reached out to touch Bruce's shoulder. "Thank you. Not for telling me about Veronica, though I did need to hear that, but thank you for talking with me. You really did make me feel better."

Bruce smiled, but inside, felt nothing but regret. "You're welcome, Edward."

Edward smiled again, then walked off to join Veronica, who was engaged in an animated conversation with Dick on the sofa."

"Eddie, darling!" Veronica called out, waving him over. "There you are! I was afraid you'd left me!"

Edward flushed a bit at the endearment but recovered. "Never, Ronnie. Who's this?"

"Dick Grayson, I'm Bruce's ward," Dick said, holding out his hand. "You're the Private Eye, right? I've seen you on the news a lot! Nice to meet you!"

"Nice to meet you," Edward said. Bruce realized that his attention was solely on Dick's cast. "How did that happen?"

"Some jerk ran a red light and hit my car a few weeks ago," Dick answered without missing a beat. "Want to sign?"

Bruce watched Edward rub his chin. "A few weeks ago..." Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a pen. "Why not? You can keep it as a souvenir." He leaned down and signed his name with a flourish. "There you are."

Bruce watched from the corner of the room as Dick and Edward engaged in banter, with Veronica chiming in ever so often. After today, he didn't know when or if he'd see Edward again. He wished he didn't have to leave. Bruce was so wrapped up in watching the scene he almost didn't hear Alfred walk up behind him. "He is quite a character, isn't he, sir?"

"Yes, he is," Bruce said softly.

"I can't help but notice that you seem to be in a better mood than you've been for the last few weeks. And I don't think Mr. Nigma's presence here isn't related to that."

Leave it to Alfred to notice. Bruce sighed. "I can't be with him Alfred," he said. "I want to be, more than anything, but it's too dangerous."

"For him, or for you?"

Bruce stiffened. He felt Alfred place a gentle hand on his shoulder. "I know how many people you've lost, Bruce. I know that you've been thinking of Harvey and Andrea. But Mr. Nigma is not Harvey or Andrea. He does not deserve to be treated as if he is."

"I know he doesn't Alfred, but he deserves better."

"Isn't that his choice to make?"

He didn't want to admit it, but deep down, he knew Alfred was right. Bruce watched as Edward laughed at a joke Dick made. "What should I do, Alfred?"

"Go to him. Perhaps not tonight. Perhaps not tomorrow, but go to him. Tell him everything you feel and then leave it in his hands. Let him decide for himself."

Bruce watched for a few minutes more, until Edward and Veronica got up, and headed towards the door. Edward turned back to Bruce and waved. The light in his eyes was back. Bruce never wanted to see that light go out again. He'd do it. Tomorrow night, after patrol. He'd go to him and tell him that he was sorry. He'd go to him and tell him he wanted to make their partnership permanent.

He'd go to Edward and he'd tell him he was starting to fall in love with him.

Across town, a very different man was having a very different gathering.

"Cheers boss," a crony in a cheap suit toasted, holding a glass of champagne in his hand. "To being the only crime boss in town!" A chorus of cheers came up from the crowd of men sitting around a long oak table.

At the head of the table, Rupert Thorne held his hand up. "Gentlemen. Thank you for everything that you've accomplished, but our work's not quite over yet. There's one more thing we have to do before we can truly take over this town."

"What, boss?" The man seated to his right asked. "Maroni's going to Club Fed and Falcone's a dead man walking. Who's left to stop us?"

Thorne's black eyes narrowed. "Batman, that's who. If we're going to be the Top Dog in this town, we need to take him down."

To his left, a young woman dressed in red leaned forward. "I may have an idea for how to go about that Rupe." She pulled out a newspaper from her briefcase and set it down in front of him.

Thorne took a glance at the headline. 'Private Detective Edward Nigma cracks the case of Vreeland Jewel Robbery'. The rotund gangster smiled. "I see. Very well. Stop by his office tomorrow Candace and tell him he has a new client."

[el-and-hop]

The Tales of Mike and Max

The One At the Diner

Characters: Mike Wheeler, Max Mayfield, El Hopper, Lucas Sinclair

Time: December, 1985

WC: 2.1k

[Ao3]

Summary: “Angry ‘cus your boyfriend didn’t show up?” “Angry ‘cus your girlfriend stood you up?” OR When there’s drama in the diner.

[A/N]: Part 2 of The Tales of Mike and Max. [Part 1] [Part 3] Mike and Max still aren’t on great terms. Be prepared for time changes and pov changes. I want to keep you on your toes.

6:35 PM, The Diner just off Elm Street

“Max?”

“Mike?” Max wanted nothing more than to melt in place. One moment she was reading a menu, looking for the home made chicken noodle soup Lucas had recommended, waiting for him to show up, and the next, she was staring down Mike Wheeler. Lucas had said this was a special date night. Just for the two of them. So why was the asshole Mike Wheeler here? “What the hell are you doing here?”

“What are you doing here?” Mike eyed Max’s outfit, her slightly more respectable button down and jeans radically different than the sweatshirt and sweatpants she had been wearing earlier that day in school. 

“I asked first.” Max indignantly dropped the menu down in front of her. The diner was nearly packed, an odd occurrence for a Friday night in Hawkins. If the shame of sitting alone in a diner waiting for her date to show up hadn’t already chipped away at her pride, having Mike see her sitting alone surely would have.

“El wanted to go out for dinner,” Mike still had his hands in his pockets, the bitter December cold still lingered even though the diner’s front door had been closed. “She said meet her at the diner at six thirty.”

“Oh, so it’s a date?” Max replied, raising her eyebrows. 

“It’s not a date!” Mike nearly yelled. 

It was, in fact, a date.

12:20 PM, Hawkins High, Earlier that day

“Hey Mike,” El appeared as Mike closed his locker door. “Are you busy tonight?”

“It’s Friday,” Mike put down his backpack and knelt down to put away his text books before the next class started. “Let me think,” Mike scrunched up his face, and then dropped it. He looked straight into El’s eyes and said “I have nothing. We’re with each other all the time. You know my schedule better than I do!”

“I know,” El blushed. Her face went from a slight tan to a bright pink. It was Mike’s favorite color. El was holding her history textbook close to her chest. Mike could see she was gripping it a bit too tight: her finger tips were red. “You and me - dinner - I want to try that diner on Elm.”

“Dinner?” Mike nearly let out a laugh, but instead he just blew slightly more air out of his nose than normal. 

“Yes or no?” El’s eyes stayed locked with Mike’s as he stood up, his head seemingly a foot taller than her own.

“Okay. I’ll be there,” Mike smiled as he tightened up his backpack. “What time?”

“Six thirty,” El replied, not missing a beat. 

“Six thirty,” Mike repeated, as he reached forward and kissed her on hear head. Normal kisses were too difficult, and thus only for special occasions. Mike would never tell her how much he really loved those head kisses, though. Her hair always smelled like her vanilla candle scened shampoo. 

“Love you,” El said forcing a smile.

“Love you too.”

6:38 PM, The Diner just off Elm Street

“You and El going out to dinner? That’s the textbook definition of a date,” Max said as she looked at the menu again, trying to draw attention away from the fact that she was still sitting alone.

“Yeah well what are you doing here?” Mike tilted his head. Max could sense a bit of snark in his words.

“For your information, Lucas asked me out on a date.”

“Yea well I don’t see him,” Mike started to pull of his jacket.  Max shifted in her seat. Mike was right: Lucas wasn’t there. But she’d never admit to Mike or herself that Lucas stood her up.

“He’s…uh” Max started to fiddle with the fork an knife in front of her. Lucas had said he’d be there. 

3:30 PM, Hawkins High, Earlier that day

“Hey, I’ll see you at the arcade, right?” Max said, as she pushed open the doors to reveal a cold blast of air. Shuttering, she stuffed her hands in her pockets and burrowed her head into her scarf. “I heard they got a new game.”

“Um I was actually thinking of going to the diner on Elm.” Lucas pulled his gloves out of his pockets. His hands were shaking so hard that he nearly dropped them in the process. 

“You’re just afraid I’m gonna beat you,” Max mumbled from behind her many layers of warmth. Indiana winters were nothing like California.

“No!” Lucas’ utterance gave Max the impression he was more than mildly offended. Lucas continued to walk towards the bike rack and pulled his bike out, Max’s skateboard still hanging in the front basket. “We go to the arcade every Friday. Lets just do something different. Just the two of us.”

“Are you asking me out on a date, stalker?” Max stopped in her tracks. She tilted her head and smiled. “What, are we dating? Am I your girlfriend?” “Yes. As a matter of fact, you are.” Lucas sternly looked into he eyes. He kept his face hard and his brow spoke of slight defeat. Their relationship was unspoken but burning. They cared for each other a bit too much. She grabbed him by the arm and pulled him close.

“You tell me the time and I’ll be there.” Max could feel the warmth emanating from his jacket. They weren’t as physical as Mike and El, but their moments were just as intimate. Lucas would respect her space, and Max loved that. Growing up in her home, physical contact was often something to be avoided. They never hugged or kissed or even held hands in front of the party. 

“I don’t know, how about six thirty? Not too late but not too early.” Lucas pulled away from her grasp. He took out her skateboard and handed it to her, mounting his bike. “Their chicken noodle soup is amazing.”

6:40 PM, The Diner just off Elm Street

“Well I guess I’ll take a seat then,” Mike said, peering around to see if there were any open booths. Max saw his face drop. His eyes stared with a sense of dismay at the only open booth: the one right behind Max. She kept her head sheltered in the menu, stealing a glance at Mike as he passed by.

With a loud umph Max heard Mike drop down on the cushioned seat, his weight shaking her own. A waiter flew by and placed a menu and a glass of water on Mike’s table. 

“Can I get another menu?” Mike’s voice was quiet amoungst the monotonous chatter of the diner. Max turned to see the waiter give Mike the fakest smile she had ever seen. When the waiter returned Max could almost feel how awkward Mike was. Mike without El, Max thought, was like a flat tire. It still functioned, but it was miserable.

Max continued to look over the menu in front of her. She’d instructed the waiter that the other guest would be here shortly. But shortly was turning into something past normal. The clock on the wall read six forty-five. Fifteen minutes late. Lucas was never late. 

Mike continually tapped his fingers on the table, his leg bouncing more than usual. He pulled up his sleeve to look at his watch. Six forty-five. Something wasn’t right. El had said six-thirty. She said it like it was some kind of important thing that I had to remember. 

Mike looked back at the menu in front of him. They have waffles. El would want waffles for dinner. Mike glanced up to the empty seat across from him. His mind raced, images of men in suits and guns and hospital rooms ran through his head. No. She’s safe. It all ended. He shook his head and went back to the menu. The only way he could clear his mind was to talk.

“So…What are you gonna get?” Mike’s voice bounced off the table. He could hear Max put the menu down behind him.

“I don’t know” Max replied with a snarky tone that forced Mike to roll his eyes.

“Angry ‘cus your boyfriend didn’t show up?” Mike didn’t even think to question what he was saying. He knew it was the truth. Why dance around it?

“Angry ‘cus your girlfriend stood you up?” Max was always one to hit back harder. And Mike knew she was the Queen of the One-Two punch. He was just waiting for the blow, “I heard she and the senior in her chemistry class were hanging out under the bleachers. She’s probably over at his house now.”

“Yea, and Lucas is over at Jennifer’s house,” Mike retorted. “He always had a thing for blondes.”

Max turned around and faced the back of Mike’s head.

“I thought we said we’d stop.” Max had a sense of compassion in her voice that Mike wasn’t expecting. He turned around to face her, his knees now on the bench cushion.

“We did”

“Then why are we doing it again?”

Mike took a moment to contemplate why he still pushed Max’s buttons. He wasn’t mean. He wasn’t sadistic. Yet some part of him liked seeing a reaction. He liked feeling validated. Like he had some sort of impact on the world.

“Why do you hate me?” 

Mike was pulled out of his train of thought.

“I don’t hate you. I just feel like sometimes we’re fighting to be in control or something.”

Something in Max shifted. A flood gate cracked. A door to cage with a monster inside opened. She had kept her anger inside. She had let it boil and released it when it was right. She fought. She nearly killed. She was stone. She was glass.

“I hate it. I’m not trying to steal anything. I’m just angry. All the time.” Max dropped her eyes to the worn cushion in between them. “My life sucks. Your life sucks. Our parents are useless. We were both lonely. We fought a literal monster together. You would think we’d be friends.”

“You would think,” Mike said as he let out a laugh. “Yet here we are.” 

Mike let out deep sigh. He looked Max in the eyes.

“I’m sorry for being a dick.”

“I’m sorry too.”

Max turned around and sat back down. She didn’t want to push any further. They came to terms. That was all she needed. 

“Still no sign from El?” Max asked sincerely. She rarely used that tone of voice with Mike.

“No. It’s seven. This isn’t like her to be late.”

“I’ve never seen Lucas late to anything.” Max started to tap her toe inside of her winter boots. 

“Did Lucas seem a bit weird when he was asking you out to dinner?”

“How did you know?” Max turned around again to see Mike already turned, and they met eyes again.

“Because El was really pushy and she’s never pushy.”

“Let’s think about this. Both Lucas and El asked us out on dates–”

“-On the same night-

”-At the same diner-”

“-At the same time-”

“-And both of them are late?”

Mike and Max broke eye contact the moment they heard a chair squeal across the floor. They turned their heads to see Lucas and El get up.

“Finally!” Lucas nearly yelled from across the diner.

“Mike I’m surprised you didn’t figure it out sooner” El walked over to the now vacant table that sat parallel to the two booths that Mike and Max were occupying.

“What the hell is this?” Max stood up, her brow furrowed and her face as red as her hair.  Mike stood up too, though his face was one of relief. He had completely forgotten about his fear of El being missing. He almost felt bad about it.

“El told me that she hated how you two constantly fight. So I suggested we each ask you out but then leave you two together. What do you call it? Forced bonding?” 

“El! I was scared you got hurt!” Mike reached out and grabbed her hand. “What happened to friends don’t lie?”

“Mike, I was here the entire time. You weren’t scared. Friends don’t lie.” El laughed and pulled him into a hug. “And I wasn’t lying. We’re still going on a date!”

“So this was all your idea, stalker?” Max crossed her arms and tilted her head, standing tall, though Lucas still towered over her in height. “I guess the name fits.”

“I think a little stress is worth not having to hear you and Mike fight all the time.”

“Whatever. You made me wait a half hour. Lets eat.” Max and Lucas pushed another table together with the one Mike and El had already sat down at.

Over a dinner of shared waffles and endless chicken noodle soup, the four friends promised that Friday date night would become a tradition, even if they all hated each other.

[fucking-hell-hargrove]

Should I Stay Or Should I Go 3

A.N. - Hi guys, I would like to let you know this is the last update of 2017. My health has not been great the last few weeks and my writing has slipped. I write a few chapters ahead so I knew it would get posted but I am struggling to finish the latest chapter. Calling it writer's block is the easiest solution. I am planning on taking a few weeks off to catch up on my writing and also allowing my body to heal from the latest flare-up.

This applies to all my fanfics as well. But there is a Dacre/OFC and a Power Rangers Jason Scott/OFC coming up in the new year.

Happy Holidays and Best Wishes for the New Year.

Love Z xx

WARNINGS - SMUT & SWEARING

Hawkins, Indiana - January 5th, 1985

Song = Warrant - Cherry Pie

Billy Hargrove

~~~~~~~~~~

The morning sun came through the window and stung my eyes. My body hurt after the beating it took last night. I know I had a cut on my cheekbone and a bruise on my jaw they were hard to hide but the worse was my ribs. When he had knocked me down last night I struggled to get up so he kicked me in the chest. I could breathe still and I didn’t think anything was broken. I grabbed some Advil from my secret hiding place. If he found it he would take it away claiming that I deserved to be in pain.

I tried to do some more work to take my mind off the pain, I had slept quite late and only had an hour to kill before I’d leave for the diner. I checked the house but it was empty so I grabbed a quick shower which helped soothe my muscles. Shrugging on my denim jacket, I managed to leave the house while everyone was still out.

Roz’s Mustang was already in the lot and I parked next to her. I was about to get out the car when I saw her sat in a window booth with a man and small girl. Roz didn’t look anything like them so I didn’t know if they were family, but they still looked happy together. Roz and the small girl were balancing crayons on their top lips while the older man was laughing at them. I stayed in the car not wanting to ruin their moment. I didn’t realise I was watching them with a smile on my face, this is what a real family looked like.

I was only in the car ten minutes when the man and young girl said goodbye. The man gave Roz a hug and he kissed the top of her head. The girl launched herself into Roz’s arms and she swung her around both of them laughing. She placed her back on her feet before giving her a proper hug and kissed her forehead. Outside of the diner, the odd pair climbed into a police truck, waving at Roz before heading out of the lot. Now the coast was clear I headed inside.

Roz wasn’t at the table but she had left her stuff there, so was a fresh cup of coffee and a cold bottle of coke. I climbed into the booth with my bruised face towards the window hopefully hiding them from Roz. Unfortunately, luck wasn’t on my side today as soon as Roz came back from the bathroom she spotted my injuries. She stood frozen clutching the back of the booth. She slowly lowered herself into her seat never taking her eyes off my face.

“What happened?”

I shrugged. “It happened at the party, some kid was touching my car.”

She looked down at my hands which I tried to hide, knowing there was only old scratches and scars on them.

She looked back up at me. “You sure?”

I nodded and with that she dropped the subject completely, moving onto the new maths test that was coming up on Friday. This maths test was my last straw, if I failed this then I would most likely be expelled or have to repeat the year. Roz went through the study sheet and marked the more important questions. She wanted me to complete it for Tuesday and she would go through the things I got wrong or didn’t understand.

Today’s job was finishing off the English paper and starting on the Bio homework. Roz got on with checking through my essay draft while I started on the Bio questions. I got stuck on one and Roz stopped her editing to talk me through the questioned. Her husky voice lulled me and I got lost staring out into the parking lot looking through the cars. A car that I recognised pulled into the diner’s parking lot. He was sat in the car alone and I knew he was making sure that I was telling the truth about the tutor sessions. Happy that I was where I said I was he drove back out.

Roz poked by bicep with her pencil.  “Hey daydreamer, we’ve not finished yet.”

I wiped my sweaty hands on my jeans and plastered on a fake smile. “Sorry princess I got lost in your voice.”

She just rolled her eyes and carried on explaining a complicated biology question to me. I had dodged that bullet. I leaned back in the booth studying her face as she was reading, now and then she’d frown or give a tiny smile at something that was funny.

“I saw you with your dad and sister.” Where did that come from?!

Roz tore herself away from my essay. “Huh?”

“You were having breakfast with your dad and sister.”

She chuckled, “That’s not my dad, he’s the police chief and that’s his daughter. When I first came to town I didn’t have anywhere to stay and he kindly let me stay with him.”

“What about your parents, surely they could put you in a motel or something.”

Roz scratched her ear. “Uhh… It’s just me. I didn’t have any money for a motel I’d used it up getting here, I was going to sleep in the car till my place was sorted.”

“Then who was at your place when I dropped you off?”

She blushed slightly, “Steve, I was his ride to the party and his parents don’t like him going home drunk so he crashed at mine.”

So they were fucking. I had to keep my cool or this would blow up in my face. “Are your parents still back home?”

Roz grew quiet, she almost curled in on herself. “No, not really. It’s not a nice story.”

“It can’t be any worse than mine. My mum’s back in California with her new son of a bitch boyfriend. I still can’t believe she just decided to leave one day. While dad was at work and I was at school, she just packed her bags and left a note.” I fiddled with my straw.

“That’s a fairytale compared to mine.”

I slid my arm behind her and squeezed her shoulder. “Go on tell me.”

Roz sighed and looked at me with this blank expression. “Dads in prison for life and my mom’s gone.”

I put my foot in that one, “What did he do to get a life?” That fucking slipped out before I could stop myself.

I saw her struggling not to cry. “He killed my mom.”

Shit, I was a complete and utter jerk. I was worse than a jerk I was a grade A asshole.

“Fuck Roz I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have opened my mouth.”

She wiped away her tears with the sleeve of her shirt. Completely out of character I wrapped my arms around her, I was the jerk that made her cry then the least I could do was comfort her. She relaxed into my chest gripping onto my shirt. Her hair smells like apples. We stayed like this till Roz had calmed down and wasn't crying as much.

The bell on the door rang and we didn’t pay no attention to whoever came in. It wasn’t till someone stood by our table and coughed that we broke apart. It was Harrington. After staring at me he turned to Roz who was wiping away tears.

“You okay?”

She gave him a small smile. “We were talking about mom.”

Steve nodded like he understood. Of course, she would have told him the touchy-feely stuff.

“You want another?” he asked.

Roz nodded, “Please.”

“And a piece of pie?”

She gave him a small smile. “You know me too well Steve.”

He turned to me, “You?”

“Another coke… please.”

As he walked to the counter I realised that was the first civil conversation we have had since I got here. Roz cleared her throat and went back to reading through my essay draft. Harrington came back to the table and got out his homework. I tried to go back to working on my biology worksheet. The waitress came over with our drinks and a slice of pecan pie and three forks, Steve grabbed the first piece.

“Want some?” Roz asked me.

I nodded, She stabbed the pie and got me a forkful. I didn’t take the fork from her instead I held onto her wrist and guided the fork to my mouth. She was right it was good. Roz’s jaw dropped open and her gaze froze on me. There was something in her eyes, lust perhaps.

“Oh, Roz. I nearly forgot.” Steve broke our bubble.

Roz looked up at Harrington. “Yeah.”

“Mom made you some meals, I dropped them off before coming here.”

She smiled at him. “Thanks, your mom's a doll.”

He snorted. “I wouldn't go that far?”

“Sneak in the back door Harrington or did you use the window?”

He just rolled his eyes at me. “No, I used the front door and a key.”

He pulled out a small bundle of keys showing me the brand new shiny key. Jesus Christ my day just keeps getting worse! Not only are they fucking he has his own bloody key!

Roz just sighed. “You can stop with the measuring contest boys. Everyone knows I have the biggest dick.”

That did make me laugh. Roz finished with my essay draft and complimented me on it. She pointed out where she had added notes in pencil. At 2 Harrington packed away his things and said goodbye to Roz. I watched him walk out of the diner to his car.

I turned to Roz. “So what you doing tonight princess?”

Roz shrugged. “Stay in, catch up on some chores.”

“Well, that's not exciting.”

She looked tired. “Trust me, Billy, I've had enough excitement for a lifetime. Boring is perfectly fine with me.”

“I could take you out to the movies?”

She looked at me and smiled. “Thanks, Billy, but honestly I’m fine. I’ve gotten used to nights in.”

She checked the large clock on the wall and began to pack up her work. It was only 3 and I felt like she was running away from me. She stood from the booth shoulder her bag.

“Look you haven’t weirded me out, I just have another student to tutor. I’ll see you at school on Monday.”

I nodded. I watched her pay at the register before walking out to her car. She lit a smoke after she had climbed in. The Mustang roared to life and with a wave, she pulled out of the lot and disappeared.  

~~~~~~~~~~

Tonight had been bad, I had no idea what I did wrong. Dad came home pissed at 7 and beat me to a pulp in my room, It took my 20 minutes before I could stand. Not wanting to stay here any longer, I began to pack as soon as I could move without falling over. I hurriedly crammed essentials into a duffle knowing that there was a chance I wouldn’t come home till Monday, I made sure I had enough clothes and my school work before escaping. I would normally drive around till I found a quiet spot and would sleep there for the night. I’d only return home after he has left for work. But being Saturday night there was no hope for that.

Driving around I had no idea where to go until a thought struck me. Roz. He wouldn’t know about her house as it was well hidden, no one else apart from me and Harrington knows where she lives. I headed out of town on the backroads. The night sky was pitch black and the stars seemed brighter than normal. By the time I got there my body was on fire, my ribs hurt so did my face. The cuts were still trickling blood down off my chin and onto my shirt. I knocked on the door a couple of times before it opened on the chain, Roz peeped out and I saw her relax when she saw it was me. She pushed the door to and I heard the chain slide off.

“Billy… What’s wrong?”

I stood on her doorstep trying to hold back the tears. “I'm sorry I didn't know where else to go.”

She stepped back letting me into the house, she had one arm hiding behind her back. When the door was shut she moved away. “Take a seat, I'll get the first aid kit.”

I watched as she shuffled into the kitchen, still hiding the object in her hand. I took off my jacket and boots before collapsing onto the sofa. My head was pounding and I could feel the blood drying on my face. Roz came back from the kitchen with a green box, she sat on the coffee table and began to clean my face. The alcohol stung but not as bad as when they were inflicted.

“What happened?”

“I got into a fight.”

She paused for a moment then continued without a word. Her expert fingers applied butterfly stitches to hold the biggest gash together and witch hazel for the bruise on my chest. She took everything back with her and returned with an ice pack, a glass of water and two Advil. I was handed the wrapped ice pack before she sat down.

“Would you like to stay?”

I looked at her in surprise. “Uhh… Yes please.”

“I don't have a spare bed and the sofas too small. So just don't get any ideas okay.”

I nodded. “I won't try anything.”

Roz lit two smokes and handed on to me. We sat in silence for a while smoking reruns of The Golden Girls was playing in the background.  It was about ten when Roz started to yawn.

“Bed?” I asked.

She nodded taken the ice pack back to the kitchen. I silently followed her upstairs the whole top floor was a master bedroom with a bathroom.

“Do you need anything to change into?”

I looked down at my bloody shirt. “Just a top if you have one. Please.”

She nodded and rummaged through the bottom drawer, she pulled out a large grey t-shirt.

“Bathrooms there.”

I took the shirt from her and locked myself in the bathroom. It was then that I caught sight of my face. He had done a good job this time. I looked like Harrington when I beat the shit out of him. I changed my shirt and wiggled out of my jeans. I tried to gave Roz some space but I grew bored with waiting so I opened the door.

Roz had her back to me and was getting changed. When she heard the door she scrambled for her t-shirt pulling it over her head, but it was too late. Her skin was marred by long jagged scars, that crisscrossed from the top of her shoulders to the small of her back. Somewhere deep valleys carved into her skin and some were raised bumps. It was no accident, someone had done it to her. It looked like she had been beaten with something sharp.

I pretended that I hadn't seen anything, leaving my clothes on a chair and climbed onto the bed. Roz who was dressed in a massive men's t-shirt and a pair of black panties climbed into bed beside me lying on her back. She left a lamp on low on the other side of the room.

“Want me to turn it off?”

Roz turned her head to me. “I don't like sleeping in the dark.”

I turned onto my side to face her. “Why? Are you scared of the dark?”

She rolled her eyes. “No when I wake up from nightmares the light helps me see where I am, it helps with the panic.”

I understood exactly. Waking up in dark room after a nightmare me you freak out as you didn't know where you are.

Roz rolled on her side away from me. In the dim light, I saw one particularly deep scar peeking above the shirt's collar. Without thinking I reached out and ran my finger along the jagged line. Roz shivered under my touch but didn't say anything. I grew brave and pulled the collar to one side to see more of them.

“What happened?” I asked.

“I'll only tell you what happened if you tell me who beat you up.”

I bit my lip deciding if knowing something about secretive Roz was worth spilling my guts for. If I opened my mouth I couldn't go back, it would either get better or it would go to shit. I tried to downplay it so it didn't sound so bad.

“My old man. He gets angry sometimes.”

She rolled over and we were almost nose to nose. “You can get help you know.”

I shook my head. “It's fine I can handle it. It won't be long till I'm 18.”

Roz sighed. “Beating the shit out of everyone and bullying your step-sister isn't handling it.”

I huffed rolling onto my back. “That's why I don't say anything people just want to stick their nose in.”

“I'm not being nosy Billy, I know what you're going through. My back…. My father did it with a belt, buckle side down.”

Shit. She was right. She did know what she was talking about. All those times she was right.

“He was a drunk asshole, always hitting mom and me around.” She fiddled with the bed covers. “One day he wouldn't stop hitting her so I got between them. He took the rest of his rage out on me. Then he refused to let mom take me to the hospital so they didn't get stitched that's why they're messy.”

“Shit Roz. I'm sorry.”

She shrugged. “It happened a long time ago.”

I swallowed hard. “Can I… can I see them.”

Roz sat and faced away from me. She pulled the shirt over her head and clasped it to her chest to hide her nakedness. I ran my finger over them, some weren't too bad and we're pink lines on her skin. Others we deep almost like valleys. I reached a part where a few lines met, it was the deepest part. Roz shuddered at my touch. I pulled my hand away frightened I had hurt her.

“You okay?”

She gave a small nod. “They're just really sensitive, I stupidly stretched for something in the library and I pulled them. They don’t like being aggravated so they've been sore the last couple of days.”

“Can I do anything?”

She turned her head to look at me. “Why?”

I shrugged. “You helped me, I'm just returning the favour.”

“There's a blue pot on the vanity. It helps soothe them.”

I climbed out of bed and reached for the pot. While my back was turned Roz had laid down on her front. The side of her breast peeked out from under her. I sat on the bed beside her and started rubbing the cream into her scars.

“Is that why you’re excused from gym class?”

She snorted. “News travels fast. Yeah, this is the real reason. Where they are, restricts my movement; They don’t like being stretched, or from my shirt rubbing them during running. I can’t do many sports.”

“That’s boring compared to all the rumours.”

I felt her giggled then relax my touch. I carried on stroking the cream into her back in circles, the deeper lines were more sensitive and made her purr when I rubbed cream into them. One point she groaned and I stopped worried I hurt her.

She turned her flushed face to me. “Don't stop. That feels good.”

Fuck she was killing me. Seeing her laid out before me in a tiny pair of panties and moaning was making it difficult to control myself. She especially liked her lower back rubbed, letting out more moans of pleasure. She wiggled on the bed and her panties slipped lower revealing a swirl of black ink. I traced it with my finger.

“What's a good girl like you doing with a tattoo?

She turned to smirk at me. “Who said I was a good girl?”

I placed the tub on the nightstand rubbing the extra cream on my hands on Roz’s thighs. She moaned again clutching hold of the pillow. I'd got her. I innocently laid down beside her acting like nothing was wrong. She looked at me and pouted,

“Why did you stop?”

“If I remember right you said that I wasn't your type.”

She stared at me for a minute before scooted over. “I lied.”

Without warning, she sat up and straddled my lap. I explored her bare body with my hands. Her breasts fitted in my hands perfectly, to my surprise she had both nipples pierced. She made a chorus of noises as I pinched them between my fingers and sucked on them. I know she could feel that I was hard underneath her. I settled my hands on her hips.

“Why did you lie?”

She shrugged not making eye contact. “Boys don't like my scars. The last one made me keep my shirt on.”

I sat, wrapping my arms around her. “Then he was a fucking idiot. You're beautiful.”

She rested her hands on my shoulders playing with my hair. “Are you and moustache a thing?”

I snorted at Tina’s nickname. “Nah. It was just a bit of fun, you know how high school goes. She's actually really annoying.”

She smiled at me. “Good.”

Before I could do anything she pressed her lips to mine. When I kissed her back she melted into my touch, rocking her hips against me. I liked being the dominant one, the one who made the first move. But Roz wouldn't let me, she was in charge and I like it. I flipped us over so Roz was on her back. From this angle, I could grind against her harder and places kissing up her neck.

“Billy. I… ah… I can't fuck like this. It hurts my back.”

I paused, “So no missionary?”

She shook her head.

I smiled at her. “Thank fuck I was getting bored of it. Can I taste you like this? Will it hurt you?”

She nodded. “You don't have too. But no, it won't hurt my back.”

I started to kiss down her body. Every little scar I could see I pressed a kiss to it. Some spots were sensitive making Roz gasp. When I reached her panties I looked up at her, she smiled and lifted her hips off the bed helping me remove them.

She pressed her legs together hiding herself from me. I took hold of one leg trailing kisses up towards her pussy. I swapped legs and looked up her, Those forest green eyes burned with lust and her breaths came out in little moans and whimpers. The kisses helped her relax and her legs soon parted. She was laid bare in front of me, I could see that she was already soaked. I looked at her face, her cheeks were flushed with embarrassment.

I ran my hands down her body. “You're gorgeous Roz.”

“Rosie.”

I looked up at her confused. “What?”

“My names Rosie.”

I smirked. Rosie didn't suit her punk attitude but I liked it. I pressed a kiss to her lower stomach. “Rosie doesn't suit you. I like Roz.”

She hummed. “My full name is Rosalind, but it never suited me.”

I laughed against her skin. “No, you're not a pink and pigtails kinda girl.”

She watched me as I removed my t-shirt and slid down between her legs. I pressed a kiss to her clit making her twitch and moan.

“Please, Billy don't tease me. It's been too long since I was with someone.”

“Hold on princess you're in for a ride.”

I buried my head between her legs, she tasted sweet. And boy I was right, she was a screamer. I had to pin her hips down onto the bed as she kept bucking. I watched her face as she came around my fingers while I sucked on her clit. I'm glad she didn't have neighbours otherwise it would be an embarrassing morning after for her.

I crawled up the bed to lay beside her. She watched me as I licked my fingers clean, she grabbed my hand and sucked the last finger covered with her juices. She moaned moving her mouth from my finger to my lips. She licked my bottom lip before kissing me.

“You taste so good.” She moaned again.

I was glad she was a kinky minx, I would never have boring sex again.

She looked at me her green eyes filled with lust. “Want me to return the favour.”

I shook my head. “I just want to be inside you.”

She smirked at me tracing a finger over my bare chest. “I don't know, have you been a good boy.”

I groaned, sitting up against the headboard. “You said no teasing.”

As quick as lightning she straddled me pressing her wet pussy against my hard cock. She rocked against making me moan and grip her hips tighter.

“There's a condom in my jacket.”

She gave me a wicked smile. “I'm on the pill. As long as you're clean.”

I pulled her against my chest, “You are fucking amazing.”

She tipped her head back and laughed. “I wouldn't go that far. But I don't like the feel of them.”

“Me either,” I mumbled against her skin.

Roz held onto my shoulders as I lined myself up. I watched as her eyes rolled back as she sank down. She was so fucking tight, stretched to the limit around me. Her breath came out in little pants and moans, I helped her relax by placing kisses on her neck and jaw. I sucked and nipped and her breasts to take her mind off the pain. I played with her backside, squeezing her ample curves.

“You okay babe?”

She nodded. “It's just… ah… you're so big.”

That made me smug. I rubbed her arms, “We can stop?”

She opened her eyes to look at me. “I don't want to stop, can we just go slow?”

I smiled brushing a curl back from her face. “No one can know. If they find out I've gone soft that's it for my reputation.”

She laughed and clenched around me. “Your secret is safe with me.”

She held onto my shoulder as she began to move up and down, I rested back and watch her ride me. She grew brave moving quicker up and down. It wasn't long till she was moaning and panting again. She was so tight around me I knew I wouldn't last long. I trailed a hand up her body and cupped her face, I brushed my thumb along her bottom lip. Roz got the idea and began to lick and suck, making my thumb wet. I used my wet thumb on her clit to help her cum quicker. Her moans grew louder and she began to clench around me.

“Please don't stop. I'm so close.”

I was too, I didn't know how long I would last. I tilted my hips to hit the right spot inside her, her moans were almost screams. I wove my fingers through her hair and gave it a tug.

“Come for me.”

And she did. It came crashing down on her more powerful than the last, her eyes rolled into the back of her head and her mouth opened in a silent scream. I could feel her whole body shake and her wetness covered my legs and crotch. Feeling her clench around me was all I needed to tip me over the edge and I came inside her. Roz collapsed forward onto my chest, her breathing was still erratic.

I stroked her back, “You okay?”

She managed a weak nod. I helped her roll onto the bed as I slip out of her, the friction cause Roz to twitch and let out another moan. Not in my life have I had a woman that came so hard. Her wetness was all over my legs.

In the bathroom, I found a stack of washcloths I wet one and cleaned myself up before grabbing one for Roz. With the washcloth wet, I walked back into the bedroom Roz was lying where I left her. I touched her hip and her eyes opened.

“I'm going to clean you okay.”

She nodded. I cleaned her legs and core with the warm cloth, her body twitched at my touch. I chucked the cloth back in the bathroom and helped Roz on with her panties and shirt, before pulling on my boxers. She managed to pull herself so she was resting on my chest. She looked up at me with her tired eyes and gave me a small smile.

“Thank you.”

I kissed her forehead. “Get some sleep.”

She nodded and settled down, soon she was fast asleep. I hoped with her warmth beside me it would chase away the nightmares.

[born-in-the-wrong-multiverse]

We Were Totally Just Here to Pick Up Bridesmaids: Part 1 - Dean Winchester

Perched on the hood of a car, separating herself slightly from the lively party-goers, Sophie watched as the groom twirled his beaming bride again on the dance floor. She squashed down the nagging envy that nibbled at the pit of her stomach, and forced a grin as one of her fellow bridesmaids and closest friend headed towards her. The absurd, puffy, royal blue dress threatened to drag itself through the dirt beneath her feet, and she was struggling to hoist the voluminous skirt up above her ankles. “Were we boring you or something? Or was all that PDA’ing sickening you as much as it is me?” Snorting a laugh, Sophie shook her head and held out a hand, helping Mandy up onto the car beside her. “Nah, I just needed some fresh air. Gramps over there,” she nodded in the direction of the bride’s grandfather and screwed her nose up, “Kept blowing cigar smoke in my face every time he cornered me for another chat. Took all my limited will power not to rip it outta his mouth and throw it like a stick; I’m sure he woulda run after it like a dog playing fetch. I haven’t seen him without one all night.” Mandy cackled appreciatively and nodded in agreeance before falling silent with a sigh. Several moments passed as they both observed the reception wordlessly from afar, lost in their own thoughts, before Mandy spoke again pensively. “Could you ever see yourself doing that?” “What? Do the twist in a white marshmallow dress?” Sophie teased as the bride did a half-assed version of the dance, moving more of her upper body than anything else in an attempt to stay upright. “Pfft, no. I know for a fact you would never be caught dead doing THAT,” Mandy scoffed, “What I mean, is do you think you’ll ever do all this? Get married, have a big wedding, settle down with Prince Charming?” For a long beat, Sophie stayed quiet as she watched the scene again thoughtfully. It all looked great, and seemed like a fairytale brought to life, but… “It’s not that I don’t want to, one day,” Sophie started slowly, fiddling absent-mindedly with the frills on her dress, “But I dunno if I’m ever gonna be ready for it. Monogomy, I mean. Marriage. The whole ‘Get in the kitchen and make me a sandwich’ deal.” Throwing her head back giggling manically, Mandy clapped a hand to her mouth to try and stem the flow of laughter. “Not all guys are like that, Soph!” “Yeah, well, you get my point though, right? I mean, the rest of my life with one guy? Doing wife-y shit and always being half of a couple instead of just being ME? I couldn’t do it.” “So what you’re saying,” Mandy drawled playfully, “Is you don’t want to be a ‘we’ or an ‘us’. You just want to be ‘me’, ‘myself’ and ‘I’ for the rest of your life. You want to be ‘Just Sophie’.” Rolling her eyes, Sophie sighed loudly and groaned. “Well when you say it like that it sounds horrible!” Cackling madly again, Mandy smacked a hand to her friend’s arm and jumped up with a smug grin. “You know you love me. Now come on, I think they’re about to throw the bouquet. Ready to get your ass pummeled into the ground?” “Oh whatever!” Gathering up the many pleats and ruffles of their skirts, the girls scampered across the grass in their ridiculous heels, squeezing themselves into the throng of crazed single ladies crowding around the bride. Playful squeals of excitement hid the building tension as they all jostled with each other, arms outstretched high above their heads, fingers flexing in preparation for the toss. Counting to three, the bride doubled over for momentum before hurling the bouquet over her shoulder. A flurry of tulle, organza, lace and synthetic fibres lunged for the flowers, clawing for them desperately. Mandy tackled the bride’s younger sister to the floor as she wrapped her fingers around the stems triumphantly. “What in the hell is wrong with these chicks?” Sitting at a safe distance away from the action, the two brothers watched in amazement, a combination of amusement and disgust on their faces. Their tuxedos were mismatched creations complete with black ties, scuffed shoes and ill-fitting cumberbands. But they weren’t there to enjoy the party or mingle with wedding guests. Even if Dean was sinking another glass of champagne as they gawked stupidly at the gaggle of women fighting over the mangled bunch of flowers. Shaking his head, Sam fiddled with his tie awkwardly. “I have no idea, but I think I’d rather run into a Leviathan than one of them in a dark alleyway. They are…really…really kinda scary…did that one just bite the red head?” “Um…yeah…I think she kinda did,” Dean spluttered, eyes widening as one of the groom’s cousins sunk her teeth into Mandy’s wrist to try and force her to drop the loot. “Holy crap these chicks are crazy! Remind me never…never ever…to bring a date to a wedding.” “Oh, yeah, ‘cause you’re really ever going to be invited to a wedding and have an actual girlfriend to take with you,” Sam scoffed with a smirk, only slightly regretting the remark when Dean shot him an offended look. “Sorry, but you set yourself up for that one.” Shrugging off the hurt almost immediately, Dean tugged anxiously at his collar. “Yeah yeah, I know. Let’s cut the chatter and do some actual work, we’re here on business remember?” Trying to stifle his laughter, Sam nodded at Dean’s discomfort and pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket. Extracting herself from the mob of singletons, spinsters and bachelorettes, Sophie patted down her dress to make sure all her bows and ruffles were still in place, groaning at the loss of one her shoes. Her hair had fallen free from its many bobby pins and hung over her eyes lazily. She’d come nowhere near catching the bouquet; she hadn’t even been trying, but in the blur of action, she’d been knocked to the ground and swallowed up by the crazed horde. Mandy was back on her feet, bouncing up and down with an excited whoop, limp flowers dangling from her fist as she grinned ecstatically, winking playfully in Sophie’s direction. Rolling her eyes, Soph limped over to where her missing stiletto had jammed itself into a crack in the decking, and bent down to tug it free. As she flew backwards onto her ass disgracefully, heel in hand, she caught sight of the two strangers sitting at a table on their own. While everyone roared with buoyant amusement at her misfortune, Sophie frowned at the men as they looked up from the piece of paper they’d been pouring over. While one of them appeared to be appraising her, the other seemed almost panicked as he nudged his partner’s arm and muttered something to him. Yanking her shoe back on hastily, Sophie ignored Mandy’s playful jibes as she pushed herself back to her feet and hefted her skirt back up above her ankles. “Where you going, Soph? I was only kidding! And you’re going to miss the garter retrieval if you leave now!” Mandy called after her friend as Sophie ran after the uninvited guests trying to flee the scene. They were a lot faster than her, and clearly a lot fitter, but Sophie cut through the catering tent to corner them at the edge of the parking lot, short of breath and wishing she’d removed her heels first, but determined not to let them out of her sight. She couldn’t explain it, even to herself, but she didn’t like the look of them, and needed to know what they were doing there, if only for the sake of curing her curiosity. “What do you two think you’re doing here?” she panted, hands on hips, hair flopping all over the place. “You weren’t on the guest list, and believe me, I know everyone on it. So spill.” Sam glanced at Dean and Dean glanced at Sam before they both shrugged. “Okay, you caught us,” Dean sighed with whimsical reluctance, “We were gate-crashing the party. You know, have a few drinks, make new friends, convince a couple of jaded bridesmaids to come back to our hotel rooms with us.” “Except you weren’t making any new friends and you weren’t hitting on any bridesmaids,” Sophie interjected quickly. “In fact, I hadn’t noticed you all night until I landed on my ass back there. So,” she made a sound like a game-show buzzer, “Strike one, try again.” Shoving a hand into his pocket, Sam glanced sideways at Dean again, relaying a silent question before shrugging again and pulling an ID holder out. “Okay, we didn’t want to start a panic so we kept quiet. FBI, miss. Special Agent Vincent, and my partner, Special Agent Owens. We’re just here to monitor a person of interest, nothing more.” Screwing her nose up uncertainly, Sophie relieved Sam of his badge and ID with more than a little effort, scrutinizing it carefully before raising an eyebrow and snorting. “FBI my ass. This is a fake. The serial number on this badge is completely outdated and your ID was printed on a commercial license printer. You wanna try for strike three or shall I phone a friend for you?” Jaws dropping speechlessly, the brothers blinked almost frantically as they searched for a new lie. “Save it,” Sophie spat at last, “Nothing you say now is going to convince me. So I’m going to give you a choice. Leave now, stay away from my friends and their family, and I’ll forget I ever saw you. But if I see you around here again, I’m putting a call in to some friends of my own and you’ll never set foot in this state again.” Exchanging another look that conveyed a silent conversation, the boys held their hands up in unison, surrendering to her treaty. “We’ll just be on our way then,” Dean conceded, gesturing for Sam to lead the way, falling into step behind him before pausing and casting Sophie a cheeky grin with a wink. “By the way, smart choice going with the sensible panties tonight.” Feeling her cheeks filling with hot, furiously embarrassed blood, Sophie glared at the men as they walked away towards an old, battered Dodge Challenger. It took off, kicking up dust clouds and rattling along the gravel before disappearing onto the main road. “You’re a dick sometimes, you know that?” Sam chuckled as Dean drove, wrenching his tie off from around his neck and unbuttoning his black jacket. Or at least the few buttons that were still left on it. Even the white shirt beneath had suspicious stains that had, thankfully, been hidden beneath the jacket, and the top button was hanging perilously by a thread. His pants barely fit, but it was the best he could come up with at short notice. The shirt, shoes and tie were his own, but the rest had been raided from a good-will bin. Or rather several of them, until he’d compiled a complete suit out of discarded odds and ends. While they had suits of their own that did the job under normal circumstances, a little research had revealed that the wedding was a proper black tie event, and tuxedos were the go if they wanted to fit in. For the first time in years, Dean himself had shaved cleanly, and was already missing the familiar layer of stubble that usually hugged his chin and jaw. His outfit was in minutely better condition…if you ignored the fact his cumberband was being held in place by several safety pins and some discretely placed duct tape. His pocket square was in fact a paper napkin he’d gotten with his meal at the local diner, and his jacket was several sizes too big. But he’d made an effort to look presentable and plausible, and was admittedly pained that some girl had seen right past the charade. “She had it coming for calling us out like that,” he muttered, keeping his eyes on the road as he shook his head. “How did she know our ID’s were fake anyway? We’ve pulled this trick a thousand times before and even the real G-men didn’t pick the forgery.” “Well, maybe she is a fed herself and just pays more attention to detail,” Sam offered hesitantly, “Or maybe she was just bluffing.” Dean groaned and tightened his fingers around the wheel as he pressed his foot to the gas, eager to get back to their motel room for some well-earned sleep. “Either way, I hope that’s the last we see of her or we’re tanked.”