#but anyway i was sitting with my hair like that in the 18th century shirt watching smth and looked into the mirror randomly

[imabiscuitinthousandworlds]

finished my 18th century shirt!!!! the shoulders are still a bit off but it's not super obvious i love how this looks so so so much!!! especially as my first ever big sewing project (big sewing project in total and also first ever project with a sewing machine) like!!! whoooooo!!!!!

[get-shiggy-with-it]

extracurricular activities

✧ pairing: dabihawks x tomura x reader

✧ word count: 10.3k | ao3 mirror

✧ warnings: college au/no quirks, poly group sex, sub!tomura, mean dom!dabi, soft dom!reader, switch!hawks, sex toys, anal sex, anal fingering, oral sex, face sitting, face fucking, tad of voyuerism, spitting, spanking, power dynamics, smoking mention, alcohol mention, mention of questionable mental health, dabi is an asshole, dabi's pierced dick, very brief mention of feet (dabi steps on you), tomura gets filled, crack, humor and smut, kitchen sex, degradation, praise, titty suckin', afab terms used for reader, no pronouns, pet names (sweetheart and slut), lots of swearing

✧ summary: In which Dabi wrecks the apartment, and you all wreck Tomura's ass.

✧ a/n: This takes place after the events of Restoration and 18th Century Lit, so you'll wanna check that out first. Thank @ruewrites for this monstrosity, she made me do it. Baby's first foursome fic, so be gentle with me. I might fuck around and write something similar from Tomura's POV. I was too deep into it when that occurred to me. N E wayz enjoy y'all.

“Somebody better tell me which bodily fluid this is in the next ten seconds,” you shouted from the kitchen, scrubbing sponge clenched in a rubber glove clad fist, “and if it’s jizz I am leaving immediately.”

A mop of blonde hair peaked out from behind one of the bedroom doors and squinted at the crusty white splatter caked onto the cabinet you held open.

“Uh yeah, jury’s out on that one, but the odds do not seem to be in your favor,” Keigo’s nose crinkled as he spoke before disappearing once more into the fray. “At least it’s not blood!”

“No, that was just in the bathroom,” you muttered to yourself, holding your breath and scrubbing harder at the flaking stain.

“Yeah that last DIY piercing did not go well,” Dabi chuckled, sauntering out into the kitchen and plopping himself down on the counter you kneeled atop.

He was clad in a long t-shirt that frayed at the sleeves and booty shorts at least a size too small.

They read ‘affront to god’ in neon yellow letters across the ass.

Pretty fucking accurate, you thought, after seeing the state he left the apartment in after last weeks emotional breakdown. At least that’s what Tomura called it. Looked more like a self/apartment destructive rampage, but what did you know?

“Why was it behind the fucking toilet then?” you asked, flinching as a particularly large flake fell to the counter top by your knee.

Dabi prodded it curiously and then wiped the soiled fingers in his shirt. “That’s where my head landed when I passed out I guess.”

You scoffed and hopped down off the counter to survey your work.

It looked a hell of a lot better than it did when you arrived. Tomura had called you in for what you assumed would be a much more entertaining night of Smash or maybe the new horror game that had just dropped with some good ole fashioned fucking between rounds. Instead you’d walked into a much whole other breed of splash zone.

The apartment he shared with the guy you knew only as Dabi—“don’t have a last name, and if I did I wouldn’t tell you”—was completely and utterly trashed.

Tomura left early from yours after a sleepover the day prior and came home to his roommate passed the fuck out on the bathroom floor with the place in shambles. You weren’t filled in on many details, but it was gross enough that even Tomura couldn’t stand it. You and Keigo—Dabi’s “not boyfriend”—had been called in for backup when it became increasingly clear it would take more than two people, and Dabi refused to offer much help anyway.

“If you weren’t so nasty, I might actually be concerned for your well-being,” you grumbled, mixing floor cleaning solution into a bucket and settling on your sore knees to scrub some of the dirty boot prints off the tile.

Dabi’s bare foot took up residence on your back, warm sole sliding up your shirt and resting heavily against your spine.

“Damn sweetheart,” he mused. “I think that’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

You glared needle sharp over your shoulder, rearing back to bite at the tatted ankle by your hip when Keigo wandered back in, arms crossed.

“Now I know that’s not fucking true,” he shook his head, eyebrows so far up they might have disappeared into his hair if not for the headband holding it back. “I say nice shit to you all the time, you ungrateful hoe.”

“Telling me my dick looks pretty doesn’t fucking count as nice.”

You slapped your wet rag to the floor, still pinned under Dabi’s foot as they bickered. Finally rescue came in the form of your boyfriend, looking way to fucking cute with his hair pulled out of his face and pale legs showing through his shorts.

“Hey what the hell is in this fucking—“ he started and cut off upon discovering your plight, twisting and turning like a subway rat trying to nip at a particularly juicy french fry. “Asshole, I said no fucking touching!”

Tomura brushed past Keigo and kicked at his roommate's shin who recoiled, rubbing at the forming bruise.

“No, creep, you said ‘hands off,’” Dabi waved his hands in the air and smirked, “which they are.”

Tomura glared as he knelt down, dragging you away from the cabinets and Dabi’s reach by your arms.

“You know what I fucking meant,” he grunted while he settled behind you on the floor so you were caged between his thighs.

“Yeah, we’re painfully aware you’re a jealous little shit,” Dabi spread his legs as Keigo came to settle between them, back to the other's chest. “Now what the fuck were you talking about before?”

“Wha—oh,” Tomura pointed down the hall where an unassuming cardboard box sat on the floor. “That was shoved up at the top of your closet.”

“Well, did you open it?” Keigo asked, peering at the dusty, unmarked box.

“No...” Tomura buried his face into your shoulder and mumbled, “the last box I opened was fucking full of panties. I’m not touching that one.”

“What, was that your trophy collection? Panties?” you asked incredulously as Tomura mouthed at your neck. “Pretty unoriginal.”

“You’d fucking know, slut,” Dabi winked down at you and Keigo rolled his eyes.

Tomura’s glare physically intensified behind you.

“I’m the only one who gets to say that, slut,” he growled.

It was pretty comical to watch actually. As much as the four of you jabbed at each other, the vibes created in the studio were sorta fun really. You didn’t know Keigo all that well but he seemed to be just enough of an asshole to be both grating and funny on occasion. Dabi had grown on you, mostly out of necessity as Tomura was loath to let you out of his bed sight, so you spent quite a lot of time in their apartment.

“You gotta train him better,” Dabi said to you, pointedly not looking at the hunched form of your boyfriend who patently didn’t understand the concept of personal space after being intimate with you more than once. “And I don’t fucking keep track of half that shit. I don’t even think it’s mine.”

“Well it sure as fuck isn’t mine, and it was in your goddamn closet.”

“Fine, I’ll open it if the rest of you are gonna pussy out,” Keigo butted in, pushing off of the counter and kicking the box into the kitchen.

“Seriously, do we really have to equate pussy to cowardice?” you opened your mouth to continue even as you felt Tomura rolling his eyes behind you, but stopped when Keigo flipped open the top of the box and you caught a glimpse of...balls.

Big, purple, silicone balls attached to an equally large, equally purple, and equally veiny shaft.

“Uhh, what the fuck?” Dabi’s not-boyfriend asked, staring wide eyed down at what was apparently a box full to the brim with fucking dildos.

So. Many. Dildos.

The box wasn't small by any means either, and you all stared, dumbfounded, until Dabi’s smoke raspy laugh pulled your attention away from the box of fake dicks.

“Shit, I fucking forgot about those,” his shoulders shook with mirth as he turned to Tomura whose face you were suddenly dying to see. It was just as pretty and red as you expected. “Dude, you remember that chick I dated a year ago? The influencer?”

“Those are hers?!” Tomura yelled directly into your ear.

Much less cute.

“No dumbass,” Dabi hopped off the counter and knelt down by the box, picking up a particularly hefty flesh colored cock and slapping it against his palm. “Well I mean technically yeah. She got sponsored by a bunch of sex toy companies and they sent her PR boxes or some shit. Anyway, I stole them from her place when we broke things off.”

“How did you forget about this many dildos?” Keigo asked, staring down into the abyss of dicks.

“I was kinda drunk at the time, I don’t remember most of that year,” Dabi replied. “All I know is that I came out of it with like forty fucking dildos and a bellybutton ring.”

“Forty?!” you and Tomura shouted simultaneously.

But as they saying went: the couple that finds forty dildos in the back of their friends' closet together stays together.

You were caught somewhere between laughing and being even more concerned for Tomura’s tatted disaster of a roommate.

“Something like that, I can’t actually remember how fucking many there are.”

“Well I mean, we have to go through them now,” Keigo chimed in, pulling out another member that seemed to include a silicone foreskin too. “Right?”

The four of you went quiet for a moment, trading looks until a silent consensus was reached.

Yes, you all indeed needed to sort through all the dildos.

What a nice friendly bonding activity, you thought.

Like the weirdest fucking double date ever.

***

“No fucking way,” you shook your head as Dabi waved a green dick in the air above him.

“Babe, I’m telling you, any slut worth their salt could tell all these apart without looking.”

“Don’t call me babe,” you replied, earning a pleased hum from Tomura who was still resolutely seated behind you, “and second, like yeah sure, with your hands anyone could.”

“No, no, no,” Dabi let the dick fall with a thump back among its brethren. “With your hole.”

“Is that a fucking challenge?” you bristled, feeding the ever growing competition that existed between you and Dabi.

Sluts, by nature, didn’t like to have their slutty prowess threatened. You were very territorial in that way. And Tomura had the marks to show it.

“Yeah it fuckin’ is,” Dabi replied leaning over the box to press his face up to yours.

Keigo chuckled beside you, leaning back on his hands with one of the dicks suctioned to the floor in front of him. “Well hell, you know I’m in.”

“What about you, creep?” Dabi peered over your shoulder and knocked foreheads with Tomura who looked up so their noses brushed together.

His hands pawed nervously at your tits, fingers kneading the flesh as he considered what he’d be agreeing to, and you tried not to squirm when he pinched your fucking nipples with absolutely no concern for the other two seeing.

“...fine.”

“Fuck yeah, there ya go,” Dabi pulled away and stood, wandering off down the hall.

“Where are you going?” Tomura shouted after, though he reappeared in seconds with a spray bottle and disposable cloths.

“What? We gotta clean ‘em,” he said as though it were the most natural thing in the world and the four of you weren’t about to compete to see who could successfully I.D the most dildos using only your asses and pussy. “I’m nasty, but I’m not that fucking nasty.”

The four of you quickly concocted a dildo testing set up, composed of a shower rod and a broom, suspended between chairs and the coffee tables at Tomura’s behest, so each couple could face off without seeing their opponent get stuffed full.

Each was constructed across from the other so that the two people kneeling with their lower halves under the curtain would be face to face with a partner behind to handle the insertion. You’d flipped a coin found under the couch to decide who got to do the inserting first which you and Dabi had won out. So, now you were situated with Tomura’s pretty ass on display, dusted blush pink in front of you with Keigo and Dabi in an identical position. You and Dabi shared a devious look as you prepared to spear your partners on your respective silicone lengths.

While the boys had prepped themselves to take the numerous cocks, you'd been busy creating a cheat sheet of dicks for reference, giving each member an affectionate nickname. Then it was time for the game to begin.

“C’mon Tomura,” you rubbed a comforting hand up his back as you kept working two fingers in his pretty little hole. “You gotta relax or you’ll never be able to take anything bigger.”

You pumped a bit faster into him, curling up until he groaned and shifted his weight onto his elbows.

“I’m fucking trying, okay?” he whimpered, but the tight ring of muscle wouldn’t yield any farther than two of your fingers.

Meanwhile, Keigo had successfully taken two cocks and already guessed the first one right.

“You can go farther than that,” he quipped to Dabi who raised his eyebrows and slammed the remaining silicone forward, making his boyfriend lurch and gasp. “Fucking hell dude, not that hard. That’s gotta be The Hulk.”

“Look at you, 0 for 2,” Dabi whistled in appreciation and leaned back to wipe down the massive green dildo, tossing it into the pile.

Tomura audibly swallowed.

“What’s wrong, freak?” his roommate mused. “You’re acting like you’ve never taken it up the ass before.”

“So what if I fucking haven’t?” he growled or tried to, it came out as more of mewl as you stroked his prostate in an attempt to loosen him up a bit more.

“We’re working our way up to it,” you kept your eyes resolutely on Tomura’s pucker sucking in your fingers and using your other thumb to work little circles into his hip. “He’s just so tense and it’s kinda tricky when I can actually feel the dick, ya know?”

You could tell Tomura was less than thrilled with this information being shared, but he still rocked back into your wrist so he couldn’t have been all that upset. He whined when you pulled your fingers away, taking a relatively small and well lubed dildo from the line up and slowly pressing the tip in.

Your boyfriend hissed below you and Dabi rolled his eyes, working a fourth dick into Keigo who was entirely off base with his guesswork.

“Seriously, man?” he asked, standing from behind Keigo and knocking you out of the way. “Get in front, sweetheart,” he pointed and you gawked a bit at the tone he used, but gave up the dick in your hand and settled yourself in front of a flushed red and very messy Tomura.

He was close to drooling on the floor, looking up at you with wide eyes as you ran a hand through the hair that had fallen loose from his bun. He always got like this when he crossed the border from normal turned on (which was essentially his default) to extreme horny territory—all whiney and willing to do whatever he needed to get his fix.

“What, so I’m just supposed to sit here with this thing in my ass?” Keigo asked from behind you.

Dabi shot him a cold grin.

“Do me a favor,” he looked down at you and nodded towards the pink toy buried deep in Keigo’s hole. “Turn the end of that for me, yeah?”

You cocked your head and leaned back. Keigo gazed at you warily, but nodded for you to do what Dabi asked and Tomura let out a groan of complaint as you moved away from him and turned the end of the toy which buzzed to life, vibrating hard enough to pitch Keigo forward onto the floor.

“Oh you asshole,” he groaned, reaching frantically back to flick off the power but stopped in his tracks when Dabi spoke.

“Did I say you could turn it off?”

Now that was a dom voice if you’d ever heard one.

Keigo whimpered and let his hand fall back, cheek smashed against the floor. “No…”

“Then sit still till I’m fucking finished.”

Even you shivered at that.

“Now what’s gonna get you to loosen up, huh, creep?'' You couldn’t see Dabi’s lower half through the curtain but you could imagine he was digging his hands into Tomura’s hips and rolling the bony flesh under his palms like you would. “Wanna play with your little slut’s pretty tits?”

Normally you might have been a bit more apprehensive about someone else—especially fucking Dabi of all people—putting their hands all over your baby boy, but it was kinda really hot watching Dabi’s wrist move just so that you were sure he’d sunken his fingers back into your boyfriend’s tight hole and was fucking him open.

Below you, Tomura pulled himself up on his hands and glared over his shoulder. “Don't fucking talk like—“

Dabi cut him off with what must have been a very well aimed thrust cause it had Tomura toppling into your chest and crying as he went.

“Just give in, Shigs,” Dabi raked painted nails down his back and fucking purred the little nickname, voice dripping down your spine like ice water under the July sun. “I know you want to, quit fucking fighting it.”

Tomura groaned into your shirt, his head slipping until it rested at the crux of your folded thighs. He still glowered off to the side but his hand fisted in the fabric of your top and tugged harshly.

You raised your eyebrows a bit and Dabi motioned for you to continue, so you slipped off your top, the sound of faint buzzing and Keigo’s stifled moans like the weirdest strip tease backing track ever.

The second your tits bounced free—which Dabi unabashedly stared at—Tomura was pushing himself up and latching on to your right breast, his clever little tongue drew circles around your nipple and nipped at the sensitive skin. The heat of his mouth sent sparks straight to your clit, soaking you even more thoroughly than you were before. Which was saying something considering your thighs were already sticking together with the mess made just from watching Tomura get his hole stretched.

Dabi chuckled and you looked over Tomura’s head to find him gazing down at your boyfriend's pale ass. “Took three fingers like a champ the second you get some tits in your mouth,” he mused, arm pumping faster over the curtain. “Damn you really do like that, don’t you?”

You smoothed Tomura’s hair down, gripping lightly to move him over to your other breast when the skin became too raw. Your grip tightened and you gasped though as two, unfamiliarly smooth fingers glided down the cleft of your ass, sneaking under your shorts and running through your dripping folds from behind.

Keigo chuckled, “So does someone else.”

Those fingers only had the chance to draw one shaky circle on your clit before Tomura was slapping his palm as hard as his position would allow over your pussy.

“Mine,” he glared over your shoulder down at Keigo, still fucked out on the floor with the vibe going full force in his ass. You could hear the subtle movement of the curtain, providing a truly stunning mental image of his hips rocking back into nothing.

“Hey,” Dabi snapped, and the three of you paused. “Cut the shit.”

In any other case, the command would have been a bit off putting, but something about Dabi changed as the power dynamics in the room clearly began to settle. It was like a switch flipped. A dirty, dominant switch that had Dabi’s shoulders looking broader and his usually grating voice rolling through you in waves.

“Now, I think you’d appreciate having that slutty fucking pussy filled up, wouldn’t you, sweetheart?” he said and you debated how easily you were willing to give up your control in whatever the fuck was about to happen next.

Cause it was headed in a seemingly delicious direction, but on the other hand, Dabi was a massive shit pretty much all the time.

Decidedly not too easy.

“I wouldn’t say no to that...” you drawled and felt Tomura whine against you.

He’d drifted well past the point of speaking now, but you were practiced in the art of deciphering the meanings of each high pitched cry that tore its way out of his throat.

“Oh I don’t fucking think so,” Dabi retorted, following it up with a loud smack that had Tomura rocking harshly into your chest. “I’m not gonna deal with two fucking brats. That goddamn blond bastard is enough.”

“Oh thanks so much for the acknowledgement, babe,” Keigo groaned and you heard the distinct sound of him sucking something followed by a low hum. “You taste fucking delicious by the way.”

Tomura grunted and huffed into your shoulder, fingers squeezing tighter into your chest. You felt Keigo shift behind you, the rustle of fabric indicating he’d thrown off the makeshift curtain and his breath ghosted across your cheek when he spoke.

“Oh c’mon, you know I’m right,” Keigo whispered to Tomura.

From the corner of your eye, you could just make out the flash of white canine as he licked up the shell of your boyfriend’s ear and nibbled at the sensitive skin. Tomura shuddered in your grasp.

“Calm the fuck down,” Dabi muttered, pulling the towels and shower rod away so your boyfriends pretty, marked up ass was on display. “I’m not gonna make you share this time, baby boy.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Tomura tried to wiggle out of Dabi’s grasp and further into you, but now that the curtain was removed you could see exactly what Dabi had been doing back there.

Three fingers to the farthest knuckle were sunk deep into Tomura’s ass, dripping lube onto the floor in a little puddle. He rocked his wrist so that every squirm from your boyfriend only had those fingers pressing directly on his sweet spot, stopping any other escape attempt.

“Ugh, fine,” Keigo huffed, settling closer behind you regardless, his chest to your back. “So, what’s the plan then, boss man?”

The energy in the room was shifting very rapidly, power dynamics falling solidly into place as you all glanced around at one another in a strange, silent agreement that whatever went down, it was about to happen right here on the kitchen floor.

And it was gonna be sloppy as fuck.

“Well,” Dabi mused, clearly placing himself at the top of the proverbial fucking food chain. “Since Tomura here can’t seem to play the game right, I think we need to help him prep a bit more. Just so he’s got a fighting chance, don’t you think?”

He was looking at you this time.

Waiting to see what role you’d assume.

Well, Tomura had left you perpetually sore for weeks and given you enough friction burns to last a lifetime. You thought he deserved a little bit of payback.

“I think you’re right,” you replied, matching his mischievous energy tenfold and loving the way your minds melded on familiar, slutty territory. “My sweet boy needs some help opening up.”

Tomura dragged his upper body off of yours for once and you were so fucking glad he did.

His face was absolutely ruined. Drool ran down his chin, cheeks flushed bright pink that had all the scars and wrinkles of his face standing out. Those helpless red eyes found yours, so wide and desperate.

Oh he’d really dropped this time.

Shit.

You’d seen him get pretty deep into it before. Knew that he liked to get out of his head a bit, let go of all the racing thoughts. Be taken care of, be fucked stupid for a night just to take the edge off of broke student life.

You understood it well.

But something about the conversation—where you all tossed around the fate of his ass like he wasn’t even there—had sent him hurtling past any logic. Just a body, just a pliant, willing body. Trusting all of you, and especially you, would give him what he needed.

On the fucking kitchen floor.

It was the hottest thing you’d ever seen.

“Glad to hear we’re all in agreement then,” Dabi smirked and tugged at your boyfriend’s hair, pulling him up so he could look down at those glassy eyes. “That what you want, Tomura?”

The use of his name surprised you a bit. You didn’t think you’d ever heard Dabi call him anything but some type of somewhat friendly insult. It dragged a similar reaction out of Tomura himself, who came back to consciousness just long enough to offer a nod.

“Yeah, fuck…just do something,” he sounded just as wrecked as he looked.

And you could suddenly see why exactly he sounded so desperate. With his back arched up in Dabi’s grip, you watched Tomura’s cock—angry red at the tip and adding to a second puddle of precum on the floor—as it bobbed against his stomach. He was harder than you’d ever seen him before and probably had been this whole time.

Poor baby.

“That’s what I like to hear,” Dabi purred and released Tomura’s hair in favor of looping the arm across his neck, sipping two fingers past his roommate’s parted lips.

Your heart hammered in your chest, slick gushing down your thighs and shorts completely soaked through. Just the sight of it—Tomura, destroyed and needy, gagging on Dabi’s fingers as his cock begged to be worshiped—well you almost fucking came right in your pants.

Keigo seemed to be walking on a similar, horny path.

“Holy shit,” he panted, accompanied by a squelching sound as you turned a half quarter to find him on his knees next to you, sans shirt and bouncing lightly on the toy. “You’re gonna let me play too, right?”

You weren’t entirely sure if he was talking to you, too lost in the haze of Tomura speared and whining on Dabi’s fingers, but you answered anyway.

“Yeah,” you reached forward to slip a hand under Tomura’s spit stained shirt and roll your thumb over a nipple. “I mean he’s gotta get used to feeling full somehow.”

“Damn straight,” Dabi groaned, pulling his fingers from your boyfriend's mouth and gripping your chin in his hand so the spit smeared on your cheek, “but you let me handle being the bad guy, yeah sweetheart? You just keep telling him how fucking good he’s being for us.”

A shiver ran down your spine and heat pooled low in your gut as his voice washed over you. And since when had Dabi’s eyes gotten so fucking captivating? The look he gave you—all of that joking maliciousness morphing into something strangely seductive instead of his usual infuriating—had you leaning forward easily in his grip, pliant and waiting to feel his lips on yours.

But what met you was not the cool silver of piercings, but something scratchy and warm and pleasantly familiar. Tomura licked eagerly into your mouth, gasping as he pushed against Dabi’s arm around his throat so he could suck on your tongue before his roommate got the chance.

“No,” he mumbled against your lips. “Mine.”

He moved from your lips then, sinking to the crook of your neck and digging his full teeth into the flesh, leaving over it with his tongue and sucking hard to leave an almost baseball sized bruise.

You would have found it endearing if you didn’t have to cover it up later.

“Fucking Christ, freak,” Dabi grunted, licking his sore lip where Tomura had head butted him out of the way. “Guess you aren’t as much of a slut as I thought. We know how to share, don’t we?”

You were tempted to join in on the teasing—Tomura certainly never spared you from it—but he was looking up at you with watery eyes, face half pressed back into your chest and you just couldn’t find it in yourself to blame him much.

“He’s doing his best,” you cooed, smoothing a hand over his sweaty forehead and feeling the sparks his moan sent straight to your clit. “No one’s gonna touch me, baby boy. This is all yours.”

You were gonna fucking die though if someone didn’t touch you soon and it really didn’t seem like Tomura was in any state to do so.

For once you were thankful for Dabi’s commanding presence moving things along. You’d definitely been promised a dick at some point and you were aching to collect on that.

“Alright,” Dabi ripped his fingers away from Tomura’s hole who keened at the loss. “You sound like a goddamn bitch in heat, creep. You really wanna get fucked that bad, huh?”

Tomura was silent for a moment, and when he spoke, it was only to you.

“Mmm, wanna cum,” he nuzzled into your cheek, grabbing your hand and yanking it towards his leaking cock.

“Hey,” Dabi growled, fisting his hand in Tomura’s hair again to pull him up onto his knees. “If this is gonna work, you gotta fucking listen when I talk to you.”

You kept your mouth shut this time, enraptured by the light of defiance ever present in your boyfriend's eyes dwindling as you pumped his cock while Dabi popped his jaw open to spit right on his tongue. Tomura jerked when Dabi’s saliva dripped down his throat and you thumbed across the sensitive head of his cock that gushed into your palm.

“Swallow,” his voice was all cigarette smoke and just as addicting. “Show me you know how to follow a fucking order.”

Tomura struggled in his grip, but as the seconds ticked by and their staring match continued, you saw his body go limp. Weak to the pleasure and relief of your hand stroking him and the desire to relinquish control, he gave up the fight, swallowing weakly and collapsing to the floor when Dabi released his hold.

“Kei quit fucking yourself and help out a bit, yeah?”

Keigo perked up beside you where he’d been watching intently, one hand circling the head of his startlingly pretty cock while he bounced slowly on his heels, grinding against the vibe still buried in him.

“Will you let me turn this fucking thing off then?” he groaned, gripping your shoulder for support and pulling the toy from his ass without waiting for permission.

“Don’t act like you didn’t like it, asshole,” Dabi rolled his eyes and gestured for both you and Keigo to help move Tomura’s limp form. “I want him on his back.”

Dabi stood and backed away as you crawled to take his place, gripping Tomura’s skinny hips and as Keigo nudged his shoulders.

“Shit, he really is kinda cute, isn't he?” Keigo mumbled to you after Tomura was flipped over and panting, dick still raging hard against his stomach. “I get the appeal now.”

He traced a long, graceful finger over Tomura’s lips, shivering when his little pink tongue peaked out to lick at the tip.

Keigo looked up at Dabi who stood just over your shoulder, observing the scene like it was an incredibly horny stage play and he was about to direct you to spread your legs to stage left.

“Babe, can I fuck his mouth?” Keigo asked, voice deep and sugary sweet as he crawled to press his face against Dabi’s thigh and palm his boyfriend through his straining shorts.

“Be patient,” Dabi sighed as Keigo tugged his pants off, revealing an unsurprising lack of underwear and a shocking amount of little barbells running along the shaft of Dabi’s cock. The ring at the tip glinted threateningly. You gapped and Dabi chuckled at your jaw rebounding off the floor. “Not for you this time, sweetheart, but I think your fucking whore boyfriend can take a quick trip back from sub space to eat some pussy for you.”

“Ugh, I asked first though,” Keigo whined, licking a stripe up Dabi’s dick and you were starting to understand what Dabi meant by his brat commentary earlier.

“I said be fucking patient,” he groaned and snapped his hips forward so Keigo’s protests were drowned out by the cock taking up residence in his throat. “You know how hard it is the first time. We gotta work him up a bit before he can take more than a few fingers.”

That was a sight you were never gonna get fucking tired of.

Keigo’s lips were stretched so wide, you wondered if that was what you looked like when Tomura made you suck him off till you were begging for him to fuck you right. You hoped so, it was hot as shit.

“Alright freak, you listening?”

Tomura nodded slowly, eyes half lidded and one hand pumping lazily on his own cherry red length.

“Think you can make your pretty little slut cum while Keigo and I help you relax a bit?”

He perked up at that, instantly grabbing for you, gripping your thighs and pulling you to sit on his chest, but Dabi stopped you with a hand on your arm.

“Nah, I want you watching us,” he said as Keigo laid out on his stomach, head by Tomura’s hips. “That way you know what to do next time he wants his greedy fucking ass filled.”

You raised an eyebrow at his assumption you didn’t know what you were doing, but acquiesced and retreated from Tomura’s clawing grip to shamelessly kick your shorts and panties off then hovered your soaked, throbbing lips over his mouth. Dabi groaned with you at the clear sense of relief on your face as Tomura immediately found your clit and suckled on the stuff bud.

So swept up in watching Tomura fall to pieces, you hadn’t quite been aware just how painfully aroused you were. But you sure as fuck were now. Tomura nursed at your clit for a while longer as Keigo and Dabi watched on, breaths coming heavy and eyes flicking between your face to your chest and to where Tomura lapped at your dripping pussy. Keigo’s fingers twitched, halfway to reaching for your tits as they bounced with your pants.

Dabi’s fingers gripped his wrist instead.

“You know the rules,” he whispered. “Just enjoy the view.”

Tomura, seemingly unaware that anything outside of your cunt drowning him in slick, did not notice the display and instead moved from your clit to draw circles around your entrance, pressing so his tongue slipped inside. You keened then, muffled by the sound of Dabi shifting in front of you, coming to lay between Tomura’s legs and lifting them over his shoulders.

“Now you better thank me later, freak, cause I’m gonna make you feel real good, but don’t you dare fucking stop,” he bit harshly at Tomura’s thigh, the vibrations of his groan rocking through you. “You better make that pussy cum or you aren’t going to at all.”

You ground shamelessly against his face as Tomura kicked at Dabi’s back, communicating quite clearly that he did indeed know how to make you cum all over his tongue and had, in fact, done so more times that he could count. Most of which Dabi’s bitch ass had been forced to listen to through the thin walls of their apartment.

As if to emphasize this point, Tomura’s fingers replaced his tongue, working into you despite the awkward angle while he spat directly onto your pussy and worked it inside. He curled them into you just the way you did to him when he wanted to cum so bad but just couldn’t .

That had you doubling over, bracing yourself in the cute dip of his stomach and crying out.

Dabi reached out and tilted your chin up so he could look deep, dark, and dangerous into your eyes.

“Remember, you gotta tell him what a good job he’s doing.”

You took a breath and nodded against the little shockwaves of pleasure as he alternated stroking that spot inside your walls and nursing your clit, drinking down all the sweet juices that leaked from your hole.

“So perfect for me, baby,” you whimpered, tightening your thighs against his head. “Make me—ah—feel so good, Tomura.”

“Oh, he liked that,” Keigo was staring directly down at Tomura’s cock, untouched and making a mess of the little patch of hair that trailed from his bellybutton. It twitched against his stomach with all the pretty words and slick that spilled from your lips.

“I think I know something he’ll like even more,” Dabi said, leaning over to run a hand through Keigo’s messy locks and pulled him into the sloppiest kiss you’d ever seen. It was more a series of lazy licks than anything else, making Keigo’s lips drip with their combined spit. “If you wanna get your dick sucked, you’re gonna have to earn it.”

Dabi’s dark head reared back as he gripped Keigo’s hair and guided his mouth towards Tomura’s throbbing length. He seemed to catch on quickly, flicking out his tongue, complete with a little black piercing at the center, and ran the warm metal right across the tip. Buried in your pussy, Tomura let out the highest pitched sound you’d ever heard. Somewhere between a scream and a sob directly against your clit.

It hadn’t barely been a few minutes, but you were so close to hurtling straight over the edge already.

Oh well, the boys could spare you a couple mind shattering orgasms in return for sharing your pretty boyfriend and his perfect little ass.

You watched intrigued as Dabi let go of Keigo’s head, which continued to lap and press wet kisses to the head of Tomura’s cock before sinking down in it entirely.

With the way he was digging his nails into your thighs, you were shocked he didn’t cum on the spot.

You were even more surprised he managed to hold out when Dabi got that wicked smile slipping over his face again before he dipped down between the legs bracketing his head and licked a long strip from Tomura’s hole to his balls, sucking one briefly into his mouth before retreating back to the pink ring of muscle.

You could hear the wet squelch of Dabi’s bobbing, wild head of box dye black hair fucking his tongue deeper into Tomura’s ass. Working him open and slicking up his insides to take whatever was coming next.

Well.

That was apparently you.

Because right when Dabi slipped his tongue all the way in and added a finger to match, Keigo took the entirety of Tomura's length into his throat which, in turn, had your boyfriend absolutely shrieking under you.

The vibrations on your clit, coupled with the twitch of his fingers against your walls fucking wrecked you on the spot. Without a hint of warning your pussy clamped hard on Tomura’s hand, gushing on his tongue. The force of the white hot feel good chemicals flooding your bloodstream rushed through every muscle in your body and pitched you forward, head resting on Tomura’s thigh. Keigo bobbed beside you, not letting up on his rhythm but somehow managing a cheeky little wink, even with his lips stretched thin around a throbbing dick.

Dabi’s hair brushed your forehead as he pulled away, chin dripping with spit that glinted off his piercings.

“Damn, look at you creep,” he panted, dark eyes flicking between your face and Tomura’s heaving chest. “Guess you aren’t as bad as I thought.” His nose brushed with yours and you breathed in the heady scent of spit and body heat. “Or you were just real keyed up, huh?”

You rolled your eyes, moving to prop yourself up just as Tomura slipped two long fingers back into you, curling hard and squelching as he gave you three sharp pumps. The hands steadying yourself gave way again and the only answer Dabi received was a moan and a small huff as your chest hit Tomura’s hip.

Another sharp smack rang out as Dabi struck the side of your boyfriend's ass. Keigo choked as the shock forced Tomura’s cock far enough you could see his throat bulge.

“Don’t be fucking teasing,” he said and sucked a mark into Tomura’s inner thigh for emphasis.

The fingers curling in your still clenching walls retreated, smearing the mess they’d made on your ass where you felt Tomura leave small, somewhat apologetic kisses on the swell of flesh. As you caught your breath, Dabi pulled Keigo back by the long hair at the nape of his neck. His lips, puffy and pink and slick, popped off the head. Tomura whined at the loss of stimulation and dug his fingers harder into your ass.

“Fuck, you’re so much prettier when you’ve been sucking dick,” Dabi mumbled against Keigo’s lips, sucking on his boyfriend’s tongue while you took over, lazily pumping Tomura’s soaking cock until Dabi gripped your wrist and pulled away.

Keigo flopped uselessly against your boyfriend's stomach, eyes glassy and blissed out.

“C’mon back,” Dabi patted Keigo's cheek until he stirred. “I thought your cock-drunk ass wanted to get your dick sucked too.”

The effects of his words were immediate.

“Yes!” he perked up, much like a dog offered a bloody piece of meat.

He stared at Tomura like that’s exactly what he was.

“Alright then,” Dabi chuckled and turned to you, sitting up and sliding a hand down your back which Tomura quickly and loudly slapped away. “Jesus, fine. Now sweetheart, I need you to take over for Keigo. Can that pussy of yours do that?”

“Who the fuck do you think I am?” you quipped, though not unkindly and matched his growing smirk.

“That’s the fuckin spirit,” he reared back on his knees so you could flip around to straddle Tomura’s lap.

You could feel your goddamn heartbeat in your pussy when you finally got a glimpse at Tomura’s face. Your pretty boy was all red, chin slick from eating you out and blush spreading into splotches across his chest that heaved with every breath. His cute little nipples were pinched and hard, his left hand still rolling one under his thumb. That lovely tongue lolled out and when he caught your eye, his face contorted in a fucking gorgeous pout that had you diving down into his outstretched arms.

He hummed so happy against your lips as you licked behind his teeth and at the spot on the roof his mouth you knew he loved. You were only vaguely aware of Dabi behind you, popping the cap of the lube and slicking his length. From beside you Keigo tugged at your shoulder, until you pulled away from a less than pleased Tomura.

“Dabi said it’s my turn,” he whined, actually fucking whined like a kicked puppy, and you almost laughed, but then you felt Tomura tense as the slick head of his cock slapped your pussy lips.

“Get up here,” Dabi kept prodding you with Tomura’s length, dipping the tip into your hole then drawing it back. “I need you riding, keep him nice and distracted so I can split the little fucking brat in half.”

You nodded, feeling flushed now for some reason. All this time you’d not experienced the telltale burning of embarrassment in your face at the others seeing you on display. Yet the thought of them watching while you bounced on your boyfriend's dick was suddenly quite harrowing.

Nervously you sat up, halfway through talking yourself out of it in this short lived moment of logic you’d stumbled into. But then Tomura was rocking his hips up into you and catching the rim of your entrance.

“Please,” he was whimpering over and over, rolling his hips up petulantly as Keigo straddled his chest in front of you.

“God, will you just let him have it so he stops talking?” Keigo huffed, looking over his shoulder at you and hooking two fingers on Tomura’s teeth.

“Of course, baby,” you whispered to Tomura, rubbing a hand up his stomach as Dabi helped guide Tomura’s cock to sink straight into your leaking cunt. It burned like always, despite how incredibly soaked you were. But the stretch was so fucking good it never mattered.

Made for you, that’s what he was, so that all the veins and the cute head of his dick found their home perfectly nestled inside your walls.

You could feel Dabi’s eyes on you, watching as your pussy swallowed up everything it was given and gushed around the intrusion.

“Damn bitch,” he hummed behind you, gripping your hips while Tomura couldn’t see to help you grind in his lap. “Sorry I questioned your slut credentials.”

“As you—hm fuck—should be,” you gasped, finding the perfect angle to rub Tomura’s dick against that spot on your front wall.

Dabi chuckled before pulling Keigo’s head back to rest on your shoulder. “Careful babe, he bites sometimes.”

“No he won’t,” you sighed as Dabi moved you in Tomura’s lap and you grew accustomed to the familiar throb of the thick veins that dragged against your pussy. “You’ll be good for Keigo, right sweet boy?”

“If you’re gonna do—“ Tomura started, voice nothing more than a rasp, before Keigo took that opportunity to grab a fistful of grey hair and stand, dragging Tomura up with him.

His admittedly very toned ass ended in front of your face as he popped open Tomura’s jaw and slid his length inside. The accompanying choke almost made up for the asshole currently next to your nose.

“Oh fuck yeah,” Keigo moaned as he sunk his cock deeper into Tomura’s mouth and pulled back out, leaving your boyfriend gasping with a silvery thread of spit connecting him to Keigo’s dick.

“I think he likes it,” you heard him muse and he switched his grip, stroking a hand across Tomura’s flushed cheeks and guiding him back to suckle at the head of his cock. “Yeah, suck it just like you do to those pretty tits.”

You peered around as Dabi started pulling you to shift on your thighs and bounce properly. Tomura ran the flat of his tongue up the thick vein on the underside of Keigo’s length. He was flushed red to the tip too, and keened—knees shaking so bad you thought he might collapse—when Tomura closed his lips around the head and tongued at the slit.

Never mind.

That was now the hottest thing you’d seen all day.

And it was only made better by the constant, muffled cries of pleasure he let out with every new thrust of Keigo’s cock. Tomura stroked your walls so well—the perfect curve of him feeling like it was nudging your throat—and you let yourself melt into the pleasure of it. Your head went limp on your neck, resting gently on Dabi’s shoulder.

“That’s it, keep him nice and loose for me,” he whispered into your ear.

You felt him move behind you, pushing Tomura’s knees farther apart and pressing his chest against your back. You felt your boyfriend's hips jump and heard his muffled yelp at what you assumed was Dabi’s length prodding his hole.

“Shh,” you gasped, Dabi’s fingers skimming your hips to rub circles into the meat of Tomura’s thighs.

“C’mere,” Dabi grunted, reaching around to grab Tomura’s hands from Keigo’s hips. He bit his boyfriend’s asscheek when he leaned forward, leaving behind a ring of teeth marks and earning an indignant “babe” for his trouble.

Gripping Tomura’s wrists, he guided them to your bare chest, pushing on his palms to get him kneading at the flesh. You groaned, leaning further into Dabi’s shockingly warm chest. His pierced nipples dragged against the slick skin of your back as your thighs burned and your pussy throbbed with every inch of Tomura you took inside.

“There ya go, creep,” Dabi muttered mostly to himself as you felt him pull back followed by the subtle roll of his hips as he began to push inside.

Tomura tensed at first. You could feel him twitching deep in your cunt and hear Keigo’s whines as his mouth went slack. A long, broken cry rattled its way out of Tomura’s chest. He was now only held up by Keigo’s hand in his hair then as his whole body stayed lax to accommodate Dabi’s cock pressing inch by inch into his virgin ass.

You felt your boyfriend shudder as Dabi bottomed out and imagined what the ridge of each silver piercing must feel like as they popped inside. Well and truly stuffed from both ends with his cock enveloped in your warmth, you were sure it must have been the most intense sensation Tomura had ever experienced. Pride swelled in your chest as you rode him harder, loving that you played a role in picking him apart until he was nothing but holes to fill and pleasure.

“Stop fucking tensing, Shigs,” Dabi panted, grinding his nipples against your shoulders as Tomura pulled at yours and made you groan. “Fucking Christ, I forgot how tight virgins get…”

He trailed off, letting his cheek rest on your forehead.

For the first time, Dabi’s composure seemed to break. You glanced up to find his brow beaded with sweat and furrowed, caught between the near painful tightness of Tomura’s ass and the sweet slick of his warmth. He panted with teeth clenched, gnawing at his lower lip.

That kind of look just did something to you.

It was the same hot impulse that flooded your thoughts when Tomura so clearly needed you to play him like the tuned strings of a violin, but just wouldn’t beg you for it.

That urge to make it all better.

Make him feel so good.

As the trance of that particular kind of lovely power rushed over you, your hands reached of their own accord, sliding through Dabi’s hair and running your fingers softly over his scalp. You caught his eye as your other hand slipped down to grab his and brought two calloused fingers two your lips. Your tongue dipped between them, spilling saliva across the length and to his palm before pulling away.

If it was you Dabi was buried in, you were sure you’d feel his cock twitch against you at the display. Instead, you circled your hips harder in Tomura’s lap and urged Dabi to do the same with your hand on his neck.

“Go on, let go,” you whispered to him, low enough that the sound of Tomura’s throat and hole and cock being thoroughly fucked drowned it out to all but the two of you. “Fuck him like you need to—my pretty boy can take it. He feels so good, doesn’t he?”

You guided Dabi’s slicked fingers to Keigo’s ass, rocking forward as he found a solid rhythm to sink his cock past your boyfriend’s lips. With very little prompting, Dabi's thumb spread those plump cheeks and sunk easily inside Keigo’s hole, still stretched and dripping from before.

“Mm, shit, yeah babe don’t stop,” Keigo groaned above you, reaching back a free hand and linking it next to yours in his boyfriend’s hair. “Fuck, god please can I cum?”

But Dabi was long gone, control completely sucked away by Tomura’s walls clamping around him as he rutted mindlessly into the tight heat of his ass. You reveled in being the only one left with any brain cells to spare.

“Cum, Keigo,” you breathed, slapping a hand into his ass and grabbing a fistful of the flesh. “Fill that pretty mouth.”

“Hmm, thank you,” he whimpered and his knees shook with the effort of speeding his thrusts against Tomura’s tongue.

From the way Dabi was growling against you, head dipping down to rest on your shoulder as he absolutely railed into your boyfriend, you guessed he wouldn’t be lasting much longer either. As Keigo worked himself back on Dabi’s wrist and then straight down Tomura’s throat, you brought your hands up to the fingers kneading at your tits and took one in your grip. Tomura whimpered as best he could around Keigo’s length and laced his lovely hand with yours. You squeezed him and hummed.

“Need you to help me, sweet boy,” you brought his hand down to your clit, stiff and puffy and neglected. “You wanna feel me cum all over your pretty cock, right?”

You took the strangled whine you received in response and the fingers rubbing fast, sloppy circles over your bud as an enthusiastic yes, eyes rolling back as delicious heat rolled through your veins all over again.

Keigo’s hips began to stutter in front of you, his words equally shaky when he gasped out a halting cry of warning before he spilled over the edge.

Tomura squealed, cheeks puffing as his mouth was filled with salty release.

“Swallow, baby,” you hummed as Dabi’s hand dropped from Keigo’s ass and dug harshly into the side of your aching thigh. Tomura’s eyes found your face, red and weepy as his throat worked to take every drop that Keigo offered him.

When he was spent the body in front of you collapsed to the floor on his side, dick still half-hard and coated in spit resting against his stomach. His face was split in a dopey, fucked out grin, and he looked through half lidded eyes as the scene continued to play out to its end.

Tomura fell to his back on the rapidly heating tile floor, chin dripping with drool and milky cum. His eyes rolled with the override of stimulation. You were so incredibly proud of him for holding out this long.

Your perfect boy.

“You wanna go next?”

Dabi sniffed and turned his head to look at you with feral eyes as you spoke. His face was red now too from the exertion, hips knocking into you with every thrust.

“Fuck that,” he growled, free hands now grabbing Tomura’s slim waist in between his palms and pressing farther into your back so your tits were pressed against Tomura’s and his hand was trapped between your bodies. “We’re gonna go down together, slut.”

Tomura whined, mouth now unoccupied and he nuzzled his forehead to yours as Dabi moved on his knees, thrusts grinding you harder onto your boyfriend’s dick and his fingers sandwiched between his stomach against your clit.

It was fucking heavenly.

“Now suck on that dirty tongue and hold on, sweetheart,” Dabi grunted in your ear, face pressed right up against your cheek. “I’m makin’ us all fucking cum.”

The room quickly devolved into nothing more than panting and cries and wet slaps of flesh as Dabi hurtled you all right over the goddamn edge into blackout inducing bliss. Firm chests pressed against you—stuffed full of the best cock you’d ever had and Tomura’s lovely tongue tangling with yours—you let yourself give in to the burn under your skin.

Tomura could certainly feel you growing tighter, clamping down around him in a vice and trapping the head of his dick deep inside your pussy, leaving him nowhere to cum but buried in your velvet heat. The two of you moaned against each other’s lips, Tomura’s cock pulsing inside you, legs tensing under your thighs. You could only imagine how tight he was clenching around Dabi still fucking him hard in deep thrusts.

“Want me to, fuck, fill you up, Shigs?” Dabi gasped, hands wrenching Tomura’s away from you to pin them above his head as his cock still twitched, painting your walls with spurts of sweet release until it poured out, making a mess of his lap.

“Yes, god yes,” your boyfriend slurred into your mouth.

And that seemed to be the final push Dabi needed to go out with a bang.

It was actually more of a whimper when you really thought about it. Dabi’s orgasm was a strangely silent affair, all strangled breath and spasming muscles coupled with a low, gravel road groan that spread across your skin like gooseflesh.

The three of you held your position for a few seconds after, Tomura gasping out little whines as he was pumped full of cum and coated in your release. Next to you, Keigo’s soft moan caught in his throat and you glanced over to find him painting his own toned stomach with little spurts of spend, drooling as he watched Dabi fuck you and Tomura into sloppy oblivion.

With a collective sigh, the four of you all collapsed. Dabi pressed against your back and you felt the warm, wetness of his softening cock slip out of Tomura and settle in the cleft of your ass instead. The floor was coated again in a much more delectable mess and you couldn’t find it in yourself to mourn any of your prior scrubbing. Tomura rubbed his cheek against yours, eagerly accepting the pierced tongue Dabi slipped into his mouth. He shared that spit with you the second his roommate pulled away.

A moment later, you felt the heat of another body pressed up against your bare side and turned to find Dabi freeing an arm to pull Keigo into the mess of limbs and cum.

The four of you laid, blissed out and messy on the kitchen floor in silence for a long minute. It wasn’t until Dabi—in true asshole Dabi fashion—started chuckling beside your head that the energy in the room reverted back to it’s natural, chaotic state.

“Holy fuck,” Keigo grunted and joined in on the giggling that spread like wildfire, catching even Tomura ablaze.

“That was fuckin’...” your boyfriend croaked between bouts of laughter.

“Amazing?”

“Mind Blowing?”

“Definitely gonna happen again?”

With a nod and a huff Tomura sighed. “All of the above.”

As your bodies grew progressively hotter and sticker, the four of you peeled yourselves apart until it was only you resting flat against Tomura’s chest while Dabi let Keigo rest his head on one tatted thigh. Tomura stroked your head absentmindedly as he stared up at the ceiling. His heart beat steadily under your ear, lulling you into a drowsy, state of pleasant day dreams.

“So,” Dabi broke the quiet once again.

“This was like the freakiest double date ever,” you finished for him, hurtling the room back into another fit of friendly, fucked out laughter.

“Shit, guess we got a little turned around then,” Keigo hummed in response. “You’re supposed to do the dinner part first right?”

“Yeah and I don’t think we’re supposed to all fuck at the end either,” Tomura added.

You pinched one of his stiff nipples just to hear him gasp and shoot you a wounded frown. “Don’t pretend you didn’t like it.”

“How would you even know, freak?” Dabi smirked as he leaned back on his hands and looked desperately as though he needed a cigarette.

“Shut up…”

Shockingly, Dabi did, simply shooting Tomura a mocking yet fond glance and running his fingers through Keigo’s messy hair.

“Well, in that case,” you pushed yourself up and dragged your boyfriend along with you, his hands settling on your hips. “Couples shower time then dinner? We can clean up the disaster area later.”

“Oo, fuck yeah,” Keigo hopped up and slung his arms around Dabi’s shoulders. “There’s a new food truck on campus if we wanna pick something up then binge a few movies.”

“I’m down,” you said, looking at Tomura. “Wanna shower first?”

He flushed and ducked his head down into your neck mumbling something that sounded enough like an affirmative to have you pulling yourself off the floor. You felt the uncomfortable gush of his release beginning to leak down your thighs as you stood and Tomura grinned proudly at you while he ran a finger through the mess.

“C’mon,” you sighed, taking his hand and dragging him past the abandoned box of dicks and towards the bathroom, thankfully sans bloodstains.

Dabi and Keigo’s muffled conversation continued behind you, friendly background noise that filled you with a strange warmth when you turned to see Dabi crawling on top of his blond bastard ‘not boyfriend’ and trailing kisses up his throat.

Tomura wrapped his arm around your waist, pressing a mindless kiss of his own to the crown of your head. You reveled in the strange feeling of camaraderie. The heat of affinity that spread through the small, disaster apartment with a roof that leaked and a balcony that perpetually smelled like cigarettes and whiskey, was akin to the feel of a wood fire in winter or warm sheets straight from the dyer.

Another laugh bubbled from you unconsciously at the thought.

You smiled to yourself at the tiny revelation, and took Tomura's hand in your own as the bathroom door shut behind you. The room filled with steam as he kissed you and squeezed your palm in his.

What a fucked up little family you’d carved out here.

What a strange place to belong.

“Hey, if you fuck in there you better invite us!” Keigo’s voice rang down the hall and drifted easily under the bathroom door, loose in its frame.

“Would you shut the fuck up you horny fucking slut?” came Dabi’s equally loud and much less amused response.

“We are not inviting them,” Tomura huffed, dragging you into the tub and under the warm spray.

You shook your head, adding in a fond eye role for emphasis while he groped your chest and manhandled you against the tile.

“Oh so we are gonna fuck in here then?”

Tomura deadpanned as though you’d just asked if the sky was blue.

If the grass was green.

If your boyfriend was gonna rail you against the shower wall.

“What do you fucking think?”

That laugh was back, setting your face pleasantly ablaze with the same rush as summer campfires or salt water on heated skin.

“Damn, sorry I—“

Any reply laced with a completely appropriate amount of snark drowned on your tongue as Tomura swallowed it up. His lips were kiss softened but retained the familiar worm edges. You let your hand trail down the cracking skin of his cheek and throat to take his hand that rested on your chest.

He smiled into your mouth—one of those rare, genuine things he never let you see but always made sure you felt.

You matched his grin.

And kissed him back.

------

Taglist: @mariesackler, @simultaneously-sick-and-calm, @narcolepticroses, @lilianaswhatever

[thebeebi]

your little games pt. 1

pairing: Jungkook x reader

warnings: smut with a story, non-con, mention of r*pe attempt, implied murder and many more! Read only if you are okay with these topics!

genre: historical AU, 18th century?

word count: 2.7k+ [part 1]

a/n: Finally I got to do a Jungkook fanfic. I am actually happy with this one. So please let me know what you think! Enjooooy! ♥ 

You ran away from the man who tried to take an advantage of you. You stabbed him and escaped. Escaped to the arms of the handsome captain who was even worse than the man you just killed.

I must run away! You looked around yourself, trying to not notice a dead body on the floor. Still numb from the thing you did to the older man. The fear of being found made you keep going. You took all of your things and kneeled next to the body. Looking away, you patted around his pocket to find the key to unlock the room. The room you were forcefully locked in. You quivered with fear but the possibility of being caught kept you going. Taking off the bloody dress, you put on the new clean one and shoved the old one into the backpack. You hugged the bad and started walking towards the door with the key in the right hand ready to unlock the world of freedom. Hesitating for a bit, you stood still and wondered what is awaiting you out there. You felt fear once again but decided it was better out there than in this hellhole. You run out of the door fast, passing by the kitchen downstairs, stopping in front of the door frame, but instead of the door, there was a heavy curtain. You pushed it a bit to the side and the fear within raised even more. Someone was there. You backed away looking for another exit, but the feeling of someone following you was there. Your breathing was fast and you felt like you could not go on but the freedom was so close. The heartbeat was fast but your steps were faster. You finally found the exit and ran out of the house you were held in. You run, run far away from the place not knowing what direction you were going in. You just wanted to flee from that place. Maybe if I get lost, it would fool the person who is after me? You thought but was confused because you did not hear any footsteps behind you. Is my own heartbeat cause of me not hearing well? You kept on running through the streets of the town, passing by the huge shops, the empty market, around the mansions and the small looking ordinary houses.

People were looking at you but you did not care. You were exhausted and even though you were scared, you stopped for a second to catch a breath. You felt the stinging pain with every breath you took but you were okay with it. As long as you were far away from that place. You noticed how the air changed and the smell of salt and water hit your nostrils. The eyes that were closed before opened widely and you looked up. The heavy fog caused you not to see anything but the fire torch on the side of the house. You weren’t sure where you were, so you slowly started heading towards the only source of the light. Not like you had any other option. You did not want to return to the fog-filled darkness, so you walked towards the fire torch. You could hear the sound of the waves hitting the rocky wall and screeching noise of wooden planks which were presumably used as the floor on the ships, but could not see anything. You did not even know where you were exactly heading to. The sounds were coming from each side and the only source of light disappeared right in front of your eyes.

“I swear to God, it is her! We found her! Come on, Taehyung! Take her.” You turned towards the voices looking surprised at two men approaching your shivering body. They knew. They are coming for me. You were sure they were the people who were following you. You could not move so you stood there waiting for her fate. “Hey there,” said the blonde one of the duo and smiled from ear to ear at his companion. “The captain will like her. What do you think, Taehyung?” The brown-haired man licked his lower lip and simply nodded. “Definitely. This one will work.”

You could feel yourself trembling under the perverted gazes of the men who were too close to your liking but could not say anything. You knew you had no right to do so. The only thing left within is your strong will. The only thing no one can take from you. “Where are you taking me?” you whispered softly. Taehyung laughed and winked at the older man next to him. “She is willing, Jimin. He will love it. Only if I could, I would love to be in his place tonight.” Said Taehyung biting his lower lip once again. “Just a bit further,” said Jimin and tilted his head to the side pointing at the slowly ship that was slowly showing up. “On the board of Bangtan. Let’s go.“ And so you followed him, while the other male was right behind you. There was no chance of running away. You were surprised by the new setting, not understanding why they were taking you on the ship but it did not matter. My life if not mine anymore anyway. You thought as you willing held Jimin’s hand to hop on the wooden plank that connected the docks with the ship. He swiftly let go once you were on board making sure that no one else saw, that he touched the captain’s lady. He pointed towards the direction and asked you to follow him as he led you towards the wooden door hidden at the and of the hallway. In front of them, he halted his steps, took a deep breath and softly knocked three times. Without waiting for the response, Jimin opened the door and made his way inside, into the captain’s cabin. The unfamiliar man stood up from the table. Only if you weren’t so scared, you could have noticed that he was tall, well built and that his eyes were deep brown. The man had brown slim fitted trousers, that were too tight around his waist and the snow-white shirt was unbuttoned down to his hips. It showed his muscular broad chest. He looked a bit like a pirate but also as a demon. His dark hair was up to his chin but the best part was his face. It was like he was made by God’s touch. His nose was straight, but from the profile, you could notice a tiny bump on it. His plump lips were the ones Eve would kiss every day in the Eden but suddenly he was here. And you were well aware of that. He was there and so close to you. If only you weren’t in this situation, you would do anything to get to know that man. When he smiled, your knees went weak. He came closer to you, he measured you from the bottom to the top, not missing any detail on your body.

“I see you did your best today, Jimin. I bet it took you long before you found this gem.“ Said the beautiful man still looking at you. “Not really, captain.” He replied and Taehyung swiftly added: “We found her near the docks, she was very willing.” Taehyung smirked as he looked at your body hungrily. The tall man nodded and slowly started walking around you. He was not touching you by anything than his dark lusty eyes, that were appreciating every curve of your body and your breasts which looked like they were moulded by the goddess of beauty, Aphrodite. The backpack you were holding in you hand went back against your chest, as you were trying to cover from the longing gaze of the captain. The dress you changed into was of thin fabric and you regretted not changing into male clothes back then. The tall man stood still in front of you, smiled, but you weren’t looking at him. You refused to look at him wondering how is your fate going to look like from now on. The two men that brought you there were smirking, satisfied with tonight’s present for their captain.

The tall man moved to the side, so Jimin could whisper something to him. You briefly looked around the cabin, but could not see anything. Even though you looked strong, from the inside you felt like you were about to break down. You were tired, exhausted and confused. You could not imagine the trial on the ship, but because you did not know anything about law and these things, you thought that you would be sent to some colony for killing a man. Or so you tough. Oh God, when I think about all of my childhood dreams… When I think about how I wanted to run away from poverty just to be almost raped by that old man. I wanted to have an easy life. But I will be sent to prison or some unknown colony for the sin I committed. You sighed as you got reminded of the reasons why you ended up in the room with the man who tried to take advantage of you. I killed a man, they caught me and now I have to accept whatever the fate prepared for me. You shut your eyes tightly and bit your lower lip nervously. With the saddening thoughts, you went numb. You were guilty. They caught you and now you have to wait for the trail. You were so deep in the thoughts, you did not hear two men that brought you there left.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the deep chuckle of the man standing in front of you. He bowed. “Welcome. What is your name, little one?” He smiled. “Y/N,” you exhaled but when you saw him tilting his head you added softly “captain.” He nodded and walked towards the table. “That is a very beautiful name, Y/N. My name is Jeon Jungkook, but my friends call me Jungkook. Have you eaten already?” You hesitated to give him an answer but nodded at the end. “Wine, maybe?” Jungkook asked and took the bottle to pour himself and then brought a bottle closer to you. You shook your head to reject a drink and looked down on the floor. Captain laughed silently at your reaction and walked to you until he stopped closely. He took the backpack you were holding eagerly and threw it to the other side of the cabin still keeping his gaze on you. He was addicted to your beauty and dress which provided just a tiny coverage of your curves. Your skin was reflecting the light from the candle placed on the table. The captain saw a beautiful woman sitting in front of him with an exquisite bust that was showing above the cut of the dress. As you were breathing, your breasts were rising and falling down. For Jungkook it was a beautiful sight he could not get enough of.

He came even closer to you and wrapped his arms around your waist, lifting you up. He covered your lips with his. You could feel a hint of bitter wine, the taste your father liked. You were so surprised and reminded of the past, that you forgot to protest and stood still, letting the man kissing you. You could see yourself out of your body, but when his tongue slipped into your mouth a wave of emotions came crashing down of you. Most of all you felt excitement when this tongue opened your soft lips and entered inside. From somewhere within, you felt a weird feeling which was strangely comforting. You knew if the circumstances were different, you would like the situation you were in. Captain stepped back smiling but you could see his eyes were filled with lust. When he pulled his hand away, you gasped as you felt your dress falling down to the floor. For a moment your eyes met, but you interrupted it by trying to lift the dress back up but his hands held your shoulders and pulled you into his embrace. It was when you realised that the man wanted. What he was doing. You knew you could not do anything. Your body was weak from what happened earlier today and the running just exhausted you so much, you could not do anything. You were trying to push him away. You ran away from the disgusting man who tried to take advantage of you just to run into the man who will do the same. The embrace of Mr Brown this afternoon was strong, but Jungkook’s arms were made of steel. You could not push him away to free yourself. While you were moving your hand on his body, by accident you pushed captain’s shirt down of his shoulders and it made its way down to the floor. The only wall between your bodies was a tiny material of your bra. Your lost your breath whenever he covered your lips with his and then he continued kissing your face and the top of your bust. You could feel how was his hand sliding down your back and suddenly your bra was unclasped and fell down. The exposed breast was covered by his broad chest. When you felt the heat he radiated, you strongly pushed him away and for a second you were freed. He laughed and took that as a cue to take off his shoes and trousers.

He smirked, “You are playing your little games well, but there is no way, that you would win.” He was looking at your naked bust and you could see the passion in his eyes. You were more beautiful and charming than he was wishing for. On the other hand, it was your first time seeing a naked man and it was terrifying.  You stood still until the captain walked closer to you once again and when he did, you screamed and turned around ready to run away. You wanted to, but his strong grip on your waist halted any action you tried to do. The grip was strong, but it never hurt you. He did not try to do you any harm. You bowed down to bit into his hand. Captain cursed and pulled his hand back to rub the hurt spot. You took it as your cue to run but tripped and fell down to his bed. In the second he was on top of you, pressing you into the mattress. You felt like every movement you did was just encouraging him. The hair that was in a bun before was now ruffled and you could not breathe. “No!” you screamed. “Stop it! Let me go!” Captain smirked and whispered by your neck. “Oh no, little one. No. Not anymore.”

With that, he moved and for a second you could not feel his body. But soon again, you could feel as his hard member was looking for something in between your thighs until it found something. He entered you a bit and you in fear lifted your back from the bed, trying to escape the pain you started to feel. He could hear something between a scream and groan from your mouth when you felt the strong pain in the lower parts of your body. Jungkook moved back a bit surprised. You were weakly laying on the mattress shaking your head. Jungkook softly touched your cheek and whispered something you could not hear, but your eyes were closed and did not want to look at him. He was moving gently above you, kissing your hair and forehead and kept on caressing every part of your beautiful body. You weren’t moving even when you felt his gentle thrusts becoming more aggressive and soon enough he entered fully because he could not control himself anymore. You could feel that your body was about to break with every trust of his body and soon enough your eyes were filled with tears.

When the storm ended, and everything was calm, he became once again the sweet, gentle man. When he finally pulled out, you turned to the side and let out all the tears you were holding in. With the closest blanket, you covered your face and your now filthy body so he could not look at you any longer. Jungkook was confused. He looked at the beautiful woman laying next to him. Jungkook was adoring the beautiful curves of her hips and soft thighs he was holding just a few minutes ago. He reached in to touch you, while wondering what went  wrong – how you were willing to come to him at first and walked into his cabin, then how you were playfully protesting but still thrusted against his length in the bed – and now you were crying in front of him with the blood on the sheet. What made you turn into a prostitute, little one?

Part 2

 a/n: I really hope you liked this one, I wrote it today and decided to surprise you all! :)

[bluefuckboy]

vampire!Dabi x m!reader

A/N: not enough Dabi x m!reader out there so here’s a contribution with a twist. Reader works at a bloodmobile donation center and receives a late night visitor...

WARNINGS: blood (obviously), non con elements, body horror, very brief references to homophobic slang, implied virgin reader, implied death,

Word Count: 4,276

“Thanks again man!”

“Yeah no problem.”

Except it was a problem. Or rather more of an annoyance, even if you were on the end shift anyway. Protocol was two people for transport back to the hospital, but your coworker was very adamant that if he didn’t get to his girlfriend’s right at 9pm then they were over. You’d neglected to ask how he “forgot.”

You were more than capable of managing the bloodmobile by yourself. It was just a little lonely since the drive back to the hospital was close to an hour. Not to mention the time it took to double check donation storage before you could even head back.

You were midway through the A- donations when you heard a knock at the door. It had been at least twenty minutes since your coworker left. It was past 9pm now and everyone at the donation event had left around seven, so you were slightly wary to go to the door.

Upon peering through the window on the door you saw nothing initially. Just the parking lot illuminated dimly. There were shadows from the trees that made strange shapes on some of the parking spaces. It made you slightly anxious, so you turned to go back to the donations when another rap sounded on the door.

This time there was a man in front of the door. He was tall and lanky, his messy black hair was tousled by the slight breeze. A cigarette was perched between long, pale fingers with black nails and what looked like tattoos that came up to the wrist. His other hand was tucked into the pocket of a trench coat, black of course, which almost reached the heavy duty combat boots he was scuffing impatiently on the pavement.

He tapped on the glass of the door with a knuckle, but didn’t look up, opting to take another drag of the cigarette while casting a bored look in the direction of a streetlight.

Your hand hovered over the door handle. You knew opening the door was probably a terrible idea, but for some reason this guy had piqued your interest. You were curious to find out what the heck he was doing in front of a mobile blood donation center at this hour of the night looking like the long lost member of My Chemical Romance.

You slowly unlocked the door to the bus and opened it a crack. The man turned around and looked up at you. His face was pale, and eerie. There were multiple piercings studded across his cheeks, and up to his ears. The lower half of his jaw was heavily tattooed, the ink winding down to his neck and disappearing below the collar of his shirt.

You cleared your throat.

“Can I help you?”

“I dunno, can you?”

The question was mocking and he ended it with a toothless smile. His tone irked you and you informed him that you were done taking donations.

His brow lowered and he mused, “Donations? I thought this was a late night food truck. I even brought my crazy straw.”

He produced an impossibly twisted black straw from the trenchcoat, holding it up for you to see. You stared at it as you tried to come up with a response.

“Sir, this is a mobile blood donation center, not a food truck.”

The man tutted his tongue and peered past you slightly. You moved to block his view of the inside of the bus. He pursed his lips and crossed his arms, taking another long drag of the cigarette and blowing the smoke a little too close to your face for it to be a mistake.

When he spoke it was almost to himself, mumbling, “I don’t know why I even bother to make conversation.” He chuckled. “And what a waste of a clever joke.”

He laughed again and then sighed, letting the cigarette dangle loosely between his fingers. You were thoroughly confused now. Your confusion turned to disgust and slight horror as he brought the cigarette back to his lips. Instead of taking another puff, he drove the still lit butt into the center of his tongue, putting it out without even batting an eye.

You gaped at him, speechlessly watching as he tossed the butt aside. He was unfazed, despite the fact that he had surely just severely burned his tongue. He was merely stretching now, as though he were getting ready for a workout.

After coming back up from a deep toe touch he quipped, “Nothing like a nice palette cleanser, hmm?”

You blinked at him, and then suddenly he was making his way up the steps casually. You put out an arm.

“Excuse me, sir, I can’t let you in.”

The statement made him laugh.

“Letting me in. How 18th Century. You’re cute.”

He made to come into the bus. You tried to stop him, but suddenly found yourself unable to move. It was like the muscles in you body were cramping all at once.

The man easily slipped past you and there was a strange sense of foreboding building as you tried to move again. Pain shot through your legs and you grit your teeth. You were able to move your eyes and found yourself staring into the face of the man as he stood in front of you.

Up close you could see the dark circles under his eyes, heavy bags that accentuated his gaunt features. His eyes were unsettling, cerulean and dangerous. You couldn’t bring yourself to look away. As you stared at them they seemed to flicker between a darker color momentarily, but it could have been a trick of the terrible lighting within the bus.

You watched as the man shut the door behind him and strolled slowly through the bus. He had his hands clasped behind his back, casually peering at the equipment as though he were looking through a library.

Upon finding the open intake box you had been sifting through, his eyebrows went up and a smile crept across his face. He knelt down in front of it and picked up an A- donation packet. He tucked it under his arm and then shuffled through the other packets as though he were looking through a collection of vinyl records.

“Any AB-?”

The question was directed at you and you were suddenly able to move your tongue again, which had felt like it was stuck to the roof of your mouth.

You tried to keep my voice steady as you said, “Sir I need you to put that down and please leave.”

He looked over at you with an amused expression, then turned back to the donations.

“I’ll take that as a no then. At least you’ve got a couple O-‘s. Always a safe bet, if a little bland.”

He sighed and then did something which would have made your jaw drop if you could have. He stabbed the crazy straw into the bag and then took a long sip of the blood. He swallowed, smacking his lips.

“Decent enough I suppose.”

He took another sip and emptied the bag, tossing it aside before moving on to the one he had tucked under his arm. All you could do was stand motionless and watch as he picked out a few more bags and sat casually on one of the donation chairs.

He propped his boots up on the chair and leaned back, sipping form a bag of B+ plus. You could feel sweat dripping down your back. Your muscles were painfully tense and you could feel fatigue setting in, but you couldn’t relax.

You tried in vain again to move and the man’s unusual eyes flicked up to you. He wiped a bit of blood clinging to his lip and sucked his thumb into his mouth. It was overtly obscene and clearly done to annoy you as he knew what he was doing was not only illegal but downright disgusting.

You could feel your legs starting to shake and were worried they might go out and send you flat on your face. Instead, you found yourself suddenly released from whatever strange force had been holding you hostage.

It was so sudden you just fell to the ground in a heap. The man laughed.

“How graceful.”

Despite the feeling of utter exhaustion that was washing over you, you were somehow able to get up and spin around to face the man. You were a bit larger than him and you needed to get him restrained before making a call to the authorities and figuring out what inventory he had decided to drink.

You moved to grab a strap from the chair he was in, quickly buckling it over the wrist that was by his side. His eyebrows went up, but he didn’t make a move to try and fight as you put the straps at the bottom of the chair over his feet so he was bound by all but the hand that held the bag he was still sipping from.

He swallowed and said, “Do I need to give you may safeword?”

Before you could snap back at him for the sexual comment, he lifted the bound arm up. The restraint broke like a piece of dental floss, snapping in half. The restraints on his feet were broken just as easily and you backed away slightly as he swung his legs over the chair and stood up.

He inspected his wrist, even though there were clearly no marks on the tattooed skin. The bag he had was tossed aside and he looked at you.

“I don’t usually prefer to play with my food, but I suppose if you want to have a little fun we could. I prefer fresh anyway.”

Before you had time to react he was grabbing you by your lab coat, swinging you onto the chair as though you weighed nothing. He practically threw you onto it and you felt you head hit the wall of the bus behind it.

“Whoops,” the man said, cracking a smile.

Your own blood went cold as he parted his lips for this smile. His canines were abnormally long, pressing into the soft flesh of his bottom lip. As you looked into his eyes, you saw they had a reddish tint to them, almost staining the blue, glinting as he leaned closer to you.

Your mind went to the tales of blood sucking monsters you’d heard growing up. But those were just stories and fairytales. This had to be some psychopath or sexual deviant who got off on a kink that had to do with bodily fluids.

The man was inches from you face and you found yourself unable to move again. You were stuck sitting in the chair sideways, your legs dangling over the edge. Your heart was racing, making blood pound in your ears.

You felt a chill run down your spine as the man leaned forward. His breath against your skin as he spoke was almost unnaturally hot.

“Sounds like a marching band, doesn’t it?”

Somehow you knew he was referring to the pounding of your blood in your ears. You felt something wet on your neck and the marching band was a cacophony of sound. His tongue was right at your pulse point.

His voice was almost a whisper.

“I’m sure you say this daily, so hopefully you won’t be too surprised. This may sting a little.”

Your eyes went wide as he suddenly sunk his teeth into the column of your neck. You could feel the two points of his canines drive deep, puncturing your skin easily. Your body spasmed as he pulled the fangs out. Blood oozed from the wound, but it was lapped up before it could drip over your collarbone.

The man went back to the gouges and this time you felt yourself jerk violently as he began sucking. A hand was suddenly on your upper thigh, then another on the opposite side of your neck, holding you there. It felt like receiving the world’s most painful hickey.

You shuddered and the hand on your thigh tightened. The man had a strong grip, and was putting just enough pressure to give a warning. Not that you could move if you wanted to. You weren’t in control of my body anymore.

You were hyper aware of each area of your body he was touching. The skin of his hand against your neck was cold, but his mouth on the other side was warm and damp. You could feel his tongue press into the holes. The sensation was like nothing you’d ever felt before.

For some reason it wasn’t pain you were feeling. There was a strange warmth spreading over the back of your neck and down your shoulders. The man pulled away from your neck for a moment. You could hear him swallow as you felt saliva and blood begin to drip onto your shirt, staining the collar of your lab coat.

He put his mouth on you again, but this time there was no sucking. Just the feeling of his tongue laving over the broken skin. It made your stomach drop and your mind began to feel foggy.

You didn’t know how much blood you’d lost. You could still hear the pounding heartbeat in your ears, but your body felt off. You must have involuntarily jerked again because the hand on your thigh slid upward, almost pressing into the dip of your pelvis.

The man must have been trying to keep you from jerking. But the feel of his thumb at the jut of your hip combined with the pressure of his long fingers around your side was making you feel strange in a different way now.

His lips against your skin was now sending heat to other areas of your body. You felt panic begin to rise in your chest. All the sensations were too much for you to handle and the lack of control over your body led to a response you hadn’t anticipated.

The man pulled back and you were mortified as he glanced down at the obvious bulge in your jeans. He raised an eyebrow.

“I suppose that explains the poor flow.”

He sighed and you could feel cold air rush into the space between him and you as he backed away. There was red at the edges of his mouth. He did a circular swipe with his tongue to lick it away and you felt your pants get even tighter.

Your cheeks were burning and you wanted to cover yourself, but you were still unable to move. The man had put a finger on the side of his face, tapping it in thought. You inhaled sharply as he suddenly swiped his thumb over the twin punctures on your neck, gathering a thick glob of blood.

He put the digit in his mouth and sucked on it in thought briefly before saying, “You humans never change.”

You were able to move your eyebrows down, relaying a confused expression to which he replied, “You’re all driven by libido. Just the slightest stimulation arouses you. It’s rather annoying actually.”

He tutted his tongue and your eyes widened as his hands were suddenly at your belt, unbuckling it deftly. He pulled you toward him, yanking off your pants. You felt your breath quicken even more. You could see your cock tenting your boxers. You wanted to disappear.

However the man had other plans. You nearly jerked off the table as he put the tip of his pointer finger on the head of your cock. He rubbed at the fabric of your boxers. You could feel they were damp.

The finger was moved to the waistband of your boxers. The man tugged them off, not being gentle as he dragged them over your flushed cock. You inhaled sharply and desperately wished you could do something, anything, to stop him as he took you in his palm.

He gripped you, musing, “I’ll never understand the hype over drinking from you virgins.”

The blush on your cheeks spread down your neck and chest and the man laughed.

“I suppose there is the thrill of seeing you come undone at the slightest touch.”

He moved his hand up slowly and thumbed over the head of your cock, which was practically dripping now. You shuddered and let out a pathetic noise as he dug the nail of his thumb into your slit.

“You’re particularity responsive,” the man said, rubbing in a slight circular motion, “Do you perhaps, hmm, what do they call it these days? Bat for the other team?”

The man gave you a ornery smile. You couldn’t say anything. Your tongue was stuck pressed up against your bottom teeth. Even if you could speak it was a subject you didn’t want to talk about, especially with some random psychopath.

However said psychopath was now bending down, pushing your legs further apart, saying, “If you swing that way then perhaps you haven’t found yourself a catcher.” His hooded eyes glanced up at you briefly before he continued in a lower voice, “Or maybe it’s a pitcher you’re looking for, hmm?”

Your whole body spasmed violently as he brushed the pad of his thumb over your asshole. His slang was outdated and embarrassing, but it was obvious he was experienced. The thought excited you more for some reason.

The man grinned and suddenly you were able to move. You gasped loudly as your mouth dropped open. The spit that you hadn’t bee able to swallow dribbled down your chin and you grabbed the edge of the chair to keep myself from tipping over.

You glanced down at the man and was met with a sultry gaze, combined with a vulpine smile. You tried to bring a hand up to push him off, but you had no strength. It was taking nearly all of your energy to try and lean forward and close your legs to try and cover yourself.

He brought the hand not on your cock up to your torso, pushing your shirt up. His fingertips were like ice against your heated skin and you couldn’t resist him as he lightly pushed you so you were lying on your back, legs parted, completely exposed.

You gasped as you felt the man take your cock in his mouth. There was no warning, no tongue teasing beforehand, just the tightening of his throat around you as he took all of your cock in.

Your nails dug into the cheap leather of the donation chair as he pulled off, switching to sucking on the head of your cock while chilled fingers made their way down to cup your balls. You shuddered and then cried out as you felt a finger ghost over your entrance.

The man’s wet maw was on you again, saliva dripping down your shaft as he teased you. You whined slightly as he leaned back after sucking half of you for a brief moment. He was looking at you with lewd curiosity.

You were surprised as he leaned forward so your faces were inches apart. His eyes were definitely tinged red now and his features seemed sharper, the angles more prominent. You gaped at him and then cried out in pain as he suddenly bit you again.

It was a different spot, closer to the junction of your collarbone and neck. The bite was harder, but for some reason the pain was arousing now. He pulled back and you didn’t have time to react as you felt his mouth on yours.

His lips were cold, but everything else was hot. You could taste the copper tang of your own blood in your mouth as he snaked his tongue sinfully past your lips. His fangs tested your bottom lip for a moment before he started kissing you so forcefully it felt like he was trying to devour you.

When you finally parted you were gasping for air. Blood and spit were dribbling down your chin and you could see saliva dripping from the man’s fangs as he gave you a feral smile. Then his hand was cupping your chin, his thumb dragging your bottom lip down.

His voice was husky as he said, “It seems you’re enjoying yourself.” He yanked your face toward him. “Unfortunately I can’t finish eating until we can take care of this it seems.”

As he spoke he pumped your cock a few times, making you squirm under him. He smiled and then you were gagging as he stuck two fingers into your mouth.

“I’ll let you do the sucking for a while,” the man said.

His expression made you nervous so you obediently began sucking, despite the humiliation you felt each time you heard the squelch of spit. When he was satisfied with the amount of your spit he’d gathered on his fingers, he pulled them out abruptly.

He moved his hand below your waist and you jumped as a slicked finger nudged at your hole. The man’s mouth was back on the new bite and it felt like your body was going numb. You could feel him suck at your neck as he pressed a finger into you.

You’d never tried any anal play before, so the feeling of someone pushing their finger into your asshole was so foreign you instinctively jerked away. The finger slid out and the sensation made you shudder.

You shut your eyes and hoped that you might have lost enough blood to pass out. But you could feel every sensation as the man’s finger entered you again. He was relentless in his sucking and now you were beginning to feel dizzy.

Your mind was hazy and when you came back to yourself the man had worked two fingers into you. He curled them upward and you felt like you’d been struck by electricity. It was pleasurable and you could feel more precum drip from your cock as he moved his fingers inside of you.

The man’s other hand was suddenly on your cock, putting pressure in just the right area. He twisted his fingers as he pumped you slowly. It was too much and you cummed so hard you saw white.

Your ears were buzzing and the room was spinning. It felt like you were having an out of body experience, especially as you felt the man’s wet tongue tracing down your abdomen. You couldn’t lift your head to look, but you could feel as he swirled his tongue against your skin.

The wet sensation was gone and you heard him say, “I wonder what the police will come up with as an explanation? After all accidents do happen, but certainly they’ll have never seen a scene like this.”

You felt his nails sink into your thighs. They were abnormally sharp and you cried out. The man retracted his right hand and his face came into view, going in and out of focus as you tried to stay conscious. He caressed your cheek briefly and then the nails which were more like claws, were digging into your scalp.

The man forced your head back and kissed you again. This time the fangs that nipped at your bottom lip drew blood. It rushed into your mouth when he pulled away. There was red dripping down his chin and his fangs glinted as he licked them.

He placed an almost chaste kiss to your bloody lips. When he spoke his voice was almost a hiss, hot air just ghosting over your mouth.

“Such a shame really. A young man with his whole life ahead of him. Oh well. At least we were able to have some fun though, hmm?”

He pulled back enough for your eyes to focus on his face. His eyes were clearly red now, just like the blood that was smeared over his face. The sight was horrific and you felt sick.

Red tinged saliva dripped from his fangs as he opened his mouth to say, “My condolences.”

At those words you closed my eyes and braced yourself. Of course he was going to finish you off. There was no way he’d let you live. If he truly was a vampire like the legends of old, you knew far too much now. Plus you were nothing more than another meal.

You felt his nails rake down your thighs and then he bit into your inner leg. You could hear a scream echo in your foggy mind and you assumed it must have been your own. The man clenched his jaw with so much force, a terrible, wet crunch rang in the air.

He’d gone for your femoral artery. You only knew of it because you had studied it, browsed the pages and diagrams, reading how long it took to die after it had been severed. Was it a minute? Less?

You could feel your heartbeat becoming irregular. Blood, your blood, was seeping into the material of your jeans and your vision was beginning to go dark. What little feeling you still had in your body sent shooting pain through your leg and pelvis. The horrifying crunch must have been one of your bones.

Your vision blurred and for some reason your mind recalled the man’s question earlier regarding the blood types you’d gotten donations of for that day. AB- was what he’d asked for. It so happened that you were AB-, a fact you’re sure he found out as soon as he sunk his teeth into you. He’d gotten what he was looking for after all.

As the world faded away completely, you wondered if it was a cruel irony or almost poetic.

[thetriggeredhappy]

recently rediscovered your blog and read the fic from your dad spy au where scout starts out as the "guard" and then becomes scout from there and lemme tell you that shit put me on some s-tier brainrot. like a cranial decay type beat.

i had a concept in my head that instead of being hired as a guard, he could have been hired as a right hand man to the administrator like pauling, because i think hed be awesome in that position. like imagine having a personal merc who can get in fast and out even faster. but maybe he would stay in the base like the rest of them, sort of like a secret on call intel gatherer, who also maybe sometimes has to dig a couple graves. and also like, nobody on the team expects anything from him at first because its this 20 year old newbie kid. hes dressed in his formal clothes and he talks like somebody from relatively around boston but not quite. i can just imagine one day he comes back during a team dinner with his shirt half untucked and stained with blood, hair disheveled as he asks soldier if he can borrow his shovel, or him debriefing them for a mission when miss pauling is busy. same vibe as the fic i mentioned before but scout gets to have a job as cool as miss paulings. honestly id write it myself if i didnt have the attention span of a fly

anyways your scout content gives me life thank you

scout teamfortress but 20% more competent standing next to miss pauling teamfortress while she's doing her job and doing like silly quips and otherwise contributing nothing like it's a buddy cop film is literally my fucking ideal

(warnings for some canon-typical violence)

-

“Oh, Pauling, it’s good to see you again,” greeted the chairman, smiling in an imitation of a grandfather and clasping her hands perhaps too-kindly considering she barely knew him. “Young as ever, and still so stylish, I see. And who’s the new fellow?”

“He’s just here to help with transport, Mr. Montgomery, nothing unusual,” Miss Pauling replied, returning his smile and adjusting her glasses. “Heavy cases, you know how it is.”

“Of course, I remember you almost toppling clean over last time we made a trade!” Montgomery agreed, frowning at the memory. “You’ll pull a muscle that way, better to be careful. It’s a pleasure to meet you, young man. And your name?”

“Mr. Normandy, sir,” the new kid replied easily enough despite his slight East Coast accent, giving the man a firm handshake, expression neutral and stony, the picture of professionalism. Internally, Pauling breathed a sigh of relief.

“Firm grip there, young man,” Montgomery praised, nodding approvingly. “Tennis player, perhaps? Or golf?”

“Baseball, sir,” he replied, still evenly. “First baseman.”

“Ah! Of course! Were you any good?” Montgomery joked.

“At everything but playing in front of the crowds, otherwise I’d be in the major leagues,” he replied, tilting his head just slightly to imply that he was joking, his sunglasses glinting at the movement, and Montgomery barked a laugh.

“I like this one, Miss Pauling!” Montgomery said, and Pauling just barely caught herself from physically relaxing at it.

“We do too, Mr. Montgomery,” she agreed. “I was under the impression that you’re very busy today, so we won’t keep you for too long, we just wanted to sort out the final details surrounding the manufacturing rights for the—“

“—Pacific Northwest branch, up into British Columbia and Alberta, of course,” Montgomery agreed, nodding faintly. “Of course, of course.” He turned to regard his own man in a dark suit, the one standing to the right, who appeared to be unsuccessfully trying to stare down Normandy, who was completely ignoring him. “My briefcase, please.”

The man handed over the briefcase, and Montgomery put it on his desk, opening it and pulling out a sheaf of papers. “All our requests are submitted and approved, at this point we just had a few dustbins to take care of regarding initial percentages and making sure everything is wired to the correct accounts, which names are undisclosed, things like that,” Pauling explained as he glanced through the papers.

“Right, right, everything looks good here,” the man murmured, nodding to himself, sending his long-white hair just ever-so-slightly out of place. “I’m assuming these more sensitive documents should be sent some way besides through the mail?”

“If you finish them today I can take them with me, otherwise either me or Mr. Normandy can return to pick them up at your convenience,” she replied, to which Normandy gave a singular nod.

“Oh, it would only take me a short while,” Montgomery said, waving a hand. “We have a lovely lounge just down the hall from here if you’d prefer to wait there, it should only take me ten, fifteen minutes at most. In the meantime, I do believe there’s also the manner of payment for services rendered.”

Miss Pauling tilted her head just slightly to one side, confused.

“I arranged with Helen already,” Montgomery explained, not looking up from where he was initialing a few things. “The payment, rather than being wired, she asked to be made in material investment. A venture of mine from years ago that she’s willing to sit on. Rather than gold or bonds, she agreed to take some old currency of mine that my family collected, from early 18th century New Zealand and Australia. Monetarily it’s worth around the same, and I’m quite a bit attached to it to be entirely frank, but it was at her request to buy the whole collection from me, and after years of the work we’ve been doing together, well, I’d never trust it with anyone else.”

He gestured to the other man, the one on his left, who stepped forward to hand him a manila envelope, which he passed to Pauling.

“Inside is both keys, the door alarm codes, and all other security information for the building where the collection is being stored. They’ll ask for a few codes and confirmation of identity, only because several other art collections and artifacts are being stored there by other affluent individuals such as myself.”

“Thank you, Mr. Montgomery,” Pauling said, taking the envelope gratefully.

“Think nothing of it, my dear. Helen talked me into it all her own,” he said easily enough. “Now, gentlemen, if you would let Miss Pauling and Mr. Normandy into our lounge? I should have these wrapped up before any of us can even think about lunch, eh?”

One of the suits showed the two of them through the doors and down the hallway, through two doors bracketed by similar suits who simply nodded politely at Pauling and ticked their chins at Normandy as they passed them.

Normandy posted up beside the door for all of three seconds before they shut and Pauling pulled her glasses up, rubbing at the bridge of her nose and making a vaguely distressed noise. He then promptly relaxed, instead leaning his hip against an armchair probably worth the same amount as a small car. “So, uh, we’re glad that he’s giving us a bunch of commemorative coins from when dinosaurs still walked the earth?” he asked just below normal speaking volume, eyebrows raised.

“Yes. Very glad. Because unlike about six people total on the planet, he hasn’t figured out yet how valuable those are.”

“What, is a picture of a kangaroo on some copper really gonna make up for a couple hundred thousand American dollars?” Normandy asked, sounding doubtful.

“Not copper. Something else,” she replied. “I can’t tell you much more about it other than that, but these coins are made of something priceless to us. And to the Administrator.”

“…Love? Memories? The magic of family?” he joked, cracking a smile, and she rolled her eyes, moving to open the envelope and start reading the papers inside. “Hey, uh, not to question whether my job should exist, but what the hell am I doing here, exactly? Besides carrying a briefcase. Like, chivalry isn’t dead but I really don’t think you need me carrying your bags and holding the door for you.”

“You’re helping with security, basically,” she replied, adjusting her glasses to squint at tiny handwriting about the collection. “Mr. Montgomery is trustworthy, but he mostly hires out to… well, people like us. His security detail is mostly people we’d rather have screened, freelancers, stuff like that. A lot of people we contract out to are like that. Most of them have heard about me and know better than to try and pull something, since I can hold my own pretty well, but if they haven’t, seeing a second person might persuade them to think it over again.”

“Oh, so I’m like, uh, when it says ‘tow zone’ next to the no parking signs even though nobody checks, or when they’ve got a camera in the corner of the store that isn’t even plugged into anything,” he said, and the looked up at him, confused. “Like, uh, what’s the word… I’m a casual deterrent.”

“Sure,” she said, because it sounded like he knew what he was talking about, shuffling the papers back away and closing the envelope again, making a note to ask the Administrator if she should change their current containment procedures to be closer to Mr. Montgomery’s. “Just… if there’s a fight, you deal with it, otherwise you just stand there and look like you’re paying attention.”

“That’s what the sunglasses are for,” he agreed. “I was blinking morse code at the guy across from me literally the whole time.”

“You know morse code?” Pauling asked, surprised.

“Just the alphabet, ‘S.O.S.’, and ‘ass’.”

She rolled her eyes again, and that’s when the door opened.

She expected Mr. Montgomery, not one of the men in suits. “Excuse me, both of you, if you don’t mind,”the man said, accent having the slightest English tilt to it, a Londoner if Pauling had to guess. “You’re Miss Pauling, the Mann Co. affiliate, yes?”

“That’s me,” she agreed, hesitant, and glanced at Normandy.

“I’m afraid there’s been a mistake. Mr. Montgomery have you the wrong envelope on accident,” the man said apologetically, extending a hand forward. “We apologize for this unfortunate mix-up, it’s really quite embarrassing, but those documents are sensitive and we’ll be needing to see them back now.”

Pauling looked at him, and within a moment, shifted her expression. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” she agreed, nodding. “No, right, of course. These aren’t the papers for the currency collection?”

“I’m afraid not,” the Brit agreed, head tilting just slightly, hand still extended, moving a fraction further forward.

“Well, thank goodness we figured out now and not with us halfway back,” she joked, and moved to hold the folder closer to her body. “I’ll take this right back to Mr. Montgomery, then.”

“He’s sent me to correct the error,” the man explained simply.

“Right,” she said, and saw in her periphery that Normandy had already started sneaking a hand in towards his primary, clearly having pieced together something she was only suspecting. “We can bring this to his office, then, right down the hall.”

“You misunderstand,” the man said, taking a step forward again. “I’ll be taking it to his office myself.”

“That’s funny,” Pauling said. “I didn’t realize you had clearance to be in there. Or to be carrying a semi-automatic instead of a standard handgun.”

The Brit reached for the semi-automatic, and before he could even get it out properly, Normandy hit one clean shot to the side of his head and another to his thigh, sending him crumpling to the ground.

Pauling had only as far as pulling her own handgun free, thumb on the safety, and breathed a sigh of relief, glancing over at Normandy, shifting to more comfortably hold her gun. “Quick reflexes,” she noted.

“Just noticed a lot sooner, maybe,” he shrugged, stepping forward to glance over the body, tucking his gun back away.

“What was your hint?”

“He’s here to give us the right folder, yeah? Well, why were his hands empty, then?”

She was just starting to nod and realize that as well when a second man shouldered through the door, holding a gun at the ready. Normandy scrambled to draw his own, but Pauling fired a shot into his knee, shoulder, and neck to send him dropping before he was even close. “There’s quick on the draw, and then there’s prepared,” she said pointedly. “Gotta think of if there’s more than one, new guy.”

He nodded, and drew his gun again, bending to hit the guy on the ground at the temple hard enough to knock him out if he wasn’t unconscious already. He then glanced up at the sound of a shout from the other side of the door, two men shouldering through, guns drawn but lowered. It was only the firm eye contact they made with both her and Normandy that made her pause the millisecond it took to realize these ones weren’t trying to kill them.

“Pauling, what on earth is going on here?!” Montgomery demanded, entering the room and staring with wide eyes at the bodies on the ground. “What could’ve possessed you to—“

“He was trying to run off with these documents,” she explained quickly, gesturing with the envelope. “He knew whatever was in here was valuable.”

“He drew his gun, sir,” Normandy added, tipping his head down towards the body, and Pauling glanced down as well and found herself a little surprised. He’d rearranged the man just slightly, apparently, adjusting the arm to be holding the gun a bit further outward. “Other one was aiming to kill.”

“My, my,” Montgomery tsk’d, shaking his head as he surveyed the scene. “What a mess. My apologies, Miss Pauling, Mr. Normandy.”

“It’s alright, but you need to start doing more thorough checks on your staff, Mr. Montgomery,” Pauling stressed.

“He’s only been here two weeks, sir, he was one of the men we hired in a hurry after the incident last month,” one of the bodyguards said, and Montgomery shook his head.

“Thank goodness nobody was hurt,” he sighed. “Mutiny, and besides that, they’re bleeding on my carpet. Here are those papers, Miss Pauling—what a day, eh?”

“It’s really alright, we handled it,” Pauling assured him, giving her bravest smile, a little exasperated now.

“Right, right, you and the first baseman,” he agreed, and Normandy fought back an actual smile.

“If you’d like, we can take care of those for you,” Pauling said, gesturing at the bodies. “To pay you back for the carpet and the scare.”

“Sounds fair to me,” Montgomery agreed, clearly relieved.

-

“My dad’s gonna be pissed, by the way,” Normandy was so helpful as to say on the way back up the path to the base. “And you’re fielding that.”

“About the suit, or the fight?” she asked, glancing at his clothes where he was somewhat covered in a fine dusting of mud and grime from the gravedigging, shovel still in his free hand.

“Both. Mostly the fight. Your fault for saying it’d be an easy one to start with,” he said.

“If it was going to be that much of a problem, you wouldn’t have gotten this job. I’d just have made you go do dishes all day or something,” Pauling replied.

“Point taken,” he said, walking ahead to get the door, holding it open for her. “Wait, we’re allowed to mention what we do, right? Just not names?”

“Or locations, even with travel distance. Round up to the hour if it comes up,” she replied.

“Sure, sure,” he agreed, trailing a step behind her as she led the way through the base.

In the common area, there was a bit of a ruckus happening. Soldier, Heavy, and Demo appeared to be having some kind of arm wrestling competition on a rapidly-toppling table, the Engineer was on a stepstool trying to fix the ceiling fan, and Sniper appeared to be half-watching the beginnings of an argument between Pyro and the Spy regarding use of the oven as Medic patched up a burn on his arm.

“Hullo,” Sniper greeted the two of them, sounding a little bored, Medic giving them a brief, polite nod. Normandy’s eyebrows were raised pretty far as he surveyed the room.

“Hi, Sniper,” she greeted in return, then cleared her throat, raised her voice. “Team meeting in five minutes! New mission for next week!”

Groans from the room at large, the eight mercenaries starting to finish up what they were doing and filing out. Spy moved over, glancing over Normandy and starting to talk to him in rapid-fire French, picking smaller bits of gravel off of his suit as they walked.

“Alright,” she addressed the room, Normandy peeling off from getting mother hen’d by Spy to stand next to the blackboard with her. “Monday, you’re all going on a transport mission. Getting the truck from point A to point B with everything in the boxes intact. Already we’ve had to put up with some people trying to get ahold of these things, so bring your guns.”

“Oh, our guns, you said? Lads, this is a serious one, keep your heads on a feckin' swivel, she’s sayin’ we might even need guns, can you believe it?” Demo faux-gasped, and chuckled when Spy bopped him on the arm, rolling his eyes at the Scot's theatrics.

“Yeah, yeah,” she waved off, flipping through the papers a bit. “So Engie, I’ll need the keys to the truck, me and Normandy are going to be loading those tomorrow, all of you need to be at this drop point bright and early.”

“How early?” Heavy rumbled.

“Six. Hour and a half of drive from here.”

Some complaints from the room that she sighed at.

“Hey, hey, calm the hell down,” Normandy cut in, and she glanced over at him where he had his arms crossed and a stern look on his face. “You chuckleheads get to have all eight of you to unload the damn thing, me and Miss P gotta do all the rest of this on our own and probably kill twenty guys on the way there and back. She had to be up at 6 AM, workin’ since 7 AM, lunch break at noon and nothin’ else, and we just got back now at, what, fuckin’, 10, 11 PM? Any of you work her shift and then see if you even got the energy to complain about wakin’ up early, how about that?”

The room went utterly devoid of complaint or backsass. “Thank you, Normandy,” she said politely, and he just nodded once, glancing off to the side. “Anyways, anything new on this end? Spy, how are you adjusting?”

“Very well,” he said simply. “I have nothing pressing to say. Once I’ve been updated from the stock weaponry provided here to my requested preferred weaponry, I believe I should do just fine.”

“I see you already have Herr Normandy digging graves,” Medic chimed in. “Straight into the hard labor, ja?”

“Eh, hey, y’know, it’s why they keep us young people around,” he shrugged, grinning, and there was a brief uproar to drown out Medic’s entirely offended scoffing and Spy’s snort-laughing.

“Get ‘im, lad!” Demo cheered, and Normandy indeed looked fairly proud of himself.

“Monday, transport mission,” Pauling noted over the noise, writing it up on the chalkboard to hide her own smile from the room. “Normandy, you and me are doing the boxes tomorrow. Everyone on the same page? Good. Dismissed. Oh, and Pyro—stop taking the fire alarms down when they beep. They’re beeping because you light things on fire in the base. Do that outside.”

“Oh, hey, uh, helmet guy, All-American Beef,” Normandy called, and Soldier straightened up. “Here’s your shovel back. Gettin’ my own tomorrow.”


Soldier walked directly over to him, clasping a hand on his shoulder. “That’s a high honor, Cadet,” he said, tone grave. “Do not take this responsibility lightly.”

“I, uh, I won’t?” he said hesitantly, and blinked a few times as the shovel was carefully taken from him before it was promptly marched from the room in double-time. Only then did Normandy look over at her. “So he’s always like that?”

“You’ll get used to it,” she assured, dusting chalk from her hands. “You should get to sleep soon, we have to be up early.”

“Sure thing, Miss P.”

[fridayfirefly]

A Guardian in Gotham

Read A Guardian in Gotham on AO3

Masterlist

Written for Maribat March Day 19 - Guardian

Note: In this AU Master Fu gave out the Ladybug Miraculous to Marinette and the Black Cat Miraculous to Adrien before consulting the Kwami. Marinette turned out to be a true holder, but for the Black Cat Miraculous, not the Ladybug Miraculous. However, she and Adrien made it work and were able to defeat Hawkmoth anyway. After Hawkmoth's defeat she becomes Lady Noire full-time.

----------

Being the Guardian of the Miraculous was hard work. There were no family vacations, no sleeping in or going to bed early, no breaks. Marinette could not relax until Hawkmoth was defeated. Which explained why it was such a jarring change once the Miraculous Team defeated Hawkmoth.

Gabriel Agreste was behind bars. The citizens of Paris were free from the threat of akumatization. Tikki, Plagg, and the rest of the Kwamis went dormant in order to restore the damage done to Duusu's Miraculous. Marinette didn't exactly know what to do with herself. Suddenly it hit her that she was no longer the middle schooler who accepted the burden of Guardianship. She was in her final year of high school, nearly an adult. All around her, her friends were making future plans. Adrien was taking a gap year to help Emilie recover from her coma. Alya was accepted to a prestigious journalism program. Nino was DJing at one of the best clubs in Paris. Luka was releasing his EP. Kagami was training for the Olympics. Chloé took up an internship with her mother.

Marinette couldn't move on, the way all of her friends were able to. Marinette couldn't be a normal girl anymore. She couldn't go to university, start a family, live a normal life. She needed the rush of adrenaline that came from two little words - Spots on! or more recently, Claws out!

It was around this time that the Temple of Guardian got in touch with Marinette, offering her an opportunity to continue her work as a Guardian of the Miraculous. They send Marinette a box of old journals, dating back to the 18th century. The journals detailed the discovery of twin "wells of evil" located in the American cities of Gotham and Metropolis, then named Mortham City. The Masters of the Miraculous who made this discovery studied the evil and expressed the desire to find a way to remove it, but didn't have the chance to complete the task before the Temple of Guardians fell. When the Temple reappeared they believed that the Masters had managed to destroy the evil in Mortham, due to the reports of the city's recovery and renaming to Metropolis soon after, but were unable to destroy the evil in Gotham. The city festered, growing more and more troubled while Metropolis flourished. Marinette's task was to do her best to study and remove the evil in Gotham.

Marinette applied to Gotham University, feeling relieved that she might finally find her purpose.

----------

Marinette's dorm room at Gotham University was rather lackluster; it was the typical tiny, cramped American university dorm, complete with a stained carpet and a bathroom shared between six girls. Her roommate was a computer science major named Barbara Gordon. Barbara was older than Marinette, a senior while Marinette was only a freshman. It was a fluke accident that the freshman dorms had filled up before she was admitted. Secretly Marinette wished that she had been able to room with another freshman. Barbara was rarely in the dorm room, too busy with her coursework and her real friends to make small talk with her nervous roommate.

Marinette barely spent any time in her dorm room, either. She spent most of her time in class or at the library studying. Marinette had the ambitious plan of double majoring in both fashion and business, in order to start her own fashion company someday. Her classes overwhelmed her, and Marinette began to regret overloading her first-semester schedule. It gave her barely any time to work on her Guardian work, let alone join an extracurricular.

Marinette wanted to decorate the dorm and make it more of a home, but because of a plane delay, she ended up arriving at the university the day before classes started, giving her no time at all to go to the store and buy anything. Another unfortunate casualty of Marinette's late arrival was that she still hadn't figured out how Gotham's bus schedule worked, so she walked everywhere, even in the pouring rain.

Overall, Marinette's first week of classes was miserable. That was why Marinette was crying in her dorm room, alone, at six in the evening on a Friday night. It all started when Marinette saw a picture of her old class on social media. Alya and Nino were making faces at the camera; Marinette and Adrien were both grinning, Marinette's blue scarf wrapped around his neck; Ivan and Mylène were holding hands, staring into each other's eyes; Rose was posing, kissing Juleka's cheek; Alix was perched on Kim's shoulders; Nathaniel had his arm wrapped around Marc's shoulders; Max was holding up Markov so he could wave to the camera, Sabrina and Chloé were smiling, holding hands.

The photo had been taken years ago, on their first day of lycée. Marinette remembered it well. They had all been nervous about starting at a new school. There was no guarantee that they would all be in the same class. Max had calculated the odds for even half of their class staying together and it wasn't good. But that morning, when Marinette walked into her homeroom and saw all of her friends sitting there, she knew that it would be okay. Chloé revealed that she had gotten her father to provide a generous donation to the school to keep them all in the same class for the rest of their education. Marinette had been so happy to get to stay with her friends. Now she was on a different continent from them.

The tears started to fall, slowly at first, then more and more until Marinette was sobbing, face pressed into a pillow. How could she have made such a stupid decision? All of her friends were in France and she left them, all because she couldn't move on.

Two knocks on the door halted Marinette's sobs. "Babs? Are you in here?"

Marinette got up and opened the door, revealing a young man. He looked to be her age, tall, with black hair and blue eyes. "Barbara isn't here right now," she told the man.

The man blinked, looking at Marinette like she wasn't what he expected at all. "I guess I should have called her before I showed up. I'm Tim, by the way. I was just here to drop this off." Tim held up a container filled with chocolate chip cookies.

"I'm Marinette. If you want, you can drop the cookies off on her desk. I'll tell Barbara that they're from you, once she comes back to the dorm." Marinette wiped her eyes with her shirt sleeve, trying to get rid of the evidence of her crying.

"Are you okay?" asked Tim.

"Oh, I'm fine. Just a little homesick. Nothing to worry about."

"You should come with me to get dinner," offered Tim. "I was just about to stop in at the dining hall."

Marinette shook her head. "I wouldn't want to impose."

"It wouldn't be an imposition at all. I hate eating alone."

Marinette gave him a wary look. "I don't know you. Why would you invite me to eat with you?"

Tim shrugged. "You look like you could use some company, to take your mind off of your homesickness. Unless you want to spend the rest of your night crying in your dorm."

Marinette bit her lip as she thought it over. It would be nice to get out of the dorm and get something to eat. On the other hand, Tim was a complete stranger whose intentions Marinette still didn't trust. Then Marinette remembered the photo of her friends and made up her mind. If she couldn't have her old friends here in Gotham she would have to make new ones. "Alright. Just give me a few minutes to get ready."

Marinette threw on a pair of jeans, a Gotham University hoodie, and her sturdiest pair of sneakers.

"So what's on the menu tonight?" asked Marinette as they walked out of the dorm building to Tim's car.

"Uncertain. I can't remember the last time the dining hall actually updating its online menu. I was planning on crossing my fingers and hoping that they would be serving something edible tonight."

Marinette wrinkled her nose. "Is the food usually edible?"

"It's hit or miss. If you want, we could go to a diner instead?"

Marinette nodded. "I don't want to spend my weekend with food poisoning."

"Good choice." Tim turned the car around and started driving into the center of Gotham.

"Are you a senior like Barbara?" asked Marinette.

Tim shook his head. "I'm a sophomore. How about you?"

"Freshman. This is actually my first Friday in Gotham."

"Where are you from?" asked Tim.

"Paris, 21st arrondissement."

"That must be a pretty big change. What made you choose Gotham?"

Marinette shrugged, not wanting to give away her real reason. "I figured all the supervillains and Rogues might remind me of home."

Tim looked confused for a second before a realization passed over him. "I forgot about Hawkmoth. It was a big deal here in Gotham when he first emerged because the Mayor of Paris refused to allow the Justice League to intervene. All because he was worried about 'damaging the historic buildings of Paris'."

Marinette let out a bitter laugh. "That wasn't the real reason, you know. I was friends with Andre Bourgeois's daughter, Chloé. She says that he didn't want the Justice League to get involved in the fight against Hawkmoth because he couldn't merchandise any of the Justice League members. Ladybug, Chat Noir, and the rest of the Miraculous Team, on the other hand, never copyrighted their images. Paris used the Miraculous Team to bring in billions in tourism and Bourgeois never paid them a cent."

Tim looked surprised. "You sound like you know a lot about the Miraculous Team."

"I got to know them all pretty well. My classmates were known throughout Paris as the 'Children of Hawkmoth' - as if it was our fault that Hawkmoth targeted my school at a rate astronomically higher than the rest of the city. Of course, when it turned out that Gabriel Agreste's son was one of my classmates the nickname got a bit more personal."

Tim let out a break. "I suppose moving to Gotham makes sense when you've spent that much time in proximity to superheroes and supervillains."

"Gotham is an improvement to Paris under Hawkmoth. At least none one your Rogues can mind control." Marinette shuddered at the memory of her friends and loved ones turning against her due to Hawkmoth's influence.

Tim pulled into the diner parking lot. The pair got a booth in the back and put in their orders. Tim and Marinette spent the night trading stories of the most interesting Parisian akumas and Gotham Rogues.

Tim was enraptured. He told Marinette that for years it had been difficult for outsiders to get any reliable information about the Miraculous Team, outside of what Andre Bourgeois used for his tourism campaign. So Marinette did her best to share all the little details that every Parisian knew like the back of their hand: That Valentines Day was the worst holiday because all of the akumas were love-based. That they were trained in school to either lock their emotions down or let them all out, if they saw an akuma, to try and diminish the akuma's power. That Ladybug and Chat Noir, once they realized that their fanbase was primarily children, made it a point to never swear during their battles.

By the end of the night, Tim and Marinette made plans to meet up the following day. Tim promised to take Marinette out into the city for the shopping trip that her delayed flight caused her to miss. Marinette went to bed that night hopeful for her future in Gotham, a feeling she never thought she would have again.

----------

Over the next few weeks, things got better at Gotham University. Marinette started spending more time out of her dorm room with Tim, and eventually, with her roommate Babs and Tim's brother (and Bab's boyfriend) Dick. Tim became Marinette's lifesaver after he taught Marinette how Gotham's bus system worked. Marinette finally got around to decorating her side of the room. Her new style and color scheme (navy blue and sunflower yellow, Gotham University school colors) suited her much better than the pinks and whites of her high school days. Her productivity increased as she settled into the school, and Marinette found that she actually enjoyed her classes. It wasn't perfect, but Gotham University began to feel a bit more like home.

Most importantly, Marinette had begun to make progress on her work as a guardian. It had taken a whole weekend, but she eventually located the epicenter of Gotham's evil, a rundown tenement building in the heart of Crime Alley. The basement of the building housed storage units, one of which Marinette promptly rented. She set up her workshop there, bringing out the Miraculous Box so that she could consult the Kwami. Tikki and Plagg both woke up from their hibernation and Marinette got to work.

"I can sense the evil," spoke Tikki. "It's overpowering."

"It's like going from the Sahara Desert straight to the middle of the ocean," added Plagg.

"It does feel similar to drowning," Tikki agreed.

"Do either of you have any idea how to get rid of it?" asked Marinette.

Tikki shrugged. "I wish I could tell you how to defeat it, but it's unlike any enemy the Kwami of your Miracle Box have ever gone up against before. But look on the bright side, we know that it can be eliminating. I can only assume that the Kwami were involved when the evil was eliminated in Metropolis."

"The solution is easy. We cataclysm the evil," said Plagg.

"We don't know what would happen if we use cataclysm against something that isn't fully corporeal."

"Then we use Sass's second chance until we get it right."

Tikki brightened up. "Oh, that is a good idea - using second chance, not using cataclysm irresponsibly."

"See! I do have good ideas sometimes. We could also use Pollen's venom to freeze the evil in place and stop it from fighting back."

Marinette could listen to her two favorite Kwami argue forever. She had missed them terribly. But she had a job to do, so she interrupted their banter. "Do you think I should use Mullo to wield multiple Miraculous?"

Tikki shook her head. "You'll need at least one other person with you. If you get hurt, someone else will have to use second chance."

Marinette pondered that fact. "Luka's going on tour next month. He's stopping in Gotham for a weekend. Chloé is only an hour drive from Gotham, up in New York City, so she could be here any time. If we plan everything right, we could have the evil destroyed before the semester is over."

Once again, Tikki shot down Marinette's plan. "This is too strong for Luka's second chance or Chloé's venom. If you want to do this right you'll need to use true holders."

Marinette winced. Finding the true holder of a Miraculous was a near-impossible task. Of her entire Miraculous Team, only Marinette and Adrien were true holders. While the Kwami could sense a person's aptitude, they needed to be within fifty feet to get an accurate read. There was no way Marinette would be able to find the true holder of both Sass and Pollen. "Okay, new plan. What if I get Mullo to multiply myself and then have each copy of me take a different Miraculous?"

Marinette brainstormed with the two Kwami for hours, desperate to find a solution to the problem that had plagued Gotham for centuries. However, they still couldn't come up with a plan in which Marinette would be able to rid Gotham of the evil without enlisting the help of at least one other true holder. In the end, Marinette decided to take Tikki, Plagg, Sass, and Pollen back to the dorm with her, hoping that they might stumble upon another true holder.

"I wish we had a better plan," sighed Marinette.

"Keep your head up, Marinette. The only thing we can do now is stay positive and hope for the best," advised Tikki.

It wasn't a good plan, passively waiting for someone to solve her problem for her, but it was the only plan they had. Marinette had no other choice. If she tried to take on the evil alone, it would overpower her. It was disheartening. Marinette rode the bus back to her dorm. The streets of Gotham felt colder on the return trip.

Getting dinner with Tim was the only thing that could cheer Marinette up, so she pulled out her phone and sent him an invitation to meet up.

Marinette: Do you want to go get dinner? I heard the dining hall has vegetarian lasagne

Tim: Sure! Be there in twenty

Marinette put her phone away as she got off the bus and started walking towards the dining hall, dodging the sidewalk puddles that never seemed to dry. Even when it wasn't raining, Gotham was a dreary city.

Tim and Marinette chatted about their classes as they ate their food. By the end of dinner, Marinette felt a little better about her disappointing day. Tim could always lift her out of a bad mood. Marinette considered it his superpower.

"I'll see you tomorrow," said Marinette as she got out of Tim's car in front of her dorm hall. She expected to get to her room without incident, but as soon as she got into the relative privacy of the stairwell, all four of her Kwami were circling around her head, speaking in rapid succession, too quick for Marinette to keep up.

"I can't believe it!"

"You've got some luck, Pigtails!"

"This is great news!"

"I can't wait to meet him!"

Marinette blinked as she tried to make sense of the Kwamis' words. "What's going on?"

Pollen's eyes were bright. "Tim is my true holder!" the Kwami squeaked excitedly.

Marinette gasped. "Really?"

"He'll make a perfect Bee. He seems so smart and funny and considerate. I bet he'll feed me loads of honey and get fresh flowers for all of his rooms and be my best friend." Pollen sighed dreamily, pure joy in her voice.

"Pollen, have you ever had a true holder before?" asked Marinette.

"Of course. It's been a long time, though - at least a thousand years since my last true holder died. I missed it a lot. But now I have Tim!"

Marinette smiled, overjoyed that she finally had the means to complete her mission, that Pollen finally got to meet one of her true holders again, that Gotham might be freed from the evil that had loomed over it for centuries. Mostly, she was overjoyed that she met Tim all those weeks ago, that he took the time to get to know her, that he was there for her when no one else was.

----------

"So the Kwami are little gods?" Tim stared at Pollen with an almost scary intensity, as if he thought looking away might make the Kwami disappear.

Pollen flew up closer to Tim to explain. "The Kwami are linked to certain aspects of humanity: creation, destruction, intuition, protection, et cetera. We have a certain amount of control over these qualities. I am the Kwami of Subjection, of control and mastery. I can give you the power to incapacitate your enemies."

"Incapacitate them how?"

"Using the power of venom, you will be able to freeze your enemies in place."

Tim wrinkled his nose. "That sounds a little morality dubious. How do you know I wouldn't use it for evil. This is Gotham."

Pollen rolled her eyes. "You're my true holder, Tim Drake. I trust you with my entire being."

"What does that mean, for me to be your true holder?"

Pollen's cheerful expression turned sad. "Of all the Kwami, my powers are the most often exploited. The power of subjection, of complete and total control over your enemies, is corrupting. However, you, Tim, are my true holder. Your self-control is strong, I can sense it. You will not be corrupted by the power I give you. You will wield it fairly."

Tim glanced over at Marinette, and she gave him her most encouraging smile. "I need you, Tim. I've needed you for a while. First, as a friend, when I was at my lowest, and now as my partner. There's an evil that resides in this city, that I have been tasked with destroying. I can't get rid of it alone. I need you to help me."

Tim's eyes widened. "You mean there's a supernatural reason for Gotham's condition?"

Marinette nodded. "There's a well of evil underneath the city. Using the Miraculous, I can remove it. But it's too powerful for me to do it alone. I know this is a lot to ask, but-"

Tim interrupted Marinette before she could finish her sentence. "You know, Gotham is well known for its distaste for magic-users and meta-humans." Marinette opened her mouth to protest but was interrupted once more by Tim. "However, I trust that you want to do what's best for this city. I'll help you."

Marinette's face brightened. "Thank you! I have a plan but I still need to fine-tune the details. I'll get back to you as soon as possible. For now, you should take the Bee Comb with you. You'll need to form an emotional bond with Pollen before you can achieve peak performance."

"You seem to know a lot about the Miraculous and the Kwami."

"It's my job to be knowledgable. I'm a Guardian of the Miraculous."

----------

"So how does a girl like you become a Guardian of the Miraculous?" asked Tim as they ate their lunch in the storage unit after a long morning of pouring over plans.

"I was chosen by the previous master. It's a long-standing tradition that the Guardian can only be a true holder, because true holders notoriously incorruptible except in the most extreme situations. I was the only true holder that Master Fu knew of, other than himself, so despite my age and despite the fact that I wielded the Ladybug Miraculous rather than the Black Cat Miraculous, the Miraculous I was the true holder for, he passed the responsibility onto me."

"How old were you when you became the Guardian full-time?"

Marinette tensed her shoulders. "I was fourteen. Master Fu wanted to wait longer, but there was a situation. I lost my only mentor, with only a fraction of my training completed."

"That sounds rough," Tim's tone was sympathetic. He placed his hand on her shoulder to comfort her.

"It was difficult," Marinette admitted. "For the longest time, I was mad at Master Fu for waiting so long to start training me. It wasn't until I got older that I realized why he was so reluctant to start my training. He felt guilty for stealing my childhood away from me. The situation in Paris was bad and tough choices had to be made. I don't blame him, but there are a lot of things I wish had been done differently."

"I'm sorry that you had to go through that. I don't know what I would have done if I had lost my mentor-" Tim's thoughtful tone turned frantic. "Not that my experience with mentorship would compare to yours, because I wouldn't know anything about being a teenage superhero."

Tim's words were suspicious, but Marinette didn't have time to figure out what he was hiding. They had a job to do. "Well, it's time to get back to work. You need to practice using venom on non-corporeal objects. I want to see if you're able to freeze the wind."

"Sounds good, Bugs."

"Bugs?"

Tim nodded. "I figured you could use a nickname. Do you not like it?"

"No, it's fine." Marinette paused. "Actually, it's better than fine. I really appreciate it. Thank you, Tim."

"No problem, Buggsy," Tim teased.

"Okay, now you're pushing your luck," Marinette teased right back.

----------

Lady Noire and her partner Yellowjacket stood in the basement of a rundown tenement building in the heart of Crime Alley.

Lady Noire spoke the plan aloud, the rhythm of her words revealing that she had spoken them many times before in preparation for the event. "I'll start by drawing out the evil. As soon as it senses the power of destruction that I hold it will try and consume me. I need you to be ready to use your venom the moment it emerges. Once it is frozen, I will use cataclysm. Are you ready?"

Yellowjacket responded. "I'm ready."

Lady Noire closed her eyes and let out her breath in a drawn-out hiss. The shadows around her darkened and she let out a pained gasp as she fell to her knees.

Yellowjacket sprung into action. "Venom!" he shouted, thrusting his palms out to let his power fill the room. The whole room lit up with yellow light, bright enough to rid the room of all but the supernatural shadows.

The shadows, which had been growing exponentially, suddenly stopped dead in their tracks. Lady Noire got back up onto her feet, a vicious snarl on her face. "You have been terrorizing this city for centuries. No longer will I will allow this evil to haunt Gotham. Cataclysm!"

The shadows crumbled, leaving behind only natural darkness. The transformation disappeared from Lady Noire, leaving behind a girl, who gasped for breath. "Tim, we did it!"

"Pollen, buzz off," commanded Yellowjacket. He was so impatient to hug the girl that he had his arms wrapped around her before his transformation was finished. "It's over, Marinette."

The girl shook her head gently. "It's not completely over. The effects will surely linger - Metropolis still sees its fair share of villains - but it will be nothing like what it was before. I imagine the vigilantes that roam Gotham will have a much easier job, though."

The boy tensed up. "Speaking of the vigilantes that roam Gotham, I suppose there's something that I should probably tell you. I'm Red Robin."

The girl blinked once, a dumbstruck expression on her face then burst out into peals of laughter. "Just my silly luck that I ask a vigilante to be my superhero partner."

The boy grinned. "I am rather fond of your silly luck. It's what brought us together."

@maribatmarch-2k21

[none-but-y0u]

i'm lying (because i love you)

saw this post by @draculcid a few days ago and couldn’t get it out of my mind. then proceeded to write 1k words of a fic but then my motivation to write left because of school and then i suddenly got a burst of inspiration last night and i'm almost probably gonna polish it up for ao3 later but for now, here's a continuation of this beautiful headcanon tw: abuse, bruises, billy went back home to neil's after star court bcuz it works for the purpose of the story. ------------------------------------------------------------------------

So billy drives max over to steve's every few days because steve's place is the unofficial meet up for the party's D&D nights. and max comes in and she's angry and brash and everyone is like ??? and mike yells at lucas to calm his girlfriend down and max yells back that she's not lucas' girlfriend anymore and lucas is like wait whaaaa???

and its one of those nights when steve’s really tired and every loud noise is making him jumpy and anxious and he just can’t deal with them today. So ofc he yells at the boys before turning to max. Goes to yell at her too but she’s hunched over and folded in on herself and this is a different type of angry than usual. It’s laced with fear this time. And she looks up at him when he asks her what’s wrong, but nothing comes out, so el moves to sit next to her. Squeezes her hand before turning to steve with those round eyes of her and says “old billy”

And that news just...hits him for some reason. Settles uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach because it’s been a few months since Starcourt and Billy’s lost all that Californian thrill that he used to parade around town with.

And steve used to see billy often after it first happened because he was max’s designated driver, so his name appeared on the hospital guest sheet almost as often as Max’s, and ten times as more than Neil’s. And it’s not like he and billy really ever spoke. More of a head nod at the beginning and end of each visit while max’s rambles filled the space between them.

But once Billy healed enough to leave, he just went back to Neil’s because apparently the government doesn’t care too much about a traumatized teenager in a small town in the middle of bumfuck indiana leaking military secrets to the press.

And Steve hated the idea of Billy going back to Neil’s because, well, because he had just gotten used to seeing Billy without the bruises, and he realized he kinda liked seeing the blues of billy’s eyes sparkling during his rare moments of happiness. And he definitely wasn’t ready to see the old bruises start to make their appearance again.

And yet. For whatever reason, his worry never seemed to come true. The bruises never returned and everything was normal.

But months passed and steve didn’t have a reason to be around billy anymore which meant he went from “billy hargrove who steve saw almost every day” to “max’s step brother who drives her around” and steve hates to admit it but he misses the old billy. The one who would sometimes stare at steve from his bed when he thought steve wasn't watching. But Steve was always aware of billy. Has been from the moment he first set foot in town.

So when he hears this news, that “old Billy” has returned, he hates it because old billy was angry and scared all the time, and old billy didn’t look at him like he was important. Like he saw something else in him. Like he was worth it.

So steve nods at max. Tells the kids he’ll be back, and musters up what little courage he has left before trudging outside. Thinks about how if Robin were here, she’d tell him to turn around and go back inside. Let Billy be the angsty teen he tries so hard to come across as by himself. But his mind and nerves don’t seem to agree on logic too much these days, so he goes anyways.

And when he finally gets to the camaro, billy straightens up as if he wasn’t just hunched over, head in his hands, and breathing heavily. Looking exactly like his sister, not sister. And billy looks up at steve with a bored expression. Answers really dryly like he’d rather be anywhere than here cuz he’s cool for this.

But steve can see the bruises decorating the side of his face. Can see the unblemished skin on billy’s knuckles, and steve just knows. Old billy.

So steve, shaking and scared himself, finally works up the guts to ask billy to come inside. Says something like the kids just started a new D&D game and it won’t be done for a while, so billy might as well come inside so he doesn't freeze even though billy has always run hot.

And billy stays silent, narrows his eyes at steve, which makes steve’s heart beat in his chest because the knows they’ve moved past that night in november, but this is old billy and old billy is really good with his fists and steve doesn’t want to be on the receiving end of that again.

But eventually, billy agrees. Says something snarky like “i’ve always wanted to see how the other half lives.” Shuts the camaro off and opens the door, hitting steve on the leg because he’s still a boy who doesn’t know how to properly accept love and care with his words.

Inside, the party barely spares them a look, but he knows they’re doing it out of a respect thing because max is still frowning and closed off. And billy sees her, starts off ignoring her as he walks around touching things. But his eyes keep finding her and she keeps shivering because she still has some of that california blood in her. And eventually he walks over. Yells at her for leaving her jacket at home before yelling at steve for having a cold house. And steve says he can put the heat on or get her a blanket, but billy waves him off before shrugging off his prized leather jacket and throwing it at max.

And something warm flutters deep in steve’s stomach as he watches their interaction. Something he hasn’t felt since nancy and it builds and builds inside of him.

And then he sees the bruises on billy’s side. Sees the small splotches of red peeking through billy’s white shirt. Watches billy wince as he continues his exploration of steve’s house.

Eventually, steve tells billy to follow him. Has to say it with faux authority because billy loves to argue. When they finally do get to the bathroom, steve forces billy to sit, so he can clean his wounds because “you’re gonna get blood all over my mom’s new carpet, and she’s gonna kill me” which is a lie ofc because it’s not like she’s ever home, and even when she is, she’s only sober long enough to point out whatever flaw of steve she can pick at.

But they’re focusing on billy tonight, so steve brushes off the slight overshare, and billy seems to understand because he lets steve clean him up. Lets him run a warm rag over billy’s abs. Even let’s steve wash his hair (which is a whole other argument). And after, steve gives billy some of his clothes. They have different body sizes so the only thing that fits are a pair of sweats and one of steve’s old sweaters. But watching billy come out from the bathroom wearing his clothes sparks something in him, and he thinks that old sweater might just be his new favorite now.

After, billy starts looking around steve’s room. Says something like “so this where the magic happens” as he waggles his eyebrows. And steve goes to roll his eyes but there’s something about billy looking soft and cozy as he sinks into the cushion of steve’s bed. And that warm feeling is back, and it’s spreading this time. And he has to look away because he’s starting to think of scenarios of billy sleeping in his bed not just for one night but for forever, and...yeah he can’t think of that right now.

So he uses this moment of billy being slightly distracted to go to the kitchen. Makes up another lie about billy having to stay in his room for whatever reason and billy agrees because “your bed feels so good, harrington.” and steve can’t take it anymore and he runs out blushing.

He comes back a half hour later with slices of pizza but billy protests because he’s on a strict diet of not eating whatever the fuck they put in Sal’s pizza. But steve is prepared this time, so he counters saying they had extra and they have to eat it all or else the racoons will get it and everyone is full, so billy has to eat the rest of it.

And steve has already been really weird tonight. Doesn’t want to make it weirder by watching billy eat. So he grabs the closest thing to him which happens to be some romance book from the 1800s that he took out for a school assignment and never returned.

But he’s made his grave already, so he starts reading it. Or at least tries to, but soon the words start blurring together because he keeps getting distracted, and he resorts back to an old trick of reading everything out loud to help him stay on track. And then he remembers billy’s still in the room, and he’s looking at him with this curious look. And steve feels like he’s in grade school again, about to get scolded for being disruptive, so he stutters out an apology, but billy cuts him off, saying he can’t hear the book when steve’s sitting so far away.

and there’s plenty of room on the bed.

So somehow, steve finds himself, sitting on his bed, one side of his body pressed to billy’s, reading an 18th century romance book. and there’s heat being passed between them, but there’s heat filling inside steve too.

Time passes and they get lost in the story, but then suddenly, there’s a loud bang followed by screaming coming from the living room, and steve immediately jumps up, reaching for his bat, but then he hears dustin yell out a “sorry steve” followed by a chorus of “sorry, steve.”

And it takes a second, but his heart rate is slowing back down, but then he looks over at billy, and his eyes are wide and his fingers are digging into his side and he’s breathing really heavily like he’s on the verge of crying or something and steve gets it...old billy.

So steve waits with billy. Helps him calm down by pressing billy’s hand to his chest, to help ground him. Once he’s a little better, steve says he better tell them to quiet down, and billy protests saying “don’t be such a mom, harrington” but the jumpiness is still slightly there in his eyes so steve shrugs him off saying “they’ve already had the cops called on them once because the kids were being obnoxiously loud” and he doesn’t need it to happen again. He doesn’t tell billy the incident was an argument over a video game or that the cop was hopper who didn’t even drive over because it wasn’t serious and it didn’t involve el.

Later, when it’s getting late, nancy and jonathan show up to take the kids home. As Steve talks to them, he notices max and billy arguing in the corner of the room. Eventually he works it out. Billy can’t go home tonight, but max doesn’t want him sleeping in his car because who knows what’s out there.

So steve offers, well more like agrees, to max’s question of letting billy spend the night. Billy protests and steve shrugs it off, saying he has multiple rooms in his house and he can sleep in any of those.

After everyone leaves, steve goes to set billy up in a guest room, but he notices him being hesitant about sleeping alone. And steve’s been lying all day, so he figures that one more can’t hurt so he says that billy’s gonna have to sleep in his bed tonight because the other rooms are filled with his parent’s souvenirs from their many adventures. And it’s so obviously a lie because they were just in a perfectly clean room, but billy smirks anyways and says something like “if you wanted me in your bed, just say that.”

They get back to steve’s room and curl up under the covers. And it’s so cold in steve’s house, so obviously they have to conserve heat by practically spooning each other. And it’s steve’s bed and he’s the one that’s cold, so he gets to be the big spoon this time. Which grants him a “you planning on there being a next time, harrington?” steve hopes billy can’t feel his heart fluttering.

A few minutes later, they’re laying there, both still awake. Because the worst part about living in the middle of nowhere is the constant sounds of nature. Steve’s used to it for the most part, but billy keeps tensing in his arms. So steve lies one last time and says something like “i hate the sounds of outside so i have to sing myself to sleep. Do you mind?” and billy shrugs, saying no. and steve starts singing something that’s not a bedtime song and his voice is bad, but it makes billy laugh which makes steve’s chest flutter and that warm feeling is back with a vengeance. But this time steve welcomes it.

As the song ends, billy’s breath starts getting slower and quieter, and steve thinks he’s asleep so he whispers a “goodnight hargrove” into billy’s hair.

But his calculations are off, and billy stirs in his arms, and steve freezes, nose still touching billy’s curls. And then billy turns around, still wrapped in his arms and whispers a “thank you, pretty boy” into his chest before snuggling deeper into steve’s arms.

[the-rockstar-lestat]

I'm the nonbinary anon who sent an ask back in like December asking for fashion advice. I've been meaning to learn how to sew, and I found a YouTube video the other day of a woman making an 18th century men's shirt (Bernadette Banner's most recent video) and she said it was a good beginner project, so I think I'm going to make my own! I'm going to get fabric tomorrow, and I'm so excited!

I.

Am of the opinion.

Tumblr is eating my notifications.

How long has this been sitting here? How long has this dear anon felt unwanted, unloved? How long ago was that tomorrow?!

I am DROWNING in guilt.

Anyway, my dear nonbinary anon let me offer you congratulations. I can sew a little, but I don't think I could make a whole shirt. I've heard that those 18th century shirts are considered rather ...sexy now? How amusing. They're just undergarments to me. Rather practical. But times change...

That being said I do remember being rather breathless at the first sight of my dear Nicolas in nothing but his breeches and shirt....

Anyway, will you show it to me if it works out well? And tie your hair back in a queue, if it's long enough. Completes the look.

[simon-simon-my-rosebud-boy]

Role Swap - Carry On Countdown

I've been so busy I haven't had time to write exactly what I had in mind, but I hope this is good enough. And I hope you enjoy. It's a bit dark, but I decided to do a switch where Baz is the Chosen One and Simon is his enemy.

Simon's mission is to kill Baz.

WARNING: mentions of killing, vomiting, death. Basically, it's quite dark.

Last Words

Simon

Two days. Two days until I confront Pitch and rid the Mages' world of this disease everyone calls the Chosen One. Who even chose him? Not The Mage, for sure, and he’s supposed to be the one in control of our world.

I sit on my bed, looking out the window onto the school grounds. Baz Pitch is walking through the field from his football training, sweaty yet still somehow perfect-looking. He wipes his face with his shirt, showing off his perfectly sculpted muscles. His stride is confident, the legs in his muscles defined, moving with every step. I feel sick to the stomach just looking at him. His thick, black hair managed to stay put. If he wasn’t a bloody awful mage, I’d guess he magicked it. Must have been one of his minions who’ve done it.

I observe him until he disappears from my view, which means I have roughly 5 minutes before he walks through the door.

I tidy up the sketches of schemes and observations scattered around me, stuffing them in a box spelled shut. I push it under my bed. Before sitting back down, I brush off the crumbs from the sour cherry scones I had earlier. I open up the book on 18th century French spells and wait.

He steps through the door, loudly and with no regard for me, as always. The smell of fresh grass and sweat wafts through the room. His boots clang against the wooden floor as he makes his way to the bathroom. As our unspoken agreement declares, he doesn’t acknowledge my existence, bar the icy stare from the corner of his eye. The door to the bathroom closes behind him. I let my shoulders loosen up. 

When I hear the shower start, I put my book down, grab my wand and head out to meet Penny.

 

Penelope Bunce is the world’s greatest Mage. After the Mage, of course. She’s mastered even the most complex spells.

“Why didn’t he choose you for this mission?” I asked her ome day after I came back from my meeting with the Mage, “You’re clearly more qualified to kill someone than I am.”

“Everyone’s qualified to kill Pitch. He couldn’t defend himself against a fly if he tried,” she said, levitating a rat with her ring, “And you’re his roommate. You have intel on him, you can kill him while he’s asleep. Or in the shower.”

“I can’t. Anathema.”

“Bloody Anathema, can’t let us do anything fun.” 

Penny's been the number one planner for the destruction of Pitch. She's even more passionate about it than the Mage.

 

I meet Penny by the entrance to the Catacombs. She spends most of her free time there. When I asked her why, she just shrugged. 

We sit until dinner, polishing our plans for the Chosen One’s destruction. She rattles off spell after spell I can use. We go over the plan again and again. We write the fake letter. Then write it again. 

"I don't know what I'd do without you," I say as we head off to dinner.

Penny laughs. 

"Keep the sappy speech for the celebration," she says, squeezing my shoulder. 

 

On the day of The Destruction of Pitch I wake with a sucking feeling in my stomach - excitement mixed with hunger. I throw up before breakfast. And after. Penny finds a spell to ease my stomach, but there’s no spell to fix the racing of the mind.

I restlessly sit in class, eyeing Pitch as he scribbles in his notebooks and practices incantations he’s too weak to use. All are useless to him now anyway. The dead don’t speak, after all.

 

He doesn’t arrive to his last meal – tea, which, coincidentally, is my favourite meal of the day. This time, though, I can’t bring myself to take a single bite of a sour cherry scone. Penny shoots me a worried look, but I ignore her. Agatha squeezes my hand. She doesn't know what's about to happen. I don't want her worried. She's supposed to be there by my side, smiling and pretty, as I win the war and become the hero. 

She can see my mind is occupied, though. My thoughts are overridden with Basilton Pitch in front of me, that snarl he wears on his face when he plays football or fights beasts. I imagine gripping his shirt in my fist and casting spell after spell after spell, until the light disappears from his deep, grey eyes.

 

It’s dark when Pitch arrives to the place of battle. It's at the edge of the Woods. As far away from any buildings as I could find. 

I planted a letter from my girlfriend, Agatha, telling him she needed to talk to him. I see the way he looks at us when we’re together. He’s always wanted to get with Agatha and that was the chance to use that against him.

He’s clutching his wand in his pale, slim hands. He has musician's hands, perfect for playing the piano or the violin. Pity they’ll go to waste.

I don’t hide as he arrives. He’s outnumbered, not by the amount of people, but by skill. I’m holding onto my wand, a dozen incantations on the tip of my tongue. A thirst for destruction. A sword hangs at my hip, just in case. It gives me the feeling of being  in some epic tale. This is the hero’s victory.

“Snow.” He notices me in the dark. He's always seemed to be better at seeing in the dark than I am. Peculiar.

“Pitch.” I smile, baring my teeth. I have always found it weird that while other animals bear teeth in aggression, humans do it to show happiness.

“What do you want from me?” he asks, looking around, as if searching for something... or someone.

“You know very well what I want from you,” I say, trying to sound as menacing as I can. I like to be dramatic.

“Wanna try to steal my voice again? Or feed me to a chimera? Or push me down a flight of stairs?” he laughs, “if it’s the latter, I’d argue this is a bad choice of scenery.” He looks around at the woods and plains around us. The Watford buildings are far, so nobody comes running at the sound of screaming.

“I’m ready to up my game, are you?” I ask.

“Snow,” he says, out of the blue.

“Are you scared?”

“Snow, I-” he says, then grunts, sounding quite annoyed at me... or himself. I’m quite confused.

“What? Worried I’ll defeat you? Scared of-”

“Snow,” he interrupts me and sighs, “I need to tell you something.”

That was never in my plans. He was never supposed to say that. I improvise.

“Your last words?” I laugh, “Sure, I’ll listen to your pathetic whining one last time. I might even miss it.” 

I was not supposed to say that.

I wait for him to speak, but silence fills the air between us. He takes a couple steps forward and opens his mouth. He closes it again, as if resigned to his fate.

I roll my eyes. “Alight, if you don’t want to say anything, then I’ll just start the duel-” 

“I- I know what happened to your mother!”

To be continued dun dUN DUN...!

[woossexyponytail]

Threat of death Chapter 6 The Pink Topaz.

Summery: After a job gone wrong, Jeon Jungkook finds a target on his back, realising he has no idea who wants him dead, they bring in the help of an old friend who coincidentally is an assassin for higher.

Threat of death mlist

_________________________________________

"Your telling me, that they drove into an alleyway, and got stuck?" Taehyung asked looking between Jimin, Jungkook and you, a huge smile on his face, while you three nodded.

The group was sitting in the groups lounge, drinks on the table as Jimin told the guys about the mission, you sat on the black sofa, Jungkook sitting next to you, Jimin was on his own seat to your left, while the other guys circled around.

Jin stood up from his place making his way over to Namjoon, who was sitting by his computers, typing away.

"Are you going to join us, darling." Jin asked, passing him a beer, Namjoon grabbed the bottle rolling his eyes at Jin, "very funny, Boss Man said that this is only half of the merchandise, so I'm taking a look at where in the world the other half is."

"What do you mean?" Jimin asked getting up and walking over to Namjoon, he held the bag up, "Take a look"

Jimin grabbed the bag emptying it on the table, what fell out was the four stones you were sent to get. "I don't get it? This is what we were sent for?" You asked.

Namjoon nodded, turning in his chair to look at you, "It's part of a set, I'm trying to find what jewel it's from." You looked back down at the stones.

"Pink Topaz?, I think I've seen this piece before." Taehyung said picking one up to examine it, "well, then help me look" Namjoon said rolling his eyes, Taehyung sighed, standing up to grab the tablet from Namjoon.

"So in other words, the jobs not done?" Hoseok asked, getting excited he started bouncing on the cushion, nudging Yoongi as well. Yoongi quickly pushed Hoseok off him, as Hoseok fell to the floor laughing.

"Why? You wanna do the next job?" Yoongi asked, a knowing smirk on his face, Hoseok looked at him, his smile dropping. "But wasn't it you that said you'd like to stay in the van?"

Jimin quickly explained to you about what happened just before you got there, Hoseok still pouting as you laughed along with them. To say the night was filled with happiness was an understatement.

With that said the rest of the guys laughed at Hoseok as he sat cross legged on the floor pouting at them, "someone wanna fill me in?" You asked looking around confused.

_________________________________________

It wasn't until midnight that you all stumbled to bed, a little drunk for some you included, while the others were definitely shitfaced, like Hoseok, Jimin and Taehyung. Yoongi complaining about them being light weights.

Jungkook didn't meet your eyes, keeping them down on the ground, you could feel his hand become sweaty, from either the alcohol he consumed or maybe he was nervous, you didn't know.

Making your way slowly to your room, you stopped by the door, slowly opening it as you made your way in, you felt a hand rap around your arm, looking up ready to fight/punch whoever it was, your body relaxed seeing Jungkook standing at your door.

His lips were pressed together in a thin line, you could tell by the movements of his jaw, that he was bitting his cheek.

He then let go of your arm, his hand combing through his hair, pushing his hair back only for his bangs to fall back to the same place. He sighed, and finally looked up at you.

"Listen, I want to thank you, for today, I know it's your job to protect me, but I'm happy that Namjoon asked you to come." With that said, Jungkook turned quickly and left without another word.

He was your job, that was it, maybe just maybe a friendship would come out of it, like you and Namjoon, but you didn't want high Hope's, especially since someone was trying to kill him, and non of you had a clue who it was.

You stared at his door as he closed it, a small smile appeared at the thought of him. He was quite cute, and sexy and charming, but you really needed to stop thinking about him that way.

_________________________________________

The next morning you sat in the community Lounge, watching as Jimin and Jungkook trained in the ring, watching their movements as they throw punches at one another.

They both had their shirts off, bodys glistening with sweat, Jimin had black sweatpants on hanging low around his waist, his Calvin Klein underwear showing, his arms raised to protect his face.

Jungkook on the other hand, was much larger then Jimin, muscles bigger, his gray sweatpants also hanging dangerously low, revealing his Hugo Boss underwear, his arms also match Jimin as he protect his face, Jungkook had a large smirk showing on his face.

Hoseok was sitting next to you on the sofa watching the fight, a coffee in his hands as he laughed, teasing the two boys.

Yoongi was sitting at the table, gun piece skatered around the table, as he was putting them together.

Taehyung and Seokjin was at the bar, Jin making some more coffee for everyone. Taehyung laughing in the background also watching the fight. While Jin scolded Jungkook, since he might reopen his stitches.

Just as the fight was getting interesting, as in you, Hoseok and Taehyung started betting, Namjoon walked in, a tablet in hands. Everyone stopped what they where doing, looking up at him.

"We have a new target." Namjoon said passing the tablet around to everyone. The screen showed a picture of a building. "Seoul Museum of History?, What's in there?" Yoongi asked getting up from his chair and walking over to Namjoon.

"The other half of the merchandise, found out that the stones are from a necklace from the 18th century, displayed in this museum, seems like Elijah stole the four stones, but the necklace and two other stones are still here." He explained.

"So in other words, we're breaking in to a museum." Jungkook said smiling to himself. "No. Jimin, Yoongi and yn will, your staying here."

"What?!, why can't I come?" Jungkook asked, crossing his arms, glaring at Namjoon. "You have no idea how to sneak in to anything, Yn does, while Yoongi and Jimin are her back up, don't need anymore. Okay?"

Jungkook huffed, blowing his hair up as he did, he started walking towards the punching bag, taking the first hit, while the others looked at each other, "touchè" Jimin said, Taehyung giggled at that.

"So what do you want us to do?" Yoongi asked sitting beside Hoseok, Jimin also gathered to the table sitting next to you, you moved over for him to have enough space. Looking at you, Jimin pouted "why'd you move away?"

You glared at him, "um maybe because your, I dunno, all sweaty!" You told him rolling your eyes, Jimin just smirked at you, "Oh please, I know you like what you see." He told you moving closer, the other guys laughed, while you grimace at him.

The sound of the punching bag got harder, within second the punching bag was flying across the room, from where Jungkook punch to hard. The laugher stopped, looking up at Jungkook as he grumbled to himself as he picked up the bag, "Can you guys stop messing around and do your fucking job. You know the one MY father in paying all you for."

The shock on everyone's face was an understatement, pure rage engulfed you at the thought of him being so disrespectful. Jimin stood up abruptly, obviously pissed at what he said, though Namjoon stood in front of him, stopping whatever Jimin was going to say or do.

"I got him" Taehyung said getting up from his seat, Hoseok following behind him, as they tried to talk to Jungkook about his outburst. The rest of you all looked back at Namjoon.

"Well, anyway, You three will go through the sewer-" Namjoon got interrupted by Yoongi "Oh, I'm loving it so far." Yoongi sighed, slouching deep into the sofa.

"Yeah well, once you three get there I'll direct you to the nearest room to the necklace will be, you guys are leaving in an hour, by the time you get there it will be late, which gives you enough cover."

Jungkook yelled, pointing at Jimin as he walked closer to him, getting all up in his face, "Oh, I see, you wanna go another round" Jimin said puffing up his chest.

"Right, then I'll just take a shower, your welcomed to accompany me, if you want." Jimin said looking over at you, a smirk appeared, looking at you up and down. "No! She will not, go and take your fucking shower alone."

"Another round, We didn't finish our first round. But you know me, always knocking you on your tiny ass." Jungkook said, you stood up, getting inbetween the two, "Is this really necessary, you, stop acting like a pissy child, who didn't get his way. And you, go take that shower, alone and be ready to leave, we've got a Museum to heist."

With that, you looked over at Yoongi, seeing a smirk placed on his face, "You coming?" You asked him, Yoongi's smirk turned into a smile, getting up, "Yep, let's take a look at the guards patrols." He said as the both of you walked out the room.

"Dude, what was that about?" Taehyung asked, Jungkook shrugged walking back to the punching bag, starting punching again. "We'll deal with him later."

"Well, that just happened, but she's right, Jimin, get ready now." Namjoon told Jimin, as he left. The boys turned to Jungkook, raising their eyebrows at him.

[honeymoonjin]

Chapter Seven

Summary: When you hear that your recently deceased grandmother left you her property in her will, at first you think that a dinky old cottage in the middle of nowhere isn’t going to mean much for you. But after spending a night there, you discover something far more valuable than the house itself: a hidden door that leads to another time, the same place but over 200 years in the past. In the late 18th Century, there is a king who will die before his 21st birthday unless you can save him. Will you help him, even if it means leaving your own life behind?

Your mind malfunctions as he leans in closer, still with that shit-eating grin on his face. Your cheek is burning under his light touch and you know he can almost definitely feel it. You can scarcely breath, lips parting, and with eyes half-lidded you don’t notice him moving past your mouth to place his lips on the shell of your ear instead.

“Did you really think I was going to kiss you?” he whispers sultrily.

You swallow hard, staring over his shoulder with wide eyes. “N-no, Your Majesty?” In a daze, your eyes land on the skin just above the edge of his gown, a roughly diamond-shaped birthmark on the back of his neck. It seems familiar to you, but you can’t think from where.

He chuckles sinfully, pulling back to look at you with a teasingly cocked head. “Why, my darling, we don’t even know each other! I can’t go around kissing every beautiful healer that saves my life. Seokjin prefers to be paid in gold.”

You snicker at the innuendo. “Much to your disappointment, I’m sure.”

King Jeon gives you a sly blink-and-you’ll-miss-it wink and stands back up. “Now, I do want to thank you for your indispensable services, of course. Those clothes of yours aren’t exactly common for a lady.”

You straighten your back in offense. “With all due respect, Your Highness, I couldn’t save your life nearly as effectively wearing a birdcage.” You stand up quickly, bending over to tie up a leather lace on your boot that had loosened in your fall.

You miss the way his eyes linger on your behind. “I never said I didn’t like them. I like them quite a lot. Perhaps you’d appreciate something more useful. A horse, perhaps? To make your journey to and from the palace quicker, seeing as you’re so opposed to remaining here.”

You think back to your last encounter at a friend’s birthday party, where a pony tipped you over into a pile of mud. “No, thank you.”

“You know, I’ve never heard of a commoner turning down a gift from the King. Fine then, some jewels to decorate that pretty neck of yours.”

Your attention is divided; staring anxiously at the clock just past his head as you try and inch closer to the door behind him. “I’m all good, no jewels required. I’m gonna head out now, I think, anyway, nice seeing yo-”

He reaches out and deftly snags your wrist, tugging you closer in a movement so abrupt you smack right into his chest, automatically propping your free hand against his chest to steady himself. “You’ve worn me down, little girl. I’ll give you what you want, then.”

You open your mouth to protest, but it proves to be a mistake as he leans down and captures your parted lips in a fiery kiss. Any sound of offense is muffled by him, the slight flick of his tongue against the inner side of your lower lip catching your breath, before he pulls away just as suddenly as he initiated it.

You blink up at him in a daze.

His thumb wipes at a patch of saliva on the corner of your mouth as he smirks. “There, you had it your way, I gave you my thanks.”

“Uh, you’re welcome.” You catch yourself, patting his bare chest awkwardly before stepping out of his embrace. “Um, goodbye. Get better soon.”

He watches with a curious look as you rush to the door and slip out but makes no further reply.

--

When you bust in the door to Yoongi’s little hut, panting from power-walking the whole way back, he’s yelling at a small white spotted piglet that’s sitting rather delicately on the main bench.

“…not that difficult! Why would you mix the lemongrass with the myrrh? It makes no sense!”

You stare in dumbfounded silence as Yoongi apparently waits for a reply from the small, cowering creature. “Uh, hey, shaman. What’s the deal with the pig?”

Yoongi sighs, collapsing onto the small couch. You’re a little distracted by the way the top few buttons of his forest-green blouse are undone, showing a triangle of unblemished skin. The fire is blazing in the hearth as a cauldron bubbles and threatens to overflow, and you can see beads of sweat making his face and chest glimmer. “That’s not a pig, it’s Taehyung.”

You furrow your eyebrows. “Woah, Yoongi, that’s a little hurtful.”

He tuts in frustration, standing up again to go fumble around the countless glass jars on his main shelf. “No, that’s seriously Taehyung. I was making a potion to turn seeds into fully-grown plants to help out with our harvest this year, but that stupid idiot,” he breaks off to jab an accusing finger at the morose-looking piglet, “decided to use lemongrass instead of thyme because it smelt nicer. This isn’t a godforsaken perfumery, you swine!”

“So, you turned him into a pig as punishment?” You rush over to the table, forgetting about your time constraint and worrying instead about the quietly snuffling pig on the bench. “That’s mean! Oh, but Taehyungie looks so cute as a piglet.” You hold your hands out, cooing as the sweet creature sits up and patters along the table to you, hooves clinking on the wood.

Yoongi retrieves what he’s after and joins you, scoffing when he sees you cradling the baby animal like an infant, bobbing it gently and rubbing its tummy. “Of course not. I just decided if he messed up the recipe, he could be the first to try it. Honestly, he should be grateful he chose lemongrass instead of actual lemonjuice or he’d be a slug right now.” He leans over you, glaring at the piglet. “You hear that, Taehyung? A slug!”

You pout at the shaman and keep patting the pig. “Don’t listen to him, I would never let him turn you into slug.” You glance up. “Turn him back now!”

Yoongi quirks an eyebrow. “You do realize that’s a grown man you’re holding.” You halt your rocking, placing the pig back onto the countertop. “Right, Taehyung, you need to chew this stick of cinnamon, okay? Swallow as much of it as you can.”

You stare in wonder as a pig munching away at a small brown sprig transforms back into a long-legged, shaggy-haired human. “Holy crap.”

Taehyung bends over, coughing and wincing at the taste in his mouth, scooting off the table to go drink some water. Once he’s out of sight, Yoongi grins and puts the jar away. “He didn’t need to eat any cinnamon. The potion wears off after ten minutes anyway.”

You gape at him. “You’re a sadist.”

“On the contrary. It’s kindness that leads me to teach him these lessons. Perhaps this time it was becoming a pig for ten minutes, but if he messed up other spells it could mean significant injury or death. This way, he won’t make the same mistake again.”

You sigh reluctantly. “Okay, but don’t be so hard on him. He’s still learning.” You think back to the last time you had spoken with Taehyung, when he was locking you in that room. “Maybe make him suffer just a little longer. Enough to- Oh, shit!”

Taehyung returns just after your outburst. “What? What’s going on?”

“I have to leave, now,” you mutter as you rush behind the tapestry of the spare room to get back into your plain t-shirt and leggings. “My boyfriend is gonna be pissed.”

You freeze, one leg hovered over your shoe. Your boyfriend. How could you possibly explain to him why you were late for his show? Sorry, Jiminie, I was sucking face with the King. Won’t happen again. Was it cheating if the guy was technically dead? You were pretty sure it was. Either way, you returned home with a guilty conscience and a heavy heart.

--

“It’s fine,” Jimin mutters, but the tears streaking down his face tell you that’s a blatant lie. “If you weren’t going to make it, you should’ve told me, that’s all.”

You reach for his hand, but he quickly slips it into his jacket pocket. “Jimin, I’m so sorry.” Your voice is as low as your spirits, the two of you the last ones in the stadium after all the other performers and audience members had long gone home. “I don’t know what to say.”

He scoffs, the noise sounding wet like it’s on the edge of being a sob. “Neither do I,” he admits, “it’s like all of a sudden you don’t have time for me anymore.”

You bite your lip. “Jimin, I swear that’s not the case. I got caught up in work and lost track of time. It was unforgiveable and you have every right to be mad and upset, but-”

“I’m not mad,” he interrupts, shaking his head, “I’m not upset. I’m fucking embarrassed. Do you know how humiliating it was to tell all the guys how excited I was for you to come? I made you a little ‘reserved’ sign, taped it to a chair in the front row, and then it sat empty for the whole fucking show.”

Your face crumples as another tear tracks down his face. “What can I do to make it up to you?” you ask. “We could go somewhere now, spend some time together. Or maybe if you just want some space, that’s fine too. Whatever you want, baby. Let me make it up to you.”

He laughs bitterly. “I really should just ask for space. You know, Taemin told me I should break up with you. I kinda get why he’d say that. But I’m too fucking weak for that. As much as I hate it, I need you, Y/n. I… I just wish you felt the same way about me.”

Your heart breaks for the millionth time that night. “Jimin, this is a rough patch, and it sucks, I know, but I promise that’s all it is. A rough patch. It’s just temporary, and it’s over now. I’ll be better now, I’ll treat you like you deserve. Come on, let’s go home. I’ll shout us takeaways and we can watch a movie together. You choose the movie. Yeah?”

He sniffs harshly and wipes at his face, nodding. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

--

Later that night, after you had eaten the promised takeaways, watched the promised movie, and even had some slow, intimate make-up sex, you were lying in bed, you on your back, Jimin in his favorite position, which was fast asleep on his stomach, face cushioned by your naked breasts as he lazily swirled a fingertip in circles on your skin.

You ran a hand through his hair, enjoying the way he let out little happy grunts when you scratched at his scalp or tugged the roots just slightly. Being with Jimin felt safe, and comfortable, and. You loved watching his back rise and fall as he breathed deeply in his sleep. He had been making an effort to get some more sun where possible, and the golden shade of his skin was-

You jolt suddenly, cringing as Jimin shuffled around then went still again, clutching tightly onto you. On the back of Jimin’s neck was a patch of skin darker and pinker than the rest. A birthmark in the shape of a diamond that you finally recognized. The same one you had seen on King Jeon’s neck earlier that day.

TAGLIST Message me or send an ask to be added to the taglist for Sovereign, and never miss a new chapter!

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[hermannsthumb]

coming with a sickfic question/suggestion for ya... who's the worse patient, hermann "grumbly" gottlieb or newton "it's fine" geiszler?

i think they’re both bad but for different reasons. like they both act like it’s the End Of The World whenever one of them gets sick bc theyre both melodramatic babies. also this is partially inspired by a convo w @gaylieb​ on twitter this morning about newt Missing the Man That He’s In Love With while he goes shopping for his sick hubby

Newt’s really opposed to the idea of leaving Hermann home alone for a multitude of reasons. It’s the weekend, after all, which means it should be their weekend together, no work or other distractions from Thursday at 8:30pm ‘til Monday at 10am, just three nights and three full days of Newt and Hermann Time. All he really wants to do is curl up on the couch with Hermann, or curl up in bed with Hermann, or curl up on Hermann’s lap, or have Hermann curl up on his lap and watch bad movies. Or watch bad TV. Or have Hermann read to him and play with his hair. Really, you know, Newt’s not that picky, he just really digs his husband.

Mostly, though, he doesn’t want to leave Hermann home alone because the poor guy is sick. Probably picked it up from campus. Newt woke up Friday morning at the gorgeously late hour of eleven, with sunlight streaming through the bedroom window, and rolled over to pester-slash-kiss Hermann awake, only to find Hermann a) already awake and b) fever-hot, shivering, and blinking hazily at Newt with a noticeable air of misery.

Newt jumped into action in seconds.

A long kiss to Hermann’s forehead half-confirmed his suspicion of fever, while the thermometer (a few moments later) confirmed it entirely. He got Hermann water, fished out the Motrin bottle from behind their respective prescriptions in the medicine cabinet, forced Hermann to take some, got Hermann more water, fretted over his blankets for ten minutes, until finally Hermann--weakly--held up a hand and said “Please calm down.” Which was rich coming from Hermann, who’s the drama queen of all drama queens, the guy who cradled Newt in his arms like Newt was on his fucking deathbed when Newt twisted his ankle in an ill-advised attempt to test out Heelys around the kitchen breakfast bar. The guy who lies in bed and groans with a hand flung across his forehead for hours like an ailing protagonist from an 18th century novel when he has so much as a cold.

That was three hours ago. Now, Hermann’s insisting on sending Newt out to the grocery store, of all places. In the rain. The cold rain.

“But what if you need more water,” Newt says, twisting the hem of his t-shirt, “or more medicine, or--”

“I can manage on my own for half an hour or so,” Hermann says huffily. It’s lose-lose with sick Hermann, really; if Newt coddles him, he’s pissy, if Newt doesn’t coddle him, he’s pissy. Basically, he’ll be pissy whether Newt goes to the store or stays behind. 

Hermann beckons him closer, and Newt plops down onto the edge of the bed and leans in, close, and expectantly. Perhaps a little too expectantly. Hermann makes a face, and says, grouchily, “I’m not kissing you when I’m ill, darling. What on earth are you thinking?”

“Habit,” Newt sighs, truthfully a little disappointed. Hermann huffs, rolls his eyes, and then reaches and pat Newt’s cheek gently. His palm is warm, which is wildly unsettling. Hermann usually runs so cold. Still: Newt appreciates the gesture. “Only half an hour,” Newt says. It’s for an important cause, anyway, for Hermann: they need more ibuprofen, more food that Hermann can stomach (saltines, and light soup, Gatorade, maybe, Newt’s dad used to give him Gatorade when Newt got sick), maybe some tissues and cough drops, too. Hermann is only letting out the gentlest little coughs at the moment and hasn’t sneezed once, but you can never be too careful. 

Newt pulls on his jacket, snatches up the car keys, and is out the door in the flash. Thirty minutes. He can do it. (He’ll get Hermann something fun, too, something to look forward to once he’s feeling better. Like ice cream. Or those dumb chocolate tea biscuits from the international food aisle that Hermann used to have to specially order when they were in Hong Kong.)

Newt calls Hermann from the snack aisle fifteen minutes later, four packs of the chocolate cookies clutched in his fist. “I can’t find the saltines,” he declares. 

There’s a little rustling of blankets on the other end of the phone, like Hermann’s sitting up, and a little cough. “They’re in aisle nine,” Hermann says, “not aisle eight.”

Hermann can really read his mind sometimes. It’s weird, but it’s also kind of romantic. Newt ducks into the next aisle, where--lo and behold--the saltines (and the other crackers and pretzels) are stocked. “God, babe, you’re a genius,” Newt sighs. He tosses the cookies and a few boxes of saltines into the basket.

He can almost hear Hermann preen through the phone, but he’s all back to bossy business in a second. “Have you gotten the soup?” he says. “The kind I like?”

“Yep,” Newt says. He pokes around in the basket, past Hermann’s favored canned chicken noodle with noodles shaped like little stars and rocket ships. (Hermann is ridiculously adorable.) “And the meds, cough drops, tissues...” Hermann coughs again, but louder, a terrible raspy thing, and Newt’s heart twists. His poor husband. All alone at home, without Newt there to take care of him. “Hermann,” he says, verbal inventory forgotten instantly. He cradles his phone sadly, like Hermann would be able to feel the touch, somehow. “Aw. Honey, I miss you.” 

“Then hurry home already,” Hermann says. Then, moderately softer (though his voice is still raspy), “I miss you, too.”

Newt speeds through the self-checkout so fast he almost leaves his bags behind. He’s back at Hermann’s side, and contentedly playing nurse as Hermann huffs and sighs and groans, within the promised half-hour.

[harryandmolly]

i could write it better than you ever felt it - FINAL

summary: fuck growing up. this is freedom, this is life, this is youth – 2007 Warped Tour style.

warnings: Language, vintage Something Corporate, oversugaring tea amidst Londoners

word count: 5.2k

A/N: this is it, fam! thanks for coming along in my time machine. I hope it’s everything you dreamed it would be. Shawn’s song is “As You Sleep” by Something Corporate, highly recommend a listen. thank you for everything you are and everything you give me. I love you guys.

Lucky 13.

The emblem of the 2007 Warped Tour has surrounded her all summer, but it feels especially present today somehow, on the last day of tour in Carson, California.

It seems a contradiction in terms, lucky 13, which Val supposes is probably the idea. She knows it’s a cheeky nod to the counterculture vibe that Warped Tour represents, but it also feels representative of her in some ways.

Val’s had a very contemplative and quiet three weeks since she gathered her things and walked out of that hotel room, leaving the scribbled note on the pillow behind her. She’s turned inward, no longer hounded by her conflict with Raf or Bea, able to focus on herself for the first time in a few months. And she’s picked out a few things that coincide with the theme of the summer.

Val is often reckless, and sometimes maternal. Val is book smart, and also street smart. Val embraces academia, but sometimes thinks she could drown herself in music and never read books again. Val is vibrant even when she is broken.

Humans are made up of contradictions, Val knows that as well as anyone. She is not suddenly realizing that she is not only one thing -- her dichotomies are not really news to her. But as she thinks about the people she loves most, she sees the way certain parts of their personalities bump up against other parts and fight for dominance, and she loves them more richly for it.

Humans are made up of contradictions and Val is embracing that from here on out. She arrived on the first day of Warped wearing a blink t-shirt with a textbook on Ming dynasty art in her trunk. All summer, she studied the ways she doesn’t fit in here in the scene anymore like she was looking for reasons to make a clean split and join her adult life across the pond. But the truth is, she failed. She looked for the ways that made her feel different from this world that she helped in her small way to build, but it’s as much a home to her as academia is and it will never truly feel foreign, no matter how many hours she spends crouched over a 9th century vase with a tiny brush. So her biggest contradiction, her inner strife over choosing academia over pop punk, it fades into her skin like her tattoo, as much a part of her as the dimple in her chin or the curls in her hair that she decided not to straighten today.

Val walks the grounds as the sun begins to fade. The last sets of the day are in progress or being set up. With earbuds in playing Boys Like Girls, she strolls between booths of merch people clinking beers and congratulating each other on a summer well done, between groups of kids comparing signed merch, between crew guys beginning to break down and pack away equipment to be pulled out next June for another go around.

She imagines who she’ll be next June.

She walks slowly on her way to Smartpunk. It seems her body is just as hesitant as her mind to attend this one last set, but she’s doing it anyway. She’s not sure why -- to prove a point to herself? To indulge in the talent one last time? To try to believe in a miracle?

She doesn’t like any of those options. She settles on curiosity and keeps her feet moving in uncharacteristically small steps.

She stands at the back, nice and far from any moshing action, by the All Time Low booth so she can sit on the edge of the table without getting grief from Vinny Vegas.

She wears a small smirk as the space around her fills in. It seems every Warped attendee is a Forefront convert now. She doesn’t blame them. But damn is it a far cry from their first sets in June.

They’re announced over the yelping cries of fans wearing out their last screams of summer. They hustle out in a group, with their tall, gawky frontman bringing up the rear as usual. He plants himself in front of the mic and swings one powerful arm above his head with a wild grin to wave as his adoring fans.

And it begins.

They put on a hell of a show. It’s not a given -- just because you’re good in the studio doesn’t mean you have the chemistry or energy to do well live. There are special bands that make a live concert a nearly religious experience -- her friends in Paramore and All Time Low among them. Forefront has gotten their sea legs this summer and won’t easily lose them now.

She takes the time to notice each member -- passionate, goofy Francis on rhythm guitar, hard-hitting, soft-spoken Seth on the drums, raucous pretty boy bassist Bobby. And then Shawn, switching between his keyboard and guitar effortlessly like he was born with a damn instrument in his hand, charisma leaking out of him all over the stage, making everyone in a fifteen mile radius certain that he’s born to do this.

She closes her eyes through the end of “Open End” and waits for “Swim” to start. When Shawn switches back to the keys at this point in the set, he usually engages in some chit chat with the boys or yammers on to the fans about how much they inspire him or whatever. But he’s quiet and the air around the stage is tense because everyone knows something’s up.

Val opens her eyes. He’s where she expected him to be, propped at the edge of his bench with his fingers resting over the keys, looking down at them frozen.

“We’re gonna play you a new one today.”

Val’s stomach falls out and flops into the dirt at her feet. She’s glad she’s sitting on the table because she can’t feel her legs. She overwhelmed by certainty that whatever’s about to happen, it’s going to be personal. And it’s going to hurt like hell.

Shawn is quiet for a few more electrically charged moments before he closes his eyes, rolls his shoulders forward and leans into the mic, singing before the instruments join him.

“Close your eyes and I will be swimming, lullabies fill your room, and I will be singing, singing only to you. Don’t forget I’ll hold your head, watch the night sky fading red.”

His fingers work furiously against the keys. The piano line is so intricate and shows off his talent for the instrument in a way she’s never seen. He keeps his eyes down at his hands as they dance, distracting him enough from the content of the lyrics so he can get through them without breaking down like he did when he wrote it.

“But as you sleep, and no one is listening, I will lift you off your feet, I'll keep you from sinking. Don't you wake up yet, cause soon I'll be leaving you. Soon I'll be leaving you, but you won't be leaving me.”

Val closes her eyes again and lets herself fall back into their last night, into their frantic lovemaking punctuated by irresponsible, unkeepable promises. She thinks about the weight of his legs between hers as she drifted off with him in the last full night sleep she got on tour. She remembers the way she let her hand rest on his side of the bed to try to tell when he left by how cool to the touch it felt.

“In the car, the radio leaves me searching for your star, a constellation of frustration driving home, singing my thoughts back to me, and watching heartache on TV.”

It feels so good to get this out, Shawn thinks as he hits each note just the way he wants it. This song came spilling out after their last night together in a way that felt too easy. After all that he put her through, he doesn’t deserve to have his art come easy. But art is never fair.

“But as you sleep, and no one is listening, I will lift you off your feet, I'll keep you from sinking. Don't you wake up yet, cause soon I'll be leaving you. Soon I'll be leaving you, but you won't be leaving me.”

By the second chorus, Val knows the words. It’s hard not to zero in when you know they’re about you. She notes the way the crowd reacts, arms in the air waving at him like he’s Jimi Hendrix, cheering along, eating up everything he gives them.

Good, she thinks, he deserves it.

The lead into the bridge is still piano heavy, but his fingers know the strokes of the keys as well as his heart does, so he gets to sit up and look around, grinning as their fans cheer, watching the sky explode vibrant summer watercolors over the trees on the horizon. A thick, soothing breeze passes through.

He looks back through to where he saw her a few songs ago. He lets his gaze stay there long enough that she knows now that she’s been spotted. He licks his lips and leans into the mic, but keeps his eyes up at her, perched on the ATL merch table like she owns it.

He repeats the lyrics even though each word feels like tearing at scabs that won’t be healing for a while. He pours it all in, everything he has left, every piece of I’m sorry, every hint of thank you, every whisper of I love you, it soars out over the heads of the fans who love the words but don’t know the boy that wrote them.

They’re for her.

As the final note fades out under sweeping cries of gratitude from the scene kids that came to celebrate their home and community, Val stands, brushes the dust from her skinny jeans and secures her earbuds back in place. With a final nodding smile to Vinny, she turns from the stage and walks off in gigantic, loping steps to read about John Singer Sergeant and listen to Dookie on repeat.

+++++++

December 18th, 2017

Shawn doesn’t often fit most musician stereotypes -- he doesn’t drink too heavily, he doesn’t do any drug harder than weed, he’s kind of a serial monogamist.

But he does love a moody walk along a body of water.

With a pair of good headphones, a carefully curated playlist and a path along the water, Shawn can figure out anything. When he gets stuck on a song, he goes to the water. When he’s in a weird spot with someone he’s dating, he goes to the water. He doesn’t like to get too spiritual about it, but it does feel somehow clarifying.

So one afternoon in London when the sun is out and the Londoners are out with it, Shawn decides to join them. He’s there on business promoting the latest Forefront album with a Live Lounge performance on BBC Radio 1 with Nick Grimshaw. He’s jetlagged and a little turned around by the Underground system like he usually is when in London but he’s otherwise feeling just fine. He just needs a walk by the water today. He tries not to look too closely at why.

He bundles up in the Barbour jacket his mum got him last Christmas and sets off down the stairs into the opulent Savoy hotel lobby decked out with a Christmas tree in every corner and fresh garland wrapped around every non-moving object in sight. He smiles at it -- nobody does Christmas like the Brits. He’s looking forward to going home in a few days to see his mum and the rest of his family and decompress for a few weeks before heading back over to the UK to write and record their next album.

He gets reflective like this -- the combination of the water and the music offer him perspective he can’t usually reach otherwise. He tucks his hands in his pockets and sets off through the garden that opens up into the Victoria Embankment Gardens, usually lush and green in the spring and summer, full of life and people. He likes it like this, though, cold and quiet and almost like a little secret.

2017 has been good to him. Forefront played seven new countries this year on their world tour in celebration of their sixth studio album. He’s gotten a little better over the years about being more present in those moments rather than looking forward anxiously to the next album and the expectations that surround it. That attitude really spoiled the last few records, but the new friends he’s made in the industry have helped guide him through that. He’s even becoming friends with the Irish guy from One Direction now, though they had very different paths to the music industry. He seems like a cool guy.

Personally, 2017 wasn’t really a banner year. He broke up with Jess in April after almost a full year. He’s had a few of those lately -- relationships that start hot and don’t make it past a year mark. He should take a closer look at that and figure out why he can’t seem to stay in a relationship for longer than 11 months, but he’s too tired to think about it now. It’s been a long fuckin’ year.

It’s been a long ten years, actually, since Joy Ride. He thinks back to the show they played at home in Toronto over the summer to celebrate the big anniversary. They played the whole album start to finish, something they’ve never gotten to do. Being immersed in it like that brings back a lot of memories of that summer when everything really kicked off. Not all those memories are ones Shawn likes to think about.

He doesn’t think about Valentina much. It’s by design. He doesn’t even play “As You Sleep” as often as it’s requested. It just… doesn’t feel healthy for him. He’ll pull it out every once in a while when curiosity gets the best of him, when it’s been long enough that he forgets how sharply he still feels every word of that song. He usually regrets it.

He lets himself wonder about her sometimes, like today when he’s knee deep in nostalgia anyway. He still sees Raf and the other Streets guys. They went on a hiatus for a while around 2013 but are back again recording a new record somewhere in Malibu, from what Shawn’s heard. When he sees them, he doesn’t ask about her. He doesn’t want her knowing he’s asking. And he thinks sometimes he doesn’t want to know what she’s really up to, he’d rather imagine.

He falls into his favorite daydream. He likes to think she stayed in the UK (he always felt like that was the place for her to end up). Maybe she got a job in conservation at Oxford or Cambridge or some other hoity-toity university. Maybe she met a nice, polite, skinny, bookish English guy who looks at her like a miracle every time she speaks to him. Maybe they had a small wedding at his local church and his family loves her because she’s colorful and articulate. Maybe they have dogs -- sheepdogs or setters or something, good country dogs. And maybe they’ve had a little girl.

That’s where he usually shuts the daydream down. For obvious reasons.

But when he doesn’t, he thinks about her and who she might be. He thinks about thick, lush curls flopped over a tiny forehead. He thinks about pouty little lips and a chin dimple that matches her mother’s. He thinks about little feet that kick hard because she’d have to be strong, of course.

Now that he’s letting himself think about it, he thinks maybe she’d look kinda like the kid that’s staring at him, reaching out from her pram that’s parked next to the bench he’s strolling past. He smiles at her and she beams back with a grin that has only two teeth. It makes Shawn laugh.

He glances over at her lucky mum or dad.

And it’s almost like he expected it, like it had to be her. I mean, this kid really couldn’t have been anyone but Val’s. She’s just… so Val.

So when Shawn looks her over, from her sweeping dark curls and her leather trousers and her ankle boots, he’s barely even surprised to see her. He just tips his head back and chuckles at the universe.

“Hey mister,” she calls, and her voice sets his skin rough with goosebumps, “Can I have your autograph?”

Shawn lets go of where he’s holding on to the wrought iron fence above the banks of the Thames and walks over, his chelsea boots scratching at the frosty stone.

She doesn’t stand to greet him. She’s got a similar look on her face, bemused acknowledgement of fate and its tricks, like she was thinking about him too and they both somehow willed this to happen. Her long slender legs are crossed. She has one black leather-gloved hand in the pram in the grasp of her little girl who’s chewing on her finger and no longer paying Shawn any attention.

“Hey, Vally,” he sighs. He doesn’t mean to call her that, it just happens. She doesn’t visibly react beyond a slightly deeper dimple in her cheek, so he figures he scraped by with that one.

“Were you on your way somewhere?” she asks, glancing back as if she realized she might be taking him away from something.

He shakes his head. “No, I just-- I’m staying at the Savoy and I like these gardens. I just wanted a walk.” He has enough presence of mind to pause his music. He doesn’t bother to mention it’s an old Streets song. That she wrote.

“We like it out here. We live over by the Farringdon stop but we take the train out here because we like the waterfowl.”

Val looks down at the pram as she speaks. Shawn takes that as an invitation to acknowledge her more formally.

“Who’s this?” he asks breathlessly.

“This is Alice,” Val replies with as much pride as he’s ever heard from any mother, “Alice Fernanda Moreno, she’s nine months old and very hefty for her age because we run a body positive household and she loves mashed carrot and swede.”

Shawn lifts a hand and waves in that open-close way he does like he’s a big toddler himself. Alice kicks hard and squeals at him.

“She’s… so beautiful,” he marvels. Val’s smug smile tells him she agrees. Shawn doesn’t share his next thought because it feels like a line and he doesn’t want to go there.

Because she looks exactly like you.

“I picked out a real pretty one,” she jokes, tightening the wrap of the thick wool blankets around Alice as she yawns.

Shawn continues staring at her openly, trying to pick out features that could belong to any potential father, but as far as he can tell, Alice is simply a clone of Val. It’s Val’s throat clearing that brings him back.

“Sit, Mendes,” she suggests, patting the warped wooden bench. Shawn lowers himself on the other side of the pram as Val rocks it back and forth with her foot.

“She’s been fussy today, but it’s naptime. She has to give in eventually,” Val mutters like she’s reasoning with herself. Shawn grins.

“You have a daughter.”

Val doesn’t look up from the pram as she rocks it. She just nods and snuggles into her prim peacoat.

“I have a daughter.”

Shawn can’t bring himself to ask. She’s wearing gloves so he can’t see if she’s wearing a ring. He stays quiet and studies her instead.

She looks largely the same, barely even older than she did at 22. Her sense of style is maybe the only thing he can see that’s changed in the ten years since he’s seen her last. There’s something comforting in that.

He wonders if he seems different. He works out more now, eats right. He’s definitely put on a whole lot of muscle since he was scrounging for burger scraps on Warped. He’s gotten a few more tattoos she can’t see. He also has an actual stylist now, which is sometimes weird, but he’s elevated the black skinnies, Vans and band tees to black skinnies, $800 boots and silk button-ups. So there’s that.

He’s still got that lip ring though.

But… he wonders if he seems different. If he carries himself differently. If he comes off more confident, more calm, less wide-eyed and wondering.

Because she seems the same. She’s always glowed from the inside out like this. Maybe the glow feels a little stronger now. Or maybe it’s just because she glows through herself and her baby girl all at once. Shawn sits back and watches them -- he could bathe in it all day.

“You know it’s been ten years?” she breathes.

Shawn nods slowly. “I know. Kinda feels like 40.”

She laughs and a piece of him astral projects back to nights tangled up in her bunk kissing her neck and trying to keep her quiet so her brother won’t come mock them from outside the bunk curtain.

“It does,” she muses, “But sometimes it feels like fifteen minutes ago, too.”

Shawn tips his head back and sniffs, looking up through a tall pine as its needles shiver.

“Has your decade been good to you?” she murmurs. He lifts his head back up. She’s staring down at the baby.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s been great. We’ve toured a lot, done a few more albums. The guys and I, I mean, you know us, we’d push each other in front of a bus most days, but we’re brothers and maybe obsessed with each other, too. We’re on a great ride.”

Val lifts her eyes to his briefly, all too knowingly, and lowers them back to the pram. “That’s good.”

Shawn shakes his head. “That’s not even at all what you meant, was it?”

“Nope.”

Shawn goes quiet, contemplative. Val waits him out until he’s ready.

“It’s harder than I thought it would be,” he chokes finally, “Everything about it. Writing after Joy Ride, it was… it got bad. I mean, I was ok, like fundamentally, but I didn’t feel good. We had so many eyes on us. We had no idea what to do, just like no one else does. Some tours were great, some were bad. And the whole deal makes everything else harder. It’s hard on my family, my friends. I… I haven’t been in an actual good relationship in… five years, at least. This year was better. We’ve gotten our feet back under us. I let it all out in the last album, and that helped.”

“I know, I heard it.”

Shawn looks up from Val’s hands in the pram. For the first time all morning, he’s really, truly shocked to the bone.

“You did?”

Val doesn’t answer him exactly, just mutters something about needing to get the baby inside and announces they’ll head down the lane for a cup of tea. She leads them to a little corner coffee shop made for hipsters, not for women with very expensive prams, but Val doesn’t seem to care and parks in the corner by the fire. She layers down, stripping off her scarf and coat to a black turtleneck. Her cheeks go warm as she settles in and orders for them.

Shawn keeps his mouth shut and tries not to do the mental math of how many of the songs he’s released in the last ten years have been written about her, and exactly how many of them she might have noticed are definitely, totally written about her.

She folds her manicured hands together and looks up at him. His brain mercifully shuts off.

“It took a while after that summer for me to get there, but about three years later, I was around Oxford with some friends and I saw your latest album, on vinyl no less, in some indie record store. I suddenly got this feeling that I had to stop my whole life for a minute and go in and buy it. I bought it and the one that came before it, I said goodbye to my friends and I shut myself up in my flat for a couple days with a bottle of whiskey and just… let it happen.”

Shawn winces. “Wish you’d have just skipped over Making Midnight.”

Val smirks. “I wish I had, too.”

Shawn scoffs and leans back in his chair, mock offended. Val giggles and dumps an ungodly amount of sugar in her Earl Grey.

“I was glad to just hear your voice again, actually. I’d done a good job of avoiding it. Too good, maybe, because it was a real shock to the system when I heard it again.”

Shawn knows how that feels. He went through a Val cleanse too, a much shorter one because he doesn’t have her willpower. And then he heard a song she wrote with Alex Gaskarth for All Time Low’s Dirty Work and he let her back in.

“From then, I just bought your records when they came out. I really loved this last one. It really… I dunno, it just really felt like you, I guess.”

Shawn keeps his head down as he stares at his tea. He hears Alice coo. He looks up to see Val lifting her out of her pram to bounce her in her lap, baby in one arm, cup of tea in the other.

“God, it’s so fuckin’ good to see you,” he croaks, shaking his head a little, “Especially…”

He trails off, unwilling to finish. He ducks his head again.

“Especially with a kid I wasn’t sure I’d ever get to have?” Val guesses.

Shawn glances up and nods.

“Do you want to hear about this?” Val murmurs, ignoring Alice as she yanks at some silky curls.

Shawn chews on his lower lip. “Yeah, I think I do.”

It’s Val’s turn to look down. She stirs the mountain of slowly dissolving sugar at the bottom of her mug and sighs.

“She’s just mine. Last year I started to get a little anxious about my biological clock, especially given the last time I got pregnant. I saw a fertility specialist and we discussed my history and she agreed if I want to have children, it’s probably better to start now. So I went in for IVF. On the second cycle, I got pregnant with Alice. The pregnancy was complicated, but my doctor was a saint and did everything absolutely right. The birth went perfectly. So now it’s me and Alice against the world.”

Shawn slides his tongue against his lower lip, taps his foot impatiently against the leg of his chair. “Just you two?”

“Just us two,” Val replies easily, “There were a couple guys in and out before her, but I haven’t gone out with anyone since I got pregnant. I didn’t feel the need. I just wanted to focus on her. I’m glad I did.”

They’re quiet for a few minutes, reflective. Then Val stands and looks down at him.

“Would you mind holding her for a minute? I need to use the loo.”

Shawn bites his lip and nods, standing to complete the transfer. Alice is asleep in her mother’s arms, but, as Val explains with a chuckle, “she’s a snuggle whore -- she’ll go with anybody for a little cuddle.”

Shawn sits. Alice curls up against his chest and pops her tiny lips in her sleep. She radiates warmth from her little swaddled bundle. As he stares down at her, Shawn fundamentally understands why Val hasn’t needed anyone else in her life since Alice arrived. He thinks if Val let him, he’d never put her down.

Alice stretches a tiny arm out in her sleep and punches Shawn in the chest. He snickers, jostling his little bundle, but it doesn’t wake her. He starts to get comfortable, sliding down in the chair a bit so he can rock her, but Val’s hand on his shoulder startles him.

“It’s ok,” she says, “Keep her, if she’s not fussing. I’d rather she stay asleep.”

Shawn nods eagerly and strokes Alice’s back with his long, rough fingers. Val sits across the table with her elbows propped up like she’s physically restraining herself to keep from snatching her child out of his arms. It makes Shawn grin.

“You ok over there?”

Val blushes, caught. “It’s usually just the two of us. I don’t ever have to share her. I’m not used to jonesing.”

“I’ll give her back if you want,” Shawn mumbles reluctantly. Val giggles.

“No, it’s ok. She looks happy.”

Shawn hums. She does look happy.

“So are you working?” he asks quietly, not wanting to wake Alice.

Val nods. “We are, we work at the V&A in the medieval department. We just started back about a month ago after my maternity leave. The museum’s been very generous. They let me walk around with her strapped to my chest all day. She helps consult on various matters, charms my coworkers into letting me leave bottles of breastmilk in every fridge in the museum. I shifted from conservation to curation a few years ago, which is a steadier, more lucrative track. I think it’ll be better for us.”

Us. We’re working at the V&A. We started back at the museum. Shawn’s enamored. He goes pink and brushes through the curls on the back of Alice’s neck.

“Sounds like you’ve got a great partner here,” he quips.

Val is quiet for a minute. “We’re very happy together. But we get a little lonely sometimes. Like when it’s cold and mummy really doesn’t want to get out of bed but Alice is screaming bloody murder. Those are the only moments when this isn’t the greatest thing in the whole world.”

Shawn looks up. Val is watching him carefully. Before he can speak, she swallows and lowers her gaze.

“But we get along, you know. We’re ok.”

“Yeah,” Shawn says, “I know you are.”

They chat. They talk about Raf and his wife Rachel and their little ones -- Val and Alice will be heading across the pond to spend Christmas with them and her parents. They talk about Bea and how she’s spent five years with the same guy up in Edinburgh and she seems actually happy. They talk about their near miss at Alex’s wedding last April -- she came for the ceremony but had to skip out of the reception, Shawn the opposite. They chat through several more cups of tea, an array of pastries, and another nap cycle until it’s dark and quiet outside. Val stares mournfully out the window as she puts on her jacket with Alice back in her pram, gurgling quietly.

Shawn is silent, brow furrowed. He pays the tab with a ghost of a smile and thinks about walking back to his hotel to sit in his room with the TV to try to drown out this day. It’s… unappealing to say the least.

They walk to the door. Shawn holds it open for Val and Alice and considers that they probably look to anyone else like a young family that spent the day together and are headed home to a warm dinner and a cozy night in.

Val’s heart pounds in her ears faster than their boots’ steps on the crunchy ground. She wants to swallow the words, but she doesn’t think she can. Not with him.

“Would you like to walk us home?” she breathes.

Shawn’s smile is extraordinary. He looks up from Alice’s curious brown eyes.

“Yes, please.”

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[saxxxology]

THE CURSED - Ch.11

Being an English Princess in 1739 is everything for Y/N, a Princess from a prosperous, powerful kingdom, to be happy about… until her parents arrange for her to marry a Prince from a nearby kingdom against her wishes. Unable to join her on her journey, the Royal family hires the Winchesters, two experienced Rangers, to guide her. However, the Princess and the younger brother begin to display affection for each other, and when her heat threatens her life, Sam makes a possibly deadly decision to save it.

PAIRING: Alpha!Sam x Omega!Reader

WORD COUNT: ~3500

OVERALL WARNINGS: a/b/o dynamics (heat/rut, claiming, knotting), age gap, smut of varying levels, descriptions of injury and gore, a tad of dub-con and 18th-century sexism from time to time, occasional bits of angst, fighting, and violence, eventual minor character death

NOTE: Edited by @crispychrissy and @quiddy-writes - please heed all warnings! Please keep in mind that this series is set in the 18th century - society is not what it is today. I do not control where your eyes go; if you feel disturbed or think something may trigger you, it is your responsibility to either stop reading or scroll past.

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THIS WORK IS 18+ ONLY. DO NOT REPOST MY WORK ON ANY OTHER SITES.

They did not return home that morning. Father Michael insisted that Sam stay in town, partially so that he could serve as protection, and so Y/N would be safe. Castiel escorted them to an empty chamber in the church and offered to send villagers to collect their things from the house. Sam refused, saying that once the sun was overhead he would return to pack and bring clothing back to the church, along with the rest of his weaponry. At Sam’s request, Dean and Jo were given a room as well.

Y/N shrugged her coat off and sat on the straw bed. It creaked slightly under her weight, and she kicked her boots to the ground and lay back, rubbing her eyes. Sam entered the room a few minutes later, his steps heavy with exhaustion. He’d just met with several priests and town leaders, debating on how to handle the attack. Y/N was surprised that none of the church leaders seemed to fear him; it was as if they knew his affliction was beyond his control and didn’t feel it necessary to hold it against him.

“Sam.”

He didn’t respond, just stood by the window, and gazed out at the landscape below. If Y/N didn’t know any better, she would say he looked terrified.

“Sam.”

He looked at her this time. He had changed into full clothes for his meeting, and he felt heavy and stiff. She was still dressed in her nightgown and looked warm, soft and inviting. All he wanted to do was melt into her and disappear forever.

She patted the mattress next to her. “Come here. Come lie next to me.”

Sam lay down, allowing her to wrap one arm over his shoulder, rubbing his back over the thick jacket he wore.  He breathed in her sweet, earthy scent and closed his eyes, trying to get as close to her as possible.

“Seeing Hannah like that,” Sam murmured, “It brought back a lot of memories… of the night Jessica died…”

Y/N shifted under him and turned her head to kiss his cheek. “I know, I’ve seen you talk with her in town… I’m sorry this is all happening again.”

Sam slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her closer. “She had children… they watched their mother die.”

“She died protecting them,” Y/N offered, “it might have gone for them, Sam, she did what any mother would do. It’s what I would do.”

Sam nuzzled closer against her. “If I hadn’t come back, this would never have happened…”

“Sam, you had no way of knowing,” she replied quietly, “this is not your fault. We were living a quiet life and now we have a job to do, and that’s to protect the people in this town.”

He sniffed and buried his face in her shoulder. “I have to protect you,” he gripped her tighter, “if it comes back, then I want you to stay here and do not leave this room under any circumstances, do you understand?”

“What if you get hurt? Or Dean, or Jo?”

“I will handle it,” Sam lifted his head to look at her, and then crawled on top of her. “But if you make any move to try and help me or take this beast on yourself, I will tie you to this bloody bed. Do you understand?”

Y/N nodded and swallowed as he stared down at her, fire in his eyes. “Yes, Sam. I understand.”

“Good.” The dominance melted away as quickly as it had appeared, and he slipped down to lie back beside her, kissing her shoulder affectionately. “They want me to help arm the village, so I’ll be in town. We’ve made the decision to get all the women and children into the church at sundown, and the men are going to wait in the closer huts for the hound to come back.”

Y/N sighed. “And where will you be?”

Sam sat up and looked down at her. “I’ll be out there, waiting for it. Nobody else in this town dies, this ends tonight.”

***

At sundown, Y/N met Castiel’s wife at the doors to the church. Meg was petite and brunette, with dark eyes and fair skin. She spoke with a soft Irish accent and gently welcomed each of the women and children into the church and helped them set out blankets on the pews and on the floor while Y/N and Jo began preparing dinner in the kitchens. Cooking for over three hundred mouths was hard work, and they were quickly joined by Meg and several other women. By the time it was dark, everyone was fed and waiting for news while Sam, Dean, and the other men prepared to go out for the night.

Sam came to Y/N’s side after they’d all eaten, fully dressed and armed. He slid his arm around her waist and motioned for her to accompany him to one of the rooms by the kitchens.

“I have to leave soon,” he said quietly. “I want you to stay in the church until I come back, do you understand?”

She nodded. “I understand.”

Sam crossed his arms and stared down at her. “Y/N.”

“What?” She raised her voice. “I hear you, Sam. Don’t go outside, don’t do anything other than sit around and wait for you to come back. Just sit around and wait like a good little girl while the strong men handle things.”

Sam smiled down at her and stroked his fingers over her hair. “That’s right, Princess. Now, are you going to protest over me giving you a kiss before I go?”

Y/N folded her arms, but stretched up on her toes to kiss him anyway. “I’m still upset with you.”

“I know,” Sam kissed her again and checked to make sure nobody could see them before reached down and grabbing a handful of her ass. “But I also know you love me and that when this is all over, we’re going to celebrate.”

Y/N shot him another angry look and swatted his hand away. “There’s got to be a way I can be useful.”

Sam sighed and turned back to her. “This going to sound harsh, but the only way you can be useful is by staying out of our way and helping to keep the other women and children safe. This animal won’t hesitate to kill everyone in this church if it can and we don’t need anyone innocent getting hurt.”

Several minutes later, Sam left her by the front door after brushing a soft kiss against the back of her hand. The men said goodbye to their families and left behind him, with Dean following close behind. Jo tearfully watched the older Winchester leave and sat down in one of the back pews, her eyes fixed on the door.

***

The following morning, Y/N woke up to the feeling of something warm and heavy lying behind her. The scent of sandalwood filled her nostrils, and she smiled as Sam draped an arm over her waist. He’d taken his jacket off, and his linen shirt hung off of him, fluttering in the light breeze that flowed through the room.

“Is it over?” She murmured. “I didn’t hear anything.”

“That's because nothing happened.”

Sam sounded angry, and Y/N opened her eyes, turning over to face him. “What?”

“Nothing happened,” Sam repeated. “The hellhound didn’t come back. Couldn’t even smell it.”

“Why?” Y/N rose up on one elbow and rubbed her eyes.

He shrugged and stood. “Maybe he’s waiting until we let our guard down. Maybe he was satisfied with that one kill and now he’s gone…”

Y/N watched him splash water on his face. “Or?”

Sam straightened up, water dripping off the hard lines of his face. “I don’t know. I’m meeting with the priests and Father Michael again to discuss a new plan. I’m not leaving town until the damned thing is dead.”

Y/N saw the dark circles under his eyes and motioned him towards the bed. “Come and rest, you’ve not slept and you look exhausted.”

Sam sighed and shook his head as he reached for his jacket. “I can’t, I need to go and help—”

“Alpha.” she reached down to pull her nightdress up over her thighs in an attempt to get him to come to her. “Please?”

Like always, he gave in at the sight, toeing off his boots and tossing his jacket onto the floor. His eyes grew dark with need despite his exhaustion. He settled between her thighs, and she eagerly reached down to undo his belt. The leather slapped open and the sound of his breathing filled the room as Y/N pulled his rapidly hardening cock into her hand. The bed creaked loudly with every movement, and Sam gritted his teeth when he felt his Omega, hot and wet against his manhood.

“What if someone walks in?” He asked, eyes half-lidded.

“The door is shut, yes?”

He nodded.

“And there will be no worrisome noise coming from within?”

Sam inhaled at her stern tone. “None at all.”

“Then,” Y/N angled her hips and notched his cock at her entrance, “nobody has any reason to come in.”

With his lower lip between his teeth, Sam slowly let himself sink inside her. As always, she was tight and warm and perfect, but there was an added danger, doing this act where they were. They were in a house of God, performing an act damnable enough, but even worse now that the man Himself could be watching.

Then watch, you old loon, Sam thought with a smile, and let the Devil watch too, if it so pleases him.

He rocked his hips forward, and the bed creaked even louder than before. He paused, looking down at Y/N.

“I wonder if they keep the beds creaky for a reason,” she giggled.

“Shh.” Sam kissed her gently and held himself over her.

Y/N felt him pull back, then push forward, splitting her open for him and making her shiver with warm pleasure. Her legs fell open and she ran her hands over her Alpha’s back and up into his hair, winding her fingers in the soft tendrils, but not pulling. Sam was incredible when he wanted to be rough, but he was phenomenal when it came to being tender and soft and passionate.

But they would have to be quick. And quiet, too.

She reached down, gently massaging her clit with her fingers as Sam dropped his head onto her shoulder. The sound of their breathing grew heavier, and Y/N felt Sam’s body heave with the force of his passion, each rocking thrust into the cradle of her body soothing the stress and exhaustion of the night.

“So perfect,” Sam murmured, “so perfect for me.”

He thrust himself forward, burying his face in the crook of her neck and helping her work herself to orgasm. She came under him, her walls fluttering, limbs shaking with the force of her pleasure. Each soft press of his body into hers was met with wet, pulsing heat, and Sam allowed her climax to pull his right from him, panting quietly into the crook of her neck as he filled her.

“That didn’t…” he breathed, “I wish I’d taken more time with that.”

Y/N shook her head and turned her head to kiss him. “It’s okay, I wouldn’t have liked to be discovered. Besides, we’ll be going home soon, and you can take as long as you’d like with me.” With a quiet chuckle, Sam slipped from her, rolling onto his side and kissing the exposed skin of her shoulder. She watched as his eyes fluttered closed and crawled out from under him, standing and letting her nightdress flutter to the floor.

Sam reached for her, protesting that she come back, and she obediently leaned back over to kiss him and handed his nightshirt to him. “I suggest you redress and sleep. You’re exhausted.”

He looked up at her anxiously. “And where will you go?”

She rolled her eyes. “I’ll go get some breakfast and come back. Don’t worry.”

***

Sam heard a scream from beyond the trees. A loud, bloodcurdling scream of pain and terror, and he rose to his feet when he recognized the voice crying his name.

And the roaring that followed it.

"Y/N!" He leapt up and tore through the trees, leaping over logs and stones and the little brook the trickled through the trail.

"Sam! Help m—!"

The sound of her cries were cut off suddenly, and Sam bellowed her name again as the sound of snarling grew louder.

When he found her, she was completely still. Her mangled body lay facedown on the grass, her blue dress ripped and soaked with her  blood. Her fingers were curled in the grass, dirt staining her palms.

"No-!" Sam choked out, running to her side and dropping to his knees. "No, Y/N, please… please."

Her eyes were wide open, and her lips were parted with her dying breaths. For a brief second, her eyes focused on him, and she tried to raise a hand to touch his cheek.

“Sam…"

"Shhh…" Sam held her hand against his cheek as she coughed, blood dripping from her lips. "Y/N, please, don't leave me, please! We'll get you to a healer, just please fight it!"

"Sam, I—" she took another breath, heavy and rattling in her chest. "I love you…"

Her broken hand fell from his face, landing on the grass by her side. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she relaxed in his arms.

Sam felt the sob before it left him, a loud, strangled yell as he pulled her into his arms, not caring that her blood was soaking his own clothes. The wet fabric squished as he clutched it in his fingers and fell back against the grass, his dead Omega clutched in his arms.

"No!" He screamed. "No! God, please, no—!"

"Sam!"

He jerked awake, a dry sob catching in his throat. Y/N was above him, one hand on his shoulder, the other on his cheek.

"Y/N—" he reached for her, anxiously checking her for any wounds. “What—”

"You were having a dream," she soothed him, wiping tears from his cheeks. "Just a dream, it's okay."

“A dream…” Sam wiped the wetness from his eyes and sat up slowly, his head in his hands. “What time is it?”

“Noon,” Y/N replied. “What were you dreaming about?”

Sam shook his head, trying to keep himself from bursting into tears. The dream had been so vivid that memories he’d repressed for years were flooding back, flashes of spurting blood and matted blonde hair...

“It doesn’t matter,” he muttered.

Y/N looked as if she was going to protest, but allowed him to have his way, simply giving him a quick rub on the shoulder. “Come and eat, I’ve brought some things from the kitchen for you.”

Sam sat up and swung his legs off the bed, his nightshirt fluttering around his knees. He quickly pulled his trousers on and buckled the thick leather belt before accepting the tankard of water she offered. There was something sweet and tangy underlying the cold liquid, and he inhaled the scent of strawberries and something else.

“Is that lemon?” He asked.

She nodded. “Yes, and strawberries. Meg was making it, and I thought I’d bring you some.”

Sam smiled and leaned down to lay an cold-lipped kiss on her cheek. “It’s very good. I appreciate you bringing me lunch, you didn’t have to, I was… I was harsh with you last night, and I’ve never been that way with you.”

Y/N shook her head. “I’m not mad at you for that, you were only trying to protect me.”

“But I did not have to be so rude,” Sam bowed his head and lowered his gaze to the floor. “You love me despite that?”

Y/N sighed and cupped his face. “Alpha, look at me.” Sam raised his eyes, and Y/N could see the regret hidden behind beautiful hazel. She stretched up on her toes and kissed him softly. “I love you because you’re trying to keep me safe. You’re doing your job, remember?”

He smiled at her, remembering the words he’d echoed nearly six months before. I’ll keep you safe. That's my job.

“Come, eat some more,” Y/N pushed a plate of bread and butter towards him. “The priests are starting to gather downstairs, I’d also suggest washing and getting dressed.”

Sam shoved a mouthful of bread between his lips as Y/N began to pour fresh water into the wooden basin and splashed some over her face. He finished his food quickly and stripped off his shirt, smiling proudly when Y/N inhaled sharply at the sight of his bare skin. “What?”

“Nothing,” she stepped close to him and laid a soft kiss on his chest, “you’re just beautiful.”

***

Y/N followed Sam to the meeting. After being told to stay out of his way for so long, she argued her way into it and decided that she wanted in on the formation of a new plan to take out the hellhound that was threatening the quiet, peaceful life of Dolgellau.

The jailers, along with Father Michael, Castiel, and Dean were already conversing in front of the altar. The church was otherwise empty, but Y/N could hear voices from behind the church doors, and she assumed that people were still hesitant about going far from their refuge.

“Ahh, Samuel,” Castiel stepped back to allow them into the circle, “glad you could finally join us. Did you sleep well?”

Sam stared at him. He hadn’t informed anyone other than Y/N that he was going to rest. “I slept well. You do keep your beds creaky though.”

“Aye.” Castiel’s eyes flicked to Y/N, and she felt her cheeks turn warm. Somehow, she had a feeling the priest knew about the seduction she’d performed earlier.

“Well, all that aside,” Dean rubbed his hands together and folded his arms, “we need to get rid of that hound, and it needs to be done soon. People are beginning to panic and I’m sure you can’t house people in the church forever.”

Father Michael turned to Sam. “I think… I think we should evacuate the town.”

Sam shook his head firmly. “No. It’ll only follow us if we leave, and out in the open everyone will be vulnerable.”

Castiel spoke up next. “Have you considered what it wants?”

“I have,” Sam replied, “I thought about it all through last night. I thought it would come for Dean, or at least see the other men and take the opportunity, but it didn’t.”

“Then what do you suggest?” Dean asked. “I can’t think of anyone else this monster would want to hurt.”

“Me.”

All the men looked at Y/N as she spoke up, her voice quiet and timid.

Sam stared right into her eyes. “What are you saying?”

“It wants to hurt you again,” she explained, “and it wants to hurt you in the worst way possible… taking an Omega away from her Alpha. Yellow Eyes took Jessica from you, and now this hound wants to take me… maybe it couldn’t see me and knew you were hiding me away.” Sam folded his arms, and she swallowed anxiously, “I think it killed Hannah symbolically… to represent me.”

Sam shook his head. “That’s a long shot, Y/N. You’re thinking too hard about this.”

“Or maybe she’s onto something,” Castiel interjected.

“Like what?” Sam’s voice was angry. “You think I should use my Omega as… as bait?” He shook his head. “No. I won’t allow it.”

“It might be our only hope of getting it to return,” Dean murmured, “I say we give her a chance, test her theory, and if it doesn’t work, then we’ll come up with something else.”

Sam put his arm protectively around Y/N’s shoulders. “I won’t allow her to get hurt.”

“I wouldn’t get—”

The look Sam shot at her immediately quieted her. She swallowed and folded her arms defiantly, staring right back at him. Dean, sensing the tension between the couple, cleared his throat and offered his own solution. “How about this, we’ll go out for one more night alone, see if the thing comes back, and if not, we can try Y/N’s solution tomorrow night.”

Sam shook his head firmly. “No. I am not allowing her to put herself up as bait—”

“Sam—”

“Y/N, no.” His voice was nearly a growl as he glared at her before turning back to the group. “We’ll continue with night watches, it’s bound to show itself sooner or later.”

“Sam, are you—?”

“I said no!” Sam raised his voice at his brother, and Y/N could practically feel the anger radiating from him. “I am not allowing her to set herself out as bait! I lost one Omega to these beasts already, I will not lose a second!”

The priests and jailers were quiet. Sam took a deep, shuddering breath and wrapped his arm tighter around Y/N’s shoulders. He hadn’t expected to yell, especially in the company of priests. He lowered his head. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, “I lost my temper.”

Castiel nodded. “We understand. You should rest. We have another long night ahead of us.”

If you want to see chapter 12, reblog and leave a comment! Feedback is my fuel!

TAGS FOR THIS SERIES ARE CLOSED

Forever tags: @atc74 @becaamm @bamby0304 @crispychrissy @crashdevlin @curly-haired-disaster @cameronbraswell @emoryhemsworth @ellen-reincarnated1967 @kittenofdoomage @kayteonline @kdfrqqg @littlegreenplasticsoldier @lunarsaturn88 @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid @manawhaat @mereka18 @mrswhozeewhatsis @meganwinchester1999 @oneshoeshort @percussiongirl2017 @serpentbaby @spnwoman @smallgirlbigpersonality @shaelyn102 @thelittleredwhocould @winchesterprincessbride @winecatsandpizza @zombiewerewolfqueen @85natalie 

[superwolfiestar]

I’d would like you to meet (Gravesbeaks one shot fanfics)

In the town of Windsor, a black vehicle was driven and drove through a street of Windsor. Two male birds are inside, one is a parrot while the other is a hawk.

One is a tall, lanky parrot with gray feathers and dark stripes, yellow eyes surrounded by light gray feathers, thick eyebrows, combed hair. He wears a yellow shirt, tan pants and a grey cardigan.

Another is a muscular hawk, with dark and light gray hair and black eyebrows. He has a yellow and black beak and a light cream colored neck with dark spots. He is wearing a black suit with a black tie and a tie pin. He has yellow feet with black talons.

The hawk drove as they are on their way to their destination.

“So where did you live?” The parrot ask him.

“We live not quite far from the Windsor Castle Mark and it not actually that far.” The hawk reply to him back. “I live right between South field and Eton College.”

They keep driving as the grey parrot whose name is Mark stare at the outside the window. Watching the people of Windsor and Eton as they walk on the sidewalk, enter a shops or restaurants.

They turn left as they drove past Eton College and then keep driving. Then turn right as the hawk keep driving straight.

Mark boyfriend Falcon ask him if he would like to meet his family and staying at his childhood home for two weeks. Of course, Mark say yes. Mark haven’t met or seen Falcon family before. He amuse Falcon live in Duckburg but when he told him that he actually live in Windsor Eton. He was quite surprised to hear that his boyfriend live in United Kingdom. Although he remembers seeing a photo of his beloved beefy boyfriend when he was little hawk boy but that photo was taken in the years of the 1990s. So he didn’t know what they look like right now today.

He was quite nervous to meet them for the first time of his life. What if they didn’t like him? Should he greet them in the British accent? When he’s drinking tea, should he let out a pinkie like how British people does? What if they hate the way he wears? Should he wears something nice and elegant?

“We’re here” Falcon announced. They then turn right and drove past the black gate that was automatically open up by itself and close once they enter the ground. Mark look through the window and saw a beautiful mansion, the mansion designed in the high-medieval Gothic and Medieval style. And plus, the mansion itself is giving him a Windsor Castle vibe.

Falcon drove around the mini water fountain. And Mark couldn’t believe his eyes of this sight he witnessed. When they both step out of the vehicle, a woman standing of the door entrance of the mansion. A golden retriever dog dressed in the butler suit walk up to them.

“Welcome home Master Falcon,” he smiled at him and spoke in the british accent. “It's good to see you again.”

“Roland! Nice to see you again, how is my mother and sister?” Mark can see the look on Falcon face, if seen that she was happy to see him again.

“They are very healthy and lovely ladies Master Falcon.” The butler reply.

A hawk woman whose is probably the same height like Mark, she wore a bright green shirt dress - an incredible offering from collar to circle skirt. Cuffed sleeves, textured brown buttons, a self belt, and pockets contribute both to the retro vibe of this stunning. Her dark gray hair style was short right above her shoulder, she wore a pearl necklace and pearl earring, on her feet was a soft pink heels.

A woman who’s possibly his mother stepped down and greet Falcon. “Hello sweetie, welcome back my little Gravesy!!!” His mother kissed him on both sides the cheeks.

“Gravesy?” Mark snore at the funny nickname his mother gave him.

“Mother,” Falcon groan. “must you call me that?”

“Why of course my dear little Gravesy, and I will call you whatever I want. Anyway, have you been eating lately since you came here? Are you healthy? You look a little bit fat since I last saw you…”

“Mother!” Falcon exclaimed in embarrassment. His face goes red like tomatoes.

Mark chuckle, he never seen him so embarrassed of his life.

“Ahh, so you must be Mark beaks.” The Mother turns her head to look at him. “The one who captures my dearest Gravesy heart.” Like she did to Falcon, she smooch both sides of his cheek.

“Come, let go inside and have a nice cup of tea and biscuits. Your sister will join us later after she get dressed.”

They walk inside the mansion as the butlers take all of their suitcases out of the vehicle.

They step inside the beautiful victorian style foyer. The floor tiles was a beautiful cream marble design, a red carpet that lead to the empty room what could be a ballroom. On their right was a brown historical Victorian staircase that lead to the second floor. On their left was another open room that have two sofa sitting across to each other and a wooden round table in the center of the room.

“You boys wait in the green drawing room, I will prepare a nice cup of tea and biscuits for us to eat. And Falcon dear, will you be so kind to lead your boyfriend in the green room? you two must be hungry from that long plane ride.” The mother of Falcon began heading to the kitchen as Falcon lead his parrot boyfriend to the green drawing room.

“Oh! And boys.” The mother turned her head around and face them. “Please don’t do something naughty when I gone.” She let out a laugh as she left the room.

“Mother!!!!” Falcon blush red in embarrassment as he exclaimed.

The butler carry all their suitcases and heading up the room where they are going to sleep in as the couple head to the green room. Falcon lead him where he is, they turn their left and head straight until Falcon turn left and open the brown door.

Inside the room was decor in green and the decoration and furnishing of the rooms and the entire floor in this room is covered with deep red carpet. The interiors were decorated with a selection of green and gold furnishings, fittings and some of the finest 18th and early-19th century French works. A single beautiful chandelier dangling on the top of the ceiling where two green sofas and the brown table in the middle between the sofas. About four 18th and 19th century painting that was painted in historical time.

Mark was overwhelmed by the dazzling splendor. Never in his life has he seen just majesty. The room is so wonderful and very royalty. They enter the green drawing room, Mark Beaks gently touch the furniture of the room, and feel the texture. The feel of the deep red carpet that his feet are touching are so smooth and comfortable.

“This is my favorite part of rooms in the mansion.” Falcon began to speak. “Whatever my parents hosted a parties or other special event, I use to come here alone(sometimes with my siblings and cousins) and spend time here in the green drawing room. My father is a big fan of the Windsor Castle growing up. When he is older, have enough money and became rich, he will build an amazing mansion inspired by the Windsor Castle and everything and then live there.” He explains.

Mark sat down on the green sofa, the comfortable and soft cushions he felt. “Can’t believe you live here,” Mark exclaimed then chuckle. “Why go to that old castle when your home is literally a castle!”

They both laugh together as the door was heard open gently. They turn and face to the open.

They see another hawk woman who is almost taller than Mark, wore ruched V-neck and shorts sleeves, an exclusive, hand-drawn print of butterflies and flowers with bright pops of color, and a comfortable gathered waist, this bright red A-line. Her dark gray hair was beautiful curl and one of the curls is sitting on her left shoulder, on her feet was a red heel.

Mark have no idea who she is, but when he looked at Falcon, a smile appear on his face, it is seen that he knows who that girl is.

"Little Lotte, let her mind wonder." Falcon spoke out, got up from the sofa. “Little Lotte thought: Am I fonder of dolls or of goblins or shoes?" he said.

“Falcon…” A girl let out a small giggle. Mark was surprised that she know his boyfriend's name.

“Or of riddles of frocks?” Falcon continues as he smiles walking toward her.

"Those picnics in the attic." A girl walk down the few steps and began to speak.

“Or chocolate.” Falcon chuckle.

“Father playing the violin.” The girl smiled at him.

“As we read to each other dark story of the North." Falcon said.

"No, what I love best, Lotte said. Is when I'm asleep in my bed. And the Angel of Music sings songs in my head!" A girl began to sing as Falcon sing too created a beautiful harmony.

“The Angel of Music sings songs in my head!” They both sung.

"You sang like an angel today." Falcon complimented.

"Oh, Falcon," A girl voiced as she gave Falcon a big hug. "It's so good to see you big bro, I thought you won’t recognize me again." The girl stopped hugging Falcon.

"Recognize you? Melanie. How could I forget the girl who sang like an angel? Your voice is like the sound of an angel." Falcon complimented his little sister.

“Um excuse me, I hate to disturb this happy reunion. Um Falcon, bae.” Mark look at him with a sweet smile then a death glare at this mysterious girl. “Who is SHE!?”

“Oh right, Mark. This is my little sister. Melanie Elizabeth Graves.” Falcon greet him while Mark and Melanie shake hands with each other. Mark was relief, he’s glad that this girl is not his ex.

“It’s very nice to meet you Mark.” Melanie smile at him. “My dear big brother has told me all about you through his letters he sent me and mother.”

“Really?” Mark raised his eyebrows as he laughed.

“I hope you enjoy staying at our humble home for two weeks. Mother is hosting a welcome party in your honor you two.” Melanie informed the couple.

“Oh dear, it is seen that even I came back for a visit. I can’t escape the party.” Falcon joked.

“Don’t be so cynical.” The mother of Falcon walk in the green drawing room holding a tray of tea and biscuits, gently place them in the table. The mother and daughter sat next to each other right across from them.

“So where is Augustine anyway?” Falcon ask his sister.

“He’s at the Hospital working but he will come back before sunset.” Melanie reply, slipping a nice cup of tea.

“Mmm, nice biscuits you made Madam.” Mark took a bite of the biscuits. He didn’t call her “Mrs.” or “Miss”, wondering whether Falcon mother was in the married, widowed, or divorce state. An undefinable something about the room seemed to suggest that she’s a married woman, suggesting that her husband must be very wealthy and rich man afford this very expensive stuff.

“Oh oh oh, call me Martha sweetie.” Martha Graves reply with the giggle. “There’s no need to be formal.”

During their time, Falcon mother told stories about Falcon's childhood, and his little sister chimed in whenever possible to add humorous details she'd forgotten. Then the mother of the hawk got the baby photo album of Falcon from the bookshelf and was showing Mark Beaks pictures of a smaller, cute, and adorable Falcon in a cute british boy cloth riding on the wooden pony swing.

And the other that show little Falcon wearing what appears to be a school uniform sticking his tongue out while his older brother stand beside him on the left side of the photo rolling his eyes at him. Even though Falcon was easily and really embarrassed by these stories and pictures being shared with his boyfriend by his mother and sister, it was obvious to Mark that they loved him and were proud of him.

“That’s just adorable.” Mark said then he bust out of laughter when he saw a picture of baby Falcon laying on his tummy in the bed(probably his parents bed) bare naked.

“Oh gosh…” Falcon groan as his face went completely red as he buried his face with his hands.

“Excuse me to disturb madam but your older son Master Augustine Edward Graves have arrive from work Lady Martha.” The butler announces to her as another hawk man walk in wearing a suit with cream shirt inside and orange tie inside, he is almost taller than Falcon, he also have a 1980s hairstyle as well and his body is kinda beefy than Falcon as well.

“Well, well, well… why it isn’t my baby brother Falcon.” A man chuckle as Falcon also got up from his seat and walk over them.

“Hey there Gus, along time so see brother.” Falcon smile at his big bro, they both shake their hand and then hug each other.

“Gus?” Mark raise his eyebrows.

“Short for Augustine.” Melanie inform him, Mark now know why he call him Gus.

“And you must be my little brother boyfriend.” Gus walk over to Mark, he got up from the sofa and shook his hand.

“Hello, it’s nice to meet you.” Mark let out a smile.

“It’s very nice to meet you too. How is my brother? I hope he is treating you well?”

“He’s great and he treat me so nicely Gus.” Mark told him as the older brother sat between his mother and sister as the couple sat down together and continued chatting.

Mark Beaks smiled as his family goes on about Falcon from the past years and describe how he was back in when he was a little hawk. And later chat about their life and what they are doing.

Falcon family were very kind and welcome to him, but the only one he hasn’t met was his father. Where is he anyway? Why didn’t they talk about him? Mark began to wonder whether the father of Falcon is dead. But he didn’t hesitate to ask about him. Worry that he will brought that bad memory of him.

“I think I will get along with them just fine.” Mark Beak thought to himself as he turned to face Falcon and Falcon look at him and kiss him on his top beak and Mark return with a giggle.

Mark rest his head on his boyfriend shoulder.

“My handsome Gravesy.”

[mooosicaldreamz]

idk how you & lynne are able to write so much. tbh y’all are a blessing. i did a random # generator for the things u said prompts so i’m submitting 40 for supercorp!

according to lynne i have sucked up all the inspiration in the apt, which is apparently a finite resource, so i guess i will be the one producing any writing today…….anyway here it goes. things i said when you met my parents. @narraboths said there was only one choice when i was given this prompt. 

One second, Kara is flipping Lena’s omelette over in the pan with careful and steady precision, dancing to the Real Estate song pouring out of Lena’s way-too-big sound system, when the door opens.

It’s been three months of dating, two blissful months of having great sex, one month since Lena had insisted Kara take a key to her large off-campus apartment and told her to go get milk and kale on the way back from her radio journalism class. Kara had got the milk, some cookies, a giant bouquet of shitty grocery store flowers, and forgotten the kale, but Lena had kissed her anyway.

She had met Lena freshman year in their shared Intro to 18th Century Lit class, and they had been through a lot of nonsense to get to here - Kara had dated this shitty dude named Mike, Lena had nearly blown up their friendship group by dating James for three weeks sophomore year. But Kara had felt it this past summer, while Lena fell asleep on the phone because she was in Turkey with her brother and Kara listened. It would be this year that they would figure it out.

They had, and that was awesome. What was not awesome was Kara turning away from the electric stovetop and seeing someone other than Lena in the doorway, while wearing an FBI t-shirt reading Female Body Inspector (gifted from her sister in a fit of drunken Amazon shopping) and boxers covered in tiny little flying cupids. Last night, when Lena had taken them off of her before giving her some inspired head, she had said they were cute.

The woman with brown hair and a Valentino bag did not look like she would share such an opinion. Kara recognizes her immediately, of course. Her first instinct is to punch the woman, because Lena had just finished a phone call with her mother that set her in such a mood that she demanded Kara drive to the dispensary just on the edge of campus and buy some edibles. They had sat in the dark and watched Mighty Morphin Power Rangers and then when that had worn off, Lena had cried and Kara had kissed her face all over.

“I didn’t realize Lena had a roommate,” Lillian Luthor, drawing to her full height. She’s taller than Kara, serene-looking and unperturbed. Kara was very perturbed, because she was wearing boxers and had nothing as smart as that to say back, besides a colorful string of curse words.

The door opens again. Lillian sidesteps the wide arc it makes as Lena barrels in without looking up from her bag.

“Darling, I hope some of that food is for me, because I’m starving, and I think my mother wants to have dinner with me tonight-“

Kara makes a strangled noise. Lena looks up her way and the smile on her face is pretty enough that Kara forgets that her mother is watching and smiles back. But then Lillian makes a soft coughing noise, and a look of deep horror rushes over Lena’s face as she looks over from Kara to the visage of her mother, dark and batlike in the corner of her formerly sunny kitchen.

“Lena, there’s an FBI agent in your home,” Lillian says, deadpan. It would be funny if Kara didn’t feel like dying.

They go to breakfast because in the process of getting dressed and resolving to burn her FBI t-shirt, Lena’s omelette burns and Kara’s assembled collection of breakfast items get sneered at by Lillian. Apparently Rice Krispies is not a meal to be eaten by anyone with a job over the age of eleven.

“You do have a job, I assume,” Lillian says. Kara doesn’t muster a response, just holds tighter to Lena’s hand as Lillian’s driver takes them over to Salt and Pepper. Lena’s jaw clenches.

“You know, mother, when you insisted on having a key to my place, I thought you’d agree that barging in without warning was a healthy boundary,” Lena says.

“I was in town, and you weren’t answering my calls,” Lillian says, breezily. Watching the two of them talk at each other is sort of like watching Winn and his nerd friends play Pong. Kara isn’t sure how or when to interject.

“You want me to go to that awful gala with Jack, I know,” Lena says. Her head drops against the seat of the car, and her neck rolls as the car moves along. Lillian cocks her head.

“I see now why you didn’t like the idea. You might’ve told me. Surely Kara has a dress suitable for the occasion,” Lillian says. The smile on her face does not meet her eyes. Kara is not inclined to smile back. She just grips Lena’s hand and draws patterns across the back of it, trying to bleed some calm into her. It isn’t clear that it works, but when the car rolls to a stop and Lillian insists they sit in the window seat at the restaurant, exactly where Lena hates to sit because the early morning sun is apparently too bright on her, she gives Kara a small smile.

“What all is good here, then?” Lillian asks. Food is something Kara is capable of talking about to almost anyone, so she gives it a shot, letting Lena take a long drink of water.

“I’m a big fan of the eggs benedict,” Kara says. She feels Lena’s hand arrive on her thigh in a soft, reassuring gesture, and it provokes her to give a smile to Lillian. There’s nothing but a frown in return.

“Certainly not very healthy,” Lillian says. “Lena, I certainly hope you haven’t been eating things as fattening as eggs benedict while you’ve been gallivanting with this one.”

“She eats a lot of kale, actually,” Kara says, dropping her hand under the table and holding Lena’s hand. Lena is rubbing her forehead with her spare hand in much the same gesture as she makes when she’s been staring at blueprints for five hours. Kara likes it then, because Lena with her reading glasses and work face on is cute, susceptible to snuggles, and always open to buying them late-night cheese fries at Devil Dawgs. But this Lena is not as fun.

“That would explain the sallow look,” Lillian says.

Kara knows the definition of the word sallow, definitely read it in her SAT prep classes, and it’s not how she would describe Lena. Lena is gorgeous, has been gorgeous since she stood up on the first day of class and said her name was Lena Luthor and that her favorite book was Siddhartha, and Kara had watched her take studious notes for an hour and a half. She was beautiful the day she kissed Kara in the freezing cold rain on the corner outside McDonalds right after Kara had tried to eat three McNuggets at once. She was beautiful when she came and she was beautiful this morning when she had let Kara keep her in bed for five minutes extra so that they could share sleepy, morning breath kisses. Kara is certain she will be beautiful in graduation robes, and wedding dresses, and holding babies, and solving world hunger.

So she can’t help but take offense.

“I’m going to the restroom,” Lena says. She stands abruptly. Kara watches her go with some worry. It’s too early in the morning for Lena to be crying about anything, but it looks all the same like she might be about to when she turns the corner into the restroom.

When she looks back to the table, Lillian is looking at her.

“So, a journalism major,” Lillian says. Kara stares at her. Apparently the spate of silence is too long. “Are you going to speak? Or stare?”

“Yes,” Kara says. Frustration is thrumming through her, an old anger that’s mostly quelled when she’s around Lena, absorbing the atmosphere of Lena. Her therapist used to call it orphan anger, which had seemed sometimes crass, but usually just as descriptions go.

“Which one?” Lillian asks. She smiles, takes a sip of her water. Kara feels her hand as though it were separate of her body reach up to grip the edge of the table.

“Why are you such a jerk to her?” Kara asks. She leans a quarter of the way over the table to make sure that no one overhears her disrespecting what is supposedly an adult.

“I’m sorry?” Lillian asks. She looks intrigued, like Kara has said something surprising and she’s halfway interested in hearing what else she has to say. Or like how people look at puppies barking at mirrors. Like it’s amusing. It makes Kara feel crazy.

“She is so - good, and she tries so hard to impress you when she doesn’t even need to, and you’re such a jerk,” Kara says. “Why?”

She doesn’t mean for it to sound so impassioned and sad, but that’s how it comes out, and it makes Lillian smile very gently.

“I don’t think you know your place,” Lillian says. “Perhaps you should find it.”

“My place is with Lena,” Kara says, and she smacks the edge of the table so hard that the water glasses shiver. “I’m with her. And you know what? She doesn’t need you.”

“I want what’s best for my daughter,” Lillian says.

“So do I,” Kara says. “And that includes you not being a jerk.”

“You may not understand Lena and I’s relationship, but I do care about her,” Lillian says. She leans back in her seat like she’s won something. Kara almost stands up and swings, but instead she chooses to reach into her lap and place her napkin on the table in front of her, standing slowly.

“I’m going to go check on her and make sure she isn’t crying because you’re a jerk,” Kara says. “When I come back, you can either be gone or in a fifty percent better mood, which I’m sure is the best your robot heart can manage, or else I’m going to make my friend James who works here drop hollandaise on your stupid, jerky head.”

Lillian stares at her. James, who’s just arrived at the table to take their drink order, stares at her. She brushes back him with a very dark look that has him scurrying backward.

She finds Lena in the women’s restroom, leaned up against the sinks and staring at the ceiling as though it might collapse down upon her. There’s no hesitation in wrapping her arms around Lena, pressing kisses up the column of her neck until she starts giggling and pushing Kara away.

“I’m sorry I left you out there,” Lena says, reaching up and pressing her long fingers into either side of Kara’s jaw, pulling her down into a quick kiss. It’s something like cool rain after an oppressive heat, kissing Lena right now in this restaurant bathroom after yelling at her mother. The sinks are fancy and the lights are bright and her mother is decidedly not here.

“It’s alright,” Kara says. “I left her out there. I’m sure that’s not in the etiquette books.”

“I read the etiquette books,” Lena says, kissing her again. “It was not in the etiquette books.”

“Is making out in this bathroom in the etiquette books?” Kara asks. Lena kisses her and keeps kissing her, and they super make out for a solid thirty seconds before Lena draws back with a sigh.

“As much as I want to keep breaking the rules of etiquette books, we should probably go out there and suffer through,” Lena says. She keeps pressed close to Kara, and Kara keeps holding onto her. She loves feeling Lena. Loves Lena. She had been meaning to tell her so.

“Your mother sucks,” Kara says. “But just think. When we get married, I can hand deliver the invitation and I’ll dunk it on her the way Winn does with his 64 controller when he wins at Mario Kart.”

“Oh, when we get married?” Lena asks. She’s smiling so pretty that Kara can’t think of the words inside her brain even though she’s real smart sometimes. So she just leans forward and kisses Lena again. “It’s only been three months, Danvers.”

“If you ever think of breaking up with me, just know that whoever you date after me will not dunk your wedding invitation in her face,” Kara says.

“I suppose we can’t break up, then,” Lena says, smiling.

“Probably not,” Kara says.

It takes them five more minutes to get out of the bathroom, and Lena is even smiling when she sits down again, her hand wound up in Kara’s. Lillian is still there, and Kara feels like she needs to mime buckling in. She settles for taking a drink of her mimosa, which James has taken the liberty of delivering for her without even her ordering. She’s glad they’re all still friends.

“I apologize, Lena,” Lillian says. She sounds like someone is holding a gun to her back and she’s swallowed a razor, but Kara grins as wide as she pleases. She does not elaborate, but Lena looks nearly stunned. Kara squeezes her hand. “Tell me about…journalism, Kara.”

Kara does.