#but occasionally i will hop around and of course always be in discord :’))

[survifor]

probably should’ve warned before i started followin a bunch of you— i’m over on @paramnesias <3

[teddynoh]

꒰⠀⠀⠀⠀kang tae oh.   twenty-nine.   genderqueer.  he/they.⠀⠀⠀⠀꒱        hold your f*** horses !   teddy noh   has just been spotted walking into revolution headquarters. they are best known for being the label’s resident   bodyguard   and have been working with the label for   two years.   they share a lot of interesting things about life in the music industry on their social media, so make sure you don’t forget to follow them at   @nohbear.  the office knows them for being   ditzy   but i swear they’ve got a   selfless   side as well. maybe that explains why they’re always associated with   knitted scarves wrapped around their necks, odd colourful socks hidden under tailored slacks and the smell of a home after baking apple pie.   their coworkers even voted them most likely to win a reality show.   we’ll see how they live up to that reputation.

stats | connections | pinterest

hi all! i’m juju (they/she) and this here is my bumbling bodyguard teddy! message me here or on discord if you wanted to plot something!

name: youngjo ‘teddy’ noh nicknames: ted, bear, jojo, tba age: 29 birthday: february 1st gender: genderqueer pronouns: he/they orientation: biromantic, demisexual hometown: london, england current residence: new york city, usa occupation: bodyguard / security

born in jeju, south korea, teddy’s parents were very in love but also very young when he came to be. the two had a bit of a romeo and juliet story, born into rich families who didn’t approve of their relationship, and even more so of how, unmarried at 18, the two ended expecting a child

the two of them, fed up with their families (and worried about how they may act in the future), decided to use all their savings and uproot their whole lives, moving to london, england

and none of them regretted this one bit. teddy was born and raised with two parents, whose love for each other was only matched by their love for their child. they supported anything and everything teddy wanted to do since before he could even talk

because of this, teddy grew up into a sweet, caring and considerate person, who believed in everything good in the world. but he also never truly had to figure out anything for himself. some may say that his parents coddled them too much, which is likely very true, and that this hindered his ability to truly be independent

sure, teddy knows how to wash clothes and pay bills perfectly fine, but his emotional dependency? that’s a whole other story. they get very easily attached, and can be a bit of a doormat and people pleaser to a fault, finding it hard to say no or ever put himself first, something they never did manage to grow out of completely

upon graduating school at 18, teddy got his first ever job as a bartender. they weren’t the best at it, dropped a few too many bottles and spilled a few too many drinks, but they enjoyed it well enough

however, it was while bartending that teddy got to know just how bad people could be. he often saw the worst of the worst, and stuck behind a long wooden counter could never really do anything to help

over the next several years they job hopped a lot. from bartender to secretary to decorator to barista, teddy had a hard time figuring what he wanted to do and settling down. until a job position as a bouncer opened up at that same first club that he worked at that is

it took a while for him to get used to the job, to being able to say no and stay firm when need be, but after a bit of practice and some growth as a person, teddy really took to the job; charming enough to pacify upset people, and strong enough to use a bit of force when talking them down didn’t work

but then, aged 26, his mother got a job offer. in the united states. and being so close to his parents, teddy hated the idea of being so far from them, only being able to occasionally connect over the phone or web

so of course, it was no surprise when they decided to move across the pond with them

it wasn’t hard for teddy to get a job working security with revolution records. firstly, starting off working security for the building, and doing a good enough job that he worked his way up the job ladder until he was juggled around the company where he was needed, working as main bodyguard to the company higher ups and top artists

wanted connections:

I haven’t managed to brainstorm any specifics, but I’m really open to shoving teddy at any open connections you may have for your muses. though some quick ideas i would love for them are:

- a flatmate - a best friend - artists he’s worked with - cousins - maybe people he dated / went on one bad date with?

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Flying High, Falling Fast

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape; fingering, oral, fucking, subtle creep factor, deceptive charm, the usual fare you know

This is dark!Sam Wilson x reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: You meet the new Captain America at an event and impress him with your homemade project, but his interest is more than friendly.

Note: We all need some dark!Sam, right? This is a pretty long one shot, just over 7k words but it was super fun to write a character I don’t get to a lot. But I hope you love him as much as me!

Thanks to everyone for sticking around and putting up with me and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

You’d never been to a meet and greet before but it seemed like the perfect opportunity to meet up with Reese. The two of you met a year and a half ago on a Discord server for PC builds and eventually waded through the awkward blank cursors to real conversations. Little updates on new additions to your machines, memes about coding, and the occasional gaming session. He became a stalwart in your mostly solitary existence between work and your empty private life.

It wasn’t that you didn’t trust Reese but you felt safer meeting a stranger from the internet in a public setting. Plus, it was his suggestion. His roommate fell through on attending the event with him and you eagerly accepted the unclaimed ticket. Of course, Reese insisted it was his treat but you made him promise to let you pay for lunch.

Even more exciting, you were going to meet the new Captain America. THE CAPTAIN AMERICA. You wanted to squee but had to play it cool as you waited with Reese in the winding queue. 

As exclusive as the meet and greet was, it was stiflingly crowded, even more strenuous as you and Reese tried to adjust your rapport to a face-to-face environment. You mostly ended up chuckling and struggling for some cogent thought.

“What’s in the bag?” Reese asked, finally cracking through the stunted small talk.

“Oh, oh my god, I almost forgot,” you carefully lifted the bag and opened the top to let him peek inside, “I made this last year during lockdown. It’s silly but it was fun.”

He poked his finger around the opening of your drawstring knapsack and his brows rose in surprise. The drone had taken you most of your spare time but you hadn’t yet had a chance to do more than hover it around your bedroom. It was an exact replica, or exact as you could get, of the former Falcon’s Redwing.

“Holy shit! You never mentioned it,” he said.

“Oh, well, I guess… I never thought to. I just spent about an hour or so whenever I could, getting it together. Most of the time was spent on programming,” you closed your bag and let hit hang from your elbow, “and that’s another checkbox on the nerd list.”

“Please, look who you're talking to,” he joked with a snort.

You smiled at him sheepishly and looked ahead of the bodies in front of you as the line shifted forward. He wasn’t exactly disappointing, if anything, he was exactly what you expected. Skinny with black-framed glasses and a bright tee with the Captain’s shield emblazoned across his chest. He wasn’t bad-looking and thankfully not an incel.

“So, uh, you gonna give it to him or something?” Reese asked.

“What-- uh, no, I was hoping he’d sign it actually,” you chewed your lip anxiously, “if I don’t spaz out and just walk away.”

“Right,” he scoffed, “the last time I went to one of these I almost passed out.”

“Oh? Who was it?” you wondered aloud.

“Tony Stark. But I was still in high school,” he explained, “everything else sells out before I get to it. These I got by luck. If David hadn’t swiped them, we’d be standing outside wishing we were in here.”

“I can’t believe he passed on the ticket,” you uttered.

“I’m happy he did,” Reese said, “it made it easier to convince you to meet.”

“Well… we didn’t have to--”

“I’m teasing. Sorry. I’m not very… experienced at this,” he fidgeted.

“It’s fine,” you shrugged as you moved with the line, “I’m just nervous about meeting Captain America, you know? You’re not as intimidating… but I like that.”

“Uh, thanks,” he laughed as you got closer to the table and fidgeted with the straps of your bag. You were almost there.

You stepped up when the people ahead of you cleared away and you couldn’t help but stare at Bucky Barnes’ metal hand as he signed Reese’s special edition Blip magazine. He cleared his throat and you looked the Winter Soldier in the face. 

“Oh, sorry,” you slid the poster you got from the shop on the way in onto the table and he unrolled it and signed. You tried really hard not to focus on his hand, you were so curious as to how it all worked. “Thank you.”

He smiled through tight lips and said, “your welcome” before you sidled down to Sam Wilson as you rolled up your poster.

“Don’t worry about him,” Sam said, “he hates these things. I can’t take him anywhere.”

His laughter received a sharp look from the super soldier. Sam took Reese’s magazine and asked his name. You were too lost in thought to answer when he asked for yours. You coughed and sputtered as you tried to remember and Reese answered for you, adding that you were nervous.

“I, uh, oh,” you lifted your bag, “I was hoping, maybe, you might sign this instead,” you handed the poster to Reese and reached into your knapsack, “if you don’t mind?”

You carefully placed the drone on the table and his brows shot up in surprise. He lifted it just as you let it go and admired it as he leaned back, “you make this?”

“Yeah,” you answered shyly, “doesn’t have all the cool features like yours but it flies.”

“That’s awesome,” he put it back down and uncapped his marker, “where do you want me to sign?”

“Just on the top is fine,” you pointed, “thank you so much.”

“My pleasure,” he put his signature after spelling out your name and he grabbed the drone again, “hey, Buck, look at this? I don’t see any fancy arms that need signing.”

“Shut up,” Bucky grumbled and eyed the drone, “pretty cool, though.”

“Thanks, uh, well, we should get out of the way,” you said.

He handed you the drone and smiled. You began to shuffle away and he called you back to the table, “you code? Do a lot of programming?”

“Mostly just corporate sites,” you answered.

“Here,” he reached into his pocket, “send me a text. I think I know some people who’d like to meet you.”

“What?” you took the card rigidly.

“Sure, we’re always looking for techs,” he said, “and if we can’t find a spot for you, maybe you can see the real Redwing. I’ll make sure of it.”

“Wow, thank you, you… don’t have to do… that,” you stuttered.

“I’d be stupid not to,” he waved off your protests, “you go have fun, you two.”

You backed away and turned to walk away with Reese as you shoved your drone back in your bag with the card, numb with disbelief. 

“Wow, I can’t believe…” you trailed off as you mind wandered.

“Me either,” Reese said oddly, “that’s… wild.”

You looked at him and smiled. He didn’t look mad, only serious. You tightened the neck of the knapsack and slung it over your shoulders.

“So what are we doing for lunch?” you asked.

🌠

In the two weeks since you attended the meet and greet, you and Reese kept up mostly online, many arrangements interrupted by your real life responsibilities. It wasn’t until you offered for him to come with you to the SWORD labs that he had any free time for you. After a stressful text exchange with Captain America, you were too anxious to go alone and he was more than welcoming when you asked to bring a friend.

You stood on the subway as Reese sat and played his Switch. He was jittery as you kept your own nerves hidden just beneath the surface. You found it easier to stay standing as you felt as if you might combust if you sat.

“This is so awesome,” he said as he zipped his Switch up in its case, “thanks for inviting me.”

“I figured I owed you since you got the tickets for the meet and greet,” you said, “and it’s been a while.”

“Sorry about that, work’s been nuts,” he stood as you approached your stop and held onto the pole above your hand, “I kinda skipped out on half a day for this.”

“No,” you frowned, “you didn’t have to--”

“And miss a chance to see the real Redwing? Come on,” he scoffed.

“Oh,” you hung your head, “yeah, I guess that’s worth it.”

“I didn’t mean-- I’m happy to see you too, it’s just kinda a big deal,” he said as you approached the door with the few other passengers readying to hop off.

“No, I get it,” you hooked your thumbs under the straps of your knapsack as the doors slid open and you stepped out onto the platform, “I just… I couldn’t go alone. It’s so… scary.”

“Scary? Jeez, Captain America invited you to a job interview!”

“No, that’s not--”

“Uh, yeah, that’s exactly what it is but I promise, I won’t get in the way,” he said as you head for the concrete stairs, “maybe if he needs an extra coder I might piggy back.”

“Uh huh,” you came up onto the New York sidewalk and came into view of the immense SWORD building, “well, I don’t think it’s all that.”

“So why’d you bring this?” he tapped your bag as you neared the large glass doors and men in suits with coiled wires at their ears squared their shoulders.

“He asked me to,” you said as you were approached by one of the big security guards.

“This isn’t public entry,” he said sternly, “no tours.”

“I have an appointment or… I’m expected,” you pulled out your phone and pulled up the electronic pass Sam sent you, “see?”

“Hmm,” he eyed it and took your phone without asking. Another guard came and scanned it with his phone, “checks out but we’re gonna called down Mr. Wilson and get confirmation.”

“Oh, okay,” you fidgeted as he made no move to return your phone. Reese seemed to shrink as the two men spoke into their headset and nodded at each other.

“Hey,” the glass door burst open as Sam appeared and strode towards you, “hey, sorry, these guys are such buzzkills,” he approached and patted one of the men on the shoulder, “they’re with me.” He assured and waved you after him.

“Um, my phone,” you said to the taller man with the buzzed head. He tilted his head wryly and held out your cell between two fingers. You took it and followed Sam to the doors.

“Anyway, we were just going over some basic maintenance today and I thought you might like to observe. See everything that goes into keeping me and my toys in the air,” he smiled as he held the door and nodded at Reese, “nice to see you again, man.”

“You too, Cap...tain,” Reese answered dumbly.

“Sam is fine,” he chuckled back and tailed the two of you across the lobby as he pointed you towards the elevators. He made Reese look even more like a stick bug. “You bring it?”

“Yeah, it’s in my bag,” you stopped yourself from popping your knuckles out of nervousness, “thank you so much for this. I usually work in cubicles so… uh, yeah… I don’t know what I mean.”

“Hey, don’t be nervous, you built that thing all by yourself? I’m sure you’ll fit right in,” he said.

You got off the elevator and had to hold in a gasp at the shining laboratories as the hi-tech equipment gleamed through the glass walls. Sam led you down the curved staircase onto the lab floors as techs and assistants in both lab coats and starched suits milled around the tables along the edge of the room.

“Hey, Greta,” he called out as he showed you to a metal table, “get a look at this.” A woman with twisted red hair approached as Sam tapped his fingers on the table, “show her,” he urged you.

You swung your bag around and took out the little red and silver drone. You placed it in the middle of the table and the woman, Greta, tilted her head curiously.

“You said you can make this thing fly, right?” Sam asked as Reese watched from the other side of the table.

“Um, yep,” you unlocked your phone and brought up the beta app you designed, “just…”

The drone rose slowly and steadied before you as it hovered over the metal. Greta lifted a dark brow and ran a nail along her chin thoughtfully, “cute.”

“Ah, come on, tell me that isn’t awesome? She did it all by herself,” Sam boasted, “so, what do you think? She’d be a great tech, huh?”

“Tech? I…” you blinked and giggled, that was absurd.

“Does she have a resume? A list of her credentials, at least,” Greta rebuffed.

“Greta,” Sam warned playfully, “I’m her credentials. I’m giving her a reference right now. Hire her.”

“What?” you mumbled under your breath and you saw Reese’s eye cling to Sam darkly, almost enviously.

“You know, if I hadn’t let that kid go for hi-jacking the alpha, I’d tell you to go back to breaking your toys,” she warned, “but I trust you and… I cannot say I’m not impressed,” she narrowed her sights at the floating drone, “how long did this take you?”

“A year or so,” you answered, “it was… just meant to be a hobby but--”

“Well, make it your life,” she said tersely, “Wilson, you deal with HR, Sheila likes you better.”

“Leave it all to me,” he grinned and she walked away.

“Here,” he turned back to you, “I’ll show you the operating system for the real deal.”

He ushered you and Reese over to a computer after you lowered your drone. The real Redwing sat on a module next to the screen and Sam punched the keys and took a hooked earpiece from a small stand, “put this on.”

You slipped the earpiece on as he revealed a bracelet and adjusted it on your wrist, a small ring looping up your index finger. 

“Bend your finger,” he said and you did it, “lift it up, back… like that.” Redwing rose and you watched in amazement, “tilt your head…” the drone aimed in the same direction as your head, “now back,” it flew higher, “just like that. You’re getting it.”

You steered the drone in a circle and Sam helped you maneuver it back down. He let you hand the controls over to Reese who had more fun with it and nearly took out one of the workers. He apologised and Sam just chuckled, though it didn’t sound so amused. 

When Redwing was back in its place, Sam took you all around the room to show you every gadget; his wings, his suit, all his little weapons, and even pulled up some Wakandan schematics of Bucky’s arm. Much of it wasn’t in English however and you could only decipher what was visually laid out. 

He left you there for a moment as he excused himself to chat with a tech about his wings. Reese huffed and leaned against the wall. You were quiet, mostly stunned, though your usual reticence could also be blamed. 

“I don’t think you should’ve brought me,” he said, “I told you it was a job interview.”

“I didn’t know, I thought you would enjoy it,” you felt awful as Reese had given up trying to hide his jealousy.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, “well, it is pretty cool but…”

He was interrupted as Sam returned, “sorry about that, guys, I kinda messed up one of the engines on the wings on my last mission.”

You smiled and said it was fine. You hadn’t expected so much attention and thought it would be a brief little show and tell, not an entire tour. You returned to the table where you left your drone and shut down the app. You packed up your Redwing, it felt lighter but you were sure you were just imagining things as your head spun. You looked down at the bold signature across the shell and knotted the drawstring above its nose.

“Sorry, I…” you took your bag from the table, “I hate to bother but is there a bathroom I can use.”

“Oh yeah, just head back up the stairs, left of the elevators,” Sam pointed above, “we’ll wait here, there’s one last thing I wanna show you.”

“Okay, I’ll be right back,” you headed for the stairs and latched onto the railing before you could trip upwards.

You bumbled up the stairs and after a brief moment of blankness, you found your way to the bathroom. You quickly slipped into the stall and spent a minute at the mirror after washing your hands to get your head straight. It felt like a dream, or worse, a joke.

You headed back out and Sam was waiting just by the elevators to your surprise. You pursed your lips and glanced around, “where’s Reese?”

“Oh, yeah, uh, he left,” he said as he shoved his hand in his pocket, “said he wasn’t feeling it.”

“Really?” you shrunk, just a little, “erm… that’s too bad.”

“Yeah, kinda weird, I don’t think I’ve ever just ditched a girlfriend in the middle of the city,” he said.

“Girlfriend? Well… it’s… it’s early,” you rubbed the back of your neck, “I hope he’s okay.”

“Damn, I hope he didn’t ruin it, I still wanted to show you the shield,” he intoned, “but if you’re not feeling up to it--”

“No, no, I’m here, that would be awesome,” you forced a smile. 

Had you done something wrong? Was it rude to invite Reese and have all this rubbed in his face? You thought he’d feel worse if you didn’t invite him. Your doubts flurried in your head as you stepped onto the elevator with Sam, chewing your cheek as you tried not to show your disappointment.

You were brought back to the present as the metal doors opened and Sam nudged you as you stared right through the open space. You stepped out ahead of him and he caught up and walked beside you as he explained what was hidden in every room; mostly offices and training gyms.

He unlocked a door at the far curve of the circular hallway and jiggled until it opened. He pushed it open and the lights flicked on automatically.

“Bucky,” he grumbled, “he almost took the handle right off… so now I gotta fight it.”

“Oh,” you entered as he beckoned you inside and you looked around the spacious office.

“You know, there’s lots of paperwork when you take out a whole bridge, even if it is an accident,” he laughed, “and it gives me a place to show this off.”

He went to the wall where the shield was held on small metal hooks and slid it out easily. The vibranium sung in the air as he turned to you and held it out. 

“You wanna?” he asked.

“Sure…” you murmured as he turned it around and held it so you could hook your arm through the straps. He let it go and stood back to look you over.

“It suits you,” he said, “got your own Redwing and you hold that like a real champ. Maybe it’s time I step aside.”

You laughed nervously and shook your head. You peeked down at the metal and lifted and angled around as you admired the smooth curve. 

“Thanks,” you offered it back to him and he took it with one hand, “for everything.”

“You’re taking the job, right?” he prodded, “it’s perfect.”

“Mmm, well, I got a job--”

“Better than here? Better than suiting up the Cap?” he chided.

You bent your ankle under you and swayed on your feet. It was a great opportunity and way better than your desk job. It just felt like you didn’t deserve it.

“I need an answer. Greta doesn’t like indecision,” he said.

“O-okay, okay,” you surrendered, “I… if I said no, I’d feel even worse.”

“You won’t regret it, promise,” he said, “if you do, Redwing is yours. The real one.”

“No, no, I’m…” you rocked as you gripped the straps of your knapsack, “I’m sure I won’t.”

🌠

Your two weeks notice rolled by. Your boss was less than pleased by the sudden departure but you didn’t care much as you wouldn’t have to deal with him for much longer. You wrapped up your last day with your replacement and left feeling free, though the anxiety of your job loomed on the other side of the weekend.

In those weeks since your visit to the SWORD facility, you hadn’t heard much from Reese. That night when you messaged him to make sure he was okay, he didn’t say much more than ‘just tired’. After that, he was always offline when you signed onto the server and all your co-op requests were declined. You were ready to give up. 

Oh well, it was an online thing anyway, you were stupid to think it could work out.

But you were not entirely isolated. To your surprise, you got several messages from Sam, you still couldn’t help but think of him as Captain America and feel like you had nothing interesting to say to a hero. When he found out you liked to game, he even joined you for a session on headset but again, you were hyper focused and quiet. You were flattered that he was trying to make you feel welcome, that he even bothered to get you a job, but it all felt so above you.

When you got home that night, you logged in and sent a request to Reese, just one last attempt. He didn’t even respond, even after fifteen minutes of waiting. You shut down your PC and grabbed your switch instead. You changed as the system updated your Animal Crossing and flopped onto your bed.

You laid across the mattress, one leg over the edge and the other bent. You ran through, planting, fishing, and selling as you tried not to think too much. You’d done enough of that lately. You zoned out as your eyes narrowed at the small screen but in your peripheral, you felt a shadow move. You shrugged it off as the sunlight playing through the curtains and rolled onto your side to ignore it.

You kept on, ready to log out as you didn’t want to spend another Nook Ticket to go to and island and get nothing but flowers. You heard a subtle whirring and glanced over at your computer. It was sleeping and it was never that loud. You noticed that light shift again and turned. There was nothing. Nothing but your dresser and the signed drone, just as you left it.

You squinted and turned off your Switch. You went out to the front room to drop it back in the dock. You stretched and grabbed your phone from your purse to put in an order for some take-out. You stopped as you noticed Sam’s unanswered messages.

‘Whatcha doin’ tonite?’ and several that assumed you must be busy.

‘Sorry, got caught up gaming,’ you replied guiltily. 

Your phone shook before you could close out of the chat and you answered as Sam’s name flashed across the top. 

“Hello?” you squeaked.

“Hey, hope I’m not buggin’ you but I thought-- stop, Jesus Christ, sorry, we’re on our way to dinner and we hoped you might join us.”

“We?” you echoed.

“Oh, ha, yeah me and Bucky, Greta, and some of the techs. Not too many of us but you’re more than welcome,” he said, “since you start on Monday, it will be good to get to know some people.”

“Y-yeah, for sure,” you answered. It felt more an obligation than an invite. You didn’t want to come across snobbish or lazy even if you’d rather eat fried noodles and watch some trash reality TV.

“Great! I’ll send you the address,” he growled and hissed under his breath, “sorry, again, I’m just dealing with this-- I’ll see you there. Save ya a seat.”

He hung up abruptly and you stood dumbfounded staring at your jacket. You dropped your phone back into your purse and headed back to your room. You had to find something to wear that didn’t seem like you were trying too hard or not trying enough.

As you entered, that same whirring floated through the air and suddenly stopped. You looked around confused; not a fly, not your PC acting up, nothing. You grimaced at the poster with the star emblem across it and went to your dresser to pick out an outfit. It was probably the neighbour fucking around. Apartment living was rarely peaceful.

🌠

The restaurant was bustling as you were met by the hostess at the door. You told her you were there to join the party from SWORD. She showed you to the table and Sam saw you above the din and waved to you then shoved Bucky over on the cushioned bench. 

“Right here,” he pointed as he waved you over and stepped aside to let you past. You sidled along and sat, apologizing to Bucky as he rolled his eyes, “not too late.”

You gave your drink order as a waiter came by and shrugged out of your jacket, letting it bunch up around your back. Sam offered his menu and introduced the people you didn’t know at the table; alongside Bucky and Greta, were Xan and Wyatt. You said hello and opted for the fiesta salad as you set aside the menu.

“Are you excited?” Sam asked.

“For what?” Bucky huffed, “she’s gotta put up with you.”

“Hey,” Sam took the lemon off the rim of his glass and tossed it at Bucky, “he lightens up… sometimes.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky grumbled but you could hear the humour in his voice. 

You sank into the background as the night went on. You spoke up when you were called on but felt it hard to assert yourself, especially with someone as outspoken as Sam beside you. Still, he made sure to make you feel included when you started to feel forgotten. For that you were grateful and he was right, it made you feel a little less anxious about your first day.

As you came out onto the sidewalk, your wallet painfully lighter, you bid goodbye to everyone but Sam hung around. You clutched your purse and peered down the street.

“Thanks for inviting me,” you said.

“Ah, you know what, I shoulda asked that guy, Reese? How’s it going with him? He your boyfriend yet?”

“Ha, no,” you sucked in your lip and took a deep breath, “I don’t even think we’re friends anymore.”

“Oh no, what happened?” he asked.

“I dunno,” you said wistfully, “but it is what it is.”

“He’s missin’ out. You’re a cool girl,” he said, “building drones for fun. Kinda why I had to snag you, you know? Someone with your skills, that’s dangerous.”

“Dangerous?” you chortled, “no.”

“Well,” he checked his phone, “how are you getting home?”

“I’ll just take the train,” you said, “my place is only about a ten minute ride from here.”

“You sure? I can give you a ride,” he said.

“Nah, really, you’ve done… more than enough.”

“Alright, well, see you Monday?”

“Monday?” you wondered.

“I’ll pop in before I head out,” he said, “got a mission so I might not be around more than that.”

“Okay, Monday,” you confirmed, “see ya.”

🌠

Monday was a whirlwind. It started on a high as Sam suited up and showed off his wings before he headed up to the jet pad. Greta muttered that she was happy he’d be out of your way before she went through the task of getting you acquainted not only with the tech but with their workplace rituals. It was a lot to take in but you did your best to absorb every word and second.

When you got home, you had a folder full of notes and spent too long going over them before you remembered the groan in your stomach. You ate a lazy super of Kraft Dinner and lazed across your bed doing nothing but watching Youtube tutorials on your tablet. You fell asleep early and woke to your alarm and a dead tablet.

You got up, got dressed, ran out, and did it all again. The first week dragged by and yet it felt like you didn’t have enough time. On Friday, you got home and fell across the couch in your work clothes. You held your phone above you and scrolled dozily through your feed.

A dot popped up and you flicked over to your notifications. The selfie you posted on your first day at the lab with Sam in his suit had lots of hearts but your first comment was less than pleasant. Beside Reese’s icon was all caps: MUST BE EASY SLEEPING YOUR WAY INTO A JOB!

Your heart pattered and you sat up. You deleted the comment but another soon appeared; several as you kept deleting and finally blocked him. ‘Slut, whore, dumb bitch…’ it was the last thing you expected from him.

You opened Discord and clicked on his chat. ‘What’s going on? Why are you doing this?’

The text flicked across the bottom that Reese was typing but he stopped and you sat there for what felt like forever before his response popped up.

‘I can’t believe you brought me all the way there to rub my face in all that shit. And for what? You should’ve just told me I had no chance and I woulda left you alone. If you wanna fuck Sam Wilson, do it, but don’t chain me along like your little bitch boy. Get fucked slut.’

You flinched as you read it and re-read it. You typed shakily as your eyes watered. ‘I’m not fucking Sam and I wouldn’t. I brought you there because I wanted to and thought you would like it. I didn’t know you felt so strongly about it. But I see what you think of me so I only wish you the best and hope you find peace.’

You sent the message but just as quickly, you were blocked from sending any more. You tossed your phone and fell back against the couch. That must have been why he took off but you couldn’t figure out how he thought you of all people were sleeping with Sam Wilson. Really? He was just another incel after all.

You phone jangled with your annoying ringtone and you grabbed it, expecting to be insulted by Reese again but it was Sam calling. You really weren’t in the mood to talk with him. You just wanted to be left alone. But you couldn’t just ignore Captain America.

“Hello?” you answered.

“Hey, I just got back in town. Whatcha doing?” you could hear the wind in the speaker.

“Just got home. I’m exhausted. Probably gonna just nap.”

“You okay?” he asked after a moment.

“Fine,” you said dully.

“Don’t sound fine,” he said, “what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you insisted.

“Oh, so it’s not what that boy said on your photo?”

“You saw that?”

“You tagged me, remember?”

“Oh, yeah, no, it’s…”

“Shit, don’t listen to him. He’s just a boy, he blew his chance and he’s bitter about it,” he said, “how about I come over, make sure you’re really okay?”

“No, I don’t think--”

“Ah, come on, don’t make me worry all night about you,” he chided.

“Sam, you really--” There was a knock at the window and you froze. “Sam?”

The line clicked and you heard the tapping again. You lowered your phone and went to the window. Outside, geared up in his wings and suit, Sam hovered before the glass. You blinked and he rapped again. You snapped out of your shock and unlocked the window and slid it up.

“What are you doing?” you asked, “wait? How do you know where I live?”

He grabbed onto the frame and hooked his leg through as he retracted his wings. He bent under and sat half-in and half-out of the window, “forgive me? I did a bit of snooping in HR.”

“I told you not to come. I really don’t feel up to-- It’s really weird that you’re here,” you sat as he ducked pulled his other leg through and stood, “Sam, I think you should go.”

“You shouldn’t be alone, especially after that moron sending you that shit,” he said coolly as he took off his tinted goggles.

“Well, I want to be alone, so you should--”

“I mean, I haven’t even fucked you yet and he’s jealous,” he snickered, “so I guess we should give him a real reason.”

“What are you talking about? That’s… gross. You should go--”

“Come on, girl, you think this was really about a drone,” he tossed his goggles down and set his shield on the chair as he strode around the room, “convenience. I want you close.”

“I don’t--” you looked down at your phone, “get out, Sam.”

The tone of your finger pressing ‘9’ sounded and he spun quickly to face you. He stormed over to you before you could hit ‘1’ and ripped it from your grasp. 

“You’re gonna call the cops and say what? I’m Captain America,” he snarled, “but you can just call me Cap.”

He winked and threw your phone out the window smoothly. You gasped as he chuckled and lifted his wings off his back. He leaned them against the wall and stretched out his shoulders. He looked around as he twisted his tongue between his teeth.

“I like this, looks cozy,” he toed the side of the couch with his boot, “look better with you on it.”

You watched him stroll around the coffee table as he unzipped the collar of his suit. The scene was like some tainted nightmare. Maybe you’d fallen asleep. You were so tired you must have just passed out but you weren’t waking up.

You spun around and ran into the small hallway that led to your door. You were caught from behind, pulled back by the nape of your blazer as Sam tutted. His arm went around your waist and he lifted you off your feet. He turned and carried you back into the front room. You kicked and writhed as his strength enwrapped you.

“Please, please,” you begged, “I… I don’t understand. This isn’t-- this isn’t what I wanted. I didn’t--”

“Baby girl,” he cooed as he brought you close to the couch, “be good and listen to your Captain. Now stop this.”

“No, no,” you gulped at air as the panic rose in you, “I never-- please, you don’t have to do this--”

“You gotta do what I say,” he snapped and flung you onto the couch, “I don’t want to make you.”

You looked at him as you trembled in fear and disbelief. This couldn’t be. He was Sam Wilson, the Captain America; he was a nice guy.

“You have one minute to get naked,” he said and you just gaped at him, “you gonna make me repeat myself?”

Your throat tightened as his dark eyes bore into you. His hand balled to a fist and finally you found an ounce of strength. You pushed your legs over the edge of the couch and slipped out of your blazer. You stood carefully and watched him cautiously. You had to look away as your hands quivered over the buttons of your blouse.

You turned and folded your shirt over your blazer. You could hear him behind you as you unbuttoned your pants and pushed them down your legs. The question of what you were doing flitted through your head but the fear pulsed through you and took over.

“Ah,” he sighed and you peeked back as he freed himself of the top half of his stealth suit.

You turned back and hesitated. You knew there was more, you knew what he wanted, but your body locked up as your fingers curled and your insides knotted.

“Let me get that,” he came close and his fingers tickled along your shoulder blades and he unhooked your bra, “hmmm,” he let go and the cups fell off your chest, “almost there, baby.”

He stepped back and you shuddered. You dropped your bra and hooked your fingers under your panties. You wiggled them down a little at the time and heard the intake of breath as you pulled them down entirely. You stood still, unable to move, too mortified to face him.

“Come on, baby,” he said, “get comfortable.”

You inhaled and turned slowly. You went to the couch as he shed his undershirt and added it to the pile atop his shield. He looked at you and tilted his head as he licked his bottom lip. He snarled as he took in the sight of you and pointed you to the couch.

You sat and hugged yourself as he stripped off his pants along with his boxers in a single swipe. You flicked your eyes away as you glimpsed his hard dick as he stood straight and you stared at the open window. You smushed your lips together in horror and held in the tide of tears.

He came closer and you tried to tune out the room. This couldn’t happen. It just couldn’t. You felt his hands on your knees and he urged your legs apart. You resisted for a moment then let him guide your limbs. It would be over sooner if you just let it happen.

He knelt on the floor as his hands kneaded along your thighs and framed your vee as he leaned over your lap. You winced and he kept your legs from closing as he pushed his body between them. His thumb grazed your folds and he pushed between them. You let out a hushed gasp as he swirled around your clit.

“See, it’s not so bad to be good, is it, baby?” he purred, “you’re wet already.”

He slid his thumb up and down and spread the wetness along your cunt. You were shocked and humiliated by your obvious arousal. You shouldn’t be turned on by this. Your body was not listening to your mind, it was obeying his touch.

“Mmm,” he hummed as he turned his hand and poked along your entrance with one finger. 

He pushed inside and you clenched around his intrusion. He pulled in and out and added another finger. Your nails clawed at the cushion and you pressed back into the couch. He kept his thumb on your clit as he worked his fingers inside of you and the tension clustered between his fingertips.

“Oh, baby, listen to you,” he bet forward and replaced his thumb with his tongue as he kept fingering you.

You turned your face up to the ceiling and squeezed your eyes shut. You bit your lip as the ripples radiated from your core and your breath hitched. His hand moved faster as he suckled at your bud and his free hand groped your chest blindly. You slapped your hand over your mouth as you came, your back arching as you pushed into him.

He teased you through your climax and pulled away only as you quaked and whined at his unyielding touch. He drew his fingers out of you and sat back to lick them clean. You peeked down at him and quickly away as his eyes blazed back at you.

“Up,” he stood and stroked himself shamelessly as he strode around the coffee table, “put your hands on there.”

You rose unsteadily, legs shaking beneath you as your entire being felt like jelly. You went to him and turned your back to him. You bent over and he grabbed your ass and squeezed with a growl. You gripped the table and hung your head as the cool air grazed your cunt.

He shoved his hand between your legs and rubbed you again. He stepped closer and bent his knees as he lined himself up with your entrance, sliding in between his fingers as he spread you wide. You choked as his tip poked inside and he eased himself inch by inch into you. He held your hip as he reached his limit and groaned.

“Baby, oh god damn,” he thrust so that your whole body jerked. It was painfully delightful. Of the few men you’d been with, he was the biggest, or at least the thickest.

He rocked slowly and a moan escaped your lips. Despite the torturous pressure of his intrusion, you could ignore the pleasure laced in the pain. His hand brushed up your as and along your back. He bent over you as his fingers curled over your shoulder and he pressed his body to yours as he fucked you.

You kept your head down as you tried to measure your breaths and the pathetic noises rising from you. He pushed his hand down your stomach and between your legs again to play with your clit. He moved his legs against yours and forced them together so your cunt hugged him even tighter. He grunted and you whimpered as his fingers added to the new pressure.

He sped up so that the table scraped against the floor but kept you up with one arm around you. He rutted into you wildly as his sultry voice filled your chest and his heat consumed you. You cried out as another orgasm swept through you and your cunt quivered around him desperately.

He pulled you up suddenly so you stood on your toes. He tilted into you as he brought his arms up around yours and tined his fingers behind your head. His flesh slapped yours loudly and you opened your eyes as you heard a familiar whirring. The drone flew before you, the signature on its shell, but a light blinking at its nose. Yours didn’t have a light.

“What--”

“Ah, yeah,” he rasped through rampant breaths, “looks like they got mixed up.”

“Huh--” you sucked in your breath as he thrust harder and deeper.

“I didn’t mind, he helped me keep an eye on you,” he said as he nuzzled you above his hands, “you look so cute in your little tee shirts.”

You groaned and leaned your head against him as another rush of fear was met with unwanted bliss. You murmured senselessly as he picked up his pace and the drone came closer. He purred as you felt his muscles tighten.

“Don’t worry,” he puffed, “I’ll make sure the boy knows he was right.”

He buried himself in you, nearly taking you off your feet, and twitched as he emptied himself into you. He rocked his hips subtly as he rode out his climax and stilled you as his voice gristled to rampant pants. His arms fell to embrace you and he kept you flush to him as he lingered inside.

“Or I can keep that little video to myself…” he brought his hand up to cradle your chin and poked his finger along your lower lip, “it’s all up to you, baby.”

[hizashis-lil-bunbun]

No Rest for the Wicked- HardDom!Dabi X Fem! Brat Reader

Prompt: Dabi just wants to take a nap but everything goes wrong

I asked a friend in one of my discord groups for a random writing prompt when I was up late. Something about this one activated my inner ✨brat✨

Enjoy!

Word Count: 3.3k

Kinks/Warnings: brat taming, degradation, pain play, spanking, belting, mild dacryphilia, bondage, edging and denial, hints of dubcon

Banner made by the always lovely @ladyshinigami!

••••••••••••••

Exhausted.

That was the best way to sum up Dabi’s mood as he trudged through the bar fronting the League’s headquarters. Shigaraki had sent him out on a mission with orders to “stake out and take out” a small band of up-and-coming heroes. It had been easy enough to find them (newbies can never resist being flashy), but making sure they were all disposed of was another matter. A matter only made more complicated by a few rogue civilians that happened to spot him. It had taken him two full days to track everyone down, leaving him covered in blood, soot, and burns. In short, Dabi needed a break.

“Well, well, well.” Came the nasally voice of their fearless leader, “The prodigal son returns! Took you long enough, Dabi. Hope that means you didn’t fuck up the mission.”

“Don’t get your panties in a twist.” Dabi snaps back, too tired and sore to care about his tone. Not that he’d be any kinder to Shigaraki if he wasn’t. “I did what you asked and left no witnesses. Now piss off before I turn you into a smoldering pile.”

Shigaraki didn’t rise to Dabi’s bait, opting to simply flip him the bird before going back to whatever game console he was currently obsessed with. Dabi returns the gesture in kind, glowering as he disappears behind the bar and into the League’s living quarters. Their warehouse provides more than enough space for everyone to have their own room, and the boss even allowed them to decorate and furnish them as they pleased. Wasn’t that generous? Dabi plods down the hallway to his assigned room and kicks open the door only to find it was occupied. By you.

“Dabi?” You question for a moment before your eyes light up with excitement. “Dabi! You’re back!”

As a fellow Stain devotee, you’d sought out the LOV and been initiated as a member a mere six months ago. And two months later, you’d been initiated into Dabi’s bed. You wouldn’t exactly call yourselves “lovers.” Love was few and far between in a hornet’s nest of villains. But you’d certainly become something more than the occasional lay.

He grunts as he stalks into the room, shedding his coat and boots as he went. Dabi was never big on grand displays of affection. And in his current state, that small show of acknowledgment may as well have been equivalent to a bear hug.

“I missed you.” You chirp back, undeterred by his gruff response. “How was the mission?”

“Long and shitty.” Came his terse reply as he strips off the rest of his clothes and grabs a towel from a nearby wall hook. “I need a fucking shower.”

He wraps the towel around his waist before he sets about searching for body wash and a first aid kit. Greedy eyes roam the plane of his toned torso, eager to touch the scarred and stapled flesh you’d spent many a night mapping out. Before joining the League, you’d never had an opinion one way or the other on touch or physical intimacy. You didn’t dislike it by any means; it was just something people did, fuck buddies or otherwise. But now that you’d shared a bed with Dabi, your perspective had changed. His rough touch was your drug of choice, intoxicating in all the best ways. And with him being gone for almost 72 hours? It was safe to say you were jonesing for a hit.

“Oooh, sounds like fun.” You purr, sprawling out on the mattress in a catlike stretch. “Want me to join you? I think we could use a little… quality time together.”

He snorts derisively at that, straightening up once he’d found his supplies and fixing you with a deep scowl. So pretty even when he’s pissed. You bat your eyelashes in return.

“Don’t get cute, dollface. Once I get cleaned up I’m passing out for the next century.”

Before you can shoot off another coquettish remark, he turns on his heel and marches out the door in the direction of the communal showers. You huff and clamber out of bed to follow him, determined that he wouldn’t get away so easily.

“C’mon Dabi!” You whine, trotting along behind him as he stalks down the hallway. “I haven’t seen you in days! Are you really just gonna give me the cold shoulder?”

“Yup.” He snaps back, shooting you a harsh glare over said shoulder before barging through the bathroom door. From the other side you can hear his bark of “Move it, psycho!” followed by an indignant squeak from whom you can only assume to be Toga. You huff and stamp your foot like a petulant child, turning on your heel to flounce off in the direction of the League’s bar front.

“Bastard.” You seethe under your breath, “Who does he think he is, ignoring me like that? It’s his fault I’m so pent up. If I tried ignoring him when he was all hot and bothered–!”

You pause for a moment as a lightbulb goes off in your head. A single impish thought flashes through your mind and it causes your lips to curl into a Cheshire grin. He wants to play games? You’ll give him games.

You continue your trek into the dimly-lit, woodpandeled speakeasy, a renewed vigor in your stride as you make a beeline for the bar top. Kurogiri is standing behind it as per usual, wiping out a pint glass like the faithful bartender he pretends to be. You sidle up to the bar and place both hands on the oaken surface, adopting a sweet, too-innocent lilt to your voice.

“Kuro-baby.” You purr, the cutesy pet name causing the misty specter to look up from his task. “Can I have a glass of water, please? With lots of ice, if you don’t mind.”

Wordlessly, Kurogiri sets down the glass and picks up a shorter one, using it to scoop up a generous portion of ice from the freezer below before filling it nearly to the brim from the tap. If he has any suspicion of you, he’s very good at hiding it. The same can’t be said for Shigaraki, sitting a few stools down from you and still tapping away at the buttons of his console.

“Fucking with Staples again?” He questions disinterestedly, followed by a hiss of annoyance when the game lets out a series of gunshots. He must have gotten himself killed again.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You shoot back airily, swiping the glass from Kurogiri’s outstretched hand and hopping off your own barstool.

“It’s your funeral!” He calls after you, waving you off with one hand. You snicker as you march back into the living quarters, one hand wrapped around the chilled glass and the other flattened over the top to ensure you won’t spill a drop along the way. Soon you find yourself back in front of the bathroom door and, suppressing the urge to giggle, you slowly push through it and into the steamy room beyond. In spite of the hideout’s outward appearance, the place is surprisingly clean and well-kempt (all thanks to den mother Kurogiri). Two sinks stand against the left-hand side of the wall, with two doors opposite them leading to the toilets. Next to the sinks are the showers: three open-faced, tile cubes barely covered by flimsy plastic curtains. Toga is standing in front of the nearest sink, wearing a skimpy pair of Hello Kitty pajamas and washing the blood and goop from her latest transformation out of her navy, pleated skirt. She looks up at you when you enter and you quickly put one finger to your lips, smirking as you point between the glass and the running shower beyond. Toga lets loose a sadistic giggle of her own before hastily shushing herself when you hear Dabi’s bark of “Pipe down out there!”

As you move past her, you can see her mouth the words, “You’re so dead, big sis.”

You can feel a jolt of adrenaline course through your veins as you sneak up to the edge of the tiled wall separating the shower from the rest of the bathroom, the glass in your hand shaking briefly. A small amount of water sloshes over the rim and spatters onto the floor, the sound barely overshadowed by the shower.

“Doll?”

His low, rumbling voice coming from the other side of the curtain sends another shiver down your spine.

“What are you up to out there?” He growls dangerously, as if he has a sixth sense when it comes to you and your shenanigans. For just a moment, the rational part of your brain takes over and makes you question your actions. Dabi’s already in a foul mood, and getting worse by the second by the sound of it. Maybe if you hold off and behave like a good girl–

Your body seems to move of its own accord. The next thing you know, the contents of the glass are sailing through the air, arching high over the plastic curtain rod and landing with a messy splat onto your unwitting victim on the other side.

“What the fu–!” Dabi’s curse is cut off by yours and Toga’s mad giggling as you sprint out of the bathroom and down the hallway. Passing by a very confused-looking Spinner, you dart inside Dabi’s room and slam the door, locking it for good measure. Seconds later, he’s pounding on it, using enough force that you’re convinced it might splinter and break off its hinges.

“Open this door right now and make this easier on yourself!” He roars, furiously jiggling the handle.

You let him pound away for a few more seconds, in part to allow yourself time to catch your breath but mostly to delay the unenviable punishment. With a deep, steadying breath, you plaster on a mildly amused expression, undo the lock, and pull open the door. Dabi is visibly seething, water dripping from his hair and cascading in rivulets down his toned chest onto the towel slung low on his hips. His brows are knitted together in rage, turquoise eyes flashing dangerously while one hand is still raised in a fist.

“Oh hey, babe. Done with the shower al–?”

His hands are around your throat before you can blink, your sassy remark devolving into a high-pitched squeak.

“You little bitch.” He spits at you, forcibly backing you further into the room as he advances. “Was that your idea of a joke?”

“N-no.” You gasp in response, voice slightly raspy from the pressure on your jugular. “I just thought–“

“Thought what exactly?” Dabi growls, kicking the door shut behind him with one foot before giving your shoulders a hard shove and pushing you onto the bed. You land with a slight bounce, the momentum giving you just enough time to prop yourself up on your elbows.

“Well?” He hisses, venom dripping from the word as he glares down at you.

“I was worried.” You start slowly, tone almost loving as you gaze up at him with big, doe eyes. “You seemed so tense when you got back. And don’t think I didn’t notice those new burns on your arms. So I thought, since the mission was so hard on you…”

Your face suddenly splits into a shit-eating grin.

“I thought you might need to cool down for a minute.”

Dabi blinks for a second, seemingly struck dumb by your remark. And then his hands are back on you in an instant, roughly flipping you over to lie chest-down with your legs hanging off the edge of the bed.

“Of all the stupid–“

Your shirt is ripped over your head from behind.

“Immature–“

There goes the bra, clasps and straps lost to a wildfire of blue flames as it falls away from your body in a charred heap.

“Bratty little schemes.”

Your leggings and panties are harshly yanked down, slipped off, and discarded into some unknown corner of the room. You feel cool air hit your legs and backside, moments before a harsh slap lands on your right cheek. With a yelp, you cast a wide-eyed glance over your shoulder at the menacing presence behind you; a pillar of rage and sadistic urges looming over your naked form.

“You wanted my attention that badly, dollface? Well I’m sorry to say you’ve got it now.”

Before you can react beyond a pained, needy whimper, Dabi hooks his right arm under your thighs to haul you up and onto the bed. He lays his full weight across your back and reaches around and underneath the farthest edge of the bed to produce a simple, black cuff, attached to the nylon spreader running along the underside of the mattress. Giving it a few cursory tugs, he grabs ahold of your right wrist and yanks it towards the corresponding corner, attaching the device with practiced speed and precision. You continue to writhe and pant below him, muttering a litany of curses and “no’s” as he does the same to the opposite side. You’re now bound by both wrists, unable to do more than thrash wildly on the mattress in a humiliating, spread eagle position.

“Seems like you need a reminder of who’s in charge around here.” He snarls in your ear, pushing himself off of you and marching over to his discarded pile of clothing. You can hear the soft rustle of fabric, followed by the telltale clink of metal on metal that makes your eyes go wide.

“Y-you wouldn’t dare…” You start breathlessly, just before the first blinding sting of leather greets your exposed skin, right at the juncture where the soft swell of your ass meets the tender flesh of your thighs.

“That’s where you’re wrong, sweetheart.” Dabi says mockingly, his tone dripping with false pity and saccharine sweetness as he takes his place at the edge of the bed once more. “I don’t have any problems dealing with a mouthy… little… brat like you.”

His words are punctuated by three more vicious blows, this time striking the meatiest part of your ass and sending the pliant flesh jiggling. The metal rivets in his belt only add to the pain, biting into your rapidly heating flesh and causing tears to prick at the corners of your eyes. Shifting your hips in a futile attempt to get away from Dabi and his newfound torture device, you roll partly onto your side and look over at him with watery, pleading eyes.

“S-sir… Dabi, please!” You sputter out, voice already wavering as your resolve crumbles beneath the stinging sensation. But Dabi’s not in the mood for bargaining. Instead, he growls as he wraps an arm around your waist and shoves his left knee underneath your belly, hiking your ass further into the air.

“Hold still!” He barks at you, another crack of his belt sending a fresh wave of searing pain along your already raw skin. You scream in agony, unable to do more than wriggle and squirm against his hold.

“Start counting, brat.” He demands huskily, your only warning before the next punishing spank meets your burning flesh.

“One!” You gasp out, “I’m sorry! Please–!”

Another blow lands, somehow harder than all the others, revisiting the spot where ass and thigh meet and causing you to wail in pain.

“Too late for apologies, dollface. The only thing I wanna hear from that slutty little mouth is counting. Understand me?”

The arm looped around your waist tightens in warning, and you hiccup before sputtering out a shaky, “T-two.”

“That’s more like it.”

He continues spanking you at a steady pace, the only respite coming when he pauses to hear you choke out the next number. By ten strokes, you’re bawling. By fifteen, you’re practically brain dead, unable to quell the sobs that wrack through your body or think beyond the next count. He mercifully stops at twenty, dropping the belt and loosening his own grip on you. All you can focus on is the burning pain radiating out from your tanned backside, sobbing as you bury your face into the pillow below you for comfort. Dabi’s own breathing is heavy and ragged, and he takes a few deep, measured breaths to steady himself. After a few moments, that hand that once held his belt is carefully laid on the curve of your ass, and you gasp both at the gentle touch and the shock of prickly pain it brings. Judging by the way he strokes the heated flesh, you’re sure the silver eyelets have left a series of bruises behind.

“S-s-sir.” You blubber, “I’m... I…”

“Shhhh, quiet down.” He says softly, voice uncharacteristically tender as he runs his hand along the width of your heated cheeks. “It’s over now. You did so well.”

The unexpected praise makes you whimper beneath his affections, devolving into a quiet moan as his hand travels even lower, fingers coming to rest at the entrance to your heated core. He begins to gently massage at your folds, middle finger slipping inside to find you impossibly wet and clenching around the digit.

“You filthy little thing…” He breathes out on a chuckle, “Are you really that turned on by me beating the hell out of your cute little ass?”

His finger delves deeper, pussy eagerly sucking him in as you keen below him. His free hand begins to lightly scratch up and down your back, goosebumps rising in the wake of each careful caress. Without thinking, you shift further onto your knees, fighting through the pain to push against his hand.

“Please, Sir.” You moan wantonly, “More. Please.”

With another dark chuckle, Dabi slips a second finger inside of you and begins to languidly pump them in and out. Pain and pleasure meld together in a sinful symphony, pants and whimpers coming from you as you rock your abused body against his own scarred flesh. He adjusts the angle and crooks his fingers downwards, curling them just shy of that sensitive bundle of nerves you know would have you seeing stars. Your back arches as you hungrily push against him, dignity forgotten in the face of pure, carnal desire.

“Getting impatient, are we?” He growls teasingly, fingers suddenly slipping out from your sopping core and wrenching a high-pitched whine from the back of your throat. He moves off the bed entirely, ordering you to stay put as he walks over to the nearby dresser and opens up the top drawer. Like the cuffs would allow you to do anything otherwise.

“Ah, here we go.” He says after a few seconds of rummaging, striding back over to the bed and taking up residence behind you. You feel the mattress dip under his weight seconds before his hands find your hips, roughly hauling them upwards and forcing your face further into the pillows. You shriek as he grabs ahold of your left cheek and squeezes harshly, pain shooting up your spine like a bolt of summer lightning. Something hard and cool prods at your quivering entrance, briefly brushing against your clit before being plunged inside of you. The sudden stretch feels at once too much and deeply satiating, sending burning, pleasurable heat licking across your oversensitized nerves. Once the toy is sunk to the hilt, Dabi gives a short grunt of satisfaction before sliding off the bed and circling around to lean over your quivering form. You turn your head to face him and he smirks at the sight of your fucked out expression: eyes red and puffy, cheeks streaked with half-dried tears, lips swollen from the bluntness of your own teeth.

“Aren’t you a sight?” He hums lowly, brushing away an errant strand of hair to plant a condescending kiss to your temple. “Such a needy little slut for me.”

With another dark chuckle, Dabi pats your cheek, straightens up, and turns towards the door.

“Wait!” You squeak out, squirming against your restraints as you watch his retreating back. “You’re just gonna leave me like this?”

“That’s the plan, dollface.” He shoots back, casting you a wicked grin over his left shoulder as he pulls the door open. “At least until I finish my shower.”

[ghost-town-story]

Alrighty so the C.A.N.S. discord server is having a lil surprise game to talk about a place-of-interest in our NaNo wips, so here we go!

(Also, I know I’m talking about my NaNo wip being Astral, but let’s be honest, wip hopping is real and Nova always pops out of the woodwork for at least a couple thousand words XD)

Almaraz

Almaraz is a little-known hidden underground government facility that houses Project Chronos. What is Project Chronos? Oh, just time travel. NBD lol. (Some fun facts: Project Chronos is headed up by a man named Atherton. After Project Chronos is shut down, he’s moved to the NOVA division and starts keeping tabs on Aydan as a suspected Nova)

Almaraz shows up ~3 ish times in Nova so far: 1. It’s the place where Jay goes nova (and also where he first meets Basil, although he loses that memory with the rest of them) 2. It’s basically the catalyst of the “Time Travel AU” arc, and it’s where the final scene of the arc takes place before paradox hell hits and the timeline gets reset 3. Jay goes back to Almaraz to figure out why he suddenly remembers this one place, leads to “congrats kid you now have time fuckery powers and some of your memories back!”

Anyhoot, have a lil snip of the beginning of Time Shenanigans, aka no. 3 in that list of “Times Jay went to Almaraz and had a Very Bad Time” lol

The place looked almost like how Basil remembered it, except for the absence of any people, and the lack of flames and smoke curling up to the ceiling of the underground cavern. The emptiness made Basil shiver. Another place abandoned underground to fall into ruin, just like the city where they had set up Base. Though the reasoning behind this abandonment felt a lot more sinister.

Jay had pushed his goggles up onto his forehead, revealing his mismatched Nova eyes and the soft frown that graced his face.

“So?” Basil asked.

Without a word, Jay took Basil by the hand and tugged him towards the abandoned building. Basil sighed, but let Jay pull him along.

The door hung open, silently beckoning them into the empty building. Dust puffed up under their every footstep, occasionally interrupted by the crunch of glass as they passed by shattered interior windows and broken photographs. Basil kept an eye on their surroundings just in case, letting Jay focus on whatever it was that had drawn him back to this place.

A flash of movement caught Basil’s eye, but it was gone by the time he whirled around.

“Jay.”

Jay didn’t respond.

“Jay.” This time, Basil tugged on Jay’s arm to get his attention. “We’re not alone.”

Jay turned to Basil, a strange smile on his face. “Of course we aren’t.”

[penisman420-69]

A gentle glow from the computer screen washes over the dark desk, colors flickering in rapid motion. The monitor whirs in self defense of the growing heat. The ceiling fan lays mockingly silent in the stifling air. Reclined in his seat, Dream's head is tilted back to watch the wooden slats for the slightest tremor.

Betrayal.

Beads of sweat collect near his hairline. He tugs absently on the sticky plastic of his headphones, where they rest around his neck. The small light on the exterior blinks green.

"Dream?" He hears George say faintly.

"Wait, did he leave?" Sapnap asks.

"It says he's on the call, still." George's voice slowly grows closer. Dream begins to detach his eyes from the fan. "Dream?"

The concern in his voice makes Dream sit up. He pushes his headphones back on and wipes his face. "Yes, yes, hello, sorry. I zoned out for a sec." He blinks to register what's on his screen, seeing green grass blocks and Sapnap's avatar crouching in front of him. "Shoot, did you end the stream?" He quickly tabs out just in time to see George laugh.

"No, but I'm about to. Couldn't end it without you saying bye," George says. The small considerate act is enough to bloom a warmth in Dream's chest.

He smiles. "Oh, alright. Bye stream!"

"Bye!" Sapnap yells.

George waves to the camera. "Bye you guys, thank you so much. Also, pray for Dream's air conditioning."

"And my broken fan," Dream adds.

"Bye bye," George repeats, then disappears from Dream's view. This stream has ended. A familiar feeling creeps into Dream's chest whenever that message appears post-stream; disappointment clouded with confusion. Today, it is accompanied by trickles of regret.

He frowns. "Sorry I spent so much of your stream complaining about the weather," he says, clicking back to the server. Sapnap has placed an oak sign before him that reads: wee waa dream can't take the heat. He rolls his eyes and breaks it.

"It's fine, really. I just feel bad for you," George says. His avatar bounds over and starts placing doors on the ground. "Any idea when it'll be fixed?"

"Soon, I hope," Dream answers with a huff, opening and closing the doors to appease George. "I don't think I can take much more of this." They'd been playing for the past three hours, meaning Dream had been accumulating enough sweat in his boxers to stick to his chair for much longer than any man should. Physical comfort was a key component for him to stay mellow, and not much could distract him from itchy tags and blistering heat. Not much, that is, besides gaming. "Seeing you was nice, though, something about your cheerful face distracts me from my agony," he confesses, words leaving his mouth before he can attempt to filter. He cringes. What was that?

"Oh my god, shut up," George says. He sounds embarrassed.

Sapnap coos. "Maybe I should stream with my camera on too."

Dream laughs, running away from the two of them to ease his sudden spike in nervousness. "That would keep my attention."

"Oh yeah, are my streams not interesting enough for you Dream?" George says, flying after him.

"What?" Dream says, feeling a pang of guilt. "What makes you think that? I love your streams."

George continues to act offended. "If you loved them you wouldn't zone out randomly."

"I didn't mean to," Dream whines, which only makes the other two laugh. "I just got distracted by my misery, and tried to airbend a breeze in here."

"Yeah right," Sapnap says, "you couldn't have been doing just that for ten minutes."

"Ten minutes?" Dream repeats, bewildered. He didn't feel it had been that long; he was exploring the map and then clicked onto George's stream to see where he was, and of course George was smiling and yelling, but somehow so full of energy and spirit, and the hot air started to seep into Dream's soul—

"You were AFK for a while," George says, "we were still talking to you though and thought you'd muted yourself or something. Chat thought it was embarrassing."

"Oh," Dream says.

"Hold on, did you mean to mute yourself?" Sapnap asks, laughing as his own words leave his mouth. "Lil too excited watching George?"

Both Dream and George explode in disgusted yells. Good lord, Sapnap.

"Sapnap!" George sends a series of hits raining down onto his avatar. "You are so inappropriate off-stream."

"You're gross," Dream says with a laugh, but it's feeble and half-hearted. His pulse is rapidly drumming inside his skull. He is not lost to the strange dilemma of why he faded from their call for so long to stare at his George-less ceiling. Why did George have anything to do with it? Envy, perhaps, of his friend's ability to be wearing a hoodie in the middle of summer. He brushes it off. "It's true, though. George's face does get me excited."

George groans, making Sapnap and Dream laugh. "Now you're just trying to make me uncomfortable."

"Flustered, you mean," Dream inputs quickly.

"Okay, no, I'm sick of you two," George says, immediately exiting their server. "Consider this a rage quit."

GeorgeNotFound has left the game. Dream sends a :( into the chat.

"Noo, Georgie," Sapnap pleads.

"You did a great job today," Dream says, wholeheartedly. "I'm going to re-watch what I missed of it later." George laughs.

"I seriously have to go. I'll talk to you soon," he says, a small sound emitting from Discord signifying he's left the call.

The feeling returns to Dream's chest—it's akin to the cold rush that follows when he removes his hands from a steaming coffee mug. Some nights after their friends have logged off for good, he'll do anything to avoid giving in and going to bed. Twitter, mini-games, coding, creating playlists. His favorite nights, though, are when George wakes up early enough to keep him company. Their conversations radiate with the warmth of both the Florida night and the English sunrise.

So whenever George jokingly becomes angry with him, Dream can't dispel the tiny tremor of worry that maybe he's gone too far. He doesn't like to mull over the thought of them really fighting; it would terrify him like nothing else. He knows George will call again tomorrow, and that he isn't nearly as upset as he lets on. Yet he still finds himself carefully watching the dot next to George's name switch from green to a pale grey.

"I think I'm gonna hop off too," Dream says to Sapnap.

"Alright, seeya."

After disconnecting, he swivels around in his chair to face his bed. The dark comforter has been kicked to the floor, sheets askew. The window above his bed is shut tight to keep out the humid air and insects, but he can see the soft orange streetlights in the distance.

He sighs and wishes for rain.

He remembers running barefoot on his neighborhood streets as a child when storms would roll in from the sea, splashing in gravelly puddles and letting the cool raindrops dampen his hair. That space was always euphoric—a brief temperance from the smoldering air, green palm trees swaying in the wind, the hint of thunder and lightning—but it feels so far from him now. Especially in this dreadful weather.

He turns off his computer and begrudgingly gets in bed. He's nearly grown accustomed to the dark when his phone vibrates, the notification lighting up the room. He squints.

A text from George.

I feel like this song is a good way for me to get back at you, it reads. Dream clicks on the link, opening his Spotify to a new 'Glass Animals' song.

"Heat Waves," he responds, smiling. Very funny.

He'll listen to that in the morning. As he sets his phone back on the nightstand, Dream finds himself warmed by the gesture, even though it was an insult on his behalf. George is a thoughtful guy. Nothing wrong with appreciating that. Not that Dream finds it unnerving that interacting with George has a direct correlation with his general contentment and moods; in fact, it isn't worth the overthinking.

Settled by his own logic, he allows his body to focus on sleep. He slips in and out of shadows, occasionally tossing and turning in irritation at the cotton sheets. The fabric clings to his dampened skin up to the moment he sluggishly kicks it away. Something clatters to the floor, but Dream rolls onto his side.

Eventually, the night cools enough for him to sink deeper, and deeper, until he turns his head from his soft, warm pillow to a cold pile of sand.

Confused, he grasps at the foundation beneath him only for the rocky grains to slip through his fingers.

He sits up rapidly, glancing at the beach now surrounding him. Although the image is narrow, he can tell there is a murky-purple lagoon lapping a few feet before him. The moon ripples across its ominous surface. The night is quiet; a taunting breeze brushing the back of his neck and bringing chills down his spine.

He looks down at his hands, seeing his bright sleeves pushed halfway up his forearms. Bright green.

A sinking feeling begins to rot in his stomach as the familiarity sets in. He's been here before. He shifts his head cautiously, realizing where the shadows at the edge of his vision are coming from, and raises a hand to gently graze the ceramic covering his face. He doesn't need a mirror to know what the mask looks like.

He pulls up his hood, tensing as he anticipates the next subject he'll recognize. At any moment, behind his right shoulder, a voice will call from the edge of the trees that'll say—

"Dream?"

He freezes. That's—that's not right, it isn't supposed to be—

"George?" He asks quietly, turning around with caution. George stands a few feet behind him, goggles perched atop his head and an axe in his hand. He's looking around their location, dazed. The starry sky reflects itself on his lenses.

He walks across the sand towards Dream slowly. "Where...are we?"

"Um." Dream considers curling in on himself, but can't help fighting the comfort of honesty. "My head, I guess." He knows from experience that this place values integrity more than anything. Facing it head on, so to speak. He just doesn't know why he'd let George in here—it isn't safe.

"It's pretty," George says, sitting on the sand next to him.

Dream's heart aches faintly at his remark. Once, he'd thought it was pretty, too. He can't find the words to tell George that after so many years of frantically slipping on the sand, coughing up lung-fulls of the dark water, and running from the woods—it has become a thing of nightmares.

He stares at George. Can he feel the memories here?

"So this is..." George gestures around with his axe vaguely. "Florida?"

Dream cracks a smile. "Yeah, you finally made it," he teases softly. George's grin is bright enough to make him look away. "It's a lagoon I used to come to as a kid."

"You make it sound like that was lifetimes ago."

Something foreign and lost weighs on the tension in Dream's features, forgotten behind the ceramic. "Maybe," he says, "I've had multiple lives here."

George says nothing. He lifts a moon-soaked hand to point at the water. "Do you see those?"

Dream turns his head, and small glowing blobs appear near the shore. Their light blue color is stark against the darkness as they float idly.

"They're moon jellies," Dream says in disbelief. He's never seen them here before. The curling darkness steals all hint of life besides him, his beating heart, and occasional whispers in the wind.

George hums in approval. Dream looks at him again, grateful for the mask covering his own features. Pale moonlight makes George's skin glow a soft porcelain, pink lips pressed together in a delicate brush stroke.

The word bubbles up from deep in Dream's chest, winding into his bloodstream and landing gracefully in his head.

Beautiful.

He wants to back away from it, to shove it deep down. But for once, it feels safe here, safe to admit it to himself without needing an air of humor to skate by on. Here, it isn't a joke.

"Why are we here?" George asks in a murmur, gaze lifting to face Dream. The word here hangs with a heavy lilt, as if he'd meant to say, what brought me? Who pulled me?

Was it you?

In his large brown eyes Dream can see the faded reflection of his sloppy black and white smile.

"I know why I'm here," Dream says carefully, "but I don't know why you are." A brief rustling of leaves and twigs behind them causes him to tense again. "It's dangerous here, George. We should go."

"Why? Don't you want to stay in this memory?"

Dream ignores the comment, and lightly wraps an arm around his shoulders to help him up. George doesn't try to stand. He keeps them rooted to the white shore with a confused frown.

"Nothing is going to hurt us when I'm here," he says.

Dream feels his face grow hot. "Knock it off. This is serious."

George looks at him earnestly. "I'm being serious."

Now that his arm is draped protectively over George's small frame, Dream becomes extremely aware of how close they are. He can sense George's body heat, watch his chest rise and fall, see the goosebumps on his neck. Dream's heart begins to pound. For how long has he wanted to meet him? To hear his voice in person? The fear inside him slowly begins to ebb away into fondness.

The moon jellies rapidly multiply until the lagoon is dappled blue, and gleaming.

George grins. "I told you it's pretty."

"Because of you," Dream says warmly. Even though George rolls his eyes, he means it. They laugh lightly at each other, glowing water and gentle sparks blooming as the moment passes.

George's gaze lingers on Dream for a few heartbeats, before letting go of his axe. He raises his hand to reach for the ceramic mask.

Dream freezes as his eyes follow the motion. His hood falls when George runs his fingers gently through his wavy hair—he can't remember the last time he let someone do this. It feels intimate. It feels terrifying. His eyes shut when George finds the metal clasp on the back of his head, he exhales when he feels the weight of the mask drop from his face.

The breeze is cold on his cheeks. He can smell the nearby saltwater. He opens his eyes, and sees twice as many stars as usual.

"How did you do that? I've never..." He looks at George, who is smiling softly.

"I know honesty is important to you," George says. His hand moves to gently touch Dream's cheekbone.

Dream reaches and delicately takes George's hand in his, slender knuckles and fingers sliding together with timid grace. He feels alive. He leans closer, studying George's eyes until he slips down, further, to his soft lips. His breath is trembling.

"And what if I kissed you right now?" He murmurs, heart racing. "How honest would that be?"

George's eyes grow wide. "I—well, Dream—you—" he stammers, giving Dream exactly what he needs to let go.

Their movements happen nearly all at once—the inclining of George's jaw, the slide of Dream's hand into his hair, the connection of their lips. The kiss is raw with emotion, and gentle. Hot embers rise from Dream's chest to heat his face. The soft presence of George's mouth against his own is surreal, as their senses collectively slip away into the dreamland. His hand rises to softly cup George's jaw. He pulls his face closer, breath hot, heart stuttering. Nervous energy quickly ebbs into a strong hearth of longing, as he kisses George again, and again, and again. George emits a soft noise that makes Dream melt. He can feel George's hands in his hair, then on his neck, then on his chest.

Dream pulls away to capture brief puffs of air. His chest rises and falls rapidly, as he looks at George's flushed cheeks and mouth kissed red. Because of him. A low feeling stirs in the space just below his ribcage, the first flickering of a dangerously hot flame. All of it, all of George, just for him.

Dream parts his lips to say something, anything—and promptly wakes up.

I have heatwaves saved on my computer it doesn't phase me anymore I've read this several times you can't hurt me with this

[pokenimagines]

Hello, this is my first time writing in! Could I get headcanons for Leon, Raihan and Piers meeting a super shy and timid trainer? (Hop often helping them with their pre-battle anxiety and trying to get their confidence up)

So uh…this turned more into characters helping a child with anxiety. Since the age wasn’t specified, I stuck to platonic as well as them being around whatever age you Headcanon Hop to be at (I say he looks 15?) Still, platonic stuff and adults helping kids with anxiety. Also glad you wrote it, hope to hear more from you once my requests are back open!

Leon:

Leon initially meets this trainer through Hop.

He had been confused as they hid behind him at the train station and didn’t speak much to him during the BBQ but assumed they were just a bit shy around celebrities.

Since Hop and the trainer were old enough to take on the challenges, he let the trainer pick their starter, and they were pretty reluctant, but eventually, they seemed to relax with their starter.

The next time he met was at the opening ceremony, and he could tell instantly something was wrong as they were shaking and holding onto Hop’s hand the entire time.

After it was all said and done, he went over to them to make sure everything was alright when he saw them having a full-blown panic attack.

Surprisingly, he knew very well how to deal with the situation. He had been in the industry for so long; he’d seen many people have anxiety over these things.

He managed to help Hop call the trainer down, and once they were good, he gave them a signature smile.

He ended up taking the two out to get some food and explaining everything in detail to the trainer knew how it would go, and even offered to help them get a pokemon trained to help with anxiety.

All in all, the trainer eventually warmed up to Leon and he became a pillar-like he was to Hop and helped them a lot through their gym challenges.

Raihan:

Raihan immodestly knew something was up when he saw the trainer looking around Motostoke with a terrified expression, as people swept by them and almost knocked them over.

He easily got through the crowd, being the giant he is, and found the trainer and had them follow him.

Once they got to one of the less populated areas of the town, they had a full-blown panic attack,

As Raihan had them a lot as a kid, and occasionally gets them as an adult, he’s pretty adept at helping.

He knew they had anxiety since he always saw Hop by their side, helping them before a battle (they show some clips of the trainers before and after the battle), but he hadn’t expected it to be this bad.

The trainer of course, was shy and kind of flinched away, but Raihan decided to treat it like a scared pokemon and kind of cooed a bit to help them out.

Once they got their breathing under control, he offers to contact Leon and bring Hop over, and the trainer just nods while looking away.

He basically carries a conversation by himself, occasionally getting a nod or small smile before Hop finally shows up with Leon.

Hop thanks him and immediately went to help his friend out.

Raihan had no idea why, but he feels a bit protective over the small bean since they remind him of himself, and decides to watch out for them in the future.

Piers:

He’s seen the kid on TV plenty of times and gotten messages about them from Marnie as they had grown to be pretty good friends.

His battle with them had been pretty short and they swept, but he kept noticing something was severely off about them the entire battle.

Later on, when the dynamaxing began, he finally properly met the trainer.

They were anxious and fidgeting and refused to look at him, while Hop whispered to them with what he assumed to be something to calm them down.

As they traveled in the wilds, they knew it would take a day to check on the other towns, so they set up camp.

It was around midnight and Piers was still up, being an insomniac he is, when he noticed the trainer crawling out of the tent and joining him by the fire.

He’s not normally one to initiate the conversation, especially with someone who doesn’t look like they want to talk, but he asks if they’re alright anyway.

They nod and he feels like they’re probably anxious because of everything going on.

Then he began singing a pretty mellow song that he used to sing to Marnie all the time when she couldn’t sleep.

The kid must’ve been able to focus on it and forget their earlier anxieties as they managed to nod off.

Piers ended up carrying them back to their tent and decided, maybe adopting another little brat as a sibling wouldn’t be a bad idea.

Discord

[rikuphobic]

A gentle glow from the computer screen washes over the dark desk, colors flickering in rapid motion. The monitor whirs in self defense of the growing heat. The ceiling fan lays mockingly silent in the stifling air. Reclined in his seat, Dream's head is tilted back to watch the wooden slats for the slightest tremor.

Betrayal.

Beads of sweat collect near his hairline. He tugs absently on the sticky plastic of his headphones, where they rest around his neck. The small light on the exterior blinks green.

"Dream?" He hears George say faintly.

"Wait, did he leave?" Sapnap asks.

"It says he's on the call, still." George's voice slowly grows closer. Dream begins to detach his eyes from the fan. "Dream?"

The concern in his voice makes Dream sit up. He pushes his headphones back on and wipes his face. "Yes, yes, hello, sorry. I zoned out for a sec." He blinks to register what's on his screen, seeing green grass blocks and Sapnap's avatar crouching in front of him. "Shoot, did you end the stream?" He quickly tabs out just in time to see George laugh.

"No, but I'm about to. Couldn't end it without you saying bye," George says. The small considerate act is enough to bloom a warmth in Dream's chest.

He smiles. "Oh, alright. Bye stream!"

"Bye!" Sapnap yells.

George waves to the camera. "Bye you guys, thank you so much. Also, pray for Dream's air conditioning."

"And my broken fan," Dream adds.

"Bye bye," George repeats, then disappears from Dream's view. This stream has ended. A familiar feeling creeps into Dream's chest whenever that message appears post-stream; disappointment clouded with confusion. Today, it is accompanied by trickles of regret.

He frowns. "Sorry I spent so much of your stream complaining about the weather," he says, clicking back to the server. Sapnap has placed an oak sign before him that reads: wee waa dream can't take the heat. He rolls his eyes and breaks it.

"It's fine, really. I just feel bad for you," George says. His avatar bounds over and starts placing doors on the ground. "Any idea when it'll be fixed?"

"Soon, I hope," Dream answers with a huff, opening and closing the doors to appease George. "I don't think I can take much more of this." They'd been playing for the past three hours, meaning Dream had been accumulating enough sweat in his boxers to stick to his chair for much longer than any man should. Physical comfort was a key component for him to stay mellow, and not much could distract him from itchy tags and blistering heat. Not much, that is, besides gaming. "Seeing you was nice, though, something about your cheerful face distracts me from my agony," he confesses, words leaving his mouth before he can attempt to filter. He cringes. What was that?

"Oh my god, shut up," George says. He sounds embarrassed.

Sapnap coos. "Maybe I should stream with my camera on too."

Dream laughs, running away from the two of them to ease his sudden spike in nervousness. "That would keep my attention."

"Oh yeah, are my streams not interesting enough for you Dream?" George says, flying after him.

"What?" Dream says, feeling a pang of guilt. "What makes you think that? I love your streams."

George continues to act offended. "If you loved them you wouldn't zone out randomly."

"I didn't mean to," Dream whines, which only makes the other two laugh. "I just got distracted by my misery, and tried to airbend a breeze in here."

"Yeah right," Sapnap says, "you couldn't have been doing just that for ten minutes."

"Ten minutes?" Dream repeats, bewildered. He didn't feel it had been that long; he was exploring the map and then clicked onto George's stream to see where he was, and of course George was smiling and yelling, but somehow so full of energy and spirit, and the hot air started to seep into Dream's soul—

"You were AFK for a while," George says, "we were still talking to you though and thought you'd muted yourself or something. Chat thought it was embarrassing."

"Oh," Dream says.

"Hold on, did you mean to mute yourself?" Sapnap asks, laughing as his own words leave his mouth. "Lil too excited watching George?"

Both Dream and George explode in disgusted yells. Good lord, Sapnap.

"Sapnap!" George sends a series of hits raining down onto his avatar. "You are so inappropriate off-stream."

"You're gross," Dream says with a laugh, but it's feeble and half-hearted. His pulse is rapidly drumming inside his skull. He is not lost to the strange dilemma of why he faded from their call for so long to stare at his George-less ceiling. Why did George have anything to do with it? Envy, perhaps, of his friend's ability to be wearing a hoodie in the middle of summer. He brushes it off. "It's true, though. George's face does get me excited."

George groans, making Sapnap and Dream laugh. "Now you're just trying to make me uncomfortable."

"Flustered, you mean," Dream inputs quickly.

"Okay, no, I'm sick of you two," George says, immediately exiting their server. "Consider this a rage quit."

GeorgeNotFound has left the game. Dream sends a :( into the chat.

"Noo, Georgie," Sapnap pleads.

"You did a great job today," Dream says, wholeheartedly. "I'm going to re-watch what I missed of it later." George laughs.

"I seriously have to go. I'll talk to you soon," he says, a small sound emitting from Discord signifying he's left the call.

The feeling returns to Dream's chest—it's akin to the cold rush that follows when he removes his hands from a steaming coffee mug. Some nights after their friends have logged off for good, he'll do anything to avoid giving in and going to bed. Twitter, mini-games, coding, creating playlists. His favorite nights, though, are when George wakes up early enough to keep him company. Their conversations radiate with the warmth of both the Florida night and the English sunrise.

So whenever George jokingly becomes angry with him, Dream can't dispel the tiny tremor of worry that maybe he's gone too far. He doesn't like to mull over the thought of them really fighting; it would terrify him like nothing else. He knows George will call again tomorrow, and that he isn't nearly as upset as he lets on. Yet he still finds himself carefully watching the dot next to George's name switch from green to a pale grey.

"I think I'm gonna hop off too," Dream says to Sapnap.

"Alright, seeya."

After disconnecting, he swivels around in his chair to face his bed. The dark comforter has been kicked to the floor, sheets askew. The window above his bed is shut tight to keep out the humid air and insects, but he can see the soft orange streetlights in the distance.

He sighs and wishes for rain.

He remembers running barefoot on his neighborhood streets as a child when storms would roll in from the sea, splashing in gravelly puddles and letting the cool raindrops dampen his hair. That space was always euphoric—a brief temperance from the smoldering air, green palm trees swaying in the wind, the hint of thunder and lightning—but it feels so far from him now. Especially in this dreadful weather.

He turns off his computer and begrudgingly gets in bed. He's nearly grown accustomed to the dark when his phone vibrates, the notification lighting up the room. He squints.

A text from George.

I feel like this song is a good way for me to get back at you, it reads. Dream clicks on the link, opening his Spotify to a new 'Glass Animals' song.

"Heat Waves," he responds, smiling. Very funny.

He'll listen to that in the morning. As he sets his phone back on the nightstand, Dream finds himself warmed by the gesture, even though it was an insult on his behalf. George is a thoughtful guy. Nothing wrong with appreciating that. Not that Dream finds it unnerving that interacting with George has a direct correlation with his general contentment and moods; in fact, it isn't worth the overthinking.

Settled by his own logic, he allows his body to focus on sleep. He slips in and out of shadows, occasionally tossing and turning in irritation at the cotton sheets. The fabric clings to his dampened skin up to the moment he sluggishly kicks it away. Something clatters to the floor, but Dream rolls onto his side.

Eventually, the night cools enough for him to sink deeper, and deeper, until he turns his head from his soft, warm pillow to a cold pile of sand.

Confused, he grasps at the foundation beneath him only for the rocky grains to slip through his fingers.

He sits up rapidly, glancing at the beach now surrounding him. Although the image is narrow, he can tell there is a murky-purple lagoon lapping a few feet before him. The moon ripples across its ominous surface. The night is quiet; a taunting breeze brushing the back of his neck and bringing chills down his spine.

He looks down at his hands, seeing his bright sleeves pushed halfway up his forearms. Bright green.

A sinking feeling begins to rot in his stomach as the familiarity sets in. He's been here before. He shifts his head cautiously, realizing where the shadows at the edge of his vision are coming from, and raises a hand to gently graze the ceramic covering his face. He doesn't need a mirror to know what the mask looks like.

He pulls up his hood, tensing as he anticipates the next subject he'll recognize. At any moment, behind his right shoulder, a voice will call from the edge of the trees that'll say—

"Dream?"

He freezes. That's—that's not right, it isn't supposed to be—

"George?" He asks quietly, turning around with caution. George stands a few feet behind him, goggles perched atop his head and an axe in his hand. He's looking around their location, dazed. The starry sky reflects itself on his lenses.

He walks across the sand towards Dream slowly. "Where...are we?"

"Um." Dream considers curling in on himself, but can't help fighting the comfort of honesty. "My head, I guess." He knows from experience that this place values integrity more than anything. Facing it head on, so to speak. He just doesn't know why he'd let George in here—it isn't safe.

"It's pretty," George says, sitting on the sand next to him.

Dream's heart aches faintly at his remark. Once, he'd thought it was pretty, too. He can't find the words to tell George that after so many years of frantically slipping on the sand, coughing up lung-fulls of the dark water, and running from the woods—it has become a thing of nightmares.

He stares at George. Can he feel the memories here?

"So this is..." George gestures around with his axe vaguely. "Florida?"

Dream cracks a smile. "Yeah, you finally made it," he teases softly. George's grin is bright enough to make him look away. "It's a lagoon I used to come to as a kid."

"You make it sound like that was lifetimes ago."

Something foreign and lost weighs on the tension in Dream's features, forgotten behind the ceramic. "Maybe," he says, "I've had multiple lives here."

George says nothing. He lifts a moon-soaked hand to point at the water. "Do you see those?"

Dream turns his head, and small glowing blobs appear near the shore. Their light blue color is stark against the darkness as they float idly.

"They're moon jellies," Dream says in disbelief. He's never seen them here before. The curling darkness steals all hint of life besides him, his beating heart, and occasional whispers in the wind.

George hums in approval. Dream looks at him again, grateful for the mask covering his own features. Pale moonlight makes George's skin glow a soft porcelain, pink lips pressed together in a delicate brush stroke.

The word bubbles up from deep in Dream's chest, winding into his bloodstream and landing gracefully in his head.

Beautiful.

He wants to back away from it, to shove it deep down. But for once, it feels safe here, safe to admit it to himself without needing an air of humor to skate by on. Here, it isn't a joke.

"Why are we here?" George asks in a murmur, gaze lifting to face Dream. The word here hangs with a heavy lilt, as if he'd meant to say, what brought me? Who pulled me?

Was it you?

In his large brown eyes Dream can see the faded reflection of his sloppy black and white smile.

"I know why I'm here," Dream says carefully, "but I don't know why you are." A brief rustling of leaves and twigs behind them causes him to tense again. "It's dangerous here, George. We should go."

"Why? Don't you want to stay in this memory?"

Dream ignores the comment, and lightly wraps an arm around his shoulders to help him up. George doesn't try to stand. He keeps them rooted to the white shore with a confused frown.

"Nothing is going to hurt us when I'm here," he says.

Dream feels his face grow hot. "Knock it off. This is serious."

George looks at him earnestly. "I'm being serious."

Now that his arm is draped protectively over George's small frame, Dream becomes extremely aware of how close they are. He can sense George's body heat, watch his chest rise and fall, see the goosebumps on his neck. Dream's heart begins to pound. For how long has he wanted to meet him? To hear his voice in person? The fear inside him slowly begins to ebb away into fondness.

The moon jellies rapidly multiply until the lagoon is dappled blue, and gleaming.

George grins. "I told you it's pretty."

"Because of you," Dream says warmly. Even though George rolls his eyes, he means it. They laugh lightly at each other, glowing water and gentle sparks blooming as the moment passes.

George's gaze lingers on Dream for a few heartbeats, before letting go of his axe. He raises his hand to reach for the ceramic mask.

Dream freezes as his eyes follow the motion. His hood falls when George runs his fingers gently through his wavy hair—he can't remember the last time he let someone do this. It feels intimate. It feels terrifying. His eyes shut when George finds the metal clasp on the back of his head, he exhales when he feels the weight of the mask drop from his face.

The breeze is cold on his cheeks. He can smell the nearby saltwater. He opens his eyes, and sees twice as many stars as usual.

"How did you do that? I've never..." He looks at George, who is smiling softly.

"I know honesty is important to you," George says. His hand moves to gently touch Dream's cheekbone.

Dream reaches and delicately takes George's hand in his, slender knuckles and fingers sliding together with timid grace. He feels alive. He leans closer, studying George's eyes until he slips down, further, to his soft lips. His breath is trembling.

"And what if I kissed you right now?" He murmurs, heart racing. "How honest would that be?"

George's eyes grow wide. "I—well, Dream—you—" he stammers, giving Dream exactly what he needs to let go.

Their movements happen nearly all at once—the inclining of George's jaw, the slide of Dream's hand into his hair, the connection of their lips. The kiss is raw with emotion, and gentle. Hot embers rise from Dream's chest to heat his face. The soft presence of George's mouth against his own is surreal, as their senses collectively slip away into the dreamland. His hand rises to softly cup George's jaw. He pulls his face closer, breath hot, heart stuttering. Nervous energy quickly ebbs into a strong hearth of longing, as he kisses George again, and again, and again. George emits a soft noise that makes Dream melt. He can feel George's hands in his hair, then on his neck, then on his chest.

Dream pulls away to capture brief puffs of air. His chest rises and falls rapidly, as he looks at George's flushed cheeks and mouth kissed red. Because of him. A low feeling stirs in the space just below his ribcage, the first flickering of a dangerously hot flame. All of it, all of George, just for him.

Dream parts his lips to say something, anything—and promptly wakes up.

oop there’s the entire first chapter of heatwaves

[bytheangell]

Hello Elle, after our lovely convo on discord, Alec's Friday nights suddenly got busy. For an hour he disappears and doesn't tell anyone where he goes, just stating he's just going out for a bit. What the others don't know is that he's been going over to Simon's and the duo have been trying to get through *insert generic coop video game here*. You can decide if the others find out or not (*^3^)/~☆

What Friends Are For  (Read on AO3)

Alec shrugs on his jacket and grabs the messenger bag from where he casually tossed it by the door on his way in that morning. He has this timed down to the second - being Head of the Institute has a few perks, including when the best time to sneak out during shift changes and while the cafeteria is open for dinner is to avoid anyone noticing him as he slips out. It worked well for a while… until it didn’t.

Lately, it feels like his family and friends must have some sort of tracker on him because this is the third week in a row one of them stopped him just shy of the front doors while he attempts to sneak out unnoticed on a Friday night.

“My big brother, going somewhere other than patrol on a Friday night? I don’t believe it.” Izzy teases good-naturedly. “Date night?”

Alec considers saying yes, but he can’t risk someone needing him or Magnus for something and discovering the lie.

“No,” Alec admits. “Just going out for a bit.”

It’s the same thing he said two weeks ago when Clary assumed he was going to grab a coffee and asked him to bring her back one, too, and the same thing he told Jace last week when Jace tried to get Alec to cover for him so he could go clubbing with Izzy.

Izzy raises a skeptical eyebrow, but Alec’s already turning back towards the door with a dismissive, “Sorry, gotta run!”

That’s the trouble with Shadowhunters - once they notice a pattern, they can’t let it go. It’s ingrained in their training to pick up on things like that, normally in a battle or tracking sense, but it can be applied everywhere. And unfortunately, Alec’s friends seem to have their minds set on applying it to him.

That’s a problem for another day, though, because he’s already out the door and on his way before he can worry too much about it.

---

The following Friday, Alec is halfway through the ops room when he hears a voice speaking behind him loudly enough to get his attention while he walks with his eyes down, determined not to make eye contact with anyone who might try to stop him on his way out.

“If I didn’t know any better,” Alec hears Jace’s voice say. “I’d think you’re cheating on Magnus or something.”

“That’s absurd,” Alec says, rolling his eyes.

“Of course, it is. That’s why I said ‘if I didn’t know any better’,” Jace points out. “The problem is, I don’t really know better, because you keep disappearing every week without telling anyone where you’re going. And I’m not saying you aren’t entitled to your privacy or anything but… it’s just weird, for you.”

Alec’s glare softens a little. They usually don’t ask, and Alec doesn’t offer anything besides out for a bit’, but he should’ve known that could only last so long. He supposes that’s what he gets for suddenly changing his habits after two decades of always being around. “I swear, there’s nothing to worry about.”

Once it’s clear that’s all Alec plans on saying on it, taking Jace up on the ‘you’re entitled to your privacy’ comment, Jace looks resigned for now. “Alright. See you in two hours?”

Alec shakes his head a little, cursing that knack for routine catching. Or maybe he should just stop being so predictable. “See you then.”

---

In the back of his mind, Alec knows that he should’ve left a while ago. He isn’t sure how much longer than his usual hour or two he’s been here because he can’t take his eyes off of the screen in front of him. It’s like watching a car crash in slow motion, first one thing goes wrong, then runs into another, and soon everything is backed up and piling on top of one another in an inevitable train reaction. Alec’s strategy training should be enough to get him through this, but there’s no accounting for the people you have to work with, and-

Alec is so in the zone that he barely registers the sound of the knock on the door until Simon’s moving in a blur away from him to open it and back, all barely in the blink of an eye. Alec assumes it’s Raphael, because who else would it be?

He assumes wrong.

“You know, for someone with vamp speed, you’re moving PRETTY SLOWLY ACROSS THE DAMN KITCHEN,” Alec says, his voice tense, doing his best to unclench his fingers when he sees the tips of them pressed so tightly they’re whiter than usual.

Simon practically growls beside him, “Yeah, well, for a Shadowhunter, you have a SEVERE LACK OF COORDINATION. How did you drop that?”

“Who the fuck cooks sushi at the same time as burgers anyway?” Alec demands. “This is absurd.”

“...because the rest of the game where you cook food hopping between two sides of a river or on a hot air balloon is not absurd. Got it,” Simon huffs, and only when Alec decides to spare a glance to the side to level Simon with a proper glare does he realize it is not, in fact, Raphael who came to the door.

Izzy, Jace, and Clary all stand just inside the front door, fully gaping at the sight of Alec sitting on Simon’s sofa in sweatpants and a t-shirt, his bare feet curled up underneath his legs, holding a video game controller.

“Alec? Alec! What the- great, we lost,” Simon sighs, glancing around at the lot of them. “If I knew you were going to save some sort of existential crisis at the sight of your siblings, I would’ve left them in the hallway. Wait, is something wrong?”

Alec opens and shuts his mouth because he doesn’t have an answer to that. Nothing is wrong in the sense that they’re probably not here because the Institute is on fire, but…

“Oh. My. God,” Clary laughs.

“This is where you’ve been sneaking off to?! We thought you were in some, like, underground fight club or got mixed up in some Ifrit drug ring or something,” Jace says. “Especially when you stopped answering your phone.”

Alec fishes his phone out of his pocket to see that it’s off and doesn’t turn on when he hits the power button. It must’ve died on him since he hadn’t planned on being away from the Institute this long and forgot to charge it before he left.

“I can’t believe you never told me Alec’s been playing video games with you,” Izzy rounds on Simon, sounding betrayed.

“You never asked!” Simon defends.

“I did ask you,” Izzy points out, turning on Alec.

Simon frowns. “You lied about hanging out with me?” He sounds a little hurt.

“No!” Alec insists. “I just said I was-”

“-going out for a bit,” Clary, Jace, and Isabelle all finish in unison with Alec.

Simon seems slightly more comforted by that answer, at least.

“It was just supposed to be one time,” Alec says. “I was just going to help him get past one level, but he got stuck on another the next week, and it just… turned into a thing. I know everyone hates the Friday patrols, and I didn’t want to get shit for skipping out on them to play games.” The guilt at getting caught is enough proof of that. Every week he told himself it’d be the last one, but in all honesty, he didn’t want to stop. They were fun, and Alec didn’t know how to deal with actually wanting to ditch out on work to have fun every so often.

He barely realizes he’s already thinking of it in the past tense because now that they know there’s no way he’s getting away with keeping this Friday night routine up in the future.

“And now you’re best friends with Simon,” Jace smirks.

“We’re not friends-” Alec says. “I just come over once a week to play video games. Well, every week except last week - we watched an episode of some cop, comedy, thing?, so I’d understand a reference he kept making.”

“Every time I said ‘Noice’ instead of ‘nice’ he looked like he was going to have an aneurysm,” Simon supplies, mostly for Clary’s benefit, and Clary snorts out a laugh.

“Yeah, you’re best friends now,” Clary confirms.

“I-” Alec starts to insist that they’re absolutely not, but stops, looking confused.

There’s a lull during which everyone levels Alec with the same look.

“...have you never had a friend before?” Clary asks, not unkindly.

Sure, Alec visits Simon once a week, but he sees Raphael once a week when he comes over to Simon’s after sunset, and that doesn’t make the two of them friends, Alec’s sure of that. The only difference with Simon is that they play video games when they meet up, and sometimes Simon orders takeout for him, or have a drink if Alec doesn’t have a patrol to get back to, and they have occasionally been texting lately, but--

“Raziel, we’re friends, aren’t we?” Alec realizes.

“Not with that attitude,” Simon huffs.

“No, sorry, it’s not-” Alec flounders. “I haven’t, really. Had proper friends.” It sounds sad to admit it like that, but there’s no way around it. Izzy and Jace are his siblings so they hardly count, even if they did the sort of things he’d probably do with actual friends.

“I guess we are friends, then,” Alec admits finally.

Alec is a little embarrassed for Simon watching how intensely he beams at that statement, and that’s saying something coming from the guy who just admitted he never had a proper friend before. Still, Alec can’t deny the bit of warmth he feels at knowing Simon wants to be friends with him, too.

Alec clears his throat. “Great. Now that we got that settled, I guess I should go back and actually, you know, run the Institute since you two are incapable of covering for me for a few hours.”

“Not a chance,” Izzy says, shaking her head.

“You never take time off, or have fun, or-”

“Okay, okay, I think we get it,” Alec cuts Jace off.

“Do you know how long Iz and I have been trying to get you to take time off for yourself? In fact, from now on, I’ve got the Friday night shifts. You two enjoy your game nights. Have a beer or something. C’mon,” Jace motions to Izzy and Clary. “Let’s let them get back to their video game bonding.”

Alec’s sure there’s some sort of catch here, but honestly, the idea of a full night off instead of going back to finish paperwork or clean up any messes is too tempting to pass up just then, so he takes it.

“Just don’t forget to do the dishes this time,” Alec pleads, the others already forgotten as Simon restarts the round.

It’s only later, when he finds out that Izzy, Jace, and Clary have been drilling Simon for anecdotes of Alec being ‘adorably normal’ (in Clary’s words) that he momentarily wonders if it’s worth it.

It doesn’t take him long to decide that it is. So what if the others give him a bit of good-natured harassment for it once and a while… after all, he’s quickly learning, that’s what friends are for.

[anon-e-miss]

Broken Vows - Part 2

Jazz wondered if he was building himself up for sparkbreak. First Aid had decreed that they would not open the pod here beneath Praxus. It was a precaution, but a reasonable one. Another mega-cycle in the sterile pod would not harm its occupant(s), but exposure to rust, or any other contaminants could be lethal to the mechanism(s). Reviving a mechanism from stasis could be a straightforward thing, or it could be complicated or even fatal. The spark fading was a real danger. Ratchet was best equipped at staving this dire complication off. Nonetheless, Jazz wished the pod had a window just so he could see for certain if it held Prowl, or Smokescreen, or some stranger. He told him, over and over, that he needed to be realistic, and he needed to temper hope. It was impossible. Finding those Cons with the corroded chassises had made the mad hope he had descended below Praxus with seem reasonable. It had taken only that little evidence to convince Jazz’s spark that Prowl had to be in that pod.

It had taken two mega-cycles to free the pod from the heavy, unstable rubble, and then one more to carefully lifted it up through the shaft, and then down the tunnel, and out to where Jackhammer had been hidden this entire time. The Jackhammer was not a roomy ship at the best of times. With a team comprised of large mechanisms, it had been a tight enough fit the flight over. Blade declared he would fly under his own power, and help guide the Jackhammer through the crevasses they would be flying through. Wheeljack had needed no guidance on flight to Praxus, he did not need it now. But with one fewer bot in the hull, the pod fit far more easily. It was still a squeeze. Jazz left the jump seats to the others, and sat on the floor, next to the pod. Wheeljack would have been back here fussy over his invention, but the flight path Jazz had assigned them prior to ever leaving Iacon required a high level of piloting skill, and familiarity of the craft, and that left Jackie in the pilot’s seat with Streetwise as his co-pilot. That post had been the saboteur’s on the flight in. No one questioned the change.

The flight home was rocky. To keep themselves below the Decepticon’s superior radar, Wheeljack had to fly extremely low, which meant a lot of quick, precise turns to avoid the occasional hill or cliff face. Jazz kept servo against the pod. It grounded him, and reassured him that the pod had been well really there. This was not a memory flux. The waking purge might still come. If the reality did not match his matchless hope. He need Prowl to be in this pod. He needed Smokescreen to be with him. In ten vorns he had come to terms with the grief for a loss that was not really his. It had only taken Wheeljack’s revelation about the Core to see the acceptance disappear, replaced by denial, hope. Would it take him another ten vorns to accept Prowl and Smokescreen were long lost if the pod opened and they were not in it? Or would that fresh grief finally drive him mad? Jazz believed he was strong enough to survive any torture, but to do so you had to want to live hard enough. Would he? Did he?

No one spoke the entire flight back to Iacon. Grapple was trying to keep his fuel tank under control and as the Jackhammer whipped left and right as he dodged the jagged terrain, Trailbreaker looked similarly ill. First Aid tended to Hot Spot.   The leader of the Protectobots had brushed off his gestaltmate’s attempts to tend to his tends in the previous mega-cycles. With nothing left to do until they landed in Iacon, Hot Spot finally surrendered himself to First Aid’s ministrations. The final Protectobot, Groove was silent. Overall, Jazz was happy with the silence. He did not want to pretend he was not holding himself together by a single wire. One half of him was elated, the other half despairing as if determined to believe only the worst could be possible. Jazz offlined his optics and will those thoughts away. Though his processor was conflicted, his spark was not. No, his spark soared with hope and elation. He was ever an optimistic fool.

At some point he must have slipped into recharge. Jazz was jerked awake as the Jackhammer landed. His helm whipped up. The guards on his arms opened but he did not draw his blades. As he regained controlled of his spark, he looked around to see his comrades in similar states. It was embarrassing, as an operative, to recharge on the job. He had not recharge more than a half joor here or there since leaving Iacon. Jazz had never recharged deeply, and never easily, certainly not on a mission. With this mission, with his spark so invested in the outcome, the saboteur had not been able to lower his guard enough to really rest. Soon, he would find his berth. As Jazz waited for the hatch to lower, his spark began to raise faster and far. He would go to his berth soon, but not until the pod was opened, and he knew.

Ratchet appeared on Wheeljack’s heals, and he trudged up the ramp after the good-natured inventor. He glanced about the hull, and finally settled his optics on Jazz. The mech in question gave him a casual salute. Jazz had no desire to distract the medic from his real job. Though the CMO had been a great ally in his later recovery, Jazz had written his broken code with the help of a medic called Meltdown. A psychologist rather than a mnemosurgeon, the even tempered medic had been precisely what Jazz had needed. It was rare for him to touch base with Meltdown anymore, just a couple times a stellar-cycle. With the discord in his processor, he might need to schedule a session, regardless of the outcome.

Before he worried about maintenance, Jazz thought of his friends’ mission. Because they had been out of radio contact for the better part of two orns he did not know if they had been successful, or if they had failed. In fact, Jazz did not know if Mirage and Hound remained in the field. He knew they had not been captured, and he knew that they were still alive. Bumblebee, a wizened operative at a painfully young age, had been given orders to make contact if either horror were to occur. It had been Jazz’s order, no one else’s. His duty to his bots, especially his friends, remained unflinching in his spark.

Jazz would always care more than others would consider proper. Though he had thought this source of his breakdown, and as a result something he had to change, Meltdown had helped him recover his sanity while remain true to who he had always been. Not feeling, and not caring were not the key to his processor health, but rather accepting that grief, and loss, and failure were aspects of life that he could face, and process, and survive. Whatever the outcome now, Jazz would not face any of it alone. Mirage and Hound were true friends, and true allies. Optimus Prime was a commander who did not want a killing machine, but an effective ally. They would not let him fall back into dark destruction. He was not alone. Whether he was welcome or not, Jazz followed Wheeljack, First Aid and Ratchet as they loaded the pod on a hover gurney, and guided it into the Auto Base. He probably was not welcome. Ratchet loathed an audience. But Jazz was prepared to beg. Just let him stay long enough to see. That was all that he needed. As he passed the medbay’s waiting room, he saw his friends, Mirage and Hound. Just the sight of them made him feel relief he could not adequately describe.

“Good to see ya both safe,” he said.

“Same goes for you,” Mirage replied. “It’s done. We laid it flat, with everything in it.”

“I knew ya could handle it.”

“With your playbook, how could we not?” Hound asked with a little snicker. It was true. Jazz had scribbled down instructions, noting exactly where to place the bombs, before he had hopped aboard the Jackhammer. He had not shirked his duties, or forgotten his friends on his personal mission.

“Even wit out it... ‘M gonna go in. In a few kliks, I’ll know either way.”

“Did you want company?” The spy asked. He could have rebuffed them. At one point he might have insisted they leave him lone.

“Yeah, I would. Thanks, mechs.” Jazz clasped his friends on their shoulders. He had learned in the course of his recovery that he did not always need to be strong. He did not always need to wear a smile on his face. With these two mechanisms, he could be vulnerable.

They walked into the medbay. Those patients not so delicate as to need private rooms were relegated to medberths here in the large, open bay as they waited for their repairs to integrate. Several conscious patients were sitting up on their arms, staring down the hall. Jazz followed their optics and knew where to go. Hoist, the attending medic, frowned in the trio’s direction. Hound broke off, silently volunteering to explain their presence. Jazz did not dare linger as the scout made their case, instead he quickly crossed the room, and through the doors that led to the surgical wing. It was unlikely that Ratchet would have expected to perform surgery. His choice of this room was certainly based more on its sterility than anything else, with the added benefit of advanced life support equipment being readily available. There was no barging into any of these rooms, as much as he wanted to. Ratchet would not tolerate any trespass. Jazz peered through each window in each door, until he caught sight of Wheeljack working on the Core as Ratchet, Fixit and First Aid stood back, waiting. Hoist must have lost the coin toss. It was torture to wait. He dug in deep to find his last dredges of patience. Wheeljack plugged the pod into the O.R’s power grid, and then himself into the pod. Jazz watched as the inventor exclaimed excitedly. To his displeasure, Jazz could not hear what Wheeljack was saying. Frustrated at his helplessness, wishing he could do anything at all, Jazz watched on.

“I need to get passed,” Hoist declared from behind them. He was pushing a portable medberth. “Wheeljack found three spark signatures in the pod.”

Stunned to silence, Jazz and Mirage both stepped aside. The door opened for Hoist, and slid shut behind him. Three... Jazz tried to reason why Prowl would have another with him, other than Smokescreen. The pod did not seem big enough for three, unless they were sparklings. Certainly, there could be no more than one grown mech. As Hoist locked the second medberth into place, Wheeljack continued his work on the pot. The process of opening the pod was agonizingly slow. To Jazz it felt like it had was taking joors. When he checked his chronometer he found less than a joor had passed. He began to turn away from the door, feeling the need to pace before he jumped out of his plating. But before he could even finished scolding himself, Mirage caught his shoulder and pulled him back to the door’s window. The hatch was open, Ratchet’s solid frame blocked his view. Holding his ventilations, Jazz watched as the medic leaned in and lifted something from the pod.

Someone. At the sight of the small, gray arm Jazz’s spark chattered. It could not have been Smokescreen, but it was still an innocent newling. Mirage hugged him ‘round his shoulders. Before Jazz could speak a prayer of deliverance for the bitlet, he saw flashes of dulled red on the little one’s legs.  Fixit took the newling and carried him quickly to a medberth. He was a mechling, a tiny little Praxian who looked like he had not been even a vorn old at the time he went into statis lock. His tiny doorwings were stiff and still. Young as he was, his systems should not have been strong enough to tolerate stasis for so long, and yet by the red on his legs was an unmistakable sign of life. He was a miracle. Not Jazz’s miracle, but still a miracle. Tears pooled in the saboteur’s optics, and his legs felt weak. A sob got caught in his throat. Jazz had wanted, he had so, so wanted for it to be Smokescreen, and Prowl.

“Jazz...” Hoist said as he stepped up to join him and Mirage.

Blue. Jazz cleared the tears from his optics as he saw Ratchet pull another Praxian mechling from the pod. In a cruel coincidence he looked like he could have been about Smokescreen’s age. That stung. In contrast to the newling’s mostly subdued colouring, the older meching was quite colourful. First Aid carried him over to the medberth holding the newling. Big enough for mechanisms the size of Optimus Prime, it easily fit the two mechlings. Hoist took charge of the mechling. The medics were not frantic. That suggested to Jazz that their sparks were stable. They were not his, but Jazz was glad he had gone down there and brought them back into the light. He took a step back, his friends at his side. Hound hugged him and Jazz clung to him. The tears did not come yet. That sob was still stuck in his throat. He had been convinced Prowl and his mechling would be in that ununtrium tomb.

“Jazz!” Wheeljack exclaimed as he darted out of the O.R. Jazz and Hound stumbled back. Mirage disappeared, and then reappeared several steps away. The inventor grabbed his arm and and started to pull him over to the door. “Come on! Come on!”

“What, ‘Jackie?” Jazz asked, digging in his peds. He wanted space so he could fall apart and get to the hard work of putting himself back together. Again.

“Look!” His friend gave him a quick shake. There was joy in his voice that Jazz could not process, and he opened his mouth the curse at the mech. “Jazz. Come on. Look! It’s Prowl.”

“Prowl?”

[pixelgrotto]

Underdark slogging

Last month myself and a group of other folks finished the Dungeons & Dragons campaign Out of the Abyss after about 18 months of playing nearly every week. Jinkies. This wasn’t the lengthiest campaign I’d ever participated in or run, but it was the one where we met most frequently, since all of my other long-running tabletop RPG games are either monthly or bi-weekly. 

On that note, I’d love to be able to say that it was nearly two years of weekly thrills, but I can’t quite do that. There was actually a lot of slog in this experience, and I had an internal debate a few times on whether or not I’d stick it out. (More on that later.) At the end of the day, I stuck around, and now I can look back and say that the overall experience was worth it. But I’ve also taken some time to ponder about what I didn’t necessarily like, and I think there were a couple of issues at work - the first being that I found Out of the Abyss, as an adventure module, to be grueling. 

Out of the Abyss is described by D&D writer Chris Perkins in the intro as heavily inspired by Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass, where the player characters are constantly bouncing from one strange encounter in the Underdark to the next. That sounds interesting on paper, but in reality the adventure begins with the players captured by drow and stuck in a prison camp, and once you escape you’re constantly on the run without much of a chance to catch your breath. You hop from one dungeon crawl to the next, only occasionally stopping in Underdark cities like Gracklstugh or Sloobludop, and there’s not really any downtime. And then the demon lords break free, Demogorgon shows up and starts inflicting madness on everyone, and off you go running from the big bads once more. Eventually your party eludes the drow and demons chasing them and returns to the surface world, where it seems like the campaign should come to a natural end, but after a few months, Bruenor Battlehammer tasks everyone to return to the horrors of the Underdark to take care of the demonic invasion. 

In other words, Out of the Abyss is one of those D&D campaigns that railroads the players while pretending not to. You’ve gotta run through the Underdark at the speed of light without much time to smell the subterranean mushrooms, and later you gotta go back in. The second half of the campaign is, in fact, a series of fetch quests that the players are once again forced into to arrange a spell that gets the demon lords to fight against each other until there’s only one standing, and the final one will always inevitably be Demogorgon, at least if you’re running this adventure as written. 

There’s nothing technically wrong with all of this, since half of D&D 5e’s official modules are railroads that try very hard to convince you otherwise. But Out of the Abyss is specifically a railroad that leans very hard on the travel rules of the game, and frankly...it’s no secret that the travel mechanics in 5e aren’t great. Almost every game that I’ve been in (including the ones that I’ve run) either ignored or hacked 5e’s methods of tracking water/food, making survival checks and looking up setbacks on random encounter tables because generally speaking, that stuff’s the least fun bit of D&D. (If you want a good travel hack for 5e, look up Adventures in Middle-Earth.) Out of the Abyss, unfortunately, really wants you to use these rules for much of the campaign to emphasize the fact that characters are on the run in a bizarre underworld realm. 

You’d think that a ranger in the party, especially a ranger specialized in traversing the Underdark, might fix these issues. And this leads me to the other qualm I had with my Out of the Abyss game...I played just such a character, a Gloom Stalker (later re-rolled him into a Deep Stalker via the revised ranger rules) whose favorite enemy was fiends, no less, and despite all of his abilities designed for hiding in the dark, finding more food when foraging and hunting down demons...none of this really made things better. Two years ago, I didn’t buy into all those claims floating around the internet that rangers in fifth edition are a poorly designed class, but whoo boy, I do now. They depend just so heavily on very specialized tracking abilities that a DM has to emphasize over the course of a game in order to make you feel as if your character is special and contributing, and once our DM became aware of my skillset, he would generally just be like, “thanks to your ranger friend, you safely make it to the next area quickly.” Which sounds empowering in theory (and did remove a lot of the boring bookkeeping) but in reality, I couldn’t help but feel like my character was sort of a patch to fix a segment of the game that was naturally dull. And that’s not even getting into the fact that rangers in combat aren’t as great as fighters, nor as versatile as any other spellcasting class. 

So why’d I stick with the campaign for nearly two years, then? Well, I think it took a while for these feelings to solidify in my head, and once they were there, we were already pretty deep into the Underdark and I wanted to see how events played out. Also, though I haven’t touched upon them much in this post, there were some real highs during our adventure, like the time we befriended a gelatinous cube, stuck rope ladders in him and used him as a floatation device to escape a flooding torture chamber. Then there were all the quirky NPC friends that ended up dying over the course of our Underdark romp to the point where it became a running joke. (”What NPCs shall we murder today?!”) The only issue was that the slog began outweighing those highs for me, especially once the campaign moved online due to COVID and we lost some of the dynamism and magic that comes from playing D&D in-person.

Honestly, I also resisted these feelings for a while, because I figured that lots of folks struggle to find a long-running D&D game to participate in. Part of me felt like I needed to enjoy this one and make the most of my experience. But for a variety of reasons, it ended up being a 3 out of 5 campaign; or perhaps 3.5 at times. And you know, we should normalize talking about this, because if you look at tabletop RPG message boards and Discords, you’ll see a lot of people chatting about amazing campaigns or god-awful campaigns. What folks don’t talk too much about is a phenomena that is probably more common than the two opposing ends of that spectrum - and I’m referring to the decent campaign. The one where the story has some alright twists and turns, but not everything is to your liking, or maybe the group and DM doesn’t gel with you 100% of the time. The one where you kinda don’t realize this until you’re a few weeks in, and then choose to endure hoping that you’ll hit another high point, or because you feel attached to your character. The one where you complete, feel glad that you had the experience, but then look back on with fairly critical eyes, as I’m doing now.

After finishing Out of the Abyss, I’ve had to gently bow out from the group that I played with, partially due to the fact that my schedule has become way too packed in recent months and also because I didn’t feel like continuing into higher level content. (We ended at level 15, which is more than enough, since high level 5e is generally too bonkers for me.) I certainly appreciate the journey my ranger went through, but now I’m also ready for him to retire in peace. Not every D&D campaign goes on forever, and sometimes you realize after a period of lengthy playing that maybe you’re just having an okay time...and that it’s also okay to feel that way. 

[emmett-the-wrighter]

The Creature

In the not-yet-warm summer dawn, the wastes had fallen quiet. Though wind tried to stir a pebble or two, it fell short of succeeding and eventually died down as if giving up. Any creatures of the night had long since found their refuge and hidey-holes to linger until the dark came once more.

At least, most of them had.

A mud-stained shape stirred at the base of a boulder with a scrape of dirt and nails against stone. It reached out with a grimy hand to swipe at a drying smear of blood left behind, bringing the remnants of the gore up to its face to sniff and ponder. The breeze whispered a gentle note once more and the creature dropped its hand before turning its face upwind.

Moments or more passed as the creature wondered what to do. With a snuffle and shake of the head, it finally rose up on its hind legs before lurching forward in a swift trot. The creature was hungry and the wind spoke a tempting tale of the ones it had been hunting.

Three, the creature remembered. Three that it hated above all else. Three that it would take its time in running down and ripping their guts from their heaving bellies. Three that it would gouge and rend until they were unrecognizable to even themselves as any beast so disgusting as the human. Three that would feed the creature for many mornings and nights more.

A wavering snarl slipped from between the creature’s lips as it thought once more of its quarry. The snarl deepened into a growl and then a hum. The creature did not slow or speed up. It was patient and it could travel at this pace for far longer than the humans would. They would sleep. The creature would not; not until its hunt was over.

“Be better,” the creature muttered to itself, with halting words that lay heavy on its tongue before it threw them away. “Will be- will- for Riley. For- for Songbird, for Arms- better. Will- am good. Am make safe, they safe, need be- be, be, be safe.”

Words never felt right to the creature. They struck discordant chords from its own throat and tasted bitter as it tried to stutter them out. For the others, words seemed so easy. The creature almost envied them the ease at with they could shape a sentence; how beautiful the right person could make speaking seem.

“Safe,” the creature said again. And then slower, starting with a hiss and exaggerated stretch of its mouth, “Ssss-aay-fuh.”

It never felt right.

The creature knew what the word was, of course. And what it was supposed to mean, even if it had never experienced such a thing. Not for more time than it thought it could count. Or that it could even remember. Not since-

The creature scowled to itself, shoulders hunching and brow furrowing down as its steps slowed. Not since before it had come to that other city. Not since it had learned what it was like to speak and love and be around others that didn’t want it dead. Not since it had finally learned what freedom was.

A spitting hiss and then it halted, shaking its head again. “Songbird,” the creature tried again, the name sounding clearly. “Songbird.”

It lifted its hand, clamping around its arm and digging blackened nails into its flesh. The name was- something beautiful, something that it should never start with a hiss; it should never turn into something ugly. Not like that. Not like the creature.

Unforgivable.

The wind had died once more, but the creature wasn’t following that now. It could see the bootprints clear in the dirt, punctuated with the occasional drip of blood. Even before, even when the creature couldn’t think of things like that, couldn’t know the tracks to be human, it would have been laughably easy for it to follow.

Did the humans know they were hunted? The creature allowed the idle thought to drift across its mind before banishing that with a huff. It did not matter. If they knew or if they did not, they couldn’t stop it from ripping out their throats.

They deserved it.

“Threat- threat, love, hunt, kill, love, safe,” the creature continued its mumble, each aimless word a reminding refrain to drum into its head.

It couldn’t lose track of its purpose out here after so long. It had to return; had to tell the others they would be safe and that it would be safe and SHOW THEM that no matter what happened, no matter who came after them, it would paint the city and the wastes in blood to protect them. It would kill and it would hunt and it would eat everything that tried to bare teeth and gun in threat.

“Promise, promise,” the creature huffed. “Be good, not bad, not feral, good, good, am good.”

The taste of blood was still strong in its mouth.

It remembered how the human had screamed, how it felt to finally shove its nails into ribs and organs and yank them apart. They had said they wouldn’t be mad if it ate him, and so it did, lunging for the warm part of the neck, where it could see the frightened quiver of breath in his throat. That breath stilled almost too quickly and the creature remembered the sadness it had felt when it was over.

It hated feeling sad.

And so the creature stopped feeling sad and it let the hate simmer and boil over, covering the sad in anger and fury and letting that blaze through its eyes at the humans and rumble up in a guttural snarl at any who dared move close to it. Keep them away. Keep them all away and it would be safe and those it loved would be safe and then they would never worry about filthy disgusting pathetic humans ever again.

Not even the ones that smiled and said kind words, but it could see the truth. It could see the disgust in their eyes and it could hear the threat in their voices and it could see how their hands curled over their weapons and how they were waiting for it to trust them. They were waiting for it to allow them to kill it and it would NEVER happen and it would NEVER trust them and it HATED and HATED and it wanted to HATE and KILL-

The creature found itself crouched on the ground, nails digging gashes into the dirt and the ragged gasps of its growls piercing the air. It sucked in another breath before it coughed and retched, blood and bile spattering from its mouth. Chills and twitches danced their way across the creature’s skin and it writhed in place, wanting nothing more but to reach up and claw its own flesh off its back.

You look more human than I do, she had said, and the creature’s head whipped up at the memory. The rage came boiling up through its chest all over again. It wanted to go back. It wanted to throw her against a wall and it wanted to snap her fingers and scream and hurt and show her that it was never human, it never could be human, it wasn’t human, humans are bad, bad, bad, bad, bad-

It retched again, but nothing emerged from its throat this time but for a low and pained whine.

“No, no,” the creature finally mumbled between twitches and shivers. “Love her, love, said sorry, not mean, not bad. Mother. Mutant, not human, not bad, is- good- be good, am good, not bad, not human. Said sorry. Love, love, sorry, good.”

It had barely held itself back from whipping out and gashing a line through her throat. The creature hated that feeling. And so it had run, disappearing into the darkness and keeping its hands away from its knives so it couldn’t go back and kill her and hurt her and teach itself that there was no such thing as safety and love and caring and that everyone it ever wanted to be safe would only ever hurt it and kill it and hurt it more.

“Sorry, s-sorry,” it choked out, a muffled and hacking sob. “Am- never want lose, sorry, am sorry, won’t be bad, never bad, sorry, sorry.”

It was the fault of the humans.

Why would anyone want to be human if there were no humans left? They had caused this. They were to blame and the creature knew that if they were all dead, it would finally be safe and everyone it loved would be safe. And they would love it. They would be proud of it for protecting them. It was that simple, and the creature reminded itself that it couldn’t kill the humans if it stayed crouched there with water coming from its eyes.

The creature rose once more and spit to the side to clear its mouth of bile and blood and the taste of its own shame. It had been good. It hadn’t hurt anyone it loved. It had saved them, even, and it was doing that even now. They should be proud of it and they should love it and if they didn’t it would find those that did love it and kill all the rest-

It stopped that thought cold and shook its head in a bird-like twitch. “No, no, bad,” the creature murmured in reminder, “Love, won’t kill them. Even they hate- still love them.”

Love was important and the creature had to keep telling itself what love meant and what love felt like, even when it hated itself and hated everything. And when it came back to the city and the home it had made there, all the others it loved and who loved it would be able to remind it even better what love was and could be. They always did. It trusted them. It had to trust them.

And the only thing standing in its way was those three humans that had threatened to destroy everything it loved.

The creature allowed itself to hate them and it enjoyed the feeling of its hate. It grew stronger from those coiled feelings ready to whip out in the form of a blade or its teeth and nails. Only three humans and humans would die so easily when they were already bleeding. A broken bone or two and the creature could take its time with them to show them the true meaning of hate and justice.

They had threatened the creature and they had threatened one it loved and so they weren’t suitable to be merely prey. They had to understand what it felt and it felt ALL the TIME so they had to SEE how much it wanted them to suffer. It could drag them through rocks and it could peel their skin back or pick apart their eyes and watch them as the carrion birds hopped ever nearer to finish what the creature had started.

No, simple death was too good for these humans. Too clean.

The creature picked its way around rocks and winced as a particularly sharp one dug into the sole of its shoe. It hated wearing them, but in the years since it was forced to wear these human clothes, its feet had grown soft and weak. It didn’t dare walk barefoot like it had lived before. It didn’t dare be reminded of the before, for the before was horrible and dark and evil and the now was where the creature wanted to stay.

The before was alone and full of pain. The now was full of love and the creature was rarely alone and it always had food and it never felt the cold steel of a chain around its neck and even when beaten it knew it was free. It could always fight back and it knew it would survive. Even when those it loved were dead, the creature would survive.

“Be good,” it said through a panting breath. “Need be good. Then not alone.”

It didn’t have to say the words aloud, though it was always curious about the feel of them and the way its tongue formed each sound. And where no one could hear, it was never wrong. So many words were wrong, it was told. It couldn’t talk about eating humans or killing humans or killing rangers or hate. It couldn’t tell the humans they were dumb. It couldn’t threaten humans.

So much no, no, no, no, no, no, and only some, only Arms said yes and even then Arms still said no.

The creature hated no.

But if there was no one to say no, then the creature would know that it was alone and being told no was better than not being told anything. And even if told no, the creature didn’t have to listen.

It wanted to. Sometimes. When it loved the one saying no. So then it would listen and they would smile and praise it and feed it or let it lay next to them and watch and listen and protect them. And sometimes when they said no and it wouldn’t listen they never found out and they would praise it and feed it anyway.

The creature wiped its nose. It wouldn’t tell them about this hunt or it would only tell one and if they praised it, it might tell others. Maybe only if they asked.

It would tell Arms and Songbird.

If they returned.

The creature growled at the thought. They would return. It was bad for thinking they might not. They had to.

It would tell them and they would be proud of it and it would never be alone again.

[nicblanchet]

heels - nic&david

( discord thread )

Where: construction site

@thedavidreyes

italics: nicolette bold: david

Nicolette’s heels clicked up the sidewalk, the sound of construction going on ahead making her confident she was going the right direction. She had a paper bag in one hand and a drink caddy in the other, the woman performing a balancing act to get food to David smoothly. She knew she stuck out like a sore thumb in the area, cautiously walking up to the construction barriers and taking a glance around the job she was at least 80% sure David was at. Like any stereotypical construction site she began to hear the occasional whistle, a man or two calling out to the hot blonde paying them a visit. They couldn’t see her eyes rolling through her Ray Ban shades.

David was revising some last minute adjustments on the plan in his office when he heard the crew outside started to make noise. It didn’t mind noise, and chatter, he may not have been much of a talker himself but it did seem to make the day go quicker for everyone. But when he heard a whistle and some comments he stood up, enough is enough. He walked out of his office, door swinging open as he called out, “would you lot shut the fuck up? No ones impressed you can work a drill bit you apes.”  Some guy to just left he think his name is Andrew just pointed to his left. He let his gaze follow and his eyes landed on Nicolette and his mouth dropped open. Flowing blonde hair,red lipstick, legs for days and god those heels. He swallowed and closed his mouth. “You know.” He said taking a few steps closer to her, “you don’t really meet PPE standards here.” He stood up straighter and crossed his arms, keeping a stern face. Despite the tips of his ears starting to turn red, fuck she was gorgeous.

Nicolette had completely tuned the men out by now, tapping her heel on the concrete while she waited for David to hopefully show up. How embarrassing would it be for her if he didn’t? She thought of ruining the surprise and texting him to come out of wherever the hell he was when she heard that all too familiar voice. It was a lot more stern than what she was used to, David obviously a lot softer when he was around her. That warmed her heart a little, a grin forming on her red lips when she finally spotted her grumpy guy. “Sorry, I didn’t know food delivery required PPE standards. I could go if you want.” A brow rose from behind her dark tinted shades, smirk forming on her lips. “Sir.”

He raised his brows back, not quite able to do the one like she had, his mouth turning into a smirk as he stepped closer again. “Food delivery? In that outfit?” He made a show of looking her up and down before shaking his head. “We’ll have to get you a hard hat, ma’am.” Everyone around them was forgotten as he was now standing directly in front of her. “Hi babe.”

“A hard hat? In this outfit?” she questioned, mocking his tone. “If that’s what it takes, I guess.” Nicolette playfully scoffed then visibly brightened when she heard the pet name. “Hi handsome. Surprised to see me?” Her smile widened. “Didn’t want you getting sick from bad lunch. I had a feeling you’d actually eat it.” She lowered her glasses, gazing up at him. “Can I have a kiss, or is that too much in front of all of...them...” Nicolette looked around, eyes still focused on her. “Have they ever seen a woman in their lives?”

He chuckled at her tone, and nodded. “ A  little surprised, but definitely in a good way. I-I probably would’ve eaten the sandwich.” He confessed with a sheepish grin. He reached out and grabbed her waist, pulling her closer. “Oh they’ve seen women, just never seen Nicolette Blanchet.” He leaned in and kissed her on the red painted lips that were driving him crazy. At first there was an almost stunned silence, and then hollering and whistling. He turned away from face setting and voice becoming sterner instantly, “this place isn’t going to build itself, get back to work!” It was affective as most of the men quickly went back to work. “Want to come see my office?”

“See? I might’ve just saved your life.” Most likely not, but she definitely saved him from a stomach ache later in the day. “Nicolette Blanchet isn’t anything special,” Nic said, but lord did she feel special when David pulled her in and killed her firmly on the lips. She would have wrapped her arms around him on the spot if it wasn’t for her full hands or the shouts from the men on site. “I think I like you being authoritative.” Nicolette laughed. “Of course I do.”

“Thank you.” He smiled as he turned back to her placing his hands on her waist, and then it faltered as he shook his head. “Nicolette Blanchet is amazing. Even if she can’t see it.” He stepped back and offered an arm out to her, it seemed like she liked to hold onto it when they walked. He gestured towards the demountable he had been in and said with a smile, “Is that so? this way princess.”

It wasn’t much and he was immediately worried that she want to leave. It was small, maybe cozy was a better word. With a big desk in the centre, a rolling chair on his side and a plain wooden on the others a water cooler and mini fridge in one of the corners. And light was coming in from a sky light, but the two side walls, but their windows were tiny rectangular slots above eye level. Made for light not viewing. “So, you know you didn’t have to do this right? But what did you bring me?”

“Maybe David Reyes has rose colored glasses on when it comes to Nicolette,” the blonde teased. “But I like them. You’re cute when you’re drooling over me.” She toyed with him, tugging at the corner of his lips with her thumb, then took his arm to follow him to his office.

Nicolette hadn’t expected much from an on-site office at a construction site. In fact, the small building was exactly what she expected. Nicolette stretches over to the desk and set the bag and drinks down, happy to be rid of them and have her hands free. “I know I didn’t have to, but you deserve something nice for your tummy, baby.” Nicolette closed the gap between herself and David and let her fingers trace from his stomach to his chest. “Us! I’m eating with you, if that’s allowed.” The blonde pecked David’s lips, the man’s mouth easier to reach in the height of her heels. “Come here,” she said, pulling him to the desk. “I went to my favorite sandwich shop. Cubans were the special of the day, thank god. They’re my favorite sandwich if you ever wondered. But I got two of those, a chicken salad on a croissant, an Italian sub, and a couple of sides because they all sounded good and I couldn’t help myself. But I want the pasta salad. Okay? Whatever you don’t want I could take home or you could keep here for another day.”

He watched her walk across the room and couldn’t help but let his eyes wander down her body. The dark fabric one her light skin, her small back, then her ass which he loved even if she didn’t necessarily, he loved that he could fit it in his hand, the legs that stretched on, and down to her high heels. His tongue darted out to lick his lips.   He blinked hard as she turned around and gave her a grin, still not fully believing she’d be there for him.  He raised his eyebrows and nodded, “of course, I just wasn’t sure you’d want to eat here. But I’m glad you do.” He smiled into the kids and let her pull him to the desk. He nodded taking in all the information and storing away the fact that they’re her favourite for later. The fact that she’s brought him lunch and so much lunch was touching and a nicety he still was adjusting too. “A Cuban sounds great. Could I also have an Italian sub?”

“Of course you can!” Nicolette set aside two of the sandwiches and pushed them closer to David then smiled up at him. “I didn’t think you would want the chicken salad but if you did we might have had to fight for it.” She scrunched her nose and hip bumped him. Nicolette looked at the area, thinking about where she should sit. She didn’t want to take his place on the rolling chair but the wooden ones didn’t exactly look comfortable. There was just enough space on the desk, so she grabbed her food and walked over to it then hopped up to sit on the desk top, crossing her cream colored legs. “I didn’t think you would want a sweet tea either, if you could hand me that, honey. Come sit. Have lunch with me!”

He smiled as he picked up the two sandwiches. She playfully bumped against him and he laughed, “don’t worry. Your salad is safe.” Emphasising it almost the same way someone would a dirty word they didn’t want to say. He watched as she crossed the room and sat one his desk, and dropped his sandwiches when he saw her cross one leg over the other, making her pant leg move up even higher. He flushed and bent down to pick them up. “Okay.” He managed to get out walking over and sitting in his chair. His heart fluttered a little when she used a pet name for him. He sat down and tried staring at the sandwiches rather than her long legs with pale skin and red heels and focus. “Thanks for this. I really appreciate it.”

“Have you ever had chicken salad? There’s no lettuce in this, you know.” She rolled her eyes at him and unwrapped the croissant, licking her red stained lips before she took a bite. “You’re really missing out on this one.” Of course she knew it didn��t bother him at all. “Well, considering you were going to eat gross ham I assumed you could use someone to take care of you a little bit. It’s a bonus that I get to see you.” She smirked and sipped her tea. “Do you always call your guys apes? Or is that a term of endearment?”

“You said salad so I just assumed it’d have lettuce and other vegetables. Maybe even kale.” He pulled a slight grimace as he said the last word. He blushed slightly at her words. He wasn’t use to the idea of someone taking care of him. “I’ve done alright so far haven’t I? I like that I get to see you too.” He took a bite of one of the sandwiches, “not always, but when they’re all hanging around and calling out they sound like a group of apes. I like to remind them. Besides the fact they think that would ever work is ridiculous.”

“No, no vegetables here today. Maybe some other time though.” Nicolette ate everything he rattled off, and boy, she couldn’t wait to make homemade kale chips in her apartment while he was there now. “Should I be the one to break it to them that it doesn’t work? I don’t know a woman out there that likes being yelled at like an animal in a zoo. Actually, people don’t even treat zoo animals that way. Hm.” Nicolette stayed quiet for a minute and focused on eating, downing a good portion of her sandwich so that she could pay more attention to David instead. “So, what all do you do in here?” Nicolette was honestly clueless about the demands of David’s job, most of what she knew being the basics of an average construction worker.

He smiled as she said no vegetables but it quickly dropped as she said some other time. Stupid vegetables, but then it was back because he realised that meant she was planning on doing this against. “I would pay to see you tell them off.” He laughed at the thought of little Nic telling off a group of construction workers. He finished off both sandwiches, letting out a happy sigh. He’d always been a fast eater. He looked around as she questioned him and scratched his head. “Well not too much. I’m the supervisor so it’s my job to organise everything. Construction crews, who’s on what section with who. Organising any changes that need to take place, monitoring weight bearing walls. I draw up the calculations to make sure the angles on builds are right to ensure a solid foundation.” He stood up and grabbed some papers that were next to Nic on the desk he held them out for her to see. “When I do it I want to ensure we do the best job so it will last.” The pages were covered in drawings of what the building would look like, calculations of angles, cement quantities, power fitting quantise and other numbers that weren’t labelled but clearly had been worked out. “Look it’s not much, it’s nothing fancy. But it’s what I do.” He was standing directly in front of her with a small sheepish smile on his face, “sorry for rambling.”

Nicolette kept nibbling at her sandwich, taking her time alternating small bites that she savored with sips of her tea. “Oh yeah?” She set her croissant down on its wrapper, her eyes widening when she realized David had scarfed down two sandwiches already. “What would you pay me with?” She was that much more tempted now to march out there in her stilettos and give them a piece of her mind, even if she’d probably look like a squeaky toy standing up to a group of pit bulls. Nic wrapped the rest of the sandwich up and stuck it back into the paper bag so she could focus on David. She truthfully hadn’t been that hungry when he texted her but she wouldn’t let him know that she decided to eat just to have an excuse to be with him a little longer. No matter how hard she listened and looked over the papers David showed her Nicolette couldn’t grasp a thing he was saying. He was responsible for making sure his crews did a good job, and apparently he was incredibly smart as well. The numbers looked like another language to Nicolette - math had never been her favorite. “No, I don’t mind. This is more than I could ever do. If you left me in charge of this then they’d be building a death trap. This is nice, David. Really nice.” She turned and looked up at him. She’d only known him for a few short weeks and she didn’t know how significant any of this really was, but she was proud of her guy. “So when were you going to tell me that you’re a secret genius?” Nic stepped close to David and reached up to toy with the hair at the nape of his neck. “What’s next? Are you secretly Superman too?”

“Anything you want” he chuckled. “Anything at all.” He saw her putting her food away but he didn’t think much of it too caught up in his own world of numbers. He’d always liked numbers and math. It was either correct or incorrect. Wrong or right. No grey area or open to interpretation. It was something he was good at and felt in control of, and that’s why he loved it so much. He let out a nervous chuckle, “I’m sure it wouldn’t be that bad.” He blushed a bit as she spoke, “I’m not a genius. I just know the right formulas.” He tried to down play, and then noticed that one of the equations wasn’t finished.  “Oh actually.” He quickly looked at the equation and jotted down the answer. “I might just check that, pretty sure it’s right though.” He pulled a calculator out of his desk and smiled when he found out he was correct. He continued smiling as he looked down at her and put the calculator on the desk behind her before wrapping his arms around her waist. “I’m not super man, not even close. Besides, I’d be more of a Batman.”

“Anything? Oh, there’s a lot of things that I want. How could I possibly pick just one?” She grinned, green eyes exploring his brown. “It would be bad. Very bad. Might even knock down everything else around it, actually. I couldn’t even make LEGO buildings with my brother when we were kids. That’s how bad it would be.” Nicolette turned her head and watched him correct whatever numbers were unfinished on the paper, the woman impressed with him no matter how much he downplayed his smarts. “Oh, I’m sorry Bruce Wayne. That is Batman, right?” She genuinely didn’t know a lot about superheroes at all, but she could see David’s point. “If you’re Batman then who am I? I do think I’d look kind of good in a catsuit.”

“I’m sure you’ll think of something.” He grinned, and couldn’t help but smile at her LEGO comment. He’d played with some at school but never at home. He wished he had more memories like that. “Leave the building to me then.” He laughed and gave a soft smile. “Yes Bruce Wayne is Batman. And I got one think you would look amazing in a catsuit.”

“Hmmm.” She pursed her lips in thought. “I might have a few things in mind.” Nicolette grinned. Twirling one of David’s curls around her fingers. She loved his hair, adored it really. Nicolette would be content sitting and playing with his head of thick curls all day long. “Trust me, I am. I’ll stick to making things pretty.” For a moment she pictured him in a Batman suit. Hit for sure, but she’d still prefer her normal David over him in bulked up super hero gear. Something told her he thought she’d look more than kind of good in a catsuit though. “Only kind of? You know, I have a few connections that might be able to get me into one. How’s that make you feel? Kind of good?” She blushed, but she couldn’t help giving him a little tease now and then even if it brought a feeling of guilt to the pit of her stomach as well. Was it wrong to toy with him about something she couldn’t fully give to him yet? The corners of her lips started to tilt into a frown but she stopped them quickly. 

He smiled and subconsciously leaned his head back into her hands, loving the feeling of her playing with his hair. He smirked as she talked about the cat suit and his ears burned red. “I think that would be kind of good. Then again.” He paused and shrugged his shoulders, “I think you’d look even better without the suit on. Or anything really.” He winked at her and then chuckled, he knew she wasn’t ready but if she was happy to joke about it then so was he. “So should I start hitting the gym more? Try to get Batman fit for you?” It was a joke, mostly. But he also was self conscious about his body and being older than her he was genuinely curious if maybe he’d need to start working out to try and keep her happy. He knew that wasn’t the best mind set but he didn’t want to give her any reason to be unhappy with him.

“I had a feeling you might say that.” Nicolette pulled gently on David, closing what was left of their gap in height so she could kiss him. It was soft, sweet, but lingered long enough to leave him wanting more. “Batman fit?” Nic’s brows furrowed while she thought it over - a hard, defined Batman suit type of body versus David’s. “No. You shouldn’t.” Her hands dropped from his head to run slowly down his chest. “I think you’re sexy the way you are.”

He kissed her back fighting the urge to hum against her lips. “Batman fit, with abs.” He explained, he wasn’t expecting that response. But he was very grateful it’s what she said. He closed his eyes for a moment as she ran a hand on his chest and him sexy he cleared his throat and stepped back one large step. He needed to put some distance before he tried doing something that he’d regret and she wouldn’t be ready for. “I’m going to grab a water. Do you want one?” He asked as he moved to the mini fridge.

“You know, I’m really not that concerned with abs.” Nicolette shrugged. The blonde chewed on her bottom lip when David stepped back. She knew she had an effect on him but couldn’t quite wrap her mind around how intense it really was. “Sure,” was all she responded with, then stepped back to take David’s rolling chair seat. She watched him, doing her best to read how body language and the look on his face. He was tense but not uncomfortable like he’d been the first night at her place. She wondered if he wanted her now. “David?” She asked, gaining his attention. “What’s your favorite thing about me?” Unwittingly, Nicolette stretched her legs, propping them up on desk in front of her.

He was a bit surprised when she said abs don’t matter. Surprised and a little relieved if he was being honest. He grabbed two bottles from the fridge and turned back around to face her as she called out his name. He paused in his tracks as he saw the way her long exposed legs and high heels were propped up on his desk. “My favourite thing?” He thought about it and there was a lot of things he really liked. Like her legs, and when she wore the colour red, or when she’d make kind of cheesy jokes. He took a second to think before simply saying “your smile.” He paused, wanting to get the wording right, “The big, proper one. It makes me forget about all the bad things in the world. Gives me hope.” He handed her the water and grabbed her hand, pulling her up and out of the chair. “But, that doesn’t mean you get to steal my chair.” He slid behind her and into the chair. “No one sits in this chair but me, but my lap isn’t the chair.” He smirked, wondering if she’d do it.

Nicolette had to do all she could to not squirm around like a delighted little girl at David's answer. Her smile. It was such a simple and genuine answer, nothing that she would have ever gotten out of her previous relationship. "Gee, thanks," she said, a little breathless as she stared across the room at David. Her face was hot, the woman perfectly aware of how red her cheeks probably were - maybe even enough to compete with the shade of her lipstic - that smile that David mentioned beginning to involuntarily stretch across her lips. "I think that's the nicest thing anyone's said to me in a really long time." Nicolette held her hand out for David to take, confused at first, standing sheepishly to the side and ready to apologize for being in a place that she shouldn't have been. "Oh," she muttered, ready to shrink herself down to nothing or potentially leave for being an inconvenience - that is, until she realized his real intentions. "Ah, I see," Nic said and nodded, then wrapped her arms around David's neck as she took a seat on his lap and crossed her legs. "A little lumpy, but comfy nonetheless."

He fake gasped and held a hand to his chest, “ouch. I’m not lumpy.” He put on a dead pan face and shook his head. “I knew my body would never be good enough for you.” It was meant to be a joke, but there was an element of truth behind it he couldn’t quite shake off. He furrowed his brows as if he was only really just registering her words, “I guess I’ll have to say nice things more often then. Because you definitely deserve it.” His arms wrapped and her waist and he gave a small smile.

“I mean, I guess I could get used to this.” Her small nose scrunched up, but it was hard to act displeased by sitting in his lap at all. She enjoyed it a lot, actually, even more so when his arms wrapped around her waist. David made her feel warm, safe and secure. “Do you really think I do?” No matter how many times Nicolette told herself that she deserved kindness she was too scarred by her ex to entirely believe it. “You wanna know what my favorite part about you is?”

He thought her nose scrunching was adorable and couldn’t help but smile. He nodded and gave a small smile, “of course I do. I think you deserve the world.” You don’t have one, what’s there to like? “Sure.” He forced a smile. “Lay it on me.”

“What makes you think that?” She smiled at him still, the woman enjoying hearing someone speak to her in such a way. One of her hands unhooked from around his neck and traveled to his face, cupping it gently to raise his gaze to meet hers. “Your eyes. They’re deep and warm, kind but tired.” Her smile turned sympathetic. Even if David said that he didn’t need sympathy she couldn’t help but feel it for him. “But, my favorite thing about them is how they look at me like no one has ever, ever looked at me before.” Her voice cracked, Nicolette astonished by how pleasantly overwhelmed David made her feel.

He smiled and gave her an incredulous look. “How could I not? I mean you’re pretty amazing.” His face dropped slightly as she cupped his face, he wasn’t use to such a gently touch he couldn’t help but lean into her hand a little, and give a gentle smile. His eyes started to sting a little as he blinked back tears, if he was being honest with himself he didn’t think he’d ever been complimented like that. Forty-one years of existence and no one had ever made him feel as important as Nic has in the short time of knowing her. This should testify him, but it doesn’t, it’s strangely calming in a way he never knew knew he needed. He cleared his throat slightly before saying, “thank you.” His one voice cracking slightly, he looked away still trying to blink away the tears that were threatening to spill, “I’m sorry, I - fuck, sorry.”

Nicolette let his face go, letting him react in the way that he needed to. She wondered how bad things really were for David but she wouldn’t ask. In his own time he might tell her. He was a broken man, that was obvious, but she wanted to do all she could to try and mend what she was able to. “Don’t be sorry,” her soft voice whispered, gentle hands reaching for his face, ready to wipe away any tears that threatened to stain his cheeks. “You know, someone told me not long ago that it’s okay to cry. It’s what makes us human.” Nicolette smiled at him, then leaned in to press angelic kisses across the man’s cheek. “He’s a pretty smart guy, so I think he knows what he’s talking about. Pretty cute too.”

A few tears actually feel at her words and he nodded numbly. Using his own words on him, he’d have to remember that. He gave a soft smile as she kissed his cheek and took a deep breath. “Sounds like a cool guy.” He tried to joke but his voice was weak. He was about to look away, not liking the feeling of being vulnerable. But looking into her eyes he couldn’t help but get lost, and feel safe. “You know, I think you’re the first person whose ever said something nice about my eyes. Thank you. I - well - it just means a lot.” He wanted to explain, to have her know how much it truly meant, for him to finally have someone not only see the good in him but be vocal about it.

“He really is. And he’s pretty important to me.” Nic felt her own eyes beginning to burn and tried her best to practice what she just preached, keeping her gaze locked on his. “That’s a shame, because I think they’re my favorite eyes I’ve ever seen. Besides Janis,” she laughed. Nicolette swiped her thumbs underneath David’s eyes, wiping away the wetness that fought its way through. “You have a good heart too, David. You deserve all the kindness in the world.”

He laughed and sniffed, “that’s fair enough. Janis does have amazing eyes.” He said with a nod and a watery smile. He brought one hand up to softly cup her face and lent in, capturing her lips in his. The kids was long and gentle, but it held a promise of so much more as he tried to convey everything he was feeling. He pulled back and wrapped that arm around her back the other one still on her waist pulling her into him for a hug as he buried his head in the crook of her kneel. Leaving a ghost of a kiss there.

“She really does,” Nicolette laughed, the sound fading quickly with his lips on hers. She smiled into the kiss, that gentle touch meaning so much to the woman - more than she could ever convey. They scared her, the intense feelings that overcame her when she was near David, but she welcomed them all the same. The hug surprised her, but she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and squeezed him tight. “I’m really happy that we met, David.”

He smiled as she hugged him back. He’d never really been a hugger, not really a fan of contact with his upbringing, but he wanted her as close to him as possible. He loved the way it felt natural, like she was meant to be in his arms. He could very easily get use to this and that scared him. He didn’t like relying on others, but he had a feeling Nicolette was going to be addictive. “I am too, Nicolette. I’m glad I couldn’t take a hint to leave you alone.” He added with a cheeky snicker.

“I guess persistence really can pay off.” She thought back to that first night and how nasty she’d been to him, or at least tried to be, and how guilty she felt when she realized he really didn’t have the same intentions as any other man that approached her in public. “I’ve never been so glad that someone blew their cigarette smoke on me,” she joked. “Not that I want you to do that again. Or at all...” There was always a small hint of smoke on him, never enough to be obnoxious or overpowering, but just a small reminder of the bad habit.

“I guess so” he smiled as he thought back to how annoying he’d been. He remembered thinking his father had been right but all thoughts of his father were gone as she smiled and joked with him. “I’ve never been so glad to have someone try to be mean so hard.” It took him a second to realise she was hinting that needed to stop smoking, his smile dropped slightly. And he did his very best to fight off the voice saying that he wasn’t good enough, could never be good enough. Instead he focussed on her smile and how her eyes shine a little and lent forward slightly resting his forehead against hers, “I promise I won’t blow smoke in your face.” He said with his voice just barely above a whisper.

“Try to be mean? I was being mean, you take that back!” Nicolette playfully nudged the man, her hand rubbing his chest softly afterwards and proving David’s point. She didn’t have a mean bone in her body. A few clever quips, sure, but she couldn’t be nasty to anyone. “I guess I could just keep you at my place more often since you can’t smoke in there,” she pondered out loud. “Then I get to kiss you,” she punctuated the statement with a kiss to his lips, “and snuggle you more.” She kissed him again, her lips barely brushing over his before fluttering to his nose, then his forehead.

He held his hand to his chest pretending to be hurt, “fun I take it back.” But his tone was pretty clear that he didn’t take it back slightly. “Kisses are good” he hummed. “And snuggles with you.” He kissed moved to kiss her back but her lips were quickly glittering around his face. He groaned but his smile was bright. He brought his hands up one on each side of her face and kissed her deeply before pulling back, “that’s better.”

“That’s right. I’m the baddest bitch in town you know,” she joked, unable to keep from laughing at herself. “I like snuggles with you.” She nestled herself against him on cue. This was fine enough but she couldn’t want to wrap herself around him for a whole night. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone here how much you’d like to spoon me and play footsies in bed, or how you let me kiss your nose.” She would have done it again but she was pulled into another kiss by David, this one much deeper than hers had been, the woman feeling his affection for her pouring through the way his lips pressed to hers. “I like when you kiss me like that,” the blonde sighed. She leaned back in and let her lips properly kiss him again, lingering against his mouth.

He laughed along with her before smiling softly at her words. He wanted everything he was saying, but he want sure. Is she just teasing him? Should be ask for it? Is it now assumed? His thoughts faded away as she was issuing him again, one hand in her lower back the other cupping her face he returned the kiss. The was long and lingering with a hint of something more. After a few moment  she pulled back and rested his forehead on hers, “I like when I get to kiss you like that.”

“Good,” Nicolette whispered back, one hand in David’s curls and the other resting on his chest. “Cause I’m kind of getting addicted to it.” She smirked, her fingers tracing where David’s collar met his brown skin lightly. “I like the way you hold me and make me feel safe. I like sitting in your lap,” she confessed, simply sitting next to him was hardly enough. “I like how warm you are, right here, on the couch, in bed...and how you don’t mind me laying all over you at night.” She sat up more, getting a better view of the man. “I like your curly hair, and this one that always falls in your face. Want me to go on?”

He blushed a little as she listed the things she liked. He found her sitting in her lap and playing with his hair to be a massive turn on, as well as her voice. That combined with her complimenting him was all a little overwhelming, but at the same time thrilling. He couldn’t find any words so he nodded slowly. Waiting for her to keep talking before he started trailing kisses up her neck. He got to her ear and was about to whisper when he the door opened and a very red face man could be seen. He quickly lent back, putting a bit of space between him and Nic as he cleared his throat. “Yes Alex?” The man spluttered a little before waving some papers and saying he’d wait out side. David closed his eyes and groaned. “I better go. But, thank you for today. I really appreciated it.”

Nicolette could list a million more things about David that both drove her crazy and melted her to a puddle. She sighed when she felt his lips on her neck, her grip in his curls tightening slightly. She was about to go on when the door swung open and Nicolette’s bright green gaze was met with one of David’s crew’s. Nic looked down, only slightly embarrassed, then glanced over to David. “You probably should,” the blonde laughed. “I’m glad, babe. You uh, are you okay if I do it again sometime?” Nic found joy in giving to David, taking care of him, nurturing him, so she hoped it wouldn’t be a problem if she stopped by more often with whatever the day’s special was in tow. As they both got to the door Nic looked up at David, her small hand grabbing gently at his. “Can I see you tonight?” she asked, giving his hand a squeeze.

[m-602]

The Road to Mayhem

((So I was struggling to come up with a story that wasn’t filled with absolute angst... Then I got the idea to make a bunch of lighthearted one-shots between the sonas over at Discord. Specifically, this includes me, @astel4, @sillypanda3, @foxyfan666‘s Reaper, @kittydoesthings and her void baby Shadow, and @a-fanfic-fan‘s Silver.))

((Also... Yes, M’s full name has been revealed to be “Mikearu”... Yes, he’s in the body of a shadow lich child... No, I’m not giving context as to how that happened. It was a Discord RP and explaining it here would take up WAY too much text space...))

((Warning. There is some swearing here. Sorry!))

((Anyways... I hope you enjoy!))

((Happy Thanksgiving!))

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Panda, put that halberd down right now!”

“No! I don’t think I will!”

That describes basically every day in the house. What would normally be every parent’s nightmare is just an everyday occurrence to the strange family of friends. When you hear about family spending time together, a self-entitled mother chasing around a halberd-wielding feral child wouldn’t even crack top fifteen. And yet… here we are.

Just family things.

Astel: “You’re gonna hurt yourself! Or someone else!”

Panda: “Is that a challenge?~”

A: “Wha- No! Now give it here!”

P: “Nope! This is mine!~”

Well, it would’ve still been hers. But a magical aura around the weapon indicated the end of that. It floats over to Astel’s outstretched hands.

A: “That’s enough, young lady!”

P: “What the fuck?! Give it back!”

She wasn’t giving it back. Mom mode Astel is currently trying to tame the feral child - a hopeless endeavor, yet one she attempts anyone. She cares about her too-

Silver: “Oooh.~ Shiny!~”

And with that, the halberd was out of Astel’s hands, the thief literally sliding the stairs as if they were rails.

A: “Gah! Silver! Get back here!”

Yep… Just family things… 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

To take a break from the chaos, let’s transition to something every family can relate to - actual family time, of course! The fireplace adorned living room is perfect for this, a familiar, bright blue flame warming the room from the cold, snow-less night. Everyone was simply doing their own thing, relaxing after running out of things to do. Chaos already reigned for most of the day, so it’s time to let order take the wheel. And as expected… it’s rather nice.

Mikaeru: “I go’ ho’ choco!~”

Even better - hot chocolate! Who doesn’t love hot chocolate? The lich, who decided to stay in his child form after the whole memory dive event, was now coming out of the tray filled with mugs. Within each one was a swirling, chocolatey beverage that warmed one to their very spirit. Even Mikearu, who didn’t need to drink or eat, enjoyed the stuff!

He offers one to Kitty. She gently takes a mug from the tray to avoid spilling it. And then proceeds to start slurping it down.

He offers one to Astel. She accepts in a heartbeat. She really loves chocolate…

He offers one to Silver. She immediately stashes it in her backpack. What a strange little thing…

He offers one to Reaper. She accepts it rather quickly as well. Likely for the added warmth.

He offers one to Panda. She’s too busy listening to music through her headphones. That’s fine, though! He just places it next to her in case she wanted it later.

He places his own drink on the table, dashing into the kitchen to put away the tray. When he returns, he’s immediately seated on the couch, finally taking a moment to relax.

Everyone seemed to be enjoying the silence - odd for a “family” of chaotic idiots. It’s around this moment that Panda would try to cause mischief or Silver would… be Silver. But nope. Nothing of the sort here… It’s kind of terrifying how all these people, who were the direct opposite of order in their own ways, could just sit around and enjoy themselves in the quiet.

Subconsciously, he let himself lean on the closest person on the couch… Which turned out to be Kitty. She just shrugged and placed an arm around the child.

He had brought his hot chocolate closer, taking sips of it as the azure flames roared from the fireplace. This is what he had imagined when he thought of “spending time with friends” - it’s not much… but it’s something… 

He didn’t even notice his eyes start to flutter close as he drifted off to sleep, a nearly finished mug of hot chocolate at rest on the table in front of him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And judging by all the screaming, we’ve fallen back into the chaotic routine.

Reaper: “Who the hell gave Silver the wheel?!”

A: “Silver, did! She stole the wheel!”

A child who embodies cartoon logic at its finest is probably the last person you want driving the car. Mikearu had been traveling side by side with the vehicle… Now he’s trying to get anyone he can out of the death-mobile’s way. He sends a message to Astel within the shared mind.

M: ”A-Astel! Can’t you stop her?!”

A: “I’m trying! She won’t give me the wheel! She won’t even let me get close, and I’m sitting in the damn driver’s seat!”

Eclipse: “You know… You could always try freezing her like an ice sculpture.~”

Ikearu: [“OR JUST LET ME TEAR HER APART.~”]

M and A: “NOT HELPING!!!”

A cacophony of screams (excluding Silver’s overly enthusiastic laugh) roared from the out of control vehicle as it barreled down the road. People scrambled to jump out of the way - the strugglers were pulled away by a black and blue blur.

S: “Oooh.~ Railroad tracks!”

R,A, and Kitty: “WAIT, WHAT?!”

Yep. They were heading for railroad tracks. Hey, at least there wasn-

*HOOOOOOONK*

There was a train heading down the tracks. Right towards them. And Silver, being the maniacal child she is, wasn’t stopping.

M: “Oh, for the love of-”

Doing the only thing he can think of, he chained the rear wheels of the car, keeping them from spinning. Unfortunately, this also caused them to completely snap of the car due to the amount of force they were exerting. The rear of the car suddenly dropped lower as it slowed down exponentially, coming to a stop just before the tracks. Just in time, too - the train had just passed by them the moment they stopped. Any moment later, and…

Everyone (except Silver, who was still laughing) breathed a sigh of relief as they evacuated the car. Mikearu stood behind the vehicle, massaging his neck. He looked like the embodiment of stress.

M: “You know… A’ leas’ one of you has powers… You could’ve done somethin’, too!”

A: “I was kinda busy trying to get Silver off the wheel!”

R, gesturing to the car: “And I didn’t want *that* to happen.”

K: “Hey, at least we’re all safe…”

Silver had just hopped out of the car at that time.

S: “Woohoo! Let’s go again!”

Everyone else: “NO!!!”

S: “Aww… You’re no fun!”

At least one of them was about to correct her and say they also weren’t crazy… But likely didn’t since that would’ve been a direct lie. Everyone here is crazy - that’s why they’re a “family” after all.

Using Mikearu’s chains, Reaper’s strings, and everyone’s effort (excluding Silver - she’s still mad), they started dragging the car back home… which was quite a ways away from where they were. On the topic of home, a thought crossed Reaper’s mind.

R: “...Was it a good idea to leave Panda by herself in the house?”

Everyone else: “...”

It was safe to say that they were coming back to a trashed living room… And weapons sticking out of the couch.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Speaking of Panda… She’s been acting kind of weird lately… You surely wouldn’t expect her of all people to hold her hands up to Astel and ask to be picked up.

P: “Up?”

The teenager turned mother picked her up upon the request, taking her over to the couch. Panda is rested on her lap as she’s held close.

A: “What’s wrong, hun?”

P: “Me. A-All I do is h-hurt you or Mikey or Reaper or even Kitty. I-I’m a b-bad person…”

A: “That’s not true, hun…”

P: “It is! I’m bad! Bad!”

Astel just held the self-loathing girl in her arms, trying to calm her down. It… was kind of bewildering to see her like this. She’s normally not the kind of person to be this upset over something. Either she shrugs it off or reacts with anger.

A: “...We don’t mind being hurt, y’know?”

P: “T-That doesn’t make sense!”

A: “What I mean is… We don’t mind being hurt if it means you’re okay…”

P: “But why?! W-Why do you care about me?!”

A: “Because we love you.~ We love you for who you are…”

P: “B-But… I’m nothing special… A-All I do is h-hurt-”

A familiar black and blue blur made its way to the couch. Panda suddenly found herself being hugged by a familiar lich child.

M: “You’re special to us! We like havin’ you around! And more importantly, we’re always here for you, Panda!”

P: “...”

The trio just kind of hugged it out, one of them kind of uncomfortable with the sudden affection. But she wasn’t about to ruin the moment… For once, she’ll stay quiet about this…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

E: “‘Stel!! How the hell do you make this shit?!”

A: “*snrk*”

Thanksgiving dinner was taking quite a while to make… Why was that? Because Eclipse had decided it was the perfect time to take over… Right when Astel was starting to make pie and cranberry sauce… Even more unfortunate is the fact that, for some reason, Astel decided to try making both at the same time.

E: “THE CRANBERRIES ARE BOILING OVER!!! ‘STEL, WHAT DO I DO?!”

A: “Literally all you have to do is lift the pot for two minutes, it’s fine.”

I: [“WHO KNEW THE DREADED NIGHTMARE QUEEN WAS A TERRIBLE COOK?~”]

M: “Pffft…”

E: “Quiet! The both of you!”

And of course the other minds are not help either. They’re enjoying the show!

Kitty would’ve helped… If she wasn’t laughing at the Nightmare Queen’s terrible cooking skills, too. Occasionally, a stretchy arm would give her the utensil she needed… But only once or twice.

E: “When the hell am I supposed to take out the pie?!”

A: “Not now, dumbass! I just put it in before you decided to take over!”

E: “Why you-”

M and I: “CAN YOU PLEASE JUST FOCUS ON THE DAMN FOOD?!”

Astel’s shadow trying to cook is proving to be harder to handle than the whole “kill everything” plan. Mainly because even said shadow has no idea what the heck she’s doing. Then again, Eclipse did this to herself when she decided to take over Astel’s body.

E: “What do I do now?!”

A: “Just wait! The food needs to cook!”

The door slamming open cuts them both off… As well as Kitty’s outburst.

K: “Shadow, wha- Did you kill those yourself?!”

Shadow: “Well… duh. How else were we gonna get a proper Thanksgiving dinner?”

K: “We could’ve just bought one!”

The void child just shrugged with two dead turkeys in either hand. Eclipse just stares at the child, coming to the slow realization that they’ll want a cooked turkey.

A: “Sure you don’t want me to cook?~”

E: “Well- Wait, hell no!”

I: [“YES, CAUSE YOU’VE BEEN DOING SO WELL BEFORE…”]

E: “NOT HELPING!!!”

Welp… Sucks to be you, Eclipse.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After much bickering, culinary incompetence, and screeching, Thanksgiving dinner was finished. It’s honestly a miracle the house didn’t burn down with how clueless Eclipse was.

The food was already at the table the moment it was prepared. You can thank Mikearu for that…

Everyone had taken their seats, ready to dig in to the massive meal - even those who didn’t need to eat or didn’t eat normal food were waiting patiently to prepare their plates. Their reasoning?

M: “I’ s’Thanksgivin’! Why wouldn’ I?”

R: “Agreed.”

Sh: “I killed it. That’s all…”

And nothing more was said. Yep, just the usual.

The only problem was convincing Eclipse to give Astel her body back. It took a lot of mental and physical bickering to finally get the Nightmare Queen to give in, with Ikearu not doing the lights any favors.

I: [“SHE COOKED THE FOOD. LETTING HER HAVE ASTEL’S BODY FOR A GOOD WHILE SHOULD BE REWARD PLENT, HM?~”]

M: “Just shut up, you irritating pest.”

I: [GRR… YOU!]

It was as exhausting as it sounds. Definitely made the actual meal itself worth all the trouble. Though all the grumbling in the shared mind indicated that Eclipse wasn’t too happy with the arrangement in any way, shape, or form.

What children…

Surprisingly, the food was delicious! Guess a lot of good fortune saved their skins… and their stomachs.

It was nice. And it was more than just warming silence during a cold night. Everyone was chatting, making jokes, getting on each other’s nerves, the usual. It was all one could ask for a Thanksgiving dinner.

M: “Mm… I’m grateful to have me’ you guys.”

A: “Aw… Same here!”

K: “Yep.”

R: “Happy Thanksgiving, guys!”

Sh: “Heh… Whatever…”

P: “Yep, sure…”

And Silver was stuffing food into her backpack… Again… At least she was eating it, even if she wasn’t actively engaging with anyone else.

For a bunch of idiots on the Road to Mayhem… They were actually having a good time together…

If you didn’t know any better… You could probably call them a real family… 

[houseofsol]

i’m here! kinda. sorta. still waiting on the coffee to do its thing. hopefully everyone is having a good day?? the sun is actually out! of course it’s playing peek a boo with the clouds, but i’ve seen it more than a few times already. unfortunately, it’s also very windy here. though it’s not constantly windy. just a few good gusts occasionally. and judging by the weather reports that’s what has been expected. fun times at least. hopefully it won’t do anything other than blow shit around. don’t need branches to fall off. knock on wood but we’ve been lucky so far this winter. hopefully that streak continues. one can hope, right? but i’m here! i think i’ve finally got a decent handle on the replies across all my blogs. i am sorry for being slow but we all know that some days you can crank out a ton and other days you can’t. xD thanks for being patient and understanding. i’m over on @cxpt today working through what i feel i can write. please don’t think i don’t like our stuff just because i’ve yet to reply to it. the longer the reply the longer it takes me to get to. xD i will get to them. it’s just taking me a lot longer than usual. also don’t forget the inbox is always open for chatting or plotting. i promise we don’t bite. ;) i’ll hop on discord in a bit. just need food first. till then we’ll be lurking about! <33

[riftmeanewverse]

back in ‘66 from discord w/ @losingmagnetism

When Hopper had come back from war, Joyce was off in Chicago living her life. A girl from high school, Diane, had written to him while he was overseas, keeping him up to date with how things were going in Hawkins, helping him get through the tough times. He liked her, and he'd seen her a little since going to college, but he still hated the distance between him and Joyce. He'd almost written to her a few times, but he could never figure out the words and crumpled it up every time.

Now that he had graduated college, however, he was going back to Hawkins to join the police force. He had some decisions to make about where he wanted to go with his life. And whether or not Joyce wanted to be with him romantically or not, he couldn't stand the silence between them. So he looked her up and just went to show up at her door one day, nervous as hell.

Six years had passed. There was not a day that went by that Joyce hadn't thought about Hopper, having wrote to him but either burned the letters or hid them away. She couldn't. She forced herself to move on, because as much as she loved him, she met up with Lonnie, and things clicked. Sort of... But Chicago was her new life, she was discovering herself, having fun, trying to crack out of her shell. Joyce Horowitz was her own self, growing and exploring the part of her that was new.

It had been far fetched, moving into a small townhouse with Lonnie, but they were getting serious, very serious. Moving on wasn't easy, but she had graduated college, had a job and was as happy as she allowed herself to be. In the kitchen, she stopped what she had been doing, and walked to the door, not expecting anyone. It was just her home alone, and it was nice to be in a quiet area, alone.

Running a hand through her now dyed, short hair, Joyce let out a small breath before putting on a brief smile to greet the other once she opened the door. "Hel---- Hopper?"

"Joyce! Uh..."

He'd had a whole speech written out in his head on the way over, but as soon as he saw her it just disappeared like cotton candy in water. He attempted to grasp at the bits of it that he could remember.

"I know I should have called or something, but I was afraid you wouldn't pick up, so uh... Well, I'm back."

"I can see that. It's really you, back in the flesh and everything..." Her voice almost sounded... disappointed, because she hadn't been expecting him. Of course she was afraid, practically afraid of everything, and Hopper.

"It's good to see you. How are you doing?"

His dumb, stunned smile slipped. She didn't sound like it was good to see him. In fact, her tone had him rethinking his whole plan, but there was no going back now without looking like an idiot.

"Good! Good," he answered, struggling to keep up his cheery facade. "You cut your hair." Wow, great way to be obvious. He couldn't help staring, though.

"Um, can I come in? Or do you want to go somewhere? I thought we could... catch up."

Joyce blinked, before her cheeks turned red a little bit. "I did. I needed a change," she said as she ran a hand through her short hair for a moment, probably messing it up. But, it was short and it something she couldn't grow back for awhile.

"Oh. Sure, let's go out. Just give me a second," she said, with a half scatter brained response as she turned to grab her keys from the counter and a rather large winter jacket to toss on.  At least she remembered that. Shutting the door behind her, she locked it and then moved off the porch, looking back at him.

"Coffee?"

Change. The word stuck in his head, hovering between hope and a nail in the coffin. Could he be part of that change, or was he some of what she was letting go with it?

"Yeah, coffee sounds good," he agreed, leading her down to his car and getting in. "Sorry this is such short notice. I tried writing to you. The letters just never came out right."

"It's fine, Hopper," Joyce responded quietly before getting into his car, and put the belt on securely. She looked at him, trying to be sweet still. It was difficult when it was the worst of times.

"I did the same, if I'm honest. Got a stack of just.... random words of paper.  I'm more of an actions person than a wordy girl... you know that."

"Really?" The word sounded far more hopeful and surprised than he intended it to come out, and he regretted it immediately. He needed to temper himself; he knew she still probably hadn't forgiven him for leaving, for not trying a little harder to compromise.

Fortunately, it wasn't far to the little coffee shop they used to go to. "I just didn't want you to think I'd died or something. You were always so worried about that..." He'd had some close calls, but he'd come home in one piece. Others hadn't been so lucky.

Joyce was silent as she looked out the window. He was right. She was worried about it, and had been for the past six years, by hearing nothing. Even when Hopper's mother checked in with Joyce occasionally, they either were hiding the truth, or they really didn't know either. "I appreciate you showing up, it eases that worry now that I know you're around."

Joyce tries to word her words gently and carefully, she doesn't want to lead him on. She doesn't want to do anything that she'll regret. They're still friends...

She seemed different from how she'd been when he left, or maybe he was only remembering the good times. But no, that couldn't be right. The Joyce he'd known was vibrant, fun, never afraid to speak her mind. The one sitting next to him was subdued, quiet. It made him wonder...

"Are you okay? I guess this is kind of a shock, me just turning up out of the blue like this..."

Looking at Hopper, she puts on a small smile. "Yes. I'm fine. " She nodded in return to his words. Sure, she wasn't because it was eating her up inside, and well--- it was unexpected considering she was forcing herself to move on like this, with the heavy past they had together, it hurt. And she assumed now that he brought it up, it was evident.

"It's good catching up with an old friend. I'm not the first person you've visited right? Your parents know?" She wasn't the same Joyce, as much as she tried to be.

He nodded. "No, yeah, they know. I thought they would have told you but Mom has... a lot on her plate." His parents had never been good at bringing up difficult subjects. He always hoped he wouldn't end up like that, but here he was, kind of avoiding talking about what she was going through. That wasn't what this visit was about, though.

Parking outside the coffee shop, he got out and held the front door open for her. 

“I’m sorry,” she replied before she got out of his car, and into the shop. It’d been far to long since they’d been back here, and yet nothing changed, which was nice.

Joyce ordered herself just a dark coffee, and whatever Hop wanted, treating themselves before going to sit down. As she sat down, she was nervous, nervous enough to have her leg bounce.

“...I don’t know what to say.” She admits with a small and awkward chuckle.

He shrugged, not prepared to talk about that just yet. Inside, he took his coffee black as always, sitting down with both hands wrapped around the cup.

"Do you want me to talk? Or you could tell me what you've been up to. What was it like in Chicago?"

to be continued :P