#casually cramming an entire fic into this bad boy

[ghost-bxrd]

Working on something ✨scenic✨, ngl tho I’m having the most fun with the news articles

[leiascully]

Fic:  Disaster Preparedness and Your Family

2000 words; pg for some glossed-over kissing; disaster has always been a family affair

When the pandemic came, they were prepared.  Of course they were prepared.  They'd been on a hair-trigger edge for decades.  Even in their apartments, they'd had stockpiles of canned goods, of bottled water, of toilet paper.  They'd had go-bags stashed in their cars and in their parents' houses.  Every sneeze had startled them.  Every car backfiring had been the beginning of the next civil war.  They were exhausted by their diligence by the time the real thing happened.  

It had been easier, before, when they were young, before they had Jackson and the baby to consider.  Before they had graves to tend.  They were prepared no, after all these years of screwing their courage to the sticking place, but they weren't ready.  

They spent hours whispering in the dark about what to do, tucked up under the covers.  

"We should leave," Mulder says.  "Get out of the city."

"Back to your country estate?" Scully asks, a wry tone in her voice.  "That isn't far enough.  Not if this gets as bad as we've always imagined."

"I still have contacts," Mulder told her.  "And the Gunmen's contacts.  We could get farther away."

"Remember that cabin?" Scully said wistfully.  "God, that was the middle of nowhere.  We didn't see another soul unless we went into town."

"That place was perfect," Mulder said.  And it had been.  Self-contained, just like the two of them.  Supplies laid in against an endless winter that might come without warning.  They'd rebuilt themselves there after months on the road.  

"It was," Scully agreed.  "For the two of us.  Not for the four of us."

"No, not for the four of us," he said.  

"I'm not leaving," she said.  "Jackson - he just came back to us.  If we try to take him somewhere, he might disappear again."

"He could do it, too," Mulder mused.  "We still don't understand all he can do."

"He can hide from his parents," Scully murmured.  "He can do what every teenager longs to be able to do."  

"You're right," Mulder said.  "We can't take him away."

"And we can't leave him," she said, and paused.  "And I'm a doctor.  They'll need me."

"We need you," Mulder said.  

"I know."  She shifted toward him, rucking the sheet up over her shoulder.  "But what am I supposed to do, Mulder.  I pledged my life to this.  I didn't become a doctor to sit idly by while the world goes up in flames."

"I know," he said.  He put his arm over her and pulled her even closer.  She settled herself against his chest, tucking herself under his chin.  "Besides, it would be hypocritical of me to keep you from the cause you've devoted your entire career to just because it's potentially deadly."

"You said it, not me," she said, the words muffled against his skin.  "I'm scared, Mulder, but I can't let that stop me."

"We'll be careful," Mulder said.  

"We're always careful," she said, in the face of all truth.  They didn't talk about the black oil and their potential immunities to viruses alien and terrestrial.  Neither of them had gotten sick much since her miracle cure, since his resurrection.  Aside from the occasional mild flu, they were perfectly healthy.  They didn't talk about her promised immortality.  But he thought about it, quietly, as if to avoid attracting the notice of a god he didn't believe in.  All their yesterdays would catch up, some tomorrow.  He could only hope it wasn't this one.

His lips sought hers in the dark, and met halfway.  They clung to each other, wringing all the comfort they could out of the moment.

At breakfast the next morning, Mulder was feeding the baby, whose name was Grace, although they exclusively called her The Nugget, an invention of Jackson's.  The Nugget was in high spirits, refusing the plastic-coated spoon of scrambled egg with a grin and a shake of her head.  Jackson slouched in and poured himself a cup of coffee.  Scully exchanged glances with Mulder over the top of The Nugget's coppery head.  

"Jackson," Scully said, trying to keep the emotional lilt out of her voice.  

"Mom," he said, collapsing into a chair at the table.  

"Your father and I have talked about it," she said.  "Our plan is to stay here, as long as we can."

"I figured," he said.  

"We didn't think you'd enjoy the country," Mulder said, making airplane zooms with the spoon, which made The Nugget giggle, but didn't convince her to eat.  "And it's easier to get supplies here, for now."

"I can watch the house here if you guys do decide to leave," Jackson suggested, the height of casual.

"Nice try," Mulder said.  He finally managed to maneuver the spoon into The Nugget's open mouth.  She cackled through a mouth full of egg.  

"I'm taking a leave of absence from the FBI to work in a local hospital," Scully said.

"Obviously," Jackson said, sipping his black coffee.  He almost managed not to wince.

"Obviously?" Scully asked.

Jackson rolled his eyes halfway, a gesture that managed to look like mockery and prayer all at once.  "Mom, I don't know why Dad hasn't told you this, but you're, like, basically the biggest do-gooder of all time.  There's no way you weren't going to do something like this."

Scully's jaw dropped.  Mulder grinned at her and she closed her mouth and frowned at him.  "I'm not the biggest do-gooder of all time."

"You kind of are," Jackson said.

"I held a federal agent at gunpoint," she protested.  "More than once."

"Probably for some do-gooder reason," Jackson said.  "What did they do, kidnap Dad?"

Mulder toasted him with The Nugget's spoon as he tried to tempt her with some more egg.  "You know it."

"See," Jackson said.  "Anyway, that's fine.  I want to come with you."

"You can't come with me," Scully said automatically.  "I don't want you to get sick."

"You're going to be exposed," Jackson pointed out.  "That means basically all of us are going to be exposed."

"I'll take precautions," Scully said.  "I know how to protect myself.  I'll sleep on the couch, or at the hospital if things get that bad."

"The Nugget's not going to understand why you can't play with her," Jackson pointed out.  "The hospital's not going to have a place for you to sleep if it gets that bad, and you're not going to quarantine yourself in our house.  Not with The Nugget around.  I can wash my hands for twenty seconds.  Maybe even thirty if I'm feeling really virtuous.  I can wear a mask."

"Where's this coming from?" Mulder asked.  "No offense, Jack, but I didn't think you inherited your mom's do-goodness."

"I didn't," Jackson said.  "But this is the end of the goddamn world."

"Language," Scully said automatically.

"It's the end of the goddamn world, Scully," Mulder said, his grin crooked.  "Again.  Let the boy swear.  It's his first apocalypse."

"I can help people," Jackson said.  "I know I haven't really done that a lot in the past, but I can give people some peace.  Help them see what they want to see."

"Even if we both do the best we can," Scully said, "that's still exponentially increasing the chances that we'll transmit it to someone else."

"So Dad takes The Nugget to the backwoods," Jackson said with a shrug.  "You and I live it up in the big plague-ridden city.  Nobody else gets exposed unless we have to get groceries."

Mulder and Scully looked at each other.  

"Da!  Poom!" demanded The Nugget, less excited about the eggs than frustrated about losing Mulder's attention.  He sent the spoon into figure eights.  She grabbed it and crammed a fistful of egg against her mouth.  Mulder set the dish on the tray of her high chair and she mashed her fingers into it.    

"It's a good idea," Scully said slowly.

"That must be why I don't like it," Mulder said with a wry grimace.  

"I want to be clear," Scully said to Jackson.  "I don't like it either.  But you're old enough to make this decision, and you and I both know you're going to do what you want whether I give you permission or not."

He favored her with Mulder's grin and her heart stuttered.  "Sorry, Mom.  Turns out being an asshole is a dominant trait.  That's just genetics."

"You are your father's son," she murmured.

"I don't want to be away from you," Mulder said, wiping The Nugget's egg-smeared face with the edge of her bib.  She banged on her tray.  "Either of you.  And I don't want to take her away from you either.  But it's probably the best option in terms of keeping us safe while you two are saving the world."

"I'll feel better knowing we're not endangering you," she said.  

"I'm going to let the two of you work this out," Jackson said.  "Come on, Nuglet."  He unbuckled his sister from her high chair and extracted her.  "Let's go rot your little baby brain with unauthorized screen time."  The Nugget giggled and patted egg on the shoulder of his t-shirt.  

"You know he's right," Mulder said.  

"I do," Scully told him.  She managed to smile.  "Another annoying trait he inherited from  you."  

"I'm proud of him," Mulder said.  "He hasn't had a life that's lent itself to selfless acts.  But this - it's pretty much pure philanthropy.  He's got talents.  He wants to help."

"He's come a long way from Ghouli," Scully said, with more than a touch of pride in her voice.

"He has," Mulder said, scooting his chair toward hers.  He put his arms around her and buried his nose in her hair.  "The kid's all right."

She clutched to him.  "It's the right answer.  It's just not the one I wanted to hear."  She sighed.  "Even after everything we've endured, I still can't stop myself hoping that we'll find the perfect answers, despite all evidence to the contrary.  I mean, we've been living in crisis so long, I feel like disaster is my hometown."

"You and I have been through worse," Mulder consoled her.  He paused and then tilted his head.  "Probably."

"I know that," she told him.  "That doesn't make it easy."   

"I don't think it ever will be easy," Mulder said.  "But we beat on, right?"

"We always do," she said, and rested against him. 

"I'll pack this afternoon," he said.  "She's going to need a bigger suitcase than I do."

"Make sure," Scully said, and then her voice caught.  She cleared her throat and tried again.  "Make sure you take her 2T stuff, just in case."

"I was just going to let her run naked if she outgrew all her clothes," Mulder said, elaborately casual as Scully dabbed at her eyes.  "See if I could raise myself a Jersey Devil."

"I should have let you name her Virginia," Scully said.  "It seemed a little on the nose, at the time."

"Virginia Grace Nugget Devil," Mulder said.  "You know she's going to miss you."

"I know," she said. 

"We're both going to miss you," he told her, tightening his arms around her.  

"I'll miss you both," she said.  "We'll miss you both."  She took a shaky breath.  "Mulder, tell me this is the right thing to do."

"You don't need me to tell you," he said.  "You always know the right thing to do.  It's embedded in you."

"Like a microchip of unknown origin," she teased.  Her eyes were still watery.  "You'll be all right?"

"We'll be all right," Mulder promised.  "I'll take the baby aspirin and the humidifier.  By the time you come find us, we'll probably be raising chickens and goats and spending half our day gardening.  You'll never drag us back to city life."  

"You going feral was pretty much inevitable," she said. 

"It was," he agreed.  "Pandemic or not."  He kissed the top of her head.  "Let's have one last good day together before you go save the world."

"Every day with you has been good," she murmured.  "Even the terrible ones."

He coaxed her into his lap and they sat in the sunny kitchen, wrapped up in each other, putting up one last sweet memory against the lean months ahead.  

[alias-b]

Talk Dirty To Me

~Billy/Camille + Tommy Too

The Smut Extravaganza for Billy and Camille I got requests for. They make the mistake of teasing each other the entire day while they plan for a memorable Halloween. Tommy H just has great timing. Fun Smutty AU for my fic, Without The Lights, combination of smut requests I was sent for Billy and Camille. This got way out of hand and it's just filth. Literally, this is fun garbage filth. Enjoy! 🍒

A/N: Inevitable Threesome. Bi!Billy. Overstimulation. Light roleplay. Drinking/pot use. Gross teens and sexual fantasies come to life. Sorta follow up to the one shot about Tommy’s dirty letter. :))) It’s long, sorry!

~~

   “Billy, come see this one!” The damn sing song.

   A groan erupted. He tried to hide behind a row of latex Halloween masks. Rubber scent filled his nostrils. 

   “Just a few more.” Camille beckoned with a hurried wave. Genuine and excited, he’d be an asshole to mess with that.

   “You said that a million costumes and two stores ago.” Billy came around to see her. Greek goddess. Probably Venus by the tight fit.

   “Well?” Camille spun for him. Little gold pieces wrapped around her caught the light.

   “You look amazing.” Repetition. “So fucking hot.”

   “You say that about them all.” Fists went to her hips. Chest puffing. Red alert.

   “Am I wrong?” He attempted to recover.

   “No, but still. Marie Antoinette. Barbie. Fives different witches. A cat. Bride of Frankenstein. And so on. And you haven’t tried on any.” Lips formed a pout. 

   The look. Boyfriend’s worst nightmare.

   “I go as the same thing every single year. A drunk asshole.” Billy flashed a crooked grin. Scarred brow lifting. Creepy Halloween sounds played over the cheery tune of the Monster Mash. A speaker above the dressing rooms echoed louder.

   “But, Halloween is about being something you’re not, babe.” The quip caused him to laugh, head turning because he waltzed into that one. “You best help me out here because your pretty ass is dressing as the other half of my costume.”

   “Couples costumes? We did not agree to that.” Billy tugged on the curl of a huge synthetic wig, watched it bounce.

   “Girlfriend gets the holidays, it’s the rules.” Camille pulled her curtain over and unzipped herself as he dicked around outside. Itching to go.

   “What do I get in return?” Billy’s casual tone was anything but innocent.

   “Rewarded for making the girlfriend happy on such campy, beloved occasions.” She fussed about, making the curtain jostle. Billy only shook his head with another smile. A compelling argument.

   “So,” he poked his face in, startling her. Camille braced to cover her underwear and instead tossed jeans at him. “I put on a costume, I get laid. We fuck all the time.”

   “Maybe a happy girlfriend will be...a little more giving. A little weirder for your unique tastes.” She pecked his lips and pushed him out. 

   “I do like how that sounds.” Billy hummed to himself. “You know, when I was sick. You made me a promise that...hasn’t been delivered on. Something involving your mouth and a little roleplay.”

   “Uh, how about the events of literally this morning?”

   “Yeah, well, we wanted the entire illusion with it, Doctor Harper.” He explained and she rolled her eyes.

   “Doctor-patient confidentiality. I’m forbidden to speak of it further.” Came the retort.

   Billy groaned to himself outside. Few shoppers eyed him messing with accessories. He stopped to fix his hair in a nearby mirror, flicked a curl aside before Camille peered out to see him tonguing one of his canines.

   “Consider another fairy tale. Red Riding Hood?” Camille braced her hands on either side of the room, hip cocked. Divine. A nearby mother shielded her son’s eyes and ushered him off. Billy was snickering, plucking up a wolf mask with realistic grey fur. He dangled it before her. “C’mon, get into the spirit, beach boy.”

   “Consider the werewolf only eats sweet, sweet pu-” Billy’s vulgar remark was muffled when her hand covered his lips. Bright eyes flickered. He was too much.

   “I loathe you.” Camille only puffed at him, turning. “Uh, I’m not feeling anything and I’m starving. Let’s give up and grab a cheesesteak from the food court.”

   “Extra onions and green peppers. Now, we’re talking.” Billy gave a sigh of relief. Still messing around just outside with masks and fake weapons. Camille heard the curtain swish once her dress was back on the hanger.

   “Billy, I’m not dressed.” She turned to see him in a plastic hockey back. Silent and unblinking. Curls framed his face. “Jesus!” Instinct made her jerk before she pushed him. “You’re not funny. Asshole.”

   No words. Just stared.

   “You creep.” Camille turned to pick up her jeans as they crammed together in the tiny room. Earning a smack on her ass. “Hey!” She waved him off, eyeing his right hand. A fake replica of Freddy Krueger’s glove with blades skimmed her bare thigh. Huffing, she turned to face him, hands on her hips. “You got your horror bad boys mixed up.”

   “Does that really turn you off?”

   “Little bit. The actual Freddy mask with the burn scars was just outside.”

   “You think I’d put that ugly ass rubber shit over my head?” Billy pulled up the hockey mask, face scrunching.

   “I’m just saying you lose points for it.” She laughed at him, halting when he pressed her back into the corner of the box they squeezed into. “Ugh. You’re impossible.”

   “You’re hot.” Billy settled one plastic blade on her lower lip, inching it over the curve. “I put on a costume, Halloween came earlier. I don’t.” A wink caused her to lick her lips when he shook the glove off.

   “Please, Mister Nightmare the 13th, don’t hurt me. I wanna be in the sequel.” Camille faked an amused, coy shiver before Billy turned her around. “Billy.” The whine signaled her voice lowering. Camille braced her hands on the wall, let him palm her ass and hips until his groin pushed into her bottom. Hair was swept over and a well placed kiss sent chills down her spine. The hockey mask fell aside so Billy could view them in the mirror to his left. 

   “Look at you, all alone.” He’d uttered, pressed into her back. Idle fingers slipped into her underwear, one tug stretched them.

   “Fucking asshole, you’re buying me another pair.” Camille turned to hiss. Noting that he stuffed them into his back pocket. “Like I said, creep.”

   “You love it. Perfect version of me for Halloween, I thought.” One snap undid her bra. Palms cupped her breasts, earning a soft sigh. Music buried their voices just enough. Billy was enjoying himself maybe more than he should have. Lips on her shoulder blade while he twisted her nipples. One hand went up onto locks of brown hair, tugging at silken roots to pull her head back. 

   “Fingers,” came an order he was thrilled to fulfill. Mouths opened and Billy pushed his tongue against hers, muffling a moan so his free hand cupped between her legs.

   “Best costume yet.” He joked, eyes on the mirror while she nuzzled and whined back into him. Lips agape to breathe steady and eyes closed. Thighs quivered when two fingers plunged in, thumb rubbing idle circles into her clit. "You're soaked." Camille felt back to open his belt and slip her hand under denim, a growl hitched.

   “My, my, what big...teeth…you have.” Breathless, she pumped him a few times. Squirmed against his muscled frame.

   “Better to eat you with, Harpy.” He hushed into her jawline. Felt her moving into his fingers and tugged her hand away. The Monster Mash wasn’t the sexiest tune to get weird to. Billy felt her moving into his touch. Putty in his palm. Hazel eyes closed again when Camille’s lips parted. “But, you know what I really want?” A hot mouth skimmed her neck.

   “More.” She sighed into his body. Billy hitched a breath. Pulled his fingers from her thighs to lick them clean.

   “I want...a fucking...cheesesteak.” The heat of him pulled away, left Camille shuddering. Rubbing her thighs together.

   “H-Hey...wait a second.” Camille perked up. Skin fizzling. Billy had that insufferable smile on his face.

   “Maybe, I’ll finish you later. Give it another few costumes.” He winked. Slid out.

   “Billy.” Camille reared forward hissing. Her head popped out. “My panties.”

   “I consider it a tease toll.” He licked his thumb and came forward her kiss her brow. “Cute when you’re all worked up and frustrated. Blushing so hard.”

   “I hate you so much right now.” Camille gruffed, tearing back to jerk her clothing on. Billy was all snickers as she adjusted her jeans. “Fucking hell. How can you do this as much as you do? No underwear?”

   “Look at you squirm, Harpy.”

   “I’ll get you for this.” She snatched her purse, stuffed a few singles into his pocket. “Go buy us food, asshole. I gotta put my shit back. I’m not leaving all these for a poor employee to put away.”

   “What if I promise to make this up to you later?”

   “Oh Billy,” Camille teased, pressing her body into his, “you have...no idea the game you just started.”

   She peered around. Slipped her hand over his shaft until he grunted. Went off all too proud.

   Gulp.

   Camille waited until he had gone before she plucked up a costume. Smiled. Purchased it with devilish eyes. Tied the bag shut so Billy couldn’t glimpse it.

   “Are you really mad about it?”

   “Mad, Billy?” Camille said coolly. “I could never be mad at you.” She plucked up a fry. Chomped. "I don't get mad. I just remember." Billy snickered and went to town on his sandwich. “And to think, you could have put all that enthusiasm to better use between my thighs.”

   He choked laughing. Wiped grease away on his hand. Camille broke too. Reached over to hand him a stack of napkins. Her entire sandwich gone as well.

   “I want to get home. The whole commando in jeans is not a thing for me.”

   “Let me see what you bought.” Billy whined as they tossed their trash out.

   “No, it’s bad luck.”

   “I think that’s a wedding thing.” Idly, he let her lace their hands, weaving through crowds to get out and to the car. Something about it made him smile to himself. "I could say please?"

   “It’s a surprise for later.”

   “I’m in for it, aren’t I?”

   “Maybe.” Camille buckled. The ignition fired up. Billy whizzed out of the parking lot. Immediately a hand was on this thigh.

   “Camille...” He warned, legs opening. She just hummed. Stared outside at the bright autumn day. Dainty fingers grazed down, rubbing him until his cock twitched again. “Hard enough to calm down after the dressing room.”

   “Poor baby.” She felt him strain. Watched his knuckles pale against the wheel. They got to a red light and he reeled to kiss her all tongue and teeth. Camille had a hand on the zipper. “Billy.”

   “Hmmm?” He moaned into her mouth.

   “Green light.” She licked her lips and came out. Took her hand away. He stomped the pedal.

   “Fucking shit.” He glanced down. Arousal wet his jeans. Bitch.

   Camille giggled all the way home. Empty house. Jim working late and El with her little friends. Billy practically chased her to the door. It wasn’t closed and locked again before he was on her. More laughter burst as stubble scratched her neck with wandering lips.

   He took in her perfume and lotions. A floral, citrus sort of scent like paradise. Nipped. Camille pushed playfully.

   “Oh no, you don’t.” She flicked hair aside and went around him with her bags. Slipping off some flats. “I’m putting my stuff away. Shoes.”

   “C’mon, do it later. I could convince you.” Billy kicked his boots aside and tugged as they went upstairs. Pressed her into the door of her bedroom. Camille evaded him. “You’re kidding me.” He whined, falling into the bed with an annoyed huff.

   “You started it in that dressing room. Dug the grave, sweet face, now lie in it.”

   “We’ve ruined plenty of dressing rooms. I was just kidding around.” He settled his hands behind his head. Aching. Camille took her sweet time, stashing the Halloween bag in the bathroom while she pulled tags off clothing to hang pieces away. “You tortured me with sexy costumes all day.”

   “Big baby.” She snickered, waiting until his eyes closed to pounce on him. Billy let out a grunt as she laughed, pecking his cheeks to be a pest. “Maybe I found us something fun.”

   “That so?” Billy pushed brown locks back, cupping her face to bring it down for more kisses. She fell beside him and laid there for a beat of staring. “What?”

   “You’re just pretty.”

   Billy whined and cloaked his face with one arm, twisting over as if he was bashful.

   “Stuff it, Harpy.”

   “You’d like that, wouldn’t you.” Camille nestled against him. Forced him to be little spoon. “Would the gift make you feel better?”

   “...Depends.”

   “Give me five minutes.” She sprang up, grazing his lips while he pulled at her before flitting off. 

   Camille took twenty minutes. Billy complained the entire time.

   “Close your eyes!” She called.

   “Absolutely not.” He resisted, pressed against the bed with his hands in his lap.

   “C’mon, Billy.”

   “Fine.” He made a thing of it to roll his eyes, shutting them. Heard the door open.

   “Well?” Camille draped herself along the door frame.

   “Be still my fucking heart.” Billy’s entire body fizzled with electricity. Camille in a sexy nurse get up, so short you could see the garters clipping white tights up. Little hat with a cross pined up into her messy hair. “Dr. Harper.”

   “That’s right.” She took one step. Heels clicking. 

   “Is this you fulfilling a forgotten promise?” Billy was pulling her into his lap the second she crawled over him. Heels falling over the side of the bed. Camille settled her hands on the frame behind his head, leaning in for a heated kiss. “This isn’t right, you’re the one about to get the injection.”

   “You’re so gross.” Camille’s guise broke when laughter roused, head tipping to his collar. Billy’s hands cupped her bottom, bringing her to grind into him. Lips trailing her neck to bring out a moan.

   “Tell me what I need, Dr. Harper.” Billy had started unbuttoning her little dress, trailing his digits over the lace bra. Another kiss upon her chest. Fingers tugged at his curls. 

   “Don’t stop.” She uttered instead, his face pushed between her breasts. Tugging the lace down so he could leave marks on tender skin. One nipple pressed against his tongue and Camille’s head tipped back. “I think we both need a... ah, thorough observation.”

   “Just tell me where to put my-”

   The doorbell rang.

   The fucking doorbell.

   Billy groaned when Camille perked up, his shirt was half open. Mouths bright and swelled from kisses.

   “No, stay here. Probably some salesman, ignore it.” Billy nipped at her again, earning a shudder. Hands everywhere to just keep her in his lap. Hushing and sultry. “Ignore it. Let me fuck you.”

   “But...” It tolled once more. “Just...ugh, fuck-” Camille pushed his hands down as he pawed, scrambled to fix her dress before she was up. Both of them vibrating with frustrated nerves. Crackling with fire.

   “Camille, c’mon.” Billy followed, pressing her into the door frame. Pushing his tongue into her mouth. “Stay.”

   “Just one...second,” she tugged for a robe and tossed her hat aside, “I'm coming!”

   “Was supposed to be me saying that.” Billy followed, fully intent on punching whoever dared to ring that bell. Camille opened it and gasped softer, tried to come down from the heat.

   “Tommy?” He was halfway off the porch, hands shoved into his pockets.

   “Oh. Hey, Cam...”

   “What are you-?” 

   “I didn’t know where to...my bad. This is stupid.”

   Billy was going to murder him in broad daylight.

   “Hey, wait, what’s wrong?” Camille had him by the arm, pulling. Tommy eyed Billy’s blazing eyes behind her.

   “...Did I interrupt something, you two?”

   “No.” Camille began.

   “Yes!” Billy puffed, bursting at the seams with an ache. “Empty house. No kids. No Chief. What does this look like, a fucking tea party?”

   “Look who hasn’t changed, Keg King. You crazy kids.” Tommy’s smile was crooked, the sun caught his hair to bring more auburn color out. He passed the couple and fell into the couch like he owned it with the news that he’d barged in on them about to tear into each other.

   “Billy, chill.” Camille shut the door, eyes rolling. “You’re sad.”

   “I’m not sad.” Tommy shrugged and she crossed her arms, eyebrow lifting.

   “Why’d you come over, you started to say you didn’t know where to go?”

   “It’s stupid.” Tommy rubbed the back of his head. Billy huffed and went into the kitchen. Appeared with some whiskey from Jim's stash.

   “What? He’s sad, I’m going to be sad too.” Billy plopped into a chair, drinking.

   “So, um, Carol and I have been talking and whatever like you said we should. Things are good for her up there in Chicago, you know?”

   “Yeah,” Camille sat down next to him. Billy gulped across from them. “What happened?”

   “I don’t know, I thought we’d...find our way back. We’re friends.” He frowned. Another slouchy shrug. “She’s seeing someone else. It’s stupid. I’m happy for her, but I...” Tommy tapped his fingers on his knee. “I thought...”

   “Oh.” Camille leaned forward. “Sorry.”

   “Girls, right?” Billy drank and Camille swiped the bottle from him, crossed to offer it to Tommy.

   “Thanks.” Tommy smirked a little. Drank. Camille followed, wiping her mouth. “Uhhh...What are you wearing, Cam?”

   “Oh.” She looked down at her open robe. “This.”

   “Dr. Harper, huh. Hot. Classic too, you can’t go wrong. Think you got a winner.” Tommy chuckled, eyes scanning and Billy shot him a look.

   “Thanks, Tom, that’s all I needed to pick my costume and...some people were not helping. I don't know though, little dated look. Bought it mostly for sex.” Camille side-eyed her boyfriend when he looked indignant. 

   “She dragged me to every Halloween store. Tried on every single costume. And we’re finally able to-”

   “You’re dating Camille fucking Harper, man, suck it up.” Tommy scrunched his face. “Your smoking hot girlfriend played dress up all day for you and you complain about it? I should kick your ass, idiot.”

   “Thank you, Tommy.” Camille pushed at his shoulder, giggling. “He understands.”

   “Tease.” Billy puffed, leaning to take the bottle. “When you put it that way, I sound like the asshole.”

   “You are.” Tommy winked as Camille’s arms wrapped around his neck.

   “My heroic sweetie.” A kiss on his cheek. He melted into her, freckles glowing pink. That lingering friendship they’d had growing up fluttered in pieces. So much had changed.

   Billy blew air out his lips, gave the bottle back to Camille when he stood.

   “Break it up.” Billy squirmed between them. Sniffed the air. “Tommy...what are you hiding in that jacket?”

   “Don’t know what you’re talking about.” He scooted back.

   “Fess up, Hagan.” Billy, no boundaries, stuffed his hands into the jacket. 

   “Hey! Fucking thief!” 

   Camille cackled as the boys wrestled around before Billy pinned Tommy down with muscled thighs and plucked a plastic bag up. Few rolled joints waiting. Tommy was out of his jacket and wiggling under him pathetically at this point. Billy fucking Hargrove was straddling him and the guy was huge. His own stomach sparked low and stillness overcame him.

   “You holding out on us?” Billy’s tongue swept over teeth.

   “I was gonna share, asshole.” Tommy bucked up at the same time Camille snatched the baggie. Taking the prize and liquor with her.

   “Sorry boys.” She tripped, scrambling off.

   “Hey!” Billy forced a grunt from Tommy jumping off him. Hot on her tail as she went up the stairs giggling. The other boy followed. All laughing and buzzed. Billy tackled his girlfriend into the bed, sat on her legs as they fought. Tommy had one of Camille’s wrists, tickled her side until she released the bag. 

   Hearts thudding.

   “Okay! Okay! I give.” She bloomed bright pink, head tossed back over the side of the bed laughing.

   “Worst nurse ever.” Billy mused, falling beside her as Tommy dug into his pocket for a lighter.

   “If Jim smells this, we’re dead.” Camille rose to open the bedroom window and lit a couple scented candles.

   “Way to be romantic,” Tommy sucked, sitting in the bay window to blow out. Billy snorted and snatched the joint to follow.

   “Shit. Not bad.” He blew it into Camille’s face, earning a swat.

   “Jerk.” She tried it properly next, slipping next to Tommy. He took it back and inhaled, face scrunching as he coughed.

   “Fucking lightweight.” Billy poked at him, stealing it.

   “Quick, Camille, I need mouth to mouth.”

   “I hate you guys.” She put her legs up, stretching. Tommy shifted back near the window’s edge, peering out and Billy plopped next to him. More whiskey passed. Camille eyed them in the sun and felt her heart flutter. An obscene sort of flutter that glittered. Tommy peered at Billy and brought Camille’s legs into his lap. She hummed when he massaged her ankles.

   “Still my girlfriend.” Billy’s eyebrow cocked in question.

   “My friend first.” Tommy grinned, pulling Camille by the legs toward him until his arm was under her knees. “I found her.”

   “You were a dick in high school.”

   “Hey, I get some growth points. You’re still a dick, bud.” 

   “True.” Billy scoffed and traded the bottle for the joint. “Like the whole dry cleaner business gig?”

   “Aunt’s taking me under her wing,” Tommy shrugged, “good money. Family side business. I don’t hate Hawkins, you know. Worse places I could be...”

   Billy felt that hit deep.

   “...Stepping up in the world and all. Learning. Couple big cities are an hour drive away. I could get used to things. Carol moved on. Guess I should too.”

   “How mature,” Camille leaned over him for a new smoke Billy was lighting, blowing it out the window into the warm breeze.

   “I’m all grown up, Cam.” He winked. “You guys jetting for Cali after all this?”

   “How’d you guess that?” Billy relaxed, pulling Camille’s ankles into his lap so she was draped over them in her messy nurse get up. Robe tossing aside. She sighed back into the pillows. One arm behind her head. 

   Tommy’s hand on her knee drawing circles into the tights.

   “Pretty much the moment you got here, I knew you’d be taking our pretty Queen Bee away.” He chuckled, slipping the joint from Camille’s fingers. “She didn’t belong here. Always too good for this place.”

   “Don’t say that. We all had some fun here. No denying it now.” She tapped her ankles together. “There’s no place like home.” Tommy laughed again, drank some alcohol down. Camille looked up at trees moving outside. Warm colored leaves illuminated by the high sun. More flutters. Fingernails idly tapped the window ledge.

   “Any secrets about Camille I should know?” Billy elbowed Tommy’s side, earning a smirk.

   “Nothing I’ll tell you, man, my loyalty is to her.”

   “I’m the Keg King, as you hollered that entire Halloween party last year.”

   “King’s lost without the Queen and so is the court.” Tommy winked at Camille. “Even the fool. Me.”

   “No, Tommy, you were worthy Duke, at the least.” Camille pushed at his arm, fingers brushed down.

   “Aw, you’re just saying that.”

   “Weed talking,” Billy added which earned him a shove. Camille heaved herself up, glazed eyes sliding over them both.

   “I am not just saying that.” She mused. “I mean it. You’ll hit the ground running after today, I promise. You have a lot to offer.” Her hand pushed his hair back, ruffling it. “Right, Billy?”

   Tommy was too busy purring with Camille’s touch. Delving fingers over the grown out, soft locks.

   “Keep your pot supplier.” He shrugged simply, stretching behind Tommy to put the smoke out on the roof.

   “That was almost genuine.”

   “He’ll get there,” Camille said, “won’t you Billy?” She tugged him into her for a quick peck over Tommy’s lap.

   “Hey, cool it.” Two hands pushed them apart. Giggles followed.

   “You made your Duke feel left out.” Billy had winked at her. Camille tapped a fingernail to her lips. “You’re just worked up because we were.” Are.

   “Miss the part where my girl ain’t coming back, Hargrove?”

   It dawned in those ocean eyes.

   “...No, shit, you waited?”

   “Fuck you.” Tommy shifted like he might get up, unable to move Camille’s legs off him.

   “No, Tommy, it’s cool. He’s just being blunt.” Camille shot Billy a look. Hands on Tommy’s chest to push him back into place. “Don’t be an ass about it.”

   “Shit...Sorry, man.”

   “Did you just apologize to me?” Tommy blinked.

   “I’m just saying it fucking sucks, alright? Not trying to make you feel like shit.” Billy snatched the whiskey up to drink. Offered it to Tommy like it was a further apology. The freckled boy warmed some and took it. Bottoms up. Finished the rest. Dunked it into the trash a few feet away. An arm went around Camille’s back, bringing her into his chest.

   “You heard him say sorry, right, Cam?” Lips touched her temple when that raspy voice lowered.

   “I did.” She snickered.

   “Screw you guys.” Billy roused further amusement. His own cheeks were tinting from the warmth and alcohol. Too cute.

   “You better cherish this girl when you two run off into the sunset, I swear to god, man.”

   “He does now, Tommy dear, I promise.” Camille bit her lip, head lifting to see him. “We take care of each other.”

   “We tried to before you rang that doorbell.” Billy grumbled.

   “Ignore him.”

   “It is a nice costume.” Tommy tugged for the collar. Camille hitched a breath at that.

   “Little too tight.” Camille braced back on her hands, legs still across them both. Comfortable. “Don’t you think so?” Both boys shook their heads in tune as if they choreographed it. She blew hair out of her face. “Men .”

   Tommy playfully snapped a garter when the skirt rode up.

   “Hey!” She smacked his hand.

   “Couldn’t help that.”

   Billy snapped the other. Another slap.

   “Shits.” She scooted back and got tugged by Billy over Tommy’s lap. Amusement fizzled when she decided to tease. “You know. The tights are kinda uncomfortable. You boys mind? Help a nurse out.” Both pushed at each other to unclip them.

   “My girlfriend.”

   “My queen.” Tommy shot back. “You get one, I’ll get the other.”

   “Deal.” They stared. A beat.

   Still fought trying to slip white tights off her. Camille watched in mild fascination and amusement. Let them sweat it and fuss over her. Billy scooted up to her side, tugged her into his chest with long legs still draped over Tommy’s own.

   “You two are so ridiculous.” Camille nuzzled into Billy’s chest. A breeze pulled in to sweep her hair around.

   “Probably my cue to scram before Hargrove introduces me to concrete, huh.” Tommy shifted.

   “No, we’re having fun,” Camille clung to Billy and grabbed for Tommy’s sleeve. “Stay here. Plus, you’re stoned and buzzed, we can’t leave poor Tommy to fend for himself. Can we?”

   “I mean...we can.” Billy laughed at her expression. “Just fucking stay man. Camille will lose her mind if you try driving.”

   “Pssh, I could run a marathon.” He stretched and slumped back, half out the window.

   “Tommy, stop that!” Camille pulled him in laughing. Torso landing on her. Squished between the two boys, her heart picked up. Thudded in her ears. That same obscene flutter so she stilled and swallowed it down. Billy adjusted some, peered at them. Camille’s fingers in Tommy’s shirt. His hands on her hips. Resting comfortably.

   “So, before I moved here...you guys ever…?” Billy cocked his head.

   “No!” They both protested.

   “Not for lack of trying, I wrote...that letter during one of my many breaks with Carol.”

   “Yeah, we read that.” Billy blurted. Tommy’s mouth fell open.

   “And you didn’t beat the shit out of me?”

   “I mean,” Billy’s eyes darted. Camille grew bright red, hidden into his shirt. “Wanted to at first, but…it was sorta hot.”

   “…You guys got off to it, no shit!” Tommy jumped up on his knees.

   “We did not!”

   “You fucked to my dirty fantasy. Admit it, huh. Why can’t you look at me, Keg King?”

   “I can still pound you.” Billy hissed. Camille was giggling into his chest.

   “I made you guys all hot ‘n bothered.” Tommy bit his lip. “I riled up the King and Queen. Fuck being the fool or Duke, I’m a fucking King too. I’m the fucking Pope, Church of the Horny. Bless me.”

   “In your fantasy.” Billy shot.

   “Yeah, my fantasy, which you got off to. You’re welcome. You both owe me one.” Tommy shifted to lie down. “Fuck, that weed man.” He rubbed his temple and laughed, arm propped up to hold his head so he could peer at them. “So...tell me about it. What got you? I was detailed.”

   “Nothing- ”

   “Definitely the tongue stuff.” Camille offered and Billy’s head snapped down at her. “He asked, I can’t lie to that little face.”

   “Right on...” Tommy wiggled his brow, sucked his bottom lip into teeth. “So you like that stuff, Camille?”

   “If it’s done right.” Camille shrugged. Billy just groaned behind her. This was not happening. Tommy’s fingers tapped her knee in sync.

   “It really is an art. Hargrove a giver?”

   “He does alright.”

   “Just alright?” Billy scrunched his face. “Okay, Miss Pull My Hair Out And Scream .”

   “I so don’t scream.” Camille bickered with him.

   "Oh, but you do."

   For a moment, they forgot Tommy was reeled into this conversation.

   “You’re such a liar. Fine, Billy is great at it. Just shut up.”

   “Hard to make the Bee blush like that.” Tommy prodded. “Turns her into a little kitten.”

   “I have the science down.”

   “Share your secrets with me.”

   “Both of you, shut it.” Camille pushed them off her in a huff.

   “Make us.” Tommy came up. Inches from her. “Look at you, playing hot and teasing. But you’re just too damn cute like this and you know that, Cam. On the receiving end. Already admitted you like that end.”

   “Isn’t she?” Billy got his bicep back around her.

   “You two are friends now that you’re ganging up on me?” Camille mocked, arms crossing. Billy tucking her hair aside while Tommy was still inches from her face with his big, wandering eyes.

   “I think the Bee just has a thing for guys with freckles.” Tommy winked. “Isn’t that right?”

   “You’re getting close there, man.” Billy eyed him. Tommy didn’t move.

   “Bothering either of you?” He said. No reply. “Been a little curious since the letter, I bet. I got you guys off, don’t deny it. I was there in spirit. And I’m here now.” Camille slid her eyes to Billy like she was asking a question. 

   He blinked at her. Head cocked without faltering. An, if you must , sort of wordless expression.

   A palm pressed Camille’s back, urging her into Tommy’s mouth. Impact.

   That thudding in her chest could have bloomed to a red glow. Neon hearts.

   She moaned. Opened her lips for a drunken kiss that somehow sobered. Too many sensations at once. Billy’s hands sliding around her waist. Tommy’s on her hips. His tongue. Being pressed back into the wall. Fingers coaxed her chin to kiss Billy next with the same fervor.

   Tommy’s mouth fell down her neck. All encouragement. Camille’s arm was up, hand catching Billy’s curls to urge his kiss on. She broke to push forward into Tommy, straddling him.

   “Fuck.” Billy watched her bottom press out against the tight costume. Enthralled by her moving into the other boy. Camille came up for air, pushed herself back into the other wall.

   “What the fuck?” She caught her breath. “What the actual fuck?”

   “Doctors are allowed more than one patient.” Tommy joked, touching his mouth. “Shit, Cam, I’ve thought about that. Nothing prepared me for the real thing.” He sobered again, looked to Billy expecting anger.

   “Do it again.” He whispered instead. Wavering slightly.

   “You do it.” She retorted. “You’ve done this before, I can tell, Billy.”

   “So have you. Heard all about that summer.”

   “Oh, you told him about that summer?” Tommy flashed another signature crooked smile. “We all got around. No overlap. I wish.”

   “I was a mess, can’t blame me.” She shrugged. “Other schools are fair game. Few threesomes. Some...it was just me and some guy from another school but...there were other couples in the room.”

   “You guys are both way ahead of me.” Tommy groaned, rubbing his eyes.

   “Had a threesome back in Cali.” Billy admitted.

   “Guy and girl?” Tommy watch him nod. “Shit man, I had you so wrong. Did...Did you?”

   “Not really, I...a little.” Billy bit his lip in a way that was unlike him.

   “Kiss Tommy and I’ll kiss him again.” Camille teased because it would only work if they all were in. Tommy perked up.

   “Do me a fucking solid, man.” Tommy begged. One hand curled into Billy’s shirt. A tug. Billy just flickered his eyes over him.

   “You talk a lot of big game.”

   “I deliver. You read the letter.”

   “Anyone can think about fucking.” Billy scoffed like he was the expert.

   “Yeah, and some of us think about it twenty four, seven. Believe me, it helps. You got the guys who think about sports and money, whatever...and the guys who think about perfecting their tongue game. I don’t think about sex to just get off, I like making a girl feel so good. Pride thing.”

   “Carol did have a lot to say when we had our sleepovers with Heather.”

   “She did?” Tommy’s eyes got huge. Pride swelled. “You see, Billy?”

   “I’m not yanking your chain to make you feel better.” Camille cut in before either could go on. Eyes on the fist curled into Billy’s sleeve.

   “You ever kiss a guy before?”

   Billy didn’t answer that. Just blinked his pretty eyes.

   Tommy cupped the back of his head. Brought him in. Camille crawled forward to see their lips touch. A soft kiss that she didn’t expect. Fists clenched in Billy’s lap. He pulled out, eyes opening before Camille offered herself. Tommy had his fingers into long curls. All too pleased.

   “Mmm.” Camille pushed him back again. Billy just sat there looking starry eyed. Broad palm cupping her bottom to squeeze. She straddled Tommy’s hips and kissed her boyfriend again. Hands all over her. A way of worship. Camille shuddered because it was unreal. How good they both felt. Thighs quivering when Tommy’s hips pushed into her. A curse lifted as she scrambled off them. “Boys, please, I... fuck I...”

   “My thought exactly.” Tommy rasped. “Still blushing, Bee.”

   “So are you, Tom.” Hazel eyes rolled. He came up, eyed Billy. 

   “Him, most of all.”

   “Dick.” Billy shoved him to crawl toward Camille. Looking all worked up and sparkling with her lips swollen pink. Unable to stop himself, he kissed her again. Pushed his tongue in.

   “Can I...” Tommy’s hand was on her knee, sliding, “touch you?” Camille broke the kiss. Bit her lip again before a nod followed. Billy watched too. Curious.

   “You want this?” Billy said with his thumbs smoothing. “Us.”

   “Yes.” Camille swallowed. “You?”

   “We sure he’s any good?”

   “You keep doubting me, just because I was a shit in high school.” Tommy touched his chest. “Let me prove it. We could play a game.”

   “We could play truth or dare.” Camille had joked.

   “And how do you want to do that?” Billy ghosted a smirk of disbelief. This was really their evening.

   “Easy. I get Camille off with my mouth.” He shrugged, massaging her inner thigh. “Bonus points, she screams.”

   “I don’t scream.” She cut in.

   “Seven minutes. For luck. If you can’t do it, I finish her and you watch helplessly.” Billy replied then.

   “Still here, boys.”

   “I do it in under seven, you both treat me to some mouth action. I get to be king for a while. Deal?” Tommy’s grin made Billy shake his head. Blase about it. 

   “Deal. Camille?”

   “I win either way.” She yelped as Tommy’s hands hooked under her knees. Jerked forth on her back. Head in Billy’s lap.

   “Time says 6:27.” He’d remarked, lighting up another joint. Sucking, he put it to Camille’s lips until she puffed. Tommy pushed her dress up and cursed. Thanked all his lucky stars.

   “Fuck, Camille, you know how many wet dreams started this way?”

   “Charmed.”

   “You’re wasting time.” Billy noted Tommy seemed unworried. Pushing her thighs apart. Thumbing her though those lacy panties. Camille’s eyes clouded over.

   “Already wet, man, you should be shaking.”

   “Whatever, keep talking.” Billy chuckled. Tommy pulled fabric aside. “Leaving them on?”

   “Find it kinda hot.” Tommy peppered his lips up her thighs. Savored this. “Not to sound sappy, but this is fucking breathtaking. You’re pretty, kitten.” Billy snorted, not worried himself with Tommy’s chatter.

   And then he went silent.

   Camille gasped in surprise. Eyes lifting.

   “Oh, my...” She felt that stab of hunger from this whole day swell. Tommy’s lips against her clit. Kissing deeply. Lapping. Fingers stretched her panties aside. Ate her like he was starved, eyes turned to Billy when his tongue plunged inside her. A wink. Billy felt hot again with Camille squirming in his lap.

   “Camille?” The amusement fell. He fucked up this time. 

   She puffed, arching up. Fist pushed toward her mouth. Teeth digging to bite on something. Anything. Tommy moaned and ate her. Put on a fucking show of it. Billy eyed the clock. 6:28. Fuck, why was time so damn slow? Camille twisted. Almost like it was too much already.

   “Holy shit,” she moaned loudly, “Tommy.” His tongue swirled before he sucked. One hand curled around her thigh and the other pushing her pelvis down. “Oh, fuck. Billy?”

   “You’ve got to me kidding me.” He leaned down. “What the fuck, man?” Tommy ignored him, kept up. Tormenting her clit with no end in sight. Camille’s breathing picked up. She couldn’t help palming her breasts when the heat shot forth. When her nerves caught pure fire. “Hey.” Billy grabbed her wrists.

   “Fuck, I’m...oh shit, I’m already...almost.” She whined, biting her lip and looking like she might be in heaven. “Holding my wrists is making it w-worse.”

   “Hold it together, don’t you fucking cum.” He threatened.

   “Cam, you want my fingers too?” Tommy mumbled.

   “Yes!”

   “No!” Billy let her wrists go.

   “Please,” Camille licked her lips and felt aimlessly for fabric to hold, “please, let him.”

   “He’s fucking cheating.”

   “She asked nicely, man. Told you I only obey the queen.” Tommy plunged two digits in. Felt her clench like a vice. “Fuck, you feel amazing.” Pumping elicited a further gasp. Fingers twisted into cushion.  

   “Camille, do not blow this for us.” Billy warned.

   “Ooh!” She spread her legs. Another curve to her spine. Gasping. Eyes rolling because Tommy H was playing her like a fucking fiddle. “Fuck! Babe...you’re going to...ah...be the one blowing this.”

   Fuck.

   He should have screwed her in that dressing room. Camille rocked into him without even trying. Tommy closed his eyes. Made it worth his while. Worked his tongue all over her until she covered her mouth to stop what might have been an almost scream.

   “What do you say, Cam?” He teased, licking his lips. Thumbing her bud lightly.

   “Don’t stop! Fuck! Just...oh, god.” She writhed there and Billy’s mouth fell open.

   “You’re fucking me.” He watched his girlfriend cry out. “No, no. Camille, don’t you dare cum. Don’t do it.”

   “I can’t...help it. Oh, fuck!” A tear squeezed out one eye. 

   “Atta, girl.” Tommy fucked her on his tongue and fingers with vigor. Watched Billy squirm because of it. Orgasm locked her up and Tommy didn’t stop until she was grasping up desperately at her boyfriend. Vibrating. A few softer kisses brought her down.

   The bastard did it in four and a half minutes.

   Tommy’s amusement didn’t halt when he grabbed Billy’s face to kiss him. Camille all over his lips. Mouths opened that time. Billy grew slack when it ended, huge blue eyes.

   “I love to say this, but I told you so.”

   “You fucking prick.” Billy shoved him.

   “Yeah,” Tommy hovered to see Camille, “you hanging in there, princess? You’re pretty like this.” She puffed aimlessly, wobbled trying to stand and fix her skirts.

   “You were supposed to hold that back, what the fuck?” Billy tossed a hand out.

   “As if you could have lasted for that. He’s a fucking hurricane. Holy shit. Shit. I’m still...” She was trying to catch her breath. “Tommy... I take back every time I didn't believe Carol.”

   “I know.” He pecked her lips. Eyes alight. “My turn. And then...I gotta fuck you.”

   “Figure we should punish her for that. Christ, Camille. You couldn’t hold out three more minutes?” Billy hissed.

   “He’s good.” She shoved him back. “You got yourself into that deal. I want to...keep having fun. But, nothing goes in my ass.”

   “Not a problem.” Tommy cupped her jaw. Kissed her lips. “Can I get my reward first? Billy?”

   “Not any good at it.”

   “I’m sure that’s not true, Keg King. And Camille will offer some help, I’m bet. Look at her. Eager.”

   She chuckled when Tommy fell back, her head on his shoulder.

   “Billy, come here to us.” She reached out. “I want to play.” He fell into her. They just drowned here like nothing was beyond the window. Mouths touching. Palms all over. Billy buried himself in Camille’s neck when she craned to kiss Tommy. Obscene kisses with a whiskey spice.

   “Love the costume, but...” Tommy opened a few buttons while Billy followed the trail. Nipping. “Let me see her.” Camille hummed as Billy pulled her dress open. A cherry red plastic zipper sounded. Tommy’s hand snaked down to stretch the lacy bra. Billy was cupping her tits, already teasing nipples with his mouth and fingers while she watched Tommy rub himself to the sight. “You’re fucking beautiful, Cam.”

   Camille swayed, lost in the fire. She came up all plush and pink. Swallowed Tommy’s shaft down as Billy yanked her costume off. Wind cooled her skin. The sky painted all different colors. Billy watched his girlfriend bob her head like she needed it. Wiggling her hips before underwear was pulled. Swollen and sensitive. Dripping.

   “Camille, fuck,” Tommy’s face twisted with pleasure. Fingers tugged at her hair. “You’re not sharing with Billy. Greedy girl.” He pulled her up for a kiss. She only smiled with a lax expression.

   “Billy, kiss me.” She said. Lips wet from Tommy’s arousal. Billy’s tongue dipped into her mouth for a taste while hands slipped her bra off. Nude and exposed before her friends. “Truth or dare?”

   “Now?” Billy scoffed as her arms went around him. “Truth.”

   “Want to help me?” Another kiss, pulling him down against her body. Billy made a sound low in his throat. Eyed Tommy there again biting his lip. A glint. Camille crawled up him. “We lost the bet. All’s fair.” Fingers latched into Tommy’s shirt. Kissing all over the fabric.

   “Fuck, Harper, I really might not leave this place.”

   “Until the police chief drags you out by your intestines.” Billy joked, shifting up on his front.

   “Better not waste anymore time, then.” Came the quip. A moan when Camille licked up his leaking shaft. Pulled Billy in for another dirty kiss, inches away.

   “Truth or dare?”

   Billy smirked.

   “Dare.”

   “Do to him what he did to me.” Lips curled. Stroking Tommy until Billy sank down. One hand curled into Camille’s, the other in Tommy’s. He moaned and the other boy about vibrated there, thrusting up. A gag.

   “Fuck, man, sorry. Shit.” The words slurred. Digits tugged for curls and Billy jerked back, lips rosy and slick.

   “Don’t pull it, asshole.”

   “You’ve so done this before.”

   Billy’s face disappeared in response. 

   He closed his eyes amid the moans. Camille sweeping those blond locks aside to stroke his jaw and cheek. Her breaking the motion to kiss him until they took turns. Tongues sliding together obscenely. Wet kisses down the girth. Camille cupped Tommy’s face next, buried her mouth into his neck until he was bucking.

   “I’m gonna...cum.” He tried to warn. Hands gripping Camille’s arm. Billy holding his hips was answer enough. Another strangled choke before blue eyes lifted. Release down those pink lips. Camille opened her mouth for some and Tommy came next. Shoving Billy into the cushions as they pulled up their shirts. “Fucking pretty Cali boys.”

   He just marveled at the couple. Worked up and gorgeous. All his for a night. He prayed he’d remember this dream when he woke. Tommy made quick work of Billy’s belt. Saw this vulnerability that was rarely displayed in bright eyes while Billy’s gaze lowered. Hands smoothing to tug for the jeans to come off fully. Camille helped them undress. Playfully tugging and tossing fabric.

   The sun had gone down so they just looked at each other in the candlelight while the curtains blew in.

   “Truth of dare?” Tommy asked with a knowing smile Billy matched.

   “Truth?”

   “How many times you think we can make our girl cum?”

   Our girl.

   Camille liked that. She giggled and curled down into the cushions. Free and shameless.

   “I’d like to find out.” Billy swept her up at that. Dropping her nude frame into the bed. Camille playfully got under the covers. "No, no. You think I forgot earlier? I told you in that dressing room I'd finish you later and you decided to let Tommy finish the job."

   "It's why I'm here." Tommy rounded the bed as Billy tugged covers aside. Camille stretched out, head on her hand there.

   "Billy's very cross with me." She traced the sheet lazily. Tommy slipped in behind her, one arm snatched her into his soft body. Lips tracing the line of her shoulder up her neck. "Come, get in bed with us." She sighed back into hot flesh. Aimlessly felt for Billy as the bed caved. The hard lines of his body fell against her, lips opening for a kiss she then craned to share with Tommy. Hard as can be again, his cock pushed up between her thighs.

   "Again?" Camille puffed, moaning when Billy's hand snaked down. Helped Tommy rub himself along her slit. "Fuck." Camille muffled herself into Billy's collar. Relentless rubbing made her arch for more of it. Tip pushed up just inside her. "Please?"

   "What was that?" Billy's slick thumb trailed over her lips.

   "Please." A whine when she was filled. Tommy groaned and pushed her over on her knees. Billy lifted for a kiss, held her arms until she sank down into his lap. Mouth open to take him as Tommy began to rut. Fingers pressing hips and tangling hair to pull. Three bodies joining together in fire. 

   It was strange to have another boy deep inside her. While Billy moaned and pumped up into her mouth. Uttered filthy things about how she was still being punished. A naughty thrill rushed. Camille lifted up to playfully nip at Billy's skin. Lip. Collarbone. Pec. He hissed, cupping her face as they moved together.

   "Told you not to cum earlier and what did you do?"

   "Tommy's fault." Camille hitched when a chuckle gave behind her. "You had to pay for the dressing room."

   "Camille, don't take this the wrong way." Tommy slowed and Camille had started to turn when a smack landed across her bottom. A yelp erupted with widening eyes. "Fuck, I had to do that just once."

   "Do it again." Billy let Camille sputter into his neck when second slap landed. Hands dug for his biceps. "Sorry, I didn't catch that."

   Thwack!

   "Ah!" Camille arched up. "I get it." Fingers yanked Billy by the hair for another long kiss. A hand pushed up between her thighs. Caused her legs to quake until she slipped down Billy. Face puffing into sheets with an arm draped over his hot skin. Her boyfriend worked her back up. Didn't stop. Camille bunched fabric into her teeth, groaned a muffled sound. Eyes rolling to squeeze shut.

   Everything went black then green then white then black again. Dots fluttered in circles. Tommy had fallen next to her. Sandwiched between them, she purred and moaned distantly. Felt hands massaging awareness back into her body. Billy nudged her on her back for his turn. Swore. Began to thrust while Tommy played with her tits, kissed from her neck to mouth. His fingers slipped down the lines of her, ghosting her raw bud to feel her tense.

    Billy cursed again, hands cupped under her knees. Hips slapping for a sound that was wet and filthy. Tommy kept her in a state. Locked up tight while he rubbed light circles. Camille held his shoulders to kiss him again until spit trails left as they parted. He didn't stop beckoning her to another cliff. Mouth by her ear until she realized he was whispering.

   "C'mon, Camille, give us another. You're so pretty, kitten. One more." 

   Lips almost drew blood. Spine drawing to an arch which made Billy about lose it.

   "Oh, fuck you both." Camille whined aloud. A cry hitched.

   "Yeah, that's the game you're losing right now." Billy felt his own end tip and pumped through it. Spattered cum between her thighs to fall upon her empty side. He realized she was still crying out. "Insatiable, Tommy?"

   "She's got another in her." He attacked her neck and Billy curled in to assist. Camille wasn't sure who ended where and what fingers belonged to which hands. Billy and Tommy kissing her and each other. Holding her writhing, squirming body into the mattress. A mouth licking her clean and fingers pushing cum back into her like it was the hottest thing.

   "Again, babe?" Billy teased. Fingers in Tommy's hair while he lapped. No words came, only broken chanting syllables. Thighs quivering. "You wanted to cum so bad. You know what we want?"

   "Ah! Can I?" She swatted at Billy and jerked him closer. Felt his hands on her breasts again. "Can I?"

   "Can you, what?"

   "Can I fuck...fucking..." She covered her mouth. Rasped a cry between fingers.

   "Close enough, just cause we love you. I assume any guy that eats pussy like that does it with love, right, Tommy?"

   "Mmm." The moan vibrated Camille's body. "Ah!" Billy felt her locking for another small climax. Finally letting up, Camille sagged to catch her lost breath. Felt Tommy slink up to collapse upon her chest. Ear pressed to hear her heart thump. Made for a soft scene with her breathing and petting him there.

   "Assholes..." She wheezed, smoothing her fingers into Tommy's hair. Billy leaned to kiss her gently, let one arm curl up around his head to guide him down for more. Switching off between him and Tommy, she melted down into the sheets. "There's no way I'm getting up." Skin pressed together, thighs sliding over each other.

   "Is this an invite to the royal bedchamber?"

   "Shut up." Billy mumbled into Camille's hair, thick lashes fluttering while he ran his nose up her skull. "We won't boot you. Yet."

   "Admit you guys like me already." Tommy pulled covers up and settled in. Bit his grin back. Camille hummed and nuzzled into his side. "Hey?"

   Billy snored. Face burrowed into Camille's hair.

   "Figures." He nestled in. Limbs thrown all over. A haze of flesh and heat. "Lightweights." One arm shifted behind his head, eyes on the ceiling with a curling smile because this was the greatest night before sleep crept.

*** ** **

   Tommy woke to a mess of curls on his shoulder. Blond curls. The shower ran in the other room.

   "Hey, sleeping beauty."

   Billy's head lifted with a scrunching expression to take this in.

   "You're not my girlfriend." He shoved the smaller boy off, rolling over with a groan to take the sheets with him. "Asshole."

   "You're way prissier than Camille, Hargrove, you realize that?"

   Billy mumbled something about punching him.

   "Cuties, rise and shine." Camille came out in a towel. Bright eyed. "Jim's home so no funny business." Billy's bed head lifted again. "Yes, you especially." She kissed Tommy on the nose and went over to kiss Billy awake. Pecking him obnoxiously until he tugged for her towel. "Hey!" Hands were smacked. "Showers, both of you. This room smells like sin." She lit another candle on her dresser.

   "Is this like a one time thing? Cause I felt a connection." Tommy was up to pull his underwear on, eyes on Camille when she tossed her towel aside to dress.

   "Wish in one hand, piss in the other. See which one fills first." Billy lit a cigarette. Scratched his nose with one thumb and got up, nude and groaning. "You sore?"

   "Delightfully so." Camille pulled a dress over her body. "Shower. Dress. Breakfast. Don't wake the bear."

   "You guys will still call me after this right?" Tommy pouted, getting up finally. "I can hit you up in Cali?"

   "Stage five clinger already." Billy winked, blowing smoke. "You write us a few more letters, we might work something out. Camille?"

   "You know," she shrugged, "I never did find an actual costume, we trashed the nurse getup. We could take a trip into the city. Two pairs of eyes are better than one."

   Tommy's face lit up and Billy groaned.

   "He's so ungrateful." 

   "Maybe we can convince him it's fun." Camille slid her arms around Billy's shoulders. A smile before she kissed her whiny boyfriend. "Please Billy?" Lips on his jaw made him immediately weak.

   "Fine, Tommy stays in the car."

   "Hey!

   "We'll crack the window for you, man." Billy shrugged, dodged a pillow before he stole the bathroom. 

   "You feel better, Tom?" Camille set her hands on her hips, beaming some.

   "Frankly, I forgot my own name last night," Tommy only laughed, "so I'm peachy. I won't make this weird at all." He rocked upon his feet, shrugging and she smirked at him.

   "No, not one bit." Camille kissed his cheek. "Behave in here. I'll start pancakes." She slid out, peering around before creeping to the steps.

   "You think you can get anything past me, Camille?" A throat cleared. Shit. Mayday.

   "Uh...?" She brought her shoulders up, turning. "Jim? No..."

   "You think I wouldn't find out, kid?" He stood there, arms crossed at his bedroom.

   "It...just happened, I'm sorry. Tommy came over and we-"

   "You guys got into my whiskey. I know."

   Teeth pressed, hazel eyes flicking. Oof.

   "Oh. Yeah. Right...that." She touched her head. Heavens above, thank you. "Sorry, we stayed in my room. Finished it. It won't happen again."

   "Just ask next time, I might surprise you." Jim passed her in uniform, ruffling her hair on the way. "I'd rather you drink here than do it anywhere else. I was a teen once."

   "Oh, Jim, you're so right," Camille was all giggles, bounding into the kitchen to turn with pink cheeks, "nothing gets past you, Chief."

   A shiny smile flashed.

   "Camille, you have anymore towels? Billy stole all of them up here." Tommy waltzed to the top of the steps in his underwear, spotting Jim there. "Ugh! Morning, Chief, great uniform. Pressed." He covered himself even still. Both the dumbfounded Chief and Camille pointed to the closet. The teen snatched a towel and raced away.

   "...Camille, why was he-?"

   "Breakfast, Jim?" Camille tossed a green apple he struggled to catch awkwardly. Hurried up to kiss his cheek before she was pushing. "Have a great day at work. Catch the bad guys for me. Love you!"

   Jim Hopper decided it was better to just leave the teens alone this morning.

   "Assholes!" Camille called, earning two matching hyena cackles in response. "See if you can get me to play dress up now."

   She sucked in her cheeks, hid clear amusement, and went into the kitchen to get it started because curiosity was just too good.

   It was going to be a long day with these boys.

[patchwork-panda]

If A Moment Is All We Are (13/?)

AO3 link: here (Fun fact: This was actually one of the earliest scenes written and is one of the reasons why I decided to turn this story into a full fic.)

“Kyou-chan, is that you?!”

A stack of papers fell to the ground. Kirako stared at me from the reception area, her mouth dropping open in shock as I stepped through the doors into the Armed Detective Agency’s main office.

“You look amazing! I almost didn’t recognize you!”

“Don’t just stand there!” Yosano insisted, planting two black-gloved hands on my back and shoving me forward when she noticed I’d actually stopped moving. “Go inside! We need to show you off!”

Ignoring the uncomfortable whining noises coming out of my throat, Yosano kept pushing me deeper and deeper into the room until I was standing in the middle of the office, stiff as a statue as the other receptionists and detectives shuffled forward to see what the commotion was about.

“Gather round, everyone!” Yosano called, as if I were a show pony being brought in for a performance, “I give you... the new and improved Kyou-chan! Doesn’t she look like a proper detective now?”

I didn’t just look more like a proper detective now, I looked like an entirely different person—one who didn’t spend the last six months holed up in an apartment watching anime and forgetting to shower. My new “uniform,” as Yosano called it, consisted of several basic pieces. I was wearing a crisp, white short-sleeve blouse with slightly puffy sleeves, tucked into a high-waisted burgundy A-line skirt (same color as my eyes) that ended just around my knees. I wore a pair of coffee-brown Oxfords on my feet with low, white socks and to complete the look, Yosano had tied a bright red ribbon around my neck, to draw attention to my face. She’d also insisted I purchase a tan, blazer-like jacket (it was almost as long as my skirt) for the colder days and a portfolio-style messenger bag for my notebooks and sketching supplies. Overall, the final result was pretty staggering and I noticed we’d definitely gotten a few stares as we walked back to the Agency together.

“Yosano-sensei!” one of the girls exclaimed, raising her hand high in the air. “Do me next! I want a makeover too!”

As Yosano beamed beside me like a proud mother, chatting with the girls about all the shops she’d taken me to—dragged me to, more like—I found myself fiddling with my new clothes again.

“Prepare yourself,” she’d said the other day. I had taken that to mean shaving my legs and showering before we’d gone out. I didn’t realize that I should’ve prepared for a full day’s outing crammed into the span of a few hours. And after the night I’d had too...

Something had happened to my brain the day I’d finished the serial killing/kidnapping case—something strange that I really didn’t want to think too hard about... I couldn’t look Kunikida in the face the entire way back to the Agency and when the tall, blonde detective had insisted on sitting right there next to me for the rest of the evening, I was barely able to concentrate on writing my reports. If I hadn’t offered to finish doing the filing for him, I might’ve never gotten him to leave, and then I really wouldn’t have been able to get anything done. And to think, Kunikida had actually been planning to stay a little later and even walk me home...!

I had to turn him down. My heart would not have been able to handle it.

I ended up staying way later than I initially expected and I was so drained by the time I made it back to my apartment, that it was all I could do to remember to brush and floss before I completely passed out on my futon.

Then, at seven in the morning, just before my alarm was supposed to go off, I woke to the racket of someone ringing my doorbell nonstop and my cell phone buzzing like crazy. If it wasn’t for caller ID, I would’ve assumed it was another prank by Dazai or that the Port Mafia had come to get me but it was only Yosano, coming to take me shopping like she’d promised. I’d wrongfully assumed she’d meant Friday afternoon, after work (it was a rare half-day after all) but no, she wanted to make a day of it.

“You deserve a break after finishing your first major case!” she’d exclaimed, dragging me out the door as soon as I’d finished putting on a pair of shoes. “Now that you’re on your way to becoming a real detective, we need to dress you like one.”

Everything had happened so fast—taking the train to the fashion district—being marched into shops I would never set foot in on my own—getting shoved into dressing rooms with my arms piled high with all sorts of clothes—on and on until hours had passed and I was walking down the street with several bags in my hands and a brand new outfit on my body (I suspected Yosano had quietly disposed of the raggedy hoodie and jeans I’d been wearing when I’d come out this morning). When I asked Yosano about going to work this morning, she just shushed me and shoved another pair of pants at me.

Just when I thought I couldn’t keep up any more, Yosano hooked her arm around mine and redirected me from the train station, where I’d been trying to sneak off, to the front of a fancy-looking hair salon “for the appointment.”

As I stood in the entryway, listing a little from exhaustion, she breezed on through to the back and returned with a young man with bright pink hair at her side. The young man, a friend of “Akiko-san’s,” as he called her, was a stylist at the salon—one of the best in the city, Yosano had proclaimed. He took one look at my choppy ponytail, made the exact face shown in the Edvard Munch’s “The Scream,” and whisked me off towards the back to “fix it.” I wasn’t actually sure I had enough to “fix” but Yosano was right, the man was a genius. I ended up with something similar to a very feminine (and very cute!) boy-cut that blended perfectly with my ruined bangs and ended halfway down my neck.

They even did some light makeup for me as a thank you to Yosano for helping them solve a case a while back. As I reached up and ran my hands through my hair in front of the mirror, I saw the stylist and Yosano exchange an actual high-five from behind me. I had to admit, it felt incredible to see myself looking like this—I had no idea I could be made to look this cute—but now that we were back in the office and people were poking their heads up to look at me, it felt kind of embarrassing.

“Yosano-sensei, you don’t have to shout,” I pleaded, my face growing warm as the clerk girls chattered around me, oohing and ahhing over my new clothes and hair. “Everyone’s still working...!”

“Ugh, talking about work again? You sound like Kunikida-kun,” Yosano said, grimacing. “We gotta make sure you start partnering with some of the other detectives or you’ll turn into a four-eyed workhorse too.”

“H-he’s not that bad...”

“Ohh...?”

Yosano raised an eyebrow, looking a little more closely at my face. She rubbed her chin and I instantly felt my stomach tie itself into a knot. I’d seen that face before, but not on Yosano—this was the same face Dazai liked to make just before he caused trouble. Without warning, Dr. Yosano turned to Kunikida and called out.

“Oi, Kunikida-kun! What do you think? Kyou-chan looks pretty cute like this, right?”

Kunikida looked up. I froze as his gray-green eyes swept over me. It was nothing more than a quick glance up and a single curt nod, but it was still more than enough to make my pulse race. Thankfully, before Yosano could say anything else, Kirako suddenly rushed in.

“Kyou-chan!” she gasped, looking slightly out of breath in her sudden rush forward, “You like bubble tea cafes right?”

Thankful for the distraction, I turned my full attention away from Yosano to her. I hoped Yosano couldn’t see how red my face was getting as she kept trying to direct Kunikida’s attention back to me.

“Yes!” I exclaimed, deliberately trying to ignore Yosano and Kunikida chatting behind me (“You’re sure that’s all?” she teased, poking him upside the head).

“I love cafes! Why do you ask?”

“Perfect! Because if you’re free tomorrow evening, I have a small favor I need to ask of you.”

At once, Kirako’s hands slammed onto my shoulders, with enough force to actually make my knees buckle. Stunned, I stared into her bright green eyes, which suddenly glowed with an intensity strong enough to rival the mid-day sun.

“You see,” she continued casually, her tone contrasting wildly with the manic glint in her eyes, “my old friends from high school invited me to go on a group date. Naomi here is obviously too young—”

“--And not interested!” Naomi called from across the room as Kirako rolled her eyes.

“—And not interested in going. There’s four guys who said they’d come get dinner with us tomorrow but currently only three girls.”

Her grip tightened meaningfully on my shoulders and I had the horrible feeling that perhaps I had been lied to and Kirako was actually a combat member of the Agency. Kirako smiled.

“What do you think? Come with us, Kyou-chan?”

“Uh...” I stammered, my eyes darting about the room as I tried to think of a convincing enough reason to refuse.

“I don’t know...”

Without meaning to, I glanced over at Kunikida’s desk, where the tall, bespectacled detective sat staring thoughtfully at his computer screen, lightly tapping his fingers against his green notebook. He shifted slightly in his chair and for a single, terrifying second, I thought he was going to look up. Heat suddenly flooded into my cheeks and I quickly tore my eyes away before Kunikida could look up—only to look straight into the bright brown eyes of the bandaged detective sitting across from him.

Dazai’s eyes suddenly widened with surprise, then flashed in knowing amusement and I felt every last hair on the back of my neck rise as Dazai slowly grinned at me. When he reached over and poked Kunikida on the forehead, one horrifying thought solidified in my head:

He knows.

“Kyou-chan?”

The sound of Kirako’s voice brought me back and I forced myself to look at her face and not at the detectives behind her, who were now arguing loudly about something I really didn’t want to hear.

“Right. Well, you see—”

“Dazai!! What the hell do you think you’re doing—?!”

“Just trying to cheer you up in the middle of your shift—”

There was a crashing noise and I grimaced, trying and failing to block out the sounds of their fighting as I tried to think of an excuse for why I couldn’t make the group date. I could feel myself getting more and more agitated as the noise level suddenly increased and I stopped trying to talk entirely when Kirako suddenly whirled around and yelled at Dazai and Kunikida in a voice loud enough to make the walls rattle.

“Would you two just SHUT UP!”

Turning her attention back to me, Kirako sighed, rubbing her temple with well-manicured fingers as Dazai and Kunikida abruptly stopped fighting and the room grew quiet at last.

“Now then, where were we? Huh? Kyou-chan, are you okay? Your face is kind of red.”

“YES! I’m totally fine!” I exclaimed.

I clapped my hands over my mouth and groaned as I turned even redder. My voice came out way louder than I’d meant it to and I closed my eyes to block out the stares of everyone within earshot. When I opened my eyes again, I tried as hard as I could to focus on Kirako and only Kirako. I didn’t dare look in the direction of my own desk—if I looked at either Dazai or Kunikida right now, I was finished.

“I mean,” I coughed, my voice sounding strained, even to my own ears, “It’s not a big deal, just... a slight cough. That’s all.”

I hacked out another, more believable cough (I hoped) and averted my eyes when Yosano turned to look at me suspiciously.

“I probably stayed out a little too late yesterday, didn’t drink enough water. You know how it is. I’m not feeling up to an outing right now but maybe next time...?”

I wanted to kick myself. “Next time” meant I’d have to go through this again in the future. Hopefully by then, I would no longer be available to join Kirako on a group date... My eyes once again slid towards Dazai and Kunikida but I was able to force myself to look away before anyone noticed.

“Oh, really?” Kirako sounded disappointed.

She took her hands off my shoulders, leaving the fabric of my jacket slightly wrinkled and sweaty from her grip.

“That’s okay, I understand,” she said, deflating noticeably. “You helped close a pretty tough case just yesterday, of course you’re tired...”

“I-I’m really sorry,” I mumbled and I meant it.

I could feel alternating waves of guilt and relief washing over me as she left for her station and it was with a somewhat heavy heart that I took the report she’d finished for me and left for the Military Police outpost to drop it off. She was gone by the time I returned to the clerk room and as I trudged back into the main office, I made a mental note to find a way to make it up to her somehow.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spied Dazai at his desk, waving his bandaged arms and silently mouthing my name.

“I want to talk to you!” he seemed to be saying and at once, I turned around and ignored him.

I didn’t know what Dazai wanted with me, waving like that, but I did know that I wanted no part of it. Nothing good ever came from indulging that man.

I glanced up at the clock, saw that there was still one hour left in the work day, and promptly busied myself by playing runner and taking care of small, minor errands all around the office. I was determined to spend this last hour avoiding Dazai and the desk area he shared with the others and whenever it seemed I was running out of things to do, I fell back on asking Yosano if she needed help with anything, anything at all. Luckily, the good doctor took my behavior as gratitude for taking me out this morning (it honestly was) and I succeeded in staying away from my old desk area for the rest of the day.

And good thing too. The moment I’d come back from the shopping trip, Dazai had appeared to lose all interest in work, choosing to spend the rest of his time at the Agency either outright staring at me or doing his best to try to get my attention. I could feel his eyes on me wherever I went and if I so much as turned my head in his general direction, he would start waving again or smile as brightly (and flirtatiously) as possible from across the room. He only stopped when Kunikida threatened to drag him into the server room to give him another beating if he didn’t get back to work.

That final hour seemed to stretch for the duration of an entire day but when it finally ended, I found myself breathing an enormous sigh of relief. I had been assigned a desk at last and, unfortunately, it was right where Dazai’s and Kunikida’s desks were. I wanted to wait until everyone had left before I started moving my stuff in so I bid goodbye to the staff one by one as they slowly filed out.

I tried to keep my smile as normal as possible when I saw Kunikida out the door but there was nothing I could do to stop the blood from rushing to my face when he said goodbye back. Luckily, he didn’t seem to notice.

Breathing yet another sigh of relief, I stood in the middle of the empty office and went to the locker room to retrieve the things I’d stored. But just when I thought I was safe, I stepped back into the main room with my one large paper bag in hand to see Dazai, standing in the doorway to the other hall, with his arms crossed and a playful grin playing about his lips.

I realized I had not said goodbye to him earlier and now we were the only two people left in the building. Inwardly, I swore.

“So,” he said, his grin widening. “Kunikida-kun, huh?”

I ignored him and went to my desk, opening drawers and putting my things away as originally planned.

“What about him?”

I heard footsteps approaching as Dazai left the doorway and walked towards me.

“I saw the way you looked at him,” he said, plopping down backwards in Kunikida’s chair. Scooting forward until he was right next to me, he propped his bandaged arm up on his partner’s desk and rested his chin in his hand.

“Could it be? You don’t want to go on that group date with Haruno-san because of what Kunikiiiida-kun might think?”

“It’s getting late, Dazai-san,” I said politely, slamming my bag on my desk as I drew myself up to my full height and glared down at him. “Shouldn’t you be going home now?”

“C’mon, Kyou-chan. We’re friends aren’t we? You can tell me the truth. If you’re interested in Kunikiiiida-kun, I could help you get his attention.”

I scowled.

“No thanks. And why are you calling me by my first name again? I thought we agreed to avoid giving people the wrong idea?”

Dazai raised an eyebrow.

“But there’s no one around to get the wrong idea.”

And to demonstrate, he waved one bandaged arm around the empty room.

“See?” he asked, kicking off on one foot and spinning around in Kunikida’s black pleather chair like a top, one end of the many bandages wrapped around his forearm coming loose and flying beside him like a dingy party streamer made of linen.

“It’s just you and me. So there’s nothing we need to avoid. No reason to be keeping secrets from anyone. Right?”

He stopped swiveling and the linen bandage floated to a stop with him. Leaning forward, Dazai placed his hands on the back of the chair and tucked his chin on top of his long fingers, so that he looked like a puppy begging for scraps. He smiled, his chocolate brown eyes twinkling merrily.

“Kyou-chan?”

I bit my lip.

God damn Dazai. He actually looks pretty cute when he does that...

He scooted closer and internally, I shook myself.

No. He’s doing this on purpose. The last time he looked at me like that, he asked me to die with him and I...

I swallowed and closed my eyes.

No. Don’t think about that.

Yosano had cut my hair and changed my clothes. The old Kyou—the ghoul in the window that was my old reflection was gone and she would stay gone so long as I never thought about her again. If I could just become strong and become a full member of the Agency, I could bury her and leave her and all my old problems behind with her.

“Well? What do you say?” Dazai asked.

He slowly reached for my hand.

“You can call me ‘Osamu...’”

“No!!”

I pushed him back and my bag fell off the table with a loud crash. All my sketchbooks and art supplies scattered across the floor and I cursed as I dropped down to my knees to pick them back up.

“I’m not calling you that,” I gasped as I struggled to chase after a rolling piece of charcoal that was rolling under a desk several paces away. I threw myself on the floor and shoved my hand under the desk, dust and candy wrappers scattering around me as I reached for the short, blackened cylinder.

“We’re coworkers, Dazai-san and I don’t think it would be appropriate for us to be...”

Grasping the piece of charcoal in my hand at last, I glanced back to see Dazai looking at me with a very cheerful look on his face. It took me a second too long to realize my butt was in the air and he was definitely staring at it.

I flushed.

“You creep!!”

I clambered to my feet and stormed over.

“If you think I’m ever letting you call me ‘Kyou’ after that,” I snapped, shoving my belongings back into my bag as fast as I was able. “You’ve got another thing coming!”

Dazai shrugged, his coat making an oddly heavy rustling sound as he moved his shoulders.

“Alright, Kusunoki-kun. Alright. But before you go, could you answer one question for me...?”

Mirroring me, Dazai got to his feet. Drawing himself up to his full height, so that I was forced to look up at him, he grinned. There was a dark look in his eye and a week ago, I might’ve backed down, but at the moment, the only thing I could feel was the white-hot burn of humiliation and rage. I stood my ground, my pulse pounding in my ears, as Dazai’s half-bandaged hand slid towards me on my own desk, that Cheshire grin stretched across his lips coming closer with every passing second.

“Tell me,” he whispered, stopping only when his nose was a couple centimeters from mine, “How much would you hate being called ‘Kyou-chan’... if your name was coming out of Kunikiiiida-kun’s mouth?”

At the thought of the tall, blonde detective calling me in the same low, sultry voice that Dazai had just used, heat exploded in my face. The bandaged brunette saw the blood rushing to my cheeks; his teasing grin widened and I turned away.

“Quit making this about Kunikida-san!” I snapped, pushing him away. “The reason I said no to Kirako-san has nothing to do with him.”

“Really?” Dazai mused, his brown eyes sparkling with amusement as he watched me stomp towards the door.

“So, does that mean I still have a chance?”

I stopped.

I turned and gave him an exasperated look.

“Depends.”

I had never sounded so sarcastic in my life.

“You still dead set on that double-suicide?”

“Well yes,” he answered, blinking innocently at me when I rolled my eyes and continued heading for the door. “but I already said I’d wait for you, didn’t I?”

I scoffed.

“I thought I told you I have no interest in dying, Dazai-san.”

I could actually hear my own frustration in the depths of my sigh.

“I’m leaving. See you tomorrow...”

“Oh, wait. Kyou—I mean, Kusunoki-kun. I have something for you.”

“I don’t want it.”

“Even if it’s something that tells you everything you’d like to know about Kunikida-kun’s ideal woman?”

I froze.

There was an odd flapping sound, like pages being turned and I spun around to see Dazai pulling Kunikida’s lightly-bound olive-green notebook out of his trench coat. He held it up before me so that I could see the cover, the word “Ideal” unmistakably printed on its slightly weathered surface.

“It starts on page fifty-three.”

My bag slipped off my shoulder.

“Where did you get that?”

Dazai shrugged.

“I may have pick-pocketed him when he was trying to strangle me earlier.”

I took a step forward.

“Give that back.”

“Back?”

He raised an eyebrow and his grin turned into a smirk.

“But it’s not yours to take back either, Kusunoki-kun.”

“Hand it over, Dazai-san.”

I lunged for it but he was too fast for me. Dazai whipped the notebook high into the air and I immediately collided with his chest, knocking us both onto Kunikida’s desk. When I tried jumping for it again, my face met with Dazai’s hand.

“Seriously?” I gasped, trying to get around his defenses. “Are you five?”

“Sticks and stones, Kusunoki-kun,” Dazai sang, clearly enjoying his little game of keep-away.

“Give—it—to—me—!” I panted, trying to push myself forward, past a tangle of bandaged limbs and torso and reaching out for that little green notebook.

But just as I got within reach, Dazai’s half-bandaged hand wrapped around my wrist and, using that as leverage, he yanked me down on top of him.

“Only if you ask nicely,” Dazai whispered, his dark eyes glittering mischievously.

I felt my blood boil.

“Can you actually stop,” I snapped, pushing myself back up, “being a pervert for just one—”

I was too focused on getting the notebook back. I hadn’t even heard the sound of feet running down the hallway until the door to the office flew open and hit the wall with a dry-wall cracking BANG.

“DAZAI!!” a familiar male voice screamed.

I let out a surprised yelp and turned towards the door. There, standing in the doorway and looking angrier than ever, was Kunikida. His sharp green-gray eyes swept over the scene and when his gaze fell upon me and Dazai, his eyes narrowed. I looked back at the absolutely delighted expression on Dazai’s face and my soul almost left my body.

In my futile attempts to reach Kunikida’s notebook, I had literally climbed on top of Dazai and we were now both on top of Kunikida’s desk. One of my hands was still outstretched and reaching for the little green notebook while Dazai’s free hand, the one that wasn’t holding the notebook, was still clamped firmly around my wrist. Worst of all, my knee-length skirt had been hiked all the way up to my thigh in the struggle and my chest was firmly pushed up against Dazai’s. As Kunikida’s eyebrows slowly lifted up, the ribbon around my neck came untied.

I pushed Dazai away and hastily climbed off the desk, making the bandaged detective smack his head against a thick binder and drop the notebook. Spotting my chance, I snatched the fallen notebook off the ground and ran towards Kunikida.

“K-Kunikida-san...!” I stammered, pushing the notebook into his waiting hands. “It’s not what you think...! Dazai—”

“Oh! Kunikida-kun!” Dazai exclaimed, waving a little. “Good timing. You dropped your notebook—”

“Dazai,” Kunikida growled, his shoulders tensing visibly.

I thought I saw a vein pulsing in his temple.

“Not only did you steal my notebook, you also thought you’d drag Kusunoki into this? This is too much, even for you.”

Bloodlust radiated off his entire frame. Not wanting to stick around for the aftermath, I dropped into a quick bow, blurted out a hasty goodbye to the two of them and ran for the door with my bag in my arms. I reached the hallway just in time as a cacophony of crashing noises and Dazai yelling in pain echoed down the corridor. Re-tying the ribbon around my neck, I set off for the elevator without so much as a backwards glance.

He got me. He got me good.

Not only did Dazai figure out that I was starting to develop a crush on Kunikida from just one glance, he’d also managed to make it look like we were doing something inappropriate after hours—and on top of Kunikida’s desk, no less! Was he actively trying to ruin the little good standing I had with Kunikida for fun? Did he want me to join him in that double suicide so bad? Or was he really just hoping that either Kunikida or I would get fed up enough to grant his death wish by beating him to a pulp?

I sighed and pushed the button for the elevator door, putting my earbuds in so I could drown out the sound of Kunikida’s and Dazai’s shouts with something a little more cheerful...

A woman’s voice came on over the earbuds and as I closed my eyes and tried to focus on the music, I began to make out the lyrics.

Huh. What a coincidence. She was singing about what she wanted in a lover...

“Page fifty-three, huh?” I mumbled, my thoughts drifting back to the notebook.

I hated to admit it but I was curious. What was Kunikida’s ideal woman? And... how far off the mark was I? If Kunikida had arrived just a little later, I might’ve been able to take that notebook from Dazai. Then I could’ve snapped a picture of page fifty-three to study later...

I shook my head to clear the thought away.

No. Bad idea.

That was just Dazai getting to me again. I was not like him and I would not sink to his level. I reached for my cell phone to turn up the music but as soon as I had it in my hands, it vibrated suddenly to indicate I’d gotten a text message.

I squinted at it.

“Who...? Oh.”

It had to be from Dazai—he was the one coworker whose number I refused to add to my address book. I was about to delete it when I realized it came with an image attachment. Wondering if it was something important, I opened it.

“You’re welcome?” I read aloud, scrolling down.

My eyes widened.

Below the message was a very clear set of photos, each showing a different page from a small notebook. If the neat penmanship wasn’t already a dead giveaway, the list of fifty-eight “ideal” traits and detailed plans for dating and marriage requirements definitely was (Kunikida was planning to get married within five to six years??). It was all the information a girl could want and more.

My mind raced.

When had Dazai taken these pictures? How?! Wasn’t Kunikida destroying him right now?

Peering down the darkened hallway, which had suddenly gone quiet, I shot back a quick text, just as the elevator arrived at the fourth floor and I walked through the doors.

“How did you get this?” I wrote back feverishly, “And why are you sending it to me?”

Was that maniac going to use this to frame me or blackmail me? Or worse...? Wait. What even was worse?

The reply was prompt.

“Don’t worry about the details. Let’s just say I’m hoping we can go from being coworkers to friends very soon. ;)”

Something fell over in the hall and I looked up just before the elevator doors closed to see a half-bandaged hand poking out the open doorway of the Armed Detective Agency office. Dazai was holding a thumbs up.

[petersmparker]

Luck (Peter Parker x Reader)

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Summary: Out of all the things you could have guessed might happen at Flash’s party, this wasn’t one of them.

Word Count: 3749

A/N: hey uhhhhhhh did I mention that I’m a fucking sucker for Peter and Flash becoming weird vaguely confusing bros by the time senior year rolls around bc i am. anyway have fun with this Almost Spicy fic cause ya bitch was in the mood to write character interactions and General Nonsense

You had told Peter that something was going to happen at the party. No matter what you did, you couldn’t talk yourself out of the feeling that something– though you didn’t know what– would occur. Things never really go the way you’d expect when you’re with Peter, after all. Surprises follow him wherever he goes, as you’ve learned these past few years, and to attempt to expect any one outcome is silly.

To be honest, you’ve never really truly gotten used to that.

It’s just beginning to become dark and chilly outside when Peter’s old beater pulls up to the curb outside Flash Thompson’s house. Colored lights flash through the windows and the sound of music blares out the open front door. When you climb out of the passenger seat, Flash’s voice calls through the speakers, riling up the party crowd.

“This is giving me a bad feeling,” you sigh, somewhat nervously, as you adjust your skirt and tug the front of your blouse down a bit.

Figures you’ve worn the one that inches up over your chest weird. Damn it. You should just go home.

The door to the back seat slams shut, the hinges squeaking in protest. “Come on, Ned, you’re gonna take the door off,” Peter scolds lightly, making his way around to stand next to you, “This thing’s older than you.”

“Sorry, car,” Ned says quickly, before throwing his arm around your shoulders, “Anyway, you say that every time. I think it’ll be fun.”

“I guess,” you submit, and deliver a pat to his back, “I know Flash has really toned the attitude down since sophomore year, but I’ll never get used to showing up to these things.”

Ned drops his arm and starts heading up the walkway. Again, Flash’s voice rings out with a Make some noise, Midtown Tech!, followed by a blaring air horn. You stifle a laugh. The sound effect has always been hilarious and always will be. Of all his DJ-ing habits, it’s the only one you’ve never completely hated. It eases some of your tension.

Objectively, you know it’ll be fine. You, Peter, and Ned have gone to these before and enjoyed yourselves. It’s really just a matter of finding a nice spot with low traffic and a good line of sight for the spectacle. Maybe a bowl of chex mix. You’re simple folks.

But even so, you’ve got the feeling that something is going to happen tonight. You can’t tell if it’ll be good or bad. The anticipation is uncomfortable. You adjust you shirt again.

God damn it.

You catch Peter’s line of sight following your hands as you attempt to casually yank your shirt back into place by the hem that’s supposed to be just below your chest. It’s a bit awkward. You catch his eye, and he blushes, looking apologetic. You don’t blame him, because you know you look silly. Calling him out on it seems equally silly because of it.

He shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders without mentioning the exchange.

“Let’s go before we lose Ned,” he suggests, and leads you down the pathway to the porch.

Your friend has already made it inside. There is a group of people gathered in the entryway, looking up the stairway. You can see a dude from the soccer team crammed inside a plastic bin on the top step.

“They’re gonna push him down, I think,” Ned supplies, somewhat needlessly, when Peter taps his shoulder to let him know you’ve caught up.

“Boy, I hope,” you respond, “I don’t need to be a witness, though.”

“Onward then,” says Peter, amusedly.

As you move on into the large living room, a series of bangs and hollering comes from behind.

“Nice,” Ned says, appreciatively, as he continues to watch while walking away.

Flash has set up his equipment across the room on a raised platform in front of the fireplace. Like every other time you see it, you wonder what the actual purpose of that landing is, besides being a stage for Flash’s moderately sick beats to be thrown six times a year. He’s bent over a set of turntables, one hand holding his headphones in place as he rocks in place. After a moment, he looks up to address the crowd.

He sees that your group has arrived, and it’s not hard to guess what’s coming.

“Hey, Penis Parker!” He shouts, slamming the air horn button a few times, and adding a booing sound effect for good measure.

Peter smiles and waves good-naturedly. The old jokes don’t quite have the effect that they used to, nor are they intended to. Flash waves back and looks down to his table again. He announces that the next tune is for the new arrivals, and transitions into an obnoxious, yet highly amusing and catchy song that had been frequented by the academic team as of late.

So far, so good.

With no small amount of luck, you discover a loveseat and an armchair that are free from partygoers and are quick to snatch them up for yourselves. Ned throws himself into the chair and you take it upon yourself to sprawl across the sofa. Peter ducks into the crowd and toward the direction of the kitchen in order to secure snacks to hold the group over.

The likelihood that you’ll leave this spot is minimal, aside from maybe a dance or two once goaded into it by a jeering crowd, spurned on by the host. The three of you enjoy parties best when approaching them more casually.

Peter reappears several minutes later with two bowls of salty snacks and three drinks balanced in his arms. Unexpectedly, he also brings with him another person. MJ follows closely behind, allowing him to do the work of pushing through the dancers, and greets you and Ned.

“I found her searching the kitchen cabinets,” Peter explains, arranging the snacks on the coffee table and taking his designated spot to your left.

“That’s not weird at all,” Ned responds, taking a drink from his red plastic cup.

Michelle shifts the contents of the table so that she can sit on it. “I’ll keep these oreos to myself then, Ned.”

“I think you’re perfectly valid,” you grin, and are awarded with a cookie, “Everyone knows that the good shit doesn’t get offered until the after party.”

It’s still innately bizarre that you’ve even attended these after parties, even a year after you’ve entered this perpetually weird snarky-friendship circle with Flash, but that’s beside the point.

“If anyone asks, we didn’t take them,” she asserts.

Peter laughs and takes a handful of chex mix from the nearest bowl. “You can’t coerce me into dishonesty,” he says.

As he speaks, he selects a rye chip from his bounty and holds it in front of your face. You eat it immediately, without question. He loves the rye chips, but knows that they’re your favorite.

“Yeah she can,” echoes all three of you, and Peter shoots you a playful look of betrayal.

With the addition of MJ, it’s decently easy to drift through conversations despite being in the center of a rowdy and distracting house. Drifters join the conversation for short periods of time before being dragged back to the main excitement. Even Flash, taking a break from his DJ-ing, stops by.

“Those are for the after party,” he says, sounding entirely unsurprised as he points to the pack of oreos in Michelle’s lap.

She squints back at him. “What is?”

“Alright, cool, I hate you all,” he responds, sounding way too chill for such a statement.

He claps his palm against Peter’s in a friendly gesture before walking off.

“See you there!” Ned calls to his back.

Flash has already disappeared into the crowd, but his middle finger appears above everyone’s heads.

“Still weird,” you feel compelled to point out.

“Yep,” Peter agrees, throwing his arm back around your shoulders, “Still weird. Do you think he’d be like this if he didn’t know I was Spider-Man?”

“Absolutely fucking not. Not at all,” Michelle says without a second of thought.

She’s probably right.

Of course, Ned hadn’t been bluffing about going to the after party. Technically it’s an attend-with-invitation type of thing, but it’s a bit of an uncommunicated agreement that your group is invited nowadays. The bulk of the party filters out as it gets late, leaving much of the academic team and a smattering of other friends of Flash.

You figure that you know what to expect. A continuation of what your group does during the actual party, except now all the attendees are gathered in a loose circle to participate in the conversation. Maybe a card-based party game; normally an inappropriate one. The usual.

Of course, it was only a matter of time before the usual was disrupted.

When Peter is around, that’s bound to happen. He’s a beacon of off-luck. Not bad per se, but not what you’re planning for. After no more than thirty minutes of the comfortable environment you’re so used to, Flash offers to break out a game.

“Not again,” groans a girl whose name you haven’t learned despite having seen her at around three of these events, “We do that every time.”

“What else would we do?” Flash demands around a mouthful of chips, looking a bit offended, since he loves the usual game.

“We’re practically graduating,” says another girl, who is looking around the room like some kind of predatory bird.

Her gaze lands on Peter. You realize very suddenly how much you don’t like that. Without thinking, you shift closer to him. He doesn’t notice, but her eyes sharpen. It’s with a supremely uncomfortable feeling in your stomach that you realize that you’re acting possessive. It’s not like you’re dating, really.

“When are we gonna play something more mature?” She questions, moving her sight away. “Seven minutes.”

MJ scoffs. “I’m pretty sure that anyone who thinks seven minutes in heaven is mature is inherently immature.”

“Yeah, alright, fine. Who’s in?” Flash says, as casually as if she’d suggested a game of Monopoly.

Aside from you and your group, everyone else seems to be willing. And here, you were starting to think that there was the slightest amount of normalcy in your inclusion here. You wonder what in god’s name they’re thinking. Who the hell wants to be shoved into a closet and forced to feel up a friend?

“I’m out,” MJ declares, looking unapologetic, “Wouldn’t exactly say I’m suited to this game.”

Flash shoots her a finger gun. “Support your local ace,” he says, which you assume is supposed to be nice, “You’re in charge of the timer.”

“Whatever,” she responds, and exits the circle to sit off to the side, taking a bowl of chips with her.

You shift in your seat, about to join her, when an empty bottle is tossed into your lap. “You start,” says the girl who’d suggested the game.

She’s expecting you to chicken out, you realize. It’s beyond childish, but the idea of it makes you angry. It makes you want to play, just to spite her. You wonder at what point she decided to pursue your best friend, and at what point someone pursuing your best friend became an issue for you.

Who are you kidding?

You glance at Ned, who looks awkward, but it doesn’t seem like he’s leaving unless you and Peter do. And Peter– well, his expression is unreadable. There’s a flash of something in his eyes when you meet them, but you don’t want to consider it. Too much is going on in your head already.

With maybe a little too much force, you slap the bottle down on the table and spin it. It turns for an eternity, approximately, before it begins to slow. You couldn’t physically feel any more uncomfortable, you think, when it eventually slows to a stop. It’s pointing at Flash.

He looks about as uncomfortable as you feel. “Hold on,” he says, throwing up his hands, “I don’t like that.”

“Thanks,” you say sarcastically, despite your wholehearted agreement.

“Respin,” he demands, pushing the bottle away.

“Coward!” Exclaims MJ.

You make a mental note to have a conversation with her about timing and context, because it seems her sense of both need work. To much jeering from several members of the group, Flash insists on a respin anyway. He does, however, agree to just suck it up and sit in the closet quietly for seven minutes with the next person he doesn’t want to kiss. It’s a dodged bullet, but now you’ve got to go again. As if the anxiety of the first time wasn’t enough.

Chest tightening, you spin it again, just as hard. The room watches excitedly, but you’re feeling nothing but dread. Regret has hit you already. You shouldn’t have allowed yourself to get caught up in this. It wasn’t your business if some girl wanted to kiss Peter in some cramped, dusty closet.

You’re so busy berating yourself for acting ridiculous that you almost fail to recognize the verdict that befalls you. The room erupts in hollering before it even fully stops spinning. Peter tenses next to you.

It’s pointing at him.

“Closet!” Flash exclaims over the excitement of the group, arm thrown out in the direction on a door in the hallway, “Let’s go! Come on!”

“You can’t come, Flash, you said you didn’t want to kiss her,” Peter quips, but his voice has taken on that tone that you know for a fact is a bluff.

He’s not nearly as calm as he’s trying to sound.

Flash’s hand comes down hard against Peter’s ass when he attempts to scoot by. Peter yelps, looking scandalized. Flash ushers him forward. “Watch it, Parker! You know what I meant. Get in there!”

Heart and mind racing, you lift yourself out of your seat. The girl who’d started this mess gives you a venomous look. You can’t bring yourself to deal anything back to her.

What have you done?

Peter and Flash are already at the closet when you finally shuffle your way over. MJ is just behind you, looking only vaguely apologetic. She knows you got yourself into this. Her phone is ready with a seven minute countdown. There’s shuffling in the living room as everyone begins to make their way excitedly toward the spot where your life will momentarily end. Vultures.

Flash steps into the closet and snatches a little key off a small hook just inside the door. When he exits, he pushes Peter’s shoulder and sends him stumbling inside. He’s polite enough not to attempt to shove you. It would be a lot easier to get on with this if he did, though.

“Lights on, lights off, I don’t care,” he says as you step in. “Don’t make a mess. This is where we keep the nice coats. Dry cleaning is expensive.”

The door slams in your face before you can protest against his insinuations. There’s the distinct sound of the lock clicking, and Michelle calls through the door that the timer is started.

Peter reaches up to pull the chain that operates the overhead light, and you nearly jump out of your skin. Your back hits the door. “Oh, shit!” Someone says on the other side, and you feel your face heat up even more than it already has.

Peter gives you a sheepish smile. “Sorry. Should have warned you,” he says.

You glance around. To the right are the aforementioned “nice coats” that you very much want to ruin just to spite Flash. Behind Peter are several sets of shelves with various odds and ends. To your left, a waist-high cabinet that contains who-knows-what. You guess it’s not that cramped, or dusty. Whatever.

Peter shifts awkwardly where he stands. Neither of you say anything for what feels like a year, but it’s probably more like a minute. “Don’t forget to breathe,” Flash’s voice drifts through the door, teasingly.

“Mind your business,” you shout back without thinking.

Both the laughter and Peter’s expression alerts you to the fact that that was not the correct thing to say. He chuckles, too. His smile makes your chest hurt, so you look away just as quickly as you had begun. Again, you reach up to adjust your blouse.

He takes your hand. “Hey,” he says softly, stepping closer, bending to catch your eye, “Nothing has to happen. We can just wait it out.”

You can’t help but narrow your eyes at his phrasing. You keep your voice low too, in the hopes that the peanut gallery outside can’t hear. “Has to happen?” You question, “Sounds like there’s the option for something to happen, if I feel like it.”

“Isn’t there?” Peter asks.

Oh.

Oh.

You want to respond so badly. The words can barely even form in your mind, let alone making it all the way to your mouth and out into the world. What response is there to finding out that your best friend, whom you’ve maybe been trying not to fall in love with for a long time now, wants to kiss you if given the opportunity? Is there one?

Yes, you think, finally. There is.

Peter’s still holding your hand. You take advantage of it and pull him forward, your free hand coming up to wrap around the back of his neck. When you pull him to you and press your lips against his, it’s soft. You’re jittery beyond belief, but you’re not rushing this moment. It’s a simple kiss, lasting only a few seconds. You can feel his smile.

When you pull back, you’re greeted with a grin that’s almost familiar. But there’s something different there, something you’re not accustomed to seeing in his expression. He’s still close enough for his breath to be hot against your face.

Peter kisses you again. This time is far more desperate, more excited. His hands come up to either side of your head, angling you to gain better access to your mouth. You’re backed up against the door as he moves in even closer to you. The impact, while minimal, elicits an amused gasp from you.

He takes advantage of your open mouth to introduce tongue. Every part of your body lights on fire. You clutch his shoulder, feeling dizzy, and delight in this new experience. It’s genuinely unfair how good he is at this, considering his lack of practice.

He pulls away just enough to kiss the underside of your jaw, and you jolt in surprise. The door shakes with your movement. Outside, the crowd gets a little rowdier for a moment.

Shit, you mouth, slapping a hand against your forehead. It’s so embarrassing.

Peter is more flushed now then ever, but he continues on, braver than you’ve ever been. Without any warning, he hooks his hands around your thighs and hoists you up onto the cabinet. Incredibly, the movement isn’t nearly as loud as you figure it could have been. His mouth slots back against yours within a fraction of a second.

You feel his hands drift across your waist, not touching skin, but definitely examining the curve of your hips. He presses his body closer, flush with the cabinet, and your legs spread to accommodate him. One hand finds its way into your hair, sending an involuntary twitch down your spine.

The door clicks unlocked.

You freeze. Peter doesn’t. In a millisecond, he’s back to the other side of the closet. By the time the door swings open, he’s managed to cross his arms as if he’d been standing there comfortably the whole time. You can’t bear to look at the people in the doorway, so you stare, hard, at his face instead. The possibility that you might give away what’s just occurred is a bit too much to bear.

Peter’s face is redder than you’ve ever seen, blush spreading down across his neck. He had turned toward the door when it opened, his expression struggling to hold some sense of calm. He had been too caught up in it all to care who was outside while the door was closed, you know, but neither of you really want it to be confirmed in front of god and everyone that he’s thoroughly ravished you in the nice coat closet.

As fast as you can without making eye contact, you look at the intruders, who are still attempting to assess what had occurred moments before. It occurs to you that maybe they hadn’t actually expected any kind of follow-through in this scenario. To be fair, the likelihood had seemed terribly minimal. Even with such a quick glance, you can tell they aren’t sure what did or didn’t happen.

“Who’s next?” Peter offers up, sounding embarrassed and very much like he’d like to move on, but still managing to at least look like he hadn’t been about ten seconds from doing something extra inappropriate.

Your thighs are still spread almost enough for it to be a legitimately horrifying issue. When you risk another look, you see MJ squinting at them. The desire to shut them is strong, but you figure it’d be easier to pass it off as being unladylike if you don’t act like you’re embarrassed by it.

What a nightmare.

“That was quick,” you say in an attempt to end the awkward silence.

Peter reaches his hand out to you. Taking it, you hop down onto the floor. You move toward the door to leave, but the crowd doesn’t disperse to let you through.

“What was the banging on the door?” Questions Flash, staring suspiciously at Peter.

Because he’s a terrible liar, you answer instead. “Bang one was Peter scaring the shit out of me by turning on the light, bang two was me trying to get up onto this fucking cabinet. I’m short, dude. Get lower furniture.”

Mercifully, they accept it as a legitimate answer. The crowd parts with a distinguished air of disappointment. Peter brushes his hand across your back when you move to leave the closet together. Before you even have time to worry about what’s happened, his smile assures you.

Later, parked in the driveway of your house long after Ned has been dropped off, Peter pulls away from you mid-kiss and shoots you the most smug expression you’ve ever seen on his face.

“And someone had a bad feeling about that party.”

You kiss the stupid look off his face, trying not to laugh.

[cilliansaccent]

The Peaky Designer - Cillian Fanfic, Chapter 4

Hello, welcome back. Below is the next instalment of my fanfiction!

Leave a like or a comment if you liked it, or if I can do anything better! Please, it would mean the world and to understand if anyone is enjoying my writing. Also, sharing/reblogging would be even better.

PLEASE READ:

I will not be including Cillian’s family as it’s kinda weird since he has children lmao. Just a mention of his parents and a previous lover.

I will indicate in a chapter if there is smut in the beginning and before the actual scene!!

I will add trigger warnings if there is any!!

There is a variety of levels of swearing during a chapter, I will not hold back, everyone swears.

The timestamp for the Fic is now 2016 and onwards!! 

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Background: Gabrijela Babic is a Croatian girl from Sydney, Australia. She is born in the year 1991 on the 24th of December. She studies a Fashion degree in a University with a major in Game Design as well. Her teacher in the fashion designer class managed to nail an Internship on the set of Peaky Blinders with the shows very own Costume Designer, Allison McCosh. There, she travels to London for under a year to learn how to be one, working alongside the actors as well the man she admires, Cillian Murphy. But, her platonic feelings for the man begins to grow into something more, and she wonders whether she should pursue them or let him go for fear of her strict parents and her three older brothers…

Characters:

Swantje Paulina as Gabrijela Babic (swalina on Instagram)

Cillian Murphy

Word Count: 5,000

!!Warnings!!: It's getting hot here! Some decent smut at the end, starts after they are in bed together. Enjoy *winks*. 

Date: March 2016

Chapter Name: The Shelby Clan

Brief Chapter Outline: First day being the apprentice as a Peaky Designer, Gabrijela meets the cast and the crew in a jam-packed day, while also making some friends. She ends up staying in Cillian's trailer on set with some red wine that will question their actions later...

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The drive towards Manchester was quite pleasant, the roads were empty in the morning so the run was smooth. 

Gabrijela had packed her laptop and documents last night as she knew she wouldn't have much time to pack in the morning. And it was true. 

Five minutes past five, Allison was at the door, ringing the bell. Gabrijela had rushed down after she had changed into high-waist blue jeans, a black turtle neck tucked in and a light brown coat on top and her favourite Doc Martins. Her hair was pulled up into a messy bun with a cream coloured scrunchie. 

She wore a gold chain with a small gold cross, her mother gave it to her for good luck and protection despite Gabrijela not really that of a holy person. 

They didn't stop, only for a toilet break and to grab a snack bar but it was right through to the cit up north. 

They arrived at the destination just before eleven. It was pretty full-on once they came, "Today is the only exception where I will drive you here. You'll have to catch the train here, and I may or may not be able to drive you back." Allison had explained as they headed in where they would dress the actors up. 

But first stop, Gabrijela was to be introduced to the team, the producers and all that. While she was taken away, Allison headed off to ready the actors and actresses. 

Gabrijela was informed in the meeting of her secrecy of the plot and the ideas of Season three. But they made sure to not spook her too much. She was given the lay down of the rules and regulations, but overall, she was kind of free to roam long as she told someone where she was going. 

The crew was quite nice, and once of the assistance people took her on a trip around. 

Logan, a tall, handsome man with such deep ocean blue eyes and thick black curly hair. He was dressed in a casual suit, round gold glasses sat on his straight nose and he had a boyish smile. He was turning twenty-seven in a week. 

"Got anything planned for the birthday?" She asked as they came outside to where men and women moved stuff around or put things together. 

"Uh, not really. Probably go to a pub around here for some drinks and cake with my mates." He said with a shrug and a shy smile. 

"Will your parents come?" She asked. He had told her he was from Scotland, as per his accent told her already before he could tell her. 

"Oh no, no. They can't afford it, but I will make it up for Pa's fifty-eighth birthday next month." He said, his smile bright, making the corners of his eyes to crinkle. 

"Oh, that's good. How long have you been working here?" She asked, curious about his line of work. 

"Since season one. I worked in various jobs before and throughout, gaining as much knowledge and experience possible. You need a lot of experience as a Set Designer, and I pushed myself to be the very best and somehow caught the eyes of the Director." He explained as they headed back inside. 

"So cool." She whispered, "Is the job stressful?" 

"Can be. You need to be thorough, and to know what needs to go where, when and how. Today we will be setting up the opening scene, could be changed entirely tomorrow if it doesn't flow. I gotta be on my feet at all times, but I love it. The creativity that brings about in me as if some flood gate exploded open." He said with such passion. 

She giggled softly and they continued to walk around before he was called back to start on the set. 

They bid farewell and she headed to where Allison said she was and directed. 

She entered the large trailer and she had stopped in her tracks at what she saw. 

The actors were all crammed in, well, most of them, mostly the men where. The director was there to listen in on what Allison was talking about. 

Gabrijela couldn't move. She felt like a deer in headlights, her nerves rattling through her. 

She wasn't sure if she was suddenly up for this. This whole thing seemed like a dream and here she was, among the cast and the crew. 

Cillian spotted Gabrijela enter and smiled, "Sorry to interrupt but Gabrijela is here." He said, moving through the boys and came to her. 

"Hey. You alright?" He asked softly, taking her arm gently. 

"Y-Yeah, I think so." She said nodding her head. 

She was swept into introductions and everyone seemed thrilled for her to be here. Cillian stuck to her side since he could tell she was apprehensive. 

And then it was time to get into the business. 

Gabrijela worked with Allison closely, following her orders. She was to help the boys dress into the right outfits and have the next ones on hand when it came to a new scene. 

It was none stop, and hectic. She had spotted Logan every now and then and got peaks of him setting up props and all that. 

But she was brought back to her own area and watched and listened to the other creative artists such as the make up artists and the hairstylists. 

When it was break time in the mid-afternoon, she realised she hadn't made food for herself. And she was to shy to even ask for the on-site food if it was available for her too. 

But she didn't need to fret too much when Cillian, all decked out in his Tommy outfit came over to her. 

"Thought I'd bring you this." He said and handed her a fairly large box. 

"What is it?" The smell that came from it was so good. 

"One of the guys ordered this from some local restaurant near here. Got it for all of us." He said. 

She opened it. It was stirfry noodles, rice, dumplings and spring rolls. 

"Oh, it smells so good!" She said. 

"Yeah. Come on, let's go join the others." He said and she followed him to a different trailer where she could hear voices from within. 

"Cillian. I-I don't know." She paused outside her heart racing. 

"Hey. It's alright, don't be scared." He faced her, "I'm here okay?" 

She sighed and nodded and walked in with him. 

Introductions went around again, and the general questions of herself began via the boys. She ate in between questions and answered them happily. 

She was still shy but she began to open up and feel more at ease. Cillian and Paul got lost in their own conversation and she chatted with Harry for a bit. 

But it wasn't long when lunch was over and it was back to work. 

Evening...

It was time to call it a night. Gabrijela was exhausted after a long, busy day. 

She was in Allison's trailer, finishing up her report of today. 

The door opened and Cillian popped his head in, "Thought I'd find you here." He came in, closing the door behind him. 

"Oh hey." She turned and smiled, "How are you?" 

"Ah, fucking tuckered." He said and sat across from her. He had changed back to his usual outfit of a blue shirt, jacket and jeans. 

"I could imagine. I saw you working hard." She closed her laptop when she saved her document. 

"Yeah. So you staying here or are you heading home?" He asked. 

"Heading back to London." She said, tucking her laptop into her backpack. 

"What? It's almost eight. It'll be too late for you." He frowned, "I've got plenty of room in my trailer-"

"No, it's okay. It'd be to much trouble." She shakes her head, "Besides, I have no other clothing with me. Would look bad if I rocked up again tomorrow in the same shit." 

"Fuck." He cursed softly, "I don't want you to go home alone." 

"Cilly," She murmured his nickname again, she took his hand, "It'll be okay. I'll call you when I get on, we can keep talking right through the trip." 

He held her hand with both his hands, "No. Stay." He insisted. 

She sighed, running a hand through her hair as she sat back. "It would look so weird if I came out of your trailer, Cillian. I don't want to give you a bad representation." She said softly. "Look, thank you for the offer, but I can't be late for the train." She stood, pulling on her backpack. 

"I will be safe," She said and headed to the door. 

"Gabrijela." He went to her and grabbed her, turning her back around. "Please." He shook her arm a little. He was persistent, and he wasn't going to give up. 

She shook her head and sighed. She stepped into his arms and hugged him tightly, "Cillian, don't you stress. I'm a big girl." 

His arms moved around her waist and he hugged her close, "I know. But I worry, and it's late." 

Allison had opened the door and stepped into the trailer, "Gabrijela- Oh!" She gasped. 

The pair hastily pulled back and Gabrijela's cheeks heated. 

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to walk in on..." She trailed off. 

"Just having a heart to heart, Al. Nothing to worry." Cillian wrapped an arm around Gabrijela's shoulder and hugged her a little. 

"Okay, well. I need to drop her off at the station." She said. 

"She can't stay here?" Cillian asked. 

"I mean, she can if she wanted to. Gabrijela?" Allison looked at her. 

"It's only two hours to London, I'll be okay." Gabrijela shook her head. 

"She can stay with me. I can make the dining table into a bed and she can have the main one." Cillian spoke before Gabrijela could. 

"Well, it is up to her, Cillian." Allison said, "Are you worried about something?" Allison added. 

Gabrijela looked between the two and let out a sigh through her nose, "I didn't pack properly. I don't have clean clothing is my main concern." She looked down at her feet. 

God, she was a mess, her mind was going a million miles an hour. 

"That's okay. I got a shirt you could fit for tomorrow, I'll let you off early so you can go back to London to prepare better for the next day." Allison offered, coming over and placing a hand on her shoulder. 

"Are you sure?" She asked, looking up with worrisome eyes. 

"I'm sure. Here." Allison went through her small wardrobe she had in the trailer and handed her a shirt. "This should do. Cillian will take you to his sleeping quarters." She gave Gabrijela an encouraging and caring smile. 

"Thank you, I appreciate it," Gab said and left with Cillian, heading to his trailer. 

"Anytime. I didn't feel comfortable you heading home so late." He held open the door for her to go in. 

She walked in, the trailer was clean and smelled like him. "Such a worrisome boy." She poked him when he walked by. 

"Can't help it. I've heard things and you're..." He trailed off, his brows furrowed a little. 

"I'm... what?" She set her bag on the table. 

"Ah," he huffed, "I'd be kicking myself if you got hurt." He said, eyes darting away from her. 

She saw he wanted to say something but she wasn't going to pressure him in it. "Thank you, Cillian." She stepped to him, touching his cheek and turning his gaze back to her. "Next time, I'll bring an extra set of clothes just in case." She nodded and stepped back from him. 

"Good idea. Now, I have some two-minute noodles and good red wine. Want some?" He asked. 

"Sure. I love me some noodles and red wine." She nodded and removed her back from the table and to the bed at the end of the trailer. It was huge, it could easily fit them both. 

She could offer him to stay in the bed with her, it wouldn't be the first. "Cillian." She called out. 

"Yeah?" He replied, fixing up the noodles and boiling the water. 

"Um... Look... Uh... The bed, it's uh, big. We could um... you know..." She blushed and stuttered a little. 

"What? Is there something wrong?" He came into the room with her, looking at the bed then back to her. 

"No, nothing is wrong with it." She ran a hand through her hair which she had let out. "Oh, god actually- Forget about it. Don't worry." She shook her head quickly. 

"No, tell me. It's fine, darling." The word came out without a second thought and it made things more awkward than anything. 

"U-Uhm, we could share the uh, the bed. You know. We could put a pillow wall between us or something if you like or we could just stick to our sides but that's up to you." She rushed in a single breath. 

"Share a bed? I mean, we can. No issue there." He laughed nervously, "But wouldn't you prefer it all to yourself?" 

"I guess so, but I don't think sleeping on the table thing over there would be too comfortable. Besides, you gotta wake up early so you need a good night's sleep." She said, gulping. 

"That is true." He returned back to the noodles, pouring the hot water in each bowl, "Alright. I'll take up on your offer. But we don't need a pillow wall. It's not the first time." He said with a deep chuckle. 

She blushed madly and sat down in the little booth, "Shut up." She muttered. 

It wasn't long when the noodles were ready and they had popped open a bottle of red. 

"Welcome to the Shelby Clan." Cillian grinned and held up a glass and she did the same and they clinked. 

"Thank you." She said and dug in. 

"So how are you feeling after today?" He asked once they finished eating. 

"Tired. And stressed." She said, "It was so full-on."

"Yeah. But you did a good job, Gab. Dressed me well and the others." He took a sip of his glass. 

"You think so?" She asked. 

"Of course! But don't be so nervous around us eh? We are regular people." He said, "Give it a few day's, you'll be relaxed." 

"Okay. Yeah, it's only the first day." She accepted with a drink of her wine. 

He noticed she was already almost done with her wine, and he was the same. "Here." He refilled their glasses. 

"Oh damn. We drinking tonight, hm?" Gabrijela gave him a playful smirk. 

"We might." He said, "But I might take a shower, or would you like to go first?" He asked. 

"I'll go first." She said, "I'll be quick." She took a sip of her wine and stood up. She could feel a buzz. 

Cillian showed her the shower and she quickly washed up. She had one fresh set of underwear always tucked in her bag, and like the idiot she was, she forgot to bring them in. 

She wrapped the towel around her body and peaked her head out, Cillian wasn't in and she took that chance to get out. She went for her bag and yanked out the high waisted silk garment and began to pull them up. 

Cillian had walked back in after his call and let out a gasp when he saw Gabrijela. The poor girl yelped in fright when he returned and she dropped her towel as she stumbled back from her loss of balance. 

She hit her back on the wall and groaned and let out a soft laugh. 

"Shit. Gab you alright?" He came through the threshold and let out a cry, "Jesus! Sorry!" He covered his eyes and backed up when he saw her naked body. 

"Yeah, I'm okay." She got up and pulled on her underwear. Her jumper and her jeans were back on and she came back out, "Sorry." She was red as ever as she returned to her spot. 

"No, no. Don't be. I didn't mean to spook you." He rubbed his nose, his mind whirling. She didn't just have freckles on her face, but along those lovely full breasts, and the plane of her stomach- 

He let out a choke and rubbed the back of his neck, "Anyway, uh, you'll be sleeping in that?" He looked at her, his body reacting in a way he hadn't felt for a long time. 

"Uh, yeah. I guess so. Why?" She asked she saw that heated look in his eyes. That desire. And her body warmed, she remembered her dreams. 

"I could give you one of my shirts? Would be comfortable than jeans." He said. 

His shirt? Oh, Lord, save her. But she found herself nodding, "I'll give it back." She said. 

He nodded and fetched her a shirt, "Here" He handed her a dark navy blue shirt. 

"Thanks. Did you want a refill?" She nodded to his glass. 

"Uhm... Yeah, why not." He said before he turned and took a quick shower as she refilled his glass, topped hers and got into bed with his shirt on. 

He came out with a white t-shirt and black boxer shorts that had little pineapples. 

"Nice shorts." She laughed softly as she set her phone down and picked up her glass. 

"Thanks. My brother got it for me last Christmas." He laughed as he shut up the trailer and turned off the lights before he returned to the small bedroom, pulling the shutter close. 

"Lovely." She sipped her glass as she watched him get into bed. 

Both of them sat upright, her bedside light was only on. 

"To another day." She said once he got himself comfortable and clinked glasses with him. 

"To another day indeed." He took a good drink of his glass. 

She could feel the buzz started, and she began to talk about a moment in her life which was quite hilarious. 

They chatted about anything, about life, about her school, her friends, family. And she learned of his first lover, and how she broke his heart. 

"So you've been single for five years now?" She asked in shock. She was a little tipsy, as well as Cillian. They did finish a second bottle. 

"Yeah. Haven't found someone yet or have anyone in mind as of now. Dated some but their intentions weren't true. I'm after someone who is... real. Who cares more about personality rather than how much money is in my pocket." He said. 

Cillian was on his side and Gabrijela on her back. 

"Damn. I'm sorry. But you'll find that person, everyone does." She said, looking up at him. The low light brought out the harsh angles of his face, making him look scarily handsome. 

"I hope so. What about you?" He asked. 

"Me? Ah, it's been a year since I broke up with my ex. I was with him for three years." She murmured. 

"Huh. Three? What made it break?" He asked, "Oh, only if you want to answer it." 

"It's okay. He uh... cheated on me, and did the blaming game on me. Convinced me I wasn't giving him any satisfaction when it came to sex. He was fucking this slut for a year without my knowledge. My bestie told me. She saw it happen." She looked away. Since then, she hadn't had sex with anyone or got anywhere close. She had freaked out every time, too ashamed of herself. 

Cillian saw the dread that began to fill her beautiful eyes, the hurt expression shutting her down. 

"Hey." He cupped her cheek, bringing her face closer to his. She could feel his breath on her face, "You deserve the best. You are... such a sweet girl and so genuine. I don't think you should beat yourself over what he said. He's a bastard, a big, fucking bastard to say that to a girl. You would definitely rock the bed." The words fell out before he could stop himself. "Ah, Gabrijela-" 

But she let out a laugh, and couldn't stop. He found her serene laughter to be contagious and was laughing with her too. 

They laughed for a good while and he had his forehead on her shoulder, somehow he was sort of above her, his other arm beside her waist to hold himself up. 

She felt the tickle of his hair brush her neck, "God Cillian, you really don't hold back huh?" She giggled, reaching up to stroke the back his head and neck. 

"It just came out. I mean no offence." He said as he lifted himself up, his hair fell down and brushed her forehead. 

"No offence was taken. But I believe I could rock more than just the bed." She purred, her fingers moving down to his jaw. She traced it slowly. 

"Oh, really?" He asked, his voice dropped a pitch. 

Her skin pricked as her fingers moved to his lips, "Yeah, really." She whispered, their noses touched. 

The moment was burning up slowly, she could feel it. His leg brushed up against hers. 

"Maybe..." He murmured, his eyes shutting a little as his attention was now to her own lips. 

Red, wet and full, so perfect, he thought. Was this the alcohol talking? 

"Maybe what?" She let her fingers move down his chest then across his shoulder. 

"I..." He leaned in more, rubbing his nose against hers. A soft sigh escaped him when her gentle fingers found its way back into his hair. 

"Kiss me." She said, one arm hooked around his neck and drew him into her body. 

He obliged and pressed his lips to hers, the kiss was gentle, tentative. Exploring, find out how they worked together. 

He had moved entirely on top of her, his body almost crushing but she liked it. He had one arm under her head, his soft fingers clasped the back of her neck, his other arm provided support for himself but was under her and under her shirt. She could feel the pads of his hand on the middle of her back. 

Her legs widened to make room for his shifting hips. She could tell he was trying to keep them up but she did feel his arousal. Defined and eager. 

He wanted her, clearly. The kiss became more passionate, more wanting as she opened her mouth for his tongue that swept in with such dominance she let out a moan. 

The arm under her back moved and he was touching her sides, fingers gliding down her thigh then back up. 

She felt a wild confidence sweep through her and she lifted up her hips to meet with his. 

He let out a grunt before he pushed her down roughly. It made her whine with lust. 

"Gabrijela." He groaned as he broke the kiss. His hand moved up, pausing under her breast. 

The air was like a wildfire. 

"Cillian." Her core was throbbing and slick, she wanted him. Needed the reprive after so long. 

She arched her back as if telling him to go higher with that devilish hand she had dreamt of roaming over her body. 

He accepted the offering and his hand engulfed her breast. 

They both let out a moan as if the contact was a blessing to them both, especially to her. 

He played with her breast, rolling the nipple against his palm. His lips returned to hers, swallowing up the blissful moan that came from her. 

She clung to him as if he was her life source, her legs wrapped around his waist as another moan came through her when he pinched her nipple, rolling and tugging it between his fingertips. 

"Cillian," she gasped, breaking the kiss as he kissed to her neck, "Cillian- I- Oh god." 

He let out a muffled groan, his hips driving forward a little. 

"I-I need more- Fuck- Please- Just- Just this once. Touch me. Touch me please." She begged softly. 

He knew what her desperate pleas meant, and he pulled back to look at her. "Gabrijela we shouldn't-" 

"Please." She cupped his face, the light illuminated her eyes, bringing forth the lust and need to be satisfied. 

The shirt was rolled up to expose that lovely soft stomach she had, his eyes going lower. He could just see the wet pool that began between her legs. 

A sound erupted from him and she let out a moan as he removed his hand from her breast. He would not see what treasure was between her legs, it was far too much for him. If he saw her, he wouldn't be just touching her. 

He brought his hand down and slipped it beneath the silk garment. She wasn't shaved but she had recently trimmed. 

He paused, gazing back up her body to her eyes, she was staring at him. 

"Touch me." She whispered in that lovely, delicate voice shaky with such appetite for his hand. 

He brought his fingers to her wet slit and parted her. Her head lolled back, eyes shut. 

"Look at me." His voice was rough, demanding. 

She did, and let out a pathetic whine when he began to feel her, stroke her folds and brush along that bundle of nerves. 

He leaned in and kissed her once, twice, three times with a claiming kind of way. 

She was so wet, drenching his two fingers that tracked her up and down, bringing her clit between them and massaged it. 

"Shit, Cilly." She moaned, a soft cry when he pinched her clit making her hips buck. 

She was a mess, and he could see how she clenched and unclenched the sheets as she stared with intensity at his hand and back at his face.

He continued to pleasure her by playing with her clit, so enamoured of her sweet sounds. Oh, how she became at mercy of him. His cock throbbed, wanting the attention. 

He gave in and pushed a finger into her, his brows furrowed as he moaned at how unbelievably tight she was. 

Her body arched as he inserted a second, and then they were moving in and out of her at a steady pace. 

Her body was warm and she felt sweat starting to form across her bare, exposed skin. He was so skilled, he knew exactly what he was doing with those two fingers that curled, causing a louder cry to come from her. 

Gabrijela could feel her climax rising, and she moaned with pleasure as he picked up the pace, as if he also knew she was going to fall off the edge. 

Cillian watched how her body began to undulate, hips rocking in sync of his thrusting, all perfect. 

"Cillian I-I'm gonna cum, oh god don't stop. Don't stop!"  She hooked an arm around his neck, and he laid close to her, his lips brushing his temple. 

"Cum whenever you want, darling. Cum for me." He whispered hotly against her skin. 

His thumb rubbed her clit, edging her even closer. He could feel her slick walls tightened, her body reaching that high that was about to crash around her. 

And with some rougher fingering her of her sweet, wet hole, which she could hear the slick sounds, her body bucked violently off the bed as she let out a loud cry of ecstasy as her climax tore down her spine. 

Her walls clenched and she came over his fingers, his name a prayer on her lips. The ecstasy of her climax was a reprive, it quenched her thirst for some sort of satisfaction she was deprived of the past few months. 

Especially from another man. 

Cillian fingered her till she was still and panting on the bed, a thin sheen of sweat coated her forehead. 

The air was hot, and not just the temperature. Whatever had now unlocked between them. 

This... dangerous thing that sat between them. What just happened, he knew it wasn't just the alcohol aiding him. Or her. 

She had her eyes shut, she felt his hand retreat from between her legs and his moved off the bed, a soft grunt coming from him. 

She waited until he left to go to the bathroom, and she knew why he did that. 

She pulled down her shirt, sniffling a little as she rolled to her side. She was in shock of what happened, what he just did to her body. But she didn't feel violated, she wanted this. And for a long time, she needed someone to give her a good finger fuck. 

But fear pooled in her stomach, she didn't think it would be Cillian. A man who was twice her fucking age. 

What the fucking hell was she doing? A question that repeated itself the last three days now. 

Cillian stroked himself, with the hand that was coated in her juices. He couldn't help it, his mind brought up images of her body. Of how she gasped and melted under his touch. 

This was indeed dangerous. He was older than her, this whole this was bad. So bad. She was young and needed someone her age. He couldn't believe it, a moron he was to be doing such a thing to such a lovely girl. 

But he couldn't help it and the thought of her with someone else... 

He grunted softly as finished and cleaned up quickly. Now he had to share the bed with her, the vague scent of her would cling to him. 

No, he had to be a better man. Man up, he thought as he got out and eased back into bed silently. 

The light went out. 

He was on his back, as far as he could be on his side of the bed. His mind was still doing its million rounds around. But he forced himself to fall asleep and was able to when his body relaxed. 

Gabrijela had managed to fall asleep too. A deep, dreamless sleep. 

Tomorrow was going to be an interesting day. Very, very interesting indeed, was her last thought. 

[luki-fanfic]

KHR/BNHA Fanfic: The Restaurant with Sushi That’s Out of This World

This idea WILL NOT LEAVE MY HEAD!  Too many people getting into BNHA and dragging me along for the ride!  I watched the first season when it first came out and then keep diving into fic’s so naturally, I decide to tell this fic with the BNHA characters in focus rather than the KHR ones! (brain starts imploding on the lack of logic).

If I get round to doing more, it’ll be a snippet-style fic rather than a full on story, if just to keep me sane.

Present Mic first spots the restaurant when it’s his turn to patrol the local neighbourhood around UA.  With so many heroes on staff and the constant threat of attacks, it’s safer to have everyone on a random schedule to deter any would-be villains from causing trouble, or allowing anyone to learn the rota.  It’s a security measure that results in the surrounding area having some of the lowest crime statistics in Musutafu, but also means real estate is at a premium. Businesses will fight to the metaphysical death to get their store in these streets.

So while it’s not unusual to see a new store open, the lack of familiarity with the name does draw the hero’s attention. Self-owned businesses are rare – the sheer amount of capital deters most of them from starting here, choosing lesser known neighbourhoods to build up a client base before making the leap.  Since he’s never heard the name ‘Takesushi,’ or even heard down the grapevine of the venture, it must be completely new.

That’s enough to pique his interest, and when the school day is over, he decides sushi would be a good dinner option.

It’s clearly only been open a few days judging from the number of people carrying grand opening vouchers.  Eventually, once the novelty dies down the restaurant will be judged for it’s food, but Hizashi highly doubts the owner would dare risk opening here if he didn’t think he could compete.  At the door he’s greeted by a pretty girl with golden blonde hair, who asks if he’s looking for a table or take-out.  She doesn’t bat an eye at his appearance, and happily directs him over to the take-out. line.

Thankfully, the queue isn’t as long as it could be – it might not be all that ‘heroic’ of him, but people do have a tendency to let heroes cut in line, and Present Mic is more than popular enough to find himself at the front of the line in a matter of minutes.

There’s a young teenage girl minding the till, a frail looking thing, with dark purple hair and an eyepatch decorated with a skull motif.  Her mouth drops just a tad as her eye glances up, taking in Mic’s leather and hair, and he waits for the inevitable spluttering that comes from coming face to face with a hero.

“Um, good evening” She offers.  “Welcome to Takesushi, may I take your order?”

He almost double takes, but grins in delight.  For such a young girl, she’s quite the professional.  

Unsure of what would be best, he orders one of the specials advertised, and hangs back after paying.  The order heads to the back, where he can only see one man working with a knife, although there’s a pair of teens – a brunet and a black haired boy who’s clearly related to the chef - working on packing up boxes or putting together platters. Anything not immediately heading out to the bar is being carried out by a rather punked out silver haired teen and an older boy with white hair.

It’s a lot of teenagers – the chef is the only member of staff that can be older than 18, but they work like a well oiled team.  

“That was very impressive of you” he hears, and his attention is drawn back to the girl at the desk, now greeting the next customer in line. “My daughter works at a 7/11, and every time a hero walks in she turns into an excited mess.  She’d never have gotten two words out in front of Present Mic.”

Some of the others in the line chuckle, and Hizashi’s lip twitches into a grin, trying to pretend he can’t hear the conversation.  

However, instead of insisting she was just doing her job – or even admitting that she’s not a Present Mic fan, the girl just blinks and says.

“Who’s Present Mic?”

There’s a hideous screech that lasts all of two seconds before Present Mic realises it’s coming from him and shuts up, while the entire line goes silent.  Even the busser’s, and the chef looks up from the fish.

The woman looks embarrassed, and the girl is starting to shrink into herself, so clearly it’s up to Mic to defuse the situation.  As iconic as he is, Present Mic’s dropped in the rankings since taking on the role at UA, and he’s hardly as prevalent as the big hitters, so this is hardly the first time he’s gone unrecognised. Admittedly it doesn’t normally happen this close to UA, where he’s seen on a near daily basis, but it does happen.

“Hah hah, that would be me young lady” he says, walking back up to the counter.  “Guess I need to be doing more rounds, not often I meet someone who doesn’t know me.”

He snaps a pair of finger guns in her direction and grins.

“Present Mic, the Voice Hero and star of ‘Put Your Hands Up’ on Hero FM” he announces.

The girl hunches down, face starting to redden.  

“I don’t listen to radio.”

Mic laughs.  “Don’t worry about it.  I’m a bit much for some people, nothing wrong that.  Which heroes do you like?”

It’s an easy enough question, and one that even the most embarrassed person can usually answer after a hero faux paus.  If all else fails you can just blurt out ‘All Might’ and move on.

Yet, what should have been an easy out for the girl seems to cause more problems.  Her face pales and her eye flickers to the side.  She looks like the kids in Mic’s class when he springs a test on them without warning.

“Chrome, are you okay?”

They both look up to see the chef heading towards them, eyes narrowed. Behind him, both teens are watching, the brunet looking as nervous as the girl.

Mic holds up his hands in a placating gesture.  

“Sorry, sorry, didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable” he says, and genuinely means it.  “I’m just surprised there’s anyone in Musutafu that hasn’t at least heard of me.”

“We’re new around here” Tsuyoshi offers, and all but thrusts a bag into Present Mic’s hands.  “Enjoy your meal.”

It’s a strange feeling, for a hero to feel so unwanted, but not a single one of the teens looks friendly – the silver haired one is outwardly glowering – so Present Mic grabs the bag, waves to the line, and heads out the door.

As if she hadn’t spotted the last five minutes of awkwardness with her co-workers, the girl at the front door bows and says with an impressive amount of cheer -

“Please come again!”

Yeah...Mic doesn’t think so.

Normally, Present Mic would let it go.  Maybe the girl genuinely didn’t like heroes, or had a bad experience – it happens.  Maybe she had a quirk that had resulted in bullying and chosen to reject anything about heroes to protect herself.  It didn’t really matter - if a civilian has issues with heroes, so long as they’re not breaking the law, they have a right to be left alone.  Normally, he’d just take note of Takesushi’s apparent ignorance and dislike and make a point not to eat there again.

However...the sushi was really good.  As in, melts-on-the-tip-of-your-tongue good.  So good he was having cravings less than 3 days later.  The chef was either exceptionally trained, or someone on his staff at a flavour enhancing quirk that they were using illegally – either way, he wasn’t quite ready to give it up.

Thankfully, the nature of heroes meant he didn’t have to, and the next time he enters – it’s as the casually dressed English teacher, Yamada Hizashi.  It’s early in the afternoon, but there’s still a handful of customers despite the early hour – every time he passes in the evening the place is booming, the food good enough to maintain the customers even after the newness wears off.  

There’s no young greeter this time, just the chef, who nods and greets him as Hizashi sits at the bar.

“Welcome to Takesushi” the chef greets.  “I’m Yamamoto Tsuyoshi.  What can I interest you with first?”

Hizashi grins, tapping at a menu at some of the morsels he’s been pining for all week.

“Let’s start with eel and tuna, then...ah, surprise me.  What do you recommend?”

Yamamoto grins back, and starts preparing the order.  His hands move with impressive grace, and Hizashi can’t help but be drawn in – and eagerly digs in once his order starts arriving.

“So what brings you to Musutafu?” he asks between plates – and oh, the sushi’s just as good in the restaurant.  “Moving out of the big city?  Moving closer to the big city?”

The man smiles back.  “I guess it was...intuition?  We needed a fresh start, and something about this town drew us in.  When this building became available, seemed like a perfect fit, and here we are.”

He breaks off for a moment, taking the plates he’d just finished preparing to a handful of other customers in the corner, and Hizashi focuses on his meal.

“That is not physically possible!”

The sushi drops from his chopsticks as Hizashi snaps his head back at the outraged tone.

Turns out the teenagers aren’t as absent as he thought – they’re all crammed into a booth in the corner, along with a much younger boy with sandy blond hair.  They’re all staring at a tablet on the table, and the silver haired punk boy is half standing, looking frustrated at what he sees.  Most of the table seems amused by his outburst, but the girl Mic had unwittingly embarrassed is frowning at him.

“...Um, are any of us physically possible?”

The boy waves frantically at the screen.  “He has wings!  An additional set of limbs!  Growing from his shoulders!  Do you understand the anatomical impossibility of that!”

“So did Byakuran,” says the black haired boy, and the punk’s throws his hands into the air.

“Byakuran’s were a manifestation of metaphysical energy!  They weren’t real, physical limbs!”

The fluffy brunet ducks his head down.

“They felt real...”

This immediately results in the silver haired boy dropping to his seat and trying to desperately console the boy next to him, only to start ranting again at the next clip – yelling about the heat limitations of the human body before spontaneous combustion becomes a possibility.  Hizashi can’t help the chuckle before he turns back to his meal, only to see Yamamoto watching him indulgently.

“Sometimes I think I should sell tickets” he says.  “They’re incapable of not attracting attention.”

“Are they watching hero clips?” he asks, because that seems a large change up from the last time he walked in here.  

Yamamoto shrugs.  “They got a little blind-sided last week, heroes aren’t that prevalent where we’re from, so they’re trying to catch up on the local talent.

“Hiee!”

“Oh come on!  How did he not break every bone in his arm!”

“That’s so extreme!”

“Wow, he was like a grown up Sasagawa.”

“Turf top uses...you know!  This guy doesn’t.  It doesn’t make any sense!”

The man’s lip quirks.  “With varying degrees of success. Flashy...quirks aren’t something they’re used to seeing in broad daylight.”

Hizashi however, frowns before glancing back at the table, and then back at Yamamoto.  His eyes   search behind the man, and starts looking at the photos on the shelf.  Yamamoto and his son feature prominently, but he’s starting to realise all the kids are featuring quite consistently.  A tad too much to just be friends or employees considering how new the restaurant is.

“Wait...are they all yours?” he asks, because there’s no resemblance whatsoever – the youngest doesn’t even look Asian.  Sure, with quirks that’s not as odd as it used to be, but the ages-

Yamamoto follows his eyes to the photo’s and grins.

“Foster kids” he admits.  “Takeshi’s mine, but the rest...more or less adopted us.”

He picks up one closer to the side, clearly the newest of the lot as the restaurant is in the back.  It’s Yamamoto with all off the teens grinning as the youngest boy holds up a hand written sign saying ‘Now Open.’

The man shakes his head.

“Tsuna was in a bad place” he says, finger tapping at the small, brown haired teen in the centre.  “Not through any fault of his own but...he couldn’t stay there.  So when a friend of his found a way to save him, free from everything that was slowly killing him, he took it.  But most of his friends weren’t much better off.  When they realised, they refused to let him go alone.  They’d been through too much to let him leave them behind.”

Tsuyoshi’s smile dims, eyes glancing away.  “It was tearing Takeshi apart.  As far as he was concerned, Tsuna and the others were family, but so was I.  There was no choice he could make that wasn’t going to make him miserable.  So I made sure he didn’t have to.”

The photo gets put back, and he hands over another plate.

“I packed up my shop, filled in a thousand ridiculous custody forms and here we are.  New life, new world, new beginning.  For all of us.”

“You seriously took in what, seven kids just to keep your kid happy?” Hizashi squawks, jaw hanging a tad lower than he would like to admit.

“Well, they needed some kind of adult figure in their lives” Tsuyoshi chuckled.  “And Takeshi needed them.  You don’t know what he was like before Tsuna – I wasn’t letting him go back to that, and I wasn’t going to let him run away from me. Besides, in a town like this, they’re practically angels, haven’t had a single problem with them.”

He pauses, and then huffs quietly to himself.

“Well, no problem that could conclusively be linked to them anyway.”

Hizashi just shakes his head in wonder.  “You’re quite the hero” he offers, though he’s a little surprised Yamamoto dumped all of this one him – perhaps with so many teens running around, the man hasn’t had much adult company.  He’s probably been desperate to talk, and Hizashi’s interested enough to let him continue.  There’s more the story – exactly when and how his son became involved with what appears to be half an orphanage, or some kind of multiple abuse case is probably just as gripping, but Yamamoto seems to bring himself to reality, shaking his head and offering up a final plate.

“Sorry, don’t often get to talk these days.  What about you?  You work in the area?”

Hizashi smiles.

“I’m...an English teacher at one of the local high schools” he offers.  “Long hours but I enjoy it.”

“Wouldn’t be Seirin would it?” Yamamoto asks, mentioning one of the nearer non-hero schools in the area, known more for their sports programs than it’s academic prowess.

“Afraid not” Hizashi offers.  “Is that where they’re enrolled?”

He partially gestures with his chopsticks to the group in the corner, and Yamamoto nods.

“Takeshi really wants to play baseball professionally, so he looked for somewhere with a good team, and the enrolment was within everyone’s ability so they stuck together, even if it’s not the greatest fit for some of them.  Keep getting calls asking why on earth I haven’t encouraged Hayato to go to a better school, or even just test out for university – god knows the brat could get in without trying if he wanted.  But you’ll only pry him from Tsuna’s side when he’s dead.”

Behind his glasses, Hizashi raises his eyebrows.  “That sounds a little...”

“Hyper dependent?” Yamamoto offers.  “Probably.  But he’s much better than he used to be, and that’s saying something.  To be honest, they’re all a little like that.  Tsuna draws people in, even when he doesn’t mean to.  You’d think so many personalities would rip a group like that apart but, Tsuna’s particularly...gifted, at keeping harmony.”

Hizashi chances another look at the group – and now that it’s been brought up, he can see the connections.  The silver haired boy and Yamamoto’s son are flanking the brunet, both leaning into the boy slightly more than most Japanese would consider appropriate, and while the group is mostly watching the screen, whenever someone speaks up, they look at Tsuna first, as if waiting for approval to continue.  The fluffy teen is controlling the entire conversation, although from the way the teen is acting, he’s either very aware of this, or completely oblivious.

“He’s oblivious” Yamamoto replies, and Hizashi chokes when he realises he said the last part out loud.  “Tsuna spent most of his life being told he was no good at anything.  It’s a difficult mind set to get out of, once you start believing it.”

Hizashi nods in understanding.  He’s heard Aizawa rant enough times about the Entrance Exam to know the world isn’t kind to those that don’t fit into a certain category.  

“So many students come through our doors with problems that go unnoticed until high school” Hizashi replies.  “Sometimes I wonder if we’ll get through to them before they graduate.”

Quirks, financial status, intelligence, ethnicity, society breeds a need to excel, and unfortunately, that means someone needs to fail along the lines.  At least ‘Tsuna’ is finally getting the help he needs, between Yamamoto’s new custody and his hoard of very close friends, Hizashi is sure the teen can learn to excel, rather than becoming a victim, or worse, a villain.

Part of him is itching to pry more, but even Yamamoto is starting to realise how much he’s dumped on a complete stranger, because he’s shaking his head and stepping back, choosing to clear up some of his bench.

“Clearly I’m spending too much time around teenagers” the chef jokes. “I’ve taking up gossiping.”

Hizashi laughs softly.  “I promise, I’m not complaining.  Not the first time I’ve been used as a sounding board, and won’t be the last.  Your story is safe with me.”

Yamamoto’s lips twitch.

“It’s not exactly something secret, it’s not all that impressive when you strip it down” he says, brushing it off.  “But thanks for listening anyway.”

“For sushi like this” Hizashi says, gesturing at his plate.  “I’ll happily take some conversation with the deal.”

Yamamoto grins, and hands him the bill.

“Then I look forward to seeing you again.”

[ginger-and-mint]

Spring Storm

I’ve been itching to write fanfic of @tiny-tum​‘s adorable queerplatonic boys Elijah and Micah for some time now. And last night I was like GOSHDARN I wanna write some sweet fluffy belly rubs, which these two are perfect for. <3

If you enjoy fics about bellies being comforted with a healthy dose of plot, check out her stories!

“Come on, you big lump—move!”

“…Mmmmph….”

“Seriously, El. You may not realize it, but your arm is like a tree, I swear.”

The prodding and tugging at Elijah’s elbow finally succeeded in pulling him back into semi-consciousness. He opened one sleepy eye and caught sight of Micah’s indignant face peering back at him.  “Oh!” He quickly removed his arm, unpinning his friend from the couch, and sat up bolt upright. “Something wrong?”

“No, no, nothing. Didn’t mean to scare you.” Micah chuckled as he got up, stretched, and meandered over to the kitchen. “It’s just that you had me trapped, and I’m hungry!”

Elijah blinked in confusion. How much time had passed? The TV was still playing the movie they had put on before cuddling up together on the couch. Raindrops were drumming heavily on the windowpane, but even through the gloom of the spring storm, it was possible to judge from the weak gray light that it was still morning.

“Micah, it has not been very long since we had breakfast,” said Elijah admonishingly. “I doubt you are actually in need of more food this early in the day.”

“Aw, come on!” Micah opened up a cupboard and began poking around inside. “I can snack myself into a coma if I want, and just take a nap if I need one! It’s not like we’re going anywhere today.”

It was true. They’d had plans to go the library and find some reference materials for their coursework, but the heavy rain meant that waiting for the bus would be miserable. So they’d decided to stay indoors, leaving them with a whole day to themselves.

Elijah felt strange about it. Not in a bad way—he and Micah had certainly spent lazy days together before. It’s just that they were always meticulously planned out, little pockets of stipulated relaxation crammed between his schoolwork and his underground obligations. He could always feel the clock ticking down, the needling in the back of his head reminding him that all this was fleeting, temporary, too short.

But now, suddenly, he had extra time. A entire day had been gifted to him.

Over in the kitchen, a box of cereal had caught Micah’s interest. He held it up so Elijah could see. “Want me to pour you a bowl?”

Elijah considered the earnest look on his best friend’s face. His eyes flickered to the rain-splattered window, to the softly flickering light of the TV screen, to the blankets and pillows jumbled up around him.

How cozy it would be, just to curl up under the cover of the rainstorm, hemmed in by blankets and Micah’s arms, and pretend the rest of the world didn’t exist for awhile.

“Mmm. Yes please,” he said.

They’d each crunched their way through two bowls of cereal by the time the movie’s end credits rolled. Micah grabbed them big bags of chips and trail mix as he got up to put on the next movie. They had lunch sometime after that, warm bowls of tomato soup with gooey grilled cheese sandwiches. And when they settled back down on the couch together to do a little reading for school, Micah grabbed the box of blueberry muffins and the bowl of fresh fruit off the counter and poured two tall glasses of milk. They worked through the food as they read, TV switched to a mindless comedy show for a little background noise.

Elijah didn’t normally eat foods like this. He’d gotten them because Micah was going to be over, because Micah enjoyed them, because he could afford them and Micah couldn’t. At first, he felt almost guilty for eating so much of the food he’d intended for his friend.

But the rain kept drumming on the windows, and the TV kept throwing out soft shreds of laughter from worlds far away, and the blanket around him was warm and soft. He noticed the way Micah refilled his bowl with chips when it emptied or casually handed him a second muffin, laughing and smiling and sharing like it was the most natural thing in the world. And he thought—maybe it’s okay. Maybe, here and now, it’s okay.

His belly was already feeling quite snug after lunch. He’d planned to stop the snacking, or at least slow down, but the fruit he had bought was very fresh and almost irresistible. Before he knew it, there were three banana peels on the table on the table in front of him.

Elijah didn’t realize how much they had truly eaten until a low rumbling noise broke the silence.

He raised his head. “Was that thunder? Storm must be bad.”

“Uh. No.” Micah squirmed against Elijah’s side. “That was my tummy. Reminding me that it passed full like, an hour ago.”

At once, Elijah’s hand found the side of Micah’s belly, feeling out how swollen it was. “Are you in pain?”

“Not really.” Micah squirmed again, leaning back and letting his belly swell out. “Ooh. Just stuffed. I kinda didn’t think about it, but we’ve been eating all day, haven’t we?”

“I can make some tea.” Elijah disentangled himself from his friend and went to stand up—but a sudden heavy sloshing sensation inside him forced him back to the couch. He couldn’t bite back a low groan.

“You all right?” Micah glanced over, and his face broke into a grin as he realized what had happened. “Dude—did you eat so much you can’t get up?”

“I was taken by surprise!” Elijah insisted. His stomach gurgled, still sloshing heavily, and he crossed an arm over it. “It is not important. I can still get you—”

“No, fuck that. Just get your hand back on my tummy.”

“But I can—”

“I don’t even need tea! It doesn’t even hurt.” Micah grabbed Elijah’s wrist and tugged his hand over, placing it firmly over the rounded bulge of his stomach.

Instinctively, Elijah’s fingers began to press gently, thumb rubbing soft circles into the swollen flesh. Micah let out a happy sigh and sagged into Elijah’s arm.

A moment later, he squirmed around so he could reach his friend. Elijah groaned quietly as Micah’s hand pressed soothingly into his stretched sides and eased the pulsing tightness that had built up under his ribs.

“Just how much did you eat, El?” Micah teased. “‘Cause it feels like a whole lot in here.”

“You can’t exactly talk,” said Elijah with faint amusement. He gave Micah’s stuffed tummy a pat. “You must have had just as much.”

“Ugh. Yeah.” Micah yawned. “Think I need that nap… want to move to the bed?”

“Mmm. No.” Elijah pulled away, smiling as Micah made a soft sound of confusion. He settled onto his back, propping his head up on a cushion, and motioned for Micah to snuggle up, half on top of Elijah and pressed against the back of the couch.

It was a tight fit, but it was cozy, and the weight of Micah on Elijah’s full belly felt wonderful. He was asleep within minutes, and when he woke up hours later, it was to darkness and a low sound that, this time, really was thunder.

[coolestqcumber]

Through the Viewfinder (Jisung - Stray Kids)

Word Count: Apprx. 2.4k

Summary: “Through the viewfinder, I found you” : The Story of How I Fell In Love Through 10 Pictures

Inspired by the AO3 Changlix Fic “Falling: a photo essay by Lee Felix” (guys read this it is so beautiful I love it)

Photo #1 - Annoying

 “Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease,” you beg your friend. You literally have your palms pressed together in prayer and Jisung still refuses your request. He scoffs and rolls his eyes, “Didn’t your professor assign this project a month ago? I would’ve thought that Ms. Photography-Goddess would’ve been halfway done with it already. Yet here you are, wanting me to model for something that’s due tomorrow.”

 You pout, “I was halfway done! But the project states that our muse has to be consistent throughout the entire semester. And I used my ex as my muse and I would rather throw myself off the clock tower rather than ever talk to him again.” Jisung’s annoyed expression softened. He knew you had a rough split with your boyfriend a few days ago. But his still didn’t agree. You let out an exasperated sigh and whipped your camera out of your bag. “Look! You don’t even have to do anything!” You peek through the viewfinder and adjust the focus before holding down the shutter button, lens clicking furiously.

 You only stopped snapping pictures after the peeved library assistant, Minho, threatened to throw you out if you made anymore noise with your camera. Letting out a content hum, you scrolled through the shots you had taken. You grinned and selected a few pictures of your best friend reading his books with a disgruntled look on his face. His expression suggested he was clearly not amused by you choosing him as the subject of your photos.

Photo #2 - Immature

 You stick your elbows out, trying to keep your camera steady in the jostling crowd. Jisung and a couple of his friends were having a show a few streets away from the university and you wanted to seize the opportunity to get some more shots for your photo assignment.

 Jisung had always been a hyper kid and he bounced around constantly to the rhythm of his rap. Normally, this wouldn’t be a problem for you. However, combined with the swarms of fangirls shoving around from all sides, most of your pictures came out blurred and unusable.

 You tsked irritably as you sorted through the pictures you had taken earlier that day. “I just don’t get it,” you seethed as you deleted another photo from your camera roll. Jisung peeled his attention away from his snacks and asked, “Get what?” Another picture deleted. “How you have so many girls thirsting after your dumb a$$.”

 Jisung looked offended. “I will have you know that while I may be a dumba$$, my a$$ is a cute a$$.” Your eyes took a roll. “Oh! I finally found one that wasn’t ruined!” you exclaimed excitedly. Then you scowled down at the high-def picture of your best friend dabbing and groaned. “Han Jisung, you are something else.” The idiot had the nerve to look proud and reply, “Thank you.”

Photo #3 - The Fool

 Finals were coming up so you and Jisung were in the library again. The two of you studied for exactly 10 minutes before starting to goof off. However, it all went downhill when one of the paper airplanes you were tossing at one another sailed off course and onto the desk of one very miffed library assistant. And Minho was now in the process of chewing out Jisung.

 Jisung looked like a kicked puppy. And even though he was taller than Minho, the fire burning in the assistant’s eyes made him slouch over in attempts to make himself a smaller target. You giggled quietly and slipped your camera out. Click.

 Uh oh. Now Minho’s furious glare was now directed towards you. You smiled sheepishly and shoved your all things into your bag before high-tailing out of there, leaving Jisung to take Minho’s wrath. (That guy was seriously scary.)

Photo #4 - Hot Model

 Finals were finally over. Jisung had pulled an all-nighter cramming for his physics test and was now knocked out on your bed. You wrinkled your nose at the sight of him drooling, but didn’t wake him. He just looked so innocent slumbering through the day. His face was clear of blemishes and worry. There was no loud exclamations coming from his mouth. And (dare you say it?) he almost looked cute.

 You smiled softly and the camera was in your hands before you knew it. The shutter clicked a few times before you set the device back down. While it wasn’t the most attractive photo you could’ve taken of him, it captured the purity of Jisung’s character. There was something about the way his hair was carelessly being crushed into the pillow, the way his hands curled to his chest in a childlike manner, and the way his full lips slightly drooped open that made the picture captivating.

 Using your thumb, you gently wiped the saliva from the corner of your best friend’s mouth. You grimaced at the wet sensation and wiped your hand on Jisung’s shirt. Jisung let out a breathy exhale and flopped about in his sleep. You fought the laughter bubbling in your throat. He did look really cute.

Photo #5 - Butterflies

 “Too candid? What does that even mean? How can a picture possibly be ‘too candid’?” You practically screamed the last few words at the TA and he winced. You almost felt bad for Woojin. You were quite scary when you got angry. “All the pictures you’re taking are in places and situations your muse would normally be in. If you want to add more variety to your photos, you need to put your muse in an unusual setting. Perhaps something with more color.”

 You sighed and nodded in agreement. All the pictures you’d taken so far were pretty drab. Woojin patted your shoulder awkwardly, “Don’t take it the wrong way. You’re a very talented in photographer. But you have a lot of potential for growth, so try challenging yourself. Yeah?” You gripped the strap of your camera bag. “Yeah.”

 Which is how you ended up surrounded by massive flowers at the local botanical garden. You tried not to panic as another bee buzzed by your ear. “Y/N! Look!” Jisung whisper shouted. There was a butterfly resting on the center of his palm, lazily fanning its wings open and shut. Jisung’s eyes were wide with wonderment and he was grinning like a little kid.

 This was the picture you were looking for. You pressed your eye up to the viewfinder and snapped away. When the butterfly finally grew tired of Jisung’s staring, you captured the look of awe on your best friend’s face as his eyes followed the butterfly’s flight up up up into the open sky.

 Then, he turned his attention to you. Jisung’s eyes met yours and suddenly you thought you were seeing a different kind of butterfly. Or rather feeling it.

Photo #6 - Chance

 You were trying to teach Jisung how to play a card game. He was looking quizzically at his cards, contemplating which one to use. His brows were furrowed and his lips were in the most adorable pout which disturbed the butterfly that had taken up residence in your stomach since the day in the garden, causing it to flutter about.

 Unconsciously, your fingers found their familiar grip around your camera. Jisung noticed you lifting your camera up to eye level and his expression quickly morphed into a flirtatious one. You were about to complain how he ruined the candid shot when you saw the picture you had taken. One of Jisung’s eyebrows was lifted and his eyes twinkled suggestively. The cards held in his hands were fanned out and covering the bottom half of his face. But you could somehow still tell he was smirking. It made him look more mature. And it made the lone butterfly explode into a cloud of butterflies.

Photo #7 - Change

 You went to another one of Jisung’s street corner performances. This time you brought a tripod and he rapped while staring intensely into your camera lense. This Jisung brought a fiercer tone to the image captured. His eyes burned with a fiery passion and you could almost feel the powerful rhythm of his rap just by looking at the picture.

 You pulled your cap lower over your eyes, trying to shield yourself from the jealous glares of the fangirls surrounding you. Some of them had brought cameras too, but Jisung only paid attention to yours. “Why you?” a girl asked. She was wearing a skirt which was insanely short for the chilly fall weather and you briefly wondered if she ever worried about flashing the public whenever the wind blew. Her eyes raked down your figure, filled with judgement. “Um, I’m just a friend who takes pictures for his social media.” You made up lamely, not in the mood for a lengthy explanation.

  Later, you were nervously running your fingers up and down the strap of your bag as Woojin silently evaluated your new pictures. “Looks like you tried some new concepts.” Your fingers twisted the strap violently. “And…” Woojin smiled softly, “And it totally worked out for you. The professor will be proud.” The TA turned his attention back to the pictures splayed out on the desk and hummed thoughtfully. “So what do you think?” you asked, relaxing visibly. “About what?” You shrugged, “About the subject? The project is supposed to tell a story. What story are my pictures telling you?” Woojin rubbed his chin.

 The TA didn’t answer directly at first. He placed the two pictures you had taken on Jisung during his street performance (one of him dabbing and the other of him rapping). “Do you sense a shift between these pictures? It’s almost as if the photographer is viewing her muse from a different perspective,” Woojin said carefully. Your brow furrowed as you analyzed the pictures with your eyes. The first one felt more casual while the other was definitely more intimate. “So…” you pressed. “You’re totally whipped,” Woojin deadpanned and your heart missed a beat. You pursed your lips. “Maybe I am.”

Photo #8 - Flower Boy

 “Flowers? Again?” Jisung whines as you push him down to lay on the grass. “Yes, I want to try experimenting with some photoshop elements this time. And I think flowers would make a pretty good theme.” You pull out container of flower clippings from your bag and dump it unceremoniously over his face, causing him to groan in protest under the mound of blossoms.

 You laugh and sweep most of flowers off, revealing his pouty expression underneath. Colorful petals dot Jisung’s hair and your breath catches in your throat because he is just so damn beautiful. “Okay, now close your eyes. And try to make it seem like you’re having a good dream.” Jisung’s eyes fluttered shut and a the faintest smile graced his face.

 You blinked several times and reminded yourself that you were here to take pictures for your assignment, not to indulge yourself in your best friend’s good looks. You cleared your throat and peered through the viewfinder.

  After editing the picture you had taken, you sought out the TA again. “Dang girl, you’re getting insanely good,” Woojin complimented as his eyes scanned the photo. The grass in the background of the original picture had turned out to be a bad choice due to the school’s lack of proper lawn care. You decided to turn the background into water, making it seem like Jisung was floating in a bath of flowers. You beamed at the TA’s praise as you did spend a lot of time creating the final product.

 “So what’s the deal? You two together yet?” Woojin asked, handing the picture back to you. You gingerly slid the photo into a folder, “No. I mean I don’t know if we’ll ever be ‘together’. He’s my best friend and I wouldn’t want to lose him just because of a stupid crush.”

 Woojin chuckled, “Do you know why I love photography so much?” You tilted your head in curiosity. “It gives me that opportunity to turn something others see as plain into something awe-inspiring. You’re literally creating beauty.” Woojin crossed his arms and leaned comfortably on the desk, his eyes smiled. “Won’t you give yourself the opportunity to create something beautiful?” You knew he wasn’t talking about your photographs.

Photo #9 - Handsome

 You have never wanted to hit a person so bad before. “I am NOT wearing makeup!” Jisung screeched, dancing out of your grasp. “I am a man! Men don’t wear makeup!” You finally managed to get a firm grasp on his shirt and wrestled him into a sitting position. “Says the guy who spends 15 minutes putting BB cream on every morning.”

 Jisung went still with shock. “Minho, that traitor. He said he wouldn’t tell.” You shrugged and picked up your makeup brush. Jisung narrowed his eyes, “And since when have you gotten so buddy-buddy with that library nerd?” You rolled your eyes and opened your mouth to make some smart retort when you caught his expression. His tone was playful, but his demeanor seemed a bit deflated. Was he...jealous?

 You turned to set your brush back down in order to hide the smirk on your face. “If you’re gonna be all prissy about it, I guess you don’t have to do makeup. But this time I’m focusing on emotion and I wanted a bashful vibe, so you need to find a way to blush naturally.” Jisung tapped his fingers rhythmically against his legs, thinking hard of solutions that didn’t result in him having to sacrifice his dignity.

 “You’re hot,” you suddenly blurted out. As soon as the words left your mouth, you felt yourself freezing up with utter mortification. This was probably not what Woojin has described. In fact, it was the exact opposite. This wasn’t beautiful. This was ugly, and it was going to end ugly with lots of ugly tears.

 But the effect your blunt statement had on Jisung was immediate. His gaze automatically dropped down to his lap, refusing to let you see how embarrassingly pleased your words made him feel. Pink spread across his cheeks like paint being smeared across a white canvas. You gulped and your camera flashed.

 When you were done, Jisung asked to see the photos you had taken which surprised you because he was never interested in looking at the pictures before. You crossed the room to where he was sitting. His arms snaked around your waist and pulled you down to sit on his lap. Jisung nestled his chin on your shoulder, peering over at the image on the camera screen. It was your turn to blush.

Photo #10 - Together

 A simple picture of intertwined hands.

It’s been a while since I’ve done a long one. I always start them but then taper off because the ideas just start drying up. Such a shame. I literally have drafts I started writing 3 years ago that just sit there.

[impala-dreamer]

Some Personal Junk...

And why I was so friggin' emotional all weekend. This is really just personal rambling, you can skip it... ;)

Two years ago I was drowning.

I have a good life. I’m married to my best friend who is amazing and supportive and loves me no matter what. He makes me laugh everyday. Does and says things just to see me smile. He’s amazing. I have two boys who are exceptional humans and so smart and handsome and talented and growing into awesome people. I have family close by, I have a home I love, a job that’s pretty sweet.

But within all that are lots of hard things, that I won’t get into, but they wore on me. I was beaten down, tired, losing my mind. And, slowly, I slipped into my own head and it wasn’t good in there. Still isn’t some days. I do/have(?) this thing where I have very vivid daydreams. I don’t really know how to explain it if you don’t experience it (in fact, I’ve only ever met one other person who does it too), but basically, I can get swept up in my head and will literally talk to people who aren’t there, act out scenarios, and at one point, I had an entire alternate life going on. And no, it wasn’t all peaches and cream over there either. There was a lot of angst too. It started to scare me, after a while, because I found myself heading there, not just right before I went to sleep as was usual, but whenever I was alone. Doing laundry, I would be there. Washing dishes, it was around me. Sitting quietly, crocheting, I was in it. It was becoming a lot. So, I decided to write one of the stories down. It became Crazy Love. And, with that, I realized I loved to write. Going back to writing was amazing and I started another story and another and another. And with that, I spent a little less time in my daydreams. It was good.

I don’t know why I turned on Supernatural the first time, but I did. And Bill and I watched the Pilot and half-way through I turned it off. I didn’t like it. Or, rather, it didn’t grab me enough to push me through the rest. So, we went about our business.

Things got really shitty again, and I couldn’t keep it together. And it was a lot outside the house too, issues with close friends who decided to become fuckers and try and ruin things. Anyway, I took it all inside myself and I was losing it. I started doing something occasionally that I found stopped me from crying; just pressing something sharp into my palm, mostly I used a paperclip. It helped. It kept me in the moment, let me focus enough to calm down. After a while it escalated into scratching hard with the edge, and then, a few times, and I’m not proud of this, I used a scissor when the paperclip wasn’t enough. It was getting bad.

Something made me turn Supernatural back on. Maybe I was done with a Lost rerun, maybe the cover art just grabbed me, but I did. And after I watched the pilot, I kept going. And going. It wasn’t truly until ‘Home’ that I realized I was in love. I spent night and day watching until I was done with everything on Netflix. Season 11 was still airing so I was stuck. I found a way to watch them online. I devoured everything. Then came the search for more. I found fanfiction.net and I went the fuck to town. I read everything. EVERYTHING. I fell in love with it all. I waited patiently for my favorite fic to update (I still go back to it, and it is my favorite ever. “Learning to Fly” by badasscompany) a thousand or so chapter Destiel Romance that I will never let go of. I started to write. I thought, writing helped before, let me try something with Dean and Sam. I posted on ff.net. Boy, people actually like this! Cool! I kept going. I stopped with the paperclips.

Then Misha joined Tumblr and I was like “What is this? I’ll go too!” And boy what a mistake. There’s so much more fanfic here and I like the format better! Hurray! Oh, I read everything. I remember first falling in love with Iwantthedean’s “Angeles” series. And then I found torn-and-frayed’s “STPB” and, that was it. I was officially hooked forever. Those two series brought me here and kept me here and I wrote and wrote and wrote. And here we are.

I’m not ashamed to say that my obsession with Supernatural is probably unhealthy. And it’s far from casual. It’s all inclusive. It’s all day, every day. I watch an episode before work every morning and then when I get home, at least one more. I listen to panels when I work out. I watch gag reels when I start feeling bad again. I surround myself with it because it helps. I live and breath it because I cling to it. I need it. I talk to Sam. Everyday. When I’m bored while cooking, I put on music and I do SNS and sing with Rob and Jensen. I really do. (Jensen and I do an amazing duet to Ed Sheeran’s “Thinking Out Loud” it’s awesome. lol) I’m in it. And yes, it’s insane.

But what else I’ve found are friends. Dear, true, honest friends. Sure, fictional characters have brought us together, but we stayed because we like each other. We stay because we can share things and be silly together, and laugh and cry together. These friends I have made because of this show are people that I will love forever. They know who they are, you probably know who most of them are, I’m not going to name everyone. Even the more casual friends I have made, mean so much to me. But there are a few, maybe four or five people, that I will call my friend for the rest of my life. I trust them, and I love them. I was so blessed to meet two of them this weekend and I will always remember the joy of finally being in the same room with them. I’m about to cry thinking about that.

I got very emotional at the convention. Mostly the entire time, but I kept it under wraps for most of it. But, during SNS, I broke down. Jensen came out and the amazement of hearing him sing was a bit too much for me. When they started playing ‘Brother’, I was done for. Him singing that in Vegas is a go-to video for me when I am at my lowest. I also hate it. Because in my mind, no one will ever sing that to me. No one will ever love me enough to want to say those things to me. But this weekend, it meant something else. It reminded me of the love I do have because of this show. It reminded me of the connections I have made, and the reason I was there, at that con, and had maxed out a credit card to be there. Because of friends. And because of this stupid show that has meant so much to me.   

Everyone there was just… happy to be there. Happy to be part of something. The fans were a family, whether we talked to each other or not. This show brought us all together. A thousand people were crammed into a room over a television show. I’ve been to a hundred conventions over the years, I’ve been an active Whovian for a long while, but nothing compared to this. Nothing has ever touched me, and helped me, and moved me in the way that Supernatural and this Fandom have.

What’s the point of this? I don’t know. I think I just needed to explain myself to the people who saw me cry and panic and act a fool all weekend. I feel silly about it, but here we are.

So, am I unnaturally obsessed with Supernatural? Yes. Is it probably a bad thing? Yes. Will I stop? No. I can’t. I don’t want to. I won’t. And personally, I like the disease.

[ghost-bxrd]

Hehe, any suggestions for the remaining newspaper articles?? 👀