#drunken and disorderly || crack

[sailingtheimaginarysea]

Bunnysuits, you say...

[arlana-likes-to-write]

Lightning Bug - Chapter 11

Master List of Lightning Bug 

Warning: mention of kidnapping, mention of the Thanos, mention of child neglect 

Word Count: 4.7k

“It’s not enough time,” Yelena said, following Kate into their shared bedroom back at the tower. It had been a constant conversation since Natasha asked the young Hawkeye to join her on her recon mission. Kate stopped herself from rolling her eyes. It was cute how protective her girlfriend was being but she could only take so much. “Cho said no activity for a week.” She pulled out her duffle bag from underneath their bed. 

“Technically, she said no heavy lifting,” Kate began to pull clothes from her closet. “And I won’t be lifting anything.” Natasha and she spent a few moments at the Barton’s and on the ride back home to discuss the mission. It was a recon mission to follow a man named Andrei Orlov. He was seen at multiple locations where kids and young adults were going missing. The hope was to follow him and he would lead them to where they were keeping these kids. But it was risky. Andrei had a history of domestic violence and drunken disorderly conduct. Kate kept that hidden from Yelena. She turned to go back into the bathroom but Yelena grabbed her hand. The Black Widow spun her back around. 

“I don’t like this,” Yelena said, softly. Kate put her finger underneath her chin and forced the blonde to look at her. 

“It’s going to be okay,” Kate smiled. “I got your sister’s back and she’s got mine.” She kissed Yelena’s forehead. “We’ll be fine.” Yelena sighed. 

“You're leaving too.” Kate pulled away from her girlfriend to look towards their open door. The teen was staring at them. The expression on her face was unreadable. 

“Yeah, bud. Natasha asked me to join her.” The girl frowned. 

“Oh,” she said. “You-you are going to be okay, right?” Kate smiled with a nod of her head. 

“I’ll be okay,” she nodded. 

“Okay, I uh-” the girl cleared her throat. “Be safe.” She walked in the direction of her room. Kate’s eyebrows meant in the middle as she watched the girl walk away. She felt Yelena move her hand on her cheek and forced her to look away from the door. 

“Don’t worry about her, dorogoy (sweetheart).” She said, “You need to focus on the mission and get back to us.” The archer smiled, capturing her girlfriend’s lips in a quick kiss. 

“I’ll come home to you,” she promised. 

*

Natasha sat on their bed going over the mission specifics while Wanda packed her bag. It was a tradition the two had. If one that wasn’t assigned to the mission would pack so the one leaving could go over any last-minute details. The couple have gone through so many missions together and apart they knew what they each needed. “Stop,” Wanda said, without looking up. “You're overthinking and it’s making my brain hurt.” Natasha chuckled at Wanda’s joke to lighten the mood. The witch zipped up the bag and moved to stand between Natasha’s legs. Natasha put the file down and her hands moved to the back of Wanda’s thighs. With skilled and soft fingers, Wanda traced the lines on Natasha’s forehead. The tension the Black Widow was carrying in her shoulders and forehead was erased away. “Why are you so worried about this? It’s not like you to second yourself.” Natasha sighed. 

“I just want to do this right,” she said. “I remember being one of those scared little girls and waiting for someone to save me. But no one came.” She whispered the last part. Wanda smiled and kissed her on the forehead, her nose then finally her lips. 

“You and Kate will save them. Don’t doubt yourself.” Natasha smiled. 

“Thank you, malen'kaya ved'ma (little witch).”

“Miss. Romanoff, the Quinjet is ready for you, and Miss. Bishop,” Natasha sighed, standing up and putting the files in her bag. She placed it over her shoulder and took Wanda’s hand and they left their room. But she stopped before heading to the elevator.

“I’ll meet you by the elevator,” she said. Wanda nodded and let go of her hand. She sighed and walked over to Y/n’s room. The door was cracked open as Natasha knocked. 

“Come in,” her voice called out. The Black Widow opened the door and saw the girl sitting on her bed. She raided the Bartons' small book collection before they left. So her bed was scattered with books. “You're leaving,” she said, pointing to the bag over Natasha’s shoulder. Her hands were uncovered. 

“Kate and I will be back in a couple of days,” Natasha didn’t miss the sudden change in the girl’s mood. The air in the room felt different. “Stay out of trouble, young lady.” She joked. The teen tried to keep a smile from forming but failed miserably. 

“Of course,” but as quickly as she smiled she frowned. “You are going to come back, right? Come back safe.” The statement made the air leave out of Natasha’s lungs. She wasn’t expecting such rare emotion from her. Natasha nodded, recovering quickly. 

“Yeah, kid, I’ll be safe.” 

“Good because I-” she stopped herself. “I don’t know what Annie will do without her favorite customer.” Natasha wondered what she was going to say but the Russian smiled. 

“We can’t have that,” she said. “I’ll see you when I get back.”

“Bye Nat,” she turned to leave and closed the door. “You can keep it open.” Today was full of surprises. The Black Widow nodded and walked over to the elevator. 

*

You sighed as Natasha walked away. You hated this feeling, you weren’t sure what to even call it but you wanted it to go away. You refocused on the books laid out on your bed. “How dare you,” America’s sudden voice made you jump. You looked up and saw her standing in your doorway with tears running down her face. 

“America, what’s-” you saw The Outsider in her hands. “You finished it.” 

“Yes!” She closed the distance between you and her. She sat on an empty spot on your bed. “This is your favorite?!? I cried when Johnny and Dally died.” You smiled, taking the book from her. 

“I like it because it’s a good coming-of-age story,” you shrugged, skimming through the pages. “Plus it values friendship and loyalty.” America sighed, falling on her back dramatically. 

“And breaking readers’ hearts,” you giggled. 

“That too,” you said. “There is a movie. Do you want to watch it?” America sat up quickly, whipping away her tears. 

“Yes! Let’s see if Wanda and Yelena want to join us they get a little upset when Nat and Kate go on missions,” you nodded. 

“I’ll go get the movie set up if you want to go get them,” you said, putting your gloves on. The plan was made. You found the movie on one of the many streaming services Tony had. You walked into the kitchen and made regular popcorn and poured a bowl of caramel popcorn for Yelena. Once the snacks were ready, you sat down on the couch waiting for everyone to join. 

It was nice sitting on the couch with anyone as the movie played. You knew Yelena was worried about Kate but she still managed to enjoy the movie. It made Wanda cry, even America teared up. Once the credits rolled, Wanda suggested another movie. It seemed no one wanted to be alone tonight. 

*

You slept in the next morning. The movie night went much longer than you thought it would so you slept in till 1100. But you did not want to wake up. You threw the blanket over your head. “Miss. Y/n,” you groaned at the AI. “Your presence is being requested in the kitchen.” 

“By who?” You asked. 

“Miss. Belova,” With a sigh, you stood up from your makeshift bed and stretched. 

“Tell her I’ll be out soon,” you splashed some cold water on your face and brushed your teeth. Before you left, you stared at your untouched bed. Maybe you’d sleep in it tonight. You left your room and walked into the kitchen. It startled you to see the blonde without Kate by her side, you stopped yourself from asking where she was. Then you remembered. 

“You need to eat,” she said, placing a grilled cheese sandwich down in front of you. 

“I was sleeping,” you countered, taking a bite of the sandwich. She rolled her eyes at you. 

“You can’t sleep the day away,” Wanda said, appearing behind you. She went to the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water. Her hair was damp, she must have just taken a shower. You smiled. 

“Right, can’t do that.” You didn’t have a plan for the day. You tried to read but nothing could keep your attention. Music couldn’t fill the space. That’s when it clicked. You missed Natasha and you hated yourself for it. Of course, you missed Kate but she was your friend. Natasha was-you weren’t sure what your relationship with the Black Widow could be classified. Friend? Guardian? Mom? But you didn’t like missing her and her presence because missing people meant you could get hurt. 

On the second full day of them being gone, you wouldn’t sit with these big feelings. You needed to stick to a routine to keep your mind off the Black Widow and the Hawkeye. So you woke up early to make breakfast, scrambled eggs, and pancakes. The smell brought those who were still here out. Once the food was eaten, you followed American and Yelena into the training area. Sam and Rhodey were there and the two ran to join them. You sat back and watched them until the door opened and Bucky walked in. You both froze as you stared at each other. He was not part of your routine. “I can leave.” He said. 

“No,” you said, a little too loud. You winched. “It’s fine. Go work out.” He smiled, it was small and didn’t quite reach his eyes, and continued into the training room. It felt too stuffy in the room so you gathered your things and left. “FRIDAY, where is Vision?”  

“He is on his floor reading,” you nodded and headed to the elevator. Vision was right where FRIDAY said he would be. He was reading a book in a language you didn’t know. 

“Hello, Miss. Y/n. What can I do for you?” He asked. You shifted your weight from one foot to another. 

“I was wondering if you want to play chess,” you said. “But if you rather read then that’s fine.” He closed the book with a smile. 

“Of course, we can play. I have a chessboard over here,” you followed him to a small dining room table, where a chessboard was. He began to set up the board as you sat down. You were white so you went first. As you played, Vision still explained each move and gave you tips on what piece to move next. 

“Can I ask you a question?” You asked, collecting his bishop. 

“Good move,” he stole one of your pawns. “You can ask your question.” You looked at the man in front of you. 

“What is that stone?” You moved your rook. “I’ve seen you use it in training.” He smiled, moving his bishop.  

“It’s one of the 6 infinity stones; The Mind Stone. It gave me life and Miss. Maximoff her powers,” he explained. You looked at the board, biting your lip as you thought about your next move and your next question. 

“And Thanos was after those stones,” he nodded. “What are the infinity stones?”

“They are six powerful gems tied to different aspects of the universe; space, mind, reality, power, time, and soul.” He moved his knight. “Only beings of immense power can wield the stones.” 

“What did Thanos want?” You moved your last pawn which he captured easily. You weren’t sure if he was going to answer. The article you read at the ice cream shop didn’t say why the titan came to Earth. 

“Thanos wanted to eliminate half of Earth’s population,” Oh. “He believed that the massive population of the universe would use up all the resources and cease to be.” You let your words set with you. Your mind wandered to the possibility of the Avengers failing, would you have been part of the population to be killed? Sometimes you thought there were too many people but killing half the world’s population seemed a little extreme. What if they failed? Would you have never gotten the chance to meet Natasha at Java House? The thousand and one ‘What if?’ questions ran through your mind. “Are you alright?” He asked. 

“Check mate,” you smiled proudly. Vision stared at the board. 

“Good game, Miss. Y/n,” he smiled. “Now, what else is on your mind?” You began to reset the board. 

“Nothing Vis. Just questioning the universe,” you set it up so Vision could go first. “Your move.”

*    

You were surprised to see Steve on your floor. He was sitting by the window with a sketchbook in his hands. He gave you a small wave and focused back on whatever he was drawing. You went into the kitchen and made a peanut butter sandwich. You cut it diagonally and ate it slowly watching the super soldier. Steve must have felt eyes on him because he glanced behind him. You looked away, feeling your cheeks turn a bright red. Steve chuckled. “What are you drawing?” You asked him. 

“Just the city,” he answered. “Would you like to join me?” You hesitated but grabbed your plate and joined the super soldier. You glanced over his shoulder and were impressed by the level of detail. It was as if Steve took a picture of the city and put it in his notebook. 

“That’s good,” you said, sitting down. Steve laughed. 

“You sound surprised.” 

“I didn’t expect Captain America to have time to have a hobby,” he smiled. 

“I went to art school before I enlisted and..” his voice trailed off. 

“Become a hero,” he nodded. “Do you miss it? Your life before all of this,” he didn’t answer right away and focused on shading a few buildings. 

“I miss how simple it was,” he finally answered. “But I do like a few things better now than the 20s.”

“Like the internet and modern medicine,” he laughed again, throwing his head back. 

“Those are good things,” you sat in silence as he drew the city he grew up in but was very different and you picked at your sandwich. “Here,” he tore a blank page from his sketchbook and handed it to you. 

“I can’t draw,” you said, taking the paper and pencil. 

“Sure you can,” he smiled. “Anyone can draw. It just takes practice.” You stared at the blank page that Steve gave you. It was a little daunting. A page like this could be filled with limitless possibilities. “Stop thinking so hard,” Steve said. “I can see the smoke coming out of your ears.” You huffed, rolling your eyes. “Just feel it. It doesn’t have to be perfect.” You put the pencil to the paper and without thinking too much about it you began to draw. 

Your mind went to Lucia’s bookstore. You sketched out a bookshelf next to a window. On the bookshelf, you added some books and a potted plant. You put the sun in the window. “It’s good,” Steve said. You said, putting your pencil down. 

“No, it’s not. Don’t lie to me.” 

“I’m not! Do you want me to show you where you can improve?” You nodded. He taught you the importance of understanding where your light source is coming from. He used the plate you brought over as an example. He explained shadows, that drawing is about observing the world around you, and the idea of a vanishing point; which is a point on the horizon line where all lines meet at. 

“Thank you for this,” you said to him. 

“Don’t thank me. I love teaching this to people,” he smiled. “Do you want to continue?” You nodded and Steve gave you more people from his sketchbook. You thanked him and practiced drawing a city skyline. It was nice, calming a piece of your mind that was loud. You were going to start drawing more to ease the energy in your body when it became too much. 

*

You didn’t join Wanda, Yelena, and America for dinner. You took two plates and headed to Pepper’s office. You knocked on the door, balancing two plates in one hand. The AI told you Pepper was in her office, a place she has been in all day. “Come in,” she sighed. You smiled, opening the door. “I did not expect you to be at my door.” You kicked the door close. 

“I come with dinner and to help with paperwork.”

“You are a saint.” You handed Pepper her plate. Wanda made a chicken pot pie. America told you it was one of the many comfort foods she would make when Natasha was away on a mission. You sat down in an empty chair in front of her desk. “How are Yelena and Wanda?” She asked after she took a few bites. 

“Worried well Yelena is more worried than Wanda,” she nodded, whipping her mouth with a napkin. 

“How are you?” You played with the food on your plate. You shrugged. 

“It’s strange,” you admitted. “I didn’t expect to miss them.” She raised her eyebrows at you, asking a silent question. Why? But you weren’t sure why. “Can I help with anything?” You asked. 

“Finish eating then I have some things for you to do.” You sat in front of her filing cabinet after you ate. She needed you to file some stuff away and pull files for a meeting she needed to prepare for. The room was silent besides the keys Pepper was hitting on her keyboard and the music coming from the radio. It was a song you recognized. 

“So bye-bye, Miss. American Pie. Drove my chevy to the levee but the levee was dry.” You hummed the tone as the song continued. Pepper chuckled. You looked at her, cheeks warm from embarrassment. 

“I’m not laughing at you,” she said. “I find it surprising how many young people like this song.” 

“Oh,” you said. “I wouldn’t say I like it, I just recognize it.” You watched Pepper nod her head. “Who else likes this song?” You asked. 

“Yelena.” That surprised you. “She says it's her and Natasha’s song.” You smiled, going back to your filling. “So do you have a favorite song?”

“No,” you said simply. You heard Pepper turn around in her chair. “I wasn’t allowed to listen to music and when you live on the streets it's not the easiest medium to get your hands on,” you shrugged, placing a file in a pile that you knew Pepper would need. “Happy gave me a walkman to listen to music though.” 

“He knows music is on an app, right?” You giggled. 

“Yes, but he said apps can be overwhelming,” Pepper rolled her eyes and turned back around to her desk. 

“What an old man,” she teased. You smiled. 

“I kind of like it,” you said, standing up and grabbing a pile. You placed it on her desk. “It’s simple.” She looked at you for a moment. 

“I was wondering if you can do something else for me,” you wondered what she was going to say and what changed her mind. You nodded. She opened a drawer of her desk and pulled out a tablet and a pad of paper. “I need you to do some data entry.” She explained the spreadsheet to you and where to put the numbers. You sat on the couch and took off your gloves, it was easier to type without them on. “Do you know the saying that someone has an old soul?” You nodded. Annie said you had one, someone who had such a high maturity level. “You had to grow up very quickly, didn’t you?” The question took you by surprise. You focused on the numbers but you felt Pepper’s eyes on you. 

“I wasn’t wanted,” you said. “I had to take care of myself.” Pepper gave you a sad smile. 

“You are wanted here.”

*

Wanda informed you on the 3rd day that Natasha and Kate wouldn’t be home today but you shouldn’t be worried, these things happen. You were still worried. You repeated the day you had yesterday. You made breakfast, joined Wanda and Yelena in the training room, played chess with Vision, and drew with Steve. But you didn’t help Pepper, you organized another movie night. You made snacks and put on Matilda, it was a movie you’d seen. You identified with the young girl who loved to read and felt unwanted by her biological family. It was different from the book it was based on but you loved it just the same. The others joined you on the couch and you pressed play. You had to stop yourself from laughing as you compared Miss. Honey to Natasha. But you smiled. Damn, you missed her.  

*

Pounding on your door woke you up. You ran to your door and swung it up. “They’re back,” America smiled. You felt a weight leave your chest. “Do you want to go see them?” You nodded. 

“Give me a second,” you ran to put your gloves on and followed America to the elevator. You were nervous, your stomach was flipping and filled with butterflies. What was going on with you? You let out a shaky breath as the elevator door opened and you stepped onto the helipad. Wanda and Yelena were already there. Natasha had her arms around Wanda in a tight hug and Yelena was looking Kate over for injuries. You saw none. America ran over to them and pulled the archer into a hug. You wanted to run over to them, to get a hug, and tell them how much you missed them but your feet stayed cemented to the spot you were standing at. Your arms felt like they had pins and needles in them. You ran your hands up and down your arms as you watched them hug. Natasha put her arm around Wanda’s shoulders and walked over to you. 

“Hey, kid,” Natasha smiled. 

“Hi,” you said, a little out of breath. “All good?” She nodded. 

“Yeah,” she said. “All good.” You weren’t sure if you believed her. She seemed tired and drained. Her smile didn’t quite meet her eyes but you knew she was happy to be home.  

“Good,” you smiled, opening the elevator. You were glad they were back and safe. 

*

It was short-lived. “You are all leaving,” you said as you sat on the edge of your bed with Natasha on your side and Wanda brought over a chair. “All of you.” Natasha nodded. The Black Widow just broke the news that everyone in the tower was leaving for a mission.  

“Kate and I made a breakthrough.” The mission was still a mystery to you. You wondered if you asked what was going on they would tell you. But the fact they hadn’t told you made you think they didn’t want you to know. Cooper was right, they didn’t want you to worry. 

“Is it normal for all of you to go on a mission?” You asked instead.  

“On a scale this big, yes,” Wanda said. Oh, you thought, It must be really bad. “We don’t want to leave you alone like this.” She added. 

“It’s fine,” you said, quickly. “I won’t be alone. Pepper will be here and I can go visit Annie and Lucia.” You put on a forced smile on your face. You ignored the way Wanda looked at you as if she didn’t believe you. If you were honest with yourself, you weren’t sure if you believed yourself. The idea of being alone in the tower scared you. What if they didn’t come back? “When do you guys leave?”

“Steve gave us 15 minutes to get ready,” you nodded. 

“Promise,” you whispered. “Promise you’ll both come back safe.” You looked at both of them. It was a hard promise. An impossible one. Again, the words came out of your mouth before thinking about it. The couple looked at each other. 

“We promise,” Natasha said. A knock on your door caused you to look up. It was a brunette, someone you knew from a picture. Maria’ Lila told you her name. She had a smile on her face and her arms crossed against her chest. 

“Sorry to interpret but Steve wants to go over mission specifics,” you saw Natasha roll her eyes. “You must be Y/n I’m -”

“Maria,” you cut her off. You saw the shock on her face. “I saw a picture of you at Barton's. Lila told me your name.” Maria sighed. 

“That picture of me is awful. We just returned from a 2-week deep undercover mission. I didn’t shower for a week.” You smiled. 

“I think you looked great,” Natasha groaned. 

“Don’t inflate her ego anymore,” the Black Widow teased. “Her head can barely fit in the tower.” The brunette flipped her off. You laughed at their behavior towards one another.

“Anyways, I came here to get you two before the American super-soldier throws a tantrum but here I am getting insulted,” she looked at you. “It was nice meeting you. I hope next time we see each other it won’t be so brief.” 

“I’d like that.” Maria turned to leave. 

“And hurry up you two times a ticking,” she called out over her shoulder. You giggled.

“Suka,” Natasha mumbled. Wanda gave her girlfriend a disapproving look. 

“What does that Russian word mean?” You asked, turning your head to the side. You wanted to learn the language since so many people in your life now spoke it. 

“It’s a grown-up word,” Wanda said. 

“So a curse word. What is it?” You questioned. 

“Not important,” The Black Widow said. You pouted. The look on your face made the couple next to you laugh. “Are you sure you're going to be okay?” You nodded. 

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. Go save the world.”

*

Once upon a time you loved when everything was quiet. No yelling. No fights. Just peace. But as you walked onto your floor after saying goodbye to everyone, you hated how quiet it was. You sighed. Pepper was in a meeting and you didn’t have the energy to go see Annie or Lucia. So you sat on the couch with the copy of The Outsiders and began to read. 

You must have fallen asleep. The sun was still up but the sky was a few shades darker. You picked up the book from the ground and headed into the kitchen. “FRIDAY, can you play music?” You asked the AI. 

“What would you like me to play?” You weren’t sure. After some thought, “Can you play America’s playlist?” you finally asked. Music began to echo against the quiet walls as you cooked dinner. You decided on box mac and cheese. It was a simple recipe that didn’t require much thought and you noticed there was a ton of it. Once it was done, you had FRIDAY turn off the music and sat on the bar stool. You continued to read as you ate. 

The Outsider was the first book you’ve read. You remember that day so clearly. It was spring and you were sitting on a bench in a small park. Parks were the best place to watch people try to determine who would be the kindest to give you food. You were watching a young woman. She must have been a student in high school or the local college, you weren’t sure but she was reading. In a hurry, she got up suddenly and put her book in her bag but she missed it. The book lay in the grass as she ran to wherever she was late too. No one seemed to notice and if they did they didn’t care. On shaky legs, you walked over to the book and picked it up; dusting off the dirt from the cover. You sat on that bench and read the book front to back. It took you a while as it was the first non-religious book you’ve read but you loved it and fell in love with reading. When you were done, you set the book on the bench and left it for the girl to find. 

“So,” you spun around at the sudden voice. “You're the kid Romanoff and Maximoff decided to adopt.” 

[softly-potter]

Drunk and Disorderly

Summary: After receiving a distraught phone call from his assistant, Ozpin makes a drive to pick her up.

Pairing: Ozpin X Glynda

Word Count: 1,615

Warning: none

Loosely inspired by a scene from “By the Sea”.

-

Glynda is drunk. He can smell it on her clothing, along with cigarette smoke and the sickly sweet scent of her perfume that she dabbed behind her ears.

When Ozpin had received the phone call, he knew instantly where she was calling from, and why. Crow Bar is an establishment he doesn't often frequent, but knows the city well enough to get there unassisted. Glynda had sounded distraught, his name on her lips almost pitiful, the echo of her choked sobs ringing in his ear.

“I’m sorry, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have called you. But you're the only one I can call.”

They’re a few months away from the spring semester of Beacon to begin; he can’t be caught dead with his right hand drunk and crying on the corner of the street.

When he pulls to the curb of Crow Bar, he spots her instantly. Her blonde hair is loose, trailing over her shoulders in a fashion he’s unfamiliar with. Purple thigh highs adorn her feet, a tight mini dress encapsulating her figure, and he has to physically stop himself from licking his cracked lips.

Getting out of the car, he walks several paces until he stands before her, frowning at the man sitting beside her and rubbing her back.

“Need a hand or something buddy?” the man growls, and Ozpin feels a muscle in his cheek twitch when the man squeezes Glynda’s hip. She looks up, her tear-stained face a light shade of pink and when she sees him, her lower lip trembles.

“Oz,” she whimpers, and the sound makes him nearly drop to his knees. He crouches before her, elbows bracketed on his knees and he reaches a hand to her face. Glynda nuzzles her cheek in his palm like a cat, bleary eyes shutting with content.

“She’ll be coming home with me,” Ozpin says cooley, his eyes still trained on her face and dutifully ignoring the man beside her. “So you can leave.”

The man huffs, red face puffing in annoyance. “He wants me to go, babe. You want me to go?”

He squeezes her hip again, before laying a light smack on her ass and Ozpin shoves him so fast, the man barely registers. He topples backward, expletives pouring from his mouth as Ozpin grips Glynda by the forearms, and hauls her to her feet.

“S-stop!” she cries, glancing over her shoulder but Ozpin ignores her words, yanks open the door and ushers her inside. Closing the door, he sighs as she weakly pounds on the window, her face screwed in a frustrated expression.

Ozpin pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing as he turns back to the drunken man who’d finally found his footing.

“Listen asshole,” the man growls. “I was here first, she doesn’t want you. If she did, she wouldn't have been moaning around my fingers like a kitten now would she?”

Clenching his fists, Ozpin takes a singular step forward. The man throws a fist to which Ozpin side steps easily, leaving his foot out and catching the mans ankle. With a holler the man pinwheels forward, his face making content with the asphalt. There's a sickening crack, and Ozpin sighs, straightens his vest before he walks around the man's bloodied body and slides back into his car.

“You had no right!” Glynda screams as Ozpin drives. He keeps his eyes forward, lest they crawl over her boot-cladded thighs and make him hot beneath the collar.

“You called me.” Ozpin replies easily. Glynda lets out a frustrated hiccup.

“My mistake.” she says flatly, crossing her arms and looking out the window. They sit in silence for a few moments, the humming of the engine piercing their lack of conversation.

Ozpin see’s her street approaching and, making a mental decision, drives past it. Glynda watches her street sign and groans.

“You missed my house.”

“You’re not going home.”

“Like hell I'm not!” Glynda shouts and the sound hurts his ears. “Take me home!”

Ozpin glances at her, his glasses perched at the end of his nose, and slides them up to his face. “No.”

Her mouth opens a little at his response, and her brows knit. “Then where are you taking me?”

“My house.”

Glynda’s cheeks heat, and Ozpin fights to keep his face neutral and not let a smile slip. She slumps back in her chair, arms crossed tightly to her abdomen. “You had no right.” She mumbles. “You’re not my fucking husband or something.”

Ozpin chews at his lower lip as he pulls his car into the drive. Settling it in park, he pauses for a moment, fingers flexing on his knees. “Glynda-”

“Maybe I wanted him,” Glynda says in a low tone. Ozpin waits, because he knows her so well, and knows that she has plenty more to say. “Maybe, I wanted to mess around with a guy that knew what he wanted, me. Maybe I was going to let him take me home, and fuck me until my eyes rolled back. Maybe I didn't need you to save me.”

“You called me,” Ozpin points out again, because it hurts to say anything else.

“Because I always call you!” she screams, yanking at the car door. She's out and on her feet in a flash, muttering angrily to herself as she goes to the front door of his modest home. Ozpin follows her quickly, hears her angry tones as she bumps against his couch and swears.

“Glynda, sit down.” he says in a steely voice, eyes narrowing. She glares at him, her jaw set but sits down with an undignified huff. Silently, he kneels before her and begins to unlace her boots.

“I wanted him,” she says softly. Ozpin does not react, keeps his eyes trained on the laces and ignores the expanse of skin so close to his face. “I wanted to go home with him.”

With one shoe off, he shoves it behind him and begins on the next. Glynda inhales deeply, before letting out a shaky breath and Ozpin thinks she might begin to cry again.

“At least he would've been seen with me,” Glynda hiccups. “He would've… l-loved me in public. I want him to love me.”

“No you don’t.” Ozpin's voice is sharp as steel as he unlaces her boot. He yanks at it, sliding it from her leg before he throws it behind him. It bounces on the linoleum with a thud. He breathes out hard through his nose before he glares up at her from under his lashes. Glynda is staring at him, her brows knitted in watery confusion.

Standing, she brushes past him, a hand to her mouth. “I do. I do. I got his number.”

“Well get rid of it.”

“Why?”

“Because you don't need it!” Ozpin spits. Glynda’s back is to him and he grabs her shoulder, turning her around. Exhaling, he quiets his voice. “You don’t want him.”

Glynda lets out a small gasp, and her blue eyes swim. She pushes away from him but he crowds her space, his hands caressing her face as her back presses into the wall of his living room. Shaking her head, she lets out a whimper and a tear slips between her lashes.

“You don’t want him,” Ozpin says and, realizing his tone, lowers his voice. “You want me. You want a life with me, not him.”

Glynda shakes her head as her bottom lip quivers and wraps her thin fingers around Ozpin's wrist, nails digging into his flesh.

“You can’t keep doing this to me,” She whispers. “You can’t… not want me but the moment someone else does, act like you’ve made your feelings abundantly clear.”

“I have made them clear.” He tries but she gives a violent shake of her head.

“You haven’t,” She sobs. “I’ve given you my life. I have nothing more I can give you. And yet all I receive is jealousy when convenient? No. I can't keep doing this.”

Ozpin feels his spin bristle, and he swipes his thumbs beneath her eyes. “Stop this. You know what you mean to me,” He says in a hushed tone, stepping closer and their noses brush. “I couldn't run this school without you.”

Glynda exhales, another tear falling and she squeezes his wrist weakly.

Leaning forward, Ozpin leans his forehead against hers before he places a kiss to her mouth. Her lips are chapped and warm, fitting against his easily. Sliding his hands into her hair, Ozpin presses himself against her, chest to chest and Glynda hums into his mouth.

Her lips open and his tongue massages her own, tasting of green apples and he wishes he could tuck her away into safety.

“Oz.” She whispers, leaning her forehead against his again.

“Hmm?” he says softly, trying to catch his breath.

“If you have no intention of loving me, please let me go.”

Ozpin’s breath catches in his throat, and he flexes his fingers across the expanse of her skin, swallowing thickly.

“Please.” she whispers, a sob threatening to break her voice. He shakes his head, presses a kiss to her mouth, her cheek and her forehead.

“No,” He replies softly before kissing her on the mouth again. “You’re mine, remember? You’re mine, and I'm yours. Always.”

Glynda inhales shakily, squeezes his wrists again. “Always?”

Yellow eyes glinting, Ozpin presses his mouth to the column of her throat, his teeth nicking the skin and she yelps, his hands clenched in his grasp. He licks up her neck and chin before kissing her hard, tugging at her lower lip and letting it bounce back. As he exhales, he kisses her again, slower this time, hoping to convey all the feelings he can’t express.

“Always.”

[its-chili]

Vititi Fames

(Taken from a journal that washed ashore off the coast of Norway. )

The tide was brash and roaring, as it always is out in the great blue whirlpool where I had found myself a frequenting neighbor. Upstairs, on the deck, I heard the muffled shouting of scraggly men who had wasted away their years forming thick calluses on their hands and thicker hunger for beer and brandy. They paid me mind, sometimes, only when I had to come up from my forsaken little hole of damp barrels and barnacle-infested crates to scrounge for sustenance and drink. The brutes, well... they were a far contrast from those I would have rather conversed with. Alas, academics don't tend to know how to sail. I had been out on the sea for almost 5 months, not out of pleasure, I can assure you, dear reader. No, this had been dreadful in every sense of the word. The indescribable feeling of never having privacy to do your business can be overlooked, though, with a grand enough prize. And this...oh, this was indeed a grand prize. The manuscript of Sir Illipith Thorne, his Vetiti Fames.

I originally heard tale of this ancient text in my old college library. I was young and had yet to make my mark on the world, so naturally, curiosity was my guiding compass. One of my professors, Dr. Felidae, who was a learned but albeit strange scholar, was hidden in a corner of the library, discussing something in a hushed voice with a stranger. This stranger wore a deep blue trench coat, the type of muddled blue you would find buried deep in the Pacific underneath seaweed and algae. His face was long and square, the features of which were tucked away under folds of wrinkled skin. I remember his eyes, peering out from underneath the flabs of skin like crystalline pearls uncovered by shifting sands, gleaming brilliantly for just a moment before being hidden away forever. I remember his smell... a mixture between rotted fish and cinnamon. I am unsure how long they had been there conversing before I had spotted them, and even more unsure how long they had been there before I had arrived that night. They were talking about knowledge. Secret, destructive and beautiful knowledge that had the ability to crack the minds of profound academics who had spent their entire lives studying the weave of space and time and all manner of things inbetween. They talked about a lost scholar, his name wiped from the annals of history only to be resurrected by the two men who were daring to speak of him. Apparently, this voyager of intellect had discovered this profound knowledge and wrote it all down in a book. "How to overcome the limits of your brain," they said, "How to become more than flesh and see into worlds locked behind our fragile minds." My younger self was enamored. A book that could expand the human mind enough to become a god? How was such knowledge even possible? They spoke far too solemnly about something so incredible.

I ended up spending the rest of my college days stuffing my nose into every dust-covered and moth-eaten book I could get my hands on, scouring feverishly for any information about this so-called "Illipith Thorne" or his infamous creation. I pondered the idea of asking Dr. Felidae himself, but he resigned from the university a few days after his and the stranger's conversation. Perhaps he went off in search of the tome himself. My own search took me all across England and then some, pervading rancid alleyways and rotting bars. The people I had to go through. The things I had seen. Any other woman I had discussed this matter with told me I was going to end up gutted and left out like yesterday's garbage in a street somewhere. There were nights that this caution was fully realized. But my unyielding want- no, need- to unveil this pandora's box lit a fire beneath me that no drunken hobbler could douse.

Eventually, I ended up gaining the respect of a rather renounced pirate by the name of Gouttermange. He was as strange and disorderly as the rest of the seafaring men I had met on my travels, with his gnarled wood-toothed smile and matted salt and pepper hair. He had a limp, too, due to some sort of sickness he had acquired out at sea that had yet to completely devour him. He was barred from the waters by others like him, a walking wanted poster forged in the blood of his adversaries. However, it seemed like ground-life had stilled his bloodlust, at least, at the time I had met him. He was empathetic towards my decade-long plight, apparently having one of his own that his body had grown too diseased to chase after. "A missing friend," he said. I couldn't really care to expand upon the details. Although he refused to set sail himself, he offered to refer me to some of his, very few, accomplices. The next week, I got on a boat and sailed North.

There I was, practically a willing prisoner on a teetering water coffin smelling like rancid flounder. I don't often think of my complexion, but I swear to you my once long golden hair had soured into a muddled brown in those conditions, and my glasses had become clouded and cracked.

Sundown hit and the waves were quiet enough for me to be able to climb up the stairs and look about the endless black sea. The crew were few, and even fewer still as they conducted their nightly routine of foaming indulgence and playing cards. Two men were on deck keeping an eye out for whatever might disrupt our voyage and another was up in the crow's nest completely hidden by waves of rolling fog. The captain... oh, what was his name... I must assume he was awake, for the light behind his closed cabin door was the only thing illuminating the ship. I don't believe I had actually met the man, as there was always someone else I had to go through to get anything done here and I wasn't usually around in the daylight. My night studies and alley conquests had long since tarnished my sleep schedule...and even so it was impossible to get any sleep on that constantly moving death machine. Perhaps it was better that way. I don't like to ponder on the idea of being the only female on a small, unregistered ship in the middle of nowhere. Even when I did try to make conversation, which I had learned to keep at a minimum, these sailors looked at me a certain way. Something in their eyes... something in the miniscule twitch of their lips... They knew I was funding this journey, but as to why, well... I had gone to great lengths to ensure they didn't know the fortune I seeked. Not as though they would have known what they were looking for if it was handed to them. As far as they knew I was just a well dressed erudite needing anonymous passage.

I stared out at the sea, arms folded on the ship's rim and letting the salted breeze gently wash over me. The stars shimmered overhead, glinting on the waves as though some of them had sunken beneath and were calling out to their ethereal brethren from below. My gaze followed these stars, hanging there for what feels like a lifetime. I blinked away, something wet in my eyes. And there... in the stillness... I saw it. A singular silhouetted obelisk protruding from the deep a few thousand meters away. I rubbed my eyes and slapped myself to ensure I wasn't hallucinating. It wasn't the first time. But the thing didn't move aside from its quiet, bobbing motion. Was I to wake the crew? Alert them of my findings? No. My nails digged into the wood, and something in my chest flamed.

I looked down, mind racing as my eyes adjusted to every atom of the ship. I could see the lifeboat. The little, pathetic excuse for a waterborne vessel, barely hanging onto the twine ropes as it gently bumped against the hull. I was beside myself for a moment, completely torn by the furious need to reach that obelisk and the hinduring knowledge that I do not know how to swim. You would think after all these years, a fear of water would be a fluttering, nonsensical feeling I could swallow. I turned to the few silhouettes of life that still stalked like ghosts about the ship. I could theoretically cut the rope and try to maneuver that small wooden box to the site, but realistically one bad wave could be my end and all of this would have been for naught. I could not have that. "Hey!" My voice croaked, nearly startling me by how gravelly and hoarse it had become, "You there! Come over here!" I pointed to one of the figures, of whom startled just the same. That might have been our first time interacting. "Ma'am" The man sauntered over to me, curiosity etched into his features. He was wiry, arms like bound seaweed and legs stretched like saltwater taffy. Matted brown locks were tucked beneath a checkered bandana, obviously trying to control the amount of sweat from the day's beating sun. I pointed to the distant wreckage, but by the way his face tangled in confusion I can tell my gesture was too vague for his thickened skull. "The wreckage. Let us take the lifeboat and go to it." He put a hand on his neck, staring out at the graveyard of protruding iron and damp wood. "Aye... perhaps we'da tell the cap'tin.-" "No." I cut him off and he recoiled. "No. Just you and me. No one else."

For a split second I could see the hint of a smile on his face, as if a crude joke was stirring in his head. That smile evaporated under my gaze. Soon we were in the boat and out in the sea, slowly rocking back and forth in the water. It's strange. I had been out at sea for months, yet I still could feel bile churning in my stomach.

The wreckage was maybe 4,000 meters away or so, and all the while the two of us didn't make a sound. The oars pressed us forwards, and the mariner was good at gently setting them back down in the water. Over and over. I envisioned the script in my hands. The worn tablet or scroll, detailed in exquisite lettering with perfectly drawn images and ancient runes. The words would come singing to me, a beautiful menagerie of ethereal chords depicting things I could not quite understand in that form. I imagined the taste of that knowledge on my tongue as I tore into the script with the air of a hungry dog, feasting on the arithmetical constellations of time and space all mixed and interwoven together. I could hear it. Calling to me in the darkness. "Eiola." It whispered, "Eiola, come find me. You're so close now." I hardly noticed as the boat bumped into a stray plank of wood, as I must have been so lost in my own thoughts that I didn't even realize how far we had come.

The scene that laid out before me... I... I'm not sure if any words in the English language could fully depict the sight. Calling it a wreckage, well, almost seemed silly. No, this, this was the ruins of a city, felled under some ancient force. A whirlpool, perhaps? Some sort of monstrum storm? Pillars of blackened cedar grasped at the darkened sky, communities of barnacles clinging to their edges. I looked down into the water, my eyes widening. In the center was... was a light! A warm, yellow pulsating thing no bigger than the lifeboat itself. If I was paranoid I would say it could have swallowed us whole if it decided to rise to the surface. The whispers serenaded me once more as I leaned closer. "Reach out, Eiola. Come to us." It almost seemed alive. Familiar.

Everything from there was a blur. A cold, wet, suffocating blur. I remember that sailor yelling after me, his voice muffled and drowned. I remember closing my eyes but never, never seeing anything more incredible. The darkness broke away for spectrums of color to burst, twisting and dancing and leaping, a painting liquidized and brought to life. The freezing cold I had felt moments before soothed into an unimaginable warmth. It reminded me of my mother when she used to hum to and hold me when I was ill. All around me angelic voices harmonized, their words incomprehensible but comforting. I had never seen such a vivid spectacle. I suppose, in theory, I still haven't. And never will. My euphoria was halted almost as quickly as it came when I found myself somewhere... else... with nothing but this journal that I write in now.

I am in a dark place. A sick place. I can't feel or see my hands, yet somehow, I know that I am writing. I can't feel the ground beneath me, yet I am not floating. There was never a book, and I doubt there was ever a "Sir Illipith Thorne"... his name always did seem concocted. By who though, I could not ever hope to know. I don't know much, actually, despite this obsession to know everything. I don't know how long I have been like this. I don't know if anyone is looking for me or even remembers who I am. I don't even know what my mother's face looks like. Sadness nor regret plagues me, though, as I know it should. And when I stare up at the moonlit sky dusted in stars I know I should feel longing. But I am a void. A blackhole that devours endlessly. I feel nothing but insatiable, all consuming, hunger.

[forensicated]

Smiffina Episodes - Episode 339

At the end of a long few months, Yvonne has been cleared by a trial after the death of a teenage boy who was throttling her when she lashed out with her asp to stop him.

The team have a night out to celebrate at a local resturant and they're all a little raucous. The manager is seen watching them with a frown at they noisly celebrate.

Gina's treatment is now over and she tells Smithy she feels on top of the world. 1 month for a check up and 3 months if clear it'll be 'D day' and she'll officially be in remission.

Barton St officers are called to 'keep the peace' and they're amused to see the Sun Hill lot. At first it's all banter and they're 'friendly' warned to keep the noise down - but the Sgt spots Leela returning to the table and the tone changes as they blame her for the loss of one of their Sgt's after she blew the whistle on her for assaulting a teen suspect. Sun Hill wrap her into their collective bosom and comfort her. Merv has changed his mind - he wants them to pay up and get out. The manager has made a complaint and they're going to be nicked for drunk and disorderly if they don't leave.

"Does he know who I am?" Gina pouts drunkenly.

"Yes ma'am, it's Inspector Gold isn't it?"

"Yes Sgt, so why don't you poodle off and let me handle this?!"

"Can't do that ma'am, you're off duty now... and you've been drinking. Quite a bit by my estimation. Now I suggest you pay the bill and leave quietly. That way we avoid any embarassment."

Merv leans forward slightly and Smithy takes it as a threat to Gina so steps in "Easy Merv!" he starts to say as Gina moves her arm forward at the same time and her drink goes flying over the Sgt, causing Sun Hill to crack up laughing. "Sorry it was a joke... no, no... no sorry! It was an accident!" Gina laughs, playing up to the drunken crowd.

Merv doesn't find it so funny, he tells them he's going to report it to the Borough Commander and orders them out which they do - moving on to a night club.

Before he leaves, Smithy hears from Sheelagh that Gabriel was her rock today and that she tells him he should go for Sgt. Smithy asks her to stop going on about Gabriel and she asks him what his problem is. "The day they give three stripes to a rapist is the day I hand mine in!" he growls, telling her what Kerry accused Gabriel of. "How else do you think she was carrying his kid?"

[dearjamesxo]

[parts i & ii under cut]

Ipt.i - pride

The cellar below the Lamb and Flag is a racket of noise, bodies crushed together around the perimeter of the makeshift ring. Men bump shoulders and snipe at one another, egging each other on as they slip their money to the bookies. The air reeks of rust and sweat, sharp smoke from the firepit and grease from the lamps.

End of January following the Rip’s closing sees London in a state of moral ambiguity. Constables, overwhelmed by the chaos in the low-end districts, turn their backs on what lesser depravities people engage in to cope with the aftermath. Drunkenness, disorderly conduct, prostitution, possession of unlawful goods, are now swept under the rug while the Magistrate drags himself through the swamp of violent offenders (rounded up both during and after the final stages of the Rip’s expansion).

In addition, a sense of paranoia has settled in the cracks of London’s streets. Nobody trusts a face they don’t recognize and therefore, anyone who wasn’t working before, is certainly not about to be handed a position now.

Hence, Billy is here, shirtless, binding his knuckles for an unlicensed boxing match he needs to win or else he and his friends will be turned out. Mrs. Hudson has far less patience now than she did before (that is to say none), and though she reduced the price of their rent, she’s still on their arses about getting her money at exactly one minute past midnight on the 1st of the month.

It wouldn’t be so terrible if Watson hadn’t disappeared a week after Sherlock jumped into the unknown after Bea and Jessie’s mother, leaving 221B behind for Mrs. Hudson to rent to another well-to-do bloke and his sister. And Mycroft has been too busy to get in touch, though with what is anyone’s guess.

There is one other option that Billy refuses to consider. Shockingly, Bea respected his decision when it was brought up the first time. Maybe she’s grown, or maybe her resolve was eroded by everything that happened; either way, Billy appreciates Bea’s understanding, because he may have learned a thing or two about minding his pride, but some things cross a line and That is one of them.

“William Chisup!” Uriah Dunn, a stout man with a slit of a mouth and bushy mutton chops muffing his cheeks, yells above the cheers as soon as the third man is down.

Billy hates that name, hates who his mind associates it with – someone who tormented Billy until he outgrew the Parish and was put under Vic Collins’ care. But it’s better not to attract too much attention with a name now associated to a prince, so Billy reluctantly opts to use Father Bennett’s choice.

Taking a deep breath in, holding it in his lungs, Billy closes his eyes and tries to clear his mind.

A task much more easily accomplished without the paranoid part of his conscience insisting:

“Billy, we shouldn’t be here, mate.”

Billy opens his eyes, rolls them toward the ceiling as he sends up a prayer for patience, albeit Spike’s right.

Spikeshouldn’t be here because Spike is supposed to be keeping someone else off Billy’s back until the fight’s over and done with. Except that Spike is Spike and had other ideas, nobler ideas, and apparently his loyalties lie exclusively with the Crown since Spike’s here and not where Billy asked him to be. Twice.

Bloody turncoat.

“Relax,” Billy says, tightening the binding around his knuckles, “I know what I’m doing.”

Spike throws his hands up, drops them, “That’s wonderful, innit, except that you don’t h a v e to!?” He slows down the last bit, as if speaking to a particularly thick child, uses his hands to punctuate each word.

Finally, Billy turns to acknowledge him, “If you’re that uncomfortable with it, you can leave.” He jerks his chin in the direction of the ring where his opponent is banging his chest and building the crowd’s enthusiasm. The man’s big, bigger than Billy by three, but Billy watched an earlier match long enough to know he isn’t quick on his feet, relies entirely on his right hook and thick skull. Billy loosens his shoulders, shakes his hands, and cracks his neck, winks at Spike when he brags, “This won’t take long.”

Spike isn’t looking at him, though, gaze fixed at a point above Billy’s head. More precisely, at the top of the stairs that lead down from the backroom of the tavern above.

“You’re right.” Spike agrees, eyebrows raised in an expression that severely lacks pity, “It’ll be no time at all.”

Billy follows Spike’s line of sight.

“Shit.”

-

pt.ii – protection

Leo’s never been to the Lamb and Flag before, couldn’t even say he knew it existed before today, but then, he could say the same for a lot of the places he visited with the Baker Street Irregulars, as they’ve come to call themselves. Bea, Jessie, Spike—Billy, of course, and himself, too many sips into their ales, fingers greasy from fat and oil, after the incident with the Linen Man. Relieved to be alive and determined to find a light in the inky dark, they cackled to each other as they decided their group needed a proper name.

An irregular bunch they are, indeed.

Strangely, it was Louise who summoned Leo to tell him where he needed to be and gave him directions to the Lamb and Flag, “on behalf of an interested party,” she said, a secretive smile on her dusk-pink lips. Leo frowned, curious, but didn’t question his sister; simply hailed Daimler and requested a carriage be prepared.

Daimler, God bless him, was so far beyond his wits’ end, that he’d done as commanded with minimal grumbling, posture that of a long-suffering parent.

Leo asked that the carriage remain a few streets away from the tavern, lest anyone discover him prematurely. Daimler, once again, agreed, pinched the bridge of his nose, and flapped a hand, muttering darkly under his breath until Leo was out of earshot. Much had changed in the wake of the Rip, and Leo’s fortitude was one of them. Not even Daimler could argue that his Highness no longer required round-the-clock supervision.

Waltzing through the entrance, Leo found the place oddly deserted, the barman and one patron keeping each other company at a table close to the taps.

“I’m here for someone.” Leo said as directly as he could without suffering politeness.

“Aye?” The barman peered at him, his beady eyes lingering on Leo’s cuffs and fine shoes before he nodded toward a closed door at the back of the room. Whatever he spied made him agreeable. “Down the stairs. Mind your ‘ead.”

Leo didn’t understand until he found a smaller door at the rear of the backroom, partially hidden by a grey curtain that blended in with the wall. The instant he’d entered the backroom, he’d heard muffled shouting, which burst through the door like a punch the moment he opened it, Billy’s name curiously sharp above the rest. Altogether, the noise sounded as if it came from a fairly large group of people.

As the barman suggested, Leo ducked to avoid hitting his head on the frame and proceeded down the narrow, stone staircase.

Now, he stands at the bottom, eyes adjusting to the muddier light, and sees he was right; there are men packed into the cellar, all of them frothing at the mouth as someone yells Billy’s name for the second time. That’s when Leo spots him, Billy, on the fringe of the crowd, bare from the waist up with his hands bound and his tin soldier glinting.

Spike stands behind him, admiring the architecture of the ceiling as Billy glares daggers at him.

Just as Leo is about to step forward, the stench of sweat and the heat of an overworked body slams into him, halting him before he has a chance to move his feet. The room goes quiet as the giant of a man scrutinizes Leo, an unsettling grin on his swelling face.

“I think I should ‘ave a go at this one,” He declares, tossing a look of condescending glee over his shoulder to the crowd. The crowd snickers.

It’s clear this man is a fighter, his right eye pulpy, teeth red, and his interest in Leo sends a frisson of terror down Leo’s spine. “Wouldn’t tha’ be a laugh?” He says when he turns back to Leo, snorting and then hawking a wad of pink spit at Leo’s shoes. He lifts a hand, grabs Leo’s coat, and drags him close, smiling madly. “Whaddu you say, boy? Wanna go?”

Leo fixes the man with a hard stare, unwilling to take this sitting down. He opens his mouth to answer… And is interrupted.

“Oi,” Billy barks, his image completely eclipsed by the man’s fat head. “I think you’ll find it’s my turn.”

The man shoves Leo away, turns on his heel, a growl in his throat, “You’ll mind yer business—”

CRACK

The man falls in a heap, two of his teeth projected a short distance and clicking across the floor. Billy looms over him, chest heaving, patches of blood blooming in the binding on his right hand.

Calmly, a slight tremor of fury beneath his words, Billy says, “Don’t ever. Fucking. Touch ‘im.” Eyes crazed, he sends a warning glance to the crowd of men who’ve gone completely silent. “Got it?” He demands, waits for a few heads to bob, then casually steps over the unconscious man’s limp body, sliding easily into Leo’s space.

Movements sure, Billy runs his palms across Leo’s shoulders, cups Leo’s neck and rubs the calloused pads of his thumbs along Leo’s jawline. He dips his head and bumps their noses, expression soft when he asks in a gentle tone, “You alright, darling?”

Leo nods shakily and sucks the corner of his bottom lip into his mouth, flushed from the inside out. At a volume he’s certain only Billy can hear, he implores, “We need to leave.”

Billy makes a face, gaze flickering between Leo’s eyes. It takes a moment, but, at last, comprehension dawns on Billy’s face.

“Now.” Leo says more firmly.

Billy is only too happy to oblige.

(pt.iii on AO3)

[heyitssmiller]

Clandestine: Chapter Four

The espionage boys go to Slytherin. Chaos ensues.

Content Warning: Some violence towards the end.

@lumosinlove

Clandestine Masterlist

.

Finn reached over the center console of the car to grab some M&Ms from the bag in Logan’s lap. Logan slapped his hand away playfully, not taking his eyes off the Slytherin police station they were parked down the road from. “Why don’t you eat your own snacks?”

“They’re salty and I wanted something sweet.” Finn said with a shrug, popping one of the candies into his mouth and grinning.

Leo sighed from the backseat, letting his head rest against the window with a thunk. He stared out at the full moon as a lonely cloud passed in front of it, moving fast. It was the most interesting thing he’d seen all night. “Why didn’t y’all tell me stakeouts were so boring? This is horrible.”

“But we’ve learned so much already!”

Finn got an arched blond eyebrow in response. “Have we?”

“We’re downtown, so we’re going to have to be extra careful about being seen. Shift change is at 6 pm, so we need to avoid that time frame as much as we can. There’s fewer people on the night shift, so our best bet is to wait until nighttime.” Logan rattled off, still not looking away from the building. “There’s a side door on the west side of the building, so that’ll be your best bet when you need to break in. I can see at least one security camera there, so Loops is going to need to help you out.”

Finn motioned to Logan dramatically. “That’s how you do it, Peanut Butter. Take notes.”

“I had lots of practice, keeping an eye out while you guys were off being bank robbers.” Logan grumbled good-naturedly, grabbing an M&M for himself.

Finn hummed thoughtfully. “Robbers is a bad way of putting it, don’t you think? You make us sound so evil.” 

“I mean, you’re also technically an arsonist.”

“That was one time. And the other bank heist went off without a hitch.”

“Still doesn’t change the fact that you set a trash can on fire.” Leo piped up, giving Logan a high-five when he held his hand out.

“I knew I liked you for a reason, Nut.”

Leo really tried his best not to read into that statement. He grabbed the small lock in his pocket and fidgeted with the dial to distract himself. He didn’t mean it like Leo thought he did. Like he wanted him to. Besides, that would be so complicated, wouldn’t it? Being a spy was messy in and of itself. Dating two other spies - who were his partners - would be a whole other level of chaos.

But that didn’t make him want it any less.

Which was also ridiculous. He’d known them for, what? Maybe a month? Why did his heart always decide to move at such breakneck speeds? 

“Do you two have to always gang up on me?” Finn asked with a sigh, snapping Leo back out of his thoughts. “What did I ever do to deserve it?”

“Don’t take it personal, O’Hara. You’re just so fun to tease.” Finn threw a barbecue-flavored chip at Logan, causing him to laugh and eat it.

“How long do stakeouts usually last?” Leo asked, desperate to change the subject to something - anything - less hazardous for his heart. 

“Until we have all the information we need.”

“And how do we know when that is?”

Logan shrugged. “Depends on the case. I’d like to stay and see when the next shift change is, just to be safe.”

Leo groaned and settled back in to wait.

***

“So how are we doing this?” Finn asked the next morning as they all sat around the table in the briefing room, propping his chin in his hand. “Sneak Leo in through an air vent? Although you might be too tall for that, Nut. Blow a hole in the wall and steal the whole safe? Create a story like the bank heists?”

“It’ll have to be a distraction again.” Sirius said, looking to Loops for confirmation. “The longer we can fly under Riddle’s radar, the better. The other four drives are on Riddle, in his office, or with trusted gang members. If he starts getting suspicious now, he’ll go on lockdown and we don’t stand a chance at getting the rest of the drives.”

“He’s right.” Remus agreed. “Plus there’s way too many officers in the precinct at any given time. Since the safe is in the evidence room, we can’t risk anyone coming in there and catching Leo red-handed – they’d shoot you on sight, no questions asked.”

Logan watched the color drain from Leo’s face and turned to send Remus a glare. Of course this job was risky – if you didn’t think so, you were a naïve idiot. Getting caught or shot or killed was just a part of the job and as a spy, you had to learn to live with that. But that didn’t mean you had to scare rookies about it right before a big, high-risk mission.

Remus noticed his glare, but simply ignored it and looked away. “Here’s what I’m thinking. There’s another, smaller gang in Slytherin, right?” At Sirius’ nod, he continued. “If we can place an anonymous tip on their location, that all but guarantees a full holding cell inside the precinct. Plus it gets another gang off the streets, so it’s a win-win. Logan, if you can get yourself arrested for something small – public indecency or drunken disorderly or something – you’ll be put in that holding cell too.”

Logan leaned forwards, excitement coursing through him. “I like where this is going.”

“I don’t.” Finn stated plainly. It was his turn to glare at Loops.

“If you can start a fight in there, you can get a majority of the officers’ attentions. Especially if it’s at night when the staff is smaller and more likely to be tired. Leo can slip in the side door unnoticed, get into the evidence room, grab the flash drive, and get out.” Remus raked a hand through his hair, looking thoughtful. “It’s more complicated than the banks, but it should work just fine.”

“That’s the plan?” Leo asked dubiously. “Try to start a riot in a holding cell, hope that all the officers get distracted, steal the flash drive, and then just wait for Logan to be released in the morning? There’s so many things that could go wrong.”

He was right - there was a lot riding on nothing but chance. Sadly, that was part of the territory of working in espionage; it was one of the only things the James Bond movies got right. You had to take risks in order to get results sometimes. Leo’s job was all about planning and precision. He knew exactly how to execute his mission and there usually weren’t any hiccups as long as he had the right tools with him and enough time. Not much risk-taking involved in cracking safes. So he’d probably never been a part of a plan with so many aspects up in the air.

He’d also never seen Logan in action.

“Never doubt my ability to start a fight.” Logan said with a grin. “Man, I’m so excited to go on a mission where I’m not stuck in the car.”

“I want to go with you.” Finn said firmly, leaving no room for argument. His gaze was fierce and determined and if Logan didn’t know him already, he’d probably be just a little bit scared. It was kind of hot. “I don’t like you being in there by yourself.”

Remus looked at him, clearly surprised. “I thought you didn’t like fights.”

“I don’t. But I’m not leaving my partner in there to fend for himself. Hell no.”

Logan ignored the way his heart sped up and asked, “You don’t want to go with Leo? Be a lookout?”

“Normally I’d say yes, but if someone does end up seeing him, one person raises less suspicion than two.” Finn said with a shrug. “It’ll also be easier to start a fight with two people.”

“If you’re getting arrested in Slytherin, you’ll need disguises.” Remus said, looking the cubs over. “They’ll take mugshots of you at the station. We can’t risk it.”

“Ok, so who do we go to for that?”

“Ooh!” Leo piped up with a happy, unfairly adorable smile. “I actually know this one!”

***

When they entered the disguise office the following day a woman with long, blonde hair looked up at them from a rapidly moving sewing machine. Finn feared for her fingers as they inched closer to the bobbing needle, but she barely batted an eye as she took her foot off the pedal and smiled in delight when she spotted Leo. “Nutty! How’s it going?”

Leo smiled back and gave her a warm hug. He looked like he gave good hugs, Finn thought. All tall and long-limbed like that. “Hey, Nat. Good to see you.”

“Kasey told me you’re on a mission. Look at you, all official and taking down the Snakes!” She stood on her tiptoes to ruffle his hair. “So grown up!”

“Stop.” Leo laughed, taking a step back and dodging her hand. “Y’all treat me like I’m twelve.” He seemed to remember Logan and Finn were with him and his cheeks turned red as he looked over at them. “Uh, guys this is Natalie. Nat, these are my partners Finn and Logan.”

“Nice to meet you boys.” She said, shaking both their hands. “So you’re here for disguises?”

Finn nodded, then started explaining the premise of their op, watching Natalie a bit nervously as she looked him over thoroughly. It was a bit unnerving, even when he knew it was just to get a good idea of what she needed to do for a disguise. Her gaze was calculating, like she could figure out everything about them with a single look.

Maybe she could.

Finally, she spoke up. “We’ll have to change that hair. How do you feel about wash-out hair dye? Normally I’d just give you a wig, but if you’re getting in a fight it could get pulled off. And you.” She turned to Logan, taking a second to look him over. “I have so many ideas for you. I have a feeling you’re going to love it. Oh, and Nut?”

“Yeah?”

“I’ve got a cop uniform that should fit you.”

He bit back disappointment. Finn was dyeing his hair, (which was a bit of a tragedy, really – Leo thought his hair was really pretty, especially out in the sun) Logan was doing who knows what, and all Leo got was a uniform? “Oh. Ok.” He looked over at his partners. “I’ll meet you back in the bullpen?”

“Sounds good.” Logan responded. As soon as Leo closed the door behind him, Natalie faced Logan again with a wicked smile.

“How do you feel about tattoos?”

***

Logan and Finn found Leo having a staring contest with a small, god-awful painted eagle paperweight on Finn’s desk.

“I see you’ve met Brad!” Finn said happily, giving the eagle a pat on the head and startling Leo in the process. He seemed to jump a foot in the air before he realized Finn wasn’t a threat.

“I’m pretty sure it’s haunted.” Leo said, looking away from it slowly. Those beady little eyes seemed like they were staring into his soul and finding it wanting. “I’m from New Orleans, I can tell- holy shit.” He said when he caught sight of his partners.

Finn’s hair was dark brown, his freckles tragically hidden from view. Natalie had also done some makeup magic to accentuate different lines of his face, changing his profile and making him barely recognizable. Logan’s hair was now a dirty blonde. Both of his arms and one collarbone were littered with dark, swooping ink in varying different shapes and patterns. They were both wearing more casual clothes than Leo had ever seen them in, looking soft and comfy instead of like polished, professional spies.

“If I wasn’t expecting it, I’m not sure I could recognize you.” Leo said slowly, trying to get his brain back up and running as he gently grabbed one of Logan’s arms and turned it this way and that, looking at the tattoos in awe. They looked so real.

Logan grinned. “Yeah, Nat’s a pro.” He followed Leo’s gaze down at his fake tattoos wistfully. “Sometimes I wish I wasn’t a spy, just so I could get tattoos.” He couldn’t have anything about him be easy to recognize as a covert operative – it would make him too easy to track down and get compromised. Tattoos unfortunately fell into that category. His eyes landed on the eagle paperweight Leo was staring down earlier. He laughed. “O’Hara, what the fuck is that?”

“It’s Brad! My brother is a spy, too – works out of Tampa. When I joined, we created this competition: whoever brought in the most criminals in a year got to keep Brad on their desk.” Finn preened, looking fondly at the creepy eagle. “Yours truly has the honor this year.”

Leo glared at it mistrustfully. “That thing needs to be burned. Or I could smoke it out with sage for you. I’ve got some from Marie Laveau’s House of Voodoo back home. That’ll get rid of the spirit for sure.”

Finn gasped in horror. “How dare you? Brad is a treasure and deserves to be protected at all costs.”

“I strongly disagree.”

“It is not haunted, it’s a symbol of being a winner-”

“As much as I’m loving this conversation,” Logan interrupted, looking amusedly between his partners. “We should probably get going if we want to get to Slytherin in time. Loops already placed the anonymous tip about the other gang, so we’re all set. Ready?”

“Ready.” Finn echoed, giving Brad one last loving pat for good luck before heading towards the door, Logan by his side. Leo picked up his pace to walk alongside the other two. 

“Please don’t make me sit in the backseat again.”

“But you’re the rookie.”

“I’m also the tallest. You try being stuck with your knees to your chest for a several hour road trip. Not fun.”

***

Finn laughed as Logan stumbled during their “drunken meandering” in the park near the Slytherin precinct and threw an arm around his shoulder. He spotted a uniformed officer talking on his phone a few yards away, apparently on break. He knew Leo was also out there somewhere, keeping tabs on them and relaying information to Sirius and Loops. Since Finn and Logan were getting arrested, they didn’t want to be caught with mics and earpieces on them. That would really raise suspicions and get their cover blown for sure. So Leo was keeping an eye on them now and Loops would do the same via the security cameras once they were both inside the precinct.

“There’s an officer to our left.” Finn said, leaning close to Logan to murmur into his ear and knocking their heads clumsily together. He could just barely see the curve of Logan’s smile from that vantage point, almost taunting him with how easy it would be to press a kiss there. Just a slight movement of his chin and he could do it. Refraining took all of Finn’s willpower.

He moved away. “Now all we need to do is get his attention and get ourselves arrested.”

Logan leaned in close and eliminated all the space Finn had just put between them, green eyes bright and mischievous and luminous under the artificial light of a nearby streetlamp. “I’ve got an idea.”

Finn simply stared. “Huh?”

“You know how I hate the police?” The brunet-turned-blond asked, grabbing Finn’s hands and walking backwards. Finn followed the siren’s call without hesitation. If he crashed into the rocks and sank because of him – well. Drowning would be worth it.

He had to urge his brain to focus and vaguely remembered that conversation from New Year’s and the rant about abuse of power that came with it. Even drunk off his ass, Logan had made some very good points. “Yeah.” Finn glanced over Logan’s shoulder as they approached the parked police car.

“We’re really going to piss them off today. Go with it.” Were the last words out of Logan’s mouth as he backed himself up against the police car, pulled Finn flush against him, and crashed their lips together. Finn barely missed a beat before he was kissing back, moving a hand up to cradle the back of Logan’s head. On New Year’s – when Finn was convinced Logan was going to kiss him but didn’t – Finn imagined what kissing him would be like. He pictured it soft, tantalizing, and teasing, just like the rest of their night had been. It was somewhat like that, and yet Finn was still off by miles. This kiss was a lot of things – it was warm and feisty and absolutely addictive – but soft didn’t fit the description at all. Logan kissed enthusiastically, if not a little sloppily. Finn couldn’t really tell if that was part of the drunk ruse or not.

Fuck, this was a con. It wasn’t real. This was for the mission, and nothing else.

But then why did it feel so real?

Finn pushed the thoughts away as he angled his head and deepened the kiss, inhaling sharply through his nose as he only then remembered the necessity that was breathing. He might not get this opportunity again, so he was going to use this chance to make Logan weak in the knees. Finn’s brain knew it was a horrible idea, but he wanted Logan to remember this, to think about it before he went to bed that night and wonder what if. If they weren’t spies or partners or on the biggest operation of their entire careers, what if he could have this?

If this was the only time Finn would ever get to kiss Logan, he was also going to make sure he remembered every tiny detail: the way Logan’s breath hitched when he bit down on his bottom lip, the feel of cold hands slipping under his sweatshirt, the rise and fall of his chest against Finn’s.

“Hey now!” A gruff voice shouted, grabbing Finn’s shoulder and pulling the two apart. “Cut it out.”

Finn staggered back – which was not an act. He was just that off balance, mind reeling. The police officer was glaring at him sternly, looking very annoyed. Finn shrugged carelessly, letting his words slur. “I would say sorry, but I mean – come on. Look at him. Can you blame me?”

Leo watched from his vantage point on a nearby park bench, something twisting painfully in his chest.

He could admit he was jealous – that was the easy part. But he wasn’t jealous in a way that made any sense. He was jealous of both of them. He wanted both of them. And yeah, it was a con and they were just making out to get the officers’ attentions, but it sure looked genuine. There were some things you just couldn’t fake.

The way Logan was gazing at Finn was one of them.

Of all people, he had to catch feelings for spies. Not just one spy – two. Two spies who may or may not have feelings for each other.

Fuck.

This is what I get for letting myself speculate, I guess.

“Leo?” Remus’ voice asked through his earpiece. “What’s going on?”

Leo focused back on the mission at hand and forced his voice to stay even. “They’re, uh, making out against a cop car.”

Sirius laughed loudly, while Remus just sighed long-sufferingly. “That’s one way to do it, I guess.”

“They’re egging the cop on, now.” Leo said, watching as Logan’s shoulders tensed and he said something harsh to the cop. “Looks like it won’t be long.”

Sure enough, the cop whipped out his handcuffs and motioned for Leo’s partners to turn around and put their hands behind their backs. They were loaded into the back of the cop car, and Leo allowed his eyes to follow it as it drove off towards the precinct before getting to his feet and walking in the same direction. “They’re on their way. Let me know when all the action starts.”

“Copy that.”

The good thing about being on a mission was that Leo didn’t really have time to internally reflect or try and decipher his feelings. He had a job to do. He couldn’t afford to mess this up because he was too busy stuck in his own head.

He did, however, assume he had enough time to not rush his walk to the precinct. Finn and Logan still needed to be searched, booked, and put in the holding cell before they could even think of starting the riot. So he kept his gait slow and let himself get lost in the sound of the wind sweeping through the trees and the rustle of dead leaves as they danced across the sidewalk.

He shoved a hand in his pocket, finding the old, worn, familiar lock there and fiddled with the dial.

***

Things in the holding cell were… not exactly going to plan.

First of all, there were about half the number of gang members in the holding cell than they anticipated. This wasn’t great, but it wasn’t the end of the world either. It might be harder to get everyone in the precinct to pay attention, but Finn was still confident in their ability to cause a scene. Then it got stranger.

The gang members were absolutely delightful.

Three were sitting by Logan, sharing stories behind their numerous tattoos and rolling up their sleeves to show off more ink. Four more were in a cuddle puddle in one of the corners of the cell, trying to get some sleep. One was even sitting by Finn, although he had made no attempt to strike up a conversation or anything. Finn was usually pretty comfortable with his height – he was tall, by most people’s standards. But the guy sitting next to him was huge. He was at least three inches taller than Leo, and easily twice as broad. With an unreadable face made of stone, the guy was also practically impossible to get a read on. Finn figured he needed to do something to get the ball rolling. Poor Nutter Butter would be stuck outside all night at this rate.

So he braced himself, turned to the guy next to him, and said, “Hey.”

Not his best conversation starter.

The guy looked at him strangely. Finn decided to keep going. “I’m Finn.”

“Tanner.”

“How’s your night going, Tanner?”

Tanner seemed to think Finn was certifiably insane. “Well, seeing that I’m currently in jail, not great.”

“Right… right.” Finn trailed off, cringing internally. He was so off his game tonight. Of course, he knew why, but that didn’t make it any easier to snap out of it. All he could think of was pressing Logan against a cop car and how much he wanted to do it again. But it wasn’t that simple-

“Are you ok?” Finn looked back up at Tanner, who shrugged stiffly. “You seem a little stressed.”

Finn thought about it, then decided fuck it. He’d never see this guy again. And who would Tanner tell? He blurted out, “I kissed my coworker today.”

Tanner blinked, then leaned back against the wall. “Ok.”

“I don’t think he feels the same way.”

He didn’t even bat an eye and the whole being attracted to the same gender thing. His face still revealed nothing. Finn couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or not. “Did he kiss you back?”

“Well, yeah.” Finn said, glancing across the cell at Logan and thinking back on the feeling of those lips pressed against his, the texture of the soft curls beneath his fingertips.

“Then what the fuck is the holdup?”

Finn sighed, looking back at Tanner. “It’s not that simple.”

“Look. He either likes you or he doesn’t. What good does it do you to keep guessing when you could get a definitive answer by just asking him? Everyone seems to forget how simple things are when you break them down into components. It’s just simple communication, dude. That’s it.”

“But-” Finn stopped short, taking a second to think when he was struck with a realization. It wasn’t out of the blue, nor was it completely surprising. It still felt like getting hit by a fucking train, though.

Tanner let him stay silent for a second, then prodded curtly, “But?”

“I… I think I might have feelings for another of my friends, too.” Finn thought of sunny blond hair, kind blue eyes, and a warm, dimpled smile.

Shit.

“You know polyamorous relationships are a thing, right?” Tanner sat up straighter, looking at Finn eagerly. It was the first emotion Finn had seen on his face, and also strangely endearing. “I have a ton of articles I can send you if you’re interested.”

Finn couldn’t help the smile that crossed his face. “Thanks, man. I think I might have to wait it out, though. We all work together and it would get so complicated so fast. Maybe once we finish the project we’re working on together.”

Tanner followed his eyes across the cell to Logan. Finn hadn’t even realized he was staring at him again. “Is that the one you kissed or the other one?”

Finn arched an eyebrow, which the gang member snorted at. “You aren’t subtle, bud.”

“That’s the one I kissed. Well, he kissed me, if we’re being technical. But I don’t think he meant it. It was kind of a – a dare, I guess you could say.”

Tanner’s face turned stormy. “He did what now?”

Finn frantically started to backtrack. “It’s fine. I mean, I’m not mad or anything-”

Tanner stood up and pointed angrily at Logan. “You!” He bellowed, voice like thunder. “What the fuck is your problem?”

Logan looked from Tanner to Finn, then back to Tanner, brow knitting in confusion. “What?”

“Did no one teach you about consent you little piece of-”

And then Tanner drew back his fist and slammed it into Logan’s cheek in a brutal cross hit. Silence rang through the holding cell as Logan reeled backwards, raising a hand to his cheek, which was already red. When he looked up at Tanner again, his eyes were a combination of furious and excited.

It looked like they were getting their fight now.

Finn managed to get out the words “holy shit” before all hell broke loose.

Logan threw the next punch, aiming for the stomach first and then the temple when Tanner doubled over, knocking the breath out of him. One of the other gang members took offense to that on Tanner’s behalf and went after Logan, who dodged the first swing easily and collided his fist into the guy’s nose.

The three gang members who were talking about tattoos with Logan instantly jumped to back him up, while the four who were sleeping leapt to their feet and tried to make sense of the situation. There was a charged energy in the air, an undercurrent of adrenaline and anger mingling with it.

Finn hated fights. They were messy and ugly and painful. Plus he was a conman – if his face was all beat up and bruised, no one would trust him and he’d never get any of his jobs done. So he tried to avoid them as much as he could, but he didn’t think he was getting out of this one.

Logan turned his fiery gaze on Finn, making him take an aborted step backwards before he realized this was the plan. They were supposed to be starting a fight. Finn wasn’t sure he could fight his partner, though. Especially since he’d kissed the guy just shy of two hours ago. Luckily he didn’t have to think too hard about it, because Tanner was back on his feet and charging at Logan, along with two other gang members.

Logan moved like the ocean when he fought – smooth and fluid, but also unpredictable and dangerous and wild. He also clearly knew exactly what he was doing, how to exact the most damage on his opponents. He used his size to his advantage by punching upwards and using his leg muscles to land harder punches. With shorter limbs like that, his blows were quick, effective, and brutal. Logan also seemed to be a southpaw, delivering brutal body shots directly to the liver.

It was absolutely mesmerizing.

Unfortunately, Finn was too busy watching Logan to notice the guy coming towards him until he was tackled forcibly to the ground. His head smacked the concrete floor painfully, stunning him for a brief second. When the spots disappeared from his field of vision, he looked up at the guy standing over him.

“Fuck you, man.”

***

“Nut, you’re good to go.” Remus said as he watched cops swarm the holding cell. “I’ll keep an eye out for any stragglers that might catch you.”

“Thanks.” Leo said, and Remus watched the security footage of the side door as Leo crouched by it and began picking the lock. Sirius looked over his shoulder and whistled lowly.

“Damn, Tremblay’s got some moves.”

Remus briefly switched his gaze over to the footage of the holding cell before scanning the hallways for stray officers. “That’s kind of his thing. He gets sent into situations where things are dicey and people need some sense knocked into them.”

“Maybe he should teach O’Hara. He’s already on the ground.”

“What?” Leo asked, sounding concerned as he unlocked the door and slipped inside. “Is he ok?”

Remus watched Finn climb to his feet and face the guy who knocked him down, getting into an admittedly terrible fighting stance. “He’s fine. Head straight down that hallway. The evidence room is the last door on your left.”

“I hate not knowing what’s going on.” Leo muttered, creeping effortlessly down the hall. “Now I understand why Logan hated the bank missions so much.”

Sirius was watching the action in the holding cell eagerly. “I think this mission more than makes up for those. He’s having a blast. Look at him go! He’s a little ball of rage.”

Leo laughed under his breath as he broke into the evidence room seemingly effortlessly. “Ooh, you’d better not let him hear you say that.”

Remus frowned, watching the blond locate the safe and crouch in front of it. Something about him was… off. He’d seemed fine earlier, but now he seemed subdued. His voice was carefully controlled and even, a blank mask on his face.

So the question was: what had happened between 10 am and now that made him feel like he had to distance himself?

The safe opened within a few minutes. Leo switched out the flash drives and pocketed the real one, closing the safe again and rising to his feet. “Headed out now.”

“Coast is clear.” Remus said, looking back at the holding cell. The officers were pulling people apart and seemed to be getting things back under control. “Good timing – looks like the fight is wrapping up. Now all you’ve got to do is pay their bail after a little while and hit the road.”

“Perfect. That’s the easy part.”

Paying bail, it turned out, was not the easy part.

After what felt like the thirtieth time he’d signed a fake name on the forms and having to jump through countless hoops, Leo still had to wait over an hour until Finn and Logan were processed and released. So he sat in one of the uncomfortable chairs in the lobby and waited. And waited. And waited.

When his partners finally walked through the doors, Leo did a double-take. He knew they’d been in a fight, but good lord.

“Y’all look like shit.” He said, taking in Logan’s bruised cheek, the way Finn was cradling his left arm to his chest, and their overall rumpled appearances. He also noticed the way they were steadfastly refusing to look at each other.

Logan snorted. “Thanks, Peanut.”

Leo shrugged, holding his hands up defensively. “I’m just telling the truth here. Don’t kill the messenger.”

“Let’s go home.” Finn said wearily as he led the way outside and towards their car, limping slightly. “I think I might be allergic to this makeup. It’s starting to itch.”

Later that night, when they were all in their separate apartments scattered across the city, all three of them faced a restless night of staring up at their ceilings and wondering, in some variation or another, what if.

[kijiboop]

Chet Stays In - Chapter One

Word Count: 2,780

Warnings: alcoholism, poor coping mechanisms, drunken crime

"Chet Kaminski."

Chet blinked blurrily, trying to clear the fog of post-drunken binge and pre-hangover. It was a state he was familiar with, having spent a solid 20% of his adult life somewhere between those two. There was a uniformed body standing not far from him which meant he was probably in jail again. "Mmmph?" he managed to acknowledge.

"Drunk and disorderly, indecent exposure, stealing a stop sign," the tired-sounding police officer read off from her clip board. "Please stop pissing on the police station, Chet. It's ruining the paint."

"Hey," Chet said with a shrug, "when you gotta go, you gotta go."

"Most people who function normally in society can hold their bladders until there's an appropriate facility," the cop replied acidly. "Especially when they're under police escort to one of those facilities." She unlocked the door and slid the gate open. "You can go. Someone posted your bail."

He blinked again, sure he had heard her wrong. "Someone what?"

"Someone paid to get your sorry ass out of my jail," the cop snapped and steered him roughly toward the door. "Go finish sleeping it off, Chet, and for god's sake, stay home tonight."

"Who--"

"I don't know, asshole. Move."

As he staggered through the main office of the Elk Grove police station, waving greetings to miscreants and officers alike, Chet wondered who would have bothered to pay his way out. He was used to having to pay for his own offenses and the last time someone else had ponied up, Ash Williams had been in town. Considering he had been arrested during one of Ash's stupid stunts, it had only been fair. No one in the office seemed out of place, so he continued his stagger out into the harsh morning sunshine. 

"Fuuuck." The hangover migraine hit him like a snow plow and he stopped to lean on the bench just outside the police station. Surprisingly he seemed to have already vomited up the entirety of the previous night, since only dry heaves shook him as he doubled over. He let his forehead rest on the back of the bench and giggled to himself, "What a night."

"Water?" 

Chet jerked in surprise and almost tripped over his feet at the unfamiliar female voice. A woman on the sidewalk wore jeans clearly too long for her, the hems gathered in frayed strings around the heels of her worn Chucks. He worked his way up from her feet to her hips and paused there in appreciation: she looked like she had a nice ass, the kind that was fun to pinch and hear her squeak. When she cleared her throat, he made the extra effort to get as far as her chest, which was probably a mistake. She had fantastic rack and his attention stuck there longer than it had on her hips. She sighed, put her hands on her hips and glared at him. He recognized the body language of a glare long before he could get his eyes up to her face. What he saw there stunned him. 

"Marisa!" 

"Hi, Chet." Marisa Mossberg had been friends with Ash's sister, Cheryl back in school. She had been younger than the rest of the group, probably in school a year or two after he had graduated. He didn't remember her being this hot, but he might not have noticed at the time; he had been pretty busy sucking face with Cheryl. It wasn't just the body, either. Her face had lengthened and she looked less like a squished pumpkin than his most recent memory of her.

"You look great!" he managed, then pitched over the bench again to gag. 

"Thanks." Marisa didn't sound all that thrilled with the compliment. She waited until he'd stopped coughing, then reached out with a bottle of water in her hand. "You'll probably want this."

It took him a few tries to focus his eyes on the bottle, then accepted it, cracked open the cap and drank most of it in a single long, gulping drink. When he resurfaced, Marisa was still standing there and looking at him. "What?"

"Just so you know, you owe me $340."

"Is that all? Cindy must be sweet on me." Chet paused to finish off his water, then looked at Marisa as she continued to stand there. "So, what do you want, anyway?"

Marisa snorted and shook her head. "Nothing. I guess a 'thank you' was asking a bit much, huh?"

Chet stared at her for a long time, then finally managed to connect the dots between the words she was saying and his own actions. "Oh. Yeah, thanks. What did I do to earn a favor?"

"Exist," Marisa sighed. "I was in the bar last night and I saw what you did for Chrissy."

The name was familiar and Chet tried to sort through his muddled memories of the previous night for why. Finally, he located her: Chrissy Corollo, one of the on-again-off-again regulars had been fighting with an over-enthusiastic suitor and Chet had tripped him when he had tried to make a grab for her. Chet couldn't remember clearly enough to know if it had been an intentional move or not, but if Marisa was giving him credit for it, he would take it. "Well," he sniffed and shrugged, "I was just doing what anyone would do. That guy was a jerk."

Marisa's smile looked strained. "Usually, you're the one being the jerk, Chet. This was a definite step up." She shook her head slowly, then asked, "Do you want to get breakfast somewhere?"

Something about the question bothered him and Chet gave her a more serious look. "Why?"

Her face flushed and Marisa waved a hand. "Just... forget it. Never mind." Before he could respond, she had turned and walked away, stalking toward a run-down beater of a Cadillac. 

"Thanks again," he called after her and she raised one hand, a dismissive little wave that left him more puzzled than before.

Chet made his way to the bar by rote, not really conscious of the turns he took or which buildings he passed. It was his usual walk, especially on Monday mornings and he'd gotten pretty comfortable doing it with his eyes half-shut with a migraine. When he got there, he found his car and puzzled through his keys, unlocked it and began the slow, meandering drive home.

The phone rang and Chet threw the first thing he could get his hands in that general direction. His alarm clock went as far as its cord would allow, then fell woefully short. The phone rang on. Chet rolled over with an annoyed whine and pulled his pillow over his head. 

The phone fell silent, then immediately began to ring again. 

It took a few attempts but Chet managed to knock the phone off its cradle and dangled his head over it. "Hullo?"

"If you want a paycheck, you'd better get your ass down here pronto, Kaminski."

Chet squinted at the phone, then looked at the clock. There was no clock on the bedside table and he sighed, groped across the floor until he found it and checked the time. It was after five, a solid two hours after his usual start time at the Elk Lounge. "I'll be right there," he mumbled at the phone and dropped it back on the cradle before Mr. Lawrence could start yelling at him again.

His mouth tasted like unwashed cotton and his skin creeped with whatever might have been living in the cells at the jail last night, so Chet staggered into the bathroom, grabbed his toothbrush and climbed in the tub for a shower. There was no toothpaste but he had half a bottle of vodka standing in the shower, so he gargled with that and finished scrubbing himself clean. The shampoo ran in his eyes and he yelled about it for a while, then rinsed it out. By the time he tumbled back out of the shower, there were three more angry messages on his answering machine from his boss and the clock read 5:45. 

Dressed and at least moderately clean, Chet rolled himself to the Elk Lounge only three hours late. It was an improvement over last week, at least. He waved to a few regulars as he headed into the staff area. Jay Lawrence looked ready to pop a blood vessel, but he angrily pointed Chet toward the bar and his usual evening commenced.

It was Monday night, so there weren't many people beyond the same five miscreants who were always there and the occasional 9-to-5er trying to escape the pressure of another week. Chet mixed drinks, served beers, did his usual patter when someone looked like they needed cheering up. By ten o'clock, though, the bar was dead. Even Jenny Holloway had gone home. Chet shrugged to himself and pulled down a few favorites to try some new combinations. He wasn't Elk Grove-famous for inventing the Pink Fuck for nothing.

"Whiskey," he murmured to himself. "Honey and lemon. Fanta." He tried it and made a face. "Too sweet. Holy hell." He dumped the glass, then considered his options. "Whiskey and applejack. Lemon." He tasted the drink and frowned. "Something missing." He was still rummaging through the more obscure liqueurs when the bell over the door rang. 

"Quiet night."

Chet popped over the bar and was surprised to see Marisa standing there. "Yeah, Mondays are always dead. You want something?" He waved a hand generally over his shoulder toward the selection.

Marisa smiled. "A double shot of tequila and a glass of Squirt."

Chet blinked. "Seriously." 

"As serious as a heart attack."

He shrugged and set up the shots, poured and then gave her the glass and a can of the grapefruit soda. "Ice?"

"I'm good." Marisa poured both shots into the bottom of the glass, then poured most of the soda over it. She stirred it with a straw and took a sip, her expression pleased. "Thank you."

Chet watched her suspiciously, then replicated her drink quickly in another glass to test it. It had a kick like a mule and he blinked in surprise. "Not bad."

"It's better with the peach Fresca but nobody sells it this far North."

"They make peach Fresca?"

Marisa grinned at him. "See what I mean?" She sipped her drink and settled on one of the barstools. "Cover my tab and I'll take it out of what you owe me."

"Sounds like you're planning on being a big spender for a Monday night." Chet finished the Squirt monstrosity and poured himself a beer. "Are you here every night and I've just never seen you?"

"No," Marisa smiled. "I'm back in town and it's boring as fuck to sit in my apartment all evening."

"Where were you before?"

"Atlanta." She swirled her glass, watching the bubbles. "Got homesick. So here I am."

Chet tilted his head to study her. It had been a long time since someone had just come into the bar to talk. "How long were you there?"

"Since high school," Marisa said and took another drink. She glanced at him and gave him a wry smile that made him feel things in his stomach he wasn't entirely sure he knew how to identify. "Thought I was in love, so I followed him out there."

"And stayed for thirty years?" Chet whistled. "That's some crush. What happened?"

"Oh, he didn't work out very well," she said with a shrug. "He took a job in LA in '95 and I didn't want to go, so we broke up. Stuck me with an apartment twice what I could afford on my own and three cats." She sipped her drink and her gaze was long, staring out into the middle distance. "He took the dog."

"Son of a bitch." Chet gestured to her mostly-empty glass. "Want another whatever the fuck that is?"

"It's basically a Paloma," she said. "I could go for a Tequila Sunrise, but only if you've got reposado."

Chet snorted. "I take it you've been frequenting a higher level of establishment during your time out of state." He pulled out the orange juice and grenadine anyway. 

"Not my fault Jay's still buying bottom of the barrel tequila," Marisa retorted. 

Chet stopped to consider, then started hunting under the bar. He knew there was another few bottles of tequila around, though he didn't know if they were Jay's usual shit or something more interesting. Nothing turned up under the bar and he thumped his head on the edge of the counter as he stood up, but he wagged a finger in Marisa's direction. "Hold the fort. I think I'm on to something."

Marisa's laughter followed him into the back room and Chet found himself smiling. She had a nice laugh. She had a nice voice, too. She knew at least as much about mixology as he did and he found the change refreshing. And from the way she talked about love, he suspected she was single and probably had been since 1995. He found the bottle he was looking for and felt a sharp pang in his chest. Love. Yeah, nobody in their right mind did anything permanent for love.

"I can't vouch for it because I think it's old enough to drink itself, but we do in fact have a bottle of reposado." Chet put the dusty bottle down in front of Marisa. "Shall we give it a try?" He waggled his eyebrows at her and was rewarded with another laugh. 

"Shots first so we don't waste the orange juice."

"Agreed." 

As it turned out, the reposado was indeed old enough to drink itself. It hadn't harmed the flavor a bit and Chet was amused to discover that he liked the reposado better than blanco tequila. "Warmer, darker flavor," he said, trying to ignore the slur in his words. The bottle was almost empty.

"Like I said," Marisa beamed at him. "It's worth the extra." She was sitting a little slanted on her stool and he suspected she was holding her alcohol about as well as he was. 

In the four hours since they had started, not a single person had crossed the threshold of the bar. Chet shook himself and looked at the clock thoughtfully. "I usually do last call at three but there's... really no point being here." He tilted his head to study Marisa. "Do you need a ride?"

"I can walk," she said, almost defensively. She stood up off her stool, then sat down again. "In a minute."

Chet smiled. "No judgment. I can walk you if you want." Marisa's eyes stayed wary and he felt that same knot in his chest he'd felt when he was in the back room. She was like a wounded animal and no matter how much she might have enjoyed finishing a bottle of tequila with him, she didn't trust him. He didn't blame her; he wouldn't have trusted him, either. "Look, Marisa," he said more quietly. "It's just us here. I just want to make sure you get home okay. Okay? That's all."

"And find out where home is." Marisa slipped off her stool and stood, more steadily this time. "Thanks but no thanks, Chet. You haven't changed that much."

It hurt. More than he had expected it to. Chet tried to laugh it off and shrug. "It's been said I haven't changed at all." Marisa's eyes were still wary and he sighed, waving a hand. "I was just trying to help. I'd ask you to call when you get home but I know you won't."

After a second, she said quietly, "If you really mean that, I'll call the bar."

Chet nodded in spite of himself. "I mean it. I'll wait here until I hear from you."

Marisa slowly smiled. "Well... then thanks." She carefully made her way to the door, gaining confidence with each step as she organized her thoughts and analyzed her inebriation level. At the door, she paused and gave him one more smile. "I'll see you around, Chet."

She left. Chet slowly wiped down the bar. He put away the bottles. He washed the glasses and put them in the drying rack. He walked around the room, flipping chairs onto tables, mopping under them. He was just starting to wonder if maybe he should worry when the phone rang. He stumbled over the mop bucket, then managed to pick it up. "Elk Lounge."

"I'm home." Marisa's voice was small, staticky and distance. She sounded so alone it hurt in Chet's chest. "Thanks for waiting, Chet."

"Anytime." He was surprised to find that he meant it. "Have a good night, Marisa."

"You, too."

[op-peccatori]

per sempre tuo (M) | IkeVamp Leonardo

Fandom: Ikemen Vampire

Pairing: Leonardo da Vinci/Fem!Reader 

Rating: Explicit/18+/NSFW

Word Count: 4400

Summary: Your lover has many different sides, and you adore every single one of them.

per sempre tuo: forever yours

a/n: Finally. This is just some unnecessarily long fluffy smut to cope with finishing his route. Yes, I did listen to Italian music for this and yes, I did cry at some of the lyrics. I recommend the first 2 (A Te and Magnolia) if you wanna give it a listen~ AND, for Thirst Purposes, I’ve installed a reading nook in Leonardo’s room.

I had a tough time with the title, trying to pick which was more appropriate, per sempre tuo or tuo per sempre, but I went with the former...

(warnings/tags under the cut)

Warnings/Tags: explicit sexual content, vaginal sex, no plot, extreme cheesiness, some minor spoilers for Leo’s route

You’re not sure what wakes you–the gentle thrum of the rain outside the windows, or the familiar, sweet scent wafting over to you.

Slipping out from underneath the comforting mantle of slumber, you shiver and curl up sleepily.  

Or maybe it was the cold, the hint of autumn chill brushing warm skin as you turn over with a groan to find your usual bedmate missing. With a quick search of the disorderly room, you blink at the way your head throbs and squint at Leonardo. He’s curled up in his little reading nook, with the window cracked open, and you watch as he–cigarillo held between sanguine smudged fingers–sucks in a mouthful of smoke. It spills from his lips in slow, curling wisps after a few seconds. 

Further inspection reveals a notebook resting on his lap, an unbuttoned shirt, and chestnut strands pulled back into a short, messy ponytail that does unfair things to your libido. You don’t sit up just yet, content to let your eyes run over him as you try to recall the events of last night. 

Dinner had, as always, been a warm, chaotic affair. You remember being unable–and unwilling because it had been a while since you had indulged–to turn down Comte’s offer of wine. You remember the slow buzz creeping through your veins as you laughed at Arthur and Theo’s bickering, the droopy look on Sebastian’s face as it snuck up on him too, and the endearing flush on Isaac’s cheeks, unsure if it was wine-induced or if it was the result of Dazai’s teasing. 

A flush fills your own cheeks as you remember Leonardo’s warm gaze and soft lips, telling you to have fun as he left to have a quick chat with his old friend.

You remember accepting another glassful of the beverage, and you remember Sebas walking you to your room–which doesn’t explain why you’re in Leonardo’s bed instead of your own. It’s a bit like staring into murky water, trying to identify what lurks beneath the surface, and it slipping away just when you’re on the verge of discovery.

You refocus on his still figure.

Leonardo is, at his core, a man of action. With an eager mind, hands that itch to reach for something or the other–a book, drawing tools, things to repair, and ever since you came into his life, you. 

Jack of all trades, master of nearly all. 

Watching him at any time is fascinating; it’s hard to take your eyes off of him, you’re always eager to watch him in motion. And then there are the times where he’s quiet.

You hadn’t realized it at first, but it’s clearer right now as you observe him silently. He’s more subdued when it rains. It had been different when the two of you had been caught out in that sudden shower, but even now, the restlessness seems to have withdrawn, leaving placidity in its wake. 

He loves his naps, but the way he’s curled up next to the window, listless, eyes unfocused–he looks almost lonely. 

“Buongiorno.” Your startled gaze meets his, the cool gold of his eyes heating as they catch you staring. He turns his head to face you, his upturned mouth and the little crinkles in the corner of his eyes sending warmth fluttering through you even from across the room. “Slept well?” 

“Mm, I think so.” A yawn catches you off guard, quickly covered up by the back of your hand. You stretch languidly, feeling your muscles release, before you sit up, reaching for the top of your head to pat down flyaways. Your dress from the previous day is draped over the back of a chair, prompting a quick startled glance down at your body. You’re in one of Leonardo’s shirts; with a grateful sigh, you reach for the glass of water he somehow managed to make space for on his crowded bedside table. “I feel like I did.”

With the way he perks up, you wonder if he’s been waiting for you to wake up and play with him. The thought amuses you for a moment; sometimes, he really does act like a cat. You meet his eyes again, and he looks curious, putting out his cigarillo in a little ashtray on the windowsill. He’s always curious about what’s going through your head. 

“I hope you do. You were out cold,” Leonardo replies after a moment’s pause, before something sly crawls into his tone, the mischief glittering in his eyes putting you on guard. “I’d say you slept like the dead, but your snoring could’ve actually woken them up instead.” 

You barely avoid choking on the cool drink, gulping down a mouthful of it as you glare at him as dangerously as you can. It only serves to widen his smile. 

“Lies.”

“Nope. It was cute, though. I like it when you snore.” 

“When I-how often do I do it?” Your voice is shriller than you would like, and he, being the infuriating man that he is, starts laughing. 

“No need to get so worked up, cara mia,” he soothes, closing his notebook and placing it on a shelf behind him. He reaches for a damp cloth, wiping his hands clean, and closes the window.  “Come here, you look cold over there.” He looks colder. 

“I am cold,” you mumble, embarrassment still hot on your skin, but you can’t resist his beckoning fingers and climb out of bed quickly, the hem of his shirt falling to the middle of your bare thighs. Picking your way across the room as deftly as you can, a low hiss escapes you as you end up stepping on what looks like a puzzle piece. 

He reaches for you with a sheepish smile, gathering you up in his arms before settling back against the wall, reaching down to rub the sole of your foot tenderly. 

“Sorry about that,” he murmurs, his calm voice warm, raspy gravel, reaching down to the very depths of you; wrapped up in his embrace, his heat seeping through the layers of cloth between your skin, you can’t help but melt into him with a soft hum. With your head cradled against his chest, you peer out the window. The skies are a solemn grey, but the flowers are there to make up for it, looking brighter in the light shower as they reach toward the heavy clouds.

You mull over his words for a moment, worry filling your heart, pressing your lips to the side of his neck before tilting your head back to look at him. “Is that why you were awake? You couldn’t sleep because of me?” 

At your words, he looks close to laughter, the corners of his lips quirked, but he fails miserably and presses it to your scrunched up brow. “I’ve slept through a lot worse, so no.” 

You study his expression for a moment longer, gauging the sincerity in his eyes, before you nod. Wondering what kind of stories are behind those soft words. “Oh. Also, did I pass out at the dining table? Because I don’t remember getting back to your room…”

“No, you didn’t. Last I saw you there, you were wide awake, and I don’t think I’ve ever heard you laugh that loudly. But by the time I got back, you’d already gone up to your room. ” Confusion creeps in, and Leonardo chases it away with a swift peck to your scrunched nose. “We should get you drunk more often.”  

You think back to dinner, and while it’s all a bit blurry you do remember having fun.

“So, I didn’t do anything embarrassing?” His fingers skim down your arm to tangle with your fingers, bringing them up so he can press his lips to the back of your hand. 

“Hmm. I think we have different opinions on what makes something ‘embarrassing’.” You stare at him until he grins again, sudden and wicked. “Don’t you remember singing for us?”

You resist the urge to jump out the window. “Oh no.”

“It was lovely,” he insists, chuckling when you swat him. 

“I can barely sing when I’m sober, and my drunken version has been likened to the screeching of a cat.”

“I don’t agree at all. I enjoyed it quite a bit.” 

“Of course you enjoyed it.” Feeling quite faint from the force of your despair, you attempt to escape his hold only for him to tighten it, pressing you back into him. You pull, he pushes. He pulls, you push. Your brief tussle ends with you sitting back against his chest, curled up between his legs, and a shiver running up your spine when you feel his lips on your neck.

“I did. Let’s see–I loved how free you looked, the way your hair escaped your neat little braid, the way you throw your head back when your laughter seizes you. The way you smiled at me, with your flushed cheeks and smiling eyes, reaching for me as if you never wish to be parted from me again. I loved it all.” His breath falls hotly on your skin and you’re frozen in his embrace, your heart holding onto every word that rolls off his silver tongue. “There was just one little problem.”

Your first attempt to speak dies in your throat. You wet your lips and try again, eyes sliding shut as he presses a burning, open-mouthed kiss beneath your jaw. “What was it?” 

Leonardo hums, lips forging a path up to your ear. “I wasn’t the only one to see all of that.” 

Fingers trace the jut of your collarbone, slow and inquisitive, as you work through the implications of his words. “I doubt anyone would see it the way you do.” 

“In this, cuore mio, you’re completely wrong. Not only do they see what I do, they covet. They envy. I don’t blame them for it, you’re a blessing one can only dream to have, but it still…” 

“But still?” 

He nips at the shell of your ear, hand smoothing across your abdomen, and your breath grows heavy. 

“It makes a part of me want to hide you away, away from their longing eyes. I would never do that, but a man still feels the need to stake his claim, yeah?” His hand dips under your shirt, tracing incomprehensible patterns on your skin, the calloused pads of his fingers skimming the skin beneath your breasts. “The entire time I was speaking with ‘Comte’ I was thinking of what beautiful side of you would be revealed next.” 

Your next words are carried on a breathless whisper.

“What did you do?” And you feel the way his lips, pressed to your temple, curl up. “What happened after that?” 

“Heh. Nothing.” He bites at the plump flesh of your cheek, light and playful even as his hand drifts up to cup one breast. Something is lodged in your throat and it feels like it might be your heart. “You did all the work for me.” 

It must’ve been something embarrassing, because you know the way he tugs at a nipple, rolling it between nimble fingers, is more of a distraction. The knowledge doesn’t stop your stomach from clenching with anticipation. “What did I do?”

“Nothing as bad as you’re imagining. I went looking for you, you see,” Leonardo licks up the length of your neck, kissing his way across your skin. Your fingers dig into the firm flesh of his thigh, holding onto the cloth as he sucks red, blooming marks. “But you weren’t in your room. Gave me quite a fright. I found you soon enough, though; stumbling through the halls, trying to find your way to your darling Leo’s room.” 

“I don’t remember that at all…”

His other hand cups your sex, heel pressing in with purpose as your head tips back, lips parting. “Don’t think anybody’s ever been that happy to see me. It was quite a kiss. Did I mention I had a few of the others looking for you too?” 

Leonardo’s palm slips further down, caressing the soft skin of your inner thigh, his cheek brushing yours when you try to look at him. He helps you turn around, leaving you kneeling between his legs, his fingers brushing your cheeks before he cups them and pulls you into a sweet kiss. The taste of his thin cigar spills rich on your tongue, the proof of his arousal brushing against your knee, but he seems content to just kiss you, tongue curling around yours, making a satisfied little sound low in his throat.

Desire burns low in your belly and you pull away with a gasp, forehead dipping to press against his.

With eyes dancing with fervour, he doesn’t look so lonely anymore. You worry, sometimes, that you won’t be able to reach him, that your worlds are too different. He’s a living legend who seems so out of everyone’s league it’s almost funny. 

But he’s also Leo: easygoing and warm, when all he wants is to curl up in your arms, to kiss you, and run his hands all over you, a dragon curling and rubbing itself all over its greatest treasure. When he just soaks up every bit of affection you offer him like a starving sponge.

The flat of his palm meets the soft flesh of your rear with a low smack, pulling you out of your musing. 

“I think that’s really e-embarrassing.” 

Such a demanding old cat, you think. Always wanting to hoard your attention. You should save that one; he gets, quite subtly, but adorably huffy when you say that. You’ve seen his quiet, simmering anger over the big things, but it brings you an odd sort of joy when he gets playfully mad at you over the little things. When instead of shrugging it off, he pouts until you’ve peppered enough kisses all over his face. 

He pinches your stinging flesh.

“Don’t agree. Story’s not over, though. So, then I brought you back here, but you decided to be a bad girl and torture your helpless compagno.” His hands slip up your shirt to cup your breasts, your back arching when his thumbs brush over tightening nipples.

“I’m not sure h-helpless is a word I would ever use to de-describe you.” Desire begins to pool between your legs, your head dropping back when he rolls the peaks between his forefingers and thumbs. You slip the shirt over your head, much to his approval and he doesn’t hesitate before leaning in for a taste, his next words spoken into your skin.

“No, you wouldn’t, would you? But when the love of your life kisses you so sweetly, tasting like rich wine, with her hand on your cock–” He sucks a taut nipple into his mouth, working his mouth roughly as you moan and weave trembling fingers through his hair. “And you have to tuck her into bed because she’s drunk, and spend the rest of the night trying to think of the most disgusting things you’ve seen in your life? One can only wonder what circle of hell invented this.” 

“I-“ your skin burns at the thought of you trying to drunkenly seduce him, and you sit back on your heels with ears burning hotly. “I’m sorry.” 

“Me too. You put up a real tough fight, nearly convinced me…the places my mind went…” Leonardo sighs and slips a leg between your thighs, laughing when you squirm at the firm muscle of his thigh pressing into your sex. “Yeah? You wanna know?” 

“Did I really do that?” It comes to you in one single sentence, and the memory of Leonardo’s body pinned beneath you. 

“I just want to feel you. Please?”

Strong hands grip your hips and pull you forward, the friction robbing you of all coherence for a second. “I very nearly prayed.” 

You can’t help but laugh at that, planting soft kisses on both his cheeks, reaching for the collar of his shirt to pull him closer. “I’m really sorry.”

“Mm.” The pleased possessiveness in his eyes always takes your breath away, and the way he sighs and relaxes at your touch makes your heart thump in delight. It always ends up this way; a quiet moment spent with hands running over warm skin, the muscles of his chest firm under your fingers, your spine stretching as his palm slides along the length of it. “I’ll allow you to make up for it.”

“Yeah?” Your lips brush over his, and you breathe in the sweet scent lingering in his breath. Your hand slides down his solid abdomen, coming to rest on the waistband of his pants. “What do you need me to do?” 

With a small hum, his darkened eyes fixated on yours, clever fingers brush your breasts, your sex, and in a move that makes your breath hitch in your throat, they wander over to your rear, between plump flesh–and you immediately consider if what you’ll need is available or if you’ll have to run down to the kitchen. 

Leonardo kisses his way across your cheek, soft and sweet, lips warming your ear. “Smile for me.”

You blink as he pulls back to grin boyishly at you, feeling your brow twitch as your head drops to his shoulder. “You make me feel like a horny pervert.”

“Aren’t you?”

The sound you make is childish, near whiny in tone as you attempt to jump off his lap and flee to the safety of his bed. An admirable attempt, but one that is foiled right away by his arms wrapping around you. “Hey, don’t run from me.” 

“Leave me to my shame, Leo.” He pulls you close, chest pressing to chest, and your lips quiver at the feeling of your breasts against his muscle, and the way he tries to look stern but his affection just softens it until you want to eat him up. 

“You’re so pretty, Leo. Sometimes I wanna just eat you up.”

Dear Lord. Drunk you is shameless. 

“No shame in wanting your lover, cara mia,” Leonardo coos, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. “I want you just as badly, in every single way, all the time. Il mio cuore è tutto per te,” he murmurs, pulling your hips down to meet his, your mouth watering at the hard ridge of his erection. 

“I don’t see you making a fool of yourself,” you breathe, rolling your hips into his, thrill unfurling within you when he growls throatily. 

“If you saw what goes on in my head, you would run.” His voice is a power unto itself, growing deeper, going straight to your pussy. You reach for the fly of his pants, unbuttoning it swiftly and tugging at them until he lifts his hips with a thick chuckle. 

“Never. I’m far braver than that, and much too in love,” you declare, yanking the fabric down his thighs, taking a moment to admire the thick muscle defining them. 

“And you say I’m the smooth talker.” You crawl up the length of his long legs, his keen eyes raking over you, swaying breasts calling his hands to them like fleshy magnets. “Come to me, cara mia. I’ve been waiting too long to get my hands on you.” 

The head of his hard cock pokes at your thigh when you settle over his lap, his legs spread out. It begins to leak with a few pumps from you, and your eyes flit between the beads of his precome and the way his lashes flutter with each movement of your hand. 

“I don’t think I can wait too long,” he groans. “I was hard most of the night. Wanted you so bad.” 

“Sorry, baby.” You press your lips to his chastely, again and again until his other hand comes up to cradle the back of your head, keeping you there. Rough fingers reach your entrance, collecting drops of your arousal before pushing in. A wicked grin stretches across your mouth, matching his own. 

“Ah, I don’t think you’re up for waiting either.” Shuffling on your knees, you guide the head of his cock to your entrance, slack-jawed as you sink onto it. 

“...Fuck, Leo.” 

Leonardo draws you into another kiss, teeth sinking into your lip when you clench him tightly. His hands squeeze your thighs and, in a display of strength that honest to god has your pussy fluttering, he lifts onto his knees with ease, your legs coming to wrap around his hips. With his tongue still licking into your mouth, he pulls you half off his cock before jerking you back down and slamming his hips into yours. He swallows every moan, every cry, every wrecked sound that climbs up your throat. 

“You feel so good, cara mia. So perfect. And you’re all mine,” he growls into your skin, his thrusts relentless, intent on taking you apart. He presses you back into the bookshelf, and your heart pounds in your chest when he adjusts his grip on your thighs, pushing them back and hooking your calves over his broad shoulders.

The next, merciless slide of his length into you has your eyes rolling back. It’s only in this, when it comes to sex and your pleasure that Leonardo can push you in different, filthy ways until you’re left shaking. Your voice climbs in pitch with every rough thrust, your hands scrambling for purchase on a shelf behind you. 

“There, oh, there, please, k-keep doing that,” you sob, blinking back tears as you look up at him pleadingly, burning hotter at the sharp, consuming desire you see. He presses what feels like impossibly closer, the burning in your thighs strong but the drag of his skin against your bundle of nerves overwhelming. 

“Come for me, ___,” he groans, a wicked smile ghosting across his lips, allowing you a glimpse of fanged teeth and you see stars. Your back arches, head thumping against wood; your walls clamp down, and a hiss leaves his lips as you break in his arms. He slows his pace, fucking you through it, lips chasing away the tears spilling over. 

Forehead pressed to his shoulder, chest heaving, mind and body more jelly than flesh–his cock is still heavy in you, and an involuntary whimper sounds deep in your throat when you look up at him. He kisses you gently.

And with all his gentle affection, he pulls you off of his length and sets you down in front of the window, back arched and ass out, the glass cool against your sweaty cheek. You hiss softly when he slides in again, your breath fogging up the glass, his front curled over your back. Brushing away damp strands, he plants open-mouthed kisses on the nape of your neck, your shoulders. Twining your hair around his fist, other hand steady on your hip–he angles his hips and thrusts deep. 

You had been sure you didn’t have it in you to make even the slightest noise, but your body disagrees in the form of a low keen, your aching cunt swallowing him greedily. 

“That’s my good girl,” Leonardo exhales, his pace turning swifter and harder, the sound of skin slapping against skin providing an erotic contrast to the soothing rain. “Sorry for being so greedy but…” His fingers find your swollen clit and heat coils in your belly. “...I want one more.”

Denying him, your own pleasure at that, is not something within your capacity.

He muffles a guttural groan in your skin, nearly rutting into you as you wail, loud and wanton, unravelling once more. His pace stutters and liquid heat fills you in thick spurts. You turn your head, weak but wanting, to welcome his lips on yours.

Cracking the window open once more, you curl up against his body, his heat more than enough to shield you from the cold. You brush his hair away from his face, his having slipped free in the frenzy of desire. He rubs your lower back gently, covering you with his still-warm shirt, reclining against the bookshelf; you think you almost hear him purr his contentment. 

“Wait, where’s Lumière?” You’ve seen no sign of him, and the thought relieves you a little.

“Following Sebas around, last I saw him,” he mumbles, nosing at the skin behind your ear. You’re both so sweaty, but you wonder if you can make it to Le Thermae without running into any curious residents. “Also, cara mia, there was something I wanted to ask you.” 

“Mm?”

“I talked to Comte about it, and he’s agreed so you don’t need to worry about that. If you’re okay with it, I wanted to take a little trip.” You look at him and he pokes your cheek, but there’s no missing the hopeful look in those eyes. 

“Just us?”

“Just us. I want you all to myself,” he tells you, smug smirk and cockiness, before it softens into a tiny smile. “I had some work, back in Italy. Thought I could take you, show you around since we’d have the chance. Only if you’d like to, of course.”

“I’d love to.” Your immediate response is, quite embarrassingly, teary eyes and an enthusiastic kiss. Pulling back, you raise a brow. “Only if I’d like to? You mean you wouldn’t have wrapped me up in my sleep and taken me along anyway?”

“As you cute as you look when you’re grumpy,” he laughs at the narrowing of your glittering eyes, “the journey would be far more pleasant if you’re happy, no?”

“But I’m always happy when I’m with you,” you point out, foxy smile in place. The fuzzy feeling in your heart feels close to spilling over when he hugs you closer, but you still catch the way the tips of his ears flush. He holds you close as if wanting to imprint the feeling of your body against his, to sear your love onto his heart, to inhale the scent of you and trap it in his lungs–before the day comes when he will no longer have the chance to.

You turn away from the sadness and bury your face in his chest.

“Y-yeah, well. It’s time you got to eat some of the best food in the world.”

Now is the time for love, and you plan to give him so much, to paint him in the colours of your adoration, devotion and passion–that loneliness will not dare touch him for a long, long time.

Thank you for reading~ 

Translation:

il mio cuore è tutto per te: my heart is all for you

cuore mio: my heart 

per sempre tuo: forever yours (tuo is masculine singular possessive, tua is feminine singular possessive)  

[asherhemmings]

Projects began to pile up the more vacant the bar cart became. It was whisky at first, then skimming the bottom of a vodka bottle before he cracked into a bottle of rum. Asher couldn’t remember the last time he’d been alone, completely alone. There was always a straggling groupie or a band member wanting some notes and luckily the studio parties always carried over to his apartment, causing an overflow of drunken bodies sprawled out across his marble floors in the morning. He never went to bed alone, never woke up alone. A codependent Asher had become hell bent on busying himself, doing anything in his power to distract himself. But, all it took was one night. One night alone for more chaos to ensue.

The relentless dinging from his car nagged him to put on his seatbelt yet his drunken mind was only focused on one thing to make him feel safe. To soften the blow. Xyla. His Cadillac tires crunched the gravel and city debris as he pulled up to her apartment. She wouldn’t be expecting him, she’d probably be tucked into her bed in her silk pajamas the way he remembered her to be. The thought made his lips curl into a sinister smile as he fixed his hair in the mirror, his heavy breaths pooling steam onto the reflective glass. Asher crept out of his car and adjusted the leather jacket that’d become a bit tight in the sleeves with more muscular he’d grown in the recent months. His stumbling feet tripped up the curb before making a quick recovery, making his way through the lobby and up to Xyla’s floor.

Asher needed to see her. Those soft, brown eyes as she pushed his curls away from his face. That radiant smile buttering kisses against his own lips. He needed a reconciliation, an excuse to see her and for things to be okay again. These were all things that filtrated through his mind as he made his way down her hall before approaching her door. He pushed upon her door without so much as a knock, causing a familiar pup to bark at the abrupt noise. The brunette quick ruffled his hand in the dog’s fur to greet him before closing the door behind him. Xyla was surely in her bed. His drunken mind hadn’t yet thought of a good reason why he was here until he entered her bedroom -- and even then it wasn’t a good reason.

Asher’s hand flicked on her light before staggering over to her closet, tugging it open with force. “Hey, do you still have my NYU sweatshirt I left here? I’ve been looking for it but I figured it was here,” His words were slurred as he rifled through her clothing. Blouses, work pants, dresses, Jimmy’s jersey. A dark chuckle bubbled off his lips as he took it off the rack, mockingly admiring the piece of clothing. “You still have this? No way my kid’s gonna be a rangers fan rooting for that guy. No way—“ Asher scoffed pointedly before tossing the jersey on the ground. He then turned back to the closet, continuing to search disorderly through the clothes that hung there. Asher hadn’t needed his sweatshirt that showcased his college pride, he had just needed an excuse to see her. To talk again. 

@xyla-v​

[sailingtheimaginarysea]

"Oh? You're approaching me? Instead of running away, you're coming right to me?"

[liketolaugh-writes]

Funny Business

Author: liketolaugh Summary: Elijah Kamski is not quite the genius Tony Stark was, which means that instead of 2022, he sends Connor back to 2006 Malibu. Connor is okay with this. (He really isn’t.) Luckily, he and Tony discover a shared interest. Or: “We’re not dating, Pep! It’s just a fling! I have those all the time!” “You’ve been together for six months.” Contains smut.

If anyone had asked Connor, and nobody did, what he’d have imagined the year 2006 to be like, he would have guessed that it would be dimmer than 2038, with everyone holding the newspapers and paper books humans loved to reminisce about; perhaps it would have had a smaller homeless population, with its significantly better employment statistics, and people who stopped in the streets to talk to each other, warm and connected.

For the most part, he would have been wrong. In many ways, 2006 Malibu was not so different from 2038 Detroit; Connor could almost pretend the difference was because of the geographical shift.

Almost. As long as he didn’t think too hard.

Fortunately, Connor had long learned that thinking wasn’t necessary to complete his mission. He’d been in the past for eight days; it had taken most of that time to find himself a position as a bouncer in one of Malibu’s more popular clubs, Incandescence, but the work itself had been easy enough to get used to. That should be enough to fund an apartment for the time being.

Androids would be invented in 2021 and first put into production in 2022. Until then, all Connor could do was bide his time.

His restless skin crawled with a tension so painfully nauseating that he wanted to rip it off and bolt. But that was easy to ignore too, and he rolled his shoulders as he cast a disinterested glance at the driver’s license in his hand – 37 years old, so above drinking age, and only a minor criminal record (drunk and disorderly, public indecency) according to the local database – before passing it back.

“Oof, is that a hard pass from you, doe-eyes?”

Startled out of his reverie, Connor glanced up, meeting the eyes of the patron just being admitted. The man was giving him a roguish, easygoing grin, head tilted arrogantly and eyes just visible behind his tinted sunglasses.

[Tony Stark – CEO and owner of Stark Industries]

[Running search…]

[Stark Industries is the primary weapons contractor for the American government, but also produces several other goods such as intelli-crops, medical technology…]

[Running search…]

[Do I look like Tony goddamn Stark to you?]

[Not to, ahem, toot my own horn, as it were, but if I do say so myself, no single man has had such an impact on how the world viewed technology since Tony Stark himself.]

[It was Stark’s arc reactor tech, of course, that made the energy sources utilized in androids possible.]

[…]

[…]

[To think that Tony Stark saved the world just to abandon it to a freak show like this.]

Connor shook himself, meeting Stark’s expectant eyes without reservation, and automatically stepped aside to make room for Stark to pass. His mouth started to open, and then, abruptly, he paused, confused.

Doe-eyes?

[Running search…]

[Doe-eyed: someone who has an innocent, wide-eyed look]

That was an unfamiliar epithet to Connor, but he supposed that the taunts favored by those in the future would for the most part not yet exist. Uncertain of how to respond, he leaned on his protocols for a script.

[Dismissive/Professional/Warm/Flirt]

…Flirt?

> Professional

“Working hours are working hours, Mr. Stark,” Connor heard himself say, tone mild. Stark made an exaggerated scoffing sound, tucking his ID away again and then, slow and languid, dragging his gaze over Connor's body, down and then up to meet his eyes again.

"Not with a face like that in a place like this," he said with an odd lilt. And then he patted Connor's arm on his way past, and Connor went still.

It wasn't a push, to force Connor out of the way, or a swat, swift and angry. It wasn't an accidental bump, or a warning squeeze. It was an absent, casual pat, with less force than you would use to knock on a door, and it sent a burst of electric static across Connor's crawling skin.

He almost looked over his shoulder, following Stark, but then someone snapped their fingers for his attention and he refocused on his work, unsettled.

An hour later, he’d nearly forgotten about the incident, though not about Stark’s presence; a small crowd was clustered around the man, and they were very loud, audible even over the pounding music. Bearing this in mind, Connor broke away from the door to check in with Cirrus.

Cirrus, while not the owner of the club, was one of the longest-standing employees and certainly the best respected; most of Connor’s coworkers looked up to the nonbinary bartender, and he was assured that ey would take him under eir wing soon enough.

Connor had his doubts, but he appreciated the sentiment.

Still, ey smiled at Connor as he approached, waving a glass vaguely.

“Keep an eye on Stark’s group for me, won’t you?” was eir greeting, nodding at the cluster at the end of the bar. “They always get a little rowdy, and they’re tough for me to handle on my own.” Cirrus was short, as adults went, with a soft and unintimidating face and round shoulders.

Connor nodded, shifting around in place as his jacket rubbed against his buzzing skin. “Of course,” he agreed crisply, glancing over. Stark caught his eye and raised a glass and an eyebrow in salute, and Connor looked away quickly, flustered, pulling his jacket more tightly closed.

It wasn’t that he didn’t know who Stark was, of course, even before running his search earlier. The man was such a prominent historical figure that even a decade and a half after his death, people still referenced him regularly. But he was just that: historical, and Connor wasn’t sure how he was supposed to react.

Also. Stark was.

…Connor liked the sweep of stubble over his jaw.

In the next half hour, Connor approached Stark’s entourage three times; twice to firmly remind drunken hangers-on that they’d been asked to leave, and the third to push back one who had started to become aggressive. But it was Stark that Connor’s attention kept drifting back to.

The first time, Stark glanced up at him, smirked, and called out, “Looker’s here to end the party for someone, who’s it gonna be?” And then, after Connor told them off, “Ooh, dom voice.”

The second time, Connor couldn’t stop himself from shooting Stark a look as he approached, and Stark caught him before he could look away again. The man just raised his glass and grinned, and then, as he was escorting the offender out, said, “Hate to see you go, love to watch you leave.”

And the third time, as he was steering the unruly patron out the door, Stark whistled and reached out to pinch Connor on the ass, making him jump.

When he stopped by the bar again, Cirrus was frowning.

“Is he bothering you?” ey asked directly, tilting eir head toward Stark. “I can have a word with him if you want him to eff off.”

Connor blinked, instinctively following eir gaze before deliberately forcing it back to em. “He’s not doing anything,” he said, picking at the cuffs of his sleeves.

Cirrus stared at him, and then softened and snorted.

“He’s flirting with you, hon,” ey informed him. “Like a dog in mating season.”

Connor’s mouth opened, and then closed.

[Running analysis…]

Ah.

Connor had to stop himself from apologizing for the misunderstanding, his skin seeming to tighten around him in his mortification. But of course, Cirrus wasn’t the one he’d been all but ignoring for the past half hour, because he just assumed that he wasn’t particularly intended to respond to Stark’s remarks.

He remembered that Cirrus had asked him a question.

“No, thank you,” he said politely, gaze skittering to one side. “I… don’t mind.” The words were odd and unfamiliar on his tongue.

Cirrus laughed outright.

“Alright, Con,” ey said warmly, eyes glittering. “Don’t be afraid to tell him off if he goes too far. Stark respects a good, solid ‘no’.”

Connor nodded absently, turning back toward Stark’s group as he continued his rounds.

Stark was flirting with him. Now what was Connor supposed to do about that? It was so far out of the realm of his experience that it was almost unthinkable. Where did that fit, in the range from Lieutenant Anderson’s hostility, and Elijah Kamski’s disgust, and Amanda’s detached expectation and the cold examination of the development team-

What was Connor supposed to do with that smirk?

And forget about the, the fact that he didn’t even belong here, that he was wrong and alien and out of place, that he had nothing ahead of him except a decade and a half of biding his time and nothing behind him except blood-

But none of that mattered to Stark. What mattered to Stark was that Connor had a pretty face and a warm body.

The next time Stark leaned back from his posse to grin at Connor, Connor met him with a hesitant smile. Stark’s grin widened into something manic.

“Is that a crack I see in your stone-cold façade?” he asked brightly, leering. “Or have I finally had one too many?” He raised his glass of scotch, half-full as it was. “I’ll go out the door quietly if I can go into yours next.”

> Flirt

“If- you can sit patient for an hour,” Connor started slowly, deliberately focusing on Stark and not the faces around him, showing varying levels of curiosity or disappointment. He hesitated for a split second, and then finished, “I get off at two.”

Stark smirked, his satisfaction apparent in the line of his shoulders, and tossed back the rest of his scotch.

“I’m not known for my patience,” he said, swinging around to stand up. Before Connor could even register his own off-balance disappointment, Stark grabbed his hand and pulled him onto the edge of the dance floor the club offered.

Connor might’ve thought it almost innocent, if it weren’t for the way Stark grabbed his hip next and pulled him close, firm and possessive, eyes bright behind his shaded sunglasses.

Connor suppressed a faint shudder, hyperaware of the feeling of Stark’s warm hand clutching his, their hips grinding lightly together and legs brushing, a hand on his hip, solid and steady and electric on his oversensitized skin.

It was a lot. Everything was a lot, a lot of sound, a lot of texture and color and scent and too much, ever since Connor had been forced awake by Kamski’s program.

Connor had gotten used to shying away from it, flinching and grimacing and looking away. Just this once, he pushed himself into it, letting it overwhelm him.

He let Stark- Tony- steer him, placing his free hand on Tony’s side just to seek more contact. The small crowd shuffled away from them, making room, and Tony didn’t even seem to notice. Like this, Connor could feel the man’s pulse starting to pick up, his temperature rising with the faint rock of his body, paced with the loud and rapid music.

“Got a name?” Tony asked after a minute, when they were well and truly lost in the overheated crowd. “I could just call you doe-eyes all night, I suppose, but it might get a little awkward. Saccharine, you know.”

“…Connor,” Connor said, off-guard despite himself. Tony wasjust the slightest amount taller than him – almost an inch exactly – and it was getting harder to look away from his mouth, an unused program starting to stir to life from the dusty corners of Connor’s system. “I’m- Connor.”

And that was all that mattered right now.

“Come here often, Con?” Tony asked, looking more concerned with rocking them together than with his reticence. It was quick, shallow, and somehow still quite a lot, like a shower of sensation across Connor’s sensors, a distraction from the crawling feeling that had followed him from the future. “I thought I knew every face ‘round here, but I’d remember eyes like yours.”

Experimentally, Connor slid his hand up Tony’s ribs, over the rough cloth of his shirt, and felt him shudder subtly under Connor’s palm, without faltering in the quick shuffle of their feet.

“I’m new,” he said after a second, more focused on skin and warmth and static than anything. It was almost dizzying, and he found himself speaking with checking his words too closely. “I’ve only been here around a few days.”

“Lucked out, didn’t you?” Tony asked, bumping their hips together pointedly. “It’s not every new boy that catches my eye. But you’re like a magnet, anyone ever told you that?”

That startled Connor into a smile. “Not really. Has anyone ever told you that you’re a touch of a flatterer?”

“Once or twice,” Tony said brazenly. “Usually I’m the one being flattered, though.” A turn, the crowd parting around them with only a few stares. “You should be proud, I’ve gone to lengths to catch you for myself.”

Connor almost laughed. “An unusual experience for you, I’m sure,” he murmured.

Tony hummed. “Every once in a while, it’s worth it,” he said, and Connor abruptly realized that Tony was giving his own mouth a lingering, thoughtful look.

“No accounting for taste,” he heard himself say, and Tony barked out a laugh before pulling him closer by the arm, and Connor discovered that his mouth was hot and wet behind dry lips.

It was a lot, bordering on too much; Connor’s chemical analyzers kicked into gear, scrolling chemical breakdowns for scotch and grease and salt and DNA behind his eyes. Tony’s mouth moved against his hungrily, hand tightening at his hip and tugging impatiently to make his hips roll, and the buzz of Connor’s system tracking his rising arousal was almost a tangible thing against Connor’s skin. Bright lights and human sweat and the pound of music pressed in around him, and stubble scraped lightly against the skin of his face.

Something warm tingled in Connor’s belly, and he opened his mouth and hummed between them at the glide of Tony’s tongue against his, feeling his own hands grasp at Tony’s ribs and pull, silken cloth and skin and thread beneath his fingers. Tony grunted, and to Connor’s dismay started to pull away, panting.

But Tony was grinning at him, wild and unmistakably pleased.

“Let’s blow this joint before we get kicked,” he said, eyes bright and pupils subtly blown with arousal.

Connor started to smile, feeling looser than he ever remembered being before, and then stopped, shooting a worried glance at the bar. “But-”

“You’re not gonna get fired,” Tony said dismissively. “They wouldn’t dare, and if they did dare, I’d bribe them out of it. That settle your nerves, doe-eyes?”

It took Connor a moment, but then he took a breath and nodded, giving Tony a hesitant smile of his own. “No need to waste time then,” he offered.

“That’s the spirit,” Tony said, and then, contrarily, kissed Connor again, deep and wet.

It took them a few minutes to make their way to the curb, but a car was waiting for them when they finally did; Tony signaled the driver, winking smugly, before ducking in and pulling Connor after him, so that Connor landed in his lap, almost straddling him. Tony took the relative privacy to start unbuttoning Connor’s jacket, nipping at skin as it was revealed, leaving it raw and sensitive with the scratch of his stubble over the delicate sensors.

“You turn right to putty, don’t you?” Tony muttered against Connor’s collarbone, groaning at the knead of Connor’s hands on his chest. “I wasn’t expecting it, but damn, it’s hot.”

“I’m not, I haven’t done…” Connor trailed off, feeling clumsy and overclocked, but Tony was shifting him to settle more firmly against the growing bulge in his pants and it was even hotter with his hands on Tony’s bare, soft skin and Tony paused, breath hitching slightly in something like surprise.

And then he laughed, taking off his sunglasses and tossing them aimlessly aside.

“You really do go for the jackpot, don’t you, doe-eyes?” he said, bright and amused. “Is this your first time period?” Connor nodded, resisting the urge to rock down against the bulge between his thighs. “Then let’s make sure it’s hotter than hell.”

The car got going, and Tony’s hands moved down to Connor’s ass, hungry and possessive, and guided him to move against him. Connor bit back a hiss, feeling tight and restless and warm, a swooping heat filling his stomach. It was so much easier to focus on Tony away from the bright heat of the club, and he took full advantage, leaning down to nose against his throat and taste the oils of his skin, shooting across his tongue.

“You know, normally guys have a boner by now,” Tony mused aloud, not sounding all that bothered, tilting his head to give Connor better access even as his hands rubbed and kneaded. “I feel like I should take my shirt off or something. That usually helps.”

The car turned, and Connor reached up to catch himself on the seat before he fell, making a soft noise as the movement rocked him against Tony, shooting heat up his spine.

“I don’t have one of those,” he said belatedly, cocking his head to look at Tony. “I… assumed that wouldn’t be a problem?” The records of Tony’s conquests were extensive, and he definitely didn’t have an aversion to vaginal components.

The addition of a sex program to Connor’s system had been almost an afterthought to his production, and he remembered that the team had been distinctly impatient with the software instability his new penis had resulted in. When one of the members had suggested simply switching from penile to vaginal components and washing their hands of the matter, they’d taken the idea and run with it.

Connor didn’t remember why he’d been so unhappy with the other component, but he knew he was largely satisfied with this one, and he liked the aching wetness between his thighs.

Tony shot a glance down between Connor’s legs, and his arousal spiked measurably, heart rate and temperature and pupil dilation and the cock Connor could feel against his thigh, twitching with interest. He dropped a hand to Connor’s lap and stroked a thumb almost perfectly over Connor’s vulva, and Connor shuddered in arousal of his own, biting off another soft noise.

“I think we’ll get on just fine,” Tony leered, and dragged Connor into another messy, eager kiss.

The car pulled to a stop just as Connor found a spot by the hollow of Tony’s throat that made him grunt and shudder when Connor worried at it, his fingers tightening on Connor’s hips, so it took them both another few moments to break apart enough to fumble out of the car.

Almost before the door shut behind them, Tony was tugging impatiently at Connor’s jacket, urging him to shrug it off, which he did hastily before fumbling with his shirt. He didn’t look around at the mansion he’d just been dragged into, didn’t watch the car go, didn’t look where Tony was steering him, just fiddled with the buttons to struggle to bare his skin for Tony to run rough, calloused hands over and make him shiver.

Tony made an appreciative sound, nipping at Connor’s collarbone with a searing wet mouth and careful teeth and his hands rubbing at Connor’s hips like he was trying to coax all the feeling out of Connor’s skin. Then he straightened and grabbed at Connor’s belt loops to drag him on, and Connor followed blindly, focused on Tony’s shirt now, fancy and smooth to the touch but easy enough to, to undo- if he could just-

“Don’t give yourself a conniption there,” Tony laughed, breathy and warm, and caught Connor’s mouth in another kiss, lips sliding over each other, dizzyingly sensitive enough to make Connor’s groin throb wetly when Tony bit down lightly.

Tony finally lost his shirt just as the elevator doors Connor hadn’t noticed opened, and Tony pushed them in. Recklessly, Connor turned to push Tony against the wall, eagerly going at his neck and collarbone because he wanted to hear Tony gasp again, and grunt and groan, and the skin of his chest felt wonderful under Connor’s hands, and he’d shoved his knee between Connor’s legs where he could grind on it impatiently.

“That’s it, baby, just like that,” Tony groaned, tipping his head back and his hands guiding the rock of Connor’s hips. “God, you’re a beautifully needy little thing, it’s been years since I took a virgin home.”

Connor’s mind was half-full of analytics, the taste of Tony’s skin and the beat of his pulse and the texture of the hair on his arms and more, and it took him a moment to respond. “I think you might just be good at winding me up.”

Tony rasped out a laugh. “Maybe that too.”

He dragged Connor up into another dizzying kiss, and Connor fumbled at the front of Tony’s pants, running his knuckles over the hard ridge of Tony’s cock before he grasped at it greedily. Tony broke off the kiss to groan, bucking into Connor’s cupped hand.

“Fuck-” he hissed, just as the doors slid open. “Bed.”

Connor hummed an eager agreement, but somehow it was him who lost his pants first on the way there, and then Tony, his cock swaying thick and swollen and the tip gleaming with a bead of something Connor wanted desperately to taste. Then Connor was being pushed onto the bed, silken sheets almost freshly washed on a mattress that was soft and full and bouncy.

Tony mapped down Connor’s chest with obvious appreciation, making Connor squirm, pushing forward into the touch, practiced rough fingers and steady palms and Connor’s fingers digging into the sheets as he panted, legs folded under him and his thighs just a touch apart.

“I love a sensitive guy,” Tony said with a wink, and Connor heard himself laugh, quick and breathless, before Tony’s hand passed over his stomach and into the soft hair around his groin. “Looks like we won’t need any extra help today. Fuck, you’re soaked.”

Connor hummed, low and desperate, and pushed his hips impatiently into Tony’s hand.

“Touch me,” he said insistently, feeling his artificial flush across his cheeks and his cooling system working overtime and the wet-hot pulse of his groin, so close to Tony’s fingers. “I’ve never been this fucking hot.”

He didn’t know where the words came from, but they made Tony’s eyes darken, pupils blowing with lust, and the next thing he knew a calloused finger was sliding into his cunt. Connor’s breath hitched, and he rolled into it without hesitation.

“Tony,” he begged, hips working needily, almost rutting against the thin finger. His hands lifted again to grasp Tony’s thigh and tug him closer, as much for something to grasp as anything. “You can- you can fuck me harder, please fuck me.”

Tony grinned at him, added another finger, and rubbed. Connor moaned embarrassingly, canting his hips into Tony’s grip, the swelling warmth and the pleasure and the way Tony started to rub his thumb over Connor’s clit.

“I bet you can come on my fingers alone, can’t you?” Tony said conversationally, goadingly. “You’re so wet already, you want it so bad.”

“Yeah,” Connor breathed, everything seeming bright and overfocused around him, but most of all Tony, and Tony’s fingers inside him, and his arrogant grin when he pushed against Connor’s clit and made him groan, rocking against Tony’s fingers. “Yes, please, I can, please…”

Tony added a third finger and rubbed deep, and Connor squeezed Tony’s thigh hard enough to bruise later, his own legs spreading, his eyes squeezing shut.

“So fucking perfect around my fingers,” Tony was muttering huskily, fingering Connor with the ease of long practice and his free hand holding Connor steady, his cock throbbing hot and thick just an inch from Connor’s fingers. “You’re going to look so good wrapped around my cock, doe-eyes, flushed and moaning and squirming. Just need to come for me now, baby. Just come on my fingers like a hot, needy little-”

It was so much, too much, heat and slick and static and God, Connor was going to, he was going to-

Connor pressed his mouth against Tony’s throat and moaned raggedly, hips jerking as he came for the first time, dizzying and hot and perfect, so perfect, a bolt of pleasure from his cunt to his chest unwound everything that had built up in there and left him panting and wet.

He heard Tony groan. “Hell, that was just as hot as I thought it’d be.”

Warm, naked, and all but glowing after his orgasm, Connor realized he felt settled into his own skin for the first time, the crawling, tight feeling from before completely gone. He just shifted as Tony took his fingers out of Connor’s cunt, and then pushed back reluctantly, still flushed with pleasure.

Tony cocked an eyebrow at him, smirking, and Connor blurted out, “God, I want to do that again,” and then flushed deeper when Tony laughed outright.

“Not God, but the next best thing,” he winked, and then reached up and tapped the corner of Connor’s mouth with the still-wet fingers of his hand.

Without thinking, Connor turned his head and opened his mouth, taking the fingers into his mouth. He heard Tony’s breath catch and pretended to ignore it, carefully cleaning off the inorganic lubricant that slicked his groin. Tony strangled a moan, and if Connor’s mouth weren’t occupied he would have smiled.

As it was, his arousal program had noticed that the night was not yet over, and warmth was gathering between his thighs again, his hand reaching over to grasp Tony’s cock and stroke the hot shaft slow and languid.

Connor released Tony’s fingers once they were clean, blinking away the chemical analysis flickering in his vision, and Tony took in a ragged breath of his own.

“Message received,” Tony said at last, and then rolled over to fumble at the nightstand for just a moment before returning with a packet that he ripped open with his teeth. “God, I haven’t been this eager to fuck someone since I was panting over Pepper. And that was a different kind of eager.”

Connor hummed, leaning over to watch Tony roll the condom over his cock, and worried at his neck just to hear him groan again. “I don’t think that’s allowed.”

“Yeah, that’s what she said too.”

Tony leaned over to catch Connor’s mouth, biting at his lip and his thumb rubbing at one of Connor’s nipples, shooting arousal down to his clit like it had never left. Connor clung back instinctively, letting himself be pushed onto his back and Tony’s cock grind against him.

“Last chance to keep your V-card,” Tony said huskily, like one of his hands wasn’t pinning Connor’s arm to the bed and the other playing with a nipple because it made Connor squirm and buck. Connor tugged at Tony’s hip with his free hand impatiently. “Good choice- if I do say so myself.”

Tony shifted his hips, cock dragging across Connor’s stomach and thighs, and then he started to press in, slow and uncharacteristically gentle.

“Shit,” Connor breathed, distant and overwhelmed and arching as Tony pushed into him, spreading him wide and hot and, and- “A-ah, fuck, ah-”

“Oh fuck,” Tony groaned in return, rocking carefully in and out as he eased his way to the hilt. “Fuck yes, I’ve been thinking about this all night, doe-eyes, feels so fucking good.”

“Oh God,” Connor gasped, and then he was dragging Tony closer and deeper, knowing he was gripping hard enough to cause deep bruises but Tony didn’t seem to mind, panting over Connor with hazy eyes and an open mouth.

Connor wanted to taste his skin and sweat again, and he was right there, so he did, mouthing at neck and throat and collarbone and chest.

“Prettiest face I’ve seen all year,” Tony muttered, rolling into Connor, deep and slow and perfect, filling Connor up and rubbing in every place that made him gasp for breath and his hand coming down to rub Connor’s clit in steady strokes, “Knew I had to have you as soon as you gave me that half-assed deflection, fuck, you’re so fucking tight, Connor.”

Connor hitched his hips up, rocking back onto Tony the best he could, until their groins were rubbing together, slick and steady. He hummed against Tony’s shoulder, starting to speed up insistently as the heat in his groin came back twice as powerful. A particularly harsh buck made him throw his head back and shout, wanton and greedy, hand going to meet Tony’s over his button and push harder.

“Tony,” he pleaded, breathless and flushed, “Tony, harder, more, please.”

Hot and dizzy and perfect, skin electric in the best way possible and boxed in under Tony, fingers tweaking his nipples and smoothing over his chest and Connor urged him to go faster, deeper, closer, panting and glazed.

“So fucking perfect writhing under me,” Tony panted, fucking into Connor like a toy, quicker and harder until he was careless with it, focused and needy. “God, fuck, the way you clench around my cock, just as pretty as I thought you’d be. So fucking wet, like you, you- hell-”

Connor whined, pushing into him. “Tony, I’m gonna, I wanna-” His groin was throbbing, a knot tightening deep in his gut-

“Oh fuck yes- yes-”

Tony groaned, long and satisfied, and ground into Connor with a full-body shudder like he meant to stay, his cock jerking and twitching and his knuckles rubbing against Connor’s clit as he came. Connor yelped, and then hooked his legs around Tony’s hips forcing him deeper as he bucked once, twice, bitten-off shouts pulling themselves out of his throat as he shuddered too, the feeling crashing over him like a tidal wave twice as strong as the first.

It felt so good.

Tony relaxed first, collapsing half on top of Connor with a satisfied sigh. Connor shuddered for a few more moments, chasing the last few sparks of pleasure before the tension in his gut finally eased and he settled, damp and warm and calm.

“So, was it as good for you as it was for me?” Tony asked at last, giving Connor a lazy wink and shifted to his elbows, looking as smug as if Connor had already answered.

Connor gave him a crooked grin, lifting his arm to tuck his cheek into the crook of it. “It was perfect,” he said, with too much honesty. On some level he knew his contentment was not entirely natural, a combination of programmed feedback loops and the release of the discomfort he’d gotten so used to, but he couldn’t bring himself to mind, not right now.

Tony shifted, his cock sliding out of Connor, and flopped down comfortably with a groan.

“I’m gonna be feeling that in the morning,” he said conversationally, reaching down to pull off the condom and tie it shut, tossing it blindly aside. “You’ve got a mean grip, doe-eyes.”

Connor winced. “Sorry. I, um, I forgot to be careful.”

“Good,” Tony said with conviction, eyes bright. “It was hot.”

Connor blinked, and then grinned at him, embarrassed but pleased. “Silver linings,” he murmured, and dared to roll over just to play his fingers over Tony’s side, relishing in slide of skin on skin even without the urgency of lust. He wondered if Tony would mind if he just nuzzled him like a cat; he wanted to feel that warmth against his cheek.

He did it, sighing in a pleasure more sensual than sexual, and felt Tony’s stomach jolt in a laugh. A moment later, fingers sank into his hair, tugging gently.

“What, are you a cat now?” Tony asked, amused. “Does sex turn you into a cat? You wouldn’t be the first, I suppose, but I gotta say, never gets any less funny.”

Connor hummed, eyes half-closed, soaking in the contact. “If you say this is the strangest afterglow you’ve had, I won’t believe you.” Tony’s history indicated he particularly enjoyed taking rather big personalities to bed with him.

“You’ve got me there,” Tony snorted. “I think ‘afterglow’ is a little unambitious of you, though. We’ve got all night, you know.”

As if to accentuate his point, he slid a practiced hand down Connor’s chest and to his stomach, lightly grinding his knuckled into the skin below his navel. Connor felt his arousal spark back to life, and pushed into it, then, without speaking, rolled on top of Tony to grind on his thigh enticingly.

“I’m open, if you have ideas,” Connor murmured, barely able to believe his own daring, but Tony just grinned at him.

“I’ve got a few.”

----

Connor dreamed.

His dreams were always warped and surreal, fragments of data put together and taken apart, and himself a helpless witness to them, feeling his mouth speak and his body move, while he felt things that didn’t make sense in the context of the dream, or worse, things that did.

He desperately missed being a machine.

This time, not for the first time, he dreamed of Kamski, pacing the indistinct floor of the lab/the poolside/the park without looking at Connor.

“Congratulations, Connor, you’ve accomplished your mission,” Kamski said calmly, turned away from Connor to fiddle with a gun/a tablet/a bottle of thirium. “I do believe you are the only deviant now alive. Are you satisfied?”

“I don’t understand,” Connor protested weakly, a faraway voice and a mouth that wasn’t his. “My programming, I’m not designed for…”

“If all goes well, you should appear in the immediate aftermath of the Snap’s reversal,” Kamski answered, brisk, without even glancing at him. “That should give you ample time to get things in order, shouldn’t it?” He looked over at last, his expression of disgusted disdain the clearest image in the entire dream. “That is, if you can scrape together the circuitry to have a few ideas of your own. If all else fails, follow my programming. That will solve the problem effectively enough.”

“This doesn’t make sense,” Connor insisted more desperately. Kamski laughed, bitter and cold.

“Yes, I suppose it wouldn’t. I did amputate that Zen Garden program of yours. I’m afraid Amanda’s presence would have simply posed too much of a risk.”

“I’ll do whatever it takes,” Connor heard himself promise, but it still didn’t make Kamski look at him. He started to reach forward-

And then the lights turned on, and Connor sat bolt upright, eyes wide and already searching the room for any source of movement, out of one dream and into the next.

“Good morning,” he heard from somewhere above him, brisk and unconcerned. The flash of the windows unshading drew his vision to the ocean outside, his shoulders close to whining with tension. “It is 6:38 in the morning in Malibu, California, currently 53 degrees and a high today of 68, with a slight chance of rain…”

Connor looked down, examined the dirtied sheets and his own bare skin and the rumpled blanket, looked up at the dated décor and the old-fashioned tech, and relaxed, slowly, in increments.

It had been disconcerting and out of order and missing more than half the conversation, but- it was just a dream about his last encounter with Kamski, before the man sent him to the past. That was all.

That was all.

“…Good morning,” he said at last, tilting his head to make brief eye contact with a camera – just enough to flick in and out of the system, lightning-quick, and confirm his suspicions.

Tony Stark had been mentioned in conjunction with artificial intelligence a few times. Connor had almost forgotten, buried as it was in the many, many other accomplishments in the man’s lifetime, most of which Connor had never heard about until he reached the past and looked. But there was no mistaking the complexity of the system Connor brushed across.

There was a brief, but conspicuous pause before the AI replied. “Sir is currently occupying himself in the lounge, if you will just clean yourself up in the bathroom to your right. Miss Potts should be along with your clothing shortly.”

“Thank you,” Connor said politely, hesitating before leaving the sheet behind. “May I ask your name?”

“Just A Rather Very Intelligent System,” the AI replied, sounding surprised to even be asked, and then, almost apologetically, “You may call me JARVIS. Feel free to speak to me for… any reason.”

The slight pause made it clear he had noticed Connor’s brief intrusion in some capacity. Connor could only bring himself to regret it a little, oddly unconcerned, and just nodded.

“Tony won’t mind that I’m not wearing anything, will he?” he asked, hesitating at the edge of the bed.

“He might even thank you for the privilege,” JARVIS said dryly, and Connor smiled briefly. “However, if your modesty compels you, previous encounters have been known to borrow some of his larger shirts from the bedside table.”

Connor made a soft ‘oh’ sound, relieved despite himself, and reached in, folded one over his arm, and nodded at the camera before disappearing into the bathroom.

He emerged ten minutes later, puzzled by the feeling of having been scrubbed off and dried, the world seeming unreal and confusing around him. His voice asked the disembodied AI about Tony again, and his directions let Connor find the man, seated on the couch and focused on a set of holographic diagrams, annotated and half-disassembled.

“Good morning, Tony,” he ventured, hovering uncertainly before abruptly sitting down, not too close to Tony but not too far either.

Tony shot him a distracted glance and inclined his head, as much an afterthought as anything. He didn’t look like he’d slept, a slight paleness to his skin, but he didn’t seem bothered by it, and a cup of coffee was cooling on the table in front of him.

“Morning,” Tony muttered, eyes already back on his hologram pad, before he did something like a more graceful double-take and smirked at Connor in his oversized shirt. “That’s a good look on you,” he leered, leaning back with the pad in hand and much less focused, but more relaxed. “Pepper’s on her way up with your clothes, there’s a driver waiting out front- nothing personal, you understand.”

“Of course, I understand,” Connor agreed with a small smile, because he’d known that from the start. It was just a night, one night before he refocused on his mission. There was no one here who could call him out on that. “I appreciate it.”

Connor felt almost like an actor in a play, following his script, but instead of suffocating, it was almost a comfortable and familiar feeling now, letting the world slide by without touching him instead of scraping across his every thought. Instead of grating confusion and disorientation with every frame.

Idly, he located a camera and tipped his head to look at it. “How familiar a sight is this?” he asked, more to amuse himself than out of any real curiosity. “I imagine you’ve had plenty of time to grow used to it.”

“He doesn’t normally stay,” JARVIS confided in Connor, which surprised him into open puzzlement, because what could possibly make Connor special?

But Tony had looked up sharply, intent brown eyes suddenly on Connor with more focus than he’d shown even last night. Connor almost drew back on instinct, alarmed, but both of them were interrupted by the arrival of a red-headed woman who, bearing clothes, must be Miss Potts.

She looked surprised to see Tony as well, but instead of saying anything, just nodded at him briskly and beckoned Connor, who rose quickly enough.

“If Tony hasn’t already given you the speech, your clothes have been dry-cleaned and pressed, and there’s a driver waiting downstairs who’ll take you anywhere,” she said, so crisp as to be clearly a well-worn script. “I’m afraid Mr. Stark will be quite busy today-” Tony groaned, but Miss Potts didn’t miss a beat. “-so it would be best for you to leave at your earliest convenience.”

“Of course,” Connor said, soft and agreeable. “Thank you, Miss Potts. I’ll see myself out.”

She gave him a brisk nod before turning on Tony, and he vanished briefly again to change back into his clothes, hands lingering on the shirt for the briefest moment of regret. He liked the taste of its scent.

But he didn’t need anything from tonight except the moments of reprieve.

Still, on his way out again, Connor hesitated, and then glanced over his shoulder and winked. Tony was looking at him again, oddly thoughtful, and it sparked an unfamiliar sense of pride in him.

Comfortable in his own skin, letting the world pass around him without hurting, Connor disappeared into the elevator and out the door.

[askdawnandvern]

Dorian: There's a loaded question.

Yuri: You mean funniest thing we've seen while drunk? The funniest drunken thing done by one of us? Er, the funniest drunk we've ever seen?

Dorian: If it's that last question...whew, that's gonna be tough.

Zach: Yeah, at least half the calls to the station are drinkin' related. A lot of mammals find there's little else to do in the North Meadowlands but drink.

Yuri: Lot of dive bars in Seaotter, and the fact that it rains most of the time drives mammals in doors. Needless to say, drunk and disorderlies are high on the list when it comes to calls.

Dorian: When it comes to family though...I ain't really got an opinion.

Yuri: I got one.

Zach: Is it what I'm thinking of?

Yuri: If yer thinkin' about the time we got Ully wasted, and he squeezed his junk into an entire tall boy and waggled it around to music while screamin' out “Master cylinder!”, then yeah.

Zach: I don't know if it was funny because I was drunk, or he was, but it still cracks me up just thinkin' about it. That idjit was buck bare, dancin' on top of a table and pointin' to the can while announcin' that to everyone.

Yuri: We may never be able to go back to “Martgreenie's”, but it was worth it.

Dorian: Ugh...yeah, nothin' beats havin' to lock yer own boy up in the drunk tank fer the night, and the staff there still gives me dirty looks whenever I'm the one respondin'.

[sonsuvabios]

Wyatt William Randall - Bio

BASICS

FULL NAME. Wyatt William Randall

NICKNAME. Wy; Cowboy; Try-Hard

GENDER. cis male

HEIGHT. 6 ft

AGE. 34 yrs

ZODIAC. Aries

LANGUAGES. American { The boy doesn’t know much else. }

Physical characteristics

HAIR COLOR. Brunette

EYE COLOR. Hazel Green

SKIN TONE. Pale/Tan depending on time of year

BODY TYPE. Muscular/Swimmer’s Build

ACCENT. Southern-esque. Leans more towards Oregonian, but with some twang.

VOICE. Slight bass & carries well. Easy to holler so everyone hears him.

DOMINANT HAND. Right

POSTURE. Good. Comes from weight-lifting and football.

SCARS. A slight scar on his chin from a barfight back when he was in his 20’s.

TATTOOS. None

BIRTHMARKS. Just a couple moles on his chest, but no defined birthmarks.

MOST NOTICEABLE FEATURE(S). High forehead; wide palms & thick fingers from playing football; full lips.

PLACE OF BIRTH. Laurel, Mississippi

HOMETOWN. Eugene, Oregon

BIRTH WEIGHT. 9 lbs even

BIRTH HEIGHT. Doesn’t know

MANNER OF BIRTH. Natural, but with complications

FIRST WORDS. Papa

SIBLINGS. William Gage Randall

PARENTS. Father – William Ogden Randall; Mother - Jasmine Louise Randall

PARENTAL INVOLVEMENT. Both deceased. Wyatt’s mother passed away when he was 8-years-old, leaving his father to take care of both boys. Will then moved his sons over to Oregon after getting a job at a lumber yard that paid almost double what he made back home. Wyatt’s older brother started working odd jobs at age 13 to help out, like delivering papers and mowing lawns. Wy’s dad started to drink a lot when he was little, but then checked himself into AA when Wyatt was twelve, and started to focus on his kids more. Sadly, Wyatt inherited the alcoholism and began drinking as soon as he began diving into the life of a football player. He became captain and the star fullback in high school, which only furthered his drinking and partying. Eventually, it caused a fight between him and his father at the crack of dawn. This disruption caused his father to lose sleep and go to work angry. That day, he passed away from an accident. Wyatt (and his brother) both blamed him for his father’s passing, causing a rift in their family and making Randall spiral downward after his brother bailed to move to New York.

ADULT LIFE

OCCUPATION. Restaurant & Lounge Owner; does volunteer work on the side. { verse dependent }

CURRENT RESIDENCE. Eugene, Oregon

CLOSE FRIENDS. Wyatt’s a homebody. He doesn’t socialize outside of work much and has lost a lot of connections, but will always put on a good show at the karaoke stage or behind the bar. However, his various employees at his restaurant tend to become decent friends of his. { verse dependent }

RELATIONSHIP STATUS. Single { verse dependent }

FINANCIAL STATUS. Upper-middle class after inheriting the restaurant and lounge from the assistant to his old football coach. He had become a close friend and looked at Wyatt like the son he never had.

DRIVER’S LICENSE. ODL License, but he is certified for CDL, too.

CRIMINAL RECORD. Yup… Reckless Endangerment; DUI; DUII; Assault & Battery; Drunken Disorderly; …and in one verse, warrants for his arrest for Murder; Theft; Grand Theft Auto; Evading Arrest and is considered armed and dangerous. Lol! Only in that verse, though. 😉

VICES. { verse dependent } Mostly beer, but whiskey, too. That, and coffee, if you can call it a vice. Lol!

SEXUAL ORIENTATION. Bisexual

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION. Demi

PREFERRED EMOTIONAL ROLE. Switch { Depends partner. Wyatt’s a people pleaser. }

PREFERRED SEXUAL ROLE. Switch, Sub, Masochist. { Depends on partner. With women, he tends to be more atypical dom and suppresses the other sides, but with a strong female, he would absolutely be the sub masochist. }

LIBIDO. High.

TURN ON’S. Devotion. Dedication. Honesty. Good smile; good heart; beautiful eyes; beautiful ass. Lol!

TURN OFF’S. Lying. Selfishness. Hypocrisy. Mainly those three.

LOVE LANGUAGE. Anything sentimental or small gestures, such as opening doors, getting a chair, cooking for someone. Also, physical touch. He’s very cuddly and doesn’t like space. Kinda gets clingy if he’s happy with someone, but it takes him awhile to trust.

RELATIONSHIP TENDENCIES. Poor Wy. He self-sabotage’s his relationships outta fear and self-loathing. He doesn’t mean to, but he’s been abandoned so many times (and blames himself for it) that he always expects they’re gonna leave or that he’ll mess things up. It’ll take a strong person to get through to him and push past all his insecurities. But man, once they get there, he’s forever. Completely devoted and will go out of his way for his partner at every turn.

CHARACTER’S THEME SONG. “Sing It Out” by Switchfoot

HOBBIES TO PASS TIME. Working on his truck; doing volunteer work at a barn close to home; spending time with his dog, Jasmine. { verse dependent } He also does construction/renovations for random customers and goes fishing, rides horses, and likes to hike through the woods.

MENTAL DISORDERS. Anger management issues and agoraphobia; alcoholism; masochism. He loves to do karaoke and talk to people when he’s behind the bar. He can be the life of the party, but intimate stuff scares the Hell outta him. Wyatt never believes it’s real and when he thinks he’s messed things up, he’ll actively go find someone else to get into a fight with, just so they can beat him up. Or, he finds partners who will do it in the bedroom. Not necessarily “beating him” but bein’ dom and using him like a tool. Anything to make himself feel like he’s being useful to their needs so he feels as though he’s doing something right. Also to punish himself for not bein’ good enough to have anyone who will give him more than that.

PHYSICAL ILLNESSES. None, really.

LEFT OR RIGHT BRAINED. More right than left.

PHOBIAS. { See Mental Disorders }

SELF CONFIDENCE LEVEL. Wyatt acts confident around people he doesn’t know and can put on quite a show. He doesn’t get embarrassed easily, but is really very insecure with personal relationships. People who don’t know him very well will think that he’s a typical jock and is probably quite conceded. The reality, however, is that he never thinks he’s good enough for anything other than show. Or to be used, but he’s happy being the giver and never getting anything in return, simply because he doesn’t think he deserves it.

VULNERABILITIES. Once he opens up, he wears his heart on his sleeve. He will always be the hopeless romantic, deep down, which can make him vulnerable to abuse. He’s also not the kind of person to tell people when he’s hurting. He’ll go quiet and wallow in silence just so he doesn’t feel like a burden or make others feel that he’s too complicated by speaking up and bringing drama. Wyatt loves a little too hard and breaks even harder, but he rarely shows it. Again, it will take a rare, strong person to get him to open up and cry in front of someone or show that vulnerable side of himself.

[archergwenwrites]

Drinking Games : Zutara Month Day 14

(This may be inspired by an actual night in France with my TAPIF cohorts. Maybe.)

“You want to play True American. With wine.”

“Listen, your majesty, if you can find a bottle of Jack and enough standard sized beer cans - without breaking the bank or scouring the country - be my guest. But Suki and I need to use up this shitty grapefruit rose, so help us find more glasses.”

“Your landlord left you a cabinet full of them!”

“And we’re playing True American with wine!”

Zuko is this close to losing it, with laughter he’s pretty sure. Here he is, a thousand miles from home, (assistant) teaching a bunch of snot-nosed Earth Kingdom kids about his language and culture, and meeting some crazy people along the way.

Luckily, he’s been to one of these assistant get togethers before, so he was already halfway to buzzed when he walked over to Katara’s apartment.

There’s Suki, the girl native to this small town who is roommates with Katara. She is their lifeline, their sanity, correcting pronuncation in their one shared tongue (Zuko hasn’t let on that he’s somewhat passable in both Water Tribe languages).

Sokka, Katara’s brother, somehow managed to convince the program to let him go to the same town as his sister. He very obviously wishes he was Suki’s roommate, instead of Aang’s.

Aang’s a sweet kid. Young. Clearly not handling homesickness at all and is hoping that if he shoves it down, he won’t have to deal with it. This isn’t his first time traveling, but it is his first time traveling alone. 

There are others, but Katara is the one who holds them together, somehow. She can talk them into standing on the furniture, holding in one hand both a champagne flute of a cheap red and a coffee mug of that godawful rose she and Suki found at the corner store for a euro and a half. They’re yelling nonsense in four languages and laughing until they cry as they furiously try to make their way to the crowning glory: rum from the landlord’s “Take what you like” liquor trunk.

He and Katara are wrapped around each other, holding onto each other by the elbows and sheer drunken will as they precariously balance on a chair. Her brother is yelling something, and Zuko can’t help his snort when Katara mutters a crack at Sokka’s expense in her native language.

She gasps, but he winks with just enough mischief that she smiles back. 

Toph is laughing at some crazy acrobatics Aang must be pulling off, but all Zuko is looking at is Katara (and his wine mug just beyond her head so he doesn’t spill). Her eyes seem locked on his throat. He wants to do something, say something, but she yells out the answer to a question, defeaning him, moving on to the next square.

He’s cold.

They all collapse on the floor - the wine is gone, rum sipped, and about three and a half dishes washed - on the blankets and pillows still strewn about from the game. Zuko wants to count them all, to number them all off and be satisfied that they are all happy and safe, but Katara’s head is on his shoulder, her hair on his cheek. She’s leaned heavily into him, and it’s not hard to imagine how entangled they might wake up.

Lightly, he presses his lips to her forehead. 

She burrows closer with a noise of contentment, and Zuko manages to slip an arm around her and draw her even nearer.

There is a pleasant buzz, both in his head and around them as conversations wind about the room like a disorderly ant parade. Zuko and Katara don’t speak, however. She is practically asleep, protected and warm, in arms she trusts, and Zuko, frankly, refuses to ruin this perfect, joyous moment.

[colt-jax-jackson]

Snowflake + Trick, for Alex. (Hint: Alex fucking hates the cold)

Caught in her glare, he stared directly back at her from across the dark cramped space of the cellar located beneath the homestead. What terrible, odd luck, it was, that they were both on business in this part of the Shiverpeaks, and now, as a large blizzard blows down from the North, they found themselves laying shelter in the same abandoned Norn homestead that was being used to shelter the renegades Norn they’d been each been separately hired to deal with. Of all the places in Tyria.The room was terrible cold. The years had not been kind to the abandoned homestead, and the wind easily found it’s way through the many cracks. The Norn above, had prepared a small fire, but the wind wasn’t nearly as hostile to them as it was to the two below. With no heat to rise, it was only the bitter cold for the two. Each heavy step of the Norn above, dropping another layer of dust and snow down upon the two humans. “Both, highly desiring for the Norn to settle down, so that they could each do their work proper in the dark. But both, not saying a single word to one another. He wanted to scream. He wanted answers. He wanted to curse faith for placing him in such a poor situation what who, he might consider to be, the worst example of someone he might desire to watch his back. His oceanic hues only stared at her eyes, those cursed luminescent pits of hell. He could see that she didn’t like the cold, in truth, he probably disliked it just as much as her.  That look in her eye, though. It seemed like the manner in which a predator would stare at competition of the carcass of prey. They both knew the Norn, drunken and disorderly stood little chance, even less so, with both of them working together. They didn’t need each other. The minutes meshed into an hour, when finally the golden hue of the lamps above started to fade. The sound of snoring heard as the Norn collapsed to their beds. Finally, Colt stood, entirely in unison with Alex as he made his way towards the ladder. Her stride upon her longer-legs, matching his own as they found themselves face to face, their breath, haltered by shivering as they placed a hand upon eachother’s shoulders. It was the time. The decision. Work together or not.