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rosesnink · 2 years ago

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Barcelona | Prince Hamid

Author's Notes:

The last one of my Spain series! Ngl, I waited until I had the chance to have a more legit visit of the city and I was lucky to do so! Though, I have to tag myself in this as Hamid, love the city, but not the hours I've gone there... or the pigeons. Again, the photo there is mine and all these places have been personally visited by me! None of this is made up.

I also dedicate this last part to @missameliep who commented once she wanted to visit Barcelona. I hope these photos help you have a better view of the city, and that one day you experience it yourself! Love you 💕

Summary: As her holiday is still hot on her heels,a certain Prince tells her how bad he wants to visit the iconic city of Barcelona and she cannot resist an adventure like that in such a light–hearted city with such a cultured man

Word Count: 2.6k

Category: Fluff

Pairing: Prince Hamid & D&D MC

Book: Desire and Decorum (modern au)

It was eight in the morning, and Hamid and Celestine had been on the road for two hours. Celestine observed how they left the big city of Madrid, deepening into the meadows with cows, horses and other kinds of animals, often seeing black bulls made of cardboard, which Hamid found interesting. He blasted some music, though Celestine was a tad sleepy, and soon surrendered to the lulling of the car and the music.

They only woke up to find themselves in a small village within the road in Soria, a nearby community to Barcelona. The place in question was a few miles away from the mountains, and the restaurant had a fountain that hardly worked… and several cats, which Hamid was quick to pet and give treats. Celestine smiled and snapped some photos, and he even picked them as if they were babies. She knew he missed his feisty and aloof cat, Leia, but she was with his sisters as they spoke, probably trying to tear them apart.

They came into the restaurant and he was delighted to see that the menus were indeed very Spanish, with sweets and treats behind them, and more food in the counters. Celestine asked for coffee and Hamid made his own order, polishing his own Spanish. The owners didn’t mind his accent, though some people stared. She gave them a ‘what are you looking at? Mind your business’ look and it was enough for them to resume what they were doing. They soon picked their sandwiches and bought Oreos and Ruffles too for the rest of the drive and sat down to eat. Hamid ravished the food he ordered: pincho de tortilla. He moaned in delight as he drank his coffee “I will never get tired of tortilla or patatas bravas. I’d take with me this food if I could.”

Celestine sipped her coffee and ate one croquette “The recipe’s not so difficult to make. You just need practice.”

They talked some more as they observed the fountain, empty during the summer –which baffled Hamid, who was sweating despite the early hour—and Celestine merely giggled, telling him he had been in England for too long. He laughed “I have, haven’t I?”

“Pretty much,” she laughed.

After finishing their second breakfast and going back to the road, Hamid sang with all of him the song ‘Habibi’ by Ricky Rich and Dardan as Celestine took the wheel. Hamid declared the Spanish roads ‘far more tranquil’ than the Turkish ones. Celestine teased “Everything in the north is far more tranquil than the whole Turkiye.”

He laughed out loud as the song ‘Hijo de la Luna’ started playing and he sang it with a heavy accent, making Celestine laugh.

They stopped two more times to stretch their legs and go to the bathroom. The second and last stop before Salou, a neighbouring city to Barcelona, that was now loaded with tourists and everything there being expensive, he could smell the sea as the big, red building came before them, towering over the trees and many people stopped to look at him as he spoke in Turkish to his sisters, and Celestine was not far behind, enjoying her sandwich of bacon and melted cheese. Her glare was enough to fend off the possible racists and they came inside for one more coffee, though Celestine opted for some cocoa. The place was a huge buffet with all kinds of food, and it expanded far, far away. Celestine excused herself and went to the restroom, which was surprisingly clean for a famous stop for travellers.

They left and finally arrived at Salou. The first thing they did was take a look at the beach, but since it had a yellow flag –Celestine explained that the tide wasn’t very safe, but could technically go inside, but not too far. She even told him to not get inside for the sake of it with a smack of the chest included, and the diplomat had to concede. Hamid snapped a few photos of Celestine in the rocks that were there and the beautiful statue of a siren and some scammers tried to get to Hamid, but Celestine fended them off.

Finally, it was time to get inside the town, and took the car again to get further into the city, and Hamid was appalled to see that many pigeons had been run over or dropped dead. They parked in front of an old train station that was still in use and Hamid fed the pigeons. After that, they came into the plaza, where many, many pubs and shops decorated the street, all covered with parasols. Hamid marvelled at the colours and they turned a few corners before coming into the establishments. All arrangements had been made online, and after a small chat, they handed over the keys and Celestine thanked them and wished them a good day in Catalan. Hamid smiled “You speak Catalan?”

“A little bit. I learned it mostly through a series called Merlí. You should watch it, it’s really good.”

“What is it about?”

“A philosophy professor in his forties in a high school in Catalonia that behaves a little bit like his students, having a jovial personality, too jovial for the system.”

Hamid smiled “I’ll be glad to watch it!”

Celestine smiled and they took a few looks at the shops in the main street, a few steps away from the beach, and Celestine bought a simple black dress for walking, and Hamid bought a small postcard for his mother and sisters, and had a laugh when he saw postcards of a male butt, and Celestine joined too. “Allah, I love Spanish humour.”

“You should see La Que Se Avecina and Aqui No Hay Quien Viva. One of the best shows in Spanish history.”

“Celestine, if you recommend me one more Spanish TV show…”

“Just like you got me addicted to Turkish dizis!” She retaliated, and Hamid laughed so loudly, he scared a few pigeons. That made Celestine laugh as well.

They drove to the hotel, that was in front of the beach, and had a pool and Wi-Fi, and comfortable lodgings. The apartment was small, but cosy. Celestine quickly put her stuff in the bathroom as Hamid observed that the main beds had wooden doors that moved to close them completely, a simple TV, a sofa that could turn into bed, and a small terrace with a desk and two chairs. Cosy enough for two people. It also had views to a neighbouring hotel, supermarket, the local donner kebab and the beach itself. Celestine joked that at night, he’d see the university drunks on that street.

First, they’d visit Salou itself, then tomorrow they’d go to see Tarragona, rest a bit and finally, Barcelona.

Today, though, they’d rest and watch the news and silly Mexican telenovelas like Pasión de Gavilanes.

They got up pretty late, and Celestine was out for groceries, Hamid behind her. They bought the necessary ones and headed back, where they both cooked and chatted of what to expect of Salou today. First, they’d hit the beach. They went through it by crossing the path from the pool to a park for children, which door lead directly to the beach. They laid there and put on some sunscreen as they chatted and watched how the children played. Hamid was the first one to test the Catalonian waters, and though a tad cold at first, he quickly adjusted and beckoned Celestine to go with him, which she gladly did. They nearly got eaten by the waves and then proceeded to take a long walk through the beach. Celestine, being small, nearly fell and struggled to keep up with Hamid, who was quick. They eventually made it to a playground for children and went back to their stuff, which they had hidden and no one luckily stole it. They went to the beach and chilled as a local tried to ask Celestine out, but saw her accompanied and moved on another target. The pool was big enough and nice, with the sun directly pointing at them and, after that, Hamid was the first one to take a short, but hot shower and dressed there. Celestine took longer, though not as long as she would. In thirty minutes, she was ready for a night out. They went out and first went to buy something from the merchants, and Celestine gave Hamid a few tips on buying on the streets, especially in front of the beach.

They went to the donner kebab and got a discount as Hamid made friends with the owners and Celestine learned a few new words. She was shamefully behind her Turkish lessons in Duolingo. They ate the ordered food—Celestine a durum and Hamid a big kebab—and talked some more, practising his Spanish. Hamid asked falafel for later and said goodbye to the owner, back to their apartment. They changed into pyjamas and both took their bed, shutting down everything. The next morning, they’d visit Tarragona in the early hours.

At six in the morning, Celestine woke Hamid up, much to his complains, and quickly got dressed for the day. Celestine drove as Hamid tried not to fall asleep on the co-pilot seat, moaning about having to go so early “I mean, if you want to be crushed by a million tourists while you sweat your tits off, be my guest.”

He reclined back on his seat “Never mind.”

Celestine laughed and kept driving. To say that finding a seat to park was difficult was an understatement. And it was just eight in the morning! She teased a sleepy Hamid that he’d have an impossible task in the afternoon. He just moaned out of tiredness. Celestine laughed once again.

They walked a few streets, all with even more pubs than in Salou, and first saw the monument of marble with people holding other people up in a tower of people, a tradition in Catalonia, which Celestine explained to her companion. Crossing the park in the middle of the road, they reached the balcony, filled with decorations and the wide sea, a few feet under them. It was utterly breath-taking and with the perfect colour palette. They took a photo of the another and went towards the Roman ruins, which they first observed from a faraway fence. Coming down the steps filled with all kinds of flowers and gardening, they came into the ruins, and by god, or Allah, it was just as breath-taking. It was wide, palettes of orange and gold far as the eye could see, a beautiful piece. They then went even further, to a building in which you could see from up higher the sea and Tarragona. He could almost see Italy, though Celestine said it was impossible, but a man could dream.

They then went into the city again, for Celestine was hungry. They crossed a park with a spot for feeding pigeons and kept going forward, until they spotted a supermarket with an ancient university that was in the outskirts of the city. They ate apples and drank water as they observed and analysed the university: it was being repaired from some damages, and as they finished, they went back to their car, which was a rather long walk for the poor Turkish diplomat, who was still tired, and it was only twelve in the morning.

At lunch time in Spain, which was two in the afternoon, they ate some delicious spaghetti Celestine cooked and they talked about hitting the beach again and even get out and go to the beach at night. Hamid was eager for the night, which he liked far more than the mornings.

The day they visited Barcelona, Hamid had to get up again early for the travel and slept through it this time. When they arrived, Celestine parked in the outskirts and they decided to walk towards their first destiny: the beautiful palace that used to belong to the Prince of Catalonia, who was then made a royal duke. It was absolutely beautiful, as well as the gardens. You could smell the water, food, perfumes of the tourists and the breeze of the early morning. The first steps took you to four towers in Greek style, perfectly tall and beautiful, and in front of them, in the second set of steps, a beautiful waterfall that revealed the palace in question marvelled the diplomat even more. It was surrounded by steps of stone and decorated richly with trees and flowers. As they got up, vendors from all kind offered them anything, and when they went up, a last, small set of steps was offered. It was full of tourists and invasive pigeons feeding from the crumbs of their food. The statues that decorated them were absolutely gorgeous and the view of the fountain was incredibly breath-taking. They went to one side, coming down small stairs to a secret balcony with more Greek decorations. One could see important buildings, Sagrada Familia included, if you looked hard enough. The city had old and new buildings, most of them built by Gaudí, the most important architect in Spain, and author of the unfinished Sagrada Familia. As they came down, not one but two more fountains decorated the palace and gave view to the city and its mountains.

The street that they crossed was busy and full of reckless drivers, and Celestine took Hamid to the famous mall built in the Mediterranean Sea, with a bridge that opened periodically from time to time, a phenomenon that drove many tourists to be there. She advised him not have any food on sight, or else the seagulls would try to steal it and peck him in the process. He believed her.

But first, they visited one of the most famous stops: the biggest park in the middle of the road, full of vendors and street stores that sold all kinds of things. It led to many other plazas and it was filled with trees and honks from the roads beside them. Celestine itched for Burger King, and though they struggled, they could find one in front of a busy road with a beautiful statue that Hamid couldn’t observe well from his slight sleepiness. They got inside the Burger King and it was absolutely beautiful, and it had an upstairs zone. It was a busy one, though, and waited a long time before they ordered and got their things upstairs, where they got to see the street and how many people walked with different motives. After the quick brunch, they went through a roundabout… with many homeless people there, asking for money. All of them ignored them, even the poor woman crying out to please help her. His heart clenched and he gave her two euros, and she thanked him and blessed him. They continued on their journey.

As they came inside, the place was wide and full of many shops that he didn’t see in London, as well as smells of different foods, clothes, people talking and having a great time. After a quick coffee, they were told the bridge would open, and people crossed the bridge in a hurry, but they stayed behind. The bridge slowly opened, and everyone gasped and took photos as seagulls and pigeons flew away from the commotion. Hamid was awestruck and they both left the place afterwards to a small bench with a park and an old building behind them, having a small sandwich of tortilla. They also saw famous theatres and the wonders Gaudi built, especially the building and parks and walked again to their car, stuffed and itching to go back to their apartment, and they did, after a long walk.

Nightfall came, and in the early hours of the night, one last time, Hamid and Celestine packed up and left before the clock struck eleven in the afternoon. They drove to the agency and gave them the keys and left.

Hamid had fallen in love with the city and promised to return someday… without having to wake up at such an ungodly hour ever again. Celestine laughed at that comment.

#playchoices fanfiction #desire and decorum #desire and decorum au #prince hamid #spain series #barcelona #hamid x celestine #prince hamid x mc #mc: celestine walker

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thegoosewiththemost · 3 years ago

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Haunting - Part 3

Summary: You summon BJ for the first time.

Read Part 2 here

Read Part 4 here

Betelgeuse fiddled nervously in his incorporeal form as he watched his human with keen interest. He had turned himself invisible to them ever since that night he had pushed them over the edge of reason, confident that he had made enough of an impression that I would only be a matter of time before they would come RUNNING back to him and summon him once and for all.

A month passed. A second one flew by even faster but there was no sign that he would be called on. In fact, his breather seemed to be enjoying the peace and quiet that he had left in the wake of his dramatic exit. His quaint little calling card that he had given them had been binned along with the remaining flyers that they cleared from around the house in a spontaneous spring clean. Maybe he had miscalculated this time.

Distance was meant to make the heart grow fonder, not make his human say “good riddance”.

It almost disturbed him to see how someone could live such a mundane life and still be happy, but at the same time he was obsessed with the idea of living.

He was nearing the point where he was determined to start providing some more external encouragement, but he soon discovered he didn’t need to. The moment he heard the dull sound of wood splintering off as a crowbar gouged its way into the gap between door and its frame. A final shove and a tired creak sighed out as the door gave up its resistance, swinging slowly open on protesting hinges, allowing the home intruder in.

Betelgeuse waited on standby with baited breath. He should warn them, but if he did would they suspect him of foul play?

A muffled call from within the bathroom came out, “Betelgeuse? Is that you?”

The sound of his breather turning off the water in the shower alerted both him and this soon-to-be-unfortunate burglar to the high stakes of the showdown that would inevitably happen.

The click of a gun being loaded set off a thought in his calculating mind. This could only go one of two ways if he didn’t act now, one of which would be rather sticky and unfortunate for both himself and his breather. He needed to act fast too. In his half existing ghostly form, he didn’t have the power to stop anything from happening to his human and he couldn’t let them die. Not yet anyways.

He came bounding through the walls and straight into the shower behind them without any decorum, “There’s someone in the house with a gun, you should summon me to deal with them.”

You let out a shrill scream as you turned around to suddenly find his face inches from yours, green with rot and hollowed. half trying to cover yourself up at the sudden intrusion and at the same time knocking the bottles of soap off the edge of their holders and into the shower. “WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU YOU THINK YOURE DOING???”

Beetlejuice tried unsuccessfully to clamp his hand over your mouth, only for his fingers to phase through your lips, plucking a shiver from them as the chill ran through your body.

“SHHHHH!! Weren’t you listening to what I said? There’s an intruder inside your house. Right now! With a gun!”

“Are you sure you’re not the intruder? Because I feel like my privacy had been violated in more ways than one.”

Beetlejuice could sense the shift in the heavy near-silence outside the door to the bathroom.

“They’re outside. Be very quiet. Summon me. I can’t help you until you call my name.”

“How do I know this isn’t one of your tricks?”

”Unless you want to see them come through the door, you’ll have to take my word for it.”

The squeak of rubber soles against the floor beyond the safety of the door set alarm bells ringing in your head. For once, you were truly afraid of facing the possibility of death. You weren’t ready to go. The blood drained from your face and your limbs felt heavy and cold as the water on your skin cooled down into something akin to icy sweat.

You watched as an experimental twist of the doorknob this way and that appeared to have given up. But the sudden kick at the door made you jump. Someone was very desperate to get in. The situation escalated in your mind rapidly as you thought about the slimming chance of survival. They must have heard your scream and assumed that you had seen their face and hidden yourself. It would only be logical for them to try to remove any potential witnesses. And there you were, naked as the day you were born and completely defenseless in the shower. What a way to go, you thought ironically.

The door bowed against its frame under the strength that it was put under, threatening to swing open any moment.

“Call me!” The words resounded in your mind, more urgent and insistent I than ever.

There wasn’t much of a choice to make. It was a life or death situation.

You had nothing to lose.

Taking in a steady breath, unsure of what summoning a demon could do, you said his name.

“Betelgeuse.”

You tested the name on your lips quickly. There was a tension in the room that bordered on being electric. Even the air around you felt somehow more solid that it had been before.

“That’s it, babes. Two more times now.” His thrown voice purred in your ear, instructing you along.

“Betelgeuse, Betelgeuse!”

You finished rapidly as the door gave way.

“Yesss!”

The voice in your head sounded clearer, substantial.

Distantly you heard the cocking of a gun and the silhouette of a man concealed by the sudden burst of green smoke in the middle of the bathroom. His deep growling laughter followed his entrance, corporeal now. More powerful.

“It’s showtime!”

#beetlejuice #beetlejuice musical #musicaljuice #beetlejuice x reader #musicaljuice x reader #brightjuice #blumjuice

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nightingaelic · 4 years ago

Note

Companions (DLC included) respond to the Courier getting drunk at their wedding.

Arcade Gannon: "What is wrong with you? You couldn't pick any other day to act like a brahmin who got into the broc patch?"

Super apologetic toward his new husband, he should've known the courier was going to make a scene, honestly, it's about the only thing they're good at, and gets so flustered he starts blushing and his newly-minted spouse has to reassure him that the courier isn't even the most inebriated person there. That award goes to Cass, who is pickling herself in a mixture of wedding joy and despair that the nerdy gay scientist of the friend group found love before she did. Arcade stops the courier from being a bad influence and forbids the bartender from pouring the pair of them any more shots. Will not hold the courier's hair if they throw up, but will slip them some Rebound for the inevitable hangover.

Craig Boone: "Take it easy. Here, I'll finish that one for you."

Ignores the courier's antics completely until they make their way up to congratulate him and his new partner personally, at which point his usual stony façade will crack a bit. He's well-acquainted with the courier's drunk personality by now, but hasn't let himself loosen up out of a strong sense of duty. Now, on this happy day, he's willing to relax an inch and share some extra drinks with them and the rest of the Lucky 38 crew. This is the one time the courier will be able to steal his beret and be able to hang onto it until after the festivities.

Lily Bowen: "Go sit in the corner until you can behave yourself, dearie!"

Embarrassed by her surrogate grandchild's actions, Lily would attempt to scold the courier back into sobriety. Eventually she would realize her efforts are fruitless and take a few minutes to sulk, before the whirlwind happiness of the day and the flounce of her dress win out and she lets her spouse, the courier and her Lucky 38 and Jacobstown friends lead her out to the middle of the dance floor. After that, well, there aren't many spectacles that can top seeing a bunch of super mutants dancing.

Raul Alfonso Tejada: "Hey, hey, slow down boss! Tenemos muchos años más to act like fools together, eh?"

As soon as the courier jumps up on a table to give an impromptu toast, Raul will unleash his best grito and toast them back with the nearest bottle of tequila. Once deep enough into the alcohol himself, Raul would get a little weepy and start thanking them profusely for their role in his recent years of life, leaning on them as much as they're leaning on him. Largely forgiving of messes caused by clumsiness or turned stomachs, unless any of them threaten to ruin his suit or his partner's outfit.

Rose of Sharon Cassidy: "Well if this ain't an excuse to get wasted in the wastes, I don't know what is."

Cass lives up to her nickname "Whiskey Rose" and is probably just as deep into her cups as the courier. Through the laughter, stumbles, bumps and curse words, however, Cass is careful not to go past her point of no return, and cuts the courier off before they also slip over the edge. She's spent much of her later life trying to get blackout drunk, but today is not a day she wants either of them to forget. As such, she has a low tolerance for anyone who messes up something important in her eyes, and will toss them out on their ass. God help anyone who rips her dress.

Veronica Santangelo: "That's the first time I've seen anyone mix Jake Juice and ant nectar together. This should be interesting."

Rather than confront a drunken courier about their bad behavior, Veronica settles for blushing deeper and deeper shades of pink, until her new wife tells her to go outside and get some air. Like Cass, she is very protective of her dress, but mostly because she loves wearing it in general and wants to feel like a princess for as long as she can. Will definitely get lost in the bathroom with Cass and the courier at some point, complimenting everyone who walks in. Will hold the courier's hair back if they throw up.

BONUS!

Dean Domino: "Don't leave me out if you have plans for some grand finale. Marriage might've caught me, but this snake can still rattle."

As long as the courier doesn't start singing, Dean regards their drunken stunts with a charming smile and a wink or two. If the courier tries to start some impromptu karaoke, however, Dean will start heckling them and get the rest of the guests to join in. This is less about being offended by their singing and more about putting himself back in the center of the spotlight. If the song is a duet, though, he'll probably join in on the second part with some pre-war choreography.

Christine Royce: [scowls]

The Brotherhood assassin is quite good at piercing glares, which is exactly what the courier will get if they don't put the centerpiece down and melt back into the crowd around the bar. Christine is also unafraid of a confrontation, and if the courier's behavior doesn't improve after their first warning, they'll be kicked to the outskirts of the reception, or kicked out altogether. Veronica will take pity on them if this happens and sneak them some food, but Christine doesn't let her guard down easily anymore and removal from the party is permanent.

Dog/God: "Hrrrrrrn..."

Watching the courier overindulge is too much for the nightkin, who is painfully reminded of his own split personality. Still too polite to ask the courier to tone it down or leave though, he instead disappears until the courier leaves or until someone else deals with them.

Follows-Chalk: "Let's share a cup or two, then get back to things, neh?"

Though he's personally fine with the courier's lack of decorum, Follows-Chalk meets the disapproving glances from the rest of the Dead Horses with sheepish grins and hustles them to the back of the celebration if they get too loud. He'll share a few drinks with them though, and the alcohol will warm him up significantly toward letting them back into the center of things. Ultimately, he and the courier will wind up swaying together over a bonfire, singing songs off-key and reminiscing about their time together in Zion.

Waking Cloud: "Muddy your water if you must, but do not forget to let it run clean beneath the morning."

The tall, stately bride is polite and tolerant of the courier's drunken outbursts, but chooses not to partake herself when offered drinks. The Sorrows view mind-altering substances as something for serious, sacred purposes, and weddings are focused on celebration rather than ritual. Still, Waking Cloud can't help but smile when the courier tries their hand at the intricate, unending dances on the banks of the Virgin River. They might look foolish, and watching members of the tribe might wince, but the smile on their face is pure ecstasy.

Joshua Graham: "There is a fire that burns within the righteous, but that fire cannot prosper if you insist on quenching it."

As a Mormon, Joshua Graham doesn't drink, and he's very judgmental of those who overindulge. Seeing as it's the courier, his disdain is tempered into something more akin to disappointment, but he'll still take every opportunity to pull them aside and try to explain their faux pas in between their hiccups. Most likely to have a dry wedding in the first place, but we all know the courier has a trusty Vault 13 canteen and is great at breaking the rules.

Ulysses: "The Twin Mothers knew how to cure a wound with bitters, one drink at a time... some wounds need more. More bitters, and more drinks. There's enough bitterness already in our history."

Ulysses also doesn't drink, but he knows better than to try to separate the courier from a good time. He'll simply avoid them until they simmer down, grabbing his partner and ducking out of conversations right before the courier crashes them. He's so successful in this that the courier might start loudly complaining about how they "didn't know we were back in the Divide," and enlist ED-E to bob around the party in pursuit.

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mostlycompetentwriter · 4 years ago

Note

A threesome with Chan and changbin. But really soft. The three of you are dating and despite being exhausted and so on, you all just wanna make love to one another

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Chan x Changbin

Warnings: smut and language

Genre: Poly AU

Word Count: 1.5K

You were exhausted, marching through the front door of the apartment you shared with your two boyfriends while the weight of the responsibilities ailing you at work continued to follow you with every step in the direction of the bedroom.

You shouldered aside the door, groaning with relief at the sight of your king-sized bed where Changbin was already situated on his side of the mattress, glasses falling down his nose as he looked over some paperwork. Despite the handsome aspect of his profile, you could tell that the aged shadows surrounding his orbital bones and the glazed-over look in his eyes revealed just how much his own office job was affecting him.

“Changbin,” you whined, launching yourself across the mattress without even taking off your shoes.

“Baby,” Changbin grunted, shifting his folders which had fallen in all sorts of directions after you cannon-balled onto the bed.

“How was work?” you asked him, even though your voice was muffled by the pillow cases.

“Boring,” Changbin grumbled. “I still have to look over these meeting notes before tomorrow.”

“Mhhmmm,” you replied, less than intelligently, as you reached out to squeeze his thigh. “I guess you don’t have enough time to fuck me tonight.”

Changbin inhaled sharply at the comment, dropping his hand on top of your own. “Y/N,” he purred in a guttural tone, but before he could say anything else, the door to the adjoining ensuite bathroom opened and revealed your other boyfriend, Chan, hunched over while drying off his hair. A cloud of steam followed him, and you sighed at the seductive image of your boyfriend wearing nothing but a very loose towel around his trim waist.

“I didn’t hear you come home,” Chan remarked, dismissing all semblance of decorum as he crawled on top of you, landing a wet, messy kiss across your pout before rolling over onto his side of the bed with an exhausted sigh. “I’m so tired.”

“Me too,” you agreed, closing your eyes and savoring the heat emanating from Chan after a scalding-hot shower.

“I can’t go to sleep though,” Chan complained. “My brain’s too wired.”

“Maybe I can help with that,” you said with a smirk, moving your hand along the sheets until you found the edges of Chan’s towel, climbing your fingers along the outline of his thigh until you felt the bulge tenting the fabric with an interested chub of his cock.

“You gonna jerk me off?” Chan asked with a lazy grin.

“If you want,” you replied with a hint on nonchalance.

“I thought you needed a good fuck,” Changbin whispered, and his voice was husky with lust and desire, even if the tone contradicted the sleepy haze weighing down his eyelids.

“I think we’re all too tired for that,” you said, and it was a stark reminder that you were all working adults who dedicated way too much time to menial office jobs, studio production, and whatever the hell you were doing at the conference hall downtown - so much so that it was almost too tiring to dedicate any more time to one another at the end of the day.

And that had you frowning.

“We can still have fun,” Chan said. “Without doing anything crazy.”

“Oh?” you laughed. “Like what?”

The question was airy and light-hearted, and you weren’t prepared to hear Chan’s voice right next to your ear, warm breath panting against your sensitive lobes. “Suck off Changbin, sweet girl, and I’ll take you nice and slow from behind.”

You moaned at the suggestion, trying not to lose your bearings when you watched Changbin push down the hem of his sweatpants, allowing his fully erect cock to spring free. “Looks like you really wanted it,” you remarked, and Changbin merely groaned in response as he dug his fingers into your hair to bring your mouth over his cock.

“I won’t last long,” he said, and you smirked knowing that Changbin was this worked up.

You planned to give him a good time, starting with gentle licks of your tongue across the swollen mushroom head of his cock, tasting the bitter precum already gathered there. “Keep it together, Bin,” Chan murmured, and you could see him from the corner of your eye, dropping the towel from around his waist and leaving him completely nude.

He was a Greek god looking like that, sculpted with hard lines and defined ridges, rises and fall of muscles over toned skin that you knew he worked very hard to achieve after spending long hours in the gym with Changbin. But whereas Changbin was all big biceps and bulging pectorals, Chan was trimmer, emphasizing the shape and sharpness of the muscles that drove you insane.

You whimpered when Chan started stroking himself, choosing to take Changbin as deeply as you could for a distraction from the sexy sight of your older boyfriend. “Fuck, Y/N,” Changbin hissed through gritted teeth, completely unprepared for you to swallow him down all at once, hollowing your cheeks and feeling him touch the back of your throat.

“No mercy,” Chan remarked, and you shivered when you felt him fall into position behind you, a heavy weight that felt scalding against your spine. “Let’s open you up, baby girl,” he said, and you nearly choked around Changbin’s thick length when Chan started to push his fingers between the soaked folds of your pussy, stretching and massaging the walls of your cunt to prepare you for his impressive erection. The one poking at your ass as you squirmed on the bed, moaning when Changbin tightened his hold around your head - a reminder that you should be focused on pleasuring him.

But it was hard to focus on Changbin with Chan behind you, fingering you into oblivion with his long digits curling up against your g-spot before thrusting in and out in a motion that would soon mimic his cock.

You closed your eyes to picture it, imagining the sensation of Chan’s cock instead of his fingers - it would fill you up so much better - while you started to bob your head up and down Changbin’s wet length, working him over as he grunted in response.

“Soon, baby,” Changbin whispered, and you heeded his warning, sucking around the tip of his erection as you traced your tongue down the prominent vein that ran down the side of his cock, pumping more and more blood into the place where he was rapidly unwinding, chanting your name in a hushed tone before his hips jerked up and your mouth was filled with Changbin’s cum and his rapidly softening length.

You hummed in satisfaction, but Chan didn’t give you long to savor the moment, and you whined when he pulled out his fingers only to guide his cock to your entrance, pushing home with one long, languid thrust that left you gasping around Changbin’s release, spilling some of remaining cum onto your lips and chin.

“Fuck,” Changbin cursed, watching as your tongue darted out to follow the trail.

Chan growled at the tightness surrounding his cock, tapping you on the hip to make sure that you were still fine.

You heart glowed at his thoughtfulness and you answered his unspoken cue by grinding yourself back on his cock. “Please,” you added, almost out of desperation, but Chan was there to give you what you needed, pulling back just to the tip before hitting home once again, reaching so deep inside that you wondered if he was touching your cervix.

Meanwhile, Changbin’s fingers had gathered up some of his release that was still coating your skin, rubbing it between his thumb and index finger before reaching down to rub circles against your clit. You jerked forward at the added stimulation, lowering your head to control your breathing as you started to feel the beginnings of a powerful orgasm building as an out of control heat that was threatening to engulf you completely.

“Come on, gorgeous,” Chan snarled against the back of your neck, pressing kisses against the skin there as he pumped his hips viciously into yours. “Cum for us.”

You cried out both of their names when you allowed yourself to let go, feeling everything, including all those stresses from work, vanish in the blink of an eye, and you fell against Changbin while Chan continued to work you over - aiming for his own orgasm before you were oversensitive.

“Coming,” he grunted, and you tried your best to tighten your walls around his cock, hearing him exhale harshly until the familiar warmth of his cum filled you to the brim, leaking down your thighs when Chan finally pulled out.

“You did well, baby,” Changbin whispered, and his fingers were far more gentle as they combed through the knots that he had created earlier, smoothing out the individual strands of your hair while Chan ran his fingers down the grooves of your spine,

“I think we all needed that,” Chan said, and you heard Changbin chuckle as you merely smiled in contentment, knowing that even the exhaustions of everyday life could never splinter the intimacy you felt with both of them.

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i-got-these-words · 4 years ago

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Short Midnight Drabble ~

[Content warnings: Excessive drinking; dubious consent; victim self-blaming; jealousy; explicit sexual content; explicit language.]

The rhythm in his head had but one name. Tequila.

Guan Shan winced as a shooting pain lanced through him, striking dead centre in the space between his eyes like a rusty nail trying to screw its way through his skull. His heavy and only-somewhat-cooperative tongue rolled around a tart curse that would have had his mom smacking him upside the head and scolding him six ways to Sunday.

Fuck a cheese grater. Where was he?

Prying his eyes open, Guan Shan squinted into the dimly lit room, thankful that someone had had the foresight to draw the vertical blinds closed. The scintillating shimmer of a spring dawn spilt through the narrow gaps, casting the room and its slumbering occupants in hues of cerise and new beginnings.

Guan Shan didn’t recognise them, and he sure as fuck didn’t believe in new beginnings. Or second chances. He was forced to clench his teeth against a wave of nausea when he tried to sit up, his body stiff and protesting. He took a few steadying breaths through his nose as the rusty nail asserted itself once again, burrowing deeper and laying claim to his alcohol-addled brain.

The room was littered with the usual post-party detritus, but in place of ransacked snack bowls, disposable red cups and crushed beer cans, there were half-empty food platters, fully empty champagne bottles and a slew of personalised confetti.

It came him to then—Jian Yi and Zheng Xi’s engagement party.

He instantly regretted coming. Then, just as quickly, felt bad for even thinking it; Jian Yi was the closest thing Guan Shan had to a friend, even if Guan Shan would never admit it. But then he remembered how, in the face of his hesitation, Jian Yi had assured Guan Shan that he wouldn’t be attending. After all, he was halfway across the globe and had already sent his apologies and felicitations in the form of an outrageously luxurious RV disguised as an engagement gift.

Shit.

Guan Shan needed to get out of there.

He took his time levering himself to his feet, swaying a little as the room spun. Gingerly, he lumbered past the handful of dozing guests, most of them more scantily dressed than they had been at the beginning of the party, limbs twisted around a partner—or partners—a piece of upholstered furniture, or a bottle of top-shelf liquor.

The air was thick with the scents of warm, canoodling bodies, an eye-watering floral fragrance someone had drenched themselves in the night before and the lingering traces of eau de fuck mist. Wrinkling his nose, Guan Shan scowled at the thought of partygoers going at it right there in the living room whilst he was passed out drunk on the couch. What happened to having some goddamn decorum?

Meandering out into the hallway in search of his chukka boots, Guan Shan rubbed his temples and wondered if it was too early in the day for the Sunday trains to be running. He considered getting an Uber back to his place, but he was trying to save up—for a wedding gift, a fucking suit because the one he owned was only fit to be worn at funerals, smart shoes that hadn’t been bought at a thrift store, and a round or two of over-priced drinks at the joint bachelor bash Jian Yi was already twittering about.

Fuckin’-A. He’d need to budget more tightly than he already had been, but he consoled himself with the option of selling the suit and shoes second-hand post-wedding and making up for the difference by picking up a few more shifts at the restaurant.

And making do with less than three hours of sleep a night.

Putting his monetary worries to one side, Guan Shan spent the better half of a minute getting tangled in the loose end of a congratulations banner that had come half-undone from the wall. As he passed the kitchen, he caught the time on the microwave’s digital display: five fucking am. The first train wasn’t due til half six.

Mood souring, Guan Shan ran a frustrated hand through his shorn hair, a little stiff and sticky from the product he’d fingered through it last night. His stomach lurched when he noticed the wretched bottle of jalapeño-infused tequila on the breakfast bar and he wondered why he’d thought drinking himself to oblivion would be a good idea. Not only had it been one of his more foolish decisions, it hadn’t even fucking worked.

Guan Shan could remember, clear as day, how his mouth had dried up and his heart had dithered like a fucking damsel in distress when he’d spotted He Tian sauntering through Jian Yi and Zheng Xi’s verdant backyard. With his signature cocksure swagger, He Tian had garnered the attention of many a guest sprawled on rattan garden furniture. Guan Shan had envied them their insouciance as they sipped chilled champagne from sparkling glasses and got their fill of a fabulous ass furnished in dark denim. Guan Shan, on the other hand, had ensconced himself in the kitchen in an attempt to avoid crossing paths with his ex.

That, too, hadn’t fucking worked.

With an hour to kill, Guan Shan found himself in the guest bathroom, splashing his face with arctic-cold water in the hopes that it would chink away at the haze of his hangover. In anticipation of having overnight sojourners, Jian Yi or Zheng Xi—more likely the latter—had stacked a pile of sealed toothbrushes and bottles of mouthwash on the window ledge.

Guan Shan felt marginally human after he’d scrubbed his teeth and freshened up. He chanced a look in the mirrored cabinet above the sink and grimaced. His rose gold hair, which had been a deliberate mess of spikes at the beginning of the night was now nothing short of a grooming disaster. His cheeks were flushed from the cold wash, masking the dusting of freckles on his face that bloomed and waned with the seasons. Normally a blazing liquid copper, his eyes were a dull brass, tarnished by too many shots and not enough winks.

The mouth-watering aroma of morning coffee wafted through from under the bathroom door and Guan Shan hoped whoever was up was brewing it strong. He was downing a couple of Advil he’d filched from the small cabinet when he noticed a bruise peeking out from the collar of his shirt. He leaned closer to the mirror, trying to get a better look.

Motherfucker. It was an honest-to-fuck hickey.

As his already-shit mood took a nosedive, Guan Shan ground his molars, the flush on his cheeks deepening with anger. Who the fuck had put it there? And when? Guan Shan couldn’t remember making out with anyone last night and, given that he was fully clothed sans shoes, the necking session had probably not gone past first base.

Probably.

Had he been so blitzed out that he couldn’t remember letting someone suck a bruise on his person? Fuck.

Fuck!

Guan Shan’s ire took an ugly turn. He shouldn’t have put himself in that fucking position. He should’ve known better. Seeing He Tian had fucked him up and Guan Shan had responded by getting shitfaced.

Eyes stinging, Guan Shan swiped viciously at his face with another palmful of frosty water. Just as he turned to the toilet and unzipped his fly, the bathroom door swung open.

He Tian paused in his stride to blink at Guan Shan. Then proceeded to make his way to the sink.

“Do you fucking mind?” Guan Shan growled, ignoring the way his insides squirmed at the sight of a sleepy-looking He Tian: softly tousled locks, a rumpled silk shirt and black boxer briefs that were so tight his dick was one cough away from indecent exposure.

Opening the cabinet and rummaging through the contents, He Tian mumbled a curt, “Nope.”

Guan Shan knew he was on the verge of snapping, and he let his anger simmer to a boil as He Tian popped the cap off the Advil container and knocked back a few pills. When he was done guzzling a mouthful of water right from the tap, his gelid grey eyes slid to Guan Shan. He Tian lofted a dark brow and the motion shouldn’t have been as sensual as it was.

“It’s not like you haven’t pissed in front of me before,” He Tian mused. “In fact—”

“Finish that sentence and you’ll be shitting out your own teeth for the next year,” Guan Shan snarled.

A smirk ghosted He Tian’s lips and the challenge in his eyes made Guan Shan’s stupid heart stutter like a gin-soaked queen in stilettos. “—I distinctly recall how much it turned you on.”

The illusion that he had any self-control around He Tian shattered as Guan Shan pivoted on his heel and plunged towards the taller man, fists raised and powered up.

But He Tian was ready for him. He’d always been fucking ready for him.

Guan Shan’s knuckles barely grazed the hard-lined jaw it was aiming for as He Tian swiftly dodged to the side. When Guan Shan brought up his left elbow to ram it into He Tian’s obscenely, perfectly straight nose, He Tian ducked like he was made of liquid and not the stacked muscle Guan Shan knew was rolling under that naturally tan skin. He Tian countered with a friendly jab to Guan Shan’s kidney; it wasn’t meant to hurt, and it didn’t. But it did momentarily surprise Guan Shan and He Tian predictably took advantage of his hesitation.

The bathroom cabinet shook as Guan Shan’s back collided with the tiled wall.

He Tian closed in on him, outstretched arms boxing Guan Shan in from either side and leaving He Tian wide open to a counterattack, one that they both knew wouldn’t come.

Guan Shan blamed his sluggish reflexes on the hangover from hell and, this close up, he could see that He Tian hadn’t come away completely unscathed either from a night of liberal drinking and liberal morals.

His eyes were rimmed pink, half-lidded and weary. His weekend stubble was a velvet shadow that would have taken a younger He Tian a week to grow out. His post-party redolence was a mixture of faded cologne, the spicy notes of celebratory fizz, and a familiar musk that reminded Guan Shan of lazy mornings in bed, sun-warmed sheets, and an intimacy that didn’t involve swapping spunk.

Guan Shan’s throat tightened like a vice when he spied the flecks of dark red on He Tian’s crumpled white collar, and the grisly bite mark on the side of his neck that was responsible.

“I’ve barely said two words to you and you’re already trying to break my face,” He Tian drawled in a voice that was as deep as it was dark, and made all the more dangerous by a disarming smile. “What crawled up your ass this fine morning?”

Read the full fic here: Love Bites and Bruises

#19 days #19 days fic #fanfic #fanfiction #drabble #tianshan #he tian #mo guan shan #love bites and bruises

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hizashis-lil-bunbun · 4 years ago

Text

The Silent Auction- (Hizashi Yamada X Fem!Reader)

This is my contribution to the Citrus Dome Auction Collab! Hizashi is honestly one of my favorite characters to write for and it’s a crime I don’t use him more.

Word Count: ~8.5k

Contains: smut, pet names, unprotected sex, creampie, DDLG (if you squint)

Banner by @ladyshinigami

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“I can’t believe this.” You sigh for the umpteenth time, twisting this way and that to look at yourself in the bathroom mirror. You’re wearing a rich, black, floor-length gown with a high slit up one side and just the right amount of ruching to tastefully accentuate your curves. It was truly a miracle that it fit without the need for alterations, considering you’d had to buy the thing in a rush. Hell, you’d barely glanced at the price tag before slapping down your company credit card, viewing it as a bit of karmic justice for your boss’ callous, last-minute assignment. Sure being a sidekick of Endeavor’s (even a minor one) had its perks, but that didn’t make him any less of a nightmare to work for. As you struggled with the miniscule clasp on your necklace, you replayed this morning’s events in your head.

“The Heroes Gala?” You’d questioned, cocking your head in confusion and earning an irritated groan from the Flame Hero.

“Surely you’ve heard of it.” He’d snarked, the flames that ring his face seeming to flare in annoyance. “The Commission holds it once a year as a way to celebrate our achievements in hero society today and raise money for future endeavors. Dignitaries and heroes from all over the country– the world really– are expected to attend.”

“I’m aware of that, sir.” You’d chirped back, straightening up to make up for your lapse in decorum. “I’m just confused by what this has to do with me.”

If looks could kill, the glare he’d shot you would have put you in a coffin.

“Unfortunately, I’ve been called away on an urgent mission and can’t make it to the gala this year. But since I am the Number One Hero, my agency must provide some form of representation. That’s where you come in.”

Your eyes went wide at that, heart jumping into your throat as the gravity of the situation sank in. As far as your job was concerned, Endeavor’s word was law. There was no bargaining or substitution to be made. He didn’t even wait for a response before continuing.

“Your role for this event is simple: smile, wave, and maybe bid on a few of the auction items as a show of good faith. If you win something, fine. Just make sure it’s nothing… distasteful.”

You were tempted to question the noticeable shudder that ran through him as spat out the final word. But the careless wave of his hand was the signal for you to bow and leave, giving you no room for queries. However, just as you were about to walk out the door, he decided to toss some parting remarks your way.

“Make sure to wear something appropriate. It is a black tie event, after all. And one of my other sidekicks will be escorting you this evening. Call it insurance to make sure you don’t do anything to embarrass me.”

“Asshole.” You hiss under your breath, successfully hooking the clasp shut and putting a few loose hairs back in place. “What does he think I’m going to do? Get wasted and swing from the chandelier?”

Still muttering a litany of colorful curses, you march to the edge of your bed and plop down to slip into the matching stilettos you’d picked out during your brief shopping trip. Shoes like these were normally well out of your comfort zone (not to mention your price range), but you weren’t the one paying for them. Call them compensation for sacrificing one of your precious nights off. Once they were on, you stood up from the bed and carefully made your way over to the full length mirror in the corner of the room. You smooth down the fabric of your dress, picking away a few stray pieces of lint and checking for any “embarrassing” blemishes or stains. But everything is almost irritatingly perfect, not a stitch out of place. You’re about to launch into another tirade against Endeavor when your work phone chimes from it’s spot on the nightstand. No doubt it’s your “escort” (you refused to call him a date) texting to let you know he was coming to get you. Or worse, already here.

“No turning back now.”

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“This is it.” You hear Endeavor’s other sidekick grunt, forcing you to snap out of your daydreaming and look towards him. You hadn’t batted an eye when you stepped out of your apartment to find Endeavor had sent a limo, driven by one of his fleet of personal chauffeurs, to pick you up. He did have a knack for flashing his wealth and status whenever possible. What did surprise you was his choice of escort for the evening: a man by the name of Buru (or Taurus if you were to use his hero name). Buru was a fair bit older than you, sporting a pair of bull horns and hooves, and corded with so much muscle it was a wonder how he managed to squeeze into a tux. You seem positively miniscule compared to his hulking frame, making you look like a rather odd couple. The driver pulls up to the curbside, quickly putting the limo in park before getting out to hold the door open for you. He courteously extends a hand to you, which you graciously accept before snagging your evening clutch from the seat beside you. You gracefully step out of the vehicle and onto an honest-to-god red carpet leading towards one of the glitziest hotels in the heart of Tokyo, blinking in the wake of what feels like a hundred camera bulbs flashing around you. Reporters and cameramen are clamoring to snap pictures of the various celebrities and heroes, asking questions that run the gamut from classy to trashy.

Buru plods around the limo to join you by your side, giving you a subtle nod to signal that it’s time to start walking. You set off down the plush runway, walking with more confidence than you felt as reporters peppered you and Buru with questions about your relationship to the Number One Hero. Evidently they’d been tipped off regarding Endeavor’s absence. Buru remained stone-faced, his long strides quickly outstripping your much more delicate steps.

“So much for being an escort.” You think, deciding to pick up the pace so as to not be left behind. And that decision quickly reveals itself to be a terrible mistake. Your pencil thin heel catches on a hidden snag in the carpet, causing your ankle to twist and buckle beneath you. You’re thrown off balance, teetering wildly before plummeting headlong towards the carpeted pavement. But before you can fall flat on your face, a set of strong, slender hands wrap themselves around your torso and pull you upwards, your back coming in contact with your savior’s chest.

“Woah there, little listener!” A familiar voice trills in your ear, their hands releasing you once you’re back on stable footing. “You almost took one helluva stage dive! You good?”

You turn over your shoulder to find a smiling face, framed by outrageous orange sunglasses and a well-trimmed mustache. Hypnotic, emerald eyes seem to sparkle back at you and his long blond hair is tied up in a messy, half-bun. You know this man. Everyone in Tokyo with a radio knows him: Present Mic, the Voice Hero.

“Thanks, Present Mic.” You mumble, an embarrassed blush rising on your cheeks. It was bad enough you’d stumbled in front of the press; the incessant clicking and flashing of cameras was reminding you of that. But to be saved by another hero on top of it… it was a little too much. However, the blonde doesn’t seem to care, giving a hearty laugh and clapping a hand on your shoulder good-naturedly.

“Don’t mention it, baby!” He chortles, winking in a way that would seem forced or cheesy coming from anyone else. “Always happy to help. Besides, it doesn’t seem like your boyfriend is too keen on stickin’ around.”

“Boyfriend?” You ask, cocking your head before remembering who you came with. You blush an even deeper shade of red, sure your face is about to burst into flames akin to your employer’s own. “Oh! No, no, no! He’s not my boyfriend. We just work together at the agency.”

“No kiddin’?” Mic says, his grin spreading impossibly wider before straightening up and offering an arm to you. “In that case, how ‘bout I lend you a hand until we get inside? No offense but those heels ya got on seem closer to stilts than kicks, ya dig?

While his radio slang is a bit confusing, you can’t help but find it a little endearing. With a sheepish nod, you grab a hold of his jacket-clad forearm and allow him to smoothly lead you down the remainder of the red carpet. He’s in full ‘Present Mic mode” as you walk together, all winning smiles and carefree waves as the press peppers him with questions.

“Mic who are you wearing this evening?”

“Present Mic! What’s the name of your damsel in distress?

“Mic! Is it true you’re involved in a scandalous affair with fellow Pro, Eraserhead?”

He lets their shameless inquiries roll off of him like water off a duck’s back, only blowing a dramatic kiss to the crowd before you both disappear behind the front doors. Once inside the lobby, Mic walks you over to one of three elevators, ushering you inside with a crush of other gala-goers once the doors open. It’s a short ride up to the venue space, and you can’t help but gasp when the elevator doors open onto an immaculately decorated ballroom. Every wall and archway is decorated with banners in the Hero Commission's signature black and gold colors, festooned with matching sprays of floral arrangements. There’s a live band somewhere in the room, playing soft jazz in the background to create an elegant atmosphere for the evening. But most impressive of all is the view; the farthest wall is made up entirely of floor-to-ceiling windows, offering a panoramic view of the Tokyo skyline. The sun is just starting to dip below the horizon, washing the room in an amber light that gives everyone a coppery glow. You’re so spellbound by the scene before you that Mic’s low whistle causes you to jump slightly. How long has he had his arm draped over your shoulders? Come to think of it, when had you slipped your own arm around his waist?

“Damn.” He breathes, carefully walking out of the elevators with you in tow. “This place is bitchin’. So much cooler than last year’s venue.”

“Is that so?” You say, your head swiveling around as a waiter breezes past you with a tray of finger foods. You don’t notice the way Mic watches you, nor do you see the crooked smile that crosses over his face as your tongue darts out to wet your lips.

“Oh yeah.” He says, leading you away from the elevators and further into the crowd. “Last year the Commission rented out some–”

“Mic!” A deep voice calls above the steady thrum of conversation, cutting him off. An equally deep, if not more irritated voice calls out your own name simultaneously. The two of you look in opposite directions, the blonde towards a pair of dark-haired individuals waving him over and you towards your forgotten escort. Buru is fuming, smoke practically pouring out of his ears as he marches towards you.

“Where were you?” He growls while grabbing the hand closest to him and pulling you away from Mic harshly. “You’re not supposed to leave my side. Boss’ orders!”

“Stop it Buru!” You snap, yanking your hand out of his grip. “If you didn’t want me to leave your side, maybe you should have waited for me back on the red carpet. I nearly fell and busted my ass thanks to you! If Present Mic hadn’t been there–”

“No excuses.” Buru snaps back, “I shouldn’t have to wait around because you can’t keep up. We’re Mr. Todoroki’s sidekicks, so try to act like it!”

“Todoroki?” You hear the blonde hero echo behind you, “As in Enji Todoroki? Endeavor?”

You wince at Mic’s words, grateful your back is turned to him at the moment. Endeavor may be a hero, but being associated with him didn’t evoke a lot of warm, fuzzy feelings in folks. And many tended to react poorly when they found out who you worked for. With a dejected sigh, you turn back towards Mic, ignoring the way Buru impatiently stamps his hooves behind you.

“Yes, that’s right.” You say glumly, putting up your mask of professionalism. “I’m one of Endeavor’s sidekicks. He was called away on urgent business and sent me and my associate here to represent him and his agency. Forgive me for not telling you earlier.”

You offer a quick, apologetic bow, hoping to slink away as quickly as possible. But to your surprise, Mic doesn’t scoff, jeer, or even try to suck up to you for favors. He laughs. Not in a cruel or condescending way, but a real, mirthful laugh, infectious to the point you feel your own tension ease slightly.

“So that’s why I didn’t recognize ya!” He chortles, smacking his palm to his forehead. “Although it’s not too surprising. That dude cycles through more sidekicks than a jukebox does music.”

The nonchalant way he insults your boss causes your mask to slip and you let loose a giggle of your own. Buru, on the other hand, is clearly not amused.

“How dare you insult the Number One Hero!” He roars, stepping forward to point a scathing finger at Mic. “Endeavor is twice- no, three times the hero you could ever hope to be!”

“Woah, woah, woah! Take it easy, dude!” Mic says, putting his hands up before shooting you another playful wink. “All I meant was I definitely would have remembered meeting a pretty little thing like your partner here.”

You find yourself blushing and batting your eyelashes at him, returning his obvious attempts at flirting in a more surreptitious manner. Buru just places one broad hand on your shoulder, giving Mic a derisive snort before he starts to drag you away.

“You’re not worth the effort.” He huffs, “Just stay away.”

You can’t resist adding one more match to the fire of Buru’s rage, looking over your shoulder and belting out a cheerful, “It was nice meeting you!”

“See ya around!” The blonde calls back, giving you a chipper wave before disappearing into the throng. Buru leads you to a table at the far end of the room, set with fine crystal stemware and gold place settings. He stiffly pulls out a chair for you, allowing you to sit down before taking up residence beside you. You’re amazed the flimsy looking things can support any weight at all, much less the mountain of horned muscle currently glowering at you. He crosses his arms and leans back with a grunt.

“So… now what?” You ask, absentmindedly fiddling with the gold napkin ring in front of you.

“You stay put.” He commands, “No leaving my sight for any reason.”

“You’re joking right? Do you seriously expect me to sit here with you all night?”

Buru doesn’t answer, instead turning his glare onto the crowd. You groan and flop forwards to rest your elbows on the table, opting to occupy your time with people watching. The ballroom is crawling with high-profile attendees: pros and sidekicks, politicians and CEO’s, celebrities and VIP’s. All of them with money, power, and prestige oozing out of their pores. You watch as the tuxedo-clad waitstaff scurry amongst the party-goers, offering up trays of hors d'oeuvres and honey-colored champagne. Every once a while, one of them makes their way over to your table with some delicious little morsel to offer. And in your famished state, the already excellently prepared food tastes like heaven. But when a server carrying a tray of champagne comes by to offer you a glass, Buru grabs your wrist before you can partake and rudely waves the poor girl off.

“What the hell was that for?” You hiss, rubbing at your now sore wrist.

“No alcohol. You’ve embarrassed me and Endeavor enough as it is.”

That does it. You can deal with villains, Endeavor, even your parents if necessary. But this “personal babysitter” schtick has gone far enough. You stand up from the table with a huff, swiftly moving out of Buru’s reach before he can grab you again.

“Sit down!”

“No! I have to go to the bathroom. Can I at least do that?”

“I’ll accompany you.”

“Like hell you will! I’m a grown woman. I can go to the bathroom by myself without getting in trouble.”

Buru narrows his eyes and scowls deeply at you. You stare him down, refusing to back down from this fight. After a few tense moments, he relaxes slightly and gives a curt nod.

“You have ten minutes.”

You grab your clutch, turn on your heel and march off into the fray, doing your best to avoid stepping on other people with your dagger sharp heels. As you make your way across the crowded dance floor, you begin to recognize the more popular Pro Heroes among the sea of faces. Some of them you’d had the privilege of meeting personally, like Hawks and Miruko, both of whom were currently surrounded by fans and admirers. Others you’d only seen on TV or in newspaper clippings, but that didn’t make them any less impressive. In fact, you were too busy watching Fatgum scarf down a whole tray of artisanal onigiri by himself to notice a certain blonde standing in your way until it was too late. You bumped right into him, bouncing off with an embarrassed “I’m so sorry!” before coming eye-to-eye with those striking green whorls again.

“Oh hey, it’s you!” Mic exclaims, grinning down at you like he hasn’t seen you in ages. “No need to be sorry, baby. This thing’s a rental anyways!”

“But you’re all wet now.” You say, watching him while he wipes the remains of his spilled champagne off his tux jacket. “I can pay for the cleaning fees if necessary. I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“Honey, trust me. There are worse things to be covered in than free champagne. I’ve been to enough of these gigs to know!”

You giggle and open your mouth to respond, but are cut off by a velvety voice coming from your left.

“Is this the little songbird you were telling us about, Zashi?’

You turn to find one of Present Mic’s companions from earlier, a dark-haired woman sipping her own drink and watching your exchange. She’s dressed in a skintight, scarlet gown with a neckline that plunges almost to her navel. A matching pair of horn-rimmed spectacles are perched on her nose, framing her striking cerulean eyes. Even without their signature harness and flogger, you recognize her as Miss Midnight.

“Yup! She’s the one!” Present Mic confirms, casually slinging his arm back around your shoulders. “What’d I tell ya? Pretty cute, right?”

The R-Rated Hero turns her gaze on you at his words, the sultry look in her eyes causing your stomach to flip a little. Seriously, it should be illegal for anyone to look that sexy.

“Very cute.” She assesses with a nod, “Zashi says you work for Endeavor, yes?”

“Y-yeah.” You fumble, slightly flustered and tongue-tied in the face of her scandalous beauty. “I’m one of his sidekicks.”

“I’m sorry.” Midnight quips back, her lack of manners shocking you slightly. But judging by the booze-bitten blush on her cheeks, you suppose the liquid courage in her system is to blame. “I know he’s the Number One Hero, but I’ve been his colleague long enough to realize how intense he can be. He must have you on a pretty short leash, huh?”

“I’ll say!” Mic chimes in, “He sent along some “nanny cow” of a sidekick to watch her all night. Speakin’ of which, how’d you manage to shake him?”

“Well…”

You glance back in the direction you came from, only for your face to drain of all color as you see a tell-tale pair of horns bobbing up and down amongst the crowd. Hizashi follows your line of sight and instantly sees the danger. Quick as anything, his arm snakes around your midriff and he turns to Midnight for assistance.

“Hey Nemuri, I got a gig for ya. See that guy with the horns? Big, mean, and ugly lookin’? Think you can distract him for a few minutes?”

“No problem!” She chirps without hesitation, tipping back the rest of her brightly colored cocktail before readjusting the neckline of her dress. It makes you wonder how much cleavage someone can possibly show before it crosses the line into pornographic. You’re too busy looking over your shoulder for Buru to notice the subtle wink that passes between the two heroes. And then Hizashi is moving, seamlessly flitting through the crowd and keeping you firmly glued to his side as you duck and weave around the other guests. You have to admit the speed at which he navigates the crowded space is impressive as he heads for one of the darkened archways lining the walls. Soon the crowd thins out and you reluctantly pry yourself out from under Mic’s arm to get your bearings. He’s lead you into a dimly-lit, side hallway, with tables and doorways lining the farthest walls. The din of party conversation and music is more muffled now, making you feel like you’re in a state of limbo.

“Where are we?”

“Silent auction.” Mic answers plainly, “Figured I’d take you somewhere quieter while we let Midnight do her thing.”

“And what exactly is her ‘thing?” You ask skeptically, wandering over to one of the display tables to check out the wares.

“You’ll see.” He says with a smirk, silently following behind you with his hands in his pockets. There are miniature spotlights shining down on the auction items, with slips of paper and pens for people to write in their bids. All the prizes are exceedingly lavish, from baskets overflowing with expensive spirits and goodies to exotic trips around the world. And the bids themselves leave your head spinning, shocked and a little sickened by the amount of money being casually thrown around.

“I’m sorry, the minimum bid for this is how much?” You scoff, pointing at the high price tag on what appears to be a singular bottle of wine. Mic leans over your shoulder to read the number himself, letting out a low whistle.

“Must be some good stuff.” He says with a smirk.

“I’m totally bidding on it.”

“You’re kiddin’ right? Last I checked, sidekicks don’t make that kind of bank, even if they do work for the Number One Pro. What are ya, some kind of secret billionaire princess?”

“Sadly no.” You say, digging into your evening bag to pull out a sleek, black card. “But I’m not the one who’s paying. And Endeavor did say to bid on a few items, ‘as a show of good faith.”

You end your sentence on a terrible impression of the Flame Hero, earning another snicker from the blonde as you place your bid. The pair of you wander the auction area for a while, gawking at the ludicrous prices and talking quietly. Or at least, as quietly as the blonde can manage. You fall into easy conversation, mainly discussing work in the hero world and Mic’s teaching career. Present Mic, or Hizashi as he prefers to be called, is a surprisingly eloquent speaker and his high-energy demeanor ensures there’s never a lull in the conversation. It’s honestly refreshing after dealing with the snooty, intense people you’re used to at the agency. Not to mention, he has no qualms about encouraging you to be a little mischievous when it comes to spending your boss’ money.

“How ‘bout that one?” He says, gesturing to a particularly gaudy piece of abstract art. “I think that would look rad on the big man’s mantlepiece, yeah?”

You giggle and lightly push against his arm, as mild punishment for his goofiness.

“No way. Endeavor specifically said to not bid on something too ‘distasteful.’ And I’m pretty sure that thing is towing the line. What’s it even supposed to be?”

“It kinda looks like All Might.” Hizashi offers, “If you stand really far away and squint. I don’t really know much about fine art. But I do know ‘distasteful’ and I’m tellin’ ya now, this aint it baby.”

“And what would you qualify as distasteful?”

A grin that can only be likened to the Cheshire Cat spreads across Hizashi’s handsome face.

“I’ll show you.” He says, extending a hand to you. You grab a hold and allow him to guide you towards one of the doors along the wall. As you get closer, you realize there are small placards inscribed with a number on each of the handles. Hizashi is currently leading you to a door marked with the number seventeen, opening it for you and allowing you to step inside ahead of him. You find yourself in a much smaller room, washed in the same dim lighting as the rest of the auction area. It’s just big enough for two people to stand inside (three if they’re thin), and the oak paneling and cramped quarters almost remind you of a confessional booth. But there’s no man of the cloth here; instead there’s a screen set into the farthest wall and a small, black button resting on a shallow shelf below it. The screen only displays a three-digit number, every so often flashing red before going back to the number.

“What the hell?” You breathe while stepping farther into the room, allowing Hizashi to squeeze in behind you.

“Welcome to the main event of the Heroes Gala.” He says, closing the door. “The Anonymous Auction.”

“The Anonymous Auction?” You parrot back quizzically, turning around to face the blonde.

“You’re aware that most of the Commission's funding comes from public taxes, yeah?” He asks, waiting for your nod before continuing. “Well taxpayer dollars can only go so far. Especially when hero and villain activity has only gone up over time. Rebuildin’ a city you just smashed like an old record ain't cheap you know.”

He pauses to jerk one thumb behind him.

“That’s why they started holdin’ auctions– this whole gala, really– in the first place. It’s all just a fancy way to supplement the Commission’s budget. And due to the popularity of the auctions, they started offering some more… exclusive items in recent years.”

“What do you mean by exclusive?”

Hizashi gives you another playful smirk, looking at you over the rim of his sunglasses.

“You’re a smart girl. What do you think it means?”

He steps a little closer to you and places his hands on your waist for emphasis, thumbing small circles at the swell of your hips. You unconsciously lean into his touch and your eyes flutter closed for a moment before snapping open once more, realization crashing over you like a tidal wave.

“You mean like sex stuff!?” You squeak bluntly, earning a laugh from the Voice Hero.

“Well not all of it! But there have been some bizarre and kinda risqué items up for sale in the past.”

“Such as?”

“Well, I know for a fact that Nemuri donates a part of her “collection” to the auction every year.” Hizashi states, putting air quotes around the term. “And rumor has it that last year All Might auctioned off a pair of his underwear. I don’t know about that one, but if that’s true, then it explains how UA paid for it’s new training grounds and why the staff got a nice Christmas bonus.”

You can’t help but giggle at the thought of some snobby billionaire drooling over a pair of All Might’s underwear. Maybe they’d had them framed, mounted on the wall like a hunting trophy. You’re too caught up in your ridiculous daydreaming to realize Hizashi has stepped even closer to you, not until you can feel his hands sliding a little further down your sides and a little farther behind you. You’re now chest to chest, breathing in tandem as he leans down to speak directly into your ear.

“So now that we’re in here… what do you say we play a little game?”

His voice is low and smooth, audial honey dripping into your brain. Your breath unconsciously catches in your throat as your body moves of its own accord to press closer to him. The energy between you is shifting palpably, from friendly strangers to something much more intimate and heavy. The room feels like it’s heating up and your dress suddenly feels much too snug.

“What kind of game?” You murmur back, a delicious shiver running down your spine when he hums in response.

“How ‘bout the quiet game?” He says, his bristly mustache tickling your cheek when he speaks. “But we’ll make it a little more interesting.”

You can feel him begin to gently push against you, forcing you to walk backwards until you feel the top of your tailbone bump into the low shelf. Hizashi’s hands never leave your body, roaming lower to finally settle on the plush curve of your ass. If anybody else was doing this, you’d have kneed them in the jewels and run for the nearest exit by now. But for some reason, you trust Hizashi. You want Hizashi. And if the steady throbbing in your core is any indication, you need Hizashi.

“Here’s the deal, babygirl.” He says, lifting his head to rest his forehead against your own. You can’t help the way your thighs tense at the pet name, something that definitely doesn't go unnoticed by the Voice Hero. “You’re going to try and stay as quiet as possible. And every time you get too noisy, you’re going to press that little button.”

His eyes flit over to the device in question before locking back on yours.

“That button raises your bid on whatever item is currently up for grabs. So the less noise you make, the less bids you make. And you wouldn’t want to end up winning something distasteful, yeah?”

You subtly shake your head and crack a small smile at his joke, bringing your hands up to rest on his clothed pecs. You’re surprised to feel powerful muscles rippling underneath his rented dress shirt, along with the heat rolling off of his body and the steady thrum of his heartbeat. Clearly that rented tux is doing nothing for his figure.

“Well what are you going to do?” You tease, running your hands up the plane of his chest and underneath the jacket to grip his broad shoulders. “Seems like I’m the only one playing this game of yours.”

One of his hands leaves your ass to hook a finger under your chin, forcing your head to tilt upwards. He gives you a sinfully wicked grin.

“Oh but that’s the best part, baby. I’m going to try and make you scream.”

Suddenly his lips are crashing into yours, sloppily at first but soon smoothing out into a steady push and pull. He takes your bottom lip between his teeth, biting gently before letting it spring back into place. You sigh into his mouth, a sound eagerly returned by the hero. Your nails dig into his shoulders, bunching the fabric of his shirt as he deepens the kiss. There’s tenderness in the kiss to be sure, but also a fierce dominance that has you fighting against the moans rising in your throat. Hizashi uses the shelf behind you to force and arch into your back before kissing his way down the sensitive column of your throat. He licks and sucks at your pulse point, not hard enough to leave marks but enough to remind you that he’s in control. You tuck your bottom lip between your teeth, even going so far as to clap a hand over your mouth when he gives a particularly sharp nip. He clicks his tongue against your skin, bringing up his free hand to pull yours away.

“Ah ah ah. No cheating, baby.” He says, moving farther down your chest until his chin rests between the supple swell of your breasts. “If you try to put yourself on mute again you’ll have to press that button regardless. Ya dig?”

You nod and he releases your hand, allowing you to curl your arm around and place it at the base of his neck. Pleased with your compliance, Hizashi hooks his thumbs under the straps of your dress and gently shrugs them off. The top half of your gown falls away, pooling around your waist as your breasts are fully exposed to the open air. They pebble and peak instantly, despite the perceived heat in the room, and you feel Hizashi’s hum of appreciation rumble through your sternum. His hands come up to cup them, indulging in their full weight and supple give as he squeezes them lightly. His head dips down to kiss your right breast, ghosting over the pert bud of your nipple as he places featherlight kisses around the areola. It’s maddening, far too light and teasing for your liking. The hand on the back of his neck suddenly fists in his hair and you pull him closer to you, squishing his nose against the pliant flesh.

“Damn baby. Feelin’ needy already, huh?” He chuckles against you, pulling away slightly to look up at you through half-lidded, golden lashes. You whine softly, still pulling his head closer to your body. Hizashi resumes fondling your breasts, taking one nipple into his mouth while using his thumb and forefinger to toy with the other. His tongue swirls around the sensitive nub, every deft twirl and brush mirrored by his fingers. It’s a blissful sensation, heating licking across your nerves and shooting straight to your core. Suddenly, he gives a particularly hard suck and pinch, pulling an involuntary gasp from you. You can feel his smug grin before you even look at him, and he pulls off your nipple with a soft pop.

“Strike one, princess. You know what you have to do.”

“I thought you said no cheating.” You whine, feeling the fresh slick coating your panties and relishing the lingering sting emanating from your nipples.

“It’s not cheating, it’s part of the game. Your job is to stay quiet, my job is to break the silence. Now are you going to play by the rules or not?”

You look over at the seemingly innocent button and furrow your brow. It’s only just dawned on you now that you have no idea what you’d be bidding on and a bolt of panic shoots through you. What if it was a piece from Nemuri’s collection? Or something worse! Hizashi, seeming to sense your trepidation, briefly raises his head up to plant a soothing kiss to your temple.

“Hey, we can stop if you wanna.” He says, removing his hands from your breasts to cup your cheeks. “You don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with. I’m not gonna push ya.”

Your eyes bounce between the little black button and Hizashi’s face, biting your lip in your moment of indecision. It was a gamble for sure, a gamble that could easily cost you your job should you end up winning. But then again… how much humiliation and strain had your nightmare of a boss put you through in the past year? The past month? The past 24 hours? Taking a deep breath, you tentatively press the button, the screen behind you flashing green to signal the successful placement of your bid. Hizashi smiles down at you, impressed with your boldness.

“Fuck it.” You breathe, stretching up to press a chaste kiss against his lips. “I’m all in.”

Hizashi returns the kiss with interest before fully sinking to his knees, running one hand up the slit of your dress to rest on your exposed thigh.

“Okay then, baby.” He purrs, “I need you to spread your legs a little more for me. Lemme see what we’re workin’ with down here, yeah?”

You willingly comply, widening your stance as Hizashi sweeps the bottom half of the dress out of the way and tucks it behind you. The black, lacy thong you’d picked out for the occasion is soaked through, your essence already starting to coat your inner thighs. Hizashi runs one finger up your barely clothed slit, whistling when he feels how damp they are.

“Damn baby.” He breathes, almost like he’s in awe. “These are fucking ruined.”

You resume biting your lip when you feel two of his fingers hook underneath the material and pull it to the side, fighting against the urge to close your legs.

“Such a pretty girl…” Hizashi coos against you, planting a soft kiss to your right thigh before resting his head against it. “Everything about you is pretty.”

You can’t stop the blush that rises to your cheeks at the whispered praise, nor help the way your cunt clenches around nothing. It certainly doesn’t go unnoticed by the blonde as he leans in closer, using his thumbs to gingerly pry your labia apart. He looks up at you hungrily, pupils blown wide with desire as he tongue darts out to wet his lips.

“Hold on tight, baby.”

Hizashi uses the flat of his tongue to lick a hot stripe up your slit, letting out a low, filthy moan at the taste. You realize now why he gave you a warning. He’s using his quirk to amplify his moans tenfold, turning his mouth and tongue into the most attentive sex toy on Earth. The vibrations send shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body, clouding your senses with desire. Whatever restraint the hero possessed dissolves the moment he tastes you, as he latches on to your rapidly swelling clit and sucks roughly. You gasp at the new sensation, hips unconsciously bucking to force his face further into you. He hums and willingly obeys your body’s command, replacing his mouth with a heavy thumb and delving his tongue between your folds to lap at your quivering entrance. The increase in intensity causes your thighs squeeze together, caging in the hero’s head as he dutifully tongue-fucks you. You can already feel an orgasm mounting deep in your core, his earlier teasing and stimulation paying off in spades. But his tongue isn’t enough, even with his quirk.

“M-More!” You cry out, unable to quell your pleading voice. “I need more. Need to cum. Please let me cum!”

Hizashi pinches the back of your thigh, a silent reminder for you to follow through with the rules of the game. With a groan you bring your hand down on the button, ignoring the flashing screen as you grind your hips down onto his face. But just when you’re about to tip over the edge, he pulls away from you, breathing heavily and his face coated in your sticky juices. You whimper at the loss of contact, but his hands keep your thighs spread apart to deny you the friction you seek.

“Good girl.” He pants, still swirling his thumb over your aching pearl. “So good for me, baby.”

“Then why’d you stop?” You softly moan, tears of frustration pricking at the corners of your eyes. You’d been so close.

“Because,” he says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “The only way I want you to cum is on my cock.”

Before you can fully register his words, he grabs you by the hips and flips you around, pulling your dress up and bunching it in one fist. Your panties are roughly yanked down around your ankles and you have to brace yourself against the shelf as you feel the hard bulge of Hizashi’s pants rub against your bared ass. A sharp smack to one cheek causes you to yelp, and a quick smack to the other forces you to bring your hand down on the button.

“Cheater.” You pant, earning a dark chuckle for the man behind you.

“Name-calling are we now, baby? Just for that, you don’t get to cum until I say so. Understood?”

You nod quickly, glancing behind you when you feel him start to fiddle with his belt and zipper. Your eyes widen when you see his painfully erect cock spring free: long, thick, and with a silver ring adorning the reddened tip. He gives the length a few short pumps, coaxing out a pearly bead of precum that quickly winds its way around the Prince Albert piercing.

“I think someone likes what she sees.” He says coyly, flicking one finger against the metal for emphasis. “Ever been with a pierced guy before?”

You shake your head and Mic smirks.

“Then trust me. You’re gonna love this, babygirl.”

He lines the head up with your entrance and starts to slowly push into you, the initial stretch causing you to hiss in pain. But the burn soon melts into pleasure as Hizashi buries himself to the hilt, bottoming out with a grunt of his own. You can feel the metal ring bumping against your cervix already, a low moan escaping when he gives a few shallow thrusts.

“Good girl. Takin’ me so well. So tight and perfect.” He mutters breathlessly, voice barely above a whisper. The praise makes you whimper and clamp down on his cock, earning a moan of pleasure from Hizashi. He starts to move in earnest, pumping in and out of you at a steady pace. Each forward thrust pushes your face closer to the wall, your breasts brushing back and forth across the cool wooden shelf and stimulating your pebbled nipples.Your mind is floating in a haze of hedonistic bliss as the air around you fills with the sounds of slapping skin and the scent of sex. You can already feel your orgasm racing towards you at a breakneck speed, the coil in your belly tightening with each thrust. Hizashi suddenly sinks his teeth into your right shoulder with a an almost feral growl, blunted teeth nearly piercing the skin. You squeal at the brilliant pain, only to feel his tongue lave over the forming welts, soothing them. You automatically bring your hand down on the button and his pace quickens in response, rewarding you by maneuvering his hips until he finds the spot that makes your vision go white and your mind go blank.

“Th-th-there!” You sputter out, smacking the button before instinctually backing into him. You don’t give a damn about your boss or the money anymore. All you can focus on right now is chasing your own mind-numbing pleasure. He gives a hum of acknowledgement and straightens up, angling his thrusts to hit that spot every time. He can feel the way your walls flutter and shiver, right on the edge of release.

“That’s it, babygirl.” He grunts, licking the pad of his fingers before reaching below your bodies to find your clit. Slender digits rubs tight circles on the swollen bead, the rough touch making you almost sob in relief. “Cum for me. Cum all over my cock!”

It’s a demand, one that your body is more than ready to obey. With one final circle of his thumb, the pressure snaps and you cry out in toe-curling ecstasy. It feels like your entire body locks up from the intensity of your orgasm and Hizashi gives a cry of his own when he feels the way your pussy clamps down on him like a vise. He forgoes gentleness in favor of animalistic rutting, gripping your hips to set a brutal and unforgiving pace. His cockhead and piercing continually slam into your g-spot and cervix, lengthening your own orgasm to an almost unbearable extent.

“Shit.” He curses, pistoning into you like a rabbit while his balls slap against your clit. “I’m fuckin’ close. Where do you want it?”

“Cum in me!” You wail, the game forgotten as fireworks explode behind your eyes. “Please! Hizashi! I need it.”

Hearing you beg so sweetly for him snaps what little composure he had left. Hizashi lets loose a guttural howl and after a few harsh thrusts, his hips stutter to a halt. You can feel his cock pulsing deep within you, filling you up with rope after rope of thick, white seed. He stays inside you for a moment, breathing heavily and feeling the way your velvety walls throb around his length. Your body feels hot and heavy, head swimming as you gradually come down from the high. Eventually, Present Mic pulls his spent dick from your abused hole, pausing to admire the way his cum oozes out and drips onto the wood floor before pulling your panties back up. Your legs might as well be made of jelly for how useful they are right now, wobbling on your stilettos as you hold onto the shelf for dear life.

“That…” You pant, “That was good. So good.”

“Yeah?” Hizashi says behind you, tucking himself back into his trousers before smoothing one hand up and down your exposed back. His gentle touch causes goosebumps to rise on your skin, your nerves still overly sensitive.

“Yeah.” You breathe, “I needed that.”

Hizashi smirks and leans down to pepper kisses along your shoulder blades, basking in the afterglow alongside you. You practically melt under his affections, never wanting this tender, warm feeling to end.

“Can you stand?” He asks after a few minutes and you weakly nod. Carefully, he helps you stand upright, brushing a few stray pieces of hair behind your ear while you fix your dress and cover your chest once more. Hizashi then moves to fix his own half-bun, smirking at the way you’re dreamily looking up at him.

“Hey space cadet.” He teases, tapping the tip of your nose with one finger. “Come back to Earth for me, will ya? We better get outta here before your nanny cow calls the cops. Or worse, Endeavor.”

You blink slowly and hum in agreement, lazily looking over at the button one last time. And then you freeze. A new message is scrolling across the screen:

Congratulations! You have won lot #114. Please collect your prize.

“Oh my god…” You whisper, feeling your blissful headspace drown under an icy wave of fear. “Oh my god, NO! What the fuck did I just do?”

“Hm?” Hizashi turns to the screen and it’s too-cheerful message. “Oh! Well wouldja look at that?”

“Why are you being so calm about this!?” You shriek, grabbing him by the lapels of the tuxedo and frantically shaking him. “My boss is going to kill me! I have no idea what I– what he just bought! It could be a dildo in the shape of All Might’s dick for all I know!”

“Hey, hey! Chill out, baby!” Hizashi says, placing both hands on your shoulders to steady you. “Just breathe for me, okay? Nice and slow. You didn’t buy anything like that, I promise.”

“How do you know?” You squeak, trying not to hyperventilate.

“Because I know exactly what they were auctioning off with that lot number.”

“Then spare me the dramatics and spit it out, Hizashi! What did I just win!?”

“... Me.”

The world seems to stop for a moment as you stare up at Hizashi’s sheepish face. You open and close your mouth like a goldfish, your overloaded brain trying to find the right words to say. It settles on a neanderthalic, “Huh?”

“You won me.” He repeats, “Well not forever anyways. Just for 24 hours.”

“I don’t understand. Are you trying to be funny?”

“I’m dead serious, baby! The Anonymous Auction doesn’t just offer material stuff. People can bid on and win “dates” with Pro Heroes. The more popular the Pro, the more money comes in. I volunteered to do it this year since a couple of my buddies did it last year.”

You blink slowly, allowing your panicky brain to process this new information.

“So… is that why you brought me here? Because you knew it was time for the bidding to start on your date?”

“I swear, I had no idea.” Hizashi says, crossing an X over his heart for emphasis. “I just wanted a chance to talk to you more and get ya away from that creep of a partner you came with. It was honestly just a lucky coincidence.”

“And the quiet game?”

“I came up with that on the fly when I saw my lot number on the screen. But I didn’t expect you to actually win the auction. And if you don’t wanna go through with this because of your boss or me, then I totally get it. You can always defer to the second highest bidder. That kinda thing happens all the time.”

You step back from Hizashi and turn away, muttering a quick, “Give me a minute.”

Looking past the insanity of the situation, you had to admit you were a little impressed, even grateful, for Hizashi’s scheme. He’d saved you from dealing with Buru, at least for a little while, and made sure you had a fun time doing it. And besides, it’s not like you weren’t attracted to the man. Sure he was loud and goofy, but he was also sweet and charismatic. Not to mention a damn good lay.

“... Okay.” You say after a few moments of thought, snapping your attention back to Hizashi. “Here’s what I want to do.”

You hold up one finger.

“First of all, I want to find a bathroom and get myself cleaned up. This is a nice dress and I don’t want it to get stained, if you catch my drift.”

Hizashi nods in understanding. You put up a second finger.

“Secondly, I’m absolutely starving. So I want to get some water and food. And maybe a glass of champagne.”

Hizashi cracks a smile at that, giving a chuckle of “You got it, baby.”

“And finally,” You say, stepping forward to grab Hizashi by the front of his jacket and pull him in for a kiss. “I want to collect my prize.”

#hizashi yamada #hizashi x reader #bnha #mha #bnha x reader #hizashi yamada x reader smut #mha x reader #citrus dome collab

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beccarooni · 4 years ago

Text

The End - Chapter 2

(Tag list: @ageofgeek, @elreyciervo, @woahthisguy, @generationblip - ask to be added!)

Loki hadn’t been permitted to show his face at Frigga’s funeral, but he’d had a good enough second-hand description to imagine it as if he had. Golden towers, draped with black cloth. His mothers boat, adorned with flowers, her sword placed in her hands and a golden veil over her face. A flaming arrow shot by their finest archers - and even that too was gold. Frigga would sail to the ends of their horizon; dissolving into flame and sparks, her spirit scattered amongst the stars, marking her journey to Valhalla. Where the brave shall live forever.

He knew the feelings well enough; even if the visual had not been his. He knew that aching feeling inside - like a creature, tiny and desperate, trapped beneath his ribcage and clawing to escape. Loss was something he was well acquainted with by now; and the splendour that Asgard attached to it seemed almost intrinsic to the process. Asgard’s warriors died the deaths of heroes; it was only right that their passages would be heralded by something as glorious as they had in life.

Cramped in the Quinjet bathroom, with barely enough room to get on his knees, Loki muttered out the parting prayer - quiet enough so that Banner couldn’t hear from the other side of the door. A piece of his armour caught against the sink, and all of a sudden he was struck by how wrong this felt.

Sadness, he expected. Fury, and rage; those were emotions he knew came with death. But this sense of wrongness, of shame - it was new. It was new, and uncomfortable, and he wanted it to stop.

There was no body to bury. Nothing to cast to the stars, no boat to lay his brother to rest in, no hammer to place gently against his chest. This was the best he could do, and it burned his face with shame. Loki didn’t know the fate of the others. They may have survived, but they also may have died. And that would make Thor the last one. Possibly the last true Asgardian, and this was how his parting from this world would be marked. No fanfare, no lanterns, no stars.

An airplane bathroom, smaller than a closet, and a few words whispered from cracked and bleeding lips. The harsh smell of cleaning agents, and the harsher glare of the flickering light above him. A body, his brother, left in the cold grip of space - maybe forever. The best he could hope for was that a passing garbage collector would take pity on the condemned, and at least allow them the decency of a disposal.

This was what Loki of Asgard had to offer the God of Thunder, and it sickened him to think of it.

Loki swallowed, pressed his forehead against the plastic walls, and muttered the last of the prayers.

“Thor, I bid you take your place in the halls of Valhalla, where the brave shall live forever. Nor shall we mourn but rejoice, for those that have died the glorious death.”

Glorious death.

He sniffed, slumping from his knees further to the floor, and shutting his eyes against the world.

There was nothing glorious about this.

His throat hurt, and he allowed himself a few tears as the neon light flickered above him. The prayer was the only tribute he had to give. Well, that and revenge, of course.

Revenge was a talent Loki had yet to perfect. His schemes had a nasty habit of going awry at the last second - but, he supposed, the one person who was always there to thwart said schemes wasn’t here anymore. Now, there was a stretch of open road between him and his dagger piercing Thanos’s heart. Wherever that monster landed, whatever cursed ground marked the final battle, he knew he would be there. His soul wouldn’t let him rest if he wasn’t.

That would be the final gesture he could make for his brother, then. Thanos would die at his hand, he would pay for all he had taken from them. The gentle ending that they were robbed of; where they sailed to earth through the stars, as their ancestors once had. Where they landed, safe and sound, and rebuilt their departed homeworld. If the Mad Titan was so fond of balance, then he could experience it for himself. The scales would tip even with his death; and then, perhaps Loki could rest. Leave for somewhere new, and condemn this blood soaked tapestry to the dirt.

The tale of the house of Odin; beginning in blood, and ending as it began. Crimson, it seemed, was destined to stain the pages of their storybook. And Loki had seen more than enough of it for one lifetime.

“Hey, Loki?”

Banner knocked on the door, gentle enough that Loki almost didn’t hear it over the sound of the engines.

“Are you alright in there? It’s just, uh, it’s been a while. I don’t know if you’re sick, or...yeah.”

Loki cleared his throat, moving to his feet. A quick glance in the mirror, an adjustment of illusions, and he was himself again. There was a certain image he wanted to uphold with the Avengers; even if Banner had certainly seen worse of him (tied to a chair in Valkyrie’s apartment and having a bottle lobbed at his head, for one). They still thought of him as a threat - and there was comfort in that perception. An evil being, a god mad with power - they wouldn’t feel sorrow. Evil wouldn’t cry for its kin. Evil was unstoppable, unstable; an ever shifting force. He didn’t want to disabuse any of them of that notion quite just yet.

“I’m fine. Just washing my hands.” He opened the door, coming face to face with the worrisome scientist standing in front of him.

“I would think that with all the riches in his possession, Stark would grace you with more than one bathroom.” Loki moved past Banner, stalking back to his seat with as much dignity as one could muster when exiting from an airplane bathroom.

“Yeah. It does make missions kinda awkward, sometimes.” Banner rubbed the back of his head, hovering by the door for a moment before shuffling back to the bench where he was sat.

“Six super-people and only one bathroom. It can get intense.”

“I can only imagine.” Loki grimaced as he sat down, folding his hands in his lap.

There was a silence, then. But one with a touch of anticipation. Banner kept looking at him, and after a few minutes it began to grate on his nerves. It was the face of a scientist, after all. The one brimming with questions but holding back purely on social decorum. Banner tapped his feet, bounced his leg, cast him a sideways look. Loki stared ahead impassively, keeping his eyes trained on the window in front of him. He could guess what question it was that Banner wanted answering; and, frankly, it wasn’t something Loki wanted to discuss right now.

Banner wanted to know why Loki had chosen to help them. Why his loyalties had so quickly changed. And of course it was a complex answer; one wrought with chaos and really it would require a play with at least twelve acts to get through, and -

“Why’d you say that earlier?”

The scientist spoke softly, and Loki turned to him, arching an eyebrow in confusion.

“About Thor being dead.”

Loki groaned, leaning until the back of his head touched the cold metal wall behind him.

“Why do you care?”

He wanted to muster some venom into his voice; to spit out the words with vitriol and hatred. But he was so tired, and it came out with more numbness than he intended.

Banner looked at him a little more intensely then, and he could’ve sworn a hint of green crept into the scientist’s eyes.

“Why do I care?” He shook his head, frowning deeply. “You keep telling me about how your brother - one of my closest friends - is dead, and then wonder why that might possibly piss me off?”

Loki scoffed, and Banner folded his arms, shifting his gaze into a dark corner of the quinjet.

“I care because you’re not even giving him a chance. It’s like you have no faith in him - when he’s had nothing but faith in you. You’ve died a lot, and he’s always expected you to come back sooner or later.”

“This is different.”

“How? How is it different? If you’ve come back enough times, then he can too. I know you don’t think he’s smart enough for that but he is. He’s smart, and strong, and kind, and I just-” Banner cut himself off as his face illuminated with green, and his voice shot a few octaves deeper than normal.

Loki scooted back, watching the scientist's face with a degree of caution. He didn’t expect the beast to appear - when one of the sorcerers had hurried Banner back into the building, looking thoroughly un-green, he assumed something had happened. Which was understandable, he supposed. Travelling through the bifrost was bad enough for the inexperienced - let alone the unfortunate circumstances surrounding their travel.

He and Hulk had an uneasy truce on the Statesman. They stayed out of eachothers way, mostly. Hulk was wary of him; and vice versa - even if Thor had tried his best to ease tensions between them with group meetings and ‘dinner nights’. But that wasn’t enough to make him jump for joy at the prospect of seeing Hulk again; especially on a cramped jet, and without his usual strength to defend himself.

Although, it might be nice to see the beast again. It would be a familiar face at the very least; and while he wasn’t concerned about the giant’s safety, he couldn’t deny that his strength had brought a certain comfort with it. When you had the hulk by your side, you felt unstoppable. And it would be rather nice to have that confidence for the battle ahead.

When the scientist seemed to catch himself, Loki was almost disappointed. Banner breathed heavily, the green veins on his face dying down and retreating below the surface.

“He can’t be dead, Loki. He just...He can’t be.”

Loki paused, leaning forward a little. Studying the man in front of him; the twitches, the clasped hands wringing together, the never ending tapping of the foot. The strained expression; the eyes that held hope, but something else underneath that. Something desperate.

Banner didn’t just want Thor back. He needed him.

And all at once, those accidental touches on the Statesman made sense. Every guiding hand on the small of Banner’s back, every meal that the two had shared together, each word of comfort and gentle smile; it wasn’t just comradery.

Loki’s eyes widened, and he laughed; a hollow, bitter sound.

“You liked him.”

“What?” Banner looked away from him then, a muscle twitching in his cheek. “Of course I like him. I’ve known the guy for 6 years.”

“No, this is much more than a - Oh, what did he call it - a friend from work. You fancied him.”

He caught the sight of Bruce’s fists clenching at his sides, and for some reason that sparked something inside of him. A memory from long ago; of being trapped in that glass prison, with a sudden desire to set the beast loose.

“Well, maybe your paramour being dead will be enough to draw the beast back from the shadows. Does it make you angry, Bruce? Does the thought of someone you love dying for nothing fill you with rage?”

“Stop.” Bruce dropped to a whisper, screwing his eyes shut as if that could drown out the sound.

Some part of him told him to take pity on the man. A word of wisdom from his mother; that grief shared was grief halved. And maybe this wasn’t very nice of him, and maybe it wasn’t at all in line with honouring his brother’s memory, but at this moment he couldn’t find it within him to care. He wanted glory again - wanted the feeling of control that he’d had back on the helicarrier.

“I wonder if you ever confessed it to one another - or did he die without ever knowing it? You know, I always assumed that when his heart stopped he thought of Asgard, but maybe he thought of you. Maybe the last thing he ever felt was heartbreak, because he never knew if you loved him back-”

“Stop it!” Bruce’s voice deepened as he leapt to his feet, the veins along his neck deepening to a dark green; but it went further than that. Green blotches spread across his arms, and there was a momentary wildness in his eyes that Loki recognised.

The beast was here. Loki bared his teeth in a fierce grin, hands waiting for his daggers and his body itching for a fight.

But none came.

Banner’s fists stayed clenched, he shook with anger, but that was apparently all the good doctor could muster. The remnants in his eyes died out, like the last few sparks of a campfire, and he remained firmly Bruce Banner-sized. Loki sank back into his chair after the moment of apprehension, sighing.

“I was hoping that would work.” He shook his head dejectedly, a scowl creeping into his face and voice. “I get the sense that we might need him, eventually.”

“Jesus, Loki. So, what - your plan was to get me mad enough for a hulkout? And you thought now was the perfect moment? Here?” Banner gestured around their surroundings - to the low ceiling of the quin jet, the fragile equipment piloting their journey.

Loki’s head thunked against the wall as he melted back into the seat, shrugging listlessly. “I suppose I didn’t think that one through very well.”

“No, you didn’t.” Banner paced about the ship, wringing his hands together before he turned back to Loki, a hint of that previous anger emanating into his tone.

“Look, I know you miss him. And just because I don’t think he’s dead doesn’t mean I’m not worried about him - I don’t think I’ll ever stop worrying about him,” He paused, looking up to the ceiling - his face contorting as if he was having to force these words out.

“But don’t you dare take this out on me. Mourn, if you want. Get angry, get sad - but don’t you take this out on me just because I still have hope.”

“Hope.” Loki chuckled mirthlessly. “Hope is a fool's gamble, Banner.”

“Maybe.” Bruce swallowed, his features smoothing out as his eyes turned to the viewing window beside them. “But it’s a gamble I’m willing to take.”

#my fic #fanfic #thor fanfic #loki fanfic #infinity war au #infinity war fix it fic #thor odinson #loki odinson #brodinsons #thorbruce #thorbruce fic #multi chapter #mcu fic #long post #2k #bruce banner #angst

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tatooedlaura-blog · 4 years ago

Text

Forgetting

Two in a row, I appear to be on a roll ... this is not for those under 17 and nsfw :)

Sometimes, you need to forget for a little while ...

@today-in-fic

************

It was a stupid retirement gathering at the end of the day, the best way *insert sarcasm here* to end Friday, in Mulder’s opinion. It became especially fun when the assistant director who was doing the retired pointed the pair out, commenting on the Amber Lynn LaPierre case, which he called the crowning achievement in his long and lauded career with the Bureau. Thanking them for their contribution to his legacy, both nodded, smiled, said their polite thank yous while inside, wishing they were literally anywhere but there.

Then came the inevitable discussion about the case, Scully plowing ahead, dealing with most of the comments until Mulder leaned into her, mouth to ear, “I’m going to head to the bathroom. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Nodding, she continued with her end of the present conversation, then two others before she realized he still wasn’t back. Excusing herself, she slipped quietly out the door. Wondering for a moment if he’d fled the building completely or just the room, she thought, then, for some unknown reason, decided to try the stairwell before heading to the basement. Opening the oft-used door at the end of the hall, a beautiful sunset greeted her as well as a lone Mulder sitting on the first step down, quietly contemplating the world while bathed in pink and purple hues.

Sitting carefully beside him, skirt causing minor issues, “I was beginning to wonder if you’d gotten lost.”

Taking an impossibly deep breath before bumping shoulders with her, “do you think, maybe, this could be one of those nights where we get drunk and forget we work together?”

She’d asked him that exact question for the first and only time roughly four months earlier and with a moment’s hesitation to calculate where the nearest liquor store was, she returned the answered he’d been hoping for, “I think it needs to be one of those nights and you’ve got that liquor store on the corner so I vote your place.”

Bumping her a second time, he stood up, nodding his head in the direction of the stairs, “I think we’ve worked long enough today.”

She stood with just a little help from his hand, tugging her skirt straight, “agreed.”

&&&&&&&&&

She picked up the Long Island, the big pre-mix bottle, third shelf, second aisle, they shopped here a little too often, then headed to Mulder’s. Beating him there by ten minutes, she had time to clear the couch and coffee table of littered papers and hamburger wrappers, empty glasses and several pairs of socks. Smiling at the socks, she then filled the table with bottles of water, the Long Island (opened, aerator insert removed for ease of swilling) and a roll of paper towel because she knew he’d be stopping for Subway and they never sent him home with napkins.

Scully then had time to contemplate the first time they’d mentioned their question out loud. She honestly didn’t want to think about the string of events that led to her request but that night had been Rum and Coke and sitting on his couch, not sure how to start anything until Mulder said something so quiet she had to turn to hear him repeat his statement.

She ran into his mouth and from there, they’d spent a chaste 87 minutes alternating between drinking, making out, water interludes sporadic, straight rum by the end, coke chaser when they remembered until the week’s worth of tension left her shoulders, muscles warm and relaxed, lips swollen, hands never traveling below her neck except to turn her at the waist for a better angle.

Heads thoroughly spinning by the time the pair pulled apart in a mutually silent agreement that it was time, Scully went in for another kiss before looking at him blurrily, enjoying their warm, humid silence which Mulder only broke to ask, “couch or bed? I’ll take whichever you don’t want.”

Smiling at him, she stretched, much like a cat, limbs shaking, back curving, “couch is fine.”

Logistics figured a few minutes later, both were crashed in their respective beds, soundly asleep through the remainder of the night.

Mulder made it home a minute later, returning Scully to present day, and she took the bags of food from him, carrying them to the kitchen while he shed shoes, jacket, button down, leaving him in a crew-neck white t-shirt and mismatched socks. Following her into the kitchen, he grabbed the open bottle from the coffee table as he passed. Swigging deep, he handed it to her, “premix. I appreciate you more and more every day.”

“Why take the time to make it yourself when the Captain has done it for you already?” Seeing the forlorn expression still clear on his face, she turned to look at the counter, measuring up the height before glancing back at him, “help me up here, will you? I’d like to hug you face to face for once.”

Not about to question that request, he popped her up, allowing her time to adjust her skirt before handing her the bottle, “madam.”

Two gulps later, she angled the bottle in his direction, “for the win,” then waved her fingers at him, “come here.”

Obeying, he was in her arms, as close as possibly given counter and thigh restriction from skirt. Holding her had an instant effect on his blood pressure, his psyche, his heart rate and brain function, calm washing over him the longer he touched her. Not enough for him at the moment, however, he scooted her closer to the edge of the counter, skirt hiking up further, her thighs pressing his sides. About to do something about this, Scully did it for him, mouth on his neck, lips against pulse, tongue running lightly over skin. Kissing her way up his neck, across his jaw, she found his mouth, neck twisting for best access and without thought, legs locking around him, ankle hook completing the loop.

He would not be arguing.

Staying there another minute, he decided, given the course of the evening, to take creative license and wrapping arms around her waist, picked her up, moving her to the couch without breaking contact. She snagged the bottle as he moved them past it and knowing he had to set her down because sitting down with her like this would break her ankles and nobody needed that tonight, Scully grinned as she slid to the floor, her skirt staying stuck to her upper thighs. Another three deep swallows from the bottle, she handed it to Mulder, watching his perfectly sculpted throat down five, “next time we come up for air, water break.”

“Agreed.” Sitting right down on the couch, he expected her to drop beside him but instead, she wiggled the skirt a little higher and climbed onto his lap, “last time, I had a crick in my neck. I’m not dealing with that again.”

Hands firmly on her waist, he smiled, “I like your thinking.”

Mouth immediately back on his, he managed to keep his hands to himself until the liquor began buzzing his brain, separating thought from consequence but keeping intact decorum at its most rudimentary, his hands hesitantly shifting four inches above her waist, still above her shirt until Scully pulled back, whispering into his mouth, “I don’t mind.”

He didn’t take full advantage of the situation but the simple feeling of running his hands up and down her back made him feel like he’d just won the lottery, over silk blouse, ridge of bra back, imaginary outline of existing tattoo. Another few minutes and Scully moved away, lips red, cheeks pink, eyes bright as she reached behind her, breasts jutting into Mulder’s face, looking for water. Drinking down half a bottle, she handed the rest to Mulder, “it’s getting warm in here.”

Managing to keep his eyes mostly on hers, “that okay?”

Tossing the empty water bottle behind her, she then took up the Long Island, another two deep pulls before offering it to her partner, “very good.” After he drank, she deposited it back on the table and returned like a magnet to his mouth, her hands now in and through his hair, cradling his ears, thumbs running over temples, hips sliding forward until a minute later, she stood up, “I still have most of my faculties and I’m making a request.” She wavered once as the room tilted ever so slightly, “this skirt is irritating the hell out of me. Would you mind if I take it off?”

With a grin, he fell in love withher all over again, “no, that’s fine.”

“Thanks.” Skirt hitting the floor a moment later, her blouse hung low enough not to reveal anything of interesting importance and settling back on his lap, she nodded at him, “much better.”

“I’m glad.”

This time, when she re-settled, she re-settled closer to him, his obvious arousal at the whole situation not bothering her in the slightest, unknowingly grinding once against him before commencing with their previous activities.

Liquor working its magic, Mulder decided that given she was now in her underwear on his lap, that afforded him hands on ass, which elicited a tandem ‘hhmmmm’ from both and another inch hip-slide forward. Deciding what the hell, he then moved his hands up under her shirt, finding warm skin and bumping backbone, hands callous-rough as they danced over rib and ridge. Feeling her smile, he felt her leave his lips, moving down his chin to his Adam’s Apple, mouthing it several times before following down to his shirt collar, then sitting back, putting welcome pressure on particular parts, “it is only fair that since I have no skirt, you need no shirt.”

He loved that she lost her contractions when she drank. Apostrophes went out the window for some reason, all words spoken precisely and slurry but never contracted. Sitting up immediately, he pulled the offending garment off and dropped it to the couch beside them, “sounds fair indeed.”

Another two mouthfuls of Long Island for both, her hands ran immediately over his chest, her deep breath and stuttered sigh telling him more than words ever could, fingers playing over his nipples, tongue tracing his collarbone. It was when she gripped his sides and smashed herself down on him, favorite parts aligning, that he finally let out a moaning groan, “Scully.”

Whispering in his ear, “was that good?”

“If you’re trying to kill me, yes.”

Sitting back again, she wiggled a few more times, lighter yet oddly, more intense. Quick glance at the clock across the dimly lit room, she looked down at him, his gaze filled with unmistakable adoration, “it has been over an hour, need a break?”

“I will never need a break from you.”

Reaching back, she snagged another water, drinking half again and waiting until Mulder finished it to toss it the way of the first empty. Next, more liquor went down, bottle half gone at this point before, “would you mind if I took the blouse off? This thing holds heat like you would not believe.”

Words gone, head nodded, her shirt landed on the table, sweat glistening above and below white cotton bra but before he could process more than half a reverent look, he had her face pulled back to his, hands sliding down her slowly cooling back and right past the top of her underwear, bare hands on bare ass in under a second.

She did not complain, rocking a rhythm on him that was making him see stars.

Everything was logical to them up to this point. The logic of six years and half a bottle of Long Island Ice Tea but whatever and Mulder’s next suggestion followed their logical pursuit. It took a few minutes to form the idea, then the sentence, but pulling away from her mouth, whimpering either internally or for the world to hear, he had to share it with her, “um, so as much as I am loving this, there are parts of me that are dying because they are trapped, wonderfully so but still friction-ly, and are … shit, Scully, the zipper of my pants is about to cause some damage.”

“Hell. Okay.” She stood immediately and hips still moving in some sort of fluid motion which could very well hold Mulder’s attention until the end of time, he took advantage and lifting his butt, soon was sitting there in boxers, happy for relief and unembarrassed by his obvious reaction to her.

She admired for a moment, then settled right back on him, body pressed firmly against all available Mulder.

His hands moved to her hips, moving her against him, the rhythm of his mouth getting erratic as all attention moved elsewhere. Scully was having her own amount of trouble holding focus and when his hands moved to unclasp her bra, she could have sang the Halleluiah chorus had she thought to leave his lips.

Needing a final pull of liquor before anything else, she sat back on his thighs, three mouthful going down her throat first, then Mulder took four, capping the bottle and dropping it to the floor before his mouth moved not to hers again but to her breasts, taking in his dreamt of mouthful, other hand filled with other breast as Scully shut her eyes, shifting and sliding against him, parts finally making solid contact and she stood suddenly, swaying as she shed her last piece of clothing, then demanded Mulder’s boxers with a silent outstretched hand and begging eyes. Obliging, she was back on him, wetter than wet, rubbing hard head against aching clit, then, she slid back and forth against him, Mulder’s mouth latched back to her breast and his hands carrying her forward and back. Letting go of her, he told her, alcohol slur evident, “I am so close to that spot, Scully. Another inch and we could … just … we could.”

Leaning forward, she slipped her teeth around his earlobe, tugging lightly before sucking for a moment, then whispering, “there cannot be liquor involved when that happens. Sorry.”

There was absolutely no reason for her to apologize and he told her as such, “but can something else happen because unless you stop moving, it’s going to anyways and I’d rather have permission to do so.”

His strained voice made her grin and sitting back once again, she ran one hand down her belly and bracing with the other against his knee, she began rubbing her clit, “oh, I am good with everything else.”

Needing to ask one last time, “do you need any more Tea?”

“I have not got time for that now.” And she rubbed a little faster.

Wrapping his hand around himself, their knuckles kept bumping until they found a matched rhythm and as her muscles clenched and her head dropped back, he came as well, all over himself and her, not caring about anything in the moment but his Scully.

Then their combined mess along with the sweat generated by the last hour and a half suddenly got the better of his ass’s grip on the couch. She moved slightly, he shot forward, feet unable to catch him, and both, for a fleeting moment, wondered if there was an earthquake as they slid to the ground, Scully’s back sliding against the coffee table edge, Mulder’s bare butt landing on a crackling water bottle.

He managed to get an arm around her though, so she didn’t hit the floor at the worst angle ever and ‘sluggish but still there’ reflexes on her part had her move enough not to break his dick, softening but still hard enough to cause some trouble had it been bent sideways under her drunken weight.

Both then sat there in silence, until, of course, the giggles set in.

It took a good five minutes to get things under control and not set the other off with a simple look. Scully, now wrapped in one of Mulder’s many blankets, looked from the ¾ empty Long Island bottle to the water in her hand, “can I stay here tonight?”

Also in a blanket, and equally worried about the amount they’d consumed, he opened two more bottles of water for them, the world beginning to tilt again, “like I’d let you drive anywhere after that much Captain.”

Looking over at him, grin wide as she missed her mouth with the water bottle on the first try but making it the second, she swallowed half before speaking, “for a minute there, I actually did forget we worked together.”

“Me, too.”

Shifting up to give him a kiss on the cheek, she swayed into him, forgetting how to sit back upright momentarily, “now, if you would be so kind as to find me a pillow and another blanket, I am going to go clean up, then come back here and go to bed because if I do not lay down very soon, I am going to tip over even more than I am now.”

Contractions still gone, he knew she wasn’t kidding about the tipping thing, the alcohol coursing through her veins would have her asleep in seconds and sporting one hell of a headache tomorrow. Carefully standing, he got her up and to the bathroom, blanket firmly in place and then, collecting some pajama pants and a t-shirt for her, he handed them through the partially open door, ignoring the sounds of her peeing, then the water running.

Seriously, how many times could he fall in love in one evening?

Soon, she was back, curled on the couch, Oscar the Grouch shirt in place, blankets piled high, head deep in down pillow. Beckoning him to her level with her finger, he had to kneel, knowing if he leaned, he’d fall, “what’s up?”

“I love you, Mulder. You are my best friend and I love you.”

Kissing her forehead, he struggled to stand back up, “I love you and you are my best friend, too.” Pointing to the table, “I left you an empty pot so if you puke, do it in that, please, all right?”

“Do not forget one for yourself.”

Holding up his own, “got it. G’night.”

She was already asleep.

He would dream well tonight.

&&&&&&&&&&&

Since the curtains and blinds were closed, the light didn’t wake either of them until late afternoon. Scully was up before Mulder and after downing several glasses of water and what felt like a handful of aspirin, she opened her forgotten Subway, settling with it on the couch, remote in hand.

Mulde wandered out a few minutes later and stared at her for a moment, then retrieved his sandwich as well, grabbing the bottle of aspirin before sitting down beside her, tugging half her blanket over his knees, “hi.”

“Hi.”

“What are we watching?”

“The Flintstones.”

Giving her wild hair and dark hickey on her neck a good, long look, he aimed a grin at her, “mind if I join you?”

Taking in a matching bruise on Mulder’s neck and his dancing eyes, “your couch.”

Settling in a little better, he unwrapped his roast beef on white, “so, honest answer, please. Should we be embarrassed or anything about last night?”

Scully thought while she chewed, then smiling crookedly, “the only thing I’m embarrassed about is having ended up on the floor.” Looking at him critically, “what about you? Honest answer.”

“Mostly I’m unnerved by how much my ass was sweating, in all seriousness.” Taking his first bite, he felt calmer than he had in forever, “want to stay over again tonight?”

“Sure. I hadn’t planned on leaving this couch until tomorrow at the earliest.”

“Mexican for dinner?”

“As long as they deliver.”

“They do.”

Mid-chew, she leaned over and kissed his t-shirted shoulder, “yay.”

#msr #nc-17 #a wee bit of smut #actually more than that #but whatever #xfiles fanfic #xfiles #MulderNScully #My writing

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ushidoux · 4 years ago

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Look at Me, Senpai - Hinata x Reader x Daichi (Pt. 3)

Summary: Reader starts to see Hinata in a different light once he returns from Brazil. It turns out Hinata’s inability to give up isn’t just something restricted to the court. (~1.8k words)

Warnings: fem!reader, nsfw, infidelity, a touch of the yandere

A/N: Idk how long this fic is gonna get but we’re nearing the big mess. I hope you enjoy reading and let me know what you think!

Part 1|| Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5

---

Leave him.

Hinata’s voice still rang in the back of your head but you would ignore it. Today, you would try on wedding dresses. You’d chosen Daichi, after all.

You trailed behind your older sister, who had flown in from overseas just for the occasion, and your mother who chattered excitedly between themselves, linked arm in arm, as they essentially tore through the bridal shop ahead of you.

“Try this, ___! It’s so beautiful and just look at that embroidery!” your sister insisted, almost snatching a backless and lacy gown from the hands of a terrified employee.

“No, this looks better!” Your mother pushed back, pulling another dress off the rack with no decorum to the other employee’s obvious dismay.

“Look at how high that collar is! Is she getting married to God?”

Meanwhile, you wondered if it was sacrilegious to be wearing white at the wedding given the circumstances.

If you truly loved him, you wouldn’t be like this with me. Why pretend?

Why not be 100% true to yourself?

Hinata’s dreadful honesty continued to weigh heavily on you as you weaved in and out of dresses, feigning excitement as best you could in order to not tip off your annoyingly perceptive sister.

Only marry someone you love.

“You look beautiful, ___. I think this is the one,” your sister spoke up from the outside, now slipping into the dressing room to get a first glance at you once your mother slipped off for a quick bathroom break.

You whispered a word of thanks as you looked yourself now clad in the one you had also settled on as the perfect gown in the full length mirror, trying to envision the look on Daichi’s face as you came down the aisle, the picture of an angel in the flesh, promising to devote yourself to him forever. You could see your sister purse her lips behind you from the reflection, and you knew she was sizing up your facial expressions.

Oh God, maybe she wouldn’t-

“Cold feet?”

She did.

Your heart sank as you bit your lip, trying to hold back tears, but before you could your sister continued in a soft voice.

“It’s not unnatural to have cold feet.” She took a seat in the small stool set at the corner of the room and crossed her legs before looking at you carefully, a reassuring smile spread on her face. “You remember that I almost ran away the day of my wedding, right?”

The image of her drunk and crying two nights before, eerily calm one night before and practically jumping out the window in her own white dress thirty minutes before she gracefully walked down the aisle came to mind and you found yourself stifling a laugh. She smiled in response to your reaction, all was not lost as long as you could still laugh.

“It’ll be fine, as long as you love him.”

Did you love him?

“How were you sure?” You asked now as you hastily slipped out of the dress. A part of you wondered if you were just being dramatic, but the gentle fabric felt as though it were tightening on your skin despite being the perfect fit.

She let out a sigh and crossed her arms over her chest.

“I want to say something wise and romantic, like, ‘it was when we met eyes’ or ‘when he walked three miles in the snow to change my flat tire’, but to be honest, it was probably when I realized I couldn’t imagine life with anyone else. I know that sounds cliché but it’s the honest truth.”

She looked you in the eyes and sensed the waters muddying within rather than clearing up, and pursed her lips.

“If you want to tell me what’s going on, you can.”

Your body tensed for a millisecond. You knew you could tell her anything, but this? Cheating on your fiancé so shamelessly right after the engagement? There were limits to human understanding, but then again, maybe admonishment from someone you trusted would get you on the right track.

You opened your mouth to speak but before you could offer up a single word, your mother rushed back into the room.

“Why’d you take off the dress before I could see it???” She fussed, and you grinned in response to her disappointed expression before switching back to the task at hand.

“Quick, put it back on!”

You would spare sissy dear the awful details.

---

Hinata didn’t call or text for the following week, and by the fifth day, the phantom rings and vibrations of your cell phone had started to drive you crazy. It was hard to concentrate on your art, on tasks of daily life, or preparing your wedding when all you could see flash in your mind’s eyes was what he looked like when you were under him. You told yourself it was the afterglow of lust and would eventually pass.

As if to palliate the pain of your separation, Daichi started to come home earlier than usual, and it began with him popping home at exactly noon on the next Saturday with flowers just because, an assortment of chocolates and takeout from your favorite restaurant.

“Let’s have a picnic,” he suggested, with a kiss on the forehead for his best girl.

You turned off your phone as you followed him out to the small park down the street, spending the early afternoon basking in the sunshine of spring and the warmth of Daichi’s affectionate regard.

Daichi pulled you into his arms as usual as you watched children play in the park with furry companions, couples riding bicycles and old ladies exchange gossip (and maybe launch a few surreptitious glances at the two of you). While the two of you were not strangers to public displays of affection, you couldn’t deny that you were beginning to become uncomfortable the more you noticed people looking at you. You couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that maybe suddenly they were seeing you not as a regular couple at the park but for who you really were: a woman with a terrible secret and a man who was none the wiser.

Did it matter if you chose to be good to him from now on? Would that account for the betrayal?

Would that erase the fact that a small part of you wished Hinata was holding you right now instead?

---

Two weeks passed and you fought the urge to call Hinata Shoyo.

By now you knew it was something other than lust that drew you to him, now that Daichi took the time to satisfy the need for carnal intimacy every few nights, even if it wasn’t quite the passion of before, when you had just graduated from high school and all you had were your hopes for the future and each other, but a different type of practiced passion altogether between you.

Daichi knew all the things you liked and exactly how to make your body react in the way he wanted it to but while you were satisfied, you were still wanting.

Of what? Could you really say it was Hinata that you needed after such a short time together?

Daichi’s lips and tongue trailed down your soft belly as he held on firmly to your wrists above you, teasing you with promises of entering your privacy every time his mouth drew near, then wandered back up to your bosom.

“Not yet, darling, just wait for me like this.”

He leaned in, pressing his length against your thigh, forcing you to arch your back and buck against him, but he wouldn’t indulge you, laughing softly while his hold preventing you from reaching out to him remained steady.

“P-please, I want you, Daichi, just let me feel you, please.”

He had been edging you for the past twenty minutes but it felt more like hours and your body craved the feeling of fullness between your legs.

“You want to feel me, baby girl?” He growled, earning you a lash of the tongue right at your sex, sending a current through your spine.

“Yes...,” you let out a whimper, “please let me feel you.”

“This isn’t enough?” He asked, between licks and slurps of your wet cunt. “You taste so sweet for me, little baby, what if this is all I want to do now?”

Your mind swam with muddled pleasure as you closed your eyes and you were no longer thinking straight, all you had left in you was the ability to beg.

“Please, please put it inside me,” you continued to whine as he nibbled on one of your lower lips.

“Beg for Daddy’s cock,” he said, now kissing your mouth again, a large hand now gripping both of your wrists to hold you back as he pressed against you, the pressure on your chest and the pressure of his member just knocking at your entrance making it hard for you to breathe.

“P-please stop teasing me, S-Shoyo.”

A pause.

“What?” Daichi’s voice had reverted back to his regular voice, no longer thick with lusty mischief but with confusion, and he stopped his movements, unsure as to what you were trying to say to him. His grip relaxed around your hands, setting you free.

Your heart stopped as a panic set in, sobering you up almost entirely and you had to think fast, fast, fast.

“C-can ‘shoyu’ be out safeword, babe? I just wanna try something today, something a little different...” you mumbled, surprising yourself with how quickly you could lie under pressure. Awful. You were so awful.

He gave you a confused look, given that you didn’t usually use safewords, but it wasn’t a bad idea anyway, and he nodded with a small shrug before resuming with kisses to your neck.

Your heart continued to pound and you hoped he didn’t notice that the drum of your heartbeat now played fear. That was a close one.

Something had to give soon.

---

The next day, Daichi seemed to have expedited that process for you.

“Hey, I’m gonna have Hinata come for dinner tomorrow night,” he called out from the shower casually as you started your skincare routine. If not for the fact that you were literally splashing cold water in your face, there would be no other reason for the ice now running through your veins.

“No problem right? I can come back early to help you make dinner beforehand.”

“... No problem.”

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lorelylantana · 4 years ago

Text

The Difference

I was inspired to write by some of the amazing @ghostgirl19posts‘s work for Febwhump and with permission I’ve decided to write a little epilogue for the Ganon’sChampion!Link chapters, the first of which can be found here but you should also read parts two and three for this to make sense.

Overall rating: T

Warnings: Emotional Manipulation, unhealthy relationship that grows to be slightly less unhealthy.

“Did you really believe that anything would be different?”

No, she supposes she didn’t. Not really. She isn’t that stupid.

Zelda sees the dead sincerity in his eyes when he speaks, but the relief at Ganon’s fall has sparked a rebellious streak in her. She won’t let him get off that easy, so she masks her dismay with an apathetic flip of her hair.

“Just as well,” she hums, the picture of a bored princess, “As far as I’m concerned, my job is done so long as the kingdom isn’t actively on fire. I see nothing wrong with lounging about for the rest of my days. If you want to do all the paperwork, be my guest. In the meantime, I’ll be in the library. It’s been too long since I’ve read a good book.”

She doesn’t wait for permission, slipping out of his arms and breezing out the door. He stands there a moment, shocked into silence. He likely would have called after her if he wasn’t rooted to the spot by the dread sinking in his body.

“ . . . Paperwork?”

Despite Link’s insistence otherwise, Zelda did begin to notice things were different. The changes were small, incremental, but no less potent. She was not so foolish as to let her guard down, but a drop of water can cut through stone through sheer persistence.

Zelda woke up in the middle of the night needing to go to the bathroom. This was an increasingly common occurrence as her midriff expanded to accommodate the child growing there. She lay on her side, Link curled around her back and his hand on her stomach. The day after Ganon’s assassination his rooms were cleared and refurbished to house the new royal couple.

The first difference. Their rooms were divided no longer. At first, Zelda assumed that he was tired of having to summon her and this unification was an attempt to streamline his path between her legs. She thought it a decision driven by lust, but she had to admit that their nightly escapades had decreased. He still took Zelda into his arms often enough, unwrapping her with painstaking, almost precious care and leaving her skin open to be devoured. But there were also nights like these, where the days were long and Link seemed to sense her fatigue and was content to simply lie wrapped around her, his hand never straying from her abdomen. Zelda wondered if he was as tired as she was, adjusting to kingship, but most of her husband’s mind was still a mystery to her.

Her husband.

There was no royal wedding. No dress. No grand feast to celebrate Zelda’s return to royalty. There was only an acolyte and a set of documents to be signed before she was once again dragged off to bed. They couldn’t find a priest, so they said their vows in front of the closest alternative.

Zelda yawned and slipped out of bed to relieve herself. While she was washing her hands she took a moment to consider her reflection.

Zelda knew there were aspects of her marriage that were unacceptable, she knew that.

But there was no denying the privilege afforded to her as queen, even if she was only a puppet. Her hair still shone, her eyes were bright, and her cheeks full. A far cry from the gaunt, weary state the servants were in. She shuddered to think of how her citizens looked outside the castle walls. The conquest of Hyrule was her fault. It was her failure to claim her birthright that brought this ruin upon him. Yet here she stood, safely tucked away, insulated from the Calamity’s devastation.

Sometimes, when she was honest with herself, Zelda had to admit there was a part of her that was grateful for Link’s command that she stay within the castle. His mandate, cruel though it was, gave her a plausible excuse to hide from her mistakes. The castle walls were high and thick, strong enough to shut out the guilt that was her obligation.

Zelda jerked her head to the side, unable to look herself in the eye any longer. She padded back into the room. Instead of heading straight back to bed, though the promise of warmth against the late fall evening was tempting, she was drawn to the window. The guardians still roamed the streets of the shattered Castle Town. They were malicious no longer, only patrolling out of ancient duty, but none dared approach. Above all the ruin, the sky was clear of Ganon’s hateful red. At least she could see the stars.

“Come to bed.”

Zelda turned to where Link lay, staring at her. She supposed he finally lost his patience with her idling. If she were a more fanciful woman, Zelda would think he was fussing over her standing in a room that chilled when the fire died in the hearth. She returned to the massive bed Link claimed as theirs and sat down, kicking her slippers off before sliding back under the lush, heavy comforter. Link’s hand was back on her stomach before she settled, an imitation of a caring husband so convincing it was cruel.

She didn’t cry, because tears were a cry for help she didn’t deserve.

Before her growing stomach prevented it, Zelda spent most of her days firmly ensconced in Link’s lap as he looked over documents. He refused to ask for the help any of the few conquered noblemen that still lived, as he insisted such an action was beneath him. Besides, what better way to remind the captive queen of her place than to make her explain all of this bureaucratic nonsense?

“What exactly is the point of a crop rotation?” he huffed as he read the agricultural proposal over lunch. Zelda finished off her sandwich before answering.

“Different plants require different nutrients from the land to grow. If you grow the same crop in the same field every year, eventually those nutrients will deplete. Switching things up gives the soil an opportunity to regain those specific nutrients while reducing the amount of bad harvests.”

Link hummed as he signed his approval of the proposal. All of this drivel was really giving him a headache. He reached for the last half of his sandwich, but Zelda got there first, plucking it off of his plate and sinking her teeth into it. Child crafting was a hungry business, after all.

Link disguised his failed reach by redirecting it around Zelda so his arms circled her waist, both hands resting on her stomach. He supposed a sense of entitlement was a good quality for a queen to have.

He didn’t need that sandwich anyway.

The powers that be must have finally resigned themselves that he was here to stay. They must have given up on his downfall, and instead must have focused on encouraging what little virtue he had. They must be, for such a petty generosity to be rewarded by the baby’s first kick.

“The baby kicked!” he gasped, craning his head over her shoulder to look down at where her tummy peeked out under her breasts.

“Yes, love, I noticed,” Zelda deadpanned, then they stilled in tandem.

Love. A word that had no business between them. Obsession, perhaps. Possession. But ‘love’? It was laughable. Link opened his mouth to say something castigating, something harsh enough to bring back the status quo.

“Careful.”

Link’s head jerked back in surprise. She didn’t turn to look at him, ignoring him in favor of taking the apple from his plate, so he pressed.

“What did you say?” Who was she to caution him?

“Merely making an observation,” she said, turning her hand this way and that, regarding the fruit with a critical eye, “After all, what upsets the mother threatens the child.”

A chill ran down Link’s spine. Perhaps, even after all this time, he had underestimated her. He didn’t have the luxury of composing himself at his own pace, because she had turned to him. The calculating, sharp look in her eye brought him to heel.

“Wouldn’t you agree?” she asked.

Link’s hands started rubbing again, and his lips dropped to her shoulder. He had surrendered, but he wasn’t sure if the victor was Zelda or his own traitorous heart.

“Yes, dearest.”

Zelda hummed in response, bringing a hand up to comb luxuriously through his hair. He sighed, and she brought the apple to her lips, biting into it with a satisfying crunch.

After all, a marriage bed is an arena of equals.

Perhaps the statement was insensitive, but being a pregnant queen of a ruined castle did have some perks. Primarily, it was the absolute lack of regard for decorum. Despite the circumstances, Zelda felt a lighthearted thrill of walking around the palace, once a place of rigid etiquette, in nothing but a nightgown and silk robe. Link’s insistence, of course. When her corset was no longer comfortable to wear, Link inferred that her dresses would be too tight as well. He could have had new ones made, but why bother with garments that would have to be altered half a dozen times? No, it was far more efficient for his queen to lounge about in her nightgowns.

Of course, the knee length hem had absolutely nothing to do with it. Link didn’t even notice when a knee length gown in the first trimester stopped at the top of her thighs in the third. Or the fact that Zelda stopped wearing anything underneath when putting something on became difficult. Irrelevant, all of it.

If he happened to capitalize on the opportunities it afforded to him, fine, but that was an entirely separate matter.

Zelda stretches, trying to release some of the tension in her back, before falling stiffly back into her chaise. It was absurd, but the moment he realized she could no longer fit in his lap he’d commissioned a modified chaise specifically for her and had it brought to the office. She said it was overkill, but he didn’t care. That said, her back had grown to appreciate the reclined seat and cushions.

Still, one couldn’t help the stiffness that came with sitting for long periods of time. Perhaps she should take a turn about the room? Zelda swung her legs down, then started probing for her slippers. Surely they must be in the same spot she left them? Still, with her stomach as large as it was she couldn’t really see.

Link knelt on the floor next to her, having gotten up the moment he saw her sit up. He took her foot in his hand gently while the other reached under the chaise to pull out the missing footwear. He delicately put the slipper on one foot, perhaps wary of hurting her swollen ankles. He repeated the action with her other foot before wordlessly helping her stand, even though he knew she didn’t need it.

At least, she thought she didn’t. Turns out, fate had other plans, and Zelda felt an intense cramping in her lower abdomen, causing her to double over with a start.

“Zelda!? Zelda, tell me what’s wrong?”

She looked him in the eyes, the same concern held in his grip supporting her arms shining in his eyes.

“Call the midwives.”

The night was quiet. Link would swear that it was the first peaceful moment since Ganon’s rise. Although, it’s entirely possible that this tranquility was an illusion born of the chaos of the day preceding. Now his lovely wife was sleeping, exhausted, in the bed while he sat in a chair next to her.

The baby in his arms huffed, and Link’s attention was drawn from the Zelda sleeping in the bed to the one resting in his arms.

They had to name her Zelda. Of course they did. Other names didn’t seem to fit.

The people of Hyrule couldn’t be trusted to look after his daughter, they were losers! How could they be trusted with someone so precious when they couldn’t even win one war? They couldn’t, simple as that. No, the only ones who were capable of looking after little Zelda were himself and his queen, no others.

But then who would run the country?

Link supposed he could carry on, leaving the childrearing to Zelda as he made sure any and all threats were eliminated before they even looked at the castle. Baby Zelda squirmed, one of her arms coming loose of her swaddling and slapping him in the face.

What was he thinking? Zelda couldn’t hone these raw battle instincts. She can’t even do a backflip, much less after giving birth. Besides, why should she get all the time with the baby? He’s the king! He should get to do what he wants, and he wants to raise his little girl. Zelda can handle affairs of the state well enough. Not right away of course, she needs time to recuperate, but after a few months she should be more than capable of take Hyrule’s reins while he looks after the little one.

“Come here,”

Link looked to the bed, Zelda was sitting up. He moved to help her, but she waved him away, pulling herself into a sitting position with a wince. Once she was settled he slid under the blankets. Zelda undid her nightgown, allowing their sweet daughter to latch on her breast. She winced.

“Does it hurt?” he asked with a frown. She shook her head.

“It’s a bit uncomfortable, I’ll get used to it.”

Link put an arm around her shoulders and gently pulled her to him. She leaned on him, resting her drowsy head in the crook of his neck, and Link was overcome. He couldn’t fight anymore. It was time to admit defeat.

He pressed his nose into her hair, “I love you.”

When his statement was met with silence, he thought she had fallen back asleep, or perhaps his whispered words were lost in the crown of her head. Then, like a dream, she answered.

“I love you, too.”

Outside, a cool breeze blows through the land, a sigh of relief as the first sprout pushes through the earth, marking the beginning of a new era.

#the legend of zelda #zelink #tw #emotional manipulation #botw zelink #link #zelda #Lantana Lore #LoZ AU #LantanaLore #tw pregnancy

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illfoandillfie · 4 years ago

Note

If it's ok to ask, and if you like the idea, maybe a blurb where Roger, your friend/flatmate, finds your porn collection. Maybe its a set of playgirls? Or cinefilms? As its the 70s. At first you think hes going to tease you forever about it. He asks to prove how much better he is than any of those men. Thats how you become friends with benefits.

oh this was fun and also i might have got a bit distracted looking at 70s playgirls on ebay and etsy lmao

warnings: implied sex, talk of porn and sex toys but nothing explicit

Blurb Advent: Day 18

You’d maybe never been quite as subtle about your masturbation habits than perhaps you should have been. But in your defence neither was Roger. You’d heard him more than a few times and walked in on him once when he’d forgot to lock the bathroom door. But at least you’d never gone rifling through his belongings and invaded his porn collection. What he got off to was his business. He, on the other hand, didn’t seem to hold the same standards of decorum.

You’d realised something was amiss when you got home and found your bedroom door ajar, though initially you shrugged it off. Perhaps you’d just not shut it properly when you left that morning. Inside the room everything seemed to be in order so you put it down to your own mistake and set about unpacking your bag. Until Roger knocked on the door.

He stood in the doorway and flung a magazine onto your bed, “You can have that back, I’ve finished reading it.”

Confused and unable to remember loaning him any magazines, you turned to the bed to see what it was, only to whip back around to Roger in horror.

A handsome, moustached man stared out from the cover of one of your Playgirl magazines.

“Where’d you get this?”

“Bottom of your wardrobe,” Roger replied as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Why the fuck were you looking in my wardrobe?”

“I was trying to find that fucking vibrator you’ve always got going.”

“What?”

“Do you have any idea how loud that thing is? I mean our bedrooms are separated by a bathroom but it’s not like the walls are especially thick. And how often do you need it really? I mean, I swear it’s every bloody day.”

“Oh my god,” you hid your face in your hands, “Why didn’t you just tell me I was being too loud?”

“Yeah cause that wouldn’t have been an embarrassing conversation,”

“And what do you think this is?” you snapped, raising your head to glare at him though you couldn’t meet his eye.

“Oh this might be embarrassing for you but not me. Anyway, I figured I just steal the damn thing for a few days, give myself a week or so to go to sleep without hearing it’s infernal buzzing. But then I stumbled across your little collection.”

“I buy them for the articles.”

“Oh sure, I understand. That’s exactly why I buy Playboys too.”

“Fuck off, I actually do like the articles. They write about stuff relevant to me – forms of contraception and women’s health and the movement for female equality.”

“I really enjoyed that article in there called Everything You Must Know About Vibrators, is that what inspired you to buy your monstrous little machine?”

“There’s nothing wrong with women knowing how to please themselves.” “Course not. I take it that’s what the centrefolds are for too?”

“Fine, yes, sometimes I get off to the pictures. Like you said though, you get Playboy for the same reasons. So, you’ve had your laugh, you’ve seen my porn, now you can leave.”

“I’m not done yet,”

“What more can you have to say Roger? D’you wanna go through my favourite issues? D’you want a list of my favourite centrefolds? Dennis Ward’s shoot was particularly nice but nothing got the job done quite like –”

“Jesus, Y/N, no,” Roger held up his hand to stop you from continuing, “I just have one question. Have you ever been satisfied?”

“What?”

“Well, no offence, I’m sure they’re fine enough men and you have a rollicking good time looking at them, but none of them are really that inspiring are they? Some of them are….quite small.”

“Haven’t you heard? Size isn’t everything,”

“Was that another article was it? Anyway, I’m not saying I’m bigger than all of them,”

You blinked, completely baffled as to how you’d ended up here.

“But to me, as an unobjective outsider and as a flatmate, it doesn’t sound like you’re getting everything you need. I mean, clearly, the guys you’ve slept with in the past can’t have been much good if you’re buying toys because a magazine tells you to,”

“That’s not wh-”

“And I’ve flicked through a few of those issues” he jabbed his thumb in the direction of your wardrobe, “I’ve seen the articles about how to make your orgasms last longer and y’know tips for curing sexual hangups and I’m pretty sure there was an article just titled Good In Bed with a question mark at the end. So I really have to conclude that up until you bought your little friend, things weren’t so enjoyable for you.”

“You have no idea, I’ve had lots of good sex with my exes, I just happen to be single at the moment,”

“Well that’s obvious. I once heard you go, I swear, five times in one day. I mean, generally speaking it’d be at least once a day for you, wouldn’t it? Before you go to bed or first thing in the morning, just before you have a shower, while I’m trying to eat lunch, I could go on. So it’s fairly fucking obvious that you’re not getting much attention lately. And, as much as I hate to suggest it, I’d say that whatever you do when you look at these men, whatever you picture, isn’t really working. Certainly not well enough to keep you satisfied.”

“You can leave now, please,”

Roger kept talking even as you pushed him back out the door, “Do you think about them, even when you aren’t looking at the magazines? Think about joining them in their bed or by the pool or while they’re listening to music with their dick swinging about? Cause, Y/N, I can guarantee I’d be better than whatever you’re imagining.”

You stopped in the doorway, staring at him in disbelief.

“Think about it,” he shrugged, turning to go back to his own room.

You closed your bedroom door behind you and leaned against it as you tried to process what had just happened. Roger had insulted your choice of porn and then hit on you. That was right wasn’t it? He’d actually implied he would like to have sex with you? You pulled your door open again and headed for his room, not bothering to knock before turning the knob and opening the door.

“Think about what exactly? You and Me?”

Roger laughed from where he sat at his desk and turned around in his chair to face you, “Why not? We’re both single, we’re both hot. I’ve been thinking about fucking you since you first got that vibrator. And I’m more real than anyone else you’ve got right now.”

“That’s crazy,”

“Alright, offer still stands though.”

You shook your head but didn’t move. After all, you’ve heard him too, groaning and breathing hard. And you had caught a glimpse that one time, saw what he was working with though you’d both pretended you hadn’t.”

“Are you going to stand there all night? Just that I’ve got some work to get on with, so,”

“Okay. Maybe I am a little curious. Not saying I agree to anything just yet but…how would it work?”

“I don’t know, we just fuck. Whenever we’re both in the mood for it, for as long as we’re both single and want it to keep happening.”

“Nothing else? No dates, no anything?”

“Love, if I wanted a girlfriend, I’d have one. I just thought I’d offer you my services, show you what you’re missing.”

“What if you can’t satisfy me?”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. Either, I’m going to wear you out, show you what a proper fuck feels like so you stop reaching for your vibrator every two minutes. Or we discover you’re some sort of insatiable sex fiend who can’t get enough and I might finally have a girl who can keep up with me. I can give you a test run now, show you what you’d be getting by agreeing. If it’s not good enough then we call it off, no harm done.”

You absentmindedly bit your thumb nail as you weighed up your options. Turn around, go back to your room and probably have a wank (without the vibrator) while you inevitably thought about Roger’s offer and wondered if you should have agreed. Or stay and get your answer.

“Okay, but this is the only chance you get. If it’s shit, we forget it and you shut up about my toys and my porn,”

Roger grinned and stood up, “That’s all I need.”

#Anonymous #my writing #my blurbs #smut blurb #(more or less)#blurb advent 2020 #roger taylor x reader #roger taylor imagine #roger taylor smut

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qvid-pro-qvo · 4 years ago

Note

Coul you do Emily Prentiss x reader with the prompts : I noticed / and : Call me if you need anything

Please? And thank you, I really love what you write❤️

thank you, friend! <3 emily prentiss x gender neutral reader.

word count: 1827

rating: e for everyone, because halloween isn’t just for those who wanna get spooked (this is pure fluff, but descriptions of anxiety).

You would think, with the things you see and hear on a daily basis, you’d be okay with horror flicks. That they wouldn’t get to the root of you, spook you to your core. But the fact is that you’re a wimp, and when push comes to shove you’d rather watch something happy any day of the week.

But, of course, that’s not the occasion. It’s Halloween. It’s meant to be scary, meant to be spooky, and so arriving at Garcia’s means prepping yourself for close to the worst night of your life.

You’re the first to arrive, incredibly early almost on purpose (after asking, of course). A movie won’t start with just one of the invited guests over, and you’re kind of hoping you can make a breakaway before the opening sequence. But Garcia’s pulling something baked out of the oven, and the smell is divine.

“I made popcorn, and we ordered pizza, and I’ve got some M&Ms to pour in to the popcorn so that they melt and become a huge chocolatey mess,” Penelope croons at you as you come in, and she’s so excited you can’t help but be, too. The worry about being scared fades away. You end up helping her pipe on some white frosting, and soon your creations rise up from the proverbial dead. Sugar cookie mummies. It’s incredible. It’s hilarious. It ends up with icing on your nose and smiles on your faces, and when Derek and Reid arrive it’s almost like the party already happened.

“You have frosting in your hair,” Derek laughs, reaching up to brush it out, and you can’t help but grin.

“Maybe I’m becoming a mummy, too.”

But unfortunately, all that joy fades away when you realize that the movie is going to start sooner rather than later. After all, JJ arrives with Emily, and the two of them signal the end of the welcoming party.

Emily Prentiss. The bravest of them all, and the team member you’ve had a raging crush on for… about as long as you’ve known her. She looks stunning, tonight, but with your hands wringing and her eyes on you as they do, you can’t help but wonder what she’s thinking about.

Your mood starts to dour, just a little, and as it does you notice Emily shooting you looks across Garcia’s kitchen, brow furrowed. It happens a few times – she grins at something someone else has said, turns to you with that brilliant smile, and it falters. Just a little. It makes your heart race. She has to be judging you, she has to be – she can smell fear a mile away, and you’re radiating it, and not the good kind that comes with a good jump scare, but the kind that lingers.

Fuck horror movies. That’s the lesson, you suppose.

You don’t want to admit your fears. Not here. Not in front of the bravest group of people you’ve ever met. Not in front of Em. So, you keep quiet, almost silent, until the migration towards the couch happens.

“I need to, uh, use the bathroom,” you quickly stammer out. A moment alone might help with the way your throat closes up. It’s with that you vanish around the corner to where Garcia’s toilet is, and the door closes softly. You can hear their giggles and laughter even through the shut door, Penelope’s voice echoing around you, and stare at yourself in the mirror.

“Pull yourself together,” you say. It’s firmer than you thought you could manage. As you look into your own eyes, you can see what they see, surely. Someone just on this side of scared.

“Fuck,” is the last word, and with a couple of deep breaths in and out you open the bathroom door.

Only to run into Emily Prentiss herself.

“Sorry!” you blurt. “Uh. Didn’t realize I was hogging it. Didn’t think anyone noticed I slipped away.”

Emily just smiles, and it’s so warm. In the lights that Garcia has hung around her bedroom, her hair looks a myriad of colors, all fading to that deep black. She’s fantastic, and incredible, and you know it’s your nerves that’s got you like this. Usually you can maintain decorum. But she doesn’t seem to mind.

She’s smiling after all.

“I noticed,” she says, at first with that same smile, but her voice is soft enough that no one on the other side of the wall overhears. Your mouth goes dry at that, and you chuckle, but she’s not laughing. She’s just looking, her brow furrowing a bit as she glances towards where the others are and then back at you. “Are you all right? I just… came to check up on you. You seem…”

“Yeah,” you quickly say. “Just, uh. I…”

And that’s when it all comes crumbling down. Your eyes flick towards where the rest of the team is laughing, sitting, chatting, and you’re simply here, trying not to think about how to make a break for it as soon as possible.

“Oh.”

At first you think you imagine it, the softness of Emily’s voice. But when your eyes flick back over to her, your lower lip bitten to shreds, she’s simply offering a smile, and her hand reaches up to squeeze your shoulder. “Not a horror buff?”

It’s so kind. It’s so gentle. You almost want to melt into it, but your dignity, or what little you have left, keeps you in check. You just nod, and she twists her lips a little, glancing back towards where the laughter is coming again. Derek, this time.

“No, it’s… it’s not my favorite,” you admit, but quickly stammer out an explanation. “I’m okay! Really, j-just, uh. Making it. I’ll be fine, once the movie starts.”

That’s not true. Not true at all, in fact, you can hear the film score start up and already you’re trembling. But you try to put on a brave face, and because it’s Emily Prentiss, your friend, your teammate, she sees right through it.

“Do you want to stay? You don’t have to, if you don’t want to.”

That makes you pause. Your spiral into embarrassment halts, and now it’s your turn to furrow your brow.

“What?”

She just gives you another smile, this one almost secretive. She leans forward, too, and your hands start shaking again. For a different reason. “Well, between you and me, horror’s not my scene, either. And so, I was thinking, if you wanted to be each other’s alibi…”

A million things swim through your brain. That can’t be true, first of all. She’s Emily Prentiss. How can horror not be right up her alley? The adrenaline, that kind of thing. So if that’s the case, then she’s bluffing. Lying even. But why? Plus, didn’t she go see that thing with Reid and Garcia the other night? Why would she pretend not to like horror when it’s so obvious that she –

She just keeps looking at you. Smiles, and…

Oh.

Because she’s your friend. Because she cares for you. She gives you a way out. She smiles and laughs and looks to you all night because she’s concerned.

She’s doing it for you. And your little crush, your little thing you push aside during cases and debriefs and moments alone, it comes at you full force.

Your heart warms, and your hands stop shaking, and you look at Emily Prentiss like the lifeline she is. Your breath comes out all at once, too, a sigh of relief, and when you nod, she nods, too.

“Perfect. Just follow my lead, yeah?”

You find yourself following, a little in a daze. It’s like a whirlwind, what just happened, your thoughts and her actions, and when you turn the corner the others are already fixated on the film.

“Sorry, guys,” Emily says with a soft groan. Her hand lifts up to cover her stomach, and she rubs it, almost like it’s an instinctive reaction. “I think something I ate didn’t agree with me.”

JJ and Derek’s eyes immediately shoot up, but Garcia and Reid are enraptured with what’s taking place.

“Are you okay?” Derek asks.

“Do you need a ride? I can take you home,” JJ follows up. She’s basically halfway to standing when you step in, surprising yourself by the steadiness in your voice.

“No, I’ve got her. You guys stay and watch the movie.”

“Are you sure?” Emily asks, turning to look at you, and you just smile at her, concerned and trying not to look so gleeful about being concerned.

“Yeah, Em. I’ve got you.” Your hand reaches to rub at her back, and together the two of you make your way towards the door, with various solutions to Emily’s ailment being shouted at you guys from those who’re seated.

“Call me if you need anything from my car!” JJ shouts out, and that’s the last thing you hear. Soon the door is closed and the noise from behind you fades with a click.

Immediately Emily lifts herself up. You feel… exhilarated, more adrenaline than a scare could ever give you, and Emily lets out a soft chuckle.

“I should be an actor, right?” she asks, nudging you with her elbow, and you don’t even realize how close you’re still standing to her until her touch presses into your stomach. You don’t move away, though, and your hand is still on her back.

She doesn’t pull away either.

“Oscar-worthy performance,” you tease back, and she just throws her head back with her laughter, shaking her head and tucking some hair behind her ear. “Thanks for getting me out of there,” you add, and when she looks at you again, her brown eyes are soft, warm.

“Of course. Halloween isn’t just about horror flicks and getting scared. No one should have a bad Halloween night if they don’t want to.” For a moment you think you’re imagining it, the warmth, but then her arm reaches to link with yours as you make your way to the staircase.

“What is Halloween night about?” you ask her, on your way.

“I mean, horror is a part of it,” she admits. Her voice doesn’t get dreamy, but the sound of it reminds you of the way that spices and pumpkin smell. “But. Fall weather. The way that the leaves look on the trees. Getting cozy with… with someone you care about, and… I don’t know. Eating candy enough for two.”

She looks at you when she says getting cozy, and you almost trip over your feet.

Be brave, you tell yourself, and when you clear your through your voice is the brightest it’s been all night.

“Well. Maybe together we could… get cozy? And eat enough candy for four.”

The moon is high above the two of you as you leave the building, your laughter echoing on Garcia’s street. You don’t know where she’s planning to go after tonight, but for that moment, you hope it’s anywhere with you.

#prompt fill #emily prentiss x reader #gender neutral reader #emily prentiss #criminal minds #fluff #anxiety #my fic

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heartofsnark · 4 years ago

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This Is Love (Chapter Nine): That Melts To A Shriek

Notes: Hello~, school has been stressful af, but luckily(?) for y’all I sometimes write to ignore my feelings/schoolwork. So, chapters have been getting done anyway.

Word Count: 11596

Chapter Warnings: Implications of abuse, not sure the best way to word this; acts of violence/property damage done against cops for being cops but very nearly hurt/killed a civilian.

For chapter one and the warnings about this fic’s overarching themes, please click here!

For the previous chapter; click here

Taglist (trying this out, these are folks who interacted with the post over on my personal or contacted me privately, if you’d like to be added just message me): @enchantedbythebidders, @tender-wounds, @satanscaffeinatedfriend

Dahlia skids her bike to a stop in the diner parking lot; Cassie is sitting in the dirt just outside the building with her knees pulled up to her chest. She parks and makes a beeline to the girl, as she pokes her head up, looking at the deputy through a curtain of dark curly hair. Her cheek is red, just beginning to bruise, the imprint of a hand visible in the moonlight.

“Cassie,” Dahlia speaks her name delicately, seeing the tears tracking down the girl’s face. And she sinks down next to her and hugs her. Cassie hugs her back and sobs into Dahlia’s shoulder; trying to talk but everything muffles through chokes of crying.

Eventually, Cassie’s tears slow and her sobs lessens, fading into soft hiccups as she clings to Dahlia.

“I know it’s hard, but can you tell me what happened?” Dahlia asks once the young woman has calmed.

“My mom,” she wipes away her tears as she breaks their embrace, “I, I guess, I crossed a line. She kicked me out.”

“She hurts you?”

“She’s intense….I guess.”

“She’s put her hands on you.”

“Yeah.”

“A lot?”

“Yeah…” Dahlia wipes away the fresh tears that fall from the girl’s eyes, heart breaking for her.

“You didn’t cross any line, you know that, right? Nothing you’ve done makes it okay.”

“I just wanted to keep one paycheck, one, that didn’t have to go towards her bills or her clothes, or her whatever. Just one I could keep for myself and it was too much to ask and now…,” she searches for her next words, “I don’t know where to go…”

There’s no homeless shelters in Hope County, no emergency housing for people struggling, the exact reason so many of the drifters in the area sleep in abandoned train cars. It’s ridiculous, no rehabs despite the county having a drug problem and no shelter for people who need it. How the fuck are people supposed to get through?

“You can stay with me,” Dahlia offers, she sleeps on the couch anyway, no reason not to offer her bed to someone in need.

“No, I, I couldn’t. I bothered you enough, I-“

“Nonsense, we need to get you somewhere safe and I can’t think of anywhere safer, right now. Unless you wanna go out of county.”

“No, no, god no, I don’t wanna leave Hope…”

“I ain’t got much, but I got room for you.”

“Thanks…”

“You got anything with you?” Dahlia asks, when she notices all Cassie has are the clothes on her back, a thin jacket thrown over her waitress uniform.

“No…couldn’t grab anything…”

“Okay, then, we’ll make do tonight and tomorrow, I’ll see about getting your clothes back. That alright with you?”

“Yeah…just don’t…”

“I won’t do anything crazy, promise.”

“Okay…”

“Here you,” Dahlia says, handing over her motorcycle helmet to Cassie. She takes it and Dahlia knows Cassie is taller, a little older too, but in this moment, she seems so small and young, almost like a child.

Once the helmet is secure, Dahlia gets on her bike, allowing Cassie to climb on the back of it, instructing the girl to hold on as tightly as she can. Thin arms wrapping tight enough to dig into Dahlia’ s skin. The night air is cold, Cassie’s body all that much warmer in comparison as it presses in against and around the deputy.

There are a few eyes watching the girls as they ride into the trailer park, Dahlia coming to a stop by her porch. She’s gentle as she helps Cassie off the motorcycle, taking the helmet from her, the taller girl’s dark eyes dart around nervously, straying near where a Moonflower resident is glaring at the pair. Dahlia rubs a hand through the back of Cassie’s hair, ruffling the dark curls, mimicking Sheriff Whitehorse and his method of calming her. If it works for her, maybe it can help Cassie.

“Don’t worry about them, go on inside, I’m gonna lock up my bike okay.”

Cassie nods her head and walks off into the trailer. Dahlia catches eyes with the man who was glaring and she glares right back, flipping him off before locking up her bike. She could give a damn less what anyone does to her, but she’s not going to let them give Cassie hell. The girl has been through enough.

The older girl is on the couch when Dahlia walks back into the trailer, Cassie’s eyes looking over everything.

“Hey, you, uh, want anything to drink or eat? I don’t know how to make coffee, but there’s coke, water, uhhh…?” Dahlia pauses, arm still gestured outward as she tries to think of what else she can offer.

“Actually, I just wanna grab a shower and sleep, if that’s alright.”

“Of course, I’ll go grab some clothes you can sleep in, the bathroom is just right here,” Dahlia tells her, tapping a hand to the bathroom door.

“Thanks.”

Dahlia scurries off to rummage through her clothes, finding warm oversized sweatshirt and sweatpants, finding the warmest but least…Dahlia’s aesthetic to offer Cassie. She knocks on the bathroom door, giving Cassie a warning before she opens the door and quickly drops the change of clothes in the room before scurrying off. Trying to be welcoming, homely, nice, she doesn’t even know; she tries to get some food together. Store bought cookies and instant bag mix cocoa with hot water. It’s bad and shoddy, but she doesn’t have much to offer in the way of hospitality. This entire night has been a whiplash for her and she can’t even imagine what it must be doing to Cassie, she doubts shitty hot chocolate or mass produced cookies can fix it, but it’s something.

A few moments pass, Dahlia cramming cookies in her mouth as she waits, and finally Cassie leaves the shower. Despite being taller than the deputy, the baggy black clothes look big on her, the skulls along the sleeves don’t suit the woman much either.

“Thanks for the clothes.”

“No problem, uh, sorry they’re…so, me, I guess?”

Cassie laughs and a bubble of tension bursts inside of Dahlia, her shoulders finally able to relax as she smiles back. It no longer feels like walking on eggshells around a scared animal, Cassie at once seems more comfortable and happy even if only for a moment.

“It’s okay,” Cassie tells her after a moment, “seriously, I just appreciate, all of this. Don’t worry so much.”

“Hey, I’m happy to help, uh, help yourself to anything I shitty whipped together and oh I know. I need to show you where you can sleep,” the deputy fumbles about and then walks down to the bedroom, opening the door, “I know it ain’t much, but hey, bed’s a bed, right?”

“You have a second bedroom?”

“Huh, oh nah, I sleep on the couch.”

“You don’t have too, I don’t expect you to give up your bed for me, I-“

“No, no,” Dahlia gently touches Cassie’s shoulder before she can get too worked up, “I just do that, nothing to do with you.”

“Oh….that’s…weird.”

“I appreciate your honesty…I think?” Dahlia makes a huffy laugh, unable to hold down the corners of her mouth, the little insult? Dig? Whatever, someone might call it has brought a bit more levity to this and fuck knows the situation needs it.

There’s not much conversation for the rest of the night; Cassie visibly exhausted, only grabbing a cookie before excusing herself to sleep for the night. Dahlia eventually falling asleep on her couch later that night.

It’s back to work the next day, Dahlia planning on making a visit to Cassie’s mom during a quiet moment, claiming it as a lunch hour. She has no intention of using force or being aggressive, but she knows her uniform could add some….incentive for someone to be more helpful than harmful towards her.

Maybe it’s that, knowing she’ll want the full effect of it, or maybe it’s because she missed working, but she wears her uniform the proper way and with a bit more pride than she did before. She says goodbye to Cassie, the words clumsy and stumbling from her lips, as she tries to grow more comfortable with someone else in her home.

The morning hours pass by without much of note, harassing Pratt whenever the time presents itself and searching for affordable housing or shelters, or whatever the hell is available for Cassie. And she comes to the same conclusion she had when searching for her own housing ; The Moonflower is the absolute most dirt cheap.

A buzz and crackle over the radio, dispatch starting to break through.

“Boshaw’s parked out in Falls End at his bullshit again.” Dispatch doesn’t even pretend to have decorum and Dahlia knows there’s more than one Boshaw, the owners of the Moonflower being Boshaw’s themselves, but given his history and the tone she immediately thinks of Sharky.

“Oh god, really, can no one else go?” Pratt asks, looking like he wants to jump into traffic more than deal with this.

“Nope, everyone else passed the buck, so just go tell him to scram.”

“Fine, fine, fine.”

“It that Sharky guy?” Dahlia asks once Pratt starts to drive.

“Un-fucking-fortunately, pain in my goddamn ass.”

“He stealing again or…?”

“Hmm,” there’s a sudden glint in Pratt’s eyes, a smirk on his face and Dahlia already regrets coming into work, “actually, this seems like a good welcome back for you, Rookie.”

“I’m gonna want to strangle you after this, aren’t I?”

“Definitely.”

She groans as the police cruiser makes it’s way through Falls End, ultimately coming to a stop in a store parking lot, a few other cars are around but it’s mostly deserted. Pratt points out a dark green jeep within the lot.

“That’s Boshaw’s truck, go knock on the window and tell him to scram.”

“Jeep…”

“What?”

“You called it a truck, that’s not a truck, that’s a jeep.”

“Does it fucking matter?”

“Not really, but it bugged me, and I don’t know why.”

“Go knock on the fucking window.”

“What’s he even doing? Drugs? Or?”

“Go knock and find out.”

“I swear to god,” Dahlia grumbles and finally opens the cruiser door, she has no idea what the fuck she’s walking into.

She’s able to see Boshaw through the driver side window of his jeep, eye closed and head leaned back. Dahlia speeds up, she’s heard of residents overdosing in their cars, he never struck her as a hard drug user but one can never really tell. Dahlia raises her fist to knock on the window and then she sees it. Boshaw’s hand rubbing up and down the length of his dick. This is her life.

“What the fuck!” She yells out and closes her eyes, because she does not need the image of his dick burned into her brain, she’s still dealing with the image of John fucking Holly rattling around in there. What is wrong with people?

“Shit,” she hears him curse, a shuffling of something, a window being rolled down, “what the hell-“

“Get the fuck out of here or I’m charging you public indecency, right fucking now, christ!”

She waits until she hears an engine starting up and then makes a beeline back to the cruiser, not wanting to even chance seeing that weirdo’s dick again. Dahlia stomps her way back to the patrol car, Pratt’s laughing hitting her as soon as she opens the door. She kicks into the car, not hard, just a quick jab of her boot into his arm before she pulls back.

“What the actual fuck, Pratt!?”

“What, get an eyeful?”

“What the actual fuck, does he just do…that!?” She’s cringing as she climbs into the passenger side seat.

“Yeah, he just, is like that if he isn’t jerking off in public, he’s setting something on fire. Or both.”

“Dear lord, what is wrong with people? What’s wrong with you doing that to me, asshole!?”

“Ah, don’t get your panties in a twist, I’ll buy you lunch.”

“Save your apology food for tonight, I got something to take care of during lunch.”

“So, you’re abandoning work?”

“For an hour max and you can call me if anything comes up.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m just giving you shit, it’s fine.”

She rolls her eyes as they go back to the station, just a short drive away in the small town. The young deputy waves off her patrol partner as she climbs onto her bike, making sure her ringer is turned on this time, just in case something does manage to come up. Cassie gave her the address this morning and she quickly finds the little house surrounded by woods, as so many of the houses in Hope County are.

Dahlia lets out a breath before knocking her knuckles against the door, firm and heavy despite the knot twisting her insides. After a few moments pass and then finally the door opens; an older woman staring back at Dahlia. The resemblance between her and Cassie is strong; the same pitch black hair and dark eyes, just to an older face.

“Oh god, she didn’t drag you all into this did she?” Her words drip with condescension and venom and a muscle in Dahlia’s cheek twitches, her jaw tight.

“I’m sorry to bother you ma’am, but I was hoping to collect Cassie’s clothes and personal items.”

“Pff, what’d she tell you, some sob story, I’m sure.”

“This isn’t a criminal matter,” yet, Dahlia would like to add, but decorum or something, “if that’s what you’re concerned about and I don’t have a warrant either, for full disclosure. I’m just kindly asking to get her things, I can collect them myself or you can hand them to me if you’d rather I not enter the home, whatever you like.”

“You can come on in, I don’t have anything to hide,” Cassie’s mother lets her in.

“Thank you so much, where is her room, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Right this way, I swear she’s so fucking dramatic.” Her mother bitches and complains, taking Dahlia there and showing her an open duffle bag that she can put clothes in.

“I just know she asked me to get her things.”

“I’m so sorry she dragged you into this deputy, I’m sure you have better things to do.” Her mother talks as Dahlia tries to gather as much as she can into the bag, not only clothes but things that could be important, books and a laptop.

“I’m always happy to help out where I can, thank you so much for your time and patience, ma’am.”

A hand catches Dahlia’s bicep, Cassie’s mom stopping her. She turns to look, not sure what exactly is going on now.

“So, where is she staying?”

“I don’t know ma’am, I was only asked to bring her things to the police station, but I assure you she’s in a safe place. No worries. Have a lovely day.”

Dahlia pulls away from the woman’s grip and leaves the house, she keeps an eye over her shoulder as she leaves, insuring that the mother isn’t following her. Just in case she takes a few odd turns to make sure and then finally makes her way back to the Moonflower.

She’s compelled to knock on her own trailer door, not sure what Cassie might be doing with her alone time. Cassie’s dark eyes peek through the window and Dahlia waves, before the door opens. The girl’s head tilted to the side slightly, eyebrow raised.

“Did you forget your key?”

“No, I uh, just wanted you to know I was here, I guess.”

“Okay, uh, you really act like a guest in your own house, don’t you?” Cassie points out as Dahlia walks into the trailer.

“Ehhh, like ya know,” she makes a vague noncommittal wiggly gesture with her shoulders, “anyway, I got your clothes. No trouble, no issues, check through and make sure I grabbed everything.”

“Thanks, really, you have no idea how much this means to me,” Cassie gushes as she looks through it.

“It’s not problem at all, there is one thing I wanna talk to you about.”

“What’s up?”

“So, I’ve been trying to look around, see what options are available for you to move into. The cheapest housing in Hope is right here, if you wanna save up to rent a trailer. Then things get pricier, you’re looking at the trailers at Silver Lake which are twice as much, and even more than that for renting an apartment in Falls End or god forbid you’re trying to buy a house.”

“I…don’t really wanna live here on my own… The people here are…”

“Rough?”

“We’ll go with that. But, it’s not like I can afford anything else.”

“Well, there’s affordable housing like section eight in the bigger places, b-“

“I don’t wanna leave Hope either, I-, oh god.”

“Hey, hey, hey, I’m not trying to freak you out or overload you. You don’t have to know right now, you don’t have to know anytime soon. You can stay here as long as you need, no rush or pressure. I just wanted to let you know what I found.”

“Thanks, I just gotta save up some money and then…”

“Hey, I still got some time for my lunch break, I’ll treat ya if there’s anywhere you wanna go.”

“Uh, I could go for some pizza.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Dahlia takes them both to the 8-Bit Pizza Bar, the rest of her lunch break isn’t very long, so they don’t get much time to chat. Finishing off a pizza and talking about video games before Dahlia has to drop Cassie back off at the trailer to head back into work; warning her new roommate that she’ll be going to The Spread Eagle after her shift. And finding out what she can bring Cassie home for dinner.

Whitehorse is out in the bullpen style offices when she arrives back to the precinct, discussing something with an officer. She waits as patiently as her baseline personality will allow her, unable to help tapping her fingers against her thigh, also brimming with some sort of uncontainable energy. Surely, Whitehorse might know someplace Cassie can turn to? Someplace that can help her.

“Something on your mind, Rookie?”

“Yeah, you remember that waitress, Cassie?”

“Something happen with her?” There’s a furrow in his brows and a clench in his jaw, worry and concern darkening his eyes.

“She called me, her mom hurt her, threw her out, she’s not interested in pressing charges. So, she’s staying with me right now, safe. But, uh, she’s…not really happy at the Moonflower. Rough folks ya know, give her dirty looks ‘cause she’s hanging out with a cop, that whole mess. So, I was wondering if there’s literally anything available to help her out?”

“I’m sorry to say, there’s not a hell of a lot around here, Rook. Moonflower’s cheapest place she’d find to live, but as far as charity goes, Hope County runs low on it. Churches use to help out when they could, you can always try with them, but not sure they can afford to help anymore.”

“Never thought I’d be upset at a lack of religious involvement in anything, but what do you mean they can’t afford it.”

“Most of ‘em are bleeding members. Pastor Jerome’s church in town and the old Lamb Of God Church only got a few regulars right now. Most folks jumped to Eden’s Gate.”

“Does….Eden’s Gate do any sort of help?”

Dahlia raises an eyebrow, Joseph certainly seems nice. The way Layla and Waylon talked, the church is no stranger to helping the crestfallen. Certainly, they do some sort of outreach? Even the worst of churches tend to do something; hell her own shitty step-dad’s church helped rebuild the community after the hurricanes. It’s good PR and a way to draw people in.

“Sure, but for most people they’re a last resort and for good reason.”

“’Cause they’re buzzkills and no one likes them?”

“That’s one way to put it,” he gives her shoulder a comforting squeeze, “good luck and if there’s anything I can do to help, just let me know, alright?”

“Will do, thanks, Sheriff.”.

Later in the night, shift ending with little trouble, the three deputies make their usual Spread Eagle trips. But Dahlia can’t seem to settle. She assumed it’d feel easy and nice to be back to her completely usual routine, a celebration when she returned, but everything draws her mind back to Cassie. Dahlia can’t help but feel guilty when she thinks about it, despite opening her home to the older girl, she can’t say she’s been there much. Having to go to work today and only sparing her a half hour for lunch. And now she’s out with friends… She tries to focus on what Pratt and Hudson are saying, but only finds herself worrying about Cassie. She’s alone in an unfamiliar place… probably still scared and worried about every shadow.

“You alright, Rook, you seem out of it.”

“Yeah, uh, actually, my head is starting to hurt, injury and all that. So, if it’s cool, I’m gonna split early tonight.”

“Alright, but if you think you’re getting a rain check on that free food, you’re out of your mind,” Pratt taunts her and she laughs, flicking his ear.

“Somehow I’ll live, see you guys tomorrow.”

She orders some food to go for her and Cassie then heads out. There’s that familiar end of shift exhaustion as she pulls into the Moonflower, bones and muscles always a little leaden. The desire to just stuff her face and veg out in front of the tv for a while. It’s an all too familiar feeling of trudging back to her trailer, but this isn’t the same as all those nights.

Darkness and silence don’t greet her as she opens the door, the clawing feeling of loneliness doesn’t strike her like a snake hiding in underbrush. Her trailer is alive, it seems, lights and tv on, brightness and a burble of noise. Cassie sitting on the couch, curled up as some romantic comedy plays on the tv. Her entire body turning to greet Dahlia, bright eyes and a soft smile welcoming the deputy.

“Hey, I thought you were gonna be late?”

“Yeah, turns out I wasn’t feeling it tonight, brought dinner though,” Dahlia shows the bag off, “what’re you watching?”

“10 Things I Hate About You. I know it’s cheesy as hell, but it’s one of my favorites.”

“Never seen it.”

“What, oh my god, you have to watch it with me! It’s so good.”

“Okay, okay, let me settle in and we’ll have a movie night.”

Once she’s changed out of her uniform, Dahlia settles in on the couch with Cassie, who’s rewinded the movie back to the beginning. They’re cramming food into their mouths as it plays and it’s adorable. A guy being paid to date a girl, so another guy could date her sister due to some dumb dad rule, but then alas he falls in legitimate love. Cassie says lines along with the actors, showing just how many times she’s watched it, able to quote characters verbatim. She does a nervous little glance over at Dahlia now and again as it plays on, checking Dahlia’s interest, the deputy makes sure to smile a little brighter when those eyes land on her.

“I want you to want me, I need you to need me, I’m begging you to beg me~!” Cassie sings along to the final song that plays the movie out, a band conveniently located on the schools roof, because why the hell not?

“I see why that’s one of your favorites.”

“Sorry I couldn’t shut up,” Cassie apologizes, cheeks red.

“No, no, it’s cute. Shows just how much you’re enjoying yourself.”

“I still remember when they showed it to us in class, I just fell in love.”

“They showed that in school?”

“Yeah, it’s actually based on an Shakespeare play, Taming of The Shrew, so they showed to us in English. Along with the DeCaprio, Romeo and Juliet.”

“Ah, I haven’t seen that movie either.”

“You haven’t seen many movies have you?”

“My family wasn’t big on tv and honestly, if my school played anything, I probably slept through it or don’t remember it well.”

“I mean, your memory can’t be that bad, high school was probably not that long ago for you, was it?”

“Hey, you don’t know that, I could be pushing forty for all you know.”

“Oh yeah, and dermatologist just hate you,” she rolls her eyes, “seriously, how old are you?”

Maybe, it’s the food warm in her belly, the comfort of her own trailer, or the shared smiles; but she feels a little more honest than usual.

“Twenty…ish,” she says, with a little smug smirk, knowing the question to follow.

“Ish?”

“Hmmm, well, between you and me, I may be a little shy of it.”

“You’re nineteen?”

“Only for the next three months or so, but, yeah…” She admits, trying to do the math, she turns twenty in September.

“So, you’ve just been lying about your age?”

“It’s three months, okay, nineteen just hits the ear differently. I have a hard enough time getting anyone around here to respect me without being called a teenager.”

“But, you are a teenager.”

“Technically, my age does contain the word teen in it.”

“And what do you plan on doing when everyone expects you to turn twenty-one and you don’t?”

“The only people who know when my birthday is would be the Sheriff, you kind of, or in Louisiana. As long as you and Whitehorse don’t run around alerting everyone, there’s no way of any of them knowing, I can play it off as my birthday being further away.”

“Is that worth it just to not be called a teenager?”

“Considering all the shit I get about my age and rank already; yes.”

“I mean, you do look like a baby faced high schooler.”

“Oh you’re one to talk,” Dahlia laughs, reaching out to pinch Cassie’s own round cheeks, the girl giggles and shoves at her in response.

“Shit, it’s late,” Cassie says after a moment, catching the time.

“You headed for bed then?’

“I, uh, actually needed to ask you something first?”

“Sure, what’s up?”

“I got today off because of��everything…but if I wanna start saving money back up, I gotta go into work. But…I don’t have a car…”

“What’d you do before?”

“I just used my mom’s car, she didn’t let me have my own, said it was too much…”

“And public transport ain’t exactly booming out here.”

“You can’t even get rideshares out here.”

“What’s your shift hours?”

“Nine to five.”

“You okay with getting there early and hanging out there later? If so I can drop you off on my way to and from work, my shifts are just a bit, lengthier.”

“Yeah that’s fine, hell, I could chock it up to overtime and probably get a coworker to drive me home at the end of my shift, if you can just get me there in the morning.”

“We can do that.”

“Thank you, thank you,” Cassie throws her arms around Dahlia, “seriously, this just thank you.”

“You’re welcome, you’re gonna get through this and I’m gonna help you every step of the way, promise.”

She rubs a hand up and down the girls back, then she hears it. Maybe it’s just everything hitting Cassie, maybe it’s the deputy’s words, or the comforting touch; but something pushes the older girl to tears. Broken whimpers and cries, tears wetting Dahlia’s shoulder as she does her best to comfort Cassie, holding her tight and letting her just let it out.

It’s unclear how long it lasts, the outpour of emotion, but at some point, Cassie is finally able to pull away with red rimmed eyes and apologies on her lips.

“Nothing to apologize for, mon cher. Why don’t you head on to bed, morning will be here before you know it.”

“Okay, night, and I know I sound like a broken record, but thanks again…”

“No problems, now go get some sleep.”

Cassie leave for the bedroom and Dahlia chews her lips, thoughts racing through her brain. There’s a thought pressing on her, she didn’t bring it up to Cassie and likely won’t until she settles in a bit more. But, she wonders if Cassie could once she gets her footing, just chip in for rent here? She said she feels more comfortable in the Moonflower with Dahlia around, they get along well, and Dahlia likes having a friend to come home to… But a conversation for another day…

It’s the following afternoon when Pratt and Dahlia are called out to a local veteran’s house. Redler is an older man, older than Whitehorse, with steel gray hair and deep wrinkles creased into his face. Despite his age, he’s strong and sturdy, shaking Dahlia’s hand with a near bone crushing strength when she greets him the next day under the afternoon sun. She can feel the years of work in the rough calluses that mar his hands. Pratt told her that he fought in Vietnam when they got the dispatch call, someone tried to break into his home last night and they were asked to check everything out.

“Pleasure to meet you, sir,” Dahlia says after introduction, feeling the need to straighten her shoulders around the veteran.

“Thank you both for coming out, I’m sure I’m just being paranoid, but I’d appreciate if you’d check everything out. I can’t get around quite like I use to.”

“We’re happy to help, Redler.”

Pratt and Dahlia start to walk around the house and property, searching for anything that could be considered suspicious or out of ordinary. There’s nothing that jumps out at Dahlia, Redler said he heard something last night but when he yelled out, whatever or whoever it was went away.

“You think they managed to do anything before he scared ‘em off?” Dahlia asks Pratt.

“Nah, some of the local teenagers just like to be a pain in his ass.”

“Why?”

“He’s an old sometimes crabby guy, kids are pains in the ass, like you.”

“Haha,” she mocks dryly, “you’re so funny.”

“I’m hilarious, in fact I had a very eye-opening experience this morning.”

“Yeah, what was that?”

“I woke up.”

“Ughh,” she groans what an awful fucking joke, “you corny dumbass.”

She raises her fist to give him her usual playful punch against his shoulder, then he steps out of the way. Her knuckles swinging through empty air before connecting with the glass behind Pratt. Blood drains from her face as the window shatters from the force of her punch. She…broke Redler’s window.

“What the fuck, Rookie!?” Pratt looks at the window and at her, hazel green eyes wide with shock.

“I, I, you moved!”

“Oh no, oh no,” he shakes his hands emphatically and smirking, “you’re not blaming this on me.”

“Why did you move!?”

“How hard were you trying to hit me?!”

“No harder than usual, I, I-“

“What the hell was that?” Redler’s voices rings out, steps following after his question, no doubt he heard the shatter.

“Oh god.” She buries her head in her hands, embarrassment and shame hot in her face, she broke the man’s window over a shitty dad joke. Pratt is cackling at her expense and she knows she’s an idiot. But why did he move?

“What the hell happened here?” Redler asks as he comes around the corner of his house, seeing the broken outside window. She’s sure the inside is a mess of glass, oh god, what is wrong with her?

“I’m so so so so sorry,” she gushes out loudly from behind her hands, “I accidentally punched your window. I didn’t mean to, really. I’ll clean it up and fix it, I promise, I’ll pay for everything. I’m so sorry.”

Her words slur and run into each other, as guilt forces her to practically beg for forgiveness.

“Dear lord,” Redler sighs, the heavy sound a vice around her heart, dear god he must think she’s the stupidest person ever and he’s right, “I have the supplies to fix it up, you know how?”

“Yes, sir, I could build you a brand new house if you gave me the time and supplies,” she tells him, which okay, maybe an exaggeration. But, if he asked her to, she’d try her damndest.

“That won’t be necessary, c’mon now.”

There’s two different sheds, or shed like structures on his property. One is locked up tight, a keypad on the door and she finds herself wondering what might be in it as he brings her to the other building; helping her gather what she’ll need. Dahlia gets to work on fixing the disaster she’s created, first by cleaning up the broken glass inside and out of the home. Pratt on standby to snicker at the young deputy.

“You punched a window…” He says, voice straining to contain laughter.

“I know.”

“Because of a dumb joke.”

“I know.”

“Why are you like this?”

“I don’t know!”

If it wasn’t for the guilt and embarrassment; she’d probably be laughing at the ridculousness of the situation. But for now, every chuckle from her superior officer just fills her with a fresh dose of shame. Once she’s moved onto fixing the broken window itself, glass cleared, Pratt’s finally shifted his focus away from taunting her.

“Hey, Red,” he talks to the veteran while she works to clear out the dirt and old caulking from the window frame, “you going to the Rye barbecue tomorrow?”

“Yeah…”

“You don’t sound thrilled.”

“Gah, it’s nothing, Grace and her dad are taking me, since I can’t drive or walk too well anymore. Just-“

“Don’t like having to be helped?”

“Yeah, hazard of being my age, I’m afraid.”

“It’s nice to see the veterans looking out for each other, though.”

“Pff, use to see it a hell of a lot more because that damn Eden’s Gate bought the veterans center out from under us,” he sighs, heavy and deep for a moment before the older man looks over at her, “what about you, gonna break some of Kim and Nick’s windows tomorrow?”

He’s smiling and Pratt laughs; at least Redler finds some humor in this she supposes. Her face is beet red as she tries to search for a response through her embarrassment.

“Not that it stopped me from breaking yours, but, uh, I don’t know Nick or Kim. So, I’ll be steering clear.”

“Still hung up on that,” Pratt rolls his eyes, “I told you, just show up with some food, no one gives a shit.”

“I’m not showing up at a strangers house for their barbecue; that’s just asking for awkwardness and I have enough of that in my life as is.”

“C’mon; me, Hudson, Whitehorse, even Beau will all be there. Ain’t like you won’t know anyone.”

“All done,” she cuts off the barbecue talk, finished glazing and setting the window, it’s good to go.

“Would have preferred you didn’t break it, but thanks for getting it fixed so quick.”

“No problem and like I said,” she pulls cash from her wallet, more than enough to cover all she had to use, “’cause no reason you should be out for the stuff. Sorry again.”

“And goes without saying, we didn’t find anything amiss, so you scared the brats off before they did anything,” Pratt chimes in.

“’Preciate you two coming to check it out and despite the trouble, I suppose having some company was nice, I’ll see you around.”

With that the pair of deputies leave the veteran to his evening, hopefully one that will contain significantly less broken windows. Dahlia rubs a hand down her face when she sits down, tension leaving her back and shoulders now that she’s managed to fix the mess she made.

“You should seriously come to the barbecue.”

“Pratt….”

“It’ll be a chance to meet some more folks, you’re talking about not knowing people, this is how you meet people.”

He’s not wrong and she knows it, if she ever wants to make friends beyond him, Hudson, Cassie and Eden’s Gate members who’re hated by everyone else, then surely she needs to try to be social.

“Fine, fine, I’ll buy something to bring tomorrow.”

“Store bought crap isn’t exactly a way of winning folks over.”

“I can’t cook, Staci.”

“Who the hell can’t cook?”

“Me, asshole.”

“Oh please, you can throw something together.”

“I mean if you want me to give the county food poisoning, I can.”

“I’m sure you’ll manage,” he rolls his eyes and starts up the cruiser, he doesn’t seem to understand just how incompetent she is in the kitchen.

The moment her shift ends, Dahlia is in a grocery store with her phone on searching for recipes. She needs something good, but more importantly, absolutely idiot proof. She wonders for a moment if she could get away with just freezing juice and sticking toothpicks in them for popsicles, that might be the only thing she’s incapable of fucking up. Though knowing her luck the freezer would just explode.

She’s gonna kill Pratt; actually, physically kill him.

No bake cookies, she spots on a list of recipes, that should be easy enough. Probably, it doesn’t even have to be baked, what’s the worst that could happen? Dahlia gathers up ingredients, enough for a few batches, in case she fucks up the first few attempts. Which she will. And some store generic brand sugar cookies in case she fucks up every attempt. Which she probably will.

Cassie is on the couch watching movies, having grabbed that ride home from a coworker, when Dahlia comes home with bags filled with ingredients. The older girl raises an eyebrow, watching as Dahlia drags these bags to the kitchen, which she hasn’t touched since she made shitty instant hot chocolate.

The deputy rubs her fingers idly against the burn across her palm, her step father having held it to the stove when her mother tried to teach her to cook and she hadn’t listened. It stands out among her colorful history of abuse at his hands, the burning of her own flesh a sharp and brutal contrast to the bite of a belt or the strike of a hand. It may only be second to the snake incident…

She shakes her head, trying to shake off her memories like a dog drying itself. She’ll have time to review Father Monroe’s greatest hits later, for now she needs to try to make cookies without destroying her trailer.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going to the Rye barbecue tomorrow, so I have to make something…”

“Oh those have always been fun.”

“You’ve been?”

“Yeah, everyone loves Nick and Kim.”

“Well, I’ve never met them and I’m terrified.”

“Pff,” Cassie laughs, “they’re sweethearts, though Kim’s a little hormonal with baby.”

“I…ya know what it doesn’t matter, what does matter is; you wanna play hooky from work and go with me?”

“I need money.”

“Ugh, you and your need for basic survival requirements,” Dahlia dramatically roles her eyes, “if you must disappoint me by ‘needing money’, you can least make up for it by making the cookies.”

“Not happening.”

“God damn it, fine, I got this.”

Dahlia dumps the ingredient out on her counter; sugar, milk, butter, cocoa powder, vanilla, peanut butter, and oats. So, she needs to line baking pans with parchment paper… the fuck is parchment paper? Why was this not mentioned in things she needed?

“I don’t think I got this,” Dahlia announces.

“It’s been a minute.”

“What the fuck is parchment paper?”

“Its paper so it doesn’t stick to the pan, I think you have some non-stick spray, that may help?”

“Okay, okay then.”

“Do you even have pans?”

“Yes, I have pans, I’m not a cavewoman.”

“You sure about that?”

Cassie merely laughs at Dahlia’s pout, the deputy then grabbing the pans and spraying them down, this should be fine? She shrugs to herself, what’s the worse that could happen if she uses spray and not paper?

“Okay then,” Dahlia starts to read the rest of the recipe, “wait what?”

“Do you already have a new crisis?”

“…maybe… These are supposed to be no bakes, why am I heating shit up on the stove? That makes no sense.”

“Well, that’s not baking.” Cassie shrugs like it’s obvious and maybe to her it is.

“What?”

“Baking means it’s in an oven,” Cassie speaks slowly, eyes wide at the realization of how deep Dahlia’s incompetence runs, “if it’s on a stove that’s more like cooking.”

“There’s a difference?”

“Yes.”

“What the fuck? Why do you need more than one word for making food hot?!”

“Do…do you know anything?”

“Clearly not!”

Dahlia curses under her breath, already frustrated at her lack of knowledge. Why is she such a fucking idiot with this stuff? She just wants to make a good impression on people and she’s such a fucking mess. Ruminating will get her nowhere; she ties her short hair back into a sloppy little ponytail and takes her deputy uniform shirt off to tie around her hips, knowing the stove will quickly heart up her small kitchen then sets her phone to play some music.

“You need music to cook?”

“Need it to function.”

“Some parts of my brain are probably still sleeping I wish I could tell but I'm probably still sleeping.”

Dahlia starts following the instructions , humming along to the music, something upbeat to help her not want to die through this entire process. She eyeballs the amount of sugar, butter, cocoa powder and milk into the saucepan; trying to make it look like the pictured amount and turns on the heat. The recipe calls for her to whisk it, but she doesn’t have one those, so she stirs it off and on with a spoon, this isn’t too hard so far.

“Uh, are you measuring that?” Cassie asks and Dahlia leans on the table to talk, tapping her fingers along to the beat.

“The recipe doesn’t say how much, but like, it can’t be too hard.”

“Uhhhh deputy….”

“I look to the window, I look through your eyes

I can see my reflection, but I can't close the blinds.”

There’s a burbling noise followed by sizzling and Dahlia turns in time to see chocolate milk boiling over the pan. It runs down onto the floor, sizzling as it hits the burner. The word shit is said under Dahlia’s breath like a chant as she shuts off the heat.

“So…too much milk?” Dahlia wonder out loud as she cleans up the mess.

“Like I know.”

‘Someone has to, ‘cause I sure as shit don’t.”

“It's like someone's determined to change how I think

But if I just close my eyes I'll wake from each dream”

Dahlia cleans up the mess and dumps out the chocolate milk soupy mess within the pan, ignoring Cassie’s snickers of laughter as she works. She just had to do this with a peanut gallery, didn’t she? But hey, she was prepared for the first couple attempts to fuck up. She combines the ingredients again, using much less milk this time.

“Maybe you should find a recipe with measurements?”

“I already have the ingredients for this recipe,” Dahlia says, if she switches now there could be shit she doesn’t have, right?

“You’re so stubborn…”

“What?” Dahlia asks when she notices the trail off, storing the new mixture which is thicker and becoming harder to stir in seconds, is that good?

“Holy fuck.”

“You okay?”

“I don’t know your name.”

“Yeah, you just realized ? Umm, is that smell normal?” The chocolate mess is starting to smell like burning tires…which is probably bad.

“Would it let you down if we don't grow up?

Would it make you proud if we gave up?

What about anybody?

They're all just chasin' money”

“How is that possible? I’m living with you and don’t even know your name.”

“Don’t beat yourself up over it, Whitehorse is the only one who knows my full name.”

“What the-do you not tell people your name?”

“I mean, I never avoided it, but I usually just call myself the new deputy and we move on. Just sort of happened and now I just think it’s kinda funny, uh this is definitely not good is it?”

“Jesus fuck, no that’s not good!”

Pitch black smoke has started to roll off the pan; solidifying burnt chocolate sticking to it. Dahlia swings the pan around to the sink, rolling it under cold water before it can spark fire. She huffs, blowing lose strands of hair up and out of her face, sweat and flush on her skin as she turns to face Cassie.

“So, not enough milk that time.”

“You giving up?”

“Of course not, third times a charm, mon cher,” Dahlia bolsters her fake confidence as she grabs a new pan, surely she can salvage one batch?

“Would it let you down if we don't grow up?

Would it make you proud if we gave up?

What about anybody?

They're all just chasin' honey”

Dahlia recombines finding a middle ground for the amount of milk to avoid burning or boiling over; she hovers over it, stirring the entire time as she watches for any signs of a new disaster. The entire time Cassie seems to be watching her, but she doesn’t talk as much this time, Dahlia can feel eyes on her arms in particular. She looks down at her arm, half expecting to see a spider, a pimple, or something that’d draw attention. But all she sees is her own bicep, maybe it’s the tattoos. Nothing complicated, as she couldn’t afford much, two solid black bands around her right bicep.

“If ever you want me, if ever you need me

I may not be conscious but baby I'm honest

I'll look to the mirror, I'll look through your heart

I can see good intentions but we tear them apart”

“Do you like tattoos?” Dahlia asks, wondering if that’s why Cassie’s eyes have been drawn to the ink.

“Huh, oh, uh they’re alright, I don’t have anything against them, do you have a lot?”

“Just these and one on my lower back.”

“You have a tramp stamp?” Cassie raises an eyebrow, a smile to her lips.

“No, tramp stamps are across the middle, it’s on the left side, so ha.”

“So, it’s tramp stamp adjacent?”

“Shut up.”

“What is it of?”

“A quote from Lady Lazarus; ‘and like the cat I have nine times to die,’ Sylvia Plath.”

“That’s,” Cassie blinks, taken aback, “a lot more…pretentious than I expected from you.”

“Someone I use to live with had all these books of poetry, philosophy, all the deep shit you could dream of. It was my first real time reading that kind of stuff, so a lot of it stuck with me. Cats are kind of a…theme in my life. They called me their stray, got me the helmet, I even had a cat for a…short period of time. So, it’s the quote from it I picked.”

She can’t help but smile thinking of the shelves of books that Lloyd and Caroline had; when they first took her in, after years of being hidden away from anything ‘sinful’ or ‘worldly’, she was desperate to consume any media she could. She read every book in their house, spent days in front of the tv just binge-watching stuff she wasn’t allowed to watch as a kid. Mostly pokemon cartoons, horror movies, and Sailor Moon if she’s being honest. Caroline was the one with the love of poetry, telling Dahlia about Sylvia Plath when she found the books of poems one night.

The idea of constantly being killed only to be brought back, over and over, a constant revolving door of pain. A cycle you beg for release from but are never afforded the mercy of it; Caroline explained how Plath struggled with suicidal thoughts… Dahlia never thought herself suicidal through her childhood, but she couldn’t deny how often she wished for death, an escape of any kind… The symbolism with the condemnation of Jewish people, knowing the half of Dahlia’s background that her mother threw away for Father Monroe and made Dahlia throw away too, yet still they were called such vile and slurs… It just stuck with her.

“Was there another contender?”

“Yeah, I love the poem all around but two parts of it have always been my favorite.”

“The cat one and…?”

“Dying is an art, like everything else. I do it exceptionally well.”

“God, you’re a dork.”

“So rude, what am I gonna do with you,” Dahlia laughs, shaking her head as she moves the pan off the burner. So far, it’s going alright, all she should need to do is mix in vanilla, peanut butter, and oats. Wait…she may be dumber than originally thought, which is saying a lot.

“Something wrong, you look like you’re doing math in your head or something.”

“A lot of people are allergic to peanuts…aren’t they?”

“It’s like one of the most common allergies, yeah.”

“And I chose food with peanut butter in them…”

“Wasn’t gonna burst you bubble quite yet, but I’m pretty sure Nick is.”

“What!? Why would you-!? What were you waiting for, me to kill a man!?”

Cassie just laughs and Dahlia’s face feels like absolute fire, she’s frustrated and dumb. And between this shit and Redler’s window, who let her be like this? Did no one ever realize that she clearly does not have a brain? Was she born like this and the doctor was just like eh it’s fine and threw her little empty headed baby body out into the world?

“It’s not a b-“ Cassie tries to speak through red faced laughter, because Dahlia’s misery is hilarious.

“That’s it! I’m moving to Alaska, bon voyage, I’m out!” Dahlia claps her hands and swings her arms dramatically before dropping onto her back on the kitchen floor, crossing her arms over her chest. It’s so dumb, eyes stinging and throat feeling tight. It’s just cookies, she actually wants to cry over cookies, but dear god she can’t even make fucking cookies! It just feels like another failure.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Cassie stands up and comes around to talk to the dejected puddle of deputy, “it’s not a big deal, don’t be dramatic, alright?”

“I’m not being dramatic, between this and Redler’s window, I’m just gonna dye my fucking hair and run away to Alaska so no one knows who I am and no one can find me.”

“What happened to Redler’s window?”

“I broke it…”

“Why’d you do that?”

“I was trying to punch Pratt and he moved!”

“Holy shit.”

“Aren’t you suppose to be helping me?”

“Umm, pack plenty of coats and I wouldn’t recommend going blonde.”

“I hate you. Why do all my friends bully me?” She asks, thinking of both Cassie and Pratt being shitheads with her. She expects it from him, but Cassie, really?

“We do it with love, I assure you, now get up.”

“No.”

“I’m serious, okay, you can write a note and put it by them, most people expect no bakes to have peanut butter anyway.”

“I can’t write a note.”

“Wh- oh yeah your handwriting is…”

“Dog shit, I know.”

“I’ll write it for you then, okay, now get up.”

“Thank you…” Dahlia reluctantly climbs up onto her feet, still pouting when she looks at Cassie who just smiles at her before ruffling her already messy hair.

“You got this.”

“Do I?”

“No. But I’m trying to be positive.”

“Okay, fuck you too I guess?” Dahlia says in mock anger, laughing at the ridiculousness of all of this.

She rubs a hand down her face and gets back to mixing up the rest of them mix, then spooning it onto a pan, after that it’s a matter of letting them set so they can solidify. When she sucks some of the mix off her thumb, she’s pleasantly surprised, half expecting with her luck for it to be inedible, but it tastes fine. Chocolate, hint of peanut butter, and oats. Nothing fancy, but she’s not gagging which is something.

“Here, that should help, if you end up taking these,” Cassie says, showing a notecard with a warning for peanut butter on it.

“What do you mean ‘if’ I end up taking them, they’re not bad, they actually turned out pretty well.”

“Well, they might not set.”

“What?”

“Sometimes no bakes don’t set properly and you end up with just puddles of chocolate oatmeal instead of proper cookies.”

“What the fuck…what?”

“Not to literally bring you down again, but, um, no bakes are kinda finicky and not a great choice for beginners.”

“I’m never baking, cooking, broiling, roasting, or whatever the fuck else you call this shit ever again.”

“That’s probably best for everyone…”

“I hate you.”

“Yeah, yeah, love you too. I’m gonna head to bed now.”

“Yeah, now you got your fill of entertainment.”

“Don’t stress too much.”

Dahlia sighs as Cassie leaves, shoulders still tense. She just wants to make a good impression, she nearly ruined her chance at that with the church barbecue, only by the grace of far too patient people did she manage to come out of it with hopefully some friends. Dahlia doesn’t have the religion barrier in this situation, so she should be better off? She hopes, she doesn’t expect to be best friends with anyone or be welcomed like family, but the more people around here like her the better. Hopefully with Pratt there, some of her nerves will be tamped down on. She’s closer to her coworkers now and has a few friends, so it shouldn’t be too bad, despite her struggle with crowds and socializing. She crashes down onto her couch, yanking her hair tie out before she goes to sleep.

She’s up early to take Cassie to work before she goes to the barbecue, the older girl bustling to get ready as Dahlia checks on the cookies. Her finger sinks right into one, still wet. Oh no. Maybe they just need some more time, yeah, that’s all.

Once Cassie is safely at work, confirming a coworker is going to take her home, Dahlia heads back home. The cookies are still wet… She’s going to scream. There has to be a way to make them set? She considers holding a hair dryer to them, but on second thought the heat may just make them melt further.

Frustrated and the time to leave getting closer, Dahlia goes to get ready, hoping by some twist of fate that they’ll be set by the time she’s showered and dressed.

Hair still damp, dressed but with a towel across her shoulders to catch stray droplets, she checks again. Cursing under her breath when they’re still just lumps of wet chocolate oatmeal. She might as well show up with a Tupperware container of slop.

Dahlia slam dunks her failure cookies into the trash a little harder than needed before grabbing the store made sugar cookies. It’s probably for the best with the peanut butter anyway… She throws on her jacket, boots, and helmet before headed out west towards the Holland Valley. Pratt told her the Rye’s property is just outside of Falls End.

Her shitty directional skills manage to not get in her way, thanks in no small part to the signs for Rye and Son’s Aviation. Small blessings she figures. There’s a driveway that cuts through the woods, a cozy house closer to the drive-way, then an outside building and the hangar beyond it.

People are gathered in open space near the hangar, picnic tables and a grill set up. There’s an airplane out, a vivid yellow seaplane with a shark design. She parks her motorcycle along with the rest of the cars and trucks, still a short walk from where the party is. She’s searching for familiar faces, before she walks forwards, Pratt mostly. She doesn’t find him.

Hudson is speaking with Mary May and two women she doesn’t know. One with long dark hair and fatigues, the other a noticeably pregnant woman with hair shaved at the side. They talk and laugh. Despite having felt a little less awkward with Hudson, since spending more time with her, the idea of interrupting or cutting in feels wrong.

Whitehorse is talking to a man she doesn’t know, but judging by the pastor’s collar she can assume his job. Catholicism isn’t particularly common out here and the only catholic church she can think of is the one in Falls End. Not exactly comfortable jumping in there either.

There’s not really an easy place to put herself in, nothing that feels comfortable or right. Everything feels like an intrusion.

“Everyone’s gonna think you’re a creep, if you keep staring like that,” a familiar voice taunting her, Pratt’s standing beside her and she can’t help but smile, tension easing. He’s a jerk, but he’s her jerk.

“Shut up, dickhead, I was trying to see who I knew,” she explains, grabbing the store-bought cookies from the under-seat storage. If Pratt’s by her side, she feels a bit more confident joining in. She’s not sure when he became a rock for her in a situation like this, but maybe it’s best not to question that.

“So, you just bought store crap?”

“Okay, judgey, what did you make?”

“Pff, I can’t fucking cook, the hell are you talking about?”

“What,” she glares at him, if this was all an excuse to fuck with her, she’s killing him, “you said everyone cooks, no store bought crap!”

“And you believed me? Food is food, no one gives a fuck where it came from, well there’s the one time the Seeds brough this gross ass mac and cheese, but that’s another story.”

“What the fuck Pratt? I was up all night trying to make something edible.”

“Take it that didn’t go well?”

“I’m gonna fucking kill you.”

“Hey Beau, hey Nick,” Pratt calls out and then goes rushing off towards the crowd, he’s leaving her.

“Where are you going?”

“Sorry can’t hear you, need to be near witnesses, bye,” he’s laughing through his words and she finds herself wanting to grab the back of his shirt, to drag him back just so she won’t have to go in alone. But that’s childish…so she watches as her rock runs off to join everyone else.

And once again she’s the sore thumb and maybe if she tried, she could make a new friend. And maybe if she’d just get the courage to talk to someone, she’d be fine. And maybe if she wasn’t such a damn coward, she’d do that. But she’s been the outsider looking in for her entire life and there’s a level of comfort in the loneliness; familiarity in isolation.

When she thinks of it, the people who breach that comfort zone rarely do so because either of them make that step. Circumstance, not courage, is what always brings people into her life. Pratt and Hudson are her friends, because they work together, Pratt more so because they’re made to spend almost everyday together. Cassie because she was in an awful situation and needed a home. Lloyd and Caroline because she needed one. Hell, Eden’s Gate members are the closest to it, but they still sought her out for another body in the flock, not because they wanted her as a friend. Circumstance, desperation, pity, and religious duty.

And as her throat tightens, feet frozen in place as she debates trying to socialize, she realizes…maybe that’s okay. Not happy or pleasant to think of, but okay. She’ll stay in her bubble for another day or the rest of her life; one of the two.

Dahlia throws the cookies back into the under storage and slips her helmet back on, climbing onto her bike, riding away from the barbecue. Music blasting in her ears and racing down backroads on her motorcycle; it feels like home.

Songs change, hours pass, the sun sets and the moon takes it’s place with the stars keeping it company. She’s spent the entire day riding and her heart feels lighter for it, she thinks as she pulls over to get gas, filling the tank. The entire barbecue and cooking thing is a fucking fiasco, but she’s happy now and that’s what matters, so fuck it. She got to spend an entire day doing one of the things she loves most in this world and she has a friend, no matter how they got there, who’s waiting for her at home.

Then her phone rings and Dahlia feels her heart leap into her throat, the hair on the back of her neck raising. That little sixth sense warning her that something is wrong. Because as she’s learned quickly, even her most minor of happy moments must be interrupted by total fucking hell. It’s Cassie and her fear only raises.

“Deputy…” And she’s brought back to the night Cassie called her, that broken and scared voice asking for help, no longer the happy woman who’d taunted her last night. There’s something in the background; some sort of yelling and music.

“What’s wrong?”

“I…I don’t know, someone broke a window, I, there’s yelling, they’re doing something, I’m scared to check.”

“You’re at the Moonflower.”

“Yeah, I, I don’t know what going on.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

Dahlia keeps her on the phone as she races back, a repeat of Wednesday night it feels like. Just when Cassie was feeling safe, just when things felt good, because of fucking course. She has no idea what hairbrained idea the Moonflower folks got in their head, she knows they hate her and fine, she gets it, but to scare Cassie like that is so fucking wrong.

It looks like they decided to have their own party while so much of the county was away at the Rye’s. There’s a stench of booze around the entire trailer park. Rage is white hot inside of Dahlia when she sees the cluster of them around her trailer, a few cursing when they see her getting closer. She could give a fuck less about the damage, the broken windows or the PIG spray painted across the trailer, but Cassie is there. Curled up and crying, surrounded by broken glass as they shove and push at the home.

“Everybody stand back!” Liam calls out; lighter in one hand, bottle of booze with a rag in the other. And she’s on him, tackling him to the ground beneath her. The lighter and would be Molotov thankfully fall away without igniting. Instinct and anger pushes her to raise back her fist and slam it into Liam’s face.

She’s blacked his eye, skin breaking at his eyebrow and making his blood stick to her knuckles; then someone is grabbing her from behind, pulling her off of him. Dahlia slams her elbow back into the person’s gut, making them let go of her, she watches as Liam gets up, The crowd is surrounding them, no doubt ready to dogpile Dahlia if she tries to go after him again. He’s smiling and laughing, like an asshole, she wants to punch him again.

“Quite a temper you got there, deputy.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you!?”

“Fuck is wrong with me? You’re the cop running around hitting people over a trailer,” he taunts her, reminding her that she should be better than this.

“Fuck you, this ain’t about the god damn trailer!”

“Wh-“

“Deputy…” A broken timid voice rings out from behind Dahlia, Cassie… When Dahlia looks over her shoulder, she can see her friend on the porch, just poking her head out from behind the door. Her eyes are wide and Dahlia wonders just how much of this mess she’s seen.

“Shit…” Liam murmurs and the smirk is wiped off his face, eyes wide.

“Everything okay, Cassie, I’m taking care of it. Go back inside, okay?” She watches as Cassie goes back in with a timid nod.

“I… we didn’t know anyone was home…”

“Oh so it’s all okay, everything’s fine ‘cause you didn’t fuckin’ know! You could have killed her, you dumb fuck!”

“I-I’m-“

“Save it! Get the fuck away from me before I do something I regret.”

Liam gets the picture, he has something more to say, everyone else there seems to too. But, no one’s stupid enough to test their luck or maybe smart enough to know this isn’t the time to talk. Once they’re all gone and she knows they’re not going to do anything stupid, again, Dahlia goes back to the trailer.

Cassie is curled up on the couch, knees pulled up to her chest. The inside of the trailer is a mess; broken glass from windows, beer bottles, trash, rocks, and a brick that was probably used to break it. All thrown inside while Cassie sat horrified.

“I’m so sorry,” Dahlia says and sits next to her, extending an arm to hold her.

But Cassie flinches away, curls up deeper upon herself, as if Dahlia’s even attempt to comfort had scalded her. And the deputy’s heart seizes in her chest, pulling her arm back, seeing the blood on her knuckles. Did Cassie see her hit Liam? How much of her rage did she witness? Bloody knuckles, red faced, and nearly frothing at the mouth as she screamed her anger out… She must have seemed more like a monster than a friend.

And Dahlia’s reminded of Genevieve all at once, the child of Dahlia’s mother and Father Monroe, the deputy’s half sister. The young girl, she’d be no older than eleven or twelve by now, was his blood and his golden child for it. And he told her of every one of Dahlia’s so called faults, sins he believed she committed, and convinced the child Dahlia was a monster in their home. And for so long she treated her like it; flinched from her affection, cowered at her sight, and shrunk away from her at every moment. As if Dahlia was the boogeyman, she fought for years with silly stories and blanket forts to coax her own sister into loving her. But, progress was always quickly undone. Every effort to chip through the wall he’d built between them was met with abuse, egging on her anger so he could make a show of her sin , so Genevive would always see Dahlia as the monster who’d spit her blood and bare her teeth rather than give in.

Now, she’s there again, another person flinching from her, terrified of the monster she’s shown she can be. Scared that one day those bared teeth will be at her throat instead of at another's. And Dahlia truly can’t blame her.

“I…know it’s the only option…but I really don’t like it here…”

Dahlia had wanted to offer an invitation for Cassie to stay, those passing ideas of having a roommate, how nice it’d be. At the time Dahlia thought she could keep Cassie safe, that this is better than the hell she had with her mother. And maybe for a few days it was, but if this is the kind of shit that can happen, all Dahlia’s done is taken her out the pan and placed her in the fire. Almost literally… Cassie could have been burned alive if Dahlia hasn’t made it back in time…

Cassie needs someplace else and the conversation with Whitehorse resurfaces, Eden’s Gate. They take people in, the only conflict she was saw was when Layla was at a store, but the church and the compound were safe…protected. They have plenty of land to house anyone who needs it and apparently they have the heart to do so. The Seeds can be a little off, but they’re not bad…

“I got an idea,” Dahlia speaks up.

“What’s that?”

“You got anything against Eden’s Gate?”

“I mean, I’ve heard some stuff, but I don’t know much about them. I’ve seen Faith a few time and she seems nice.”

“She is, they, uh, they take people in sometimes…I can take you up to Joseph’s church and we can talk to them.”

“You think they’d help me?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“I think I’d like that.”

“Okay then,” Dahlia jumps up from the couch, “get dressed and lets get you packed up.”

“Right now?”

“You wanna spend the night here?”

“God no, lets go.”

It doesn’t take long for Cassie to get dressed and pack everything up in the bag Dahlia got from her house. They may be counting their chickens before they hatch, already getting her things packed up, but Dahlia can’t see Joseph turning Cassie away. He’s too kind for that. And even if he were too, Dahlia will find something, even if she has to go barge on Whitehorse’s door.

Dahlia has an arm around Cassie as they leave the trailer, hoping to offer even the smallest modicum of support. Cassie pulls on Dahlia’s helmet, at this rate maybe she should invest in a second helmet. And then with Cassie’s arms wrapped tight around her waist she rides out of the park.

Eden’s Gate is quickly becoming one of the only good places to be in the whole damn county; they got to help her… All Dahlia can do as she rides through winding roads is hope that her faith in the church isn’t misplaced.

#far cry 5 #fc5 #joseph seed #faith seed #this is love #dahlia hale

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siswritesyanderes · 5 years ago

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Hello! I hope you’re having a good day! I have a request for Bellatrix Lestrange x hufflepuff muggleborn female reader (reader is a year younger than her). Bellatrix is madly in love with reader even though she despises her for being a muggle-born. Reader is terrified of her, but Bellatrix wants her to love her. Bella stalks reader at all times and is completely obsessed. She kidnaps reader’s family and friends and forces reader to marry her. Then Bella kills them off. I hope it isn’t too dark!

(Trust me, I’ve written darker, lol. In fact, gonna go ahead and say Bella’s thoughts are a bit darker than most of the other yanderes, so…warning: nothing too outlandish, but some of Bella’s pureblood bigotry and obsession stuff might be disturbing? Your mileage may vary. Also, I didn’t hit all the points in the ask, because I elaborated on some stuff and it was getting long, but I hope you enjoy it all the same.)

Purity was everything. And you either had it or you didn’t.That was it, on a fundamental level.

It was something she knew even before she knew how to read; some might say even before she knew how to talk. Her mother still told the story of when they’d set little Bella up with a playmate at age one and been somewhat mortified at how disgruntled and dismissive she suddenly became, in the presence of the other baby, until it had come to light a month later that the playmate they’d thought to be of pure birth was actually illegitimate via some filthy Muggle.

“She could tell that something wasn’t right with the little imposter,” adults would chuckle. “She had a nose for it, even then.” And they would pat Bella’s cheeks and she would soak in their words of praise with a broad smile and greedy eyes.

“An overly-intense child,” she had heard her father say once, when she was six and lurking in her parents’ doorway. “Well-mannered, but overly-intense. She is too observant of adult things, and she doesn’t get on well with other children, including her betrothed.”

“That contract has already been made,” her mother had responded, with a hint of grim humor. “They don’t have to get along. Just be glad he’s not secretly a half-blood, or Bella would sense it.”

And that was another thing that Bellatrix had grown up knowing to be true: that she was an incredible judge of character. As such, she never had to think about anyone twice; those who she loved were deserving of love, and those who she hated were deserving of hate, and those with whom she was indifferent were deserving of indifference.

Wanting someone, though…that was new.

And yet, even from the moment she’d first seen the mudblood girl- and of course, she’d known immediately that you were a mudblood, from the way that you carried yourself and from the surname that McGonagall had read off -she’d felt such a strong and unfamiliar yearning. Not love and not hate, but something with elements of both.

You weren’t ugly (Bellatrix never had been stupid enough to just assume that everyone ugly was a mudblood and everyone attractive was a pureblood, like Goyle and even Narcissa’s betrothed seemed to.), but it wasn’t your appearance that had earned Bella’s attention. It was something in your walk and the set of your expression and the awkward way you maneuvered in your school robes.

At twelve years old, Bella had seen the little eleven-year-old mudblood sit on the stool and wear the Hat, and she had thought, Be a Slytherin. Come to me. Sit here, and I will devour you alive. A mudblood in Slytherin would be a rarity, but Bellatrix wanted you, and so you were hers. She felt like a snake longing to bind you up in her coils. To squeeze you tightly, just to feel your feeble struggles and hear your weak grunts of pain.

She wanted to hear your voice.

She wanted to cut off your air.

But then the hat called out “HUFFLEPUFF!”, and Bella had expected to feel disappointed. Instead, a feeling of rightness washed over her. Of course, a mudblood had to go to one of the lesser Houses. Slytherin House could not be corrupted, no matter who Bellatrix desired. That would be like eating candy from a dinner plate: all wrong, no matter how much she enjoyed it.

No, it was only right that her mudblood was a Hufflepuff. Perfect. Not a mudblood who would think herself noble or clever. Not a mudblood with ambition. No, perish the thought. Just a Hufflepuff. Her Hufflepuff.

She repeated your name under her breath intermittently throughout the whole welcome feast: first name, last name, Hufflepuff.

She wrote it on her arm, when she was in bed that night, in the same spot where she normally doodled a Dark Mark, during her more boring lessons. When she awoke, she washed the ink off, satisfied that she would not forget your name.

It was while she scrubbed at the surprisingly-enduring stain of ink that she began to feel sick to her stomach.

Yes, she was always a good judge of people, and yes, she always got what she wanted, but…a mudblood? Did she really want anything from a mudblood but distance? Had she really allowed herself to grow attached to some-

She sank down to the bathroom floor and breathed deeply.

Was she like those blood traitors who disgraced themselves bringing half-bloods into the world when they had better options? She had never had any interest in her betrothed, a pureblood from a good family. She had always assumed that it was because she could only love herself and the Dark Lord (whom she had never met but heard so many great things about), and that marriage was just a means to an end, but…

Well, it wasn’t like she wanted to marry you, though.

She comforted herself with this fact. The air came easier.

She had no desire to marry her mudblood. Of course not. That was disgusting.

But her mudblood would not marry anyone else. Never. The very thought drove her back to her feet with a hot flush of anger coloring her cheeks. She whipped out her wand and aggressively cast Tergeo to rid her arm of the last of its ink. The skin cleared, with a sharp stinging feeling, either because she had been too fervent in casting the spell or because she had simply done it a bit wrong. She didn’t care; she savored the feeling until it passed.

For the rest of that year, Bellatrix woke up earlier than every other girl in the dormitory, got dressed hastily, and hurried over to the part of the castle (near the kitchens, but it was below her station to know where the kitchens were), where the Hufflepuffs would emerge for breakfast and classes. Contrary to the prim decorum her parents had instilled, she would drape herself carelessly over a banister and taunt the Hufflepuffs as they walked by.

“Oh, here come the badgers,” she would cackle, especially jeering at the ones she recognized. She already had a reputation for being a bully, so the Puffs, while annoyed, took it in stride and mostly ignored her.

Sometimes you managed to pass beneath her notice, in the crowd of yellow. But other times, Bellatrix would launch herself from the banister and wrap a tight arm around your shoulders, greeting you by your first name (instead of your last) in so sweet a tone that you flinched in fear.

“How’s my little mudblood doing this morning?” Bellatrix would coo, ignoring the other students’ protests at her use of the word.

“I’m doing fine,” you would answer quietly, ducking your head and averting your eyes.

It infuriated Bella that she was making such a spectacle of herself for a mudblood who didn’t even appreciate it. Bellatrix was beautiful, older, a Slytherin, a pureblood, and yet here you shrank, not in deference, but clearly in the hopes that your politeness would make the encounter end sooner.And of course, the other badgers soon realized that Bellatrix had taken a special interest in bothering you, and they started making efforts to protect you. Bellatrix changed tactics.

In her third year, your second year, she went more subtle. After all, it wouldn’t do for the other purebloods to begin suspecting that her interest in you, dear little thing, went past bullying.

She made a point of bothering other Hufflepuffs. Every other Hufflepuff. She racked up a few detentions right at the beginning of the year, reclaiming the badgers’ fear one hex at a time. Making herself a nuisance the previous year had caused them to forget that she was also quite willing to hurt them. Now, they remembered.

And so you feared her even more than before.

Whatever. What did your feelings matter, anyway?

Bellatrix commemorated your year of meeting by writing your name on her arm in ink every night, in her third year, and using Tergeo to clean it off every morning, until her left forearm always looked slightly inflamed. She imagined writing her own name on your skin, and she experienced a whole slew of new feelings at the image. She didn’t like to imagine the Tergeo part, though; she wanted it to be permanent.

She imagined carving her name, over and over again.

The first time, she would merely write “BB”, to let you accustom yourself to the feeling; she could be generous sometimes- it was a shame you wouldn’t appreciate it. Then, she would write “BELLA” a few times, in various places. And eventually “BELLATRIX”. She imagined her first time writing her full name would be on your back, right on the base of your neck. “BELLATRIX”, and just below it, “BLACK”. Your filthy blood would spill in the shape of her name, in her handwriting; Bella excited herself to excess, thinking of it. Picturing it. She dreamed about it, most nights (She rewarded herself when she had those dreams; they were better than the quite-forbidden dreams, the ones she forced herself to ignore, where she saw a wedding tiara glittering on your head and a loving smile curving your lips.), and could imagine nothing else whenever she walked behind you in the halls.

She practically ached with the urge to run up and pin you to the ground, to yank your head back by the hair and make you watch as she took out her best silver knife…

She left subtlety behind her in her fourth year. She cornered you in the library during the first week of school.

“What are you writing?” she drawled, taking the parchment from you before you could answer. When she saw the heading ‘Dear Mum,’ she made a disgusted noise and cast Incendio on the letter until it was completely charred.

“Hey!” you protested, hilariously still bothering to keep your indignant exclamation quiet, out of respect for the library or at least to avoid incurring the wrath of Madame Pince. “That was for my mother! Bring it back.”

“You can’t bring something back that’s been burnt,” Bellatrix scoffed. She wasn’t sure that this was true, but she figured a third year mudblood and Hufflepuff wasn’t exactly going to correct her. “Why do you still write to that Muggle woman, anyway?”

“Because she’s my mother,” you answered, with such disbelief that you couldn’t even be angry.

Bellatrix snorted, trying to emanate ridicule when inside, fury was filling her so quickly she thought she might set the table on fire, next. Again, she experienced the familiar feeling that she was a snake who needed to catch her prey up into her coils until you couldn’t move, couldn’t think of anything or anyone else but the tightness of her hold. To feel your warmth on her cold body, to steal it for herself, yes… “She’s a filthy-”

“Muggle, yes. Sort of my whole family are; you never fail to mention it.” You made an effort to sound droll, but your voice was shaking. “If you don’t mind, I think I can manage to love them regardless.”

Bellatrix let out an actual growl, causing you to wince hard. “I mind,” she said roughly, able to think of nothing but her sudden powerful desire to set something entirely different aflame.

All those Muggles- it was their fault, really. Without the Muggles, her mudblood wouldn’t be a mudblood at all. Worse still, the Muggles were getting your letters, your love…

She would rip their veins open with her teeth, if their blood weren’t too filthy even to piss in.

Smiling her nastiest smile, Bellatrix asked, “Do they even know how to use owls?” She made an exaggerated pitying face: “Or do you have to send it along the Muggle way?”

“I use an owl. The postman doesn’t come here.” You had abandoned any attempt at wit; your tone was sheepish again.

“One of the school owls, I imagine.”

“Actually, I bought an owl of my own this past summer.”

“What breed?”

You looked wary. “I forget,” you answered, clearly lying.

Lying to the one who owned you. Lying with the tongue that belonged to Bellatrix, with the air that Bellatrix had so graciously allowed you. Lying, as though you didn’t know that Bellatrix’s name would one day be written on your back, your shoulders, your arms, your hips, your legs…Lying, as if you didn’t know how easily Bella could cut. Your. Tongue. OUT, and watch your dirty, delicious blood bubble between your perfect, lying lips.

Smart of you, though; Bella had already been plotting how to use the bird to track down the Muggles. There was only so much that she could do to them from a distance, but oh, come winter holiday…

She didn’t actually need to be told what your owl looked like; she had followed you up to the owlery the morning after you all arrived on the trains.

She spent the rest of that year, and the following year, wringing albeit-uncomfortable conversations out of you and terrorizing the other Hufflepuffs, at the same time where possible, until her mudblood was feared by proxy, at least among the younger students, and even the other Slytherins started to notice that Bellatrix was being quite particular about her bullying.

“What is it with you and the Puffs?” Andromeda asked, almost accusatorially, after pulling Bellatrix firmly aside into a broom cupboard.

“Gross; this room is for servants, Annie,” Bellatrix complained, deliberately ignoring the question.

“The Hufflepuffs,” Andromeda repeated. “Why have you been so…focused on them?”

Bella released her least-ladylike snort. “You’re one to talk, sister dear. Who is that mudblood, the one who calls you ‘Dromeda’?”

Andromeda blushed furiously. “You shut up about that.”

A gleeful cackle. “You needn’t worry about what I say; it’s your betrothed who’s starting to notice how you pine and consort with that badger. At least I keep my fascination in her place.”

“What do you mean, your ‘fascination’?”

“Mind your own business, Annie; I mean it.”

“You’re taking your OWLs in a few months, and your marks have been worsening since second year.”

Bellatrix shrugged. She didn’t do much schoolwork, but she understood all of her classes fine. She allowed her grades to suffer to free up time for observing you; Slughorn even let her sit in on the fourth year Potions classes, in hopes of “improving” her potion-making. “And you’re practically a blood traitor already, and you haven’t even left school,” she said to her sister, before flouncing out of the cupboard to track down her Hufflepuff (and failing that, maybe set Ted Tonks’ robes on fire).

The summer after her fifth year, Bellatrix visited your house for the first time.

A Muggle house, in a Muggle neighborhood. The swine had all stared at her on her way over, because of her robes and her clear superiority. At your house, however, the man who stood in the front yard, trimming a hedge by hand, smiled at her in greeting and asked if she was one of his daughter’s friends from school.

Bellatrix suppressed her disgust at this new development: a Muggle, and a singularly detested Muggle at that, speaking so evenly with her. “Is she home?” she asked the man curtly.

“She’s stepped out, but she’ll be back shortly. Would you like to wait for her inside?”

Bellatrix stared at the man, hyperaware of the weight of her wand in one pocket and her knife in the other. He wouldn’t be expecting it, wouldn’t be able to stop her.

But she still had the Trace on her, and she wanted to take her time with the vermin who called themselves her mudblood’s family, not rush to incapacitate them before she could be overpowered by brute strength. She wanted them dead, but they ought to suffer a little retribution, first, for having received love that did not rightfully belong to them.

Every bit of love that had been given to them, every time she had to watch you run to your parents on the train station platform, and hug them, and chatter with them with no fear or discomfort or flinching…They were thieves, filthy thieves, and she would bleed them, burn them, until they forgot what love felt like.

When I am grown and officially in service of the Dark Lord, she thought, reveling in the idea, then I can do what I like with all of them.

She wrapped a hand tightly around her forearm, sinking her fingernails into her own flesh until the images of you kissing your mother and father stopped replaying in her mind. One day. Not yet. Just a little longer. She was a student of the honorable House of Slytherin, a daughter of the noble House of Black; she could exercise patience for just a few years. And waiting would make it all the sweeter, would make their dirty blood beautiful.

“I’ll come back another time.” Bellatrix glanced dispassionately from the man to the house, memorizing them. She could see you in the Muggle’s face; she would remove those features from him, she decided. One day. “Tell her Bellatrix Black was here.” The thought of how you would react, when you returned home and received her message, gave her a pleasurable chill.

#yandere bellatrix lestrange #yandere bellatrix black #obsession #possessive

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