#he looks (and probably sounds) so good its a crime we only have a potato live😭

[statementlou]

[capricorn-stark]

Unexpected Encounters Pt 2

pairing: dick grayson x reader, reader doesn’t know he’s nighwing yet

warning: nothing

a/n: this fic is for the lovely @daintykeith who requested this from me literally like a month ago - i didn’t expect to get as busy as i did, but thank you so much for your patience and i hope you enjoy it!!

part 1

There was a new hero in town. And he went by the name Nightwing.

It wasn’t surprising to you in the least, you had practically predicted a hero sauntering into Bludhaven since the very first day you moved there. In a city as messed up as it was, there was no chance some latex-clad figure with a hero-complex could pass it up—after all, Bludhaven gave Gotham a run for its money. 

What was surprising to you was the fact that you had run into this new hero on more than one occasion, and by this point, it was starting to seem less and less like a mere coincidence.

“I’m serious—I’ve been seeing this guy everywhere,” you began in disbelief as the blurry image of a man in a blue and black suit flashed across the TV screen, some blonde news anchor discussing the subject with notable interest while Dick Grayson laughed beside you on your couch. “It’s been, what, a month? And every other time I turn on GBS, they’re still talking about him.”

“It’s that bad?” the man grinned as he watched you fall back down onto the couch beside him, following your rather baleful gaze back to the screen. “I didn’t even notice it that much, honestly.”

“It’s not even just the news! I’ve run into him like a dozen times in the past few weeks in person,” you insisted, shifting to face him as he continued to chuckle disbelievingly. 

“You sure you’re talking about this guy? ‘Cus even the BCPD’s had a hard time tracking him down.” Dick nodded towards the photograph on the TV. “They can’t even get us a good picture.” 

“I didn’t know we had other guys dressed up in black and blue spandex and jumping off of buildings,” you deadpanned, causing him to laugh again. “I’m pretty sure it’s the same guy, Detective Grayson.” He raised his hands in surrender.

“Hey, fair enough-” His phone went off and he paused, shooting you an apologetic look after glancing at the caller ID. “Sorry - one sec.” You nodded and he picked it up, rising from the couch to head over to the hallway to speak. It didn’t bother you - you figured it was his typical phone call about detectives needing to do what detectives had to do. So, you turned your attention back to the TV where they were discussing Bludhaven’s new vigilante. “Addad wants me down to the station to look over a few case files,” Dick announced when he finally returned to view, pocketing his phone and hurriedly adding more after catching sight of your expression. “It should be really quick, it’s just—it’s really important.” 

“Right,” you started with an air of mild awkwardness, standing up as he moved to slide on his jacket. “Yeah, totally. Don’t worry about it.” He hesitated before reaching for the door, shooting you another glance and a little grin that induced a few stray butterflies in your stomach. Irrationally, of course. 

"I'll call you." 

He let that hover in the air before closing the door behind him, leaving you still standing by the couch.

Whatever it was that was going on between you and Dick Grayson was—well, you didn’t actually have a name for it yet. But it was definitely something.

It was later that very night when you received not one but two unexpected visitors via your apartment window. 

The broken window was the least of your worries when the black-and-blue clad vigilante began to rise to his feet, groaning as he straightened and freezing when he met your eyes. 

His face was rigid as he looked at you. You were still frozen on your couch, eyes flickering between him and the seemingly unconscious person on the floor. You would’ve reached for your gun, but unfortunately, you didn’t keep guns with you during Friday night TV marathons. Apparently, that was another bad idea in Bludhaven. 

“I’m not here to hurt you,” the man blurted out before you could break out of your stupor and attempt to chuck something at his head. “I was just dealing with this guy, that was an accident.” You both glanced at the shards on the floor and then back at each other. He winced. “And sorry about your window, that was...also an accident.” 

Your landlord was not going to be happy about this one. 

“Nightwing,” you finally managed, still glancing between the two figures. “You’re Nightwing.” The blue symbol on his chest (a bird? Crossed with a bat?) made that much clear. 

“The one and only.” There might’ve been a hint of amusement in his voice as he leaned over to grab the man on the floor single handedly. “You know who I am?”

“Who doesn’t?” you deadpanned, still eyeing him somewhat warily as he dragged him back towards your balcony. You wondered how exactly he was planning on heading out from there while carrying- “Is that Scarecrow?” you gaped, taking a few steps back as soon as you finally caught sight of the potato sack-like sheet obscuring the other man’s face. You could tell he was probably the real deal by the shitty stitched up mouth and the excessive usage of string around the neck. You still had no idea as to why he chose to wear his elementary arts-and-crafts project as his villain costume. “Isn’t he supposed to—why isn’t he in Gotham?” 

You did not move over to Bludhaven just to have the Gotham baddies decide to relocate with you. Nightwing’s off-handed shrug wasn’t helpful.

“Maybe he wanted a change of scenery. Maybe he wanted to poison another city’s water system with hallucinogens.” He smirked at your expression. “Bad guys get bored too, y’know.”

“That’s cute,” was your response as you pointed back to the broken window. Out of all the apartments he could crash into, he had to crash into this one. “What am I supposed to-”

“Don’t worry about the window, I can take care of it,” he interjected somewhat hurriedly before you could finish, already seeming embarrassed enough. “Sorry.” 

More staring.

“Are you going to fix my window…?” 

“...no.” A pause. “Not personally, I can’t—I’ll send people over here. Later.” The silence ensued and you finally raised a brow at him, to which he gave you a rather sheepish grin. “We’ve seen each other a lot, huh?” 

Aside from this incident, there had been the time where you had been stopping by the corner store and he had shown up chasing after some of Tony Zucco’s men, sending a cocky grin your way before he took them down. 

There had been the time you had been at work and he somehow managed to take his fight with Blockbuster right outside your window, shooting you a wave mid-kick and barely avoiding a fist to the face because of it.

Then there was the time at your local cafe when he had literally just stepped in, suit and all, to get a cup of coffee at the same time you had gone in. 

There were so many instances where you had seen him around, fighting crime, stopping villains, and even just relaxing, that it had started seeming less and less like coincidences and more like he was, in fact, sticking around your area a little more than he needed to.

“Yeah,” you finally answered, still eyeing him in mild disbelief, “we really have. A lot.” 

“Coincidences, am I right?” The teasing tone of his voice was unmistakable. 

“Once or twice? Sure.” Seeing Batman during a night at Gotham could be considered a coincidence (and bad luck, according to urban lore and statistics concerning the likelihood of also encountering the Joker). Running into a person you knew in public could be considered a coincidence. Meeting the same vigilante about six different times when the rest of the city barely even had good, non-blurry pictures of him? Not a coincidence. “I’m pretty sure it’s more than a coincidence at this point. Do I know you?”

“Do you?” His playfulness hadn’t been reduced by a shred, and you moved to grab the broom to clear up the broken glass with a sigh. “I get asked that a lot - here, let me take care of that-” You brushed him off with a shake of your head, already having started yourself. 

“It’s fine. And if I don’t know you, this is even weirder.”

“I wish I knew you better.” 

“Seriously?” He shrugged again, still grinning. 

“Seriously.” You gave him another look before finally clearing away the glass. Nightwing had brought the still-out Scarecrow onto your balcony. You were surprised the guy was still knocked out. He must’ve taken a pretty solid hit.

“I really hope you were serious about fixing this-”

“I was, trust me,” he assured, watching you walk outside as well before he picked the man up again. He had the decency to at least look rather sheepish about the entire ordeal. “You won’t have to worry about it, I promise.” You shrugged at his words, but you somehow felt like he was actually being genuine about it. So you decided to wait and find out if you were right about him.

“Then I guess I’ll see you around, Nightwing,” you finally said after catching his gaze through his cowl, shooting him a little grin he returned easily. 

“I’ll see you around too, Y/N.” 

It sounded so off-handed and normal that you hadn’t even realized what he had said until he had swung right out of your view, leaving you standing at your balcony in complete disbelief.

How had he known your name?

[thomaslightwood]

Blackthorn Detective Agency - Part 2

Part 1 || Ao3 || Masterlist

This is the KitTy Sherlock AU! (Just changed its name with something more like a fic's title)

It’s set in 1930s, slow burn & will have a few parts!

Words: 3 024

Ty rubbed his fingertips on the frame. It was old, its angels were soft. 

“Peru, 1890,” he read at the bottom of the photo. “This photograph is from more than 40 years ago.”

Which wasn’t unusual for a warlock - they lived for centuries. To keep photos from 40 years ago was logical. But why was this the only thing in this flat that was actually… personal? 

“It's the only personal piece here,” Kit said. Ty almost smiled - they had the exact same thought. “Probably in the whole flat, except the Spanish books.”

“You have a point,” Ty agreed. Between the pages of that book were papers with conjugated verbs in Spanish. Someone had written them there and Ragnor had copied them. That’s why Ty knew this wasn’t Ragnor’s handwriting on the photo. “But this is not his-”

A sharp sound interrupted him. It was the front door. Someone was trying to break it. Not as good at it as Kit, Ty noticed.

They had no time to worry too much. Ty grabbed Kit by the hand, opened the wood door with the other that was still holding the frame and dragged them both inside.

Ty was conscious he overstepped in Kit's personal space but a moment later they heard how the stranger broke the lock and their steps as they came inside.

The room was small and extremely dark. Ty couldn't see anything and he didn't have the space to draw a rune on himself about it. And he actually didn't have his stele in him. The bigger problem - the room was unknown to them. He was worried if they moved too much they'd make noise and would be exposed.

He heard or rather felt how Kit's breath fastened. Was he claustrophobic? Was it a bad idea to bring them in this small room?

Ty heard the slow steps as they were wandering around the room. They were coming dangerously close to the bedroom.

This was probably inappropriate and Ty didn't know if it would help at all but he must try. He carefully raised a hand and hurried it in Kit's hair. He dragged him closer to Ty until Kit's head was in Ty's neck.

He squeezed a little and Kit pressed against Ty. They both hold into each other in the sea of darkness, trying not to lose balance.

Ty was hearing the stranger's step in the room. They murmured something angrily. Ty was barely breathing. If they heard him and Kit in the closet…

A loud shatter interrupted his thoughts. Ty recognized it was a man's voice by the angry murmur. 

For a few more minutes he walked around the apartment, like he… he was searching for something. And he couldn't find it. Eventually the man breathed out heavily and opened the door, not bothering to shut it quietly after himself.

They waited a few more minutes, just to be safe. Then Ty carefully let go of Kit and opened the door. The sudden light hurt his eyes so he squinted for a while to get used to it.

The bed was untouched but Ty couldn't say the same about the living room. There were books on the floor, the table was inverted.

“He was searching for something,” Kit quietly said as he carefully grabbed a book from the floor. Was Ty imagining it or his face was a little flushed?

“Yes,” Ty agreed. He was still holding the frame with the photo. “But what? Could it possibly be this?” He handed the frame to Kit.

Kit took it and shrugged. “Maybe. But why is one old photo important?”

More questions. Even though they were in the very beginning and everything was unclear, Ty felt the thrill every new case evoked in him. The burning curiosity that tickled his insides, the thirst to know everything about the subject.

“I think we should go,” Kit said. He took the photo off the frame and put it in the pocket of his coat. “They may return or a neighbor heard the noise.”

Kit had a point, Ty thought but there was something that made him feel uneasy.

Kit was heading for the door but Ty slowed down before leaving the flat. He looked around once more. The books on the floor, the almost empty shelves and the open door to the bedroom. Ty grabbed one list with Spanish verbs and closed the door after himself.

      After this they went to the train station. It was surprisingly hard to find the schedule for the trains from a few days ago.

The guy they talked with wasn't happy about it. Kit could see he just wanted to enjoy his lunch. And probably was tempted to call the security to throw them out. 

But then Ty pulled out cash and the man was suddenly more friendly.

Ty didn't talk much nor did he look man in the eyes. Kit was feeling like he just wanted to get the information as fast as possible.

After the man was gone for a few minutes he returned with paper with what they asked for.

“Thank you very much,” Kit said as Ty put the list in the inside of his coat. “We appreciate your help.”

The man murmured something and sat heavily on his chair, finally able to eat.

“That was smart,” Ty said as they came out on the street, waiting to catch a taxi. 

“What?” Kit asked.

“To ask for the people who worked on the train that day. I didn't think about it.”

“It's nothing, really. I was just thinking about what I can do to help yesterday.”

The truth was Kit just wanted to be useful. Part of him was afraid if Ty noticed Kit wasn't doing anything he would fire him. He probably wasn't as good as Sherlock but he could understand how a criminal thinks. What they may have missed.

“I assume you already know because you're good at what you do, but,” Kit said. “People are important. They witness, tell, see and do crimes. They... they are the driving machine. Evidence is important but a person is the key. So I just thought about what people we can talk with.”

There was something thoughtful in Ty's expression as he watched Kit's cheek. “I'm not quite sure I agree.”

Before Kit could answer, a taxi stopped in front of them. 

As soon as Ty told the driver the direction, Kit said “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why don't you agree with me?”

“Well,” Ty said and the thoughtful look returned on his face. “It's true a person is the subject that commits the crime. But people… they are not what they appear to be. They're often hard to understand and you can't be sure who they are. They lie. And have inaccurate memories and sometimes are too afraid to tell the truth and to help. What I'm trying to say is that they're too often an unreliable source. While evidence… it's unchangeable on its own. Oneself is true to the very end. It's up to you to interpret how it fits in the whole picture. If it's wrong, it's your mistake. You're the only one to blame. While a person's words… you can't control that. Or trust it enough to interpret it rightfully.“

Ty stopped for a second, looking outside the taxi's window.

“What I'm trying to say is that a person can mislead you. Evidence never does.”

Kit was silent. The taxi pulled over in front of a small cafe, nestled between two clothing shops. Taki's Diner .

Kit remembered this was the name of the place Katarina and Ragnor met.

“We are going to question the employees?”

“Not quite,” Ty said simply and headed towards the restaurant. Kit followed, curiously looking at the surroundings.

There weren't many people. It was still early and most of them seemed sleepy. There were Downworlders as well as mundanes. Kit spotted a warlock with fully orange eyes flirting with a pale girl, probably a vampire.

There was also a mundane man who was reading a newspaper and murmured something to himself.

Ty headed at one table on the back, a bit hidden from the rest. The tables around it were empty. From the radio quietly came a Louis Armstrong's song. Kit smiled at that. He loved jazz.

Ty and Kit sat on the table. Kit took off his coat and cap.

A faerie waitress appeared in front of them and smiled. She was a short blonde who had two many bracelets on her arms.

“Hello gentlemen,” she smiled at them. “Here are your menus - look at it, choose a meal and I'll come to take your order.”

“Thank you,” Kit smiled at her. She winked in return and headed towards another table.

He returned his eyes on Ty. He had taken off his coat. It was carefully placed on the third chair on the table. He was looking around the cafe, touching the corners of his menu.

“If we're not here to interview the staff,” Kit said. “What are we here for?”

“To watch,” Ty said simply. “Observe. Talk with the regular clients.”

Kit looked around again, looking for something else this time. A woman who Kit immediately recognized as faerie sat on a table, crossed her legs and took out a book from her bag.

The waitress returned after a few minutes.

“Are you ready?” She had a notebook and pencil in her hands.

Kit hesitated. He didn't want to spend too much money but nothing here was too expensive.

“Onion omelet for me.” 

“Chipped potatoes please.”

She hurriedly wrote their orders down and smiled again. “Is that all?”

“Yes, thank you,” Ty said.

“Actually,” Kit said suddenly. Ty quickly looked at him but didn't say anything. He looked at the waitress pin with her name. “Nancy, right? My friend and I were wondering about something and it would be amazing if you can help us.”

“Of course,” she said and curiosity burned in her eyes. They were very blue.

“We thought a friend of ours arrived in the city a few days ago. He tends to like this place and we were wondering if he was here a few days ago perhaps?”

“What is he like?” she asked.

Kit took out the photo from Peru of Ragnor and his friends. 

She took and Kit could see on her face she recognized someone in the photo. She nodded enthusiastically.

“I have seen two of these people! The man with the white hair. He was here around three days ago with the woman.”

“Can you tell us something… unusual you noticed about them?”

The waitress - Nancy - shrugged.

“The usual warlocks. They stayed for an hour or two and then left. At the end of my shift he returned though.”

“Really?” Kit said casually, like he was merely curious for a friend. “Was he alone?” Then he leaned forward a little and said more quietly with a playful smile. “We suspect he may hide a lover from us.”

The faerie chuckled. “I don't know sweetheart. When I was leaving he just sat on a table. I left before seeing anything. You can ask my friend Lizzy. She was the one who took his order.”

“Oh. When can we find her?” Kit asked. 

“She starts at 11 p.m. Earlier if it's cloudy.”

She must be a vampire , Kit thought.

“Thank you so much,” Kit smiled at her one more time. “We deeply appreciate it.”

“You're welcome,” she chuckled again and left them alone.

Kit turned to Ty and caught him watching him.

“You see?”

Ty looked confused. “See what?”

“People are useful. You need witnesses.”

Unexpectedly, Ty smiled. It warmed up something in Kit's chest.

“I have never said I don't.”

“But you hinted at it.”

“I did not,” Ty said. Without taking his eyes off Kit he reached to his coat and pulled off his notebook. “I stated that people are often misleading.”

“But when I said people are important for a case, you said you're not sure you agree.”

“You also said a person is the key. With which I'm not sure I agree. I didn't say a person can't or isn't important.”

Kit exhaled. Damn , he thought. He is good.

“Good. You win. This time.”

Ty shook his head with a smile. He started to write something on the open notebook in front of him. Probably the information the faerie told them.

After a few minutes their meals arrived. Onion omelet and chipped potatoes. Ty barely looked at his food. At some point he finished writing and took the fork for the potatoes.

“So,” Kit said after swallowing a bite from the omelet. “If you're Sherlock Holmes then who am I?”

“What do you mean?” Ty glanced at him.

“Well,” Kit slowly cut out another bite from his food. “You and Livvy are a team. And you're Sherlock. I can't be a Sherlock with you. I'm not her. So I probably need another name.” 

“Good point,” Ty said. He looked thoughtful while he chewed. “How do you wanna be called then?”

Kit was caught off guard a little. He expected Ty to dismiss it or leave it for later.

“I haven't thought about it,” Kit admitted and slowly moved an omelet piece from one side of the plate to the other.

“We can think about it later,” Ty said. “My sister can help us with that.”

“You mean Livvy?”

“No,” Ty said, looking around the restaurant. “My other sister, Dru.”

Kit blinked at him. “How many siblings do you have?”

“Three sisters and three brothers,” Ty said and took a potato piece in his mouth.

“Whoa,” Kit said, forgetting the food in front of him. “Big family.”

“Indeed.”

Kit wondered what it would be like to have so many relatives. So many brothers and sisters. People close to you, to thrust, to be sure they would have your back. 

His father's voice rang in his head. And more people to run away with. Harder to get away. Harder to live with.

The food's taste in Kit's mouth turned into ash. He lost his appetite. Carefully left on the fork and the knife in the plate. 

Ty didn't seem to notice Kit's inner thought for which he was glad.

“The woman,” Ty said quietly. “The one faerie that sat after we came. She's a regular.”

“How would you know?” unconsciously, Kit leaned forward to hear what Ty had to say.

“Nancy, the waitress, didn’t ask her for her order. She even didn’t give her a menu. She directly put a coffee and a muffin in front of her. And the woman called Nancy by name - they know each other.”

“Impressive,” Kit murmured inattentively. “So, you want to talk with her?”

“Well,” Ty shrugged. “A few minutes ago - yes. Now, when we know Ragnor was here at nighttime, at the end of Nancy’s shift, I’m not sure she’d be useful.”

Kit rose up. “Let's find out.”

After a few minutes in which Kit started a conversation with her about borrowing the salt, he returned to their table with a salt shaker. He signed, disappointed.

“Nothing,” Kit said. “She had no idea what I'm talking about. And thought I'm just flirting with her.” 

“Were you?”

“What?” Kit blinked.

“Flirting with her,” Ty said, not taking his eyes off the notebook in front of him.

“Well,” Kit felt a little uncomfortable. “Yes, I kind of did. But it was just for the sake of the case. I'm not… interested in her that way.” 

Ty glanced at Kit's face for a few seconds then returned to writing in his notebook. Kit didn't notice. He was suddenly anxious that Ty would think of him as a flirting careless man. 

“Sometimes,” Kit started, carefully picking his words. “I flirt with people to get what I want. When I was in my early teens - to get away with something.”

Ty curiously gave him a glance.

“Did you have to do it often?”

“Well,” Kit said thoughtfully. “No, no that often. But I did it anyway. I… I think I liked to give strangers pieces of me that are… safe to give. And gender doesn't matter to me anyway.” Nothing too personal. Nothing long. Only a flirt, a few minutes of other people's time. The only kind of relationship Kit could afford.

“I can see why people like you,” Ty said, rolling the pen in his hands. “You're a rather charming man.”

Kit couldn't help but laugh.

Ty frowned.

“Did I say something out of place?”

Kit shook his head. “No, no. It's just that I don't think I'm charming. Or that people like me . ”

"Charm" was an abstract idea for him. He may pass for good looking but he didn't think of himself as "charming". Charm meant power. It attracted people to you. It made them like you. 

Kit didn't make people like him. He let them make an idea for him in their heads and allowed them to believe it. This wasn't a charm. It was lying.

Ty arched an eyebrow.

“Well. I would say I like you,” then he returned his gaze back at his notebook, adding something to the already written text.

His words caught Kit completely off-guard. He was holding his fork and it just levitated in space. 

Kit didn't know how to react. No one before had said something like that to him. He knew Ty probably said it to make him feel better. But something made him think Ty Blackthorn didn't say things he doesn't mean.

“Anyway,” Ty said and closed his notebook. “We're done here.”

“Really? What about questioning the waitress Lizzy?”

“We will return here after sunset for this,” Ty said. “But now we can do something more useful with our time.”

Kit felt dread in his stomach. He couldn't stay after dark. Or could he? Would his father notice? He always did. 

Should he tell Ty? No, no, he was going to figure something out.

“What are we going to do now?” he asked, hoping Ty didn't notice anything strange.

He looked at the watch on his hand.

“We will meet my sister. Dru.”

To be continued...

[bnhascribbles]

Jacket Thief (among other things)

Hawks x Reader

Fluff, Flirting, Humor, First kiss; I watched the BNHA movie. I love Hawks. I love his stupid face and his stupid voice. I’m so soft for one (1) bird man.

Words: 1.2K

Warnings: None

You’re not going to be giving his jacket back.

It’s a spur-of-the-moment decision. One you know is totally insane, lacking an ounce of anything even resembling common sense.  After all, this wasn’t the way dates were supposed to go. Definitely not dates with the number two top hero in Japan. Regardless, you don’t think you’ll be able to sleep tonight if you don’t follow through.

You aren't even cold anymore, but you still find yourself tugging the smooth leather tighter over your shoulders.

“You’re either delusional or in denial.” You say, fumbling to find your key fob in your mess of a bag. Your cheeks hurt from the stretch of your grin, an expression you’d been sporting nearly the entire night. “To think that you’d even suggest Endeavor could beat—“

“Not beat,” Keigo interjects, “I believe my exact words were ‘give him a run for his money.’”

You scoff as you press the bit of plastic to the reader and yank open the door.

“You’re acting like All Might wouldn’t absolutely cream him one-on-one. Think about that time they did that publicity match for J-TV! Endeavor didn’t even last 30 seconds before he was knocked flat on his ass.”

Keigo has to curl his wings tight against his sides in order to fit through the doorway. “You do know those things are fake, right?”

“No! You’re telling me the channel that airs ‘Villain Babes and Baddies’ is deceiving me? Say it ain’t so!” You let out an exaggerated wail. The chuckle that your drama earns from Keigo immediately makes the noise complaint you’ll receive from your middle-aged neighbors well worth it.

“Then why’d you bring it up?” He asks.

“Because even J-TV knows that All Might would win! Aren’t you smarter than J-TV?”

“Most days.”

You stop walking and turn to face Keigo, one eyebrow quirked up high and your lips pulled off to one side.

“Some days.” He amends, the edges of his mouth curling upward as he buries his hands in his pockets. “But lapses in judgment can open doors, ya’ know. Never know when a near-collision will lead to a date instead of a lawsuit.”

“Better not talk like that in front of your legal team.”

“They’re used to it.”

You reach your apartment too quickly. You don’t want to unlock your door yet, don’t want to say ‘goodnight’ and watch Keigo walk away. There’s a tense silence as you fiddle with your keys, pretending you can’t find the right one. It’s probably not too convincing, seeing as you only have two to choose from. Still, you’re not sure what other option you have.

“So,” you drawl, lifting your eyes for only a second, still playing your imaginary game of ‘how long can I draw this out for,’ “what’s on tap for mister Wing Hero tomorrow? Anything interesting you can let slip?”

Keigo’s laugh echoes through the dimly lit hallway. Another noise complaint. “Interested in my schedule, are we? Hoping to ‘accidentally’ bump into me on one of my patrols?”

“Or maybe I’m trying to sell your location to some bad guy for a quick buck.” You roll your eyes, leaning back against the plaster wall. “But you know what they say: potato potahto.”

“Ohhhhhhh,” he groans, stretching his arms up behind his head. It’s a struggle keeping yourself from staring at them, the way the muscles tense and relax. “Man, what is it with me and falling for villains.”

You shrug. “We’re pretty charming people if you can tolerate the occasional misdemeanor.”

Another uncomfortable silence cuts into your conversation when Keigo doesn’t say anything, just looks at you with that lopsided, stupidly-handsome grin of his. You wonder if he can hear it—the way your pulse thuds in your ears. Maybe that’s why he looks so self-assured; he knows the effect that something as simple as a smile has on you. As stupid as Hawks pretends to be, you know the truth, know how he notices everything from the twitching in your fingers to the way you shift your weight from foot to foot.

You’ve ambled for too long already. With a heavy sigh, you finally unlock the door.

“Now that my master plan has been foiled, I need time to think up something new.”

“A clever person like you doesn’t have a plan B ready to go?” Keigo quips back.

You turn to face him yet again, leaving the key in the lock. “Just because I have a plan doesn’t mean it’s good. That takes time.” Resting your back on the door, you reach over and put a hand on the handle. “And sleep. As fun as tonight has been, hero, we both have work in the morning.”

“True. You know, early birds catching worms and all that fun stuff.”

Before you can get out a final goodbye though, before you can so much as blink, he takes a step forward. There’s a wicked glint in his eye as he looms over you, so close that you can count the individual strands of hair falling into his face.

“I see you’re starting early,” Keigo says, the sound crawling up from somewhere deep in his chest. He reaches up and grabs the collar of your jacket—his jacket. “Last time I checked, this is mine.”

You’ve got nowhere to run; he’s too close, and you’re not about to send yourself flying backward in a getaway attempt. You wouldn’t want to anyway. It’s all too exciting—being so close after a whole night of jokes and teasing. Playing around was fun, but the fact is you’d been eyeballing each other for hours, waiting for the moment where you could finally be alone, away from prying eyes. You both know it.

“Yeah,” you tilt your chin upward, “and what are you gonna do about it?”

Keigo hesitates.

“What do you want me to do?”

A good question. One you know the answer to, even if the knot in your stomach keeps you from verbalizing it.

Thankfully, you don’t have to. Keigo inches forward and the rest kind of happens on its own. You barely register his fingers curling around your waist or your own hand weaving its way through his hair. There’s a warmth across your face, but you can’t be sure of the cause; was it the blood boiling beneath your skin or was it his breath, warm on your cheeks? It doesn’t matter. His lips, his smile pressed against yours erases any hope of forming a coherent thought. And you don’t care. You don’t care about anything else anymore.

It’s all over too soon. He pulls back and his eyes flutter open—warm like melted caramel, a lingering sunset. You inhale shakily. Keigo does the same.

Words. This was the part where you were supposed to say something endearing. Something to make him want to keep letting you ‘steal’ his jacket, keep him laughing with you like this, wracking up noise complaints like tickets at the world’s most generous arcade.

So many different words form and die on the tip of your tongue before you finally settle on saying “never thought I’d ever let an Endeavor fanboy kiss me.”

“Those are some strong words coming from a thief.” Keigo counters, chewing on his bottom lip. You find that you can’t watch him for too long; his eyes crinkle and he’s leaning in again, forehead pressing to yours. It’d be a crime not to let your eyes drift shut, not to savor it.

“I’m no thief.” You breathe. Keigo’s nose bumps against yours. “I haven’t stolen anything yet.”

“That’s still up for debate.” He huffs, bringing his other hand up and brushing a thumb across your cheek. Then he moves in again.

Even though it isn’t the first, this kiss tastes like the beginning of something extraordinary.

[lykegenia]

Nate x f!detective

--

I barely have time to draw breath before three figures stumble to a halt in the broken doorway, the rest of Unit Bravo drawn clearly from other parts of the warehouse, their postures tense and alert for danger.

Adam steps forward first, his gaze sweeping in a calculated arc over the room. “What happened?”

“We smelled –”

“Someone needs to go and check on Nate,” I interrupt.

There’s a heartbeat’s pause where confusion reigns. Mason is the first to respond, swiping the unlit cigarette from between his teeth with a muttered curse as he whirls away out of sight. It leaves only Adam and Felix to stare at me, and both keep their distance, the frown on the commanding agent’s face sharp enough to cut glass.

“Detective?” he asks.

“It was an accident,” I explain, swallowing. “I cut myself, just my finger.”

“You ought to have paid more attention –”

“Jesus Christ, Adam, this is not the time.” I twist around to face him properly, hand aching under the stream of cold water, and once more the rational part of my brain steps aside to marvel at the ease with which I take control of the situation. As if this is just another crime scene, as if my heart isn’t thundering in my ears lie Niargra Falls. “I need you to switch off the oven and fetch me a med kit.”

“Is there anything I can do?” Felix asks from even further away, golden eyes hopeful.

I force a smile to my face. “I’m fine, really. But thank you.”

Adam returns from the far corner of the room a moment later and sets down the first aid kit and a roll of kitchen paper at my elbow.

“We’ll leave you to it,” he says with a terse nod.

“Thanks.”

“There is blood on your sleeve,” he adds. “You should soak it as soon as you can.”

He turns away as I twist my arm trying to catch sight of the supposed bloodstain, not daring to take my hand from under the tap until the two vampires have left the room. When I eventually hold the lacerated finger up for inspection I sigh at the look of the wound. The cold has turned the whole digit bloodless, and while the cut itself is pretty deep the sharpness of the knife worked in my favour and it shouldn’t need stitches.

I pat it dry with a few squares of paper towel, careful to avoid splitting it open again, then rummage one-handed in the first aid kit for the antiseptic and a box of plasters. The sting of the concentrated alcohol draws a hiss from me as I pour it over the wound, but the whole process of cleaning and wrapping up the finger is over in less than a minute, with only the clinical smell left hanging in the air. After a moment of consideration, I fish an extra plaster out of the box and add it to the first so it stays extra secure.

That done, my attention can finally turn to the mess of dinner abandoned on the other side of the kitchen. The tray of vegetables I pull from the oven is still half-raw, the potatoes overboiled and almost mush after I drain away the water from the pan. I make sure there’s no blood on the duck breasts before wrapping them back in their brown paper to go back in the fridge. I wash the knife, and I wash the chopping board, as well as I can one-handed. For the rest, it takes me a long poke about in the cupboards – because of course Nate doesn’t own any Tupperware – before I can transfer everything into containers. Most of it probably won’t taste all that good if it has to be cooked again, but making the choice to throw it away without Nate’s input feels… wrong. Even if what I really want is to throw the whole lot at the walls.  

Either way, my appetite is completely gone. In its place, a sick feeling worms through my stomach, part worry for him and part relief that what happened wasn’t worse. The look in his eyes keeps surfacing, drawing me back, distracting me to the point where I realise the CD of overtures finished playing ages ago, unnoticed. Now that I hear it, the silence presses on me like a stone.

I leave the washing up in the sink.

No one stops me in the labyrinthine passages to my room. The silence follows and grows larger as I strip out of my jumper and toss it into the bathroom before pulling a new one from the drawer. The stain on the sleeve is only small and should come out easily enough once I soak it, but I’ll have to take it back to my apartment to wash it properly. At least the blood soaked into the fabric instead of dripping onto Nate’s hand. His reaction was bad enough already.

Once thoughts of him break through, there’s no stopping the flood. A glance around the bedroom shows just how much empty space there is, and I shiver. The wash of loneliness threatening to swallow me is one that wouldn’t have bothered me before Unit Bravo came into my life, before I got used to the comfort Nate provides just with his presence. Right about now I should be enjoying an intimate dinner and quiet conversation, his warmth at my side after the week of paperwork that’s kept us apart. Instead, there’s just me, and the hollow sound of my breath. Hard to believe I ever thought that was enough.

A text comes through from Felix as I dry my hands.

              You ok? Nate wanted you know if you’re ok too

              I’m fine  ☺️ Where is he?

              In his room, he’s pretty shaken

              I’m going to go talk to him

He starts typing a reply, but I don’t wait for it. The path to Nate’s room is so familiar I could walk it in my sleep – and nearly have, more than once, creeping from my own bed in the middle of the night with only a little guilt that I might be interrupting his own rest. Getting used to another body was difficult at first, but sleeping with someone else next to me, at least when it’s him, feels better than I ever thought it would, even if Mason keeps teasing that we’re not making the most of the situation.

I swallow as I knock on his door. “Nate?”

There’s no answer. Despite the bubble of disappointment in my chest, I wasn’t really expecting one.

“I wanted to see if you were alright.” Though my ears strain in the quiet hallway, I can’t hear any sign of movement. I sigh. “Look, you don’t have to come out, or say anything. I guess if you’re not listening it’s not like there’s anyone else here to listen to me talking to a door like a crazy person either.”

The attempt at humour falls apart, and a deep breath pulls through my teeth to keep the prickle of heat in my eyes at bay.

“I’m alright, Nate. It wasn’t your fault, just an accident. Please don’t guilt yourself about it too much – I know you’ll try to. I’m…” I falter, my thumb running over my plastered finger. “I’m going to go home. I’ve got laundry to do and an early start in the morning, and it’s probably better if I go.”

Tension is running through the halls like a vibration, all the vampires kicked up by the unexpected smell of blood even if they don’t want to admit it, and I don’t want them to see how unsettled it’s made me in turn. The nightmares of Murphy have faded over the past few months, but I can feel them crawling in the black mud of my subconscious, waiting to surface, and I don’t want to be near Nate when they do. I’ve handled them well enough on my own in the past.

There’s still no sound from Nate’s room that my pathetic human ears can pick up.

“If you need anything, call me,” I say, with a last moment of hesitation before I turn away.

There’s not much to pack. I’ve got a permanent drawer here now, and a second toothbrush so I don’t need to remember it back and forth. I’m ready to go in minutes. In one movement I pluck my car keys from the bowl by the door and flick off the light, and I don’t look back.

[fictionadventurer]

Father Brown Reread: The Absence of Mr. Glass

The consulting-rooms of Dr Orion Hood, the eminent criminologist and specialist in certain moral disorders, lay along the sea-front at Scarborough, in a series of very large and well-lighted french windows, which showed the North Sea like one endless outer wall of blue-green marble.

I like how the first and second collections both start with a story focusing on a professional detective who’s not Father Brown.

True to form, we’ve got a color word in the first sentence. And not only that--a hypenated color word! You don’t get much more Chesterton than that.

Everything about him and his room indicated something at once rigid and restless, like that great northern sea by which (on pure principles of hygiene) he had built his home. Fate, being in a funny mood, pushed the door open and introduced into those long, strict, sea-flanked apartments one who was perhaps the most startling opposite of them and their master.

Highlighting this because “Fate, being in a funny mood” is a great phrase.

But also because I love when the stories contrast Father Brown’s clumsy, homely shabbiness with characters who look more distinguished and accomplished.

"My name is Brown. Pray excuse me. I've come about that business of the MacNabs. I have heard, you often help people out of such troubles. Pray excuse me if I am wrong."

It’s odd that Father Brown is consulting another detective on this. He doesn’t seem the sort to seek out other help. He usually just winds up on the scene of the crime by accident.

It seems like he should have the confidence to solve the mystery himself.

It seems like the more natural way to bring Hood into the story would be to have the girl approach Dr. Hood and Father Brown just to be at the house for priest reasons before figuring out the mystery.

But maybe Father Brown’s stumped from lack of evidence and doesn’t have the time for an investigation. (Actually paying attention to his priestly duties for once?)

After all, it’s only luck that the crisis that gives them an excuse to investigate the apartment happens two minutes later.

And of course, the whole point of the story is getting this Holmes detective to the same crime scene as Father Brown to contrast their methods, so it doesn’t much matter how he gets there.

And there is a lot of fun in seeing shabby little Father Brown in this professional detective’s immaculate study.

"Oh, this is of the greatest importance," broke in the little man called Brown. "Why, her mother won't let them get engaged." And he leaned back in his chair in radiant rationality.

It’s not a full-fledged Father Brown story unless the mystery is centered on a romance, is it?

A stock Chesterton exchange: foolish-looking character says simple, silly-sounding statement as if it’s the most sensible thing in the world, before being forced to elaborate by a confused listener.

This story gives us Father Brown at his most silly-seeming. Here he’s not just unassuming and sheltered; he seems like one of Chesterton’s holy fools. He hasn’t looked this simple-minded since “The Blue Cross”

"Mr Brown," he said gravely, "it is quite fourteen and a half years since I was personally asked to test a personal problem: then it was the case of an attempt to poison the French President at a Lord Mayor's Banquet.  It is now, I understand, a question of whether some friend of yours called Maggie is a suitable fiancee for some friend of hers called Todhunter.  Well, Mr Brown, I am a sportsman. I will take it on.  I will give the MacNab family my best advice, as good as I gave the French Republic and the King of England--no, better: fourteen years better.  I have nothing else to do this afternoon. Tell me your story."

Sure, he’s a condescending ass, but I can’t help liking this guy. He’s got a good heart and a good sense of humor.

I kind of wish he’d have showed up in at least one or two other stories (preferably with a better end than Valentine).

The little clergyman called Brown thanked him with unquestionable warmth, but still with a queer kind of simplicity. It was rather as if he were thanking a stranger in a smoking-room for some trouble in passing the matches, than as if he were (as he was) practically thanking the Curator of Kew Gardens for coming with him into a field to find a four-leaved clover.

I like this metaphor very much.

Brown is still very, very much the simple little curate of “The Blue Cross”. But with the bumpkin traits turned up to eleven.

I’m very curious about Dr. Hood’s past cases, and how he achieved such renown.

"I told you my name was Brown; well, that's the fact, and I'm the priest of the little Catholic Church I dare say you've seen beyond those straggly streets, where the town ends towards the north.

Yet another parish! How many is this? This seems like the most distant, rural parish that Father Brown has yet had.

And Father Brown’s actually doing some work at it!

He seems to have quite a pocketful of money, but nobody knows what his trade is.  Mrs MacNab, therefore (being of a pessimistic turn), is quite sure it is something dreadful, and probably connected with dynamite. The dynamite must be of a shy and noiseless sort, for the poor fellow only shuts himself up for several hours of the day and studies something behind a locked door.  He declares his privacy is temporary and justified, and promises to explain before the wedding.  

Doesn’t the landlady have a key to the door of her own lodger? Can’t she just demand to look?

British people, I tell you.

Unless the daughter is preventing her from looking, out of respect for her beloved.

And, you know, he does promise to explain, so it’d be rude to just barge in.

So why bother consulting the great detective in the first place? If Todhunter’s really on the up-and-up, he’ll explain eventually, they’ll get engaged, and all will be well.

he is tirelessly kind with the younger children, and can keep them amused for a day on end

Given Todhunter’s chosen profession, this makes perfect sense.

You see, therefore, how this sealed door of Todhunter's is treated as the gate of all the fancies and monstrosities of the 'Thousand and One Nights'.

Another Father Brown mystery built upon a fairy tale atmosphere.

To the scientific eye all human history is a series of collective movements, destructions or migrations, like the massacre of flies in winter or the return of birds in spring. Now the root fact in all history is Race. Race produces religion; Race produces legal and ethical wars. There is no stronger case than that of the wild, unworldly and perishing stock which we commonly call the Celts, of whom your friends the MacNabs are specimens. Small, swarthy, and of this dreamy and drifting blood, they accept easily the superstitious explanation of any incidents, just as they still accept (you will excuse me for saying) that superstitious explanation of all incidents which you and your Church represent.

A lot of the most racist characters in Chesterton are the most educated, scientific and progressive.

Granted, Chesterton does a lot of stereotyping along national lines himself. But usually it’s not with the idea that these differences are bad things. And certainly not with the idea that race is the cause of all war.

the door opened on a young girl, decently dressed but disordered and red-hot with haste. She had sea-blown blonde hair,

Is this the first blonde female love interest in these stories?

They were quarrelling—about money, I think—for I heard James say again and again, 'That's right, Mr Glass,' or 'No, Mr Glass,' and then, 'Two or three, Mr Glass.'

Given the eventual explanation of what’s really happening here, wouldn’t she have heard some other noises (possibly crashing noises?) alongside this?

"I do not think this young lady is so Celtic as I had supposed. As I have nothing else to do, I will put on my hat and stroll down town with you."

Wow, you were really just going to disbelieve her because of her nationality, weren’t you?

Playing-cards lay littered across the table or fluttered about the floor as if a game had been interrupted. Two wine glasses stood ready for wine on a side-table, but a third lay smashed in a star of crystal upon the carpet. A few feet from it lay what looked like a long knife or short sword, straight, but with an ornamental and pictured handle, its dull blade just caught a grey glint from the dreary window behind, which showed the black trees against the leaden level of the sea. Towards the opposite corner of the room was rolled a gentleman's silk top hat, as if it had just been knocked off his head; so much so, indeed, that one almost looked to see it still rolling. And in the corner behind it, thrown like a sack of potatoes, but corded like a railway trunk, lay Mr James Todhunter, with a scarf across his mouth, and six or seven ropes knotted round his elbows and ankles. His brown eyes were alive and shifted alertly.

The clues are laid out very nicely here.

This is one of the most Romantic (in the literary sense of the term) crime scenes in all of fiction. Every clue is as picturesque as possible.

"How to explain the absence of Mr Glass and the presence of Mr Glass's hat? For Mr Glass is not a careless man with his clothes. That hat is of a stylish shape and systematically brushed and burnished, though not very new. An old dandy, I should think." "But, good heavens!" called out Miss MacNab, "aren't you going to untie the man first?"

This entire segment is so funny. I laugh every time one of his long-winded deductions is interrupted by the common-sense demand to untie the man.

Now, surely it is obvious that there are the three chief marks of the kind of man who is blackmailed. And surely it is equally obvious that the faded finery, the profligate habits, and the shrill irritation of Mr Glass are the unmistakable marks of the kind of man who blackmails him. We have the two typical figures of a tragedy of hush money:

So much of the Holmesian deduction process relies on stereotypes, doesn’t it? Sure, Holmes doesn’t label people in “types” quite this way, but it relies on using the evidence to reach the most stereotypical conclusion without factoring in the random possibilities of life. (The suspect might have ink on his hands, but it doesn’t mean he’s a clerk). It’s fun that this story calls out that conceit.

"No; I think these ropes will do very well till your friends the police bring the handcuffs."

Okay, so there’s a sensible explanation for why Hood ignores their cries to untie Todhunter. But it doesn’t make the previous exchanges any less funny to read.

"But the ropes?" inquired the priest, whose eyes had remained open with a rather vacant admiration.

It’s interesting that Father Brown’s actually buying into this. My memory had him being more skeptical of the deductions, but he’s admiring the chain of logic being built here.

It’s kind of a nice change from the usual Chesterton tack of the mouthpiece character disdaining every scientific explanation.

It was not the blank curiosity of his first innocence. It was rather that creative curiosity which comes when a man has the beginnings of an idea. "Say it again, please," he said in a simple, bothered manner; "do you mean that Todhunter can tie himself up all alone and untie himself all alone?" "That is what I mean," said the doctor. "Jerusalem!" ejaculated Brown suddenly, "I wonder if it could possibly be that!"

And we’re off! I always love the moment when Father Brown puts everything together, and it’s especially satisfying here, after he’s spent the whole story sitting back and letting another man do all the detective work.

"His eyes do look queer," cried the young woman, strongly moved. "You brutes; I believe it's hurting him!" "Not that, I think," said Dr Hood; "the eyes have certainly a singular expression. But I should interpret those transverse wrinkles as expressing rather such slight psychological abnormality—" "Oh, bosh!" cried Father Brown: "can't you see he's laughing?"

Each sentence gives a vivid picture of the three different personalities here. The tender-hearted young woman. The too-practical man of science. And the brash common sense of Father Brown.

He shuffled about the room, looking at one object after another with what seemed to be a vacant stare, and then invariably bursting into an equally vacant laugh, a highly irritating process for those who had to watch it.

Irritating to watch, I’m sure, but very amusing to imagine.

"But a hatter," protested Hood, "can get money out of his stock of new hats. What could Todhunter get out of this one old hat?" "Rabbits," replied Father Brown promptly.

I love the hat conversation and these lines in particular.

He was also practising the trick of a release from ropes, like the Davenport Brothers

According to Wikipedia, the Davenport Brothers were an American magician act that toured England in the 1860s. They built on the Spiritualism craze and claimed all their tricks were done by spirit power. There isn’t much about what their tricks wer, (besides a couple of escape tricks and spirit cabinet things). Most of the Wikipedia article is about the many times their tricks were debunked. (Naturally, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle refused to believe they were frauds).

But the mere fact of an idler in a top hat having once looked in at his back window, and been driven away by him with great indignation, was enough to set us all on a wrong track of romance, and make us imagine his whole life overshadowed by the silk-hatted spectre of Mr Glass."

This isn’t so much a debunking of the Holmesian deduction methods as a case study proving why logical deductions have to be built upon sound premises. One mistake at the beginning can send you in a completely false direction.

"You are certainly a very ingenious person," he said; "it could not have been done better in a book.

I love when the characters get meta.

This is a very snide remark in context, but of course Father Brown proves himself.

Mr Brown broke into a rather childish giggle. "Well, that," he said, "that's the silliest part of the whole silly story. When our juggling friend here threw up the three glasses in turn, he counted them aloud as he caught them, and also commented aloud when he failed to catch them. What he really said was: 'One, two and three—missed a glass one, two—missed a glass.' And so on."

I can’t explain how deeply I love that the entire mystery is built on a pun. This one section is the reason this is one of my favorite Father Brown stories.

This drives home the idea that mysteries and jokes are the same types of story. They both require laying out information that’s put together into a surprising conclusion.

There was a second of stillness in the room, and then everyone with one accord burst out laughing.  As they did so the figure in the corner complacently uncoiled all the ropes and let them fall with a flourish.  Then, advancing into the middle of the room with a bow, he produced from his pocket a big bill printed in blue and red, which announced that ZALADIN, the World's Greatest Conjurer, Contortionist, Ventriloquist and Human Kangaroo would be ready with an entirely new series of Tricks at the Empire Pavilion, Scarborough, on Monday next at eight o'clock precisely.

I grew up on cheesy sitcoms. I’m a sucker for the “everyone laughs” ending.

If Todhunter’s willing to admit the truth here, he could have saved himself a lot of trouble by just admitting the truth right away. (I don’t buy the “he keeps it secret to keep his tricks secret” explanation. You can tell people you’d a magician without giving away everything about your act).

Does Mrs. MacNab let them get married? Now she knows he has a harmless vocation, but it’s not exactly a stable one. Would she let her daughter marry a guy so flighty that he can’t even settle on a coherent focus for his own stage show?

Given that the story ends here, we’re supposed to assume that she does. I guess he must be a successful performer--part of her mistrust came from the fact that he had too much money. So he and Maggie should have a comfortable life together.

I’m glad. He seems like a nice young man.

[veorlian]

honey tongue

The stories will tell you that falling in love with your best friend is as easy as breathing, that it's the height of romance. Varric Tethras had written far too many stories to believe that crock of nonsense.

my submissions for @hightown-funk are up!! here’s the first one <3

read it on ao3 here

The Hanged Man was legendary for two things: bar fights, and ale that was at least 50% vinegar. There were also the suspiciously sticky floors, the rooms you could rent by the hour, and enterprising individuals keen on relieving you of all that burdensome coin you had on you. It was what people had come to expect. The barkeep had offered a higher-quality ale once, and the regulars had stormed out in protest. And Maker have mercy if they ever decide to clean the place up a bit. There’d be riots in the streets.

Well. More riots than usual, at least.

Marian Hawke spent most evenings in the Hanged Man. The petty crime and general chaos faded into the periphery as she played Wicked Grace with her friends. It was replaced with a different kind of petty crime and chaos, but at least this was hers.

And speaking of chaos, at the moment Varric was regaling the crowd with the tale of their most recent trip to the Bone Pit. There was a rough semi-circle of regulars standing around Varric, with the kind of slack-jawed, wide-eyed expressions that normally accompanied one of his particularly tall tales.

He was in fine form. Marian had never quite figured out how he could look so laid back and engaged at the same time. She’d tried it once. Carver had just said that she looked constipated. Varric made it look easy. He made most things look easy.

“And then Hawke raised her sword and leaped through the air, landing on the dragon’s back, killing it in a single blow—”

“It was already mostly dead,” Garrett called. Marian flipped him off. A few of the stragglers towards the back of Varric’s audience turned to face the two of them.

“It was not,” Marian tossed back.

“Was too."

Marian rolled her eyes at her brother and leaned forward on the pitted table.

“Hey Varric, tell them about the part where I did a sick back-flip off of the dragon—”

“And fell on your ass—” Garrett interrupted. More of Varric’s audience turned now, their eyes bouncing back and forth between the twins like a tennis match.

“And landed perfectly and took a little bow,” Marian finished, pointedly ignoring Garrett. She kept her eyes fixed on Varric’s face, and the wry little twist of his lips.

“Of course! How could I forget,” he said, his eyes dancing. “As she struck the killing blow, the dragon came crashing down to the ground. Hawke gracefully leapt off of its back, landing neatly on the ground.”

“I can’t believe this,” Garrett complained. Varric continued to regale the audience with tales of the twins’ exploits. Marian patted Garrett on the arm in a way expertly calculated to be both patronizing and comforting.

“Sorry little brother, it’s just not very dramatic when you wave your fancy baton around,” Marian replied. “Doesn’t have the same impact as a bigass sword.”

“Last I checked, fireball has a hell of an impact,” Garrett shot back.

“Potato, potahto,” Marian said dismissively.

“There’s only one way to settle this,” he said. He rolled up his sleeves and set an elbow down on the table, his hand open. Marian smiled crookedly and did the same. Varric lost his audience again, as they formed a loose circle around the table. There was the clink of coin changing hands, and an exaggerated sigh and eye roll from Carver.

“My money’s on Hawke,” Isabela called.

“Which one?” Garrett and Marian asked in unison.

“Whichever one wins,” Isabela said cheerfully.

“I’m not sure that’s how that works,” Merrill murmured anxiously. Isabela waved her away airily and tossed a few coins on the table.

“Have you seen how ripped I am? Of course I’m gonna win,” Garrett said. Marian snorted and shook her head.

“Bigass sword. Fancy baton,” she said. She gripped Garrett’s hand, and the arm wrestling began. It was evenly matched, as most things were with the twins. But not for nothing did Marian swing around a giant hunk of metal nearly the same height as herself.

She slammed Garrett’s hand down into the table, grinning widely.

“Best two out of three,” he said immediately. She laughed and shook her head.

“You lost fair and square,” she said cheerfully. Garrett flipped her off and went to refill his drink. Marian glanced up to find Varric making his way over to the table, settling in his customary spot at her side.

“You couldn’t wait until I was done?” Varric asked agreeably. Marian shrugged nonchalantly.

“Not my fault your admirers couldn’t resist the lure of my rippling muscles,” she said. “You’ll just need to make me sound even cooler. What if I had a sword for a hand?”

“No good,” Varric replied, shaking his head, “it’d interfere too much with the romance scenes.”

“Varric, I’m not exactly seeing a lot of that kind of action at the moment,” Marian said dryly. “Let me have a giant sword for a hand. It’d be cool as hell.”

“C’mon Hawke, a romance plot is always more compelling. Why not ask the pirate?” he said, gesturing to Isabela. Isabela caught the motion and winked broadly at them. “I can see it now; a daring love story, set against the backdrop of a ship tossed at sea. Readers love that stuff.” Marian snorted derisively and shook her head.

“I’ve got enough going on trying to stop this city from going to hell,” she complained. There was a deep ache in her chest that she couldn’t quite place. Fortunately, she didn’t have to think about it for very long, because Garrett arrived back at the table, his arms full of terrible beer.

“How come I never get the big dramatic retellings?” he griped.

“Because you keep heckling me,” Varric said dryly. “Plus, you’re not as good-looking.”

Marian’s heart stuttered and fully came to a stop. She ducked her head to hide the blush that threatened to set her face on fire. What the hell…?

“Nonsense, I’m the prettiest person in Kirkwall,” Garrett said primly.

“C’mon, we all know that’s Merrill,” Marian said, swallowing down her embarrassment. A crooked grin spread across her face. “At least, that’s what Carver always says.”

“Hey—” Carver began.

The ensuing chaos and overlapping voices covered up the weird and alarming thoughts floating through Marian’s head.

 Plus, you’re not as good-looking.

Did Varric think she was good-looking?

Andraste’s sacred knickers, did that actually matter to her? Marian tossed back her drink in one go and stumbled to the bar to grab another.

Somewhere between the witching hours of 2am and 4am, the others traipsed out. Now, Marian was good at traipsing. She’d elevated it from a science to an art. She could traipse with the best of them. But when 4am rolled around, she didn’t.

It was a weekly ritual at this point, and it happened more often now that she was in that stuffy old mansion. Such a big place, but it felt like the walls were constantly creeping in on her. More than a few hours there and she felt like she couldn’t breathe.

And so.

“Varric, don’t make me walk all the way back to Hightown,” she would groan, and he would chuckle that warm chuckle that brought the blood rushing to her ears. Probably just the alcohol, she always thought.

“Alright, you can stay just this once,” he would say, and she would flash him a crooked grin.

“You’re my favourite.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, serrah,” he’d say. She’d generally waggle her eyebrows at him suggestively, and they’d both laugh.

She didn’t remember when the flirting had started. A few minutes after they’d met, she figured. It was just a part of them, both of them. An easy way to keep everyone at arm’s reach. If they both agreed that it didn’t mean anything, then there was no harm no foul.

After all, it’s not like anything was ever going to come of it. Varric was happily married to a crossbow, and he’d repeatedly told her that he wasn’t into humans. So that was that. Marian was perfectly happy being Varric’s best friend and partner-in-crime.

And if she couldn’t sleep these days without hearing the gentle scritching of his quill on parchment, well, no one needed to know that. … Varric Tethras was a storyteller, most comfortable staying unobtrusively on the sidelines of a tale. It was safest that way really. Fewer people shooting at you, for one.

He couldn’t remember when it had started, becoming a part of Hawke’s story. He hadn’t been, at first. He’d been a plot device, a quest-giver just tagging along.

“You won’t even notice I’m here,” he’d told her. Varric Tethras: such a gifted liar that sometimes he almost convinced himself.

It had shifted by inches, their friendship. They’d gotten along almost instantly, like they’d just been waiting for the other to come along. So it was natural for them to spend most of their time together. And then it was natural for her to sleep on his couch when she was too drunk to walk home. His palatial suite at the Hanged Man was her palatial suite. That was all perfectly natural and normal and fine.

Until it wasn’t.

He couldn’t fall asleep these days until he heard her snoring (she and Dog seemed to be in a competition for who could be the loudest. On occasion it shook the dilapidated rafters).

She’d slipped into his life as easy as breathing. Easier, in some ways. So many little rituals. Like putting extra jokes into his manuscripts, just for her.

“Hey Hawke, you think you could give this a read for me?” he asked. She glanced up from where she was lounging on one of his chairs. She arched an eyebrow, a slow grin spreading across her face.

“Am I going to blush?” she asked. He chuckled and shook his head.

“I just want to make sure that I’ve got the character right,” he replied.

“Aw, you’re no fun,” she said cheerfully, already on her feet and moving to lean over his shoulder. She rested an elbow on top of his head, like he was an armrest. He cleared his throat pointedly.

“Problem, serah Tethras?” she asked innocently.

“Hands off the merchandise,” he said easily. She leaned down to meet his eyes, her haphazardly cut bangs flopping in her face.

“I think you’ll find it’s my elbow on the merchandise. Very different part of the body,” she pointed out. To prove her point, she shifted her arm and rested her hand on his shoulder instead. He rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t quite keep the smile off of his face.

“Just read the damn passage,” he said. She shrugged and turned her attention to the page. She hadn’t moved her hand, and the warmth slowly seeped into him. He realized with a start that he was leaning into her touch. What the hell?

The smell of cinnamon and honey drifted through the room. Not that that was unusual either. It clung to every part of the room. Even his trademark leather coat smelled permanently of cinnamon and honey, from that tea she drank at all hours of the day and night.

He missed it, when it wasn’t there.

He knew she’d gotten to the unflattering description of the Knight-Captain when she began to laugh. He thought her laugh was the best thing he’d ever heard. It wasn’t graceful by any means, caught somewhere between a cackle and a snort. But she laughed with her full body, like it was the funniest thing she’d heard in her life. Joyful, reckless abandon.

It was beautiful. She was beautiful.

 Oh.

With Hawke’s hand digging into his shoulder, her laughter ringing in his ears, the smell of cinnamon and honey on the air, Varric Tethras realized that he was in love.

Shit. … The stories will have you believe that revelations of love are dramatic, that they’re accompanied by flights of angels or some other shit like that. Marian Hawke had heard too many love stories to believe in them anymore.

She was sprawled along the couch leafing through Varric’s latest draft of The Tale of the Champion. She liked to leave little notes and doodles in the margins. It drove Varric’s editor up the wall. She heard Varric’s familiar footfalls coming up the stairs.

“Hey, you forgot to mention the bit where I single-handedly took down a chimera,” she called, not looking up. Varric hummed noncommittally in response. She glanced up from the page to study him. He was swaying slightly on his feet, eyes a little unfocused as he leaned against the doorframe.

“You okay?” she asked. “Merchant’s Guild crap?”

A ghost of a smile flickered across his face and he shook his head, running a hand through his graying hair.

“No, it’s not that,” he said. Marian’s eyebrows knitted together, and she shifted on the couch to make room for him. When he didn’t move, she pointedly patted the space next to her. When he still didn’t move, she made her way across the room to meet him.

“Then what is it, Varric? Crossbow troubles?” she asked. He looked away and his hand came up to rub at the back of his neck.

“Marian, I��” Record scratch, freeze frame. Varric never called her Marian. Never anything than Hawke, actually. He’d never even given her a nickname, like he had all the others. She was just Hawke.

“Didn’t realize you knew my name,” she managed. Another faint smile, only barely reaching his eyes. It was gone as soon as it came.

“Shit, I’m not good at this kind of thing,” he said. The smell of cheap ale and whiskey clung to him like a second skin.

“What kind of thing? You’re freaking me out, Varric.”

His warm amber eyes turned up to meet hers. Carefully, seemingly giving her every opportunity to move away, he reached up a hand on her face. Distantly, she realized he must be standing on his tip-toes. She might have laughed, if he hadn’t gently tugged her face down towards him.

His lips were softer than she’d imagined they’d be. His calloused hands tangled in her short hair, bringing her closer. She could taste the faint touch of alcohol on his tongue as her mouth slanted over his.

She looped an arm around his waist and easily lifted him up into the air.

“Hawke, put me down,” he said indignantly. She laughed breathlessly against his mouth.

“My shoulders were getting sore from bending over,” she said. She wound her free hand through his hair and tugged him back to kiss her again. She realized suddenly that she would be quite happy staying right here, like this, for the rest of her life. Well, maybe with a stool. She was strong, but Varric was sturdy. He’d probably whack her on the arm if she told him that though.

She set Varric down on the table, standing between his legs and bringing both hands up to cup his face.

“Better?” she whispered. He grumbled something indistinct and unflattering that was abruptly cut off as she began to trail kisses down to his neck.

“Would you believe that I’ve wanted to do this for years?” he rasped. Hawke stilled. And then, she began to laugh, resting her forehead against Varric’s.

“Well, there’s no call to be rude,” he said. She pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, still chuckling.

“I have as well,” she said at last.

“Ah,” Varric managed. And then, “So, what now?”

“You in a rush, Tethras?” Marian asked. She gently tipped his chin up to face her. “Seems to me we’ve got all the time in the world.”

“So we do,” he said, and he kissed her again.

[razorblade180-heated]

Plugged

[Lewd!!!!]

Anniversaries, they’re important as hell. You would think after the first one that it would be less important or you don’t have to be as extravagant. That’s really stupid logic, and luckily Oscar wasn’t stupid. However, he was sad. Today marked the three year anniversary with Penny as his girlfriend but she had work tonight. Now he was in his shared apartment watching movies on the couch upside down with Jaune. It wasn’t terrible, but Oscar would much rather be doing his best to show Penny a good time at the beach picnic he’d plan. The moon was full tonight and everything!

The movie soon reached its credits and Jaune looked over at his clearly lovesick roommate. “Wanna watch another movie?”

“I didn’t really want to watch this one, and why am I the only one watching these upside down?”

Jaune tilted his head to see the boy's expression. “Because I was tired of seeing that sad pouty face. Buck up! You rescheduled your date for this weekend. That’s two days away!”

“But it feels less special…” Oscar groaned.

Jaune looked at him in disbelief. “I swear you’re just a male Ruby. She thinks like that.”

“I don’t know how I feel about that coming from you. Are you coming on to me Jaune?” Oscar smirked to make him uncomfortable. “Did you pick me as a roommate because I remind you of your girlfriend? How scandalous.”

Jaune chucked a pillow at Oscar and caused him to fall over on the floor and laugh. Jaune would be mortified but at least Oscar was smiling.

“Do not make those jokes young man! I fully believe Ruby would be down to clown with both of us now that you’re eighteen.”

“Uhh, I’m taken, remember?”

“Do you honestly believe Penny wouldn’t okay it? Ruby set you two up and your girlfriend is nice enough to let Ruby pull a crazy idea like that.”

Oscar’s face turned a little red. Jaune was not wrong. Penny would totally say “sounds neat” then give him a thumbs up. That was the thing about dating her, she was curious about everything the world had to offer. Especially with relationships. Not that he wasn’t, but such an idea was….

“Keep your mind out of the gutter Oscar.” Ozpin chimed in, internally. “Typical, haven’t slept with anyone and yet you fantasize the more advanced things. Oh virgins.”

Oscar’s face got redder.“Shut up! Just because you know I thought about it doesn’t mean you gotta bring it up.”

“Someone has to call you out on it.”

“Then let it be the person who actually pays rent.”

“Oh I’m sorry, who got you your job? Who works the night shifts when you’re sleepy? Maybe I should lock myself away whenever it’s time to pull a double?”

Oscar sucked on his teeth for a minute. “Oz…” he said kindly, “Let’s not fight, or do anything drastic.”

“Look at the tv.” Oz said bluntly.

Oscar looked at it to see his reflection. It crossed its arms and rolled its eyes before returning to normal. Oscar knew he was the only one seeing that but it never stopped being weird. Especially after the marathon of horror movies he did with Penny one time. Oz made sure to use every scare tactic imaginable that night. He just can’t help himself sometimes.

Jaune finally found another to watch but didn’t get the chance to play it. The doorbell rang, causing him to spring up and answer it.

“Expecting someone?” Oscar asked.

Jaune looked through the peephole and smiled. “Kinda sorta” he opened the door and Penny jumped inside the room wearing Oscar’s green flannel and ripped blue jean shorts: along with brown snow boots. A picnic basket was on her left shoulder and Ruby around her right.

“Happy Anniversary!!!”

“PENNY!!?” Oscar screamed. He immediately stood up to look less lame and opened his arms to his rapidly approaching girlfriend. He wasn’t expecting her to jump into his arms though. Oscar braced his body for impact but was surprised when she landed in his arms no heavier than a regular girl. 130 pounds at best, which was nothing to him. He could swing her.

“Hey you’re in you’re in your polymer shell. I thought you had work?”

Ruby raised her hand. “I stole her.”

Jaune and Oscar looked at each other highly concerned. They didn’t need Atlas military busting down their door and dragging them to jail. Ruby broke out into a laugh from their expressions.

“Relax, I’m just joking. We begged James. He’s such a softie.”

“I’ve also put in more hours than usual in preparation for this day!” Penny kissed Oscar’s cheek and couldn’t hide her excitement. Not like she ever did. In a way, she was like Ruby but more outgoing. Oscar couldn’t help but think about what Jaune said earlier. Maybe Jaune saw all of us like Ruby. That’s a weird thought.

As happy as he was, Oscar couldn’t help notice the picnic basket.

“Penny, is that for the food?”

“Of course! What else would I use it for?”

Oscar let out a defeated sigh. “I don’t know but we should figure that out because I didn’t cook anything because we rescheduled.”

Penny opened her mouth but nothing came out. She turned to Ruby who was face palming. Jaune clapped his hands together and mimicked Oscar’s sigh.

“Welp! At least you two are together!” Jaune smiled, saving the positive energy in the room.

“Yeah!” Penny tossed the basket on the couch. “Home cooking isn’t the most important thing. Who needs it?”

Ruby went to their fridge and opened it. She couldn’t believe just how food was stuffed in it. Oscar was going all out this time. Ruby closed the fridge and pulled out their pots. “New plan, the two of you cook the food and have dinner here. It would suck for the food to spoil.”

Oscar thought about it. “What about you two?”

“It’s an anniversary, not a double date. We’ll just go to my place.” Ruby answered.

“Why does this sound like an elaborate plan for you to sleep with Jaune?”

“Hahaha! I don’t need a plan for that.” Ruby smiled at Jaune but he squinted at her.

“Just because it’s true doesn’t me you have to say it.” He grabbed his shoes and took his girlfriend by the hand to leave.

Ruby waved her friends goodbye and winked before closing the door. Oscar thought Ruby was a little more gitty than usual. It had been a couple of weeks since her and Jaune were together so something was bound to go down between them. Penny took off her shoes and put her hands on Oscar’s shoulders. She positioned him over the couch and made him sit.

“Ummmm Penny?”

“Since I made the plans derail, I’ll cook and you find something nice to put on for the both of us okay?”

“But that’s kinda unf-”

Penny leaned down and pressed her lips gently against Oscar’s. The kiss felt like it was minutes long but must’ve only been several seconds. Strange, it felt a little warmer than usual. Penny pulled back and smiled her usual beautiful smile, then walked to the kitchen. That kiss scattered Oscar’s thoughts, so he stared at the tv for a minute before remembering to find a movie. If he objected then Penny would simply stun him with another kiss. A nice way to say “shut up”but she’d probably end up burning food if he constantly distracted her.

Oscar grabbed the remote and began scrolling, his reflection in the tv moving on its own again. It paced from side to side while rubbing his chin.

“Don’t you find this a bit odd?” Oz asked.

“Yeah, please stop walking in front of the synopsis.”

“That’s not what I- sorry.” He stepped to the side. “I was referring to your anniversary.”

“What’s so odd about it?”

“You had plans, had to reschedule, then the plans went back to normal unexpectedly, but it’s fine because Ruby already had a solution that works well for everyone. Even Mr. Arc didn’t seem too surprised.”

Oscar shrugged, “You think too much.”

“Gah! So you’re not even going to entertain the idea of something going on? Though I suppose since Penny can’t lie, this could really be coincidence.”

The clicking and presses slowly came to a halt. Now he was rubbing his chin. What Oz said was true. Penny can’t lie because she’ll hiccup however, she didn’t tell him in person. Penny texted him and Ruby can plan tricks as easy as killing grimm. Oz sensed Oscar’s doubt.

“You know I’m right. No way they would just forget that you were in charge of food and had to cook it. I’m sure there’s a harmless explanation but you know, keep your wits about.”

“I could just ask her.”

“Boring but effective. Whatever floats your boat.” Oz finally left the young man alone to his devices. Oscar didn’t appreciate the jab he just took.

“Pfft, you’re boring.” Oscar directed his attention to Penny. She was so focused on preparing the meal that she hadn’t noticed he was looking right at her. He really was lucky to have her. She would probably say Oscar was exaggerating but he genuinely believed that she gave him all the happiest he could ever ask for. Days simply couldn’t be terrible as long as Penny stood by him, even when things got rough. Scheme or no scheme, Oscar didn’t worry. He knew Penny. Good intentions ran through her more than anybody else on Remnant.

xxxx

“Food’s ready!” Penny chanted as she carried two plates with steak, sliced potatoes, and fresh greens over to the small coffee table in front of the tv so they can watch movies while they eat. Oscar never got enough of her smile. It might’ve been because he was a little hungry and he knew her cooking was better than his but right now, Oscar wanted to marry this girl. One day hopefully, on another anniversary.

“Have I ever told you how happy I am to be with you?”

Penny’s face grew a little red. “All the time, and yet it still feels unreal admittedly.” She rubbed the back of her head and laughed sheepishly. “I don’t think I’ll ever get over it.”

Oscar gave her a quick kiss and smiled. “Happy anniversary. Wait here while I get your gift.”

Her eyes lit up with excitement as she watched him walk off to his room and come out with a small rectangular box. “Aww, you didn’t have to get me anything.”

“Penny, you built me a car last year. I can’t reach that level of awesome but I’m at least going to spoil you every chance I get. It would be a crime if I got you nothing.”

“You make it sound like building a car would be hard. It’s way easier than most of the things Atlas military creates on a daily basis.”

“No matter what you say, you’re not gonna downplay that gift. Anyways…” he handed her the box.

Penny wasted no time unwrapping the paper and opening it.The girl’s eyes got bigger and let out a gasp. “Oscar, is this…” she pulled out a golden chain that had a heart shaped locket on it that had intricate carvings of what looked like branches. Her finger lifted the top up and inside was two gears that spun. One green, and the other orange.

“No matter the inside, you’re as natural as nature itself.” Oscar said. “I’m not the greatest at making things like this but-”

“I love you.”

Her words caught him off guard and made his heart skip a beat. He looked at his girlfriend who had gotten a little teary eyed. She put the locket on and gave a heartfelt smile. “Well, how does it look?”

“Perfect…” that was all Oscar could manage to say. He didn’t know why but he felt so embarrassed. She never failed to make him feel so flustered. That’s love for you, it always made every minute feel extraordinary and uncharted territory.

“So...I guess it’s my turn to explain my present to you.” Penny said, anxiously rubbing her finger across the couch cushion.

“Man, I thought the highlight was the surprise appearance and you cooking dinner. There’s more?”

“Oh yeah.” Penny laughed nervously. “Oscar, you know you always say that you’re perfectly happy with the way things are between us, despite us not necessarily being a normal couple?”

“Yeah, why?” Penny could hear a bit of concern in his voice and started getting frazzled.

“Don’t worry! I feel the same way!” A hiccup came out right as she finished that statement, making her cover her mouth instinctively. Now Oscar looked really concerned.

“Umm, you sure about that?” He asked, pensively.

This conversation was going nowhere fast. Penny tried to do collateral damage as fast as she could.

“No no no, it’s not what you think! Honestly I’m super happy. It’s just….”

Oscar raised his eyebrow and tilted his head. “Just…?”

This was harder to say than Penny thought. The words were there but she couldn’t put them together right. All that information at her disposal and here she was, struggling with simple sentences. Penny took a deep breath and started over.

“Oscar, you love me the way that I am. You’ve had since the beginning. I didn’t have to change a single thing about me but I did anyway so we could enjoy each other’s company better. Like this polymer model so we could do things like go swimming.”

“Yeah, sinking to the bottom of a lake wasn’t the best first date experience.”

They both chuckled at that memory. Time sure did fly.

“Precisely. Then there were other upgrades over time to help me feel more human. Receptors for, taste, eating in general, heat, touch…” her trailed off.

Oscar’s focus was broken for a moment when the sound of Oz’s voice started speaking to him.

“Oscar I’m going to lock myself in your head for awhile so don’t expect any help with anything. Good luck.”

He wasn’t sure what Oz meant by that but he didn’t get the chance to ask before he felt the man’s presence leave. Oscar focused on Penny again who had gotten closer to him on the couch. There was practically no space between them as they sat side by side.

Oscar felt Penny take his hand. Had she always been this warm? Felt this...soft? It was more natural than usual. Maybe she got another upgrade? That was common.

“Oscar, I...I feel so normal around you. Things that usually make me feel out of place, well I don’t get that feeling with you.”

“I feel the same way. As far as I’m concerned, we are a normal couple Penny.”

“Then shouldn’t we be doing normal couple things? The things Ruby and Jaune do?”

That question lingering in the air momentarily for Oscar as his girlfriend stared at him, red blush spread across her face. His own face started to get red the more he acknowledged what Penny had just said. He watched the girl lean closer to him until he had no choice but to prop himself up with his forearm as Penny took the bold move to straddle him. She gently took his hand and placed it on her right boob, squeezing it slightly. Oscar felt like he was about to pass out.

“P-Penny?”

“I didn’t have work today.” She admitted. “With the help of Ceil, Ruby and I managed to get me some upgrades I’ve wanted for a while. Like better touch sensitivity, the way my skin feels, and other...components.”

Both of them were a blushing mess at that last part. Oscar was smart enough to know what she meant. The reason however, that escaped him a little.

“Why go through all this? I mean, I never went into this expecting you to do something like this for me.”

“Because even if you’re happy with me emotionally, I don’t want to rob you of the physical experience a real girl could provide. I know you try and I hide it but you’re still a boy with needs.”

He couldn’t deny that. There were many times he looked at Penny or thought of her in a physical way that made his imagination go a little rampant. He was young after all, and she was so beautiful. Oscar felt a little guilty for not being upfront about it with her and avoided her gaze. Penny reached for his face though and turned it back towards her. She wanted to see those beautiful eyes of his when she confessed.

“ I did it for myself as well. Oscar I want to be close to you, feel connected to you. Doing this, is a thing I put a lot of thought into. I wanna try at least once. So please, will you have sex with me?”

She was nervous, down right terrified of what Oscar might say. Was this too much as once? Would he deny her request? Oscar was just looking up into her eyes silently with no indication on what was going through his mind. Penny was beginning to think this was a terrible mistake and removed his hand. She started to move off of him when Oscar suddenly sat up. His hand wrapped around her waist and Penny yelped as he placed her on his lap. Now they’re face to face, inches away from each other with red tint darker than Ruby’s hair.

“Oscar?” Penny whispered, anxiously waiting for him to speak. The way he leaned in compelled her to do the same.

“Penny, stop saying you’re not a real girl.” Oscar pressed his lips against hers. He could feel them tremble slightly before returning the embrace with more than equal force, rubbing Oscar’s chin at slightly pulling down on it to slide her tongue in. The sudden act gave Oscar shivers and made him pull her in closer. This wasn’t their first kiss like this, but it was definitely the first time it made Oscar this anxious. The tension he felt right now to stop himself from going too far or fast felt like he was playing tug o'war against a Goliath. That feeling went away the moment a small and fleeting warmth hit his face. Oscar broke off the kiss to see Penny teary eyed. The girl let out a giggle and started wiping them away.

“Penny are you okay? Did I-”

“Don’t worry, it’s not you. Well it is you technically.” She lightly giggled again. “I’m just really happy right now, that’s all. Let’s keep going okay?”

Her arms went on either side of his shoulders and wrapped around. Oscar gave the girl what she wanted and went right back to kissing her. She felt warm, very warm. Oscar couldn’t explain it but made him want to touch her more. Before he knew it, Oscar had leaned forward until Penny had no choice but to lay down on the couch and let him hover over him, not that it bothered her one bit. To see him be this into it was exciting to say the least.

The feel of his lips ended again when Oscar had no choice but to catch his breath Penny was ready for him to come back for more but was surprised when his face went past her own. Suddenly her body flinched the moment she felt him kiss and nip at her neck. Now she really didn’t know what to feel! This was something he hadn’t done before but it made her hard to lay still. His teeth gently grazed her until one nip sunk in more than the others.

“Aaa~” a moan finally slipped out from her and Penny quickly covered her mouth while Oscar stopped to look at her, also surprised. He honestly wasn’t sure if that was going to do anything for her. Apparently it did.

“You good?” He smirked.

Penny nodded and uncovered her mouth. “I don’t think I’ve ever made that sound before.”

“Well...today is going to be full of it hopefully.” Oscar grabbed the bottom of his orange shirt and pulled it over his head, freeing him from the stuffy fabric.

Penny only watched from underneath him. It was hard to believe when they first met that he was shorter than her and tiny. Now he was 5’10 and had a physique of an expert huntsman. His shoulders had gotten broad and there was practically no fat on him. His chest widened out and he was cut! Ruby had compared him to a pro swimmer before. His skin had gathered a handful of scars over the years. A couple along his torso and a few more faded ones on his arms. She was pretty sure there was more on his back too. Him and Jaune were almost the same bulk. It made her wonder if Jaune had looked like Oscar at fourteen. That thought was interrupted when the feeling of his fingertips went across her collarbone and down to the first bottom of her shirt. He had kept his gloves on for some reason but honestly, Penny thought it was pretty attractive. Ruby has clearly influenced her taste.

It only took a few seconds for Oscar to unbutton her shirt completely.

“Woah...” Oscar said without thinking.

He hadn’t noticed earlier but she wasn’t wearing a bra like usual, probably so he wouldn’t fumble with it. Today really was planned. That didn’t make seeing Penny’s bare chest any less of a hurdle. They were somewhere in the middle of Weiss and Ruby’s, but perkier. Not to mention her nipples were real pink and a little puffy.

Penny could feel his stare on her and it made her turn her head to the side. Something about it made it really hard to think and breathe a little heavier, which only made Oscar more turned on. It didn’t help that she was technically still in his shirt and the necklace he just gave her dangled around her neck.

“You’re breathtaking…”

His words made her face feel hot and ears red. “Can you not stare too much? It’s embarra-ahhh!”

Oscar’s hands gently grabbed the orbs and massaged them as he bent down and started kissing her stomach, scattered with freckles.

His kisses were slow and deliberate. Causing Penny to moan or gasp anytime his tongue pressed against her before his lips sucked on that spot as he made his way down her now arching body.

“Oscar…” was all she could manage to moan. How was he so good at this? Was he good, or was she a lightweight like Ruby had described to her? She just knew she liked this feeling. It was easy to understand why people talked up sex, why Oscar was so clearly eager despite not telling her directly. Her eyes shut tightly every time his thumbs methodically traced around her nipples, causing her to suck air in through her teeth. The fact this was foreplay only made Penny more excited for the main part.

Finally she was given a moment to relax. Penny propped herself up with one forearm to see Oscar unbuckle her shorts. Penny raised her hips up again for him to pull the fabric off, flinging it on the ground. Despite the flannel, she only had frilly pink panties on now that had become more than a little damp. Oscar thought now would be a good time to remove his own pants. He sat up to undo them but Penny unexpectedly grabbed his wrist. Her face at waist level to him as she was on her hands and knees, while Oscar rested on his knees.

“Let me.” She said in a voice that Oscar couldn’t begin to describe, but it made him gulp. Penny’s nimble fingers made quick work of the button and purposely slow work of the zipper. Oscar lifted one leg up at a time for her to pull his pants off. Now they were more or less in the same boat in terms of nudity. Penny couldn’t help but stare at the bulge in her boyfriend’s dark blue boxers. She reached out to touch it and wasn’t expecting to hear Oscar let out a light groan as it throbbed in her hand. Penny looked up to see Oscar red in the face and avoided eye contact with her.

“Did that...feel good?” She asked, genuinely wondering.

“More than it probably should’ve.” He admitted. “It feels different when...it isn’t me touching it, better.” He added.

“I see, do you...touch yourself often? Penny didn’t know why but asking such questions felt so overwhelming. Her hand gave the clothed shaft a few more gent strokes, earning another groan. Penny didn’t know Oscar’s voice could sound so husky and deep.

“Every so often.” Oscar couldn’t stop his hips from pressing more into Penny’s hand until she hooked his waistband and pulled his boxers down. She let out a little “eep” the moment his manhood sprung out. It was different from textbooks, bigger. Half a foot maybe? It was about as wide though. Penny put her hand around it as much as she could. She wasn’t expecting it to feel so hot, so alive. Her hand started stroking it without even thinking. Again she was rewarded with the sound of Oscar’s voice. Penny really liked that voice. Another personal question came to mind that she couldn’t help but know.

“When you touched yourself, did you think of me?” Her breathing got a little heavy asking that. It was enough to make Oscar twitch and throb even more in her hand.

“Yes!”

Penny had no more questions, nothing else going through her head. Just the reaction to close her eyes and wrap her lips against Oscar’s searing length, gradually sinking her head down it before coming back up to the top, then down again.

“F-Penny!!!” Oscar shouted. He tried his best not to buck his hips but he couldn’t help himself. Penny used her free hand to grab his and rest it on her head. Her tongue slid around his manhood while she picked up the pace. His attempts to stay gentle made her really happy but it was clear to her that Oscar had forgotten something he didn’t have to worry about with her. Penny had a lot of things that made her more human in terms of design, a gag reflex wasn’t one of them.

Every second, Penny could feel him move more and more. All she could taste and smell right now was Oscar and the arousal that leaked out of him. Penny hummed lightly which only Oscar thrust a little harder, turning the hum into more of a moan. It didn’t take long before the sound of Oscar moaning joined the mix of scandalous sounds in the living room.

“Wait Penny, Penny I’m…!!!”

She was too lost in the moment to really register his plea. A couple of moments later and she felt Oscar grip her head especially tight, his body tensing up as he came. The taste from earlier had suddenly gotten a lot more potent. Penny’s eyes widened as ropes of seed were shot into her mouth. Still, she kept sucking just a little longer just to make sure nothing spilled out when she finally removed herself from him. Unsurprisingly, he was still hard. Ruby had told her that it was pretty common for young men to recover in no time at all, especially if they’re pent up.

Penny sat on her knees and looked up at Oscar, who had gotten a little sweaty and was breathing heavy. She was feeling pretty proud of herself right now.

Oscar had a million feelings right now and didn’t know exactly where to start. “That was… really good.” He huffed. “Let me get you a napkin so you can spit-” Oscar saw Penny gulp down his cum right before he could finish his sentence. If he wasn’t hard and blushing before, that would’ve done it.

“Sorry, what were you saying?” Penny said, still chipper about what just happened.

“Nothing, just…that won’t mess anything up internally will it?”

“Oscar if I can eat food then I can swallow.” She said, grabbing her drink on the small table next to them to wash down whatever might’ve remained in her mouth.

It was hard to argue with that logic. Penny wouldn’t do anything that would compromise herself anyways, he hoped. She did like magnets after all.

Penny put the cup back down next to their untouched food and wrapped her arms around Oscar again. She pulled herself back onto his lap to get a kiss that had somehow gotten more feverish than last time. Oscar’s hands went immediately to her soft and plump rear, grasping it firmly before pinning Penny underneath him again. This was good, she really wanted him to take the lead on this one. The way his erection poked at her inner thighs told Penny she didn’t have much of an option to begin with.

Oscar slid his right hand up her leg and under the then layer of fabric she had left to touch her soaked lips directly. The hold she had on him tightened while she gasped into their kiss. He kept trailing up and down his slit until his middle finger barely pierced her entrance. The heat and grip surrounding the digit was enough on its own to make Oscar shiver.

“I wanted to return the favor of going down on you, but I don’t think I can wait.” He groaned, centimeters from her ear.

“I’m perfectly fine with that. I want you inside of me.” Penny lifted her hips again. Her panties came off faster even than her shorts did, Oscar practically tossed them across the room, making her giggle. She liked this side of him. He was still caring but also very assertive in a way that was new to her.

Penny let out another moan as she felt his length rub against her. Oscar locked eyes with her and gave her a quick peck on the lips.

“This way you don’t have to worry about me staring too much.” He joked. “I love you Penny Polendina.”

Her hand gently reached to grab her new necklace, her other and rubbing the side of his face. “I love you too, Oscar Pine.” She returned the chaste kiss, which quickly turned into a passionate one. Penny bent her knees more and spread her legs wider as Oscar began sliding into her hot entrance. She shut her eyes and moaned deeply, his manhood only a few inches in.

“Go slow please!” Penny gasped. Her body felt weird, but also really good. There was also a slight mixture of pressure that gave her a little discomfort as she was slowly being spread open. Penny could still feel pain after all. If you wanted to experience something good then you had to accept the possible flip side. That was good though. Pleasure, pain, good taste, bad taste, having the full range was ideal; it was normal.

Oscar did his best to go slowly. The way she coiled around him with such heat made him want to lose composure so badly, but he fought the urge. It took a minute before he was finally completely inside of her. Oscar took her left hand then interlocked their fingers. He had never seen Penny look winded before. It was...kinda cute.

“Are you okay?”

“Sen...sational” she giggled, out of breath. It had been awhile since she said that. “You can move when you're ready.”

“You sure?”

“Positive”

Oscar kissed her forehead. “I’ll start off slow.”

“Thank you…” Penny felt so weak right now and she didn’t know how to explain it. All she knew was it felt great. Not only that, being with Oscar like this made her happier than she could’ve imagined.

Oscar carefully started to pull out to the very tip before sinking back into Penny’s depth, making both groan all over again, again, and again. It didn’t take too long for Oscar to get to a rhythm of rocking his hips into Penny. Any pain started to subside and leave pleasure in Penny’s wake as she held onto Oscar by having her arms around his body. Oscar could feel Penny dig in a little into his back the more she moaned and got lost in the moment.

“Faster…” She finally moaned. Oscar didn’t delay in giving her what she wanted, what they wanted. His hips picked up the tempo until the couch started to creak from their love making. Any thought about controlling her moans were thrown out the window. Penny couldn’t resist moaning his name with every thrust that struck her deep inside. The only time noise went down was when the two kissed deeply.

Oscar brought her left leg up and around his lower back, while the right one dangled off the couch. This change in position brought Oscar even deeper than before; to the point Penny’s body arched again, rubbing against his.

“Gods Oscar!” She moaned, “You’re so deep” Penny found herself trying to sync up with Oscar’s rhythm, finding it the moment he grazed a new spot within her wall that made the spasm and Oscar bite down on her neck again.

“You’re so tight. So...ahhh! Penny!” Oscar couldn’t think straight. He could only keep rutting into her like a beast in heat. The apartment echoed the sounds of him slamming into her. It was a good thing he had aura, Oscar might’ve gotten a bruise otherwise. They found themselves staying like this for several minutes. Touching, tasting, hearing the intoxicating pleasure the other was making. As if it was the only thing that would sustain them. If it were up to them, this moment would’ve lasted forever, but neither of them could resist the intense urge building inside of them.

Oscar sat up and grabbed Penny’s hips, stabilizing the both of them as he continued to pump into her. He couldn’t help but stare at the womanhood that enveloped his length. The sight of her arousal covering and dripping off of his length only shortened his fuse. Oscar wanted to cum so badly but not alone. His thumb slid closer inward and started grazing her clit every time he thrusted into her. It gave him the results he was looking for. Penny started gripping the couch cushions and her voice started to get even more pleading.

“Oscar~!!! It’s too much!” She whimpered.

His own limits were finally reaching their end. “Cum Penny! Cum whenever you feel like it.” A thin layer of sweat started to coat Oscar as he tried prolonging the inevitable. “Fuck I’m so close!”

The pressure inside Penny just kept building and building like a knot that kept going pulled tighter. Until finally…

“OSCAR!” Penny felt that knot snap. Her walls mercilessly gripped Oscar with a grip that made him cave in at last, erupting rope after rope inside of her. She felt each one and made her shiver. Penny’s face went completely red. She couldn’t imagine the amount Oscar came. It was more than earlier! Oscar’s body finally came down from the adrenaline and he fell right next to her, thoroughly exhausted. Another thing Penny didn’t have to worry much about. Granted she was a little tired, but could easily be active for days on end still.

The girl looked at her tired boyfriend and rubbed his face. “You okay?”

“Happy Anniversary” he chuckled. Penny did the same and kissed his lips quickly.

“I’m gonna get dressed, put the food up for later, and then we can cuddle here?”

“I don’t deserve you. You’re so wonderful.”

“Not as wonderful as you are. Seriously, thanks for accepting me for me, but also still be willing to accept more of me. Letting me grow, change, and try to feel more...you know.”

“I will always support any version of you that you want to become. Forever and always. My other half.”

“My soulmate.” She rubbed her fingers through his hair as he started to doze off a little. Penny happily hummed and got up to clean.

Oscar laid comfortably on the couch. The presence of Ozpin slowly returning before he fell too deep into sleep.

“Good job. Personally I would’ve used the bed conveniently in the other room but hey, things happen fast.”

“Please tell me you weren’t watching all that?” Oscar groaned.

“Of course not, I believe in privacy. It’s not my fault you’re replaying what just happened. It’s kinda unavoidable, sorry.”

“I don’t care, I just can’t believe it went so well”

“I can, muscle memory remember? This might’ve been your first time but you have a massive pool of prior knowledge. Completely blowing it wasn’t gonna happen. I told you good luck for confidence.”

“How’d you know this would happen? Prior knowledge?”

“Oscar, it could be a faunus, human, android, or Salem, certain cues from women just do not change. I saw it coming a mile away.”

Oscar yawned and sunk deeper into the couch. “I guess it pays to be immortal. You know a lot.”

“A blessing and a curse. Like I know for a fact there’s no way Pietro approved or even knows about this scheme, or whatever upgrades she got for this occasion.”

Oscar’s eyes opened back up. There was no way Oz was wrong was wrong about that. If Oscar wasn’t tired, he’d be freaking out. Instead he simply closed his eyes again.

“I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it.”

xxxx

Ruby laid on Jaune’s bare chest in bed as she went through her scroll during the movie they were supposed to be watching. Their clothes were scattered everywhere and they couldn’t be happier.

“Hey, I got a text from Penny. Looks like the plan worked.”

“Good for them.” Jaune said, playing with her hair. “Pietro is gonna murder him for sure.”

“Good thing you boost aura and healing.”

“Oh, so that’s your grand scheme. Hey, I’m happy to serve.”

“Yeah you are.” She puts down her scroll and straddles Jaune. “Think you can serve me at least one more time?” She took the remote away and smiled.

Jaune couldn’t help but smile too and flip her over to be on top. “I’m always up for your schemes” the two kissed and enjoyed their time together.

[artificialqueens]

Galactica, Chapter 45 (Group Fic) - TheDane/Veronica

A/N: Click here if you’re looking for previous chapters (or here if you’d rather read on AO3). 💫

Last Chapter: Aiden’s jealousy worsened, and Bianca invited Courtney to lunch.

This Chapter: Courtney, Adore and Violet all receive unexpected invitations.

***

It was kind of amazing. How Courtney could be sitting across from one of the most influential, powerful women in New York and feel so...well, comfortable. She knew that any sane person would feel horribly intimidated in this situation, but Bianca just kept on making her laugh so much, it was like she forgot to be nervous. Or...well, she wasn’t exactly not nervous, but it was a fluttery kind of excited nervous, curling pleasantly in her abdomen as they bantered back and forth.

“So...what class are you taking later?” Bianca asked, stirring her latte.

“It’s a street jazz class at BDC,” Courtney replied.

“BDC?” Bianca raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, it stands for Broadway Dance Cen-”

“Yeah, I know what BDC is, I’m not a moron,” Bianca interrupted, and Courtney bit back a laugh, finding her abrasive style somehow endearing. “I just didn’t realize you were a dancer.”

“Oh. I’m not really. I just uh...want to get into music. Eventually. Like, pop music. When I got to New York, I went on a bunch of auditions, and I realized that my dance background was nowhere near strong enough to be competitive-” Courtney stopped abruptly. Was she saying too much? As nice as Bianca was, she was also one of Fame’s best friends.

Bianca didn’t seem concerned though, simply listening, nodding, a soft smile on her face. She really was so beautiful. Courtney’s heart hammered a bit faster.

“Do you mind...um...not telling Miss Fame about that? I don’t want her to think I’m not committed. I just, feel like she’d disapprove, and I really need that job, so-”

“Your secret’s safe with me.” Bianca’s smile deepened, dark eyes shining.

“Thanks.” Courtney smiled back as the waitress set down their food, relieved.

“So how’d you end up at Galactica, anyway? It’s not exactly a direct path from there to being a pop star.”

“Uh, it’s kind of a long story. I was applying for like, any job that would let me stay in the country, and when I saw the opening with Miss Fame, I was thrilled. And then Adore and I were at this club, and we ran into Violet, and...I guess she kind of put in a good word for me.”

“Huh. I wouldn’t have expected that,” Bianca mused.

“Why not?”

“Well, it’s just… Violet’s always seemed a bit...uptight as fuck?”

Courtney had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing out loud, explaining, “She takes her work very seriously.”

“Oh yeah?” One of Bianca’s brows raised a little, challenging. “Do you?”

“Of course! I’m so lucky to have that job, a million girls would kill to be in my shoes. And Miss Fame, you know, she’s a great boss.” Courtney blinked at Bianca, watching her muffle a laugh with her hand. “What?”

“No, nothing. You’re just cute when you lie.”

That fluttery feeling was back in Courtney’s belly, stronger than ever, as she insisted, “I’m not lying! She’s great! You’re her best friend, you should know-”

“Exactly. I’m her best friend. That’s how I know you’re lying.” Bianca bit down on a sweet potato fry, eyes twinkling.

“Okay, maybe she’s a little…”

“Yes?”

“Well, she’s not the easiest boss, or the most predictable, but that doesn’t mean she’s not a good one.” Courtney crossed her arms, a pretend little pout on her lips.

“Fair enough.”

And with that particular landmine safely side-stepped, Courtney let out a relieved sigh.

“Hey, uh, here’s a question. Do you have any Thanksgiving plans? I know you’re not American, so-”

“Really, what gave that away?” Courtney asked, lashes fluttering.

“Lucky guess,” Bianca laughed. “Anyway, Adore and I usually go home to New Orleans. But my sister Liz is going through a divorce and she’s apparently just an absolute cunt to anyone who dares even look at her. So we decided to stay in town and avoid that nightmare altogether.”

“That’s nice. Very supportive.”

“Hey, I’m paying for her attorney,” Bianca defended herself, and Courtney laughed. Of course she was paying for her sister’s divorce attorney; she was quickly proving to be one of the most generous people Courtney’d ever met. “But yeah, so...would you have any interest in joining us?”

“Really?”

“Sure. I know Adore would love to have you there,” Bianca said quickly, and after a moment of hesitation, added, “And hey, I’d like to encourage her to hang out with people who read. So, you know, win win.”

Courtney bit her lip, Bianca’s sarcastic deflection as she folded up a napkin in her hands making the whole thing painfully cute.

“No pressure, I just, uh...wanted you to know you’re welcome.”

“I would love to,” Courtney said, feeling a bit overwhelmed at the invite, knowing that this was a holiday people spent with family. “I should warn you though, I just went vegan.”

“Oh shit, invite rescinded.”

Courtney giggled, twirling a lock of her hair. “I know, I've already lost 3 friends over it. And I think I’m on very thin ice with Adore. Sorry.”

“Nah, it’s no big deal. I actually eat a lot of vegan food, even tried it myself for a few years,” Bianca said. “I am a lesbian, after all.”

Courtney leaned forward, intrigued. “Is that like a thing?”

“Oh yeah,” Bianca nodded.

“Why do you think that is?” Courtney asked, lifting her glass to her lips, trying to find the straw without looking.

Bianca thought for a moment and then said, “Well...part of it is probably just lefty-feminist politics. And then of course there’s the purely unscientific belief that a plant-based diet makes your pussy taste amazing.”

Courtney choked, spitting out some of her smoothie, cheeks flushing hotly.

A mischievous smile spread across Bianca’s face as she handed over some napkins. She looked both terribly amused and a bit proud of herself.

“Sorry,” Courtney sputtered, wiping up the mess. “I was...not prepared for that.”

“I hope I didn’t destroy your innocence,” Bianca said, voice soft and teasing.

“I’m not that fragile. I’ve been Adore’s best friend for 4 years, remember?” Courtney reminded her.

“Right.”

As Courtney set down the napkins, she looked up and caught Bianca’s eyes again, both of them breaking out into matching grins. She couldn’t quite explain the way her heart thumped faster every time they looked at each other--all she knew was that looking into Bianca’s warm brown eyes, she felt better than she had in months.

***

“Fame?”

Patrick toed his shoes off, resisting the urge to dump his tennis bag by the door. He played tennis every other Saturday morning, tennis and his occasional swims the only form of exercise he had ever found bearable, even though Fame had tried to get him turned into yoga more times than he could count.

Patrick waited for a second, either expecting his wife or his dog to come down to greet him, but neither happened, instead,  all he could hear was the faint sound of the TV.

“Fame? Darling?”

Patrick put his bag down, vowing to himself that he’d remember to come back and pick it up, before he made his way into their townhouse.

He found her in the living room. Fame was sitting on the couch in a silk robe, the TV on, the curtains drawn, Charles' head resting on her lap.

“Did you have fun?”

“We finished 5 sets.” Patrick smiled, Fame not actually asking how he had done at tennis, the rules of the game on the long list of things she didn’t care about, though she had shown up to watch him play, the shorts apparently making it worth it. He walked over to the couch, sitting down and leaning in to give his wife a kiss on the cheek, when he felt Fame’s hand on his face, blocking him.

“Don’t-” Fame turned her head, pulling herself away from her show as she looked at Patrick through her fingers. “I just had my skin done, and I refuse to let you mess up my microneedling.”

“Ah. Glad it’s not a chemical peel month.” Fame always looked absolutely insane after those, her skin flaking off. It was rather disgusting, and he tried not to be around for those, seeing your wife shed like a lizard weirdly enough rarely doing wonders for a sex life.

“Shut up.”

Patrick grinned, and Fame smiled as she pushed him back, Patrick settling in on the couch so Fame could snuggle up against him, her head resting on his shoulder. “And what are we watching?”

“Snapped.”

Patrick had to hide a snort, Fame absolutely devouring any and all true crime media. When she’d first gotten addicted to that particular show, all about women who murdered their partners, he’d wonder if she was trying to tell him something. Her response when he’d asked, “Keep asking questions like that and you’ll find out,” had made him burst out laughing, his wife’s sardonic, grisly sense of humor one of the things he loved the most about her, only coming out in rare instances but always a delightful surprise. Almost as surprising as her porcelain chicken collection.

“Your bag better not be flung anywhere.”

Ah.

Busted.

***

Katya hummed to herself as she was setting the table, a bottle of wine for Trixie and sparkling water for her chilling in the fridge.

Trixie was locked up in their bedroom, working away on the cost predictions for the Spring prêt-à-porter collection, sweating over numbers and doing everything he could to make sure everything was running smoothly.

He had promised her to come out for dinner, so Katya had arranged a surprise, a gigantic order of Chipotle on its way.

“Hey Katya?”

Katya looked up from where she had been folding the napkin, to see Pearl leaning against the doorframe, her arms crossed. She was wearing a pair of drop-crotch sweats and a sleeveless jersey tied up around her midriff, certainly not her typical going-out clothes. Was it possible that she was staying in? On a Saturday?

“Everything okay?”

Pearl gave a slow, unconvincing nod, walking forward a few steps.

“Are you sure about that?”

“How did you know that you wanted to be with Trixie forever?”

Katya paused, the napkin still in her hand as she considered Pearl’s question. Normally, she would have made a joke about Trixie’s luscious butt, but judging from Pearl’s face, this wasn’t the time.

“I honestly…still don’t know.”

“Please,” Pearl sat down heavily in one of the kitchen chairs. “I’m serious.”

“So am I,” Katya smiled. Pearl and Trixie had been friends for forever, but they didn’t become best friends until after Katya and Trixie had started dating, Pearl moving in with Trixie while she was in rehab for that final time. “I liked being single. I liked having little whirlwind romantic flings and then going back to starfishing across the bed when they were over.”

Pearl laughed, shaking her head, and Katya declared a small victory for making her crack a smile.

“If I’d been single forever, I’d have been perfectly fine.”

Maybe not perfectly fine, but Pearl didn’t need to know that, the things Katya had done before Trixie came into her life not really things she was particularly proud of.

“I liked being free.” Katya shrugged, trying it out.

“Mmmh?”

Bingo.

Katya hid a smirk, Pearl straightening up the moment freedom had been mentioned.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out that Pearl was struggling in her relationship with Adore, that her friend was probably freaking out about being with someone for any extended amount of time, since Katya had never seen Pearl do anything like what she doing now, long-term relationships not really the Liaison brand.

“But I met Trix, and I like him more than freedom. Or, well, that’s not really accurate. Actually…” Katya sat down beside Pearl. “The truth is, I feel my freest when I’m with him. Knowing that he’s in my corner. But I mean, knowing for sure? I just don’t think certainty is in my nature. Luckily, it’s in his. That’s why we’re a good team.”

“Yeah. That makes sense. You guys are a good team.” Pearl sighed.

“Do you feel like you guys are a good team?” Katya asked carefully.

“Sometimes. I mean...we’re a lot alike. Maybe too much alike. I dunno.” Pearl avoided Katya’s gaze.

“Here’s a question...are you happier with her, or without her?” Katya asked.

“I...don’t know.”

Katya reached for Pearl’s hand. “Pearl, listen. I like Adore, a lot actually. I think she’s sweet and beautiful and funny and she obviously cares about you so much. But I also think that stringing her along when you’re feeling like this...it’s not fair to either of you.”

“I just don’t want to give up so fast!” Pearl exclaimed. “I always do that. I promised myself that I would actually try this time.”

“Well, then maybe you just need to be reminded of why you got together in the first place.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“Also...now I don’t want to sound like I’m preaching here,” Katya began.

“No, it’s fine. I asked for your opinion,” Pearl said.

“Well...in my experience...it’s really hard to maintain any kind of real relationship--friendship, romantic, whatever--if you prioritize your ego over the other person’s feelings.”

Pearl blinked at her for a few seconds, letting the comment sink in, before dropping her head to the table with a soft, “fuck…”

Katya chuckled and leaned forward to kiss the top of her head. “You’ll be alright.”

***

“Drink drink drink drink drink drink drink drink YEAHHHHHHH!” The girls cheered as Adore finished her beer and slammed the empty glass down on the table.

Adore laughed, wiping her mouth, looking around at the group. Originally, when Courtney had introduced her to these girls years ago as “my sorority sisters,” she was picturing stuck-up, prissy little spoiled brats, who would judge her and never accept her - the punk rock lesbian who walked around in bare feet and no bra most of the time.

She was pleasantly surprised when they ended up being fun, and mostly turned their Mean Girls Judgement on others, or each other. Somehow Adore became the untouchable and beloved mascot of the group, the cool, alternative one who gave them all street cred. Tyra loved her because they were both from the South, both from big families and both of them possessed deeply developed bullshit detectors. Tati enjoyed doing shots with her and wreaking havoc (and was good for a sloppy drunken makeout session at least a few times a year) and Morgan - well, Morgan was kind of a cunt, but in the very best way. It was part of her charm, and, as she explained it, part of her Scottish heritage.

This night out with her friends was exactly what she needed to take her mind off her current relationship drama. She’d only spoken to Pearl once since their fight the other day, and it was tense, Pearl claiming to be running into a meeting. After that, nothing. No messages, no calls--she still wasn’t 100% sure where things stood between them.

Adore turned to Courtney, who absentmindedly stirred her drink with a straw, staring into space. She’d already noticed a bit of a change in her mood from a week ago - there was definitely something lighter about her. Still, quiet wistfulness wasn’t her general M.O. in a club - usually she was the first one on the dance floor. Adore nudged her gently with a hip.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” Courtney turned to her with a little smile, green eyes soft.

“Are you having fun?”

“Of course! I always have fun with you,” she said, wrapping her arms around Adore’s waist and cuddling closer, laying a head on her shoulder.

Adore pressed the kiss to the top of her head before asking the other question on her mind, “So...um...what’s going on with you and my sister?”

Courtney’s head snapped up, eyes wide. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I heard you hung out today…and that you’re joining us for Thanksgiving?”

“Oh. Right. No, I just ran into her by chance.”

“Where the hell are you hanging out, where you run into someone like that?” Morgan asked. “The fuckin’ SoHo house?”

“It was a bookstore.”

“Ugh, smart bitch.”

“And like…she bought me lunch because she knows I’m poor,” Courtney explained, “and since you guys will be in town and I don’t have family here, she just asked if I wanted to come.”

“Oh yeah, no big deal,” Tyra cut in, “She just took you on a date and then invited you to a family holiday…”

“It wasn’t a date!” Courtney said, laughing. “It was really all just very casual. She was just being nice.”

“Being nice for no reason. Sounds like Bianca alright,” Adore said, one eyebrow raised, and Courtney giggled again, shrugging.

“Maybe she’s nicer than you think.”

“Listen, Courtney, I’m glad you’re gonna be there because I love you. But just...you know, my sister is very...uh…”

“Yeah?”

“No, she’s great. Like, she’s the best. But…” Adore trailed off, grabbing a shot from the round Morgan was setting on the table and tossing it back.

It felt weird to be having this conversation. Did she really need to warn Courtney about Bianca? After all, B had joked about hitting on her before but never actually done anything. And what would she even say? ‘My sister is very good at charming the pants off every girl who catches her attention--especially the blondes’? ‘Beware the dimples’? She was certain that Bianca would never make a move on someone who didn’t want it, so...why not just leave it alone?

“You know what? Nevermind. Whose phone is that?” Adore felt her pocket, realizing that the out of control buzzing was her own phone--hopefully not her sister being an impatient cunt about Courtney’s number.

PEARL: Hey. I’m sorry about how I acted on Thursday.

PEARL: And yesterday

PEARL: There’s a warehouse party in Brooklyn tomorrow

PEARL: At the navy yard. Wanna go?

PEARL: It’s right by Grimaldi’s…

PEARL: Best pizza in NY

PEARL: My treat

ADORE: So you like pizza again, huh?

PEARL: It’s my favorite ;)

ADORE: Lol, okay, I’m in. <3

Adore looked back up at her friends, grinning at the group. “Let’s go dance!”

***

Sutan wasn’t nervous.

He wasn’t, because that would be ridiculous.

Sutan took a sip of his coffee, watching people walk by the cafe he was sitting at. It was a surprisingly sunny Saturday for October, the air crisp and fresh. He had already waited for 20 minutes, Violet once again late, but Sutan had asked for a chocolate croissant with his first cup of coffee, his girlfriend's time management skills surprisingly terrible.

Sutan was planning to invite Violet to Aspen with him, Raja and Raven for their annual ski trip. It was a tradition of theirs, Raja and he owning a cabin together that they visited every year. He wasn’t a brilliant skier, but he liked the mountain air, the sense of freedom, and of being disconnected while out on the slopes.

He had thought about inviting Violet along for weeks, Raven needling him about whether or not Violet would be coming with him.

Sutan wanted Violet to join them. Wanted to see her all dressed up in winter wear, wanted to teach her how to ski and have drinks by the fire in the evening.

There was just the teeny tiny insignificant detail, that the last time he had asked someone to come with him and Raja to Aspen, it had been a terrible time.

He didn’t hate Kahmora, at least not any more, their divorce lasting longer than their marriage, but he still felt a sense of dread every time he visited L.A. - which was why he avoided the city as much as he could, Kahmora thankfully relocating once they severed ties.

Violet wasn’t Kahmora though, actually, they were as different as day and night.

“Hey.”

Sutan turned his head to see Violet come walking towards him, her coat closely around her, her new bag in hand, and Sutan was glad he had splurged for the largest model Dior made, the purse already stuffed.

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” Violet pressed a kiss against his cheek, sliding in on the other side of the table, her dress brushing against him. “Have you eaten?”

“I was waiting for you.”

Violet didn’t need to know that he already finished a chocolate croissant, that sin between him and his trainer.

“Ah,” Violet looked guilty for a second, brushing a bit of her hair behind her ear, her earring of the day a tiny golden hook. “Sorry, I was at work and time just flew by-”

“Work?” Sutan twisted his wrist, taking a peek at his Rolex. “It’s 10:33 on a Saturday?”

“I went in at 6.” Violet picked the menu up, the fact that she tried to pretend that she wasn’t going to order avocado on rye kind of cute. “I know I have to turn my dress over to tailoring sooner or later-”

“But you want to finish as much as you can?” Sutan smiled, emptying his coffee cup. “Of course.”

“Don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m not,” Sutan held up his hands in defense. “Promise.” He couldn’t help but sneak a peek at Violet’s right hand, her fingertips thankfully not the raw red points he had helped wrap and put ice on. “It’s just very dedicated-”

“This is my first chance to get an actual piece on the runway. It has to be perfect-” Violet was cut off as the waiter came over, Sutan hiding a grin as she ordered avocado on rye, his second breakfast a plate of scrambled eggs and salmon.

“Speaking of perfect.” Sutan moved his chair while the waiter walked away, his stomach tied up in a knot. “I was wondering, if…”

“Yes?” Violet tilted her head, clearly listening, her brow eyes resting on his face.

“If you’d like...” Sutan had no idea why this was so hard, “to come to Aspen with Raja, Raven and I in January?”

“What?” Violet looked genuinely confused.

“Raja and I own a cabin, and-”

“Like, in Colorado? Like Aspen Aspen? Like posh skiing Aspen?”

“Yes?” Sutan lifted a brow. “Do you know any other Aspen?”

“No, but I-” Violet bit her lip, her white teeth sinking into it. “I don’t know how to ski?”

“Oh,” Sutan laughed, the admission not at all what he had expected. “Well, lovely eyes.” Sutan smiled. “I can promise you, that that is not a problem.”

[collecting-stories]

Cat | Daryl Dixon

A/N: This popped in my head the other day, I’m not entirely sure why. Basically I would be such a wuss in the apocalypse. 

///

“I had this textbook,” you mumbled, lifting the dust-covered, decaying copy of Interplay. “In hindsight I definitely regret spending $96 on this. Though I don’t regret the loans I never have to pay back.”  

“Wouldn’t know.” Daryl replied, continuing to shift through drawers in the kitchen of the house you were scavenging.  

“Lucky you,” you replied, “I worked at a bar down the street from my house, real shitty place, and my dad would be like ‘you’re wasting your life just doing nothing’.”  

“Thought you just said you were in college.”  

“Oh yeah, but I wasn’t gonna tell him that. Best to let him have the least expectation.” You replied, “kinda mad I didn’t get to gloat when I graduated.”  

Daryl hummed and continued on his task, leaving you to thumb through the old textbook. There wasn’t much in the house worth saving and that had been the case at the other three houses you’d ransacked already. Hardly anything worthwhile now.  

You tossed the text and moved on to the upstairs, passing the master bedroom and going into what appeared to be an kids room. From the few posters covering the wall you could tell that it was the outgrown childhood room of whoever owned that textbook. There were a few decent books on the shelf by their bed and you helped yourself to two. The Secret Garden and A Little Princess, children’s books surely but favourites.  

“I feel like I’m in one of those crime shows where they investigate like, what happened to the family.” You commented as Daryl’s footsteps sounded on the staircase.  

He appeared in the door way, bag weighed down with the supplies he’d managed to find (he was better at choosing necessity over luxury). “They turned into walkers. Case solved.”  

“You’re no fun Daryl.” You replied, crouching to look beneath the bed.  

Your joking nature dissipated Immediately and you stumbled back, falling onto your back with a yelp. You covered your mouth with your hands and could already feel tears threatening when Daryl moved over to look under the bed. There had been three walkers in the house when you found it and he’d killed all three of them himself after instructing you to wait outside. You’d even stepped over their rotting corpses on your way through the kitchen.  

“It’s just a cat.” Daryl stated, looking back at you, perplexed.  

Under the bed was a cat, partially eaten. You stood quickly, and wiped at your face, “I’m going outside.”  

Outside wasn’t necessarily safe but you went out anyway, letting the screen door shut behind you as you stepped onto the small back porch. A vegetable garden was overgrown, you had already cut what was needed to regrow the plants at the prison. Daryl gave the rest of the upstairs a proper sweep, checking for anything else and nabbing some prescriptions from the medicine cabinet. When he finally came outside you were still there, sitting on the porch steps, eyes still a little red. You had cried more while you were alone.

“It was just a cat.”

“Thanks that’s really helpful.” You snapped, standing up.  

“Hey, hey,” Daryl moved down the stairs, putting himself in front of you.  

You made sure not to look at him, “I just don’t like seeing dead animals, makes me sad.”  

“Same as a deer or a rabbit, ya been out hunting with me.” Not voluntarily, only to look for wild plants you knew were edible.  

“That’s different. It’s just. It doesn’t know that something is wrong, it just thinks it still has owners that love it. Makes me sad, that’s all.” You replied.  

“Sorry,” he replied after a moment, clearly unsure of what else to say.  

You shrugged, “least you killed the walkers that ate it.”  

“Come on,” Daryl said, taking the bag from your shoulder, “we got enough.”

You didn’t argue with Daryl, only followed him back to the bike so that you could take what you’d found back to the jail. The absolute horror that you’d felt at the sight of the cat diminished into embarrassment on the way home. Running through your head were all the thoughts that you decided Daryl must have about the whole situation. He would probably tell Rick that you weren’t fit to go out on runs or even go out hunting with him. Maybe he would suggest leaving you to menial tasks that kept you inside. Everyone would find out that you lost your cool over a simple house cat that meant nothing. You’d be the person who cried over a cat but who had no problem killing people.  

You sat with your anxiety all evening, through unloading the supplies, through dinner, through chores before bed. When you woke up in the morning that anxiety had manifested into guilt that demanded you find, and apologize to, Daryl. It was odd to say, considering his usual demeanor throughout the time that you had known him but you knew that Daryl wouldn’t be judgmental and that alone made you feel like you needed to apologize to him.  

He was already up that morning, which didn’t surprise you at all. He was dressed and sitting at one of the outdoor tables, fixing the bands on his crossbow. It was too late in the morning for him to be planning a hunt but he could be going to check the traps, he usually checked and cleaned his weapons before he went out.  

“Daryl,” you were never entirely good at starting conversations but you tried to push through, walking around the picnic table so that you could see him.  

“There ya are,” he said, as if he’d been looking for you, “I’m heading out to check the traps if ya wanna come.”

“Really?” You asked, unable to hide the surprise on your face at the invitation.  

“Yeah, why not?” He asked, looking you over skeptically as if there was something wrong with you that would make you question him. Ever since the first time Rick had assigned you to check the traps with Daryl the two of you had been going out there together.  

You felt yourself shrink a little under his scrutiny, “well, just cause of yesterday. Thought you wouldn’t want me out there making a mess like I almost did before.”

“Ya ain’t done nothing wrong yesterday.” He replied, “just got spooked.”

“Yeah but my getting spooked could’ve gotten us killed!” You snapped, frustrated with his ease at forgiving you, “what if I’d screamed and there had been walkers around?”

“Wouldn’t a let anything happen to ya.” He insisted, unbothered by your outburst. “So, ya coming with?”

“Yeah, yeah of course.” You nodded.  

-

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[the-lack-of-errors-in-star-trek]

MIDNIGHT FLIGHTS - 0.2

Chapter 2

It had been a few weeks since the strange night had occurred at the bar, and Anna seemed to move on from sleeping with Derek as she had with other partners in recent years.

"He was just too cocky and sure of himself." Anna complained to Nastya over a coffee last week, noting that his lack of being around often, plentiful attitude, and unwillingness to settle in any measure became a turn off for her, "Note to self, don't sleep with Feds." Anna laughs.

Still despite this, every once and a while Nastya would receive a shopping invite from Penelope, her excuse that with the blonde's line of work, some people outside of a federal building would do her some good. They had actually become decent friends, not seeing much of the others, but it was definitely enough to be invited to a friendly brunch. So this is exactly why she had met up with Emily and Penelope five hours after they got back from a cross country flight, a healthy 10am brunch to cut loose and hang around civilians for once.

Nastya was the first there, the reservations under Penelope for four people, leaving the young teacher to wonder who the fourth person would be. Emily is the next to arrive, spotting the table by Nastya's brown hair in a twisted updo exposing her gold necklace over a white sweater, jeans, and heeled boots like usual.

"Privyet," Emily greets her, the two standing to kiss on the cheek, a nice welcome to Nastya who could read that Emily tried wholeheartedly to respect and not insult Nastya's background. "How are you doing?"

"Privyet, I'm doing well," Nastya answers sitting down at the same time as Emily, "How was the great state of California?"

"You know we barely see anything except the crime scene." Emily laughs.

"Yeah that's fair, maybe you ought to go there on an actual vacation, lord knows you all need it." Nastya suggests, while keeping an eye on the door for Penelope to come through with the mystery person. She turns back to the agent in front of her, "Seriously, I don't know how you all do it, that long in a career like this? Anna finds Derek insufferable. It has to take its toll on all of you?"

Emily nods along, readjusting in her seat, "I think Derek coming across as a hot-shot is more to do with his personality than his job, but I do see what you mean." The last part leaves her lips as a laugh.

The conversation between Nastya and Emily picks up the longer they wait, most of it by sharing details of the previous case, save for all of the gore, focused mainly on Emily's gripes with the local Californian PD units butt-hurt that they couldn't handle a serial killer by themselves.

It was during Emily's rant about the police that Penelope walked in with the tall man who drove her home just a few weeks ago, Penelope eager to hug Nastya and sit down, Spencer more awkward just by waving and selecting the seat across from her.

"Is that really true, Pen?" Nastya asks her as Penelope settles into her seat and starts looking at the menu, "Do these people really give you hell just because you're not physically there?"

Penelope nods in response, "Yeah, they don't like how big government can just swoop in and learn everything needed, but it's whatever, I get what I need every time."

Nastya nods along and turns to Spencer, "Nice of you to join us, how are you doing?"

"I'm doing alright, how about yourself?" The answer from him is short and feels scripted, and suddenly Nastya understands Anna, all of these FBI men are very curt and guarded in basic conversation.

"I've been doing good, glad everyone is pretty good given the circumstances." She answers, while understanding that he could have been barely listening. Much of the brunch consists of Natasha interacting with the other women present, and Spencer not really adding much to the conversation. The drinks come and go, as does the food, and for the most part everyone is enjoying themselves.

Spencer can't help but run through an internal monologue, questioning why Natasha puts him off, and why he can't seem to be engaged in the conversation like he would have been at work, or at least without Natasha there. Spencer settled on the possibility that she was just too new to the dynamic, and didn't appear to be a stable fixture, considering it took many months for him to open up to Prentiss, let alone Rossi. Was he really expecting himself to open up to her after a few weeks? It seemed impossible, and yet when she looked at him, and honestly looked him in the eyes, he couldn't help but to feel like he should. Hell, she had all of their numbers, even Morgan's who had stopped seeing Natasha's friend only 6 days and 15 hours ago.

Natasha's voice rang clear, "What's everyone's plans for the rest of this fine Sunday?" She smiles, glancing at everyone in the room, taking notice that Spencer was staring at her passively.

Penelope was the first to answer, "More than likely go home, play some online games, and relax before we get that inevitable phone call from Hotch." To the last part Emily and Spencer chuckle. Emily is the next to speak up.

"Mainly spend some quality time with Sergio and watch chick-flicks." She smiles at the end.

"Your boyfriend?" Natasha asks, causing Emily to laugh.

"No, my cat. But if any man could be as great as him? That'd be a miracle." The response is warm and filled with humour, keeping the topics light. "What about you, Reid?" Emily attempts to rope him into the conversation.

"Library." It's a short answer again, like he just wants to leave the table now. In reality, he'd rather be with his work friends than alone, but can't bring himself to stay interested in much.

Emily raises her eyebrows slightly as a reaction and turns to Natasha reposing the question to her. "And what about you?"

"I'll probably just go home, keep the fort held down while my Mama runs the store." She answers. "Maybe have Anna over to make sure she doesn't get the idea to call your co-worker again." Penelope and Emily can't help but to laugh at the idea. Natasha then looks at her watch. "Speaking of, I should probably foot my bill and take leave, I didn't realize it was already noon."

The table says their goodbyes as Natasha packs up and leaves her payment on the table for Emily to close up, and walks out of the restaurant glad she was able to spend good time with her new friends doing something other than shopping.

As usual, the trip back to the home and store was uneventful. She greeted her mother who was working, by waving to the window as she walked up into the apartment. As she entered the home, she took a moment to really soak in her life, how insane it was to be casual friends with federal agents, as one would just be casually friends with military members in Russia. Sure she knew if any of them came around to this area of D.C. it would spur odd looks by an untrusting immigrant populus, but for the most part all of the people she had met were kind and non judgemental. It would be a lie to say she was unaffected by mob activity on the East Coast, it's mob activity that killed her father, yet somehow even just knowing that her and her mother kept to themselves, their work, and their church created an air of enough safety to at least make those types of friends.

It's on this train of thought she remembers to call Anna. She picks up on the third ring of course.

"Privyet, what's going on?" Anna answers the phone, sounding slightly rushed.

"Privyet Anna, do you have plans today? You could come over, or I could go to your apartment." Natasha keeps the request short but it takes Anna a moment to respond.

"Ummmm, I'm not exactly sure if now is a good time, Nastya. I'm a little caught up in something at the moment." She finally answers Nastya, her voice quieter than usual.

"You're busy? At 2 in the afternoon on a Sunday?" Nastya questions her, already knowing the outcome.

"Look, don't be mad, but he's in the shower, and I need to go before he comes out." Anna rushes the answer, knowing Nastya would berate her for this later.

"Anna! We agreed!" Nastya switches into Russian. "You dumb bitch, kick him out!"

"Love you, bye!" Anna laughs at Nastya's temper, blowing a kiss before hanging up the phone.

The blunt hanging up makes Nastya shake her head, settling down onto the couch to pass her time watching the TV. She knew her mother would be closing up the shop in a few hours, and decided against going back out.

Later that night, as Nastya and her mother sat down to eat dinner, the obvious questions about the day are expressed over the meal.

"How was work?" Nastya asks, savouring the meal in front of her, it was basic, just pan cooked chicken and potatoes, but it was good food with the weather only starting to warm up.

"It was good, thank you Lisichka." Her mother answers after swallowing her mouthful. "You know how that shop is, busy until it's quiet, and quiet until it gets busy." More chewing fills the living area until her mother asks a question. "How was your time out?"

"It was good, the man who drove me home went along with Emily and Penelope. The girls are very welcoming, the men not so much." Nastya answers, fiddling her piece of chicken around on her fork. "I think Anna saw Derek again today, I called and she said she was busy with 'him' but I didn't get a name."

"That Derek boy isn't good for her, too flashy." Natasha's mother laughs. "But she'll do what she wants, I only hope her parents don't throw a fit."

"You never throw a fit when I sleep with someone."

"Because you have good taste, Anna needs a good Russian boy in her life, none of these so-called agents. It'll only make life more difficult for the Lebedev's. They already lost one son, no use worrying over a son-in-law who could also die." Her mother's commentary on Anna's life makes Nastya laugh at first, but then settle due to the nature of the rest of the comment. That was the one aspect of conversation that always made Natasha irritated, of course mothers always loved their daughters, but sons were just revered more, and a son with dangerous work? Anna better plan on having children fast if she were to ever settle with someone like Derek.

"It'll never go that far, Mama, Anna loves fun too much." Natasha covers for her practical sister. "She won't nest a home until she's in her 30's."

"A waste of her youth if you ask me. And what of you? When will you settle down on your fun? Teaching is nice, but I want to see our family name continue as well." The conversation had usually always gone this direction, causing Natasha to lay her fork down.

"Mama, I love you, but please. This isn't Russia, I can marry and have kids whenever I please. Anna too." Natasha leaves the answer stinging in the air, talking about tradition and culture was always a point of contention with her mother, and just as she went to open her mouth, the home phone rang. Natasha went to answer.

"Privyet, Semyonov house." She answers. Thankfully it's Anna on the other end.

"Nastya! Listen, I got the apartment cleaned up, come over?"

"I can't, I have work tomorrow, Anna." Nastya eyes her mother knowing staying here is the only option mentally.

"Jesus, I do too, but you're all caught up no?"

"Nyet Anna, I can't go. We can talk after work tomorrow but it's best if we just stay in, yeah? It's dark out and not the safest. If you need anyone just call Derek again."

"I would but I can't, these fucking agents and being called at any hour of the day, any day of the week. You were right."

"I know I was," Natasha chuckles at her friend's antics. "Stay in, we'll get dinner sometime this week."

"Okay, bye."

"Love you, bye." Natasha hangs up the phone and goes back to the table to discover that in the brief conversation, her mother had finished her plate and started on dishes.

It would be that later in the night, she found herself hovering over the contacts in her phone as she laid in bed trying to go to sleep. Spencer was saved as "Dr. Reid," a note to their acquaintanceship having more merit than a friendship, and she wondered what would have to be done in order to even have a shot at being friends. Sure she had her own, from work, from the church, the people she grew up around, but there was something about Dr. Spencer Reid that made her want to at least try to get to know him.

[petri808]

A Little Help From Beyond

@krbkmonth2020 on Twitter. 

Kiribaku Ghost Prompt. Warning character death, misunderstandings, pining, happy ending I promise.

“Deku you fucking dumb son of a bastard!!!” Bakugou cradles the dying man tight to his chest with his head pressed against his face. His teeth gnashed and gritted, eyes squeezed tight against the truth that his childhood friend was bleeding out in his arms. Tears stream down his cheeks, a visible waterfall breaching his mask. “You’re not supposed to die!” They were Twin stars of the pro world! Rivals till the end who could push each other to achieve only greater and greater heights! “What the fuck am I supposed to do now!!”

“S—Sorry… Kacch—an…” Midoriya squeezes Bakugou’s hand with what little strength he has left. “You shine for us both now…”

The second Midoriya closes his eyes for the last time, a brilliant flash starting from his hand quickly envelops Bakugou’s. A surge of energy rips through the blonde’s body and he instantly knows exactly what just took place. “No! No, fucking no!” He shakes the limp body. “Fuck you! I don’t want this! Damn it!” He collapses on top of his friend, gripping to the torn green costume. “Damn it Deku! I-I don’t deserve this…”

Time dragged on from that moment for Bakugou like a movie that wouldn’t end. Day after day, week after week. Every night his dreams replaying the events that took his friend’s life and the guilt tore through his psyche, leaving him an empty shell. He didn’t even want to go to the funeral because that… that would have made this final, and he didn’t want to accept that Midoriya was gone. But his friends dragged him to it. You need the closure Katsuki. You need to process what happened, so it doesn’t destroy you. News flash, it already was.

So, he pushed everyone away after that. If anyone showed up at his apartment, he would rage at them through the door until they left. Any villain that crossed his path paid dearly regardless of their crime, because it was the only way he could release the building anger and pain. All his life, Midoriya was there and no matter how much the guy could get on his nerves, he’d never imagined a time he wouldn’t be around. And now, when they’d finally found their balance… he’s gone.  

After a month, the only person brave enough to keep trying was Kirishima. It was a choice to stay close because he could understand why the man felt broken. If he lost Bakugou he’d probably feel lost too.  

“Come on Katsuki, just open the door and let me in.”

“No. I told you I’m fucking fine and I don’t wanna talk to anybody!”

Kirishima rests his head against the door, uncaring if anyone passing through the apartment hallway found it odd. It killed him that this strong, proud man was slipping into a deep depression. He assumed one reason was a survivor’s guilt for living through a fight that cost Midoriya his life. But the other was more personal, and probably the biggest struggle of all to get past.

Throughout UA he’d watched the two men battle, heard the stories of their childhood, could see that despite the rough treatment, Bakugou cared deeply for his old friend, and he wondered if there was an unrequited aspect hidden beneath the surface. Did one or the other possibly…    

“You can’t lie to me, man. I know you’re not.”

“I said Fuck off shitty hair!!”

Inside the apartment, Kirishima can hear the music cranked up to tune him out. He sighs and closes his eyes, placing a hand against the smooth wooden surface of the door. “I can love you like Deku,” he whispers as the tears pool behind his eyelids, “if you just let me in too.”

All through high school and into their adult years, their friendship grew. Somehow, he’d wormed his way into the hot heads inner circle while everyone else were called extras. But there was always one other person that meant more to the blonde and that was Midoriya. Even dead he was still rival’s with the man.

He shakes his head. It didn’t matter now. There’s nothing he can do about Midoriya, but he’ll be damned if he’ll let Bakugou lose himself over it. It was devastating, he understood that, Deku was his friend too. But now it was important to take care of the living. Broken hearted and dejected, he walks away, swiping at the few tears that broke free. But he’ll be back tomorrow to try again.

Off to the side, watching this scene unfold, Midoriya floats out of the way as the sullen redhead walks past his conscious spirit. It’s been almost five weeks since he’d died, and it was frustrating being stuck watching the people he knew falling apart over it. Bakugou was the worst, but what he’d just heard Kirishima say blindsided him. To a living human, his words were spoken so quietly that even if they’d been standing next to the man, they wouldn’t have heard anything more than a mumble. But he did, loud and clear. Eijiro Kirishima was in love with Katsuki Bakugou!

“Wait, but does he think I had, or we were!” He’d grown up with Bakugou, but he wasn’t in love with the man!! Wow, he never thought anyone would make such a leap in terms of their friendship! But it was cute to know someone loves and cares for his friend. Midoriya shelves those thoughts away for now and disappears through the door to check on the blonde.  

What he finds is a darkened room with the blinds drawn and his old friend sitting on the couch with his head hung low. If he could produce tears, they would fill his eyes. It was a heartrending sight. He moves over and kneels in front of the blonde, reaching out to place his hand on the man’s knee. It goes through as it always does, so he retracts his clenched hand in anger, closes his eyes, and screams. “Argh!! This sucks!!”

All the sadness and frustration rages outward in a surge of energy from his unheard scream. If he’d been alive tenants two doors down would have heard it. When he opens his eyes, Bakugou is staring straight at him with a confused expression. Wait, what?! He waves his hand in front of the man but gets no reaction. Okay, no, he didn’t see him, so did he hear the scream? He tests this theory, screaming at the top of his lungs; still no reaction.

Growing frustrated, Midoriya stands up and starts pacing back and forth in front of the couch. He puts his analytical mind to work, but he didn’t understand what just took place. “It was probably just a fluke. Kacchan looked up just to look up. Argh, this sucks!!” He kicks through the coffee table in a fit. “I don’t know anything about being a ghost!!”

“Deku?”

Midoriya whips his head back around to see Bakugou with his hands cradling the sides of his face, shaking his head and muttering to himself.

“Stupid, Deku’s dead dumbass, that couldn’t be his voice. Fuck, fuck, fuck! I’m fucking losing my mind!”

“He heard me?!” Midoriya tries to reach out and grab the man’s shoulder, “Kacchan! I’m here!” But it slips through the man’s body. Pissed off, he swipes his hand at the man’s body over and over, desperately trying to make contact. “Fucking damn it! Just let me comfort him!” He screams at the air.

Bakugou flinches and gasps. He looks around, confused. The windows were closed, yet he swore it felt like a burst of wind just hit him. Okay, now he was getting creeped out. First, he thought he’d heard his dead friend and now a ghostly wind? He runs his hand over his face, “maybe its sleep deprivation,” he rationalizes to himself since he hasn’t had a good night sleep in over a month. He stands up and walks away towards his bedroom.

As he watches Bakugou leave the room, Midoriya stares down at his hands, wide-eyed. It was like his quirk! If he could learn to control this energy, that might be the key because each time his friend sensed something, it was when his energy surged. “Woo hoo!!” He pumps his fists in the air. Now he just needed to figure out what to do with this newly found power.

He follows Bakugou to the bedroom and sees the blonde writing in a notebook. When he’s finished, places it on a nightstand then goes to the bathroom. Midoriya funnels as much energy as he can into his hand and miraculously, he’s able to turn the pages. Awesome! He was getting a small handle on this ability.

It was a journal! He never knew the man kept a journal! But the more he read, the deeper his heart sunk. It was filled with regret and anger, of not treating him better when he was alive, not saving him in the end, of not realizing how important he really was. Bakugou felt he didn’t deserve to be given OFA… “Oh, Kacchan,”he looks over at the closed bathroom door. OFA had accepted him once before because he was worthy of it. But the worst part was, the man felt all alone. “But you’re not alone.”

When he hears the turn of the bathroom doorknob, Midoriya backs away so he doesn’t scare Bakugou with the page turning. The blonde skulks over to his bed and just drops onto it like a sack of potatoes, quickly turning off the lights and pulling the blanket over his head. He swore he heard soft sobbing sounds coming from the man. And that’s the last nail that shatters his heart. Bakugou wasn’t a crier.

He’d always looked up to the Bakugou as the strong one, able to deal with anything thrown at him. And while the death of a friend or even a parent is devastating, it frankly surprised Midoriya that it would become so all-consuming for him. ‘I never realized how much I’d really meant to him.’ But now he did, and he needed to make sure the blonde got through this.  

Midoriya leaves via the window and heads to Kirishima’s home. He needed to check on the man and wanted to make sure he wouldn’t give up on Bakugou either. But when he arrives, he’s was already asleep. So, he sits on the edge of the bed and practices affecting their corporeal world.

Using the same techniques, he’d used in life to gain control over the power of OFA, Midoriya channels energy into his hand and places it over Kirishima’s. The sleeping male gasps lightly but doesn’t wake up. That’s a start. He concentrates to keep the hold strong. “Kiri?” He asks quietly, “Can you hear me?”

“Izuku? Whoa, why are you here?!”

The man’s eyes stay closed, and he doesn’t appear to be awake. But clearly, he was hearing him and responding to it. Like sleep talking. Perfect, that works.  

“I wanted to check on you Kiri and tell you not to give up on Kacchan.”

He sees Kirishima’s brows furrow. “I’d never give up on him.”

“I’m glad to hear that. Tell me, do you love him Kiri?”

“Yes, but he loves you not me and you love him too. I can’t get in the way of that.”

“Kiri, Kacchan doesn’t love me like that and neither did I.”

“But he’s so upset over your death. He must love you.”

“Oh Kiri, he’s upset because of guilt. We grew up together, and it just hit him hard that for the first time in 20 years he must face this world without me around.”

“That’s true…”

“So now more than ever he needs you, Kiri. Kacchan needs someone to turn to who’ll never give up on him.”

“I can do that.”

“One last thing. It’s hard for Kacchan to talk about his feelings. The more you push, the more he’ll back away.”

There’s a long pause before the man responds. His brows furrow as if deep in thought, but Kirishima eventually lets out a long exhale. “Okay. You know him best, so I’ll do as you suggest.”

Midoriya places his free hand over his friend’s forehead. “You sleep now and thank you for taking care of him for me.”

“Goodbye Izuku.”

“Goodbye Eijiro.”

When Midoriya releases his hand, the man slips back into a more relaxed sleep. The harrowed look on his face replaced by a small smile, as if it had lifted a great weight from his shoulders. Kirishima wasn’t out of the woods yet regarding Bakugou, but at least now he could move forward without thinking he was interfering in something that never existed.

With one last look at the sleeping male, Midoriya hoped for the best and leaves to go back to Bakugou’s apartment. Of all the places he could have been pulled back to after he died, not his own apartment, his mother’s home, even the UA campus, it was here and he’s finally understanding why. There was still one last unfinished business to be tended to.  

And now that he knew he could reach the living in their sleep he could try to talk to his childhood friend… But as he sat on the edge of the blondes bed, watching the restless man, he debated whether he should. It would probably be best to let someone amongst the living help him because they would have to continue the work. Yet this was his old friend and he couldn’t stand by and just observe.

With a hand placed on Bakugou’s chest, he pushes his energy at the man. No talking, just emotions. In life he’d always been a positive person, and so he uses those same emotions to influence his friend now from the other side. Midoriya watches on tentatively, first seeing the man stiffen up, then his body slowly relax. It was working. A soft sigh escapes the sleeping male along with one tear. It wasn’t much and hopefully just the small sense of Midoriya’s presence would be enough to calm the blonde for the rest of his slumber.

He smiles and releases his hold on the man. “It’s gonna be okay Kacchan. I promise…”

The next morning, Bakugou awakens more rested than he’s had in weeks, which was odd since he swore, he’d felt like shit when he’d gone to bed. Come to think of it, the scant memories of his dream were of happier times instead of reliving his friend’s death, and it even felt as if Midoriya was there in the room with him. ‘No,’ he shakes his head, ‘it’s cause you were hallucinating last night, idiot.’

When he looks at the clock, he realizes he’d overslept, which was highly unusual for him. The time read 10 am, but because he’d drawn the blackout curtains, the sunlight never alerted him. Oh well, it was his day off, anyway.

A knock at his front door drags him out of bed. Really?! He growls as he stomps to the door. If it was Kirishima again here to beg him to talk, he swore to holy hell he would beat the fuck out of the man. He was tired of everyone trying to force him into talking!

“Katsuki? You up man?”

“What the fuck do you want now Eiji?!”

Kirishima takes a deep breath to calm his nerves. “I just want to apologize f-for pushing you too hard. I get it, okay, you’re not ready to talk yet but when you are, just know, I’ll always be here for you Katsuki.” He stops there, waiting to see if the man will respond, but after a couple minutes of dead silence, it’s clear there wouldn’t be any. He’s crestfallen. But at least the man wasn’t yelling at him which was a start. “Okay, I’ll be going now. See you around, man.”

On the other side of the door, Bakugou listened to the words coming from his friend. It was a complete turnaround from the night before and frankly surprised him a bit. No, he wasn’t ready to talk yet, but he pleased that Kirishima finally recognized it. Don’t get him wrong, he appreciated their concerns, he just wanted to deal with things on his terms.

And of all of their motley crew, Kirishima would have been the only one he would talk to when that time came. His feelings for the redhead were still a little confusing. Well, to be honest with himself, he wasn’t sure where his heart had been swinging before all of this had happened. But one thing was for certain, he could always rely on Kirishima.      

“Wait, Eiji…” He cracks the door open enough to see the man a few steps away but turned back to look at him. “If you agree not to talk about it, you can come in.”

The redhead smiles with relief and holds up a hand, “I won’t.” This was a step in the right direction, and he wasn’t about to ruin it. ‘Thank you Izuku.’ Whether the dream was wishful thinking or something else, he’s glad he’d had it.

Midoriya watches the apartment door close behind them. A tingling sensation washes over him and his body slowly disappears. He smiles, his job is done. Bakugou needs to let him go before his soul can be at peace and this is his confirmation that the man is on the road to recovery. One day he’ll see his friend again, but it was Kirishima’s turn now, and he knew the redhead wouldn’t let him down.

Over the next few days, Kirishima keeps to his promise never bringing up Midoriya’s death or even the man in general. He could tell Bakugou was still fighting with himself internally, but at least he wasn’t locking himself away alone in the apartment. After the workday was over, he dropped by, sometimes brining dinner with him, at other times Bakugou cooking. Oh, how he missed his best friends cooking! Just by looking at the blonde, you’d never think he’d be a whiz in the kitchen, but his meals were always perfectly prepared.

Things almost felt back to normal in these moments. Their conversations revolving around the usual. Dealing with villains, their families, and what their other friends were up to. Anything that could distract from sadder topics. Kirishima didn’t care how long it would take to get Bakugou through this event, but he was ready and willing to do whatever it takes.

He let Bakugou prompt or direct conversations most of the time. It was safer that way then to tread into a topic that might trigger a bad memory. But one of their favorite things to do was simply sit on the couch and quietly watch movies together. For as loud as the blonde could be, he wasn’t much of a talker anyways.

The night started off no differently than the last three before it. Kirishima arrived around 6 pm and Bakugou had cooked dinner. The blonde knew his friend was off the next day, so he decided it was time to get a few things off of his chest. He’d agonized over this for far too long and finally realized he’d never get over Midoriya’s death by holding everything in.

It had started the morning he’d woken up for the first time in a month without a nightmare. His brain told him he was imagining things, but his heart had felt Midoriya’s presence around the night before. A soothing presence and the unmistakable comfort only the childhood friend could provide. Maybe it was because of this turn around that he’d let Kirishima in that day, but whatever it was, it had been the start of his healing process.

“What should we watch tonight,” Kirishima asks with the remote poised in his hand. “Action, horror, or comedy?”

Without looking up from the floor, Bakugou reaches over and lowers the man’s hand slowly. “I rather just talk, if that’s okay?” Though he needed to address the main issue at some point, there was another reason he needed to get off his chest first.

Kirishima puts the remote down. “Of course. What do you want to talk about?” Expecting it to be about Midoriya, he made sure to give Bakugou his undivided attention.

“Did you notice anything different about my quirk today?” Since the day Midoriya died, he’d been careful not to reveal what had happened. But in his stress with the villain, his control had faltered.

“Not really, but I couldn’t watch you the entire time.”

Bakugou sighs, “you gotta promise me never to reveal what I’m about to tell you.” He turns and looks at the man. “No one can know I told you Eiji, absolutely no one.”

“Of course, you can trust me Katsuki.”

He looks away again. “Midoriya was actually born quirkless…”

It takes Bakugou approximately 30 minutes to explain the truth about Midoriya, All Might, and the quirk known as One For All. How he’d figured it out and that’s why they brought him into the fold. He brings up the fight with Shigaraki as an example of why it’s so important to keep it a secret. The power of the quirk was one thing, but it’s transferability was another reason. Bakugou explains what happened during the fight with Nine.

“It was the first time Midoriya shared OFA with me.”

“First time?”

Bakugou sighs. “Do you remember a bright flash of light at the time he died?”

“Yeah, but I just thought it was a reflection.”

The blonde shakes his head. “That was OFA transferring to me.” He holds his hands up and stares at them, concentrating to make a bit of electricity spark around them.

Kirishima’s eyes widen. That was not Bakugou’s sparks but looked like Midoriya’s lightning instead!

“I was so angry when it happened! How dare he just give this to me! I don’t deserve it. It should have stayed with him… he should be the one alive wielding this power…”

Despite his shock, Kirishima recovers quickly. “I’m sure he felt you deserved it, or he wouldn’t have given it to you.”

“Yeah… I know. All Might explained to me afterwards that OFA has to accept the person too. You can’t just,” he waves his hand gesturing in the air, “give it to anyone. I think… I was just angry because this is supposed to be Deku’s power, not mine. He deserved it, he earned it, a-and I never did.”

“I think you did.” Kirishima places a hand on his friends shoulder. “Midoriya thought you did, and that should be enough to believe in yourself man. He wouldn’t have given it to you if he thought you couldn’t handle it.”

“But what if I can’t do it justice? I’m not exactly the symbol of peace.”

That makes Kirishima chuckle. “I’m sorry for laughing cause you’re right about that, but it still doesn’t mean you don’t deserve it. Katsuki, you told me he looked up to you all his life as the epitome of a hero next to All Might. So, what if you’re not the bubbly, happy type. What’s important is that you still do what is right.”

“The public is devastated that their symbol is now gone, so am I supposed to take Deku’s place in that role? Gah!” He cradles his face in his hands. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to explain my new-found powers to the public. And if people notice the similarities with Deku, how do I explain it?! I’m so confused, I don’t know what to do. Maybe I should avoid using it…”

“Stop it!”

Kirishima forces Bakugou to look at him, and when he does, the blondes eyes widen at the boldness and fierce gaze staring back.

“Who cares what other people think! The man chose you Katsuki, you, because he felt you are worthy of it. Don’t let him down and hide, cause that’s not the kind of man we came to both love and admire!”

“What the fuck did you just say?!” Bakugou’s mind reels at the man’s words. “Deku didn’t love me, what the fuck are you talking about?!”

“Are you really that blind?! You were his closest friend and no matter how much you bullied him growing up, he never stopped caring about you.” Kirishima sighs. “I’m not talking about romantic love. Midoriya loved you like a brother.”

“And what about you? You said we.”

Oh crap, he forgot he’d made that slip up! Ugh, of course the blonde caught it. Kirishima’s face burns the color of his hair. “I-I mean you are my best friend, s-so I, you know, I care a lot about you too and that means something.”

Bakugou laughs. “You’re such a horrible liar Eijiro.” He then places his hand against the man’s face and smiles. “But while I’m not ready to go there just yet,” he swipes his thumb gently along the skin, “you are growing on me.”

[katsukikitten]

Lust and a whiskey neat

"Really you're going to see that crack head who dyes his hair fire truck red?" Your friend asks applying a hefty layer of lip gloss before she poses for a few hundred selfies for her Insta. She angles the camera down and it captures her tits and pouty mouth.

"Tacky really." She says as the sound of her nails click on her phone screen. She's probably sending it to six different guys first before posting it to the gram with some basic bitch caption.

"He isn't tacky." You roll your eyes as you apply your eyeliner on thickly. It's black as your heart and as sharp as a knife. Perfect to match your all black aesthetic

"He's a pro hero you know." You look at her a moment in your giant shared mirror staring at your complete opposite side. She was always about looks, caring solely about catching a man's attention.

Whether it be good or bad as she smiles mischievouslly at her matte pink phone, with a little cellphone charm swinging as she replies furiously.

The white and red catch your eye and you smirk, applying your mascara.

"You think Todoroki's red hair is tacky too then?" She gives you a rare look at her real eyes far from the normal doe look she gives guys. It is sharp and unforgiving, tactful as she speaks.

"Please Todoroki-sama is far from tacky." She wants to hold your gaze but you're too busy making a little heart beside your eye, she chooses to admire herself. Wiggling in her too tight mauve pink dress, adjusting her tits to sit better. She smooths her long dark hair, her bright nails with a single rhinestone catch your eye.

"I'm not seeing him tonight. I'm working remember." You step back and look yourself over. Adjusting your low cut shirt where it shows just enough cleavage for extra tips from guys but not too much that women will not tip you at all. You slide your cellphone into your ripped black jean shorts.

"Besides he is just a customer who comes in and sits at my bar every now and again after a long shift."

She gives you a pointed look, texting without looking.

"Oh so every night for the past month is every now and again?" She rolls her eyes, "Then I only talk to about six guys at a time every now and again."

You laugh at her bluntness. It's true she always kept men on the fringes, never fully letting her guard down. Plus why would she when she was the top escort at Madam's.

"You know you'd make more at work if you escorted someone." She looks you over, you're both naturally pretty. Having this sort of magnetism about you, "Like a lot more."

She eyes your boobs and ass, mentally comparing them and making a satisfied face.

"I couldn't balance it as well as you." You admit.

"You're fucking right about that!" She snaps a selfie, pulling her dress past her nipple but hiding it behind the fisted fabric, "But you're lucky. You're the type of girl that one guy will pay to be exclusively theirs for fucking life."

She smirks as her phone pings in reply.

"But..." You hesitate as you lace your black converse, Madam has asked if you'd like to try, that if you wanted you could be more than the bar keep and the bouncer rolled in one. Most of the girls were quirkless or cared so little for their power that majority of them were beginning to forget how to use them.

Your friend didn't bother to even learn how to control hers, though her power must be difficult to aim as she has always had fortune, Lady Luck on her side if you will.

Even getting out of being arrested when the officer watched the crime with his own eyes.

"Akime..."

"No you don't have to fuck any of the customers. Madam prefers that you don't." She holds your gaze, "I'm serious."

"Well what I was going go say is get your fucking shoes we're gonna be late."

"I'm never late as nothing starts until I arrive."

Its slow even for a Thursday but that doesn't stop you from pouring a whiskey neat and setting it at the bar stool off to your right.

Like clock work the hero comes in, still dressed in his uniform, though there isnt much of one for him to wear before he sits in his usual stool.

"You remembered." He smiles but the joy stays out of his eyes. You bite the inside of your lip, this is abnormal for him and you should know cause you can read body language as if it were a simple book. You're a bar tender it's a prerequisite. Talking and sounding like you care equals big tips.

"What's eating you tonight?" You ask, deft hands shining glasses, setting them up neatly for the order that's going to come from table two. Ruby eyes stare into the brown liquid that he swirls. He bites his lip, debating on telling you.

"I've uh... I've got to find a date for this big gala thing." He downs the whole glass and you blink.

"Well don't look so downtrodden, you're in the perfect place. Our hybrid bar is for meeting people or escorts." You gesture behind him and he looks over his slumped shoulders spying a too tight pink dress, he's had his eye on someone at this place.

"We've got booze and bitches." You laugh at your own joke and he turns to give you a softened look.

"No these women are so kind, far from bitches." You refill his drink off record as an apology, "You're right I am in the perfect place with stunning women on short notice but..."

"But?" You turn to grab the top shelf tequilla, he hardly let's his eyes linger over your sculpted legs. He looks over his shoulder again, as if debating. He swallows his drink whole again, slamming the glass down.

"But I have to get a date for a friend too." He looks crestfallen at the bottom of his empty glass. You refill it before continuing your specialty 'lust' margaritas.

"Well we have a variety of women here to choose from. Bring him in, he's bound to see someone his type." You says as you place the blood oranges just right on the rim of the glass careful not to disrupt the red salt and pink sugar.

"That's the problem he has no type!" He sighs frustrated, "Hasn't for as long as I've known him. Work is his only type."

"Oh he's a virgin then." You wipe the base of the glass before setting them on a tray for Momo, "Yikes."

She grabs the tray with a smile as she sashays to her usual customer. The red head laughs aloud.

"Far from!" He chuckles into his drink, "He's slept with lots of women."

"Oh then what's the problem?"

"That it's a 'date', pretend or not he's awful at PDA. Our PR manager says we need this exposure. A little love drama." His red eyes become puppy dog big as he looks at you as if you have the answers.

Akime makes her fake laugh loudly, her nails catching your eye as she makes her hand signal to ready her drinks. You make quick work on a lust margarita and two shots of vodka. You slice another blood orange as she sways her hips your way.

"Are they almost ready Y/N?" Her tone is all sugar but only because someone is at the bar, she mock gasps as if she didn't see him. Leaning over a bit to give him a better view of her overflowing breasts.

"And who might this be, Y/N?" She smiles, eyes flickering to you.

"Oh ah...actually I don't think he's ever introduced himself. I only know his hero name. Red Riot." You say sheepish for the first time in your life.

"Kirishima Eijirou." He says gently. You see Akime's plan of adding him to her throng of followers set in motion.

"Ah your red hair is so cool!" She says fingering the strands gently. You inwardly roll your eyes.

"Oh thank you. Not as cool as your Louboutins." He smiles a sharp toothed smile, you notice a dusting of pink on Akime's cheeks. Could she always fake a blush like that or...or was that real?

"What's your name?" His voice is butter smooth. She blinks at him wildly, noting that his eyes are, and have been, firmly locked with hers.

"Akime. You sure know your shoes."

"Your Prada dress is gorgeous too." He offers his sharp smile again and this time the blush deepens just a hue, "But you could wear a potato sac and it still wouldn't distract me from your stunning eyes."

"M..my eyes?" You cannot hide the surprise on your face, she has never stammered before. Kirishima nods as the man from her table calls out, his beady eyes glued to her ass.

"Akime dear.."

"Coming!" She sings back, blowing him a kiss before she almost glares at the bar's new ruby eyed patron.

He doesn't watch her go, a feat you've never seen any man take. Instead he sighs into his drink, mind clouded with worry.

"Well he's bound to like someone here." Your eyes gravitate to Madame's highest earner who also just happens to be your roommate. Kirishima follows your line of sight, watching the woman in pink take a shot.

"Yea...someone."

Your night with the red head is filled with odd conversation as he tells you all about his hero work.

Honestly you welcome any conversation that isn't about a sad broken marriage like the sob stories you normally get.

You laugh loudly when he tells you a blunder that Chargebolt did on a job and how angry Ground Zero got.

You do not notice how his ruby red eyes shine when you belt with joy. The clock tower near by chimes, singing its praises for closing time.

"Oh ah I'm sorry Kirishima-san but it seems its quiting time." You smile sweetly as Akime makes her way to the back room for her jacket.

"Ah will you ladies be safe to walk home this late at night?" He asks, voice suddenly sober with concern. You giggle , Akime returns from the backroom quickly in her pink faux fur jacket eyes narrowed to slits. She slips her hand onto his strong arm, pressing her glossed lips to his ear earning a huge blush.

"Y/N could kick your ass and I would be happy to watch. Please leave fire engine." She is no longer wearing her persona, something you've never seen her show a male before. He blinks, stunned at the sudden switch before he turns to her with a wide smile.

"I knew you that dumb doe look wasn't real." He squeezes her hand to his chest with his arm, this time leaning his lips to her ear, "Real men actually enjoy a woman with intellect. I believe you've been holding the attention of too many boys"

He gives her a cat like smile before stopping at the front door.

"See you tomorrow ladies. Same time." And with that he leaves with a wink.

&&&&

8:15pm comes soon rather than later and you've got a whiskey neat lined up in his usual seat, another glass pending a drink as you're expecting his friend but you do not want to assume.

Kirishima waves with a sharp toothed smile as he walks in followed by an extremely grumpy looking ash blonde.

You smile as they take their seats, except Kirishima sits a seat down from his usual, putting him on the end of the bar where he faces the length of the bar but can turn his head to the side to see the low couches.

You swallow as the angry blonde takes his seat, scarlet eyes glowering at the drink.

"This shit must be for you, shitty hair." He says as he slides the whiskey neat as if it were poison. Kiri retorts with a smile before his ruby eyes settle over the low couches. You follow his gaze to see it settled on *her* couch. You sigh turning to the agitated blonde.

"What can I get you?" You're cheery and offer a bright smile to which he sneers, you offer a drink menu when he does not answer you.

"Why the fuck did you drag me here?" The young hero asks, dropping his giant and in your opinion gaudy, grenade vambraces. They hit the floor with enough weight that all the glass behind the bar rattles. You send a nasty glare that goes unnoticed as he stares at Kirishima.

"Ah well..." He scratches the back of his head as he sips on his drink.

"He's trying to find you a date. Which to me already seems next to impossible considering how rude you are." You fake a smile at the end as you add "Now do you want anything to drink or no?"

The blonde glares your way for the first time tonight.

"I want a drink that will make you less of a bitch." He growls and you feel your temper flair.

"Oh so sorry, I can't make one of those for you, just like I can't make a drink that will make you less of a fucking asshole. But maybe a vodka Sprite will shut you the fuck up." You snap, pouring his drink with speed before slamming it down on the bar to attend to the incoming Friday night crowd.

You pour hundreds of drinks in the span of just a few hours as you submerge yourself in your work. Serving the drinks that are ready for tables by the edge of the bar where Kirishima sits and taking new orders from waiting customers all the while a set of scarlet eyes watch.

Watch you flirt.

Watch you bend over just enough for guys to get a better view of your tits earning a better tip.

They watch you smile and it causes his heart to race, especially when you share it with another man hinting at an innuendo.

Through all that you still manage to refill Kiri's and that damn ash blonde's glass, though you give him something different after each drink.

You set the house special of Lust before him and he stares at the red sunset colored drunk.

"What the hell is this?" He asks gruffly, the first words to you since your comment.

"Lust." You smile at him, a real smile as you are delighting in his slight discomfort, "But maybe I should make you a drink called love instead..."

"No, I told you that my services don't go that far."Akime laughs though you know she's holding back rage, "Please I enjoy your company and don't want to ask you to leave."

You don't catch the first que as the blonde yells in your direction.

"I said no!" And then she giggles but his hands try to pry her crossed legs open.

Kirishima notices, a hot rage burning in his stomach as he picks Akime up gently, placing her on her two feet in her prada shoes behind him before he leans in real close to the mans face.

"I think you should get your hearing checked. The beautiful lady said no, not convince me." His voice is dark and the drunk man rears his fist, his gaudy rings catching the light attracts your eye and you jump over the bar.

You didn't do your research on Red Riot, so you wouldn't have known that the man swinging would have broken his fist against a stone face instead you slam your own fist so hard into greasy skin that two gold teeth and a string of blood fly out.

Unfortunately for you, you've just hit a pretty notorious boss and his goons rise from the surrounding couches. You smile as they lunge your way.

Most of them are easy one punch K.Os, your fist meeting flesh and making that satisfying crack.

Your favorite sound as you feel the orbital bone give way under the force of your fist, power singing through you before they can even use their quirk.

You don't notice the last one coming out of the bathroom, his eyes wide as he stares at his boss lying facedown with a bloodied golden suit. The ox like man charges for you like a bull sees red.

You're turning too late to counter or even block the on coming bear paw. As you brace yourself for what should be a sliding impact you feel a muscular arm wrap around your thick waist as a a powerful palm catches the meaty fist. A series of pops dance along his tight forearm as steam hisses from his palm.

"Tsk. You're really starting to piss me off fatty." His eyes glow red as his tone turns dark

"G...Ground Zero!" He stammers, "Y..you can't sc..scare me."

"Wasn't trying to, tiny." He tightens his grip around his fist before twisting the baemeth's wrist the wrong way. Cracking echos through the quiet room as the man falls to his knees.

The blonde squeezes your hip gently before letting go to walk forward and further damage the man. His snarl turning into a small manic smile. The man shakes beneath the hero. You pull the broad shouldered blonde from the man just to earn a glare.

"I was handling that." A growl, as the man cradles his wrist.

"Yea so well too." Sarcasm drips over every syllable, "Well enough you were planning to take a direct hit to the face."

"I. Had it. Under. Control." You bite out again pushing him, letting your temper heat your blood.

For whatever reason you HATED having a man come to your rescue.Mostly because anytime one of them did, they expected something. You feel the ghost of his hand on your hip, further fueling your rage.

Arrogant

Asshole

Is all you can think as he steps closer, looking down on you as your chests touch, forehead almost touching yours.

"Do you know what his nickname is?" A growl so dark your stomach twists and your muscles tense ready for a fight, "The bone crusher. Do you know why?"

You stare him in the face, starting to see the edges of your vision turn blood red.

"His quirk can shatter bones with just a flick of his fingers. You're lucky I know how to counteract the force," Another growl, "But of course you wouldn't have known what is quirk was because you're too busy flashing your tits for fives."

You see completely in red as your first moves on it's own accord right into his pretty, arrogant asshole mouth. Causing him to slide into your precious bar, wood splinters beneath his weight. He spits blood onto the shining wood top.

But you aren't done there, no you were in full on berserk mood as you jump into the air to get a more intense impact because right now you want to see those kissable lips and those burning eyes bloodied.

"ENOUGH!" You are frozen mid air before you fall to your knees powerless as madame's graying hair stands stick straight. Kirishima and Katuski share a look as they watch the older woman reminding them of their old Sensei.

"A round of free drinks on the house. Mina!" Madame calls, the pink skinned girl bows.

"Yes ma'am?"

"Get started on those orders and make sure they are delicious drinks please darling." She's all sugar before she turns to you, "My office now! All four of you!"

You struggle to stand as your power has been sapped for at least ten minutes.

You feel oddly human and you do not like it as your body seems to weigh too much even for your powerfully toned legs. A busted lip blonde offers you his hand with a scoff and when you push it away he growls, placing his arms beneath your triceps pulling you to your feet before he shoves his hands in his black pants.

He spits blood on the floor again as he follows Kirishima who is gently guiding Akime to the office with a large palm on her mid back.

You and Akime take the two seats across from her oversized desk in her cramped office as the two men stand behind you. She smooths her hair down before setting her sights on you.

"What the hell happened out there?!" A shrill yell, "That's a high ranking thug you've hit out there and do you know who that is?"

You follow her finger over your shoulder and huff angrily. His arms are crossed and his scarlet eyes are averted.

"No ma'am. I do not."

"Well you should!" She slaps a newspaper on the desk for you to see, you peer down at the blonde who, even though you'd hate to admit, looks cool as hell as he crouched, just dodging a punch and already mid counter.

"He's tied for number one!" She slams the paper with her wrist for emphasis, "And you bruised his handsome face!"

"I..."

"No, no excuses. Now Red Riot and Ground Zero what brings you two here today?" Her dark eyes slide over the built men. Kirishima laughs, scratching the back of his head.

"Well we need dates for this gala...." He says honestly as the aura from behind you goes from pissed to seething, you can almost hear the popping sound of his quirk.

"You're in the right place." Madame smiles, "Did you have any ladies in mind?"

His ruby eyes fall to your friend who is sitting with her hands in her lap, fighting mixed emotions about tonight. Though to the naked eye she seems relaxed, bored even.

She inspects her matte pink nails to further emphasize her facade.

"Well only if she agrees to it." He says softly before meeting the gaze of the older woman.

"Akime will accept. Now love what is your external rate at these days?" Madame asks, plucking a pen from her chaotic desk with ease.

"250 an hour, and additional 50 an hour if there is physical contact. Kisses on the cheek are 20 bucks and kisses on the lips are 55 a piece." Akime says as she reaches for her phone to text idly.

Kirshima feels his soul leave his body as Katsuki's eyes narrow on his supposed friend.

"And for your friend?"

Kirishima's eyes shift to you wholly noticed by Madame.

"I'm not sure who he would pick but as far as her prices I can't..."

"You won't have to. I will lend these two ladies to you free of charge as an apology for the rough night Y/N has put you through." She scribbles on paper.

"That is very generous but.." Eji starts only to be interrupted once again.

"There are no buts in this conversation. I will allow you these two women for the whole evening. Return them at midnight or let me know other wise should they somehow fall in love with your boyish charm and his brutish way of showing affection." She does not look up from her notes.

"Th..thank you madame." Kirishima bows as Katsuki sucks his teeth before they both leave with her business card in hand to provide details for later. The second the two men leave you find yourself and Akime speaking over one another.

"He's such a fucking brute. Why did you pick me? He should take Urakaka san or one of the other hmm I dont know actually escorts."

"Madame I cannot be SEEN with firetruck and especially not for FREE?! Ugh and it matches his sparkling eyes and it's kinda cuu... really ugly madam I cannot go on like this. I'm being punished. I was the victim here!"

"SILENCE BOTH OF YOU!" You both flinch for fear of her power stripping quirk. It even makes the quirkless feel weak.

"I'm still going to pay you both. Just not your external rates Akime. I'm going to pay your normal rate doubled as with you Y/N." She finally holds eye contact switching between you two, "Do you know what this will do for the escort services and the bar? Hero exposure will have this place skyrocketing, we won't even have to advertise that is our establishment as everyone knows where Akime works what with her large male following. And with the world renowned drinks you've made Y/N everyone will be all over this joint. And hell Akime maybe you'll even catch the eye of Todoroki."

You both stare dumbfounded.

"But.." You say in unison.

"But you both need to leave before I make these a series of dates."

[secondhand-trash]

Freddy Freeman(Shazam!)- Art Exchange

A/N: Nobody asked for this but here is another fic I wrote out of impulse. This is inspired by something similar that happened to my friend and the biggest struggle I had when I wrote this was probably the fact that I have no idea how American schools work lol

Description: Drawing exaggerated pictures of your teachers is a part of high school culture and you had fully embraced it as a part of your school life. You just didn’t expect someone to actually see it, let alone replying to it with an even more comedic doodle.

Wordcount: 2166

Playlist:

Young Volcanos//Fall Out Boy

Check Yes Juliet//We The Kings

Something You Want//Against the Current

You couldn’t help it. Mathematics was boring and the teacher’s monotone lecture did not help keeping you awake at all. Scribbling on your desk was your last attempt at trying to stop your eyelids from closing and to your surprise, it worked. From that moment onwards, you always mindlessly dribble on the corner of your desk in class, occasionally looking up to pretend that you are actually listening. By the time you leave class, half of the wood surface would be covered in graphite strokes, most of which consisted of portraits of your maths teacher.

Sorry Mr Martin, but your round head and goatee was too cartoonish and easy to visualize.

Normally, you would make sure to erase all the doodles on your desk before leaving the room. But your friend had been rambling about this new movie and as you two continued with the conversation after the bell rang, you completely forgot about the markings on the school property.

Your mistake ended up being a delightful surprise for another poor kid who was stuck in the exact same situation as you did.

Freddy tried, he really did but he hated this subject with his whole heart. Why did the school think it was a good idea to ask you to calculate the volume of a pool when no person in their right mind would purchase a goddamn pool without knowing its measurements?

He was quick to notice that something was off about his usual seat the moment he walked pass the door. Taking a more careful look at the patterns on the desk as he sat down, he instinctively pressed his hand to his lips to cover up the snicker that would have drawn too much unwanted attention as more pupils started entering the room. On the corner of his desk was a figure that somehow resembles an egg but with a goatee. He didn’t have to take another glance to know that said egg was their beloved teacher, completely unaware that he had been immortalized in his student’s masterpiece as he handed out the new assignment.

Whoever did this was a genius, Freddy thought to himself as he scanned through the other amusing doodles on the desk. He reached into his bag and scrambled for a pencil, scribbling away while trying to surpress the large grin on his face.

“Mr Freeman? Mr Freeman, are you listening?”

Shit. “Yes Mr Martin?”

“Tell me, what is the answer to this question?”

“Oh crap.”

“What if he saw it?” You nervously said to your friend as you two made a turn down the hallway.

“It’s gonna be fine,” your friend said, clearing annoyed after hearing you went on about how much trouble you would be in if Mr Martin found out about the little artwork you made of him in class. Drawing in class, on school property AND making fun of your teacher? God knows how many days of detention this could cost you.

You sighed in relieve as Mr Martin did not even turn to look at you when you walked in. You walked straight to your seat to see that all the doodles were still there. Picking up an eraser to remove all hints of your crime, you noticed something that wasn’t there before. Right next to the egg(aka cartoon Mr Martin) you drew was the figure of a man being tied up. The corner of your lips tucked up into a smirk as you saw that the man was tied up by his very, very long facial hair. Whoever left this here clearly paid more attention to the teacher’s goatee more than they did to class like you did.

“Nice drawings, bought me more fun than maths ever did. Hope you don’t mind my little addition:)”

Looking at the scrawled handwriting below the figure, you grinned. You erased the existing drawings on the table and started making another one, all while thinking of a message that you could leave for the person who would be sitting there later on.

Needless to say, you were thrilled when you got back to the seat the following day to see that you actually got a reply.

You never thought that you would ever say this in your entire lifetime but you started really looking forward to maths class. Every time you walked into the classroom, you checked the table for new drawings and messages immediately and you were never disappointed. Your anonymous friend always pulled through and the stuff that appeared on the wooden surface only got weirder and weirder, so weird that you found yourself smiling uncontrollably when you look at them in class. (”What exactly are you smiling at?” “Oh, nothing. Just my love for algebra, Mr Martin.”)

Your friends teased you about it, saying that you looked like a fool in love when you grin at your desk. To that, you shrugged. You never showed them the doodles and you weren’t planning to, much to their curiosity and annoyance. Somehow, you wanted the whole exchange to be a secret between you and the other person involved. The idea that you had an unspoken bond with someone you had not met gave you an odd sense of excitement.

That was until one day you entered the classroom with your usual anticipation and found nothing but your own handwriting, not even a single word next to the lines you made.

You tried to continue leaving little drawings and notes here and there on your desk everyday but you were met with the same disappointment when you check in on the markings the next day.

“I don’t get it! What happened? They didn’t say anything, they just vanished like they fell of the surface of the earth! Are they ok? Are they angry at me for anything I might have done? Are they still alive? What if-”

“Can you please calm down?” You friend yelled, throwing the fork down onto the tray and earning the both of you a few glances from the people sitting near your table, “That person does not even know who you are!”

“Well, I know!” You snapped back, “But there must be a reason as to why they suddenly stop replying! It makes no sense!”

You friend rolled their eyes and continued munching on their food, deciding that letting you express your frustration might be a wiser idea than putting any form of rationality in your head.

Little did you know, the same conversation was unfolding in the far corner of the cafeteria.

“I should have left my number!” Freddy sighed, “And now there’s no way I would ever find out who my art buddy is!”

“I mean, I get your frustration but maybe don’t take it out on your food? The mashed potato is innocent, ya’know?” Billy said in amusement as his brother let out another muffled groan, “Mr Martin wouldn’t have forced you to sit in the front row if you at least tried to pretend that you were paying attention, just saying.”

“You are no help.”

“Have you ever thought of waiting before class starts to see who’s the one in that seat?”

“First of all, that sounds creepy.” The shorter boy folded his arms in front of his chest, “Second, what am I supposed to do after that? Walk up to that person and be like ‘Hey, I’m the weirdo who you had been bonding with through our mutual mocking towards our teacher, wanna be friends?’”

“I thought you want to know who the person is?”

“Well yeah,” Freddy said, "but the thought of actually being around them in real life kinda scares me. Can’t we just go back to how things used to be? When I can pretend to be cool by hiding under the facade of my excellent art?”

“How so very confident of you, if only you have as much confidence when you are facing real people.”

“What class are we having?” You friend asked, desperately trying to change the subject. Your rambling carried on after you two finished lunch and they were slowly losing patience.

“History.”

“Damn it! Really? I forgot about the essay we are supposed to hand in! I’m so fucked...”

You mockingly laughed, “Same, but the difference between me and you is that I was smart enough to check my schedule when I got to school this morning so I managed to finish it in maths class.”

Reaching into you bag, you search for your paper and your smirk slowly fade as you realized that it was no where to be found. “Shit, I must have left it in the drawer.”

“Ha ha, jokes on you. Now we can both get into trouble together.”

You glared at your friend, “I’m gonna go get it back.”

“Are you sure? I think class is about to start.”

“I’ll just say that my stomach hurts and I was at the bathroom. With the quality of the food they are serving here, I’m sure that no one will suspect a thing.”

Freddy mindlessly flicked his pen as he sulked in his new seat. Class was no fun and he could not get away with drawing in class anymore with the teacher right in front of him, watching his every move. He was bored out of his mind when the door opened, he looked up to see an unfamiliar figure standing under the frame. Was this person in his class?

“Sorry Mr Martin, I left something here and I need it for class.” The person quickly entered the room and walked pass Freddy after gaining a nod of approval from the teacher. His gaze followed them and his eyes widened in shock as the person stopped in front of his previous seat, pulling a few sheets of paper out of the drawer. He took a quick glance at the paper when they passed his seat again and felt a comforting sense of familiarity when he saw their handwriting. Freddy smiled, earning him a look of confusion from the maths teacher. “Honestly,” the man thought to himself, slightly regretting putting this kid in the front, “why did I decide to be a teacher in the first place?”

“Hey! Wait up!”

You turned around, the voice stopping you in your track as you were walking out of the school building. Not far from you was a boy walking towards you with a crutch in his hand, clearly trying his best to walk at full speed.

“Do you know him?” Your friend whispered in your ear and you slightly shake your head. As he walked closer, you recognized him as the person who was sitting near the door when you went to get your homework in Mr Martin’s room.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I know you?”

The boy scratched the back of his head, realizing that he might have confused you. “Oh, of course. I almost forgot that you don’t know yet,” he said, not looking you in the eye as he speak, “I used to sit at your seat in maths before I got put in the front.”

You beamed as you finally gathered what the boy was trying to say, “That’s you? So that’s why you suddenly stopped replying! Thank god, I thought you were dead or something.”

“No, not dead, just observed by ‘Mr goatee’ 24/7.” he said and you laughed. He reached out his free hand to you, “I’m Freddy.”

“(y/n).” You said and shaked his hand, “I can’t believe I’m actually talking to you in person. I’ve missed you... I mean, talking to you... Like, drawing ‘talking’...” You felt your face burn as everything you said sounded so creepy and you gave your friend a sharp glare as you heard the snickering.

“I missed that too.” Freddy looked right at you and you took the first proper look at him. With the sun and the grin on his face, it looked his eyes were twinkling. You cringed as the thought went pass your head and you felt like such a cliché. But this kid actually got unfairly pretty eyes.

“Now that we did the whole ‘awkward first encounter thing’,” He said and darted his gaze away from you again, “maybe we can hang out sometimes? I know this really nice comic book shop in town, if you’re interested that is.”

You smiled, “I love comics.”

His face lit up and you cursed yourself for being so quick to notice that. “So is tomorrow good?”

“Tomorrow’s good.”

“Cool, I’ll see you then.” He gave you another bright smile before leaving and joining another group of people that you assumed to be his family. Still grinning from ear to ear at what happened, you didn’t notice the sly smile on your friend’s face.

“Ooooooooo someone’s got a date.”

“Shut up.”

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @inatshej!

I hope you enjoy and have a wonderful holiday season!

Read of AO3

*****

When Darkness Knocks (Knock Back)

He stared at the plate of food balanced on the U-haul box. Around him, half-empty boxes littered the floor, shoved up against the walls and stacked in a feeble attempt to get them out of the way.

Throughout the house almost every room was in a similar state of disorder.

“The moving truck should be here tomorrow with our furniture.”

His gaze slid up, glancing over the TV dinners and mugs of water until he met John’s gaze.

The move took its toll on both of them. John had deep circles under his eyes and the wrinkles on his face seemed to have deepened overnight, adding years to his face, making him seem older than he was.

John stretched one leg, wincing as the unforgiving linoleum dug into his backside. “It’ll be nice to have a table again.” He settled, pulling his other leg up so he could rest his elbow on his knee, head falling into his palm. He stared glassy eyed at the meatloaf in the thin black tray like he could will it into being something more edible.

The sound of John’s breathing seemed exceptionally loud in the empty eat-in kitchen, wheezy and labored after ten trips back and forth from the trailer they’d towed behind the Jeep.

He looked up again, eyes crinkling slightly. “You hanging in there, kiddo?”

His shoulder jerked in a shrug, a plastic smile curled up over his lips. “Of course.” His voice was too chipper, bordering on fake, but John only nodded, head tilting forward to stare at their makeshift table.

“I managed to get my old job back at the police department,” John said. He dug his fork into the fake mashed potatoes, pushing them mindlessly from one side of the tray to the other. “You probably don’t remember Jordan, but he managed to pull some strings to get me back on the force.” He huffed, smiling, “He invited us to the holiday party for the station, said they’re holding it at the Hales’ place.” He looked up, still smiling. “Isn’t that nice?”

He nodded, reaching for his mug. His palm hit the cool ceramic, nudging the mug forward across the cardboard.

John didn’t seem to notice.

“You were a toddler the last time we went.”

His fingers twitched, hovering just out of grasping range of the mug. The handle glanced off his palm.

“I think it’ll be fun,” John finished. His fork thudded softly down onto the tray next to the abandoned potatoes.

His fingers jerked hard enough to touch the glass; he yanked his hand back, dropping it on his lap to try and smooth the gesture. “Goodnight.”

John’s eyes widened slightly, then his brow furrowed in concern. “You alright?”

He barely managed to lifted and lower his head. “Just tired.”

John’s face softened, a thin, weary smile crossing his lips. “I feel you. Goodnight. Love you.”

He unfolded his legs, rising stiffly to his feet. He stepped out of the kitchen and into the dark hallway. The unfamiliar scent of the house made his sinuses burn; it would take some time to get used to.

He rubbed his face against his shoulder, turning to go up the stairs to the second floor. His fingers trailed lightly over the handrail, his every step just loud enough that he knew John could hear in the kitchen below. Slowly, he reached the top of the steps.

His turned into the room on the left, flinging a hand out to smack the light switch. His knuckles clacked painfully against the wall, inches away from their mark. The door swung closed behind him with a solid click and he leaned against the counter. The cool granite cut through his thin sleep pants, biting into his hips. His hands went to the edge of the sink, fingers curling around the porcelain as he leaned forward toward the mirror.

Even in the dark he could see his eyes staring back at him, set in sockets too deep and dark against a pallor.

His fingers scrabbled against the sink, each one twitching against his control.

He scrunched his nose, top lip curling. “Stop.” His fingers forcibly curled back around the sink, his knuckles white.

“Leave me alone,” Stiles whispered, it was more of a weak echo than a sound.

“Stop.” Black flooded across his eyes and he straightened, rolling his neck and loosening his grip on the sink. He flexed his fingers until the ache subsided. “Good boy.”

He opened the door, crossing the distance to his room in three steps. The scent of stale air greeted him when he opened the door; he paused, staring into the darkness.

He’d tossed his sleeping bag in the middle of the room earlier. The sleeping bag and a couple stacks of books were the only thing he’d put on the trailer. Tomorrow he would have his bed again.

He slowly closed the door, bracing one hand on the door jam and the other on the handle to make as little sound as possible. He let out a long breath, closing his eyes. “No matter how hard you try, you can’t win.”

He opened his eyes and dropped to his hands and knees, crawling across the floor to the sleeping bag. He burrowed under the side of the slick material, slithering and twisting until he was completely covered. “Goodnight Stiles.”

XXX Beacon Hills High School looked boring. The bland red bricks, the dead grass in the fields, even the maroon School Spirit! signs blended into the background to the point of being unnoticeable.

He made his way up the front steps. Since he was late, the halls were already empty, clear of the usual cattle-herd shuffle of noise, pushy students. Good. He wouldn’t have to deal with other students for a little bit longer.

His footsteps echoed against the tile as he ducked into the front office.

Fake plants were the only source of color.

A woman looked up from behind the desk; her brow twitched, lips pursed in thought. “Can I help you?”

He shifted his weight, tucking his thumb under the strap of his bag to adjust it. “I’m new.” He paused, not sure if he needed to sign in or just say ‘lead me to my doom’.

Papers rustled as she grabbed things from various piles in front of her.

“You must be Stiles,” she said. A warm smile replaced her bland expression. “I have a syllabus for you, and a handbook— make sure your dad signs it and bring it back to the office.”

She kept talking, babbling about the layout of the school, what classes he had and the teachers names. He only half listened. Each school had the same typical routine.

He shifted over to a chair in front of a blue screen when she said she needed to take his picture for his school ID. A countdown and an awful imitation of a shutter click later, she frowned at the picture on her computer screen.

“It looks like the camera caught a glare, how about we retake it real fast?”

“It’s fine,” he said quickly. It wouldn’t be any use retaking it, the flare around his eyes would still be there. He flashed her a false smile and said, forcefully perky, “It’s just a picture.”

After a beat, she shrugged, giving in. “It’s your ID.”

“Thank you,” he beamed. He plucked the schedule from the stack of papers she’d laid out for him. Chemistry with someone named Harris was first. This ought to be a blast. Or, he thought with a wide smile, at the very least he could make it one. Though nothing had been proven, he was still suspected for a minor chemistry lab explosion at his last school.

She offered him a small yellow slip of paper with instructions to give that to the teacher when he got there. “Last door on the left,” she said as he slipped back out into the hall.

He found the classroom easily. He stared at the cheap wooden door for a second, then, reluctantly, knocked.

The gentle murmur of conversation on the other side stopped. He waited.

A dark haired man with glasses opened it, his gaze flicking dismissively over him.

He stared back, impassive and unimpressed. This worm was meant to intimidate a room full of hormone drenched adolescents? Please.

“You must be Stillinski.” Harris’s eyes narrowed. “You’re late.”

“Congratulations, you can tell time,” he deadpanned.

Harris’s lip twitched, revealing a hint of teeth.

He smiled back, all teeth, and no happiness.

“Get in here before you delay the class longer.” Harris held the door open wider and stepped aside the side to allow him to pass.

Desks were set side by side, forming long rows throughout the room. At least two dozen eyes were locked on him, and a handfull of those closest to the door blatantly stared, wide eyed and shocked after hearing the conversation.

“Sit between McCall and Hale,” Harris snapped, slamming the door shut behind them.

He looked over the sea of faces. A brunette boy dead center smiled and waved, tugging out an empty chair between him and a brown haired girl.

“Hey dude, welcome to Beacon Hills.” McCall grinned as he made his way through the maze of bodies toward them. “I’m Scott.”

He dropped his bag, toeing it under the desk. “Stiles.”

Scott’s smile didn’t falter.

Hale snorted; what little of her expression he could see looked bored beyond relief.

He could relate to her.

“That’s Cora,” Scott said. “She may seem mean but she’s actually pretty nice. It’s like a family trait of theirs to come across as pissed off ninety-nine percent of the time.”

Cora rolled her eyes and leaned back in her seat. Though she was trying to be subtle, he could see her casting curious glances at him from the corner of her eye.

“Do you have something to share with the class, McCall?” Harris demanded, taking his spot back at the front of the class.

“Nope.”

By the end of class he’d learned the pipes next to the sinks at the back of the room that should have held gasses for the class to experiment and learn from had in fact been shut off years ago. He sighed sadly, he’d need to find another way to entertain himself while he was here.

Scott, it turned out, was in his second class also, along with a girl he introduced as Erica, and her boyfriend and partner in crime Boyd. He’d forced out a semi-polite greeting and resigned himself to the readings of Throeau.

After third period math, he thought he’d officially escaped the overly friendly group. He trudged his way through the cafeteria line, carrying the tray of bland food out into the large dining room. He could see tables outside through the large windows, presumably to use when the weather is nice.

He’d spotted an empty table tucked away in the back corner when familiar voice reached his ears.

“Guys, he’s hurting.” That simpering earnest voice had to be McCall.

He rolled his eyes. He’d be willing to bet his immortality that if the McCall boy saw him he’d be immediately invited over to their table. And he wasn’t sure if he was in the mood to be babbled at. He shifted his weight stiffly, casting his gaze around the room until he spotted McCall at a table to the right.

Next to Scott sat Cora, Erica, Boyd, Lydia- she was in his math class- and a boy and girl he hadn’t met yet.

The unknown girl placed her hand on top of Scott’s reassuringly. “Leave him alone, he clearly doesn’t want anything to do with us.”

“He needs friends, Allison. A big move like that has to be hard. This is probably just his way of coping.”

“You can’t help everyone, Scotty. Especially those who don’t want help.”

Cora shook her head slowly. “Drop it, something’s off about him anyway. I kept getting bad vibes from him.”

He beamed. Now this… this could be fun. He switched directions, cutting between the two tables between him and Scott’s table. With each step he adjusted his posture: his shoulders slumped, his face muscles relaxed, and a pleasant smile rolled out across his mouth.

The unnamed boy noticed him first. Thick dark brows rose and his nostrils flared.

The rest of the table turned, noticing him at last.

“Hey Stiles.” Scott beamed with an inhuman measure of goodwill. “Want to sit with us?”

“Yes, please, thank you.”

Cora and Allison stared at Scott, expressions flat and disapproving, who opened his eyes wider and shrugged innocently.

“Stiles, this is Lydia.” Scott motioned to the red head.

“We’re in math together,” Lydia cut in, nodding cooly at Stiles.

“Oh,” Scott’s face fell a fraction, then lit back up. “That’s Derek, Cora’s older brother, he’s a senior.”

Derek scowled the he took the seat next to him. It was the only one available, but it also put him directly next to Scott. And Scott was the one he’d chosen. He could play sweet, become friends, learn Scott’s ins and outs and destroy him by the end of the semester. It’d be great.

He smiled at Derek. “Hello.”

“Hi,” Derek said. He looked at Stiles for a second more before focusing on his food.

The table had gone silent. No one was looking at him directly but the hair on his arms stood on end, they were wary of him. Usually humans didn’t notice anything off, definitely not this quickly. Well, there was that one person in San Francisco, but they had accused everyone of having demons inside them. They hadn’t known what to do when Stiles burst out laughing.

He lifted his hand, forcing his fingers to curl around the plastic fork. The movements were still jerky, like an unpracticed puppet master was pulling at his strings, but it was smoother than they’d been the night before at the dinner table. It was easier to control his body when Stiles wasn’t fighting against him.

Derek shifted, leaning into his space for half a second before straightening quickly, face tensed and closed off.

He looked up, prepared to tell the guy to back off, when sunlight caught Cora’s eyes and for a brief moment, it looked like they flashed gold. He tilted his head, fascinated. That was new. THere was so much about this human world he didn’t understand, it was easy to get distracted by the sensations, sights, and smells.

Perhaps it was the potential flash of gold in Cora’s eyes, or the distraction of Derek leaning in when everyone else always leaned away. Perhaps it was just that Stiles had been quiet all day. Regardless, he was not prepared for his right side to seize out of his control.

His hand snapped out, grabbing Derek’s forearm and digging his fingertips into his skin. “Help.” His voice was a bare tremble of sound, his face still turned forward, away from Derek.

Immediately, he yanked his hand back, eyes wide in shock. He’d never lost control like that.

You know better than that, Stiles.

He swept his arm across the table, sending his tray and carton of milk flying. He jumped to his feet and bolted. He’d have to do damage control later, figure out a way to fix the scene Stiles had caused. Sure, he’d talked his way out of more, but if this threw a wrench in his plan for Scott he was going to be pissed.

He power walked down the hall until he found a bathroom; he ran inside, ducking in the first stall he came across.

He waited, ears straining to hear if anyone from the table had followed him. Aside from his heavy breathing and the sound of blood rushing in his ears, there was nothing.

XXX

His gaze never wavered from the clock mounted above the whiteboard, even though he could feel the teacher’s withering stare. What did he care?

The bell rang, bringing with it a collective sigh of relief and a flurry of movement. The teacher didn’t even bother trying to stop them. She went to her desk to gather her things, as eager to leave as her students.

He zipped his bag up and stood, already halfway to the door when someone stepped in front of him. Big, earnest brown eyes, dopey, wide-open expression. Scott. Right.

He grinned crookedly as he blocked their path, with Derek flanking him and a tall unfamiliar boy hovering uncertainly in the background. “Hey, Derek said he can drive everyone home.”

“Did I?” Derek muttered, making the tall boy huff an almost silent laugh.

“Yes,” Scott said, firm and cheery, “and I’m sure Stiles would like to ride with us. Right?”

He bet that easy assumption of friendless worked on plenty of people, weak, simpering worms that they were. He looked at Derek and twisted his lips into a smirk.

Fine, he said, you want to talk to your new friend? Let’s talk. The stirring of panic and fear fed him, sent a shiver of power through him and made his smile widen delightedly.

Scotts answering smile was blinding.

“This is Isaac.” Scott motioned to the kid behind Derek.

Isaac nodded at him in greeting and took half a step back, letting them leave the classroom first.

“Derek drove his dad’s van today so there’s totally room for all of us.” His step faltered. “Your dad wasn’t supposed to pick you up, right?”

“No.” He shrugged. “I walked this morning. I don’t live too far away.”

“Great!” Scott beamed.

Derek huffed, herding them down the hall.

“The van can hold like ten people-“

“Eight,” Derek interjected.

“Like eight people,” Scott corrected without missing a beat.

“Who all’s getting a ride?” he asked.

Scott stopped next to the vending machines by the exit. Crowds of students shoved their way by, causing Derek and Isaac to take refuge next to them.

“Me, my bike has a flat tire, Isaac, he basically lives at the Hale house, Cora, she actually lives there, Erica, Boyd, Lydia, and her boyfriend Jackson.”

There was a pause before he asked, “Who’s riding in the trunk?”

The perpetual smile on Scott’s face faltered. “What? That’s seven people, the van fits eight.” He ticked his fingers for each of the names he’d said, brow furrowing.

“Then Derek as the driver, and me,” he said, delight filling him at the anxious expression on Scott’s face.

Derek crossed his arms and leaned against the machine, a deep scowl on his face. His eyes locked him. “Laura picked Cora up early for a swim meet,” he said stiffly. “We’ll all fit.

Scott’s face lit up once again. “That’s awesome!” He slapped Stiles on the shoulder.

xxx

They piled into the van, at Scott’s insistence he took passenger seat since he was going to be the second stop.

Erica and Boyd were the first. They said something about a science project and finishing it at Erica’s before adding almost sadly that Cora, Scott, and Stiles were going to probably be getting the project next.

Lydia sat between Jackson and Isaac in the third row.

Derek pulled out of the school lot, breezing past the parent brigade and onto the main road.

Trees and buildings blurred past the windows.

Scott chatted happily at Boyd and Erica. Apparently they’d all been friends since elementary school. It was cute, in a human sort of way. He could fix that.

The tires rumbled over the pavement, the low beat of the radio and occasional crunch of gravel under the tires almost mesmerizing.

He tilted his head. Rocks. Scott said he had a flat tire on his bike; what a good idea. That would certainly liven up the drive home, and perhaps concuss someone in the process.

Don’t! Stiles yelped, but he barely felt any resistance. His little stunt at lunch must have exhausted him.

BANG.

The car tilted, careening toward the curb at the ear splitting explosion of the back tire.

Derek twisted the wheel, cursing as the car skidded to a stop.

The radio crackled, cutting between static and the DJ of a local station.

“Everyone okay?” Derek asked, looking at them in the rearview mirror when the car finally came to a stop.

You almost hurt them! Stiles yelled, fear and anxiety flooding his veins.

Pity it didn’t, he sighed. His fingers curled around the handle on the door to hide the trembling as Stiles fought for control. He was getting tired. He huffed in irritation; sleep was almost as boring as school. But if he wanted to remain in control, he needed to be strong, and if he wanted to be strong, he needed to take a break every now and then.

You’re a monster, Stiles spat.

I’m a demon, darling. This was just for fun. He caught sight of his reflection in the side view mirror and grinned, knowing full well Stiles could see him.

After everyone assured Derek they were okay, he climbed out, Scott on his heels to help with the spare.

Behind him, in the reflection of the mirror, Lydia stared. Her eyes were slightly too wide, mouth set in uncertainty. She jerked her eyes away, ushering Jackson and Isaac out so the van would be lighter.

He frowned, tracking her movements. Sure, the accident could have shaken her, but would she have been looking at him like that? The radio cackled again. He glanced at it. Surely she hadn’t heard him and Stiles.

What?Stiles asked, his voice wobbling.

Nothing. He’d have to be more careful around her. He tossed the door opening, leaping out to join everyone on the sidewalk. If Lydia became a problem, he’d just kill her.

XXX

“I don’t understand.”

If Stiles laid still enough, he could hear his dad talking on the phone. To whom, he didn’t know, but the sound of John’s voice still soothing, despite the soul-crushing things he was saying.

“He’s a different kid.” His voice cracked. “I don’t know what’s wrong.” The talking stopped, replaced by the soft creaking of floorboards as he paced between the kitchen and living room.

A low thrum deep in the back of his head indicated the demon’s absence. It had gone dormant as soon as they’d reached Stiles’s room after dinner and making a show of saying goodnight to John. Stiles had fought again at dinner, even managed to knock his slice of pizza off the counter, but the demon played it off as clumsiness from being tired.

It wasn’t often it needed to rest. It was always there, just below the surface, waiting to wake at any moment.

He strained his ears but John’s voice had become a distant murmur as he moved deeper into the house.

Tears ran down his cheeks. He’d tried to tell John what was wrong before. The first time the demon went dormant he’d run to him for help, woke him up out of a dead sleep, but as soon as John asked him what was wrong, the demon snapped awake and lied. Said he’d had a nightmare.

Months later, the second time, Stiles thought he was clever, and wrote a letter. If he moved slowly and spoke softly, the demon didn’t stir. So he wrote a letter explaining he was possessed and he was scared. He slipped the note under his dad’s bedroom door, and ducked back off to bed. The next morning when John woke and asked him about it, the demon had promptly ripped the note away before John could read it, and played the whole thing off as a prank. And John believed it.

He rolled over, levering himself off the bed. He wasn’t alone, not really, not ever. The toxic presence pressed into his skull, a constant reminder even when he wasn’t fully there.

He crossed the room to the window, staring at the large tree that sat just outside in the yard, it’s thick branches curling close the the glass.

At first he thought it was a bush in the yard. A tall one, just next to the property line. But when it moved he froze, his heart skipped a beat. Was someone breaking in?

The figure stepped forward until their face was illuminated by the floodlight on the side of the house, and Stiles relaxed. Derek. He shook his head, trying to brush off the fright. He was glad Derek was okay after the stunt earlier. They’d changed the tire quickly and had been on their way with little fuss. He was probably just coming over to make sure Stiles was okay, too.

He glanced at the clock on the floor by the wall; it was barely after seven.

Anxiety gripped his chest. He took a step back, away from the window. If the demon woke up while Derek was here, he’d hurt him.

But there was something about Derek that Stiles couldn’t shake. It felt like one of the crushes he’d gotten in middle school, but stronger. An insistent pull, a desire to go to him, to seek out his company. He stepped back up to the window.

Derek was closer now, hesitating between going around to the front door and looking up at the window with an ‘oh, fuck it’ expression.

Stiles chuckled.

He could try to warn Derek that Scott was in danger at least. Maybe. Derek cared about Scott, they were friends. Even if he didn’t believe him, planting a seed of suspicion might help them later.

“Please don’t talk,” Stiles whispered, hand coming up to rest on the glass. “I’ll let you in, but please don’t talk.”

Derek stopped at the base of the tree, head tilting like he’d heard him. But that wasn’t possible. There was glass and easily twenty feet between them.

Derek looked up at the window, an eyebrow lifted curiously.

Stiles smiled. He fumbled with the latch on the window, wincing as it groaned open. Holding his breath, he listened for any indication John might have heard. There were no creaking floorboards, or thundering steps up the stairs. He let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

The demon hadn’t stirred either.

“Please don’t talk,” he said again.

Derek reached up, pulling himself on to the lowest branch with ease, then reached for the next one. Before Stiles could back out of the way, Derek was easing himself through the window.

Stiles lifted a finger to his lips, signaling for Derek to stay quiet.

Derek straightened in the dark room, glancing around as if looking for a threat. He opened his mouth and Stiles darted forward, hands flying up to cover his mouth.

“No talking,” Stiles good, eyes wide. “No whispering, no words.” He shook his head. This was a bad idea on so many levels. John was downstairs and if the demon thought he liked Derek, he would target Derek just to hurt him. He’d already tried and that was just because he was bored. He put Derek in danger by letting him in his room. It was too late now.

“Only I can talk, or you’ll wake him,” Stiles said softly. He stared at him until Derek nodded. Stiles let his hands fall away, the warmth of Derek’s lips lingering on his skin. He sucked in a long breath. This was such a bad idea. But, he realized, Derek hadn’t spoken yet. He could still warn him about Scott. Maybe Derek could keep his friends away from him. Keep them safe.

His heart twisted painfully; that would mean Derek probably wouldn’t want to be around him either. He bit the inside of his cheeks, reminding himself that it was for the best. The demon woud be in control anyway, so whether Derek stayed or not, he was out of Stiles’s reach.

Derek flicked his wrist, waving his hand to get Stiles’s attention.

Stiles looked up in time to see Derek drag his finger across his opposite palm, eyebrows raised in question.

Writing.

“Maybe?” Stiles looked around the disorganized room. “I haven’t been able to try that yet.” He reached for his school bag, catching Derek’s concerned expression in the corner of his eye. He pulled out a notebook and the first pen he touched—a neon blue highlighter. He offered the items to Derek, who stared at the highlighter, then shrugged.

Stiles shuffled over to his makeshift sleeping area, reaching for the small lamp John had dug out for him earlier that day. He turned it on, casting the room in a dull yellow light.

Derek winced, blinking as his eyes adjusted.

“If,” Stiles began.

Derek looked up from the notebook, flipping it open to the first blank page.

“If,” Stiles began again, “I start acting strange, you need to leave, alright?”

Derek frowned, not understanding. He flicked the cap off the highlighter, scrawling across the paper. ‘What’s wrong?’

Stiles stared at the words. It was such a simple question. What’s wrong? Everything? A nervous laugh bubbled up from his chest and he sat back in his nest of blankets. He patted the floor next to him, inviting Derek to sit down.

He stilled, but the steady thrum of the demon didn’t change. Hope briefly filled him; maybe passing notes like this could work but... “You won’t believe me.”

Derek rolled his eyes, taking a seat where Stiles indicated. He hunched over the paper, then held up, ‘Try me’.

Stiles tried to smile, but it only wobbled and vanished. He looked at the still open window. He wrung his hands together to stop the trembling. The demon wasn’t even fighting for control and he was shaking. So pathetic. He pulled his knees to his chest, trying to warm up.

What would happen if he told Derek? Would the demon still know? Would he be able to play off what Stiles tells him like he did with John?

His breathing grew faster, his knees beginning to shake. He fucked up. He should have left Derek out of this. But he needed to warn him about Scott. He took a slow breath. He had to tell Derek at least that much.

Derek’s hand reached out toward him, then stopped, inches from his leg.

Stiles tensed, he had to tell Derek something. “Scott’s in danger,” he blurted. Derek cocked his head to the side.

‘From what?’

Stiles laughed humorlessly. “Me?” He rested his forehead on his knees, fingers carding through his hair nervously. He listened to the gentle squeak of the pen against the paper. When the sound stopped he took a moment before looking up.

‘Why would you hurt Scott?’

“Well, not me exactly.” He fixated on the logo on Derek’s shirt, a man riding a horse with a stick in the air; it was easier to talk if he wasn’t looking directly at him. “I’m,” he dug his thumb into his palm, eyes burning, “I’m a demon.”

Derek stiffened, pulling away.

Stiles flinched, eyes squeezing shut, not sure if it would have been easier or harder for Derek to just laugh at him. Demons weren’t real, they were like ghosts, or bigfoot, something to scare kids into acting straight.

He hadn’t been prepared for Derek to back away, despite it being a logical reaction. He wanted Derek to like him. He wanted to be friends with him. He didn’t want to drive him away.

The squeak of the marker was louder this time. Derek was writing heavier, faster.

The thrum in his mind wavered. He was getting too worked up.

Stiles took several deep breaths, in through his nose, out through his mouth. It was too late to back out now. The squeaking stopped. He couldn’t look. “I need help,” he whispered.

“I can help you!”

“No!” Stiles gasped, leaping to his feet. It was too late. The thrumming blared as numbness spread through him, like the demon was stretching out inside of him, one limb at a time. He slapped his hands to his ears, eyes widening in horror.

Derek jumped up, hands held out like he was unsure if he should offer support or keep his distance. “I’m sorry, I-“

Oh, Stiles, the demon purred. What have you done?

His vision flickered in and out of focus. If there had been a mirror close by, he knew his eyes would be black and void.

Derek took a step to the side, toward the window.

“What might you be?” he demanded, gaze wracking Derek from top to bottom. Maybe it was him he should be concerned about and not that nosy little redhead.

Leave him alone! Stiles shouted.

His head jerking to the side was the only outward sign of Stiles’s struggle. He rolled his neck, shoving the inferior human down.

Derek bared his teeth. His gaze darted around the room, but there wasn’t anything he could attack the demon with without hurting Stiles, which he seemed to realize.

“Boo!” He lunged forward, hands outstretched.

Derek jumped back, turning and diving out the window. He landed on all fours, and bolted across the yard.

He smiled. What do you see in him?

He looked down at the discarded notebook.

‘I believe you’ was written in bold and underlined crossed the page.

Stiles, he tisked, you don’t understand, do you? He picked up the notebook, slowly tearing the page out. Each rip of the paper against the spirals seemed louder than the last. You’re mine. He yanked the rest of the page out, balling it into his fist. Smoke streamed from between his fingers, the burning paper seared into his palm. I think you need a time out.

NO! Stiles shouted, then the world went black and silent.

XXX

Sound came back first, distant voices that floated in and out. When he could finally distinguish the different tones, sight came next. It started in a similar manner. Colorful blurs, just out of focus.

Wherever he was, there were quite a few people. He could feel something both hard and soft beneath him, he was sitting on the floor, on a carpet. Next to someone? A dark green shape stood, saying something loudly to someone Stiles couldn’t see.

“Just water, please.” Stiles recognized his own voice, though he wasn’t the the one who had spoken.

He was watching the demons actions again.

His fingers flexed, twitching into the carpet beneath him. He was sitting on the floor in an unfamiliar living room. It certainly wasn’t his and John’s place, it was much too big and bordering on fancy.

As his vision came back, he examined the things around him in a daze.

The couch was huge, curved around the room in front of a massive fireplace. Above the fireplace, a TV was playing a music channel.

Green Shape came back. And then Cora became clear when she leaned close to him. She frowned. “Are you going to get sick?”

Stiles sure hoped not. “No.” He shook his head.

How are you back? the demon demanded in a furious hiss.

Stiles shook his head; he didn’t understand... Where had he gone? Where were they? He tried to open his mouth, but the demon clenched it shut. So he focused on the room around them again.

“Good,” Cora chirped, “we need to get this project done.”

A large catwalk stretched above their heads, stopping on the other side of the house where the living room blended into the kitchen. Father past that, was a dining room.

The thrum in his head pulsed.

“Cora, be nice.” A dark haired man with a goatee watched them from the kitchen. Who was he?

Stiles lifted his hand.

The demon forced it back down in his lap.

Stiles blinked.

The demon glowered.

You need to listen to me. The demon’s voice cracked.

Stiles blinked again. A hand held a water bottle out to him; his gaze traced the hand, up the arm attached to it, finally landing on Scott’s face.

Scott couldn’t smile fast enough to hide his worried expression.

Scott was here! That was good. He was alive. His heart pounded erratically in his chest. But where were the others? Where was Derek?

The man in the kitchen didn’t look away from him, his gaze hard, calculating. Even with the distance between them, he was sure he saw him take a deep breath and wince. The following flash of emotion was too quick for him to place.

“You alright, Stiles?” the man asked.

Stiles flinched. It was over. Someone had spoken to him while the demon wasn’t in control. He waited for the pressure of the being to take over. His stomach clenched with anticipation.

The music from the TV was the only sound as everyone waited for his response.

His head ached, a low pounding in his forehead, each pulse of his heart sending the pain deeper into his skull until he imagined he could feel it on his brain stem. He squeezed his eyes shut. There was a low murmur of conversation around him, but the words didn’t make sense. Was he saying them? Or were they speaking to him?

The demon roared, flinging itself at the edges of his consciousness. Stiles’s shoulder jerked forward, but it was only one hit. For once it was the demon fighting while Stiles held the advantage, the demon struggling for control while Stiles held him back. Stiles had the upper hand finally.

Something snapped. The thrum vanished, pain gone, rapidly replaced with nausea. He wheezed, chest heaving. “Bathroom?”

“First door on the left, next to the front door,” Cora replied quickly.

He stood on trembling knees. He didn’t know where the front door was, but Cora had glanced over the couch so he took that as a good direction. He bounced off the corner of the wall, and cracked his knee against the stair banister, but found his way to the half bath just in time. He kicked the door closed, dropped over the toilet, and heaved. Nothing came out.

What did you do? the demon demanded, his voice soft and distant.

Nothing, Stiles said. But clearly something had changed, something had happened, he’d never gained control like this before.

His fingers curled and uncurled around the toilet bowl. Stiles fought the grasp when the demon tried to move his hands away.

The demon howled.

Several minutes passed before Stiles felt it was safe for him to move. He hadn’t actually gotten sick, but the nausea lingered.

The demon was still there, recognizable by the annoying itch, the impulse to do something he didn’t want to do. But he could ignore him.

He laughed nervously. This didn’t make sense, but he was going to go with it. For the first time, he had more power than the demon.

He opened the bathroom door, stepping into the hall. Voices came from the direction of the living room, so he followed them.

“—the wards.”

“Talia should be home tomorrow.”

“Is that soon enough?”

He thought he recognized the man’s voice who had been in the kitchen, but the second wasn’t familiar. His knees had gone from trembling to shaking by the time he made it to the living room. He balked, one hand resting on the back of the couch, as he came face to face with two men talking to Cora and Scott.

Goatee Guy looked him up and down while the man next to him smiled warmly. “Hello Stiles, I’m Chris.” He glanced at Goatee Guy. “I’m sure you’ve met my husband, Peter.”

“Nice to meet you,” Stiles croaked. He tensed, waiting for the moment he lost control. Like before, it never came.

Peter and Chris excused themselves back to the kitchen to finish making dinner, calling out that Laura, Derek, and Aaron should be home shortly.

Stiles beamed at the mention of Derek. He was alright! Relief washed through him. It seemed everyone the demon had been intent on hurting was okay so far. Everything was might end up being okay.

He, Cora, and Scott finished the project easily. It turned out they’d already built the model volcano and only needed to write the essay part now. It was also, Stiles found out, the same project Erica and Boyd had been grumbling about weeks before in the car ride home.

His heart skipped a beat when he realized how much time had passed. Weeks? He stared at the carpet where it met the wall. He’d been gone for that long? His heart began to beat faster. Was his dad okay? Was he really over here for just a project, or was it something more? He pictured his dad, pale, lying helpless in a hospital bed. He could have hurt him.

“Stiles?”

His head snapped up. Green eyes bore into his, warm hands resting on his shoulders. Derek.

Stiles lurched forward, gripping the front of his shirt and clinging.

“Take deep breaths.”

He could feel Derek’s chest moving, and he tried to match the movement, but his chest just shook, breaths stuttering stuttering ineffectively at his lips.

“Everything’s okay, I promise.” Derek held him tighter, lowering himself to the floor next to him. “Everyone’s okay.”

Stiles clung to him. If Derek said everything was alright, then it had to be. He trusted him. But the nagging feeling of dread didn’t go away.

“Come on.” Derek helped him to his feet, gently leading him away from the living room, and the rest of the house’s watchful eyes. Derek guided him past the stairs and bathroom he’d been in earlier to a set of double doors. A library, Stiles realized as they swung open. Bookshelves lined all four walls, a comfy looking couch in the center of the room.

Derek sat on the couch with Stiles tucked against his side, his arm draped protectively across his shoulders.

The room had a calming effect, or maybe it was being with Derek. He leaned against him and breathed. “What happened?” Stiles asked. He needed to know, rip it off like a bandaid. The last thing he remembered was talking with Derek in his room and gods know what happened between now and then.

“Beacon Hills isn’t normal,” Derek said evenly.

Stiles frowned, but waited. Beacon Hills seemed normal.

Derek stilled, “I came home and told my dad what happened.”

Stiles jerked back, looking up searching his face wildy, but he only saw determination in his expression.

“My mom would have been able to help you faster.” Derek winced apologetically. “But she’s busy with pack business at the moment though. She won’t be home until tomorrow.”

“How long has it been since we talked?” Stiles asked slowly, unsure if he wanted to know the answer.

“Three weeks.”

Stiles flinched, and Derek continued, “Dad and Deaton put wards around your house to try and drive the demon out.”

“Are they witches?” Stiles’s brow pulled down. Witches aren’t real. Then again, neither are demons for most people.

“Druids.” Derek smiled, watching Stiles carefully, like he was expecting Stiles to freak out and run. “I can stop if you’d like, wait until you’re feeling better.”

Stiles shook his head. “I want to know.” He curled his fingers in Derek’s sleeve. “Did you know before you came over to my house?”

There was a pause. “Lydia had an idea. When the tire blew, and the radio cut to static, she said she could hear you arguing with something, so she wanted me to check on you that night.” He took a breath. “Not that I didn’t want to see you, I just figured you wanted your space. But dad and Deaton thought the wards would help, and we did think they worked at first.” His face tightened with anger. “But it was playing with us.”

A burst of happiness inside him made Stiles wince. The demon was still there, weak but gloating about how much fun he’d had playing with the emotions of those around them. “I’m shocked,” he said dryly.

Derek rubbed comforting circles into his shoulder. “They put the same ones up here when Cora said you, her, and Scott had a project due together over fall break. You and Scott were going to stay over here and work on it until after the holiday party.”

Stiles shifted. “How long have I been over here?”

“This is the first day. No one was expecting these ward to work any different than the ones at your house. But, clearly something worked, right?” Derek smiled down at him.

Uneasiness grew inside him, it seemed to be working, but the sublevel thrum continued; “My dad knows I’m here?”

"Yes, and about what's going on."

Stiles gaped soundlessly for a moment, then managed to squeak out, "My dad…knows? About--about the demon, the...everything?"

Derek nodded, his eyes gone soft with sympathy. "Yeah, he knows everything. He's thrilled that we can help you."

Tears pricked Stiles's eyes, so he looked away. "When's the party?" he asked, to distract himself.

"Tomorrow. Mom will be home way before it starts; she'll help you, I promise."

Stiles smiled sincerely for the first time in a year as exhaustion crept into every bone and muscle. How exactly was she going to help him? “Thank you.” Perhaps they were going to try with more wards. Were wards the same as spells? It seemed like they’d be similar. Stiles chuckled. Druids. It felt like he was caught in some D&D game.

It took a second for him to realize his eyes were closed.

Derek spoke soft, reassuring words, and that made him more tired. He let out a content sigh. Everything was going to be okay. Derek’s mom would fix it.

XXX

Everything was grey and in slow motion.

Stiles saw himself push open the doors to the library and step into the hall. The house was dark, the air eerily still.

He didn’t need to look behind him to know Derek was asleep on the couch where he’d left him.

A slow smile curled over his lips. He wouldn’t be asleep for long.

He’d wanted to wait until this Talia person and John were here before killing them all. But an unsettling warning kept stirring in his gut. If he wanted anyone to die, he’d have to do it before she got here.

It was almost sad that Stiles didn’t know how close to freedom he’d actually come.

He padded silently across the hall, through the formal dining room that looped through the kitchen. He trailed his fingers over the closed wooden drawers and cabinets, eyes set on the knife set by the stove. A gas stove, he realized with delight.

He flicked each of the burners, and grabbed the largest knife in the set. It was too perfect; he’d kill who he could and burn the evidence.

You thought you won? he asked Stiles with a shiver of excitement.

Stiles recoiled in horror, then exploded into life, thrashing useless, proverbially clawing at his insides to no avail.

He grinned, looping out through the living room and down the hall, back toward the library.

How about we kill your soulmate first? The demon thumbed the blade of the knife, drawing a thin line of blood. It’s really a pity humans take longer to notice soulmates, but the aftermath will be delightful.

Stiles screamed in rage.

The demon didn’t notice.

Behind him, something clicked. “Freeze.”

He stopped, hand outstretched for the door he’d left ajar. He turned his head slowly, looking back the way he’d come.

Chris stood, legs braced, gun drawn and pointed straight at his chest.

“Are you going to shoot him, Christopher?” he asked sweetly. His lips curled up in a cheshire grin. “You’ll kill both of us.”

Chris sniffed, jaw clenching when he caught the slithering scent of gas from the kitchen.

“If you wait too long, the discharge might blow up the whole house. Tick-tock.”

Chris didn’t move.

If he moved quick enough he could bolt through the doorway. The doors swung inward, so they’d be easy to barricade, then it’d just be him and Derek.

Chris’s gaze cut to the arched doorway of the dining room.

He spun, knife raised, lashing out at the figure flying toward him.

Yellow eyes flashed, and a low growl reverberated through the darkness.

He snarled back, twisting as strong arms wrapped around him, pinning his hands to his sides.

Peter.

He gripped Peter’s wrist, his hands growing hotter by the second. The smell of burning flesh mixed with the gas.

Peter growled but didn’t let go.

Footsteps pounded above them, thundering down the steps to their right. The library doors flew open as Derek spilled out, disheveled and furious.

“Get back.” Aaron lifted his hands.

Laura snarled, eyes glowing, claws descending.

Peter let go, leaving only an ache in his borrowed bones where he’d been squeezing too tight.

He twisted and flung the knife out, burying it deep in Peter’s shoulder.

Something slammed into his back, making his knees buckle. He screamed.

XXX

His hands were bound behind him and something hard was digging into his back. A quick test of his legs told him they were tied to something hard, and not on the ground.

He lifted his head. It wobbled for a second as everything spun into view.

He was in the dining room, the table and other chairs had been pushed out, leaving him alone in the center. From where he was seated, he could see into the kitchen, and across the hall through the library door. All the lights in the house were on.

“Talia’s on her way,” Aaron said, sounding exhausted. Good.

The smell of gas was gone now. He snarled. He’d kill them.

Derek’s concerned face appeared in the entry of the kitchen. “Stiles?”

He sneered, head falling back.

Please stop, Stiles begged. Leave them alone.

No.

Derek had said Aaron was a druid, which was a nuisance but something he’d been able to handle in the past. It was the rest of them that he was having growing concerns about. The banshee wasn’t in the house right now, so that just meant he had to figure out what the rest of them were so he’d know how to handle them.

He tested the restraints holding his wrists. Whoever tied them knew what they were doing. The knot didn’t budge. He took a breath, shooting flames out around his hands. If he couldn’t untie them, he’d burn them off.

The talking in the other room halted.

The ropes smoldered and smoked but didn’t fall away.

He roared, jerking forward against them so hard his shoulders strained, threatening to pop out of their sockets.

Derek flinched and Chris stepped around him into the room. He crossed the short distance, careful not to get too close.

He looked down; There was a ring of salt around the chair. He outright laughed.

Chris stiffened.

He didn’t know how to deal with them, and they didn’t know how to deal with him! A salt ring wouldn't hold shit, he wasn’t some lowly ghost.

Chris squatted in front of him so they were eye to eye. He could see the gun holstered on his hip, and this close could smell something strange lingering on the bullets lodged inside.

“Why don’t you kill me already, hunter?”

Chris’s face didn’t falter, didn’t give away if the question surprised him, or made him mad. He only shrugged. “That’d be too easy, and would hurt someone who doesn’t deserve to be hurt.”

A big smile curled across his face. “You don’t know what we’ve done together. He might deserve it.” He jostled the rope so it rubbed against the chair and squeaked.

“You have two options,” Chris said, speaking clearly and slowly. “You can remove yourself from Stiles, or be removed.”

“I can’t be exorcised, this isn’t some shitty horror movie,” he spat.

Chris smiled, rising to his feet. “Alright.”

He waited. He expected Chris to hit him, for Aaron to come forward and cast some useless spell. For them to try and beat him out of the kid. Instead, Chris walked away, vanishing into the kitchen. He snarled, and jerked and rocked in the chair, left then right, trying to topple the chair. He was covered in sweat and breathing heavily when the front door opened. A cold gust of air rushed by, drawing his attention.

A stately, dark haired woman stood in the door, backlit by the slow-to-rise winter sun, studying him with a clinical, detached expression.

Her demeanor and expression were so much like Derek and Cora’s that she must have been Talia Hale.

“Hello,” he greeted cheerfully like he wasn’t strapped to a piece of furniture in her home.

“Hello.” She dropped her bag where she stood, head tilted, brow pinched as she assessed him.

He smiled pleasantly.

She stepped forward across the threshold of the dining room. Her eyes flashed red.

A primitive fear rose through him, along with the growing urge to flee.

She stepped over the salt barrier and reached for him, one hand curling around the back of his neck.

He turned, sinking his teeth into the soft part of her arm.

Her eyes flared, fangs dropping from her mouth, but she didn’t attack or fight back. The tips of her claws pressed into the tender skin on the back of his neck, a split second of warning before they pierced his flesh, digging in deep and flexing against him. She smiled. “Got it.” She pulled her hand out, yanking the demon right out of the shadows of the Stiles’s soul.

Stiles slumped forward, a sudden weight gone. Trembles shook his body. He felt whole and empty at the same time.

The demon shrieked, a whispy black entity clutched in Talia’s claws. Claws? Her eyes were red, face twisted into an animalistic snarl.

His heart sunk; he’d escaped one monster and fell into the clutches of another. He tried to curl in on himself, make himself as small and unappealing as possible. A sob ripped itself out of his chest. He was so tired.

Derek knelt in front of him, tearing the binds on his feet free before moving onto his hands.

Pack. Derek said pack. The claws, the fangs. Stiles couldn’t breathe.

Derek stilled, hands hovering over him like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch.

Stiles leaned forward, burying his face into Derek’s shoulder. He didn’t know what was going on, but Derek was safe.

“You have to breathe.” Derek wrapped his arms around him, drawing him into a loose comforting hug.

Stiles tried. Each breath felt like a thousand pound weight being dragged up from his core.

Stars danced in his vision.

“Breathe with me.” Derek took an exaggerated breath in.

Stiles sucked in a smaller shaky one.

“Good, now out.”

It took a couple breaths before the stars went away, and a few more after that for the constriction in his chest to lessen.

He and Derek were on the floor next to the chair, the rest of the family hovering in the kitchen and hallway.

“Pack,” Stiles said softly. “Werewolves?”

Derek tensed. “Some of us.” He ran a hand up and down Stiles’s back. “Dad’s a druid.”

Stiles nodded, he said that earlier.

“Chris is a hunter, he hunts bad supernaturals, and Lydia’s a banshee, that’s how she heard you, along with the static.”

Stiles nodded, too exhausted to freak out again.

“How about we talk about this later?” Derek suggested cautiously. “You can ask as many questions as you’d like.”

He pressed the tips of his fingers against Derek’s.

Derek obliged the silent question, letting long claws extend from his fingertips.

XXX

It took quite a bit of convincing to make sure Aaron didn’t call Jordan and move the holiday party to the high school football fields.

“We’re on break, we don’t want to go back to school, even for a party,” Stiles reasoned. “And whether it was held here or there, I’m still going.”

Aaron eventually sighed, resigned, and Talia smiled.

John arrived first, hours before the cooking started.

Stiles leapt up from the couch, darting across the house, and threw his arms around John’s neck, breathing in the familiar scent of his cologne.

John held him back, silent tears streaming down his cheeks.

The rest of the force trickled in as the morning dragged on. Everyone greeted each other with warm smiles and hugs, like they were genuinely happy to see each other. People mingled in the living room and out on the deck where Laura stood by the barbeque, fending off the hungry with her spatula.

Stiles smiled at the scene, and even chuckled at few of the jokes the officers cracked. It felt foreign to be so much in control, and slightly overwhelming. He made his way back to the couch where Derek sat with a book. He had a good system, get up, go say hi to a few people, and then return until he felt recharged enough to get up again. He dropped to the cushin next to Derek, leaning up against his side.

Something crashed in the kitchen, followed by a long stream of curses mixed with apologies. Stiles smiled, looping his arm through Derek’s.

With everyone distracted, he turned to Derek. “Are we really soulmates?”

Derek looked up from his book, closing it without marking the page.

Stiles pushed on nervously when Derek didn’t answer right away. “The demon said it takes humans longer to notice, which implies that you may or may not have felt something already. And I certainly feel something for you.” He stared, braced for rejection. The demon had lied before, after all.

“Yes,” Derek said, stalling anything else Stiles was going to say. “I felt it at the lunch table. But it was... different, weak.” He gave a small smile. “Guess we know why.”

“I swear!” Chris dropped to the opposite end of the couch. “Every party, without fail, birthday party, holiday party, promotional party. Someone gets sick, there’s some kind of accident, someone cries, and someone gets kissed.”

“What happened?” Derek asked, draping an arm around Stiles’s shoulders.

“Talia and Peter are arguing over the last turkey leg.” Chris rolled his eyes, collapsing back against the couch.

“Was that the crash in the kitchen?” Stiles smiled.

“Yes! Jordan made himself sick on cream puffs, at least one dish is broken, and either Talia or Peter are going to end up in tears from losing.”

“Or both of them if Cora snatches it from between them like she did the ham last year.” Derek chuckled.

Chris’s eyes flew open, a loud laugh bubbling up from his chest. “I forgot about that.” He rubbed his eyes. “That was the most stunned I’ve seen either of them, ever.”

“She grabbed the whole ham and ran,” Derek told Stiles.

Stiles’s smile widened. “I would have liked to see that.”

“I should probably go play damage control.” Chris stood, eyeing the kitchen warily.

“Let them fight it out!” Aaron called from the porch.

Stiles laughed. The sound reverberating through the room, light and free. Derek grinned over at him, eyes sparkling.

“Can I kiss you?” Stiles asked.

“Of course.” Derek leaned forward, brushing their lips together. It was chaste, but perfect, lighting up the darkest parts of Stiles’s heart, banishing the lingering ache of the demon. This was happiness.

[pilot-boi]

Missing In Action: Chapter One

He remembered waking from a nightmare, the first one in months. Going for a walk to try to clear his thoughts before trying to get back to sleep. A gang of people, reeking of alcohol and worse thing jumping him in an alley nearly in sight of their front door.

He remembered a sharp sudden blow to the back of his head, a burst of bright stars in front of his eyes, and then nothing. Jaune was out before he hit the ground.

Taking Stock

When in a new situation, it's always best to take stock of your surroundings. Even if you can't see very much at all.

AO3 LINK

‘Oh fuck do my shoulders hurt…’

This was the first thought to greet Jaune as he swam up from the murky darkness of unconsciousness. As first thoughts went, he supposed it could have been worse, but it still wasn’t exactly the most pleasant thing to wake up to.

Blinking his eyes open, it was not immediately apparent that they had been opened at all with how dark it was. He could barely see a few feet in front of him, although what he could see seemed clear enough. 

The only thing messing up the clear view was his breath fogging up in front of his eyes, and the way Jaune’s luck was running he’d probably freeze to death soon anyways. Apparently the people who’d kidnapped him hadn’t bothered to leave him with some way to warm himself up.

Wait...kidnapped...Oh fuck!

The rush of memories hit Jaune like a sledgehammer. Waking from a nightmare, the first one in months. Going for a walk to try to clear his thoughts before trying to get back to sleep.  A gang of people, reeking of alcohol and worse things jumping him in an alley nearly in sight of their front door. 

He remembered a sharp sudden blow to the back of his head, a burst of bright stars in front of his eyes, and then nothing. He was out before he hit the ground.

How long had he been out? Judging by the pitch blackness he was now squinting into, either not long or it was the next night. Jaune was hoping it was the former, because he didn’t even want to think about the brain damage he would’ve gotten from being knocked out for more than 12 hours.

That led him to the thought he’d been trying to ignore, trying to avoid. Where was he? Squinting into the darkness he couldn’t see anything he recognized, although since he couldn’t see much of anything through the gloom that wasn’t much of a surprise. 

What did surprise him was that he’d been kidnapped. Him of all people. This sort of activity was usually reserved for the silver-eyed warriors and heiresses of their friend group. This was a new and concerning development that Jaune hadn’t expected himself to get into.

Were his friends looking for him?

Jaune kicked himself for even entertaining the idea. They probably weren’t even awake, and they wouldn’t be for hours. He wondered if anyone even realized he was missing yet, but he could hear no hint of a search being made for him.

He tried not to let that thought faze him. Tried not to think about how long he might have been missing already.

The best thing he could think to do was to get up and try to figure out where he was. He had no illusions about how likely he was to be rescued. The few statistics he knew about abductions were all indicating that his already-cold body would be found by some stranger in a dumpster. 

He didn’t watch crime shows, not often anyway, but his journey across Anima with team RNJR had certainly darkened his outlook enough to know that his outlook on getting out of here alive was grim. Jaune put his hands down to his sides to push himself up and-

-and the back of his head whacked against the wall he’d been leaning against before he tried to get up. He groaned loudly as stars burst in front of his eyes, and the sound echoed dully around the dark empty space he was trapped in. 

When he’d tried to get up, something had stopped him from bringing down his hands. Squinting up in the direction of his hands, he saw that they were cuffed together with thick heavy metal cuffs...and attached to a rusty iron loop on the wall he’d woken up leaning against.

Well that explained why his shoulders were aching so much.

‘That’s a hell of a mystery I didn’t think was a mystery, and one that didn’t really need solving, but damn if it didn’t just get solved,’ he thought to himself, chuckling weakly before breaking off into wet coughing as the movement tugged at what felt like healing bruises on his chest. 

He couldn’t find it in himself to celebrate past that, however, seeing as how the solution to the mystery was the fact that he was chained to a wall. In the dark. With no way to get out. ‘And with probably cracked ribs,’ thought Jaune wryly, shifting slightly to sit in a more comfortable position. 

And gods fuck was it cold.

Tugging against the cuffs, he recalled the little he knew about escaping handcuffs. It wasn’t much if he was being honest, and most of it came from watching movies. Spruce Willis had to do this in one of his movies, didn’t he? Or was that in Chasing Borne? He couldn’t remember, and the small amount of focus that he had been given was starting to slip away.

From the tug in his shoulders Jaune knew he had to be pulling quite hard on the cuffs around his wrists, but he couldn’t seem to feel that. With the warm buzz of adrenaline fading from his system, the surrounding cold was beginning to seep in. 

He couldn’t feel his hands, or his feet for that matter, but whether that was from the cold or from sitting on the hard ground for who knew how long he didn’t know. His armor was missing, and his memory was hazy enough that he couldn’t even remember if he’d put it on before leaving the house, as were his hoodie, and boots. He could barely feel icy water soaking through the bottom of his socks. 

Jaune would never admit to anyone that he was genuinely upset about the hoodie. That thing was limited edition. 

How long had he been slumped there in the dark? There was no way to know. It could’ve been hours or only a couple of minutes. Jaune strained his ears, but he couldn’t hear anything that might indicate where he was. No rain outside, no cars driving past, no sleepy birds calling to each other, no dogs barking. Somewhere in the dark recesses of wherever he was, he could hear water dripping, like someone had left a sink on.

Drip, drip, drip…

He tried counting the drips to pass the time. One, two, three...forty-four, forty-five, forty-six...one hundred and two, one hundred and three, one hundred and four...one hundred and four...one hundred…

He couldn’t go to sleep, no matter how much he longed to. He was in enemy territory, and sleeping was a weakness he couldn’t afford to give in to. Letting his guard down might be the difference between life and death, and Jaune didn’t even know why he of all of them had been taken yet.

‘Gods I’m so tired…’

Jaune jerked his head up as it fell onto his chest. Sleeping was a bad idea. It was cold, and he was in an unknown place with a head injury. Sleeping was bad. Right? His mind, muddled as it was with cold and lack of sleep, couldn’t seem to decide whether that should worry him or not. Couldn’t decide whether it was good or bad. It was...bad? He seemed to think it was bad. So he shouldn't sleep. Oh but he wanted to, needed to…

The door to his cell creaked open, but Jaune was already asleep. Dragged down into the cord reached of unconscious by a welcoming head injury, the grasp of the cold, and the sedative that had finally worked through his plentiful Aura.

Slickly light from the open door shone a stripe down his face. A man squinted in at the unconscious teen, hanging limply from cuffs attached to a grimy stone wall. “Looks like he’s finally out then…” the man muttered to someone out of sight.

“I’d better tell the boss. He’ll want to start as soon as possible,” the man’s companion replied.

“As soon as possible…” the first man grumbled, entering the room. He was tall, with scraggly dark hair, and a sour expression on his face. He leaned close to Jaune’s face, examining the teen’s slack-jawed expression with distaste. “Don’t like drugging them,” he said, kicking Jaune’s prone form in the ribs.

“Aww, why not?” his companion sneered, entering behind his friend and leaning on the wall by the open door. This man was short, thin, with a shock of blonde hair covering his head like a haystack. The scar curling its way up the side of his face crinkled unpleasantly when the man smiled. “Going soft now, are we Jackson?”

“Shut the fuck up, Gelb, or I’ll gut you myself,” the first man, Jackson, growled back, fishing a ring of keys out of his pocket. “They just scream less when they’re out of it,” he explained, unlocking the chain from the wall and letting Jaune drop to the floor like a sack of potatoes. 

The second man, Gelb, raised his hands in defeat, and turned to leave. “Fine, fine, whatever you say,” he said, sidling back out the door. “I’ll tell the boss man it’s ready,” he called over his shoulder, “You get it to room six.”

“Way ahead of you,” Jackson growled, and scooped up the chain from the floor. It was still attached to the cuffs looped around Jaune’s wrists, and the teen was hauled up off the floor by his arms. Keeping one hand on the chain, the hulking man exited Jaune’s cell, dragging the knight along the ground behind him. 

Finally the fun could begin.