#i need to draw my dumb ideas instead of keeping them locked in my brain

[cold-open]

anton struggles to unlock his new smartphone

[kittykattropicanna]

my brain is absolute mush i am in love with him!!!! he tries to get you to send him more photos — and you more than happily oblige — and he guards them like his life depends on it. slowly starts to ask more personal questions, mostly trying to figure out if you have a partner and when he finds out you don’t? the game is on. starts using pet names in his letters here and there, drawing you in deeper and you’re so helpless against him. and then the calls start and he hears your voice and then it’s all he can think about. tries to get you to say certain things — especially his name — for him to tuck away for later when he’s alone with your photo and his hand on his cock and wishing more than anything to have you instead of his fist ):

he thinks himself a good person, all things considered. but knowing you, and knowing you’re out there? no protection, such a sweet and soft thing — it worries him. maybe he asks johnny to try and find you. doesn’t necessarily disclose his true intentions, mostly out of curiosity. but then he starts thinking of when he gets out, how he can meet you, bring you back to his place, knowing he’s the best one to keep you safe and so he uses his time to get a head start so when he’s out he can finally keep you ):

hyperventilating, screaming, projectile vomiting, this, this, this, THISSSSS,

The reason im soooo obsessed with your ask is because 1, you’re a fucking incredible writer and 2, you dived so deep into PrisonPenPal!Simon’s psyche, his such a smart dude and unbelievably manipulative when he needs to be…..

Sorry everyones!! asks are taking so long to get out!! I just want to go into the most detail possible and give everyones ideas justice!! if you're waiting, I promise you its in the works rn <3

TW: mentions of murder, jail, corruption kink, masterbation (Reader & Simon), public masterbation (kinda), phone sex, smut, manipulative!Simon and kinda stalker vibes I guess (not yandere)

PrisonPenPal!Simon masterlist

Regular masterlist

If you think about his sentencing, he purposely played his cards in away that made him the victim without him actually having to act like the victim if that kinda makes sense? 

The second he punched that kid he knew he fucked up bad, and then when he saw the blood seeping out of the kids skull and covering the floor, he knew he fucked up really bad. 

A normal person would either run, go into hiding, try and resist the arrest, break down and have a panic attack. But he knew this wasn’t time for an emotional response, he needed to start planning what his next step was going to be and how he was going to execute it in a way that favoured him. 

His not a psychopath, his 100% capable of feeling and experiencing human emotion and is very emotionally intelligent, but when he needs to be, his actions can be extremely calculated to the point its almost scary. 

When he sees your picture though, something definitely clicks in his brain, he just wants more.

If that means more pictures or letters or even a phone call, he just needs it. 

I think maybe its something primal as well… his a man at the end of the day, and being locked up for years in an all male prison with all male guards means he hasn’t even seen a women that isn’t a playboy model for fucking agessss 

His not dumb either, he knows you put effort into taking that photo for him, he knows you put on a red bra because he told you his favourite colour was red. So the idea that maybe, just maybe you feel the same way, or are at least starting to, really erupts something in him.

But you’re completely right. He wouldn’t show a soul the photo you sent him. He’d go to drastic measures to hide everything :( you sent them to him, you’re writing to him, not anybody else,and he knows that if any of the other inmates found out about you, or god forbid, saw a photo of you, they would have an absolute field day. 

He sees how the men his jailed with act when wives, sisters or girlfriends come to visit their loved ones. 

He hears their disgusting comments about the women’s bodies, the detailed answers of what they would do if they ever got their hands on them. It always made his throat fill with bile and stomach twist.

Si may not be a perfect man, but talking like that about another mans women? His above that.  

Thinking about how they would say the same things about you, how’d they’d all pass the photo around with a dirty smirk on their face and snicker? He wasn’t having that, over his dead fucking body. 

He writes back to you keeping it relatively normal, lighthearted and friendly, but he sneaks in a little 

“Ya’ boyfriend probably isn’t over the moon ya’ writtin’ someone like me, aye? I mean, if my missus was writin’ to a felon I’d blow my fuckin’ top love, theres gotta’ be somthin’ out there better for ya’ to been doin’, readin’ a book or somthin’ like that. It was lovely puttin’ a face to a name, just seein’ someone so happy makes me smile”

Receiving his letter makes your heart sore, you made him smile. 

Obviously you had to send him more photos right? You just wanted to make him smile…. right? :( 

You definitely didn’t want to send more because your pussy clenched when he called you “love”

Its definitely not because he was so protective over you, knowing he was so worried about your well-being, always asking if you're doing okay, asking if you’re safe…

“I worry bout’ you out there lovie, ya' gotta keep safe, look after ya’ self”

Getting your friends to help you take more photos for him!!! 

Maybe you force them to go on a hike with you… you wear those leggings that make your arse look fantastic, posing in front of a nice view and purposely sticking out your cute little bum, subtly showing it off to the camera…. Showing it off to him :((((

But its just to show him the view!!!!! He hasn’t seen a nice landscape in years!! He deserves it!!

You’re not a dirty girl :( you’re a good girl!! You would never do something so disgusting for a man who’s locked in jail, your daddy would be so disappointed if he knew you were sticking out your arse for a man like Si >:( 

Calling over your ex-situationships so they can fuck you, your dildo wasn’t enough anymore, you needed the real thing….you needed Si, but obviously you can’t have him, right? There’s no possible way you could ever experience your biggest fantasy….right?

So other men will just have to do :(((

Having them hold you down and fuck your pussy mediocrely, closing your eyes trying to imagine Si :( maybe even moaning his name accidentally…..

Its never really that enjoyable though, all you can think about is how Si would fill you so much better…technically, you have no evidence to prove that, but his such a gentlemen!! He knows how to speak to a women…he must know how to fuck one as well!!! 

It only makes sense….

It makes you so sad… he’d never think about you the same way you think about him >:( 

He’d never fantasies about your sloppy cunt the way you fantasies about licking up his fat cock, teasing his tip and ruining your throat as he shoves his meaty dick down it :(((

Rubbing your swollen clit on your pillow as you moan for him, maybe even looking at the grainy photo of his face while you pleasure yourself :(( you’re so disgusting for him, so needy, he would never want a girl as yucky as you….

When Si receives your next letter informing him that you don’t have a boyfriend as well as a photo of you posing for him, that’s when the obsession really begins :3

His not obsessed on a yandere level but his definitely deep into it :)

He never really thought about what he would do after he got out, he always kinda just guessed that he would go back to his old ways, but now he has you very obviously showing some type of interest in him, his mind is fucking racing!!!

Maybe he can get your number and use his monthly call to talk to you, maybe you can come visit him while his still locked up, maybe you’ll be willing to have him when his out, maybe you can move in together, maybe he’ll marry you, maybe he’ll finally get to fuck that sweet little pussy that his been fantasising about, maybe…maybe…..maybe..Ahhhhh!!! 

Stealing sponges and a rubber glove when his on cleaning duty :((((

Bargaining with his prison mates for hair ties and an empty Pringles can so he can make his own makeshift fleshlight :((( 

Fucking his fat dick with it while his eyes focus on your arse, imagining his got you in doggy and fucking you stupid:((( Maybe even putting his pillow in front of him and pretending its your arse, squeezing and spanking it >:(((

His corruption kink is feral…he knows his a lowlife with nothing good ahead of him, his more then aware that for the rest of his life his going to be labeled as a murderer, but the idea of him taking a pretty little thing like you and pulling you down with him makes him cum so hard his thick juicy thighs shake, fleshlight filling up with his cum and quite moans falling from his mouth >: (((

He doesn’t know were it came from, he just wants you to be with him and he knows he’ll never be able to live the white collar lifestyle you so obviously enjoy. 

The idea of taking you out of that world and reeling you into his consumes him. Shitty one bedroom apartment, cardboard boxes as bed side tables, stained carpet and a flickering kitchen lightbulb. Its almost feeds his cocky superiority complex. Being able to pull a beautiful doll like you, get you so obsessed and needy for him that you’d follow him to the shit hole he calls home. 

Being so obedient, so willing, that you give up everything you’ve worked for just to submit to him…..

Receiving that sweet little letter excites the fuck out of him, don’t get me wrong, but it also scares him a little, his protective instincts kick in a bit. 

If you’re one thing, its a little naive.

You’re so willing to give up sensitive information about yourself without a second thought, you’re very obviously extremely vulnerable and trusting…. 

As much as he wants to protect you, he also sees these personality traits to be extremely beneficial to him. 

You’re very easy to reel in after the line is crossed from polite and friendly to more flirtatious and maybe even a little bit sexual.

He addresses you differently in his letters now, no longer just using your name and actively being more outwardly affectionate towards you

“Hello my sweet girl :)”

and

“been on my mind lot’ lately, been thinkin’ about you, thinkin’ all sorts of things I know I shouldn’t ;)”

Once that barriers broken and your letters are just as enthusiastic, he knows his got you. 

His got you to a point that he knows asking for a phone call isn’t a risky move anymore :3

He plans it though, he knows exactly what his going to do on that phone call and he knows nobody can be around while his doing it. 

Like I mentioned in the first fic, his sentence was reduced because of his good behaviour, this obviously means his on good terms with the guards and most of the other inmates. They all owe him a favour in one way or another. He hadn’t asked for his good deeds to be returned, not needing them to be……until now. 

He writes to you deciding on a date and time, Thursday at 3am. 

He wanted to be alone when he talked to you, have some privacy and not be bothered. 

His on really good terms with the night guard who works Thursdays, with just a little bit of bribing, he could be let out and have his phone call with you alone. 

“Listen mate, ya’ want to know who’s movin’ drugs in and out of this joint? I can tell ya’ with no worries, but I need ya’ to do me a solid favour” 

The guard his reluctant of course, but like I mentioned, Simon can be calculated when he wants to be 

“Magin’ the raise you’d get if ya’ could give ya’ bosses that information? I saw ya had a photo of a little girl on ya car keys, think bout all the toys n’ shit you could buy er’ with some extra cash”

And obviously, he got what he wanted, it was light work really ;)

As 3am slowly got closer, you were shitting yourself, lets be real. It was hard to wrap your head around Si being an actual person, you know? Like of course his real, but it was all becoming a reality now….

You were three large glasses of wine in when it was time to call. 

When your phone started to ring from an unknown number,  you swore your heart dropped :((

The call almost rang out before you got the courage to answer it :(

When you did a very deep, rough voice with a heavy Manchester accent answered, you could hear the smirk through the phone, a confident “hello sweetheart” to match :(

His voice had your breath catch for a minute….of course you’d come up with your own idea of what he would sound like, but never in a million years did you think he would sound so charming, so confident, filled with anticipation, like he had been waiting for this moment for weeks…like he had thought of you the same way you thought about him :(((

It made your tummy swirl, that all too familiar hot ache feeling buzz in your clit :3333

On the other end of the line Si gently stroked his throbbing cock as you said your hellos :(( 

Your voice was even more memorising then he imagined, sweet little nervous giggles as you spoke to him, quietly letting him know that you weren’t quite sure what to say, that you were a little on edge, maybe a little excited. 

You could hear his laboured breath through the phone, a distant wet sound that you couldn’t describe, so quite that you didn’t know if it was real or just your preverted mind playing tricks on you, making you hear things that aren’t really there :(

Just the sound of your voice was driving Si crazy :( you’re just as sweet as he imagined you, maybe even sweeter 

He knew it was wrong of him :(

He knew that asking you to join his little game was evil. He had you right were he wanted you, and asking you to play with your pussy for him on the other end of the phone while directing you on how to finger yourself as he fucks his girthy cock with his hand wasn’t what you deserved…..

But he couldn’t help himself, not when you were talking to him like that, so innocent and sweet :(((

“Sweetheart, I need ya’ to do me a favour darlin’, okay? His cock was so hard it hurt, voice out of breath and sweat dripping down his brow. You were within arms reach, so close but yet so far away. 

“Slide ya’ hand into your panties baby, start playin’ with yourself, come on, tell me what you're doin, describe it to me”

You so easily obliged, so willing to please him :( agreeing nervously with a stutter and shaky breath as you tell him what your doing 

Describing to him what you’re wearing, an oversized t-shirt with nothing underneath :( telling him you didn’t put panties on just for him :(

You let out a quite moan as you play with your tits, telling him how hard your nipples are, squeezing the pebbles and whining as he eggs you on 

“That’s it baby, play with those tits for me, yeah?, that’s my girl, squeeze em’ for me, there ya’ go” Si had to lean himself against the phone box as his tip leaked with pre cum :(((( 

Using it to lubricate his vainy cock making the wet sounds louder through the phone, you whine louder at the thought of his cock, closing your eyes you trail your hand down to your panties and slowly slip underneath the fabric to play with your wet cunt, just like Si asked:(((

“Rub ya’ clit for me baby, tell me how good I make you feel, say ma’ name, say it” he wanted so badly to commit it to memory, lock it away for later >:(

You moan his name as you circle your clit, eyes shut as you imagine Si doing it for you instead. You chant his name while your back arches a little, pleasure building at the sound of his rough grunts and wet cock being pumped through the phone >:((((

“I know, I know sweetheart’ just hold on a little longer for me, yeah? That’s ma’ good girl, ya’ not cumin’ yet” his hand fisted his cock, squeezing himself as tight as possible and screwing his eyes shut trying to imagine he was fucking your wet pussy, not his callused hand rough and dirty from the weights he was lifting early that day :(

“Finger ya’ cunt baby, finger ya’ cunt and scream ma’ name” 

You were dangerously close to the edge, the knot in your tummy tightening by the second, your once nervous moans now turned unashamed. 

Taking your other hand and slipping it into your pussy, you let out a desperate whine, muling your hips as you pumped yourself, squelching noises matching Si’s as you abused your wet pussy :((((

“That’s ma’ perfect girl, that’s it. Come on, let go for me, let me hear those gorgeous moans” 

Finally letting the coil snap your back arched like a cat, legs shaking as you moan his name, desperate whimpers as tears of pleasure roll down your cheeks 

Si gritted his teeth as he pumped himself, ropes of his sperm painting the concrete wall in front of him as his heavy cock twitched in his hands, animalistic grunts falling from his lips as that feral pleasure he’d been chasing washed over him. :((

He’d never cum that hard in his life, vision blurry from the white hot pleasure with your heavy breaths in the background :3

Just as he was about to open his mouth, speak to you again, the phone cut out, he had used up all his time with you :(

Harsh beeps filling his ear as his cock slowly softened, tip bright red from the attention…

He needed you more then ever now, protective instinct going through the roof :( 

Knowing you’re out there all alone with nobody to keep you safe made his blood boil…..

He needed to have a set of eyes on you, the constant letters weren’t enough anymore :((((

Maybe there was a bit of jealously as well, the thought that there may be someone else….

It drove him up the wall, made him feel rage he had only felt very few times in his life 

If he couldn’t have his eyes on you, then he’d 100% send Johnny out to do the work for him.

Looking through your letters and highlighting when you mentioned the name of the cafe you went to every morning, the name of the bar you and your co-workers went to every Friday to celebrate the end of the week. 

Of course he wouldn’t tell Johnny the truth, simply asking him to keep an eye on an “old friend that’s going through a rough time” while his locked up for the rest of his sentence :(

And Johnny obliged, happy that Simon was in contact with people that weren’t just 141.

Reporting back to him every week, always with a positive review :)

A soft thing like you cant be left to fend for yourself sweetheart, not in a world like this. But don’t worry, his got your back, even behind bars ;)

RAHHHHHHHH, him, my mind is filled with HIM

PrisonPenPal!Simon is open for requests so feel free to send them throughhhhh, add to the AU, ask me expand on certain topics, whatever floats your boat >:)

!Disclaimer! - Above is NSFW content - MDNI - If you follow my blog without your age in your bio, you will be blocked - If you are under the age of 18, you are not welcome here, otherwise, enjoy :)

Cat divider sourced by @positively-mine from Pinterest - Pink line divider by @eloquentreverie - MDNI divider by @cafekitsune

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[woozisnoots]

modest jeon wonwoo

° pairing: wonwoo x reader ° genre: university!au, host club!au, fluff ° word count: ~1.7k ° warnings: none! ° a/n: this had no business being this long and idek if i like it lol but I want to specifically dedicate this piece to @wonwoosimp​​ bc she’s literally the sweetest, best bean in the world [insert uwu meme here] thank you for gifting me my very first photocard, I literally cried opening it! I love you so much, I hope you enjoy!

welcome to the svt host club!

masterlist!

you entered university with a certain goal, a purpose. eventually, you were going to be the pediatric surgeon that the 13 year old you ushered you to be.

…let's just hope the knowledge of your brain was enough to get you through the first four years of pre-med. with your 3.7 high school GPA, you were lucky to get into your first choice college, let alone your current major

from the start of the semester, you dedicated yourself to studying the anatomy and physiology of the body until you knew every nook and cranny there was to know. and the library was the perfect sanctuary to get your shit together

as much as you loved your roommates, their constant fights over closet space and boy toys gave you no peace of mind what-so-ever

bless the library for being opened 24/7. If your roommates found you sleeping on their only working desk, you would find yourself waking up to the sound of tripping freshmen trying to get to their first 8am class right in the middle of the hallway

but the lone table in the corner of the library just on the third floor did you good at staying focused. even provided some good naps in between every now and then

the day before your first anatomy test, you LOCKED yourself in the library. no one was going in OR OUT of the premise just to sit across from you on YOUR table until you fully memorized the different layers of epithelial tissue >:(

gosh, you even scattered all your notes across the table just so people got the memo that this seat was: [OFF LIMITS]

yes, off limits to everyone except a certain jeon wonwoo.

the way you met was abrupt to say the least

besides your table, you had a pretty good view of the entire campus — from the main health science building all the way to the student parking lot

and just below you, an astonishing sight of a mob of screaming girls chasing after a mouse guy in glasses. not to be inconsiderate and heartless, but unless you heard someone scream bloody murder, diving back into your flashcard you go

tissue after tissue, you start to get delusional because at this point, everything is starting to look the same

slumping down into your chair, you take a second to mentally recharge, drinking the water you’ve neglected for the past three hours

you time yourself for a five minute break, going through the notifications on your phone

before you could read your roommate’s ongoing ramble on the latest update of the “crazy good looking, god-like, elite host club that the university has to offer”

a ‘club’ that you didn’t even know anything about nor cared for

you hear a loud ‘thud’ coming from the bookcase in front of you

from the side the tall, lean guy with glasses that you saw earlier emerged with his hands gripping his tricep

you try not to draw too much attention to him. half the reason being you didn’t want to embarrass him by laughing at the fact he ran into a 10 feet tall bookcase

and you did not need this man distracting you. it’s your eight week streak being this productive, a new record for anything you’ve done in your entire life and your pride wouldn’t let you have it if you lost it just because you saw an attractive man on sight

you scribble down a decent guess to the tissue identification question that you’ve been stuck on for the past few minutes, not bothering to look up

“that’s actually dense connective tissue, not smooth”

jolting up from your seat, you look up realizing the guy 5 feet away is now right in front of your face looking down at all your papers

“you can tell because they’re striated”

you stare at him in disbelief wondering how he could have gotten so fast with just looking at it for a few seconds. eyeing him up and down, he definitely looked around the same age as you but he wasn’t someone you’ve seen around the science buildings. and you would know since you took the liberty of familiarizing almost everyone within the department

“do you mind if i sit here?” his hands already on the edge of the chair ready to pull it out from underneath him

“...yeah sure”

“oh i’m wonwoo by the way,” he says as you both exchange awkward stares and knowledgeable nods

okay well since he’s proven that he might be of help to you, you might as let him stay. from what you’ve gathered, he didn’t have any stuff on him aside from his phone that you watch him get out of his front pocket, getting ready to play pacman

forget how attractive he is, this guy has some brains.

for the rest of the day, as you guys sat across from each other, wonwoo would occasionally bounce back and forth between giving you study tips and playing whatever game he decides to play at that moment in time

he was surprisingly really good at this? he knew more things about the subject than your professors did, and that’s saying a lot. like you’ve been looking at cells for WEEKS and you were lucky to get at least half of them. which begs the question:

“how do you magically know all this?”

the blank expression on his face tells you he wasn’t expecting that question but he quickly shrugs it off. “i just know a few things from my parents that’s all”

you would have questioned him further but the time on your phone read “22:57” and you already broke your number rule about sleeping early before a big test

as you pack up all your stuff, wonwoo pushes his chair in, bidding you farewell

“good luck on your test tomorrow!”

you appreciate the gesture, mentally thanking him for his help and proceed to go back to your dorms, preparing yourself to tell your roommate all about the exciting? day you had

“YOU MORON. JEON WONWOO?”

laying flat on your back on your bed, you cover the bottom half of your face, quivering under your sheets as you stare at your roommate’s outrageous outburst

you explain what happened and who you met today at the library. when your roommate asked to describe him in more detail, all you said was that he was pretty smart for someone who wasn’t particularly in your major

your roommate lets out a loud scream into their pillow, gripping the bed sheets before giving you the earful of the century

“he’s just being modest. he’s a korean lit major but he’s one of the uni’s top students since both his parents are the head of the science department.

…AND he’s one of the most requested host club members. so you caught yourself one big fish today bud.”

top student? science department? HOST CLUB? none of that was processing in your brain. the one club that you wanted nothing to do with and you just happened to meet their top money maker

grand.

the thought didn’t keep you up at night only because you thought that today’s encounter was just coincidence and you probably would never have to see him again.

(sad though, your roommate was right. he is rather good looking.)

the time that it took for you to take your test the next day flew by so fast that you questioned if it even happened. the first step you took out the classroom, you start to second guess all your answers, regretting that you didn’t check a third or even fourth time before submitting

your train of thought halts when you see jeon wonwoo standing in the empty hallway

“i’m sure you aced it”

and just like in a netflix original romance movie, he reveals a bouquet of pink begonias from behind his back while shyly adjusting his glasses

“these are for you. to congratulate you”

weird way to phrase it but you were still gonna take the flowers. “host club tendencies?”

“so you found out?”

from a distance, you can hear the rushing footsteps from downstairs followed by a sense of purpose. “i think i was bound to” :/

you didn’t know how you felt about the current situation. you had no idea what host club was until you got here and you still don’t know what they even do. for all you knew, this could just be a gesture to get them more clients

but if his actions were genuine… you wouldn’t mind seeing him again

“i have to start learning muscles for our next exam. heard it was one of the hardest ones. i’m not sure if you have more studying tricks up your sleeve?”

“i might.” a cocking little grin now appearing on his face

“good. same place at the library tomorrow then. and this time? try not to bring your dedicated fans wherever you go”

so these study sessions continued. you guys occasionally had to change spots - from cafe to an empty bio lab - if the mob ever saw a single hair follicle that might be his

but each time, wonwoo brought something more just himself. one day it would be coffee, others days it would be food. things to keep you motivated.

for a korean lit major, he was taking a lot of time out of his day to help you, being attentive to all the strategies that help you study and such

possibly making your assumption from months back, true.

by the time finals rolled around, aside from the spursts of review here and there, study sessions became more casual. you didn’t feel the need to overwork our brain since you already knew all the information (something you actually learned from wonwoo himself)

possibly the last meeting you’d have with him was similar to your first: just you two together but him playing on his phone. and yet before the night ended

“i have a proposal.”

“i’m not giving you money for your dumb club.” bold of him to assume you would-

“no but i really appreciate the thought :)

why don’t we turn these study sessions into… study dates instead?”

:0

your assumption after 6 months later: finally confirmed

“but that’s only IF you ace your finals.”

well let’s just say at the very end, you had a successful first semester and are now one step closer towards being the surgeon of your dreams.

plus, you even landed yourself a pretty cool boyfriend in the process

let’s hope his parents put in a good word for you when you apply to med school!

[all-you-need-is-paul-mccartney]

Across the Universe II (Paul McCartney x Female!Reader)

Find Part One Here

A/N: I just checked chapter 1 and I literally put it up over a year ago. Shit. I just wrote a part 2, and finally got ahold of a computer to post it. I hope you's enjoy it. my last chapter had like... 20 likes altogether, so hopefully this chapter will draw some readers in.

Summary: Paul makes it to the Princeton campus where he not only reunites with his cousin Vick, but he meets a fellow stoner named Max. From there, the boys indulge in some Ivy League Hospitality.

WARNINGS: Drinking, swearing, smoking psychoactive substances (Cannabis), just dumb college guys doing dumb college shit. also, it's probably got mistakes bc I suck at revising

This is just a statement clearing up that none of these characters are mine except for Vick. Everyone else belongs to those who were involved in and/or collaborated with Julie Taymor in making the Across The Universe film (2007)

I'll rate this one a T seeing as the substance use isn't THAT bad.

"Vick Hoffner?"

"Try across the way, man. I think there's a Vick of sorts there."

Paul simply nodded at the stranger before turning on his heel and making a beeline to the next apartment, his hands fiddling with his useless book of contacts.

What was the point of giving me your number if you won't even pick up the phone?

He sighed, and rubbed his eyes tiredly with the palm of his hand. He'd been hitchhiking for two days just to get to the Princeton Campus, and then a few hours going through the closest rented apartments to locate him.

This was apartment number 9.

And it was nearing one AM.

Paul rapped weakly at the door, silently concluding that this would be the last place to check before finding somewhere to sleep until the next morning.

The door swung open, and Paul was face-to-face with this college kid who seemed to be about his age. He had unkempt blonde hair that curled around his ears, patchy stubble, and big blue eyes hazed over with the red assault of cannabis in his system.

Despite this, and the nearly empty beer bottle in his hand, the guy looked like he was keeping it together pretty well.

Paul cleared his throat, and raised an eyebrow. "... Vick Hoffner?"

"Nah, man. He's out at the moment gettin' drinks," the guy paused, and looked at Paul for a moment.

"Hey, hold on, you're not... Vick's cousin, are you?"

"Would it be an issue?" Paul asked sarcastically, to which the other guy responded after a laugh, "Nah. I just can't wait for him to get back and find out you got the better looks."

Paul just rolled his eyes, a smile on his lips. "Probably don't matter. He's the brains n' so is me brother. 'S what really matters; though I take pride in this thing." Paul pointed teasingly at his face.

The other guy smiled, pulling two cigarettes from behind his ear. He offered one to Paul, and he claimed the other. He lit the both of their cigs, and they each took a long drag after Paul scanned the apartment hallway for any angry tenants who happened to be against smoking indoors.

"So... does Vick's "pretty boy" cousin have a name?"

Paul nodded like the fact that he had a name was astounding information, but he smiled genuinely before bringing the cigarette back to his lips. "It's Paul."

"Max," The blond shoved his hand out, and the boys shook hands firmly. Max eyed Paul again."Where's that accent from, Paul?"

"Same place as me," Paul answered as he shoved his free hand in his pocket, blowing out smoke a moment after. "Liverpool."

"But why come to America?" Max gestured Paul into the apartment as he spoke, closing the door behind them. "Kill someone? Were you on the run from the cops? FBI?"

"'Sounds like you'd be one to know 'bout all of that." The boys took a seat on the couch in the centre of the room as their cigarettes slowly burned away as they chatted.

"Hey, hey, I've barely ever been in trouble with the cops, but I have pissed off every professor in Princeton, and have broken several campus windows."

" 'nd... you're proud of it?"

"I'm an adrenaline junkie, what can I say? Smashed nearly forty five windows and despite being Princeton's number one vandalidm suspect, I'm still not expelled. Y'know why?" Paul leaned in a little, enough to catch the dank scent of weed, and Max lowered his voice. "... because they can never prove it's me."

" 'nd why is that?"

The answer to Paul's question burst right through the apartment door.

"There's three more of us, and it could be any of them!" One of which, Paul could surprisingly recognize.

"Vick. Long time no see," Paul rose to his feet, and Vick, who'd set a six-pack of beer on the coffee table between them, greeted his cousin with a friendly hug and some "how are you"s.

Despite being an intelligent young man, Paul noticed that Vick behaved a little less like how he used to: polite, conservative, and proper. It was suspected that his behaviour changed because his newfound freedom at Uni allowed him to experience and access things that he would have been otherwise restricted from when he was younger.

Booze was one of them.

Dope was another.

In fact, he wordlessly cracked open a beer for Paul, and handed it to him like he'd asked for a drink in the first place.

Paul wasn't a huge drinker. It was never a vice of his, or anything like that either. He got shitfaced every once in a while for fun.

But when he brought that aluminum can up to his lips, Paul would never have guessed that it would have led to the night it did.

Five minutes after Vick and his buddies returned, Max brought out the roach Paul suspected he was sucking on before he got there.

With enthusiastic cheers from around the room, Max lit the sucker up, took a nice drag from the hot remainders of the joint, and passed it on to Paul.

Paul looked at the roach, almost as if he was confused. No one had asked him if he'd ever smoked before, but Max and the others yelled hurriedly over top of one another, instructing for Paul to suck in quickly and hold the smoke in for as long as he could.

It resulted in a coughing fit, and encouraging pats on the back from the other guys. Vick ended up taking the roach next, and Max reached out across the table.

"Have another one of these, my friend," he slid over another beer after cracking it open just moments before, despite the fact that Paul wasn't quite finished his first drink.

"Y'know, the more you cough, the higher you get? Pretty fucking sick. Like a win-win, man. You don't cough: You're high. You cough: You're super high."

As time went on, and Paul nursed his second drink more responsibly than the first one, things, ironically, started making less and less sense to him.

At one point, he was talking to the guy sitting across from him, and he just stopped talking for a whole ten seconds before turning to Max and asking "what the fuck was I just talking about?"

"Who fucking knows." The blond's shoulders shook as he tried suppressing his laughs, but eventually Paul just burst out into laughs and uncontrollable tears.

And everyone followed suit.

He had absolutely no idea how he got there, or how long he'd been there for, but sitting before Paul were now two empty Tankards. A waitress just set down another to him, and collected the table's empty glasses.

They were in a bar.

Max sat beside Paul as he watched Vick spectate the other two guys play pool.

For the life of him, Paul couldn't remember those guys' names, despite knowing he was told multiple times in the last few hours. To be fair, being drunk and stoned is a perfectly reasonable explanation as to how one forgets another's name. He supposed it didn't exactly matter, anyways.

"So, you got any hot sisters abroad I should know about?" Paul gave Max a funny look  but it may have been because it took so long for Paul's brain to register what had been asked.

"... No. Do you?"

"I've got two younger sisters; one's eight, and the older one's a little on the uglier side," though he didn't say it, Max's little smile indicated to Paul that he was joking about the last comment.

Paul and Max watched the boys play pool a little longer until the eight ball was pocketed.

"Wanna play?" Paul's head snapped to his left, and he nodded at Max's offer.

The other guys traded off, and Vick continued spectating. Max made the first break, and Paul watched as the cue ball rolled right into one of the pockets. Well, it seemed to have been only him to notice, because Max's eyes were instead trained on a brunette woman passing the two.

She looked over her shoulder to wink at Max, and rather than gouging his reaction, she simply walked off and took a seat alone in the corner of the bar.

"Do you believe in love at first sight, McCartney?"

"Well, I'm sure that it 'appens all the time. Never 'appened to me, personally."

"You just need to find the right one, my friend.." Max trailed off again, eyes still locked on the bird in the corner. He was slowly inching from the table and toward her. Max eventually just set the cue on the table and completely abandoned their game to talk to this girl, who flashed him a flirty smile with her bright white teeth and painted lips.

Paul watched Max amusedly, taking a swig from his beer and memorizing the moves Max was putting on his lady friend, who was clearly enjoying his company.

Maybe Paul wanted to get better at approaching certain women. He knew how to flirt, and be charming. It's not like he'd never had girlfriends. He'd had his fair share of girls in his teenage years, and he had Molly now back in Liverpool.

But Paul, at this moment, in his crossfaded brain, realized that he didn't want to attract the women he had been anymore. Just from her visual appearance, and how she was reacting to Max's charming flirts, Paul could sense an airiness to her personality. She was always smiling, inching closer, initiating physical contact by nudging his hand with her own, the list goes on.

Hell, even on her happiest days, Molly would be reluctant to kiss Paul, but he'd excuse her behaviour because she was just a regularly bitchy person who hated public displays of affection.

Or hardly any affection at all, it seemed.

Needless to say, Max returned to the table five minutes later with a phone number and a big red lipstick stain on his cheek. So to celebrate, the gang decided to go golfing.

"Here she is, Window Way," Max introduced Paul to the roof of their apartment building. The other boys started giggling at the name "Window Way". Each guy had their own club, Max held a bag of golf balls, and Vick carried another six pack.

Max set his things down and took in the crisp night air as Vick opened yet another beer for each of the boys. Max took a can for him, and one for Paul, and proceeded to show his new buddy just why he called it "Window Way".

"A Driver will send a ball..." Max pointed his arm straight out in front of him, his finger pointing right towards the windows of the Princeton Campus library.

"...Straight towards the school," Paul finished. He turned to look at Max. "You guys do this every night?"

"Paul, I do this all day. I barely go to class anymore."

"Hey, Max! You tee first!" One of the nameless guys called out to them. Max brandished the widest of grins before rushing to grab his club, a ball, and a green tee from his pocket. "Hey, Paulie, wanna help me out by holding my tee up?"

"Well, how'd I do that without gettin' hit?"

The other boys started laughing again, and Paul was genuinely confused until he found himself lying on his back seconds later, and the bottom of the tee between his lips, which only got heavier when Max set the ball down onto it.

If he were sober in this moment, Paul would not have been this comfortable with someone swinging a golf club full force towards his head and then trust their judgement regardless of their in intoxicity that they'd hit their target...

It was a good thing Max had been doing this for a long time, because wow, did that ball ever fly.

Paul watched in stoned disbelief as the ball soared far off into the distance and over the roof of the library. And while no one had seen it, they certainly heard the shatter from the other side of the building.

And that's when all five boys ran away from administration retired back to their room to light up a new joint Vick had also brought home as a surprise. They all sat around and lazily talked to one another about how crazy Max's shot was, and while some of them were falling in and out of sleep, Max insisted they all stay up to watch the sky change colour from the courtyard.

Paul didn't know how he stayed up any longer than he did, but he pulled through like a trooper, and they all watched the sky change as they lay down in the fallen leaves. But as soon as they all came back to their room for a final time, Paul dragged himself in exhaustion to the living room chair to sit, but he just slipped out of it onto the floor, and that's when his body decided to turn off on its own.

The other guys dropped to the ground or onto the furniture like dead flies, and within ten seconds of the door closing, the room was quiet.

And it stayed like that for nearly ten hours.

Paul woke up that evening with a raging headache and multiple trips to the bathroom to be sick, but now three things were certain for him: He definitely had one hell of a time, he definitely wanted to hang out with Max a lot more, and that evening Paul definitely got by with a little help from his new friends.

------------------------------------------------------

A/A/N: alrighty, if this chapter doesn't do too too bad, I'll see about continuing this story. I've got chapter 3 pretty much done as well, I'm just in the midst of revising it. If you want more, by all means, PLEASE let me know!

[twilightprince101]

Mafia!Wiggle AU

So yeah, I came up with the idea of Wiggle being a mob boss a few days ago and I succumbed to the brain rot. Wrote an entire fic for this idea, introducing her and what she's like.

I got flustered myself writing the tall crime lady. Enjoy!

Mafia Boss Wiggle

“GET YOUR HANDS OFF’A ME YOU MEATHEADS!!” A lanky, roughed up grumpus struggles in the beefy arms of two well-dressed goons. They grip his arms tight with their paws, dragging his body along behind it like an afterthought. “You have any idea what my family will do when-?!”

“Shut your trap already,” the purple goon groaned. They adjust their ornate mask, brushing the sunset and emerald colored feathers out of their eyes. “Honestly, you’re lucky we caught you before openin’ hours, else we’d have to knock your teeth in to keep you from disturbin’ the patrons.”

“Don’t act like yer better than me!” The red grump kicks over a velvet chair from a nearby table as they pass. It clatters against the polished wood floor, echoing through the well-lit nightclub. A bartender--wearing a similar feathered and jeweled mask to the goons--gets up from polishing glasses to set it right. “Don’t you know who I am?! I’m from the Turnpipe family!! My boys’ll storm this place once they hear what you’se done to me! They’ll roast you all over open flames until every last strand of your fur is singed to the flesh!! You’ll be nothing but a naked mole rat for the rest of your lives!!!”

“Heya Cold-Brew, how was your kid’s party last night?” The blue goon holding Turnpipe’s other paw waves to the bartender as he sets the chair upright.

“Went okay. Park got rained out midway through the picnic, so we went to Slaker’s for ‘shakes.”

“Ah, shame. Need any help after I’m done here?” He gestures to their victim as if it were a sack of potatos. The red grump wiggles and yells while scuffing the floor they’re dragged across.

“Nah, should be good here, thanks ‘Stein. Fifteen until the doors open.” Cold-Brew waves back to the goons as he returns to his station, both wave back and smile.

“I SAID LET ME GO YOU INVERTEBRATES!!!!”

“Ugh, honestly why can’t you all say anything original?” The purple grump shakes their head. “Always just ‘let me go,’ ‘I’m with this family,’ ‘You’ll pay for this,’ if you’re gonna keep yappin’ at least say something interesting.”

“I’LL TEAR YOU LIMB FROM LIMB!!!”

“Hehey, he tells jokes!”

The nightclub’s attendants laugh together under the neon spotlights as the intruder’s yells fall on uncaring ears. Past the bar lined with high class alcohol and the grand stage lined with spotlights and the band pit, the three grumps make their way to a door labeled “BACKSTAGE: EMPLOYEE’S ONLY.” With a quick knock and faint response from the other side, the two gently push open the door and leave the main area behind.

“Heya boss,” the purple goon speaks, his voice much more formal. “Found this one tryin’ to bash the front lock open with a brick. Got him before any major damage was done, don’t worry.”

Both grumps lift the intruder up by the shoulders, leaving his legs kicking in the air. It takes the Turnpipe a moment to adjust to the dimmer lighting and he coughs from the lingering cigarette smoke in the air.

“Thank ya’ darlings,” a sultry voice speaks, facing away from the three. The grump thinks that the boss is some shade of pink, but poking above the large mass of pink fluff a sort of golden orange pokes out. Despite being held in the air, the orange grumpus sitting at the table in front of them reaches just below the Turnpipe’s height. “Wouldn’t want him making a mess before our loyal customers come in.”

“Are you these goons’ boss?!” The Turnpipe screams, pointing at the grumpus. “You fucked up now! When the Turnpipes hear of this-”

“They’ll tear us limb from limb, yes hun I know.” The boss speaks calmly, comfortably while applying purple eyeliner via pocket mirror.  “I could hear you all the way backstage, making me consider sound proofing.”

The red grumpus blinks. Despite the goons disregarding his threats earlier, for some reason his mind expected her to take him seriously. He takes a moment to look around the employee’s area, finding various other grumps of size and stature. Some more fancily-dressed grumps put on makeup and practice vocal exercises in large vanity mirrors, while toned tux-wearing grumps check their suits before walking out to the main club area. All of them are wearing the same mask and haven’t given him so much as a glance.

“Now tell me darling,” the boss angles the pocket mirror to address her intruder. Her ice blue iris gives off a sharp, cold gaze that clashes with the warm and comforting atmosphere before. “Why were you trying to break into our lovely establishment? Just couldn’t wait to have some fun, wanted to steal some of our booze perhaps?”

“Wh-no I’m, I don’t care about your stupid club!!” The Turnpipe yells, finding his fury again. “One’a your meatheads shook down my brother! They were on my family’s turf, and I don’t take these insults lyin’ down!”

“I can see that. So you’d rather take it in the air instead?”

Some of the other staff members chuckle as they check themselves for the third time over.

“Du-buh?!” Did you even hear what I said?!” The turnpipe explodes, his enemy’s eyes narrowing in the mirror. “YOUR goons-”

“I heard you clearly.”

The CLICK of the pocket mirror cuts through the smoky air. She places it on the table alongside the bills, fan letters and knives and begins spinning her chair around. It swivels as she sweeps her long legs along with the momentum, poking out of her dark emerald dress. The dark emerald dress’s frills flutter from the sudden movement, draping the boss from her knees to the straps on her shoulders, hidden under her flowing pink mane. With a CLACK of her deep purple heels on stone she sets her crossed legs down and stops the chair in place. Her previous playful gaze is now replaced with one of annoyance, both her icy and greyed eyes narrowed in contempt.

With her clean scar sweeping across her right eye, the boss of the Gilded Dahlias, Wiggle Wigglebottom, sits up fully and rests a paw on her chin while gazing down at her prey.

“I’m just curious as to how you thought you could barge in here and get revenge against my boys, my gang, even me, all by yourself. You certainly don’t have the physique or firepower to do the job, so my first guess is that you’re either full of yourself, or just plain dumb.”

The performers all “ooooooooh~” between them, like a class of 8th graders hearing their fellow classmate called up to the principal’s office.

“I mean-well, I…” The red grumpus searches the floor for the right words, then balls his fists and puffs out his chest. “I’d assume YOU would pay us with respect! Us Turnpipe’s been around longer than you newbies have, so we outrank you!”

“It’s stupidity folks!!” Wiggle cheers and flicks up a paw to announce the results. A few goons groan and dig into their jacket pockets, handing their smiling associates a fat wad of bills. Turnpipe’s hot air dissipates and he deflates once more.

“Damn, third in a row… I’ll treat you to a drink later Wiggle.” A brown-furred performer in a glittery red dress crosses her arms.

“Maybe a milkshake,” The boss peeks over her shoulder, “I overheard Brew talking about Slakers and my sweet tooth’s been acting up lately! Them icy sweets are ‘Callin my naaaame~’.” She sings in a wide vocal range with complete ease, giving her paw a flourish and leaning back as she hums.

“You… You know, just because you’re new it doesn’t mean you’re better than us! Don’t act like you’re a hotshot just because you did a few successful heists!”

“A few? Oohohoho!!” Wiggle peers back, sitting up straight once again. “Goodness darlin’, you are not helping your case right now. Tell me, how many bank heists has your little family done in the past year?”

“Uh… twenty five?”

A tuxed grumpus snorts as he walks out.

“Oh darling…” Wiggle places a palm against her cheek with a pitiful smile. “That’s not even cute, it’s just... sad.”

“Yeah?! Well, I’d like to see you-”

“Fifty three.” Wiggle interrupts. “In the past three months.”

“...wha-”

“Around… how much was it Abra?” Wiggle calls behind her.

“Passed the million mark just last week!” A green grumpus, wearing more casual clothing, peeks out from around a corner leading to an employee hallway.

“Got so much excess profits that even after giving everyone a bonus, I got to turn the rest to my own personal bed!” She waves a paw in the air. “Certainly wasn’t the comfiest experience, but I at least got to check it off my bucket list!”

“I… I don’t…” The Turnpipe’s words do their best to try and search for any rage or anger to grasp onto, but any attempt to feel above her hasn’t worked, not helped by the fact he’s still being held up by the shoulders like a small child. After around ten seconds of stammering, Wiggle sighs and shakes her head.

“You don’t gotta try and act tough anymore darlin’, I think I get what you’re about now…” The sunset grumpus uncrosses her legs and lets her other heel clack on the floor. The Turnpipe’s gaze goes from eye level to slowly upwards, and upwards, and upwards; the boss’s body obscuring the light from one of the vanities. She wraps one of her paws around the grip of a knife lodged into the table and yanks it out. Her prey freezes up in the arms of her trap.

“You didn’t come here so you could avenge your brother or any sappy nonsense like that.” Wiggle circles around the Turnpipe, her heels echoing their clicks with each step while fiddling with the knife in her paws. “You came here so you could try and make yourself feel big and stwong, flaunting your family name as if it were a gun in of itself.”

“I…” Clack. Clack. Clack. It becomes hard to think as each step feels like a hammer and chisel against his brain. Wiggle looks the red grump up and down, drawing invisible lines up and down his torso.

“Since you came in you’ve been talking about your little gang as if you ran it. ‘My boys,’ ‘My gang,’ ‘My my my my my.’ But all that time, being caught up in your own head? It just made your skull more dense. All you are is just some lowly lackey that probably joined, say…” She plants an elbow on the Turnpipe’s head, checking her makeup one last time in the reflection of her knife. “A month ago? Maybe less?”

The frog in her armrest’s throat nearly leaps out of his mouth. His head shrinking down is the only confirmation Wiggle needs.

“You’ve been so caught up in that little bubble of yours, thinking you’re the hottest grump on the block, just because you’re part of a gang. Think just because you have a name to flaunt around and access to guns it makes you powerful. But I’m gonna let you in on a secret little man.” The Turnpipe’s body clenches as Wiggle stands back up and Clacks her way back to his front, eyeing the knife she paws in her hands as intensely as possible.

“Having a name to flaunt around doesn’t bring you power.”

Clack.

“Having guns and knives to hold against people’s throats doesn’t bring you power.”

Clack.

“Having enough money to buy out all of Grump Vegas doesn’t bring you power.”

Clack.’

“But you know what does?”

Wiggle towers above the Turnpipe, patting her razor-sharp knife in her paw. All different rays of light are obscured by her roaring mane, leaving the grump to cower in the arms of her two goons. She Clacks forward, and her goons take a step back. Not out of fear or trepidation though; a quick glance to both of their faces shows the same devilish smile that their boss wears. Clack. Clack. Clack. Clack. Clack. Every single step is like a jolt of ice to his heart, dragging every last little step for an eternity as his entire being trembles in the arms of the two goons. Just the slight bump of the wall on his back knocks out every bit of air in his lungs and he fights to just inhale as his natural predator CLACKS just inches away from him, casting a toothy, ecstatic smile. Her single, silver iris seems to glow in the limited light.

Wiggle grips the knife in a reverse grip in her left hand and begins to raise it. The grumpus tries to close his eyes and look away but she grabs his chin with her other paw and forces his gaze back to her. His attempts to shake his head in a desperate plea are pointless, her paw digging into his fur and keeping him from moving even a centimeter out of place. The glinted metal shines as it finally reaches the zenith of its arc, hungry to tear through red grumpus fur. With nothing left to do all the Turnpipe can do is let tears stream down his face.

With the speed of a bullet and barely giving the Turnpipe a moment to flinch, Wiggle swings down the dagger. Her victim closes his eyes and blurts out a whimper and-

THUNK!!!

…

He’s not dead. His eyes are still fuzed shut but he’s still not dead, he can hear the sounds of the backstage area around him. The Turnpipe forces an eye open to peek at the knife and his skeleton nearly leaps out and books it at the sight. The knife is only a hair’s length away from his cheek embedded into the wood beam he’s pressed against. A sting in his cheek and the running of a warm liquid helps him fill in the gap of what happened. But just a little bit away, the Turnpipe finds something else that makes his body completely shut down

It’s Wigglebottom’s face, just as close to his as the knife.

Her icy and greyed eyes peer into the Turnpipe’s irises, flickering around while high on adrenaline and terror. Her gaze looks past his false-bravado exterior and reaches further, deeper inside him into a dark pit he had tried so desperately to hide. A black, slimy, jittering piece of disgust comes out. Letting the grip on his chin go she traces his chin and speaks in a tone fitting of her now-sultry gaze. Wiggle leans in close, so close that the Turnpipe can smell her rich floral perfume, and whispers into his ear.

“Fear~”

“...”

The Turnpipe’s mind has gone blank. Despite the pounding jackhammer in his chest, the final whisper and breath of hot air from the Gilded Dahlia boss erases his mind, leaving him a whimpering and stuttering mess. A few of the remaining employees from backstage snicker and point at her latest victim, though he isn’t able to process the fact that he’s being mocked. Seeing that the usual routine has worked yet again, Wiggle leaves the knife implanted in the wall and pulls back with a satisfied smile.

“Boys,” she snaps a finger in the air, her tone returning to the playful nature it was before, “drop our newest employee. He won’t be going anywhere anytime soon, should be good to leave him back here for the day.”

Both goons do as they’re told without question, letting the grumpus slump to the floor, his knees having completely given out. He continues to stare at the ground and shake his head, crying as he trembles from the terror just inflicted.

“So what’re you gonna make this one boss?” The purple grumpus asks with a playful smile. “Waiter? Bartender?”

“Nah.” She shrugs with little effort. “He doesn’t really have the looks for either of those. Probably’ll make him our new janitor, been needing a new one after our last one squealed. Feel free to give him the old guy’s uniform, I feel it should fit pretty well.”

The purple goon nods and takes out a sketchpad, writing “Find old janitor’s uniform” at the bottom of the list as they walk past and out towards the main area.

“Alright everyone, hopefully this little show of mine was able to help you get fired up! We got five minutes ‘till the doors open, get those finishing touches done!” The boss claps her hands in the air to her employees, resuming business as usual. “If we’re able to double our profits today I’ll treat everyone to Slakers at the end of our shift tonight! Let’s make tonight a good one darlin’s!”

The warm and familiar chatter of the backstage area continues once more. As every last well-dressed employee strolls out to prepare for the afternoon they pass by their new coworker, neither giving the other a glance. As the front door opens and the excited clamoring of a new audience begins to fill the club, Wiggle peers down at her latest victim, slumped up the hole-ridden wood post on his back. She smirks and gives a content sigh.

“Maybe one day you’ll all surprise me… but until then, I suppose this is just as fun~”

Wiggle ruffles the head of the former Turnpipe like an affectionate puppy, and then walks back to her main office, her heels Clacking and echoing throughout backstage and the red grumpus’s empty mind.

[justafewsmallsteps]

Happy InuKag Week 2020, Day 6! It’s been literal years, but here’s finally Part 2 of The Problem With Thinking, my Inuyasha High School AU. Lots of love going out to @coquinespike for all the encouragement. Thanks for your patience! It’d probably be better to reread Part 1 (no big edits, but because it’s been SO LONG) but honestly it’s not a huge deal if you don’t. Lots of fluff.  I’m sorry I can only offer the same bland AU over and over. Please forgive me and leave comments in the notes anyways? 

So the fight was officially over and now they stood there holding each other. It was so intimate that it made the tips of his ears feel hot with embarrassment. Hard to believe that just this morning he was still avoiding her, yet now she was practically molded up against him, and there wasn’t a single part of him that wanted her to move away.

He was hyper aware that Kagome was so very close—closer than she’d ever been before.  It was new territory. With their reconciliation, the bridge he thought he’d burn reassembled itself anew, and they’d crossed a line somewhere. What line, he couldn’t be sure.

A new burning filled Inuyasha’s chest, a fire that wanted to engulf her entirely. He’d missed her so much, and being away from her had drained him like a dying battery. He’d felt so tired, so void of any energy or drive, so… lonely. Now she was here, right here, and his whole body was thrumming with the desire to grab her tightly and hold on, to bask in her warm presence like a spring field finally coming out of winter’s harsh cold.

He saw the same look of longing reflected in her eyes. They were magnets kept apart until now.

He forced himself to speak, though his heavy tongue and heart protested the words as he spoke, “I should get you home.”

The sky was getting darker by the second. Her house was just down the street, but he’d worry too much if he let her go by herself. Besides, it was an excuse to stay by her side for a while longer.

“Are you trying to get rid of me?”she asked with a hurt tone.

“What? No!” Inuyasha yelped. The opposite! He coughed and looked off to the side. There was no decent way to explain how he was afraid that the more she stayed by him, the harder it would become to let her go even though they only lived a block apart. He’d cut her off so thoroughly from his life, and now he realized it was like denying himself oxygen. How had he survived?

“Inuyasha?” She gripped his hands again to pull him from his thoughts.

“Huh?” he noised dumbly.

“C-can I…” Kagome wracked her short-circuiting brain for an excuse, any excuse to stay longer. “I don’t want to go home looking like this.”

“What?” You look fine, he thought.

She bit her lip. “Since my face is all puffy and my eyes are red. I don’t want Mama or Jii-chan to worry.”

“O-oh. You… Do you want to come up?” His eyes suddenly opened wide. “Not if you’re uncomfortable with that! I could get you a… wet towel or something.”

“It's okay. I’m fine with going up.” Kagome fought a blush.

“Are you sure?”

She nodded firmly, if only to keep from jumping up and down in glee. Success! How obvious would that be?

He replied with a stiff nod back. He swiftly turned around, dropping one hand from her grip but holding on with the other to lead her into the building. Their palms and fingers felt as if they’d fused together like hot glass. It was weird to imagine they’d have to come apart anytime soon.

As they walked past the metal gate and into the complex, Kagome’s eyes wandered to drink in the unfamiliar territory, but also to keep occupied. There was a tension in the air—some shy but persistent heat that sealed their mouths shut. Inuyasha was looking straight ahead avoiding looking at her, but she couldn’t bring herself to do much differently than him. The fact loomed upon them: they were going to be in his apartment… alone. It was very new for them, and they’d only just gotten their problems solved. Her heart raced. She’d just found out she was in love with him. Maybe asking to come up was a bad idea.

Before she could think else of it, Inuyasha finished turning the key to his door. It opened with a small push, sending her stomach to do a cartwheel. The darkness inside fed her curiosity despite her nerves. She followed him in as the lights flickered on. Humble. Quiet.

It’s not like he has anyone to greet, she remembered. There weren’t decorations or frills—just the basic necessities.

Kagome removed her shoes, noticing how awkward it felt to do so with one free hand. Still, she had no intention of letting go.

“Uh, the… bathroom is over there.” Inuyasha gave a directional head gesture that had his ears twitch. “Is there anything you need?”

Her eyes dropped down to their locked hands. With a strange sense of concentration, she loosened her grip—at least she thought she did. It didn’t budge.

“Oh.” Inuyasha noticed the problem.

A voice yelled in his head. You’re an idiot. You can’t follow her in there! Let go!

With the care and hesitation of unwrapping a bandage, he moved his fingers to uncurl from hers. It felt like pulling apart linked chains. Their palms slid past each other, fingers sweeping to the tips. He would have let it go, but the slightest hint of uncertain, lingering pressure from Kagome had him stop in his tracks.

They froze. His eyes flickered to her blushing face, and he felt her fingertips squeeze his.

“In—“

The next second he yanked her close—his earlier desire to do so finally sated. He grasped the back of her head while his other hand wrapped around her wrist. Her contact against him felt like finally gulping air after drowning.

“Inuyasha?” the girl gasped.

Shit. He’d acted on instinct when he grabbed her. He had no idea what to say, and he felt the embarrassment bubble fast to the surface. She felt nice though, and he couldn’t deny that.  

Kagome’s face pressed against Inuyasha’s chest, her mind drawing blanks as her cheek felt the heat of his skin beneath his T-shirt. His heart was racing, just like hers. It was reassuring.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. He shifted the hand in her hair, letting the smell of lavender shampoo and Kagome’s natural scent fill his home.

Kagome’s free hand came up to hold him back gently, and she realized she’d been aching to do this since she laid eyes on him: to hold him in her arms, to pour out her affection, to be close.

“It’s fine,” she whispered, running her palm soothingly up and down a short length.

Inuyasha reflexively pushed her closer in an attempt to keep from shivering at her touch.

Her heart was still beating rapidly. How else was she supposed to feel when the boy she loved was hugging her so sweetly? It took a while, but after a few moments of silence, Kagome relaxed enough to speak.

“Inuyasha?” She squeezed him a little, somehow already comfortable with touching him so intimately. Funny, but it just felt right being close to him.

“Hm?”

She allowed herself to sink against his body, letting him hold up more of her weight. “Have you been doing all your homework?” It was a familiar question, bringing a sense of normalcy back to their dynamic.

“Uh…” he hesitated.

“Inuyasha…”

“I’ve been doing enough,” he responded vaguely. It was the truth, but he knew she wouldn’t like the answer.

Kagome clicked her tongue in disapproval. “That sounds like you’ve been slacking…”

“I got lazy without your naggin’.” Lazy. Frustrated. Uninspired. Angry. Depressed. Who was he kidding? When he wasn’t moping around he was trying his best not to punch walls.  

The girl sighed. “I’ve been distracted too, so I’m not one to talk… Though I’m going to blame that on you.”

He scoffed, but the sound was soft. “You gettin’ all worked up over me…” Never mind that he’d been the same.

She poked him in the shoulder blade and dug her finger into it as a small jab. “Don’t be a jerk. I missed you a lot, dummy. I wouldn’t be here otherwise, looking like a total mess.”

In seriousness, he apologized. “I’m sorry.”

The sincerity of it brought tears rushing to her eyes so quickly she was defenseless against them. She was completely caught off guard, but if he was going to be that honest then she’d follow suit.

“Don’t do that to me again,” she had to whisper in a rush to keep her voice from faltering. If it sounded like a plea instead of a reprimand, there was nothing she could do about it.

“I won’t,” he swore. “I… please don’t cry Kagome. I can’t stand it. You know that. I don’t know what to do.”

“Just don’t be an idiot again.”

He held his tongue and let her calm down. His hand kept rubbing soothing circles against her back.

“Were you eating properly?” She finally sniffled with a frown.  

“I ate. Not what you’d call ‘properly’ though.”

“You can’t just have three packs of ramen when you get home from school.”

“I can and definitely did.”

Again, she sighed. “We should go to the grocery store together. And I need to teach you how to actually cook.”

“I can fend for myself fine,” he retorted. After a beat he added, “But if you want to come over and make food, I’m not going to stop you.”

“I’d cook for you everyday if only to keep you from high blood pressure.” She pulled away in time to catch the shock on his face, and realized then that her words sounded like a proposal, like she could commit to taking care of him for the rest of her life. She felt mortified. It was too close to a confession!

“You would?” Inuyasha felt embarrassment splash him in the face like cold water.

“No! I mean, yes, but I didn’t mean that I…  you… you know? I just want you to eat balanced meals! That’s all I meant, okay?”

Normally he would retort her sweet sentiment with something brash. He was marvelously good at ruining the moment. Instead he was frozen, looking at the girl in front of him with affection seizing his whole being like lightning, strong and inescapable. He was helpless as it coursed through every nerve in his body.

His silence had Kagome fidgeting.

“Inuyasha?”  

He couldn’t move. He opened his mouth and closed it repeatedly, no words forming whatsoever like a dumb fish gaping for food. The idea of Kagome cooking him a meal… of her setting down plates, of her coming home to him… every day for the rest of his life…

The girl’s cheeks flared indignantly at his lack of response; heart thrumming nervously because it wasn’t a true confession, but it had the tone of something so much more—something akin to promising forever. She couldn’t take his surprised expression locked onto her so intensely, so she shoved her face into his shirt to avoid his gaze. Her hands gripped at his sleeves. She shook his arms hoping for a reaction and cried out, “Don’t just stand there staring at me! You have to say something, you dummy!”

He really should say something, he knew, but nothing was coming to his head. Nothing except Kagome, over and over again. Her in his kitchen, her walking down the road by his side, her eating meals with him everyday… When she told him to let her stay by his side, Inuyasha didn’t consider the actual depth of it. He’d simply taken it at face value. If she wanted to be around him, she’d decide that. The thought of her being there for him daily triggered something heavy to lock itself into place. It felt like she’d smacked an old machine and the gears finally fit themselves together. The realization came to him then.

He was in love with her.

Kagome felt his hold on her slacken. “Inuyasha?” she tried again, with a miserable tone to her voice. She was still mortified.  

He released his steady hold on her wrist. Then he pried her hand gently away from his shirt, slowly easing his fingers between hers. The action was enough to get her to pull herself back. He’d never been very tender before.

His gaze was molten hot against hers, burning maybe, but she was caught in it like sweet, sticky honey. Her chest panged with how much she loved him. Couldn’t she just… reach up and show him? She tightened her fingers entwined with his. God, that felt so right. Her hand belonged in his.

“Kagome…” Her name was meant for his mouth.

Oh, he was so attractive, and she’d missed him so much. If she could somehow wrap herself up in him she would. His tentative grip firmed, lifting her hand closer. Her eyelids lowered while the rest of her body tilted up, up, and towards him.

Inuyasha was enamored. His entire world was swirling around Kagome as if she was the center of the universe. She very well might be, with him caught in her gravitational pull. He closed his eyes and saw black—and then he saw a star; faint and twinkling behind his eyelids, like the uncertain pressure lingering sweetly against his lips.

Then it was gone.

Slightly dazed, he opened his eyes to a blushing Kagome shying back from her kiss. Damn if he didn’t want to pull her to him again. A ‘wait, come back,’ on the edge of his tongue.

As if asking for permission, Kagome tugged at his sleeve and steadied her gaze on his mouth. He wanted to smile at her obvious signals, but a prick of paranoia had him stop her from moving towards him.

“Wait…” He watched as her courage was drained from her face and tried quickly to assure her. “It’s not that I don’t want to, I… I didn’t mean for this to happen when I asked you up, you know.”

“I know that,” she responded earnestly.

“Right…” he turned to look at the floor, trying to sift through his clouding thoughts gathering and darkening like a storm.

“So what’s the problem?”

“I mean, you know. That stuff,”

“The ‘stuff’ that people who don’t know anything say?” she asked.

“Well they ain’t that off if we keep at it,” he replied dryly, but there was a blush on his face. He’s just been kissed by Kagome Higurashi, the most beautiful, wonderful girl in the world. She would’ve done it again if he hadn’t held her back.

“Look, I don’t care. This is what I want. Do you…” she bit her lip unsurely and his knees almost buckled in, “Do you want this?”

Do you want me? Her eyes, clear and bright as a mid-summer day, seemed to ask him.

“Of course I do…” he confessed. There was more he wanted to say on the matter, or rather, more doubts that wouldn’t stop surfacing, but in the next moment Kagome had her mouth back on his, pushing his thoughts down to drown. He let them die there. Instead he let his world become so full of her that nothing else fit, and he’d never felt more put together than he was now, overflowing with her.

Kissing Inuyasha was something she’d dreamt about a lot lately, but not a fantasy she’d thought would come to fruition. It was different than she’d imagined, her body awkwardly stiff yet her heart soaring.

Attached, was the first word that came to Kagome’s mind.

That was how people described how Kagome felt about Inuyasha. She was fond of him. She had a soft spot for him. She was irrevocably and inexplicably attached to him. Now that they were kissing, she uncovered a new sense of meaning to that word. She’d been so attached to him that his absence felt like pulling her seams apart. Kissing him now was sewing them back together, but she still wanted to be closer. She stretched up on her feet higher, pressing her lips harder against his. Her goal was more, but of what, she wasn’t sure. More Inuyasha, somehow, in any and every capacity seemed to be the only answer. Her hands moved up his arms, slowly feeling the worn fabric of his shirt beneath her palms. Her cheeks flared with a new blush feeling the muscles beneath. She wasn’t just attached; she was attracted; she was in love. She loved him so much that it burned from her lungs to her lips.

Their mouths parted, and he huffed her name into the hot air between them. It was a match that set her ablaze. She intended to engulf him, so she kissed him harder. She wrapped her arms around the boy’s neck and drew him in close to her, wobbling between standing on her toes and back onto her heels.  

Sensing her imbalance, Inuyasha tugged her by the waist to steady them both, but it had searing consequences as her body pressed into his. He heard her react with a sharp inhale and he hissed in response to her. So this is what happened when you got close to the sun, huh? He wasn’t melting, but he was burning everywhere they touched, and she scorched her way through him like a wildfire. They were moving so quickly his mind was whirling.

Kagome tilted her head, and Inuyasha felt the foreign sensation of her wet tongue swiping against his lip.

“Holy shit,” he cursed, and Kagome immediately pulled back startled.

“Sorry! I don’t—”

“No, it’s fine,” he muttered with winded effort. He took a moment to breathe, noticing Kagome’s chest similarly took deep rises and falls. The reality of what had just occurred between them settled in his mind. He wasn’t sure what to do next, but he wanted to continue.

“Was I… Did I go too fast or do something wrong?” She sounded so out of breath that his head spun.

“’Course you did nothing wrong,” he whined, putting his face in his hand and closing his eyes. He was more turned on than he’d ever imagined possible, and it was making him dizzy. “Just surprised me there.”

“Oh,” Kagome finally squeaked in response. She self-consciously folded in one herself.

He peaked through his fingers at the girl only to see her looking shyly down at the ground. Her kissed lips were set in a puffy little pout and her cheeks were a warm pink. Inuyasha groaned. She was beautiful and he was such a sap for her.

He was devastatingly in love with her. And he kissed her! And she kissed him back! And more!

He was having a hard time believing this was real.

“Maybe we did go kinda fast,” he admitted. He just couldn’t wrap his head around this whole thing. When did his life make a 180? Was he dreaming? When did his dreams ever get this good?

“Sorry,” Kagome mumbled.

Inuyasha sighed and lowered his hand. “Quit apologizing.” He tucked his finger under her chin to get him to look at her,  but found the vulnerability behind her eyes almost too much to bear. He swallowed to fight the blush staining his face. “Just… gimme a sec, okay?”

Kagome nodded into his hand. He moved his face forward and pressed his forehead against hers, feeling her heat radiate against his skin. She was too much for him, he knew. He closed his eyes and tried to calm himself down—mind and body. He felt Kagome do the same, slowly relaxing into regular breaths.

This is real…

Delicately shifting, he pressed his lips to hers again, feeling her seize and then press into him. The awkwardness set back in, but they pushed through it and felt it out until it slowly melted away. He felt her exhales as sweet, warm puffs of air. They stayed like that for a while until Inuyasha took his hand and slid it to hold her cheek. He opened his mouth slightly and tilted his head to deepen their kiss. Kagome followed suit, letting him set the pace. They kept going, pushing lips together, adjusting, readjusting, and getting comfortable.

He felt her adorable eager little jump as he pulled her face closer, her hand coming up to grasp his shirt in a steadying motion. It was a swift pump to his ego to know she wanted this and was probably holding back.

He was getting turned on all over again, but it wasn’t as sudden as before. He took his time adjusting to each step forward, but Kagome didn’t make it all that easy with little gasps and the sweetest taste he’d ever experienced.

He’d always thought kissing was a gross concept. He wasn’t keen on saliva or using tongues, but the instant he felt hers on his lips he was convinced it was more than okay. Sure, it shocked him, but it felt good. Too good, at that moment, but now… Now he enjoyed the slight pressure of her sucking on his bottom lip, and the tease of her teeth as she did so. He enjoyed doing the same, shocking sensations prickling his spine with each new discovery. She was infinitely patient and understanding, letting him set their pace, and following suit.

Tentatively, Inuyasha sucked in a breath and dared to sweep his tongue against Kagome’s lips. He felt her eagerly part her mouth, inviting him to try again. This time he had taken the lead, but tremors still passed through his body as he tasted her, yet he was determined for more. She moved her arms up to wrap around his neck and pull him down. She must have been standing on her toes for a long time, he remembered. Kagome was petite, and he was over a foot taller if he stood up straight.

Ideas flash in his mind—making out on the floor, on a couch, him lifting her up to the counter… Oh damn. So much for calming down.

He grabbed her hips and moved her back just a bit, away from his lower body. It was achingly difficult to do so, since every part of him was screaming for contact with her.

She broke their kiss with a gasp.

“I should maybe think about getting home soon.”

A little more than dazed, Inuyasha did his best to recalibrate his brain. He felt the blood slowly making its way back there, but for now all his thoughts were hazy. Kagome. Home. Her house.

“Right…”

“And I should also still wash up my face.”

“Right…”

She giggled then, likely because he was still in a hormone-induced stupor. “I’ll be right back,” she assured him with a quick kiss to his cheek that left him feeling tingly. Then she was off to his bathroom.

As the door clicked shut and the buzzing sound of the restroom light came on, Inuyasha blinked himself back to reality. And it hit him hard enough that he had to sit down. He replayed the whole night in his head, wondering how the hell he’d gotten to this point. It was another miserable Friday punctuating a shitty week of dodging her at school. He got home feeling like garbage, only appreciating the weekend as a reprieve from having Kagome’s scent peppered in the air of the hallways and classrooms. His apartment was the one place he could lock himself away and not be haunted by her. But then the buzz came from the gate, and then her broken voice pleaded through the phone.

He came down just to end it once and for all. No more texts. He’d just have to scare her off and be done with it, but she was stubborn. She’d never let him push her around, so why did he expect her to let him push her away without a fight? She clung to him, dug into him, broke his resolve with her sad and angry tears. She’d missed him too. What did he do to deserve her?

A whine pushed its way past his throat, just in time for Kagome to walk out of the bathroom and shoot him a concerned look.

“You okay?”

It was weird, seeing her in his apartment like this, so casually as if she belonged there. She did, as far as he was concerned.

Filled with a new sense of determination and longing, he stood up resolutely and made his way to her. Before she could ask another question, he scooped her up in his arms and kissed her fully on the mouth. She gave an initial squeak of shock, but quickly accepted the new position, once again putting her arms around him.

“I missed you,” he admitted quickly before his unfounded resolve melted away.

“I just washed my face,” she teased as he lowered her back to her feet.

Incredulous he stammered, “That’s not what I—!”

“I know,” she interrupted. Kagome smiled, and Inuyasha’s annoyance vanished. “You don’t have to miss me anymore.”

[haloshornsinkstains]

[NSFW] Attic Rendezvous [Belphie]

I wrote this because Belphie’s bit in the spooky event just gave me feels. Not sure I like writing in second person, but I was feeling guilty that most of my Obey Me stuff features my MC rather than a reader-insert type thing. 

I’m also writing a SFW set of extended scenes for the spooky event with my MC Kore that’ll be up on my AO3 and possibly here. But for now, enjoy demon smut.

The last ghost was in the attic, at least that was what the noises coming from up here suggested. They also suggested someone was up here looking for it, and with Mammon scared and the rest of the brothers busy cleaning up various messes caused by the ghosts there was only one demon it could really be. It was strange, how much everything had changed. It both seemed like forever ago and just yesterday that coming up these stairs was a nerve wracking experience, waiting for Lucifer to pounce and most likely kill her for sneaking up here. And then there was everything that happened after, meeting Belphie, saving him, the alternate timelines, the betrayal and murder… it sounded utterly unbelievable, even for a human thrown into the Devildom, but it happened all the same. You stopped at the top of the stairs, catching sight of him stood in the middle of the attic, like so many times before, except this time there were no bars. You smiled, it had been a long hard road to get here, but it was so worth it. You never could have dreamed things would end up this way, that the man who murdered you would end up making you feel like this, but you were so glad.

“Hey handsome, what are you doing up here?”

He started, whirling around and throwing an affectional scowl in your direction (don’t ask, it’s entirely a Belphie thing to be able to scowl affectionately, you could never work out how he managed that). “Don’t sneak up on people like that! I saw a ghost fly in here, so I went after it.”

You gripped the vase that was the source of all this mess firmly in one hand, scanning the room for any sign of the prankster spirit but coming up empty. Turning your gaze back to Belphie you sound him pouting at you huffily.

“It’s invisible right now… But I think it’s messing with the bed, look, the sheets are moving!” His eyes went wide. “Incoming.”

There was the rustling of fabric then suddenly the world went dark as a sheet came flying at the pair of you, tanging you up together. You could feel the warmth of his body pressed up against yours, his breath fanning against your face enough to make your heart race. He was smirking at you, studying the pink flush on your cheeks that always seemed to appear whenever he was this close. His arms were around you and you could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat where your bodies pressed together. You wondered if he could feel yours too, racing too fast and so hard it might burst through your ribs at any second. It was foolish, to feel like this still after everything you’d done together, but Belphie still had that effect on you. At least now your heart raced around him because you liked him, not because you were scared.

“And now we’re wrapped in a sheet…” He complained as if he’d failed to notice your flushed face and racing heart, though he made no move to escape. “Pranks of this lever are kinda cute though. And it has put us in a rather intimate position…”

You shifted against him, the contact sending a jolt of heat through your body. “So poetic.” You chuckled. “But I guess we are, this is a good prank. All things considered.”

“Since we’re here, wanna kiss?”

You chuckled again, answering him with actions instead of words, your body pressed up against his, lips finding their place against the softness of his. You could feel his arms wrapping around you tighter, untangling your own to wrap around his neck. Your fingers threading through the silken strands of his hair. His tongue pressed past your lips, kissing you until you were breathless.

“That was nice.” He hummed as you pulled back, chest heaving as you tried to pull air back into your lungs. “You’re making me want more.”

“Hmm, I wouldn’t say no.”

His fingers were just trailing down your sides, gripping on the hem of the nightdress you’d been wearing when this chaos started, when suddenly the world was filled with light again. The sheet flying back through the air and onto the bed. Fuck. Or not rather. You bit back a frustrated snarl, feeling the irritation rolling off the man pressed against you in waves.

“Tch! Just when we were getting somewhere!”

“Boo!”

Brain still foggy with lust you just barely managed to point the vase in the direction of the ghost, watching as it got sucked back inside with maybe a touch of delight.

“You deserved that entirely for cockblocking me you dumb ghost.” You huffed, mostly to yourself.

Behind you Belphie chuckled, strong arms wrapping around your torso, pulling you back against his chest. “The ghost is gone now…”

“So it is…” You pause, glancing towards the door. “How long do you think we have before someone comes looking for us?”

“Long enough.”

That’s all the answer you need, turning in his arms and pushing up against him to press your lips hard into his. It’s one of Belphegor’s better qualities that he’s very good at spotting hints if not listening to them, though admittedly as far as hints go this one is about as obvious as it gets. Your hands are tugging at his jacket, a quiet whine leaving your throat as he pulls away from the kiss to trail his lips down your neck. 

“Belphie, too many clothes.” It came out more whimper than order, but he obliged regardless, quickly shucking off his jacket before his lips returned to your neck, biting down on your shoulder to draw a moan from your lips.

“And what about you hmm?” His fingers were trailing up your thigh, gently rubbing circles in the sensitive flesh there.

“Ah, Belphie -fuck- we don’t have time. The others…”

He growled, the sound reverberating through you. “Fine. You’re making it up to me later.”

His fingers traced over your underwear, finding the wetness that had been gathering there since you were first trapped under the sheet with him. You felt his low hum of pleasure as a finger slipped past the edge of the underwear and slid across your folds. 

"So desperate for me." 

Any reply you wanted to make was lost in a gasp as one long finger slid inside you, curling to hit all the right places as his thumb pressed against your clit.

"When you're like this it just makes me want to tease you more…"

You bucked your hips against his hand, desperate for more friction. "Belphie please! Ah- fuck!"

You palmed his bulge, pressing against his hand as your fingers started to tug at his pants.

"Tch. Impatient."

He obliged, despite his complaints, smirking wickedly at the way you whined when he pulled his hand free. The next thing you were aware of his pants landed around his ankles with a soft thud and your leg was lifted to hook around his waist, his fingers gripping the soft skin of your thigh almost hard enough to bruise.

"Sure you're ready for this?"

You reached down to stroke his cock, lining it up with your entrance even as you pumped your hand along his length, thumb swiping over the beads of pre come that gathered at the tip.

"Please. I need you."

The begging tone of your voice was his undoing, his hips bucking forwards almost of their own accord to sheathe his cock in your wet heat. You wrapped one hand in his hair, tugging hard at the silken locks as he thrust inside you, the other gripping his shoulder hard enough to leave imprints of the half moons of your nails.

"Ah! Yes! Fuck, Belphie, yes!" The words were a garbled mess.

It was rare for him to be the one fucking you, Belphie was an attentive lover but he was also lazy. You were nearly always on top, riding him while he rubbed lazy circles against your clit. It was always good, but when he took charge it became mind blowing. His cock hit all the right places, and the pace he set was punishing, his strong grip on you the only thing keeping you upright at this point. 

"Ah, fuck. I'm n-not going to last long."

"You're the one who said we needed to be quick." He grunted into your neck, tone just short of annoyed.

You tried to respond but a snap of his hips sent the world crashing around you, the only words leaving your lips a garbled litany of his name. Somewhere in the pulsing white that took over you heard your name in a moan, just barely registering the pulse of his cock inside the fluttering of your walls. As you came down from your high,  still a little delirious from pleasure and gripping onto his shoulders to stop your legs going out from under you, you started to laugh.

"What are you laughing at?"

"I can't believe you just fucked me standing in the middle of the attic."

"It was your idea! Idiot."

Your giggles were interrupted by the unmistakable sound of footsteps on the attic stairs. Swearing quietly under his breath Belphie leaned down to pull his pants back up, leaving you wobbling slightly in place. He managed to get them up just in time as the door opened.

"Sweetie? Are you okay up here? You've been a wh… Oh. Well now I know what took you so long, and you didn't even invite me!" The demon in the doorway was grinning from ear to ear as he stared at the pair of you.

"Get lost Asmo."

[seijohsfairy]

𝙰𝙱𝚂𝙴𝙽𝙲𝙴

Semi Eita has an attitude problem and it starts with you. But you are the one he ends his day with too, and maybe you can convince yourself that’s enough.

thank you so much miki @/undermattsun please go adore her skate rats like I do if you haven’t yet

.wordc. 1k+ tw dubcon (high), smoking, unhealthy relationships, semi-public, degradation

+

If anything should have tipped you off on what kind of day it would be, it should have been the way you walked in and almost choked on the thick waft of smoke being blown your way. A heavy tobacco smell that you’re not familiar with, and a wide, gleaming grin behind the white curtain as you shake it away with your hand. Yamagata gives you a quick up and down, before smiling wider and throwing a glance over his shoulder. “Yo, Semi! You got company!” He moves aside a bit more to usher you inside, even though you have plenty of room to move past him. As you walk further into the warm, somewhat musty room, Yamagata has the indecency to smack your ass when your back is turned to him, just lifting his slit eyebrow when you squeak. “Good to see you here again, pet.”

And if that, or the way some of the others are demanding payment for their correct bets, wasn’t clear enough, you definitely should have known when you plop down across from Eita on the couches and he’s drawing mindless circles into the bare back of some other girl, her top only covering the front by some help of the fraying spaghetti straps. You’re not against games, you’re not, but three weeks of almost total silence and the occasional mass ‘share my mixtape’ message isn’t much of a game. You hate how jealous you feel watching his long digits paint invisible wonders on skin, someone’s skin that you know doesn’t matter to him in the end. But you should matter, and he’s damn good at pretending you don’t. Some of the other people fill the couch next to you, leaving you squished between the too-hot body of a splayed out Kawanishi, and Tendou, who’s deodorant is sprayed on so heavy it’s making your eyes water.

You prop your feet on the coffee table and slump back when Eita sends you another pointed look, ignoring the way he tickles his fingers down her thigh as he leans down to grab one of the clean bongs. Instead you focus yourself on the caramel blonde to your side, bumping him with your elbows and holding out your fingers in a pinching gesture. “Pretty please?”

He snorts, and hands his blunt over after taking another deep pull, blowing it to the side as he leans his elbows on his knees. The way dark eyes keep roaming over your exposed skin from across the small table doesn’t bother you as much when you can focus on someone’s company you also enjoy.

Tendou swings his arm around both you and the girl squeezed to his other side at some point during the next hour, you don’t notice much of it. All you know is that you’re curled up against Taichi with a warmth in your skull and a sticky, cotton-like feeling lifting your body. Your legs tucked up over his and the giggle against your cheek feeling good. “Yeah? And how long would that be?” he drawls out, chin tilted back a little to look at you through half-lidded eyes.

“We’ve been best friends since— well… forever,” you respond after a few beats, swaying a little with the music in the room. “But I don’t like him lately.” You look back at Eita when you hear him laugh, the one he only does when he’s smoked a few rounds and his eyes can’t truly focus on anything anymore. But it’s loud and wide and it splits his face in such genuine enjoyment that you can’t help but stare any time he does it. Just a pity the girl is sucking dark blots on the side of his neck while he rants to Ushijima about something, hearing Tendou and some of the girls quip in too. As if feeling your eyes on him, he rolls his head back and your way again, peeking out the tip of his tongue and leaving the glistening muscle out for long enough it starts looking like the only thing you want. In, on, surrounding you. Then he pulls it back, making the black jewel disappear along with it, and gives you another up and down like you’re the one in the wrong here.

The dark blonde beneath you grins wider when you turn back with a scowl, barely chewing on his answer. “Maybe you should move on to someone who’ll treat you, then.” It’s just what you want to hear, you know this just as well as he does, but you can’t help but consider the promise of attention, even if you know that Taichi is just as bad as his own close friend. Your close friend, the one you’ve been head over heels with since you were old enough to realize it, the one who used your free-to-grab feelings as a cleaning wipe for his issues.

You huff, but brush a finger over his lips when he picks out the dart from between them. Taichi’s eyes flick back up to yours, then to Semi, then back to you. He grins. “Need someone to make you forget, pretty girl?”

Before you get the chance to answer, luckily for you and your useless, cotton-filled brain, there’s bangs at the door. Reon, Goshiki and not much later Shirabu all walk in differing levels of drenched, dropping their boards next to the shoes. They must’ve gotten caught in the rain when returning, and considering the eldest’s pointed expression, they probably kept skating despite his protests. You stand from the couch with a little sigh and stretch your limbs above your head, humming softly. Taichi’s hand is on your ass to keep you upright, thumb slipping out of the pocket where he had buried it earlier. “I’ll go get ‘em some towels,” you say, shuffling past the sets of feet with careful, somewhat clumsy movements.

As you go, you send Eita a quick glance. He has his shirt unbuttoned way too low, exposing part of one of his tattoos. The golden necklace you got the asshole for his birthday falls between his pecks, reminding you again what a horrible idea this was. You’re a glutton for torture. Still, as you walk you feel the wetness grinding your panties to your center, remembering the way he likes fucking into you until you’re a blubbering mess. He’s a menace, but you’re the idiot that keeps running back. And you won’t take his bullshit next time, is what you promise yourself, every time you end up on your hands and knees for your once-best friend.

You wobble walking up the stairs, the old wood creaking obnoxiously with each step. The shits are so old someone will break through them one day. As you flick on the lights with the back of your hand and bend down to sort through the messy cabinet tucked into the wall, a soft glow starts to build over you again, seeming to burn through your bones. You turn with the towels in hand, only to be slammed against the wall. The harsh movement knocks the wind out of you, but the eerily vacant, dark expression is what keeps you in place. His hold is lazy anyway, like he couldn’t care less if you wanted to run. “Having fun being a dumb, insensitive slut?” he mouths, barely reaching over the noise downstairs.

Your lips crack open to answer, but you remain frozen. Your every fiber seems to wiggle happily at his touch, his attention, and you arch your back so your chest can brush up against him. It’s childish, it’s desperate, and you don’t care because his lips hover over yours and he growls lowly into your mouth. “You had plenty to say so where are your words now, huh?”

He kisses you, pressing his mouth against yours hard and rough and taking your tongue like he always owned it in the first place. Drowning you in him and forcing his air down your throat when you try to pull away for air. You try to shove at his chest, but your traitorous fingers curl into his shirt to pull him closer instead, and he reaches to grab your thigh and yank it to lock around him. There his fingers stay for a while, digging in and creating marks. Eita isn’t soft with you, chooses not to be, it’s infuriating. Because you know better than anyone he can be, and does it well.

When he urges your head back by pulling at the hair on the base of your skull, finally disconnecting his mouth from yours, you whine. The rest of you stays molten together, chest and thighs and his hard-on in between your legs where it should be. “Gonna take this fat cock right here where anyone can see?” You can’t think right, immediately nodding at his question. Anything. Anything he’s willing to give. “Yeah? My pretty pet wants it so bad, how sweet. Maybe next time I’ll just take you on the couch then. Bet you’d let me do that too, show off that slutty cunt for everyone to see.”

“Whatever you want, Eita,” you whine, rolling your hips against him as you keep slicking up your panties.

“You’re so fucking desperate for me. I love ruining you,” he’s already messing with the zipper of your jeans and pulling them down before you can think about what you just said. “I’ll fuck you nice and brainless, baby. And we’ll let your friend watch, sound good?” His long fingers dip into your underwear at once, groaning a little at your dripping slit for him already. ”Maybe Goshiki too, he loves licking up his senpai’s sloppy seconds from dumb, horny pets like you.”

Then he shoves his pants down to expose himself, dropping your thigh so he can give himself some messy pumps and spread his beads of precum around with his thumb. The somewhat aware part of your brain reminds you ‘condom’, but knowing Eita he’d find some excuse to take it off anyway. So you let him line himself up and grin, looking over his shoulder at the stairs for a moment in fear before he slides inside too fast. He still stretches you to the edge, bottoming out with a loud grunt. “And be loud, fucking whore, make them hear it. I bet a hundred bucks on this dripping cunt.”

[1988hc]

"Shit babe, I just, I don't know if I can do the work tonight," TK says, face scrunching up as he withdraws from Nolan's mouth.

Nolan frowns. He just started getting into it, TK's dick pushing past his lips, hips working in tight little thrusts, just the way Nolan likes it. TK had even pulled on his hair a little.

TK thumbs at Nolan's mouth, wiping away a trace of spit. His dick is still hard and shiny with Nolan's spit, bobbing in the air. "Maybe some other day, eh babe?"

He sounds apologetic, like. Shit. Not like someone who got first star tonight. In fact, TK sounds downright exhausted.

"Sit down."

"What?" TK looks confused, even though Nolan knows he heard him perfectly well. The room is pretty quiet, not a whole lot of guys still left, the ones who are mostly quietly tending to their equipment, getting stretched out, G working on his foam roller over in the corner.

"I said, sit down," Nolan says, making sure to speak clearly. When TK just continues standing in front of him, staring at him dumbly, Nolan sighs, stands up, and pushes TK down by the shoulders onto the bench.

It's not something he usually does. In fact, it's nearly unheard of. Nolan is happy to play with whoever got first star honors that night, provided they put in the work. Nolan Patrick does not get on his knees for anybody.

He does now, dropping to the floor in front of Travis, shouldering between his legs none too gently when TK doesn't get with the program quickly enough.

"Patty, you don't have to..." TK starts weakly, but Nolan just glares at him.

"Shut up."

He's not interested in discussing this. Certainly doesn't want to examine the fluttery feeling in his stomach at the thought of TK turning down his celebratory blowjob.

"What the fuuuuuck?" Comes an incredulous voice from somewhere over Nolan's shoulder. "Why does Teeks get special treatment? He isn't even hurt! You didn't go down for me last month!"

Nolan turns around, staring at Farabee. The movement pulls a little on his hair, from where TK's fingers have strayed back into it, curled around a few strands. Nolan ignores the lurch in his stomach at that. "Maybe you didn't deserve it."

"I was first star!" Bee protests. "I couldn't fucking stand after that puck to the knee and all you did was shrug and told me to find someone else to do it then."

"You didn't get a Gordie Howe," Nolan shoots back, and just the thought of TK's goal in the first, his assist on Ghost's powerplay redirect and then the way he had planted one on DeBrusk in the third, wrestling him down to the ice, has Nolan's own pants growing a little tighter.

He turns back to TK, doesn't wait for anyone else to say anything, sliding TK's dick back into his mouth. TK's dick is like the most perfect dick on the team, the perfect girth to make Nolan work for it without giving him lock-jaw, uncut and curved just the tiniest bit to the left, and Nolan likes playing with his foreskin, likes pulling it up and sliding his tongue inside, lapping up the bursts of precome. TK's fingers tighten in his hair, TK letting out an appreciative moan, and Nolan sucks a little harder, works on taking him a little deeper.

"This is fucking favoritism," Bee whines, but it's quiet enough that Nolan feels justified in ignoring it, focusing instead on fitting TK's dick down his throat. It's easier, usually, when all he has to do is tip his head back and let TK push inside, when he can fist a hand in TK's sweats to pull him in, instead of having to bend down himself. He has to work, time his breathing, can feel a little spit dribble out and down TK's dick. It's messy, and uncomfortable, straining his neck, knees aching on the hard locker room floor, and Nolan remembers why he usually doesn't do this, why he never does this. He can't seem to find his rhythm, can't slide into that easy space where all he has to do is lie back and let the team take what they need from him, shutting off all his thoughts. Right now, his mind is whirring, trying to catalogue all the little sighs and shifts of TK's hips, trying to figure out how deep to go, how fast, how hard to suck.

"Nolan, Patty, babe," TK mutters, fingers carding through Nolan's hair, pushing it behind his ear. "Just focus on the head."

He's guiding Nolan up, high enough that his dick slips out of Nolan's mouth and Nolan's about to say something, to call this off, this was a bad idea after all when TK shushes him. It's something Nolan positively hates, getting told what to do, but TK sounds fond and soft when he does it, muttering "just let me" and then he's pushing the spongy head of his dick against Nolan's mouth, tracing it over Nolan's lips like the world's most sticky lipstick before nudging at the seam.

And Nolan parts his lips, just enough that TK can slip the tip of his dick inside, caught in the tight seal of Nolan's mouth. It's shallow enough that Nolan can swirl his tongue all around it, flick it against the little cluster of nerves on the underside of the head. TK draws in a sharp breath between his teeth at that, an appreciative hiss, pushing a bit deeper into Patty's mouth. He's got his hands placed firmly on either side of Nolan's head, holding him steady while his hips work in tiny little shifts, not thrusting so much as squirming inside Nolan's mouth and that--. Fuck. Nolan sucks a little harder, presses his tongue against the slit and earns a harsh "fuck, Pat, yeah, just like that. So good for me, babe, look at you, so fucking perfect for me."

Nolan can feel himself flushing, can feel the words drip like honey down his spine. He's sucking on TK's dick like a lollipop, running his tongue over and around, and TK keeps up a steady stream of curses and moans, giving Nolan the shallowest tender face-fuck of the universe, but Nolan doesn't care, not when he's boxed in by TK's legs and hands, his own hands flat on TK's thighs digging into the straining muscle, letting his thoughts scatter as another bright burst of precome blooms across his tongue.

It doesn't take TK long, neither of them has the patience tonight for anything but single-minded focus, and Nolan misses the way TK's dick usually feels pushing into his throat, cutting off his air supply. He doesn't know whether it's his whine, embarrassingly not as muffled as usual, or TK's just thinking about the same thing, but TK moves one hand down to Nolan's throat, stroking over his neck before settling low at the base of it, the dip between Nolan's collar bones framed perfectly between TK's thumb and his fingers, and then TK squeezes just a little and Nolan feels anchored enough that he could fly away.

He makes another sound, this one possibly even more pathetic then the last, but it mingles with TK's harsh breaths, and when TK starts chanting "fuck, fuck, almost there, god" Nolan sucks for all he's worth, flicking his tongue against TK's dick, rubbing it over the ridge of the head and then TK goes quiet, holding his breath and Nolan's mouth floods with the bitter taste of TK's release. He can taste him, can feel TK's dick twitch and squirt inside his mouth and Nolan swallows reflexively, his whole mouth coated with TK's come, an entirely different sensation from when they usually come down his throat, buried so deep that Nolan hardly tastes anything.

He's almost a little remorseful when TK finally hisses and pushes Nolan off from where he'd been suckling on TK's dick, lapping up the last spurts of come.

"Shit, babe, I think you sucked my brains out," TK laughs weakly, looking at Nolan with glazed-over eyes that grow even darker when Nolan smirks a little and licks his lips, smacking them together for extra effect.

There's a space where Nolan knows he should say something, chirp TK for the dumb look on his face, but he can't really think of anything, doesn't let himself think at all when he pushes up from his perch between TK's legs to capture TK's mouth in a kiss.

He doesn't do this either. The team can stick their dicks in Nolan all they want, but nobody gets to kiss Nolan on the mouth, and Nolan certainly never sticks his tongue where it doesn't belong. He doesn't have an explanation for why he does it now, TK's mouth soft and pliant beneath Nolan’s in surprise before he visibly rallies, one hand moving to the back of Nolan's neck.

The first swipe of tongue is a little tentative, just a wet meeting of mouths, but then TK lets out a little sigh and opens up and Nolan dives right in. It's everything the blowjob wasn't, a little rough, a little loud, both of them moaning, pushing too deep too fast, Nolan letting TK taste himself on Nolan's tongue, lick his taste right out of Nolan's mouth. It's slick and dirty in a way that TK's dick in his mouth never came close to, making the blowjob seem almost sweet in comparison. Nolan uses his hands on TK's thighs to push himself up, really get up in TK's face, pushing him deeper into his locker, getting pulled there by TK's hands, roaming over Nolan's back and arms in broad, possessive swipes. And Nolan, he, like. Maybe melts. A little. The kiss between them gentles, a bit, until it's TK nipping at Nolan's lips, teasing him, the soft scratch of his goatee tickling against Nolan's skin, both their mouths stretched in matching little grins.

Nolan will happily sit back and let anyone fuck his throat who gets first star of the night, but he always makes sure it’s them putting in the work. Nolan never, ever, goes on his knees for anybody, doesn’t kiss on the mouth, and he sure as fuck would never in a million years fall in love with a teammate.

Cause that would be just dumb.

…

Shit.

[lynne-monstr]

fic (leverage, eliot/quinn)

title: (don’t think i can take anymore) wasted days and sleepless nights

summary: Sleeping together is easy. Quinn trusts Eliot with his body while he's awake and aware. He draws the line at actually falling asleep with Eliot.

contains: mentions of violence/torture, mild sex, banter

ao3 link

In the past thirty-six hours, Quinn had been shot at, stabbed, drugged, locked in the trunk of his own car, and nearly run over twice while making his escape. Every muscle in his body blazed like an inferno as he ran.

Running on empty, the coolly rational part of his brain chimed in. Quinn ignored it. He couldn’t stop; if he stopped, he was dead, and if he was going to die he’d do it on his feet. So he kept going, the soles of his uncomfortable dress shoes pounding along the pavement in the dead of night, every sense straining for the slightest rustle of an approaching attack.

When no one jumped him sliding down a fire escape to street level, he risked taking a quick breather. On silent feet, he ducked behind a dumpster in the narrow alley. His singed leg ached, and he made a note to add ‘near escape from a burning office’ as part of the litany of reasons he was never working for Hungarian arms dealers again. Unfortunately, that same burning building also meant the police were too busy investigating the arson downtown to notice the small war being waged in the otherwise silent streets. There’d be no interruptions or distractions that he could use to slip away.

He was quickly running out of options. And worse, ammunition.

When his lungs felt a little less like they were about to burn their way out of his chest, he took a last sweep of the darkened alley and got ready to move out. Unfolding from his crouch, he sprinted for the exit, keeping close to the wall as he rounded the corner.

And ran full speed into the man waiting for him on the other side.

There was no time to curse his bad luck as they hit the ground. Instead, he bit his lip to muffle the scream as his injured shoulder took the brunt of the impact. Not daring to stop and assess the damage, he rolled, coming up on top of his assailant, pinning him to the ground with his body weight as he brought his sidearm to bear one-handed. And froze.

Staring down the sights of his gun was the last person he expected. Long hair. Casual clothes. Keen eyes narrowed in an expression of imminent violence that would send a lesser man running for cover. Despite the job gone belly up, Quinn couldn’t help the pleasure unfurling in his gut. If he played his cards right, maybe he wasn’t completely fucked after all.

Quinn slowly withdrew his gun, careful to telegraph non-aggression as he put it back into the holster at his shoulder.

Eliot Spencer eyed him for a long moment. Until finally, with a twitch of lips, he pulled back the knife poised to strike Quinn in a very private and painful place. Quinn’s eyes widened when he saw the blade was his own, pulled from his ankle sheath without him feeling a damn thing. And here he thought Eliot Spencer was the type to fight fair. The man was just full of surprises. The warmth in Quinn’s gut flared and spread at the thought.

The hint of a smile curled around Eliot’s lips, and just like that the moment snapped, disappearing as quickly as it came. Quinn stood and offered a hand.

Eliot took it, letting himself be pulled to his feet. “Quinn,” he greeted.

“Eliot.”

“Bad day?”

“Getting better.”

The merriment faded as Eliot gave him a more thorough onceover. He twirled the knife once, offering it hilt first. “Looks like you need this more than me.”

Quinn tucked the weapon away, happy to have the familiar weight back where it belonged. His eyes scanned the tops of the nearby buildings for movement before refocusing on Eliot. He was running out of time. “I didn’t realize you were coming to my party.”

“My invitation must’ve got lost in the mail.” Eliot eyed the angry red slash at the shoulder of Quinn’s suit jacket. A misstep he was still paying for. “Your friends don’t seem very nice, though.”

Quinn’s response was cut off by the sound of heavy footfalls.

Between the both of them, it didn’t take long to clean house. Soon they were the only ones standing amidst a sea of unconscious hitmen. Quinn would have preferred them dead—dead men couldn’t get back up and come after you again, or report to their boss about your unexpected new ally—but Eliot had knocked his hand askew when he’d lined up the first headshot, growling something about no killing. Quinn fell into line. If that was the price to pay for Eliot Spencer’s assistance, so be it. What the two of them had done in forty-five minutes would’ve taken him all night to do alone, and he might not have finished before getting himself killed.

Besides, Quinn could always kill the hired guns later if they made the mistake of coming after him again.

It had been good, working with another professional. At times like this, Quinn could maybe see why Eliot settled down with a team. Not that he had any intention of doing so himself. It had been pretty clear on the Dubenich job that Eliot trusted his people unconditionally; Quinn didn’t have anyone like that in his life. It was better that way.

For now, he was happy to hole up in a dingy motel under one of his more obscure aliases. Whoever set him up was still out there, no doubt hiring more people at this very moment, and until Quinn’s contacts came back with more information, he was happy to wait it out in relative safety. His next move was going to depend on whether this was an independent hit or if his employer had double-crossed him. He suspected the latter.

After double checking the room’s only door and window, he shrugged out of his jacket, hissing through his teeth as the motion reopened the wound in his shoulder. He fumbled at his tie one-handed. His shirt followed shortly after, landing in a heap on the bed beside the rest. The slight chill in the room prickled at his skin, one more item on the list of discomforts he was ignoring.

“Still here, huh?” he asked the silent figure by the window.

Once all the hired guns were too busy napping to run amok in the city streets, he half-expected Eliot to bail. Instead, he’d stuck close, watching Quinn’s back as he picked up shell casings, rifled through his assailants’ pockets, and finally holed up for the night. He couldn’t quite decipher if the other hitter was being friendly, weirdly protective of Quinn’s injured state, or if he figured out that Quinn had half a mind to break into the local police station and make sure all the hired thugs they’d taken down reached a more permanent end.

Whatever the reason, Eliot was still here, peering steadily through a crack in the window curtains. Quinn wasn’t sure whether to be grateful or annoyed. Instead he asked, “You staying all night?”

Eliot spared Quinn a glance before going back to his vigil of the street. “Got nowhere else to be.”

Quinn rubbed at his bare arms and settled for mildly grateful but cautious. “Thought your team would be waiting for you or something.”

“We ain’t all joined at the hip, you know,” Eliot answered, a thread of affection buried under the gruffness. “I like to head on out every once in a while. Wasn’t expecting to run into a street war on my time off.”

“Looks like I owe you the favor, then.” Normally, Quinn resisted the idea of being in debt, but he couldn’t deny the flush of warmth at the thought of Eliot Spencer calling on him sometime down the line. Quinn had always been a little bit of an idiot for a pretty face.

He was halfway through a shrug before thinking better of it. His shoulder was a raw mass of pain now that the adrenaline was wearing off. Every breath felt like a red-hot lance through the wound.

“Want me to take a look at that?” Eliot asked, correctly reading the pinched lines of his face.

Quinn paused, already halfway to the tiny bathroom. It was barely more than a toilet and a shower, both of which had seen better days, but it had running water and that was enough. “I’ve got it.”

“Gonna be a bitch to stitch that up one handed.”

“Yet somehow I always manage.”

Eliot shrugged, not turning away from his post. “Suit yourself, man. Give a holler if you change your mind.”

Quinn rolled his eyes. Twenty minutes later, sitting hunched on the dirty toilet seat and trying to tie off a knot with one hand and his teeth, he was maybe beginning to regret not taking Eliot up on his offer. Pausing to catch his breath, he cursed the wound, this job, his (probably) turncoat of an employer, and everything in between. His shoulder throbbed in time with his heart, which almost stopped as a silhouette suddenly filled the tiny bathroom doorframe. His hand was at his hip for a gun he wasn’t carrying before he recognized it as Eliot.

Quinn frowned. “Who’s watching the street?”

“If they haven’t showed by now they aren't coming.”

“Or they’re waiting for us to get complacent.”

“Then stop screwing around and get out here. You can watch the street while I fix this mess you call stitches.”

“They’re functional,” Quinn protested. “Doesn’t have to win any knitting awards.”

“Functional, huh? If that’s what you’re calling that mess, I’m gonna have to seriously reevaluate what I think of your skillset.” Eliot huffed and shook his head, then swiped an errant strand of hair from his eyes. “I won’t even count how that’s so far from pretty, it makes ugly look good. Come on, Huckleberry, let me patch you up.”

Using the dumb nickname Quinn had thrown out in a moment of adrenaline-fueled weakness wasn’t playing fair. But he was too tired to keep arguing, and so he let Eliot lead him back to the pair of armchairs by the room’s only window, perfectly angled as to be out of sight from any outside observers.

He kept his eyes trained on the crack in the window while Eliot hovered over him and fixed up his stitches in the dim light filtering in from the street lamps. The scratchy fabric of the chair itched against his bare back, and he focused on that rather than the unpleasant pinch and pull of his shoulder being mended. Eliot’s hands were hot on his skin and despite the pain, Quinn found himself relaxing.

When it was done, Eliot cleaned the blood from Quinn’s shoulder with a scratchy hotel towel and went to wash his hands while Quinn redressed in his soiled shirt and jacket. “Get some sleep. I’ll take first watch,” he offered when he was done, settling back into the hideously ugly chair by the edge of the window.

Quinn laughed. “Real cute.”

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Eliot to guard them both. Hell, he had no problem with Eliot keeping guard while he’d been cleaning up in the bathroom. But there was a world of difference between letting someone have your back while you were all there, and trusting someone to watch over you while you were slow and heavy with sleep.

The only person Quinn trusted like that was himself. He didn’t need to say it out loud, though. The look in Eliot’s eyes said he understood just fine.

What was left of the night passed in mutual silence, both of them on guard against the world.

Their patience paid off. Right before sunup, they both jerked to attention, noticing the same movement in the orange rays of early morning light. If whoever was creeping towards their room was expecting them to be caught off guard, they were in for a nasty surprise.

Quinn grinned like a shark and reached for his gun.

When none of their assailants were left standing (shot in the knee, courtesy of Quinn, and handed over to the federal authorities, courtesy of Eliot over Quinn’s fervent objections) all that adrenaline building since the previous night only had one place to go.

Looking back, he wasn’t sure who made the first move, him or Eliot. But it ended up with them back at Eliot’s place, their hands in each other’s hair and their mouths crushed together as they fell into bed. Casual touches and play-fighting quickly turned into something more heated and deliberate. Soon enough, Quinn found himself without his clothes and his weapons, Eliot’s teeth grazing his throat and his rough hands pinching along his inner thighs. Blunt nails raked down his stomach and Quinn arched up into it for more. And how delightful to discover firsthand that Eliot’s gravel-rough voice got ever rougher when Quinn held him down and kept him writhing on the edge.

When it was all over, they were tangled together across the dark blue sheets of Eliot’s safe house, struggling to catch their breath. Quinn felt his eyes grow heavy as the past couple days finally caught up with him. And that’s where he drew the line. Sleeping with Eliot was one thing; actual sleeping was a line he wasn’t willing to cross.

Not with Eliot, not with anyone. He’d learned that one the hard way.

“You leaving?”

Quinn paused with one leg in his suit pants and bit down the sarcastic reply about Eliot’s keen observation skills. He was almost surprised to find that his smile was genuine. “Thanks for the good time.”

Eliot nodded and Quinn finished redressing. He headed for the door, but Eliot’s voice stopped him as he was about to walk out.

“I’m too wired to sleep. Thought I’d make some coffee. Maybe check on the tomatoes in the garden. You’re welcome to stay for a cup.” Not bothering to wait for answer, he rolled out of bed and grabbed a pair of sweatpants from the large wooden dresser in the corner. He didn’t bother with a shirt and Quinn allowed himself a moment to appreciate the view.

He could picture the scene as clear as day. Lounging on the couch in borrowed sweatpants that weren’t quite long enough to reach his ankles. Sipping coffee and watching Eliot work shirtless on the back patio, the late afternoon sun washing warm across the naked skin of his back and highlighting his hair with gold. Pulling Eliot down on top of him afterwards until they were both sweaty and sated all over again. Falling asleep in his bed.

He should go. That much was obvious. Working with Eliot on business, indulging in sex with Eliot—that was all standard fare. Practically a perk of the job. But this? An invitation to stay in each other’s company like they were anything other than sort-of colleagues and occasional allies.

Now that was dangerous.

For all the dark rumors of his past, Eliot was a bonafide good guy now. How long until he remembered that Quinn was still taking the kinds of jobs he’d long since washed his hands of. As much as he liked the guy and could rely on him to have his back on a job or against a mutual enemy, Quinn could never fully trust him. He would be an idiot to forget that.

So, he shook his head and locked away the sliver of regret that slipped past his defenses. “Maybe next time,” he lied, straightening his tie so he wouldn’t have to look Eliot in the eye.

(The next several times they fell into bed—a combination of planned meets and one uncomfortable instance when they’d both been trailing the same mark—Eliot never repeated his offer to stay afterwards.

Quinn was grateful for it.)

Quinn liked working the occasional job for Eliot and his strange team. There were several reasons, but it all boiled down to three main things.

The first being that it was a nice change not to worry about being double-crossed when it came time to collect his fee. Not that he couldn’t handle that kind of trouble when it happened (“The perils of being a freelancer,” he’d told the last person to try that on him, right before putting a bullet in his head), or that he didn’t still plan for it, but it was like a little vacation to be able to wrap up a job without any dramatics. Quinn liked clean and tiny.

Second was that Eliot never asked for more than Quinn was physically capable of delivering. He was good at what he did, but even he’d go down if someone threw enough armed men his way. It worried him sometimes just how well Eliot knew his strength and his limits, but he consoled himself with the fact that his knowledge of Eliot ran just as deep.

Last and most fun was what Quinn considered his personal bonus of a job well done. Namely, that Eliot was great in bed.

They were at the safe house Quinn had procured for the week, celebrating the successful completion of doing bad things for a good cause. Quinn, his bank account newly full and wearing nothing but a smile, dangled the cuffs Eliot had pretended to slap onto him earlier as part of the con they’d run. “Looks like it’s finally my turn to put these to good use.”

“Nice try,” Eliot said, grabbing the cuffs and casually dropping them over the side of the bed. “Not gonna happen.”

Quinn pouted. He didn’t think Eliot was going to go for it but it was worth a try. With a dirty smile, he shifted his hips where he straddled Eliot’s lap on the bed. The friction made them both groan, so Quinn did it again, watching the tension slide from Eliot’s face as pleasure took its place.

“I let you put them on me,” Quinn countered, hands sliding along the sweat-slick skin of Eliot’s chest.

Eliot caught his hands. “And I didn’t lock them tight enough to keep you from slipping free.” His fingers clamped down on Quinn’s wrists. Like the cuffs from earlier, they weren’t nearly tight enough to keep him contained if he chose otherwise.

He didn’t choose otherwise. He did, however, concede the point.

Eliot slid his hands up Quinn’s arms, lacing his fingers together behind Quinn’s neck to pull him down. It was easy to let himself be reeled in, to let Eliot flip their positions in a move that was telegraphed slowly enough that Quinn could have countered it any time he wanted.

(Again, he didn’t.)

There was a fine line between fantasy and accidentally triggering the defensive actions Quinn had spent the better part of his life honing. Eliot rode that line with the same skill he did everything else, pinning Quinn with enough force to be real but not enough to make him feel trapped. It was nice, the weight of Eliot pressing heavy on his limbs. There weren’t very many people capable of keeping him down if he didn’t want to be down but Eliot had more than a passing shot of making it happen. He’d done it before, back when they weren’t anything more than two hitters on opposite ends of a job.

A rush of heat raced down Quinn’s spine and he grabbed a fistful of Eliot’s loose hair, arching his hips up until they were pressed together from head to toe. Eliot slipped a leg between Quinn’s, fanning the spark of heat into a raging fire until it was all he could think about.

Six hours later, in a business class seat somewhere over the Pacific, Quinn set aside the last lingering thoughts of Eliot Spencer and got his head back in the game.

There was someone in his hotel room.

Quinn had a fair idea who it was (he practically sent an engraved invitation, after all) but that was no reason to be stupid. All hitters came to end in an some kind of ugly fashion and Quinn had made his peace with that, but when it happened to him it wasn’t going to be because he was stupid.

Silently, he pulled his backup gun from the small of his back. Taking a last look down the hall to ensure he was alone, he opened the door with the electronic keycard, ducked, and burst into the room gun first.

The precaution was unnecessary.

“No word from you in months and this is the greeting I get? I’m beginning to think you don’t like me anymore.” Eliot detached himself from where he was pressed up against the far corner, partially hidden by the faux cherry wood armoire holding the room’s entertainment center. He gestured towards Quinn and the gun, the muzzle now pointing at the floor.

“Worried I don’t like you anymore? Do I need to check a box for yes or no and pass the note back?”

Eliot raised an eyebrow. “Were you always this juvenile or is it a recent development?”

“You bring out the best in me.”

Setting aside the handgun on the nearest bedside table, Quinn carefully shrugged out of his worn leather jacket. It felt a little strange to not be wearing the suit around Eliot, but he wasn’t here for a job so there was no need to dress the part. He winced as the movement pulled at his back, quickly hiding it behind a lazy grin.

Narrowed eyes appraised him from head to toe and Quinn stilled. It was instinctive. Never let anyone know where the weak spots were. Any known injury could be used against you in a fight. It was a dumb thing to stick to in front of a guy he planned on getting naked with pretty soon, but Quinn never claimed not to be a creature of habit.

Eliot straightened, gaze turning leering and playful as he shook his hair out of his face. “I like the new outfit. Not a bad look on you.”

It was a safe topic, and as a close to an outright declaration that Eliot wasn’t going to press for details.

The knot between Quinn’s shoulder blades eased and he let his arms relax at his sides. Pushing the dark thoughts from his mind, he started unbuttoning his shirt. “I didn’t come here for fashion tips.”

“Well then,” Eliot drawled, stepping into his space and brushing Quinn’s hands aside to finish the job himself. “That’s good ‘cause I didn’t come here to give them.”

He never could figure out how much of Eliot’s midwestern charm was affectation verses actual upbringing. But as those rough hands swept over his chest with each opened button, he decided that he didn’t much care either way. Taking full advantage of his hands being unoccupied, he quickly fumbled Eliot’s belt open, popping every damn button on his inconvenient button fly jeans on his way downward.

They moved to the bed by unspoken agreement, hands scrabbling to cast aside the last of their clothes, mouths hot on each other’s skin. Fuck, he’d missed this. Well, he’d missed a lot of things these past several months, but he’d really missed this.

He’d missed Eliot’s broad hands pressing into the dip of his hips to hold him down, and the taste of his skin when Quinn traced lines into the muscles of Eliot’s stomach with his tongue. He’d almost forgot how It felt to press Eliot’s legs apart and take him into his mouth, watching beneath his lashes as Eliot fisted one hand into the sheets and the other into Quinn’s ponytail. He missed coming apart under someone’s hands in a way that had nothing to do with pain and everything to do with heat and desire.

Eliot didn’t say anything about the new marks on Quinn’s skin save for how he meticulously avoided digging his fingers into those particular spots. There was nothing to say; they both knew the risks of their occupation. Not every fight was a win.

Losing a fight was the last thing on Quinn’s mind as he finally pressed inside the heat of Eliot’s body. Beneath him, Eliot’s breath hitched and his legs wrapped tighter around Quinn’s waist, drawing him in further.

“Come on,” Eliot growled, pushing himself forward to bite at Quinn’s shoulder.

Quinn licked his lips and obliged, happy to lose himself in this for the time being.

Once they’d cleaned up and got comfortable under the duvet, Quinn trailed a lazy hand down Eliot’s arm. “How’d you know I’d be passing through here?” Not that he needed to ask, but he wanted to hear the answer anyway.

Eliot laughed, a low amused rumble. “You practically left me a calling card, man. How could I turn down an invitation like that?”

Quinn smiled, something warm uncurling in his belly. There was no job, no enemy, no reason for Eliot to be here. Except that Quinn asked him to come.

Eliot’s gravely voice broke him out of his thoughts. “So, should I be worried about identity theft, here? First you grow your hair long after I kick your ass. Then you—”

“Hell of an ego you got there, pal,” Quinn cut in. “My hair has nothing to do with you.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Eliot shot back with a smile. “Anyway, you entered the freaking country under my favorite alias. Did you expect me not to notice?”

He’d counted on it.

Quinn rolled to his side and slung an arm across Eliot’s chest. “Thought all that hair might’ve finally rotted your brain,” he mumbled. “And anyway, it wasn’t your name.”

“Just ‘cause you rearranged the letters don’t mean it ain’t still mine.”

“It’s a real alias. And it got your attention didn’t it.”

Instead of answering, Eliot reached over to grab Quinn’s leg and hitch it over his hip to tangle with his own. “Damn, you’re heavy,” he teased as they resettled.

“I work out,” Quinn agreed with a lazy smile, letting himself be maneuvered.

It was pleasant to be sprawled across Eliot like this, to feel the warmth of his body and the steady beat of his heart. He’d debated for weeks about using that particular alias after the job in Jakarta. It felt too much like running to safety for his liking, and so when the thought had first crossed his mind, he hightailed it to the most dirty, corrupt corner of the world he could find instead. Took every job that came his way until they all blurred together.

When the dust settled and he’d still wanted to see Eliot, he let himself use the identity that would no doubt raise every red flag in the Leverage team’s playbook. He still wasn’t entirely convinced that leaving a trail for Eliot to follow was the right move, but the sex was great and the company wasn’t awful so he was calling it a win.

One of Eliot’s fingers stroked a steady back and forth along the patch of skin just under Quinn’s shoulder blade, skirting the edge of what had been one of the deeper wounds on his back. Serrated knife, he remembered. He’d screamed—he remembered that, too—screamed until his voice had gone hoarse.

He felt the intake of breath a split second before Eliot’s voice broke the silence.

“They dead?” The words were growled in a way Quinn had only ever heard in an empty airport hangar, when he was the one standing between Eliot and his team.

Raising his head from its place on Eliot’s chest, Quinn looked him in the eye. “Yes.” He paused, remembering how Eliot almost knocked the gun from his hand the last time he tried to kill someone. “If you have a problem with that, you can see yourself out.”

But Eliot didn’t leave. Or ask who they were or how long they had him or what they’d wanted. Hell, Eliot had gotten his hands dirty enough back before he’d turned white-hat that could fill in the details on his own.

After a moment, Eliot gave him a tight smile and nodded.

Quinn didn’t know what to do with that, so he just laid his head back on Eliot’s chest and closed his eyes. For the first time in a long time he wanted to throw out all his old rules and let himself drift off to sleep. Against all odds and good sense, Eliot had somehow wormed his way under his skin.

This is why he shouldn’t have used the alias.

Nothing between them had changed; Quinn was still a bad guy and Eliot wasn’t. There was no silencing the voice in the back of his head shouting how it was only a matter of time before Eliot remembered what kind of person Quinn really was. Maybe he’d decide Quinn was better off in jail, or thrown to rot in some deep dark government hole, rather than be allowed to roam free and do what he did. Lulled into complacency by sleep and trust, Quinn would be a pathetically easy target.

In the end, caution won out.

It didn’t escape his notice that although Eliot’s eyes were closed, he hadn’t let himself fall into sleep either.

Taking a job in Portland had the potential to go all kinds of wrong, but wasn't that half the fun? But the money was good, and he wasn’t one to turn down a sizable fee. Predictably, it got him tangled up in one of Eliot’s cons. Not so predictably, the whole thing went off relatively smoothly. Before he knew it, he was invited to a post-victory dinner with Eliot’s team and not long after that found the two of them tangled up in Eliot’s bedsheets.

Once they caught their breath, Eliot propped himself up on one elbow and gazed down at him. “Would you tell me if you were gonna take a hit on me or my team?”

“If this is your idea of sweet nothings, it’s no wonder all those women you’re rumored to sleep with only do it once.”

“Hey, I never had any complaints.” Eliot flicked at Quinn’s nose, but his wrist was caught before it could connect. His other hand shot out and Quinn caught that too. Eliot didn’t resist as Quinn rolled them until he was looking at Eliot spread out beneath him.

The playful spark faded from Eliot’s pretty blue eyes. “I’m serious, Quinn. Would you tell me?”

Most people couldn’t pull off an intimidating scowl while naked and pinned by the wrists to their own bed. Then again, Eliot wasn’t most people.

Quinn considered. It was a fair question. The truth was, he wouldn’t accept a hit on Eliot, at any price. And anyone who came to him with one wouldn’t stay breathing much longer. He couldn’t say the same for Eliot’s team, however. He liked them, they were smart, deadly competent, and occasionally funny, but they weren’t Eliot. But they were important to Eliot and, when he stopped to think about it, that was apparently enough for Quinn.

“I’m not taking any hits on you or your people. Not now and not ever.”

All it earned him was a nod.

Quinn put the pieces together. “You already knew. So, why’d you ask?”

“Maybe I just wanted to hear you say it.” In one smooth motion, Eliot extricated his arms and rolled out from under Quinn. “That’s a long timeframe for that kind of promise."

“If I change my mind, I’ll be sure to give you fair warning.” In an echo of their first meeting as allies rather than adversaries, Quinn held out his hand. “Deal?”

Eliot grinned, clearly remembering the same dirty warehouse in Kiev. “Deal,” he said, and they shook.

Quinn braced for the inevitable sneak attack in retaliation for his earlier move, but Eliot seemed satisfied to let it lie. Resting back against the pillows, he resembled a large jungle cat, content and sated with the world. His hair was loose around his face, disheveled from their slight tussle.

Taking his cue, Quinn settled back against his pillows too, feeling like he’d accomplished something but not sure exactly what. He spun the thought around in his mind, poking at it over and over before giving it up as a lost cause. It would come eventually, it always did. Didn’t mean he liked waiting for it though.

It wasn’t until he heard the breathing beside him even out that he realized Eliot was asleep.

For a moment, he just froze in surprise. If Eliot was awake, he’d probably make some dumbass comment about catching flies. Or maybe a dirty joke about what else Quinn could do with his mouth. He did neither.

In his sleep, he was as restless and grouchy as he was while awake, forehead scrunching and nose twitching every once in a while. One hand was balled in a fist where it rested on top of the covers against Quinn’s leg. There was something comfortable in that, in knowing that Eliot didn’t turn into something drastically different just because he was asleep. Which brought Quinn to his current problem. If there was one thing he hated, it was a puzzle whose pieces didn’t fit. Aside from his fists and his guns, information was the other stock in trade that kept him alive and ahead of his enemies.

Was that all it took for Eliot to trust him? A promise that he wouldn’t go after Eliot or his team. Quinn had specified nothing about not going after him for any non-job-related reasons. Eliot was smart enough to know the distinction. The more he thought about it the more it didn’t make sense. Eliot knew exactly what kind of man Quinn was. Right now he could do anything, anything, to a sleeping Eliot and without that split second of reaction time consciousness gave him, he could inflict serious damage.

Before he knew what he was doing, he shook Eliot by the shoulder.

Eliot snapped awake in an instant, eyes scanning the room. That bright gaze fixed on Quinn when no threat popped out of the shadows, and the tension bled out of him. “The hell? What is it, Quinn?”

“I didn’t stop doing my job when I started sleeping with you.” It wasn’t what he meant to say but fuck if he knew what that was. He’d reacted and now he was running on instinct. And the jarring feeling of something poking at the inside of his chest, desperately clawing its way out into the open air.

Eliot blinked and squinted at Quinn. “You think I don’t know that?”

“Do you? Do you really? And you expect me to believe it’s not a problem for you?”

“Won’t say I like it. But until you do something that crosses my path, then I can live with it. Besides, I got it on good authority that most of the people you go after are scumbags in their own right.”

Most, but not all.

Quinn looked him in the eye. “And when they aren’t?” Because he needed to say it, to see Eliot’s reaction.

“What you said earlier. About fair warning.” Eliot put a hand on his leg. “It goes both ways, you know. If we have a problem, we’ll deal with it. I’m not coming after you in the middle of the night.”

Quinn tilted his head, studying Eliot. He had on his serious face, mouth set in a tight line and a little crease right between his eyebrows. He stared at Quinn like he half expected him to bolt and half expected him to fight.

Truth was, Quinn didn’t want to do either of those things. Eliot’s bed was comfortable and Quinn was tired. This was usually the part of the night where he put his clothes on and slipped back into his life. The pull of that was strong, but there was a part deep inside him that felt hollow at the thought of giving up whatever this thing with Eliot was.

In the end, he could either trust Eliot or he couldn’t.

It sent a cold chill racing down his spine. He wasn’t sure he even knew how to give that kind of trust anymore, against all the instincts that kept him alive. But he wanted. Wanted so badly he could taste it in the back of his throat. He glanced up at the ceiling as if the answers were somewhere in the expanse of dim white. As expected, they weren’t. Just a few streaks of plaster covering what must have been the remnants of old cracks. Quinn let his eyes trace over them, mind following not far behind, circling an answer he knew was inevitable but wasn’t sure he was ready to admit.

He sat up, the blankets pooling around his waist.

“You asked me a question, now it’s my turn.” Quinn didn’t bother to wait for Eliot’s nod. “Why’d you let me go?” He wasn’t exactly sure why he was asking, other than the fact that it had been burning a hole in his mind for years.

The corners of Eliot’s mouth pulled down. He propped himself up on his elbows, head cocked. “What’re you talking about?”

“When we met that first time. The hangar. You had me down. Why’d you let me go?”

Eliot snorted, like Quinn was asking an easy question, like he should have been able to work it out himself. He always was a bit of an asshole, which was part of why Quinn liked him. “Sterling wouldn’t have told you anything about his plans for us. He’s a pain in the ass but he’s a smart pain in the ass.” Eliot paused, his expression pinched. “Don’t you ever tell him I said that.”

Quinn nodded solemnly despite the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “On my word.”

Eliot smiled back before turning serious again. “Even if you had the information I needed, I was on a tight schedule. You’re too much of a pro to break easy and I didn’t have that kind of time to burn.”

Quinn nodded at the assessment but couldn’t help pressing. “I wasn’t just referring to information, you know.”

“You mean, why didn’t I torture you for getting the jump on me. For that payback you were so sure I was looking for in Kiev?”

Quinn trailed a finger along Eliot’s chest in an idle, invisible pattern. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Eliot looked up at him. “You know, your pillow talk really sucks, man.”

“Never had any complaints before. Then again, usually I just get up and leave.” He ran a hand down Eliot’s side to take the sting out of the words.

“Don’t I know it.”

For a moment Eliot just looked at him. Quinn stared back. They were both comfortable in silence, and Quinn wondered if they might spend the rest of the evening like this. There were worse ways to spend the night, he figured.

Finally, Eliot sighed, running a hand across his face. “I had more important things on my mind.”

“Ah yes, saving the team. They were family even back then, weren’t they?”

Eliot nodded once before settling on his back. After a moment, Quinn did the same, their shoulders brushing. They stared at the ceiling for a moment before Eliot spoke again. “It ain’t just them, you know. If some punk upstart hitter was between me and you, I’d drop him in a heartbeat..”

Quinn rolled, straddling Eliot’s hips in one swift motion. Leaning in, he placed his hands on the bed so they bracketed Eliot’s head. “A punk upstart hitter?”

He could feel Eliot’s chest vibrate with laughter, rich and low. “Quinn, man, your hair was gelled. And I’m pretty sure you had frosted tips like some boy band wannabe.”

“Since when are you the expert in boy bands? And what the hell are frosted tips? I don’t even know what that means.”

“I dated a hairdresser once.” Eliot gave a playful tug to the loose strands around Quinn’s face, down from their usual ponytail. “And it means I like it better long.”

With that, Eliot swept Quinn’s arms from under him. Quinn let him, not bothering to catch himself as he fell against Eliot’s bare chest.

To his surprise, settling back down at Eliot's side wasn’t nearly as difficult as expected this time around.

Eliot followed him, clicking the bedside lamp off and shifting to throw an arm over Quinn’s chest. “Now, we done here, or do you wanna keep talking all night? Maybe braid each other’s hair while we’re at it.” The words were barely audible, muttered into Quinn’s shoulder.

Quinn rested his free hand against the dip of Eliot’s back and let his eyes fall closed.

[bipadme]

the thrill of proximity

pairing: female detective (leila) x ava du mortain

prompt: wayhaven week day 4 - thrill

word count: 2213

warnings: none

tagging: @likemoonlights 💜, @otomefandomevents

read on ao3

The key to lying to a vampire is to be comfortable with telling only part of the truth.

Leila had discovered this the hard way, when she’d told Morgan that of course she didn’t know Felix had snuck his laundry into hers again, and then proceeded to spend the next week waving smoke out of her face and out of her office. Felix had cackled pitilessly at her plight, and asked how she hadn’t known better.

A great question.

Well, she’d learned eventually. She’d learned that telling the part of the truth and being okay with it was key to lying successfully. Or, rather, simply omitting uncomfortable truths for the good of the overprotective vampires of Unit Bravo. This was the mindset she went into when she agreed to have a “girl’s night” with Tina, and then told Ava she planned on having a “nice night watching a movie and listening to this new group Tina wants me to check out.”

All technically the truth.

Leila slings her bag over her shoulder and then gives the team leader a warm smile. The stiffness in Ava’s shoulders seems to have dissipated a bit and she nods curtly, “Acceptable. Considering the recent trapper threat--”

Leila scoffs, “Overgrown teenagers with the poor sense to try and accost me outside of the station?” The incident itself had been more annoying than anything else. A sidestep and a quick kick to the rear had sent one straight into a wall, the other downed by the taser she’d jammed into his gut. They hadn’t so much as landed a hit, that time, but it had been enough to make Ava scowl and demand full-time Leila-sitting duty for the better part of a week.

“Trappers are a credible threat, just because this group wasn’t prepared doesn’t mean the next won’t be,” the vampire pauses.

Then she takes a step closer, fear flashing in her eyes, “More and more people are finding out and I…” Her hand reaches out, hovering so close to the detective’s skin that Leila feels a thrill race straight to her heart until it pounds like she’s just been shocked. All she wants is to close that infinitesimal distance, to stop wondering whether Ava runs warm or cool, whether her hands are calloused from training or if she heals too quickly and her hands are soft, or whether her hands will clench a hair too tight in concern or be achingly gentle. She wants to close that distance, but she feels arrested by the intensity of Ava’s full attention. Instead of pushing forward she’s frozen and struck dumb.

Then the tension breaks like a rubber band stretched to its limit. 

The vampire seems to notice how close she is and jerks backwards a good three feet until the distance leaves Leila feeling cold and slightly shattered. She rocks back onto her heels, trying to find her equilibrium in the midst of a moment she is sure the other woman is feeling as well. She swallows past the tightness of her throat, clogged with disappointment.

God, I’m pathetic, she can’t help but think.

What had she expected? Why did she continuously let these moments haunt and torment her like she lived in a romance novel instead of reality? It was as if their orbits had destined them to pull close, but never touch. So instead they spent their days vacillating between being tantalizingly near and terribly far. How long could she be expected to keep this up? Why did she allow it?

With that thought, she releases the breath she’d been holding and tries for a smile. It feels brittle on her face, and it must look as much too, judging from the crease forming between Ava’s brows. A crease that soon smooths out into her usual stoic non-expression (or as the detective had privately taken to calling it, her repression face.)

The vampire opens her mouth, but she cuts her off before she can say anything that will sink her heart any further, “Have a nice evening, Ava.”

She turns on her heel and determinedly walks away with the weight of Ava’s stare on her shoulders. But she knows better than to let her posture droop so soon. She knows how to walk away and smile at the passing familiar faces with something approaching nonchalance, but she also knows that she hasn’t fooled the people she wants to fool the most.

Or herself.

Once she leaves the warehouse and is safely in her car, that’s when she lets her shoulders drop and passes a hand over her face in sheer exhaustion. That’s when she makes her decision.

I’m going to have a nice time with Tina, she swears to herself as she jerks her car into gear, and for one fucking night I’m not going to dwell Ava fucking du Mortain.

That, she hoped, was the truth.

(It wasn’t.)

-----------------------------------------------------

By three in the morning, she has a distinctly pleasant buzz, a lighter wallet, a happily drunk Tina deposited safely at her apartment, and feet sore from dancing all attesting to a night well (and safely) spent. She and Tina had watched a movie, danced, drank, eaten greasy and cheap pizza, and allowed themselves to relax into the comfortable anonymity of the city. For an hour or two, Leila had even allowed herself to forget the team that thought she was safely ensconced in her living room.

Until the texts, and the calls, and the inevitable need to silence her phone to buy a little peace. Beyond all the remnants of a fun night, she has one text conversation reassuring Felix that she hasn’t been brutally murdered and/or kidnapped by ne’er-do-wells, sixteen missed calls from Unit Bravo, and what she’s sure is one furious team leader waiting for her at the apartment.

Leila steps out of the car with a shiver at the cool air on her skin and the near freezing asphalt under her bare feet. Immediately, her gaze is drawn upward to the silhouette in her apartment window, broad shoulders painting a severe figure against the warm light of her living room lamp.

It’s either a particularly stupid trapper, or Ava lying in wait with the lecture of a lifetime, and no matter what she would admit to out loud, Leila knows what she’s secretly hoping for.

Ava, even angry and lecturing, is always far more delightful to see than Leila is ever prepared for.

She takes her time meandering into the building, heels dangling from her fingers as she quietly makes her way through the dark hallways. Her front door isn’t even locked, and she takes a moment to drop her shoes next to the mat before dragging her gaze to the ice-cold fury of Ava’s eyes. 

She forces herself to look away and walk to the kitchen for a glass of water. She can feel Ava’s eyes on the unusual looseness of her stride, and Leila hopes she isn’t so tipsy that she looks foolish. 

Glass in hand, she takes a small sip before leaning forward onto the island and tilting her head in faux curiosity, “I told Felix I made it home safely. What brings you here?”

“I came in,” she says stiffly, “When I was on patrol and discovered that you weren’t in your apartment as you’d told me you would be. Where were you?”

It’s stated more as a demand than a question, and Leila purses her lips before speaking. “I did watch a movie and I did check out some new music,” she hesitates and bites the inside of her cheek, “While I was in the city with Tina.”

At that moment, the buzz notification of Leila’s phone fills the silence following her question, and Ava scoffs.

“Ah, so your phone does work. I was starting to wonder if it was unable to take calls,” the blonde sneers, the aristocratic lines of her face still unfairly beautiful. “Or is it simply my calls you can’t take?”

“I don’t take calls when I’m out with a friend, and I’ve been texting the group and Felix all night to check in,” Leila argues, her ire rising despite her intentions to stay calm. “Just because I didn’t deign to answer your questions--”

“I should not have bothered with texting at all! I should have tracked you down the moment you--”

Leila slaps her palms onto the counter with a glare, “For what? I was careful! I took an Uber there and back, I only had a few drinks, I stayed in sight of a group of people at all times--”

Ava pushes onward and circles the island to stand directly in front of the brunette as if proximity will win her the argument, “You come home, drunk--”

Leila scoffs, “I’m barely even tipsy—“

“In an Uber—“

“Oh, the horror!”

Ava’s scowl deepens, “Uber’s safety policies are far from—“

“Ava,” Leila raises a hand to stop her and rolls her eyes, “If you cite Uber’s safety policies, the most dangerous thing about this evening will be me jumping out of my window.”

Ava sucks in a breath on a hiss, her eyes narrowed, “Someone has to prioritize your safety, since you seem thoroughly determined to take every risk that crosses your path! Do you have any idea how easy it would be for someone to make you disappear from a crowded room?” 

Leila takes a step forward, and it’s a testament to Ava’s stubbornness and irritation that she refuses to back up despite how close they now stand. “Ava, I’m human. I could trip on Douglas’s stupid charging cable and crack my head wide open, tomorrow!” She scoffs and crosses her arms, “So excuse me if I’m not impressed by how easy it is for some ridiculously strong supernatural to kill me! Why should I be more scared of you or anyone else than I am of sharks and car crashes? Or even particularly aggressive geese?” She flings her arms into the air, “Are you going to nail down every vending machine in Wayhaven in fear that I’ll shake one and it’ll crush me? Where do you draw the line?” 

She crosses her arms again and watches with irritation as Ava takes a shaky breath and pinches her nose before speaking,  “You are the most impossibly infuriating human I have met in 900 years,” she seethes. 

“Well I’m not much impressed by you either,” Leila lies, her idiotic brain choosing this moment to notice how close their shared anger has brought them. How, in her pique, Ava had put a hand on the island next to her and drawn close until she loomed over Leila in a shiveringly satisfying way. She’s still irritated, sure, but it takes a backseat to the desire rushing through her and making her warmer than any alcohol could manage.

Determined to maintain her stance, she tilts her face up, jaw set stubbornly even though she only wants to kiss the sharpness out of Ava’s glare.

It’s just for show, she thinks bleakly. She can glare and bluster all night, but she can’t deny what she wants more than anything else. She can’t deny how frightened she is that admitting her feelings would drive Ava so far away from her that this closeness, even if antagonistic and charged with irritation, would be nothing but a distant dream. And fuck if she isn’t pathetic as hell, but she has no plans on giving this up any time soon.

Yes, she feels guilty for making Ava worry. Despite that, now the vampire is closer than she usually ever dares, her full attention pinned on the shorter woman in front of her until Leila’s every nerve sings with energy. Her warmth is magnetizing, and she feels sober in a way that is nothing short of electrifying. So, yes, she chases this feeling harder than any adrenaline junkie looking for a thrill, and damn if aggravating Ava didn’t always always manage to deliver it.

Her heart pounds, and Ava’s eyes flick a quick glance to her chest, before meeting the detective’s eyes once more, this time with a noticeable flush in her cheeks. And Leila… she can’t help herself. She’s sure she’s visibly trembling at this point, and still she can’t stop herself from swaying forward until her chest is barely brushing the other woman’s. If Ava won’t lean down and meet her halfway, that’s fine, she’ll just--

As her hand drifts forward to brace itself against the vampire’s hip, Ava whips away in a cold rush of air. Leila stumbles hard and catches herself on the counter with a curse. When she looks up, Ava is halfway out of the door, trying to school her stricken expression into something resembling neutrality. 

Good for her, Leila’s shoulders droop even as she straightens from her near fall, at least one of us can pretend this is okay.

“Next time,” Ava croaks, her voice betraying her, “You’ll take one of us.” She takes a breath that seems to steady her, and glares, “And you’ll answer your phone.” 

Then she’s out of reach once more.

The momentary thrill long gone, Leila sinks to the floor and drops her head into her hands.

And she plans on doing it all over again, if that’s what it takes.

[ficklefics]

Who Needs Enemies - Chapter Four: Questions Without Answers

The last time Harleen was at Penguin’s mansion she was on the run and afraid for her life. Now, being calm and in control leaves room for her mind to run away from her.

Jerome Valeska x Harleen Quinzel, Jeremiah Valeska x Harleen Quinzel

SERIES MASTERLIST ~ MASTERLIST ~ CHAPTER THREE

Warnings: None

It’s about four in the afternoon when I finally wake up. I stretch and yawn – the crash from the adrenaline hit me hard. The sound of an engine draws me to the window. A car and a van are pulling up outside. Penguin steps out of the car, and the van doors open to reveal a man and a young woman, both in strange suits of metal. They separate as soon as they can, the woman glaring at him as she makes her way into the house. I recognise them vaguely but no names come to mind. There’s no sign of Jerome.

I get dressed and make my way downstairs, stopping halfway down as Penguin comes through the door. He locks eyes with me immediately.

“Miss Quinzel.” “Mr Cobblepot.”

Silence hangs in the air between us. Part of me wants to ask about Jerome, but another part doesn’t want my entire purpose here being defined by him.

“Thanks for letting us stay here.” I continue down to meet him in the entry hall. “My pleasure.” “You don’t need to lie. I’m sure you’d far prefer peace and quiet.” He gestures for me to follow him and begins to hobble in the direction of his office. “My history with Jerome may be… antagonistic, but he has interesting ideas.” “To be fair, I think everyone’s history with Jerome is antagonistic.” I chuckle. Penguin makes a face as he stops in front of the door. “Including you?” “Well, he did kidnap me.” “And torture you. And yet now you are… allied with him.” He watches my reaction carefully. “If that is the correct word?” “I know it doesn’t make sense, but…” I shrug, trying to find the words. “Whatever is between Jerome and I is complicated.” “Very complicated.” I nod. “I’m not usually one for advice, but you should be careful. Jerome Valeska is a powerful and manipulative person; you can’t let him consume you, Harleen.”

His words circle in my mind. As much as I hate to admit it, he has a point. It would be very easy to let Jerome become my entire life. Too easy.

“I won’t let that happen.” “And what does Jerome think about that?”

I straighten my back, irritated at Penguin’s arrogance and irritated at the truth in his words.

“Jerome isn’t in charge of me. I am. Don’t forget that.”

Slamming the front door behind me, I storm outside, taking a deep breath of fresh air. My hand brushes over the scar still on my stomach. ‘J’. Jerome’s brand. His mark, engraved into my skin for the rest of my life.

Does Jerome think he owns me? I know he said I belong to him, but did he mean that? Am I just a possession, a doll for him to play with until he gets bored? Am I just another idea that went too far?

I shake the thoughts out of my head. I’m in too deep to start doubting myself now. I can’t start regretting the decisions I’ve made – there’s nothing I can do to change them.

“You look familiar,” A voice calls from my left: it’s the woman from before, leaning against the wall watching me. Now I can see her more clearly, I can tell she’s not much older than me. The side of her face is scarred with burns and her eyes glow red. “I’m Harleen. And you are?” “Firefly.” She smirks as she introduces herself. There’s an arrogant air to her – but that’s not uncommon to Gotham’s criminals. “Right. With the flamethrower.” I remember now. She’s appeared in various incidents in the past few years, never sticking around long enough to get caught. “With the flamethrower.” She nods. “How do you know Penguin?” “We’ve worked together before.” She pushes herself off the wall effortlessly and steps closer to me, hand on hip. “How do you know him?” “The same, I guess. But I came with Jerome.” “Of course,” She looks me up and down, “That’s where I know you from. You were all over the news.” “You could say that.” The way she smiles is making me uncomfortable. Like she knows something I don’t. “I’ll see you later.” I leave with a frown on my face, her gaze pricking my back as I go back into the house.

*

I’m lying on my bed staring at the ceiling when I hear another car pull up. This time I ignore it. The front door slams and heavy footsteps begin making their way up the stairs. Penguin’s voice makes its way through the walls, but I can’t hear exactly what he’s saying. Another voice interrupts him.

“Ah, it’ll be fine!” Jerome.

I sit bolt upright and scramble off of the bed to the door. I press an ear against it but all conversation has stopped.

Waiting until I’m sure Penguin has gone, I poke my head out into the corridor. It’s empty. I don’t know which room is Jerome’s so I head towards the stairs and lean on the polished wooden railing. The entryway is empty too. But eventually, Jerome will come through here.

It’s been maybe ten minutes when a door behind me opens. Looking over my shoulder I see Jerome locking his door. He’s whistling. Then he looks up and sees me. “Hi.” I smile. He grins and makes his way over to me, leaning one elbow on the railing at my side. “Hey there.” He winks at me, making me laugh. “Been making friends?” “So many friends.” I roll my eyes and half sigh. “I didn’t think it was possible to make Penguin hate me more.” “I don’t think he hates you.” “Well, he certainly doesn’t want me here.”

Penguin’s words run through my mind again, unwelcome but ever-present. I shake my head, shaking the thoughts away.

“So where have you been?” “About.” A glare prompts him to keep speaking. “Organising things. Finding people. Making sure good ol’ Gordon is distracted enough for us to do our work.” “Ah, yes. Our mysterious “work”.” I raise my eyebrows at him, asking a silent question. “All in good time, Harls.” “I don’t like being kept in the dark.” “I know.” He frowns. “But this…” “Look,” I turn to face him properly, “Do you promise that I’ll find out everything? That you aren’t keeping something important from me?” “I promise.” He takes my hand, examining my fingers. Compared to him, calloused and rough, my skin is like porcelain – flawless and fragile. “Then I trust you.” I squeeze his hand. And I do. I do trust him. Jerome has never lied to me, never misled me. He may keep secrets, but he always tells the truth. And he’s not the only one who keeps things hidden.

*

I can’t sleep.

I wasn’t tired when I went to bed, and I’m somehow even more awake now. For hours I’ve been tossing and turning, my mind running away from me. Thinking about my family. Thinking about Bruce. Even thinking about Jim Gordon. I wonder if he went to my house. I wonder if he knows I’m gone.

This is pointless.

I get up and wrap a blanket around my shoulders. Maybe a hot chocolate will help.

The house is dark. But as I shuffle past Jerome’s room, I can hear movement. I glance between the door and the stairs, considering my options. Deciding, I turn and knock on Jerome’s door. “It’s me,” I call out in a loud whisper. I don’t want to disturb anyone else. “What’s up?” I take that as a cue to come in, pushing open the door. It’s a room nearly identical to mine, dimly lit by the bedside lamp. When my eyes land on Jerome, I yelp and turn away at the sight of him standing wearing only sweatpants. “Jerome!” “What?” He chuckles. “You could have warned me!” “You’ve seen me shirtless before.” “Yeah, but that was in a professional setting!” The words sound insanely dumb as I say them, so I look back round. He’s still laughing at me. “Shut up.” I close the door behind me softly. “Never.”

I hover awkwardly in front of the door as Jerome pulls on a sweatshirt, leaving it open so his chest is still exposed. I let my eyes linger on his skin, on the muscles that move under it, on the scars that lay on top; it’s not anything that I haven’t seen in Arkham, but here, in the dead of night, with no one else around, it’s different. More dangerous. More tempting.

“Harls?” Jerome’s voice snaps me back to reality. He’s smirking. “What’s up?” “I… I couldn’t sleep. And I saw you were up, so…” I shrug. I don’t really have an explanation. Instead, I cross to the chair in the corner of the room and curl up into a ball. “So you wanted to see your favourite crazy?” He grins, sitting opposite me on the bed. “Something like that.” “Well, you’ve got me.”

The words spark something in my mind. Do I? Do I “have” Jerome? And once again, I begin to question everything. The fears and anxiety scream inside me. And this time I can’t stop myself from voicing them.

“Why am I here?”

Jerome looks at me, confused. “Cause you want to be?” “Cause you asked me to be.” “Because you said you wanted to help.” “What do I really bring to this though?” I sigh in frustration, leaning back in the chair.

“Come here.” I ignore him, consumed by the noise in my head. “Harleen, come here.”

Jerome only says my full name when he’s serious. I stand up and cross to the bed, sitting beside him with one leg tucked under the other. Jerome grips my jaw in his hand, firm enough that I can’t turn away, but not so much to hurt. His skin is hot against mine.

“You are the smartest person I know. And believe me, we need some smarts here.” I giggle. “Definitely. You’d be struggling without me.” He almost looks insulted, but we both know that I’m joking. “And you’re a fighter. You always get back up – hell, you got shot and you kept running.” Okay, that’s fair. “You’re our secret weapon. They’ll never see you coming.”

A sense of calm settles over me. Just that reassurance, reassurance that I’m not an afterthought, that I’m not irrelevant, manages to suppress unease in my mind.

“Plus, ya’ know, I like having you around.” He releases my face and grins. “You better.” I shove his shoulder gently, smiling now. “Is that why you couldn’t sleep.” I shrug, shuffling to rest my back against the headboard. “Probably. Brain just won’t stop.” “Has your brain ever stopped?” Jerome joins me so we’re sitting side by side. “Probably not.” “Maybe you should try it sometime.” “I doubt it would help. Even if I did get it to shut up, it would probably get revenge by giving me more nightmares.”

I can feel Jerome looking at me. Turning my head I stare right back. “What?” “Nothing.” He looks away, but it’s my turn to grab his cheek and turn his face back towards me. “What is it?” “Sometimes…” His eyes study mine. The words seem stuck in his brain. “I have nightmares too. A lot. Bad ones.” My brow furrows. “I didn’t think you were the type to be bothered by bad dreams.” “I’ve always had them. About my family, about the circus abandoning me. They stopped when I was in Arkham – I guess I just didn’t care anymore. Then, when I came back to life-” “So did the nightmares.” He nods. “I guess it’s easy to forget you’re human.” “How dare you,” He scoffs, clearly trying to diffuse the tension, to move away from the emotional discussion. But I won’t let him. “You are human though. For all your anarchy and chaos, in the end, you still are. There’s no changing that. You feel things: hate, joy, anger, fear…” Love? “If I’m human, so are you.” “Now that’s preposterous.” I look away, gladly breaking the serious conversation now that I’ve said my piece.

Jerome laughs at my pretend outrage. I feel a yawn trying to force its way out of me, but I turn it into a cough. I don’t want to go back to my room. I don’t want to give up what little time I might have with Jerome.

“What’s happening tomorrow?” I ask, resting my head on his shoulder. He doesn’t say anything about it, but I know he’s grinning at me. “A meeting in the morning. Then we’re going into the city.” “Ooh, fun.” This time I can’t contain the yawn. “I’ll go in a minute.”

I feel him pat the side of my head, making me scrunch my nose in annoyance. “Stay as long as you want, Harls.”

CHAPTER FIVE

[ayma-nidiot]

“Don’t Speak Their Names” - Shrimpshipping fic Chapter 34

This chapter can be found here on AO3.

Chapter 34 - The Queen’s Wings 

~27 October 2007, early afternoon~

“Aww, you look cuuuuute!” Téa looked at the wedding outfit she, Serenity, and Mai worked hard to make for Weevil. The bug duelist’s colour scheme matched that of Metamorphosed Insect Queen - a royal blue tuxedo, the red tie and white frilled shirt from his Duelist Kingdom days, and an elegant veil resembling the Queen’s wings and crown. “I just wish I could be the maid of honour so I could hold this veil while you walk down the aisle. Mai, you’re so lucky.”

“For what it’s worth, you can be the maid of honour at my wedding,” Mai spoke while she inspected the veil and Serenity put the finishing touches on Weevil’s hair. “I want my veil to look just as amazing as my Harpie Lady’s wings. I just have to wait for that slowpoke Joey to propose already.”

“Yeowch! I’m sorry you’ve had to wait for my blockhead of a brother. ...There.” Serenity put a butterfly pin on the right side of Weevil’s hair. “You’re ready. Should we go, then?”

Weevil got into the front seat of the limo Mai drove while Camellia, Serenity, Téa, Ptera, Tricera, and the other bridesmaids got in the back seats.

But before Mai drove off, Weevil asked, “Hey, where’s Amber?”

“Daddy!” Amber nearly tripped while running to the limo, scattering a few of the flowers she carried in her basket.

“Whoa there, little lady!” Téa caught Amber before she could fall and picked up the flowers she dropped.

“Thank you, Auntie Téa!” Amber hugged Téa’s neck as she brought her in the limo that finally took off. Amber turned to Espa’s 16-month-old daughter, Artemis, and offered her a yellow rose. “Hey, Arte, you want this?”

“Flower! So pretty!” Arte grabbed the stem of the flower with her tiny toddler fingers.

“Aww…” Weevil smiled as he spoke to his daughter. “I picked the perfect flower girl.”

“And your stepcousin Mokuba picked the perfect flowers,” Camellia remarked. “And the perfect limo. And just about everything else.”

“Actually, Spinos picked the flowers. He paid for a good deal of the wedding too, you know.”

“Did he?” Ptera smiled at the thought of her former lover. “That was thoughtful of him.”

“Psst.” Espa leaned slightly forward to awaken Weevil from an apparent nap. “Weevil, we’re here.”

“Hmm… Wha-” Weevil saw everyone else already exiting the limo and making way for the extravagant displays by the famous Domino City T.V. “Thanks for reminding me! I’m glad you decided to ride with us instead of with Rex. Even though you’re a groomsman.”

“I couldn’t help it.” Espa carried Arte out of the limo and, once he met with his brothers, he handed her to the next oldest one. Mako soon joined them with Caesar, their son. “This cutie patootie wanted to ride with her best friend.”

“You’re such an airhead sometimes, Daddy!” Amber giggled as she walked down the aisle while throwing flowers.

“None of that smart mouth, young lady!” Weevil chided while he proceeded down the aisle, with Camellia by his side and Mai holding his veil. 

“Hehehe… She’s just like you when you were that age.” Camellia chuckled. “I remember it like it was yesterday.”

“You’re literally walking me down the aisle.” Weevil squinted; he could barely see the wedding awning, with lush greenery. “Do you really think this is the best time to reminisce about how I was a troublemaking toddler?”

“Yes, it is.” Camellia cried a little. “I lost eleven years with you… I’m so proud of how far you’ve come since then, my son.”

At the sound of Duke playing the church organs, the ceremony began in earnest, drawing attention from passers-by.

“Hmm?” One of Weevil’s opponents from Duelist Kingdom took notice of the bug duelist. “Oooh, it’s that nasty Weevil Underwood. And he’s… getting married?”

“We might as well stick around to see the unlucky schmuck whom he’s marrying,” replied the kid whom Weevil tricked in Battle City. 

“Mother, I can’t do this! I’ve rehearsed my vows, like, a thousand times and yet I think I’ve forgotten most of them already!” Weevil’s heart raced faster as he could now see his husband-to-be. Rex wore a tuxedo resembling Black Tyranno, and his chestnut locks were tied back with a dinosaur claw hair clip.

“Relax, sweetie,” Camellia reassured as she stepped back, now that her son had reached the T.V. “Remember, you’re the smartest guy in all of Domino City.”

Weevil stammered as he held Rex’s hands, with Mokuba about to start officiating the wedding. “Y-Yo, dude.”

“Pfft…” As best man, Joey stood behind Rex. “‘Smartest guy in all of Domino City,’ huh?”

“Shut up, Joey!” As if Weevil felt nervous enough, Joey’s teasing didn’t make it any better. “Or I just might sneak a caterpillar in your shirt when you get married!”

“Hey.” Rex squeezed Weevil’s hands tighter. “You know how Joey is. Just ignore him.”

“Dear friends, family, and citizens of Domino City,” Mokuba began the ceremony, which by this point had drawn a large crowd. The close friends and family of Rex and Weevil took their seats. The sun looked upon them from directly above, the sunlight glistening off of the awning’s flowers and the variety of insects crawling throughout it. “We are gathered here today to witness the union of Rex Leonidas Raptor and Weevil Henry Underwood in marriage. We welcome and thank each and every one of you for being a part of this wonderful occasion. As with their careers as duelists, their journey as a married couple will test and bring out the best in them. And just like their latest careers as duelists, they will face trials and tribulations, but always come out strong in the end. You are all gathered here because you have helped these two young men and have a bond with them, one way or another. As for me, I couldn’t be more proud that my cousin, Rex, has chosen me to officiate his wedding. The grooms have each prepared vows that they will recite now.”

“M-My turn!” Weevil piped up, much to the surprise of all. “I don’t need to rehearse to let all of Domino City know just how much I love you. I don’t need to rehearse to remember how united we are in our desire for revenge against several duelists. Particularly Yugi, Atem, and ESPECIALLY Joey.”

“ESPECIALLY me, huh?” Joey couldn’t help but laugh again. 

“Spoken like a true duelist,” Yugi spoke to his former other self.

“You said it, partner,” replied Atem.

“Aw, heck, Rex. I’ve prepared a handwritten speech for my salutatorian address. But on this day, I want to speak from the heart. Even now, I am still in awe that a ‘dung beetle’ like me is worthy of your love. While everyone in this city hated me, you were the only one to show me love all those years ago. Even after I went mad and tried to kill you, you still loved me. I am so grateful that we have found each other, and I vow to love you forever.”

“See? What did I tell you?”  Camellia winked.

“I bet I can outdo that. ” Rex smirked.

“Go ahead and try, dino brain.”

“Gladly, bug boy.” Rex took a deep breath before beginning his vows. “I am thankful for all the blessings we have, not the least of which is our adorable daughter Ambrosia. If not for Mai and her expertise, we wouldn’t have such a bundle of joy.”

“Aww, you’re too kind, Rex.” Mai sat next to Amber and Téa.

“Yet I haven’t always been kind; I’ll be the first to admit that I’m still as arrogant as they come. But several people have made me appreciate friendship more - not the least of whom is you, Weeves. You were my first friend, and I couldn’t be happier that we made that same dumb mistake of showing up to regionals prelims a day early.” This tale elicited several giggles from the crowd’s members, even from those who were not explicitly invited. “I had no idea that from there, I would quickly fall in love with that rich boy I met, and that he would be the man I swear my eternal love to on this day. Waiting those three years to confess my love was so worth it.”

“Hehe…” Weevil laughed in his signature way. “I think I win.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Even at the altar, you guys are still rivals. Let’s just say you both win.” Mokuba chuckled. “Now, will the ring bearer present the rings?”

“I think you’ll like who I chose for the ring bearer,” spoke Rex.

Between the husbands-to-be and in front of Mokuba stood a tan-skinned boy with spiky brown hair, red-violet eyes, and traditional ancient Egyptian garb. He can’t be older than two, Weevil reckoned. It can’t be… It’s Heka!

“As we begin the declaration of intent, I would like for each groom to place a ring on his partner’s finger. Rex Leonidas Raptor, do you take Weevil Henry Underwood as your lawfully-wedded husband? To have and to hold, in sickness and in health, in good times and not so good times, for richer or poorer, keeping yourself unto him for as long as you both shall live?”

“I do.” Rex took the new ring - a rose-gold one with a thin sapphire band in the middle - and put it on Weevil’s left ring finger.

“And do you, Weevil Henry Underwood, take Rex Leonidas Raptor to be your lawfully-wedded husband? To have and to hold, in sickness and in health, in good times and not so good times, for richer or poorer, keeping yourself unto him for as long as you both shall live?”

“I do.” The wedding ring Weevil gave Rex was similar to his engagement ring, but had two thin bands of dinosaur bone inlay.

The dinosaur duelist wore this new ring on his left ring finger, complementing the one he wore on his right ring finger. “You spend too much money on jewelry, bug boy.”

“If there are any objections to this union, speak now or forever hold your piece.”

“Who would object to these two cutie pies?” Joey noted.

“Even if I did, I wouldn’t do anything about it,” mumbled the kid who got his Dark Ruler Ha Des stolen all those years ago.

“Then by the power vested in me - Mokuba Kaiba, president and CEO of Kaiba Corporation - I now pronounce you husband and husband. You may now kiss the husband.”

“There’s that pretty face.” Rex lifted Weevil’s veil from his face.

“Come here, you Jurassic jerk!” Weevil seized Rex by the waist, tiptoeing slightly to kiss his new husband.

“I now present to you, Domino City, Mr. and Mr. Rex and Weevil Raptor!”

“So, the runner-up and champion of regionals got hitched, and with each other, no less,” Rex’s opponent at regional semifinals mused while Duke played “Sexyback” on the organ. “Who’d have thunk it?”

“I gotta admit that I kind of started shipping them after Raptor’s regional loss,” spoke the Battle City kid.

“ Which Raptor are you talking about, me or him?” Weevil overheard the boys.

“Um…” The boys were at a loss for words.

“Anyway…” Weevil held up his bouquet, full of peonies and red roses. “I’m wondering who will get lucky today.”

“Me, that’s who.” Mai brushed her hair back. “Then you’ll have to propose to me, Joey.”

“Nah, I’ll get it!” Téa declared as the bouquet flew in the air.

“Ladies, ladies…” Duke stepped forward. “You’re all wrong. I’ll-”

“Actually, you’re the wrong one, Duke.” Mako showed everyone the bouquet he just caught. “Looks like I’ll be getting married soon.”

“Aww…” Duke smiled. “Congrats, dude.”

“And I know just who it is I want to spend the rest of my life with.” Mako looked to Rex and Weevil, as if asking for permission, and the newlywed couple consented.

“M-Mako?” Espa’s eyes widened when Mako knelt in front of him, revealing a ring with a giant blue diamond encircled by several small green ones. “Oh… my gosh…”

“That is, if this cute psychic will say yes to my proposal.”

“Yes! Of course I do, Mako!” Espa continued to cry as his new fiancé put the ring on his finger.

“Yay!” Caesar hugged his mother’s legs. “I love you, Papa!”

“You… You guys…” Espa hugged Mako and their children.

“There’s still a lot of party left, you two.” Rex had to wipe his own tears of joy. “You’re all invited to the reception at the Grand Domino City Hotel. Naturally, there will be lots of dueling rooms there, and suites for the bridesmaids, groomsmen, and our families. So you know what that means.”

“It means I’ll squish the new Mr. Raptor?” Joey challenged.

“No, it means I’ll squish you. ” Weevil cracked his knuckles.

“I thought I was the one you were after?”

“Yes, you too, Atem. See you there.” And with that, Rex and Weevil got in the back seat of the wedding motorcade.

“Ah, there’s the happy couple,” spoke the driver as he started the ignition. “Ready?”

“Yes!” Both young men exclaimed at once.

“Wait…” Weevil squinted to get a better look at the driver. “Bakura?”

“My friends call me Ryou, but whatever floats your boat.”

The bandit king wasn’t kidding when he said he’d attend! Weevil thought, and the trio arrived at the hotel to find that the partying had already begun. But...

Rex noticed the pensive look in his husband’s face, even while they walked to the dining room, to which Tricera and Ptera hauled the wedding cake they made. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Weevil shook off whatever confusing thoughts he was having, and instead diverted his attention to lighthearted conversations with people he once called enemies. After lunch, he took the cake cutting knife from Tricera and grabbed Rex’s hands. “Give me a hand, will ya? And don’t you dare make a ‘short-handed’ joke about my prosthetic arm.”

“You’ve already taken mine, pinworm!” Rex had a small bite of the cake before offering some to Kaiba and Atem, whom he barely even noticed. “Here you go.”

“Don’t mind if I do.” Atem offered Heka some cake before eating it himself.

“Um… I’m good for now,” Kaiba insisted as he rubbed his belly. “I haven’t felt hungry all day, but I’m sure I will later.”

“Hopefully there will be a later.” Rex watched Amber, Arte, and Heka chase each other in the dining hall. Atem tried to prevent Heka from using his newfound magic on anyone. Mako and Espa weren’t as successful at containing their own children; Arte could already bend spoons with her mind, and Caesar could be seen swimming butterfly in the nearby gym pool. 

“Ugh.” Espa whined. Caesar beat a high schooler in a short race, baring purple shark fangs in victory. “I knew I shouldn’t have let you talk me into a water birth, Mako. Both of our kids have shown their shapeshifter abilities already.”

“Caesar looks so much like my dad…” Mako beamed while he watched his son. “I’ll be darned if he grows up to be a better swimmer and fisherman than me.”

It took the intervention of all of Espa’s brothers to get the prodigious twins to stop. “I’ll give you one thing, our kids are already proving to be smarter than I was at that age.”

“Psst, hun.” Weevil whispered to Rex while Kaiba was distracted playing with Heka.

“What?” Rex spoke with a mouthful of cake.

“Why are Kaiba and Atem here at 22 years old, when just a couple of years ago, they were here at 37 years old? Do they even remember who we are?”

“Is that what you were confused about this afternoon? Please.” Rex took his and Weevil’s dishes to the dishwasher. “Haven’t I told you it’s better to not think so much?”

“You’re right.” Holding Rex by the hand, Weevil approached Kaiba and Atem. “Dueling speaks louder than words.”

_______

~16:00~

“Kaiba?” Rex looked past his Ultimate Conductor Tyranno and at his cousin. It was Kaiba’s turn, and Rex and Weevil were clearly winning the tag duel. “You don’t look so good. If you had told me, I-”

“How dare you underestimate Seto Kaiba? I reveal my trap Raigeki Break to destroy your Ultimate Conductor Tyranno!”

“Naw, that trap won’t be doing nothing. Not if my Jurassic Heart can help it. ...Anything else?”

“I… end my turn…” Kaiba clearly wanted to leave, but had too much pride to simply throw the match. “By the way, it’s ‘won’t be doing anything. ’ Learn proper grammar, rabbit stew.”

“Then I’ll end it quickly,” Weevil proclaimed. “I activate my Armored Bee’s special ability to cut your Blue-Eyes Ultimate Dragon’s attack points in half, then I’ll go in for the kill with my Battlewasp - Halberd the Charge!”

“So you’ve finally gotten your revenge on me, Weevil.” Atem clapped after he and Kaiba had lost. “Well done. What did you think of them- Huh? Kaiba, where are you going?”

Kaiba said nothing as he ran for the nearest loo. Right as he did, Joey walked up to Weevil, clearly wanting a duel from him. “Say, what happened to rich boy?”

Before Atem could follow after the Egyptian queen, Rex offered, “I’ll go check on him for you, Atem. You can cheer on your buddy Joey. He’ll need it.”

“Oh, I don’t think I will.” Joey climbed onto one of the dueling platforms. “But I would certainly love for Atem to see me squash this mosquito personally.”

“Bring it on!” were Weevil’s last words that Rex heard before making way for the loo Kaiba entered.

“Hey, Kaiba?” It didn’t take Rex long to find Kaiba and the loo he very loudly threw up into. “I was going to ask if you’re okay, but you’re clearly not.”

“Thanks, Captain Obvious.” With nothing left to throw up, Kaiba sat on the loo and pouted. “Anything else?”

Rex fished around in his pants pockets. “I was going to save this for myself, but I think you need it more.”

“What’s this?” Kaiba looked at the small box with the KaibaCorp logo Rex gave him; it had two pregnancy tests in it. “So KaibaCorp makes these now? And how bold of you to assume that just because I’m sick, that it means I’m pregnant. And you just so happened to be carrying these around? I don’t know whether I should laugh or cry.”

“Just take them, man. Please.”

“Hmph.” Kaiba slammed the stall door shut. “Fine. But just so you know, this is a waste of time, because I know I’m not pregnant.” About three minutes later, Kaiba opened the stall without looking up at Rex.

“So? How’d it go?” Rex asked. Kaiba only showed him the pregnancy tests in response; they both showed the word “pregnant” next to the number 16. “Well, well, well. I suppose some congratulations are in order.”

“...I guess I better go tell a few certain individuals the good news, huh?” Kaiba let Rex help him walk a short distance before he could walk on his own. “And Rex?”

“Yeah?”

Kaiba wrapped an arm around his cousin. “Thank you. You’re probably the only one other than Mokuba, the pharaoh, and Heka that I can tolerate.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Rex gave Kaiba a few noogies before parting ways with him. “If you see my husband, tell him he can find me in our hotel suite.”

_________

~17:00~

“Phew…” Weevil hardly broke a sweat winning two duels in a row. But now he wanted nothing more than to take a break from the festivities before dinner, and made way for the hotel suite he rented with Rex. 

Weevil didn’t even have to get his card key before his husband opened the door and, still dressed in his wedding garb, spoke in a sultry voice, “Hey, baby. That was quite a long duel.”

“I wish you could have seen me turn that Joey into bug juice.” Weevil took off his veil and gently put it in the closet before wrapping his arms around Rex. “Amber is in the care of your father right now, so we have all the time to ourselves.” Weevil’s spider “ears” appeared. “And you know damn well what I want you to do to me.”

“Which is precisely why I did… this. ” Rex invited Weevil to come deeper inside the room to see the elaborate honeymoon setup. The first things Weevil noticed were the rose-scented candles planted throughout the room. Red roses floated in the sweet-smelling whirlpool bathtub. The towels next to it were folded in the shape of butterflies and dinosaurs, and had more roses around them. The bed had a spider silk canopy and a comforter with kissing swans on it. “Well, I can’t do art for shit, so the hotel maids folded the towels. But everything else was made by yours truly.”

“So you grew the flowers, too?”

“Aww, come on, bug breath. You know what I mean.”

“You hopeless romantic.” Weevil pinched Rex’s cheek before kissing it. “I could have done better.”

“Please, Weeves…” Rex undid Weevil’s bowtie. “Just this once, can we put aside the competition?”

“That’s rich, coming from you. ” Weevil removed Rex’s hair clip, running his fingers through the chestnut and lavender hair. “By the way, I’m kidding. You did great.”

“Aww, I’m glad!” Rex playfully kissed his husband’s cheeks, but when they got to the bed, his tone turned serious. He hummed into Weevil’s now-bare neckline, “Just so you know, I’m going to make love to you until all our friends downstairs complain about the noise we’re making.”

“Then… Hah…” Weevil completely half-shifted when Rex stripped him of all his clothes. “Then do it…. Or else I will take over.”

“If you rather would be the one on top, then you’re more than welcome to stop me from adoring you.” 

In response, Weevil eagerly tore off Rex’s tuxedo and shirt, while being mindful not to damage the expensive clothes. As soon as he did, Rex half-shifted as well. “Don’t you dare stop, Rex…” Weevil pulled Rex so close to him that their nipples rubbed together. The friction of Rex’s nipples and sweaty, warm body alone nearly brought Weevil to a full erection. “Don’t you dare stop.”

“Fuuuuuck…” While leaving hickies all over Weevil’s neck, Rex continued the nipple rubbing. He still occasionally breastfed Amber, so his nipples were especially sensitive. “I’m sorry, Weeves, but this… This just feels too damned good.”

“It does for me too, hun,” Weevil spoke between very deep kisses, getting a good taste of the takoyaki Rex ate a few hours prior. He snuck a hand down, feeling around for Rex’s cock before actually taking a hold of it and pumping it with his own. “And I hope this does also.”

“But you know…” Rex barely arose enough to be able to reach for a bottle of lube on the nightstand. “ This will make it even better. It’s a special lube that will arouse us more and make our orgasms more intense.”

“Oh, yeah?” Weevil let Rex spread the lube over his nipples and cock. 

“Well, what do you think?” Rex smirked as he continued to pump his and Weevil’s cocks together.

It didn’t take long for Weevil to feel the intensifying effects of the lube. “Oh… yes…”

“It’ll feel even better inside here. ” Rex’s fingers trailed from Weevil’s cock to his opening, which he massaged until Weevil shrieked loudly. “Looks like I’ve found your sweet spot, Weeves.”

“So fucking do something about it!” Weevil could hardly take this pent-up energy anymore.

“What did you think I was going to do?” Rex gave his husband’s ass a good slap before he mounted him. To his astonishment, Weevil grabbed Rex’s cock, guiding it into his opening while he took hold of his shoulders. “Ha- ha! You’re… really that hungry for me, aren’t you?”

“And… it’s not just the lube, either.” Weevil pulled Rex close enough, until Rex could feel his heartbeat running wild. “I… really do want to consummate this marriage.”

“So… do I...” Rex could hardly speak in between breaths as he pulled out, only to slam in again - and again, many times. Already, he knew that both he and his husband were about to come, but loved this sensation too much to let it end so soon. He held the base of Weevil’s cock firmly, caressing the head with his thumb. “So do I, Weeves…”

“L-Let go…” Weevil squeaked out after ten minutes of various sexual positions.

“What was that?” Rex hummed into Weevil’s ear.

“Goddammit, Rex, let me come already!”

Rex said not another word as the second he let go of Weevil’s cock, the both of them came long and hard, while Weevil held one of Rex’s hands to his pounding heart. “Can… Can you tell that I… hah… loved this?”

Rex let their orgasms ride out to completion before he pulled out, holding Weevil’s left hand to his heart, just like he did all those years ago. “Can you tell I loved it too?”

“Damn right I can…” Weevil pulled the comforter over him and curled into Rex, taking in his husband’s natural scent. “I wish I didn’t have biological needs to attend to. I just want to stay here all day, cuddling in bed with the man I just married.”

“For what it’s worth, Mom said she’d have dinner ready for us all in a few hours. And I made sure to specify to everyone that they don’t have to wear formal wear.” Rex looked Weevil in the eyes while stroking his mint green hair and planted a kiss on his forehead. “There will be so many more years of this, so don’t worry your pretty head about it.”

And so began the rest of Rex and Weevil Raptor’s married life together, naturally filled with takoyaki, bee larvae, and a hell of a lot of dueling.

[illfoandillfie]

Airheads

READ FUTURE MANAGEMENT

Pairing: Roger x Reader

Summery: Roger relaxes after a long day with a visit from his Doll

Warnings: Smut (18+), Bimbofication/intelligence play, hypnosis/trance, oral sex (m and f receiving), unprotected sex.

Words: 4144

A/N: Response to a request as part of my 1000 follower celebration. Title is from another song on Roger’s first solo album.

Taglist:  @laedymoon​​​  @dtfrogertaylor​​​   @ezmina98​​​  @vee-ndetta​​​ @atomic-watermelon​​​ @kellypenac​​​ @labessieisallama​​​ @deakyclicks @jennyggggrrr​​​ @drowseoftaylor​​​  @hannafuckingsucks​

You heard the key turn in the lock, head flicking around as Roger closed the door behind him and entered the room. He sighed and dropped onto the couch beside you, head falling into your lap.  “Long day?” you asked, putting down the magazine you’d been reading so you could drag your fingers through his hair.  “Something like that,” he smiled up at you but it lacked something of his usual manic energy.  “Anything I can do?”  “Nah, just got a lot on my mind y’know. New album stuff.”  “Well, dinner’s already going in the crock pot. Going to be another couple of hours so if you want to take a nap or something you’ve got time. Or we could go for a walk? Might help you clear your mind.”  “‘m perfectly happy to just lie here with you for a bit.”  “Let me know if you want anything else. You’re always so good to me when I’m stressed out and need a break.”  Roger nodded and the two of you fell into an easy silence as you turned back to your magazine. A couple of minutes later you looked back down at Roger, double checking he was okay. He was unusually quiet and, aside from the lack of snores, you wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d fallen asleep. Instead you found him quietly contemplating something. His expression was one of thoughtful concentration, like he was working through some problem in his head.  “Actually, that might work,” he said suddenly as if there’d been no break to you conversation, “if you’re okay with it.”  “What d’you mean Rog?” It wasn’t the first time his mind had raced ahead in a conversation you were no longer having.  He sat up, shifting around to face you, “Think I could use a visit from my doll,”  “Really?”  “Only if you’re up for it. It’s your brain and stuff,”  “Rog I’d love to. Just didn’t expect you to want it is all.”  “Wasn’t really on my mind until you said that thing about how I look after you when you’re stressed. But, thinking about it, I find it really useful to unclutter my mind and relax too.”  “Keep talking like that and I might have to try making you the bimbo for once,”  “Don’t get any cute ideas,” he laughed, “I think it’s partly the control that I like.”  “Is something making you feel out of control?”  “No, love, nothing bad,” he took your hand, pulling your palm up to his lips, “Just working on this album and stuff. There’s always arguments and disagreements. We try to be as diplomatic as possible but it’s... well it’s different to making an album on my own that’s for sure.”  “I’ll go get changed then. Do you want high heels bimbo or barefoot bimbo?”  “What’s the difference?”  “I don’t know that there’s much of a noticeable difference in how I act or respond to stuff but they feel different to me.”  “Elaborate?”  “I didn’t pick up on it at first but the more we play with this whole dumb bimbo thing and the more comfortable I am with it, the more little things I notice when I come back to earth. I’m not entirely sure how to explain it but when we do it and I get properly done up in heels and everything I feel like... I guess it’s like a barbie doll bimbo. Like I was built to be played with and controlled. You tell me what you want and I can’t imagine not doing it because that’s what I was made to do. And when you aren’t telling me what to do, I know I have to look pretty for you. Chest out, lips parted, like a plastic doll.”  “And barefoot?”   “Barefoot is like... It’s not that I was made to be a toy, it’s that I found my calling. Like everything else, my job and my normal personality and everything, was just me playing pretend and now I’ve stopped and accepted the truth of who I am. I don’t follow your instructions because I was programmed to, I do it because that’s who I am and what I need.” you laughed, “it sounds ridiculous when I try to explain but I swear it’s true.”  “If you can feel a difference then you pick. Whichever you’d prefer tonight. Now go on, I’ll give you ten minutes and then I’ll come up, okay?”  “Okay,” you made to stand but Roger still had a hold of your hand.  “Wait,” he said, pulling you back towards him, “I love you.” 

You were still smiling when you closed the bedroom door behind you and began pulling off your clothes. You dropped your shirt and pants into the laundry basket and opened your draw, digging around until you found what you were looking for. A push up bra and matching thong you’d bought as a surprise for Roger. Not your usual type of undergarments. Certainly not something you’d wear to work or on a regular day. But you’d immediately fallen in love with them when you’d seen them, knowing they’d help you sink into your brainless state the next time you and Roger decided to play. Your work appropriate underwear joined your work appropriate clothes in the hamper as you tugged the new set on, already starting to feel looser and more aroused. You didn’t bother with shoes, not necessarily because you had a preference but because you’d spent a good chunk of the day on your feet and the idea of strapping yourself into a pair of ridiculously high heels made your toes throb. You did, however, take the time to apply some mascara and lipstick, picking out a bright shade of pink Roger had bought for you when he discovered it was named Bimbo. You took a look at the full effect in the mirror, feeling happy with what you’d achieved, and sat on the bed to wait.  

Roger inhaled sharply when he saw you, “Christ, love,”  “Do you like it?”  “Stand up and do a spin,”  You laughed and did as he asked, slowly turning so he could see you from every side.  “I love it. You look stunning,”  “I was going for whore but I guess that’ll do.”  “Didn’t let me finish. Stunning whore. You ready?”  “Yes,”  “Alright then, come sit on my lap,” he toed off his shoes and dropped onto the bed, leaning against the bedhead with his legs outstretched. You crawled over to him and straddled his lap, wiggling until you were comfortable. Once you were settled, he granted you a slow, soft kiss, his fingers drawing lines up and down your sides, encouraging you to relax. You hummed quietly as he pulled away, eyes still closed, waiting for him to kiss you again.  “Good girl,” his voice took on the familiar calm authority that you’d formed a Pavlovian reaction to, already able to feel the edges of your mind dulling, “Dressed so prettily for me. So obedient. Listening to my voice so well. Listening when I tell you to relax.” His fingers were still moving over your skin slowly, up and down and up again, making you tingle as you unintentionally timed your breathing to match the same pace and began to keep count of them in your head. “And I see we decided not to wear heels.”  “Yeah,” your voice sounded distant to your own ears.  “Because that’s natural, isn’t it? Feels natural to let your mind go blank and listen to my voice. Being a barbie doll is fun, being played with is fun. But that’s temporary isn’t it,”  “Mmhmm,” his voice was making it hard to concentrate on the number of breaths you’d taken so you started again.  “But we know that being a silly giggly airhead is your natural state. We know you only play at being sensible and in control. Nothing to lose by admitting it. This is you letting go. Giving yourself to me. Counting your breaths and sinking deeper, deeper, deeper into my voice, letting all the unnecessary thoughts go.”  You nodded though you’d lost count again.  “That’s right, doll, just let go. So hard to pretend all the time, feel lost all the time. Nothing to lose by letting go, sinking down, counting down. Ten. Nine.   You felt grateful that Sir was there to help you count. You knew how. You knew you knew how. But it was hard to think about the numbers properly, remember which order they came in. Came. Come. Cum. That was a good word. Made you feel funny. Made you want to giggle.  “Eight. What’s so funny, love? Seven. Was it something about sinking down, down, down, into your natural silly bimbo self? Six. Five.”  You knew something had been funny but you couldn’t place a finger on what exactly it was. Sir’s voice was so distracting, making you feel all fuzzy. Something else too.   “Four. I love seeing you like this. So happy. Happy to be a dumb slut for Sir. Happy to listen to my voice. Happy to be controlled. Three.”  You were happy. Happy and horny. That was the word. Horny. Another good word.   “Good girl. Almost there. Letting go of everything. Sinking down deeper. Two. Ready to be Sir’s good girl. A pretty, horny, bimbo slut. One.” 

You blinked your eyes open, readjusting to the light. Roger was watching you closely, his hands coming to a stop on your hips.  “Hi Sir,” you beamed at him.  “Hi Doll, what’s that smile for?”  “Proud,” you said after a moment’s hard thought.  “Is that right? And why are you so proud?”  “Ummmm.... Oh! I know!” you started giggling again, “I know two good words,”  “And what would they be?”  You screwed your eyes shut again, trying not to lose the words in the big empty space in your head. “Cum and Horny,”  “Those are two very good words to know,” Roger laughed which only set you into another burst of giggles, “do you know why you know them?”  You shook your head, pouting in confusion.  “You know them because you’re Sir’s good horny girl, aren’t you? And that makes you want Sir's cum, isn’t that right?”  It was so obvious now that he said it, of course that’s why you knew those words. After all, nothing was worth knowing unless it helped you be a good slut for Sir. There was no need for any pesky thoughts unless he told you to think them, no need for you to want anything unless he wanted it too.   “Love? Still with me?” he tapped on your leg to get your attention again, hands returning to your hips and holding you tight.  “Sorry Sir,”  “That’s alright. It can be a bit hard to focus when your head is so very empty. But I can help with that.”  “Help?”  “Give you something to focus on.”  “Liiiiike,” you dragged it out as you tried to think of the word you wanted. It was right there, just out of reach. It was another good word though. A word you liked. It made you think of Sir and it felt good to say, felt good on your tongue. And then it hit you, “Like your cock?”  Roger laughed, “Maybe. I do love how eager you are for it. But I had another idea in mind. Because I also love how obedient and suggestable you are when you’re like this.”  You didn’t understand what he meant by like this, after all this was who you were naturally, but you didn’t worry about it too much. There was a lot you didn’t understand.  “So I want you to lie back for me and listen closely okay?”  You nodded and climbed off his lap, briefly distracted by the small wet patch you’d left as you unconsciously tried to grind against his crotch.    “We’re going to try something a bit different, okay? But it’s going to be fun.” He hooked his finger into the top of your thong and began tugging it down your legs, “What I’m going to do is lick your pretty pussy, ten times. And You’re going to keep count, yes?”  “Yes Sir,”  “Good. Now there’s a trick to this. Because every time you say a number everything is going to feel a little bit stronger. Every time you feel my tongue on your pussy, you’re going to feel fuzzier. Anything left in your brain will drip drip drip away while your pussy drip drip drips for me.”  You could feel him stroking your thighs gently, and felt your eyes droop as his voice filled your head.  “All you have to do is count for me. Let it build and build and build. Making you want to cum over and over and over. But you won’t be able to cum until you finish counting. What’s that pout for? You want to please Sir yes?”  “Yes!” It was all you wanted.  “Then be a good girl and count down from ten.” 

“Ten,” you said, a little breathless, as Roger dragged his tongue along your slit. A long, slow, precise trail, collecting your noticeable wetness. It felt good and you sighed as he pulled back, wanting more. He gave you a few seconds and then leaned back in. The next lick felt better. Just as careful, just as slow, but better. Like you were a little more sensitive, a little more alert to the sensation even though your mind felt a little more foggy. A couple more and you were moaning out the numbers. It was tricky, remembering which number you were up to as Roger kept his methodical pace and you felt more and more sensitive, but you focused as best you could, determined to do what he asked. By the time you’d counted down to five you felt like you could have cum from the lightest touch, except that something was stopping you. You needed to be good. Needed to follow Sir’s instructions so he’d be pleased with you. You’d be happy if you pleased him. You felt his warm breath and moaned as his tongue met you again, still that same motion. One long swipe through your folds. If you’d been able to think properly and remember anything from before he kissed you, you would have realised it wasn’t his usual technique. On a regular day it wouldn’t have been anywhere near enough to have you anywhere near cumming, especially in such a short time. But he’d told you what he wanted from you and you listened, absorbed it, and obeyed. Though you couldn’t remember what number you were up to.  “Keep counting, love.”  “I don’t... what comes next Sir?” You could feel tears starting to prick at your eyes, overwhelmed by the growing need to cum and worry that weren’t being good enough, pleasing him enough.  “Four. You’re doing so well, almost there.”  “F-four.” His praise gave you some small relief as you bunched the bed sheet up in your fists and your desperation rose. Roger was holding you down, keeping you from bucking your hips to make him speed up. His touch alone sent waves of heat through you, though it was nothing to how his mouth made you writhe and twitch.  “Ummm...”   “Three, remember?”  You shook your head but you repeated him anyway. It was less of a moan and more of a cry.  “Just two more to go, Doll. Two and then One. Can you remember that?”  “Two.” You wanted to beg and scream but Roger didn’t give you a chance before...  “Oh, umm, one?” Almost as soon as you said it your toes curled and stars burst behind your eyes as you felt the climax you’d been waiting for hit you. Roger didn’t stop and pull away like he had between each other number. He kept going, his nose nudging your clit, making your continued moans catch in your throat as he prologued your orgasm. 

“How was that, love?” he asked softly, leaving small kisses over your thighs, “Was it fun?”  “Mmhmm, just like you said,”  “I had fun too.”  It made you happy to hear that and you couldn’t help but smile at Roger as he settled beside you, propping himself up on his elbow.  “How do you feel now?”  “Ummmm, more.”  “What d’you mean by that?”  “I don’t know,” you giggled, “just feel stuff but more,”  “Is more good?”  “Umm I think so,”  “And you don’t feel tired or anything bad?  “Should I?”  “No, I’m just checking, love.”  “Can I have your cock now?”  “Christ,” Roger shook his head but he was smiling, “Are you sure you’re okay? I want you to tell me if you’re not. I won’t be upset.”  “I'm very okay Sir. I’m your good horny girl.”  “You are,” he pulled you into another kiss.  His praise made you feel light and bubbly and you wanted to show him. You pressed yourself closer to him, lifting your leg over his so you could try to grind against his thigh.   “Alright, alright, just hold your horses,”  You pouted as he shuffled away from you and stood up.  “Don’t look so upset, I’ve got to take my bloody pants off and then you can ride me.”  “Really?” you almost shouted the question in your excitement, spring up onto your knees, drawing another laugh from Roger as he pulled his shirt off.  “Yes really. God you’ve got a one-track mind.”   “What does that mean?”  “Means you’re being a perfect bimbo for me. Now move over again, let me lie down. You’re going to do the work this time.”  “Yes Sir,” you grinned as you shuffled over, eventually settling between his legs. The sight of his half hard cock made your mouth water and instantly you dropped your lips to his tip. Roger cursed as you sucked him into your mouth, focusing every ounce of your attention on the task at hand, wanting to prove how good you were. You could feel him getting harder as you licked and sucked and pumped him in your fist, pulling back to let drops of spit fall over him or to give some attention to his balls. It made you wet knowing you were pleasing him, being able to physically feel it, but you didn’t stop. Sir’s cum was more important than yours, would make you happier than yours would and that knowledge drove you on. Every moan he made, every time his hips bucked up, every murmured word of praise had you dripping and eager. You let him slip deeper down your throat without any consideration for your comfort or enjoyment. You enjoyed it because Sir enjoyed it. It didn’t matter than you gagged and choked or that your mascara ran into your eyes and your lipstick smeared over your face. All that mattered was his cock and his cum and his praise.  

You whined when he stopped you.  “Keep going like that and I’ll be finished before I get inside your cunt,” he said as he crooked his finger at your, “C’mon, up here now. Ride me. And take that slutty excuse of a bra off, wanna see your tits bounce.”  You giggled as you dropped the bra beside you, crawling further up his body until he was lined up with your entrance. Roger watched you closely as you sunk down onto him, laying his hands on your thighs when you bottomed out to stop you moving.  “Feels so fucking good, Doll.”  “Mmmm, me too Sir. Good and full.” That wasn’t quite the right way to describe it but you couldn’t keep hold of the words for long enough to say them. You felt like a craving was being satisfied. Like you belonged there, stretched around him. Like you’d found your place in the world. But your brain was so fuzzy and empty it was a miracle you’d found the word full.  Roger let go of your thighs, resting his hands behind his head as you began to rock back and forth, building momentum. Before long you were bouncing up and down on his cock, panting and whining, even though the muscles in your legs were beginning to ache. Roger was true to his word, his eyes glued on your tits as you pulled more moans and grunts from him. You lifted your own hands to your hair and laughed at the sensation of it tangled around your fingers. It was enough to get Roger’s attention.  “You’re, fuck, you’re loving this aren’t you?”  “Yes Sir!”  “Such a dumb cockslut. All fucked out on top of being a silly bimbo.”  You didn’t know what to say so you just nodded your agreement.  “Just like I thought. Too fucking brainless to understand.”  Again, you nodded and Roger laughed, the sound quickly followed by a grunt as you clenched around him.   “’m close, love, but I want to feel you cum first okay?”  “Yes Sir, anything you want.”  “That’s my girl,” He moved one hand to your clit, rubbing you in fast circles as you fucked yourself on his cock, “be a good slut and scream.”  As soon as you had permission to be loud you found you couldn’t hold back. Every circle on your clit and shift of your hips sent a whine or a moan spilling from your lips, each one louder than the last.   “Just like that, love, go on, cum for me,”  Your whole world was Roger. You felt him deep in your pussy and deep in your head. He was every thought you could grasp, every desire you had. Your owner, your keeper, your Sir. You came for him, screamed for him. The wave of extasy that rolled through you was just a bonus. A side effect of his control. It was made even sweeter as he came too, grunting as he rewarded you. Proof that he was pleased with you, that you’d been good. The ultimate praise.  

Roger took hold of your arms and pulled you closer, wrapping you up in a sweaty hug as he rolled you onto your side and kissed you again. It was an unsuccessful distraction. You still whined as he removed himself from your pussy, still tried to plead for more.  “Please Sir? Please let me have your cock again.”  “Not right now, Doll. Need a break,”  He was right. Of course he was right, he was always right. But you couldn’t help feeling a little sad about it, “Maybe later? After a break?”  Roger laughed, “How am I meant to say no to that face? Yeah, alright, maybe later.”  “Thank you, Sir,”  “But you’ve got to lie here for a bit okay? Lie here and listen to my voice,” His fingers began tracing up and down your side again as he watched you. It was calming and you began to match your breathing to his pace, up and down in and out. “That’s right, just relax and close your eyes and focus on my voice.”  “Like this?”  “Just like that. Nice and quiet and still as you breath in and out. Good girl. Feels natural to relax and count your breaths in and out. Ten. Nine.”  You hummed as you felt your mind becoming less dull and fuzzy.  “That’s right. Eight. Starting to remember, to realise what’s temporary and what’s natural. Seven. Nothing to lose by remembering. Feels good to come back to yourself, feels natural. Six. Finding yourself, coming back to yourself. Five.”  With every word and every breath things became sharper. The fuzzy blankness faded, replaced with a calm content feeling. You winced as you shifted your leg, the ache in your muscles more pronounced. But it was accompanied by a deep satisfaction that made it worthwhile.  “Happy to take back control. Happy to find yourself. Four. Almost there. Three. Leaving the bimbo behind, letting go of brainless obedience. Two. Ready to be yourself again. One.” 

You blinked your eyes open again, Roger’s face the first thing you saw. His fingers were still dragging along your side but you weren’t breathing in time with them anymore.   “Hi Rog,”  “There she is. How was that?”  “Really good. Feel a bit sore now but it was fun. How do you feel?”  “A lot better. Less cluttered.”  “Good,”  “Thank you,” you were almost overwhelmed by the sincerity of his words as he shuffled closer so his forehead was pressed to yours.  “You’ve done exactly the same for me so many times now, I was more than happy to.”  “Yeah but you’re the one who has their brain messed with, I’ve got the easy part. Just means a lot that you trust me so much.”  “Course I trust you, Rog. I trust you more than anyone.”  You’d never felt quite so loved as you did when he kissed you then, bringing his hand up to cup your face, his thumb tenderly stroking over your cheek. 

[hardyimagines]

Brutus

Drabble!!

———————————————————————

The bell above the creaky door jingled noisily, alerting the gangsters in the room of the sudden entrance. The door was ajar, hanging in that position for whoever had entered, despite the sign evidently reading the word ‘closed’, was hovering in place.

Every man in the room straightened, attempting to look just a little more sharp beneath your sudden appearance. You were stood with ankle high socks on and a pair of boots to match. The socks peered over the rim of the shoe, adding a little color to your outfit. Up and along your calves, their eyes slid, before briefly ogling the skirt you wore — shorter than most women wore them but the world was inevitably changing and you didn’t dress based on what was approved by society, you dressed based on what you liked. Reggie narrowed his eyes toward your blouse, ogling the fine material. It was tucked away in the waistband of your skirt, three buttons at the top, and the neckline dipped south in the slightest. When the men reached your face, they were stuck staring rudely. Your hair was curled in little ringlets, messy from the merciless wind which whipped about angrily outside. The smile on your lips was kind and the look in your eye expectant. Everyone decided at the same time that you were not where you were suppose to be.

Reggie looked to Albie, sharing a momentary look with him before he leaned against the counter and lifted his cigarette to his lips. Albie nodded shortly before crossing the room to tend to you.

“Hello, dove. I think you’re in the wrong place.” His voice was kind — much kinder than any of the other men’s so that why was Reggie had volunteered him to escort you out.

“I was sent here..” You informed him softly. Your fingers curled just a little tighter around the door handle, stroking it lazily before you stepped further into the room so that the door could swing shut, blocking the cold air from entering anymore.

Albie’s brows twitched, lips pursing and brain racking itself to try and think of who in their right mind would send you this way. “I think you may have misunderstood them.” He lifted his hand to his face and brushed his fingers along his cheek slowly. “What are you looking for?”

Your eyes roamed the length of the room briefly, shying away only slightly beneath all of the gazes that remained locked on you.

“It’s not what.. but who..” You looked back toward Albie. “I was told this certain person worked here.” You whispered. “or stayed here or something.” Albie watched the way you fidgeted. It must’ve taken a lot of courage to come and find whoever it was you were seeking. “I’m looking for Ron Kray.”

Reggie. Reggie was the one that every man in the room had assumed you were looking for — but why then hadn’t you said anything to him. He was stood, visibly, off to your right, tucked away behind the counter, smoking a cigarette. His eyes were low, latched on the receipts that bordered the counter but when you said his brother’s name, he looked toward you in confusion. As did every other man.

No woman had ever come to find, visit, or speak to Ron, so Reggie was immediately on guard. He placed his hand on the counter, ready to do some inquiries, but his brother beat him to it.

Ron was sat in the booth in the corner, eyes low as he rummaged through the box on the table. He rested in a cloud of smoke, oblivious to your intrusion and truthfully careless. Your voice was pleasing to his ears, but still he made no movement to look toward you — not until you’d said his name. He peered over the rim of his glasses, lines marking the length of his forehead as he scanned your unfamiliar face. He narrowed his eyes alongside his brother before standing to reveal himself. Your eyes instantly moved to him, lips vanishing as you pulled them in and bit them. You smiled shyly toward the bloke in the corner, hidden by the mass of men.

“Bunch of fucking nonsense.” He uttered toward the mess on the table which was beginning to agitate him. He closed the lid of the box in front of him before waving his hand toward the boys perched at his side, ushering for them to get out of his way so that he could climb out from behind the table and move toward you. “Yeah?” He lifted his fingers to the rim of his glasses, adjusting the frame as it sat on the bridge of his nose. “What is it?” He didn’t stop in his approach until he was stood by the bar, in front of his brother. He clearly didn’t recognize you, you decided, so your initial plan to come in here and thank him for helping you out felt silly to do now. Nevertheless, you’d worked up a lot of courage to come here and do what you planned to do, so you swallowed down the nerves that built in your tummy and wiggled up your throat.

Reggie was just as alert as Ron. He watched your every movement. Just because you looked sweet and innocent, didn’t mean you were. You could pull a gun or even a knife and target his brother before either of them knew what was happening — so as you moved toward his brother, he made sure to watch every little twitch of your fingers. Nobody in the room could’ve guessed what was happening. Not a single man in the room, leaning against tabletops and walls, smoking, drinking, and studying you. Not Reggie. Not Albie. Not even Ron. The heels of your boots clicked softly against the floor, silencing when you came to a stop directly in front of him.

His eyes dropped south, settling on your own as he towered above you significantly. His brown hair was slicked back in a similar fashion to his brother’s. His lips were parted, heavy breaths escaping the small space as he watched you. He feared the same as his brother. You’d been sent by the Richardson’s. You were the perfect distraction. Ron was fixated on you. Unable to look away. You were beginning to look oddly familiar to him but he couldn’t pinpoint where he knew you from.

You lifted yourself up on to your tiptoes and before any man in the room could register what was happening, you cupped Ron’s cheeks in your small palms and drew him toward you for a very soft kiss. Reggie’s eyes widened, doubling in size as he watched the scene play out. He distanced just a little, straightening behind the counter as he watched your fingers trace his brother’s cheeks as they made their way toward the back of his hair.

Albie had never seen Ron kiss a girl. Nor had Reggie. So this scene was completely new to them. Teddy was stiff in his seat, rubbing his teeth together as he plotted multiple ways to hurt you. But he remained still, hands locking together on top of the table as he fiddled lazily with them.

Ron was unmoving beneath your lips, confused. His hands had subconsciously lifted, ready to move to your hips and draw you in just a little closer, but instead, they hovered in place, twitching because he really had no idea what was going on. He wasn’t exactly kissing you back, but he couldn’t help the way his mouth responded now and then to your own very gentle one.

Your small fingers curled in the back of his hair, holding him in place. You didn’t care who watched, what they thought, or how confused everyone was. Ron had done you the biggest favor in the entire world a few days ago and it didn’t matter to you if he didn’t remember it. The want to show him how grateful you were, because he’d rescued your dumb dog, was strong. You let out a very soft hum before beginning to pull back, but it was when your hands fell to his shoulders that he finally began to kiss you. You were stunned by the action, a bit taken aback, but you let it play out, neither of you focused on the surrounding men who watched.

Reggie looked to Albie before tonguing his cheek and folding his arms. “Alright, mate.” He leaned forward and pat his brother’s shoulder. “Alright, alright,” Ron growled out lightly. The bloke broke away from your lips reluctantly before staring down at you with the same confused expression he’d been wearing prior to the kiss.

“You don’t remember me.” You said softly, shyly. Your hands wrapped around one another, clasping securely together as you shifted in front of him. “But you.. helped me significantly the other day and I haven’t been able to get you out of my head.” You tried to keep your voice quiet so that the conversation was private. “I wanted to thank you properly and I suppose.. this was the best way i could think of.” The little giggle that accompanied your explanation made Ron straighten. He didn’t like how ticklish he felt. His heart was thumping just a little quicker from how admirable your actions were and how cute you were being. He looked away.

It was rush hour. The streets were packed full of honking cars and speeding drivers. Ron was headed down the crowded sidewalk with his hands shoved deeply into the pockets of his trousers. His eyes were glued to the pavement, glasses sliding centimeter by centimeter down the bridge of his nose the longer that he walked. He’d wait until it had hit halfway before he’d knock them back up and into their rightful place. Ron came to a stop at the busy intersection where he needed to cross. His deep, seemingly dark and mean gaze lifted to the street across from him at the sound of shouting.

“Grab him!” You bellowed pleadingly to anyone who would listen. “Brutus!” You cried out when the pup continued to run far ahead of you. His leash was dragging against the ground, ears flopping and tongue hanging out of his mouth as he happily raced along the street freely. Your eyes were growing watery as the worry flooded your stomach. This stupid dog meant everything to you and you wouldn’t be able to bare it if anything ever happened to him. All the passerby’s took steps back, avoiding the big mutt, despite your pleas for someone to help you out. He was a pit bull. Nobody was going to touch him.

Ron stepped forward, narrowing his eyes toward the scene. He could see your distressed face as you ran as fast as you could. His eyes drifted to the dog and then the cars that raced by unknowingly. He stepped forward, brows drawing together in concern before he looked to the left and then the right. He was much smarter than a dog was, so with an intense amount of focus, he crossed the road, weaving through the speeding vehicles. People blew their horns and shouted out the window at him, wondering why he was being so foolish, but they didn’t see the animal that was inevitably going to be hit. Ron made it to the sidewalk with just a sliver of a second. He grasped the leash with just enough time and hauled the pup back.

“Easy boy. Sit.” He ground out before squatting down. Forcing the pup to sit on the sidewalk, he wrapped the leash around his hand before looking toward you. The appreciation that radiated off of you made him puff his chest out.

“Oh my god... Brutus,” You panted out before coming to an abrupt halt in front of the man. Your chest heaved and your heavy breaths made Ron have to strain his ears to hear you clearly. “I.. I’m.. thank you so much.” You whimpered out before taking the rope from him when he handed it over to you. Ron nodded once toward you with a flicker of a smile before he looked down at the dog.

“Big dog, yeah, be careful. It’s you who he’ll be dragging out into the street.” His hand moved to your shoulder briefly before he brushed past you. “Have a good day.” His voice was deep, husky, and low. You clutched on to your pup desperately before slowly taking a small step back and away from the street. Watching your savior go, you led your dog back down the length of the sidewalk and toward your home.

You’d spend the remainder of the day asking surrounding people if they recognized the man. It took no time at all before someone told you that that was none other than Ron Kray. A very dangerous man, they’d warned. But you couldn’t find it in yourself to care.. he’d been awfully kind in helping you out.

“The lass with the dog.” He murmured out before squinting. “I remember you, yeah, and your hard-headed mutt.” He looked toward Reggie. “Reg, this is the owner of the dog I was tellin’ you about the other day. Right, fucking thing nearly killed himself breaking free from her and running toward the road.” Ron rubbed his lips together savoring the warmth and taste of your lips on his own. He cleared his throat quietly, ogling his brother.

A wave of realization washed over Reggie and it was then that he looked toward you. He let out a soft hum before nodding his head and looking back toward his brother. What a hero. Perfect timing was what Reggie had to say about that. He shook his head at the now amusing situation before shrinking back to give the pair of you just a little bit of space.

“Well, thanks to you.. he’s doing just fine. You.. basically risked your life to save his, crossing the street when it was busy like that.” You lifted your hand to your hair before brushing the strands away from your eyes and shrinking back momentarily. “I was wondering if.. um.. youre not too busy, maybe you’d want to go for dinner sometime?”

This was how people met wasn’t it? The lonely gentleman on the corner of the street assisting the struggling girl with the dog twice her size. That was a setup for some sort of relationship. You sent him a small smile, one that told him you completely understood if he didn’t want to go. Every man in the room was sure the twin would turn you down. He had a preference for boys — and you, most certainly, were not a boy.

“I..” It was silent before he lifted his hand to his jaw and scratched the length of it. “yeah, alright.” He didn’t really want to say no, which he found instantly odd. He’d never met a girl he was interested in, but one that was brave enough to saunter into a room full of men and kiss him as a way of saying thank you, he didn’t exactly want to pass this up. You were awfully attractive, you had a very sweet voice, a kind smile, and he figured there was no loss in going on a date.

The light that lit up in your eyes made him forcefully bite back his smile. You looked so happy. He was baffled by how something so small as a date could make your day as it seemingly did, but he didn’t question it. Nor was he complaining. You bit your lips before shrinking back and away from him, further and further until your back had hit the door.

“Tonight?” Your head tipped to the side. “Your club?” Your eyes drifted to Reggie, soft smile passing over your lips. “Your club.” The twins shared a look and then an almost invisible smile before Ron nodded in the slightest. “Right, then, I’ll see you tonight.” He chewed his cheek before turning on his heel and retreating back over to the counter. The bell sounded, signaling your retreat.

“Mate. Ask her where she’s coming from. You don’t want her walking all the way to the club on her own.” Reggie frowned before pointing toward the door.

Ron looked toward his brother before cocking a slow brow. He let out a low grumble of stupidity because he was actually quite, unknowingly, careless when it came to certain things. He turned on his heel before rushing toward the exit. The door opened swiftly and he stepped out with a hurried call for you to stop.

“Oi.” You hadn’t made it far. “Let me.. pick you up tonight, yeah, it’ll be too late for you to be out so late, you know, on your own.” You, having turned around when his deep voice filled the air, studied him, small hands resting on your hips.

A little nod of understanding was passed his way before you pointed to the tall buildings across the street. “I stay here.” A little grin stained your lips. It wasn’t far at all from the club, but he’d be there nevertheless. “And my name’s Y/n.” You told him quietly, eyes gliding between his own as he studied you.

“Right then. Y/n.” He tested it. “I’ll see you at 8?” His tongue traced his lips before he reached for the door behind him. Lugging it open, he hovered in the door, watching intently as you waved goodbye before climbing the steep stairs up to the apartments. He waited until you’d gone inside before he moved back into the tall building and looked toward Reggie. The men shared a lingering look before Ron made his way back toward the booth in the corner, smile staining the corners of his lips.

He had a date.

———————————————————————

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[shamera]

I know it’s been awhile, but I’d like to offer a plot bunny for your thinking pleasure to the part of you that still loves FF13: Hope Estheim as Jojo Rabbit

I literally just watched the movie after I got this and the parallels are FANTASTIC I LOVE IT THANK YOU and there is at all times a large part of me that loves FFXIII and Hope is my number one baebhu. XD

Hope never considered himself the bravest child in his class, but he also never thought of himself a coward. Uninterested in what others deemed fascinating, maybe, smart enough to know when to run away, maybe... But when the noises started in his home and it was only him and his mom for the week since dad had to leave for a trip to Eden... 

Well. He first suspected ghosts. Then critters, maybe, although that was absurd in Felix Heights and he was outraged by his own theories because despite his mom’s interest in strangely grown foods, she was fastidious and he wasn’t raised to be an untidy child-- there was no way that any critters would survive in the steel walls of their home. Thus armed with a free afternoon, a flashlight, and a recording device in case they did have to call animal control because Hope wasn’t dumb enough to try and tackle this on his own when he knew next to nothing of what could be in his walls (if lucky, it was just incorrectly placed pipes), he made it a mission to investigate the noises around his home. 

What he didn’t expect, crouched down on all fours and frowning at lines near the wall like the scraping of furniture, was for the wall to open up and for a woman to dart out like lightning, fast and strong as she scooped him up in one fluid motion to bind his arms and cover his mouth before he could even think of shouting in alarm.

His little recorder fell to the ground with a clatter as his legs dangled.

“Fang!” A pitched, feminine voice protested as Hope tried to scream against the hand cupped firmly against his face. “Fang, stop!”

It wasn’t just one-- but two-- women who darted out from the darkness where the wall opened up, both dressed in strange clothing. He couldn’t see the one holding him tightly with one arm locked around his arms and torso and the other covering his mouth (and nose) smelling of dust and earth, but he could clearly see the other, who looked thin and young with wide green eyes and sallow skin as if she hadn’t seen the sun in weeks. 

“Don’t hurt him,” the girl said, arms up in a calming gesture, “let’s just let him go, okay?”

“Not now he’s seen us,” was the tone of an older woman behind him, the one holding him so tightly he could barely struggle enough to kick. The voice was strange, the accent was strange, and their very persons inspired a spike of fear in him that was more than the fact that they were strangers in his home, holding him hostage. “Shouldn’t have been rummaging around, this one. Everything would have been fine had you run along outside the house to play with your little friends.”

Hope could barely manage a choked off noise at a pitch he would have been embarrassed by any other day. They--!

“He’s just a kid,” the younger girl said mournfully. “He doesn’t have anything to do with this.”

“Yeah? Well, kids grow up and then suddenly they’re the enemy between one day and the next. They’re all like that here.”

“Not everyone.” The girl said quietly, and they must have shared a look that Hope wasn’t privy to before after a very tense minute where Hope was sure that he was going to be killed via having his neck snapped by the steel arms trapping him, he was finally set back on his feet again. 

Only to collapse as his nerves refused to cooperate with him. 

The girl who spoke up for him knelt on the ground before him, smiling tentatively as Hope shook and tried to push himself away from her, only to hit the unforgiving wall. 

“Hey there,” she said gently, as if speaking to a scared animal, “you’re Hope, right? I’m Vanille. You don’t have to be scared.”

Enemy, the woman (Fang) said. 

“You’re from Pulse,” he blurted out, brain misfiring in his shock and fear. He could see the girl before him flinch slightly, but barely registered it as his mind raced with panic because how how how the war was supposed to be so far away! The latest information said that they suspected there were spies in Bodhum, but even that was distant to him and how could anyone have reached Palumpolum? 

Pulse was hell, the textbooks wrote. Filled with monsters and death, and the people who resided there beastly and gruesome in order to survive the world below them. Those from Pulse were raging war on Cocoon because they wanted the floating planet for themselves, because Cocoon was peace and oasis and protection, and they didn’t care that there were already people who lived there who wouldn’t be able to survive the brutal fires of Pulse. 

“Yeah, and what of it?” The voice above him challenged, and Hope jerked his head up to look at the woman looming over him, a deep frown above crossed arms. “You got a problem with that, kid?”

If he had proper survival instincts, Hope would have shook his head and gotten the hell out of dodge, but somehow a few wires must have gotten crossed because instead he snapped back from where he was still shaking on the ground, “You’re not allowed to be here! The Sanctum will find you!”

Because even if his dad wasn’t a Sanctum soldier, Bartholomew Estheim worked (peripherally) for the Sanctum, and he’s bound to find out about this situation, and Hope was really regretting the fact that he didn’t carry his boomerang on his person at all times because he was at home and his mom had laughed at him and pinched his cheeks when he mentioned how he should have a weapon at all times because of the war with Pulse-- she sunk her knuckles into his hair at the insinuation that she couldn’t protect her own son until Hope yelped and relented to only keep his pouch on him when he left the house. 

“Yeah?” In one quick movement that had Hope scrambling back until his knees were pulled to his chest in a futile effort to avoid the older woman because enemy enemy and threat as she grinned full of teeth, “guess what, then?”

“We’re allowed,” the younger-- Vanille-- interrupted, drawing Hope’s attention up to her even as he darted his eyes to her (too close!) companion, his heart racing a mile a minute. Vanille looked less threatening, and she was smiling apologetically at him. “Your mom let us in. So we’re not intruders.”

(”And why, pray tell,” Nora Estheim said with one arm over Hope’s shoulders as she tugged on his ear playfully and he made disgruntled noises and tried to lean away from her, “would you need a weapon at home? You know how I feel about this whole war, Hope. I don’t want any reminders at the dinner table, you hear me? None of your toys!”)

“And besides,” Vanille continued, leaning down slightly so that Hope was crowded by the both of them with no way to escape. She sounded a little regretful, adding before Hope could process the idea that his mom knew about this, knew that there were enemies hiding in the house and specifically told him not to carry anything that might help him fight back-- Vanille was pointing to her companion’s shoulder, and Hope followed her finger to see a seared white mess of lines on tanned skin. “We’re marked, you know.”

l’Cie. Whatever panic was running through his veins earlier was nothing to the blind terror behind his eyes now.

“You can’t tell on us,” the younger girl told him, and suddenly she was even scarier than Fang’s sharp smile. “If you do, then your Sanctum won’t just take us away, they’ll purge your whole family, too. Maybe your whole city. And that’s all your friends, isn’t it?”

Pulse, Hope thought through the thick haze of frenzied thoughts, was hell. Pulse l’Cie were even worse. 

Vanille was crouched in front of him now, looking demure and guileless as she rested her chin in her hands and attempted a strained smile. 

“So I’m afraid you’re gunna have to help hide us now too, Mr. Hope Estheim!”