#imagine these idiots getting their hands on some oil goddamn

[ghost-proofbaby]

I love the idea of Eddie having an especially grueling day at work his friend (they have mutual feelings but nothing has been said) offers to give him a massage. Eddie is genuinely grateful but also vv flustered by the end!!

listen. LISTEN. i know this got out of hand. i know i said these were going to stay short n sweet. i know what i said and promised. but. listen. you can't hand me a prompt that is just so delicious, with so much potential to sprinkle in a light dusting of angst, and to give me the chance to garnish with a beautiful open ending full of promise, and not expect a monster of a product to come from it. you just can't. i'm sorry. i hope you enjoy this, regardless. even if it's not quite bite-sized.

warnings: seemingly unrequited love that turns into clearly idiots in love. eddie gets shirtless. that's all.

wc: 4.4k+ yikes

It had started off as an innocent, well-intentioned offer. You swear it did. 

When Eddie had called you right after pulling a double at the garage, begging to come over and simply relax at your apartment, you’d set up to allow him to do just that. You’d cleaned up a little bit, lit a candle that normally gave you a headache if it burned too long but that Eddie loved, prepped a selection of movies for him to choose from, pulled out the menu for your favorite take-out – you’d gone the whole nine yards for your best friend. 

Someone might even point out it wasn’t just best friend behavior at this point. Steve and Robin alike had certainly called out your behavior at times, coining it as “girlfriend behavior on a best friend salary”.

You didn’t care. You were well aware of what you were doing, and you didn’t care. 

You’d spend the rest of your life on the best friend salary, as the two dinguses had so lovingly called it, for the look of sheer peace on Eddie’s face right now. 

He’s leaning back on the opposite end of your couch from you, knees spread and chin facing the ceiling as he sighs in bliss. Take-out containers are scattered about the coffee table, and his movie of choice of Return of the Jedi is about halfway over on your TV. 

You both had already chosen a second movie – The Lost Boys. The plans for the night were set in stone.

You tuck both knees up beneath your chin, side-glancing your best friend for a second and ignoring the flutter of your chest as you watch him sink deeper into the cushions, “We can talk about it, y’know.” 

“Hm?” 

“Your day,” you adjust a bit, turning your body to face him fully, “If you wanna talk about it, I’m all ears. We’ve already seen enough Jabba the Hutt to last a lifetime.”

That earns a smile from him, slowly crackling over his cheeks as he rolls his head towards you, “I dunno. Is there such thing as enough Jabba the Hutt?” 

You toss a piece of your sour watermelon candy at him, and despite it landing on his shirt, he still grabs it to pop it into his mouth. 

You try not to think too hard about how that shirt had been sitting in your drawers, clean and neatly folded, occupying space as if that might be normal. As if everyone has some of their best friend’s clothes at their apartment that they can change into after a long day at work. 

As if everyone has occasionally used said shirt as pajamas on nights they particularly miss the scent of their best friend’s cologne.

“Shut up,” you finally snicker, dropping your knees from your chin, sitting criss-cross now, “We don’t have to talk about your day if you don’t feel like it. By all means, if you wanna keep drooling over an alien slug, be my guest-”

At your teasing, Eddie moves quickly to grab one of your ankles, pulling your feet towards his lap before you can register what he’s doing. You gasp a little, and it’s definitely not because of the feeling of his warm palms wrapped around your bare skin. Totally not at the rush of warmth that travels up your body, head to toe, when you feel his rings pressing into you so eagerly. 

Absolutely not. You gasp, because anybody would gasp in this scenario. Because you’re just best friends. And best friends do stuff like that. 

“I am not drooling over a slug,” he chastises, grinning recklessly as he wiggles his fingers menacingly, mere inches from the bottom of your foot, “Take it back, or pay the price, baby.” 

Has he ever called you baby before? 

Certainly not, if your roaring heart has anything to say about it. 

“Don’t you dare,” you squeal – genuinely squeal – as you try and tug your legs out of his grasp. It’s a useless effort; he’s too strong, even after his long day, and your body isn’t even sure if it approves of taking his hands off of you. “Edward Munson, I swear to God-” 

It’s a mess of flailing limbs, painful laughter, and high-pitched screams from there. Squeaks from your own mouth, and a few from Eddie, mocking you all in good fun as he continues to persist for you to take it back. For just a moment, it feels like this is the normal – you’re living in a space where Eddie comes home from every day, grueling or effortless, to you. Where the two of you always end up on the couch together, bodies touching in any way they can. Where there’s always background noise on the TV as his focus is solely on you, smiling foolishly at his antics that were really just a simple effort to hear your laughter. Where your laughter is the only thing he really wants to hear at the end of the night, and it’s the greatest thing he’s ever heard. 

A world where he tells you as much. 

A world where after this, he’s reaching the knob of your shared bedroom door rather than the front door of your lonesome apartment. 

A world where you aren’t existing on a best friend salary.

“Had enough yet, sweetheart?” he quips, just as breathless as you are from the struggle. This time, the nickname he uses is normal. It took you off guard during the first few months of friendship, but now? Your weary heart could handle it, cherish it even, and not let your stupid little crush get in the way of appreciating it. “All you have to say are the magic words.” 

“Are the magic words, you’re a dickhead?”

“Hm,” he pretends to ponder thoughtfully for just a second before shaking his hand, “‘Fraid not. Try again?” 

Instead of verbally replying, you give him a gentle kick in the stomach. Not the magic words he had in mind, but they sure do the trick. 

He lets out a soft oomph, one arm cradling his midsection as though you actually hurt him. You take it as your cue to remove your legs – his dramatics quickly come to a halt to prevent just that.

It’s probably meant to be subtle, the way both his arms fall down over your calves and keep your feet in his lap, but it has the capability to implode your entire world. 

“I can’t believe you’re being mean to me after the day I’ve had,” he whines, and all you can focus on is the way his thumb is rhythmically stroking the ball of your ankle now, “Me, your best friend, has had the most awful day and you-”

“Now you wanna talk about it?” you laugh a little, rolling your eyes at him.

“Absolutely.” 

“After you’ve just tortured me?” 

“Well, yeah. When else would I talk about it?” 

“I’m rescinding my offer to listen,” you continue to joke, making one more good faith offer to slip your legs from his lap. And, once more, he won’t allow it. 

He whines out a long, drawn out no, starting to lay his entire body across your legs this time. More direct, more to the point. Subtleties have been forgotten, you suppose. 

You don’t know if it’s more for you, or for him. You just know you like it. You like existing within a sneak preview of a girlfriend salary.

“You never answered me, drama queen,” you murmur as the joking lean across your legs becomes a bit more heavy, and Eddie is more genuinely collapsing his figure into your lap. He doesn’t even have to ask, or gesture – your fingers find home within his hair, and you can feel his hum of content against your thigh as you scratch along his scalp, “Do you wanna talk about it?”

All joking pretenses slip away from him as he mumbles out a muffled, “Not really.”

And you can work with that. You swear, you can. 

If you’d been so ready to lend a listening ear, then you can offer him this peace and quiet. A simple head massage as he leans into you, cheeks pressed to the top of your thigh as you think he returns to watching Return of the Jedi. 

His eyes might be closed, if his heavy breaths are anything to go off of. You’re just not sure. 

You just keep up your massage, sluggish strokes, clement scratches, deep breaths to match his own- 

And then, an idea hits you.

“Eds,” you whisper, your hand in his hair traveling to his shoulders, shaking him a bit, “Eddie.”

Only a grunt in response.

“Eddie, seriously, get up,��� you stress, overeager, “I have an idea.”

“The apartment better be on fire,” he grumbles as he finally raises his head, face imprinted with the lines of your shorts in rolling hills of soft indents. 

Definitely was sleeping. Definitely wasn’t watching Star Wars. 

But even with his shoulders wrapped with dreary slumber, you’re still excited about your idea, motioning him to sit up fully. You let him take his time, of course, only after he swats your hands away sluggishly a few times. 

Once his back is straight, you lift one finger in the air, and draw a circle – motioning for him to turn his back to you without saying a word. 

His eyes narrow to slits at you, “Are you about to pull a prank on me? Because-”

“I’m not,” you assure him, reaching for his shoulders, nearly turning him yourself, “Scout’s honor.” 

He listens to you. Despite it all, despite his seeming mistrust, he turns his back to you. More specifically, he turns his shoulders to you. 

He’s still mumbling on about how you better not make his day worse, getting a little bit snappier when you gather his hair up to lay out of your way and claiming his scalp was extra sensitive today.

You pay his attitude no mind. He’s just grumpy. It doesn’t particularly phase you after years of close friendship.

“Listen, I know you like braiding my hair, but-” he continues with his protests as you grin behind him, shaking your head as you settle yourself closer to him. Knees bumping his hips, back straight for the time being. “I’d rather just nap right now. And I was really comfy, and really getting my rocks off to that damn alien slug-” 

All his words cut off when you finally put your plan into action. Your palms fall atop his shoulders, fingers curling around the tense skin, and he’s melting before you’ve even begun. 

“I- Oh,” he jumps a little at the first squeeze, but quickly returns to being pliant in your hold, “Oh… That’s…. That’s nice.” 

You continue your massage, gently squeezing, thumbs and fingers digging into any knots you find to work them away as you jeer, “Is it now?”

He nods, the smallest of movements as to not interrupt your work, “It is. ‘S real nice.” 

His head rolls with each pinch of your fingers, posture loosening as he leans back into your touch further. 

You take it a step further, biting back nerves when you slip your hands beneath the collar of his old t-shirt. You feel the shiver begin before it races down his spine at the press of your skin directly on his now. 

Your warm hands work dutifully, determined to bring as much relaxation to your best friend as possible. Definitely not enjoying yourself a bit too much at his smooth skin under your palms. Definitely not enjoying yourself just as much as he is. Certainly not. 

The shirt constricts you, though. Prevents your hands from traveling fully over sore spots you can feel the edges of. Catching your wrists, limiting the full potential of your movements. 

You’re glad he can’t see you as you suddenly request, “Take your shirt off.” 

“Hm?” he can’t form a proper word at first, not startled but simply sunken too deep in his relaxation, “What was that?” 

“I need your shirt off, Munson.” 

You try to sound brave, nonchalant, as you repeat yourself. You don’t want him to hear the fluttering of your heart – you don’t want him to hear the shake of your hands as you remove them from him.

You only want him to hear the totally reasonable request from a friend, who is simply trying to offer the best massage possible to their best friend who’s had a bad day. 

“Oh?” he looks over his shoulder, and you can see the edges of his raised brows through messy bangs, “Damn, sweetheart. If you wanted me naked, you just had to ask.” 

Can ribs break from a heart beating too fast? Is that even possible? 

“I did ask,” your voice is flat as a trade off to avoid any quivering to filtrate it, lips pressing tightly together as you swallow your heart, “So get to it.”

He leans forward, putting a bit of distance between you two before he reaches back to grab the center of his shirt. The fabric comes off with a flourish, and all you’re left face to face with is the bare expanse of his back.

You silently beg him not to look back over his shoulder, if only for just a second. 

You’ve seen Eddie shirtless plenty of times. At pool parties with the entire group, on rare lake days that always ended sun drunk and giddy, that one time he’d answered his door right after a quick shower and you’d seen a lot more than you’d bargained for. He was your friend. After a while, it would have been weirder to not have seen Eddie shirtless at least once. 

Something about this time feels different. 

He has freckles – not nearly as much as Steve or Robin, but they still exist. Small markings across skin glowing warmly in the dim light of your living room lamp, spattered without rhyme or reason. One on the back of his left shoulder, another slightly off-centered at the base of his neck. He has a light scar towards the bottom of his right shoulder blade – a memory from his childhood he told you once when you’d first seen it at the lake. Everyone else was out splashing about the ten-degrees-too-cool water, and he’d joined your side on the shore. Laid on his stomach as you laid on your back, offering you conversation in the form of stories about every blemish across his skin. The intentional tattoos, the unintentional scars. Everything. 

Even that day doesn’t quite compare to the intimacy of him being here now, being shirtless in your apartment, just the two of you. 

Maybe there was something extra in your coffee this morning, making you feel so delusional. 

“I don’t have any lotion or oils,” you finally clear your throat, trying to joke about as the two of you had been before, “But that doesn’t matter. You ready for the best damn massage of your life, Munson?” 

“Yes, please,” he groans, and something deep in your stomach clenches at the sound, “Want me to lay down or something?” 

Your brain short-circuits for a second, because you know where that leads. 

If he lays down, there’s only one way to continue to comfortably give him the massage. If he lays down, you’re about to bite off more than you could chew on a best friend salary. 

“Sure,” you choke out, damning yourself in the process. 

It’s all robotic mechanics as you two shift to assume the position; you stand up, and he sprawls out. And you swear, in the process, you catch a smothering of pink slow creeping across his chest and neck. 

“Can I…” you start to question, finally growing a bit shy as you stare down at the dip of his lower back. Two dimples on either side of his spine, looking so inviting and yet daunting. 

He finishes the sentence for you, saving you the embarrassment, “Sit on me? Yeah, go for it, babe.” 

There it is again. An unfamiliar nickname that falls so effortlessly off the lips for him. Another pet name to send you into a tailspin as your breath catches and your heart races, as though needing to catch up after the fleeting endearment.

“Thanks,” you whisper out. 

You’re starting to regret all your choices, but it’s too late to back down now. You just want to help him relax – that’s all this is. 

Stop making this more than it is. 

You’re exceptionally careful as you crawl over Eddie, placing a knee on either side of him, hovering for just a second as you take deep breaths to hype yourself up to do the inevitable. 

He twists a bit, startling you enough for you to balance yourself with a palm on each shoulder blade, “C’mon now, you’re not going to crush me. You should know this by now,” his eyes glitter, and you know he’s referring to that time you two made a bet he couldn’t carry you bridal style while drunk. He could, “Sit your pretty ass down and get to work, Masseuse.” 

You weren’t imagining the pink across his chest and neck. It’s climbed up now, tendrils tickling his cheeks. The bridge of his nose nearly looks sunburnt from this angle. 

It’s a good look on him. 

“Masseuse?” you snort as you shove him to be fully laying down once more, needing to get his eyes off of you for just a second, “That’s an awfully big word. You been reading without me or something? Becoming a secret genius?” 

Fall back into the normal flow of things. Try not to think about the heat of him between your legs as you sit half your weight down. 

“That is not a big word,” he chides. 

“Spell it, then.” 

“I-” he cuts off as your hands smooth back over his skin, no more restrictions. 

He never finishes his sentence, never complies with your request. All that falls from his lips are soft sighs as you begin the massage again. 

There’s an occasional twitch below his muscles as you knead away, slowly but surely becoming more comfortable with it all. Becoming more mesmerized as you can now see his skin moving with you, occasionally letting up when you skirt past freckles and scars alike, fingertips merely tracing them as he shivers under your delicate touch. 

You do exactly as you set out to do – you relax him. And then some.

You’ve never really gotten into the art of massages, something about it always feeling a bit too intimate. You’d never consider yourself a professional at it by any means – if anything, you’ve been on the receiving end rather than the giving end more often than not. And even those occurrences were rare. 

But when it came to Eddie, it seemingly came naturally. 

Not all of your movements are conventional. You pass back and forth between the usual squeezes of skin you’ve witnessed on TV and from others, and gentle tracing of your fingertips. Drawing shapes, painting pictures that vanish without ever having existed in the first place. Words, sentences, secret messages for just you two. 

When you trace out the endearment of idiot, Eddie seems to catch on, lazy grin peeking up past his curtain of hair covering the cheek almost facing you. 

In another place, where you make that coveted girlfriend salary, you’d trace out three little words on the tip of your tongue. 

You almost do it, too. It’s when you trace out idiot, in fact. You start, entirely subconsciously, with the i. A long pause, a space between words. 

And then you trace an l. One long line down the center of his spine. 

Your finger is already rotating for the o, ready to trace it in the center as the other two letters had been, a signalling it wasn’t a part of that last simple line. 

And then you divert. And you rush to finish out with the i, the o, the t. He laughs a little, the rush of air felt below you as he lets it out soundlessly, and you catch sight of his smile.

A seeming endearment to Eddie, a hidden scolding for yourself. 

Maybe one day you can find the nerve to properly trace it out – or better yet, say it. Speak your truth outloud and handle whatever consequences come from it. Because you do – you really, really do mean it – and those feelings for Eddie can’t seem to change. Something carved into your very soul, unchanging as the years pass. If anything, the carving only digs deeper into you with each month you spend with him. 

One day. But not today, not when Eddie’s had a bad day. It should be a good day when you say it, lessening the blow of rejection, hopefully. 

You almost lose your balance a few times. Each time having to adjust your position of sitting on him, shifting his hips right along with yours. And each time, you notice the catch in his sighs. The way they almost transform into moans, tense noises that seemingly tear from his throat, only dampened by poor attempts to conceal them. Even the back of his neck has grown flushed now, the tips of his ears vibrant when you see them poke through his hair. 

Sometimes, you lose your balance from his shifting, even. 

The air is sticky with tension as you finally finish up. It could have been ten minutes, it could have been an hour – you weren’t keeping score, more focused on continuing on until Eddie’s entire body has gone boneless beneath you. 

Pretty, and pink, and pliant. Entirely slackened beneath your touches. 

It takes more to encourage yourself to climb off of him than it did to climb on originally. Your body protests entirely, knees not caring for the ache forming, inner thighs happy to be bracketing his hips. But you do it. Because you’re just a friend, a best friend, helping your friend relax. 

You stand, towering over him, looking down to find him hiding his face just a bit. “Well?” 

“Well, what?” his voice is entirely muffled by his mouthful of couch cushion, and you furrow your brows. 

“How was it?” 

He lifts his face strategically. He probably hopes you don’t notice, but you do, “Oh! Oh, it was, uh- It was fucking great, sweetheart. I… I swear, your hands are fucking magic.” 

Why is he tripping over his words like that? 

He can’t even look you in the eyes, line of sight darting anywhere but you.

Why is he flushed, head to toe? 

“Yeah?” you cross your arms, and subtly lean to block the TV now displaying credits that Eddie found terribly interesting, “Would you consider it the best massage you’ve ever had?” 

He nods, and you catch the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows before squeaking out, “Oh, yeah! The absolute best I’ve ever had,” his eyes widen at his words, as if he’s made a terrible choice that you’re unaware of, “I mean, you know, I just- you should really consider becoming an actual masseuse.”

That’s when it hits you; Eddie is absolutely refusing to sit up. To remove his hips from your couch. 

He’s blushing, and he’s stuttering, and he’s definitely hiding something. 

There’s a twist in your gut that you can’t reveal. A satisfaction you know better than to celebrate right now. 

Instead, you decide to play with him just a little bit more. 

“Good,” you nod, stepping towards the end of the couch you’d originally occupied. Where Eddie’s knees are stiff against. “Maybe I will consider a career change. But for now – move, Munson. I’m just exhausted.” 

“What?” he looks at you, frightened, only moving his neck to keep his hips flush and hidden away. 

“Get your legs out of my seat,” you laugh a little, leveling him with a daring stare. 

You know what he’s hiding. You’re a bit proud of it, too. 

“Oh, yeah,” he says slowly, and you can see him going over his options in his head. A million excuses he’s probably conjuring, a hundred different escape plans he’s grasping at. “Yeah, of course.” 

And, just as you’d suspected, he doesn’t go with a single one to save his dignity. 

He moves quickly. Tucking his legs up and twisting himself into an upright position in the blink of an eye, and immediately grabbing one of your throw pillows that two of you had tossed off into the floor amidst the original movie night plans. 

He’s fast, you’ll give him that. But not fast enough for you to not catch sight of the tent in his pants. 

You don’t let your eyes linger too long. Swallow down any drooling threatening to begin. Tamper down any desire flaring in your chest and between your hips. 

Best friend salary, you remind yourself even as you grin a tad bit too salaciously for your current cover. Best friend salary, not girlfriend salary. 

You plop down on the seat still warm from Eddie’s legs, sinking back in self-satisfaction. Maybe you had been wrong. Maybe it doesn’t have to be another time, or place, or Universe to get what you want. Maybe all your delusion, that wild imagination of yours, wasn’t so misplaced after all. 

Best friend salary, your mind whispers. For now.

Eddie makes himself comfortable right along with you, still seeming in a much better condition than when he’d first arrived, even if his cheeks had bloomed into a rose garden. He presses that throw pillow of yours protectively over his crotch, and once more focuses on the screen in front of you two. 

“Say, Eddie,” you drawl, almost radiant with your grin. A fire now lit inside both of you. “Think you could be a doll and pop in the next movie for me?” 

It’s a little evil, you’ll admit. But he kind of deserves it for underpaying you over the years, when it’s so clear you’re due for a promotion. Sometime soon, you hope. 

Both your heads turn to each other at the same time, wildly different speeds. Eddie’s neck snaps in disbelief, while you take your time to make eye contact.

All it takes is one knowing look exchanged, and the illusion fumbles on its stilts. 

“I…” his embarrassment, all that flush, slowly morphs as he catches the truth behind your intentions. The hand pressing down on the throw pillow alleviates just a bit, stiff shoulders relaxing as they should have been after your massage as he reflects back just as evil of a glint in his eyes as you had, “Sure thing, baby.”

It’s probably going to be a long night. Surely, the promotion of best friend to girlfriend is going to involve some paperwork. Or an interview, to prove your capability and experience first hand, of course.

But, well, he never did put his shirt back on, did he?

[chixkencxrry]

Give In

Pairings: Loki x Fem! Reader

Summary: You have been hiding from him for the past six months, determined to not be shackled by his dangerously possessive nature you went through extreme lengths to sever ties with him – including breaking a piece of your soul. But Loki has only ever been determined to get what was owed to him.

Warnings: dub-con, somewhat dark! Loki, oral (f + m), anal, exhibitionist, misuse of magic. Dirty talk.

DO NOT TRANSLATE OR REPOST MY WORK!

You closed your eyes and let your body fall back, legs wrapped around the greasy pole. That fucking idiot, you thought, she wore too much oil. Luckily you didn’t fall and hit anything, gracefully sliding until you unwrapped and stood, dancing for the men in the little dark club.

It wasn’t something you enjoyed – sure, you’d be damned if anyone shamed you for it but sex work was far from the best kind of work you imagined. But you had to eat.

Squatting, you twerked your cheeks eliciting a chorus of ohs from the crowd. You kept the same vacant smile on, trying not to cringe as dirty fingers stuffed bills into the strings of your thong.

This was better than having the last job - he’d almost caught you then. You flinched to think of what he’d do if he ever saw what you were doing for money. But dancing for strangers in dark felt less dehumanizing than being his.

The song ended, and you stood, heels clicking as you strode off the stage into the background. The smile left as you got back into the dressing room. A few girls were inside, counting their tips and fixing themselves to either return onstage or go home. You were looking to do the latter of the three.

Too tired to count your tips, you picked all your money up and stuffed it into your duffel bag. You’d lost all shame of dressing in front of the girls a few months back, taking the pasties and thong off. You’d have to wait until you got home to shower the glitter off. But you were grateful for the wipes you kept around.

While wiping off, you saw one of the girls at the corner of your eye. Lovie.

“Hey Dumbass!” You called, tossing the dirty wipe. “Did you bathe in a goddamn oil bucket? I almost broke my damn hip just now.”

Lovie rolled her blue eyes and popped her gum. “All you had to do was get it cleaned.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Right. And miss out on the big tippers that have to get home to their wives? Real smooth, Lovie.”

“I don’t like what you’re implying Y/N.”

“I don’t give a fu–“

“Ladies.”

The two women stilled, the older, professional dancer looked at them shamefully. “You know we try not to fuss too much before heading home. Especially with all the murders lately.”

The murders. Right. Maybe that’s why you were so on edge lately - four girls killed in the last three weeks. Young women. Different races. It was so hauntingly familiar. The only thing they had in common was that they were all found at night, the witching hour at three.

You checked the time, and it was just a little after one. Lauren was right and you did not have the time.

Sighing, you turned your back to them and quickly got dressed. A baggy grey hoodie and sweatpants, with a pair of white running shoes. You took the horrible, cheapass, purple wig you’d worn to match the body glitter and eyeshadow and tossed it.

You cleaned your makeup off and dashed the napkin off into the bin. Cleaning it off as best you could, you put on a pair of shades and some chapstick and headed out into the real world.

It was a long ride back to the cabin you were renting, but it was certainly better than staying in the overpriced city. Plus, no security cameras to track you in the old property - no way for him to track you. You kept your face covered as much as you could outside of the walls of the club. Shades, a neck warmer (or hoodie), with your hair, wrapped up. Most of all, you hid your hands. That obnoxious tattoo you’d gotten with alien ink for him couldn’t be hidden by concealer or anything else.

The property was surrounded by powerful spell-work - a gift from Wanda, to keep you out of his reach. It had only one upkeep. A steady supply of your blood. You weren’t sure if the exact date was time, but you were certain it was near. However, you’d been on your feet for hours and you were as physically exhausted as you were mental. Tomorrow it could be fixed – you could rest a little tonight. Secure in your safety.

Parking your car, you set the alarm in case of a fellow mortal finding their way inside. The cabin was simple, modern two-story with lovely wide, high windows. Thank god you didn’t have neighbors, or else they would’ve seen you running around your home at any odd hour.

Before showering, you braided your hair into two fat, French braids, tying it up in a silk scarf before stepping into your shower. Scrubbing your skin with your loofah, and face with a wash rag until you were clean.

The house echoed the unsettling silence of being alone. Once more you thought of his laughter and poetry, how it filled every part of the spaces you used to occupy with him. How he possessed the very air you breathed, how he demanded every bit of your mind, drowning you in his selfishness.

Yet your soul ached for the part of him you carved out like a mad butcher; aches for his name he’d signed himself into you with his spirit.

You screamed into the silent house filling it with your ache, falling to your knees as you cried onto your bathroom floor for no one to hear. You had not felt this in so long – had not felt so weak for him in months.

No since you –

Wait.

No.

No, no, no.

In a flash of madness, you ran to your kitchen, scrambling the drawers for something to prick your skin with. You could let this happen – you couldn’t let Loki back in again.

Finally, you found a steak knife. Swinging your door open, you knelt on the wet grass and aimed the knife for your palm.

At least, that was the last thing you remembered before you blacked out.

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

You did not dream, but rather floated. Liquid as you existed, not thinking, not feeling – nothing. Dragging from this, you began to feel the physical first. The softness of your bedsheet. The cool of the ac air on your skin. You became aware of your nakedness before becoming aware of where you were.

With great effort, you opened your eyes to see the lavender ceiling of your room. Furrowing your brows you tried to get up but couldn’t - too weak, too heavy.

Sluggish.

Your mouth could not even open, your lips could not part, and your tongue iron. It was unnatural.

It felt like spell-craft.

More specifically; it felt like Loki’s magic. You knew it all too well, even now.

“Hello, my beautiful love.” His voice crooned, but you didn’t see him – eyes still trapped in a gaze with the ceiling. “You’ve changed.”

Yes. You should try it.

“You’ve cut me out of you – not very good for a wife to do.” Voice deceptively calm, you heard the floorboards squeak as he came closer.

He appeared above you, grinning with malice. Loki was as beautiful as he was when he first manifested himself to you. In college, when you were younger and lost – worst of all arrogant, you’d joined a cult. Somewhere to feel home, and that cult had been one for his honor. You’d been devoted because you had no other God to look to or love to imagine in the world. Loki had come to you to aid him in hiding something at the time – and you did, when he returned you fell in love. And then you left that fucking nightmare. His love was a selfish love that consumed and didn’t blossom. His love was a suffocating one.

Had you been able to scream – you would have. “But no worries, I’ve found a way to fix that. Very messy spell work, but you – you have always been worth it.”

He slinked back into the shadows but was not far as you heard him moving about. When he reappeared he was holding a chalice.

“Open.” He commanded, and your legs slid open, to your mortification, causing him to laugh. “Should be more specific. Open your mouth for your husband.”

You did, but magical manipulation.

He poured the black liquid down your throat, though it smelt metallic like blood whilst its inky flavor bittered your tongue. You had no idea what kind of potion it was, its flavor and smell unlike anything else you’d ever encountered.

He said he was going to fix it, you thought over, was he going to fix the break you’d made? The tear? Panic flooded your bloodstream as your y/e/c clouded over. It would take dark, dark magic to amend a soul tear.

Those girls - all those young women were dead now because of Loki’s insane need to claim ownership over you.

No, my love, his voice floating through the repairing bond, they are dead because you’ve shown me disloyalty.

Please, please just let me go, you pleaded, as the pain began. Searing, burning pain as your soul mended from the lives of those dead girls. Rewriting his claim in awful ritual.

“No.” He said out loud. Appearing in your blurred vision, black and green swirling. “You’ll see my way soon. You are young yet, my lovely.”

Tears spilled down your face as you shivered through the paralysis spell. You can have another – there are so many willing, you begged.

“But none are you, Y/N,” he kissed your lips, softly and bit down to draw blood. When he pulled back his lower teeth were red and pink lips tinged crimson. “Sleep.”

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

Your favorite song played in the kitchen as you sat at the table. Spooning your Cheerios with a trembling hand.

Before you, Loki danced in front of a stove - bacon sizzling. His dark hair was bouncing and looked a little less greasy than usual. He wore attractive loungewear, that appeared comfortable but looked much posher than anything you’d ever seen before.

The spell had worked its course, and your torn soul had mended. Which meant the emotions and connection had come together as well. You rigidly stared back at him – eyes ablaze with fury at it being undone.

But you felt whole in a way you hadn’t since you’d decided to end things.

That bond didn’t mean you couldn’t make things difficult of course.

“I have to go to work sometime.” You reminded, finishing up your cereal. Slurping the milk from the container – this man had seen your asshole, you didn’t care if he saw you slurp milk.

Loki laughed sharply. “Of course you do. You can go back today.”

You licked your teeth, narrowing your eyes at him as he turned off the stove and dished out his breakfast.

“You’re letting me go back to work?”

Loki shrugged. “Why wouldn’t I want my wife gainfully employed?”

You felt a hot rush fill your cheeks. “What the fuck are you playing at?”

Loki simply ate his breakfast, enjoying the way you squirmed. Getting up, you tossed your bowl into the sink and attempted to stalk out of the kitchen. He grabbed your upper arm and gave you a grin. “Where are you going?”

“To bed.”

All teeth, he responded in that attractive tone of his that made your legs weak. “You’re work has just started.”

His magic filled the room and in an instant, you were in an imitation of the club’s private room. Much cleaner, much more silent – there was only one chair, large and plush. And in it sat Loki, holding his breakfast, munching slowly as he gazed at you with starving green eyes.

You trembled from the stage.

“Well, wife,” he started. “Get to work.”

“Fuck you!”

Canines on display, he bit into a piece of crunchy bacon. “You act like you have a choice. You wouldn’t like me to get mad.”

Frightened, for the life of others and yourself you stiffened your back and rolled your shoulders. Loki had magicked an outfit on you, you found yourself gazing in the mirrored walls at your reflection.

An almost invisible thong with a sparkling corset and tassels on your nipples. Your skin glowed with emerald sparkles, matching the black and green of your rich corset. The heels were black, thin, and high – you’d danced in worst.

“What is this?” You whispered, still not looking at him. “Punishment?”

“You thought you’d get away with flaunting my body like some common whore?” He spewed, passionate but yet his body was unmoving - still – as the plate of breakfast food balanced on his knee.

Green eyes roamed over you. “But I forgive you, I forgive you because I love you. Because love is not limited – but love does not exempt you from punishment. You want to be a whore, then you’ll be mine.” He clicked his fingers, and suddenly music started.

Shivering, you started your dance like you usually did, eyes meeting his as you moved your body to the beat. Manipulating your hips to the beat, before squatting low in front of him and showcasing your plumb womanhood. Raising, you turned and bent - bouncing the cheeks of your ass before you began to work the pole.

You pulled yourself up, legs together and stiff as you swung your body around once - then twice, before wrapping a leg around and leaning back. Your hair tumbled down as your neck bent back.

Graceful, as you spun yourself. Once, then slowly raised your other leg – pointed toe.

In those months of perfecting your moves, you never thought it would lead you back to Loki. But all things did in the end, even though it twisted something inside you to be bare with him, it felt good for him to see you like this again.

Armlessly sliding down the pole - your heels clicked on the smooth floor, on your belly you crawled to him. Ass in the air as it moved side to side, cheeks tempting him as you met the edge.

Loki set the food aside and stood, his hips meet the stage and he knelt one knee in it for balance.

“Open your mouth,” he whispered, fingers tracing your face. His pointer finger slipped pass your lips, dampened by your spit, he added a second finger and mimicked fucking with it. After a while, you saw him release his cock from his pants, and without ceremony, he parted your jaw and shoved his cock in.

“How long have you denied me this?” He growled, wrapping your hair around his hand and fisting it tightly. Loki let his cock sit in your mouth, groaning at the feel of it until he finally began moving.

Above you, he moaned at the long-lost sensation. “My dirty fucking whore – how many men have you let sully you since me?”

None.

He grinned, pleased at the nonverbal answer made available by your renewed link. Fucking your mouth slowly with his thick, heavy cock, Loki moved your head to match his need. “I’ve fucked as many women as I could to forget you.”

That hurt. That had really fucking hurt. A possessive part of you hadn’t wanted him with anyone else    

“Killed them all right after – none quite matched up to you, no – you are my perfect cocksucker.” He purred.

Wet sounds filled the make-believe room and Loki used your mouth as he saw fit, slow and steady. “You know what would make this even better?”

You couldn’t answer, mouth full of god cock and thoughts full of lust, you merely hummed as you sucked down on him.

Tightening his grip, he mushed your face against his groin. “Making sure everyone knows your mine.”

You didn’t know what that meant but out of the corner of your eyes, you found the horrifying looks of coworkers and regulars. You tried to scramble from the hold but Loki held an iron grip.

Gone was the slow, steady pace of his previous lovemaking, now he was fucking your mouth. “Dirty whore, you wanted to put on a fucking show – you wanted to work. Well, show them the kind of slut you are; mine.”

He bobbed your head, up and down the length of his dick, sliding it down the hollow, wet cave of your mouth with a patent rhythm.

He kept his motion, fast and hard, tears ruining your mascara. He liked the view of you below him – servicing his cock the way you were meant to. He flexed his cock, and soon without warning, he was coming in your mouth. Slowly, he dragged his cock out painting your lips and chin with his cum. You choked prettily and he waved away the audience once your humiliation was over. Tears and cum on your beautiful face – you would learn your place.

You would learn to love him the way no one else would ever.

Hours after, he still had not let you out of the outfit, though he’d clean you off and dolled you back up again. After breakfast he’d made you follow him about, before deciding to sit you down for a game of checkers - you had not learned to play chess in his absence but he was resigned to teach you it soon. You’d hope to be dead by then.

“Grim thoughts,” he chastised with a click of his tongue. “I’ll have your mind turned back to me like before.”

“I was a twenty-year-old without love,” you muttered, moving your piece forward.

“And you have love now?” Another lover? His mind pushed into yours.

No, you’ve pushed me away from men, you spat at him. “I love myself now. I didn’t before.”

“I love you enough for the both of us.” You have enough love to give me. You’ve always had more than you realized. He told you through the link, voice thick with his magic. 

“To love you is to exhaust me,” You don’t love - you possess, you consume, you argued. 

Loki didn’t respond, mentally or out-loud, merely pushing his piece forward, over yours. Ending your last piece on the board. He’d won - again. 

Frustrated, you tossed the board aside and got up, back to him as you stood at the bar. He laughed before getting up. 

Don’t be a spoilsport. I am superior to you after all.

“Give me a break,” you muttered, retrieving an opened bottle of vodka from behind the dry bar. Grabbing your elbow, he turned you around to face him. So much taller than you, you tried not the mewl at his scent, everything about him conjured a dichotomy of emotions. Hate, love, and discomfort. Loki was imposing but he was there for you more than anyone else in your life had ever been.

It would do you good to remember that.

You narrowed your eyes. You’re so invasive.

Try not to think so loud then. He grinned, lifting you to sit at the bar. You were eye to eye this way; the bare was not as high as it was made for your more average height than his own. 

Swinging back some of the vodka, it went down smooth but as nothing. A side effect of the bond was his fucking tolerance level. Another reason to be pissed at the bond being reconnected. 

“You are an extremely argumentative mortal,” he complained, head dipping to kiss your neck. 

“Find another then.”

He chuckled, nipping your skin with his front teeth. “Don’t be stupid, Y/N.”

His hands rubbed your shoulders and upper arms, before settling on your waist, slowly traveling to your breasts. He massaged then slowly, tugging the tassel which made you hiss. Eventually, he popped them off, bowing his head, he captured a nipple in his mouth. Wet and cool, his tongue swirled around it, before his teeth bit it softly - the act causing a sting of pleasure to shoot straight to your core.

A wandering hand stopped between the space of your crouch and his hips, pulling aside the flimsy crouch of your touch, he touched the freshly shaven dampness of your crouch. Rubbing it before putting work onto your clit. With the combination of his mouth on your breast and finger on your clit, you came quick. No big splashes but a full-body shaking; months since he or anyone else had brought this kind of pleasure to you. 

He moved back, dropping your tit and sucking his finger with lewd beauty. 

Dropping to his knee, he rubbed his nose to your soaked core. Kissing it delicately, he slipped his tongue between the slit, up and down from your swollen clit before slipping his tongue inside. 

The bottle of alcohol dropped as he ate you out, you didn’t even care about the crash and splatter of glass. Closing your eyes, you hummed in pleasure at his ministrations, fingers threading into his black hair as your hips moved against his face to chase your orgasm. 

Just as you were about to come, he pulled back. In a swift motion, he removed you from the bar and pulled you on your side upon the soft couch. Loki pulled his pants down, that angry cock glaring at you before he spat on its tip and rubbed the saliva in, spearing his cock inside your quivering warmth. Sensitive and ready, you whimpered as he proceeded to fuck you. Nothing bigger than your finger had entered you in months, but you felt complete with his thick organ sawing into you.

 “I’ve missed this tight little pussy,” groaned working hips to a tattoo. His hand on your hip squeezed, serving as a balance for him as he fucked you. His eyes stayed on your chest as it bounced from his thrusts.

You tried to grab onto the cushion of the sofa for sort of grip, eyes shut tight as he fucked you raw.

“Take me so good...” he muttered, creating an echoing clapping sound amind the squelching of your moisture taking his battering. Like flesh steel, his smooth length stabbed into your center. 

“Fuck me,” you moaned out, unexpectedly in pleasure.

Loki chuckled at your weakness and sharpened his thrusts, causing you to scream.

A clap on your ass brought caused you to open your eyes as you hollered from the pain, but he didn’t stop - smacking the cheek until a stung. The pain of it coupled with the pleasure of him inside you had you chanting his name. 

Loki. Loki. Loki.

He growled, giving your ass a final sting before exchanging places with his other hand, the idle hand went to your clit and strummed it - eager to send you to completion. “All I had to do to get you to behave was give you some cock? You disobedient little bitch.”

You’re bitch.

That did it, sending you over the edge. You came on his dick, your whole body a liquid nerve of sensitivity afterward. “Fuck, come on your husband’s cock, come on me so I can fuck into you until you cry for mercy.” 

That might be sooner than he realized, he pulled out after you were done - you were it was a sight to see. Quivering, soaking in your juices, and full of greed for more of him. He turned you onto your belly, giving your pussy a harsh slap that made you squirm. He did it again, this time you hollered.

Slap!

Slap!

Slap!

Slap!

Each one harsher than the other, hitting your abused cilt and swollen lips. “You danced for men and made them think they could own what was mine.” he spat with venom.

Slap!

“You let other men touch a body that had only ever known my imprint.”

Slap!

“I think that deserves some punishment - don’t you?”

“...please..”

He bent down to your ear, his oiled finger (When did he have the time to do that? Magic, it was always magic with him.) already at the rim of your asshole. He slid a finger in, the friction causing you to jerk from the hurt of it. He began to stretch it out slowly, what he was about to do made you squirm. “Too late, my wife.”

Loki fucked a second finger in, stretching as he made scissoring motions. “I’ve got to reclaim every inch of you beloved - reclaimed that mouth, I reclaimed that pussy, and now - ” the sound of him spitting was heard and then you felt the intrusion of his thick head into the ring of your tight asshole.

“Squirming makes it worst,” he mocked, not caring any longer for your comfort and just pressing forward into you until his cock sat fully. Tear prickled your eyes at it. 

Too large.

He chuckled, an arm finding its way around your neck as he pressed his chest to your back. Too bad.

Loki fucked into your asshole with all the anger he had to have been holding in. Vicious and selfish, he did not wean you in, fucking your hole for himself - the two of you weren’t having sex. He was. He was using you in the cruelest of ways, without care and affection. “Such a tight little asshole, I’ll stretch out again - fuck, fuck fuck...”

You tried to fit it, yet your body felt pleasure from his rough handling. Your traitorous body still knew him in ways you’d tried to forget. “H-Harder.”

A question came with sinister glee. “What did my little whore say?”

You repeated in a murmur. 

Loki snapped his hips as a painful punishment, using his arm around your shoulder and neck to raise you to your knees - the pleasure increasing painfully as he fucked you in a new position. “Louder.”

“Harder!” you screamed and he delivered, snaking a hand around your waist to rub your clit as he fucked into your ass with a steady pattern. You could feel when he was losing his rhythm, his orgasm approaching. Already raw from all your previous orgasms, you came with a squirt before he came in your anal canal, filling you with his sperm. 

Loki didn’t exit right away, fucking you until he was soft inside your ass. Flaccid and limp, he exited, letting go and letting you fall into the couch, his spunk leaking out in thick, white clumps onto the nice, black velvet. 

Before you, he was hardening again and you felt yourself hunger for him. A quick flash of worry filled you and you asked a question. “You’re never going to leave me alone.”

Tilting his head to the side, his handsomely ruffled hair moving as well, he smirked at you. Stroking his cock to life. “You’re finally catching on.”

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

“Hello?”

“Y/N,” Wanda greeted with a sigh. “We’ve tried contacting you for the past three days - Thor mentioned there may be some activity from Asgard but he isn’t sure.”

Your eyes caught the visible tattoo on your ring finger before you answered. “Everything is fine on my end - I’m very safe, Wanda.”

“Will you call me again? Tonight?” You smiled at her worry before responding.

“Of course I will,” the two of you talked a bit more before the conversation came to a natural close - Wanda was a good friend, so it made you feel bad for lying. 

“Who was that?”

You turned, tying your robe loosely - you’d run from the shower to answer the phone. “Wanda. I haven’t been in contact for a while and she was worried.”

Loki nodded, planting a kiss on your lips as he undid the string of your robe. His hands finding home in the shape of your body while the kiss deepened. 

“I told her there wasn’t to nothing to worry about,” you told him, giggling into his mouth. Loki planted his hands on your ass, lifting you. He walked you to your shared bed and laid you down, with the robe open he kissed the inner of your knee, your thighs before finally reaching your pussy.

Yes, you thought as he ate you like starved man, there was nothing to worry about.

Masterlist

[orpheusredux]

2, 6, 20 for nsfw questions

Hi! Thanks for responding to this call out! Just a reminder, these questions and responses are STRICTLY 18+, do not ask or comment or even look if you are a minor.  Anyway, I just got Eddie's reply so I'll pass it over to him:

Hey @swiftpie. How are you doing tonight, sweetpea?

OK, lets get this done…

2: Rough sex or soft sex?

This is the question of the week. I answered it here already, sorry. Orph didn’t think of this when she asked me to spend hours doing what is essentially fuckin’ sexy home work. 

6: Do you like to be dominant or submissive?

So, you know those guys who go around saying, “I’m a top in bed, I’m the boss, I know what she needs”? 

Those guys are diiiiicks. 

Any guy who thinks he knows what you need in bed better than you do, is a guy to be avoided at all costs. 

I know what I like, and I like to think I have a fairly good understanding of what might feel nice, but I’m not a fucking sex psychic and neither is your bedmate. 

Th hottest sex I have ever had - not that I’ve had, like, a tonne, these fucking questions notwithstanding - has been when we were both relaxed and comfortable enough to say and  show each other what we needed. Sometimes that might require me being the boss, sometimes, it might mean I get my ass slapped and told to beg. Either way, as long as we’re both into it, we’re both into it, you know? 

Honestly, I’m a huge fan of having the rug pulled out from under me. My - ah - my girl, she looked like an angel, you know? All demure and sweet, but she knew what she wanted in the sack and she always let me know it. 

I think, like I don’t know the parlance or whatever, but I think that makes me a switch? I dunno. 

This one time though… You remember that dame I told you about, who lived in town? The professional woman? She wanted to try some stuff out that a client had asked for and she asked me to, you know, let her do some shit to me - she knew I was your average 20-year-old horndog, and that I’d say yes, which I did. 

Anyway, I’ve never even heard of half the shit she tells me she’s got planned, but she’s wearing a goddamn mask and these thigh high boots, and she’s got, like, a riding crop in her hand. So I’m just nodding along to everything she says, only taking about half of it in over the sound of the blood rushing straight outta my brain to my idiot dick, when she says something like, “yadda yadda yadda and then I’ll peg you”.

Now, in my mind, I am imagining her staking me out in the back fucking yard with like, actual pegs, you know, spread eagle. Now, this was August, and I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I am a pale dude. So, I’m like, “Isn’t that a bit dangerous?“ 

And she’s like, “No, baby, we’ll use plenty of oil and grease.” 

And I’m like, ‘what the actual? I’ll fucking die out there!’ So I say, “But, sweetheart, what about my junk?!” Because at this stage of my young life, my dick has never seen the light of day, let alone been free-cocking it under the midday sun. I’m imaging little Eddie looking like a fucking cook out sausage on a stick by the end of it. 

And she just goes, “No one will touch your junk, Eddie, that’s the whole point.” 

Anyway, it wasn’t until she had the fucking harness on, and a finger up my ass that I figured out what ‘pegging’ actually meant. Gotta say, I did not hate it. 

20: If you could have sex with anyone right now, who would it be?

My girl. 

I used to fool around with any one who’d have me, you know? I always thought I was King Shit. But then I met her, and… I’d rather be alone forever than be with anyone else. Does that make me sound like a fucking sap or what?

[tamagoincident]

To Lure a Bird

arthur morgan x reader

summary: The Van der Linde Gang plans to rob a train, too bad you hit it first. You, being the reasonable person you are, coerce rough-looking men to run a job with you in exchange for the stolen money, and everyone gets more than they bargained for.

chapter: 1/10

link: AO3

Chapter One - A Mutual Enemy

On the evening you first heard of the Van der Linde Gang’s presence in Valentine, you stood at the bar of Smithfield's Saloon disguised in men’s clothing. Not a typical Friday for you, as you tried not to make it a habit of sticking around places where reckless men became more reckless the further they disappeared into their cups. But years ago you’d helped the bartender, a giant man named Ernest, drum up enough money to pay off his debtors, and he held you in the highest of regards ever since. It was the only place you could drink without being disturbed. Ernest made sure of that.

“What’ll it be, the usual?” he winked at you, his large hands already reaching toward the whiskey.

You smiled and nodded.

“I have information you might want to hear,” he continued, pouring the liquor into a glass and sliding it towards you. You caught it easily.

“Oh?”

“There was a young lady here last night. Overheard her talkin’ to some fancy pants New Yorker who kept braggin�� ‘bout the luxury train he’ll be taking back to the North. She seemed awfully intrigued,” Ernest said. “And get this, it weren’t the only instance I’d seen her, neither. Few days ago she’d been traipsin’ around the outskirts of Valentine with a bunch of scary lookin’ out-of-towners.”

“Figure they’re planning on robbing the train?”

Ernest shrugged. “It’s easy pickin’. You know how naïve high society can be.”

Maybe easy enough for a one-person job, if done quickly and with care. You’d only robbed a train once with two people you used to run with. You didn’t run with them anymore. It hurt you to think of it.

You held up your glass for a refill and leaned forward, brimming with interest. “Tell me more about this train.”

—

The train tracks rattled underneath Arthur’s feet.

“Get movin’,” he said to Sean, pointing towards the trees hidden in the darkness. Arthur climbed atop the wagon they’d rode in on and placed in the middle of the tracks, which bore five hundred gallons of oil. He widened his stance for balance and pulled a bandana over his mouth and nose. “Here she comes.”

Arthur squinted against the blinding brightness of the incoming headlight, cocking his rifle as it approached. The train’s horn bellowed into the night.

It saw him. Good.

It came to a hissing and screeching halt. A uniformed man stormed out from the front cab. “What's goin' on here? What's—aw hell,” the engineer wailed, kicking the dirt underneath his feet. “Not again! Gettin’ real tired of this shit.” Behind him, a shadow of blurred movement. Charles, ready to strike him unconscious.

Arthur jumped off the wagon. “Hold it!” he yelled to Charles, who paused his assault and instead restrained the man with a pistol aimed at his head. “What d’you mean, ‘Not again?’”

“If y’all are trying to rob us, we’ve already been hit,” he wheezed.

“You’re bluffin’.”

“You and your boys are more than welcome to board and check. Reckon it’s a waste of time though.”

Arthur swore. “Let him go, Mr. S.”

Charles let go. The engineer stumbled forward, sputtering and coughing. In between heavy breaths he said, “Happened near the Heartlands. Strange feller in a mask robbed us blind and then pointed a shotgun at me, gruntin’ at me to start the engine or he’ll call for his gang to kill everyone on board.”

“Why in God’s name would he do that?” Arthur said.

“Beats me. But now that I think of it, he was probably expecting y’all. Here, he gave me this—” he moved to reach into his coat pocket, but ceased upon the chorus of rifles cocking. Sean and John had appeared to find what the holdup was.

“Don’t move a goddamn muscle,” Arthur growled. “Mr. S., if you could kindly grab whatever’s in that fool’s pocket.”

Charles complied, plucking out a wad of paper. He handed it to Sean, who read aloud:

Don’t want the loot, only your attention.

Have your lady informant go back to the saloon and talk to the bartender.

He’ll tell you where to find me.

Cause any trouble and you won’t see a cent.

Sean laughed bitterly, waving the note in the air. “Got us good, didn't he?”

“Give me that, you idiot.” Arthur snatched the note and tilted the lettering towards the train's headlight. “Goddamn it—”

A bullet whizzed by Arthur’s head. The engineer dove to the ground for safety.

“Get on your horses!” Arthur yelled to the gang and whistled. Once in the saddle, he spurred the horse on and rode hard into the trees, past the storm of bullets, and evaded capture.

He was the last to arrive back at camp, after making sure he hadn’t been followed. He passed Dutch’s closed tent and found Sean blackout drunk near the fire. John sat close by, clearly on the same trajectory as the Irishman, with the amount of empty beer bottles at his feet. Arthur cleared his throat. “Where’s Charles?”

John glanced up, eyes bleary and lined with red. In the firelight he looked small and exhausted. “Asleep.”

“You should be too.”

“Well, I ain’t,” John mumbled tipping the beer to his lips and draining it. He tossed the bottle aside with a crash.

“Need me to tuck you in Marston? How ‘bout a bedtime story?”

“Real funny, Arthur."

Arthur sat down across from John, allowing the sound of crickets and snuffling horses to fill the silence between them. When he spoke, his tone was softer. “Don’t think I’ve seen you this shaken. Not even when you was freezin’ your ass off after them wolves got to you.”

John’s gaze dropped to his lap. “I’m a bit rattled, s’all. I got a bad feelin’, Arthur.”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t you think the law showed up a little too fast?”

“Maybe,” Arthur said. “I’m more curious about the son-of-a-bitch who knew we was gonna rob that train.” He turned, pulling the note he’d stashed into his saddlebag and brandishing it.

“See? You’re worried too. S’not just me.”

“I’m not worried,” Arthur cast the notion aside. No use in admitting to being worried unless there was really something to lose sleep over, especially in front of John, who looked like he was fixing for an excuse to leave again. Arthur didn’t want to be the person to give him one. He would gladly take a bullet before he watched Abigail’s face twist back into sorrow and disappointment on account of John flying the coop.

“We gonna be okay, Arthur?” John asks.

“Can’t tell the future anymore than you can, Marston,” Arthur said, crumpling the note in his fist. “What we can do is find the bastard who pulled the wool over our eyes, and deal with the rest as it comes along. I’ll talk to Mary-Beth tomorrow. Ask her to go back up to the saloon.”

John watched as Arthur tossed the paper into the fire, the edges curling into black.

—

You waited across the tracks from the abandoned trading post in Roanoke Ridge, taking shelter behind a sturdy tree (you’d almost hid behind one crawling with poison ivy vines, what a sight that would have been). The instructions you’d given Ernest to pass on had been clear: Whoever is sent must be on time and arrive alone. You checked your pocket watch. Already a half hour late. Out of desperation you remained a few minutes longer. The sun was almost at its peak in the sky, and you were getting hot with your scarf obscuring the lower half of your face. You cursed yourself for wearing such bulky trousers and long sleeves.

In your mind, the heist had been preferable to wasting away in the heat. With a little theater and luck, you managed to rob the train heading north. You still couldn’t believe your good fortune. Keeping your voice low and husky, the passengers and engineer had mistaken you for some hardened outlaw. You’d threatened them with your non-existent gang that was supposedly trailing close behind. In reality, the only thing riding alongside the train was the horse you’d borrowed from Ernest.

You scanned the landscape with binoculars, on the precipice of calling it a day, when you saw a pair of figures ascend the hill behind the dilapidated structure. The taller of the two was wearing a fading grey shirt that you imagined was once white, which stretched across his broad shoulders. He staked a far contrast to the companion at his left, a leaner man with dark hair that extended past a deep scar on his cheek. Both looked tough and mean. Exactly the type of men you’d hoped for.

Though two against one, the odds weren’t good if things went south.

You dropped the binoculars and reached for your rifle. Steadying yourself, you squinted through the scope, drifting down the length of their bodies until their dusty leather boots came into view. You cocked the gun, exhaled, and took the shot, aiming inches away from them.

“Shit!”

“Thought I’d said to come alone,” you called out. “If one of you gentlemen doesn’t get going, the next two bullets will be right in the forehead.”

“Jesus Christ,” the dark-haired man yelped. “Is that a woman shooting at us?”

“Woman or not, doesn’t change the fact she’s got a goddamn rifle!” the other fired back. “Alright, miss, my friend here is gonna get on his horse and leave. Ain’t that right, Marston?”

“Rode all the way out here for nothin’,'' he complained loudly and whistled. When his horse came around, he placed his foot in the stirrups and swung his leg over the saddle. “If you ain’t back by sundown, I’ll come lookin’ for you, Arthur. Hear that, lady?”

Arthur waved a dismissive hand. You waited until the horse disappeared behind the hills before coming out from the brush. At this distance, you could discern more of his features. The first of which you noticed were bright blue eyes that writers and painters alike had mused over for centuries.

He directed them at you. “There,” he said. “Happy?”

You lowered your rifle. “We’re off to a poor start, I’m afraid.”

“Don’t want no trouble. Just didn’t know what we was walkin’ into,” he said, moving closer, hands up slightly as if to not appear threatening. “You were real vague in that note of yours.”

You reaffirmed your grip on your rifle. “That’s close enough,” you said. Any closer and he’d eclipse you, your neck within snapping distance of those strong hands.

“Then, how about you tell me how this is gonna go?”

In the days leading to this moment, you’d thought of the ways you were going to approach this. Never did you imagine getting this far. “Do you have any idea why I may have invited you here?”

“To gloat, perhaps? About beatin’ us to that train?”

An involuntary upward twitch at the corner of your mouth. “Not quite, sir. I value my time and yours, so I’ll keep it short. I need you.”

Arthur pointed to himself. “You... need me?”

“Yes, you.”

He dipped his head, obscuring whatever expression he was making beneath the brim of his hat. Rubbing his neck, Arthur said, “Can’t imagine why you’d need me, lady. Accountin’ for the fact you don’t even know me.”

“I’ll rephrase. It’s not you I need exactly, it’s somebody like you. And your friend, for that matter.” You paused. “I used to have partners, too. One is dead, the other is in need of rescue. She was kidnapped. I want to hire you to help get her back.”

“Why not go to the sheriff? Seems a hell of a lot easier than getting up to all this trouble.”

“The sheriff?” you scoffed. “You really think he’d risk himself and his men to help me save a working girl from outlaws? Most likely he’d look into my background, and then I’d be arrested before I could even blink.”

“So all we gotta do is save your friend from her kidnappers and what, you’ll pay us?”

“You’ll get the money from the train, and I’ll throw in seventy dollars on top of that,” you said.

“What’s the catch?”

“Pardon me?”

“The catch,” Arthur repeated. “Seems too easy.”

“Didn’t say it’d be easy. Are you familiar with the O’Driscoll Boys?”

A spark of recognition. He was, in fact, familiar. “Yeah, I heard of ‘em. Your friend Emma… them boys captured her?”

You nodded. “A former client of hers runs with that gang. He found us in a hotel room, shot Henry, and knocked me out. When I came to, Emma was gone, and I was alone.”

“Under ordinary circumstances, I’d be glad to help,” he said. “You see, there’s someone I’d need to run this by and he’s already got it out for their leader, Colm O’Driscoll. This’d be the perfect excuse for him to do something goddamn stupid.”

“Please. If you’re familiar with them, you can imagine how awful it must be for her. I’ll even give you half the money upfront,” you said, decocking your rifle and slipping it back over your shoulder by its leather strap.

“Can’t promise nothin’, but I’ll talk it over with some people tonight. Meet me at that saloon in two days, same time. If it goes in your favor, I’ll take you to see the man who makes all the decisions.”

“Are you going to make me wait again?” you asked.

“You’re the one asking for favors, miss.”

“I’m offering a job.”

Arthur’s lips set into a hard line. “A job that might get us into a world of trouble, adding fuel to a fire that’s been burnin’ for a long time now. Frankly, you don’t know what you’re getting into.”

And because you didn’t want to push your luck, you fell silent. You watched him call for his horse and mount it.

“I’ll be on time,” he mumbled as an afterthought, and rode off in the direction he came.

[burnedbyshoto]

Weak

anonymous asked: can we get a bakugou fluff based on the song hug all ur friends by cavetwon

pairing: bakugou katsuki x fem!reader

warning: bakugou has high anxiety, cussing, fluff

word count: 4,000

a/n: so I listened to the 1 hour loop to this song when writing it LMAO, I think its one of my better pieces ive written, but I guess that’s also for you to decide!!!!!! enjoy!!!!

✩✶✩❇✩✶✩

Bakugou Katsuki was someone who had no guilt in admitting that he cared about himself first and foremost. Bakugou Katsuki never imagined a day would come where he would find himself interested in someone-- especially in a romantic setting.

Romance and Bakugou, to him it seemed like mixing oil and water. Impractical and impossible.

Bakugou was hard, rough, and explosive.

Romance was soft, tender, and weakening.

So for the life of him, Bakugou could not understand why on god you were consuming his thoughts. Why did you have him wrapped around your fingers despite you only being his best friend? What the hell was wrong with him?!

Bakugou stared at you from the distance, his eyes were warm, his face soft, and the book in his hands long forgotten.

You were a force, this overwhelming energy that he could not figure out.

You weren’t like Kirishima who gained his friendship through mutual respect and trust in each other’s strengths. You weren’t like Sero or Mina who he came to see as friends after he used them for their quirks two years ago. You weren’t like Kaminari who he saw as a friend because Kirishima came as this unknown package deal.

You were soft, tender, and in no way were you weak, but Bakugou couldn’t think of any other word to describe you but weak.

It made no sense as to how you two became friends. The two of you had spoken once! Then you landed a punch on his jaw so strong that he needed to go to Recovery Girl and you cried for hours afterward. Bakugou thought it was dumb that you were apologizing so he yelled at you for being stupid. Seconds later you two were friends.

“Bakasuki, it’s way past your bedtime!” You screamed as you looked up from your phone. Your eyes red with tiredness and irritation still shone as you made eye contact. The impressed grin on your face as strong as if it was midday. “It’s midnight?!”

Bakugou felt his face cement over again. It was an involuntary action as you rambled off about how the big softie Bakugou Katsuki was awake at 'crackhead' hours. As you got up and walked over to Bakugou, he felt his hardened features melt as you took a stance in front of him.

“I bet you’re staying up because of me, come on, admit that you like me.”

Your words are teasing of course, yet Bakugou’s heart clenches at the truth of your words. Bakugou one year ago had begun staying awake past nine because of you. You were always active at night! You told new stories that Bakugou wanted to hear at a late hour, and Bakugou soon found himself staying up.

Ten at night turned to eleven, eleven became twelve, and then Bakugou was up until two in the morning because of you. He never complained about it, and he never dared to tell you or anyone about it. Bakugou took every teasing you gave, and you teased him about him staying up every night even if it was a year later.

“Trust me, if I was staying up because of you I would fucking hate myself,” Bakugou lies as you laugh. “Don’t think you’re fucking special because I tolerate you.”

His words were harsh to the average ear, but to the trained ear, to your ear, it was as if he nudged you playfully.

“Sure you old grump,” you wink as you stick out your hand. “Iida said it’s my turn with the Disney+, wanna go watch with me?” 

“As long as you don’t make me watch something fucking horrible,” Bakugou grunts as he takes your hand.

He would watch the sappiest of movies and the weirdest of shows if it meant that you’d snuggle into his side. His favorite memories have you at his left. These memories also included you between his legs as you laughed hysterically at the horrible and childish jokes. It also didn’t matter how many times you watched the same movie, you always ramble as if it was your first time viewing it.

“I’m thinking Lilo and Stitch,” you let him into your thoughts as you begin walking towards the staircase. His hand is still locked with yours. “I think I can be Lilo, and you can be Stitch! You two have very similar personalities!”

“Like hell I’m anything like that fucking animal!”

“I didn’t even need to goad you into a reaction!”

“Shut up dumbass…”

“If I ever stopped talking to you, you would go insane! So careful what you wish for!”

“I wish you would shut up…”

Bakugou watched as your lips pressed flat together. A faux annoyed expression on your face and you dropped his hand.

It may have embarrassed Bakugou to admit what he did next, but it took him five seconds to crack under your cold shoulder. He threw you over his shoulder as he walked to your room. Your squealing exclamations were loud as he held your lower thigh.

“See I told you--”

“Shut the fuck up, shitty woman!”

✩✶✩❇✩✶✩

Your loud groan rang in Bakugou’s ears and his eyebrow twitched as he once again looked at your slumped figure. It was the second to last set of finals you guys would be taking as hero students. Three years later, you were nearing the final countdown to graduation! But that meant finals.

Bakugou had managed to stay within the top three of his class all three years. So he felt decent in where he was in class ranking right now. He has ranked third right now after all, but you ranked fifteenth. A feat that he had zero idea about how it came to be considering how smart you were. You had a sharp mind, a witty sense of humor, and a deadly tongue! Yet you were barely outperforming the rest of his idiot friends. You were one of the few people who could beat him in a verbal challenge! But when it came to pencil and paper tests, you stumbled hard.

“Would you stop fucking groaning?! You’re not getting anything done except getting on my goddamn nerves!”

“WELL!” You immediately yelled back, your nose stuck to the sky as you tossed your pencil away. “I don’t know actually! I screamed well because I live for the dramatics!" Bakugou groaned as you laugh. "Okay, but this all makes sense to me now! It's... I’ve realized I become an idiot whenever I try doing it on the exams.”

“It’s because you are an idiot.”

“Wow, thanks,” you complain as you slam your forehead against your math textbook. You shot back up gasping loudly. “OH SHIT! Bakugou you solved all my problems! This entire time I’ve been an idiot! I’ll tell Deku to give me some smart people juice tomorrow morning, obviously, I’ve been sipping the idiot juice.”

“Hah? Fucking hell -- do you ever shut up and wait for me to finish what I’m saying?!”

“Bakasuki, there was a period at the end of that sentence! Or let me guess what you’d say next!”

“Don’t fucking guess--”

“‘Oi, shitty woman, I’m Baku-hoe Kat-sucky, and you better get your head outta your asshole! Maybe if you weren’t always on your goddamn phone you wouldn’t be failing’!” Your voice had lowered multiple octaves to the point where you sounded like you smoked every day. Bakugou watched as your face contorted into a mock scowl, your nose stuck into the air as your arms folded across your chest. “‘I’m the alpha nerd here, so you have to fucking listen to me, you damn fucking nerd ass shitty woman!’”

Bakugou remained silent as you erupted in giggles, your eyes beaming with joy as you looked at him.

“I don’t fucking cuss, shitty woman,” Bakugou retorted. He knew it was a lie but the way your eyes expanded four times their size and how you pressed your face into his shoulder was worth the lie.

“You don’t cuss?! Wow, suddenly my name isn’t y/n!”

“Hm, well I was going to point out that you probably have some form of testing anxiety, but since you’re Miss. Fucking-Know-It-All…”

“There’s no way I’m eighteen and don’t know that about me!”

“Well, you didn’t fucking know you loved chocolate caramels until this last month either.”

This launched you into another tangent. Your conversation skills always gave Bakugou whiplash! You talked about everything you could and right now it was about what you loved. It should have annoyed Bakugou, he knew that! But while you rambled about how you loved seeing oversized dogs in bags, he realized that he loved knowing more about you.

How he would kill for the chance to pull you close, he knew that if he did you would hug him without a blink of an eye. Bakugou knew if he attempted to feel your warmth you’d overwhelm him forever and he wasn’t sure if that was something he wanted. Did he want you? Did he actually love you or was it just the chemistry in his brain is dumb. He wasn’t sure what he wanted as you showcased your favorite pencil.

“Do you have something you love, ‘suki?”

You.

“No, I don’t fucking love anything. The hell is love good for?”

“Don’t you worry about what people think about you when you can’t answer a question on something you love?”

The only opinion he cares about is yours.

“They don’t need to fucking care about what I love, how the hell does that make me a reliable pro hero?! Gossip and tabloids and interviews are bullshit. How is me smiling and being nice in front of a camera going to prove anything?”

Bakugou’s eyes widened as you wrapped your arms around him drawing him into a tight embrace. His eyes blinked rapidly as he felt frozen. His hands are frozen at his side as you pressed into him. You were making him dizzy. His heart pounded so loudly in his ears that he feared you could hear it as you pressed your lips to his ear.

“Sometimes you just have to hug people, let them know that you’re not letting go. Being kind and offering a hand, even if it kills your feral vibes, gives them a reason to love you and trust them. Trust is important, you know that, dummy. Hugging them is a small promise of not letting go.”

His breathing stilled as you pulled away. Your hair fell in your face and you sucked everything out of him as you smiled softly. But who would Bakugou Katsuki be if he didn’t have something back to say?

“I’m not fucking hugging any of those damn extras out there!”

“It was a FIGURE OF SPEECH, BAKAGOU!”

✩✶✩❇✩✶✩

“Rise and shine, grumpy old man!” Your voice rang as bright sunshine shone through Bakugou’s room.

“Fucking hell, y/n! Shut my goddamn shutters!”

“It is past noon, and I am here to make sure you are in fact alive!”

“Shitty woman, please close the damn shutters… I got in three hours ago and I want to fucking sleep in.”

The shutters closed immediately and guilt hung heavy in your voice as you said, “Wait you got in at nine?! You got called out of class early, too!”

Bakugou who had been sitting up now, glowering at your form fell back onto his mattress without a word. Unfortunately, it seemed that you weren’t quite done with him.

“Why the hell are you still in my room?”

“...can I nap with you?”

“Hah?”

“I was out from five in the morning until a few minutes ago! I just… want to cuddle, but if you don’t want to that’s totally cool!”

“You’re so goddamn annoying,” he nearly growls. It wasn’t necessarily directed at you, but instead himself. He was going to let you obviously, but how much longer could he do this uncaring act? How he hadn’t just slammed your oblivious ass against a door to kiss the soul out of you was beyond him. “Get in.”

A loud squeal emitted from your throat as Bakugou felt your figure snuggling into his chest. Your body was cold against his, and he resisted the urge to shiver as you wrapped his arm around you.

“I never fucking said you were allowed to cuddle.”

“Oh please, you were going to latch onto me at some point, might as well do it now instead of waking up to it and freaking out.”

“You’re fucking annoying.”

“Shh, I’m trying to nap.”

Bakugou snorted but nonetheless brought you in closer as he too closed his eyes. He ended up falling asleep with you in his arms. It wasn’t until he woke up did he realize that today was to be your friend's date. Something you had been persistent in having. But as you too woke up at half-past seven p.m., the both of you agreed that the nap was way better than going out.

That is until Kaminari sent a picture of Bakugou and you cuddling to the group chat. But then again, Bakugou may or may not have saved it as his home screen.

✩✶✩❇✩✶✩

4:48 a.m.

Bakugou’s eyes focused on the neon red numbers that illuminated across his bed. His alarm was positioned as such so he would be forced to get up to turn it off in the morning.

His heartbeat was pounding in his ears as everything turned blurry.

4:49 a.m.

His eyes closed and he was suddenly back in Kamino two years ago.

His body felt dirty, sticky, unclean.

His mouth tainted with the taste of copper. His teeth gritting together as he saw All Might fighting in front of him.

It was hard to fight with his sweat-soaked and stiff clothes. All he knew was those bastards turned from wanting to convert him to wanting him dead. He remembers stumbling and seeing your frantic eyes in the corner of his vision. He didn't know you well back then, so it confused him, at least before a yell from Kirishima took his attention away.

It was the first actual memory he had of you, and yet it intertwined with his memory of All Might’s downfall. A downfall that could have been prevented if he had just been fucking better. If he had been a better hero maybe he wouldn’t have been caught. If he had been a better person maybe he would never have been targeted in the first place. It didn’t matter how many different ways he ran through his memories, it always ended up being his fault.

The fight with Deku had helped relieve the surface tension. All Might saying it wasn’t his fault barely made an impact on the guilt demon that ate away at his inner thoughts.

Simply told, tonight was a bad night. Nothing he did could drive away the guilt demon.

You were the one who made him strong but you were out on a mission for your hero work. You were being a hero to people who needed you, yet Bakugou wanted you to be his hero right now…

His anxiety crawled down his spine. His mind swimming back to the image of All Might's defeated form, and it kept reeling in his mind. His palms sweated profusely, but at this point, he had no idea if it was from his anxiety or from his quirk.

It burned to breathe and he wanted to go for a run, but he knew he shouldn’t. So he stood up out of bed choosing to walk down to the kitchen.

4:57 a.m., the clock read as the door shut behind him.

He felt dizzy as he walked down the hallway, his heart racing as he went down the staircase.

The lights were on and it made his eyes hurt as he opened the door for the ground floor.

“‘Suki?” A tired voice whispered as Bakugou stared up.

It was you.

Your uniform looked rumpled and dirty. Your tie wasn’t done and your hair was a mess as you yawn, your hand rubbing your eye as you waved at him. Bakugou saw the bandage on your neck and cheek and he pointed at them.

“Some dumbass with a--” you stifle a yawn as you shake your head. “Fucking vampire quirk! If he bit you, and consumed your blood, you would be entranced with him! Can you believe that!”

Bakugou snorted as you showed him the bruised mark on your neck.

“Thing is, he doesn’t have fangs, his teeth were super dull, so now I look like I had sex!”

“Can’t have people thinking that huh?”

“Nah... now, you gonna tell me what’s wrong?”

Bakugou knew better than to lie to you, but he couldn’t help it, you needed to sleep.

“Nothing, I needed water.”

“I’m sure you are,” you nod your head as you adjust your backpack. “But that doesn’t explain why there’s tears in your eyes and on your cheeks.”

His eyes widened as he felt the wet stains on his face, he was indeed crying.

“I don’t really wanna talk about it,” he grumbled as his hands shoved into his sweats.

“That’s okay,” you smile as you take a few steps forward. “Can I give you a hug?”

It takes everything in him not to scream at you to hug him, so instead, he turns his head and nods curtly. Your arms are wrapped around him immediately as he feels himself shrinking into your hold. You were safe, you were warm, and you made him weak.

It was at that moment that Bakugou Katsuki noticed that he completely and utterly was in love with you.

As he went through these thoughts you grabbed his hand and led him upstairs, “I’ll get you your water, but you need to rest.”

“Shitty woman, I can take care of myself,” Bakugou breathed as he didn’t resist you taking him to his room. “Besides we have class tomorrow, you need more sleep than I do.”

He watches as you shrug as you open his room door.

“Maybe so, but I’m a Hero and you’re someone in need of a savior!” you chirped as your lips pressed softly onto his cheek as you sat him in bed. “I’ll be right back, lay down please!”

He nodded dumbly as you left, his cheeks burning as the door closed.

It felt like no time had passed as you soon returned with a cup of water, “Now drink! Crying is good for the soul, but it dehydrates you so much.”

“Tch, idiot, don’t say that like you cry all the time,” Bakugou grumbles as he chugs the water down.

Your fingers take the glass from him and place it onto the desk, your shoulders bouncing as you sigh one last time. “Well, I should go to bed, I may not need beauty sleep, but even three hours of sleep can make me ugly.”

“Sleep here,” Bakugou found himself mumbling as you were by the door. “You can take a shirt, I just… please, just fucking sleep here with me?”

Bakugou expected teasing, he expected you to laugh it off and say he was dumb and crazy. What he didn’t expect was for you to grab his skull t-shirt and strip your clothes off in his bathroom.

He stilled as you crawled into bed with him, your body curling into his as you held him near.

“Goodnight, ‘suki,” you whispered.

His arms wrapped tightly around you, a sharp intake of air went through your nose.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you, y/n.”

“You’re welcome…”

✩✶✩❇✩✶✩

You smile while wiping away tears that formed in your eyes.

Tears streamed uncontrollably down your face as you taped up the last box with writing that read: Y/N PICTURES.

It was moving out day, you had done it, you graduated.

“Y/l/n-chan!! Stop crying and c-come take a p-p-picture with us!” Mina wailed as she too was crying uncontrollably.

The common room was fill of every one of your classmates, tears were in everyone's eyes as boxes scattered near the entrance. It was over. Three years of heaven and hell were gone and even though everyone would still be seeing everyone again (you all were working in the same general areas after all), tears wouldn’t stop.

Multiple times you brushed away tears as twenty-one of you stood for class pictures.

Class pictures became friend group pictures, friend group pictures became trios and duo pictures.

Everyone was crying and everyone was laughing too. It was as if you were never going to see anyone again and the tears wouldn’t stop.

I love you’s were exchanged, promises of not forgetting who each other were as you would all become stars, and plans on monthly meetups because you were family. It was too much, it was too sentimental, and you were ready to leave.

“I hate to do this to you all, but it’s time to go,” Aizawa lulled over the roar of your classes chatter.

For the first time, his words were useless as you all took a photo with him, much to your homeroom teachers' secret enjoyment.

But now it was time to go.

You gave a one-armed hug to Mineta as he bounded out of the door. He had somewhat had drunk respect-women juice and was now tolerable. But the nightmares forever remained.

Then Koda, Aoyama, Shoji, Ojiro, Tokoyami, and Sato were done swiftly yet deeply. They all said kind words and promises to keep in touch as they left.

Then it was Iida, Todoroki, and Midoriya. The group of boys embraced you tightly as Iida told you and Midoriya to stop crying. It only strengthening your tears as Todoroki patted your back softly.

Then it was Mina, Momo, Jirou, Tsu, Uraraka, and Hagakure. The girl group and the reason why this class felt like family so quickly made you cry harder as you all lost it. Hugs were tight, hugs lasted minutes long as you all shouted over each other. This was not goodbye, just a see you later.

Sero, Kaminari, Kirishima, Mina, and Jirou once again met you for a tight embrace. The dubbed Bakusquad because Bakugou was the loudest one in the group, but you all knew that if the group never held Kirishima it would never work. Bakusquad was truly Kirisquad and you excitedly talked about how you were all going to karaoke on Sunday.

A gentle cough broke you from Sero’s embrace and you turned to the last person who you hadn’t hugged yet.

Bakugou didn’t look at you as he sighed, his shoulder slumping as he looked at you. Your lips quirked as your heart raced at his red-tinged eyes, he had cried too.

“We’ll see you guys later!” Kaminari yelled as the boxes in the now empty common room belonged to you.

“We’re still on for tonight?” Bakugou asked as his finger brushed the wet trails that stained your cheeks.

“Have I ever ditched you or stood you up?”

“You could have made plans in your crying hysteria, it’s been done before.”

His words are teasing and you laugh as you launch yourself into his arms. Your arms wrap around his neck as his rest around your waist.

“I don’t know why you weren’t interested in having a spa day with the girls!” You teased as you bit your lower lip.

“Too much gossip about dicks,” Bakugou rolled his eyes as he squeezed you tightly.

“It’s a good thing you didn’t go, I wouldn’t have wanted you to see me talking about my dick of a boyfriend,” you whisper as his eyes shine brilliantly.

“Hah? You’re really gonna fucking--”

Bakugou never got to finish that sentence as your lips pressed against his and his mind went weak as he kissed you back.

You were the undoing of Bakugou Katsuki.

You made him weak, yet he’s never felt stronger.

[sourbat]

Hammertooth 43!

pool

Why I can’t have these two act normal in a darn pool?

With permission from Abigail, Magnus was allotted a brief visit during the holiday, and granted permission to enter some of the more obscure rooms in Mordhaus, albeit with Toki and at least two other klokateers to accompany him. With winter quickly approaching, it was only natural Toki would want to show off the many privileges affronted to a member of Dethklok, and took him past the sauna, to the neighboring indoor pool with its heated flooring, tanning corner and blood-red jacuzzi.

Unfortunately, Abigail failed to bring this up with the rest of Dethklok, and once Nathan mentioned the desire to take a swim, the band quickly followed suit. It was supposed to be a day of fun filled pool shenanigans, but then Nathan swung open the doubled doors, and the band was welcomed to the less than pleasing sight of Magnus and Toki at the edge of the pool, locked in a suggestive embrace. Murderface coughed loudly as the band made their entrance, alerting the two of their presence. Skwisgaar averted staring at the two as they sank deeper into the temperature controlled water before effectively parting. From there, a silent agreement was arranged between the two groups, with each keeping to their respective sides for as long as possible, and engaging in as little intermingling as possible.

The terms of agreement proved far more difficult than imagined. 

Nathan wanted to do laps, but Toki achieved the impossible and had Magnus floating besides him, dipping into the warm waters to swim after a playful splash or jettison of water spewed from his clenched palms. Their pattern, though limited to one side of the pool, was so random and distracting, and the acoustics made every laugh, squeal and giggle more grating on the mind. A few splashes from Magnus hitting Nathan’s cheek was all it took for him to recline further into the deeper side of the pool, sink and angrily mull over the entire situation.

Pickles drank. He had planned to drink anyways, but figured he’d at least get a few minutes of exercise in, maybe challenge Nate and the guys to some water freeze tag, but was sure he saw someone’s hands in the other guy’s swim trunks, and wasn’t willing to take the risk. He huddled under a UV lamp, letting Klokateers fan and turn him around every few minutes to slow the unavoidable burn, only glancing in the direction of the pool whenever he heard Toki cry. His empathy was rewarded with the unsightly image of Magnus snatching Toki in the shallow water, legs kicking up and creating a massive wet scene. A second yielded Toki being pulled into the water, only to come up again with Magnus in his arms. By the third, Pickles figured he could get by if Toki actually did drown because watching Toki part Magnus’ sopping hair from his face, only to have a short jet of water spat at him, was the goddamn dumbest shit ever.

Skwisgaar and Murderface took to the jacuzzi, which was farthest from the two, and made the occasional glance rare, though both did pick up on the occasional gross remark about who looked best “soaked.” 

Then the two grew bored of swimming.

“Come on, Magnus!” Toki complained, yanking Magnus from the water.

“Finally, I shought they’d never leave,” Murderface muttered under a hushed voice.

“Goods, now we cans swims without seeinks them all overs each others.”

The two eyed the deep end, spotted Nathan at the very bottom of the lapping water, and left the jacuzzi to meet with him. After wiping the red dye off their legs, the two headed to their side of the pool and signaled for Nathan to resurface. As he did, Toki led Magnus closer to where Pickles was situated. The three eyed the ensuing scene, thankful that Pickles was either too drunk or asleep to give a damn about the two, but still curious to see what Toki had in store for the older man. Magnus had never been one to easily slip into a public pool, and now Toki had him under the world’s fanciest and largest tanning bed.

“Come on, gets a load of this,” Toki said, skipping ahead of Magnus to snatch up a klokateer with towels, another holding a tray of fancy looking bottles. 

“Careful,” Magnus called after him. “I don’t want you slipping.” 

“Will be fines!”

Magnus caught up and took him by the hand. “Toke, slow down.”

Skwisgaar’s jaw slacked. “Dids he just–”

Murderface slammed a calm against his head. “Toke?” 

Nathan said nothing. It was less the unoriginal nickname that bothered him, and more the way Magnus had said it. The guy sounded so… concerned.

Their shared distress and the ensuing drop in volume meant the three couldn’t pick up on whatever was shared next, but eventually the two found a spot a few chairs away from a roasting Pickles. Murderface made sure to remind the others that Toki and Magnus’ hands remained locked the duration of the walk, to which both Nathan and Skwisgaar grunted a reply.

“Here, relax over heres!” Toki proclaimed, leading them to a few chairs situated under the fluorescent UV lighting. He gestured to some standing klokateers

Toki placed a towel on the seat and, with an exaggerated gesture, offered it to Magnus. “Fors you,” he said, face brightening with red that all three could detect from the edge of the pool.

“Why, thank you,” Magnus said, chuckling as he sat himself down.

“No problems.” Toki hovered over him, made a single glance at the klokateer who carried the tray of bottles, and called him over. Toki surveyed the containers of oils and lotions, picked the one that smelled the sweetest, then ordered that the lights underneath him and Magnus be brought down a “levels or twos.” 

Toki knelt over Magnus. “Turns around,” he said, resting a hand on the man’s chest.

“Mhmm.”

Nathan’s eyes slowly went agape as Magnus rested on his stomach, back exposed to the hot glow above. And then to his, Skwisgaar and Murderface’s horror, Toki carefully situated himself down on that very same seat Magnus occupied.

“No fucking way,” Nathan muttered. 

There was no way Toki was going to oil Magnus Hammersmith’s back.

But Toki continued to adjust himself on the lounge chair, hoisting one of his slender legs over Magnus and crawling up the man’s contours before settling on top of his upper thighs. Magnus emitted a soft groan, one only Toki could register, but the shudder of his legs was visible to their distant onlookers.

“Thinks they ams still watchins,” Toki muttered as he pressed his palms into the curve of Magnus’ lower back.

Another groan, this one detectable by the band. Even Pickles stirred in his seat.

“So?” Magnus grunted through an exhale. “They’re fucking adults.”

“No swearins.”

“Sorry.” Magnus sighed another complaint as Toki’s thumbs pressed into his spin. “Just ignore them… or, y’know, look ‘em straight in the eyes when they do.”

“Okays.” Satisfied, Toki picked up the bottle. “Lets me know if ams being roughs.”

Magnus opened his eyes, turned his head as far as he could, and just barely caught the three musicians ogling them. He snickered. “What was the safety word again? Cinnamon?” 

That woke Pickles up from his sleep.   

The words sent a haunting shiver down the backs of each member. Murderface made another cough, louder this time, but Toki had already uncorked the bottle and was pouring a healthy glob of scented essential oils into his cupped palm. Nathan brought a hand to cover his mouth when Toki leaned forward, back arching and rear coming to a rise as he applied a healthy coating all over Magnus’ back. Toki rolled his thumbs into Magnus’ back, warming the oil with his hands the constant heat supplied above, and it wasn’t long before all three heard what was undeniably the sound of Magnus moaning. Skwisgaar snapped a finger, calling forward a klokateer holding his guitar. He kept his eyes steady on the strings, refusing to rise and witness the affectionate scene unfolding before him. 

“You ams very tight. Need to relax mores,” Toki said, bringing his hands up Magnus’ back.

 “I can think of a few ideas.” 

A finger pressed into a knot, and Magnus gasped a sharp sigh.

Pickles turned on his side, wincing through tight, burned skin, and caught Toki providing Magnus one of the most sensual massages an idiot like Toki could manage. He lowered his glasses, mouth parting wide at Magnus’ toes curling inwards right as Toki pushed his weight into a particularly stiff muscle. Then came the dreaded, needy whine, and Toki stopped to whisper something low that Pickles could not hear, but definitely witnessed with less than subtle body language that Toki just happened to accidentally show off as he reclined. 

The three caught Pickles’ mortified expression and turned to one another. 

Murderface glanced at the exit. “Maybe we should…”

“Leave?” Nathan stated, eyes glued to Toki working Magnus’ tight shoulder. Another audible hiss from Magnus sent a troubling sensation down his stomach.  “Yeah, let’s get out of here.”

Still strumming his guitar, Skwisgaar nervously looked over to the other side of the pool at Pickles. The poor guy glanced back at the three, pointed helplessly at the two who were in the processing of turning the massage into a whole new game, and stuck out his bottom lip in a defeated pout.

“Whats about Pickle?”

“What about Picklesh?” Murderface parroted, then snapped a finger for some servants to cover him in his robes. “I’m getting outghta here before they shtart fucking.”

“You donts think?”

“I mean, how many times have we done it in front of each other?” Nathan muttered, and the question was more than enough to determine that they had at best, a minute or two before Toki finally made…whatever moves Toki had in his arsenal. The three bolted, leaving their personals behind for some servant to pick up after them. First was Murderface, then Skwisgaar second, and finally Nathan, who, despite being so affected, made one final eye roll before vanishing into Mordhaus’ halls.

“Uhh,” Pickles uttered, voice on the incline as Magnus turned and pulled Toki into a slippery hold.

“Well, would you look at that,” Magnus declared, a smile stretching into an alert grin as Toki’s oily hands slid down his chest. “We’ve scared them off.”

“Oh, we cans go plays in the water likes we dids before.” Toki pointed to the now-empty pool.

“I mean, I got you where I want you right now,” Magnus said, wrapping his arms tighter around Toki. He kissed Toki’s jaw. “And it’s pretty warm here…”

“Ams very warm.”

There came a giggle, a hand reaching for the oil, and the sounds of Toki squirming and pleading to be set free, only for Magnus to pull him back into his long, clingy grip. Magnus turned over Toki, popped open the bottle, and as Toki yelped for help, Pickles stumbled off his chair, tripping over his steps as he winced and swore his way out of the pool area.

[notfckincool]

DIRTY GIRL CHAPTER 7 - LUCKY FUCKIN DAY

NEGAN X ANA (OC)

Ana embarks on a casual but obviously filthy affair with Negan, accidentally falling for the man, knowing he will never love her.

Angst and Kinky fuckery. Its Negan so expect swearing and strong sexual content throughout

CHAPTER 7- LUCKY FUCKIN DAY

NEGAN X ANA(OC)

SUMMARY: Busy life at the Sanctuary and Negan's new 'no shagging on the job' rule, means they've not been together for a while.

WARNING:🔞 swearing, Negan being Negan (ie: an asshole) usual dirty talk, f/f/m, mild humiliation, fingering, voyeurism, pussy spanking, masturbation, oral, facial (gotta be honest, this is pure filth)

It''s a big one, hahaha. I enjoyed writing from Negan's point of view and got a bit carried away.

Negan stands, Lucille nestled on his shoulder, proudly surveying his jubilant saviors on their return home.

The Sanctuary....His castle....The community HE built, from the shit storm of epic proportions, that left the remainder of the human race fighting for survival. Everyone here a cog in the well oiled machine, with a mission to save as many unfortunate souls as possible....And...bring some kind of fucking civilisation back to humanity. The Saviors...These men and women, these fucking magnificent soldiers, were the key to its success, the last line of defence for HIS citizens. His own personal army, a force to be reckoned with. They were a bunch of quarrelling fuckwits and murdery fucking hoodlums before he took this place. He made them what they are today. He gave them structure, rules, purpose. He made them strong. Look at them now.

As trucks are unloaded the mood is jovial. Today had been another productive damn day. There would be celebrations this evening. Rightly so. Fuck it, he's in a great mood, everyone gets extra vegetables at dinner, they deserved it.

Heading inside the large canteen, they are rewarded with good food and bottles of liquor. He watches over his people, observes their hearty laughter, loud banter, and congratulatory patting of backs. His eyes scan the room.

He leans back against the wall as his eyes rest on Ana. She's sat at a long table with Simon, a few of the other higher ranking warriors, and....that girl she always seems to be hanging with these days. He lowers Lucille to rest casually by his side. She'd done well, he'd known she would, and, she'd finally even got Simon's approval. Simon was right though, fucking her while on Savior business had been a mistake. While they were working EVERYONE needed to be focused. He didn't want to lose any one over some emotional shit, or by getting eaten on the job, so to speak. They'd had to cool it. Maybe they could get together when they both had free time, but with missions, meetings, and wives, it hadn't happened. A shame. It had been fun.

Sighing heavily he watches her as she laughs a full belly laugh, her head thrown back. She looks really fucking happy. As rare as rocking horse shit these days. It makes him smile.....briefly. His eyes fixate on Simon's hand patting her thigh, resting a little too long for his liking. He shifts uneasily from the wall, his jaw clenching, hand tightening momentarily around Lucille. The fucking fuck? His brow sets in a deep frown.

Ok..ok..calm your tits.....

It's probably just his imagination, but he might need to keep a fucking eye on that. Tearing his eyes away he looks down at the floor, inhaling deeply, rubbing his forehead, and trying to relax his jaw as he looks back over in Ana's direction.

The girls are now sharing a conversation that he can't hear. They move in closer to each other, real fucking close. Huh?

Cheering erupts. A drinking game has begun and a bottle of tequila is being passed around the table. The merriment continues, tables are banged enthusiastically, and numerous shots are knocked back. He shakes his head at his bunch of roguish fucking idiots.

There it was again. A touch of the girl's thigh. A firm squeeze. No mistaking. This time stroking higher, leaning right in. His brow arches as Ana kisses her, playfully nibbling at the girls lips. Tangling her fingers in the long tresses she pulls her in for a firmer kiss. Jeering breaks out.

"Get a fucking room you two"

Something is tossed across the table hitting Ana on the head. Breaking the kiss she tosses it back, laughing and giving them the middle finger. Jesus fucking Christ, sometimes It's like being at fucking high school with these morons. His attention is drawn back to the two women as they stand from the table.

So how long has this been going on?

She looks up. Her eyes meeting his. Hmmm.... Did she know he was there? Did she know he'd been watching? Neither looks away, locked in an unwavering stare as he tries to read her. A small smile plays at her lips as she whispers something in the girls ear before grabbing her hand and leading her hastily from the canteen.

Swinging lucille by his side, he takes a moment to process, pulls himself from the wall, bat on shoulder, and heads out into the corridor.

***

Turning the corner, towards Ana's room, the girl is pinned to the wall in a passionate kiss, a sense of urgency as she fumbles with the key in the lock. The door swings open. They tumble in. He saunters towards them, observing a moment before tapping loudly on the door with Lucille. When Ana spins around he studies her, his eyes narrowing, Lucille swinging gently by his side.

"Hi" he grins, taking a step forward into Ana's room.

"Hi" She moves protectively in front of her 'friend'

"Sorry to interrupt....." The grin fades as he peers around Ana for a better view of the girl. He's seen her around. Someone new Simon had recruited and trained, name escapes him though. Never really took much notice of her before. He looks her over. Similar to Ana in age, probably. Looks pretty badass, sweet though. Not bad. He definitely would. Flashes her one of his irresistible smiles. She seems to be struggling to maintain eye contact with him. He revels in the long awkward pause.

"...and you are?"

The girl swallows audibly and opens her mouth, but no words come out. He chuckles maintaining his stare. Ana glances over her shoulder looking quizzically at the suddenly dumb struck girl, shaking her head at her.

"This is Lily."

"Hey there Lily. Nice to finally meet you." He doesn't offer his hand, instead he twirls Lucille in his fingers, his tongue creeping out between his teeth. He can't resist looking her up and down again with a smirk. Immediately she blushes and looks down at the floor to hide her burning cheeks. That's cute. He chuckles.

"Not much of a talker huh?" Her eyes still glued to the floor he turns his attention back to Ana.

"Is she ok?" he mouths silently

"What do you want Negan?"

"You really have to ask? Ana, you know what I want." Placing lucille against the wall he takes another step closer, leaning into her space. Lily shrinks away behind Ana.

"No Negan, I dont." Her eyes search his "I dont know what you want from me"

"Yes...you fucking do" Lowering his face towards hers, he takes her by the hips. Lily shuffles uncomfortably while Ana holds his gaze.

"Oh, so you think you can just drop in whenever you feel like it, without an invitation"

"Oh girl, dont give me that shit. You know goddamn well I dont need an invitation. This is my place, I can do whatever the fuck I want" his thumb traces along her jaw

"What about what I want? ....What exactly are we doing here?"

"What do you wanna be doing?" He chuckles "This was your fucking idea. 'Why dont we come up with another arrangement', you said. I fucking remember it. Very fucking clearly." His thumb brushes over her lips "right before before you put my dick in that pretty little mouth of yours"

"That doesn't mean you can just call by whenever it suits you"

"That is EXACTLY what it means." He withdraws his hand " I gave you a choice. This is what you chose"

"Well, Im not just gonna sit here waiting for you" she smiles pulling Lily to her side.

"Yeah, I can see that" he glances over at Lily

"Look, I'm a big girl, I can make my own decisions, and I made my choice. I'm NOT one of your wives remember" leaning into Lily she kisses her softly.

"Thank fuck for that, you'd drive me nuts" His eyes linger over the kiss "So this is what you get up to when I'm not around"

"Mhm. What did you expect? I got needs you know." The woman's lips part for Ana "...So if you dont mind...." she mumbles through the kiss

"I don't mind at all". He interrupts " I'm enjoying the fucking show, dont stop on my account"

".....If you don't mind" she continues "I'm quite busy, so you can shut the door on your way out"

Arching a brow he watches the girls, their tongues exploring each others mouths. His grip on her hips tightens, pushing himself against her so she can feel him hardening.

"Hahaha. Ya missed me right? I can read you like a goddamn book......Ok you got my attention, got me over here......with the TWO of you. I see what you're doing here." taking her by the chin he pulls her face to look in his eyes. "Yeah...." he smirks "....you missed me"

"Maybe....Maybe not" she swipes his hand away

"Maybe...maybe not" he mocks "Why you always got to be so damned difficult all the time? Fuck, you're infuriating. See..... I'm hearing the words coming out of your mouth, but your eyes are saying 'fuck me Negan' ......." he shrugs off his jacket

"Wow! You really are an arrogant fucker"

"....Fuck me, AND my horny friend" he continues "Am I right? Hahaha. I know what you want, and how you want it. I know what kinkyfuckery runs through your dirty mind"

"You absolutely sure about that" she retorts "Maybe...I actually didn't miss you, or your dick. Maybe...you're wrong." She smirks at him as she peels off her shirt

"Now I KNOW you're fucking lying" his tone no longer as playful. "Enough fucking teasing now. I told you before, don't play fucking games with me princess"

"And I told you before, don't call me princess" roughly she pulls lily towards her, pulling her shirt up over her head and tossing it to the floor "I dont need your permission to fuck someone else. You don't own me"

Taking Lily's face in her hands she kisses her passionately. Releasing her hips he grabs a handful of Ana's hair, tugging her head back, prising the girls apart.

"I said that's enough. Have you forgotten who's in charge around here?" He says into her ear, his voice stern, delivering a hard sharp slap to her ass "Have you forgotten who your dealing with?" Another rough tug makes her wince. "The Sanctuary is mine. The Saviors, ..are mine. You....Are mine."

Lily cautiously takes a couple of steps back, Ana chuckles triumphantly.

"There's my Negan. You know I like that. she bites her lip " I love it when he gets mad, Lily. We like to play rough. This is just our foreplay" she chuckles again. "Still wanna fuck him?"

"Well?" His eyes burn into Lily's "Do ya? You wanna be my dirty girl too? " He smirks darkly "then it looks like it's your lucky fucking day.....if you think you're up to it" he unfastens Ana's jeans "...Choice is yours sweetheart, nobody's forcing you to do anything you don't want to do." Still holding Ana's hair in a vice like grip he tugs her jeans down to her hips. "Stay,.. or leave, it's up to you...but it's now or fucking never Lily" he palms Ana's ass "...Gonna need an answer. Are you staying?"

Lily chews thoughtfully on her bottom lip and nods

"Then be a fuckin doll and shut the door"

Negan's eyes follow Lily as she closes the door and leans her back against it. 

"Well, Ana, would you look at that. Lily does as she's told, unlike some people I know" his hand rubs across her stomach down towards her panties as he presses his swelling dick against her, eyes still locked on Lily.

"That's because she's a good girl Negan."

"Is that fucking so?" His stare unmoving, deliberately disarming her "wanna play a game of good girl / bad girl?" He smirks as he teases Ana, thumbing over her panties. "Ana is the bad girl obviously, but you've clearly spent some time together so I guess you know that already" Ana squirms as his thumb toys with her clit. "Speak up. Don't be shy. Can't be shy around my Ana"

"I'm not your Ana" 

"You fucking sure about that?"

He pulls her hair hard, tipping back her head, exposing her neck to him. Grazing her with his teeth, nipping at her skin, he raises his eyes to look at Lily from under heavy lids. Ana moans softly and reaches behind her rubbing his hardening length through his jeans. 

"So.....You just gonna stand there?" 

Lily's eyes follow his hand as it slides into Ana's panties. 

"Oh. You like to watch huh? We can put on a show for you if that's your thing" He really didn't mind that at all. He rubs down Ana's folds "Any requests? What freaky weird shit you into?" He grins as he circles Ana's clit. "We're pretty fucking comfortable with anything." Deciding the girl was probably not gonna move from the door he ignores her turning his attention back to Ana's neck, biting up to her ear lobe. 

"So fucking wet…" his voice is low in her ear, his grip tight on her hair  "Such a bad girl. Don't ever question whether you are mine, you understand me? You..are mine. This pussy..is mine" He delivers a sharp spank to her clit before plunging two fingers inside her. 

"Yeah, you like that, huh? That's why you' misbehave. You want me to fucking punish you"  He withdraws his fingers, hand poised for another slap. He knew this was what she wanted all along, playing her fucking games. "Dirty little slut, you fucking love it. You want me to spank that aching wet pussy…." He delivers another slap.

He feels her shaking, her face contorting in pleasure as he 'punishes' her relentlessly. Panting, gasping and quivering, as he alternates circling her, slapping her and finger fucking her, until her breathing quickens and she starts to squirm

"You're close right? You wanna cum so bad...my filthy girl. Should I let you? Can you fuckin behave?" 

"Yes... yes... please" she gasps

"Yeah, that's what I thought. Not so fucking cocky now, are you. You're fucking mine, and don't you ever forget it." He knew what she liked, how she wanted to be touched. He circles her clit rapidly, she shakes and bucks. "You can cum for me now" 

He bites down on her neck spreading her folds and pressing on her overstimulated clit. She shudders and arches backwards into him releasing a loud moan. Lily stays back up against the door as Ana unravels in front of her. He holds her tight plunging his fingers back inside her as she contracts and writhes against him. Fucking her through her orgasm, prolonging it.

"That's right, see, you can be a good girl"

Her knees buckle, he holds her firmly as she comes back down and regains some composure. Removing his glistening fingers, he sucks them clean.

"Mmm mmm" he smacks his lips, then beckons lily over. Let's see how much of a good girl she really is.

"Take off those jeans" he commands, his eyes wandering over her as she obediently pulls them down and kicks them aside. As Ana calms, he releases her stripping off his shirt to reveal his slim toned body. He sees Lily admiring him, puffs out his chest, smirks with his tongue brushing over his bottom lip. Yeah this is gonna be fun.

"Now get on your fucking knees.." he unbuckles his belt

".....both of you"

Ana turns to look up at him, eyes heavy with lust, and lowers herself to her knees, Lily willingly drops down beside her. He looks down at them, taking them both by the chin. 

"Open wide ladies" 

He smirks as he pulls down his jeans and boxers, his fully erect cock springing free. Lily's eyes widen as she watches him wrap his hand around the base. He chuckles to himself and smiles down at Ana. Full of fuckin attitude a few minutes ago, now look at her, mouth open, waiting for him.

"Look at you two, both begging for daddy's cock." 

He offers Ana the tip, she sticks out her tongue, needily salivating, ugh that's what he likes to see. He taps it, teasing her, trailing around her lips. 

"That's it princess, I know how much you want it"

Looking up at him she takes a lick of his tip and wets him with gentle sucks, dips to kiss down his shaft and a long flat tongued lick up the underneath from balls back up to tip, exploring over the slit and around the rim, toying with the sensitive area before taking him in her mouth, lowering herself, sucking and rippling her tongue as his fist steadily pumps his shaft. He lets out a groan, chews on his bottom lip. 

"Good girl."

Removing his hand he takes her head sliding her down lower, hitting her throat and briefly pausing as her well trained gag reflex allows him to inch down further, watching his own cock disappearing inside her until he bottoms out. Her throat constricts around him. He hisses willing his self control to hold her still. He wanted to fuck her mouth hard, hang her head over the end of the bed pin her down and throat fuck her, watch his cock moving up and down inside her neck….but not today. He has another girl waiting eagerly and he's not sure what she can handle. He sucks in air and grits his teeth, releasing her. Withdrawing she gasps for air, eyes watering, saliva pooled and dripping. He wipes her chin, she smiles up at him.

"Thank you, daddy" 

He smirks down at her as she dips and lowers, licking at his balls as he offers his throbbing cock to Lily.

"Damn fuckin right princess. You lucky girls. I am horny as fuck and hard as fuckin steel right now. You sure this is what you want sweet cheeks?" she looks from his eyes to his cock, swallowing audibly and nods.

"Then suck it doll" 

She takes him hungrily in her mouth. He wants to close his eyes and focus on the sensation, but he's got two girls attached to his cock and balls right now and he's enjoying watching them licking and sucking enthusiastically. Tongues battling over him. Lips finding each other, slobbering wet kisses between them and his rock hard cock. Clenches his jaw as Ana's hands wander across Lily's breasts and down towards her soaking cunt. He decides it's time for a little girl on girl action and guides them to the bed.

"Time for you two to put on a show for daddy"

Stroking himself, he watches as they passionately kiss, bras are unclipped and panties are ripped off and cast aside, playful wrestling and Ana eventually pinning down her friend and working her way down her girlfriend's body with nibbles and kisses. 

Wishing he'd had the forethought to bring along his video camera, he squeezes himself as she holds her thighs apart, exploring her pussy, tongue caressing, tasting and flicking until Lily finally arches and bucks. 

"Fuckin hell ladies, quite a fuckin show. Now if you dont mind, and I know you fuckin don't, I'm just gonna jump in before I blow my fucking load"

He chuckles as he joins them on the bed, congratulating himself on his amazing self control and stamina, bringing them both earth shattering orgasms as he thrust into them both powerfully. What a fuckin day! A massive victory for the Saviours and ending in fucking two beautiful women at the same time. Satisfied his enormous ego, and cock, have been suitably massaged, he stands.

"Fuck ladies!" 

Pumping himself in his fist, his head thrown back, he's ready to let go.

"Oh fuck I'm gonna cum….You want daddy's cum?"

"Yes, please" they kneel before him

"Let me hear you fuckin beg"

"Give it to us daddy…. give us your cum….pleeaaase"

"That's my good girls, Fuck, fuck, urggghh….jesus fuck"

He groans, shakes and stills, spurting in ropes across their faces. Looking down panting, a satisfied smirk on his face as he watches them greedily licking at his cock and each other, milking him of every drop.

Finally eyes closed, head relaxed back, he breathes deeply and composes himself.

"God fucking damn! That was a stressful day. I fuckin needed that"

Flopping onto his back on the bed he pulls them both into a hug, kissing the tops of their heads.

"My dirty fuckin girls, you are both fuckin filthy, you know that? he chuckles, holding them there quietly for a while…. but he's not much of a cuddler and the silence is killing him.

" I knew you missed my cock" he says to Ana laughing 

 "....Maybe I don't miss your dick" he mocks "...I can fuck who I want…. don't call me princess... blah blah fucking blah. I swear to god woman, you ever talk to me like that again I'll spank you so fuckin hard" he chuckles giving her a playful slap to the ass.

"Is that a promise?" She laughs, kissing his chest. 

OK that's enough. Time to crack on.

"Well, no rest for the fuckin wicked. Cuddle time is officially fuckin over. Shit to do, this place don't run it's fuckin self"

He hoists himself up collecting the clothes from the floor and tossing the girls theirs.

"Well it was lovely meeting you, Lily" he chuckles glancing over at her as he pulls on his boxers and jeans. She smiles up at him admiring his shirtless physique.

"So..." Lily ventures "What happens now?" 

Ana raises her brows and dresses silently.

"What do you mean?" He pulls on his boots. 

"Um...us?" She looks from one to the other "What happens now with us?"

Ana and Negan exchange glances, he pulls on his shirt, his brow furrowed.

"Wow, quiet little girl just found her voice? Um...Nothing….There is no us" he turns and looks for his jacket. "Look darlin, nothing is fuckin happening here. It was just a casual fuck that's all...a bit of fun" he picks it up, pulling it on "I thought you knew that"

"But ....I thought maybe we could...you know ....have an arrangement."

Ana grabs her cigarettes and rolls her eyes at Negan.

"I'm going for a smoke. I'll leave you two love birds to it"

Negan turns to Lily with a frown.

"Whoah! Let me stop you right there, sweet cheeks. You wanted this. You got it. Your lucky fucking day. I'm very happy for you. 'Today was the day I fucked Negan' you can write it in your journal and tell all your friends.." he laughs at his own joke "...but that's it, there isn't, nor will ever be, a fuckin 'arrangement' " he air quotes with a smile and his trademark lean. 

"Oh...I thought…." Lily looks away, lip quivering.

Shit! She's being fuckin serious. What the fuck? Shutting that shit right down, immediately. 

"You thought what? That we were in love now, we'll be skipping hand in hand through the fuckin meadows? Look, dont get your titties in a twist sweetheart, it's just a fuck. You've had casual sex before right?"

He heads towards the door 

"...Or are you one of those crazy obsessive stalker types? He picks up Lucille  "…..Should I be fuckin worried?"

Lily's eyes fill with tears.

"Such an asshole." Ana shakes her head at him as she brushes passed. 

"Tell me something I don't fuckin know." 

He groans and rubs his forehead 

"Ok. Ok. For fucks sake, I'm joking….jeezuus.. Some people got no sense of fucking humour….C'mon, don't go getting all emotional on me,....I'm just busting your lady nuts. Look... I'm a busy guy. I got this place to run, several wives to entertain, I got a lot on my mind, I just don't have the fuckin time...." 

He backs out the door. 

"Don't take it personal.....I'll ..um....see you around." He shakes his head " fucks sake" he mumbles under his breath as he hurriedly leaves.

***

MASTERLIST

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@chloejanedecker1 @negan-love @bychrissi @nayghtynegan @negans-attagirl

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[dammitadolfnomorecake]

Once Bitten, Twice Stupid prt 127

127

Sitting on Shiro’s bed beside his brother, Keith felt devastated all over again. Yes, Shiro could confirm that he had been held with Lance, and that Lance was doing relatively okayish all things considered, but that was it. He couldn’t explain why they’d been returned in one piece, or how. No one had any of the goddamn answers he needed, and now Shiro was as helpless as him given both their boyfriends were missing.

Describing the cell they’d been held in, Shiro remembered a fair deal, even able to sketch out the rough details of the room on the iPad Coran have given him. He’d said Lance hadn’t given up wanting to get out and get back to him. His idiot boyfriend more concerned about what Keith was going through than his own situation. It was so Lance that his chest ached. Hearing that Shiro and the others had been used as a distraction, made Keith feel utterly stupid for not taking Lance with him. He felt so fucking useless he couldn’t bring himself to contribute to the conversation. Seeing Rieva and Matt reunite stung. The couple nuzzling into each other as they peppered kissed between assuring each other they were okay. That Rieva would be shot when the others came back without a scratch made no sense in any sane world. At least he wasn’t Sam. Colleen had ripped the older man a new one for making her worry, Sam sheepishly apologising, though he wasn’t in any way to blame.

On Shiro’s other side sat Krolia, a down little towards Shiro’s knee, rather than up at his side like Keith was. Shiro hadn’t let go of his hand since his grey eyes had fluttered open. Keith knew his brother needed the physical contact as much as he did. The trace evidence had been processed and passed onto Kolivan and the other Blades for processing. Meaning he was once again useless. This feeling fucking sucked. Before Lance he’d never known love the way he did now. His heart all broken, barely held together by the lingering thoughts of his beloved boyfriend... His brother, the ever workaholic, wanted to watch Lance’s abduction video for himself. Keith didn’t think he was strong enough to watch it again.

Knowing Lance was out there trying to get back to him only drove him to want to start working everything over from the top again, despite knowing there wasn’t some magical clue to find. He hated to admit it, but maybe this time Lance would have to save himself. Maybe this time all those promises would be broken and he’d never see Lance again... Maybe if he hadn’t been so goddamn stupid he wouldn’t have lost the love of his life, and be left almost all alone again with his family... but this was different now. He’d let down everyone in the room by losing Lance... like... like he’d let down his father by not being there in his final moments.

“Keith, you need to calm your breathing down, kiddo”

He was working himself up too much. He needed to sleep but just couldn’t

“Sorry...”

“We’re going to figure this out”

“How!? He’s still missing! Curtis is still missing!”

A sleepy Keith could be a very cranky Keith

“And we’ll work this out. You’re not going through this alone. We’re all here and we’re a team, kiddo”

He knew that. He just... he wanted to hear them blame him. To acknowledge this was all his fault. He didn’t want pity. He didn’t want them to blame the people who took Lance and Curtis without blaming him for letting it happen. Coran had expected something... they... they should have gone together as a group. They should have left earlier. He shouldn’t have spent the last time he had with Lance oiling and maintaining his blades. Miriam was now confined to resting there at VOLTRON because he’d let this happen. He couldn’t forgive himself. Not until he had Lance back in his arms and even then...

*

Lance eyed his new cell mates in suspicion. An invisible barrier between them and him and Curtis. Lotor had shown up and now he was here, and Lance didn’t know what to make of it. Matt, Shiro, and Sam had been taken away. Gas pouring down from the ceiling, knocking everyone except for him out. Then Lotor had been brought down. Acxa, Zethrid, and Ezor unconscious and traded for his three unconscious friends, Lance torn between rushing their captors and not placing the others in danger, and being confused as hell over why Lotor was being imprisoned when he was like a prince to the vampire community. Despite his usual bragging mouth, Lotor remained tight lipped. The scent of human blood clung to him, though the vampire didn’t seem to care. Then again, he wasn’t starving like Lance. Lance could see the way Lotor was shaking. Fists and jaw both clenched tightly. Whatever Lotor’s plan had been, things hadn’t gone the vampire’s way and Lotor was seething with fury. The questions Lance had for him couldn’t be voiced. He feared Lotor would snap, or his ego would make his head go fuzzy again. So instead, they watched each other like the two caged predators they were as their friends slept by their sides, Lance could only wait for the others to be returned, then they might finally have the numbers to turn the tide on this captivity thing.

Hours passed, Lance worn out from being on edge. This was the longest Lotor had kept his smart comments to himself. Lance wondering if the vampire was planning his escape, or simply not talking because he was sulking. It wasn’t until Curtis started stirring that he felt he could finally breathe easily. Rousing slowly, Curtis blinked up at him. Lance uncomfortable sitting in one spot so long that he’d moved Curtis to rest with his head in Lance’s lap. Sleeping gas was more effective on Curtis than Lance had thought it’d be. Curtis drooling enough that Lance was concerned he’d been going to drown on his own saliva. Groaning, Curtis went to sit up, Lance holding him down by the shoulder

“It’s okay. You’re okay. Take it easy”

“What... happened?”

“They gassed you guys... and took the others away. I’m sorry”

He should have fought their captors... or generally done something. Their friends still hadn’t been returned. Lance feared that they were doing horrible things to them... horrible things that they had planned for them. Curtis groaned again. Lance imagined he most probably had a headache from the gas

“How... long?”

“A few hours”

Lotor finally spoke. Lance jumping as he wondered if Lotor had been mad at him and that’s why he hadn’t spoken

“Lotor?”

“Your friends are gone. Thinking of them won’t change the situation”

“What do you mean they’re gone?!”

Lotor knew the whole time and was only saying this now?

“I mean they were traded as they were unnecessary objects”

His friends weren’t fucking objects! He... he was relying on them to come back. He didn’t know how to protect anyone! He wasn’t a master strategist! He was just a simple vampire who was near on starving. Growing at Lotor, his ego slipped, hand tightening on Curtis’s shoulder

“If that’s all you’ve got to say for yourself you can shut the hell up”

“I’m merely stating the obvious. Or did you perhaps think they’d return to save you?”

“What are you even doing here? Did you betray Allura?!”

Curtis groaned. Lance realising his nails had started piercing his friends skin. Quickly he released Curtis in shame

“I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

“No... my head hurts... what do you mean Shiro’s gone?”

“I traded myself and my generals for your friends”

Lance scoffed

“Right. That’s why all of you are here. Sure”

“That little conniving bitch Narti sold me out for the promise of a pardon upon return. We’re being held until passage can be secured. It seems my mother is quite eager to set eyes on you”

A shudder ran down Lance’s spine. Honerva may want to see him, but he had zero rush to lay eyes on her. And what was this about Narti? She was silent, moody, sullen and judgemental. But she was supposed to be Lotor’s faithful little witch. His witches were under VOLTRON’s protection because they were with Lotor. Whatever she’d been offered had to be more than just a pardon... If anyone was going to betray Lotor, Lance would have had his money on Acxa ditching him first. She always seemed somewhat annoyed watching him... It went to show you never knew what people were really thinking... It also explained Lotor being in such a foul mood. He always got what he wanted. Lance expected him to be tucked away from all of this after all his preaching about Sendak being too dangerous. His pompous arse probably thought he could simply waltz in and demand their release or something equally egotistical.

So. Then what happened now? Lance knew where the gas release was, but that wouldn’t be any use against the vampires who’d brought Lotor down... Maybe Lotor had gone against Sendak? But then... then that would mean Shiro, Sam and Matt hadn’t been released. If Lance was in Sendak’s position, he wouldn’t have released a hunter. Shiro could have been a future bargaining chip. Then again, Sendak probably saw humans like cattle. So weak and insignificant that there was no point wasting resources on keeping them alive. Trying to objectify his friends left him mixed up inside. He didn’t want to think of them like that. The lives of his friends weren’t worthless. There was safety in numbers and now that number had been cut by three dependable people. Lance knew Zethrid and Ezor had helped Keith, but what would they make of the betrayal of their friend?

“Do not look so alarmed. If you obey, things will go much easier for you”

“Fuck you. Of course I’m going to worry about my friends”

“Really? I think you should be more concerned with yourself. You’re letting your true nature show. Have they not fed you?”

“No. They don’t feel us”

“Ah, then we are lucky we have humans here. You must be starved”

“Not so starved that I’d stoop to your level. And don’t act like you understand when you stink of human blood”

Lotor moved his hands, appearing to be examining them

“I had a small rat problem to deal with. That particular piece of vermin won’t be causing any more trouble. It had the nerve to betray me. The nerve to set us both us. It had this coming”

So Narti was dead. Dead and her blood was what clung to Lotor. How could he sit there so calmly? Did he really feel no remorse for taking Narti’s life? Once again, if he was Sendak, he would have imprisoned her. Tried to draw as much information from her as possible about VOLTRON. Did Lotor kill her to protect that information? Or did Lotor kill her to spare her what was to come? Why was he trying to justify death? There were other things he needed to know

“Does anyone know you’re here?”

“I was asked to leave by Allura. I had grown rather fond of not being under the thumb of my father... but she wouldn’t listen objectively. She had no desire for me to stay any longer, and since you make for the most interesting of specimens, I decided I may as well be where the action is”

“Are you saying you did this for me?”

Lotor shrugged, a moment passing so long that Lance knew he wasn’t going to get an answer to that question. Like, if Lotor was trying to do a good thing, he could have at least said as much in his own way

“Then do you have some kind of plan?”

“Not to die. Though, I may face some backlash. Sendak was quite taken back to learn the true paternity of that child in your belly”

Lance opened his mouth to immediately deny what Lotor said, until it hit him and he promptly shut his mouth. Lotor had said “child” not “children”. Had Narti informed Sendak it was twins, the lie would have been found out the moment they examined him. They could test for paternity, but that would take time. If Sendak contacted Honerva and informed her, she may want evidence. She may also be more inclined to not hurt the baby if she thought it her grandchild. The thought of being held by Lotor sickened him. As did denying Keith was the father of their twins. He was proud to be Keith’s boyfriend. Lying brought time, but he wasn’t comfortable with at all. If Lotor was going to lie like that, he’d preferred the man said Matt, like their baby would some kind of vampire cross werewolf. Fucking Lotor.

Lotor raised his voice, confirming what they’d thought suspected over being monitored

“For now we should rest. I doubt my mother would be happy to hear of your treatment. You could lose the child without blood, and she would lose the chance to study you. I doubt anyone would wish to stand before Zarkon and have that conversation”

“You know I only drink from blood bags”

If they were listening, Lance wanted to make that very clear

“Because you’re weakling without the stomach for fresh blood. You’d be unstopped if you fed on fresh blood”

Hopefully their little “talk” had reached someone who’d bring him blood. Poor Curtis had to put up with two vampires now, and he didn’t want to vamp out on his friend. He’d sit and behave, then fuck Lotor, he was going to find a way to get him and Curtis free of this. He and the twins were getting back to Keith. He was going back to his boyfriend, no matter what it took to get back there.

[meganshinsou-tm]

Crimson|Ink. (m)

↳ chapter ten: forgive me

❧ genre:  tattoo-shop/hitmen au | tattoo artist/hitman kirishima

❧ fic warning: major character(s) death; happy ending

❧ chapter warnings: snakes

❧ chapter song: Forgive Me by Evanescence

♬crimson|ink playlist | ♧ character profiles | artist credit

[multi-chap masterlist] [previous chapter - next chapter]

Kirishima groaned as he threw a hardened punch, the sharp edges of his fist cutting through his victims flesh like butter. A few teeth flew out, along with a gush of dark red blood.

“I know I fucked up, you can get off my back about it!” He snarled.

Bakugou chuckled and wiped blood from his cheek before gearing up to land his own solid punch. Sheer brute strength was all he needed for his knuckles to break skin as they landed on a strong jaw, causing an agonized groan in return.

“Tch, acceptance is the first step. Now you just need to grow some balls and tell her!”

The two panted, red eyes staring back at each other, both covered in blood.

“Please, stop no more -” a voice choked out, causing both men to look at the battered and beaten victim they were using as a punching bag, a literal punching bag.

He was hanging upside down in an abandoned warehouse, swinging back and forth every time Kirishima and Bakugou laid into him. The man was what they deemed ‘the usual’, serial rapist and woman beater. 

He had evaded law enforcement and heroes for quite a while, leaving them no other choice than to call in reinforcements, i.e. the The Shop. 

After finally tracking down the man that not even the pros could catch, Bakugou and Kiri decided to give him a dose of his own medicine and let off a little steam of their own. As much as the blonde wanted to pulverize his numskull friend he decided to give him one last shot to fuck up before it came to that. And it goes without saying that Kirishima needed some kind of outlet to rage about what he had done.

“Bakugou, I can’t, look at us!”

Kirishima shouted, holding up his hands, showcasing the blood and bile dripping from them that wasn’t his own, but that of someone he was paid to kill, paid to be their executioner. 

He was a monster, a chaotic good monster but nonetheless - a monster. 

He could only imagine what you would think if only you knew what he was doing right now, no matter how disgusting and undeserving of life this criminal was. When Kirishima’s hands weren’t covered in black latex and ink, they were drenched in his own type of ink which was the blood of his targets.

“She doesn’t need this in her life, she doesn’t need all this violence and filth. That fucking -” he paused and sighed defeatedly, a hand combing through his hair, the blood on it slicking his already red hair to the side, “… that goddamn fucking smile of hers is the only clean and pristine thing any of us have anymore, it’s not right for us - for me to dirty it.”

Bakugou rolled his eyes. 

“Don’t you think she should be deciding what she does and doesn’t need,” he replied before sending the body between them straight into Kirishima with a swift and hard kick, the sound of ribs cracking and agonized screams filling the ambiance.

“Look, that nightmare, those scars, those fucking burns, they’re all there for a reason and from the looks of it, a real shitty reason. You think you’re protecting her by doing the childish bullshit you’re doing but in reality you’re not. If anything she needs someone like you idiot, needs to know that you will protect her. I’m not stupid and I know you aren’t … to an extent. Her ex did that and she isn’t telling any of us a damn thing about it which puts up a lot of fucking red flags, if I had to bet, I’d bet she ran away from him and she’s hiding out meaning he’s looking for her.”

Bakugou paused for a moment, the sounds of screaming and incredulous pleading giving him a migraine. 

With a growl he took the man’s head between his hands, “See you again in hell fucker,” he spout out before explosions erupted from his palms, obliterating the skull that was once there to messy pieces. 

With a relieved sigh Bakugou stood straight and shucked the blood and brain matter from his hands and off his shirt as he walked to face Kirishima, fire-red eyes burning into him.

“What are you gonna do when he finds her huh - and takes her back, away from us, away from you.”

A car horn blaring as it passed by the shop caused Kirishima to jump. 

His heart beating rapidly from the small scare. He groaned and let his head fall into his hands, foot tapping impatiently on the floor while he waited before the counter. He had been there for half an hour already, way earlier than he usually is, but he had to get there first, had to be the first one to see you.

Two full, excruciatingly long days had passed since he last saw or spoke to you. The image of your dull (e/c) eyes and face devoid of a smile burned into his brain, an image he never wanted to see again. Kirishima wanted to see you walking through the door, bright as ever, eyes sparkling and you overall radiating. 

He missed you, god did he miss you. 

Just walking into the shop that morning he could faintly smell your chocolaty scent, a scent he had grown so used to and even developed an addiction to. While Kirishima waited, his read eyes skimmed over your sketchpad that still remained on the counter by the shop computer.

Since joining them you took up an interest in learning how to draw and from the looks of it, you had promising skill. The book was filled with mostly just doodles and rough sketches of your favorite anime characters. There were random eyes and hands, flowers and animals here and there. A twinge of a smile crossed Kirishima’s face and he thought back to the multiple times he’d watch you sitting in the same spot he was, doodling away. (H/c) strands of hair falling into your face and your hand brushing and holding them out of the way, tongue in cheek, eyes focused. Sometimes you’d growl in aggravation from messing up and others you’d snicker to yourself at something off the wall you’re mind came up with. It was creepy to say but Kirishima really did enjoy just watching and admiring you from afar, lost in your own little world making these cute faces and sounds. 

He chuckled and closed the sketchbook - fuck he missed you.

After his ‘heart to heart’ with Bakugou, Kirishima was more than ready to return to the shop. He was hellbent on apologizing from the moment you stepped foot through that front door.

The bell to that exact door rang suddenly, making his red eyes look up and dilate.

“Hey Red.”

A smile grew on Kirishima’s face, one razor sharp fang peeking out as he looked upon you. You wore black skinny jeans and a black hoodie, a long grey coat layered it. The hood was on your head and you removed the sunglasses, revealing those sparkling pools of (e/c). Your eyes squinted at him and a smile of your own grew, it couldn’t be helped and it made the red-head a puddle.

“Hey there little one.”

A gust of wind blew through the still open door and you shuddered, quickly closing it and getting covered in even more snow flakes. Kirishima couldn’t help but inhale that sweet scent he loved so much when it carried along with the wind and came his way. Not being able to take it anymore he had to ask.

“What is that?”

You looked up at him, dusting snow from your clothes and quirked a brow, “What is what?”

“That smell, whatever you wear almost every single day. It smells like chocolate.”

Giggling you pulled the hood from the hoodie down and shook like a dog.

“Sympathy for the Skin - it’s this lotion I use religiously and it’s pretty much engraved in my skin now. There’s all kinds of stuff in it, cocoa butter, almond oil, bananas and vanilla.”

Kirishima hummed and burned the name of the lotion into his memory.

“Well it smells really good - you smell really good.”

You smirked and leaned on the counter, arms crossed and tilting your head at him. “Are you trying to butter me up Kiri?”

The tattooed male chuckled and gently plucked a snowflake from your eyelash. “Maybe … is it working?”

Playfully, you rolled your eyes and tilted your head, gently motioning his hand away from your face before standing straight and going to walk into the kitchen.

“You’re something else Kirishima,” you mumbled.

Suddenly there was a hand around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks.

“(Y/N) … please, hear me out.”

The touch felt like fire, causing you to be back in that truck, wrists pinned to the ceiling by the same hand. At that point in time the fire was welcoming but right now, you weren’t quite sure what it was but deep down you longed for it to feel as good as it did before. There was a desperation in Kirishima’s voice as he pleaded, when your head turned around just the tiniest bit to get a peek, you could also see the desperation in his eyes. Those enraging beautiful red eyes.

“Goddammit,” you spoke under your breath before your hand turned, palm open to him, “Fine, but I need some tea.”

Kirishima was somewhat taken back by your action. Nonetheless though he wasted no time in taking hold of your hand, letting you lead him into the kitchen before letting go and going to dig through the cabinets for your favorite tea. The male took it upon himself to take the kettle and fill it with water as you gathered two mugs. He placed the kettle on a hot plate that sat next to the sink then watched you prep the mugs with the tea bags before going to sit at the small table.

He turned to face you, leaning against the counter and rubbing the side of his neck. You sat in the chair, leg crossed over one knee and arms crossed. There was a look on your face, one that told him he should get to talking and fast. For once he was intimidated - by little old you.

“I’m sorry,” he started off.

You shrugged your shoulders and tilted your head, “I know you’re sorry, now apologize.”

“What?”

“Feeling sorry isn’t an apology, they’re two different things. One is an emotion, a feeling of regret, while the other is an action, it’s you expressing that regret.”

Kirishima’s red eyes widened, he was speechless. He knew you’d probably be reluctant when it came to forgiving him but he didn’t expect for you to be well …like this.

“Okay. I’ll start with saying I fucked up, I know I did. You asked me not to poke anymore for information and I did, I tried pushing you to do something you weren’t comfortable with and that was wrong of me. I apologize for also just kissing you like that, even if I did intend to just shut you up at first, it wasn’t the best thing to do and only made things worse.”

You listened, not once taking those (e/c) eyes off of him, it made him feel so exposed for some reason.

“Most of all though, I apologize for what I said to you. I tend to want to get the last word when I’m heated like that, I end up saying things I don’t mean, really shitty things. I hope you know by now that obviously what I said was a lie. Truly, I wish I could go back in time and just take it back.”

“Well you can’t,” you quickly replied making Kirishima wince at your sharp words, “ … but I can tell you’re sincere and that you really are sorry so - that’s a start.”

Suddenly your frame was picked up from its seat, feet hanging in the air when strong thick tattooed arms caged you in a massive bear hug. Your face was squished against a hard and heavenly smelling chest, arms dangling at your sides and eyes wide with shock. Kirishima was spewing ‘thank you’s’ as he rocked back and forth, holding and squeezing you like a child with their most precious stuffed animal. You couldn’t exactly breathe but you also couldn’t help but giggle.

“Kiri, I’m uh, I’m losing air.”

The red-head gasped and quickly released his iron hold causing your body to slip from his arms with a yelp and almost fall over when your feet hit the ground. Thankfully he thought fast and grabbed you by the elbow, helping to steady you again.

“Uh - I’m sorry, I don’t really register how small you are compared to me and forget my own strength sometimes.”

Nodding, another giggle escaped your lips, “It’s fine, just took me off guard, that’s all. I wasn’t really expecting such a thing from you, it’s like you’re a massive overly excited puppy.”

“I’m just relieved,” he breathed out while straightening your clothes and hair back to normal.

“Well, I accept your apology but you’re not off the hook just yet!”

The tea kettle went off, causing you to both jump at the noise and chuckle.

“That’s fair,” Kirishima replied as he turned to turn off the hot plate and remove the kettle. “Is there something you need me to do, punch myself, walk around with the word ‘asshole’ drawn on my forehead all day?”

You quirked a brow, shocked at Kirishima’s desperation. From the sound of it, he was willing to do almost anything for your forgiveness. He seemed to be at your mercy and you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t entertaining. There were so many things you could probably get him to do, public humiliation, self-mutilation, maybe make him shave off all his hair? 

Nah, you liked his hair, that needed to be left alone. You needed to think of something that would really show he didn’t mean those crummy words. A representation of the real Eijirou Kirishima.

Soon a mug was placed in front of you, before you could ask for honey Kirishima was already pouring some for you, he even knew exactly how much to pour which made you smile. After being handed a spoon, Kiri took a seat and took a sip of his own tea then looked at you, awaiting his sentence.

“I got it! Everyone in this shop has gone with me on shop runs - everyone except you,” you leaned over and poked Kiri’s chest making him chuckle, “That’s your first trial, chauffeuring me around from place to place for supplies and just spending the day with me. I want to see how we truly get along without any bets in place, you’re not required to act nice if that’s truly someone you’re not, I don’t want the fake Eijirou, I want the real one.”

“I can do that no problem. What else?”

You snapped your fingers and smiled, “You also owe me lunch, a really good lunch too!”

“Is that all?”

To be honest Kirishima was shocked at the mercy you were having on him. Spending the day with you and having lunch together didn’t sound bad to him at all, in fact he was more than excited to spend this time with you, one on one. He was ready to start fresh and redeem himself.

“No that’s not all, I just can’t think of anything else right now but I will. I’m only being so merciful because I’m pretty much over this now and it’s not something I want to dwell on. I really do want to be friends Kiri and to hold a grudge and be bitter about things doesn’t help. So now, where we go from here is all up to you.”

And there it was finally, the pressure. The pressure to not fuck this up royally, again!

Kiri let out a breath before nodding with a determined look on his face. “Alright little one, what do say we get these trails started?”

You moaned and groaned after plopping into the passenger seat of Kirishima’s truck, hands gripping at your stomach as you felt it eating away at your spine and body slumping over onto the middle console. Kiri settled in his seat by now and looked down at you.

“Eijirou, I’m dying here.”

“(Y/N), throughout the whole store you got every single free-sample there was, plus a massive slurpee and a cookie!”

Whining even more your buried your face into his arm, “Those were just teasers! Now feed me real food before I start to shut down!”

“Yes your majesty,” he chuckled and started the truck before taking off.

For the next ten minutes you went from groaning to being completely silent and almost lifeless. At one point Kirishima really thought you were dead before a sneeze left you. 

So far the day was going well and you were getting along as if nothing happened. The first stop was to get tattoo supplies and you left Kiri to get everything like you would with the others since they knew exactly what to look for. After that it was off to get bulk supplies like paper towels, gloves, drinks for the kitchen, cleaning materials, etc. 

Quickly Kiri learned why all the guys hated going to that one place with you, not only did you specifically seek out free food but you had this bad habit of just dipping off out of nowhere, silent as a ninja. Each time Kirishima wouldn’t notice until he was talking to himself and turned around to find you nowhere in sight. His heart would drop every time and he’d frantically search for you. Eventually he made it a rule that you walked in front of him at all times. It was like shopping with a child basically but still you were so cute to him.

It was nearing Thanksgiving and the stores were displaying all their Christmas items - tree, lights, figures, ornaments. Anytime something bright and shiny caught your eye, Kiri found himself being jerked by the hand and dragged to the point of interest. Each time he could’ve easily stopped you but he didn’t want to. Not once has he ever witnessed this much of you, normally he’d shack up in his studio and avoid being around you or leave if he was around you too much. 

He wasn’t used to all the touchiness, you absentmindedly clinging to his arm if someone gave you an eerie feeling, tugging at his clothes or shaking him when another free-sample stand popped up, and the hand-holding, so much of it. He wasn’t blind or new to any of the stores you stopped by that day, he knew where to find certain items, but still when it came time to look for the next item on the list you’d grab his massive hand in your small one and lead the way as he’d pull the buggy.

Kirishima knew you were a touchy person, hell he’d even seen you dragging Shouto, the most reserved of them all around the shop by the hand to show him something so he shouldn’t feel that special about it but he did. Yet at the same time it didn’t feel off, it felt right. 

Just like it did that night at Sero’s, holding and keeping you close to him like it was the most normal thing ever. It could become normal too, if he really tried, he could have you like this every day. Still though, Kirishima was unsure about whether he should truly retire his whole ploy to keep you at a safe distance. 

Did he want you? Of course he did. Most of all though, he wanted to keep you safe he just couldn’t decide though whether being with him really was safe or not for you.

“Are we there yet?”

Kirishima looked down from the road briefly to see you still laying over on the console, chin resting on your forearm as your finger traced the squares of the flannel fabric dressing his arm.

“Almost little one. You okay? You’re really quiet.”

With a small smile you nodded, “I’m just hungry Red.”

Kiri chuckled and licked his bottom lip, “Well where we’re going, you can eat to your pretty little heart’s content.”

“Oh Kiri don’t tell me that, I’ll make you regret it!”

Soon the truck came to a stop and Kirishima unbuckled his belt. He leaned over you, looking at each other eye to eye. 

“Try me.”

“Thems fighting words Red, are you challenging me!”

A razor sharp smile was now on the red-heads face, making you smile just as wide, you knew what was coming and you were already agreeing.

“It’s not so much a challenge when I know I’ll come out on top little one. You see I have a pretty insatiable appetite myself and I’m sure it’s much bigger than yours.”

Your lips pouted, a prideful gleam sparkled in your eyes, “Tsk, tsk! You may be twice my size but I’m positive I can eat just as much food as you, if not more!”

A sharp tooth bit down on Kiri’s bottom lip at the sound of a challenge. 

Last time the two of you made a bet it didn’t end well but this one was harmless. Something inside of the red-head liked to challenge you, and he could tell you liked it as well. You were such a little spitfire and he loved it. 

He hummed in amusement and let his hand fall next to your head, his thumb brushed over your parted bottom lip mindlessly but neither of you minded.

“How about you put your money where that pretty little mouth is then?”

“You’re on, first one to tap out has to pay for the meal,” you spoke before nipping at the thumb still on your lip and making Kiri snatch it away with a smile.

You sat up to unbuckle the seat belt and waited while Kiri got out and came around to open your door. He helped you hop out of the tall vehicle, neither of your hands letting go of the other even after your feet were on the ground. He closed the door and walked you across the street, when you looked and realized where he had brought you, a massive shit eating grin spread across your face. 

It was one of the conveyor belt sushi places, where you could get a lot of food for your dollar and the perfect place for a food eating contest.

“You done messed up A-Aron!”

Shaking his head, Kirishima let go of your hand and slung an arm around your shoulders before leading you into the restaurant and to begin your little game.

After sitting down you both agreed that whoever had the most plates by the time you were ready to leave would be the winner, giving you time to actually enjoy yourself and not throw up in the process. As time passed you’d talk, you told Kirishima about the tattoo Sero gave you and about Hitoshi who was probably still passed out in your bed. You both ate plate after plate of sushi in between chatting and had two stacks piling up rather quickly. The employees had to be used to shenanigans like this everyday so neither of you felt particularly bad about the massive amount of food being devoured.

“So, you still haven’t come up with my last trial,” Kiri asked as he stacked another plate and leaned back in his seat.

Your head shook in response and you chewed on a piece of sushi that was a little too large for your mouth. The man chuckled at how fat your cheeks looked and leaned over to wipe a small amount of soy sauce from the corner of your mouth before licking his thumb clean.

“Indirect kiss,” you muffled.

“Whatever, finish your food before you choke,” he replied and took a sip of his tea.

You quirked a brow and finished chewing then proceeded to swallow your food with a loud gulp, “Oh I never choke, Eijirou.”

Kirishima quickly covered his mouth and choked down his drink, you started to cackle at him then groaned and grabbed at your stomach when it hurt to laugh from being so full. Your face landed on the table, lulling side to side in misery.

“That’s what you get,” Kiri snickered at your pain, “are you done?”

“Never,” you groaned out pathetically.

Smirking the red-head crossed his arms and leaned onto the table, one of his hands reached out and gathered your hair from the surface before it could land in the dirty plates and tucked it to one side. 

“Well I’m done, you win.”

You quickly shot up and glared at the man, “Lies, you’re letting me win!”

“It doesn’t matter I was going to pay for the meal anyway. Plus, you proved me wrong, you really can put away just as much food as I can, maybe you ate a plate or two more, so you really did win.”

You turned from looking at him and to the plates, he could tell you were counting them. After a few moments you turned to the electronic screen, browsing through the menu with a determined look on your face. Kirishima couldn’t help but chuckle at your resilience, even if it was just a silly contest he liked how headstrong and iron-willed you were.

“I do have one more plate than you but I still have room for dessert.”

“Of course you do!”

After selecting a parfait you sat back in the seat with a disgruntled huff and hands rubbing your bloated stomach. 

“So, anywhere else we need to go before we head back to the shop?”

“Actually yeah, I need to stop by the pet store and get some dog food.”

Your eyes widened and twitched, “Dog food? You have a dog?”

“No little one, I like to have a nice bowl of it before bed every night.”

Right as the words left his mouth a chopstick was flying straight for Kirishima’s face. He quickly deflected it and laughed. You rolled your eyes and picked your parfait up off the belt and started to eat it.

“What kind of dog?”

“She’s a pit bull, I rescued her from the shelter last year,” he replied and took his phone out, scrolling through his pictures and then showing one to you.

“Aww, Ei! She’s precious! Look at the sweet pupper, oof look at her snoot,” you cooed.

Kiri continued to show you more pictures of the grey and white dog. There were pictures of them together on the couch, at the park, even some of her and the guys. The tattooed man told you stories of her, that she was pretty goofy and playful but also a big snuggle bug. The dog was like a child to him and it was adorable to see him gleaming over the animal. 

Seeing this side of Kiri was exactly what you wanted. When he wasn’t thinking too much about it, he seemed to really open up to you, almost like breathing. He really was trying hard to fulfill his quest and you appreciated him sharing this part of his life with you.

“What’s her name?”

“It’s Duchess. She’s a little spoiled,” he smiled and finally put the phone away.

“I can’t believe I’m just now finding out about this, it’s like you were trying to hide your child from me. I want to meet her one day!”

Kirishima smiled while pulling out his wallet and started to pay for the food with the machine at the table. 

“Next time I’m out at the park with her, I’ll let you know. Or -” he put his wallet away and smirked as he leaned back in his seat so casually, “You could always come over, you know to meet my dog.”

“Well I mean, if that would please your dog then maybe.”

With a smile Kirishima stood from his seat and walked to yours, holding out his hand to help you up out of your own, “I think it would please her very much.”

After leaving the restaurant, you made a stop by the pet store. Overjoyed you quickly ran inside and for once left Kirishima in the dust. He chuckled and jogged in after you, yelling to wait up. 

With big bright eyes and a massive smile, you awed over all the animals, needing to pet every single one of them. A bunny here, a ferret there, a couple of kittens. Next you made it over to the birds, pressing your hands to the glass and marveling over their bright colors, baby talking to them though the barrier. 

Not once did Kirishima interrupt, he was too caught up in how happy you were to interact with all the animals. He had a feeling that the moment you met his dog, he’d become like chopped liver. 

After having your fill, you turned and looked at the red-head then behind him at the aisle markers. Taking his hand you went to walk towards the dog food aisle but Kirishima didn’t budge, causing you to grunt as you pulled.

“Kiri, dog food is this way.”

The man nodded and rubbed the side of his neck with his free hand, “I know but let’s go down this aisle and around.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion, you turned to look in the right direction, not seeing anything strange or out of place.

“Why,” you chuckled and tugged, “Let’s just go this way, plus I want to see the reptiles and they’re right there,” you pouted with the biggest most pathetic puppy dog eyes and pointed.

Kiri’s hand squeezed yours and he looked conflicted, finally though he gave in and let you drag him towards the right aisle. 

“Those stupid pretty eyes,” he thought with a smirk. 

You came to a stop before the reptiles, bending at the knees slightly to get a better look at the ones on the lower level. Kiri left you to look at them as he went and got dog food, after locating the right brand he got the biggest bag and turned to make his way back to you.

“Okay, little one let’s get - ah,” the massive man yelled when he turned the corner to you holding a snake in his face.

Quickly Kiri turned away, his fingers gripping the dog food.

“Isn’t it cute? They let me hold it,” you chimed and brought the snake back to your chest as it sat like a rock in your hand.

“Cool, now put it back and lets go.”

Your brows furrowed yet again, a quizzical look on your face. 

“Kiri what’s wrong? It’s just a little sn - ake,” you spoke slowly after finally realizing what must of been the issue this whole time.

First Kirishima didn’t want to walk down the way you came and now he wasn’t even facing you and looking tense as hell. You asked him to turn and look, but he shook his head and mentioned how heavy the dog food was and that he was ready to leave.

“Bullshit Kiri, I weigh more than that dog food, now look at me - please.”

The red-head bared his sharp teeth at the sound of your pleading, so soft and wanting, and totally fucking up his life. Only after a few hours together, you now had this hold on him, like some leash around his heart that tugged in every direction you went, dragging him along like a puppy, only wanting to please you as long as it kept that dumb smile on your face. 

Finally, Kirishima sheathed his teeth back behind his lips, taking a deep breath before he turned around to face you, his red eyes not once leaving your own (e/c) ones.

“Yes your highness,” he questioned, trying to hide his nervousness.

You gave him a soft and calming smile, “Ei, are you scared of snakes?”

“I’m not scared of them, I just don’t like them.”

Your teeth were now chewing on your bottom lip, eyes looking down to the cold-blooded creature in your hands before flashing back up to him. He felt a shudder run up his spine at the scheming yet alluring look you held, almost like a siren. Kirishima knew that whatever you were thinking wasn’t good for him but he couldn’t help but be lured in, frozen in place.

“Eijirou,” you softly spoke and took a step towards him.

He wanted to take a step back but he didn’t, the way his name always fell from your lips was a terrible weakness of his and you were starting to realize it. He could only swallow harshly, jaw clenching and clutching the dog food tighter.

“(Y/N), don’t.”

“I know what your final trial is.”

Kirishima sighed and let his head fall back, an aggravated ‘fuck’ escaping from between his triangular teeth.

“Hold this noodle for ten seconds and you’re completely forgiven, clean slate.”

The tattooed man looked down and cringed at the sight of the reptile. It was balled up in your palms, it’s beady head resting on its body. Bright yellow and pretty fat looking. Up close it didn’t look slimy or really that intimidating, if anything it looked fake. 

Kiri looked back to you, his brows rising and eyes softening with one last plea but you chuckled and shook your head. Groaning, he sat the dog food on the floor and scratched his head. His blood was pumping, growing more nervous as he brought his palms up. Once you started to move the snake towards Kirishima he looked away, taking more deep breaths. Soon he felt a light weight in the middle of his hand and cold scaly skin - and then it moved.

Kiri stiffened and shook his head, trying not to freak and make the animal move any more but it continued to slowly slither.

“I can’t do this (Y/N), take it pl-”

You cut his words off by cupping his cheek with one hand, turning his face to look at yours and placing your other hand on the underside of his.

“Eijirou, you can do this. It’s already been almost five seconds. You’re halfway there. Don’t focus on the snake, look at me. I know how much you like to do that.”

An almost strained chuckle came from Kirishima’s throat but he listened to you and focused on the one thing he’s been focused so much on for the past month.

His red eyes zeroing in on your pink lips, watching as they moved while you counted for five more seconds. Gradually his heart-rate was decreasing and his nerves were settling. Before he knew it the snake was being removed him his hand and replaced with sanitizer, making him blink rapidly and look down. The tension literally melted from Kiri’s body and he huffed while rubbing his hands together and smearing the disinfect. You were doing the same with a pleased expression and Kirishima felt embarrassed. When you looked up to him though there wasn’t any humor or cockiness in your face.

“I’m not going to ask why you don’t like snakes Eijirou. I understand everyone has their own fears and you don’t owe me an explanation about them. I am proud of you though, I’m sure that was difficult for you but facing your fear just for me, it means a lot.”

Kirishima smiled and tousled his spiky hair, “So - am I forgiven now?”

You smiled and rose up on the tips of your toes, hands coming to rest on Kiri’s chest for balance as you placed a feather-light kiss to his cheek.

“You’ve been forgiven since buying me food Red.”

Crimson eyes narrowed at you and you snickered, quickly walking towards the cashier. Kirishima growled and he picked up the dog food before running after you.

“I really hate you sometimes little one.”

You squealed once he caught up and wrapped his free arm around the front of your waist, easily picking you up and squeezing as he gnawed on your shoulder. You giggled and tried to push him away. 

“I hate you too Ei.”

[puddygeeks]

Wᴇ Cᴏᴍᴇ Rᴜɴɴɪɴɢ - Tʜᴇ 100 Bᴇʟʟᴀᴍʏ x OC - Cʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 19: Aᴄᴛɪᴏɴs Hᴀᴠᴇ Cᴏɴsᴇᴏ̨ᴜᴇɴᴄᴇs

Masterlist

Episode: Contents Under Pressure

Rating: Mature

Summary: During her time in the Skybox, Indigo formed a precious friendship with fellow outcast Octavia Blake, the girl under the floor. At first they thought their departure from the oppression of the Ark was a blessing, but quickly came to rely on Indigo's keen survival instincts. The 100 struggle to meet the challenges of Earth whilst Bellamy strives to lead the wavering teenagers and his irresponsible attitude fuels constant conflict with Indigo. Their only shared interest is in protecting Octavia and Indigo beings to suspect that there is a deeper cause to Bellamy's seemingly irrational choices. As the consequences of his actions mount up around him, he finally begins to confide in her and she discovers more than she ever bargained for. 

Fandom: CW’s The 100

Pairing: OC x Bellamy Blake

LONG TERM ONGOING PROJECT :)

My writing is entirely fuelled by coffee! If you enjoy my work, feel free to donate toward my caffeine dependency: will work for coffee

Warnings: Mature content. Non-consent, language, sex, self harm, suicide, anxiety, helplessness, torture, captivity/confinement, alcohol/drug use.

Chapter Nineteen

I escorted Octavia back to the bottom floor to make sure she got some of the antidote. Then whilst the girls fussed over Finn, I cleaned her wound and dressed it as best I could. Once I’d finished, she insisted on checking on the grounder again. I didn’t fight her, instead opting to check on Jasper and Monty. I spent some time ensuring they weren’t injured from their time out in the storm, before insisting that they change into some dry clothes to warm up and fetching them some food from our limited supplies. Afterwards I made my way to the top floor to check on Octavia, who was cleaning a wound on the head of the imprisoned grounder. As I climbed through the hatch I noticed Miller approaching her, and just heard him speak before he noticed me. 

“You know your brother doesn’t want you up here Octavia, let’s go.” He spoke with authority and I strode over and tapped him on the shoulder. 

“Hi, remember me?” He rolled his eyes at me and put his hands on his hips in impatience. “Yeah, she’s not going anywhere so why don’t you get back to kissing Bellamy’s ass and get out of my face.” I smiled in an overdramatically friendly way and he stared back at me with a tired look.

“Don’t give me shit Indigo, I’m just following orders. She can’t be in here.” He turned to move Octavia and I jumped in front of her, blocking him from touching her.

“I don’t care what orders you have, I’d like you to try having a spine for once. We’re not on the Ark any more, Bellamy isn’t the Chancellor. Surely you realise how ridiculous this is?” I appealed and he rolled his eyes in response. I realised that using reason wouldn’t work as he was too dedicated and decided to try a different tactic. “And if not, then feel free to drag me outta here. But be warned, you saw how it went for the last one of Bellamy’s goons to put their hands on me. Your choice.” I held my position as he looked from me to Octavia, to the grounder and then finally back to me. He sighed in frustration and waved a hand at me. 

“Fuck it, I’ll ask Bellamy to deal with you.” He made his way to the ladder in a defeated manner and I shrugged disinterestedly at him. As soon as he was out of sight, I turned to Octavia. 

“We don’t have long. Here, I’ve still got the moonshine I borrowed for your arm. I can guarantee that whatever they jabbed through his hand wasn’t sterile so I’d get some alcohol on this wound, it might just be enough to prevent an infection if he’s lucky.” I explained my instructions in a rush as I passed the small flask that I’d hidden in my trousers to her and she took it from me gladly. 

“Thanks Indie, I’m glad you’ve got my back.” She breathed as she watched me with a warm smile.

“Always, my girl.” I smiled back. “Besides, this is insane.” I added, indicating to the grounder with a flinch. “We need to do as much damage control as we can. What can I do to help? I’m guessing he won’t let me touch him, can’t really blame him. I can find some extra rags, maybe bring more water if I can ninja back up here before Bellamy.” I forced a teasing smile despite the tension of the situation. She glanced up at the grounder with a tenderness that I hadn’t seen in her before and I watched her with interest. I was still uncomfortable with the strange situation between them but decided not to press on that just now. 

“I don’t know, you protected him and you’re with me. Maybe he’ll let you help?” She thought aloud as she kept her eyes trained on him. I glanced up at him and noticed that he was staring intensely down at me, as if he was trying to get the measure of me.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner, I didn’t imagine for a second that they would do this.” I sighed as we made eye contact. My eyes roamed over the numerous wounds they had inflicted on him and I cringed. “Look, I know this is difficult, but we really don’t have long. Once Bellamy gets back up here, there’s not much I’ll be able to do to stop him. I’ll try my best but…”As I trailed off, he gently nodded at me and I startled unexpectedly. I stared back in disbelief for a moment, before forcing myself into action. I grabbed a fresh damp rag and approached him, gently wiping the blood and dirt from his face. Octavia finished cleaning his hand and glanced over at me. 

“They still haven’t found us.” She muttered in disbelief and I couldn’t help feeling that this was strange. I’d have expected to be dragged from here kicking and screaming by now. 

“Bellamy’s probably stomped off somewhere, you know what he’s like. My guess is Miller’s trying to find him.” I replied, voicing my thoughts as they ran through my mind. “Let’s not waste time. What else did they do to him?” I asked, rushing as I cleared any obvious blood from his skin.

“Bellamy whipped him with a seatbelt.” She answered reluctantly, glancing around at his back and wincing.

“God damn it Bellamy.” I growled under my breath. “Did it break the skin?” I asked, not really wanting an answer. Octavia nodded at me with tearful eyes. “Okay, get some alcohol on the wounds, it's gonna sting but god only knows what oil and crap is on those belts.” I instructed, as she rushed around to his back. I cleaned up all of the blood I could see, then jogged over to grab a bottle of water for him to drink. I gave him enough time to drink, then he pulled away from me. “I think we’ve done everything we can for now Tavi. You should get out before you get caught up here again. I’ll deal with your idiot brother.” I suggested gently.

Octavia looked at me reluctantly, then stared back at the grounder with remorse. After a few seconds of silently debating herself, she finally nodded in agreement. I spent a few minutes clearing up the items we’d used and tried to cover that we’d even been here whilst I had the opportunity. I caught the sound of footsteps and Bellamy stepped into the room.

“Indigo, what are you doing up here?” He asked in an irritable tone.

“I’m just checking on your torture victim. I’m doing what you seem to have forgotten how to do, treating him like a human being.” I spat, glaring at him furiously.

“What did you want me to do, let Finn die?” He yelled, throwing his hands up in a display of exasperation.

“No, don’t do that.” I growled, feeling frustrated that he would even try to fool me. “This was never about Finn, you bought him here before we even knew that he was poisoned. This was about you and your goddamn reckless behaviour!” I pointed at him aggressively, determined not to let him win me over with excuses this time. 

“You’re right, I bought him here for answers, to save all of us! They’re killing us Indigo and I need to know why!” His voice was growing aggressive now and I groaned in response. I opened my mouth to argue but he cut me off. “And then yes, I found out that Finn was poisoned and I did what I needed to. Clarke and Raven escalated it and I let them. Finn is still alive because of that.” He tried to justify himself and I scoffed in response.

“Don’t try to shift the blame Bellamy!” I exclaimed, calling him out for his excuses. “Yes, the girls did their part, I’m not denying that, but that just makes you all wrong. It doesn’t take away from your guilt! You want to be a good leader? You can start by taking control of a situation when people cross the line like they did tonight. You just stood there and let it happen!” I spat and realised that my voice was rising as I spoke. I took a breath and lowered to a disappointed hiss. “Better yet, lead by example - maybe don’t bring in a prisoner and set up a torture chamber in the first place, Christ!” I held my hands to my head in frustration, feeling myself growing impatient with him.

“What do you want from me?” He asked, staring at me with tired eyes and shuffled on the spot. He was clearly uncomfortable with my scrutiny and I could tell from his reaction that he wasn’t used to being held accountable in such a manner.

“I want you to stop behaving like a child! Think. Actually use your brain instead of just charging into the situation and destroying everything in your path.” I yelled and he startled at my words. I took a few deep breaths to try to calm myself slightly, noticing that I was losing control.

“I am doing my best to protect you all, and you and Octavia make it unnecessarily hard.” He spat, causing me to grow furious again. “You can’t keep challenging me in front of everyone, I can’t tell the guys to make an exception every time you cause trouble, it raises too many questions-”

“I don’t need your protection, I can look after myself! I can floor your goonsquad just fine if they cause me problems. You’re not the fucking Chancellor Bellamy!” I was now screaming in fury and he stood stunned on the spot, staring at me wide eyed. I took a deep breath and slowed my breathing before continuing. “You can’t just use your following to do whatever you want, we may need leaders but we all need each other to survive and currently you’re just treating this like your own personal dictatorship. This was not okay!” I indicated toward the grounder as I spoke. “Your actions have consequences, for all of us. From what I know, it seems yours are already catching up to you.” I added poignantly. His eyes grew even wider in shock and his expression was of disbelief. “Octavia and I are a team, we deal with things together. It’s long past time for you to utilise us, confide in us, let us support you, instead of constantly fighting us.” I softened my voice to a reasonable tone and tried to guide him to consider my words instead of just rebuking me.

We stood in a heavy silence as he processed what I had just said and I watched him with interest. I hadn’t meant to tell him that I knew about what he’d done on the Ark, but it slipped out in my temper. It seemed when I was around him that I had just as loose a grip on my emotions as him. Octavia thought it was a risk for him to know that I knew his secret, that he may try to get rid of me, but I never felt in any danger from him. He was unpredictable and, at times, selfish, but I knew in my gut that he wouldn’t harm me. 

“Octavia wouldn’t support the shit I’ve done.” He muttered, almost too quiet for me to hear and I raised my brows in surprise.

“I understand how much you want to protect her. I get it, I’m not sure there’s anything I wouldn’t do to keep her safe.” I empathised, finally starting to cool off.

“You don’t know shit.” He snapped, before quickly reigning himself in. “I can’t talk to you.” He turned on his heel and started back down at the ladder. I finally felt like I was getting somewhere with him, like he was about to confide in me, before he left. I paced around, trying to shake the thoughts from my head, but it proved impossible. I went to the bottom floor instead to check on Finn and although I was relieved to see him awake with Raven fussing over him, I noticed that Clarke seemed distressed. 

“What’s going on?” I asked with genuine concern, despite my annoyance with her earlier actions. I had to put my feelings aside and be responsible, as it seemed that something had happened here.

“Bellamy just left, the storm seems like it’s passing but I still really don’t think anyone should be out there yet.” She stared at the door and I felt my stomach flip. I knew he had a tendency to take off on his own when he felt overwhelmed, but this was not the time to do so.

“Okay, it’s fine, I’ll go get him.” I replied calmly, grabbing a jacket to cover myself and preparing to leave. 

“No, Indigo you can’t. Let me get a group together.” Clarke began but I cut her off.

“No, don’t get anyone. It needs to be just me. Look, it won’t take me long, if I’m out there for ages then you can send people to look for us. Just give me some time to talk to him, please.” I pleaded and Clarke looked sympathetic, nodding gently in agreement.

I grabbed a torch and headed out into the rain. It was much calmer than it had been earlier, but still far from pleasant to be in. It was much harder to navigate the camp now in the dark and rain and the destruction of the storm had transformed it into a challenging obstacle course. I wandered aimlessly through the destroyed tents and fallen trees, before I spotted Bellamy’s large stature in the same clearing I’d found him hiding in the last time he’d stormed off. 

“Bellamy! What are you doing out here?” I called out to him, but he didn’t seem to react to me at all. He stayed rooted to the spot with his back to me and I waited nervously.

“Go back, Indigo.” He replied coldly without even glancing over at me. I ran the rest of the way to him and grabbed his hand. He didn’t put up a fight as he was too surprised by the sudden contact and I dragged him to a small shelter that had somehow survived the storm. We struggled inside, with him reluctantly following me and although we were no longer in the direct rain, the structure creaked and rain dripped constantly through. I stood soaking wet with my hair sticking to my face and waited for him to speak, but he simply stared at the ground in a daze. 

“Why are you out here?” I asked, unable to fathom what could bring him out in this. No matter how he felt, he had to know that this was a ridiculous risk to take and I was disappointed in him for doing this. 

“I needed some time to think.” He replied cryptically and I sighed at his lack of explanation. 

“And you decided that outside in the dangerous storm was a better place to do that than in the dropship?”I questioned, looking at him in total bewilderment. He didn’t answer me, still staring at the same spot on the floor as if it was the most riveting thing he’d ever seen. I sighed deeply and wondered about the space, finding a spot to perch myself. I looked up at him, almost able to meet his eyes now that I was so far below him. “Well, I’m not going anywhere so you may as well talk to me.” I added with a determined tone as I waited. He sighed deeply and looked over to me, still not appearing to be fully in the moment as he battled his thoughts. 

“The situation with Octavia is more complicated than you realise.” He said firmly and as our eyes met he looked vulnerable in a way I’d never seen on his face. I realised that I may have pushed too hard in our earlier argument and waited to see if he would indulge on the true issue that had motivated his behaviour tonight.

“Try me.” I replied quickly. I didn’t move, afraid that I could startle him. I sat perfectly still, even breathing slowly as I waited for him to speak.

“She’s all I have. We don’t always get along but she’s my blood. We’re all that’s left of our family. Our parents are gone and we didn’t grow up close to anyone else; our whole childhood was focused on hiding Octavia so we kept everyone else at a distance to avoid suspicion.” He explained, beginning to pace around as he spoke. “When I found out that she was being sent to Earth, I’d have done anything to be there to protect her.  I didn’t want to lose her. She’s all I have left to live for.” He paused for a minute to stare at his hands nervously and his words immediately struck a chord with me.

“I feel the same.” I replied quietly and he looked at me in confusion. “I may not have grown up with her, but she saved me. I know what it’s like to have no one, you know my story.” I shrugged and he watched me with interest. I hadn’t planned on sharing any more of my past with him, but I felt that it may help us to find some common ground if he understood my bond with his sister. “When I entered the Skybox, I was a broken person. I kept to myself, I didn’t know how to trust or even care anymore. I stayed that way for a long while.” I spoke in a soft thoughtful voice, and my honesty seemed to relax him slightly.

“So, what drew you to Octavia?” He asked curiously as he watched me and I was surprised to find that he was interested in our background. 

“Nothing.” I chuckled under my breath and he raised a brow at me. “She was just another face in the crowd of people who ignored me and that suited me fine. One day, I found out about my mother...I completely lost it. They had to send me to solitary to contain me. And somehow, Octavia managed to find a way into there. She just appeared out of the vents like it was the most ordinary thing.” I smiled at the memory and stared down at my hands. “I think she could hear me crying from her cell. So she just sat beside me and held my hand while I cried. I didn’t think I’d ever want human contact again until then. She sat all night without saying a single word. She just made sure that I didn’t suffer alone and it was the tipping point that made me feel like a person again.” I smiled and looked down to the ground, reflecting on how much had changed since then. 

“She’s always been compassionate.” Bellamy breathed with a smile and I was glad to see that he was emerging from the guarded state he’d been in when I found him out there. “But she said you looked after her?” He questioned and I wondered why Octavia hadn’t told him more about her time in the Skybox since we’d been here. 

“When I next saw her some of the other inmates were giving her a hard time, you know what they called her.” I looked at him and he nodded in agreement. They’d still referred to her as the girl under the floor even when we landed here and I was glad that I hadn’t heard the name since. “I stepped in to defend her on instinct. Before I knew it, I‘d committed what was left of my life in prison to protecting her and preparing her to take care of herself when she got out. I never thought for a moment that I’d see that day with her, especially not on Earth.” I chuckled in disbelief. When I finished speaking, Bellamy was watching me with a hint of fondness. He slowly moved across the space, and settled down to sit on the floor beside me. 

“Did she ever tell you that it was my fault she got caught?” He asked gently and I shook my head in confusion. “I had the stupid idea to take her out, just for one night. She was always so lonely and sad, I wanted to see her smile. There was a masquerade ball and I thought it was the perfect opportunity for her to blend in. I hadn’t long started working as a guard so I thought I could keep an eye on the situation and scare off anyone who started asking questions. Instead, the guards ended the party early and she couldn’t get out without passing a checkpoint. They took her away and I was completely powerless to stop it.” He balled his fists and I could feel the tension in him. I had heard this story before from Octavia, but it was strange to hear it from his perspective. It was plain to see that he carried the weight of his guilt from this mistake even to this day.

 “No wonder you felt like you had to save her.” I commented, and he glanced over at me quizzically. “You blame yourself for her arrest, so of course you’d do anything to save her from the punishment. I can see why you took the deal to get here. But Bellamy, that kind of guilt destroys you from the inside out.” I reasoned with an assertive tone as I viewed him, before sighing deeply. “I should know. I blamed myself for my mother's death so much that I almost joined her.” I confessed and his brows furrowed together in concern. “You can’t hold onto it, you have to let it go.” I breathed gently. 

“It was my idea for her to go to the party, that decision lies on me.” He stated firmly and I was unsure what else I could do to reach him. 

“And it was her choice to take the risk and go.” I argued, trying to play devil's advocate for him. 

“She trusted me to protect her!” He hissed and I jumped slightly at his reaction. “She didn’t really know what it was like outside of the room she lived in, what the risks were. It was my judgement to make and I failed her.” His voice started to raise again and I steeled myself as I continued to push him to reflect on his own feelings.

“She doesn’t blame you for that, she knows that you were trying to do something kind for her. She told me herself, she takes responsibility for her part in it.” I admitted, recounting some of my conversations about her arrest when in the Skybox. She’d reflected on the events and was able to understand her part in it after some time. “So why don’t you try letting go of at least her small portion of the guilt for a start?” I tried to be gentle whilst still giving the right prompts. I couldn’t just tell him what to think, that wouldn’t change anything. I needed to guide him to question his own beliefs if he was going to change for the better.

“No, it’s my fault. My sister, my responsibility.” He spat, resolute in clinging to the guilt of his actions. I sighed and watched him with a sympathetic gaze. I took a moment to choose my next words carefully, knowing that a misstep here could cause irreparable damage between us. 

“I’ve heard you say that before.” I muttered and he turned his face slightly from me. “It’s something important, right?” I asked gently and he continued to look away.

“Not really.” He deflected. I sat in silence for a while, allowing him time to decide whether he wanted to talk to me about it. He sighed deeply. “It’s just something my mother said when Octavia was born.” He spoke in a tone that tried to downplay his words. I stared at him with wide eyes but he avoided my gaze. I tried to cover my shock and concentrated on keeping my tone even and casual. 

“Wow. How old were you?” I asked in a forced tone of calm but I found it difficult to comprehend. I wasn’t sure if Octavia even knew this and I wondered how it would affect their dynamic if he were to tell her.

“I was seven.” He replied quietly. I struggled significantly now to keep my emotions in check and took a moment to steady myself. I was pleased that he was being so open with me but I feared judging the situation wrong, or crossing a line. I took a deep breath before speaking again. 

“That’s a lot to put on a seven year old.” I breathed, glancing at him with a sympathetic expression. 

“Maybe. But what else could she do? She had to rely on me to keep her secret.” Bellamy sounded defensive now and I knew I’d hit a nerve. “You know the rule on the Ark, only one child per family. It was hard to explain to her that she could never leave the room, or go to school, or have any friends. We didn’t have a father to help, so I helped our mom to raise her.” He explained and I looked down at the ground nervously. I was so deep into this conversation now that it felt like there was no easy way out. I spoke slowly and carefully. 

“It’s an impossible situation...but, you did it. Octavia grew up and she’s still kicking. You can credit yourself for that.” I answered honestly and he scoffed in response, but didn’t say anything else. “Thing is, she isn’t a child anymore. Maybe it’s time to start trusting her a little more?” I suggested gently, afraid of his reaction.

“Right, cause she’s made such great decisions so far?” He scoffed, glancing at me in annoyance.

“Look, I’m not saying let her wander off to live in the woods, but we all make mistakes. You’re not the only one watching out for her anymore, so maybe you don’t need to let your need to protect her be completely your responsibility?” He considered me carefully as I spoke and I hoped that my words were reaching him. “I’m not trying to act like I know her better because she’s your sister, but from what I know of Octavia, the harder you try to hold onto her, the harder she’ll fight against you. Give her a little more freedom and she might just surprise you. Think about it, please.” As he met my eyes, he looked at me in amazement and I smiled. “Now, could we get back to the safety of the dropship?”

[zmediaoutlet]

whatever we were before

finally posting my masquerade fill! The anon asked for a Dragon Age/SPN crossover, in which Dean is Hawke. I screeched lightly under my breath when I saw it, and delivered. (I hope!)

title: whatever we were before pairing: Sam/Dean rating: E

summary: After the expedition into the Deep Roads, Dean's a rich man. He bought back the ancestral family manor, and he's safe. He's not okay, though, because for all they gained on the expedition--he lost so much more.

(read on AO3)

Kirkwall’s never quiet at night. Dean’s gotten used to it, although it’s a far cry from the farm back home in Ferelden. There, the most he was likely to hear at night was a fox trying to get into the chickens, or Dad coming home soused from the inn, sleeping in the mudroom because he couldn’t work out the lock Dean had built to keep the Templars out. Here, surrounded by people, it feels—he used to think it was crowded, but now it just feels like life, being lived. People always working, the city humming along with each part always moving. He still remembers lying awake at his uncle’s house in Lowtown, that horrible week after they’d first arrived, staring at the ceiling in the narrow room and unable to shut it out—the city, a throbbing entity. He’s glad he can sleep, now. Makes things easier to bear.

His legs have stopped aching, too, after this many months walking up and down the Great Stairs. Isabela says they’ve done great work for his physique; Dean’s just glad his arse and thighs will agree to support him after the long climb from the docks to Hightown. This morning Aveline had guilted him into doing an errand for her, something the city guard should’ve taken care of, but really it didn’t take that much guilting—she and he both knew that he’d be able to do it faster, better, and cleaner, and anyway it was good to get out, into the fresh air. He's moneyed now, and maybe a lordling of a sort, if the Free Marches would only admit that their merchant-princes were no different from the nobility of the south, but still. He’d grown up using his muscles and his mind, and it felt right to be out on the cliffs, salt-spray in his face and his armor settled comfortably on his shoulders, his sword ready at his hip. So. They’d gone out, and he’d—killed. Quite a few. Slavers, they were, and he didn’t feel bad about killing them but the battle had been messy, and he’d had to wash the blood off in the sea, the salt gritting into the crevices of his mail and stiffening the leather. He’s glad he didn’t bring Fenris; there would’ve been so much more blood.

His legs don’t ache, but it feels like every other part does, when he gets to the top of the stairs. The guards at Hightown’s gates nod to him, deferent like they weren’t three years ago, and he doesn’t respond. Pricks, the lot of them, granting respect only for fine clothes and finer real estate. He wishes he’d gotten back hours ago, when he might've blended in to the general throng, but he’s made it a habit to walk his friends home, to make sure they're safe. He saw Merrill back to her little house, and Isabela and Varric back to their inn, and stayed there for a pint or two, celebrating a successful job.

A job—ha. Still how he thinks of it, after all that time of scrambling in Lowtown, trying to put food on the family’s table. He walks the now-familiar streets, slate stones laid down on the neat boulevards the merchants control, and he misses—sort of—yes, he misses the rolled-cobbles and grit of the old neighborhoods, and the wild-grown weeds among the stones by the Hanged Man. Used to the city, but missing the city. He can hear a sarcastic voice in his ear, saying, Dean, that doesn't make any sense, but he ignores it. He’s tired. No energy for misery, not now.

Winchester Manor still has lamps lit in the entry when he comes to the square. Despite everything, his shoulders relax a little, seeing it. He unlocks the door and it’s warm inside, smells of bread baking, and in the time it takes for him to set his sword and shield on their rack in the armory off the entry, Bodahn appears, and pops his head around the corner to say, "Ah, Master Winchester. Good hunting, I trust?"

Dean smiles, and it’s only partly an effort. "Good enough, Bodahn. Send a runner to the palace, to let Aveline know I’ll see her tomorrow afternoon, all right?"

"Very good, sir," Bodahn says, agreeable as always, but then looks at him critically. "I’ll have dinner sent up to your chambers, yes? Sandal will have gotten a bath ready."

Even after years, he’s still not used to servants, but— "Yes," he says, and the relief that washes through him is probably ridiculous, but. "Yes, thank you."

The parlor’s warm enough, but dark, the only light coming from the banked fire. Other than Bodahn and Sandal, the house is always empty. He stands and looks at the great tapestry, the family crest tracing the family down to their father’s name. The embroidery stops there. He licks his lips, looking at the faded silk, and turns away, and trudges up the broad stairs, aware that his boots are tracking the dust and dirt of the lower city on the thick carpets. Sandal will clean it up.

The master room is so big. Bigger than his uncle’s whole house, he thinks. He’s paced it; he’s pretty sure. The fire in here is roaring, and the lamps are lit by the bedside and on the desk, and his armor stand is waiting for him to strip, piece by piece. The chest plate, and the pauldrons, and his gauntlets, and the mail, and the boots, and the leather weskit, and when he’s left in his shirt he shivers, all over, though the room’s more than warm enough. In the corner, by the pushed-aside screen, the bath sits steaming by some magic Sandal’s very proud of and that Dean doesn’t at all understand, but he’s grateful when he sinks down into it. It’s big enough that he can fit his shoulders against one edge and keep his feet below the water on the other, a luxury he’d never imagined as a child and which, still, by every measure, is the greatest advantage of his life as he lives it now. Some kind of fragrant oil scenting the steam—elfroot maybe, or the arbor blessing Bodahn was bragging about acquiring a few weeks ago. Makes the water slip like silk against his skin while the soothing heat works its way past muscle to the bone. Makes it easy not to think, to relax. Finally.

"You look so spoiled," he hears, and he surges up—because—

"Sam," he breathes. He's so sure he’s dreaming, that a desire demon has worked its way into his mind and is showing him some helplessly sought-after vision, that he digs his nails deep enough into his own thigh that he’ll bruise—but Sam’s still standing there, in the doorway. Sam.

"It’s me," Sam says, and—yes. Of course it is. Sam, with dirt on his cheek, and a healed-over scrape under that, and his hair grown long and falling into his eyes. Sam, wearing the uniform of the Wardens just like the last time Dean saw him, studded leather over his chest and the blue-and-white tabard still belted around his narrow waist. Sam, leaning his staff into the corner—a new one, blackened oak and a stone Dean doesn’t recognize—and Sam, walking across the room with his boots thudding into the carpet—and Sam, crouching by the bath, and touching Dean’s cheek, and Dean surging halfway out of the bath and sloshing water everywhere and kissing him, kissing him, because—Sam, here. Here, when Dean had thought—

"It’s me," Sam says again, "Dean, I’m here," and Dean says, "I can see you’re fuckin’ here, Sammy, I—Sam—" and Sam laughs and says, "I know, sorry, I—" and kisses him again, hand cupping the back of Dean's skull and Dean’s hands tight in Sam’s hair and hurting his nails against the leather of Sam’s brigandine because—three years, it’s been three goddamn years and no letters, no word, and Dean hadn’t known—hadn’t had anything beyond hope—that Sam was alive and well at the fortress at Weisshaupt and that he hadn’t met his end by the claws of some darkspawn or a warg or—by all gods, by all faith, Sam.

It’s a while—Dean on his knees in the bath, and Sam kneeling in the puddle he’d made, and their hands locked into each other, and Dean breathing Sam and his smell of the road and rancid sweat and campfires and old blood, and Sam’s forehead against Dean’s and his hair tickling, and the taste of his mouth—his mouth—it’s a while, before Dean’s brain unfogs enough to realize that he’s just holding Sam, and they’re only breathing with their mouths barely touching, and Sam’s stomach is growling. Loud, in fact, and Sam’s nose wrinkles. "Sorry," he says, and Dean says, "You idiot," soft as soft, and struggles up to standing with the water streaming down from his body, and Sam looks up at him for a moment with his eyes dark and almost unfamiliar.

Dean hesitates, water up to his calves, naked. Aware of new scars, ones Sam hasn’t seen—his body, not the one Sam left. Sam stands, then, and Dean blinks. "You’re tall," he says, stupid-sounding even to his own ears, and Sam smiles at him all smug. He was tall already, at twenty—not at all fair, not at all, that he’s gained even more inches, and Dean steps out of the bath and shoves at Sam’s broad chest and fetches his dressing gown off the screen where Sandal always leaves it and tries to muster some kind of dignity as he wraps it around himself.

His dinner’s waiting on the sideboard outside his room, as always—Bodahn overly respectful of his privacy, as always—but it’s good, now, not to have to see anyone else, not to have another person interrupt. He turns with the tray and Sam’s unfastening his brigandine, slinging it untidily on the ground and wrestling his tabard over his chest so he’s left in his weskit and linen shirt and trousers, his boots still carrying gods know how many miles of mud, and he sniffs and says, "Is that stew?" all hopeful, and oh, oh, it’s Dean’s little brother, home.

He still eats like a teenager. Dean pours wine for both of them, watches Sam tear into the bread and meat like he’s starving. "Don’t they feed you at Weisshaupt?" Dean says, rhetorical, and Sam rolls his eyes and takes his goblet and gulps the wine down, gasping. "Oh, that’s—fantastic," he says, and takes a slower draught, eyes closed, and Dean watches him with his heart surging so high he’s surprised Sam can’t see the throb of it, in his throat and wrists and gut. Sam’s got days of not shaving thickening his stubble almost to a beard, and he tucks his hair behind his ears but it keeps falling forward, unruly. Without the Warden uniform he’s big, broad. Muscles thick in his shoulders, his arms, like they weren’t when he was a boy and he’d complain about having to help Dean on the farm, about training with a short sword, whining that he had magic and I’ll just throw a fireball at the darkspawn, Dean, and back then Dean could still cuff him over the head and drag him into Dean’s armpit and say yeah, but I’m in charge, and you're not allowed to throw a fireball at me, so—

Feels like a lifetime ago. Sam scrapes the last piece of bread around his bowl, sopping up the rich gravy, and then slumps back in his chair, sighing. "Long time since I’ve had food like this," he says, and Dean wants to ask—has so many questions. When was it, he wants to know, and where have you been, and are you okay—are you okay, the only question that matters, and he can’t face asking it right now with Sam sated and warm and here, here, and Sam’s eyes slit open and he looks at Dean, then, steady.

"What," Dean says, when it’s been too long without talking.

Sam smiles, brief. "What," he echoes, and seems right then—older than Dean, decades older—but he just leans forward and hooks his hand into the hollow of Dean’s bare knee, squeezes. Dean’s skin shivers in shock, all over, and Sam smiles deeper then, dimples carving into his cheeks. "I want—" Sam says, and shakes his head, and laughs under his breath. "Too much."

Dean takes a deep breath. "You reek," he says, and Sam huffs and looks down, as though Dean were saying it like a complaint.

"Yeah," Sam says, and pushes back from the table and strips bare. Bare, right there, in their ancestral home, until he stands naked with his feet on the carpet, linens and leathers piled stinking next to him, and he raises his eyebrows at Dean like a challenge and then walks back across to the bath and steps in, sinks down. Still hot, through that enchantment, and Dean watches dry-mouthed as the steam rises, as Sam slips his hands along his skin. He has scars, too. He’d never had much interest in healing magic. Welted-white lines on his arms, and an ugly twisting thing on his chest. The bite-mark, from the darkspawn, which sent him to the Wardens in the first place.

He rinses off the scented soap, splashes his face with the fragrant water, scrubs his scalp. The hair on his chest and in his armpits and at his groin has blackened with wet, and he runs a hand over his head, pushing the wet hair back from his face and looking at Dean while he does it, and Dean says, finally, "Sammy, you’re killing me," in a voice he doesn’t recognize. Sam smiles at him and gets up out of the bath in a surge of dripping water and meets Dean in the middle of the room and kisses him again, leaning down this time with his hands cupped around Dean’s ears, all the long wet of him soaking into Dean’s dressing gown but it’s—it’s okay, it’s better than okay.

The bed’s so big. So much bigger than any they ever had, when they were kids. Sam leans over him still dripping, his hair hanging down around Dean’s face and his shoulders blocking out the firelight. He pushes a hand into Dean’s gown, pets down his chest—his stomach—and Dean doesn’t know why it’s a shock when Sam grabs up his dick but it is, it is, and Dean grips Sam’s shoulders and shudders, bites his lip. "Yeah," Sam says, soft, sweet like he used to be, sometimes. When they were kids in the wheat fields, and hiding in the summer from chores Dean should’ve been making them do, and Sam asked soft for a kiss and Dean didn’t, couldn’t, say no. Sam noses against his cheek, smelling like herbs, and he says, "I missed you," gripping Dean hard and knowing. Different, to how it was, and in the grip Dean feels whoever Sam’s been with in the time between, and shoves his hips up, groaning. Sam kisses below his ear and says, "Dean, I—missed you, so much," and Dean makes a strangled noise he’ll be embarrassed by later and pushes Sam over, because new height and muscle or not, Dean’s the big brother here, and he ends up with Sam under him, tanned and young and beautiful, and staring at him like—like Dean doesn’t know, but he leans down and kisses him because he has to, he has to, because if he doesn’t he’ll say crazy things, things he doesn’t know if he’s ready to hear, much less for Sam to hear—

Sam groans, grips at his arms, pushes his hips up. Oh—oh, Sammy’s dick, and that hasn’t changed, big and urgent and pressing against Dean’s thigh. Sam unties his dressing gown, somewhere in the shadows between them, and grips at Dean’s ass, tugging him in tight. Ah—and that, that is like being a teenager again, Sam grasping and desperate. He pushes his dick against Sam’s tight belly, makes a noise. "Sam," he says, stupid, and Sam grips his hips and tilts and his dick slides up between the cheeks of Dean’s ass, solid, bulling.

"Oh," Sam breathes, against his mouth, and drops his head back to the pillow, wet hair spread out around his face. He blinks at Dean, while he pumps his hips—sawing back and forth, damp and threatening, while Dean breathes open-mouthed and stares down at him. His dick throbs, trapped against Sam’s belly. "Have you—" Sam says, and bites his lower lip, and shakes his head. "How long? Can we—"

How long. Dean remembers that morning in exact, perfect detail. Varric had said to meet in the square at noon and so that left hours, hours, and he’d woken at dawn and washed himself, red-faced and hoping his uncle would have the usual hangover that kept him abed well past the two o’clock hour. Then he’d come to Sam in the tiny mud-spattered room they shared and woken him with a finger to his lips and they’d—all morning, while the city churned just outside the thin walls, and the appointed hour crawled closer. He’d fucked Sam, and Sam hadn’t come and had pushed him over onto his belly after he was done and fucked him right back, just as Dean had known he would, and he’d kissed all over Dean’s shoulders and covered his back and said, take me, and Dean had known Sam meant into the Deep Roads, and Dean had said no, Sammy, shaking, wanting—it’s too dangerous, come on, and Sam had pushed into him and trapped Dean’s wrists against the blanket covering their awful straw-tick pallet and said against his ear, I’m coming, like it was already decided, and Dean had shuddered and come again, and he’d shown up at the square with Anders at his left shoulder and Sam at his right, smug, and Varric had shrugged and said, don’t slow us down, short stuff, to Sam, and the night before Sam got bitten by a darkspawn Sam had looked at him from his bedroll inches away in the camp and smiled, happy—unaccountably happy, like Sam almost never was.

Sam swallows, in the face of Dean’s silence. "Really," he says, but not like he’s asking. He grips at Dean’s ass, pulling the cheeks apart, dragging him in so his dick smears wet all over Sam’s stomach, and then lifts up on one elbow and kisses Dean—soft, soft, lips pulling slow and easy, like a winter morning with only snow outside and no responsibility to anyone but this.

No one could ever be what Sam was, to Dean. He’s screwed around with Isabela, a few times, deep in their cups at the Hanged Man and nothing waiting for either of them, but it meant nothing—she slapped his ass when he was done and said well done, soldier, and he laughed, and left her there and didn’t think about it outside of that room. Once, with Fenris, when they were so piss-drunk on wine he didn’t even remember what had happened, other than an impression of lyrium-brightness, and a mouth on his throat. Not something they’ve spoken of since. He doesn’t know what Sam’s done, at Weisshaupt or on the roads between here and there, and he doesn’t care because what matters is that Sam’s in his bed. Whether Sam will be here in the morning, whether he’s deserted or if there’s some other quest waiting, some new hardship that’ll sweep them both away—he can't think about that, right now. Not when he has this in front of him.

"Do it," he mumbles, his mouth pressed against Sam’s shoulder, and feels Sam shudder, all against him. He wants it—wants the hurt, like that first time when Sam was sixteen and they’d hidden in the woods behind the Chantry, fumbling—he’s a warrior, he knows from pain, and having Sam is the kind that’s worth it.

Sam shakes his head, though—shakes his head, and smears his mouth against Dean’s throat, lips dragging, says—"I want—" and flips them, surge of muscle, and descends to get his lips on Dean’s dick, going down so fast that he chokes, and Dean’s legs seize and draw up but Sam’s shoulders are wide enough to keep them apart and he’s left arching, shocked, body seizing. Oh—this, this—nights in their room at home, learning each other while Dad was gone, Sam daring to make spark-lights above their heads, the magic just enough to see the way Sam’s cheekbone stood out above the hollowed dark of his cheek—and now, the firelight setting Sam’s hair to auburn where it’s half-dried and standing out messy around his head, and the steady practiced working of his tongue, and the gliding silk of his cheek when he lets Dean’s cockhead push against it. Dean’s balls clutch up, too fast. Sam knows, somehow—pulls back, gasping, spit connecting him to Dean’s dick in a sloppy string that he licks up only after a second hanging there—and he looks at Dean up the stretch of his torso, pink burnt into his cheeks and patchy on his chest, want in his eyes. Want, and nothing else, and Dean thumbs over the wet dark of his lips and holds his jaw, and Sam leans in still watching him and suckles at the head, sparky jolting pressure crushing up in Dean’s gut and balls and in his fingertips, his toes curling, and Sam closes his eyes and goes down, his hand on Dean’s stomach like a ton weight, his hair brushing Dean’s belly, his mouth warm, and Dean—

It’s only after, that Dean works up the courage. When Sam’s spilled over his stomach and Dean’s cleaned them both up, haphazard, with the skirt of his dressing gown. With wine still in the bottle, while they pass it back and forth between them, and the fire gilding amber light over Sam’s shoulders. He meets Dean’s eyes and they both laugh, for what reason Dean doesn’t know but it feels good, right. Sam’s mouth is curled still at the corners, and Dean rolls close and drags his thumb along Sam’s ribs, where they used to stand out against the hungry pit of his belly, and says, before he can chicken out, "Gonna stay, Sammy?"

He doesn’t know if he’s ready to hear the answer, but he needs to hear it. Sooner, rather than later, so he’ll know if he can rest now, or if he needs to plan for a sleepless night of taking in every single ounce of Sam that he can—every story, every kiss. Every ounce of blood it’ll take to last more years, without him. If he even can.

Sam sighs, and settles his hand on Dean’s hip. "I ran," he says, very quietly. Dean looks at him and Sam’s watching his face. "We went on patrol, into the Anderfels, and I slipped my commander and stole a horse and rode. East, as far as I could go before the horse went lame, and then I kept going." Sam shrugs, with one shoulder. "There’s a lot of east, between the Anderfels and the Free Marches. But I didn’t stop."

Dean breathes, shaky, imagining. The world opening up, when it's been so long of his compacted, empty nothing. Okay. Hiding Sam from the Wardens—and his neighbors—and what they’ll do. How they'll live—will they have to run? He doesn't know, and realizes after so long of grinding to get to this place, he doesn't care. The house doesn't matter, the city doesn't matter. Nothing has mattered, without Sam.

Sam’s still watching him, eyes dark, and Dean reaches out and tucks his hair back from his forehead, pushing it behind his ear. "You’ll have to tell me about Orlais sometime," he says, and Sam smiles at him.

"Bunch of cheese-eaters," he says, leaning in close like it’s a secret, and Dean laughs, soft and tired and feeling, for the first time in three years, like he’s whole.

[border-spam]

Twins Prompt 9: Socialite

Thanks to @lazulizard and @nikyri-art for egging me on with this one. I thrive off comments, if you have any for this fic, absolutely throw them in the replies!

“Oh wait till you see them, it’s hilaaaarious.”

Katagawa Jr drawled, rolling his eyes for emphasis as his crowd of admirers drank in the theatrics. Basking in the attention of the audience of suits gathered around him and hanging off the young tycoon’s every word, he twirled his now empty martini glass between his fingers with a smirk.

This gala was going well so far, if he said so himself.. and he did, it was his after all, every guest carefully selected from his roster of corporate aristocracy, business glitterati, sycophants… all eyes on him, exactly as he deserved. He was the star of the show.

Every guest that was, bar the targets of his current mockery, who were more of a required invite based on their current relationship than people he actually had any interest in socialising with.

“They call themselves the -haha-, the “Twin Gods”, can you imagine.“ He wheezed, raising a dramatic hand to his chest in mock pain as his audience laughed in response, muttering amused agreement under their breath.

Snatching a new cocktail from the waiter who’d finally noticed he was running dry (and who he’d make sure wouldn’t have a job by the end of the night), he smirked into the glass as he sipped, enjoying the atmosphere. The polite tittering chatter of the social elite that filled the beautifully dressed room was sweeter music to his ears than the ambient harp being played by the marble arched entrance to the event, and infinitely more interesting.

“Shameful, honestly. Pair of filth-encrused bandits with notions of grandeur. Barely capable of dressing themselves, wouldn’t know a fitted piece of clothing if it bit them. The first time I met them -sip- good lord…”

Refined chuckles from the group around him, eager to get on the Maliwan execs good side. Playing them like that harp, in complete control and relishing it.

He was the most powerful man here, he’d made sure of that when planning the guest list, and the knowledge he was the golden calf in the room? That all eyes were on him, that everyone wanted a piece? It was worth the 8 digit price tag for this event.

It was worth every cent.

“Troy, that’s the -haha-, the “man” of the pair, scrawny freak that he is, his pants were an inch from falling off the entire meeting, didn’t know how to properly fasten them. Scum has never heard of a shirt either. Everything on display. Ufff -sips - Nothing left to the imagination, but what do you expect from Pandoran filth?“

More laughing, another wave of satisfied pride through his chest, another 4 billion in acquisitions as he won his crowd over to Maliwan’s side, one by one.

“And the woman, Tyreen… -ugh- if you could call that thing a woman, rough. Vulgar, body like a twelve year old boy. -sips- You’ve seen the type. All mouth, you know? No skill with it.. ahahah.”

Less laughter this time, odd, because he had been sure that last line was going to land well..

“ -ahem- Honestly, at least they’ll put on a show once they arrive. Good entertainment is so hard to find, I’m sure you all can agree..”

He was losing them, and he felt a quick jolt of self doubt pang through his stomach. Eyes over his shoulders and not on him, mustachioed older men shuffling to the side in their overly tight suits to look past him. They were meant to be looking at him, this was his gala, who the hell dared to distract th-

“Katagawa…” That rolling, smooth voice he loathed, and it was coming from justbehind him. 

Fantastic. They were here. Now it was time for the show to start at their expense, he smiled to himself, feeling a thrill of cruel excitement.

Letting out a long, exaggerated sigh, he grimaced. Pouted as he brushed his silken lapels with a huff, making it as clear as possible to his audience that what he was about to do was an unwanted chore, then, finally, turned to “greet” the Calypsos…

Only to choke into a wide eyed cough as his eyes landed on the stunning man standing behind him, vitriol he’d readied to spew at them catching in his throat.

That.. that was a custom Auscher suit, he’d not seen one since he was last on Dionysus for that board merger with his father. How much had this filthbag paid to get a fitted Auscher?

Black, flawless cut, hanging off Troy’s lithe frame in a way that somehow emphasised the curve of every muscle and breadth of his shoulders. Deep scarlet Athenian silk shirt ( goddamn he’d been bidding on one of those for 6 months now ), matching Auscher black tie, perfectly planned in its casual looseness to draw the eye up his formidable height, past the glinting golden points in that wide, confident grin, and up to the glowing siren markings that curved around his devilish blue eye, thick crest of inky hair swept back in a loose waxed upstyle.

Katagawa coughed into his fist again, spilling his martini with each jolt as he blushed furiously, this was not how this was meant to go, how the hell was the Calypso scum dressed better than he was.

Laughter from his audience, but at him now as he continued to choke, and more again when the bandit filth clapped a heavy black metal gauntlet down on his shoulder. Hard, knocking the wind out of his lungs and stifling the cough.

A wave of expertly selected cologne flowed off Troy as he subtly twisted the clawed hand, spiced wood, citrus notes, gun oil.

Katagawa’s cheeks were on fire, barely managing to contain how furious he was to be showed up like this. At his own gala, by Pandoran scum, smiling at him like he was the focus of the event… how dare he, who the hell does he think he is.

He awkwardly shifted with the claw as it moved him, scarlet light peeking between the mirror black joints as the glowing red talons pierced the cloth of his suit, turning him to face the crowd and resting still on his shoulder in a mock gesture of friendship as the pompous asshole towered behind him.

“…so kind of you to invite us, we’ve been looking forward to this all month.”

Razor sharp claws dragged into the shoulder of his tailored suit jacket, ruining it tear by tear as the crowd watched on and laughed at his expense, enthralled by the show he’d promised them would be enjoyable earlier. All eyes on the beautifully finished man looming behind him, and he seethed as Troy continued in that sensual, mocking voice.

“My sister and I are delighted to get closer to your, hmm… deliciously distinguished guests… she’s actually already making her introductions, so you’ll have to excuse her.” Troy purred with a sultry wink, the prosthetic fist’s pressure increasing on Katagawa’s shoulder as he leaned down on the smaller man, completely aware of the rage boiling under his skin.

“I on the other hand… couldn’t resist coming to greet my dear friend, Junior.”

-You FUCKER what did you just call me in front of these people-

Another wave of laughter and some raised glasses to Troy’s humor, his teeth were grinding so hard he was shaking. If this was anywhere else the scum’s brains would be splattered across the floor behind him by now, but he could do nothing, not in front of the socialites.

“…Aren’t you going to introduce me?”

-… Don’t react, you can do this, he’s trying to play you. He wants you to lose composure. Remember, you’re in control, not him.-

“This.. is.. -deep breath- Troy Calypso, head of COV med-”

“Title.”

Troy’s teeth were so close to his ear he could feel the minted breath on his cheek as he was so a skillfully interrupted, another wave of tittering from the crowd. Katagawa felt his stomach lurch. How the hell was this happening.

“… excuse me?” He hissed, layer of carefully curated social politeness starting to crack away.

This was.. his.. gala.. how was he being upstaged this easily, how was he losing control to this echonet celebrity.

“My title, Katagawa.”

He’d kill him. He’d kill him this smarmy asshole as soon as this event was over, he’d wipe him off the face of the shithole planet he crawled out of.

“Of course… this is God King Calypso, head of the COV media department, one of the…”

It caught in his dry mouth.

“…one of the “Twin Gods”.“

A hard slap to his shoulder jolted more of his cocktail over the lapels of his suit, and Troy’s raucous laugh filled the air as he stepped in front of him and moved to join the crowd eager to converse with the new star of the event.

“Thanks! Glad to be here, it really is an honor, but I best get to know these fine people more intimately, talk later, Junior!”

Katagawa’s hand shook so hard the glass fully emptied, too lost in fury to register the dampness down his chest. He glared murder into that beautifully fitted coat back as Troy was engulfed by the clamoring crowd, and retreated to the pillars near the buffet table to try and consider HOW this had just happened. 

- Hours later -

Scum. SCUM. Floating around the gala, dropping naturally into conversations he shouldn’t have any understanding of and leaving each with new private echonumbers, new acquisitions, new sponsors. Where did he learn this? The ease of it, like he was a damn natural.

How dare he be here like this. He was invited as a joke, he was invited to be made fun of, an idiot bandit who got lucky, someone who’d not pick up on the subtle mockery of the elite who would surround him, someone to enjoy treating like filth for the evening.

Finally, he was coming this way at last, eyeing up the gourmet feast spread across the massive tables like the disgusting scavenger he was. 

Katagawa’s knife edge focus stayed on him as he hurriedly fixed his hair, pulled at his suit front to neaten up in preparation for the encounter. He’d had enough. This asshole was going to listen to him, it was his gala. His money. HIS GUESTS that this filth had hogged most of the night, no one even glancing at Katagawa since he’d arrived. He’d pay for this.

He waited for Troy to get within reach, then grabbed his forearm with as much force as he could, hoping to bruise the solid muscle in his fist as he awkwardly pulled the much larger man out of sight of the crowd and into the shadows behind the pillar.

Troy’s calm demeanor only fueled the hatred he felt at this moment, still pushing a Hors d'oeuvre into his mouth as the Executive shook in rage in front of him, fingers digging into his flesh arm.

“Are you TRYING to show me up, you scum.” Katagawa hissed up into his face, while Troy chewed open mouthed.

“This isn’t funny, swanning around like you.. like you belong here. Do you have any idea how important half of these people are. Do you have any idea what they even do? Of the power they have, while you flounce around them like some little slut desperate for their attention?”

No response, stunning blue eyes still lazily gazing down at him as he swallowed, raising a bladed finger to idly scratch at his jawbone.

“Oh.. am I boring you?“

That enraging grin again, followed by an eager nod, the cleverly crafted warning in Katagawa’s question completely disarmed without any real effort.

He snapped, this was too much. It was all too much, he was an intensely power man, he was Katagawa Jr, Maliwan exec, this slob was nothing. Nothing. He pulled him down with all his strength, rage overflowing as Troy barely moved in response.

“You… y… y-you’re disgusting. You’re disgusting, you hideous freak!”

Spittle shot from between Katagawa’s teeth as he panted in rage, and Troy sighed, raising the taloned gauntlet to carefully pry the weakening fingers from around his arm.

“Awww, little buddy. Envy does not suit you.”

That shit eating grin, that smug, suave, beautiful face, looking down at him like he was some petulant child as he returned Katagawa’s fist to his side.

“Maybe you should have done a little foot work researching us instead of making assumptions about how tonight would go, huh?”

That fucking smile, too many teeth, the hairs raised on the back of Katagawa’s neck. He’d.. he’d misjudged this hadn’t he.

“I know who every person in this room is. I know their statistics, their roles. Their portfolios.”

“I know what they want, and I know how to give it to them. I know how to be better than you, at being you.”

Cold sweat broke out across his back, it was getting hard to breath under this looming, terrifying visage, bearing down on him, icy blue and glowing red in the shadows he’d dragged them both into.

“That, Katagawa.. is my job. And I am very, very good at my job..”

He laughed quietly, canines glinting gold in the dim light.

“You.. you know I’m a Siren, right?”

“You know what Sirens are good at? You know what we do so well?”

He reached up with those talons, dim scarlet glow lighting the underneath of his face as he carefully straightened Katagawa’s tie for him.

“We lure.”

“… We seduce, we tempt, it’s what we’re built for. We call out across the dark tides of space and we bring what we hunger for to us, and once we have what we want from you…”

A sudden biting pressure around his neck, and he was lifted as he choked. Troy’s nose nearly touching his, breath struggling in his ribs as his eyes frantically flickered in panic around the room. No one paying attention. No one seeing the monstrous thing in a stunning suit he’d been so eager to confront moments ago as it held him off the ground by the throat, talons pricking into his skin as he struggled against the clawed prosthetic holding him up so effortlessly.

Troy waited, savoring the moment. Enjoying his prey feebly clawing at the prosthetic so easily crushing its windpipe, eyes wild in terror, staring up into that wolfish, wide smile.

He lowered his head, lips brushing the terrified man’s cheekbone, and whispered:

“… we’ll dash your corpse on the fucking rocks.”

Katagawa gasped in a shaking breath as he was dropped, and stumbling backwards to the ground, holding his bloodied neck in pain as he wheezed in painful lungfuls of air and stared in terror at the man still standing so relaxed above him.

He flinched nervously as Troy suddenly clapped his hands together, shifting persona with practised ease.

“…honestly though, great party bro, su-perb shit. The food, WOW. I’ll make sure to give you a call out next stream, yeah?”

God King Calypso turned on his heel and sauntered back into the crowd, all too eager to part and welcome the real star of the show.

Job done.

And he was very, very good at his job.

[ghostofviperwrites]

Incompetent

Requested by: @keltic-goddess

Pairing:  LIJ/FC

Category:   NSFW

Warnings:  language, bit of violence, threats

Word Count: 1859

2.            “You’re a lot more attractive when you don’t open your fucking mouth” and 9. “What’s in it for me?” and 47.                “I’m not sure I’m done with you”

Manamie smiled victoriously as she stepped out of the conference room, softly closing the door behind her on the meeting still in progress.  She couldn’t believe it.  They had finally given in and taken one of her suggestions for dealing with Los Ingobernables.  It wasn’t a huge victory, but it was a victory nonetheless so she would take it.  New Japan had agreed with her stance that LIJ could no longer fire women just because they slept with one or all of the stable members. Or wouldn’t sleep with one of them.  From now on New Japan was going to require a viable fireable offense in order to let someone go. 

Manamie couldn’t wait to impart that tidbit on LIJ.  She could already imagine the looks on their faces.  Her smile faltered a bit as she thought about their reaction.  There was no way they were going to take this lying down.   She had already been subjected to Naito and Sanada’s displeasure for her previous incidents with them.  Closing her office door behind her Manamie flopped into her desk chair and stared at her desk as she remembered both Naito and Sanada taking her over it.  How much she enjoyed it though she was loathe to admit it.  The whole damn group was a thorn in her side.  Good sex didn’t negate the fact that they made her job nearly impossible. 

Pushing those thoughts away Manamie reached for the manila folder on the corner of her desk.  The folder that contained the resumes of individuals who had sent in resumes for the personal assistant position.  Carefully perusing them Manamie selected five for interview.  She was determined to find the perfect candidate; to find someone that Naito couldn’t possibly get fired.  Of course Manamie still held firmly to the belief that LIJ had no need for a personal assistant.  In fact they seemed to run like a well-oiled machine when one wasn’t in the picture.  Never missed an appearance.  Rarely late.  Exceptions as always for Naito, but everyone else was where they were supposed to be when they were supposed to be there.  Pointing that out to the management had fallen on deaf ears.  

A week later Manamie had her girl, Jona Sato, in tow as she led her through the various hallways towards the LIJ locker room, ready to introduce them to their latest assistant.  Telling them they wouldn’t be able to fire their new assistant on a whim had gone over about as well as she expected and she still got a shiver down her spine as she remembered the look in Evil’s eyes as he glared at her.  Intimidating didn’t even begin to describe the feelings he evoked in her.

Knocking on the door she waited to receive the all clear before opening the door.  She had made the mistake once of not waiting.  Never again.  Upon entering Manamie and Jona stopped short taking in the scene before them.  Hiromu was laid out on the floor with Evil on his back, the bigger man’s arm wrapped around the throat choking him as a towel clad Sanada watched with a smirk.   Bushi was shaking his head while laughing and shouting words of encouragement to the squirming Hiromu.   Manamie found Naito stretched out on the couch, one eye open and lazily watching the fight ready to step in if it looked like Evil may actually murder Hiromu.   Finally Evil released Hiromu’s throat, grabbing his hair and whispering some threat in his ear before climbing off Hiromu’s back.   Hiromu laughed and remained on his stomach laying his head down on his arms.  Immediately the room settled back into a sense of normalcy as Bushi turned his attention to the pretty girl at Manamie’s side. 

“Manamie, you brought us a treat!”  Bushi said with a smile.  “That’s so nice of you.”

“She’s not a treat,” Manamie said harshly making his smile dim.   “This is Jona Sato.  She is your new assistant.” 

“Impossible.”  Naito said sitting up and glaring at Manamie.  “Did you forget the discussion in your office before I fucked you on your desk?”  He smirked as Manamie blushed deeply.  “I don’t recall her passing an oral exam.” 

“She’s not taking an oral exam Naito.”  Manamie told him firmly.  “She’s hired.  She’s your assistant.  You do recall our recent discussion regarding termination of employment don’t you?”  Manamie asked smugly as Naito sneered at her. 

“You’re a lot more attractive when you don’t open your fucking mouth” Evil said with a glare.  “Maybe someone needs to introduce you to a gag.”  Manamie found herself locked in his stare, her heart racing as she imagined Evil pounding into her from behind while a ball gag confined her moans. 

“I’ll just leave you all to get acquainted.”  Manamie said as her face burned red, turning on her heel and making a hasty retreat. 

“Bitch needs a trip to the dungeon.” Evil muttered glaring at the closed door.  

“Later Evil.  For now we apparently have a new assistant to welcome.”  Naito said halting Evil’s plans to go hunt down Manamie and give her a little lesson in respect.  

They turned their gazes to Jona only to find she had found a seat in the corner and had her face buried in her phone.  The five men surrounded her, Sanada reaching and snatching her phone from her hands.  

“You need to put together our schedules for the week.”  Naito informed her when she simply stared up at them with a bored expression.  “There are instructions from the last assistant on top of the schedules.  Do try not to screw it up.” 

“What’s in it for me?” Jona said with irritation soaking her tone. 

“It’s your goddamn job.  What do you mean what’s in it for you?”  Bushi snapped.  “You are our assistant. Get off your ass and do as you’re told.” 

“Fine.”  She snapped with a huff getting to her feet and pushing past the men.  Grabbing the stack of papers she flounced from the room, leaving them staring after her in stunned silence. 

That was the last they saw of her that day, and over the course of the next several days they rarely saw her.  Things were in chaos as they had no schedules and she refused to impart information to them. She was rarely where she was supposed to be and Naito was at the end of his rope. 

“I want her fired.”  Naito proclaimed pushing into Manamie’s office without invitation.  “She needs to go.” 

“Naito, you know the rule.”  Manamie said firmly, refusing to rise to his antics. 

“You don’t understand.  I actually have a legitimate complaint.” Naito protested violently.   “She doesn’t do anything.”

“Really Naito?  You are seriously complaining of someone not doing anything?”  Manamie said disbelievingly.  “Speaking of not doing anything, what’s your excuse for no-showing the magazine interview this morning?” 

“I didn’t know I had an interview.” Naito said.  “I told you she doesn’t do anything.  She never told me there was an interview today. She doesn’t tell any of us anything.”  

Manamie rolled her eyes not believing a word he was saying as she picked up her phone.

“Jona-chan, can you please come to my office?” Manamie said when LIJ’s assistant answered her phone. 

Moments later Jona appeared in Manamie’s office with a bright smile.  Manamie gave her a return smile full of reassurance hoping to soothe the young girl’s nerves as Naito glared at her.

“Jona-chan, Naito-sama is claiming you never told him about his interview this morning.”  Manamie said watching carefully as Jona’s eyes widened and she quickly shook her head.

“I did tell him.  It was on the schedule I gave him last night and I reminded him this morning before I accompanied Evil-sama to his photo shoot.  I swear Manamie.  He knew.”  Jona professed.

“Thank you Jona-chan.  That will be all.”  Manamie said with a smug grin.  Jona had confirmed exactly what she thought.

“What do you have to say for yourself Naito?”  Manamie asked.  Naito was still staring after Jona in complete disbelief that she had outright lied to Manamie. 

“She’s a lying bitch.” Naito snapped turning his attention back to Manamie.  “I want her gone.” 

“Well, unfortunately, that is not going to work this time around.  I’m not firing someone because you can’t be bothered to do your job. Now I’ve managed to reschedule your interview, so you’ll need to head out in order to make it.  Please do try to show up this time.”   Manamie said with a cold smile.  

“I liked you better before I fucked you.”  Naito growled storming out of her office.  He didn’t have time right now, but that little bitch Jona was going to pay.  

Manamie barely had time to recover from Naito’s visit before another LIJ member darkened her doorway.  This one sent a chill through her as Evil glared, his sneer promising violence.  

“Whatever you’re trying to pull with this little girl needs to stop.”  Evil said.  “She’s incompetent and if her employment continues I’m not going to be responsible for my actions.” 

“You can’t just barge in my office and make threats Evil.” Manamie retorted trying not to let him see just how much he intimidated her. 

“She had me in the wrong fucking place three times this morning.”  Evil snapped.  “Driving all over fucking town because she can’t read simple instructions.  She’s an idiot and she needs to go.” 

“She’s staying and you better learn to work with her.” Manamie said, disregarding his comments.  She finally had authority to not fire someone on LIJ’s whims and she wasn’t about to capitulate this early.   She rose to her feet, walking towards her door and moving to shut it as she dismissed Evil. “I’m done with this conversation.”   

“I’m not sure I’m done with you” Evil said stopping Manamie from closing the door on him with his hand.  Pushing it back Evil stalked towards the now quickly retreating Manamie, kicking the door shut behind him as he moved. 

“Evil, you need to stop and get out of my office.”  Manamie said as he converged on her.  Before she knew it she found herself between the wall and Evil’s thick frame, his hand grabbing her jaw and squeezing tightly. 

“Tell me to stop again. I dare you.”  He snapped glaring down at her.  “You’re a mouthy fucking bitch who doesn’t seem to be able to stay out of our business.”  Manamie whimpered as his grip tightened positive she was going to have bruises tomorrow.  “Know your role, do your job and fire that cunt.” 

Evil pushed off her and stormed out of the office, leaving a wide-eyed Manamie staring at his retreating form.  Pushing off the wall Manamie swallowed the lump in her throat and moved to sit down at her desk, Evil’s unspoken threat reverberating through her mind.  

Was sticking it to LIJ really worth the trouble she was courting?

[bowditch]

Dragged to the Depths

Written for @brambleberrycottage for @cerusee‘s GoFundMe drive. I uh, let the word count get away from me.

AO3 Link Here Dick Grayson & Jason Todd Hurt/Comfort, Fantasy Horror

***

There it was again.

Dick Grayson leaned on the railing of the yacht, tumbler of ginger ale cradled against the palm of his hand, and squinted at the dark bay water.

Again.

A sliver of light reflected off something in the distance, and in the murky midnight of the water’s surface, the glittering shine turned to metallic red and green.

Dick straightened, one hand gripping the polished rail. He peered hard into the night, cursing his useless tux and the lack of gear he regretted not hiding on his person. Some collapsible binoculars would be great right now.

Without taking his gaze off the spot— it was still fragments of familiar red and green— he set the tumbler down on the lilting deck. The rolling was too gentle tonight for the glass to slide very far; it was a perfect night for a charity dinner on the bay. It had been clear all evening, and now the moon was full and bright overhead.

In the moonlight he saw a hand raise out of the water and it pulled at him, the sense of emergency forcing every other thought out of his mind. His nimble fingers unknotted his tie and he tore off the jacket, too, kicked off his polished shoes.

A single leap put his feet on the railing. He balanced, checked direction, and leapt. The noise of the party on the broader deck cut out behind him when he hit the water in a smooth dive. He resurfaced and began paddling, long trained strokes cutting through the calm water.

The red sparkled in the moon now and that was definitely a slender arm. For a wild moment he thought it was Damian, out as Robin despite orders to stay in at home while Dick and Bruce put in a show at the dinner. Signaling him?

No. The red and green were too bright, the arm too exposed. Damian’s gloves and hood made him nearly the color of the rolling water in the dark. This was designed to catch light, to throw it— maybe a swimmer adrift from the shore earlier.

The closer he got, the more dread crept up through him. The water was frigid, but the air was warm, and this was…this was something else. His limbs froze for a breath and then he was treading water, frowning at the quiet, waving form.

Not waving, but drowning, a woman’s voice said, so clear it was like she was whispering into his ear.

Dick shook his head and glanced back at the boat.

“Dickie?” The voice clarified into tones achingly familiar, a sound he hadn’t realized he’d forgotten until he heard it again.

Despite the icy horror in his gut, he whipped back around toward the figure. His eyes filled with tears. He began swimming slowly toward her, the Flying Grayson leotard more distinct now that he was closer.

“Mom?” he choked, coughing on water.

The part of him screaming to stay back was silenced with a firm clap of some interior door when she began singing.

“He’d fly through the air with the greatest of ease.”

He didn’t know how, but Jason had come back. Damian had come back. So many others. Maybe, just maybe, somehow this was…

She was beautiful. She was Mary Grayson, smiling at him, beckoning, singing and it had been so long since she’d sang to him that his chest felt cracked open.

“Mom!” He grabbed for the reaching arm, shaking waterlogged hair out of his eyes so he could see her face.

His fingers closed around stony slime, stinging his hand and melting him to the inhuman texture. Bile rushed up his throat at the same instant she smiled, revealing rows of razor fangs black with rot.

Everything that had been Mary Grayson in her face vanished, shifting into features pale and foul, ashy scales of rotted fish and empty white eyes. The song she was singing continued in his mother’s own voice for a second longer, while he was paralyzed and sinking with his hand still stuck on seaweed-sticky skin.

He slipped beneath the surface and the song turned into a harsh, grating note of high and raucous triumph.

Then, when it joined him beneath the surface, maw of jagged teeth nearing his neck, he came fully back to himself and he fought.

He kicked and struggled with it, sinking deeper and deeper, while the voice whispered again in his ear, in her voice, the stolen voice.

Too late, Little Robin.

Jason Todd sat with his legs dangling off the small recreational fishing pier, watching the surf roll in while drinking tea from a waxed paper cup. He hoped the tea would settle the prickly unease that had seized him.

There was something in the air in Gotham tonight, a curdled atmosphere that reeked of magic and evils older than the first cobblestones of the city’s streets. His nerves thrummed with sour remnants of the Lazarus Pit’s supernatural reversal of his very cells, and it had become hard to keep his finger from laying tight against a trigger. He’d given up on patrol and stayed in a crowded cafe just long enough to buy jasmine tea.

Far off, down the coast, he could see the white hull of the yacht anchored near Cape Carmine.

The Red Hood helmet sat next to him, the cloaking turned on so it looked like a standard motorcycle mask; a hoodie zipped over the symbol on his chest made him look just like a guy in a brown jacket. He’d declined Bruce’s invitation to join them, but now he wrestled with himself over whether or not he regretted that decision. Maybe the air didn’t teem with tendrils of wicked magic out there.

Maybe it did, or maybe it was all in his imagination. His mind did that sometimes— it would nudge him toward panic over things that weren’t there, weren’t real, or were long gone.

He crumpled the empty cup in his hands and sighed.

Then, a low moan from the sand below the pier drew his muscles taut with wary energy.

“Hello?” he said.

Another moan. And then, very faint and incredulous, “Jay?”

The wavering voice was one he recognized immediately, would have known anywhere. He abandoned the empty cup and his helmet to slip down onto the beach, his boots sinking a few inches deep in bay water.

“Dick?”

His hand was on his holster just in case, but no mimicking monster swarmed out of the dark. It was just the murmuring crash of low waves breaking, and another moan from the figure slumped against a wooden support beneath the pier.

Jason plowed through the shallow water, boots throwing up salty spray, in his haste to get to Dick. In the dim light, he could make out shiny, slick stain covering Dick’s skin like oil.

Blood.

“We have to get you out of the water,” Jason said gently, crouching. “It’s too dark down here. What happened, Dickie?”

Wide, startled eyes stared back at him. Dick had one arm wrapped around the wood and when Jason reached for him, he flinched back and nearly went under keeping himself out of Jason’s reach.

Jason snatched his hand back as if stung.

“Let me see your teeth,” Dick demanded, voice trembling on only the last word.

“What,” Jason said, frowning.

“Teeth,” Dick repeated frantically. “Your teeth, Jason, let me see your teeth.”

More than he needed an explanation right now, he needed to get Dick out of the water and somewhere in good lighting— somewhere dry and warm. Jason shrugged, and obliged: he bared his teeth at Dick, turning his head one way and then the other.

“Happy?” he asked. “All there. No cavities.”

Dick lunged for him, arms locking around Jason’s neck, and before Jason could shove him off, he was muttering, “Out, get me out, out of the water, Jay, we have to get out, it’ll…it’ll…”

When Jason tried to look out at the bay, confused, strong and freezing hands grabbed his chin so tightly it hurt his jaw.

“Do not look,” Dick said, his tone like iron. “Whatever you think you see or hear, do not look. I’m not sure I killed it, I’m not sure, so don’t…don’t…we have to get out. I don’t know if I killed it, or if it’s toying with me, get out, get out.”

By the end, he’d slurred back into desperate pleading. Jason didn’t wait for him to catch his breath. He twisted so Dick’s arm was around his shoulder and he hauled him forward toward the sand, strewn with fragments of broken seashells. Dick whimpered when Jason dragged him through the brushy seagrass overgrown by the public access steps, but Jason didn’t slow down until they were at a bench under a dull street lamp far from the shore. Dick struggled to keep his feet working beneath him, and Jason was mostly carrying him by the time he dumped him onto the bench.

Jason crouched in front of him and began to survey damage. What was left of the tux wasn’t going to be worth saving— it was shredded and stained. Dick’s neck had a ragged wound and another dozen places were bleeding. They all had the same oval shape, some stretched like a comb of razors had been dragged across Dick’s body.

It was worse than Jason had realized and not like anything he’d ever seen.

“Dick,” he hissed. “What the fuck happened.”

“I didn’t know,” Dick groaned, doubling over and putting his head in his hands. “I don’t know what I thought. I wasn’t thinking. It couldn’t have been her, I should have known it couldn’t be her.”

“Who?” Jason exclaimed, pulling a roll of gauze out of his jacket pocket. He held it against Dick’s neck and his older brother didn’t react at all to the pressure.

“My mom,” Dick said into his palms. “My mom. It sounded just like my mom and it was in my head singing and I killed it, I don’t even know if it was human once but I killed it and Bruce is going to kill me. It was all so dark and fast and I couldn’t breathe and…and…”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Jason said. “In the water? Something was singing to you in the water?”

Dick nodded without looking up.

“I’m an idiot. God, it sounded so much like her, Jason, just like I remember and I haven’t heard her in so long, I just wanted to hear her.”

His shoulders, one bloodied and raw beneath his torn shirt, shook.

“You saw a fucking siren,” Jason breathed, glancing at the water. “A siren in Gotham. Goddamn. Just one?”

Dick nodded again, an animal whine in his throat.

“You killed a siren in Gotham. How…”

Jason was still gazing out at the coastline and Dick reached up and roughly grabbed the back of his head and pulled him down until their foreheads were pressed against each other. His eyes were closed but he seemed determined to keep Jason from looking again.

“Brass belt buckle. Used the prong. Stabbed it in the chest and the head. It died or gave up, I don’t know, I don’t know, I was underwater and I couldn’t breathe and then I was swimming and telling myself not to pass out.”

“Shit,” Jason exhaled. Dick’s face was clammy against his own and he struggled for a minute to pull back, slowly prying Dick’s hand off his neck. “I swear I’m not looking, Dickie. I have to get you inside somewhere and clean you up. Is Bruce still at the dinner?”

“I don’t know.” Dick sniffled, and his voice took a frantic pitch. “Call him, Jay. Call him and tell him to bring the yacht in. Get everyone off. He’ll think of some excuse, but you gotta…”

“Calm the hell down, Dick, I’m already calling.”

Jason stood next to Dick and risked looking in the direction of the yacht. It was golden with light against the shadowed cape.

“Hello, Jay!” Bruce answered in the sweet, light way he spoke whenever he was near people who expected Brucie. He sounded like he was faking being tipsy, too; there was laughter in the background, like marbles spilled on tile floors. “I hope everything is okay!”

That was the cue, the say the word and I’m on my way cue, the one Jason had missed and was getting to know again.

“Dick was attacked by a siren, and no I’m not shitting you, an honest-to-god siren. He thinks…” he paused, and glanced at Dick, who tensed suddenly on the bench. He was shaking his head. There was no way to do this but to rip the bandaid off, and let it sting the both of them. The rules about non-human creatures were fuzzy anyway. “He says he killed it. You need to get everyone on shore in case there are more.”

“Absolutely, Jason,” Bruce said cheerfully. There was a hard edge to his voice that hadn’t been there before. “Tell Damian I’ll tuck him in when I get home.”

Kids, Bruce said, to someone nearby on the yacht. They’re the sweetest, aren’t they? If you’ll excuse me, a moment.

The conversational buzz faded and there was a click, like a door closing, over the line.

“Where are you? Is Dick alright?” Bruce asked, serious and low. “What happened? I thought he’d gone home. He’s sure it’s dead?”

“I found him south of the cape,” Jason said. “He’s conscious but torn up. He seems lucid enough. We’re near Folley Ave, by the Big Mouth tackle shop before the pier, but we aren’t staying. I’m taking him to a place I have.”

“Ventura St,” Bruce said.

“Did anyone ever bother even trying to explain the concept of secrets to you?” Jason demanded. “Yes. Fuck. Thanks, now I have to move again.”

“I keep track in case you’re injured. I need to know the places to check,” Bruce said, so matter-of-fact about the assumption that he would come looking that Jason’s mouth clapped shut.

“Whatever,” he said, trying to sound flippant. “You can find us, then.”

He hung up before Bruce could.

“Let’s go,” he said to Dick, pocketing his phone. There was a button sewn into the lining of his sleeve and he pressed it— dozens of feet away, his abandoned helmet fizzled and sent up a small plume of smoke. The visor had been cracked anyway.

Far off on the bay, the thin shriek of a fire alarm sounded, followed by shouts carried across the water.

“B just committed a felony for you,” Jason said, offering Dick a hand.

“That’s how he says I love you,” Dick joked weakly. “Is he pissed? He’s pissed.”

“What? Fuck, no. Not at you. I’m probably gonna get yelled at for something, somehow, but you get to play the ‘I’m bleeding,’ card.”

“Remember when…he yelled at me more?” Dick asked, gasping as he walked. He leaned heavily on Jason while he limped. “You could get away with anything, but if I bought the wrong jeans we’d end up fighting.”

“Dick, I’m really not in the mood,” Jason said, warning. There were some things he didn’t want to revisit right now.

“I’m just sayin’,” Dick continued anyway. “I served my time. You’ve about run the course on yours. It’s time to let Tim or Cass take a turn. Tim’s gonna blow off college, so that should do it.”

“Well, hell, I’ll have to yell at him, too,” Jason said, grateful for how quickly and easily Dick steered the joke into more comfortable territory.

“Just like I did to you.” Dick hissed and Jason paused for a minute, letting him catch his breath. “The torch is passed.”

The next block was silent, and the few people who passed them kept their heads down and didn’t look too closely. Dick seemed like he was fading too much to keep up conversation, and Jason jostled him when they turned to the nondescript door to one of Jason’s holes.

“Dickie, stay awake.”

“Uhnnn,” Dick said, his head lolling against Jason’s shoulder. “So…glad you…were there. Looking?”

“Mhmm,” Jason said, deciding to not get into his feelings about magic and the atmosphere at the moment. “Heard you ditched the party.”

“Huh,” Dick said. He stumbled across the threshold, on the low concrete stoop.

“Watch the step,” Jason said, after catching him.

“Thanks,” Dick slurred. “Asshole.”

“I could drop you right now,” Jason threatened, flicking on the light.

They both knew he wouldn’t.

It wasn’t until Jason had Dick stripped out of the ruined tux, wrapped in a blanket on the couch with a sheet thrown under him, that he began to get worried about how quiet Dick had grown. He was staring blankly at the wall, his breath shallow, while Jason cleaned the ugly bites with an antiseptic rinse. It wasn’t supposed to sting, but Jason knew it did anyway; Dick didn’t shudder or inch away once.

“Dick.” Jason’s mouth was dry. He was bad at this, at being a good brother. He blamed the years he’d lost, but more and more that felt like an awful excuse. “Are you…okay?”

“Did you just ask if I was okay?” Dick asked, lifting his head from the back of the couch. “Wow. I thought hearing that question from B was weird.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Jason grumbled. “I was just trying to be nice. Geez.”

“I’m fine,” Dick said, after a tense silence. “I’m sorry.”

“You aren’t.” Jason got another bandage out.

Another long silence.

“I have to be,” Dick said, tightly. “I have to…to…”

Jason stopped cleaning the seeping wound on Dick’s side because Dick was shaking. The trembling started in his limbs and then he was gulping for air, hunched forward.

Instinct got Jason onto his feet and beside him on the couch, pulling Dick into one of the hugs he was so good at offering everyone else.

“Dickie, I’m one of the big kids now,” Jason said, into his hair. “Don’t insult me by trying to shield me from shit.”

“You’re a kid,” Dick protested hoarsely. “A kid.”

“M’not,” Jason said, keeping his voice calm like he was the one talking to a scared kid. “Haven’t been for a while, whether you like it or not. I promise you aren’t gonna traumatize me.”

It was like he’d unlocked the sluice gate.

The wail that tore out of Dick was full of agony and, though he’d never admit it, did frighten Jason. He held him while Dick wept and gripped his shirt in his fists.

“I’m sorry,” Dick babbled a minute later, his breath still hitched. “I’m sorry. I thought it was her, I thought it was really her, and I’d forgotten what she looked like, Jay, I forgot what she looked like.”

“I know,” Jason said, because he was no stranger to the realization that details and features were blurring in his memories. It was the sort of thing you told yourself you’d never forget, but time was cruel. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

He rested his chin on Dick’s damp hair and shushed him while his hold tightened.

“S’ok, Dickie. It sucks balls, but you’re okay.”

“I know, I know,” Dick nodded, sounding more composed but exhausted. “Bruce is gonna yell at me. I was stupid. It was stupid.”

“No,” Jason said. “I miss my mom, too.”

He swallowed.

“Dick?”

“What,” Dick said miserably.

“I would have gone in, too. If I’d heard my mom. I forget what she looks like sometimes. I can’t hear her voice anymore. I would have…” Jason didn’t mean for his throat to get so tight. “Fuck. You know what I mean. I would have had to go check. You aren’t stupid.”

“Yeah,” Dick said, sniffling. “Yeah. Okay. Thanks, Jason.”

For a few moments, Jason just held him while Dick’s rasping breath evened out.

There was a knock on the door and then, “I’m coming in,” steady and sure and the door was pushed open even though Jason knew the lock had engaged.

“If he yells at you, I’ll kick him in the shins,” Jason whispered against Dick’s ear and Dick laughed, a thin and fragile sound.

“Dick,” Bruce said, crossing the room. He was still in his tux. He crouched in front of them and reached out to lift Dick’s chin, stare into his face. “You’re alright? What happened?”

“I’ll tell you at the Manor,” Jason interrupted. Dick sagged against him and he could feel the relief.

Bruce studied Dick for another moment and then his attention darted to Jason.

“The car is parked outside. You’re coming?”

Jason nodded. “I’ll grab him some clothes.”

He disentangled himself and got up, and lingered just inside the bedroom door to shamelessly eavesdrop, his head bent against the frame. If Bruce so much breathed a word of reprimand right now, he was going to kick him out— at gunpoint if necessary.

When had he gotten so protective of Dick?

Was this how Dick felt about everyone else, all the time?

Whatever Dick said to Bruce, if there was anything, was inaudible to Jason.

Bruce’s answer was not. It was soft, softer than Jason had heard since he was recovering from burns at the Manor.

“You’ve had a rough night. You can tell me about it later.”

“It sounded like her, B, it sounded just like my mom.”

“Oh, chum,” Bruce said, the gravel of his voice somehow tender.

Jason went to rummage for sweats that would fit Dick. He joined them while Bruce was dabbing more antiseptic on a bite Jason hadn’t covered yet. Dick was nearly asleep.

“He was underwater,” Jason said, sitting on the edge of the couch again. “Al will need to check his lungs.”

Bruce nodded, his face pensive. There was blood on his cuffs now.

“Did you see it?” he asked quietly.

“No,” Jason said. “I felt it, though. The air’s been wrong all night.”

“Hn,” Bruce said. “I know.”

“It’s not your fault, B,” Dick mumbled.

“Hush, Dick,” Jason and Bruce said in sync. They exchanged a look and Bruce’s mouth twitched in a grim smile.

“Gotham,” Jason said, firmly.

“I called Arthur,” Bruce said. “He’s going to sweep the bay for us. I don’t want any of you out there again until he gives us the clear.”

“Yes, sir.” This time, it was Dick and Jason in quick unison. There were times to argue and there were times to follow orders. Jason didn’t particularly want to find out what a siren would sing to him.

“Home, Dick,” Bruce said, standing. “Can you walk?”

“Whatcha gonna do if I say no, Old Man?” Dick teased, trying to smile. It wavered.

“Make Jason carry you,” Bruce said, without hesitation.

“I already lugged his sorry ass three blocks,” Jason said, ducking under Dick’s arm before Bruce could. “What’s another twenty feet.”

“You’re coming to the Manor?” Dick asked again, mostly managing his own weight. “For real?”

“I gotta get Alfred’s baked reward for saving you,” Jason said. “That’s my siren. Alfred singing with scones.”

Dick’s laugh was broken.

“Too soon?” Jason asked. “Too soon.”

“No, I was just…imagining Alfred singing ‘Spoonful of Sugar’ in the pool,” Dick said, wincing when he laughed again. He coughed. “Still in his suit.”

“The scones are soggy,” Jason said. “I still go in after ‘em. It’s worth it.”

“That’s gross, Jay.”

Jason opened the passenger door of Bruce’s car for Dick and Dick all but crawled onto the seat, buckled, and curled up.

“I call driver’s seat,” Jason said.

“That’s not…” Bruce started. He handed over the keys. “Speed limit. Get him home. I’m going to go to the Penthouse and then wait for Arthur.”

“Get in, B,” Dick said. “Please.”

Bruce stared for a long moment in the direction of the bay, something Jason couldn’t read on his face.

“Alright,” he said. “Let’s go home for now.”

[succubused]

truncated

//thanks to @shepgarrus who was the source of at least 70% of the conceptual framework for this

——

Hey, it’s me. Sorry I took so long to get back to you, it’s been. Well, I think I’d better tell you in person. You planning on coming back to the Citadel after this mission? I’m kind of jealous, I have to say. You’re out there blowing things up without me, and I’m down here, well. You know how C-Sec is. Tripping over red tape.

——

“Garrus?”

“Yeah?”

“You all right?”

“Yeah, Mom, I’m fine.”

Her expression says a lot of things, and not one of them is I believe you.

“Really,” Garrus groans as he stretches out muscles cramped from hours hunched over a desk, typing fierce pleas into mountains of paperwork in a last-ditch attempt to get the clearance necessary to do his job. Of course, it has become apparent lately that Garrus and his employers hold vastly different ideas about what his job is. “It was just a long week.”

“You’re not your dad, you know,” she says. “He was cut out for this job. I’m not sure you are.”

Garrus chuckles. “Don’t let him hear you say that.”

“It isn’t a good or a bad thing. It’s just you. You hate C-Sec.” His mother shakes her head. “I never understood why you even took the job here in the first place.”

“Yeah…sometimes I don’t understand it, either.” He knocks back his glass of drossix in a single gulp and looks down at his hands. “Actually, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask your opinion on. Semi-related.”

——

Sorry, you said you were bored. I think your words were “send me a message with a stupid joke or a dumb story or something because I swear I am about to lose my goddamn mind.” You trying to say you miss me, Shepard? That’s sweet. Actually, there was something I’ve been meaning to ask your opinion on. Semi-related.

——

“Yes?” She lowers her arm mid-waving down the waiter and looks at him seriously. If there was one thing about his mother that never changed, it was her ability to hold liquor. She’d had three glasses and she was barely even blinking. “What’s going on, Garrus?”

“Well, you know—”

“Spit it out.”

“Remember that ship I was on last year? The Normandy?”

“The Alliance ship.”

“Technically we were operating under the Council, but yeah.” He chuckles to himself, remembering the smirk Shepard wore coming out of the comm room that meant she’d just hung up on said Council. “Captain was a human. Shepard.”

“I remember her, yes. The Spectre.”

“Yeah, that’s her.” He traces the rim of his glass with the tip of a finger. “I mean, you know I’m frustrated with C-Sec.”

“I do.”

“And I felt like—I don’t know—when I actually had autonomy, with Shepard, I felt like what I did mattered more. I was able to help people more when I didn’t have to get fifteen different documents notarized to prove that giving said help wouldn’t cause an intergalactic political crisis.”

“Coming back here was never going to go well,” his mother comments after a pause.

“You’re probably right.” Garrus sighs.

——

But first, dumb story. Okay. Let me think. Okay, I saw, two of my coworkers, an elcor play a prank on a volus a couple of days ago. An actual prank. You know, for a species that can exclusively speak in a monotone, those guys really can hold grudges. And they’re petty, too. So this volus, he’d been making fun of the elcor every time she spoke, repeating whatever emotional indicators she was using sarcastically, basically just mocking her, you know? And she took it pretty well, I couldn’t even tell she was getting mad. I mean, I wouldn’t have been able to tell, unless she decided to let me know, I guess. Anyway, this volus, he’s pretty damn spherical, and has terrible balance to boot. So when he falls, he can’t stand up without help. And she’d seen this happen a few times, we all had.

But one day, guy had to come in early to get some paperwork or something done, I don’t know what the details were. But I do know that the elcor was on the security cameras leaving the office about 30 minutes before the volus got in, and 2 hours later we found him on the floor, yelling and rolling around with his arms and legs in the air because he’d slipped in—she used a human thing—olive oil, I think? You’d know what it was. I really wish I’d recorded it, you’d have thought it was great, especially since this volus is an ass. Of course he accused the elcor, but they couldn’t prove anything after I doctored the security footage. And don’t tell me you didn’t know I’d done that as soon as I mentioned the cameras. Of course I did.

——

“You want to ask her if you can rejoin the Normandy crew.”

Garrus blinks and looks at his mother. “I—”

“It’s not hard to see,” she says, a note of amusement in her voice. “You were happy there. You were in constant mortal danger and you were having the time of your life. I could hear it in the voice messages you left.”

——

It’s true. Of course it’s true. He misses it. He misses them. He really misses Shepard’s stupid jokes, like the time she’d tried to imagine what it would be like for them to try to speak to each other without translators and laughed so hard she made herself cry thinking about how it would sound. And he had been worried, because everything he knew about human physiology said they only cried when something was wrong.

Shepard had just laughed even harder at the expression on his face. “No,” she’d choked out finally. “No, they’re, good tears. Good ones.”

“I thought you guys only cried when you were upset.”

“Nah. I mean, no, we do, but this is different. Different molecular compositions of the tears, even, I read that once. Can you imagine that? Sad tears and angry tears and laughter tears all have different molecular compositions?”

——

“I just…I think it was the right fit for me. I was going to bring it up with her as soon as she gets back from this latest mission, with the geth, but I wanted—well, you know. Wanted to see what you thought.” He shrugs.

His mother laughs, mandibles flicking downward. “What I think? I think you’re an idiot for not doing this earlier. Go for it.”

“But Dad—”

“Your father won’t benefit from his son suffering in a job he’ll never be right for, and he won’t be any worse off for his son serving on a ship that fits him like a glove. He’ll live.”

Relief sweeps through him in a heavy wave. Maybe he’d just needed to hear someone he trusted say that it was a good idea and that he wasn’t completely unhinged for thinking of asking permission to join the crew of an Alliance vessel.

——

Anyway, what I wanted to ask you was

——

“You’re getting a message.”

“Am I?” He looks down at his omnitool. Captain Anderson?

Normandy destroyed. Shepard dead. Don’t believe what you hear on the news. Stand by for more info.

He actually laughs. Disbelief. “That’s not possible.”

“What’s not possible?”

And then every screen in the bar shifts to a photo of the Normandy.

“…that the Normandy SR-1 has been confirmed destroyed in action…”

“The Normandy?” His mother stares up at the image of the ship. “Isn’t that…?”

“Yeah,” he croaks. “Yeah. It is.”

The phrasing only has one translation—

“…upon encountering unknown weapons systems that annihilated the ship’s defenses. The Normandy was operating in search of geth in the system, but it is currently unknown if they or any cohesive faction of a species are responsible for the decimation of the ship.”

—no survivors.

Destroyed. Annihilated. Decimated.

“Oh, Garrus,” his mother breathes. “Oh, no.”

“Mom,” he mutters. ”I—“

His entire body has gone numb. He drops his head into his hands. He can’t look at her.

“They haven’t said anything about the crew,” she says quietly.

“The crew?” Garrus doesn’t realize why he’s shaking until it’s too late to not ask the question. He hadn’t realized that he didn’t believe Anderson until he said it out loud.

“You don’t know anything for sure.”

A bright lancet of hope shoots through his chest.

“You’re right. Yeah. You’re, you’re right.”

He flinches when a second message comes in, expecting Captain Anderson, but it isn’t. It’s from Joker.

Joker was on the ship.

He almost doesn’t open it, wants to exist forever in this liminal space in which he is still permitted the cruel luxury of hope.

“What is it?” his mother asks, her eyes dark and worried. He wishes she wasn’t here to see this. He wishes he wasn’t here to see this. Every set of eyes in the bar is on those screens, as if they know that this is the end of the world, as if they have the slightest idea of how to care.

It’s a voice message, hoarse and cracked, but recognizable.

“Hey, Garrus. Uh, by now you probably, well, I don’t know if it’s on the news yet, but. It probably is, so. I’m, I’m off the ship right now, I’m okay, but…it was really bad down there, Garrus, you have to understand.”

The guilt in his voice turns Garrus’s blood to ice.

“Most of the crew escaped. Made it to the pods in time.”

Oh, thank—

“But Shepard…”

No.

“No,” he says hoarsely, out loud. As though Joker could hear him. As though refusing it could make it a lie, bring her back, he already knows what Joker is about to say. It’s like he’s dreamed of it before, like he’s already felt this before in a million truncated lifetimes, frozen solid by the horror in this disaster that was knowing the truth.

“It’s my fault, Garrus. I wouldn’t leave the, the, I thought I could save her. The ship, I mean. I wouldn’t get up. They tried to get me to move and I wouldn’t go and Shepard, she knew if I stayed I was done for and so she came and she fucking dragged me out of there, she came back for me.”

Of course you did.

“And she got me into an escape pod…”

But you didn’t think of yourself.

“But she—god, oh my God, it’s my fault—Trinity was spaced.”

Trinity.

He slams pause on the recording. He’s breathing too quickly.

“Garrus,” says his mother softly, the edge that so frequently sharpens her voice dissolved. He’d almost forgotten she was there.

“I can’t.” He shakes his head hard. “I can’t, Mom.”

A long moment of unbearable silence. Garrus restarts the message.

“Her suit was transmitting to the black box, I, I have the data. I wanted to believe she…but her suit…it malfunctioned. The oxygen systems went offline, life support failed a few moments later. She’s gone.”

Gone.

Trinity.

No.

“I’m sorry, Garrus,” his mother says. “I know you were close.”

“She’s my best friend,” he croaks.

Was.

“I know. I’m so sorry.”

Distantly he notices his mother has placed her hand on his arm. She’s watching him, saying something, the worry on her face unbearable. It’s as though he’s deep underwater, so deep the pressure is liable to crack his skull, and she’s on the surface, trying to reach him, but he can’t hear, and even if he could, he wouldn’t care, and all he can think about is that last message, the one she’d never hear. Cut off before he could finish. He had been about to ask her about the Normandy.

If I’d brought it up earlier, would I have been there? Would it have been me choking alone in the dark, Shepard in the escape pod? Could I have stopped this?

The screens have begun flashing Shepard’s picture in place of the Normandy’s, one that they took of her when she became a Spectre that she hated; she was always complaining that it “misrepresented her as some kind of uptight bitch.”

“…we now receive confirmation that Commander Trinity Shepard of the Alliance Military, Captain of the Normandy SR-1 and first human Spectre, has been declared missing in action and presumed dead.”

“Listen, there’s one more—we’re about to get picked up, so I have to, in a second, but we were getting data from her—from Trinity’s suit up until the—the backup systems failed. And we found…after she was spaced she…she was listening to an audio message. Her last command to the suit’s VI was to play it.”

Anyway, what I wanted to ask you was...

“It was from you. I thought you’d want to know.”

——

——

Anyway, what I wanted to ask you was about the Normandy. I’ve been thinking it might be a good idea for me to rejoin the crew, if you’re up for it. I know it’s an Alliance ship, but if you’re there, I don’t really care about that. I know I can work with you, and I know I can work with you well. And I felt like I did more good in the few months on that ship than I did in my whole damn C-Sec career and I really can’t justify going back to paper-pushing when I know you’re out there kicking ass without me. Like I said, it’s probably a better idea for us to talk about this in person, so let me know when you’re back at the Citadel. I’ll buy you a drink. Not drossix, though. I know you keep saying you want to try it but when we say it’ll explode your insides, we really aren’t exaggerating.

So, yeah. Come back safe. I’ll see you soon.

[rotzaprachim]

trouble in the heartlands

(On AO3 : https://archiveofourown.org/works/14893509 0

November, 1975

There’s really nothing in the world that says single and lonely like standing in the check out line on Thanksgiving evening with a flat pack of dried ramen, a bottle of Jack Daniels, and a frozen turkey dinner.

(The instant ramen is his usual Thursday purchase, but the frozen turkey dinner is for festivity, and the alcohol is because of how goddamn sorry for himself he feels right now.)

He’s counted out the change in his pocket three times, done the mental math of the tax before he reached the check out because god damn, there’s been enough times in his life when he’s been short at the end of it, scrounging for pennies in his pockets.

He thought he could count on solitude at 6:30 pm on Thanksgiving day, but someone comes up behind him and throws a solitary bag of marshmallows on the till.

Someone with a very familiar set of hands, perfectly manicured nails and all.

“If it isn’t the famous Lando Calrissian.”

“Ham Solo!”

Lando is impeccably dressed, as always, wearing dark jeans and a button-up shirt with a fall leaf design and some kind of a massive, almost cloak-like, knit cardigan that would look ridiculously terrible on Han but on him just works. Like everything does.

(Han’s wearing a different flannel shirt than yesterday. He thinks. Hopes.)

Lando’s eyes flit over Han’s shopping. He tries not to notice Lando’s eyelashes. Or his lips. Or .. . . anything else about him.

“Nutritionally balanced, I see.”

“Hey! The only thing you’re buying is a bag of marshmallows.”

“These are for my mother’s famous sweet potato casserole, if you must know. Lilah and Janie stole the first bag and now she’s sans marshmallows for her annual cookoff-slash-cage match with my Aunt Tia. And so I must play the part of the dutiful son,” he finishes, over dramatically tapping the bag of marshmallows.

Han vaguely remembers that Lilah and Janie are two of Lando’s nieces. The whole situation’s domestic enough that it stabs at his insides in a wierd, uncomfortable way. Like he has feelings.

The guy in front of Han finishes paying for his approximately million rounds of ammunition- god bless America!- and the cashier starts to ring up Han’s shit.

“3.85.”

“Wait a minute. It’s supposed to be 3.35.”

“3.85. If you can’t pay, put something back.”

He does’t have the extra fifty cents. What he does have is a bent coupon book he shoves at the cashier.

“3.35. Look, the noodles are on sale.”

“The Sizzling Shrimp Surprise and the Rockin’ Wasabi were on sale. The Picante Beef, as a premium flavour, are not.”

Han’s about to fight past the overwhelming wave of humiliation at having this drama play out in front of the ex-boyfriend he has not, in fact, gotten over yet emotionally, and swap the Picante Beef for a case of Rockin’ Wasabi, when Lando places two quarters on the till.

“Should cover it.”

“I don’t need-“

“It’s fine-“

“I don’t need it.”

“Jesus, Han. You don’t have to live your entire life in some kind of fucking self-impost "lone gunman" exile. That’s not the way that humans work.”

And suddenly they’re back in a slightly different argument in a very different place, and Lando is folding his stuff to leave and Han is saying things he will never, ever, stop regretting.

“Thanks,” he mumbles, and shoves his stuff into a plastic bag to leave.

“Hey,” Lando calls after him, “you looking for somewhere to spend Thanksgiving?”

It’s a question and an invitation and Han doesn’t which is the worse coward’s way- ignoring it, or taking it up and letting the disaster start all over again, this time with bigger stakes and sharper knives and deeper wounds.

He chooses the former, and trips over a display of fake plastic pumpkins on the way out.

December, 1981

Sometimes, the entire story of the disaster can be spread out on the conveyor belt: gauze, burn cream, disinfectant, and Lando Calrissian’s ex-boyfriend, standing and looking sheepish under the glaring supermarket lights, with a splotchy red hand he keeps waving around periodically.

(Sometimes, another story is spread out beside it, on the other side of the divider, on Lando’s side of the conveyor belt. Breath mints and a box of condoms and a small bouquet of those supermarket roses.)

“You’re sure you’re fine, Han?” He doesn’t even bother with wildly mispronouncing his name. “Because whatever happened to your hand, that looks like it needs actual medical attention. Not whatever shit you’re going to try.”

“I’m. Fine.,” he insists through gritted teeth, and given how overdramatic Han usually is, his forced placidity tells Lando that it hurts like hell.

“What happened?”

“The usual badass stuff, you know. Got into a fist fight with some guys next to a tortilla chip factory, things got ugly, had to take it to one of the vats of boiling oil-“

“Calm down, friend.” Lando does some quick mental math. “Fifth night of Hannukah, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

(“Not like, a major holiday or anything,” he remembers Han saying, “but it’s the only one that’s got my name in it- well, kinda, sorta, if you really mispronounce the first ch- plus there’s fried stuff and culturally sanctioned gambling.”)

“You burn yourself frying?” He has to laugh, just a little. “What’s changed?”

“SOLO!,” a voice screams across the mostly deserted row of check out stations. The voice belongs to a fair, pale woman, wearing a long white skirt and a distinctly annoyed expression. “The pharmacist said that only an idiot could mess applying this stuff. Your hand should be fine. Probably”

She wedges her way past Lando, slams a small box with a long medical name on the till, and then snaps her purse open.

“I can pay-“

One look of her narrowed brown eyes and Han shuts up.

“Y’think I can get a robot hand like Luke’s?”

“Luke lost his entire hand as a combat injury. You lightly burned yours trying to copy some trick you saw Julia Child do once because you couldn’t find a spatula.”

Han waves his hand in front of Leia’s face. “What part of this looks lightly burned? It hurts like hell.”

“Yeah, well, so do breakups and periods, but you don’t hear people asking for robot appendages to make up for those.”

There’s something familiar in the way they bicker, but also in the way Leia wraps her arm around his shoulders and buries her head against his neck while she laughs, even though she’s still also clearly pissed about the magnitude of idiocy involved in the latke incident. Lando decides not to overanalyse it, because even on the surface level it’s enough to stab him in the heart.

When Han introduces them they swap business cards. Leia Organa, City Councilwoman. Lando Calrissian, CEO, Bespin Industries. They’re the kind of people who’d meet at a dinner party or a networking event, somewhere with crudités and boxed white wine in little glasses where they’d take turns schmoozing and cutting at the stuffed shirts and pretentious titles. That’s how, Lando swears, he and Leia Organa were meant to meet. Not here, not in a harshly lit convenience store with massive displays of fake snow and gingerbread-flavoured candy canes, and not both a little in love with Han Solo.

February, 1983

He’s not sure there’s a clearer visual representation of “single-and-recently-heartbroken” than renting a pile of romantic comedies and buying cookie dough ice cream, but it’s 2 AM and at this point he feels like the only person alive.

The supermarket’s a ghost town, something vaguely macabre about the boxes of Captain Crunch and cans of corn at this hour of the night (morning?) Jesus, he used to be a party boy. This used to be the time that the night got going and the really wild shit started to go down. This used to be the time of night that he waited the rest of the day for.

Now he’s an adult. Now he’s a respectable adult with a successful energy business and a possibly mayoral bid. When the fuck did that happen?

Now he puzzles over wether to add in a box of Lucky Charms for the morning, before deciding fuck that, he’s an adult now, bread, eggs, and Bloody Mary fixings.

It ends up being a pile of stuff he’s going to have to schlep home. Taxi? But at this time of night? He forgot to bring a reusable bag. Plastic bags? He can practically hear Elle yelling at him.

He’s still in a hazy mood as he drops his stuff onto the conveyor belt, taking care so that the Smirnoff doesn’t roll over the side, when he notices the only other guy in line with him.

Fucking hell, the universe can be weird and cruel.

"Yeah, Leia, I got it, I got it, I'm in the checkout line, anything else you need? Saltines or anything. A pause. "No, of fucking course not! I didn't mean to suffest- Well I got it and we'll get home and we'll talk and- and yeah Yeah. We'll talk." He's mumbling into his .. . cell phone? Since when does he have a cell phone? "Yeah. I love you too."

"Hen Yolo. Imagine meeting you here.”

Hen Yolo looks even more dazed and stunned than Lando does. He doesn’t even have some snappy but clearly inferior comeback, which is the sign that something really big’s gone down.;

Lando’s eyes flit to the one item Han’s buying, a small shiny box that Han keeps drumming his fingers against tunelessly. Anxiously.

Shit. Something really small, then.

“Oh,” says Lando, because even he can’t really think of how to respond to running into his fucking ex-boyfriend at 2 AM in a convenience story buying a fucking pregnancy test.

(He notices, right then, that Han still has the remnants of the burn scars across the backs of his hands, his knuckles. They look almost floral.)

“Hey,” says Han.

Instinctively, his hand snatches over to cover the test, eyes darting like cornered prey.

(It’s not beyond Lando’s notice that Councilwoman Leia Organa has become Senator Leia Organa since the last time they met. And who can forget the months of tabloid buzz over her being the secret daughter of President Vader, either?)

(Also: at some point those tabloids are going to get ahold of Han and have a field day. He looks like a doctored-ly terrible paparazzi photo most of the time anyway. And however this current situation plays out, there’s a high likelihood Han’s going to be pulled from the shadows as something more than Senator Organa’s secret boyfriend/occaisonal driver.)

“My lips are sealed, Solo.”

Han nods, distracted, almost bouncing off the balls of his feet, more nervous teenager than the 30-something man he is. He’s projecting enough rays of nervous energy to power an entire city.

The cashier doesn’t spare a glance at what Han’s buying as she rings him up. “Cash or credit?”

“Credit.”

He pulls a sturdy-looking leather wallet that Lando’s never seen before from his jeans pocket and takes out a fancy silver card.

Lando pretends to be shocked. “Credit? Han Solo with a credit card? What are you, moving up in the world? Respectable?”

He ignores Lando, shoves his purchase into a paper bag, and stalks out the door.

Maybe it’s because he’s a goddamn idiot without any sense of self-preservation either, or maybe it’s because he actually goddamn misses the man who was, for years, his best friend, but Lando makes a split decision and dashes out after Han, leaving his place in line and all his groceries still on the till.

“Solo! SOLO! HAAAAN!”

Childish, maybe, but it’s enough to make Han slow down. Not turn around, but slow down, and when he reaches his car, stop.

“What do you want?”

Because they’ve lied to each other enough times before, Lando decides to be honest.

“My old friend back.”

“Fucking hell, Lando, it’s too late for you to come pulling me back into your-“

“Not as we were, clearly. It’s far too late for that.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it definetely is.”

More awkward silence. Lando notes that the Falcon now has a bunch of Leia’s campaign stickers on it and that Han’s done. . . well at least a cursory job at cleaning the inside of it out. He’s taken some of Chewie’s fur off the seats, at least. He’s still got the gold dice.

“Hold out your arm,” Lando finally instructs.

“Why?”

“Because I'm giving you my new number and this is the only way I now you won’t loose it.”

Lando pulls a Sharpie out of his pocket while Han reluctantly rolls back a sleeve. He writes his number on Solo’s arm with big, mildly humiliating strokes, and then scrawls - Calrissian, CEO Bespin Industries, future mayor- on his wrist, just for slight irritation’s sake.

(If you got rid of of ten years, the pregnancy test, and the parking lot, and added in some terrible pounding music, a disco ball, and some terribly v-cut shirts, this could almost be the first time they met.)

“Thanks. I’ll call you.”

“I’ll hold you to it.”

“Who knows? Maybe I’ll send you an invite to one of Leia’s Shabbat dinners. They’re pretty great. All three senator Organas, her brother and whoever his current boyfriend is, her eldritch abomination of a biological father-“

“Really?”

Lando’s one experience with President Vader can only really be quantified as soul-shaking terror, but the image of him sitting down with Leia and Han at a dining table is almost hilarious.

“Nah, he’s serving a life sentence. But come anyway.”

Who knows? It’s a long life. Maybe he will.

“How’r things going for you? The mining thing really took off, didn’t it?”

“Sustainable energy, Solo. It’s made me more money than you could ever dream of-“

“Hey-“

“So I’ve been thinking about what to do with it. Sports car, mansion, creating a network of mentorship opportunities for kids in tech, sustainable development, politics, capes, paying off special interest groups. You know, the usual.”

Han smiles and bites his lip. “Have you changed at all?”

“Yes. Like I said, I’m rich.” He claps Han on the shoulder, just enough to shake the man slightly. “Enough on me. You gotta get home. You gotta get back to Leia.”

He nods and jumps into the Falcon, which rumbles as argumentatively to life as it always does.

“See you around.”

Lando watches the Falcon drive off. He decides that rescuing his groceries from the check-out line isn’t worth it, pulls out his phone, and calls a taxi.