#it was REALLY fucking cold last night so I guess temperature shock got them??

[cjadewyton]

*comes home from putting down the cat*

*2 of the chooks have died in their sleep; one of who was a little bit sick but the other who was completely fine???*

What the fuuuuuuck

[jackrrabbit]

Spoiled Rotten /// Overhaul x f!Reader (18+)

Request: What if Overhaul fucks spoiled rich reader because her dad owes the yakuza money and in exchange Kai takes the daughter as a form of payment using her as his personal stress doll whenever and wherever he wants making her into his perfect little doll

A/N: While I was writing this my roommate asked if I was okay bc cause I kept stopping to fan myself and blush lmaooooo god I’m such a brat. I did change the concept up a bit, hope that’s fine!

This is dedicated not only to the OG requester but also to everyone who read the excerpt I posted a while back and told me they couldn’t wait to see the finished product!! Love you guys ❤️

Tags/warnings: threats, dubcon/coercion, dom/sub, brat taming, degradation, exhibitionism, restraints, mentions of forced prostitution, verbal & physical harassment, kidnapping, kinda breath play?, long

The first thing you notice when you come to are voices. Multiple people talking to each other, speech overlapping in patterns you can’t make out. They’re quiet—not whispering for your sake, but quiet because you’re still half knocked-out and you can barely hear.

The second thing you notice is the pounding in your head and the lingering smell of something sweet spread over your nose and mouth.

The third thing you notice is the fact that when you try to blink your eyes open, your lashes brush against something soft and dark. You’re blindfolded…and gagged, and your hands feel like they’re cuffed behind your back. From what you can sense around you, it seems like you’re hunched in a kneeling position with your cheek flattened against the floor and your bare feet tucked under your backside.

At least you’re still in your nightgown. You can feel the frilly silk of it, a useless barrier between your skin and the cool air, and it reminds you of how you got here in the first place.

A loud noise in the night. Your father’s voice pleading. A heavy thump. The door to your bedroom banging open and a strange man holding you down to your bed…lifting a sweet-smelling rag to your mouth…telling you to “take a deeeeep breath, princess.”

“Hey, I think she’s waking up.”

An invisible hand fists itself in your hair and you whine in pain as your upper body is lifted off the floor. Once you’re properly upright, you hear squeaking, shoes against concrete, and the heat and breath and presence of someone behind you. Something rustles at the back of your head—you’re too scared to move so you stay still—and then the blindfold is being lifted off your face.

Once it’s gone, you have to blink for a moment even despite the low light of the dingy room where you’ve…apparently…been kidnapped. By the freaking yakuza. And for some reason, they’re all wearing bird-beak masks.

You close your eyes, almost wishing they hadn’t taken the blindfold off. You’d prefer to live in blissful ignorance of how decidedly unclean the floor is. How dare they let your face touch it? What happened to honor among thieves?

“Do you know why you’re here?”

Against your will, your eyes flick up to the speaker. He’s the only one sitting, and somehow that gives him a position of power among the others. The leader?

Unsettling golden eyes rest on yours, and you realize he’s waiting for your answer, so you slowly move your head from side to side.

“Didn’t know about daddy’s bad habits, huh?” This time the person speaking is behind you, the one who untied your blindfold, a thin man with lank, greasy blond hair. He’s the one who drugged me, you remember in a surge of panic, and you try to stand up away from him only for him to step on the chain that connects your handcuffs, jerking you back and pinning you—painfully—to the floor.

“Careful, Setsuno. I told you not to leave marks. Let her talk.”

“Got it, boss.” The blond—Setsuno—fumbles at the back of your head and then he’s pulling the gag out of your mouth.

You open and close your mouth a few times to stretch out the stiff muscles. “Oh. My. God. Was that polyester you just took out of my mouth? Do you have any idea how bad synthetics are for sensitive skin? I’m totally going to break out.”

A hush falls over the little room. You could hear a pin drop.

“…Are you complaining about the quality of the fabric we gagged you with?” the leader asks after a second.

“You may be yakuza, but you don’t have to act like savages,” you reply primly, aligning your knees together and sending a proud look off to the side.

“Ohh…little princess deserves better, does she?” Setsuno coos. He edges closer to rub his cheek against yours and laughs when you cringe away from him. “Boss, you shoulda seen her bedroom. All pink and frilly, looked like royalty lived there. Bet they treat you like a real princess at home, huh? No wonder your daddy’s in debt.”

“Daddy isn’t—“

“Your father…took out loans from my gang. My men came last night to collect,” the leader says, drumming his fingers over the armrest of his chair impatiently.

He’s wearing plastic gloves. Why is he wearing plastic gloves? Immediately your mind is spinning, imagining all the different gruesome possibilities of what they’re going to do to you. “That’s ridiculous. My daddy doesn’t need to borrow money—“

“Clearly he does, because it looks like he pissed it all away on his daughter.” The leader’s eyes are cold enough to make you shiver—although maybe that’s just the icy temperature of the floor soaking through your nightgown.

“He had a couple payments overdue, so we stopped by to ask nicely for him to pay up,” Setsuno says, resting his chin on your shoulder. “Didn’t find too many valuables in your house, but then we got our hands on a real treasure.”

“Don’t touch me—“

“You don’t seem to understand the position you’re in,” the leader says. “When I made my contract with your father, he understood that obligations like these are inherited. Since he can’t pay his debt, you’re going to be working it off in his place.”

Working it off? You swallow. Somehow you don’t think he’s talking about your little part-time job as a receptionist at your daddy’s company. “You can’t make me do that.”

“I’m not sure you’re getting the gist, princess,” Setsuno hums. “What we’re gonna do is we’re gonna put you in a room, and then men are gonna give us money, and then we’ll let those men fuck you. All that money’s gonna go toward paying what your daddy borrowed. Sound good?”

For the first time since you can remember, you’re shocked speechless. They’re going to…what? But you’re a quick thinker, and instead of letting these filthy, awful gangters boss you around, you raise your chin haughtily to look directly into the leader’s eyes. “I don’t think so. If Daddy’s the one who got himself in debt, you can make him whore himself out to pay it back. You can’t hold me responsible for something he’s done.”

Another brief silence, and then you hear a whistle echo out from the corner of the room (and you try not to look toward it, reminding yourself that this can only get worse if they know how scared you are). “She’s got a mouth on her, Overhaul,” someone says.

Overhaul. So the leader’s name is Overhaul. How ridiculous; it sounds like a villain’s name.

“Aww, princess,” Setsuno says, and once again his voice is too close for your comfort. “Little spoiled princess doesn’t know how to shut her mouth and suck it up when things don’t go her way? Well…you’ll learn.”

You don’t want to know what he’s talking about, although if you thought about it for more than a second it’d be obvious. You suck in a harsh breath and the cool, damp air stings against your dry throat. “You can’t just make me—“

“Ohh, I think we can. See, if your daddy’s been spending all of the Shie Hassaikai’s money on his precious daughter, don’t you think you owe a little too? Like, this dress—“ you jump as Setsuno’s hand tugs on the thin, floaty silk— “was bought with Overhaul’s money, so it belongs to him, right?”

You keep quiet, not wanting to prompt him to go further, but when his hands stroke up over your waist to grope your breasts in full view of everyone else in the room, you don’t really have to guess.

“And, y’know, your daddy’s been keeping you nice and healthy with Overhaul’s cash, making sure you grow up into such a pretty girl…” Setsuno’s voice is a purr in your ear as his hands squeeze your tits almost lovingly, then pinch your nipples through the fabric. “So hey—if you think about it, this tight little body…belongs to Overhaul too. Isn’t that right, sir?”

You squirm in place as best you can but with the metal cuffs digging into your wrists, there’s nothing you can do to get away from his touch. You’re desperate enough to shoot a terrified glance up at the leader—surely there are rules about treating an innocent girl like this, even for the yakuza—but he looks as unmoved as before. “Get her out of my sight. We’ll give her a rest for the next few days, and then…”

“No!” you yelp, too panicked to keep up the pretense of confidence. “I won’t, I can’t do that, please don’t make me—“

“Shhh. You’ll get used to it, princess. And if you don’t…” Setsuno’s hand combs though your hair and then trails down your neck, tracing the path of your spine between your shoulder blades. “…well, you won’t really have much of a choice, will you?”

And then he’s tugging on your cuffed hands, pulling you to a standing position, but you wriggle away from him and do everything you can to stay planted on the ground so they can’t take you away from here, away from the only man who is capable of stopping this. Overhaul. “Please! I’m— I can work it off another way! I’ll be useful— I’ll—“

Overhaul leans forward a fraction in his chair, and you wonder if you’ve caught his interest. “What, exactly? How do you think you can be useful to me?”

You bite your lip and wrack your brains, not knowing whether the question is rhetorical. What skills do you have that would be valuable to them? Suddenly all the knowledge you’ve gained in your short life seems so meaningless. You’re a decent receptionist (well, decent is a stretch), but if Overhaul wanted someone to answer calls for him you’re pretty sure he would’ve asked.

Why did you spend your life learning such impractical skills? The four-year weekend course you took on horseback riding jumps to mind and you want to hit your head against the wall. Why didn’t you ask your father to sponsor a class in something that would actually matter in the long run? And what would even be useful to these people? Accounting? Bookkeeping? Extortion?

There’s nothing valuable you can offer. You’ve wasted your life, and now you’re going to pay for it. Seriously, the only thing you’re actually good at is keeping your boyfriends (or, rather, the men you cycle through once a month) happy until the novelty wears off and you get bored and move on to the next lovesick target—

—wait. Keeping your boyfriends happy. That’s a skill, isn’t it?

Once, a little bit after you turned eighteen, you’d had a rather illicit conversation with one of your more sexually adventurous friends about being a sugar baby. Your friend had just secured a very generous benefactor, and you’d been so intrigued by all the designer purses and vacations to Cabo that you’d almost considered trying it for yourself. She’d even helped you set up a profile on Seeking Arrangements that listed your physical features and interests, but you’d blanched when it came time to post photos.

“But why do men even like this?” you'd asked your friend after your picture-less profile received its dozenth unsolicited offer. “Rich, successful guys shouldn’t have so much trouble finding girlfriends that they have to resort to paying for sex.”

“It’s a power trip,” she’d replied. “Most men never get the chance to have a woman who’s willing to do and be whatever he wants, whenever he wants it. You’re his ideal girlfriend, his therapist, his wife, and his stress relief all in one.”

At the time, you’d decided against it, deleting your profile and telling your friend you’d rather just keep taking advantage of your real father doting on you than have to fake orgasms for rich men in their 50’s. But back then, you’d had a choice; now that you’ve been kidnapped by a gang who wants you to get fucked by a bevy of strangers to pay off a debt you’ve never even heard of, you no longer have the privilege of a way out. Or, at least, the options are a lot less appealing than before.

You tilt your head back to Overhaul, eyeing him for the first time with real scrutiny instead of prideful disgust. Judging from what you can see of his face under the ornate bird mask (and again, what is with the freaking bird masks?), he’s fairly young, mid-twenties at the oldest. Short, sort of wavy dark hair (you’ve always had a thing for dark hair), a trim suit and tie, and those eyes. Like he can read your mind just looking at you.

He’s…handsome enough, you have to admit to yourself. But it’s not just that. There’s something pristine about him, something untouchable that commands discipline. He’s clean. You and him are probably the only clean things in this hovel of a room.

“Well? I’m waiting,” Overhaul says.

And now that you’ve got the idea in your head, it’s almost too embarrassing to meet his gaze. But you can do this; you have to do this. At least it’ll be your choice, and—you’re hoping—it’ll be better than the alternative.

“I could be yours,” you tell him, taking pride in the fact that your voice isn’t breaking.

His eyes narrow and you think god, his eyelashes are long. It’s not fair. Men never appreciate having long eyelashes. What is he thinking? Is he going to kill you for even suggesting it? But it’s too late now…you have to dig yourself a little deeper if you don’t want to go through with their original plan for debt fulfillment.

You force your muscles to relax, knowing this’ll be impossible to pull off if you’re tense and biting down on the words like they’re going to choke you. If you’re going to make him believe it, you have to make yourself believe it too. “You… This job must be hard. Even for a—a powerful man like you, it has to be stressful, right? Always looking out for the interests of the gang instead of your own…needs.”

Overhaul doesn’t move, but you’re so focused on him it would be impossible for you to miss the way a single muscle in his neck flexes. You’ve hit a nerve.

You take a cautious step toward him, trying to channel the sexually-liberated vixen you consider yourself when you’re not in your nightgown surrounded by men who could murder you with their bare hands and not miss a minute of sleep. “You’re always giving, aren’t you? Looking toward the future of the gang? Doesn’t it get frustrating when—when a pretty thing is in front of you and you don’t even get…a little taste of her?”

Oh god, you can feel the humiliated heat rushing to your cheeks. How can you be saying this? You’ve played the role of seductress plenty of times before, but never in such a risky situation. You just have to keep moving toward him and hope it feels authentic enough to convince him.

“You’ve worked hard. And…like he said, my—my body belongs to you.” Now you’re close enough to Overhaul and he hasn’t stopped you, so you lower yourself onto the floor, knees bumping softly into the cold surface. Kneeling between his legs.

Overhaul stares down at you, gaze as sharp and cold as before—and you’re sick with anxiety, so scared you can feel your hairs raising up on end—but if he wanted you to stop, he would have said something, right? So you shuffle a little closer and nuzzle your cheek over the inside of his clothed thigh like a kitten, then raise your head up to him to give him your best bedroom look, the one that says, I want you. I need you. No one but you. The look no man has ever been able to resist.

“…You deserve something to yourself, sir,” you murmur.

There’s a collective intake of breath as every person in the room simultaneously realizes what you’re offering. Overhaul’s expression doesn’t change, but once again, a tendon jumps out white under the skin of his throat and there’s a creak of latex on leather as his grip on the arm of the chair tightens.

“Damn,” Setsuno says under his breath from behind you. Someone whistles. You’re pretty sure you hear the word ‘slut’ being tossed around, but there’s reverence behind it.

“And what makes you think you’re so valuable?” Overhaul asks.

You close your eyes to ground yourself for a second. He’s interested, you know that much. You’ve never really had to convince someone to want you, but there’s a first time for everything. Besides, you only have to look at him for a second to know he does want you, which isn’t a surprise. Who wouldn’t?

“I’ll do anything you want, be anything you want,” you tell him, echoing your conversation with your friend back then. “Take out your anger on me if that’s what you’re into. When you’re tired of me, you can consider my debt paid and let me go.”

“And?” he prompts.

‘And’? And what? You’re offering yourself to him, your body and your mind—what more can he possibly ask from you? You cast your thoughts around, wondering what else you have to give him. “And…and I’ll do it willingly. You, um—you look like a man who appreciates obedience.”

And that’s it. Your last shred of pride is gone. Not only are you offering yourself up to a man to use as his personal stress doll, you’re saying you’ll be compliant every step of the way. Knowing yourself, you’re pretty sure that’s impossible, but you just need to make him believe it long enough for you to find a way out of here. You can pretend to enjoy getting fucked by a gangster a few times. You’ll live.

But you’re naive. And with the stream of thoughts pushing through your head, you never really consider one thing, one essential thing: how you look pleading up at him in that pale pink nightdress—soft, pure, immaculate against the filth of the underworld, the only clean body that Overhaul’s seen in a long time.

And you’re right. He is a man who appreciates obedience.

“Willingly…so you’d be willing to prove it.”

Your head jerks up and down in response. Yes! He’s taking the bait, now I just have to get him alone and—

“Then demonstrate.”

When a moment passes and you don’t move, Overhaul tips his head to the side, gaze still locked on you, and gestures vaguely at his lap. You blink and then shy back, shrinking under the hungry gazes of the onlookers. “You can’t mean—in front of them?”

“And here I thought you were going to be obedient.” There’s no mercy, no amusement in his voice. No hint of humanity.

So he’s serious. He wants you to give him a blowjob in front of—how many? one, two three, four—four other men!? Your first instinct is to jump back away from him and your next is to slap him for even suggesting it; you can actually hear the jingle of your cuffs as you attempt to raise your hand. You’ve gotten a little kinky before—blindfolds, vibrators, maybe a hand tied to the bedpost with a Hermès scarf once or twice, but this is a whole different level. And the way they’re all looking at you…like they’re itching to see you brought down. How absolutely disgusting.

But Overhaul’s waiting for your answer, and you know full well that you’re not going to deny him.

“O-Of course.” You lean forward over the seat of the chair so your face is just inches from his lap. “Um. My hands...?”

They’re still cuffed behind you, but it seems like they’re going to stay that way when Overhaul gives a curt shake of his head. “Use your mouth.”

Once again, you’re stunned into silence. How are you supposed to—? Without your hands? It doesn’t even seem like he’s going to undo his pants for you. It’s like he wants to humiliate you…oh, wait. As soon as the thought crosses your mind, it’s clear that’s exactly what he’s trying to do.

You give him another doe-eyed glance, bidding him to at least undo his belt, but he remains unmoved. Bastard.

After aiming another glare at him (because as obedient as you’re attempting to be, you’ve never been good at concealing your emotions) you lean deeper in and take the stiff leather of his belt between your teeth, gently easing it out of the buckle and trying to ignore the mixture of earthy and metallic tastes it leaves on your tongue. It takes a few tries, but eventually you’ve got the tail of the belt out of the buckle and you pull your head back to guide the metal down until the belt is hanging open from its loops.

A rush of accomplishment surges through you when you get it open, and then you want to slap yourself. Accomplishment? From doing this with your mouth like an animal—like a dog? You can hear laughter and mocking encouragement from the men watching, but you steel yourself and dip back in to get Overhaul’s pants undone. The button is tricky, especially with your face nudging into the hard muscle of his abdomen through his shirt, but somehow you manage to tug the fabric slit over the button and then—delicately, delicately—clamp the zipper between your teeth and peel it downward.

“Oh, she’s good,” someone says from the background. Setsuno. You look up warily, but Overhaul’s eyes haven’t moved from you.

Now that you’ve got his pants open, you’re face to face (literally) with what you’re going to have to deal with. The outline of his cock is bulging the fabric of his boxers outward, and he’s not even half erect. You snatch a look back up at him—and damn it, you have to stop doing that, because every time you look into those golden eyes and that stupid bird mask you feel like a lamb looking at a bird of prey right before it snatches you from your safe little lamb-house in the meadow and—fuck, you just have to get on with it.

So you dip down and mouth over him through the fabric, spreading the flat of your tongue over the length of his thick cock. Your mouth feels like you’ve been eating cotton (probably because they drugged you earlier) but you force yourself to salivate, letting drool spill over your tongue and dampen his boxers. When you duck and spread your lips down on the place you can feel the tip stretching out, you know the friction must feel good, because despite the lack of even so much of a deep breath from the man above you, his cock is getting harder.

You nudge your mouth over the tent between Overhaul’s legs again, letting the heat of your breath wash over him—but when he doesn’t do anything, you pull back and blink up at his face. Does he expect you to get him off through his underwear? You could, but most of your moves depend on skin-to-skin contact. There’s no way you can get his cock out with your mouth like you undid his pants, so…what? “Are—are you going to take it out?”

Overhaul brings a gloved hand to his face to rub absently at one of the straps on his mask. “…Beg,” he tells you.

Your mouth drops open and you reel back from his lap like he asked you to lick the dirt off the floor. What!? He can’t seriously expect you to—to beg him to put his dick in your mouth when you’re clearly disgusted at the whole situation. When he doesn’t give any indication of retracting the statement, you can’t help the mocking sneer that forms over your face. “Please, sir,” you spit, and a deaf man could hear the spite in your voice.

Now, that gets a reaction. Overhaul’s eyes flash and you take a certain degree of pride back at the anger you’ve clearly inspired in him. But it’s extinguished as soon as you see it, and then he’s reaching down to cup your chin, tilting your head back and rubbing his thumb over your lower lip.

“I think you can do better than that, princess,” he says, and you can hear your own mocking tone reflected back in his voice. “Unless you’d like me to give my men a turn?”

This, more than anything, scares you. He must be able to feel the way your spine goes stiff, adrenaline rushing, your fight-or-flight instinct kicking in at the prospect of what he’s threatening.

“Each of them, one by one. Between the four of them, I think they could cure that smart mouth…although they might just break you in the process,” he continues, and then his thumb is pressing into your lip, into your mouth, and you loosen your jaw to let him in. You can taste the rubbery latex of his gloves and the other men mutter agreement, encouraging their leader to turn you over to them, and you want to cry.

But you hold the tears back. “Please, sir! Please, please may I s-suck your cock sir? Please!” Your voice is more terrified than obedient, but that’s probably what he’s into anyway. When he doesn’t say anything, you babble on, unwilling to let yourself get gangbanged by a group of men who could probably wreck your pussy in a single round. “Please, please, Mr.—Mr. Overhaul, um, boss? M-Master?”

“Sir will do just fine,” Overhaul says, apparently satisfied, and he pulls his hand away from your face to free his cock from his boxers.

You let out a hot sigh of relief and angle yourself back toward his lap so you can zero in on his cock (and, hopefully, do a little to block out how sickeningly degrading all of this is: how easy it is for him to threaten you; how he has all the power and you have none; how the men around you are goading you, taunting you and calling you things that should get their mouths washed out with soap). You can focus on this, and this, at least, you’re good at. You’ve always been good with your mouth.

It’s a nice dick, too, you have to admit to yourself as you stare at it. Perfect length, girth, and a thick, cut head that you know just by looking that you’re going to have to stretch your jaw to get around. All his hair is neatly trimmed and groomed, and he even smells good, clean and fresh like soap. You’ve never been in front of a dick that didn’t smell like day-old ball sweat, so this is a first. It’s got a nice upward curve, too, and there’s a bead of pearly precum oozing out of the tip. The kind of cock that’s made for penetrative orgasms—

No. Fuck. You cannot be thinking this. You cannot allow yourself to lust after a gang leader who thinks of you as little more than an interactive sex doll. A tingle of blood rushes to your cheeks as you feel wetness pool in your panties and you adjust your stance, shuffling your thighs apart under the pretense of getting closer and hoping Overhaul doesn’t notice.

If he notices, he does the merciful thing and keeps quiet (which makes you think he has no idea you’re feeling the way you’re feeling, because he’s probably never chosen to do the merciful thing in his life). He does, however, shift one of his knees farther apart to accommodate you as you crawl close enough to him to get your head all the way between his legs.

So now you’re staring up at that unfairly pretty cock and wondering how the fuck this is supposed to start, but—best just get on with it. Pretend it’s not him, pretend it’s…no, wait, pretend it is him, it is Overhaul, the same bastard who’s looking down at you like you’re trash, except pretend you’re in control. Because no matter how many orders he gives, once you’ve got his cock in his mouth he’ll have to be the weak one. Right?

Lightly, slowly, you trace the tip of your tongue in a wet path up the underside of his cock, sliding up from the hilt to caress every bulging vein with all the delicacy and accuracy of a surgeon. When you reach the tip, you flatten your tongue to curve it around that bulbous head and then slip it off, the suction providing a wet smacking sound as your skin leaves his.

The breath of his barely-heavier exhale ruffles your hair and you relish the knowledge that he’s getting impatient. Yes. The bastard can wait.

You kiss the tip of his cock, barely moving your lips around the slit, only enough to let your tongue flick out against the precum and gather the bitter liquid up in your mouth. And then—right when he’s getting annoyed, when you can tell by the tension in his body that he’s five seconds away from shoving your head down to fuck your face—you duck closer, relax your throat, and swallow.

Like a fucking python. Or so you’ve been told.

The exhale that escapes him isn’t light this time. You can almost hear the barest hint of a groan under his breath, but you’re more focused on holding down your gag reflex as you let that heavy cock hit the back of your throat. Once he’s all the way down (or at least as far as you can get him), you rock yourself back an inch and then take him deeper, forcing yourself to hold still so he can feel the walls of your throat convulse around him, sucking him in, dry-gagging on the mass that’s filling you up.

“Fuuuuck,” you hear someone whine, and it’s not even Overhaul. It’s one of the men watching, and you feel a perverse mixture of hatred and arrogance rise up in you.

Overhaul’s cock is too big for you to properly moan around it, but you give it a go anyway so he can feel the vibration of your voice through his skin. You’re rewarded with a tangible twitch with it sitting on your tongue, and—oh—your mouth is watering out of where you’re clenching down on him at the back of your throat.

Spittle slips out over your lower lip and onto your chin, but you ignore it in favor of jerking your head up and down in fractional strokes, trying your absolute best to get yourself down to his base but knowing that he probably doesn’t give a shit anyway, not with how good your throat feels around what you’re capable of stuffing in.

What were you saying about ‘valuable’, sir? you think, and then you pull your head off his cock, so slow it’s almost cruel, sucking your cheeks in and hollowing out so those wet walls are rubbing up on every millimeter of his skin. When you reach the tip, you savor it, letting your tongue do the dirty work and looking up at him through your lash extensions before you release him with a nasty wet pop.

“Holy fuck, can I have her next?” one of the other men says, but you and Overhaul are too focused on each other to even look and see who’s talking.

His gaze is trained firmly down at you, and—no way, damn it—he looks bored, like he could be waiting in line at the DMV instead of getting sucked off by you, a girl who’s been complimented by every man she’s ever been with (including her first) on her bj technique. You know he’s feeling it—he can fake calm, but he can’t fake the way his cock’s throbbing under your tongue as you lick up the shaft. Still, now that you’ve got it in your head that Overhaul’s not going to make a sound, all you can think about is forcing him to moan. Let him look weak in front of all his little lackeys.

With renewed vigor, you lap up the length of Overhaul’s cock in sloppy dabs, leaving strings of saliva dripping off your mouth and his cock only to slurp them up, audibly, wiggling your tongue over the tip when you reach it. And that, that gets him, because you feel more than see the buck of his hips into your face as he hisses out a curse.

And—oh dear, maybe you shouldn’t have done that—because the next thing you feel is Overhaul looming forward over you, hand gripping the back of your head, and is he going to force you down? You hate that—so you take the initiative, tilting forward to take him into your mouth again, head bobbing up and down so quickly that your hair is falling all over your face, but it’s okay, because he’s got you, he’s got you, got his hands combed through your hair holding it out of your face, pulling so lightly it barely even hurts, but it does hurt, and he’s guiding you up and down on his cock and it’s hitting the back of your throat every time, and—and it hurts.

You really shouldn’t have done that.

“Take it deeper,” Overhaul instructs, almost encouraging, although you’re not given the option to pull off because he’s holding you down, pushing you firmly toward the base of his cock. You sputter around it, gagging, and you’re almost fucking choking, and he won’t let you up.

God, you’re not—not breathing, you can feel your throat choking down on him—“breathe through your nose,” he says, and this man, this villain has no idea what he’s fucking talking about, because you’re trying, eyes stinging and then you can feel tears down your cheeks. You try to squirm back on your knees, but somehow the combined force of every muscle in your body is outmatched by his single hand on the back of your head—and—and—you squeeze your eyes shut, relax, open your throat as much as you can and—

Overhaul forces your mouth down to the hilt.

Fuck, is he going to keep you there? You can’t, you can’t—if you could move, you’d be shaking your head and begging him to let you stop and as it is you’re whimpering around his cock. Your throat is making gagging noises and you’re crying, actually crying, actually fucking crying on a man’s dick. So this is what it feels like to be used?

“Good.” There’s something lower and darker in Overhaul’s voice, a husky undertone from the growl he’s trying to suppress. “Hold still…remember, you asked for this.”

You did. You asked for it. Begged for it. Pleaded.

“Want me to forgive your father’s debt…? You’re going to have to earn it.” He pulls out an inch just to ram himself back in. You make a weak attempt to move your tongue around his shaft and you can feel the shudder all the way through him, his cock twitching where it’s locked in your throat. “Mm…good girl. Just a little—little longer—“

His fingers are tightening in your hair, curling around the strands and tugging instead of just applying pressure to your head. He’s close, you think, and then you struggle back, not wanting him to cum down your throat, what if you choke on it? Like, really choke? You don’t want it, don’t want his cum in your stomach, but then he sighs and tells you again that you’re a good girl, and ohfuckohfuck you must be so scared you’re desperate for praise because you feel heat rush into your cheeks and your cunt when he says it and you try to move your tongue like you did earlier and his hips jerk forward and—he cums. In your mouth.

It’s salty, you think. The next thing you think is that you want to gag, because you’ve never had cum in your mouth before. For all your sexual experimentation, you’ve never let a man cum down your throat like this, always telling them it shoot it on your tits or whatever because you are not a person who should have semen in her mouth, much less ingest it.

But right now, with Overhaul lazily dragging your head up and down for a last couple pumps on his softening dick, your choice isn’t spit or swallow. It’s swallow or choke.

Hot. Thick. The texture is slimy, so viscous you can feel it going down your throat in strings. Part of you wants to throw up. It’s repulsive. Filthy. You hate this.

Part of you has to shift your position again so you don’t have to feel your own wetness slicking up the insides of your thighs.

How. Is. This. Possible. You may have just had to swallow your pride (and not just that), but what about your dignity? You’re a good person…okay, well, even if you’re not a ‘good person’ per se, you don’t hurt anyone with your selfishness. You don’t deserve to be kept as a pet by a sadistic bastard who gets off on watching you almost pass out on his cock, and you certainly don’t deserve the humiliation of finding that you’re turned on by it.

And yet. Here you are. Still held securely in place until Overhaul slides you off him. As soon as your mouth is free you suck in a dizzyingly deep breath, but even that is too much for your battered throat and the breath turns into a cough; you instinctively fold down away from Overhaul so the mixed saliva and cum you’re hacking out spatters in cloudy white flecks across the floor instead of on his clothing.

“Stop that,” Overhaul scolds, hauling you back up by your hair and forcing your mouth closed with a hand on your jaw. “If you make a mess, you’ll be cleaning it up.”

Considering what he just made you do to him, there’s no doubt in your mind that he’s implying you’ll have to lick it off the floor. You clench your jaw, holding back the convulsions of your throat as best you can, and hope he doesn’t press the issue.

Now that you’ve got your coughing under control, you can start to sense things that you had been tuning out before: the men hooting and wolf-whistling and applauding your performance, the traitorously persistent throb of your clit pulsing under your panties, and Overhaul’s hand releasing your chin to pet down your neck. “Now. What do you say when someone gives you a meal?”

Just you wait, bastard. I’m going to tie you to your bed and set fire to it. But you’ve got the sense that that answer won’t go over well, so you take a deep breath and look up at him again, meeting those piercing gold eyes with your own. “Thank you, sir,” you say in a soft whisper because it’s all your abused throat can manage.

“That’s right.” His hands feel colder than the concrete under your legs as he spreads his hand down your neck, only to toy with one of the lacy pink straps of your nightdress. “Stand up.”

You stand shakily, too cowed to even consider stepping back from him. Without warning (much less permission), Overhaul lifts the hem of your stupidly short dress up past your thighs, exposing your panties and lower belly to view.

“Hold this in your mouth,” he says, and after only a few seconds of hesitation you open up and bite down on the fabric so you’re effectively holding up the skirt for him. Overhaul skims gloved hands down the sides of your hips and comes to a rest when he reaches your panties—and why did you have to wear these today? Shiny red satin in the front; the back is just flowers worked in crimson lace. You know exactly how good you look in these panties, and judging by the things Overhaul’s men are saying, they’re more than appreciative of the view.

But Overhaul ignores them in favor of hooking his fingers under the elastic and pulling the panties down until they’re resting stretched between your upper thighs. You don’t have to see them to know there’s a string of slick connecting the lips of your cunt to the fabric, betraying in full technicolor detail how turned on you’ve gotten just from sucking him off. He gazes down at your pussy and then up to you as if waiting for you to admit it, but you stay silent.

“Well, well. What a nicely-trained slut I’ve found myself.” He gracelessly pulls the panties the rest of the way down your legs and lets them fall to the ground. “Do you always get this wet when you let your boyfriends fuck that smart mouth?”

It takes you a second to comprehend that he’s expecting an answer. “N-No, sir,” you reply, voice muffled by the fabric you’re still holding between your teeth.

“I suppose I can’t leave you like this, not after you took me so nicely.”

Does he mean he’s going to get you off? No freaking way. You drop the hem of your dress, let it flutter down over your thighs, try to scramble back, but his hand on your waist keeps you from moving. “I— It’s okay, I don’t need—“

“No, I think you do. I think I’m going to reward my pet for a job well done.” He leans back, eyeing you without sympathy. “I’d have you touch yourself, but—“

The mere possibility that he might remove the handcuffs has you straining against them again, and the sound of metal against metal rings out from behind you.

“—but, I think it’s best to keep the cuffs on for a few days…until you’ve settled down.”

Days? He can’t leave you in chains for days, helpless and powerless, so easy to take advantage of. “You can’t,” you whimper, and even though you mean for it to be a decisive statement, with your throat ravaged and hoarse it’s downright pathetic. Overhaul doesn’t even bother reprimanding you for talking back.

“My men have been patient,” he muses, and an enthusiastic wave of agreement wells up from the others. “Any of them would be happy to do it.”

You may have been through a lot in the past hour alone, but there is no way you’re going to let those rowdy criminals have their way with you. You send a nervous glance around the room and as predicted, not a single one of them looks like they have the slightest shred of control over themselves.

None of them…except Overhaul.

Still eased back in his chair, he looks just as relaxed and unaffected as he did when he was explaining your father’s debts to you. But there’s something flickering in his eyes, something he isn’t going to say to you, isn’t going to say out loud. A challenge.

Maybe, once again, he’s waiting for you to ask for it yourself. And if it’s a choice between him and one of the grimy ruffians who’ve been looking at you like dogs look at meat, you know what you’d prefer. Well—really, you’d prefer option C: none of the above (your current state might be uncomfortable, but you’re not so wanton that you’d rather cum in front of strangers than keep your legs together). Unfortunately, you’re starting to come to terms with the fact that ‘no’ is no longer an option.

Overhaul’s stare flicks from you to an unseen figure behind you, and you can tell he’s about to summon one of them over so you force yourself to move, lurching forward and climbing into his lap to straddle one of his thighs with all the grace you’re capable of. You feel the stir in the air when he inhales sharply, surprised, and his masked face is so close to your neck that you wonder if he can smell the lotion you put on before you went to bed last night.

It’s one of your favorite scents: vanilla, lilac, orange blossoms. You bought it because it smelled pure.

“Please, sir, I don’t want them,” you breathe next to his ear, injecting every ounce of sexual frustration you’re feeling into the needy tones of your voice. “I’m yours. I belong to you, just you. No one else—please, sir…Overhaul.”

He’s quiet for a long, tense moment, and you think he’s going to hit you, or maybe even kill you for your disobedience. Push you off his lap at least. But just when you’re teetering on the edge of jumping back from him and begging for forgiveness for talking out of turn, you feel it—a low rumble of laughter from deep in his chest.

Big, cold hands wrap around the sides of your ribcage under your breasts and his fingernails dig into you through the layers of latex and fabric. He tilts forward, forcing you to arch away and all you can think about is how horribly weak you are compared to him. Are you trembling? Will he be angry if you feels how afraid you are?

“You know, I guess I’ll keep you after all,” he hums, stroking his fingers through your hair and down your neck. “How does that sound, princess? I think you’d like that very much, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, sir.” The response comes all too easily, even if the words taste bitter in your mouth. You’ve never said the word ‘sir’ so much in your life…but as he repositions you on his lap and slides a single hand up the inside of your thigh under your dress, you bite your lip and decide to hold back your protest.

If you’re going to have to learn manners, you’d better do it sooner rather than later. Something tells you Overhaul’s not going to accept any less than your best behavior if you want to pay off your debt.

[elareine]

Tim realizing that since Jason has been in the pit, Jason is always cold. He cant get warm. Tim throws himself into working this out, there has to be something to warm Jason.

Hi, anon, thank you for your patience. I… took the sappy route with this. Since this got longer than 1k, I posted it on ao3, too.  

Attempt One

“How’re you doing?” 

Tim eyes the bundle in front of him critically. Jason dropped by his safe house thirty minutes ago, teeth chattering after an encounter with Mr. Freeze, and he only looked marginally better. The chattering stopped; that can be a good sign or a very bad one. 

Jason gives him a weak grin. “Alright. No danger of turning into an icicle any time soon.” 

Hmm. Tim will see that for himself. 

When he moves, Jason lifts a hand in protest. “Hey, no—“ 

Tim completely ignores Jason’s protests—he’d feel worse about it if it wasn’t the only way to handle injured Bats—and sticks his hand between the isolation blanket and Jason’s neck… just to flinch back. “Holy shit!” 

“Nah, it’s—“

“It’s hypothermia, is what it is!” Whatever bullshit is coming out of Jason’s mouth, Tim is not listening. “You’re going into shock! We gotta get some extra heat in here, or maybe actually call the hospital; I’m not equipped for this—“ 

Jason’s hand closes over his mouth. Tim gives him a second to remove it, then he licks it. 

Jason just grins. “As I was trying to say: It’s always like that. My body temperature never went back to normal after daying.” 

“Nnr?” 

“Never.” Jason shrugs. He looks completely unbothered in a way that leaves Tim incensed. That’s just stupid. Did Jason just accept the fact that he’s in constant discomfort as if that’s not a thing there should be—should be—multiple solutions to, what the fuck. Tim is gonna fix this, so God help him. 

Tim is so busy coming up with 315 possible solutions that he even forgets to bite Jason’s hand for a moment. 

(Only a moment, though. “Ouch!”)

Attempt Two

“I’m not sure how you think piling more blankets on me will help me raise my core temperature.” 

“Of course it’s not.” 

Jason raises an eyebrow at the three blankets currently on top of him. “Right. Silly of me.” 

Tim rolls his eyes. Men. So ungrateful. “Your core temperature is obviously affected. That’s why I brought heating blankets.” Many, many heating blankets. Jason ends up looking somewhat like a disgruntled duck by the end. Tim has pictures to prove it. 

Thirty minutes later, Tim takes Jason’s temperature. Still way, way too low for a human. He sighs. That would’ve been too easy, huh. 

“You know,” Jason waggles his eyebrows, “there’s a rather more traditional way of warming up under the blanket.” 

Tim swats his head. “Keep it in your pants.” 

“Even if I wasn’t, you wouldn’t be able to tell under all these blankets,” Jason tells him mournfully. 

Tim decides that retreat is the better part of valor. For today. Just until he can stop imagining what Jason could do to… warm up.

Attempt Three

“A hot bath.” 

“A hot bath.” 

“…you think I haven’t tried that?” 

No. No, actually Tim doesn’t, and his expression must adequately convey that cause Jason throws his hands up. “Okay, no, I haven’t, not really. My place isn’t that fancy.” 

“It certainly doesn’t have this tub. Now shoo, get out of these clothes.” 

“Why, darlin’, you only ever had to ask.” Without ceremony, Jason pulls off his shirt, then begins working on his belt. “Alright, tell me: What makes this tub special?” 

“From observation, I conclude that your resistance to high temperatures has also increased,” Tim begins in an excellent mad scientist voice, just to drop it right after. “Or you wouldn’t be able to wear that fucking jacket in summer. So I engineered a tub that will slowly heat up to a temperature just above 50 degrees Celsius.” 

“I sure hope so,” Jason grumbles as he climbs in, unabashed in his nudity, “cause right now it’s really fucking cold, babybird.” 

Funny cause Tim thinks it’s definitely getting hot in here. 

Hoping his face doesn’t heat up—haha—, he looks down at his phone and activates the heat settings on the tub. “At least,” he says thoughtfully, “we don’t have to worry about accidentally causing a heart infarct or anything like with normal freezing victims. I think.” 

“I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that.” 

“We’ll take it slow, anyway.” 

Almost two hours later, Jason’s skin is red and wrinkled and covered in glitter from Tim’s bath bomb. He’s still cold to the touch. 

Attempt Four

“Tea? Really?” 

“You like tea.” Jason has been hanging around Tim’s place often enough that the younger man knows. (If there’s a corner of the top shelf just dedicated to Jason’s favorite blends, well, they don’t talk about it.) “And anyway, this tea is special.” 

Jason put down the cup. “Tim.” 

“Yes?” 

“Tell me you didn’t get this from Ivy.” 

“I didn’t get this from Ivy,” Tim recites just a little too dutifully. Truthfully, he hasn’t—it’s of his own creation in the lab—but seeing Jason squirm is just too funny. 

“The things I do for you, babybird,” Jason sighs and exes about half of it. When nothing obviously terrible happens, he drinks the rest in small, careful sips. 

“Nothing?” 

“A hint of chamomile—I get that one, soothing—and… bergamot?” 

“Yeah, that’s your favorite, right?” Tim’s taking down notes and is only half-listening. “How do you feel? Any warmer?” 

When Jason doesn’t reply right away, Tim does look up. “Jay?” 

The older man has a slight smile on his face. “A little warmer, yes.” 

Tim brightens and jumps up. Jason lets him stick the thermometer under his tongue without any objection. Tim is a little disheartened when it climbs up to 33°C and stays there, again, though he tries to stay focused on the positives: “I guess it’s a start, though. After all, the perception of warmth is just as or more important than the objective temperature.” 

“Uhuh.” 

“Also, you didn’t turn green, so that’s good.” 

“Tim!” 

Attempt Five

“Okay, if this doesn’t work, I don’t even know anymore.” 

“Please tell me you’re not hooking me up to electrodes.” 

“Sorry, that’s too dumb a lie even for me.” Tim is about to demand that Jason takes his shirt off again—an unfortunate side effect of this type of experiment, really, how terrible that he has to ogle those pecs and abs again—when he pauses. “Wait. Is that… a bad thing?” 

Which is terrible phrasing for Is this something that was used to torture you? but Jason seems to get it cause he shakes his head. “Nah, just didn’t know you’re into that.” 

“I’m not!” Tim isn’t. 

…at least, he doesn’t think he is? There’s certainly something to be said about the inherent homoeroticism of applying gel to another man’s skin and attaching electrodes. He’s so caught up in the entire thing—and the way Jason’s muscles jump and twitch when Tim applies his own brand of stimulant ray to them—that he doesn’t notice how quiet Jason is, too. 

However, in the end, the thermometer still reads 33°C. 

“Fuck,” Tim mutters. “I really thought I had it.” 

“Guess I can put my shirt back on.” Jason makes no move to do so. 

“Yeah.” Tim is looking at his notes again, trying to figure out where he went wrong. His joking words at the beginning aside, there are still options, avenues for him to pursue. It’s just that these are the most promising ones, and Tim can’t bear the thought of failure. The idea that Jason will just—will just have to live like this, forever cold and disconnected—

He lifts his face when he hears Jason putting his shoes and jacket on. “You don’t have to leave. I can still—“ 

“Nah, it’s fine. There’re only so many sex jokes I can make before even I can take the hint,” Jason sighs. “Thanks, though, Tim. I really appreciate the effort.” He turns toward the window. 

It takes 4.7 seconds for Tim’s brain to catch up with that, and then another 2.4 for it to convince his body to move. 

“Jay! Wait!” 

The Solution

The afternoon sun throws golden rays into their bedroom. Tim can feel her rays tickle his face, his eyes, so he turns further into the embrace that’s been offered to him all night. Jason doesn’t wake up, just snuffles out a slight snore and pulls Tim half on top of him as if his boyfriend is some sort of overgrown teddy bear. 

Tim snuggles into the crook of Jason’s neck contently. In his opinion, there’s no better place to be: His lover underneath him, chest rising and falling with every breath he takes, warm and alive and here for Tim… 

Wait. 

Warm. Jason’s warm. 

Tim scrambles up and frantically reaches for his bedside, where the damned thermometer has a place of pride after the last time he got sick, and Jason returned the favor by taking his temperature every five minutes. 

“Babybird…?” Jason’s voice is rough with sleep. Tim feels a little bad about waking him up, but: !!!! 

The thermometer climbs. And climbs. When it stops, it reads 36°C degrees. 

“That makes absolutely no sense,” Tim whispers, awed. 

“Nope,” Jason agrees amiably. “You’ll figure it out, though. Can I have some more snuggles first?” 

On the one hand, Tim is dying to look this up in the literature and maybe talk to someone who knows Lazarus Pits better. This doesn’t make sense scientifically, so there has to be some magic involved, right? Perhaps the pits are more into metaphors than they thought, or—there are so many possibilities, and Tim can’t wait to explore them. 

On the other hand… Jason’s looking soft and warm, opening his arms for Tim, and he’s smiling. It’s no contest, really. 

Tim presses a kiss to Jason’s cheek and sinks back into his embrace, scientific pursuits forgotten. 

[the-iceni-bitch]

All I Need

Pairing: Andy Barber x Fem!Reader

Words: 4512

Summary: Andy has been drowning his grief at your bar for weeks. You help him dry out after a particularly bad night.

Warnings: Major angst!, softish Andy Barber, slight AU (spoilers for Defending Jacob book), explicit language, explicit sexual content (fingering, unprotected vaginal intercourse), descriptions of excessive drinking by adult of appropriate age, SMUT, 18+ only!

A/N: I have officially jumped on the love train for everyone’s favorite floofy lawyer. The sad!boi activated my caretaker instincts so this is pretty soft compared to my normal fics, and extremely angsty. Plus the smut kind of got away from me, I actually had to stop myself from writing even more! 

Checkout my masterlist and join my taglist if your inclined!

“Shit!! Jesse!” you screamed over your shoulder towards the kitchen, grabbing the bat from under the register as you jumped over the bar to break up the fight.

You swore under your breath as you moved toward the two men who were brawling. The smaller one seemed to have the upper hand, but it didn’t seem like the larger man was putting up much resistance. Maggie just stood there watching them with bambi eyes as you heard your giant cook rumble behind you, ripping off his apron to lend you a hand.

“What the fuck happened, Mags?” You hissed at your bartender, trying to haul the men apart with little success.

“Neal just came over and said he was sorry, and he just lost it.” The poor girl looked like she was on the verge of tears. Granted, she probably wasn’t expecting to have to deal with brawls in downtown Newton at a lawyer bar, but Neal sure seemed to invite violent reactions whenever he opened his stupid mouth.

You lost your patience and smashed an empty glass on the floor next to the two men, shocking them out of it. Neal rose to his feet with a look of fury on his face, but you kept your eyes on Andy Barber.

He’d spent pretty much every night this week since the funeral at your bar. His face was pallid and he had dark rings under his eyes. He was still wearing the same clothes from yesterday, and he smelled like stale bourbon. Now he was rolling around on the floor aimlessly like a slug.

“Get the fuck out of my bar, Neal.” You said exasperatedly, spying the mostly empty bottle of bourbon on Barber’s table.

“What, I didn’t do anything!” the giant whined at you.

“Really?! You couldn’t just leave the poor guy alone? Jesus Neal! I don’t wanna see you in here for a month.” You hooked your arms under Andy’s and dragged him to sit on the bench, his head lolling drunkenly on his neck as you tried to assess how far gone he was.

“Fuck you, bitch.” Neal spat at you as he turned on his heel and stormed out, slamming the front door behind him.

“Have a great night!” You called after him, sarcastically, flipping him off.

“You sure that’s a good idea, boss?” Jesse asked, his massive arms crossed over his chest as he shook his head at you.

“Who cares, I hate that smug asshole. Hey, Andy?” You snapped your fingers in front of his face and he slapped your hand away lazily, growling under his breath. “You sneak behind the bar again, man?”

“I swear, I didn’t sell him a bottle, Y/N.” Her chin was quivering as tears slowly leaked down her cheeks.

“I know Mags, he’s a sneaky bastard. Don’t worry, sweetie, you’re not in any trouble. Go to the bathroom and splash some water on your face.” You watched her scurry off to the bathroom and rubbed a hand over your face. “Fuck. I’m gonna call in Emma to give Maggie a hand. You ok locking up tonight Jess?”

“Sure, what’re you thinking?”

You just stared at Andy with overwhelming pity as he almost slid of the bench, forcing you to keep a steadying hand on his shoulder. “I’m gonna take him back to his hotel and help him dry out. Wouldn’t feel right just kicking him to the curb.”

“You’re too soft, Y/N.” Jess chortled at you.

“Yeah, maybe. Can you bring me an ice bucket?” You hooked his arm over your shoulder and hauled him to his feet so you could make your way out to your car.

Jess got your bucket from behind the bar as you hobbled outside. You managed to get your passenger door open and you slid Andy inside. His head rolled on his shoulders as you buckled him in before shoving the bucket into his lap.

“Andy, can you hear me? Don’t you fucking puke in my car!”

He grunted in acknowledgment and wrapped his arms around the bucket, curling himself over to hang his head above it.

“You sure you shouldn’t be taking him to a hospital, Y/N?”

“No… mmph… no fucking hospital!” Andy slurred at you as you slammed the door closed.

“I’m pretty sure he’d jump out of the car if he thought I was taking him to the hospital Jess.” You murmured as you circled to the driver’s side. “Thanks for closing, you’re the best!”

You watched him wave in your rearview as you drove off, making sure to keep one eye on Andy as he groaned over his bucket.

You reached his hotel in 15 minutes, grateful for the short drive as the man was looking greener by the second. You dug your hands in the pockets of his coat, searching for the keys to his room and you thankfully found them quickly. You were relieved to see he was on the first floor, as you didn’t trust your ability to safely get him up the stairs.

Getting Andy out of your car was a deal harder than getting him in, as he slipped further into his alcohol induced stupor. You almost dropped him when you wrenched him out of his seat, and you basically carried him to his room.

You somehow managed to get the door unlocked and drag him inside right when you heard his stomach roil. You cursed under your breath as you scrambled to get him to the bathroom, shoving his head in the toilet just in time as he emptied his gut.

“Shit, Andy.” You hissed, your hands on your knees as you tried your best to breathe deeply and get accustomed to the scent of his alcohol-soaked stomach contents. Once you were sure he was relatively stable, you moved to the kitchenette and filled a glass with tepid water before returning to find him leaned back against the wall. “Drink.” You ordered, kneeling beside him and bringing the glass up to his lips.

His eyes locked onto yours as he chugged the water down greedily. No sooner had he swallowed the glass’ contents than he was lunging forward to throw it back up. You tutted worriedly as you rubbed a hand over his back and used the other to start the shower.

“Why the fuck are you here, Y/N?” He grumbled miserably, not bothering to lift his head as you dragged his coat over his shoulders and threw out into the living area.

“I couldn’t have you killing yourself in my bar, Andy. Where’s your phone?” His stomach seemed to have calmed down, so you drew him to lean back against the wall and started to tug off his boots.

“S’in my back pocket.” He slurred at you. You rolled him over and drew the phone out of his jeans to set it on the counter. “You could’ve let me do it here.”

“Nah.” You said. “If you quit coming around, what excuse am I gonna have to kick Neal out?” You rolled up your sleeves and thrust your hand under the shower’s flow, checking the temperature. “Hey, don’t you dare pass out on me!” You slapped him in the face as he started to doze off and you worked on getting him undressed. “I’m fucking serious, Barber, you don’t get to drink yourself to death on my watch.” You finally got his shirt off and started to drag his jeans down his legs.

“But why?” His eyes were boring into you now, pleading for some kind of answer to what possible reason there was for him to stick around as they welled up with tears.

You chewed your lip as you thought about it.

Andy had been a fixture at your bar for years. Always coming by for a celebratory drink after a win, or when he was working late on a difficult case. Even during Jacob’s trial, he’d stopped by with Joanna a few times to hash out details of the case. No matter how much stress he was under, you were always able to make him smile, and he always left a very generous tip no matter who was serving him. Your bar had been one of the only places he’d always felt welcome, and you had no qualms about kicking out anyone who wanted to give him a hard time.

Then the crash happened. He lost Jacob first; he was DOA to the hospital. His visits to your bar were more somber then. You didn’t try to make him smile, you barely even talked to him. But you’d drink with him in silence when he was the last patron in the bar, sitting across from him in his booth as the rest of the staff shut things down, occasionally placing your hand over his and rubbing your thumb over his knuckles in a comforting gesture.

They had taken Laurie off life support 2 weeks ago, and after her funeral was when he really started to spiral. Rather than nursing his usual three drinks, he was downing whole bottles a night. You had to instruct your staff to cut him off after 6, or he would end up like he was tonight. This wasn’t the first time you had caught him with a stolen bottle.

You couldn’t say why you cared so much. You weren’t even sure you were really friends. But through everything that happened, you seemed to be the only constant, an anchor point for him as his world fell apart.

“I dunno Andy.” You murmured as you drew off his socks before rolling him into the tub with a lurch, making him gasp as the cold water hit his skin. “I guess I’d miss you.”

He glared at you as he shivered under the shower’s stream, huddled around himself in only his boxers.

“Do I need to wash you, or do you think you can handle that on your own?” You asked, handing him a washcloth and some soap.

“I can handle it.” He hissed, snatching them from your hands as he braced himself against the wall and drew himself slowly to his feet.

“Good.” You started gathering up his soiled clothes. “Make sure to wash the vomit out of your beard.”

He ripped the shower curtain closed and tossed his boxers over the rail at you, grumbling the whole time. You bagged up his dirty laundry and set some clean sweats on the counter in the bathroom before you set to work on cleaning the rest of the hotel room, doing your best not to gag at the week-old takeout containers.

Andy staggered out of the bathroom 30 minutes later, rubbing a towel through his hair as he wobbled on still drunk legs.

“How’s your stomach?” You asked, stretched out on the couch and sipping a glass of ginger ale.

“S’better.” He murmured, stumbling his way to the bed and collapsing on it with a groan.

“And your head?”

“Fuck you.” He murmured with his face buried in the pillows.

You grabbed the garbage can from the bathroom and set it next to the bed. “Make sure you sleep on your side or your stomach. I’ll be on the couch.” You turned to leave and he grabbed your wrist, pulling you back.

“No, stay with me.” He mumbled, peeking up at you through those stupid long eyelashes, his damp hair drooping over his forehead.

“You’re still drunk, Andy.” You scolded, snatching your wrist away from him. You couldn’t deny you’d thought about it before, but there was no way you were going to let him make a move on you after the night he had. “I’m just 20 feet away, here to make sure you don’t choke on your own vomit overnight.”

You turned back to find him passed out, a thin trail of drool leaking from the corner of his mouth. You rolled your eyes and turned off the lights before collapsing on the couch in a huff.

Andy woke up to the smell of sausage and eggs as you slammed the hotel room door, carrying some takeout from the greasy spoon down the road.

“Shit, I was hoping to sneak out before you were up.” You murmured as he rose up off the bed, his bedhead a sight to behold. “I got you breakfast.”

“What happened last night?” He groaned, his stomach churning as he inhaled the smell of the food you had brought in.

“Well, you stole a bottle of Woodford Reserve from my bar, drank more than half of it, then fought Neal.” You shoved a plate of food in front of him as he sat down at the island. “Then I brought you back here and held your hair while you puked your guts out.”

“Fuck.” He murmured, fighting the urge to gag as he eyed the plate in front of him. “How did I get in these sweats?”

“Don’t worry, I dumped you in the shower in your boxers, no looks at the goods. And even if I had, last night was decidedly unsexy.”

“Shit, I’m so sorry.” He murmured, burying his head in his hands.

“Mmhmm. Eat.” You ordered, making him groan. “Suck it up, Barber, you’ll feel better after a couple of bites.” You watched him shovel a bite in his mouth and chew dutifully, taking a deep breath as you steeled yourself for what you wanted to say. “Are you talking to anyone, Andy?”

“’M talking to you.” He said around his second mouthful off breakfast, starting to feel a bit better.

“I mean like a shrink.” You said, seriously.

“What the fuck is this?” He threw his fork down on his plate, pissed. This was none of your business.

“Andy, you’ve been drinking yourself stupid every night for the past 2 weeks. It’s not healthy, and I don’t want to be responsible for you ruining your life.”

He gave you a snort of derision and rolled his eyes as he stood up to walk away. “Fuck off.”

“Hey!” now you were angry. “I care about you asshole! You think I enjoyed last night? I’m sick of it!” You followed after him, grabbing his shoulder and turning him around sharply.

“It’s not your problem, Y/N.” He seethed at you, ripping your hand off his shoulder as he took a menacing step towards you.

“You made it my problem when you decided to use my bar as the stage for your descent to rock bottom, dick!” You were yelling now. “Y’know what, fuck this. Figure your shit out Barber. Until then, don’t step foot in my bar.” You stormed out, slamming the door behind you as you slipped your coat back over your shoulders.

“Fuck!!” Andy screamed before charging after you.

He managed to catch up to you as you were about to open your car door and he slammed it shut over your shoulder, pinning you against the driver’s side of your vehicle.

“I swear to god, Andy, I’ll mace you.” You hissed at him, turning as you dug your hand in your bag. He wrapped a massive hand around your wrist, stopping your turn halfway.

“I’m sorry.” He murmured, pressing his forward to yours as he leaned against you. “I need you.”

“Andy…” this was such a bad idea.

“Why’d you stay last night?” He muttered, bringing his hand down to cup your cheek. “You said you care about me.”

“I do care, Andy.” You sighed as he took another step into you, pressing his body against yours. “Fuck, what���re you doing?”

“Stay.” He whispered, dipping his face to catch your lips with his and sending every objection you had right out of your head.

You sighed against him as you wrapped your hands in his hair, rolling your body against his. He ran his tongue over your bottom lip before pressing it against yours, his hands moving down to your hips and drawing you into him. You let out a whine as you felt his growing erection grinding against you.

“Shit.” You hissed as you felt a rush of arousal soak your panties. “Andy, we need to go back to the room.”

“Right.” He muttered, deepening your kiss as you wrapped your arms around his neck and he lifted you off the ground as he drew you away from your car and started to head back towards the room, thankful he had left the door ajar.

You kicked the door closed as he carried you inside, giving a small huff when he sat down on the bed with you straddling his lap. You slipped your coat over your shoulders and tossed it aside as his mouth devoured yours, lips molding to each other as your tongues tangled.

Andy slipped his fingers under the hem of your tee and drew it over your head, throwing it on top of your jacket before unclasping the front of your lacy bra and nuzzling himself between your breasts. He rolled the two of you gently until he was on top of you.

You sighed as Andy moved his mouth over the slope of your breast to wrap his lips around one of your nipples, sucking softly as he moved one hand to dip beneath the waistline of your jeans. He groaned against your chest when he found you sopping wet for him.

“God, I need you, sweetheart.” He mumbled against your skin as he worked at unbuttoning your fly, dragging your jeans and panties down your legs and flinging them aside before bringing his hand back up to cup your heat. “Need to make you feel good. Lose myself in you for just a bit.” He moved his lips up to brush against your neck as he rubbed his fingers through your folds, spreading your slick over your mound and making you gasp, your fingers gripping his massive biceps tightly as he teased you.

“Andy, please.” You whined, canting your hips into his hand, your clit throbbing with need as the pads of his fingers brushed against it.

He brought his face up to yours as he plunged one thick finger into you, a smile teasing his lips as he watched your face screw up in bliss. He dipped his lips to meet yours as he added another finger, swallowing your small cry.

“You feel so good, beautiful. So warm and tight.” He scissored his fingers inside of you, drawing lewd squelches from your canal as your arousal soaked his hand. “Fuck me, you’re perfect.”

You scrabbled your hands over the broad muscles of his back as he curled his fingers inside you, massaging that soft, spongy muscle deep within your canal. He buried his face in your neck, murmuring soft praises as you came apart beneath him.

You mewled as he inserted a third finger, your cunt clenching around him as you thrust yourself onto his hand, fucking yourself on his digits.

“You close love?” He asked, his thumb brushing against your clit before he started massaging it gently. Pressing soft circles into your core as you writhed beneath him.

“Oh, fuck.” You muttered. “fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck……”

He felt you tense underneath him when he drove his thumb into your clit, hard. You choked on your tongue as every muscle in your body vibrated with pleasure, your release gushing over Andy’s hand and soaking him to the wrist. He felt your nails digging through his sweatshirt as you came.

He kept his fingers moving inside you as your rode out your orgasm, your body rolling in waves underneath him as your pleasure wracked you, leaving you breathless. Once you sagged back against the bed, he withdrew them, disconnecting from you reluctantly to remove his own clothes. Staring down at you, all he wanted was to press himself against every inch of you. Claim every slope and curve of your body for his own.

He gripped one ankle and brought it up to his mouth, skimming his lips over the jut of bone as his fingers skirted over your calf, pressing into the firm muscle there. His lips followed his fingers, searing your skin with each lingering kiss and brush of his tongue as he worked his way further up your leg. Your cunt clenched around nothing when he reached your thigh, his beard scratching at the soft skin between your legs as he marked you with lips and teeth. You tangled your fingers in the blankets and moaned when he bypassed your core, moving up the line of your hip as he claimed you.

Your breath was coming quicker as worked his way over your body. His lips swept against your abdomen now, his tongue dipping into your navel as he nuzzled over the midline of your torso. All you could focus on was the feel of his mouth on your skin, leaving a trail of electricity as marked you as his. He laved his tongue over first one nipple, then the other as you arched into him, pressing your thighs together as your pussy throbbed with need.

He moved to trace the curves of your shoulders, his breath hot against your skin as he kissed his way down first one arm, then the other. You were panting now, your thighs soaked as arousal seeped out of you. Andy traced his fingers over your torso, skimming over the slopes of your breasts as he moved to kiss the curve of your neck, sucking gently to draw light bruises as his hands moved lower, kneading into your hips. He drew your knees apart slowly, slotting himself between your thighs as he dragged his hard length through your folds, making you keen as he ground into you.

You were a mess, your breath coming in ragged gasps as his hips rocked against you. You were desperate for release, every inch of you tingling with need and when Andy’s cock brushed against your clit, you lost it. You threw your head back in ecstasy as your fingers scrabbled in the sheets, desperate to hold onto something to keep you anchored.

Andy just stared at you, one massive palm cupping your cheek as he watched you falling apart. He needed you so much, you were the only constant he had. The only person who didn’t make him feel like a charity case or a failure. He hated what he was becoming, what the secrets and the tragedy were turning him into, but he knew if you stayed with him, he could come back.

“Y/N,” He whispered as you relaxed and he stilled his hips, his thumb tracing your cheekbone as you slowly opened your eyes, gazing up at him through your lust blown pupils. “Promise you won’t leave me.”

“Andy,” a small voice in the back of your mind was trying to warn you, telling you not to commit to anything now while he was still drowning in his grief. But you were overwhelmed with the pleasurable assault he had subjected you to and when he pressed his lips to yours again, that little voice went away. “I promise.” You gasped when he released you.

He grinned at you as he lined himself up, resting his forehead against yours as he gazed into your eyes. You were so wet that he slid into you easily, bottoming out right away with a hiss.

“Fuck, honey.” He murmured against your lips as you whined, his hips setting a languorous pace as he pulled out halfway before thrusting back into you. “God, you’re so tight, you feel amazing.”

You couldn’t reply, you could already feel another orgasm building as you thrust your hips to meet his, mewling softly as the warm coil in your stomach tightened. You ran your fingers over his auburn beard before burying them in his hair, panting into his mouth as he brought you closer to the edge.

Andy brought one hand between the two of you and strummed his thumb against your clit, making you tighten your fists in his hair until it was painful.

“God, Andy, right there.” You sobbed, your cunt clamping around him as he moved to bury his face in your neck, nuzzling against the hollow behind your ear.

“Go ahead, beautiful.” He scraped his teeth over the edge of your jaw as he drove his thumb against you, and you screamed.

You fluttered around him as your body spasmed, multiple waves of pleasure rippling through you. Your knees gripping around his hips and squeezing as your torso rolled against his. You sank back against the bed with a sigh as your body relaxed, Andy still fucking into you and starting to pick up speed.

“I’m gonna move you, pretty girl.” He wrapped his arms around you and rolled until you were on top of him, pressing you against his chest as he kissed you deeply. “Wanna watch you ride me.”

You gave him a smile as you sat up, bracing your hands against his chest as you ground yourself against him. He was seated in you deeper than anyone had ever been, his cock dragging against that secret spot inside you with each drive of your hips, making you groan. He thrust up into you and groaned at the bounce of your tits while you let out a cry at his tip hitting your cervix.

Andy dug his fingers into your hips as he took over, pistoning up into with increasing speed as your cunt clamped around him. Your head rolled loosely on your shoulders as you let go, eyes fluttering as you felt another orgasm gathering.

You gripped his hips tightly with your thighs as it hit you like a truck, sobbing with pleasure while your muscles shivered over him. Andy sat up quick and caught you before you could collapse back on the bed, wrapping one hand around the back of your neck and catching you lips with his as his hips picked up even more speed.

“Shit.” He murmured against your lips. You felt his cock twitch inside you as his hips faltered in their rhythm. “Are you on the pill honey?”

You nodded vigorously, unable to speak as Andy’s violent thrusts had knocked all the breath out of your lungs and you were gasping.

“Good. Fuck.” He nipped at your lips before shoving his tongue down your throat.

You felt warmth spread through your abdomen as he shot his release into you, his thick spend coating the slick walls inside you and leaking out over your thighs as he fucked you through it. He slowed his thrusts as you felt him soften inside you, groaning into your mouth as he came down and collapsed back against the bed, holding you close to his chest.

His chest hair scratched against your cheek as he breathed deeply, trying to slow his heart rate back down and rubbing his fingers over your spine as you panted on top of him.

Neither of you spoke for a while, content to lie in the comfort of each other’s arms. You made Andy feel safe, and he made you feel needed, and that was all the two of required for now.

Permanent Tags:

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[me4gumi-moved]

I’m Not Angry Anymore

Rating: General Audiences

Pairing: Yagi Toshinori x Daughter!Reader

Warning(s): Shitty Parenting, Angst, Some Strong Language, (Kinda) Child Abandonment

Song: Interlude: I’m Not Angry Anymore by Paramore

Note: This is a counterpart to @kozumeizuku ‘s Twisted

“(Y/N), I’d like for you to meet Midoriya Izuku.” Your father gestured to a 4 year old with freckles and curly green hair. He looked nervous. You walked up to him with a big toothy grin on your face and held your hand out to him,

“Hi, ‘Zuku! I’m (Y/N)!” Your smile didn’t waver as you saw him creep back a little bit.

Your dad pat your head, “Midoriya here is a little shy. His classmates are not very nice to him because he’s quirkless.” You nodded your head in understanding, releasing a small “oh.”

You took a step back from the boy, “I’m sorry your classmates are meanies, Zuku. I like you, though, so don’t listen to them!”

That’s when it all started, you remember. You started to see your dad less and less after you met Midoriya Izuku. At the time, you didn’t understand why, but as you got older it became clear. The blond adult was spending time with Midoriya, training him and being a father figure to him. He used to do that with you, but you’d been replaced. 12 years later and now the two of you were strangers.

You ran up to your father when he got inside the house, a drawing in your hands. You’d drawn him and you wanted to surprise him with it. “Daddy, look!” You hadn’t even pulled the picture out from behind your back when he stopped you. 

“I’m sorry, baby, but I’m about to head back out. I’ll look at it later, okay?” He ruffled your (h/c) hair and gave you one of his big smiles. You nodded sadly. You’d really wanted to show it to him right then. You whispered a soft “okay” before turning around and going to the kitchen. Normally you weren’t allowed in there and you had to ask your live-in nanny or your father to get you what you wanted but you didn’t feel like asking.

You put your drawing on top of the table used for prepping food and walked up to the fridge. That’s where you saw it -- a crude drawing of your father signed “Izuku”. In a flash of anger you grabbed your own drawing and ripped it up into tiny pieces. “(Y/N), (Y/N)! What wrong, sweetheart?” Your nanny, Saki, walked in on you in the middle of your tantrum. You wailed and held your arms out to her and she scooped you up into her comforting arms. She looked down at your ruined drawing and at the one on the fridge. Oh, she would be having a word with your father when she saw him next.

11 years had passed and you still remembered that moment. If you remembered correctly, that was the last time you’d drawn him something.

“Oh, darling, I’m sure he’s just running a little late.” “He must be stuck in traffic.” “Don’t you worry your sweet little head, he’ll be here.” “You know what your daddy says, don’t you? I am here! And he will be, alright?”

That’d been hours ago. The cooks, the maid, the butler, the nanny -- they’d all assured you that your father would make good on his promise. He’d promised to spend the day with you -- to go see a movie and get lunch. That was at 10:00 AM, it was now 6:00 PM.

You sat at the table in the kitchen, lazily moving the spoon in your chicken noodle soup around. It’d long since gotten cold. “Would you like me to heat it back up for you, little lady?” One of the cooks asked you. Mr. Yuji was nice -- he always slipped you snacks while the others weren’t looking. He’d been here since before you were born. He was wrinkly and his hair had thinned out with age. He was like a grandpa to you. “Or do you want something else?”

You pushed the bowl over to him, “No...‘m not really hungry.” You folded your arms on the table and rested the side of your head on them. Mr. Yuji put a hand to your forehead, checking your temperature.

“Your temperature seems normal. Are you sure you’re not hungry, missy?” He smoothed back your hair. You nodded silently. You were tired, sad, and disappointed. It ruined your appetite. He took the bowl off the table and poured its contents out into the sink, “Alright, well if you get hungry in the middle of the night, let me know. I’ll make you something.”

“M’kay.”

The swinging door to the kitchen opened but you didn’t bother to look at who it was. You recognized your father’s heavy footsteps, “Hey, baby. What are you...doing?” Before he could finish speaking, you hopped down from the bar stool, walked around him, and left the kitchen. As you walked away, you could hear him ask Mr. Yuji something. “Is she okay?”

You think that was when you’d stopped asking to spend time with your father. 7 years had passed and you could still feel the emotions your 11 year old self had gone through that day.

Your fists were clenched, your face towards the ceiling, and your lips pressed into a thin line. You were fighting back tears. You were tired. You were tired of this. You were tired of broken promises. You were tired of being second best. It was your 16th birthday, and your father missed it because of him. “What’s the matter, sweetie?” Your father had the nerve to ask. You clenched your jaw.

“What’s wrong?” You copied. “What’s wrong?!” You looked at him, the hot tears already running at a steady pace down your cheeks. “What’s wrong is that you missed my fucking birthday! Again! That’s 10 years in a fucking row!” You snarled. You didn’t care if you were acting like a spoiled brat.

He stood there in shock. You wiped your tears on your forearm, “What I want to know is why -- why didn’t you show up like you promised?” You had given up on him. All you wanted was a reason why. You already knew but you wanted him to say it.

“It’s Young Midoriya’s--” You cut him off with a laugh. A completely and utterly, joyless laugh.

“Just as I thought.” You scoffed. You pulled out a chair from the dining room table and plopped down on it. You were exhausted and numb, “Midoriya this, Midoriya that. It’s always about Midoriya.” You wondered if your father even knew what he was doing to you. He probably didn’t, he was so oblivious when it came to his own child.

Your father -- the oh so wonderful All Might -- walked up and took the seat next to you. “That’s not true and you know it, (Y/N).”

“That’s bullshit and you know it.” You turned in your seat to face him. “Tell me, Dad, when was the last time we spent my birthday together?”

“Well, um--” He stuttered.

“Last meal we had together? Last time you showed up to one of my award ceremonies? Last time we spent time together? Last time we had a real conversation?” You asked question after question, knowing he wouldn’t have the answer to any of them.

“(Y/N), that’s not fair--” “I’m not trying to be!”

Silence.

“When was the last time you told me you loved me?” Your voice cracked. The blond didn’t say a word. You sighed and stood up from your seat, “I’m moving out tomorrow. Don’t try to stop me -- I’ve already made up my mind.”

That was 2 years ago and you hadn’t talked with your father since. 

A knock came at your door. It must’ve been one of your classmates asking for your notes again. You got up from your desk and opened the door without a second thought. “I’m not giving you my...notes. Oh, it’s you.” Standing in front of you was your father’s successor — Midoriya Izuku. You hadn’t seen much of him since your childhood.

He rubbed the back of his neck, “Can...can I come in?” You stepped aside and held the door open for him. He awkwardly stepped past you and stood around the middle of your room. “Your room. It’s nice.” Izuku complimented.

“It’s alright, I guess.” You shrugged. You had a platform bed with lots of pillows, blankets, and stuffed animals on it. A bean bag chair sat next to it. Your walls were white but there were so many posters and pictures on them you could barely see the paint anyways. Fairy lights were strung up around the room and LED clouds were hanging from your ceiling. There was a bookcase filled with, well, books. Next it was your desk — it was normal but there were knick knacks, notebooks, and too many pens spread across it.

“No, no — it’s really cool. It’s a lot more cool than my room.” He assured you. You hummed. You didn’t really need to guess what his dorm room was like.

You put your hand on your hip, “Let me guess, yours is covered top to bottom, wall to wall in my dad’s merchandise. Is that right?” A blush erupted on the younger teens face. You’d hit the nail right on the head. You laughed and clapped his shoulder. “It’s nothing to be ashamed about. You really admire him, don’t you?” You smiled.

He was nervous, you could tell. “Yeah, I guess so.” He looked away from you.

“Alright, have a seat. There’s obviously something you want to talk to me about.” You plopped down on the bean bag chair next to your bed.

Izuku sat down at your desk. “I wanted to talk to you about All Might.” He stated. You hummed and nodded your head — as to be expected.

“I honestly don’t know much about him, Izuku.” You told the truth. “He’s never really been around much for me.” Izuku cringed at your statement.

“That’s what I wanted to talk about with you.” He ruffled his own hair.

“If you’re about to apologize, don’t.”

“What?” Izuku’s green eyes met your (e/c) ones for the first time since he’s been here. “I-I don’t understand. I’m the reason he-“

“I’m going to stop you right there, Izuku.” You shift around in your bean bag. “Everything he did, was in no way your fault. They were his choices to make and he chose you over me, time and time again.” You said bluntly. “But that wasn’t your fault. Sure, for a time I did resent you but as I got older, I came to realize you had no say in how he treated me. You were just a kid and so was I. I know how much you admire him but it’s the truth when I say he’s the one at fault here. You don’t have to apologize for his actions.” You got up and walked up to him. You ruffled his hair, “I never once blamed you, Midoriya Izuku.”

Tears welled up in the curly haired teen’s virus in eyes but he quickly started to rub them away. “Geez, you’ve always been such a crybaby. I thought you would’ve grown out of that already.” You jokingly pushed his head. You’d always thought of him as a younger brother, even when you hated his guts as a child.

“Sorry, I just…” He sniffled. “I feel like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders.” You wish you’d known he was carrying all this guilt sooner — you could’ve already relieved him of the burden.

“It’s alright. I understand.”

That was a few months ago. Talking with Izuku like that, it really did help you understand why your relationship with All Might is the way it is.

“Have you talked with your father recently?” Your therapist asked after you finished recounting your childhood with her. She’d needed an updated version now that you were 18.

You shook your head, “No, but he did leave me a voicemail the other day — he asked how I was doing, talked about how he was proud of my grades, told me to make sure I eat and drink enough water.” You appreciated that he was trying, but you weren’t ready to make amends with him.

“Did you call him back?”

“No. I don’t think I’m ready to talk to him just yet. Only recently had I accepted what he’d done.” You explained to her.

She nodded, “That’s alright. It’s all a part of the process. You’ll be ready eventually, and when you do, you’ll be one step closer to leave this all behind you.” You hummed your agreement.

“Have you seen or heard anything from your brother recently?”

“You sound just like the police.” You laughed.

[santigarcia]

Floppy Disk 💾

Human Touch Part Six

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five

word count: 1.2k

rating: T for sexual references, some angst

summary: You see something you weren’t supposed to and things get heated. 

a/n: thank you all so much for reading this series! let me know what yall think! thank you to @punkpascal​ and @sergeantkane​​ as always!!

“So, are you coming with me or not?” You ask Nathan from your bed. He’s in the bathroom brushing his teeth, the door is open so he can hear you. “My mom is dying to know if you’re coming.”

You’re going home for the holidays, and you want to bring Nathan with you. Especially now that you’ve been together for almost a year. You miss your family, and you want to introduce him to them.

“I don’t know,” he spits in the sink and leans against the doorway. “What if they love me more than you? I don’t want to hurt your feelings,” he slowly starts to smile, and you throw a pillow at him, which he catches.

“Are you worried they won’t like you?”

“Oh, I know they won’t like me,” he laughs. “I don’t need their approval, but I know you do.”

“Is that what’s been bothering you?” you reach for him as he sits down on the bed. “Something is bothering you. Makes me nervous.”

“Nothing to worry about, okay? Now you get some sleep,” he presses a kiss to your forehead.

“Where are you going?”

“Burning the midnight oil. Got a new idea, I need to work out the kinks.”

“Don’t stay up too late ok? And please decide. What if I say yes that you can fuck me in my childhood bedroom?”

“Fuck really? Then count me in as a yes!” he throws you a wink. He taps the doorframe with his hand before he leaves for his lab.

Since you can tell you’re going to be alone tonight, you get out of bed and make your way to the kitchen. You grab a snack (some chocolate- you made Nathan get you some when new freight came in) and go into your bedroom. Not the one you share with Nathan, but yours. The one he gave you.

Each room in the house is temperature regulated, some of which are for Nathan’s projects. His bedroom is a few degrees colder. He runs hot and if he’s too warm he gets drowsy. And he’s a little shit and turns it down colder so you’ll curl into him and your nipples poke through your shirt. But your room, your room he has a little warmer. If you’re ever in there it’s because you’re sleeping without him, and most times those are occasions like this when he’s working into the night.

You take your chocolate and curl into your bed, enjoying the warmth already. You’re not quite sleepy yet, so you pick up the TV remote and decide to watch some “Nathan TV” as you call it. His lab is on one of the channels, and you flick it over to watch what he’s doing.

What you see shocks you.

Nathan has another woman pinned up against the wall. He’s naked and so is she. You can hear his groans and you watch as he thrusts hard into her. You turn it off in horror before you can see anything else. Your mind starts racing, your blood runs cold. Surely, he didn’t bring another woman into the house without you knowing. Right?

You sit trying to catch your breath. The chocolate is half eaten and now melting in your hand. You scream and launch the chocolate bar at the TV and swing the bedroom door open. You storm down the hallway towards Nathan’s lab.

The door is closed, but it’s not locked. You shove it open and you find a very naked Nathan writing something down, he’s leaning over the tall tables in the lab. Normally you’d have delighted in seeing his ass, but not right now.

“Who is she? Where is she?” you start crying as soon as you open your mouth.

“Who?” Nathan turns, his expression quizzical and it makes your blood boil.

“You know who. I saw you on the TV.”

“You sure that wasn’t some footage of our greatest hits?” he smirks, “I like to play those sometimes.”

“Nathan, you ass. Her hair is a different color than mine! I thought you were better than this.”

“I hate to break it to you, but I have had other lovers here. Like I said, old footage.” He shrugs and goes back to making notes.

“Ok, then why are you naked?”

“What’s with the interrogation? Fuck. Sometimes I like to work naked. And yeah, okay I fucked a robot. Happy?”

You’ve had arguments before. Every relationship has disagreements. Most of your arguments with Nathan are small, easily resolved. Most revolve around habits he has due to being alone for years. Either you interfere with a train of thought, or he works too much and leaves no time for you. But those are worked around.

But this, this one feels different. You feel betrayed, and he’s acting so cold.

“A robot? So now you have to lie to me?”

“It’s not a lie.” His voice is dry, he very intentionally does not look up from his notes.

“Right, I forgot, you don’t mince words. And I guess that answers that then. I’ll go home alone.” You reach for the door, unable to look at him before he whips around.

“No, it doesn’t, don’t walk away!”

But you do. You don’t want to hear it. Robot or not – it still hurts. He picked them over you. You saw the woman, she had curves in all the right places you didn’t.

Why did she have to look so perfect if this was for science? And why is he so defensive? Are you not good enough?

You hoped this day would never come. But it hurts too much to stay. You call your cousin and it’s not long before she picks you up.

You fly home for the holidays, and you don’t fly back. Nathan texts you and calls you multiple times a day, but you ignore them. It hurts too much to talk to him. And you don’t trust yourself with him. With one word he could have you crawling back and you’re angry.

You’ll grow to regret ignoring him, but after some time the texts and calls stop. The last you hear from him is a few months later when boxes of your stuff arrive at your front door.

Months pass. A year or two goes by and you thought you moved on. You’re engaged now to a man named Jack. He’s kind, but honestly boring. You thought that’s what you needed, but there’s no passion in your life anymore. But he’s safe, and after what happened with Nathan, it’s more your family’s decision than it is your own.

Your life is simple. You live with Jack on his ranch, with little reminders of Nathan out there.

Until one day, you see a news story.

“Bluebook CEO, Nathan Bateman, survives a near fatal AI accident.”

You gasp seeing the story, causing your fiancé to look at you with question. You grab your phone and search all news stories related to him. From what you can gather, one of his AI’s stabbed him. Twice.

Tears well up in your eyes. What if you had been there, you could have stopped it. And you feel bad for him, this wasn’t how he would have wanted to show his AI masterpiece to the world.

“That’s not about your asshole ex is it?” Jack asks with a snort.

“Yes, it is actually,” you shake your head and continue to read. You look for where he’s recovering, you want to see him.

xx

tagging: @pascal-isaac​, @wasicskosgirl​, @velvetmel0n​, @huliabitch​, @shadow-assassin-blix​, @writefightandflightclub​, @aellynera​, @softboywriting​, @veuliee2​, @spider-starry​, @mylifeliterally​, @millllenniawrites​, @ntlmundy​, @foxilayde, @writingletterstothefire​, @mandoplease​, @anetteaneta​, @feelmyroarrrr​, @artsymaddie​, @shakespeareanwannabe​, @poedameronsbeard​, @deanfanatic67​​, @magicsuperheroes​​, @phoenixhalliwell​​, @that-one-weird-one​​, @mariesackler, @yourbucky084​​, @woakiees​

[moody-blues-requiem]

Loving Living Dead (afab reader x Zombie Bruno)

4th place in the halloween writing poll was Zombie Bruno! Takes place after the events of VA, except Giorno’s stand fuckery was just a bit stronger this time, and Bruno “””lived””” through everything. 

N/s/f/w under the cut!

The whole “zombie” incident had come with a lot of uncertainties. First of all, how was he even able to survive? Stand magic bullshit, of course, but… how long would it last? Would he ever die, or would he go on as a living dead until the end of time? Would his body decay, would he need to eat and drink water anymore? Would he wake up one morning with a taste for brains and flesh?

One thing Bruno Buccellati was sure of, though, was that death had not decreased his sex drive in the slightest. 

He was so nervous to bring it up with you. You’d already stuck with him through two deaths and subsequent revivals, through body parts occasionally detaching and a couple nights of phantom pains that left him sobbing and dry-heaving, clutching at his own chest for dear life, reminding himself that even without a heartbeat, he’s alive, he’s alive. You comfort was unwavering, but he wasn’t sure if sex would be pushing your limits too far. Bruno could understand not wanting to have sex with him right now, even though his skin wasn’t rotting off (thank GOD) it wasn’t exactly warm and soft and, well… alive. Not what he would consider to be appealing. 

And still, despite the wild anxieties bolting through his mind, his body was craving you, and he unintentionally popped a very nervous boner, pressed right up against your ass. 

You were snuggled in his arms in bed, Bruno being the big spoon, the warmth of an electric blanket keeping you both nice and toasty. You were on the edge of sleep, but… something more pressing was at hand. Something literally pressing at your rear. There was no mistaking what it was. 

“Bruno,” you whispered, rolling over to face the dark-haired man. “Something you want from me, love?” 

“I…” Bruno started, letting out a soft, nervous chuckle. “Go back to sleep, amore. You don’t need to worry about me--”

“No, Bruno,” you said, shifting to sit up a little more, to properly meet the man face to face. “Do you think I don’t still love you like this?”

“No! It’s not that, not that at all,” he said, wrapping an arm around you and leaning in, pressing his forehead to yours. “I know you still love me. You’ve done so much for me, I could go blind and still see your love. It’s just…” he hesitated for a moment, before finding his courage. “Well, I would understand if you didn’t want to, you know… have sex with a corpse.”

You paused for a moment, before chuckling, swelling to a full laugh. “Bruno!” you exclaimed. “I told you not to use the c-word. You’re not a… you’re not dead. Not really. So maybe your heart doesn’t beat. You’re still you! And… and… hey, if you’ve got no heartbeat and no circulation, how, uh. How’d you get an erection?”

Now it was Bruno’s turn to laugh. “Your guess is as good as mine. Maybe I was so horny it shocked my heart into moving a little?”

The two of you dissolved into a fit of giggles and kisses and playful touches that quickly became making out and heavy petting. Bruno’s cold fingers worked magic on your body, the added temperature difference only heightening the sensation of his touches. Your pajama top (an old t-shirt from Bruno, the letters long faded but the image of a lighthouse was still faintly visible) was quickly discarded and Bruno wasted no time in putting his hands and mouth to work on your breasts. The chill of his undead body had you gasping out profanity, your nails digging into the skin on Bruno’s back. He held your nipple delicately between his teeth, rolling his tongue over the sensitive little nub until it stiffened to a peak, before sucking harshly, sure to leave a mark. His knee parted your legs, inserting his own leg between them to give you a little friction for how wildly your hips were bucking. Bruno’s erection stabbed at your thigh, demanding attention. 

You slid your hand into Bruno’s pants, grasping and pumping his member, earning a surprised “oh!” from the man. “Fuck,” he moaned out, leaning into your touch. Bruno was never one to hold himself back in the bedroom, but this was something else. “God, I… I didn’t realize just how much I was craving your touch,” he said with a breathy chuckle. “Please, keep going…”

You took the opportunity to remove Bruno’s pants completely, before crawling over him, straddling his thighs. With one hand you reached up, squeezing at his beautiful pecs, and the other stayed wrapped around his cock, jerking him off. You started slow, but the eager thrusting of Bruno’s hips got you moving faster. “You’re really this pent up, huh?” you asked, smirking. “We should’ve done this sooner.”

“Yes,” Bruno gasped. “Oh, yes. But we can make up for lost time now.”

You slid your own pants and underwear off, moving up a bit to better align with Bruno’s dick. You took his hand in yours, bringing it to your sex, letting him feel just how excited you were for him. He slid one finger into you easily, then two, and after a few pumps of his hand, a third. “Oh, madonna… you’re so wet for me. I need to be inside you, now.”

You guided Bruno’s hand to his mouth to lick his fingers clean-- you knew that your taste drove him crazy. As he was savoring your juices you shifted down, sliding his cock inside of you in one fluid motion. Bruno nearly choked, letting out a loud, satisfied groan, eyes rolling back in his head and back arching. You felt his cock throbbing, pumping his load deep into you. It was… different. His cum felt cool on your inner walls, and thicker than usual, but none of it was unenjoyable. You groaned, feeling him fill you up, knowing that his thick seed was less likely to seep out of your hole, instead staying right where he planted it, deep inside you. 

“Fuck,” he groaned, “god, you were right about me being pent up, it seems. I… didn’t expect to be coming quite so quickly.” 

You smiled, leaning down to kiss him. “It’s alright, Bruno. I loved it, I love when you cum for me.” You started to get up, ready to grab a tissue and a glass of water for you to clean up, but Bruno’s hands had a death grip on your hips. You weren’t going anywhere. 

“Bruno?” you asked, a little smirk on your lips. “Still enjoying the warmth, huh?”

Bruno looked up at you. From under his dark bangs you saw his blue eyes glinting, more lively than you’d seen them in weeks. A flame in him had been reignited. “I might have cum, amore...” Bruno purred out, lifting you off his lap with surprising strength before slamming you back down, spearing you with his lengthy cock. 

“...But I’m far from finished.”

[philosophicalparadox]

I couldn't choose one ^_^; but for mephirin how about one of these?

3. “Am I dead?”

18. “Would you quit moving around?” “It’s not my fault we’re tied up together!”

57. “Wait a second.. are you jealous?”

86. “You’re getting crumbs all over my bed.”

111. “Is that a challenge?”

151. “Times up!”

191. “Don’t give me that look! You started it!”

204. “It’s midnight, what do you want?”

(I promise I used one of these, it's just at the end!) TW for talk of suicide, death, self harm(minor) and angst (with a little fluff at the end. But first you must suffer the cringe that is Mephisto + feelings)

....................

Rin sat down in front of Mephisto's mansion, letting the weight in his stomach anchor him to the concrete, even though his mind felt a million miles away.

"You do realize it's the middle of the night." A smooth voice chimed behind him. Rin had expected his company - in fact that was the very reason he was there, or so he thought.

Getting no reply to his passive statement, Mephisto came up on his flank, dressed in a dark purple velvet robe that was left largely open at the top, exposing his pale chest to the humid night air, his bare, clawed feet making not a single sound. It wasn't hot, but it wasn't cool either, not that Rin would have noticed anyway.

"I'm surprised you didn't ask why I'm here." Rin said softly after a long, wet pause.

"Did you want me to?" Rin felt his teeth clench. He didnt have the energy to play stupid games. But he also knew Mephisto was right. He really needed to stop expecting human responses from a cosmic demon entity. It wasn't good for his sanity.

"I want you to sit by me." He stated. If Mephisto wanted him to be forthcoming with his desires, so be it. Rin half expected a retort, but couldn't say he was all that disappointed when the older man obliged. He sat at arms length, predictably uncomfortable with intimacy in these situations. And Rin knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he knew why he was here anyhow.

"Nothing can live forever, Rin. I know that better than anyone."

"Except for you, maybe." Rin replied sarcastically. "And only because you choose to live through it all." Rin responded bitterly. His grimace turned to a body-wide tremble. "How? How do you watch people die again and again and just keep doing it?"

"Doing what, precisely?"

"Living."

"Hmm." Mephisto hummed as he thought, bringing a thin, sharp clawed finger to his jawline. "That is actually not a bad question." Rin turned a curious gaze to his elder, surprised how compliant he was being tonight. Usually the man was as rigid as iron and as slippery as smoke whenever it came to feely-stuff like this, not that such a vague statement was out of the ordinary for him.

"And why isn't it a bad question?" Rin parroted his typical sing songy voice at him as a jab, but they both knew there was no heart in it.

"That is a good question." Mephisto smiled leerily at Rin, who was so used to these kinds of interactions by now he was hardly fazed. "And is it one worth answering? Or are you too intimidated by me? By this?" The look that morphed onto Mephisto's face like a sculptor playing with clay was priceless.

"Excuse me?" He said incredulously.

"You're intimidated by touchy feely stuff, though I don't know why. Me being all fucked up and hurt right now creeps you out, I know it does." Mephisto pursed his lips into a hard line, and Rin knew he was spot on. He decided it felt good to torment the man a little and dug in deeper. "So if you're going to sit there and mock me because you're a coward who is allergic to feelings, then you can fuck right off."

"Coward?" Rin felt a tiny ripple of panic tear through his already heightened body, the tone Mephisto used indicating that that might not have been the best word to use. But it was too late to back out now.

"Yes, a coward." Rin swallowed, refusing to be fazed. "And if you want to prove me wrong you'll answer the damn question instead of beating around the bush. But you're too scared of feelings to do that," Rin sighed, suddenly overtaken with a sense of fatigue. "So I don't know why I try. Or what I came here for, anyway. Company? Comfort? Hah. Don't know where I got that idea from."

A long, pregnant pause ensued. Rin glanced up at Mephisto once or twice, expecting a sharp retort, and seen him ruminating on an apt reply. What he said next was not what Rin was expecting though.

"Is that a challenge?"

Rin met cautiously determined eyes and was a bit unsure of what to say. "Only if you plan on taking it, Mr. Tough Guy." Rin tried, and failed, to stop the little smile that graced his lips. "Or do you think you cant be that open with me?" Rin could tell from the apprehension that drifted across Mephisto's glowy irises like a tiny cloud dims the moon that he was right. This man was in the business of trusting no one with his secrets. Not even his best piece. Especially not his best piece.

"I'm not going to think less of you for feeling things. Quite the opposite if anything. Besides..." Rin cringed when the thought of his brother's freshly dug grave. "I could use the distraction from my own thoughts."

"So you've elected to pick through mine. How charming of you." Mephisto pinned his ears with a sarcastic grimace before returning to his thoughts, though his expresion was a touch softer.

"I am not unfamiliar with death, of that you can be sure - and I don't mean the entity either." Mephisto began. "I have died before. But as you know by now, death for demons is not quite the same. Indeed, neither is the death of Nephilim." Rin felt his heart throb achingly in his chest and fought the sudden, unbidden urge to cry. He was the last one left. All he had was Mephisto now.

"And suicide?" Rin asked boldly, unsure of where, even, the question rose from. "Are you familiar with that?"

"Yes, actually, I am. In a way." Mephisto's voice took on a somber tone (for him) and Rin had to resist the urge to ask if he was being serious or not. Mephisto looked to Rin's face and could read everything. "I am not immune to my own mind, unfortunately. Boredom, depression - these things are not beyond me. I have experienced them, in my own way. I admit I have trouble understanding why some humans end their lives, but not all of them."

"So..." Rin's mind was reeling trying to catch up. He wasn't precisely surprised, exactly - Mephisto could be very macabre when the situation allowed, but Rin didn't trust the integrity of his words just yet. "Have you ever tried to kill yourself?"

"Not intentionally, no. By which I mean that I have most certainly damaged myself and my body needlessly, but it was never with the exact intention of dying."

"So you've hurt yourself? On purpose?"

"Yes. Sometimes out of boredom. Sometimes for other reasons." The sudden, though subtle tension in Mephisto's voice told Rin that was as close to disclosing those reasons as he was going to get.

"I can understand that, I guess." Rin thought about it. He'd injured himself on purpose before, although it was out of curiosity more than self loathing. He couldn't say he hadn't considered it before while he felt really low, though.

"What happened to Yukio was not your fault."

The statement came out of left field and hit Rin like a train. He couldn't stop the tears from flowing now. "He did what he felt he had to do." Rin justified weakly. "He was getting old. His body was eating itself. I don't blame him or me for not letting him suffer." Rin's voice cracked. "I just wish I could have been there. Said goodbye. I know it didn't hurt, but..." Rin couldn't keep his composure. "There were better ways to do it. No one would have told him no. No one." Rin garbled through sobs.

"I tried to talk to him about that actually. He didn't want anyone else doing it for him. He wanted to be in control of his life to the very last second."

"I know. I know." Rin heaved a heavy sigh to try and calm down, but everything, every part of him was shaking and he just wanted to run away from the pain. To curl up and die because the last part of his world had gone to a better place and he desperately wanted to follow. He didn't want to be alone. Anything but alone.

A cold, spindly hand on the small of his back shocked him back into reality, and he realised he was clenching his jaw so hard it hurt.

"Don't drift away. It wont take you anywhere you want to go." Mephisto advised wisely. The, Rin wanted to call it sovereign, look in his eyes proved what he knew from experience. Don't drift away. Rin focused his mind on the surprisingly cold hand, not because of it's temperature but because of how lightly it touched him. Gentle might have been a part of gentleman, but he had never really known Samael to be either the former or the latter with any amount of honesty.

Rin got an idea then, and pounced on Mephisto before he was able to object, bowling him over lightly and straddling his chest. Confused and slightly concerned eyes met his own stern and jaded ones. He wasn't going to feel any better by sitting here feeling the hard concrete dig into his ass, that much was true.

"Then help me stay right here." Rin offered, his tail wiggling somewhat enticingly, Mephisto's face lighting up in realization.

"Is that a challenge?"

[mothspore]

walk me home

i still have literally no idea how to set this up so i guess here’s this 

pairing: logince

warnings: none

it’s literally just fluff uhhh

do i need a summary? someone please teach me how to do this i’m dying

Logan sighed as he stepped out of the lobby of his building. He had a long day at work, and didn’t feel comfortable walking home at night, especially not in the freezing rain, when he only really had a light jacket. And so, he ended up calling Roman down, because he was the only person Logan knew who would be crazy enough to be up at 2am.

One thing was wrong with his logic though—apparently, Roman wasn’t crazy enough to be awake at 2am. The phone rang, and rang, and rang, to the point where Logan was about to just suck it up and walk home on his own. Then he picked up.

“Logan? What the hell? Do you know what time it is?” Roman asked, voice still heavy with sleep. Logan immediately felt awful for waking him up, knowing how few hours of sleep he must get because of college.

“My apologies, I wasn’t aware that you were asleep. You usually stay up quite late.”

“Yeah, well, university is exhausting me. But why did you call? It’s not like you to call me just because, especially not at 2am,” he said mid-yawn.

“Well, you have a point there. It really—It’s not an issue, I can handle it on my own, I’m sorry for waking you. You should go back to sleep, I can walk home on my own.”

“What? You’re out?”

“Well—Yes, my work day ended up running a little late—”

“A little late? At 2am?”

“—okay, a lot late. Regardless, I only finished just recently, and I didn’t feel comfortable walking home alone in the rain. However, if it’s a matter of feeling uncomfortable or your health, the obvious priority is your health.”

“Well, it’s your health, too, Lo. You know to trust your gut, if you’re hesitant, there’s a good reason. And it’s raining, you could get sick. Where are you?”

“What? No, go back to sleep!”

“We’ve been talking for a few minutes now, I’m up. And I’m coming to get you. Do you have a proper coat?”

“Roman, no! I can walk home on my own, I’m just being overdramatic. You don’t need to come get me. Seriously. Go back to sleep.”

“Logan, shut up. Now do you have a coat?”

Logan sighed in defeat. He knew that now that Roman had his mind set, there was no changing it. “No, I don’t. Thank you, Roman. You don’t have to do this.”

“Uh, yeah, I do. What kind of person would I be if I just let you freeze out there?” Logan heard a noise that was undeniably Roman grabbing some coats. “Damn it! I forgot my roommate borrowed the car to visit family… Damn. Alright, I’m going to take a little longer than I thought. Here, go back inside your building, I’ll be there as soon as possible.”

Logan told Roman the address, and he hung up. He turned to go back inside, and then remembered the automatic lock on the doors. He was stuck outside in the cold until Roman got here. The icy rain splashed down on his head, leaving droplets on his glasses and soaking his jacket. He sighed shakily and shivered, hoping that Roman would get here soon.

He was very flattered that Roman seemed to care enough about him to run out in the middle of the night in the rain to get his stupid ass home. He chuckled a bit, knowing he’d do the same for Roman. Although he had to admit that his reasons were probably quite different than Roman’s. He doubted that Roman held the same...er, admiration for him as he did for Roman. It was quite frustrating at times, both having said admiration and dealing with the reality that it is more than likely not reciprocated. Sometimes, however, it was difficult to hold himself back.

When he saw Roman running at him through the rain, full speed, still in his fuzzy sleep pants, mismatched socks, and sandals, waving a heavy coat and scarf at him, he was having a particularly hard time holding himself back. Roman’s smile widened as he saw Logan’s bewildered expression.

“What on earth—Did you run here?!” Logan asked.

“Yep! Like I said, my roommate borrowed the car, so I couldn’t exactly drive.”

“You could’ve taken a bus, Roman!”

“Ah yes, the bus, the one that drives around at 2am. Busses have schedules, you know! The drivers have to sleep at some point, Microsoft Nerd.”

Logan opened his mouth to protest, but realized that Roman was right. “Well still, I feel bad for making you run through the rain like this, especially at this hour.”

Roman shrugged, handing Logan the heavy coat. “Eh, no big deal. I’m always up for new adventures,” he said. Logan adjusted Roman’s coat, which was a few sizes too big. “And besides,” Roman said, wrapping the scarf around the shorter man’s neck, “I couldn’t let you freeze your cute little nose off out here.” He booped Logan on the nose, earning a tiny surprised noise. Logan’s face burned. He desperately hoped that it was unnoticeable in the rain.

The two started walking through the storm, side by side. Logan was hyperaware of their proximity to each other. Every so often, their hands would brush or their shoulders would bump, and every time it happened, Logan would feel a shock of tingles go up his arm, warming his core. However, the warmth in his chest did little to combat the bitter cold of the rain. He shivered and pulled Roman’s coat tighter around him. The temperature continued to drop. Roman took notice of his shivering and wrapped an arm around Logan’s shoulder. Logan’s cheeks flushed again, and he huddled in closer to the taller man.

Logan’s mind raced. He wanted nothing more in that moment than to say fuck it and tell Roman everything. It would be relatively easy to do, he has played it out in his head enough times to know what he would say. All he would need to do is say it. He mentally prepared himself to say the words he’s kept to himself for so long—

“There it is! There you go, Lo,” Roman said cheerfully, lifting his arm away.

Logan’s heart dropped. No! Just when he had gotten the confidence to actually say something… He slowed his pace gradually until he stopped. Roman turned back to look at him. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion and concern. In that moment, Logan decided to risk it all, because he knew he wasn’t going to get another opportunity like this.

“Logan? Are you alright?” Roman began, but he never got to finish. Logan grabbed his face and stood on his toes, pressing their lips together.

Roman’s eyes widened in shock, stumbling backwards and arms flying up from his sides. Then he realized what was happening. He immediately kissed back. He snaked his arms down around Logan’s waist and pulled him closer to his chest. One of Logan’s arms wrapped around Roman’s neck, and his other hand buried itself in his hair.

Around them, the rain crystallized, and snow began falling in its place. The two men stood there in the middle of it all, lips moving as one. They parted all too soon, gasping for air. Logan found himself breathlessly cursing the low air capacity of human lungs. Roman smiled like Logan had never seen, and if he wasn’t already struggling to catch his breath, it would’ve taken his breath away. Roman grabbed Logan by the waist and lifted him in the air, spinning him around effortlessly. Logan squeaked at the unexpected movement. Roman pulled Logan back to his chest for a moment, kissing him again. He sprinkled kisses all over Logan’s face until he too was smiling like an idiot. Roman let him down, but grabbed hold of one of his hands.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been holding that back,” Roman whispered. Logan chuckled a little.

“I...think I can imagine,” Logan responded giddily.

Then Roman did something that really surprised him. He pulled Logan back into a tight hug. “I love you,” he whispered. Logan’s heart skipped a beat or eight. “More than anything. I’ve been waiting to tell you for so long. I love you, Logan.”

Logan’s eyes filled with tears as he buried his face in Roman’s chest. He smiled as he sobbed, whispering tiny “I love you too”s back at him. Roman melted and held him close. At the end of the night, they shared one last tender kiss before Roman headed home, but neither of them slept. The only thing they could think about was each other.

[saltedpeppermintmocha]

into the night (bakugou x reader) - Chapter 3/?

Summary:

You were born to die.

It is a fact you’ve known since your quirk first manifested, and one you have been denying for just as long. You refuse your supposed fate and try to live the best life you can while remaining undetected.

But maybe fate has another plan. A chance encounter on a mountainside changes your life forever.

Chapter One

MATURE : MINORS DO NOT INTERACT // 18+

“-such an asshole though!” You groan into your hands, hiccuping lightly.  

“I couldn’t hear that, but I can kinda guess what you said.”  A tinny voice responded.

“Sorry.” You mumble, bringing the phone up to your ear. “I’m jus’ angry.”

She laughs. “And drunk."

“Mmmaybe.” You attempt.

“Honey, I know when you’re drunk.” She laughs. “I met drunk you first.”

“HAH! Yeah, that was great.” You smile at the ceiling.

“I don’t know about that.” Her voice is light and airy. “Having some random girl come into the bar at like midnight screaming that I stole her desserts wasn’t exactly how I planned my first day open to go.”

“But, you met me!”

“Ah, and my life hasn’t been boring since.” Another light laugh. You hear a different voice in the background. “Okay hun, I have to get back to work now. Take care of yourself okay? Drink water, eat some bread.”

“Imma go for a walk.” You decide, sitting up. The room spins a little, so you close your eyes.  

“Uh, that’s probably a bad idea hun.” The voice on the phone continues. “Just stay home.”

“No no no nonononononono.” You say. “ s’Makkari, s’fine.”

“I just don’t want you to run into any shady characters out there.”

“Pshhh, shade-shady characters should be scared of ME!”

The voice in the background gets a bit louder. She puts a hand over the phone and responds to them. “Ah, shit okay. One sec.” The muffled sound stops as she takes it off. “Hun I gotta go, but please be safe okay? Text me in the morning.”

“Will do captain.” You salute lazily, then hang up the phone. Ah, shit. You forgot to say goodbye. Bringing the phone into your eyesight, you sigh sadly. You miss her. Naoko had been too busy with an event at the bar a week before you left, so you haven’t seen her in almost two weeks now. It’s longer than you’ve gone without seeing your friend since her bar first appeared in your neighborhood.

Putting your phone down on the bed, you stretch a little before reaching towards your nightstand. Past-you had been smart enough to grab some water on your way upstairs, so you chug it. It doesn’t make you feel any less woozy, but you hope you’ll be happier in the morning because of it. Once gone, you return the glass to the nightstand and stand up, making your way shakily downstairs. The stairs are no challenge for you, so you make your way towards the front door, pausing only to peek into the living room. Dad is still passed out on the couch, the blanket you laid over him earlier somehow still holding on. The room itself is a bit of a mess with beer cans littered throughout, but that is a problem for tomorrow.

You give a quick nod, grab your jacket, and head on out into the cold. It should be cold, as evidenced by your breath becoming visible, but your alcohol-ridden body stays warm as you walk. It’s only after you’ve gone quite a distance that your body starts to register the change in temperature. You don’t mind much, the cold serves as the shock your system needs to gain more awareness. While you are walking a bit more clunky than normal, you are no longer stumbling or swaying. You feel lucky that nobody is outside to witness you.

Nostalgia hits you in full force as you pass your old elementary school. Memories flash behind your eyes of running around the field, digging in the dirt, and playing make-believe. You were lucky to go to school here. Nobody gave too much thought into quirks beyond the initial ‘cool’ factor. Kids from Makkari didn’t have particularly strong quirks, and you can only think of one classmate that even dreamed of becoming a hero. Maybe that's why Dad decided to come here after all.

You pass the school and continue down the road, drawing a smiley face of condensation on the window of Tanaka’s store as you pass. Task completed, you continue on your aimless walk. You should probably start heading back soon, your fingers and toes are getting a bit cold. You look up as you walk, marveling at the star-lit sky. The sky in Sapporo is never this pretty.

“Watch it, idiot.”

Your head snaps forward at the unexpected voice, vision swimming slightly.  There is a person directly in front of you. A few blinks later, your eyesight clears enough to recognize him. The asshole on the mountain. The blond is dressed in all black, breath coming out in quick wisps of mist in front of him. You can hear a dull beat of music from his headphones.

“It’s a shady character!” You raise your hand to your mouth, covering a gasp.

A scowl forms on his face. “The fuck did you call me?!”

You giggle, hand leaving your mouth to return to your side. You want to say something, really, but nothing is coming to mind. In the end, you just stare at him. To be fair, he also takes a minute to consider you. Those red eyes flicker up and down your body, brows furrowing.

“You’re drunk.” That scowl fades a bit into an unimpressed look.

“Whaat?” You deny, looking away. “Nooo.”

“So you’re usually fucking dumb enough to walk around in slippers?”

Huh?  You look down at your feet. “Oh.” Wiggling your toes a bit, you giggle. “Cold.”

“Tch. Dumbass.” A moment of silence. You are still looking down at your feet when you hear the shuffling of clothes. Looking up, you realize he has begun to leave. Something in you wants to stop him. Probably the alcohol. Wait, what is he even doing here? Shouldn't he be up on the mountain? Is he actually here?

“Are you a ha-hallucination?” You ask, taking a step forward. You bring your hand up towards him, not entirely sure what you intend to do. It stops inches from his shoulder. Huh? A warm hand is wrapped around your wrist, preventing you from making contact. “You feel real.” Your hand opens and closes in his grasp.

“Go home, extra.” He scowls. Wow, his eyes look more intense up close.

“Yanno,” You say. “I think - I think you’d be pretty if you smiled.”

“Hah?!” Red eyes widen a small bit.

You smile at him, big and bright. “Like ‘dis.” It’s a bit muffled through your smile. There is a moment of silence, both frozen in place before he scoffs. Your hand drops heavily to your side as he lets go. The hand that was holding your wrist moves to your shoulder, a sudden pressure forcing you to completely turn around to face the village.

You stumble as he lightly pushes you forward. “Go home.” Looking over your shoulder, your eyes lock with narrowed red ones. Ugh.

“Fine.” You mumble, turning back to walk. “Byebye shady character.”  You can almost feel that intense gaze on your back as you walk away, only breaking when you turn a corner. It’s a bit weird, but despite his sudden appearance, you don’t feel unsafe around the mysterious blond. That intense gaze was more...intriguing than scary. Maybe it’s because he saved your life. Hm.

It takes you much longer to get home than you thought. You had been too distracted to realize that you made it all the way through the village and onto the surrounding side roads. Extremely unsafe, in hindsight, and something you would never do in Sapporo. Still, the walk back was quiet and easy.

Dad is still passed out when you re-enter the house. You adjust the now fallen blanket to once again cover him and head upstairs. Now that you are a bit soberer and inside, your feet feel frozen. You grimace and change into pajamas and your thickest socks. You contemplate having another layer of socks, but decide to just head to bed instead.

You don’t exactly fall asleep, but pass out when you hit the bed.

The headache creeps up on you in the morning. At first, you think you’ve gotten away without any consequences of trying to keep up with your Dad in drinking, but by the time you are dressed and heading downstairs, your head feels like a jackhammer has hit it.

The main floor is clean of any remnants of last night. Dad is fully dressed and humming while making breakfast. You frown, jealous at his cheerful demeanor.

“Morning.” Dad sings, placing food down on the table. It is a simple breakfast today, definitely something your body should be able to take. You grunt in response and grab a piece of toast, nibbling lightly on the edge. Breakfast is a quiet affair today, with Dad slipping you some headache pills in the middle of it. Ah, how you love him.

“Your phone is buzzing.”

Glancing down at your phone, you see it light up briefly. Huh. While you had grabbed it on your way downstairs, the headache had made you concerned about checking it.

[ 7 New Messages ]

[ 6 Missed Calls ]

You blink at your phone, confused. Checking the missed calls first, you see they are all from Naoko: four from last night, two from this morning.

22:08

Naoko: Hey hun plz remember to text me when ur home.

23:34

Naoko: Are you still on ur walk?

23:55

Naoko: Plz let me know you got home ok.

01:24

Naoko: I hope you’re just passed out at home. PLZ CALL ME IN THE MORNING

Naoko: I am not above calling Makkari police on ur ass.

08:33

Naoko: Okay I’m getting really worried now.

09:10

Naoko: Please be alright.

“Oh shit.” You sit up straight, thumbs hitting the buttons to call Naoko back instantly.

“Not at the table,” Dad grumbles.

“But-” The phone connects.

“I’m going to kill you.” Aaand she's pissed. You grimace at the sound of her voice, a bubble of guilt growing in your stomach.

‘Out.’ Dad mouths, pointing towards the living room. You roll your eyes but get up, passing the living room to make your way up the stairs.

“I’m so sorry!” You say. “I honestly got home and passed out. I just woke up!”

There’s a long silence on the other end as you enter your bedroom, sitting down at your desk. Then, a sigh. “It’s alright.” She replies, and you can practically hear the anger drain from her voice. “I’m just glad you’re okay. I was just worried, you know? The last I hear, you are absolutely drunk and wandering the streets. It’s not safe.”  That bubble of guilt grows a bit more in your stomach. As the owner of a bar in the busy downtown core of Sapporo, Naoko has witnessed a fair share of horrible things happen to drunk people. You stay quiet as she seems to calm herself, then “I never got it out of you last night, why were you even that drunk?”

“I tried to outdrink my dad.” You mumble.

“...Really?” She sounds surprised. “Your dad? All of this wasn’t at least for some guy or something? A rebound?”

“As if!” You let out a sharp laugh. “There’s no cute guys in Makkari.” An exaggeration, sure, but the cute ones are either taken or not in your age range. In fact, now that you’re thinking about it, you might be one of the only single people around your age in the village. Oof, that's a bit of a punch to the gut.

“What about your mountain boy?” Naoko asks. “I thought you said he was attractive.”

“He is  but he’s a complete…jerk…” Your words fade off a bit as a memory floods your mind. The night sky, dark and beautiful. Drawing a smiley face in the window. Blond hair and a heavy base echoing from headphones. Red eyes and a scowl. A hand on your wrist, on your shoulder.

“Ahhh…” You raise your free hand to your cheek, feeling it heat up. “Oh no."

“What?”

“I think...I think I saw him last night.”  

“Wait, while drunk?”

“I don't remember all of it!” You insist. You remember reaching for him, smiling big in his face. “It’s all a bit blurry, but I think we talked for a minute.” Oh shit, what did you do? What did you say??

A laugh echoes through the phone, juxtaposition from the dread that creeps up your spine. When you reached out, what exactly were you doing? “Well, did he walk you home?”

“No." You hope you would remember that. "I don’t think so…”  There's a disapproving sound from Naoko on the other end, then a thoughtful silence. “Can we talk about something else? Anything else?”

“Alright, I’ll let it go. For now. ” She responds. “Hm, let's see, I can tell you about this girl that came into the bar last night…”

The call didn’t last much longer after that. Your heart wasn’t really in it, and Naoko always has a bunch of errands to run on her days off. You hang up the phone and place it on your desk, walking over to plop down face-first on your bed. You groan as more blurry half-memories from last night flood your brain. Did you make even more of a fool of yourself in front of that jerk? Ugh.

Eventually, Dad calls you to help with clean-up downstairs, so you begrudgingly pull yourself up and go help. You shoo him away from the sink, manners telling you that if he made the food you should be the one to clean up. Instead of leaving, however, he sits back down at the table and talks. It warms your heart, really, how much you can tell that he’s missed you.

You agree to go with him today to run errands. Originally you had planned to climb the mountain today, but after everything that happened yesterday you are not too sure if you can face the blond again. It’s a nice day, walking through the village and spending more time chatting to folk. You both pop into Tanaka’s store and chat for a bit with him. It feels like you are a teenager again, almost like you’ve gone back in time, but Dad has gone more grey since you’ve last seen him, and Tanaka struggles to move around the store like he used to.

Dad stays to chat with Tanaka a bit longer as you pop into the nearby cafe. You are next in line when familiar voices make you turn around. Saneka and Nakamura wave from the door, walking up to talk. It’s mostly mindless small-talk until Nakamura brings up the noises on the mountain again. He mentions hearing them again last night, definitely more interested in them than the other day. You think about the blond, his scowl, and intense gaze, and honestly consider mentioning something. But what would be the consequences of that? If a hero had to come to Makkari to take care of an unlicensed quirk, that would only spell more trouble. And, well, you sort of owe him. You deny hearing anything.

Luckily, you are next to order. You order a latte from someone you don’t recognize. It’s made quickly, and you wave at Saneka and Nakamura as you leave, headed back towards Tanaka's store. You are about to go in when your pocket buzzes. Letting go of the handle, you check your phone.

[ 1 New Message ]

Naoko: What did you say the mountain guy’s quirk was?

You are confused at the sudden question. Sure, you were drunk when you explained it, but you don’t suddenly have more information now. Why did she even care? With one hand occupied with the coffee, you slowly answer. Thank god for autocorrect.

You: I’m not really sure. Didn’t see it.

You: It was loud tho, and strong. The trees were completely shattered. Some I think were on fire?

[ Incoming call: Naoko ]

The hell? You pick up the phone. “Uh, hello?”

“Was it like an explosion?!”

“Hm, yea. I guess so.”

“Shit.” She mumbles to herself, voice shaking slightly. “I think that might be him...”

“Who?” You take a sip of coffee.

“A pro hero.” You startle at her answer, coffee definitely going down the right pipe. Coughing harshly, you hit your chest with the hand holding the phone and try to breathe. It takes a minute before you calm down.

“A-what?” You finally make out. “That’s not possible.”

“I don’t know hun.” She replies. “Just, the description you gave of him and the attitude and now the quirk….” She fades off for a moment. “Google him. Ground Zero.” You place your coffee on the sidewalk, careful to not knock it over. You put her on speaker and open up your internet app, typing in ‘Ground Zero hero’.

You pause, hand over the ‘search’ button. There is no way. Naoko must be wrong. But Naoko has always been obsessed with heros and hero culture. Still, she could be wrong about this, right? Your heart pounds a bit harder. Heroes don’t come to Makkari. Nothing happens here. Why would he be here? It makes no sense. Taking a shaky breath, you hit the button. It takes a minute, as your data has always been a bit spotty out here, but soon the page loads.

RED RIOT TAKES DOWN VILLAIN WITH GROUND ZERO

IS GROUND ZERO DATING FELLOW HERO URAVITY?

GROUND ZERO: SETTING A HORRIBLE EXAMPLE FOR CHILDREN

TOP 10 EXPLOSIVE GROUND ZERO INTERVIEWS

You stare at the articles as they come up, dread crawling up your spine. There are no pictures, but something in you fears the worst. You click on the images tab. It loads slowly, but the first image that appears makes your stomach plummet.

Blond hair. A red, intense gaze. A seemingly permanent scowl. Your wide eyes take in more photos as they load. Some of them are professional, magazine shoots or runway press. Some of them are shakier, taken of him the heat of battle with a terrifying look on his face.

“Well?” Naoko's loud voice shocks you from your staring.

You take a deep breath. “It’s him.”

In a village like this, if a hero showed up it would be the only thing people talked about for years. So, why haven’t you heard of it? You frown in thought. If people don’t know, did he come here in secret? It's extremely suspicious, but if it was something bad, why would he risk his cover to save you?

“Let’s talk about this later.” You take it off speakerphone and press it to your ear. “How does five sound?”

“Sure.” She replies steadily. This discovery seemingly has less of an effect on her. “I have some other stuff I have to do anyway. If you run into him again, think you can get an autograph for me?”

You respond unsure and hang up after a quick goodbye. Reaching down, you grab at your latte and take a large sip, not really tasting it as it goes down.

The door to the store opens and your dad pops his head out. “You okay?”

“Yeah, fine.” You give him a -hopefully confident- smile. He still looks concerned, so you take the opportunity to hide from his gaze by walking into the store. Tanaka waves at you from the counter.

“What was that about?” Dad asks from behind.

“Just...work.”

“Does your team really need to call you on vacation? What is so urgent about accounting?” The two of you reach the counter. You determinedly look at Tanaka, avoiding Dad's gaze.

“Uh, yea.” You mumble, before realizing you probably need more to dissuade him. “One of my juniors made a mistake, so she called me to figure out how to fix it.”  It concerns you how easy it has become to lie to him. Dad makes a sound that you can't understand without looking at him, but you can feel another question coming, one you probably can’t answer. You decide to change the topic.

“Hey, Tanaka.” You lean against the counter, feigning causality. “That guy that is staying in Fuccanchi, what do you know about him?"

“Oh, him again!” Tanaka smiles. “Not much, I’m afraid. I’m afraid you lost your chance dear, he left this morning.”

...

Oh.

[thesculptedflower]

Partners in crime / Part 1

Heyo! This one’s a request, but I decided to make it a two-parter! So here’s part one, and the second one will be up in a few days! Cheerio!

‘’I would like to ask you if you could do an Edward x reader, where the reader frees Ed from the ice block and takes him home, because she wants revenge on Oswald. (She and Oswald were together in like season 1 but he treated her like shit.) While Ed heals from being frozen, they fall in love and become partners and want to kill Oswald together.’’ @rott3nheart​

Partners in crime / Part 1

Music was blasting through the speakers as you and your friends entered the already packed club. You had tried to talk them out of it, suggesting literally any other club in Gotham, but they were set on their decision. 

”It’ll be fine Y/N! There’s going to be so much people, you won’t see him.” You - not wanting to be the one to ruin the mood - gave up and prayed, you wouldn’t run into your ex-boyfriend, the owner of the Iceberg Lounge.

One of your friends had heard, that Penguin had put up a new prop in the middle of the club. Something that no-one had ever seen. You knew that Oswald had the means to acquire anything from anyone if he really wanted to. You weren’t a stranger to Gotham’s underground either, having a fare share of heists and bounties under your belt. 

The new object was the sole reason why your friends were so eager to go. Pointless, you thought. Now that you were in and could lay your eyes on this mysterious piece of decor, you were as confused as ever. A block of ice. Not even carved to any particular shape. 

”It’s just a block of ice? That’s it?” Your friend asked, clearly as confused as you were. Knowing Oswald, it couldn’t be just ice. 

”What a fucking scam.” Another of your friends exclaimed, irritated, not bothering to take a closer look. ”Come on, let’s go get drinks so this evening won’t be as boring as this, thing.’’ She continued, motioning towards the ice with her hand. 

’’You go ahead, I’ll be right there.’’ You said, ignoring your friends as you walked closer to the ice. On the other side, party goers were talking excitedly, their eyes focused on the top half of the block. You snaked your way through all the people, eager to find out what they were looking at. As you got closer to the front, you could see a form of a man inside. No, not just a form, a real man. His green attire gave his identity away very quickly. You were shocked to see Riddler captured this way, his ’’work’’ and incredible mind had always intrigued you. Once you had even dreamed of working with him, but him being in the state he was at the moment, him doing any work seemed very unlikely. 

Carefully, you lifted up your hand and touched the ice with the tips of your fingers. The ice was so cold it stung, causing you to pull your hand quickly to your chest. 

’’It’s not just normal ice dear, it’s a special blend by Mr. Fries. I wouldn’t touch it again.’’ 

The voice was awfully familiar, bringing back only bad memories. You crossed your arms to your chest before turning around, refusing to let him see that you were hurt. Your face was blank, Oswald didn’t deserve to get anything out of you. Not anymore. 

’’I guess I should congratulate you for eliminating your biggest rivalry.’’ You said sarcastically. Oswald’s green eyes were like ice, cold and unfeeling. Those were the eyes you had learn to know too well before your relationship ended. 

Oswald was leaning on his cane, a cocky grin playing on his lips. You were almost as tall as him, but still it felt like you were so small next to him. His ominous presence made you feel scared in a way you had only felt while you were together. 

’’So, you finally came to your senses and decided to crawl back to me? Realized you are nothing without me?’’ 

The boldness of his question caught you off guard. Before you got a chance to reply, you could already see the pleasure he got from making you speechless. Without thinking, you grabbed his collar, spun him around and pushed him against the ice, very uncomfortably over the couches. The fabric of his coat and shirts were protecting him from the ice, but you imagined it would eventually get through. And the way Oswald was panicking, you knew it wouldn’t take long. The music has stopped and people around you were staring at the two of you, some shocked, some even amused. But you didn’t care. 

’’I would never, never, come back to you.’’ Your eyes were filled with hate, and maybe for the first time, Oswald’s weren’t. He looked almost afraid. 

’’I’ve had enough of your games and spiteful remarks towards me. You better watch your back, bird.’’

You let go of his jacket and turned around to walk away. Oswald rushed away from the ice, shimmying out of his frozen jacket. You imagined he would try to say something if you stopped, and you didn’t want him to get the last word. It was your turn.

* * * * * * * *

The plan was working perfectly. The two men Penguin had ordered to keep watch outside the club were easy enough to knock out, and the rest of the way was clear. You had thought, that Oswald would have more men at his club securing the frozen Riddler, especially in the night, but there was none left. Maybe he was getting too cocky for his own good. Being the ”king of Gotham” surely fed his already huge ego.

You walked quickly but quietly trough the back rooms, making sure that the place was really empty. When you got to the main room, you were a little taken aback how beautifully the moonlight coming from the windows reflected on the ice. Now you could see even better, how angry Riddler was the moment he got frozen. 

”Let’s get you out of there, shall we Riddles.” 

The flamethrower you had borrowed from the Firefly was working like a dream. Water was running down more quickly, revealing parts of his body each minute. Once you were close enough to freeing him, you had to change the flamethrower to an icepick, so you wouldn’t accidentally burn his skin. 

Small pieces of ice dropped down on the floor, soon melting and making the floor very slippery. You smiled to yourself, hoping that all this excess water would cause damage to his flooring.

Not long after, there was hardly any ice around him. His body was still frozen, standing perfectly still on the pedestal. You wrapped a few blankets around him for cover and some warmth, knocking his hat off by accident. Next part would be the hardest, getting him to your car without breaking him. You stood up behind him and wrapped your arms around his torso. He was still damn icy, even trough the blankets. You carefully stepped down, and began dragging him towards his freedom.

——

Getting back to your apartment took a little longer than expected, but you finally made it, and managed to keep you both in one piece. You got a few mild frost bites on your hands and arms, nothing that you wouldn’t survive though.

Riddler was laying in your bed, covered in blankets to fasten up his melting. You had lit tens of candles all around the room to lift up the temperature even more. 

You were sitting on the couch tending the frostbites, when you heard a quiet mumbling.

”W-what?” 

Your head perked up, eyes setting on Riddle’s slowly waking face. ’’That was a lot quicker than I anticipated.’’ You whispered to yourself, standing up from the couch. 

’’Where am I? What the hell happened to me, why can’t I move?!’’ He was starting to panic. 

You hurried to the bed and carefully sat down next to him. You knew he was probably a little confused for some time, and you didn’t want to scare him any more. 

’’Hey, it’s okay, you’re safe. You’re still in Gotham, you can’t move because your body is still a bit frozen.’’ You explained calmly, instinctively placing your hand over his. It was still cold, but touching him didn’t hurt anymore. Even though he probably couldn’t feel your touch, it seemed to calm him down. You smiled softly down at him.

’’Do you remember anything?’’ 

His expression was telling enough. He looked lost, and hurt. You felt sorry for him, but you knew that you could help him get better. You needed him to get better, so you could finally get back at Oswald. 

’’Oswald had Mr. Fries freeze you, and then place you to his new cub. You were pretty much the center piece.’’ You continued, hoping his memory would trigger some point. 

’’He did what?’’

’’He froze you, and then told the news that it was for ’your own good’, because you had a ’condition that required deep freeze to keep you alive’.’’

You could see the same rage in his eyes that you saw when he was still frozen. He was desperately trying to move any parts of his body, but failing, which infuriated him even more. You kept quiet for a moment, giving him the time to take all this new information in.

’’He froze me, and then showcased me like an animal!’’ He almost shouted. ’’I will kill him for this. He has humiliated me enough.’’

His brown eyes turned to you.

’’I suppose I should thank you for unfreezing me, miss..’’ 

’’Y/N, but I actually need something from you in return.’’ 

He cocked his eyebrow, watching you closely. 

’’I want to help taking Oswald out, for good.’’

[empteygold]

Clockwork (1)

Summary: It was just like any other Sunday, you were on your way out to meet your two best friends for coffee. It’s been a tradition ever since you all began high school. Now you’re all graduated and your two best friends have officially become pro hero’s. You on the other hand, just lived a regular life as you were quirkless, or so you had thought.

Genre: Angst with a little fluff. It’s not much but things will progress as this fic goes on

Cw: Cursing, talks of depression

Notes: Hi guys, thanks for reading, this is the first fic i have written and the first time in a long time since i have written anything. I have plans for this fic and it will evolve so i hope you stat tuned. 

The warm sunlight peeking through your window slowly awoke you from your slumber. You had spent all night tossing and turning. Once you had finally fallen asleep, the sweet bliss was snatched away from you. As a child you remember having recurring nightmares, and now those nightmares were starting to resurface. You weren’t sure as of why they were coming back, since it has been many years since you’ve experienced any form of dreaming. 

Not being able to fall back to sleep, you slowly took your time and finally managed to get out of bed. You reached for an oversized hoodie, one you had stolen from your childhood best friend years ago. It gave you comfort. You remember how when you first got it, it smelled like smoke and sweat. It was all he had on him, but you were cold, so he did what he could do. You never gave it back.

 As you got up you made your way to the restroom fuzzily trying to remember your dreams last night. You couldn’t quite shake the feeling of the agonizing pit in your stomach. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but your nightmare had felt so realistic. It gave you a sense of déjà vu, like you have been here many times before. It felt familiar and warm, but it also made you sick to your stomach. 

You decided to hop in the shower, trying your hardest to push down these feelings. You set the water to an almost boiling temperature thinking it would help. As you stood in the shower crying you suddenly remembered, it was Sunday. Suddenly you felt that ache slowly go away, and you felt a little more at ease. Every Sunday you had a tradition of meeting your two best friends whom you have known the entirety of your life. While you may have known each other longer than you can actually remember, you didn’t actually decide to start this tradition until you started high school.

******

You, Izuku, and Bakugo were completely inseparable up until you all started high school. Both Bakugo and Izuku had gotten into UA, the best school to become a pro-hero. However, you just went to a plain old high school, as you never inherited a quirk of your own. As children you and Izuku had a closer relationship than the one between you and Bakugo. Two best friends basically conjoined at the hip. Izuku was also quirk-less at the time. You all thought he would never get one and that’s how you stayed so close. Two quirk-less best friends. 

Bakugo got his explosion quirk young and spent more time with kids who had quirks. Izuku was always hell bent on becoming a hero even without a quirk of his own. The day Izuku received his quirk you and Bakugo were in complete and udder shock. You weren’t surprised though, you had a gut wrenching feeling that a quirk would arise in him someday. The boys were concerned about you making sure you were okay as you still didn’t have a quirk. You were very content with not having one, and it never really crossed your mind on what you would do if you had ever gotten one. 

You never considered yourself a bad person, but you didn’t considerer yourself a good one either. Saving people in a heroic way seemed distasteful to you. The only downside of not having a quirk of your own meant not being able to see your beloved best friends as much as you would have liked. Hero training and regular study courses at UA made things very chaotic and hectic for the boys. There was little time for you, and you slowly began to fade from their life’s. During this time period, you had struggled with some major personal issues and not being able to see your friends and have someone to vent to made you spiral into an overwhelming depression.

  It had been months since you’ve seen the boys, Bakugo was home for fall vacation and Izuku was out somewhere doing something you weren’t too sure of at the time. Bakugo had called you up and it was so nice to hear his voice. It was low and stoic instead of chaotic how it usually was. When you picked up he could immediately tell something was bothering you and asked if you were free to hangout. 

You met Bakugo at a café in town that was in the middle of UA and your academy. It was a Sunday morning, there was a crisp breeze and leaving of different colors falling around you. The walk was somber your mind kept wandering not being able to control your feelings or thoughts. You kept picking at your scarf as you were over thinking. As you got closer to the café the smell of freshly roasted coffee beans and sweet pastries calmed you down.

 Once you entered the café you immediately saw Bakugo. He looked nervous for some reason, but his expression changed immediately once his eyes met yours. “What’s with that face Kacchan?” you smirked with a flirty tone. ‘Well good morning to you too dumbass. If you must know, I’m just happy to see you.” Bakugo was only sweet when it came to you, he would never let anyone see him like this. Not even Izuku. While you could tell his feeling were genuine you felt as if he was hiding something. “I didn’t order yet, I don’t exactly know what you like.” He mumbled in a soft tone. 

You ordered something new, something you saw one of your favorite American celebrity order in an movie you had to watch for a school project. “I’ll have an oat milk latte with vanilla and hazelnut please.”  Bakugo looked at you with a slightly confused face. “I’ll have that too I guess” he stated. You knew Bakugo too well and knew he wouldn’t like it. “Actually, just give him an Americano with vanilla and hazelnut” you smirked back at him “Trust me.” Bakugo was quite impressed with your drink choice even though he didn’t admit it, you could see the smile after his first sip.

  You spent the next couple hours catching up, as you realized the time you informed him how you needing to get going. Even though it was fall break you had multiple assignments to catch up on as you were basically failing every single one of your classes. You tended to procrastinate as it was Sunday you had to finish it all by tonight. Bakugo was very displeased in hearing this as he is a top student and knew how much potential you really had.

 Upon hearing about what has been going on in your life and how you aren’t doing well in school he decided then and there that every Sunday he would make time for you. He would meet you in this café and he would check on your studies, and even help tutor you. He felt so guilty for not having spent time with you. As he was telling you his plan for the next coming Sunday his little surprised came and plopped down right beside you. “DEKU” you just about cried seeing your two favorite boys together again. Kacchan went ahead and told him his plan and Deku insisted he come along every Sunday as well. Three best friends back together again, and that’s how your Sunday traditions began.

******

After a long-deserved shower, you made your way to your closet, while you knew it was Sunday and the plans to meet with friends was already set in motion, you couldn’t be bothered to put on anything to fancy. Your body still ached from the night before. The fumbling in bed and the jerk of your body as you came pummeling down from your nightmares really put a strain on your body and mind.

 A simple pair of leggings and Kacchan’s oversized hoodie seemed to be just fine. Making your way through your apartment, the coldness of the floor made you shiver. As you went back into the restroom to finish getting ready, the image in the mirror startled you. It’s been years since you’ve felt like this. The nightmares bringing up repressed memories and feelings you’ve buried long ago. 

The bags under your eyes seem darker than normal and it doesn’t seem like a cup of coffee can help you fix this one. You looked back at your reflection, disappointed in what was looking back and sighed “I swear we’ve been here before, and you can’t go back to feeling like this. Pull yourself together. If not for yourself do it for Bakugo, you know he wouldn’t want to see you like this.” With a little self-deprecation and your pep talk you managed to get ready for the day.

 You’re usually known to wear bold eye looks but today you went with something a little softer. A muted brown Smokey eye with a sharp wing liner. As you made your way to your front door, you put on your favorite pair of combat boots. You wore them everywhere, they were in tatters and barley hanging on by a thread, but you loved them more than anything. Upon leaving you felt a slight breeze graze your face.

*Bzzzz bzzzz* You grab your phone from your pocket and answer “Hello?” you mustered up the nerve to get it out as you were not in the mood to be speaking to anyone right at this moment. Once you heard it was Bakugo you felt more reassured. ‘Hey dumbass, where are you?” You didn’t realize the time and how late you had been running all along. “Oh my god Kacchan I am so sorry, I totally forgot about our plans today” a slight hint of sarcasm rolled of your tongue.  ‘YOU WHAT” it sounded far more disappointing then angry.” Nah I’m just fucking with you dummy, turn around” There he stood, his sadden eyes igniting at your sight. 

This man had the purest crimson red eyes, they matched the fire within in soul.  He was beautiful but in the way forest fires were beautiful. He may be destructive, but he did it in the most alluring way. Bakugo made his way towards you wrapping his arms around your waist, you were never one for personal touch even hugs with people you considered your friends was hard for you. With him you felt comfortable, safe even. There was always an unspoken bond between the two of you, after a certain night back in high school but Bakugo would never make the first move and neither would you. 

You’ve never held on to him so long in your life. He never once complained though, he just held you until you decided to let go. As the hug came to an end he could sense the tenseness in your body. Your eyes didn’t have the same sheen to them as they usually do. Even though you were wearing makeup he could see the puffiness that still remained. A thumb landed on the apple of your check and slowly rubbed circles into it.

 Bakugo let out a small sigh “Oi, I forgot to tell you, Deku won’t be meeting us here today, He’s on a mission and we don’t know when he will be back” A small flash of sadness overcame your face as you would have really enjoyed seeing Izuku, but you understood he had responsibilities as a pro hero. Suddenly your thoughts were interrupted as the barista shouted out your order. You hadn’t realized that Kacchan had already ordered. “Oat milk latte with vanilla and hazelnut and an americano with vanilla and hazelnut for Bakugo and (Y/N).” He was absolutely hooked on that flavor combo since you introduced it to him quite some time ago.

 The Barista knew you all by name as they have been working here just as long as you have been coming to this café. Upon receiving your drinks, you make your way to your favorite booth in the corner. It’s hidden away from everyone, it’s nicely lit, and you can see everything happening around you. You’ve always liked to be aware of your soundings in any situations.

 Bakugo stares at you intensely, you know exactly where this is going. You take in a deep breath and sigh as he continued to ask you if you were alright. At first, you’re very hesitant but with sweaty hands and a quivering lip you look up and speak. “They’re back Kacchan. My nightmares, they’re back.” The amount of shock of his face was agonizing to see, he still remembers how bad they used to get. 

Your nightmares would get to the point where you would call bakugo in the middle of the night screaming and crying because of how real the dreams felt.  On days he could, he would sneak out of UA and come to comfort you. He would stay by your side and hold until you calmed down and slowly drifted back to sleep. It was so utterly heartbreaking for him to see you, his best friend so broken and scared. Some days he wouldn’t be able to sneak out but even then he would facetime you until you fell asleep and would stay on until the sun rose. No one ever knew about this not even Izuku. 

As you and Bakugo grew closer you and Deku started to slowly drift apart. Izuku only really cared about becoming a hero and his new friends. He spent all of his time with them training and even doing all the stuff you used to do. It made you feel thrown aside and unappreciated. Just because you didn’t have a quirk didn’t mean you still couldn’t hang out with him anymore. For someone who went most of his life unnoticed and quirk less you though he would understand how you felt but he really didn’t. Bakugo on the other hand made some new friends and they’re all really great but thankfully he always made time for you.

  Bakugo looks up into your eyes glossed over as tears start to form in the corners, he lays his hands atop yours. (Y/N) are you okay, do you know what triggered them to comeback?” He was quiet, worried about the response you may give him. You stare into his eyes thinking of your response, you didn’t know what to tell him. These nightmares you had were the same as they used to be. He’s already heard what happens. Images and scenes of you and the people you love dying in the most gruesome way. So detailed oriented as if they were memories you had once lived. Recently it has been the same recurring dream but last night, there were minor inconsistencies. 

“They’re the same Kacchan, I keep seeing myself and everyone around me die, but the worst part is how real they feel.” As you explained your most current dream to him you could see him become teary eyed. This was a dream that has made you feel so uneasy. This was a dream you had consistently back when you were younger. It started with you walking down an unfamiliar street in an unfamiliar neighborhood. There was nothing unusual about it. You would always pass a thriving Onigiri shop, A couple dogs on a walk and even pass by the most beautiful flower shop. As you come to an intersection waiting to cross the road when you suddenly trip. You fly head first into oncoming traffic and the way your body id torn apart is appalling.

 While you only tell Bakugo the dream ends with you being hit, you don’t go into graphic detail not wanting to worry him more than you should. The strangest part is it always felt intentional, like someone was trailing you. You always felt eyes on you, and even though you never knew how to explain it you described them to be eyes that stared into your soul. You saw galaxies floating around in those eyes, just like clockworks. You always heard ticking in the back of your mind. Was it a count down? Why was this all you could now think about.

 As your mind came back to the realization you were talking to bakugo he let you know that he will always be there for you and in the end, things would be okay. He tried his hardest for you, but deep down you knew he would never understand. As the morning passes by your usually meeting is cut short as Bakugo was summoned to help out in crime that had gotten out of town downtown. You said your goodbyes and headed your separate ways.

As you headed home you decided to take a new route, a longer way home as you still wanted some time to yourself to reflect on everything happening. The walk was cold, but the sunlight made it bearable. The leaves were changing beautiful colors and were slowly falling. You took in the air around you as autumn was your favorite season of the year. Making your way farther into the neighborhood, you stopped as that heavy and unsettling feeling resurfaced. 

You tried to ignore it but as you made your way farther down the street you stop and stared to the building on coming up your right you notice the sign decomposing and falling apart. “Onigiri….” You were in shock, but the place looks like it’s been shut down for years, abandoned even. You continued on your way, but the unsettling feeling kept growing. You next find yourself in front of a flower shop. The flowers are all dead, and the store window was smashed to shreds. Maybe it was a quirk gone wrong. “This has to be a coincidence” you say to yourself trying to believe your own words.

 Suddenly you see it, someone walking two dogs passing you. You’re in a trance, panicking not understanding what’s happening and why you’re seeing everything you saw in your dreams. Without thinking you start running down the street. For a slight moment you glance back, to make sure no one was trailing you. As soon as you turned around you felt it, someone had pushed you right into oncoming traffic.

 As you look up while you fall you finally see her. A woman with galaxies in her eyes, was that apart of her quirk you wonder as you watch her disappear. As you’re falling you hear the ticking of clocks and see a bus heading for you. “This is it, this is how I die isn’t it?” You slowly begin to sob only wishing you had held on a little tighter to bakugo today. As you fall to the ground you’re stuck looking at the bus like a deer in headlights, when suddenly everything around you comes to a complete stop.

 As you’re heaving and trying to catch your breath you look around for a hero who may have been the cause for what’s happening. You’ve heard of hero’s who can slow objects and time around them for short periods of time but a hero who could stop time completely it was unheard of. There was no one in sight, how could that be you wondered to yourself. As you started getting up you heard the ticking of the clock speeding up, for some reason you knew this meant time would be returning to normal, you made your way back to the sidewalk. 

You stared at awe at the street where you just about died. You were quirk-less all your life, or so you thought.

[katehuntington]

Title: In Bad Waters - part fifteen Word count: ±6250 words Episode summary: Still in possession of the Winchesters’ belongings, Zoë meets up with the hunters on her next case. When it turns out to be a little more complicated than anticipated, she accepts their help in order to make an important deadline. Part fifteen summary: The hunt is over, and Zoë and the brothers go separate ways. Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only! Descriptions of domestic violence/child abuse. Drug use/addiction. Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and medical procedures/resuscitation. Swearing, alcoholism. Supernatural creatures/entities, mentions of demon possession. Descriptions of torture and murder, drowning. Illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks. Author’s note: Beta’d by @winchest09​ and @deanwanddamons���. Also a deep bow to @fangirl-and-medstudent-help​​ who was very patient with me when I asked about a hundred medical questions. Thanks, girls!

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist

S1E02 “In Bad Waters” Masterlist

     The lights of the suite switch on when Zoë slips the keycard in its holder by the door. After the assault she suffered earlier today, the Hampton Inn hotel management provided her with a bigger and better accommodation. Although she doesn’t plan to spend another night in Paragould, she took the generous offer.      Dean enters the spacious room as well, Sam following close behind, in case his brother needs assistance. It bugs the hell out of the older sibling, who has grumpily told him that he’s fine a couple of times already. Yet, he allows the hovering, because honestly; he doesn’t feel so fresh.

     On the way over, Zoë told him to lose the soaked shirt, which contradicted Dean’s instincts, because he has never felt this cold in his entire life, despite the heaters blowing air into the Chevy at level inferno. Even now, he can’t stop himself from shivering, his teeth clattering every now and then, despite his favorite leather coat that he’s wearing, the only clothing item that didn’t get drenched.

     Exhausted, he plops down on the kingsize bed, to out of it to comment on the luxurious suite. Closing his eyes for a second, he rubs his forehead, trying to rid himself from the throbbing inside his skull. He coughs again, the involuntary action burning his lungs. It’s a painful yet ironic sensation, because he didn’t expect to feel like his airway is on fire after drowning in a fucking lake.

     “Get out of those wet clothes, Dean,” Zoë tells him sternly, nodding at his jeans while slipping her Harley Davidson jacket on a coat hanger. “We need to warm you up.”

     Normally, he would have had at least three sly remarks ready, but not this time. Instead, he nods with a sniff, bending down to untie his shoelaces with shaky fingers. Sam drops one of their duffel bags on the other side of the bed, pulling out a clean pair of jeans, one of Dean’s henley’s, a hoodie, socks and underwear.      “I’m gonna take a shower first,” Dean says, pulling off his soaked boots.

     “Absolutely fucking not,” Zoë intervenes, setting up her extensive medical kit on the nightstand. “I made quite an effort to bring you back to life, so it would be an awful waste of my time if you go into shock and die on the bathroom floor.”      Sam raises his eyebrows at that, much like Dean, who lets his hand slip from his face.      “How else am I gonna get warm, ‘cause I’m fucking freezing,” he returns, his voice still hoarse.      “By raising your temperature slowly. Sam, can you grab a towel and fill that hot water bottle we got from the front desk? And get the extra comforters from the other bed.”

     While the younger Winchester goes to collect the required items, Zoë opens the lid and takes out an ear thermometer from the metal briefcase, placing a clean probe tip on the end while she sits down next to the battered hunter. Dean flinches away from her when she cups his face firmly to hold him in place, earning an annoyed glare from the former med student.      “Would you like me to use the regular one? Because I’ll give you one guess where I’d have to stick that. Now, sit still,” she orders, pulling his ear back to insert the device into his ear canal.      “Jesus, you’re not the one for bedside manners, are you?” Dean mutters, but cooperates either way.

     Zoë doesn’t respond, waiting for the thermometer to beep. She retreats it when it does exactly that and reads the display. “You’re at 95.2.”      “That low?” he says, unpleasantly surprised.      She nods, placing the small device on the side table. “That’s what happens when your main generator loses power. The central heating shuts down real quick when your heart stops beating.”

     Dean sniffles, very much aware of the fluid that is still creeping up his throat. He fights the urge to cough again and clears his throat uncomfortably, when Sam returns with the hot water bottle under his arm, white towels with the Hampton Inn logo on them in one hand and two thick duvets in the other.      “Dry yourself off and put on something warm, then wrap yourself in these.” She takes the comforter and lays it on the bed next to the older Winchester, before folding the water bottle in one of the towels. “Here, keep this close to you. Don’t lay down and don’t fall asleep,” she warns. “I’m gonna freshen up.”

     She gets up and muffles a grunt behind gritted teeth, her cracked ribs once again reminding the huntress of her current fragile state. Adrenaline pushed down the pain in the midst of action, but now that the dust has settled, it’s back at full force. Picking up her bag on the way, she heads to the spacious bathroom, locking the door behind her. Not really ready for the sight, she peels her wet top from her skin while she stands in front of the nine ft. wide mirror. Dark bruises greet her when she discards the tank top, her bra following suit. They match the colorful display on her right cheekbone and the black and blue fingerprints on her neck.

     “Wonderful,” she muddles, continuing to strip down, the soaked through fabric smacking against the nature stone tiles. She has no idea how she’s gonna ride all the way up to the Canadian border with an injury like this, but she doesn’t have a choice. Time isn’t exactly on her side.

     After a shower, Zoë runs a towel over her head and blow-dries her brown locks quickly. Usually, she allows her curls to dry naturally, but wearing a helmet on wet hair is anything but pleasant, not to mention that she will have to deal with a fogged up visor throughout most of the trip.

     She puts on clean underwear and hoists her leather biker pants up her legs, cursing under her breath at the ache that sears through her side with even the slightest movement. Something needs to be done, because she won’t last an hour on the Harley. Before she steps outside the bathroom, she secures her bra clasps. Not bothered to put on her top just yet, she pops her head from behind the door.      “Sam?”      The tall young guy looks up and for a second she wonders if he can actually see her through the fringe of brown damp locks.      “Can you grab me some KT tape from my med kit?” she asks, nodding at the briefcase next to Dean, who is huddled up in the exact spot where she left him, wrapped in the thick comforters.      “Sure,” Sam obliges, getting up. After rummaging for a few seconds, he finds what he’s looking for and turns to the bathroom to hand it over, but apparently she has different ideas.      “Get in,” she tells him.

     Perplexed, but not brave enough to hesitate and give her a reason to scold at him, he enters the large room, which could easily be considered a mini spa. A large jacuzzi is situated in the corner, a walk-in shower next to it. There’s even a sauna, the wooden benches shielded off by a glass wall. It’s nothing like the shabby motel rooms he and Dean usually coop up in. His admiration for the luxury comes to a sudden stop when his absent gaze lands on Zoë. Like a virgin teenager who walked in on his friend’s older sister, he stares at her for a short second, eyes wide and blown away. Shit, she’s not wearing a shirt.

     “Done gaping?” she responds, bored, placing her hand firmly in her unharmed side. “I need to tape my side and I can’t reach properly.”      Feeling caught, he shifts his attention to the KT tape in his hand. “Uh… y-yeah, sure,” he stammers, fiddling to open the package.      Rolling her eyes, she snatches the small box from his hands and opens it. “I swear to God, Sam, get yourself together. You’ve seen me in less.”

     Uncomfortably, the younger Winchester runs his fingers through his hair. Why is he being so awkward? Or maybe the better question is; why can’t he keep his eyes off her? He tries his best not to stare, but when he does, he notices the dark bruises on her ribs.      “Damn it, Zo. She got you good,” he huffs, worry replacing the uneasiness.      “It’s not that bad. I just need to secure it before I hit the road,” the tough woman mutters, peeling the plastic away from the sticky coating. She turns her back to Sam, moving her brown wavy hair over her left shoulder and out of the way. “You need to place the first strip diagonally and downward, starting from just below the scapula. You might need to lift my bra a little.”

     Somewhat nervous, the thoughtful guy rubs his hands together first, not wanting his touch to be cold. After handing him the medical tape, she lifts her right arm, hissing at the stretch.      “Right here?” he asks, lifting the wing of her lace bra, before sticking one end of the strip right below her shoulder blade.      She nods, breathing out a shuddering breath. “Yeah.”

     Sam handles her gently, the pads of his fingers not as rough as she expected hunter’s hands to be. In silence he works, focussed on his task. Zoë watches him in the mirror, a small smile of amusement pulling at the corners of her mouth, despite the discomfort. His eyebrows are knitted together in concentration, hazel eyes tracing her bruised form. After a few more instructions, he secures the second strip with the same precision. Zoë can’t deny nor ignore the current that his touch sends through her body, and it has her intrigued.

     “One more. Vertical along my side,” she says, her voice softer than she has spoken to him all evening.      The younger Winchester tries not to gulp visibly, holding the enchanting woman still, while he smoothens the final strip down her bruised rib cage. He’s careful to prevent pressure on the sensitive area, not wanting to hurt her, but she shivers anyway. When he directs his gaze on her in their reflection, Sam notices it’s not pain that has her shuddering, because her challenging eyes tell a different story. They behold a hint of curiosity, interest... lust even.

     Not sure how to cope with the tension that hangs in the air, he clears his throat and lets his finger slip from her beautifully toned and proportioned body, averting his eyes from the mirror.      “I’m - uh - I’ll let you get dressed,” he stutters, awkwardly pointing his thumb over his shoulder before he heads to the door.      “I’ll be right out,” she promises, picking a clean shirt from her bag.

Zoë watches him leave, smirking at his behavior. He really doesn’t know how to act around her, and it’s highly entertaining. There is a definite pull she experiences towards him, an attraction that she can’t quite place, but it’s not something she can dwell on. This case will be the last one they worked together and tonight will be the last time she ever sees him. But before they go separate ways, she needs to give his brother a thorough check up, even though she doesn’t like his company half as much as Sam’s. Suck it up, Zo. You’ve got work to do.

     Refreshed and dressed, she enters the master suite again, Dean still on the side of the bed, wrapped up in comforters like a burrito. Zoë’s plump lips press together in a thin line, because now is not the moment to make fun of the hunter, who without a doubt feels miserable.

     “Alright, let’s give you your physical exam so I can hit the road, huh?” she suggests, sitting down next to the older Winchester brother, taking her stethoscope from her briefcase and hanging it around her neck, after which she picks up a blood pressure gauge as well. “Stretch out your right arm.”

     He shrugs the heavy comforter off his bare shoulders, silently obeying his physician’s orders. Again, Dean misses the perfect opportunity for a dirty comeback, and it doesn’t go unnoticed. Although Zoë hasn’t known him for long, she did pick up on his usual demeanor, lightening the mood with a witty comment and some dark humor. Now, the joker is awfully quiet.

     “Y’know, you guys can have the room for the night,” she offers. “It’s paid for anyway.”      “Nah, I feel fine. Besides, if we don’t leave tonight, we’re gonna be late for our wolf hunt,” Dean replies, watching her strap the cuff around his upper arm.      Sam leans against the wall, observing the skilled woman as well. He hates to admit it, but Dean has a point. “He’s right. Today was the first night of a full moon, we won’t have much time if we stay any longer.”      “I’m just saying it might not be a bad idea to rest up,” Zoë points out, squeezing the rubber pump that’s attached to the cuff, filling it with air until circulation is cut off. “But you two kamikaze morons do what you gotta do.”      Sam scoffs at that. “You’re one to talk.”

     Her head cocks in his direction, staring him down intimidatingly, but Sam doesn’t budge and arches one eyebrow at her knowingly. His attitude annoys Zoë, and yet she doesn’t bite his head off. If circumstances were any different, she would have gladly spent at least the night in this luxurious suite and added several more, but she simply can’t. Wanting to avoid the reasoning behind her departure by all costs, she drops the matter.

     Instead, she pulls the stethoscope from behind her neck, widens the headset and places the tips in her ears. She then continues to place the diaphragm just above the crease of the elbow, while allowing the cuff to deflate. Blood begins to flow through the brachial artery again, causing a beat to thud against Zoë’s eardrums, and she reads the systolic pressure on the meter. Once the blood vessels remain open and the pounding sound stops, the closest what the Winchesters have to a doctor reads the meter again.

     “Your BP is 125 over 80. For a guy who lives off gas station food, pizza and burgers, that’s pretty damn healthy,” she comments, hooking the stethoscope around her neck again.      “Great. So can I go now?” Dean is about to rise up from the bed, but Zoë  grips him on the junction between his neck and his shoulder, pushing him down to sit on the bed again.      “Did I say I was done?” she snaps back at him.

     Dean bites his tongue when he feels her nails dig into his shoulder. He wants to yelp and call her names, yet he doesn’t, because Sam shoots him a warning glare. He argues with his little brother in silence, the younger sibling’s wide eyes sending death threats when Dean’s upper lip twitches while hinting at the woman who currently has a tight hold on him. He then shakes his head and gives in, too tired to have this discussion.

     Zoë ignores the tension all together. “Well, if you aren’t gonna stay, do you mind starting to load up the car, Sam? I wanna check out as soon as I’m done here,” Zoë states, giving him something else to do other than lurking over her shoulder.      “Sure,” the tall hunter says, and begins to gather their things, including the wet clothes Dean discarded earlier.

     When Sam has left, the tough Winchester drops his head, blinking a couple of times, clearly not feeling his best. Zoë monitors him closely; she had a hunch he was keeping up appearance in order not to worry his sibling.      “So now that your brother is out of the room, how are you really feeling?” she asks, removing the cuff from Dean’s arm. “And cut the bullshit. No one expects you to feel fine after flatlining.”

     The hunter looks up at her from under heavy eyelids, trying to figure out what her intentions are. He assumes she’s asking to determine further medical action, and so he drops the act.      “I - uh… I feel off, man,” he admits, pinching the bridge of his nose again.      “Headache?” she wonders, storing the sphygmomanometer away.      He nods, swallowing hard.      “Let me guess; you’re experiencing dizziness, decreased muscle strength, and feel like you could sleep for a week?” Zoë fills in for him.      “Sounds about right,” Dean sighs.

     Zoë puts in the ear tips of her stethoscope again in order to examine his heart, holding the bell between her second and third digit. She places the diaphragm on the right of the sternum, tracing his ribs under her fingertips to determine the right spot in order to hear the aortic valve. A stillness falls over the two, as Zoë concentrates to dissect the sound of Dean’s steady heartbeat, her other hand still holding him by the shoulder, her touch much more gentle this time around.

     Not wanting to disturb her focus, the older Winchester brother allows his gaze to wander, spending this rare moment without them yelling at each other to admire her. Whenever the tough as nails huntress boils his blood, he tends to only see the ugly side of Zoë Sullivan, but right here in this peaceful serenity, her beauty stuns him. Her face is slightly turned away, the profile of her sharp jawline and slightly upward pointed nose brought out by the warm light on the nightstand. She’s close enough for him to smell the coconut shampoo lingering in her freshly washed hair. Only now does he realize that his shivering has stilled, but he’s not sure if it actually has to do with his body temperature steadily going up, or that her soft touch is what calms his tremors. He’s not used to kind contact, a hand on his shoulder, a sweet ruffle through his hair like his mother used to do, but deep down, he craves it.

     When she shifts the bell of her stethoscope to the left side of his chest, Dean glances to her hand still gently gripping his tattooed arm, which is decorated with a short sleeve that fans out over his shoulder blade. Shades of black display what he stands for, symbols and sigils mixed with personal references to his life and the people who mean the world to him. He only now realizes she has been studying the piece of art forever edged in his skin, while she was listening to his heart.

     When Zoë is sure the pulmonic valve of Dean’s heart sounds normal as well, she slides the bell of her stethoscope to listen for the heart sounds on the right, but when the hunter flinches under her touch, her eyes dart up at his. “That hurts?”      “A bit. It’s fine,” he claims, shifting somewhat on the edge of the bed.      “Sure I didn’t break a rib?” she ponders, feeling the tender area in the center of his chest, where the first stage of a bruise is surfacing. “I worked your chest pretty hard.”

     Dean looks up at her, perplexed, as if it only now dawns on him what lengths Zoë went to save his life. She performed CPR on him, used all her capabilities to bring him back from the infinite darkness that was about to swallow him whole. Capabilities Sam doesn’t have, simply because he’s not trained to give medical aid. It hits Dean like lightning; if she hadn’t been there, he would have died.

     “Zo?”      The huntress shifts her attention from the sound of the mitral valve opening and closing, to her patient’s genuine eyes. The twenty-six year old tough guy seems that much younger all of a sudden, not sure how to get across what he wants to say.      “You - uh... If it wasn’t for you, I… y’know--”      “Don’t mention it.”

     Dean carefully glances up at her, meeting a small smile. A silent huff leaves his lips when he realizes she just returned his own words to him. Words he spoke in response to the huntress, when she tried to express gratitude for his rescue, earlier this afternoon.     “Well then, guess we’re square,” he comments. “Too bad I wasn’t conscious for the mouth-to-mouth action.”      “Ah, there he is. I was wondering when you were gonna feel good enough to start behaving like a jackass,” Zoë sniggers. “Your heart sounds fine, I’m gonna check your lungs now. Take slow breaths, okay?”

     With an amused smile on his lips, Dean does as told. Concentrating, the woman who would have aced med school listens to his respiration, using the stethoscope as an amplifier. Like she was taught, she starts at the left upper zone, then the right, comparing the two sides, before she moves down.      “Can you inhale a little deeper for me?” she requests.

     The hunter pulls in a big breath through his mouth, the action igniting a fire in his chest, similar to the time when he was a teenager, when he had a neglected cold that turned into something worse. He tries to fight another hacking fit, but loses the battle, quickly turning his head away from Zoë and coughs violently. When he settles, she continues the examination.      “Pain?” she wonders, although she has an idea what the answer might be.      “Burns,” he manages to say, his voice hoarse.      “Try again, take it easy this time,” Zoë encourages.

     After moving the diaphragm across her patient’s bare chest, she removes the medical instrument and takes a seat on the side of the bed as well, placing the bell on his back now. Staring at nothing in particular, she lets the sense of hearing take over completely. Brown eyes slightly shift from left to right, narrowing at a certain point.      “What?” Dean wonders, noticing a hint of discontent in her expression.      “Your lung sounds are a little faint; you still got some fluid in there,” the huntress explains, putting her stethoscope away. “It should clear by itself, your blood will absorb it, but if that cough gets worse, you're gonna need to see a real doctor.”      “You seem like a real doc to me,” he shrugs, covering the compliment by clearing his throat. “Haven’t had a check up in years.”

     Zoë casts her gaze down, appreciating the words, but unable to thank him for it. “Let’s keep it that way. Take these.”      She takes a small plastic bottle from her briefcase, a prescription on the side. “With the swamp water you took in, you’re likely to develop pneumonia without antibiotics. Take two tonight. The coming days, one in the morning, one in the evening, never on an empty stomach, until the bottle is empty, alright? If it hurts, you can take Ibuprofen, but don’t go over the maximum dosage. You want me to pack you some?”

     Somewhat stunned, Dean nods and takes the bottle between his index finger and his thumb. The doctor role Zoë is fulfilling right now, brings out an attentive and empathetic side of her, which he hasn’t seen yet to this extent. His injuries aren’t downgraded, he’s not told to man up and keep going, like his father so oftenly does when he suffered an injury on a hunt. He’s not used to this kind of care, but he values it.

“Thanks.”

The simple word that falls from his lips in a whisper has Zoë shift her eyes to him in surprise. She clearly wasn’t expecting a ‘thank you’, but doesn’t call him out on the sentiment. Her smile grows a little wider and for the first time since their reunion, Dean sees the innocent Californian surf girl he remembered from back in the days.

     The huntress takes out the thermometer one last time, inserting it in his ear. He doesn’t move away this time, but slightly leans into her. The device beeps and she pulls it back.      “96.8; you’re getting there. If you want you can take a shower now, just not too hot.” She removes the tip and gets up, throwing it in the trash can. “You’re all set.”      “Alright,” he says, putting the water bottle aside and picking up a towel and his clothes.

     He retreats to the bathroom and appreciates the spacious rain shower, and returns to the main suite, dressed in a warm hoody and dry jeans.      His brother is back as well. “Ready to hit the road?”      Dean nods, putting on his leather coat and straightening the collar. “Let’s go.”

     The three hunters check out and walk out towards the parking lot five minutes later. The Impala is parked in front of the building across from Linwood Cemetery, the black paint job shimmering beautifully in the pale moonlight. Zoë approaches her bike, carrying a saddle bag over her shoulder and her helmet in the other hand, as the boys walk over to their car. Instinctively, Dean moves around to the left side of the car, but Zoë stops him.      “You’re not driving,” she decides, as if it’s her call to make. “Unless you wanna be a road hazard.”      “Oh, c’mon,” the owner of the car complains, redirecting a glare from the woman in their company to Sam, who is waiting for the keys with a smirk. After rolling his eyes, he tosses his brother the keys and drags his feet to the passenger side.      “Sleep upright for a night or two,” the med student suggests.      “Why the hell would I do that?” Dean returns, puzzled.      “Because I reckon you don’t want to suffocate during the night.” She raises an eyebrow at him. “It’s called secondary drowning, asshat.”      Dean scoffs. “That’s a thing?”      Zoë chuckles at his obliviousness. “That’s a thing.”      “Noted,” Dean says, shoving down his warm jacket coat.

     “You made your deadline,” Sam reminds her, leaning his arms on the hardtop while looking over as she checks the time.      “Not yet, but at least I’ll make it in time for the big show,” she smiles faintly. “What about you two? Texas?”      “Yep, Waco,” Sam specifies.      Zoë nods. The Winchesters can tell from her reaction that she knows the place.      “When you’re in town, stop by at Honeybee Ham & Deli. I tell ya, their ham and turkey is awesome,” Zoë recommends.      Dean smiles happy as he pictures the plate full of juicy meat. “Will do.”      “What about you?” the younger sibling wonders.      Zoë climbs in the saddle of her Road King, which faces the two men. She doesn’t put her helmet on just yet, though. Her small smile disappears when she’s confronted with what’s coming. “I’m going up north,” she answers vaguely.

     A silence follows and Dean glances at Sam over the top of his car. They can both sense that something’s up.      “If you need a hand--” Sam starts carefully.      “No, I don’t. Really guys, you need to stay out of this one. It’s not your fight,” Zoë says, stern.      “Complicated case?” Dean comments.      “It’s just something I need to take care of. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the help you gave me here, but this is personal business,” she answers, looking from one to the other. “Whatever you do, don’t follow me.”      “We have our own personal business to take care of,” Sam assures.      “Your Dad?” the huntress assumes.      “We want to find him. He’s probably after that thing that killed Mom and Jess by himself,” Sam states, determined.

     For a moment Dean observes his brother, aware of the strong mindedness in his voice. He could fight him. Hell, he can start an argument with him right now, but what would it matter? Sam isn’t easily convinced otherwise, not when it comes to this. He wants to find Dad and kill whatever brought so much misery upon them so desperately, that it’s becoming an obsession. When he returns his gaze Zoë, he’s caught off guard by her, who stares directly at him. She has been reading him all this time.      “Seems like you do have your own personal business to take care off,” she states wisely, hanging her helmet on the handlebar.

     “Sure you can ride?” Dean checks with her.      Zoë glances at him, but he isn’t mocking her, the oldest Winchester son actually has a solid point. She doesn’t feel great at all. Her head is still throbbing from the blow she took during her physical fight with Laura; she probably suffered a mild concussion. A 520 mile bike ride isn’t going to improve the ache in her bones either. She would love to go back into the Hampton Inn and get some sleep, which she normally does after an exhausting hunt. This time things are different, there’s just too little time.      “I don’t have much of a choice,” she sighs. “I should get going.”      “Be careful,” Sam offers.      Zoë only responds with a smile and looks down at her biker boots. It’s funny, all this time she has been fighting the Winchester boys, but now that she’s about to leave, she’s lingering.

     “I hope you’ll find John,” she says out of the blue.      Surprised, the brothers take her in. Where did that come from? The huntress notices the surprise on their faces, because she continues to explain herself.      “He’s your father. I know he can be a pain, but he’s family. Treasure that as long as you can.”

     Sam watches Dean nod agreeing, and he too realizes that she’s right. The last time he saw his father, they had a huge argument. Ever since, he has been afraid that he might never see his dad again, that he will never get the chance to say he’s sorry. That’s what he is, because he regrets yelling at him, he regrets picking a fight. He knows he’s not the only one to blame, but he bailed on both his brother and his father and chose his own path. He stands by that decision still, but he does realize how much his actions hurt them. The youngest Winchester is done fighting his Dad, he just wants to make sure he’s alright. Zoë knows loss. She lost her father in an unforgivable and certainly unforgettable manner. It’s that fact that makes both Dean and Sam understand that these wise words are coming straight from the heart.

     The huntress looks at them with a calm expression on her face, a satisfied one, and yet a glint of sadness is noticeable in her eyes. She doesn’t expect to see them ever again. Not wanting to wait until the goodbye becomes sentimental, Zoë kicks the ignition, the characteristic Harley Davidson rumbling loud in the night.      Before she can put on her helmet, Dean calls out for her. “See you around.”

     As he watches her response, Zoë keeps quiet. Not likely, she realizes, not pronouncing the words out loud. She gives them a last nod, pulls the helmet over her head, turns the throttle, and with a loud roar her Harley hits the highway. The  brothers watch the single red taillight get smaller, then she disappears out of sight. Silently, they stare at the road ahead, both thinking about what she just said. Sam is the first one to reply to it.

     “Did she just… say goodbye?” he checks, making sure he didn’t just interpret her words wrong.      Dean doesn’t respond and forks his fingers together while leaning his forearms on top of the car. Pondering, he stares down the street.      “As in… for good?” Sam adds.

     He glances at his older sibling, who opens his car door. Sam takes his example and settles in the driver’s seat. Go Your Own Way by Fleetwood Mac sounds from the speakers as soon as the younger Winchester turns the key in the ignition.      “Are we going after her?” Sam wants to know, before he drives off.      “No,” Dean responds, annoyed by the fact that for a split second, he was thinking about it himself. “She’s a big girl, Sam. She can take care of herself.”      “That’s what you said last time,” his sibling bounces back.      “That was just bad luck. It’s not our job to protect fellow hunters, it’s our job to protect innocents,” Dean brings to mind.      “If Zoë's in trouble, she's innocent.”      “Believe me, Sam. I believe Zoë is everything but innocent,” the oldest of the two disagrees.

“I don't know, man. I think she’s after something big, or something big is after her,” Sam sighs, staring through the windshield in the direction where Zoë vanished just moments ago.      “So she’s onto a big fish,” Dean returns nonchalantly. “If she needs our help, she’ll call.”      The driver scoffs. “No, she won’t.”      Dean glances aside and observes his brother for a moment, confused by his brother’s motives. “I thought you were so determined to find Dad?”      “I am,” Same confirms.      “Then why the fuck do you care so much for some girl? We have better things to do. There’s a werewolf on the loose last time we checked and I don’t see why we should be bothering ourselves tracking down a hunter who’s fine on her own and is not keen on our company,” Dean rambles annoyed, after which he quotes her. ‘Whatever you do, do not follow me’. Her words, dude.”

     Sam gives in with a huff; maybe he’s right. Zoë made it pretty clear that she doesn’t want them on her tail. Maybe they should just let her be. But deep inside he feels it eating at him. His gut tells him that something bad is going to happen to her. Contemplating on the choice, he stares ahead.      “Seriously, if you want me to believe that you don’t have a major crush on her, you’ll have to do better than this.” Dean’s brows are raised as he looks aside.

     His younger brother glares at him, but decides not to respond. Dean is making fun of it, but he’s not sure himself how he feels about Zoë. She’s such a mysterious girl, with a dark sense of humor and a peculiar personality. She’s fierce, rapid on the counter, sarcastic, confident, smart. An amazing huntress with a big heart, even though she might act like she couldn’t care less. He can’t help but to be curious about her. Why? He can’t put his finger on it. There’s a connection between them, if they like it or not.

     Sam decides to change the subject, determining their new destination. “So? Waco then?”      “Waco it is,” Dean agrees.      Sam turns the Impala around, when they hear a strange clunk coming from the back of the car as he drives over a speed bump while exiting the parking lot of the Hampton Inn. Uh-oh, he realizes, assuming his brother heard it too.      “What is that?” Dean says out loud, looking over his shoulder. “Did you close the trunk? Stop the car.”

     Sam does as told and in the middle of the exit, Dean gets out. Sam stares in his back mirror, waiting for the inevitable. He already noticed the damage when loading up the car, but didn’t have the courage to tell the person who loves the Impala so dearly. That, and he wanted to give Zoë a head start. When he rolls down the window and pokes his head out, he sees Dean, boiling in rage.            “What’s going on?” Sam asks, pretending to be unaware.      He gets out and joins his brother, beholding the back of the Impala. The paint of the trunk is scratched, leaving the Chevrolet damaged by the shovel that Zoë used as leverage to break open the trunk. For a moment, Sam just stares at the car without saying a word. Dean, on the other hand, grits his teeth so hard that his brother can hear them grinding. His face looks like a volcano that is about to erupt as he clenches his fists, trying to contain his anger.

     “Insulting Baby is one thing, but this -” Dean hisses furiously, “this is unforgivable. I’m gonna kill her, I am so gonna fucking kill her!”      “Calm down,” Sam tries to ease him.      “Calm down?!  She fucked up MY CAR!!!” he shouts as he turns red.

     He slams the trunk and pushes it down hard, but it doesn’t lock as it should. Then he strides back to the front and gets in on the passenger side again. Quickly, Sam sits down behind the wheel, not wanting to piss him off even more. Dean is about to detonate; one wrong move, comment or facial expression and he will explode.            “Get the fuck going,” the owner of the classic car growls, squeezing the blood out of his hands around his cellphone, tempted to call perpertrator.      Sam gulps, surprised that the device doesn’t break in half, and uncomfortably leans back before he hits the gas. The day that Dean got this car from Dad, he learned a very important lesson; if you mess with the Impala, you mess with Dean.

     “For the record,” the older Winchester starts off. “This isn’t the last time we will see Sullivan.”      “It isn’t?” Sam carefully questions.      “Oh, we’ll see her again,” he snaps. “And I’m gonna kick her fine little ass when that time comes.”

      Poor Zoë, Sam can’t help but to think. She’s probably laughing that same fine little ass off right at this very moment, as Dean so poetically described it. A part of him hopes they will indeed never run into her again, because she is going to feel his brother’s wrath. What are the odds anyway? America is a big country; she is only one of over 320 million people in this nation. Sam glances ahead into the dark night and grins, because something tells him that their paths will collide again. Maybe even sooner than expected.

Well, that’s it! Episode 2 is wrapped up, now on to the next one. 

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).

[ibijau]

i would give my left arm for a continuation of your sangyao “why do i remember kissing you” scene. PLEASE let meng yao be happy or i’ll cry ;-;

a continuation of this

“That’s the most stupid idea you’ve ever had,” Jiang Cheng said, which is a little harsh, but Nie Huaisang nods and puts the bottle back on the ray. 

Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes hard from where he’s leaning on the shopping cart.

“No, grab the fucking vodka, you idiot. I’m not going sober through a party where Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji are there. But you plan, about Meng Yao? That’s stupid even by your standards.”

Nie Huaisang shudders at the idea of Wei Wuxian flirting with everyone to grab Lan Wangji’s attention, as if he doesn’t have it already, and of Lan Wangji’s cold anger making the temperature drop. When he’s done hooking up with Meng Yao, Nie Huaisang is so taking care of these two, if only so they’ll stop ruining every party.

He grabs two bottles of vodka, and some whiskey too before motioning for them to move to the sodas.

“My plan is excellent, you’re just jealous ChengCheng.”

“It’s terrible,” Jiang Cheng insists, dropping some coke in the cart. “Can’t you just say you like him, like a normal person, ask him out on a date… you know, something normal?”

Trying to decide between two flavours of likely repulsing energy drinks, Nie Huaisang shrugs.

“What would you know about normal.”

“Rude. I’ve probably tried to understand that bullshit more than any of you,” Jiang Cheng snaps, pushing him aside to pick one of the energy drink packs. “And I can tell you this: being straightforward is the best way to go. Or else, you’ll just end up like Wei Wuxian and his walking ice-cube. Talk to Meng Yao, tell him you like his butt or… whatever it is you like about him anyway.”

“The dimples,” Nie Huaisang mutters. “And the fact that he’s my only friend with a brain.”

“Again, fucking rude.”

Nie Huaisang shrugs. He’s aware that actually, most of his friends are probably near geniuses. Wei Wuxian has three degrees and is working on a fourth while also doing volunteer work. Lan Wangji is a music prodigy who’s been doing concerts since he was six along with his brother. Even Jiang Cheng, always accused by his parents of underperforming when they were alive, managed to finish his degree with honours while taking over their business after their untimely death. If anything, Nie Huaisang himself, who’s been lingering in art school and is in no hurry to graduate, is the idiot of the group so he probably shouldn’t make judgements.

But there’s just something about Meng Yao’s sharp mind that sets him aside from everyone else. It’s a practical sort of cleverness which the others lack. Meng Yao always knows how to get the best price on things, he knows which bars are safe and which aren’t at a glance, how to defuse a fight (or start one without getting involved), what to wear on any occasion. It’s like Meng Yao could be thrown into absolutely any situation and always land on his feet, looking like he belongs there and knows exactly what to do.

He’s also normal smart on top of that, which is nice. Nie Huaisang has never found anyone else as excited as him to chat about the pre-raphaelites, not until meeting his brother’s roommate.

“I can’t just tell him I like him,” Nie Huaisang sighs, pushing the cart toward the queue for the cashier. “What if he doesn’t like me back?”

“He does,” Jiang Cheng retorts. “And even if he doesn’t, at least then you’d know and be able to move on. What’s your stupid plan of making out with him for a stupid bet even going to accomplish, uh?”

“It gives me an exit,” Nie Huaisang explains, as if it’s obvious. It certainly is to him. “I get to kiss him, and then if he seems to be having regrets after, I can just say that hey, guess what? It’s fine, it was all fake for money, we can stay friends! It’s a foolproof plan.”

Jiang Cheng considers that for a moment, and grimaces.

“I still think it’s stupid. Just tell him that you like him. If he likes you back, good. If he doesn’t, we have vodka. If he doesn’t like you back and he’s an asshole about it, then he was never worth your attention and I’m sure Lan Wangji will gladly break his nose for making you cry.”

“Not taking romantic advice from the aro guy,” Nie Huaisang replies with a pout. “Just… are you going to place the bet for me or not?”

Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes, and grumbles, and makes a whole damn show of expressing how much he hates the idea, in case it wasn’t clear enough yet, but… of course he agrees to help. That’s just how he is. For all of his advice about just saying things, Jiang Cheng can’t do anything without pretending that he’s forced to act against his better judgement.

-

A number of hours later, Nie Huaisang is standing in his brother’s bathroom, numbly trying to brush his teeth and wondering if Jiang Cheng didn’t have a point yesterday about how stupid his plan is.

Well, no. The plan was great. Nie Huaisang got to make out with the guy of his dreams, first where everyone could see them so he’d get some sweet extra cash, and then after in Meng Yao’s bedroom until they kind of fell asleep. That part of the plan went great.

No, the problem is that Nie Huaisang panicked this morning when Meng Yao asked why they kissed last night. It’s just. It’s just that Meng Yao seemed so shocked by the idea, as if it’s something he’d never have considered while sober, and Nie Huaisang was still a little out of it because he too drank too much and slept too little, so he tried to play it cool, and…

Heavens but the expression on Meng Yao’s face when he said it was just for a bet, the tone of his voice when he asked if he should expect his share of money, that was…

Nie Huaisang sighs, and presses his forehead against the bathroom’s mirror. The glass feels almost too cold against his skin, but that’s nice, that’s grounding. 

Jiang Cheng was right, he should have just told Meng Yao that he likes him instead of trying to be clever. He’s ruined everything now. Whatever Meng Yao felt before, he surely hates him now because if there’s one thing he hates, it’s feeling used by other people. With how many times Meng Yao complained about that aspect of his old friendship with the Wens, back before he moved in with Nie Mingjue, Nie Huaisang should have known not to pull this sort of bullshit, but…

Well. He’s the idiot in their group of friends, isn’t he?

In the bedroom next door, Nie Huaisang hears movement. Meng Yao seems to be getting up from his bed. Nie Huaisang tenses, fearing that the other man will come talk to him and tell him to get out of the flat… but he doesn’t. Instead, he hears footsteps going toward the kitchen, ignoring him entirely. Maybe it’s worse than being kicked out.

It takes Nie Huaisang a while to calm down, but eventually he makes it to the kitchen too. He’s hoping to grab some water before being ordered to leave. He was supposed to help Meng Yao clean the flat before Nie Mingjue’s return, that was the deal, but he’s not sure Meng Yao will want his company after this. He’s not sure what Meng Yao will want in general.

When Nie Huaisang steps into the kitchen, he finds that what Meng Yao wants, apparently, is breakfast. He’s put water to boil, bread in the toaster, and he’s looking in the fridge for something to put on it.

“Strawberry or apricot?” He asks without turning to look at Nie Huaisang.

“What?”

“Jam, for the toasts. Strawberry or apricot? It’s all we have.”

“Whichever one has no mold on it,” Nie Huaisang mumbles, because he’s been at his brother’s flat for breakfast before, thanks.

Meng Yao checks both containers, and grimaces.

“Strawberry it is. Sit down, it’ll be ready in a moment.”

Nie Huaisang obeys on sheer instinct, carefully watching Meng Yao as he rummages through a cupboard for their box of tea.

“I thought you’d be wanting me gone,” Nie Huaisang says, because he’s really an idiot and can’t keep his mouth shut.

Meng Yao drops the box of tea on the table, and turns away to check on the toasts.

“Not until this flat is clean. I’m not dealing with this mess alone.”

That does sound fair. Nie Huaisang promised to help after all, and he probably deserves to do it as punishment or something. 

They have breakfast in silence, and then get to cleaning, still in silence. After a while, Nie Huaisang starts wishing they had music at least. Not two seconds later, Meng Yao turns on the radio. It’s that classical music station Nie Mingjue likes, because he’s such an old man that he still has a radio and really does listen to that kind of music. They’ve both teased him about it, and as they hear some Bach ring into the quiet flat, Meng Yao and Nie Huaisang can’t help trading a brief smile.

It gives Nie Huaisang some hope. He ruined something last night and this morning, but he didn’t ruin everything.

It takes some hours for the flat to return to its normal state (parties with Wei Wuxian are always a mess) but they manage anyway. When they’re done, Nie Huaisang feels a little calmer. Sure he fucked up, but Meng Yao seems less upset about it now, so they’re probably fine. They can pretend this never happened, and go on with being friends as long as they never talk about this again.

That’d be a good plan.

Instead, Nie Huaisang looks around the now clean flat, and like the complete idiot he is, lets his mouth say words without having his brain check them first.

“So, any chance we might make out again someday?” he asks.

The way Meng Yao tenses instantly and scowls at him is just awful. So much for not ruining everything.

“What, do you need more material for that bet?” Meng Yao snaps. “Is there money on the line if we last more than one night? I’ll want fifty percent of profits then.”

Nie Huaisang winces.

“I’m not asking for that, I swear! It’s…”

He takes a deep breath, wondering how to explain the situation, and then… 

Ah.

He can’t believe he’s about to take the advice Jiang Cheng gave him yesterday. But at this point, he really has nothing left to lose, right?

“A-Yao, I like you a lot,” he sighs. “I really do. I have for a while. The bet was just a good excuse, I’ve wanted to kiss you for a while. I think you’re really handsome and clever and I want to go on dates and stuff, I just wasn’t sure you’d want that too so I thought I’d… test the waters, you know?”

The intensity of Meng Yao’s stare is such that Nie Huaisang has to look down. Or maybe it’s just that he’s too embarrassed by his own words to bear to look at Meng Yao’s reaction. Nie Huaisang is never one to be direct if there’s a chance to make things convoluted, and to open up like this and just say things, with his words, that’s just…

“You’re an idiot,” Meng Yao says, his tone so flat it’s impossible to judge how he feels.

“Yeah, I know. Listen, it’s… it’s fine, don’t worry, I’ll show myself out and I won’t bother you again and…”

“I think it’s best if you leave, yes,” Meng Yao agrees. “But be back at six.”

Nie Huaisang’s head snaps up to look at his friend. He didn’t remember that they had plans for that night.

“You’re taking me on a date,” Meng Yao announces. “Somewhere nice, to apologise for being so stupid.”

Nie Huaisang blinks a few times, while Meng Yao smirks.

“Buy me flowers too. Maybe chocolate as well.”

“You’ve watched too many rom-coms,” Nie Huaisang retorts, feeling a smile creep on his face. “You really want to go on a date with me?”

“I never say anything I don’t mean,” Meng Yao says, which is an awful lie as they both know, but Nie Huaisang is willing to pretend, just this once. “Now fuck off, I need to take a nap and shower and get ready for my date.”

Nie Huaisang grins, and almost runs out of the door. It’s almost two, he’s only got a few hours to plan the best date Meng Yao has ever had.

[nothing-but-dreamy]

TRUE COLORS ~ Ch. 6

Wanna start? Masterlist

Pairing: DBH!Connor x OC!Maya

Words: 2.193 (yes, it's a bit longer but I really love this chapter and didn't want to cut it somwhere)

Warning: some cursing;

Connor stayed the rest of the evening and the whole night with Maya. And as she awoke the next morning, she was surprised and very happy to see that Connor was still there. As Maya walked into the living room, she saw Connor staying in front of the terrarium, watching her little friend.

"Haven't you met Trevor before?", Maya asked and joined Connor.

"You named your gecko Trevor?", he asked, visibly amused.

"Sure. It isn't that he would care anyway. I mean, it's a gecko. I don’t think he understands one single word I’m telling him. Maybe it’s better this way.", she answered with a wink. Connor smiled but it faltered a bit.

"Hank had called me. Maybe we have a lead for our case."

"Sounds good. When do you have to leave?"

"He will be here in five minutes."

"Oh, then it's good I woke up or you would have sneaked out again, huh?", Maya joked but she saw that Connor didn't get it. He blinked with his eyes and tilted his head. Then, his expression changed as he searched for the right words.

"Thank you, again. I… I really appreciate what you do for me."

"I'm here for you whenever you need me, Connor.", Maya said honestly and Connor nodded before he left to meet Hank on the street.

"Connor, wait!", Maya called out and the android stopped. She ran towards him, got on her tiptoes and flung her arms around his neck.

"Please, be careful, okay? Don’t get shot again.", Maya said, softly smiling and he nodded not knowing what the right reaction would be. This much affection towards him confused him but in a nice way.

***

"Another night spent with Maya, huh?", Hank asked and watched the android closely as he entered the car.

"Yes, it was helpful. Where are we going?", Connor asked as the lieutenant hit the road.

"We have to meet someone."

Forty minutes and a quick stop at the CyberLife Tower later, Hank parked his car in front of an abstract and cubical building. As Hank's phone rang, he left the car to answer it. Connor looked one last time over the area before he left the car as well to join Hank who walked up and down.

"Is everything okay, Lieutenant?", Connor asked as he closed up to his partner.

"Chris was on patrol last night. He got attacked by a bunch of deviants but he got saved by Markus himself."

"Is Chris okay?"

"Yeah, he is under shock but he is okay. These are crazy times at the moment.", Hank said and walked to the front door of the building.

"I have a bad feeling, Lieutenant."

"Bad feeling, huh? Have you checked your program? It might be a glitch.", Hank teased but Connor frowned. After everything that had happened the last few days, Connor was insecure if something might be really wrong with him or his program.

[X] shoot

[O] spare

Connor pointed Kamski's gun at the head of the kneeling Chloe. He looked her straight in the eyes. Her LED was spinning blue. She wasn't concerned. She was a machine and she just watched him patiently. But Connor was disturbed. His LED was spinning yellow as his system was working. There was a clash between his instructions to get information for his mission and … something else.

… I'm convinced you will be able to find a way to solve this case without killing someone. There is always an alternative. To spare someone's life is always better…

Maya's soft voice echoed through his mind and reminded him of everything she had tried to teach him the first night. Suddenly, the eyes he looked into weren't the eyes of Chloe anymore, instead he saw Maya's bright eyes and her smile.

The LED was moving erratic red as he acted against his instructions: Connor pulled the gun away from the kneeling android. Kamski stepped around Connor and watched him.

"Fascinating. CyberLife's last chance to save humanity is itself a deviant."

"I- I'm not a deviant."

"You spared its life rather than to accomplish your mission. You saw a living being in this android. You showed empathy."

"Okay, that's enough. We're leaving.", Hank said and pushed Connor away from the eccentric scientist. Connor was almost out of the room as Kamski spoke up.

"By the way, I always leave an emergency exit in my programs. You might never know.", Kamski said and Connor left the villa with a troubled mind. He passed Hank who followed slowly behind Connor.

"You said you would do everything to accomplish your mission."

"I- I know…", Connor stammered.

"Why haven't you shot?"

"I don't know, okay? I just saw Maya's eyes and I couldn't-"

"Maya?"

"Th...the girls eyes, I meant."

"But you said Maya. You like her a lot, don't you? Well, obviously, she has a good effect on you.", Hank said with a smile and passed a confused looking Connor.

***

"It snows again.", Gary said dryly.

"You mean, it's still snowing. I never saw it stop for one sec.", Maya stated and gave a customer his order while she looked at the grey sky. She liked snow but not if she had to work in this cold truck. Tom, one of the construction workers, who always came over in his lunch break, joined the truck, as well.

"Hey man, have you heard about the deviant attack at the Plaza? They have destroyed the whole place.", Tom said. Maya had seen the so-called 'attack' on the news but even then, she wasn't trusting the anchorman and his information. Somehow, she was sure that Markus and the others hadn't been violent how it got displayed.

"Yeah, man! That's the reason why I still don't have one. I don't trust these things.", Gary admitted with a spiteful undertone.

"They're not things!", Maya insisted but no one supported her opinion. Gary crossed his arms and shook his head about his sister.

"You're sympathizing with these terrorists? After everything they have done so far?"

"They are not violent!", Maya called out and threw the flipper on the table.

"Haven't you seen the news this morning?"

"Sure, I have-"

"Then you saw how they have destroyed the CyberLife store and everything around!", Gary argued back. Maya gritted her teeth. The fact that they had broken into the store with a truck wasn't helpful for her argument. But still, she was convinced that the news had misrepresented the android’s action.

"They just want to be heard! No one would listen to them-", she argued.

"It would be better if they stay silent, if you ask me! Oh, hey, Jim! What's up man?", Gary said and turned over to the next customer. Maya hated it to be ignored but she also hated to have this kind of conversation with her brother again and again.

*

"Hey! Good to see you! The usual?", Gary asked the next customer.

"Yeah-"

"Good but please, send this thing away. It's an android free zone here!", Gary said and Maya turned around to see who his brother was talking to. Maya saw Hank and then, her eyes fell on Connor who smiled at her softly and nodded slightly to greet her.

"Hey, plastic asshole! What are you staring at?", Gary asked angry and stepping into the line between Connor and Maya. This was the point where Maya had enough.

"Gary! Shut the fuck up!"

"Stay out of this!”, Gary hissed and glared then at Connor, “And you, go away!"

"You won't send him away!", Maya hissed back.

"This is my truck and my rules! And I don't send him away! I send it away!", Gary said and turned around to Maya with gleaming eyes.

"His name is Connor and you will apologize to him because he's my friend!"

"Your friend? Are you out of your stupid mind? You can't be serious!"

"I am very serious, Gary!", Maya hissed through gritted teeth and stepped closer to her brother.

"Maya, I swear to god-"

"That's enough!", Hank called out to stop them, "Gary, calm down! It's still your sister you're talking to so, calm the fuck down. Connor, I guess Maya could use a break. Accompany her a bit.", Hank said further and watched how Maya stepped back and out of the truck. She threw her apron into a corner with more force than necessary and grabbed her coat and scarf.

"Hank! You can't let her walk around with this thing!", Gary called out frustrated. Once again, Maya stopped and glared at her brother, ready to jump at him again but Hank pushed her carefully further as he saw her angry eyes.

"I trust him. Connor, we meet us later in the DPD.", Hank said with no room for any more objection from anyone.

*

"I'm so sorry for my brother’s behaviour. Sometimes, he can be such a jerk!", Maya said frustrated after they had walked a bit. She was so angry that she couldn't even look at Connor.

"It's okay-"

"No it isn't!", Maya called out and stopped suddenly. Connor stopped as well and looked confused at her.

"No matter if android or not, no one should be treated like that!", Maya called out and Connor stepped closer.

"You defended me in front of your brother. No one ever did that.”, he said with a soft smile, “Maya, you have the best intentions but not everyone sees it this way and some people won't ever see it like you.", Connor said low.

"It's frustrating.", Maya said but calmed slowly down. The cold air and the falling snow cooled her temper. They continued their way side by side. Maya snuggled deeper into her coat and pushed her hands deeper into the pockets while Connor walked just casually next to her, seemingly unaware of the cold. She watched him, gnawed on her lower lip and asked the question in her mind.

"Aren't you freezing? It's so cold!"

"No. My systems regulate my temperature to a perfect level. See?", Connor said and offered her his hand. Maya smiled because it was completely innocent from him but the butterflies in her stomach danced happily around. She took the hand and because Connor had learnt it recently, he intertwined his fingers with hers. Connor's hand was perfectly warm. And like this, hand in hand, they started to walk again.

"How's your case doing? Was the lead helpful?", Maya asked after five minutes of comfortable silence. The android next to her stayed silent but the LED told her something was bothering him. The LED was spinning yellow with a bit of red.

"Connor?", Maya asked, carefully pushing.

"We have met Kamski-"

"Kamski? You mean the Elijah Kamski?", Maya asked surprised and Connor nodded.

"Hank could make an appointment with him."

"And?", Maya asked excitedly as the android stayed silent.

"We...we haven't found out something useful.", Connor said but stared at the ground, avoiding her glance. Maya knew that he was hiding something.

"Connor, please. Tell me what happened. Something keeps you busy.", Maya said softly and looked at him encouragingly with a smile.

"Maybe he knew something but I…"

"Yeah?"

"I failed. Again.", Connor admitted low and looked away from her. Doubts were written on his face. Maya stopped and stepped in front of Connor. With her hand on his cheek, she turned his face back to her. With a sad expression he looked at the small woman in front of him who was simply nice and sweet towards him. Suddenly, he realized he was going to lose this if he wouldn’t make any progress soon.

"Why do you think you have failed? What happened there?", Maya asked and waited. Connor looked into the distance, his LED spinning yellow as he reconstructed the happenings earlier that day.

"There was this 'Kamski Test'. I had to pass it if I wanted information from him. If I would have passed this test, he would have told me what I needed to know but I… I…", Connor stopped and looked Maya straight into the ocean blue eyes he had seen earlier in a different situation.

"Yeah?", Maya said encouragingly and squeezed his hand, "I'm here for you."

"The test was to kill one of his androids."

"What? That's ridiculous! What kind of test shall this be?", she said shocked.

"It is based on the Turing Test. The test shall show if a machine is able to feel empathy. In the end, Kamski put a gun in my hand while his Chloe knelt in front of me."

"And, then?", Maya asked, feeling on edge. Connor looked away and she tried to give him time. As it was almost too long for her to endure the silence, Connor looked back at her.

"I couldn't kill the android. I saw yo- something in her eyes and I couldn't shoot.", Connor closed his explanation. There was something else. Something in his voice. He wanted to say something else but before Maya could wrap her mind around it, the thought was gone.

"You spared her life because of empathy. That is good. Don't blame yourself, Connor.", Maya said reassuringly but she saw that Connor was still troubled.

[somerandomstrayemo]

This is my story off of wattpad that I had just decided to put here, do not repost, if I see this story anywhere else I will ask you to take it down, thank you :)

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Prompt: Virgil lends their sweater to Remus. When Remus is home, he realizes he still has Virgil's sweater and finds Virgil's iPod. Out of curiosity, Remus looks through Virgil's music and finds a playlist titled with Remus's name..

Virgil sat comfortably on the couch, casually scrolling through Instagram (yes, FINALLY, something other than Tumblr-). He hadn't had much to do that day since Patton was out getting things for a movie night, Roman was writing the script for a new video, and Logan was out with Patton, probably just out and about to resupply on crofters since he was running low on them.

It was mid February, and due to the climate in Florida it was still quite cold to say the least. Though Virgil didn't mind the freezing temperature due to the fact he almost always wore his black and purple sweater, he seemed almost unfazed by the somewhat cold atmosphere.

Around the evening is when the anxious trait heard light shuffling behind him and he quickly spun around from his position on the couch, only to spot a  seemingly freezing Remus that previously planned on pouncing on him. "Remus? What are you doing here?" Virgil asked, as it wasn't very common for the dark sides to just come along particularly unannounced like that. "Oh the heater part thing in the air conditioner broke over on the dark side and Janus won't let me use his heat coil thingy, so I thought it'd be warmer here, and surprise surprise, it's FUCKING not~" Remus seemed to be speaking in an utterly annoyed an sarcastic tone. Virgil rolled his eyes and tucked away his ear buds, propping his arms up on the back of the couch. "Huh, that sucks now doesn't it" The emo said, still completely unfazed by the situation.

Remus looked Virgil up and down in complete shock. He wasn't shivering, and was acting as though everything was fine. The intrusive side then scoffed and crossed his arms, developing a somewhat snarky attitude towards the smaller side. "How the hell are you so okay with this, it's fucking freezing here! Are you immune or something?!" Remus wasn't very pleased. Virgil made it look so simple and easy to just ignore the cold, it was almost like the emo was taunting him. "Relax Remus, I just have a really thick sweater on. Here, if it makes you feel any better, would you like to borrow it?" Virgil tried to be kind to Remus, as he hated conflict between sides and wasn't one to want to get involved. In fact, Virgil did this willingly, he'd do anything just to see Remus smile just once. It was just a little temperature, how bad could it possibly be?

Remus stared at the emo like he was being taunted once more, but then eased up a bit, seeing there was no signs of mockery in his soft expression. Remus simply gave in, un-crossing his arms and giving a small nod, watching as Virgil then took off his sweater and handed it over.

Remus seemed so happy as he quickly grabbed the sweater and put it on. Though Remus was enjoying himself, this was a decision that Virgil very quickly regret as a cold draft of air hit him like a bus. God it was freezing, yet he plastered a smile on his face as not to let Remus worry. "Thanks emo, this thing really is warm!" Remus said in an almost happy tone. It was rare that Virgil ever saw Remus happy like this since he was mostly intrusive, so like any other side would, he took it all in while he still could. "You're welcome dude, I didn't want you dying from hypothermia, you looked like an angry ice cube." The emo smirked, using his little remark to distract himself from the cold atmosphere. Remus laughed, something Virgil just loved to see, thank god his pale foundation was covering his slightly red face. Though Remus could clearly see how satisfied Virgil was by the decision, and leaned forward, placing and gentle kiss on the freezing emo's face, causing the anxious trait to tense up. "I have to go now Virge, and seriously, thanks for the sweater, I promise I'll give it back" Remus stated happily as he then quickly sunk out. Who's to say he probably snuck out while Janus was distracted, he didn't even give Virgil a chance to speak before he left.

After about a week had past, Virgil had ended up borrowing one of Patton's sweaters, as morality had plenty, so yeah it wasn't his usual style, but at least he was fairly warm. After all, only a few hours after Remus left the week before was when the light sides soon discovered that their air conditioning had broke as well. Back with the dark sides however, Janus had been trying to get Remus to confess on where he had gotten that sweater all week, but as time went on, he had eventually given up. Around this time, Remus was in his room playing around with his mace, he honestly had no intention on giving Virgil his sweater back, as he loved it like his own, but he knew the sad truth was that he had to give it up sooner or later.

As the intrusive side swung hos mace one last time, A small object fell out of the pocket of Virgil's sweater. Remus stopped all he was doing and set his mace aside, picking up the object only to discover it was a dark purple iPod with Virgil's name on it. Being curious, Remus conjured some headphones and plugged them into it, starting to look through his playlists he had saved:

"P!ATD? Of course he would"

"Huh, I..guess.. Billie Eilish makes sense..?"

"ugh, and I think Lofi music would be for his panic attacks, I still wouldn't listen to that"

"AVIVA, again, of course he would."

"MCR, yep, That's Virgil alright, it's sad he only has like 2 songs in this playlist"

Remus went on and on over the playlists, until he came across one that caught his eye, 'reminds me of Remus'. No way the anxious trait really had a playlist dedicated to him, right? Remus clicked the playlist and immediately saw a song that captured his main personality, the one that he used around Virgil:

'Green' by cavetown

Remus had closed the iPod immediately and sighed, he realized the only reason Virgil gave up his sweater was because he cared for Remus, and you know what, that wasn't what Remus had thought at all, he simply thought the emo pitied him, nothing more. Turns out the emo really did like him back after all.

Remus acted quickly, playing a recording of him messing around in his room and locked the door so he could sneak out unnoticed. Once he'd done that he quickly sunk out, hoping Virgil was in his room, and to his relief, he was. Virgil was laying peacefully in his bed, curled up under his blankets, and the room completely silent apart from his very light snoring which Remus had found adorable. Virgil slept in often as he barely got any sleep once the sun set. The intrusive aspect guessed that he fell asleep around 4am today, and he only needed an hour of sleep, but it seemed as though he decided to sleep in the one day Remus decided to confront him.

Instead of waking the emo, Remus had decided to be very quiet and get in bed next to him. If Virgil truly loved Remus, then surely he wouldn't mind.

It had only been a few hours before Virgil woke up, a strong and warm embrace wrapped around his small figure. It had only took him a moment to realize he wasn't alone, quickly turning to look up at who had broken into his room; "Remus.." The younger gently whispered, causing Remus to flutter his eyes open and smile to the small anxious trait in his arms.

Virgil had to admit, he was loving every second of this, he simply looked up at Remus, frozen in silence. He had so many questions; why was he here? How long had he been there? And most importantly, did he even want to be this close to someone like himself. As Virgil's mind trailed off, he felt a pair of lips capture his as he felt his waist was being strattled. The emo didn't resist nor comply, he simply screwed his eyes shut, a few small tears falling from them. Oh how he dreamed of this, how he wanted nothing but to be loved like this.. He'd been longing for someone to love him back...

The kiss lingered for a moment before being broken, Remus placing a hand against the emo's cheek. It was firm, yet so gentle and loving. The intrusive side then used his thumb to wipe away any tears Virgil had, and gave a comforting smile "why didn't you tell me sooner Virgil" he asked kindly, a tone that Virgil rarely ever got to hear. "I was scared.. You'd reject me.." He spoke with pure honesty, and slight guilt for not telling sooner, after all he was the embodiment of fear and anxiety. Though nevertheless, who could stay upset at a face like Virgil's?

Remus chuckled as he sat up, scooping up the smaller trait and placing him in his lap and peppering his face with kisses. "it's okay now love, you don't need to hide it from me anymore, I've got you" Remus sighed out, reassuring Virgil that he had absolutely nothing to be afraid of. A beautiful moment of silence quickly followed those words, and Virgil almost immediately fell asleep in Remus's arms after that. He hadn't felt this loved and relaxed in god knows how long since he was always careful and on edge. It was a wonderful feeling, so great that it put him to sleep. Remus simply chuckled once more, laying his new lover back down as he took his place beside the younger trait, wrapping his arms around Virgil as he then too, drifted off to sleep.

Words: 1694

Sanity: 100%, this was beautiful

My sleep schedule: it's 1am and I have school, so idk, you tell me- :/