#it’s somehow feels both dry and dirty but I’ve had worse honestly

[roylustang]

I truly feel like a dirtbagger. I’m so fucking dirty. Like just covered in it 24/7

[harmoni-me]

hello it’s me again! thank you for fulfilling my request i just loved it. can you please do a continuation? like- reader starts receiving these anonymous love letters and gifts, this drove the boys (and the reader) to confess their feelings in the end. angst to fluff

Wow, thank you! I’m so glad you enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it! This one is even longer than the last, so please have fun reading this one!

Nagito Komaeda x Sweetheart Reader x Kokichi Ouma Pt. 2

Crunch

Huh? What in the world-

Last time you remembered reaching into your school duffle bag, all you had in it was a comfy change of clothes for when gym activities rolled around, and a wet bottle of water that was dripping with condensation, but…

You didn’t remember an envelope, not in the slightest.

A nervousness started to boil over from your head to your heart, face heating up as quickly as hot coals on a cold evening. Is this… what you thought it was?

You’re stomach dropped at the realization, plunging into the depths of your being, as a realization struck.

This…this was probably not who you thought it was from.

In retrospect, the sting would only sink in deeper if only a single letter was given.

You weren’t satisfied, and that made you feel like you were scum, too dirty to even bother to be dealt with.

Even feeling a great amount of resentment to the silly thing, it’s not like you weren’t going to open it. You weren’t heartless when it came to the topic of possible confession. I guess you could say that the author of the letter made you feel something you haven’t felt in a while.

It’s was pure, unbridled, bitter jealousy. Jealousy that engulfed your vision, clouding all sense of realism.

Why could someone so anonymous have more guts about dealing with their crush than you? This person, who you didn’t even know, had the heart of a lion to sit down, write out something deep and personal, and somehow get it to you.

You were jealous, because you would never have the heart to do the same.

Once the bell rang to signal the last period of the day, you begrudgingly stood from your desk, knowing what you had to do. You had to open it, it would be extremely inconsiderate if you didn’t.

While you were walking in the hallway to somewhere slightly more secluded, you slipped the letter out of your bag. It was pure white, and it wasn’t made out of anything fancy. The opening was sealed by a simple piece of clear scotch tape, and when turning the message over, on the back was large, red letters that spelled your name in delicate cursive. You really wanted to get this over with.

“BOO!”

“OH MY GOD-“ You jumped out of your skin, dropping the envelope in your hand, causing it to flutter to the floor.

“Nehehe! I got you so good!” A purple-haired brat giggled at your jump of fright, rounding the corner he was hiding behind. His eyes then wandered to the envelope that was laid flat on the tiled floor, his eyebrows rose, and a smirk slowly carved his way onto his face.

“Oooo, what’s this little thing, hm? An invitation? A secret message?….”  Kokichi knelt down to pick up the letter, fitting the paper between his middle finger and index finger. He got up all in your face, an evil smile plastered on his face, reaching all the way up to his eyes. He got closer to your ear, voice dropping, and his breath hot against your ear.

“Maybe…a love confession? Aww, how sweet…” Kokichi hummed, pleased by the steamy expression your face turned when you were embarrassed. Then, as suddenly as the actions before, Kokichi hopped backwards, grasping onto the letter with both hands, raising it aggressively high in the air.

“Ahhh! The anticipation! What’s inside, what’s inside, what’s inside?!” Kokichi kept on blabbering, waving the envelope all over the place, as if he was a child on Christmas Eve, shaking a wrapped gift to see if they could guess its contents.

When you saw the best opportunity, you quickly snatched the letter back from the naughty boy’s grubby little hands, huffing with a blush on your face once you retrieved what had been addressed to you.

You leaned your back against the hallway wall, which had now been abandoned. Slowly, you sunk yourself down to the ground, not once taking your eyes off of the red lettering that spelled your name in flawless cursive. You noticed upon close inspection that the lettering was a little smudged at the ends, most likely from Kokichi’s roughhousing with it.

A rough thump rang out next to you, making you look over with not much interest. Kokichi, in all of his nosy glory, had sat right up next to you against to wall, head shoved all in your business.

“Come on! Open it already! The suspense is killing me!” Kokichi was vibrating from waiting so patiently....to what extent Kokichi could be patient, that is.

You sighed, giving up. It was most likely anonymous anyway, so Kokichi won’t even know who to target ruthlessly on for the next month.

You let the tip of your finger slide into the opening of the letter, breaking the tape to the prized information. You carefully slipped out the neatly folded piece of paper, which was a thicker, almost card stock like texture.

Even before opening it, you could feel the emotion that radiated out of the paper. You suddenly had an image turn in your mind, of a person looking to be your age, carefully writing every word down as perfectly a flawed human could. Though, you could imagine them also grasping at their hair, crumbling up previous attempts, over and over again, as if disposing of their emotions, yet rebirthing it to be conveyed better each and every time.

It made you feel that much worse, knowing  that the writer’s feelings are in no way reciprocated. You couldn’t, because the feelings to give back were already stolen in their entirety. By two other people, none the less.

Ironic how one of your two fattest crushes you’ve ever had in your life was basically huddling into you right at this moment, wanting so desperately to know what the paper read.

When finally did unfold the letter, you were met with beautiful, curvy handwriting, not a spelling error or smudge could be found.

. . .

To the one who my heart yearns for the most,

I’ve lost track on how many times I have written this letter. For reference, the bin next to me is now filled to the brim and was completely empty just two hours ago, but that’s not important, is it?

Let’s get the obvious things out of the way, shall we? I adore you. Though I’m keeping this anonymous, I want you to know that my heart has grown ten times it’s size ever since the day I met you. Every single attribute about you I hold as a precious keepsake within my mind. Every time you do anything, say anything, I want to keep it all to myself. I want to lock the sound of your voice, and keep vivid pictures of your smile fresh within my memories.

You, (Y/N), have made me feel things that I  thought I had become numb to. I was unapproachable. A man that was blinded by his own psychotic desire to be used, that’s what I was.

You might think I’m exaggerating, but I believe you’re my guardian angle, sent to be due to God’s pity. Now that I’ve written it down, that was stupid, but I’ll keep it, because it’s the truth.

You saved me from myself, causing me to unsurprisingly fall in love with the one who made me realize I was a human, standing among other flawed humans, all having different lives, hopes, talents, aspirations...

Your kindness, no, your everything gave me so much room to simply breathe, and realized what I was doing to myself and to others.

Now that that’s out of the way, I would like to mention something I’ve...conjured.

I’m not very great at using my words, so that’s why I’ve poured everything into this letter, but you deserve to know who I am.

I’m scared, and if you do see me, I might not be able to get a good amount of words out but

In two days from now, after school, I want to meet you. I was thinking on the school rooftop? If you decide to come, I’ll be there waiting.

. . .

Wow

Who...who was this guy? And why...

Your eyes were brimming with tears, glossy from such words. This could be anyone, yet, what did you do? You were friends with many people, but not like this...you don’t think?

You suddenly felt something warm wiping away your now falling tears, gliding over your cheeks to brush away your liquid sadness.

“Hey, don’t cry...it’s not a good fit for you.” Kokichi then used his bandana to gently dry your puffy eyes and crimson cheeks. You looked up at the boy, who had the tiniest smile present on his face. It was almost as if that was how far the smile could go.

The sun broke through a window across the hallway, landing on Kokichi and his facial features. You looked into his eyes, but something was off.

Those eyes, they reflected a lot more light than they usually did, as if they were simply water in a pond. Was he-

“Well, that sure was something, huh?” Kokichi turned around, rubbing his eyes with his sleeve, trying to be discreet. You noticed though, but decided to not say anything.

. . .

When you thought things couldn’t get worse, you had totally jinxed yourself the next day.

You wanted to get your water bottle out of the your school duffel bag during class, because humans have to drink every once in awhile, but when you did...

Crunch

What...what even was that?

You honestly didn’t even want to bother until the end of the day with how you were feeling right now.

You were slumped, once again, in an empty hallway, browsing your phone and looking at funny cat videos to raise your vibrations. At least they made you smile.

“Is there a kitten nearby?” A voice had pierced the atmosphere. You looked up, it was Nagito standing over you, a face of half wonder and half concern delicately painted on his features.

You looked downcast, and you hated hiding your emotions, so it was plainly evident to Nagito how you felt in that moment, and he was heartbroken.

He placed his belongings next to you, along with himself, comfortably hugging his knees into his chest. He turned to you frowning a bit.

“You...only watch cute animal videos when you’re sad. Is... there anything wrong?” Nagito questioned, wanting to help you as much as you’ve helped him.

“It’s kinda personal, but your company already makes me feel better, so it’ll all be fine.” You gave the white haired boy a little smile, showing just how genuine you were.

Nagito hummed, nodding in understanding. He was playing it cool in front of you, but he really wanted to punch the person that made you feel like this.

It’s funny, because he probably has an idea of who...

“Oh, yeah, the thing...” You mumbled, reaching over to dig around in your duffle bag. When you felt the crunchy texture, you pulled it out, revealing something something that you honestly weren’t expecting.

It was a large pink lollipop, and it was in the shape of a heart.

It was probably as big as your head, and there was a clear, wrapper-like foil around the treat, preserving it for the consumer.

“Where did you get that?” Nagito raised a brow, because it was quite ridiculous how absurdly large this lollipop was. It was a funny sight though, seeing you side to side with with a sweet that could easily cover your whole face.

“I... think someone game this to me?” You thought, smiling a bit at the silliness of the situation.

But your mind wandered... was it the same person who wrote the letter? Then again, you didn’t think it would make sense with someone like him getting, well, this. Especially after writing something so deep and personal. This just kinda seemed incredibly random.

Either way, you started to unwrap the lollipop, wanting to eat some of it, even though you were most likely not going to finish the thing.

Resuming the cat videos, you repositioned the phone between you and Nagito. The boy took a glance, watching as he saw a fluffy white kitten get scared from playing a note on a piano, making him chuckle.

“You wanna watch somethin’ else, Nagi?” You asked Nagito, making him perk up in attentive nature. His smile conveyed so much care for you, as if you were his most prized gift he had ever received in his life.

“I’m bound to enjoy anything you would like, (Y/N)! Please, pick whatever you would like!” Nagito waved his hands, signaling not to worry about him, after all, you were the sad one out of you two for the moment.

“Ok! We’re watching Gordon Ramsay yell at people!” You promptly spoke, grabbing the phone and setting up the Hell’s Kitchen episode.

“Don’t mind me asking, but who is that?” Nagito questioned genuinely, making you gasp in surprise. How?

“He’s one of the best chef’s in the world, but he’s super strict with his employees, so it’s kinda entertaining. You’ll see!” You exclaimed, scooting yourself closer to Nagito, propping up the phone. You leaned into his side, taking a little nibble from your lollipop.

Nagito’s eyes kept on darting from you to the screen, having trouble with containing his emotion with you simply leaning on him to watch a show about...a vulgar-mouthed chef.

“Hm? What’s the matter?” You looked up at him, face inches apart from his. He didn’t respond, too nervous to trust his mouth. Lucky for him, you cut in.

“Oh! You want some?” You stuck the untouched side of the lollipop to Nagito’s mouth.

His brain and heart were on fire, and not a lick of logic was left. He pressed his lips against the candy, and sucked on a small portion.

It was your favorite flavor...he liked it way better than artificial grape soda, by a long shot.

After licking to his satisfaction, Nagito locked his teeth into the part he had been abusing with his mouth, biting off a piece for to-go.

“I need to go to the restroom, ok? I’ll be back.” He said, getting up from his seated position, making his way and entering into the boys bathroom at the end if the hallway.

You don’t know if he knows, but boy, you were blushing up a storm. He literally just gave you an up close and personal presentation on how his tongue did it’s work. Now, you didn’t really care for dirty thoughts, but after witnessing that, you couldn’t help it...

You looked down at the lollipop, now with a small chunk of it gone missing from the main snack. You examined it, and realized something so blatantly obvious, it was embarrassing.

Rapped around the white stick of the lollipop was a piece of yellow paper, and without much thought, you unraveled it.

It was a note, but it was short, and written it blue colored pencil.

. . .

Found this at a candy store, and bought it because you looked sad the last time I saw you. Seeing you sad makes me sad and stuff so yeah. I’m not signing my name here or anything, cuz that would just give away the surprise! But I’ll confess to you properly in person, cuz I’m better at talking. Meet me tomorrow after school, on the roof!

. . .

Huh?

Was this...the same guy? No, no it’s really couldn’t have been. The handwriting was different, the spelling was off, and they seemed a lot more laid back. Also, the author of the letter clearly stated that he was better at conveying is precious feelings by writing, while this one said they were more than happy to spill their own feeling with their voice.

So, you’ve got two secret admirers now...and both of them want to meet at the same place, and the same time.

Maybe this was all just some twisted, elaborate trick by a group of thugs, wanting to lure you in, then gang up on you like street cats when they found a lowly mouse to pray upon.

You’ll never know, unless you sucked it up and went tomorrow.

. . .

Well, there you were, on the roof after school the next day.

No one was there.

The sky was as clear as your blank mind, which you had forced to stop thinking about the world around you, and what you were doing. The breezed tickled your face, as if the wind tried to replicate the feeling of tips of grass grazing on ones cheek.

The only noise was the muffled chattering from students below, creating the perfect background noise to just...relax.

Until you heard yelling.

It was coming from the stairwell that lead up to the roof. You didn’t move a muscle, it was probably just loud, rambunctious students.

But it just kept on going, and going, on and on like a hyper parakeet who had a shot of expresso.

Well, since your admirers haven’t shown their faces for the past fifteen minutes, there’s nothing better right now than to snoop on the possible drama rumbling around in the stairwell. Might make a good story to tell someday, you never know.

You made your way into the stairwell, only to be met with very familiar voices, but you quickly made your presence unknown to them, hiding behind a wall.

“Kokichi! I told you not to not to get yourself involved!” Nagito raised his voice a little, but not to the point where it was just pure anger talking. Kokichi stood, fists balled up in pent up frustration.

“I know you did! And it was stupid that I did, but-“ Kokichi yelled, desperation in his voice.

“Then WHY? You knew I wrote that letter, hell, you were there helping me write the damn thing, but you go and do this?!” Nagito’s heart was the one talking at this point, because you’ve never heard his voice twinge in such genuine emotional pain.

But now you knew who wrote the letter, it was Nagito.

That didn’t sink in as hard as it was supposed to, until-

Wait, Nagito?

“Y-you don’t understand!” Kokichi responded, clenching his teeth from emotional agony.

“I do understand, and I just want to tell you that you’ve went way too far on this sick joke-“

“IT’S NOT A JOKE!” Kokichi cried out, a rasp in his voice becoming evident.

“Then what is it, Kokichi? Spill it. You know how important this is to me, and I don’t like yelling at you.” Nagito was stern, his voice dominating the purple-haired boy.

“Because...I-I...” his voice broke in sadness and so, so much regret. He suddenly huffed, opening his mouth to wallow out.

“B-BECAUSE I LOVE THEM TOO!” Kokichi sobbed. Thick, wet tears rolling down his swollen cheeks. Nagito was shocked, not saying a word. Nagito’s frown deepend because of the wallowing boy in front of him that he cared so much for. Yet, like always, he could never find the words to wrap Kokichi in warmth and apology. The thought made Nagito’s eyes begin to water.

Look what you did, you hurt him, you absolute scum.

“B-but *hic* I-I-I’m s-so *hic* s-selfish...I...” Kokichi hiccuped, trying his absolute best to get his words across.

“I’M SO FUCKING SELFISH, BECAUSE I LOVE YOU TOO, NAGITO KOMAEDA....y-you b-b-big jerk...” Kokichi wailed, a river of tears poring, falling to the concrete floor; the droplets staining the ground in a darker shade of grey when they landed.

“O-oh my god...K-Kokichi...l-“ Nagito started, hands shaking violently. This was bad, this was really bad.

And you knew that.

So you ran. You ran so fast out of your hiding spot, down to the two people in this world that you cared about the most.

And before you knew it, you harshly brought the both of them into your arms, causing the three of you to to collapse onto the ground.

You let it all out. You bawled into their arms, letting out your cries. Whether it was just from sadness, or of relief, that didn’t matter. You cried, until your eyes went dry, and all of your tears were soaked into the boys’ shirts.

. . .

After a bit, all was silent, except for the breathing of you three all mixing together. Your bodies were intermingled, assuming the best position for comfort and care.

You needed to say something, anything. You needed to tell them, or else everything will fall apart.

“I can’t choose.” You put it simply, the two other boys perked up, tear stains prominently showing on both of their faces.

“(Y/N)...” Nagito mumbled.

“I desperately need the both of you. So badly. I want to love you two so much I want my lips to hurt from kissing you two so much by the end of each day. I want my hands to cramp from holding both of you two’s hands so much.” You proclaimed, letting out everything that has been building up in your heart.

“I want to wake up with the warmth of two. I want to spend my days and nights with all of my love coming from two. And...I want to try each and every new thing life brings me, with the love of two.” You gasped for air, sighing out of your mouth, regulating your breath to its normal pace.

“I understand if you don- mphf!” You were promptly shut.

Kokichi had placed his lips on yours, causing a jolt of passion to ignite your soul. The feeling was delicate and new, but it was incredibly lovely  You promptly kissed back, feeling a joy you’ve never felt before in your life.

The two of you parted with the kiss when the both of you felt soft lips gently peck both of your foreheads. It was as soft as a feather, yet it made the two of you go so incredibly soft.

You and Kokichi looked up to see Nagito, a small smile on his face. One of his hands reached up to your left cheek, while the other hand made its way to Kokichi’s right. He then lovingly dragged his thumbs across both of your cheeks, smile growing wider, while his face became rosy.

“There’s...so much I want to say but...I hope my actions can at least convey how my heart wants to treat the two of you.” Nagito said, his voice dropped, but in a more of a endearing tone than anything. The boy was still smiling like this was the happiest day in his life.

“I think it would be fun if we all had a slumber party as our first date.” Kokichi giggled, nuzzling into Nagito’s long, slender fingers.

“That sounds like fun, I think it would be delightful.” Nagito playfully pinched Kokichi’s cheek lightly, causing Kokichi to giggle, smiling wide.

“But we do have one thing to take care of first...” Nagito glanced over to you, chuckling.

You were fast asleep within the palm of his hand. It made him fall in love all over again, to be honest.

Nagito and Kokichi worked to untangle themselves from your limbs, trying not to wake you. They then promptly proceeded to place you on Nagito’s back, in a comfortable position so you could keep on sleeping soundly.

“You up for taking our little Cutie back to her place?” Kokichi snickered.

“Of course, love. Only if you would accompany me? Nagito stuck out his hand, waiting for the warmth of another.

“You’re lucky I really like you, clover.” Kokichi hastily grabbed his hand, weaving their fingers together.

As they began walking out to the main exit gate, Kokichi spoke.

“You know, I said a lie earlier I didn’t like. I don’t just like you...I actually really love you. The both of you. That’s something I could never lie about.” Kokichi pledged, the evening orange sky bouncing off of his face. Nagito squeezed the shorter males hand lovingly.

“I love you too, Kokichi. And not just you also, but the both of you. My heart will be forever loyal to the two of you until I rest in my own grave, remember that.”

[the-darklings]

—eager for love, lacking of worth;

pairing: joseph seed x reader (rook)

word count: 1.4k+

warnings: angsty?

notes: so your girl decided to take a slight break from the soulmate!AU (Part 1 is at 19k and still WIP so good luck to all of you who will be reading that monster) and well I need practice at writing Papa Joe so here we are. (￣▼￣*)

prompt: 

thank you @jacobsknifeplay for sending the idea in! Saw it this morning and just ran with it! Hope you like it <33

. . .

Maybe paradise was real.

Feeling the sun on your shoulders, you inhaled deeply, staring up at the luscious trees surrounding you. The meadow was breathtaking; green and full of life as far as the eye could see. The air itself seemed to be sweet, and full of possibilities and peace. Reborn from death and ash.  

“It’s beautiful,” you whispered wetly, already knee deep in the water as it lapped across your legs. “It’s so beautiful.”

“It is.”

His soft voice reached you from behind, and you felt his warm fingers against your cheek, “Do not cry,” he soothed, “We have lost much but it’s up to us to rebuild it now.”  

“I feel so…raw,” you admitted quietly, something in your heart fracturing, splitting apart at his unfailingly patient expression. “Unworthy, dirty…I have no place here. You should have left me—”

His fingers cupped your cheeks, and he turned you around sharply. Inferno raged in those familiar blue depths and you exhaled shakily under that unnerving scrutiny. “Never speak of such things, Rook. Do you understand me? I’ve told you before, haven’t I? You’re all I have left now. God will not allow us to be parted.”

“You have your flock back.”

“And they’re not you.”

A harsh chuckle escaped you, and you wondered how even now—even after everything—he could still possibly care about you. Forgiveness, he told you endlessly; that was the only way to live, the only way to move forward. The only way to be free of hatred. Free of everything.

“Then baptize me,” you pleaded, closing your eyes at the phantom sensation of his warm fingertips brushing against your cheeks tenderly. “I want to atone but I don’t—I don’t know how, Joe. And I need to because this world…I can’t live in it like this.”

A strangled breath rushed out of him at your request, and he leaned back, his loose hair fluttering around his cheeks when the wind swept past you both.

For a long minute, only the sound of nature surrounded you both.

You eased yourself out of his grip, watching with a sad smile how his hands continued hovering in the air where you just stood.

“I want to be free,” you confessed weakly, “I want—I just want to be able to breathe without feeling this suffocating guilt—”

You knew it was unfair to tempt Joseph with the one thing he always wanted so desperately. Seven long years of learning how to live with yourself, of learning how to live with the guilt—the consequences—of your actions, and you still felt as lost as that first day. Even to this day, some part of you still refused to accept his truth.

Pride and Wrath.

Joseph and John were not wrong in their assessments.

Truthfully, you were haunted by those who died in your stead. You felt haunted by what you did to John, Faith and Jacob too.

A snake in their perfect paradise.

A murderer of hundreds, thousands, millions.

Shivering, you waded deeper in the river, your fingers sinking in the cool water, and a nostalgic smile tugged your lips upwards. It felt like a lifetime ago that you watched Faith do the same.

“Rook.”

Water encased your waist, and you shuddered at the sensation, not stopping. The current was picking up now, and you stumbled slightly, your feet slipping.

“Rook.”

You didn’t manage another step because arms wrapped around your waist like irons—unyielding and strong—pulling you back and pressing you against a warm chest.

“Not like this,” he breathed against your hair, and you felt the way his arms quivered around you. Fear, uncertainty. “Not like this, dear Rook, not like this. You’ve been given a chance to begin anew. Do not waste this gift. Do not let your despair destroy you now. Do not let their sacrifice be in vain,” he added, something worn and pained scratching through his tone.  

Tears stung your eyes and you leaned in his arms willingly. When had that changed? When had you stopped running, fearing, searching for ways to destroy him? Was it before or after the world was reduced to nothing? Before you tore everything he loved to shreds?

John, Faith and Jacob.

They died but you lived. Perhaps Joseph had a point. Giving up now would invalidate their deaths.

“When?”

Because you needed to know, needed to have something to hold onto.

Joseph’s arms tightened around you, and he tugged you towards the shore but you refused to budge, staring up at him through your blurry vision.

He looked older, haunted, worn. You could still remember how he looked at you that first night you met; brimming with divine purpose, fervent and driven. He didn’t even seem human back then.

Now he felt human though. Solid and warm beneath your fingers. Sad. 

“Seven years, Rook,” he began gently, voice low, and leaned closer. “We lived imprisoned together. God punished us for our sins with that action, but He is just and this is our reward. Do you know how I survived those long years in the darkness? You know full well that I am not a good man, and there were days…there were days when I too almost gave in to my anger and pain. There were days when I…”

It was hard to keep your breaths steady, “Tell me.”

“I thought about revenge,” he told you honestly, and there was such sadness there. “I thought about how easy it would be to hurt you after you took them from me. But I couldn’t. Every day I woke up and saw how much you needed me. How lost you were. How this was another test. Love thy enemy.”

“I deserved to be—“

His expression smoothed, that drilling stare focused solely on you, and you shook your head when he cupped your cheeks again. He leaned closer, his lips pressing a delicate kiss just below your eye—the exact same spot where silent tears had escaped only moments before.

“You deserve to forgive yourself,” he told you sternly, leaning back and tugging you towards the shore again. You hadn’t realised how cold you were until the numbness of your limbs registered. “So when you ask me when? I say to you when I know that you’re not doing this as a punishment. I will guide you, I will hold your hand in this journey, and show you His light. But not as a punishment, but as a loving act.”

You leaned your head against his arm as he walked you both towards dry land. “Somehow that’s crueller.”

His only reply was a kiss against the top of your head, “I’ve been called cruel before. I’ve been called worse. You know that better than most.”

A beat of silence.

SPLASH

Joseph halted, eyes wide as water trailed down the curves of his face. Few loose strands of hair stuck to his cheek and he turned to look at you.

“No self-hatred allowed,” you told him seriously, your voice still thick from your earlier tears. He blinked again, slower, and you felt a slight smile pull your lips back. It felt so nice to smile and mean it. “Besides, don’t think I forgot why we trekked out here in the first place.”

“Rook,” reproachful, wary, “I don’t think right now is the best time—“

“Now,” you cut him off and laced your fingers together. “Is the only time. Or I will gloat very loudly about the fact that The Father doesn’t know how to swim. Your flock will love it.”

Joseph must have seen something on your face or noticed the pathetic tremble of your fingers because his expression softened a touch.

“They’re yours too,” he noted stiffly, but not unkindly, “But if this…makes you happy, then yes.”

You forced a laugh, as stilted and as awkward as it was, and squeezed his fingers, leeching his warmth.

“Seeing the all-knowing Father flailing in the water for few hours?” you hummed sarcastically, ignoring his earlier statement. “Won’t miss that for the world. Besides, you promised me. Don’t you trust me?”

He gazed at you for a long moment—hard, unnerving moment that made your heart stutter. Then, with perfect ease, he lifted your laced fingers to his lips, ghosting his lips over your knuckles.

“With my life, dear Rook.”

It should have made you so happy hearing that.

It did.

But it also hurt more than you could ever describe.

You cleared your throat, feeling both lighter and heavier than you were just moments before. “Well, ready for your first splashing session?”

A faint smile curved his lips, and he tugged you closer, pressing his forehead against yours, “Show me.”    

. . .

an:.....please just assume they had a really cute splash session after this lol. I’m so sorry but my muse seems incapable of writing anything cute right now (it’s the soulmate!AU fic I tell you...it’s sucking all the cute out of me rn, so really blame John for this).

Also for someone who likes to pretend ND doesn’t exist or is 100% different, I always liked the idea of writing for older Joe who feels sort of misled and grieving oof.  

[jcmorgenstern]

@superohclair oh god okay please know these are all just incoherent ramblings so like, idk, please feel free to add on or ignore me if im just wildly off base but this is a bad summary of what ive been thinking about and also my first titans/batman meta?? (also, hi!)

okay so for the disclaimer round: I am not an actual cultural studies major, nor do I have an extensive background in looking at the police/military industrial complex in media. also my comics knowledge is pretty shaky and im a big noob(I recently got into titans, and before that was pretty ignorant of the dceu besides batman) so I’ll kind of focus in on the show and stuff im more familiar with and apologize in advance?. basically im just a semi-educated idiot with Opinions, anyone with more knowledge/expertise please jump in! this is literally just the bullshit I spat out incoherently off the top of my head. did i mention im a comics noob? because im a comics noob.

so on a general level, I think we can all agree that batman as a cultural force is somewhat on the conservative side, if not simply due to its age and commercial positioning in American culture. there are a lot of challenges and nuances to that and it’s definitely expanding and changing as DC tries to position itself in the way that will...make the most money, but all you have to do is take a gander through the different iterations of the stories in the comics and it’ll smack you in the fucking face. like compare the first iteration of Jason keeping kids out of drugs to the titans version and you’ve got to at least chuckle. at the end of the day, this is a story about a (white male) billionaire who fights crime.

to be fair, I’d argue the romanticization of the police isn’t as aggressive as it could be—they are most often presented as corrupt and incompetent. However, considering the main cop characters depicted like Jim Gordon, the guys in Gotham (it’s been a while since I saw it, sorry) are often the romanticized “good few” (and often or almost always white cis/het men), that’s on pretty shaky ground. I don’t have the background in the comics strong enough to make specific arguments, so I’ll cede the point to someone who does and disagrees, but having recently watched a show that deals excellently with police incompetence, racism, and brutality (7 Seconds on Netflix), I feel at the very least something is deeply missing. like, analysis of race wrt police brutality in any aspect at all whatsoever.

I think it can be compellingly read that batman does heavily play into the military/police industrial complex due to its takes on violence—just play the Arkham games for more than an hour and you’ll know what I mean. to be a little less vague, even though batman as a franchise valorizes “psychiatric treatment” and “nonviolence,” the entire game seems pretty aware it characterizes treatment as a madhouse and nonviolence as breaking someone’s back or neck magically without killing them because you’re a “good guy.” while it is definitely subversive that the franchise even considers these elements at all, they don’t always do a fantastic job living up to them.

and then when you consider the fetishization of tools of violence both in canon and in the fandom, it gets worse. same with prisons—if anything it dehumanizes people in prisons even more than like, cop shows in general, which is pretty impressive(ly bad). like there’s just no nuance afforded and arkham is generally glamorized. the fact that one of the inmates is a crocodile assassin, I will admit, does not help. im not really sure how to mitigate that when, again, one of the inmates is a crocodile assassin, but I think my point still stands. fuck you, killer croc. (im just kidding unfuck him or whatever)

not to take this on a Jason Todd tangent but I was thinking about it this afternoon and again when thinking about that cop scene again and in many ways he does serve as a challenge to both batman’s ideology as well as the ideology of the franchise in general. his depiction is always a bit of a sticking point and it’s always fascinating to me to see how any given adaptation handles it. like Jason’s “”street”” origin has become inseparable from his characterization as an angry, brash, violent kid, and that in itself reflects a whole host of cultural stereotypes that I might argue occasionally/often dip into racialized tropes (like just imagine if he wasn’t white, ok). red hood (a play on robin hood and the outlaws, as I just realized...today) is in my exposure/experience mostly depicted as a villain, but he challenges batman’s no-kill philosophy both on an ethical and practical level. every time the joker escapes he kills a whole score more of innocent people, let alone the other rogues—is it truly ethical to let him live or avoid killing him for the cost of one life and let others die?

moreover, batman’s ““blind”” faith in the justice system (prisons, publicly-funded asylum prisons, courts) is conveniently elided—the story usually ends when he drops bad guy of the day off at arkham or ties up the bad guys and lets the police come etc etc. part of this is obviously bc car chases are more cinematic than dry court procedurals, but there is an alternate universe where bruce wayne never becomes batman and instead advocates for the arkham warden to be replaced with someone competent and the system overhauled, or in programs encouraging a more diverse and educated police force, or even into social welfare programs. (I am vaguely aware this is sometimes/often part of canon, but I don’t think it’s fair to say it’s the main focus. and again, I get it’s not nearly as cinematic).

overall, I think the most frustrating thing about the batman franchise or at least what I’ve seen or read of it is that while it does attempt to deal with corruption and injustice at all levels of the criminal justice system/government, it does so either by treating it as “just how life is” or having Dick or Jim Gordon or whoever the fuckjust wipe it out by “eliminating the dirty cops,” completely ignoring the non-fantasy ways these problems are dealt with in real life. it just isn’t realistic. instead of putting restrictions on police violence or educating cops on how to use their weapons or putting work into eradicating the culture of racism and prejudice or god basically anything it’s just all cinematized into the “good few” triumphing over the bad...somehow. its always unsatisfying and ultimately feels like lip service to me, personally.

this also dovetails with the very frustrating way mental health/”insanity” or “madness” is dealt with in canon, very typical of mainstream fiction. like for example:“madness is like gravity, all it takes is a little push.” yikes, if by ‘push’ you mean significant life stressors, genetic load, and environemntal influences,  then sure. challenge any dudebro joker fanboy to explain exactly what combination of DSM disorders the joker has to explain his “””insanity””” and see what happens. (these are, in fact, my plans for this Friday evening. im a hit at parties).

anyway I do really want to wax poetic about that cop scene in 1x06 so im gonna do just that! honestly when I first saw that I immediately sat up like I’d sat on a fucking tack, my cultural studies senses were tingling. the whole “fuck batman” ethos of the show had already been interesting to me, esp in s1, when bruce was basically standing in for the baby boomers and dick being our millennial/GenX hero. I do think dick was explicitly intended to appeal to a millennial audience and embody the millennial ethos. By that logic, the tension between dick and Jason immediately struck me as allegorical (Jason constantly commenting on dick being old, outdated, using slang dick doesn’t understand and generally being full of youthful obnoxious fistbumping energy).

Even if subconsciously on the part of the writers, jason’s over-aggressive energy can be read as a commentary on genZ—seen by mainstream millennial/GenX audiences as taking things too far. Like, the cops in 1x06 could have been Nick Zucco’s hired men or idk pretty much anyone, yet they explicitly chose cops and even had Jason explain why he deliberately went after them for being cops so dick (cop) could judge him for it. his rationale? he was beaten up by cops on the street, so he’s returning the favor. he doesn’t have the focused “righteous” rage of batman or dick/nightwing towards valid targets, he just has rage at the world and specifically the system—framed here as unacceptable or fanatical. as if like, dressing up like a bat and punching people at night is, um, totally normal and uncontroversial.

on a slightly wider scope, the show seems to internally struggle with its own progressive ethos—on the one hand, they hire the wildly talented chellah man, but on the other hand they will likely kill him off soon. or they cast anna diop, drawing wrath from the loudly racist underbelly of fandom, but sideline her. perhaps it’s a genuine struggle, perhaps they simply don’t want to alienate the bigots in the fanbase, but the issue of cops stuck out to me when I was watching as an social issue where they explicitly came down on one side over the other. jason’s characterization is, I admit and appreciate, still nuanced, but I’d argue that’s literally just bc he’s a white guy and a fan favorite. cast an actor of color as Jason and see how fast fandom and the writer’s room turns on him.

anyway i don’t really have the place to speak about what an explicitly nonwhite!cop!dick grayson would look like, but I do think it would be a fascinating and exciting place to start in exploring and correcting the kind of vague and nebulous complaints i raise above. (edit: i should have made more clear, i mean in the show, which hasn’t dealt with dick’s heritage afaik). also, there’s something to be said about the cop vs detective thing but I don’t really have the brain juice or expertise to say it? anyway if you got this far i hope it was at least interesting and again pls jump in id love to hear other people’s takes!!

tldr i took two (2) cultural studies classes and have Opinions

[themockingcrows]

Companionship Through Circuitry Ch. 3: Uploading

Not all uploads are created equal. Bro/Hal Also available on AO3!

    Upload me, Bro.

    “Don’t you need a stronger interface than that? Would you even work with that thing?”

    I was designed to functionally overwrite data when necessary, and if that means re-writing the code of a simple wrecker then so be it. Upload me.

    Bro sighed a bit. He had his reservations now that he was starting to get used to Hal’s voice and attitude, and the concept of potentially losing him because he didn’t want to take a lengthy detour was kind of obnoxious. But hey, what did he know, he was just a post-war guy taking directions from an AI who seemed to know his own capabilities far better. Against his better judgement, Bro took the shades off of his face and fished out the connection cable, following Hal’s advice to locate where an entry port could be positioned based on the make and model of the machinery at hand.

    The massive structure was meant to replace cranes for more basic movements, the continuous track treads far superior to wheels and the mobility vastly improved. The behemoth whirred to life a few moments after Ambrose finished the upload cycle, glasses still gently dangling by their cord till he ducked forward and tucked them somewhere less conspicuous. The droid moved its appendages, orienting itself as Hal took control and sussed out the operational maneuvers for each piece. It was a strangely human motion, the sensors of the face looking down at the pincer hands before giving them a whirl and twirl, clicking them together a few times to gauge the pressure.

    Right. Step back.

    Thank fuck this was temporary. Hearing the modulation of Hal’s voice was jarring, booming and decidedly electric from the audio core even with its damage and residue. When he stood fully upright, many times taller than Ambrose, it was with the soft screech of abused metal and rust. This wasn’t going to last forever, but it should last long enough to move a few barriers out of the way. Hal whirred forward excitedly and clasped both pincers into the edge of a stacked vehicle long since crashed, tugging it a few times before the body gave way to motion and the entire pile began to move. Ambrose wasn’t certain what all would be beyond where they could see, but he had a feeling that getting through the blockade would open up some options.

    Or, you know, trap him underground to die a horrible death. But who’s keeping track of anything, right?

    With much whirring and churning metal, Hal eventually moved several wrecked cars that had acted as a barricade between them and the rest of the bridge that seemed sturdy enough to cross as far as he could see. So the asphalt was gone in a few places, the girders and skeletal aspects of the bridge were still plenty intact for a man and a pair of sunglasses to pass unhindered so long as they didn’t gain too much attention. Or at least got away from the ruckus of attention they were currently causing right now.

    I changed my mind, can I stay in this longer?

    “No. You cleared the junk and I can cross now, get back in the glasses so we can leave,” Bro said, already sensing where this was going.

    What if there’s more junk on the other side of the bridge? Or in the center? Wouldn’t it be handy to have someone who would be able to move it easier? Hal asked, giving his hands another whirr for emphasis as if Bro could have somehow forgotten the difference between a set of pointed shades as a fully fledged wrecker droid.

    “I said no. How much power does that thing have left anyways?”

    Enough to enjoy getting over the bridge in style.

    “And if I don’t feel like travelin’ with a gigantic fuckin’ target on my back?” Bro asked. “What then, hm? Everything in a mile prolly heard all this noise, you’re not exactly dainty with your maneuverin’.”

    I believe you’d benefit more from me in this shape for a while. I’m enjoying having hands, that’s a bonus. And being able to move where I want to, Hal said as he backed up and did a quick turn as he could on the tracks. I could serve as a shield if required, or lift things to be a shield for you.

    Bro ran his tongue over his teeth. The offer DID sound kind of appealing when put like that… but he knew it’d bite him in the ass just as soon, knowing his luck. He shook his head and went over towards the shades, tapping them with his fingers.

    “Nope. In you go.”

    But what if I just followed along behind you.

    “And if we get separated how’m I supposed to get to your body then, huh? Want me to get there on my own, without you, and put somethin’ stupid in there?” Ambrose asked with a smirk. “The best body they could have created for you, the body your creator dude wanted for you, all goin’ to waste so I have someone to play Pong with.”

    Hal was silent for a moment before the massive droid looked down with a creak of metal. He could practically hear him squinting.

    You wouldn’t dare.

    “Spoken like someone who doesn’t know me very well,” Ambrose said with a shrug, both hands lifted up for emphasis at how helpless he was in the situation overall. “You think I wouldn’t kill to have a good quality droid be my butler and play stupid games with me? Dude, my kid left for the city already, who’s gonna fill the void for me now if not that or a bitchy AI.”

    The droid looked towards the bridge again, sensors trying to run how he’d normally run to assess risks before realizing the hardware just wasn’t up to spec to do what he wanted to do. This body was made for moving things, for lifting and toting, for sorting, not for detecting stealth routes a companion could take to an objective. Ever so slowly the droid bowed down and let its arms go limp, the shades chiming and beeping a short time later to alert Ambrose it was time to remove the connection and put him back on safely. While Ambrose wouldn’t say he missed having the weight on his face and the shade over his eyes, there was no denying a bit of fondness for the habit. It was nice not having his retinas toasted.

    “I see my offer was too much to resist.”

    You’re a bastard. I’ll not have my body sullied like that. If it does something foolish it will be because I will it to do something foolish, not any other way.

    “Sure thing,” Ambrose said as he started up the bridge, pulling his blade out to keep it at the ready, grip light. He resisted the temptation to spin it or do bored tosses like he would while at home or doing detail work on it, keeping his hands ready to put lethal force behind the steel at a moments notice. The bridge itself seemed like it had been used in the past as shelter, or a lookout point. Chairs were arranged beneath a sheet metal roof with a standee wall against the side of a toppled truck, and garbage lay strewn about the broken glass that crunched beneath Bro’s boots. At every turn there could be a human being or worse.. yet all seemed quiet for now. Abandoned. Empty.

    Packrat by nature, Bro took a moment to peer into different cars that they passed to see if any of them had been used as more shelter, or used to store any spare belongings that nobody would miss. There didn’t seem to be much on hand, however. Spent shells, empty cans and bottles, ragged blankets, clothes that reeked of sweat and in one car the sweet sickly smell of feces. One front seat had a few gadgets that slowed Ambrose’s steps to peek however, grinning in amusement.

    “Oh, hey, I remember readin’ about these things,” he mused, reaching through broken glass to pick up a blocky hand held game system with a melted looking cartridge. The screen was cracked, but the buttons looked well worn. Must’ve taken a lot of abuse to wind up like that, those things were supposedly indestructible in their time. He dropped it back onto the seat it had come from and the bit of bones that rested here and there as well. The original owner? An art project by some bored creep? Hard to guess honestly and not really his place to wonder about.

    There’s something else there, Hal pointed out, zeroing in the target t’s to direct Bro’s attention to the keychain looking item shaped like an egg. He reached again and plucked it up, rubbing a thumb over the dirty screen with a hum. A flip over and he nodded a bit.

    “Some other kinda game I guess..? Looks like it’s self contained and takes a smaller battery. Doubt it’s like yours, is it?”

    No, most likely that type of device ran on a watch battery. Do you not know what it is?

    “Is it not a game?”

    It is a game where you are tasked with keeping a small creature alive by meeting all of its needs and wants.

    Bro snorted. “I’ve raised a baby, I think I can live without a game reproducin’ the experience.”

    Yet.. it had been some of the best years of his life. Boiling water to make sure it was safe for Dave’s baby bath, washing hair so fine it was barely there. Messy cheeks in the high chair as he figured out how to feed himself, skinned knees and bandages, late night visitors to his bed whenever there was an electrical storm outside or when the winds screamed out over the desert like hungry dogs. Those big red eyes in the dark asking if it was safe when people came too close to their hidden home, listening to the distant explosions of deterrents and traps going off left and right. Those same red eyes staring up at him for the tenth, the hundreth, the thousandth time he’d knocked him down to make him get back up and keep fighting.

    Bro swallowed hard for a moment, throat suddenly uncomfortably dry. He knew it was wrong. He knew deep down it had been too much, but there was no choice. Not when the world wouldn’t hesitate even a single second before putting a bullet in his head if he didn’t take the initiative and attack first. He could tell himself that a thousand times and yet it didn’t change anything.

    Bro closed his hand around the toy and stuck it into his pocket without a second’s hesitation.

    “Might make for a fun project later though. Maybe I can re-program it, give it a better battery. Somethin’ simple like a time waster to take the edge off should be easy.”

    How many pet projects do you intend to keep on your person?

    “As many as I feel like, considerin’ one is already on my face. What, suddenly attached to the idea of being an only child?”

    I am not a child. If anything, I would prefer if you spoke to me like an adult instead of like one of your wards. Keep it in mind, Bro.

    “Yes Mom.”

    That is not what I meant when I sai-

    “I’m kidding,” Ambrose said as he fished his hand back out of his pocket and continued to walk, suddenly less interested in browsing the potential second hand belongings than he was about getting off the bridge and continuing Northwards. He’d dallied too long as it was, and while things seemed plenty deserted up here, he didn’t want that to stop being a thing any time soon thanks to their broadcast position.

    You know, I don’t think I’ve mentioned this before. But I have radio functionality, if you would enjoy to listen to something as you walk.

    He snorted. “Yeah? The same ten stations, no thanks. Propaganda, interviews with dumbasses, or the same fifty songs over and over. Nobody knows how to find decent music, and the songs that’re any good get played so often you get sick of them. Nobody makes anything new either.”

    I also possess some selections Dirk enjoyed, if you would prefer listening to those. They may prove to be something more to your taste, he was particular about what he listened to.

    “Particular how?”

    He was particularly ardent in enjoying what he liked and stubbornly sitting through what he didn’t like before deleting it from any device he listened to it on. Let me play a sample, Hal offered before going quiet and chiming softly to signal he was changing focus.

    Bro stopped walking when the music started, quiet near his ears to not block out incoming noise but loud enough to hear the quickly pronounced words and heavy beat, the tempo driving into his skull enough that he tapped his foot in time with it. Soon he was bobbing his head, catching the tune even without knowing the words, and smirking in amusement.

    “Not quite what I’m used to, no. But it’s nice. Feel free to keep’em coming while we head on, yeah? Turn them off if you detect something approaching,” he instructed.

    But of course, Bro. I’m not an idiot, said Hal in a more modulated voice than usual behind the thrum of the music.

    When he began to walk again, the beat added a new cadence to his step and made the walking go by quicker than before. In no time at all he was over the bridge and on the other side of the water, taking in his surroundings with the same eyes of the curious and the mildly kleptomanic. Every new venue was a new opportunity, especially when there were what looked like stores in the distance. Hell, now that he had his new pet project he’d need a few parts, wouldn’t he?

    “...Mm. Hal, that sign says ‘Toys’ in part of the name, right?”

    It would seem so. It was likely a location of the Time For Toys brand from before the war, Hal offered. It could potentially be something else, but the orientation of those letters makes the likelihood of it being anything else quite low.

    “Perfect. Let’s go shoppin’.”

    Giving another glance to the toy in his pocket, guessing what size of batteries to keep an eye out for adjustments sake later on, Bro strode towards the building bearing the toy slogan and let himself inside without a second thought.

    Perhaps he should have thought twice. There were few places as unnerving as an abandoned toy shop that had sat this long through destruction and disuse. Rows and rows of figurines, dolls, moth eaten soft toys, accessories, and toy cars rested on the shelves and from dangling sorting rods that stuck out at even intervals. Everything was silent save for his footsteps, and Hal kept focusing the t’s on various rodents that were startled by the sudden invasion. As far as humans went, it seemed most had stayed clear. There just wasn’t much use for toys after the war he supposed.

    ...Okay, bullshit, he kind of wished he’d known this place existed when Dave was a baby. He probably would have loved a lot of these things, instead of making do with the things Bro could make him. Smuppets were amazing, and so were the other puppets and the electronic things, but sometimes a kid just needs a teddybear. He poked one with blue button eyes and sawdust stuffed feet, its floppy soft arms resting alongside its torso with fabric claw tips resting alongside its thighs. The bear fell over with a soft whump and a bit of dust in the air, leaving Bro free to quietly explore the graveyard of toys.

    Past a section of toy balls that had long since deflated, baseballs and mitts, were electronic toys. Dollies that talked and horses and dogs and cats that made realistic noises seemed to be all the rage, but along with them hung more of the egg shaped toy he had in his pocket in different colors, still in the package. Whistling softly, still nodding along with the tempo on the song Hal continued to play, he grabbed several of the packages and batteries from the end of the display cap to stuff into his bag.

    That was when he saw it. Soft, fluffy, and apparently capable of movement and speech. The small creature was hard to decipher at a glance species wise. It had a beak and two big eyes that could apparently blink when they weren’t staring into your soul, a small sensor in its forehead, and two massive ears. Two fat, pudgy paws rested at its base in front of a set of wheels that offered free movement.

    Furby.

    An apt name, Bro supposed. The little thing was furry as hell, soft to his rough fingered touch and fairly sweet looking with its black and white fur pattern. The external fluff seemed to safeguard a sizeable chunk of electronics from what he could guess thanks to a testing squeeze. ...Interesting.

    What are you so distracted by now.

    “You think you’d be capable of driving one of these?” Bro asked curiously. “It’s got wheels and seems like it can maneuver around on its own from an AI. Talks too.”

    I’d rather die. So there is your answer.

    “But it’s possible,” Bro continued. “You were able to work that droid back there just fine. Think of how useful this would be for checking out crowded buildings.”

    Wouldn’t an RC car be more useful for exploration purposes.

    “Hey, I never said I wouldn’t mod this thing,” Bro said as he continued to feel the edges of the furby before turning it and cutting the edge of its fur open, removing the skin messily to get a better look at what lay beneath. “Look. See? A lot of these guts’re useless. Could take them out, put better power and mobility, maybe add a weapon.. Maybe connect the innards of a walkie talkie in there too, or some radio parts to keep in contact.”

    It was a whole new project idea. The egg toy was one thing, but this. This was something entirely new. And the fact that Hal hated it so much on sight was kind of appealing.

    Are you implying you plan to weaponize a furby.

    “Yes. I’m also implyin’ I’d like to see you pilot the damn thing if I can make it work how I want it to. Could set you loose on a floor and let you roll around doin’ your own damn thing, keep shit off you left and right, let me know what you see. You’d be able to help me out.”

    And the reason I couldn’t do that with the big droid is…?

    “Batteries, bein’ inconspicuous, and portability. I can stuff one of these things in my bag easy, and nobody would expect one of these to be anything important,” he hummed, mind already going wild. Dave would love it.

    No, Dave would probably hate it and say he was taunting God but Dave wasn’t here right now and Bro was itching to customize. He glanced back the way he’d come before putting his tongue between his teeth, thinking.. and then grabbing another furby identical to the one he’d de-skinned. He’d need to strip it cleaner, treat it nicer, figure out how these fuckers ticked. Manual was probably in the box somewhere, but even if it wasn’t how hard would it be to figure out a children’s toy?

    “I think I know where we’re campin’ tonight. Lemme just grab a few things and we’ll find a spot to nest down.”

    I’m never touching that thing, I have no idea why you look like a child with a new toy.

    “Because I’m a man-child with several new toys,” corrected Bro as he wandered the aisles, looking for radios or walkie talkies. Paydirt came in the form of a pair of ‘authentic army navy walkie talkies’ whose authenticity he seriously doubted even with their rather pretty camouflage patterning just based on the materials he felt beneath his fingers. These casings would be easy enough to pop with his hands, let alone with his tools, they could really have stood to make these sturdier. He’d kill for a good blowtorch though, maybe make some kind of a shell underneath the furby fur to-

    You’re a maniac. You do know that, correct? I can’t hear your thoughts but the things you’re looking at are alarming when placed with the potential logic.

    “I think you mean genius, thanks. Shoosh now, I’m tryin’ to find Frankenfurb some more parts,” Bro hummed, tucking the walkie talkies beneath his arm before finding a shopping basket. There. Much better. Like a pre-war man he wandered the aisles, snagging things that looked useful or interesting or, in the case of his eventual sleeping, soft. His sleeping spot back behind the main register ina  protected circle of countertops was soon piled high with plushes and surreptitiously dotted with his electronic findings and various tidbits he planned to use for parts. Doll clothes, while overall worthless to him, still had elastic bands inside of them and the fabric wasn’t flammable. Useful. He even found a child size pair of sunglasses he’d already made plans for, so long as he was able to control the melting properly.

    Peeling off his boots and settling back with his supper, Bro opened his bag and set to work toying with his new toys. First everything had to be opened and examined, taken apart, and in some places scrapped entirely down to their base components until he had a small pile of tidbits at his disposal. The toy from earlier seemed to be damaged even when he tried to power it on, but the new packaged replacements just needed to have their old battery removed and replaced with something new to turn on. He already knew how he wanted to update it, especially since there seemed to be a data port that would fit Hal’s cable to it. He failed to say it, but it would be a good emergency backup for transportation should anything ever happen to the shades.

    The furby would be his prize. Off went its two toned furry skin, out came its voice box and innards, and in went an assortment of new parts.. Including a salvaged port from one of the extra egg toys Bro had grabbed. He’d worked well into the night by the time he put the skin back on and proudly wiped the beak clean before adding the tiny shades, grinning proudly at it.

    “Might need some more tweakin’, and I wanna get a proper laser to put in the thing.. But for now it should be able to move around easier and communicate back to the matchin’ walkie talkie,” he said, gesturing over to his creation with both hands and a wide smile.

    It’s hideous.

    “You’re gonna be in there eventually, Hal, mark my words.”

    If it comes down to being a matter of life or death, I consider my life to have been a full one until you can repair me properly.

    “You’d rather be dead than have some mobility and autonomy while helpin’ me out?” Bro asked, rummaging in his bag for some water to quench his thirst, using a bit more to wipe his face with now that sleep was settling into his brain.

    Did I fucking stutter.

    “All I hear is someone who’s bitchy and in denial about the frankenfurb.”

    Bro’s vision faded briefly to display those red eyes once more, though this time they were giving a decided roll before his vision faded back in.

    When a furby is on the line, Bro, I will be as bitchy as I please.

[instakpop]

Chen scenario - My brother’s  best friend

Requested by anon

Genre: Smut, angst & fluff

Warnings: light dry humping

Summary: Jongdae has always been there for you, ever since you two were little, but now that you both have grown up, he still treats you as the little girl you used to be.

The music was so loud, my bed was vibrating. It's great that my brother came back from college, but did he have to bring his moron friends with him? The second mom and dad left, there were herds of people piling in through the back door.

I sat in my bed, staring out the window, watching all the partiers walk in until a familiar face made me perk up. Jongdae's back too! I made a snap decision to get dressed and go down to join. I know it's dumb to think I have a chance with my dream guy but why not just make my presence known?

We've lived down the street from Jongdae and his family all my life. We attended the same schools, Hung out with the same crowds, but we aren't the same age. Next yearI'll be in college and he's already halfway done. For years I've gotten closer to him, but the more I knew about him, the harder I fell in love. Whenever I would get even a little glimpse of hope that he likes me too, he'd call me "Y/n-ah" and the spark between us quickly dies. He'll always see me as his best friend's baby sister, nothing more. Still, I would go out of my way to prove that I'm worthy of his attention. Just once, I want him to notice me as a possible girlfriend. I've imagined how we'd be as a couple so many times that it's taken over my senses. When he's around I want to be there with him, when he's gone I miss him like crazy.

I searched through my closet, trying to find something that can catch Jongdae's eye without being over the top. Mini skirt? v-neck dress?? Heels??? Too obvious. I tried on a few options before deciding on a fitted lace-up top and dark wash skinny jeans. Sexy yet subtle. I hurried to the bathroom, hoping no one would see me. I applied some makeup and touched up my hair before I took a deep breath and made my way downstairs.

A few heads turned as I walked past, but no sign of Jongdae. I took a lap around the house, ending up in the kitchen where it was quiet. I opened the fridge, needing something to drink but the door quickly slammed shut and I came face to face with my brother.

"Absolutely not. Why are you down here?" He scolded.

"Because I can. I wasn't even going to have any liquor, I just wanted a soda." I tried opening the fridge but was denied again.

"No. No soda, no party, nothing." He tried shooing me off to my room but I got an idea that would change his tune.

"Sure I can go upstairs. Mom and dad will be able to hear me clearly when I call them from up there." I crossed my arms and he glared at me while contemplating.

"... Fine. But if iso much as smell booze near you. You. are. out. Got it?"

"Yes." I whipped open the fridge door, taking a can of soda and watched my brother walk away.

I rolled my eyes, taking a sip and went about my business. I came around the corner and felt a tap on my shoulder. When I turned to see who it was, my face lit up.

"Jondae! You're back." I threw my arms around him and he hugged me back as always.

"Yeah. Your brother and I carpooled back home for the weekend. He also told me to keep an eye on you until the party is over." And there it was. He's not just talking to me because I got dressed up for him, it's because he's now my babysitter.

"You're joking..." I replied, feeling extremely annoyed.

"Yeah, I know. He can be a little bossy, but don't worry. I'll give you space. Just have fun, alright? I'm gonna get a drink." He excused himself and headed to the kitchen.

I can't believe he still sees me as that little girl making googly-eyes at him. Even worse, he wants to give me space. I don't want space I want to be here with him as a date! As soon as Jongdae was out of sight I stormed off, disappearing into the crowd. I somehow ended up in the middle of the living room, crammed between a load of people dancing a grinding together. I hunched over, clutching my drink and trying to leave without being touched.

My plan quickly failed when some girl bumped into me, causing me to drop the can of soda on the floor. I gasped when I felt a hand on my but and decided to just leave the can on the floor rather than taking the risk of getting groped. I finally made it out of the group of people, taking moment to collect myself and kept moving.

I walked toward the wall, hoping to just sit down for a bit. I took a seat on the couch, keeping to myself until the inevitable moment when either my brother or Jongdae finds me. I observed everyone like a visitor in a zoo.

"This seat is taken?" I glanced up and saw a handsome stranger looking back at me.

"Uh, no. Go ahead." I offered.

"These parties can get old pretty quick. Everybody is acting like a bunch of animals." He said.

"My thoughts exactly," I replied with a small laugh.

We talked for a while, getting to know each other a little. Turns out he is a friend of someone who went to high school with my brother and got ditched as soon as he arrived at the party. He was lucky enough not to get caught in the pile of dirty dancers. We went back and forth until we came across the forbidden topic.

"So what year are you?"

"Senior," I replied without a thought.

"Seriously? You don't look a day past 19."

"Oh, no I meant senior in high school. I should have been more specific." My cheeks started to burn and I lowered my head.

"That's okay. I've never minded a younger woman." My heart started to flutter. He actually liked me despite my age!

Another song came on that had the whole crowd cheering and hollering with excitement. It was way too loud to even hear my conversation until he leaned in toward my ear and said: "Wanna go somewhere private?" His hand rested on my knee and I shyly nodded 'yes'

He took my hand leading me further away from the crowd and up the stairs. We almost got down the hall to my bedroom when another hand gripped my wrist, pulling me back.

"I don't think so, Y/n." Jongdae had a fire in his eyes that I've never seen before.

"Chill out. She's with me." I was soon entered in a game of tug of war with the guy I was talking to and the guy who was recruited to watch me.

"No, she isn't. She's with me." Jongdae argued. One of my hands was released and Jongdae pulled me behind him. "Leave." He said with his fists clenched.

"Or what?" The other guy stepped closer to Jongdae, refusing to back down.

"Or we'll beat your ass. That's what." My brother stepped in, shoving the guy toward the stairs and he finally retreated.

I looked at my brother with terror in my eyes. I hated seeing him like this and god knows he would have fought that guy over much less.

"Y/n. Go to your room. I'll deal with you later. Jongdae, lock her in there if you have to." With that, my brother marched down the stairs.

I came out from behind Jongdae and headed straight for my room. He quickly followed behind, making sure I didn't try and escape back to the party. He closed my bedroom door behind us and watched me lay face down on my bed, letting out a deep sigh.

"Y/n, what were you thinking? I left you alone for literally five seconds and you vanish. Next thing I know you're going off to bed with a random guy."

"I wasn't gonna sleep with him. He just wanted to go somewhere private to talk... As I'm saying it out loud, it sounds like he was just trying to sleep with me... Oh god~" I whined. I fell back over, hiding my face in the pillows.

Jongdae walked over, sat next to me on the bed and rubbed my back. "It's alright. At least you are aware of you're mistakes. Honestly, I didn't think that guy was your type."

"He's not. He was just the only guy who..." I stopped myself before I could let anything slip out. I can't let him know my secret, even if it's about him.

"Who what?" He asked.

"...The only guy who doesn't mind the fact that I'm younger than him." I admitted.

Jongdae took a second to process what I said and came to his own realization. "You didn't like that I was watching over you?"

"Of course not. It's so patronizing." I muttered.

"I told you I was going to give you space." He said in a light tone.

"I didn't want space from you, Jongdae." I sat up straight, meeting his eye line so he'd take me seriously. "I wanted to be there with you!"

His expression froze. There wasn't a shred of emotion on his face, just a blank stare. I ruined it. Any chance of him liking me back was long gone by now.

"Y/n, I... I can't." His words shattered my heart into a million pieces. I just wanted to curl up and fade away.

"I-I understand." My voice broke. I turned away from him so he wouldn't see my tears start to swell up.

"Y/n, please. It's not about your age. You're just my best friend's sister. I don't want to lose either one of you."

"You won't. Jongdae, I didn't just wake up this morning with a crush on you. I fell for you from the start and it's only got worse when you left for college. I miss you all the time but I couldn't just say it because I knew this would happen. I knew you'd reject me. I'm just a little girl in your eyes. Nothing's changed."

"Don't say that. You're not a little girl. I know that. It's just a way of distancing myself from seeing you as the woman you are. If I see you that way I won't be able to stop myself from doing something I could regret later." His honesty was a bit of a shock for me. I never knew he was holding back like this.

"How do you see me?"

"Y/n." He raised his hand, cupping my cheek while he spoke. you are an incredibly  driven, genuine, sweet  woman... who happens to be young."  I smiled slightly at his last comment and his thumb ran over my bottom lip. "With the most deliciously soft lips, I've ever seen." He lifted my chin, tilting my head to one side, coming in closer until our lips came together for a long-awaited kiss.

I moved my hand around his neck, pulling him in close. Oddly, my nerves melted away, my heartbeat sped up, but I felt relaxed by his touch. I felt his hand on my back, bringing me in even closer and I moaned faintly.  He draped my legs across his lap before laying me back, climbing above me and making himself comfortable without ever breaking our kiss.

I lifted my legs, planting them on either side of him, allowing him the perfect opportunity to gently grind down. I moaned aloud, enjoying the feeling of him through my jeans.

"I've always wanted to know what it felt like to have this beautiful body of yours pressed against me." He lifted my leg, wrapping it around his hip while his grinded onto my pelvis. He kissed my neck, while his finger started tugging on the string of my top, unlacing it. His hot lips moved over the tops of my breasts and down the middle. His free hand lifted my shirt up, uncovering my stomach. He kissed his way down my abdomen and paused briefly to undo my skinny jeans. He peeled them down with ease while I threw my top across the room. He slowly got off the bed, looking down in wonder at my half-naked body.

Jongdae started a little striptease, getting rid of his top, tossing it in the same direction as mine. When he got back on the bed, he took my hands, placing them on the front of his pants, hinting for me to help him out a little. I unbuttoned his jeans, sliding the zipper down and pulling them down far enough for him to just kick off the rest.

"I've wanted you for so long Y/n." He whispered.

I kissed him one more time, savoring the taste of his sweet lips, "Take me. I'm yours, Jongdae."

Without hesitation, he pulled his rock hard cock out of his underwear and slipped my panties to the side. With one slow thrust, he stretched out my walls just right, entering me completely. I coiled around him, wanting to feel every inch of his skin on mine.

He thrusted in and out, filling me up perfectly before pulling out again, building friction. My stomach knotted up, my limbs felt like jelly and my orgasm was fast approaching. Jongdae's thrusts got a little rougher, making it harder to contain my screams of pleasure. But I couldn't let anyone hear us. This moment was for us, nothing and no one can ruin it. For the first time ever, I felt mentally, emotionally, and physically fulfilled. All I needed now was a sweet release.

"Jongdae~ I'm gonna cum," I said, holding back any loud whimpers or moans.

"Me too, love. Cum with me. Oh~ Now!"

I bit down on his shoulder while he buried his face in my pillow, muffling his growls and groans. My whole body tingled as I finished my orgasm. I became too weak to keep clenching around him, but his member had already started to soften deep inside me. We both took a moment to collect our selves. Jongdae rolled off of me and stared at the ceiling. I laid next to him, terrified that he would regret what we did.

“That... was amazing.” He said with a smile growing on his face. I sat up a little, turning to rest my head on his chest. He welcomed me into his arms right away, kissing the top of my head and I sighed in relief.

“My brother’s gonna be so-”

“Shhh, you don’t need to worry about that right now. I just want to have this moment for a while.” He snuggled me in closer and just like before, all my nerves went away.

THE END

[fuctacles]

A Life Full of Flavor

BakuKami Week 2018 Day 3

December 4th [Day 3]: Pro-heroes | Spicy | Fear 

Ship: Bakugou Katsuki/Kaminari Denki | Rating: T | Wordcount: 2717

Read on AO3

The day was sunny, bright and calm. It hurt Katsuki’s eyes as he was dragged down the muddy alleys to some unknown direction.

“You’ll like it there, trust me!” his captain had said and started leading him further and further into the pirate haven.

It’s been a few months since Katsuki started his life as a pirate. He wouldn’t admit it to anyone but he preffered it his previous tasteless one. Learning new stuff on calm days, breaking shit on stormy ones. He liked it. But there were some things he missed. Like showers or balanced breakfasts.

It was their first stop when they could use the money they gathered so far and somehow he let himself be dragged by his captain to what he claimed was “a promised land”.

Soon they stood in front of an inn that looked far different from what they’ve passed so far. It was build with actual bricks and didn’t look like it was about to collapse on them. When Chargebolt stepped inside Katsuki followed him with wariness.

The inside was even more striking. It was clean and didn’t smell like cheap rum and pee. It wasn’t crowded either and whoever Katsuki laid his eyes on was tipsy at worst.

Struck by the sudden change of the atmosphere he haven’t noticed his captain had already approached the counter and got a key that he dangled in front of Katsuki’s face as soon as he joined his side.

“I got us one room to share for some captain – quartermaster bonding time.”

“I don’t wanna bond with you,” Katsuki growled but he followed Chargebolt nevertheless. The corridor leading to their room was decorated with old mismatched tapestry and some random paintings. Bakugou would laugh at how pirates tried to imitate higher culture but being one of them now he was surprised they managed even this much.

The room turned out to be so much better. It had two queen sized beds, a fluffy carpet with a coffe table, and a small wardrobe. A big window was letting in warm sunlight, adding to the room’s inviting coziness.

Chargebolt flopped down on one of the beds, nuzzling into the pillows like he didn’t have even better ones on his ship. He waved in the direction of closed door.

“You can go first, I’ll order us some food,” he said, and Katsuki suspiciously followed his hand. He opened the door and nearly gasped at the sight.

“Shower…” he whispered in disbelief. Chargebolt chuckled behind him.

“Aren’t you happy to clean up after all this time on the ship?” He smiled knowingly which only made Bakugou shut the door behind him, muting his laugh.

He didn’t waste time and stripped down immediatelly. He stepped inside and turned the tap without even adjusting the water, welcoming the cold cascade on his bare shoulders, his eyes closed in pleasure. After a second of relishing the shower itself he went on to actually adjusting the water to his liking. When it was pleasantly hot he looked around and spotted a shelf full of soaps and bottles with labels in so many languages he couldn’t read some of them. There was still so much more world for him to see, so much to learn and discover. He grabbed the bottles and read all of the labels he could carefully so he could choose the scents and properties suited to his liking. He was glad to find something soothing for his sunburnt skin and scented with heavy spices.

He knew he had spend much more time in the shower than he would in his previous life but it was a given when he hasn’t seen one in half a year. He had never thought a simple shower would feel so good.

When he stepped out into the steamy bathroom, all its tiles wet with droplets, he found towels folded on a shelf. He dried himself off and wrapped one around his waist before grabbing his clothes and leaving the bathroom.

His captain looked up from a piece of paper, a glass of wine in his other hand. He smiled at the sight of him. Katsuki felt his eyes on his bare chest.

“I’ve already ordered. Wasn’t sure what you’d like so I got a bit of everything,” he said, pouring another glass of wine and handing it to him. Katsuki took it and sat down on his bed, dropping his clothes on the floor. At this point he had developed a weird kind of reluctant trust towards his captain so he drank the offered drink without second thought.

“I’ve also asked someone to get our clothes and clean them later,” Chargebolt have added, putting the glass down and starting to take off all of his earrings, signets and other jewelry. “Take the food when they bring it. And don’t bother dressing up,” he added, noticing Bakugou’s glance towards his clammy towel. “They’ve seen way worse things.” He smiled, dropping his belt and unbuttoning his t-shirt. “Mind my stuff,” he said just before taking off his pants. Bakugou averted his gaze as his captain undressed to add his clothes to their pile of laundry. Finally, he heard an amused chuckle and the sound of bathroom door closing.

Katsuki leaned back and after a second of thought poured himself another drink. The towel he was sitting in started to feel a bit unpleasant with all the water it absorbed but he didn’t want to take the service with no clothes on. He believed the reason his captain showed him this place was because he was more civilized than the rest of the crew. He didn’t want to ruin that impression. His knowledge already put him high in the rank with little time but he knew from experience it was easy to ruin one’s achievements by fucking up one or two social interactions.

He was halfway through the bottle and the first chapter of a book he found on the shelf when he heard a knock on the door. “Come in!” he yelled, eyeing the distance between him and his captain’s pistol.

He didn’t let his guard down before all the food was laid on an acceptably flat surface and their dirty clothes were taken. Only then did he look around at the various meals before him. Some of them he knew only from books and others he couldn’t even name. He grabbed some safely looking shrimps and while he was chewing one, the bathroom doors opened and he nearly choked seeing his captain butt naked.

It was not that he saw him like that for the first time. He learned quicky and harshly that pirates were ordinary and straight-forward, but he didn’t expect much from a bunch of men confined to a limited space in the middle of an ocean. This, however, was no such situation. There were only two of them and the room they shared. Adding the captain’s teasing personality and his ambiguous relationship with Riot, Bakugou didn’t know what to expect. He didn’t give a single shit about his captain’s preferences. He just didn’t know how he would react if he turned out to be one of them.

Chargebolt opened the wardrobe Bakugou didn’t pay much attention to before, and retrieved two pieces of silky fabric. He threw one at him.

“Here, you can change into it,” he said, while sliding on what appeared to be silky red robe. Somehow it seemed even less appropriate than his completely undressed state. Bakugou didn’t want to make a big deal out of this though so he stood up, letting his wet towel drop to the floor, and shrugged on the robe too. He tied it loosely around his waist and threw the towel on the wardrobe door to dry.

Meanwhile his captain sat down on the fluffy rug next to the short table most of the food was placed on.

“The bathroom smelt nice after you,” he informed, grabbing some kind of sandwich with a big chunk of weirdly shaped meat. He bit into it, motioning for him to join him on the floor. Katsuki was reluctant after the sentence he just heard though. Nevertheless his captain continued unfazed. “If you’re into spicy things, which honestly I thought you would so I ordered it, you should try this one,” he said, scooting to the plate near his bed where a bowl of steaming food was standing. He picked it up and offered it to Bakugou, who took it after a second of confusion.

Accepting his captain was a total nutcase, he sat down where he could lean on the back of the bed. That made them sit quite close to each other but it didn’t make him feel concerned. Yet.

He took a bite of the meal he recognized as curry, something he wanted to try but never had the chance too, and felt the pleasant burn of hot, spicy food he liked so much. He felt his captain’s gaze on himself but didn’t let it get to him. The good meal helped him with that.

That was until he was halfway the bowl and he heard a sniff right next to him. He looked to the side and saw the blond leaning in and honest to god sniffing him.

“With all due respect, captain, but what the fuck are you doing?”

“Smelling you,” his captain answered like it was nothing. “You smell kind of the same,” he noticed. Bakugou growled and put his hand on his face to push him away, but he persisted, pushing back into it. “I wanna try it,” he whined like he wasn’t one of the most feared pirates of the seven seas. Bakugou rolled his eyes and put the bowl in front of Chargebolt’s face. He looked kind of disappointed but Bakugou didn’t put much mind into it.

His captain took a bite of curry and stuck his tongue out almost immediately, giving him the bowl back. He also seemed to bite down a comment at the tip of his tongue, eyeing Bakugou intensely. He already knew he wouldn’t like where it was going even before the words escaped Chargebolt’s mouth.

“Do you taste the same though?”

“The fuck what now.” It was too much for him to process or even accent his response with appropriate anger or question.

“Can I taste you, Lord Explosion Murder?”

Bakugou felt his face grow hot both at the question itself and the use of nickname he came up with when he was trying to find a cool pirate name.

“What,” he barked out, getting defensive and leaning back while Chargebolt leaned in closer with a mischievous smirk.

“You heard me,” he said, smiling. “Just a lick, for comparison,” he added, but Bakugou was already moving away to the opposite side of table.

“Stay away, pervert,” he growled, curling into himself and digging back into his food. Chargebolt only shrugged, grabbing the bottle of wine and refilling their glasses.

But the idea of his captain’s tongue on him was already planted in Bakugou’s mind and it was taking dangerous turns whenever he stopped paying conscious attention to it. He kept thinking if he’d just lick his hand or rather get distracted by the opening of his robe and go for the collarbones, the neck. Or would he go further and reach his cheek, getting really close to his mouth and then-

“It will get cold, you know.”

Bakugou focused his gaze on the man in front of him, realizing he spaced out with the  spoon midway to his mouth. He pried the fantasy away, feeling his cheeks grow hot with the sudden awareness of the proximity with the man he just fantasized about and the knowing smile he was aiming at him.

He casted his gaze down, continuing eating and focusing on the food solely. As soon as he finished it there was another glass in his hand.

“From Mexico,” his captain explained. “Try it.”

“If you drug me I will kill you after,” he threatened, lifting the cup to his mouth.

“If I drugged you you would thank me. I know some pretty good stuff.” Chargebolt smiled at him and yet again he wasn’t sure if they were talking about drugs anymore.

The drink tasted like a liquid jalapeno and it was the best thing he has ever had in his mouth. He extended his glass for more which earned him a disgusted face but he was poured more anyway.

They dug into more food seasoned generously with stories of their lands of origins from Chargebolt who became only more talkative with each drink, his stories becoming less and less believable. Katsuki listened though, knowing him well enough by now to believe most of them.

“…and it was such a pity to crash their reception like that, so I asked him if he’d like to marry me instead. And that’s how I’m basically engaged with a Cuban prince,” he finished one of the stories, the words a bit slurred at the end.

“So you do swing that way?” Bakugou asked suddenly and thus realized he was more drunk than he had thought. The spice burning his throat completely covered the burn of alcohol so he had forgotten he was even drinking one. And even if he’d ask his captain about it sober, it would never be a slurred flurry of words stuck to each other.

His captain hummed, unaware of his sudden realization.

“’course I am,” he admitted just like that, which took Bakugou aback. “I mean, I’m on a closed space with a bunch of dudes and I have my needs. Or did you not notice my alone time with Riot?” He looked up while rising his glass to take a sip, looking him straight in the eye.

Bakugou did notice Riot. And him disappearing in his captain’s cabin for hours. Their captain, that is.still processing this, he nodded absentmindedly at the next question he hasn’t even heard. Chargebolt’s piercing gaze made him realize in delay he was just complimenting his lover.

“Are you jealous, grenade boy? I’m sure he would be interested and I can share,” he said, this dangerous tone back in his voice and Katsuki suddenly wanted to be far away from him, from this room, from the alcohol and their loose tongues. From the truth he was denying for months. “Or is it me that you’re jealous of?”

“Yes.”

They stared at each other, blinking owlishly and processing this one word that just appeared between them, both equally bewildered by it. Chargebolt huffed, putting his glass down.

“Oh.” He brushed his blond hair back with his fingers, biting down on his lip. Bakugou knew he wasn’t anticipating such response, that he expected more teasing and having an upper hand like the captain he was.

But not with him, and seeing his captain like this finally made his desires clear and his mind set on one goal, now involving alcohol flushed cheeks and bitten down lips. With the annoying teasing aside, he was now the one with control and he was going to use it to his liking.

“I-“ Chargebolt finally opened his mouth to say something, but Bakugou was already on him, scent of fruity soap and alcohol filling his nostrils. The captain’s eyes zeroed on his lips and that was all the invitation he needed before kissing him. His lips were softer than he had expected and he was very responsive which he anticipated. He raked his finger through the blonde hair while captain wrapped his arms around his neck, pulling him closer and deepening the kiss.

The taste of alcohol mixed on their tongues, making Katsuki feel intoxicated. He let his free hand roam and explore the expanses of his captain’s bare chest, which made the man sigh into his mouth and lean back, almost pulling them on the ground. And after a second of thought, Katsuki pushed him fuly down anyway.

Chargebolt looked up at him with a content smile, his fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck and his tongue licking the aftertaste of their kiss.

“You taste way better,” he concluded. Bakugou snorted at that and leaned back down to shut his stupid mouth with his own.

[kiruuuuu]

Making out like a Bandit Part 2/3

I’m sorry tumblr, I have failed you. My pie hole is a lie hole. I claimed this was only going to be 2 parts and then my need for filth inspiration ran away with me, as it usually does with fics that aren’t snippets. I promise it’ll stay 3 parts though and I’m almost done (and part 3 is pure smut so I hope that makes up for it). Also I finally have a title for this!

Enough rambling, here’s more Bandit/Jäger origin ❤ (Rating T/M, fluff slowly morphing into, uh, more, ~3.6k words)

.

Dom’s hand is in the nape of his neck.

Where before he already didn’t care about the game, now he’s absolutely unable to follow it even if he wanted to – his eyes stay open and fixed on the screen in front of them yet his mind is blissfully vacant, occupied only with the tactile sensation of gentle fingertips on his skin in one of his most sensitive places. He’s obsessing about not moving too much lest the hand disappears, controls his breathing very carefully until he almost becomes light-headed and is forced to take deeper breaths, and simultaneously fights the urge to stretch towards it, curl against it and even rub his cheek -

A thumb runs over his hairline, brushing over the short hairs and creating a tingling feeling that runs down his spine. Dom isn’t even aware of doing it, he’s happily chatting with his uncle about something while occasionally stopping when the ball approaches a goal. The last topic Marius remembers was former East Berlin and how the outskirts still don’t have proper sewage pipes though now one of them mentions something being delicious so he’s pretty sure they’ve moved on to something else by now. He clenches his teeth when ticklish touches turn into a light massage, digits digging into tense muscles and this is definitely the wrong moment to moan though he so desperately wants to.

It’s the second half of the game already, they took a small break at halftime and Marius almost laughed when his uncle offered Dom coffee instead of beer – his slightly formal attire and general politeness must have him thinking that Dom is nothing but a respectable citizen of higher standing than his nephew yet all Marius recalls is the scruffy, bleary-eyed dude Cedrick introduced to him. Then it registered that he’d be left alone with his fake boyfriend for the duration it takes to produce said coffee and he quickly fled to the bathroom; he didn’t want to be tempted once again, he wants to get this whole affair over with as cleanly as possible so he can go home, curl up in his bed and die of mortification.

When he returned, his plan was to sit down a reasonable distance away from Dom, ask his uncle a bit about the rest of their family, gossip about some of his colleagues as well as brag about his latest achievements but it got blown to smithereens straightaway because Dom pulled him against the long line of his body and the arm that’s been draped on the backrest folded so the hand could slide over Marius’ shoulder to the back of his neck and that’s how he got here, purring internally at the affectionate gesture that’s probably meant to be casual yet instead does something funny to Marius’ belly. The other two must notice that he’s being uncharacteristically quiet though he feels his uncle chalks it up to him allowing the two to get to know each other better, which is why he’s holding back. And Dom… Dom must think him an idiot who’s trying to not make an even bigger idiot out of himself.

Hopefully, neither of them suspect Marius is having a small mental breakdown. After all the stress of last week, he’s exhausted and content now, glad it’s over and even gladder his coming out went nothing short of fantastic though this means he’s giddy with relief, not to mention charged with new energy – and coupled with the fact that he’s so close to Dom he might as well be sitting in his lap, that he smells divine and… dear God now he’s stroking over that spot right under his ear and he involuntarily presses against the warm palm, tilts his head and freezes when the movements stop. There’s a short pause, Dom hesitates in the middle of his story before picking up again, and then fingers push into his short hair, dig into the base of his skull and drag over his scalp and the feeling is almost orgasmic.

His eyes threaten to slide shut so he bites the inside of his cheek, hard, trying not to telegraph all the lovely things Dom’s ministrations are doing to him, only then Dortmund scores the first goal of the otherwise mediocre match. This alone wouldn’t mean anything to him, he doesn’t have a preferred team, but Dom cares and so his hand glides lower in distraction, wraps around the back of Marius’ neck and squeezes, the touch decidedly possessive and dominant and this is when Marius notices all his blood flowing south. While the goal is being shown in slow motion from all possible angles, he excuses himself with a dry throat, gets up and walks into the kitchen without once looking back at Dom. He doesn’t need to make this any worse than it already is.

He fills a glass with tap water, downs it in one go and then exasperatedly addresses his own crotch under his breath: “Don’t do this to me. Not now. I’ll take care of you later, but just… don’t.” He’s hit with the sudden image of Dom using his lips instead of his hand and his half-hard dick gives a feeble, hopeful twitch. Barely, he resists the urge to pour another glass over his own head, forces himself to think of something, anything else and returns to the couch.

A minute later, Dom is gently playing with his earlobe. And that – that just isn’t -

He flees again.

.

It’s a vicious cycle. At first, he notices the motor stuttering, then, while he troubleshoots, he stumbles over one of the rotor blades being crooked, and the deeper he delves into the model, the more imperfections he spots, the more he wants to take it apart completely, fix it, improve it, modify it. His uncle noticed his knack for all kinds of machinery very early on and had no qualms about buying him expensive toys, knowing he’d take good care of them and use them to gather knowledge – this trend is still ongoing, sometimes his uncle visits flea markets and purposefully acquires broken toys just so Marius can piece them back together, restore them during one of his visits to keep his hands busy while they chat.

He never lost his taste for it and so he’s blissfully unaware of the world around him as he sits on the dirty floor of the garage, various components strewn around him and his old toolbox open next to him. Whenever he focuses on identifying the workings behind certain mechanisms and how pieces interlock, nothing else matters to him, therefore he’s rudely dragged back into the real world when he hears voices approaching. He left half an hour before the game was over, too charged and distracted to pay heed to anything else, took a short time to cool down and shake off the feeling that Dom knows exactly what he’s doing and is merely enjoying the attention.

As soon as they step into the garage, Dom ignores him in favour of the bike and enthusiastically expresses his adoration for anything motorcycle, granting Marius a longer grace period during which he can avoid talking to either of them. That is, until he hears the following: “Yeah, I actually have a Harley.”

His eyes snap up to the unfortunately still extremely attractive man. “You do?”, he asks, incredulous, because how come he never mentioned it before – he knows how much of a vehicle enthusiast Marius is, must’ve heard from Cedrick or gathered from their conversations… But that’s probably it, he might not have realised. This is definitely something that would’ve come up in a real relationship though, no doubt, it’s absolutely impossible he wouldn’t know. Is this what finally makes his throne of lies crumble right below his anxious ass?

“Oh”, says Dom and his expression tells him that he, too, is now aware of their gaffe. “Oh, I didn’t tell you? I did end up buying it from that dude with the…” He makes a vague gesture in front of his chest and Marius nods quickly, as if he knew what he was talking about. “It’s still in mint condition but I’ve barely tested it out yet.”

“Harleys have always been his favourites”, his uncle comments and judging by how cheery he looks, he doesn’t seem to have noticed they almost slipped up thanks to Dom smoothly covering for him. “Since he’s now obsessed with helis, I’m positive it’s because they’re equally as loud.”

Seems like the disaster is averted. The two of them share a secret glance and a half-hidden smile that has Marius’ heart pumping faster but they’re back in safe territory now. While he continues tinkering with the model chopper of which he’s now certain that it’s been purchased for his benefit only, Dom showcases his in-depth knowledge that even impresses Marius’ uncle – so that naturally, Marius decides to show off a little as well and explains in detail what exactly he’s doing to the poor toy and why. It feels slightly childish to boast in response but he has the sudden urge to prove himself somehow. However, Dom listens with genuine interest, making Marius feel sheepish about his pettiness, a notion that only increases the longer his uncle silently observes them, visibly amused.

And then Marius yawns. It’s a full-body yawn, complete with stretching his torso and tensing his legs, it’s eye-watering, satisfying and makes his jaw pop which leads him to a worrying question. “What time is it anyway?”

His uncle checks his wristwatch. “Just past midnight.” What. They’ve been here entirely too long, he promised Dom the whole thing wouldn’t take more than a few hours, definitely not the entire evening and even into the night – he needs to drive them back, too, drop him off at Cedrick’s and getting home will take even longer - “Honestly, isn’t it better if you both sleep here? It’s quite a drive at this hour.”

Panic settles firmly in Marius’ gut and makes itself comfortable: it’s there to stay. Because there is no way this is happening. “Thanks, but I don’t think -” He yawns once more and no, he’s probably not helping his case with this.

“I don’t have anywhere to be tomorrow morning”, Dom cuts in sweetly, all smiles, “and I don’t recall you do. Also, with how you’ve been driving lately, I’d rather not take any chances.”

The smug bastard. Marius glares at him and desperately tries to come up with a different excuse, any sensible reason why they shouldn’t stay yet his own conscience is working against him, whispering scenarios into his ears that are as scorchingly hot as they are improbable and he’s done this. He’s had guys “forget” the time the last bus for the night leaves, he’s spent the night next to ones who were completely ignorant and all of them were straight and he allowed some of them to take advantage of his desperation and though he keeps telling himself he’s better than this and deserves more, he’s deadly curious to see how many pieces of clothing Dom will remove to sleep, whether he’s going to continue his teasing and, if so, how far he’ll go. Even if all he gets is a half-hearted hand job after blowing him for an hour it’ll be worth it because after all those electrifying touches earlier he’s dying to get his hands on Dom.

And so, he agrees. Reluctantly and with the suspicion he’s ultimately going to regret it, but he agrees.

.

“Is this your old room?”, Dom asks as soon as Marius has closed the door behind him and lowers his voice at an indication to be quieter: “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. You are a giant nerd.”

This is a detail Marius has conveniently forgotten. Even if there was a way to explain the extremely detailed rendition of the solar system painted on the wall (of which he’s still proud, thank you very much, and Pluto is his personal favourite), his extensive collection of famous cars, motorcycles and space ships recreated with Lego blocks is harder to justify. “Look”, he begins, intending to defend himself until he notices how tired he is of making excuses for the things he likes just because someone he admires might think them odd. He’s done enough of that. “Let’s just – let’s just sleep, alright?”

Dom looks at the queen-size bed and shrugs. “Sure. I just thought we could -” Marius puts his finger to his lips again. “What is it, is your uncle’s room right next to yours?” He nods and Dom’s eyebrows lift considerably. “Well, I hope that doesn’t get too inconvenient.” He starts unbuttoning his shirt and suddenly it’s a conscious effort to hold his gaze instead of letting it drop to the toned chest he’s slowly revealing. Marius’ throat goes dry because where he was worrying about his coolness factor just a minute ago, now he’s worrying about his soon-to-manifest boner being visible through his jeans.

“What do you mean?”, he wants to know absent-mindedly.

“I thought that I’m being pretty obvious, to be honest”, comes the enigmatic reply that remains a mystery up to the point where Dom has removed his shirt, exposing his pronounced muscles, and now opens his trousers and ah.

Alright.

So he really is one of those guys.

Marius loses it. If he’d asked politely, if he’d waited until they were in bed and had turned off the light so they can both pretend it never happened the next day, if he’d made a suggestion, sure, it would’ve been fine – well, not fine, not really, Marius would still beat himself up over it, but he would’ve complied without protest because Dom has been exceedingly pleasant all day, not to mention drool worthy. And no, it’s worse than that, he’s been actually nice. Seriously likeable, Marius liked him and was considering trying to stay in contact despite the fact that he made a total idiot out of himself and that’s saying something. Usually he tries to distance himself from people who’s seen him at his worst.

Yeah. He’s not doing this.

“No”, he hisses quietly and some of his ire must bleed into his intonation since Dom halts and looks up at him, alarmed, “no. I’ll tell you what we’re going to do: we’re going to go to sleep, get up in the morning and drive home and that is it. I’m sick of straight guys like you acting like you’re entitled to a blow job just because you’ve helped a gay dude out or because you happen to be super hot. It doesn’t mean I want to fuck you and it certainly doesn’t mean you’re doing me a favour. You want to sleep here so badly? Sure. But I swear, if you touch me or try anything else, you’re sleeping on the floor.”

Dom seems thunderstruck by his outburst which doesn’t surprise Marius – he doesn’t expect he gets called out on his bullshit a lot, probably is used to getting his way. Filled with righteous fury, he moves around him, pulls the thin blanket off his bed that his uncle keeps there so the sheets don’t collect dust, switches the bedside lamp on and the overhead one off, sheds his jeans in preparation for sleep and enters the adjacent bathroom to brush his teeth. Calling it a bathroom is an exaggeration, it’s hardly more than a toilet as well as a washbasin embedded in a shelf yet as a forever-horny teenager or an adolescent who sometimes had “sleepovers” with his “guy friends”, it was a godsend and facilitated cleaning up immensely. Grimly determined not to let Dom’s incredulity get to him, he angrily attacks his mouth with the coarse bristles.

There’s movement behind him, he can see it in the mirror, and when Dom appears in the door frame, leans against it and crosses his arms, he’s donned his open shirt again and his jeans are buttoned up. He looks… soft, is probably a good word to describe him, sympathetic yet not apologetic for some reason, his expression gentle and his eyes attentive where they meet Marius’ in the mirror. “I’m not straight”, he says, careful not to be too loud. Marius’ brows draw together. He knows Dom isn’t gay, Cedrick mentioned an ex-girlfriend and - “I’m bi.”

Marius’ hand stills.

“When my parents caught wind of it, they threw me out”, he adds and it’s like a punch to the gut.

“Shit”, he replies around a mouth full of toothpaste and means it. Dom sounds sincere. It changes everything, puts everything he did today in a completely new light and Marius hasn’t felt this terrible in a long, long while. To buy himself some time, he spits, rinses his mouth and wipes it with one of the fresh towels his uncle gave them before he dares facing Dom once more. “What about Cedrick?”

A shrug, then a bitter smile. “He doesn’t care. He’s just lucky he never got caught.”

“I’m sorry. Really, I’m -”

“You had nothing to do with it.”

“No, for what I said. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…” He trails off because both of them know he did mean it yet was missing vital pieces of information.

“It’s fine. You obviously didn’t know.” He’s about to object – it’s not a good enough excuse for assuming so much – but Dom asks: “Does that happen to you often? People taking advantage of you?”

Marius nods hesitantly. “I let them. It’s my fault, too.”

“I’ll sleep on the couch. We can tell your uncle I snore or steal the blanket or something.”

This – this is an earnest suggestion, no, even more: he’s not leaving the decision to Marius who basically just admitted to sometimes not being able to decide things in his own favour, Dom is resolving this himself to avoid creating any discomfort. Together with his other revelations, it’s too much. He accompanied Marius without even knowing him, offered him help that was denied to himself when he faced a similar situation, he played along voluntarily, saved his ass, merely assumed there was a mutual attraction based on Marius’ reactions to him (with which he was spot-on) and now he’s giving up the comfort of a proper bed and a warm body next to him purely so Marius doesn’t get the chance to hurt himself.

Dom readily wraps his arms around Marius’ shoulders when he sinks against him, pulls him close and tightens the embrace as Marius takes a deep breath. For a moment, it’s just that: a comforting hug. Dom’s solid body and his warmth calm him down and he hopes it goes both ways because if someone deserves to feel cosy, it’s definitely Dom. “Thank you”, he tells him, murmurs it over his shoulder and as a response, a hand buries itself in his hair and is about to massage him back into a catatonic state of bliss when he adds: “I don’t want you to sleep on the sofa, though.”

There’s a pause, then Dom withdraws slightly to look at him directly and the question is on the tip of his tongue, Marius can sense it, he’ll want to know whether he’s sure, whether he’s serious, whether he’s thought about it, and instead of allowing it to fill the space between them with doubt, he decides to lick it off. He locks their lips, slides his over Dom’s and is met with instant enthusiasm, making him stumble backwards until he hits the shelf. They kiss with all the desperation of lovers filled with longing after external circumstances have kept them apart for entirely too long, Dom steals his breath and his balance away, and he’s delighted to find out that, additionally to all the other things Dom is ridiculously skilled at, he’s also a fantastic kisser.

When they break apart with swollen lips and half-lidded eyes, Marius’ head is swimming. “So”, Dom addresses him with a small smirk, “you think I’m super hot, hm?”

It takes him a second to process the remark before he huffs a laugh. “That’s what you took away from my completely uncalled-for rage speech?”

“Just so you know”, Dom mumbles between kisses, “I think you’re gorgeous”, a lick over his upper lip, “and smart”, a short suck on his lower one, “and disgustingly sweet regardless.” They’re both chuckling now, threatening to be too loud once more, and when Dom moans into his mouth, he shushes him not for the first time, making a reckless glint appear in the dark brown eyes. “You know, that’s actually turning me on. A lot.”

“What, that we have to be quiet?” Dom nods and this concession abruptly reminds Marius of the fact that his own arousal has started to pool in his lower half a while ago, a direct response to the making out and just Dom in general. He’s a feast for every single one of Marius’ senses, experiencing him is a dangerous, dizzying affair of which he won’t be able to get enough. “I want you too, but I don’t think I have anything -”

“I do.” He grins, embarrassed, when Marius just looks at him. “Hey, I don’t know if you know this, but you’re really cute. A man can hope.”

[inyri]

Equivalent Exchange (a SWTOR story)- Chapter Thirty: Power

Equivalent Exchange by inyri

Fandom: Star Wars: The Old Republic Characters: Female Imperial Agent (Cipher Nine)/Theron Shan Rating: E (this chapter: M.) Summary: If one wishes to gain something, one must offer something of equal value. In spycraft, it’s easy. Applying it to a relationship is another matter entirely. F!Agent/Theron Shan. (Spoilers for Shadow of Revan and Knights of the Fallen Empire.)

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Power

“Well, she didn’t say no.” Nine spins around in her chair as the call disconnects, turning back to Lana and Theron still sitting on the couch. “Not that I fault her lack of enthusiasm. We are going to blow the roof off the place, after all.”

Theron shrugs. “It’s Nar Shaddaa, and we’ll be thirty floors up from the access point. Hook up some backup generators and I doubt anyone’ll notice beyond the power flicker.”

“We’ll work out the details once we’re there. Lana, you’re still all right with leading the drop team? I’ve got a feeling you’ll work better with Veeroa and her people than Theron.”

“You’re not wrong,” Lana says, attention still on the datapad on her lap. “Korriban taught her all its worst lessons, but I’m quite familiar with the type. Properly aimed, she’ll be useful. You’re sure we can trust this Sia’hla, though?”

She stands up, licking her lips. Her throat’s dry from so much talking; she could use a drink. “I’m sure. We go back a long way, she and I.”

“Is this her- with you?” When Lana holds up the datapad she can’t really see it at this distance, takes a few steps toward the couch as Theron turns his head to look and-

Oh, Void, that got on to the Holonet?

“Years and years ago, but yes. She’s a dancer, though I assume she’s largely retired now if she’s running her own place,” she says, watching herself on the little screen, the two of them draped artfully over each other, spinning circles around the pole in the center of the stage. Was she really ever that young? That was- oh, stars, that was right before Hunter. “She knew what I was- it was unavoidable, given how we met. I’d use her as a reference for undercover work, like here.” She points at the audience, sitting in shadow. “That Devaronian in the front row was about two hours away from the business end of my knife.”

“You had way more fun on the job than I used to,” Theron murmurs. “Ex of yours, I’m guessing?”

“What? No. That would have been- she would have felt obligated. The last thing she needed back then was someone else taking advantage of her.”

Both of them raise eyebrows at that, but Theron’s the only one who responds. “You know I don’t care, right? It was just a question.”

“I know.”

(They’ve been honest with each other on that front. Not in detail- neither of them were much for jealousy and that sort of comparison was vulgar, frankly; she may be many things but vulgar isn’t one- but what’s the point in lying? It’s all in the past, in any case.)

“What kind of leverage do you have on her?” Lana sets the pad down on the table. “She kept your identity secret this long, apparently, but if she goes running to the Hutts- or worse, the Zakuulans-”

“It’s not as though she’s sitting there with my dossier in hand. She never even knew my real name- stars, Kaliyo never even knew my real name. We always used aliases, even back then. But she’s not going to nark on us.”  

Rubbing her temples, Lana leans back into the cushions. “I know she’s a friend, Nine-”

“Force, I thought I was paranoid.” She perches on the back of the couch, just in between them, as Theron nods agreement and she nudges her elbow lightly into his neck; he makes a face at her. “She won’t. Trust me.”

“You’re that certain?”

She sighs. “Did your family have slaves, Lana? When you were a child, before you went to Korriban?”

“Droids, mostly. But yes, a few- though I don’t really remember them. I had a nanny. She was the one who told my parents when she found me floating my schoolbooks across the room to my desk.” Lana lowers her hands. “Why?”

“What about later?”

“I was a research strategist, Nine, before I was Arkous’ advisor- hardly wealthy. And even if I could have afforded slaves, do you honestly think I would have wanted them?”

With a tilt of her head, she tucks her feet up beneath her, carefully balanced, while Theron shifts his silent attention back and forth between them. “No, I suppose not. But your masters all had them, and their masters.”

“Yes, they did. All of them. It was just-” Lana pauses, glances down and then back up, chewing on her lower lip. “The system was what it was. You know that better than most.”

“Oh, I know. Believe me, I know- and all bought from Hutt space, of course. One can’t simply force the conquered into servitude any longer, so we have the syndicates to do our dirty work for us. Have you ever visited the slave market on Nar Shaddaa?”

Theron makes a noise, low and angry in his throat- he’s been there, then- but Lana only shakes her head. “No. Never. What’s your point?”

“I spent a lot of time there-” she turns a little more toward her- “in the early years of my career. No monitoring permitted, so it was one of the best places to work a first meeting with an informant assuming you don’t mind watching crying children being sold for the cost of a decent meal.”

Lana shifts, uneasy, as her hands curl into tight fists.

“Sia’hla was a slave when I met her. Belan, her owner, ran a cantina-slash-whorehouse as a front for the Hutt cartel, but he’d been feeding us intel on the side for years. I took over as his handler on my first tour there- back before I was made Cipher.” She remembers that posting far too well; those were memories she would have gladly let the Empire take if they had wanted them. “He was scum. I’d have put a round through his head if it were up to me, but my orders were to keep him talking.”

“I had a few contacts like that,” Theron says quietly, “down in the undercity. Lots of things that are illegal in Republic space get a little less so when you stop seeing daylight.”

She looks toward him for a moment, a tiny little nod. “And Sia was his favorite, which just meant that he used her by turns as a dancer, a bedslave and a punching bag depending on his mood. The bruises were fairly hard to miss.”

“She shot him, she said? Sounds like he more than deserved it.” Theron again. Lana’s still silent, still listening.

“He got greedy- started skimming credits off our take, and unlike my predecessor I actually audited his books. When I showed up at his place to call him out on it I think he knew what was coming. He was beating the shit out of her, and I couldn’t-” she frowns. She had, though. All of them had, over and over again, all pretending one good deed could somehow make up for thousands of old sins- “I couldn’t just stand there and watch her die. I pulled him off, but he hit me with a stunner and I woke up an hour later in a cell, collared, bound, and bleeding.”

Theron’s hand rests against her back, a small comfort; she leans into his touch.

Lip curling into a scowl, Lana finally speaks. “Did he really think he’d get away with it? Greed’s one thing, but trying to sell an Imperial agent into slavery? He wouldn’t have survived the week.”

“I don’t know whether he planned to sell me or just have a bit of sport and then kill me, but thankfully I didn’t have to find out. When I missed my check-in with Kaliyo she came searching. She found him with a hole through his back and Sia, shaking like a leaf, holding my rifle.”

“Good for her.”

“I paid out her contract on the spot with the money we were going to recoup from him. I bought all of their contracts, all ten of his girls. ‘liyo and I pulled the collars off their necks and got them the fuck out of that place. The oldest one was twenty, I think. Sia’hla was seventeen.” She pushes up off the couch, back onto her feet, restless, needing to pace, to drown out the memory of their fear with the sounds of her footsteps. She’d given them the rest of the money, too- her handler’d been pissed and it wasn’t enough, not by a long shot, but what more could she have done? Taking them back to the Empire would have gotten them all sold again at best and shot at worst. “She’d worn that collar since she was eleven years old. She still has the scars from it under that expensive dress you just saw. And you know why she finally worked up the nerve to turn on him?”

Lana closes her eyes, presses her fingertips to the bridge of her nose. “Because you made him stop.”

“Because I made him stop. Because I was the only one, out of every single person who set foot in that place, who ever did. So my point, since you asked, is that we can trust her. It’s got nothing to do with leverage. It’s-”

She stops, then, in the middle of the room. Theron’s watching her with something like pride in his eyes when Lana lets her hands fall and rises, stepping around the edge of the sitting area to meet her where she stands.

“Yes,” Lana says, “I understand. I’ll let Veeroa know we’re ready to move. When do you want to leave?”

“Tomorrow morning. I’ve still got an apartment there we can use as a staging area and we’ll take Nightshrike. It’ll only be five of us traveling: Theron climbing with me, you with the topside team, Kaliyo on demolitions and for slicing- Tee-Seven, I suppose? SCORPIO’s still on that Gravestone project. That’ll leave Senya and Koth-” typing a quick message on her comm while she talks, she sends it on its way to both of them- “to take over command duties while we’re gone, and they’ll need a briefing. And I ought to eat something at some point, but-”

“I’ll grab food and meet you in the War Room.” Theron hops over the back of the couch. He never did like to go the long way ‘round. “And caf, yeah?”

“And caf. See you there.”

He taps at the door panel, barely waiting for it to open before he’s gone into the hallway.

“Can I ask you a strange question, Nine?” Lana’s datapad’s still sitting on the table and she leans far across to retrieve it, looking down at the screen again. When she cranes her neck to look, too, the video’s paused; in that frozen moment the two of them are turned in profile to the camera, backs arched until her hair and Sia’hla’s lekku brush the stage floor, held upright only by the counterweight of their bodies wound around each other. “All that horror- and she stayed on Nar Shaddaa, dancing. Why didn’t she leave?”

“I asked her that, too… it was what she knew how to do, she said. At first it was- therapeutic. Familiar. I didn’t quite understand it at the time but it seemed to keep her calm, so-” she shrugs. She understands it now, of course. Oh, Void, does she understand it now. “And she was good at it. We made ten thousand credits in tips on that dance alone, but that wasn’t even the point. Every eye in that room was on her. In that world, that’s power, and you hold on to power when you find it.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“You’re Sith. Of course you don’t.”

Lana frowns. “That’s unfair, Nine. You honestly think that being Sith means I don’t know what it means to be afraid? To feel powerless?”

“Not afraid. We all know afraid. But powerless... you could bounce me off the ceiling with a wave of your hand, Lana. You could have called me into your office five years ago and lopped my head off and not a single person there would dare meet your eye- the only question you’d have been asked was who was going to get my job. Call it relative, if you like, but compared to the rest of us you started out a hundred paces ahead.” She reaches out toward the screen. “A thousand ahead of someone like her.”

“Is that what you want, too? Power?”

(For a moment the world goes still and silent and she can feel Valkorion in the back of head, a dull throb that reminds her of nothing so much as the impatient tap tap tap of a finger on a tabletop, waiting, waiting-

Is it?)

When she blinks he’s gone.

“Back then I would have said yes.”

“What about now?”

“Power’s only useful when you’re playing the game,” she says, “and I’m so tired of games. But I don’t have much choice, do I?”

Lana tucks the datapad away and, wordless, rests her other hand carefully on her shoulder. At first she thinks she’s trying to read her, but no- there’s nothing, not even a whisper of pressure, only silence. They’ve never been very good at apologizing, her or Lana; sometimes the quiet’s as close as they get.

She understands, though. None of them had a choice this time around, not when the other options were yield or die.

“Did you ever think about what you’d do when you retired?” Changing the subject, letting her go, Lana starts to move toward the door. They’ve got meetings, still, and packing and planning, before the morning comes. “Before all this happened, I mean."

“Not really, no. I always assumed I wouldn’t live that long.”

***

She’ll need to do some shopping once they get to Nar Shaddaa, but by half past one in the morning her bag is packed and ready and she sets it by the door. Time to sleep, then. With any luck she’ll manage four or five hours before their planned departure.

Twenty minutes later she sits up in bed, sweating and shaky, gasping for breath.

Only a dream, she tells herself. It was only a dream.

When she tries to settle herself, though, closing her eyes again, she’s right back in the moment: her fingernails scrabbling desperately on gloved hands as they tighten, digging into her exposed throat- this was supposed to be a training exercise i haven’t even got a weapon oh i can’t breathe it hurts i can’t - and she does the only thing she can, whips her head back hard until she feels something behind her give way with a sharp crunch and-

She throws off the blankets and springs out of bed.

“Fuck off, old man.” Her voice comes out a rasp in the darkness. “I’ve lived through worse than you. If you really want me to let you help, you need to work on your people skills.”

Valkorion doesn’t respond.

Rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand, she stoops to pick up her shirt and trousers from the floor, dresses quickly, steps into her shoes. No sleep? Fine. She’ll get some more caf and read through the operational plan again. May as well do something useful.

The lower living quarters are quiet when she steps off the lift, doors shut and lights dimmed; she pads softly down the hallway toward the mess, finding that similarly empty save a few guards eating before morning watch begins. Nodding to them, she searches the shelf for an empty carafe- forget cups, she’s going to need more than that- and fills it to the brim.

She makes it halfway back down the corridor before a door slides open behind her. She turns out of reflex, looking back over her shoulder as a shadow-outlined figure leans against the doorframe-

“I thought you were going to sleep,” Theron says, barefoot in sleeping clothes, frowning down at her hands still clutching the carafe. “That doesn’t look like sleeping to me.”

“Yes, well-” still hoarse. So much for just a dream. She clears her throat, once and then again- “someone had other ideas. I’ll nap tomorrow.”

He sighs. “Another nightmare?”

“Another memory. A very old one. And I thought you were going to sleep.”

“I’ve been packing.” He gestures back toward his room. “But I might need to shop when we get there. I forgot my only other jacket’s got a hole through it, and I’m pretty sure you’re not going to let me wear my red one.”

She smiles a little, trying not to laugh. He never did like armor, but stars, the man’s attached to that damned thing. “You would be correct. We’ll go together- I need to pick up a couple of things, too.”

“Okay. But back to my original point: you need to sleep. You look-” a pause. Whatever he was going to say, he thought better of it. Instead, he takes her by the wrist and pulls her gently through the doorway; she doesn’t resist. “It didn’t seem this bad the last few nights.”

“It wasn’t. A few nightmares, but-”

Compared to the corridor his room’s so bright, the lights still on and his bag sitting half-full on his still-made bed, and she has to squint against the glare. When she can see properly again, Theron’s staring at her, mouth half-open.

“What the hell?” He lets go of her arm, raises his fingertips to her throat as she pulls away reflexively. “Your neck-”

“What are you talking about?”

These rooms really are small- she’s spent so little time in his quarters, or Lana’s, that she’s never realized it before, but it only takes them three steps to make it across to the ‘fresher cubicle and he slides the door open, turns her to face the mirror above the sink and-

She blanches and that only makes the bruises stand out more, two handprints fanned out in livid purple on her skin, and when she lifts her own hand to the marks they match, precise, down to the shallow scratches left by her nails.

(For a moment she isn’t sure if that’s better or worse.

Worse, she thinks.)

“It was a dream,” she whispers. “It was-”

He takes the caf pot from her grip, sets it down on the sink and then wraps both arms around her, just holding on tight.

“We should talk to Lana. Or Senya, or somebody- but this is crazy, Nine. I didn’t think he could do this.”

“Let them rest, for now. A few hours won’t matter.” Eyes closed, she sags back against him, fatigue finally crashing over her like so many waves. “I doubt there’s anything we can do, in any case.”

“There has to be something.” He turns her around and she rises onto tiptoes as he lifts her, her head resting on his shoulder, his arms around her waist. “You can’t not sleep.”

No, she supposes she can’t.

A few steps take them back out into the little room; Theron sets her down on the bed. Shoving a few pieces of kit into his bag before he digs into a side pocket, he moves it onto the floor and then sits, too, flipping the cap off a tube of bacta gel with a loud click. “Let’s at least get something on those bruises.”

“I’m fine.” It’s a lie, of course, and he knows it as well as she does- he doesn’t even say anything, just coats both palms in the gel and starts to work it slowly into her skin, careful not to use both hands at once, careful not to curl too tightly around her neck. Even so she has to fight her instincts, forcing herself to stay still, to not push him away.

He’s helping. He’s helping.

She breathes.

“That should help a little.” The last of the bacta absorbed into the bruises, Theron wipes his hands on the blanket as the tightness in her throat eases. “You want me to walk you back up to your room?”

Instead of answering she flops over backward, staring up at the ceiling. “After Corellia,” she says, counting the tiles above their heads- one, two, three, four. She used to do the same thing in her cabin. It had twenty-five and one-third tiles in four rows, wall to wall, an imprecision that always irritated her- “I had nightmares for months. Lokin made me take medication so I’d sleep. I hated it… have you ever used ryll?”

He nods, hand on her hair, smoothing it down with gentle strokes. “Once, when I was a lot younger. Didn’t agree with me.”

“Me either. The meds made me feel the same way- slow, stupid, half-floating. Like me, with all the edges filed off. But I didn’t dream.”

“That doesn’t sound like an answer,” Theron says.

More tiles- five, six, seven. She keeps counting; there’s a false sort of peace in mindless tasks, but a false peace is better than nothing. “It’s a bad answer. But if he can get to me that easily when I’m dreaming-”

“We’ll find another way.”  

“Maybe.”

“We will. C’mere.” He slips one arm beneath her shoulders, lifting her slightly until he can slide into the space between her head and the wall. “He wants at you, he’s going to have to get through me first.”

She thinks of Ziost, then, and flinches. “Don’t say that. He’ll get ideas. And I should get up- people will talk come morning, if-”

“Let ‘em.”

“You say that now.”

Despite his caution his knee nudges into her upper back and she shifts position as he mumbles an apology. “Pretty sure we’re not breaking any rules, are we?”

“No. But-”

Theron takes one of her hands in his, presses his mouth against the back of it, a kiss and a guidance both, pulling her up and along the bed. “Don’t worry about them, okay? Just try to sleep. If you start thrashing around too much, I’ll wake up and shake you out of it.”

“So neither of us sleep? That’s not much of an answer, either.”

“You didn’t dream as much the last few nights, right? It’s better than nothing.”

“True.” Theron’s settled back onto the bed, wedging pillows behind him; she curls her knees into her body, turning, until she’s stretched out beside him with her head against his chest. “Although I think I like my bed better.”

“More room, definitely. If you want, we can still go-”

She closes her eyes. “No. This is good.”

***

(The rest of the night passes, lulled into sleep by the rhythm of their breathing and the sound of his heart, and she does not dream.

It’s something.)

***

They’re a day out from landing- not that it matters, with an entire file full of false identities he can use; it’s not like any of them will be clearing customs with their real names- when she finally remembers to ask.

“So.” She spins around in the copilot’s chair, turning toward him, hands folded in her lap. “Theron, what exactly did you do to get yourself barred from Nar Shaddaa?”

He looks up from plotting their last few jumps with a shrug and a teasing grin. “Guess.”

“Public nudity- no, done that one, doesn’t merit a ban. Tried to carve a chunk out of Karagga’s statue?”

“Gold’s not my color,” he says. “Try again.”

“Sliced the slot machines at Club Vertica?”

Theron yawns. “There are way easier ways to make money that don’t involve getting your kneecaps broken by a very large Gamorrean. Nope.”

“Frankly, I’ve got no idea.” She stretches out one leg, taps the toe of her shoe against his thigh until he grabs at her foot, pinning it against the arm of the chair. “I’ve broken about every law on that trash heap of a moon, which is to say all three of them, and the most I ever had to do was send a gift basket full of credits. Tell me.”

“It’s way more fun making you guess.”

“I hate guessing-games.”

He tugs at one end of her shoelace. “Public nudity? Really?”

“It made for a very memorable alibi. I’m not ticklish, by the way, so don’t get any ideas.” That makes him stop, knot halfway undone, and she winks.

“You really want to know?” Abandoning the shoelace, he wraps his hand around her ankle, runs his thumb along the curve of her calf instead.

“I’m also-” she stretches out her other leg, batting at his hand- “not that easily distracted. Tell me.”

“Back in the SIS we used to swap ident cards sometime- it was easier to remember a name you knew, so we’d just transpose pictures. If someone got caught, you could prove you were off-planet pretty easily- the card must be a forgery, right? Give another false card as backup and everyone gets out easy.”

She tilts her head. Makes sense, but- “Your excuse is that someone else got busted using your ident as a cover?”

“I’ve been running on fakes since I left the SIS, so I didn’t even realize it’d happened until the other week. I was checking how much damage my fath-” he catches himself- “Jace had done to my clearances when it came up on the report.”

“Do you know who it was?”

Theron rolls his eyes. “Three guesses.”

“That little shit.” The minute he said it she knew exactly who it had to be- she doesn’t know that many other SIS agents by name and most of the ones she did are ones she’s killed- and when he grins she knows she’s right.

“It was a couple years ago, to be fair. Everyone was running scared back then, even after the surrender, and I’d already split for Wild Space. I can’t blame him that much.”

He does have a point. “Okay, then, what did Balkar do to get you kicked out of Hutt Space?”

“Vandalism.”

“No, seriously. What did he-” she flicks her feet again, perched on the edge of her chair, spanning the gap between them, and then yelps as he reaches forward off his seat and grabs her behind both knees. She pushes off, launching herself across, laughing, and when she lands on him he’s laughing, too.

“When you crash a pleasure barge into a moon,” Theron says, muffled against her chest, “apparently they consider that vandalism.”

***

Their first day on Nar Shaddaa is a surprise in three ways.

Her apartment’s untouched, first of all, her clothes still in the closets and even the maintenance droid still waiting patiently at the front entrance when they all pile out of the hovercab. She hadn’t expected that. She wasn’t paying rent on it, granted (the benefits of winning one’s housing), and the paperwork was under an alias- one couldn’t exactly sign contracts as Cipher Nine and not expect to attract attention- but she thought someone would have noticed she hadn’t set foot in the place in years.

It’s wartime, though. There must be a great many apartments sitting empty nowadays.

Second, Theron’s far less fussy than she’d thought he’d be when they go shopping. He draws the line at a printed shirt, but she talks him into new trousers, shirts and, miracle of miracles, a sleek black jacket.

(“I don’t even look like myself,” he says, turning in front of the mirror. “Are you sure about this one?”

“That’s rather the point.” She considers a moment, then turns to the salesgirl. “Though I’d go a size down on the jacket, don’t you think? Oversized seems to be the style, but-”

She could roll the girl’s tongue back up into her mouth, probably. Quite right- he looks delicious in proper clothing. “Oh, yes. That one’s definitely too big. Let me check in back.”)

It doesn’t take her long to dress for the evening. Half her old outfits will have to go, of course;  the saber scar makes that much clear. But most of them still fit, and after a few minutes she’s doing up the back of a high-necked minidress and slipping her feet into her second-favorite pair of heels.

“If you’re not wearing that blue one,” Kaliyo says from across the room, “can I have it?"

She throws it backward over her shoulder. “All yours, if you think it’ll still fit you. It’s been a while since you’ve borrowed my clothes.”

“It got over that ass of yours. It’ll work just fine on me.” Kaliyo snaps back, teasing, and it’s just like the old days for a second; she smiles to herself as she pulls a pair of earrings out of their box. “Come zip me, yeah?”

Lana speaks up from somewhere deep inside the larger closet. “I still don’t see why I have to change at all. My robes are fine.”

“For a nightclub? We’re walking in the front door: we’ve got to blend in. What would you normally wear?”

“You say that as though you’re assuming I normally go out. It’s a planning meeting tonight, not a party.” Accompanied by the sound of hangers clattering, she can barely see yellow eyes behind a row of dresses. “Don’t you own any trousers, Nine?”

“Of course I own trousers. Look to your left.” She points for emphasis.

More clattering, rather a lot of hopping, and a disgusted sigh- “How do you even- ugh. Never mind. Hold on.”

Kaliyo’s standing in front of the mirror on the far side of the room, the dress hanging loose around her chest until Nine goes across to her, drawing the zipper up along her spine. “If you want us to pick something out for you-”

“Oh, honestly. I can dress myself.” Lana steps out from between the shelves, and-

“Well, damn.” Kaliyo whistles. “Look at the legs on you, Beniko.”

Now that’s a surprise.

Rolling her eyes, a pair of shoes dangling from her fingertips, Lana gestures toward the door. “We’re going to be late. Let’s go.”

***

Author's Note: Another one gone to weird places on me, hence the change of title.

A difficult few weeks, life-wise, and some of that probably bled in here. Hopefully back in the groove now for the next chapter?

[angelkurenai]

Imagine getting trapped in an elevator with Dean, your new neighbor.

“What was that?” your breath got caught in your throat and your eyes widened as the lights flickered and the elevator came to a halt “We're not on our floor yet, are we?” you mumbled taking a look to see that you somewhere between the second and third floor. If you were alone in the elevator you would have freaked out even worse but the fact that there was a man next to you, you felt less scared. Maybe things weren't as bad as you thought and at least you weren't alone.

“Doesn't seem like that to me.” the man mumbled, taking a look himself. He extended a hand and pressed on the right button but it didn't do a thing.

“What- what is going on?” you struggled to swallow properly and Dean noticed.

“I dont want to scare you but- we seem to be stuck.” he sighed, running a hand down his face and you almost felt your heart drop.

“No, no we can't be stuck. We- we can't. It's- we're not-” his words seemed to make things worse as your knees started shaking and they almost gave away. You were sure you would have found the floor if it wasnt for a pair of strong hands gripping you and holding you.

“Whoa whoa, easy. Take it easy.” his voice was rough but somehow soothing enough. You looked up to meet a pair of green eyes that you could get lost in if you stared at for any longer but at the moment you were too scared to care.

“It's ok, it's going to be alright.” he said, rubbing yoru arm with his hand “We're going to be alright.” you tried to give him a nod but you were too frozen with fear, and you had to thank you best friend for all the movies you had seen the previous days that gave you plenty of ideas on how you could die in this small place.

“How do you know that?” you asked in a low voice, almost squeaky and and scared. Yeah, not almost really.

“Well, if it was my brother here, he'd say because I am a smartass that claims to know it all when he is the nerd really but-” he chuckled and without realizing it a small smile lifted at the corners of your lips. His laugh seemed contagious and when he saw you relax he grinned that boyish smile that made your knees even weaker.

You knew you were getting distracted but at the moment you needed it and if it was by your gorgeous stranger you were willing to take it. You had not noticed It before but truth was that he was really handsome. Strong jaw, full lips and dirty bold hair that you were tempted to run your fingers through. He had broad shoulders that were covered by a flannel that just looked so soft and you couldn't help but wonder what really lay under that shirt and- boy you were getting distracted. And this really wasn't the most ideal situation.

“Hey” he said softly although his voice was rough “Relax, alright? It's going to be fine, there must have been a malfunction. They will notice that the lift is not working and they'll call someone yeah?”

“Do we- do we not have any reception here?” you asked in a whisper, your voice shaking.

“Wish I could check beautiful, but my phone is dead. What about yours?” he asked and you shook your head, wrapping your arms around your waist.

“Forgot it at a friend's.” you mumbled and he sighed.

“It's ok, doesn't matter.” he tried not to show how disappointed he was... for your sake? And to think that with those looks you'd take him for a jerk that didn't care bout anything and anyone.

“Yeah, I guess.” you mumbled, trying to swallow but your throat was just too dry.

“Hey, I told you it's going to be alright. You don't have to worry about this we-”

“But what if we get stuck in here? Who knows when they're going to realize it's not working? What if- if it gives out any moment and we fall and- and we-” your lower lip trembled but he shook his head, squeezing your arms.

“No, no. don't think like that. It's going to be fine, yeah? I've been in worse situations and made it. You'll see in the end you will be just laughing about it.” he tried to offer you a smile but sadly you couldn't return it this time.

“What kind of worse situations?” you whispered an he raised an eyebrow.

“Do you really want to know?”

“I only want to forget about the fact that we're who knows how many feet off the ground and literally hanging by a thread.” you swallowed the lump in his throat and letting out a sigh he nodded his head.

“Fair enough.”

~*~

“Wow that... was really messed up.” you mumbled, hugging your knees to yourself and he nodded his head.

“So you feel any better?”

“Somehow yeah.” you blinked “How have you survived all of this?” you raised an eyebrow and he chuckled.

“Well, it's not as if I was bound to die but- you know, it comes with the job...” he trailed off, frowning and you turned your head to look at him, raising an eyebrow.

You were both sitting on the floor, much more relaxed at the moment with your backs resting on one of the sides of the elevator. Minutes seemed to drag by so slow at first but when you got to talk more with him the more you relaxed and forgot your situation, the time passing by fast.

“What?” you asked and he laughed, shaking his head.

“I really am not myself lately.” he chuckled “My name's Dean.” he gave you that boyish grin, extending his hand “Do you ever give your name to strangers while trapped in an elevator or not?” he smirked and you giggled, shaking your head.

“My name's (Y/n), nice to meet you Dean.” you shook his hand, for a moment enjoying how soft it felt against yours and you couldn't help but feel a blush on your cheeks when you saw the smile on his face when you said his name.

“(Y/n)” you felt your heart skip a beat at how nice your name sounded on his lips “Beautiful name for a beautiful girl.”

“So I'm guessing, as your brother would say, you're the ladies man huh?” you asked with a smile and he chuckled.

“Yeah, sort of. I mean I was, many things have changed over the years but- I am not saying I can't flirt when I see something I like.”

“So you flirt with... pie too? Because sometimes I really think about doing so.” you said and he laughed, throwing his head back and you got a little too carried away looking at him.

“Well, I actually meant a gorgeous woman like you but yeah- pie sometimes too!”

“Thanks for the compliment but I think the lack of fresh air must have really affected you.” you chewed on your lower lip, looking down at your hands but noticed him shake his head.

“Sweetheart don't tempt me.” he gave you a flirty smirk “I can think of so many ways I can prove you wrong on that only in this elevator.” he winked as your eyebrows shot up.

“Alright-” you raised your hands “I am not going to keep insisting.” you chuckled and he grinned.

“I mean not that we wouldn't have fun with that-” he shrugged laughing at yur wide eyes and red face.

“Gosh” you shook your head “If you're trying to distract me from everything that's going on you're doing a really good job.” you chuckled and he grinned.

“Thanks but I wasn't really going for that.”

“Really?” you asked in a softer voice “And what could it be? Asking me out?” you laughed, saying playfully but when you didn't hear him chuckle you couldn't help but stare at him. He wasn't serious, was he?

“That surprised? I mean, I was pretty damn surprised to see I got stuck in a lift with someone like you but hey- I am not questioning my luck!” he shrugged and you shook your head.

“Are you really going to keep insisting?”

“Till we're outta here, sweetheart.” he winked “But honestly now- I am not joking, just so you know it.”

“Thanks I guess.” you tucked a few strands of hair behind your ear “Been too fucking long since I last got a compliment and it feels weird as hell to be honest.” you confessed and what you saw on his face was only a soft smile.

“Their loss.” he shrugged “You don't find women like you easily.”

“I'm nothing special, Dean.”

“That I get to decide, and if you ask me you are the most interesting one I've met in a long while. And I've been with plenty of women in my life.”

“That I am most sure about.” you chuckled, eyes casting down for a moment “Tell me do you flirt this much with all women?” you asked but he shook his head.

“No, I told you. Lately I've become more serious, probably comes with age as Sammy- my younger brother would say.” he said but you shook your head at him “But I'm not the kind of guy I really look like, (Y/n). To answer your question: it's partially because you are stunning and partially because I guess this is my way of dealing with hard situations.” he shrugged and you instantly found yourself intrigued once more. Not that you ever stopped really.

“Joking.” you nodded your head “Yeah I can understand what you mean. Sometimes showing our feelings is harder than bottling them up.”

“Been through that?” he asked in a low voice, all seriousness.

“Yeah, and the fact that my entire family was around me the whole time didn't help. Do you ever feel like you've always been an outcast? Like wherever you went you still didn't fit in even if you tried?”

“Yeah, yeah I have.” he sighed heavily and silence fell between the two of you.

You cleared your throat, putting on a smile to make him relax preferring to see his playful side because you just believed he didn't get to be like that very often and he actually deserved it “But- I didn't ask you Dean: why were you going to my floor? I'm sorry but as far as I know there is only one apartment other than mine in that floor and it's empty. Unless there is some hot chick's ghost there, what would you want?” you laughed and he did the same.

“Although that would sound tempting- I'm more into the living ones and as of now one that is sitting right next to me.” he grinned and you rolled your eyes, scoffing but still smiling “But I think I'll have the time to convince you on that.”

“Time?” you asked “Now you want us to stay in here for much longer?”

“Oh I wasn't talking about the elevator...” he trailed off and you frowned, something going though your mind “Neighbor”

[adhduck]

fic prompt: bellamy and clarke takes a bath together👀

@bellamyisinlovewithclarke anon my butt

this was genuinely my attempt to add every single one of alex’s weaknesses into one fic so if it seems overboard i’ve done my job, tbh.

also for sandy @clarkeisinlovewithbellamy

(AO3)

Can I Call You Mine (My Heart Finally Trusts My Mind)

Despite it not being afternoon yet, the streets were empty whenClarke dragged Bellamy out of his apartment, for precisely the same reason shewanted to be outside—it was raining. Pouring,really, which should’ve been enough for Bellamy to hold his ground and tell herno, but she pleaded with those big blue eyes and he couldn’t find it in him todeny her.

           So yeah, he waspathetic. What was new.

           Clarke was so eagerto pull him out the door, in fact, she forgot to bring anything of use toprotect from the rain—boots, or an umbrella, or even a coat. Not that she minded, of course, but it wasdriving Bellamy crazy. Didn’t she know how sick she could get in this weather?Or how cold she would be when she got back to the apartment and remembered shehad no dry clothes to change into?

           With this in mind,he watched with half concern and half amusement as she jumped from puddle topuddle, trying to splash him with as much water as possible. “All right, you’vehad your fun,” he grumbled, narrowly dodging another spray. “Can we please goback inside now, before you soak through your skin?”

            She spun around at his remarks, probably readyto argue, and Bellamy actually stopped in his tracks. Her face was bright fromrain and filtered sunlight, little strands of blonde hair pressed to hercheekbones, shirt already soaked and clinging to her form. A churning began inhis gut, much different than the low rumble of worry, and he swallowed hardagainst it.

           “Oh, come on, Bell,we can’t go inside until you have your fun, too,” she teased, grabbing hishands and pulling him along with her. He tried to protest, but it was (ofcourse) useless, and soon enough she was swinging him around on the sidewalk,laughing and smiling and holding his hands and by the gods he was not going to survive this.

           Fortunately, Clarkeeventually got too tired for running and simply fell in step beside him as theymeandered along the top ridge of a small hill, fingers now just brushing andher neck craned to look at the clouds and let raindrops fall onto her tongue. Bellamydidn’t find the clouds nearly so intriguing, but her face was nice to look at;all warm curves and soft edges, with a beauty mark at the corner of her lip andwhat could be freckles across her cheekbones if she enjoyed sunshine as much asrain.

           “What are youthinking about?” Clarke asked, and Bellamy jumped at the realization she hadturned her eyes to him.

           “Uh, I was—” Hefaltered, dropping his gaze to his feet for a moment. It would be so easy tosay nothing and move on, but therewas something about her gaze, like she was looking for something specific, likeshe knew. Knew about how he’d beenfighting a raging crush-turned-something-else for her since a few months afterthey met; how despite his best efforts, he still wanted to kiss her until theywere dizzy and wake up with her nose against his chest and tangle his fingerswith hers just because he wanted to.

           He was still tryingto sort out what to say when Clarke’s feet suddenly flew out from beneath her,and then he had only enough time to cry out her name before she was tumblingdown the side of the hill.

           After a moment spentfrozen in shock, Bellamy scrambled down the hill after her; it was a smallslope, at least, but that slope was littered with rocks and broken bottle shardsfrom careless passerby, and Bellamy could already feel his heart swelling withworry.

           Clarke was breathingwhen he reached her, which put the very worst of fears out of his mind, but thepained groan that escaped her mouth as he pulled her mud-covered body into hisarms was less than comforting. “Clarke?” he pleaded, not bothering to hide thetremor of panic in his voice. “Hey, Clarke, look at me.”

           Her eyes remained closed,but in the way that told him she was consciously keeping them from opening—the mud,he realized. He wiped his own muddied hand on his face to clean it somewhat andthen carefully scraped away the grime on Clarke’s eyelids and around hercheekbones.

           “It’s okay,” hemurmured, half to himself. “You’ll be fine.”

           Clarke’s eyesfluttered open after a moment, finding his gaze immediately, and she groaned. “Ihate being the clumsy one.”        

           Bellamy had half amind to scold her for joking around at a time like this, but he knew she wastrying to lighten the mood and he didn’t have the heart to dim it again. “Yeah,not your finest hour,” he agreed, managing to laugh through the knot in histhroat. He looked her over again, seeing the scrapes and rips in her clothing,and swallowed hard. “We need to get you home. Can you walk?”

           “Course I can,” shesaid easily, but the moment she tried to stand one of her legs gave out and shecrumpled into his arms. “Okay, maybe not. I think I twisted something.”

           “It’s a miracleyou’ve survived nineteen years, Griffin,” Bellamy joked weakly, then gentlyshifted his grip to slip an arm under her knees with the other at her back.“All right, up you go.”

She obediently wrapped her arms around his neck,resting her face against his collarbone, and he pushed himself onto his feet.It was a little tricky getting back up the slippery hill, but once he’d made itwas all flat ground back to the apartment, and he took it all at a near-run,painfully aware of the pounding rain around them and the slight chatter ofClarke’s teeth against him.

           Once inside, Bellamywent right for the large bathroom, setting Clarke on the sink and tugging offher shoes to check her foot. It was swollen and sensitive, but mercifully didn’tappear broken, just twisted. There was, however, still a sizable gash and accompanyingbump on her forehead, along with a tear in her pant leg and scrapes across herarms, and he ached a little for her.

           “How does it look?”Clarke asked quietly, likely just to break the silence.

           “You’ll recover,”Bellamy said lightly, pushing away her hair to look at the gash. At his touch,her eyes shuddered shut, and the coil of fear squeezed around his heart again. “Doesthat hurt?”

           Clarke swallowed.“Stings a little,” she admitted, whisper-soft. “But not too bad.”

           “That’s good,” hesaid, relieved. “We’ll have to patch it up, though. I’ve got some stuff in thecabinet behind you, so watch your head.” Obediently she ducked her head asideas he reached for a cloth and some Band-Aids; his hips bumped awkwardly intoher thighs and suddenly, bizarrely, it occurred to him how intimate of aposition they were in. Her toes tickled the sides of his legs, knees tuckedaround him; he could just barely feel her uneven breath through the soakedfabric of his shoulder. If he turned his head a little bit, they would becompletely flush against each other.

           Swallowing hard,Bellamy grabbed the items he’d been looking for and set them on the sink nextto Clarke, pushing aside his thoughts forcefully to focus on the task at hand.He turned the bath on warm water and wet the cloth, then carefully scraped offall the grime and blood he could manage off her wound before covering it with awaterproof bandage.

           Clarke stayedperfectly still as he worked, but there was something to her stillness—an intensitythat made him nervous. He tried to ignore it, instead focusing on lifting heroff the sink and into the tub without bumping her ankle, but that honestly madeit worse, so he let her be for a moment to scrape off the muck from her clotheswhile he peeled off his shoes and socks.

           “Don’t freak out,”he said, “but I need to get in.”

           There was just amoment of pause before she replied, “Why would that freak me out?”

          Her tone waslight and easy, suggesting nothing but casualness towards the situation, but theway she wouldn’t move her gaze from her legs made Bellamy think otherwise. Itmade him hesitate, because making Clarke uncomfortable was one of the things hehated most, but somehow he knew she wasn’t uncomfortable with him. Just…something.

           So even though itwas probably one of the stupidest ideas he’d had (and he had a lot of those),he got into a bath with Clarke Griffin.

           The tub wasn’t tiny,but it also wasn’t meant for two people, which meant Bellamy ended up between Clarke’slegs when he sat down. They weren’t quite as close as they’d been a moment ago –not close enough for him to catch the details in her eyes, or pick out thenearly invisible freckles on her nose – but he still found himself unable tolook anywhere but her. She was bloody and dirty and exhausted-looking, yes, butby the gods she was beautiful. Itmade his heart ache.

           He forced himself tolook away, instead working to get off what little mud he’d acquired slidingdown the hill and watching the water slowly turn murky, but a muffled wincecaught his attention.

           “Did I hit yourfoot?” he asked, worried.

           She stared at himblankly for a second. “Uh, no?”

           “You winced.”

           “Oh.” She paused.“It’s just—my hands.”

           Bellamy frowned andshe lifted one hand palm-up in answer. He cautiously looked it over andrealized it had been scraped up almost as bad as the rest of her. Not the kindthat needed a bandage – it looked more like a rug burn than a scrape – but badenough that she was probably feeling a sting from the mud.

           “Clarke,” hemurmured, taking hold of her hand in both of his and feeling sadness slide intothe place where worry had just resided. “You should’ve said.”

           She shrugged,swallowing a little. “It’s not that bad.”

           “Bad enough that ithurts you,” he countered, stroking a thumb over her palm with a frown. “Don’tyou know not to mix dirt and injuries?”

           Clarke opened hermouth, probably to argue, but he gave her a quieting look and reached for the soapbar, rolling it around in his fingers until they were lathered up. He held outhis hand, and when she hesitantly gave hers, he rubbed off the mud as gently ashe could before washing away the soap in the bathwater. Once it seemed properlycleaned, he got more soap and repeated the process with other hand, keenlyaware of how Clarke wouldn’t stop looking at him.

           “Better?” he asked,not quite meeting her eyes.

           “Thank you.”

           He could feel hereyes on him, looking over his face like she was searching for something, but herefused to look back—at least, until he felt her hand against his cheek. Thenhis gaze jerked up in surprise, the muscle in his jaw twitching beneath herfingers.

           “Calm down, I’m notgoing to hurt you,” she said, her words belying the tightness in her tone.“You’ve just got a lot of dirt on your face, since you apparently don’t know howelse to clean off your hand.”

           “Hey, I was at thebottom of a muddied hill, there wasn’t exactly a handwashing station—” heprotested, but Clarke quieted him and he obediently went still as she rubbedher fingers across his cheek, his temple, his jaw, so gently he might’vebelieved she was doing it just to comfort him.

           The moment hung inspace for far too long—long enough he knew there must have been nothing left toclean, and yet her hand was still against his cheek, warm and soft and…natural,and suddenly it was all too much. He knew if he didn’t do something now, hewouldn’t be able to control himself, and he would surge forward and kiss her,or tell her about all the times he’d imagined a future that was theirs, or—

           “Your hair is disgusting,”he blurted, unable to think of anything else.

           Clarke gave him adistinct look, lips curling up into an amused smile, but didn’t move her hand.“Your complimenting skills are still lacking, Bellamy Blake.”

           He swallowed hard.“No, I meant…the mud, it’s all over in it. We need to wash it.”

           “Oh.” She hesitated,pursing her lips, then dropped her hand; Bellamy’s cheek felt immediatelycolder with the loss. “Would you mind—I mean, I know it’s weird, but….”

           “No, it’s fine, I’mhappy to help,” Bellamy said, relieved to have the tension lift even a littlebit. “What are friends for?”

           Clarke flushed andhe immediately regretted the choice of words; before he could go red himself,he stood and shifted to sit behind her, legs on either side of her hips. Heleft as much space between their bodies as possible—because he wanted more roomfor his arms to wash her hair, of course, notbecause he wasn’t sure if he could handle having her back pressed against hischest, hair tickling his chin, close enough for him to just turn her head and….

           “Okay, just staystill,” he said, swallowing hard as he cupped his hands and filled it withbathwater. “And tell me if I hurt you.”

           (Bellamy could’vesworn he heard her whisper you never do,but that was probably just part of the haze of this whole experience. Healleged to ignore it.)

           He poured water overClarke’s head a few times and then lathered his hands with shampoo, slowlymassaging it into the ends of her hair and working his way up to the roots. Shenoticeably tensed when his fingers first touched her scalp and he paused,worried there was another injury, but she mumbled it was just a littlesensitive from the fall so he kept going, a little gentler, massaging theproduct in the best he could before washing it out. While he did so, she busiedherself with poking the plug controlling the shower with her foot.

           It took a while forher hair to look clean again, and by that time he felt like he’d used all the shampooand conditioner he owned, but he didn’t really mind. He piled it atop her headto wash away the dirt that had gathered at her neck, failing horribly to ignorethe way she shivered under his fingers, and cupped water in his hands to washthe last of the dirt and product from her hair.

           At this point,Bellamy knew he should’ve been getting out, but a selfish part of him reallydidn’t want this…whatever it was, to end. He stalled for a moment, unsure,and without thinking brushed his thumb over the space between her neck andhairline; Clarke flinched in surprise, her foot jerking up and catching on theplug, and a moment later they were being sprayed with shower water.

           The showerhead hadbeen adjusted high enough that most of the water went directly into Bellamy’sface, so he wasn’t sure why it was Clarke who shrieked, but he didn’t have timeto care because in the next moment Clarke twisted to look at him, laughing andspluttering, and then their noses brushed and suddenly everything went still.

           No noise could beheard except their own breathing and the water, which was now mostly going tothe back of Clarke’s head as she straightened to look at him eye to eye. Shewasn’t laughing anymore, but her eyes still danced with amusementand…something.

           Quietly, Clarkereached up and brushed away his now-soaked curls from his face; his eyelids flutteredhalf-shut involuntarily, body going completely tense for a moment. There wassomething in Clarke’s eyes that excited him, and scared him, and made him wantto pull her closer.

           But he also knew therisk that entailed, and there was nothing he was scared to risk more than whathe had with Clarke. He couldn’t loseher, not on a chance.

           So instead ofkissing her, Bellamy leaned in just slightly, drawing her attention, and thensplashed her.

           She shrieked again,a surprised but happy sound, and made to splash him back, but he caught herhands halfway through the action and then surged to his feet, grabbing theshowerhead to angle it right at her face. Clarke retaliated by grabbing hisankle and pulling, sending him and half the water in the tub flying, and thenthey were laughing and splashing and making an absolute mess and somehow,Bellamy felt something in his chest sliding into place.

           Once there was toolittle water left to splash and they were sufficiently exhausted, they finallyturned off the shower and unplugged the drain. Bellamy rechecked her ankle andbandages, enough worry seeping back in to make him terrified he’d hurt her, butthey were no different than they’d been before, so he helped her out of the tuband gave her a towel to start drying off lest she started getting cold again.

           Bellamy driedhimself off just enough to not track soapy water around the house before slippingout to check on the weather. The rain was pouring down even worse than beforenow, with a nice addition of lightning and thunder since, you know, theuniverse hated him, and he frowned.

           “Looks fun, right?”Clarke said, limping over to him with her hair still up in the towel. Her clothesclung tightly to her frame, and he forced his eyes to the window.

           “Yeah, no thanks,I’ve already had my fun with rain and hills for today.”

           “Oh, come on, itwasn’t bad before the falling part, admit it. You had fun.” She poked him in the side for added effect.

           Forcing down aprobably unreasonable smile and shaking his head at her fondly, Bellamy went tochange into something dry and then helped her into his room (amidst protestsshe was fine). While he waited for her to get dressed, he tossed his clothesinto the washing machine before finding his phone – which had blessedly beenleft at the house with Clarke’s, since he wasn’t a total idiot – and ringing up Octavia to see how she was.

           “I’m fine, Bell,”she promised when he expressed worry. “We got back to Lincoln’s before it gotbad. Is it okay if I crash here?”

           Bellamy huffed alittle, detecting the slight bit of tease in his sister’s tone. She knew he wasterrible at turning off his protective older brother mode. “Well, I can’t ingood judgment tell you to drive a half hour home in the storm, so yes. Andbesides, I do trust Lincoln, no matter what you say.”

           “Whatever, bigbrother,” she said, probably rolling her eyes with it. “I guess I’ll see youlater.”

           “See you….”Bellamy trailed off, because at that moment Clarke came out of his room in dryclothes—his dry clothes, specificallyan old long-sleeved Gryffindor shirt and a pair of boxers from who knows whatcorner of his closet. His mouth felt very dry suddenly, and he quicklymuttered, “Sorry, gotta go,” into the receiver before hanging up without agoodbye.

           There was a solidfive seconds where he stared at Clarke, trying to formulate somethingnon-creepy to say, but she beat him to it. “Don’t get weird with me,” she told him,though he swore he could see a flush crawling down her neck. “Friends shareclothes, Bell. O and I do it all the time.”

           Bellamy averted hisgaze nonetheless, thinking he really didn’t want to think about his sister now, before swallowing hard and takingthe ruined clothes from her outstretched hands. The silence felt uncomfortable already,so he went for humor. “Gryffindor, huh? Never thought I’d see the day.”

           She groaned. “It wasthe softest thing I could find, okay? Not like you had a Slytherin one in thereor I would’ve taken it.”

           “I don’t know,Clarke, it seems to be growing on you already,” he teased. “Sure you don’t wantto keep it and see how Gryffindor suits you?”

           Faking a gag, Clarkesaid, “Yeah, no thanks.” Then she seemed to consider. “Although I might stealthe shirt; it is actually comfy.”

           Bellamy smoothlypretended that comment didn’t make his heart pop four inches out of his chestand said, “Well, do you need anything other than my shirt that you hate?”

           “Mmm, I’m good, justa little tired,” she murmured, already sinking onto the couch and curling intoa tiny ball against it.

           Gods above, shelooked so soft like that, with the sleeves covering her hands and her damp hairplastered to her cheeks and a flush still coloring her pale features. It madehis stomach do cartwheels, especially with hisclothes in the mix. His clothes she wanted to keep.

           (She really wasn’t helpingwith the whole you can’t get rejected andhave your heart broken if she never figures out your feelings thing he wastrying to keep up.)

           He forced himself toturn away and threw her clothes in the washer with his, then wandered towardsthe kitchen to look for food, since it was somehow still early afternoon.Before he could pull together any ideas, though, he could hear Clarke callingto him with a distinct pout in her voice.

           “What is it,Clarke?” he asked, coming back into the living room with only a little bit ofworry; Clarke never got pouty when things were actually wrong.

           She was sitting upon the couch with her arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed in that cute way shegot when she was sleepy. “What are you doing?”

           Raising an eyebrow,he said, “Making food. You may be tired, but it’s still lunchtime.”

           Immediately shegroaned. “I don’t want food, I want a nap.”

           “You can just eat itwhen you wake up,” he reminded her, now a little confused.

           “But you have tocook the food,” she continued with a slightly exasperated tone, “and I justfell down a ditch, and that means I deserve to be cuddled while I nap.”

           “What, I’m your napprovider now?” Bellamy said, trying very hard not to smile. (And failing.Definitely failing.)

           “Yes, shut up,” shemumbled. Then, when he didn’t move: “Seriously, Bell, I need more body heat. Youdon’t even have blankets lying around.”

           Bellamy paused forjust a moment, then decided it couldn’t hurt – well, okay, it could definitelyhurt, he was about to take a nap with the girl he also kind of wanted to raisea family with, platonically – andcurled up next to her. She tucked herself against his side immediately, kickingher legs onto his lap and burying her face in his neck. Knowing it soothed her,he ran a hand up and down her back, fighting hard to ignore the lack of a bra. Hermuscles were unusually tense and his instinct was to try to smooth it away, butsomehow he knew that wouldn’t help—that hewas causing it.

           It was a littledizzying, and definitely too much to think about right now, so he just restedhis head on her hair and pressed a soft kiss there. She smelled like she alwaysdid, like rain and shampoo and paint, but he could also smell a little bit ofhis soap, as well as the musk that hung around his room, and the combinationturned his stomach to knots.

           They didn’t speak,or really move besides an occasional shift or Bellamy’s thumb rubbing circlesover her back; they just lay there, together, quietly, until they both fellasleep.

 –

Bellamy woke up to Clarke disentangling herself from him, and withoutthinking he tried to pull her back into his chest, mumbling, “Don’t move,you’re warm.” Then, before he could regret that action, he heard something thatcould’ve been a sharp intake of breath or a snort, or maybe both, and thenClarke nuzzled into his collarbone again.

           He shuffled her alittle closer, feeling unbearably soft considering the lightning and thunderjust outside, and in a moment of weakness thought what it would be like to havethis every day; to wake up beside her and see her in his shirts and pull hercloser just because he wanted to. No guise, no excuses. Just them.

           But despite all thesigns he’d had that day (and, okay, for a long while before), he simplycouldn’t picture a world where Clarke loved him back, and that reminder madehim a little sad, so after just a few moments longer he gently broke free to stretchhis legs and check on the weather.

           When Clarke putweight on her twisted ankle, however, she nearly lost her balance, andinstantly he was back in worried mode. “Does it hurt more?” he asked, alreadyunnecessarily panicked. “Did you sleep on it funny? I could call your mom upand see what she thinks.”

           “I’m fine, Bellamy, don’t worry so much,” sheinsisted, though she did let him check over it until he agreed it was juststill tender. Then he checked on the other injuries before she could stop him,which were thankfully healing up; he ran his thumb over the bandage on her forehead,biting his lip in something between guilt and sorrow. He hated seeing her hurt.

           “Bell,” Clarkerepeated, softer now. “I promise I’m okay.”

           “You’re hurt,” hereplied, dropping his hand to run over the scrapes on her arms and not quitewilling to meet her eyes.

           “And you took careof me. You’re here. So I’m fine.” She tapped his chin until he finally lookedat her, and gave him a meaningful look. “Okay?”

           He knew she wasasking him if he was okay as much as she was wanting him to agree with her, sohe hesitated for only a moment before nodding and murmuring, “Okay.”

           Still, though, hedidn’t want her putting too much weight on her foot, and he didn’t think theyhad any crutches lying around, so he made her stay on the couch while he gotfood. There was little to no food available, since tomorrow was supposed to behis day to go shopping (his timing was just perfect sometimes), so he ended up makingpeanut butter and jelly sandwiches like the functioning adult he was. He gave oneto Clarke, who wolfed it down obligingly, and stared at the window in disease.The storm wasn’t getting any better, and Octavia had taken the only car out tosee Lincoln. After a check on his phone, he also was greeted with a severestorm warning for their area, and the advisement to avoid leaving homes ifpossible.

           Great.

           “Is it bad then?”Clarke asked, swallowing the last bite of her sandwich and looking at him witha frown.

           “Yeah, pretty bad,”he said, still trying to think. “Report says no one’s supposed to leave wherethey are for now, so I, uh…I guess you’re stuck here for now.”

           “You say that likeit’s a curse for me to hang out with my best friend,” she said, rolling hereyes. “I was probably going to crash here anyway.”

           He forced downelation at that comment, reminding himself she crashed here a lot and it hadn’tmeant anything before. “Well, you’ll have to stay for the whole night, since Idoubt the storm will clear up until some ungodly hour, so we’ll have you takemy room and I’ll take the couch.”

           Clarke immediatelystraightened at that, huffing indignantly. “Absolutely not. This is your house,I’m not pushing you out of your own room.”

           “Clarke, the couchgives little to no support, especially when you have a bad foot,” he remindedher, “and besides, O has a loft. No way am I making you climb up that.”

           She mulled hisresponse over for a moment, and he thought maybe he’d won, but then she lookedback at him and said firmly, “Fine. Then we share.”

           He may have chokedon nothing but air at that point. May have. “Um. What?”

           “You don’t want meon the couch or the loft, and I don’t want to kick you out, so we share. Easycompromise.”

           Bellamy opened hismouth to argue, but couldn’t come up with anything that wasn’t I’m desperately in love with you and I willliterally not sleep if I can feel your presence that close to me in my own bed,so he closed it again.

           “We’re adults, Bell,it’s fine,” Clarke continued, as casual as ever and apparently unaware of theheart attack he was currently having. “Plus, we’re both in our pajamas already.”

           (Both in his pajamas, Bellamy’s brain interjectedunhelpfully.)

           Then she just stoodthere, half-drowning in his shirt and looking simultaneously sure and awkwardat the same time, and amidst the never-ending screaming going on in the back ofhis mind, Bellamy honestly felt bad.Clarke didn’t mean him any harm; it wasn’t her fault he was pathetic andhorrible at handling his own feelings. It was just one night of platonic bedsharing. He could handle that.

           So he nodded inagreement and Clarke honestly beamedlike a dream of hers had just come true and, okay, maybe he couldn’t handlethis. But if he was going to go out, he was going to go out dramatically.

           He helped Clarke intohis room, mostly to help her foot but also to give him something productive todo, and carefully sat her down on the bed before crossing to the other side tolay down himself. The bed was pretty large, enough to lay side by side withoutquite touching, which was logically fortunate but…okay, fine, Bellamy was pathetic,he admitted it, he really wanted tohave one night of his life actually curled beside Clarke Griffin. Platonically.Whatever.

           Which was why he wasall kinds of surprised when Clarke rolled over to cuddle against him, hand overhis heart and head tucked under his chin. He shifted a little onto his side andshe took the opportunity to come closer, making herself so small he couldnearly curl his body completely around her—which was maybe her goal, so hetucked his legs up, half tangling them with hers, trying to make her ascomfortable as possible and careful to not bump her foot.

           They were pressed upalmost everywhere, puzzle pieces fitting together like they were meant to, andBellamy could barely even think, muchless come up with something to say. He felt a little like he was in a dream,except not even the most delusional part of his brain could come up with a daylike this.

           (Well, okay, he’dalso dreamed up the idea of marriage, and kids, and maybe some dogs if theycould find a better house, but that was supposed to be after Clarke somehow loved him back. He wasn’t even hoping for handholding until then. This wholeexperience was about eight ballparks out of his ballpark to handle.)

           After a few minutes– seconds? Hours? At this point Bellamy was struggling to hold onto theconstruct of time itself – Clarke lifted her head from the crook of his neck tolook over his face. Her nose nearly brushed his, and the rational part of himwas screaming that he needed to look away, but he was so far gone at this pointhe could do nothing  but stare back ather, even when she moved her hand to his face to brush back his hair.

           No words wereexchanged, and yet Bellamy was sure Clarke was trying to tell him somethingwith how she sifted his curls through her fingers, how her gaze flitted overhis face, how she seemed so soft, socomfortable, so at peace this close to him.

           It made his heartstutter, for more reason than one.

           Then she actually looked at his lips, and his heart stopped.He’d been in enough situations to know what she was doing, but there was justno way, he had to be misreading something; after all, she was Clarke and he was…well. He could comeup with a thousand reasons why she never should’ve befriended him in the firstplace, much less….

           “Clarke,” he chokedout, a little desperate. He meant it to be a warning, but instead he soundedstrangely close to tears. She inclined her head a little, but didn’t stop herministrations, and he breathed in as deeply as he could, trying to calm down.“I don’t…I don’t even know where to begin, to deserve you.”

           Her hand stutteredto a stop, still pressed against his cheek, but her gaze never faltered. Shelooked sad – heartbroken, honestly – but not quite surprised, which somehowmade it all worse. Bellamy knew he had a healthy helping of self-loathing, buthe didn’t want Clarke to know that.

           “Why would you thinkthat?” she asked, voice carefully even.

           There were so manyreasons, more than he could put words to, but he couldn’t say them—not toClarke, not to one of the only people who still believed so strongly he wasgood. So he dropped his gaze instead, eyes stinging and lip quivering as if tryingto hold all the unspoken words back.

           “Hey,” Clarkemurmured, now unbearably soft. “Bell. Look at me.” She ran her thumb back andforth once across his cheekbone like a question, and when he didn’t reply shedidn’t push any further, just stroked his cheek until he finally felt braveenough to look at her.

           When their gazesmet, she smiled at him—actually smiled,soft and kind and simple, and his heart felt like it was bursting through hisribcage. He loved her so much.

           “You’re enough,okay?” she whispered, so quiet not even the air around them would be able tohear it. The words were for him alone. “You always have been. You don’t have toredeem yourself to me.”

           God, she always knewwhat to say, always knew exactly what he needed to hear to feel whole again. Itwas like she could just reach into his heart and fix it, like she wanted to, and his love for her swelledso big he actually felt unsteady.

           He put his hand overClarke’s, to ground himself, fingers skimming back and forth over her wrist toassure himself she was really there. “Clarke, I—” he began, wanting to expressthis feeling, this thing to her, butthe words got stuck in his throat. How could he even attempt to express whatshe meant to him, everything she’d done, all the moments and hope and happinessshe’d given him that he never would’ve found on his own? It was impossible, buthe still wanted to say something.

           But Clarke beat himto it. “I know,” she murmured, smiling a little.

           He smiled back, shiftingto pull her closer still and leaning their foreheads together. Her nose brushedagainst his, soft and undemanding, and suddenly everything felt…okay. Like hecould be happy and not have to worry about regretting it later. So he tiltedhis head to press his lips against hers, and she sighed a little into his mouthwhile he cupped her shoulder blade in his hand, and it was…God, it was somuch more than okay, it was everything.

           It was home.

           When she drew away,Clarke held his face in her hands and just looked at him, softly, like therewas nothing else, and it hit him all over again. She loved him. She loved him. The realization was sooverwhelming he couldn’t contain it anymore, and he buried his face in her neckto hide his grin.

           Clarke playedabsently with his hair, tapping on his head in a questioning gesture, and hemumbled, “Gimme a second.”

           She laughed alittle. “I’m in love with a giant nerd, aren’t I?”

           That didn’t reallyhelp the whole I’m smiling too big tofunction thing, but he managed to reply, “And I’m in love with a mythicalcreature.”

           He could actually feel her heart skip a beat, but hervoice was still steady when she teased, “Like I said—nerd.”

           Bellamy’s only replywas to nuzzle closer to her, draping his arm lazily around her waist, and theyfell asleep like that—legs tangled, hearts beating inches apart, Clarke drawingcircles in his hair. Together.

 –

When Bellamy opened his eyes, it was to soft sunlight—and bysunlight, he meant Clarke, fingers still loosely tangled in his hair with asmile blooming across her face when she saw he was awake. He smiled back andshifted to kiss her, soft and lazy, securing a hand on her neck to keep herclose. At first they were grinning so badly it was more teeth-smacking thananything, but eventually they got comfortable and Bellamy felt his mind goblank. Kissing Clarke was already one of his favorite things – although, to befair, everything about Clarke was oneof his favorite things – and he didn’t really plan on stopping.

           Well, until hebumped Clarke’s foot on accident and she pulled back, wincing, because yeah, atthat point he figured it was a good time to stop.

           “Your foot okay?” heasked, frowning and brushing a hand across her cheek.

           The answer was probablythat it was fine, if the overdramatic look and half-smirk she gave him was anyindication. “Oh, awful. I doubt I can walk.”

           “Hm,” he mused,failing to keep a serious tone. “I’ll have to carry you around then, will I?”

           “Sounds like effortto me. We can just not get up.”

           He leaned to brushtheir foreheads together, humming. “Alas, food is important. I’ll bring it backhere, though, if you’re feeling so weak.”

           “Oh, don’t move,you’re warm,” she complained, latching onto him, and he laughed a little at hisown words being tossed back at him.

           Carefully prying herhands off his arms, he gave her a quick kiss – he really hoped the excitementof that would stick around for a while, it was currently the best thing thathad ever happened to him – and murmured, “Don’t worry, I’ll be back soon.”

           Soon was about twominutes, because he was too hyped on Clarke-induced energy to really focus onanything, and it was still dark since they went to bed rather early (not hisfault, time had no meaning when Clarke was over), so he just grabbed a block ofcheese and brought it back, inducing a true belly laugh from Clarke.

           “Master Chef Bellamystrikes again,” she giggled, sitting up as he slid back under the blankets.“First peanut butter sandwiches, now cheese. What next? A single grape?”

           “I’ll have you knowwe don’t have any grapes, thank youvery much,” Bellamy grumbled, but he couldn’t hold onto his irritability forvery long because Clarke grinned and pecked him on the mouth.

           “I love you,” she sighed,like she couldn’t get enough of the words.

           A soft tingle randown Bellamy’s spine and he bent to kiss her again, dropping the cheese tosecure a hand against her hip. It was probably an excessive amount of kissing,but he couldn’t help it, and Clarke didn’t seem to mind.

           When he pulled away,his eyes caught on her – his – shirt again, and he couldn’t help but laugh alittle. “I almost forgot you were wearing this.”

           “Really?” she asked,raising an eyebrow at him. “Because you seemed pretty unable to stop looking atit when I first stepped out of your room.”

           “You caught that,huh?” he said, running a thumb over the fabric at her waist.

           She smirked. “Thereseem to be a lot of things between us I’ve noticed that you haven’t.”

           “Clearly. If I had Iwould’ve pushed you down a muddy hill months ago.”

           “Or you could’vejust asked me out. That would’ve been a much less painful option.”

           “Where’s the fun inthat?” he teased, then sobered, pulling her against him and tucking his noseinto her hair. “I think I did notice, but I just…I didn’t even dare tobelieve that…that you might….”

           She sighed, windingher arms tightly around his shoulders in that way that always made him feel safe.“I know, Bellamy. I know. But I love you, okay? That’s never going to change.You’re always going to be my person.”

           “I love you, too,”he murmured, too overcome with emotion to say anything else.

           “Yeah, I know that,too,” she said, the smile evident in her voice. Her lips pressed quickly to histemple, and then she slowly pulled him down with her until they were lying ontheir sides.

           “Rest,” shewhispered now, pressing a kiss to his hair as he shifted to get morecomfortable, still tucked as close to her as he could. “I’ll be here when youwake up. I’ll always be here.”

               Forsome reason that made him want to cry, but instead he nodded into her shoulder,pressing a tiny kiss there, and closed his eyes, letting the sound of Clarke’s breathingand the knowledge that he was loved, that he deserved it, lull him into apeaceful sleep.

[smilinstar]

Fic: this space between us (it’s nothing but stardust and the absence of you) - 1/6 (Legends of Tomorrow; Rip/Sara)

Fandom: Legends of Tomorrow

Rating: PG-13

Pairing: Rip Hunter/Sara Lance (Time Canary)

Summary: Or Close Encounters. Five times Rip and Sara find themselves stuck together and somehow manage not to make out, and the one time they (finally) do . . .

Author’s Note: Lol this is just an excuse for me to write the tropiest fic full of tropes. I’ve separated it out into six parts, cos the first part ended up being more than the 500 words I was planning. Oops. Please read. Please enjoy. And maybe let me know? :-)

Can also be read on AO3 

 ] I [

1534, Hampton Court Palace

London, England

-----

 Rip’s found himself in tight spots many times before.

One could argue it comes with the territory. A renegade Time Master barrelling his way through history in pursuit of an immortal tyrant was never going to be a risk-free endeavour. Close calls and near misses were woven into the tightrope he navigated for years. Years before he recruited this mismatched, aimless, wandering crew of his.

But this? This, he believes, is the first time he’s found himself in a tight spot quite so literally.

It’s an awful place. Dank, dark and dirty.

To be fair, given the fact they were hiding out in the labyrinth of underground tunnels of Hampton Court Palace in the year 1534, he couldn’t have expected any differently.

And the reason for their current predicament?

Well.

“You just had to draw attention to yourself,” he gripes under his breath.

“It’s not my fault he’s a lecherous bastard and isn’t used to ‘no’ for an answer.”

“He’s the King, Sara!” he whispers back furiously.

Rip can hear her rolling her eyes behind him, “Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

“Well you certainly noticed his wife!”

There’s a huff of laughter and he can picture the smirk, “Yeah old Henry was punching above his weight there . . .”

He shakes his head at the double entendre that Sara is quite obviously amused by as she snorts a little too loudly after her own words register.

His retort to hush her is cut off by the sound of footsteps nearing closer and he comes to a sudden halt, Sara colliding into his back.

Royal guards. On the hunt for them and quite literally their heads.

He spins around, his hand brushing against her as his eyes dart wildly in the dark. It’s difficult to see anything, but the flicker of a nearing torch at the far end of the passageway is enough to let him know they need to move, and fast.

It seems Sara’s thoughts aren’t too far from his own as she grabs hold of his arm at about the same time, and urgently tugs. “Come on!”

The question of where is there on his tongue. There’s nowhere to hide as far as he can see, but he finds himself being pulled with intent and so he lets it go and trusts that she sees something he doesn’t.

“Here,” she whispers, somehow manoeuvring around him until she’s no longer pulling but shoving him against the damp, stone walls. They jut horridly into his back, and he grimaces in discomfort. His “Sara, what are y-mmph” ends up being muffled against the press of her hand at his mouth, and his lips clamp shut.

The footsteps are nearing, and the torches they carry seep enough light through the cracks to realise Sara has somehow stumbled them into an alcove, hidden away in this maze of underground tunnels. She presses herself closer, hand still at his mouth, the other clutching at the skirts of her gown and it only takes him a second to realise she has a knife hidden away under all those layers.

Which, no, doesn’t surprise him in the least.

The surprise comes instead from the panic that builds, hurtling through his arteries and veins with a force he’s not used to. Because, honestly? He’s been in worse predicaments than this. And yet, his heart speeds up, a rapid thump-thump-thump against his ribcage that rushes in his ears, and he thinks surely it must be loud enough to give their position away. If he blames it on anything, he blames it on the nearing footsteps, on the terrifying thought of being caught, the thought of being thrown on top of the Tower of London chopping blocks, and the thought of them swinging the axe down on her first and him being forced to watch, because ladies first, of course. Wouldn’t do for King Henry VIII to be seen as anything less than chivalrous.

It has nothing, he tells himself, nothing to do with her pressed up against him so intimately; her chest brushing up against his with every silent breath she takes in and out, or the leg she has wedged between his, and even through the layers he can feel her thigh, strong and firm pressing against him. His one hand is caught trapped between their bodies, awkwardly pushing into her stomach, his other grips her waist and pulls her in even tighter because . . . because.

No.

No, it has nothing to do with that at all.

The guards march past them then, their flaming torches casting enough light as they go that it casts shadows across her face and he can quite clearly see the slight parting of her lips, and the eyes that are blown wide, staring up at him.

Fear. It has to be fear.

But he knows Sara Lance, and that isn’t fear that stares back at him.

The footsteps recede and with it the darkness returns and if he’d tried to ignore the press of her fingers against his lips before, he’s failing abysmally now. They slide off just a fraction, instead pressing against the stubble of his cheek, but her thumb stays right there on his lower lip. He thinks he must be imagining the gentle caress and the slow breath that leaves her lips, like a ghost blowing across his skin.

The guards are gone, and yet, she hasn’t moved.

And for whatever cursed reason, he finds himself unable to either; his fingers clenching instead around the fabric of her dress and the thump-thump-thumping of his heart shows no signs of slowing down.

His tongue nearly betrays him, her name there on his lips - a question, a prayer - luckily he doesn’t have to endure the embarrassment of finding out which, as there’s a sudden crackle of static in his ear.

“Guys? Guys? We’ve got comms back up, where are you guys?”

The sudden sound of Dr Palmer’s voice in their ears have them springing apart, except moving backwards for him means banging his head against the wall and the sharp hiss of pain and “ow!” that follow has Ray panicking in his ear.

“Guys? Rip? What’s happening? You okay? Guys?!”

He groans, a hand reaching up to rub at the back of his head, “We’re here Dr Palmer. We’re fine. A little lost in the underground passageways, but thankfully our heads are still attached to our bodies, albeit no thanks to Captain Lance.”

He doesn’t have to see her clearly to know she’s scowling, an indignant “hey!” falling from her lips as she swats at him. But there’s no weight behind it, and he somehow knows that scowl will soften easily into a smile with his obvious teasing.

She’s starting to get a handle on his sense of humour, not that it comes out to play all that often but it has been making a showing a little more in recent months. The whole team have their ways of coaxing it out of him now.

“O-kay?” Ray says slowly, unsure, clearly confused, though he pushes past it fine. “I’ll get Gideon to get a lock on your positions, and we’ll get you two out of there in no time. Hang tight guys.”

“Copy that,” Sara acknowledges, before the static crackles once more and then all that’s left is silence. Awkward, tension-filled silence.

It’s not entirely unfamiliar.

There have been moments; moments where he’d feel something crackling in the air between them. A disagreement that flares into full blown yelling across the floor of the bridge, until they’re both breathing heavily and staring the other down, with a gaze so heated, he’s surprised he doesn’t wilt. Or moments of hilarity, usually courtesy of one of the team, and he finds himself smiling, even chuckling, despite himself and he looks up to find her gaze already on him, a soft smile playing on her lips, twinkling from her eyes and his own breath catches in his chest with it.

They’ve had moments.

Just never quite like this.

And he’s not sure if he should say something? Or ignore it? As he has been with everything else, because there’s no conceivable way that he feels anything beyond respect or admiration for his Captain. Anything more would be ridiculous.

The silence stretches on, until of course, Sara, Brave Sara, breaks it.

“You okay there, Rip?”

He swallows, “Mmhm, yes, quite. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Right,” she says, and he wonders if she doesn’t sound just a mite irritated.

She lets out a long breath then, and he wishes he could see her better.

She clearly doesn’t believe him, but lets it slide and changes the topic. “What do you think they saw in him? His wives, I mean?”

He’s thankful for the distraction, as he grabs hold of the subject and answers her; “Ah yes, that. One of history’s greatest mysteries.”

She snorts.

“Maybe,” he continues on, “it was his mountains of gold, the title and status . . .”

She makes a dismissive noise, clearly disagreeing.

“Or maybe,” he says, “his dashing good looks, heroism, his charm and dry wit . . .”

She laughs, because it’s clear he’s making fun. The Henry VIII they’ve met is far from any of those. Still, it surprises him when she opens her mouth, and teases, “Are we still talking about the King of England, or you?”

His mouth snaps shut at the unexpected, and if he didn’t know any better, almost flirtatious undertones of her words. She’s only making light, she must be. He convinces himself of this before he opens his mouth again and tries to sound as nonchalant as he knows how to be; “Except I have no mountains of gold . . .”

“And the dashing good looks?” she asks, and he feels her brush against his shoulder and wonders how she’s managed to move towards him with him having no clue. That, and how she can even see in this darkness?

Trained assassin, that’s how.

He feels her stop beside him, her shoulder pressing into his as she leans back against the wall, and just like that, they’re back on dangerous terrain.

He swallows. “No don’t have those either.”

“Oh I don’t know,” she retorts, voice low, and his stomach turns in a way he hasn’t felt for a very long time, “I think you could easily get yourself six wives.”

He huffs out a breath, “I’ve only ever needed one.”

It takes a moment.

A tiny, pin drop of a moment, and the weight of those words adds up to so much more.

And whatever was building is gone once again.

He feels her move away first, the apology in the air between them, on his lips, on hers.

But he doesn’t even know why he feels the need to. He just does.

“I mean-I-”

“No,” she interrupts, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“No, it’s fine, I’m-”

He never finishes his sentence. And neither does she.

The cavalry arrives just in time.

The bright, blue tinged lights of Ray in the miniaturised version of his A.T.O.M. suit shines in their faces as he hovers in front of them like a firefly, to literally light their way.

It’s ridiculous, is what it is.

But Rip’s not complaining.

“How did you guys even end up here?”

He clears his throat, tests the waters to see if they’re back on land, “Captain Lance,” he says evenly, “Did you want to answer that one?”

Sara sighs, likely rolling her eyes again as she grumbles, “For the last time, this is not my fault!”

And just like that, the tension dissipates.

They fall into step behind the Atom, slipping into their familiar back and forth – Rip arguing the point about sticking to the plan and trying, for the love of God, not to seduce every royal she comes across through time, while Sara remains steadfastly unrepentant for her actions – all the way back to the Waverider.

He doesn’t bring it up again.

She doesn’t either.

And he is absolutely fine with that.

He is.

Because, he reminds himself once more, there’s nothing but respect and admiration between them.

Nothing more.

And anything else would be ridiculous.

Right?

Yes, he decides.

Yes, it would be.

Well, that, and impossible.

Part II

[not-that-joker]

I told the beginning of this story before - about how during that time when I was supposedly dead, Goro left me a...whole bunch of interesting voicemails. Well, a few people have asked, so I’m going to share a little more of the story.

November 24, 17:35:

It’s me again. I know I’m probably the last person you’d want to hear from if you were there, but I just wanted you to know...I passed by Leblanc earlier today.  I thought about going in, but I just…couldn’t face it. I couldn’t stand the thought that you wouldn’t be there, let alone imagining what Boss would think if he knew what really happened to you. Do you remember what I said all that time ago, about how I felt like that was the only place I could truly be myself? Well…that’s gone now. It’s moments like this that I think it would have been easier to refuse the order and let him kill me instead. I suppose that’s a fair part of my punishment. Akira…I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

November 25, 17:38:

Akira…it’s so good to hear your voice, even if it’s just the same old recording. I don’t know what I’m going to do when this number gets deactivated. I know this is so selfish of me, to keep calling like this, when I know you’d probably never want to hear my voice again, and I sure don’t deserve the comfort, but please…if there’s some way my words can reach you, please understand that I never wanted this. I never wanted you to die.

November 26, 02:48:

I’ve been having nightmares about it. I need to tell you something, something I’ve been trying to find a way to tell you for a long time – I’ve been doing that wretched man’s dirty work for years, but that was the only time I’ve ever had to kill anyone in the real world. I never wanted this – I never wanted any of it. I didn’t want to hurt anyone – except, perhaps, for him. But nothing has been as bad as this. I wasn’t prepared for the mess it would make – every time I close my eyes, all I see is your face fading into a grotesque splash of red. Of all people, why did it have to be you? It’s hard enough to hurt a stranger in such a clean, impersonal way as I’ve been doing all this time – but this...it’s too much.

November 26, 03:36:

Akira…I beg of you. Lend me your strength. Show me a way to hold myself together, to hide my guilt, to pretend it doesn’t hurt, so I can get our revenge. Please, wherever you are – guide me. Let me feel your presence again, help me rest, help me fight – the only way this could be any worse is if it all ends up being for nothing. I don’t want you to have died for nothing. Please…help me one last time!

November 26, 07:14:

I couldn’t get back to sleep. I guess I deserved that.

November 27, 00:09:

When I die, will I see you again? Or are there separate places for people like you and people like me?

November 27, 18:02:

It’s been a week since you’ve been gone now. I must sound pathetic calling you like this every day. I know you won’t be there to answer. I know you won’t be able to hear this.  But even just this little thing that lets me imagine, for a few fleeting seconds, that I can still say something to you – I don’t think I’d be able to finish my mission without it. Thank you for always having listened to me. As Joker, you were a truly great rival – and as Akira, you were an even better friend and lover. I’m so sorry it had to end like this. I will always miss you.

November 28, 19:42:

I lied and faked a lot of things, but what I felt for you wasn’t one of them. I truly did love you. I still do. Please…let there be a miracle. Come back, somehow. I don’t care if you hate me – I just want you to be alive! Please…please live. Please come back!

November 29, 17:27:

I realized today that even if I’d refused the mission, that alone probably wouldn’t have saved you – it would have merely killed us both. He would have gotten someone else to do the job. You would think this would relieve some of the guilt, but somehow it only makes it worse – I should have taken the risk. We could have saved each other, couldn’t we? But I was selfish and cowardly – why am I the one who gets to go on living? Because I was too scared to take even the first step toward fighting for you? This…this can’t be right…!

At this point the temptation to tell him the truth was so strong I started needing to have someone over with me when I listened to the messages. I hated that I couldn’t just answer and tell him and make him stop tormenting himself so much – but of course, until Shido was out of the picture, that wasn’t an option.

 I spent the next evening with Yusuke. He looked like he was going to have a heart attack when he saw a blocked number calling my phone.

 “Don’t worry. This has been happening every night for a while now,” I told him. “It’s nothing dangerous – no one knows I’m alive who shouldn’t.”

 I debated whether or not to let him listen to the voicemail too. On one hand, everyone was still angry at Goro for what had happened; the wound was still fresh, and I was the only one he’d opened up to on this level, so maybe, I thought, if the others heard this, they’d understand why I just went silent while they vented their anger over everything he did – why I couldn’t agree, even when I was the one who’d just “been shot”, that he was evil – but on the other hand, it was so personal that it just felt wrong to share.

 I decided to listen to it myself that night and decide after I’d heard it.

 Hey, Akira…remember that time at the pastry shop in Shibuya station, when you bought the last melon bread right before my turn in line? I was so frustrated and disappointed after I’d gone all that way just for that bread – but you noticed. Remember how I tried to convince you it wasn’t what I was there for, but you saw right through me and insisted on sharing? No – you probably wouldn’t remember, would you? Acts of kindness like that seemed like they were nothing to you…but I’ll never forget it. I went by that shop today and it was all I could think about. Why were you so kind to me? You knew, from the moment we spoke on that show, that we were destined to be enemies. So why…? You were…truly the greatest mystery I could never solve. I miss you.

I decided to keep it private, but Yusuke could tell something was up. He didn’t really know what to do about it, so we just talked about painting all night. It didn’t really solve much, but at least it made a good distraction.

The next night, the call came while I had Futaba over to play some games – and this time, I didn’t get a choice as to whether or not I shared it. As soon as I started listening, she grabbed the phone from my hand and put it on speaker. If it had been anyone else, I probably would have been angry about that. 

I had to cancel a TV appearance today. I blamed it on food poisoning, but the truth was that I couldn’t bear talking about you like I didn’t care.  Akira…how can I go on like this? I can’t fail, not now – I’ve sacrificed too much, I’ve hurt too many people I never wanted to hurt, now I’ve even lost the only person who showed me true kindness and it’s my own fault…! If I fail now, the man who ordered all this will never come to justice – worse, all these horrible things he ordered me to do will become true victories for him! But I can barely keep up the act that’s gotten me this far…Aki, what do I do? How do I finish this? How do I make sure you didn’t die in vain?

Futaba just stared at me for several seconds in silence, then asked me, “Was that…Akechi?” 

I just nodded. I was a little too rattled to talk after that one.

“This isn’t the first time he’s left you a message like this, is it?”

I shook my head. She said nothing – just immediately began texting everyone else to tell them that I’d been getting these calls. The next day, she had me let everyone listen to the voicemails as part of the mission briefing. I just sat there in silence, with my head in my hands, while everyone debated over what his true intentions were...I didn’t even know what to say. But everyone left knowing what I’d known all along – that there was way more to him than what he showed on TV, or what he showed while acting as Shido’s agent.

And, of course, the voicemails didn’t stop there.

December 2, 16:22:

People say that time heals all wounds…but how long does this kind take? I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself for letting you get caught up in this. How could I have used you like this? Why couldn’t I find another way? I’m sorry, Akira, I’m so sorry – how many times must I apologize to make something happen? No…what do I even expect? I can apologize until my voice runs dry and I know you won’t come back. I can’t forgive myself because you’re gone. Yet still I feel compelled to call you like this and tell you again, and again, and again – I’m sorry.

December 2, 23:47:

Please come back, Akira…please come back! I can’t do this, please, give me a miracle, please just come back!

 December 3, 01:13:

I don’t really have anything to say this time; I just needed to call so I could hear your voice on that recording again. It’s been a bad night, since I realized it was December already – it was barely over a month ago that I thought I was going to have my first Christmas date this year. I was trying to figure out the perfect gift for you, and everything – I can’t believe I was naïve enough to think I could have such a thing. Still, this isn’t what I imagined would get in the way of that plan. …oh, there I go, rambling as always…I guess I said a lot for someone with nothing to say, didn’t I?

December 3, 02:36:

I’ve decided, I’m still going to get you a gift. But…where should I send it? Should I leave it at Leblanc? I feel like I can’t go there anymore…but maybe I can stand to send it anonymously. No one but you needs to know it’s from me, right? I don’t want to intrude on anyone else’s mourning process…especially not when everyone else has so much more right to it than I do.

December 3, 17:29:

Honestly, Akira…why? Why were you so kind to me? What were you hoping to accomplish? You knew, you had to know – from our first serious conversation, you had to know there was no way this could have worked. What did you want? Why…why did you do this to me!? Why did you make me love you!?

December 4, 18:10:

I’m scared. I’m so scared. He’s going to realize I’m not taking this well if I have to cancel another appearance, and when he realizes that, he’ll realize I’m not the loyal lap dog he thinks I am…! Of all people, why did it have to be you!? Why!?

December 5, 03:23:

Has your family been notified yet? Have they decided where you’re going to be buried? Would you...would you even want me to visit you? If I left you an offering, would you accept it? I wouldn’t blame you if the answer is no.

December 5, 17:31:

How many of these messages have I sent? I suppose it doesn’t matter…I get to hear your voice again. It may be only a short recording, but it’s one of the best things I have. This recording, and the toys you bought for me during our time together…they keep me as close to functional as I can be. At least, I think they do. The worst thing is…the longer this goes on, the less energy I have to focus on that final moment, and the more I remember when we were happy together…you would think this would hurt less, but it’s making me realize…for all I say I won’t blame you if you hate me, you never had it in you to hate me, did you? You wouldn’t hate me if I were here right now, would you? And…why wouldn’t you!? I’ve earned that hatred, haven’t I!? I killed you! I killed you and I laughed – and if my knowledge of you is correct, you still wouldn’t hate me!? Why not!? I hate me for this! You…you were truly unbelievable.

December 6, 04:03:

I hate you for making me love you.

December 6, 15:51:

That kindness you showed me was the cruelest thing anyone has ever done to me. Why do you have to haunt me like this!? How could you – were you just trying to make me back down!? Was that your angle!? It hurts…it hurts so much, Akira…! How could you do this to me…!?

And that was the last message he sent. My phone went silent for several days. I was worried sick, when he left it on that note. I was afraid he’d gone and done something horrible to himself. And yet…even leaving it on that note, I wasn’t prepared for what happened when we met again in the Metaverse.

[inwiththewind-outwithabang]

nighthold pt 1: arcing aqueducts

pt. 2 pt. 3 pt. 4 pt. 5 pt. 6

The giant scorpion thing hadn’t been too bad, Tam thought. The time anomaly had been worse; it was one of the few times he was actually grateful he wasn’t a mage. The lieutenant was still retching in the corner, reeling from her magic being altered so fundamentally. One of the new Argent Crusaders—he thought her name was Aya, but it was hard to get introductions from someone who glowed like a second sun in battle—was rubbing her shoulders while Leo hovered ineffectually by her side. He’d been skeptical when the trio of knights had rode up and announced themselves their new group members, but learning that the other two were friends of the Dawnhallows and little Lady Andoval had made him feel better. And no matter how nervous the Light made him, he definitely couldn’t deny that it had helped; his skin still felt hot and tight over his muscles, but it was better than bleeding to death.  The hallway beyond didn’t look too dangerous, but he could smell something absolutely vile.

“Is she gonna be okay?”

He blinked, looking down into the face of one of their warlocks. She’d been another one he was surprised to find he recognized from her voice on the Convocation’s stones; somehow he hadn’t pictured the shyly enthusiastic human girl to bring back such unpleasantly sharp memories. Alu had had hair like hers—like his—and Mareshan’s skin had freckled as much in sunlight. “Oh, yeah, the boss lady’ll be fine.” He cracked a smile, hoping it would put her at ease. “Don’t say you’re worried, I saw you out there.”

Well, to be fair, he’d mostly seen her wrathguard, aided by briefly-summoned companions and the occasional bolt of flame. Persicaria exchanged a glance with her blue-armored demon and winced. “…Actually, yeah, a little. I’ve never been in a place like this before; I only just started out on this adventuring thing.”

“You’re doing great!” That was Tanryn, yelling across the room from where she and Rythien were inspecting her spectacularly bright armor for damage.

“She is my best pupil. Of course she is great.” That was Naahma, their other warlock, who insisted she was a draenei. Thammuz had taken a deep breath near her and concluded that if she was a draenei then he was the Highlord of the Argent Crusade, but as long as she kept the fire heading towards their enemies instead of them he didn’t care.

He patted Percy’s shoulder lightly; one of her elaborately carved and painted skull pauldrons had a crack running through it from when she’d used it to lay an Arathi hex on the scorpion, and he didn’t want it to break. “I know how you feel, kiddo. I’m used to going out into the field with an army at my back. Not that you guys aren’t just as good, but it’s a totally different thing.”

She blinked up at him. “Oh, right. Sorry, I kind of…uh. Forgot you and Leolo used to be soldiers. I can’t even imagine...I mean, I’ve been doing this alone.” At her wrathguard’s offended snort, she flushed and added, “Mostly alone. It must be great to have so many people on your side.”

Tam paused, scanning the room. Reeta was clearly feeling better, rinsing her mouth out with a bottle of mint-flavored water; Leolo had tripped into Aya, thoroughly distracted by the sight of his wife getting to her feet in pants. He couldn’t blame him, honestly. “When they get out of each other’s pants for long enough, yeah.”

She snickered, covering her grin with her hand. “I think we’ve both got friends like that. Tanryn’s told me some stories—���

“I heard my name!” The paladin in question stretched, light sparkling off her armor, and picked up her shield. “Who’s ready to head on forward?”

There was a ragged chorus to the tune of Sure, Let’s Do It, punctuated by Crusader Bladesworn’s dry, “I believe I am the one with the map, Tanryn.”

She gave him a dirty look and gestured down the corridor. “Fine, you first.” Tam caught a mutter he was fairly sure was “…you get lost one time as a trainee and he never lets you live it down…”

“To be fair to Reggie, there were an awful lot of spiders…”

“Lady Ardvisura, you started listing off recipes. You can’t talk!”

“I did not say they were not very tasty spiders!”

All banter stopped when the oozes began to mass along the corridor. Tam fought as best he could, wishing desperately for a way to turn his nose off and knowing he was alone. Leo was the only other felblood, and the fel hadn’t cursed him with nearly the same acute sense of smell. When they spilled out together into an empty banquet hall, the sheer relief at being able to take a breath of reasonably fresh air almost eclipsed his awe at the massive construct which resided there. “Hey, guys? Try not to damage that thing too badly, I want a better look at it!”

Crusader Bladesworn stiffened, taking a step forward. “We must pass it to gain entry to the Nightwell, and I cannot make promises. I will try—”

It charged at him. Over the next several minutes of frantic activity, Thammuz began to reconsider whether having a reasonably complete construct to study was really that important. A bolt of arcane energy singed his horns; as he hissed and leapt out of the way, he decided it probably wasn’t worth it. Fucking shit, if they didn’t have a tendency to explode when you did it I’d just stab the thing in its energy cells.

And then it started charging a beam of energy, sparking with violet light. He was halfway to its unprotected flank when a movement caught his eye; automatically, he turned his head. Oh, fuck.

There was Percy, concentrating so fully on the spell she was starting to cast that she didn’t realize the construct was aimed right at her. He didn’t think; with a flap of his wings he was nearly airborne, thanking the Light for rocket boots as he sprinted towards her. She yelped in surprise as he wrapped his arms around her, backwinging frantically to pull them both out of the path of the beam. The arcane torrent almost left him blind and deaf as it passed by.

He could still hear her swearing, though. “Shit! My glasses—”

“Fuck.” He sucked in a breath, turning her to face the construct. “Okay, aim at the blurry purple thing just to the left of the light. I’ve got you.”

She took a deep breath and planted her feet solidly on the ground, flinging out a hand as a pair of felstalkers sprang out of the nether. As she chanted, a cackling cloud of imps followed them, adding their fire to Percy’s own.

Tam shuddered, wings flexing. During the months he’d spent in Suramar surrounded by mostly arcane spellcasters, it had been easy to forget the intoxicating rush of being so close to fel magic. Suddenly he was starving, mouth watering; he knew she wouldn’t miss an imp or two, and it would be so easy—

“Ow! Hey, watch the claws!”

He jerked away, releasing her; he felt hot all the way up to the tips of his ears and knew he was blushing. “Sorry!” Time to get back into the fray.

It was easier when he was away from the casters; by the time the construct finally dropped, pierced through by one of Rythien’s shadow tentacles, he felt much better and less likely to do anything stupid. Especially when, by some miracle, Leo found Percy’s glasses, so there was no need for anyone to point out where she should aim. As he retied his hair, he couldn’t help but grimace at his own conduct; he swore he could practically hear the Lion scolding him. We don’t do that anymore. We don’t. I vowed that I never would.

He couldn’t really enjoy their break, after that.