#my brain forcing me to draw this at midnight while running on 2 hours of sleep because brain said only think about dc x dp now :]

[b0nkedmehead]

(°Д°)

[queen-haq]

Fic: A Woman Scorned - Part 16

Fic: A Woman Scorned - Part 16

Pairing: Billy Russo x Reader

Rating: R for language and smut.

Words: ~3100 words.

Summary: You’ve been sleeping with Billy Russo for a few months now. Knowing his aversion to emotional commitments, you’re satisfied with your clandestine arrangement until you catch him having dinner with Dinah Madani one night. Then it finally dawns on you. It’s not that he doesn’t want to commit, he just doesn’t want to commit to *you*.

Billy may think he knows you, but he has no idea what he’s just lost…

Part 1   Part 2   Part 3   Part 4   Part 5   Part 6   Part 7   Part 8   Part 9   Part 10   Part 11   Part 12   Part 13   Part 14  Part 15

gif credit: @benbarnxs

Part 16

You were straddling Billy, riding him, your hips undulating atop his body. His fingers tightly gripped your waist, getting ready to take charge so you were underneath him, but you refused to submit. Instead you grabbed his hands and pinned it above his head. As you hovered above him, he arched up to kiss you but you shifted back, instead staring down at him intently. He growled at you before he rolled over unexpectedly, taking you along with him.

As he thrust into you, harder and rougher each time, you began to slide off the bed. In your new position, you caught sight of Adam on the floor. His corpse was wrapped up in a rug, only his head sticking out-

“Hey.” Billy pulled you up so you were now sitting across his lap, facing him. “Look at me. Only me.”

Only a few seconds ago he was biting you as you clawed at him, both of you desperate to possess each other. Your movements had been savage, animalistic even, but now Billy was kissing you languidly, his hand brushing the back of your hair while the other settled on the small of your back. You were directing the rhythm of the thrusts now, setting a slower pace so you could fully enjoy the feel of his cock stretching your insides oh-so-tantalizingly. Your forehead braced against his, you closed your eyes and lost yourself to the flood of emotions that overcame you.

***

It was after midnight. Billy had come home with you and both of you were in bed, you nestled against him while he spooned you from behind. Even though you were tired, you couldn’t sleep. Your brain was working overtime processing everything that happened in the last few hours. He stirred next to you, dropping a tender kiss on your bare shoulder.

“What’s wrong?” he murmured. You may have been fully alert but he sounded absolutely exhausted.

“Are you sure they’ll be thorough with the cleaning?”

“Yeah.” Throwing his arm over you, he covered your hand with his. “These guys are not amateurs. They know what they’re doing. There won’t be any traces of us left in that room.”

“And Adam’s body-”

“Will be disposed of.”

“But how do you know you can trust these guys? What’s stopping them from blackmailing-”

“’cause money talks, babe. That crew is very well paid.” He squeezed your palm. “I’ve used them in the past. No trouble yet.”

With his military career you were already aware of his violent past, but you also sensed he had a long hit list aside from that. When he’d realized your plans for Adam, he hadn’t been remotely shocked at the idea of you killing another person. In fact, as you stabbed Adam repeatedly, Billy had looked at you with such pride and reverence that it had left you breathless.

“What we did tonight, you know what that means, don’t you?”

His voice brought you out of your reverie. You exhaled a deep breath, drawing circles on his palm. “That we’re bad people.”

“No, we’re survivors. We take down anyone who gets in our way.”

“He didn’t come after you,” you reminded him. “You didn’t have to get involved.”

He turned you around to face him. “Nobody threatens you and gets to live after that.”

Your heart pounded in your chest. When he looked at you with such intensity, you were almost ready to believe anything.

He cradled your face, his thumb caressing your bottom lip. “We’re connected now. Forever. Because of tonight.”

You didn’t understand how his words could evoke such conflicting emotions within you. On one hand your stomach fluttered with excitement, he was saying things you’d wanted to hear for a long time, but then there was the fear. Doubt. Uncertainty. You forced a smile, hoping some levity would lighten the situation. “You make it sound like we’re married or something.”

Disgust flooded over his face. “Fuck, no. Marriages end. One day you’re bragging about being in love, next it’s all over. It’s not based on anything real. But we are.” He reached for your hand, which was resting on the pillow between you and him, and intertwined his fingers through yours. “I saw you tonight, the real you. And you saw me. No pretenses, no boundaries. And you didn’t run. You didn’t even flinch.”

“Neither did you.” You lifted your eyebrow. “You were rock hard.”

“I always am around you.”

His words made the heat rise in your cheeks, which he noticed right away. Giving you a teasing smile, he leaned in closer to give you a peck on the cheek. “Are you blushing?”

“Shut up.”

Billy’s eyes remained locked on you, simply staring at you with sleepy eyes. “I don’t like who I was when I thought I lost you. I couldn’t eat, couldn’t work. Every time I closed my eyes I imagined you fucking this other guy, kissing him. Even the thought of you talking to him made me want to burn it all down.”

Your heart ached at how tired he looked. Scooting closer, you started massaging his forehead. When he closed his eyes, you dropped a gentle kiss on each of his eyelids, the beauty mark just below his right eye, before snuggling him tightly in your arms. “Sleep, Billy.”

“You’ll be here when I wake up?” he murmured drowsily.

You smiled. “It is my apartment.”

He didn’t respond, already fast asleep. You tried to do the same but couldn’t; there were too many thoughts running around in your brain. You had assumed you’d feel guilty about taking a life; you didn’t. You remembered the vicious, contemptuous anger in Adam’s eyes when he’d held you at gunpoint, and how he’d threatened to kill others in your team, and all you felt was relief. Relief that he was dead and no longer a danger to you.

Billy stirred next to you, drawing your attention. You reached out to hold him, your touch feather-light so as not to wake him up. He looked calm and peaceful, unlike the haunted and distraught way he appeared earlier in the hotel room. It was still hard to digest that he’d been so unhinged at the thought of losing you. But the thing that resonated with you the most was that he hadn’t been able to hurt you despite all of the anger he’d felt. Growing up the way you had, you were always on alert for things to turn violent at any moment. One wrong comment or an innocent gesture - hell even a lone pair of sock on the floor - had the potential to trigger your father’s temper and turn things violent. During those moments his rage was uncontrollable, and as a result you always worried about how people reacted when they were furious. The fact that Billy hadn’t hit you even though he’d been completely enraged made you realize you were physically safe with him.

Maybe emotionally as well. For so long you’d had difficulty believing he could reciprocate your feelings yet you couldn’t ignore how devastated he’d been. Nor could you rationalize away his emotions. It still felt surreal but he did truly care about you, and the thought filled you with warmth and made your heart soar with happiness.

You brushed your lips against his, hoping Billy’s comforting presence next to you would help you relax. However, fifteen minutes later sleep still alluded you. Eventually you decided to do something useful and work instead. Carefully sliding out of bed so you didn’t disturb him, you tip-toed out of the bedroom. Immediately you felt the soreness in your body, an after effect of the rough sex you had with Billy in the hotel room earlier. Grabbing a nearby throw, you were soon nestled in your favourite spot on the chaise lounge, working away on your laptop.

An hour later you heard footsteps behind you and you turned around to find Billy yawning, clad in boxers, his hair all ruffled.

“Why aren’t you in bed?” he grumbled.

You scooted over to give him space to sit on the chaise but he seemed to have other ideas in mind as he took a seat behind you. You found yourself settled between his legs, your back nestled against his chest, as he caressed down the length of your arms.

“I couldn’t sleep. Figured I might as well do something useful.”

“What corporate shit are you working on?” he teased, playfully grabbing your laptop to look at your screen. You smacked his arm right away, shutting the screen and pushing the laptop away.

Billy purposely rubbed his face against the base of your neck and you started giggling at the sensation of his prickly beard on your bare skin. “Stop,” you whined. “It tickles.” you squealed loudly, trying to jump out of his arms but he held you in a tight grip.

Finally he stopped, and as you struggled to catch your breath, you slapped his arm playfully. “You’re such a jerk.”

He chuckled, hugging you tightly from behind. “That’s for ignoring all my calls since Tuesday.”

“I’m still not unblocking your number,” you retorted. His beard scraped along your shoulder, making you squeal again. “Okay, fine. Sorry!”

“Swear that you’re not gonna block me again.”

You turned around in his arms, resting on your knees as your arms looped around his neck. Smiling down at him, you nuzzled your nose with his. “Swear that you won’t act like an asshole again.”

“Can’t really do that.”

“Exactly.” He tucked your hair behind your ear. Butterflies fluttered in your stomach at the tender affection on his face, the warmth of his gaze spreading slow, languid heat throughout your body. “You should go back to bed. You still look tired.”

“I’ve had a rough week.”

You pouted your lips. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Want to make it up to me?” he asked, cocking his eyebrow at you.

”How? By sucking you off?” you teased, running your fingers through his hair.

“Move in with me.”

Your hands stilled on him, finding it hard to breathe all of a sudden. At first you thought he was joking but the solemn expression on his face made you realize otherwise. You moved away, putting much needed distance between the two of you.

“That’s not funny, Billy.”

Maintaining a rigid posture on the chaise lounge, he shrugged his shoulders. “Not meant to be. I’m dead serious.”

“You know that’s ridiculous, right?”

“Why? ‘cause I wanna keep you safe?”

“The threat is gone. I took care of it.”

“We took care of it,” he said pointedly. “A threat which you didn’t even tell me about.”

“I explained that to you already.” Feeling defensive, you started pacing the floor. “You promised you’d have your guy stop tailing me.”

“Sure. As soon as I know you’re not gonna keep things from me again. You moving in will help with that.”

“So if I don’t move in, you’ll have me followed 24/7?” Anger surged through you, you were so furious you wanted to scream. “That’s fucking blackmail.”

“Relax. No need to be so dramatic about it.”

You grabbed the closest cushion you had and flung it at him, enraged by his patronising tone. “We barely know each other-”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he interjected, finally moving to stand up. His eyes were pitch black, his jaw clenched. “You and I killed someone tonight! You took my hand, my knife, and we stabbed the bastard in the heart with it, together. We fucked while he drew his last breath and now you’re feeding me this bullshit?” He stormed towards you. “No! I’ve seen your darkness and you’ve seen mine. There’s no one else in this world that knows us better than we know each other.”

You shook your head, flabbergasted by his reaction. “This is insane. I can’t move in with you. We haven’t even gone out on a real date because you said I was boring!”

“If you believe that then you really are a fucking idiot!”

You stiffened, his words ringing in your ear. Fucking idiot. Something your father used to call you repeatedly, his tone full of hate and vitriol when he lashed out at you. It started with a fucking idiot then spiralled into bitch and whore and everything else hurtful under the sun. You swore to yourself you’d never accept being spoken to like that by another person yet here you were, being insulted again by someone who was supposed to care about you.

You retreated back from Billy, careful to keep your distance from him, and leveled him with a cold glance. “Don’t you ever talk to me like that again.” 

Your voice may have been deceptively calm but there was a storm brewing inside you. You desperately needed some space. As you moved away from Billy and headed to the kitchen, he tried to block your path but you immediately pushed him away. “Don’t touch me!”

You quickly sidestepped past him and entered the kitchen, heading for the cabinet where you kept your bottle of whiskey. Pouring yourself a glass, you slowly sipped the liquid to soothe your frayed nerves and forget the memories Billy had just unleashed in you.

***

Even as the words left his mouth, Billy knew he’d made a mistake. He regretted what he said instantly, even more so when he realized how much the words had stung you. The last thing he wanted was to cause you pain but he couldn’t seem to help himself. The more he tried to hold on to you the more you slipped through his fingers.

After giving you a few minutes to calm down, he entered the kitchen behind you. You were standing in the opposite corner, drinking the hard stuff, which further signalled how shaken you were. Billy knew Scotch wasn’t something you enjoyed, you only drank it when you were messed up.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I shouldn’t have said that. It won’t happen again. I swear.”

You didn’t acknowledge him, and it hurt like hell.

“When I think about you pulling away from me, it makes me lose my mind.” He swallowed audibly, desperately trying to get through to you. “I’m all in when it comes to us but it feels like you always have one foot out the door.” He took hesitant steps towards you while your eyes still remained on the countertop, refusing to meet his gaze. “I keep fucking up but I’ve never felt this way before. I don’t know what I’m doing. I just can’t lose you, Y/N.”

“I’m not built like you, Billy,” you finally spoke, turning to look at him. “I have doubts. I’m constantly dealing with insecurities. It takes me time to trust people, and I just can’t rush into things head-on.”

“And I’m someone who hustles. I go after everything I want with guns blazing. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have Anvil.”

“But I’m not a thing, Billy. I’m a person, and you can’t push me into doing stuff I’m not ready for.”

He exhaled a resigned sigh. “I know. It’s ‘cause I get paranoid when it comes to you. You’re a closed book and you never tell me anything.” His eyes scanned yours, his stomach clenched with anxiety. “I don’t even know how you feel about me.” It was the first time he’d voiced that thought, something he didn’t even realize he felt until this very moment. You wanted him, that he knew, and you’d even confessed you loved him once but he didn’t really believe in that bullshit. What mattered to him was if you needed him as much as he did you. The idea of not having you in his life drove him insane, but did you feel the same way? He didn’t think so and it bothered the fuck out of him.

You set your glass down on the counter before reaching out to cradle his face, your soulful eyes meeting his emotional gaze. “I want to be with you, Billy. I like you so much that it scares me.”

Your words brought with them a tidal wave of relief that swept over him like a calm breeze. It was like he could breathe again. He pulled you close, his forehead against yours as he simply held you. “Don’t be scared, babe. I don’t bite.”

“That is a complete fucking lie,” you retorted. “I still have the marks from earlier to prove it.” Your smile faded again as you held his stare. “But I need you to be patient with me. You can’t bully me or get mad if I don’t want to rush into things.”

He nodded his head. “I won’t.”

“I’ve only ever had myself to rely on. And the thought of trusting you? Relying on you? It scares the hell out of me. Because there’s always a voice in my head that’s reminding me I need to go back to being alone when we end things.”

“I need to kill that voice.”

You chuckled, reaching out to loop your arms behind his back. “It shuts up eventually. It did in the hotel room when I saw how fucked up you were without me. That’s when it sunk in you actually do like me.”

“It took you that long to believe it?”

You gave him a sad smile. “Yeah. You did tell me I was boring.”

He groaned right away, regret washing over him. He should never have said those fucking words to you. “You’re not boring. You’re smart. And hot.” He kissed your left cheek. “And sweet. And funny. And mine.” Then the right cheek. “And when you lecture me about cybersecurity, I get so hard.”

“Whatever. You’re the one who wanted to know more about the topic,” you grumbled.

He grinned, giving you a tender peck on the lips. “I can listen to you talk for hours and hours-“

“Shut up.” You pressed your palm over his mouth.

Wrapping his arms around you, he lifted you off the ground and started carrying you back to the bedroom. “Forever actually, if you’re naked.”

“Not once have I lectured you naked.”

He dropped you on the bed. “Yeah, exactly. Time you start.” He jumped into bed, rubbing his beard on your face again as you started squealing.

A few minutes later you were both panting for air, staring up at the ceiling. “Just to make it clear, I’m not moving in,” you huffed through laboured breaths.

He turned to look at you, smirking. “Fine, but I’m taking you out tonight. Proper date and all.”

The most beautiful smile graced your face. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You were a ray of sunshine beaming up at him and Billy’s heart felt so full he worried it would explode. If he could, he’d freeze this moment forever.

Part 17

A/N - As always, your wonderful feedback is what keeps me inspired to write and post consistently. I was initially nervous about this chapter because the characters experience a gamut of emotions but it was necessary. I hope you like and enjoy this chapter. Feedback, as always, is very much appreciated and feeds my soul :)

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[obeymeluv]

Signs they Love You

Back for my 1 post a week to prove school hasn’t totally killed me! When I get a semester break, I’ll post more often. In the mean time, feel free to leave me chats or PMs for stuff you want to see! :) Something nice and sappy for an okay Saturday

These turned out really long so I only did Lucifer, Mammon, Levi, and Satan. I have to get back to studying :/. Maybe I’ll have part 2 next week?

Lucifer

You wouldn’t be able to notice it because his pride wouldn’t allow you to. One of the brothers (or, to Lucifer’s extreme mortification, Lord Diavolo) would have to tell you

He’s not sure if it’s just the appreciation of you not being as totally chaotic as his brothers or genuine human naivete that has somehow worn off on him, but he loves you

Will be outed by sappy, soft stares that last 2 seconds too long.

Asmo and Satan are the first to notice and he LOATHES that

If he’s tasked with waking you up that morning, his knock will be firm but his voice will be gentle. Almost persuasive or commiserating

If you’re feeling overwhelmed by school workload, he may have a private conference with the teacher and grant you a minor extension. Will you know it was him? No. Is he happy to see you brighten up and refill with hope just a bit? Definitely. Is it worth the teasing from Lord Diavolo? ...Sure.

If he responds to texts in the wee hours of the morning when he’s still pouring over paperwork, he likes you.

Anyone who knows him can see how his eyes soften when someone else talks about you. There’s a fond slowness to his actions, how he glides his hand imperceptibly over his chest as if to feel where that emotion is coming from. Boy is whipped.

Should Lord Diavolo invite him out for a meeting, he will bring you back something small. Something he thought you’d like. Beel is upset. Levi yells “SIMP!” from the second floor and prepares for Armageddon.

Actually reminds you about assignments if you’re not already up on it yourself. Your success is his joy.

Is very keen on if/when you burn the candle too long and has a sixth sense for bad sleeping habits. Will put you on a stricter schedule for your own health

It may take almost all of the brothers to do it (or just help from Diavolo) but if he gets drunk on Demonus you’re getting a whole BOOK about why he likes you. He almost charms your memory away but everyone practically dog-piles on him not to because he needs to deal with his feelings.

You’re the only one he won’t chase out of his study when he’s doing paperwork. He’ll even set up a little fire if you like the fireplace.

How he confesses: tries to take you on a fancy date to Ristorante Six. Does not know that Lord Diavolo and Barbatos know about this (damn time-travelling butler!) and basically crash the date just to encourage him. Just long enough to encourage him.

Kind of an, “So you chose this idea, Lucifer? Admirable! I’m sure your date will be amazing! Enjoy your evening!” as Diavolo walks back to his table.

Does Lucifer deny it? Look and see how red his face is. If you’re really not sure, ask Diavolo. He will gladly yell, “I cannot lie!” across the restaurant.

Mammon

For all his talk, when he really, really decides he likes you, he doesn’t know what to say.

He can console himself with how obvious it is and how you made the best choice, but he has to show it! What to do?

Mammon’s kind of confused about it because he doesn’t really change how he behaves. You didn’t catch on already?! C’mon, human!

What, does he have to spell it out for you? Do an interview with Majolish?

His first tactic is to just be around you. Be subtle, and maybe cuddle a bit more than usual. Things to show he’s kittenish and at your mercy. Comfortable with you.

You don’t seem to be getting the hint so he throws the net a little wider by trying to find things you like or that you’ve been talking about. They mysteriously show up at your door.

It sends the others on a gossip train about who your admire could be and when they list off everyone BUT him, he wants to slam his head on the table.

Feeling tired? Coffee! Backpack heavy? Silly human, the BEST man can help you with that, OBVIOUSLY! Mammon jumps at the chance to do any little thing for you because he cares. His actions always speak louder than words.

Feeling kind of defeated and embarrassed, Mammon will go talk to the flock of crows that meander around the House of Lamentation’s yard when he really needs them.

For the next few days you’re accosted in the nicest way, birds chirping at you and dropping off various shiny things

You collect them, finally showing them to Mammon and he’s embarrassed that his representative animal has taken to courting you on his behalf.

He calls them to him, embarrassed and ready to rant or fall into the ground never to be seen again, when they start talking. Repeating all the things he’s practiced saying.

“Hey baby,”, “Hey human,” “Love you!”, “Silly! Silly!”, “Dummy, no, dummy!”, “My human.”

It’s broken and confusing, six or seven bird children cawing in your face and bobbing, but you get it.  

Levi

Levi’s not the best at expressing himself but it counts, right? As much as he hates to admit he’s some kind of shy tsundere, you know what that is, right? He doesn’t have to say it?

Yes. Yes he does. His brothers are getting too chummy with you and you don’t understand his signals. Time for Plan B.

If you get invited to stand in line for a midnight release, he hopes you take it. Then it’s just you two hanging out in line? What’s this? He brought snacks? Totally not for the two of you BUT you an have some if you’re hungry. It’s whatever

When he’s not doing boss raids and playing with online friends, he’ll ask if you want to play something with him. A Player 1 needs a Player 2, you know?

I headcanon that Levi knows how to play some unusual instruments like the kalimba or a real ocarina. I could see him making you a song on one of those. Or just playing it because you inspire him. He’s very good with a harp and will play it when he’s in the mood.

Boy also likes to draw and paint. Especially loves watercolors. Would it be weird if he gave you a painting of you as a mermaid? Just you and the ocean. Beautiful.

Was there a really cute plush or knickknack you liked? Levi has his ways, regardless of how rare or limited edition it is. It will be yours. 

He has a hard time understanding a passing comment of interest versus a genuine want because he genuinely wants everything he’s interested in, so if you hear a whisper about him almost securing something, stop and look it up. Make sure it’s not super expensive!!

Probably outed by Belphegor, who feels like Levi’s broadcasting all of his stress, frustration, and hope through his dreams. (”His dreams are weird. Just different ways of asking them out, and if he messes up it restarts like a simulation. My brain hurts.” he says to Beel)

 You’re allowed to come into his super-restricted bedroom haven when everything’s too much. It’s very exclusive since the Mammon incident. Be happy.

Might go swimming in his big tank and pick a seashell or rock to make a necklace out of. He hopes you like it.

If he’s not outed by Belphie, some of his online friends made a game demo they wanted him to try. They specified it was two player so he asked you to join in. While he’s in the middle of bragging about how he knows people, knows developers, he totally misses the dating-sim like dialogue and the big reveal.

Doesn’t really kick in until he realize the characters look like you two. You’re busy saying ‘Yes’ to “Do you like me?” as Levi absolutely threatens to rip them apart six ways to Sunday. Almost in full demon mode, too.

Everything falls out of his brain and quiets in his throat when he realizes the characters are kissing and ‘THEY SAID YES!’ flashes on the screen.

“Y-You like me?”

“Yep.”

It was that easy all along. Levi thinks he’s going to faint.  

Satan

Becomes aware of it pretty quick but ignores it for a looong time

Is it rude or foolish of him to assume you would also like him back?

Run away into books. A solid plan. If you don’t think about it, it’s not an issue

Oh, but it is an issue when you fall asleep after a mutual day of reading, forced in by bad weather. He finds his heart fluttering in a painful squeeze as he quietly whispers all the things he dare not say when you’re awake

It’s nervous poetry, and it’s beautiful

Satan tries to get himself back on track, to focus on reading, and he gets frustrated when he’s stuck on the same page almost an hour later

When you’re on the brain he just can’t do anything else

How does one show their affection? He’s swimming in books for a new reason now, as voracious as ever

He brews you a pot of Melancholy Coffee and is a bit disappointed you don’t know the meaning behind the bitterness. Wants to break the pot when Lucifer jokes about how it tastes exceptionally bitter to him as well.

Okay, so coffee didn’t work. What else do people do when they show their affections?

Asmo suggests a ‘not a date’ date and Satan sighs inside. Sounds like a lot of work and effort. It’s not that you’re not worth it, but he has a feeling that everyone will know and look at him the whole time.

Tries anyways. You guys go to a beautiful nature conservatory and take a tour of the plants and some indigenous animals

You’re starting to realize it now, he can tell. Satan tries to answer your question without saying it while you’re at school. You walk together, he offers to carry some of your books, and always requests that he be your project partner

Nearly there. If there was a single defining moment for him, he’d want it to be classic. He shows up at your door with a rose and asks you to go on a moonlit walk.

Mammon’s poking fun about how cheesy and cliche it is, Asmo’s gearing up to shut Mammon’s stupid mouth, and Satan just whisks you out the door with an aggravated sigh.

No matter what side of the house you’re on, Asmo throws up the biggest, gaudiest handmade sign that’s like ‘CUTEST COUPLE! 10/10!’

[marjansmarwani]

In the midnight hour, we came alive

3.3k || ao3 

He heard footsteps behind as he walked him but thought nothing of it until he noticed a figure leaning against the side of a building, at the mouth of an alley. It seemed innocent enough but something about it made the hair on the back of Carlos’s neck stand on edge. Something wasn’t right.

Or, When Carlos goes off on his own while out with TK and Paul, he finds more far trouble than he expected. ---- Day 2 of Angst Week: "does it hurt badly?” + "don’t move, they hit your head really hard” + infected wound for bthb

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This one was started with a prompt request from an Anon who asked for hurt Carlos and I decided to throw in my infected wound square for @badthingshappenbingo, requested by @immortalstrand. 

Beta’d by @silvarafael

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“I still don’t know why you didn’t ask Picnic Girl to come out with us.” 

Carlos rolled his eyes fondly as Paul glared at TK, “Will you let that go?” 

“No, I will not,” TK said firmly. “It seemed like she liked you and I know you liked her. So I’m just wondering why you haven’t seen more of her.” 

“You know most of us don’t just fall into a perfect committed relationship with the first person we meet in a new town, TK. Some of us have to play the game.” 

“First of all, don’t hate,” TK chided, sliding an arm around Carlos’s waist as he spoke and flashing him a grin before he continued. “Secondly, you have been playing the game! And you found a girl that seems like a good match for you. So I’m just curious why you aren’t trying harder to pursue it.”

Paul opened up his mouth to respond to his friend but was interrupted when the line moved forward. 

“Oh thank god,” Carlos muttered, rather louder than he meant to, causing the other two to look at him. “Don’t give me those looks,” he said defensively, “ you two have been having this argument all night. I will happily take any distraction. Like this lovely ID check before we get into the club where it will be too loud for you to hear each other enough to continue this conversation.” 

Paul snorted and TK shook his head at his boyfriend even as he leaned closer to him. 

“I’m sorry,” TK said sheepishly, “I didn’t mean to drag it on so long.” 

“It’s okay,” Carlos responded with a smile, “I know you mean well.” 

“You’re really just going to let him off like that?” Paul asked incredulously. 

Carlos shrugged, “He is awfully cute.” 

“Wow man, wow. I thought you had my back.” 

Carlos’s response was cut off when the line moved forward again the bouncer at the club asked for their IDs. Carlos shifted out of TK’s grasp so he could reach into his pocket, only to come up empty. He frowned, reaching into his other pocket instead with the same result. Both Paul and TK as well as the bouncer were watching him now and he shrugged, “It doesn’t look like I have it, I must have left it in the car.”

“Can’t let you in without it, man,” the bouncer began, and Carlos nodded. 

“Of course, I understand. I’ll just go get it.” 

“Do you want us to come with you?” TK asked, but Carlos shook his head. 

“No, you two go in. I’ll meet you there shortly.” 

“Are you sure?” TK asked again, “We don’t mind.” 

“I’m a big boy, Ty,” Carlos reminded him with a roll of his eyes, “I can handle walking two blocks to the car on my own. Go inside and I’ll be there before you know it. Just make sure that you save a dance for me?” 

“They’re all for you,” TK assured him, and Carlos grinned. He gave TK a quick kiss before waving at Paul and stepping out of the line, heading towards his car. 

He hadn’t parked far - the Camaro was on a side street about two blocks from the front door of the club - and it was a nice night for a walk at least. The humid day had faded into a cool night and Carlos savored the breeze and the quiet of the city at night. It was a nice reprieve from what was sure to be several hours full of loud music and close quarters with strangers and Carlos let himself enjoy it as he finished the journey to his car. 

It wasn’t a long walk and within a few minutes he had reached his destination, unlocking the door and leaning inside, peering around for his missing wallet. It only took him a moment to spot it on the floor of the driver’s seat. He picked it up, sliding it back into his pocket as he shut and locked the door behind him and stepped back onto the sidewalk to head back towards the noise and bright lights of the main street. 

He heard footsteps behind as he walked him but thought nothing of it until he noticed a figure leaning against the side of a building, at the mouth of an alley. It seemed innocent enough but something about it made the hair on the back of Carlos’s neck stand on edge. Something wasn’t right. 

He sped up slightly, not wanting to draw attention to himself but wanting to reach the main street as quickly as possible. His focus was split between that goal and on watching the figure by the alley that he didn’t notice the footsteps behind him growing ever closer until it was too late. 

The assailant attacked from behind, using a surprising amount of force to shove Carlos to the side, sending him sprawling onto the ground of the alley to his right. He picked himself up, spinning to face his attackers. It may be two against one, but he had training and strength on his side. He was a cop, he knew what was likely about to happen and he knew how to handle it. He wasn’t worried, it would be fine. 

Or at least, he thought it would until he heard more footsteps behind him, coming from different sides. Four was different. Four against one had odds that almost never favored the one. For the first time, Carlos let himself feel fear. This was not going to go well for him, he knew it with cold certainty. 

That doesn’t mean they needed to know that though. 

“What do you want?” he asked calmly, voice steady and back straight. He turned as he spoke, trying to keep them all in his field of vision as much as possible. He didn’t get an answer. What he got instead was a blinding pain as something collided with the side of his head, and he staggered. He managed to regain his footing, to stay upright, but only for another moment. There were hands on him now, roughly reaching for his pockets before shoving him down and he collided with the alley ground. A sharp pain ripped through him from his side as blows rained down on him from all directions. 

He couldn’t follow what was happening - all he knew was pain and noise. It was loud and fast and all-consuming; it made his head swim. The noise didn’t stop but eventually, the blows did. It took him a moment to realize they were done but once he did he tried to pull himself up. He needed to get out of this alley, he needed to get help. 

But the pain was too sharp and it sent him crashing down again, the arms he had been trying to push himself up with giving out beneath him. He lay there, mindful of the peril of his predicament and knowing he needed to do something, that he needed to move. But his head was swimming and he couldn’t manage to follow a coherent thought. Even the need to get help was not so much a plan as a disjointed thought floating through his pain hazed mind. He needed to get help, but all he wanted to do was close his eyes and let the blackness encroaching on the edges of his vision consume him. 

He was about to do just that when the sound of more commotion drifted in from the mouth of the alley. He heard more footsteps, and he tensed. Could they be back for round two? He was fairly certain they had already stripped him of anything of value. What more could there be to take? Maybe, he thought wryly, they just wanted to hurt him some more. Maybe that was just their idea of a good time. 

The footsteps grew closer but there were fewer of them this time, he thought. He was still trying to blink, to open his eyes and see who was coming when a voice joined the footsteps, “Carlos!” 

The voice was familiar, but he couldn’t place it. He must know them though, they had called him by name. He heard the sound of the footsteps quickening as they drew closer and the sudden warmth of someone else’s hands against his skin. He jerked back on reflex before the same voice sounded again, warm and soothing in his ears. 

“Easy Carlos, it’s just me babe. You’re safe and we’re going to get you help.” 

He frowned as he pulled his eyes open, squinting in an effort to focus, to make out the face before him. Worried green eyes greeted his own and he could feel some of the tension leave his body. 

“TK,” he croaked and his boyfriend swallowed before reaching out to rub a gentle hand on his face. 

“Yeah, it’s me, babe. Can you tell me what hurts?”

Everything Carlos thought dully but he pushed his mind, running over the pain that covered his body, looking for a source. “Head,” he said eventually, “hip.” 

He felt TK’s gentle hands leave his face and travel to his side, where he let out a curse. He said something over his shoulder and got a response but Carlos couldn’t follow any of it. Maybe if he stood up... 

“Hey, don’t move,” TK instructed, “they hit your head really hard and you have a wound on your side too. You need to stay put until paramedics get here.”  

“You are a paramedic,” Carlos muttered, but it came out more like a question. He wasn’t too sure of anything at the moment.

“Paramedics with gear and an ambulance then,” TK amended, “you’re going to need both for your side.” 

“What’s wrong with it?” he managed to ask. 

“There’s some scrap metal stuck in it,” TK told him. “I’m not sure if…” 

He trailed off but even Carlos’s hazy brain could figure out where his mind had been going, “Must’ve fallen on it,” he muttered, “when they pushed me down.” 

He could feel TK’s hands tighten on him at the revelation and saw movement as another face entered his field of vision. 

“Do you know how many of them there were?” the other face (Paul, his mind provided. They had been out with Paul) asked. 

“Four maybe?” Carlos said with a shrug that ended abruptly with a wince as he jostled his side. TK’s hands moved to his shoulders, steadying him. 

“Hey, try and hold still,” he said softly, “you’re in pretty rough shape.”

“I’m fine.” 

The fact that the words entered the night air slurred did not help his case and caused TK to scoff, “Don’t even try that with me Carlos Reyes, you are not fine.” 

Carlos wanted to argue with him, to tell him he was fine so he could get rid of that terrified look in TK’s eyes but he couldn’t find the words. His efforts were stalled by the sounds of approaching sirens and he realized with dread that there would be police called to the scene as well. When he had planned his night in his head being found bleeding and injured in an alley by his coworkers had never entered the equation, but his luck was just like he supposed. 

“It’s okay,” TK assured him, “the ambulance just got here. You’ll be out of here soon.” 

Carlos wasn’t sure if he had shared his thoughts out loud or not, but he appreciated the reassurance either way. He wouldn’t be any good to talk to at the moment anyway. His brain was still too scrambled, everything that had happened was in his mind in flashes; quick and jumbled and out of order. 

There were more footsteps and voices now. There was a flurry of activity and Carlos couldn’t keep track of any of it. All he knew was pain and the feel of TK’s hands on him. He heard his boyfriend’s voice and he tried to follow it, tried to cling to it to maintain some semblance of what was going on but he was only able to extract every few words. The rest hit his mind and dissipated, losing all meaning in the face of the pain and confusion engulfing him. 

More hands were on him now but TK stayed at his side, a comfort and an anchor amongst all the commotion. He heard his name from the edges of the commotion - his fellow officers, no doubt. He closed his eyes again, cursing his horrible luck but TK lightly prodded him.

“Hey, stay with me Carlos. You need to stay awake.” 

He made a noise of protest but opened his eyes nonetheless in time to see the world shift as he was transferred to the gurney. He was pushed through the growing crowd, TK at his side murmuring words of encouragement. His world shifts again as the gurney is lifted into the ambulance and pain washes over him as his side is jostled. He hisses in pain and TK’s hands are on him again, warm and comforting to pair with his soothing voice, “It’s okay Carlos, you’re going to be fine. Just stay with me, babe.” 

And Carlos wants to, he really does. But the darkness at the edges of his vision is growing closer now and he doesn’t think he really has a choice. He meets TK’s eyes, so full of love and worry, and tries to smile before his eyes close again, TK’s voice the last sound he hears. 

-----------

The next time he’s aware of anything he’s in a hospital room. At least, he thinks he is. Everything is a little hazy, but he knows he’s no longer in the alley, at least. 

He groans as the light hits his eyes, causing a spike of pain in his head. He hears movement off to the side and then there is a hand on him and a soft voice to his side: “Carlos?” 

The voice was soft and familiar. “TK?” 

“Yeah babe,” he said, “it’s me. How are you feeling?” 

“Lousy,” Carlos told him honestly, pulling a weak chuckle from the other man. 

“That’s not surprising,” he said quietly, gently pulling himself onto the edge of the bed so Carlos could see him better. 

“What happened?” Carlos asked him, frowning as he tried to piece the fragments of sound and sensations in his mind into something concrete. “I remember being attacked and then you and Paul finding me, but nothing after that.” 

 TK reached out a hand wrapped it around one of Carlos’s, “You just got out of surgery a little while ago,” he told him softly, “they had to remove the metal in your side. There was a decent amount of tearing and it was dirty, so they’re worried about infection. To top all that off you have a concussion and a skull fracture.” 

“Ouch,” Carlos said absently and TK gave him a sympathetic grin. 

“Ouch is right. The good news is that as long as you aren’t showing any signs of infection you should be able to be released tomorrow, providing you have someone to stay with you. And it just so happens I have some vacation time saved up.” 

“Is that so?” 

“Mhm,” TK confirmed lightly, reaching out his other hand to caress Carlos’s face. Carlos leaned into the touch, but TK frowned. “You’re really warm, babe.” 

Really? Carlos was surprised by the statement. “I’m freezing,” he told TK, whose frown deepened. 

“That’s not a great sign,” he admitted, “could be an infection setting in. I’m going to try and grab your doctor, you just relax, okay?” 

“Okay,” he told TK, but his eyes were already drifting closed again. He didn’t know why it was so hard to keep them open. Maybe it was the after effects of the anesthesia. Regardless of the reason, Carlos was out before TK even reached the door. 

-----------

The next few times Carlos woke up were a haze. He thinks he’s been awake a few times, but they all blended together. There are sounds and voices, people and faces he can’t quite place. And TK - TK is always there. That’s the only thing Carlos knows for sure. 

He doesn’t know how long it had been but eventually, when he opened his eyes, his mind felt clearer. He blinked a few times to test it before glancing around the room. The hospital seemed quieter than usual, the typical hustle and bustle more sedated. But that’s not Carlos’s concern. His only concern is the sleeping figure in the chair beside his bed, head braced uncomfortably by his left arm held aloft by the side of the chair. The other man looked exhausted and as much as Carlos wanted to see his eyes and get some answers, he couldn’t bear the thought of waking him. He settled instead for attempting to shift into a more comfortable position, which turned out to both be impossible and a mistake as he jostled his side and let out an involuntary gasp of pain. 

TK was awake in an instant, head dropping unceremoniously off of his extended hand as he sat up, eyes flying open and seeking Carlos in panic. 

“I’m sorry,” Carlos said sheepishly when their eyes met, “I didn’t want to wake you, you look exhausted.” 

“It’s fine,” TK assured him hurriedly, leaning forward in his seat, “I’m just happy to see you awake again. How are you feeling?” 

“Better,” Carlos told him honestly, “still in pain and not feeling great, but my mind feels clearer than it has the last few times I woke up, I think. It’s all kind of a haze, to be honest.” 

TK’s expression darkened as he leaned forward, placing the back of his hand on Carlos’s forehead, “I’m not surprised, the infection they were worried about came, and it hit you hard. You don’t feel warm anymore, I think the fever finally broke.” 

Carlos frowned at his boyfriend as he leaned back into his seat, “How long has it been?” 

“We’re on day 3 now. Well, night 3. It’s after midnight now.”

“Shit,” Carlos said, leaning his head back into the pillows and TK chuckled lightly.

“That about sums it up, yeah. That’s what happens when a piece of rusty metal impales you. They think that it got into your bloodstream which is why the infection spread so fast and, well it was really scary, Carlos.” 

There was quiet for a few moments as they both got lost in their own thoughts. Carlos opened his mouth, but TK shook his head. 

“Don’t apologize,” he said firmly, “none of this is your fault.” 

“I wasn’t going to,” Carlos said defensively, choosing to ignore TK’s skeptical eyebrow, “I was going to thank you, for being here. I know it can’t have been easy.” 

TK’s expression softened and he lifted himself out of his chair, coming to rest on the side of Carlos’s bed. “There’s nowhere else I would have wanted to be,” he told him honestly, “you needed me and that’s where I will always be, no matter what.”  

Carlos smiled at him and shifted over in the bed to make more room. Or at least, that is what he planned to do. Instead, his movements were brought to an abrupt halt by a flash of pain as he jostled his side again, freezing his movements and pulling a gasp from his lips. 

TK’s hands were on him in an instant, steady and reassuring. “Hey, try not to move too much,” he admonished lightly, “you’re still injured.” He gestured down to his side, “Does it hurt badly?” 

“Yeah,” Carlos admitted, “but I’ll be fine. You’re here and that’s all I need.” 

TK studied him for a moment before breaking out in laughter. “Carlos Reyes,” he said between breaths, “you are a sap. And while that’s sweet, I think some pain medication might help too.” 

He leaned around Carlos to reach for the call button and Carlos sighed in defeat. 

“Fine,” he relented, “but I’d much rather have you.” 

“Whoever said the two were mutually exclusive, babe?” TK asked him, leaning forward and pressing a light kiss to his forehead, “I’m not going anywhere, and that’s a promise.” 

[allmightluver]

First lines meme

Ooo! 😲 thank you for the tag @justanotherfoolhere !!

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20 just list them all!) See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening lines. Tag 10 authors!

I’m incredibly shy so if you would like to do this, I tag you!!

Ah I have some old stories from old fandoms (or side fandoms I should say), but as for MHA, most of my stories are just wips right now. I have approximately 5-6 stories in the works right now, however 3 are just thoughts yet, not written out, 1-2 are RP’s with another person that I’m not sure if I have the ability to share yet 😅, 1 is....extremely, well...NSFW 🙈 even the first line asfkgkka I’m not going to do that one, you’ll just have to read it on ao3 when it’s done 😖

However! I do have a massive story that’s been in the works for over a year now (atm it’s around 57,800 words), I’ve actually gotten stuck on it half way through and a friend is helping me by rping those parts with me. If anyone remembers from forever ago, I talked about writing a story about Toshinori actually becoming addicted to his painkillers, and overdosing during class, that’s this story. I have a good chunk of this written, so to make up for my lack of stories, I’ll post a few paragraphs of the beginning! (I hope that’s ok! 🙈)

((I should note, I don’t normally rp, the ones I’ve done are just with a close friend or two))

So, here’s a few paragraphs of what I’ve been calling “Painkiller” under the read more...

Eyelids sluggishly rise. Each blink seems to be getting slower and slower. And he’s still talking. How the soft furred mammal at the front of their table can speak for hours at a time without so much as a break is a superhuman feat. Of course, the principal isn’t human at all, which probably is how he can accomplish it.

Black eyes glance at the clock on the wall across from him. 1:50 p.m. This was supposed to be a short meeting. A quick briefing on the school’s protection and security upgrades. This is also the time to give feedback on how the procedures seem to be working. It had started during their lunch break at 12:30 p.m., and it’s still dragging on. Snipe as well as a few other teachers that have classes to teach at this time are absent, but the rest of the available staff are present.

Shota massages his eyelids, refraining from gritting his teeth against the stinging, and promptly tipping his head back to apply his eye drops. They’re almost gone, he’ll have to get a refill from Recovery Girl. Shota lowers his head once again, black locks falling back over his face.

He’s exhausted. A full night on patrol and then the morning teaching at UA. He’s done for the day after this, and all he wants is to sleep. He’ll still have to check in with Eri to be sure she’s been ok throughout the day, before he can collapse on his bed. 

Eri was still adjusting to living at UA, but seemed to be doing well so far. When he couldn’t be with her, she had another teacher or staff member watching her. Thankfully, there hasn’t been an instance with her quirk going out of control. Yet. He hopes to keep it that way. She’s just starting school, but slowly. She has a lot of learning in just living before she can worry much about academic intelligence. But Shota has no concerns of her being able to catch up to her age and grade level. Eri’s proven to be smarter than they’ve given her credit for. Perhaps wiser in some ways than a kid her age should have to be.

Shota usually teachers her in his spare time. His hero work has decreased due to his stacking responsibilities. Last night was the first in close to a month, and he can feel in his sore muscles that it’s been too long. Thankfully, he can rest tonight, but if Nezu didn’t hurry this conference up he’s going to be pulling another all-nighter. The temptation to pull out his sleeping bag and snooze in the chair he sits is becoming harder to resist.

Shota’s gaze moves across the room at the other occupants.

Mic sits to his right, closest to Nezu. The man’s listening, but one can see the bored expression on his face as he picks at his painted nails.

Midnight across the table seems a bit more focused. Her arms rest on her lap as she listens to the white animal, adding in her thoughts every now and then.

Cementoss and Ectoplasm sit next to her, both relatively silent.

Shota’s eyes flick to the chair next to his left before moving to the closed door at the room’s entrance.

Yagi had been here as well. A few minutes ago, he had politely excused himself from the room and had yet to reappear.

Maybe he made a break for it, Shota thinks with envy. Though he knows it’s a lie.

It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for the Number One Hero to duck out of meetings and public places for short periods of time. No one questioned him on it, assuming he had business calls or the like. He was All Might after all, and surely a very busy man.

But now the Symbol of Peace is dead, and still the brief intermissions continue. In fact, they’re increasing in frequency. Shota has high doubts about the possibility of impromptu hero phone calls from the man’s agency, but doesn’t dwell on it.

Everyone, even All Might, has secrets. It isn’t Shota’s job to nose his way into everyone’s personal life.

His sore eyes blink in mild surprise when the door he had been focusing on slides open, and the man in his thoughts shyly stoops his head under the doorway to enter back into the room. Yagi closes the door again and takes his place beside Shota, moving quietly to attempt not to draw attention to himself. But it’s a wasted effort; whenever he’s present, all eyes immediately are drawn to him. Plus, it’s hard to ignore a 7 foot man.

Shota turns away, attempting to refocus on whatever their eccentric principal is speaking about.

For a while, the meeting draws on as usual, Nezu doing most of the talking and the other teachers providing input as they see fit. The way the conversation is leading, it seems like things are starting to wrap up. Finally. The last class of the day starts at 2:20 p.m. and that doesn’t leave much leeway room for any teachers that need prep time.

Shota leans back with a silent sigh through his nose, crossing his arms. The sooner this is over, the sooner he can go check on Eri back at the dorms, and the sooner he can crash. Thinking about anything other is too hard to concentrate on.

Through his sleepy fog, something moves in his peripheral vision. Instinctually looking over to his left, he notices the lanky man next to him has wilted in posture, much like a plant with no water. The haze in Shota’s brain clears only slightly, having something more interesting to observe.

Now actually taking the time to study the other, Shota notices the haphazard blonde mane looks messier than normal. Yagi’s long, sinewy hands are placed comfortably on his lap, though a subtle tremble is running through his frame. A sheen of sweat is starting to form above his brow. Though his eyes remain fixed on the principal, the unfocused haze in the cyan pools gives Shota the impression Yagi isn’t paying attention. The normally bright irises are dull and almost completely hidden in the surrounding black sclera.

He looks pale. Must be sick. Shota lets his attention drift back to Nezu. Toshinori Yagi is a grown adult; he can take care of himself. If he doesn’t feel well, he’ll go home. These thoughts stubbornly go through Shota’s mind just before another pushes itself in.

He remembers the tall man entering the teacher’s lounge only two days after the Kamino incident. Yagi had been completely wrapped in bandages, bruises and stitched up cuts littering his body, and one arm was in a sling. Everyone had expected him to still be in the hospital, and not back to UA for at least a week, maybe two.

Shota recalls the other teachers chastising the ex-hero and trying to convince him to go home, to rest. Yagi had politely smiled, one that made Shota’s teeth grind at the obvious artificial gesture. The smile didn’t reach his eyes, only present to soothe their worries.  But Yagi thanked them for their concern. Even then, their coworkers had tried to assist him in any way possible. He had always insisted he was fine, respectfully refusing their help. It became hard for their colleagues to accept when it was obvious the injured man was struggling with even the simplest tasks.

Recovery Girl had made frequent appearances, much to Yagi’s dismay. It was unfortunate his body couldn’t handle her quirk, and he had to heal naturally, so she made it her job to monitor him. She didn’t even try to deny she was only there to check in on him, to make sure he was behaving himself, at least to the miniscule level she could except from Toshinori. She was always disappointed, and expressed so outright. But she could do little to sway him in his own self-care habits, and he always waved her off with another deceptive smile.

If he had forced his straining, overworked, body to comply during that time, what’s stopping him from teaching his class in 15 minutes?

More movement next to him puts Shota’s thoughts on pause. Dark eyes flick over to the older man, being as inconspicuous about his spying as possible. With the black hair covering his face, most people probably can’t tell where he’s looking anyway, and he’s not moving his head at all.

One of Yagi’s arms slowly lifts to his face, resting his sharp elbow on the table. The large and scarred hand covers his mouth, baring his bony wrist and too-thin arm as his sleeve slides down a few inches. The pose might be meant to look like he’s simply resting his chin, gaze still locked on Nezu like he’s listening intently. But sitting this close to him, Shota can see how the tremors in his body have increased, sweat starting to run down the deep crevices of his face in tiny rivers. The glazed over look in those black eyes has been replaced by one subtly emitting a fight or flight expression.

Shota frowns. He’s gonna barf. The pro briefly wonders if he should use his capture weapon to grab the trash can in the corner of the room to prevent a mess on the carpet, or worse, the table.

Before he can act, Yagi’s chair abruptly slides backwards as the retired hero wrenches his body up, fumbles with the door handle, and rushes out of the room as quickly as his unstable limbs can carry him. He barely manages to slam the sliding door shut behind him before he’s out of everyone’s sight, the hasty squeaks of his shoes on the tile floor growing more and more distant.

Nezu pauses at the sudden outburst, all the room’s occupants staring at where All Might had disappeared. The feel of concern weighs heavily in the atmosphere.

Although Yagi had often left before, he always excused himself quietly or snuck away when the attention wasn’t on him. Something this dramatic has never happened.

-----

And we’ll leave it there for now! This is still a wip remember, so things may be changed here and there, but I hope this makes up for my lack of other stories!

[teacupfulofstarshine]

pattonella part 12: in which the author hijacks her conveniently comatose character for magical shenanigans

cw: comatose character, minor angst, mention of sleep deprivation

the song referenced in virgil’s visions (linked in the first one) is "soldier, poet, king" by the oh hellos because ya girl is a predictable bitch 

wordcount: ~3.8k

part 1 // part 2 // part 3 // part 4 // part 5 // part 6 // part 7 // part 8 // part 9 // part 10 // part 11 // read it on ao3!!

“you should rest, prince logan.” 

“i will not leave,” logan says. his back and neck hurt like hell from sitting in the same place for hours on end, and his voice rasps from the near-constant litany of song he’s been providing to virgil, but he makes no move to leave his chair. virgil’s hand is pressed between his, cool and limp. 

“virgil will be alright,” remy says. “the magical exhaustion coma sucks, yeah, but it’s not going to kill him. we’ve pumped him full of as much healing magic and medicine as he can stomach, and he’s going to be okay. he’s going to wake up, and you’ll want to be awake and coherent enough to see it.”

“i will persevere.” 

“you will collapse from sleep deprivation, is what will happen. you don’t have to leave the infirmary, but you’re going to be in the infirmary if you don’t eat something and sleep.” 

logan opens his mouth to protest, but remy draws himself up to his full height (which is not much) and says, “you may be the prince of this kingdom, but i am your doctor, and so help me gods you are going to eat a damn meal and you are going to take a damn nap before i force-feed you a sleeping potion.” 

logan blinks, startled, and remy holds firm, crossing his arms. “did i fucking stutter?” 

“no,” logan says, voice quiet. remy sighs, reaching out to mess up logan’s hair. logan sputters indignantly, but remy has always been a parental figure to him, so he doesn’t protest. 

“your worry is admirable, prince logan, but virgil would not want you to run yourself ragged like this. remember his concern when you had a concussion?” 

“of course i do. he doted on me every hour of the day, remy. how can i say that i did not do the same for him? virgil is - he - i -” logan’s jaw works open, closed, open closed as he tries to form a coherent thought from the tangled mess of virgilworryconcerncarelove? buzzing around in his head. 

“you don’t have to say it,” remy says. “i’m married, remember? i’m familiar with what it means to love someone.” logan startles, practically jumping out of his chair. remy laughs, shifting his hand to gently squeeze logan’s shoulder. “no need to sound so offended.” 

“it’s not offense,” logan says. “it - it’s just -”

he trails off as his gaze slides back to virgil’s peaceful face and the even movement of his chest. “virgil has not had many positive things in his life. he had to deal with a suboptimal family life, constantly sacrificing himself to protect patton, and i - i just want him to see - to know that he does not have to constantly sacrifice himself for people to earn their love. i need him to know that he does not have to throw himself into the line of fire to protect his loved ones. and - and i do not want him to feel rushed into admitting that he cares for me. i do not want to presume that i know he loves me, because i do not!” 

“trust me, prince logan, that man is head over his god damn heels for you.” remy smirks, confident, and logan exhales shakily. 

“but i do not wish to rush it. i know that we are supposed to be marrying so that thomas can officially become the crown prince, but - but i cannot force him to marry me. i hope that he wants to marry me, i - i want to marry him, eventually. i do.” it’s the first time logan has ever admitted it out loud; remy’s eyes widen and his face softens. “but i cannot force him to marry me if he does not love me. i will not trap him in a loveless marriage.” 

“please,” remy scoffs. “you cannot look at this man, laying in a hospital bed because he drove himself to magical fucking exhaustion to keep you safe, and tell me that he does not love you.” 

logan squeezes virgil’s hand tightly, exhaling. his eyes feel like lead. 

“you need to sleep,” remy repeats. “the bed next to virgil’s is open. get in and lay down and go to sleep, okay? i promise i’ll wake you at the first sign of trouble.” logan looks at virgil again and sighs, closing his eyes. 

“very well, remy.” he leans over and kisses virgil’s forehead, carefully sweeping his bangs off his face. “you wake me at the very first sign of trouble, you understand me?” 

“of course, prince logan.” remy bows, deep and sarcastic, and logan suppresses a smile. 

*~*~*~*~*

virgil frowns, looking around. he’s in the middle of a blank black void; it looks like the place where he sees his visions, but no visions appear to him. “hello?” he calls. something floats towards him - a girl’s voice, high and ethereal, singing softly. 

there will come a soldier who carries a mighty sword . . .

suddenly, a vision slams into him: roman, clearly no older than two years old, wearing a red baby onesie and holding a little wooden sword. he toddles toward virgil without seeing him, waving his little sword around and giggling. a pair of hands reaches down and gently stabilizes roman when he nearly trips over an unseen obstacle. 

past, his brain whispers. 

he will tear your city down, oh lei oh lai oh lord . . .  

another vision: roman, sitting cross-legged on a bed with patton settled into his lap. he’s rubbing patton’s back and murmuring softly into his ear, probably reassuring him. virgil can’t hear anything they’re saying, but he catches the shape of patton’s mouth as he very clearly says “virgil.” roman smiles, kissing his forehead, and virgil smiles. he’s glad someone is taking care of patton while he’s unconscious.

present. 

oh lei, oh lai, oh lei oh lord; he will tear your city down, oh lei oh lai oh lord . . .

a third vision: roman, much older, probably fifty or so. his hair is streaked with gray, and he’s managed to grow a full beard. it’s neatly trimmed and also greying. roman wears formal attire, a suit with a breastplate and a cape. he has various badges and medals attached to his chest and a sword that virgil recognizes as ceremonial hanging from his waist. roman looks to the side and smiles, offering his arm. patton steps forward, taking his arm, and virgil gasps as he sees the way his brother has aged. 

somehow, patton still looks similar, even though he’s clearly aged. his hair is long, less gray than roman’s and more silver and braided off his neck with flowers. there are crinkles of laughter around his eyes. he’s wearing a sparkly blue-and-gold dress with red flowers embroidered on it, and he has a small golden circlet matching roman’s more ornate one. patton is still wearing roman’s pendant around his neck, and when roman places his hand over patton’s on his upper arm virgil spies a matching gleam of wedding bands on their fingers. 

future. 

the visions fizzle away, and virgil sinks back down into sleep, still clinging to the image of his brother and his husband in the future. 

*~*~*~*~*

patton wakes up slowly. he’s still getting used to the idea that he doesn’t have to sleep on the floor, that he doesn’t have to wake up at the ass-crack of dawn and drag himself into bed at midnight. he wakes up warm and comfortable, sinking into a downy mattress, vision hazy from sleep and lack of glasses. 

he yawns, blinking to try and clear his eyes as best he can, and freezes when he hears someone else breathing beside him. he feels a weight on his waist over the duvet, and someone stirs next to him, the arm on his waist starting to pull him closer, and then patton remembers. 

roman is home. roman is home and he’s here with patton, in patton’s bed, snuggling him and keeping him warm. patton flips over onto his other side, and comes face-to-face with roman. the youngest prince is still asleep, his hair flopped into his eyes, mouth open. a small puddle of drool is growing slowly on the pillow, and he’s not wearing a shirt, revealing his smooth, tanned collarbones. 

patton kind of wants to bite them. 

he snuggles closer to roman instead, blushing bright red, pushing his face into roman’s hair. roman snorts in a breath and presses himself closer to patton. his nose is chilly when it brushes against the warm skin of patton’s neck, and patton shivers a little. 

he dozes in the comfortable warmth of the bed (his bed, roman’s bed, their bed) until roman wakes up with an undignified snort, narrowly avoiding cracking his head against patton’s chin. “mm-mngh-wh-pat?”

“morning,” patton says. he’s practically giddy with joy, and he can’t stop the laughter from spilling out of him, high-pitched and embarrassing. roman smiles at him, sleepy and lazy and so, so besotted, and patton’s pretty besotted himself. 

“oh, vision of loveliness, star that outshines the rising sun,” roman begins, carefully propping himself up on one hand while keeping the other draped around patton’s waist. “loveliest of flowers, shining with the morning dew, face covered with a galaxy of freckles, visage that could launch a thousand ships and set a city ablaze with the light of your smile -”

“stop, stop!” patton laughs, burying his face in his hands. 

“pull your hands from your face like a flower unfurling to the sun, how will i kiss your pretty face if you hide it from me?” 

“but i’m embarrassed!” 

patton feels roman gently wrap his fingers around patton’s hands, carefully peeling them away. “there’s my lovely patton, there’s your pretty face,” roman croons, leaning in to brush their noses together. “may i kiss you, my dearest?” 

patton giggles again. “you may.” roman takes his time, carefully pressing a kiss to the center of patton’s forehead, then the left side, then the right; he kisses patton’s eyelids, his cheeks, his nose, his chin, and almost every freckle he can find. finally, he leans in and presses his mouth against patton’s. both of them still taste like sleep and morning breath, and it’s not the best tasting kiss patton’s ever had but he still treasures it. 

“i’ve missed waking up to that,” roman says. “you are much better to wake up to than a field tent.” 

“was this a one-time thing?” patton asks. 

“kissing? i certainly hope not.” 

“no, no i mean - this.” patton gestures to the bed. “you sleeping in here, with me. is this a one-time thing? do we have to sleep apart?” 

“not if you don’t want to.” roman looks bashful, eyes skittering away from patton’s to look at his chin. “do - do you want to?” 

“absolutely i do,” patton says, words spilling out in a rush of breath. “i hate waking up alone, i - even though i didn’t really have a bed or a bedroom before i was always with virgil, and i - please, ro, please -”

“oh, darling, of course.” roman reaches up to touch patton’s face. “i wanted to make sure you knew that you had your own space as necessary, because you didn’t have any of that before. but if you don’t want to be alone, you never have to be alone again. i promise, patton, i promise, i promise i promise. i swear it to you on my birthright as the third prince of this kingdom.” 

patton feels tears running down his face, and roman carefully wipes them away. “no tears, my darling. i am here now.” 

by the time nate comes in with breakfast, they’ve fallen asleep again, tucked into each other. 

*~*~*~*~*

virgil rises back to awareness slowly, opening his eyes to the same black void he’d seen earlier. he frowns; another vision? they usually don’t come so close together. before he can ponder it any longer, the same haunting female voice from before comes echoing around him. 

there will come a poet whose weapon is his word . . .

a vision, suddenly: logan, barely a year old if that, laying on his back. he’s wearing a dark blue footed onesie patterned with stars, reaching up towards a mobile dangling above him. he’s giggling, opening and closing his little fists repeatedly as he tries to grab the little wooden moons and stars and swirling carvings. he kicks his little feet, and virgil feels his heart swell with joy. 

past. 

he will slay you with his tongue, oh lei oh lai oh lord . . .  

another vision: logan, looking the way he did when virgil last saw him. he’s sitting at virgil’s bedside, holding virgil’s hand. he’s pale, with circles beneath his eyes, and he’s murmuring something to virgil’s comatose body. virgil reaches toward the vision, but it evaporates before he can touch logan. 

present.

oh lei, oh lai, oh lei oh lord; he will slay you with his tongue, oh lei oh lai oh lord . . .

a third vision: logan is sitting at a desk, surrounded by stacks of books and papers. he pushes a hand through his bangs, sighing; his hair is longer now, gathered into a ponytail at the base of his neck and shot through with silver. he looks tired, reaching for his quill to sign whatever’s in front of him. he turns his head to the right, as though someone has called for him. 

virgil can barely believe his eyes as he steps into view. he’s wearing a dark blue shirt with a purple vest, both embroidered with silver. his hair is longer and starting to grey, but he leans in to kiss logan’s head and logan reaches up to touch his face with love in his eyes. virgil gasps as he recognizes that just like his vision of patton and roman from earlier, future-him and future-logan have matching wedding bands. 

future. 

*~*~*~*~*

logan wakes up blearily, rubbing his eyes. he jolts awake the second he regains control of his faculties, throwing off the thin hospital blankets and jerking around to look for virgil. he sighs in relief when he sees that virgil is in the bed next to him, still slowly breathing, still sound asleep. “how long was i out?” he rasps. 

“like, four hours,” remy says, carefully placing a fresh washcloth over virgil’s forehead. “not nearly long enough, but i’ll take it.” emile comes in from the garden, carrying a steaming teacup in his hands. 

“is that for me?” logan asks. emile nods, handing him the cup. he sips it slowly, letting the honey-sweet taste slide over his tongue. “thank you, emile.” 

“you’re welcome. it’s no replacement for sleep, but hopefully it’ll help you a little bit.” 

before logan can respond, there’s a noise from virgil’s bed. logan nearly spills his tea as he twists around to try and see what’s happening. virgil’s face scrunches up, nose wrinkling, and his mouth moves slightly. 

“wh - virgil -”

“. . . soldier . . . mighty sword . . . tear . . . city down . . .” virgil mumbles. his fingers curl in the blankets as his face smooths out again, sinking back into sleep. 

“what was that?” 

“it is possible that he’s having some sort of vision,” remy says. logan frowns, reaching over to gently touch virgil’s shoulder. 

“i’m not sure that i enjoy the sound of that vision . . .” virgil turns his head just slightly, catching logan’s hand between his shoulder and his chin. logan’s heart melts into a puddle of emotion-goo as he leans over to kiss virgil’s forehead. 

“oh, my dearest one.” virgil makes a soft, incomprehensible noise and his face smooths into calm sleep again. logan reaches his other hand up to carefully stroke virgil’s cheek. “rest well, my darling, and heal. i long for the day i can see your eyes again.” 

“sap,” remy teases. 

*~*~*~*~*

virgil isn’t sure why he’s surprised that a third set of visions comes. his normal visions come in threes - past, present, and future - and it makes sense that he would have a trio of visions. a trio of trio, a group of three threes; three is one of the most potent magical numbers, and the kingdom has three princes for a reason. 

there will come a ruler whose brow is laid in thorn . . .

the first vision strikes: thomas, no more than four years old, playing with a cluster of roses. carefully, with his pudgy little child-fingers, he weaves them into a crown and plops it onto his head. it sags askew, flopping into his face, but he just laughs and pushes it back up onto his head. 

past. 

smeared with oil like david’s boy, oh lei oh lai oh lord . . .

the second vision: thomas, flopping onto his bed in exhaustion. someone comes up and sits on the bed next to him, an advisor that virgil vaguely remembers from earlier, when he’d stormed in on the court with a vision of roman’s death burning in his eyes. he thinks their name is joan? they place a hand on thomas’s back, and thomas sighs, sitting up and smiling at them. his mouth forms the shape of the words thank you , and joan offers the crown prince a hug which he eagerly accepts. 

present. 

oh lei, oh lai, oh lei oh lord; smeared with oil like david’s boy, oh lei oh lai oh lord . . . 

the third vision: thomas, sitting on the throne. he’s older, wearing the king’s crown in place of his crown prince circlet. it fits perfectly. he wears a shirt woven from rainbow threads that shimmers in the light, and he has a golden scepter twined with flowers in his hand. someone comes up and kneels before him, and thomas inclines his head. he looks like a true king - wise, just, strong. a good ruler. 

future.

virgil lets himself fall unconscious again. 

*~*~*~*~*

“how long has he been here?” 

“three days,” logan says. “to be more precise, it has been seventy-three hours, eighteen minutes, and twenty seconds. he has been unconscious for one-hundred twenty-one hours, eighteen minutes, and twenty-four seconds.” 

“that’s not good, is it?” patton says. he holds one of virgil’s hands and logan holds the other. roman stands behind patton. one hand resting on his shoulder. patton tips his head and sighs when he feels the warmth of roman’s hand press against his cheek, a comforting, grounding weight. “that he’s been unconscious for so long.” 

“not particularly. statistics show that the longer patients are comatose, the . . .” logan swallows, hard, but patton leans forward and he continues. “the longer the patients are comatose, the less likely it is that they will recover.” 

patton feels his heart sink down to the deepest pits of his stomach. nate, standing at the foot of the bed, makes a soft upset noise. “would you like some tea, lord san - um, uh, i - i mean - patton, sir?” 

despite how shitty he feels, patton lifts his head and smiles at his servant. “tea would be wonderful, nate.” he looks up at roman. “do you want anything, dear?” roman’s eyes widen in shock, and patton gasps when he realizes what he’s done. “i - i mean, um -”

roman’s entire face softens like a newborn lamb, and he leans in to kiss patton gently. “tea sounds lovely, my darling.” patton blushes a bright, burning red, turning to look at logan to try and quell his blush. 

“i would not say no to some tea,” logan says. “could you, perhaps, see if the cook has any sweet buns prepared fresh as well? with some of her fresh jam?” 

nate bows. “of course, your royal highness.” 

“there is no need for such formalities. you may simply call me logan.” nate jerks upright, stammering. 

“wh - n - i - i couldn’t possibly! i - i mean - uh - that - that is to say - i - um - wh -”

“it is alright,” logan says. he smiles kindly at nate, which puts patton at ease. “i understand that it may be a bit of a shock to switch from formal titles to none at all. however, i must insist that at the very least, you call me prince logan.”

“prince roman works just fine for me as well.” 

nate looks overwhelmed with all this new information, but he manages to stammer out an “o - o - of course!” before turning around and all but sprinting to the kitchens. 

“you make him nervous!” patton laughs. 

“i find that is a common theme.” logan seems disgruntled. 

“i’m not scared of you!” that brings a smile to logan’s face, and patton considers his job done for the moment. 

nate returns quickly with a tray containing a steaming teapot, teacups, sugar, cream, and honey. another serving girl follows him with a basket of steaming buns covered by a cloth. there’s a jar of jam and a butterknife tucked into the basket as well. 

“thank you,” logan says, taking a roll and tearing into it with vigor. 

“of course, your royal highness.” the serving girl curtsies and sets the basket down at logan’s feet. “will you be needing anything else, your royal highness?” logan shakes his head, mouth full of bun, and the serving girl ducks out of the infirmary. 

nate carefully pours tea for patton, adding the cream and honey that he’s learned patton loves, and then offers a cup to roman. “how do you take your tea, your - prince roman?” roman smiles. 

“two sugars, a splash of cream, please, nate.” 

they sit and sip their tea quietly for a while. logan on his own eats about five or six sweet buns before he takes a break for air or tea. in all the excitement of the tea and snacks, patton almost misses virgil’s eyes squeezing shut. 

almost. 

“virgil?” 

logan sets his teacup down so quickly it sloshes out onto the floor, leaning forward. virgil groans softly and turns his head back and forth. “virgil, dearest, beloved, it is alright. take your time, i’m here.” patton watches the way logan tenderly brushes hair off virgil’s face, hears the soft way in which the prince speaks to his brother, and leans a little further into roman, smiling; he’s glad that virgil has found someone so lovely to love. 

after a few more minutes of fussing, virgil slowly opens his eyes halfway. “mmmngh . . .” 

“hello, beloved,” logan whispers, tearing up. patton notices that he’s tapping his feet against the floor, rocking back and forth just slightly in his seat, and he hears roman make a soft, approving noise at his brother’s happy-stims. 

“lo?” 

“yes, beloved. it is me. patton is here too, and roman. we’re all here for you.” 

virgil’s head turns toward patton, and he can’t stop himself from crying either. “virge,” he chokes, all but throwing himself forward to hug virgil. he feels virgil press his face into his hair, and patton hugs him as best as he can. 

it feels like he’s just been cut loose from a massive anchor bound around his ankles. 

[randomguywithwords]

As The Dust Settles: Chapter 22 (Geten X Dabi Slowburn)

Chapter 22: Lost Memories

AO3 Link

Previous Chapters: 21, 20, 19, 18, 17, 16, 15, 14, 13, 12, 11, 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

–––––––––––

On Friday, Dabi found himself surrounded by four figures, recognising only one by his still-long silver hair like strands of moonlight, his hardened, battle-scarred face and calm expression. 

“This is a nice reunion. I can’t say I remember all of you – mostly because I don’t care to do so, but if Nine let you guys into his special club, you guys are likely decent.” Dabi smirked, eyeing each of them in turn. 

The rightmost one, an imposing wolf-man gave a growl. “Decent? I’ll show you decent.”

“Chimera,” Nine, to his left, spoke softly. To Dabi’s surprise, the subordinate huffed and stayed silent. Turning back to face Dabi, Nine said, “It has indeed been a while. You understand the logistics of this experiment?”

“Shigaraki put me to it, of course I do.” 

“Then let us proceed.” Nine stepped towards him, while his minions tensed up. 

“Nine, are you sure about this?” The skinny man directed a glare towards Dabi. Dabi didn’t need that to tell him they were suspicious of him. 

“I’ll be in safe hands. We will meet at the location I’ve given you all. Take care, friends.” Nine gave a wave of dismissal, and with some reluctance, the remaining three departed in silence. 

“Alright, let’s go.” Dabi pocketed his hands and began leaving the forest clearing, heading back towards Deika City. He heard Nine’s footsteps behind him. 

“Your demeanour has certainly shifted. What happened to the old Vengeance?”

“Who?”

“You, obviously.”

Dabi racked his brain, but the name didn’t ring a bell. “Well, I don’t call myself that horrible name now.”

“I’ve heard. Numerous cases of burnt corpses or piles of ashes, blue flames. They call you Dabi now. I thought it was peculiar, but it made sense when I could no longer contact your old mentor.” 

“Your squadmate.” Dabi corrected, the fact returning to his memories. As Nine’s voice entered his head, it hummed in resonance with old recollections where he had met the man in his teenagehood. He now recalled the one encounter, out of the few, where Dabi had first seen that calm, controlled countenance contort with rage, born from the ideology he stole. 

“It confused me initially. I wondered why a man you respected and perhaps even cared for would be subject to your flames. The possibilities ranged from hallucinogens to collateral damage. But no.” Nine murmured. “You killed Dabi intentionally, didn’t you?”

Dabi was silent for three seconds, the air cold as winter storms. “You were right,” Touya said. “He left me for dead, but I escaped, and then...yeah.”

Nine sighed. “How poetic. To die by his partner’s hands, as he let his squad die all those years ago. But that brings me to my other question.”

They were drawing near to civilization, weaving through pine trees and stepping over brooks. 

“Why take his name?” 

“Figure it out yourself,” Dabi said with a forceful tone of finality. “We’re almost reaching the place.” 

To his credit, Nine dropped the subject. Perhaps he did so because he needed what Shigaraki had to offer. Antagonising Dabi wouldn’t be smart.

They were reaching one of the tunnels that led to the Liberation Front’s assembly square, now empty. It was empty, likely only watched by Skeptic’s surveillance. But a few raised eyebrows is all it would draw; Skeptic was too cowardly to question Dabi’s tasks or Shigaraki’s plans. 

“Here?” Dabi heard disgust in Nine’s tone as the musty air rushed out of the opening doors. 

“Can’t let anyone see us. This is good.” Dabi shut the doors behind them. Tapping his earpiece, he said, “We’re good, Doc.”

“I’ve been waiting for a while now,” Ujiko huffed on the other end of the line. “Give me a second.”

“Have a safe trip, Nine, I’ll see you on Monday.” Dabi waved, concealing a grin. 

Nine gave a nod, before Ujiko’s teleportation took hold of his form, and Nine’s body disappeared within the swampy goo. 

Dabi leaned against the wall, feeling more memories return of the other Dabi. The first Dabi. Did I ever know his name? I don’t think he, nor Nine, ever told me. Special forces… all that secrecy. 

He felt his fire ignite on his arm out of instinct. He willed it to die, and instead, let the past engulf him. 

––––––––––

“What’s your name, kid?” 

“Touya.” I rubbed my hands out of instinct. What time is it? How long did I sleep?

“Quirk?”

“I can shoot fire.” 

“Was it you back there? The fire at that mall in the afternoon?” 

“No,” I lied. 

The stranger cocked his head. “I ain’t gonna report you to the police, kid. I’m not exactly on best terms with them myself.” 

“Are you…” The word on the tip of my tongue was like a matchstick to a fuse. 

“A villain?” He scoffed. “I just fixed you up and gave you a place to sleep for the night. Do I look like one?” 

I looked him up and down. Grey coat, green goggles on his forehead, a cigarette in his hand. “No,” I said. 

“Well, your perception needs some work.” He leaned back on the creaky folding chair. “Officially, I’m considered one, but unlike the thugs in alleys like this, I have standards. And I don’t take kids hostage, even if you’re Endeavour’s kid.” 

I backed away, my back slamming against the mouldy bricks. “How did you —“ 

“Please, a fire quirk, and recent sightings of Endeavour at the same mall that was set on fire? Don’t play dumb with me.” 

“That was his doing,” I argued. 

He took a puff and clucked his tongue. “Now you’re blaming it on your dad? Not very filial.” 

“I hate my dad.” The venom coursed through every word I spat out, which seemed to startle even the stranger.

“Hm, some spirit in you. Well, take that bravado and run off now, why don’t you?” 

“What?” 

He quirked his eyebrow. “You heard me, shoo.” 

“But…” My head drooped. “I’ve nowhere to go. I’m running away.”

“Well, you should have thought of a plan before setting fire to a mall, using that as an escape, and nearly choking to death in the flames you made.” Every word in that sentence made my skin shudder. 

I was desperate, I wanted to say, but desperation would only paint me as prey in the underbelly of society, my next stage of hell that the gods were benevolent enough to throw me into.  

“I can help you,” I decided to say, raising my head, mustering the drops of defiance in myself.

The man snorted. “How exactly does a 13 year old kid benefit me? I don’t do teams, boy.” 

“What if I beat you in a fight?” I clenched my fists, which still stung from the wounds. 

He scanned my form and the guise of confidence on my face. “Oh, so you were trained by Endeavour. I thought you were one of those prissy boys enjoying a rich life.”

My face drained of heat and colour. How did he know?

“Look, I’m not a smart guy, but I’m smarter than you. I can make my own assumptions, one of which is that I’d win you in a fight. No contest.”

“I…” My voice trailed off.

“How about this?” The man said, throwing his cigarette behind him. “You know hide and seek?” 

I frowned. “Yes. It’s a childish game.”

“I don’t think so. I think it’s one of the best strategies for its simplicity. Let’s play that game. Give me a minute, then go to the nearby park. It’s midnight, no one will see you. And if you get caught by a stray policeman, I’m not saving you again. Anyway, if you can find me, I’ll let you in. Got it?” 

I gulped, hoping this wasn’t dangerous for myself, but considering how I’d be unconscious for a couple of hours and he hadn’t done anything, I felt a sense of trust in this stranger. 

“Ok, tha – thank you. How long do I have?”

“60 seconds. Start counting.” With that, he left the alley. 

1...2...3

Ten seconds in, I wondered if he was simply leaving me as a twisted joke. How far could he run in a minute? What was his quirk anyway? 

Twenty seconds in, I contemplated scrounging this hideout for whatever I could find and running from him, but the guilt of betraying his hospitality stopped me. 

Thirty seconds in, in a moment of panic, I thought he was going to turn me in. What if people died in the fire? I would be held responsible, wouldn’t I? What if everything he said about himself being a villain was a lie?

The minute felt stretched into eternity with the unceasing torrent of worries flooding my mind. But after being frozen in one spot throughout, I heard myself say 60. Taking a deep breath, I got up and left the hideout, entering the cold night. 

––––––––––

Dabi heard the door groan open. He opened his eyes to see a familiar form, shrouded by a recognizable parka hood.

“You?” Dabi frowned. “What are you doing here?”

Geten’s form went rigid, like a burglar who had been caught by a flashlight. 

“I thought...there was a meeting,” She said. 

“And you chose to enter by this tunnel?” His tone was acidly amused. 

Geten didn’t reply for a couple of seconds. “Yes.” 

Dabi sighed. “For a lieutenant, you’re shit at lying. You were following me, weren’t you? Why would you enter an empty place where you know your entrance would be heard so goddamn clearly?” 

“You were in there for a while. I thought,” She caught herself, but relented. “I thought something happened to you. That man. He looked dangerous.”

Dabi’s breath was stuck in his throat. It was his turn to be stunned. “I was fine, alright. I’m just thinking. So, how much did you hear?” He folded his arms in annoyance, but he found it suddenly difficult to muster anger against her.

“Next to nothing, apart from your farewell. What are you doing when the Festival starts?” 

“I’ll be there during the Festival. Don’t worry.” Dabi figured Twice could simply generate a copy of him. Technically, it was the truth. 

“You’re a liar.” The emotion in her words took him aback, as if that really struck a painful chord in her. “You wouldn’t sound so reassuring. What’s going on?” 

Ugh. Shigaraki won’t be happy if I told her. 

“I’m not going to divulge this to anyone. I’ve no intention to, anyway,” She added.

“It’s just a side task, okay? You can handle the regiment just fine.”

Geten was quiet, then she spoke, “Can we continue this somewhere else?”

“Why?”

“Wouldn’t want to make the amateur mistake you did when speaking to that man.” She gestured around them. 

Ah. Dabi had an idea what she intended to say. “If you say so. Where’s a good place?” 

But Geten responded only by opening the door and motioned for him to follow. 

[jimlingss]

The President’s Son [3]

Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4

➜ Words: 3.5k

➜ Genres: 100% Fluff, Slice of Life, Bodyguard!AU

➜ Summary: Kim Taehyung is the President’s son, mischievous and playful, and infamous for being a troublemaker. When everyone’s given up, they call for you to be his personal guard. There’s no other choice when your dad’s assigned you to it and surprisingly Taehyung doesn’t mind either. Maybe because you happened to grow up with that brat.

➜ Warnings: Slowburn.....

Taehyung’s pouting. Again.   He’s staring at the way you peel back the plastic cover of your small cheese and crackers snack and he licks his lips before huffing again, shoulders slumping in their spot. He looks down to his chip bag, gets up from his spot and comes tottling over. “Hey.”   Silence. You continue watching the television and try to follow along with the story — it’s hard when you’re not used to watching. But Taehyung is unimpressed with you ignoring him again and he plops down in front of you, forcing you to look at him.    “Hey, I said!” He’s loud. “Pay attention to me! I was asking if you wanted to trade snacks!”   The seven year old haughtily shoves his bag of chips into your shoulder. “You can have these. If I get those cheese crackers of yours. I like them….”    You stare at Taehyung before looking down to the blue rectangular bag held in his tiny fists. Then your eyes stray to your cheese and crackers, the one snack you chose with your allowance.   He sighs. “Please. Pretty please?! Can I have them or not?!”   You hand them over.   He snatches your cheese and crackers with a triumphant smile, grinning from ear to ear as laughter fills the air. Taehyung drops his bag of chips into your lap as he leaps over the table and runs down the hall, his bedroom door slamming shut a second later. You’re alone in the living room. And as you peek into the chip bag he gave you…..   There’s nothing inside. Empty.   He already ate them all.

[Present Day]   Bam!   The man comes at you with a forefist, knuckles prepared to come into contact with your mouth, but on muscle memory alone, your body ducks. Your back turns slightly, your leg comes out at an angle and it’s brought back in a fluid spinning hook kick. Your foot collides with the side of his helmet and he’s too caught off guard to catch balance.   Seokjin allows himself to fall back onto the mats.    He laughs breathlessly, not in shame but because he’s impressed. “You’re still good, aren’t you, chickpea?”   Your arm extends, helping him get onto his feet again. A small smile decorates your lips. “You didn’t have to let me win. You know my feelings won’t get hurt.”   Seokjin shakes his head, running a hand through his hair and moving the sweaty strands away from his face. “I’m not letting you win, chickpea. You crushed me. Gave me a run for my money. Are you sure you’ve gotten out of shape? Or did you just use that excuse to demolish me?”   He grins and another smile, more genuine, tickles up your visage. “We should call it even then since you always won back when we were in the same class together.”   “Okay.” He drops a hand on top of your head, making you jolt from the sudden affection, but his arm returns to his side too soon before you can get used to it. “We’re even then. But I want a rematch, Miss Y/N. I’m not letting myself be beat by a black belt when I’m a black belt too. I have a name to live up to around here, y’know.”   The memory is fresh in your mind — every time Jin was able to kick you, hit you, pin you on the mat in front of other kids. While the tables have turned and you’re now able to beat him, the achievement isn’t pleasant.    Rather, you remember how humiliating it was. Not because Seokjin always claimed victories, but because of your father’s clear disappointed expression that came each time you fell, because you would’ve rather been wearing a dress and making chocolates to give to Jin, not trying to hit and kick him and beat him in a match. You wanted to be pretty, not sweaty and gross...and—   “That was so cool!”   There’s a shrill voice that interrupts your thoughts, coming from across the gymnasium.   Kim Taehyung is standing there with his eyes wide, baby blue bike rolled along by his side.   “Can you teach me?!” He leans his bike against the wall, throws his bag to the ground and comes running over, a grin spreading through his face. “How’d you do that?!”   Seokjin bows his head. “Mr. Kim.”   But Taehyung completely ignores him. His eyes are plastered on your face.    Before he can open his mouth and say something else, someone else comes running in, out of breath, blonde hair in disarray, sweat clinging to his forehead.   “Taehyung!” His eyes are full of fear, brows knitted together — you recognize him as Park Jimin, having read his file considering you were essentially taking his job.   The poor boy can barely keep up with Taehyung.   “I-I told you not to go without me!”   “If you can’t keep up with me on my bike then too bad.”   “I-uh…” Jimin glances at Seokjin who’s watching and then at you and then back at Taehyung.   The latter continues, “Plus, I just really wanted to see my new bodyguard. As soon as possible.” He smiles at you and your expression remains blank.   “You’ve gotten sloppy,” a familiar voice sounds near the main doors and you turn to find your dad. “You’re using too much force when you don’t need to. You’re wasting your own efforts.”   You nod. “I’ll work on it.”   Your father hums a low note and looks away from you. “Seokjin, come with me.”   “Yes, sir.” The dark-haired man flashes you a discreet smile as goodbye and he walks off the mats to grab his belongings.   “And you, go with Jimin. He’ll show you the ropes. You begin your assignment tomorrow.”   “Yes, sir.”   He walks out with Seokjin in tow and when they’re completely gone from sight, Taehyung lets out the breath he was holding. “Your dad’s still scary, huh?”   “Dad…?” Jimin’s eyes are comically large as he gawks at you. “You’re Chief’s daughter?”   You pick up your bag, walking past the two of them. “Didn’t you have things to show me?”   Taehyung grins, quickening his pace as he follows you out, practically with a skip in his step. Jimin, on the other hand, is more unprepared and is delayed, struggling to keep up as he runs.   “I don’t live at the Blue House,” Taehyung tells as all three of you cut through the grounds. “I have a place near here, but I visit a lot since this place is actually pretty nice….minus the actual people. Like my step-mom. She’s alright, but I’m not a fan. Personally.”   He’s gazing at your profile with a smile that fails to be repressed, eyes all too intense and endeared like a hyperactive child meeting his hero in the flesh. In the meanwhile, Jimin is still jogging to keep up.   “W-wait, can you guys slow down?”   “It’s not our fault that you’re slow, Chimothy. You gotta keep up! We don’t wait for anyone.”   You stop, feet halting on the grass. Finally, you look at Taehyung. “What time does your classes start tomorrow?”   “Nine a.m.” He grins. “But I like waking up earlier to grab breakfast, so you should be there hmmm….at least seven? Since I can’t go out by myself.”   “What?” Jimin’s inhaling and exhaling, finally caught up. “You don’t get out of bed until at least ten—”   “Chimothy, maybe you should just go. I got this.”   “W-what?”   Taehyung pats Jimin aggressively on the back, enough to leave him coughing and spluttering. “I can show Y/N around. Wouldn’t want to hold you up when I’m sure you have better things to do. I can handle it. Trust me.”   “B-but Chief told me to show Y/N around.”   “Don’t worry about it, okay? I won’t tell, you won’t tell, Y/N won’t either. It’s a secret between us, alright? I know you’re tired. Didn’t you say you haven’t been sleeping well?”   “Y-yeah…?”   “Well now’s a perfect opportunity. South wing, down the hall, take a left and then a right, there’s a secret spare bedroom and a mattress that has your name on it. Go for it!”   Jimin looks at Taehyung and then at you. He reads your blank expression as a sign of confirmation when in reality, you know that no matter what you say or do, there’s no going against Taehyung’s will.    After a beat, Jimin gives in, nods and slowly begins to walk backwards before turning around and walking towards the house. Through telepathy, he wishes you a tearful good luck, saluting you as a comrade about to go into battle.   You’re left alone with Taehyung.   “Now where was I? Right. Breakfast. So you better be there by seven in the morning. And I don’t go to bed until midnight. So I hope you’re prepared to spend at least seventeen hours with me every single day. And also—”   If there’s one thing that’s different from the Taehyung from years ago, it’s that he’s evolved. He doesn’t demand your attention or for you to say anything back. He doesn’t need you to speak at all.   //   Taehyung’s school is large, with different faces constantly leaving and entering campus. But rather than being impressed with the fancy institution, you’re staying alert with the potential threats that could come at any angle at any time.   “Usually I have class in those theatres. Just a heads up, it’s super boring. Like super. Won’t blame you if you fell asleep.”   “I’m taking political science cause dad wants me to go into government — it’s a good job or whatever with decent pension. But it makes me want to blow my brains out. I rather draw. Anyways, that building over there is—”   “You liked to colour.” You stop, interrupting but finally speaking for the first time since he began showing you the campus despite you already having memorized the map.   “Yeah.” His smile becomes sheepish, maybe even happy that you remembered the small detail. “But I don’t just colour.”   You nod before glancing at your watch. “Don’t you have Public Policy Analysis in Hall C in five minutes?”   “H-how did you know that?”   “I have your schedule.”   “Oh. Well it’s fine, I skip anyway. C’mon, let me show you where the dining hall is. They have the best hot chocolate and a buy one get one half off deal…”   But your feet stay rooted in the ground. “I insist that we go. It’s one of my responsibilities to make sure you attend all classes.”   Taehyung’s mouth opens and closes, brows furrowing and his lips pouting when he’s obviously not getting his way with you. “You’re worse than Chimothy. Listen, I don’t need to go. I’m doing fine without attending the stupid lecture—”   “Then I’d like to go.”   Your feet turn, walking away. His sigh is audibly heard, exhaling for the dramatics as his shoulders slump, exactly like a petulant child being dragged off to do chores.   “You’re going the wrong way. That’s the Social Sciences building.” With the new information, you do a hundred eighty turn, going towards the other building. A grin pulls on Taehyung’s mouth and he picks up the pace to join your side. “Not so good at memorizing maps, are you?”   You don’t respond.   Taehyung ends up sitting at the back of the class, the row he’s at and the one before it is completely empty. Maybe other students are aware that he’s the President’s son and they’ve steered clear, especially after witnessing a horde of bodyguards chasing him. Maybe it’s because he just has an overwhelming personality that’s difficult to handle. Or maybe it could be in the way you’re in a suit, hands clasped on the table, intense stare darted straight ahead at the projector screen that’s made everyone steer clear of Taehyung.   Either way, you make it perfectly clear that you’re his bodyguard and anyone who dares to attack him will meet your hands.   On the other hand, Taehyung doesn’t seem particularly disheartened that a class of three hundred have avoided him like the plague. Rather, he appears bored out of his mind as the professor drones on and on. His arm is propped on the table, chin in his hand, leaning over, and his head is turned to stare at you as if your face are the handles of the clock and he’s waiting for time to pass.   “Hey, Y/N…”   Silence.   Taehyung doesn’t force you to talk. Instead, he continues, “Think you can teach me how to kick and punch like that? It was...really hot. If you don’t want to teach me, maybe you can do it to me. What do you say? Hmm? Wanna kick my ass and step all over me? I welcome it completely.”   Silence.   He pokes your shoulder. “Y/N.”   More silence.   He does it again. “Y/N.”   Except this time, Taehyung is loud enough that the students two rows away turn around, frowning at the disturbance. In order to not draw any unnecessary attention, your neck cranes towards him. He smiles at how you’ve given in.   “No.”   Taehyung pouts. “You’re no fun. Still a goody-goody, huh?”   “Pay attention.”   “But this is so boring. I’d rather pay attention to you. At least you’re prettier than the professor.”   There’s no more comments made from you. Nothing is said and as usual, you let him do whatever he wants — he’ll get bored of you anyways. But you underestimate Taehyung.   For the entire hour, he stares at you with an infuriating smile. And when class is over, he’s still staring as the pair of you march across campus together. “You look good in a suit. But aren’t you hot in that?”   “No.”   “Well, you stick out like a sore thumb, Y/N. I wanted someone discreet, and not like I’m with an extra from James Bond or the Matrix.”   “This is the official uniform,” you tell him shortly.   He smiles to himself, glad that you’re saying more than one word to him. “Yeah, I know. By the way, are we actually going to another class of mine? Can we just stop for a second? Maybe you can teach me how to do that kick or throw that punch? I think that’s a much better way to spend our time.”   You stop, feet halting on the grass. Knowing him, he won’t let it go...ever. The easier way to deal with Taehyung is to appease him. So you bend your knees, halfheartedly, arms lifting to lightly punch the air. “There. Like that.”   An enormous grin spreads across his face. “Wait, wait. I have to bend my knees, okay. Elbows in….like this?” He tries it, but then quickly slumps in his spot, lips downturning.    “Not bad.”   He shakes his head. “You don’t have to compliment me. I know I’m not doing it right. It doesn’t feel right. How about you punch me.” Taehyung turns, patting his chest before you can say a hard ‘no’. “Do it. I only learn through real demonstration. You have my full consent. My full permission. Hit me. Pound me, Y/N. Please.”   You stare at him. He stares at you.   Your sigh is held in, released only internally and you prepare your stance, knees bent, arms up. As light as possible, you come at the middle of his chest with a forefist, knuckles smacking into the middle of the target. And Taehyung’s left to inhale a sharp breath, stumbling back on impact and wheezing.   You didn’t even hit that hard.    “G-Goddamn. Holy hell…..” He clutches his wound, bending over as he coughs a storm. The chance to apologize never comes. “That was so fucking hot!”   Taehyung is smitten. You’re disgusted.   “Can you do that again?! Please, Y/N?! I’m begging yo— hey! Where are you going? Don’t just walk away from me! Don’t you know that’s rude?”   You continue walking, quickening your pace. Taehyung’s teasing you and while you don’t particularly appreciate it, it’s especially hard to say anything when he’s so happy about it. Not a lot has changed since when you were both young.   “You know, you became pretty cool, Y/N. You’re not much of a cute twerp anymore. You have this whole cold, hardcore image going on. It’s mysterious. I admire that. Reminds me of your dad. Is that where you got your inspiration from?”   “You’re late for class.”   “I’m always late.” He shrugs. “Dumbo, maybe I should upgrade your name to bulldozer. You seem to just bulldoze ahead in life without stopping. Nothing affects you. Like a wall. I can appreciate that.” Taehyung’s arm moves to sling around your shoulder and you immediately jolt, not used to physical affection. It makes you hyper aware of his presence, but he notices and instantly drops his arm from you. “You alright?”   “I’m fine.”   “You’re cool, Y/N,” Taehyung says again, but more passingly, perhaps geared towards himself than praise meant to be heard.   You remind, “We’re late.”   “I know. But everyone’s always late. It’s fine, trust me.” Taehyung brushes it off. “Didn’t you ever go to university or college?”   “No. I went to the academy.”   “Academy?”   “Police academy.”    You went for six months before working as an officer for three years. While you’re relatively content with your decisions, you’re slightly curious about the university lifestyle you could never afford and what it would’ve been like had you went anyway. Although things so far don’t seem particularly impressive.   “Really?” Taehyung’s surprised, eyes wide on the news. “Did you fight crime or track down serial killers?”   “No.”   “Then what did you do?”   “Police stuff.”   “Like?”   “Patrolling the streets. Responding to calls.”   The man stares at you for an extended moment before smiling and nodding. “That’s so cool.” But there’s another curious question poking at the back of his brain. “Why’d you quit?”   “Is that the engineering building?” You point off, pace quickening once more. In the meanwhile, he continues to yap about how you always leave him behind, always ignore him when he’s speaking.   The next class of Taehyung’s is even more boring than the last one. In this one, he actually dozes off and when you nudge him awake, he whines. He tries to rest his head on your shoulder, but you move backwards, not allowing him to get close and he’s left to shake himself awake.   You try to pay attention too, to set a good example, but even you have to admit it’s rather dull.   The cycle repeats one more time before he’s done for the day and ready to head home. The simple idea of being able to leave has his eyes being brought back to life. Taehyung happily bounces his way to the bike rack outside the dining hall, grabbing his infamous, baby blue bike and jumping on without a helmet.    The metal rear seat is open and he waits for you to get on it.   “I won’t leave you behind,” he promises with a mischievous grin, telling you to hop on.   But your hand plops on the handles instead. “I’ll steer.”   “What?”   “You don’t have a helmet. It’s dangerous. And I can’t react if someone attacks us.”   Taehyung is left sputtering, absolutely baffled. “No one’s going to attack us—”   “Last I checked you almost got into an accident last time.”   He remembers the special encounter, when neither of you knew of each other and were merely passing strangers. A sly smile moves across Taehyung’s face. “But you saved me.”   “Your safety is my priority.” Your head moves, signalling for him to get to the back seat. You give in and appease him on a lot of matters, but this is the hill you choose to die on.   The pair of you stare down at each other.   It lasts thirty seconds.   Then Taehyung huffs out and gets off his precious bike seat, sitting on the back. Maybe he relented as an excuse to wrap his arms around your abdomen. The college boy ends up gripping you tight, leaning his head on your back and it’s uncomfortable, but bearable.   “How are you going to ride a bike in a suit?”   To answer his question, you start pedalling and it works, even in spite of being in restrictive attire.   “You should wear normal clothes,” he tells you in a murmur and above the warm breeze, you hear him perfectly well. “It’s not like I don’t like you in a suit, how can I when you look so hot, but I want you to blend in with me. I just….want us to be normal. Can’t you wear a cute skirt or dress or something?”   “Cute things don’t match me.”   “That’s not true,” Taehyung says. “You’ve always been cute. Even now.”   Nothing is spoken out of your mouth. Instead, you focus on pedalling across campus as he holds onto you. It might be a comical sight, but you don’t care. You remain cold, distant, professional. Awake and always alert.   This is your job now.

[heauxplesslydevoted]

Sweet Fantasy (Ethan x f!MC)

Summary: Ethan and Naomi pull an all nighter to work on a case.

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: NSFW. Literally office sex, the type of sex we deserve in book 2.

Tags: @canknot @lapisreviewsstuff @x-kyne-x @paulfwesley @ramseyandrys @choicesobsessedd @a-i-n-a-a-s-h @sparklinglilac  @cream-ray @perriewinklenerdie @barricades-of-freedom @dr-brianna-casey-valentine @doroshi-desu

~~/~~

“I’m glad we settled on takeout, because I cannot eat anymore hospital cafeteria food.”

Ethan looks up from the stack of papers on his desk and at Naomi, who’s sitting on the small couch in his office, happily eating her second slice of pizza.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying.”

The two doctors have been working in Ethan’s office for the past 6 hours, working on a particularly difficult case. A patient of theirs is in a coma, and no one can figure out why. So they raided the hospital’s library, pulling all sorts of books, journals, case studies, and files they could get their hands on in hopes of finding something, anything useful.

But it’s just past midnight, and they’re just as clueless as they were a few hours ago, and Ethan can feel his frustration rising. He’s no stranger to difficult cases, but he hasn’t been this lost since working on Naveen all those months ago.

“You know, one of the very first things I told you about myself is thatI’m a pretty observant person,” Naomi starts. “And I noticed that you’ve been staring at the same page for the last 5 minutes, so clearly, you aren’t doing any critical reading right now.”

He glances down at the page and chuckles softly to himself. “Honestly, I think I checked out around 30 minutes ago. And I’m getting a headache.”

“You’re on work overload,” Naomi says. 

“That much is obvious.”

She takes a napkin and wipes off her hands. “Let’s take a break.”

“We can’t afford to take breaks.”

“Would you rather take a 30 minute break now, or crash later on, thus being absolutely no help at all to our patient?” Naomi challenges with a slightly raised eyebrow. “Besides, all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.”

Ethan sighs. He hates admitting defeat, but she’s right. “So what do you suppose I do during this break?” 

Naomi gets off of the couch and walks over to Ethan’s desk. She runs her fingers across it, appreciating the quality of the aged light brown wood. This is one instance where their height disparity works well, because even though he’s sitting, they’re still eye-to-eye.Reaching out, she softly removes his glasses from his face, her fingertips just barely grazing his temples. “You won’t be needing these.”

Ethan tries to keep his composure. He and Naomi hadn't been this close to each other in 3 months, not since their last night together after her ethics hearing. Since then, they had been the ultimate professionals, careful not to fall down the very tempting rabbit hole of becoming lovers again.

“Close your eyes,” Naomi commands softly, her breath tickling his face.

He does what he’s told, and seconds later, he feels her warm thumbs gently massaging his forehead. “What are you doing?”

“This is one of the easiest ways to relieve tension. I don’t think you realize just how much of it you carry around.”

“Trust me, Rookie, I am acutely aware of just how much tension I have,” Ethan argues with a smirk. “You try being a department head in one of the biggest hospitals on the east coast.”

“So defensive,” Naomi tsks. “You should still take the time to unwind every once in a while. All this stress isn’t good for your health, you know.”

“I do know. I am a doctor after all.”

“Doctors make the worst patients. Always so stubborn and touchy.”

“I am not stub–” Naomi’s thumbs move from his forehead down to his temples, and the rest of her fingers tangle in Ethan’s thick hair. His argument halts right in his throat as his breath hitches at her touch.

“You are,” Naomi insists. “I don’t mind though.”

“Because you are just as stubborn.”

“It’s part of my charm and why you like me so much.” Ethan only snorts in reply, but he doesn’t retort. “How’s your head?”

“The throbbing isn’t as intense as it was a few seconds ago,” he says honestly.

“Good. I’m using my magic on you, and it’s working.”

“Is giving massages a superpower of yours?”

“Yes,” she replies matter-of-factly. “I’m a woman of many talents, Dr. Ramsey. Besides, I did this all the time in med school to keep my brain from exploding, so I’ve become a pro.”

Her nails gently graze Ethan’s scalp and his head drops against his will. A shudder passes through his body and a soft moan slips past his lips at the sensation. 

He opens his eyes quickly, a blush already forming on his cheeks. Naomi decides to stay silent, not wanting to draw any more attention to it or ruin the moment. Instead she just grips Ethan’s hair tighter, eliciting a sharper moan from him. 

She knows she’s playing a dangerous game, but she wants to see how far she can push it, push him. Her hands slide down the sides of his face, tracing his features – his high cheekbones and chiseled jaw covered in stubble – and settle on his neck.

Ethan locks eyes with Naomi and suddenly they’re trapped in a stalemate. Neither of them knows what to do.

Not breaking eye contact, Ethan reaches forward and grabs Naomi by the waist, pulling her closer to him. Her shirt rides up and his fingers slowly glide across the smooth expanse of her stomach, and she sucks in a deep breath in an effort to stay calm.

The air in the room is suddenly crackling with electricity, and Ethan is pretty sure he’s forgotten how to breathe. All he can focus on is how soft Naomi feels, and how good her sweet perfume smells.

His eyes flicker down to her full lips and he wants to kiss her. He’s never wanted to do something so badly, and there’s a physical ache in his chest at the longing. Thankfully he doesn’t have to make the decision as Naomi leans forward and presses her lips to his in a chaste kiss. It’s tentative and for the first time, she’s nervous and cautious around him, and before Ethan can even kiss her back, she pulls away.

“Damn,” he murmurs against her lips as she pulls away. He didn’t realize just how much he missed this — being close to her, kissing her — until now. It feels like a dormant flame has been reignited and he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to stop it this time.

Naomi opens her mouth, probably to apologize, but Ethan doesn’t give her the chance. He takes her by the waist and pulls her back in for another kiss, the sheer force of it nearly knocking her over.

Scrambling, Naomi draws herself into his lap, her legs trapping him in his seat. She wants to gasp, hoping to get some air in her lungs, but it doesn’t seem like Ethan is letting her go any time soon.

His hand travels from her waist under her scrub rob until he feels the small of her back. His fingertips are on fire, every touch of her skin scorching him. Naomi moans at the contact and he takes the opportunity to run his tongue along her bottom lip before pulling it roughly between his teeth. Unable to do anything else, she grinds her hips against his, earning a groan from the older attending.

Eventually she breaks the kiss with a shuddering breath and rests her forehead against his. The only sounds that could be heard were their exhausted pants and heavy sighs.

“I’ve missed you,” Naomi whispers. Ethan’s chest clenches at the rawness in her voice, the vulnerability.

“I haven’t gone anywhere, Rookie.”

“You know what I mean.”

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t miss her as well. Not just the sex, but their shared intimacy. He cups her face between both of his hands, a thumb running across her cheek. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“You promise?”

“I promise,” he assures.

And that’s all she needs to hear. Gripping his tie, Naomi pulls him in for another kiss, just as fervent, but much more desperate.

Her lips travel across his jaw, enjoying the scrape of his stubble across her skin. She traces the shell of his ear with her tongue before whispering, “Do you trust me?”

“Without question.”

“Good.” Naomi removes herself from Ethan’s lap and he groans at the loss of contact. “Stand up.”

“What?”

“Stand up,” Naomi repeats. Her eyes scan the room until she settles on the perfect spot. “Stand against the bookshelf.”

Ethan does what he’s told, despite the confusion. Where was this headed?

Once his back is firmly planted against the tall bookshelf, Naomi removes his tie, letting the piece of silk slide between her fingers. She then wraps it around her head, fashioning it into a hair tie, pulling her curls out of her face. “I hope you’re not too attached to this tie, because I kind of like it.”

“It’s yours,” Ethan says quickly.

Smirking at his eagerness, Naomi slowly unbuttons Ethan’s dress shirt, marveling at every new inch of skin that’s released with the adept work of her fingers. She rids of the offending material once it’s fully unbuttoned, throwing it behind her without a backward glance to where it lands.

“Ethan Ramsey, you are quite the work of art underneath all those pesky clothes,” Naomi says. She nips at his neck and collarbone, eliciting soft groans and grunts from the man. She loves the fact that she can do this, turn such a powerful man into a puddle of goo beneath her feet. 

Her nails rake across his chest and stomach, leaving scratches and tiny crescent shaped indents in their wake. She’s marking him on purpose, and Ethan is too far gone to care. “Fuck, Rookie–” Naomi’s hand gently grazes the front of his pants and the ability to form setences is wiped away completely. He doesn’t think it’s possible for him to get any harder than he is right now, but he had a feeling that Naomi was going to test the limits.

She makes quick work of unbuckling his pants, dropping them to the floor. “Keep your eyes on me, Dr. Ramsey,” she commands, and fuck, the use of his official title in such an intimate moment makes his knees go weak. Her voice is soft, but there’s a firmness there. He knows she means business. “Don’t you dare look away. Deal?”

“Deal.”

“Good.” 

Naomi’s tongue darts out and she swipes it across his chest, taking in the taste of his expensive cologne, his sweat, and something that is just so uniquely him. His abdomen seized at the sensation, especially when she drops down to her knees and gets closer to his navel.

She pulls his boxers down at an alarmingly slow pace, and Ethan is almost certain that she’s trying to torture him to death.

He was uncomfortably hard at this point, dripping precum, but Naomi doesn’t seem to care. She’s humming quietly to herself, her fingernails tracing patterns onto his hips, which are taut with tension. He’s a whimpering mess at this point.

“Naomi…”

There’s a mischievous glint in her eyes as she looks up at him. “Yes?”

“I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

“How much more of what?” She’s teasing him now, wanting to draw this out as long as she can.

“This, this teasing.”

“What do you want me to do?” Naomi asks innocently. She kisses the area above his pelvis and hips snap against her involuntarily at the contact. “Use your words.”

“Stop torturing me,” Ethan pleads. “Please.”

At long last, she takes him into her mouth, her tongue swirling around the tip. A growl escapes from deep in his throat and he throws his head back in satisfaction.

But that action makes Naomi stop her movements. “I gave you a very simple instruction, Dr. Ramsey. Keep your eyes on me.” Ethan struggles to open his eyes, but he manages. “Thank you.”

She resumes working on him, adding her hand to stroke his length simultaneously. Unable to look away or turn his head, Ethan grabs a handful of Naomi’s curly hair and pulls it roughly. She moans, the sound reverberating against him, heightening the sensation. “Fuck.”

He feels her tongue tracing something on the underside of his shaft. It takes a few times before he realizes that she’s spelling her name.

V

A

L

“Naomi–”

She ignores him, alternating between taking him fully into her mouth and teasing him.

E

N

T

I

The all too familiar tightening settles in his stomach. He’s close. He’s so close, he can almost taste it. His grip on Naomi’s hair only gets fiercer, his knuckles turning white at the force. His hips buck uncontrollably under her touch, but she doesn’t change her tempo at all, maintaining her steady pace. Ethan wasn’t the one in charge, she was.

“Fuck, Naomi, I’m gonna c–”

N

E

A string of expletives leave his mouth as he comes and Naomi hums in satisfaction. That was definitely a new record that she intends to beat in the near future.

Ethans pulls her up and slants his mouth over hers, kissing her hungrily. Hooking his hands underneath her thighs, Ethan lifts Naomi up with ease and carries her over to his desk, not caring about the pages of research he was pouring over just minutes ago.

Once she’s securely on his desk, Ethan tears her scrub top off of her body, admiring the lace covered hot pink bra she’s sporting. “You’re so beautiful.”

“You aren’t so bad yourself.”

“What do you want me to do?” Ethan asks, mirroring the words she spoke to him not too long ago.

“I want you to fuck me, right on this desk,” Ethan.”

“Ethan.”

“Ethan.”

“Ethan!”

Ethan’s eyes snap open and he awakes with a sharp gasp, trying to fill his lungs with as much air as possible.

He looks around and instantly relaxes when he sees that he’s in his office. There’s a hand on his shoulder and he looks up and finds Naomi staring back at him, a concerned look on her face.

“Ethan, are you okay?”

“What happened?”

“I don’t know, I just heard you talking in your sleep.”

Ethan takes in his surroundings. His office is dark, lit only by a few lamps. He’s fully clothed still, and so is Naomi,

“Did I say anything?”

“No, it was just a lot of incoherent mumbling,” Naomi responds.

“I'm sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. It’s late, and you’re tired.”

Ethan isn’t necessarily tired for falling asleep. He’s sorry for having sex dreams about his young mentee. It feels selfish, especially since he’s the one who’s been keeping her at an arm’s length.

“You’re right.” He rubs a hand over his face, trying to shake the thoughts out of his mind and hide the blush creeping onto his cheeks. It’s hard to look Naomi in the eye mere seconds after very dirty thoughts crowded his brain. “Why don’t we put a pin in this for the night.”

“Are you sure?” Naomi asks. “I don’t mind pulling an all nighter.”

“I’m sure. Go home and get some rest. We’ll tackle this with a fresh set of eyes tomorrow morning.”

“Okay.” Naomi tidies up a bit, stacking all of the textbooks and articles she was reading neatly on Ethan’s small coffee table. Before she leaves, she turns to Ethan with a slight smile. “Have a nice night, Dr. Ramsey.”

“You too, Rookie.”

Once she’s gone from his office, Ethan drops his head onto the cool surface of his desk and lets out a shaky breath.

He’s completely and utterly fucked.

[wylanvnneck]

Age Rating: T for Troglodyte

Summary:  Hunger Games modern day AU, Peeta is a policeman and Katniss just broke the law. Kinda. Whoops. 'Tis a oneshot. 

(Also, mentions of nudity in relation to streaking, so if you’re not comfortable with that kinda stuff this isn’t the fic for you.)

On AO3 | Can you spot all the references?

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

It was all Johanna’s fault. Against Johanna Mason and alcohol, I never stood a chance.

‘District 12’ was a pretty popular nightclub, famous for its signature drink ‘The Nightlock’, so that’s where Johanna, Madge and I had decided to take Annie for her Bachelorette party, she’d just wanted a small get together with ‘The Girls’ so there we were.

The night began when we all met up at Annie’s apartment to get ready together and ‘pre-drink’, ‘cus there was no way in hell we could afford to buy that many drinks at such a fancy place. We dress up, do each other’s makeup, paint our nails, exchange gossip, tease Annie about her upcoming marriage and take lots and lots of shots in between.

By the time we head out to walk the few blocks to the nearby club we’re decked in the sexiest clothes we own, which for me equates to a little black dress with a lacy feather design on the back that Jo’d forced me to buy on a rare trip to H&M, which apparently made my bod look fab, her words not mine. Madge has gone crazy with the makeup on my face, with black wing tip eyeshadow to match the dress.

She herself is looking elegant as usual in her midnight blue catsuit and heels, while Jo is in a dangerous looking pair of black fishnet tights and a leather top that threatened to slip off and reveal its secrets at any minute. Annie is in her skirt and top, rocking a shiny pair of silver stilettos which for me would have spelt out ‘death trap’, but she pulls it off.

The club is loud and noisy, strobe lights switching colours every few moments, dizzying my senses. While I’m still recovering Jo’s grabbed us all by the hands and dragged us to the bar, even though we’re all pretty tipsy already. Looks like I’m getting smashed tonight, but hey, what better occasion to get drunk at than your best friend’s bachelorette party?

We order our drinks from the hot brown eyed bartender, who’s smoothly mixing beverages and flirting with us as he prepares our drinks, cocktails for Madge and Annie, a Nightlock for me and a Jack and Coke for Johanna.

Annie is blushing and I’m surprised that Annie even recognizes flirting at this point, she and her groom-to-be Finnick having been attached at the hip since freshman year in high school.

Madge is more receptive but we all know that she’s irrevocably devoted to my childhood best friend Gale and that she’d never go further than casual flirting. Johanna of course has no such qualms as she shamelessly responds, with me as an unwilling witness as she chats the guy up and I impatiently wait for my Nightlock.

It’s worth the wait though, the dusky blue liquid is enticing, drawing you in like a sweet poison. This was definitely worth the long queue at the entrance and the rather steep pricing.

Now that I’ve sufficiently imbibed in enough alcohol I’m feeling brave enough to hit the dance floor with my friends and Madge, Annie and I leave Johanna to her conquest and find our way to the middle of the room where the space is packed with sweaty, writhing bodies.

I’m not much of a dancer, but the Nightlock seems to have taken effect and I’m filled with a delightful buzzing sensation so I just give myself up to the music, following along to the seductive rhythm.

My surroundings blur, as people dance around us, couples play tonsil hockey, my friends and I do the macarena and bump hips and I barely notice when Jo returns after having secured brown eyes’ phone number and carrying a fresh supply of drinks.

I’m feeling adrenalized and the buzzing sensation increases with this next round and we’re laughing and panting and the music drowns out everything and the lights are shining and it’s the most exhilarated I’ve felt in a while, considering how run down I am each day after my college classes and part time job at the clinic.

For tonight, I’m just Katniss Everdeen, a free unrestrained rebel.

Hours pass and it’s 2.00 am and we’re staggering out the door, blurry-eyed and red faced. The deserted sidewalk is so pretty and black. The trees are so brilliantly green. Trees. Lights. Life.

I’m definitely hammered.

The rest of the girls don’t seem too sober either, but I’m the biggest lightweight out of all of us so it’s no surprise that I’m so far gone.

We’re giggling and talking and I hear Annie start up a game of Truth or Dare. It’s a teenager’s game but who cares and besides, it’s her night.

Madge starts us off. “Alright Bridesy, Truth or Dare?”

“Truth.”

“Ok, what’s your least favorite thing about Finnick?”

She contemplates this for a while before replying, “I suppose he can be a little too proud of his looks,” she blushes.

The rest of us let out a collective snort. It’s certainly true that Finnick could be more than a little vain, but it was also true that being around Annie made him less so. Besides, when he wasn’t busy preening his blond hair in front of a mirror he was a pretty intelligent and loyal friend.

“I’ll say,” Jo smirks. “Now, ask me one, a Dare.”

Annie dares her to give a 3 minute lecture on safe sex, which ends up with us guffawing as Jo proceeds to explain the science of birth control pills and the mechanics of a condom in a posh British voice that sounds vaguely Australian.

When she’s done and we’ve finally recovered our breath she turns to me, “Alright brainless, Truth or Dare?”

Her black eyes are challenging me, and the alcohol makes me stupid.  

“Dare.”

It’s a testament to how drunk I am that I don’t immediately panic at the devilish gleam in her eyes. We’ve made it about 2 blocks from the club and we’ve still got a few more to go to get back to Annie’s apartment where we’re all spending the night. The streets are mostly deserted but the occasional car cruises along.

“Alright Kitkat, here’s what you gotta do. I dare you to streak around this block.”

At first, my alcohol hazed brain doesn’t comprehend what she’s saying. And then it hits me. Annie and Madge are doubled over with laughter and cheering, the traitors.

My cheeks are red, “You want me to...to strip and run around this entire block?” I ask, just to make sure.

“Yup,” the she-devil responds. “Come on, Everdeen, live a little.”

Easy for her to say, she’d done this millions of times, the worst that had happened was that she’d gotten off with just a warning from a mall security officer that she’d managed to charm. I, on the other hand, have always been extremely private about my body, not that I thought there was anything wrong with it but I preferred not to flaunt it. The dress I was wearing tonight is the most daring clothing I own.

However, tonight, I’m feeling daring. Or stupid. Probably very stupid. But it’s 2.15 in the morning, the streets are practically deserted, no pedestrians are around to see me other than my friends. And after all tonight I had been letting go, throwing off my constraints. Besides, when I’m 80 these’ll be the stories I tell my grandkids, right?

Well if I’m drunk enough to think about being 80 and having grandkids, plural, I’m drunk enough to run around a block naked.

So I do it. I take a quick glance at our surroundings to make sure no one’s around before I reach down and peel off my dress, while my treacherous friends let out ridiculous wolf whistles. I hand the black garment to Madge along with my black boots. The chilly night air hits my body and goosebumps erupt on my skin, pale in the dimly lit street lights as I cover my chest with my arms. I feel the blood rushing to my face.

“Well?” Jo raises an eyebrow at me, as if to say go on then, do it .

I take a deep breath and break off into a run. I feel as swift as lightning. I’m unstoppable. I’m running around the streets of the city in my lacy underwear and no bra as my dress was backless. I’m practically as naked as the day I was born as I race along the sidewalk and I’m burning up and I feel like a girl on fire.

I quickly circle the short distance and I’m just about to make it back to where my friends are standing, howling with amusement at the sight of me. The end is in sight.

And that’s when I hear it. The sound of a car approaching. Oh hell.

The situation gets ten times worse when I catch sight of the vehicle that’s just turned into the street. It’s a police patrol car.

Oh, the universe was a cruel, cruel place.

                                                    * * *

There’s no place to run and no place to hide in the open street. There’s no escape for me, the lone policeman behind the wheel knows it and I know it. So, heart pounding and with a sinking feeling in my chest I simply walk the rest of the way to my now silent group of friends and stretch my hand out for my dress while he stops the car by the pavement and steps out of it to approach me.

I manage to slip on my dress before resignedly turning around to face him, and when I do I’m struck speechless. In front of me is the most handsome policeman I’ve ever seen. Scratch that, one of the most handsome men I’ve ever seen.  

Ordinarily I’d be disgusted at myself for internally drooling so much over a cute guy, but this isn’t ordinary Katniss. So I stare to my heart’s content. His eyes are the first thing I notice, a stark blue, standing out in the dark early morning light. His ashy blonde hair falls in waves over his forehead, and his skin is pale. He also looks pretty muscular, no doubt as a result of regular training. Shoot me now.

I’m so absorbed in staring at him that I almost don’t notice what he’s saying, “Excuse me ma’am, I’m afraid I’m going to have to take you in for being drunk and disorderly.” He sounds almost apologetic, despite his formal tone and his cheeks are tinged slightly red but that’s probably nothing compared to the embarrassed blush on my face.

“Don’t worry Katniss, I’ll call Gale, he’ll know what to do,” I hear Madge squeak from the side while Officer Blue Eyes attaches a pair of cuffs on me.

I turn my head and give her a quick nod before I’m gently ushered into the backseat of the patrol car. The drive is silent and I’m almost completely sober now. No more liquid courage for me, and I’m left feeling disoriented and anxious, starting to panic a little as I resolutely look outside the window as we drive to the station, unseeing of my surroundings.

“So, wild night, huh?” His voice is a slightly husky one. I could listen to it all day. And night. All day and night. Maybe I’m still a little intoxicated.

I let out a dry laugh that sounds rather high pitched, “You could say that.”

“I remember what that was like, you know, back when I wasn’t a cop yet. Highschool seems like a million years ago” He has an easy smile on his face that I can see from the rearview mirror.

“Doesn’t it. Although, I’ve never really been a huge party person. Tonight was an exception.” I wish I could cover my face with my cuffed hands.

I see him look at me through the mirror, blue eyes filled with sympathy. “Whoops, looks like it just wasn’t your night then.”

We’ve pulled up to the Police Station and he’s reversing the car into a parking spot around the back. “I guess not,’ I agree with a wry half-smile on my face.

I’m escorted into the building and it’s practically deserted, the sound of the ceiling fans working filling up the silence as two officers sit hunched around a desk examining a computer screen while sipping on what looks to be mugs of coffee.

Caffeine. I’m jealous.

Officer Blue Eyes exchanges a quick word with one of them and she simply waves back with her hand. He takes me to the back of the room through a short passage that leads to a holding cell, a small square room with barred walls through which I can peek at the corridor that leads to the main office we just walked through. There's a small bench attached to the wall, with a rolled up mat and a pillow on it where he indicates for me to sit. My hands are released from the cuffs and I rub at my wrists.

We haven’t spoken since we got out of the car, but now he says, “Alright then...ma’am, I’m gonna need to ask you some questions.”

“Hit me with it.” I slump against the wall. Might as well get comfy, this was gonna be a long night.

“Ok, well first off what’s your name?”

“Katniss Everdeen.”

“Age?”

“22”

“Are you in college?”

“Yep. But I don’t live within campus grounds.” I give him my address as well.

“Any part time jobs?”

“I’m a part time assistant at Paw Prints Veterinary Clinic.”

‘’Ok great, thank you,” he’s been writing my replies down on a plain spiral notepad. “Give me a minute, I’ll be right back.”

He turns and walks away and as he does a question pops, unbidden, out of my mouth, “Wait. What’s your name?” I’d been trying to read his name tag since we reached the cell but I couldn’t seem to make it out.

“Peeta. Peeta Mellark.” His smile is breathtaking.

I scrunch my eyes closed and let out a soft groan the moment he’s out of sight. Stupid, stupid Katniss. Why didn’t I just say no to that idiotic dare? Why did I drink so much? Why were cops allowed to be hot?

What was wrong with me?

My eyes are still closed and I’m leaning against the cell wall, contemplating my life decisions that had brought me to this moment, when I hear footsteps approaching.

Peeta was back and he was carrying what looked to be a steaming paper cup and a brown paper bag.

“Here, this should help with a hangover,” he hands me the cup through the bars. It’s steaming hot coffee and the aroma reminds me of Heaven.

I’m ravenous and thirsty and I gulp the brown liquid down, relishing the invigorating feeling despite the fact that I’ve almost certainly burnt my tongue.

When I look up again he’s leaning against the bars, watching me with those intense baby blue eyes. I would feel abashed by how impatiently I drank my coffee but I seemed to have reached my quota of embarrassment for the day. Probably even my quota for the year, forget a day.

“So Katniss, what’s gonna happen now is that you’ll be held here overnight until you’re sober and discharged tomorrow morning, most probably you’ll just be given an official warning as this looks to be your first offense.” His tone is calming and helps to slow my racing heartbeat. He’s still clutching that brown paper bag in his hand.

I nod slowly in response. That wasn’t too bad. I could live with just a few more hours in this claustrophobic space.

He hands me the bag. “Here, in case you’re hungry.”

I look at the bag and there seems to be something soft and circular inside. I think of that old cop cliché and I’m almost certain it’s a doughnut. Instead, it’s a soft looking bun and as I’m opening up the bag further the smell of...cheese? Reaches my nose. My stomach gives a low rumble. I really hope it wasn’t audible.

“It’s a uh...a cheese bun. I make them myself,” his voice sounds a little shy and my heart gives a lurch. Who was this man and why had I been deemed worthy of meeting him? Granted, not in the most ideal circumstances, but still.

“You bake?” The question comes out sounding almost accusatory. “I mean, you- you have the time to bake, you know, being a policeman?” and do it really well, judging from the scents wafting my way.

“My dad actually owns a bakery so he lets me come in after hours and do some baking. It’s surprisingly therapeutic after a hard day at work,” his lips quirk upwards on the left side.

“Wow. That’s...wow. The best that I can cook is a pretty mean mac and cheese,” I confess.

He lets out a soft laugh, “Well, that’s a very useful dish. You can go ahead and eat you know, don’t mind me.”

So I do. It’s delicious. The first bite melts me. It’s soft and salty and creamy and absolutely delectable. I involuntarily let out a long, low moan.

He’s looking at me with that quirked mouth and it almost looks like he’s smirking.  “That good, huh?”

“Mhngmm” I garble out. I sound like a chipmunk with food in its mouth but I couldn’t care less.

I force myself to pace my eating this time and manage to intelligibly speak. “So you’re a policeman and a full time baker. Any other super powers?”

“Ah, no. I’m afraid not. Being a policeman doesn’t offer much downtime. I love it though, it’s a pretty fulfilling job.”

But perhaps enough downtime for a girlfriend? I’m tempted to ask, which is ridiculous. It’s none of my business if he's dating anyone. I’m just the drunken girl he’s arrested and taken pity on, enough pity to keep me company for the moment and even share the best baked treat I’ve had in my life with me.

But who cared what motivated him as long as he was here, right? So we talk and we talk and we talk, exchanging questions then jokes then stories. I tell him about my college classes and Environmental Science course and my part time job at the vet.

I tell him about the little girl with plaited blond hair who’d recently brought in an ill-tempered stray cat named Buttercup who for some reason had instantly hated me and proceeded to scratch me a grand total of 18 times.

He laughs and tells me about his little brother Rye and his first time making bread on his own, which ended up in a charred block of dough. He tells me about a recent case of his where this woman named Effie had sent threatening letters to the wrong lady, a distinguished corporate lawyer, rather than the Starbucks cashier that was actually her husband’s mistress and the hilarity that ensued after she found out.

The conversation is so easy and I’m enamoured by this man and the last thought to enter my head before he eventually gets called away and has to leave and I finally succumb to my alcohol induced mini-coma is of a pair of striking blue eyes.

                                                           * * *

A few hours later I wake up to the sunlight streaming through the bars of my cell. I’m groggy and my mouth is dry. My hair feels matted with sweat and the dark strands are probably still forming the remnants of a long gone fancy braid. My lacy black dress is wrinkled beyond saving.

“Morning!” Says a male voice that is entirely too chipper.

I blink a few times before I can finally focus on Peeta who’s standing in the now open doorway of my cell.

“Morning…” I reply, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes.

“So, you’re in luck Miss Everdeen, someone’s already come to take you home.”

“Katniss. You can call me Katniss.” I pause. “Wait, someone’s here for me? Must be Gale.”

“That’s the one...a Gale Hawthorne?”

“Oh thank god he’s here. I did not relish having to stay here any longer than I needed to.”

Peeta’s face looks more guarded than it had last night. Or rather, earlier this morning.

‘Yes, well, he’s here, so we can process you out.”

“Great.”

I’m taken to a desk at the front of the office where a middle-aged officer with lengthy dirty blonde hair sits behind the counter, looking bored with the world. He eyes me uninterestedly and as Peeta and I get closer I see that his name tag reads ‘Officer Abernathy’.

Officer Abernathy sluggishly carries out all the formalities and issues me an official warning. There's nothing for me to collect as the only thing I had with me when I was arrested were my clothes. It’d be a long time before I decided to take those off anywhere that wasn’t in the privacy of my apartment.

Peeta accompanies me to the entrance, he is strangely silent but he looks like he is thinking a million thoughts.

I can spot Gale’s Volvo in the parking lot from here, and I can see him walking up to the station entrance to come and get me.

“So, that’s your boyfriend I’m assuming?” Peeta finally speaks as we stand in the doorway waiting for him.

The idea shocks me, although it makes sense that he’d come to that conclusion. Madge used to think that Gale and I were an item too, but he’s always been more like my protective older brother rather than a lover.

“What? Gale? Ew no, that’d be like incest, it’d be almost illegal.”

He raises a lone eyebrow at me, smiling.

Right. I hadn’t exactly shown the greatest sense of distinguishment between what was legal and what was not. I blush in his presence yet again.

Gale comes up to us and his brown eyes are twinkling. “Well, Catnip, I gotta say, when Madge called and said one of you had gotten arrested I thought for sure it’d be Johanna. Guess I was wrong.”

I narrow my eyes at him, “Yes, well, Johanna’s got a worse punishment than getting arrested coming her way when I get my hands on her." I remember the officer standing next to me. “In the most innocent way of course.”

The quirked lip is back. I swear, for me, it was a weapon more lethal than the gun he carries in his holster. I blame that thought on the headache that I am currently dealing with.

‘Right..so uh, I guess this is it.” There’s a sinking feeling in my gut. I would probably never see Peeta Mellark ever again. Unless I decided to get arrested in this area again and hope to spend an hour or two in his company. The idea had merit. But no, I was already on my first official warning and I probably shouldn’t push the legal system.

I stick out my hand to him. He takes it and shakes it gently, his eyes seem to see inside me as they meet mine.

Almost reluctantly I turn away and start following Gale to his car.

“Hey, Katniss.” That husky voice suddenly calls out from behind me. “I’ll be picking you up at 8.00 tomorrow, just so you know. It’s a date."

I whirl around. He’s grinning and he’s got an annoyingly attractive cocky look on his face.

“Oh really? And how would you know where to pick me up from?”

He brings out his spiral bound notepad from his uniform pocket. “In here, remember?”

I flush yet again and this time I know that it’s definitely not the last time I’d be doing it in front of him. Oh no. If I had my way, this sweet, funny, intelligent and handsome officer and baker would be seeing that blush on my face for years to come.

“On one condition. There have to be cheese buns.”

“You got it,” he salutes me, beaming.

I’m walking on sunshine as I quicken my stride to catch up with Gale who’s already started up the car and as I do I hear a voice that sounds suspiciously like Officer Abernathy’s yelling from the station, “Good on you, sonny boy, you don’t see a girl like that everyday.”

                                                       * * *

A couple years later and I’m in a lacy dress once more, white this time, with the added accessory of a bouquet of Primroses. Next to me stands the man who arrested me all those years ago and won me over with a combination of his personality and his insanely good cheese buns. I like to tell him that it’s the buns that were really the deciding factor for me, but we both know that’s a lie.

He leans down and presses his lips to my ear as the photographer stops to reposition his camera.

“You know Katniss, you should have just walked up that aisle in your underwear, it’s my favourite look of yours.”

I glare at him. At least, I try to, but it’s hard with those blue eyes looking back at me.

“Keep up the jokes, mister, and you might not see that look again for a while,” I threaten him.

The smug look on his face is immediately wiped off.

                                                          * * *

I’m not yet 80, just a couple more years to go, but as I look at that familiar pair of periwinkle eyes gazing back at me with love in them, I feel like a young woman again. I turn back to the tiny toddlers playing on the ground in front of me.

Someday I’ll tell them, I’ll tell them the story of how their grandparents met. I’d tell them how Peeta likes to say that the only moral of the story is that you shouldn’t break the law, but I’d say that it was really that you probably shouldn’t play such a high stakes game of Truth or Dare, or simply ‘don’t accept stupid dares.’

And yet, when I look at where it got me, I suppose I should also say that there are certainly much worse games to play.

[maorane]

Encounter - I.M (Changkyun)

Chapter 14 : Decisions

Prologue - Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 -Chapter 4 - Chapter 5- Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 - Chapter 12 - Chapter 13 - Chapter 14

Warning : Suggestive

One week past since our little argument and things were kind of awkward. This is exactly what i didn’t want to happen and once again Changkyun was a step before me and caught me out of guard. I wasn’t mad at him, well I was at the beginning for forcing things but he was right, i should have been honest about my feelings even though i still think that it was useless.. Let’s be honest, our relationship is make to be secret and i was agreed about it so i don’t get why he wants to make me change my mind on it.

-Can we talk ? -Yeah..i’m home anyway if you want. - okay..i’ll be there in 1 hour.

1 hour….enough and too much time to go through all possible scenarios about the upcoming conversation. But in all those scenarios only the end was the same, break up, and honestly i wasn’t ready for that. Maybe that’s why i just finished my second can of beer without noticing. When the sound of the digicode echoed in the room, my breath got stuck in my throat.

He was standing at the entrance, doing the same gestures as usual. Removing his shoes, then his cap and his mask, before coming in the living room. Once again I was nervous next to him, like i was in america when the tensions started to grew up.

“Hey” “H…hey” okay that’s not a good way to start thing “listen..if you want to break up just say it straight…i hate long useless explanation” “You know your brain and your imagination will get you in trouble…who said i wanna break up..do you want to break up?” That smile, that cocky smile “No..but i thought..”

“That’s what i said, you think too much babe..there is no way i’m breaking up with you..especially not over something like that..and You were right and i was right too”

“So basically we’re both dumb”

And that’s how we both started laughing. The whole situation was an absurd mess but i’m glad that we managed to go through it somehow.

“So we’re in deadlock…what are we gonna do ?” I asked, feeling comfortable enough to lean on him a bit. “Try…like i said..let’s try at least once…last time you wanted to go picnic near the Han River so why not.” I closed my eyes feeling his fingers on my arm.. i missed his touch so bad. “Kyun..you don’t need to..” He is making an effort stop being stubborn for once “...okay…let’s try then” i smiled and gave him a peck on his cheek. “ Let’s go then” “Right now ? ….uh….okay…wait..i’ll just put something else.”

I shook my head and went to my room to put a pair of jeans and a hoodie. It was getting cold these days but i didn’t want to be the mood breaker once again.

“ I booked a taxi, he’ll be there in 5min..let’s go.” I tried to hold back my smile when he took my hand and left the apartment. Of course he has his mask back on his face but it wasn’t really important. I didn’t want to admit it but deep inside i was happy that we had our first outdoor date. So yeah it was past midnight, it was cold but we were together outside, having a walk like an almost normal couple. But i was still nervous and felt guilty.

“ I really hope you don’t do it just to make me feel happy but because you want it too” yeah that’s who i am..the girl who’s always overthinking. “ I wanted it too…but maybe i was too afraid to do it. But it’s not that bad to be out.” “Thank you….but only once in a while okay…i’m still too scared to be honest”

Story of dumb and dumber.

After walking for almost 20min, I stopped to a convenient store to buy some snacks and drinks and went back to the spot where we were supposed to meet, but Changkyun wasn’t there. I was about to take my phone to call him and a small flower bouquet appeared from behind me and soft lips went on my cheek.

“You scared me..don’t do that again.” His laugh was music to my ears and we both sat on the floor, facing the river. “Are you okay ?” Changkyun said, wrapping his arm around me, bringing me close to him. “This is more quiet than I expected” “Hum…i’m good..and yeah this is why i wanted to come here with you last time..there is not that many people coming here since it’s far from the convenient store..i use to come here at night when i need to change my mind”

We remained like that for almost one hour, drinking, chatting, laughing, like we were the only one on this planet.

“It’s getting cold, we should go home…you can’t get sick now..especially with what’s coming soon” I wasn’t a starship intern anymore but it was still my duty to make sure that he was good enough for work. “I’ll throw this, can you book a taxi ?” I was about to stand up when his hand grabbed mine, stopping me in my mouvement. “I know the timing is odd, but i kept thinking about this and I need to say it” “What’s wrong ?” “I love you”

I knew already that our relationship was serious and that we shared feelings, but the word love has never been mentioned until now even though we knew each other hearts, but hearing it tonight brought something special. I smiled, holding back a tear, not that i was over emotional but those past few weeks were really complicated and knowing that his feeling didn’t change reassured me.

“ I love you too….now let’s go home i’m freezing” Even in the most romantic situation i had to ruin everything, but this is how we are.

30min later we were finally back home. It was 2am and i was still smiling, feeling the happiest on the world just because of a word.

“I’m gonna take a hot shower…wanna join ?” Let’s just say that i didn’t really gave him time to answer and dragged him with me in the bathroom. No matter how many time we saw each other naked it was the first time we actually took a shower together. That new kind of intimacy was really breathtaking. Being trapped between the wall and his body with the water running on me made my heartbeat raced. I was the one initiated the idea but i was the one being overwhelming by it. When Changkyun’s lips went on my neck, my legs almost gave up if it wasn’t for the wall supporting me. I was weak, i was at his mercy, i was vulnerable but i never been so excited and free. Being desired, wanted was such an amazing feeling.

What started in the shower ended up in the bedroom. That night was on the best night I ever had. Our hearts and bodies reconnected in the most intimate way.

We were both in the bed, spooning, with Changkyun drawing on my hip with his fingertip. I was about to fall asleep when i felt something cold on my chest. I opened my eyes and saw a necklace. I turned to face Changkyun. “I can’t give you a ring right now..so this my pre- engagement necklace. ” “Pre- engagement ? Your mind is really something…but i like it”

And again our bodies became one this night.

[greenninjagal-blog]

Bury the Body

I swear I’m gonna stop making new AUs one day. This is not that day. Based on these prompts from @sandersidesquotes right here: 1 2 3. 

Let’s go Serial Killer AU!

TW: Murder, blood, stabbings, arson, causal mentions of killing people

Words: 3854

Summary: Logan is a serial killer and he’s not the only one.

General Taglist: @felicianoromano @jemthebookworm @holliberries @stricken-with-clairvoyancy 

Read on AO3

To be honest the day had gone great. Exceeding so. He had gotten the promotion he had been after for the past year and received the nice raise that had come with the new position. He no longer had to sit in a tiny cubical and listen to Jeff from two cubicles over have phone sex with his secret girlfriend that his wife didn’t know a thing about. And, sure, the new workload was strenuous, but that made his nights out so much more entertaining, so much more fun.

It was a science. A science that Logan had perfected at sixteen. The more stress he had, the more the bat felt right when it cracked against the skull of his latest victim.

Logan had never been great at baseball, but people had stopped teasing him about it long ago. They had other things to worry about, like the funeral for the captain of the baseball team who passed away suddenly when his shed caught fire while he was out back underage drinking.

In the darkness, his victim when down heavy without even a chance to scream. Not that there wouldn’t be more time for that later. He had chosen her mostly at random from the bar, although the fact that she had been alone and her phone had died had been huge factors. Logan didn’t know if she was pretty or not, but he thought the red splatter on the edge of his metal bat looked a bit like art in the dull light.

Really she should have called an uber hours ago, should have brought a charger, should have dyed her hair brown and worn less make up. She looked too much like one of his sister’s Barbies.

Logan rubbed one of his gloved hands over the splotch of blood on his bat and wondered if she’d scream the way he always imagined the dolls did when he turned them into metal mounds of plastics. Logan felt his stomach flutter, the edges of his lips twitch into a smile at the idea of the lighter fluid in his jacket pocket, at the idea of the matches and the smell of smoke spiraling into the midnight sky.

Personally, Logan thought that arson was a rather beautiful way to die. She should be honored. It was a science, a specific ratio of gas to the victim, a detailed design that would swallow an entire building so completely without collapsing too quickly. She should be thrilled that Logan had deemed her the next one to go floating up to sky with his smoke.

“Oh, that’s not very nice!” A voice said some nearby.

Logan stilled.

He had been lingering in this alley for an hour, waiting for his victim to come out. He knew there was no one else here. So where had the voice come from? And why did it sound so happy?

Logan twitched to look at the mouth of alley where a figure was standing dressed in cargo shorts and a blue polo. He had a cardigan wrapped around his shoulders, and loafers on his feet. If he hadn’t looked so happy, Logan would have assumed he was a Dad running around after his kids.

If it hadn’t been nearing one in the morning, Logan would have assumed he was just a poor civilian in the wrong place at the wrong time.

“Not nice at all, kiddo!” The man said. “Don’t you know that could cause brain damage?”

“Who are you?”

“And she already has so many other problems with her brain.” The other strolled forward with a hop in his step, completely ignore Logan’s question, “I’m going to have to ask you to step away from her now, kiddo!”

Logan was not sure who this man was, or why he found the happy tone so annoying. It grated on his nerves. Logan held the bat out at him. “Stop,” He commanded.

The man took three more steps and hovered just outside the range of Logan’s swing.  Logan was sure if either of them leaned more than five inches they’d both explode. The part of him he kept buried deep inside sang.

The smog of the city blocked out most of the moonlight, but Logan had no issue making out the whites of his teeth, the forced edges of his smile that only looked natural at first glance. At this close Logan could make out how robotic and unnatural it is, how it didn’t meet his eyes, how the man before him was so fake he could have been one of the dolls Logan melted as a kid.

Logan’s lips twitched. Could this man keep up that stupid fake voice while he burned like one too?

“Kady Kay here has so many problems with her brain. Just like me!” the man said, “I’m gonna fix them all for her!”

Logan didn’t know what that meant. He didn’t care either.

Until the voice behind him spoke up. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Pat.”

Logan swirled at the sound, so close, so surprising. His victim was on the ground, and right next to her was another figure, dressed all in black, with an oversized hoodie that made him look like a child. He had a marker out, holding the limp left arm of the victim and drawing neat dotted lines at the intersection between her humerus and her radius and ulnar. The second man looks up at him, a shy smile on his face, a guilty smile, like a kid who was found with his hand in his cookie jar.

In the next second there was a skittering on the asphalt behind him. Logan remembered just a second too late that the other man had still been there, that he hadn’t been normal, that there had been a bloodlust in those twinkling eyes that Logan was so familiar with from all the times he had looked in the mirror before he left his house in the morning.

He threw an arm up just as the knife came jabbing at him. The motion was fluid and surgical, and it would have severed Logan’s carotid artery if it hadn’t plunged straight into his forearm.

The man smiled. “Oh?”

“He’s fast.” The other said.

Logan blinked at the blade protruding from his arm mere inches from his face. There was blood on it too, blood dripping down the metal edge and dotting the asphalt at their feet. He twisted his hold on his bat, so that it was easier to adjust his glasses.

“Oh, kiddo,” The man with the fake smile said, “There’s something wrong with your brain too!”

“Congenital Analgesia,” Logan responded.

“You can’t feel pain?” The other said. Logan thought he sounded disappointed.

“Precisely,” Logan said and then he folded his arm inward and broke the handle from the smiling man’s grip and flexed his fingers. Half of them don’t move. Something was severed, but Logan wasn’t worried yet.

“Kay feels pain.” The other said quietly.

“I want to make her smile!” The smiling man said. His hands danced in the air revealing more tiny knifes between his fingers, and slicing fluid motions in the air.

The other shrugged. “I just like taking things apart.”

“What makes you think I will allow you to take my victim?” Logan asked them.

They shared a look and then they give him a twin smiles: One small and shy like a kid who understood a joke an adult did not, the other bright and blinding and completely fake. Logan guessed they were brothers from the way their heads tilt, their curly hair twists into their eyes, and their mouths open at the same time.

“Because we called dibs!”

“How childish,” Logan sniffed. “I hit her first.”

“We’ve been watching her for weeks.” The man in the hoodie countered.

“And premeditated murder doesn’t make it to court unless you actually attempt to kill someone. What is your point?”

The other man’s smile wilted slightly, “Can’t we just….share?”

Logan and the other shot him withering looks, “No!”

“Please V? Pretty please! Please, Please, Please?!” The man said, “I want to see this man smile too!”

“I don’t!”

Logan was about to cut in when another noise cuts through the alley. The sound of trash bins being pushed over, and someone running, several screams.

“HELP!”

Logan found himself drawn to the next person throwing themselves down the narrow venue. A male, a teenager. In the dull light of the night, Logan could see the way he was stumbling in a panic and screaming for help, holding his side and his neck with his arms and the bubbling shining red that was spewing from between his fingertips.

“HELP!” The man yelled, “He’s right behind me! He’s got—”

Logan blinked and there was a long metal blade protruding from the man’s chest. The man gurgled, blood shot out of his mouth and then his eyes rolled back.

The body dropped to the ground with a wet splat and a new figure stepped into the limelight: He was dressed head to toe in white, a suit tailored to fit him perfectly. It would have looked flattering if it weren’t for the red wine hand prints and splotches and smears all over it. He held a katana in one hand and a red rag in the other.

“Twenty Seven!” He sang to them, with a dazzling gleam in his brown eyes that made them look like rubies. His hair was gelled back, and glitter dusted his cheeks just enough to make him look other worldly, “Hi! Give me just a moment and Emo Nightmare there can be Twenty Eight!”

“Hi!” the man with the fake smile said, “I like your clothes! They’re so pretty!”

“Why thank you, Twenty Nine!”

The man laughed, “I’d hate to make you sad there kiddo, but we can’t stay to play! Kady Kay needs to smile too! Come on, Virge!”

“Pat,” the other said, his marker jabbed at the man in white and red, “I want to take him apart.”

“Oh dear,” The man in all white said, “You’re going to mess up my count, Batboy.”

Logan flexed his stabbed arm again. The blood was making his gloves slippery. No doubt his blood was all over this crime scene. Most likely he was going to have to disappear in the night, pretend to be one of the several people to have gone missing in the past months. Oh what a shame, he had liked that promotion and the new money and all the gasoline he could have bought.

He waved his bat slightly, eyed his victim on the ground once more and wished that he had more time to hear her scream and watch the flames to consume her in the warmest hug this life could give her. Then he bolted from the alley while the others are distracted, escaping into the city he knows so well.

What a shame. What a waste.

Maybe one day he’ll see the others again, and he’ll melt them all too.

****

He didn’t leave the city. Not that night or the next.

He bought three stuffed animals from a toy store and lit them on fire on his fire escape. It wasn’t as fun, didn’t relieve as much stress as it should have. There wasn’t any screaming, wasn’t enough smoke, wasn’t the smell of burning flesh tickling his nose. He poured a pitcher of water on the mess and left it on the metal bars.

No police came to his door. And aside from a twenty seven victim murder spree by an unknown killer, there was no news that suggested he was going to have a difficult time. However, there was also no news about the three other killers he had seen.

The following day he took his smoke break twenty minutes earlier than normal. His arm was wrapped and in a sling and his coworkers were being extra nice to him after he told them he had been in an unfortunate mugging. Still it was rather annoying to see that three of his fingers refused to curl and instead hung off his palm completely useless.

He lit a cigarette, but didn’t bring it near his mouth. He didn’t smoke. Not like the others did. Instead he stood on the roof—the designated smoking area of the bank he worked at—and held the lit cigarette between his thumb and index finger while he stares at the flame of his lighter without any interruptions.

If he thought any of his coworkers had half a brain he would have been more careful about being caught so openly aiding his obsession. But as it stood no one in the entire city had put together that stiff, unmovable Logan Ackroyd was the same man who set fire to several warehouses and on one occasion a car in a deserted parking garage.

(That one hadn’t been fun. The flames had hit the gas tank too quickly. The man—or had it been a woman? He didn’t remember anymore—hadn’t had time to scream before they had disappeared into the warm embrace.)

Logan could feel the heat when he brought the light close to his face. It was the closest he got to physical pain.

The door behind him screeched open and Logan extinguished the flame with an irritated huff. He didn’t have to turn around to know who it was, and honestly it didn’t matter either. None of his coworkers knew how to do their jobs. It made sense that he wouldn’t be able to get more than five minutes of peace.

“Logan? Logan buddy you up here?”

“What do you need Jeff?” Logan coldly asked without turning around.

“There you are! You usually don’t take your smoke break for another twenty minutes and I was just—”

“Is there a point your disturbing me?” Logan cut him off. His eyes glared at the ash that floated off the each of his cigarette and dissipated into the wind so freely. The smoke tickled his nose comfortingly.

“There’s a couple guys here who need a withdraw—”

“The tellers are quite adequate at their jobs, Jeff.”

“They want $12,000. Per regulations we need to report any transaction over $10,000. And Janice is with someone right now so she can’t take them, and I was hoping that you would confirm their request and—”

“If you want me to do your paperwork, just say so, Jeffery.” Logan said, “I will happily do it, because that will mean it gets done correctly and I will not have to go back and fix your mistakes later.” Logan stubbed out his cigarette, somewhat regretfully, and then stormed past Jeff from two cubicles over to handle the clients.

The clients were twins, a surgeon and a therapist that were big named into those fields. Logan took one look at them and nearly slammed the brand new door of his brand new office closed.

“Oh, hi, there kiddo!” The man with the fake smile said brightly, “You look familiar. Have we met?”

“I understand you want to make a withdraw.” Logan said coldly as he sat down at his desk.

The two men from three days ago were sitting in the chairs opposite of him, a desk between them, but Logan was not stupid enough to think that provided any type of hinderance to either of them. As it stood, the smiling man was bouncing in his seat beaming, and Logan could see flecks of water dried on his glasses from a frivolous cleaning recently. The other was still wearing that swamped hoodie curled into the seat like he might be able to escape the light by folding in on himself. There was gauze taped to his forehead all the way to his left eye. He was silent, and although Logan couldn’t quite tell if the tense of his shoulders was from anger or just general childlike misery.

“Oh yes sir!” The bouncing man said, “We’re going on a trip!”

“Per regulations I must ask where,” Logan said.

“All over! But mostly to the Midwest!”

Desert area, Logan noted offhandedly. He glanced between them imagining the flat plain desert miles away from civilization and a bonfire so large a satellite might be able to pick it up. He imagined both of the others at the center of it, with their voices drowned out by the crackling of the unforgiving fire.

“I’ve always wanted to see the other side of the country! It’s so vast and big! Oh maybe we’ll get to see some Aliens!”

“Excellent plan,” Logan said distastefully, and even he didn’t know why it sounded so sour coming out of his mouth, “Now I need you to sign—”

“I’m going to bury a body.”

Logan stilled at the sound of the other’s voice.

The smiling man laughed. “Virgil you can’t just say that!”

“What’s he gonna do, Pat? Call the police?” The other snarled at his brother and then stared at Logan directly in the eyes, “We’re going to the desert and I’m gonna bury the body of a man I’m gonna take apart limb from limb.”

Logan found it rather hard to look away. He had no difficulty believing the other when he spoke. He tapped a pen in his right hand twice on his desk. “I wish you the best of luck, Mr. Sanders. Now please sign here and I will return with your money.”

“You should come with us!” The smiling man said. “It would be so much more fun than being in this stuffy office all day! We could go on all sorts of adventures! Oh! I can show you how to smile!”

He hummed dreamily leaning forward on Logan’s desk. The pastel of his sweater was bleached at the sleeves, like someone had worked very hard to get a dark color off of it. Logan felt his lighter in his pocket grow heavy—his brain was off doing math to determine how long it would take to turn that sweater and the man in it to dust before he could stop himself.

Two to three hours for that plastic smile to melt off his face, for his soft pale skin to turn to crusted ash, for Logan to figure out if he’d scream just like those dolls from so long ago. His fingers itched as he waited for the twins to finish signing the forms he provided.

“You clean up nice.” The man in the hoodie said. “Would you wear that to your funeral?”

“12,000 American Dollars, Mr. Sanders.” Logan handed him the money. “Spend it wisely.”

“Have you ever been on a train?” He asked, without counting the stack of bills Logan had handed him.

Logan replaced the cap on his fountain pen and gently placed them back in the cup next to his name plaque. “I have not.”

They gave him those smiles again, the ones that made him feel like they were vaguely teasing him. Bright and bashful, fake and deceiving: but it didn’t reach their frigid eyes. Logan imagined they were made of ice.

Ice melted so very nicely now, didn’t it?

“Goodbye, Logie!” The smiling man sang as his brother shoved him out the door.

Logan crinkled the papers in his hand until the two signatures were barely recognizable. He glared at it hard enough that it might have caught on fire had it been any other reality.

“I’m going on my smoke break,” He yelled to Jeff from two cubicles over and spent the rest of the work day on the roof holding his pocket lighter right next to his temple and watching the flames in the reflection of his glasses.

***

Logan found out he had a total of forty three days of paid vacation that his management was all too willing to give him.

“Go live a little!” They told him. “You’re still young!”

They didn't notice how he pulled the two credit records right before he checked out for the day. The kind lady on the phone was all too happy to tell him all about the reserved seats he had once she had confirmed his basic information.

“Bring me back a souvenir,” His sister said on the phone. “And it can’t be another ashtray. I don’t even smoke!”

Logan lit the jacket she got him for Christmas last year on fire and watched it burn until the night sky began to light again. The heat pricked at his unmoving fingers the sensation of something licking him, of something being not-right.

He did not put it out before he left.

***

He knocked on the door to the private sitting room. The shifting of the carriage had taken some getting used to, but he had always adapted to things so well. His mother had blamed the inability to feel pain, but she wasn’t exactly the smartest person he had ever come across. She wanted him to do more chores and less burning ants with his magnifying glass.

Even her screams got boring after the first hour.

“Might I join you?” Logan asked when the door slid open.

“The sign says private for a reason, Teach.” A voice said from inside. Logan raised an eyebrow at the man, at his plain white t-shirt and jeans that still have the tag on it. He was lounging on a full booth seat, with black boots sprinkling dirt on the other seats, and a phone in one hand. Even without that katana in his hands, he was easily recognizable.

Logan glanced at the twins who sit across from him, “I was under the impression you killed him?”

“Pat made me put him back together.” The man in the hoodie said, rather regretfully. He blew on his fingertips, crinkled his nose, and then went back to using his butterfly knife to scrap the purple nail polish off his nails.

“As if Johnny Depressing there could kill someone as amazing as me!” The other man scoffed.

“Give it four days, Princey.” He retorted, “The only reason I haven’t taken you apart yet is because its easier to transport you alive.”

The carriage filled with a booming laughter, “It’s going to be so much fun killing you, Twenty Eight!”

The smiling man held out his arms for Logan, like an offer of a hug if it hadn’t been for the knives in both of his hands. The toothy grin was too sharp to be flattering.

“I’m glad you came, Logie!” He sang. “I can’t wait to see you smile just like I made Kady Kay smile!”

Logan dropped his bag--a duffel that held a bottle of lighter fluid, a box of matches and three outfits— on top of the man’s black boots. ("Hey! Watch it!") His lips twitched.

“I do believe that you’ll try.” Logan told the smiling man. “However it will be difficult when you’re little more than a charred corpse in the middle of the desert.”

He settled on the seat next to the other serial killers, pulled out his phone, and began searching for an ashtray to send back to home to his sister.

(Chapter 2)

[serene-gale]

Shrouded Journey Part 2: A Tale of Poachers

Previous

The hum of wildlife filled the air of Gridania as night fell upon it, the stars twinkling in the sky as fire lanterns washed the buildings of the city in a warm glow. Serene always liked visiting Gridania. It was always such a nice change of pace and scenery from the bustling and arid Ul’dah, however, as much as she wanted to relax a while and drink in the atmosphere, she had work to do.

‘Mother Miounne’, as she was typically called, was busy pouring drinks for the sizable collection of patrons that had gathered in her tavern, the Duskwight humming softly to herself as she finished up with orders, giving her some breathing room, or so she thought until she spotted a red-clad Roegadyn enter the establishment and jovially wave at her. The woman merely shook her head, chuckling, before picking up a Guild Book.

“Serene Gale, Momodi from the Ul’dahn Branch told me to expect you. You slated yourself for a quest in South Shroud, correct?”

“Heya! Yeah, I did, no details on what it was though, mind if you fill me in?”, Serene gave a quick greeting before getting down to business.

Miounne nodded before flipping through her book, taking a few seconds before coming to the quest in question, “Indeed. The quest in question is to deal with the Keeper of the Moon tribes and their illegal poaching. Apparently they are now calling themselves the Coeurlclaws, and have been practically ravaging the wildlife.”, Miounne explained. She took out a writ and started writing down the basic details of the quest, while Serene cocked an eyebrow in confusion.

“Huh...Albex always told me that for as long as he remembered the Keepers toed the line, but never outright performed illegal poaching for as long as he remembered...I’m assuming this must be a splinter group, I highly doubt the entire community decided to up and forgoe their aggrements with Gridania.”, Serene pondered to herself quietly, her words catching the Elezen’s attention as she handed the Roegadyn her writ.

“Oh, you know Sir Couldair? He did make Thanalan his home I guess after...”, Miounne gave pause, much to Serene’s confusion, “Well back to business. We can’t say for certain if it’s just a small splinter group or not, but considering the circumstances, I’d say your assessment hits the nail on the head. I’m impressed Miss Gale, I took you for one of those brawn before brain types, I’m happy to be wrong on this occassion.”, Miounne smiled, her backhanded compliment doing little to budge Serene smile as she laughed.

“Well my pops always said to train the noggin’ as well as your muscles. Or was it mum? Aaah, I think it was more a family saying, you know?”, Serene laughed jovially, causing Miounne to second guess her opinion on Serene’s intelligence. However before any more could be said, Serene asked another question.

“May I ask something? You know Albex through the Guild yes? Where is he now?”, the Roegadyn asked inquisitively.

“Oh? Albex Couldair? Well last I heard he was tracking a high priority target with a large posse of Guild Adventurers. For all I know they could be anywhere but the last bit of information I received told me that they made way for South Shroud.”, Miounne speculated, tapping her cheek lightly, before smiling.

“Who knows, maybe you will meet up with him. Why do you ask though?”, she asked, to which Serene smiled softly at her.

“Oh curiosity’s sake, it’s been a while since we last talked so I figured I’d ask around to see where he is. Anyways, thank you and goodbye for now, I shouldn’t be more than a few days with a request like this. Bye!”, Serene said, waving in an exaggerated manner as she walked out of the tavern, her words causing the Guild Receptionist some concern.

“A few days? But she was on her own and this quest is for two...”, Miounne expressed her worry before shaking her head, “I’ll just have to keep the quest posted in the likely event of failure.”, she muttered to herself before scribbling down notes in her book.

Serene wasted no time in pursuit of her quest, setting out for the Southern sector of the Black Shroud posthaste. Figuring using a hired Chocobo to be the best course of option, she coughed up enough gil for a trip to Quarrymill, one of the larger settlements in the South Shroud. The trip was relatively painless, a few errant monsters stood in the way though Serene deftly fended off such feeble threats with a few menacing looking swipes of her Bo-Staff. Eventually the Roegadyn found her way approaching the village’s borders, spotting the large circular wooden gate that was Quarrymill’s entrance. Hopping off the hire Chocobo, Serene led the bird to one of the public feeding pens and let it partake in some food before running back to it’s starting location. Having left around early to mid morning, the sun was cresting it’s peak and afternoon was setting in, Serene figuring that her time was best spent gathering information on these poachers and striking at them at midnight.

And so Serene got to work enquiring, going about the locals first and asking about recent events, before turning the to the Wood Wailers stationed to guard the village and asking them directly about poaching activity in recent days. Hours passed and slowly but surely Serene started to get a picture of the situation. From what she had gleamed from the village gossip, the Poaching group consisted of a good two dozen members at least, easily the size of a typical Keeper tribe, they were an offshoot of a larger tribe, unhappy with the laws regarding poaching and figuring it only logical to take what wasn’t being taken. She further learned that while the poachers certainly had numbers, most incidents involved with them had members display poor teamwork and a heavy reliance on the decisions of the clan matriarch.

And so it was that Serene’s plan came together. Despite the dangers that came with the Keeper’s exceptional vision, the Roegadyn decided to strike in the dead of the night, while the bulk of their forces were occupied with their poaching. Taking out the clan’s leader would throw the entire hierarchy into disarray, no one individual having the strength to lead the others, and making the sect fall apart.

And so as twilight settled on the treeline of the South Shroud, Serene made her way to the edge of the encampment and lay in wait, using a collection of thick brush off the side of the poacher’s camp for cover. Hours passed with no notable activity on the Keeper’s part, only the occassional patrol served to keep the Martial Artist alert and deathly quiet. Eventually, Serene heard a horn and the hunters of the tribe all began to pack up and leave camp for another night of poaching, this was it.

Waiting a good couple of minutes until all of them seemed to have departed, Serene moved. She had counted 12 heads leave, that meant there was at least 12 left, manageable. As she snuck towards the main encampment, Serene spotted a total of 4 Miqo’te men armed with crude, but efficiently made spears born of the bone of their hunts.

Serene attempted to make her advancement as quiet as possible, making movements that tried to mimic that of a small beast in the wilderness, however the snapping twigs and rustling leaves, while eluding most of the guard, caught the ears of one of the more veteran members of the tribe, who turned and spotted the large Roegadyn sneaking around.

“Oi you! Get that woman!”, the guardsman yelled out loud to his fellow guards and all of them immediately took chase after Serene.

“Shit...”, Serene cursed under her breath and began sprinting. She wouldn’t get another chance at this, if she fled now they would be ready for another sneak attack. The only thing that made sense for Serene was to charge in headfirst.

A pursuit broke out, Serene sprinting at top speed and leaving the guard in her dust, though they weren’t so easily deterred. Eventually, Serene broke through the brush into the clearing of the Miqo’te encampment, in the wake of about 5 to 6 non combatants and the tribe chieftain herself, who was sat upon a large stump which served as her throne. Serene skidded to a halt in the middle of the camp, surprising all around her until the guard finally caught up, a little winded from the chase. The Martial Artist had herself surrounded, much to the amusement of the Chieftess.

“Pffhaha, what’s this? A rat has been chased out of it’s hiding hole. Though by the sheer size of you i guess I should call you a Capybara?”, the Chieftess sneered, to which Serene smirked.

“Well at least your lackeys can see a ‘moving’ target, may need to train them better in the future though. Maybe then you wouldn’t get any pests...also their lack of cardiovascular endurance is worrying.”, Serene jested right back, causing the Chieftess to scowl a little.

“So what do you want here, you giant brute? You don’t seriously believe you’ll get out of this situation you blundered into with witty banter?”

Serene stood up straight and looked to the Keeper Chieftess dead in the eye, “Nah, I don’t have any intention on ‘getting out’ of this situation. No I’m here to put you in your place and knock the daylight out of you so hard your little posse won’t be answering to their precious leader anytime soon. Serene Gale of the Adventurer’s Guild. I’m here to put a stop to your illegal poaching racket.”, Serene pointed at the Chieftain confidently, whom merely smirked and chuckled in response, standing up and sizing up to the Roegadyn, grabbing a gnarled looking axe that sat beside her stump.

“Oh are you? I’d like to see you try that five on one. I’ve always wanted to acquire a giant’s hide, looks like tonight is my lucky night.”, the Chieftess raised her massive waraxe high in the air with one hand before resting it on her shoulder, the lancer guards surrounding Serene all readying their own weapons too. Serene looked around her, smiling to herself before drawing out her own weapon, extending her bo-staff’s length to max with a twist of it’s handle and winking at the Chieftess.

“You betcha.”

Next

[serenlyss]

The Night is the Hardest Time to be Alive (And 4am Knows All my Secrets) Chapter 1

Rating: T for violence and character death (only in nightmares, though, no real death!) Pairings: Ritshou Summary:  Ritsu doesn't sleep much. He knows it probably isn't healthy, but he avoids sleeping anyway, because if he sleeps for too long he starts to dream, and those nights are seldom pleasant. Luckily, he isn't the only one with a habit of staying up far too late. Crossposted to AO3

Chapter 2

"The night is the hardest time to be alive, and 4am knows all my secrets." - Poppy Z. Brite

So I really love the headcanon I've seen pop up about Shou just sometimes appearing at Ritsu's window unannounced and letting himself in, and I also love the headcanon of Ritsu staying up late studying/dealing with insomnia. In this case, the insomnia is caused by Ritsu's nightmares stemming from the World Domination arc and other traumatic events he experiences after awakening to his psychic powers. It gets a bit dark at places but I just wanted to write these boys bonding over shared trauma and being there for each other to help them heal. It was really fun to write and ended up turning into a three-shot somehow, so more to come! Hope you like it!

Ritsu doesn’t sleep much.

His brother knows, in vague terms, how Ritsu tends to stay up later than him, studying and working on homework. In his head, he knows it’s probably not healthy for him to run off of as little sleep as he gets, but he likes the nighttime. It’s quiet, peaceful. At the early hours of the morning, it’s almost like time stops completely. No meetings, no plans, no school. No stress.

He hums, setting his pencil down on his desk and stretching his arms over his head. The pencil rolls a few times before catching on the edge of his open math notebook, and he watches it with boredom. He’s working on problems that are a chapter ahead, figuring that if he has time to waste, he should use it responsibly, but the motivation is quickly draining from his body. He glances at the clock. It’s half past midnight, which is still early as far as he’s concerned.

Ritsu doesn’t sleep much.

He knows it probably isn’t healthy, but he does it anyway, because if he sleeps for too long he starts to dream, and those nights are seldom pleasant. Bad memories haunt his dreaming hours, turning innocent images into nightmares of his own creation. Sometimes he finds himself in the alley by his school, facing down an evil esper while his brother lays, unconscious, on the shattered asphalt. Other times he’s deep in Claw’s seventh branch headquarters, trying to drown out the panicked thoughts that tell him he’ll never make it out again. On the really bad nights, he dreams that he’s standing in a post-apocalyptic Seasoning City, one where Suzuki Touichirou succeeds in his plans to conquer them. In these nightmares, he stands over his brother’s lifeless body, beaten and mangled. There’s no one else around, just Ritsu, forced to stare into his brother’s tear-filled, blank, dead eyes.

Then, once in a blue moon, he finds himself in the top of a radio tower he’s never been in, only seen from the outside. He’s supposed to be down on the pavement, fighting Shimazaki, but instead he’s glued to the cracked tower floor, watching powerlessly as Suzuki Shou confronts his father for the first time. These are the worst nights, the one where he has to watch Shou’s father beat him into submission, where Touichirou brutally grinds his own son into the dust beneath his foot as he cements himself as the world’s strongest human being. Ritsu has no way of knowing how the events of their fight had really gone down, and Shou doesn’t seem keen on revealing it, but the dream always ends the same way. Touichirou pins Shou up against the wall by his throat, squeezes him until he can’t breath anymore. He watches as Shou squirms and gasps for breath, digging his fingernails into his father’s hands until they draw blood, but Touichirou never flinches, and Shou never gets away.

Ritsu stands, his feet glued to the cracked tower floor, as Shou falls limp and the life drains from his eyes.

On his desk, Ritsu’s pencil snaps. He jumps, startled, and as he does half a dozen small objects that had been suspended in the air falls with a clatter to the ground. He winces, realizing that his powers has spilled out in his anxiousness. He hadn’t meant to let his thoughts wander. He sucks in a deep breath, threading his fingers into his hair and leaning his elbows on his desk, eyes fixed on the faux wood beneath him. It’s only a dream, it’s not real, he reminds himself, but he doesn’t feel any better for it. He never does, despite how much he knows it’s true. When his dreams bleed into his waking hours, it makes them feel all the more terrifying.

He lets out the breath he’s been holding in a long sigh, pushing himself to his feet. He picks up the cracked pencil, dropping it into the trash can by his desk. Bent spoons were one thing, but he never could find a way to fix what he’s broken. Then he moves around his room and replaces the little things that had fallen to the floor in his brief explosion: a few books from his shelf, his water bottle, the case for his retainer. Then he moves to the window and cracks it open. His room feels too stuffy, too cramped. The fresh air comforts him somewhat, and calms the erratic thudding of his heart and head. He leans his forehead on the thin sill, letting the cold of it chase away any drowsiness he might be feeling.

“Ah, you’re still awake after all!”

Ritsu’s head jerks up in surprise, and he feels his whole body go tense. It takes him half a second to place the voice as Shou’s, the same time it takes for his gaze to focus on the redhead now hovering half a foot away from his window. He’s wearing jeans and a graphic tee-shirt as though it isn’t past midnight, his legs crossed in midair and his hands clasped over each knee. “W-what are you doing here?” Ritsu sputters, mind rushing to find any explanation for Shou’s sudden presence at his house. “It’s late, you know, most of us are trying to sleep.”

Shou just grins in response. “Well, obviously you aren’t one of them,” he points out, gesturing to him with an open palm as though that proves his point.

Ritsu blinks, glancing down at himself, and realizes that he’s still wearing his school uniform, minus the button-up blazer. He has a plain black tee-shirt on underneath paired with his black uniform slacks. He’s barefoot, seeing as he isn’t allowed to wear shoes in the house, but Shou can’t see his feet from where he’s floating. “Er, I’ve been working on homework,” he says, “but you didn’t answer my question. Why’re you here as ass-o’clock in the morning?”

Shou laughs aloud in surprise. “Dude! I’ve never heard you swear before! That was awesome,” he exclaims, and the glee on his face makes Ritsu’s cheeks warm with embarrassment. He floats right up to the window, grasping the sill with his hands and straightening his legs out below him. “Mind if I come in for a bit?”

Ritsu frowns. Shou still hasn’t answered his question. Was something wrong? “Uh, I guess. Just… be quiet, my parents and brother are sleeping,” he answers with uncertainty, backing up a step from the window as Shou comes a bit too close. He usually doesn’t mind when people get close to him, never having been a very distant person, but Shou’s acting just a little strange, and Ritsu isn’t sure what to think. He makes enough room for his friend to slip in through the open window, watching Shou lower himself quietly onto his bedroom floor.

Shou shivers, tugging his jacket a bit tighter around him. “Thanks, man, it’s cold out,” he says, slipping his hands into the pockets. He looks around with a calm but interested expression on his face, taking in Ritsu’s tidy bedroom. “Nice place. It’s cozy in here.” His eyes drift from the bookcase on the wall to the doubt bed pushed into the corner, then to the desk beside the closet. He takes a few steps toward it. “What kinda homework are you doing?” he asks, as though showing up in the middle of the night at Ritsu’s window was a completely normal occurrence.

Instead of calling him out for it, Ritsu just replies, in a voice that sounds partly dumbfounded and partly amazed at Shou’s comfort, “Math.”

Shou wrinkles his nose, peering down at Ritsu’s notebook for a moment before turning away. “Booring,” he accuses. “Why don’t you try doing something fun instead?”

Because it’s almost one in the morning, Ritsu’s brain supplies, but he doesn’t say that. He has a feeling Shou won’t really acknowledge it, anyway. “It’s due tomorrow,” he says instead. It’s a lie, if an insignificant one, but it’s easier to say than “Every time I try to sleep, horrible nightmares make me wish I’d never closed my eyes.” He clears his throat, glancing away. “I just don’t want to get a zero on my assignment.”

Shou hums, raising an eyebrow at this, and Ritsu doesn’t meet his gaze. He’s fairly certain his friend can see through his white lies, but if he does, he doesn’t bring it up. “Hm, still lame. It’s not like math is gonna matter once we graduate high school, anyway, right? Maybe you should just go to sleep.”

Ritsu’s stomach clenches, and he tries not to let it show on his face how much he wants to do anything but that right now. Especially not after his near-panic attack not two minutes ago. “No, I really do need to finish it. I can’t let my grades slip,” he insists, sliding back into his desk chair stubbornly. He reaches for his pencil, but his fingers find nothing to grab. Oh, right. He sighs, pulling open his desk drawer and pulling out a second pencil. “You can hang around if you want, I guess, but you probably won’t find anything interesting to do.”

“Whatever you say, you try-hard,” Shou says flippantly, brushing off Ritsu’s fabricated concern for his grades. He does another lap around Ritsu’s bedroom while the older boy re-focuses on his math work, then sits down on Ritsu’s bed when he’s seen it all. Ritsu still can’t figure out why he’s here, and it’s stealing his focus away from what he actually wants to work on.

Despite this, he eventually falls back into an easy rhythm, mind filled with numbers and formulas. The monotonousness of the work takes his mind off his nightmares and diverts his stress from something he can’t face to something he can. Doing math is much easier than facing the source of his insomnia, after all. He relaxes slowly, the tension fading from his shoulders and the knot in his stomach unraveling so he can process his thoughts again. He goes over the PEMDAS order of expressions on his mind, as a refresher. Parenthesis first, then exponents. Multiplication and division are easy, addition and subtraction are even easier. The simplicity of it is charming. Math never changes. Math isn’t complicated. You can do math the same way every time, and it will always work. Ritsu wishes there was something like that that could chase away his bad memories.

“What kind of math is this, anyway? I don’t think we’re even working on stuff this advanced yet,” Shou says from over Ritsu’s shoulder, and with a start he realizes that Shou has slotted himself into his space, his hands gripping the back of Ritsu’s chair and his face hovering half an inch from his ear. “I mean, I’ve only been back in school for a few weeks,” he continues, oblivious to Ritsu’s surprise, “but I know we’re not this far in yet. Your teacher assigned this?”

“Christ, Shou, you scared me!” Ritsu accuses, feeling heat rush to his face. His shoulders are very tense again now, his grip on his pencil tight, and he has to visibly relax himself before he ends up snapping two pencils in one night.

Shou stifles a laugh at this, as though his distress is somehow funny. “Sorry, sorry. You got into the zone so fast, though, I didn’t think you would actually forget that I was here. I’m just curious.” Still, there’s a hint of guilt in Shou’s gaze, and he backs off in response to Ritsu’s tense posture.

Ritsu bites his lip. He hadn’t meant to make Shou feel unwelcome. “Sorry,” he mumbles, glancing down at his desk. His thoughts are overflowing. “I think… I might be a bit of a mess.”

The confession slips out of his mouth before he can stop it. He puts down his new pencil, running a hand through his hair and pushing it away from his face. I shouldn’t have said that, he laments, regret quickly replacing his guilt and then some. He leans back in his chair, gaze moving up and tracing the shapes on his popcorn ceiling. Eventually it tips all the way back, until he’s staring at Shou upside-down. He feels silly, but he doesn’t stop. It’s easier to look at Shou like this, when he feels like meeting his friend’s gaze will open the floodgates of things he isn’t sure he’s ready to put into words just yet.

Shou falls quiet for a moment, staring at Ritsu with an expression that isn’t easy to name. He looks somewhat surprised, eyebrows raised into tiny arches above eyes that are filled with the emotional weight of some sort of epiphany. His mouth is part way open, as though it frozen mid-word, but he quickly closes it, swallowing thickly. He breaks eye contact with Ritsu, suddenly very interested in the books on the opposite wall. “Yeah, me too,” he murmurs in the softest voice Ritsu has ever heard from the rambunctious teen.

The quiet empathy of Shou’s revelation is oddly comforting to Ritsu, reassuring him that he’s not the only one who feels like he’s barely keeping it together. He sits up, spinning around in his chair so that he’s facing Shou head-on. “Really?” he asks, leaning forward a bit too eagerly than he wants to come off. “I’m surprised. You always seemed so calm to me.”

“I could say the same for you,” Shou chuckles, tilting his head to the side as he looks at Ritsu. His light blue gaze is surprisingly soft, catching Ritsu off guard. He sits up a little straighter, sucking in a shocked breath, but as quickly as the moment starts, it’s over. Shou glances away, breaking the trance, and falls quiet.

Ritsu swallows, feeling as though his throat has gone dry. He blinks, taking a moment to let his stalled thoughts catch up again. What was that? His heart is beating noticeably again, but rather than feeling like he’s on the verge of panic, this feels… new. Exciting, almost.

“How’s school?” he asks, his voice coming out slightly breathless despite his best attempts as he tries to divert his own attention away from himself. “You’ve been going to Hanazawa’s school, since it’s close to your mom’s place, right?”

Shou nods with a thoughtful hum, leaning back on his palms from his seat on Ritsu’s bed. The odd moment is gone. “It’s alright, I guess. It’s, uh, kinda weird to be back in school after so long, though,” he admits. “My dad never really cared whether or not I ever went, but mom’s a different story. She makes sure I’m out the door in time.” He laughs softly at this, an easy smile coming to his face at the mention of his mother. Ritsu’s tries not to dwell on his mentions of his incarcerated father, focusing instead on the rest of his answer.

“Is it nice, living with your mom again?” he asks, curious.

Shou nods once more. “Yeah, it is nice. It’s hard, too, though. She’s always been really supportive of me, but I know she’s also kinda afraid of me, at the same time.” He leans forward, and doesn’t meet Ritsu’s gaze. “She gets uncomfortable when I use my powers around her, I’ve noticed. She never brings it up, but she gets this look on her face, like she’s scared I’m going to do… something bad.”

Ritsu frowns, leaning his chin on the back of his chair as he listens. “Why is she afraid?” he asks softly, hoping he’s not pushing farther than Shou’s willing to talk about.

Shou doesn’t seem annoyed or uncomfortable, though. “Probably for the same reasons why she left my dad,” he says. “She didn’t like the way he used his psychic powers to make other people listen to him. She was afraid he’d turn them on her, so she left before he could. I think she’s worried that I’ll turn out like him, even though she knows we’re not the same. I think it’s just going to take time for her to adjust to living with me again.”

Ritsu doesn’t answer right away, glancing down at the floor. He can’t relate to Shou’s dilemma, as much as he wants to understand what he’s feeling. “Is that why you came here?” he asks instead.

“I just… needed some space. Time to think, and figure out what I can do to assure my mom that I’m not the same as my dad is. Er, was.” He pauses for a moment, then reaches out a hand, sending tendrils of his aura snaking to Ritsu’s bookshelf. A book slides itself out of its nook and floats in Shou’s direction, hovering over his lap. “I inherited these powers from my old man, but there’s also plenty of stuff I got from mom, too.” The book opens by itself, pages flipping rapidly. “She wants me to grow up kind and gentle, with a good heart. So, even though I don’t really want to go to school, I’m going to go anyway, and I’m going to learn everything I can, so I can show my mom that I can be a good person.”

Ritsu cracks a smile, soft and sincere. It’s nice to see Shou have such earnest ambition again. “So you figured showing up at my house at one in the morning unannounced was the way to go, then?”

Shou laughs, to Ritsu’s relief, tipping his head back in amusement. “I didn’t think you’d be awake,” he admits. He runs a hand through his slicked-back hair, casting a sideways glance his way. “But, uh, I figured if anyone would be willing to put up with my nonsense, it would be you.” He swallows as he admits this out loud, breaking eye contact with Ritsu. His face flushes pink, for reasons Ritsu can’t determine, his fingers lingering in his hair for a moment before his hand drops back to his side.

Ritsu finds himself speechless, and not for the first time that night. Out of everyone Shou could have gone to, he decided to put his faith in him? “I dunno about all that,” he says after his swirling thoughts clear again, flipping back around in his seat to hide his own blush from Shou, “but I’m up late most nights, anyway. I don’t mind if you come keep me company sometimes.” His picks up his pencil and glues his eyes to his math textbook, as though if he stared at the numbers long enough it would dull the beating of his heart and cool the heat in his face. He hadn’t realized just how much trust Shou has in him, even after everything they’d gone through together to make it this far. It was simultaneously overwhelming and pleasing to Ritsu that there was someone who trusted him enough to confide in him about his struggles. Maybe if Shou could do it, Ritsu could too.

His thoughts are interrupted by the buzz of Shou’s cell phone in his jacket pocket, which Shou whips out and frowns quizzically at. Then his eyes widen in horror. “Uh oh, mom noticed I’m gone. This is gonna be trouble,” he groans, holding the phone up to his ear.

Ritsu doodles absentmindedly in the margins of his notebook, trying his best not to listen in as Shou explains where he’s at and promises to come home soon. Their conversation is short and to the point as Shou assures his mother that he’s quite alright and hasn’t been kidnapped, and it only takes a few minutes for Shou to hang up again. He quickly stands up, heading over to Ritsu’s open window. “Gotta go, pray for me as I face my mother’s wrath,” he says in goodbye, clapping his hands together in a universal gesture of prayer.

Ritsu suppresses a snort of amusement. “Good luck,” he calls, turning to offer Shou a parting smile, but he’s already gone, cold wind blowing in through the open window and replacing the warmth he’d left behind.

Ritsu sighs softly, standing up and making his way to the window. He pokes his head out briefly, but Shou is already nowhere to be seen, presumably making haste to soothe his mother’s frazzled nerves. He slides the window shut again, turning the lock shut. Maybe he’d leave it unlocked from now on, at least until he decides to go to sleep. Then he walks back to his desk, sits down, and gets back to work on his math practice.

The clock reads one-thirty.

Ritsu doesn’t sleep.

[donnerpartyofone]

21 Questions

Tagged by @getoutofmyhouse who had oddly similar answers to mine

Nickname: only the one I use here, that I gave myself--Claire Donner, which has to do with my famous love of cannibalism. Claire is my real first name, though.

Zodiac: I am so very cuspy. I was born at about a quarter to midnight on April 20, so I tend to relate to, and feel insulted by, the suppositions about Aries and Taurus equally. I’m one of those jerks who will tell you astrology is a bunch of hoo ha...and then drone on with my Many Esoteric Ideas about it, so I’ll just stop myself right here.

Height: 5’ nuthin is what I prefer to say...because saying I’m 5 and 3/4′ sounds a little like saying I’m 10 and a half years old.

Amount of sleep: It’s all fucked up. Until I got into my 30s I could, and would prefer to, sleep endlessly. Now I go to bed around 10 (depression), get up around 5 or 6 (being old), and for extra fun, I’ve developed this insomnia that often keeps me up from about 2am-5am. I try make the most of it by getting up, getting high, watching a movie or two, writing...basically just having a secret private day by myself. I’d really rather go back to just sleeping constantly though.

Last movie I saw: I saw GRETA in theaters tonight, which was ok. I guess I thought any Neil Jordan film would be headier than this, but watching Isabel Huppert just running around acting like an absolute maniac is a rare treat! My last video experience was RAW, which I put on to bother my husband right when we got home from the theater. (I think he liked it more than I originally did, to my surprise)

Last thing I googled: The correct spelling of Sylvia Likens’ last name. I’m obsessed with this type of crime where a group of people (usually a family and/or some of their friends and neighbors) fall into some kind of shared hysteria where they protractedly torture to death an acquaintance for no particular reason. Some times there’s an element of mystery as to why the victim didn’t leave while they were still able to, which suggests to me that the murdered person was just as much a victim of the groupthink as the perpetrators. Other example victims include Suzanne Capper, Vera Jo Reigle, and I think to some degree Sophie Lionnet, James Bulger, and Junko Furuta. (Also a crime they briefly discuss in the book Lords of Chaos, where several people murder a friend in their trailer, but I can’t remember it specifically enough to look up the names--the other last thing i tried to google) I keep thinking there should be a psychiatric and/or legal term for this kind of crime, but I’ve never heard one, so let me know if you got one!

Favorite musician: I have trouble with questions that involve ranking anything, so I’ll just say that right now I’m listening to a lot of old White Zombie. I didn’t know anything about their origins as an East Village noise band, and I’m fascinated by the stories about how apocalyptically miserable it was to be in that group. I’m increasingly obsessed with people who work their asses off doing something they barely even enjoy, for what must be borderline spiritual reasons.

Song stuck in my head: Nothing right this second, for which I am very grateful. There’s something awful in my brain that causes me to wake up with some maddening, babyish tune stuck in my head more often than not. It is most frequently the Ten Little Indians nursery rhyme. This is literally killing me.

Other blogs: @anhed-nia, which started as a dumping ground for long posts about mental illness, and turned into almost only movie writing. at some point there was just so much movie shit that i started to feel awkward about posting anything personal there again. i also got @getoffyrass which is a group blog, and a repository for images that make great drawing references. everyone is encouraged to post their drawings, too, although it is seldom used. i still like having it around, for when i have time to draw. my “real” drawing blog is @neveratendermoment but i don’t draw often enough anymore...

Do I get asks: i used to get tons! i really enjoy them, even the trolls to some degree. i must have seemed like more of a regular tumblr geek girl back in the day. also tumblr has just changed a lot since then. my blog was definitely a casualty of Best Stuff First, i think my follower count stopped dead forever right when that happened, and now that practically every single fucking thing on this entire site is either fandom shit or *discourse*, i really have nothing to offer tumblr anymore, anyway.

Blogs following: 1,057. 

Lucky numbers: 2! Also 5.

What I’m wearing: black wool long john pants from Chrome, and a white v neck teeshirt with the words BLACK MAYONNAISE on it in black Rocky Horror font. i live near the notoriously toxic Gowanus Canal, and “black mayonnaise” is the actual term used to describe what’s on the bottom of it, by the scientists who are trying to figure out what to do with it.

Dream trip: i am really excited by travel, it’s hard to pick. i’m hopefully making a dream trip soon though: my father’s mysterious finno-swedish family is from the åland islands, and my husband and i will be planning part of our honeymoon there, whenever that happens.

Dream Job: i think about this a lot, because the older i get, the more i object to the entire concept of having to work to live. i’m into the whole universal basic income thing. i’m at this point where i can barely stand to think about capitalism in any way--like i think about how the need for money is so mortally serious that there’s a lot of physical stuff in the world that only exists because someone was scared of starving, tons of useless products and packaging and factory byproducts and all kinds of fucking straight up garbage that was only invented due to the lethality of poorness. i would rather be left totally alone forever if possible. however, if i HAD to do something and i COULD do anything, it would probably be film criticism. this fantasy takes place in a world where people care so much about what i have to say that i can make a career, not only out of movie writing, but out of only writing about the specific movies i want to write about, referring to nothing other than my personal reactions.

Favorite food: i wish the answer weren’t just “cheese”, but it probably is. also mushrooms. anything cinnamon. i’m a pretty adventurous eater though. the most important thing for me is a variety of flavors and textures.

Languages: english. i took several years of italian in junior high-high school, and did nothing with it. i taught myself to read french pretty fluently, but i would fold right up if someone tried to speak to me. i learned a bunch of swedish on duolingo, shoulda kept it up. i’ll get back to it! i really regret never learning spanish though, so i’m easily torn on what to do with my time.

Play any instruments: clarinet in junior high/high school, also alto sax which i did not enjoy at all, a little guitar. i bought a used electric bass last year that i have really been enjoying, but i feel a lot of guilt around not playing enough. so much of it is just strength training. that’s probably what i like about it, though. also i got a lot of electronic music software and midi controllers and stuff...and then i realized that it could take me months to sort through the thousands of samples i have to program this stuff, and i only got so far into it before i started to get discouraged. i need to get back to it, it’s ridiculous to let that stuff lie around. this is a rare example of me wishing i knew someone local to play with, who could speed me along on how everything works.

Favorite songs: another one of these impossible questions! anybody who is even reading this can probably guess the answers from the handful of music posts i reblog over and over and over. the other night i got all hyperactive and forced my husband to drop everything and listen to “buffalo stance” by nene cherry, which i never ever get sick of. real top contenders for favorite song might be “Stand By the Jamms” by the klf, and this recording, which has gotten me through many difficult hours:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d8k1HsF3EvY

https://www.forcedexposure.com/Catalog/sunray-sonic-boom-music-for-the-dreamachine-cd/STRAWB.003CD.html

Random fact: i’m sure i’m missing out on something really funny and cool, but for now it’s just the well-known fact that i read palms.

Describe yourself as aesthetic thing: man, how do i answer this without being totally pretentious? maybe nobody can! i’m coming up with something really hard to describe but it will be worth it. the other day i watched this insane, completely unnecessary movie about lorca and salvador dali (played by robert pattinson) as gay lovers. there’s a scene in it where lorca does that “pick a hand” thing to dali, and dali picks an empty hand. of course, they’re both poor students who couldn’t be buying any gifts, so they do this obnoxious pantomime where dali pretends lorca actually gave him something--but then it turns out that lorca really DOES have something. he opens his other hand and gives dali...SOMETHING. i don’t know what! they make such a big deal out of it, but what the hell? you see it for a second in this closeup, but it’s shot from like, behind and slightly underneath, and it is just unrecognizable. it’s sort of an orange blob? it’s probably meant to be a sculpture. but, i love the idea of doing the “pick a hand” thing to somebody, and the other person is just like...hey wait a minute, what the fuck even IS this?? 

it reminded me of one of the most amazing things anyone ever did at my school, bard college. this genius art student who I WISH I COULD NAME TO CREDIT HER did her senior project as this like...made up product. i saw them at the senior show, hanging off a spinner rack, like you’d see next to the register in the drug store. they were called Toilet Buddies. they were these plastic, brightly colored objects that looked like toys, but they didn’t have a familiar earthly shape, and because of the title, it was IMPOSSIBLE to imagine what to do with them. so, she gets the lipstick cam from the film department, and shoots this video of herself sneaking some Toilet Buddies into Walmart. then she takes them to the register and BUYS THEM--the baffled cashier looks for them for a while, and eventually just rings them up as a general grocery or something. then in part 2, the artist TAKES THEM BACK TO THE STORE WITH THE RECEIPT AND GETS A REFUND.

so anyway, i see myself as like a fake product--something that looks just familiar enough to exit, and that appears to have a designated purpose, but it’s just kind of cheap and foreign and it becomes nightmarish to try to imagine what to do with it. 

I don’t know if anyone i know will want to do this, but i tag @negativepleasure @moviesludge @former-contender @dimestoreman @thefuzzydave @darkarfs @theoddsideofme @blueruins ...um, i don’t really know who would enjoy this. the ultimate would be @garbagenacht

[thosemultifandomwritings]

Ink Pt. 3 (Peter Parker x Reader)

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Word Count: 1.7K

Warnings: Guns, violence, realized I used a lot of New York lingo so MET=Metropolitan Museum of Art and MoMA is Museum of Modern Art (can you tell I’m from NY lol)

Summary: Soulmate AU where everything you write or draw on your skin appears on your soulmate too

Part 1  …  Part 2  …  Part 3  ...  Part 4

What are your plans on this wonderful Saturday?

It was around ten in the morning and Peter sat at his kitchen table, spoonful of cereal in his mouth as he read the words sprawled on his arm. He took the pen that was currently tucked behind his ear and scribbled back to you.

Probably sleep some more, you?

Peter couldn’t help the yawn that escaped his mouth as he waited for your response. Ten was pretty early for Peter, usually he took the weekends to catch up on the very much needed sleep he lost throughout the week from swinging around New York City at all hours of the night.

I’m on the way to the MET or maybe the MoMA...haven’t quiet decided yet. The weather is great today P, go out and do something!

Peter smiled imagining you wandering around the various art museums and writing to him all about them. Peter felt an itch to get dressed and find himself at these museums, hoping to run into you and just know. Know it was you, that you were the one. But, would he know? Would he feel something? Anything? Or would he have to look around on people’s arms like a crazy person, hoping to see his own handwriting?

“Alright, spill,” Peter heard from behind him, causing him to choke on his cereal and pull his shirt down over his arm quickly. Turning around he was met by the face of his Aunt May, who by the looks of it, had also just woken up. While Peter continued to cough and catch his breath, she walked over to the coffee machine and poured herself a cup. Once Peter had calmed down, she took a sip of her coffee, her eyebrows raising over the brim.

“About what?” Peter questioned, his voice cracking slightly.

“Oh Peter please, you are not very subtle. I’ve been waiting for you to come to me but at this rate, who knows when that’ll be,” May said, raising her hands in the air in despair before placing a few slices of bread into the toaster. Peter continued to look at her in bewilderment causing May to chuckle a bit.

“Peter, no one smiles like a doofus while looking at their own arm. Plus, the amount of pens you have been leaving around the apartment is getting out of hand, I found one in the fridge the other day,” May said, Peter’s cheeks tinging pink, “so spill.”

“So...theres a distinct possibility...that I may have found out I have a soulmate?” Peter said, causing May to let out a small yell and embrace her nephew in a hug. Of course she had speculated and figured it out herself, but hearing her nephew say it out loud made it real, and she couldn’t be happier for him.

“So, tell me all about them,” May said excitedly, grabbing her toast and sitting down next to Peter at the table.

“Well I haven’t exactly...met them yet,” Peter said slowly, his arm stinging slightly as his aunt slapped him on the shoulder.

“And why the hell not?” May asked, looking at him over her glasses, staring him down.

“It’s complicated,” Peter mumbled, rubbing his arm. After getting a small lecture from May, mostly consisting of May calling Peter various forms of the word idiot, Peter retreated to his bedroom where he plopped down on his bed, exhaling loudly.

He wanted to meet you in person, like, really wanted too. Every day that went by, he felt closer to you. But he could only get so close to you without actually meeting you. Talking to you face to face, with words spoken, not written. Hearing your voice, hearing your laugh, hearing you say his name.

As noon rolled around, Peter decided to listen to your advice and get out of the apartment for the day. He didn’t really have a plan in mind, but as he walked by the bus station, he had a longing to jump on the next bus to Manhattan. He tried to justify it by saying that Avengers Tower was there, of course he could go train a bit or maybe bug Mr. Stark to help him improve his web shooters. But he couldn’t deny the tugging he felt throughout his body that he knew was all due to you.

Every since he had discovered he had a soulmate, he couldn’t ignore the ever present pull he felt that always happened to face northwest, towards Manhattan. It was so slight that it was easy to ignore, easy to brush off and get on with his everyday life. But today, it felt different. It was more present, stronger. It was this pull that made him duck into the nearest alleyway, the one that made him pull out his Spidey suit out of his bag and strip down. Before the logical part of his brain could reason with him, he was already swinging in between the two buildings, making his way uptown.

It was a wonderful day in New York City. The temperature was just right, allowing you to comfortably walk through the streets without breaking a sweat or worry about being cold. You took a small stroll through Central Park before you found yourself at the MET stairs. No matter how many times you found yourself at the giant building, it was always different. You had spent many weekends wandering the halls of the art museum and you still found new things to look at every time.

After a few hours of wandering the halls, you found yourself in one of the newer exhibits, one showcasing various beautiful jewelry pieces from around the world. There were necklaces that cost more than triple a year’s rent of your apartment and bracelets that could pay for your entire college tuition. They were all so gorgeous and you leaned in closer to admire an emerald necklace that sparkled in the light. 

Suddenly, you heard a thud followed by a clang of metal, making you stand up straight and turn towards the doorway. The first thing you saw was the guard who had previously been leaning against the wall nonchalantly, slumped on the floor. The next thing you saw was the man standing over him, black mask covering his face. Panic set in as various things were yelled all at once. More men had entered the second, and only other, entrance to the room, all of them brandishing small black pistols.

“Everyone! On the floor now!” The main man yelled, pointing the gun at the closest person to him, which happened to be an elderly lady. As you fell to your knees, you tried to count the people in the room. There were at least four attackers in the room, and counting yourself, nine other people who were now all on the floor. Your breath hitched in your chest as a gunshot rang throughout the room, causing screams to erupt from the various people around you.

You peered around the display case you were crouched behind, hoping and praying that what you were about to see wasn’t a victim. Instead, all you saw was smashed glass, looking up to see that the man had shot the camera down. The men yelled for everyone to throw their phones into the middle of the room, which was a difficult task seeing as your hands were shaking so much. Two men started smashing the glass of the display cases with the handle of their guns, causing various alarms to start blaring throughout the room.

Slowly, you instinctively reached into your pocket. Black pen gripped in your quivering hand, you moved it gradually across your wrist, not wanting to gain the attention of any of the men in the room.

P I’m so scared. I ju

“Where do you think you’re going?!” You heard a man yell, causing the pen to fall from your hands and roll across the floor. He grabbed a girl, who couldn’t have been any older than you, by her hair. She was on her hands and knees, looking as if she had been trying to crawl towards one of the discarded phones. The man dragged her in front of him, the girl hyperventilating as he gripped her hair harder, forcing her head to tilt back to look at him.

“Stop!”

The mans head whipped towards you as you realized your own voice was the one to scream. All around you men were screaming, alarms blaring, people crying, but as the man approached, the world became silent as he raised a gun towards you.

“Trying to play hero, eh?”

This was it. As the cold metal pressed into your temple, the only thought that raced through your brain was that you didn’t want to die. You couldn’t die here. You never even got to...Peter. You would never meet Peter. You would never get to actually see what he looked like. To meet him for the first time and hear his voice, hold his hand.

As you laid on your knees in the middle of the room, the man watching as his accomplices gathered up the jewelry, your first few tears silently fell. How would Peter find out? Would he be watching the news and see the story all about the sad casualty of the MET robbery? Would he write to you only for you to never answer? Or would he feel it? God, you hoped he didn’t feel it.

Your eyes flickered down to your hand, hoping to see something from him. Anything from him. But your arms remained bare, the only words to read were your own.

Suddenly glass shattered all around you, littering the floor with shards as a flash of red and blue somersaulted into the room.

It was him. It was Spider-Man. You had heard all about the crime-fighter who swung from buildings, even saw some videos on YouTube, but had never seen him in person. You saw his eyes flash around the room, his wrists jabbing towards the men spread around the room, webs flying out to wrap around the guns as they flew out of the assailants hands. You saw his eyes flick towards the man standing over you, moving his wrist as if to throw a web his way. But as his eyes met yours...he froze.

A/N: Let me know what you guys think! My ask box is always open for feedback and criticism. Also, requests!

If you would like to be added to the taglist for ‘Ink’ just let me know!

Taglist

@abswritesfandoms , @blackcat-midnight-thatsme , @axielle-suson , @justmilla , @noodleboylester , @squirrellover1967 , @sockywell , @iris-suoh , @tom-holland-imagines-are-us , @issyogirllexie , @embrace-themagic , @monster-alien-chode , @parker-underoos , @sergeantrosabellaswan , @strange-down-here , @yourquirkywitch , @devilmind-angelheart , @11mb0 , @jongdae-jpg