#my favorite bits are actually Kid's interjections

[nethhiri]

Marooned: Chapter 30

Kid x FemReader x Killer

Warnings: Sexual themes

Just Desserts

"I'm invited, right?" Of note, Kid was not working on fixing the wall. He was fiddling with something small and metallic, trying to shape it. 

Killer was sitting on Kid's workbench, lost in thought. "Huh? No!" 

That seemed to surprise Kid. "What do ya mean 'no'?!"

"You'll do something to piss her off and then she'll leave." Killer crossed his arms. 

"But I like spaghetti." 

"I'll save you some!" 

Kid shrugged. "Fine." 

Killer narrowed his eyes under his mask. He knew Kid and he knew Kid had no intention of leaving them alone. "Kid..." Killer's tone was a warning.

"I said fine!" Kid scowled. "But you better invite me to whatever happens after." Kid looked at Killer with a quirked eyebrow and a grin.

"That's not..." Killer gave up. "Yeah, sure." He rolled his eyes. He didn't even expect that you would agree, let alone want to join him afterwards for anything. Killer mainly wanted to do something nice for you since you had shielded his face from the crew. That wasn't something that he took lightly. He had broken your nose after all. It would have easily been fair not to do anything. His cheeks got warm thinking about how flustered you had been. Even if it was more for yourself than for him, your concern was cute. Killer could tell you were trying your best to earn your place. He needed to distract his thoughts before he started to get nervous. "What are you working on?"

"None of yer business." Kid moved his hand to cover the thing he was making. 

Maybe it was Killer's imagination, but he thought Kid's face flushed. Killer was surprised Kid didn't want to tell him what it was. Sometimes Kid did that. Especially if he wanted to make sure it worked first. Kid did not take constructive criticism well.

"She kinda had yer ass, huh?" Kid smirked. Kid thought it was kinda hot when you were choking Killer out. He wished it was with your thighs though. And that it was him. 

It was Killer's turn to scoff. "I would have won if my helmet didn't come off."

"I don't know..." Kid teased. "Ya seemed to struggle there."

Killer shook his head. "You fight her then."

Kid waved his hand in dismissal. "I already have. Piece of cake."

"That was when she was still half-starved." Killer pointed out. "She's stronger now, probably not even at her peak."

Kid considered this. "Yeah I guess her ass has gotten fatter." Actually, you had filled back out quite nicely thanks to Killer's cooking. You were a far cry from the girl on the island, scrawny, and all lean-muscle. You were still muscular, though putting weight on in all the right places. 

Killer sighed. "Not what I meant." Killer was a man. He was not immune to noticing these things. "But... I do agree." And though your boobs were pressed into his face, he had noticed your stomach more than anything. Your crop top left the skin of your mid-section bare. His hand had brushed against it, feeling how warm and soft it was. He wanted to know what it felt like to lay on it, bury his face in it, have it in his grip. It made him proud that your body reflected how much you enjoyed his cooking. He wondered if you would let him feed you a few bites. He had to stop thinking about it before he gave himself heart palpitations.

Kid noticed the angle of the light coming through the window, hues of deep orange. "Shouldn't ya get started in the galley soon?" 

Killer saw how low the sun hung in the sky, jumping up from his seated position on Kid's workbench. "Shit!" He stumbled over his feet and hopped on one foot to keep from tripping before he ran out the door. 

The captain shook his head. "All that fuss fer one bitch." He looked down at the small, silver, crescent shaped object on the table, spinning it around with his finger, elbow resting on the table with his head in his other hand. He flicked it across the room and drummed his fingers on the wood. With a frustrated growl, he stomped across the room and picked it back up, shoving it into his pocket. I'm no better. 

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You decided to take a short nap before dinner, sprawling yourself over Minerva's back. The warmth from her back and her rhythmic, soft snoring put you to sleep in seconds. It was a blink to you. That hadn't felt like a nap at all, but it was dim outside so some time had, in fact, passed. You would have slept until the next morning save for the smell of food beckoning you to the mess hall. Not even bothering to get off Mini, you rode her down for dinner. At this point, no one batted an eye. There was a glaring problem. There was an egregious absence of spaghetti on the plates that you could see. You dismounted and walked to the galley, leaving Mini to perform her evening rounds, where she circled the tables with her mouth open until someone tossed something in, or sniffed the ground for dropped morsels.

Flinging open the galley doors, you started to complain, "WHERE'S THE SPAG-....hetti.... Oh." There was spaghetti. On two plates. Across from each other. With a candle in the middle. You didn't move, still processing what was in front of you. Your heartbeat started to race. Oh fuck. You replayed the conversation in your head. He had been asking you to dinner, not asking you to choose dinner for the crew. Asking me to dinner! 

"Is something wrong?" Killer's hands suddenly got sweaty. He saw the blank look on your face and panicked internally. 

"I... No." You blinked. Killer was fiddling with his apron balled up in his hands. "No. This looks great." You tried to convince him with a smile. You were kicking yourself for not realizing. You didn't even change clothes! You probably smelled like boar! Killer was going to regret this. You reached for a stool, which Killer quickly pulled out for you. "You don't have to do that."

"I want to." Killer sounded happy, his hands were still sweaty, but he was nervous in a more excited way now. He joined you in sitting at the opposite end of the table. It was the prep table dressed up with a tablecloth and a candle. A candle that he had to bribe Heat to let him borrow. 

You were frozen, only moving when you saw that Killer was waiting for you to take a bite first. After the first bite, it was hard to stop. It was delicious. You were eating it by the forkful, hardly stopping to chew. Killer was watching you intently. "S-sorry." You dabbed your mouth with a napkin. "That wasn't... ladylike." You forgot this was a date and you were supposed to behave a certain way.

Killer laughed. "Who cares? I'm glad that you like it enough to wear it." 

You relaxed, then realized what he had said and looked down. "Ah fuck." There was some sauce on your shirt. You squinted. "What the...?" There was a purplish smudge. 

Killer cleared his throat. "I think it's um... my lipstick, from earlier. Sorry." 

You really wished you had changed. Lipstick? Kid wore it but you wouldn't have guessed Killer did, since the helmet would block it. Your eyes shifted to Killer, who still had his helmet on. He was moving his fork around, not actually eating. It was because his helmet was in the way, though you couldn't help but feel a squeeze in your stomach, thinking maybe that it was you. "Do you want me to turn around? Or close the eye that works?" You laughed apprehensively.

The truth was that Killer was working up the courage to take his helmet off. He wanted to. He knew you had already seen his face. It was a mental hurdle that he was trying his best to get past. "No." His heart was pounding out of his chest and his blood rushed in his ears, but the soft, encouraging look you gave him had his hands reaching for the clasp on his helmet. He wasn't worried about anyone coming in. He gave Wire strict orders that no one, not even Kid, was allowed to come in. 

It felt wrong to watch, averting your gaze to the plate in front of you to give him time. When you heard the soft thud of his helmet on the wooden table, you slowly raised your eyes to meet his. They were every bit of icy, piercing blue as you remembered them. His bangs fell over them until he pushed them back with his hand. The smile on his face lacked any confidence, endearing all the same. "I've never seen you with lipstick on before. I think the purple looks nice." Though that part was new, it was the same handsome face that had washed up on the beach. Your compliment made his smile stretch a little wider.

Neither of you knew what to say, so you ate in silence. It wasn't awkward at all. It was actually more awkward when you had been talking. This felt relaxed, a bit of peace away from the daily chaos and incredibly loud captain. The candlelight flickered, casting faint shadows on the walls. 

You rolled a meatball around with your fork. "Can I make a confession?" Killer nodded, puzzled. "I didn't realize you were asking me to dinner. I thought you were just letting me pick." You shyly admitted. 

Now your initial response made sense to Killer. He tensed, wondering if you wouldn't have agreed otherwise or if he made you feel uncomfortable. He was about to apologize, but you sensed his unease.

"This is nice though." You spun up another forkful of pasta. "I've... never been asked to dinner before." With a snort, you said, "I know that's probably an earth-shattering revelation." You were being sarcastic. Of course you were pretty... pretty abrasive, forward, cocky, and downright mean. People weren't scrambling to sweep you off your feet for more than a night.

The surprise in his expression was evident. "What do you mean? Never?" You nodded with another snort of laughter. "But you're-"

"Save it." You rolled your eyes. "I know what I am." It wasn't meant to be snappy, your tone was gentle, genuine. You rested your chin in your hand and smiled. You were happy with yourself. You didn't need Killer to list off things he liked about you. Obviously he liked something enough to make you spaghetti.

Killer laughed and held up his hands. "Ok ok. I'll save the flattery for Kid." 

On the other side of the doors, Kid's voice carried, "Better save some spaghetti for Kid!" It sounded like he was waiting far enough away that he wasn't technically interrupting you, but close enough to be in earshot if Killer's voice was loud.

"Fuck off, Kid. I did!" Killer yelled in the direction of the voice. He would have to be more mindful of his volume. The captain seemed pleased with that since he stopped yelling. While the two of you were in the galley, the only beings remaining in the mess were Kid and Mini, awkwardly sitting in silence with each other, waiting for their respective partners. Killer shook his head, getting back to his dinner.

The two of you continued to eat, sharing small parts of each other, neither of you willing to get too deep into anything. Killer gave you some feedback about your fighting, good and bad, lest it be mistaken for flattery. There was a good chance Wire would be grumpy for the next few days. He also said that Kid had been impressed, leaving out his other comments.

The increasingly full feeling in your stomach slowed down your eating. Your gaze moved from twirling your fork to Killer. His golden hair fell around his shoulders, his sharp jawline covered in equally golden scruff at the apex, the way his cupid's bow was a perfect 'v' shape, you were always drawn back to his eyes, ever-changing shades of blue, like the ocean. He was perfect, and here you were disheveled, hair a mess, stained shirt, covered in the day's grime. "Y'know if I had realized this was a date, I would have at least taken a shower and put a clean shirt on."

"Is this a date?" Killer questioned. 

Was that a hopeful tone? All the sudden, your face felt like it was on fire. "Well-," you choked on your pasta. To avoid answering and to figure out what he was thinking, you countered, "Do you want it to be?"

Killer grinned. "I want it to be whatever you want it to be." He knew what you were trying to do.

It was a stalemate. Neither of you wanted to speak anything into existence, for fear of ruining it altogether. 

"FER FUCK SAKE." Kid was leaning in the doorway. "PATHETIC." Kid barged in, looking around for his plate, mocking your conversation. "What do you want? heehee no what do youuuu want?"  Kid tore through the kitchen like a starving hound. "I want my fuckin dinner! I waited long enough and I'm fuckin starving! Just fuckin kiss already!" Kid took the lid off the pot of pasta. "Bingo!"

Killer snatched Kid's wrist faster than you could see. "No. Hands."

"Wouldn't hafta use em if ya had made me a fuckin plate like I asked!"

You watched on as they squabbled. Killer was essentially wrestling Kid away from the pasta. It seemed as though there may have been a history of Kid contaminating the food by eating with his hands, about right for your characterization of him. In the midst of it, Killer had put his mask back on. It was nice to see his face while it lasted. It kind of pissed you off. One nice moment in your otherwise brutal and chaotic life, and the King of Chaos himself comes to ruin it. You were finished with dinner, but maybe you had wanted to talk to Killer longer, maybe you had wanted to steal a kiss. You definitely did, who were you kidding?

"I'll leave you two to it," you said with a hint of venom, glaring at Kid. Switching to a softer voice, "Thank you, Killer. That was a lovely...evening." You winked at him. "Too bad it didn't have a chance to be even more lovely. Kid." 

Kid pointed back and forth between where you had been standing and Killer, "Doffs dat mee weee ain huckin?"* He had a mouthful of pasta. One good thing about red lipstick is that you couldn't tell how much of the pasta sauce hadn't made it into his mouth. 

Killer folded his arms and let out a defeated sigh. "I told you that you would piss her off and she would leave."

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There was a soft knock at the door to the women's quarters. You were tucked in bed after a piping hot shower, reading an old newspaper. There was a lot you missed when you were on that island, and Heat was nice enough to pull the highlights from his collection. Every now and then, you would explain something particularly eventful to Minerva. Emma called for you. Strange. You weren't expecting anything. Your eyebrows went up when you saw Killer. He had his normal first-mate air about him, all business, relaxing only when Emma left. You looked at him for elaboration.

"I'm sorry about Kid." He rubbed his arm. 

You shrugged. "That's not for you to apologize for. Kid happens." You leaned against the doorframe. "That's not all you came for though, is it?" You picked up on the way his hands kept fidgeting. Cute. 

Killer cleared his throat, "I... uh. I made dessert, too, but we didn't get to it." He sucked in a deep breath. "Do you want to have some? I remembered how much you liked chocolate cake." Rather, he remembered you drunkenly eating it from his hand and the feeling of your tongue around his fingers. 

You felt your mouth water. "I could go for some I suppose." You crossed your arms, thinking. You were in your pajamas, nothing extravagant, a simple cotton button up shirt and matching shorts. It was chilly out and you really didn't want anyone to see you in pjs. 

Killer took your hesitation as a negative. "You don't have to. I can go."

You grabbed his arm before he could turn. "No, I want to. I just don't want to be out in pjs and I have no shoes on. I'll have to change." 

The first-mate noticeably perked up. "Don't worry about that." He turned around and hunched down. "Hop on." Killer made grabbing motions with his hands, indicating that he would grab your legs. "Or I could just sling you over my shoulder. Don't want anyone to get the wrong idea, though."

You cocked your head. "And what idea does this give instead exactly?" You relented, stepping back before getting a short, running start to jump on his back, wrapping your arms around his neck and your legs around is waist. The image of being slung over his shoulder wasn't a bad one, if you were honest. 

Killer stood up, adjusting your thighs around him in a way that was more comfortable, doing a little hop to bounce you higher on his back. 

You took this opportunity to breathe in his scent, holding yourself back from burying your face in the thick golden hair tumbling down his back. A few untamed strands tickled your face as you bounced along with Killer's steps. Distracted by this possibly once-in-a-lifetime chance, you barely registered that Killer had passed the mess hall and galley, going to his room. 

Killer walked over to his bed and turned around, letting you down gently. 

You bounced on the edge of his bed. "Oh. I thought we would go to the galley again."

"Too risky." Killer explained. "Kid usually makes a fridge raid late." He handed you a fork and a plate with the most decadent-looking cake you had ever seen. It was multi-layered, moist, and he didn't skimp on the portions. 

Eagerly, you took the plate from him and scooted back to sit more comfortably on his comforter. It was soft and it smelled like him. You watched as he grabbed his own slice, sitting across from you. Killer had swapped his jeans for sweatpants. His shirt was the same but slightly faded, an older one. "Hm. How thoughtful of you then." Now that you had a better grasp of the situation, your confidence had returned in full. You preferred to be in control. 

Killer was looking at you expectantly. You assumed so anyway, his mask was pointed in your direction. 

Bringing a forkful to your mouth, you were barely two chews in and already reaching for another bite. Much like the spaghetti, you were inhaling the cake. "Good god, Killer." You had to resist saying something downright filthy, not wanting to ruin the otherwise sweet moment. "I didn't know I had a heart until you found your way to it with your fucking cooking." 

A pink tint spread down his neck. 

"I wish I could return the favor, but I'm sure you've noticed I'm not great in the kitchen." You took another bite, humming your satisfaction.

Killer huffed a partial laugh from his nose. "You're... not great," he agreed. "But," he continued, "you're... good company." 

You rolled your eyes. "I know that's not true." You thought he was being sarcastic. 

"No I mean it." Killer said in earnest. "You're nice to look at." 

"Oh so I'm your kitchen eye-candy then, huh?"

"Don't act like it doesn't go both ways," he retorted.

You hmphed. "So? It's not equal because I can only ogle from the neck down." You smirked at him. 

Killer took a deep breath and sighed. "Fine." His hand came up to the back of his neck, hesitating, then unlatching his helmet for the second time that night. He set his helmet down next to him. "Ogle away."

It was difficult to peel your eyes away from him. He was probably planning to remove it at some point regardless since he hadn't attempted to eat his own cake before then. "Don't mind if I do." You laughed and kept eating away at your slice. While you did so, you looked around his room. It was kept neat, as expected. Your eyes settled on a picture. It was difficult to see from your position, though you could make out who you assumed to be Kid and Killer, with a third, smaller person between them. They looked familiar, similar to the picture of the girl you saw in Kid's things. You didn't ask about it. It would be hypocritical of you to press for information about their past when you were so against it when they did the same to you. Though, one could argue, they owe you at least that much in return. 

"Hey, Y/N," Killer wavered, unsure whether to ask or not. "Remember back when we rescued you from the island with the marine base, after the fire?" He waited for you to nod, letting his bangs hide his face in place of his mask. "You were kind of out of it, but you said you liked m-my laugh... Did you mean it?" He looked up at you until one of his sapphire eyes met yours.

"What? Of course I meant it." You looked at him, questions evident in your expression. 

Killer noticeably straightened up. "I don't really like it myself." Killer paused. He didn't know how much he wanted to say on the matter. "I used to get made fun of." He shrugged, like it wasn't a big deal. You knew better, since he cared enough to bring it up.

"I would love to see someone try it now." You put down your empty plate. "You could put them down without even dirtying your punishers." Pretending to jab someone with your fork, you added, "Or I'll add them to my hit list."

Killer grinned, amused by your comments, not elaborating any further on his past. "You have frosting on your face."

Could you go one second without getting food on yourself? You searched for it with your hand, trying to wipe it off.

The man across from you grinned wider and wider every time you missed, enjoying your struggle. "Let me get it." He leaned over and swiped his thumb across your cheek, a fair bit away from your mouth. Who knows how it got there? 

Half-expecting him to let you lick it from his thumb, you were surprised when he did it himself. "Maybe I wanted that," you said teasingly. 

Killer ran his finger through the remaining frosting on his plate, eyeing it, then motioning you over with it. "Come get some then."

You crawled over until you were sitting on your feet, kneeling in font of him. Taking his finger in your mouth, you put your lips around its base and sucked the frosting clean off, licking around his fingertip for good measure before you released him with a pop. It was nearly the same as the first time, though now you were completely sober.

Killer shivered. He wasn't planning on letting you have your way tonight. You made it so tempting though, the way your eyes stared into his as your soft lips enveloped his finger. 

Testing his boundaries, you leaned forward, hands on his knees. You gave him the chance to pull back, searching his eyes for an answer. His eyes flicked to your lips. That was an answer enough for you before lightly pressing your lips against his. You smiled against him before pulling away and opening your eyes. As you settled back on your feet, Killer was reaching out for your face, pulling it gently back to him. His other hand ran down your side, catching your waist and tugging you closer until you were sitting side-saddle in his lap. Finally some of the tension that had been building was released. You sighed into his mouth as your lips moved against his, hands sliding around his neck and into his hair. Similarly, his hand slid through your hair until it was on the back of your head, pressing you into him. His other hand didn't wander, simply held you close. He groaned as you nipped his lip and slid your tongue into his mouth. When you both pulled away, you leaned your head against his chest. There was a tightening coil in your gut, that was certain. There was something else, too. Butterflies? 

Killer put one arm around your back and one arm under your legs, picking you up bridal style. 

Your heartbeat quickened. Was he finally gonna let you have it? Yes throw me on the bed and rip my clothes off already! The lust cleared from your mind when he started moving away from the bed. Then it came back in a thicker fog. Shower sex? Bathtub? Kid's room? Even though you were mad at him, your pussy wasn't. The lust was vacuumed from your mind for good when Killer set you down in front of the sink and put a toothbrush in your hand. You looked from it to Killer and back. 

"Brush your teeth before bed, princess." 

You frowned deeply. "You weren't putting very princess-like thoughts in my head," you grumbled. 

Killer out his hand on your shoulder affectionately. "Me? Never." His hand moved to pinch your cheek in a playful way. 

You squinted at him in the mirror, catching sight of the outline of something in his sweatpants, you whipped around on him, pointing at his crotch. "Oh come on!" You said through a mouthful of toothpaste. "You're fuckin half-hard!" You turned around to spit and rinse your mouth out.

Killer made a noise of denial. "I'd say quarter-hard." The quirk in the corners of his lips made it all too clear that he was thoroughly enjoying this. 

Rounding on him again, you pleaded, "Just the tip? Please?" 

He tsked. "Begging only works on Kid. You have to earn it from me." He ruffled your hair. "You are very cute when you beg though, breadcrumb."

Walking back into his room, Killer cleared the plates from the bed and pulled back the covers, motioning for you to hop in. 

"I can stay?" 

"Just because I don't want to fuck tonight doesn't mean I want you to leave." 

You slid in next to him, half-laying over him on your stomach while he was on his back so you could look at him. He put his arm around you to rest his hand on your lower back. That sent electricity up your spine that you did your best to repress. Thinking about your date, you grinned up at him.

"What?" He narrowed his eyes at you, knowing you had something smart to say. It was interesting how much better he could read you than when you first met.

"Thanks for trusting me with your face even though you won't trust me with your cock." Even though it was disguised as a joke, it had true sentiment behind it. That must be a huge deal to leave his helmet off for so long with someone who was arguably still a little bit of a stranger. It was probably made easier by the fact, you had already seen him for some time before then. 

Killer allowed himself a short laugh and pressed a kiss to your forehead. "Patience is a virtue." It didn't take long for you to drift to sleep. He watched the features of your face twitch as you entered your first dream of the night. Killer normally took a lot longer to warm up to someone. He didn't know himself what made him so comfortable around you. You acted similarly to Kid, with a charming roughness and feisty personality, and he loved Kid. Maybe that made it natural for him to begin to love you, too.

Next Chapter

[fyodior]

SEVEN POINTS

✓ pairing: professor!gojo x student! afab reader

✓ cw: dubcon - abuse of power (student/teacher), risky places (someone almost walks in), vaginal sex, oral (m & f receiving), fem pet names (good girl, pretty girl), reader referred to as a whore, slight dumbification, gojo is fake and manipulative, reader is eager to mf please

✓ notes: trying to fight my writers block by writing gojo for the first time!! dividers by @benkeibear !

✓ wc: 3.2k

summary: after allegedly failing your midterm exam, your favorite professor gives you seven chances to make it up to him.

Should I even be here? you thought to yourself as you stood pathetically outside the door of your literature professor’s office, hand trembling as It remained only inches from his door. You had frozen mid-knock, scared of the conversation that was to ensue once it opened.

But luckily, you ended up not having to knock. The heavy mahogany door creaked as your professor pulled it open, a goofy grin on his face.

“Hey!��� he greeted, waving you into his office. “Come on in.”

You followed him reluctantly inside, sitting politely in the chair across from his desk. In contrast, your professor fell dramatically back into his own chair with a sigh before kicking his feet up on the desk.

“Why’re you lookin’ so sad, kid?” he laughed, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Y-your email…” you attempted to explain, fiddling with the hem of your skirt.

“Oh, that old thing?” he scoffed. “I just have to sound all professional for when the admins inevitably audit me.”

You only nodded slowly, letting out a hesitant laugh. “Right…”

Despite the apparently fake tone, it was an email that had struck fear into your heart.

Hello, it began. Your poor performance on our most recent midterm has me concerned for your overall performance in my course.

Professor Gojo had always been that happy-go-lucky professor that every student loved and fought each other for a space in one of his classes. He was funny, charming, and very attractive, making him very popular amongst the entire student population – not just women. And he had always been very nice to you, even maybe paying a little extra attention to you than the others in the course. Praising you for your immaculately written papers and well-spoken contributions to class discussions was not uncommon, and even had other students scowling in your direction. So, it was nothing short of jarring to receive something like that from him – poor performance?

“I-I can’t believe I failed my midterm, Professor Goj-”

“Call me Satoru,” he interjected, making you jump.

“I’m so sorry I failed my midterm… Satoru.” The name felt foreign and inappropriate on your tongue, but you didn’t want to disappoint him even more.

“ ‘s really no big deal, kid,” he sighed, waving his hand. The sleek wingtip shoes he wore edged closer and closer to knocking off a tall stack of precariously placed papers on his desk. He was kind of a mess sometimes.

“I just- I just really felt confident in it,” you shook your head, mostly talking to yourself. Hours of research, draft making, and revisions went into your midterm paper, to a point where you had actually felt proud to put your name on it, smiling a bit as you finally pressed submit.

“Just… wasn’t what I was looking for,” he shrugged, bringing his feet back down to the ground with a thud. “Though, I wanted to meet to discuss potential ways for you to make up the points. I’d hate for you to get anything less than an A in this course.”

“Really?” you gasped, leaning forward in your chair towards him. “I’ll do anything!”

His expression suddenly darkened at that, gaze boring holes through your skull. No response to your words was given – instead, he stood up from his desk and walked slowly towards the door, hands clasped behind his back. A shiver ran down your spine as you hear the lock click, Satoru turning around to face you again. His entire demeanor had wholly changed, the charming goofiness replaced by a dark, unsettling aura that permeated the room.

“Profe- Satoru? What’s going on?” Surely not…

Leaning against the door, he crossed his arms and ankles. “When you say ‘anything’, kid, do you really mean… anything?”

“I don’t understand…” you replied dumbly, eyes wide.

Satoru only laughed briefly. “You understand well. I know because you’re a smart girl.”

Eyes trailing downward, you noticed a slight tent in his pants that he made no effort to conceal - an undeniable confirmation of his advances. 

It was an objective fact that you needed to ace this class in order to maintain your current perfect academic standing, and a failed midterm made that impossible. If rectifying that meant fucking your sexy professor, then… fuck it.

“When I say anything, I mean anything.”

A sinister grin spread across Satoru’s face as he made his way back towards you. “That’s my good girl.”

Sitting back in his desk chair with an ankle resting on his knee, he stared at you with the hunger of a man starved. 

“There is a points system to this, darling. I am not so easy as to just fuck and give you an A. Any student can do that. But I know you’re special,” he explained, eyes glinting and smirk lingering. “This also allows for us to go as far as you’re comfortable, while also still garnering some extra credit. Would you like for me to continue?”

You gulped. “Sure.” 

“One point, you remove your top and bra - bare breasts must be visible. Two points, I touch your breasts. Three points, you remove your panties… but keep that skirt on, because I’d really like to fuck you in it…” his words trailed off as his steely demeanor broke momentarily, taken over by his own lust.

Now it’s you smiling. “One point,” you repeated as you started to unbutton your top, a lacy bra peeking out. “Three points and my grade will be changed, right… sir?” 

It’s not hard to tell that Satoru is fighting every one of his instincts in order to remain composed. “You didn’t let me finish, sweetheart. You’ll need six points to get to a 100. The three points we already discussed - plus one if you suck my cock, plus another if you let me taste you, reaching a full fix if you let me fuck you.” He says it all so plainly as if it wasn’t the lewdest thing you’d ever heard. “Though, there is a seventh point. If you obtain it, you’ll ace the whole class.”

“...Seventh?” you inquired, a feigned look of innocence on your face as your top fell open. 

Satoru’s eyes darken as he leaned in closer to you over the desk. “The seventh point,” he whispers. “Is letting me cum inside your pretty little cunt.”

You choked, not expecting that to come out of his mouth. But once you committed to something, you always saw it through.

Voice barely above a whisper, you nodded before responding. “Whatever you want, sir.”

Satoru only patted his lap.

Despite the suave, sexy exterior you had decided to don, your whole body shook as you circled around the desk to settle on top of your professor’s lap, straddling his thighs. He didn’t immediately jump at the opportunity as soon as you were in his grasp like you thought he would, instead just running his rough palms all over your skin. Thick fingers came to push off the top that had only been dangling off your elbows at that point, leaving you in only your bra.

“Fucking beautiful,” Satoru muttered to himself, palming one of your breasts. Point two. It was like everything was in slow motion, the way he thumbed at your bottom lip before kissing you roughly, or the way he gripped your thighs tighter and tighter. Until he’d had enough.

You were suddenly pushed back against the cold surface of Professor Gojo’s desk, skirt flipped up and legs spread apart. He leaned in close and pulled your panties off – point three – before running the very tip of his tongue along your slit ever so lightly. He planned to savor every last second, every last taste, lest you never let him do this again. A squeal leaves your throat, overwhelmed by the suddenness of everything, but you clapped a hand over your mouth. Satoru reaches up to circle a hand around your wrist before roughly tugging it away. 

“Now that won’t fly, sweetheart,” he scolded. “A key part of all of this is me hearing you earn those points.”

“But- but sir,” you tried. “They’ll hear us.”

Satoru just smirked. "What, are you worried someone is going to find out you let your professor do this-" He interrupted his own words by shoving two fingers into your cunt, making you cry out and throw your head back against the documents scattered underneath you. "-to you? That someone, maybe a superior, will hear you using your pussy for grades?"

Your back arched at the sudden intrusion, biting down on your knuckles to try and stifle your moans - against his wishes. “Sir, p-please…”

Satoru watched in delight as he pumped his fingers in and out of your all-too-welcoming cunt, marveling at how wet you already were. “Get on your stomach for me, sweetheart.”

Now dripping with anticipation and slight fear, you’re quick to scramble off the desk. With your stomach and face pressed down, you looked back at your professor. This was dangerous, but that’s exactly why it was getting fun.

The world felt like it was spinning when Satoru got to his knees and used his strong hands to spread you open, watching in awe at the way your pussy throbbed in anticipation. He used two fingers to open your folds before dipping his tongue in, groaning at the taste. The savory sweetness coats his tongue and he can’t help but lap it up. 

“Satoru,” you moaned, bucking your hips and pushing further against his tongue as you gripped the edge of the desk. 

His fervent licking and slurping at your clit as he now fucked you on his fingers paired with your moans almost drowned out the footsteps outside the office door. A particularly hearty whimper was cut off by a knock at the door. Your eyes go wide with terror as a man calls out for your professor. It sounds like a grown man - definitely not a student. What would another professor think if they were to witness what was taking place? Would he yell at the man between your legs? Would he leave in shock and report you two immediately? Would he… join in? All of these thoughts swarmed your head at once as you looked at the man in panic.

Satoru seemingly has no interest in neither soothing your worries, nor protecting himself. He recognized the man’s voice as a fellow lecturer he’s friendly with, one who likely wouldn’t be all too shocked or even horrified if he saw Satoru three fingers and a tongue deep into a student – so he continued. Despite your protests and squirms in fear, Satoru continued lapping at your clit and crooking his fingers inside you.

“Professor, m-maybe you should get that,” you breathed desperately, the knocks at the door increasing, but Satoru paid no mind to you or the man at the door. He was far too busy with both finger and tongue fucking you. Suddenly your eyes widened and you couldn’t stop the loud moan that came tumbling out when he found your sweet spot. Immediately you clamp a hand over your mouth, but there’s no chance the outsider didn’t hear you. There was a moment of silence, one where you think you’re a fucking goner, but then you heard footsteps fading away. He gave up - or maybe he just didn’t want to know.

Once Satoru decided he’d had a sufficient taste, he removed his fingers and mouth, making you whine at the emptiness, before pulling you up. He immediately began licking into your mouth instead, coating your tongue with your own essence and making you taste yourself. 

“Are you ready to earn that fifth point?” he hummed against your lips. Sucking him off. 

“Please,” you nodded, gripping him. Truthfully, you barely know what you’re pleading for. It was no longer just about the grade - you felt an ache that was only growing inside you.

Standing up without a word, Satoru deftly unbuckled his belt and cast it to the floor, the metal of the buckle clattering loudly against the tiles. He unzipped his dress pants enough so that his bulge was obvious. 

“Get on your knees,” he commanded, voice steely and certain – this Satoru was completely unrecognizable at this point, so far from the zany, lighthearted Professor Gojo. 

“Y-yes sir,” you sputtered. It was a lewd scene as you kneel in front of your professor, staring up at him with big doe eyes and mouth slightly agape. Hands shaking, your fingers dip below the band of his boxers and curl around his hard-on, tugging it a few times before pulling freeing it from the fabric. He’s big. It curves slightly to the left with a thick, throbbing vein running down it, the head an angry red. You started to pump it, licking your lips as pre dribbled out of the tip. The whole thing was so dirty and demeaning, but fuck, it was hot.

“C’mon, kid,” Satoru urged, a thick hand grabbing a fistful of your hair and tugging lightly. He wanted more than just a handjob. 

Frowning a bit, you gave the head a few kitten licks, sucking on the tip just to make him groan. The pre was salty and sticky, tasting it as it smeared over your lips. Finally, you began to ease him into your mouth, swallowing each thicker and thicker inch. The tip grazed the back of your throat and you gagged, making Satoru smirk. 

If only you could see yourself, see how you knelt in front of your lit professor, grabbing his hips and choking yourself over and over on his thick cock that was shoved down your throat, drool and precum pooling out of the corners of your mouth. See how streaks of mascara stained your cheeks as your eyes watered from gagging so much. If only. 

In an effort not to immediately cum down your throat, Satoru pulled out, tapping his tip against your lips to smear some more of his pre over your lips. The sight itself is cum-worthy, but it’s not time for that yet.

“On the desk, on your stomach. Lift your skirt up,” Satoru barked. 

Once again, you obeyed your professor’s orders without question. Draping yourself over the desk, you tugged your skirt up so that it splayed over your back and not your ass. Satoru inhaled as he watched you present yourself like that, like a damn whore for nothing more than a good grade. You squealed a bit as he took the fat of your ass into his hands and massaged, nervous for what’s to come.

“Professor?” you squeaked. “Am I… doing good?” as much as it might feel good, it’d be all for nothing if you once again weren’t performing to his liking.

“So good, pretty girl, so good,” he growled, smacking your ass.

“Please, sir,” you moaned, arching your back to display yourself as best as possible. 

Satoru was painfully slow with his movements as he took his hard leaky cock into his hand and slid it between your folds, rocking back and forth and prodding at your hole. 

Taking initiative, you pushed your hips back, desperate to get his cock inside you, to do a good job. 

“God, so fucking needy and desperate, absolutely losing yourself over my cock,” he muttered, finally pushing past your hole and easily sinking into your sopping cunt. 

You let out a dangerously loud moan as Satoru filled you up, eyes rolling to the back of your skull.

“Oh, f-fuck,” you stuttered. It was the first time you’d sworn in front of the professor. Until then, even with the circumstances, you still felt it right to be proper and respectful, but something inside of of you was breaking - and all you could focus on was the pleasure and overwhelming need to be fucked. “Fuck, that feels so g-good…”

Everything Satoru’s been waiting for, everything he planned has culminated to this moment, and it almost doesn’t feel real. From actually working up the courage to come onto you, to you actually reciprocating and desperate for him more than he ever thought he would be, it felt like a fever dream. That’s why when he first bottomed out, one hand right on your waist and the other palm flat on the desk, he couldn’t stop. He fucked you like a desperate virgin, grunting and groaning. Satoru typically wasn’t much of a talker during sex, but this felt so different. “Yeah, that feel good baby? My cock making you feel good? Your professor’s cock filling you up so good?”

“Feels so f-fucking good,” you cried out, tongue lulled out as you laid nearly limp on the desk. You were no blushing virgin, but it had been a long fucking time since you’d been fucked that well. “S-shit, I’m gonna cum, shit!”

Satoru let out a short laugh at how quick you were coming undone. Wet squelches and sounds of skin-on-skin bounced off the walls, filling the small office so that all your senses were filled with Satoru and Satoru only. Leaning over you so his chest was pressed flush against your back, he whispered right into your ear: “Cum for me, pretty girl.”

“Y-yes sir,” you whimpered, chewing your bottom lip in an effort to muffle your moans. Fortunately, it didn’t take much longer - in a moment’s notice, the knot was coming undone and you couldn’t help but spasm as your orgasm washed over you, drooling all over where your head laid. “Thank you- thank you, thank you!”

Satoru smirked as you fell apart underneath him, bringing him even closer to his own high. Desperate to reach it, he fucked into you brutally as you laid there like a ragdoll. “Thanking me for what? Fucking you stupid?” he laughed. 

“S-so good,” you babbled mindlessly, brain and body going numb from the stimulation.

You were so far from the articulate, sharp student you normally were, reduced to nothing but a fuck doll by your professor. 

Soon, Satoru felt his cock pulsing and throbbing inside you. “Are you ready for that seventh point?”

Remembering what the seventh point was, ‘cumming inside your pretty little cunt,’ you clenched even tighter around him. 

“Please,” you moaned, slightly slurred. “Need it.”

You’d barely gotten the words out by the time your professor was reaching his high, groaning fiercely as he shot his hot load into you, filling you up while hearty moans from you fill his ears. Once he finally slowly pulls out, hissing as he nudges his cock out of your hole. Without it inside you to plug you up, cum pooled out of your throbbing cunt, hot against your skin as it drooled down your thighs. Not sure what to do or where to go from there, so you stayed draped over the desk, breathless and gripping the edge until Satoru gave you more direction.

But all Professor Gojo did was straighten up, tuck himself back into his pants and button them before securing his belt. “You’ve received full credit. You’re dismissed now.”

What? “S-Satoru?”

He laughed, a little rough with you as he helped you to your feet, still a bit wobbly.

“You’ve aced the class, sweetheart. Counted all the way to seven. Get out of here.” He’s already on to his next task, straightening papers that had gotten crumpled underneath you.

“Profes-”

His smile is so fake. “See you on Wednesday, kid."

[midnight-pluto]

COFFEE: PG.14 — alleyway therapy sessions

COFFEE: tim drake x gn!reader

SYNOPSIS: Tim meets a barista that gives him what he needed most — a large coffee with way to many shots of espresso. Though what happens when just a single action changes the other's life, forever?

coffee master list || prev. || next

FRIDAY, DECEMBER 15 2023 — 10:59 PM

IT HAD BEEN quite a bit of time since you started dating Tim. In all honesty, it was great — you’re dates were consistent, you got to spend time with his family, and hang outs outside of dates were enjoyable.

However, recently there has been a shift in your peaceful relationship. Tim had cancelled on you, again.

You understood the first time, he had rich kid socialite duties to attend to. The second time you were skeptical since it was back-to-back but he had given you a bouquet of your favorite flowers, so who were you to refuse? But this was the third time.

You both had planned on having a cute date at the park since it was a particularly good day to Gotham’s standards but as it turned out, he canceled on you.

Staring at Tim’s apology message, tears threatened to slip out of the corners of your eyes but you wouldn’t allow them. Taking a sharp inhale through your nose, you take your phone and leave.

Walking along the grim sidewalk of Gotham, you make a sharp turn through the alleyway for a shortcut to your apartment. Though doing that in Gotham wasn’t the best idea but you could handle a few thugs.

No one leave their house without a weapon in Gotham of course.

Halfway through the alleyway, a larger vine carrying two women emerge from the shadows in front of you — Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn.

“Ivy, I love you and all but are you sure this is a good idea? I mean like, I’m sure a lot of people out there deserve a good beating but not them! They look like they’ve had a rough night,” Harley told her girlfriend to which you sigh at.

“Of course the world isn’t done with torturing me,” you mumble.

“See!”

“Huh, I thought there would be a lot more shitty people that come down this route,” Ivy mutters.

“Are you alright sweetie? You look like you’ve had a bad day?”

“Wait Harles, you can’t be seriously starting a therapy session right now are you?”

“C’mon Ivy! This is the least we can do for them! I mean we inconvenienced them, potentially ruined their day by showing up — I mean like I would also be upset if a pair of heroes showed up for no reason — and! They look depressed! Look at their face!”

Wow. You didn’t know whether to be glad that someone noticed your sadness or offended at the fact that someone thought you looked depressed.

Probably a mixture of both.

Ivy raised a brow at her girlfriends notions and looked you over as you stared blankly into the abyss. Her eyes widen in realization of who you were, “Hey wait, aren’t you that viral employee of Café Remedies? Y/N, right?”

“That’s me,” you huff out, shoving your hands in your pockets.

“Holy shit I love that place! They make hella good macarons,” Harley interjects, “See! We gotta have a therapy session now.”

“Ugh, fine,” the redhead rolls her eyes, using her vines to create makeshift chairs for the three of you to sit on.

You stare at the sudden creation in shock but swiftly get over it once you see the couple sit down on them nonchalantly.

“So tell me, what’s going on currently?” the ex-psychiatrist begins, taking out a pen and notepad.

“Harles where on Earth did you get that?”

“It’s honestly nothing but like— he just keeps on canceling on me and I don’t know what to do, like is it me? Am I the problem—?”

“Slow down,” the blond interrupts with a calm voice, “Who are we talking about here?”

“My boyfriend.”

“Who’s the boyfriend?”

“Tim Drake.”

“Oh you gotta be shitting me! Him?” Ivy abruptly says, “He’s actually dating somebody?” She turns to look at her girlfriend to which she looks at her with the same expression.

“Apparently, I thought they were just rumors and speculation,” she shrugged her shoulders.

“We literally posted pictures of our first date— anyways,” you shake your head trying to get back on track, “He keeps on canceling our dates last minute and I’m starting to have doubts because what if he’s not into me anymore? Did he even like me in the first place — I was the one who suggested our first date so what if he just said yes out of obligation since I’m friends with Duke?”

“Wait Duke as in Duke Thomas?” the plant enthusiast questioned once more, to which you nod your head in response. “Holy shit you have connections.”

“But Duke isn’t even legally adopted by the Wayne’s,” Harley points out turning towards you, “Is he?”

“Well it doesn’t even matter since he literally attends the same events they do,” Ivy reminds.

“True I guess, but back on track. Tim keeps on canceling your guys’ dates?” the blond flips her notepad to a new page and clicks her pen once more.

“Yeah the first time he blamed it on his ‘rich kid duties,’” you quote.

“Why have money if you can’t even use it to bail out of something to spend time with you’re partner?” the redhead deadpans.

“And the second time?”

“He did the same thing but got me flowers as an apology and promised to show up the next time but uh,” you click your tongue, “He obviously didn’t show up.”

“Does he text or call you whenever he cancels on you?” Harley asked, putting black framed glasses on. Where she was pulling all of these things from alluded you but you didn’t question it.

“He texts me.”

She furrows her brows at that statement, “Can I see the text messages?”

Unlocking your phone, you press the messages app and show her your past conversations with your beloved. “We’ve called a few times during this time but that’s it.”

“Alright did you leave him on read?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Good he deserves it after answering your texts with the max of five words.”

SPECIAL NOTE: y’all might not hear from me next week since I got midterms but I will finish this smau before 2024 I swear!! also, I’m imagining Harley and Ivy are like they are in the Harley Quinn animated series — just an fyi

TAGLIST: @grandstrangerphantom @marsbars09 @fabitheraven @lovelypitasworld @dyjcksn @mae77eris @sugarrush-blush @djchik @soundsfunbutno @apizzacalledmel @strangetrashblog @cipheress-to-k-pop @harleycao @unhingedtimdrake @a-homosexual-homosapien @aquarii-doodles @love-stay @criminallycan @hecate-frenchfries @job-ross-the-second [ if your name isn't highlighted then I wasn't able to tag you. if you would like to join, feel free to send me an ask or to comment! ]

[jebewonmorelike]

Honeydew Boba For Your Boyfriend?

wc: 1.9k pronouns: none used; n/a warnings: fluffy fluffyyy summary: gunwook desperately tries to save his hyung from himself when one glance at cafeowner!reader has gyuvin acting... delulu. ~masterlist~ ♡ ~kofi (no pressure at all)~ my introductory gyubinnie fic. the funniest little nugget of a boy, i adore him. just wanted to write a short fic to test the gyuvin waters (lmao what) so i hope you enjoy. will be working on some requests this weekend finally, sorry i just needed a little break for a bit! as always, much love to you all and i appreciate you reading and enjoying my writing soooo much :) <3

"So that's a no on the 'Hyung Lover' tramp stamp?"

Gyuvin glares at his younger friend as they walk down the bustling city street. "People who think you're the smart one have clearly never spent more than five minutes with you."

"Five minutes is actually pretty generous," Gunwook replies after careful consideration. "So I probably shouldn't have told Yujinnie to get a matching 'Noona Lover' one then...?"

"Are you bored? Is the 17-hour-a-day schedule not enough for you?" Gyuvin asks rhetorically, pulling his phone out and checking his notifications.

"That's probably what it is," Gunwook replies sadly, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "I have a whole extra hour to myself every day and I can never figure out what to do with it."

Gyuvin shakes his head in disbelief, huffing out a laugh. "How about you do my laundry?"

Gunwook's eyes widen innocently. "Do you want me to? I can! I promise you can depend on me, hyung, I--."

"Where's this cafe again?" Gyuvin interjects, looking around at the storefronts lining the street. "We've gotta be back in the studio in twenty minutes."

"It's right there," Gunwook replies, pointing up ahead. The two boys walk the remainder of the way to Gunwook's new favorite cafe, the younger boy grabbing the door handle and holding it open for his hyung as they step inside the shop.

"Hi! How are you?" You call from behind your counter, wiping down some of your drink machines with a damp cloth before turning to greet your next customer. It's a quieter Wednesday afternoon than usual and you smile when you recognize the boy approaching the counter. "Hey, I know you."

"Did you see I made the line-up?" The boy named Gunwook asks with a proud smile. "Aren't you excited to tell everyone that an idol comes to your shop for coffee?"

You laugh at his endearing naivety, pointing to the back wall of your cafe where a line of framed celebrity pictures hang. "Not my first time around the block, kid," you joke, watching as his proud smile now turns sheepish. "But I will give it to you that out of all the idols that come in here, you're certainly the most adorable."

A gummy grin spreads across his face as you suddenly notice he's not alone. Behind Gunwook is an equally tall boy, his frame a bit slimmer and hair a bit lighter than your returning customer.

"Oh, hi," you greet hesitantly, as the boy makes eye contact with you; only for him to quickly duck back behind his friend.

"What are you--," Gunwook questions annoyedly, stepping to the side and pushing the other boy out from behind him. "What's wrong with you?"

The thinner boy is staring at you with wide eyes, chewing his bottom lip nervously. The blush on his cheeks tips you off right away as to what he's thinking.

This was hardly the first time you'd received this sort of look from a customer. You thought your product was good enough, but you had overheard gossip more than once that your cafe was the most "beautifully owned" in the city-- and they weren't talking about the decor. Perhaps that's why your celebrity clientele was more abundant than the average cafe.

"This is my hyung who made the line-up with me," Gunwook introduces, patting his friend on the back. "He's--... he's not usually this shy though."

He's cute, you catch yourself thinking, and the genuine look in his eyes admittedly makes you want to mess with him a bit. You needed some excitement after such a slow Wednesday afternoon... What was the harm in playing along?

Clearly unable to function, the other boy merely stands in front of you unmoving as Gunwook confusedly analyzes him. After a few moments, it seems that the younger boy catches on to his friend's thinking, too.

Gunwook looks back at you anxiously-- smiling as if he's not sure if he should pull his friend aside to scold him or not. "I--... Uh, I'll just have--."

"An iced Americano," you finish for him with a laugh, grabbing a plastic cup and writing his name on it in sharpie.

"Do I come here too often?" He jokes. "Should I start being more equitable with my coffee shop patronage?"

"Go ahead," you retort with a smirk. "Let's see if you can get away with 'accidentally' paying a thousand won less anywhere else."

Gunwook's jaw drops. "So you did notice... Why didn't you say anything!?"

You shrug. "I know you trainees don't have any money and I'm not really hurting for business, so it's no skin off my back. But now that you're an idol, I'm sure you'll be able to make it up to me somehow!"

Gunwook laughs abashedly. "Absolutely... I can pay you back with all of my idol money..." He grimaces. "Give me two years?"

"I'll hold you to it," you agree, attention returning to the older boy standing next to him; whose intense gaze on you hasn't let up for at least a minute now. "Are you--... are you gonna order something too, or...?"

Gunwook hits his friend's shoulder in a manner that is clearly supposed to be nonchalant, but the boy is predictably caught off guard and, thus, nearly falls to the ground. Catching himself, he swallows nervously as he meets your eyes again. "I--... Um... Yes."

"Ooookay," you reply with a nod. "What'll it be?"

"I'll have a bobo.”

"BOBA!" Gunwook yells quickly, hitting the boy's shoulder again. "He wants boba... Boba for the babo."

"Uh..." You stumble, fighting the urge to grin at the adorable duo of idiots in front of you. "Sure thing. What flavor?"

"You."

"DEW!" Gunwook yells again, laughing nervously as he grabs his friend by the shoulder and shakes him a little too hard. "Honeydew. I apologize for his pronunciation, he... grew up abroad!"

"Oh, really?" You ask excitedly-- perfect English suddenly flowing out of your mouth. "So did I! Where did you live?"

Both Gunwook and his friend are now staring wide-eyed and panic-stricken back at you. You're enjoying this quite a bit and you're not about to let them off the hook. They turn to each other wordlessly, blinking at each other for a moment before turning back to you.

"Ca-na-da," Gunwook's friend answers finally.

"Oh," you reply, eyes narrowing slightly in suspicion. "Where in Canada?"

"Uh," the boy stumbles. "The... cold part?"

You blink back at the two tall boys, watching as they squirm slightly under your judging gaze. After you've had your fun, you grin up at them. "Yeah, sounds like Canada to me!"

The boys glance at each other before bursting into nervous laughter. Gunwook throws his arm around his friend's shoulder-- seemingly in relief.

"That'll be 14,000 won," you say; Gunwook starts to fish for cash out of his wallet (the easiest method to stiff you one bill) but he laughs sheepishly when you glare at him. Instead, he hands you his credit card to run through the register.

You hand the card back to the younger boy; grabbing a plastic cup for the boba and looking up at the boy who had ordered it. "What's the name?"

"Your boyfriend," the boy blurts immediately, Gunwook lifting his hand to his forehead to cover his eyes in embarrassment.

"I can't even help you out of that one," the younger boy mumbles, dragging his hand down his face tensely. "His name's Gyuvin and I clearly made a mistake by letting him out of his cage today."

"I'm so sorry," the boy named Gyuvin gushes, suddenly coming to his senses. "I'm sorry, I really didn't--."

"I'll get these drinks out for you both in a few minutes," you cut him off with a straight face as you turn around to your machines, not ready to let him relax just yet. You write Gyuvin's name down on his cup as the two boys walk over to a table to wait for their order.

As you prepare the iced Americano, your eyebrows raise as you hear what sounds like a smack-- followed by an "owwww" from the older boy.

"You're an idiot," you hear Gunwook whisper.

"I know, I know," Gyuvin responds quite glumly, causing you to giggle and subsequently have to cover it up with a cough.

Pouring the milk tea over the boba, you strain to overhear more of the boys' conversation.

"Seriously, hyung," Gunwook continues scolding. "How are you ever supposed to be an idol if you can't even control yourself around the local barista?"

You can hear the pout in Gyuvin's voice as he replies, "Don't pretend like the local barista isn't THE most gorgeous human to ever walk the planet."

"Really? Huh," Gunwook considers genuinely. "I don't see it."

You hear a chair slide back abruptly as Gyuvin yells, "ARE YOU BLIND!?"

You glance over at the boys, who immediately shoot you awkward, overenthusiastic grins as you turn back around.

Gunwook sighs. "Well if you really think that, you've royally messed this up for yourself."

"I dunno... Some people are into weird," Gyuvin responds optimistically and the silence that ensues paints a vivid picture of the undoubtedly hellish death glare that Gunwook is giving him.

Snapping a lid on both drinks, you pull two straws from the container next to the cash register and place one on top of each of the drinks. Before you call the two boys over to grab their order, you smile to yourself as you pick up your sharpie one more time and remove the cap-- carrying out the final phase of your little game...

"Okay, all set!" You call, watching as the boys' heads snap to look at you, awkwardly gathering their things as they rush quickly back up to the counter.

"Thank you SO much," Gunwook says, picking up his iced coffee. "And sorry again."

"I'm so sorry," Gyuvin echoes, nodding at you apologetically. He picks up his boba, eyebrows furrowing suddenly as he examines it. "What is this?"

"Honeydew boba," you answer, running the back of your hand across your forehead. "Just like you ordered."

Gyuvin continues to frown in confusion. "But I hate boba--."

"That's right! You hate it for making you love it so much!" Gunwook swoops in once again as he places a hand on his friend's shoulder, turning him around and forcing him towards the door. "Thanks again!"

"Thank you!" Gyuvin calls as Gunwook opens the door for him and ushers him out of the shop, a small "I think" reaching your ears as the door closes behind them.

~

"I can't believe you," Gunwook groans as the two boys walk down the street back to the studio. "Now I can never go back there again. It was so convenient!"

"Why can't we go back there again?" Gyuvin pouts, sipping his boba and frowning at the taste. "It didn't go THAT badly!"

"You tried to order boba in the flavor of the cafe owner!" Gunwook cries.

"Huh, is that what this is?" Gyuvin says, looking at his drink. "Maybe it's not so bad after all..."

"I'm requesting our lunch breaks are shortened," Gunwook announces, sipping his coffee. "I can't spend this much unstructured time with you."

Gyuvin raises his cup to eye-level, swirling it around as he watches the tapioca pearls dance. His eyebrows furrow as he suddenly notices something scribbled on the cup. "Oh my god."

"What!?" Gunwook says, following Gyuvin's line of sight. "What is it? Let me see!"

Gunwook takes the cup from his hyung, squinting to read the small sharpied writing towards the bottom of the plastic cup. "No way," he breathes as he takes in the sight of the phone number, a small message written under it:

in case you ever want to grab a drink that you actually like :)

[novaksupremacy]

The Veiled Law of Affection- Chapter 6

had the day off so I popped out another one for you :)

The Veiled Law of Affection-Chapter 6

Word Count: 6358

Casey Novak x Olivia Benson

by PKJ @novaksupremacy

Based on the events surrounding S5 E24 "Poison", little bit of smut, lots of mushy angsty schtuff, sibling arguments, one of my favorite Casey episodes.

Read Part 5

“Look you’re making a mistake!” The woman shouted in the interrogation room. As it stood, she was accused of poisoning her adopted daughter. They had learned from her other little girl that she made the poor child stand in the corner with a sponge full of detergent in her mouth. As if that wasn’t bad enough the girl’s hospital visit was delayed by hours, causing sever detriment from the poisoning. Her husband’s sister had also spoken to Benson and Stabler about the many red flags pertaining to her parenting skills.

“Not according to your sister-in-law,” Olivia barked.

The woman scoffed, “Wendy never liked me you can’t listen to her!”

Elliot raised his voice, “Can we listen to your other daughter, Katie, Mrs. Campbell?”

Her attorney Gates laughed, “Sure, because seven-year-olds are so reliable. Tomorrow, she’ll tell you a pony with wings lives in her closet.”

Stabler was fuming at this point, “So Katie made the whole thing up, right? How you shoved a sponge of soapy water into Alexis’ mouth while she gagged and cried! Made her stand in a corner, counting, until she collapsed!”

“I feel terrible that I wasn’t paying close enough attention!” Karen Campbell started shouting, “But I can’t possibly be everywhere at once! I have FOUR children! I am a good mother!

Munch and Fin had Mr. Campbell in the other interrogation room at the same time.

“Why don’t you believe me?” the man leaned against the window, arms folded.

“We do, that’s why you’re not under arrest Munch said flatly.

“My wife did nothing wrong!”

“You couldn’t know what your wife did. You were gone all day.” Fin said more questioning than matter of fact.

“I told you when I got home Alexis had stopped breathing and Karen was hysterical. If we wanted to poison Alexis, what would we bring her to the hospital at all?”

John snapped at him, “Actually I’m more interested in why your wife does the things she does. Like berate and emotionally abuse your adopted daughter.”

“That’s a lie!”

“You callin’ your sister a liar? She says Karen treats that girl worse than a dog!” Fin retorted.

       ��        As Liv and Elliot came out of the interrogation room, they found Agent Huang and Casey waiting for them in the bullpen.

                “The emergency room said they pumped two cups of detergent out of Alexis’ stomach.” Huang stated as they walked up.

                Elliot shook his head in disgust, “Mrs. Campbells accident story is a bunch of crap! No kid is gonna drink two cups of that stuff willingly.”

                “What about the dear old dad?” Liv interjected. “He had to know that his wife hated that kid.”

                Casey sighed, “he wasn’t home so criminally he’s not responsible.”

                “We got the mother right?” Elliot asked, agitated by the situation.

                “How’s the seven-year-old?” The redhead questioned, she knew Elliot was good at his job, but she still had to do hers.

                “Solid.”

                “No chance you influenced her statement?” She didn’t want to ask but she had to.

                “None, counselor. I’ve been doing this a little bit longer than you,” the detective said back his tone less then amiable.

                Casey tilted her head, she hated that El took things so personally. “Just making sure we’re covered, children under nine aren’t automatically swearable.”

                “I can talk to her,” Huang offered, “If she knows the difference between a lie and the truth then she can testify.” Casey nodded as a show of gratitude.

                “Hey Detective Benson, while you’re waiting, I have some paperwork for you in my office that I’ve been meaning to give you.” Casey tossed out nonchalantly.

                “Sure, I’ve got a few minutes.” Liv nodded, her hands in her pockets. “After you Counselor.”

The brunette tailed on the heels of the ADA as they headed down the hall. Huang couldn’t help but snicker as they walked away. “It’s ridiculous that they’re still making excuses at this point. We pretty much all know what that was about.”

“Guess Daddy wants a little midnight snack, you know what I’m sayin’?” Fin nudged the FBI agent in his rib.

Elliot snorted into his coffee, “What?” He laughed so hard he choked on some of the hot liquid. “Who wants a what?”

Fin was laughing “Oh you haven’t had the pleasure of hearing that exchange yet? Imma let you experience that on ya own.”

Munch walked over with a cup of coffee in his hand, “What, what’s so funny what did I miss?” Everyone just shook their heads and assure him it was nothing. “You know this doesn’t make me believe in the conspiracy that everyone’s working against me, any less. If anything, you, you’re just adding fuel to the fire.”

Casey shut the door to her office and locked it, closing the blinds tight.

Liv rubbed her eyes, “Case, I gotta tell you baby, I’m exhausted.”

“I know,” Casey kissed her gently and rubbed her shoulders then steered the detective towards the couch. “I figured my couch was more comfortable than the crib.” She kicked off her heeled boots and made room for Liv to come join her. “Plus, this way I get to hold you, and the door is locked so you won’t get startled.”

Liv crawled over her girlfriend and wedged herself between her and the back of the couch, wrapping her arm and leg around her, squeezing tight. She was exhausted, they had been up since the night before with this case, but Captain wasn’t letting anyone go home until they made some headway on this. Casey reached over the brunette and pulled the blanket down off the back of the couch and covered them with it. She laid soft strokes up and down Liv’s arm with the tips of fingers and pressed her lips to her forehead and held them there for a moment before she kissed lightly and then pressed her cheek against the side of the detectives head and pulled her close. She could feel Liv’s breathing shift indicating that she had fallen asleep. The attorney watched her girlfriend’s chest rise and fall, she looked so peaceful.

“I love you, Olivia.” Casey whispered and kissed her head again. “I wish I could tell you.” Every second spent with Olivia was the happiest moment of her life, even when it wasn’t. Even when it was sad, or upsetting, or the case was spiraling out of control, all she had to do was look at Liv and feel at ease. That was the first time she ever said it out loud, not that her lover heard her. She wouldn’t dare say it then. Everything was going so good, she didn’t want to fuck it up. She dozed off alongside the brunette detective.

Casey stirred about an hour later to Liv kissing her neck. She grinned and stretched, giving the detective more access to her neck. “Mmm I should let you nap in my office more often.”

“Mmm, yes, very refreshing. Better than a cup of coffee.” The brunette smiled as she planted a long tender kiss on her girlfriend.

Casey brought her hand up to cup Liv’s face and deepened the kiss. She let out a sigh as she felt the detective slip her hand down below her waistline. “Babe.” A smile that could only be described as one of pleasure creeped across her face, “we can’t.” The redhead let out another soft sigh and a light moan as Liv continued to tease her. She grabbed her lover’s wrist and looked her square in the eye, “I need you to either fuck me right now or stop what you’re doing.”

“Gladly,” the detective hummed and pulled the ADA underneath her.

                Casey sat up on couch and slid her boots back on as she watched Olivia tighten her belt and adjust her watch.

                “What?” Liv looked up as she was fastening her sleeve buttons, “Did I miss a belt loop or something?” She looked down.

                The younger woman shook her head, her cheeks getting red, even still Liv gave her butterflies. “No,” she said breathlessly, “you’re just beautiful.”

                The brunette leaned over Casey on the couch and kissed her, biting her lip softly before pulling back to meet her gaze, “You’ve pretty stunning yourself, Counselor.” She lingered for a minute before heading towards the door, looking back at her girlfriend one last time before turning the handle. The detective continued to fumble with the buttons on her shirt as she walked out almost walking straight into Munch.

                “Olivia,” the startled detective smiled, “what happened spilled something on your shirt?”

                Realizing she was still half unbuttoned pulled her shirt closed with her fist, “Uhm yea, something like that. I got it out though.” Liv shifted nervously, “Going see Casey? I gotta get back to work.” She motioned the thumb of her free hand back towards her desk.

                “Be careful, Detective. The coffee machine’s on the fritz and looks like your shirt can’t take another hit.” He called out, pointing with the folder in his hand as Liv kept walking. He knocked on the ADAs door.

                “Come in,” Casey called out, “Hey John!” she smiled as he walked through the door, “what’ve you got?”

                “Hey Casey, I just have Huang’s report for you to file before you go to the judge.” Munch walked forward and handed her the file. “Ouch, counselor I don’t think the vanity is worth it. Besides your hair looks nice curly. Platonically speaking of course—you’re not my type.” He straightened his tie.

                The redhead looked at him baffled, “John, I’m not following.” She chuckled. “Did you break into the evidence locker?”

                “Oh,” he waved his hand at her and then motioned to his own neck, “the burn, from your straightener. Looks like it hurts.”

                Casey clasped her hand over her neck and leaned on her elbow. “Huh, yeah, well you know. Lack of sleep.” She chuckled nervously.

                “Do me a favor, don’t operate any heavy machinery.” Munch gave a mock salute and walked out.

                “I deserved that,” Casey muttered under her breath after he left, “payback is a girlfriend with a hickey.”

*******

                “Their seven-year-old daughter? That sounds a bit imprudent.” Judge Taft said as Casey and Gates followed him down the hall.

                “Rittenhouse v. North Hempstead found a three-year-old wasn’t automatically presumed incompetent to testify.” Casey argued.

                “Ah, but you’re in my court now.” Taft’s voice dripping with self-importance.

                “And another case disqualified a seven-year-old witness. It’s completely subjective.” Quipped Gates.

                “Which is why,” Casey was growing impatient, “a psychiatrist examined Katie Campbell and that she understands her duty to tell the truth.”

                “I’m sure the people won't mind if I determine that myself.” Taft stated, his grin was sickening.

                “That’s not necessary Your Honor.” The ADA shook her head, assuring her the proper procedure had been followed.

                “But again, it’s in my court.”

*******

                Olivia stood over the stove stirring the cast iron while Casey stood at the counter furiously chopping up a bell pepper.

                “And then, THEN,” she was practically slamming the knife against the cutting board, “he told me that I needed to dress appropriately.” She stopped chopping and turned towards her girlfriend.

                Liv stopped stirring and turned to look at her girlfriend up and down. “What do you mean appropriately? That suit is perfectly tailored?”

                He said, “By appropriately, I mean in a skirt.” She was swinging her chopping hand as she spoke.

                “Woah, woah, why don’t we put that down.” She carefully clasped the redhead’s wrist between her hands and slid the knife away from Casey as if she were disarming a suspect.

                “Sorry, that’s probably best. I might hurt myself, you know like how I burned myself with my straightener this morning?” her tone shifted to mockingly accusatory and flipped her hair away from her shoulder.

                The brunette gasped, “Jesus baby I’m sorry! I didn’t think it would be that bad, I was just trying to get you back for the one you gave me the day of that softball game.” She chuckled.

                Casey mocked her laugh making a goofy face at her. “Hilarious babe,” she tossed a mushroom at her, “Especially when I had to have it pointed out by Munch! Who by the way is the only one still in the dark about us, totally clueless.”

                The detective wrapped her arms around her girlfriend’s waist and leaned into her propping her head up on her shoulder. “I’m sorry Taft is being such a misogynist,” she tightened her hold, “You’re gonna kick ass in court.” She kissed her neck.

                “Ahh, hey!” the redhead swatted playfully at her and pulled her head to the side, “You’ve done enough damage for one day, Detective.” She giggled and leaned her head back to kiss Liv enthusiastically.

*******

                “Its open!” Casey called out, pouring more whiskey into her glass as Liv walked in the door.   

                “Swearability hearing went that badly huh?” the detective furrowed her brow, worried to find her girlfriend drinking alone on the couch.

                “Worse. He basically told me I embarrassed myself and shouldn’t brag about my lack of intellect.” The redhead put the bottle down and waved her hand in its general direction, “Don’t worry I don’t plan on making a habit out of it.”

                The brunette dropped the takeout down on the counter and dropped down next to Casey on the couch, “Well that’s a relief.” She motioned for Casey to swing her legs up over her. She slid the redheads boots off and dropped them to the floor. “Still, I’m sorry that he’s being such an ass.” Liv started to massage the counselor’s feet. “Elliot told me he’s gotta testify that he didn’t coerce her.”                

                The ADA took a swig of her drink and threw her head back, “Uggh Liv, why are you so good at that?”

                The brunette grinned, “I’m just, good with my hands.”

                Casey quirked her brow, letting out a low moan, “Mmm, that you are Detective, that you are.” She opened one eye to look at her girlfriend who was looking at her adoringly, “I see the way you’re looking at me.” She closed her eyes again.

                “Oh yeah and how’s that?” Liv chuckled, continuing to massage, working out a particularly difficult knot.

                The redhead smacked the couch and let out a moan, “Ohhhh, G-d that feels good. You’re spoiling me.” She peaked her eye open again, “And you’re looking at me the way you look at a container of honey chicken, hungry.”

                “Is that so?” The brunette smirked, “I mean cause I have honey chicken over there on the counter…”

                “You could have me on the counter,” Casey bit her lip.

                “Why would I do that,” Liv paused, the ADA picked her head up, the brunette was waiting for her shocked reaction before continuing, “when I can have you right here on the sofa.” She got a good grip on her thighs and pulled Casey down the couch to her.

                Casey squealed, “Babe, my drink!” she quickly dropped the glass to the coffee table, laughing. The detective was already pulling the attorney’s jeans down around her ankles and tossing them in the corner next to a pile of law journals.

                The brunette pulled Casey up to her to kiss her longingly, she could taste the whiskey on her tongue mixed with desire. The redhead moaned and then broke the kiss to catch her breath. “You kill me detective,” her eyes glistened, staring into Liv’s. She pressed a light kiss to her lips, “little deaths.” She sighed. She kissed her hard, running her fingers down the side of the brunette’s face. She allowed herself to fall back onto the couch pulling the cop down on top her, unbuttoning Liv’s shirt button by button.

*******

                Elliot sat in the witness box during the Hudy hearing ordered by Judge Taft. He swore that there was no influence on Katie’s statement and that the girl introduced her mother to the conversation without any prompting. Gates accused him of having a vendetta against Karen Campbell for comments taken out context. Upon stepping down from the witness box, Elliot started to walk away as Taft went ahead and ruled the testimony inadmissible.

                “This is a joke,” Elliot scoffed as he headed towards the back of the courtroom.

                “I beg your pardon, Detective Stabler,” Taft asked sternly?

                “I said this is a joke!” The detective turned back towards the judge.

                “You’d be wise to remember no one cares what you think, once you leave that box.” Taft’s words fell pointedly.

                “That interview wasn’t suggestive,” Elliot muttered walking back towards the bench.

                “Elliot, stop.” Casey raised her voice.

                He continued, “You’re just one of these judges that think cops strong arm witnesses just to make a case. What you think I just bullied a seven-year-old into lying?” He turned to walk away again.

                “Elliot, leave!” Casey commanded, she was trying to protect him and not blow her case at the same time.

                “No Elliot stay,” Taft scoffed, “You’re in contempt.”

                Casey went down to the holding cells to check on her friend, “You alright?”

                “Yeah great, thanks for getting me a couple hours off.” He said sarcastically.

                The redhead laughed incredulously, “You are not blaming this on me.”

                “Well, you did let that defense attorney trash me pretty good in court.”

                The ADA threw her hand up in protest, “Yeah and that stunt you pulled. That’s gonna ensure Taft screws me at trial but hey at least you still have your ego, right?”

                “You bail me out to talk about my ego?” the detective quipped back at her.

                “I did not get you out of there!” Casey rolled her eyes.

                “I called in a favor,” Mary Clark stared at the two of them, arms folded, “The contempt citation is withdrawn. So, if you could possibly stop acting like a petulant child.” She turned her attention to the young attorney, “And you, you need to start playing nice with Oliver Taft.”

                Stabler looked back at Casey, “And you’re worried about my ego. This guy abuses his power and gets away with it.”

                Mary cut him off, “You didn’t help anybody by mouthing off to the trial judge.” She looked back at her protégé, “This isn’t law school Casey, pick your battles. Winning is more important than wearing a skirt.”

*******

                Liv and Casey were lying in bed, the redhead snuggled up in the detective’s arms, staring out into space. The brunette stroked her back, “I can’t believe you asked Taft to recuse himself.”

                “I really fucked myself this time I think.” The anxiety in Casey’s voice was clear. “Why did I do that?”

                “Baby, you did it because you knew it was the right thing. That judge is never going to be impartial and was never going to get justice for that little girl.”

                “He still won’t,” Casey sat up, crossing her legs, and facing her girlfriend. “All I’ve done is ensure that he hates me and will do everything to make sure that I have a hard time prosecuting this case.”

                “What did Mary say?”

                The redhead sighed, “She said I was insane for asking an ego maniac to recuse himself and all I did was make myself an enemy.”

                “What are you gonna do?” Liv followed suit and sat up, taking the ADAs hand to comfort her, “It’s not like you can get him thrown off the bench.”

                “Maybe I can…”

******

                Elliot chased Casey down as she headed to court, “Hey I think I’ve got something that even Taft can’t ignore.”

                She furrowed her brow at him, “What is it?”

                “The records from the adoption agency the Campbells used. They tried to give Alexis back.”

                The redhead nearly fell out, “What? When?”

                “February of this year, only 6 months after her adoption. Wouldn’t hurt her my ass, that’s such bull.”

                The ADA smirked knowing Elliot may have found her a smoking gun.

*****

                It was no use even with the mountain of evidence, Taft’s bias completely controlled the courtroom as he acquitted Karen Campbell. Casey felt so defeated as she walked out of the courthouse, if it was a fair fight, maybe she would’ve felt better about losing. She walked over to Elliot.

                “I’m sorry,” she frowned and tapped him with her briefcase.

                “Don’t be, I know you went to the mat on this one. Sometimes it just doesn’t work out.” His hands shoved deep into the pockets of his trench coat.

                “I want Taft off the bench.” She looked Elliot square in the eye.

                Elliot ran his hand down her arm, “and I want a ’65 stingray.” He said consolingly.

                “I’m serious,” she said as the detective had turned to walk away, “I’m going after him.”

                “Casey,” he exhaled, “It’s not worth it, what good does it do, to kill your career?”

                “If this is justice, I don’t want this career.”

                The detective looked at her concerned, “I’m just worried about you putting yourself in a bad position, I’d hate to see you get dragged down because of this bastard.” He grinned, “Besides who’s going to play softball with me when they fire your ass.” He punched her arm playfully.

*****

                Liv was zoned out at her desk working on DD-5s, the background noise of Munch spewing conspiracies at Fin and Cragen practically lulling her to sleep. She was nodding off halfway through a sentence when she felt a presence next to her desk, “Elliot for the last time I do not want a dirty water dog for lunch today.”

                “I’m not gonna ask why Elliot has asked you that more than once today.” Casey joked.

                The detective’s ears perked up and she leaned her head to the side, looking at the tall, gorgeous litigator leaning up against her desk. “Hey Da—DA Novak. ADA Casey. Hey Casey, what’s up?” Liv was about twenty shades of blushing after almost letting that nickname slip at the office.

                Casey leaned down, cleared her throat, and lowered her voice, “Daddy needs a favor.”

                “What’s wrong, Case?” She could tell there was a sense of urgency in her girlfriend’s voice.

                “I need you to help me talk to Cragen about reopening the Rosalind Silvo case. I know in my bones that there was bias on Judge Taft’s part and there was evidence to prove she was innocent…” the redhead pleaded.

                “…But Taft wouldn’t pay for the test.”

                “Exactly! If I can get Cragen to reopen the case, the DA’s office doesn’t have to go through the same channels, I can get permission to exhume the body, clear Silvo, and screw Taft to the wall.” Casey rambled, having to take a deep breath when she finally stopped speaking.

                “Well, I would like to hope I’m the only person you’re screwing against the wall but let me see the case notes and then we can go talk to him together.” Olivia chuckled, waving her hand for Casey to show her the files.

                Liv filled Elliot in and then the three of them brought it to Cragen’s attention, “Casey I’d love to help get an innocent woman out of prison, but I don’t have the manpower to fuel a vendetta.”

                “Its not really that much work boss, I think we got it covered,”

                Cragen shot him a look, “Well thank you for being such a real helper, Elliot.”

                Casey pleaded, hoping her puppy eyes would work on Cragen the way they work on Liv and Elliot, “It’s two interviews, if nothing pans out, I swear I’ll drop it.”

*****

                Liv walked out of the coffee shop and handed one to her girlfriend who was waiting for her on the sidewalk.

                “Thanks. It was a little too crowded in there for me.” Casey reached over and interlinked her fingers with the brunette’s. Her hand was a shaking, not something she’d attempted to do in public before.

                The detective tensed up, “Casey, what if someone sees us?”

                “I’m not ashamed,” she stopped and pulled the brunette’s hand turning her to face her. “I’m proud to say I’m with you, Olivia Benson.”

                Any fear Liv had at this point was washed away with Casey’s words and the adorable little dimples the redhead got when she smiled. She squeezed the attorney’s hand tighter and pulled her in close. “And I am all yours, Counselor. I wasn’t trying to hide you, I just want to keep you safe.”

                Casey smirked and leaned in to kiss the brunette, “Maybe you’ve forgotten how good I am with a bat.” She turned and started to walk again, holding her girlfriend’s hand tight with one hand, and sipping her coffee with the other.

                “You go talk to Mary, I’ll hang back here. I’m gonna check in with the house.” Liv stated as they got closer to the judge’s apartment. Casey nodded and started to walk away, the brunette pulling her back and into a quick kiss before letting her go. She wasn’t going to feel ashamed to show anyone how much Casey meant to her anymore. She watched as the redhead walked down the block and couldn’t help but stare at how good she looked in that outfit, how her hips swayed back and forth. She chewed on her lip and was startled by the phone ringing.

                “Benson. Hey El I was just about to check in. Yeah, I’m good, I’m just waiting for Casey, she’s talking with Judge Clark.”

                Judge Clark walked out of her apartment just to find Casey waiting for her. “I don’t know how I can be more clear,” she was sympathetic but not up for taking on Taft.

                The ADA smirked, “Rosalin Silvo is innocent, here’s the M.E. report.” She handed Mary the file Olivia had gotten from Warner. “Taft let his bias run that courtroom, same crap he always does but this time, he stole a woman’s life.”

                Mary scanned the report, her face dropped, and she looked up at Casey, “That son of a bitch. He’s an embarrassment to the bench.”

                “I’ll worry about him as soon as I get Rosalin Silvo out of jail.”

*****

                After hearing the evidence Judge Preston spoke, “I have to agree with counsel, the only possible remedy is to vacate Ms. Silvo’s conviction. We’re adjourned.” She stated with the bang of her gavel.

                 Rosalin, with tears of joy in her eyes, hugged Mary, and Casey, thanking them before hugging her other child tightly. The ADA and Judge Clark gathered up their things and headed for the door as Taft approached them.

                “Well Judge Clark its good to see you haven’t lost sight of your humble beginnings as a legal aid attorney. Ms. Novak, are you going to be coming through all the decisions I’ve made.” He scoffed.

                “That depends,” she started, “how many other defendant’s have you falsely convicted?”

                “History is full of mistakes Ms. Novak, even your short history.” His tone was aggressive.

                Mary stepped in between him and Casey. “You’re not threatening her, are you? Some people might consider that conduct unbecoming of an officer of the court. You can’t bully your way out of this Oliver.” She gave him a smug look knowing she could tear him down in an instant.

                Casey did her best to hide her enjoyment of this exchange when her cellphone rang. “Casey Novak.” Her heart sank, “Oh G-d.”

*****

                The ADA ran up to the scene as she approached the Campbell household. She stopped at the stairs as she saw the small body being carried out, covered in a white sheet. “Why wasn’t she in the hospital?” she demanded, her voice raw with emotion as her eyes met Elliot, who was exiting the building.

                “Released.” He walked towards her, “Parent’s didn’t want her in a nursing home. The aunt dropped by, found Alexis in her bed already dead.” He paused for a second, “Casey,” he took a deep breath, “Karen was the only one home.”

                “She finished the job.” Casey muttered as Olivia emerged from the doorway with Karen Campbell in cuffs, she was reading her, her Miranda rights as they walked past.

*****

                “Hey, you okay?” Casey was leaning against the door of the call room.

“Hey babe, I’m fine. Is her lawyer here?” Liv lifted her head up.

“No, no not yet it’s okay lay back down.” The redhead walked over and laid down on the cot next to the detective. She pulled Liv’s arm tight around her.

“Baby, you okay?” Liv mumbled into Casey’s back. She was met with silent sobs causing Casey’s body to shake against her. The brunette lifted her head up, “Baby what is it?”

“This is my fault.”

“How could you possibly…”

“I should’ve fought harder to get Taft thrown off the case, off the bench, something! I should’ve done more.”

“Case, you are only one assistant district attorney, and while you are wonderful and gorgeous and intelligent, not to mention compassionate beyond rivaling— you are only one human being.”

                Elliot rapped on the doorframe, “Hey guys, Gates is here, showtime.”

                Casey wiped her tears and stood up straighten out her blazer and the three of them headed down to the interrogation room.

                “What happened,” Elliot sat down and opened his notepad, “You miss us?”

                “You can’t charge my client with murder for a crime she was already acquitted of.” Gates spouted, demanding the release of the client.

                “Unless we’re talking about two separate acts, which we are. Right Karen?” Olivia stated closing the door behind her. “Alexis was suffocated, the poisoning had nothing to do with her death.”

                Casey studied Gates face, he had no idea what his client had done. He was as shocked as they were.

                “I didn’t want to bring her home. Pete insisted. She wouldn’t stop crying, I just wanted her to stop. It wasn’t my fault!

                “What you gonna claim it was an accident again?” Elliot clapped back at her.

                “No! The judge said I should do it.”

                Casey tilted her head, “What Judge?”

                “Judge Taft.” The ADA shot a look at Gates as Karen continued, “He said Alexis was too sick and I had other children to think about. He said we would all be better off if Alexis just died.”

                Olivia looked at her girlfriend in disbelief.

“When did he say this to you?” the redhead pressed.

“The other day in court right before I testified.”

Gates jumped up, “Interview is over, everyone out.”

“What the hell was Taft doing talking to her anyway?” Elliot asked.

“Hanging himself,” Casey scoffed. “The bastard’s done now.”

“Doesn’t that nullify her acquittal,” Liv jumped in.

The redhead nodded, “Sure does not that it matters, we’ve got her on homicide.”

A few minutes later he met the ADA and the detectives outside the interview. “I just want you to know I had no knowledge of this ex-parte or as an officer of the court I would’ve been duty bound to tell you immediately.”

“What did he say?” Casey demanded.

“Apparently, he saw her crying and told her to think of her other kids and maybe they would be better off if Alexis died anyway and then he advised her to get psychiatric help so that this kind of thing wouldn’t happen again. Which I think is a fine idea.”

“Book her and go pick up Taft,” Casey stated as she gathered her things.

“On what grounds,” Cragen questioned.

“Criminal Facilitation Two. He told her to get a shrink which means he knew this was no accident and acquitting her gave her the means and opportunity to commit a Class A felony.”

“He has judicial immunity Casey,” Cragen spoke softly.

“He smoked his judicial immunity the minute he had an ex parte communication with the defendant.” The redhead said as she stormed out of the precinct.

*****

                “I don’t think I’ve every been this nervous.” Casey said checking over her appearance in the mirror. “I cannot lose this case.”

                Liv came up behind her and kissed her neck, “You’re gonna do great baby. C’mon,” she turned her around and straightened the lapel of her jacket, “Everyone knows my Daddy has the best conviction rate in town, and she isn’t scared of anyone, definitely not some old man named Oliver Taft.” She pulled her collar tight and kissed the redhead. “I know you’re already dressed but I think I know how to calm you down.”  She smiled slyly.

                “Mmm, do you now?” Casey raised her brow and bit her lip.

                Liv nodded, sliding the redhead’s suit jacket off and placing it on the counter, “Mhmm yeah. Watch.” she said sliding her tongue into her mouth.

The attorney enthralled in the kiss grabbed for her girlfriend’s belt buckle fumbling to get it undone and get Liv’s fly down. She slid her hand down into the brunette’s waistband as her lover had moved on to kissing down her pulse points. Casey felt how wet Olivia already was and let out a sultry giggle, “Mmm, I’m starting to think I just keep you like this twenty-four/seven. Let Daddy fix it.” She moaned sliding a finger in and pressing her palm to Liv’s clit.

The detective fumbled with Casey’s suit pants as she let out little whimpers which Casey swallowed, kissing her hard. Finally getting them undone, the attorney used her freehand to grab her girlfriends wrist and pull it to her, sliding it down into her boxers. Liv glided two fingers into Casey’s soaked center and thrust her back against the counter.

The ADA threw her head back, “Oh god Olivia! Fuck” she slipped another finger into the detective. The two of them mewling and whimpering as they continued toying with each other’s g-spots. They knew each other’s body’s like clockwork, enough to make it last for hours or make the other cum instantly. Their breath hitching and growing ragged they both knew what was coming next and let go, collapsing against each other and back against the counter.

Casey held Liv’s head against her shoulder and kissed her temple, both of them out of breath. “You make the prettiest noises when I fuck you.”

******

                As they arrived at the courthouse Casey was much more relaxed. She was hurriedly headed towards the courtroom when she heard someone call out to her.

                “Hey Novak! Catch.” She turned around to see Elliot lob something in her direction. She caught it one handed and looked at it.

                “What’s this for?” she said quizzingly.

                “It’s cologne Case, you smell like sex. Keep it,” he headed in, “Knock em dead!”

                As the trial proceeded the prosecution called Taft as their first witness.

                “Is that why you spoke to Karen during her trial, because you thought she was innocent.” The ADA asked casually.

                Taft paused for a second and took a deep breath, “I admit the conversation was ill-advised. We were in the same elevator, she was distraught. I allowed my empathy to overrule my intellect.” Elliot rolled his eyes from the gallery as Taft spoke.

                “Did it every occur to you that Karen Campbell might be responsible for her daughters condition?” Casey continued.

                “I must object, Your Honor.” Taft argued.

                “You felt sorry for the defendant, so you must’ve already decided she was innocent even though the trial had not concluded yet.”

                “I had formed no opinion,” Taft retorted, “as you just said the trial had not yet concluded.”

                “I know,” the redhead swung her hand as she walked over to the jury box. “Which is why it was so strange that you were talking to her. Why did you tell the defendant to quote seek psychiatric help, so this tragedy doesn’t occur again.”

                “She was upset,” the judge answered.

                “Because it sounds like you really did think she poisoned her daughter.” Casey was getting louder, more adamant in how she spoke.

                “It was a mistake, is that what you want me to say Ms. Novak? One mistake in almost three decades?”

                Casey sneered, “Didn’t you make an arguably bigger mistake? When you wrongfully convicted Rosalin Silvo of murdering her daughter and sent her to prison for ten years?” The ADA was shouting at this point.

                “That is completely immaterial,” The Judge argued.

                The redhead stepped to him, “You can’t object Judge Taft.”

                “But I can Ms. Novak,” Judge Bradley warned.

                “Did you tell Karen Campbell to suffocate her daughter?” Casey walked back towards the jury.

                “No.”

                “But you talked to her even though it was clearly improper,”

                “It was a mistake!”

 “You don’t make mistakes, you make judgements, who’s innocent, who’s guilty. You saw Rosalin Silvo and she was a whore. That means she’s a bad mother. And then you saw Karen Campbell. Why did you talk to her Judge?” Casey was furious at this point.

“Your Honor!?” Taft turned towards Judge Bradley.

“Why talk to her? Why talk to Karen Campbell?” the young fiery attorney pressed as Taft stood up in the witness box. “Why talk to a woman who tried to murder her daughter?”

“I didn’t know!”

“Didn’t know what?” Casey shouted, “That she’d turn around and try to do it again.”

“I THOUGHT THEY WERE GOOD PEOPLE” Taft bellowed at Casey.

Judge Bradley banged his gavel, “That’s enough!”

“Nothing further,” the redhead’s lip curled as she walked away.

It didn’t take the Jury long to come back with a guilty verdict. The press was outside waiting for Taft as both Elliot and Casey watched satisfied from afar. He had been demoted before he even left the courtroom. The detective nudged the ADA, “You did good Case.” She nudged him back and smiled.

*****

                “It’s open,” Casey said as she heard her girlfriend approach the door. She was sitting at the counter. “Hey beautiful.”

                Liv walked over and planted a longing kiss on the redhead.

                “Mmm,” Casey couldn’t help but smile at the brunette’s touch. “I have something for you.”

                “You do?” The detective asked, “What is it? Something sexy?”

                Casey giggled, “I hope you think so.” She looked up at Liv, “so you know how you always say how unsafe it is for me to leave my door unlocked when waiting for you? I think I’ve found a solution.” She slid her hand across the counter towards her girlfriend and lifted it away revealing a singular house key. “What do you think?”

Read Part 7

[raeedioheadd]

IN RAINBOWS - CHAPTER 3

summary: fun hang out day gone WRONG!! (NOT CLICKBAIT..)

warnings: mentions of death

word count: 3.4k

sadly, the week has reset and monday has rolled back around. the universe has odd ways of punishing us, and also giving us gifts.

punishment: two tests this week– both math.

gifts: dad comes back this week!

i could get through the week before dad got home, but my main issue hadn’t even rolled around yet. i’d deal with that later, i thought, starting the first stage of procrastination.

i did my usual morning routine: showering, feeding the animals and making sure everything was locked before leaving the house and starting my walk to school. by no means was i an active person, but the walk to and from school was nice– rejuvenating, even. i put my headphones on as i walked in the surprisingly cool air to school, listening to my favorite music.

upon walking into the courtyard, i was pleasantly surprised to see jon and damian. it then dawned on me that i did in fact forget to ask them what school they went to. jon's gaze landed on me scarily fast and he was quick to wave me over and call my name.

"hey!" i said, offering the blue eyed boy a smile. i gave damian a small wave just to be nice. surprisingly, he gave me a nod. "i didn't know you guys went here," i said sitting down next to them. "oh, uh, we just uh.." jon trailed off, giving damian time to interject. "i just transferred here." he spoke, jon sighing in relief. weird. whatever, he was probably just a fidgety guy. jon quickly smiled again, leaning back and crossing his arms. "so," he said, tilting his head and making his glasses slide down his nose. "have you always gone here?" he asked, his full attention at me. "maybe i should ask if you've lived in metropolis all your life.." he murmured, making me laugh slightly. "yes, and no." i said, watching him perk up ever so slightly. "i've been going to metropolis for a few years now, but when i was younger my dad and i moved around a lot." i shrugged, leaning against the wall behind me.

"where were you born?" jon asks, leaning forward once more. "oh, uh, i think somewhere in star city? i don't actually know. i think i was norn there, then i moved to gotham, then here and back to gotham before coming back and settling down in metropolis." i explained, making eye contact with damian for a breif moment. "anyway," i pause, setting my bag in my lap and hugging it. "what about you, speks?" i quip, causing the black haired boy to let out a huff.

"i was born and raised in smallville on a cozy farm, thank you very much." he said, looking over at damian. "your turn!" he beamed, poking his side and causing damian to scowl. "I was born in iran before moving to gotham when i was around 10 or 11 years old. is that to your standards?" he asks, glaring at the both of us. "do you speak any other languages?" i hum, standing up as the passing period bell rings. damian stands up after i do and jon soon follows, stretching his body out. "i speak arabic, so yes." he answers as i look over at jon and realize how actually tall he is. i stood at just about 5'5, so if i had to guess, they were both a bit over six feet.

"so you're tall, and big, and he's rich and can speak two languages? i feel a bit unaccomplished now." i joke, popping my neck as we begin walking. "it's just genetics! you should see my dad, he's bigger than i am!" jon exclaims, fixing his glasses. before i could say anything in response, jon stopped me. "i'm surprised you haven't like.. recognized him yet." he spoke, looking between me and damian. i looked over at him and narrowed my eyes for a moment before realizing. this is bruce wayne's blood son. "okay?" i asked, shrugging slightly. "he's rich, cool." i say, brushing the topic off before returning to the previous one. "i don't need to see your dad," i chuckle, glancing at the boy for a moment, "i've seen bruce wayne already, and his kid is walking right next to us. i'm just insanely unathletic." i shrug, giving damian a grin as he rolls his eyes. jon pouts.

"i dunno! i think if you were a guy you'd still be the same-- not that it's a bad thing!" he blurts out, waving his arms around to get his point across. "i think what this idiot is trying to say is that your current demeanor fits you." damian interjects, sighing to himself. i laugh and take out my phone, checking the time. "okay, i'm gonna head this way before i'm late to my class," i say, giving them both a wobbly smile, "see you guys later?" i ask, watching both boys nod as they walk off towards their classes. for a moment, a bit of relief flashed on damian's face. maybe he was glad i didn't freak out over him being rich. i'll definitely be abusing the rich friend privelage later.

i send my dad a few texts before i walk into my classroom and put my phone up, not ready to sit through the class period. the late bell rang a few moments later, and my teacher was quick to begin his lecture. as the class went on, i couldn't help but let my mind wander to sundown as i doodled in my notebook. back when i was in elementary school, he'd gone on his first spree. at the time, that was unusual for him, and it took the police a while to link the spree to the scattered murders that happened around the country. he'd hit jump city and star city, and apparently he tried to hit gotham as well, but he was ultimately scared off by the bat. so why was he back? what could he gain? was he egotistical? did he think that if he started killing again, it would be the same? that the police wouldn't be able to track him down and fail like they did the first time? these were questions i was sure i'd never get answers to. if he was egotistical, he definitely got a reality check if he saw the news the past few days.

sundown has a unique way of killing; each victim has a slit on the side of their cheek. think jigsaw; always cutting out a puzzle piece from his victims. like a signature. the rest was still classified information by the police, but a part of me feels like thats as far as they've gotten. clearly though, he was an idiot. why would he stay in metropolis? that just slims down the amount of people it could be. it could be someone from gotham, or strictly metropolis. i sighed to myself quietly, deciding to forget about it for now. in our day in age, sundown would be lucky if he got another year without being caught. we literally have a group of birds working under a bat the next city over; anything's possible.

class ended soon after and my next two classes were just reviewing for tests. walking into my english class, i saw mr. graham helping some cheerleader with her essay. i wasn't one for stereotypes, but God were some of these girls struggling. how do you manage to stay on the cheer team with a sixty-nine in every class? i spent the entire class on my phone texting laila, who was raving about damian wayne going to our school. lunch rolled around and i once again met her in the library, and she was high. again. who would've thought?

"why is he going here? i mean, this isn't a bad school, but you know. he's like, really rich. like really really rich." she says, twirling her fading purple hair between her fingers. "i dunno, don't ask me." i say, skimming through a book. "you never know anything," she pouts, sinking back in her chair, "i could've sworn i saw you talking to him and some other guy earlier!" she huffs, kicking her foot against the floor like a child. "i know one thing, actually." i say, giving her a pointed look. "your boyfriend is that way," i point, watching her turn around, "and you are going to go that way and leave me alone so i can go home." i finish, pushing her slightly as she drags her feet over to her boyfriend. what an odd girl.

just as i was going to put up my book and leave, my two new friends waltzed into the library. jon whispered my name before speed walking over to me, damian following suit. "what are you doing?" jon asks, his fluffy hair slightly falling over his glasses. "oh, i was just about to leave." i say, zipping up my bag. "is it your lunch period?" i ask, watching the blue eyed boy's brows furrow as damian finds a seat at the table we were at. "um, yeah, but what do you mean leave? do you go get lunch somewhere else?" he questions, almost reminding me of a baby puppy. i quietly laugh and shake my head, deciding to sit back down and humor the boy before i go home and nap for the rest of the morning. "i only take four classes. i already finished most of my core classes and credit requirements, so i get to go home and snooze all i want." i grin, watching his jaw drop in faux astonishment. "lucky! i mean, i'm doing good in my classes, but i waited too long to do the hard ones." he sighed, sitting down and pressing his cheek against the table. "i told you that you'd regret it. now look at you." damian spoke up, a glint of amusement in his eyes.

i tilt my head, shifting my attention to the ever so stoic boy. "have you guys known each other for a while?" i ask, tucking my hands under my thighs and kicking my feet. "something like that. our dads have known each other for a while and introduced us when we were like, i dunno, eight?" jon says, looking towards damian for confirmation. the boy nods, and i cant help but notice how easily they flow off one another. even earlier on in the day while we were talking, they talked to one another like they had seen the inner depths of the other's soul. shaking my head, i pulled myself back to reality. "that's nice. my friend can't ever come to school sober." i grumble, causing jon to give me a confused look. he brushes the comment off nonetheless. "you should hang out with us today! i need to go clothes shopping anyway." jon says, sitting up and looking at me with a big smile. "okay, fine. what time?" i ask, grabbing my phone. "also, put in your phone number. i doubt i'll be awake if it's before three." i say, sliding my phone over so jon can put it in. he mumbles something about not remembering it so damian snatches the phone and puts his in instead. we end up making plans for five, and then the bell rings.

walking home after that felt oddly lonely. and the feeling of being alone in itself was odd enough. i was used to being alone in the sense that i had all i needed-- my dad, my pets, and laila. even though she was a handful, i loved her. but now i had new people in my life, and i didn't know if they would stay. i had a hard time keeping friends since i was, well, a bit of a recluse and more than a bit boring, but with jon and damain, it seemed like it didn't really matter, and it was nice.

upon walking into my house, i was bombarded by buddy who was happy to see me. i give him a few pets before sending him off with a treat to distract him. i made my way upstairs and changed into a tshirt and pajama shorts and put my outfit for later on my desk before flopping on my bed. kiwi, being jostled by the bounce of the bed, meows in disdain before marching over to me and curling up. "night, kiwi." i murmur, pulling the blankets over me and falling asleep.

****

it's three o'clock when i wake up next. i groan, opening my eyes to see kiwi peering right down at me. she lets out a small meow and i sit up, rubbing the sleep from my face. "what? you hungry?" i ask, taking the feline into my hands and walking out into the hall. i didn't take a long time to get ready, so i could laze around for a bit longer before having to get ready.

after making my way downstairs with kiwi in my arms, i set the little ball of fluff on the counter before going to rummage through the fridge. god, my dad ate some of the nastiest food sometimes. hummus, hummus, and..more hummus. luckily foe me though, i found a lunchable in the back of the fridge. take it or leave it, i guess.

the lunchable was nothing but delectable– i'd have to make a mental note to tell dad to get some more the next time he went grocery shopping. checking the time, i decided it was time for me to get ready. kiwi followed close behind me as i went back up to my room only to see buddy laid across my bed. i gave him a few pets before changing into a simple pair of shorts and a tshirt; i wasn't gonna dress up for two random guys i just met. well, they're not random, but you know what i mean. by the time i was done putting hairspray and heat protectant in my hair, jon was blowing up my phone telling me they were here.

"okay, kiwi, buddy," i spoke, setting kiwi next to the doberman that was currently laying on my bed, "be good, okay? i'll be back later." i coo, backing out of my room and leaving the door open. i leave my house and see an unsurprisingly expensive car sitting on the roadside, presumably damian's. this didn't surprise me– of course his dad bought him a porsche. jon peeked his head out the window, beaming at me. he reminded me yet again of a puppy. "hi! hi!" he exclaimed, watching as i got in. "where are we going?" i ask, watching jon look at damian and the green eyed boy respond with a shrug. "oh..i thought you knew." jon said, looking at damian without a thought behind his eyes. "uh, well, we can always just watch movies in my house and go to the mall or something later." i suggest, looking between the two. damian looks over at jon for confirmation who nods in agreement. damian pulls the key out of the ignition and we all get out and walk to my door. "oh, i have a dog and a cat by the way. buddy won't bite; he's police trained. he may bark though," i say, humming at the last bit. damian seems a bit intrigued, his eyes scanning my home as they both follow me inside.

"cozy," damian says, his gaze following every corner the house has. "thanks." i reply, leading them upstairs. buddy perks up upon seeing the two new guests, while kiwi continues to flick her tail. "okay, guys. i want my bed back." i say, gently ushering both animals off the bed. kiwi opts for jumping into my arms while buddy retreats to his bed next to my desk.

"your room is so cozy!" jon smiles, flopping onto my bed with a small 'oof'. i smile and lay next to him while damian decides to take a seat on the leftmost side of the bed. i grab my remote and turn on the tv, switching to the streaming services we have. "someone else take the remote, i'm not good at choosing movies." i say, tossing the remote behind me so one of the boys can take it. kiwi trots over as we adjust our positions so we're all actually sitting against the headboard normally. the feline crawls into my lap and leans over to damian, sniffing him curiously. jon looks over, smiling softly. "aww, a kitty! what's her name? or his, oops." he asked, putting on a movie i didn't get to see the title to. "kiwi: she's a stupid maine coon who only knows how to eat and sleep. and take up people's space." i joked, watching damian pet kiwi behind her ears. she leaned into his touch and left my lap to go crawl into his. "what movie did you choose?" i ask, standing up and turning off the lights. "uhh, alien. the new one! i heard it's super good." jon says, getting comfy. i have to crawl over him to get back in my spot, so once im where i needed to be i was partially snuggled up into damian's side. awkward, but jon was practically using me as a human pillow, so it's okay.

throughout the movie, damian continued to pet kiwi and jon was making disgusted noises at some parts. "ew, ew ew ew ew ew?" i blurted out, seeing one of the more nasty scenes. i felt jon's hand cover my face, hearing his giggles from behind me. "stop! that's not funny!" i laughed,  pulling his hand from my eyes and turning to look at him. "it's scarryy! the alien is gonna get you!" he joked, poking my sides and causing me to curl in on myself. "noo!" i squealed as damian watched in silence. "you can't think this is actually gruesome." damian sighs while kiwi hops away. "it's fucking nasty! were you not watching the movie?" i asked, looking over at him as jon stops poking me. "it's mediocre." he grumbles, shaking his head ever so slightly. "whatever! the movie's over, so what are we gonna do now?" i huff, brushing his comment off and sitting up. "uhh, uhh.." jon hums, sitting up as well. "we could go to the mall!" he says, smiling and fixing his glasses and hair. "okay, i'm down." i say, looking over at damian who nods in agreement. i stand up and stretch, a small yawn escaping my lips. i give kiwi a few scratchies before we make our way downstairs and leave. "what are we even gonna do? frolick?" i ask, climbing in the backseat as everyone settles and damian begins to drive. "don't even think about asking me to buy you anything." damian states, glaring at jon from his peripheral. jon pouts and looks back at me, grinning happily. "yeah! we'll do whatever until we get bored and go home." he says, turning back around.

the drive is mostly silent with the exception of the radio playing in the background. i respond to a few texts from my dad and laila, with my dad asking me why bruce wayne's kid just walked in and out of our house. i smile and tell him that we were just hanging out and prepare to wait another 8 hours for a response. after a bit, we come to a stop. "are we here?" i ask, peeking at jon and damian who seem to be looking at something infront of the car. "no," damian says, his face hardening, "the entire block is cut off by police tape." he says, craning his head up to look around. "police tape?" i ask, moving to the middle seat to get a better look. "was it sundown?" i question, looking between the two. they make eyecontact with one another before looking at me at the same time. talk about uncanny valley.

"sundown?" jon asks, his usual sunny demeanor deflated. "uh..yeah? do you not watch the news? he just killed someone a few days ago. he went on a spree around the country a couple of years back too." i explain, looking between the two boys with raised brows. damian sighs, facing forward once more. "i'm taking you home." he says, his voice hard with authority. "what? why?" i ask, frowning slightly. "because there's a murderer on the loose and your safety is at risk. stay home, and lock all of your doors and windows." damian says, looking at me from the rearview mirror. i groan and fall back in the backseat as he does a u-turn and starts driving me home. "i know, it sucks," the blue eyed boy says, looking at me with a small smile, "but we just want you to be safe until this whole thing blows over." he explains, poking my knee slightly. "if you don't lock your doors the alien will get you!" he grins, making me laugh slightly. we eventually make it back to my house and exchange goodbyes with damian telling me to stay safe. "i won't drive off until you check all of your windows." he huffs, glaring at me. i groan and walk inside and check all of my doors and windows before sending him a thumbs up and watching the two drive off.

not too long after they left i decided to hop in the bath and watch a news snippet on the latest murder. odd way to put it, yeah, but still. it was so close. too close. a teenage girl who used to bully other kids in her grade. sighing, i leaned back and shot my dad a text telling him i was okay. though, i couldn't get my mind off the fact that damian and jon didn't know about sundown. with jon, he's lived in metropolis all his life-- there's no way he hasn't heard of him since a majority of the victims were metropolis citizens. damian on the other hand...maybe his father would have mentioned him? or maybe, y'know, batman would have told gothamites to watch out? though i could see why he wouldn't; he wasn't in gotham when the murders took place and batman managed to scare sundown off. strange.

i ultimately ended up brushing the thought off and got out of the bath before changing and crawling in bed. buddy was still sleeping in his bed and kiwi was probably downstairs eating her food. i pulled the covers over my body and shut my lamp off before closing my eyes and letting my mind wander, hoping my friends would stay safe.

[slavicviking]

Long Odds (Steddie)

“Steve. My buddy. My pal.”

“No.”

Dustin purses his lips, tugging harder on the plastic wire of the phone. The school courtyard behind him is buzzing with life, warm and welcoming - finally - after a particularly harsh winter, for Indiana standards at least. A group of freshmen he faintly recognizes from one of his classes walks by, shrieking and laughing at a severely unfunny joke. He’s been subjected to Robin’s atrocious puns often enough to say so with confidence. He winces.

“You don’t even know what I was going to say,” he informs Steve because, well, rude.

“I’m guessing one of you annoying shrimps need a favor,” the phone responds in a bored monotone “and I don’t know if you know, but I actually have a life outside of babysitting you all.”

“Steve, watching The Breakfast Club for the fourth time this month is not having a life.” An offended ‘dude’ from the other side of the line feels like a warning sign. He realizes he only has one chance to do it right. If Steve hangs up now, he’s done for.

“Have I ever told you you’re my best friend?” Dustin tries instead.

“Jesus Christ-”

Dustin taps his finger on the booth. Shit. He’s hanging on by a thread, he can feel it.

“Look, this is an emergency, okay? I need you to play D&D with us tonight! Lucas can’t come and we need someone to fill in his spot, that’s, like, life or death, Steve.” After a breath, he adds. “Pretty please.”

A pause.

“Henderson, that’s the least life or death thing I’ve heard in a while.”

Dustin rolls his eyes, sucking in a heavy sigh. It’s progress, though, he can feel the scale tipping in his favor ever so slightly. He knows Steve.

“You haven’t seen Eddie when we asked to reschedule,” he pleads, full-well knowing the super senior in question hasn’t yet been informed of their predicament. It’s better this way, Dustin tells himself. Eddie will be miffed they haven’t told him, sure, but if they find a replacement, it shouldn’t be that big of a deal, right? “He looked like that one time when we were sleeping in the woods and all our stuff was stolen and then-”

 “Wait, hold on, somebody robbed you?” Steve asks, muffled by how he, no-doubt, mashed the phone closer to his face to hear better. At least Dustin is sure he’s paying attention now. “And why the hell were you in the woods at night with this Eddie in the first place? Isn’t being chased by, uh, by dogs enough for you?”

“During a campaign, Steve,” Dustin quickly interjects. “It was part of the storyline. We weren’t actually in the woods.”

“Jesus Christ, kid,” the voice on the other side echoes, this time from some distance away and there’s shuffling that indicates Steve running his hand through his mop of hair,probably in order to calm himself. Dustin, for the record, does feel guilty. A little bit. “You and the rest of the little gremlins will be the death of me, I swear. Not cool, man.”

 “Sorry,” Dustin tells him sincerely. Pauses. And then, “so?”

 “So?”

 “Steve.”

 What follows is a long-suffering sigh. Dustin’s lip twitches.

 “I don’t even know how to play your stupid game.”

 It should be known that Dustin absolutely did not pump his fist in the air in a silent sign of victory. He did not. But the smile that broke out on his face? Yeah, he won’t deny that.

 “I’ll tell you everything you need to know, I promise.”

 -&-

There’s a familiar buzz in the air, absorbing all the pre-game excitement and nerves. Gareth and Jeff heatedly discuss their respective strategies from last week, while Grant feverishly writes something down in his notebook, be it a new song lyric or an addition to his character’s backstory. Just as Eddie finishes rearranging the chairs around the table, the doors open, and his favorite freshmen flood into the classroom.

Except-

“Heard you’re one person short for your Dancers and Dweebs game, Munson,” Steve Harrington (Steve Harrington, his brain supplies helpfully) smirks up at him, jacket sliding off one of his shoulders. On anyone else it would look awkward, for sure, but on Steve, it looks, well, it looks-

“Uh,” is what Eddie responds with initially, a streak of panic flashing through his gut and straightening his back.  Where the hell is Sinclair? Why is He here, instead? There’s so much to address - as he stands there, blinking owlishly, fingers wrapped tightly around the back of a cheap plastic chair - with a witty remark of sorts most fitting, surely. He adds, then, seemingly for no other purpose but to dig his grave just a little deeper. “Um.”

“You know it’s Dungeons and Dragons,” Mike’s annoyed reply snaps Eddie back to reality just a little bit. He feels very much out of his depth, here, in his club, with his campaign notes strewn around, with his closest friends, and-and Steve Harrington? Granted, Dustin has been babbling his ear off about Steve, how awesome he is and the like; not that Eddie believed it for a second since it seemed like a highly idealized big-brother situation at best. But here he is, the King himself. Doing – what exactly?

No, he can make it work. He can, really. He’s made it out of situations much more awkward than this.

 Steve wouldn’t beat him up in front of a kid, right?

Right?

Though, considering the amount of times he’s seen Steve Harrington walking around school with his face punched in, Eddie’s not so sure the guy knows how to actually win a fight.

Eddie definitely doesn’t, and so he’s not going to push it. Too much.

He’s curious, is the thing. It’s tempting, very tempting, to poke the bear - just a little bit. It’s not every day that the former King of Hawkins High enters your humble abode, not with snot-nosed freshmen trailing after him like he’s their personal hero (and yes, that does include Mini Wheeler, even though he’d surely throw a fit if Eddie as much as implied it). Steve Harrington should feel more out of place, surrounded by everything his former so-called ‘King’ persona would mock outright not even two or three years ago but, somehow, he does not and the thought weighs down on Eddie’s gut. He’s not sure if it’s dread or adrenaline yet.

So, in the end, Eddie does what he does best - he acts.

“We are, indeed, in dire need of a player,” he laments, clutching at his heart and leaning his head back. Tilting his head to the side, gazing at Harrington almost upside down, he smirks. “Why, has the king himself decided to join us this fine evening?”

Harrington rolls his eyes in response, brow twitching, but Eddie doesn’t mind. This is normal, expected. Usually accompanied with an insult of sorts but he can really do without one, and so he’s silently grateful. Small victories and all that motivational shit.

So. Here’s the thing.

Steve Harrington actually knows the basics (“I did all the work!” “Yes, Dustin, we know.”). First thing the poor jock (ex-jock?) does is fling a half-filled out character sheet in Eddie’s face with a proud glint in his eye which he does not find endearing at all – he does not, stop laughing, Gareth, for fuck’s sake-. Things get worse from there. Steve’s adorably confused through most of the three-hour playthrough, terribly, tragically unimaginative with the way he makes his choices, but he pays attention, or at least tries to, which is a lot more than Eddie has expected of him.

And, fuck, it’s attractive. It’s embarrassing as it is, to fall for a jock, Steve Harrington of all people at that. But then the guy turns out not to be a complete and utter douche? It’s confusing but exhilarating, in a way, makes Eddie want to push and poke and want. Eddie’s not a brave person, he’ll be first to admit that, but he sees Harrington’s confused pout or tentative smile and is tempted to do something utterly stupid and reckless, like kiss him, for example. And isn’t that a thought. A dangerous and foolish one, but a thought that clings to him the whole evening nonetheless.

Eddie can’t help the sigh of relief the moment Steve Harrington leaves the Hellfire Club with a wave and red-splotchy cheeks, throwing out a loose ‘see you around, Munson’ at the door. See you never, hopefully, he muses, if not a bit unkindly. Because Steve Harrington makes him feel confused and scared and hopeful and he wants more after only a few hours – and he knows, God, he knows, that could never happen. He and Harrington belong to two different worlds, two clashing ecosystems and it was nice, for an evening, but they’d always be just out of reach of each other.

Tomorrow, he’ll drive by Family Video and think nothing of it. In a week Steve would be waiting outside the school to pick up the little rascals and they will not talk.

A month from now, Chrissy Cunningham will die in Eddie Munson’s trailer.

Come find me at InsertACreativeNameHere__SlavicViking on ao3

[yes-i-am-happyaspie]

The Hoax by happyaspie

No Archive Warnings Apply | Rated T | Chp. 1/? | No Powers AU, OOC May Parker, Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Happy Hogan, Ned Leeds. Warnings for Gaslighting and Emotional Manipulation.

Summary: Even after years of no evidence, Tony Stark refused to stop looking for his kidnapped son. Some people called it false hope, others called it fatherly love. But May Parker called it an opportunity.

“You and that kid share quite a few similarities, and the case has so little evidence. With your help, I really think we could use those things to our advantage.” Peter was dubious. “How, though?” he asked, his tone teetering toward sarcasm. It was a natural impulse that he couldn’t consistently avoid. No matter how hard he tried. “What do you want me to do? Knock on Tony Stark's front door and pretend to be Arno?” May said nothing as she stared at him from across the table. Initially, he didn’t understand. But as she elevated her eyebrows and tilted her head, it clicked. That was exactly what May wanted him to do.

[Exceprt Below the Cut]

Peter sat down at the kitchen table and twirled some spaghetti around his fork. Of all the things his Aunt May attempted to cook, pasta topped with a jar of tomato sauce and some cheap parmesan cheese was his favorite. He considered not mentioning his backpack had given up on him part way through the school day. He knew she’d be disappointed and didn't want to ruin the pleasant meal. However, no amount of pleasant conversation was going to make it any easier to get around his giant high school without a bag. He sighed nervously and glanced down at his plate. “I, uh, I need a new backpack,” he mumbled under his breath.

May brought her finger up to her ear and tapped it, her face one of disbelief. “Excuse me?” she questioned. “What was that?”

Peter swallowed hard and forced a smile. “I need a new backpack?” he repeated louder and with more clarity than before.

A huff of annoyance escaped May’s lips as she dropped her fork and crossed her arms over her chest. “I bought you one right at the beginning of the school year,” she replied.

“Yeah, but one of the seams ripped,” Peter attempted to defend, then pulled his lip between his teeth. May has asked him to quit the band, Academic Decathlon, and robotics club so he could get a part-time job. He’d easily complied, eager to contribute to the household income. Although he didn’t actually know how much he was actually helping. Each week he signed his check over to May, and she deposited it into her account. He never asked where it went after that. “If you would-” he began but quickly backtracked. “I mean, If I could just use a little bit of my paycheck from Delmar’s, maybe-”

“Peter. Sweetie,” May gently interjected. “You know that money is supposed to help us pay the bills. You don’t want to be the reason we can’t afford rent next month, do you?” she asked, her smile not quite meeting her eyes. “This neighborhood is expensive. Every little bit counts.”

“I don’t know. It’s a lot of books and stuff,” he unsurely replied. Even though his best friend was kind enough to allow him to use some of his locker space, Midtown was a specialized science and technology school. His schedule was rigorous and required a lot of materials. He wasn’t sure carrying everything around was all that reasonable.

“Don’t be selfish, Peter,” May mildly scolded. “There are only a few weeks of school left to go. You can get by with one of my reusable shopping bags until then.”

May was right. Peter knew she was right. There wasn't too much school left. Carrying his supplies around in a stupid cloth shopping bag wouldn’t kill him. Even if there were a handful of students who would never let him live it down. Starting with Flash Thompson. But he could handle that if it meant making things easier for his aunt. “Yeah. Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. I’m sorry. You’re right. It’s fine,” he swiftly agreed. He glanced at his half-eaten dinner and bit back a sigh. “May I be excused?”

[Continue Reading On AO3]

[georgiapeach30513]

Step Into My Ride, Part 2

Summary:  Ransom and his family do not get along

Pairings:  Ransom Drysdale X Reader

Rating:  explicit

Warnings:  explicit language, explicit sexual content, smut, PIV sex, unprotected sex, sex in public, creampie, 18+ ONLY

Word Count:  5.3K

Previous

Series Masterlist

“Gracie Lou Drysdale!” Harlan greets the three of you at the door, and Gracie runs right to him, wrapping her arms around his legs. “Come on in, and tell me all about your week at school. Ransom. Lucky,” he gives the two of you a head nod, leading his favorite great granddaughter inside.

“Luck, I hate coming here,” your boyfriend gives you a little pout, wiggling his legs, mimicking one of Gracie’s rare baby tantrums. He really was deep down just a spoiled child. He wasn’t getting out of weekly dinners with Harlan though. “If my parents could stay away, it wouldn’t be so bad.”

“Ransom, you need to put your big boy pants on. Gracie loves your grandpa. She tolerates your mom. But for heaven’s sake, quit with this spiel every time we come here.”

“She hates my dad. And I swear, if he makes one comment to you or our daughter, I’m going to lose my shit. Harlan can start coming to the house for dinner.”

“Now there is an idea,” you smile at him. You would much rather have Harlan at your house, and in Gracie’s element any day of the week. “I could make us food, and we wouldn’t have to deal with…” a soft groan exits Ransom’s mouth as a dust cloud is spotted in the distance. “Come on, babe. Let’s go inside so we don’t have to explain to your parents why you’re in a bad mood.”

He still wants to complain that his parents always hijack his nice evening with Harlan and Gracie. There’s always a stupid comment made, typically by his father. Ransom always gets in a terrible mood and snaps right back at him. You always lead Harlan and Gracie outside and away from the chaos. Always.

Harlan adored Gracie just as much as she did him. If it was warm he would walk straight to the back yard, and sit on a bench with her and listen to all her odd behaviors from the week prior. Gracie loved to try different things. She took cues from her classmates on their own allergies, or way of speech and would incorporate them in her own routine for a few days, until she realized she was over that.

“Uno. Dos. Tres,” you hear your sweet daughter count with Harlan in Spanish. Ransom goes up beside her when Linda and Richard strut into the sitting area. What was a shame is how much Gracie wanted to impress her grandparents. “Oh! Oh! Gigi and Dink,” Ransom can’t help but to snort at the name that Gracie bestowed upon Richard, turning to look at his daughter that was so proud of something.

“I learned how to count to ten in Spanish. Uno. Dos. Tres. Cuatro.”

“Seriously? Spanish,” Richard was already rolling his eyes as he goes to the bar cart. Ransom is already sitting up straighter, ready to attack his father. “They should teach you something more useful at that expensive school. It’s confusing enough for kids these days. And now they’re teaching you another language when you haven’t even perfected English. What next? French?”

“Bonjour means hello,” she smiles, looking up at Harlan who gives her a kiss on her forehead. You bite at your tongue when Richard lets out an annoyed growl. Ransom’s family. He dealt with them. “And hola means hello in Spanish. Aren’t you proud?”

“Proud you're wasting my money like your father did?”

“My money,” Linda interjects when Ransom starts to say something. “Can we not argue for a moment? I think your speaking of different languages is commendable. What else did you learn this week?”

“I’m gluten free, and I’m not H2O intolerant. But I am a bit lactose intolerant, so mommy got me banana milk, and,” she gets the biggest smile as she turns her head to look at Harlan, “Daddy puts chocolate syrup in it.”

“Milk chocolate syrup?” Richard sits across from Ransom, giving his actual granddaughter an annoyed look. “I thought you were lactose intolerant?”

“Only this week. But banana milk is really good, Dink,” Gracie didn’t even understand, and you wanted her to keep her innocence as much as possible. She was adorable, and so proud. “And…I think I can’t have eggs next week.”

“Linda, your granddaughter is neurotic.”

“What’s neurotic?”

“Gracie Lou, how about you, me, and grandpa go make some chocolate banana milk? I’m sure he’ll love it as much as you do,” walking over towards her, you hold out your hand. It would be so much more simple if Harlan could come to you. Let Ransom refuse to see his parents, especially if a four year old they saw for a couple of hours each week bothered them so much.

“But what’s neurotic?”

“Just something Dink likes to criticize about. It’s always something, huh, father? She’s four years old. She’s learning who she is.”

“And confused as to what allergies are. Next she’s going to want to shave her head, and you two are going to let her, aren’t you?”

“Us two are going to let our daughter be who she is. Because she is ours. How we raise her is our business. Her trying a life without eating eggs is not hurting anyone. Her saying she’s lactose intolerant is hurting no one. And the fucking chocolate syrup didn’t have milk in it,” Gracie gasps as you quickly usher her and Harlan away from the chaos, but she caught her dad’s words.

“See what you did? You make me and your mother be the bad guy every time.”

“Do not include me in this conversation. I liked hearing her count in Spanish.”

“The child can barely count in English, and that expensive damn school is trying to teach her something else.”

“For your information, Gracie can count to one hundred. She’s already reading, and she writes her full name. She’s four years old. And she’s one of the top in her class. Why are you always shitting on who she is? She’s amazing, and you don’t even realize it. She’s got negotiating skills better than mom. And remember, she’s my daughter. If you hate her and me, and my girlfriend so much, why do you come here?”

“I’ll tell you why you little prick,” Richard slams his glass down on the table causing Linda to flinch, rolling her eyes and ready to leave the two of them to the arguing. “You squandered away all your potential. Working at a fucking garage as a grease monkey with the worst influence of your life, Dean Winchester. You’re getting speeding tickets, and spending the night in jail a few times a year. You live in that piece of shit trailer, and you’re shacked up with some whore who takes pornographic pictures of other women.”

Ransom stands to leave, walking towards the kitchen, “You won’t talk about my girlfriend and daughter like that. You won’t see any of us ever again.”

“Then put a goddamn ring on her finger, and make an honest woman out of her. You don’t have to spend the rest of your life with the first woman that spreads her legs and doesn’t know the value of safe sex. The two of you never should have had a child. Your mother pays for her school. You can’t even afford it.”

“Yeah, well, mom insisted on paying. Insisted on the school. Not me. I’m a good fucking father, and Lucky is the best mother I have ever met. We love and enjoy our daughter. She’s spoiled with attention and affection, and that’s a hell of a lot more than I can say for you. I don’t know why I bother dealing with you. You never have anything to say about me and my family. So from now on, don’t expect to be a part of our lives,” his eyes flick to the door when Chris walks in. “There you have it. The son you always wanted. Lucky, let's go,” he screams into the kitchen at you.

“Don’t expect to see my child ever again. You lost that privilege by calling her mother a whore.”

“I don’t want to go. I miss grandpa,” she curls more into Harlan, and he gives her a quick kiss to the top of her head, holding her closer.

“Baby, grandpa is going to start coming to our house for dinner, okay? You can wear your pretty dresses, and show him your room, and the house, okay?”

“You promise?” Harlan nods at her before she gives him the biggest hug, and you scoop her up.

“Head out the side door, sweetheart. Don’t take her around that,” you know it’s the best option. Gracie never heard arguing like that. She was well adjusted because you and Ransom let her try and figure out what she liked, and who she was without telling her. Encouraged all her ideas and new interests, and never made her feel bad for deciding she didn’t like something. “Gracie, you think grandpa can see you tomorrow?”

“Yes. Love you.”

“Love you, too, Gracie Lou.”

“You can’t keep my granddaughter from me,” Richard walks up to Ransom, “And take that stupid hat off your head. You’re not a child.”

“I can keep my daughter away from you all I want. She’s mine and her mother’s.”

“If you would have applied yourself like your uncle Chris, you might have made a few million by now. And even he didn’t live up to his own potential. Both of you could have made more money doing other things.”

“And money made you happy?” Ransom smirks heading towards the door, “Your number will be blocked, so don’t expect a call back. Chris, I’ll talk to you later. Mom, learn to control your bitch.”

“You asshole!”

“Richard!” Ransom finishes closing the door when Harlan comes back in. “You’re the one acting like an ass. Your granddaughter was trying to impress you and make you proud, and you dismissed it so quickly. Your son is trying to tell you he is happy. That is the life he chose, and you can either accept it, or you can keep your opinions out of my house. I will not make you feel that any of them are not welcome here. That is my grandson, and his beautiful family. I can’t help it that you don’t like the life that he chose as an adult.”

“That woman poisoned him.”

“That woman doesn’t have a rap sheet. He does. He had that before he even met her. That woman is who calmed him down. That woman is the person that co-signed with the garage because she had credit, and he didn’t. That woman is the one who stood by his side when he was in jail for two months, and she was pregnant with his kid. That woman is the reason they have land, and a home. And if you make one comment about their home, so help me God, Richard, I will kick you out of my house. He is happy. And for you to criticize the woman that has made him a better man than even you is rich. She has stuck by his side no matter what. She is loyal to him, and she’s a damn good mother. Did you ever think Ransom would be a good father? I figured he’d leave the woman to deal with the child herself, while you were left paying child support. Be thankful he’s a good man.”

“He’s trash. He could have been so much more.”

“So could you. Christopher, have Fran bring my food to the study. You can join me if you would like, or you can head to Ransom and Lucky’s. I’m done with this conversation,” slowly he makes his way up the stairs, leaving Chris staring at his older sister’s nails clicking on the table.

“Well, this was a royal fuck up. Richard, our son’s lifestyle isn’t my favorite, but I want a relationship with quite possibly our only grandchild. If he’s anything like us, he’ll know to stop with just the one. She’s a precocious child, but I want to be in her life besides just paying her school with my money. Don’t forget, it’s my money. I’m going home. Call a car to come get you. I need my space.”

Richard stands to go back to the bar cart, filling his glass with more scotch before sitting down to stare at Chris, “Ransom isn’t all that bad.”

“My son is in a relationship with his baby mama who has fake tits, and takes pictures of naked women.”

“You sound jealous,” Chris rolls his eyes. Deciding he was going to spend time with his father even if he felt Ransom, the grandson, was his favorite. “And I’m not sure if you're jealous of Ransom for being with her or her for the career she has. It’s boudoir photos. They’re not always naked.”

“I’m not jealous. Women like her, you just don’t marry.”

“They’re not married are they? And what does it matter to you?” It mattered to Chris. Chris was supposed to be the one with you. He could admit he was jealous of Ransom. Because Ransom got to have you whenever he wanted. That was supposed to be his life. He was offering you comfort and stability. But you were blinded by the fast pace Ransom, just like everyone else was. But if everything continued down this path, Ransom wouldn’t have that for long.

“I bet you’re holding out hope they never get married. She’ll never want you. Why would you want Ransom’s sloppy seconds anyways? Or their little brat.”

“Hey! You can say what you want about Ransom, but you leave Gracie out of it.”

“Why? Is she secretly your kid? I did always doubt her mother being faithful to Ransom. She did get pregnant pretty quickly. Ransom only stayed because he thought he knocked her up. She knew how to pick them. Too bad she didn’t realize you were the actual Thrombey, huh? She got those fake tits out of him though. I guess it seems fair considering he’s the one that gets to play with them.”

“You’re sick, Richard,” no one liked Richard. He was a misogynistic asshole. Even when Chris left his side, he could still hear Richard mumbling about his son and you. Chris just wanted the day to come when you realized that Ransom was bad news. He would be a better father to Gracie. No matter what Richard thought of you, Chris knew it was all lies. Chris knew you. Knew you better than Ransom, and knew you better than you knew yourself. He just needed you to understand that.

Karma would eventually take care of Ransom. He swooped in with his charm and fast car, and Chris didn’t even realize Ransom took you away from him until it was too late. Had walked in on you messily sucking Ransom’s dick after a race. He didn’t even know his nephew was the other man you had been dating. He knew that there was another one, but the few dates you and Chris went on they were fun. You laughed, and he was a gentleman. Ransom treated you like a whore.

It just made him sick to his stomach to think about how he made you drop to your knees and suck him off whenever he wanted. Or how he would drag you to his car, while everyone else was paying attention to the race while he fucked you like a dirty secret. Until you got pregnant, Chris wasn’t even sure if Ransom had ever taken you to his apartment or even if this was supposed to be anything more than sex.

Ransom knew exactly what he was getting with you, but Chris knew you had no idea who the real Ransom was. But soon you would know. Everyone would know. And Chris would be there as the constant and steady man that you needed. And now, even Gracie needed.

“Ran,” whispering his name as he rolls his fingers around your nipples. He did this when he got to thinking. Getting in his head about what his father and him were arguing about.

“You know I don’t think about you like that, right?” He lifts his head off your chest, and you nod, giving him a sweet kiss. “I respect you above all else. I mean, yeah, we have a ton of fun with the racing and sex, but I don’t regret giving it all up. I don’t regret living here with you.”

“People can say what they want to, but our trailer isn't that small. And this is our home. Gracie has had all her firsts here. She’s got little lines in the living room showing us how tall our baby is getting. I don’t care about what your parents think you or we should have done. I love our life. I don’t care that you’ve got a mile long rap sheet. I don’t care that you act like a teenage boy most of the time because when it counts, you’re the greatest man I know. You’re good to me and to our baby. You’re good to Dean. Ransom, they don’t see us as a family. They see you. And me and our flaws apart. But not how we overcome them together.”

“You’re right,” he sighs, flipping over to his back before pulling you on top of him. “Gracie is amazing.”

“She is. I hate that they don’t see you or us the way you deserve. But Harlan does. He sees all of us. And that’s good enough for me. Plus, Gracie Lou is a perfect judge of character, and she can’t stand Richard. Tolerates your mom, but wants to see Harlan everyday. Now, my pretty man, get you some sleep.”

“Do you regret the implants?”

“Do you?” With a devilish grin he shakes his head no. “You remember how I hated looking at myself in the mirror after Gracie? Or even how I didn’t want you to see me? Baby, I don’t care that people know I have implants or they judge me because of them. That’s their problem. They’re not the ones that have to look at them. We are.”

“Damn straight. And I like playing with them.”

“You better quit for tonight,” yawning, despite his playful protest. “I’m tired. I can’t have sex again.”

“Oh, you can if I want you to,” you smack at his chest, giggling. “Alright, Luck, get you some sleep. I’m sorry today went the way it did.”

“Me, too, Ran. I hate that going there makes you feel worse. You love seeing Harlan. But, he’s going to start coming here. Even if you have to go get him. Sweet dreams, husband.”

“You know I’m not lying when I say one of these days I’m going to propose, right? Right? Luck, you and Gracie are all I need in this world.”

“Mhmm. One of these days we’ll all share the same last name. But for tonight, go to sleep,” stretching out his arms, Ransom relaxes a bit more. Before his breathing starts to slow and you listen to your favorite lullaby as you fall asleep. The beat of his heart, and his breathing. It was heaven in its own little way. And you wanted this to be yours forever.

“Dean-o!” You shout, walking into the garage, waving your hands as you look in the back for Ransom’s car. “Good, he’s gone to get the baby?”

“Yes, ma’am. What can I do for you, Lucky Charm?” You fidget your fingers around, trying to avoid looking into Dean’s eyes. His loyalty was definitely to Ransom. Friends since grade school. Inseparable. “Is this about you two not being married? Luck, that man is completely in love with you, marriage or not. You’ve got him.”

“No. I’m not worried about that. When the time is right, I know that Ran and I…we’re forever, and I don’t need marriage to prove that. It’s just…you would tell me if he was getting into something more illegal than the racing, yeah?”

He grabs up a rag, wiping his greasy hands on the dirty cloth before he leans back on the car. Suddenly you don’t feel so good about asking Dean. You have always been able to talk to Ransom, so why was something Chris brought up hard for you to ask about? “What’s this about?”

“I had someone make a comment about Ran doing something more for money.”

“Like what? Running drugs? He doesn’t touch that shit, and you know that. A little bit of weed never hurt anyone, but…no, Ransom would never do that. That puts you and Gracie in too much danger. This right here,” holding his hands out, Dean spins around slowly in the garage. A garage that he and Ransom had built up slowly, and in time they became the most respected garage in Boston. “This is where Ransom and I make our honest money. He doesn’t want to lose this. It’s our dream.”

“Well…what about stolen parts? Or guns? Or anything besides the racing? Are you and Ransom into anything more illegal than that? A couple of months in jail doesn’t bother me. What bothers me is if he’s sent off for hard time. Be honest with me.”

“No. I don’t know what idiot put that shit in your head, but no. Ransom does exactly what you see him do. He works here for legit cash. He races for extra cash, and before that racing was put right back into here, and it bought your little dream home. If Ransom was doing something he should be doing, believe me, I would tell you, but he’s not.”

“He’s not doing what?” Ransom flicks his head over towards Dean, but then hungrily stalks towards you. “I can tell you one thing I’m not doing.”

“Where’s our daughter?”

“Mom has her at Harlan’s, and dad is on a business trip, so don’t look at me like that. Mom is trying for what it’s worth, and Harlan won’t let anything happen to that angel. So, why don’t you and I go over the books in the office?” You hated when he asked you to go over the books. There was so much overhead to consider in this business, and thankfully you were savvy enough with finances because him and Dean were clueless.

You told him that he needed to hire someone who actually knew what they were doing. Walking into the office, Ransom turns the blinds, and locks the door before he places your body on the desk. Pulling at your jeans’ button, and you just smile at him tugging away your pants. “What are you doing?”

“When was the last time I fucked you in here?”

“The time I got pregnant. You had just opened the garage. You swore to me that I couldn’t get pregnant because you were drunk, and so were your tadpoles.”

“I didn’t say that,” moving down to take off your panties, he stuffs them into his pocket. Holding up his hands to show that they were in fact clean before he diddles around your bundle of nerves. That cocky little Ransom Drysdale grin on his face. “I mean, I was drunk. I didn’t say tadpoles.”

“Yes. Yes, you…you did,” his free hand was already undoing his pants, letting his cock spring free from their confines. This man always made you a mess. “You said…said that you’ve called them tadpoles since you watched ‘Look Who’s Talking’. And…and…” your breathing picks up as you get closer to release, eyeing his pretty little dick while he was playing with your cunt. You didn’t care how many fingers he added into you, it was never as good as his cock.

“Ransom just put it in.”

“This is so romantic.”

“About as romantic as you fucking me here with the blinds open. Stuffing my cunt full of your seed, and we made a baby that night. The first time and last time you came in me until…until I missed…missed a period.”

“Yeah, well, made your little blissed out brain from the best head you have ever had you would have known better than to trust me drunk.”

“Just fuck me!”

“Alright!” He laughs, pushing through your tight channel. Giving you no time to adjust before he was gripping at your legs and rutting into your warmth. The two of you had grown a bit. The door was locked, the blinds were closed, he was sober, and you had birth control. What you thought was a mistake was the best thing that could have ever happened to you and Ransom.

What you thought was casually dating and fucking became the best relationship either of you had ever had. Honest, loving, caring, and so much fun. There was never a dull moment with Ransom, and the way that he stepped up to become a dad was the favorite role he had ever taken.

Some things didn’t change however. He kept his hat on backwards. Kept his pants down at his ankles for a quickie in public. He fucked into you like the two of you were running a marathon. Fast and needy. Your eyes locked into one another so you can watch the pleasure overtake your features. And the sounds he made, my god, Ransom made the prettiest sounds. He was so vocal, and it made you feel like the most perfect thing on earth.

You could feel his cock twitching inside of you, but with a calming breath from him, he holds off on his release. Waiting until you came before he even thought about reaching his own high. He was a generous partner. Placing his knuckles on the desk, he brings his face closer to you, peppering the sweetest splay of kisses over your face, despite the urgency of his thrusts. He confused your senses, and you craved more.

Desperately mewling out his name as you grab hold of his back. Circling your legs around him, and bringing him closer to you. His body starts to lay you down flat on the desk, while his hips drive him deeper into your core. “Lucky, let go, sweetheart. I know you want to,” his voice sounded wrecked. He was right on the edge of not being able to hold on anymore. “Lucky!”

“I’m…I’m right…Ran, I’m coming!”

One final thrust has him painting your quivering walls, and he lets his head rest on your chest. Blowing out shallow breaths on you while your walls milk him dry. The tiniest little jabs into you, until his body just halts movement. “You about didn’t get to orgasm.”

“I’m sorry. You’re just so pretty when you're grunting with every stab into me. Ran…this really isn’t the time, but — if you were doing something that would get you sent to prison, you would tell, right? We’re a team here.”

“What makes you think I’m doing anything illegal?”

“Well…Chris made a comment.”

“Mother fucker,” he rolls his eyes as he pulls out of you, “Stay right there. I need to see you weep of me while we have this conversation. Look, Chris is going to say whatever he can to make you doubt me. He’s a good enough guy, he helps me and Dean out with races, but that stupid bastard is still hung up on you.”

“Don’t call him a bastard,” one trickle of Ransom’s spunk makes a smile turn up on his mouth, and he reaches into the floor for your panties. Sliding them up your legs. You were going to be left a mess as you head home.

“I apologize that your little pet project hates being called a bastard. What I mean is that must have been some amazing head you gave him,” you give him a playful smack on his arm, and he shrugs, laughing. “I’m just saying, that man isn’t going to quit unless you think I’m the terrible person he wants you to believe I am, you know that. He wants you to see that he’s this amazing pillar of the community when he’s the one doing illegal shit. He’s a cop and helping a bunch of street racers clear the roads. Come on now. I deal with him because he’s family, and he helps out, but you see what he’s doing. He wants you to leave me and go with him.”

“And you don’t have a problem with that?”

“Do you want to be with him?” Your nose furls up as you shake your head, and Ransom helps you back into your pants. “I’m not concerned. I know who you love. I know whose bed you’re getting into every night. I know whose cock you're riding every night. Whose name you’re squealing every night. Luck, if you don’t want him involved in our business, fine. He’s done. But if you want to believe the seeds he’s planting in your brain, I’m not going to defend myself. You know what I do. And you know I would never make it to where I couldn’t see our daughter everyday. You tell me what you want to do with Chris, and it’s done. And quit denying that nothing happened between the two of you. He’s chasing you around like a lovesick puppy even though he’s seen my cum dripping down your leg.”

“Oh, shut up,” jumping off the desk, your arms wrap around Ransom as you smile up at him. “I really don’t want to talk about what did or did not happen with your uncle because it’s weird. I didn’t know you knew each other much less were related, but I never had sex with him.”

“Good. This pussy is mine. But if you want Mr. Deputy Do Good, you let me know. I’ll let you walk away without a fight. Live downtown in that apartment that he can barely afford, but I keep the kid.”

“Oh, no. She stays with me.”

“Then I suggest you stay with me, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Good,” tilting your chin up, he gives you the sweetest kiss, and pulls your left arm from around his body, holding it still while he slides a ring on your finger. “I would hate to take this back.”

“Hugh Ransom Drysdale!” You scream looking at your finger. He didn’t need to get on his knees and propose. He already had, but this was the actual ring on your finger. You hold out your hand admiring the small diamond and the way it sparkles. “It’s perfect.”

“Now give me about four more years, and we’ll get married.”

“We’re doing our bigs in fours, huh? First a baby. Four years to get a ring. Four more years to get a last name change.”

“I’m glad you get it, Luck. Hey, I love you.”

“And I love you.”

“And maybe later you can show me what that mouth do, so I can see why Chris is so obsessed with you,” you roll your eyes as you open the door to the office, getting a quick look up from the hood of a car and smirk from Dean. “I’m serious!”

“What’s sad is I know you are. Dean, you keep this one out of trouble. I’m going to pick up Gracie, and go to the grocery store. You and Valerie are welcome to come over.”

“No, we’re not fighting right now, so maybe I can get some desk action, too. Ransom likes to brag a lot. You better go get cleaned up before going to the store.”

“Behave boys! Ran, I’ll see you when you get home fiancé,” prancing on out of the garage you feel lighter already. Ransom had no reason to lie to you, and Chris obviously had every reason. You hated this type of thinking. You were with Ransom, and nothing was going to change that. As far as you were concerned, Ransom was perfect. A bit rough around the edges, but that bad boy appeal really got to you. A bad boy with a heart of gold, and a soft spot for his daughter. How could it get any better than this?

Next

Masterlist

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[sourmonsterworms]

The END (2009) - The Black Eyed Peas

8.5/10

This album has a Very Mixed reputation but there’s a goddamn reason I can still sing every single word of the first 5 tracks. The album is very frontloaded, all of the charting singles are shoved front and center in the album. I know this album’s singles get a lot of shit but I could make a case for all 5 of these singles, even I Gotta Feeling, which I don’t even like that much comparatively (despite the fact that I think this is the song most people feel the most positively toward).

Boom Boom Pow is tight, earwormy, futuristic (for the time) sounding, I haven’t listened to this song in years and I remembered Every. Fucking. Word. Not too overly repetitive, the verses are good, it doesn’t feel like any part of the song is carrying or lagging behind, the epitome of a cohesive song where something interesting is always happening. 

Rock That Body my beloved. I don’t give a fuck what you think about this song its fucking twerkable, this song used to make me go fucking apeshit when I was a kid, this song is a hill I will fucking die on. I genuinely enjoy the chipmunk Fergie vocals and respect them as an artistic choice, I’m Not Fucking Kidding.

Meet Me Halfway is a guilty pleasure, I know by all rights I should say it's bad, that its sampling of The Yeah Yeah Yeahs iconic song about longing Maps is baffling, but in the moment? You know what? This song DOES hit. This is probably the best vocal performance Fergie has or ever will give. 

Imma Be- Ok please stay with me here, I know this is probably most people’s least favorite of the singles. It's repetitive, it's probably the ugliest sounding production wise, its pioneering annoying “ay”s as an instrument, the ever present “Imma Be”s. But when the bridge hits I feel like it's all worth it. I fucking love the back half of this song so much. It's like the musical equivalent of eating your vegetables to get dessert.

I Gotta Feeling is my least favorite of the charting singles, I dunno, I just think it's like, ok. Most people would say this is the best song on the album I feel, its not even in my top 5, but I know every fucking word like its burned into my brain so, what’ll you do.

The album doesn't stop with its commercial singles though, the next two songs were non charting promotional singles (one of which was only released in France). Alive is, surprisingly, kind of reminiscent of a RAM era Daft Punk song but if The Black Eyed Peas were there (4 years predating RAM). I think this song honestly deserves to be remembered as well as the preceding 5 songs.

Missing You, the aforementioned France Only Promo Single, at first feels a bit heavy handed, opening with Fergie doing her most Fergie. However, I actually really like the production on this one. The transition from the first chorus to the first verse immediately changed my expectations for the song, and the second verse, with Fergie’s interjections of “Missing you” is the high point of the song, immaculate. I could easily imagine this song having been a successful radio single 2009-2010 (Yes, I am saying this album should have had 7 charting singles Actually, it’s my review I get to say whatever words I want)

Unfortunately this is actually the point where the album falls off. Ring-A-Ling, a song about bootycalls, is the most straight up offensive to my ears, which is a shame because Missing You leads into it so beautifully that it leaves you completely unprepared for what is about to happen to you. The chorus proudly proclaims that “the girls want ding-a-ling” how brave of will.i.am to say that like it doesn’t sound goofy as fuck. The vocal effects on Fergie do not sound like a Respectable Artistic Choice on this one. The production is very “annoying song from the late 2000s-2010s”, unfortunately I could also imagine a world where this charted in 2010, so it's good that we mercifully dodged that timeline. Also this song ends on a sample that used the R slur, reminding you that the Peas love that word so much that one of their most famous songs is unlistenable without the censored edit (ugh).

The songs after this aren’t too terribly notable, Party All The Time feels like a less good retread of I Gotta Feeling, Out Of My Head is actually pretty decent but feels like a rejected leftover from The Duchess rather than a Black Eyed Peas song (it basically is just a Fergie song), and Electric City just, isn’t very good. Showdown feels like it could have had something with the counting in the pre chorus, but the rest of the song is just, eh.

Now Generation opens with a narrator talking about how The Youth can destroy the Economy by Not Buying things, before tiptoeing into an absolutely baffling song about how cool technology and the internet is and Money and Stuff. I feel like this is supposed to sound rebellious or something but it’s just? What the fuck is this? One Tribe feels like an attempt to return to their roots, or at the very least Where Is The Love? But it's just an empty song about Love and Peace and Unity. Also it sucks.

After 7 tracks of mid, here we are at the closing track. So you know how I said Alive sounded like Daft Punk? Lightning striketh twice because Rockin To The Beat sounds even more like Will.i.am really wanted to make a Daft Punk song. I don’t know if this would clear on an actual Daft Punk album, but on this album? It's a pleasant surprise. Genuinely nice way to close out the album.

Despite this album cycle’s insane success at the time and the album’s commercial success, this album feels bloated. With 15 tracks, the shortest of which clocking in at 3:45, most being over 4 minutes, this album could have been 5 tracks shorter and it would have benefitted the listening experience greatly. Personally I think Ring-A-Ling, Electric City, Showdown, Now Generation and One Tribe could have seen the chopping block and little of value would have been lost. That being said, the good songs here? Pretty good. Would absolutely suggest listening to Alive, Missing You and Rockin To The Beat at least once if you’ve never heard them.

1 Rock That Body

2 Alive

3 Missing You

[poltergeist-coffee]

the towns people may think forevers slightly insane but my god is he a great story teller, parents have definitely just let him talk his nonsense just to entertain their kid while they go look for something

eventually whenever he goes into town with phil a kid will walk up to them and ask for another story about the mermaids and forever ends up with a little crowd of kids sitting infront of forever while he's telling them all his stories, his favorite one to tell is the story of the mermaid who fell hopelessly in love with the fisherman

it's literally just the story of him and phil but he adds some embellishments and extra bits, the kids actually say the story reminds them of him and phil and they both giggle a bit at the irony

phil loves when forever tells these stories because he just gets to watch him and be all lovesick the whole time, occasionally chiming in and adding to or making corrections to the story

-🪶

actually this is the cutest thing in the entire world :(((((((( oh my god :((

if it’s one of the days where they are watching the kids, chayanne is absolutly walking away with phil dragging him to the sports store or something nearby. richas and tallulah stay with forever and interject and add things to the story because they know it’s real and they know what forever is doing.

-slamming my hands on my desk- OH MY GOD HE CAN TELL THEM ALL ABOUT HIS POD!! HE DEF TELLS STORIES ABOUT THE REST OF THE BRAZILIANS AND ITS SO!!!! if any kid says they don’t like the octopus mermaid in the story forever is 10 seconds away from defending that character with his LIFE. (it’s fine richas does it for him and then he’s pulling forever away because he wants to hang out with his dad without eveyine else stealing his attention)

[thebreakfastgenie]

since you asked for more id be so happy to hear literally anything about safe travels cause I reread it again and I just love it with my entire heart and soul -ypq

First of all thank you so much!! I'm really happy you love that fic so much. I loved it, and then I reread it and I was like oh no is it not good? and then a while later I reread it again and I was like oh I love this again!

I have some WIPs that predate safe travels, and actually I think that fic I technically finished and never posted might too. But it was the first thing I really got momentum on. And then the momentum fucking abandoned me!!!! This fic was entirely written except for the last two scenes (and the final "tag" scene but I knew how that was going to go and don't really count it) for l don't even know how many months. I went through so many drafts of that BJ-Charles conversation, even more than the final big conversation between Hawkeye and BJ and that had a bunch of drafts too.

It just wasn't working and I don't know why and I had the damn thing pinned to my dock collecting virtual dust for an eternity. I knew what I had was good and I was so frustrated that I couldn't share it because it was unfinished. Even when I finally finished it, I was mostly just relieved, and it was still kind of pulling teeth. But before that, it was really fun.

One of my favorite bits is so small, but it's this:

“You know you’re on duty in post-op,” BJ reminds him. “Charles is already in a sore mood—” “—because of how thoroughly we whooped him—” Margaret interjects. “—and he’ll be even sorer if you don’t relieve him on time.”

I think this is best job I've ever done of writing an interjection. I was really happy with Mulcahy's dialogue in this scene, too.

This fic was my first time writing BJ. I expected it to be hard. I don't have a lot of feelings about BJ and I'm not very interested in him compared to the others, so I thought I would have no idea how to find his voice. But I had so. much. fun! Of course, now that I'm writing him in my ghost AU WIP, he's fucking impossible, just like I expected. But I had a ball here. I think giving him the mystery to solve and the weird little clues, the dirt under the fingernails and the jeep, probably helped a lot. But it was just fun!

After I wrote the scrub sink scene, I realized by chance my first two scenes ended with dialogue, so I decided to keep it up. I very seldom start with dialogue, but ending with dialogue was a fun experiment. I really like the bit where Hawkeye doesn't pick up the joke BJ is setting up, because he's too tired, and BJ kind of unhappily completes it himself.

I had a ton of fun writing Potter, too. Maybe even more than BJ. It was just a fun challenge! I even changed up the names for his POV, using Sherman and Pierce instead of Potter and Hawkeye, just to try something out. This might be my favorite scene, just because it has so many of my favorite lines. Most notably:

He slides one glass across the desk, where Pierce is draped over the chair like an oilcloth. Sherman’s a surgeon who’s seen more than most, but he thinks Dr. Gray himself would be at a loss to explain that man’s skeleton.

and

“You’re serious.” “You thought I was kidding?” He’s not too old to feel the flush of shame. “I’m sorry.” “People always think I’m kidding,” Pierce shrugs it off. “Of course, most of the time, I am.”

That bit is just mmmmmHawkeye feelings.

Funny story about this sentence:

BJ has never showed much interest in the nitty gritty of his best friend’s many rendezvous—he lets Hawkeye kiss and tell because it makes him happy—but tonight, he knows, he’ll be hanging on every sordid detail, and if Hawkeye doesn’t provide enough of them, he’ll poke and prod until he does.

I liked the way the first half sounded, so I had to come up with an ending that gave me a reason to use it. It took a while.

Rizzo was fun. I'm not sure if he insulted BJ enough. I did my best with that, but I think it could have been a more clear insult.

I love the Charles scene.

“What I fail to understand, is what gives you the impression Pierce works any harder than the rest of us.”

Let me take the opportunity to say this: JUSTICE FOR CHARLES! With the information he has, he has every right to be annoyed! Charles doesn't know Hawkeye was kidnapped and held at gunpoint. I was really worried the reader would forget that, since the audience does know, and judge him unfairly.

The part about Peg's letter came in during the second or third draft and ended up being the best angle into BJ. I had fun writing him before but this scene killed me. It went through several more rewrites, but I knew I wanted to keep the letter.

This final conversation was really, really hard. I'm happy with what I wrote, but I don't think I'll ever be completely satisfied.

I do really like the opening:

Hawkeye crouches on the floor of the swamp, elbow-deep in his footlocker. Beside him, his suitcase is splayed open like first-year anatomy practice; like a cadaver after all the organs have already been removed.

This entire fic came from the vision of this conversation I had in my head and I don't think I can ever truly capture it. Because it was so visual, like a scene from the show, I had the worst time choosing which POV to use. I finally decided on Hawkeye telling from his POV, and BJ reacting from his POV, which also gave me a natural spot to split it down the middle, and I'm happy with that part. Writing a Long Hawkeye Speech about Seoul was fun. I think I did okay, but I'm no Alan Alda and certainly no Larry Gelbart.

I'm not a big one for jealous BJ--I think the level of jealousy he displays in the show is normal--but BJ being pissy that Hawkeye told Potter first felt right. I can't explain why, but it did. BJ is kind of spiraling this entire fic, because he knows something is off but he doesn't know what and Hawkeye uncharacteristically won't talk about it. That would drive me crazy.

“That kid might still be alive if I spoke Korean.” He sounds distant, regretful. BJ’s stomach turns. “Or if his friend with the gun spoke English,” he points out. Hawkeye gives him a sidelong look. “It’s his country, Beej.”

Is one of the first bits I had. The language barrier in The Best of Enemies is so damn tragic and ironic. Hawkeye, of all people, forced to help at gunpoint... he'd help anyway, but that soldier doesn't know that and Hawkeye can't tell him. And I've always loved the bits in early seasons of Hawkeye trying and mostly failing to learn Korean. I've always headcanoned that he did try to learn Korean, but never got very far. I thought he'd feel guilty about that in this situation, or at least think about it a lot. I did have BJ realize he was right, because I didn't want him to come off too badly. BJ isn't Frank, he's just focused on comforting Hawkeye and feeling very protective.

“Hawk, he held a gun to your head!” BJ explodes. “What would you do if it was me?” Hawkeye asks.

This dialogue was the very first thing I had. The entire fic leads to this, really. Hawkeye empathizes with his captor, and BJ can't stand it, because this guy held Hawkeye at gunpoint and that's all he needs to know.

I knew, from the very beginning, that I had to ask the question. I think that's the entire point of the fic, really. I thought quite a bit about the direction I wanted it to go, because both of them have their merits. I didn't ask what would Hawkeye do if it was BJ, although I address it earlier when he wonders what he'd do for any of them, and I think Hawkeye raising it means he's thought about it, while BJ is caught off guard. I asked what would BJ do if it was Hawkeye? I liked it coming naturally from Hawkeye's defense of the North Korean. But I also knew I couldn't answer the question. So BJ dodges with medicine. BJ, bless him, thinks he can find a way out. Of course that doesn't work. It's unanswerable, until you've been there. The Hawkeye Speech here was a late addition, and I'm happy I added it.

I let BJ turn it around on Hawkeye, because I think he has a point. Hawkeye is forgiving of someone kidnapping him, but what if someone kidnapped BJ? And then can he understand why BJ can't be so forgiving? Of course, that's unanswerable too. It's kind of frustrating, because none of the central questions have answers. But that's life!

The dirt is a running thread because I truly cannot ever get over the image of Hawkeye digging that grave.

What stuns BJ is that Hawkeye says it so casually, as if it were the obvious thing to do.

Like... me too, Beej! But, you know, I wonder if BJ would have done that. If any of the others would have. The first time I watched that episode, I knew what Hawkeye was going to do. It was inevitable. So this is BJ's reaction to that.

“This damn war, Beej,” he says softly. “This goddamn, stinking war.”

This was one of the first lines I had, too, before I worked out how they all fit together. The fight just goes out of Hawkeye, here. And underneath it all, that's all it is. The war. None of them wants to be here, not Hawkeye, not BJ, not the North Korean or his dead friend. But this war is happening and they're pointing guns at each other. I think that's a theme in The Best of Enemies, too. I like writing episode tags that stay on theme.

It won’t work, but Hawkeye needs to try, and BJ needs to let him.

This might be my favorite friendship line I've written. Of course BJ wants to keep Hawkeye close, but he knows he needs to let him go. And the futility of it all...

I came up with the idea of doing a tag, almost like it was an episode, somewhere along the way. I really wanted to do Klinger POV, because I love Klinger. And now that BJ and Potter are both in the know, it was nice to bring in someone from the outside. I wrote that tag pretty fast, and it could probably be more polished. I liked the idea of Hawkeye using fake lab results as a cover for his call. I came up with the title and the toast as the last line at the same time, very late in the process, and at that point I just wanted to finish the damn thing.

It's possible Charles and the others find out the truth eventually. I didn't go that far, so who knows, but I wouldn't assume they never do.

Honestly I feel like there is more I could have covered but I can't think of it so if you want to chat about anything specific literally just ask!

[asaltysquid]

There is such an interesting dichotomy in activism.

Because on one hand you have the "do not debate with bigots" sentiment which..is something I agree with. Once someone's mind is made up on something trying to sway them does usually push them further into radicalization.

But on the other hand I think one thing the Internet and social media has rotted, is our ability to tell the difference between a mind made up and a mind that is uninformed. I make a point online that when I see hate comments or posts clearly using dog whistles I don't interact. Merely block and move on because those people look for a reaction. Part of any ideology indoctrination is the reinforcement of "cruelty" from the outside world. My outlook on how to handle opposing view points completely 180'd when I learned that tactics like witnessing were designed more so to deepen the missionaries convictions every time they got the door slammed on them or cursed out than it was to bring in new people. HOWEVER there is a big difference between the people giving out the pamphlets and the people taking them, and treating them the same is only going to push middle ground people farther into the seemingly "kind" sides arms.

The best example I have is, I recently had a dinner with my deceased step father's ex girlfriend, someone who reached out and helped when my husband's father passed. The best way I can describe her is someone who identifies as a feminist due to being a woman and a liberal and really hasn't thought much about it past that. She's someone who I do see as trying her best to be a decent accepting person but the only two trans people she's ever met and had close connection to are me and my husband. So naturally I'm usually the person who hears about trans stuff she's seen and my favorite thing I like to do is just let her talk. Whatever is on her mind or that she's seen. Whether that's trans women in sports, or kids using neo pronouns on tik Tok. Then after a while I interject with where she heard things. If she can name any actual cases of what she says is happening. If she's encountered people asking her to use neo pronouns in her day to day life if she asked them why. Most of the time this is all information she is being fed through simple osmosis. News articles, tik Tok reaction compilations, podcasters. Never anything direct to her life. From there I tell her exactly where I think the stories she heard came from, the actual stories and statistics, where I believe her view points are skewed by lack of experience or internal biases. I don't pull punches, I don't coddle her, but I also don't treat her like she's stupid or inherently malicious. By the end of the meal her language has shifted and at the very least she sits more at a middle ground. I found out she likes video essays and true crime so I recommend her sources I enjoy from a variety of backgrounds to at the very least turn her onto more queer creators. It's exhausting and I'm tired but I accomplished far more than I would have by immediately getting defensive, because I could recognize the propaganda she was regurgitating. Will our small bimonthly conversations keep her from going down a bad pipeline? Absolutely not. But it's hard to dehumanize a group of people when you have to actively see and care about them. Should I have to do this? No. And I don't blame people who can't but it's those types of conversations that lead to change. Acceptance was never gained through comfort.

And before anyone misreads what I said I'm not talking about sanitizing ourselves for acceptance. I just think that most humans want to be able to understand other humans but it's also human nature to not want to be told we're bad for not understanding. I spent a long time buying into transmedicalism and I am incredibly embarrassed by that time, but I don't think I would have come out of it as quickly if not for the incredible patient trans people around me willing to be a bit uncomfortable because they believed I could be better. And in the end I came around because I loved them and saw that they were happy, kind, good people and it felt dishonest to view them as otherwise.

Anyhow hope this makes sense and isn't an incomprehensible ramble and I 100% agree with everything op said.

i dunno i think ppl have forgotten that activism isn’t fair. if you want to be an activist, you have to do things that are uncomfortable or unfair, you have to talk to people you disagree with and you have to get on their level and empathize with them if you want them to change their minds, you have to engage with fucked up shit, because otherwise the fucked up shit isn’t going to go away. if you call yourself an activist but refuse to engage with your “opponents” then you’re not an activist you’re an actor. you’re putting on a show. real activism is not glamorous. it sucks. it’s draining. it’s traumatizing. it’s difficult. it doesn’t always work. and it is 10000x more helpful than just living out your hero fantasy while not actually making any meaningful changes.

[archerincombat]

takin' my time, let the world turn

“Hey,” Ravi says. “Scale of 1 to 10, how bad would it be if I assumed Eddie Diaz’s girlfriend was his wife in front of him?”

Lee groans. “Did you do it in front of Buckley?”

“Yeah?”

“A hundred,” she replies, turning the other direction before Ravi can demand to know why.

At three in the morning, it hits him. He bolts upright in his cot. Oh my god, he thinks. Buck and Eddie are divorced, and everyone forgot to tell me.

aka, the ravi fic (affectionate)

15.5 k words | read on ao3

The first time Ravi meets the A-shift, they remind him a little too much of the football jocks from high school — mostly because there’s definitely something wrong with all of them.

They’re infamous at the 118 — at any firehouse really. You know, after one of them got crushed by a firetruck and the other survived a piece of rebar straight through his brain and another one of them got trapped at the bottom of the well during a storm and came out of it cracking jokes. Ravi’s only been at the 118 for one day, but gossip travels extraordinarily fast here. Somehow, these guys named Buck, Eddie, Hen, and Chimney seem to always be at the heart of it all.

(“Do not get on their bad side,” Richardson, one of the younger firefighters, tells him in the locker room when Ravi asks if there’s anything he desperately needs to know before he’s thrown off into the deep end. “Shouldn’t be hard. They’re all good people, but they’re like...they’re like the popular kids. Cap’s favorites. Just don’t do it.”

“Diaz did,” Cassidy interjects. “Look at him now.”

“Yeah well he had to pull a live grenade out of a man’s leg to remedy that.” Richardson claps Ravi on the back before turning to leave. “B-shift usually leaves that to the bomb squad. Everyone on A-shift has a death wish. Never join A-shift.”)

Anyway, Ravi’s pretty content with taking that advice and running with it, because for all of B-shift’s goading praise, A-shift actually seems clinically insane and he’s not planning on interacting with them unless he absolutely has to. It’s only been 20 hours, so Ravi doesn’t know much about the inner-workings of the firehouse, but he’s seen enough to start packing up a little quicker when Bobby enters the firehouse.

And then, one by one, the rest of A-shift trickles in, and look Ravi doesn’t know any of their names, but he’s only human, so when a very tall, very attractive man strides in the bay doors, looking for all the world like he owns the place, it’s possible — like a little bit, microscopically possible — that Ravi decides, if he looks like he belongs there and walks at just the right angle…

He walks at the right angle. The problem is, now that he’s here, he’s not really sure what to do with it. He thinks, best course of action, he just keeps walking, forward and straight out the doors, even though his duffle bag is still in the locker room.

He’s not a huge believer in fate, but it seems like the universe does indeed have other plans.

“Hey probie!” very tall attractive man yells, making Ravi flinch so hard he drops all of his books, and hadn’t Cassidy literally said to him, snorting all the while, “This is a fire house, not a library.” And god, maybe he should’ve listened instead of striding around like he isn’t just fresh out of the Academy and great now he has to quit and-

He takes a breath. Steadies himself because he’s 25 and this is his workplace, calls the slightly less attractive now man ‘sir’ sarcastically (his friends say no one really knows the difference between his sarcastic voice and his normal voice, but it’s the thought that counts), and refuses his help as — and now he can see the name tag — Firefighter Buckley, looking rightfully contrite, asks him how his first shift was.

Ravi nods warily and shrugs to seem suave. “Oh, pretty quiet,” he says.

Wrong answer, apparently. Though, in Ravi’s defense, he hadn’t known there was a right one. “Whoa!” Buckley protests.

“Did he just-?” the woman asks, shell-shocked.

And finally, the third guy. “No!” he shouts, backing away like Ravi’s some sort of feral animal. “No!”

“Sorry,” he frowns, because what..? Clinically. In. Sane. “I just said it was-”

A-shift seems intent on not letting him speak. They bicker in incomprehensible sentences about curses and horror movies while Ravi stands there, frozen, 15 minutes after his shift ended, because he’s not quite sure that this isn’t a nightmare so what else can he possibly do except clutch his books and wait, maybe, for the earth to swallow him whole?

Then just because his life can’t possibly get any worse — this is the last time he’ll ever pursue a handsome stranger, thank you — Captain Nash comes out onto the balcony with a frown on his face and scans the floor below, looking for his victim. “Who used the q-word?”

Everyone points at him and Ravi considers just transferring, or maybe asking for shifts that always intersect with C-shift instead of A-shift — because he already knew they were weird, but this is more cultish than anything and Ravi’s honestly worried that if he stays here for too long, they’ll recruit him too and because he’s already dropped out of grad school he’ll have no choice but to accept, and then he’ll have to tell his parents that he unwittingly joined a cult, which he’ll know will sound ridiculous but is exactly how this seems to be panning out and—.

But apparently Ravi’s got a guardian angel in the shape of the man leaning against the firetruck, looking just as skeptical and confused as Ravi feels. His eyes flicker to Buckley’s body before he even looks up at Captain Nash and Ravi figures, because it’s only been a day but he’s heard the rumors, that this must be Diaz.

“What am I missing here?” Diaz asks, and the alarm goes. Ravi’s not sure, and he’ll never admit to it, but he thinks that that might be entirely his fault.

Buckley claps him on the shoulder and levels him with a disappointed stare at the same time. And you know what, Ravi’s not quite sure how he got here, but he decides the only dignified thing to do is to shuffle off to the side so that the ladder truck doesn’t run him over and try his best to forget any of this ever happened.

He’d say, for anyone keeping track, that this was probably the last moment any part of his life contained a sense of normalcy.

continue on ao3

[erwinsvow]

𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.

summary: uncle eren comes to visit.

warnings: step-cest, jealousy, manipulation, hints of verbal/emotional abuse + touch of dubcon to con, reader feels guilty, grinding/dry-humping, overstimulation, orgasm denial, unprotected sex

author's note: part two of sole salvation. i really hope everyone enjoys this! the warnings are just to be on the safe side as i do not want to accidentally trigger anyone, please feel free to message me if you want to ask about something before reading.

tagging @sangwoos-mom & @divine-delight :)

If Zeke didn’t want my interest to get piqued, Eren thinks to himself as he watches you stroll away, off to get him to a fresh cup of lemonade, he should have kept his mouth shut.

When his brother had mentioned his new fiancee had a daughter, Eren had supposed it would be some spoiled, bratty kid. After all, he had met your mother once before, and he didn’t think that kind of a woman could raise someone even remotely well-behaved.

So given that, he was more than pleasantly surprised the first time he met you. It was all a shock, from the almost angelic way you float down the stairs to greet him, your soft skin and sweet smile, to the genuine look in your eyes when you tell him that you’re glad to finally meet him.

He still doesn’t know what Zeke did to deserve you in his life, the taste in his mouth a touch too bitter when he watches the way you look at his brother, even when your mom is in the same room. It’s dreamy, as though there’s no better way to spend your time and nothing better to think about than your step-father.

It’s a little unfair, Eren thinks, that Zeke has a sweet, doting little thing head over heels for him. It’s a little unfair that Zeke waited so long to invite him over, to introduce him to you. Maybe it was brotherly instinct, maybe he knew that once Eren met you, he wouldn’t be able to think about anything else, just like it had been for Zeke.

Regardless of what it was, Eren knew one thing for certain. Sibling should always share.

It finally takes an unbearable conversation on the phone with your mother for an excuse, an opportunity to arise. The lie is taking hold in his head and spilling out of his mouth before he can even control it—“Yeah, the pipes burst and it’s just a mess, I called Zeke but his phone’s off- no, really? Just for the weekend, I promise- thank you, I’ll be over soon.”

His bag is packed and cock is twitching at the idea of getting you alone in that house, maybe when Zeke’s locked away in his office and your mother’s out shopping. It’s going to be a hot week, with almost intolerable heat, and he’s positive it’ll have you in revealing clothes (no doubt ones that his brother bought for you) and teensy swimsuits when you go for an afternoon swim.

That’s what he’s thinking of—the image of you soaked to the bone, wet hair and the thin, dripping material of your suit sticking to your skin—when he pulls into your driveway later that day.

It’s almost easy enough to miss the slight wobble in your steps, the way your clothes are just a little too wrinkled for someone that’s been sitting around the house all day.

But Eren notices it, of course, and doesn’t miss the way Zeke practically keeps one eye on you the entire day, no matter who he’s talking to, either.

Maybe if Eren was just a drop stupider, a bit less cunning, you and Zeke could get away with all of it, but he’s not. He thinks it’s his turn to have his fun with you.

Your mother’s even more intolerable than he remembers. He wonders how bad a family dinner could be, but this is much worse than he could have fathomed. It’s a whole host of things, like how she’s oblivious to the affair happening right under her nose and her small comments that have your lips trembling and eyes blinking away tears before they can fall.

Jeez. Eren had initially felt bad for himself, but he’s starting to wonder how you put up with it. Maybe fucking around with Zeke is your own way of getting revenge, payback for every ‘Why do you look so tired, it’s not like you’re the one working all day’ and ‘Don’t you have plans with friends, or are you just gonna bother your parents all day?’

By the time dinner ends, you’ve made your way to the kitchen almost automatically, putting away dishes and wiping counters without even being told, as Zeke gives your mother a cold, hard stare.

“Was all that really necessary?” his brother questions quietly, eyes fuming with anger yet still disguising his true reason for being upset.

“What?” your mother responds innocently, pretending as though she hadn’t said anything wrong. Eren watches the interaction carefully. He thinks it’d be better if he didn’t interject on a married couple’s little spat, but here he goes again, words out before he can control them. They’re spoken a bit louder than they needed to be, but he wants to make sure you hear them over the running water.

“I don’t know, she seems like a good girl to me, no? Maybe you should be easier on her.”

And a few feet away, in the kitchen, your heart skips a beat. Uncle Eren—who you’d only met once and heard about a handful of times, someone who doesn’t owe you anything, someone not even really related to you—defending you?

It was enough to make tears rush to your eyes again, a smile on your face as you rinse off the dishes.

Good girl. The words run through your head again, seemingly on repeat. They’re your two favorite words, enough to pick you up from the dark, sullen headspace you’re in as a result of your mother’s cruel phrases and Zeke’s stinging silence.

Zeke claims it’ll become too obvious, even to your clueless mother, if he always takes your side and speaks up for you, despite how much he wants to, he says. You’re so hopelessly gone, so devoted to him that you don’t think you have it in you to fight for it. The words he says when the two of you are alone, how he makes you feel and spoils you rotten makes up for it, right?

That’s what you’d been telling yourself all this time, but you’re not sure how much longer you can keep the act going. Does he think it’s easy to watch him walk into the bedroom he shares with your mother every night? To watch her kiss him goodbye, hold onto his arm in public, while you trail behind like a lost puppy?

It’s not actually revenge you’re aiming for, when you start greeting Eren in the morning brightly, walking straight on over to him in the living room rather than the kitchen where your step-father is. It’s closer to a plea for attention, like you’re waiting for Zeke to realize you can play at this game too.

Eren’s more than happy to indulge you, spending hours of the day beside you on the couch watching movies, or watering the lawn while you work on your garden, claiming that he just wants to help out around the house as much as he can. His weekend-long visit turns into a week, as the ‘good for nothing contractors are taking their sweet time.’

It’s terribly easy to make you believe every word he’s saying, with you even defending him when Zeke asks how much longer he’s planning on sticking around.

“He’s family,” you had argued valiantly, leaving your step-father with narrowed eyes and a tense jaw as he noticed Eren smiling behind you. For once, your mother had agreed with you, and Zeke was left with no choice.

It’s sunny and warm when Eren’s opportunity, the one he’s been waiting for patiently, appears. Your mother’s gone out again, this time to the salon, there’s that hour of time right after she’s left that you usually treasure, because you know there’s no chance she’ll be on her way back or call home.

It’s usually your favorite time of the day, when you know you can have Zeke all to yourself, and that’s what you’re thinking, when you hesitantly make your way to the door of his office.

Truly, you hadn’t meant to make Zeke angry, you just wanted to be there for Uncle Eren how he was there for you. You were ready to make up and forget about it now, dolled up in a new sundress that you hadn’t gotten a chance to wear yet. Zeke had bought it only weeks ago, before Uncle Eren’s sudden visit, and you thought he might like it if you wore it now.

Your hand has just reached the cool metal of the doorknob, just about to twist when you hear a ringing from inside the room, of Zeke’s phone going off.

You step back, knowing better than to interrupt one of his calls. You’re disheartened a little, mind wondering why he would schedule something when you and he both know this is your hour, your chance to be alone.

You make your way back downstairs, lingering on the last step and thinking about going back up in a few minutes, when Uncle Eren’s voice calls to you from the living room, making you jump a little.

“Oh, sorry, sweetheart, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, voice calm and quiet, a contrast to your thudding heart.

“That’s okay, Uncle Eren,” you say, and your head turns back to look in the direction of Zeke’s office inadvertently. “I was just-”

“Waiting for Daddy, huh?” Your lips part a little in surprise, confused by his implication. Though surely, Zeke wouldn’t have told Uncle Eren anything. No, he wouldn’t do that.

Right?

“I-I just needed to ask him something, but I think he’s on the phone with someone,” you say quietly, confused at Eren’s tone, the confidence with which he spoke those words, almost mockingly.

“Oh, yeah. He told me he’s busy all afternoon, something or other about work and a report-” Eren stops himself right when he notices your expression change, looking thoroughly upset that Zeke was busy when you were ripe for the taking. “He didn’t tell you about that?”

Fuel to the fire, maybe a bit too much, but Eren doesn’t care. Not as long as you keep it up, looking like a maimed little prey upon realizing that Daddy was too busy for you.

Yes, Eren was getting much better with the lying. It doesn’t even register to you to question his words, to go back up and double check, that Zeke might, in fact, be waiting for you to knock on his door at this very second.

Your feet find their way to the sofa, slumping down dejectedly, as Eren sits right next to you. It’s the way you two have been sitting for the past week, except he’s ready to take the risk. His hand finds your knee, thumb rubbing the soft skin as you let out a shaky breath, wiping away a stray tear.

“All afternoon?” comes your quiet voice, trembling at the mere notion that Zeke was upset with you. You hadn’t meant to take it this far, hadn’t thought he would be ignoring you just because you disagreed with something he said for the first time.

But your sadness is turning into something different when you look at the hungry, almost predatory way Uncle Eren is looking at you now.

“That’s what he said, sweetheart. Did you two have plans, or something?” It’s coming off nonchalant, or so he hopes, because every bone in his body is excited at the prospect before him, blood rushing to his hardening cock as he catches a glimpse of your exposed skin as you fiddle with the hem of your dress.

“N-no, I just… He always spends time with me when mom leaves. I just thought he would be free.”

It’s the sweet, lonely way you’re looking into his eyes, your own doe-like and watery, that tips him over the edge.

“Well, I can keep you company.”

“R-really?”

“Yeah, baby. A sweet thing like you shouldn’t be left all alone… it’s not right, well, at least to me.”

“Yeah?” Eren nods his head, line between his lies and the truth blurring suddenly as you inch closer and closer to him.

“I wouldn’t treat you like that, if you were mine, you know-” and he can’t finish his sentence, because your hands are on the collar of his shirt and you’re shifting onto his lap, and your lips are on each other.

It’s stupid, you know, to be so easily guided by a few choice words, putty in virtually anyone’s hands if they say the right things and make you feel seen and heard, but you can’t stop now.

Eren’s tongue is in your mouth, your lips practically glued together as you feel his hands go under the soft cotton of your dress, exploring the supple skin of your thighs. It’s not long before his hands find your ass, squeezing and groping as moan into his mouth.

A sharp slap to your ass makes you yelp, pulling away for just a second before Eren’s hand is on the back of your neck, guiding you into a kiss again. You moan again, louder, when his teeth bite down on your lip just a little bit, when Eren finally pulls away.

“Can’t be too loud, remember, sweetheart? Daddy’s busy upstairs,” he says, somehow knowing exactly what would rile you up. The words act like a little shock running through your system, making you even more eager for Eren’s touch.

“Don’t care-!” you mewl, head going fuzzy when you feel Eren’s hard cock grind against your core, waves of pleasure rushing through your body. You’re still, Eren’s hand coming up to cover your mouth as he continues his rocking movement, making you moan against his hand.

Your eyes roll back when Eren increases his speed, and it’s silly, how the barely-there contact is making you shake, the coil in your stomach tense and unwinding, when Eren stops completely.

You whine loudly, muffled some by his hand, but not entirely, causing Eren to spank you again.

“I thought you were a good girl, hm? Don’t get bratty on me now,” he says, though he thinks it went in one ear and out the other as you come down from your incomplete high.

“I want-I want you, Uncle Eren, now-!” Another whine, another spank. You cry out again, until the fourth slap—which leaves your ass sore already from Eren’s heavy-handedness—silences you.

“Sweetheart, stop misbehaving or you’re not gonna get anything, okay?” he coos, fingers finding your chin and directing your face to look him in the eyes. They’re lust-blown too, and his hardness is still evident underneath your body, but your body’s inclined to follow his rules, despite how badly you want to cum.

“Yes, Uncle Eren,” you say softly, your squirming body finally stopping. Eren’s fingers find their way to the thin straps of your sundress, pulling them until they rest on your shoulder and expose your neck and collar to him.

“Tell me something, baby, did you wear this for me? Or for him?” The very mention of Zeke makes your body stiffen, but you’re still desperate for more and eager to please Uncle Eren.

“For you,” you mumble, wanting to just bury your head in the crook of Eren’s neck and feel him inside you, though you know you won’t get what you want that easily.

“Me? I’m so honored,” he says, letting out a laugh at how your body shakes in anticipation but you stay completely still. He wonders if Zeke had to teach you to be this obedient, or if it just comes to you naturally.

He thinks it’s the latter when he rolls his hips quickly, watching you squirm and bite your lip hard to keep quiet, another rush of pleasure coursing through you, though it’s not nearly enough.

“It’s okay, baby, you’ve been good enough to me, haven’t you?” he asks, and you nod your head quickly. “You deserve to feel good, don’t you?” You nod again and let out a shaky breath when Eren moves your hips with his hands, finally giving you the much-needed pressure on your clit.

“Why don’t you cum for me, baby, just like this? Mmh?” You’re letting out little squeals at each contact, hips moving faster and faster as Eren lays back and lets you use his cock as a toy to grind against. His head falls back at how good it feels, though he won’t let himself cum until he’s inside you.

You’re close again, stomach tensing again and that familiar feeling gathering inside your chest, making you feel warm all over as you speed up.

The breaking point is when Eren’s hands come to your chest, pulling down your dress and exposing your tits to the cool air. His fingers pinch one while his mouth finds the other, and suddenly you can’t keep quiet no matter how hard you try, moans spilling out your mouth as well as repeated cries of Uncle Eren, that sound sweet as sugar to Eren.

It’s when Eren starts bucking his hips up too, that you finally cum, a bolt of pleasure running through your entire body as he keeps going. You’re not entirely sure what kind of noises you’re making—everything seems to be muted and fuzzy as repeated shocks make you shake, Eren’s firm grip on your tits being the only thing that’s grounding you.

When you finally come down, forcing yourself away from Eren’s lap and legs pressed tightly together to calm your oversensitive cunt, there’s a lecherous look in Eren’s eyes. It’s screaming to you, silently, how he’s not done with you yet.

“Aw, baby, look how fast you came just from a little bit of humping. Are you that desperate, bunny? Is Daddy not taking care of you?”

Your face feels like it might be on fire, blood and heat rushing at the same time and burning quickly with shame at the realization that Eren knew all along, that he’s been playing this little game with you since his arrival and you never, not once, had the upper hand.

He feels more predatory than ever before, spreading your legs despite how your legs ache and your core is burning—even if you wanted more, you don’t think you could take it—but it doesn’t seem like Eren cares.

“U-uncle Eren, we shouldn’t- h-he might-” you start, but are cut off as Eren presses a finger to your lips.

“Sweetheart, isn’t that a little unfair? If you get to cum, and I don’t? Be a good girl and spread for me,” he says, and you feel your body comply automatically.

Your back’s on the couch now, Eren hovering over you. All it would take is a few steps in this direction after coming down the stairs for someone to find you, but you can hardly care when Eren’s shoving your dress up, exposing your panties and shoving them to the side, your wetness on display for him.

“One day, baby, when Daddy’s not here, I’m gonna fuck you stupid with my tongue—just not today,” and the words go straight to your head. Your heart thuds uncomfortably in your chest every time he mentions Zeke, a sense of guilt washing over you and replacing the pleasure you feel, but you forget all about it when you see Eren undos his pants and take out his hardened cock.

It’s plainly wrong to compare it to Zeke’s, and though it might not be longer, it’s definitely thicker, not as pretty but covered in throbbing veins that you can’t even imagine feeling inside you.

Eren’s about to grant your wish, running his cockhead over your sensitive clit once, twice, and just as you're expecting a third, he pushes inside of you.

A strangled, loud moan escapes your lips before he can cover your mouth again. It’s agonizing, not being able to make a sound as your step-uncle fucks you into the couch, movements picking up and a steady pace filling the room with obscene noises. You can’t see where the two of you are connected, since your eyes are locked with Eren’s pretty green ones, but you know you’re making a mess.

It’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before, every thrust stretching you out, you think he’s ruined your cunt for anyone else—but that’s exactly what he wants.

It’s silent, save for the heavy patter of Eren’s balls against your ass with each thrust, the sound of his hips knocking with yours. He’s trying to keep his grunts silent, but it’s getting harder and harder with the way you’re clenching around him, so tight and wet and soft, he wonders what his brother did to deserve someone like you—he wonders why he doesn’t spend every minute inside you.

Your sensitive cunt tightens around him, knowing only another few strokes and grazes on your clit will be enough to tip you into your second orgasm. Your shaky hand finds Eren’s, pulling his wrist away from your face and meeting his lips again, releasing muffled moans into his mouth.

You know he’s close too, from the way his pace picks up, and you pull away just for a second, just to say three words.

“Please, Uncle Eren.”

And it’s enough to make his hips stutter, enough to uncoil the knot in your tense stomach and have your orgasm washing over you, as you feel Eren fill your cunt with his hot cum. Your lips are on each other, the lewd squelching of his slowing thrusts matching the small squeaks you release, until he finally pulls out and your panties snap back over your leaking cunt.

It’s hard to catch your breath, from your position laying down, feeling your tight hole throb and Eren’s cum spill out, probably onto the sofa seat. You adjust the top of your dress, covering your tits and pulling one strap up. When you’re fixing the skirt, you feel Eren’s hands pull the other strap onto your shoulder, hands lingering on your exposed skin.

You shy away from looking at him, despite how his cum is still inside you. It feels too intimate, almost, because a part of you thinks you were taken advantage of, and another part of you doesn’t ever want Eren to leave you.

Eren’s fingers find your chin, forcing you to look up and meet his gaze. You blink quickly, licking your swollen lips and biting the inside of your cheek nervously.

Neither of you speak, though you know what’s lingering in the air. You can tell he’s gotten what he wanted, and he’s going to leave, and yet you can’t stop yourself from speaking first, throat scratchy and dry and your words nothing more than a whisper.

“C-can I… did you- did you mean all those things you said? Before?”

And suddenly Eren understands everything, why you’re this way, why you need to be validated so badly, why his brother’s such a good match for you. He thinks he’d sacrifice anything too, like his marriage and a new life, just to make you happy.

“Of course I did, sweetheart. I meant every word of it.”

“Really?” There’s a soft smile on your lips, your eyes watery and he thinks it doesn’t have anything to do with how hard he fucked you.

“Yeah, I-”

“Well, what do we have here?” Zeke’s voice comes from behind you.

[divinegrey]

THUNDER / vi x f!reader

POP ROCKS & PUNCHES, part 2

hey everyone! welcome to the second part of my brand new vi series, pop rocks & punches! if you haven't yet, go read the first part here and catch up. like my last series, the reader (you) will have a nickname to keep the flow of the narrative consistent.

masterlist here

prompt: after reuniting with your longtime best friend, you take to the streets of the Undercity with one goal in mind. get jinx back, and fix the bridges you burned.

words: 4410

warnings: fighting, blood, violence, cursing

“Right, so, who is this?”

“Caitlyn, this is—”

“Rocky,” you quickly interject. “People ‘round these parts call me Rocky.”

What? You’re not going to give an Enforcer your name. That’d be an idiotic idea, considering the three of you are standing outside the little shop you use as a front to peddle your goods. You narrow your eyes at the Enforcer, which proves to be a bit of a challenge, considering she’s much taller than you are. What the hell is up with that? What are they feeding the people in Piltover?

Shit that’s probably worth more than your life.

Vi gives you a glance out of the corner of her eye hearing the nickname you so often used when you were kids. If anything, Rocky was synonymous with your actual name. Just like how Ekko went by Little Man (and still does), Rocky just became your name after an unfortunate incident involving a rock and the back of an enforcer’s head. Among other reasons, one of which involves candy.

“Rocky?” Caitlyn’s sharp brow arches upward. She takes into account the various weapons strapped to your figure (plus the Demacian leather harness over your jacket containing ammo and gadgets) and crosses her arms over her chest. “You wouldn’t happen to be related to the infamous arms and weapons dealer, Pop Rocks?”

“What? Going to put me in cuffs? You’ll have to try harder than that, Topside Princess,” you say, rubbing your hand over your wrist as a mindless gesture, but really, you’re pressing a button on the metal bracer around your left forearm to activate the locks on your ordinary, unremarkable little shop. You start walking, pushing in between the enforcer and your oldest best friend slash former inmate.

Some people, man. Too nosy.

From behind you, you hear Caitlyn whisper-shout to Vi, “You didn’t tell me your contact was Pop Rocks! We’ve been trying to apprehend her for years!”

“I was in jail for six years!” Vi hisses back. “Ugh, whatever— just stay behind us and don’t trip over your fancy boots, okay?”

Vi catches up to your side. You reach up and pull out one of your piercings and put it in her hand. You say, “Wear this. I’ll know where you are at all times.”

Without question, Vi presses the piercing into one of the holes on her lobe, giving you a curious raise of her brow paired with a little smirk. “Look at you and all your fancy toys and gadgetry. What even is this?”

She taps your right forearm, to the heavy gauntlet secured around your wrist. You give her a grin.

“People will pay top dollar for tech like mine,” you reply, double-tapping a button on your snug, metallic blue bracer to get the GPS locator on Vi’s ear to ping. It beeps, causing her to flinch. You hold up the heavy gauntlet— it’s toploaded on one side with a device you made. “And hopefully, you won’t have to know what this does until later.”

“Fine, fine, keep your secrets,” Vi says, raising her hands in mock surrender, just like she used to do when you guys were younger. “Pop Rocks, hm?”

You snort. “Why not Pop Rocks? We used to eat it all the time when Vander wasn’t looking.”

At the mention of you and Vi’s adopted father, there’s a pause in the conversation. You quickly grab Vi’s wrist, giving it a soft squeeze within your own. You recall the times you used to sit on the rooftops in Zaun, devouring the packets of pop rocks Vi would swipe from the candy stores in Piltover for you two to eat. While her favorite flavor was bubblegum berry blast, yours was strawberry sweet rush.

The pink candy always reminded you of her hair, even years later down the line when you thought she was gone forever.

“It doesn’t matter what I had to do to scrape by while I was down here,” you say under your breath, throwing the hood of your jade green jacket over your head to keep yourself somewhat discreet. “What matters is that you’re back. If we want to get Jinx back, the only option is to push Silco out of the Lanes completely.”

“Where do we even start?” Vi asks with an annoyed exhale through her nose, the scar in her brow becoming prominent when they furrow together.

“I get all my intel from Babette at the brothel,” you reply, turning down an alleyway that descends down with a few steps. You rap on the metal door three times before turning back to Caitlyn and Vi. “She’ll have the best information we can get without blowing a cover. Because, no offense Piltie, if you didn’t have that weird jacket, we would’ve been shot at least three times already.”

“Right? I literally had to sock a few guys to get her to change. She complained for two minutes about the smell,” Vi replies. Caitlyn’s brow twitches near imperceptibly. You doubt that you would’ve noticed it if you hadn’t been looking straight at her face anyway.

The slide on the door slams open, screeching on rusty hinges. The bouncer behind it spares one glance at you, your jacket, then slides the hatch closed. You hear the sound of at least four locks clicking and twisting, and the door opens. You step inside, pulling your hood back and looking over your shoulder at the two women accompanying you.

Your thoughts catch themselves on the back of your throat when you see Vi in this strange, fuschia lighting that overtakes the entire brothel. It doesn’t help that the smell of incense is heady and the sounds of moaning are audible in the background. Damn it, focus. Just be glad she’s alive after your colossal fuck-up.

“What is the plan, exactly?” Caitlyn whispers under her breath.

“Cutie here and I are gonna go have a little chat with Babette like we just said,” Vi replies, perhaps a little too roughly. You smack your hand on her arm and give her a pointed look. You’re not sure how exactly Vi managed to get out of Stillwater, but you’re pretty confident in your belief that it has to do with Caitlyn. Vi could do with being a little nicer to her.

“Just— pretend to be a prostitute or something, keep a low profile for ten minutes, we’ll be back,” you say to Caitlyn. The offended face on the Enforcer is a near-instantaneous reaction that, if the situation weren’t so damn serious, you would start laughing your ass off. “You ain’t a Piltie down here, you’re one of us, okay? Can’t get everything you want.”

Vi puts her hands into the pockets of her jacket, a blase expression passing her face. Oh, you’ve seen this look before, but not on this version of Vi, not when she’s twenty-two and you’re twenty-three. She’s fully grown— the last time you saw her take on this exact face was when she had a bruise on her eye and a cut on her lip from beating someone up in your honor.

“If you really want people to talk to you, you have to let them think you have what they want,” Vi says, starting to circle Caitlyn. The Enforcer shifts her posture, pulling on the bottom of her jacket to flatten out the wrinkles.

“And what do I have?” Caitlyn retorts in that posh accent of hers.

Vi gives you a glance out of the corner of her grey eyes. You see her head look down at Caitlyn’s chest, then around to her backside, before she says, “You’re hot, cupcake.”

You can’t help the way your eyebrows shoot up your forehead. Vi… Vi is into women? No, she could just be commenting on that, it’s perfectly normal for women to compliment other women, but certainly not so brashly the way Vi did. That’s normal for Vi, to be so rough around the edges.

You realize you’re just standing there like a penguin with its head cut off and quickly move aside Vi, putting your arm on her shoulder to say, “Use what you got, Princess, see what you can get while Vi and I talk to Babette.” You grab the arm of a female passerby and push her onto Caitlyn. “My friend Matilda here wants to talk to you, bye!”

You grab Vi’s hand, snickering as you hear Caitlyn completely flub it a few times before being taken into one of the backrooms. As you approach Babette’s office, you turn around to say, “Vi, you are the worst. You’re a fucking menace to society, did you see the look on her face?”

Vi presses the back of her hand to her mouth, unable to hide the absolutely childish grin she has smeared across her cheeks. “That might be the second-best thing I’ve done since breaking out.”

“What was the first thing?” You can’t help but be curious.

“Seeing you again, obviously,” Vi replies, and you don’t fail to miss the way her face softens at the mention of you. You also remember you’re still holding her hand and even through the cloth wraps, you can feel the calluses that have only gotten worse over time.

She pulls her hand back to herself when you drop it. You huff. “Thought jail would’ve made you hard, but you’re still just the same softie I knew years ago. C’mon, let’s go talk to Babette so poor Topside Princess doesn’t lose her marbles.”

Vi gives you a crooked smile. “Fine by me.”

Babette seems relatively pleased to see you in particular when you come into her office, offering a smoke (you decline). Vi plops onto the couch, assuming a very comfortable position with her legs spread and her arms across the back. You lean on the armrest of the couch.

“Rocky and Vi, back together once again,” Babette says, hoisting herself onto her chair and crossing one leg over the other. You give a small smile to Vi, before putting your hands on your thighs and leaning forward.

“We’re going after Jinx,” you say, much to Babette’s obvious displeasure, judging by the way she crosses her arms, propping her elbow up for her cigarette. “If you have any information, then we’ll gladly take it.”

Babette ponders your words, then looks at the door. “I don’t need to tell you that you’re going on a suicide mission, Rocky. The Lanes have become different without Vander looking out for us. People have succumbed to the influence of Shimmer. Silco has the money and the firepower to keep everyone here on a leash.”

“I know,” you reply. You look at Vi, who has turned to you so easily for help, for reassurance. When you meet Babette’s gaze again, the determination turns your words firm, “But if there’s a chance to get her back…”

Babette exhales a plume of smoke. “Silco’s number two is a regular. I can get Miguel to tell you where she is. That’s all I can say.”

“We owe you,” Vi says, standing up. The frown on her face is evident— you’d reach out to squeeze her hand, but after so long… is that the right thing to do? Doubt creeps into your brain— you’ve been away from Vi for six years, from the others…

“It’s nothing,” Babette replies, dismissing even the simple notion. “Pop Rocks has done plenty to keep my establishment safe and secure over the years. It’s the least I could do for her.”

You pretend not to notice Vi looking at you with barely disguised awe and instead nod to Babette. “Stay safe.”

“You as well, Rocky. It was good to see you again, Vi, I wish you both all the best.”

With that, you and Vi leave her office. Miguel, a handsome gentleman, whispers into your ear and Vi’s with the information he knows, and you both know your next location.

And your next target.

You and Vi walk side by side, quiet and solemn until the sound of giggling catches both of your attention. At nearly the same time, you two turn your heads to see Caitlyn, the Topside Princess herself, enjoying what seems to be a delightful conversation with another female patron inside of the brothel. Your eyebrows shoot up.

“Mark ‘Caitlyn flirting with a brothel worker’ as something I did not expect to happen on my bingo board,” you mutter to Vi, much to the pink-haired woman’s pleasure. She just laughs, quiet and low, right into your ear— is she standing right next to you? You don’t look.

“Cupcake knows more than she lets on, apparently,” Vi says. You feel the tips of her fingers tapping on your forearm. Not to get your attention, no, but just… to know you’re there. That you’re real.

You pause; she still does that, even after all these years. A physical anchor. You can’t recall when she started doing that. Definitely when you were kids, but… god that was so long ago. You look at Vi, your hand just itching to take hers and squeeze her knuckles, but you resist. You have work to do.

More importantly, you have a target to beat the shit out of.

So the two of you leave the brothel. If Caitlyn’s smart enough, she’ll catch up. If not, you don’t blame her. Women are gorgeous.

Adrenaline begins to settle in your blood, emboldening your step as you walk through the Lanes with Vi at your side. It occurs to you then that you never thought you’d do this again. The warehouse explosion had sent the Undercity into chaos that was unimaginable— you scrambled for your life for so long until you found stability in being a technology genius. You hate to be giving weapons to people who only have the intent to kill, but how else are you supposed to survive?

You’d been surviving for so long.

With Vi here… maybe there’s hope for living.

“Take these,” you say, pulling a pair of brass knuckles from a pouch strapped to your thigh holster. “I’m confident you know how to use them.”

“I sure do, cutie,” Vi replies, sliding them onto her fingers. They’re a pair made by your own hand, designed to absorb more of the impact and deliver twice the punch. You made the prototype years ago with Vi in mind, recalling the way she ducked and weaved at the punching machine at the old hideout you would spend your days in.

You’d be teaching Ekko how to solder circuit boards with Powder looking over your shoulder. You’d see Vi, in the distance, looking at you with a smile despite her heavy breathing from her intense focus on the punching machine. There are several tiny scars on your fingers from the times you’d accidentally burn yourself because you were looking at Vi for a fraction of a second too long.

In the way of family, you never considered any of them to be your family. Your parents are long dead. Vander never became your dad after he took you in. Sure, you had a moral obligation to be a good older sister figure to Ekko and Powder; Mylo and Claggor were like annoyed extended cousins that never quit bickering, but Vi…

Vi was always more than that. She was your best friend.

She is your best friend.

Can you really repair the rift that time has made? You’re unsure. But you can only try.

~~~~~

With a silent, two-fingered gesture, you make a motion for Vi to stay close and follow you. Your hood is drawn over your head to keep a low profile, and you walk around the side of the Last Drop to a back alley. Miguel’s information had been spot on.

Sevika, Silco’s right-hand man and formerly Vander’s, sits at a table, spreading cards and placing bets all with a smile and a cigar between her lips. Vi moves, anger making her features harsher and meaner, but you stop her with a hand.

“See that cape over her shoulder?” You whisper.

“Yeah, what about it?” Vi whispers, her mouth right next to your ear. She was taller than you as a kid, and she’s still taller than you now. It’s infuriating.

“Her arm was blown off in the warehouse explosion,” you explain. “Silco got a fancy mechanical replacement for her. Be careful.”

Vi squeezes her fists, the brass knuckles gleaming in the low lighting. “Won’t stop me from putting metal into her teeth.”

You won’t comment on how you notice all too keenly the way her brows pinch together and she rolls her shoulders back, preparing herself for a fight. With a quiet exhale, you pull your hand back and Vi moves like a woman on a mission. Slow, then you watch as she starts sprinting and leaps—

Jamming her knee right into Sevika’s face with the force of a crack of thunder, sending the woman flying to the side. Vi lands in a combat roll, raising her fists to her face as the two players formerly gambling grab as many coins as they can and run from the scene.

Your hand moves to your pistol to draw before— no, not here. Too much attention. Plan B. You reach to your left hip, grabbing a thin chain and pulling it taut within your hands. Energy sparks and the chain extends, growing in length. The end has a double-sided sickle-shaped blade hanging from the end of it.

Sevika recovers just as you come out of the shadows. You whip the chain, curving it in an arc that sweeps low to the floor. The blade snaps around Sevika’s ankle, giving you ample time to yank and send her off-balance. Vi takes this opportunity and while Sevika is falling, jams her brass-knuckled fist into Sevika’s jaw.

You withdraw the chain, curling it up in your hands. You and Vi circle Sevika as she presses herself off the ground with her real arm.

“What the fuck,” Sevika growls, looking between you and Vi. “Didn’t hear you became a fucking mercenary for hire, Pop Rocks.”

“Not for hire,” you correct. Your fingers tighten on the chain. “This is personal. Long time coming, Sevika.”

Sevika huffs, her eyes going to Vi. They narrow upon seeing the pink-haired woman with her fists raised. Sevika brushes her one-sided cape off her shoulder, letting it fall to the ground to expose a brass-colored mechanical arm. A capsule juts out from the shoulder, flaring purple with shimmer, before slamming in. The arm whirs to life, steam hissing as the gears lock into place.

“And I thought you were fucking dead,” Sevika says. She cracks her neck to the side.

“You filthy traitor,” Vi says, her teeth gritted together and anger consuming her eyes in a way you haven’t seen in a long, long time. It doesn’t take a genius to know that these are feelings that have been dwelling for ages. How long has Vi kept this rage to herself?

Sevika huffs. “Vander had his chance.”

That sends Vi throwing her fist into the fray. Time has passed, and you see how much of a fighter Vi has become in the years you’ve spent apart. You realize shortly that your sickle and chain will be of little help if they’re in close quarters— bringing Sevika down would risk Vi tumbling, and that’s not a risk you’re willing to take.

It’s about precision. You need something you know you can hit on target.

You put the chain back on your hip and pull two knives, no more than three inches in length. Over the years, you’ve become something of a jack of all trades when it comes to ranged weapons. You raise a knife and right when Vi has Sevika locked, you snap your arm forward.

The knife soars through the air, landing in a critical joint. The knife cracks in the force of the mechanical arm shifting, and Vi lands another punch to Sevika’s face with the distraction. Things start going sideways (literally) when Sevika recoils, ejecting the knife from the mechanical arm with a plume of steam from the valves. She socks Vi in the stomach, sending the woman flying into the wall.

“Vi!” You shout as Sevika’s attention turns to you. Ah, shit.

Remember how earlier you said you’re a jack of all trades with ranged weapons? Yeah, well, you suck with melee.

Putting any distance between you and Sevika proves to be utterly futile because she’s probably half-giant with how damn tall she is, and you’re no taller than five and a half feet, much to your utter irritation. You manage to dodge a punch by some miraculous being looking over you, but it becomes clear that even when you get a knife wedged into her arm, the technology can compensate.

Damn it. You knew that.

You leap back, Sevika’s cross punch just barely grazing your front. You see the punch from above and raise your right forearm, clenching your fist.

In the blink of an eye, two panels from the gauntlet shoot out, metal shingles flaring out to make a circular shield, blue and silver in color. The clattering of skin against metal grates against your ears. Sevika shakes her hand; there’s no way you didn’t break at least two knuckles with that.

You're Pop Rocks. You always have safeguards.

Your shield is one of your best assets and you’re damn fucking proud of it. Sevika lunges at you again; you move your head to the side and slam the shield into her stomach. Her arm comes down to absorb the blow and shit, you left yourself wide open.

See? Bad at melee. Should’ve just thrown your shield.

Your back slams into the wall followed by your head. The metal of her arm squeezes your throat and she keeps your shield arm down with her other hand.

“Should’ve killed you,” Sevika growls, teeth bared in a snarl.

“Can’t say I’m glad you didn’t,” you reply, sucking in as much air as possible as Sevika’s grip tightens. Melee might be the thing you suck at most, but you have safeguards. Plenty of them. You curl your left hand into a fist and shoot a wire from a pod on the leather band wrapped around your bracer. Before Sevika can drop you, the electrical current runs up the wire and sends her convulsing.

You fall to the ground like a fly, landing on your side. Sevika jerks away, letting out a howl. The wire from the pod retracts, snapping back in. Fuck, finally.

Vi comes rushing in, slamming into Sevika with her shoulder. It’s terrifying how Sevika just manages to recover so easily, sending another flood of shimmer down into the pipes that run through the arm. Maybe you should invest in getting one of those at this point— god knows how many prosthetics you’ve made modifications to over the years.

Vi ducks, her fists raised before she slams one into Sevika’s stomach. Sevika smashes downward, putting Vi onto her knees before kicking her back. By that time, you’ve managed to stand up, and fuck it, you’re tired of this bullshit. You whip your chain above your head, gathering the momentum before swinging it down. Sevika shifts, sickle at the head of the chain slashing her arm.

You whip the chain back, pirouetting on the balls of your feet. When you go for another swing, Sevika catches the chain with her metal hand. Your eyes widen— she grins.

You’re pulled towards her and kicked into the chest. The air in your lungs floods out in a single burst as you fall to the ground. There’s a shout of your name in the background from Vi. Your vision goes blurry with stars and black dots because holy shit, being kicked in the chest fucking hurts like hell.

Vi and Sevika go back to fistfighting. There’s grunting, shouting… a scream catches your ears. You turn onto your side to see Sevika looming over Vi, collapsed on her knees and the talons of her mechanical hand inside of Vi’s stomach.

God… fucking damn it, you think to yourself. You shift up onto your elbow and grab your handgun from the holster on your thigh. You raise it to Sevika’s shoulder.

The capsule juts out. You pull the trigger.

Right as your bullet collides with the glass, so does another. It causes a chain reaction with twice the effect. Sevika reels back, the weight of her body shifting as the arm becomes dead weight. She looks up at the sky, letting out a hiss before turning and running.

You force yourself onto your knees.

“Vi?” You ask, putting your gun back to your thigh. When you inhale, your ribs tweak, a sharp pain in your lungs that keeps you from running to her. You stand up, just in time to see Caitlyn come down from an elevated bridge. The tip of her rifle is still smoking as she sweeps the area. Her sights land on you.

You stand up, hands raised in surrender. “Just me, Princess.”

“Well, good to know I found both of you,” Caitlyn says. In two movements, she collapses her rifle so it fits more snugly on the holster on her back. She turns to Vi, who is on her knees, a hand on her side.

You walk over to Vi, putting your hand on her shoulder. Despite your own panic, you mask the shakiness of your voice and say, “Alright, up we go, bubblegum, we need to get out of here before Silco’s men come find us.”

“Silco?” Caitlyn asks.

You pull Vi up onto her feet. She leans in to you, her hand squeezing your shoulder for all its worth. You spare a glance to her stomach to find the hand holding her skin is smeared with blood, leaking through the wraps around her palm and knuckles. Your heart hammers harder at the sight of it. It’s worse than you thought.

“My place is too far from here,” you say, knowing that by the time you’d even get back to your hideout, the blood loss would be too severe. You rack your brain for any ideas as Caitlyn comes to Vi’s other side.

“The… old…” Vi coughs, but your mind picks up on what she’s saying. Immediately, you turn and start walking with Caitlyn keeping pace.

“You’ll be fine, we’ll get you help,” you say to Vi gently. Your eyebrows pinch together. “Then we’ll hit them with all we have.”

~~~~~

A/N: i hope you all enjoyed the second chapter of PR&P! i'm excited for where this series is going to go. I have a majority of the chapters written out, and i'll be posting them as i see fit :)