#not that these are real problems in the grand scheme of things but man :/

[trash-and-trash-accessories]

I love Spike so much. He's the most character of all time. But it's more than that. He's more than bleached hair, a pretty face, and bloodlust. He makes sense. The character makes sense.

He's William. He's still, despite it all, William Pratt, the god-awful poet and pathetic wet cat of a man under the thumb of mommy his whole life. He just wants to be loved and held and to satiate his unending bloodlust. He's not the big bad. He's pathetic.

He's burnt out on all the plots and schemes. Plots and schemes are Angel's thing. Serving some grand evil purpose is Darla's thing. Cruelty is Drusilla's thing. William Pratt is a poet and a mama's boy who just wants a strong woman to love him and tell him what to do. He's tired. He's so tired of the plots and schemes.

Sure, he knows how to have a good time, he plays kitten poker and sells demon eggs to the highest bidder but that's a matter of making money or hanging out with friends. It's not what he WANTS. The only thing he wants is to be loved by someone who loves him back. The problem is, he's toxic and obsessive. He doesn't fall in love. He becomes consumed. His whole world revolves around the object of his obsession. So when he's with Drusilla, he's the big bad evil guy doing schemes. Trying to impress her with extreme violence and death. Because that's what Drusilla is into. Torture and death. She's Catholic. And a vampire.

He also tries to impress Angel by killing Slayers because Angel is into Slayers and Angel and Spike canonically slept together don't at me. This man is bisexual.

When he's with Buffy he's a loyal dog. A bad boy, a part of the demonic world, but a dog nonetheless. He's a soulless monster but his obsession with Buffy turns him into one of the good guys. It's not natural for him. He feels it happening and he fights against it, but he's madly in love with her and he will be and do whatever it takes to impress her and make her love him back. He's obsessive.

He knows it, and he doesn't like that side of himself. He doesn't like that he's a pathetic dog. Sometimes he pushes against that side of himself. He tries to be a good person, for real. Not just a pathetic stalker of a man.

But he can't fight it. He is what he is.

And unfortunately that is a soulless vampire.

Hence that one scene that I pretend didn't happen.

But despite being definitionally evil, he can't stop being consumed the person he's obsessed with. Buffy wants him to have a soul. She wants him to not be the monster he is. So he rips William Pratt from his grave and resurrects him for her. He goes through hell to put his soul back inside his body for her. It takes her a long time to accept him again after what he did.

But he's the good boy now. He's a good dog.

Only she doesn't see him that way. In the end, he has her trust. Her love. She cares about him and sees him as her equal. As someone she can trust. She can't trust her friends because they're messy and constantly fucking up and betraying her because they don't understand what it is to be The Slayer. To have a human body and a human soul, with demonic power inside, and the divine mandate to sacrifice yourself for others, to save the world. No matter what that does to you.

Spike has a human soul, a demon inside him, trauma, and a divine mission to save the world. To sacrifice himself for everyone.

Spike is the only one who understands Buffy, and maybe the only one who ever will.

He's the perfect culmination of all her other relationships.

He fucks. Unlike Angel, Spike can fuck. He can experience joy alongside her.

He respects her strength and isn't emasculated or intimidated by the fact that she's stronger than him. He loves that she defeated a god. Unlike fucking Riley.

He's lived lifetimes worth of traumatic experiences. But he isn't currently experiencing an ongoing mental health crisis like Faith was.

And he likes poetry!

They even have the same ex boyfriend!

In conclusion He and Buffy are both the most character of all time and the narrative's favorites and therefore they are both perfect for each other and have the potential to be extremely toxic together and I'm so happy for them, I hope she pegs him, I know he would love that.

[anonprotagging]

man there’s like.   almost nothing better than closing a dense 400-page textbook for the last time and knowing you’ll never have to open it for a grade again. the relief is staggering

[katskorner]

oouuuuuhhhhh the curse is active once again 💀

[ghostaholics]

𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄-𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓

➸ PAIRING: Lieutenant Simon 'Ghost' Riley x gn!reader (aside from a single idiom whose origin uses masculine language/pronouns - every man for himself) ➸ SUMMARY: Against all odds, the Lieutenant accidentally falls asleep on your shoulder. Unfortunately, there are witnesses to the precarious situation (just your luck that it would be Gaz and Soap). ➸ WORD COUNT: 2k

𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐒𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐀𝐃𝐕𝐈𝐂𝐄: don't poke the bear.

Danger in your line of work typically consists of trying to walk away from a mission while still being left completely intact (i.e. the goal is to make it out alive, in one piece). You’ve survived a great number of ordeals: cornered into a shootout with a dwindling supply of ammo, tiptoed your way through a field of pressure-sensitive IEDs, dove towards probable death (with an awfully high probability of splattering onto hot, concrete hell like a bug on a windshield) because your helo was sent tail spinning courtesy of a perfectly-aimed RPG – and really, the list goes on.

It's been child’s play, in the grand scheme of things. An extensive catalogue of life-or-death scenarios accounts for your entire military career. And sure, this might be a bit of a stretch, but you'd wager that none of those instances thus far have been as high-stakes as the current predicament you’ve found yourself in.

Jesus-fucking-Christ. Why’d Ghost have to fall asleep on you?

𝐀 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: avoid sitting next to him on the plane ride home. You've had to learn it the hard way.

And the kicker is that this whole thing could’ve been avoided; it didn’t have to be your problem. You could’ve sentenced any one of the other soldiers to your seat. Every man for himself, right? Get off scot-free, have a normal trip back to base with plenty of legroom so that you’re not cramped. Theoretically, it would've been beautiful – a passenger's paradise, the closest you could get to a first-class ticket.

But no.

Instead, play the Good Samaritan; extend your hand out with an act of benevolence. What’s the harm, right? So, you'd spared the poor guy, said you wouldn't mind switching places with him because he'd looked as white as a damn sheet at the idea of being crammed beside this behemoth of a lieutenant who's infamously every FNG's living nightmare.

Yeah, well hindsight is 20/20. Had you known what was going to happen, you would've had no reservations about throwing him under the bus. Sayonara, mate.

Law of the jungle, plain and simple.

To make matters worse, he is, in fact, exhibiting terrible flight etiquette. His head (which is dead weight and feels about as pleasant as a fucking bowling ball, mind you) has taken up every inch of real estate on your shoulder and is practically tucked into the curve of your neck; you’ll need to take a trip to the chiropractor’s after this – several, probably. The edge of his skull mask is digging into you. And, the cherry on top: get this – he’s man-spreading, so his left leg's trespassing into your own territory and brushing against your thigh. Utter lack of regard for personal space.

Incredible.

You’d still rather die than wake him up, though. You're not sure what'll happen if you do, but that's a risk you're not willing to take.

All things considered, an achy shoulder is a much better alternative than incurring the wrath of one angry Lieutenant. He's more subdued in this kind of context. To be completely honest, if you weren't already well-acquainted with him, you'd find it endearing.

From here, it's easy to see the simple rise and fall of his chest, steady and even. Slow inhale in, slow exhale out. He's at peace, a rhythmic lull that matches your own breathing. You can't quite put your finger on the exact moment he fell asleep. (He's got a habit of shutting his eyes and folding his arms over his chest when he isn't in the mood to converse with the other soldiers onboard. But God willing, he would never voluntarily loll his head onto your shoulder.) For what it's worth, he deserves the rest – never been one to do it this soundly as countless missions have taught you that he's usually a light sleeper. You remember him roughly prodding the toe of his boot at Soap's arm once when the Scot was conked out and his snores were a bit loud for Ghost's taste.

Rather odd then, that the Lieutenant even managed to allow himself to doze off like this. It’s too loud, too unsteady – the droning of the plane engine doesn't exactly make for good white noise and the turbulence outside is jostling the cabin around. Moreover, this puts him in a position of vulnerability, and he’s not the type to let his guard down so easily.

But somehow he did it with you beside him.

You try not to think about the implications of that.

𝐈𝐓 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐒 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐒𝐄, 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐄.

Because, Soap's just woken up from his nap, the first among the entire company of soldiers in the cabin still sleeping, excluding yourself. His seat's parallel to yours, straight across the walkway within direct line of sight, so he’s got an unobstructed view of you and Ghost. Soap sends a questioning glance in your direction, eyebrow quirked. A look that says, The hell's going on?

The level of your voice is down; it's at a conservative decibel to avoid rousing the others. Yet you convey your distress with the same amount of passion as if you were stuck in the middle of a losing firefight. "MacTavish, help."

Soap works with bombs for a living. Surely, he's capable of defusing situations too.

Alright the man’s a demolitions expert, but that’s semantics.

He blinks like he's trying to make sense of the situation. Though, it's pretty obvious what the problem is here. You're not sure why he’s got to take a moment and contemplate it. You need a solution, now. And he's moving at a snail's pace.

For a second, you think he might sympathize with your plight.

But then his mouth morphs into a shit-eating grin and when he nudges Gaz awake, you know right then and there that you're absolutely fucked.

More witnesses.

Great.

Because that’s just what you need, isn’t it?

Gaz drags a hand down his face. He pans over to his right to figure out why he’s been jolted awake so suddenly, and sees Soap who’s inexplicably, nauseatingly jovial before his eyes land on you.

Much like Soap’s original reaction, Gaz can’t help but offer a quizzical expression. The confusion is evident. His brows are drawn together because he knows that the L.t. wouldn't fall asleep on your shoulder.

Soap's shifting, sliding his hand into his pocket before pulling out his phone. He messes with it – a few taps here, a few swipes there. And then before you're registering what's happening, he's aiming it straight at you, like one of those mums getting a snapshot of their kids in matching jumpers during the holidays.

"Say cheese."

An indignant gasp leaves your mouth. "If you so much as—

"Soap, no. Don't do that." Gaz says from beside him, plucking the phone out of his hands. He tsks him with a click of his tongue. Stern disapproval in spades. The meaning is clear: it’s a big thumbs down from the Brit. He’s not endorsing this type of behavior. “Gone mad now, have you?” he asks in admonishment.

You release a sigh of relief. Finally, some moral support. He's reliable. Your faith in him is unshakable. Always could count on Gaz to get you out of—

"Have to shoot with a wide angle, see? Or else it'll look wonky," he corrects, flipping the phone horizontally before handing it back to Soap.

"Aye, thanks mate.”

Gaz's smile isn't as excessive as Soap's but the smirk gracing his face tells you he's relishing in your misery all the same.

Fucking traitor.

"Knobheads—"

They’d risk their own hides to save you from certain death. You've seen it in Cairo, Valencia, and Seoul. Good men. Good hearts in the right place as well. However, they're also the type to embarrass you at every opportunity – public humiliation being somewhere on that roster as well. And for that, you want to strangle them.

"Rude,” Soap comments pointedly.

"Bite me, MacTavish."

"Just wake him up if it's bothering you," Gaz supplies unhelpfully.

"If you were in my shoes, would you do it?"

"'Course, not," he snorts. "I don’t have a death wish.”

“Well, I also prefer my head on my shoulders, thank you very much," you whisper furiously, nearly hissing at him.

And Soap is admiring his handiwork, when he coos, “Aw, the two o' you make quite the pair." He briefly twists the screen so that you can catch a glimpse of it, and even from this distance, you can confirm that he's captured the shot. Annoyingly well, to add insult to injury. Angle? Spot-on. Lighting? Brilliant. It's interesting, has character. Black and white photography. He's managed to make a stunning composition and your upper lip is curling up into a sneer of disgust at his artistic eye. How infuriating.

"I'll send this to the Cap. He’ll get a kick outta it."

"Sod off."

"He'll appreciate bein' included."

Gaz matches the energy with an equally gleeful smile, now delighted by the idea. “Hey, and the L.t. he looks—”

“—cute," Soap has the audacity to finish for him.

What.

There are many words that you’d use to describe Ghost.

Cutthroat, maybe. Imposing. Glacial. Taciturn. A stringent set of ideals that makes him the perfect soldier: disciplined, honed, fierce. Intimidating, if he's not fighting on your side – someone you'd much rather have on your team than against, unless you fancied death. He can be a stone-cold terror on occasion. The man’s been penned as a walking horror story by those in the military. Given his iron-hearted demeanor, you'd be hard-pressed to disagree with that statement; there's not much room to call his steel-encased resolve into question.

So, yeah. Above all else, he's certainly not cute.

Your eyes narrow at them. "Congratulations, the both of you have officially made the top of my shitlist."

Soap, indifferent to your crisis, asks, "Want a copy for your wallpaper?"

There's another heated remark waiting on the tip of your tongue, because there's no way in hell that you would and you're ready to tell him off, about to give him an earful.

But somebody else beats you to it.

“Wipe that picture, or I’ll wring your bloody necks.”

Ice surges through your veins. Goosebumps break out across your skin. Because that voice belongs to one person. Oh, Christ. Never in a million years would you want to be on the receiving end of it.

There's anxiety warping in your chest. You're scared stiff, paralyzed with fear in a way that implores you to remain stock-still. The coarse fabric of your trousers bunches underneath your palms as you try not to freak out. This isn't your fault. None of it is.

And here's the worst part: Ghost hasn't lifted his head from your shoulder yet.

But Soap's unfazed. He blinks a couple of times, seems like he's weighing his options – as if there's something else he could choose besides following his lieutenant's command – yeah, right. He wises up, settling for a simple answer in the end. "Alright, Ghost." His smile makes a reappearance, sweet and well-meaning. Troublemaker. "Any chance you'd like a copy before I do away with it?"

"What kind of fuckin' question is that, Johnny?" he grumbles. "Obviously."

𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐔𝐒 𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐄:

"I take it you don't think I'm cute then. Have I got that right?"

"I'm sorry... mind repeating that again, sir?"

"You didn't have anything to say about Soap's comment."

"I have a feeling that whatever I answer will get my arse handed to me, L.t."

He's smiling in response – like sunshine trapped behind clouds. Despite it being obscured by the mask, you can see his eyes crinkling at the corners, which makes the black charcoal that's lining them begin to crease a bit. "Permission to speak freely, Sergeant. You have the floor."

Your mouth parts in surprise. Well, then. Maybe you stand corrected. And so, you appraise him momentarily, giving it some serious thought. There's more to Ghost than you give him credit for. He's terse and rough around the edges, but respected for a reason. Admirable. Someone you think highly of and has deserved your approval. The mask undeniably provides an air of intrigue. “I suppose you can be,” you start off, gradually warming up to him being more approachable. “When you’re not terrorizing the new recruits, that is.”

[flickering-chandelier]

The Sweetest Con

Pairing: Modern! Rhysand x Reader

Summary: You and Rhys are rival lawyers, but when a case stumps him, you find yourself in a situation you never thought you would be in.

Based on this request! 🩷

Warnings: Sorry to any lawyers out there, I do not know what I’m talking about lol.

Word Count: 3.2k

All morning you had been steeling yourself, trying to mentally prepare for the meeting that was about to take place, the lawyer that you were about to see. 

Rhysand.

Honestly, you figured you would rather go up against pretty much anyone else in the world. It wasn’t just that he was conceited and obnoxious, which he definitely was. It wasn’t even the smugness that was a constant feature of his face.

No, the real problem was that he was good. Really good. 

And he knew it.

You had been the city’s top lawyer until he showed up nearly a year ago. Suddenly he was giving you a run for your money and competing with you for the clients with the biggest names. 

It was maddening. You hated him. You really, truly hated him. 

Which, of course, he loved.

This case was pretty minor in the grand scheme of things. An ex husband and wife land dispute. Your client, Amelia, was suing Rhysand’s client, trying to get the house. The four of you, the plaintiff, the defendant, and the lawyers, were holding a meeting to see if this could be worked out amicably. You always liked to take an opportunity to avoid playing dirty if you could help it.

Rhysand, of course, was just the opposite. It had taken many phone calls and a lot of pleading on your end to get him to even show up with his client. 

He stared across the table at you now, his eyes dark, unwavering. He was trying to intimidate you, you knew, but you were holding strong. You had never been someone who scared easily. And you were determined. You would not lose this case.

---

You lost the case. 

Amelia folded, giving in, letting her asshole ex-husband keep the house that she had helped him buy nearly a decade ago.

You were furious. Not at her, not at anybody but Rhysand, who had somehow been able to persuade your client that he knew what was best. 

The clients had left, and you had packed up your things, partway out the door when Rhysand purred after you, “Hey, Killer?”

Your shoulders tensed and you turned back to glare at him. “Don’t call me that.”

Rhysand smirked, his eyes dancing with delight. “Better luck next time.”

As you walked to your car, you were absolutely sure. You hated that man.

---

Weeks later, you were combing through files in your office for a case you were working on when your office phone rang. 

You let out a sigh when you recognized the number.

“What do you want?” you asked, your tone sharp. 

A deep chuckle on the other end. “That’s how you answer the phone?”

“When you’re the one calling.”

“Fair enough,” Rhysand said goodnaturedly. “I was hoping you could swing by my office sometime in the next few days. Whenever it’s convenient for you.”

You couldn’t help but pause for a beat in confusion, both at the request, and at his genial tone. “Why on earth would I do that?” 

Rhysand sighed quietly, seemingly resigned. “I need your help.”

His office was about what you had expected. A huge, deep mahogany desk, black armchairs, black drapes to block out the blinding afternoon sun from the window behind him. It was dark and imposing, just like the man himself. As always, he was wearing an all-black suit, and as always, he was looking at you with a twinkle in his eye, like he knew more than you did. 

In this case, you supposed it was true.

“I don’t understand,” you said finally. “What could I possibly help you with?”

Rhysand leaned back in his chair casually, placing his hands behind his head. It irritated you how nonchalant, how in control he always seemed. 

“As much as I hate to admit it, Killer, you’re smart. You pay attention to details, pick up on important pieces that a lot of lawyers would miss.”

You narrowed your eyes at the vexing nickname he had given you, but decided to let it pass. “So?” you asked. 

“So,” he said, drawing out the word, “this case I’ve been working on… it’s gotten complicated. And I could use a fresh pair of eyes to help untangle it.”

You crossed your arms, your eyes widening slightly, unable to hide your shock. “Me? I’m really the one you want help from?”

He blinked. “Yes. Did you not hear what I said?”

Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you said, “I heard it, but I still don’t understand. We work at separate firms. You and I, we compete for clients all the time. Working together under the circumstances… it’s unheard of.”

Rhysand leaned forward, clasping his hands on the desk in front of him, his eyes sparking, his mouth curling up into a smirk. “Wouldn’t that make it all the more fun?”

“Fun?” You asked in disbelief. “Working with you?”

His smirk only grew. “Oh, I’m very fun. I promise.”

You bit your lip, your mind whirling. This man bothered you to no end. You would rather work with anyone else. 

And yet… 

It had been months since you had a case you could really sink your teeth into, one that you felt really mattered. On top of that, once word got out that you two, longtime rivals, were actually working together on a case? This could be huge for your career. 

Resignedly, you said, “Tell me everything I need to know.”

Rhysand grinned. “Gladly.”

---

You could understand why someone might want help with a case like this.  It was intense, with contradicting witnesses, no clear evidence, and to top it all off, it was high profile. 

The two of you spent hours in Rhysand’s office, combing over files while Rhysand talked, catching you up to speed. 

By the time you felt like you had a solid grasp of the case, the sun had set. You looked up from the file in front of you, your mind spinning from all of the information. Rhysand looked exhausted, though infuriatingly, still completely put together. 

His eyes softened a bit as he looked back at you, his brows furrowing together slightly. “We can pick this back up tomorrow.”

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes,” he said decisively, snapping the folder in front of him shut. “We're not going to get any more work done if we’re this exhausted anyway.”

You nodded, tidying up the many folders on your side of Rhysand’s desk before slinging your gigantic purse over your shoulder.

You had turned for the door, but stopped short at Rhysand’s smug voice behind you, “You want to grab dinner?”

Narrowing your eyes, you turned back to face him. “With you? Absolutely not.”

His eyes sparkled with delight, his mouth curling up into a smirk. “Why not?”

“I still hate you. Working one case together won’t change that.”

Rhysand laughed. “We’ll just have to see, won’t we?”

For several days, you got through your to-do list at your own office as quickly as possible to give you and Rhysand ample time to pore over documents, make calls, and bicker about what steps to take next. 

It was exhausting working with him. Even though he had been the one to seek out your “fresh eyes,” he still always thought that he was right. 

“I’m telling you this guy’s a dead end. I’ve spoken with him twice already,” Rhysand said, clearly exasperated, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes. 

“And I’m telling you that you’re wrong. We’re missing something here, I know it.”

Rhysand sighed, glancing at the clock on the wall. “Fine. But it’s too late to talk to him tonight, so we’ll have to pick this back up tomorrow.”

“Fine,” you said begrudgingly. 

He looked at you with resignation as you gathered your things, like he was regretting ever getting you involved. Then, he said matter of factly, “Let’s get dinner.” 

You scowled. “I told you--”

“I know, I know. You hate me,” he said, shutting down his computer and standing up, stretching his arms over his head. “But we both need to eat.”

He just continued looking at you until you rolled your eyes and agreed.

After arguing for several minutes, you finally chose a restaurant that you both liked, and before long, you were settled into a comfy booth with Rhysand looking across the table at you. He always looked like he was scrutinizing every part of you, like he could see straight through to your soul.

You hated to admit it, but his eyes… they shone even in the dim lighting, so blue they were almost purple. You had never seen eyes like his in your life. 

His eyebrow lifted, his mouth curling into a smirk, and you realized you had been staring for too long. Hastily, you opened your menu, scanning its contents, though you could still feel his eyes on you.

Once you ordered, he cleared his throat, pinning you with his stare once again.

“What?” you lashed out. You felt like he was driving you insane.

Blinking in surprise, he asked, “What?”

“Why are you always staring at me?”

He laughed, his whole face lighting up. “I’m pretty sure you were staring at me.”

“I was not,” you countered, but even to your own ears, your voice sounded too high, too defensive.

Grinning, he said, “You were.”  

You just rolled your eyes, desperately trying to think of a topic change. 

“Why do you hate me so much?” he asked suddenly.

That was not the topic change that you were expecting. You looked at him in surprise for a moment, then counted the reasons on your fingers, “You came into town and stole half my clients, you’re the most arrogant and smug man I’ve ever met in my life, you’ve beaten me in too many cases to count and then rubbed it in my face, you’ve given me a weird nickname that I don’t understand, and you clearly hate me.” 

You paused for a moment to look at him. He was gazing at you with the same smug, slightly amused expression he always wore. “Does that about cover it, or do you want me to keep going?” you asked. 

“I’ve never hated you,” he said simply, his eyes softening a little. 

Your eyes narrowed slightly as you tried to put the pieces together, to decipher this impossible man. He looked confident and calm as ever, but somehow, you believed him. It didn’t seem like he was lying. 

“Well. You could’ve fooled me,” you said finally, unable to tear your gaze from his.

“The rest is true, obviously,” he smirked, tilting his head slightly as he looked at you. “But I thought this was all friendly competition until you kept deciding to tell me that you couldn’t stand me.”

You couldn’t think of anything to say. You felt like your mind was completely blank and it didn’t help that he was still pinning you down with those ridiculously piercing eyes.

“Why do you call me Killer?” You eventually spat out.

His smirk turned into a real smile. “The same reason I wanted your help. You’ve got a killer instinct.”

You snorted in disbelief. “Seriously?”

“What?” he asked, laughing. “Yes, seriously.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you said, but you found yourself unable to resist a small smile.

He just smiled at you, and through the rest of dinner, somehow, you felt your hatred for Rhysand dimming. 

---

Things felt… different, after that dinner with Rhysand. You were both friendlier, less cordial. It seemed that you worked better together too, as you would bicker slightly less often. 

He still pissed you off sometimes, to be clear, but it didn’t feel as deep as it did before. The two of you would get dinner together a few times a week now, and you wouldn’t even talk about work for many of them. 

Rhysand and you were… friends.

You were still getting used to the idea. 

Rhysand seemed thrilled. You had never seen him in a better mood than he had been the last few weeks.

As the two of you sat at dinner that night though, you felt lost in thought. There was something about the case that you were missing, something that didn’t add up.

“What is it?” he asked, his eyebrow arching up.

You took a deep breath, tapping your fingers on the table. “We’re missing something.”

Rhysand looked at the table. “What, do you need more ketchup?”

Rolling your eyes good naturedly, you waved him off. “The case, Rhys. We’re missing something about the case.”

He furrowed his eyebrows and listened intently while you worked through your thoughts out loud, going over the notes and evidence you two had found the past several weeks, until it hit you. 

“The cameras,” you said hastily. “We’re missing footage.”

“How would you know that?” he asked. 

You explained your thought process, how you remember seeing a camera in a spot that you never saw in footage that the company handed over. 

“And if they didn’t give us that footage on purpose…” you trailed off.

“They’re hiding something from us,” Rhys finished.

You hadn’t felt like you had a real lead in ages. “We need to get back to the office.”

Rhys shook his head as he pulled cash out of his wallet and threw it onto the table. “We just need a computer. It would be faster to go to my place.”

You were too excited, too focused on the case to argue.

And so, that’s how you found yourself in Rhysand’s apartment.

The two of you were so engrossed in this revelation though, that you hardly noticed. You both sat at his dining room table, leaning in close over his laptop, focused on finding the missing piece that you so desperately needed. 

It was impossible to tell how much time had passed before you excitedly pointed to the screen, “There!”

Rhysand went completely still beside you as he saw what you were pointing to. The answer to all your questions. It was what you needed to solve the case, you were sure of it. 

You hadn’t realized how close you were sitting to him until you both looked at each other in disbelief, your faces only inches apart. 

“You did it,” he said quietly, his eyes shining. “This is exactly what we needed.”

It took all you had to maintain eye contact with him. You felt like you could fall right into his eyes and drown. 

When his eyes darted down to your lips for a moment, you felt your breath catch.

It didn’t seem real, somehow, when Rhysand leaned forward and met your lips with his, bringing his hand to cradle the back of your head comfortingly. Within a few moments, you were balling your fist in the front of his shirt, pulling him closer to you. 

You gasped when he wrapped his hands around the backs of your thighs, picking you up in one fluid motion and carrying you to the couch, his lips trailing down your neck as he went.

Keeping his hold on you, he sat down on the couch, his hands trailing up to your hips as you straddled him, leaning in to kiss him again.

Rhysand. Your mind tried to make sense of it. You’re kissing Rhysand, of all people. And worse, there was fire flooding through your veins, your skin tingling with a need you hadn’t felt in a ridiculously long time. 

And it was Rhysand who was making you feel like this.

When his hips jerked up and met yours, when you could feel just how badly he wanted you too, all your thoughts went out the window, and you just needed him.

As if he could read your mind, his hands started to wander across your body, in all the places that you had suddenly become desperate for him to touch. 

After a moment though, reality began to set in again. Your mind began to wander. This had to be a bad idea.

Rhys felt the change in your body language and stopped what he was doing, leaning back to peer at your face. “What is it?” he asked softly.

“I…” you hesitated, unable to find the words. “I can’t.”

“Okay,” he said, gently guiding you off his lap so you sat next to him. “Are you okay?”

Your heart melted the slightest bit before you could stop it. “I’m fine. It’s just… this can’t be a good idea.”

“We hate each other,” you said, exasperated.

He blinked in confusion. “Why?”

Rhysand laughed incredulously. “You really still believe that?”

Your face heated. No. Obviously not. He had even told you himself that he never hated you. 

With a resigned sigh you said quietly, “No.”

“What’s really going on?” he asked softly. 

Biting your lip, you tried to think of a suitable answer, even when you finally recognized the truth in yourself. 

You had feelings for him. You had for weeks.

And if you let this happen, you would have to come to terms with that.

That, and the fact that he might not feel the same about you. That this could all just be a fun hookup for him. 

You couldn’t live with that. 

And you obviously couldn’t tell him that. 

“Nothing,” you said finally, quietly. “We just can’t.”

Rhysand shook his head. “I don’t believe you,” he said gently. “Please tell me what’s wrong. Did I do something?”

“No,” you said, your voice breaking. “You didn’t do anything.”

You hid your face in your hands and you felt him sit up straighter next to you.

“Then what is it?”

“Oh,” he said quietly after a moment. 

“Oh?” you asked, your voice muffled.

“Let me just make one thing clear,” he said, his voice still gentle but slightly more authoritative now. “This isn’t a one-time thing for me. I like you. I have since we met.”

You pulled your face from your hands and looked at him incredulously. “What?”

He nodded, the smallest smile gracing his expression, so different from his usual smirk. 

“Why were you such an asshole then?”

“I was just trying to get a rise out of you! I thought we were playing around, I didn’t know you actually hated me.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. This whole time.

The two of you were quiet for a moment before Rhysand said, “This is the part where you say how you feel about me.”

You groaned, unable to form the words. 

So instead, you looked at him for a moment, at those gorgeous, purple eyes that you had become so accustomed to, and you kissed him.

--- 

A year later, you gave Rhysand a quick kiss before you both exited the car and walked into your very own law firm. 

Well, yours and Rhysand’s, of course. 

You got to work together on a fresh new case, one that you were both excited about. One that could really help people.

And you couldn't imagine being happier.

@loving-and-dreaming @birdsflyhome @hanuh @sheblogs @iambored24601 @thalia-as-blog @evergreenlark @ecliphttlunar @bookloverandalsocats @melmo567 @headacheseason @sillysillygoose444 @yourqueenlilith @mariamay02 @halibshepherd @azrielshadows1nger @cigvrette-dvydrevms @andreperez11 @lilah-asteria @marina468

[morganski-19]

Chills Right to the Marrow Part 10

part 1, prev part

The next day, the Chief is back looking like a man on a mission. Catching Wayne’s eye while he’s on his way in, but interrupted when the Harrington kid steps in his path. Talking to him in hushed whispers, but tense as hell.

The chief sighs, cocking his head to the side and bringing the kid to talk outside. Wayne isn’t the person to eavesdrop, but after yesterday, after the endless questions with no answers, he is desperate for an explanation.

An explanation why his kid is stuck on a hospital bed while Steve is walking around like he has every right to. Like he isn’t part of the reason his boy was halfway to dead for the past week.

What made his boy protect a person that he seemed to hate? A person who’s had everything handed to him, never had to experience real hardships. Stood on the sidelines while his boy was mocked and taunted. Ostracized for being who he was. Molded into this villain.

Kings look down on villains, seeing them as threats to their status. Their reputation. And the Harrington’s are part of the rulers of this town. Funding the high school extracurriculars, the hospital, the candidates on the ballots. Money that, in the grand scheme of reality, Wayne couldn’t give a shit where it goes.

Until it comes between him, his kid, and their lives. Eddie could’ve died, and for what? So the rich can keep being that? So they can keep coming out on top.

Wayne understands why Eddie would throw himself into danger for Dustin. Hell, he probably would have done the same thing. But Steve Harrington. Wayne’s not so sure that’s the path he would choose.

Taking the last cigarette from the pack, Wayne positions himself near the corner of the hospital. Hearing the Chief and Harrington talking right around the bend. Taking a long drag, he tilts his ear up to listen.

Living in a trailer park made everyone a secret gossip. Wayne just never thought he was going to do it like this.

“What about Owens?” Steve’s not so hushed voice carries around the corner. “He seems to be the one to fix all your problems.”

Wayne can hear the annoyance in the Chief’s voice. “Either still in hiding or avoiding my calls. I’ve had to go through his partner for all of this.”

“We need to fix this, Hop, and fast. Eddie can’t be pinned for this shit.”

“I know.” The Chief takes a deep breath. “But the town needs a fall guy. I can’t take the cuffs off just yet.”

Steve hisses a breath. “He’s been getting better. Doesn’t have the ventilator anymore, could wake up any day now. He doesn’t deserve to wake up thinking the town still hates him for something he was a victim of.”

“Kid, I know but I can’t-.”

Steve cuts him off. “I saw how effected his was by all this, Hop. I saw how upset he was thinking the town thought he could do that to her. To all of them. All of them willing to pick up their pitchforks to hunt the freak. He was terrified.”

Wayne feels the anger start to simmer up again. Hearing this kid put words in his boy’s mouth. Saying that he knows everything.

Maybe he does. Maybe Wayne’s blowing this all out of proportion. But he can’t help it. He’s tired, his hope is running dry. One wrong move and he’ll snap. Harrington’s just an easy target.

“I hear you,” the Chief’s voice raises. “But I really can’t-.”

Steve cuts his off again. “Yes, you can and that is the whole problem.”

“No, I can’t.” The hushed screams turn to louder reprimands. “Until the Feds get what they want, I’m powerless here.”

“But if it was El, that would be a completely different story, wouldn’t it?”

Even though Wayne can’t see them, the silence is so thick not even the sharpest blade could cut through it. Steve pushed the wrong button.

“Don’t go there, Steve.” The quiet anger in the Chief’s voice is enough to make anyone step down.

Steve doesn’t. “I am going there.” Steve’s voice has almost reached a yell. Full of anger of his own. “You do everything when it’s affecting you, and the people you care about. But as soon as it’s someone else that might get the fall, you step back and say you can’t do a damn thing.”

“I can’t do a damn thing,” the Chief booms.

“Yes. You. Can,” Steve yells right back. “If it were El, or Joyce, or Will, hell even Mike there strapped to that table right now, the cuffs would have been off the second you came back. No matter what. You would have taken the fall of that. You would have taken the Fed’s anger about it. You would have fucking done something about it. Why not now?”

Before the Chief can even answer the question, Steve is walking away with a huff. Not even noticing Wayne as he walks right back to the parking lot and slams the door of his fancy car. Driving away faster than he should.

Wayne might be directing the anger that sits in his chest at the wrong person.

But all of that doesn't seem to matter anymore. Almost immediately as his sits back in the hospital room, ready for nothing to happen. Eddie opens his eyes.

next part

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@morgannotlefay, @a-little-unsteddie, @dolphincliffs, @maskofmirrors, @me-and-my-sloth,

[hlficlibrary]

✤ Fake Relationship Fics ✤

A series of posts with the top five fics of each category by kudos plus five more hidden gems from that category! Remember to leave kudos and a comment on the fics you enjoyed to show your appreciation! You can find our other recs here.

- Top 5 H/L Fics -

1️⃣ Escapade by dolce_piccante / @haydolce {M, 146k}

In the grand scheme of things, finding a date for a wedding should be no problem for Louis Tomlinson. He's rich. He's handsome. He's reasonably well behaved. But when the wedding is for his lifelong best friend (and former boyfriend), and is happening in under a month, finding a date for the ceremony and accompanying festivities becomes more of an adventure than he ever could have planned for.

2️⃣ And Then a Bit by @infinitelymint {E, 158k}

“We’d like to give the fans what they want.” Magee states, placing his hand on the table in front of him and leaning forward. “We want to give them Larry Stylinson.”

Or, take a parallel universe where Louis and Harry were never together, mix in a two year hiatus and an impending comeback, pour in a dash of lost fans, two tablespoons of strong friendship and a Modest! employee with a good idea. Add a squeeze of pretending to be a couple, lots of kisses and a tattoo or two. Stir. Serve: the mother of all publicity stunts.

(aka Harry and Louis fake a relationship for publicity. Eventually it becomes a lot less fake and a lot more real.)

3️⃣ California Sold by @isthatyoularry {M, 123k}

Notoriously closeted boyband member Harry Styles is famous on a global scale, meanwhile Louis, as his best friend, is back home in Manchester, living the typical life of a 24 year old. When Harry needs Louis with him in LA, a publicity stunt gone wrong changes their friendship forever.

A fake-relationship AU between two lifelong best friends.

4️⃣ Paint Me In A Million Dreams by green_feelings / @greenfeelings {M, 112k}

Harry's one of Hollywood's biggest actors, has made a name for himself in prestigious films and lives the life of a superstar. There's just one thing missing to make it picture-perfect, but the one Harry's in love with is completely out of reach for him. Enter Louis, one of Hollywood's biggest actors himself, who just came out of the closet and taps new genres in the industry. When Louis sacks the role Harry auditioned for in Scorsese's next big film, their irrational feud starts. Who could have guessed it would get even worse when for promo season, their teams decide to present them as a couple for publicity?

In short, Harry's in love with someone and doesn't care about dating anyone else, Louis never felt home in L.A., Liam writes love songs for someone he shouldn't write love songs to, and Niall makes everything better with good food.

5️⃣ Faking It by TheCellarDoor / @donotdialnine {M, 46k}

A uni AU in which Louis has been Harry’s best friend since he offered him cubed fruit on the playground, and they spend more time cuddling in their dorm beds than they do apart, but it’s not like that. Or is it?

Aka Harry pretends to date his best friend to escape unwanted attention from a too insistent classmate and hopes it won’t blow up in his face. Featuring embarrassing dildo accidents, awkward boners, longing, first times, late night conversations, emotional discoveries and Niall as the exasperated friend with bad advice.

HIDDEN GEMS:

💎 this charade (was never going to last) by @scrunchyharry {E, 68k}

On the surface, CitizenX, an international caritative nonprofit, looked like any other nonprofit, funding humanitarian missions worldwide and striving to make the world a better place, one donation at a time.

At least, that was what Harry thought, until he was hired as a computer specialist for a spinoff agency called carish, whose true purpose was to reveal CitizenX’s tangled web of lies.

As if the whole ‘industrial spy’ business was not stressful enough, Harry found himself in a hatred-at-first-sight relationship with one of his new coworkers, Louis, a man intent on detesting Harry.

When the worst happened and Harry and Louis found themselves thrown together in hiding, with only each other to rely on, Harry never could have predicted the turn their relationship would take.

Nor could he anticipate that it would all be taken away from him and he would have to decide how far he was willing to go to get Louis back.

💎 Love Is a Winning Game by Rearviewdreamer / @all-these-larrythings {M, 47k}

Before their broken engagement, Harry had his head stuck so far in the clouds that he doesn’t even remember entering him and Louis for something as crazy as a couple's gameshow until a series of bad, post-breakup decisions puts Harry in the awkward position of needing the help of his ex-fiancé to try and fix the mess he has made.

💎 Wed’n Walk (Or, We Went to Amsterdam Together) by @hellolovers13 {E, 11k}

When Harry had first started planning his honeymoon to Amsterdam, he had not envisioned ending up there with his best friend.

Or getting fake-married to him for 24 hours.

💎 Every Line, Every Word, Everything by lsforever / @kingonafiftymetreroad {G, 10k}

“I just fucking came out of the closet to the whole world so I wouldn’t have to parade around fake relationships anymore and that’s what you’re trying to put on me again?!”

or, the AU where Harry's team suggests that he should have a fake boyfriend after he's just come out. Who would've thought it would be his best friend?

💎 Just To See That Smile by @homosociallyyours {NR, 6k}

It's Coming Out Week at university, and Harry's taken on a lot of responsibilities to make everything run smoothly. Finding his roommate's boyfriend attractive is making that a bit difficult, unfortunately. It might help if he realized that said boyfriend (Louis) is really just there to help said roommate (Liam) figure out if Liam's crush (Zayn) likes him back.

But that would make things too easy.

A fic where a hastily faked relationship and a lot of miscommunication almost ruins a perfectly good dance.

[femdemon]

While I'm posting about my experiences with transandrophobia, I feel like people are weird about headcanoning characters as transmasc specifically. Like, obviously, there's your regular old gender and sex based bigotry a lot of the time about headcanoning any character as being anything other than strictly cis, perisex, and gender conforming, but people who allege to be progressive and open-minded get really weird and hostile about transmasc folks specifically seeing ourselves in fictional characters.

Like, okay. I've seen people say, "If you're only headcanoning overtly feminine characters as transmasc and overtly masculine characters as transfem, and you yourself are cis or whatever, maybe you should ask yourself why and whether or not you might have some internalized binarism you need to work on." And this is true, and good to point out! But then I've seen other people take this very good and true message and do some medicalism, gender essentialist bullshit to it like, "Yeah! Stop headcanoning feminine characters as transmasc altogether! Especially if you're a gender non-conforming transmasc person who heavily relates to the character in question and see a lot of yourself in said character. Don't you wanna be taken seriously by Normal People? Don't you wanna be seen as a Real Man? You can't headcanon this character as transmasc, then. Obviously, they're a trans woman, actually, like it's practically canon. In fact, you're Committing An Erasure if you headcanon this character as any gender other than a trans woman, and this is a crime that can never be forgiven and must be punished with Shunning until you admit that you're wrong."

And, like, I'm not saying that this never happens with other headcanons, I've absolutely seen it happen with other queer identities, I just see it a lot with respect to my own gender and I feel like it's bizarrely frequent. Why exactly are people so threatened by even just the idea that a character could be interpreted as transmasc? Why do people get this heated about basically any fiction or insist that it has something to do with representation when it was never canon to begin with? Some random person online who definitely isn't the author isn't in control of the story or characters, and it does nothing to the canon for them to have an opinion or idea about it that you don't like. I know that not everybody has gotten the "fandom isn't activism" memo yet, but even still, it just strikes me as really strange to sort of gatekeep who's allowed to relate to certain characters, or even just imagine them in ways that are different from fanon.

It kind of feels a lot like that thing people do where they're like, "Oh, the aces and aros want some characters they can see themselves in, we'll just give them the aliens and robots (never humans) and such, that should be enough." And then when we're like, "Okay, yeah, I can definitely see a lot of myself in this beloved robot character," suddenly it's all, "Nooo, beloved robot character couldn't possibly be aspec! You buffoon!!! How dare you!!!" It's like, even when we do get "permission" to have headcanons and characters we see ourselves in, we still don't really have it. And then I wonder why I'm always so drawn to inconsequential background characters who contribute nothing to the plot - I've totally been conditioned into it because liking and relating to the main cast is forbidden, I guess.

I know this is a very niche, small problem in the grand scheme of things, but it bums me out. Especially since a lot of this is coming from people who consider themselves allies and stuff, and we already face so much backlash just for daring to suggest that we have unique struggles. Not even when we're having fun storytime with our fan fiction do we get a break.

[bengiyo]

The Trainee Ep 4 Stray Thoughts

Last week, Ryan woke up late and had to scramble to make it to the set, and added extra stress by accidentally taking the store's phone instead of his. On set, Jane tasked him with supervising the extras so they would remain on standby, leading to a lesson in ignoring age politics to do his job well. Pie did well executing the shots for Unit B, but kept looking for more to do because she felt all of their tasks were beneath her. Pah did well with his tasks, and helped teach Pie a few things. Ba-Mhee did poorly, and needed a stern lesson in the role account managers play in keeping a set functional. After Pie accidentally let an extra go home early, Ryan noticed a way to replace her, and Jane ate crow for Pie when the client was pissed about the overages. Ryan returned home after checking in with Jane to help his sister with the extra work from the phone issues. Ryan also tried to reach out gently to Pie, who felt really bad about causing problems.

I was happy to see Ryan interact with his dad, but now I'm nervous about Ryan bringing oil to work.

EP 4: Backup Files

I love when a show remembers its own drama. Ryan is sore from his first day required to work on his feet for extended hours, and Pie is still embarrassed about her mistake. She kept throwing Ryan under the bus before. Curious how she'll manage her fear of Jane.

Pah, please don't fuck up the invoices...

I'm glad Jane is getting used to Ryan's nonverbal tendencies.

Oh no, Jane can smell the oil.

Ba-Mhee should not have followed Tae to the same company. He's clearly trying to complete a task right now, and this drive is going to break.

This is classic intern behavior. You're afraid to admit you made a mistake, and now you're scrambling to try to make up for it. It's also something they do because they're bored. Pah is rushing off on a plan to fix something he didn't break because he's clearly avoiding the invoices.

The comedy of this whole plan execution is really quite stellar. They're hitting these comedic beats perfectly.

They're also cutting in the tension of being discovered really well, too. This is a lot of fun. I like that simple office nonsense is where we went after the high stress of a film set. In the grand scheme of things, the footage is probably already on additional backup drives. All this is unnecessary, and I'm hoping for a meaningful resolution.

Ew, this guy is gross. Both women and his coworkers have told him to stop and he keeps going. Disgusting. I'm glad they showed them scolding him further after the ladies left to change.

Pie is nervous about this meeting, but I'm sure it's about her actual work on Unit B.

I do love this moment between Pie and Ba-Mhee. It would suck if Ba-Mhee was only defined by her relationship with Tae.

Ah, there's our romantic moment of the week.

Of course Tae has helmet now.

Tae from another multiverse. Not a Vice Versa reference.

I love when a show and I are on the same page. Baimon asked generally about the day to see where Pie was about it, and she immediately unloaded about how she screwed up. They used it as a teachable moment about relying on your team, and revealed that they did see her talents, and that she did real work that mattered as a test for even more responsibility with a specific timeline. This hits especially hard because we had that scene with that gross man earlier, because we have two men she reports to validating her efforts.

It's actually refreshing to see a GMMTV workplace show where they understand the minutiae of the work itself. Their interns are making small mistakes that interns make that have manageable consequences for their organization, which allows for the appropriate scolding. Tae screwed up when he didn't report the broken drive, and Pah screwed up by bailing on his own responsibilities. Worse, Tae could have leaked client information. Reminding the interns that they have superiors for a reason, and the purpose of their internships, is going quite well here.

Aww, Pie is hugging Ryan.

Of course Jane was the one who insisted Pie be given another chance. He recognized how she had already beaten herself up about her mistake, and so there was no need to pile on. He focused on correcting the presumptions she had about working on a team as they move forward.

Well well well, the oil led to a cute moment instead. A win.

An excellent preview: they assured me we'd be dealing with the invoice paperwork next week, and that Ryan will still be dealing with Jane's curt nature.

We've been led down a lot in the back half of GMMTV shows lately, so I really hope this one holds together. The drama in this show is so well-balanced for the setting. I also am really enjoying the pacing. Last week was quite frenetic to match the energy of a film set, but this week was a bit slower as we dealt with post production issues. I've really enjoyed following the projects they've been working on, and am excited about the beginning of a new one next week. It's also really cool that the projects we've seen are rather small: first an ad, and now a music video. That feels like the right work for a production company that's trying to keep revenue streams going. A big show gets a lot of views, but you're hoping other producers want to hire your company for their projects too. This has been an awesome watch experience.

[foreverdolly]

29 & 49, austin!tex, dark romance. I basically want more in that same universe as your other austin!tex work honey

𝐃𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐉𝐄𝐒𝐔𝐒 | 𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧!𝐭𝐞𝐱 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

prompt: "I can't. . .please. . . I can't take it anymore." and "good boy."

word count: 2.5k

song: cinnamon girl - neil young

notes/warnings: SMUT SMUT SMUT! a rosary is used for. . . stuff. this fic is absolutely filthy good lord. tex legit worships you and thinks of you as his own personal goddess. i hope you love this, baby.

Not before Tex, that is. 

Not before Tex, that is. 

Again and again, he had proved to you that he would never do anything that might put you in danger. You were the one thing in the world that he really wanted to protect. He’d been spiraling before he met you. He had been searching for a purpose, and now that he had found one? He wasn’t willing to ever let that go. Let you go. 

You knew that Tex was ultimately stronger and more capable in a fight, so he’d easily be able to keep you there with him even if you weren’t willing to stay. Yes, you had been taken against your will- but that didn’t mean that you had no control. If anything, you’d never felt more powerful in your life. 

Because Tex depended on you for happiness. 

You weren’t too far gone not to notice how unhealthy the relationship between you two was. It was codependent and it was unpredictable- but it was also passionate and real. He hadn’t been a very good person before he met you. He was pretty evil, actually. 

But he treated you like a Goddess. The man prayed to you before bed each night. You were his entire world. 

Maybe it was wrong of you to love it so much, but you did. It had been impossible not to fall in love with Tex. 

It felt nice getting away from the ranch for a few hours some nights. Both you and Tex were still formulating a grand scheme to get out of that house and away from Charlie. Though neither of you would say it, you knew that getting out as soon as possible was the best idea. 

The two of you would climb into whatever car was available and drive thirty minutes further up the mountain. The view was beautiful up there at night, what with all the stars and sprawling farmland. 

You hadn’t bothered asking whose car you were in when Tex hurriedly led you outside, excitedly jingling some car keys with his free hand.

 It was an old, weather worn truck. It had probably once been a beautiful mint green color, but now it was spotted with rust and small scratches. Still, the old thing started up without a problem when Tex turned the key. Smalltalk was hard when all the two of you did was spend time together. 

Surprisingly, Tex was fond of deeper, more intimate topics of conversation. He asked about whether or not having a family was important to you. He talked to you about theology and music. He talked about things that had happened in his past, and that those things most likely contributed to the way that he had turned out. How he had run into Charlie and got tied up in all of that mess. 

It was Tex’s desperate yearning for a family that led him on his current path of death and destruction. 

He was trying to change. Now whether it was because he genuinely disliked who he had become or solely to please you, you still weren't sure. 

Dropping acid in an old, rundown truck probably wasn’t a good idea. Especially since you were just off of the main dirt road. Tex had turned the headlights off, but anyone could bump into you on the way to their homes. You were too busy looking at Tex to really care too much though. 

His black dyed hair was starting to get even longer, his chestnut brown hair now visible at the roots. He was perfect with his big blue eyes and bubblegum lips. It was hard to keep your hands off of each other whenever you did any sort of drugs, especially psychedelics. All of your senses were heightened, and his skin somehow felt velvet soft against your fingers. You pressed your thumb against his lower lip, dragging it down ever so slightly so that you could get a better look at his lower teeth. One of his lower canines was slightly crooked, but other than that his teeth were perfectly straight. 

“I’ve never had one cavity in my life. I’ve been mighty blessed, I think.” He mumbled, his chest vibrating with each word. 

You were straddling him in the driver's side of the car, one of your knees tucked against the doorframe and the other one pressed against the armrest. You’d somehow ended up in his lap just a few seconds after the LSD kicked in. It was almost instantaneous with tabs. You’d learned to brace yourself for the odd wavy visuals. 

“Very blessed.” You nodded your head, biting your lower lip as you tried to keep yourself from smiling. 

Tex seemed to notice, his own lips pulling up into a wide grin to match yours. His palm had been resting on the middle of your back, but suddenly became aware of the fact that he was now brushing his hand up and down your side absentmindedly. Your entire body broke out in chills. He noticed the way you shivered, his eyes twinkling with mischief. 

“Does that feel good?” He asked, blue eyes flickering down to your lips and then back up to stare into your eyes. 

You managed to nod, your hands moving up his chest and over his broad shoulders. It was his turn to shiver then, his grip on you tightening, pulling you further into his lap. Your fingers slipped under the collar of his shirt, feeling the skin of his back. 

Some days there was nothing to do around the house to pass the time aside from fucking. Listening to album after album while smoking pot was only fun for a limited amount of time, and there was nothing left to do except to chase a different sort of high. You couldn’t count how many times you and Tex had sex over the two months that you had been staying with him. Some days it was nonstop. The second that he caught his second wind he was pulling you back into the room that the two of you shared. 

Even after all of that though, it still hasn't lost its novelty. Your fingers explored the expanse of his chest like it was a foreign land, tracing each scar like you were making a roadmap out of them. And he was beautiful in the pale light of the moon. He was staring up at you as though you were some prophet, sent down to lead him to a new world. 

A better world. 

One by one, the two of you began to peel off articles of clothing, not caring where anything ended up. The man took advantage of the unusual height difference, leaning forward so that he could place an opened mouth kiss directly in the middle of your chest. His long eyelashes brushed against your collarbone, his long hair tickling your shoulder as he moved down, down, down. 

And then he was cupping your breasts, feeling the weight of them in his hands. 

“I’m so glad that these are mine.” He spoke so softly that you could barely make out what he was saying. 

There was nothing in the world that beat the feeling of Tex being seated up inside of you. You could feel every inch of him practically in your stomach, pushing up against your insides. It was deliciously painful now that you were on top, pushing him even deeper than usual. Tex had barely pulled down his jeans, in too much of a hurry to feel all of you to worry about his clothes. His belt buckle was digging into the sensitive skin of your thigh as you moved your hips against his. 

You didn’t care enough to tell him that it hurt, because you were positive that it would leave a mark. And you wanted that. Every bruise, bite mark or scratch was worn with pride. They were constant reminders that the both of you belonged to each other. 

Tex was usually the dominant one. He enjoyed taking care of you in bed. Being in control was something that he preferred. It wasn’t because he didn’t trust you to take the reins, but because he enjoyed watching your expressions. He loved pounding into your small, soft little body and listening to your sounds of pleasure knowing that he was the one that was causing it all. It was hard for him to do much of anything other than fuck up into you, meeting you halfway as you raised up and down on your knees. 

Your thighs were burning and quivering, but you didn’t care. Suddenly you understood just what was so good about being on top. Tex was a blubbering mess, his eyes blown out wide, cheeks a bright pink as he tried to control his breathing. Still, you continued to move against him, even when he gently began tapping at your hip, trying to silently communicate with you that he was close. 

You didn’t care. You even moved his hands away from sides when he tried to stop you, moving your hips even faster against his. 

“O-Oh fuck-” He panted, out, his hand clumsily bumping into the armrest as he tried to grip onto something- anything as the pleasure kept building. 

You recognized that look in his eyes. Knew he was about to cum- but you wanted it. 

“H-Honey. . .” He was trying to warn you and try to get you to stop. 

But he was too high and it all felt too good. Your hips were moving relentlessly against his, and your pussy was so warm and tight around him. He pressed his face into your chest as he climaxed, repeating your name again and again like it was some broken prayer. You could feel his cock twitching inside of you, pumping you full. Warming you up from the insides. You didn’t stop moving against him though. Even when you were sure that he was finished. 

He was a shaking mess, his eyes filled with tears as he pulled his face away from your chest so that he could look at your face. He looked pitiful, still shaking with the aftershocks of his climax as you continued using his oversensitive dick. 

“I can’t- please. . . I can’t take it anymore.” He was begging you. 

Despite his tears and twitching muscles, he didn’t make any move to try and get you off of him. He could have lifted you easily. 

You could feel that all too familiar tightening in your abdomen, and telltale sign that you weren’t too far off. Tex must have felt you tightening around him, because his hands, albeit a little shaky, moved to your hips. He helped you move on top of him, clenching his teeth and staring up at you. He was watching your face intently, wanting to watch you fall apart. 

“I-If you’re a good boy then I’ll reward you.” You panted out, bracing a hand on his bare chest. You were finding it hard to move anymore, the pleasure starting to render your limbs useless. 

The brunette’s blue eyes widened and he sucked in a deep breath through his nose. 

“You’re gonna reward me by comin’ on my cock? I know I’ve got more cum to give you, so please. Keep goin’. Don’t stop.” He had such a filthy mouth. He never had a problem with telling you exactly how he felt. 

Normally you would have said something to him to egg him on, but the promise of being packed full with even more of his seed had you falling over the edge. His large hand reached up and gripped onto your throat as he felt your walls clench down hard around him, keeping your face tilted down so that he could see it. 

See your precious lips part and your eyes roll back. 

“G-God you’re so hot. Holy fuck.” The urge to squeeze your throat even tighter was overwhelming. Because you were just so soft and small compared to him. The urge to hurt you in bed was overwhelming sometimes. He wanted to leave bruises. Wanted to claim you in as many ways as he possibly could. 

It was your turn to be oversensitive. Tex continued his assault, thrusting his hips up into you as you loomed above him, trying to breathe through the comedown of your climax. He wasn’t going to give you even a second to rest though, because now he had an end goal. He wanted to cum inside of you twice without pulling out, and then enjoy the sheer amount of himself that was bound to pour out of that well loved pussy of yours. Your moans of pleasure were growing in volume, and the brunette was sure that he had seen a house less than a mile up the road. The last thing he needed was to get the cops called on the both of you, and so with frantic hands he tried to find something that he could use to muffle your screams. 

In his desperate searching his finger tugged at a long string of beads that had been haphazardly hung over the rearview mirror. The clasp gave out easily, the necklace tumbling down into the passenger seat. It was good enough for him. He gathered the long necklace up into his hand before shoving some of it into your mouth along with two of his long fingers. You gagged around him, your cunt clenching around him yet again but in shock. He let out a low growl, his breathing becoming more frantic. 

The long string of rosary beads that weren’t in your mouth felt cold against your chest. There was something that was so blasphemous about the scene. Something that was so wrong and debased that it had Tex beginning to shiver beneath you, eyes wide and glassy. He curled his fingers inside of your mouth, pressing against your tongue. 

And then he was cumming again, his head lolling back onto the headrest, the muscles in his biceps pulling tight. He breathed hard, moving one of his hands to press against your abdomen, and was pleased to find that he could feel himself twitching inside of you. 

Claiming you from the inside out. 

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[miserymet]

Posting another piece of writing! This one is the opening chapter for a Bass-centric Modern AU. Much longer than the Drabble I posted, but rereading it made me nostalgic for this old AU. I’d like to do some art for it at some point.

Anyway, without further ado, here’s the fic:

His name was Ballade.

Bass doesn’t know much more than that. All he knows is his name and that he was year above him. He either doesn’t remember the rest or never learned it. See, that was the problem with Ballade. He was completely and entirely irrelevant. A stain on ruined shirt, a blemish against tattered skin. He didn’t matter, not in the grand scheme of things and not to anyone at school. A nobody in every sense of the word. Bass doesn’t remember what was so annoying about him either. All he remembers is that one day he said something, and Bass wasn’t in the mood to hear it.

Ballade was the first to end up on the pavement, blood leaking from his face. He was not the last.

Bass Wily’s history is best described as “colorful.” From a young age it was easy to see that he was different from his peers. Teachers described him as difficult, classmates as terrifying, and parents as concerning. That was only the beginning. His first fight was in elementary, with the aforementioned Ballade, but his real beginning was in middle school. Why, the list of his enemies was so long they could make it into a phone book. The list of people he beat to a pulp wasn’t quite as long, but the amount of fights he lost wouldn’t even take up a footnote. As you can imagine, this was a nightmare for his father.

It’s no wonder the old man got sick of him. He came out of freshman year with bloody knuckles and a bad attitude. Most would have sent him to a boot camp. Most would have the shame to admit that they had failed somewhere along the way. But not Wily, no, he could never call his own blood a lost cause. Not when his rotten son ending up in juvie was sure to make the headlines. No, Wily had a different plan in mind. A plan that got Bass out of the way and wiped his record clean. A plan he never planned on filling Bass in on until it was too late to make a run for it.

A plan he named Zero.

That’s how Bass finds himself in the passenger’s seat of a car he’s never been in before, staring out over a dark and endless highway. The lights are few and far apart, covering the car for only a moment before cutting out again. For as far out as they are, there’s nothing to see. All around them are miles and miles of roads and fields and lifeless desert that threatens to swallow him whole. It’s a wasteland. That’s all that lies between the cities out here. Dirt and dust and rock. It’s miserable. At least now it’s too dark to see anything.

The inside of the car isn’t anymore comfortable. His jacket hangs loosely over him, unzipped and falling off his shoulder. It’s just cold enough to make him uncomfortable, but it’ll be too warm if he zips it up. So he doesn’t. Bass just slouches in his seat and breathes a deep sigh. 

The radio buzzes in his ear, playing something that was probably popular thirty years ago. Now it’s nostalgic. Retro. A pathetic ploy to remember the past as better than it actually was. It’s so easy to remember those years as too much synth and makeup, as bright lights and exposed skin. It’s just music. Music that said nothing and meant even less. Bass hates that. Hates that the same people who call modern music soulless praise this garbage because it’s old. Hates that they’re all listening to the same bubblegum bullshit, but from a different time. 

He doesn’t know why he cares. People have been touting their self importance since the dawn of time. He can imagine their prehistoric ancestors measuring their sticks to see whose was the biggest. Only now people care less for sticks and more for music that takes itself too seriously. That’s the issue, he guesses. Everyone cares too much. Wily cares too much about his image, Bass cares too much about everything, and Zero…

Bass doesn’t know what he cares about. Doesn’t really know the guy. At all. 

He reaches for the radio and switches to another station. Bass is immediately inundated with a different kind of garbage. Modern electronic music. At the sudden change, Zero speaks up for what must be the first time in over an hour. 

“I was listening to that.”

Bass rolls his eyes. “I wasn’t.”

They lapse into silence again as Bass switches through various stations. Some play pop, some rock, some are pure static. None of it is worth listening to. Bass didn’t think any of it would be, but at least playing with the radio gives him something to do. His phone died forever ago, leaving him with whatever he has on hand to entertain himself. His backpack is full of sentimental junk, nothing he can really use to distract himself. Treble is napping in the backseat and Bass doesn’t have the heart to wake him. So this car radio is all he has for company. Zero doesn’t count. He’s not company. 

Bass barely even knows the guy. Which is why he’s trying so hard to distract himself. If he thinks too hard he’ll remember that he’s riding with a stranger to a city he’s never seen before. The knob turns in his hand as he thinks, sliding between stations haphazardly. He’ll be in a new place, away from everything he’s ever known, living with someone he doesn’t know. Someone unpredictable. Sure, anyone that isn’t Wily is probably an improvement, but Bass is used to Wily. He knows how the old man thinks. Knows how he works, how to deal with him. Bass doesn’t know Zero, hasn’t for five years. Which makes the man unpredictable. Which makes Bass nervous. He fiddles with the knob just a bit faster, static breaking through the speakers.

“Forte-,”

“Bass. It’s Bass now.” He keeps his eyes trained on the car radio, watching the stations flicker by. “Has been for a while.”

Zero sighs, loudly. “Well Bass, pick something or turn it off.”

He lands on static. Bass is pretty sure he sees Zero’s eye twitch out of the corner of his eyes, but he chooses to ignore it. The satisfaction of annoying Zero lasts for only a minute. After that, he quickly realizes the consequences of his actions. There’s several hours between him and his destination. Several hours he’s going to have to suffer through with the sound of static accompanying all of it. How lovely. It’s times like these where Bass almost wishes he were someone else. Of course, that’s only when his difficult nature affects himself. Any other time and he’s perfectly happy being the most antagonistic person in existence.

People are stupid. People like Wily, like Zero, like his teachers and his peers. People that look at him and see only what they want to see. People that look at him and see Forte. See this teen with a bad attitude and dark clothes and assume that they know everything about him. Bass exists to defy those assumptions. He is not the expected, not the convenient. He’s loud, abrasive, aggressive. He’s everything Wily pretends he isn’t. He’s whatever’s going to infuriate Zero the most. He’s whatever pisses everyone off. A contrarian. A problem. Bass gets to control what everyone thinks of him. He gets to pick what he wants to be. Everyone else just has to deal with it or move on.

Most choose to move on. Even the most patient people in the world get sick of him eventually. The smart ones leave as soon as they can. As you can imagine, it leaves him on his own more often than not. That’s fine. Bass has been on his own for a while. He’s used to it. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches a glimpse of Zero. This won’t be any different. A change of scenery won’t fix what’s wrong with him. Bass won’t change, won’t get better, won’t get worse. He’ll just continue on as he always has. Zero will get sick of him eventually. Send him back in a few months, throwing Wily’s mistakes in his face once again.

The thought isn’t as comforting as it should be. As nervous as he is about this move, the idea of returning home isn’t thrilling either. That house, that city hasn’t felt like home for a while. It used to. It used to be familiar and comforting. It used to be his. Now it feels like any other place. Those long halls, those labyrinthine streets, they don’t feel the same. Not since…

Wily certainly chose a convenient time to get sick of him. After everything, it figures the old man would cut him loose after he’s already been hanging from a string. He wonders, briefly, if that was exactly Wily chose to do this now. The old man never cared much for the company he kept, so why would he get rid of him after his old gang had left? Why wait until he had nothing to ship him off? It doesn’t make sense. Maybe it was just convenience. That he was waiting for Zero to come home, that this was always the plan. Of course, that just leaves one unknown variable.

“Why…” Bass falters and hates himself for it. “Why are you doing this?”

Zero grips the steering wheel a little harder. “Doing what?”

“This! The move, the new house, the new school-, why? Why any of it? Why?”

Bass flails his arms in useless gesture. The man next to him huffs in what might be amusement, which makes only one of them. He slouches in his seat and turns away from the man. Pouting, he knows, but he figures he’s earned the right. His life is being upended by the only two people that still hold any power over him. Two people that don’t even know him, for all the years he’s lived with them. Wily and Zero never cared to learn anything about him, and Zero’s missed a third of his life. Bass was ten when Zero left, ten. A lot changes in five fucking years. And Zero doesn’t know the half of it.

“Didn’t he tell you what you’re dealing with? My record? My ‘attitude problem?’”

Zero stiffens a bit at that. Bass wouldn’t have gotten as far as he has if he didn’t know how to exploit a weak spot. He prods further.

“C’mon, how much do you know? I have to know what the old man said about me, which one of my greatest hits he told you.” Bass tugs on Zero’s jacket, jostling him a bit. “Was it that kid whose nose I broke? Or the one who got his older brother involved, who I destroyed by the way. What about the one who showed up with a bat-,”

“Bass.” His grip is harder now, jaw clenched as he stares dead ahead.

“What? I just want to know-,”

“Why are you proud of that? Of what you did to those kids? What-,” Zero takes a deep breath, barely keeping it together.

Bass rolls his eyes. “What’s wrong with me? A lot. I’m sure you can make a few guesses.”

“Do you enjoy hurting people? Is that fun for you?”

“I enjoy winning.” He pulls back his hand, crossing it over his chest. “I enjoy being better than all the idiots who see someone whose barely five feet and thinks that they can take him. I enjoy when everyone else is wrong. I enjoy making them admit it.”

“Well, you weren’t doing much of that when I came home! Your father said you weren’t doing anything. That you hid in your room all day. That you stopped leaving the house. That’s what he told me.”

Bass opens his mouth. Then shuts it. He honestly didn’t think the old man noticed. No, the truth is that he honestly didn’t think the old man cared. So what if he was in his room? It’s his room. It’s his house! He’s allowed to be there! The alternative was being somewhere else, doing something illegal. Most parents would be happy that Bass wasn’t doing any of that. That he was somewhere they could see, that they could keep him out of trouble. Actually, considering how fond Wily was of pretending his own son didn’t exist, this was almost textbook. Figures the old man would only care because he had to suffer his own son’s presence. Still…

“What do you care?”

Zero doesn’t answer him, not right away. Bass spares him a glance. He’s kinda like a monolith, in a way. He sits straight, arms stiff and limbs locked into place. He’s about a foot taller than Bass so he almost towers over him in his slouch. Zero has towered over him for a while. A monument to everything Bass is not. Zero is tall and lean, with smooth features and a pretty face. His skin is tan, his hair blonde and his eyes a vivid blue. He was a straight A student all throughout high school, at the top of his class, and he even got valedictorian. Not to mention the Ivy League school he went to, which he graduated a few months ago. With flying colors, of course. 

Bass is nothing like him. He’s short and awkward, his face round and features mean. Bass is a darker complexion, with black hair and dark eyes. What’s worse is that these features only look bad on him. If Zero had them, he’d look great. But Bass isn’t Zero. His grades are mediocre, his attendance record awful, and he’s never gotten anything more than a participation trophy. And, not to be redundant, but the record. Even if it’s being swept under the rug here, it still exists. Bass did everything he got in trouble for. Beat up every name in that file. He’s every counselor’s nightmare.

“I care because I don’t think you’re a bad kid.”

He blinks at that. “You’re insane.”

“I mean it, Bass.” Zero takes another breath. “Your father isn’t…a good person.”

“He’s a shithead, I know.”

“Yeah, he is. And having a father like that doesn’t make for a good environment to grow up in. It leads to…people like us.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“We’re not normal, Bass. Normal people don’t beat people up for fun, they don’t have rampant anger issues, they don’t pick the farthest school from their family because the thought of living in that house makes them sick.”

That explains why Zero never visited. Bass kinda assumed he was too busy studying or whatever to bother, but it makes sense that avoiding Wily was his main motivation. Bass did the same thing, although he could never get as far away as Zero did. And he eventually had to come home. But every moment he spent away from Wily was one he savored. Even if he was just loitering or hanging out in empty parking lots. Anything to not have to be home. Bass remembers staying out for hours, far after sunset, just so he could be sure Wily was asleep.

Sometimes one of his friends would wait with him. Tengu’s presence was typical, seeing as he didn’t have any good reason to go home either. His parents weren’t ever around and Bass learned not to pry. He wasn’t good company, though. Bass kinda got the feeling he only stuck around because he felt like he had to. Burner sometimes stuck around too. Usually to get the smell out of his clothes, but sometimes he didn’t want to go home either. Bass didn’t like Burner, for a lot of reasons, but he could be nice when he wasn’t on something. 

His friends weren’t normal either. Bass knew that, instinctively, but that was why he hung around them. Because they knew what it was like to not be normal. To be ugly and awful, to be unforgivable to everyone else. They were so not normal that it made Bass feel normal. Like he wasn’t some freak of nature. Like it wasn’t his fault that he came out like this. That it just…happened. Like it did with all of his friends. 

Zero is the opposite. He’s a stark reminder of how messed up Bass is. Because if Zero ended up as perfect as he is, then Bass doesn’t really have an excuse. Bass just isn’t good enough. Someway, somehow, he is insufficient. Flawed. Imperfect. But hearing Zero say that he isn’t normal, that something wrong with him? It’s bittersweet. It doesn’t fix Bass, but it does make him feel better to know that Zero isn’t as high and mighty as he might seem. But again, that only explains part of what’s going on. Bass knows why Wily sent him away, knows why Zero wants to leave, but it still leaves one thing unanswered.

“That explains why you’re moving, but why the hell did you bring me along?

“Because getting away from that-,” Zero falters for a moment. “Getting away from our father was good for me. College was good for me. Getting to be around normal people with normal lives made me realize how fucked up ours was. It made me realize that things didn’t have to be like this. That we don’t have to be like this.”

Bass doesn’t say anything. He got what he wanted. Now he knows that this is some strange attempt to “fix” Bass. He’s not sure how Zero thinks he’s going to accomplish that, but he’s welcome to try. It’ll be entertaining to watch him fail for the first time. Well, second if you count what happened in Zero’s junior year, but Bass doesn’t. Zero did win, after all.

“You deserve a chance to have a normal childhood. With someone who hasn’t given up on you. I…want to give you that. I want to try. God knows someone has to.”

They fall into silence again. Bass doesn’t know what to say to that and Zero seems to have said all he had to. Now it’s just them and the open, empty road. There’s a part of Bass that’s hopeful, despite everything. That thinks maybe this can work. That he and Zero can play pretend. That Bass can survive for a little bit longer. But it’s only a small part. Every other part of him tells him not to hold his breath. Bass sighs and turns his attention to the window. The sky seems to be brightening, which means that morning isn’t too far off. He relaxes in his seat.

When he wakes up, he’ll be in a new city. When he wakes up, he’ll have to figure this out all over again. Bass closes his eyes and dreams of nothing.

[sideroachblog]

Kinktober Day 6: Body Worship

I forgot to post this yesterday!! Oops. Hopefully I'll get Day 7 posted today, too.

Thanks to @nonsenseafterdark for the prompt list!!

Words: 1,885

Summary: Price needs a confidence booster. Roach is happy to help. No actual smut, I didn't get that far 😅 but the build-up is there.

TWs: The Captain is a dirty old bastard (he's not that old). No real TWs for once, surprisingly. Don't get used to that.

Price glared at the small glass case on his desk. It held a Newton’s cradle made to look like billiard balls, although Price wasn’t a physics scholar nor a pool fan. It was something his father gave him for Christmas last year without putting much thought into it. However, that rabbithole went unexplored at the moment as his attention rested on his own reflection.

~~~

Price looked more and more like his dad every day. Pushing forty wasn’t old by any means. That sentiment didn’t stick now after the last remnants of his youth slipped through his fingers when he wasn’t watching, his full, brown beard sprouting gray patches on his chin.

There were larger problems at stake. Lamenting the passage of time did no one any good. He should feel lucky to have had all these years, considering the many perilous escapades he roped himself into, but it was hard when it earned him bad memories nearly as deep as his stress lines. Price sighed, running a hand through his hair. Christ, was it starting to thin?

Someone cleared their throat standing at his desk and startled him.

Roach stood there like an apprehensive stray, gaiter down around his neck, all his other gear in the armory. A little over a decade younger than Price. Not quite pushing thirty, probably unaware of how fast the birthdays ran by. He had a full head of rich chestnut hair (his crew cut grew out a smidge too far), big brown eyes without a dark circle in sight, high cheekbones his flesh hadn’t begun to sag from yet. Not a boyish face per se, considering the sharp, scruffy jawline it sported and the myriad of scars obtained on missions. Youthful but not young.

Quite the lady-killer, in Price’s opinion; perhaps a bit of a captain-killer as well. Sure, call it unethical to have little crushes on sergeants, but don’t fault a man for preferring trained dogs that come when called and still have the energy for tricks.

Price shook himself out of it before he thought too hard about scratching Roach behind the ears as the man sat in his lap. “Jesus Christ. Would it kill you to knock?”

“I did. You didn’t respond but the door was cracked.”

“Still. Nearly gave me a heart attack.”

Roach grinned. His teeth were crooked and one of his front incisors had been knocked out on their last mission. “I know, you’re getting up there, huh? When do you have to go for your first colonoscopy?”

Price groaned, dropping his head into his hands to rub his tired eyes. “Not for at least five years.”

Might as well be a minute in the grand scheme of things.

“Everything okay?” Roach asked.

“Aye, lad. Peachy. What can I do for you?”

“Got a leave request for the holidays. I want to spend ‘em with my parents.”

He reached over the desk for the papers then leaned back in his chair, boots on the desk. “What, no girlfriend to spend them with?”

The man laughed, rubbing his upper arm awkwardly.

Price raised an eyebrow. “Or, uh, no… boyfriend? To spend them with? Which would be no problem, if you did.”

His face flushed. Price liked the sight.

“I’m not seeing anyone, at the moment. Being in the S.A.S. makes dating tough. My mum's gonna make dinner.”

“Aw, don’t tell me you’re not heading over early to help?” Price scolded.

“I’ve only requested Christmas and the day after off… I’ll help clean up!”

“Damn right you will,” Price said, sliding the papers back across the desk. “Add Christmas Eve so you can be a good boy and help your old lady. Then I’ll approve.”

Roach nodded. Price expected him to leave but, to the Captain’s surprise, he flopped down in a chair.

“Don’t you have duties to attend to, Sergeant?”

“Lunchtime. I’ll bring you chow if you pretend I’m not lollygagging.”

Price was hungry, and his sciatica had been acting up again—it shot pain down his right leg for a few minutes whenever he stood up or sat down. “Deal,” he agreed without much deliberation. Plus, it meant the eye candy stuck around a little longer.

Roach put his arms behind his head and leaned back. He carried his strength in more of a swimmer’s build rather than bulking as much as Ghost or Soap. Definitely strong, though. Well defined muscles flexed below his shirt as he stretched. Price sighed again—he’d lost much of his own definition over the years despite being just as strong. And the aches only ever got worse.

“Are you sure everything is okay?”

“Don’t worry about me, Sanderson. Having a mid-life crisis, is all.”

He flashed that gap-toothed grin. “Hey, you’re not that old!”

“I’m no spring chicken.”

“Okay, well. When you talk like that I can only assume you were born in the fifties.”

Price rolled his eyes. “Way to hit a man while he’s down.”

Roach laughed.

Price didn’t. He thinned his lips, opened his mouth to start speaking once or twice, pressed his fingertips together. Finally, he asked, “Do I act old?”

“I didn’t mean to make you feel bad! It’s fine, really.”

“Hasn’t felt fine lately. I’m greying. Gonna be balding soon, I bet. Got crows feet, smile lines, droopy skin… I’m not the heartthrob I used to be. Enjoy it while it lasts, lad.”

Roach leaned forward. “Hey, don’t be like that! Think of it this way: you’re a DILF now. Once the D turns into more of a G, you’ll just be in your silver fox era.”

“What’s a DILF?”

Roach grimaced. “I was hoping you knew what that meant already.”

Price totally did. GILF, too. But he wanted to see Roach squirm, so he tilted his head in a curious ruse.

“You know what a MILF is, right?”

He nodded.

“So you can guess what the D stands for, right?”

“Are you calling me a ‘dad you’d like to fuck?’”

He took sick joy in the way Roach covered his eyes, immediately pink from his clavicle to the tips of his ears.

Roach said, “It’s—It’s a figure of speech, Sir.”

“I get it, I get it, I’m messing around.”

Price half expected the Sergeant to leave for lunch now that he was mortified. He didn’t. Price’s stomach growled; maybe he could speed this along.

“What makes me a ‘dad you’d like to fuck?’”

“Quit saying that!”

He just laughed.

Surprisingly, Roach kept talking, sweet-talking, even. “Uh, I guess it’s the salt and pepper that does it.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. And the way you carry yourself. You’re strong and confident ‘cause you’re experienced. Well-seasoned. It implies you've been around the block once or twice, if you catch my drift.” Roach’s face only got pinker.

“So you like a man more experienced than you?”

“Captain!”

Price had to backpedal. “Just joking! Nothing wrong if you do. Or don’t.” He chuckled and sighed. “Don’t mind me, I’m a dirty old bastard. Go get lunch, and change that leave request.”

“R-right.”

Roach was out the door before Price could change his mind. Maybe he sped things up too fast.

‘Been around the block once or twice.’

‘Experienced.’

Sounded like Roach wanted to be collared, leashed, and taken for a walk.

…

About ten minutes later the Sergeant returned carrying two meals, again scaring the piss out of Price when he tossed the metal tray onto the desk and a jacket potato threatened to jump out of its designated cubby.

“Christ alive! You didn’t knock this time, either—!”

“Yes, I did! Sir!”

“No, you didn’t! At least I know you’re not a bloody vampire.”

“But I do bite.”

“Great,” Price said sarcastically. “I’ll send in an purchase request for a muzzle, then. Go on, sit.”

He enjoyed the scarlet red Roach immediately turned.

“What had you distracted this time, Captain?”

Being too old to die young anymore. Dying old and ugly and alone.

“Nothing,” Price answered. “Not a thing.”

“Still feeling old?”

“Yup. And It’s getting worse by the second. You’ll be in my shoes, one day. If you’re lucky. You’ll prune up, lose that pretty face, hunch over like a question mark. All your hair will fall out. I bet yours will start from the crown of your head rather than recede; you’ll look like a monk.”

“Don’t be so negative. It’s natural. It’s maturity. Like wine!”

Price smirked. “I don’t believe it. Don’t flatter me, kid, that’s how you become a kiss-ass. I already peaked around your age. It’s all downhill from here; been going downhill for a while.”

Roach clicked his tongue. “It’s not kissing ass if you’re the one turning away from my compliments and pulling your pants down. I can’t help if you won’t listen.”

“I’m not an auditory learner.”

“Ha-ha. You’re a physical one, right?”

“How’d you know?”

“Said it yourself. Dirty old bastard.”

He laughed. His mouth moved before his brain could filter it. “Well, if you teach me why I’m a DILF, I’ll share what I’ve learned on my adventures.”

Roach’s mouth gaped and his eyes went wide. Price nearly saw the discharge notice flying at him—then the Sergeant crossed his legs to hide a boner. Price would be lying if he claimed that didn’t make him hard as a rock.

He paused. Cocked an eyebrow. “Are we pretending I didn’t see that, Sanderson?”

Roach wouldn’t look his way.

“You’re not in trouble. Lock the door, I’ll show you a thing or two. Or leave and there’s no harm done, aye?”

Roach’s brows furrowed. He looked at his Captain, then the door, then his lunch, then repeated the circuit. “Can we eat first? I’m starving.”

He smiled. “Brilliant idea.”

…

And so they ended up locked in Price’s dark office together, the Captain in his chair as Roach straddled his lap.

“You’re so sexy,” Roach said, feeling Price’s trapezius muscles, digging in to release tension. His fingers slipped under the man’s shirt collar. “I can’t believe you don’t see it.”

Price moaned. He couldn’t help it, gripping Roach by the hips as the Sergeant trailed kisses up his stubbly neck. Next thing he knew his shirt was untucked and Roach took warm handfuls of his hairy tummy.

“Not as… toned as it used to be,” Price said sheepishly, eyes closed for reasons he couldn’t explain. It felt more comfortable that way.

“I love it. It’s perfect. And I can still feel the muscles underneath—you’re just as strong.”

“Yeah, yeah. Butter me up. It won’t get you anywhere special.”

Roach pulled away. Price leaned forward to chase kisses now withheld, peaking one eye open when an arm across his chest pinned him in place.

“Something wrong, Sanderson?”

The man stared down his nose at Price. “How long’s it been since anyone’s given you any appreciation?” He asked.

“Huh? Oh…” Price tapped his fingers on the arm of the chair. “Can’t remember, so I reckon it’s been a while. Once you’re in my position you’re in charge of dishing it out to keep moral high.”

Roach hummed. “I mean in your love life.”

“The well’s run dry since I've been a Captain. Always been more of a giver, though.”

“Let me change that.”

[hiyaluronic]

*whispers* what if a certain lvl 20 hot!boi failed his wisdom save?

"Yes, well, we must make haste then." Essek stated, clearing his throat to shake free the unease he was feeling. "Ludinus is one thing, but a demon of such design that prays on the fears and self-loathing of individuals is not quite what I had in mind for this excursion, I'm afraid."

"But it's powering the engine and killing people, shouldn't we, y'know do something?"

Ashton sighed and leaned against his hammer, pointedly staring at Imogen. "It's a grand demon that's been here since before fuck all. I doubt it’s going to matter if it stays chained to an engine for another year or fifty."

"Ash is right." Orym started ignoring Ashtons interjected 'Thank You' "Besides, anything that stalls Ludinus, however good or bad at the moment, is unfortunately a help to us right now."

"I... I guess," Imogen sounded conflicted turning from Orym to stare off to the side where Chetney and Dorian had been affected, "but once Ludinus is dealt with we should probably come back and take care of it."

Essek nodded in agreement. "A problem for another day then."

'And such is your nature to always run. Why?'

His hand was halfway to the pocket of his robes when he heard the whisper. Essek closed his eyes with a quiet sigh.

A hand ran gently across his back, delicate fingers tapping against his shoulders before seeming to settle on the gentle curve of his neck. 'Do you not wish to see the fruits of our research? After all, I have you to thank for everything that I have been able to achieve.'

"We should go. Now." Essek stressed and opened his eyes only to see Caleb in the middle of the room, his form taught against the imaginary bonds that held him in place. Essek swallowed hard when he caught sight of the deep purple bruises that shadowed the white of Caleb's neck. Bells Hells was nowhere to be seen.

Shit.

'If it wasn't for this one here...' Ludinus grinned from his periphery, fingers twisting in the air at the same time Caleb buckled, the man forced to his knees with a grunt.

'Such a thorn in my side.'

Caleb choked, blood beginning to trickle from his nose, his lips strained to form soundless words, his bloodshot eyes pleading with Essek.

"This is not real." It was not, it couldn't be, he refused to fall for whatever horrid illusion that had been thrust upon him. Caleb was safe. The man had said as much himself just the day before. "You will not get what you want from me."

'You think this to be an illusion?' Essek winced when he felt the hot breath of Ludinus burn against the shell of his ear. 'Some perfunctory grand play of a fiend wanting to eat up all those tasty little demons that call that anxiety riddled head of yours home?' Ludinus laughed, 'You aren't as important as you seem to think in the grand scheme of things Thelyss. Your life is nothing but misstep after misstep.'

Essek watched while Ludinus stepped from him and moved to stand before Caleb. He tried to ignore the way the vile mans hand traced delicately down Caleb's cheek smearing blood across pale skin before gently caressing Caleb's lips.

He clenched his hands. This wasn't real, no matter how convincing the stage set before him seemed to be; but, if so, then why did his chest hurt and his breath catch?

'Everything you touch eventually tarnishes.''

Essek grinned, "Then it is good that you are something that has had the pleasure of my acquaintance. It means you yourself are doomed to corrode and rust. That is if any of this was real and not just desperate parlor tricks."

Ludinus laughed and turned to meet Essek's gaze, the man's eyes bright even in the dim light of the room. 'You still think this to be fake? Some sort of set dressing? Why do you think your precious human was so desperate for you to get to Aeor with these hooligans?'

Essek clenched his eyes closed, his fingers twitched. Caleb had been hurried in his explanation that he guide Bells Hells through Aeor but nothing had seemed amiss. Caleb had even promised him that he was fine but that he was unfortunately indisposed at the moment; but, like a worm burrowing into a rotting apple, doubt began to slither into Essek's consciousness.

What if Caleb had been sending him a plea for help in his rushed sending? Had he maybe missed something in their nightly talks? Had he been so foolish and lost in the wonders of their relationship that he'd missed some minute detail in the soft words of Caleb's assurances? It wouldn't be the first time he'd made a mess of things.

Caleb screamed and Essek's eyes shot open with a snarl. He swung his hands up and cast gravity fissure; a black mass hurtled forward ten feet to the right of Ludinus cracking the ground and pulling the hanging bodies from their chains. Ludinus gave a yell of surprise as both he and Caleb were pulled towards the center of the fissure.

The air was heavy in the room, pungent and sweet reminiscent of meadow after a rainstorm. "Caleb?" He winced at how loud his voice echoed in the quiet of the room.

Silence returned his call. Maybe he had misjudged the distance? What if he'd hurt Caleb beyond the point of healing? "Caleb!"

He moved quickly, "Caleb, you must answer me!"

He had been just mere feet from the still bodies of Caleb and Ludinus when something grabbed his ankle and pulled. Essek turned hand poised to attack only to falter when a familiar set of eyes looked up to him, the face distorted and bloated in death but still recognizable.

No it couldn't be, "Verin?"

'You left. They came and you had gone. I suffered your fate.'

"No. No you were safe, I made sure-"

Verin grinned, skin stretched taught, bloated and soured. 'A life taken for deeds done. Even if it was not the accused, retribution was sought.' A rattling breath escaped Verin. 'Why do you think you've been safe for all these years? I fell for crimes that were not my own, you killed me. You stole my future from me, brother.'

'You've doomed us all, Schatz.'

Essek turned from his brother to see Caleb, eyes dull, face stained red and kneeling in supplication. "Caleb, I..."

Ludinus, eyes alight with euphoria, slowly stood from the wreckage, his mangled form towering over Caleb's before resting a hand on Caleb's shoulder. 'The war of Ash and Light will be nothing compared to what Predathos will unleash and we all have you to thank.'

He looked at Caleb's tearful eyes and felt his own well in sympathy. "That's not..."

'Fuck, you'e truly made a mess of everything.'

"Beauregard?" Essek whispered confused. Where had she come from?

'You know how to stop this.' Beau grinned and brought her hands up to form a circle with a knowingly smile. 'Boom.'

[adobe-outdesign]

Could I ask a review for the good old fish boy Relicanth

Relicanth is a coelacanth, no big surprises there. Much like the IRL animal, it was considered extinct for many years before being rediscovered and hasn't really changed at all in a hundred million years. I really like that it's found out in the wild but is still water/rock, meaning that it shares the secondary rock typing of most fossil 'mons.

It's a fairly plain Pokemon, but the big thing it has going for it is its grumpy old man face. It's a pretty subtle element in the grand scheme of things, but it is fun to have it actually look as old as it is, and it adds a bit of flavor to an otherwise straightforward design.

Outside of that, the brown coloration both reflects its rock-typing but also references the Indonesian coelacanth's color. As an added bonus, its shiny is blue, referencing the West Indian Ocean coelacanth.

Beyond that, Relicanth also has the weird feature of a random red dot on it. I don't mind adding some extra color, but the way it's just stuck there with no real rhyme or reason is strange. I've heard people claim its body is a map to the regis, but I've never seen any supporting evidence for this, and given that nothing in the 'dex mentions a map I'm not terribly inclined to believe it, though that would be a neat idea.

I think Relicanth's biggest problem is just that it's fairly forgettable—it's not a 1:1 of a coelacanth but it's pretty close, and between it being fairly monotone in color (save for the aforementioned red dot) and non-evolving there's just not a lot to really make it stand out.

But then again, you couldn't have it evolve, give it a regional form, etc. because the entire point is that it hasn't evolved in 100 million years. It's probably the only Pokemon where being a straightforward one-stage Pokemon is basically part of the theme itself.

So overall: it's a coelacanth, all right. If you like silly old man faces and like coelacanths, you're going to love this guy.

[pinkniz]

Despite its ups and downs I think Dislyte's main story's biggest issue is how they refuse to use their stablished villains

In Dislyte we have plenty of bad guys, all different types of antagonist. We have sympathetic villains, tragic villains, completely irredeemable villains, most of these coming from the Shadow Decree. The problem is that the main story doesn't seem to really care about their decree villains.

In the main story our only CONSISTENT antagonists are not even main villains, lets be real, Anesidora, Leon and Freddy are jobbers, not even the big bads behind the grand scheme of things(Anesidora being the only one who can be actually considered a full villain out of them all)

Do you remember the end of the first storymode when it ended with a shot of Sander in his office staring at the miracle? You would say that means Sander is the next threat to our heroes wouldn't you? Well guess what, the COMMANDER of the Shadow Decree, the calculating figure foreshadowed to be our big bad has never actually done anything so far in the story, almost everything about Sander lorewise is saying he will basically stop at nothing for his goals and that he knows ONE DAY he will cross paths with the Union again

AND HE NEVER DOES! All we get is him having a quick fight with the fatum sister and he loses and thats it

You know who else was a promising villain for the story? The man who founded a terrorist group just so he could do experiments on humans to further his studies on miracles and espers , Hyde. Hyde has EVERYTHING to be a great main bad guy, hes the antithesis of the Union, problem is we have not only never seen or heard about him doing anything in the main story but HELP others and being a very nice man, Hyde can be a sympathetic antagonist no problem but the writers seem to forgot what he represents, everything bad the decree does is because of HIM

But instead of getting anything from Hyde, Sander or even others like Catherine, Leon and Ophelia we have Yamato replacing them(at least Yamato is a good villain) and the infamous Gaius twist

The worst part is that the Gaius twist wasnt necessary because HYDE EXISTS, everything Gaius did from his actions and motivations match with Hyde's, Hyde could've perfectly been the villain of the Unkown Collection, everything Gaius said and did in that story was more on brand with Hyde but the writers REFUSE to use their actual villains

[fireflylitsky]

:3c I couldn't pick so I had to narrow it down to three

AnFuu Jack of All trades (Undead Unluck)

Kai Fuwa - Fixing Overhaul (BNHA)

ZabuTema Abandon Reason

askldfjksadjh I am surprised by the selection?? Very well then :3

Okay Jack of All Trades is a medical kink one shot in which Andy casually divulges he has a PhD (because the man has been alive forever and apparently is good at everything) and offers to give Fuuko a checkup since she probably hasn't had one since before her Unluck ability developed. Fuuko is both mortified and tempted, as she's been concerned with one thing in particular regarding her sexual health for a while now...

Aaaaand snippet time (this one is very wip):

“Oh my god…” Fuuko hisses, face flashing red. “I have to go.”

“No, you don’t,” he calls her out with a laugh. “But hey, if all your stuff is in working order, then alright.”

Yeah. That was the problem. It wasn’t really—not all her stuff, anyway.

She looks at him with a moment of pause, chewing at her lip. “Y-Yeah. No, of course it is.”

Andy raises a brow. “You lyin’?”

“No!” 

“Yeah, you lyin’.” He sighs, leaning back in his chair. “So what’s the issue?”

“It’s… it’s nothing,” she denies, feeling the burn of her cheeks.

Andy’s face take on a wolfish sort of amusement. “That don’t look like nothin’, Fuuko.”

She huffs indignantly. “Nothing important, okay? All the necessary parts that keep me alive are working just fine and that’s what matters.”

“C’mon,” he chuffs. “All of you matters.”

“Andy…”

“Just tell me.”

“Do you promise not to laugh?”

“Sure.”

“I mean it, Andy.”

“Hey, that makes two of us. You stallin’ for time or what, sweetheart?”

“I… God… I don’t even know how to say this…”

“You got some sorta bowel movement problem or somethin’? IBS?”

“What? No. No, it’s nothing like that. I… this is stupid—I don’t know that it’s even worth mentioning. I doubt you could even do anything about it.”

“Whoa now, pretty hasty in doubtin’ me like that. Keep it up and I’ll get all offended.”

“Well unless you’re a gynecologist, it shouldn’t be all that offensive I’ll have you know!” she blurts, hands fisted at her side and mouth snapping into a tight light, a hot breath puffing from her nostrils.

Well, beans. That just kinda slipped out now, didn’t it?

She expects some snappy zinger back. Like ‘Oh ho, I know the female body intimately’, but instead his mouth pulls into a frown.

“You alright?” he asks, brows pulling together with concern.

“I–yeah…” she mumbles, staring at the floor which is much easier than Andy’s scrutinizing face. 

“Hey." There isn't an ounce of humor or judgment in his voice. “You should tell me what’s goin’ on, I do know some stuff—no bullshit or funny business. I might be able to help.”

“Andy…” she mutters, tipping her eyes up reluctantly. 

“Look, ya don’t gotta be embarrassed,” he assures. “Whatever’s botherin’ ya, well that means it’s botherin’ me too. We could use one of Nico’s labs. Easy. Make it real legit, put you in a gown and all that good stuff.”

“I don’t know, Andy…” she whines. He’s so… comforting? He makes it so darn hard to tell him no. Does she even really want to tell him no? “I mean it, i-it’s really not important. Not in the grand scheme of things.”

His brows angle sternly and he leans in and down, almost even with her height. “I mean it too. Quit tellin’ me you're not important before I do somethin’ stupid.”

“Wh-wha? Like what?”

“Haven’t decided yet,” he hums. Somehow it sounds like a threat coming from him. She doesn’t want to find out to be honest. Surely it’d be embarrassing for her, whatever he decides.

“Okay, fine!” Fuuko caves, throwing her arms up in  exasperation. “I can’t…” she swallows thickly, the words don’t come out. “Look, I-I can’t say. Will you just… I don’t know…. maybe if I just had a regular exam you’d figure out what’s wrong with me?”

“Sure,” he agrees easily. “Ain’t nothin’ 'wrong with you', but sure, Fuuko. Whatever gets ya there.”

Gods, if he only knew how on the nose that is… Nothing is getting her there. That’s the problem. She can’t freaking orgasm. Never has, and odds are looking slim at this point that she ever will. She hears it’s lovely though.

As for the Zabu/Tema fic, that's an enemies to lovers pairing set in an AU where Zabuza and Haku live. Temari (an adult at this point) is investigating a series of disappearances when she comes across this asshole, Zabuza, also investigating the same thing. (Haku and Kimimaro, who he's raised, are both among the missing.) They agree to set aside their differences and work together to infiltrate this complex trafficking operation. It focuses much more on an undercover scenario than fighting.

Snip snappet:

When Zabuza finally passes through the beaded curtain doorway, Temari makes it a point to keep her breath even. Not a sigh of relief in sight, despite the tension shedding away from her shoulders. It took him long enough.

She’s doing her thing, trailing fingers down some guy’s arm so he can feel important as she smiles and finishes delivering his drink. The man thanks her with a yellowed grin and beady eyes that linger on her chest. He’s like all the rest here.

Just as she does any other night, Temari bows–smiles without teeth, appreciative and demure–and pulls back to survey the room for anyone else in need of assistance.

She locks eyes with Zabuza from across the busy, smoke-filled expanse, and a silent acknowledgement passes between them–the plan is in motion and they both have their parts to play. Fucking up in not an option, not when they’ve come this far.

The bristle of nerves Temari feels is annoying at best and she quickly tamps them down. Putting on this act in front of him is no different than anyone else. Just part of the job.

Leaning back in a plush, red velvet chair, Zabuza has his legs splayed like he owns the place. That’s perfect, because the man he’s impersonating basically does. His eyes are on her and he lazily lifts a hand, elbow still leaning on the arm of the chair, two fingers gesturing for her to bring him a drink. 

A weight on Temari’s shoulder draws her attention from Zabuza and to the familiar and unpleasant face of her ‘boss’, Sato, behind her. “That man is very important,” he murmurs, his fingers curling and digging into her clavicle. “You’ll be a good girl and take good care of him.”

Barf.

“Of course, sir.” She smiles so sweetly he can’t even tell she’s choking back bile. Moving to walk away, she finds herself halted, his hand catching her by the jaw, squishing her cheeks to pull her in close.

“When I say good, I mean very good. I mean you’ll give him anything he wants, understand, sweetheart?” he asks, the stench of his breath now in her nose and it is distinctly unforgivable. Luckily for her, the silly contortion of whatever he’s doing to her face hides her disgust. 

So silver linings, or something.

She tries to answer, “yes sir,” but finds nodding to be nominally easier, so she ends up sticking with that.

He smiles, loosening his grip and patting her cheek like maybe he thinks she’s a dog–a good one–and she half-expects him to fish a treat from his pocket and chuck it at her face. 

Instead Sato pushes a highball glass filled with premium whiskey into her hands–neat. “Take this to him.”

Again, she agrees with practiced submission and he eats it right up.

Good boy, she thinks. Despite the nasty little cretin he is, everything is going perfectly, so she can’t complain too much.

She takes the glass and feels those nerves again. They’re bubbling in her gut and they almost come out as some sort of psycho laughter. It’s difficult not to smile when she returns her gaze to Zabuza—some giddiness at their batshit plan actually working so far—but his is pitched sternly and unwavering. 

It straightens her out immediately. It’s almost intimidating, the way he’s looking at her, and she can’t help but feel like he’s playing his part a little too well.

That’s fine, she decides, because she will too.

With one whiskey in hand, she weaves her way across the room, hips swiveling and shoes clacking against bamboo floors. Her and Zabuza don’t break their stare and she notices every time it appraises her up and down.

"Sir?" she greets on her approach. “I hope this is to your liking.” Just as she’s trained, she leans in, allowing him a nice view as she touches his arm with a friendly caress.

He’s just like anyone else, she reminds herself.

Zabuza takes the drink without a word and looks at the hand she’s laid on him, then back to her face. After a long pause, he takes a sip. Temari is waiting for him to pull her onto his lap like they planned so she can discreetly go over important details with him, but of course, he is busy being an ass.

“Sir?” she prods sweetly through gritted teeth.

He takes another sip and a deep breath through his nose. “Fine,” he says on the exhale before reaching out, his hand finding the small of her back and pulling her onto his lap. He’s not exactly gentle and she stumbles into straddling him. 

There’s a flicker of a glare from her. It’s not enough to be noticed by anyone else, but it’s enough to put a smirk on his stupid face.

“You’re late.” She’s annoyed and wants an explanation, but her words don’t match the rest of her. She’s looking up at him from beneath thick lashes, blinking patiently in waiting and steadying herself against him with hands splayed and sweeping across his broad chest.

Zabuza examines her keenly. She isn’t used to being this close to him and she certainly isn’t used to him without his face wrappings. Her nerves flare once more and she hopes they don’t show. 

The corner of Zabuza’s mouth quirks up the slightest bit as he leans in slowly, nosing into her hair. “This little act of yours has gotten pretty convincing, Kuniochi,” Zabuza murmurs, mouth to her ear so no one can read his lips.

“It’s always been this convincing,” Temari counters, allowing her hips to settle just a little lower onto his. It never leaves her mind that she has eyes on her, and every move she makes must be perfect. “You just haven’t seen it before. Doesn’t bother you, does it?”

“Do I look bothered to you?” He pulls back just enough to be met with his gaze and she studies it coolly. It’s as cold and hard as his blade and his mouth pressed into a tight line—a feature she doesn’t often see, so she lingers there a moment longer.“You look as you always do,” she finally answers, tapping her index thoughtfully against his lips before allowing that fingertip to trail down to his chin and rest in the small dimple there, “so yes.”