#please ignore the fact i got lazy with like….the clothes and some of the shading im tired 💔

[sleepytownzzz]

listened to a lot of crush by ethel cain while drawing this, which could mean nothing

[palbabor-writes]

Adhesion

Pairing: Dabi/Touya Todoroki x Fem!Reader

Warnings: SMUT/18+ only, unbalanced/unhealthy relationships, TA/student dynamics, tw.mild drug use, tw.bribery, tw.recording without consent, tw.dubcon, brat taming, fingering, cucking 

Words: 8,915

You can feel his gaze; can tell he’s watching you from hooded eyelids and you do your best to resist his pull, not wanting to be drawn in by that eerie blue of his eyes. It’s not that you don’t like his eyes; no, if anything, you like them a little too much. They’re a beautiful shade of shifting cerulean and possibly the only positive thing about the man. 

“You sound upset, babe,” he taunts, taking another drag on his silver vape.

“I’ve told you a hundred times, don’t call me that. And me? Upset? You’re a real Sherlock, you know? What fucking gave that away? Oh, maybe the fact that I pay this university good money for these classes and I could actually use some support. But what do I get instead? A lazy TA who can’t be bothered to do anything more than the bare minimum. It’s a goddamn miracle I’m passing, and it’s certainly no thanks to you,” you snarl, twisting back to your work, ignoring the sound of his chair, gliding ever closer.

Notes: i bribed @libiraki and this fic is my part of the bargain. you heard it here folks, full stop, i am trash. 

this story falls under the University AU that i’m working on: Licentia Docendi - the first fic is Practicum & is all about Professor Shigaraki. For Adhesion, Dabi is a TA: Teacher’s Assistant in a college chemistry class. 

my reward for completing this is User 433 by libiraki. go read it, it’s killer & i’m so fucking pleased my nefarious deeds have paid off.     

Adhesion ad·he·sion /ədˈhēZH(ə)n/ noun the molecular force of attraction in the area of contact between two unlike bodies that acts to hold them together

What time did he say this was supposed to start at? There’s no way you’re late. Did he tell you the wrong room number? You paw into your low slung backpack and wiggle out the [Teacher’s Assistant (TA) handout for Organic Chemistry II]. Nope, you’re not in the wrong room, so it looks like he’s the one who’s late. 

Not too surprising, judging from his appearance. 

You’d only caught a glimpse of him that morning. He’d sauntered to the front of class when the professor had finished with the preliminaries of the syllabus and introduced the lanky man with inky black hair and some of the scruffiest clothes you’d ever seen, as nothing other than, DABI. No last name, no other credentials, just a simple, ah, here’s the TA for this class; he’ll give you a handout on meeting times and be sure to follow his lead with the labs. This Dabi fellow hadn’t even grunted out a hello. He’d merely waited, hands tucked firmly into his jacket pockets, and dropped down from the raised platform once the professor finished his brief introduction. 

You tend to avoid the TA sessions. They’re usually just reviews and endless reminders on the readings, and study prep has never been a weak spot for you, but this semester is different. You’re a junior and you’ve got to push through six classes this term if you want to graduate on time. You haven’t slacked off, haven’t taken less than a full course load. No, it’s just bad luck that they only offered organic chemistry during the Fall term this year.

Thanks to the addition of Organic Chemistry, now all of your classes are heavy sciences. Ick. Well, it’s the price you’ll have to pay for your pharmaceutical degree. It’s not that you don’t like the classes. Honestly, they’re fascinating, chock full of information and techniques that you love to dive into. Nah, it’s not the material of the classes themselves, but the course load and labs that’ll be your downfall if you don’t keep pace. 

So, here you are, waiting in an empty room in the library’s basement for the errant TA of organic chemistry to show. You’re a little shocked that no one else has come to this session. Maybe they’ll try for the other times, or they might be under the blissful impression that they can score the ‘A’ with no outside help. Who knows? 

You’re twiddling with your phone and debating leaving when the study hall door opens. His dark hair is the first thing you notice. It gleams in the bright light of the fluorescents, and you’re distracted by the sheen. It’s almost a little too black. 

It’s not that it doesn’t fit him. If anything, it makes the angled features of his face and neck stand out and draws your eyes to his pale patches of skin. They’re patches because his collarbone and lower neckline are wrapped with spiraling whorls of tattoos; they’re everywhere. How had you missed that? Was his jacket zipped up when he stood in front of the class?

“What’s up?” he calls out, tilting his chin at your wide eyes. He pauses beside the table you’re sitting at and regards you frankly. His eyes are half hidden by his fringed mop of hair, but you can see that they’re a vibrant blue. It’s a haunting color, almost otherworldly. You don’t particularly like the coldness that’s reflected at you, so you focus on the rest of his face instead. He’s got a few nostril piercings, three little studs that shine out when he wrinkles his nose at your bewildered expression. 

“You hard of hearing or something?” Dabi scolds, crossing his arms and glaring down at you. You shake your head and loosen your heavy tongue, finally pulling your gaze away from him. 

“I-I’m here for the TA session.”

“No fucking way!” he mocks, a barked laugh escaping his quirked lips. “Alright captain obvious, let’s get you set up so I can go about my day. Sign this and I’ll give you the power point slides for this week.”

He yanks his backpack forward and tosses a few mismatched papers your way. One is so badly crumpled you have to iron it out with your arm, ignoring the slight stick that clings to one side. Ah, it’s a sign-up sheet. But, hang on, isn’t he supposed to poll the class on these meeting times? He can’t just pick the times himself, can he? You’ve never seen that before. What’s going on?

“Hey, aren’t you supposed to ask which time works best for us before you set the schedule?” you question, sliding the paper back to him. 

His long fingers catch the sheet before it can tumble off of the narrow table and he gives you a wolfish smirk. “Ah, you’re gonna be one of those,” he grumbles, pulling back one chair and flopping into it, splaying his long legs out in front of him. 

“Tch, what do you mean by, ‘one of those?’ I’m not some green freshman, I’ve been to TA meetings before. You ask us for the times.”

“Hmph, okay. Let’s put it this way then, you’re here now, right?”

“Yeah. I–”

“So it’s fair for me to assume that you can make this time?”

“I can today, but what if it’s a one-time thing? What if I have another class or a job?”

“Do you?” his voice drops as he lingers on that ultimate word, lacing his fingers together and leaning forward, blue eyes watching you closely. 

“N-no, I don’t personally have any objections to this time. But what if others–”

“Others?” he scoffs. “I’m sorry, do you see anyone else in here? We’ve been talking, what, five minutes? And I was, eh, almost fifteen minutes late? That sound right? Hate to say it, but I think it’s just gonna be me and you babe.” 

“Ew. Don’t call me that! It’s (F/N)(L/N). Gross, who does that? Babe? You don’t even know me,” you sputter, leaning away from his hunched gaze, earning yourself another clipped chuckle. 

“Ooh, so sensitive! Alright, miss. “I’m not a freshman,” if there are no more objections from the peanut gallery, go ahead and sign this so I can conclude this session. Don’t particularly like chatting with you either, since you’re taking years off my life with these pointless questions.”

“Yeah, well, you’re a dick,” you bristle, crossing your arms and glowering down at the crinkled sign-up sheet that Dabi’s pushed back toward you. 

“Damn, we’re already talking about my dick! I usually reserve that kinda thing for the third week, but I’ll let it slide. Now, be a good little girl and sign that paper for me.”

A month in this whole TA arrangement hasn’t gotten any easier. 

Half of the time Dabi doesn’t even show up, opting to text you the notes and study guides, waving you off with some vague excuse, or promise to make it up next time. The days he appears for the session, he’s always late and glumly sits beside you in the vacant study hall, tinkering with his phone and doing his best to avoid any kind of work. 

But today? Today takes the cake. 

He’s got his booted feet on the table and is taking quiet hits on his vape pen, exhaling long breaths of clear steam into the study hall. “Dabi,” you hiss across the room, aghast at his cavalier attitude. “You’re not supposed to smoke in here! Wait. Oh, my god! Is that weed?”

“Shhh, Jesus. Keep your voice down, mom,” Dabi sneers, puffing a wisp of smoke your way. “Why don’t you try focusing on your work, huh? You’ve got twelve more molecules to stabilize and your functional groups are a mess; you don’t have time to worry about me. Come on, chop, chop. I’ve got places to be.”

“Ugh. Places to be. What a load of bullshit. You know what? I wonder what might help me speed things up? Oh! I know! What if you did your job instead of getting stoned out of your mind?”

Dabi swivels around in his rolling chair, lowering his legs from the table and cocking a dark eyebrow at you. He’s foregone his tattered jacket today, and the sleeves of tattoos that lace up the chorded muscles of his arms are on full display. He’s done that on purpose, the bastard; likely noticed that you like to stare at them, your eyes engrossed by the shadings and designs. Not your fault you like some of the artwork. You’re not looking at him, not admiring any kind of twist or pull of his forearms. Not thinking about how nice they look when he wears a low cut shirt, or rolls up his sleeves. Nope, you promise yourself, careful to keep your eyes down and on your notes, it’s not that.  

You can feel his gaze; can tell he’s watching you from hooded eyelids and you do your best to resist his pull, not wanting to be drawn in by that eerie blue of his eyes. It’s not that you don’t like his eyes; no, if anything, you like them a little too much. They’re a beautiful shade of shifting cerulean and possibly the only positive thing about the man. 

“You sound upset, babe,” he taunts, taking another drag on his silver vape.

“I’ve told you a hundred times, don’t call me that. And me? Upset? You’re a real Sherlock, you know? What fucking gave that away? Oh, maybe the fact that I pay this university good money for these classes and I could actually use some support. But what do I get instead? A lazy TA who can’t be bothered to do anything more than the bare minimum. It’s a goddamn miracle I’m passing, and it’s certainly no thanks to you,” you snarl, twisting back to your work, ignoring the sound of his chair, gliding ever closer.

“Such a fucking sour puss. I bet you’d look a lot prettier if you’d wipe that scowl off your face every once in a while. Lemme see what you’ve got,” Dabi snorts, sauntering out of his chair and bending over your work. 

His tattooed arm braces itself beside your shoulder and the exposed skin brushes against you, making you unconsciously scoot awkwardly to one side.

“Don’t get so close,” you chastise, doing your best to ignore the pull of his cologne. It’s got a hint of patchouli and oranges, and it mixes so well with the cloying sweetness of his lingering vape smoke that it makes your head swim.

What’s he doing? This… well, it’s not like him. He never “checks” your answers, he usually just tells you to submit it to his email and he’ll get back to you later, which he never does. You don’t like this. Nope, not one fucking bit.

He takes his time studying your work, one long finger etching its way across your scribblings. His skin is warm; almost too warm. The heat of it against your clothed side makes you shiver and you duck your head at your unbidden reaction, balling your hands into fists and scrunching them against your tense thighs.

When he finally replies, he dips his head close to your ear, keeping his voice low and steady. “Not bad, (L/N). Nice to see you have some capacity for development after all.”

“What the hell does that mean?” you huff, whipping your head to his.

Oh, that’s right; he’s close.

The lazy smirk he gives you stretch his lips over his teeth and his eyes fall to a half mast as he leans closer, ghosting his breath over your face. “It means, you did a good job, babe. I’m impressed.”

You must be gaping at him; there’s no way that you’re not, but you can’t fucking think, not when he’s so close. If he wanted to, he could close that gap and he’d be against you. His lips look nice from here, smooth and pink, and you suddenly have a wild urge to see what he tastes like. Heart pounding, you feel yourself tilting your chin upwards, your lips parted, tongue dancing across the open plushness, dampening them, waiting, hoping that he’ll just…

“Practice your Lewis structures. Some of those compounds look fucking ridiculous,” Dabi replies, pushing himself off of the table and peering down at you, eyes gleaming with poorly concealed mirth. “But, you’re on the right track. Finish this shit up. Gotta go.”

“W-what?” you sputter, trying to quiet your pounding heart and steady yourself, upended by his short-lived…seduction? What exactly was that?

“Already told you, got some place to be. Send me the screenshots, if you wanna’, but I’m prolly’ not gonna look at them until after the weekend. Well, see ya’ around, (L/N).” And, with a last wave, he snatches up his backpack and saunters out the double doors, leaving you alone.

“So what are you thinking? Just go up to the dean’s office and ask to file a report against him?” your boyfriend questions, his voice hazy and distant through the filter of your earbuds. You’d called him a few minutes ago, once you had a good signal and filled him in on, well, most of the details. 

After Dabi left, you’d gathered up your things and paced the floors of the library, debating your next move. He’s not doing his job. That much is a fucking given. You’d even talked with a few of the other students in your class the other day and they all said the same thing: He’s lazy and he can’t be bothered to help. Apparently, you’re the only student who had one on one sessions with him, but the group meetups sound worse. They told you he usually just opened the textbook and asked them to copy down definitions, and those were the days when he showed up for the meetings.   

“Yeah, and today he really outdid himself. The jerk basically… well… he’s not doing his job,” you flounder at the omission of Dabi coming onto you. If you’re honest with yourself, he hadn’t really done much, and you’d been the one who was surging forward, suddenly tempted by his closeness, his scent, and those rippling sets of tattoos and bright blue eyes. No. Stop it. It’s the last straw, you remind yourself, shaking your head and refocusing on the familiar tone of your boyfriend’s voice.

“I’m sick of it. Midterms are coming, and I’m not about to let him hold the fate of my GPA in his stupid hands.”

“Go get em,’ love! You’re totally right, you’ve worked so hard and you shouldn’t have to put up with some middle-aged asshole’s antics. It’s been a crazy week for you, so dinner’s on me tonight. Wherever you wanna’ go, name the place and I’ll make sure we get a smile back on your face!”

That… that’s so like your boyfriend. He’s always so sweet and caring. Always looking out for you, ready to pick you back up and dust you off each time you feel you’ve fallen short. He’s perfect. He’s all you want, all you need… right?

Goddamn it, you think after you hang up your phone and hop on the elevator that will whisk you up to the dean’s offices, you’d almost kissed your TA. Here’s your boyfriend, being the most supportive and loving thing in the entire world and all you can think about is how fucking good Dabi’s cologne had smelt has he leaned over you. Some partner you are. 

The dean’s office is emptier than you expected. There’s a single secretary, who is sitting behind a low desk, twirling a dark lock of hair and skimming over the pages of a magazine. She looks up when you clear your throat and a practiced smile lifts her lips. 

“Hey there! How can I help you?”

“I uh, need to file a complaint against someone in the College of Sciences,” you explain, dropping your heavy backpack from your shoulders and scratching at the back of your head balefully. You’re likely not the first one to file a grievance against the Dabi, so why are you suddenly bothered by the idea? It’s not going to get better. Just remember all the shitty, half-baked sessions he’s made you sit through (Y/N) and get this over with. 

“Oh! I’m sorry to hear that! Let me grab you the registry of TA’s and adjunct professors,” the secretary chirps, pushing her rolling chair across the wooden floors to snatch at a heavy binder on a shelf. 

“I can, um, just tell you his name. If that makes it any easier,” you quietly reply, one foot tapping agitatedly against the other. What is this uneasy feeling that keeps zinging through your mind? It’s going to be an anonymous complaint. It’s not like he’ll ever see it. He likely won’t even know it’s you. Some of the other students had discussed the idea. He could think it’s one of them, not you.  

“No, no,” the secretary replies, sliding the binder across the glass counter of the desk. “It’s no trouble at all! Just search for their name and fill out all the particulars on the university system. Doing our best to reduce waste! Gotta keep that paper trail down! We’ve got a little kiosk outside, close to the elevators. It’ll help you with all the details, just click on the form and it will file it into our online system. The dean’s office closes in fifteen minutes, so be sure to bring the binder back as soon as you’re done!” 

“Uh, ok,” you mumble, hefting the thick book into your hands. “Do you want me to take it with me, or just look it up here?”

“You can take it out there! It’s sorted by department, for ease of use, so it shouldn’t take you long to find them.” 

Great. 

You lug the binder to one of the many empty tables outside the sliding doors of the office. Slipping your backpack into a vacant chair, you flip through the lists and sections. Chemistry, chemistry… ah! Okay, you’re in the right section. Now to find Dabi, should be easy enough.

Yeah, no. There’s no one in here listed as “Dabi.” What the hell is this? Some kind of elaborate scheme? Is he just a random student who’s fronting as a TA? It would explain some of his general disinterest, but he knows more about molecular chemistry than anyone you’ve ever met, and that skill isn’t exactly a common parlor trick. 

Oh? My secret talent? Well, I can tell you about isotopic labeling and the exact timing of the reaction speeds! Wanna hear more? 

No. No one does. Plus, the professor had introduced him to the class on the first day. He knew him and Dabi’s not exactly inconspicuous. There’s gotta be something you’re missing. 

You close the heavy book and make your way back into the office, fingernails tapping out a disjointed pattern against the plastic of the binder. “Hey, um, sorry to bother,” you begin, tilting your head and biting your lip at the secretary’s beaming face.

“No bother! Did you find them? Everything work okay in the system?”

“No. I, uh, couldn’t find their name? He said his name was Dabi, never gave us a last name so, um, that’s all I have to go on,” you explain, placing the binder back on her desk and praying she’ll give you some kind of explanation.

“Ooh! Dabi! Sorry about that, he’s a special case, since he goes by his nickname. He’s under the adjunct section. I believe his last name is Todoroki,” she twists the book toward herself and flips through the pages at an alarming rate, eyes skimming over the names. 

“Here he is! Touya Todoroki! They don’t put nicknames, or preferred names, since it’s an official listing. He’s a brilliant man and one of our brightest junior professors. I know the university is hoping to snap him up this coming semester, get him on track for a tenured position. 

He’s a little unconventional, but he’s a super nice guy and… oh! Wait a minute, you wanted to file a complaint against him, right? I’m so sorry, here I am, running my mouth! You want a pen and paper? So you can jot his university number and info down? Lets me keep the book in here. Four minutes to closing after all, might as well save you the trip back.” She whips out the procured sheet of blank printer paper and a university stamped pen, holding them both toward you, a friendly smile still crinkling her eyes.

“Thanks,” you sigh, a little bewildered by her chatter. From the sound of it, Dabi’s got some university backing and is a ‘nice guy’. Coulda’ fooled you. Doesn’t matter, you think, crossing the t’s of his first and last name; he’s likely just skimming by on the promise of tenure, and the sooner the school knows about his lackadaisical attitude, the better. 

You’re typing in Todoroki, Touya when the secretary closes up the office of the dean, flicking off the lights and waving a goodbye to your tensed expression. A few minutes later, the elevator swallows her up and the only sound that fills the empty space is the clacking of the keys as you finish typing out your complaint. 

Alright. Got most of the minor points out of the way. 

Inattentive to the lessons, frequent absences, missing materials, smoking in the library; you’ll leave out the mention of weed, it’s not like you can claim innocence on that charge yourself and you’re not looking to have the guy arrested, just stripped of his TA status. You could mention the near kiss, but it feels too vague, and it’s not like he made a move on you. No, all that shifting forward rests squarely on your own shoulders. Damn it, stop thinking about that! You’ve got a boyfriend, someone who loves you, who’s going to take you to dinner! Hit complete and get the fuck outta’ here, before someone–

“Whatcha’ doing?”

His voice makes you jump half a foot into the air, your right knee contacting the protruding keyboard of the university kiosk. “Fuck,” you hiss, twisting around and hunching over at the bright spots of pain that flash across your vision as you rub your fingers over the hurt. The soft footfalls of his approach snap you out of your dazed reverie and your head snaps up, eyes widening at the sight of him.

He’s got a loose fitting white shirt on and you can see the coiling of his tattooed muscles under the thin fabric. His chin is lowered and his eyes are distant pinpricks of blue flame in the low lights. Booted feet take a few more steps toward you, but he pauses beside the table that your backpack is sitting on, hands sliding into his dark jeans, waiting for your response. You gulp back your nerves and lift your eyes to his, hoping some of your ire and defiance will shine through. “I’m putting something into the system,” you reply, your voice holding steady as you re-straighten your spine. 

“Can see that,” he counters, head tilting, dark hair falling to one side of his soft jawline. “Why are you doing it up here? This is the College of Science’s dean’s office. Most people don’t come up here to adjust their university login. So let me ask you again, whatcha’ doing, Ms. (L/N)?”

“Filing a complaint,” you snap, fingers curling into tight fists, shoulders rising and fall with your quickening breaths. That’s right, asshole, and it’s a complaint about you. How do you like that? Not much you can do about… about it now…. oh, shit. Fuck.  

You haven’t hit the enter key. 

The fucking e-document is just sitting there, unattended and completely vulnerable. He might not have seen that you haven’t sent it through and if you could just step a few feet to the right, then you can slip one finger against the keypad and hit that all important “enter.” 

You look up at him again, praying he won’t notice you scooting your shoes backwards, doing your best to keep him wholly focused on your face. “What did you expect?” you taunt, eyes narrowed, arms wrapping around your back, fingers unconsciously stretching out, feeling for the lift of the keyboard. “You’ve been shit. Midterms are in a week and half of the class says you’re not showing up for their sessions. Don’t look so shocked. This can’t possibly be your first run in with something like this? No wonder you go by that silly name, Dabi. What’s the matter? Upset that I know your actual name now?”

As you ramble on, his face has dropped all pretense of blank civility and now his entire body is hunching forward, shoulders curving, hands pulling free of his pockets and coiling outward, reaching, palms tilted upward. 

“So much fucking talk (Y/N). Looks to me like you forgot that last step. Don’t think I don’t see what you’re doing,” he begins, a wicked grin twisting across his lips, not quite reaching the glare of his narrowed eyes. “Ah, babe. Why you gotta be this way? Make you a deal, huh? Walk away now and I’ll forget the whole thing. No repercussions, no questions asked. Never even saw you up here, scout’s honor.” 

The keyboard is close; you can hear the hum of the monitor, buzzing as it holds the screen with your complaint against Touya Todoroki steady, waiting for your inspection, for that final command. Dabi is close, his looming form heavy against your wide eyes, but it’s now or never. You’ve got to turn around, got to let the predatory lumber of your ill-appointed TA slip from your mind, you have to do this. It doesn’t matter what kinda promises he’ll make to you. That changes nothing, absolutely nothing. 

Now! Do it now!

You whirl around, hands shaking as they search for the right keystrokes, the right submission link. It feels like minutes have passed, not seconds. Even though you’ve pressed all the buttons and heard the computer chime, a sent message alert into the sudden, reverberating silence, you can’t take your eyes off the burning gleam of the screen. Not until that thank you pops up. 

He’s still behind you. You can hear his boots as they click across the wood. His movements have slowed, but he’s still advancing. It’s too late for you Dabi, you think, watching as the submission page fades to a pleasing orange, the school mascot waving a large “Thanks!” as it dances, close to the bottom of the page. You did it! There’s nothing he can do. Nothing that–

His powerful arm drapes across your stiffened shoulders, his wrist popped beside your face, fingers dangling lazily into the open air. “Ahhh,” he sighs, leaning over you, resting his head beside yours. You half turn your face to see him, aghast that he’s so close again, that he’s touching you, holding you in place with his weight. His muscled side presses against your back, leaning heavily into you as he gives you a rakish smirk. “Well, looks like we get to do this the hard way.”

“What the fuck? The hard way? What does–hey! HEY!” He’s stepped away from you, and that arm that was braced over your shoulders shifts to the back of your neck, ramming your face down into the keyboard, mashing out a random string of commands. Your nose stings from the impact and your eyes wince shut, protecting themselves from the threat of the black letters. 

“Warned you about sending that,” he replies, and you can hear the grin in his voice. He’s stroking a hand down your head, tangling his long fingers in your hair, pulling at the strands until you’re groaning in pain. “Now we have to do this another way. Gotta even the score, don’t we? Need to make sure you’ve got some kinda blemish on your record, too! I know that secretary filled you in on my upcoming tenure. No way she didn’t. She’s a fucking leaky faucet and I know you had to ask her about my name to fill out that complaint. No, no. We gotta fix this, babe.”

His voice has dropped into a terrifying lower octave, his words sharp, barbed, lancing into your mind like a showering of sticks and stones. He fucking sounds like he’s seconds away from losing his goddamn mind. The hand that’s wrapped around your hair is tugging against you in earnest, jerking your neck away from the threat of the keyboard, forcing you to look up at his leering face. The pupils of his eyes are blown, the black eating away at the shine of the blue until there’s almost nothing left. His teeth are bared in a grimace and his cheeks are pinched, making the silver of his piercings stand out against his flushed skin.

You do your best to gasp out another set of questions, but he’s yanking you back, holding you against his broad chest and wrapping those ink sleeved arms around you. They coil over your stomach and across your breasts, digging into the globes and heaving them under his forearms. His lips are tracing over your arched neck, teeth nipping against your bared pulse. 

“You always smell so good, babe. What are you wearing? Hmm?”

“W-what… get off me! You sick fuck! Why are you… ow… damn,” you whimper as he sucks a bruise into your skin, gnawing and pulling until you’re writhing in his arms. You keep attempting to slip away, to shift your feet forward, but that mouth of his won’t let up. Each time you shake yourself free from those quick pants and hums he’s dashing across your neckline, he moves to another spot, or his hands cup and squeeze at your heaving chest and shivering waist, distracting you. 

“Mmm, this is unexpected. Looks like you just might enjoy what’s about to happen,” Dabi teases, licking a wet line under your jaw. “Come on, let’s go somewhere a little more private, shall we?”

You exhale a shuddering breath and remain perfectly still, hoping your feigned submission will lull him. Thankfully, it works. He chuckles and spits something out about being a ‘good girl,’ but when he moves back, his arms unlacing from you, you stumble forward, one heel raised, cracking down over his booted feet with as much force as you can muster. 

Dabi hisses out a string of low curses, his body coiling over itself protectively. You do your best to squirm out of his grasp, but one of his broad hands reaches out for you, snatching at your leg and forcing you back to him. The sudden shift jolts you off your feet and you tumble to the wood, your palms skinning against the uneven surface. 

“Stop it!” you shout, kicking your feet, trying to dislodge his iron grip. 

“Kick me again and I’ll knock you out,” Dabi threatens, lowering himself to your level and jerking you underneath him, trapping you, bracing his knees on either side of your hips. 

“Fuck you,” you screech out, bucking upwards, trying to dislodge his weight.

“That’s the idea,” he croons, long fingers curling under your clenched chin, forcing you to look up at him. “Can’t say I didn’t warn you and stop acting like you don’t want me. You were practically salivating for me this afternoon. I bet you’re already wet. Let’s find out, hmmm?”

His other hand drifts to the clasp of your jeans, flicking past the barrier of your button and dipping his hand into your pants. His touch lingers around the elastic band of your panties, yanking and teasing at the seam as he works your zipper down. Unconsciously, your traitorous hips roll under him and he gives you a sharp grin, blue eyes blazing. “There you go, babe, just relax. Don’t worry, I’ll make it good for you,” he whispers, his voice catching as his touch slips downward, tapping across your curls and snagging against your slippery folds. “Maybe… ahhh… look at that,” he moans, a satisfied grin lifting those tempting lips of his. 

His middle finger brushes between your quivering flesh, gathering droplets of your arousal onto his finger pad. You choke back a staggered breath and your head flops weightlessly against the floor as you arch pitifully into his hand. One of his nails digs into your clit and faint stars pulse over your eyes. “S-stop it,” you stutter, unable to control the shiver that echoes up your spine.

“Tch,” Dabi scorns, adding the pressure of another finger. “Figures,” he continues, his mouth dropping into a pleased smile as you writhe under him. “I thought you liked being difficult. You’re so fucking cute when you’re mad, you know? So what happened to all that vigor, (Y/N)? Not gonna struggle anymore? I’m disappointed, I was hoping you’d keep it up.”

“You’re disgusting,” you snap, your fingers lifting from your side, grabbing the loose collar of his shirt and jerking him to your waiting lips. You can feel the lift of his grin, but he allows the caress, sharp nose digging into your upper cheek. This is wrong. So fucking wrong. But, if you have to endure it, it’s only fair you get a little bit of enjoyment out of this sick power play, so you nip at his lower lip, giving him soft presses and sharper pulls. Dabi, for all of his earlier barbs of prowess, is a bit taken aback by your sudden interest, his hands cupping at the back of your head, urging you on each time you maneuver away from his open-mouthed kisses. 

“You want to fuck me here? Right in front of the elevator?” you question breathlessly, fingers coiling into his dark hair, carding through the rough strands until he’s groaning above you. 

“Nah,” he pants, pulling away from your lips and leaning back. His fingers are still working their way against you, but it’s not enough friction and you wriggle under him, slipping him from your clit. “The fuck are you doing, babe? You gonna try and make a break for it again?” he laughs, pulling his hand from your pants and licking at the faint sweetness that you’ve left for him. 

“Why bother?” you reply, twisting your neck, your head dragging over the grains of the flooring. “You’re just going to catch me. I don’t know my way around this part of the building, so even if I got away, you’d only find me and I don’t really like being tossed around. Not good for me, you know? Why do you care? I thought you said you were gonna fuck me?”

“Oh, I am,” he assures you, one hand snagging under your chin, forcing your eyes to lock onto his. “Just wanted to know what changed.”

“Nothing,” you barb, tugging your chin free and fixing him with a pointed stare. “This whole thing means nothing. I’ve got a boyfriend, and he’s buying me dinner tonight, so, just get through this and I’m free to go, right?”

“A boyfriend,” Dabi muses, knees tightening around your hips. “Should we call him? I’d hate to think how he’d feel about all this. Knowing that his girl is letting her TA take advantage of her this way.” 

“Hmph,” you snort, arms bracing under you, pushing yourself upward, doing your utmost to level this shitty playing field he’s laid out for you. “Like you give a shit.”

“You’re right,” he affirms, hands snatching under your arms and pulling you out from under him. “I couldn’t care less.”

His office is small. 

You keep a sharp eye on the door, watching to see if he locks it. Fingers crossed, he’ll get himself off and that’ll be the end of this. But that tone he’d shifted into, when he’d told you that you’d need to fix this, to erase the complaint, to walk it back, that made your spine tingle and skin prickle. There’s something else, something he’s not telling you, he’s a smart guy, there’s no way it’s this simple. He’s paced behind his desk, fiddling with something in one drawer, his eyes lifting to observe you each time you shift on the couch he’d gestured for you to sit on.

“What are you doing?” you ask, your voice a dull monotone. You don’t care, you remind yourself, hands wrapping around your stomach. No matter how good he looks, or how skilled his fingers are, you don’t care (Y/N) and it’s pathetic that you have to keep reminding yourself of that.

“Just making sure everything is ready,” he answers, eyes flicking over you. “Take off your pants and shirt, but leave your bra and panties on.”

“Huh?” you question, shoulders tensing as you glare up at him. “Why?”

“Does it matter?” he responds, closing his desk drawer and stepping back to you, kicking his boots and socks off as he gets closer.

“I-I guess not, but I don’t understand why you–”

“Don’t worry, I’ll explain it all when I’m finished,” he reassures you, kneeling on the floor and propping an elbow against his tattered couch. “You can make a show of taking your clothes off, I won’t mind.” 

“You’re revolting,” you snarl, curling your fingers over the hem of your shirt, pulling the fabric up. 

“Mmm,” Dabi agrees, one palm rising to run over your exposed skin. “Whatever you say.” 

“Ugh,” you grunt, popping your hips up and yanking your jeans down your long legs, not wanting to give him too much of a viewing as you pull them along your calves and onto the floor.

“Cute,” he murmurs, one finger racing along the lace of your panties, curving around your hip and onto the soft skin of your ass. “Oooh, did you wear these just for me?” he asks, cupping a broad hand under your soft skin and tugging it into his palm. “Love a girl in a thong,” he murmurs, fingers pressing and lifting into the plush flesh.

“Stop it,” you groan, lifting your hips up, depriving him of his lecherous grip. “I’d never do anything for you.” 

“Always such a stuck up little thing, let’s see if I can’t change your mind,” Dabi laughs, pushing you back and splaying you against the haggard cushions. His long fingers hook under the band of your thong and steadily work it over the curve of your hips and down the line of your calves. Instinctually, you clamp your thighs together, rubbing against the ache that’s budding between your clenched legs. 

“Come on,” Dabi encourages you, slapping his hand against your round thigh, smoothing his palm over the redness that he’s left behind. “Open up babe, let me see you.” 

“Don’t, ah—” you bite out, leaning away from his ravenous gaze and bracing yourself on your elbows as Dabi leers over the sight you’ve been forced to open for him. He glances up at you for a single moment, the blue of his eyes ensnaring your attention and leaving you gaping against the cushions. Seconds later, he’s diving between your spread thighs, his curious tongue lapping over the exposed folds of your cunt.

He slows his licks as he passes by your clit, pausing against the bud before wrapping his lips around the nub, sucking a swift rhythm over you. Your feet rise from the floor to brace against his broad shoulders and you coil your hips upward, urging him on, your head falling into the swath of pillows that rest under your neck. Tense fingers wrench into the cushions and you give a soft gasp, your lips stumbling over his name.

“What was that?” Dabi asks, lifting his head from your curls, lips wet with your slick, his blue eyes watching the contours of your face.

“Fuck you. I-I know… I know you heard me… D-Dabi,” you moan, hissing when he brings a digit against the quivering ring of your entrance. 

“Dabi, huh?” he ponders, letting the edge of his fingernail tease over you. “Don’t know if I like that. I think I’d much rather hear you screaming out my name, my real name.” 

“What?” you question, popping your head up and giving him a blank stare.

“You remember,” he grins, poking out his tongue and dragging it over you, smiling as you buck under his hands. “Come on,” he taunts, sucking at your clit again. “I know you know it. Go on, say it for me.”

“Wha-what’s wrong with Dabi?” you smart, bracing your feet against the couch and forcing him to insert his wavering finger, digging it forward until it hits the second knuckle. 

“Nothing, I just wanna’ hear how the other name sounds. I want to know what it’s like when you’re choking on it, barely able to gasp it out cus’ I’m making you feel so good. Come on, (Y/N), indulge me, huh?” 

“Fine,” you huff, legs trembling as he shoves another finger into you, curling them upward, poking and prodding until you’re squirming. “Keep going. Make me cum all over your mouth, Touya.” 

“Oh, fuck,” Dabi hisses, his teeth catching over your clit. “That sounds real nice, baby.”

His lips seal over you again and he drags another finger into you, stretching you until you feel you’re close to bursting. It’s a low ache he’s working up, but you love the burn. It’s not like your boyfriend can’t do this, but you’ve never worked up the courage to ask. How do you even go about that? Hey, I want you to pin me down and… no. That doesn’t matter, you remind yourself; fingers sinking into Dabi’s black hair, pulling him closer. You just need to get him off and get the hell outta’ here. Don’t think about it. Just relax and get this over with. 

“You need more, don’t you?” Dabi questions, tilting his head and cracking one cerulean eye open, watching as you writhe and cant under his skillful hands. 

“I-I just need…” your voice fails you as he resumes that suction, tugging your engorged clit between his sharp teeth and giving you a few rapid fire nips. “Al-almost, just… keep… oh fuck…” you sigh, thighs tensing around his dark head. His fingers speed up that sinful drag and he wriggles them forward with each push, tapping and stroking over the spongy patch of nerves within your cunt. 

Then, right when you’re breaths away from a mind blowing release, he yanks his fingers from your sopping pussy, laughing as you pant and whine for him. “Ahhh, come on babe,” he sneers. “Why would I reward you when you’ve been such a fucking pain?” 

You openly gape at him, your eyes blinking back dots of frustration and distant flashes of lingering starlight arousal. “What the fuck,” you pant, shifting away from his slicked lips and crossing your legs. “Wh-what what was that for?”

Dabi pushes himself onto his haunches, licking the last traces of you off of his fingers before digging his hand into his jean pocket. He returns with a small remote and waggles it in front of your aghast expression. “Got all I needed,” he informs you, flicking it toward a bookcase. You swiftly whip your head to the shelves and spy the tiny camcorder resting above the topmost set of books. 

“You fucking ASS,” you screech, hands reaching for the dangling remote, not caring that your sopping pussy and half naked breasts are on full display. Dabi hovers the remote above the two of you, cracking that all too familiar grin over his thin lips.

“So, about that complaint,” he taunts, scoffing at your desperation, leaning on his heels to watch you scramble up from the frayed pillows of his couch. 

“Y-you, why… I… give me that! You can’t record me without my permission!”

“Awe, babe,” Dabi barks, his laugh echoing around the small space. “Too bad for you, huh? I don’t need two party consent.”

“That’s for phone calls,” you bite out, finally snagging his wrist, yanking him toward you. 

“Who said the video was on?” 

“You fucking jackass! That’s why you wanted me to say your name!”

“Calm down, I won’t release it if you walk back the complaint,” Dabi counters, letting you pull him closer, his lips teasingly reaching for yours. You dodge his touch and fix him with a pointed glower, nose wrinkling and brow furrowing. 

“This sounds like a well oiled routine,” you accuse, dropping your hold on him and crossing your arms over your exposed stomach. 

“Tch, you jealous?” Dabi sneers, cupping both of his hands under your bent elbows, forcing you to lean into his hold. You shake your head at his accusation and grit your teeth, tilting your face away from his seeking touch. 

“What are you going to do about this part? Where I’m yelling about what a son of a bitch you are?”

“Edit it out,” Dabi informs you, lips latching onto the hollow of your throat, teeth worrying your tender skin between their grasp. “Again, if you walk back the accusation, all of this goes away.”

“What if…” you pause, biting your lower lip and shrugging Dabi off of you. He leans away, bright eyes studying your face, pausing at the dip of your lips, following the pink indentations that your teeth leave behind. “What if I wanna’ fuck you?”

“Oh?” Dabi hums, nose flaring, making those three tiny piercings gleam under the low light of the moon that’s streaming through his window. “Now you wanna’ fuck me? You sure about that? Not that I blame you, I’m pretty good, pretty big, too.”

“Ugh, don’t say shit like that,” you reply, lifting a shaking hand to his neck, tracing your fingertips over the indentations of his tattoos.

“Hmm,” he groans, already leaning into your touch, his skin prickling under the gentle strokes of your fingers. “One condition. I get to record it. This time with the video on.”

“Fine,” you confirm, coiling your hands into his inky hair. “Never know, you might want it for later.”

“For what?” Dabi asks, yanking himself away from your intoxicating strokes to jerk his white shirt over his head. You shake your head at his question, not wanting to think about the ramifications of this situation, distracting yourself with the new patterns and whorls of dark ink that are bared to you. He twists back to the camcorder, hitting a few buttons before tossing his remote across the room, the plastic clattering over the wood.

You can just make out the outline of wisps of blue flames beside his ribs when he kicks his pants and boxers down, finally lowering the curtain on the dip of his hipbones, displaying his straining length to your ravenous gaze. He’s covered in piercings. A silver Prince Albert is gleaming at his tip, catching the drips and bubbles of pre-cum that are hovering against his slit. His cock curls proudly toward his stomach when he releases it from the thin protection of his boxers and you catch sight of the Jacob’s ladder that climbs up his impressive girth. Unconsciously, you gulp in a swift breath and shake your head, not wanting to show him your wavering uncertainty. 

He’ll undoubtedly be the biggest cock you’ve ever taken, and you’re not sure that he’s stretched you out properly. He’d paused too soon and you can still feel the shuddering echoes of your faint brush with release travel up your spine as you gape at him. It’s not enough… it’s not…

“What?” Dabi questions, one black brow arched. “Worried I’m too big for you?”

You’re about to respond when he shoves you down and maneuvers you sideways, stretching you along the cushions, his hand a steady pressure against your windpipe, choking out any reservations that threaten to escape your lips. He’s on top of you seconds later, the sheer weight of him pinning you under him, and you let out a whine when he spreads your legs, popping the brittle muscles of your hips in his rush. 

“I’ll make you like it,” he promises, looming over you, his lips tracing up your neck as his hands dig under your back, unfastening your bra and stripping you of your final defense. “You’ve got a nice rack, babe,” Dabi praises, lowering himself, ghosting over your peaked nipples, tongue lapping out to dip over the puffy areola. 

“Stop saying shit like that, I might think you mean it,” you snarl, throat catching on your gasps of strained pleasure. He sucks one stiffened peak between his lips and suckles, hard. The pressure makes your back bow off the cushions, fingers reaching for him, clawing and scratching your way down the muscled plains of his back. 

“Mmm,” Dabi groans, popping his lips free from the distraction of your nipples. “Do that again, but put some effort behind it.” 

Well, why let him down now? You dig your nails into him, yanking until you feel his skin part under you, splitting from the drag of your touch. “Fuck, yes,” he grunts, his hips jerking into you, blindly seeking your entrance. “I’m gonna fuck you,” Dabi warns, teeth biting the hollow of your neck. “I’m gonna fuck you until all you can say is my name.” 

He blindly reaches for your hips, two fingers searching for your cunt. Once he finds it, he grasps the swollen length of his cock, jerking himself a few times, splashing his hot pre-cum against your inner thighs. There’s no warning, no call for preparation, or a quick kiss, instead there’s just the heady press of his hips and the weight of his length as it splits you in two. Your neck arches off of the cushions and your hips fall away, shying from the keening sting that he’s thrusting into you. A low hiss slips from your lips and your toes curl, legs unconsciously wrapping around his thin waist, heels digging into the soft dip of his back. 

“F-fuck,” Dabi chokes out, hands bracing themselves over the swell of your hips. “You’re fucking tight, babe. Goddamn it.”

“Dabi,” you moan, curling upwards, praying he’ll give you a few more seconds, positive you’ll shake yourself to bits if he tries to move now. Your hand finally lifts from his back and makes its way toward the crest of your thighs, desperate to tweak and roll your pulsing clit. Once you’re inches away, one of Dabi’s hands unlatches from your waist and snatches your seeking fingers away. “Don’t you dare,” he warns, lips rising to suck against the lines of your neck. “Only if I tell you,” he continues, warm tongue dipping and licking over your ear. “Understand?”

You nod, still reeling from the steady stretch of his cock as he tugs it out of your sopping cunt. It pricks and bites and your heels do their best to restrict his movements, pinning themselves to his lower back and grinding down. He ignores your hints and starts a steady push and pull within you, the rungs of his piercings catching on the edge of your leaking pussy. Each thrust snags against a piece of you that sends a scattering of sparks and stars over your vision and you coil yourself forward every time he yanks back, anticipating that ignition, that ache, as he braces himself to slip into you again. 

“How the fuck are you still so tight?” he complains, hands jerking your chin upward, demanding that you kiss him. The bittersweet sting of pain is still too close for you to get into his caress, so he soon gives up, finally settling the pad of his calloused thumb over your clit. “Is this what you need?” he asks, hips lancing into yours, picking up the pace of his ruts. You nod as your teeth chatter, a thin slip of drool escaping your parted lips. Dabi grins at your overwrought expression and his tongue laps at the traces of saliva, nose pressing into your skin, his hisses of exhaled air hot against your cheek. 

“You’re getting real tight (Y/N). Wanna cum? You wanna’ cum on my dick?” he asks, his voice shaking with effort, trying to ignore the insistent envelopment of your slick cunt. “Hey, come on, answer me!”

His deep pitch of exasperation snaps you out of your stupor and you fix your hazy attention on him, closing your swollen lips and giving him a cruel smile. “I don’t think you’ve done enough,” you taunt, a laugh bubbling from your throat. “Looks like you’re gonna cum first. Turns out you’re not as impressive as you think, huh, Touya?”

He’d usually ignore you, keep pressing and teasing until you’re putty in his hands, but it feels too good. It’s too much. Your fucking cunt feels like heaven and he can’t help himself, thrusting and pounding into you like he’s fucking fifteen again, all hormones and no finesse. There’s nothing he can do to stop himself, it’s too good, it’s just too fucking good.

With a half-formed groan he spills into you, his cock pulsing and swelling, hands bracing themselves against the swell of your hips, lifting you to him until those dots leave his vision. “Fuck. Fuck, that was… you were… God. That felt so fucking good.” 

You sprawl under him, your eyes languidly meeting his as you crack a sly grin. “Ahhh, Touya, like I said, you were so close. Too bad. Thought you’d last a little longer. Haha! Maybe next time, hmmm?”

Tags: @spicy-skull​, @xwildskullx​, @evesmores​

notes: editing always takes me so long :((((

[starryse]

Tent Bonding

Mingyu x Reader

Fluff, slight angst, implied sexual themes

1,663 words

Summary: it’s your annual camping trip with your friends, but there’s a change of plans this time around..specifically in love

The woods that surrounded the small campsite went on for miles, the lights of the city seeming to be non-existent. Shades of orange and yellow in the sunset lit up the clearing, casting bright shadows off of the trees. You stood on the outskirts of the site, admiring the calm environment. It was a nice change compared to the busy city, the sounds of traffic replaced by the small chirps of birds and the scurrying of the animals running amongst the forest floor.

“Yah! Watch the food, that’s all we have!” Seungcheol’s sudden voice carried through the trees, scaring off the birds that had taken shelter on the branches. You turned your head over your shoulder, peering back at the scene behind you. Soonyoung held the basket of food close to his chest as he tripped over dirt piles and twigs, Seungcheol following close behind, his hands extended, in case Soonyoung fell- not that he was worried for his member, the food was his priority, of course.

You stifled a laugh, covering your mouth with your hoodie sleeve.

“Hey y/n, wanna help me set up the table?” Joshua appeared in front of you, a bag of appliances in hand. You nodded your head, following him to the large picnic table. The table was across from the tents a few of the boys were setting up, right in front of the fire pit that was poorly dug in the ground.

Joshua passed you one end of the dark blue tablecloth, unfolding the cloth over the middle of the table. Once spread to each corner, you taped the end pieces underneath the wooden table, not trusting the wind to keep it in place. Josh grinned, giving you a half-five, “easy peasy.”

You laughed, nodding with what he said, “just be glad we didn’t get tent set up-“

You both turned your heads, chuckling at the chaotic mess the boys were as they miserably set the tents up. One of the tents were lopsided, the other two not even put together quite yet. The cry’s and complaints were heard even across the clearing, the boys laying across the grass in frustration.

“Should we help them?” Josh spoke through giggles, his smile wide across his face

You contemplated your answer. It was highly entertaining watching the boys struggle, as they were so confident in the car. You could still hear their cocky remarks, “were men Y/n! We can put up a simple 2 step tent, okay. Have faith in your friends!” Plus, you were still pissed at Mingyu for acting like a douche over something as simple as you wanting to ride with Jeonghan to the site.

“I dunno, watching Mingyu struggle has been the highlight of my day so far, asshole deserves it from earlier.”

Joshua hummed, understanding why you were mad at the dark haired boy, “it is highly deserved”

“It is-“ you were cut off by the shout of Seungkwan, his voice echoing long after he finished talking.

“Hey you two!”

You and Joshua tensed. Seungkwan marched over, tent sticks in hand, “why are you standing here being useless while I work so hard to put up the tents?!”

Seungkwan held up his hand, shutting up Joshua very quickly, “I don’t wanna hear it, follow me”

You unwillingly followed the grumbling boy, watching as his hands flew left and right as he complained about “how lazy some people are”. Gripping your hand, Seungkwan tugged you to help setup with the left crew (composed of Mingyu, Seokmin & Chan), while Joshua was pulled to the right (Vernon, Seungkwan & Jeonghan).

You stumbled over the hammer that was carelessly lying about, earning a few snickers from Seokmin and Chan- though they immediately shut up when you stared them down.

Seokmin waved you over, patting the spot in the grass next to him, which happened to be right by Mingyu, “come sit, y/n! We need all the help we can get”

You could feel Mingyu’s eyes on you as you moved to sit down, though ignoring it didn’t do too much as your face heated up anyhow; whether that was from nerves or the fact you were still pissed at him, you wouldn’t know. Now you were a fumbling, pissy, mess as you turned your head to ask Chan a question, “Hey Channie?”

Chan hummed, his eyes quickly darting up to meet yours before he refocused on the tent,

“Who’s in what tent?”

That seemed to get his attention as he nervously slid his hand on the back of his neck, avoiding yours and Mingyu’s gaze as much as possible, “well we only have 3 tents, and they’re uh-“ he began to stutter, “pretty big, so we couldn’t fit anymore in the car-“

Oh you didn’t like where this was going.

Chan finally raised his head from anxiously toying with the grass in front of him, “but I figured I could squeeze in one of the small ones from last years trip-“

You cut him, a short sigh leaving your lips, “meaning Mingyu and I will be sharing one, right?”

Chan gulped, mumbling an mhm. Seokmin darted his eyes back and forth from you and Mingyu, who was currently chewing on the inside of his cheek, “that’s not a problem right? I mean, I can always stay with you, y/n-“

“No.”

Your eyes snapped in Mingyu’s direction, his lips in a thin line above his clenched jaw, “that won’t be necessary, they’re fine with me. Right, y/n?”

His eyes dashed to yours, not budging from their place. You quickly nodded in agreement, no clear words forming a response.

The sound of someone clearing their throat in front of you caused all 4 of yours heads to pop up, meeting the confused face of Seungcheol, “is everything okay here?”

A chorus of yeahs and mhms broke the awkward silence, Seungcheol casually shrugging it off with a pout, “anyways, it’s dinner time. We can finish these up afterwards”

You had never been to such an awkward dinner. At least for you and the guy across from you it was.

The entire dinner was spent by ignoring Mingyu’s glances, or the few times he bumped your knee with his own. The other boys continued to laugh and wreak havoc as per usual, but you and Mingyu seemed to be in your own worlds.

You cleared your throat, catching Minghao’s attention next to you, “I think imma head to bed”. Minghao sympathized with you, he knew how close you and Mingyu were, and he hated seeing you two act as if you didn’t know one another.

“Alright, please try and work it out?” You could only budge a sad smile at him, muttering a quiet goodnight. He patted the small of your back as you got up, tossing your plate in the trash bag that was strung on the tree for you.

Meanwhile, Mingyu creeper mode was activated as he silently watched the encounter. He could feel the guilt eat away at his stomach, he hated when you were upset. And knowing he was the cause, was even worse. Minghao exchanged looks with him after you left, a silent agreement settling between the two as Mingyu trudged after you.

When Chan said the tent was small, you forgot just how small he had meant.

The tent was barely big enough to fit a sleeping bag, let alone 2. Meaning you and Mingyu were to be up each other’s asses the rest of the night. Your shoulder deflated as you sighed, a disapproved look etched on your face.

You began to roll out the sleeping bag on the hard floor of the tent, adjusting it so it was as close to the wall as possible. With all the rustling of the bag as it slid around, you didn’t notice the sound of the tent unzipping. That is, until someone coughed right next to your ear.

You let out a sharp screech, body jumping out of its skin before you fell to the ground in shock. After you recovered from the almost heart attack, you whipped around to be with the sullen expression of Mingyu. His features resembled a puppy as his eyes were innocently looking into your own.

He moved to sit on his own sleeping bag he had set up earlier, “I’m really sorry for how I acted earlier, y/n”

You fell back onto your butt, sitting criss cross across from Mingyu. Your lip was hues of red and purple, your teeth had been gnawing on since he entered.

“I know”

Mingyu shook his head, a guilty look present in his eyes, “no, y/n. I shouldn’t have acted like that, you’re allowed to be friends with whoever you want” He paused, thoughts going haywire as he looked at you, Your face showed anger? sadness? He wasn’t sure, all he knew was he didn’t want to ever be the cause of them again.

Sucking in a breath, Mingyu quickly rambled, “I-I like you, Y/n- actually, no. I love it you”

Your heart stopped, pulse slowing down for a split second before rapidly speeding up, “w-what?” Your voice was soft, confused even.

Mingyu smiled, canines on full display. He shifted closer to you, smushing your face between his hands, “I love you y/n”

Before you could register what you were doing, you smashed your lips onto his, teeth clashing from the sudden push. Your cracked lips mixed with his own, the taste of the beer he had with dinner smothered the previous taste of champagne you had drank. Your brain was a fuzzy mess, and your stomach wasn’t so far off either.

You pulled back, a trail of saliva dripping onto your chin. Mingyu pulled his sleeve down, wiping it off, a sheepish grin etched on his face.

“I love you too”

Mingyu melted at your words, quickly reattaching his lips to yours. I think you know how the rest of the night went.

[jaskiers-sweetkiss]

The Mercer Legacy - Part 3

Pairings: Luke x Reggie x Reader, willex

Word Count: 1.8K

Warnings: some swearing

A/N: yay part 3!!! I just wanna say thank you for all your comments and support, you guys make writing this so much fun!! I’m posting this part on my phone so I apologize in advance if anything is messed up, I usually post from my computer. As always lmk what you think and message me/send an ask if you’d like to be added to my taglist!!

Part 2 Masterlist TML Masterlist

___

You put up with Alex’s knowing looks and disappointed smiles whenever you were with the boys or he caught you smiling down at your phone. At least he was kind enough not to say anything again.

So maybe you had developed teensy weensy crush on Luke and Reggie, it’s not like it’s hard when they’re both so pretty and charismatic and kind and talented. Alex was no help either. With him sneaking off more and more to spend time with Willie, who else were you going to hang out with?

A tapping on your window pulled you from your late-night thoughts and you pulled yourself up into a sitting position on your bed, craning your head to try and peer out through the glass. Of course, you couldn’t see anything through the darkness. You pulled yourself off your bed with a sigh, dragging your feet as you made your way to the window.

Upon closer observation you thought you could make out two figures standing in the grass below. With another sigh you pulled open your window.

“Are you throwing rocks at my window?” You hissed, rolling your eyes as the two boys dropped the rocks in their hands guiltily. “What the hell is this, a five-sos song?”

“Are you coming or not?” Luke whined and you rolled your eyes again.

You silently thanked your laziness for the fact that you hadn’t yet changed into your pajamas as you climbed out the window.

Your feet touched the ground softly, Reggie’s hands firm on your waist and yours on his shoulders from when he had caught you after you pushed yourself off the edge of your roof. You smiled gratefully at him, trying to ignore the erratic beating of your heart and the familiar warmth that had spread to your cheeks as you stepped out of his grasp. You wondered if his heart was beating just as fast or if his cheeks had turned that shade of pink they got whenever he was flustered, you couldn’t tell in the darkness.

“So, where to this evening, gentlemen?” You asked and the two boys turned to stare at each other, clearly not having gotten that far in their planning.

“Uh, the beach?”

“Boardwalk?” They asked at the same time before grinning.

“Close enough,” Luke said, leading the way to the end of your driveway where his bike and Reggie’s skateboard lay discarded.

“Oh, I’ll go grab my bike from the garage-“ you spoke when you realized, turning to double back but Luke caught your arm, stopping you.

“It’s okay, you can just ride on my handlebars,” he suggested and you narrowed your eyes.

“Isn’t that dangerous?”

“That’s what makes it fun,” he spoke with a wicked grin that send your heart racing once more.

You nodded in agreement, a little afraid of what your voice would sound like if you tried to speak, and followed him to his bike. Once Luke was situated on the bike seat Reggie helped boost you up onto the handlebars, Luke’s arms coming to rest on either side of you.

You were off to a rocky start as Luke began to pedal, the bike swaying from side to side as he adjusted to riding with the extra weight at the front of the bike. Your knuckles turned white from how tightly you were gripping the handlebars and you found yourself torn between wanting to clench your eyes shut and being unable to close them for fear of crashing. It wasn’t until Luke righted the bike and began riding smoothly that you let out the breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.

“You okay, Y/N?” Reggie asked, skateboarding alongside you.

“Yeah,” you answered, sounding breathless and Reggie smirked knowingly. Luke had that effect on people.

The breathless nervousness went away though, and by the end of the trip you were grinning like a madman, whooping and hollering whenever Luke did something slightly reckless. The power of adrenaline, you supposed.

You pouted when Luke finally slowed the bike to a stop Reggie smirked when he noticed, the boy slowing to a stop beside you.

“Come on sugar, down you go,” he spoke, placing his hands on your waist again to help you off the handlebars.

“Sugar?” You questioned with a quirked brow as your feet touched the ground, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins apparently making you bolder as you’d normally become a stuttering, flustered mess at a term of endearment like that.

“Sorry, would you rather I didn’t?” Reggie asked quietly but assuredly, his hands still burning holes where they remained on your waist and you suddenly realized how close you were.

“No, it’s okay babe,” you replied, attempting to keep your cool. From your position so close to him you could now see the pink blush spreading across his cheeks and you smirked victoriously to yourself at your ability to make him just as flustered as he made you.

“So what’s the plan?” Luke asked, spooking you and Reggie and causing you to jump away from each other.

You narrowed your eyes confusedly at Luke.

“Why are you asking me? This was your idea!”

“Well I didn’t exactly get this far!” Luke protested with a whine and a pout which you giggled at.

“It’s okay darling,” you said, lightly patting him on the cheek before beginning to wander down the boardwalk. “We’ve got time.”

“Wha- hey wait up!” Luke called, and you heard their footsteps pouring on the wood as they jogged to catch up.

The three of you wandered for a while before Luke go sick of pulling his bike around (you and Reggie both pointed out that he could’ve locked it up at one of the many bike racks you’d passed) and insisted that you find a spot to be stationary. That’s how you wound up sitting in the sand, not far from where the waves crashed onto the beach. The three of you sat and talked, periodically tossing rocks into the water.

Not long after you’d found your spot on the shore, you began to regret not throwing on a jacket when you left the house. Your outfit had been ideal for the warm summer day and spending time indoors, but you weren’t exactly equipped for sitting by the water after sundown.

“Are you cold?” Luke and Reggie asked simultaneously, both apparently having noticed your shivering.

You watched amusedly as the two boys glared at each other from either side of you before they began speaking again.

“Here take my flannel,” Luke offered, already beginning to shrug it off his shoulders.

“You can have my jacket?” Reggie asked at the same time, the dark haired boy also shrugging off his leather jacket.

Reggie was faster than Luke, and before you could even accept either offer he was draping the black leather around your shoulders. You smiled gratefully at him, pulling the material tighter around you, though not slipping your arms through the sleeves. On your other side Luke pouted while Reggie stuck his tongue out triumphantly at his friend.

“Please, boys, stop fighting over me! I can’t take it!” you teased.

It was meant to be a joke but you didn’t miss the way Luke tensed up or Reggie’s eyes widened like deer caught in headlights. You tried not to think to much about it but you couldn’t help but hear Alex’s voice in your head.

___

“What are you wearing?”

You paused on your front steps, turning to peer at your best friend across your lawns.

“A jacket?” You answered, giving him a weird look. “It’s getting chilly out and you know it’s always cold in the theater.”

The two of you were going to see a movie, it was your tradition. At least once a month you’d go out for Tuesday-night $5 movies, even if you didn’t care about what was in theaters.

“Yeah but I recognize that jacket,” Alex said, moving towards you to get a closer look.

“Well yeah, you’ve seen like every piece of clothing I own,” you scoffed, but for all your bravado you found yourself shrinking your arms into the leather sleeves self-consciously.

“Oh. My. Gosh.” Alex breathed, putting emphasis on each word. “It’s not yours.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Please, Y/N, you think I wouldn’t recognize Reggie’s jacket? He barely lets it out of his sight! How’d you end up with it?”

You couldn’t help the warmth that spread to your face when you remembered how eager he was to give it to you, gently draping it over your shoulders. He barely lets it out of his sight and yet he’d insisted on giving it to you.

“Did he give it to you?” Alex gasped and you felt your cheeks grow impossibly warmer.

“It’s not a big deal,” you tried to brush it off but you both knew you were lying. “We snuck out to the beach the other night and I got cold so he offered me his jacket. No big deal.”

“No big deal-“ he repeated under his breath, shaking his head in disbelief. “You know what? I think we should skip the movie and go get ice cream.”

“No! Movie night is tradition!”

“You just don’t want to talk to me about this.”

“You’re absolutely right.” You agreed, opening the driver’s side door of you car. “Now c’mon, the movie theater awaits.”

You heard Alex grumble as he walked around to the other side of the car before climbing into the passenger seat beside you.

“Fine. But we’re getting ice cream after.”

“As long as you’re buying.”

___

“And then they took me back home and he never asked for the jacket back and I haven’t seen him since then to return it and-“

“And you decided to wear it to the movies with me, where you knew you weren’t going to see him.” Alex finished with a knowing look and you stared down at your ice cream, willing away the heat in your cheeks.

When you finally looked back up he was still watching you expectantly. You groaned, sticking your spoon into your ice cream and crossing your arms defensively.

“It’s really comfortable, okay? And it- it smells nice,” you admitted with a pout.

“How often have you been wearing it at home?” He asked teasingly and you glared.

“Oh fuck off!”

Alex merely laughed at the grumpy expression on your face before the two of you fell into a friendly silence.

“Y’know one day I’m going to catch you wearing Willie’s clothes and I’m never going to let you live it down.”

“I’m not the one trying to hide my feelings,” Alex pointed at you with his spoon before resuming eating his ice cream.

“Really? So you’ve had a conversation with Willie about your feelings and you both know where each other stands?” Alex glared at you and you smirked. “That’s what I thought.”

“Y’know what? I don’t need to take this,” he pushed his chair away from the table, sending you a playful glare before walking away to throw away his empty ice cream cup.

“What’s the matter Mercer? Can’t stand the taste of your own medicine?” You called after him and he responded by flipping you off over his shoulder.

Part 4

____

JATP Taglist: @meangirlsx @morganayennefertyrell @n0wornever @bright-molina @reg-peters @calamitykaty

TML Taglist: @bright-patterson @marinettepotterandplagg @everyonesannoyedwithme @dream-a-little-bigger-x @percico-heronstairs @starjane312 @ifilwtmfc @jatphatones @cherrymaybank @sorrowfulfragmentation @stargazing-dreamer-girl @daisybutterlions @mynameisntluke @willex-owns-my-heart @theolivekiddo @90ssunsetcurve

[mymelancholiesblues]

No, Mia isn’t  "low-tier" compared to Ada (morally speaking, or w/e) – a measured answer?/essay

So, a couple of Ada haters tried to put up a false symmetry between both of these characters there on twitter, and it inspired me to put my own thoughts down in a more articulate essay as to why that's (Ada's somehow being morally worse than Mia) not sustained by canon in Resident Evil.

standing there, killing time

can't commit to anything but a crime

all the good girls go to hell

'cause even God herself has enemies

and once the water starts to rise

and heaven's out of sight

she'll want the Devil on her team. ⁕

First things first: let us debunk the false symmetry that they tried to establish between these two characters with extremely distinct archetypes – and worse, the following replies to this false symmetry and its poor arguments trying to validate it, pointing out that, in fact, no, character B (that would be Ada, btw) – which is so evidently and ridiculously different from character A (and that would be Mia) – is, in fact, WAY WORSE than character A, and then proceeding to assert some unsupported propositions about misogyny in Resident Evil (which, tbh, definitely IS a recurring problem in the franchise, but that in this case particularly, little or does not apply AT ALL) and how Ada contributes to "the perpetration of a biological cold war".

Starting with what differentiates Mia from Ada grotesquely: we know NOTHING of Ada's true alliances in RE's world. Mia, however, canonically worked for a group that participated in the importation and exportation as well as the manufacturing, testing and marketing of biological weapons: "The Connections", a CRIMINAL SYNDICATE which, amongst other things, was also involved in money laundering, assassinations as well as weapons and drug trafficking. I don't care at all about Mia, so I don't intend to waste much of my time going on about her role in the plot, but people should've already realized by just that much how infinitely dishonest is to try to put these two characters as "similar" ones, or argue that Ada is somehow worse.

Another detail that shouldn't escape anyone's attention too, are the origins and nationalities of both – and yes, I intend to briefly bring up racism against eastern-Asian looking characters (a silent plague that takes form by each passing day in all fiction fandoms) and anti-China xenophobia, but for now, hold this tea there just before I drop it: Mia is canonically American, and previously a Texas-state resident; meanwhile, we have no confirmation of Ada's nationality except for her pretty evident Chinese ancestry. But, as I said, hold it there for a while.

i) espionage — the job

red so silent

wait a minute

or just a little while.

what are you looking for? ⁕

At all times that Ada's "job" was brought up in this franchise, in ALL of her cameos, she has NEVER been called a mercenary in the original Japanese. She's always referred to as a SPY. Even in RE2R, the most recent title in which she's featured in, the original text of the game makes a point of labelling her as a SPY (and not a mercenary) in the dialogue that transpires between Annette and Leon.

It's the North-American translation and correspondent localization that now and then falls for the equivocal use of this other term. This distinction is important since espionage NECESSARILY implies operating in an organized service for, perhaps a country, or a political cause, or a class/group, or a corporation, or whatever. While a mercenary is someone who's acting per their self financial interests, indiscriminately selling their specialized "labour" and skills to anyone who'll offer more.

Ada's not a mercenary, she's a spy. But Mia, in addition to being hired to a canonically criminal company, was also the handler personally assigned to Eveline. I don't care how exactly Mia got in that predicament but the fact is: Mia was canonically employed by a company that profited over illicit activities and directly watched as a family was destroyed and toyed with by this new killing machine (Eve). Yet, we can't state for sure that we know to whom or to what Ada is truly affiliated with.

ii) sources — check them

who's a heretic now?

am I making sense?

how can you make it stick?

and I'm on a trial

waiting 'til the beat comes out. ⁕

This fandom should put a little more thought into which translation and localization of the game texts, dialogues and files they are using to support their arguments. I know that in some cases the United States people have a bit of an inclination to think of themselves as the owners of the planet and deem English as the only language that matters in this world, but let's not forget that RE is a Japanese franchise (wow, insane, right?!). Therefore, the most valid script, with the greatest amount of details, and highest credibility, is the Japanese original. Throughout these years, there have been several errors in translation and localization of the Japanese original to North-American English. And, believe me, curiously enough, plenty of those concern Ada, since she's often mentioned or referred to in a very vague way – without the use of pronouns or adjectives or adverbs that could help in indicating gender. This ended up causing those details and mentions to her to get overlooked, even though in the Japanese text it was a clear reference to her character (per observation of context).

iii) the good guys — one of

head in the dust

feet in the fire

labour on that midnight wire

listening for that angel choir

you got nowhere to run

careful son, you got dreamers plans

but it gets hard to stand. ⁕

Yes, as much as haters try to minimize it, it is SIGNIFICANT that Ada saved so many important characters and stood for unquestionably heroic actions in so many moments - like stopping everything she was doing so she could help completely random Chinese civilians with the helicopter she managed to pilot in that chaos in China (yeah, I know you haters love to forget about this, but it happened, it's there in canon, and no, it wasn't her direct OR indirect responsibility what was going on in China: REPLAY RE6 and for the love of GOD, never again argue that what she did was somehow "the equivalent of evacuating a city after selling a WMD to destroy that same city". It's a case of pure intellectual dishonesty to say such a thing. It's canon that Carla was the one who caused what happens in China, PLEASE, PLAY RE6).

Furthermore, Ada shows compassion on some occasions even for characters who are directly putting her in harms ways, like Annette (in RE2 OG, right after - in order to defend herself - she slaps Annette leading her to lose balance and collapse over the sewers fences, Ada makes an effort in trying to pull Annette back and prevent her from falling) and Carla.

Replay RE4 and pay attention to it, pay attention to her solo campaign: getting involved with Leon's journey in Spain hasn't brought any real benefit to her mission or herself: Ada deviates from her main path several times due to worrying about him and trying to help him and almost ends up dead in several of these occasions over her insistence in doing so: by saving him from Bitores Mendez, by helping him and Ashley against Sadler, by confronting Krauser and stopping him.

It's so lazy to only read/listen to a file in which she says in English that "Leon might be useful to her plans" (this is way more nuanced in the Japanese original of Ada's Report), and ignore everything that was SHOWN in the game: every effort she made to ensure that Leon could rescue Ashley, remove the parasite from his and her bodies, and escape from that hell-island.

The jet-ski she left for their escape was ALREADY there before she was captured by Sadler (or you think she arranged it while she was caught?). Leon having to intervene and save her from Sadler WASN'T her plan. It WASN'T her plan to take the sample from Leon's hands. She wanted to help him get out of there with Ashley and she guaranteed he could do so, she wanted to get the sample by herself and escape too while sending that hell to kingdom's come. But, because she chose to help Leon rescue Ashley right in front of Sadler, she ends up captured.

On her end, Mia never did anything minimally compared to that, and all of her "selflessness" or self-sacrificing actions involved a much, MUCH smaller scope than Ada's: wanting to help her husband and HERSELF is not at all comparable to saving a few dozens of unknown Chinese civilians. So no, they aren't "cut from the same cloth". They don't come from the same place, nor do they share the same intentions or goals, and their contributions to the RE storyline are quite different.

iv) unknown true purpose (shades of grey)

lining up in the background

waiting for the crowd shot to be seen

in the shadow of the big screen

everybody begs to be redeemed. ⁕

In databooks, Ada is recurrently described as "a Chinese spy with extraordinary physical abilities, vigorous health and composed mind and spirit, capable of coping with grim situations and handling even the most difficult requests without losing composure". If we are paying attention to the storytelling ingame, however, we know that this isn't always the case: Ada did let her mask of unswerving emotional and physical strength fall and showed a very fragile side under strenuous circumstances a couple of times already.

Also, in these databooks, they often point out that "she has her own 'true purpose' and has FREQUENTLY betrayed organizations and clients to achieve it". Huh, we can AGAIN, by this only, see how completely different she's from Mia, who personally watched an entire family being driven to insanity by Eveline's hand.

Furthermore, in these databooks, it's often said that "this true purpose is still obscure and whether she truly cared for anyone or simply used her charms to manipulate people that crossed paths with her isn't ever clear". If people are willing to be open-minded and exercise their text comprehension skills, though, they'll see that in multiple occasions of emotional confrontation it has been established time and time again that yes, Ada DOES care. She wasn't capable of shooting Leon and there has been a couple of other times that failing to choose a cool, sociopathic calculation and pragmatical demeanour over empathy and humanity towards others has put her in harms ways: nonetheless she still chose it.

v) positive impact

I'm gonna break the cycle

I'm gonna shake up the system

I'm gonna destroy my ego. ⁕

To this point, RE's plot systematically leads us to believe that Ada has been covertly acting behind the scenes of multiple biological incidents COLLECTING INFORMATION (the job of a spy, who would've thought! lmao), that is valuable to numerous organizations, companies, groups and different contexts, but at the same time of allegedly offering to handle this knowledge for the right price to the big players involved with bioterrorism and clandestine trading of bioweapons, she's also working to sabotage said players.

This is evident throughout the franchise: she intended to hurt Umbrella's business. She outwitted and deceived Wesker multiple times. She even undermined Simmons, someone who was in a position of power in the US government and actively using that position to lead bioterrorist ventures on the parallel side.

There's no concrete evidence or hint as to what she does with the information she collects, and for all purposes and effects, I can presume that she's gathering this knowledge to assist in the discovery of countermeasures and vaccination studies. I might as well argue that she is a Chinese spy who is working against European and North-American capitalism and the imperialism that creates such monsters like the biochemical and bioweapons industry and that her real objective is to dismantle the market for bioweapons and bioterror supported mainly by the USA (see: Simmons and The Family).

That is, as long as it is unclear what her true purpose is, I have the freedom to surmise whatever the heck I want and that all of what she's been doing was for the sake of the greater "good" - and I'll even have canon moments to support this reasoning as it's clear that she regularly sabotages her customers (customers that are unquestionably established as playing for the "evil" side, with perverse intentions) - throughout the franchise. She did this on RE2, RE4, RE6 and Damnation. It's there, transparent in canon, people just choose to ignore it.

She laughs in the face of whoever she's talking to by the end of Damnation, saying she doesn't intend to deliver the Plaga; she scoffs at Simmons; she betrays Wesker and kills Krauser. She had been sabotaging Wesker for so long, that he sent Krauser to be the main agent in the mission in Spain, and Ada was just a "side effect" that he didn't have in control and had to keep an eye on, so he ordered Krauser to keep tabs on her. It's not a mutually beneficial dynamic. Ada doesn't want Wesker to succeed, she despises him; this is clear in the games in which they interact. There are even files that indicate that she was trying to double-cross and get in the way of his plans for at least 2 years before Spain, and he was constantly catching up with her. See here and here.

On her end, Mia was employed by and consciously working for a criminal syndicate.

vi) a (secretly) helping hand

oh, I'm a master pretender

just felt more alone

the further I'd go

but I'll stick around

I'll be your master defender

yeah, I'll stick around. ⁕

Ada approached characters such as John Clemens and Luis Sera, and both had a canonical intention to, in addition to putting an end to their connections with the criminal companies and organizations they've been working for, also expose and denounce them for their crimes. It's in this context that Ada comes into contact with them. And why is that?

Check John's background: he had made up his mind about disclosing Umbrella's crimes to the public. Check Luis' background: Ada went to Spain to assist in his extradition since he feared for his own life if he resolved to turn his back on the cult of Los Illuminados, and also dreaded the consequences of the liberation of Las Plagas on an international scale.

Keep in mind that Ada handed over to Wesker a USELESS Plaga sample. Wesker only got the sample currently circulating in the underground market because he went after Krauser's body. We don't know what Ada did with the master Plaga sample she obtained. We only know from Ada's Report and the Plaga Recovery file that she didn't deliver it to Wesker, and he needed to go out for a plan B to get it.

Even the G-Virus sample that fell into the hands of the clandestine business, it's possible to argue that Ada's involvement in it was flimsy, since Simmons CANONICALLY made over a thousand laboratory tests in Sherry, and, as we know, he was a leading figure in bioterrorism and bioweapons trading with the aid of his position in the US government.

But, guess what, Ada clearly is a non-white character with obvious Chinese heritage and Mia is white, so of course, OF COURSE, someone can so nonchalantly affirm that Ada, this "vile bitch", is somehow WORSE than Mia. The same Mia who watched the Bakers being destroyed. Right.

Also: trying to validate one's point by claiming anything related to the misogyny present in RE franchise, while IN THE SAME BREATH AND TWEET reducing Ada's entire character arc to that of "a sociopathic bitch cured by the magic dick of her love interest" is supposed to be a joke, right? No, really. Joke.

conclusion and a word against misogyny

we are waiting on a telegram to

give us news of the fall

I am sorry to report

dear Paris is burning after all

we have taken to the streets

in open rejoice, revolting

we are dancing a black waltz

fair Paris is burning after all. ⁕

To any Ada fan that has been reading this so far: PLEASE, I ask to consider refraining to use the "oh yes, Ada did some bad shit, bUT" take to defend the character because that isn't sustained by canon in RE, lmao. She didn't do anything evil that had an indisputable bad impact on the plot and other characters arcs. For one, I myself do love some villains, but that isn't the case with Ada.

She did do some unconventional shit yes, since she's a morally GRAY character and an anti-heroine, but by the end of the day, each and every action of hers had a positive impact on the journey of other characters and main plot. Just pay attention to it.

Like idk man, Black Widow, Elektra Natchios, Scarlet Witch and Black Cat from Marvel, Catwoman from DC, Yennefer from The Witcher (some pop culture examples that come to mind).

Saying that this is an "extremely selfish prototypal bad bitch except when it comes to the magical redeeming dick of her love interest" it's a grotesque reduction of a complex female character, and, in its attempt to critique the misogyny present in RE's franchise an expression of misogyny in itself.

Remember: Ada has actions and impact on the franchise ASIDE and IN ADDITION to her romantic involvement with Leon.

[aethelar]

I'm sitting in a lecture and dying of boredom so i had this idea: what about Graves finding a puppy or some other animal and keeping it a secret from Newt to teach the cute animal some tricks to show Newt something special in the end. Maybe Newt finds out early and acts he doesn't know or he can't help and adore his boyfriend trying his best but Graves has a hard time because that damn cute thing won't listen.

Technically, Graves is called in because a crup is a magical creature, and while the laws are better now than they used to be, breeding beasts is still illegal.

Technically, Graves is required to alert the owner to this fact, check that they have the necessary permits for possession of the parent crups, and deliver a formal requirement for both bitch and dog to be neutered to prevent further litters.

Technically, Graves should walk away having assured himself that the puppies will be rehomed as pets and are not being sold for profit, traded for potions parts, or otherwise misused in a way that contravenes the articles of safe handling and creature protection.

Yeah, well.

Graves never liked technicalities.

"Do I what?" Tina asks again.

"A crup. Puppy. Do you want."

She blinks. "I mean, sure," she says. "I guess everyone wants one at some point in their life."

"Great." He holds his coat open to show the small furry occupants of his inner pockets. "What colour? You can have one of each if you like." The puppies stick their heads out; one is all white, two have the classic white fur and brown patches, one has a darker shade of brown-black in her patches, and the last little head almost entirely brown with an uneven white moustache over his nose.

Tina stares. Graves looks back at his pockets. One of the puppies is attempting to climb out, and there's a suspicious dark stain in the bottom corner of another pocket. "Please have one of each," he says.

Tina opens her mouth to ask if Graves is definitely Graves and not Newt in polyjuice, then thinks better of it.

"Why do you have crups in your coat?" she asks instead.

"And why are you fencing them like a shady pawn-shop thief," Delgado adds, butting into the conversation. Graves and Tina look at him blankly, so he mimes holding his own coat open. "Y'know. Wanna buy a watch? No? My humour's wasted on you guys. But for real boss, where'd the babies come from?"

Puppy two finally escapes the confines of her cloth prison. Graves catches her in a wandless levitation charm because his hands are full keeping puppies one and four from following her. She turns a somersault midair and starts trying to doggy paddle.

"Illegal breeder raid," Graves says. And, because technically that wouldn't result in him coming back with passengers, he elaborates: "They were farming them for the tails. I objected."

"By stealing five puppies?"

"Rehoming," he corrects. "I'm rehoming five puppies. Tina's taking two. Delgado, you have this one." He floats the still-swimming escape artist over to him, and she seems ecstatic to finally be moving forward. Delgado, suddenly with an armful of wriggle and tongue, is clearly also ecstatic, he's just a bit too blindsided to show it.

"Tina's what? When did I agree to that?"

Graves shifts his grip on puppies one and four, and deposits them on Tina's shoulders before she can stop him. She's forced to hold onto them to stop them falling, because crups have zero balance at the best of times and are exponentially worse as uncoordinated puppies.

"You didn't want Queenie to be left out," he explains, and turns sharply on his heel to leave. Three down, two to go. Easy.

By four o clock, all five puppies are back on his desk. Delgado is slouched in a chair, staring mournfully at puppy two. Graves shoots him a filthy look and refuses to feel sympathy for traitors.

"I'm sorry," Tina says. She doesn't sound particularly sorry. "But I wanted a crup when I was five. It wouldn't be fair to them - or to me - if I had one now. Besides, my landlady doesn't allow pets."

Delgado slumps lower in his seat. "Mine doesn't care."

"Yours is a no-maj."

Technically, amputating a crup's second tail was a harmless operation and recommended to allow them to pass as a non-magical terrier. Technically. Please see above for Graves' views on technicalities. Would you like a limb amputated so you could blend in? Graves thinks the fuck not.

He fights the urge to retrieve puppy two from where she's chewing on his budget report and hold her far out of harm's reach. Delgado, he reminds himself, is low-key terrified of Newt; even if he thought mutilating puppies was a good idea (which he doesn't, Graves has known Delgado for fourteen years now and he can safely say he's not a puppy-mutilator) he'd never risk it in case Newt found out.

"He still doesn't care," Delgado grouses, but he knows he's lost. No-maj landlords don’t accept magical pets, no matter how lenient they are. "And he's ancient. He probably can't see."

Puppy five - who, up till now has spent most of his time asleep - wakes up, looks around until he sees Graves, walks confidently in his direction, and falls off the edge of the desk.

He licks Graves' hand when he catches him and wags both tails.

"What if we kept them," Graves' mouth says with absolutely no permission from his brain, "but they stayed in the office?"

Delgado brightens immediately. "Lucky could be an office dog?"

"Sir," Tina says. She's pinching her nose. Graves agrees; this is a stupid idea, and he shouldn't have suggested it. He begins to say as much, but then puppy five yawns and curls into Graves' arms to go back to sleep.

"They're all being office dogs," he says instead. "I'm the head of department, I can do what I want."

Tina glares. Delgado beams and sweeps puppy two - Lucky, apparently - into his arms. Lucky chews the edge of his collar. Puppy five snuffles in his sleep.

Graves, technically, can't do what he wants unless he has Picquery's permission, but I expect you've got the idea about technicalities by now.

The agreement he hashes out with Tina is simple. (Why he has to hash out agreements with his own subordinates is beyond him, but her emotional blackmail techniques are top notch so he doesn't dare object.) Newt is away on a rescue mission business trip for another eleven days and seventeen hours - ish, Graves hasn't been tracking exactly how long it is, that would be pathetically love-struck. Which Graves is not. So, uh, Newt is away for a week or a month or some other length of time. This is the trial period. If the puppies are sufficiently well behaved and non-disruptive during their trial, Tina will support Graves when he asks Newt if the puppies can stay.

Newt, of course, will not allow the puppies to stay if he thinks they'll be unhappy as office dogs. This is important.

Newt will also not allow the puppies to stay if Tina tells him not to. This is also important. Pissing unfair, but important. Graves needs Tina on side.

Which means Graves needs the puppies to pass basic puppy training 101 and not - that's not, that's a negative, it means do the exact opposite please and thank you - crap in the lift.

Why were the puppies in the lift to begin with. The auror department is only on one single floor. Puppies. Get back here. Please. This is day four of puppies and coincidentally day four of cleaning up crap. Why.

"Morning, boss," Delgado practically sings, prancing into the office. Graves is attempting to teach the puppies what a treat is. He's read that crups are food motivated which means that they should do what he say if he gives them treats. The puppies’ view of should, however, seems to align with Graves’ view of technically, and training is going accordingly slowly.

"Lucky," he says, waving the beef jerky in her direction.

"My baby girl," Delgado coos, and Lucky scrambles straight past Graves and his beef jerky to throw herself at her person.

Food motivated Graves' ass.

"Lucky up!" Delgado commands, and Lucky - who so far has ignored and/or done the opposite of every single command Graves has tried - jumps excitedly up for Delgado to catch her and lift her above his head.

Something warm and wet closes over Graves' hand. He looks down to find puppy three looking up at him with big soulful eyes.

"Sit," he says, pressing her butt down with his other hand. She wags her tails at him and licks hopefully at the beef jerky. "Three. Sit."

Lick lick lick.

"You're calling him three? You can't still call him three. He needs a name, boss!"

"She. And her name is Three. These are her sisters One and Four, and her brother Five. C'mon, sit dammit."

Delgado drops into an inelegant sprawl on the floor, putting Lucky down in front of him. "Real names. Look - Lucky! Lucky sit, good Lucky!"

Lucky whines and tries to climb into his lap. So does Four, actually, and while a quick looks round shows that Five has decided to fall asleep with his head inside Graves' shoe (Graves loves Five but he has to question his intelligence sometimes), One is nowhere to be seen.

"Where's One?"

"Baby girl, c'mon. Sit, Lucky!"

"Delgado. Have you seen One?"

Delgado looks up from the tug of war game he's now playing with his shoelace. Lucky, Graves is quietly vindicated to notice, has not sat. Nor has Three, but that's because Three is nomming her way through a piece of beef jerky.

"Not since last night. Was she definitely with the others when you came in this morning?"

"Seeing as I brought them in with me, yes. Watch them, I'm going to look for her." He reaches for his shoe and gently tips Five out. The puppy whuffs and opens a sleepy eye, tails giving one lazy thu-thump against the floor.

"You brought them in - wait, you take them home with you?"

"Stay," Graves tells Five. Then, to Delgado, "They need to sleep somewhere, and I don't have a no-maj landlord to worry about."

He suppresses a grin at Delgado's squawk and leaves to find his lost ward. A quick point me for One doesn't pick her up - maybe there's something to what Delgado says about names - but a spell searching for crups in general oscillates between his office behind him and somewhere forwards and left.

Maybe tracker-stones in their collars? They don't have collars yet, but just think of all the protection runes Graves could fit on them. And health and longevity, maybe, if he can sneak them past Newt - Newt has a thing about not messing with nature and weakening bloodlines by making creatures rely on human magic, but c'mon Newt, puppies - ooooh, and storage runes, he could store water in their collars and teach them how to activate it with a paw so they never dehydrate on hot days, that's surely an essential one to include.

He's halfway through redesigning the basic collar strap by the time he finds One. (Not enough space on the normal ones. But if you replace the leather band with a sheet of leather carefully rolled into a band-like shape... 'course, then you'd need some kind of barrier between the layers to stop the runes interacting with each other, maybe back the leather with gold? Thick enough to keep the runes pure, thin enough that it doesn't interfere with the magical effects - and obviously it has to still be comfy to wear...)

"Tina," he says, only somewhat surprised. "You stole my crup."

"They're the office crups," she reminds him. "And anyway, Rosa's mine. You gave her to me." Rosa, pillowed in a paw-print studded blanket in the basket under Tina's desk, rolls her head to give Graves a smug upside down grin.

Graves hesitates, not sure if this is meant to be a test of some sort. Tina was the one who said he had to puppy train them.

"They're meant to stay in my office for training," he says, and his voice is very carefully neutral with no hint of hesitance. She can probably smell weakness.

"Rosa, heel," Tina says, reaching down and tapping her calf. One - Rosa - hops out the basket and trots over, mouth open and panting in delight.

How. How. Graves has been training the miniature hellions for four days now. Tina’s had Rosa for scattered parts of those. How.

"Besides," Tina continues, as if she hasn't just shown Graves up for the puppy-training failure that he is (he grew up with three dogs. How is he this bad) "You're hardly one to talk."

She gestures behind him with a tilt of her head. Graves looks back, then down, then sighs and stubbornly refrains from slumping his shoulders in defeat. "Five," he says, in what was meant to be a stern voice but comes out remarkably lacking in sternness. "Five, no."

Five wags his tails and lies down for another nap.

“I’ll bring Rosa back when I go home for the day,” Tina says, and Graves picks Five up and retreats to the coffee room in graceful defeat.

"Newt comes home tomorrow," Tina says, leaning against the door frame in a parody of nonchalance.

"Twenty eight hours and forty minutes," Graves agrees, not even trying to pretend he hasn't been counting. Tina, thankfully, isn't phased.

"So. Puppy training."

"Puppy training," Graves repeats. This is the test. The puppies have survived their trial period without being - too much - a distraction. Delgado's ability to do paperwork has taken a sharp dive, but the time he's spent in the training rooms has doubled so it evens out. One of the training dummies has started showing bite marks and all Graves can say is that Delgado teaches Lucky to fight dirty.

Rosa is, of course, sitting flawlessly at Tina's feet, tails tucked around her paws and head tilting as she follows the conversation. There is no question that she's passed puppy training.

Graves takes a breath and turns to Five, Three, and Four. "Puppies," he commands, then whistles and holds his hand low. Three and Four trip over themselves to come and inspect it. Five raises his head, divines that this is a training exercise and the hand is empty of treats, and drops his chin back on the carpet.

"Stay," Graves tells Three and Four, then holds his other hand out to the side and whistles again. Three almost - almost! - goes to it, but she remembers in time. Five continues to ignore it.

"You haven't used his name," Tina says; her grip is white knuckled around her elbow, and Graves can see Delgado peering anxiously over her shoulder. Lucky, he guesses, has already passed Tina’s test - but if Five can't pass then none of the crups stay. That was the deal.

"Five," Graves pleads, holding his hand out again and whistling. "Five, heel."

With a last, long suffering look, Five gets to his feet. He pads straight past the hand, flumps next to Graves' feet, and headbutts the heel of his shoe.

"I'll take it," Tina says instantly. "Fabulous. Done. Puppies are staying. Rosa, I think Queenie put bacon in your lunch, let's go."

There's a long, relieved pause as both Delgado and Graves slump to the floor. Three and Four wander over to say hello to Lucky, but Five wriggles his way up to Graves' hand and noses his head underneath.

"I can't believe we passed," Delgado says with a level of stunned that puppy training rarely warrants. "I can't believe you still call her Five."

"Him. Five is him. And Three and Four are Three and Four, so. Five is Five."

"Yeah, well. Now all we have to do is convince Newt to give us the ok and we're clear, right?"

Graves looks down at Five; the puppy has positioned himself directly under Graves' palm and is snoring quietly, tails wagging in an off-beat rhythm as he dreams.

He is, objectively, adorable. Newt will love him. "Right," he agrees with a faint smile. "Newt won't say no."

"No," Newt says. "They're never going to be office dogs."

Graves' perception of reality warps, and refuses to accommodate this new version of truth.

"Come again?" he croaks.

"Crups can't be office dogs," Newt explains. "They attach to specific people - they need homes."

They have people, Graves wants to say. Or - some of them have people. What would Lucky get out of a home that she doesn't get from Delgado? Is it the landlord issue? Graves will buy Delgado's flat. And Tina's. He'll be their landlords. Problem solved.

Newt must catch his expression because he makes an apologetic face. "Sorry, Graves," he says. "But... they're not right here. They're ok now, but when they're older, they'll be miserable." He gestures at where Three,  Four, and Five are currently inhaling their dinner at the feeding mat Graves has set up behind his desk.

A proper feeding mat, with bone-print bowls large enough to last them through to adulthood because Graves thought they might stay that long. But if Newt says it's not where they'll be happy...

He looks down at Five and swallows his protest. "Oh," he says. "Well, we can look into rehoming them, unless you have something else in mind?"

Newt smiles. "Rehoming is good. I have some ideas for where to put them if you can't find anyone, but if you have homes in mind then that's great."

Dinner finished, Five glances up to check if Graves needs anything. He must pick up on the mood because he expands his check to cover the whole room, and trots up to sit guard by Graves' chair.

It's single handedly the most painful thing that's ever happened to Graves. If it’s best for Five that Five goes then Five will go, but for Graves’ sake, couldn’t he be a bit less perfect and a bit less devastating to say goodbye to?

"You have to tell Tina and Delgado," he says to Newt, unashamedly wimping out of passing on that news. "Fair warning, Delgado will cry."

"Ok," Newt says dubiously. "Of... happiness?"

What. "What? No. You're - he loves Lucky. He's not going to be happy."

"Because...?"

Graves blinks. Did Newt get hit by a spell? Is he suffering short term memory loss? Is Graves suffering short term memory loss? "You're rehoming Lucky," he says slowly, "Because crups can't be office dogs."

"I'm not rehoming Lucky! Lucky has a home. She'd hate being separated - crups bond for life!" Newt looks over at Three and Four, gesturing sharply to emphasise his point. "We're rehoming them, because they're the ones without specific people to attach to and are going to hurt themselves trying to bond with the whole department."

"So," Graves starts, leaning forwards slightly. "So Lucky stays. And Rosa stays."

"Yes."

"And... Five stays?"

"Yes," Newt huffs. "All the crups with bonds stay." He pauses then, and frowns down at Five, who's still sitting in full alert at Graves' feet. "Did you really call him Five?"

"You called a thunderbird Frank," Graves reminds him, but his heart isn't in it. Five stays. Three and Four don't, but that's fair, they deserve the best homes and MACUSA isn't it for them. But Five chose Graves. Five stays.

"Good dog," he says, dropping a hand down onto Five's head. He gets a half-hearted lick in return, then Five flops down over his shoes and goes to sleep.

"Five," Newt repeats in the background. "Who has a familiar called Five. And there's nothing wrong with Frank, Frank's an excellent name."

Graves isn't listening though. He's still stuck on the landlady problem for Rosa and Lucky. Maybe if he uses a notice-me-not ward? Shit, why hasn't he got started on the collars yet. He needs to test how the runes interact; if they aren't efficient enough, he'll need to ugrade to a power-stone to keep them going. Maybe an amythyst on the tag? Or crystal wire woven through the leather...?

Newt, meanwhile, is being climbed on by Three and Four. He scratches behind their ears and sneaks a glance at where Five is sprawled protectively over Graves' feet, pretending to sleep.

"How do you feel about obscurials?" he murmurs to Four. "I know Graves said he'd rehome you, but I think there's someone you should meet first."

Four cocks her head, then shakes herself and pounces on her sister.

"Point taken," Newt says. "That's ok though, I think he has a sister. Or - he has two, one of them's a muggle though. You promise to get on with her even though she's a muggle?"

Twin excitable yips. Graves frowns and mutters something about fire-resistance.

"It's a deal then," Newt grins, and solemnly holds out a hand to shake Four's paw.

She chews his fingers, and the deal is done.

[hoodoo12]

Beetlejuice is my man ❤️. Honestly, him showing up and interrupting a bad date, and the fem reader leaving with the Beej would be great. Only if you want to of course. Ps, love your fics. ❤️

Thank you for this fun idea! I had a blast writing it and hope you enjoy it. SFW, Beetlejuice/f!reader, mild swearing. Stand alone story, although a second (nsfw) could be added . . . 😉. If anyone is interested in something like that, let me know!

Bad Date

You fiddled with your fork. The droning--the god awful, incessent droning--from the other side of the small table never ceased. The man sitting there, the man who you agreed to go out on this date with, hadn’t stopped talking about himself. The. Entire. Time.

It wasn’t as though he had interesting or fun stories either. He had opinions on everything, no matter the subject, and considered himself an expert on everything too. He worked at a car dealership, for the love of god, and although he bragged about how much money he made and the fancy vehicles he drove, you had a suspicion he was more on the level of a lot attendant instead of a top salesman. 

Why did you ever swipe right on his photo?

You slipped your phone into your lap and discreetly checked the time. You’d been at this restaurant for thirty minutes, and although the waiter had taken your orders, you’d only gotten drinks and a basket of bread so far. This was insufferable. How were you going to last through salad and an entree with this guy? You didn’t even want to think about coffee and dessert. 

While he continued to prattle on about the border wall or car tires or whatever, your mind drifted.

Beetlejuice had not been happy you’d gone out tonight. He’d expected another lazy evening in, but it wasn’t like the two of you were exclusive or anything! Who knew how many people the ghost had on the side? It wasn’t like you could keep track of him. And whenever you dared try to mention the word ‘boyfriend’ or ‘partner’ or anything of the sort, he stammered and turned a more sickly shade of pale, and found excuses to change the subject. That, or he just left, no matter what the two of you happened to be doing at the moment. Sometimes, for fun, you teased him about it, just to make him squirm.

Tonight you’d give anything for it to be real. Then you’d never be in this mess. 

You wondered if typing his name into a text message would summon him. 

No harm in trying . . . 

With a quick glance up at the guy across the table flapping his lips--oh god, he saw you looking and thought you were encouraging him!--you quickly dropped your gaze to your phone again. Because Beetlejuice wasn’t listed in your phone, you pulled up a cousin’s contact page as a proxy. 

Quickly you tapped out, “Betelguese, Betelguese, Betelguese,” into a new text message. 

You hit send. You could explain to your cousin later. 

Nothing happened. You gave it a few more minutes while the yammering from your date continued, and still nothing happened. 

You decided to try again, with a phonetic spelling this time.

“Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice!”

You crossed your fingers this time that he’d appear. 

Nothing. 

Nothing.

Your date continued to be oblivious to the fact you were completely ignoring him.

Nothing. 

Then a tiny ‘ping!’ from your phone!

“What the hell? Is this some kind of safe word?” your cousin texted back. 

With a wry smile, you thought your cousin had no idea how the answer to her question was the truth. You also hadn’t realized you’d been holding your breath until you got some kind of response. You let it out in disappointment that it wasn’t Beetlejuice, but used it as an excuse to leave the table.

“I’m sorry, I have to take this,” you blurted, interrupting your date and getting out of your chair before he could respond. You darted away from the table towards the restrooms.

In the restroom, you ignored your phone and stared into the mirror. Someone else was in one of the stalls, but you disregarded that too; you just wanted help!

Watching your lips form the words, you muttered, “Betelguese, Betelguese, Beteguese.”

You closed your eyes at the last syllable. When you opened them, he was standing right behind you, his mouth curled into a snarl and his eyes dark under furrowed brows. 

You spun on your heel to him. 

Before you could tell him that you needed rescuing, he spit, 

“What the hell do you want?” 

Startled, you couldn’t answer. Typically he was pleased to hear his name--

“I thought we weren’t seeing each other tonight,” he continued in an angry growl. “You had your date, and I was supposed to sit around, twiddling my thumbs, watching reruns of the shit they show on TV in the Netherworld--it’s all garbage like Manimal and My Mother the Car, nothing even entertaining like the Jerry Springer Show--”

“Beej, you’ve got to help me!” you interrupted. “You’ve got to get me out of this date!”

At least he had the decency to stop talking when you said something, unlike the guy still sitting at the table. 

Beetlejuice fixed you with an undeniable “I-told-you-so” expression, but it didn’t soften his anger. “Nope. You got yourself into this, you get yourself out of it.”

That was not the answer that you had expected. Beetlejuice was usually ecstatic to rain chaos down on the living. He usually jumped at the opportunity to harass people. And now, at all times, he’d decided to, to . . . make you pay for one measley mistake?

Tears welled in your eyes. Deep down, you knew you deserved it. 

You grabbed a tissue from the box on the counter and dabbed your eyes. Okay. He wouldn’t help? Then you’d sit through the rest of this horrible date, pray to god the guy didn’t get handsy or expect anything physical in return for paying, and then you’d take a long hot shower when you got home to try and wash away the memory of this disastrous night. 

“Okay, Beej,” you told him quietly. Because tears began forming again, you couldn’t see the expression on his face. You imagined it was triumph. “I’m . . . I’m sorry about tonight.”

With the apology, you reached for his hand, gave it a quick squeeze, and left the restroom. As the door began swinging closed behind you, you heard an old woman’s voice from the stall exclaim, “I heard a man’s voice! There better not be a man in this ladies room, or I’m speaking to the management--”

The door closed completely, and you never heard a retort from Beetlejuice. 

⁂

You made your way back to your table. Your date was there, looking annoyed he’d lost his audience. You sat down again, murmured a quiet lie that your cousin’s dog was sick and she was giving you an update, and your date launched into a diatribe about how veterinarian medicine was a money-grabbing scam.

You went back to fiddling with your fork, feeling miserable. Once or twice you tried to at least look interested in whatever nonsense erupted out of the mouth of the guy sitting opposite of you, but it wasn’t a facade you could maintain. 

Luckily, a waiter bumped into your table. It broke your date’s soliloquy, thankfully. Salad plates were dropped in front of the two of you. Your date looked annoyed, but you were just happy to have something else to focus on. You thanked the waiter without looking up.

To keep yourself occupied, you tried to remember and list all the ingredients in a Ceasar salad while you stabbed some with your fork. Now your date was talking about some other fancier restaurant he’d gone to, with grilled romaine lettuce for the salad, and croutons made daily with their own milled flour for the bread, and wild-caught yeast, and, and, and--

Mechanically you chewed. Nothing had flavor. 

“--it was nothing like this! These are obviously store-bought croutons!” your date was saying, because he’d suddenly become a celebrity chef along with a veterinarian and car dealer. “Subpar ingredients! I’d hope that they are saving money so the steak I ordered will be higher quality, but I know that won’t be true--what the hell is this?”

You couldn’t even fake enough interest to lift your head. 

“What the actual hell?” he exclaimed, then more loudly, he snapped his fingers and called for the waiter. “Hey. Hey! Waiter! Get over here!”

You stabbed another bit of lettuce. As you raised it to your mouth, the waiter got to your table. “Yes sir? Would you like some freshly cracked black pepper on your salad?” 

The waiter’s voice was soft with a bit of a scratch that made it sound like he may have the beginnings of a sore throat. You didn’t look up at him, but from the corner of your eye saw that his trousers were faded black with uneven pinstriping. Wasn’t the rest of the staff in solid black clothing?

“No!” your date admonished rudely. “There is something in my salad and I want to know what it is!”

Curious beside yourself, you looked over the table.

Your date was red-faced and angry, pointing at his plate. You didn’t see anything in it. When he tapped it with his fork, however, some of the lettuce moved on its own.

The waiter reached into the salad with dirty-looking fingernails. In slow motion, everything happened at once: you looked up his arm to Beetlejuice’s face, a decidedly evil grin began to widen his lips, and he plucked a tiny, four inch, black and white sandworm out of your date’s salad to hold it up in front of him. 

Time snapped back into proper speed as your date gasped.

Still holding the wriggling, hissing sandworm, Beetlejuice grabbed a chair from another table, swung it around so he could straddle it backwards, and plopped himself down between the two of you. He didn’t say a word to you.

He held the angry sandworm in front of your date’s face.

“This, Matt,” he said, putting an obvious tone of dislike on your date’s name. He grabbed your date by the shoulder to keep him seated, then continued like this was a nature show and he was presenting a fascinating creature. “This is a baby sandworm. Look at the little fellow! See his little stripes and blue lips? That’s because he’s poisonous. He’s warning predators off! But, interesting fact, he’s also venomous. Those teeny tiny fangs’ll inject you with venom and paralyze you so you don’t struggle as he’s swallowing you! Look how mad he is!”

Beetlejuice shoved the sandworm closer to Matt’s face, making him flinch back.

“Oh, he’s so mad you can see his secondary mouth! Usually those don’t appear until they’re older!”

The sandworm writhed and continued to hiss wildly. 

“Now. Matt. Listen,” Beetlejuice continued like this was a perfectly normal conversation, even though you could see Matt wanted to bolt. The ghost’s grip was white-knuckled tight on him. “This little guy, yeah. He’d mess you up some. Make you sick if you ate him, or if he got shoved into some bodily orifice. But he probably wouldn’t kill you.”

You imagined you almost saw a look of relief pass over Matt’s face. 

“His mother though . . .” Beetlejuice mused thoughtfully. “Sandworms are really protective of their young. This baby gets inside you and his mama is going to come looking for you, and she’s gonna be fifty solid feet long of pissed off.”

The expression of horror on Matt’s face made a small smile crack your lips. Beetlejuice grinned too.

“So Matt, what do you say? You wanna apologize to the lady for being a total d-bag and wasting her evening with your non-stop drivel and an ego that is, to be honest, even impressing me a little bit with its size? Or would you like to see how quickly little Sandy here can wriggle his way into your brain or stomach? He’d fit in an ear, I bet, and if not, definitely down your throat--”

Matt managed to wrench himself away from the grip holding him in his seat. He stood up so fast his chair tipped over as he backed away. That caught the attention of the other patrons, but your date didn’t care. He stumbled through some creative, cussing descriptions of you, Beetlejuice, and the whole situation, his voice growing louder as he continued. 

Restaurant staff began converging on the table. You were mortified but felt a little surge of warmth that Beetlejuice hadn’t abandoned you. Beetlejuice’s expression was a mixture of amused and bored. Matt’s voice rose until the ghost stood up abruptly and grabbed him again.

“Apologize,” he ordered, “and don’t even think of contacting her again.”

Being held with the still hissing sandworm dangerously close to his face, Matt choked out an apology to you. Beetlejuice released him, dusted Matt’s jacket off, and gave him a slight shove.

By then the restaurant’s manager had arrived. Matt, since he wasn’t restrained any longer, continued to swear, trying to describe what just happened to him, talking about the sandworm and being accosted and this establishment going to be shut down--

--he was escorted from the premises.

Before anyone could turn their attention to you and the ghost poorly imitating one of their wait staff, you and Beetlejuice hurried out the door as well. 

Outside, you threw your arms around his neck. “Thank you! You don’t know how much it means to me that you did that!”

Beetlejuice pursed his lips like he was a little disgusted with himself for coming to your rescue, but the quick kiss you planted on him erased the expression.

“Are sandworms really protective of their young?” you asked. “Is one really going to come looking for that baby?”

“Hell no!” he scoffed. The tiny sandworm he still pinched between his fingers had calmed down a little. That, or it was tired from all the activity. “They give birth and then its every one of them for themselves! If the babies don’t bury themselves quick enough, the mother eats them! Nasty little buggers.”

“Ugh,” you agreed. “Well, get rid of it, then. And I owe you big time.”

At that, Beetlejuice looked you straight in the eye and leered. “I’m going to keep you to your word on that, baby.”

He offered you an arm, so you hooked your hand through his elbow, and the two of you left for home. 

fin . . .? 

[talldarkandroguesome]

18th of Last Seed, Tirdas

Tel and I spent a rather lazy day around the inn. Well, after Tel ran around and did their morning exercises. I did my morning prayers.

We had a good meal and I insisted that Tel got dressed up nicely. I slipped some new paint brushes and pigments into their set while they went out for their run. I had purchased them while they were forced to try on some doublets yesterday evening.

After we were dressed in finery I took Tel around a tour of the city, promising a wonderful spot for them to paint. The cliffs to the Western side of the city look out over the sea, with blue sand crabs and ships pulling into the sea. Netches float gracefully over the hills that face the fortified walls of the city. Then the black volcanic slopes of the mountains rise further west into the clouds. It is a common spot for young lovers to share a romantic sunset on account of the view. So I thought it a perfect spot for Tel to spend the afternoon and be far away from my personal errand.

We took the short ride to the cliff, passing a small herd of wild guar along the way. We had started to set up when I made a remark that I had neglected to bring along a proper meal. So I told Tel to wait there and took the carriage back into town, tipping the driver well. I told him it would take me a while to get what I needed for a meal, but she insisted that should I want a ride back, she would provide one.

So I slipped into the baker’s, perused their goods and then slipped out the sidedoor when they were helping another customer. I had overheard a complaint by Hectur of a mer named Naril, who had been caught trying to steal from Hectur. And when he had been banned from the Fish Stink, he had turned to bribing people to steal the rare bottles that Hectur often risked not just his money, but sometimes his life to procure. And with his husband busy fighting for the Pact, he cannot go on those journeys, so the rare bottles are all the more precious.

I had been told by a regular named Beek-Ja that Naril is often found skulking around the Rededication Shrine. So I had a few good drinks from my flask of strong brandy, then stumbled over towards the shrine.

I found a mer, generally fitting Naril’s description leaning back against a lamppost and looking very shifty. Something about him just felt like no one else could possibly be such a shady character.

After a while I pretended that my flask had drained and I sighed and muttered just audibly enough that I should consider going back to the tavern.

Suddenly, the mer leaned forward with a smile and greeted me. I greeted him back. He asked me if I was looking for work. I made a sound of agreement and he told me how lucky we were, for he had a business deal. He needed something procured. I told him that if the coin was good, I would be ready to do just about anything so I could pay for a bottle and a room for the day.

That made him smile. He told me that he was looking to procure a certain bottle from the tavern by the docks. He described it and assured me that he had tried many times to purchase the bottle for a client, but that the barkeep would not sell. He seemed to insinuate that there was something more personal in the refusal, but gave me the specifics of what he was looking for.

He even gave me a fake bottle to sway and assured me that there was booze in it and that the wine would only be good if it could be drunk. And besides, he said, such a brute like that would not know the difference between good wine and poor.

I made a note of the fact that he seemed to think that Hectur, who traveled far and wide to sample and procure rare beverages in his spare time, would not know a good bottle, simply because he was a Nord. Such ignorance. This was definitely the proper offering to my Prince.

He told me to bring it back to him there when I was done. I told him that someone might see and suggested that we meet over in one of the homes that was abandoned and half burned down. I chose the one that is close to the cliff edge and amongst several other burnt out buildings abandoned by their owners until limber is shipped in for the rebuilding.

Naril agreed, thanking me for my discretion. I left him at once and headed down to the Fish Stink, just so that my intent would seem to be clear to him if he followed.

I leaned over  the bar while Hectur was helping another customer and whispered to him that I had found that Naril was trying to swap a fake bottle for the real, so that he could make sure to keep it more secure. We looked at the two bottles and the fake was fairly similar. I polished it up and then took the ribbon for the real bottle and swapped it with that of the fake, with Hectur’s permission. I told him that I would bring him the fake bottle like this and hopefully whoever it was trying to get Naril to steal it for them, would find Naril to be making forgeries and would teach him a lesson.

Hectur told me to come back anytime and I would have a bed on the house. I told him that I did my best to serve the people of Davon’s Watch. Particularly those who are handsome, provide good hospitality, and put on the best evening of entertainment in the city. He clapped me on the shoulder with a heavy hand and told me to save the gilded words for his patrons. We laughed and I headed to the meeting point.

Naril’s face lit up when he saw me approaching. I showed the bottle and he scrutinized it. A bit of shine, the correction of the label’s writing, and the ribbon was enough for him to reach for his coin purse.

He did not even know what hit him when I teleported behind him and drew my blade across his throat, spilling his blood on the ground. I caught the bottle before it shattered so that I could place that where I wanted.

I let him fall forward and then put a boot on his back so he could not spray my clothing with blood. Once he had been reduced to a burble and stopped trying to crawl forward, I set out three innocuous wooden cups, opened the bottle and poured them all full of the wine. I drank some from all of them so that the stains would show someone had used them. One more than the others which I sipped from. Then I summoned my shades to go running out the door through the blood in the opposite direction of where I was heading, letting a train be as it was.

I summoned my flames to burn off any last traces of blood and stopped at the shop down on the corner that sells the most amazing Shadowfen styled grilled corn and got a few ears of their blue and red corns along with their fish and bean cakes. Then I went to the shop next door to get some kwama cuttle jellies with steamed ginko nuts. I went to the shop across the street for some ash yam dumplings of a few varieties, including the Indoril dumplings with stewed lotus and guar. Finally, I reentered the bakery and got a nice selection of Nord bread and spiced vegetable spread. I came back out and the carriage driver waived me down. I was glad that the bread was still hot so that there was a plausible notion that I had to reenter the bakery once the variety I liked was done baking.

I returned to Tel and the driver helped hand down the dishes she had so carefully packed to make sure they had not toppled on the journey. I was grateful and tipped her again for her help, in addition to the fee. I assume that she saw our clothing and knew the fare would be good. It was certainly worth her while. I make sure to pay people well for their services, particularly jobs so often dismissed by those of my status. If she sought to benefit from that, so be it.

Tel took a break from their painting to share lunch with me. It was more than the both of us could eat on our own, but I had already planned to donate the rest to the Temple’s beggar fund. Tel clearly was overwhelmed by the whole thing, they had that mixed expression of thankful and anxious. Not sure what kindness worries Tel so. The carriage driver was lingering around, so I invited her to take food back to her family and instructed her to take whatever she did not take to the Temple and that I would send coin for her for doing the errand if she completed it.

That seemed to calm Tel someone. And I was honestly most pleased to be without anyone hanging around and watching us. I spoke to Tel about Davon’s Watch’s history as they painted. Then I sang songs until the day began to cool and dusk started to creep over the land.

As the sun began to sink, another couple came to watch. We did not speak to them, but we all enjoyed the beautiful colors of Azura’s blessing. When the night finally came, we could hear the couple enjoying one another’s company even with no light save the stars. With both moons being new, there was more light coming from the city than the sky. All around us, torchbugs began their blinking dance, trying to mirror the spread of stars in the sky. It was cool enough that the breeze was almost chilly. So I moved close to Tel to share our own intimacy.

Of course Tel refused to do more until we heard the couple heading back to town, their voices retreated into the night.

[apparentlynotreallyfinnish]

A Cut Above - part 1/3

Another ficlet that got out of hand. I wrote this for a prompt that specifically asked for a fluffy ficlet. I accidentally went angsty at the end so I felt like I had to write another chapter to correct the mistake. And then Mick convinced me to write a third chapter. So, here is the first part. Please, ignore the medical inaccuracies. ---

Dr. McLaughlin stood at the door of room 904 and took in a deep breath. He was tired. It had been a long shift with more than one difficult case and honestly, all he wanted was to go home, eat some greasy fast food, watch something mindless on the TV and fall asleep with his clothes on. But he still had one patient to take care for and he was fighting to keep his professional demeanor intact.

“Good evening. I’m Doctor McLaughlin. And you’re Mr. Neal, am I right?” Rhett said voice steady and calm as he stepped into the room. He’d already gotten a briefing from the nurse that had seen Mr. Neal before him. He’d apparently fallen down some stairs and cut his leg open. The nurse warned Rhett that the man seemed to be very queasy around blood. It had made Rhett sigh. He had no energy to calm down a patient who was freaking out about a few drops of blood. 

“Yes,” a small shaky voice said back.

The man was laying on the bed. He was holding his broken glasses, looking miserable. Half of his face was scraped up nastily – apparently, he’d landed on his face as well as on his knee – and his knee was covered with a haphazardly applied dressing.

The sight was something Rhett saw every day, but what he had not expected was the fact that Mr. Neal was gorgeous. His hair was styled up and the silver streaks in the dark brown hair made him look sexy and distinguished. He was fit and lean with wide shoulders and a narrow waist that was begging to be touched. His eyes were lovely shade of blue and his lips were cut for kissing. Rhett actually stopped short on the door and stared for a second before managing to gather himself.

“How are you doing?” he asked after coughing to cover up his embarrassment. He drew a stool next to the bed and sat down.

“I – I’m okay, I guess. It doesn’t hurt anymore, the nurse…” Mr. Neal mumbled and motioned towards his leg. Rhett leaned over and lifted the gauze. The man quickly looked away and his hands gripped the edge of the bed. Rhett gently examined the cut and he made some quick decisions on how to go about this.

“Yes, she numbed the area. Let’s take a look at that face before I stitch you up,” Rhett said, placing the gauze back on Mr. Neal’s leg – not that he needed to, it was more for Mr. Neal’s benefit – and scooted closer to the head of the bed. Rhett lifted his hands and took a hold of his patient’s chin turning his head slowly to examine the scrapes. It took almost all of his concentration not to think about all the other things he’d liked to do while touching his chin like this. The marks looked nasty but would heal quickly with minimal scarring. Mr. Neal stared at him, eyes wide and so blue Rhett felt like sinking into them.

“You have lovely eyes, Doctor,” Mr. Neal whispered suddenly. Rhett’s eyes shot wide and he coughed again.

“Oh, um… I’m sorry, that wasn’t…” Mr. Neal muttered and looked away. His cheeks were turning into a lovely shade of pink and Rhett’s stomach tightened. He knew what he was feeling was inappropriate. But he was only a human; it was hard to stop his body’s natural reactions. And his body couldn’t help but to naturally react to this man.

“Your face should be back to normal in no time,” Rhett said deciding not to comment on the awkwardness. Mr. Neal nodded and threw him a thankful smile before sinking his gaze down. He kept fiddling with his glasses. Rhett got out his kit and started to prep for stitches.

“You might want to look away or close your eyes for this,” Rhett said as he removed the gauze again. But instead of doing what he was told Mr. Neal propped himself up on his elbows and peeked down. He immediately went pale. Rhett cursed in his mind.

“Mr. Neal?”

Mr. Neal’s eyes flitted to the cut and the blood dripping from it and then to Rhett’s face and then to the ceiling. Then Rhett could see only the whites of his eyes and he fell down on the bed with a heavy thump. Rhett sighed. He got up and got a small towel, drenched it in cool water and wrung it to get rid of the excess. He walked back to Mr. Neal and gently brushed a few hairs from his forehead. Then he placed the cool cloth on it. His fingers hovered over his face, desperate to touch the soft looking skin of his unhurt cheek. He shook himself almost angrily. What was he thinking?! He must be extremely tired to let his mind wander like this.

He sat back down, determined to act professionally, and his hands moved quickly and without thought. He’d done this a thousand times before. Mr. Neal’s leg was stitched and bandaged before he even came to. Rhett was just putting away his things when a small whimper sounded from the bed. Rhett hurried to his side. He took Mr. Neal’s hand on his own and squeezed gently.

“Everything’s okay. You did great,” he murmured to the man as his eyes opened slowly revealing the bright blue again. His eyes flitted around, looking confused. Finally, his gaze settled on Rhett.

“Did I faint?”

“Yes, you did,” Rhett said and squeezed again. He gently patted Mr. Neal’s hand with his other one, trying to convey that it didn’t matter. “Don’t worry. It’s absolutely normal. I see it all the time.”

“Kinda embarrassing though. A grown man, fainting at the sight of blood…” Mr. Neal muttered, and his cheeks flushed red again but this time he didn’t turn his gaze away. Instead he looked straight at Rhett and smiled shyly. His eyes shone bright and the way the other side of lips quirked up was too much for Rhett’s tired – and lonely – mind. His knees buckled and he had to grab onto the bed.

“Oh my God, Doctor? Are you alright?” Mr. Neal asked sitting up on the bed. His hand had left Rhett’s and was now holding onto Rhett’s arm. His touch was like fire. It spread from Rhett’s arm and engulfed him. He drew a ragged breath and tried to get a grip but he just couldn’t tear his eyes away from Mr. Neal’s. A hush fell between them. Rhett could hear the change in Mr. Neal’s breathing; it was quickening. Finally, he was able to step back. Mr. Neal’s hand let go off him and fell limply back on the bed.

“I’m sorry. I – I…” Rhett stammered.

“Everything okay?” Mr. Neal asked, sounding concerned.

“Yes, of course. Just a long day, excuse me. The nurse will be right around to discharge you,” Rhett muttered and quickly walked out of the room. It hurt him to leave. His hand refused to let go of the handle and he had to force his muscles to release their hold. He’d never see him again. He was sure of that. Never see those blue eyes. Never hear that melodious voice. Never see that lopsided smile.

His hands were shaking and he’d never felt as embarrassed as he did right now. Unprofessional. Unethical. Unworthy. Ridiculous. He kept chastising himself all the way to the dressing rooms. He ripped the white coat off of himself and sat on the bench, sinking his face into his palms. His heart was beating out of his chest. Great, now I’m having heart palpitations. Over a dang smile. And I thought he was ridiculous for fainting at the sight of blood.

All the way home, his mind was conjuring up images of a future together with this man. A scenario after scenario filled Rhett’s mind. He tried to shake them away but they’d found their home in his mind and refused to vacate. 

Neal in Rhett’s bed, eyes still closed, enjoying the last whispers of sleep on a Sunday morning. Rhett’s hands pulling him into an embrace, making him smile that cute little smile as he chased Rhett’s lips with his own. Their bodies intertwining, slow and lazy, as sleep still held onto them but the need was greater than the pull of dreams. 

Snuggled up together in front of a fireplace somewhere up in the mountains. Neal’s cheeks still pink and shiny after a day spent on the slopes. Their hands racing to see who could get the first low moan under the blanket covering both of them.

Neal sitting on the edge of their kitchen island. His long, slim legs swinging as he sipped from a glass of wine. Rhett cooking them dinner. Offering Neal a taste of something and kissing him deeply to get his own sample. Just a normal Friday night, nothing fancy or special. Just laughter and conversation, pleasant and ordinary in the best possible way.

But the most bittersweet of them all was Neal in a suit, hair done and shoes shining, standing on an altar, smiling at Rhett, eyes shimmering with emotion as he reached for Rhett’s hand to slip a ring on his finger. Rhett got wrapped in the fantasy; he played it in his mind over and over again. He fell asleep imagining it – imagining them, spending the rest of their lives together.

[tarithenurse]

On my mind, in my soul - 11

Prompt:  Continuing the prompts from last chapter (just because I had written so much originally that it had to be split in two parts)…but I decided to chose a new song and got help from my hubby for that. Now the prompts are: “Dangerous” by Royal Deluxe, Asgard, Loki’s helmet. Pairing: Loki x Burglar!reader. Content: Swearing as usual (I think), the colour blue, a LOT of adult-only content! (avoid the itch - wrap the bitch) A/N: It’s been an absolute joy to watch the storm of demands for helmet-smut after the last chapter :) Please...if you like this chapter too, then reblog! Comment! Anything! Also...the art is obviously not made by me, because daymn!

Ready or not

Every ounce the man that drove you to temptation, Loki’s posture demands subjugation even if he must be weak still. Or maybe he isn’t? Studying the god, you notice a faint blue taint in his pale skin where raised markings are visible to any careful observer, proving that he’s putting on a show whether it’s for your benefit or not.

“I see you’ve been busy, my dear.” Moving his gaze to the golden headgear, there’s no doubt what he’s referring to. “I was…certain that chest had been locked…perhaps I was mistaken?”

His steps are careful, slow, but show no sign of strain as Loki walks to inspect the tools still lying by the chest. A hum reveals how impressed he is with what you’ve made do with, making you straighten up with ill-hidden pride. Adjusting his “crown” on your head, you consider the reflection in the mirror. Not bad. Sure, the dress is a bit odd in it’s foreign design, but the near-black purple silk that flows softly around your shape thanks to strategically placed golden ribbons. In fact, you decide, they match the horns very well. Flowy, long sleeves can easily hide the actions of your hands if needed, but that won’t be needed right now.

Turning fully towards Loki once more, you find him seated on the end of the bed. He’s been silently observing you as well, and a smirk hints that he likes the view.

“What brings you here?” you ask, crossing your arms below your bosom to push the breasts up towards the low neckline.

“These are my chambers,” the explanation is quiet, but his voice drops as he continues, “as are the contents.”

The low purr sends shivers through your body, and you know there won’t be anything you’ll refuse him even though you’re willing to play hard to get. “Is that so? I thought it was illegal to own people…at least I won’t be your slave.” ‘Cause I’m wearing the crown.

“My slave? No…you’ll attend to my needs of your own free will tonight,” he purrs deviously, “then we’ll see about the title later.”

“I may be benevolent…if you get undressed.”

Quirking and eyebrow, Loki doesn’t discuss the terms but merely waves a hand to magic his simple clothes away in a haze of gold and emerald, leaving him naked and very much at attention. Rarely one to ignore an impressive cock, your eyes are drawn to the semi-erection between the Asgardian’s thighs. Yes, you feel an aching need for it…but you want more than that, craving his touch everywhere on the skin. A hungry meeting of hot and cold. Past trails of kisses and love bites need renewing with a vigour that can only be found by those who nearly lost the way completely.

“Stroke yourself…my lord.”

He obeys without hesitation by grabbing the cock loosely, arm resting on the thigh as he sets a lazy pace without even once taking the eyes off you. Some incentive won’t go amiss. Reaching up under the dress, you find the delicate fabric of the underwear and pull it down. By the time it appears from under the skirts to pool around you ankles, Loki’s tongue is wetting his lips and his breathing has sped up. Moments later the tiny piece of clothing lands beside him on the bed.

“Move up to the headboard.”

Again, there’s no argument, and he��s rewarded by the golden sash that has held the dress tight around your waist. This one lands on the floor and is soon joined by the first layer of the dress (only leaving two more – Asgardian fashion is very different from temporary Earth-clothes). On his own, Loki has resumed the stroking but this time tighter, baring the dark cockhead each time his hand reaches the base. A bead of natural lubrication appears and is spread in a thin, glistening sheen.

This is how it's gonna be This is what you'll think of me

You pull at a few more ribbons, very slowly, before the most substantial part of the dress cascades off your shoulders. Gone are the flowy sleeves and the midnight-purple dabbled with gold, and you’re left in a thin shift in a ridiculously romantic lilac hue. You’d never have picked that yourself, but Loki approves, drinking in the vision of you.

“My dear,” the hushed longing transforms into the tell-tale purr, “had I know this would be my reward for sacrificing myself then I would not have waited so long.”

Head held high you cross the distance to the foot end of the bed. “Who says the reward is yours?”

You have to hold on to the horns perched precariously on your head as you climb onto the mattress, but as you settle down (kneeling or sitting on your heels) near Loki’s feet, it’s safe for you to occupy your hands elsewhere. Tracing every curve through the delicate fabric, you allow the god to admire what he can from afar. The pointed nipples are pinched and rolled through the almost transparent silk; waist is highlighted by broad strokes along the sides of the ribcage and across the stomach before  you roll your hips into your own palms.

A few feet away, Loki’s ragged breath is barely muted by the teeth he digs into the lower lip even though his hand has slowed. All he can do, it seems, is to hold on to whatever is near. His grasp on the Asgardian shape is failing, causing red to mingle with the normally bright colour of his iris while the blue shade reclaims his limbs by spreading from each ridge and marking.

Bunching the skirt up a bit, one of your hands disappears underneath it with a clear destination. Although the nimble movement of the fingers is nothing by a shadow underneath the rumpled fabric, you help Loki understand exactly what is happening by rolling your hips, guiding your own fingers between then slick folds. And you do nothing at all to mask the obscene sound produced each time a finger slips past the entrance to the core or the growing moans when you tease the clit.

“[Y/N]…” the god groans desperately.

“Yeah?”

Your other hand hasn’t been idle but working your breasts and nipples through the shift. Now you slide it down a thigh and begin to collect the fabric, pulling it upwards inch by inch. It’s torture for Loki. His cock is straining and leaking precum.

“Let me worship your gorgeous body.” The offer’s breathless, making you smirk at his attempt to hide the frustration.

“Don’t want to strain you,” you mumble.

Already kissing a path up his legs while trying to control the impractical headpiece, you whine as the golden horns are stolen for you. Looking up at Loki, however, you change your mind. Fuck me. Battling colours in eyes and skin takes absolutely nothing from the sight. Sex on legs? Sure. And confident, skilled temptation too. But with that thing on his head there’s no doubt in your heart that he does command you.

Straightening up on your knees, it’s a battle to pull the shift off slow enough to maintain some semblance of control. Don’t let him decide anything…else...It lands in a heap somewhere beyond the bed. Bending down to continue the path you’d started, the kisses and bites are only interrupted the few times you have to swat the impatient god’s hands away, each time earning a growl that does nothing but encourage you. You pay particularly good attention to Loki’s hipbones and sensitive area around the cock…but you don’t touch him there.

The balls get a slow lick (resulting in a tremulous gasp) before you move on up across his chest where each nipple get either a kiss of a bite, and by the time you’re indulging yourself with the neck and chiseled jaw, you’ve come to straddle Loki…but you still don’t touch his cock.

“[Y/N…]”

“Patience.”

And I'm about to make it clear It's going down like I told ya I'm the baddest mother up in here

Lips meet, tongues dance. It’s enough of a distraction that you can return a hand to your own sex, causing you to sigh into Loki’s mouth, and as cool hands caress your shoulders and back you realize just how easily the god would be able to push you over the edge.

“My pet.” Insisting arms are pulling you closer, a bigger hand nudging your to take over the sinful ministrations.

“I thin’,” you murmur through teeth pulling at his earlobe, “tha’ we’ve establi’ed I’m no’ ju’ your pet.”

Moving closer, tilting your hips is all it take to guide his throbbing cock between your slick folds until it’s glistening. A bonk from the headgear and a tremulous groan proves the effect it has on Loki. It’s all he can do, restraining himself from rutting into you, and you see the shimmer as his Asgardian shape threatens to fail.

“I wanna fuck you, Loki,” you purr, “don’t hide your perfections.”

His eyes snap open, red outside the blown blackness of lust, making you shiver with anticipation of this wilder side of him as he grows just a smidgen in all dimension while the skin takes on the Jotun characteristics that you’ve come to love.

“There we go.”

Sure, the praise makes him smile crookedly, but the expression changes to that of slack-jawed bliss the moment you begin to lower yourself onto his length. Fuuuuck. Thick, ridged, and cold, the intrusion send shiver rolling through your body and there’s no way to prevent how hard you clamp on to him with your pussy.

Slow at first, and with Loki’s hands tight on your hips for guidance, you ride the god to the verge of the first orgasm. It becomes difficult to maintain the dragging rhythm even with your hands wrapped around the horns for support until a breathy order tumbles from you lips and Loki keeps you in place while he thrusts into you. Hard and deep, the ridges seem to slide across your g-spot with a perfection you couldn’t attain on your own, and soon you’re gasping the god’s name as your cunt spasms and your womb shakes.

“Let m–“

“No!” You’re not done with him yet, raising high enough to release his cock from your hold before you collapse onto his chest. “Not yet.”

“Then allow me to taste you, m’lady.”

How can you say no to that? Rolling off of him, you barely have time to land before his tongue weaves between the shivering folds.

Shit. The moans Loki produces should be illegal, obscene in sound as he eagerly labs at you, there’s no doubt that he genuinely enjoys what he’s doing, and each satisfied hum and groan sends vibrations into your core and still-sensitive clit.

Guiding him by the horns, you bring his focus exactly where you need it. The cold might soothe the burning ache, but there’s no respite from the feverish pleasure rolling through you. A finger, then two and then three are added to the mix and this time he’s got you arching as you practically call out for him. High-pitched and ignorant of a world outside the bed.

“Lo-LoKII!”

You can feel him smile against your core. “Yes, m’lady?”

A cheeky idea pops into your head, and you smile down at his glistening face. “You’ve been so very good, my dear,” shivering subtly from the soaring ecstasy, a pleased sigh escapes you, “I’ll grant you a wish.”

Now that gets his attention. Prowling over your naked form, he reach far enough to explore your throat and jawline with his mouth before biting gently at your ear.

“A wish…” he ponders while sending new shivers down your spine, “I should like to take you on all four. My horns on your beautiful head to hold on to as I ram into your delicious quim.”

A deep kiss seals the deal, but before you turn around, he places the golden accessory on your head. Oh, it’s like that? A golden shimmer radiated like a halo around your skull and you feel the crown tighten until it fits perfectly.

“So…perfect.” Something else than lust burns in the red and black eyes as Loki takes you in.

Suddenly, he’s twisted you around and you scramble to find purchase against the intricately carved wood of the headboard as your god slams his cock deep into you, one hand digging its fingers into your butt cheek while the other grabs hold of one of the horns. The tug isn’t harsh, but it’s enough to force your head back and spine arching in a way that present your ass perfectly for him.

Gibberish. That’s all the words tumbling from your mouth are, but the moans and whimpers are easy enough to understand and they spur the man on.

You’re already keening from the impending bliss when a cold hand snakes around your hips to find the slippery folds and the tiny nerve bundle hidden away there. A few circular rubs is all it takes before you come undone, screaming silently with pleasure.

“My…qu-queennn!”

Cold and hot liquids mix within you, taking away your attention from the sharp bite on your shoulder. Moments later, the two of you have collapsed in an ungraceful heap of tangled limbs and sloppy kisses. Somehow the golden horns disappear on their own.

“I’m gonna…gonna wear that more…often,” you manage to gasp.

The arm that ensnares you and pulls you close is still blue. Big and strong and absolutely perfect like the chest you snuggle against.

“But now we sleep, my dear.”

Get ready cos here I come I'm about to come and get me some Hot as a smoking gets

[trialnerror]

Rock of Ages [Best Friend!Luke AU] CH 2

Word Count: 1741

A/N: Sorry I took forever to post, school has been getting verrrrry busy for me

Previous Chapters

Chapter 2

Getting to the front door of Luke’s house, Hayden knocked and waited for someone to answer, an unfamiliar action as she was so used to entering without notice.

While she waited, she looked around the porch noticing the absence of the small bench that she and Luke would frequent after school. The two would often do homework, talk and sometimes eat on it, greeting people that would pass by them whenever they were outside. Snapping her from her thoughts, she heard the door open and turned her attention to the stranger standing before her.

“Hey, you must be Hayden. I’m Ashton.” he spoke, smiling and extending his hand to her. Grabbing it, she shook his hand and smiled back, taking in his features. His hair was slightly wavy with some curls that were tucked away at the back of his head, a soft honey colour that complimented his eyes. Looking at his eyes, she noticed how hazel they were, with small green flecks that light up in the sun. Not to mention his smile, one that Hayden found herself smiling along with. After getting lost in his features, she shook her thoughts from her mind, responding to his introduction.

“Yeah I am” she smiled.

“Come in, Luke was too lazy to get up.” He laughed, making herself laugh along. Even his laugh is infectious, she thought. Walking in, she was greeted by two other guys along with Luke.

“I’m not lazy, I’m in the middle of a game” he responded, keeping his eyes on the screen.

“Yeah a game that you’re sucking ass at” one of the others smirked.

Pausing the game Luke put the controller down causing the other two to groan, but turn their attention on the girl standing in Luke’s living room.

“Hayden, this is Calum and Michael, and you know Ash” he said gesturing between the three other boys.

“Hey” Michael nodded and smiled, while Calum shook her hand.

“I’m Calum”

“Hayden” she smiled back shaking his hand.

“So you’re the girl that’s in all of Luke’s photos?” Michael asked, looking at Hayden as she sat down on the couch beside Calum, Ashton taking a seat on the floor.

“Yeah I guess, unless another girl came around after I left” she laughed looking to Luke who only shrugged in response, a smirk playing on his lips.

“How long did you guys know each other?” Calum asked.

“Practically since birth,” she laughed. “But I left when I was 14, and we kinda lost contact between then and now but yeah.Forever I guess. How about you guys?”

“Cal and I met in year 7 after you left, Mike came in not that long after and then we met Ash in 2011” Luke responded looking at the guys.

“I’m the only one who didn’t go to Norwest apparently.” Ashton laughed, cashing Hayden to laugh along.

“Yeah but you’re here now. You’re welcome” Michael teased, earning and eye roll from Ashton, and a confused look from Hayden.

“I found him online” Michael said, making Hayden’s confused look grow by every word. “We were looking for a drummer and found his ad and now we’re stuck with him.”

“Hey you guys didn’t have to accept me into the band. That’s on you.” Ashton spoke, pointing at the other three in a teasing manner.

“You’re in a band?” she asked, suddenly intrigued.

“Yeah, for the 8 years.” Luke spoke, a smile on his face.

“What’s your band called?”

“5 Seconds of Summer” Ashton responded, now seeing the shock on her face.

“I’ve heard you guys before, I just never thought that you’d end up making it in music. No offence.” she laughed.

“None taken, but yeah we made it. Are you a fan?” Luke asked.

“You guys are good, don’t get me wrong but I don’t listen to your stuff enough to be a fan. Sorry.” she said, now feeling bad that she didn’t know about her best friend and his career.

“That is absolutely outrageous. Luke, how could you let this “non fan” into your home?” Michael gasped, mock offence lacing every word.

“I’m sorry I didn’t know! I’ll try to become a fan to make you happy though.” She laughed, the other laughing along.

“It’s cool, but we are playing a festival in a couple of days. You should come.” Calum spoke, a soft smile on his face.

“Yeah, and who knows? Maybe we’ll convert you” Ashton laughed, Hayden smiling and how infectious his laugh truly was.

“Count me in then.” she smiled, the boys smiling back at her.

After hanging out with the four boys and learning more about the band and their close friendship with each other, Hayden felt more comfortable being back home, not only back with her best friend but earning 3 new friends in the process. The boys got up to leave one by one, not before exchanging numbers with Hayden and demanding that they hang out again (and more often according to Michael) leaving her behind with Luke.

“I’m kinda surprised you like them,” Luke chuckled, now closing the gaming system. “I didn’t think you would.”

“I do,” she smiled back, returning to her spot on the couch. “They seem pretty cool. Plus you guys are in a famous band so I might as well get my connections in now.” she laughed.

The door then opened, causing both Luke and Hayden to turn their attention to the door where Liz stood, a surprised expression on her face.

“Hey mum, guess who’s back?” Luke laughed, watching as she quickly made her way to the couch and hugged Hayden.

“Hayden! It’s been so long! How are you? How’s your parents and brothers? When did you get back?” Liz asked, causing Hayden to laugh in response.

“I’m good Mrs. Hemmings. May parents and brothers are good too and earlier today.” she smiled.

“You have to come over for dinner tonight. Consider it a welcome home dinner. And you can call me Liz now, you’re old enough that we can pass the formalities.” she laughed.

“Will do, and you really don’t have to do this for us, it’s not like we’re strangers.”

“All the more reason! Please tell them to be here for 7:30.” she smiled, making her way into the kitchen to start preparing their dinner.

After agreeing to go next door for dinner, both the Hemmings and Hastings families quickly fell back into old patterns, acting as if no one had ever left. Catching up on both the little and big things felt natural, with only the few surprises of new jobs, relationships and friendships made along the way while Luke and Hayden fell into the same pattern themselves. Once the conversation of the old times came to a close, as well as the dinner that Liz had made was finished the Hastings family bid their farewells, promising that the next get together would be once they were fully unpacked. Hayden pulled her shoes on, ready to leave after saying goodbye to most of the Hemmings clan, but was stopped at the door by none other than Luke himself.

“If you’re free tomorrow, the guys and I have to practice for the show but you can hang out with us if you want?” He asked, hoping that he would get to make up for the lost time that they had spent while she was away.

“Thanks but I have a lot of unpacking to do. Plus I didn’t wanna bother you guys while your practicing. How about a movie night? Say 8?” She asked, feeling bad for rejecting his offer but still wanting to see him the next day.

“8 it is. See you tomorrow Hastings.” He smiled, earning a smile from herself in return.

“See you tomorrow Hemmings.”

Walking into her own home, after saying goodnight to her family, Hayden made her way to her room, feeling the exhaustion course through her body due to the jet lag and long day of travelling that she had. Once she was in her room, she looked around at the boxes and realized that she had no clothes to change into for the night. After 20 minutes of searching and finding a change of clothes, she quickly changed and moved the boxes off of her bed ready for a good night sleep before a bright light distracted her. Glancing out her window to find the source, she noticed it coming from a bedside lamp in the room opposite to her own. Walking in and confirming it was in fact his room, Luke stalked over to his bedside table, placing his phone on the charging pad and stripped himself of his shirt, no notice of Hayden watching from her own room.

Hayden watched as he ran his hand through his golden hair, the curls looking softer than they did earlier that day. Thinking back to when they were younger, Hayden now noticed the big and small changes that she hadn’t before, like the shade of ocean blue that his eyes had changed compared to the sky blue that they once were. The one consistent feature of Luke was his smile, the slight tongue poke that he always did when he was excited to the full smile that he flashed when he was happy, which brought a smile to her own face. Looking back over at him, she noticed how fit he had gotten, remembering back to when the kids would tease him for his weight causing her to stick up for him.

Before she could think-or look any lower, she quickly shut the blinds, feeling the heat rushing to her cheeks as she tried to ignore the low hanging joggers that hugging his hips. Climbing into bed, Hayden pulled the sheets up, hoping that sleep would overcome her, but her mind was busy racing over the thoughts of Luke. She couldn’t ignore the fact that he was attractive, she would be stupid to deny it but she knew better than to act on anything. After 12 years of missing out, it was almost as if they were strangers and knew that it would take time for them to get back to the way they once were, but no matter how badly she would want something to happen, she knew she had to wait. That night, Hayden fell into a deep sleep, the exhaustion finally hitting her, but her thoughts only raced of the boy that lived next door.

Tag List: @roselukes @toofadedtofight @rosesarered516 @hoe4hemmo @heartbreakashton94 @calsfrontcurl @calumspeachy @dukehoods @wrappedaroundcal @mistletoemichael @plainwhiteluke @irwinkitten @hereforlukescruff @astroashtonio @catchinqcalum @irwinvalentines @biggestslutforcalum @calumhampton @angelmikeyy @hotmessmichael @curlyhairedpopstars @meloncal @heavenlyhemminqs @24kcalum @calsjackets @boytoynamedcalum @alyssarester @ssophisticated-simplicityy @mycollectionofnuts @mysteriouslycali @calteahood @notoriouslyhood @ohhmuke @lukesflaredpants @slimthicccal @ghostofch @fucking5sos @ohhmuke @thepixiedreambitch @jetblackyoungblood @red5soshockey @lashtoncurls @cosmocalum

[areyouscarletcold]

Number 8, for the wedding prompts, Coldflash?

I had far too much fun with this one.

8. “we accidentally got married in vegas oops”

*

The groan was what caused Len to stir initially. His head was throbbing and he was strangely cold, the silk sheets doing little to warm him even in July, so he shifted closer to the warmth next to him, breathing in deep. He couldn’t remember what he had been dreaming of, sleep clinging to his mind as something hard prodded his side. It had felt like a good dream, though, something he wanted to get back to, so he buried his face in the heat pressed against him, arms tightening around it as he ignored the jabs.

Aside from the headache, he didn’t mind the lazy feeling that seeped into his bones. It had been too long since he’d had time to lay in bed like this, embrace the soft heat that came from the flesh under his fingers -

“Five more minutes, Joe, please…”

Those words jarred him from the haze of sleep. Len opened his eyes and shot back, hands detaching from where they’d been wrapped around - clinging to -

“What the hell?”

Barry’s own eyes opened, confusion evident before he registered who he was staring at and yelped, scrambling backward, nearly toppling off the bed. His cheeks flared with color and if the circumstances were different, Len might’ve delighted in the sight of that pretty scarlet shade spreading down his chest. However, the fact that Barry was just as alarmed as he was brought little comfort.

“Snart - I - what?! Why are you - ?”

“I ought to ask you the same question, Barry,” he snapped. “If I’m not mistaken, you’re in my hotel room.”

He watched Barry look around the room, at the wide windows covering the wall beside the bed leading to a balcony overlooking the city, the scattered clothes on the floor (Len noted that no pants or undergarments were among them with relief and slight disappointment, which then made his nose wrinkle as he realized they both were wearing jeans) that led a suspicious path to the bathroom, the framed paintings that hung on the walls. A bottle of red wine sat on the bedside table on Barry’s side, open and half-drunk with the cork sitting on its side beside it. Len narrowed his eyes as he eyed it. He refused to believe that one bottle of wine had caused such a pounding migraine, nor a visit in his bed by goddamn Barry Allen of all people.

No, something must have happened.

Barry grimaced and sat up, running a hand through his hair as he turned back to Len. “This is your room?”

“My hotel room, yes.” He bit back a snarky comment about it being acquired through less-than-legal means. Somehow he doubted Barry would appreciate a reminder of his criminal hobbies at the moment.

“How…?”

“Don’t know.”

Barry glared at him. “What do you mean you don’t know?”

“Precisely that. Unless you’d be happy to shed some light on our…situation?” He ran his eyes down Barry’s exposed chest, lips twitching at the way the other squirmed under his watch. And he squirmed so nicely.

Barry’s squirming didn’t last more than a couple seconds, sadly; Len’s jab must have struck a nerve because his gaze grew distant. “I don’t remember anything,” Barry muttered. He frowned, his hand freezing where it remained in his tousled hair. “I can’t get drunk, how can I not remember anything from last night? Do you…?”

His words trailed off. The uncertainty that lingered caused Len’s gut to clench.

“No,” he admitted. “Aside from the headache and the hangover, it seems we’re in the same boat, Scarlet.”

“Shit.”

Shit indeed, Len thought.

“This doesn’t make any sense,” Barry insisted. “I remember running into you at the bar, talking to you - ” (more like arguing, Len wanted to say, recalling the way Barry’s face had scrunched up in mixed confusion and anger at the sight of him, his cheeks the same shade of red they were now as he leaned in, demanding to know what he was planning on stealing that night, which had made Len chuckle) “ - but after the first couple drinks, I… I don’t remember what happened.”

Len wracked his brain. He certainly remembered the meeting, the drinks that they’d shared once Len had simultaneously convinced Barry that no, he wasn’t planning on stealing anything from the gambling tourists - the wallets he’d already stolen went unmentioned - and that perhaps he ought to chill out if he was this riled up over petty theft on vacation.

(He hadn’t mentioned that he had spotted Barry and the rest of his do-gooder team an hour ago, laughing and watching one another strike out at the poker tables, Barry’s smile blinding him even when he was halfway across the room and oblivious to the attention he was attracting, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners seized something jagged and cold in his chest, causing his own lips to curl against his will).

He remembered the two of them relaxing, just a little, as they drank, remembered his tongue loosening and Barry snickering at the way he slurred his words. He remembered the man offering to walk him back - have to make sure you’re not going to steal anything, he’d teased with his hand burning warm and heavy on Len’s shoulder, a feeling that the latter would never admit to pressing into - and leaving the bar. He drew a mental blank after that.

“We left together,” Len relayed to Barry, who had begun to shift where he sat, the sheets tangled with his legs. “I remember that much. You certainly didn’t seem drunk.”

“Did we get knocked out then? Or did I?” Barry stood and paced the room. He radiated pent-up energy, nervous tension building in his shoulders.

“Given that we had time to open a bottle of wine, I highly doubt that. Not unless our captors were generous enough to leave some out for the two of us.”

Barry shot him a look. “It just doesn’t make any sense.”

Len sighed. “Are you sure you can’t get drunk, kid?”

“I was sober,” Barry insisted. Len held out his hands defensively.

“Just running through our options. Still begs the question as to why the designated driver can’t remember a thing.”

Barry’s face lit up. “Iris, Cisco, and Caitlin!”

“What about them?”

“They were there too. If they saw us leave then…” Barry massaged the back of his neck with both hands, as if feeling for a knot that hadn’t been there the night before, looking at the disarray of clothes on the floor in search of his phone. The hope in his eyes twisted deep in Len’s chest, curling contentedly around his heart. He shoved the feeling down, replacing it with an iron fist.

“And what are you going to tell them, Barry? That you woke up half-naked in bed with Captain Cold in an unfamiliar hotel room?”

Barry wasn’t impressed by his sneer. “Well, what am I supposed to say? It’s the truth! If someone knocked us out - ”

“Which is unlikely, given the wine and the shirtlessness.”

“They still need to know what happened!” Len rolled his eyes and rose from the bed.

“I’m not telling you I wanna be your dirty, little secret, Barry.” He paused to watch the man sputter at the innuendo before continuing. “If there’s a reason beyond the two of us getting drunk - or however drunk you can get with your powers - at a bar in Vegas, then there could be a more pressing matter at hand.”

That got Barry to stop combing the floor with his eyes for his phone. “What, you think a metahuman did this? That we were whammied?”

Len grimaced. He suspected Cisco was behind the origin of that term. “Well, I don’t see what else could’ve done this.”

“Are you sure you don’t remember anything else?”

“No.”

Barry averted his gaze with a scowl - though it was really more of a pout with those expressive green eyes boring a hole into the wall adjacent. The expression reminded him, oddly, of the way Lisa would beg him as a kid to spend five more minutes - just five, Lenny, I promise - on the swingset in the park down the street.

“If you’re right, then that’s all the more reason to tell them where we are.”

“I’m just saying,” Len said, his drawl coming out thick as Barry turned back to face him, his hands tightening their grip on the back of his neck. “This doesn’t paint a pretty picture.” He waved a hand between them to emphasize his point.

A gleam caught his eye as he did so, something metal on his hand, and Len paused, all other thoughts vanishing at the drop of a hat. He stared.

Barry must have done the same because a small noise escaped the other man as Len stared and stared because he had to still be asleep.

The silver ring clung to his ring finger innocently as Len’s stomach dropped to the floor with the clothes they had shed last night.

“I don’t remember getting married.” His words came out slow, careful. He faintly registered the iron fist of panic beginning to squeeze.

Barry didn’t respond.

Len glanced at the man and realized Barry was similarly preoccupied, having slid his own hands down from his neck to stare at his own fingers, his eyes wide as saucers. Len didn’t bother to hide the way his jaw dropped when he saw what Barry was staring at.

“Neither do I.” Barry’s voice came out as a squeak as he met Len’s gaze.

The ring on Barry’s hand was identical to Len’s.

Somewhere in the back of his mind through the mantra of what the fuck that was beginning to crescendo, he noted that it really was possible for the Scarlet Speedster to turn several shades darker than his moniker suggested (and he fully intended on using this knowledge to his advantage when the panic receded).

[not-reddie]

Misunderstandings.

Summary: This is based on a list of prompts that someone posted, and the basic gist of it is that “you annoyed me in class and so I threw a book at your head and now we’re in detention together and I didn’t realise how cute you were.”

Word count: 4.2k

Authors note: I really enjoyed writing this! I hope you enjoy reading it! This probably has a lot of grammatical errors and typos, so I’m sorry

Out of the corner of his eye, Richie watched as Eddie Kaspbrak’s hand shot into the air for the seventh time in five minutes. He didn’t even suppress the need to roll his eyes this time as he chewed his gum, making sure to obnoxiously smack his lips together.

It was fun to watch the small kid in the ridiculously red short shorts face get progressively redder as he tried to hide his annoyance about it.

It was a little game they played every single lesson. They liked to see who could annoy the other person the most, get them to snap the quickest. They both rather enjoyed watching the other lose their temper, and by now they had gotten pretty good at knowing how to push each other's buttons.

The feud had started freshman year when Richie had accidentally bumped into Eddie and sent him flying to the floor, books and pencils alike scattering around the room. Richie had instantly bent down to help, but Eddie was quick to slap his hands away.

“Don’t touch it!” He snapped, face red with anger and nostrils flaring. Richie’s head snapped up in surprise and he was surprised again when he got a look at the boy he had knocked over.

‘He’s cute,’ was Richie’s instant thought. He has pale skin but it complemented the freckles that were scattered along his nose well. His eyes are a lovely chocolate brown and his long floppy hair framed his face nicely.

Richie’s natural reflex was to smirk back at the smaller boy as he played it cool and nonchalant. He made sure to put on his smoothest voice when he replied with, “just trying to help, princess”

Richie watched in amusement as his face went a deeper shade of red, and his face twisted further in anger. He glared at Richie ferociously, and Richie thought that Eddie was trying to be intimidating, but thought he looked more like an angry kitten. He let out a snort as he watched Eddie scramble around on his knees, picking up his belongings and shoving them into his bag.

“Firstly, Do. NOT call me princess, and secondly, I don’t want your help. I don’t want you to touch my things, you… -you” Eddie paused and looked up at Richie to examine his appearance, thinking of what to say, before he spluttered out, “Punk! Look at you, you’re practically a walking germ. Disgusting.”

Richie’s laughter stopped short, and he stared at Eddie in shock, blinking. Ouch. It was Richie’s turn to be angry. He had clearly looked at Richie and made an assumption about him, just like everybody else did.

So what if he had to wear the same clothes a few times a week because he didn’t have many clothes. So what if his shoes were worn down and scruffy, torn so bad that they were practically falling apart? So what if his bag was a hand-me-down from Ben?

He had no right to assume Richie was ‘disgusting.’ He didn’t have any money to his name, and like hell were his parents willing to give up their booze money to get Richie some new clothes. Just because he looked a certain way, didn’t mean he wanted to. He was hoping to meet at least one person who wasn’t going to assume things about him the minute they looked at him, but apparently it wasn’t this guy.

He took in Eddie’s squeaky clean appearance and scoffed. Eddie was clearly a golden boy, wearing a fresh t-shirt and short shorts that Richie totally wasn’t checking his ass out in before. His shoes were pristine white and his bag looked brand new. The very opposite of everything that Richie was.

Richie stood up abruptly, not saying another word as he stormed to the very back of the classroom, choosing the desk that was closest to the window and slamming his bag to the floor. He didn’t bother to take out any paper or a pen, but instead chose to inspect his nails. He could think of a thousand places he would rather be right now.

Eddie apparently seemed to show no remorse as he picked up the rest of his things, pushed himself up and patted himself down. He then proceeded to pull out several baby wipes and a bottle of sanitizer and completely wipe everything down with them. It only made Richie angrier. He’s acting like Richie is some sort of homeless tramp. He then takes a seat at the very front of the classroom and takes out his things, organising them perfectly on his desk. Richie rolled his eyes and ignored him for the rest of the lesson.

So here they are, four years later, still holding grudges. He knows it’s childish, but he thinks he’s reserved the right to stay angry at Eddie. Richie had managed to land himself a job in a music store about a year ago, and had since earned himself enough money to buy a few more clothes and his most prized possession; a vintage leather jacket he found in a thrift store. It’s his baby.

Eddie had never made any attempt to apologise to Richie, and that was what fuelled Richie to do everything in his power to annoy the smaller boy. Eddie was cute, but he was a huge snob. If Eddie had of apologised, Richie’s positive that he would have tried to get him on a date a very long time ago. He’s definitely attractive, but the way he acts towards Richie completely puts him off.

“Would you stop that!” Eddie yells, snapping his whole body around to face Richie. His nostrils are flaring and Richie allows a slow, lazy smirk to overtake his face. It seemed that he was going to win the ‘who can piss off the other person more’ game today.

“I’m not doing anything,” he grins, holding his hands up in mock surrender. It only seems to make Eddie angrier.

“You know exactly what you’re doing,”

“Boys-”

“Oh yeah, and what am I doing?”

“You’re chewing loudly! And! It’s! Driving! Me! Crazy!”

“Boys-”

“Well maybe you’re just being oversensitive! No one else seems to have a problem with it!”

“God, you’re so annoying! Maybe if you actually bothered to do more than sit and stare at your nails all lesson you’d actually learn something! Do you even have the books for this class?!”

“BOYS-”

“Damn right I have the books! YEET!”

Thump.

Eddie Kaspbrak cried out in pain, and grabbed the back of his head. Richie’s eyes widened in horror. He looked at his book, which was now lying on the floor next to Eddie’s feet. Without even thinking about it, Richie had picked up his English book and thrown it straight at Eddie’s head.

Eddie was clutching his head as he stared at Richie, mouth open in shock. Had he actually just thrown his book at Eddie? Even he knew he had gone too far. Eddie looked kind of hurt, and it made Richie feel really bad. He opened his mouth to apologise but Eddie had beaten him to it.

“What the FUCK is wrong with you?!”

“RICHARD TOZIER AND EDWARD KASPBRAK!” A third voice boomed, and both boys instantly turned to look at their teacher, who looked angrier than the pair of them combined. Her left hand was on her hip and a deep scowl was etched into her face, accentuating her wrinkles. It made Richie want to laugh a little bit.

“Detention, both of you! How dare you disturb my lesson in such a way!” Both of them mumbled an apology, but Richie could help but roll his eyes, more annoyed over the fact he had detention than anything else.

Eddie Kaspbrak was the reason his detention record was so bad, really. He rarely ever got a detention that wasn’t Eddie involved. Well, except for the odd occasion when he got caught for smoking on the school premises.  He dared a glance over at Eddie, who had his head bowed down in shame. Richie was sure he was going to eye roll himself into another dimension.

Richie slowly raised his hand. Mrs Humber glanced at him and let out an elongated, exasperated sigh.

“What is it, Tozier?”

Richie smiled sheepishly, “er, can I go and get my book back?”

-

The end of the school day rolled around a lot quicker than Richie thought was necessary, and he’s seriously considering skipping detention. But then he gleefully remembers that Eddie Kaspbrak would never have the nerve to skip detention. Hell, Eddie was probably the type of kid that got to detention early.

And why on earth would he pass up the chance to wind up Eddie Kaspbrak? (It definitely wasn’t because Richie oddly wanted to spend more time with him. Nope. No sir.)

And with that in mind, there was a spring in Richie’s step as he bounced into his English classroom, bag slung over his shoulder. He was right about Eddie being there on time. Eddie was sat at his usual desk right at the front of the classroom, head hanging in shame and fiddling his thumbs nervously.

Richie guessed that Eddie had never had a detention before, and he feels a little bad. It is his fault that they’re stuck in detention together. But then again, why should he feel bad? Eddie has been nothing but a bitch to him for 4 years.

He’s ended up in numerous detentions because of Eddie. (Granted it was his own fault for overreacting at the things Eddie did, but he wouldn’t have anything to over-react to if it wasn’t for Eddie. Therefore, it is actually all Eddie’s fault)

With that in mind, he keeps his mouth firmly closed, deciding that he would simply choose to ignore Eddie instead of taunting him, and turned to walk straight to his seat at the back of the room.

“Next to Mr Kaspbrak please, Mr Tozier.” Richie stopped abruptly in his tracks, swinging himself around to face the teacher.

“Um, what?”

“I want you to sit at the front, next to Mr Kaspbrak.” Richie sighed, but he knew it wasn’t a good idea to test her patience after she was already mad at him.

“Oh, um. Sure.” He shrugged, resisting the urge to pull the chair out in a way that scraped against the floor noisily - he knew that annoyed Eddie to no end - before plonking down next to it.

“Right, well now that you’re both here, I’m going to start the clock. Your detention will end at half 4. I trust that I can leave you here to sit in silence whilst I grade papers. My office is only down the hall, so if you leave, or you talk, I will know about it.”

Eddie nodded his head as she got up, giving them one last look before she turned and walked out of the room. Richie wanted to scoff, because he knew full well that she wouldn’t be able to hear them from all the way down the hall. But if he wanted to leave, he’d have to walk out past her office where she’d definitely see him, so leaving wasn’t an option.

Richie waited a few seconds to make sure that she had actually left before pulling out his phone to text Bev. Beside him, Eddie scoffed loudly. Richie raised an eyebrow, but chose not to take the bait.

From Bevvy ol’ gal: ‘Oh my god, you threw a book at his head? Richie! Just suck his dick already, that’s a lot of a nicer way to get his attention! ’

Richie snorted and slouched back in his chair to get himself comfortable before shooting back a reply, it was going to be a long hour and a half.

To Bevvy ol’ gal: No can do, I’d probably give him all of my diseases!

From Bevvy ol’ gal: Omg Richie, you have to let that go!

“You’re not supposed to be on your phone, you know.” The voice next to him spoke up, laced with clear irritation. Richie smirked, knowing that Eddie wouldn’t be able to hold his tongue.

He didn’t even look up to Eddie as he sent a text back to Bev. “If she cared enough about her rules then she’d be sitting here to enforce them.”

Eddie huffed, but he didn’t have a reply. Richie allowed himself to be smug, because he knew Eddie knew that he had a point. Instead of entertaining Richie’s reply, he crossed his arms on the desk and put his head down, using his arms as a pillow. He closed his eyes, clearly having no intentions of arguing with Richie today.

Eventually Bev stopped responding to his texts because apparently she didn’t have the attention span to both text Richie and hang out with Ben. He shoved his phone back in his pocket after ten minutes had passed and she still hadn’t replied to him.

He sat back further in his chair and propped his feet up on the desk. He glanced at Eddie, wondering if he was going to react to it, but Eddie still had his eyes closed. His breathing was steady and calm, and Richie doesn’t think he’s ever seen Eddie look so relaxed before.

Richie can’t help but stare at him. He may not be Eddie’s biggest fan, and vice versa, but he knows an attractive person when he sees one. He lets his eyes wander over his face, tracing the small cluster of freckles across his cheeks. He has long, thick eyelashes that Richie hasn’t noticed before, and he finds it oddly attractive.

Most of all, he lets himself stare at Eddie’s lips. They’re a light shade of pink, bottom lip jutted out as it’s a bit fuller than his top lip. Richie wasn’t even that surprised to realise that he found himself wondering what Eddie’s lips would feel like pressed against his own.

“Stop staring at me,” Eddie mumbled, his eyes still closed. He sounded sleepy, and there was no heat in his tone. Richie found himself wanting to smile.

“Sorry, you just look so much like you mother. It just reminded me of how much fun I had banging her last night.”

Eddie’s eyes shot open, and he shot Richie a look of disgust. “You’re actually disgusting.”  He lifted his head up from his desk and instead propped it in his hand instead, turning to face Richie.

He had a look of curiosity in his eyes, and he had never looked at Richie like that before. It almost made him nervous, and he wanted to squirm in his seat, but he resisted, staring straight back at Eddie. He watched as a blush spread up Eddie’s neck and to his face, and much to Richie’s surprise he shyly ducked his head away.

“Why do you hate me so much?” Richie blurted out, once again not using his brain to mouth filter. Eddie’s eyes went wide in surprise, and he look at Richie with what can only be described as pure confusion.

“What? Hate you? I don't hate you! You’re the one always trying to get under my skin.” And just like that, the Eddie Kaspbrak that Richie had came to know returned. His tone was incredulous, and he sounded annoyed.

Richie found himself getting annoyed too. How on earth could Eddie forget what he had said to Richie. There was a pang in his chest as he replayed their first meeting in his mind. He hated that Eddie Kaspbrak could get to him in a way that nobody else could. If it were anybody else, he would have never bothered glancing in their direction again. But there was something about this guy stopped him from staying away.

“Only because you started it! You started all of this!” Richie’s voice was beginning to get louder, but he found he didn’t care.

“You’re kidding right? Me? How did I start this?” Eddie’s voice was getting louder too, and so was his pitch. In any other situation, Richie would have found it amusing.

“You we’re a complete jerk to me the first time we met! I tried to apologise and help but you didn’t let me! YOU SAID-” Richie abruptly cut himself off. He really didn’t want to get into this. He was going to be stuck with Eddie for another 40 minutes and he already knew that this conversation wasn’t going to end.

He looked away from Eddie and sighed, rubbing his hands over his face. Exhaustion has seeped into his bones, and suddenly he didn’t want this anymore. He didn’t want to fight with Eddie. Sure, it was fun to begin with, but now it just felt like such a waste of his time. Everything just felt ridiculous. He was always getting annoyed and left the classroom in such a bad mood because of this stupid feud they had going on. It just seems to do more damage than good. He’s not going to entertain it anymore, he decides.

“Richie… what did I say?” Eddie asks, and his voice sounds pleading. He looks over at Eddie, whose eyes have softened and he looks almost nervous. Richie is stumped with the realisation that Eddie genuinely doesn’t remember what he said to Richie all those years ago. It makes him feel even worse.

“No Eddie, it doesn’t matter. Lets just drop it.” He pulls out his phone again, just for something to do, but to his surprise Eddie genuinely grabs his wrist.

“Please?” He prods, and Richie regrets ever saying anything. Hearing Richie plead with him was a weakness that he didn’t know he had.

“It’s not a big deal,” Richie shrugs, but his nervous leg bouncing seems to contradict him. He forces himself to stop as soon as he realizes that he’s doing it. “It’s just… you told me I was disgusting.”

He looks up at Eddie, because he can’t resist not looking at Eddie, whose face is scrunched up in confusing, like he’s trying really hard to remember.

“You, err, you called me a called me a punk and a ‘walking germ. And I mean, I know my clothes are a little scruffy sometimes and I know-”

“Richie,” Eddie cuts him off softly, face lighting up in realisation. Guilt flashes over his face, and Richie is suddenly overly aware that Richie’s hand is still on his wrist.

Eddie seems unsure with what to do with himself. He's fidgeting in his seat nervously, clearly unable to stay still. He won't look Richie in the eyes, and he looks conflicted within himself. He opens his mouth several times, like he's trying to say something, but then his mouth snaps closed again. Richie stays silent as he watches him.

“Um, growing up, my mother has always been very manipulate. From a young age, she had me believe that I was sick and that everything is dirty. She drilled into my head about the dangers of life, and I began to be scared of like, everything. It wasn’t until about halfway through freshman year that i came to the realisation that all the medication she had put me on wasn’t real, a lie…” Eddie paused, taking a deep breath.

Richie saw Eddie’s eyes swimming with unshed tears, and he desperately wants to jump out of his chair and hug him. Although, he still wasn’t sure why Eddie was telling him this, but he didn’t want to interrupt whatever Eddie was going to say, so he nodded encouragingly, waiting for him to continue.

“That day I met you… I was horrible to you. But…  It wasn’t you as an individual, I was scared of touching anybody I didn’t know. I wasn’t looking at you personally and deciding that you were disgusting. I thought everything was disgusting back then. Richie, I wasn’t judging you for how you looked, and you’ve gone all these years believing that I was… and oh God, I’m so sorry-”

“Hey..” Richie grabbed his hand cutting him off. Eddie was starting to sound frantic, almost hysterical, and he wasn’t sure how to handle that. Honestly, he was feeling a little hysterical himself.

All these years, everything had just been one big misunderstanding. He could have been Eddie’s friend. Shit, maybe he could have even taken Eddie on a date and kissed him. There’s been so many missed opportunities and it’s a little overwhelming.

“Eddie, it’s okay. Really. I’m over it see?” He grins wide and cheesy to prove a point, and Eddie huffs out a laugh, a single tear falling down his cheek. Richie instinctually reaches to wipe it away, and smiles when Eddie doesn’t pull away. Eddie smiles back bashfully.

“Is it too late to like, start again? I feel so awful.” Eddie says, biting down on his lip anxiously. Richie wants to pull it out and bite down on it himself. He figures it’s too soon to actually try it on with Eddie though, and he finds that he actually wants to build up a friendship with him before anything else.

“Hi, my names Richie Tozier,” he grins, thrusting his hand out. Eddie guffaws and slaps Richie’s arm, before gently shoving it away.

“Not literally, you idiot!” he giggles, eyes shining brightly, and Richie’s heart feels ready to leap out of his chest because wow, Eddie Kaspbrak is really beautiful. Not to be dramatic, but he wants to spend the rest of his life making Eddie giggle. It’s the cutest sound he’s ever heard.

They begin chatting like old friends, telling each other about their respective lives. Eddie tells Richie about Bill and Stan, and Richie returns the favour with stories about Bev, Mike and Ben. Richie makes Eddie laugh numerous times, and they’re both surprised to realise that they have quite a lot in common.

Richie finds himself staring at Eddie’s lips constantly, like he really can’t himself from flicking his eyes down as Eddie speaks, watching his lips curve to form words. He’s never been so fascinated in a pair of lips before. He didn’t realise lips were so attractive, but then again, he found everything about Eddie attractive.

Eddie caught him do it, and he blushed bright red when he realised what Richie was looking at, but then he was looking down at Richie’s lips too, and he wants more than anything to lean over and kiss him. But he doesn’t.

Richie is in the middle of telling Eddie a funny story when they hear the clicking of heels against the hallways wooden floors and Eddie abruptly cuts off his laughter by shoving his hand in his mouth just in time for Mrs Humber to walk through the door. Richie sends him an amused grin, and Eddie has to look away so that he doesn’t start laughing.

“Alright boys, times up. You can leave now.” And with that, she turns on her heel and walks away, heels once again clicking as she retreats.

Both boys stand up, slowly collecting their things. Richie can’t believe he’s even thinking it, but for the first time in his life he feels really disappointed that he’s leaving detention. He turns away from Eddie to shrug his leather jacket back on, and when he turns to look back at Eddie, he stops dead in his tracks when he sees Eddie already looking back at him, staring intensely.

Eddie begins to move towards Richie, one step at a time. Richie feels like all the air is leaving his lungs, and he gasps for breath. Eddie stops when he reaches standing as close to Richie as he possibly can. Eddie’s head only comes up to Richie’s chest, and Richie thinks it’s adorable.

“Kiss me.” Eddie whispers, voice trembling. Richie’s almost positive that he heard that wrong, because what?

“Kiss me,” Eddie whispers again, tilting his head up as far as he can. Richie doesn’t hesitate to lean down and capture Eddie lips with his own. Eddie sighs and reaches his hands around Richie, hands playing with the curls at the nape of his neck.

Richie grins, unable to help himself, and puts his hands under Eddie’s thighs, lifting him up to sit him on the desk and moving to stand between his legs, making the angle easier for them both. Eddie squeaks in surprise but it’s soon turned into a whimper when Richie uses it an opportunity to coax his tongue into his mouth.

It’s sloppy and slow, and Eddie can’t stop giggling into Richie’s mouth, and Richie can’t stop grinning, and eventually they have to pull away because they’re not even kissing anymore, just smiling into each others mouths.

Richie feels so light and giddy, and he can’t believe how fast their relationship has turned around in such a short amount of time. He’s amazed at how quickly he can go from thinking that Eddie’s a snob to being convinced that the sun shines out of his ass. But at the same time, he’s excited to see where this is going to go.

“Hey Eds?”

“Yes, Richie?”

“Do you think maybe I could take you out some time?”

Eddie smiles widely, and Richie’s stomach erupts into butterflies “I’d love that.”

Richie grins even wider, if possible, and he can’t help but lean down and kiss Eddie once again.

[veliseraptor]

Collared, loki/grandmaster, 3.2k, a collar and a whole bunch of nsfw stuff, I’ll end up putting this up on ao3 at some point when I’m feeling less lazy

Of all the things that he’d done - or had been done to him - over the past few days, it was a little absurd that this should be making him balk. It was just...there were lines. Had to be. Weren’t there?

Loki realized his hand had risen to his throat and forced himself to pull it back down. “That is certainly an idea,” he said.

“That’s not a very enthusiastic response.” The Grandmaster sounded disappointed, and a faint chill ran down Loki’s spine. He glanced at the strip of shiny leather dangling from his fingers. “Is it the color? I just think blue brings out your eyes. I had it made just for you.”

A nervous little shiver ran down Loki’s spine. He didn’t miss that the shade of blue was a precise match for the color of the Grandmaster’s clothes. He very much doubted that was coincidental. “No,” he said. “The color is...quite nice.” He found a smile. “It’s only a bit of a first.”

“Really?” The Grandmaster sounded surprised. “That’s, ah, a little hard to believe. Really, never? Seems like someone would’ve snapped you up before now, and since you’re such a flighty little thing-”

Flighty? Loki thought indignantly.

“But hey, all the better for me, something new and exciting, right? Come on, Lo, sweetheart. For me?”

Loki licked his lips, but he knew how a question sounded when it wasn’t really a question. It was how most of the Grandmaster’s questions sounded: how about another round, hm? and do you want another drink? and what do you think about inviting someone else along?

“How could I possibly refuse when you ask like that?” Loki said, pleased by how smooth his voice sounded. The Grandmaster’s smile bloomed.

“Good answer,” he said. “I knew you wouldn’t say no. You wouldn’t say no to anything I asked, would you?”

He’d like to say he would. He’d like to say that he’d hit a limit and stop, reach the depths of the depravity he was willing to sink to and call a halt-

But he wouldn’t. He already knew he wouldn’t.

“No,” Loki said, with a quick, only slightly strained smile. The Grandmaster let out a delighted laugh.

“Clever,” he said. “Very clever. That’s what I like about you, darling. Quick-witted.” He reached out and patted Loki’s cheek. “Now. Turn around while I put this on.”

Loki turned, ignoring the prickle on the back of his neck. The Grandmaster swept his hair out of the way and leaned forward, exhaling lightly on skin; Loki inhaled quietly and he chuckled.

“You know, part of the reason I’m so surprised no one’s collared you before is because you’ve got such a nice neck. Just gorgeous. You tip your head back and just - mm. Good stuff.” Loki closed his eyes, trying not to let the murmured praise get to him, though the warm pulse that went through him warned that it might be too late for that.

He draped his arms easily over Loki’s shoulders, the collar dangling from one and the other running up his throat, urging his head back. Loki swallowed, aware that he was rigid, tense.

“Hey,” the Grandmaster murmured, resting his chin on Loki’s shoulder. “Relax.” The hand cupping Loki’s neck dropped, and a moment later it was the collar itself against his throat, pressing just hard enough to make his nerves buzz in warning. It loosened a little when the Grandmaster buckled it, but it was definitely...snug. He wasn’t going to forget what he was wearing.

“All right,” the Grandmaster said. “Turn around, let’s have a look.”

Loki turned. His face was burning, and the Grandmaster’s broke into a grin. “Oh, very nice,” he said. “Very, very nice. I was absolutely right. Come over here, you’ve got to see this.” He reached out and instead of taking Loki’s arm, hooked a finger into the loop at the front of the collar and tugged, drawing him over to a full-length mirror and then stepping out of the way. Humiliation twisted in his chest; arousal started to burn in his stomach.

He looked at himself. The collar circled his throat, a band maybe two thumb’s thickness. There was a simple silver loop at the front - for a leash, Loki recognized, with a little flip of dread - and hanging from that a tiny drop crystal that sparkled in the light of this room. It was obvious and eye-catching and Loki almost squirmed just looking at it.

“Good, right?” The Grandmaster purred behind him, sliding his arms around Loki’s waist and pulling him back, chin on Loki’s shoulder again. “I love it. Just perfect. Don’t you think?”

“Yes,” Loki said, a little weakly.

“See? Told you so.” He sounded positively smug, and Loki hated the fact that the slow burn intensified for the tone of voice.

The Grandmaster pulled back and turned him around. “You know,” he said, a slightly dark expression in his eyes that made Loki’s breath catch. “I was planning on going out. Taking you to a party, showing your new accessory off-”

Loki imagined walking into a room, meeting every eye there with the mark of his precise position blatantly on display, and felt almost dizzy. “Oh?”

“--but I think that can wait.” He pulled Loki back, though thankfully by his shoulders this time, over to one of the couches. He dropped onto it and pulled Loki down with him to sprawl gracelessly on top of him.

His fingers hooked into the collar and pulled him into a messy, wet, kiss, lazy thrusts of his tongue pressing into Loki’s mouth, insistent and implacable. Loki found himself giving in to it, leaning forward and opening his mouth in surrender. The Grandmaster’s other hand moved to the small of Loki’s back, pulling his hips forward so Loki could feel the press of his hardening cock against him, and he rocked his hips forward and down to a gratifying hum.

“Good,” he said, pulling back. “Good, I like that. I’m thinking - I’m thinking I’m going to give you something and then you’re going to let me fuck you, like this, so I can see how pretty your new collar looks. Hm? I promise I’ll be nice. You know. Unless you want me to not be nice.”

Loki’s inhale felt a little rough. “I don’t suppose I get to ask what - ‘something’ is.”

“Sure you can ask,” the Grandmaster said. His hand moved from the small of Loki’s back to press down on the bulge in his pants. “No secrets between us. Right?”

“Of course,” Loki said faintly. It was all he could do not to grind his hips into that promising hand, but he had to - maintain a little dignity.

Dignity? Some part of him thought hysterically. You think you have any dignity left?

“O-kay,” the Grandmaster said. “Good, good. Why wait, then, right? You seem a little, well. Impatient.” Another light rub of his hand and Loki just held back a groan.

“You - do that.”

“Flatterer,” he said fondly, and opened Loki’s pants, sliding his hand in. Loki shuddered and did groan, then, his face heating. The Grandmaster’s finger was still hooked in his collar. He pulled his hand out of Loki’s pants again, leaned forward. Loki kept himself from gasping as the motion pushed his cock against the Grandmaster’s stomach.

“Where is it, where is it - oh, there.” He heard the snap of a cap opening, and when his hand came back it was slick, stroking Loki’s half-hard cock, his touch skillful and incongruously gentle. He pulled Loki down again using the collar, this time to worry at his lower lip with his teeth. When he released Loki it was with a little tug. “I like this,” he said. “I can just - guide you right where I want you to go.”

Loki shuddered. “You do that anyway.”

“Sure, but this makes it easier. More fun.” He grinned, hand still working up and down Loki’s length and he rocked into it, breathing starting to come strained though it was far too slow to give any satisfaction.

As if he’d heard Loki thinking, the Grandmaster’s strokes quickened, his hand tightening to increase the friction and pumping up and down, squeezing at the base, thumb circling the head, pressing against the slit and pulling back with absolutely exquisite attention to detail. He had Loki gasping with almost embarrassing quickness, pleasurable shivers running down his spine. The Grandmaster’s other hand never left the collar, holding him in place, a constant reminder of his control that just made Loki embarrassingly hotter.

“Are you going to give it up for me?” The Grandmaster asked him, thumb running over the big vein running the length of his cock. The thumbnail of his other hand drew a faint line down Loki’s neck, above the collar.

He moaned and came, hips pumping erratically into the Grandmaster’s hand until he went limp, his slump forward halted by the grip on his collar. He could feel the Grandmaster’s erection against him, but after wiping his hand off on Loki’s stomach he seemed content to pet his thigh, just this side of grabbing his ass.

He didn’t get long to bask in the afterglow. Of course. He didn’t expect patience, not here.

“Right. Up,” the Grandmaster said with a light slap to Loki’s leg, and Loki obligingly lifted himself onto his knees. “Pants off,” he added, moving to push his own down and kick them away; Loki got rid of his with a quick gesture, not daring to get up. The Grandmaster’s hands promptly both went to his ass, squeezing, massaging, fingers of one hand skimming between and probing against his hole. Loki tensed and made himself relax.

“Easy there,” the Grandmaster said, sounding amused. “I’m not just going to - go from zero to everything right away. You know I’m nicer than that.”

Are you? Loki thought, but he made himself nod. “Of course,” he managed. The Grandmaster squeezed his ass once more and let go, pouring a generous amount of lubricant and slicking his hands. One slid between his legs, pulling his balls down so Loki hissed before moving back to push his fingers against him; the other returned to the collar, tracing the line of it with his fingers before hooking them into the metal ring again.

The Grandmaster’s finger breached him slowly, but it wasn’t exactly gentle. He was relaxed enough that it didn’t hurt but he still shuddered, body clenching reflexively before he made it relax. He pumped his hand a few times until the initial burn faded, generous enough with the lubricant that Loki flushed at the obscene, wet noise it made moving in and out. He added a second finger almost too quickly and Loki squirmed, gasped.

“Oh, don’t complain. This is nothing,” the Grandmaster said, pushing them in deeper to the second knuckle, then fully. His hand shifted, pushing against his perineum and Loki bucked, grinding down before he could stop himself. “That’s better,” the Grandmaster said, obviously pleased, and Loki’s chest warmed at the same time as his face.

“What can I say,” Loki managed, a little weakly. “You’re - not half bad with your hands.”

“Ooh, but you do have a mouth on you,” the Grandmaster said, the next shove of his fingers rough, almost like a punishment.

Loki jerked but at the same time his mouth opened wide, a warm current running through him for the hard use, and while he could rock his hips somewhat his upper body was still held steady by the Grandmaster’s controlling hold on him. He could feel his body spasming around the fingers inside him, and by the stiff length prodding against his thigh, the Grandmaster could too. And was enjoying it.

“You have a lot going for you, really,” he said, fingers spreading slowly inside him. Loki choked, spine going rigid. “Great ass. Fantastic body, just - nice and lean. Really pretty face. And so responsive. Whole package. It’s a treat, honestly.”

Loki made a faint noise, and the Grandmaster’s fingers stopped. He frowned.

“Usually people say thank you when I compliment them.”

Loki swallowed hard. “Thank - thank you,” he said.

“That’s better.” He pulled his hand out to add more lubricant, and this time they slid easily, slickly into him, pushing deeper, and Loki could feel every twitch inside him, body starting to feel almost too sensitive.

Then his fingers curled inside Loki and he made a strangled, punched-out sound, pushing back into them, body reflexively clenching down. “Right there, hm?” The Grandmaster said, and did it again, and then again, and Loki quivered at the intensity of feeling, squirming to try to find exactly the right angle-

The Grandmaster pulled his fingers out and Loki made a sharp, dismayed sound, but a moment later he slammed three back in, spreading them until Loki almost yelped, then curling them so he melted, his cock hardening again as he tried to rut against the Grandmaster’s body.

“That’s it,” he murmured, then pulled his fingers out and pressed his cock in, pulling Loki all the way onto him in one smooth thrust. Loki’s spine went rigid and his mouth opened, jerking only to meet the restraining hold on his collar holding him in place.

“I’m going to let you go,” the Grandmaster said, one hand dropping down and rubbing his thigh, squeezing just a little too hard. “Head back so I can see your gorgeous neck and I’m going to relax while you do all the work here. If you’re really good I’ll even make sure you get to come again.”

A shudder ran through Loki’s body and he bit the inside of his cheek hard, his cock giving a twitch. When the Grandmaster let him go, hand still resting on Loki’s leg, he straightened, letting his chin lift so his neck was exposed, throat bared. When he swallowed like this it pressed against the collar, not quite constricting but just on the edge of it.

He shifted his hips to get a better angle and began to move. The Grandmaster’s cock slid slickly in and out of him and Loki almost wished that there was more of a burn, that it hurt even a little rather than feeling as good as it did. Wished the heat of the Grandmaster’s eyes on him didn’t make his cock throb.

Too bad wishing didn’t get him anywhere.

The Grandmaster squeezed his leg. “Beautiful,” he said warmly. “I bet you don’t even know how good you look. Like this. Suits you, really does.” Loki felt his face warm and was sure he was flushing, and at the same time he got even harder. His body clenched down and the Grandmaster’s hips bucked up with a satisfied sound. “You like that, don’t you. Seems like you’ve been neglected, sweetheart. You should be lavished with attention. I’m going to fix that.”

Some part of Loki bent toward that, thought yes, that’s what I want, and another part sparked with dread that didn’t want to know what, exactly, the Grandmaster might mean by that.

“Faster,” the Grandmaster said, and Loki obeyed without thinking, rising and falling, his thigh muscles starting to ache. It wasn’t an easy angle and he was sure that was deliberate, but the friction was sweet and while he wasn’t going to come from this alone-

The Grandmaster slid his arm under Loki’s thigh, hitching it up, and Loki felt his finger tease against his hole.

“What do you think?” He asked, light and playful as Loki stilled. “Should I do it?”

Loki took a couple shallow breaths. “That’s - up to you, isn’t it?” He said.

“Of course it is,” the Grandmaster said, sounding satisfied. He pulled half out and pushed a single finger in along with his cock; Loki made a strangled sound for the fresh stretch and his back arched, not sure if he was trying to push back into it or pull away.

The Grandmaster’s hips twisted and he toppled Loki on his back, manhandling him onto the couch and looking down at him with an uncanny grin. Loki stared up at him, wide-eyed.

“I thought - I thought you were going to relax,” he managed.

“Changed my mind,” he said, and proceeded to fuck Loki in long, hard thrusts that felt like he was trying to hammer his way deeper with each one. His finger alongside his cock stretched Loki open until he was gasping, his legs around the Grandmaster’s waist. When he pushed a second finger in next to his cock Loki heard himself yelp but the Grandmaster didn’t slow even a moment, and for all his body was starting to protest his hips rose into every thrust, some greedy part of him demanding more.

He paused once to add more oil and Loki heard himself gasp. “Don’t stop,” he said raggedly, and almost didn’t recognize his own voice. The Grandmaster laughed.

“Say please,” he said lightly. Loki almost whined.

Don’t, some part of him thought, but he was already saying, “please.”

When he started moving again it was smoother, easier, and Loki could hear the shift in the Grandmaster’s breath that meant he was getting close. His hand groped around to the back of Loki’s neck, grabbed the back of the collar, and pulled.

His spine bent, arching off the couch, and for a moment, two moments, his air was cut off; he couldn’t swallow, couldn’t breath, the pressure on his trachea too much-

Then the Grandmaster released him and Loki felt him come, the flood of slick heat pumping into his body.

Loki squirmed, cock achingly hard. The Grandmaster pulled out of him a moment later and drew back, patting his chest.

“Right,” he said. “I gotta go, sweetheart. But I’ll see you later tonight for the games? Wear the collar.” His eyes ran slowly over Loki’s body, and Loki could imagine how he looked: flushed, dishevelled, his cock straining upwards and cum leaking out of his ass.

“You’re not - I’m-” You sound like an idiot. He felt like one, too. Slightly stupefied. It was hard to think when his cock kept throbbing with desperate, painful need.

“I didn’t make any promises,” the Grandmaster said with a smile. “You’re lucky I’m not going to make you wait until tonight.”

Loki wondered if he could do that. There were probably drugs that would manage it. And even if it was just a matter of want rather than immediate need…

He could only imagine the price he’d be paying for the privilege.

“Lucky me,” he managed, a little faintly. The Grandmaster blew a kiss in his direction.

“Don’t forget to clean up after yourself, hm?” He said cheerfully. “I like to at least start with a clean room. And you’re definitely leaking on the furniture.” Loki’s face got even hotter, but the Grandmaster just grinned, and swept out.

He dropped his head back and took himself in hand, eyes closed. The collar pressed against his throat as he swallowed.

You have lines you won’t cross? He thought, half wry and half bitter. What a silly thing to believe.

[floral-suits]

one last time - prologue

❁

okay so this is my first ever story and I'm super excited to share it with you guys, with that in mind, it’s most definitely going to be extremely terrible (I'm guessing) so try not to mind that. knowing me, I'm most likely going to forget about it / stop caring and put it on an infinite hiatus but for now I'm trying to be optimistic and that’s why I'm posting right now and trying not to look into the future and how I'll ever finish writing this.

with that said, I hope you enjoy my story and please do give your criticism / praise because god knows I need it :)

❁

It was time to leave Harry. In fact, it was past time. I had stayed with him for so long supporting him through his career, that I forgot about taking care of myself. Evidently, he seemed to have forgotten about me all the same.

That was why I had found myself packing all of my items from our shared apartment into my worn out trunk that awful sunday morning. By the time I was done, it was already four o'clock in the afternoon. Harry was supposed to be home by then, but he wasn’t, of course. I should’ve known better.  

When he did finally get home, five hours later than he claimed he would, he didn’t notice how bare the apartment seemed. He never seemed to notice anything anymore. He went straight up to our master bedroom, and it was only then that he noticed, it was only then that he sensed I was done.

When he came back down the wooden staircase, I could tell by the look in his emerald eyes that he wasn’t going to hold off the inevitable. He immediately got to the point, “Ellie, care to fill me in on why all of your stuff is gone from the closet?”

I didn’t reply at first.

“Oh, and with that could you also tell me why your shoes and coat are on?”

I gathered all of the strength I could find at that moment and looked up into his green eyes. They were no longer the warm shade that they used to be, but instead cold, a cold mask of them. Almost like his personality.

I tried to utter some words out, a parting good-bye at the most, but all that came out of my mouth was a stutter.

He narrowed his eyes slightly, “I know that you know exactly what I’m talking about, Ellie. So fucking answer.”

“I--uh, I’m leaving,” I managed to get out of my mouth in a hurry

“What the hell do you mean, you’re leaving?” Harry suddenly shouted. His deep, raspy voice resonated through the kitchen.

Hearing his pathetic response to my statement somehow boosted a newfound confidence in me.

“You fucking heard me, Harry! Don’t act innocent.”

“No, but why? Why, Ellie? What the actual fuck is wrong with you?”

“I think you know why!” my voice rose as I got more and more angry, I didn’t bother to respond to his other question.

“I obviously fucking don’t, Ellie, so why don’t you tell me, yea?” He shouted equally as loud and as hateful as I had.

“It’s because you forgot about me, Harry! You f-fucking forgot. You’re too busy going to concerts with pretty models and going on lavish vacations with the boys to realize what’s been going on with me. I haven’t been happy, Harry, and it’s because of you. Whenever you are with me, you make it clear that I’m a burden. You don’t even introduce me as your girlfriend. You don’t even sleep next to me at night anymore,” I let out angrily. It felt nice to let him know how I’d been feeling, but that didn’t stop the traitor tears from falling down my face.

The apartment had gone silent as Harry took in my words. He studied my face, his eyes suddenly softening greatly.

“Moppet-” He had started to say, but I cut him off quick. I couldn’t handle listening to his excuses, I was done with him. For good. There was no swaying my decision and I was ready to leave.

“No Harry! Don’t even. Don’t try to make some lame excuses. All I want is for you to be honest. That’s all I’ve ever wanted,” my voice quieted down as I finished the sentence.

Harry looked even more confused. “What do you mean, be honest? Ellie?” He tried.

“Be honest with me for once! Just tell me that you don’t love me anymore. Tell me you don’t want me so I can finally leave this hell.”

I could visibly tell that he had given up. He didn’t know what to say to me any longer. He didn’t know how to console me or how to try to make this better, and that’s because he couldn’t. His head fell down in defeat and his curly locks covered his face as he looked down at the floor.

“Moppet, you know I love you. You know that, right?” He questioned, still staring at his feet, unable to look me in the eyes as he had earlier.

When I didn’t reply, he looked up to me, suddenly seeming much more desperate than before.

“You-you’ve gotta know that, Ellie. You’re my princess, right? My lover!” He started spitting out meaningless words, trying to fix the mess that he was only now realizing he made.

I shook my head, and that was when I saw the tears start to pour from his eyes. This caused me to gasp.

He reached his arm out towards me, trying to initiate a hug, and I went in, knowing that this would be the last one I’d be getting.

His arms caged in around me, and he hugged me tight, tighter than he’d ever before.

I guess he also knew this would be the last time. Our last time. One last time. 

His chest felt so warm, and I felt so safe in his arms, I didn’t want to let go. But, I knew I had to. I knew that while it felt right in the moment, it wouldn’t be for long.

As I started trying to pull away, he just pulled me in closer, tighter.

“I’m so sorry, baby. So fucking sorry, I never meant to make you feel this way, you know that, flower,” He began to coo into my ear. I let him rock me back and forth in his arms, not sure if it was benefiting me or him.

I audibly gasped when I felt water run down from above me. I quickly realized that these were Harry’s tears. He never cried.

“I promise, I promise you, I never meant to hurt you, flower.”

I pulled away, just enough to look up at his teary face. He tried to smile, but he couldn’t.

“I know you didn’t Haz, it isn’t your fault,”

I reached up to him on my tip toes and pressed a light peck against his cheek before pushing my lips against his. I suddenly wanted to feel his passion, just once more.

“E-Ellie, are you sure?” He questioned me. I simply nodded.

With that, he crashed his lips against mine, hungry for my love, just as I was for his.

“I’ll make it up to you, princess. I promise I will.”

Chills ran down my spine as his hands slowly spiralled down my back to my thighs. He squeezed them lightly, a queue for me to jump.

I did as he silently told, and wrapped my legs tightly around his waist. My hands went up to his curly hair, digging into it, needing something to grasp on to.

His lips slipped away from mine, but before I could whine, they were attached to my jaw and sucking.

As he sloppily kissed down to my neck and then to my collarbone, he started to slowly move us up the staircase.

I pulled onto his hair even tighter in response to this, and he groaned heavily.

_____

He had finally gotten me up into our shared bedroom, the one that was stripped bare of all of my things.

He dropped me down onto the bed lightly, but not before muttering “I don’t deserve you, baby.”

I ignored his remark, just wanting to feel him one last time. Then I would go and it would be done.

He sat himself down next to my legs, staring intensely at them. His fingers began to trace lazy figure eights and other mindless patterns as he inched his way up. Goosebumps followed his trail, and before I knew it, his large hands were in between my thighs. 

His hands gingerly lifted up my pleated dress, revealing my dotted cotton panties. He smiled gently at the simplicity of them, and then looked up to my eyes. I gave him a nod, letting him know that he could do as he pleased with my body.

Harry carefully lifted one my legs, and then pulled down the panties slowly. I heard him mutter, “So fucking perfect,”

He moved up the bed and sat me up to help me remove my dress. As soon as the fabric was off my body, he was immediately moving, wasting no more time. Both of his huge hands grasped my breasts.

He started squeezing and massaging the both of them, kneading them in his hands through my bra. He quickly unclasped the piece of fabric and laid me down before getting himself situated atop of me. One hand grabbed a breast and his mouth went to the other, circling his tongue around my perky nipple.

He took good care of my breast and when he felt satisfied, he moved on to the next, repeating the action. I couldn’t stop the moans coming out of my throat, “Mmm-Harr--- Harry.”

“I can’t believe you ever felt you weren’t good enough for me,” He said more to himself than to me,“You’re amazing, flower.”

His gaze went up towards my eyes, where I met his being glossy and water coated, just waiting to fall again. As for me, tears were already streaming out of them, but in the moment, it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.

He gave me yet another sad smile, and then pressed a kiss to my lips. A moment later, he got off of my body to strip himself down.

I moved on to the backs of my elbows to watch him remove his clothing. He was slow in his actions, obviously not impatient like I was. He first took off his skintight jeans and then his collared shirt. 

I wasn’t able to sit still any longer to watch him remove the final article of clothing so I grabbed him quickly and pulled down his plaid boxers. He stepped out of them in a haste.

I started trying to grab his prick immediately after, wanting to satisfy him, wanting to leave him satisfied. I thought that was maybe why this had happened in the first place. Maybe that’s why I wasn’t good enough. He never did give me an answer to why.

Unfortunately, as soon as my hand started to go around him to pump it, he tore it off himself.

A frown spread over his face, “This night is for you, Ellie. I’m making it up to you, baby.”

I groaned in response, but listened nonetheless. My head fell back against the satin pillow and his hands slowly moved down to my waist.

Harry took his sweet time, as he did with just about everything. He stayed where he was, admiring my body yet again. I began to feel insecure, knowing he could see all of my blemishes. I knew my stretch marks were on display as was my slight amount pubic hair. I knew that he could see the faint freckles that dotted my skin and I knew he could see the blush spreading over my body.

He finally kneeled himself next to my hipbones, and spread my legs apart gently, so he could settle himself comfortably in between them. He started off slow and teasing,

“I missed your body, moppet.”

“Mmm,” was all I managed to reply, because his long slick digits had suddenly found their way in, and started pumping. He was oddly confident considering the fact that I was about to leave him and he knew it.

I closed my eyes, the pleasure taking over, my train of thought completely lost. His two fingers that dipped in were scissoring against my tight walls and I felt pure ecstasy in that moment alone.

Harry had suddenly stopped, of course, right when I was nearing my high, and with that I wanted to cry. Luckily, his big fingers were soon replaced with his mouth, and trust me, his mouth felt just as good.

“Oh-fuck, yes, yes Harry!” I started to mumble in a chant, feeling my orgasm approaching me quickly.

“Mm, such a good girl for me,” I felt him smirk against my clit as his tongue circled it and then nipped over a few times.

In response to the sudden bite, Harry felt my long nails scratch over his back, most likely marking him up. “Fuck, I’m so sorry I ever hurt you, baby doll.”

“It’s okay,” I said, the words leaving my mouth before I had time to think about what I had to say. I was in a different place and in that place, everything was okay. 

“I’m gonna take you, that okay flower?” Harry questioned after I came down from my high. 

I nodded lazily as he stood up to get a condom from the nightstand to our right.

I watched him as he opened the silver package and then slid the latex over himself.

Once he was ready, he once again positioned himself atop of me, our chests touching. I could feel his heart beating incredibly fast and I can only imagine mine was doing the same thing.

bum

bum

bum

With no warning, he thrusted in. Slow and deep.

A groan left my lips, it had been so long since Harry had laid by me, let alone be inside me. It was almost painful.

He squeezed his eyes tightly, I presume he was feeling the same way and a few heavy breaths left his mouth as he stayed in place.

“Give me a second, love.”

He took a big gulp and pulled out almost all the way, before thrusting in even deeper than before.

“Oh Harry!” I cried out.

“You’re too good for me, baby. I missed this so much,” He started to say, kissing all around my face as he thrusted in and out.

I felt one of his hands grab my right leg and it was soon placed upon his shoulder.

The different angle allowed Harry to hit my g-spot with no trouble and he soon started doing so with a much faster pace.

I felt him start to stiffen inside of me and I knew he was approaching his first high of the night and I was already going on my second.

“I love you baby. I love yo-- you so much,” Harry gritted his teeth as the words left his mouth.

“I love you too Harry,” I whimpered. I didn’t want to lead him on to thinking I was going to give our relationship another chance, but I couldn’t help it. What else could I have done? In the moment, it felt so incredibly right.

He soon spurted his load into the rubber and that was when I knew it was time. He slowly pulled out, throwing the condom away in the rubbish bin next to our bedside.

He laid down next to me and stroked my hair softly like he used to, “I’m never leaving you again, yea,” he said.

It was a bad idea; I knew it was a bad idea from the start to let him have his way with me one more night. But when he whispered those words, It all came crashing down.

“No, no! St-stop Harry!”

“Wha-what? Why?”

I thrashed out of his arms, unable to hear him say anything else. I couldn’t handle him talking as if we were okay, as if we would be able to get back together. We couldn’t. I knew it and so did he.

“Ellie, ” he whispered as I hastily threw on my dress and panties. He couldn’t seem to do anything but watch me with those sad eyes.

“Just… Just one more minute. One more before you’re gone.” He begged. Harry got himself out of his trance and onto his knees, begging me.  “Please, just one more minute.”

“Harry…”

His eyes were swollen and red all over again, this time a whole entire waterfall threatening to fall, not just a stream.

“Harry, I have to go. You know I do.”

He brought his hand up to my cheek, “I-is this goodbye?”

“Yes, Harry. Yes, it is.” I said despite wanting to stay with him after the night.

That was the last thing I said to him. 

[odogaronfang]

For the Botw thing, (I don’t have the game with me rn and I’m too lazy to look up the map) but I remember finding a random hot springs in the middle of a colder climate. It’s kinda near the upper left hand side of the map. I was trying to get to the shrine up there and I found it so I think it’s a good setting for something. I remember being hecka confused about it then I tried to drown some boxes because “WHY THE HECK ARE THERE BOXES UP HERE???!!! WHO ELSE EVEN COMES UP HERE??!!”

[[i’ve actually been wanting to write something for botw au involving one of the hot springs… yall read my mind sometimes i swear]]

[[hi! it got to 2000 words again. 2150.]]

The general consensus among them is that Red is, for lack of a better term, insane.

“We’ve been walking,” Blue says (or chatters, more accurately), “For two days now. Two days.”

“In the snow,” Green adds, helpfully, as if they could forget about it when they’re walking in knee-deep drifts.

Shadow, cheater that he is, has been using magic to float, and has also been subject to multiple rounds of snowballs, to keep things fair.

“I am still not quite sure what we are looking for out here.” Vio treads as lightly as he can, but even then he occasionally misses a step, sinks through the sleet and ends up with a soaked snow boot. “And I am not certain that it is wise to continue.”

Zelda nods her agreement from behind her five layers. “Really, Red, it’s too cold out here.”

Red laughs at that. “Zelda, c’mon, we used to live here!”

“It’s been years,” She says, “And I never liked the cold besides. That’s why we moved.”

“I’ve been offering you guys the fire rod we have.”

“It’s too hot,” Blue complains. She remembers all too well the burn she’d gotten the first time she’d handled one.

“Oh, the fire rod’s too hot, but the snow’s too cold. Pick one to complain about!”

“May I ask, again,” Vio cuts in, before someone can start an argument, “Where exactly we are headed?”

“It’s a surprise! I’ve told you that!”

“And how close’re we to this ‘surprise’?” Shadow asks. “I’m not even touching the snow and it’s miserable.”

“Close!”

“You’ve been saying that for five hours now.”

“I know, but I mean it this time! It’s just around back of this peak.”

And it is- but it’s also down a steeper drop of the mountain, one that they very carefully have to navigate. Red and Zelda are fish to water, make it down no problem, and Shadow cheats and just floats; the others are not so fortunate. Vio goes first, if only because he believes himself to be more sure-footed, chips away footholds in the frost with the toe of his boots and helps to guide the others down. Blue makes it okay, if a little shaken from a slip she’d had halfway down. Green falls.

It isn’t too far, and he lands in a snowdrift and hardly suffers more than a bruise, but it scares him, scares all of them more than they’d care to admit, and leaves Green shivering violently.

“It’s just around here,” Red says, more urgently, and keeps close to Green, offers the heat of the fire rod. He leads them through a break in the rock shelf into what seems an open-topped cavern, snow drifting in from above to melt on the bubbling surface of the water. “This way, c’mon!”

He skirts the pool until they make it to the back of the cavern; just an open end, they think, until Red starts walking through the water towards the wall. They look at him as though he’s crazy- he looks at them as though they’re ridiculous- and after a moment they follow.

Red sloshes through the water in front of them, guides them under a low rock and through what seems almost a tunnel, into a dead end.

The difference in temperature is immediately noticeable.

It was cold and dry outside, the steam freezing midair, but in the little cave it’s humid and comfortable and warm.

“I’d forgotten about this place,” Zelda says, peels off a scarf and a coat and sets them on a rock against the far wall, the one dry place in the secret spring.

Blue inspects the water, mistrusts the color of it. It’s a strange shade of teal, cloudy, almost opaque, and nothing like the deep blue of the oceans back at home. “What is it?”

“A hot spring.” She’s down to two layers, a record low since they’d passed Rito Village. “Geothermal activity heats the groundwater and sends it bubbling up in places like these.”

“There’s a couple,” Red adds, stripped down to his pants, and sits in the water like he’s in a hot tub. “This one’s Goflam, and there’s Sturnida and Sherfin too, I think.”

Green is fully clothed and sunk into the water up to his neck. “I like this place best. Out of everywhere.”

Blue pushes aside her skepticism, and also pushes aside Zelda to get a space in the deeper water, adds her outerwear to the growing pile and settles in. “None of these down by Lurelin,” She admits, “But we didn’t need ‘em, ‘cause the temperature never got down to negative a billion.”

“Oh, don’t be dramatic,” Red says with a roll of his eyes, and responds to her splashing in kind.

“He has a point,” Vio agrees, from his perch on the rock, “It cannot possibly be below a million.”

Shadow just shrugs. “Dunno what you’re talking about. I’ve been perfectly warm and dry the whole time.”

Vio shoves him into the water at everyone’s request, and offers his most innocent smile when Shadow glares at him from behind his soaked hair.

“Why aren’t you in,” He asks, with a certain acidity to the question, and a tone that suggests that he will be very soon, and not of his own volition.

“I would prefer not to get too wet. That is certain hypothermia.”

“We’ll dry up before we leave the springs! We can set a fire on the shore right outside here, it’s still kinda warm and it’s dry enough to catch a spark, and we can even have a hot meal before we leave!”

He’d like to be skeptical, but the promise of a hot meal is enough to satisfy him. “I am holding you to that,” He warns him, takes off what he’s willing to and finds a spot between Blue and Red.

“It’ll be the first in days.”

“Weeks, it feels like.”

“Think we could keep it hot for the trip back? Not that I’ll have to be cold or anything.”

“Perhaps if we wrap it well it may preserve heat for a day, but likely no more.”

“We could always stop for another fire.”

“Is hot food all any of you are thinking about?”

“Yes,” They all say, or some variation of it, and Red has to laugh.

“It’s a good thing none of you live in Hebra.”

“I did,” Zelda reminds him. “You’re a freak of nature. No one likes the climate here.”

“I do!”

“You also claim to enjoy Eldin Canyon’s climate.”

“I do!”

“Freak of nature,” Zelda says, as though proving a point, and makes an exaggerated gesture towards her brother.

There are murmurs of assent among them, and every single one of them gets mercilessly soaked by Red before they go.

When they do, it’s reluctantly, back outside in very little clothing to make their much anticipated hot meal, and there’s never been a fire started quicker.

Vio has the good sense to set it under an overhang, so no snow dampens the wood or their clothes, and they throw everything they have together into a potluck that could admittedly taste better (but the fact that it’s hot excuses the flavor, for the time being).

“We should rest here for the night,” Blue suggests, mostly because she has no intention of putting the fire out anytime soon.

Red is halfway to the fire with a flask of water, which she has half a mind to “accidentally” “spill” before it gets to where it’s going. “I thought you guys wanted to start back for the stable.”

“I think we want the fire,” Blue insists, and takes a defensive stance in front of the logs.

“Are you guys sure?”

He’s overruled in a 5-1 vote, so he shrugs and sets the water to boil and lays in the snow, completely comfortable.

“Red, that’s not healthy, get on a blanket at least.”

Stubbornly he settles into the drift, and bats away his sister’s hands.

“Red, you’re going to freeze.”

“It’ll be warm here in a minute.”

“Your clothes are going to get soaked again.”

“The fire’s right there.”

Zelda sighs, turns to Blue. “Blue, please tell him he’s going to freeze.”

“Red, you’re going to freeze.”

“I’m fine!”

“Can you at least get a blanket? At least that?”

“Oh, fine.” He reaches towards Vio, refuses to move. “Vio, could you get me my bedroll?”

He does, and drapes it over Red, hiding him from sight, and passes a cup of hot milk under for him.

“Red-”

“He is not here at the moment,” Vio says.

“You’re siding with him?”

“Snow makes a sufficient insulator if you are not exposed to wind. There is a fire five feet away, regardless. He is in no danger of hypothermia.”

Red shouts “Ha!”, muffled as it is by the bedroll, and pushes out an empty cup from under it. A minute later he pushes it down, exposes the top half of his face. “Can’t breathe with this on me,” He says, by way of explanation, and folds his arms behind his head. “But Vio knows.”

Zelda turns an accusing look on Vio. “You said he was in no danger.”

“I said he was in no danger of hypothermia. Freezing and suffocating are two very different things.”

“You did bury me in snow once,” Red points out, and grins at her. “When I was like, four. You said I was annoying you so you covered me up and walked off.”

“You weren’t supposed to stay in there!”

“Well, I didn’t know that, I just figured you’d come back when I was allowed to get out! The only reason I dug myself out was ‘cause I got hungry. Maybe if I hadn’t I woulda frozen to death.”

“Zelda,” Green says in a mock-gasp. “Did you really?”

“What a mean sister, leaving her poor baby brother to freeze out in the snow.” Blue scoots over to affectionately ruffle Red’s hair. “I can’t believe you.”

“‘M’not a baby,” Red complains, but Blue shushes him, patting his cheek very obnoxiously.

“This poor tiny infant boy, abandoned,” She says, ignores Red’s swatting. “Red, just a small little teeny tiny- Vio, help me out.”

“Minuscule?”

“-Minuscule baby infant-”

“Okay, Blue, we get it!”

“-All alone out in the cold bitter wild, waiting for his neglectful sister to come back for him-”

“It wasn’t like that,” Zelda argues, but she’s laughing.

“She let me try shield surfing when I was only five,” He adds, “Just sat me on it and shoved me down a hill. I was lucky I didn’t break my neck.”

“You’re just trying to get me in trouble, huh?”

“And this other time she had me build a fire all by myself, and I was, like, practically straight out of the womb-”

“You were six.”

“Only six years to my name, starting fires! And she gave me a knife to hunt with like a year later!”

“I am sorry to have to say this, but I will have to take custody of him,” Vio says, deadpan, “Clearly you are an unfit guardian for this child.”

“I’m not a child!”

“I will have to find him a foster that knows how to appropriately care for him.”

“I’ll take him,” Shadow says, and is immediately and unanimously vetoed.

“Red’s my new son,” Blue announces, pulls him up from his snow bed and cradles him dramatically against her chest, pins his arms when he tries to push away, laughing. “Everyone, Red’s my new son. And Vio can be godfather.”

“What am I?” Green asks.

“You’re the weird uncle.”

“So I’m your brother now?”

“…I take that back, weird cousin.”

“As my first decree as mother-”

“I do not think mothers issues decrees.”

“I decree that Red needs to clean his room.”

“I don’t have a room here!”

“Vio, he’s being defiant.”

“Teen angst,” Shadow suggests.

“Listen to your mother,” Vio chastises, “Tyrant though she is, you have no choice.”

“You guys are dumb,” Red snorts, shoves at Blue until she lets go and wraps himself in the bedroll. “I’m not a child. Green’s the youngest here, actually!”

“What, am I on the adoption block now?”

“I’ll be your mother too, but only ‘cause then I get to boss you around.”

“No way am I letting you do that.”

“Your children are out of line,” Shadow complains, in the best old-village-mother voice he can do. “Back in my day we sewed their mouths shut ‘til they were eighteen! Parents today, Hylia!”

“You can go to bed early, mister.”

“Blue, you’re taking this too far.”

“Do I hear back-talk?”

“For the love of Hylia-”

“That’s it, young man, you’re grounded.”

Green looks to Vio for something, but all he gets is a wry smirk and a shrug.