#so i hope that he’s enjoying his time away from this clusterfuck we call a family

[carebooks]

SO DAERON IS OUT THERE

he just could not give a single shit about the family drama, he said “nope”

[silverspleen]

@your-royal-highness-of-trash

Pulled out into TWO new posts b/c I cannot be subjecting my friends to one longpost but rather many smaller posts with the majestic read more tool. I hope this is cool.

(Context. My reply to This.)

THE GRIM HALF tw warcrimes torture it's a CoD ramble my beloved followers know it's time for me to be Unhinged on Main

I don't know if I would call Jacob Geller's video essays on Call of Duty fun. Like, they very much aren't designed to be consumed from a fandom lens. They are super intellectually engaging and enlightening but also really grim since he does absolutely talk about the real life political motivations that go into CoD as a work of art, specifically propaganda art. And talks about, you know, real war crimes done by real people in real life. I have made multiple irl friends watch them.

None of them are into FPS games so this is basically my torture I am doing to my friends as I desperately try to rationalizing enjoying Call of Duty as an adult with a functioning brain. Who notices things like, yeah. We made up a middle eastern country for this one huh lads? We made that shit up so we don't have to make any actual comments about the United States' current complicity in this whole war and terrorism thing huh? WE'RE DOING A HISTORICAL REVISIONISM ARE WE??? I wouldn't have noticed the historical revisionism without this video essay and you know what? It's super fucked up. CoD does wacko stuff all the time, both for manufactured drama and for silly propaganda reasons, and when it jumps the shark is when it's the most conventional fun I think. I think Geller is onto something where he says that the writers went into this thinking they were doing the story in the best way possible with character driven stuff - and therefore it doesn't REALLY matter where Farah is from to them, they can just make up a country because it's general backstory vibes that impact her behavior that matter, not cultural details. Also how Alex can get away with being a terrorist but in a nbd way because yeah he is one, that's what happens when you desert to a faction that literally gets classified as a terrorist organization babyyy - but sitting at a perspective completely divorced of all the political and societal nuances in real life that makes the actual manifested story have impact outside of itself. And the US government is like "hell yeah, America! more kids will think guns and soldiers are cool and great. A+ plot or whatever put more suicide bombers in it" and that's that.

Being invited to my clusterfuck of an apartment like SIT ON MY COUCH WE'RE WATCHING THE POLITICS OF COD MW 2019.

Poor Gaz is the other character besides Farah with the strongest sense of like, justice and doing "the right thing" and this man gets ALL the ethically questionable as fuck levels and I know why. It's so they can do a propaganda and show like, ok this must be a justifiable offense because the Good Guy player surrogate character can accept it. I see you! I see you CoD writers!

not CoD but always relevant - "Rationalizing Brutality: The Cultural Legacy of the Headshot"

His video essays "Who's Afraid of Modern Art" and "Judaism and Whiteness in Wolfenstein" are both personal favorites. Though I am so so biased towards his review of Dead Space 2 that's just like 40 minutes of him being like "this game rocks" because yeah, mood.

Anyway I am putting this in a box and throwing it into the ocean next post is the fun part of CoD it's shipping time this is my dichotomy this is how I must live my life.

[thecatprince]

How to say I love you without ever saying it at all

Read on AO3

Summary:  I love you. Virgil has always struggled with saying those words. Roman has been hurt by them one too many times. However some things don't need to expressed through words.

Pairings: Prinxiety

Warnings: Slight Janus and Patton negativity (Janus moreso than Patton), roman is very angsty, i think that is about it!

Authors Notes: Another Post-POF/FWSA Prinxiety fic? You’d better believe it! (This is the only thing I know how to write now aalhdjhakfjadhf) This is a little different from my usual style of writing, so I hpe you enjoy! If you like this fic then please leave a comment or reblog as that makes my day! 

---

I love you.

Virgil had always struggled with saying those words. Something about the weight of them and what they meant and implied, felt too much and tended to cause him anxiety. He opted to show his feelings instead, showing his love and care through actions, doing and saying other things that help to convey his emotions towards others.

I love you, he said as he hung out with Patton, talking about feelings and eating cookies. I love you, he said as he listened to Logan talk about the latest book he had read. I love you, he said as he sat with Roman, allowing the creative side to do his makeup and paint his nails, talking about Disney and swapping nicknames as they did so. He never said any of those things out loud, but he always felt it, and he knew they knew.

--

I love you. Roman hated those words. He had once loved them, the way they sounded, the way it provided a sense of warmth, the weight of them and how they could easily express want, comfort, support, friendship and, well, love. That was, until those words had been weaponised.

“Oh Roman, you know I love you.”

Those words were cold, slippery, smooth and hurtful. Roman knew love, one of his functions was literally romantic love, and this wasn’t it. No one who loved someone would hurt them this way, poke at their insecurities, build them up just to knock them down, use them and then leave them in the dust. To Roman, those words coming from his mouth sounding meaningless. Cold. Fake. Sharp. Those words hurt.

Roman desperately wanted to believe Patton when he said he loved him. He wanted to run into Patton’s arms, have Patton hold him while he cried, comfort him with cookies and a smile. But Patton had stood by. He had let this happen. He had moved forward, understood everything quicker than Roman, had hurt Roman and then left him behind. He wanted to believe Patton loved him, but he didn’t even say anything while Janus stood there and tore him down.

“We love you kiddo.”

“You know I love you.”

Those words, used again and again, with no real proof of any actual meaning. Roman wanted to believe them, believe that they loved him and that he was loveable, but when he heard those words all he could think about was how much they had hurt him.

Roman had sunk out and had barely made it to his room before he broke down, shaking as sobs wracked his body, feeling weak, fragile and broken. He had felt useless, worthless, wrong and hurt. He had felt more alone than ever, used, broken and left behind by everyone who had said they had loved him.

Except for Virgil.

Virgil and Roman had never really gotten along in the past, often at each other’s throats, there desires conflicting in almost every scenario. But, slowly and gradually, they grew closer. It started small, talking about neutral topics like Disney or favourite foods, teasing each other in a friendly manner, and then slowly talking about bigger issues, what they wanted, their goals in life. They started to hang out, spend hours doing each other’s makeup and watching The Nightmare Before Christmas so much they could recite it by heart. And in the midst of the chaos, the pain and the insecurity Roman was feeling, Virgil came and helped him.

Virgil had seen the signs. The way Roman put up a wall of dramatics and theatrics to hide his insecurities, the way he insulted people to drive them away, the way he made fun of things he loved to lessen the pain when others did it, the way he continuously and repeatedly got pushed down, brushed off, manipulated and made mistakes. Virgil had seen the hurt in his eyes when someone rejected an idea of his. He had seen Roman flinch whenever Janus spoke. He had seen the raw pain and heartbreak in his face when he found Roman after Janus’ acceptance, seen the broken shell of a side who was formerly strong and proud and brave.

And Virgil knew. He knew that he had to save Roman. Because he had been down that path. He had thought no one had loved him, that they didn’t care or hated him, that they didn’t need him, or were better off without him. He could see Roman going down the same path and knew it was only a matter of time before Roman was gone.

So when Virgil found Roman alone in his room, body shaking as he cried, looking broken and weak, Virgil knew he needed to try and save him. He loved Roman, and he couldn’t stand to lose him, not after they had come so far. Virgil felt a need to protect him, to hold him and save him from the pain.

I love you, he told Roman as he held him close as he cried. I love you, he said as he rubbed circles on Roman’s back, gently wiping the tears from his cheeks. I love you, he thought, as he listened to Roman talk about everything he was feeling and thinking, knowing that he was only scratching the surface and that there was so much Roman was hiding. I love you, he said as he whispered words of comfort to the broken figure in his arms, holding him as close to his chest as he could, afraid that if he let go Roman would just break apart and disappear. “I’m here for you.” I love you. “It’s okay.” I love you. “You matter to me.” I love you. “I’m not leaving you.” I love you. “You’re my hero.” I love you. “You are amazing.” I love you. “You deserve so much love and happiness.” I love you. “You matter.” I love you. “I care about you.” I love you.

Roman had eventually fallen asleep, and Virgil had stayed the night, as if needing to protect him from every invisible force that could hurt him as he slept. And he never left. Day after day he stuck by Roman’s side, helping him pick up all the broken pieces of his life, sharing all of their scariest and darkest thoughts and all of times they felt worthless, useless, unwanted, unloved. Day by day they grew closer and closer, and slowly, gradually, naturally, Virgil found himself falling in love with Roman. He had always loved Roman, ever since they had all saved him from ducking out, but this was different. Being in love with Roman was warm, gentle, sweet, welcoming and natural.

And every day he showed it. He showed it by listening to Roman bare his soul to him late at night, when things were said that couldn’t be said during daylight. He showed it through staying with Roman for every step of the way, both of them leaning on each other for support and building each other up, piece by piece. He showed it by being there for Roman through the good and the bad, listening to Roman rant about whatever Disney movie, gay cartoon show or musical he was obsessed with at that moment, and comforting him when everything was too much and he broke down crying.

But Virgil could tell that Roman never really understood how much he cared, never really let himself believe that Virgil could care for him. He could see it in the way that Roman’s expression faltered whenever Virgil smiled at him, the way he cautiously smiled back, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards slightly before returning it with a sad grin. He noticed the emotions swimming in Roman’s eyes when he looked at him, the almost raw desperateness and dimming hope, as if almost wanting to believe something but not quite letting himself do so. And every time he noticed it, it broke his heart, but he didn’t give up. He would wait as long as it took for Roman to understand how much he loved him.

And then entered Nico. And Nico, well, he was simultaneously the best and worst thing that had ever happened to Thomas. The best because Nico brought Thomas such a sheer amount of excitement and happiness into his life that he had so desperately needed after the complete clusterfuck that was the wedding/callback situation. The worst because Nico brought change and change was scary. After this point there was no turning back. They were moving forward, into uncharted territory and it scared Virgil, more than anything. Not to mention the pain that they had felt at the last heartbreak, something Virgil wanted to avoid at all costs.

But Roman had looked so heartbroken, and he had gone through so much pain and hardship already, and he was just standing there, looking devastated and resigned. Virgil knew how much Roman wanted this, how much he craved this and how much he deserved it. Because Roman did deserve it. He deserved to be heard, to have happiness, to have his desires and wants and dreams be fulfilled, without being called selfish, bad, wrong, evil. What Roman wanted mattered, and Virgil could hardly stand the way he looked in that moment.

And so Virgil did the only thing he could do. And finally – finally - Roman understood. Roman looked at Virgil, the expression of brokenness and despair he had felt seconds ago morphing into one of disbelief and shock and eventually elation. Roman smiled, truly smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling up as he let out a huff of laughter, evidently over the moon. All Virgil could do was stare as Roman transformed from the broken man he had known to the dashing, lively, passionate prince he had always been. And Virgil knew that Roman understood.

The push, for Roman. A silent I love you.

A hand on his shoulder. That look on his face. The highest of compliments.

I love you too.

----

 Thanks for reading!! Feel free to leave comments, reblogs or thoughts as that is greatly appreciated!!

[curiousconch]

Chase You/Chase Me (Pt. 7)

Part 7: Round and around we go

Catch up here: Series Masterlist

Chapter Summary: The attack in McGraw Byrne's offices reveals a deeper conspiracy that runs to the top of the law firm, which Alex pursued head on. But when the dust settles, she is forced to face the music of her own troubled mind.

Book/Pairing: Choices - Laws of Attraction / Gabe Ricci x MC (Alex Keating)

Words: 2.1k+

Rating/Warnings: Mature (16+) / themes of violence, and trauma, language. Reader discretion advised.

Disclaimer: Most of the characters as well as some dialogue belong to Pixelberry. I am merely borrowing them.

A week after, New York City

Shit. Shit. Shit.

The gunman panted as he ran through the dark and unfamiliar side streets of New York, the covering on his face not helping alleviate the sense of panic overtaking him.

His current state of mind paled in comparison with how calm he walked into the offices of that freakishly bright law firm.

The task was simple - get the phone and get out.

But when he found himself face to face with the woman who'd sent his life into a whirling clusterfuck, he didn't hesitate to pull the trigger.

He missed.

A brute of a man rammed into him right before he took a shot. Who knew corporate slaves can be combative? By then he knew he was fucked. He snatched the phone then ran.

An earlier scope of the building gave him an easy way out, but the shitty maze of the streets of the business district didn't give much of a reprieve.

I fucking hate this city.

He didn't know how long he'd been running, not until he had to stop by the dead end wall in front of him.

Blue and red flashing lights caught him in a daze, his breath heavy, realizing he was boxed in by police officers in an alley.

"Freeze!" one had shouted. "Raise your arms over your head!"

He didn't have a choice. He's not willing to die for his uncle, nor take another sentence in prison. That scumbag wasn't worth it, regardless of how many times that man tried drilling the thought into his head.

I'm tired of this shit anyway. Though I'll miss the perks.

He raised his hands, then felt his knees buckle when someone kicked him from behind, forcing him to the ground. Someone pulled the ski mask off his head, his face now exposed for everyone to see.

He was the younger, spitting image of Koenig's CEO. Except for those piercing blue eyes.

Now everyone will know, he thought. Poor uncle Peter will be burned to the stakes after he spill every single sordid detail of all the crimes Max was ordered to do.

From that pretty little celebrity in L.A., the poisoned man from Oklahoma, the researchers from Massachusetts, and all of those other victims in between.

Good thing he kept all those souvenirs. He will prove to them that he was just a pawn.

The pawn that was Maximilian Koenig Cornell.

**

A few days after, Rooftop of McGraw Byrne

Alex took another hit of nicotine from the cigarette between her fingers, standing by the edge of the fancy rooftop lounge. She exhaled a plume of smoke, the friction in her throat giving herself a temporary reprieve from her chaotic state of mind.

By the rest of the world's standards, it should have been a beautiful day. The skies above her was indigo, filled with streaks of orange from the setting sun. The peacefulness of it a far cry from the storm that was brewing inside her.

Success shouldn't feel this way. She was having a hard time basking in her recent victories.

Alex was just named junior partner this morning, after successfully taking Peter Koenig and Sadie McGraw down. Max Cornell, who turned out to be Koenig's nephew slash hitman, had confessed. He revealed who really was pulling the ropes, all in the form of well-kept call logs and text messages.

The backlash of it all reached McGraw Byrne's founding partner. The same form of proof exposed Sadie's hand on the Koenig class action suit, as well as her involvement in tipping off authorities to paint Marcus Sharpe as Aliana's murderer. The intent was to veer suspicion away from Koenig, making thousands of dollars along the way.

Alex had completely unraveled the conspiracy, with the help of Aislinn and Gigi. Beau, surprisingly, was more than participative. But it was obvious for everyone at the firm who led the crackdown, and it didn't take long for recognition to come to pass.

In everyone else's eyes, she emerged the winner.

And now, when all is said and done, there was nothing to escape to.

Alex can no longer disassociate herself from the sight of the gun barrel held by the ghost she tried to forget all these years.

The sound of applause, soured only by Martin Vanderweil's display of pain-in-the-ass arrogance, should have made her want to enjoy the fruits of her labor. Instead, here she was, wallowing with herself to be overcame by old bad habits.

What happened in the library was etched in her mind, clear as day. The memory of that close encounter with death, being brought up to life by the lack of distractions, made her shudder.

Every waking hour was consumed by the man with the haunting blue eyes that meant death. Those same eyes from the past that suffocated her for so long.

A decade spent running away from them, yet they still caught up with her.

She worked so hard not to remember, not to let it bring her down, for it not to be her end game. She's at the top of the fucking career ladder, yet why can't she still have a sense of freedom?

Everything just felt wrong. She felt out of place.

Lost in her frustrations, she didn't hear the whirring of the elevator and the approaching footsteps that followed.

"Thought I'd find you here," Gabe said, stopping inches away from her.

It took everything of her not to swivel and look at him, opting to curse at herself for how her body quickly relaxed by the softness of his voice.

The storm clouding her mind instantly dissipated, leaving her bare. Gabe's presence made the oceans within her stand still, as if awaiting to be stirred.

"Didn't want to be found," she mumbled, closing her lips on the still burning stick of nicotine. Alex struggled to keep her gaze steady at the slowly darkening skyline.

I know. Gabe wanted to say. He knew that finding her here, seeking out the comfort of isolation screamed her desire to be left alone. He had seen her internal turmoil, hiding behind the air of stoicism she projected for everyone else.

That's why he was never more determined to find her. He wanted, no, needed, to be there for her.

Gabe knew he'd been a dick to walk out from her that morning in L.A., right after he admitted what he felt for her.

But there was rarely an opportunity to make it right. Whenever there was, there was no getting through her. No matter how much he tried to reach out, to make her see that he regretted his actions that day, she wouldn't let him in.

He couldn't blame her.

Gabe told himself he'd give her time, to give her space. However, fate had other plans.

He almost lost her that night, and it was a wake up call. When he watched helplessly as Cornell aimed at her, something in him shifted. He's no longer stuck in a limbo questioning who Alex was for him, or why he constantly wanted to be near her, wanting to make everything right.

He was decided to run after her, to stay with her, no matter what. He was done chasing after dreams of the past.

Alex was his future.

"Can't get rid of me easily," he settled on that reply, leaning on the glass railing beside her.

"Really?" she quipped sardonically. "I honestly didn't take you to be the staying type."

That had to sting.

He knew he'd hurt her by leaving, so he deserved that. It wasn't enough to make his resolve waver.

"I am," he insisted. "It just takes me some time to find my footing."

She lifted a hand to him. "Don't go there, Gabe. Just don't - "

"I'm not walking away from you again, Alex," he professed.

She whirled to face him with a look of sullen resignation. "I know."

Deep down, she wanted him too. But not in the fucked-up state she was in. She needed to think, she needed to recover, she needed to get a grip on herself.

But she needed to do it alone.

"I can't deal with us now, it's just.." She sighed. "Everything else that's happened is too overwhelming."

Gabe deflated.

It was the first time he heard her admit defeat. He's gotten used to seeing her fighting every step of the way, that finding her in this state of hopelessness felt alien to him. His chest tightened, hating himself on taking part of what pushed her to breaking point.

"I need to take a step back from everything, Gabe," she said, almost begging. "That includes you."

"What do you mean?"

"Can I to take some time off?" she pleaded, wrapping herself in her own arms. "I have to hit pause for now."

"For how long, Alex?" Gabe's voice was strained. She just made it clear that he wasn't what she needed.

Still he hoped. So he held his breath.

Alex thought quietly for a few moments, before looking back at him in determination. He found a semblance of the Alex he knew.

"A couple of weeks," she answered with a tone of finality.

He didn't want to. But in his heart of hearts, he had to respect her decision. He understood that even the strongest needed to heal. Even the brave Alex Keating.

"I'll arrange it," he relented, closing his fists at his sides to stop himself from reaching out to her. "Anything else?"

She hesitated, biting her lower lip before she continued. "Actually, there is one more thing."

"What is it?" Gabe watched intently as she raised her head to look at him, her mouth curved into that familiar signature smirk that he'd grown to chase after.

"Will you wait for me?"

As per her usual modus operandi, Alex took his breath away by her unpredictability. Almost immediately, Gabe wrapped his arm around her to pull her close. He raised his free hand and let his knuckles brush against her cheek.

He smiled softly, a tad afraid that by holding her this close could break her. And yet, the effect she had on him couldn't be stopped from spilling out, as if it was what he wanted to say all along.

"I've waited my whole life for you, so what's a few more weeks?"

Alex beamed at him, relieved. "I knew you'll be up for the challenge."

"Because I care about you, Alex," he whispered.

"I care about you too."

Alex then dared to take it forward.

Before he had the chance to move away, she tiptoed and surprised him with a tender kiss on the cheek.

Gabe wasn't able to react as quickly, the contact catapulting his senses. Just as his mind plunged back to the ground, she was already walking away, the clicking of her black heels syncopating along with the beating drum inside his chest.

His sight followed her until she stood by herself in the employee elevator, her brown-eyed gaze melting him with earnest affection. As the doors shut closed, so did the heart of Gabriel Ricci.

It shut down in anticipation of her return.

**

Two months later

Mind hazy and craving for Chinese food, Gabe had asked the driver to take a quick detour.

He had just flown from Los Angeles, spending two weeks to assist on a big hotel chain M&A. He got out of LaGuardia at around 10pm, and now his jet lag and empty stomach were taking its toll on him.

The car stopped at the familiar block, and he got out of the vehicle, grabbing his suitcase. He walked the rest of the way, enjoying the craziness of New York City on a Friday night.

For a minute, it reminded him of her.

He heard rumors of her coming back, but HR had been heftily secretive on all things concerning her. With the firm fidgety over Vanderweil's recent harassment lawsuits, he erred on the safe side and didn't poke further.

It didn't take long for him to find Hoi On. Once inside, he greeted the servers in flawless Cantonese, striding straight to the counter.

As he gave his order, the kitchen crew brought out a bag of hunger-inducing takeout box. He was almost tempted to bargain for it instead of waiting for another 20 minutes. Until...

"Order complete for Alex!"

Gabe froze.

His senses were instantly filled by the familiar scent of coffee and vanilla and the echoing beat of heels hitting the floor.

There was no doubt about who was approaching the counter.

He found her standing beside him, the woman he'd missed every single day since he saw her last. The powerhouse junior partner with the easy smile and confident aura.

The woman whose return Gabe eagerly waited for.

"So," Alex began. "I take it tinsel town's fusion of cuisines can't match authentic Brooklyn takeout?" she teased, smiling at him in the same red dress she wore the first time she walked into his office.

He looked down over her - closely looking at the tiny changes in her features. Regardless, she looked more beautiful, taking note of the longer, loose tendrils of brunette hair framing her face.

"No," Gabe shook his head in amazement, his lips breaking into a lopsided grin. "Everything else couldn't compare."

She chuckled. The radiance of her laughter showed Gabe she was really back, and that she was finally ready.

"I bet they couldn't," she winked.

In an instant, Gabe's heart awoke from its slumber. It's as if it knew that this time, the wait was over.

The chase has come full circle.

Author's Notes: This may be the end of this series, but Alex & Gabe will return.

How did you find it? Let me see in your comments/reblogs! Thank you! 💖

Tag list: @adiehardfan @pixelnutrookie @starryjieun @latinagiraffe @sarcastic01lily  @spookycolorpeanut @ophrookie @suitfer @thegreentwin @mkatschoicesblog @made-of-roses @lillijill @kachrisberry @weaving-in-words @peonierose @wanderingamongthewildflowers

@choicesficwriterscreations @lawsofattractionfanfiction

[katutsukushii]

This is just a warning that while this thread is completely SFW, there are some implied NSFW moments, or some sexual jokes. When I say some I mean there’s 1 line and then 1 scene where they jokingly mention sex. That’s it.

And this is a drabble about Natsuo/Bakugou.

Shouto didn't quite understand what was going on. Or how it had even gotten to this point.

It started when he invited Katsuki and Izuku over to dinner to his place - at first, it was going as expected, Katsuki was cursing and complaining, bitching at them both.

As soon as his family had entered the room, that'd changed.

Katsuki's eyes widened for a second before the insults died on the tip of his tongue. Suddenly, his gaze was downward, a blush covering his cheeks as he shuffled where he stood.

Was... was he shy?

Shouto didn't know. All he knew was that it was weird.

And Natsuo was even freaking weirder. It seemed as if his goal for the evening was to impress their guests, make them feel as if their family was happy and normal, and so he spent the entire time making jokes, laughing far too loudly and glancing towards the blond whenever he had said anything remotely entertaining. It was excruciating.

However, Katsuki seemed to enjoy it as he had huffed out a small laugh every once in a while, and every time Natsuo's grin grew wider, a healthy flush covering his cheeks.

Maybe he had had too much to drink.

Who knew. 

Either way, ever since then, Katsuki seemed adamant at spending as much time in Shouto's childhood home as possible, constantly asking to study there whenever Shouto went home for the weekend, even though they could've easily studied at the dorms during the week. Shouto, of course, accepted - he couldn't deny one of his best friends, after all.

It was good for them, anyways.

Well, maybe it was only good for Shouto because Katsuki seemed to be progressively getting worse at the subjects they were studying. Perhaps it was due to the fact that the blond vehemently refused to study in Shouto's room - "it's weird, you freak, I don't wanna go to your room" - and instead opted to study in the living room, right where Natsuo himself often spent time doing his Uni work. It was distracting.

And silly.

That is until Shouto finally realized.

Oh. Katsuki simply didn't want to be alone with him in his room because... because he had a crush on him!

That's why he'd been spending so much time with him! That's why he refused to go to his room - it was probably far too intimate, far too personal. Oh no.

Oh God.

What was Shouto supposed to do? Well, Katsuki was rather attractive - pretty in that... feral and scary sort of way. Objectively a good looking boy with his smooth skin and red eyes, nice body too.

But Shouto just couldn't see him like that. No matter how hard he tried. And he did try! He tried so hard!

Katsuki had even yelled at him and called him a creep for staring at him so much.

But he still studied with him during the weekend, despite the creepy staring.

God. Why was love so complicated? Maybe he should give it a try anyways, just to see if he would fall for him eventually.

He did love Katsuki, after all. Just... just not in that way.

Hm.

Maybe.

God, the sex would be awkward, wouldn't it?

Ugh. And so he figured he'd ask some questions, just to give Katsuki some hints.

Maybe doing so in the living room, while Natsuo was drinking some juice right behind them, wasn't the best idea. 

"Katsuki, have you ever kissed a boy?"

Right.

A bit more tact would've been in order, maybe. Cause straight away two things happened - Katsuki's face went beet red, eyes snapping over to Natsuo for a split second before he started to scream insults, and Natsuo started choking on the juice, coughing and pounding at his chest as he wheezed. He had gotten his answer, though.

After all the yelling and avoiding the notebook Katsuki was determined to use to kill him with, Shouto asked once more, "so... I'll take that as a no, then?"

"Shut the fuck up you dumbass, do your work." The blush on Katsuki's face told him all he needed to know. He barely felt Natsuo flicking the back of his head, the older boy leaning in to whisper in his ear, "dude, I don't need a wingman, shut the fuck up." Huh? The hell did that mean? He'd have to google it later. Whatever. Katsuki still wasn't making any moves, even after that. Shouto thought that maybe he didn't even want him to - he hoped they could stay just like this, without the hassle of romance. Just him and Katsuki studying, Katsuki barely paying any attention, Katsuki glancing over to the couch were Natsuo was sprawled out with headphones in his ears and some stupid video playing on his laptop with crumbs of food on his T-Shirt, Katsuki blushing whenever Natsuo offered them something to drink, Kat-

Oh.

Right.

Well, how was he supposed to know? He couldn't read his damn mind.

Anyone would've assumed he was the one Katsuki was interested in. He supposed it made sense, though. Natsuo did seem to pay a particular sort of attention to Katsuki, always brushing his hand against the small of his back, holding the door open for him when he gave him a ride back home, trying to get him to laugh. Of course Katsuki would develop some sort of affection for him. Ah. If only Natsuo liked him back. Such a shame. They would've been a lovely couple - maybe they would've even asked Shouto to be one of the best men! He had introduced them to each other, after all.

He decided the best course of action would be to confront Katsuki - talk to him about this issue until they could both figure out what to do, how they could get Natsuo to look at him that way.

“I know you wanna fuck my brother.”

Okay.

Again, some tact would’ve come in handy. 

"The fuck did you just say to me, you pervert?"

Shouto really should've been concerned by how eerily calm Katsuki seemed, maybe he even should've bolted right that second. But his self-preservation skills have never been that great - after all, his favourite pass time was trying to figure out how to piss Endeavour off. And so he simply popped another piece of chocolate in his mouth and arched a brow from where he sat on the other side of the table while Katsuki clenched his pen with a tight grip.

God, he hoped the pen wouldn't break - he couldn't be bothered to clean that mess up.

He couldn't help but notice the way Katsuki seemed to be throwing glances towards the entrance every few seconds, as if he was waiting for someone to come in.

Of course, Shouto already knew Natsuo would be home soon.

Fuck, he hoped he'd come in in time to hear this. "I said that I know you wanna fuck Natsuo. Or have him fuck you, either or. I don't really know what you're into - wait, what are you in-"

"You better stop right there if you wanna live."

"I feel like you're going to kill me no matter what I say."

"Probably."

Seconds of silence ticked by.

"... so, what are you into then?"

"That's none of your fucking business, what the fuck?"

Shouto rolled his eyes - of course he'd be uncooperative. So sensitive. "It's fine, I'll just ask Midoriya, he must have it written down in one of his notebo-"

"Huh? Wait, what the fuck?!"

"Or maybe Kirishima would know."

"Why the fuck are we talking about my sex life?!"

"Oh. Right. Cause I know you're into Natsuo, just wondering what you were gonna do about it."

Shouto watched as that shade of red that had been progressively appearing on Katsuki's cheeks suddenly bloomed all the way to the tips of his ears.

"I'm not gonna do anything, you fucking freak, what the hell is wrong wi-"

"Ah, so you do like him."

"I never said that."

"You didn't deny it either."

"Shut your whore mouth, Todoroki."

Just then, they both turned their heads towards the door as it clicked open, watching as Natsuo stepped in, carefully toeing off his shoes before placing his coat onto the hook right next to the entrance. The second he looked up, though, finally catching sight of them both, he grinned, his cheeks flushed and fingers running through his hair as if he were attempting to tame the wild strands sticking up in the air. It didn't work, of course, but Katsuki still seemed to look at him as if he'd never seen anything as beautiful, eyes sparkling and all.

Shouto wanted to throw up.

Or maybe just die.

Whichever came quicker. He watched as Natsuo stumbled into the room, foot catching on the edge of the carpet before he righted himself, that flush on his cheeks seemingly intensifying - now that was just embarrassing.

Was Shouto like that, too? He fucking hoped not. Shouto picked his pen up, about to continue writing in his notebook and ignore this whole clusterfuck when he caught sight of Katsuki.

God. The blond wasn't even looking up anymore, his gaze facing his lap as he seemed to fiddle with the sleeves of his hoodie, his entire face now entirely red as he scrunched his shoulders up, as if he were trying to hide his face.

It was almost... Cute. Pretty. 

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop himself, "do you think Katsuki is pretty, Natsuo?"

He winced at the kick to the shin Katsuki had sent his way - okay, maybe he deserved that one.

Maybe he deserved the slap on the back of his head coming from Natsuo too. "Shut the fuck up."

"The hell's wrong with you?"

Both of them spoke up at once.

Slowly, Shouto turned towards his brother, watching as the older boy's eyes widened when he saw the amused look on his face. Shouto pouted, brows furrowing in faux confusion.

"So, you don't think he's pretty, then?"

"I-I never said that."

He vaguely heard Katsuki choking on his own spit.

"He is then? Pretty?”

He could see Natsuo's jaw clenching, gaze practically screaming murder, and yet when he looked over to Katsuki - who was resolutely staring down at the floor, fingertips pressed onto his temples as he leaned onto the coffee table on his elbows - his gaze softened.

Oh. Ew. "Yeah," Natsuo spoke, Katsuki's eyes snapping over to him, "he's very pretty."

A choked sound came out of Katsuki, and all Shouto could do was grin as he turned back towards his friend. "Oh, that's good then. He thinks you're pretty too."

He moved out of the way before Katsuki could wrap his hands around his throat.

It seemed as if that moment did two things - made Katsuki want to avoid Shouto's home and never return judging by the way the studying invitations had ceased to exist and it made Natsuo absolutely fucking insufferable. 

"Oh, where's your friend?"

"Hey, no blondie today?"

"Is he okay? Is he sick? Hm, I guess I could make him some soup. If he needs a professional medical opinion tell him to call me. I can, uh, give him an examination or- oh, God, don't tell him I said that, what the fu-"

Shouto was starting to think Natsuo had a crush too, Jesus.

It wasn't until Natsuo seemed to snap that he finally realized that was actually true. The last thing he expected to see when he walked into the kitchen was Natsuo leaning back against the counter, going through Shouto's phone.

"What are you doing?"

Natsuo didn't even glance up. "Getting the number of that pretty boy you keep bringing around, the hell does it look like? Honestly, I've been waiting for you to offer it, I was gonna ask him for it but then you scared him away with your shitty social experiments. Poor thing."

"Oh," Shouto watched as his brother pocketed his own phone, locking Shouto's and placing it onto the counter before walking towards the door, "I didn't realize you liked him back."

Natsuo stared at him, mouth open wide before he groaned.

What the hell did he do now? 

"Shouto, I've been drooling over him since I met him."

"I thought that's just how you were with everyone."

"What, a nervous wreck?"

"No. Desperate for attention and pathetic."

"That was uncalled for."

"Still the truth.”

Natsuo sighed, quickly taking his phone back out before leaving the room, shaking his head on the way out.

"Good luck on your date," Shouto shouted after him. All he got in response was an exasperated groan. Whatever. Hopefully, Katsuki would stop moping around now that he finally got what he wanted.

Hm. Maybe he could get the blond to make him some cold soba.

To return the favour for being such a good - what was it again? ah - wingman. He hoped their study dates would be back on now - his grades were suffering without his friend's help.

At least both of them would stop with the shitty lovesick stares, it was starting to become gross.

Hm. Maybe he was happy for them, though. Just a little bit.

Maybe.

[ao3bronte]

when chaos reigns [the sirens come to play]

A Merman AU. (Rated T with some suggestive language.) Now on AO3!

[Prologue]

Covid-19 and covert relationships don’t exactly go hand-in-hand these days, but you really shouldn’t be touching anyone’s hands right now anyway.

…that is, unless you don’t belong to the same species.

Can Merpeople catch Covid-19? That’s debatable, but news doesn’t exactly flow freely from the depths of the South China Sea. Though we know very little about Merpeople and their ways of life, we do know that they rarely interact with humans, preferring to tear down their ships and rip apart their dams and levies in revenge for poisoning the oceans and seas with their human fossil fuels. 

But this isn’t a story about environmental politics, or Covid-19 for that matter. This is a story about love and about putting aside differences. In this tale, Marinette discovers that the term ‘scalie’ (ou écailleux, car nous sommes en France) doesn’t always refer to the commonly known adjective to describe fish skin. And Adrien, bless his heart, really does need to put on clothes when he’s not rocking a fish tail despite the fact that he’d much rather be naked (much to Marinette’s mortification). Anyway you slice it, Merpeople and humans simply aren’t supposed to be together — they’ve always been sworn enemies through and through — but no matter what alternate universe we find ourselves in, these two idiots in love will always find each other.

This is, undoubtedly, their story.

[Part 1]

It’s the beginning of March and Tom and Sabine aren’t taking any chances with this whole virus situation. Marinette seems to catch everything — illnesses, hands, the whole nine yards — and they’d already been talking about sending her down to the Cote d’Azur to spend the summer with her grandmother Gina Dupain in order to get away from Paris for a little while. The constant schoolyard bullying from Chloé Bourgeois has dragged Marinette down so many pegs that Sabine is almost relieved to see Macron call off school for the foreseeable future and books both her daughter and her husband a trip to Marseille before the entire country shuts down for good.

Marinette isn’t happy, of course, but what teen would be? Her friends are in Paris! The fashion is in Paris! She doesn’t want to stay in some sleepy little Mediterranean village where nothing ever happens! Do they even have Wi-Fi there?

It’s a valid question. Tom doesn’t actually know, but he chatters enough for the two of them as the high speed train takes them down the rails to the south of France. Marinette’s sulk lightens a little as he pulls pastry after pastry out of his luggage in the hopes of making his daughter smile just a little before dropping her off with his mother — he knows that their relationship is a little strange after Gina’s last visit to Paris but there’s nothing a little quality time together can’t fix. 

Petite Befana is one of those places you find on a postcard. Situated just on the edge of France and Italy, the fishing village’s brightly coloured houses gleam in the sunlight, peppered with lemon trees and winding alleys that seem to almost spill out into the sea. The beaches are craggy and feature small grottos and coves of underground caves that glimmer with seaglass when the sun hits them just right, hiding a pocket sized oasis here and there for the adventurous who like to explore at low tide. Gina likes it here because of the Place du Marché, but Tom often wonders as to the real reason why she’s settled in the quaint harbour after years of Eat, Pray, Loving around the entire planet after divorcing his father.

She’s certainly made friends with every woman in town by the looks of it. Along with her veritable swarm of bar-hopping friends, Tom keeps seeing a woman with pointed features and deep black hair with a violent red streak in it pop up on her Facebook page. They always seem to be in the same jazz club, not that Tom is really paying attention; if his mother wants to spend her golden years drinking negronis and dancing with her girlfriends, that’s up to her.

They disembark the train in Marseilles and take a bus to Toulon, then another bus to Petite Befana. Marinette is passed out and drooling on his shoulder by the end of it so Tom does as he always does and hauls her up like a sack of flour through the thick and winding labyrinths of cobblestone streets towards his mother’s apartment. Gina greets them once he eventually finds the place and, after tucking Marinette into the daybed in the guest bedroom, happily guzzles down the proffered beer on the terrasse overlooking the sea.

“I’ll try to come down as often as I can,” Tom assures Gina, not knowing just how bad of a clusterfuck 2020 was about to become. “I’m sure Marinette will come to appreciate all that Petite Befana has to offer.”

“I’ll take her down to the market tomorrow morning,” Gina assures him, patting her son’s beefy forearms. “There’s an older woman who sells the most beautiful fabrics and I already dusted off my old sewing machine. That should keep her busy.”

“Marinette’s never happier when there’s a project to complete,” Tom responds with relief, downing the rest of his Kronenbourg. “I bet she’ll have an entire closet full of clothes by the time the month is out.”

“And it should only take a month or two for this to blow over.” Gina jabs her thumb towards the television as the news of Covid-19 murmurs in the background amid the waves of the Med on the shore. “And then we’ll be back to normal before you know it!”

(...and we all know how that turned out.)

[Part 2]

Covid-19 affects a lot of people in a lot of different ways. Some feel stir crazy. Others enjoy the alone time. But Marinette? Well, she’s been trapped in the harbours of Petit Befana for three weeks now and our aforementioned heroine is already bored out of her skull. She’s made three dresses, four satchels and twenty two scrunchies with the leftover fabric because what else is there to do down here? Luckily, Covid-19 hasn’t quite affected Petite Befana like it has the other regions of France and Marinette is able to go outside at least...not that she wants to. 

There are more artisanal bakeries and charcuterie shops in Petite Befana than there are nightclubs and high end boutiques, which is odd for a village so beautifully situated on the coast of southeast France. Gina proudly boasts that her new home is often bypassed by the glitz and glam of Monaco; lavish superyachts and the seemingly endless stream of paparazzi prefer the glamour and uberwealth just west of their little village, leaving its sleepy inhabitants mostly alone to sell their goods to the tourists that stop by for a night on their bicycles and scooters. Marked with the Italian influences of its neighbour, Petit Befana truly is the little-known last stop on the famous Cote d’Azur which makes it an inspiring landscape for Marinette to discover…

...for all of four days. 

She’s already so over Covid-19 and, like any teenager, she’s getting more and more annoyed by the day that she can’t hang out with her friends! Why did Maman and Papa send her down here?! All she wants to do is get back to Paris and design! It’s not like there’s anything fun to do here anyway, besides play video games all day in her bedroom; the only places that offer free WiFi are closed and she can only play Animal Crossing for so long before her grandmother insists on making her get some fresh air. 

Ugh! 

Grumbling under her breath, Marinette pulls on her raincoat and stomps down the laneway from the terrasse towards the sidestreet where her grandmother’s 1920’s bastide-style home resides. From the cobbled alley, Marinette watches the colourful array of fishing boats land their day’s catch right up on the harbourfront and heads down despite the storm clouds brewing on the horizon.

“Bonjour!” A group of older men wave as she makes her way down the ancient steps, the pathway shaded by thick palms and cacti. She pauses just long enough to ask who’s winning their game of socially distanced pétanque before continuing her way through the pines towards the gravel and sand beaches that line the shore. 

The seafront is mostly boarded up, much to both Gina’s and Marinette’s disdain. Her grandmother used to spend most of her evenings at the jazz bar La Sirena with her friends, not that Marinette got to meet any of them. The lockdown shuttered pretty much everything the day after she kissed Papa goodbye and settled into her new life for the next month, but with three weeks already stretching into four, Marinette dejectedly wonders if she’ll ever see Paris again.

Passing the last brasserie on the boardwalk, Marinette leaves civilization for the long stretches of barren coastline. There’s all sorts of little inlets and grottos here and there, especially as she gets closer and closer to the Italian border. Unfortunately, it’s only April, which means it’s rainy, generally unpleasant and completely and utterly empty on the beach.

“No one to talk to, nothing to do…” Marinette sighs and tries to kick a piece of driftwood, only to miss it with her foot in true Marinette style. The faux pas — quite literally — sends her screaming and flailing her arms like an octopus on a ceiling fan as she dramatically plummets face first onto the wet, slimy gravel.

She groans and pushes herself up on her hands and knees, wincing as sea-weathered stones dig into her palms and kneecaps. Marinette is, above all, a walking disaster in every sense of the word — sometimes she wonders if the powers that be seek out to deliberately punish her with embarrassing things like this on purpose for their own amusement. 

(ಸ_ಸ … *cough* Zag *cough*)

Marinette whimpers as she wipes chunks of seaweed and brownish foam off her cheeks and chin. At least no one was around to see her fall over — thank god — but she’ll still have to do the laundry when she gets home. She’s covered in muck and little bits of oily slime that are sure to stain if she doesn’t wash it out soon. Marinette grimaces as she tries to shake it off of her hands; humans really have done a number on the seas and oceans...like, why is her front so sticky? She glances at some of the garbage on the shore as she sits on her haunches and wonders if the news has it all wrong. Maybe the merpeople taking potshots at rich people on yachts with old cans and plastic sea trash really do have the moral upper hand…

Marinette, being Marinette, would have continued to stare dazed and confused into space well into the afternoon had it not been for the impossibly shiny something or other sparkling in the grotto straight ahead.

[NEXT PART...]

[shadows-of-fate]

A bit of a dance...

‘It’ll just be a few minutes’ they said. ‘Just take us a second to wake her up’ they said. I should have known better.

It’d been an hour...maybe two since The Barghest had successfully docked in Limsa Lominsa - Osric had taken little time to gather his things before disembarking with the promise that Nhea would be along shortly. The crew just had to manage to wake her up. A simple task that apparently was more complicated than it sounded, if the amount of time he’d spent standing in the airship landing, just outside the lift to the Drowning Wench was any indication. 

He shifted his back against the wall, once again checking to make sure he had all his belongings. The one positive of the wait was that he’d been able to get a decent cup of coffee...he just hadn’t expected for one coffee to end up being about four and still no Nhea. He took a long sip from his cup, drumming his fingers against it as he lowered the container once more, carefully watching for any signs of movement from the ship. She had to wake up at some point, right?

Stepping out onto the deck of the ship, Nhea took a deep breath. The salt in the air tickled her nose and excited her senses while the sounds of the city enticed her readiness for the mission ahead. She made her way offboard to find her partner, coming up beside him with a peppy smile. "Ready to go?" The question was asked as if she hadn't just made him wait an hour or like there had been any issue leaving him at the wheel of an airship for the first time he had even tried flying. Taking one final stretch, she adjusted the small pack on her back and took note of a number of items.

Osric gave her a long look before finishing off his coffee and  gathering up his things. “Been ready for a bit. I take it you had a good nap?” He adjusted his jacket before picking up his bag, pulling it up over his shoulders before he reached for his lance. “Or at least I hope you did, we have some time to make up. I know where Summerford is, but you know what we’re looking for - lead on.”

Nhea nodded once, her hands on her hips as she took a moment to look around the crowd of Limsa. She turned back to him and offered a thumbs up. “You should have taken one, too! I’m super refreshed now.” Her legs began to carry her through the city and toward their destination, a relatively long walk but it had been nice to get through the port town she enjoyed so much. 

Having finally found their way through the gates out into the open world of La Noscea, Nhea paused and looked back to Osric. “When we get to Summerford, our best bet is to check the tavern. Get what information we can from the locals there. Our guy is a dark haired highlander, honestly….resembling Eivor.” A chuckle broke up her words, realizing that she seemed to stick around a certain type of people. “He’s got a scar that goes over his left eye, going over his eyebrow and down under his jaw. If and when you see him, you’ll know it’s him.” 

Osric hummed, slipping his hands into the pockets of his jacket as they started to walk - seeming contemplative and appearing lost in thought, though if one was paying attention they’d notice that his gaze moved from passerby to passerby, assessing each individual as the pair moved down the road. “I don’t know that Summerford has a tavern - it’s just a small farming village, afterall. Some of the local farmers may have more information than what we’re likely to find by visiting the village itself.” His eyes narrowed as the orange groves came into view. “I find it somewhat interesting that the individual you abandoned in the middle of the desert happens to resemble Eivor - but I won’t press the subject...especially -,” he nudged her gently motioning towards a small group, three men, one who’d just left the group to walk down the road, “-since it looks like your friend may be closer than we thought.” He slowed his gait, watching as the small group dispersed, but not before the tallest of the three, a dark-haired Highlander, motioned towards the road and started in the opposite direction. There were more than three...there had to be, it was simply a matter of drawing them out. He didn’t reach for his weapon yet, taking a few moments to assess the area before his gaze cut to the woman beside him. “Was that him?”

Brows furrowed as she thought about his words. Considering that she didn’t really know the area well enough, she trusted more that he knew what he was talking about when it came to their destination. “I see...well, that makes sense, I suppose.” Nhea found herself smirking slightly when Osric brought up the irony to her history with the unknown man and it’s comparison to Eivor, a chuckle following soon behind until he motioned ahead of them. Her attention turned in that direction, eyes narrowing as to try to pick out features before her body tensed ever so slightly while nodding. “That’s him, alright. So what’re you thinking?”

“Besides that this is an obvious trap?” His jaw clenched as he continued to move them forward, taking cautious steps as his eyes scanned their surroundings. “You mentioned earlier that if we lose sight of him, catching him again is going to be quite the feat - so I can draw his henchmen away and let you run after him, or you hold on tight and I see if I can get us both over what’s sure to be a clusterfuck.” He reached for his lance as two men emerged from the groves, slowly moving towards them, weapons drawn. “Your choice, but make it quick - or they’re going to make it for us.”

She blew air through her lips with a huff, her eyes bouncing from one man to another to try to make the quick decision. “I’ll go after Egil,  you take care of these suckers.” Nhea finally said with an oddly placed grin over to Osric as she readied herself to sprint between the men that approached them. While Nhea had the ability to harness magick, she had never really used it for situations where she found herself fighting. It hadn’t ever been her forte. Though with her person outfitted with daggers and a pair of chakrams, she was ever ready to take on her old buddy despite the man having near doubled her size. Arms reached to her hips, taking hold of the leather bound grips of the chakrams as she nodded to Osric once. “On your lead.”

His jaw clenched as he adjusted his hold on the lance. “When I hit the ground, you run - don’t stop, don’t turn, don’t pay any mind to the noise behind you, just keep moving. The two in front of us aren’t the ones I’m worried about. I’ll join you as soon as they’re dealt with. And Nhea?” He shifted his gaze to her, albeit briefly, as the ground around him glowed faintly, “Don’t do anything foolish - don’t think Khair or Eivor would be too happy with me if I were to let you get hurt on a ‘simple’ assignment.”

The faint glow quickly shifted to a blinding light as he leapt up into the air - disappearing from sight for one...two...three seconds before the ground shuddered as Osric landed, one of the two men impaled on the lance. The other hand been knocked off his feet and was scrambling to locate his weapon - watching as Osric kicked the corpse of the first bandit off the end of the lance, twirling the weapon overhead before settling into his fighting stance, the ground glowing faintly beneath him again. “GO - NOW!”

One leg slid just behind her, offsetting her stance to offer her just enough leverage so that when she was ready, she could spring forward. Her attention remained in front of her while Osric spoke until he called her name, allowing a brief look over to him to flash a cheesy smile and nodded. “You got it!” And with that, she waited until the precise moment when he lept upward for Nhea’s signal to kick off her back leg to sprint forward, leaving Osric behind to flurry toward her target. 

Osric glanced over his shoulder as he landed, his lance impaling the second man as it had the first. Satisfied that she was well on her way, he turned, kicking the second corpse from the end of the lance - his attention drawn back by one arrow narrowly missing his shoulder, a second finding purchase. He grunted before wincing and exhaling sharply as his eyes narrowed at the group of bandits making their way up the road. “Well then...let’s have a bit of fun, shall we?”

The patter of her feet on the ground carrying her toward the three men urged her forward even faster. She leaned forward slightly, prepared to clash with her opposition any moment though at the last second there was a bit of change in plans. Egil was in sight, it was like they locked eyes, both knowing it was high time their score was settled. But as she finally approached the group, she ducked, lowering her body swiftly as her shins kissed the ground beneath her while she slid just below the swinging attacks from the two men on either side of her. “Well well, hello Egil. Didya miss me?” She asked as the dirt settled around her and she stood to spin around as her hands released the grip on the chakrams. The metal discs spun through the air to hit one target, a slash to the back but the other having been dodged returned to her. 

A quick glance behind her to where she had left Osric allowed just enough time for the lumbering man to catch her off guard with a quick and heavy blow to the back causing the small framed Miqo’te to tumble to the ground. Though as she cried out from the initial shock, her position at least put her closer to the weapons laying nearby. Reaching to grab them, she turned onto her back to look up just in time to see the large axe come barreling down toward her. Another shift to the side allowed her just enough space to cause him to miss as she kicked her legs in the air to swing herself upward back to standing. “Now now, I know we’ve had our differences in the past but is that really how to welcome an old friend?” She asked, adjusting so that her gaze could flick between Egil and the one remaining man, at least the only one she was aware of at the time. 

“You haven’t changed a bit, Nhea. Why am I not surprised to see you? But did you really think you were going to waltz up to me without a challenge?” He asked, smirking as he lifted a hand to wave off the other man at his side and pointed between himself and Nhea. “I think you owe me something and I intend to see it done. Now.” She couldn’t help but grin, bowing to him dramatically as she took his challenge in hand. “Then let’s do this, shall we?” 

Osric growled as he pulled one of his daggers from the chest of one of his assailants. Scowling, he glanced around at the carnage - scattered bodies littering the sides of the road. What would have happened had it not been himself and Nhea walking up the road? 

It didn’t matter, they were dealt with.

He winced - the arrow that’d found his shoulder at the beginning of the attack very much still in place - he’d have to wait for an extra set of hands before trying to remove it - and turned to head in the direction he’d last seen Nhea in, moving carefully, quietly, eyes scanning the surroundings for anything that might seem out of place. His eyes narrowed as he saw the Miqo’te woman get knocked onto her back, suspicion rising as the henchman was waved off. 

Something wasn’t right. He pulled his daggers from their sheaths as he moved forward, careful not to draw any unnecessary attention.

It would have been a sight for any passerby to see, the tiny but mighty Miqo’te battling against the tank of a Highlander in a fight perhaps not of brawn but of smarts in their case. Nhea’s lithe form allowed her for quicker movements, spinning around Egil with speed in a somewhat of a dance as metal clashed from time to time. Perhaps she allowed herself to fall a bit too naive to the idea that their conflict would remain merely between the two of them. It seemed the longer they fought, the easier he was keeping up with her; learning how she moved and eventually was able to predict just the right attack to counter it, reaching out for her arm to rip her from her otherwise fluid maneuvers. 

With one quick yank, her body slammed into his own, beating the breath out of her as weapons were dropped and a tight grip now held around her. “Your ego has gotten too big for you, little brat.” His hot breath tinged her skin as she continued to fight against him but it wasn’t Egil her attention should have been kept upon solely as a figure moved through the shadows nearby, his sights set on the two while waiting for the perfect opening.

It was the shifting figure that drew Osric’s attention. Their movements were too calculated, and when they stopped they were too still. Egil was planning something, and Osric had no intention of waiting to see what it was. 

He sheathed his daggers, reaching for his lance once again as he leapt forward. The aim was to capture, not to kill, and so he used the momentum of his forward movement - slamming the lance into Egil’s head before turning and shielding Nhea from view. He’d barely managed to stop moving before a piercing pain shot through his side - a second arrow finding purchase. He winced, gritting his teeth as his gaze shifted towards the Miqo’te woman. “Would...you mind taking care of that bastard? Before he shoots again?”

His arrival couldn’t have been more perfectly timed, or imperfectly depending on which way you looked at it. It all seemed to happen in a quick flash before Nhea even realized, she was free from Egil’s tight hold on her but faced with a new problem. Her eyes widened as she caught a glimpse of the arrows now sticking out of Osric’s body, her initial instinct kicking in to reach for him to make sure he was alright. But as he spoke, her eyes narrowed and her features twisted into that of a woman scorned and ready for some sort of revenge. In one almost elegant swoop, she spun to reach down and retrieve her chakrams, jerking yet again into action to bridge the gap enough between herself and the newly arrived archer. Another arrow had been knocked and released as she hurled towards him, missing her only enough to catch the edge of her arm as it tore through her skin. 

She pushed through the sharp pain, giving her no cause to stop as she leapt forward to swing her arms in a slice across the man’s chest. The arrows no longer able to keep him safe. With a frustrated grunt, she brought the heel of her boot down onto the man’s neck to confirm the kill before she turned back in the direction Osric had been left. Nhea returned her weapons to her hips, quickly finding herself back at his side as she tried to look over his injuries. “So you go and tell me not to do something dumb and here you are doing it yourself?” 

Osric grunted, falling to a knee for a moment and leaning heavily against his lance. “It kept you from taking an arrow to the chest...didn’t seem like a dumb thing to do at the time.” He winced as he used the lance to help him stand, slowly turning to face her. “These wounds will heal...maybe not as quickly as I’d like, but they will heal - Had they hit you...it was a reasonable risk to take - you have people waiting for you. Now...let’s find these relics and - “ He winced again, closing his eyes for a moment and taking several deep breaths - now the adrenaline was receding, the pain was starting to seep in, “-get your ‘friend’ where he needs to go and head back. I...imagine these arrows might need to come out sooner rather than later.”

“I still think it was a pretty dumb thing to do.” She said as she slipped underneath his arm to give him a bit more to stable himself on, despite her being on the shorter side. “You know, I’m not used to having any sort of steady relationships, be them friends or otherwise. The wolves are expecting us both.” Nhea sighed heavily as she looked down to the limp body of Egil from Osric’s handy work. This was something she hadn’t anticipated and in that moment she found herself at a loss on how they were going to transport him back to Limsa where they would retrieve their bounty. “How do you want to do this? I imagine he keeps his prized possessions or...stolen ones on his person. But to get him back to the city in your shape…”

He exhaled slowly, leaning more against the lance than against her - the height difference was making things difficult. “...I’d suggest we search him now, then...bind him, and see if one of the farmers will lend us a chocobo to get him back to at least the gates. I imagine the Yellowjackets would take things over from there.” He shifted enough to look down at her. “I know the company is expecting both of us back - as I said, it was a calculated risk. I try to protect those who I go out on assignments with. There are certainly times when I can’t...this happened to be a time when I could. There are worse things to deal with than a set of injuries that may need stitches…”

Nhea huffed as she carefully moved away from him and knelt down next to Egil with a grunt. “You are probably the most stubborn man- or person I've ever met, you know that?” 

Osric chuckled - or started to before it was interrupted with a pained groan. “Probably...should not laugh right now. And I’ll take ‘stubborn’...I’ve been called worse.”

Nhea went about searching the man, glancing to her arm as she now felt the wound more than before. Paying it no mind, she finally found what she had been looking for, a velvet pouch tied up nicely in golden yarn and tucked carefully inside had been a number of jewels. Placing them into the pouch on her belt, she removed a loop of rope, tying it around his hands and legs before looking up to Osric with a nod. “I’ll move ahead to find someone to lend us that chocobo...just...hit him again if he stirs.” 

With that, she took off to do as she had said, only returning not much long afterwards with chocobo and a skin of water offered to Osric upon arrival. It had taken much effort, a lot of it even on the chocobo’s part, but eventually Egil had been settled on the creature’s back and they made their way back to Limsa, Nhea’s concerned gaze held on her traveling partner nearly the whole time. The jewels and man were turned in, the Yellowjackets taking him into custody and the belongings given to the man who had requested their assistance. She had been adamant about Osric seeking medical attention before they returned to the Barghest and there was no fighting her on the subject. Perhaps it had been surprising but she waited for him, ensuring he had been properly seen to before returning to the ship only to get things squared away for immediate take off when he was ready. 

Stitches weren’t the most painful medical treatment he’d undergone in the last year - but it didn’t make them any less irritating. Osric sighed, adjusting his coat over his left shoulder...and the sling he was now forced to wear, as he approached the ship. He handed his things off to one of the crew members as he stepped on board before making his way up to the bridge. He cleared his throat to alert Nhea to his presence as he walked up behind her. 

“Kind of you  to wait - they were rather insistent that they take their time stitching me up...and that I follow up with the company’s medical staff. Something you should probably do as well. Would you like to be the one to notify them that we’re coming...or do I need to?” He leaned back against the railing with a wince. All things considered - the job could have gone much worse, and a few weeks of healing were much better than a dead captain. 

She had found herself lost in thought when he approached, her ears twitching slightly to the sound of his voice before turning to face him. "Well, I wanted to make sure you were okay and they weren't going to do something half assed just to tide you over. Everything is ready to take off. T'khau is going to oversee most of the travel after I get us up and on our way." Her shoulders lifted in a very light shrug at his suggestions for her own medical attention but nodded nonetheless. "Mm, yeah I will...and I suppose I should let them know though I can't imagine they'll be too pleased either way. But hey, to see to our health and safety is what they want, right?" She smiled faintly and gestured him forward. "You should rest." 

He shrugged his right shoulder as he stood, moving away from the railing. “I’ll have plenty of time to rest later. I don’t imagine I’ll be permitted to do much more than walk until this is dealt with.” He tapped the toe of his boot against the deck. “But - on a positive note, the job is done - we got paid, the company gets paid and no one on our side of the skirmish died. Not a bad day overall.”

“At the very least, come sit with me in the bridge We can have a drink and I can kick your ass in triple triad.” Nhea said playfully as she turned to make her way toward the helm, only pausing to look back to Osric with a smile. “I’ll let them know we’re on our way in and meet you after our course is set.” 

He nodded before following after her. “I wouldn’t say no to a drink right about now...lead the way, captain.”

(Blurbs with @osric-slater-ffxiv !)

[faejilly]

Let’s Go Steal Some... Magic?

This is entirely the fault of a prompt from the Hunter's Moon Discord: “A Leverage Shadowhunter crossover where Alec gets desperate enough to hire a band of good thieves who’re known for being able to steal back ANYTHING to steal back Magnus’ magic.” 

I take no responsibility whatsoever for any of this, but man, I had a great time writing it, so I hope you enjoyed reading it, too 😅 (With an extra thanks to @greentealycheejelly for double-checking it at least sort of made sense.) 

Alec knows more about the mundane world than most people realize. He may, in fact, have helped encourage the impression that he's ignorant; it's not like he's been impressed by most of what he knows, so it's easier to just... not deal with it when he doesn't have to.

But there's nothing anyone in the Shadow World can do about this, so maybe... maybe it's time to try something else.

Only he's not sure where to start. He's going to have to ask for help.

Not his favorite thing, but. This is for Magnus. He'd do worse for Magnus.

Lindsay's probably his best bet, she's the one who tracks the bots and AIs that the Clave has keeping as much of an eye on the internet as anyone can manage, hoping to catch those mundanes who might cross the line from figuring out that what they're seeing is because of the Sight, into trying to do something like summoning demons or playing with dark magic.

Her reports on some of the conclusions their machine learning algorithms come up with are sometimes the highlight of his week. He liked the one that tried to figure out which folk songs were based on real adventures with the Seelie and Unseelie Courts versus the ones written by people who'd drank too much or gotten stuck in a cabin in the middle of nowhere for a longer than usual winter.

So he asks her to come see him. She looks, unsurprisingly, deeply nervous when he closes his office door behind her, and he sighs as he sits down in one of the armchairs rather than behind his desk. "I need your help, please."

She doesn't look any comforted by that comment, but she sits across from him, and refrains from either glaring or babbling, so that's something.

"I need." He stops. He's not sure what he needs. "I need to think outside the box, and as the current box is Edom and the entire Shadow World is pretty convinced that that's an impossible box to open—" Alec stops, realizing his metaphors got slightly more tangled than he'd intended. "I think I need someone who is in the know but still mostly mundane, so they're not stuck on the same preconceptions the rest of us are?"

Linday blinks at him. She clearly didn't follow that.

He frowns, but she doesn't get more tense, so at least she figured out he's frowning at himself rather than her.

Clary might have given him multiple migraines and almost as many heart attacks, but she'd barrelled through things he'd thought inviolable just because she didn't know any better, and he could use some of that, right about now.

"Magnus traded his magic to a Greater Demon in order to banish Lilith's demon, and..." He trails off again. And I have to do something about it, but the only thing I can think of is trying to negotiate with said Greater Demon myself and that's a clusterfuck of epic proportions just waiting to happen.

He'll do it, if he has to, he knows this, but that should probably be a last resort, not the first attempt.

"You want to steal it back?" Lindsay's voice cracks half way through the words, and he doesn't blame her, that sounds more insane than anything even Clary would attempt, but...

He hadn't actually framed it that way himself, and he should have. She's probably right, and that is exactly the sort of thinking he needs.

"Do you think that's possible?" He tilts his head, spreads his hands in something that's almost a shrug. "I know there are Sighted thieves, and there's a thriving grey area of mundane and Downworlder interactions with magic that don't usually end up with dead bodies or demons so we don't do anything about them."

Lindsay frowns back at him, but she looks like she's thinking, so he waits.

"Well." She starts, stops again. "There is this hacker..."

Alec blinks. "I don't think the Prince of Edom keeps his stolen magic in a server."

Lindsay snorts, and rolls her eyes at him. "Ha, ha. Sir."

Alec shrugs, and waits.

"There's a warlock, Edda White. She fosters mundane children, usually ones that lost their parents to the Shadow World, or who have the Sight."

"And she's a hacker?" That's an odd combination of jobs, but he supposes it's something one could do from home while keeping an eye on a bunch of presumably traumatized children.

He wonders if there's anything they could do to help her out. Unofficially. Or officially? The Clave really should stop pretending the Shadow World's completely separate from the mundane world, no one believes that.

"No." Lindsay shakes her head. Pauses. "Well, yes, but she's not the hacker I was thinking of, I meant one of her kids."

"If said kid's already in the Shadow World, that's defeating my outside of the box request." He's not really trying to argue with her, he's just not sure where she's going.

"Sir." Lindsay levels a stare at him. It's not as good as the ones his mother or sister can pull off, but it's not half bad.

"Sorry."

Lindsay nods, and adjusts her glasses. "He's Sighted, and he's active on some of the forums the Clave tracks, helps people find resources or contacts, which is how I know about him, but he works in the mundane world. With a team of thieves who have pulled off some really impossible jobs."

"Edom impossible?"

"No, but you said you needed some creative thieves, and they're arguably the best in this world." That is something the Clave would know, just because the few truly occult artifacts the mundane world knows about tend to be expensive, so they attract the attention of the worst sorts of people and the best sorts of thieves... who then attract the attention of the Clave, to make sure no one actually tries to use the things they've stolen. "It's a place to start."

Alec nods. It is, and that's all he asked for; he hopes it's enough. "What's his name?"

Lindsay shrugs. "No idea, but I do know how to get a message to his team. They've an open call out for people who need help and don't have anywhere else to turn."

Alec feels his lips twitch with reluctant amusement. "That certainly fits this situation, doesn't it."

Lindsay concedes with a small nod. "I'll reach out, and let you know what they say."

"Thank you."

She nods again, slightly less smoothly, as if she's not sure what to do with gratitude, though he's not sure if it's because it's him personally or the Head of her Institute in general, and slips away to get to work.

Alec closes his eyes, and lets out a sigh, and tries to hold onto the flicker of hope in his chest.

Maybe. Maybe. Maybe this is what he needs; maybe this is what Magnus needs.

Please.

***

Hardison blinks at the email he just opened.

He double checks the sender's address, and IP, and everything else he can think of to confirm it's not somehow a joke or a scam or something, but as far as he can tell by every test he can think up, it's genuine.

Leverage just got a fucking email from a Nephilim. On behalf of the goddamned Head of the New York Institute.

He pokes his computer screen, as if that'll make it disappear or something.

It doesn't.

Which is probably good, he's Sighted, not a warlock, if he started making the world change outside of a computer, he'd be in deep shit.

The email's surprisingly straightforward, in contrast to their usual potential clients, the Shadow World in general, and everything he's ever heard about Shadowhunters in particular. Shadow Hunters? Shadowhunters? He's not sure he's ever had to write that word out, he wonders which is considered proper grammar.

Holy shit, he's distracting himself with grammar.

He calls his Nana.

"I got an email about Alec Lightwood and Magnus Bane."

"Fuck."

Hardison pulls his phone away from his head and stares at it for a moment before he can handle that. "Did you just swear at me?"

"Not at you, baby." He can practically hear her roll her eyes at him. "I was old enough to swear before your grandma was a gleam in her daddy's eyes, and you know it."

Yes, but you don't, Hardison almost says out loud, not around your babies, you don't, but he swallows it down. "Some Nephilim is asking for help from us, from my team. Do you think it's legit?"

She hums, some melody he's never been able to track down or place, never heard from anywhere or anyone else, and he's glad that that's normal at least. Nana's thinking noise is exactly what he hears in his head whenever he's trying to crack a particularly tough system.

"I do. New York's gone through some shit, and I've heard some rumours about Magnus..." She trails off. "Lightwood's reputation is pretty solid, I think he'd stretch those Nephilim Laws as far as he could, if he thought it was worth it."

"Should I take the meeting then?"

Nana pauses, but she doesn't hum this time. She's not thinking, she wants to make sure he is. "You'd have to tell your team what sort of meeting it really is."

Hardison's whole body tenses up along with his face as he scrunches his eyes as closed as he can get them. He wonders if Parker and Eliot really are part-fae, like he's always thought. They've both got more than a touch of the other when he looks at them out of the corner of his eyes, and it would certainly explain how hard they are to injure, how easily they lean into each other's space, as if they've never before found someone that makes some weird sixth sense relax.

Then again, he loves them enough it might just be his own aura sparking in the way.

He wonders, if they are just a little magic, if either of them know, and just don't think they can tell him.

He wonders if they'll be mad to realize he's kept a secret from them all these years, or if they'll be hurt.

"Yeah," he sighs, and opens his eyes back up. "Don't suppose I could get a family dinner to help uh... illustrate my point?"

Nana laughs, but it's sharper sounding than usual. "If New York's as messed up as I've heard you don't have much time. Tonight good?"

Damn.

This is clearly more serious than he'd thought, and he wonders what he's missed, busy focusing on his mundane life rather than the Shadow World.

"I guess it has to be. Thanks."

Nana doesn't bother to say anything else before she hangs up on him.

He turns around, and no he does not scream, that was just a gasp, and Parker and Eliot are in the doorway, both of them staring at him.

Check mark in the supernatural column.

He smiles at them.

They don't smile back.

Hey guys, want to meet my Nana, the centuries old warlock who taught me how to see demons so they wouldn't eat me?

Yeah. That's gonna go over well.

"Don't suppose either of you believe in magic?"

Eliot does that thing where he's not frowning but is really obvious about how he's refraining from frowning so it actually feels worse than if he'd just scowled at you. "You mean science we can't explain yet, or actual magic?"

Hardison tilts his head and hands with an eh maneuver. "Vampires and werewolves and fairies, oh my?"

Parker shrugs. "Archie always said he thought I was a changeling, does that count?"

Hardison shakes his head, and sees Eliot frown for real, and knows they both wish they'd been harder on Archie when they had him in their sights. "Yes, but that's a terrible thing for him to have said."

"Why?" Parker comes into the room proper to perch on the edge of the table extending out from his desk. "If it's the truth?"

"Because he didn't think it was true," Eliot answers, his voice low and rough. "He was using it to pretend it was okay for him not to take care of you."

Parker rolls her eyes; they've had this argument before. "But if he'd tried, I wouldn't have realized how much better at it you are."

Eliot jerks, like his whole body just tried to shut-down. Hardison can't even appreciate how remarkable that is, because he's too busy feeling his brain stutter right in sync.

"What?" Parker did that are you being stupid or did I make less sense than usual? face of hers, eyes a little squinty and shoulders just starting to hunch.

"Thank you, baby girl." Hardison manages, before she thinks it's the second. "I'm still gonna be mad at him for not trying though."

She frowns, as if she thinks that's dumb, but shrugs, clearly having decided that that's just the way it is. "So does that mean you think he was right, even though he didn't know it?"

"Uh." Hardison does a whole body shrug, because he's not sure why he ever thinks his conversations with these two are gonna go the way he intends. "I have no idea, but it wouldn't surprise me? You're uh. Better at things than most humans. You both are."

"Huh." Eliot says, but not like he disagrees. "But neither of us have a problem with steel or cold iron or whatever it is."

Hardison stares at him.

"What." Eliot stares back, and Hardison can't tell if he's fucking with him on purpose or not. Damn Eliot and his poker face.

"Did you say that because you know things, or because you read fairy tales when you can't sleep?"

Eliot's face looks like he wants to say damnit Hardison but doesn't want to give Hardison the satisfaction.

"Second one, got it."

"Kindaalwaysthoughtitwasaliensanyways." Eliot mutters.*

Hardison is pleased to note that Parker joins him in giving Eliot the look.

Eliot crosses his arms in front of his chest, and looks back, and Hardison sighs. He's right, they don't have time for that right now. "We are revisiting this," Hardison says, pointing at Eliot. "But first we're going to Nana's for dinner."

Parker actually literally squeaks, and he can't tell if she's excited or nervous. "Is she a fairy too?"

"No, and they prefer Seelie or Unseelie, depending on which Court they were born into, but you know, that's a whole separate thing we also don't have time for right now. Nana is a warlock which means she can do magic and she's immortal which I know sounds like more fairy things because they are practically immortal and also do magic, but I swear it's not."

It's his turn to be getting the look from both of them, and he stops. Starts again. "So. Uh. Demons? Totally a thing?"

Eliot sighs, and finally stops lurking as his shoulders relax into something more like at-home-Eliot rather than working-Eliot. "You made a multi-media presentation, didn't you?"

Hardison opens his mouth, and shuts it again. He did, like three different times, and he keeps deleting it and starting over, but he supposes that might be one way to go in order without thinking about Nana swearing and the email and trying to jump to angels are real and angel-blooded people kill demons and the Head of the New York Institute wants our help! before that means anything to anyone.

"Ooh." Parker sits up straighter. "Should I go get some popcorn?"

"Why not." Hardison can't help the smile, doesn't even try. "We'll have a proper briefing in five."

***

Magnus is not entirely sure why Alec invited him to his office, it's not like I can help with missions anymore, and seeing Alec sitting on the edge of his desk wringing his hands when he walks in the door doesn't calm his nerves any.

"Magnus!" Alec looks up, and his smile's not any more comforting than the wringing hands were.

"You're here."

"You asked me to be here." Magnus offers, and makes himself walk further into the office. He's not sure what else to say, and just lifts an eyebrow in Alec's general direction.

Alec shrugs, and bites his lip as he shifts his weight, and then suddenly his tension melts away and he's standing at parade rest and oh, whatever this is, it's clearly important. "I did."

Magnus holds up one finger, turns around to close and lock the door behind him, and faces Alec again.

Alec offers him a crooked almost smile, much more sincere than the last one, and the tension between Magnus' shoulder-blades eases a little, though it definitely doesn't go away. "I have a potentially terrible idea, but it's for you, so it's your choice to make, not mine."

Oh.

Magnus considers that, nods to himself, and goes to sit on the couch. He lifts his head, and makes himself meet Alec's eyes. "All right."

"I want to hire some... consultants, to see if there's a way to get your magic back without having to try and make another deal with Asmodeus."

Magnus doesn't move. He doesn't even blink. If he had his magic he'd probably blow up the chair next to him. "No."

Alec's shoulders slump. "Magnus."

"No." Magnus stands up, his hands clenched and his jaw too tight and he wants to scream, but he doesn't. "Asmodeus is too dangerous."

"And he's going to be less dangerous later if with your magic he can overthrow Lilith while she's still weak from the Mark of Cain?" Alec's voice is quiet, but even so Magnus can barely hold in the wince. "Do you really think he'll be more inclined to stay quietly in his own Realm without interfering with the rest of us if she's no longer there to keep him in check?"

Magnus swallows, refuses to think about the things he did at his father's side the last time Asmodeus freely wandered around Earth. "You said this was for me."

"It is!" Alec's voice and hands lift, and then he stops, his arms drop. He's holding himself so tightly it looks like he's a breath away from shattering. "I would sacrifice anything to help you Magnus, just like you did to stop Lilith, to save Jace, but that doesn't mean helping you isn't also doing my job."

Magnus can't move, can barely breathe.

He exhales, long and slow, and closes his eyes.

He can't argue that, because if he did, it would make everything he'd done to save Jace, to stop Lilith, all of it, for nothing. They can't let either Lilith or Asmodeus take over Edom without the other, can't afford the risk of that much power being concentrated in one person. Demon.

Monster.

Magnus opens his eyes again, and somehow Alec can tell, Alec can always tell, and he's right there, reaching out to cup Magnus' jaw in his warm hands before kissing him, soft and sweet. "Thank you."

Magnus huffs out a breath, and leans in to rest against the warmth of Alec's chest. "Thank you. So who are these... consultants then?"

"Um." Magnus tilts his head enough to look at Alec, who's looking at the ceiling as if too embarrassed to meet Magnus' gaze. He rolls his lips in tight, then pops his mouth open and sighs. "Thieves?"

"What." Magnus steps back, so he can glare properly. And also enjoy the way Alec's squirming, because it's not often Alexander gets tongue-tied around him anymore, and if he's going to go through with this insanity, he might as well try and get some enjoyment out of it. "You. Want to steal my magic back?"

"I mean, that seems slightly more likely than negotiating it out of a Greater Demon?" Alec shrugs, and rubs the back of his neck, and his mouth twists before his whole body sags with a sigh. "I don't know, but I certainly don't know how to get it back without risking Asmodeus pulling one over on us, do you?"

"But you think your thieves might?" Magnus can't help it, his voice cracks.

"Not my thieves." Alec shrugs again. "Lindsay found them, and Edda White said she could portal them to us whenever we come to an agreement on a meeting time and place."

"Edda?" He stops again. Edda, who fosters mundane children and likes to play with computers and has the weirdest running bet with Catarina about the stupid excuses they've used to convince mundanes that the magic they just saw wasn't really magic... "Mundane thieves?"

"Well, anyone in the Shadow World would start already convinced that it was impossible, wouldn't they?"

Magnus can't argue with that, either, and this is the weirdest conversation he's possibly ever had, and that's saying something, considering the number of times he's been high or drunk and determined to not let it stop him from doing... well. Anything. "Huh," is all he manages. "That. Almost makes sense."

Alec grins. "I know, weird, huh."

Magnus' chest aches, because oh, he hasn't seen that sort of look on Alec's face since they found out about Jace, before Magnus went to Edom, before he lost...

Before they lost so much.

Magnus laughs, and Alec's grin widens, a glint in his eyes as if he's as delighted and surprised as Magnus is to realize they're both actually looking forward to this. "Let's go meet some thieves."

[jensengirl83]

Hate To Love You

Dean x reader

Word count-1354

Warnings- Language, fluff, kidnapping

Summary- Dean and reader are captured by Toni Bevell from the British Men of Letters. How will it turn out considering they hate each other.

written for @superfanficnatural​ and @impala-1979​ follower challenge

Dean Winchester, the impermeable thorn in my side. He has done it again, getting us in a mess I don’t know if we will get out of. He just couldn’t accept that Mary was working with the British Men of Letters, leading us here, now captured by that snotty bitch that is Toni Bevell. Seeing him sitting over there in the corner of the room, pouting like a child, makes me want to punch the shit out of him. Me and Dean just cannot seem to get along. Sam says it is because we are so much alike, making me want to punch him too. I am nothing like that man. Always demanding, gruff, and just a down right asshole sometimes. Sure, not like I’m not a bitch on occasion, but I could never compare to Oscar the grouch over there.

“You going to keep staring at me or are you going to help me figure out how to get out of this princess?” That nickname infuriates me, maybe it wouldn’t if he didn’t say it so condescendingly.

“I’m not staring Dean. I was thinking of the many ways I could kill you if we get out of this.” That eye roll. I hope his damn eyes get stuck back there. “We wouldn’t be in this mess if you would have listened to me Winchester!”

“Whatever Y/n, just shut up and I’ll figure out how to get us out of here.” Now I am really pissed. Did he really just tell me to shut up?!

“Fuck you Dean! We wouldn’t have to figure anything out if you could have just accepted that ‘Mommy’ didn’t want to stick around.” I knew my words were uncalled for as soon as they passed my lips. I desperately wish I could take them back. Yes, Dean is a pain in my ass, but he did not deserve that. The look on his face is all I need to see to know I was right. My words cut him, surely cutting deep. I silently curse myself, knowing I should have just kept my mouth shut. My mouth tends to override my ass when I’m angry, saying things the wrong way, or that I don’t even mean.

“Look Dean, I’m sorry. I should not have said that. I’m just angry and scared we might not make it back this time.” He says nothing, turning to look at me. The pain is written all over his face, making my heart drop. I have really done it this time. I stand and make my way over to him, sitting down cross-legged in front of him. I reach to grab his hand, instantly regretting it, when he flinches away. Why did that hurt me so bad? Sure, I hate I said those things, but why is his rejection making my heart ache?

“Just forget it Y/n. Maybe you’re right, too old to be needing my Mom around all the time huh?” Oh God my heart! What is this man doing to me right now?! I feel like the Grinch, my heart just keeps growing for him.

“No Dean, I wasn’t right at all. Actually, I was an ass, no one deserves to have their mom in their life more than you and Sam.” I reach for his hand, him not pulling away this time, and give it a soft squeeze. He finally looks up, our eyes meeting, and something in me snaps. Have I always felt this way for him, or did the situation change my feelings? Either way, I now know I have feelings for Dean.

“You ok there sweetheart?” He must have sensed the shift in me, or it’s plainly written on my face, not sure which one.

“Uhh yeah…yeah, I’m fine Dean.” I hope I was convincing because, I am in fact, not ok at all. I feel his thumb starting to rub circles on the top of hand, not that I don’t enjoy it, but you don’t usually do those things with someone you hate right? Come to think of it, he called me sweetheart, never a name he has used to refer to me. Dean speaking brings me out of my mental clusterfuck.

“Why do you hate me Y/n?” Dean’s voice is soft and low, like he fears the answer to his question.

“I never said I hated you Dean.” Sure, I understand where he thinks that, but I have never actually said it.

“You really didn’t have to say it.” Dean chuckles lightly, squeezing my hand again. “You know the saying actions speak louder than words?”

“Yes, I do Winchester. Do you?” I have to laugh. Does he have no recollection of his past behavior?

“What do you mean Y/n.” That damn smirk. He knows exactly what I mean. I want to punch that stupid handsome face!

“Whatever Dean, you asshole.” We are both laughing now. What a difference a few minutes makes. We were ready to kill each other twenty minutes ago.

“In all seriousness sweetheart, I don’t hate you, never have.” He is rubbing his hand across the back of his neck; first sign Dean is nervous. “Quite the opposite actually.”

“What are you trying to say Dean?” I am holding my breath. Is he going to say what I think he is?

“Going to make me just come right out and say it huh?” That little nervous chuckle giving me butterflies. “I like you Y/n, ok? I have since I met you. You are so damn sassy, it is intimidating.” The full-bodied laugh ripping through me, causing me to fall over. I

“I didn’t find anything about what I said funny Y/n.” Dean has serious bitch face going right now, as I continue to laugh, trying my hardest to catch my breath.

“I am sorry Dean, but you are intimidated by me? I am barely five feet tall! That is very funny!” I’m still laughing but I can speak now anyway.

“Have you seen yourself hunt Y/n? You could kick mine or Sam’s ass with one hand tied behind your back.” Dean laughs at the visual we both have now. “That’s not all that is intimidating. You…uhhh…you’re…well…Damn it! I think you are gorgeous Y/n! There, I said it.” I know eyes are huge and my mouth hanging open. I was not expecting that!

“You think I am pretty so you picked on me like we were in third grade?”

“Well…..you know what? Shut up!” Dean is very lovely shade of pink right now. It is so adorable I can’t get mad at him for telling me to shut up again.

“Really Dean? Are you going to make me?” Guess we are back in third grade. A look I can’t quite make out on his face, a mix of hesitation but also determination? Before I can think anymore about it, his hand is in my hair pulling me to him. The kiss he places on my lips is sweet, passionate, and feels a little like the edge of desperation. I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling myself into his lap, the kiss getting more heated. Footsteps outside the door has us jumping apart like we have been electrocuted. The last thing we need is that bitch trying to use us against each other. The door swings open and we are on our feet ready to fight.

“Whoa..Whoa..It’s me!!”

“Sam?!” me and Dean say in unison. I have never been so happy to see that shaggy haired man in my life!

“Come on guys. Let’s get you out of here.” Sam is already back out the door before he finishes his sentence. I move heading for the door when Dean grabs me and pulls me to his chest, placing a quick kiss to my forehead.

“You still hate me sweetheart?” He asks with that brilliantly white smile gracing his face.

“Nah, I just hate to love you now Winchester.” We are both laughing on our way out the door.

“Yeah well, I love you too sweetheart.”

Maybe I need to thank Toni for locking us up together. I might, only after kicking her ass first.  

@flamencodiva​ @sorenmarie87​ @foxyjwls007​ @waywardbeanie​ @emoryhemsworth​ @voltage-my2dlove​

[louiserandom]

Play Games with Me

Pairing: Senju Tobirama/Uchiha Madara | Rating: E

A/N: Commission for the amazing @rookie-d​💙💗 thank you so much! *hugs* 

Read on AO3 or continue under the cut :3 Ko-fi and fic commission info in the header!

Tobirama SenJERK has never had sex in his life, Madara types, as always brimming with spite when it comes to his least favorite person in town. Maybe on the planet.

Rereading the comment and satisfied that there aren’t any typos or any hint whatsoever at some kind of hidden affection (which isn’t there, never was and never will be, Madara reminds himself firmly), he hits ‘Comment.’

“Take that, you dumbass,” Madara mutters under his breath, and really, this could be classified as childish, were he not completely in the right to take vicious revenge upon the fucking asshole who dared refer to Madara as ‘so idiotic it’s pitifully adorable’ on his last stream. Hah! Like Tobirama isn’t the less intelligent one of the two of them; Madara has watched enough of his Uncharted 4 gameplay to note that Tobirama took twelve seconds longer than him to figure out arguably the most difficult puzzle in the game. And although Madara’s sub count doesn’t quite reflect his superior intellect compared to Senju’sーnot that he’s checked in a whileーit’s likely a testament to the viewers’ total lack of taste, if anything else.

(Two thousand, nine hundred and thirty four viewer’s, to be precise, according to this morning’s stats and minus the handful of Madara’s fake accounts that he created just in case to keep up with his chief competitor. Admittedly, it might be a tad annoying.)

A notification pipes up.

Hm, I wonder how you’d know that, MaddyGamerboy? Are you stalking me? I must admit, I’m flattered.

Madara sputters at the reply. At yet another butchering of his perfectly adequate nickname. The fucking nerve of the guyーand people fucking wonder why Madara hates his guts?

(Madara knows it doesn’t really help his case that he’s touched himself to fantasies of the younger Senju more times than he’d care to count, but hate-fucking a thing isn’t it? Hate-masturbation must be too, he supposes. Not the healthiest outlet for negative feelings, but it makes him feel good enough.)

(Heavenly, to be precise.)

I AM NOT, YOU SELF-OBSESSED DUMBASS, Madara types, simultaneously taking care of the half-a-dozen typos that appear of their own accord.

No.

Deep breath. Stop fingers from shaking. Think about something witty to say.

Pff, he writes, for lack of any better word to express his indignant huff, like I give a shit about you. You’re dumb.

It did sound much better in his head, but Madara has spent over a minute writing the comment already, and he doesn’t want to appear as if he’s thinking too hard on it.

He posts his answer, not dwelling too match on the number of likes on Tobirama’s comment far outnumbering the hundred Madara’s garnered. Again, Tobirama’s audience is clearly not the best judge of character.

“FUCK. YOU. SIDEWAYS, SENJU!” Madara shouts at the reply that follows, consisting only of the words:

Thanks for the sub btw.

“You fucking piece of shit,” Madara hisses. “Like eight fucking fake accounts do anything to boost your stats, I don’t even like all your videos from each one of them, you ass!”

I DID NOT SUB DONT BELIEVE HIM

I’m happy to have another loyal fan ;)

HE IS FUCKING LYEING!!!

With seemingly every single person in the comments raving about how it’s about time MadGamer69 and admitted he admires FlyingThunderGod’s skill, Madara has to consciously restrain himself from smashing his laptop against the wall.

“You can just tell him you like him, you know.”

Madara startles, almost stumbling to the floor when Hashirama returns with their drinks and quickly put-together snacks, always the one to rummage through Madara’s kitchen because Madara hardly cares what edible and inedible things existed there or what to do with themーthat’s Izuna’s job.

“I do not,” Madara snarls, as Hashirama flops next to him on the couch, “like that stupid clusterfuck you call a brother!”

“Madara!” Hashirama whines, with that ever-present pout on his face. “Be civil.”

“Yeah, when he returns the favor,” Madara glowers, grabbing a milkshake from Hashirama’s hand. “Did you forget that he fucking started it? Do I need to quote his “pitifully adorable how so much stupidity can fit in such a short man” again?” Madara can’t help flailing his arms a little, though far too conscious of this habit now since the Tobirama has started pointing it out. He makes up for it with what he hopes is a deadly enough glare. “Did no one in your family bother to teach him manners? Did you?”

Hashirama only sighs. “And did you forget,” he asks, “how before that you abused my invitation over to our place to hide his Golden Youtube Gamer Tablet?”

Madara groans. “It’s called a Gold Play Button. Idiot.”

“Now you’re insulting me,” Hashirama grumbles, “and who cares? The point is, you’d be upset too if he hid yours.”

“Youtubers care,” Madara says, “and also, that’s irrelevant, that was revenge for him making fun of my perfectly adequate gameplay.”

“To be fair, you were dying quite a lot in that playthrough...”

“He took twelve seconds longer to figure out that puzzle in the game!” Madara growls.

Hashirama rolls his eyes. “Well, of course, because that Yellow Flash guy was flirting and distracting him in the chat.”

Madara blanches. "That good-for-nothing pipsqueak was what?”

“See,” Hashirama drawls, “you are jealous. Why would you be jealous?”

“I-I’m not!”

“Madara, you are so far in denial, that as your best friend,” Hashirama says firmly, slapping a hand over Madara’s mouth before he can muster another protest, “I cannot stand by and watch you suffer. Anymore, that is, because this has reached a breaking point. So, please, for me, I am begging you, just try politely asking if maybe Tobirama would like to accompany you for coffee somewhere tomorrow? Maybe brunch? I mean, come on, I know you guys don’t hate each other anymore. Seriously, you guys seem like you enjoy arguments, and hey, who am I to judge how people express affection?”

“Affection?!” Madara shrieks, shoving Hashirama’s hand away.

“And please stop pretending you don’t have printed out screenshots of my brother’s videos hidden under your mattress because Izunaー”

“Is a fucking snooping rat!” Madara hisses.

Hashirama sighs. “If it helps you feel better, maybe Tobirama might possibly not feel extreme dislike towards you but actually the opposite,” he says, smiling nervously as Madara blanches.

Because... what?

He blinks, running Hashirama’s words through his mind again.

“And how would you know that?” he asks, suspicious. “I swear if you dared tell him anything about my possibly nonexistent feelingsー”

“Possibly?” Excitement starts bubbling in Hashirama’s eyes. “That’s progress!”

“Definitely nonexistent feelings, dammit!”

Hashirama, the asshole Madara calls best friend for some reason, giggles. “Don’t worry, I didn’t. I promise, stop glaring or I will start pouting,” he threatens, and Madara schools his expression back into a light scowl to avoid the infamous Senju pout.

Like a curse, memories of said pout curling Tobirama’s lips spring to mind, and Madara has to physically shake his head to banish those thoughts.

“Listen, the fact that we’re not as... aggressive as we used to be,” Madara says, “doesn’t mean we suddenly like each other.”

“Madara, you insist on coming along every time we hang out,” Hashirama points out.

“I like hanging out with you.”

“Yet every time we do,” Hashirama presses on, “you’re hyperfocused on bickering with Tobirama instead of talking about wholesome stuff with me. Did you even notice that I brought Mito with me the past few times and it was literally a double date?”

“Was not!” Madara shoves at Hashirama with his shoulder and stands up to pace, because there goes the tell-tale sweating of his hands, the fluttering in his chest and stomach and the memoriesーof him and Tobirama secretly filming the other on camera when they do stupid shit, their almost daily Best Playground Insult Contest that’s been memed half to death on Twitter, the one time they got separated from Hashirama and Izuna in Disneyland because they’d got caught in their arguments so much it devolved into discussing their favorite games and an actual conversation that had Madara’s insides tingling.

No.

No, no, no. If anything, they were just gradually becoming something not unlike friends. And Madara’s occasional fantasies behind closed doors were nothing but a means to a pleasant end.

Not. Feelings.

No matter how much he’s grown attached to the site of messy, white-gray hair that he knows is soft to the touch from all the times he’s tugged on it to irritate him. No matter how piercing Tobirama’s unique red eyes may look. No matter how objectively hot his recent workout routine video wasーand Madara knows he’d only watched it so many times because he wants to improve his own routine, right?

Right?

Madara groans. “Why are emotions so fucking confusing!” He slumps onto the floor and wraps his arms around his knees, hitting his head over and over again on his kneecaps because, “I don’t even know what I want from him, okay?”

There’s a brief silence before Hashirama joins him and keeps him from abusing his head further. “How about,” Hashirama suggests, rubbing a comforting hand on his back, “you just ask? Listen, he’s my brother. And you’re my best friend. You two fighting less and at least making an effort to get to know each other better?” Hashirama brings out the puppy dog eyes. “That would mean the world for me.”

Madara glances at him before looking away again, focusing on a random photo of the wall. One featuring Tobirama right after his university graduation with a wide smile on his face. Quite the adorable face, too, and the unprompted thought makes Madara want to descend into oblivion. Preferably forever.

“That’s difficult,” he says lamely.

“But not impossible,” Hashirama says, “and hey, it’s better than waiting for the Yellow Flash guy to actually make a move on Tobi and start occupying all of his time. He’s a really big fan.”

“Fuck Minato,” Madara scoffs, “the guy just showed up and is just shamelessly emulating Tobirama’s style. That’s dumb.”

“Dumber than you claim Tobi is?” Hashirama prompts.

Madara thinks about it. “You know what? Yes.”

“As I saidーprogress!”

Madara can never go through with his impulses to punch his well-meaning best friend, and so grabs the nearest pillow from the couch and smashes it into Hashirama’s face to shut him up.

Tobirama returns home only to find Hashirama and Madara standing by the front door, frowning as they watched something that sounded like a tsunami of some kind.

“Listen, it’s gotta be one of those black holes or something twisting that vortex. Look how stuff disappears right into it!” is his brother talking, and Tobirama is already heaving a frustrated sigh.

Please don’t tell me you think there’s a black hole on Earth.

“There’s no black holes on Earth, idiot! The nearest one is way off, like near Pluto or something,” Madara says.

Ah. Even better. Tobirama chuckles under his breath, crosses his arms and leans against the wall, observing the two idiots he knows and loves.

He mentally kicks himself.

Well, one of them, he loves. Of course he loves his brother.

The other is... complicated.

“And besides, that could just be the Loch Ness monster or a cthulhu or something. See how dark the water is?”

“Or maybe,” Tobirama says, making them both jump, “it’s a natural phenomenon that’s a tad too difficult for both your brain cells to comprehend? I’m happy to explain though.”

“I’m happy to see you fuck yourself,” Madara greets him his usual way, scowling despite the exceptionally conspicuous blush painting his cheeks.

The contrast never fails to make Tobirama’s heart beat faster. He hates himself for it.

“Mm, Madara,” Tobirama teases, “not in front of my brother.”

As expected, Madara starts spluttering, and Tobirama is left wondering again how he avoids making a total fool of himself in each and every one of his videos. It seems Madara saves most of his flailing for the comment section.

“You,” Madara snarls, pointing Tobirama’s way, “are an asshole, Senju, but spending time with the better part of society might do you some good. So see you at brunch tomorrow and do not be late.”

And with that, Madara gives Hashirama a cursory wave and stalks off, leaving Tobirama frozen on the spot.

Did Madara just?..

Tobirama blinks, swallowing heavily as he feels his throat running dry and his heart rate pick up.

No fucking way.

He must have imagined it. Through his stupor of trying to figure out what the hell just took place, Tobirama vaguely registers Hashirama’s facepalm.

“Sorry for that,” Tobirama hears his brother speak through the rush in his ears. “He meant, uh, will you please join him for brunch? Tomorrow at 11 am, Eggspectation?”

Tobirama blinks harder.

“I,” he starts, “I don’t... Did you blackmail Madara into asking me out?”

Hashirama looks scandalized. “What? No!”

“Did Madara just ask me out?”

“Well, yes, Tobi.” Hashirama chuckles nervously. “You sure you’re feeling okay?”

Tobirama glares. “The idiot’s wake up text to me today was literally a collection of trashy limerick poems about how much I suck. Sorry if I’m a little skeptical.”

“You,” Hashirama says, wincing as a long-suffering expression settles on his face, “you guys send wake up texts to each other?”

A moment of awkward silence hangs in the air.

“Sometimes,” Tobirama says, defensive, although the damage is already done.

“And you’re still not going out? Tobirama, you do realize he’s in love with you, right?”

“Don’t say things like that, Anija!” Tobirama snaps, hoping the dim lighting in the corridor conceals the blush he can feel heating up his cheeks. Fuck. Now he’s turning Madara. “Yet, I mean.”

“I’ll save the celebrations until after your date then!” Hashirama sing-songs like the idiot he is.

Tobirama resigns to his fate. “I hate you.”

“You love me.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“You’ll thank me for this.”

“If it goes well,” Tobirama glowers though it’s ineffective, really, against his brother’s bubbling positivity, and the sheer awe still coursing through him from Madara asking him out on a fucking date is actually enough to make Tobirama want to hug him. He refrains. "Now, thanks, Anija, but I have work things to attend to.”

“Sure! Just don’t forget, 11ー”

“Eleven eggs and uh, no expectations, got it.”

“Wait, Tobi, noー”

With no time to waste, naturally, Tobirama bolts into their apartment and straight to his room to choose an appropriate outfit. And to mentally prepare himself for something he’s almost given up hoping for.

Tobirama cannotーwill notーmess this up.

Tobirama makes sure to arrive about ten minutes early. Not because he’s worried or nervous, of course; maybe just a little, but mostly just to get his bearings beforeーfinallyーa date with Madara goddamn Uchiha.

Madara, who’s been Tobirama’s stupid crush since high school, and just as in love with gaming as he is, only that didn’t turn out to be such a great bonding point between them, as Tobirama had hopedーbefore he actually got to know his Anija’s best friend.

Madara, who seemed to dislike Tobirama at first sight and only grew to hate him more over the years as they both found more joy in arguing than they did in talking.

Madara, who, despite this, blushes every rare time Tobirama genuinely smiles at him or drops a suggestive joke, who has an arguably unhealthy obsession with Tobirama’s ass which he always ogles when he thinks no one is looking.

Madara, whose plastered ass Tobirama had to drag home the other week, amid drunken speeches about capitalist injustice, some wacky conspiracy behind the disappearance of the dodo bird and... something quite interesting.

 “Listen, Senju,” Madara was slurring against Tobirama’s shoulder, as the latter cursed every single nonexistent god that Hashirama had chosen that fucking day to go on a road trip with Mito, Toka and Izuna, leaving Tobirama in charge of this walking trash fire of a man. “Listen. Tobira... Tobi. Tobirama. You’re so hot.”

The words almost made Tobirama stumble.

“What, Uchiha?”

“And cute... So pretty, too, I wish you could see that...” Madara went on babbling. “I think you do. But still. Wish you could see me like I do. I mean see you. Like I do...”

“Tobira, you’re just, you’re unfair...”

“I hate you and I like you then I love you and I hate you again, why you’reー” A hiccup. “How do you exist...”

“I just want to hold hands and just... walk and talk and be together and...”

Tobirama watched in ever mounting confusion as Madara leaned completely into him, humming as he hugged Tobirama tightly and said,

“Is that too fucking much to ask...”

Tobirama stood, shell-shocked, with Madara whispering impossible nonsense in his arms, wondering if he was in a dream.

 The next day saw Madara returning to his usual self insulting Tobirama at every goddamn opportunity, which left Tobirama... confused.

Confused, and conflicted, and sleepless for the rest of the night, thoughts held captive by the utter idiot whose ultimate goal seems to be to ruin Tobirama’s life.

It’s maddening.

Of course, he’d suspected that Madara’s flailing and constant blushing interspersed with screams and insults (the most creative ones, reserved only for Tobirama, it seemed) were signs of not so much dislike, as the complete opposite. Of course, Tobirama had tried flirting with Madara, just bordering right there on the edge of suggestive, only for his advances to be seen as patronizing or condescending. And hearing Madara speak to him this way, in a drunken stupor no less, when he’d probably have no causeーor abilityーto lie is...

Maddening. Annoying. Exhilarating. A tantalizing opportunity. Maybe a glimmer of hope.

And of course, Tobirama told his brother; they never really had any secrets between them. And of fucking course Hashirama had a hand in convincing Madara to change his usual behavior, which is nice and all, but doesn’t help the nerves wracking through Tobirama’s body, nor the crippling fear that he’s going to somehow screw this up.

But no. Deep breath. Exhale. And remember Anija’s advice.

Tobirama takes the last turn before he’s faced with their meeting place, surprised to find Madara already there.

Even though he’s usually always late. Sitting inside by the window, looking out onto the street with a slight frown, Madara keeps worrying his bottom lip and, apparently, trying to break a spoon.

It paints an endearing picture. Tobirama sighs, feeling a smile tugging at his lips.

This man...

Tobirama comes in, approaching him slowly, allowing himself a few moments to watch Madara needlessly fix his wild mane of hair, appraise his reflection in the spoon, try out several fake-looking smiles before settling on a scowl and going back to his nervous tics again. With another sigh, Tobirama takes the few steps left to his date, repeating Hashirama’s advice over and over in his head.

Just be yourselfーand have fun!

Just a few minutes into their date, it becomes obvious that Madara didn’t get the same advice from Hashirama.

Or just didn’t get the advice, period.

With their orders made and beverages served, they’re left to wallow in a less than comfortable silence, broken only by Madara’s... uncharacteristic attempts at conversation.

“Are you enjoying the tea?” Madara asks Tobirama with all of the softness of a brick wall.

Tobirama isn’t used to the man being eloquent, much less polite, and he has yet to have at least one conversation with Madara that doesn’t devolve into a pissing contest. So theoretically, Tobirama should be enjoying this.

But it only seems wrong. Annoying. Not them.

He tries to recall if, maybe, their first meeting was an adequate exchange? Tobirama thinks to the day Hashirama first introduced them. Only flashes of spilled milkshakes and jibes at intelligence run through his mind, and of course that was the very first time he’d called Madara an idiot pipsqueak, receiving quite the lame ‘stuck-up dandelion’ in turn.

Unsurprising.

“Yes,” Tobirama says, taking another sip as he eyes Madara struggling on the other side of the table. Struggling to do what is the question: either sit straight, or assume a more relaxed posture, or reach towards his own drink, or avoid eye contact, even though he keeps glancing his way when he thinks Tobirama won’t notice. Tobirama does, every time, and that just makes the whole ordeal more awkward. “Nice weather,” Tobirama says, with about as much enthusiasm.

If Madara wants to play this stupid game, Tobirama will indulge. Just to see how long it takes for Madara to break and return to his blustering status quo.

“Yeah...” Madara clears his throat, eye twitching as he manages to hold Tobirama’s gaze for a commendable three seconds this time. “Hate the sun. I meanーI mean I love the sun. Ugh. It just, uh. Burns.”

It’s both saddening and funny to see Madara visibly deflate.

“Skin too sensitive, huh?” Tobirama starts small. “Just like your ego?”

Madara’s jaw clenches and his nervous look shifts into a glare before he looks away again, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath to calm himself down before he flashes an unnaturally cheery smile.

“Heh, nice,” Madara grits through his teeth, “nice joke, Senju.”

Tobirama raises his eyebrow as Madara flinches at his own words.

“I’m glad you appreciate my sense of humor,” Tobirama says, barely reining in a smirk.

“Sure! You’reーyou’re funny.”

“And?”

“And what?” Madara frowns, confused.

“And what else am I?” Tobirama demands, feigning thoughtfulness. “A recent assessment of yours was that I look and act like a self-obsessed dumbass, I think.”

“No-no,” Madara blurts out, looking much a cornered animal, “I think you... you are... you look not at all so terrible today?” he finishes with a nervous chuckle, running a hand through his hair.

Tobirama wants to scream from the agony.

No. This won’t do, otherwise he might as well leave.

“Can you just call me a stuck-up asshole like you always do or recite one of those horrible limerick disses?” he demands.

Madara actually yelps. “What? No! I mean, wait.” He narrows his eyes. “Why?”

“Because you’re acting weird.”

“We’re on a date, if you were too stupーpreoccupied to get my invitation, Senju,” Madara says, jaw still clenched as he doubtless refrains from swearing, “and I’m being civil!”

That’s the advice he must have gotten from Anija, Tobirama thinks.

What a tragedy.

“Madara,” Tobirama implores, leaning his eyebrows on the table and meeting Uchiha’s gaze, “have you considered thatーI prefer it when you aren’t?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, thank fuck!” Madara slams his hands on the table, heaving a massive sigh as Tobirama laughs in relief. “I was ready to fucking die, you piece of shit! How does your brother stay so fucking kind all the time, it’s fucking torture!”

Tobirama rolls his eyes. “It’s a talent, naturally. Just like your talent at embarrassing yourself and mine at being awesome.”

“You’ve got it a little backwards, Senju,” Madara sneers, “but it’s excusable, given your level of intellect.”

“Twice as high as yours?” Tobirama parries.

“Twice as little.”

“That’s more like it,” Tobirama says, grinning despite himself, “I thought you were a decoy or something. You’ve told me to fuck off every single day since we first met and this was getting worrisome.”

Madara’s laugh is sudden, melodic, sending those irritating tingling sensations through Tobirama’s body. He makes an effort to appear outwardly calm.

“Maybe because you managed to piss me the fuck off every day that I’ve known you,” Madara scoffs, “but you’re all right sometimes. I guess.” He shrugs, feigning nonchalance even as he keeps nervously fixing and running his fingers through his hair.

A stupid, tantalizing habit. Tobirama imagines carding his own hands through the messy locks, tugging Madara’s head back toー

He forcefully aborts the thought process before he’s faced with a problem of the harder kind. “Oh, I’m sure we’ll try to strangle each other when we game together.”

“We’re playing today?” Madara asks.

Tobirama tilts his head to the side.

“You haven’t planned one gaming session after our date?”

“Um,” Madara says, blinking rapidly, “why should I be the one with the plan?”

“Because you’re the one who invited me,” Tobirama deadpans. And anyway, Madara is always the one to egg Tobirama on to gaming, which would usually only ever lead to semi-playful brawls and their fighting making Hashirama cry.

And without Anija there to assault them with his antics, Tobirama wonders what their play-fighting might lead to... and promptly shuts off those thoughts again. Control, dammit.

Madara opens his mouth, then closes it, sighs explosively and says, “All right, fair enough. But you’re the strategy pro here. And my thing is RPGs.” He smirks. “I can improvise.”

And Madara does, in fact, improvise, leading Tobirama on what he hopes is a satisfying daylong adventure. It’s strange, walking by themselves around Konoha without anyone else with them (not that they’ve taken to ignoring Hashirama and Mito anyway on their most recent group outings), free to talk about and do anything they want. Strange and perfect, the way Tobirama switches between poorly concealed bashfulness and his usual confidence, as their jokes and jibes at each other, every little prank they pull never fails to make them both laugh.

It’s perfect.

Just like Tobirama’s smile is, directed at him without any pretenses as they set off to explore the lush, gigantic forest surrounding the city, rumored to be home to mythical, many-tailed creatures. And that’s followed by their forays into an abandoned chemistry lab; the scares they get in the woods from intermittent growls coming from the shadows are nothing compared to the horror Madara feels when Tobirama insists on touching broken vials and experimental equipment, and going through doors with dilapidated ‘DANGER. CHEMICAL HAZARD’ signs.

“If we’re infected by some deadly and insidious poison,” Madara whispers as they explore the lab’s tunnels, “I’m going to fucking kill you before it does. Painfully.”

“It’s for science,” Tobirama says. “And trust me. We’re safe. I got a degree in this.”

“Youtube is practically your full-time job at this point. What the fuck else do you need?”

“The satisfaction of discovering something cool?”

“And deadly.”

"Unlikely.”

Madara groans, cursing his life, as well as his inability to say no to hisーapparentlyーnew boyfriend.

The boyfriend who’s just discovered another hidden pathway to a deeper level and has scurried off towards it like an excited five-year-old. Despite himself, despite his intent to keep complaining, Madara can’t hold back the grin tugging at his lips.

Still perfect.

Just like their lunch date which turns into a picnic by the Naka river, where Madara remembers meeting Hashirama way back when. Just like the first time Tobirama grasps his hand, fingers gently massaging it as he laughs at Madara stuttering to a stop from whatever rant he’d been on, heart in his throat and mind suddenly focused on whether his palms are too sweaty or not.

His mind goes blank. Eyes focus only on the man in front of him, whom he yearns to strangle just as often as he craves to tackle him onto any surface and ruin him completely. And it should feel wrong, it should be, only Madara hasn’t quite felt so right about anything in a long time, and with every minute they spend with their familiar bickering, just with a layer of something more behind it this time, it becomes harder and harder to deny how good being near Tobirama makes him feel. Happy. Complete.

Madara winces. Oh, gods. He’s waxing poetic now.

All worries about that fly out the window when Tobirama, without so much as a word of warning, leans in and draws Madara by his collar into a kiss.

Surprisingly, he doesn’t spring up to awaken alone in his bed like he always does, after dreams like these.

And, unsurprisingly, it turns out to be Madara’s best kiss to date.

Maybe he’s exaggerating, if just because he’s been craving this so damn much. Tobirama’s lips are hot, gentle, and welcoming against his, a curious tongue darting out to coax Madara’s lips open and deepen the kiss. The delightful drag of his tongue, his hands, rough and demanding on Madara’s chest, waist, thighsーit’s not long before he’s dizzy with it, barely holding back moans of pleasure for fear of sounding too desperate.

“Fuck,” Madara gasps as they pull away for breath, lips still touching as their eyes stay locked and he’s treated to Tobirama’s downright ravenous gaze. “That wasー”

Tobirama cuts him off with another kiss, then another, and it’s not long before they find themselves tangled in a mess of limbs and loose clothing. The hard ground presses against Madara’s back as Tobirama settles on top of him, ravaging Madara’s mouth with a passion that soon has his pants feeling too tight.

Fuck.

He groans, hips thrusting of their own accord and feeling Tobirama's own erection through the fabric.

Madara makes an immense effort to pull away, stifling a whine at the loss of contact.

“Bed,” he says, mortified at his own crudeness far too late after the word comes out. “Fuck, I meantー”

“Yes,” Tobirama growls, capturing Madara’s lips in another open-mouthed kiss before he hauls him up to start gathering their things. “Your place or mine?”

“Yours? Izuna,” Madara rasps, head too clouded to explain more in-depth, but Tobirama seems to understand.

“Anija shouldn’t be back for a while,” Tobirama says, a devastating grin on his face, “lots of time for us to play.”

Gods.

Madara scrambles to his feet fast enough to stumble, and for once, Tobirama has nothing to say about his clumsiness.

They all but crash through the front door, not even bothering to lock it as they rush through a cursory check to make sure Hashirama is out like he said he’d be.

“Fuck, thank the gods,” Tobirama sighs in relief before dragging Madara back into liplock.

Madara can’t hold back a moan this time, heat ratcheting up between them as he wraps his hands around Tobirama’s neck, pulling him closer as they stumble to the couch. Madara ends up straddling him just so that their cocks brush through too-rough clothing, kiss growing urgent and sloppy, as wandering hands touching every inch of uncovered skin.

Clothes fall away, leaving them both shirtless, and Madara needs a few moments to take in the miles of pale skin, so soft to the touch, toned muscles rippling as Tobirama squirms under him, gasps and groans escaping his lips in answer to every one of Madara’s touches. He leans in to mouth Tobirama’s neck, sucking bruising kisses onto the soft skin there pleasure flaring at the base of his stomach each time Tobirama moans and arches against him.

“You’re so sensitive,” Madara whispers, with a hint of incredulity. “That’s... fuck.”

“Yeah,” Tobirama rasps, eyes unfocused, “because... just get on with it.”

“If I knew this is what it took to finally get you to shut up,” Madara chuckles, “I would have tried this a long time ago.”

If he weren’t so sure Tobirama genuinely despised him. Butー

“I fucking wished you would!” Tobirama snaps, though the irritation rings hollow with the breathless tone.

Madara blinks in shock.

“You did?” Madara asks, moving lower to lap at Tobirama’s nipple, sucking the hardened nub into his mouth and eliciting another delicious whimper. “You thought about this? About my hands on you, touching you?”

“Yes!” The desperation in his tone only adds to Madara’s mounting confidence, one that he so rarely ever feels in Tobirama’s presence.

“My mouth on your cock,” he continues, heart hammering against his ribs as he trails kisses lower and lower, “would you like that? While I finger you, getting you ready to take me?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Tobirama’s hips jerk, making them both moan at the friction.

“Off,” Madara grunts, tugging at Tobirama’s pants with one hand as the other works the belt off his own. They scramble, a bit awkwardly, until they’re both naked and sprawled on top of each other, and Madara all but drools at the sight of Tobirama’s cock, hard and straining, beads of precum already leaking from the tip.

Perfect.

It’s tempting to just let go but Madara decides to take his time. Strokes Tobirama’s sides and chest, fingers his nipples, kisses every inch of skin he can reach, sucking bruises and biting slightly. He marvels at every little keen and groan he wrings from Tobirama, relishing how needy he grows with each second, how he moans Madara’s name, curses him and urges Madara to touch him, sliding his dick against his and huffing when Madara doesn’t do anything about it, before finally devolving into pleading.

Just what Madara’s been waiting for.

“Madara, please,” Tobirama’s whines, a soft, desperate sound that makes Madara groan in turn.

“Please what?” he asks, knowing he’s being a tease and enjoying the hell out of it.

Tobirama musters a pretty non-intimidating glare. “Just... fuck.”

“Tell me.”

“Fuck you.”

“Is that what you want?” Madara raises an eyebrow, making sure to wet his lips, letting his tongue gently graze the head of Tobirama’s cock. “I can bottom. I don’t mind.”

“Fuck!” Tobirama squeezes his eyes shut, heavy breathing interspersed with desperate whines. “Just... suck me off. Please. Now.”

“That’s it, Tobirama,” Madara drags out the syllables of his name, a smirk tugging at his lips, “when you ask so nicely, how can I refuse?”

He wraps his lipsーfinallyーaround the head, licking at the salty fluid gathered there, ears ringing from the heady feel of Tobirama’s cock against his mouth, his hands tangling in Madara’s hair, the sounds slipping from Tobirama’s lips that are borderline fucking obscene. Madara takes a breath to brace himself and takes Tobirama a few inches deeper. His length is hot, stiff, and heavy in his mouth as Madara presses the flat of his tongue against the underside, sucking hard, wringing another delectable whimper. Tobirama’s thrusts up, cock hitting the back of his throat, and Madara chokes for a moment, his own dick jerking at the sensation.

“Madara,” Tobirama breathes, “Madara, gods, you feel amazing.”

The words send another rush of pleasure through him, and Madara takes himself in hand to release some of the unbearable tension, stroking himself slowly as he relaxes his throat and sinks down to take Tobirama to the base.

Tobirama’s moan is a sweet, drawn-out melody. One that Madara enjoys making louder and louder as he starts moving, setting a fast-paced rhythm, uncaring for how debauched he may look, drool leaking out of his mouth and coating Tobirama’s cock, throat constricting around it as he takes him deep, lets him stay there, tongue gliding along his shaft. Tobirama soon devolves into barely coherent pleading, until ‘please’, and ‘more’, and Madara’s name are the only words coming out of his mouth.

It’s intoxicating. Overwhelming, far too much. Madara gives up stroking himself, the pleasure ramping up far too quickly, too soon, though Tobirama isn’t doing much better. Madara draws his lips up along his length, lapping up more precum gathered at the head, even as Tobirama’s hips jerk again and the hand in Madara’s hair tightens, urging him back down.

“Madara, please,” Tobirama keens, “I need...”

Madara has a pretty good idea of what he needs. He swirls his tongue over the head, descending again until his nose is pressed against Tobirama’s stomach. Madara swallows around him once, twice, a third time before he feels Tobirama nudging at his shoulder in a warning he doesn’t pay heed to, starting to bob his head again, wrapping his fingers around the base of Tobirama’s cock, using both his mouth and hand to bring him to completion.

“Fuck, Madara, Iー”

Madara lets out a muffled groan once he feels cum spilling against his tongue, swallowing rapidly as Tobirama’s cock pulses, again and again, through an orgasm that has him writhing and and trembling underneath him, hands tightening in Madara’s hair enough to hurt with the kind of tantalizing pain that only adds to the pleasure.

“You feel so fucking good,” Tobirama pants, watching Madara through white lashes, eyes dark and hazy as another shudder runs through him, “fuckーI want...”

Madara releases him with a wet pop. “Want what, Tobirama?” he whispers, voice too hoarse for him to speak properly.

Tobirama grips his shoulders in lieu of an answer, directing Madara to turn around so his back is pressed against his chest.

Then Tobirama’s hand wraps around his cock andーoh.

Madara has pretty much forgotten about his own pleasure, too focused on not coming too soon and making sure Tobirama was enjoying himself.

“My turn,” Tobirama murmurs against his ear, tone still breathless but with a commanding edge to it now that makes Madara shiver, “and lemmeーlet me hear you, Madara.”

Gods. He groans just from the sound of Tobirama’s voice. The feel of his teeth nibbling at his earlobe, his hand setting a quick, harsh rhythm that builds up the pleasure to impossible degrees. Tobirama’s heated skin pressed against his back, his thighs, the fingers of his other hand carding through his hair with a gentleness that contrasts with his harshness before.

It’s too much.

“Go on, Madara.”

Tobirama’s fingers swiping at the precome gathering at the head of Madara’s cock, smearing it over his shaft. His voice, a muffled whisper coaxing Madara to let go, to come for him, to say Tobirama’s nameー

“Just like that, Madara,” Tobirama grunts, “louder for me, come on.”

Madara thrusts into his grip, all but fucking into Tobirama’s fist at this point, moans his name as the heat grows unbearable the closer he gets to release.

“To-bi-rama...” He comes with a broken groan slipping from his lips as cum spills all over his stomach and Tobirama’s hand, each pulse coming stronger than the last, leaving him dizzy and boneless in Tobirama’s arms for however long it takes for his orgasm to abate.

Feels like forever. Probably a lot less. Time does seem to slow down, though, both of them collapsing against each other onto the cushions, breathing raggedly and curling into each other as Madara turns to bury his head in the crook of Tobirama’s neck.

It still seems unreal. Too perfect. So right.

They lie there for a minutes, coming down from the high, limbs tangled and lazy kisses exchanged here and there. Tobirama looks so peaceful, like Madara’s never seen him before: eyes half-lidded, hair messier than ever, sticking in every direction, skin still flushed and marked, all over, with hickeys and teeth marks, the mere sight of which has Madara’s dick stirring in interest, recent orgasm or no.

“You know,” Madara says, hands running over Tobirama’s chest, barely grazing his still sensitive nipples and making him shiver, “if this is the game you want to play, I’m really not against binging it. The rest of the dayーweekend, if you want.” Madara presses a kiss to Tobirama’s neck. “Make the playthrough as thorough as possible.” To his collarbone. “Unlock all achievements and, uh,” Madara trails his hand along Tobirama’s chest to his groin, past his length and to his ass, "explore every location.”

“If that was some thinly veiled euphemism,” Tobirama says, barely holding in laughter, “for you wanting to fuck me sideways...” Madara holds Tobirama’s gaze as his fingers hover just over Tobirama’s hole. “Then Madara, for fuck’s sake, stop trying to be subtle and get to work.”

Madara barks out a laugh.

“Whatever you say, Tobirama.”

Madara dips his voice low and deep, like he’s noticed Tobirama loves, and relishes the whimper it earns him. Relishes the way Tobirama arches against him, looking for friction, how delectable he looks, ready and responsive, so eager for Madara’s touch.

He knows then and there that if it’s up to him, Madara will do anything to make this last.

[koalaaquabear]

The 5 hour finale live stream just concluded and y’all, it was crazy. It has been a wonderful several months with all you guys and I am so excited for April 8th and Junior Year. 

MASSIVE SPOILERS UNDER THE FOLD IF YOU HAVE NOT WATCHED THE STREAM YET. Here is my clusterfuck of a commentary. Enjoy!

Fantasy High: Sophomore Year Live Reaction -HOOT GROWL BABY it's time. I didn't react to part one but wOW that one was crazy. Get ready for EMOTIONS :'(( -SIG FIG RESCUE MISSION lol #ontour -well ok brennan that canopy shit is scary as fuck -murph is still looking like riz -Zaphriel and Ayda!!!!!!! -"HOLD ME BACK GORGUG" i love u emily -Brennan I stg -Ayda is Gorgug's dad lol -oh shIT they're totally in the cottage -heLL YEAH AYDA!! -oh GOD figayda kiss? exceptional. -if ayda dies i WILL throw dice at Brennan -ok brennan make me cry then -GET THE VAN GORGUG -gorgug truly is the greatest wizard of this age -#hugeblueguy -aww zac oyama i love you -"semi-fallen" oH dEar -gorgug texts zelda IMMEDIATELY i love him -amaZING thank you zelda -"ew, creepy, hate that" -zaphriel is the best character you guys, what a homie -i keep forgetting ayda can fly. like she has wings. i know that. -AELWYN! -nOPE someone is coming through the forest and if it's arianwen i will kill cry -HANGMAN???? -HANGMAN!!!! HIS DOG!!!!! -HANGMAN NO I LOVE YOU YOU'RE THE CUTEST DOGGY -adaine i love you baby -"the weak yogurt man" -what high ranking devil??? -fabian you're adorable -aww fabian has a puppy!! (i get that the hangman is eight feet long don't @ me) -that's the first "the ball" -lou can never have the highest roll -BARDY BOYS -oop kristen and riz time -tracker? i barely even know her -chills, brennan. chills -someone in the chat just said "so did skrank fuck zelda?" -intense muSIC -nononononononono -ragh, tracker, and sandralynn better be all right -ooo a sTICK -HELL YEAH RETURN OF THE RIBBON DANCE -"riz weeps" holy shit i love him -"something bad always happens when we go off together" -#RIZTEN -awwoOOOOOOO -ayda can fly too! -absolutely FUCK this bridge ABOUT 30 MINUTES -poor ayda -please say they're ok brennan -"put your tongue baCK in your mouth" -sANDRA LYNN NO -"what kind of arrows" "you know what kind" fuCK OFF BRENNAN -if baxter dies i will cry -wait faerie fire is a cleric spell..? absolutely fuck me -ok aelwyn let's fuck shit up -calling the bank in the middle of this nightmare forest lol -heLL YEAH ZAPHRIEL -luck check luck check luck check -"y'all are going to turn into dragons" -fabian straight up cries? what a fucking rich kid -NO WAY HE HAD T H E COIN??? -REMOVE CURSE BABY -"nnOOO!" lmao -ally and brennan are in the chat -kristen's religion is REALLY coming in handy -the name was turned into the night yorb lol -"how's that axe feeling?" "..pretty light ;)" i love him -ayda can lift the axe??? exceptional -FIG IS KALINA? ABSOLUTELY RAD -brennan has created a place where illusions are real and emily is holding him TO IT -"do you have a dongle?" incredible -EMILY I LOVE YOU! KALINA IS A YOUTUBER BABY -wretchrot is baCK baby -aelwyn i love that -"i am a low quality child" "yeah ayda you're a bad kid" -"hey bitch" emily axford is a goddess -im sorry cOURT OF ELDERS? -NO I WILL CRY -ROLL INITIATIVE TIME -go OFF hangman -ooo some high initiatives babyyy -zac oyama is my favorite ever -"trackerrr" -brian as soon as emily was threatened said "how dare you" -brennan you FUCK "i'm awake for all of this" FUCK YOU -fig and her mommy issues: an album -absolutely FUCK THE TREE GUY -kick that wood elf BITCH ABOUT ONE HOUR -fuck him UP fabian, shit in his gODDAMN mOUTh -"SPRING BREAK YOU STUPID MOTHERFUCKER" -pleASE BRENNAN LET HIM SHOOT HER WITH THE TINCTURE -spRING break this is for the corn god -okay nevermind riz is holding his action -i love the intrepid heroes they're adorable -"ice feast" fucking love them so much -yES the ball thank GOD -brennan..? -"her rage ends" tracker = barbarian -FIRST NAT 20 BABY -"IT 100% WORKS BUT IT 50% WORKED" -that's the second "the ball" -bOOOOOOO BRENNAN -mad plans for the tree guy -sorry, is his name crAFTME ROOTDRINKER? -oh ok it's aelwyn we're fine -cone of cOLD baby i love aelwyn what a babe -you absolutely hate to see it -ragh my baby i love you -SPRING BREAK -tracker nO PLEASE -TRACKER JUST CRIT OH NO -brennan is really good at acting this btw -wait 14 on a crit??? i mean oH NO kRISTEN, bOO -disPEL MAGIC BABY -ALLY BEARDSLEY YOU ABSOLUTE GOD -aww kristennn is babyyy -tracker nooo don't cryyyy -you've sAVED your GIRLFRIEND -"some of us have already done that today" fig the sHADE -ally simply musT get new dex -absolutely fuck that brennan i don't need that vampire pixie -FUCK IT UP AYDA -FIGHT ME IN THE SKY! -"does a 29 hit?" daMN zac that absolute SHADE -53 DAMAGE?? CHEJ IS SO FUCKING STRONG -"goddamn paper lantern" -absolutely fuck you brennan -nevermind gorgug and adaine both passed the con saving throw -"i don't like you" lou really gets personally upset about this and i love that -nO NO NONONONO aelwyn and tracker are down -FUCK IT UP ADAINE -gdi brennan don't do this to us -ABSOLUTELY FUCK THE TREE -fig is straight up gonna kill her mom -this is scary as fuck -HANGMAN HAS A BREATH WEAPON AND YOU DIDN'T SAY SHIT??? CHOKE ON GRAPES BRENNAN -FUCK EM UP HANGMAN ABOUT 1 HOUR AND A HALF -wood elf is DOWN baby hoot growl -kristen thinks the elf is gak lol -23 DAMAGE??? AC OF 25??? ABSOLUTELY FUCK IT UP FABIAN -SHENANIGANS TIME FOR MURPH -HELL SECRET AGENT TIME -27??? RIZ YOU'RE THE HOTTEST -third the ball -imagine the ball is secretly SO HOT without the hat -YES BRENNAN GOT A NAT 1 EAT YOUR GODDAMN DICE -sweEET -fourth the ball (they've all been Lou cuz of course) -incredible turn murph -kalina is SO GOOD at skateboarding -#bloodphoto -KALINA HAS 23 WISDOM? absolutely fuck me -oh hELL YEAH FIG COUNTER THE COUNTER -emily is doing some SHIT right now you guys (fear spell) -DAMMIT that high as fuck wisdom -sorry WHAT she rips open sPACE??? -BABY BETTER SAVE THE GODDAMN DAY -let's go BABY -"mMMHHHHnnN leET ME tOUCh ItT" baby is fucking weird -"baby vs mommy" i love you siobhan -aelwyn better not DIE brennan -riz baby let's get it -trACKEr -nAT 1??? kristen is unCONSCIOUS?? -HUMAN DETERMINATION!!! THE GRIT BABY] -wait aura of life is badass!! they can't lose damage?? -okay scrap that we're gonna TURN UNDEAD and then MASS HEALING WORD? absolutely incredible -gorgug has so much goddamn health -FUCK THIS TREE DUDE -KILL IT AYDA LET'S GO -"her girl's side" *in lou voice* okAY bRENNNAn -second nat 1 but both of them re-rolled -GEM!!!! -LET'S GET GORTHALAX BABYYYY -"BIG DADDY" -ayda is so turned on lol -KILL IT CHEJ OKAYYYY -fuck this centaur -i'm so nervous -puT THOSE DICE DOWN BRENNAN -"you're gonna drop." shuT UP -riz is fULLY DEAD???? -i hate this. i hate this. i hate this. i hate this. i hate this. i hate this. -sHUT UP BRENNAN -baby is DEAD oh my GOD you absolutely hate to see it ABOUT 2 HOURS -nO NO NO NO NO NO NO PUT THAT CROWN AWAY BITCH -absolutely fuck me, the nightmare king is totally fucking back i hate myself -aww fabian is baby -hELL YEAH FABIAN SPRING BREAK -"i've lost one friend, that's too many" fabian is adorable -"that's a full ass miss, my guy" -sandra lynn just crit on chej :(((((( -14 damage is not very spring break of her (she did 28 but it was halved because gorgug is such a strong boyyy) -LET'S GO LOU -almost all of them are spellcasters wtf (only one who isn't is riz but he has a daily misty step) -fuck em up hangman -fUCK EM UP HANGMAN! d8 + 2d6 +8 i think -figaroth the unfaethable baby -THOSE ARE SOME SHENANIGANS FIG I LOVE IT (she's shattering the rubies to get a revivify diamond) -casts teleport??? aelwyn came here to FUCK -"i would love to teach you this spell" aww the abernant sisters liking each other is my new aesthetic -fuck em up adaine -you can hit the tree on a 12 babyyyyy -heLL YEAH 44 DAMAGE ADAINE IS STRONG NOW -kalina is not even that cool she just said "that's enough of that" in the most uncool way -2 down 3 to go! -omg wait it would be so badass if they could just remove curse on kalina -"Mr. The Insatiable" -ayda is such a sweetheart "i don't care if you want me to date your daughter but i do hope you love me" -"I LOVE THIS SONG" yes siobhan me too -on a DC 20 she got a 31!!!! consider my jeans creamed -SHRED BABY GIRL!!! -KILLIAN IS DEAD! RIZ IS ALIVE! -ayda is so turned on AHHH -I LOVE RIZ SO MUCH "am i interrupting something???" -fuck him UP chej! 3 hits, no crits -hell yeah mr. march!! oh sorry wrong series -a gROUP PROJECT i'm DEAD -someone in the chat called him "snac oyama" and you're rigHT -siobhan's straight fucking this tree UP -the spellcasters are like all out of spells at this point -fuck OFF arianwen. KILL YOUR MOM -"where's your father, aelwyn?" "last i saw, adaine killed him so *shrug*" i lOVE HER -FUCK THEM UP GORTHALAX -abolutely fuck the nightmare king -waIT GORTHALAX IS GONNA KILL THE NIGHTMARE KING -sidenote: fig calls gorthalax pops -dO IT BRENNAN kILL YOUR OWN BIG BAD -this treeant has GOT to be dead -NAT 1 on that attack?? SPRING BREAK BABY -no we haven't seen kalina in action brennan, and we do not want to -OH SHIT THE TIE! YOu just got FUCKed bRENnan eaT youR DICE -yeS AYDA ROAST HER -"GOTTEM!" -i'm sorry i just hallucinated, did you say 6 ATTACKS? -time to go VIRAL BABY -19 intelligence, 23 wisdom, 20 charisma for kalina? absolutely fuck me -riz just got kICKed! you absolutely hate to see it -GODDAMMIT -KALINA IS HOMOPHOBIC CONFIRMED ABOUT 2 AND A HALF HOURS -brennan be like "im about to kill this bird" -absolutely fuck me i hate this -let's go FIG -time to caTCH the bALL -murph has the same thinking face as riz and it's adorable -this is not very spring break brennan -DC 25 acrobatics check? c'mon faBIAN -29????? -fifth the ball (from the hangman) -"there's just something endearing about him" fabian loving his friends is adorable -absolutely fuck me that fire elemental is adorable -absolutely swaddle the ball -well hot take but fuck the nightmare king you guys -absolutely NOT brennan do NOT kill adaine you PSYCHO BITCH -PLEASE ADAINE LIVE -STRAIGHT DEAD? FULLY DEAD? FUCK OFF WITH THIS INSTAKILL SHIT BRENNAN -hell yeah ayda is back and kristen has the revivify diamond -aelwyn FULLY banished that unicorn -it's good to know ragh really doesn't want them to die -YES RAGH IS BACK BABY -fuck em up kristen -s/o to DND Beyond btw absolutely banger website -hell yeah mass healing word is awesome -clerics are GOOD you guys i should play more clerics -FUCK IT UP AYDA -SANDRA LYNN IS BACK BABY -skater chej is my favorite thing -aBSOLUTEly fuck the tree -i have no idea wHAT is happening ABOUT 3 HOURS -fuCK YOU nightmare king -i absolutely hate this battle but at least gorthalax is still standing -gorgug better split this gd tree -"what if we just kill kalina?" yeah zac it's that goddamn easy -brennan almost just fucked everyone -"does she want to borrow my teddy bear?" the SHADE -"MAKEOVERRR" i love you siobhan -this tree SUCKS -battlemaster is cool as fUCK SPRING BREAK -BARDY BOYS also i think that was a nat 20 -i can't imagine the thistlesprings watching the battle livestream and like worrying if gorgug is going to die -FUCK HER UP THE BALL -ABSOLUTE SHENANIGANS FROM MURPH! -with ADVANTAGE BABY -"has anyone seen my hat!?" keep it off baby you're HOT now -"mirrors negate mirrors" "i think oscar wilde said that" i love them -#hotrizweek? -holy shit fig is FUCKING THIS BATTLE UP -HELL YEAH KALINA ROLLS A NATURAL 2!!!! -hell yeah adaine is back and SO MUCH is happening that i'm like forgetting to write down my reactions -kill this woody motherfucker baby -the music is too lOUD -ok it's normal now -fuck em up gorgug -i'm sorry the chat is saying he did 90 DAMAGE?!?!?!? -KILL IT CHEJ ILY -fuck off brennan, absolutely fuck off -ABSOLUTELY FUCK OFF BRENNAN -gorthalax is FULLY DEAD? absolUTELY FUCK YOU -SAINT KRISTEN APPLEBEES -adaine has SOLVED THIS SHIT -god all the abernant names are confusing -fuck you kalina ABOUT 3 AND A HALF HOURS -BRENNAN I STG IF RAGH ENDS UP DEAD -hellish rebuke that bitch -c'MON faBIAN HIT that BITCH -wait is kalina a rogue and a druid? absolutely incredible -FUCK IT UP FABIAN -OMG THE HANGMAN BETTER FUCK THIS UP -YES THE BALL 31 DAMAGE -so the stream just ended. i'll say it again: absolutely fuck me -ok so we're back and kalina got fucked up -WHAT THE FUCK A NAT 20???????? YOU ABSOLUTELY LOVE TO SEE IT -ALLY WHAT THE FUCK IS UP WITH THIS -I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS AND NEITHER CAN BRENNAN -MAGIC IS REAL AND SO IS MY ALLY -i can't believe this. eat your GOD damn DICE brennan! -OMG ARE THE NIGHTMARE KING AND THE GODDESS ONE AND THE SAME? -THEY ARE! THE NIGHTMARE KING IS THE NIGHTMARE QUEEN -brennan is CRAZY AHHHHH -brennan absolutely stop this tension -28 insight. brennan is fucked -GO TOWARDS HIM KRISTEN -YES!!!! PLEASE SAY THIS IS A GOOD THING -ALLY GOT A NAT 20 THEY BETTER BE RIGHT -fear. is. not. real. -this is just like the ending of moana -NO WAY BRENNAN I LOVE YOU (you wouldn't believe it from what i have said but it's true) -this is intense i'm about to cry -you're meeting god and you say "is it too early for this?" -LMAO 5'9" -Moral of the story: IDK and that's OK -ok ally make me cRy -HELL YEAH NEW SHIRT BABY -i'm so emotional -"well oBVIouslY cASsAndRa" i wish every deity had names as normal and human as cassandra -fuck them UP cassie -i love that tracker's just like "uh... babe?" -love having god in your corner -no more hangman puppy :((( -RIZTEN are the CUTEST i love them "i love all of them, riz the most, we know this" -"we still need the crown for our grade" FABIAN I LOVE YOU -"counselo- former counsel- i'm an assistant :(" why do y'all think this man is hot -KILL ARIANWEN -"she tried to hurt me in my shattered state?" "that's her MO" aww adaine my baby -HOLY SHIT PLEASE GIVE GILEAR ALL OF ARIANWEN'S MAGIC -GORGUG YOU SWEETHEART I LOVE YOU -cassandra throwing SHADE -ThE vANdS -aelwyn throwing SHADE -AWW RAGH I LOVE YOU BABY brennan lives another day -"a big bug gave me a riddle" that is NOT what happened -aww the hirelings are all crying and i DO NOT stan -hell YEAH cassandra OH I STOPPED KEEPING TRACK OF TIME IT'S BEEN OVER 4 HOURS -hELL YES HANGVAN -i love you fabian -nO IS CHUNGLE DOWN BIM REAL? -maybe the real chungle down bim is the friends we made along the way -GARTHY i love them -arthuR aGUEFORT - absolutely wild -ayda and arthur is crazy -"snOGGING THE HEADMASTER'S DAUGHTER ARE WE?" -awww that is so smooth fig "you don't need to make me the most magnificent creature because it seems you already have" -ARTHUR PULLS THROUGH -garthy is a cutie i love how they care so much for ayda -oH FUCK ME garthy is ayda's child from her previous life -"your girlfriend's daughter fucked your mom!" goddammit siobhan i can't handle this -if they fail i will cry -CHRONOMANCY!? absolutely fuck me -"professor principal headmaster aguefort" -hell yeah arthur you're killing it -faelwyn? absolutely can't handle it -aww kristen is baby -jawbone and sandra lynn are ok? amazing -jawbone is the best character -"our parents are great" kill me why don't you siobhan -AWWW FUCKING STOP BRENNAN WITH THESE GIFTS -i just cried he wants to adopt her -"you're easy to love" jawbone is fUCKING me up -LYDIA BARKROCK what a badass i love her already -"a pheonix whom everyone she touches is reborn better" fuck off emily -gorgug is a cutie <3 <3 -ABSOLUTELY KICK SKRANKS BIRD ASS -GORGUG CONFIRMED FUCKS -riz is a dork i love him -who knew "you're so much like your father" could make me feel like that -GILEAR IS MOVING THE FUCK IN BABY -GILEAR WITH SELF CONFIDENCE IS MY AESTHETIC -aww jawbone gave ayda autism books? jawbone is the sweetest to ayda cuz OF COURSE HE IS -AYDA GETS HER SPELL!!! -Ayda's Comprehend Subtext is the cutest spell ever -adaine and fig's friendship is too cute -craig has always been down for everything. i don't know craig but i love him -YES HOOT GROWL HOOT GROWL I'M SO PROUD OF RAGH -"BAD KIDS FOR LIFE" RAGH IS A CUTIE -NO FAELWYN IS REALLY HAPPENING I CAN'T -fabian's laugh is so cute -i love how nervous fabian is -WAIT FABIAN AND AELWYN ABSOLUTELY WILL FUCK? -fabian's gonna get his KISSES IN -aww i get how hyped figayda is but they are truly so adorable -weLL EMILY AXFORD I WILL LET YOU HURT ME LIKE THAT -they said i love you :((( -tracker only deserves the best -TRACKER'S GOING TO FALLINEL? I LOVE HER -ragh is going too? gay road trip! -that's adorable -ABSOLUTELY NOT BRENNAN FUCK OFF DO NOT SAY THE NIGHT YORB IS GONNA BE THE NEXT VILLAIN -BRENNAN NO YOU BITCH I HATE YOU THE NIGHT YORB IS THE VILLAIN OF JUNIOR YEAR? -that was crazy. i cried, i laughed. i am fuCKING HYPED FOR CROWN OF CANDY AND JUNIOR YEAR GANG!

[thecleverdame]

Caught - 3

Sam x Reader

Masterlist

Summary: You’re arrested and interrogated as an accomplice to the notorious Winchester brothers.

Warning: Talk of past violence, death of parents, murder, rape, torture and domestic abuse/violence.

Words: 2.3k

Beta: ilikaicalie

Part 1-7 are available now on my Patreon for a monthly pledge of 2.50. This pledge includes early access to all my stories and Patreon exclusive content.  >> CLICK HERE <<

-

It’s day 3 and this time instead of bringing you to the same interrogation room, Detective Marlow leads you down a series of halls into a cozier side room with an aging couch and scuffed up coffee table. There’s a knock-off Airwick scent dispenser that puffs as you sit down, wafting a burp of sickly sweet cranberry in your general direction.

Marlow sits in an armchair across from you, setting up a video camera to record the interview and then leafing through her stack of meticulously organized notes. She smiles, careful and calculated, trying nonchalantly to get you comfortable enough to open up.

“Would you like a warm-up?” She nods toward your styrofoam cup of coffee.

“I’m good, thanks.” You pick at the edge, crossing your ankles and waiting for the day to begin.

“Let me know if you need anything.” She shifts her hips. She’s nervous. “We’ll get started. If you need a break just speak up. This can be tasking and I want you to know that honestly, I have your best interests in mind.”

“I understand,” you nod and fold your hands in your lap.

“I was hoping we could talk about the beginning.”

“The beginning?”

“After Sam first took you. Those first weeks and months.”

“That was a long time ago.”

“Anything you can remember.”

In truth, you can recall almost every detail, the sights, sounds, and feelings of being ripped out of your life and transplanted into a clusterfuck with the Winchesters.

“It was...scary. For a long time. But I was so overcome with grief that I don’t think I let that part of it sink in. Sam was afraid the men who killed my parents would look for me. He knew he and Dean attracted more attention together, so the two of us stayed under the radar. We’d drive two or three hundred miles every day, stay in some shitty motel and do the same thing again as soon as the sun came up. It was three weeks of moving around.”

“Did you try to get away from Sam during that time?”

“He told me I could leave.”

“He did?” She’s surprised, eyebrows shooting up as her pen stops on the paper. “Would he have let you go?”

“I don’t know. Probably not,” you shrug. “He explained how dangerous it was. That I should stay with him. I believed him, so I stayed.”

“Did he threaten you? Hurt you?”

“No, we just watched a lot of movies and read books.”

“Did he talk about his brother?” she asks, taking notes.

“Yeah, as the days went on. I knew we were going to meet up with Dean eventually. I think Sam felt bad, he knew his brother wouldn’t want to add me to the mix. I think he was prepping me for Dean’s reaction.”

“What was Dean’s reaction?”

“Dean was resistant.” You smile halfheartedly. “He didn’t want me there, Sam and Dean were a two-man show and I was the third wheel. Something else to worry about.”

“But Sam insisted you stay with them?”

“Yeah. He said it was safer that way.”

Five Years Ago

“It’s gonna be alright,” Sam says.

The car is parked outside room number eleven at the Cable Car Motel. He’s sitting behind the steering wheel with both hands resting on his thighs. Inside that room is his brother, the infamous Dean you’ve heard so much about it feels like you already know him.

“You keep saying that.” Watching him grimace you unbuckle your seat belt. “I trust you, Sam.”

“Good.” Sam takes a deep breath, looks at you with hesitation then exits the car. You follow him to the door, standing beside him as he knocks once. The door flies open and a handsome guy with a gun in his hand is standing barefoot on aging carpet.

Dean looks from Sam to you and then back to his brother, waving the gun at him.

“No,” Dean barks.

“Dean, we talked about this,” Sam counters, readying for a fight.

“I know. And I told you in no uncertain terms to ditch the chick. The last thing we need is another liability. She,” he tips the barrel of the gun toward you, “is gonna get us killed.”

“Don’t be so dramatic.” Sam rolls his eyes.

Dean turns and walks back into the room, leaving the door wide open. Sam places a hand on your back, ushering you inside before carefully closing the door.

“You have to know this is a bad idea, Sammy.”

“Don’t call me Sammy. They’re going to kill her, we can’t just leave her on her own.”

“So we stash her somewhere. They are plenty of hunters that could keep her safe.”

“No way.” Sam is adamant about this.

A couple of weeks ago, after a few beers, Sam explained how the other hunters came for him once they knew about his powers. They saw him as tainted, evil. What Dean’s talking about is exactly the thing Sam’s trying to protect you from.

Sam sighs and turns to you. “Can you give us a minute?”

“Sure,” you start to move toward the door but Sam directs you toward the bathroom instead. You sit on the toilet and listen through paper-thin walls. Talk about the illusion of privacy.

“What the hell, man!” Dean hisses. “I said no.”

“And I told you I’m not leaving her. She’s special Dean, like me. I can’t let anything happen to her.”

“Are you sleeping with her?”

“What? No. Look Dean-” Sam scoffs.

“I know how you get when you’ve got it bad for a girl. This is what you do, you ride in on a white horse and save the day.”

“That’s not what’s going on here. But you need to think about this. She lost her family, and people will be looking for her. She shouldn’t be alive.”

“You think yellow eyes hid her away? As what, a backup?”

“Maybe, but she doesn’t understand what she is. She’s just trying to deal and we gotta help her.”

“It’s not a good idea. It makes all of us a giant fucking target. She’s not a hunter. She’s gonna get hurt or killed.”

“I’ll take care of her.”

“Yeah, I bet you will.” Dean is dripping with sarcasm.

“Fuck you, man. I’m not trying to get laid. I’m just trying to do the right thing.”

“Fine. But she’s your responsibility. And for the record, this is gonna end in blood.”

Present Day

“Dean thought I was a liability. That I’d slow them down, get them caught,” you snort.

You and Dean have grown closer over the years. These days he’s your family just as much as Sam.

“But Sam wanted you to stay?” she clarifies.

“Yeah, he said he wanted to keep me safe.”

“What did keeping you safe entail? Were you locked in a room? Were there rules?”

You laugh, remembering the near debilitating intensity of the first months with the Winchesters.

“It was the wild west. Sam was scared something would happen to me so he took me everywhere. For probably the first six months I don’t think I was ever more than twenty feet from him.”

“How did you feel about that? Were you scared of him? Of Dean?”

“A little, a first. But I knew Sam liked me, he was kind to me despite being this huge beast of a guy who was trained to kill. Over time being with him felt safe. He’s always protected me, never let anyone fuck with me. Not randos in the bar or some assassins trying to kill me.”

“He’s your protector.”

“He’s a lot of things.” You smile, picturing Sam’s face in the mornings. He’s most handsome with heavy eyes and wild hair, lying on a pillow next to you.

“When did you begin a more intimate relationship?”

“About a year in. I ran away. Their life was too much. I saw something I shouldn't have seen and it terrified me. I wanted out. Sam found me and things...changed after that.”

“Did he assault you?”

“No.”

“You gave consent?”

“Of course.”

“I ask because I have a hard time seeing no as a realistic option. You knew the extreme violence he was capable of. At that point, you witnessed first hand what the Winchesters were capable of. And you also felt a sense of loyalty, for the protection he offered. Could you have said no?”

“Sam’s never done anything to me I didn’t want,” you counter.

“I only know what I’ve seen.” She sits back, watching you thoughtfully. “We watched the surveillance video together. He beat you. Sexually assaulted you. I’ve seen the hospital records. But I’ve also watched the videos on your phone. So I know you care about him, you love him. That has to be confusing.”

“The world we live in is...different. Things aren’t always what they appear to be.”

“I can understand that.” Marlow thinks you’re in denial about your situation, but she’s softened her approach. “Every relationship is complicated, there are layers upon layers. I’m not saying Sam is all bad but you do realize he’s capable of incredible violence, don’t you?”

“They both are.” You look her in the eyes, staring Marlow head-on. “Everything Sam and Dean have ever done has been in the pursuit of bad people, evil things.”

Her eyes narrow, debating how to handle this new declaration.

“Y/N, they’ve killed a lot of people. Lots of them. Remember the diner? The bank? They slaughtered innocent people and apparently enjoyed themselves.”

You squirm, still unsure of how to handle this part of things. Leviathan make everything significantly more complicated.  They left a nauseating body count and the proof to confirm everyone’s suspicions. One look at the video uploaded to one of the victim’s social media would be enough to convince anyone that Sam and Dean are complete and total monsters with a taste for blood.

“That doesn’t bother you?” Marlow asks. Her question is a genuine one, there’s no angle behind it.

“Everyone’s got their shit.” You shrug, tucking hair behind both ears.

“Did you know about that series of attacks? What they had planned?”

“No, of course not.”

“After it happened, you made the choice to stay with Sam. Despite the fact that he murdered dozens and recorded it for the world. You stayed.”

Jesus, you wish she would move on from this. While you understand she’s trying to get inside your motivations there’s not much you can say short of explaining the men in all these videos are shapeshifting creatures.

“That’s not a question,” you counter.

“Okay, let me rephrase. Why did you stay?”

“It’s hard to explain.”

“Try.”

“That Sam and my Sam are two very different people. There’s so much more than what you see. They’ve helped people, people in real trouble that have no one else to turn to.”

“I’ve read those reports too. There’s a fascinating contrast between the men who shot up a restaurant full of random bystanders and the guys who travel the country solving bizarre crimes.”

Four Years and Nine Months Ago

“He hates me.” You sit in the back of the Impala watching Dean walk toward the gas station.

Sam twists around in his seat, looking back at you. “He just needs time. He’s not used to this. It’s been just the two of us for a long time.”

“Maybe he’s right. I don’t wanna get anyone else killed. If you got me a fake ID you could drop me off somewhere-”

“No way.” Sam shakes his head, shifting in his seat to fully turn around and face you. “I told you I was gonna take care of you and I will. Don’t let him make you feel bad. I want you here. We’re going to find out who killed your parents, and who’s after you. Once things are safe you can do whatever you want, but right now just stick with me and ignore my brother. He’s got a bad attitude.”

“I don’t have much of a choice.”

You sit back watching cars come and go from the gas pumps. Sam’s thumbing through his phone but he’s not really looking at the screen. You’ve come to know him in the time you spent alone together. When it was just the two of you, you talked. Talked about everything. Childhoods and college and losing people you care about. You shared book recommendations and watched Netflix on his tiny phone screen to pass the hours. It was a nice little bubble that felt safe, a world away from the horror of what happened to your family. And the uncertainty of what lay ahead. Being with Sam was like living in a cocoon, but now you’re back in the real world and it’s a harsh reality.

“I was thinking,” Sam starts, staring out the windshield. “If you want, maybe you and I can get a room together and Dean can have a room to himself. Only if you're comfortable.”

The three of you have shared rooms for too long. Sam’s slept on the floor next to your bed despite your willingness to trade places. Dean’s complained about how much time you spend in the shower.

“I’d prefer that,” you reply as Dean walks toward the car with a plastic sack full of snacks. “Maybe he’ll ease up if I’m not in his space twenty-four hours a day.”

[mikeisthricedeceased]

You’re My Home 3

Catfish x OC

Part 3: Honesty

Word Count: ~3.5k

Part 1  Part 2

Warnings: ANGST, mentions of death, mentions of alcoholism, mentions of drug use, overdose, fluff

A/N: Sorry for the angst. Also for the info-dump of a dating montage. I gotta establish things. They fuck in the next part. Like, a lot.

Summary: They go on a few more dates and its a Montage. Frankie has a bad time in his apartment. Overdose and ER visit. Nita gives Frankie a stern talking-to.

~*~*~*~

Frankie woke up in his room, looking around blearily. He squinted, turning to look at the other side of the bed, only to find it empty.

Huffing out a sigh, he buried his face in his pillow.

She might’ve had work. Or had things to take care of at her place. 

Or she just wanted to leave after he fell asleep because it was clear that nothing was going to happen, even if he had been awake.

It wasn’t fair to think like that. He knew that. It was a reflection of how he was getting into his own head far more than it was a reflection of anything she’d done.

Nita had sprawled out on the couch, leaning into him, head on his chest as they scrolled through movies and shows. She’d done her best to explain some parts of her job or the whole community behind it when they couldn’t find anything else to watch.

They’d spent a long time curled up on the couch and talking about whatever came to mind.

When he had asked her to stay, he hadn’t really been expecting much. After all, even with how much he wanted her, that odd guilt had stayed in the back of his mind.

He could still picture her tired smile as she said, “As long as we can move back to the bed. I don’t think I’ll survive sleeping on a couch for the night.”

She had quickly exchanged her jeans for an old pair of sweatpants he had, which were way too long on her, before slipping under the covers with him.

And now she was gone.

He reached for the phone on his nightstand, lifting it up and squinting. No notifications.

He sank into numbness as he got up, rubbing a hand down his face and shuffling to the bathroom to take a piss.

When he came back out, he headed to the kitchen, walking right past an old set of sneakers with a folded pair of jeans and a bra sitting on top of them.

He was in the middle of a yawn when he stepped into the kitchen and was confronted with the sight of Nita kneeling on top of the counter, a cabinet open next to her as she read the label on a bag of ground coffee.

She looked up when he stopped, giving him a warm smile.

The morning was already far better than he’d been preparing himself for.

~*~*~*~

“And this was right after she was born?” Nita asked.

Frankie smiled. “Yeah, right when they brought her back from being weighed and everything. She was so tiny.”

She looked up from the photo on his phone, placing a hand on his arm. “She’s so beautiful.”

Nita was sitting with her legs thrown across his lap, curled up against the arm of the couch in his living room. One of his hands rested just above her ankle, the other splayed over her thigh.

“She is,” he agreed. “Lana almost had to knock me out to get me to hand her over. As soon as Izzy was in my arms, I never wanted to give her up for anything.” His expression was so soft, bursting with adoration.

Nita chuckled. “Doesn’t surprise me, you big softie,” she said, brushing her knuckles along his jaw.

He rolled his eyes, waving her hand away. “Yeah, yeah.” He pointed to the phone in her hands. “If you scroll further down, there should be some more recent pictures. Stuff from her birthday.”

Nita leaned her head against the back of the couch as she looked through the pictures, a small smile on her face that grew whenever she came across a photo of a little girl with cake icing all over her face. “I think it’s safe to say you have the most adorable daughter in the world. At least, in my opinion,” she said, patting his chest and handing him his phone.

He nodded, grinning over at her as he took it. “Oh, I’d have to agree. No contest.” He squeezed her thigh affectionately.

They’d been dating for about a month. It was good. So good. 

Over that month, he’d told her a little bit about the fuckup of a job that went down in South America the year before, and how it had cost them an old friend. How he blamed himself for the crash that made the whole thing go downhill. How he and his buddies had been trying to stay in touch a little more after that, even with how much civilian life kept them apart.

She’d told him about her friend and business partner, Sydney, as well as his husband, Ethan. How they, and the people she worked with, were her family. How her parents had kicked her out and cut her off when she came out after high school and that she had joined the Marines to help pay for college without them. How she hadn’t spoken to them since then. Nothing, in 25 years.

He didn’t think he would have made it as far as he had if he hadn’t had his parents to back him up. He had to give her credit for finding a whole new family and making a life doing what she enjoyed and cared about.

Frankie could feel himself open up to her whenever they went out together or when she came over and they just talked for hours about everything and nothing.

He eventually managed to bring up his struggles with cocaine, terrified of her reaction but more so terrified of the possibility of her finding out some other way.

She’d looked taken aback when he told her. He was ready for her to tell him that she couldn’t be around that, that he had to fix it before he considered dating. It had played a big part in ending his marriage, after all.

She had just looked at him for a few moments. “My assistant, Tiff, takes the key to my home liquor cabinet home with her whenever I start to get too stressed.” Her gaze slid down. “I started giving it to her once we’d gotten a little closer, and I’d told her about how I’d been well on my way to alcoholism before I was even old enough to drink. Joining the military made it worse. It peaked right after I got discharged. That whole clusterfuck tipped me over the edge and I ended up in the ER getting my stomach pumped after a particularly rough night of binge drinking.” She’d shrugged, offering a sad smile. “Started going to therapy after that. It helps. Having friends, too. I won’t pretend to know what it’s like for something like coke, but I imagine there’s some crossover in the reasoning behind it. I wanted to shut things out. The shit with my family. All the stuff while I was serving. Almost losing Syd.”

She had let out a sigh, holding one of his hands between hers. “Stopping it has taken more discipline than I ever thought I had. And I haven’t even gone full sober, but I have strict rules for myself. It starts to get easier though, when you find other, better habits to take its place.”

Frankie had run a hand through his hair. “How do you do that?”

A wrinkle appeared between her brows. “Do what?”

“Make me have some hope for myself that doesn’t feel like complete bullshit.”

She had brought his hand up and kissed his knuckles. “I’m just telling you the stuff that I’ve gone through and what I’ve learned in the years since then. We’ve all had our struggles. A little empathy only makes sense.”

He had pulled her up into his lap after that, sliding his arms around her and just holding her there for a long time.

He also occasionally worked up the courage to ask her specific questions about her job at the club. He’d made some effort to look things up online, but usually ended up feeling like everything went over his head.

“So, people call you Boss when you’re there?” he asked one night when they’d had pizza delivered to his apartment for a night in.

She nodded, sliding a slice of ham and pineapple onto her plate. “Yep. And outside of work, too, since it kinda becomes a habit, but that’s mostly the other staff. The Boss is kinda like a role I play while I’m there in general, and with a few of my regular clients that like that for private play. The suits are really nice,” she said, smiling.

“When you say regular clients, is that just people who stop by a lot?”

“It’s a repeat business. We have our regulars just like anywhere else, people that get what they’re looking for with a particular Dom on staff, or the people who pay for the membership so they can use the equipment in the open dungeons,” she said, shrugging as she took a bite of pizza.

Frankie set his beer on the coffee table and raised an eyebrow. “What kinds of stuff do your clients ask you to do for them?” The tips of his ears went a little warm when he realized what he might be asking about. “If you can even say. I guess most people wouldn’t want their... interests to be talked about with random people.”

She grinned. “You can say kinks. It’s not a bad word. And I’m happy to discuss clients in a very general way. I just don’t want to out anyone specific for what they like.”

He sat back into the couch. “So, what is the general stuff?”

“Well,” she began, “I’ve dealt with Daddy and Mommy kinks, a lot of bondage, nonsexual overstimulation, sensory deprivation, impact play, breath play. Degradation is a big one, as is praise. Sometimes, there’s a specific scenario that the client wants to explore, so that usually has some more involved roleplaying.”

He nodded along, eyes going a bit wide. “I know what some of those words mean,” he told her. “And you’re the one in charge every time? Like, you’re the one doing stuff, the tying up and name-calling and everything?”

“I am the Boss. So, yes.” She drew her legs up and tucked them under her. “But, despite the power play going on in a scene, the submissive always has a level of control over the situation because they can end it immediately and at any point. That’s what safewords are for, or alternatives when a sub can’t speak.”

“Right,” he said slowly. “And the club has its own safeword?”

She nodded through another bite.

He looked down at his own plate. “And you’re really into all of that?”

“Yeah. It’s why I made it my job. I mean, I’m not really into being called Mommy or Daddy myself, but I don’t mind it if it’s what the client wants. Kind of a loose roleplay.”

“So, you—” He had to clear his throat, glancing over at her. “You want to do that kind of stuff...to me?”

Nita looked over at him, studying his face before setting her plate on the table with a sigh. She scooted closer to him on the couch and set a hand on his knee. “I don’t want to do anything that you don’t want me to. We don’t have to do any of this and I’m certainly not going to force it on you. If you find yourself interested, we can try some things, but I’m not expecting you to get on board just because I am.” She leaned against him, taking his hand. “And considering the fact that we’ve only really made out at this point, I have no plans to start breaking out any crazy shit.”

Embarrassment burned in his chest. “Yeah, I’m—I’m sorry about that whole thing,” he said, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck.

She sat up a little higher to look at him, still partially leaning into his side. “Stop it. That isn’t something you ever need to apologize for. I am fully capable of enjoying time with you that doesn’t involve sex, Frankie.” She slid her arms around his chest, resting her head on his shoulder. “And I get to cuddle up with you regardless, so I’m only winning.”

He offered a half-hearted hum, but wrapped an arm around her to keep her tucked against him.

She squinted up at his profile. “Don’t make me start,” she warned.

“Start what?”

“You know what.”

He shook his head. “No, I don’t.”

“I’m gonna start, Frankie,” she said, pursing her lips at him.

“I don’t know what that means,” he insisted, holding his hands up, brows lifting in exasperation.

Nita brought a hand up to cup the side of his face. “So pretty.”

He frowned in confusion. “What?”

She leaned up and buried her face in his neck. “The most handsome,” she said.

“What’re you—”

“Very cozy. The sweetest ever. A ‘read me the whole phone book’ kind of voice.” She was smiling against his neck.

“Nita—”

She pulled herself up onto his lap, ignoring him. “Really soft hair. Nice laugh. Gorgeous eyes. A big-hearted goofball. The best smile. A goddamn adorable blush. Hands made to be held. Excellent kisser. Fellow bad movie lover. Super smart. Great at—”

“Okay!” he exclaimed, putting a hand over her mouth to make her stop, his face burning. “I get it! You don’t have to attack me with compliments.”

She beamed at him and pulled his hand away, poking his cheek. “See? A goddamn adorable blush.”

“Stop,” he groaned, leaning forward to hide his face in her hair while she laughed.

It seemed too soon to say anything, but he could feel it filling his chest whenever she was around.

~*~*~*~

Despite everything that had improved in the last month, he would still end up tormenting himself in the off times.

One morning, he woke up before sunrise. His apartment was dark and empty.

He should’ve pushed to leave more money behind before they ever took off.

Frankie ground the heels of his palms into his eyes as he sat up.

He should’ve found a better exit route.

Swinging his legs off the side of the bed, he stood up slowly, putting a hand on the nightstand for support.

He should’ve found a different place to land.

He shuffled into his bathroom and turned on the faucet, splashing cold water on his face before he looked at himself in the mirror.

He’d shot first.

There were dark circles under his eyes and he looked pale. The lines in his face stood out, making him seem grim. Guilty.

He’d been willing to kill kids. Fucking kids.

It was his fault. He couldn’t stop drawing everything back to the mistakes he’d made, the risks he’d taken while they were there. They’d lost the money because of him. They’d crashed because of him. Tom was dead because of him.

He’d still be at home, watching his daughter grow up, if he hadn’t agreed to go in the first place.

He turned the faucet off and walked out of the bathroom, going straight for the dresser. Opening up the top drawer, he slid his hand to the back and grabbed the big Ziploc bag hidden under some old socks. He brought the whole thing with him as he walked to the kitchen and grabbed a beer from the fridge.

He popped open the bottle and headed into the living room, tossing the bag on the coffee table and sinking down onto the couch.

The little packets of white powder stared up at him as he sipped his beer.

~*~*~*~

Nita parked outside of Frankie’s building. She got out of the car, clipping her keyring to a belt loop, and grabbed her wallet and phone from the cup holder.

She jogged up to the main entrance, catching the door before it closed behind the person who walked in ahead of her.

They were going to try a new breakfast place downtown. They had agreed it would be easier to just meet up at his place and take one car from there, since it had become the norm for Nita to stay over until she had to get ready for work anyway.

When she reached the elevator, she hit the call button and sent Frankie a quick ‘on my way up’ text.

She looked up as the door opened with a ding and stepped inside, glancing down at her phone in anticipation of a short acknowledging response from him. She kept checking while she got off on his floor and up until she was in front of his door.

Shaking her head with a small smile, she knocked on the door. He had a habit of leaving his phone on the charger in his bedroom until the last minute.

She looked down the hallway as she waited for him to open the door. She waited and waited and waited.

There didn’t seem to be any movement on the other side.

She knocked harder, leaning toward the door with a frown. The TV was playing faintly from inside, but she couldn’t hear him moving around or talking. Nothing.

Looking down at her phone, she called him and brought it up to her ear.

She could hear it ringing from inside his apartment. It rang until his voicemail picked up.

Worry set in. He wouldn’t still be in the shower if they were supposed to meet up. His apartment wasn’t huge, he’d be able to hear her knocking or his phone ringing. He’d have told her if something came up, and he wouldn’t have left without his phone. Hell, his truck was still parked in the lot.

She tried knocking again.

When she still didn’t get a reply, she started shifting into panic mode. Awful scenarios played over in her mind.

Is this how Syd felt when he couldn’t get in touch with her?

That thought triggered a whole other scenario to play out. The night she had to be rushed to the hospital for alcohol poisoning.

And Frankie had told her about his issues with cocaine.

“No, no, no,” she whispered, twisting helplessly at the doorknob, “please, don’t be that.”

She was sprinting back down the hallway before she even realized what she was going to do. Her panicked footsteps echoed through the stairwell as she went back to the ground floor and burst out into the lobby.

She got to the front desk, gripping the edge of the counter as she looked at the clerk.

“I need a key for 306,” she told him, breathless.

He didn’t look up from his computer. “Do you have proof of residence?”

“I don’t live here. It’s my boyfriend’s apartment. Please, it’s urgent.”

He sighed, turning to her with a bored look. “I can’t give out keys without proof of residence or consent from a resident.”

She shook her head, panic giving way to her temper. “You don’t understand, this is an em—”

“I cannot give out keys without proof of residence or consent from a resident.”

Furious, she pulled a business card out of her wallet and threw it at the man. “Fucking bill me, then,” she snarled.

She was already back at the door for the stairway before he could shout an angry “Hey!”

Even taking the steps two at a time, it felt like forever before she reached the third floor. She ran down the hallway, pulse pounding in her ears as she returned to his door. Taking a deep breath, she braced herself quickly before slamming a foot into the door, right next to the knob.

She heard it crack a little, but it held, vibrating on its hinges with the force.

Kicking again, the cracking was louder and there was a dent where her foot hit.

A third kick made the doorframe splinter inward and she was able to shoulder the door open the rest of the way.

She saw him immediately. 

He was laying limp on the living room floor, a trail of foam at the corner of his mouth. Three beer bottles sat on the coffee table, one laying on its side. She didn’t miss the shakily prepared lines of cocaine right next to the bottles, or that the amount of open packets scattered across the table meant that they were far from the first.

She ran over to him and crouched at his side, fingers seeking out the pulse at his neck.

It was fast, too fast, but that was better than nothing.

Pulling her phone out, she called for an ambulance immediately, trying to keep the shaking out of her voice as she answered their non-stop questions.

She stayed on the phone with the dispatcher until the paramedics were walking through the splintered doorway. How she must’ve looked then, petting his hair gently with trembling hands.

The questions started all over again as she went with them out to the ambulance. There was so much that she couldn’t answer and she just kept apologizing for that, even though they’d only known each other for little more than a month

She climbed in with them, wide eyed as they started placing stickers and wires all over him before sticking an IV in his arm.

They were throwing jargon back and forth between the questions that they asked her.

She felt like she was in a daze, listening to the rapid beeps of the machine monitoring his vitals, trying to pick through her memory for any traces of his medical history that might’ve come up in conversation.

Then, a dull, steady tone filled the space.

The world went white as the paramedic beside her got to his feet and started doing chest compressions.

She knew that they were all talking to one another, and maybe to her, but all she heard was that single long tone. Numbness crawled through her veins and she just stared at Frankie’s face. There wasn’t anything she could do in that situation and the helplessness was tearing her apart.

Her body jolted along with the momentum of the speeding ambulance, her elbow slamming into the wall hard enough to bruise at one point, but the only pain she felt was her chest constricting and the blurry sting behind her eyes.

Everything became too loud when the beeping resumed. The sudden ability to breathe again made her dizzy and she could feel tears falling down her face.

The paramedics waited a moment, scanning the monitor to ensure that things were returning to some semblance of normal, before the one beside her sat back down.

He gently nudged her arm and she realized that she was shaking. “Hey. We’ve got him,” he said softly.

She just nodded silently, not trusting her voice to work with the lump in her throat.

From that point on, she watched the monitor displaying his vitals, willing it all to stay steady throughout the rest of the drive.

When they got to the hospital, she wasn’t allowed to follow them back to his room. She wasn’t family.

Instead, a nurse led her out to the waiting room, where she sat stiffly in one of the cushioned chairs, not really sure what she was meant to be waiting for, nor how long that wait would be.

She wasn’t sure how long she sat there, staring blankly at the empty chair across from her, before a woman came through the main entrance.

Nita didn’t really notice her until she hurried up to the nurses’ station and said “I got a call about a patient. Francisco Morales?”

Nita looked up, finding a woman she’d seen a few glimpses of in older photos of Izzy that Frankie had shown her on his phone. Lana. She must’ve still been listed as his emergency contact.

She got up out of her chair as the nurse behind the desk took Lana’s ID and started typing away. As she got closer, she felt more uncertain as to what she would even say.

Lana was about average height, which meant she was taller than Nita, and seemed to be a few years younger, maybe mid to late thirties. She was pretty, a warm complexion and dark hair that was pulled away from her face in a low ponytail. She glanced up when Nita stopped a few feet away.

“Hi,” Nita said, giving a small, polite smile. “You’re Lana, right?” She caught the look of slight confusion as Lana studied her face, clearly trying to place it. “We’ve never met. I’m Nita, I came here with Frankie.”

Realization spread over her features and she held out a hand, which Nita shook. “I didn’t know he was seeing someone.”

Nita shrugged, a part of her hoping she didn’t look as wrecked as she still felt. “It’s only been a little over a month, so I’m not surprised.”

Lana’s eyes widened. “A month? And you’re already having to come to the hospital?” She leaned closer, voice lowering. “Tell me it wasn’t the coke. They just told me to come in, they didn’t tell me what was wrong. Did he overdose?”

She pressed her lips tight, head filling with that long, dull tone as she gave a small nod. “I found him. We were supposed to meet up before grabbing breakfast.”

“I’m sorry,” Lana said sincerely. Then, she frowned slightly. “What are you doing out here? Are they not allowing visitors?”

Nita shook her head. “Family only.” She gestured vaguely to Lana. “Or emergency contacts.”

“Ms. Torres,” said the nurse, holding out Lana’s ID. “Someone will be by in a minute to bring you back.”

Lana took the card, still frowning as she looked at Nita, before she turned to the nurse. “Can I bring her back with me?”

Nita’s eyes widen a bit in surprise, gaze shifting between Lana and the nurse.

The nurse looked to Nita. “Do you have an ID with you?”

She was quick to slip her license out of her wallet and hand it over, nodding her thanks to Lana who just gave a small smile.

A nurse appeared from the set of automatic doors next to the desk as Nita was being handed her license back.

“You’re here for Mr. Morales?” he asked.

Both women nodded and he gestured for them to follow.

Nita tensed as soon as they left the waiting room, skin crawling as they made their way down the featureless hall. It was always the smell that bothered her first, followed by the lighting and the hallways that felt awkwardly wide but also cramped. She’d never even been to this hospital, but the bland walls were full of bad memories.

“He’ll be asleep when you go in, and probably won’t wake up for a few hours while he detoxes,” the nurse was explaining. “We did have him awake a little while ago to check for any other possible issues, like a concussion since he was found on the ground. Nothing turned up, so that’s a good sign. It’s just down to having him rest and letting everything work it’s way out of his system. The plan right now is to keep him overnight, with the possibility of holding him another day for observation.” They stopped at a door and the nurse carefully pushed it open, letting Nita and Lana step through first. “If you need anything, you can go to the nurses’ station that’s a little further down this hall.” He then gestured back the direction they’d just come from. “We passed some vending machines on the way here. I know it’s almost lunch time, so if you want to get some snacks, those are an option. There’s also the cafeteria, but you might need to ask someone to show you the way if you want to get there.”

They each nodded along with his words, thanking him before he slipped back out of the room. They were left to take in the sight of Frankie in the hospital bed as the room settled into silence.

He was pale, a thin sheen of sweat causing his hair to stick to his forehead and neck. His eyes seemed sunken, like this was the only sleep he’d gotten in a long time. The wide neck of the hospital gown was crooked and left his collarbones exposed, skin still gleaming with sweat. There were a few machines surrounding him, all just there to monitor his heart rate, oxygen levels, or blood pressure. He was still hooked up to an IV, the bag hanging on a stand nestled amongst the machines.

Nita was hit with a wave of nausea but she gritted her teeth, determined to fight it. He would be alright. There was no reason for her to start sliding back into panic. 

Her throat tightened with the threat of tears anyway.

Lana walked over to one of the chairs in the room and sat down heavily, sighing as she ran her hands down her face. She looked to where Nita was still frozen in place. “Come sit. I don’t think there’ll be much for us to do until he wakes up,” she said gently, leaning back.

“Yeah,” she rasped, taking him in for a moment longer before tearing her gaze away and moving to join Lana.

~*~*~*~

His chest hurt. It felt like someone had knocked a baseball right into the center of it. Or maybe just hit him directly with a hard swing of the bat.

And the low beeping was making the pounding in his head even worse.

He heard people speaking, too low to make out, and something about their voices was...off.

Everything was too bright when he tried to open his eyes. It was like a light was shining right into his face. He forced his eyes to stay open, squinting against the light in the room and up at the TV playing on the wall across from him.

The voices.

He slowly registered that he was in a hospital room as he looked around. Something was wrong. He’d fucked something up. Done too much. His whole body felt like shit.

His gaze eventually landed on the figure sitting in a chair off to the side.

She was facing the TV, a bag of pretzels in her hand, not yet noticing that he was awake.

Confusion took hold of him. “Lana?”

She met his gaze with a start. “Hey,” she said, flustered. “You’re up.”

He shook his head. “What’re you—? But Izzy—?”

“Izzy is with my mom. The hospital called me down here,” she told him with a sigh. “You need to get your records updated, Frankie.”

He felt himself sink down into the bed. “Yeah. I’m sorry. I didn’t—” He swallowed hard, throat dry. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

Lana stood up and folded her arms as she made her way over to the side of the bed. “I know you didn’t. I think the fact that you had plans this morning kinda saved you, actually.”

“Plans?” he asked with a slight frown. 

And then there was the dread as he remembered.

“It’s Tuesday,” he said softly. “I was supposed to have breakfast with Nita.”

Lana nodded, looking down at her shoes. “She’s the one that found you.”

“Fuck,” he groaned, covering his face with his hands. “God fucking damn it.” He shut his eyes and let his hands fall back down. “I woke up so early, I didn’t even think about the day.”

“She’s been on edge the whole time I’ve been here, Frankie.” She looked up at him and her eyes were so full of emotion that it almost made him wince. “Don’t put her through this, alright? I know that you know it’s not fair. To anyone.”

He stared down at the end of the bed. “I know. I’m trying, but I just...” he trailed off with a sigh. “I’m trying.”

“Yeah,” she said, voice low and a bit strained as she let her gaze drop.

“And Nita’s here?” He tried to shift a little, sit up straighter, but pain twisted all along his rib cage and he was forced to slump back. Prepared to try again, he took a deep breath, only to discover that that alone reignited the pain. Teeth gritted, he focused on keeping his breathing even without over-expanding his lungs.

“She is. She went to grab a drink from the vending machine.”

He nodded slightly, a hand hovering over where the ache was worst. “Did something happen while I was out?” he ground out. “When I move, it’s like I’m getting kicked in the chest.”

Lana frowned and shook her head. “I don’t know. They said you were alright, aside from having to detox. You could call in a nurse,” she suggested.

They both turned to look when the door opened.

Nita slipped into the room, eyes widening as she saw Frankie. “Hi. How do you feel?” she asked, quickly moving to his side, a hand gently taking hold of his free one.

“Like shit,” he said, offering a dry grin. “Headache isn’t fun. And my chest is killing me, for some reason.”

Something in her expression shifted, the little smile that had been forming wavered. “They didn’t say your ribs were broken, but they’re probably pretty bruised.”

“Did I hit something? Or run into something?” 

She shook her head and squeezed his hand, eyes too bright. “No. They, uh...They had to do chest compressions on the ride here.” He could see her jaw working as she shifted her weight. “You flatlined.”

He stared at her blankly, not sure he even wanted to fully process what she’d said.

“What?” Lana exclaimed.

Nita cleared her throat. “I’m sorry. I would’ve said something earlier, but I couldn’t really think about it without—” She rocked back on her heels and pulled her hand away from him. “Hospitals bring back—” she started again before her jaw clenched. “I’m gonna go sit down.”

They watched her shuffle around the bed and slump down heavily into one of the chairs, hands covering her face. She was silent for a few moments before she looked back up at them.

“I haven’t been able to get the sound out of my head since I heard it, and hospitals bring back some very bad memories, so I’ve just been trying to avoid focusing on the details or thinking about anything that will make me nauseous.” She said it all very quickly, like she was trying to get it out before she could register her own words. “So, your ribs are probably bruised.”

Frankie looked up at the ceiling and almost wished that he was enough of a believer to pray, but he couldn’t get his thoughts organized enough to even try.

Lana slowly made her way over to the chairs and sat down next to Nita.

Things were pretty quiet after that.

~*~*~*~

The hospital released him two days later, taking that second day for observation to monitor the effects of the detox and the severity of his bruised ribs.

Nita was there from the very beginning of visiting hours each day, staying until the nurses had to practically force her to leave.

Lana left when visitation ended the day he was brought in so that she could pick Izzy up. She came back for an hour or two the next morning to check in, and a final time when they were letting him go.

Once Lana left and his papers were signed, he was wheeled out through the front doors and to the entrance of the parking garage by a nurse before getting up and walking the rest of the way to Nita’s car.

The drive to his apartment was overwhelmingly calm and it made him feel like everything inside him was utter chaos by comparison.

Upon making it to his building, the man at the front desk stopped them as soon as they walked in. 

“You Morales? 306?” he asked Frankie.

His brow furrowed. “Yeah.”

The man held out a hand. “ID.”

Frankie just looked more confused as he pulled out his wallet and handed his license over.

The clerk leaned over his computer and checked the license against some information he pulled up on the monitor. Then, he straightened back up and returned the ID before handing Frankie a key. “For your new door,” he said, shooting a glare at Nita.

Frankie stared down at the key as they walked to the elevator. “New door? I didn’t know they were getting new doors.”

Nita pushed the call button and looked up at him. “They aren’t. I just kicked in your old one.”

His brows shot up and he nearly dropped the key. “You what?”

“They wouldn’t give me a key, so I had to kick my way in.”

He stared at her blankly for a few seconds. “I’m sorry you had to do that,” he said lowly.

She shrugged. “I just had to get to you. I was worried.”

He gazed down at her as they walked onto the elevator, eyes sweeping over her face. She looked tired. And it was his fault.

He was a little startled when he felt her fingers intertwine with his.

“I’m fine,” she assured him, voice quiet, “we’re focusing on making you feel better.”

Her thumb brushed the back of his hand.

He couldn’t help wondering if she knew just how much he didn’t deserve it, that little comforting gesture. Surely, there was enough evidence showing that she shouldn’t even bother with him. It had to be clear by that point that he was just in a permanent state of fucked up mess.

Neither of them said anything when they reached the third floor and walked down the hall.

He took note of the fresh coat of paint on the new doorframe and the knob that shone bright from lack of use.

When he walked inside, he felt a heaviness clinging to him, weighing his shoulders down. He hated how his first concern was the mess he’d left on the coffee table, and the confusion when he saw that there were no traces of it.

“I got rid of it while I was waiting for the ambulance,” Nita said as she walked into the kitchen and pulled herself up onto the counter. “I broke the door and there was no reason to leave it out for someone to find while you were gone.”

He just looked at her, a frown etched into his face. Shuffling into the kitchen, he leaned back against the counter across from her and let his gaze drop to the floor, body slumping as much as his ribs would allow.

Her eyes trailed over him with concern. “What are you thinking about?”

Crossing his arms, he shook his head. “The fact that I’m just a piece of shit, and that I can’t stop fucking things up for myself.” His eyes burned as he gestured toward her. “I mean, I fucking OD and you’re the one cleaning up after me. We’ve been together a few weeks and I’m already—” his voice cracked, “I’m already putting you through this kind of bullshit. This kind of stupid shit is the whole reason I’m divorced and now I’m throwing it at you too. And, on top of that, I feel guilty whenever I want you, which doesn’t even make sense and just makes me feel like a goddamn asshole because I know that I’m being fucking confusing but I can’t make it stop. I start to think about any bad memories or doubts and my first instinct is to fucking turn my brain off for a few hours because I’m too fucking stupid to figure out a halfway decent way to cope. I can’t trust myself.” He took his hat off and threw it across the counter, running a hand through his hair and down his face. “Now, I’m just ranting at you like a kid throwing a tantrum, as if you have anything to do with all of my bullshit,” he said, smiling bitterly to himself as his throat tightened. “You’re the best thing that’s happened to me in all this time I’ve been on my own and this is the shit that I pull.”

His jaw clenched as he folded his arms back tight across his chest and shifted his weight.

Nita slipped down off of the counter, crossing the kitchen and stopping in front of him.

“Look at me, Frankie,” she said softly, taking his face in her hands.

His eyes found hers reluctantly.

“There are some things I’m about to say. A lot of it, you already know, but sometimes you have to hear things out loud for them to click. And some of it won’t be very nice to hear. Okay?”

He offered a small nod.

She took a deep breath, brushing her thumbs over his cheeks. “You aren’t married anymore, Frankie.”

He instantly tensed, trying to lean away, but she held him in place.

“You are divorced. You’ve been single for the better part of a year. Moving back into your old place isn’t really a possibility. You aren’t—”

A muscle in his jaw ticked. “Nita—”

“Hush. I’m not done.”

His shoulders sagged.

She studied him for a moment before continuing. “You aren’t cheating on anyone. You aren’t being unfaithful. You’re allowed to date. You can have sex with as many people as you want. You could go to a fucking orgy, if that’s what you want to do!”

He gave a strained laugh as she smiled at him.

“You don’t need to feel guilty whenever I rile you up. You’re allowed to enjoy being intimate with me. You aren’t doing anything wrong. It is perfectly alright to get a blowjob from the lady you met at the bar a few weeks ago. You know, the one who won’t shut up about how sexy you are.”

A smile curled at his mouth and he reached to give her hip a small squeeze.

She brushed a few strands of hair from his forehead, expression turning more serious. “You aren’t happy. You’re the sort of man that the world has chewed up and spit out too many times to count. And you bottle everything up. You lock everything up so tight that your only means of distraction is by forcing bad chemicals with the right effect into your brain so that everything stops hurting for a little while. I know you want to block out all of the shit that went down with you and your friends, but shoving it down isn’t helping anyone. Especially not you. You are an addict. And it’s killing you.”

She heard him take a shaky breath.

She swallowed hard, and leaned forward to press her forehead against his. “Your fucking heart stopped, Frankie.”

He let loose a sob, arms wrapping around her and pulling her close.

She hugged around his neck, hands clasped at his nape. “You need help. And you haven’t really done much to find it for yourself because you’ve become so fucking terrified of being a burden on the people around you. That’s a hard mindset to break out of, and I know it feels impossible sometimes. But people want to help. You are deserving of that help. And I’ll tell you that every fucking day until you believe it, and then I’ll keep telling you anyway.” She went up on her toes and hugged him tighter, face buried in the side of his neck as she tried to keep her voice from faltering with the tears that were rolling down to her chin. “There is a wonderful father who could talk for hours about how much he loves his daughter, and that little girl fucking deserves to have him at her side whenever she needs him.”

Frankie collapsed in on himself, ignoring the throbbing ache in his chest at the movement, shaking as he held onto her and they both cried. When his knees buckled beneath him, she helped him ease down so that they were sitting on the kitchen floor, wrapped up in each other.

They stayed there for a while, holding on as the sobs slowly quieted and the tears just turned into stiff trails on their faces.

Nita ran her fingers through his hair gently. “There’s that therapist that I go to,” she said, voice still rough. “Started seeing her back when the alcoholism was at its worst. The whole place specializes in addiction. First session is the hardest.”

“Okay,” he murmured.

She pressed a light kiss to his temple. “You can come stay with me for a while. I know you don’t like it here.”

He took a breath to say something, but she squeezed her arms around him tighter and continued

“It isn’t just when you’re alone here, Frankie. I’ve seen something in your eyes shut off when we walk in. It’s like...what this place represents in your mind. It breaks you down.”

He curled a strand of her hair around his finger absently. “Yeah,” he admitted.

She sat back enough to look at him. “Let’s pack a bag for you. I don’t care how much, just whatever you think you’ll need for the next few days. We can figure it out from there.”

He nodded lamely, clearing his throat. “Okay.”

She kissed his temple again. “We’ll stop by to pick your truck up tomorrow.”

He straightened, wincing slightly, and ran a hand down his face. “I can take it now.”

“No.”

He startled at the firmness in her voice. “Nita, I ca—”

“No,” she repeated. “I’m driving you to my house and you’re going to rest. We’ll get the truck tomorrow.” There was no room for argument.

He sat there, studying the set of her jaw and the steel in her eyes. “Alright,” he said finally.

She nodded once and stood up, offering him a hand. He took it and gritted his teeth as pain burned through his abdomen when he pulled himself up.

Resting her hands just above his elbows, she helped him steady himself. “Need to be careful with you for a while,” she said, voice light as she gave him a little smile. She rose up on her toes and pecked his cheek. “Let’s go pack you a bag.”

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

Let me know if you want to be tagged!

Taglist:

@zeldasayer   @beskars   @winters-buck  @the-feckless-wonder  @yodaswrinkles  @rzrcrst  @wickedfrsgrl  @roxypeanut  @mrsparknuts  @spacegayofficial  

~ Mike

[narkito]

Mcdanno, #39. Long distance relationship??

Thank you for giving me a prompt!! :D

This story takes place in the “Chosen” universe, but you needn’t have read that to understand this little piece. Hope that’s okay

–

Steve scrambles for the phone, jumping over the coffee table and almost landing on one of Charlie’s Lego structures.

“Yes, hello,” he pants into the receiver, as he plops down into the couch, his leg already sore from the exertion. “Hello?”

The line crackles, followed by, “hey, babe.”

Steve sits up, never minding his cramping leg. “Danno! How are you?”

“Better now that I’ve got a hold of you.”

“Awww, you really think that sounds romantic, don’t you? I pity your game.”

“Oi, I have ten minutes to use the phone, you sure you want to use it up insulting me?”

“Maybe?”

“Yeah, kinky, but, how about not.” Steve pouts in response, and Danny continues, “tell me, how are you? How are things? The leg? The kids? My parents? Did Nahele find his lucky socks, did we bring them from Hawaii? How about—

Steve blinks, adjusting to the change of pace. This is not how he envisioned a long-distance relationship with Danny.

“Okay, hold your horses there, more conversation, less interrogation, okay? The kids are fine, or as fine as they can be, your parents are lovely as usual, and absolutely delighted to have the kids around.”

Danny snorts (and it does not sound pretty over the phone).

“You’ve been dumping them with my Ma every week, huh?”

Steve takes a beat before answering, “dumping sounds harsh, it’s more like…”

“Sorry, giving them the opportunity to enjoy the kids on a semi-regular basis.”

“Yeah,” he nods to himself, “much more dignified, that works.”

Danny snorts again. Steve can almost see him shaking his head.

“But in all seriousness, Steve, how’s the leg?”

“It’s fine, Danno, much better than last time we saw each other. I’ve been doing PT and everything.” Steve strokes his thigh as he talks, remembering how it used to be less than a year ago. “Today I walked all the way from the kids’ school to your parents’ house.” Steve wiggles his eyebrows satisfied with his accomplishment.

“Oh, wow, that’s actually a lot more than I expected,” Danny says, a huge smile in his voice. “Congrats for you.”

“Thank you.” Steve answers, satisfied smile of his own dangling from his lips. “So, uhm, how’s your thing going, you adjusting to training well?”

“Uuuuh, yeah, people are, you know, a bunch of average joes for the most part, and a good part of them wash out in the first week, so I’m holding my ground, comparatively I’m okay.”

Oh, that’s code speak for I hate it, Steven, I hate it so much.

“Does that mean you’re objectively a klutz and your drill sergeant hates you?”

“Ha-ha, very funny. Naah, I’m fine, I’m five-oh, we know how to keep it cool and interesting, you know?”

“Riiiight, you bored out of your mind yet?”

“Maybe.” Steve can sense the way Danny shrugs only one shoulder and finds it endearing.

Next to the telephone, there’s a whole wall of salvaged pictures in mismatched frames. There’s a handful of people there he’ll never get to see again, whose voice he’ll never hear again. Some of them were gone way before They came, but some other, he just couldn’t save.

There’s a shift all around him, reality sets in, the strangeness of it. Danny deployed, Steve pining for his boyfriend, unable to help, still convalescent from his various wounds.

“Did they test you already?” Steve blurts out, unable to rein it all in, profoundly aware of how these things go, it is after all what he does as a “hobby” since Danny went; get as much information as he can on the situation. He couldn’t pretend the test wasn’t happening at some point, all people who present the gene and are clearly not wash-outs, are tested. Danny was bound to get tested as soon as the alliance could get their hands on him. His background as a LEO is a huge asset that can’t go ignored.

There’s a small fraction of a second where the line goes silent, and then it connects again.

“Yeah, yeah, no, sure, I mean, yeah. I got tested. A bunch of us did.”

Steve frowns, that’s Danny deflection 101.

“How was it?”

One more time, the line goes silent for less than a second.

“Hmm, uhmm, babe, look, I’m pretty sure this call’s been monitored and as you know we can’t really discuss… the process: it’s classified.”

Steve huffs. He hates that ultimately, he can’t truly know, because he’s not there.

“Sucks been told that, huh?” Steve rolls his eyes, trust Danny to keep grudges alive

for the better part of a decade. “Can’t believe it took a major world-wide disaster to get you back on that one.” Danny tries to keep it light, but even before he says it, Steve knows whatever Danny comments will fall flat.

There’s a short silence where neither of them talks, and Steve can hear the hub dub behind Danny—wherever he is. It sounds familiar in a disorienting way.

On more the one occasion he had told someone from outside to not purposefully make it hard on his team guys. His stomach clenches, and Steve takes a deep breath as he racks his brain for safe topics to talk about.

“How about the food? We can talk about that, right?” He exhales after the last word, ordering his body to relax.

Danny clicks his tongue. He knows what Steve’s up to, and he’s game.

“Oh, yes, we can! I don’t know what’s the deal with these guys, one week everything is delicious and hearty, makes you want to go for seconds and thirds, some seasoning has been so inspired it I use my free time trying to figure out the recipes.”

A distant memory flashes behind Steve’s eyes, Danny cooking back in Pikoii street, barefoot and carefree. Steve sniffs against his will and has to cover his mouth with the back of his hand as to not disturb Danny.

“And then for a few days or a whole week, bland crap, gruel, Steven, veritable gruel—makes me want to go in an involuntary diet. Yuck.”

Steve swallows thickly. “Sounds like regular military experience if you ask me, in fact, above regular, all I ate was gruel for the first four years of my service.”

“Nu-uh! Impossible, I know from a good source you were happy to eat rations in the comfort of your own home when good steak was readily available.”

Steve swallows again, tears spilling over his hands.

“It was Italian food actually,” he croaks.

“Even worse, babe, you’re really not helping your case.”

“What can I say, I get nostalgic sometimes.” He trips mentally on the nostalgia and a sob slips past his tight emotional control.

Danny sighs. Heartbroken as well.

“Babe, babe, Steve. I’m sorry, please don’t cry. I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about,” he sniffs.

“I know I just mean…”

“I know, I’m sorry too.”

“Look, I don’t mean to beat you while you’re down…” Danny trails off, but Steve can connect the dots.

“Basic training is extending then? You gonna be a specialist now?”

“Ugh, you’re killing me Steven. It’s cla—no, you know what, fuck this shit, whoever is out there screening my calls, you listen to me you son of a bitch,” Danny yell-whispers to the third party on the line. “I’m talking with my boyfriend right now, who I would have married if not for the giant clusterfuck we are all living through right now, he’s the father of my children and my best friend, so I’ll tell him whatever the fuck I want, you censor this call and I swear I’ll hunt you down and bash your head in, you hear me?!”

Steve chuckles wetly, this is the hothead he loves.

There's a soft clicking sound in the background. It sounds definitive. So, he chooses to believe the censor’s gone.

“You would have married me, huh?”

“Of course.”

“What if I said no.”

“Pfft, please, you were a sure thing.” Steve wants to protest, but Danny keeps talking

over him. “Look, now that the censor is gone. There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

“What?” Steve rushes to ask, fearing the worst.

“I love you.”

“I love you too. What else?”

“I miss you.”

“I miss you more. What else?”

“I already made it through basic and I’m being fast-tracked to pilot.”

Even though he suspected, having confirmation is like a punch to the lungs. No wonder the censor left, a pilot has different privileges, a pilot scares people away, even if they’re being hoisted as the only chance they have left.

“Steve, you there?”

“You’ve never been one to pull your punches.”

“No, I haven’t. Which is why, once I’m done with that I’ll be coming home for a whole month, okay?” Danny pleads, “I got special leave. I’ll be home for Christmas, okay?”

For Steve, it’s like the world’s ending all over again. The future path folding in on itself in front of him, rearranging into a yawning void made of the fearful and the unknown.

Christmas.

Christmas is only two months away. He can foresee his life up until Christmas. He can push through to that.

“Christmas it is.” He sniffles again.

“Yeah, Christmas. Look, I still have about five minutes on the line, why don’t you tell me about the kids, they adjusting well?”

More tears run down his face, but he talks. About homework, about tantrums, about movie nights, about burnt popcorn, about the kids begging to get a dog, about shortages of chocolate and coffee, about going insane with the bickering and the meaningless fights, about never doing so much laundry in his life, the herb garden Charlie and Nahele are doing together as a school project, Grace’s dissertation and newfound interest in nursing. Steve talks and talks, enough to carry Danny home, safe and sound, only two months away.

–

*beams* I’ve been wanting to expand this little verse forever, thank you again! :D

[cosmicbash]

@friendshipfisting requested some grumpy Em at the beach while chatting and I got a little bit carried away writing dorky fluff so-

You lucky heathens are getting a huge prompt drop. Hope you enjoy~

(This is long enough I could post it to ao3 if someone wants to come up with a title ahah)

--

Marshall hated beaches. He always had, they were just always so overcrowded whenever he tried going. And huge clusters of people did nothing but stress him out, even before he got famous and all those claustrophobic fears of a crowd closing in on him suddenly became a reality.

When he was younger and getting absolutely trashed everyday it was easier to deal with. The combination of pills and booze kept him mellow enough that he could even throw himself into a crowd at his own concerts. Helped build up somewhat of a tolerance for whenever he got up on stage.

Outside of performing however? They were still an absolute nightmare that made his stomach twist up into knots. A brief pass through, and maybe a few stops to meet and greet fans he could handle. But actively plopping himself into the hot sandy clusterfuck known as a public beach? That was the furthest thing from fun or relaxing that he could think of. 

Luckily living in the middle of Detroit meant he was mostly free of dealing with said landscape.

So why in the hell was he struggling to get comfortable on some stiff itchy wooden beach chair, with the ocean loudly looming not very far away?

"The wave's are freaking perfect today-" Colson was beaming a smile at him, almost as blinding as the sun resting behind his pretty wet head. The lighting ironically formed a halo around the self proclaimed rap devil. It made Marshall want to snort. "You should seriously come in."

"I'm perfectly fine right here." Under the safety of his umbrella, above the hazardous hot sand. And most importantly far away from the heavy crashing waves. 

Swimming wasn't his best skill either, afterall there was not much need to swim when you avoided the beach. Sure he could wade in a pool and float on his back if needed, but moving, rushing water was a completely different ballgame.

"You're such a drag," Colson's eyes rolled, long legs kicking up sand while he crossed the distance between them. He was still dripping water all over the place, stray droplets splashing onto Marshall's legs when he loomed ever closer to the chair.

Reflexively the older man tucked his notebook away in the nearby bag, knees pulling up so he could resituate himself. Legs crossing indian style to give the brat a place to sit. 

Marshall couldn't care less about being a "drag", he'd been very vocal about his displeasure with the whole idea of wasting a day at the beach. For once he'd taken over the role of bitchy pushover. Spending most of the night before and morning of their trip muttering under his breath, listing all the reasons why it was such a stupid idea. But still going through with the process of booking and reserving a secluded spot for them on some remote beach.

The only reason he'd put up with it at all was for the younger rapper's sake, something which he hoped Colson could actually learn to appreciate. It wasn't common for him to concede like this, but it was only fair. "You enjoying choking on salt water and burning your skin?"

The tall blonde dropped down with a hard plop, legs bouncing to disturb more sand while the beach chair creaked. The bitter question didn't seem to phase his good mood one bit. "Yupp! Loving it. I've missed the beach, I was starting to look like a ghost."

More water splattered against Marshall's ankles, had his skin twitching. "One more big wave like earlier and you might be one-" The brunette was thankful he had shades on, just recalling the moment only a half hour prior when a huge wave had suddenly crashed down and disappeared his partner made his face curl up. It had been a genuinely terrifying minute of watching and waiting for Colson's soaked head to reappear above the water. One that nearly had him leaving his tiny sanctuary to pound down the length of sand separating him from the water. 

Thankfully the younger rapper had resurfaced, farther out then when he'd been hit. Laughter visible even from his distance with the hard shake of the boys shoulders and wide smile. 

"What? That was nothing, you should've seen how big some of the waves over in the Bahama's could get. Now those, those could totally sweep you out to sea."

Clicking his tongue Marshall gave a swift nod, fingers prying open their small cooler to dig out a cold bottle of water. "I'll take your word for it." The last thing he needed was for the kid to get a Bahama's vacation plan into his head. 

Colson sighed dramatically, upper body dropping down to drape over the older man's lap. Inciting a string of curses and half hearted shoves from how the action left water soaking through his shorts. "A little bit of sun and water isn't gonna kill you old man, you look ridiculous all bundled up here in your shirt and hat. Like some horrible undercover pap who's hiding a camera in his beach bag."

The observation was accompanied by a soft laugh and long fingers tugging at the collar of his shirt, trailing up along his jaw to flick his hat.

Marshall's teeth set in a line. "What, you want me stripped down streaking across the beach? Tattoos and dick free for an actual reporter to see?"

The chance of some paparazzo being nearby was slim to none, they both knew that. Marshall had gone out of his way to rent the accompanying two beaches on either side despite the small cliffs between them. There was noone other than their own mix of security teams for miles. The only chance someone was getting a shot of either of them was with a drone.

In theory Marshall could strip down and dance about the beach all he wanted, grab Colson by his skinny waist and fuck him down into the sand until he was choking on a seashell. He was fully confident in his team.

That didn't mean any of that sounded remotely tempting however.

"Maybe not running across the beach," Colson snickered body twisting until he was lying with the back of his head against the older man's crotch. Arms curled up over his head so he could lightly grip onto his sides and stretch the rest of his body out. "A slow sensual walk towards the water sounds a lot better. Would give me something really great to look at."

The harsh tug on wet blonde locks barely elicited a reaction. "If your hoping for a full moon tonight you're gonna be disappointed. News called for clouds-" It was easier to deflect from the brats flirting then reward him with a proper response.

"With how your pants sag I'm guaranteed at least a half moon before sundown." This time Marshall was the one sighing, head shaking while he rubbed his temples. Colson of course looked beyond pleased with his joke, damp hands rubbing up over the front of his shirt to lightly massage his shoulders. "Unless your planning on dressing correctly for once while we walk the shoreline."

"Who said anything about walking along the shoreline? When did I agree to that?"

"What, we're gonna have a beach date and not enjoy the sunset together? It's no wonder you've been divorced twice." The light teasing had Marshall snorting despite himself. Palm pushing his sunglasses up off his face and much to his partner's delight knocking away his sunhat.

"Actually I let Kim's other boyfriends worry about the mushy shit like that, last time I went to a beach with her she left me passed out along the shoreline while the tide was rising." The memory had him chuckling quietly to himself while his gaze trailed along with white shoreline. "Fucking bitch almost let me drown all because I snorted her share of coke."

"Jesus-" Colson's lips burst apart in a laugh. Palms leaving the older rapper's shoulders to cup his neck instead. "Hope she at least cleaned your pockets out before she left-"

The suggestion had Marshall's gaze dropping back down, lips quirking up into a smirk while his fingers raked through Colson's knotted hair. "You'd think so right? Damn bitch swiped my wallet and forgot the motel's key card. Came back to wake my half submerged ass up and bitch how hard of a time I was giving her- like- fuck me for not reminding her it was in my back pocket while I was drowning!"

The outburst had them both laughing finally, Colson's boisterous and expressive was Marshall's was quieter and reserved to a soft shake of his shoulders. A few years ago the same story might've dragged up residual hurt feelings. Colson's soft fingers tickling his throat and heavy body helped keep them away.

"I'll keep that in mind in case I wanna drown your ass sometime soon."

"Probably already have it planned out, why your so eager to get me walking along the shore."

This time when Colson snorted it was followed up with a firm pull. "Fuck, ya caught me-" Large hands curling around the back of his neck to pull him down for an upside down kiss. It was interrupted by panted breaths and light shakes of the younger rapper's head but the action soothed his mood nonetheless.

Colson's mouth was warm against his own and tasted like salty sea water. Marshall even swore he could feel the scratch of sand against his chin but continued to kiss back anyway. The moment was pleasant, helped ease what little stress he had left in his temples.

The broke apart when his back started to ache, fingers tugging softly at the tangled blonde locks until they separated. "If I walk you along the shore like some cheesy hallmark movie can we skip the whole lovey dovey sunset gazing bullshit?"

Colson mock gasped. "And ruin my proposal I had planned?"

Leaning back Marshall moved to uncross his legs, forcing his behemoth of a partner to sit up himself. "If it's another collab idea dragging me out into this ridiculous sun and pesty sand was the worst way to soften me up-"

"Actually I was gonna propose we try fucking out in the ocean. Was hoping the whole weightless thing with the water meant you could hold me up while we fucked." The sleazy wink had Marshall shooting Colson a worried look. It was hard to tell how serious the brat was being. It sounded just like the kind of stupid thing he would actually plan.

"That's one way to break the news to the media," The brunette couldn't help but shake his head and laugh while he climbed back up onto his feet. Hand catching the wide umbrella so he wouldn't knock it over. "Rap God Eminem and rival MGK found naked adrift at sea together. Nude!"

For what felt like the millionth time that day Colson cackled, long neck stretching out while he threw his head back. "We- haha- We don't both have to be naked! Why would you take your shorts off too? You actually wanna skinny dip with me?"

"God no. I don't think I'd ever get the sand out of my ass. Fuck I've been sitting down this whole time and there's some inside my thighs." 

Colson was less graceful when he stood up, full on jostling the umbrella with his head. Fingers curling around the older rapper's abandoned hat to slap it back ontop of his head. "That's half the fun of going to the beach. Getting sand in all kinds of-"Their eyes met in a brief flirty gaze. "Uncomfortable places."

The wink that followed was all the encouragement Marshall needed to start walking towards the beach. Eyes rolling so hard he thought they might get stuck in the back of his head. The sooner they got down to the shore the sooner he could get back to comfort of a nice soft hotel bed.

And promptly screw the blondes brains out.

[albapuella]

Urges

AO3

Fandom: Homestuck Summary:  When Dave finally gives into his urges, what will Karkat do?

Tags: Meteorstuck, Retcon Timeline, davekat, pov switches galore, present tense CW:  CW: hand holding, hugging, nose kisses Author’s Note:  This is a fic that I wrote in about two hours for the davekat thirst federation server after they were all being Caliborn thirsty on the main. Please note the content tags--if you're up (heh) for all this spiciness, read on. I thought result was worth sharing with the masses. Enjoy!

Dave is walking beside Karkat, glancing out of the corner of his eye at Karkat's dangling hand, the lax fingers calling out to be--

No. No, he couldn't. He shouldn’t. And yet... He tilts his head ever so slightly to see Karkat's hand better. The curve of the fingers. The tips of his yellowed claws. The thick, meaty curve of his gray palm. What would it feel like to--

Dave feels his face go hot.

"ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING TO ME?"

"oh yea of course dude but youre still wrong about dane cook"

Karkat rolls his eyes but accepts the answer before launching into another diatribe Dave can't be bothered to listen to when Karkat's hand is dangling so invitingly by his side.

He can't. He shouldn't.

Before he can stop himself, he reaches out for Karkat's hand, the warmth of it beneath his fingers even more wonderful than he'd thought it be. His fingers wrap around Karkat's stiff startled ones; their palms meet.

---

Karkat is walking beside Dave, going into detail about the superiority of the comic stylings of Dane Cook, when he feels another hand grabbing his own. It's so sudden, he hardly knows how to react even as he feels fingers intertwining with his own.

He stops walking. His throat is dry and he swallows hard before turning his head. There's only one person who can be holding his hand, but it's impossible. Dave's not interested in him. Not like *that*.

But he turns and looks. Pale fingers interlaced with his own gray, leading up to an arm clad in red God Tier pajamas. A shoulder connected to a neck. A neck to a face.

At least Dave has the decency to be blushing, too. He doesn't have the decency to actually look in Karkat's direction. Instead, he squeezes Karkat's hand.

"DAVE?"

Dave is silent. Then he turns his head, the smallest hint of a smile curving his thin lips. "sup"

---

Karkat says his name, and it's not a rejection. It's not a rejection, but it's a question. Karkat's face is flushed but confused. He isn't trying to pull his hand free, but he isn't returning the gesture.

Dave is worried now, worried he's pushed too far too quickly. He has to do something. He smiles, trying to ignore the nervous flutters in his chest. "sup"

Karkat scowls. "WHY-WHY ARE YOU HOLDING MY HAND, DIPSHIT?" The stutter tells Dave he's as affected as Dave is, and despite the harshness of the words, he still allows his hand to remain in Dave's grasp.

Dave feels a swell of hope. "it was asking to be held dude i dont make the rules" He shouldn't. He's done too much already. But Karkat's so close now, his yellow and gray eyes wide. Dave can see himself reflected in his dark pupils.

Feeling reckless, Dave uses his free hand to lift up his glasses so he can see Karkat in full light. His eyes are even more beautiful without the dingy, gray haze.

---

Dave pushes his stupid douche shades up, leaving them up in his blonde hair. Karkat isn't certain what is more incredible: that Dave is still still holding his hand or that Dave has willingly, of his own accord, allowed Karkat to see his eyes.

Karkat has seen them before, of course. He's caught glimpses of them from the corner of Dave's shades. Seen flashes of them when they've been knocked askew. But he's never been given the opportunity to really look at them. Certainly, Dave's never let him look.

He's so lost in the moment, he's speaking before he can censor himself. "THEY'RE BEAUTIFUL."

Dave ducks his head, his flush traveling down his neck. He holds Karkat's hand a little tighter. "thank you" he says in an awkward way that tells Karkat Dave doesn't get many compliments. "im gonna get crazy here so hear me out" He takes a deep breath. "can i... can i--" He's turned his body to face Karkat's head on. "i wanna hug you can that happen"

For once in his life, Karkat takes initiative. Before Dave is even quite done speaking, he's closed the space between them, wrapping his free arm around Dave's middle.

Dave makes a startled sound but recovers quickly, and almost too quickly, Dave's arm is wrapped around Karkat's middle, too. Their entwined hands loosen and separate, allowing those arms to join the hug as well.

Karkat smells soap and a hint of sweat. And it's warm, so warm. The only hugs Karkat had ever had, had ever endured, had been cold. He'd never hugged Aradia, but he knows that even her embrace would have been cool. But Dave is warm.

He sighs against the other boy's shoulder, relaxing further into Dave's arms. He feels breath on his cheek; it smells like coffee.

This can't last forever, Karkat knows this. He knows that this experiment of Dave's will end, but he can enjoy it while it lasts.

---

For what feels like the longest time, Dave can only marvel at the fact that Karkat is in his arms. The troll boy is hugging him, pressing against him, as relaxed as Dave has ever seen him be. Dave feels a rush of pride that Karkat trusts him enough for this. He feels a rush of shame that he waited so long to ask for this.

He tightens his hold on Karkat as though that will keep this moment from ending.

His face is close, so close to Karkat's.

Dave has never been good at knowing when to quit. He's never known when to be satisfied. He brings his face that much closer to Karkat's, brings his nose closer to the gray nose.

They touch. Dave moves his head and gently rubs his nose against Karkat's.

---

Karkat doesn't react at first. He's mostly confused about what the fuck Dave is up to. As far as he can tell, Dave is rubbing his nose with his own nose. It's not unpleasant, just unfamiliar. It feels... it feels intimate.

He closes his eyes, wishing Dave would stop, wishing that he wouldn't. What is Dave getting out of this? Is Karkat just convenient or--

There is no or. Dave wanted to do this with someone, and Karkat is someone. That's it. He ducks his head away from Dave's, burying it into his shoulder.

"WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS WITH ME?"

Dave stills. Then he says, "i want to man thought i was making that pretty obvious" He chuckles, his chin pressing into Karkat's own shoulder. "karkat youre pretty baller you know"

He'd never thought Dave would be so good at acting.

---

Dave isn't expecting it when Karkat pushes away from him with a rough shove. "karkat--?"

Karkat's mouth is twisted into a vicious snarl even as his eyes fill with ruddy tears. "FUCK YOU, DAVE." He wipes the tears away with trembling fists. "IF YOU'RE GOING TO USE ME, AT LEAST DO ME THE FUCKING COURTESY OF NOT LYING TO MY FACE ABOUT IT."

"what" Dave is utterly lost.

"DON'T 'what' ME, ASSHOLE." He crosses his arms, the anger on his face crumbling into a hurt that stabs Dave in the gut. "I ONLY HAVE A PASSING UNDERSTANDING OF WHAT 'BALLER' MEANS, BUT I KNOW YOU'RE NOT INTERESTED IN ME. SO, DO ME A FAVOR, AND STOP PRETENDING YOU ARE."

Dave has spent enough time with Karkat to tell when he's about to bolt, and Dave can't let him go until he clears this up. He grabs Karkat's hand again. "dude karkat listen to me im not lying" To his relief, Karkat doesn't pull his hand away. To his worry, Karkat folds in on himself, his head bowing and his shoulders slumping.

"I'M PAN ADDLED ENOUGH TO LET YOU TAKE WHAT YOU WANT," Karkat says, sounding defeated. "JUST DON'T PRETEND YOU ACTUALLY LIKE ME. I DON'T THINK IT'S TOO MUCH TO ASK."

---

Karkat can't look at Dave now, too embarrassed, too desperate. He should have just kept his mouth shut for once. Should have just enjoyed what little scraps Dave was willing to throw him. Dave is still holding his hand.

"i want you to listen to me" Dave is saying, his voice soft. His other hand strokes the top of Karkat's knuckles as he speaks. "im not using you thats hella gross and id be all kinds of insulted that youd think that but i dont want to make this about me when its about you" Karkat hears him take a deep breath. "im gonna lay it on the line ok i like like you a lot."

"YOU LIKE LIKE ME?" Karkat hates himself for the hope in his voice. He's not entirely certain what "like like"ing means, but he's gathered it's more than being hate-friends. Yes, he and Dave have been getting along better, but he knows Dave only tolerates him because they're both lonely. That's all.

"yea like we're peak middle school up in here passing notes to each other," Dave is clearly gearing up for a ramble, and Karkat smiles despite himself, "do you like me or like like me but weve got to keep it on the downlow so the teacher doesnt notice and find our note because our reps will never survive if she reads it to the class and she will because thats how teachers roll"

"I WILL NEVER UNDERSTAND THE CLUSTERFUCK YOU HUMANS CALL AN EDUCATIONAL SYSTEM," Karkat says and, for a moment, it's like nothing's changed. Then reality falls in again. "YOU MEAN THAT?" He is such an idiot. Such a fucking idiot.

---

The way Karkat asks Dave if he means what he says is almost enough to break him. If he weren't such a stone cold bad-ass, he's certain he'd be bawling now, too. Even so, he wishes he could put his shades back down without Karkat thinking he's hiding his eyes so he can lie better.

"yea dog i mean it i dont lie about important shit."

Karkat has always been an open book, emotions-wise. It'd probably be more helpful if Dave were better at emotions himself, but he can see that Karkat wants to believe him. It's something. "we dont gotta do anything different if you dont want im chill just hanging with you," he says, hoping against hope it doesn't come to that: he wants to hug Karkat again, and he hopes the troll boy will let him. "but i want to... i want to hug you because youre you youre like special ok"

A disbelieving huff. "YOU THINK I'M SPECIAL."

Dave nods. "karkat vantas is totally one of a kind" Well, that just isn't true, is it? "i mean there are a fuck ton of you out there in the dream bubbles but i meant more like metaphorically in that this version of you is the you im interested in hugging and stuff"

---

Karkat almost can't believe how charmed he is by this idiot. Almost. Maybe Dave is lying, but maybe Karkat isn't being fair. The more he thinks about it, the more he thinks maybe that's true. Considering what he was accusing Dave of wanting to do, he's fairly floored that the human boy still wants anything to do with him.

He looks down at his hand still held between both of Dave's. Then he looks up at Dave's face, at his still uncovered eyes, and makes a decision. "OKAY."

Dave blinks. "ok" The corner of his mouth quirks upwards. "ok"

Karkat rolls his eyes. "YES, THAT'S WHAT I SAID. I'M GLAD THAT YOUR AURAL CLOTS ARE STILL FULLY FUNCTIONAL."

"you have got the weirdest names for things you know that just say ears its so much shorter"

Before he can come up with a suitably scathing remark, he's being hugged again.

Oh.

He sighs and returns the hug. He could get used to this. He thinks he already is.

FIN

End Note:  Sorry. I could not add in the kissing--it was just too lewd.