#somebody scraped out my insides but it's fine it's cool

[sapetitefemme]

"They'd barely talked for so long and Mike had tried so hard and, like, of course, letting Danny punch him in the face fixed things. He should have known."

- Game Misconduct by Ari Baran

[starstruckmoony]

Hello! May I request a muggle AU with Theodore, with this meet-cute prompt: "they're on opposite sides of a wedding party to the bride and groom" (prompt is from @/thewritersafterglow on Instagram). Thank you! I know this request is in good hands :)

aaaaaa thank you anon! <3 this is the first request i've got in a while (again tysm it made me very very happy <3<3) and i had lots of fun writing it so i hope it meets your expectations!

can't help falling in love.

masterlist , requests

pairing - theodore nott x reader

trope/tags - muggle!au, strangers to lovers-ish, fluff (side note - this isn't particularly realistic because i don't really know how weddings work in different parts of the world, so i kind of just went by how they function in my country and some bits and pieces i've managed to pick up from movies and such. i know it probably won't be accurate for everybody but i tried my best LMAO)

word count - 3k

warnings - language, drinking, smoking, cheesy at the end

when you recieved an envelope in your mail one fine morning in late may, you never would have expected it to be an invitation to your primary school classmate's wedding in the english countryside. you could still recall the wonderful memory of choking on your coffee and scaring the life out of your poor cat when you saw her name plastered in big letters in the center of the paper, right below a picture of her and her fiancé. it was a miracle how she remembered you existed. to be frank, you were kind of honoured, and you made sure to confirm your arrival almost immediately. hell yeah, you were coming. free food and alcohol? who in the right mind would pass on that?

so about three months later, sometime in mid-august, you found yourself inside of a crowded venue, sweating buckets in your silky green dress, without a fan, or anybody to keep you company. a few of your old classmates were there too, but not a single one of them bothered to offer you a greeting. what a bunch of arseholes.

you stood leaned against the wall in the very back where there were fewer people, attempting to cool yourself down by fanning the air around you with your hands as you waited for the godforsaken ceremony to finally start. to nobody's surprise, the bride was a little late, and the groom's family was in a mild state of disarray. it was kind of funny, but not as funny as it would have been if you weren't feeling so bloody hot. do they not have air conditioning in here? how do people get married in these conditions? and why does the best man look more terrified than the groom?

the loud sound of somebody's shoes scraping against the tiles right next to you shook you right out of your train of thought, and you placed your hand against your chest in horror, "jesus christ." you muttered under your breath, the unfamiliar man attempting to catch his breath scared the life out of you.

he glanced at you for a split second, appearing rather exhausted (aftermath of sleeping through five alarms and having to run to the venue because his friends were too lazy to wait for him), "sorry." he offered you an apology breathlessly, leaning back against the wall to steady himself. you thought that you were being overdramatic when it came to the heat and the current atmosphere of the wedding, but this man seemed to have surpassed you. he was rather handsome though, despite being drenched in sweat from what you assumed was running, also paired with the humid air inside. his eyes were strangely captivating, and he looked a little too good in that suit of his for it to be considereded legal. were you staring? you were probably staring. you trailed your eyes away, pretending to be entertained by the groom's father who was attempting to explain the situation to the guests. you cursed inwardly, realising that you'd be stuck in there for a long time.

you turned to the pretty guy again, deciding that you should, perhaps, talk to him, "you don't look like you wanna be here." fantastic start. those probably weren't the words he wished to hear in those circumstances, but your observations didn't seem to annoy him at all. he actually chuckled instead, "am i that transparent?"

"quite." you responded a little too nonchalantly than intended, taking a quick glance at the door in hopes that you'll see the bride come in. nope. you returned to your original position. how wonderful that was, more waiting.

"do you have any water in there?" the man spoke again, pointing at the purse you had tucked under your arm.

you took it in your hands and peeked inside, knowing that you most likely wouldn't have what he was asking for, "no," you shook your head, but continued rummaging through it, "i have this, though." you pulled out a tiny bottle of liquor and shrugged before shoving it into his face.

he didn't hesitate to grab it, he would have taken anything that was liquid enough. he drank it all, not that there was much, before handing the bottle back to you with a scowl. he coughed a little as the alcohol burned his throat, and you couldn't help but snort. 

"i don't know how smart that was." it wasn't, really, since it would only dehydrate him more, but it worked for the time being. he coughed again, falling back against the wall, finally able to breathe somewhat normally.

"you'll find out in a few hours," you didn't miss the smile that painted his features, and it encouraged you to carry on, "how do you know the bride... or the groom?" you questioned, wanting to keep the conversation going to kill at least some of the remaining time you had. you were bored out of your mind.

"the groom," he nodded briefly, "we went to college together, funny bloke, he invited me and my two other friends who are... somewhere in here," he stretched his neck as his eyes scanned the crowd for a short moment, "eh, whatever." he shrugged, and then reached into his pocket, but quickly retrieved his hand. it was still empty. you had assumed he reached for a cigarette before he was able to remember where he was.

"you won't go looking for them?" you queried, finding his neutrality over the whole situation slightly bemusing. it wasn't every day that a hot guy like him ditched his friends for you, and it was rather pleasant to think about. he was hoping he wasn't being so obvious about it, but you read him a little too easily.

"what, bored of me already?" he questioned, a hint of playfulness in his tone.

"i might be, now that you said that." you scowled in pretend disgust, drawing a breathless laugh from him. you shortly sunk into a not overly uncomfortable silence, both internally debating with yourselves about whether you should keep it going or not. you were kind of drawn to each other, after all. the consequence of attending a wedding without a date must have had an influence on it, you told yourself. he mustered a similar, lame explanation.

"i'm theodore, by the way." he decided to break the ice after a while, and you almost sighed in relief, "y/n." you shook his hand politely.

"nice wedding." he added, his face scrunching at the sight before him. the sarcasm in his tone was obvious.

"delightful, isn't it?" you offered the older lady that passed by you a forced smile, and then eyed her giant pink hat judgementally. you and theodore resembled a mean high school couple who had an opinion on absolutely anyone and everything, just standing there, laughing amongst yourselves and making fun of all the other guests and their stupid pastel outfits. it made sense why your classmates hadn't approached you, but you didn't let them occupy your mind any longer. you found yourself a like-minded companion for the night, one that was ten times funnier, and the prime example of eye-candy.

"imagine she never shows up." theodore said after you shamelessly fed one another with some interesting past gossip about the bride and the groom. judging by what he had told you, those two were a match made in heaven. and you could say that with your whole chest.

"god, don't plant that idea into my head. i spent my last three paychecks on this bloody dress." you snorted, dusting it off when you noticed that it had got a bit dirty.

"it looks perfect on you, though." theodore's little compliment took you off guard, and he must have noticed judging by the way he grinned.

"thanks." you felt yourself blush a little at his comment, and just as you were about to open your mouth to speak again, the bride's mother burst through the door, announcing that her daughter would be there shortly. you exchanged a relieved glance with theodore, fucking finally.

despite the long wait, the ceremony played out quite beautifully. the couple exchanged their vows, humourous and tear-jerking all at once. people laughed, people cried, somebody's baby did both. the best man hadn't forgotten to bring the rings, and the maid of honour looked happier for the bride than the bride. nobody backed out last moment, and nobody objected after the infamous "speak now or forever hold your peace". you left the venue with a smile on your face, pleasantly surprised.

theodore and his friends offered to give you a ride to an even larger venue where the reception was being held after you told them that you had arrived with a cab, and you happily accepted their offer. the two idiots he came with were just as unserious as he was, and you had soon found out that they all attended the wedding with the same intentions as you. eat food, get drunk (and then sleep in the car because mattheo wants to get wasted but doesn't want to run them off the road and kill somebody in the process).

the reception, thankfully, moved a lot faster than the ceremony. by some sheer dumb luck, you had been instructed to sit at the same table as theodore, lorenzo and mattheo. your shitty classmates were there too, so you assumed that the table was designed specifically for that - old friends from school that the newly weds didn't talk to very much, but still liked them enough to invite them.

so, after the grand entrance, loud clapping and cheering, a cute speech from the bride, more clapping and cheering, the best dinner you had had in a while, a few more emotional speeches, and even more clapping and cheering (hollering this time, too), the dj finally showed up. it was the part of the night you had been the most excited for. the first dance was absolutely beautiful and even brought a few tears to your eyes, but god, the moment you heard an onset of lower-than-nightclub-quality music blast from the speakers, your hopes had all gone down the drain.

the dance floor filled up in a matter of seconds, and you had never been more appreciative of the existence of wine. not a single song that was played in the span of fourty-five minutes was your cup of tea. and as different people's requests kept incoming, it only got worse.

theodore seemed to be having the same problem. mattheo too, considering he had about five shots in less than half an hour. lorenzo wasn't doing much better either. he was entertaining himself by making paper planes out of tissue paper and leaving them on the table like a strange art project.

"this music is terrible." theodore's voice was completely drowned out by the godawful sounds coming from the speakers, you couldn't hear a thing he was saying.

"what?!" you shifted a bit closer to him, covering one of your ears with your palm to subdue at least some of the noise.

"i said that this music was terrible!" he tried not to shout, but it would have been impossible for you to comprehend whatever he had said if he hadn't done so. yes, it was fucking awful. many people would disagree, considering how many of them were still on the dance floor, either fully wasted already or slowly getting there. at least the newly weds were having a good time, both slightly tipsy too.

"tell me about it!" you yelled back, rolling your eyes. you considered asking him to accompany you outside, for a smoke or something, though you didn't really need an excuse. anywhere would have been better than in there. but you chickened out before you were able to speak, continuing to sip on your wine in silence. silence, that was funny, mostly because of how unbearably bloody loud the music was.

lorenzo suddenly stood up, and he yelled something into mattheo's ear. the other stared at him in confusion, and then burst out laughing into his face. he turned to you instead, and you saw his lips move, but didn't understand a thing he was saying.

"huh?!" you and theo yelled out in unison, and lorenzo waved his hands dismissively at you, defeated. he pushed his way through the crowd on the dance floor and shuffled over to the dj. he threw an arm around the man, probably trying to make some friendly conversation. they seemed to be getting along.

perfect. you reached for the wine bottle, refilling your glass and taking large gulp. you were hoping that lorenzo had enough charm to sway the dj into playing something else. it took about twenty minutes of insignficant chit-chat for the man to finally nod and give him a thumbs up, and that's then the beginning of dancing queen blessed your tortured ears.

you gasped in shock, immediately getting up onto your feet and latching onto theodore's arm. he didn't really protest when you tugged at his sleeve and pulled him to the dance floor which got even more crowded than it was before. mattheo managed to fall out of his chair, but he followed the two of you and joined you in the mass of people.

"thank me later!" lorenzo yelled your way before a pretty girl grabbed his attention. the night got so much better from then on. the dj appeared to have whipped up a large playlist of abba's work, since the songs were playing one after another, each one bringing your mood up. you had completely blocked out anything that had happened before you heard the tune of the first song, and you had only returned to the table with theodore to refill your glasses before running back to the dance floor.

you couldn't recall the last time you had that much fun, singing your heart out, jumping up and down, showing off some ridiculous moves, letting theodore hold your hand and spin you around. the dj stuck to the same genre for a while, playing old pop songs, keeping everybody on their feet. some of them you didn't know, but you weren't about to sit back down after doing so for almost two hours, so you danced to them too nevertheless.

that is, until your legs started hurting a little too much for it to be tolerable and your throat had got a bit sore from belting several songs with the bride. your head was spinning too, courtesy of having so much wine. theodore took the opportunity to ask you to accompany him outside (because he really needed a cigarette) after some slow tune neither of you were familiar with had been put on.

you nodded your head took a hold of his hand as he led you out the door. you clumsily made your way down the stairs, laughing as you did so. the effects of alcohol were beginning to show themselves.

as fun as it was, getting out of there for a short while was a need. you slumped down onto one of the stone benches placed outside the venue, sighing comfortably as the chilly breeze of the night cooled you down.

you immersed yourself into another casual discussion, not a very significant one, as neither of you could even stand properly for too long without stumbling, but it was nice breather from the wild atmosphere inside. you liked talking to theodore, and even with your clouded thoughts, you knew you'd want to see him again after this. there wasn't a doubt in your mind.

"i thought i'd have to leave early." theodore laughed to himself as he took the last drag from his cigarette, and then tossed the burnt out stub onto the concrete.

"and make me stay here all alone?" you teased, although you probably would have left too if it wasn't for lorenzo and his skillful flirtation tactics or whatever the hell that was.

"who said i wouldn't bring you along?" his response made heat rush to your cheeks, and you put your head down with a breathless chuckle. you were quiet for a moment, trying to recollect your thoughts.

"you know, this might sound a little weird, but," you chewed on the inside of your cheek, not really able to think straight. you were tipsy, after all, "i'm glad i met you today," you tilted your head to the side, drunkenly observing him, "you're nicer than i anticipated." as backhanded as it sounded, that was the best you could do.

it was theodore's turn to blush after you said the words, and it didn't manage to go past you, despite him trying his hardest to hide it.

"yeah, i mean no– it's not weird, i'm uh," he trailed off, contemplating whatever it was that he wanted to say next. honestly speaking, he didn't know how to put it into words, "i'm glad we met too, you're–"

one thing that theodore hated was tripping over his words and not being able to be blunt with somebody he took a liking to, which is why he was so, very grateful to hear elvis' can't help falling in love coming from the inside of the venue.

you looked up at him when you realised which song it was, waiting to see if he'll ask you to dance. and he did, but he didn't lead you back in through the door like you thought he might. you stayed outside in the light wind, slowly swaying to the music, his hands on your waist and your arms around his neck.

you liked it better that way, just the two of you in your own little world with nobody else to disrupt you. you let your head rest on his shoulder, and his grip on your waist tightened just a little bit, like he was making sure you won't leave him. you smiled to yourself, god, that was the last thing you were planning on doing.

[bagopucks]

J. Hughes - Home Alone

✄————————————

Jack Hughes x Reader

Requested✨ - a while ago by somebody who wanted the Quinn fic of being home alone, but with Jack!

Word Count: 2.2k

Warning(s): Making out, handsy Jack. Other than that, just fluff. Oh! And the insinuation that Quinn has cooties.

—————————————

“Hurry up!” I gave Jack a gentle shove as I followed him up the steps of his own home.

We had gone out for lunch together, but Jack had invited me over after informing me his family was out for the evening. I pretended to ponder on that idea far longer than I needed to. The second he asked me to come over, I knew my answer was a yes.

“I’m moving! Oh my god. You’re worse than my dad!” Jack complained as he fished his front door key out of his pocket. He was swift to unlock it, and we both went tumbling inside one right after the other.

Jack and I both kicked our shoes off, leaving them in a heap on the floor as I shoved the door shut and locked it.

“It’s fucking freezing out there!” My arms flew around my shoulders, rubbing myself to warm up. Jack was busy shedding the heavy winter coat he didn’t think to offer. I couldn’t blame him. Sometimes he just didn’t think.

“We need something warm.” I spoke as Jack hung his coat on the rack and reached for my hand.

“Relax, relax. Hot chocolate?” He led me into the kitchen.

“Yes, please.” I glanced out the big widows in the dining room. I wondered how Jack’s family would get home from the city in a blizzard. I hoped they’d be fine. The heavy snowfall hadn’t begun yet, but it was supposed to within the hour.

Jack filled a tea kettle with water before he set it on the stovetop and turned the burner on. My eyes eventually returned to him as he approached. He wrapped his arms around my body, and I was quick to return the hug, my hands clasping together behind his back.

“You’re freezing.” Jack mumbled, I shot him a glare.

“Screw you, Hughes.” I mumbled as I turned and pulled away from him. Jack was swift to grab my wrist and pull me back against his chest. His arms now resting on my stomach. I sighed as his chin was placed on my shoulder. I reached behind myself to run my hand through his hair.

“Might be a nice way to warm up.” Jack’s words had been accompanied by his two hands drifting to squeeze my hips. I laughed softly at him.

“In your dreams, Buddy.” I pulled away again, this time escaping his grabby hands.

“I always dream about you.” He teased dramatically through a quiet laugh.

“You’re so weird.” I gave a gentle push to his shoulder.

“Yeah yeah.. I’ve been told that a few times.” Jack peeked back at the kettle.

“So how are you keeping me entertained, Hughes? What’s your grand plan?” I leaned back against the counter, and folded my arms across my chest.

Jack looked back at me and pursed his lips. It didn’t take him long to think of an answer.

“First we’re gonna make this hot chocolate. Then we’re gonna have to wait for it to cool off. So I was thinking we watch a movie? And after that, I say we sneak on down to the basement.” Despite how comfortable we had grown with one another, Jack still couldn’t be bothered to make eye contact with me when he was insinuating a little more than a little cuddling.

“Oh wow.. seems like a pretty good plan to me.” I reached out to gently grab his jaw, turning his head to face my own. “Might have to get a head start on that last one.” My other hand gently poked at his belly with my knuckles, pulling quiet giggles from the ticklish boy.

“Stop,” Jack was gentle when he pushed my hand away, ridding of one unwanted touch to focus on the one he did want. Which just so happened to be my lips against his own.

Jack’s hands settled on my hips while my arms wrapped around his shoulders. We lost ourselves fairly quickly in the mess of lips and tongues- and the occasional unnerving scrape of teeth. Considering we were both still learning the ropes.

When the tea kettle began to whistle, I gently moved my hands to Jack’s chest, pushing him off.

“I’ll be in on the couch. Yeah?” He nodded, and I slipped out of the kitchen to grab a few blankets.

Jack came in not long after, two mugs in hand and a bright smile on his lips.

“What do you wanna watch?” He asked as he set the mugs down on the coffee table. He looked toward me as he grabbed the remote, and I watched his face screw up in displeasure.

“What’s wrong?”

“That’s Quinn’s blanket.” Jack reached out to pull the baby blue fuzzy blanket right off of me. He tossed it toward the love seat before he made his way across the room to the basket full of blankets. He dug through them before he pulled out a red one that was silk on one side and a patchwork texture on the other. An old gift from his grandmother.

“You’re so picky,” I teased as Jack walked back over and sat down on the couch. He unfolded the blanket and draped it over our legs.

“No, I just don’t want Quinn’s stuff all over you.”

“His stuff?”

“Ya know… his cooties?”

I had to turn away and clasp a hand over my mouth to muffle my inevitable laughter.

“Whatever.” He grumbled. “What do you wanna watch?”

I looked back at Jack before I directed my attention to the tv.

“Whatever you can find.”

What Jack did find, was Twilight. I’d seen them all. He had not. Jack wasn’t into the whole vampire thing, and I knew Ellen didn’t necessarily want her boys watching it anyway. Because if they liked one they’d have to watch them all, and she was not ready to knowingly let her kids watch the first Breaking Dawn movie. Quinn, yes. Jack and Luke? No.

But we were home alone, so Jack and I left it on anyway.

It got boring pretty quickly. A half an hour in, and we were already sipping on hot cocoa and giggling like idiots. At some point, Jack put his mug down and leaned closer to me. His hand rested on my thigh. I glanced up at him.

“As entertaining as this is-“

“Not.” I corrected.

“Yeah.. it’s really not.” Jack and I both laughed. “Maybe we can just skip the movie and take this party downstairs?”

I took another sip of my hot chocolate before I set it down next to his own.

“I think that can be arranged. Only if I get carried though.”

“Which way?”

I considered my options.

“Piggy back ride.” Jack was quick to spring up, holding his arms out for me while I stood on the couch and climbed onto his back.

“Ready?” Jack checked.

“Full speed ahead, Rowdy Airlines.”

I knew he hated his middle name, but I absolutely loved it.

Jack made sure he had a good grip on my legs before he went off down the hall, opening the basement door and asking me to pull it shut behind us before he walked down the steps.

The basement was nothing particularly fancy. A couch, a tv, mini fridge, and an empty area that Ellen once informed me used to be full of all the boys’ toys and kids hockey nets.

Jack stopped in front of the couch and let me down. I climbed off of his back and slipped my hand in his back pocket, stepping out of the way as I pulled him by his jeans, only removing my hand when he fell back into the couch.

“You want music, lover boy?” I teased.

“The stereo has some good stuff sometimes.”

I swiftly slipped off the couch and made my way over to the stereo by the tv. I turned it on, flipping through endless static before I found a station. Then it cut out.

“Jack, it’s all messed up.”

Jack got up and joined me by the stereo. Within seconds he had it back on. He adjusted the volume and gave me a pointed look.

“Can’t trust you with anything.” His words made me smile out of embarrassment. Jack’s hands slipped around my hips and pulled me in. Our eyes locked, expressions softening into admiration and adoration combined. Somewhere in the midst was a mutual feeling of want.

“You’re so cute.” I whispered as I leaned up onto my toes to connect our lips again.

This kiss didn’t last as long. We broke apart to find the couch again, falling onto it, our bodies turned to face one another, and our knees brought up onto the couch in an awkward way. I had a knee on top of Jack’s, and our other two were pressed together.

We were awkward teenagers. No other explanation needed.

Our lips locked not long after. Jack had a hand on my hip and the other on my cheek. My hands were busy at the nape of his neck, gently fidgeting with his hair.

Occasionally one of us would lean forward into the other, but hesitance and uncertainty kept us from pushing one or the other back to lay down. Breaks for air didn’t last long. As they never did with Jack.

It wasn’t until I decided to slip a hand beneath his shirt, that he pulled away to assess the situation.

“You don’t like that?” I asked breathlessly.

“No.. no it’s okay.”

“I’m gonna take it off.” I gave him a warning, and when he didn’t decline, I swiftly slipped his shirt off. It ended up on the floor somewhere.

Jack moved his hand, placing it on my wrist and slowly allowing his hand to travel the expanse of my arm until he found the collar of my shirt. He pulled it aside and leaned in again to kiss my neck. I chuckled softly. He started to shift onto his knees, and I wrapped my hand around his back. Starting to pull him into me. Myself leaning back, Jack moving forward. Starting to get somewhere-

“Jack! What the hell are you doing?”

We tore apart faster than a flash of lightning. Jack looked like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar. I peered over the top of the couch to see Quinn standing there with his hockey bag over his shoulder. All three sets of our eyes were huge.

“Quinn! Language!” I heard Ellen shout from upstairs.

“Quinn- Quinn please.” Jack slowly sunk to sit down, sliding off the couch and standing up.

“Mom!”

Sometimes I hated how petty these two could be. My face flushed, and I could only imagine how much more embarrassing it was about to get.

“What, honey?”

“Nothing!” Jack immediately shouted.

“Mom you have to-“

“It’s nothing!” Jack shouted over his brother more forcefully. Their disagreement beckoned Ellen to the top of the stairs.

“What is your guys’ problem?” She snapped.

“Jack’s sucking face with his girlfriend down here.”

I shot Quinn a dirty glare.

The silence that followed was deafening.

“Jack’s doing what?” I heard Jim’s voice at the top of the stairs, and soon I heard his heavy steps descending.

“Getting his Love Shack on, apparently.” Quinn’s prideful smile made my glare ten times harder.

“Quintin, quit that.” Ellen scolded, though she sounded concerned.

“Jack.” Jim paused the second he made it to the bottom of the steps. He examined the crime scene. Somehow the music made it all the more humiliating.

“She just came over because of the storm-“

“I’m sure she did.” Jim shook his head in disapproval. “Do you have a ride home?” He directed his attention to me.

“I drove here, sir.” I had only ever called Jim sir the day we met.

“It’s fine.. really it’s fine.” Jim assured me. “I mean it’s not fine.. but Jim is- it’s not bad enough to not be called Jim.” His words confused both Hughes brothers, and myself. “We just- you should probably go home.” I slowly stood up. “Drive safe, yeah? I know you’re only a block away, but still.”

“Thank you.” I cast Jack a nervous glance before I slipped off toward the steps. I spared Quinn a harsh hit to the shoulder before I escaped up the stairs, offering Ellen an apologetic look.

Somehow I knew the making out wasn’t necessarily the issue. The Hughes’ were never that strict of a family. But I knew I broke a rule coming over when nobody was home.

“I’m sorry, Ellen.” She held a hand up and shook her head.

“It won’t happen again, I’m sure of it,” was all she said. She offered me a gentle smile. “Just promise me you’ll be patient with Jack while he’s grounded.” I managed a quiet chuckle.

“I can wait for him.”

✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾

[amostimprobabledream]

Tastes Like Pepsi Cola (Dazai Osamu x Reader)

Also available on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47860600 When Dazai texts, you go.

That's how it's always been, ever since you met him. With clever words and those beguiling looks of his, he wrapped you up in a web that was so deftly spun you didn't even realise you were in one until it was too late.

Occasionally you'd rebel, leave him on read, ignore the siren call of him, go on dates with other guys, but he always got his way eventually. And the sessions spent after you'd pulled away from him were all the more intense for your resistance, with him making you come over and over until his name was all you could say, rattling around in your brain, carved into every inch of your skull. You'd limp to work the next day with Dazai's teeth marks hidden under your clothing, lovebites all over your neck and breasts, handprints on your ass, thin nail marks on your back and thighs.

Sometimes it was worth it just to rile him up, put a healthy fear of losing your company into him.

If someone asked you to define what you and Dazai were, you'd struggle to define it. Fuck buddies? Lovers? Friends, even? He sure as shit wasn't your husband.

But whatever it was, it was addictive.

That night, when the text came from him, you threw on some clothes hastily - it didn't matter what you wore, really, since Dazai would be unwrapping you like a Christmas present. You did put on some of your nicer underwear, though - you loved the way his eyes lit up at the merest hint of lace or silk and it made you feel good. It didn’t take you long to get to where he lived – so convenient for him that the Armed Detective Agency was literally right around the corner, yet he always managed to be late for work. You shivered under your jacket as you mounted the steps leading to his front door, the night air cool and crisp.

He answered the door before you'd even had a chance to knock - almost like he'd been peering through the peephole, eagerly anticipating your arrival.

"Hello, sweetheart~" He purred, eyes dragging up and down your body.

"Somebody's eager-" you teased, but you barely had time to finish speaking before he pulled you in, hands gripping your hips and effortlessly tugging you over the threshold of his place. The door slammed shut behind you.

His mouth smothered you in kisses, hasty, almost sloppy in his urgency. Not that you minded - even when he wasn't putting in much effort into it, Dazai was a fantastic kisser. His lips were warm, and it only took a little coaxing before you opened your mouth for him, tongue slipping deftly inside. It used to be you didn’t like kissing with tongues, guys before you jamming it in there and scraping it against your teeth, but Dazai’s turned it into an art form. You tried not to think about how much practise he must have had to get that good.

His elegant, long-fingered hands wandered up and down your body, squeezing and caressing and you let out a breathy laugh as his hands ghosted across your stomach. He was fascinated by your ticklishness, had pinned you down and tickled until you'd cried with laughter before. Strong despite his lanky frame.

"Is anything wrong?" you asked, reluctant to kill the mood, but there was something about Dazai's urgency that was mildly alarming. He chuckled against your neck, hot breath washing over your skin.

"Everything's fine, baby." He replied in a sultry purr. And then he said, casual as you please: "I think you need to come sit on my face now."

What?!

You and Dazai had done plenty before, but this was a new one, plus the abruptness of his command took you aback. You stared at him, amazed he could still make you blush.

"What?" you said, mouth hanging open.

Dazai only smiled, tugging you after him into the bedroom. Your feet followed him automatically, heart hammering in your chest.

Of course. Being around Dazai was like a riptide - all you could do was go with the current. “You heard me.” He said, his voice slow and sweet as honey. “I want your thighs either side of my face, and I want to eat you out until you scream.” His crude words combined with his sultry tones were a two-pronged attack – designed to shock, to smash down any guarded or teasing from you might try to put up with the brutal efficiency of a wrecking ball, and enticing enough to draw you in, cleansing you of any knee-jerk embarrassment by reassuring you as bluntly as possible how much he wants this. Your faced flushed, but how could you say no? It wasn’t like Dazai wasn’t very well acquainted with every part of you and denying him things already took an enormous amount of willpower and resolve. Why play coy now? “All right,” you said, swallowing. “Um, we should probably get on the bed, right?” Dazai was all too happy to take the lead, flopping down onto his futon and leisurely arranging himself. You were slower to follow and began cautiously taking off your clothes, aware of Dazai’s hungry gaze on you, taking in each inch of flesh exposed to him like it’s the first time he’s seen it. He loved watching you strip, delighted each time by every curve of your body. Coming from someone with Dazai’s looks, it’s one hell of an ego trip to be so blatantly lusted over, even if it could be overwhelming. “So pretty,” Dazai hummed, words drifting over to you like music as you were down to your bra and panties. “Come here, bella.” You made your way over to him, pulse fluttering. He hadn’t even touched you yet, but your body was responding to his voice. You idly reflected he had you well-trained and you should probably be a bit more concerned about that, but it was hard to fret too much about it when Dazai’s dexterous hands grabbed you by the hips the minute you got close enough and tugged you onto the bed. “Look at you, all nervous.” He chuckled, in a teasing tone that bordered on condescending. “This is a pretty cute side to you, sweetheart.” “Shut up, Dazai.” You muttered, rolling your eyes, and he laughed and brought you down for another kiss. While he had you distracted, his fingers hooked in the sides of your underwear and worked them down your legs. You only noticed when he broke the kiss and suddenly found yourself completely exposed. How did he do that?! “Dazai-“ you said, but even as you spoke he was making short work of your bra too – it was just a comfy sports bra, you hadn’t seen the point in putting something with underwiring on when you’d only be wearing it from point A to B, yet you still felt a note of surprise when Dazai tossed it aside to join the underwear on the ground. “You’re stalling~” Dazai singsonged, his eyes glowing like amber as he smirked up at you, his hands sliding up your torso to cup your breasts, his thumbs skilfully caressing the nipples and they perk up under his ministrations. Your teeth sank into the flesh of your bottom lip and, with Dazai’s encouragement, straddled his pretty face. His hands gripped your thighs to steady you and you paused in an awkward crouch, your haunches already starting to burn. Idly, you reflected that this might make quite a handy workout for your glutes and thighs. You could feel Dazai’s hot breath on your cunt and you fidgeted. Well, this was awkward. “Um, so should I…?” you trailed off. “I don’t want to suffocate you.” “Didn’t you hear me?” Dazai asked, and you jolted at the tone of his voice. His playful chiding his evaporating and now there’s a clear note of command – you internally cursed yourself for finding it hot. “I said, sit down.” “But- “

"Fucking sit down." He growled, holding tightly to your hips. "If I die, I die happy." Oh, fuck me. Obeying him without thinking, you let yourself sink onto him and Dazai moaned as your soft thighs enveloped either side of his face. His hands gripped your flesh, holding you in place, and he got right to work. Your eyes popped open wide. Dazai eating you out was nothing new – he sometime would fling his arms around you, hugging your waist, and sink to his knees begging for a taste of you, like he’d just die if he couldn’t bury his head between your legs right then and there. He’d even used that silver tongue of his to persuade you to let him crawl under your desk at the Armed Detective Agency once or twice – the last time, Kunikida had come over to tell you that you’d dated a document incorrectly while Dazai was sucking your clit and you nearly had a heart attack over nearly getting caught. But that paled in comparison to this – Dazai lapping at your cunt like a man starved, his nose nudging against the front of your groin, wanton moans leaving his mouth, muffled by your flesh. A breathy sound that you’ve never made before left your mouth and your hands grabbed the headboard before you, and you clung to it like driftwood in a shipwreck. “Oh god…” you gasped. “Dazai-!” His tongue thrust into you, and he moaned loudly, your taste hitting him like the first drink on a hot day. It was like devouring a ripe peach and twice as sweet – he was a fan of bitter flavours usually, but the taste of you was enough to drive him into a frenzy. Combine that with your high, keening cries and the way your thighs squeezed his face, it was heaven. His cock was throbbing, straining against his boxers, but Dazai ignored that for now – nothing would distract him from gorging himself on your flavour. “Fuck!”

Your hips thrusted forwards, you couldn’t stop yourself from grinding on him, chasing more of that sensation. You stopped, alarmed that you really might kill him if you keep that up, but Dazai’s palm cracked down firmly on where your thigh and ass meet and you yelped, but bucked forwards again, getting the message pretty clearly, no words needed. Dazai hummed in approval – you took direction so well – and his lips fastened around your clit and sucked, dragging it into his mouth and laving his tongue over it in a way he knew made you squeal. Your thighs clenched either side of him and Dazai keened in response. He wouldn’t stop until you came, until it flooded his mouth – your crotch was already slick with his saliva, but he wasn’t done yet. He playfully smacked your ass again, making you yelp and tug on his hair in retaliation, which sent a bolt of heat shooting down his spine – Dazai was well-versed in the interplay of pleasure and pain and liked springing it on you unexpectedly. Bolstered by his grunt, you did it again and if he could have smiled up at you just then, he would have. Alas, his mouth was thoroughly preoccupied. Little minx. He squeezed your ass enthusiastically as you ground down on his tongue, using the headboard as leverage to move your body up and down – you didn’t want to break his neck, no matter how much of a noble death Dazai would consider that, but fuck it felt good to be on top, demanding pleasure from his mouth and receiving it so enthusiastically. Heat pooled in your belly, spreading through you as the throbbing in your cunt grew more and more pronounced, like a second heartbeat. Dazai’s hands connecting with the flesh of your ass and thighs only encouraged it, little stings of pain serving as a deliciously contrasting sensation to the soaring electric pulse flowing through you. “Oh god, Dazai…just a bit more…” you burbled, nearly incoherent with pleasure, thighs trembling and your legs aching, but you didn’t care, you didn’t care at all, you just want to come. “Fuck, yes, just like that…” He used his tongue to thrust against your inner lips, growling wantonly as he did it, knowing you liked it when he got a little primal, a little feral, and his efforts were rewarded. That sweet, addictive flavour flooded Dazai’s mouth as you came, moans that were downright pornographic filling his bedroom, your voice rising to the ceiling like steam. “Nnn…Dazai-!” It took you a couple of seconds, with your orgasm flooding your brain, sending tingles shooting up and down your body, to remember where you were. When you did, you hurriedly shuffled back and Dazai’s face appeared beneath you, his mouth still shiny. He wiped it on the back of his wrist and smirked up at you. “Good job, baby. I told you you’d like it, didn’t I?” You laughed breathlessly, not sure why he was praising you when he did all the hard work. Still, you combed your fingers through his hair and Dazai leaned into your touch, like a cat, practically butting against your palm. “Yeah, that was…wow.” You said, feeling strangely shy, but Dazai’s smile was warm and reassuring. …That was all for two seconds, until he suddenly grabbed your sides and flipped you, squealing, so that you were on your back beneath him. You giggled wildly, staring up at Dazai as he looked down at you, and the way his pupils were black and shiny told you he hadn’t quite had his fill of you, not yet. “Hold back on the review for just a little longer, darling.” Dazai purred and, as you watched, mesmerised, slipped a thumb into the waistband of his boxers and began to slowly slide them down his hips. “There’s something else I’d like tonight…” ~ The next day, you sat at your desk. When you’d walked into the Armed Detective Agency that morning, it had proven rather tasking on your body – you were still a little knock-kneed from last night. Kunikida even asked you if you’d pulled a muscle. “Yes!” you say, pouncing on the ready-made excuse with perhaps a bit too much enthusiasm. “Yes, I-I was moving furniture. I guess I forgot to lift with my knees.” While Kunikida tutted over your shoddy technique and reminded you that if you suddenly had the inexplicable urge to decorate your living room, Kenji would only be too happy to do all the heavy lifting, Ranpo glanced up from his desk. He had his feet kicked up like he was on holiday, a lollipop wedged in his mouth. When Kunikida went to go look for Dazai, who had yet to arrive at work, Ranpo sent you a knowing smirk that made you blush. Don’t tell me he knows! When you sat at your own desk, setting down your morning can of Coke and agitatedly rubbing your lips together, you felt reasonably confident you’d managed to get away with your lie. That was until Ranpo’s teasing lilt floated over to you. “I guess Dazai skipped breakfast this morning, huh?” You glanced at Ranpo, trying to play it cool. “What do you mean?” you asked, and quickly regretted asking when Ranpo’s eyes opened, amused emerald green meeting your flushed face. “Because any breakfast isn’t going to compare…not when he had that kind of midnight snack.” “RANPO!”

[first-edition]

Sunday love

Pt2

(Dont really care but there are spelling and writing errors i didn’t feel like editing)

"Southern belle"Reader × Cowboy! Bucky

Sum- You're back home visiting your mother and sister only to be introduced to your sisters fiancé and his best friend, who just happens to be town heartthrob.

CW- fluff, Fem reader, talk of scars, hint of alcohol consumption, smut, p-in-v Unprotected-ish, breeding kink if you squint, kissing, pet names, oral fem reviving, short hand job, profanity.

You sit in the back on the ambulance as the paramedics finished wrapping up your arm.

“Thanks.” You say they nod. You hop down from your seat seeing your mom Steve and your sister rushing to you.

“I’m fine I’m fine don’t-“ you sigh as your mom pulls you into a bone crushing hug.

“Erk mom air.” You say she pulls back

“Are you alright?”

“I don’t know about after that hug but the split arm yeah I’m fine.” You snidely remark.

“You got your self into a right bitch showdown.” Peggy says

“I didn’t even do anything. I walked in and she chucked the bottle at me I already gave my statement to the police.” You say

“You can sue her. We can get lotsa money” Peggy says

“Stop…where’s Bucky?” You ask frowning not seeing him around.

“Inside still he’s pretty pissed about the bar.” Steve says.

“Take my mom as sister home would tab I’ll go see him.” You say walking passed your family and back to the establishment.

Entering you see Bucky holding a broken glass in hand as he sits on a bar stool.

“Bucky?” You ask walking up to him he immediately looks up and stands placing the glass down and rushing to you.

“You alright?!” He asks

“I’m fine just a scrape” you say holding up your heavily bandaged forearm. He frowns at you knowing it’s bull.

“Got 14 stitches.” You say.

“Fuck.” He says.

“It’s okay. I’m fine. Besides I’ll get a cool scar almost as cool as yours.” You say.

He chuckles.

“You want help cleaning up?” You ask.

“Not while ur injured.” He says

“Come on, I’m numbed up pretty heavy right now let me help at least till anesthesia wears off beside I let Peggy take my car so I’m stranded here.” You says

“Alright fine I don’t want you touching the glass or lifting shit so just sweep.” He says

You nod as you walk over grabbing a broom. And begin the chore of cleaning

————

You and Bucky clean and talk, laugh he mops up the spilled alcohol contents and moves the tables back.

There’s a static nose and music begins playing.

“Ah I forgot about that.” Bucky says looking over to the increasingly old jukebox.

“What?” You say

“My great great granddad had that installed here it once in a while it’ll go off and play music I thought I got it fixed, guess it’s back up again whatever.” He says

“I think it’s cool.” You say he gives you a small smile before going back to cleaning. You involuntarily hum along to the music which happens to play the song you listen too on repeat when ever it’s Sunday.

“I want a, a love that’s on the square, can’t seem to find somebody, and someone to care…” you softy sway and sing along.

Bucky takes notice to your antics and puts down the mop walking over to you. Your back facing him. He places his hand on your lower back kindly turning you to him before taking the broom Out of your hand placing it to the side.

“What are you doing?” You giggle as he takes your hand in his pulling you closer to him.

“Dancing with you.” He says a smile forms on your face as you look up at him. You softly sway to the music as if he’s from the 40s.

“My parents would listen to this song every Sunday and dance in the kitchen. It was thier wedding song.” You ramble.

He looks at you perfectly content as he pulls you closer to him chest to chest.

“When my dad went off to afaganistan my mom would dance with me in the kitchen to it…I um…I rember when the marshal came with my fathers uniform and flag and told my mom he was gone…she hugged his uniform and danced by herself all morning, this song on repeat.” You say resting your head against him.

“Later I found myself listening to it every Sunday.” You say

“Hmm that’s one another thing we have in common now.” He says you look up to him. He brushes his thumb against your chest.

“What our dead fathers?” You joke he chuckles and nods.

“That and Sunday means something else other than the end of the week day.” He says. He’s about to explain but you cut him off pressing your lips against his kissing him. He kisses back. Continuing where you both left off in the barn.

His hands roam your waist and yours untangle fingers in his hair he walks you back into a table as you sit utop it. Your hands move from his hair to his chest and stomach where you can feel his abs through the black shirt.

Your hand move under the shirt only breaking the kiss when he pulls back for a second to speak.

“I-i dont have anything.” He says his bright blue orbs dusky.” He sighs

You shake your head. Bringing his hand up you your arm as you runs his finger over the raised scar and bump letting his feel the implant.

“I got it covered.” You say he chuckles shaking his head as you pull his shirt off and over his head. He leans back to you to continue the kiss only for you to stop eyes glued to his toned front. Seeing scars littering his chest.

The most prominent one where his black and gold prosthetic meets his skin the marks of scratching and poor attachment from the silver one he had before.

“I-I know it’s ug-“ he says getting cut off by your lips on his chest kissing his scars as your thumbs feel along his abs. He groans his grip on your hips tightening. Your kisses move over to his prosthetic scar grazing it before kissing his neck and finding his lips giving them a peck.

“You’re beautiful.” You say.

He sighs not sure he’s heard anyone call him beautiful before and he quite likes it.

Placing his hand hand on your cheek he kisses you again passionately. Trying to Unbutton your flannel he rips it down the middle buttons flying off. Revealing your bras the motion from the broken shirt causes you cleave to jiggle making Bucky stir in this pants.

He kisses down your neck to your cleavage licking and sucking marking your chest and neck up easily. his hand snakes up your back and skillfully unclasps your bra. It falls off your shoulders and chest exposing you to him.

He gladly takes your breast in hand gripping it as he suckles in the other your nipple being swirled around his tounge. Making you cry out for him.

He pulls back a string of saliva snapping as his once bright blues are dusk with a sheen of lust. They flick to your bandages arm.

“Mm-mm” you say moving your other hand down your bodies palming his dick through the straining black jeans.

“Ah-f-fuck.” He gasps his metal hand gripping the table. The wood splitting under his grip as you slip your hand into his jeans feeling just how painfully hard he is.

You relieve him by pulling off his belt and snapping the button off his jeans. He pulls them down revealing his cock. Somehow it’s pretty. Perfectly shaped and colored.

Biting your lip you take it into your hand stroking it send a shiver up Bucky which prompts him to place his metal hand around your neck making you gasp and grip his cock.

“S-sorry.” He grunts pulling his hand away only for you to grab it again keeping the cool metal flush against your neck.

“Don’t pull away.” You gasp.

“I-“

You cut him off by kissing him he kisses you back after being reassured.

His hands move your waist to your pants unbuttoning and pulling them off.

“Lay back doll.” He says you let go of him laying back holding your self on your elbows.

His hand moves from your neck to your lower stomach pressing down lightly. His other presses a thumb against your clit making you gasp before he presses two fingers into your cunt. He groan at the feeling of you.

“F-fuck..” you shakily moan as he immediately find your g-spot pressing and stroking it.

“B-Bucky..ngh.” You lay flat on your back no noticing he kneels down face to face with your gorgeous pussy.

Holding out his tongue he presses it to your clit tasting your swirling. A choked gasp leave your mouth not expecting him to feel this good. If he can do this with his mouth and fingers what wonders can he do with his dick.

Lost in pleasure your hand covers your mouth out of habit as you quiet yourself. He pulls away from you standing as he feels you clenching around his digits, ultimately denying you of finishing.

“Look at me doll.” He says you open your eyes seeing him as he kisses up your body giving your thighs a squeeze as he pushes them up so set himself between you.

“Take that hand off your mouth and let me hear you scream my name.” He says says. His southern accent erupting from thick throat. The comment alone could make you cum.

You take the hand from your mouth.

“Good girl.” He speaks again before glancing down angling his dick to you. Your eyes go wide at the comment once again. You rock your hips brushing his tip against ur entrance.

“What? You like that…hmm being called a good girl?” He says his pupils blown with lust.

“Y-yes..” you say

You feel him push his length into you. His moan makes you melt as he basically whimpers to the feeling of you stretch around him.

His hands cup your breast as he begins to thrust the fat of your breasts jiggle prompting his to kiss your buds.

your nails scratch into his back as he leans forward to kiss you muffling the sounds you make. You can hear the sound on metal scraping against the wood of the table under you as you pull him closer to you rocking your hips against him.

His metal hand grips your thigh as he draws in a shaky breath breaking contact with ur lips.

“SH-shit y/n…” he gasps as you feel his cock twitch inside you making you smile. Your smile immedetly fades when he pulls out of you all together the empty feeling pissing you off.

“I ain’t cumming before you doll.” He says pulling you down to the edge of the table and lifting you before flipping you over and lightly pushing your front back down to the table before he thrusts back into you.

“A-ah ah…fuuuck.” you choke out the moans as his dick strokes your g-spot over and over immediately making you cum with a whimper.

You claw at the table as he absolutely rails you into oblivion. His hand moves from your hips to your cunt his fingers instantly finding your clit circling it overstimulating you.

Your knees go weak as you start you crumble under the pleausre.

“Stand up.” He barks at you slapping your ass. You listen legs shaking as he wraps his arms around your waist holding you up. You feel the familiar knot forming in the pit of your stomach once more. Buckys thrusts stagger as he cums with a rough thrust leading you two your second orgasm.

You feel buckys lips kissing your back and shoulders. He moves youre hair to the side kissing your cheek. He makes his way to youe neck only to hesitate when he sees the forming bruise.

“Im sorry..” he says before slipping out of you. You frown at his sudden pulling away you stand only to go baby deer and your legs give out. Before hitting the ground you’re caught by him.

“I got you.” He says holding you up. His eyes search your body seeing the reddending skin where he was gripping you.

“Mm my eyes are up here.” You say looking at him. He looks up at you.

“You alright I didn’t hurt you did I” he says running his thumb over your neck. You shake your head and look back at the table seeing it cracked and scratched and visibly damaged.

“I think the table is worse than me.” You giggle looking back at him.

He nods before pecking your lips.

“H-hold on.” He says reverting back to his quiet self as he sets you against the table. He pulls up his pants and walks over to a cabnet pulling out a blanket before walking back to you wrapping it around you.

You smile at him. He scrambles around the room picking up the articles of clothing placing them next to you as he then helps you redress as he give you his own shirt for ripping yours.

“Would you maybe like to stay? I could take you home in the morning.” He says.

“You sure? I dont wan to intrude i-“ you begin “please. Stay” he says.

“Okay.”

[beels-burger-babe]

A Pain You'll Soon Regret - Pt. 1

***This...This is glorious. Oh ho, I will most definitely give you this fic @millenniumofpain! I will do so gladly! Thanks for sending in this great request!***

Poly!MC Summary: MC and the demon lords get in a fight resulting in MC leaving. They planned on going to Purgatory Hall until things cool off, but they never quite make it there. TW: Heavy Angst, Violence, I don't know what to tag this, but there is a pretty nasty verbal fight, Gore/Injury Part Two: HERE, Part Three: HERE, Part Four: HERE

You growled to yourself, angrily wiping tears from your face, as you marched away from the House of Lamentation, away from your partners.

Well, you said marching. It was more of a stumble what with the way your intoxicated brain could barely walk forward. You wished you could say you didn't know how things got like this, but the evidence had been there all along. It was in the slow build of tensions that increased and increased until they overflowed. It was in the way everyone would bite their tongues more and more frequently rather than communicating their thoughts.

Everyone had little things about the relationship between the eight of you that bothered them, and no one said a word until the words could no longer be held back.

It all started after you came back from clubbing way past curfew with Asmodeus.

The two of you were definitely drunk and were giggling messes as you did your best to hold the other up.

You both jumped when the hallway light turned on to reveal Lucifer and the others waiting there for you.

You bit back a sob as you thought of the vicious words that came out of their mouths.

"You're so reckless! Do you know what could've happened to a human like you this late at night in this state?! For Diavolo's sake MC, I expected this behaviour from Asmodeus, but I expected more from you!" Lucifer shouted Asmodeus groaned and leaned against you. "We were just having some fun. It's my date night. Don't get your wings in a twist." Beelzebub glared at him. "Just because it's your date night with MC doesn't excuse you putting them in danger. You couldn't even defend yourself right now, forget about defending them!" You frowned and stepped forward. "Guys relax. Nothing happened." Mammon scoffed, "That's always how it is with you! You think that just because nothin' has happened to ya that it's fine. You ain't invincible MC. Gah, it's like you're just throwin' ya self into dangerous situations just to get us to come to save ya again!" Satan raised an eyebrow at Mammon's comments and crossed his arms over his chest. "Maybe that's what they want. Attention. Is that the real reason why you keep being so reckless?" he tsks and scowls at you, "If you wanted attention MC you could've asked one of your seven boyfriends." You looked at them all with wide eyes. "Wha- I do NOT do all of this for attention!" Levi snarled, "Then why do you do it? Huh? Why else would you get drunk in one of the most notorious clubs in the Devildom? Why else would you date all seven of the Lords of the Devildom?" You stepped back as though you had been slapped by Levi's words. You glanced around at the others, but no one rose to your defence. You met Belphie's gaze hoping, that maybe as the only one to have not spoken up, that he'd be on your side. He just snickered and gave you a perplexed look. "What? Don't expect me to step in. You got yourself in this mess." You stood shocked and hurt; almost unwilling to believe that your partners, the people who you thought loved you unconditionally, verbally attacked you. Anger bubbled and boiled inside of you until you couldn't contain it anymore. "If you guys have such a problem with it, then maybe I won't depend on you anymore! I'm reckless, yeah, I admit, but I never did it for attention and I certainly never put myself in danger just so you all could play the hero," you turned your anger to Leviathan, "And in case you forgot, you all agreed to date me! I thought it was because you all loved me as much as I loved you but apparently fucking not! So if you don't mind, I'm going to leave now like the attention-driven child that you all think I am!"

Not your classiest moment, but you didn't care. It was clear you weren't wanted at the time, and you were too tired to handle the brutal words that they were throwing at you. So you left. Which brought you here, stumbling your way towards Purgatory Hall, drunk, and sobbing as you shivered from the cold Devildom air. You could just see the shape of the Hall ahead of you when you suddenly tripped and found yourself tumbling to the ground. You winced as you felt your knees and hands scrape against the ground. You groaned and turned yourself over to inspect the injuries. "Just when the night couldn't get any worse," "Well, well, well, what do we have here?" You stiffened as three demons came out of the woods around you and began circling you like vultures about to swoop in on their prey. The tallest one snickered. "Looks like the Lords' little pet strayed too far from its masters. Lucky us~"

A shorter, rounder one smiled sharply as drool trickled from its mouth. "Their loss, our gain," it leaned forward and inhaled deeply before sighing in pleasure. "Oh, get a whiff of that fear~ Just, delicious! Do you think it's true when they say that human tears really do add seasoning to its meat?" You tried to scramble away from it, as your heart pounded in your chest, but yelped as your back bumped against a curvier one. Its long nails dug into your shoulders as it secured its hands near your neck. "Only one way to find out." You were in trouble. These demons clearly had no intention of letting you go. You needed to get out of there before it was too late. You jammed the heel of your palms against the back of the wrists of the demon that holding you down, while you leaned backwards away from it. You were able to get just enough slack to roll away from the demon before jumping back to your feet. You were still surrounded, but at least now you weren't defenceless on the ground. Progress.

You did your best snarl, one that you and Mammon had jokingly practiced together one day, and glared fiercely at them. "Do you have any idea who you're messing with? I could have you all killed with just a snap of my fingers. You have one chance to run away, or I promise you that no one will ever be able to find your sorry corpses."

The tall one laughed and smirked at you. "And what exactly are you going to do? Scratch us with your blunt little nails? Bite us with your flat teeth?" The round one perked and began to hop excitedly. "Oh! Oh! Maybe they'll summon the lords to do it for them! Such a pathetic thing doesn't stand a chance on its own."

The curvy one wore a sickening grin as it leaned down mockingly at you. "So, you gonna call your guard dogs or what?"

You froze. You couldn't summon the brothers. Technically, you could, but not at this moment. Not after that fight. They had basically screamed at you about how they were tired of you getting yourself into situations exactly like this and then come crying to them for help. And what did you do? Take off and prove them right. They didn't want to be your heroes. They didn't want you.

You were on your own in this, and there was no way you could fight and win. Without a second thought, you turned towards Purgatory Hall and ran. The laughter of the demons rang behind menacingly. You barely got five steps away before a set of claws slashed deep into your ankle. You screamed out as you collapsed roughly to the ground, making your forehead against the dirt road.

You twisted onto your side to see the round demon drooling over your heavily bleeding leg with a nearly psychotic expression. "I love it when they try to run." That was the only warning you got before it sunk its razor-sharp teeth into your calf. You wailed loudly in pain as you used your other foot to try and kick the demon off of you, but it wasn't so willing to let go of its meal. The tall one grabbed your arm, bending you foreword as it roughly folded it behind your back. You cried out as you felt your shoulder pop out of its socket and nausea swirl in your stomach. "Not so tough now, are you?" It purred in your ear as it licked the tears off of your cheeks. You choked on your sobs as it roughly bit into the flesh on your collar, and weakly struggled in its grasp. "Let go of me! H-Help! Somebody! Help me!"

The curvy one finally approached you, burying its fingers into your hair before harshly yanking your head towards it. You screamed before it slapped its clawed hand across your face. Bile threatened to rise out of your throat as you felt your own blood drip down your cheek.

Spots began to blur your vision as the demon leered down at you with its menacing eyes. You felt your stomach drop as a realization hit you. This was how you would die.

You whimpered as you thought of the brothers, and how you never got to even kiss them or tell them goodbye one final time. Hell, you didn't even get to see them smile at you. Instead, you were reminded that you could never be what they needed you to be.

You would die scared, in pain, and unloved.

The curvy demon laughed as it wrapped its hands around your throat. You struggled to breathe and whined as, for just a moment, you saw Belphegore choking you to death once more, and not this monster. You morbidly thought that it was only fitting for you to be killed the same way twice. The demon leaned closer to you, demanding that you meet its un-naturally yellow eyes as it smiled. "You realize it now don't you? That this is your death bed? That no one is coming for the pathetic little human. I bet no one would even-" Before it could finish its sentence a blindingly bright beam burst across the side of its face sending it flying across the ground. You could hear the other demon curse and began to take off as two voices shouted and more bright flashes were sent in their direction. As your vision began to fade, you saw tear-filled, innocent blue eyes look down at you and a small mouth framed by chubby cheeks try to speak. But it was too late. With a final whine, you felt your eyes roll to the back of your skull and your mind plummet into darkness. ***This request is just evil and I love it. There will be a part two. So stay tuned for more pain. Hope you enjoyed it @millenniumofpain! Thank you for allowing me to write this!!***

[fandom-puff]

Hi! I've finally narrowed it down to 53 and 54 on the smut list for a Tommy Shelby x reader. And if it's between mild and spicy smut, FOR SURE SPICY. I was thinking maybe there was like a family meeting (or any sort of meeting), and the reader "misbehaves" or does something that maybe annoys him? And then smut in whatever office they're in. No worries if you don't want to do it btw! And if you totally wanna change the concept that's cool too! 53 and 54 are just such good prompts. 🥺💖

Yay!! Buzzing to write this! Hope you enjoy <3

Gif creds to owner

Behave

Warnings: hella smutty, swearing

You were in a FOUL mood. It was Saturday, which was normally your day off anyway, but earlier in the week, Tommy had promised he’d take the day off to spend time with you. Yet here you were, choking on smoke in the betting shop, slumped over the books with a face like thunder. He hadn’t even looked at you all day, and his brothers, who were usually up for a bit of banter with you, had been in Tommy’s office since 9:30. 

You sat pouting, arms crossed, glaring at the books you were meant to be adding up when the door opened and the brothers poured out. Seizing your opportunity, you called out, “Tommy?” he turned around, eyebrows raised and cigarette hanging from his lips. “I-I was just wondering if you... wanna go to that nice restaurant- after work, I mean?” 

He rolled his eyes slightly and stared hard at you for a moment before turning away. You furrowed your brows, about to call after him again when he said bluntly “Family meeting,” 

“Go on then. I’m going to pick up some lunch,” you said, unable to keep the bite out of your tone. 

“Family meeting. That includes you,” he said stonily, still walking. 

“For fuck’s sake, Tom! Fine!” you hissed, storming ahead of him to the adjoining kitchen. John snorted with laughter at his sister in law’s temper, but you threw him a middle finger over your shoulder and called “Piss off, John,” 

Tommy glowered after you, shaking his head as Arthur clapped him on the shoulder. “You in the doghouse, brother? Take her out to dinner after work, eh? Might calm her down,” he said, grinning. 

“Fuck off, Arthur,”

You took your usual seat at the table, arms crossed and pouting. Polly glanced at you. 

“What’s up with you?” she asked, sliding you a teacup and offering tea. 

“Your nephew’s a dick,” you said, allowing her to pour it for you. 

“You’re going to have to narrow it down for me, YN, though I have a good idea who you’re on about,” she said knowingly. 

“Tommy!” you exclaimed. “I’m not arsed about having to work on my day off- I’m pissed at him for breaking his fucking promises. Again.” you ranted. Pol patted your shoulder. You both straightened up when the Shelby boys entered the room. They sat around the table, Tommy next to you, resting his hand on your thigh. It wasn’t a tender gesture like usual; it was firm and unmoving, and he was ready to squeeze should you get ahead of yourself. 

“Finally,” you hissed. “Hurry up then and get this over with,” you said, not looking at your husband. 

“No. I’m waiting for Johnny Dogs and Uncle Charlie to get here,” he said, and you rolled your eyes. He arched his brows at your attitude. 

“Waiting for someone to come? Never stopped you before,” you snapped, and Arthur and John choked on their drinks. 

“Watch it, YN,” Tommy said darkly, grabbing your cheek with his free hand and squeezing your thigh tightly with the other. “You’ve been running your mouth all day and you’re skating on very thin ice, My Girl,” 

You snorted at the nickname and shook your head, pulling away from his grip.  “’My Girl’? You better start bloody treating me like it, Thomas,” you growled. The family watched- Arthur and John exchanged a few shillings under the table on the outcome of the argument. 

“Thomas, eh? You must be in trouble, huh?” Johnny Dogs’ voice cut through the tension. You stood up. 

“Thank fuck for that. You can start your meeting now,” 

“YN, sit the fuck down, this includes you too,” Tommy said, stubbing his cigarette out. 

“Shove it up your arse, Thomas,” you hissed, but he pulled you back down to sit in the chair. 

“Stop making a show, YN,” he growled. 

“Stop being a twat then,” you countered and pulled away from him, scooting your chair away from his side. 

The meeting wore on, but you weren't paying attention. You were too busy glaring at the table, a slight pout on your lips. Admittedly, you were being childish, but it had been ages since you and Tommy had properly spent time together. For the past fortnight, you had gone to sleep with an empty bed, and woken up just as he slipped out of the room. Today was meant to be a day for you both to relax and spend time together- and maybe get intimate for the first time in about a month. 

The meeting ended, and you stood up quickly, wanting to leave as soon as possible, but Tommy grabbed your wrist and began dragging you upstairs like an unruly child. “For Christ’s sake, Tom, let me go and fuck off to your precious office!” you complained. Having enough, you were slammed against the wall. 

“Right, YN, I’ve tried to be patient with you. But if you’re going to act like a little brat, then I’m going to treat you like one. Now fuck off upstairs, and when I get up there, I expect you stripped down and on your knees,” 

You were about to argue back, but you looked into Tommy’s eyes, blown wide with lust, and nodded, pressing a quick kiss to his jaw. “Yes, sir,” you whispered, rubbing your thighs together. 

“Good girl,” he said gently. “Off you go,” 

You practically ran to Tommy’s old bedroom, tossing your clothes off and slamming the door. You glanced at the pile of clothes on the floor and quickly folded them up, knowing you’d get a telling off for being messy. You knelt down beside the bed, hands folded in your lap and eyes down, a healthy blush rising to your cheeks as you tried not to fidget. Five minutes later, the door opened and Tommy walked in, jacket abandoned and sleeves rolled up. You licked your lips slightly and resisted the temptation to stand and attach your lips to his. 

He looked down at you, slowly walking over, stroking a hand over your flushed face and pushing a stray strand of hair off your forehead. You hummed, leaning into his gentle touch, letting your eyes flutter shut. “Been feeling a bit neglected, my girl?” he asked and you whined softly and nodded, nuzzling your head against the luxurious, slightly scratchy material of his trousers. He chuckled slightly, the sound low, rumbling from his chest. “Nevertheless,” he said, voice a little harder. “Your behaviour today has been less than satisfactory, hm?” you blushed and nodded, looking down and mumbling. “What’s that?” he coaxed, tipping your face up to face him. 

“Said ‘m sorry,” you said, a little louder this time. He smirked and knelt down so that he was eye level with you, dropping the gentleness. 

“You will be,” 

You whimpered as he pulled you up. “Right, over my knee. I think 15 should do, don’t you?” you nodded and settled yourself over his knee, his trousers scratching your bare belly, his belt buckle digging into your waist. You shut your eyes as Tommy instructed you to thank him for each hit. 

SMACK! “Thank you,”

“Thank you what?” SMACK! 

“Ah! Fuck! Sir! Thank you, sir!” you cry

Tommy doesn’t get you to count- he’s capable of keeping count himself. He admires your arse, watching as it reddens and rubbing away the sting each time. By the last hit, a tear slips down your cheek and drips onto the floor, but you’re moaning and writhing, and Tommy dips his fingers between your legs after the last spank, smirking. “What do we have here, hm?” he asks, pulling you up to sit on your lap, pressing you down so your raw arse rubs against the rough tweed of his trousers. You gasp and whine as he strokes his index finger languidly up your soaked heat before pressing his slicked up finger to your lips. You take the digit into your mouth and suckle eagerly, squirming on his lap, thighs brushing against his tented trousers. “Somebody enjoying herself?” He smirked and you nodded, the bobbing of your head around his finger causing you to gag slightly. You groan and he helps you up. 

“Now, part of me wants to choke you with my cock and leave you like the little slut you’ve shown yourself to be...” you look up at him with wide eyes, shaking your head slightly, though you don’t dare open your mouth to beg. “However... you took your punishment so well... and as naughty as you’ve been today, I have been neglecting my little girl, haven’t I, darling?” you nod and he smirks, starting to unbutton his vest. You lick your lips and watch, fingers itching to help- he’s unbuttoning each button torturously slowly, but you don't want to earn yourself another punishment when you're already so close to pleasure. Once shirtless, he looks at you, nodding to the bed. You scramble to lay on your back, already spreading your legs eagerly. He laughs slightly and lines himself up, cock throbbing with need. You buck your hips despite yourself and he pushes in slowly, stretching you deliciously. You groan lowly, the burning stretch making you see spots- he hasn't even started yet. 

Tommy starts a brutal pace, hooking your legs around his waist as he thrusts into you, his cock bumping a deep spot inside you that made your eyes roll back. “Fuck! Tommy!” you cried out, reaching to scratch your nails down his back, the stinging scrape causing his to hiss and fuck you rougher. Your cries came in sharp bursts, increasing in pitch and volume as you chased your climax. 

“Fucking hell, YN, love, you better be quiet or everyone's going to know what a naughty little slut you are,” you groan in response and arch your back, pinching your nipples. 

“Good! I’m y-yours, Tommy!” you cried out, your walls throbbing and clenching around him as your pleasure peaked. Sensing this, he didn't even bother to hold off your climax, instead ramming his cock into you harder, faster, grabbing your hand and telling you to rub your pulsing clit. “Pl-please! Please, I’m gonna- gonna-” 

Tommy grunted, hair plastered to his forehead. “Cum,” he demanded. “Come on my cock, good girl,” he instructed and you yelped, screaming for him. He pressed his lips to yours, swallowing your moans as he pumped you full of his seed, riding out your pleasure. he gathered you into his arms and, still trembling, you snuggled into his side. Your makeup was ruined, lips swollen and eyes glassy. You looked dazed, ragged and well-fucked; just the way he liked it. 

You pressed a kiss to his chest, tasting the salty tang of sweat, head swirling with the heady scent of sex. ou shivered and he rubbed your side gently. “My girl,” he murmured. “I'm sorry for... being a dick,” he whispered. “Go clean your face, then I’m taking you for lunch. Pack a bag... I’m gonna take you to London for a bit- nowhere near Camden Town, don't worry,” 

you look up at him and kiss his lips sloppily. “Anywhere’s fine, so long as I’m with you,” 

[alltheworldsinmyhead]

(WHILE COLLECTING THE STARS) I CONNECTED THE                                                                                                                  DOTS

or, how Nesta accepted the bond and decided to give living a try // ao3

Adoption /Self-Discovery/Domestic/Witch!Nesta/Mating Bond/Nessian/found family bc why the fck not/Healing

Heal the scars from off my back

I don't need them anymore

You can throw them out or keep them in your mason jars

I've come home

The first thing she notices is how small the girl is.

Her feet are dangling far from the ground and, even though she’s perched on a stroll and Cassian is kneeling on the ground, he’s still towering over her frame. The top of the child’s head barely sticks above the table. Her tucked-in wings make her look even tinier; tiny and miserable, wrapped up with a blanket like an abandoned kitten.

Nesta’s still high on all the magic. There is dark paint smeared all over her skin and her veins are buzzing with the sheer power that she and her coven has just leeched off the very bones of Illyria. She’s only starting to regain some composer and maybe that is why, for a good few minutes, she stays on the corridor and watches as Cassian patiently asks the girl if she wants something to eat or to drink, if she’s warm enough, if maybe she wants to take a nap, hearing nothing in return except for the stubborn, shell-shocked silence.

It’s only when the child pulls her knees up and hides her face in the material of the blanket when Nesta actually makes her presence known.

‘’Hello?’’ she calls quietly from her place on a threshold, not wanting to spook the girl further.

To Cassian’s credit, he does not whip his head towards her – but, after all, he probably knew she’s been here all along.

He always knows she’s near, just like she does.

‘’Hello, Nesta.’’ He says and there is something so heavy, so terribly dark ringing in his voice that she cannot help but shiver. ‘’Sorry, darling, are you fine sitting alone for a while here? I’ll be right back.’’

He raises his hand as if to pat the girl’s knee, but decides not to half-motion; it falls awkwardly to his side when he slowly raises to his full height.

The girl just buries deeper into the blanket.

Something about her – the clear despair radiating from every pore of her body – pulls  Nesta towards her like a siren song. She cannot tear her eyes off her, even when Cassian ushers her to the corridor, his hand burning her lower back.

‘’Sorry for no heads-up.’’ He whispers, face half-obscured by the shadows.

It’s almost dusk; the lovely pink light of the dying sun makes everything less real somehow. Or maybe it’s still the magic, the leftovers of it from the sabbath, she’s not sure.

She knows why he’s apologizing. Strangers still threw her off, especially here, in this – space they’ve created. The space where she walks barefoot and with her hair unbound, only for him to see. But how he knows that she doesn’t feel comfortable with unexpected visitors, she has no idea. Sometimes, she wonders how the hell Cassian even knows half of the things he knows about her, because she doesn’t tell him even a quarter of them.

Unexpected visitors that make her uneasy definitely don’t include little lost girls, though. Especially since there’s an unpleasant pounding in Nesta’s head when her mind starts to mull over why the girl would be here in the first place.

‘’Oh, stop being an idiot. Why did you bring her here?  Is she- is her mother-‘’

‘’Gone? Yeah.’’

Nesta closes her eyes so tightly that the whole night sky blooms on the underside of her eyelids.

That’s Illyria. – he told her the first time when he came home reeking of blood, his knuckles scraped to the raw meat. – It happens.

And there was not an ounce of acceptance in his voice, only this defeated helplessness. The same helplessness she’s hearing – she’s feeling – now.

‘’She doesn’t have anyone else left? No family?’’

‘’No one. Her father was killed in the war, as far as I know.’’

It happens. Females disappear. Females evaporate. Females appear with their wings clipped, with blood running down their thighs. Females find themselves in the wrong place, the wrong time… especially young, pretty widows, trying to make a living in any way they can, selling whatever they have, including themselves.

Nesta does not have to ask for more details, does not have to dig deeper. Cassian fixes her stare on the chandelier above her head and breaths deeply and, when she looks down, she can see dark bruises blooming on his knuckles, turning them all shades of purple.

Her hands are still cool from the autumn air. He shivers when her thumbs brush across his tender flesh.

‘’Those who did it to her – they won’t do it again to anyone else, will they?’’

‘’No,’’ Cassian growls, his fingers curling around hers. ‘’No, they won’t.’’

She lets her lips curl into a smile, the one that makes Devlon piss his pants whenever he throws a hissy about her coven, or rather about her dragging the clipped females to the woods at night to howl to the moon, as he calls it.

‘’Good.’’ She breathes out.

Her eyes slide on the wooden panels on the wooden panels, back to the kitchen; through the ajar door, all she can see are the black curls, the small talons on top of the girl’s wings peeking from the folds of the blanket.

She’s just so small. She cannot be possibly older than five.

‘’What’s her name?”

“Nicassia.’’ Cassian answers without meeting Nesta’s eyes and something akin to a laugh bubbles in her chest. Nicassia. What a pretty name, swishing like a mountain stream on the rocks, like the wind in the valley.

Ni-cass-ia.

It seems the irony has not escaped Cassian too, because he smirks slightly at her stunned silence.

‘’What are the chances, huh?’’

‘’Yeah.’’ She sounds a bit breathless. Nicassia. ‘’What  - where are you planning to take her?’’

She rather feels than hears his hesitance when he says:

‘’Well. There’s an orphanage in Velaris-‘’

Something tightens like a rock inside her core. Of course.

She bites on her tongue. Stop being ridiculous, Velaris is not the source of all evil in the world. She has no doubt that they will take care of her well there – keep her well-fed and clothed, educate her. Give her the care and attention she needs. Maybe she’ll be treated as something … something else, different, but not worse, Feyre would never allow that. Still-

There’s this nagging thought, coming back to her over and over again as she raises her eyes to the small bundle of misfortune on the stroll in the kitchen Nesta has started to think of as hers – what about the things they cannot give her in Velaris?

Nesta’s been living in the Illyria for three years now; she keeps count of every day while pretending she’s absolutely not doing that. And during this time, she has just begun to grasp the magnitude of her ignorance of how these people live and how they think and feel – but she also knows now just enough to realize that there will be no coming back for Nicassia if she’s sent to the Night Court so young.

No one will teach her the songs to keep the rhythm while sewing – no one will teach her how to sew in the first place, how to weave the promises and good fortunes into the fabric. No one will teach her the strange language, full of whistles and hard vowels, impossible to really grasp for somebody who did not grow up hearing it every day. No one will teach her how to put pebbles on the windowsills for protection or to hang bundles of herbs above the fireplace for prosperity and health. No one will make a rowan necklace for her upon her flowering, every hope, and dream that her mother has for her captured on the rope along with the fruits.

No one will teach her the sacred, secret language of Illyrian females, the rites and rituals of their womanhood. If Nicassia grows up in Velaris, she will be forever an outcast in her own home. Not High Fae and not quite Illyrian either.

She will once sit around the fire with other females just like Nesta does with her coven and she too won’t be a part of the story.

And Nesta cannot bear this thought, cannot help but fixate on it.

‘’Nesta.’’

Cassian’s hand is warm and steady on arm, gentle, when he squeezes it.

He’s always gentle with her now, hesitant almost. She’s trying not to miss the times when he was challenging her with every move, every word, driving her insane. It’s better this way, when everything between them is so delicate, fragile like an eggshell. It’s better like that, she tries to convince herself every day, every night laying alone in her bed, her very skin burning from desire.

Sometimes he sleeps beside her to keep her nightmares at bay, but honestly, she almost prefers the nightmares to this unbearable, painful distance between them.  

‘’You cannot – you can’t keep her, Sweetheart.’’

She knows what he means by that – she knows he means all the sleepless nights and the emptiness still present in her eyes more often than not. Her still too-skinny hands, her still-not-quite mastered powers. How she would not touch booze for all days of the year except for the anniversary of her father’s death when she gets so absolutely pissed that she sleeps through the next week. The fact that they share fears and dreams and silence, trade quiet feelings, small kisses, absent-minded caresses every day, but they have still not traded the actual words, did not dare to voice anything they feel for each other.

She knows he only wants to protect her.

But maybe a time for coddling has passed. Not when there is a child sitting in their kitchen, small and alone in this world and this time, she has power – power, and strength, and will – to help her.

‘’Maybe I can’t’’. she says softly, slowly. Nicassia’s dark curls spill on her shoulders. Nesta’s hands itch to braid it the way it’s supposed to be braided, just like Emerie explained to her one time-  first parted in two, then divided into four strands and woven together (Health. Protection. Love. Devotion.). Nesta’s no Illyrian, but she can learn. She can ask her coven to teach her, to teach her how to sing lullabies in Illyrian, which bedtimes stories she should tell-

Ni-cass-ia.

Nesta thinks about a boy of five, dumped onto the cold mud, taught over and over again in the most horrible way that he has to kill, beg or steal for every little crumb of love in his life, that it will never be given freely to him, that he will never be worth it.

Nesta thinks of a girl of eight, burning with anger too vast to be contained, only learning decades later how to be gentle, how to allow others to be gentle to her.  She thinks of Feyre and Elain, of loving too much and not enough simultaneously, of not knowing how to feel anything without this magnitude of feeling devouring her whole.

Nesta turns around to face Cassian, her hands gripping his too-strongly. There’s fire – fire- burning inside her brighter than any magic ever did, hotter than any rage ever did.

She needs us. – she thinks and then: I need this. I want this.

I want this for us.  

She doesn’t remember ever wanting anything more. She doesn’t remember the last time she has felt so much.

How can they continue to pretend they’re walking on eggshells when she feels every rise and fall of his chest as if it was her own? When she could’ve as well grabbed on this bond between them or hang herself on it, that’s how strong it is. Forged from some ancient metal. Hardened in flames.

Cassian kneeling on the floor in front of this girl. Nesta coming home.

‘’But maybe we can.’’

His eyes burn golden, staring down at her. She can almost hear his heart stumbling in his chest. She’s trembling, waiting for him to tell her, no, to tell her that’s insane and wrong, to try to reason with her.

But maybe her own heart is painted on her face or maybe the implication of her words are too vast, too great to grasp, or maybe it’s that fact that all her walls go down for a moment when she’s too desperate to keep them up and he sees her for what she truly is for a moment, or maybe it’s all of those things altogether or something else entirely – but Cassian doesn’t say no.

He looks to the kitchen again, his jaw clenching and eyes turning soft when one of Nicassia’s bare feet emerges from the blanket to dangle above the floor.

‘’Are you sure?’’

One step, two steps before she’s so close she could’ve counted the freckles of hazel in his eyes.

Be brave.

‘’I want this with you. I want her. Do you – do you want it too?’’

And she means more than Nicassia, or rather – she means all Nicassia can possibly mean, the whole ocean of dreams she has never dared to venture into, so deep they could both drown in it.

In her grand romance novels, he would’ve pulled her into his arms, give her a sweeping kiss. But in these books, there seems to always be a perfect moment for everything, the exact seconds when stars align and the realization comes like a lightning strike. Nesta does not believe in this type of love any more- doesn’t believe in the perfect moments. It was always Feyre’s brand of romance. Everything in Nesta’s and Cassian’s story has always been complicated and ill-timed. She doesn’t expect to be swept off her feet or wooed anymore.

She just wants to come home. Finally, after all those lonely years.  

Cassian doesn’t give her a grand kiss. Instead, he raises their linked hands to his lips and whispers against her skin – quietly, like a secret, like an oath:

‘’I do. Fine then, love.’’

And for a second she can almost see that small boy entering Rhysand’s mother’s cottage in the war camp, craving family and belonging above all reason once again.

Her body turns soft, jelly; her arm raises up, palm resting in the crook of his neck, thumb brushing the line of his jaw. She’s on her tiptoes before she realizes she has even made a move.

For the first time since they met, they meet each other halfway; his forehead resting on hers, his hand pressing hers to his heart.

‘’Fine then, love.’’ She echoes and, all at once, warmth erupts under her skin like a raging forest fire when the bond tugs on her insides and snaps in place, sweet and familiar, the gravity keeping her feet on the ground.

[hypnoticwinter]

Down the Rabbit Hole part 29

The FBI agent reclines the front seat in the big black Tahoe and gives me a look like I’m a little girl being stubborn. My nose is still a little stuffy from all the crying I’ve been doing, and my leg feels swollen and crooked and wrong, but the time for all that is past now. I take a deep breath and let it out and refuse to meet his gaze, glare out the tinted window at the fading afternoon.

Outside there are two more FBI men in big baggy blue windbreakers, chatting casually. One of them is smoking a cigarette, and as I watch him bring it to his mouth I feel a little gnarled pang of want, for it really has been so long since I last had one, and after everything I’ve gone through –

“How’s your leg?” the agent in the SUV with me asks, and I look round at him but don’t answer. He’s a big, broad man, probably somewhere in his forties or maybe his late thirties. His tone is calm and mild but his voice is deep enough that it feels like it ought to be accompanied by a rumbling vibrato I can pick up in my bones.

My leg is okay. Makado knew exactly where and how to kick me, it seems; after the FBI agents picked me up and carried me out of the gondola Makado got them to take me straight to the infirmary where a small, stone-faced woman looked it over and tutted at how they were treating me, saying that it probably won’t heal right, but they got her to just shoot me full of painkillers and throw a boot on it. After that I was able to walk, at least a little bit; I found to my immense surprise that with the boot I was actually able to put some weight on my right leg without it folding under me or my calf snapping in half. I examined it as best as I was able on the walk over to the parking lot and discovered that instead of the mangled wreck I was half-expecting there was just a rough scrape from the cleats on the bottom of Makado’s boot and only the slightest misalignment of the broad flat bone there. I could feel, I discovered, the part where my bone melded into the synthetic replacement the autodoctor had put in, a little ridged scoriation dividing the two.

“I have some ibuprofen,” he says, reaching into the pocket of his windbreaker, “if you need it.”

“I’m fine.”

My voice is dry from lack of use. I lick my lips, make a little cough in the back of my throat. He shrugs, puts the bottle away. “Suit yourself,” he says.

Another five minutes or so go by. I pointedly ignore him. Eventually he clears his throat. “It’s going to be a lot easier on you,” he tells me, “if you talk.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Oh, I disagree,” he says. “We’ve got a lot to talk about. Ever since Miss Veret gave us a call and told us what you were up to, we’ve had a lot of questions for you. I think you’ll find that you’d prefer me to be the one asking them.”

“Is that a threat?” I ask him, and he laughs.

“It is whatever you make of it, Miss Dzilenski.” He stumbles over the frontloaded jumble of consonants, overemphasizes the ‘e’ sound in the middle. Duh-zil-een-ski. Almost makes me wince.

“Alright,” I say. “What did Makado say I had been up to, then?”

It would probably be smarter not to talk at all, but sitting here in the blasting a/c in the back of the Tahoe is making me sleepy. It feels like I haven’t had a chance to actually sit and rest for what feels like ages, even though just earlier today I was just waking up from a day-and-a-half nap after surgery. I’d gone through the pumped-full-of-energy phase and then the ballast had worn off and I’d gone through the splitting-migraine phase on the way up and now at this point I just feel hollow and brittle and empty. Even though it’s cowardly I try not to think of Elena and how I’ve abandoned her, I try not to think of Makado and what she’s done, but it’s futile. Rage and despair course over me in alternating waves and I haven’t a clue as to how to adequately deal with either.

The FBI man offers me a tissue and I realize with a start that I’ve nearly begun crying again. I wipe at my eyes as best I can with my cuffed hands and leave him there, hand outstretched, until he sighs and takes his hand back, tosses the wadded tissue on the floor. “How’d you end up here?” he asks me. I stare back at him. He reaches over, takes a slim manila folder from the center console, leafs through it. “Not a lot on you in here,” he says. “Except for that whole thing with your father.”

I stiffen.

“Must have been hard,” he says, neutrally.

I know I’m being baited and I ought to stay quiet but I can’t stop myself. “You don’t know the first thing about it,” I tell him, “so you should just shut up –“

“On the contrary,” he says smoothly, turning a stapled, glossy page and squinting at the next. The first page hangs over the edge of the folder and I can see through it to the other side, see the painfully familiar mugshot that’s been etched into my brain, little fourteen-year-old me, her eyes red from crying, trying hard to keep a stiff upper lip, staring defiantly into the camera, still wearing the lumberjack shirt she’d begged her dad buy for her as soon as they made it to Illinois and the nights started to get cold. “I know a lot about it,” the FBI man continues. “I’ve got the entire report right here.”

“If you read the report,” I say, trying to keep my voice level, “you know that by now it’s ancient history. It happened twelve years ago.”

“Yes,” he says, “and now twelve years later you’re in another mess. I suppose you’re going to blame somebody else this time as well?”

The words strike me with about the subtlety of a sledgehammer but I still stiffen in the backseat, my fists clenching so hard that my nails dig into my palms. “Fuck you,” I blurt. He continues on as though he didn’t hear me.

“I don’t know what exactly they’re planning on charging you with, but I know it’s at least a few dozen counts of manslaughter, and possibly a couple of murder charges. Then there’s all the human trafficking you and your partner Peter Caum were doing. Did you really think you’d be able to get away with that?”

My mouth dropped open about halfway through. “So that’s how it is,” I say. I feel like I’ve been struck by lightning; my heart is going about a million miles an hour and all the hair is standing up on my arms. I feel claustrophobic suddenly, here in the back of the SUV, my hands cuffed together, my leg throbbing in time with my heartbeat.

The FBI man’s eyes flash beneath his glasses. “That’s how what is?”

“Makado is trying to blame all this on me,” I tell him, knowing that it’s futile, that maybe it’s even actively detrimental to say anything, but I – I can’t just say nothing, I can’t just –

“Are you saying that she’s the one responsible for this?”

I swallow and nod.

“That Makado Veret,” he says, tossing the folder to the side and fixing me with his full attention, “the Chief of Security for the Permian Basin Recovery and Superorganism Containment Corporation, that Makado, has really been trying to smuggle people inside the Pit, with the help of a disgruntled ex-Park Ranger and mental patient, for…no real apparent purpose other than to fleece desperate people of their money?”

“Yes,” I say softly. It’s pointless. He isn’t going to believe me.

“And you are,” he continues, “the same Roan Dzilenski who has a documented history of lying to law enforcement authorities?”

“I was fourteen!”

“So you aren’t denying it? That you have lied to the police before?”

“I –“

“I mean,” he says, speading his hands, “it was a juvenile offense. And it was overturned. You got off scot free.”

“I did not get off scot free,” I tell him. “I’m tired of this. You’ve got the fucking report, you can read it. Either arrest me or don’t.”

“Fine,” he says. “If that’s what you’d like me to do.”

I lick my lips. “Look,” I say, trying to think of how to phrase it, how possibly I can tell him and get him to believe me. He gives me an expectant look. “Look,” I say, a little more softly, “this is all fine, but right now there’s someone down there inside the Pit who’s hurt. Someone who might die if I can’t get to her. And if you arrest me –“

The FBI man laughs, cutting me off, and rolls the window down to signal to the other two men in windbreakers. The tall, thin one with the cigarette tosses it on the black asphalt and grinds it out with his foot, and then he gets in next to me. I can still smell it on him. And then the other gets in the front seat and, after a quiet, murmured conversation with the man who’d just been grilling me, pulls us out of the parking lot and onto the curving road that reaches around the back of the ranger barracks and over to the main road back to Gumption. I feel as though I’m going to be sick.

The sky is terribly blue and for a long while I have a hard time recognizing it, I stare at the clouds passing by outside the window and wonder at them. The world feels strange when it isn’t pitch-dark and smelling of meat.

And, god, Elena –

I’m done crying. I can’t do anything for her now. I – I wasn’t good enough. I didn’t see it coming, I didn’t see that Makado was just using me.

I suppose I will process all of this later, in a jail cell somewhere. Right now I don’t have the ability to handle any more. I lean my forehead against the cool glass next to me and shut my eyes. I’d rather think about something else.

 * * *

 “Now remember,” my father is telling me, “it’s going to be hard to pull that trigger, but if you just squeeze it steadily it’ll be okay.”

“But daddy,” I start, but he just ruffles my hair like he always does and adjusts the revolver so that the two little legs stuck to the barrel sink a little deeper into the berm we’re both laying on.

“Now go ahead,” he tells me, his voice gentle, “and line up those two little bits there with this one in the front.”

I close my left eye and peer down the ridged metal spine of the thing. Just holding it makes me nervous, it’s like holding a power tool, like holding the big reciprocating saw he keeps down in the garage for his woodworking. It’s heavy and weighty and purposeful. “Okay,” I murmur.

“You’ve got them lined up? The one in the front should be in the middle of the rear two, and it shouldn’t be higher than the rear two.”

“Yes.”

“Alright, now, line the whole thing up with that beer bottle over there.”

“Which one?”

“The Blue Moon bottle over there on the left.”

I shift the gun over a little and then line it up again. “Okay,” I mutter. The little green bead in the front rests just above the label, but now it’s up too high, it’s poking above the line made by the back two bits.

“Remember to focus on the sights, not on the target. If you focus on the target you won’t be able to tell whether the sights aren’t aligned. Keep your eyes right here,” my dad tells me, pointing to the front of the pistol. I nod.

“Got it.”

“Okay. I’m going to move the cylinder now so that the hammer is over the chamber with the live bullet in it. When you pull that trigger the gun will fire. Got it?”

I swallow hard. I can see the back of the cartridge in the little cutout for it on the left side of the gun. My dad told me it was so you can see whether it had already been fired but I don’t know how that works. As I watch he reaches down and moves it so that it’s in line with the barrel. “Daddy,” I say, “I don’t know if –“

“Hey, it’s going to be fine. Now, it’s going to have a hard kick, but I’m going to be right here holding it with you, okay?”

“Okay,” I say again. Down there, maybe about fifty feet away or so, the sunlight is glinting off the darkened glass of the Blue Moon bottle. My father places his hands loosely over mine; his skin is calloused and rough. He is a carpenter but only during the day, at night he writes, holed up in the den with the door cracked open so if I want to I can sneak up and peek in, see him tapping away at the enormous computer with the cathode-ray screen, the big stuffed buck’s head on the wall just behind him, angled just like his, echoing his. I want to write like he does when I get older.

His hands are just over mine. They’re very warm, and so big compared to mine. I still have a band-aid on the ring finger of my left hand from where I tripped and cut it open on the ground outside the motel yesterday. Dad was proud of me for not crying about it but I wouldn’t have cried about something like that for a long time. Even this young I’m serious, more serious than either of my parents. Right now my father is being very serious and it isn’t something I’m used to. It makes me feel nervous, like I’ll do something wrong.

“Whenever you’re ready, keep the sights lined up and pull the trigger back slowly. It’s got a bit of a weight to it so you’ll have to squeeze hard, but it’ll shoot.”

And so I pull the trigger back slowly. My hand is shaking a little but that’s just from how hard I’m holding the gun. As the trigger moves the little metal lever on the back of the gun moves too, and I glance over at my dad. “Is that supposed to –“ I start, but he’s already nodding at me.

“That’s the hammer, that’s what actually hits the cartridge to make it fire. It has to drop down onto it to do that, so when you pull the trigger what you’re doing is bringing the hammer back and then dropping it. Go ahead and shoot, baby.”

I keep pulling and the hammer keeps going back and back and back and what I realize is going to happen is that there will be a point where it’s all the way back and then it’ll fall and the gun will go off and scare me half to death, and I keep anticipating it and it doesn’t come and eventually it’s too much and I ease off of the trigger. My dad stares down at me wondering if something’s wrong, takes his hands off of my hands and starts to lean over, and the thought of having to explain all this to him is far too unpalatable for me, so instead I squeeze my eyes shut and jerk the trigger back as far as it will go, and the gun roars so loud that for a moment I wonder whether I’m even wearing the big bulky earmuffs my dad handed to me.

The pistol leaps out of my hands and then something slams into my face and I cry out and clap my hands to my nose. The revolver is lying there on the berm, kicked over onto one of its little legs, and my nose is bleeding. My dad looks like he doesn’t know whether he wants to yell at me or cheer for me. Instead he just hugs me to him before I can start crying and points down at the beer bottles. “You did it,” is all he tells me, and when I look I see that the Blue Moon bottle, amber-hued and glossy, has disappeared, and even though I’ve gotten blood all down the front of my new plaid lumberjack shirt, I can’t stop staring at the place it would have been, can’t stop grinning at the knowledge that I did that.

 * * *

 The glass jostles against my forehead and my eyes flick open. I’d drifted away for a second there. Then the noise begins and the man driving slams on the brakes, sending us screeching to a halt. “What the fuck was that?” he cries.

I know what it is, of course – it’s the Pit. What else would it be? What else can open its gaping mouth and scream like that, scream from its belly, miles and miles and miles deep, channel the sound out into a pinprick-tiny orifice and make it shriek for kilometers? The noise is throbbingly deep, rattling into our bones and setting my teeth vibrating unpleasantly, but also somehow manages to screech upwards into a high keening wail that drags on and on and on…

The FBI men look shaken, at least. I’d heard groans and moans and shrieks like this down in the Pit, but none quite so angry, and definitely none as loud. It makes me wonder if there’s something different about this or if the sound is muffled, down there in the Pit, muffled by the flesh everywhere. Maybe it carries differently.

There is another low resounding thump and again the ground shakes. I freeze. If we can feel it here on the surface –

The FBI men glance at each other, and the one in the passenger seat, the one who’d been interrogating me, nods. “Let’s get the hell out of here,” he tells the driver, who puts the SUV back in gear and starts off again down the road, moving at a faster clip than before. He isn’t quite gunning it but he’s getting close. The one in back sitting next to me leans forward.

“Did they say anything about this?” he asks. “Is it like a test or something? I heard –“

I never hear what he heard, though, before the ground erupts like a bomb maybe two hundred yards to our left and a vast stream of – of something hurls upwards into the sky. The driver cries out in shock and for a moment all of us are just staring out the left side of the SUV, watching as a nauseatingly pale pillar of flesh hovers there, sticking out of the ground at an obtuse angle, quivering in the waning sunlight. It must reach a couple hundred feet into the air at least, and it’s as thick as a redwood, or maybe even a couple of redwoods, it’s hard to tell from this distance. It curls inwards on itself and slams into the ground and begins scrabbling around on the ground, splintering trees and bushes and rocks, crushing them beneath itself.

“Makado was right,” I breathe, watching the tentacle writhe like a blind, pale worm. “She was right, it is waking up.”

“What did you say?” the man in the passenger seat asks, but before I can repeat myself there is another echoing roar and another tentacle, a smaller one this time, bursts out of the ground just before us. The driver screams a profanity and tries to turn but the big fat SUV is too damn slow. We strike it at an angle instead and it is just enough to flip the car.

It all happens incredibly quickly. I’m very lucky that the man who got in next to me buckled me in; he neglected to do the same for himself and got tossed around the cabin like a ragdoll, slamming into the ceiling and then falling through into the back and rattling around back there like a roulette ball. The two in front are a little luckier; they both had buckled up but I see the one in the passenger seat strike his head hard against the window next to him, hard enough that the window cracks, and when his head reels back I see a flash of bright red blood mottled in his hair and dripping down his forehead. The driver is still tugging desperately at the wheel, his instincts screaming at him to do something at least, but it’s useless – we flip end over end three times before the car settles onto its side and comes to a halt.

Aside from nearly being strangled by my seatbelt, I come out of it okay. I knocked my leg against the front seat a few times but with the boot on it isn’t nearly as bad as it could have been, and then when the front windscreen burst inwards I did end up with a few cuts on my face, I think, and the same bruised spot on my cheek where Klaus struck me is aching like hell.

I think I screamed, that’s all; it’s like my brain shut down as soon as we flipped and I was simply running on automatic, no conscious thought required. I remember bringing my hands, still cuffed together, up to protect my face, and I remember clenching just about every muscle in my body tight enough to leave me with a lingering ache in my abs once we rolled to a stop, but somehow I haven’t done myself any lasting damage.

It takes me only a couple seconds to realize that this might be my big break, and then I spring into action, slamming my fingers down on the release for the seat belt and rocketing out of the SUV as quickly as I can. The driver yells at me, apparently still conscious as well, and I snap a terrified glance back at him, but he’s trapped – I can see now standing on the outside that his door is crumpled inwards and jammed into the frame, and what’s more it doesn’t look like he’s able to undo his seat belt, although I can’t tell whether it’s because it’s jammed too or because the man is injured.

Behind me the roars continue unabated. There is the faint ratcheting wail of a siren coming from the facility, over the lip of the hill, just there to my right.

The man with the glasses who cracked his head on the window, he has the key to my cuffs. I sprint around the back of the truck, tear the passenger door open as quickly as I can. He falls out, lands on his belly in the dirt, and then I am rummaging through his pockets; not here in the jacket, not on the other side of the jacket, not in the left back pocket…

I can feel my panic mounting as I rifle through his things, trying to ignore the angry cries of the man in the driver’s seat, telling me to stop, telling me that I’m going to be in really fucking big trouble if I don’t come around and help him get out of the damn truck. I shut him out, I don’t even look at him. Where is the fucking key? If I can’t find it, if it’s fallen out of his pocket somewhere when the SUV flipped –

There is a raw, wet noise next to me and I glance over. The tip of the tentacle, glossy with slime and bleeding from a dozen skin-deep cuts, from rocks and sticks and just abrasion with the ground, is nuzzling at the deflated rear tire of the SUV. It’s insane how normal it seems to me. A month ago I would have figured I was going insane if I had seen something like this grubbing around on the ground like someone trying to reach a potato chip they’ve dropped on the floor. Where is that fucking key? Goddam it –

I take a step, dragging the FBI man with me, or at least trying to, because the fucker is heavy, and immediately the tentacle jolts in my direction. I feel a scream catch in my throat but I manage to clap a hand to my mouth and stop it. The sound? No, that doesn’t make any sense, the thing’s skin is smooth and clear and bereft of anything close to being an ear. Vibrations then, that must be it.

I eye the thing. The end is blunt and about as narrow as a baseball bat but it widens out to about as wide around as a tree trunk a little further down. It’s obviously very strong; rippling bands of muscle shift beneath its thin skin. If it got wrapped around my leg –

“You fucking bitch!” the driver curses at me. He’s still yanking fruitlessly at the seat belt. I see the tentacle’s skin twitch with each word, and then it snakes its way under the SUV. “You bitch! I swear to god, if you don’t come over here - !”

I have one last pocket to search. Rear right. Wallet, what feels like a package of breath mints or chewing gum, a piece of paper…no keys. I shove my hand in deeper, all the way to the bottom, and then I find it, the tiny metal key brushing against my fingers. My heart jolts in my chest and I pull it out as quickly as I can and then try to unlock them myself, but it’s no use, I can’t reach it. “Fuck,” I murmur, out loud, and then glance carefully at the tentacle. It’s wrapped itself all the way around the SUV. At this point the man inside has seen it. It sounds like he’s having a panic attack.

I start to back away slowly, just as the tentacle flexes and lifts the SUV into the air. “Holy shit,” I murmur before I get a grip and shut up. The tentacle seems satisfied with its prize, though – it doesn’t pay any attention to me. There’s more commotion inside the SUV and then – I jump – a few gunshots. I see them slap into the tentacle’s flesh, puffing out sprays of blood, but it’s entirely futile. The tentacle flexes and crushes the SUV with the ease of someone crushing a can of Coke and then it whips back down into the dirt, still clutching the SUV, and then they both are gone.

My heartbeat is very loud in my ears. The enormous tentacle off in the distance is still scrabbling around someplace else, pointed off in the other direction from me. My hand have gotten very sweaty and I’m scared I might drop the key someplace, but I haven’t got anywhere else to carry it. I take a step tentatively, cringing in anticipation, waiting for another tentacle to burst out of the ground and scoop me up, but when none are forthcoming, I break into a hobbling sprint and make for the facility. I have to find someone who’ll be willing to uncuff me, who might be willing to help me get back down into the Pit so that I can find Elena –

The thoughts die in midstride. I crest the ridge and stare down at the wreckage below me. There are three more tentacles of roughly the same size as the first rooting around the wreckage of the administration building, which looks as though it’s been peeled open like a tin of sardines. Before me, down on the road, a Humvee speeds by, and then another. There are people rushing all about the sedative plant, and I wonder if they’ve done anything, if there even is anything they can do. Can they turn it up to 11, pump even more sedative into the thing? Would that even work, does it have a tolerance for it?

The exclusion plate, at least what I can see of it from this vantage, is cracked into three pieces, and beneath is just pale skin basking in the orangey sunset.

As I watch, one of the tentacles shudders and flops to the ground. I can feel the impact throb through my soles all the way from here. A dust cloud rises from beneath it.

I scan the line of intact buildings nearest me and then slowly, unwillingly, I grin and start to make my way down the slope.

For there, just down the hill and across the road, is the ranger barracks. And there, in the third window from the left, a light shines, and I can see Fumi’s unmistakable shaggy silhouette outlined in it.

 * * *

 When he opens the door after about five minutes of knocking I push in past him and scan the room. “Roan!” he blurts. “What the fuck are you doing here – “

“Fumi, there’s no time. Are we alone?”

“Well, yeah, but –“ he says, and then he breaks off. He’s glimpsed the cuffs around my wrists and I give him a little sheepish grin. “What’s going on?”

“I should be asking you that,” I tell him. “Why’s the Pit freaking out? And why are you in here and not -”

He blows his breath out, and glowers. “Firstly, Makado’s taken a Tunneler down to get that crystal. Those always piss off the Pit and I guess after 2007 it decided to grow some extra appendages near here that we weren’t aware of and now it’s putting them to good use. And secondly,” he shrugs, “I think they just forgot about me. I’ve had my radio on and I’ve been waiting to respond but I never got a call. Not really complaining.”

I hold up my hands. “Sorry – Tunneler?”

“It’s what they used to make a lot of the bigger tunnels in the Pit. You ever seen those big digging machines they use to dig train tunnels and stuff through solid rock? Think that but bigger and grindier. It’s got vacuums to suck away the dead flesh, cauterizes as it goes, the works. Pisses the Pit off like crazy, though, and now that it’s hungrier these days I guess it got mad enough to pitch a fit about it. They still have two or three of them in a hangar, sitting around from the old Anodyne days just in case they ever need them.”

“Jesus Christ,” I murmur. “And they – Admin or whoever – they let her do that?”

Fumi laughs. “I guess,” he says. “I heard she stormed into Admin and raised a huge stink about the crystal, told them this was their last chance before the Leechman vanishes with it, and they signed off.”

“Fuck her,” I growl. Fumi looks a little taken aback at how bitter I sound. He starts to ask something but I shake my head. “There isn’t time. Help me out of these. Please.”

Fumi mutters a curse under his breath and takes the key. The cuffs fall away from my wrists and clatter on the floor and I am so relieved I don’t know what else to do but hug him. He smells of sweat and cigarette smoke but at the moment I don’t care. His hands flutter, startled, before they close around me and he holds me gently. He pats me on the back after a moment, and I draw away from him. “I’m sorry,” I murmur, feeling suddenly embarrassed. “I was just –“

“I get it,” he says. “Look, why don’t you just get out of here? With all this chaos it’d be easy to –“

“No,” I tell him. “I can’t, I can’t just leave. I have to get back down there.”

“Roan,” he starts. Something about his tone puts pressure on some place in me that’s been bending and bending and finally I snap.

“Fumi,” I say, my voice harsh, “Elena is down there. Maybe she’s already dead, but if she isn’t, she needs me. Nobody else is going down to get her, especially not now.” As if to punctuate my argument, there is another crash from nearby as a tentacle slams into the ground. Fumi nods, explaining that they’ve probably upped the sedative dosage and it’s finally taking effect. His face grows more serious.

“Do you know if she’s still alive down there?”

“No,” I admit. “But if she’s dead I – I have to know. I just have to. Now you can either help me or not, but if you don’t, I’m probably going to end up dead,” I tell him. I marvel at the perfect calmness in my voice. “One way or another, because I’m not experienced enough, because I don’t know the landscape, whatever. But I’m going down there, and that’s final.”

I stand there staring up at him, my hands balled into fists on my hips, and am relieved when his shaggy face breaks open in an unwilling smile. “Alright,” he says after a moment. “But I hope you know a way down, cause there’s no way we can get in through the main orifice now. When the Pit bucked it cracked the plate and wrecked the gantry up here.”

I bite my lip. “Couldn’t we use whatever hole Makado made with the Tunneler?” I ask. Fumi shakes his head.

“No, it’ll be practically vertical. You could maybe rappel down it if you had a whole team to support you but we won’t.”

I utter a mumbled curse. I feel like punching something. If I’ve come all this way and I can’t go back down and get Elena because Makado bored a hole into the Pit and it threw a fit about it –

I stop. Fumi raises his eyebrows. I look over at him and grin. “Fumi, I know how we can get in.”

“Okay, but how - ?”

“There’s no time,” I tell him. I grab his hand and drag him over to the equipment locker in the corner. “Get a suit on and then help me with mine,” I tell him, crouching down to take the boot off. “We’re going to save Elena.”

Continue with Part 30

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[fortheloveoffanfic]

Put Me In a Movie

Keanu Reeves x Reader (A/n- Did I really just get the name of my own fic wrong? If you saw it, for the sake of us both, pretend you didn’t)

Summary Prologue  1   2   3  4  

Chapter 5- Skewed Clarity

That night, Y/n had gone back to her room, dried off and plopped back into bed, more awake and before and irritatingly sexually frustrated. She’d tried dealing with the situation herself, but her efforts were fruitless and unsatisfying; her fingers were small in comparison to Keanu and all in all, she just couldn’t sink into the moment. For the briefest second, as Y/n had laid a top her unmade bed, the softness of the fluffy duvet caressing her skin, she had considered shrugging on her robe and trekking to Keanu’s room, uncaring if he was awake or not and demanding that he’d finish what he started, but Y/n had quickly deduced that she’d need a few drinks well to muster up that kind of courage. Besides, she wasn’t desperate. It was just a matter of politeness really, how dare he leave her like that, with silky moisture between her thighs and an ache to be touched?

After several failed efforts, or perhaps it was just one long one, Y/n had decided that she was through for the night, opting to quickly wash up, get back into her pajamas and crawl back into bed. It had taken almost two hours after that for her eyes to even start drooping and when Y/n finally fell into a fragile slumber, it was past five am.

There wasn’t enough caffeine in the world to rectify the heaviness in Y/n’s eyes and as hard as she tried to stifle them, a yawn would escape her lips every few minutes or so. Figures that the night that she’d had the worst sleep of her life would lead to the first time they’d be filming at seven am. 

Really, she blamed Keanu. Who, coincidentally looked far more refreshed than she felt. Maybe it was irrational, but Y/n couldn’t help but be a little annoyed with him. First, he’d been on her mind so much that she couldn’t fall asleep, then he’d interrupted her alone time and gotten her worked up, just so she couldn’t fall asleep again. 

Ugh.

Walking from her trailer, already in costume with her hair and make up done, Y/n tried to chug yet another cup of scalding hot, black coffee before she got to set. It burnt her tongue and the bitter taste was the reason she usually added milk and sugar, but still, she needed to be as energetic as possible, and if her sixth cup of coffee for the morning was what it took, then so be it.  

They were shooting in the large parking lot that morning, which meant that Y/n would have to pass through the studio, to get to the open area at the front, where everything was probably already set up. It was the kind of walk that she ordinarily took with Keanu, but alas, Y/n had been avoiding him since their initial though very brief run in at hair and make-up. She had been heading in just as he was opening the door to leave. Small talk had been a must, though neither of them brought up their earlier encounter, what was there to say anyway? Y/n didn’t know if it had been a joke, if Keanu had actually intended to make her feel ‘some kind of way’, or if all in all, she was reading too much into it. It was awkward and Y/n hated awkward, she hated not knowing and she desperately wished that things with Keanu weren’t so confusing. 

The studio was quieter than it had been most days, though, that should have been expected considering they were meant to spend the next eight hours or so working outside. Jackson had predicted that in one long take, they could cover the entire scene in just about three hours, but that wasn’t accounting for the human factors; mishaps and bloopers. 

By the time Y/n was spilling out into the large, outdoor set up, the morning sun was stinging her eyes again and there was an energetic buzz in the air that had been absent from inside. Y/n began wondering if she’d be able to keep up with the way she was feeling. Why hadn’t she just downed some cough syrup and called it a night?

“Hey,” an unsteady baritone broke Y/n’s thoughts and she immediately clutched her chest, jumping in surprise when he gently touched the center of her back.

“Fuck,” the fright was enough to wake her up a bit, though it didn’t last long. Keanu came to stand next to her, closer than he did before things got complicated and Y/n had a feeling that it was intentional. She could smell the coolness of his cologne, mixing with the enthralling aromas of ground roast and cigarette. Y/n hated when he stood that close, it always got her flustered. 

Though, she didn’t want him to move either 

“You scared the shit outta me,” she sighed, letting her hand return to her side. Her gaze once again to the ongoings before them, not wanting to lock with his chocolate orbs for too long.  Why couldn’t she ever successfully avoid him? 

Keanu chuckled beside her, the throaty sound like water over rocks; smooth and soothing, “Sorry.” He seemed totally unaffected by their run in from the night before but Y/n couldn’t tell if he was faking it or if by some hellish miracle, his short term memory had been erased. It was bad enough that it had cost her a few hours of sleep, she couldn't be the only one with that memory. “I hate to be that person, but you look terrible. Everything okay?”

Scoffing, Y/n folded her arms and rolled her eyes. As if he didn’t know! “I’m fine,” she mumbled, slightly begrudged. With the toe of her block heeled ankle boot, Y/n kicked a rogue pebble, watching as it skipped out of her foot’s reach. The shoe scraped noisily as she dragged her foot back childishly, “Is that what you came over here to tell me?”

Unstirred by her mood, Keanu chortled again, “Somebody’s cranky.” Again, Y/n rolled her eyes, preferring to wallow in her sour, awkwardness instead of asking him anything about the previous night. When Y/n didn’t respond, his grin softened and his words were twisted by flirty undertones, “This is about last night, isn’t it? Don’t tell me a few little words made you all pissy,” Keanu’s breath was hot on her ear as he leaned in and Y/n hoped the set photographer wasn’t nearby to capture the redness painting her cheeks.

Gritting her teeth, she finally turned to face him, her hair whipping his shoulder as she did, “How dare you? First its oh Y/n this was a mistake, then you’re all up in my face, with your stupid smile and your good looks, telling me that you can fuck me real good and then you’re walking away. And-” the ‘v’ in Y/n’s forehead became more pronounced and her mild irritation turned into flustered anger, “Are you laughing at me?”

Tilting his head to the side, “My good looks?” He quoted, taunting her and Y/n groaned, frustrated. Still though, Keanu didn’t look like he had any intention of ceasing his quiet chuckles. Slipping his hands into the pockets of his character’s battered jeans, Keanu dragged his lower lip through his teeth, “I’m sorry,” he looked down for a minute, and Y/n could feel his eyes travel appreciatively up her body as he raised his head again, “You’re just….really fucking cute when you’re mad.”

“See?” Y/n huffed pointedly. It was so hard to tell what they were doing, what he was doing. Was he actually flirting, or was he just plain out fucking with her? “This is too confusing Keanu. You’re just…..”

It didn’t take too long after that for Keanu to lapse into his usual seriousness, hissing in hopes that no one would hear, “You think you’re not confusing too? One minute you acting like you regret what we did and avoiding me like the fucking plague the next we’re in a pool together and you’re basically asking for it.”  

“Do not put this on me,” her finger jabbed into his chest and Keanu caught her wrist, his fingers easily circling it with room to spare, “This is not my fault.”

“I never said it was anybody’s fault,” Keanu countered, still holding onto her hand. It had been so long since he’d last touched her, in any way, he’d missed the softness of her skin and Y/n his calloused touch, “I’m just saying, maybe neither of us are as blameless as we want to be.”

His admission left Y/n scrambling for words. The truth was that Keanu was right, they were both active participants, worse yet, Y/n would be lying if she said she wanted to stop. The thoughts of Keanu were consuming, her quelled longing for him was hard to deny even to herself. Swallowing thickly, Y/n watched as Keanu’s grip slipped from her wrist to maintain a gentle hold on her fingers. They had forgotten their surroundings a while ago, not noticing if anyone was looking at them. “This is…..” Y/n didn’t know what it was, and she couldn’t really think of it while he was standing that close.

Keanu bent his head, a contagious smile curving his lips and a mischievous glint in his eyes, “I-”

“Places everyone!” Jackson snapped and they sprang apart. Keanu passed one had over his hair, the other going to his back pocket, while Y/n, who didn’t really know what to do with her hands, immediately grabbed the hem of her leather jacket, sucking in a breath.

Stuttering, Y/n’s lips quivered, about to speak when, in a frenzy a hair and make-up team surrounded her and Keanu, picking and pulling at their outfits, freshening their make-up and giving them one last look over before the scene. There was a faceless hand in her hair, fiddling with her extensions while someone else passed a powder brush on her cheek, “Can we….?”

Meanwhile, there was a woman freshening a cut on Keanu’s jaw while two others gave his outfit gentle tugs to ensure perfect placement, “Yeah,” he assured her hurriedly, hoping that the aids wouldn’t suspect anything. 

By the end of the day, all Y/n wanted to do was face flop into her bed, and she was pretty sure that she could sleep then. Her caffeine high had kicked in right in the thick of their first scene of the day; where her and Keanu’s characters were supposed to be ‘ambushed’ by operatives and subsequently engaged in a  shootout, where she’d acquire ‘minor wounds’. It had taken three takes to get the end right, but just as midday approached they did. Afterwards, she had taken her lunch break while Keanu shot a brief solo scene and then vise versa.

They weren’t done for the day until the sun was resigning past the distant horizon and nothing further could be done outside. Thank heavens they weren’t needed on set again until past lunch the next day. 

As she packed some things into her handbag, Y/n could feel the wear of her muscles with each movement and the heaviness of her eyes every time she blinked. The crash after the caffeine had worn off had hit her hard and if there were something bigger than a small sofa in her trailer, she might have showered and slept right there. 

With a huff, Y/n zipped the bag and reached for her coat draped over a throw pillow, when someone knocked on the metal front door calling her attention, “Y/n?”

Keanu.

Even if they’d spent most of the day together, they hadn’t gotten back to their earlier conversation, though Y/n didn’t know what she’d say if they had. Still, she answered the door, hoping he’d be braver than she was.

Keanu had absolutely no idea what he was going to say. But nonetheless, his anxious feet had led him to Y/n’s trailer, and possibly, by his fist’s own admission, he hit the door three times. It was hardly his best idea; to show up at her trailer, without a clue on what he was about to say all while knowing that Y/n must have been dog tired. Though, he was already there, so the least he could do was rack his brain for a quick remedy.

When she pulled the door open, standing before the entrance looking a bit worse than she had that morning, Keanu frowned, that was definitely the worst timing in the history of things being timed. “Hey,” he waved briefly, only coming up the two metal steps when she waved him inside. Upon seeing her bag, packed on the counter of the small kitchenette, Keanu scrubbed on hand over his groomed beard, stuffing the other into his pocket, “Is this a bad time?” Maybe if she said yes then he could return to his uncomfortable state of not knowing, trying to figure things out until he, well, knew. 

But alas, there was nothing as unforgiving and he internally cursed when she quickly quipped back, “No, I don’t have anywhere to be.” With a tired huff, Y/n dropped onto the small, rich brown, leather sofa, patting the spot next to her, “What’s up?”

“I……” What was up? Quickly, he scanned his brain for anything useful, though eventually came up short and let his mouth go on autopilot, “I wanted to talk about this morning, about us.”

Keanu couldn’t help but smile lightly when she absently scrunched her nose, testing the word on her tongue as if it were foreign, “Us?” Sighing, Y/n shifted in the sofa, bracing an elbow on the back cushion and pulling one leg under herself, “Is there an us?”

“I don’t know,” he cleared his throat, speaking as the ideas came, with no room for thinking them over or polishing them up, “But I think at this point it's more there than isn’t, if you know what I mean.”

It took a minute, and Y/n seemed to be mulling on it, but eventually, she gestured her agreement, moistening her succulent pink lips before, “Yeah, yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“Right,” Keanu stalled. He wasn’t good at that, letting people in and letting himself feel. It wasn’t like he couldn’t, he could, he did. Even if it was all a jumbled mess, he did feel something, or rather several things for Y/n. Things he couldn’t quite decipher, but also things he wasn’t ready to lose. But it didn’t make sense and Keanu didn’t know what to do with those things. Besides, his relationship track record had never been on for the ages, he was always giving too much or too little, typically the former; a commitment-phobe at heart. 

Y/n looked at him expectantly and Keanu felt terrible for making her wait, but he really didn’t have a clue on what he should say next. How could you explain what you felt if you didn’t understand it?

Maybe he didn’t need words.  

Swallowing thickly, Keanu reached out, letting his thumb caress Y/n’s jaw, awed at how she leaned into his touch. 

Maybe it wasn’t just a sex thing. Maybe it was something more, merely covered up by something primal, because still there with Keanu, Y/n didn’t feel they way she had in the pool, or that day after their sex scene. Instead, she felt a fullness in her chest, it was warm, and she was very surprised that a feeling like that could be physical. Her heart didn’t beat a mile a minute, her palms weren’t sweaty and she wasn’t anxious about his next move. For the first time in two weeks, she knew exactly what to expect from Keanu.

It didn’t feel much bigger than their friendship though, it was merely an extension. It was the tranquility he brought, paired with the warmth of his touch. The thought was barely there and fleeting, but somewhere in the back of Y/n’s mind registered that Keanu’s was completely unlike Luke’s touch; a couple fingers on her cheek able to do more for her than arms around her waist. 

Intently, Y/n watched as Keanu leaned forward, licking his lips just before he laid them on hers. Coffee, cigarettes and something sweet. The taste was one she quickly committed to memory. Slowly, Y/n tilted her head, allowing him better access, letting her eyes slip closed. One hand moved to cup his cheek, the rough hair tickling her palm. 

What she felt right then was unmatched, the completeness morphing with a sense of serenity. Like the first breath of spring air or sipping chilled Rosé in the heat of summer, refreshing and light. The sensation in her chest spread, traveling to her finger and toes while the inner working of her head simply stopped. It didn’t matter what the road to lead them to that moment looked like, how much hurt there had been, confusion, despair and anguish, gone, just for a few savory minutes, letting them be in their own little bubble.

Butterfly wings fluttering against his lips, that was the only thing Keanu could liken that kiss too. It was so unlike anything they had shared before then and Keanu felt as if that was the last thing he ever did before he died, it would be okay, because even if he couldn’t say it, he’d shown her. Shown Y/n that she wasn’t just a body to him, that every touch he’d laid on her wasn’t a mistake, it could never be. 

What they had, whatever it was, was still in its infancy, but he liked it. Keanu wanted to show it off and protect it all at once. Keanu had always been afraid of relationships, and he could tell that Y/n was the same- there had always been an understated caution that hung in her words when spoke of Luke, like she was never really sure that sharing herself outside the realm of what was tangible was what she wanted. No doubt, they both had their flaws, but maybe, they could try together. Keanu wasn’t sure if it was what he wanted, but by then, he didn’t think he could firmly say he was sure of anything. Anything except for the fact that kissing Y/n felt right. 

When they broke, their breaths were still shared for a minute, Y/n and Keanu smiled softly. “Is this what you want?” Y/n’s voice was meek and unsteady, she didn’t even know if it was what she wanted.

Humming, Keanu lingered on the question for a minute, relaxing into the cushions. Acting on the urge, he pulled Y/n against his chest, her ear over his heartbeat. The blurry thoughts clouded his vision and Keanu knew his answer would change everything between them forever. But arguably, that had already happened. 

Suddenly plume of fear bloomed in the center of his chest; fear that he would hurt her, fear that they were too different, but most prominently, the paralyzing fear that she would hurt him. If Keanu let her in, chances are, he wouldn’t want her to leave. But it happened, it always did, they always left. 

Then again, what was life without fear? What was happiness without suffering?

“I…..” Keanu sighed at the way Y/n relaxed against him, absently tangling his fingers in the ends of her hair, his glazed eyes trained forward, “I think.....I think that maybe we could try. I mean, this is so confusing, and we didn’t exactly have the best start, but maybe it could work. I don’t really know how to do this,” he chuckled, usually asking a woman out came on instinct; Keanu would just do it. But the effort needed weight with Y/n, she deserved more than just a random offer for coffee, they got coffee together all the time. Keanu was about to start tripping over his words again when Y/n shifted against him, burrowing her nose deeper into his chest, “What are you-”

All it took was one look down for Keanu to realize that Y/n was far gone, and probably hadn’t heard a word of his ramblings. Huffing his quiet laughter, he shook off his thoughts, tightening his hold on her waist as he leaned his head back. Maybe he’d have something more worthwhile to offer her the next morning.

*****

Tagging- @harrisongslimited​  @paanchu786​  @thesadvampire​  @fanficsrusz​  @fickensteinn​  @ladyreapermc​  @babygirltaina​  @septimaseverina​  @snatchedbylele​  @omg-imagine @21stcenturyyfoxx​  @magnificentclodpiebanana 

[number-one-micoverse-fan]

A Little More Alone

Oops, I did a follow up to A Little More Shattered. This is a bit rushed and I don’t think it’s written nearly as well. But it also got longer than I meant it to, so. Shrug emoji.

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

Everything is hazy, covered in swirling dust and heavy with shadows. Everything is hazy except for the pain, which throbs through him in time with his heart, pulsing from the center of his chest and rippling through his nerves in sharp points.

Milo blinks, tries to bring everything into focus, takes a shuddering breath and ends up coughing on the amount of dust in the air. He doesn’t know where he is, can’t understand what’s happened. All he can remember is hearing Jake’s panicked scream calling his name and then the world had dropped out from underneath him.

There’s pieces of concrete everywhere, rocks and bent rebar and twisted metal piled all over itself. It’s dark and cold and Milo is scared. His heart rate picks up, throbbing in his chest, his breathing coming heavier and choking him on more dust. Milo goes to push himself up but the second he puts a breath of weight on his left wrist, agony burns hot and bright behind his eyes and drops him back to the ground with a cry of pain. Tears spring into his eyes and he heaves out a sob.

“Dad…?” His voice sounds so quiet, a weak gasp in the gloom, “Dad? DAD!? DAD WHERE ARE YOU!?”

No one answers him but Milo can hear voices, screams and shouts from around him. Milo gets on his hands and knees, careful to keep his weight off his left arm, and looks around. There’s blocks of concrete all around him but he spots a few gaps where light is spilling through in orange-y yellow beams, swirling with dust motes. Milo’s chest is heaving with frightened breaths, tears slipping freely from his eyes, and he stumbles over the nearest hole that looks big enough for him to get through. The problem is that it’s a bit off the ground, only accessible by a climb up some of the other rubble. And Milo’s only got one useable arm.

Adrenaline is likely the only thing that saves him.

Desperate to escape, frightened and alone and hurt, Milo scrambles his way up to the opening between the concrete blocks. His legs are shaking and his grip feels weak as he carefully picks his way upwards. The stone shifts once, sliding under his feet, and it’s only grabbing a hold of a piece of rebar that saves him from falling back to the asphalt below.

The fresh air from the gap is heavenly, caressing his tear-stained face and chilling his sweaty brow. Milo stick his one working arm through the opening and tries to pull himself up but he can’t get a good grip, can’t find the leverage to pull himself up and out. He begins crying again, harder, and jumps, grabbing blindly at anything outside the hole. His hand is stinging, his arm is hurting, he’s terrified and his breathing is coming faster and faster with each second he isn’t able to get out. Panicking, sobs catching in his throat, Milo presses his face as close to the hole as he can get, sucks in a deep breath, and screams,

“HELP ME! SOMEBODY HELP! I’M STUCK! SOMEBODY! SOMEBODY I CAN’T GET OUT I CAN’T GET OUT HELP ME PLEASE PLEASE HELP ME!”

He can’t stop the words from tearing out of his chest, tumbling out of him in a gasping wave, wrenched out by the sheer force of his panic and adrenaline. Words tangle into screaming sobs and Milo is still desperately trying to claw his way out, scraping his hand against the concrete outside, his injured arm dangling uselessly at his side, his movement sending jolts of pain from it.

“There’s a kid!”

Voices.

Footsteps.

“There’s a kid in there!”

“Holy shit!”

“Someone get help!”

“Hang on, kid, we’ll get you out of there!”

Someone grabs his wrist, more hands snag his hoodie sleeve, start pulling him out of the rubble. He whines as his belly scrapes over the stone and then screams as his bad wrist bangs against the edges. More people are pulling at his hoodie, dragging him out of the rubble, until he’s in the open air, gasping, sobbing in the flashing red-blue-red-blue-red-blue lights that are flooding the night. He curls around his injured wrist, holding it to his chest, struggling to stabilize his breathing because his head is spinning and it’s getting worse with every drag of air he takes. The palm of his right hand is stinging and he realizes it’s bleeding and there’s blood staining his sleeve and smeared down his hoodie; he must have cut it on the rebar. He hadn’t even noticed.

There’s too much happening, too many voices, too much screaming. It smells like heat and iron and gasoline. People are touching him, strangers have their hands on him, trying to lift him, trying to get him up, but Milo just wants his dad. Milo just wants his dad, just wants to be held, keeps crying for Jake, asking where Jake is, can’t register much beyond the pain and the fear and the desperation.

Eventually someone picks him up. Carries him to an ambulance. The EMT talks to him in a gentle voice, with soft and careful touches. They quickly bandage up his hand, wrap a blanket around his shoulders, and give him some water and a pill.

“It’s a painkiller, hun, it’ll help for now. We’ll get you to the hospital, have you looked at, okay? I’m sure your dad will be there too, just be patient.”

He gets to rid in an ambulance. Which would be cool if he wasn’t sharing it with three other people, plus the EMTs. One of the people they pulled from the wreckage is covered in blood and it makes the inside of the ambulance smell like metal. Milo hugs his arm to his chest and keeps his eyes closed because he can’t, he can’t do this, he can’t look. He wishes his dads were here to hold him. He wishes he had kept a hold of Jake’s hand. He wishes and wishes and wishes, but it changes nothing.

*********

The hospital is insane.

Milo is dumped in a chair in the waiting room and left there. He pulls his feet up onto the chair, curling in on himself, shivering as he watches the frantic activity around the hospital. Doctors and nurses are running back and forth, stretchers are clattering through the halls, everyone is shouting and pointing and asking for beds, and there are constant screams of pain. The manic energy is a crashing wave, a riptide that grabs any stability Milo might have had and drags him under the water of panic and fear. He hiccups, tries not to cry, tries to keep his head about him because he has to look for Jake. He has to keep looking at the carnage spilling through the hospital doors because he needs to find his dad. But the more he sees, the more it weighs on him and eventually, he can’t take it anymore.

The painkillers have worn off, he’s alone, he’s scared, he’s in pain, and he doesn’t know what to do.

So Milo cries.

He wails, tears cascading down his face, his voice tangling with the hundreds of others crashing into one another all around him. But still he cries because he’s only fourteen and he has never felt as lost in his entire life as he does right now.

“Hey! Hey, kid! Hey! Ginger! Red head! Shut up!”

The angry voice makes his mouth snap shut and he blinks past his tears to stare at an angry woman clutching her little kid to her side, sitting in the chair across from him. Neither of them look hurt, neither of them look like they’ve been in a horrific accident, buried under rock and sliced by metal and glass. The mother just looks pissed that no one is paying attention to her.

“Stop your screaming! You’re upsetting my baby!” She snaps at him and he flinches, ducking into his hoodie, “Probably just fell off your skateboard…hooligan…”

Milo’s lower lip wobbles and he bursts into tears again.

He just wants his dad! He just wants to be held and told it will be okay! God, why can’t anyone see that!? He’s so scared. He’s never been so scared before and all he can think about it where Jake is. He wants his dad. He wants to go home. He wants his dads to hold him and brush his hair from his face and wipe his tears away and smile at him and tell him he’s safe, he’s home now, nothing will hurt anymore.

The angry mother is yelling at him again and it just makes Milo cry harder. He can’t stop crying. His stomach is starting to hurt, his throat is sore, his body is aching but he can’t stop because he doesn’t know what else to do. He puts his face in his knees and sobs, pulls his hood over his head and hides in the semi-darkness, shivering and crying and all alone and afraid.

He just wants to go home.

********

It feels like hours later when someone touches his shoulder and he jumps, jostling his bad arm and making him cry out in pain.

A nurse is there, apologizing for startling him, telling him they can take a look at him now and they’re so sorry he had to wait for so long but there were other people who were hurting in really bad ways and they needed help immediately. Milo just nods, rubbing his stinging and tired eyes as he gets off the chair and stumbles into the wheelchair she’s provided, his legs stiff and shaky from being curled up for so long. He doesn’t think he needs the chair but he’s grateful for it; he’s so tired.

The doctor pokes him, prods him, asks him questions. They do some x-rays and some scans, check his eyes, properly bandage his cut hand with the assurance that it doesn’t need stitches and will heal just fine. His wrist is badly sprained, though, and will need to be put in a brace. They set him up in a room with a couple of other people who are hurt too, but like Milo didn’t need surgery or anything drastic.

“We’ve called your father, Daniel Fuller, and he’s on his way here already,” Says a nurse as she tucks some blankets around him, and smooths out his hospital gown, “You’re going to spend the night here and then you can go home in the morning. If you need anything, you just push this button here, okay honey?”

“C-can I have my hoodie back…?”

“Oh no, honey, I’m sorry, it’s really dirty. But we’ve put it in a bag along with your other things and you can get it tomorrow, okay. I’ll get you some water and some food and then you just rest up, you’ve had a rough day.”

The water is tepid and the food is bland and Milo hardly tastes it. But it stops his stomach from hurting and having food in him suddenly makes him feel heavy and tired. He wants to stay awake, though. He wants to stay awake and wait for Dan because he needs to see his dad. He needs to see someone.

He dozes off once and jerks himself awake in a panic, whimpering and kicking at the blankets until he realizes where he is. The curtains between the beds are thin and he can see people moving about in the gloomy hallway, hear them talking to one another. Milo pulls his blanket up to his chin with his good hand and tries not to start crying again. The hospital feels big and terrifying when he’s alone in it.

There are hurried footsteps from down the hall, a voice saying “right here”, and then the curtain in front of his bed is yanked aside and there is Dan.

Milo has launched himself to the foot of the bed without even realizing it, his arms open, almost throwing himself to the floor in an effort to reach his dad. Dan catches him, smothers Milo in a hug, pressing him to his broad chest, and Milo, half off the bed, clings to Dan like a lifeline. His hands are shaking and Dan is shaking and he’s saying Milo’s name over and over and over again. He runs his hand over Milo’s head, through his tangled hair, presses his big hands against Milo’s back, holds him tight and close and says he’s sorry, he’s so sorry, he tried to get here as fast as he could, oh god, Milo, I’m so happy you’re okay.

********

They let Dan stay the night.

Milo insists that Dan get into the hospital bed. Once Dan does, Milo climbs into his lap and snuggles into his chest. Dan wraps his arms around him, idly strokes his hair, hums softly, tells him he’s a brave, strong boy.

“Have you seen Jake?” Milo asks sleepily, his eyelids heavy. He can’t fight the exhaustion anymore.

“Not yet, little shark,” Dan murmurs, “He’s—he’s sleeping right now. Recovering.” A smile quirks in Dan’s voice and he pressed his face into Milo’s hair, “Hey, you know, they told me he tried to kick a nurse in the face.”

“Whhhaaatttt? Dad? Nuh-uh!” Milo rolls over with a tired smile to look Dan in the eye and Dan is grinning at him.

“It’s true. And he kept asking for you. They said every time he was conscious enough to speak, he kept asking where you were and if you were okay.” Dan’s eyes are shiny and Milo can tell he’s trying really hard not to cry, “He was so worried about, baby shark. I’m sure he’ll be really happy to see you when he wakes up.”

Milo squirms as close to Dan as he can, tucking his head under Dan’s chin and letting his body relax, “I’mma ask him if he actually kicked someone. I think you’re makin’ it up.”

He hears Dan chuckle, feels the rumble of it in his dad’s chest, and fists his little fingers into Dan’s shirt. He feels safe, at last. He feels safe and stable and warm and protected.

He’s okay.

Everything will be okay.

[greensaplinggrace]

Clerifa in lockup >:) feral bastards all trapped together until they can get bailed out. First meetings preferred! And all of them in there for going waaay too hard at whatever crimes they got arrested for. Also I like your Cloud hurt/comfort fics a lot, so maybe some of that as well? Sorry lol, this is a bit of a convoluted ask, but I just can't get the idea of Cloud/Tifa/Aerith all locked in a cell together out of my head.

Here it is! Clerifa trapped in a jail cell together XD. They’re all feral, but what’s new. I hope it’s in character 😅. Please enjoy!

*TW for mild violence, abuse of authority, police brutality, and heavy cursing

- If you want to send in a prompt, the guidelines are HERE and HERE!

---

In a room full of empty cells, Tifa and Cloud are jailed together. The cop placing them behind the bars had said it was to preserve resources, but Cloud’s not entirely sure how sound his logic is when the resources they have seem to be in excess. Not to mention the fact that breaking out will now be twice as easy.

The cop had been a bit dim, he concludes, though not at all like the vicious bastard who’d cuffed them in the first place. That one had been big and mean and surrounded by an entourage of equally cruel sycophants, and if Cloud never sees the man again it will be too damned soon.

He stretches out on the cool metal bench, eyeing Tifa’s agitated slouch against the wall across from him. She’s making an effort not to fidget or bite her nails, but the furrow of her brow is enough to let him know she’s worried. She’d been incensed when they were first brought in, red with rage and utterly willing to deck the bastard cop for a second time if he so much as spoke out of turn, but now she simmers and frets in a silent panic. It’s distracting, to say the least, and Cloud dangles his hand over the side of the bench, dropping his head onto hard metal and staring at the ceiling.

“Tifa,” he sighs, and her responding huff is immediate.

“This is outrageous. I can’t believe they would do this.”

“You can’t?” Just last week, she’d gotten drunk with Barret and stood on his shoulders in the middle of a walmart to tell the world exactly how bastardous cops are. In very bright, explicit, colorful language that had forced every mother within a one mile radius to cover their child’s ears. 

Come to think of it, that’s probably what had drawn a dozen of them to Tifa’s door. Armed to the teeth and high on that heedy sense of power all cops seem to possess.

“The way they treated Marlene…” she grinds out angrily, tensing as if preparing for a fight all over again, and this time Cloud can’t help but agree with her. He doesn’t think he’s ever been as enraged as he was when the cop had laid a hand on Marlene. The intense interrogation was already too much for a child, let alone an adult, and Cloud wonders how anybody had expected either of them to remain calm in the face of such despicable violence.

They probably hadn’t, he realizes with a scowl. 

“Assholes,” he chuffs, and like the devil they appear. The thick steel door leading out of the cell block clangs open, voices spilling into the room as footsteps clomp inside. Tifa pushes off the wall to get a better look at the newcomers, and when her eyes widen in shock Cloud reluctantly follows her gaze. He has to tilt his head back to see them, barring his throat and bracing his boot against the bench to lift his hips, but it’s absolutely worth it for the sight that beholds him.

Two massive men flank a petite woman as they march her inside, gripping her arms as if at any moment she’ll break away and flee into the night, and the image would be hilariously out of touch if she wasn’t currently struggling furiously against her captors. Her brown boots scrape across the ground as she kicks out, arms straining like pale twigs in their grips.

“I didn’t do it!” she snaps, brown bangs whipping around and catching one of the men in the shoulder as she whirls to glare at him viciously, “this is wrongful imprisonment.”

“Look, miss-” one of the cops tries, and she growls him into silence. Cloud feels a number things at that, none of which are particularly appropriate for somebody currently trapped in a prison cell, and he’s only mildly comforted by Tifa’s own breathless shift in response.

“You have no evidence against me,” the woman huffs, digging her toes into the ground and going limp in their grips. The men drag her a few feet before struggling to get her moving, and Cloud has to choke back an astonished laugh at the sight of it all.

“Ma’am, we saw you walking away from the scene of the crime.”

“Anybody could have been hanging out in that alley.”

“But nobody else was.”

“That’s not even a lick of of proof. I’m allowed to wander where I please. This is a deceptively free country!” 

Tifa puffs out a laugh at that, stifling it behind her fingers and ducking her head with a blush. The cops don’t answer except to finally lift the woman's feet entirely clear of the ground. She struggles with in a ferocious protest when they haul her further into the cell block, and as they reach the end of the room, the larger one waves a hand in Cloud and Tifa’s direction. He opens his mouth to speak, but the woman slides like an eel from his grasp and forces his mouth shut with a clack. For minutes, the two cops wrestle to regain control, and Cloud wonders why the hell they hadn't put any cuffs on the woman, if she's such trouble.

"I thought you said she was safe!" The smaller cop barks at his partner, and the other man scowls.

"She was actin' all nice and friendly when I brought her inside. How was I supposed to know?"

"That was before I realized you were jailing me," the woman argues, "It's unlawful. You have no proof!"

The smaller one lets out a noise of frustration, but they both eventually manage to wrangle her back onto the ground. The scene almost has Cloud grinning, right up until the bigger cop moves resumes speaking to them. He's got a big, smug looks painted across his face, and Cloud can already feel whatever joy he'd gotten out of the situation disappear.

“Lighten up, lovebirds! You’ve got company.”

“You can’t be serious,” Cloud deadpans, narrowing his eyes at them.

The smaller cop only snickers. “I’m sure you’ll get along great. This one’s a fighter, just like you headcases. So at least you’ve got assaultin’ cops in common.”

Cloud scoffs in disbelief. “There are a dozen empty cells around us. There’s no reason she should be put in here with us.”

Tifa casts him a scolding look, but Cloud isn’t about to share his cell with a violent stranger, no matter how impressed he’d been only a few seconds earlier. It’s one thing to see it happen to other people, but he and Tifa had been just fine here on their own without some suspicious woman sharing their space.

“Guess you should’a thought of that before punching a cop, kid.”

“I ain’t a kid.”

“Really? And here I thought it was only children that threw tantrums in public.” The man sneers at him, and Cloud's stomach drops at the words. He fights viciously to keep his expression neutral through the rush of shame, determined not to let them see him affected.

Tifa, on the other hand, has no such qualms. She instantly light up in a burning rage, stalking over to the bars and clenching her hands into furious fists at her sides. “Don’t ever speak to him like that,” she snaps, “It was your people that escalated the situation, not Cloud.”

The big cop barks out a mocking laugh. “That’s not how the reports are gonna tell it," he says, and the woman in his grasp makes a noise of disgust.

“You liar! Are you going to do that to my case as well? You can’t falsify evidence!” 

“Aw, what are you gonna do about it? Cry to mommy?” 

“Ex cuse you?” The woman stomps and yanks her arm away from him, but the man is quick to catch her by the wrist again. He mercilessly wrenches her away from the cell door with brutal force, nodding sharply to indicate that his partner should head forward with the ring of keys. The sight has Cloud’s blood boiling, Tifa practically vibrating in a barely contained inferno of rage before him, and he has to clench his teeth to keep calm - to remind himself that there’s nothing he can do. That he doesn’t even know this woman.

“Hey! Watch it!” The woman protests, but it’s a fruitless effort; her cries fall on deaf ears. She doesn't even think to let it get to her, though. Letting out a strangled yell of frustration, she twists in the cop’s hold, attempting to break his grip, and lands a solid kick to his shin. Cloud almost winces at the force of it, impressed when her eyes narrow in a glower that promises violence. “Don’t touch me like that!”

“Ugh, aren’t you a bossy one," the man complains, not even deigning to face her as he speaks, and Cloud’s anger almost boils over. Stranger or not, she doesn’t deserve to be treated like this. “Could we get her in the cell already?”

The smaller cop finally jumps to attention, working up the courage to edge toward their cell with small, fearful steps. Tifa remains pressed dangerously close to the bars, fiery red eyes tracking the man’s every movement with a pointed fury, and Cloud can see the sweat dripping down the man’s brow beneath her glare. When the cop reaches their cell at last, he fumbles with his keys for a solid thirty seconds before he finally finds the right one.

His buddy groans obnoxiously. “Hurry the fuck up, Gallows. I don’t have all day.”

“And yet you’ll leave us in here for just as long,” the woman huffs, expression still thunderous as her green eyes roil in stormy indignation, “I demand that you let me go! You have no right to keep me here. I haven’t committed a single crime ever, in my entire life.”

It’s Cloud’s turn to hide his smirk this time around, lips twitching with amusement.

“Somehow I doubt that.”

Then a loud click sounds throughout the room, and the door to their cage is unlocked. Cloud and Tifa both tense, but before they can so much as breathe the door is being yanked open with unerring speed. The larger cop doesn’t hesitate for a second before tossing his prisoner inside, and she stumbles with a yelp of surprise, falling into Tifa’s arms as the other woman rushes to catch her. Cloud rockets into a sitting position, muscles coiling in case of an attack, but the door slams closed just as quickly as it had opened, the cop instantly retreating to wipe his shaky palms on his pants.

Cowards, Cloud thinks, snorting.

The two cops level him with threatening glares when they hear the sound, but Cloud has better things to do than cower. He meets their eyes head on with a stoic expression, mouth curling only faintly in the mocking hint of a smile. The big one flushes with anger, clenching his fists and charging forward like a rabid animal, and his partner has to drag him back by the shoulder before he can do something he’ll regret.

Cloud doesn’t even watch them go.

“Thanks,” their new prisoner says breathlessly, pulling back to brush her bangs from her eyes as she smiles, “you caught me.” 

Cloud hadn’t thought it at all possible for Tifa’s blush to get deeper, but the red on the back of her neck looks like something caused by a burn, and she brings a hand up to rub at it as she returns the smile. “It’s no problem at all. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

The woman huffs. “No thanks to those... men.”

“You've got that right,” Cloud agrees tonelessly, turning to lay back down on the bench. He gathers his hand beneath his head this time around, letting one of his legs fall over the edge while he peers over at their new arrival. 

“My name is Aerith, by the way.”

“Uh, Tifa.”

“Tifa,” the name rolls smoothly across Aerith’s tongue, drawn out with reverent fascination, “it is a pleasure to meet you.”

“Oh! Uh, you...you too.” Tifa clears her throat and ducks her head shyly. She’s quick to retreat and resume leaning against the far wall, smiling crookedly as she avoids Aerith’s eyes. “This- this is my partner.”

“Cloud,” he offers succinctly.

He half expects her enthusiasm to die down with the word partner in play, and is instead completely caught off guard when Aerith doesn’t even falter, turning to give him a small wave as the corners of her eyes crinkle in a smile.

“Hello, Cloud!” she says, “it’s nice to meet you!”

He almost squints against the brightness of her smile, swallowing when he catches sight of the light dusting of freckles across her cheeks. They’re a light pink, rosy from exertion or embarrassment, he doesn’t know, and her lips look incredibly soft. “Uh…” He licks his lips. “Yeah.” 

Fuck.

His chest heats with a rising blush, heart thundering wildly, and he turns his head to stare up at the ceiling before he can make an even bigger fool of himself. Thankfully, neither of the women in the cell comments on his fumble. After a time, there’s a rustle of fabric that draws Cloud’s eyes to Aerith again, and he watches as she moves to the opposite side of the bench. He bends his knee to give her more room, glancing away from her grateful smile with a light cough. 

Then she hops up onto the metal, sitting cross legged despite her dress, boots drawn up under her. She extends her arms to wrap her hands around the place where her legs cross, rocking with an excited energy.

“So,” she exclaims brightly, as if she isn’t surrounded by two dangerous criminals in a room devoid of witnesses, “you hit a cop, huh?” 

Tifa’s eyes widen at the question, and Cloud feels a tinge of his earlier wariness return. He frowns. “Why do you want to know?”

“Because I did too!” The words sound so surreal, spoken loudly and happily by a tiny woman in a pink dress. Despite his misgivings, Cloud feels a distinct curiosity about their new cellmate form. He can see Tifa leaning forward with interest as well, eyeing Aerith up with equal parts wonder and skepticism. “Why are you acting so suspicious? They already know you did it.”

The interrogation that was the cause of the whole situation had been about other crimes, though. Ones that they don’t have any evidence of. Cloud decides not to mention that. “Who did you hit?”

“Well, aside from kicking and scratching the one that brought me in…” She tilts her head consideringly, raising a finger in the air. Cloud and Tifa both stare at her incredulously as she actually takes the time to think. “...I guess his partner, who wasn’t really my fault. I mean, how was I supposed to know that pushing him would make him hit his head on the doorframe? Plus the cop who ran over my flowerbed with his car. Oh! And the one from last week, who tried to grab me when I was climbing onto a roof. So rude! Can you believe it?” She sounds honestly, earnestly offended by the action, and Cloud blinks in wordless bewilderment.

“Um…”

“You have quite a history with the law,” Tifa fills in, smiling uncertainly. She repeats her earlier motion, rubbing at the back of her neck, and Cloud resists the urge to take her hands in comfort. They don’t usually hold hands in public, but he doesn’t like to see her so upset.

“It sounds a bit far fetched,” he offers instead, for lack of a better way to help her, "we don't know if you're telling the truth."

Aerith doesn’t get affronted, which is a good sign, laughing and taking the time to cast the both of them incredulous looks. “Wow. You two are a bit distrustful, huh?”

Tifa hunches over in the beginnings of shame, and Cloud isn’t having it. “Cops have a habit of using plants.”

“Well, I can assure you that I am one hundred percent plant free! Except for my garden, of course.”

“Garden?” Tifa asks.

“Mhm! I’m a florist. So, not necessarily... plant free. But the cops definitely do not like me.”

Cloud bites back a smirk, vividly remembering the way she’d fought against her captors. They certainly hadn’t been fond of her, that’s for sure. He doubts that kind of animosity can be faked. Though she seems so pleasant now, not even a lick of her earlier anger to be seen. Merely an impossibly upbeat attitude and a playful demeanor.

Tifa smiles as well. Another point in Aerith’s favor, considering how reserved Tifa is around most people. She shifts to get more comfortable and folds her hands together behind her back, humming and sharing a knowing grin with Cloud. He nods lightly in response, and she turns her full attention to Aerith.

“What did you do to get on their bad side?”

“Florists aren’t exactly known for their rebellious behavior.”

Aerith giggles, which Cloud thinks doesn’t exactly speak for her innocence. “They believe I graffitied the precinct.”

“Graffiti?”

“What would anybody even paint on a police building?”

“Oh, just a bunch of flowers…” Aerith twirls her hair around her fingers and grins deviously. “Surrounding a beautiful message of the people.” She raises a finger and winks. “‘Fuck the police’.”

A laugh escapes Cloud before he can catch it, short and strangled as he bites his lip to muffle the tail end of it. Tifa covers a giggle with her hand, eyes creasing in a smile and shoulders shaking. Cloud grins.

“Sounds fitting,” he says, and Aerith nods enthusiastically.

“It’s a shame they’ll never know who did it.”

“I’m sure.”

There's a short silence, then: “So what are you in for?”

The question is spoken innocently enough, but Cloud’s humor instantly evaporates with the words. Tifa’s smile dies and a frown settles on her face again, worry and anger and a dozen other things. The memory isn't exactly pleasant for either of them, and he can tell Aerith's already regretting asking. 

“The police came to ask some questions and things got...physical,” Tifa offers hesitantly, voice low. Then she scowls, shoulders stiffening and eyes blazing. “They attacked Cloud!”

Aerith’s brows raise in shock, but her smile is one of pure awe. “So you hit them?”

“Oh yeah.” Tifa says it as if she’d never think to do a thing differently, and Cloud has to fight off an overwhelming bout of fondness.

“But what happened? I mean, why did they attack you?”

“They were...harassing a friend of ours,” Cloud says, “and I stepped in, but…” He’d been too weak. Too out of it, still suffering from the aftereffects of his most recent therapy session. “I wasn’t in a good place.” Mentally, he adds, but the word won’t come out. 

He stops speaking and flits his eyes over to Aerith, hoping to gauge her reaction, and the riled cross of her arms is not at all what he’s expecting. Tifa shares the same expression of protective rage, and for a second he fears that the both of them are about to bust out of the prison cells themselves just to track his attackers down.

“What, so they thought they could just bait you and get away with it? Who do they think they are?”

“The police,” Cloud offers mildly, but Tifa only nods vigorously in righteous agreement.

“They acted like a bunch of animals!”

“They were investigating a crime.” At Aerith’s questioning looks he shrugs, carefully picking out his next words. “Our friend was suspected of stealing and leaking some very important documents.”

“Documents?” Aerith’s demeanor drops into one of pure curiosity.

Tifa nods. “Some stuff about the things they’d been doing recently was leaked, and they immediately assumed it was Barret.”

“Stealing evidence from a precinct? That’s pretty impressive.”

Cloud knows. Zack had been the loudest person he’s ever had the misfortune of sneaking into a building with, and the entire mission had almost ended in a spectacular disaster. Although their near escape was absolutely worth the dirt they had dug up on the local police. His only regret is that Barret was caught in the crossfire, not that the man hasn’t committed a number of crimes himself. One of which had involved him and Tifa infiltrating one of the largest Shinra buildings in the city.

Perhaps the cops had been there for more than just the information leak. It's definitely a possibility. The subsequent fight had left both him and Tifa lacking any crucial information on the situation. They hadn’t really had the time to ask questions.

In retrospect, maybe they should have acted with a bit more caution.

“Yeah,” Tifa says, “but they don’t have any evidence about their suspect. They were throwing stones and happened to hit Seventh Heaven. It was all purely coincidental.”

Cloud nods in agreement, but it doesn’t take a genius to see Aerith isn’t convinced. Not that either of them had expected her to be. Fortunately, she doesn’t press the issue.

She makes the right call and inquires about a different matter, instead. One that has Tifa perking up in excitement. And Cloud would be worried a bit more about her instant attachment to Aerith if he wasn’t suffering the same. She’s...surprisingly easy to talk to. Usually, Cloud takes a while to warm up to people, and Tifa’s either too closed off or too shy to get to know them. Yet with Aerith...the words just spill out, and even the silences are comfortable. Easy and featherlight in their simplicity.

Aerith asks about Seventh Heaven. And Tifa opens up. Not about emotions, of course, because Aerith is still new and the terrain is unsafe. But about her people and her place and their life. A life so intertwined with Cloud’s that he should find himself upset with her sharing it. 

Except that he doesn’t.

It’s strange, meeting somebody in lockup, of all places. Somebody so bright as Aerith, trapped in here with the best woman he knows. They’re both more talkative than him. Gathering a frisson in the air around them that’s filled with tension and delight. Aerith looks into Tifa’s eyes as if she’s seeing the stars for the very first time, and Tifa looks at Aerith like she’s never seen anything so beautiful. 

They both look at Cloud, too. Despite the fact that he doesn’t talk as much as the both of them. Silent and listening and watching in a peaceful sort of complacency. But every time he speaks they listen, and every time they engage in a back and forth he doesn’t at all feel left out or abandoned, but rather included in a strange sort of camaraderie. A bond between just the three of them.

He eventually sits up to lean back against the corner of the cell, an uncomfortable junction between the bars and the concrete wall. It’s worth it to be able to see the two of them, even if he doesn’t ever tell them that’s the reason why, and the conversation shifts from Aerith’s flower shop and Tifa’s bar to their families. Then it changes again as they do, with Aerith letting her legs fall over the edge of the bench and Tifa coming to sit between them through conversations about martial arts and staves and swords thes ize of a man.

After a couple more hours, the conversation lulls. Cloud appreciates the silence, if only because his voice is growing tired from so much use. He can’t even imagine how Aerith and Tifa are feeling right now.

Then Tifa yawns, hands stretching above her head as she arches her back. And within seconds she’s falling sideways to lay her head in Cloud’s lap.

He blushes at the level of physical affection. It isn’t exactly public, but Aerith is right there. Of course, she shouldn’t have any qualms about it herself when Tifa’s feet are in her lap. When Cloud glances over to check on her, he notices that she doesn’t even pause in surprise at Tifa’s sudden touch. Tifa’s shoes must be dirty, Cloud knows, and Aerith’s dress is light enough pink to get stained, but Aerith only hums and lays a gentle hand on Tifa’s calf. She leans her own head back, closing her eyes.

And the cell is bathed in silence.

[growingingreenwood]

What are some " Just Canadian Things" you can think of? Lol I'm curious, especially winter ones.

Going to a party and everybody putting their alcohol on the deck / back step because it'll chill it muucchh faster than any freezer ever could. 

The time between winter and spring called "Grey/Brown Sludge Season." 

When it's cold and you go inside or anywhere warm and your glasses do the fog up thing

Trying to text your friends or change your song when you're outside but your hands are numb so your phone doesn't care 

Your winter chore as a kid was always shoveling 

When you try to stop at a light but mother nature doesn't agree so you slide halfway through the intersection even though you were going 2.5 kilometers an hour and but everyone just accepts it because who hasn't been there? And if you haven't, your time is coming. 

I hope you didn't like those shoes because now they have Salt Stains

 Getting to your destination and having to take off like 2 layers of clothes or get changed completely into your 'people clothes' and not your 'oh my god it is -38 out there and I can feel .5 of my body' cold. 

When there's a huge snowfall in a short amount of time and everybody has an attitude more or less of "I'll get there when I get there I guess 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️ lol." 

 Accepting and anticipating your classmates and coworkers that live outside the city to just physically not be able to come to sometimes 

The Unbelievable Unity that strikes any vicinity when somebody finds out you need to boost your car. Or all those sweet hockey dads and trades guys that always stop to help you dig your car out when you get stuck or to pull you out of the ditch. (For real: 2 year ago I was driving to Grand Prairie in a pretty heavy snowfall and we ended up hitting black ice and hitting the ditch. We called a for help but would take like 6 hours for somebody to come get us. We settled in the car and lit some candles to keep us warm and got some blankets to wait it out our next step when a huge pickup truck pulls up and like 4 dude hop out in overalls and shovels and are like 'oh yeah we work in a camp near here, we saw you go into the ditch and came to help you.' And we were out of there in like maybe 20 minutes. 

Slipping on ice and falling 19288383 times a month. 

The very specific 'Penguin Walk' that all Canadians seem to learn out of instinct or DNA. We had to teach the exchange students in my class how to do it so they wouldn't die lol 

Plugging your car in everynight 

Getting your tongue stuck to things all the fucking time as a kid until one day you took it too far so now you dont do that anymore

Almost dying on a toboggan and then going back up the hill to do it again 

Do Not Engage The Geese. I Repeat. Do Not Engage The Geese. Is he standing on your child? No, that's the goose' child now. Accept that it is letting you leave with your life and you need to accept that gift.

Getting Slurpies and ice caps even tho you haven't seen grass or fresh leaves for like 3 months and the air hurts your face 

When you put your dogs outside if they're too small you gotta watch them with like binoculars at the back door to see when you need to go be a Snow Lifeguard because they got too cold and their legs froze and now they cant walk. 

Your windows freeze shut & depending how well your house is insulated / heated and how cold it is outside you get just as much ice on the inside of the window as the outside.

Left your food in the car? Lol its chill, theyll be fine for another 2 months

 The Calming But Also Alarming Sensation Of Absolute Silence Right After It Snows 

Going for a nature walk as a kid hoping to find some cool rocks or something but finding a Bear instead

Remembering that you always misremember how big Moose are until you see another one and you're like OH     Y E A H 

The extinction of house hippos 

The true show of love is if somebody scrapes your windshield for you. Or pumps your gas 

Starting school/work when the sun is down and leaving school/work when the sun is down

You own, like, 19 jackets. Including a 'spring jacket' which apparently most people don't know of???? Idk 

Omg all of your halloween costumes as a kid always looking like a pile of pillows in a costume that fits super weird because your mom got your outfit like 4 sizes too big so you could fit your snowsuit underneath 

Referring to the United States of America as nothing but 'The US' 

The universal hateed of the Toronto Airport

Literally last week I did that thing where you throw warm water out of a cup into the air outside and it evaporates instantly

Co-workers you didnt even know worked there will offer you a ride home if somebody finds out your walking anywhere

Legit concern of frostbite (lol I got it on my ears in highschool when I got lost one day)

Taking your shoes off when you get to some public spaces (Doctors office's especially but I've seen it in other professions buildings because everybodys shoes are always so gross and wet and diry and have stuff sticking to them

Is this a lane? Is that a lane? Is this road one lane or two? I'll just guess

Poutine: Sold in every single place that serves food and is the ultimate drunk and hungover good

Getting really really excited when you find other Canadians outside of canada. Especially online (you know who you are 🥰🥰)

[malereader-inserts]

Shifting Eyes

Fandom: Good Omens Pairing: Crowley x Male!Reader Summary: He only ever sees you when you’re being a pain, but the only thing he stares is your eyes. Word Count: 1,586 Request: What about a shapeshifter male reader x Crowley? Maybe they get in trouble with hell and Crowley deals with it but the reader just really gets on his nerves but then he realizes he’s falling for him. (Maybe Aziraphale getting dragged into it too??) Thanks, love!  A/n: What century did Crowley sleep through? I can’t find it, was it the 19th century?

“Stupid little shapeshifter,” Crowley sneered to himself.

“What was that, dear boy?” Aziraphale asked, amused at his best friend sneering at everything possible, as the angel cradles a small black kitten. 

“(Y/n),” Crowley says as if it clears everything up.

“What’s up with the young (Y/n)? He’s lovely,” Arizaphale replies, scratching the back on the kitten’s ear, to which the kitten purrs.

“He’s immature!” Crowley complains, throwing his arms in the air before settling down, his snake tongue appearing for a moment, “A few hundred years old and you’d think he’d learn to be mature, now Hell has a bone to pick with him and tasked me to take care of him!”

“I’m sure, if you asked nicely he’d make amends with Hell,” Aziraphale says, pushing the cat towards Crowley, who grumbles and tries to swat it away, “It’s not a fly, Crowley, it’s a cat.”

“I don’t like cats,” Crowley says standing up but the kitten grips his shoulder, pushing its head into his cheek, “Fuck off.”

The green eyes stare at him, the pupils growing as Aziraphale grimace, knowing what will come about.

“Oh dear.”

Next thing Crowley knew is that weight upon his shoulder grew heavier and dragging him down onto the grass, in the middle of St James Park. A shadow looms over him, Crowley looks up to see you looking at him disapprovingly.

“You-!”

You tilt your head, knitted eyebrows as you crossed your arms over your chest, “Crowley? What are you doing on the floor?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” The demon spat, sarcastically as he pulls himself up, you looked at him with cat-like eyes before they slowly shifted back into your (e/c) eyes, “What did you do now?”

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest as the demon glares at you behind his sunglasses, whilst Aziraphale was busy being amused by the exchange. 

“Nothing bad, just,” You shrugged your shoulders, “Stopped Hastur from his temptation, by accident!”

Crowley huffed, “That’s it?”

“I’ve been doing it for a month now.”

Crowley lets out an exhausted sigh, of course, you would do that. You just did it just piss off hell and now they can’t recruit any more souls into damnation. You shrugged your shoulders again, you were just being neutral and it’s just because you love annoying demons it got out of hand.

“This is the sixth time this decade!” Crowley hisses as you rolled your eyes, “Ngkh, ‘By Accident’, you bastard!”

“And whatcha gonna do about it, boy?” You asked smugly before turning into a dog and running away as Crowley attempted to catch you, “Argh!”

“Crowley, you’re attracting people’s stare,” Aziraphale calls out as Crowley spins on his heels to look at him.

“Come on, we’re getting alcohol.”

“It’s only, lunchtime, dear.”

“He’s pissing me off and I need to be drunk to handle that.”

Crowley was getting madder with each passing minute, every human and every animal he sees, he’s glaring, just in case it was you in a different form. Though, when he does stumble across you in your normal form, you’re just there irritating him. Smiling smugly with eyes flickering to different animal eyes with each passing blink.

“Stop that,” Crowley hisses as you looked at him with eyes of Tarsier, the small dot of black in the yellow was slowly getting to him.

“With what.”

“Your eyes,” Crowley desperately sounded, “Just turn them back to normal.”

You huffed, as the yellow fades away and bringing back your normal eyes, Crowley stares far longer than he should have. You blink and he’s expecting another animal eyes but he’s met with your normal eyes again.

“Earth to Crowley?” You called out, waving your hand in front of him, “You good, bud?”

“I’m fine,” He says unusually higher, he clears his throat.”

“Are you sure? It’s not the first time I caught you like this, remember 1948?” You hummed, smiling to yourself, “Berlin airlift, you almost crashed your damn plane into mine because you were staring.”

“It’s distracting,” Crowley pointed out as you shrugged your shoulders, “Not my fault your eyes startled me.”

“Alright, June 2nd 1952, Queen's coronation,” You say, smugly, “You could have easily tempted the queen and yet you were staring.”

“No, I wasn’t!” Crowley was forgetting himself and involuntarily hisses at you.

Though he couldn’t help but stare when you throw your head back and laugh, you shake your head and slowly came off your laughter.

“Whatever,” The demon grumbles, “I need to sort you out, that’s what hell says, so just fuck off for a few years before doing it again.”

“That’s your best attempt?” You asked, amused as Crowley clenched his jaw, irritation slowly coming back, “Alright, alright, since you asked so nicely.”

“Great,” Crowley nods, no thank you because in his head you don’t deserve it and he’s a demon for somebody’s sake, he isn’t really allowed to be grateful.

“Hmh, glad we sorted that out,” You hummed, scraping your hair, “Well, I’ll see you in a few years.”

And yet, Crowley hated that statement.

“You could just go looking for him,” Aziraphale says as if it was a fact - which it was.

Crowley groans, “Ughhhhh, rather not, that requires effort.”

“Yes,” The angel nods, giving his friend a side-eye, judgey and disapproving, “But, I rather not have you wistfully sighing until the next time you run in, I can feel the love radiate from you.”

“I am not-!” Crowley flushes red, he’ll say it’s anger but Aziraphale would say different, “I do not love that bastard little annoyance of a shapeshifter.”

“You’re lying, dear.”

Crowley locks his jaw, licking his lips. Anger seeping into the atmosphere, the demon grumbles, knowing full well that the Angel was right. Aziraphale grins at the demon who gets up, glaring at his best friend behind the shades and leaves the bookshop with the angel calling out his wishes.

Crowley had to refrain himself from peering at each every individual that acted strangely and screaming in its face asking if it was you. 

He didn’t know where to start to find you, you were, after all, a shapeshifter and you change at will therefore, you could be around him without him noticing. Crowley looked at the duck pond at St James Park, trying to figure out if any of those could be you by making them sink.

A habit he has.

Through with no avail, he sits down on the bench to theorise where you could be. Until a small little black kitten with green eyes came climbing his leg. Its claws digging into his pants before landing on his lap.

“Hello,” Crowley says, surprisingly soft as he strokes the head of the kitten.

“Meow!” The kitten yawns, climbing further up to Crowley’s shoulder, pressing its head against the demon’s cheek before jumping down into the free spot next to him, shifting into you, “Crowley.”

Crowley looks at you, smiling, “(Y/n).”

“I saw you drowning some ducks,” You called out to him as he splutters out some nonsense noises as you grin at him, “It’s cool, I try to catch them in the kitten form. They hate me.”

“Why not shift into a cat?” 

“No one is able to resist a kitten,” You hummed, “If Hastur finds out I’ve been helping Hell with temptations, he’s going to have a fit.”

“You’re not a demon, how are you-” You give him a pointed look, “My name, you’re doing it under my name, how?”

You tapped your nose and say nothing, Crowley laughs. He actually laughs, amused with your tricks and plans.

“Anyway, Aziraphale said you’re looking for me, what’s up?” You asked, looking at him, your arms crossed over your chest whilst one of Crowley’s arm leaned against the back of the bench and his other arm leaning against the armrest.

“Ah, uh, um,” Crowley managed to get out, he doesn’t know what to say because he hadn’t thought this far into his plan, “Why don’t you ever shift your eyes to snakes?”

You raised an eyebrow and it was making you embarrassed as the demon could see tones of red flaring up at your cheeks. You bite in the inside of your mouth before licking your lips and sighing.

“They don’t suit me, and plus, I think it could only really suit one person.”

“A snake.”

“I said a person, not an animal, you wanker,” You snapped, shaking your head, “Specifically a demon.”

“Oh-” You were talking about him, it dawned upon him.

“I really like looking at yours, shame you hide them away,” You continued and now Crowley was almost vibrating was this you confessing, he can’t tell, “And, why should I ruin something so beautiful?”

“Fuck,” Crowley spat as you jerk at his language, “You’re making me all gushy.”

You just grin, “I know.”

He’s embarrassed this time, he can’t find words to fill the silence and you don’t need him to, you stare into each other’s eyes before looking away and watching the sunset.

“Oh, and Crowley?”

“Hmh?”

“I love you too.”

“Whatever.”

There was silence between the two as Crowley looks at you, you raised an eyebrow as you turn your head to look at him. You see his sunglasses off, the snake eyes you’ve been trying to see. You smile with your eyes and he does too.

“Love you,” Crowley managed to say, “Dinner?”

Your smile takes up half of your face you nod, laughing joyfully, whilst Crowley admired you.

“Whatever.”

[bigdanteague3]

Hmmmm....how about a quick mostly innocent story?  Background - there was a girl not named Jessica who was a year behind me.  You probably know her.  Blonde, big booty, cheerleader, I assume prom queen.  But the thing about her was she was saving herself for marriage.  Which is fine.  It was a well-known fact.  That’s fine.  We ran in the same circle and would occasionally make out at parties and she’d let me grab her ass or feel her up over clothes or whatever.  We’re only talking about 5-10 minutes with people around.  One night some people had rented motel rooms and we were making out on one bed while people were in the other bed...I remember fingering her under the covers.  Pants stayed on, just unbuttoned and unzipped.  And that was fine.  I wasn’t one to pressure.

So flash-forward to a beach trip.  Several people in her group and my group went down together.  We had like 6 rooms.  There was a bar inside the place we all stayed with music and Jessica was completely wasted.  She was what we used to call dirty dancing, but I believe they call it twerking today.  Just rubbing that ass on me and we were kissing on the dance floor.  As everyone decided to go up and take it to the rooms she fell on the stairs and scraped the shit out of her leg.  She’s crying, a complete mess.  I help her to her room and there’s blood going down her leg.  Me and this other girl get toilet paper and whatever else we could find to clean and she’s stopped crying and just sitting on side of bathtub.  Eventually its clean but its obvious she’s about to be sick.  Jessica pukes all in the bathtub.  Pretty gross.  Other girl just leaves so its me and her lol.  This happens several times.  I just hold her hair back and she’s sick several times.  Crying again.  I just shut the door and try to help.  Her clothes are dirty but as far as I can tell she hasn’t gotten any in her hair.  Wet rags, cool face, eventually she stops and she’s basically asleep in the floor.  Can’t just leave her like this?  Covered in that mess on a bathroom floor.  Pick her up, lay her on a bed and try to find her suitcase.  I don’t know which is hers.  She’s not completely out so I’m telling her she needs to change clothes before going to sleep.  I find somebody’s tee shirt and sleep shorts and tell her to put these on.  I tell her I’ll turn around and won’t look.  I did turn around.  I didn’t look.  Not going there or taking advantage of anyone.  Somehow she got dressed in somebody’s clothes and was laying on the bed and still pretty emotional.  I tell her I’ll go to the store and get gatorade, advil and some band-aids and be right back.    By the time I get back she’s barely hanging on.  I clean up the knee as best I can with a bath towel...not a nurse.  Band aid.  As I’m dong this she starts thanking me and telling me not to tell anybody.  I promise I won’t.  She tells me she’ll make it up to me when she feels better.  I tell her its ok. She promises she will.  I tell her not to worry about it.  She takes the advil, drinks the gatorade and I get her under the covers.  She’s out and I leave.

The next day she tells me she hasn’t forgotten the night before and how I took care of her.  And she’ll pay me back tonight.  I’m thinking its probably an extra long makeup session.  Maybe take her shirt off?  She was pretty strict when it came to touchy feely time.  I didn’t want to go too far and make her uncomfortable so I was fine with that.  That night everybody had made it to one room and at some point she leaves.  Pretty sure I hadn’t noticed until the phone rang and she asked me to come to her room.  I get over there and its just her all alone.  We have the entire room to ourselves and lots of time.  No words, just kissing.  Grabbing her ass, pulling her into me, standing in the middle of the room.  She turns around and faces away from me.  I wrap my arms around her from behind and rub her stomach as I kiss her neck.  Her hands are rubbing my thighs.  I go under her shirt and rub her skin.  Slowly testing the waters upward.  No resistance so I wrap my hands around her titties and gently rub.  I pull her shirt up high...rubbing them through the bra.  I keep raising the shirt and she puts her hands in the air...inviting me to take it off.  I do.

She turns around, faces me starts kissing me again, pressing those tits against me and whispers to me that we should get in the shower.  I agree.  We lock the indoor privacy latch to the room and go in the bathroom.  She faces the mirror and I unhook her bra from behind.  Pretty sure she’d never been topless in front of a guy before.  She was shy and covered up.  I didn’t press.  Just kissed her back.  Back of her neck.  Unbuttoned her shorts and pulled them down.  Turned her around to face me, hiding her boobs and wearing just panties.  She wraps her arms around me we kiss a little.  She starts the water running and I take my shirt and shorts off.  Both just in underwear.  I stand behind her and pull her panties down slowly and she steps in.  I pull mine down and join her.  Hot water beating down she soaps me up.  Washing my chest, my stomach, my dick, my balls.  She wraps the rag around me and strokes it back and forth.  I’m against the back wall and checking out her body.  She leans down and starts licking the head.  I’m surprised but don’t say anything.  She’s standing but bent at the waist.  Just licking and kissing.  Hair dripping wet...she stands back up tall and I take the rag and clean her.  Just like the night before.  But better.  Rubbing soap all over her front.  Washing her titties and making sure to get underneath.  They were pretty big. She had a full, thick, blonde bush and I’m rubbing the soap through her pussy hair.  She’s very turned on but nervous.  I can tell.  I let the water rinse all the soap off and just pull her close and kiss her.  My hard cock pressed into her.  We just kiss...her arms wrapped around my neck.  My arms around her waist grabbing her big ass.  Squeezing.  Hot water hitting her back.  Eventually she reaches back and turns the water off.  I think the shower is the payback and its over.  Not quite.

She steps out, dripping wet, I follow.  We lock up again and we make our way to a bed.  Soaking wet.  I sit down first and pull her on top of me.  I roll her over so that we are in the middle of the bed.  All the lights are off except the bathroom.  She’s laying down, I’m sitting beside her, rubbing the inside of her legs.  She opens them for me and I slip a finger inside her pussy.  She’s stroking me with her hand as I finger her with mine.  She leans in to kiss the head again, licks a little as I watch.  She opens her mouth and takes me inside.  Almost positive this is the first dick in her mouth.  I moan a little to let her know I appreciate it.  She’s propped on one elbow, up on her side.  Getting more comfortable.  I decide to lay down with my head toward her feet and try to work into a 69.  I take one foot and pull it over me so that she’s straddling me.  That ass and pussy barely visible in the dark.  She’s still sucking and I pull her ass toward my face.  I just bury my tongue in her pussy.  As deep as I can.  Feeling her mouth on me, I’m just licking all around her pussy.  Every once in a while I’ll lay my head back and finger her.  Watch it disappear inside.  When I decide to lick I wrap my arms up and around her and let my hands squeeze her ass cheeks as I pull her down on me.  This went on a while.  I wasn’t going to cum from her mouth alone.  I licked those lips and sucked and tongued but could tell she was nervous.  I scoot from underneath her and crawl up to her end of bed.  I lay down beside her and wrapped my hand around hers and helped her stroke it.  She’s laying on my chest and I’m guiding her hand up and down.  I tell her she’s getting me close and I let go.  She finishes the job.  I feel it spray my stomach.  I moan and tell her to keep going for a little bit.  She’s stroking me with cum on her hands.  Felt pretty good.  She wipes it off on me and we kiss.  I tell her she didn’t have to do all that.  She promises she wanted to.  For last night and for not pressuring her anytime before. 

She got married less than a year later.  99.9% she saved herself.  Or at least waited on him and he’s the only guy she’s been with.  I bump into her every once in a while.  She’s happily married with 3 kids.  She’s always super friendly.  She knows I remember seeing her naked body in the shower.  I know she remembers my dick in her throat and jerking me off.  Its always kinda strange but kinda hot when you bump into people like that.  Also strange is that 2 people I had very brief non-intercourse encounters with have reappeared into my life fairly recently and we have to interact multiple times a week now.  I may have to tell you about that. 

[emospritelet]

Respite

@desperatemurph created this wonderful gifset and it gave me a smut bunny, so I had to write it. Full disclosure: I really liked Sutherland’s relationship with his wife, but I am a Rumbeller first and foremost, and I am very happily shipping Belle/Lacey with Sutherland right now :)

Anyway, this is just some fluffy smut, set in my Honourable Members verse. Enjoy.

AO3 link

x

Sutherland swam up out of sleep, feeling a gentle brush against his cheek. Blinking in surprise, he squinted in the unwelcome glare of the nearby lamp. Belle was gazing at him with a fond smile on her face and her warm hand on his cheek. He realised that he was sprawled in the squashy leather armchair in his office, a cold cup of coffee on the table in front of him and the briefing paper he had been reading on the floor at his feet. There was a warm weight on his legs, and looking down, he saw Arthur stretched across them, purring contentedly and no doubt shedding fur all over his suit. Belle tugged at her lip with her teeth in that way she had, a concerned look in her eyes. Her hair was swept up on her head and was just starting to come loose, chestnut strands spiralling down around her slim neck. She sent him a fond smile.

“Sorry I woke you,” she said, and he shook his head slightly, returning her smile as he put his hand over hers.

“I’m glad it was you,” he whispered.

She stroked his cheek with gentle fingers, hand sliding up to play with the strands of his hair at his temple.

“Come to bed, sweetheart,” she said softly, and he turned his head to kiss her palm.

“I can’t, I have to read this bloody briefing from Public Health England.”

Belle dropped her hand back into her lap, sitting back on her heels.

“You can read it in the morning,” she said firmly. “How long will it take, ten minutes? If that? We can set the alarm for ten minutes earlier.”

Sutherland grumbled, shifting slightly and making Arthur let out a tiny squeak of protest.

“You won’t take any of it in, anyway,” she added. “If you’re falling asleep in your chair, you’re definitely too tired to digest a briefing paper on combating a deadly disease.”

He ran his hands over his face with a yawn, but could feel himself wavering.

“What are the latest reports?”

“Confirmed cases now at over two thousand, a further twenty-two thousand being tested.”

“Fuck!”

He made to stand up, and she put her hands on his shoulders and kept him there with a frown.

“The only way you’re getting off this couch is if you’re coming to bed.”

“I need to call Samdi, get an update.”

“I just gave you one,” she insisted. “Besides, it’s almost midnight. He'll be in bed. Which is where you should be. You can’t run the country on a catnap.”

He gave up trying to escape and slumped back, smiling at her.

“You do try to look after me, don’t you?”

“Somebody has to,” she said, giving him a flat look. “God knows you don’t, so I guess it’s up to me and Carrie. Besides, what is it you always tell your staff when they try to burn the midnight oil?”

“Tired people make bad decisions,” he said reluctantly.

“Exactly. So come to bed.”

She rose to her feet and picked up Arthur, causing a high-pitched purr of protest. Belle clicked her tongue.

“I think there’s more hair on you than the cat,” she said, draping Arthur over one shoulder and scratching his ears. He started purring again, loudly and contentedly, and Sutherland sighed.

“Okay, let’s go to bed.”

He pushed up off the chair, mouth flattening as he looked down and saw the fine carpet of cat hair stretching across both legs. Another problem that could wait for the morning. Belle was already heading for the door, Arthur watching him over her shoulder through half-closed eyes and looking as sleepy as he felt.

Once upstairs, she closed the door of their apartments behind him, placing Arthur on the couch cushions. The cat grumbled a little at being put down, but after a moment of kneading the cushions he arched his back, yawned, and curled up with his tail over his nose. Belle turned on her toes, holding out a hand.

“Come on,” she softly, and Sutherland took it, letting her pull him towards the bedroom.

Inside it was cool and dim, the only light coming from the small lamp on the dresser by their bed. Belle liked to read when she was waiting for him to join her, and a book sat beside the lamp, a folded piece of paper marking her place. Belle turned to face him, still holding his hand. Her fingers were warm and smooth, her grip sending him comfort. His eyes flicked up to meet hers, and she smiled, the low light shining on her dark hair. She lifted his hand to her lips, folding her other palm around it and kissing his knuckles, and he let out a deep breath, leaning in to rest his forehead against hers and breathe in her scent.

“Been a long few days,” he murmured, and Belle pulled back a little, stretching up on her toes to kiss his forehead.

“Yes, and you’ll be no good to anyone if you don’t rest,” she said gently. “I don’t think you’ve slept more than a couple of hours at a time since the outbreak was confirmed.”

“Too much to bloody do.”

“Then it’s a good job you hired so many competent people to help, isn’t it?” she replied tartly, and he sighed.

“They still need my input.”

“Not at midnight, they don’t.”

She dropped his hand, reaching to unbutton his jacket, and he let her pull it from him, rolling his shoulders a little to work out the stiffness that had settled in them. 

“It’s hard to switch off,” he admitted. “Every decision I make, every plan I put in place - there’s always something there to undermine whatever good we try to do, always someone that loses out. Some - lesser evil - that I have to choose to live with.”

“You’re good at making tough decisions,” she said, plucking at the knot of his tie.

"That's not what you said at PMQs," he remarked, and she swatted him with the end of the tie.

"What happens in the Commons, stays in the Commons."

"I'll remind you of that next time I make a policy announcement you don't agree with."

Belle giggled, tugging at the knot of claret-coloured silk.

"Party politics aside, I mean it," she said. "You've had some tough decisions to make, and you've done your best to choose the best option each time. But sometimes there are no good options. Sometimes it’s just a choice between varying levels of crap.”

“Yeah.” He felt the tie being pulled from around his neck, a whisper of silk against cotton. “Seems like that’s all I fucking get these days.”

“Try and put it aside for a few hours, at least,” she said, going to work on the buttons of his shirt, and he sighed.

“Alright.”

Nimble fingers worked down the buttons, brushing against the skin of his belly and making him shiver a little. Numbers were running through his head, an endless stream of distribution costs, infection rates and mortality projections.

“What if that bloody vaccine doesn’t work?”

Belle put her hands on her hips, frowning.

“What did I just say?” she demanded, and he flipped her a salute.

“Yes, ma’am. No thinking about work, ma’am.”

Giggling, she got the shirt open, pushing it from his shoulders and baring his chest.

“Take your shoes off,” she said.

He sat down on the edge of the bed with a thump, bending to take off his shoes and socks while Belle undressed on the other side. It felt good to sit down, and he wanted nothing more than to lie back and relax into the mattress, but his brain was still running through the contingency plans they were making and all the possible scenarios they had imagined. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, tempted to go back down to his office and get an update from whoever else was up at this hour. There had to be someone.

Just as he was about to get up, apologise, and head back downstairs, Belle walked into his line of sight. A powder blue silk nightdress was skimming her slim figure, white lace cups holding her perfect breasts. She had let down her hair, dark curls brushing her shoulders where thin silk straps lay against her pale skin, and he let out a sigh. She was breathtakingly beautiful, and for the first time in what felt like days she was suddenly all he could think of.

Belle stepped closer, lifting up the nightdress so that she could straddle his lap, and he ran his hands up to her hips, holding her there. She began stroking his hair, a rhythmic brush of fingers against his scalp. It was comforting, soothing.

“Your head is still downstairs in your office,” she observed, and he sighed again.

“I don’t know if I can sleep,” he admitted. “I have to make an important decision tomorrow, and I have to get it right, but it feels like with every choice I make, I screw someone over. ”

“You’re a good man,” she said gently. “A good man, faced with some bad choices. Like I said, sometimes there is no good choice. So you do what you must. You choose the least worst.”

“What if that’s not enough?”

“It has to be,” she said. “There are no other options.”

Sutherland shook his head.

“What if I choose wrong?” he whispered, and she stroked his cheek, her eyes gazing into his.

“I believe in you,” she said softly, and he smiled.

“Maybe that’s all I need.”

“That,” she said, “and some proper rest.”

“Yeah.” He leaned into her touch. “You’re right. I need to relax.”

“Good.” Her lips curved in a smile. “That’s something I can help with.”

The smile turned wicked, and he couldn’t help grinning back.

“Is that so?”

“Mhmm.” 

“I thought you said I needed to rest.”

“I think you need to wind down first,” she said.”I have a few ideas on that front.”

Sutherland slid his hands back down her thighs, pushing beneath the silk to touch her skin.

“Well, since I’m still half in briefing mode,” he said. “Do you want to tell me my options?”

“Option one, do nothing,” she said immediately.

“I think we can discount that.”

“Agreed. Option two.” Her touch grew firmer, nails scraping his scalp and making him groan. “A little kissing, a little groping, and we spoon up in bed together and get a good night’s sleep.”

He pursed his lips, nodding slowly.

“Tempting,” he said. “But I think I should hear option three.”

“Option three…” She shifted closer, letting his hands slide up her thighs, her breasts inching closer to his mouth. “Option three is a little more time consuming.”

Sutherland stroked his hands up to her waist, inhaling deeply to draw the scent of her into his lungs.

“Would it require more - investment?” he murmured, brushing his nose over the lace covering her nipple and feeling her shudder.

“Oh, a lot more investment, but you need to consider the wider benefits,” she said, a little breathlessly. “Take the - uh - long term view.”

He smiled, lips trailing over the soft swell of her breast. The tip of his tongue slipped out, circling the peak of her nipple through the lace, and she sucked in a breath.

“Tell me more,” he said.

“Option three: lots of kissing, maybe some oral, and then I get on top and ride you until you come.”

He chuckled at that, slipping his hands out from beneath the nightdress and reaching up to cup her breasts. Belle moaned a little as he fastened his lips over her nipple and sucked, his tongue swirling over hardened flesh.

“I’m usually presented with five options,” he murmured.

“Option four’s more of a morning thing.”

“And option five?”

“Oh, I think you’re way too tired for option five.”

He grinned, nuzzling at her as her stroking fingers sent shivers through him.

“Then let’s go with option three.”

Belle bent her head to kiss him, her mouth hot and sweet, and he could feel the weariness drain out of him as he tasted her, tongue pushing into her mouth. Her hands slipped to his shoulders, sliding down over his naked chest, thumbs finding his nipples and gently rubbing. Her touch sent ripples of goosebumps over his skin, and he could feel himself harden in his pants, pressing up against her where she straddled him. Belle seemed to feel it, rocking her hips a little and sending jolts of pleasure through him. He reached up, pushing fingers through her hair, groaning into her mouth as she pressed against him. The kiss grew messy, desire for her surging through his body and pushing all other concerns out of his mind, leaving it blessedly free of anything but Belle, the sweetness of her scent and taste and how good she felt in his arms.

She broke the kiss, sitting back and sliding from his lap, hands pulling his knees apart so that she could get between them. Her eyes flicked up to meet his as she settled on her knees, hands sliding up his thighs to grasp the belt of his suit pants. Sutherland cupped her face with his hands, thumbs stroking over the soft skin of her cheeks, his heart thumping and his lips tingling from the pressure of hers. He leaned in to kiss her again, desperate for the taste of her, and she let out a tiny groan from deep in her throat as his tongue touched hers. Her fingers were working on his belt, tugging it open, and she unfastened the fly, mouth leaving his with a wet, sucking sound as she sat back on her heels, chest heaving and eyes dark with desire.

“Lie back,” she whispered.

He lowered himself back on the bed, the blankets seeming to mould around him, a nest of softness. Closing his eyes, he felt Belle take off his trousers, followed by his boxers. The room was cool, and a shiver ran through him, but then he felt warm hands on his thighs again, and the brush of soft hair against his legs, the press of her lips on his skin as she kissed her way up from his knees. Her tongue caressed his balls, and he let out a groan of pleasure, one hand dropping to stroke through her hair.

“Oh, Belle!” he whispered.

She pressed kisses to him, nuzzling his cock where it lay hard against his belly, and drew her tongue up the length of it, making him jerk and groan. A hand slid up to grasp him firmly, and he felt her kiss, felt the heat of her mouth as she gently drew him inside, tongue circling, soft, wet flesh closing up around him.

“Fuck, that’s good!” he breathed.

He raised his head to look at her, and Belle glanced up, eyes meeting his as her cheeks hollowed, her mouth pulling at him. He could feel the pleasure building, bliss rising within him, and a part of him wanted to let her continue, to let her suck him hard and make him come and swallow down everything he could give her. But he also wanted to see her face when he came, to feel her all around him and push up inside as she rode out her pleasure. She sucked him, wet mouth sliding up and down his length, and he arched his back as a low, guttural groan was pulled from deep within him.

“God, sweetheart, I’m close!” he gasped.

Belle let him slip from her mouth, kissing over his lower belly, working her way up as she climbed onto the bed. He scrabbled at the blankets, scooting backwards a little to give her knees more to rest on, and she sucked a nipple into her mouth, lips tugging at him as her finger and thumb found the other and pinched hard.

“Fuck!” he groaned, and heard a low chuckle from her.

Belle kissed higher, lips trailing up his neck and along his jaw until her mouth found his, and he slid his hands up her thighs beneath the soft silk of the nightdress. He kissed her hungrily, caressing the curves of her hips before sliding a hand between her legs. She was hot and silky-wet, and she drew back with a gasp as he touched her, eyes closing as he slowly pushed two fingers inside. Belle moaned, shaking back her hair, pushing onto his hand, and he let his thumb rub over the tiny bud of her clit, making her let out a tiny cry.

“God, you feel good!” he whispered. “I love being inside you, Belle. I love feeling you hold me tight.”

He drew out the fingers, moving his hands to her thighs, and Belle reached between them to take him in hand, holding his cock and gently rubbing the head through her slick folds. Sutherland groaned, letting his head roll back as shivers ran through him, and she did it again, letting the head of his cock enter her briefly before slipping out, circling her hips, cradling him in silken flesh. He raised his head a little, catching her eyes with his and holding her gaze.

“Please, sweetheart,” he whispered, and she smiled.

She sank down onto him, making him let out a deep groan and push upwards, thrusting deep inside. She was scalding hot, gripping him tightly as she braced herself on his belly, fingers spread wide. He could feel his pulse throbbing hard, his breathing uneven, and Belle kept her eyes locked on his as she began to move, rocking gently back and forth, her flesh pulling at him. Low light shone on the curves of her breasts and the moist fullness of her lips where the tip of her tongue swept across. Her eyes slid closed as her movements quickened, her lips parting with a moan of pleasure, and he thought he had never seen anything as beautiful in his life. She was chasing her climax, rubbing against him where their bodies joined, his hard flesh meeting soft, slippery heat.

Belle moaned, letting her head roll back and exposing her pale throat, and he grasped her hips to pull her hard against him, increasing the friction. Her thrusting hips quickened, her flesh fluttering all around him, and she let out a moaning cry as she came, goosebumps rippling over her skin, tugging at him. He was close to the edge, perched on the crest of a wave of bliss poised to break, and he felt the tension drain from her with her orgasm, her body becoming loose and lithe, her movements languid. Her moans grew lower, a contented purring, and she licked her lips, meeting his gaze with eyes grown dark and heavy-lidded.

She drew in a breath, as though steeling herself, and began to move again, hands flat on his belly, hips slowly circling. She was more controlled now, letting him slip out almost all the way before sliding down onto him, soft, slippery flesh pulling at him. He could feel his eyes grow wide as his orgasm approached, a feeling of pure bliss spreading into the base of his spine and through his body. It burst in his head, coloured stars blinding him, and he let out a loud groan of ecstasy, hips bucking and thrusting as he came hard. Belle rocked against him, moaning as she pulled every drop from him, and he collapsed back into the blankets with a gasp of completion, every inch of his skin tingling.

She fell forward, hair falling in his face and catching in the stubble just starting to come through on his cheeks and chin. Belle was panting a little, a layer of perspiration forming between them where her chest pressed against his, and after a moment he reached up to stroke her hair, a wonderful feeling of heavy-limbed laziness making him want to sink down into the bed with her and stay there.

“Wow,” she murmured.

“Yeah.”

Belle pushed herself up on shaking arms, brushing back her hair, a lazy, contented smile on her face.

“Feeling relaxed?” she teased, and he smiled, reaching up to cup her cheek.

“I love you,” he whispered, and her smile widened.

“I love you, too,” she said. “But it’s time to sleep.”

He nodded, patting her hip, and she eased up onto her knees as he slipped out of her, turning onto her back with a sigh before pushing up on the heels of her hands and trotting to the bathroom.

Sutherland readied himself for bed in a daze, his body slow and sluggish and crying out for sleep. By the time they were in bed and he was spooned around her, he could already feel his eyes sliding closed.

“Sleep well,” she said, yawning.

“I will.”

“No getting up to check emails.”

“I promise.”

"If I wake up at three a.m. and find you downstairs in your office, I'm gonna spank you."

He grinned widely, kissing her shoulder.

"Is that option five?"

"Option five means you spank me."

He chuckled.

"I promise I'll stay in bed with you, okay?"

“Good. I love you.”

“I love you too.”