#sure kid you can touch oooone finger to it

[megamindsupremacy]

God little kids are the funniest people ever. I was working in the theatre and half-babysitting my theatre professor's kid at the same time and this is how our conversation went:

Kid: Why is your hair short? Me: I shaved it!

Kid: You shaved your head? That's why it's short? Me: Yep!

Kid: ...Your hair is short. Are you a boy?

Me: Nope, not a boy

Kid, clearly trying to connect the dots: ....... you're not a boy. Are you a girl?

Me: Not a girl either, buddy

Kid, still processing: You're not a boy?

Me: Not a boy or a girl <3

Kid, in shock: then what ARE you??

Me: Kiddo, I wish I knew

Kid:

Kid, pointing at the painted floor: Can I step on that?

Me: for the fifth time you Cannot step in the wet paint your dad will kill me <3

[ichikaakiyama]

FIC: Untimely Distractions (Hawks x Female Reader; smut)

DISCLAIMERS: Usual ownership disclaimers apply. Characters that are underaged/minors in canon are automatically aged-up to young adult/adult in my work by default unless otherwise stated.

TITLE: Untimely Distractions

PAIRING: Hawks/Female Reader

RATING: Hard R/Mature

WARNINGS: Smut

- - - - -

Hawks is an incorrigible, distracting flirt. This isn’t an opinion - it’s just the truth.

The bad thing about it is that he knows it. The worst thing about it is when the charismatic bastard turns all that charm and beguiling energy on and aims it right at you for everyone in the Hero Public Safety Commission office to see. Like now, for example.

“Come on, it’s just drinks,” he says, hovering over the side of your desk with his hands planted on the tabletop, holding his weight, “I don't even drink that much, but i could take you to this ONE place, holy crap, they make this INSANE tropical sunrise cocktail. Also there's a cute bartender there who seems into some things.” The intentionally comical waggle of his bushy eyebrows elicits a tiny giggle from you that you’re unable to reign in in time.

“Aren’t you supposed to be on patrol tonight?” you shoot back, continuing to work to try and convince him of disinterest on your part, “Or on some secret spying mission that no one else in this building is supposed to know about?”

“Well, I mean…” Hawks replies with a tiny shrug, “I’m sure I can find some time to--Wait, what do you know about my assignments?”

You can’t help but snort at his near carelessness. “Absolutely nothing, I’m sure,” you answer, feeding fresh sheets into your printer, “In any case, I’m busy tonight, as will you be. Besides,” you drop your voice a little, as if there isn’t a soul alive within hearing range who already knows that Hawks seems to like you a lot, “we’re supposed to be professionals.”

“When have you ever known me to be 100% professional at any given time?” he half-jokes, leaning in just as you sit back down. He laughs as you push him away. “Okay, fine. If not drinks, then lunch. Just a quick one. There’s an excellent yakitori place about five minutes from here, we can have a little spot all to ourselves, no extras and no distractions…”

You bat away a feather he had sent to tickle your cheek. “You’re a distraction, Hawks.”

“Yeah, but you like it,” he retorts, and you can hear the smirk in his tone.

“You think so, do you?” you gently scoff as he leans in over the table and closer to you.

“You like me,” Hawks points out, his voice and tone hitting just the right lower octave to get you to finally look right at him, blushing indignantly.

You can feel how fiercely your cheeks are coloring. “I-” you stammer, “That’s not...I mean, I don’t--”

Hawks straightens up again, an almost insufferable grin of victory brightening his face. “I’ll pick you up at 11:50am,” he tells you, “Don’t work too hard now, baby bird.” The pet name and the wink he leaves with has you coughing on a slight choke of embarrassment. 

The rest of your day is spent ducking your head, keeping busy and trying to pretend that no one else around you had heard your conversation with Hawks. You become so entranced in your own efforts to hide yourself from sneaky side-eyes and barely quieted giggles from your co-workers that you don’t realize what time it is until a gentle tapping on your cubicle wall lets you know it’s time for your lunch date.

You look up to see him leaning against one edge of the wall, arms crossed in front of him, a signature smirk plastered all over his smug face. “Hawks, I am busy,” you say with an audible tsk to drive home your point.

“Psh, no one’s ever too busy for yakitori,” Hawks points out.

“I mean, true,” you concede with a little sigh, “But-”

“Come oooon,” he whines, “What’s an hour? If you get crunched because I took you out on a lunch date, I promise to help you out so you don’t have to do overtime, then I’ll take you home myself so you get there faster. Deal?”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “How the hell do you even know where I live?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Hawks mutters with a small shrug, “Come ooooooon, kid. Yakitoriiiiiiiii.”

And he's just so annoyingly effing cute, doing stupid things with his bushy eyebrows and little wiggles of his hips, and he looks RIDICULOUS. You know he’s not going to take no for an answer.

“Fine,” you finally agree, “but just one hour. Then you come back and help me sort all of this out.”

“I promise,” Hawks replies, crossing his heart with a finger while holding his right hand up for emphasis.

To Hawks’ credit, the yakitori place is just as close as he had said, and the food is ridiculously good. Time flies nearly as fast as he does as you enjoy an almost uncharacteristically casual conversation about each other’s nothings - how work is, how your family is doing, when was the last time you made pastries and why didn’t you save him some. The food is gone before you even really realize it, and he doesn’t even let you pull your wallet out to pay. With a grin and a wink, for you and the waitress, he pays for everything, then offers you a hand to take to help you out of your seat and walk you back to the office. You blush a little, but you take it, and his smirk is noticeably softer when you do.

You don’t get too far, however, when he pulls you in close, winks and gives you a quick warning of “hang on, kid,” before his wings suddenly flare out and flap. Suddenly you're in the air, and he's got you safe and secure in the few seconds it takes him to fly you up to the roof of a nearby apartment building.

It doesn’t take you much longer to remember that the cheeky bastard lives here, of course he lives near the HSPC, and he, most likely, has had this planned the entire time.

“Jerk,” you snort, although you’re not exactly fighting the arm he has around your waist, keeping you flush against him.

“What?” he laughs, “I still have twenty minutes, don’t I?”

And he kisses you hard as he drags you into his room from the balcony, fingers working hurriedly to divest you of your bottoms.

“Fifteen,” you correct him, a little out of breath already from the kiss alone, "I'm not going back to the office looking like i just got rammed by a truck.”

"Well, better make it count then," he chuckles, and then you're on your back on his bed, and he's pulling you by the legs to the edge so he can pull your bottoms off and push your top up.

He wastes no time, diving right in, mouth eager and hungry, like a dying man savoring the first full meal he's had in years. Your legs are over his shoulders, one hand sliding up your body to squeeze at your breast while the other snakes around your thigh to rub at your clit like he's trying to start a fire with his thumb. He's a ravenous son of a bitch, moaning loud enough for you to feel, stopping every now and then just long enough to tell you how good you taste. He tells you to watch him devour you, but it's hard when his tongue feels that good and his fingers are experts of your body by now.

"You gonna come, babe?" he teases, rising from his knees to bend over you, and you're about to whine at the loss of contact when he cuts you off with a couple of fingers deep inside you, twisting and curling and stroking and spreading. 

“If you're gonna come you better do it soon,” he teases with a laugh, “You don't want the office to know you got eaten out for lunch, do you?” And his hand is merciless with quick, deep thrusts that aim right where they need to, and you're crying out, launching a fist weakly into his shoulder, which just makes him chuckle.

He urges you to come, telling you he wants to feel you come with his fingers deep inside you, promising to lick you clean afterwards if you'll be good for him and come right fucking now.

Your back arches halfway up off the bed when you do, clutching at your own breast with one hand and digging nails into his shoulder and neck with the other, and he peppers you with little kisses, the softness of each a sharp contract to to how roughly he pushes his fingers into you as he tries to draw your orgasm out a little longer.

“You're so good for me,” he coos, kissing your lips gently as you come down from your high, “So fucking pretty, baby bird.” And you can't help but grab at his jacket and pull him in close and kiss him for real. You hate him, but you love him, but you hate him, but you love him, and he knows.

“Fuck you,” you say when you come up for air, and he just laughs a full laugh, the smug bastard, kissing you again before pulling you to your feet. 

“You liked it.” 

“Shut up.” 

“You like me.”

“I love you.” 

“...But?” 

“But you're a smug dick and sometimes i don't know whether to punch you with my mouth or my fist.” 

“You're so cute when you're ticked off.”

He helps you back into your clothes, making sure to give you tiny kisses where he can, and he's always like this, always so showy with his flirting but secretive with his real affection. You kind of understand it, but not really. You've never questioned it, just accepted it as part of who he is. But you can't help but wonder about it sometimes. Not that you’d ever bring it up; you’re more likely to get hit by lightning than ever get a straight answer for that out of him.

He flies you both back to the office just in the nick of time, and you just barely managed to put yourself back together while he, of course, didn't have to do much more than straighten his clothes a bit and give his hair a little shake. You can feel eyes on you as he walks you back to your office, and although you're a little self-conscious about it, it’s times like these that you kind of can't help but be a bit smug at the fact that everyone just knows that Hawks is into you without anyone ever having to say it out loud.

Before he lets you go, he pulls you into an abandoned, unvisited corner and kisses you again, and it's a real boyfriend kiss, with small sighs and gentle touches and warmth. You can't help but love that you get to see this side of him, knowing that very few people have or will.

“Dinner?” he asks, and the only thing softer than his tone is the hand he has on your cheek.

“You're not working late?” you ask, unconscious of the way you snuggle into the warmth of his palm. 

“Not if you say yes to dinner,” he replies, the tiniest of smirks ghosting in the corner of his mouth.

“You think you're soooo cute, don't you?”

“Yes. Yes I do.” 

“...Fine. Dinner.”

 - - - - -

~ END. ~

[shortie-babe]

Luke’s Fudging Baking

Luke x reader (fluff of course because i'm not making lemon on him. I see him as a little brother or my kid so no. deal with it ;P) but also solomon x reader and mammon x reader

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

It was just a normal day in the devil dom, the lower level devils are screaming. Asmo is trying to get someone in bed..ahhh a beautiful day. So relaxing...yup so relaxing..i mean you weren't allowed to go out on your own because you’re a “weak” human..

I mean yeah, you were weak but they didn't need to say it like an insult though! Anyway they assigned the oh so great mammon to watch over you. All you wanted to do was get some sweets. You’ve always had a humongous sweet tooth and ran out of sweets in your secret stash.

That would upset you a lot but what upset you more was Mammon's constant nagging!

“Ughhh, why do I have to go along with some human! And to get sweets of all things! Shouldn’t beelzebub accompany you! I mean this would seem to be something he’d enjoy!” he says obviously annoyed but you couldn't care less. You just wanted your sweets..

“I already discussed with you that beel had practice. Trust me i’d rather him be with me then you.” you say in an obviously sarcastic tone.

“H-hey?! What's that supposed to mean?! You, a puny human should be grateful the great mammon is even accompanying you!” he says with a pout.

You giggle. “You goofball! I was being sarcastic! Of course I'm grateful to have you walking with me! I wouldn't have it anyother way!” you say with a big smile. Hoping it’ll shut him up, Of course you meant what you said but you just wanna shut him up at this point.

“i-i ..well! Of course you are grateful to have me! I’m the second strongest after all, so of course i’m not gonna let any low rank demon touch whats mi-..you human!” a slight blush goes to his face his hand starts to go to yours wanting to hold your hand.

But the second he’s close to holding your hand you see luke! Luke’s like your little buddy! Like your little brother! Of course you're gonna get freaked out excited and run to him!

“Luke!” you say with euphoria in your voice!

You pounce him raping your arms around he’s to hug him. Not seeing him for a couple of days really made you a bit upset. I mean you could call yourself clingy but you saw Luke as a little brother! You saw Luke as your little brother.

Even though he's way older then you..But still he’s your little brother! And all you wanted to do was protect him..even though he’s probably way stronger than you. And most of the time it would be him trying to protect you even though he's scared of demons.

Which makes you happy that he does that but you also help out in those situations. You two are inseparable. And of course it makes the brothers jealous and you know it does and get a kick out of it sometimes.

“Hey y/n! What are you doing here?” Luke says with curiosity in his voice hugging you back. He looks at mammon and sticks his tongue out mockingly. Of course he gets pissed!

“I ran out of sweets, so I went out to buy some.” you say with a little pout

“ oh! Well how about you come to the purgatory hall and we can bake together?” Luke says with excitement in his voice. You look like you have sparkles in your eyes.

“Come on let's go y/n. We have to go back home-” mammon says before getting cut off by you

“No way! I wanna go bake with my lukey!” you say while holding luke tighter.

“Y-your lukey?! What?!” mammon says with full confusion and annoyance in his voice.

“He’s like a little brother to me okay! Now i’m going with luke tell lucifer that i'll be back later!” you start to walk off but  you look back at mammon and blow him a kiss then wave him bye. And he blushes at that of course!

...Time skip like a couple minutes…

You and luke made it to the purgatory hall with only a couple of demons trying to eat you but you and luke handled it..you two just ran..BUT you made it in one piece and in the kitchen! You two had cute little aprons on, and yours had cute little bunnies on it! I mean you came over a lot to bake with luke so you had your own at the purgatory hall!

You clap your hands “okay, so what are we gonna make today?” you say as you get the cookbook and skim through the pages.

“Ooo! Ooo! Why don't we make a strawberry shortcake? It looks really yummy!” Luke says like a kid in a candy store.

You go to the page that tells you how to make a strawberry shortcake. “Oooo, it does look yummy!” you say almost drooling.

...time skip…

You two get out the ingredients and put them on the counter. “Okay we got 3 eggs, plain flour, sugar, unsalted butter, milk, whipping cream, water, and of course the bowls!” you say smiling not knowing solomon comes in through the front door.

“Yup, all i have to do is find the measuring cups then we can start working on it!” Luke says going to search through cabinets. You haven't been this calm for a while, it’s definitely not calm in the human world..maybe that's why you like being in the devildom so much? I mean with the brothers it's not always calm but they make up for it..they're really good to you despite being literal demons. But you never really saw them as that.

You were so deep in thought that you didn’t hear Solomon walk into the kitchen. He walks towards you, You had your back to him. He gets close to you, Then wraps his arms around your waist pulling you into his chest and puts his chin against your shoulder. You let out a yelp not loud enough that Luke hears it but loud enough to earn a mischievous smirk from solomon.

“S-solomon! I told you to not startle me like that!” you whisper with a hmph. Not wanting to startle Luke.

“I couldn't help it. You looked so calm and cozy...and I wanted to spook you.” Solomon whispers with a mischievous smirk but with tiredness in his voice. You turn around still in his arms and cup his face in your hands.

“You were out with asmodeus weren't you? I mean there's nothing wrong with that, just sometimes you get exhausted more easily..i mean you may be an annoying trickster sometimes but i still care for you.” you say with worry but try to hide it with some anger. It didn't work but it was worth a try.

Solomon puts his forehead against yours and looks into your eyes. “ you worry to much, and yeah I was.” he says with a laugh that was a little louder than intended. Which alerted Luke and made him jump up and look at you guys. He got a little mad.

“Hey, get your dirty hands off of y/n!” Luke says while pulling at your sleeve. And Solomon gets his hands off of you and puts them up with a smile and a wink. Which leaves you blushing a little bit.

“Listen y/n! Solomon isn't a good influence or person! So if he tries anything just push him away, okay?” Luke says trying to get reassurance.

“Hehe okay Luke!” you giggle and pat his head. Solomon lets out a small chuckle.

...time skip…

You and Luke were finished all you had to do was put it in the oven. Solomon interrupted, sometimes asking if he could help, But Luke was still a little mad and would say “no! Your cooking sucks! You'll destroy y/n’s works!”. Solomon would always fake being hurt by the words but he couldn't care less. Solomon never left the kitchen; he always stayed somewhat close to you. Which makes Luke upset and makes you blush a little. Solomon would sometimes grazes a finger across your skin, Which would make you turn beet red and Solomon would obviously get a kick out of it. That teasing bastard…

...time skip…

Finally, it was done cooking! All you needed to do was taste test it. Luke got the first taste and he said it was delicious; which makes you want to try it more!

“Go on y/n, grab a spoon and have a taste!” Luke says excitedly while licking his lips. You go to grab a spoon but Solomon snatches it from you.

“S-solomon?! Hey! That was the last spoon!” you say with a pout while Solomon picks up some of the strawberry shortcake on the spoon. He grabs your chin gently and lifts your head up a bit. You turn a bright red. Luke is pouting, not liking how Solomon is touching you.

“Say aaaah~” Solomon says seductively with a wink which flusters you more.

“A-ahhh..” you open your mouth and Solomon feeds you..it was delicious but someone having Solomon do that made it taste better..

“See, that wasn't so bad.” he says with a chuckle and pats your head. You shake your head.

“ okay, Solomon that's enou-” Luke tries to complain but gets cut off by solomon.

“ hey y/n, why don't you stay over tonight?” Solomon says with a gentle smile.

“What?” you say confused. I mean yeah you would come to the purgatory hall to bake with luke and sometimes practice magic with solomon and just hang out with simeon; But you never spent the night..how would it even go?

“Come on y/n! It can be a little slumber party I guess. I mean I'm sure Luke would love to have a slumber party!” solomon says with an innocent smile..you knew not to trust that smile but before you could think about it Luke grabs your sleeve.

“Yes please! Can we please have a slumber party! We can do all sorts of fun stuff like watch movies, play truth or dare, tell stories!” Luke says with sparkles in his eyes..He knew just how to get you to say yes..How could you say no now?! You may get in trouble with lucifer but oh well! This is for your lukey!

You sigh but give a smile “Sure, let's have a sleepover!”.

“Yaaaaay!!” Luke starts jumping around, and clapping. While Solomon is on the sidelines smiling.

“I just have to message Lucifer and tell him i'm staying over..” you say with worry not knowing how he's gonna react. Is he gonna make you go back to the House of Lamentation? Is he gonna let you stay? Will he get mad? You can't tell with lucifer sometimes..

“Okay! I'll go tell simeon and we can get everything ready!” Luke says running to find Simeon. The kid is honestly super excited!

What will happen with the sleepover? Well you’ll have to find out next time! Oooon~.

Nah, im actually gonna start working on this. Just feel like this one is going on for long!

[rreader]

Can I request StevexReaderxBucky? Reader works with business/law, is 22 yrs old, was friends with Person A (Buck or Steve) in high school but they lost touch the last 3 years. Reader lives across Steve or Bucky (Person B: other person). Nat is her sister & they're both gorgeous & close. Reader finds out Steve and/or Bucky are strippers & the boys like her. She's been with 2 guys before; inexperienced but flirty. Maybe a poly relationship? Tell me if you got this ask & your opinion xoxo ❤😘❤😘❤😘

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader ; Bucky Barnes x ReaderFandom: MCUWarnings: language

A/N: okay, so this was a challenge. I wanted to include all the details you had asked me to include. But I have to admit, I barely touched the poly relationship part, mainly because I had already written 5 pages before even getting there. But I left it open, so that you could imagine what happens next. I really hope that is alright :)

                                                            *****

Yousighed while hiking up the stairs to your apartment on the thirdfloor.

Todayhad been a looong day and you couldn’t wait to get out of your highheels and skirt and into something comfortable. Being a businesslawyer definitely had its’ perks. You earned enough and most of thetime, actually enjoyed what you were doing. But some days, you workedway too long for your own good, because some things just had to befinished before the next day.

Youwere so deep in thought, that you didn’t hear someone close adoor and the next second, when you wanted to turn to the corridor ofyour apartment, you ran into your neighbor and lover/boyfriend.

“Sorry,(Y/N). Didn’t see you there,” he smiled at you. That handsome smilethat made you fall for him in the first place.

“It’salright. I’m sorry, too. Should’ve paid more attention,” youreturned the smile, but the exhaustion was clear on your face.

Heplaced his fingers under your chin, so you’d look into his eyes andexamined your face.

“Areyou alright, love?”

“Yeah.Just really looking forward to my bed. You’re planning on joining me,later?”

Hekissed your forehead, then walked past you, down the stairs.

“I’lljust go for a run. Chinese or Italian later?”

“Both?”

Youheard him laugh, before he left the building. Once he was gone, youplaced one foot in front of the other, dragging yourself to the door.

Butluck didn’t favor you today.

Once the door was open,  you could hear several womenlaughing.

‘Ohfuck. The Bachelorette party.’

You had completely forgotten about that! It was today!

Natasha,your adoptive sister, was getting married in a few weeks. Somefriends had decided to throw her a small bachelorette surprise party.Hell, you had been one of the people who had planned it. And youcompletely forgot about it!

‘Todayof all days.’

“Why,hello there, sister. So glad you finally grace us with yourpresence,” Natasha, and the other five women in the living room allgrinned at you.

“Yeah,yeah, I’m late, I know,” you walked towards them, glancing at the door of your bedroom. It was as if your bed was yelling ‘Come tome. I offer you a spot under the warm and comfy blanket.’

“Actually,you’re just in time,” Maria slurred and handed you a drink, in acolor that you’ve never seen before.

Nowthat you really looked at them, they all seemed to be as drunk as a lord.

Howlong had they been here for?

“Justin time for what?” you sat down in the armchair and got rid of yourhigh heels, then drank the.. whatever it was in one go. You instantlygrimaced. “Ew. What the fuck is that shit?”

Marialaughed, took your glass and refilled it.

“Youlike it? My own special mixture.”

“Areyou kidding me? It’s disgusting.”

“What’swrong with you today? Come oooon, it’s my bachelorette party! Behappy!” Natasha grabbed a feather boa and threw it at your face.

Youhad to laugh and wrapped it around your neck.

“Sorry,Nat. I’m just.. It’s just been a long day. That’s all,” you smiledat your sister and when she smiled back, you decided not to self-pityyourself anymore. You and your sister had been through so much shitover the last years. This was her night. And you loved her too muchto ruin it for her.

Whenthe doorbell rang, Wanda got up and grinned.

“Iwonder who that is,” she ran towards the door, a drink in her hand.A drink, that was now mostly on your floor.

“ProbablySteve. I told him to come..-” but it wasn’t Steve that was standingin front of you only a second later. “..-over,” you finished the sentence and staredat the man in front of you.

Allthe other girls laughed and started screaming.

Youhad known that they wanted to hire a stripper for Nat.

Butthe man in front of you.. 

At least you weren’t the only one that was staring. His mouth hung agape as well, staring into your eyes as if he couldn’t believe it.

The others didn’t notice, nor did they really care. They wanted ashow, so a show he gave them.

Andwhile he made the others yell and giggle and throw money at him,all you could do was stare at him.

Howwas this possible?

Howwas it possible, that the man – the stripper – in front of you,was your High School best friend Bucky Barnes? The friend you hadlost contact with, after you went to college?

Andafter three years, this is where you see him again? And he was afucking stripper now?

Toomany questions. Way too many questions.

Also,he barely had any clothes on and had become a lot more muscular sinceyou last saw him. And you were thinking about doing things to himthat you never thought you’d imagine doing to him.

Soyou got up and went into the kitchen, to make yourself a cup ofcoffee and, hopefully, get rid of these thoughts. 

Youclosed the door behind you, placed your hands on the counter and tooka deep breath.

Todaywas just.. too much.

“Thereis.. a naked man in your living room,” Steve said, while enteringyour kitchen with both a pizza and Chinese take-out. He placed it allon the counter. You had given him the keys once Natasha wasn’treally living here anymore. She’d officially move out after thewedding, but had barely spent her time at your shared apartment.

“Natasha’sbachelorette party.”

“Oh,right, that was today. Completely forgot about that.”

“Metoo,” you turned around to face him, a steaming hot cup of coffeein your hands. “And you want to know the best part? Remember thatboy I told you about? The one in High School? My best friend?”

“Yes?”

Youtook two steps forward and opened the door for him to see thestripper and sarcastically smiled at Steve.

“Well.Let me introduce you to him, then,” you quickly closed the door once he had looked at him..

“Wait..he’s.. a stripper?”

“Believeme, I had no idea. I was just as surprised as you are now when I sawhim earlier,” you opened up the pizza box and grabbed a slice. “Ijust wanted to eat pizza and Chinese in bed with you,” he huggedyou from behind and kissed your head.

Justwhen he was about to reply, the door got opened again and Maria and Buckywere standing in the doorframe.

“Oops,sorry. Go on. Enjoy yourselves. But don’t forget protection,” she laughed and wentback to the others.

Sonow it was Bucky, Steve and you in the kitchen.

Hestarted staring at you again.

“So..is this what you do now? Strip?”

“Ineed the money.”

“SoI see,” maybe you were upset that he hadn’t called in three years.But then again, neither had you. So you sighed and walked a littlecloser, then gave him a short hug. “For what it’s worth, I’vemissed you. Aaaaand you’re covered in coconut oil,” you quicklytook a step back and looked down at yourself. “Fuck.”

Stevelaughed and held out a hand for Bucky to take.

“I’mSteve. Nice to meet you. (Y/N) has told me a lot about you.”

Heshook his hand and gave him a small smile.

“Shedid, huh?” he glanced at your direction and you rolled your eyes.

“Don’tlet it get to your head. So. Where have you been these past threeyears?”

Buthe didn’t have time to answer, since, suddenly, all the women werestanding in the doorway and grinned at you.

“So..is this going to be a threesome thing? Because, I’m soooo here for that!”Darcy said, raising her glass. The others did the same.

EvenNatasha!

“Comeon, baby sister! Treat yourself tonight! On me! Or maybe for me. You need some more experience in your life. It’s IMPORTANT,” she yelled the last word. God, she was drunk out of her mind.

“Well, if the boys are up for it, I sure am,” the others giggled.

You had actually meant that as a joke, but the glance the two men threw each other..

When everyone went back to the living room, you gave it some more thought.

Athreesome with these two..

Well..that would be something, wouldn’t it?

Or even better.. a recurring thing. A poly relationship. Gosh, that would be amazing.

Soyou sat between them on the couch and made sure to touch both oftheir legs.

Neitherof them seemed to mind. Actually, you swore that they both opened their legs a little wider.

Youweren’t that experienced in the whole sex thing, but you were alwayswilling to learn new things.

Andit seemed as if tonight would be a very educational night, if you played your cards right.

[fanfic-phoenix]

Chapter 1 - Operation Workday

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The train, for once in its sorry life, had been on time, and that was why Merlin had had to run for it - it was hardly his fault he’d planned for a five minutes delay!  Still, he seemed to be on time, even though he’d nearly dropped the brown backpack with his laptop inside and paused to shed the red scarf he’d chosen.  He stood a moment on the threshold of his new job; Camelot Shipping was a large grey building in the center of London, surrounded by other similarly large grey buildings, and held within it his new position.  Being a member of his Uncle Gaius’ tech department (a position that had taken a miracle to get so soon out of college - thank the gods for apprenticeships) meant that he was responsible for several jobs: keeping the place’s computers in tip-top condition; developing new systems; building new, high-tech bombs and guns and the like; occasionally hacking into rival computers.

If Camelot Shipping had been a normal company the idea of weapons and hacking might have alarmed people.  As it was, what with it only being a cover for Her Majesty’s Secret Service, it was just part of the job, even though Merlin had a few misgivings regarding being allowed within three feet of explosives.

A guard at the door, armed with a nerve-inducing gun, beckoned Merlin over and sorted him out with a pass, warning him not to lose it, else there’d be trouble (Merlin didn’t ask what sort of trouble that was).  What he did ask, however, was where the Head of Tech might be located.

“Gaius Myrddin?”

“Yeah, that’s him.”

The guard grunted in recognition and pointed to his destination.  Apparently, he wasn’t one for conversation.

“Hello?”

The office seemed deserted - Gaius had told him to arrive during the lunch break, so he’d distract as few people as possible - and his uncle, his new boss, was nowhere in sight.

“Hello?  Gaius?”

“Merlin!”

Merlin grinned and waved at the aging man who’d popped up with surprising ease from under a desk in the far corner, having been fiddling with some wires.

“You’re not meant to be here till eleven.”

“It is eleven.”

“Ah,” he peered at a clock on the wall, “so it is.  Well, put your bag over there, the desk should be empty.”  Pointing Merlin to an empty desk in the far corner (a slightly bruised old thing, with a mysterious scorch mark and copious coffee stains) he returned to what he was doing, cursing quietly when he realised he couldn’t read the labels.  “Come here then, I’ll show you what I’m working on and you can finish while I find my glasses.”

At 11:30 people flooded into the office, barely acknowledging the new kid.  Until, of course, he proved his worth by fixing what had been an unfathomable bug in the new surveillance system they were building.  Then he’d been surrounded by people telling him everything he needed to know.

“Don’t use the vending machine coffee, it’s disgusting.  Just make the pot, it’ll get used if you don’t finish it.”

“Alright.”

“Don’t mess with Morgana Pendragon.  No one except Uther’s got clearance to know what she actually does around here, but she’s bloody good at it.  I’ve seen her training and she could kill anyone of us from twenty paces.”

“Oh… ok…”

“I’d stay away from all the field agents if I were you.  They’re usually sleep deprived and heavily armed, and if something goes wrong they’ll find some way to blame the equipment, which is our department.”

“That hardly seems-”

“Fair?”  Those listening in sniggered slightly, “it’s not fair, but it what happens.  Agent Pendragon’s a nightmare for it.”

“Morgana?”

“No, Arthur Pendragon.  Adopted siblings.  But Arthur takes it out on whoever’s closest to him if his mission’s ended poorly.  It’s just lucky for us that it’s so rare for him to fail.”

“Yeah, he’s the best agent in the service.  Completely lethal.”

“So…  try not to get on his bad side?”

“Near impossible if you meet him, Merlin.  Just… try not to catch his eye.”

“MORRIS!”

Merlin’s head whipped around at the booming yell calling for one of his new colleagues.  Rubbing at the pain he was certain was whiplash, he searched for the source of the distraction from his work (which, admittedly, was only trying to organise the files on the new cloud storage, so he was actually fairly glad for something interesting); a blond man storming in with a scowl on his face.

“MORRIS!” he repeated, stalking towards the desk inhabited by a nervous looking Jonathon Morris, “you’re not all that bright, are you?”

“I- what, sir?”

“I said, you’re not very bright, are you, Morris?”  He was leaning on the desk now, nose nearly close enough to touch Morris’ as he spat out, “you endangered my entire mission!”

“I did?”

“Teach him a lesson.  Go on boy.”

Merlin hadn’t noticed the agents lingering at the door, but he saw them now, egging on the shouting blond man as he began raving and ranting about a bomb that had failed to go off; it was true then, that agents blamed their equipment.  Merlin winced at the look on Morris’ face - the poor sod was terrified - and considered intervening… everyone else was frozen solid, staring whilst trying to pretend they weren’t.  As the blond’s fingers danced toward the throwing knife Morris had on his desk, Merlin decided that really, this had gone on long enough.  He stood and ignored the collective intake of breath that filled the office.

“Hey,” he walked over, catching the man’s attention, “come on, I’m sure he didn’t mean to,” he took the knife away, placing it on the desk behind him.

“What?”

“You’ve had your fun, my friend.”

The man looked at him confusedly, “do I know you?”

Merlin stuck out a hand, “er, I’m Merlin.  Merlin Myrddin.”

“So no.”

“No.”  He retracted the hand; clearly, this agent was a prat.

“And yet you called me friend?”

“That was my mistake.”

“I think so.”

Was he fool enough to insult a pissed off agent?  Yeah.  He definitely was.  “I’d never have a friend who was such an ass.”  Merlin started walking away, treasuring the look of shock on Agent Prat’s stupid face and pretending that the sharp intake of breath by every other person in the silent office hadn’t caused the bottom of his stomach to drop.

“I’d never have one who’s so stupid.”

He paused, turning to glare at Agent Halfwit, swallowing slightly when he noticed that the knife he had placed out of reach wasn’t so out of reach anymore - it was being tossed up and down, twirling elegantly in the air as it threatened him.

“Tell me, Merlin,” Agent Arse caught the knife deftly in one hand, “do you know how to walk on your knees?”

“No.”

“Would you like me to help you?”

“I wouldn’t if I were you.”

“And what are you going to do?” Agent Arrogant scoffed.  Merlin bristled under his mocking gaze; sure, he was slightly scrawny (though he was a whole inch taller than Agent High-and-Mighty), but he was more than a match for him.

“You have no idea.”

“Be my guest,” the blond arse laughed, throwing open his arms in invitation, “come on.”  Merlin hesitated; Agent Snooty was a field agent and the possessor of broad shoulders and large muscles which could very easily be used for beating Merlin’s much skinnier arse.  “Come on!  Come oooon!”

Merlin set his jaw and took a swing - if he could just hit his mark he’d wipe the smirk right off his moronic face…

It took a lot not to yelp when his arm was twisted behind his back.

“I’ll have you for this,” blond prat practically snarled.

“What?  Who do you think you are?”

“Arthur Pendragon.”

Merlin knew he’d gone pale, and he didn’t even utter a protestation when his feet were swept from under him.  Arthur laughed at him, cruelly amused by Merlin’s pallid cheeks and stricken expression, before walking away, sniggering with the agents observing at the door.  Merlin stood shakily, wobbled to his desk, and sat heavily, before proceeding to hit his head against the solid wood - perhaps if he did it hard enough, he’d knock some sense into himself.

“I’m an idiot,”  he mumbled into the papers he’d crumpled, as the others tutted in sympathy.  “I’m dead.  I’m so dead.  I’ve not even been here for a day and I’m dead.”

He was still mournful when Gaius returned, meekly accepting the eyebrow of disapproval that was raised in response to the tales of his exploits, which had probably ventured higher into his grey hairline when Merlin groaned and returned to resting his head on the desk.

“I’ve persuaded Agent Pendragon not to report you.”

An hour of nauseous fear had passed since Merlin’s faux pas when Gaius made that blessed announcement.  

“What?  Oh, thank you.  Thank you!”

“You never cease to amaze me,” Gaius raged, looking as if he wanted nothing more than to cuff Merlin over the head, “the one thing that someone like you should do around the Pendragons is keep your head down, and what do you do?  Behave like an idiot!”

“I’m sorry.”  And he really was.  Gaius was right, of course; every moment he spent in the Pendragons’ company was a moment he spent in danger, and it would have been much better to have been invisible (not literally, of course, lest he worsen the issue).  Someone like him, if they wanted to keep bullets out of their brains, should keep a very low profile.  If anyone looked too hard, they might notice the truth.  And that would be the end.

Gaius harrumphed and wandered back to his desk as a young woman walked through the door and towards Merlin.  He narrowed his eyes at her, recognising her instantly, though he wasn’t quite sure where from.  Until he did.

“Guinevere...”

“Merlin Myrddin,” she beamed, folding her arms and shaking her head, “still getting into trouble I see.”

He flushed, eyes flickering down, “yeah… I’m planning on changing my name to Idiot - that’s what people seem to call me these days.”

“No, no, no.  What you did is all around the offices - it was really brave of you.”

“It was stupid.”

She pulled a face, and Merlin knew she was preventing herself from agreeing with him.  “Well…  I’m glad you at least walked away.  You couldn’t have beaten him.”

“Wha-?  Oh, I could beat him.”

“Really?”  She looked him over, “because you still don’t look like one of those muscle-y types.”

“Thanks.”

“No!  No, I’m sure you’re stronger than you look.  It’s just, erm… Arthur’s a field agent.  One of those rough, tough, save the world kind of men, and… well…”

“Well what?”

“You don’t look that.”

Merlin sighed, throwing her a stern look.  “Guinevere Thomason, if I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a million times, even if it was many moons ago - I’m in disguise.”

Gwen looked like she would laugh, but then her face fell, and Merlin knew that it was his fault.

“Oh, Gwen…  I’m… I am sorry for what I did.  I was… upset.  But I shouldn’t have left you in the lurch like I did.”

“No, no.  It’s fine.  I never blamed you.  I’m glad to see you again.  And,”  she smiled, “it was very brave of you.”

“Really?”

She nodded, absentmindedly straightening out the creases in Merlin’s papers as she had done his homework in their college days, “Arthur’s a bully, and you stood up to him.”

“Yeah?”

Gwen hummed her agreement and Merlin smiled before he spotted Gaius over her shoulder.

“Apologies Gwen, but my number one fan’s approaching.  I’ll see you around?”

She grinned and left, as Merlin’s fan approached to yell at him to do his work, for god’s sake.

Dinner was an awkward affair that night.  

“I know you’re still mad at me.”

“Your mother asked me to look after you.”  Gaius was skilled in evading the point.

“I know,” Merlin sighed, “I know.”

“Remind me again what your mother said about your gifts.”

“That I was special.”

“And remind me again what I said about your gifts.”

“That she was right - magic should take incantations, spells, and yet I don’t.”  He looked at his plate as Gaius bade him continue,  “and that if I was going to work for Uther Pendragon I had to learn to keep it and me hidden.  Because he’d kill me,”  Merlin swallowed, “he’d kill me like he does everyone else, like he did…” his voice caught on a lump in her throat, “like he did... her.”

“Merlin…”  he sounded worried rather angry now, and Merlin wasn’t sure whether he preferred that.  He cleared his throat uncomfortably and picked up his fork.

“It’s fine.  I promise I’ll behave tomorrow, ok?  No more fighting with field agent, no matter how prattish they are.”

The huff of amusement was certainly better than grumpiness, though the eyebrow of doom was threatening an appearance.  Merlin returned hastily to his meal.

“How’s your knee walking coming along?”

Merlin scowled as Arthur Pendragon’s voice sounded behind him, pausing as he reached into the supplies cupboard for the eight boxes of staples demanded by his department (why they needed so many he didn’t know).  He took in a deep breath - Gaius would kill him for engaging - and began to walk away, chanting to himself: not worth it, Gaius will hurt you. Not worth it, Gaius will hurt you.  Not worth it, Gaius will-”

“Aw, don’t run away!”

Screw it.

“From you?”  he gifted the prat in the tailored, annoyingly well-fitted suit (wait, did he seriously just think that?) his most scornful glance.

“Thank god.  For a moment I thought you were deaf as well as dumb.”

“Look, I’ve told you that you’re an arse, I just didn’t realise that you were an arse thought of as important.”

Arthur scowled at him and a throat cleared behind him - apparently he was slightly more outnumbered and totally surrounded than he had previously realised.

“What are you going to do?”  He asked, ignoring a flutter of fear in his stomach, “hide behind your men?”

“I could take you apart in one blow,” Arthur laughed, his plump lips stretching into a mocking grin.

“I could take you apart in less than that.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Go on,” an agent said suddenly, “the training room is empty.  Fight!”

Merlin hesitated, wavering between death by Gaius or death by dishonor in front of Pendragon.  His decision was made as he spotted another technician roaming the halls.

“OI!  George!”  He handed the boxes to the man, murmuring that “under no circumstances can you tell Gaius what I’m doing.”

He pulled off his tattered brown jacket, tugged his red shirt straight, and indicated that Arthur should lead the way (he didn’t mention that he didn’t actually know where it was).

The room was large and unheated, with a wooden floor that started to leach the heat from his body in the tiny moment he was in contact with it - and that was only to place his carefully folded jacket out of the way!  Weapons piled high on shelves lined the white walls, covering the peeling paint well.  Merlin swallowed nervously when he missed the mace Arthur threw at him.

“Come on,”  he said, smirking as Merlin bent to fetch it.  “Though I must warn you, I’ve been trained to kill practically since birth.”

“Wow.  How long have you been training to be a prat then?”

Arthur hid an involuntary grin, “You can’t address me like that.”

“Sorry,” Merlin smirked, bowing low, “how long have you been training to be a prat, my lord?”

“Come on then, Merlin.  Come on!”  Swinging the mace round in a way Merlin couldn’t hope to replicate, Arthur backed him up towards a large pile of boxes; having never been graceful, Merlin tripped backwards and landed with a thump on the floor, failing to spot an angry looking Gaius raising an eyebrow through the window.

“You’re in trouble now!”

“Oh God,” Merlin choked out, looking around frantically for something to stop him receiving a macing.  He’d never been maced before, but the large spikes looked rather incredibly painful.  He spotted a way out and his eyes glinted with relief and something else.

Arthur stopped in his tracks, finding his mace caught on a hook.  He frowned at it before continuing on his advance, only to hit his shin on a box he was sure hadn’t been there previously.  “Ow!  Argh!”

Merlin smirked briefly, before gripping tight on a rope he definitely hadn’t… encouraged… to help him out.  With one sharp tug, Arthur was tripped and lay stunned on the floor.  He sprang to his feet, swinging his mace carefully (it would rather spoil the moment to hit himself with the damned thing).

“Do you yield?”

“To you?”

“Do you?” he demanded, taking a step forward, “do you want to give up?”

Arthur tried to stand but only succeeded in slipping backwards.  Merlin smiled in triumph; he’d done it, he’d taken Agent Pratdragon down a peg, he’d-

He’d done all of that with a large crowd and Gaius peering in.

“Oh shit.”

In his moment of fear for his life, Merlin was vulnerable, and Arthur wasn’t one to let him be.  A broom to the leg sent him tumbling and then the agents were swarming him, hooking under his arms and dragging him upwards.  He swallowed audibly.

“No, leave him.”

What?

“He may be an idiot,” Arthur continued, placing his mace on a rack, “but he’s a brave one.  There’s something about you, Merlin.”  Arthur moved closer, eyes narrowed in confusion, “I can’t quite put my finger on it.”

The agents left in their dramatic group (show-offs) leaving Merlin to his fate.

“If it helps,” he said to the fuming Gaius, his eyes still on Arthur’s retreating back, “he antagonised me, not the other way round.”  He risked a glance at his uncle’s face - the eyebrow of disapproval was alarmingly near to his hairline.  He sucked in a nervous breath; “...it doesn’t help, does it?”

“How could you be so foolish?”  Gaius yelled, marching through the corridors with a determined grip on Merlin’s (inconveniently large and thus easy to grab) ear.

“He needed to be taught a lesson!”  Merlin was tugged into the empty medical room, letting out a pained hiss.

“Magic should be learned, mastered, and used for good!  Not for idiotic pranks!”

“You’ve been saying that for years, but what is there to master?  I could move objects like that since before I could talk!”

“Then you should be able to control yourself by now!  I have warned you and warned you, yet you never listen!”

“I don’t want to!”  Merlin threw up his arms in frustration, turning away to hide his face.  “If I can’t use magic, what have I got?  I’m just a nobody, and I always will be.  If I can’t use magic, I might as well die.”

“Merlin, you know you’re not a nobody.”

“No,” he countered, “I know that Mr Kilgharrah insists that I’ve got some- some great purpose, but I can’t see it!”

Gaius sighed, “sit on the bed, Merlin, and lift up your shirt.”

Merlin complied sulkily, “I know you don’t believe Mr Kilgharrah - you don’t know why I was born like this, do you?”

“No.  I don’t know why you were born like this.  But it may be that you do have a destiny, though that’s not really my area.”

“I’m not a monster, am I?”

“Don’t ever think that.”  He rubbed a poultice on rapidly purpling bruises covering Merlin’s back.

“I just want to know why I’m like this.”

“Drink this,” Gaius handed him a tiny cup of foul-smelling liquid, “it’ll help with the pain.”

Going home, Merlin didn’t speak to his uncle.  He slung his bag through the front door, ignoring the small thump that was probably the corner of his already battered laptop, and made a beeline for the home facing their own.  He knocked three times on the peeling blue wood.

“Mr Kilgharrah?”

The door creaked open without reply and Merlin rolled his eyes - he was well used to Mr Kilgharrah’s dramatics - before entering.  He offered a small smile to the elderly man beaming at him, smothering a chuckle at the long striped scarf thrown haphazardly around his neck.

“Emrys!”  the man laughed delightedly, “I see you’ve finally taken the first steps towards your destiny!  And how small you seem for such a large one.”

“Well, I’ve not really, have I?  All I’ve done is start a new job and get my arse handed to me on a platter,” he groused, sitting heavily on the sagging sofa. “And why do you insist on Emrys?  It’s nothing like Merlin - doesn’t even start with ‘M’.”

“It’s more than a job, Emrys,” Mr Kilgharrah continued, a sly smirk flourishing as he used the nickname he’d insisted upon since the first time he’d telepathically summoned Merlin to his home, “I’ve told you that you were given your gifts for a reason, and this is it - Arthur Pendragon is destined to unite those with magic and those without.”

Merlin narrowed his eyes.  Of course, he was thrilled to finally be given the secret that Kilgharrah had kept so close to his chest, but it didn’t seem very… related to him in any way at all.  “Right.  What does that have to do with me?”

“Everything.”  Kilgharrah seemed to want to laugh at Merlin’s I was afraid of that sigh, “Arthur will face danger from friend and foe alike; without your help, he will never succeed.  Magic will never be accepted.”

“No, no way.”  Merlin stared in abject horror - not only did the fate of magic lie in the hands of Uther Pendragon’s son, but he had to help him!  “I’ve never said this before, but you’ve got this wrong.”

“There is no right or wrong, only what is and is not.”

Merlin rolled his eyes at the typical response, “there is wrong,” he decided, fiddling nervously with the edge of his shirt as he battled the part of his brain that whispered that something in Kilgharrah’s belief seemed… right, “and it’s this.  I’m serious - if anyone wants to kill the prat they can go ahead, and I might even help!”  

He valiantly ignored the chortle that suggested that Kilgharrah knew more than he, “none of us can choose our destinies, Emrys, and none can escape it.”

“No.  No way.  No way.  No.”  He kneaded his eyes with the heels of his palms, before sending Kilgharrah a desperate look.  “There must be another Arthur because this one’s an idiot.”

“Some things never change,” Mr Kilgharrah murmured fondly, so quiet that Merlin doubted that he had heard correctly.  “Perhaps it is your destiny to change all of that.  Now go, I can feel Gaius’ displeasure from here.”

Merlin frowned - he had never understood why his uncle and his neighbour hated each other so… perhaps one of them played their music too loud back in the day.  He snorted at the thought before looking back to Kilgharrah, “oh, come on.  I need to know more, surely!”

He was shoved out of the door as a harsh glow of gold illuminated Mr Kilgharrah’s eyes and lit up the edges of a small wrinkled tattoo ill-concealed by the cuff of his shirt - a dragon.

A few hours after distressing revelations at the hands of the Great Dragon (hey, if Merlin got a stupid nickname, then so did he), Merlin was stretched out on his bed, straining his eyes as he stared into the too-bright screen of his laptop, searching for the error in his code.  With a groan he shoved it aside, picking up his well-thumbed book of magic.  Gaius had gifted it to him when he first arrived in London and he’d read it from cover to cover several times, imagining the feeling of wielding such spells as were described yet never quite daring.  He flicked idly through it now, his mind wandering along unconnected paths mixed of destiny, the lumpiness of his mattress which could, thinking about it, simply be the corner of a book concealed beneath the duvet, and whether there was a spell to find errors in computer codes - he resolved to ask Gaius.  And speaking of…

“Oy!”

Merlin dropped the book and looked up at the irritated man stood at the threshold of his room, holding up a shirt abandoned and forgotten at least a day ago.

“Have you seen the state of this room?”

Merlin shrugged, following Gaius’ gaze as it trailed over clothes on the floor, papers in disarray in various positions about the room and the cups on his desk that he’d never been bothered to return.  He felt a small twinge of guilt at Gaius’ wince when he saw the disorganised pile of confidential files on sorcerers that shouldn’t have been removed from the office.  It faded fairly quickly when he was glared at.

“It just happens.”

“By magic?”

“Yeah!”

“Then you can clean it up without magic.”  He threw some clothes at Merlin, his near-perfect aim covering his nephew’s grimacing face with an unwashed shirt from two days previous.  “And when you’re done you can come down to dinner; I’d like to hear what cryptic nonsense Kilgharrah fed you today.”

Wasn’t that just brilliant?

                                                               *

Merlin watched himself approach Arthur with hand outstretched.  

Except, that wasn’t him.  And it certainly wasn’t Arthur.  At least, he didn’t think so… he’d never have put Arthur down as one for dressing up for a knight, and he wasn’t really one for wearing pyjamas out and about - were they pyjamas?  The top at least seemed far too thin to be a normal top.

The only thing that stayed the same was that they scuffled, fighting and sniping at each other even against the unfamiliar backdrop of a castle.

Camelot, Merlin’s mind supplied.  This was Camelot.

Arthur’s arrogance still shone out like the sun (as did his bright blue eyes) and Merlin still hated his guts, even whilst he was vaguely aware that this was a dream.

Was this a dream?  It all seemed so familiar…

He didn’t remember it in the morning.

                                                              *

Sleep deprived (though he wasn’t sure why) and grumpy, Merlin near jumped out of his skin when a coffee was placed on his desk.

“Morgana Pendragon.”  An outstretched hand was shoved into Merlin’s face in tandem with the introduction and he shook it gingerly, suddenly slightly afraid to touch the coffee fetched for him, lest it turn out to be caffeine based revenge on behalf of her brother by a pencil-skirt wearing, very much intimidating, dark-haired witch (witch?).  “I heard what you did to my brother,” she continued, taking a seat, “and I wanted to congratulate you.  There’s not many that can hold their own against him.”

“I- th-thanks?”

Morgana giggled at Merlin’s nerves, “no need to be frightened of me.  I’m not going to hurt you,”  she gave him an appraising look, taking in his loose tie, roughly shoved up cuffs and disheveled hair.  “In fact, you’re rather cute and clearly innocent, so I’m adopting you.”

“You are?”

“Yep.”  She smiled to herself, clearly pleased by her own charity.  “Expect coffee and hot chocolate at random intervals, and if my brother’s a dick I’ll sort him out.”

“Ok…”  Merlin didn’t dare argue with Morgana Pendragon, and at least she didn’t want to kill him (probably.  This could still be a complicated scheme to get him to let his guard down).  It seemed safer to accept the drinks and privately decide not to involve her in whatever rivalry he and Arthur had going, nor get himself involved in their sibling rivalry.

A day of hot chocolate deliveries passed quickly, and Merlin soon found himself packing up to leave.  He hadn’t encountered Arthur all day and had already begun to bond with Morgana who, whilst still intimidating, was less terrifying whilst alternating between laughing at jokes and complaining about the broken copier in her office (no one knew where it was to fix it).

He ambled through the corridors, knowing that Gaius had left early (“A privilege of old age, Merlin.”) and that his train wasn’t due for half an hour.  His eye caught on a flash of blond hair through a window and he paused to watch - Arthur and his agents were training, beating each other to the approval of Uther Pendragon, the head of the agency and (though they weren’t meant to mention it) the father of Arthur and adopted father of Morgana.  Despite being in no way interested in Arthur and his posse’s skill, Merlin halted and watched the display - and he didn’t in any way admire the clear talent Arthur had with his knives, nor the way he hit the bullseye with nearly every bullet, nor the way that, despite being a prat, he was clearly a good looking prat.

The exhibit ended after a few minutes and Merlin picked up the bags he’d placed down without noticing, ready to leave, when he saw a glinting blade in someone’s hand.  He wracked his brain for the name of the disobedient agent - Valiant, a brutish man with high kill rate and booming laugh reserved for when his subordinates suffered.

Why was he holding a knife?

No one else was looking at him, they were too busy sunning themselves in Uther’s praise.  So no one saw when Valiant raised his arm to aim at the back of Arthur’s head.

And no one saw the glint of gold flare in Merlin’s eyes as time slowed around him, allowing him free movement to drop his bags and charge in.  When time returned to its normal progression he was beside the rogue agent, slamming him to the floor with a push that sent Merlin tumbling, too.

But people did see the commotion, the curse of Valiant as his knife flew through the air into a wall far from Arthur’s head.  And they did see Merlin’s heaved breath of relief, and his vague motion to handcuffs before a large pair of hands was wrapped around his scrawny neck.

One well-aimed bullet and Valiant was no more, slumped to the floor as blood and greyish, pinkish tissue littered the surrounding area; Merlin was heartily glad that none got on him, else he was certain he would have vomited.  As it was, he shakily rose to his feet, rubbing at his bruised throat and swallowing down nausea.

“You saved my best man’s life,” Uther gaped.  “A debt must be repaid.”

“Oh, well…”

“Don’t be so modest, you shall be rewarded.”

“No, honestly, you don’t have to.”  (Why was he so eager to add ‘Sire’ or ‘Your Majesty’ or something similarly embarrassing to the end of that sentence?)

“No, absolutely.  This merits something quite special.”

“Well…”

“You will be given a promotion,” Uther paused dramatically, addressing the room as a king might his court.  “In addition to your current duties, you will be Agent Pendragon’s handler!”

The room burst into applause as Merlin stared, horrified.

“Fath- Sir!”  Arthur cried out, just as distressed.

The pair shared one scandalized glance before looking away again, united in this shared trauma.

He definitely wasn’t sulking in his room when Gaius came in, having received an email warning him that Merlin’s time would be taken up with Arthur’s missions.

“Seems you’re a hero then.”

“Hard to believe, isn’t it?  And I’ve been punished for it!”

Gaius laughed at the depressed warlock lying with his face crushed into his pillows.  “No, I can believe it.  You saved my life the first time we met, remember?  And you were only a child.”

Merlin smothered a smile at the memory (he was sulking damn it!  Wait, no, he wasn’t sulking).  “Not really a child.”

“No, not really.”  Gaius looked at the young man and thought of who he’d been way back when, the day he’d walked into Gaius’ home armed with only a backpack, college application, and a grin, before preventing him from breaking his neck on the stairs with his skills.  With his magic.  “But you’ve been looking for a purpose for your magic for a long time… perhaps Kilgharrah is right.  Perhaps this is it.”

“What?”

“I know you used magic to save Arthur’s life.”

Merlin looked up from the pillow with a grimace, looking for all the world like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar.  “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise.  This must be its purpose.”

Merlin sighed, sitting up and running a hand through already tousled hair, “my destiny.”

“Perhaps that’s rather dramatic,” Gaius chuckled, placing a comforting hand on Merlin’s shoulder, “but yes, your destiny.”

Merlin’s phone rang from the desk - he picked it up with a confused frown, before scowling as a flustered sounding helper squeaked down the phone, “Agent Pendragon wants you right away!”

“Well, Merlin,” Gaius smirked, “your destiny’s calling.  You better go see what he wants.”

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[sylvaniaschoolofmagic]

The Frustrations of Flight

[Sonic’s first flying lesson comes with some... unforeseen obstacles.]

Flying class was something that Sonic was endlessly looking forward to. He was going to get to learn how to fly around on a magic broomstick, something every kid dreams about when they first hear stories about witches and magic. And no matter how lackluster his skills with magic were, he did have something he believed in-- his body. He was just eleven, sure, but he was more physically fit than almost everyone else in his year, and a bunch of the upperclassmen too. Holding onto and balancing on a broom sounded like it would be a fun challenge, and a completely doable one at that.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t find out for sure, since he couldn’t get his broom up into the air. He was standing with his hand over his broom, commanding “up!” at it like the rest of the Gryffindor and Slytherin first years. But while the other students’ brooms eventually went up into their rider’s hands, some snapping up quickly like Jet’s or rolling around on the ground for a while before lazily floating up like the small girl’s broom next to him, Sonic’s barely moved. He thought he saw the broom twitch once or twice, but with his luck, that was just the wind.

“Yah gotta command ya broom with confidence!” Professor Marine (flying was only taught to first years, so it didn’t require a single professor dedicated to it. The teachers tended to rotate who taught it every year) announced to the whole group, though Sonic could tell the comment was directed towards him. He frowned, his jaw set. He was confident. He wasn’t scared like some of the other kids were, he wasn’t nervous. He was excited! If he could just! Get! The darn! Broom! Up!

“Come oooon get uuuuup,” he groaned, allowing more frustration into his voice than he probably should have, but he did everything exactly as Marine had showed him and it hadn’t been working. “Uuuuup up up up up up up up. Up. Up. Up up up,” he chanted, as if saying the words in rhythm would help. The broom didn’t budge, not even an inch.

The hedgehog grew uncomfortable as his classmates were starting to look at him. He was one of the only ones left who hadn’t gotten their broom to listen, and even the few kids who weren’t holding their brooms at least had them up and moving. He tried his best to ignore them, but it was hard when he could feel all those eyes on him, and even harder when he could hear Jet’s stifled laughter a little ways down the line. He clenched his teeth and stiffened his fingers.

“Easy there sprout,” he heard Marine say quietly behind him. “Ya don’t wanna be threatening your broom. Ya gotta trust it, but it’s gotta trust you too, alright? Keep workin’, you’ll get it soon.” She offered him a smile and a thumbs up before she addressed the class as a whole again. “Okay everyone, on your brooms! Ah’m gonna show ya how to kick off and hover, so pay attention!” She walked off back to the ‘front’ of the field in which they all stood.

Sonic’s shoulders drooped, and he only half paid attention to what Marine was saying now. If he couldn’t even get his broom off the ground, what was the point of learning to fly the thing? He was sure he could get the hang of flying, but his magic was getting in the way of that. Why was it always his magic? He sighed, looking down at the inanimate broom that lay by his feet. Maybe he’d been given a dud by mistake? Maybe this was just an ordinary sweeping broom, and not the flying kind. Was there a difference? It was hard to tell with wizards. They just enchanted everything willy nilly.

“Up,” he said quietly, feeling disheartened. As he expected, the broom didn’t move. He tried to figure out what he was doing wrong, but as far as he could tell, he was doing what everyone else had been doing. Stand next to broom, put hand over broom, say “up” and don’t be afraid of it. A fairly simple checklist, but apparently there was some secret fourth item on that list that everyone knew about but him. He kept his eyes tilted downward, trying to ignore the students who were starting to kick off the ground and float about five feet into the air. Chaos, this was embarrassing, being the only one stuck on the ground. He wished he could just run out of there, blast away and leave a sonic boom in his wake. Running was his element. At least he was good at that. But for some reason or another, everything Sylvania had thrown at him during his first couple of weeks was the exact opposite, going right over his head instead of sticking.

Sonic tapped his sneakered toes impatiently against the ground as he kept trying to coerce his broom to move. His ears flicked with the woosh of his classmates flying overhead, Marine helping them get the hang of taking off and landing.

“Having trouble, Hedgehog?” Jet sneered, touching down gracefully right next to Sonic. Sonic looked up at him for a second, clearly annoyed, but said nothing. Jet scoffed. “Not like this stuff is any problem for a wizard like me. I was practically born on a broom, after all.”

“I thought birds hatched?”

The hawk furrowed his brow and took a step towards Sonic. “Real cute, Blue. You think you’re smarter than me or something? It’s an expression, of course I hatched, smartass.”

Sonic merely rolled his eyes. “Go away, Jet. I’m sorta busy over here.”

“Yeah, sure, real busy, it looks like.” Jet rested his broom on his shoulder, leaning all his weight on one foot and puffing out his chest like a pompous jerk. “That’s why I came over here! I thought you might want some advice from a guy like me. I’ve already been flying for years, after all. I’m practically a master-- Eggman’s even letting me try out for the Slytherin Quidditch team, and you normally have to be in second year before you can even think about trying out.”

“Look, can you go brag somewhere else? Preferably somewhere out of earshot?” Sonic scowled at him, his fingers slowly curling into frustrated fists. He was already in a bad mood, and Jet being all in his face like this was only making matters worse. Being terrible at all things magic sucked enough as it was, he didn’t need to get made fun of for it.

“Out of earshot, huh? Well, let me see,” the Slytherin said, mounting his broom and taking off into the air again. He flew about ten feet away before he stopped and turned around. “How’s this? This quiet enough for ya?” He floated back another ten feet, smirking now. “How ‘bout now? It’s hard to tell, since you’re still stuck on the ground and all--”

“Shut. Up!” Sonic shouted at Jet, his fists clenched hard at his sides. He flinched when he felt something lightly tap on his knuckles, and he looked down to see his broom floating beside him. He blinked, wondering why his broom only reacted now. He quickly grabbed hold of it before it could decide to fall back down again, and he swung one leg over the handle. The broom felt solid under him, like it wasn’t going to give out and he could rest his full weight on it. The hedgehog sent a smug grin Jet’s way, the Slytherin looking positively flabbergasted.

Barely having to even think about it, Sonic kicked off the ground, floating up to Jet’s level by gently tilting the broomstick upward. Just as he suspected, he didn’t have a problem balancing on it as it moved, his core muscles strong enough to keep him centered at all times. He stopped once he was next to Jet, smiling wide while his rival could only scowl. “Hey, what do you know, you were a big help after all. Thanks, Jet!”

“I-I… You-- This was just a fluke!” Jet sputtered, fuming. “Don’t you sass me, hedgehog!”

Sonic laughed as he started to fly away from Jet and back towards the others. “Don’t dish out what you can’t take, Hawk!”

[magpiewritingthing]

grab a new lifeline / 1

Chapter: 1; they do not shred him

Series: traditionalist wesen, remixed

Overall Summary: Now that Rolan’'s got one foot in the proverbial door, he’s on the slow(, slow, realllly slow) path to forging a friendship -- or at least an acquaintenceship -- with Monroe The Blutbad. Wesen dynamics will be changing, baby!

Not that the Bauerschwein’s ever taken other factors into consideration, ever. Such as: traditional Wesen; his own housemates being their unpredictable selves; a Grimm, who is also a cop; a serial killer; Monroe’s other friends, both present and past.

Oh, and his Purely Hypothetical Crush blowing up into something a little too real. Life’s a shin-kicker like that.

Chapter Summary: Roland comes home from his walk in the woods, and comes to a revelation about his brief (and awkward) encounter with a Blutbad. His housemates are less than impressed. And a body is found.

Warnings: mention of domestic violence and child abuse (in the past) in the latter half of this chapter; mention of murder

Other notes: i am... winging this; also, i also took liberties with the multiple variation of Taureus-Armenta and my latin is like practically nonexistant but lmao :’); also-also, mild innuendo and sex jokes

The breath is still rattling out of him when he gets home, stumbling up the front porch with now-wobbly legs. Angel, while sitting in such a way on the porch rocker that’ll likely give his back grief later, gives him a funny look. Probably because Roland can't keep the goofy-ass smile off his face for a more than three seconds.

“What’s got ya?” Angel asks before Roland has a chance to escape inside and hide in his bedroom.

“Nothin’,” he mumbles at the door, out of reflex. No reason for it, other than the creeping sensation that he should be embarrassed. Because the whole thing’s ridiculous, he knows, but— “No it’s just—” He stumbles, licking his lips and huffing: getting his thoughts clear. “I… met someone.” He jerks his head in the general direction of where they'd met. “In the woods.”

Which he probably shouldn’t’ve said because now Angel’s got that look on his face. “Ohhhhh?” he drawls, left forefinger tucked into the junction between finger and thumb, right forefinger poised. “You mean like—” Right pointer, meet left vacuum; please get to know each other intimately. “‘Cooling off’ with the luckiest—”

Angel doesn’t get much further than that before Roland thumps his shoulder, and even though he laughs, it hurts like Hell because Roland for sure has razors in his knuckles and the hammering force of… mmm, yeah, a hammer. “No, not like that, you asshole!” Roland isn’t laughing, but he is grinning, cheeks and ears pinker at the suggestion. “You’re fuckin’ nasty, A.”

“Virgin.”

“Pervert.”

Angel tuts, wagging his finger in Roland’s face. “Touché, mon frère; you got me there.” They both laugh at that, too: their own little rhyming joke. And, at least in Roland’s eyes, it’s an affirmation of affection, even when they get in each other’s faces. He’s come to cherish it, quietly, and all the other small phrases and actions, because Angel is hardly ever… honest with himself, never full-on affectionate or willing to settle down for a heart-to-heart when things flare up. Like an argument over what would be the best way to approach an interview or questionnaire or no you should totally go for this vs. no i can’t—

“Earth to Roly-Poly!”

“Yeah.” He slaps his friend’s arm out of his face. “Fuck off, man.”

“You fuck off; I’m chillin’.” Then, contrary, “Who’d you meet out there if you weren’t getting’ it oooon?” Complete with awful, cheesy hip movements. Why’re they friends again?

Now Roland is self-conscious. Again. Because what if Angel freaks out over a Blutbad, even if he doesn't know where they live? “It— uh… Blutbad.”

When his friend’s eyebrows drop into a concerned frown (he doesn't ever do outright fear, too wrapped up in preserving his self-image), so does Roland’s stomach. “I mean I’m alive, so it’s not bad—”

“How.” Rising out of the rocker, he looms over Roland by a full head. Grasping the sides of Roland's face, he asks, “How’re you alive, man?” And although this concern is touching (to the point of being embarrassing because jeez, it’s like he’s never been hugged as a child), he can only blurt out, dumbly, “Wieder.”

“… Ah.” The relief settles over Angel’s face, relaxing it into the usual smile (or near enough, the momentary concern still lingering), dimples deepening. He lets go of Roland’s face. “Veggie-friendly wolfman.”

“Yeah. Rabbit-friendly, too. Cutesy sorta…” He shrugs, eyes to the side because Monroe flashes in his head again: Monroe holding the rabbit; Monroe in woge; Monroe in a more comfortable stance; Monroe walking towards him; Monroe walking away. “… thing.”

The smile turns into a cheeky grin, as though knowing. “Is he?”

“Awhh, dude, no—”

“Have you got like, a thing for dudes who can kill you? Is that your thing?”

“Fuckin’… maybe!”

“Awh, baby virgin has a death-wish crush on a veggie wolfman!”

“I do not!”

Before they can argue any more – Roland’s face growing pinker by the second and Angel’s grin growing wide enough to encompass his face – Winona’s car pulls up. It’s just after half-past seven, and only now are Kenna and Winona coming home. One would think a teacher and administrative assistant would be home sooner than that. “You’re late for dinner!” Angel calls, nudging past Roland to go inside.

“Incredible,” Kenna mutters, “the house hasn’t burned down.”

“It’s probably microwave meals, let’s be honest,” Roland joins in.

“Fuck y’all,” is the welcoming indignant noise to all three as the file in the front door and towards the kitchen/dining room.

“Fuck me running a marathon, I’m starving,” Winona says, immediately swinging open the pantry door and squinting at tins upon tins of beans, corn, baby carrots, baby potatoes, and garden peas. “We got anything else?”

“Pizza,” Angel says as he cranks the oven on.

“Fuck’s sake—”

“Couldn’t be assed buying anything else today so we’re gobbling on shit. Again.”

Further half-hearted squabbling over food washes over Roland as he begs silently for Angel not to bring up the topic of Monroe up anytime soon. Or at all. Neither prayer seems at all likely – having lived a year and six months with the other man, Roland knows what to expect by now – but it never harms to at least try. Kenna, for her part, is quiet. Tired from another day of kids and keeping them engaged, he supposes. He’s not asked yet, and can't find a way that doesn't come off as right-out odd, but he hopes the kids like her as much as she enjoys teaching them.

“So, anyway,” Angel starts, and yes Roland knew it was inevitable but he’s rolling his eyes anyway, praying that Angel is only leading into this with that teasing vibe only to swerve onto something completely different— but he doesn’t. Natch. “Didja hear about Roly’s iddy-diddy crush?”

Winona leans back, mock-gasping, “No!” while Kenna leans forward, elbows on the table, asking, “Really? Aww.”

“Yep – on a Blutbad.”

The girls choke; Winona bangs the table and shakes her head while Kenna splutters, “what! what! are you shitting me! what!” At least it’s perked her up a bit; makes her look lively and less likely to fall face-first and full-asleep into her food.

Then Angel has the gall to be placating, and Roland can only muster up so much energy to glare at him. Panache: Angel’s got it in spades. “Now, now, ladies, it’s A-OK – the dude’s Wieder. Veggie reform.”

Both women scoff; Winona slaps the table again, and Kenna mutters, “Fucking Hell, but a Blutbad? Roly, honey… really?” Her eyebrows scrunch together in her confusion, and she only turns her head when Winona excuses herself from the table. “’m tired, g’night, y’all, Blutbad-fuckers and none alike.” A garbled chorus blesses her winddown-to-actual-bedtime way (“G’night babe.” “I'm not even—” “Nighty-night, lamb.”), and she waves as she trudges upstairs to her and Kenna's bedroom, either to read or translate a book.

Dishes are cleaned and dried and put away, and the remaining three perform their own winddown rituals: Kenna scampers up to one half of the attic, having claimed the eastern half of it as her “study” room (the other half belongs to Leopoldo); Roland drags out his sketchbook from his bedside drawer, along with pencils and pens, and sets to doodling on the fold-out couch he’s got squashed in one corner of his boxy bedroom; Angel watches a How It's Made episode, and he almost considers calling the others down, because they all share a casual interest in this sort of thing, but as it is, he's settled down and far too comfy to move.

Angel considers ignoring the knocking at the door, too, even when they call out that it’s the police, and it is rather urgent. Now, not that his friends have much of a clue, but the memory of a blue boy’s (or blue girl’s) knock is ingrained into his memory – father and mother being the reason that they came in the first place, upsetting and scaring the neighbours (and him) with all sorts of noises. It doesn’t bother him at present, not just because he’s done nothing wrong (might’ve… broke a girl’s heart, once or twice or thrice, but he’s always smoothed it out before) (and not recently, anyway), but because he has nothing to fear. He could probably charm the pants off any person if he were actually human, he’s sure.

Still, there’s no need to irritate, so with great reluctance he heaves himself up off the sofa (that’ll probably end up in the basement in five years’ time), and heads towards the door, noting Roland’s hesitant presence at the top of the stairs before he hides behind the wall again. Nothing to think of, as Roland likes being ‘sneaky’ and an eavesdropper, so when Angel opens the door, he’s not expecting much of anything. Probably the only thing that's ‘urgent’ is that there’s been another string of robberies.

“Evenin’, y’all. What can I do you for?” Off the bat, it sounds ridiculous to hear from his own mouth, but he liked the idea of it rolling off of his tongue so easily. Just some chipper dude enjoying the last dregs of the evening before tuckering off to bed to fetch his sleep before the long work day ahead of him.

At least, as chipper as he can be considering the cop in front of him is a Grimm.

Cold blue, then cold darkness, infinite, stretching long like visible neurons and only his face, his real face is staring back and it is like that old Nietzsche saying, isn’t it?

The cop barely reacts, his face only steeling with realisation. Angel’s only vaguely aware of Roland trotting down the stairs (thumpthump, thumpthump, thumpthump) when the cop – Detective Burkhardt – tells him there’s been a suspicious death in the woods. His partner, Detective Griffin, stands a few feet behind him.

“Oh,” is Angel’s empty reply as he slides in to fill the frame of the front door, trying to block Roland from seeing the Grimm at their door, and keep the Grimm from knowing that there’s more than one Wesen living in the house. They’re all of the harmless variety anyway, so even if he weren't a cop, he’d have no business messing with them. Yet the panic doesn’t leave, only intensifying with the gasp and strangled, “Oh, shit.” At least Roland’s trying to keep his shit under wraps, even if he is now visible and motionlessly panicking under the Grimm’s eye.

Burkhardt, for his part, is acting professionally while the two of them freak out. “Have either of you heard or seen anything?” They both answer in the negative. When Griffin asks how long they’ve been home (suspect list suspect list suspect list), Angel says that he was home since four in the afternoon after finishing up some handywork in the inner city. Roland struggles to remember when he came home.

“I think it was a bit before Kenna and Winni, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Angel agrees, “you came back from…” He spares Burkhardt a glance, “From the woods after your walk.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Roland bites his lip, and adds, mouth running a thousand miles a minute, “I took a walk earlier after we’d gone over some job applications.”

“We?” Burkhardt repeats. Behind him, Griffin shifts his stance, glancing at his partner; the tone was perhaps too sharp for just a simple door-to-door inquiry.

Roland squeezes into the frame, gesturing helplessly at his friend. “He helped me because I get stressed out when going through paperwork.”

Both Wesen are now sure they’ve fallen into the trap of over-explaining themselves: methinks the suspect doth protest too much. In any case, Burkhardt isn’t giving anything away.

“Alright, so what time did you leave, Mr…?”

“Uh, Hoffmann.” Pause, glance at Angel. “Roland.” Clears his throat. “Uh, I think it was… was it around four?”

“No, that’s when I came back, dot-on. You and me went over that paperwork and questionnaire stuff and you went and cleared your head about… five? Ish?”

Another quick look at the Grimm; not a thing from him.

“So yeah, and you came back about seven thirty – wow, you were gone long.”

This time, a trickle of interest on both of the detectives’ faces, and Roland panics.

“I was just walking, man,” he protests, shuffling a quarter-inch further into the house, “I didn’t do anything.”

“Was there anyone else you bumped into who looked suspicious?” Griffin asks, his tone more casual than his partner’s.

“No—” Roland shrugs and frowns. “No-one I thought was suspicious.” A sort-of lie: Monroe The Blutbad sticks out, but… he let the rabbit go. He let the frigging rabbit go, and for fuck’s sake the dude’s Wieder. “I just met one guy in the woods.” He tries for joviality: “I think he’s more the rabbit person than a killer, though.” Of course, it falls flat.

Griffin nods slowly, as if deciding that it’s time to call it a night before Burkhardt can ask any more questions, which is just as well because if he asks anything about their other housemates, there’d be chaos: Winona would break down blubbering under the scrutiny of a police officer even when innocent, and Kenna would stonewall them at every turn; Leo and Elham might be more cooperative, wary as they might be (being no better than the girls, really); Charalampos and Sophia would… well, they might be better with the police, but only if it weren’t posed as some sort of challenge, because they were must stubborn (natch, as Taureus-Armentum).

“Alright, if there’s anything else,” Griffin reaches forward with a number on plain card, “call us.”

“Will do,” is Roland's automatic answer.

Once the two detectives leave, the door is locked and the ground floor is double-checked to make sure the windows and back door are also closed and locked; their other friends have their own keys, so they’ll be able to get in without struggle. The looming promise – “There’ll be someone to come and take your statements tomorrow morning.” – leaves a bad taste in Roland’s mouth.

“Who died?”

Kenna hangs back on the stairs, Winona staying on the landing; it’s likely that she barricaded the bedroom if she ever looked out of the window and saw the cop car, or even so much as heard the word police when they first knocked.

“Dunno,” Angel says, and he instantly sounds more like his usual self – less strung-out, more so-laid-back-he's-horizontal. “We didn't ask, and they just said it was a suspicious death.”

“One of ‘em was a Grimm,” Roland blurts out, and Kenna swears while Winona moans lowly and sags against the wall.

“Oh fuck me fucking sideways, then.”

“Babe,” Winona whines, half-hiccuping, half trying to laugh.

“TMI, hon,” Angel says. Again, lightheartedness falls flat, and dies.

The panicked buzz over the ‘suspicious death’ and the new knowledge of a Grimm blankets them as they retire to bed. The promise of someone on the police force coming over tomorrow to take their statements feels more like a threat, something to trip them up and wrangle a confession out of them.

But it’s not the police, or the death of a person yet unknown, that take precedence in Roland's mind once he’s pulled the covers over his body. It’s the woged face of Monroe The Blutbad, and a rabbit in his hands. More than the panicked dread over the next morning that’s threatening to drag his body into a sleepless, restless night, his head is light with stupid, optimistic hope.

Wieder Wieder Wieder Wieder Wieder--

He dreams of teeth. They do not shred him.