#thought some of you might like a look into how the sausage is made

[lookninjas]

So I actually have a story about how the cover art for this last issue of FUCKIT came to be. 

For those who follow me and don’t blog the FUCKIT: the zine tag (thank you for that, by the way), you’ll probably remember that when I was recruiting for submissions, the image I was using was this guy:

Super fun, right?  Definitely suits the theme of “countering a culture.”  Hideously relevant, what with all the drag bans and everything.  I’d put a lot of time into it (the tackiest art is always the hardest), and I’d enjoyed the time I put into it and I was very attached to it and that was the direction for the issue, I was sure.

I also made that decision back in, like, October.  By February, shit had changed. 

Some of that’s just February, to be fair.  Winter is rough, and the end is the roughest part.  Melancholy is a natural element of the season.  Some of it was Terry Hall dying back in December, which got me back into a lot of music I hadn’t really listened to for a long time, which got me thinking about different things (as music always does).  All the bits and pieces of ideas I’d been rolling over to find subject matter for the zine didn’t really compel me anymore.  None of the ideas that did appeal to me really matched up with smirking John Waters on the Cross.  But letting go of the concept seemed short-sighted, and potentially self-indulgent.  What if people had been writing to the theme I’d presented, with the imagery I’d given them, and then I changed it last second?

Then I read @ximen​‘s piece for the zine.

I know no one’s had a chance to read it yet apart from me (although that’s obviously going to change for several of you in the next couple of weeks, depending on shipping times, and also you can get the zine here), but to give some kind of context:  One of the running themes of the piece is Eric Clapton’s not-nearly-as-infamous-as-it-ought-to-be, deeply racist rant at a concert in 1976.  If you’re not interested in reading it -- well, don’t blame you.  It’s unforgivably bad, and his attempts to walk it back have been not terribly great, actually.  However.  Something genuinely good came out of Clapton’s bullshit, and that was Rock Against Racism, a group of musicians and activists who put on show after show after show in the UK and the USA to fight back against the rising tide of racism, facism, and nationalism.  Over the course of five years, RAR worked to unite ordinary people to fight against groups like the National Front, and inspired people to get involved by founding their own RAR groups, hosting their own RAR concerts and festivals...

And starting bands, of course, like a little group from Coventry that started off as the Coventry Automatics, and eventually became the Specials. 

(pictured:  Terry Hall and Neville Staple of the Specials at a RAR concert in Leeds)

I’ve always been a big fan of provocation.  I love it.  I think people need to be rattled up a bit sometimes.  But I’ve also always been a big fan of earnest, sincere, dirty-handed work, in the power of ordinary people in sufficient numbers to make a real difference, and that’s what RAR represents to me.  That’s what the Specials represent to me, and that’s what Terry Hall represented to me. 

They didn’t free the world from racism, and that’s okay.  “You are not obligated to complete the work, but neither are you free to abandon it,” and all.  But they saw the way the culture was moving, and they worked to counter it.  And, you know, Enoch Powell never got anywhere despite having Clapton on his side, so you can’t say they did nothing, either.

So I changed the cover of the zine, to give tribute to them, and to give Clapton the finger one more time.

The theme for next month’s zine is currently the Specials-inspired, “We Sell Hope.”  What that’s going to look like, coming out in a Pride month that sees the LGBTQ+ community under attack in hundreds of ways, I can’t possibly imagine.  I might bring John on the Cross back.  I might do something else.  Hopefully, I’ll be working on some voter registration stuff at that point, although we’ll see how it goes.  However it goes, hopefully we’ll see you there.

Remember:  Make art, help people.

[vaaaaaiolet]

You take it upon yourself to spice up your husband's work lunches at Rebecca's encouragement, and Leon nearly dies in the process. Is Hello Kitty really a killer? Leon, for one, is convinced she's up to no good.

f / m, you're married to older leon!, crack treated seriously, fluff, slice of life, the dso is just one big happy family because i said so, bento boxes and happy ending but maybe not for chris (i still love my peanut buster king)

word count: 1.4k // read on ao3

a/n: inspired by rrcherrypie's hello kitty bento box video that i watched religiously as a kid. this entire fic is a shitpost tbh LMAO this is my government mandated apology for a story where no one goes anywhere <3 go check it out if you haven't yet!

Ever since his cop days, Leon’s learned that you can’t trust anyone whose hands aren’t in plain sight and well, Hello Kitty’s emblazoned face staring up at him from the kitchen counter doesn’t exactly have hands. Or arms.

Leon scrunches his nose at her and opts to wrap his own arms around your waist instead.

“Doll.”

“Hm?” 

Leon lines the side of your neck with kisses as carrot coins and cucumber slices fall serenely away at your knife. 

“Whatcha doin’?” he prods.

You neatly sweep the vegetables into the Hello Kitty bento box and give your attention-hungry husband a kiss to tide him over, but it’s not quite enough to satiate. Octopus sausages stare back at him with pointy sesame seed eyes, and Leon grows more unsettled by the minute.

He’s done playing nice; gives your hip a pinch. “Come on, you’re killing me here. What’s with all the arts and crafts?”

“Now, before you say anything,” your voice is soft and placating and giving him all the more reason to worry, "‘Becca came by to visit me the other day and said she really liked what I made you for lunch last week.”

“So this is for her?” Leon breathes a sigh of relief. He was starting to thin-

“No, this is for you, silly!”

And you laugh like it’s funny.

“I thought I should start putting in some more effort into your food. You’re away for work so often, and I don’t get to make you nice things as much as I want to.”

Leon chokes a little and looks back down at Hello Kitty’s gleaming metal face. “This is…what I’m taking to work?”

Your face falls. “What, you don’t like it?”

“No, doll, it looks delicious but…you really didn’t have to go all out. Your sandwiches are just fine. I don’t wanna give you the trouble, y’know?” 

“No trouble at all, baby,” you practically sing the words as you twirl to add your knife to a precarious tower of dishes in the sink, “you just say the word, and I can make you bento boxes every week.”

Every week?

You cup a soapy palm to Leon’s cheek as his gaze descends into a thousand-yard stare to rival Hello Kitty’s. “I think your friends might even be excited about your lunch now!”

Oh, absolutely. Chris was going to have a field day.

Chris completely loses his shit as predicted.

“Oh, Leon, it’s adorable,” Rebecca chimes in hopefully as Chris coughs into his fist, “you should have seen how excited she was when I gave her the box!”

The frustrated ceramic click of Leon’s teeth is somehow audible over Chris’ uncivilized howling. “So this was your idea?”

She gives him a sheepish chuckle.

“Rebecca, I thought we were friends,” he pleads as he picks up his metal fork. The team hovers over Leon’s shoulders like vultures to eye what his wife’s made him for lunch. 

To your credit, it’s a mealtime Michelangelo. There are Sanrio-themed rice balls of both the brown and white variety, vegetables neatly cut and festooned with animal picks, a beautifully folded omelet, and the ever omniscient octopus sausages. Hello Kitty’s metal face guards the entire hoard like a gargoyle. It’s enough to make Leon lose his lunch, but he’d have to have some first to cough it up.

He gives the octopus a tentative poke.

“Seriously, Leon, just man up and eat the damn thing.” Jill takes no nonsense as usual, plucking a carrot from the bed of lettuce and tossing it into her mouth. “Chris is just salty he’s having his fifth protein shake lunch of the week.”

“Am not!”

“Are too!”

It’s never quiet with those two around, but Rebecca gives him an encouraging smile as he gives the octopus a chew. It’s not bad, really. It’s just something about eating something with ey-

Rapid alarm beeps in the main compound snap the team’s attention away from the bento box affair and towards the map in the middle. Rebecca shoots off in her rolling chair to pull up what’s alerting the alarm system, and Hunnigan’s business voice projects into Leon’s earpiece.

“I hope you’ve had a satisfying lunch.” 

He wonders if Hunnigan ever eats as he shoves his bento box into the breast pocket of his leather jacket. 

She, however, is unconcerned. “You’re going to need the energy for the incident we’ve just gotten wind of downtown.”

The situation was supposed to be minor. There were rumors of King Tut’s Curse swirling amongst the museum staff after a rare shipment of Egyptian artifacts, but nobody had taken anything seriously until a janitor walked into the storage room and came back out more dead than alive. Things escalated after the infected janitor wandered into the World War II exhibit and bit the cleaning team there. The staff was horrified, the media was unhelpfully broadcasting the entire thing on live TV, and the DSO had blessedly quieted the whole thing down on that end before directing the case to Leon’s team as a classic T-virus takedown operation.

Easy as pie. Except the undead cleaning crew had gotten ahold of loaded World War II guns, you know, for historical accuracy. 

It’s a cinch for the most part to evacuate the visitors from the museum. Leon ushers terrified middle schoolers out of the exhibits as fast as he can while the rest of his team rounds up the infected, and it’s a routine sweep. He just feels bad for the kiddos.

“But what about the gift sho- AHH!! ” Leon whirls around to see an Infected point a knife bayonet into a terrified sixth-grader’s face. The zombie’s finger pulls back the trigger almost cinematically, and Leon’s not stupid. He’s going to be too late.

The gun fires.

It fires a round directly into his left shoulder as he shoves the kid to safety.

Leon collapses on the ground after shooting the zombie’s head to bits, but his shoulder aches something fierce. Oh God, not again, this time he hasn’t even got Ada to patch him up. He gingerly presses two fingers to the wound and pulls them away to inspect the warm spill of blood, but surprisingly, his fingers come away clean. 

Jill comes running up as he stumbles to his feet. The last of the Infected have been wiped out, she explains frantically, pulling out a roll of gauze, and everything’s secure, but suddenly she stops to peer at his spotless bullet wound.

So it’s not just him. There was definitely a shot, and his shoulder definitely hurts like a bitch. 

But where was the bullet?

You’re chewing your nails down to the quick when Leon walks into the living room later that evening. The quiet shuffle of his shoes falling onto the stand prompts you to smother in him a warm, bakery-scented hug and take him by surprise, but he squeezes you back as much as his shoulder allows.

You sniffle into his leather-clad chest. “I’m so sorry, baby, I just- I saw the news before they stopped the broadcast and I can’t believe they sent you to deal with the riot!”

So that’s what Hunnigan fed the press this time. Practical as always.

“I can’t believe I made you go to work with that stupid lunch,” you carry on, gasping as you spot the bandage peeking through his jacket, “you didn’t like it and you could have died, I’m never-”

“I’m alright, no biggie.” Leon kisses the top of your head, taking you by the arms and sitting you down next to him on the couch. You furiously wipe a tear off your face.

“It’s not alright, I’m never making you anything you don’t like ever again. That bento box is bad juju. I’m telling Rebecca never to buy anything from that shop from now on.”

Okay, so you finally admit the box is creepy. Leon bites back a laugh. 

“Woah, doll, not so fast. You think it’s the box’s fault I got hurt?”

“What else would it be? Today’s the first time you take it to work, and then you get shot on a regular patrol.” You frown as he pulls the Hello Kitty bento out from inside his jacket. “You brought that thing home?”

He chuckles. “Take a look at it. I’ve got you to thank for saving my life.”

You squint at the tin and realize with a startle that a bullet round is lodged smack dab in the middle of Hello Kitty’s yellow nose. Like a goddamn bullseye.

The lunchbox had taken the brunt of the hit, leaving Leon unscathed.

“Incredible.” you breathe out. 

And he’s inclined to agree.

“So, doll,” Leon grins, “got any leftovers for tomorrow? Chris is a really big fan of the octopus things.”

psst, find more of my work here!

comments and reblogs are very much appreciated <3 take care and i love you!

[adarkandmagicalforest]

he who would be king

summary: free from kings landing to braavos with lord larys, aegon only wants one thing

pairing: Aegon II Targaryen/Reader, Aegon II Targaryen/Original Female Character (unnamed)

warnings: post Vhagar!Aegon, Face-Sitting, Oral Sex (Female Receiving), Fingering, Subtle Mommy Issues/Mommy Kink, Mentions of Aegon's Injuries, Reader Works in A Brothel

"Are you most certain you wish to be here, Your Grace?" Larys Strong asked him.

Almost as soon as they'd arrived in Braavos, Aegon had wanted one thing.

The brothel was a fine one. Expensive, with three floors of depravity. And yet - he could not feel it. Oh, he felt desire. He felt it everytime he saw the exposed skin of a pretty girl, everytime his thoughts wandered back to when he had a girl between his legs, his cock in her mouth. He could still feel the throbbing ache of want, needing that pleasure, that satisfaction.

But satisfaction could never be his again. His cock was gone, dead and cut away from him after Vhagar's fire made his skin go taut like that of a fat pork sausage. And it had been fat. Thick. It had always been heavy in his palm and the girl's who'd had him always gasped when he presented it to them to suck. But it was gone. Aegon felt another wave of shame and mourning wash over him, driving him to force his arm out and pick up his tankard of beer. 

Beer, not wine. Lord Larys would not even allow him a sip of anything stronger. The beer was sour and had an aftertaste of piss in his mouth after he swallowed, but if he drank enough when Larys wasn't looking, then maybe his head would finally begin to buzz pleasantly. Maybe his aching body might finally give him peace.

So Aegon drank it down. He finished half of it, but even then, a larger portion spilled onto his robes.

"Careful now, my King." Larys said, noticing. He took at a favor from his sleeve and handed it to him. He would do nothing for him but give him the chances to better himself, or so he'd said blathering weeks ago before they left Kings Landing.

He forced his hand to change position, picking up the hankerchief and dabbing it on the bad part of his face. It smelt like home, the cotton. No - he realized. It smelt like his Mother.

Larys took back his Mother's favor and tucked it away - and Aegon, wanting nothing more than to forget about it, casted his eyes to the brothel from beneath his hood.

Whores and their patrons sat on plush seating made of the most luxurious velvets and silks. Some of them, most of them actually, were still dressed. Silks in fine brocades, innocent shifts of sheer cotton. One whore, a very very expensive one it seemed, wore a gown made entirely of pearls, draping over her body while two men knelt before her, their ugly broad hands rubbing up her legs and between her thighs. One of them was licking over her knee.

This gave him an idea.

His cock might've been gone, but his tongue wasn't. His fingers weren't. He could still have a woman.

He'd had a mild interest in the acts before. Mostly he only did it because it made a woman extremely wet very quickly, which meant he could get on with it sooner.

But now, if it was the only thing he could do? He'd try it again, Aegon thought. And do it properly this time. Perhaps if he did it very, very well, he might trick his body into thinking his cock wasn't gone at all. Even the ghost of a cock would be better than no cock at all, he decided.

"I want one of these girls, Larys." He told his companion.

Larys looked at him, a neutral expression on his face. Odd little man. Aegon thought he looked like a blunt-faced weasel, even if he was the most dangerous man in the room. Had he fucked his Mother? Was that where the favor came from? Or had he stolen it away like a freak, keeping it with him while it still smelled of her? He didn't know how to feel about either possibility.

"A girl, your Grace?" He asked him quietly, his dark eyes flickering from him to the rest of the room. Aegon expected him to ask something cruel, like he might've. 'With what cock?' came to mind. But Larys didn't say that. He only wished for clarification. "Which girl?" He asked.

"Any of them." Aegon said. His hands were empty, so he reached for his beer again. "No - one with auburn hair." 

"As you wish, Your Grace." Larys said agreeably. Then, standing tall, even with the hard boot on his twisted foot, the Master of Whispers turned to find what he asked for.

Larys found him a quarter of an hour later, informing him that he'd found him a girl and a private room on the first floor. Stairs were no use to either of them.

The room was in the back of the brothel, shaded with colorful scarves and lit with ornate lanterns blown with thick glass. It smelled of sweet cherries, almonds and beeswax, all of which served to joustle his arousal. Arousal but no cock. It was a bizarre sensation, but more clear somehow.

"Your Grace, the girl you wished for is waiting inside." He told him.

They were several steps from the door, and it had a handle.

Aegon grimaced. Even then, Larys was trying to rehabilitate him. Perhaps that was why he'd allowed this. Whatever forced him to move.

The prince stepped forward, leaning heavily on the thick, white yew cane he had in order to reach his best hand out to the handle. His fingers were stiff, but once he gripped it hard, it moved easily for him.

Inside of the room was indeed a girl with auburn hair.

Long, auburn curls like autumn. She was small, delicate looking and pale, and seemed to be a similar age to him. And pretty, very pretty, especially in the pale blue dress she wore, one that had a low neckline but long flowing sleeves. 

"My lord." She greeted him with a non-accent, her voice soft and humble.

When he got closer, he saw her eyes were doe-like and warm, like the richest oak. 

"If you have need of me," Larys said from behind him, his voice sounding a hundred miles away. "I will be outside. Merely knock and I can retrieve you."

When the door closed, the whore's eyes flickered to him. To the most obvious parts first. His leg, made all wrong. His unsteady gait. His face, half melted. He was ugly. A monster. Just as Larys was, it was no wonder to him if he had stolen what he needed from his Mother, for no woman would give him what he needed willingly.

"You look like you're in pain." The girl said to him, her pretty, soft features looking sad. 

Aegon's chest twisted in an ache. "I am." He said.

To his own shock, this caused tears to well up in the girl's lovely brown eyes - and at once, she came to him, her touch as gentle as a kiss, wrapping around his waist and another to his arm. "Please," she begged him. "Come to the bed, sit. Would wine please you?" Her tears might've been falsehoods or they might've been real. But he loved them either way. Her tears made him feel seen.

"No wine." He rasped, allowing her to fuss over him as he, with her assistance, laid down onto the bed. It was covered in pillows, and without needing to be asked, the girl reached for a long plush cushion and placed it beneath his neck before he laid his head down.

Her hands were small and gentle, as if by touching him, he'd break. 

He felt small and weak. And sad. But somehow, nice.

"Come here. I want you." Aegon said then, moving himself. The bed was huge, but he wanted her next to him. He lifted his right arm, his better arm, as an obvious signal. He wanted her there, snuggled into his side. 

The girl looked hesitant, but she smiled when he gestured with two fingers at her. The motion hurt his wrist, but her smile was nice enough to be worth it.

The weight of her lithe body was even more so. The feeling of her arm wrapped around his waist while her head rested on his shoulder, fitting there neatly and perfectly - right down to her leg, which had immediately risen to rest carefully on top of his bigger one. It made him feel big and protective. Aegon moved his arm until he could place his bare hand along her waist. Petite as she was, she was soft and warm, even through her thin blue dress. He held her as close as he could, lowering his head down until his nose was buried in her loose, autumn curls. She smelled like cinnamon and black tea and warm, loving hugs.

He kissed the top of her head and the girl sighed softly, almost so he couldn't hear it. Did she like that, he wondered? Would she like him touching her more? She already seemed to like that he was holding her.

Aegon kissed her again, on her temple now. He did it gently, while his hand left, damaged hand, reached forward so he might brush his fingers along her cheek.

The girl was smiling at his kisses. He used his fingers to tilt her head up, and without needing to be asked, she turned and met his lips.

He was sure it wasn't too unpleasant to kiss him. He still had control over his mouth, so moving his lips against hers was easier than using his hands. The kisses were good, slow and deep like he'd never experienced before. And the ache returned. The ache in his ruined loins, the ache in his heart. Her lips tasted like sweet honeyed wine, intoxicating and warm - but he wanted to know what her pussy tasted like now.

"Come up here." Aegon whispered to her, distracted temporarily by the string of saliva that still connected them, the sight making him all the more eager.

"I'm already right here, my lord." She said, her hands rubbing lightly over his chest, careful not to press too hard on his burn scars.

"More. I want you here on my shoulders."

The girl blushed. The tips of her fingers paused their circles on his chest. He wanted her cunt on his tongue. 

"Oh," She said timidly. Her doe-eyes looked to the ruined side of his body, concern in their depths. "Are - are you certain, my lord? Won't I hurt you?"

"You won't," Aegon said immediately. He didn't know if it would, he didn't care. "I'll tell you - please. Please come up here." 

The girl looked into his eyes, and his heart began to thunder in his chest when she reached for the ties to her dress.

Before he had any proper thoughts, he croaked out, "No. No, just come here. Pull your skirts up."

She did as he asked. 

Aegon looked eagerly, hungrily as she got up onto her knees, moving up the bed until finally she was straddling his shoulders. That low want in his pelvis had become a full inferno, and he wanted to satisfy it. 

He kissed at her thighs as his hands moved to her hips with more haste than his left shoulder appreciated. But she sighed again, a private sigh of enjoyment that he hoped desperately was not faked. His lips moved along the tops of her stockings and closer to her cunt, which smelled heady, but was yet still too far for him to reach.

Aegon gripped her waist, pulling her slightly so she would sit.

"But - my lord, will you be able to breathe?" She protested, resisting him.

"Let me." He pleaded, desperately. He could see her - her pink pussy lips were small, but they opened like petals that were just begging him to latch onto like a  honeysuckle flower. "Please, I need you, please. Let me make you come." His fingers pulled on her skirts again. This time, she listened, lowering herself onto his mouth.

It might as well have been honey. Golden honey, caramelized and poured into mulled wine, even if it did not taste as such.

The phantom of his mutilated cock had taken root in him, just from one taste of her.

Aegon moaned, his fingers gripping her skirts tightly as he lapped at her with his tongue, every long swipe over her pretty pink pussy sending another wave of aching, needy pleasure through him. It was duller, not as fresh or forceful, but it was pleasure and he liked this. 

And it seemed the girl did too. She was squirming on his mouth, her hips moving beneath his grip as he licked her. But it seemed like she needed more, needed maybe something else.

When he had a girl between his legs, he liked his cock sucked. Not just deep, thrusted in her throat, but sucked. Suckled by the tip, until her cheeks were hollowed out, tongue sometimes swirling around the thick, mushroom-shaped head until he was ready to fuck hard.

So Aegon tried it. His tongue found the head of her pleasure, a little bud above her entrance and he focused on it. Licking and circling around it, sometimes kissing it firmly before he held her tightly and sucked. Immediately, a loud, startled moan of pleasure came from her, so much that her hand had gone to his hair, as if to hold his face hostage against her cunt. He did it again, his phantom cock sending him towards her pleasure as he hungrily continued. He'd never thought to do this much to a lady before, but now that he'd gotten a taste for it he found himself to be a voracious eater.

She'd moaned so, so loudly, her hips even beginning to rock, rubbing herself against his mouth for more. 

His right hand fumbled beneath her skirts while he suckled at her cunt, his fingers probing at her entrance awkwardly until he slid them between her petals. She was soaking, slippery, but the angle was all wrong. He couldn't do anything more but rub at her. His whine made her yelp, the vibrations making her tremble.

"O-Oh -" The auburn-haired girl whimpered. "Perhaps - my lord, I could move?"

"No!" He resisted. Even without his hands, he wanted her to come. He wanted her to soak his face and suck on his fingers and maybe find a nice blunted candlestick and fuck herself with it while he nibbled at her breasts.  

"But - please, my lord, trust me." She begged of him, moving despite his gripping hands so she could kiss him. The kiss was imploring, and he nodded his consent if just so he could keep touching her.

Her dress stayed on, as he liked. But it was pulled up, and soon she was turning around. Her leg went on the other side of his torso, and now her pussy was fully on display for him, along with the curve of her ass and the tight puckered hole just between her cheeks. She was right, this was better.

Aegon moved his hand back thrusting two of his fingers inside of her cunt. She was hot and tight, and he wriggled his fingers around to make a feel for her, readying his wrist to start pumping.

But it was then that he felt her trying to pet him.

In this position, her cheek was resting on his pelvic bone. And her hand now was petting - trying to pet, where his cock was. And it seemed she was getting disappointed with him, as there was nothing hard for her in his breeches. There was nothing at all. 

"Don't." He begged, moving his leg up. "I -" He didn't know what to say. But if he was her, he'd feel - bad. Rejected. If she hadn't been wet when he touched her, he wouldn't like it. Then, he'd know it was false. Fake, that she was pretending.

She was a whore though, no matter how talented. Of course she was faking.

But her body wasn't. Her body liked him, her body wanted him.

And his wanted hers. Badly, so badly. So, he decided to tell her, since his cock wasn't there to prove it.

"You're so beautiful," He started with. His fingers kept rubbing her from the inside, pushing in and out. "So fucking - gods you're wet. I loved tasting you. Better than any pussy I've ever tasted, I could do it all day. Just keep you with me, all day and night, and I could eat your pussy until you couldn't take it anymore."

Her fingers had gripped at his breeches at his words. And he knew she liked them, because he could feel the clench of her core around his fingers and she rocking of her hips again.

He kept going.

"I wish I could fuck you. Wish I could've come here sooner. You're so good. So fucking good, I wish I could be inside you. So warm and tight, gods fuck." Aegon's words were spilling out faster now, because she'd moaned again. His hand moved faster, fucking her with his fingers. She was getting so much wetter now, so wet that the sound of them began to get so filthy. Wet, squelching noises were coming as he thrust into her, even as the muscles in his wrist resisted it, but all that mattered was that tight, wet grip and that needy pressure in his cock and oh gods -

"I want you to come for me. Come for me, come for me, I want you, please please please - !" His lustful babbling only cut short when the sound of her moans became more and more unrestrained, when she began trembling and shaking and now more needily thrusting herself back against his fingers, urging him for more force, which he eagerly gave her.

Aegon shoved his face back between her legs, just in time for her to come. Her ecstacy filled cries at his fervent, hungry devouring of her cunt as she peaked were just what he needed to force his eyes to roll back into his head as pleasure erupted from him. If he still had his cock, his cum could've shot to the ceiling with the force that came through his phantom member. At least he still had her wetness on his face. 

And, he thought as the girl shakily rolled back to curl into his arm, on his fingers.

Aegon was still licking his digits clean when Larys knocked on the door to retrieve him.

[artbyblastweave]

I've never made any connections between Worm and the Captain America mythos before. Spill some ink?

Okay, so from a purely aesthetic perspective, the gimme is Miss Militia. She's the most obvious "Captain Patriotic" in the roster, she has the power of GUN, she's the only one who actively buys into the mythology of America specifically. She's a Kurdish woman occupying an aesthetic niche generally held by a rugged squinty white guy. She's an output of the melting pot narrative. She's sort of a rendering of what a grounded superhero who somehow became very aesthetically into America might look like. Not in the craven marketing-driven way of Homelander or Comedian, not in the jingoistic maniac way of USAgent or Peacemaker. She buys it in the broadly left-liberal (USamerican connotation of that term) safe, friendly, reclamative way. Why, what a great rehabilitation of the archetype!

She's also deeply, deeply afraid of rocking the boat. She's got a deepseated childhood trauma related to the bad things that happen when she puts herself in a leadership role. She goes along to get along. When she's proactive, it's usually to point a gun at Tattletale to stop her from upsetting the status quo. She sits through a lot of situations where Steve Rogers, as commonly modeled, would probably plant himself like a tree by the river of truth and go, "Hey, this is fucked up." She more or less capitulates to Undersider domination of the city, in a way that predisposes us to think of her as a voice of reason after all these total nuts that Skitter's been up against- but would Taylor "to relinquish control is a form of ego death" Hebert really be willing to leave someone in charge of the local Protectorate branch who she thought couldn't be corralled? She looks like a beacon, but doesn't- indeed, probably can't- ever truly behave like one. I mean, you can debate the on-the-spot morality of any given one of her judgement calls, that's actually one of the less exhausting Worm Morality Debates to have- but in aggregate, a person in American flag garb who actually meaningfully criticizes the paramilitary organization they're part of is not gonna survive long in that role!

So again, she's the gimme from an aesthetic standpoint. But what I don't really see a lot of discussion of is how Cauldron plays into the riff.

Captain America is institutional, but in a comically morally uncomplicated way. The serum was originally mana from heaven, granted to a living saint, conveniently divorced from any nitty-gritty sausage-making process and even-more conveniently divorced from the horrible consequences of giving the, uh, the U.S government a replicable super soldier process. And in fairness to Captain America, this is 100 percent something the overall mythos eventually patched to my satisfaction; the sausage-making process eventually revealed as prototypical government fuckery driven by human experimentation on black servicemen, the overall Marvel Setting littered with failed attempts by the U.S. Government to recreate that golden goose so they can have their fun new jackboots. (In Ultimate Marvel, this is how almost all contemporary superhumans were created, and this is a state of affairs with a body count in the millions or billions.)

Cauldron draws you in with the same noble rhetoric about greater goods, the same one-off proprietary irreplicable formula- but you don't get the luxury afterwards of representing nothing but the dream. You aren't partnering up with a plucky crank scientist with a heart of gold. You're selling your soul to an organization with an agenda. The narrative makes no bones about the fact that everything you do is fundamentally tainted by the fact you opted into an end product created through torture, kidnapping and human experimentation. You don't get to pull a Kamen Rider by going rogue or opting out or making good use of the fruit of the poisoned tree; you are owned, and everything you do has this Damocles sword hanging over your head- when are the people who bankrolled this going to come to collect?

So that's the question of "who would willingly dress like that" covered, and the question of who creates a serum like that. What about the question of who takes a serum like that? I'd argue that Eidolon is the examination of that. Pre-Cauldron David reads to me like pre-serum Steve Rogers viewed through a significantly bleaker lens. They're both sickly kids desperate to serve, rocketed to the pinnacle of human capability by an experimental procedure. But for Steve Rogers, the crisis was that he had a specific vision of the world and was frustrated by his inability to carry it out. Before the serum he picked fights over what was right and wrong and got his ass handed to him; afterwards he picked those same fights and just started winning instead. The serum neatly solved a problem he had, and to the extent that his mindset is influenced by his pre-serum experiences, it's generally constructive; a desire to protect the weak, help the helpless, an appreciation for people who stand up for what's right even when they're clearly gonna get pancaked for their trouble. So ultimately there's no dark side, downside, or underlying neurosis ascribed to his initial impulse to take that serum.

But with David, it's not a tragic case of the spirit being willing but the flesh being weak. He isn't a preternaturally-noble soul, out to represent the best elements of the American ideal- he kind of represents the inverse, a guy who's been failed at every level while utterly convinced that he's the problem. He's actively suicidal because he's a wheelchair-bound epileptic in an economically-depressed socially-backwards rural town in the 1980s, and he's spent his 18 years of life internalizing the idea that he's worse than useless unless he can somehow find a way provide value to something larger than himself. Doctor Mother finds him in the aftermath of a suicide attempt spurred by his rejection from the army- and he didn't even want to join the army specifically, necessarily, he just needed his situation to be literally anything else, and he took what he thought he could get. And then he finds himself in a position to become a superhero, so he does that, molds himself into that, subordinates himself to that, builds his entire sense of self and values around the value he can provide in that role. No grand design or sacred principles carried over through the metamorphosis. Just relief at finally, finally having something that looks like an answer to the question of what he's supposed to do.

And you know, you know that if Steve Rogers was facing down the barrel of being depowered, he'd smile and nod, he'd Cincinnatus that shit. It's happened before. But for David, the emotional trauma and self-worth issues that caused him to roll the dice on a Steve-Rogers treatment never really went away. When would it? He's been Providing Value as a ten-ton Hammer Against Evil for thirty years. No family, no social life. Certainly, no incentive on his handler's part to lance his Atlas complex. So he barrels towards atrocity in the name of remaining useful. Admittedly, this is where the comparison breaks down in a significant way; Captain America is much more of a symbol than he is an irreplicable powerhouse, so it's not catastrophic if he's taken off the board. Eidolon is so unbelievably powerful that his myopia and self-centeredness actually do align with a real problem everyone else is gonna have if he loses his powers. But in terms of the starting points- I think that Steve Rogers embodies the myth about why you'd want to join the army that badly. Eidolon is, I think, much more closely modelling why you'd actually want to join the army that badly.

[on-a-lucky-tide]

teehee its my birthday buuuuuut i am here clawing for nikprice on the ground like a chicken. anyway i wonder how would a nikprice drunk confession go. i just love that trope to death lol

It's your birthday? Happy birthday, mate! A small gift...

Price gets a medal and then gets drunk at the after party. Nik is surprised to hear what he has to say. No one else - and I mean, no one else - is.

cw: alcohol, drunken kiss.

"I hate these bloody things," Price mumbled into his scotch, staring bleary-eyed at his own reflection in the mirror behind the bar. His speech had been short, concise, and he had spent the majority of it talking about the bravery and dedication of his Task Force. The rest of 'em had prattled on for ages about themselves, preening their egos with the new metal on their chests.

"It is a party in your honour, captain. You did a brave thing. And," Nik leaned back to pluck a canapé from the tray of a passing waitress, "there is free food." He pulled the honey-soaked sausage off the cocktail stick and chucked it in the air, catching it in his open mouth, much to the consternation of a gaggle of RAF officers nearby.

None of them were brave enough to let Nikolai see or hear what they thought of him, because they had all heard enough whispers of his service record to steer well clear. Even top brass were scared enough of him to overlook his multiple active Interpol arrest warrants so that he could attend.

Price smiled as Nik chewed, clearly pleased with his feat of dexterity, and then proceeded to slosh his scotch all over himself as he leaned his elbow against the bar... but missed said bar by about an inch and a half. "Bollocks," he growled, as expensive alcohol soaked into the equally expensive wool of his number one uniform.

Nik chuckled, snatching up a handful of serviettes from the bar. "I am starting to think you are a lightweight," he said, swivelling around in his bar stool so that his knees bracketed Price's, a folded serviette pressed to Price's chest to soak out some of the scotch.

"'M not," Price... slurred, fuck, maybe he was. "You wearin' cologne?"

"Da, number one majesté impériale."

"Sounds posh," Price said, lifting his scotch for another swig.

"Hm, it is $215,000 a bottle."

Price choked on his drink, spluttering it back into the glass. "You spent nearly four times my salary on some cologne?" He wheezed.

"It is a special occasion."

"Bloody fucking christ, Nik. It's a medal ceremony, not a bloody coronation."

"It is more important to me," Nik said, "because it is you."

Price felt his cheeks and ears warm. It didn't help that Nik's big hands were still on his chest, careful to pluck away the stray fibres of serviette from where it clung to the damp wool. This close, Price couldn't help but stare.

Fuck, he was so... handsome.

Nik had made an effort to look, and smell, his best. In his expensive tailored three-piece, no tie, because... well, who would be brave enough to tell Nikolai to put on a fuckin' tie? The open top button gave Price a really good view of his chest hair peeking through at the top. Oh, fuckin'... Hot, it was hot in here. Damn uniform.

"Careful, captain, you will fall," Nik said softly, palm pressed to the centre of Price's chest. Price had been leaning forward. Leering. Oh, this was embarrassing. He cleared his throat, shuffled back, and beckoned the barman over for a refill.

Two more glasses, one of vodka and another of scotch, and Price chanced a glance over at Nik again. "Thanks... for, uh, coming to this. The boys like the schmoozin', Simon doesn't stay longer than the talks, don't blame him, but, I, uh..."

"You find it hard to navigate the politics because you are honest and they," Nik waved his hand vaguely around the room, "are not."

Price smiled faintly. "Yeah, guess so. Full of compliments today, Nik. Man might get the wrong idea."

"Or... the right idea."

Price froze with the glass halfway up to his mouth. Even through the drunken dog, he managed to parse the meaning behind that. In payment, however, his brain had decided to bury his entire knowledge of the English language, so all he could do was make a small noise in the back of his throat, which he smothered with a large mouthful of scotch.

Nik hadn't turned in his stool, his knees still spread wide either side of Price's, and Price wanted to shuffle a little closer. He wanted those hands back on his chest, and he wanted... Christ, he just wanted. He had wanted for a long fuckin' time.

"Here," Nik said, sliding a plate of sausages over to Price. "It will absorb some of the scotch."

"Urf, naw, can't stomach that shit..."

"Then we shall go elsewhere."

"Wot?"

"Come, captain. The sergeants left for the clubs ten minutes ago."

"They did? Bastards..."

"Da. I will get your coat."

The fresh evening air hit Price like a sledge hammer to the face, and he was pretty sure he would have fallen in the gutter without Nikolai to lean on. He was intimately aware of the strong arm around his waist, one of his hands clinging onto Nik's expensive wool coat as they staggered into the local Maccy D's for a Big Mac and chicken nugget share box.

Nik paid for it, flashing his most charming smile at the young girl behind the counter as he collected the highly decorated SAS captain from where he was clinging onto a nearby condiments bench for support, takeaway bag in hand.

They ended up sat on a bench by the Thames, dressed to the nines, Nik smelling of thousand dollar cologne as he wolfed down over-salted MacDonald's chips at Price's side, and Price couldn't stop staring at him.

Nik could be anywhere else. Anywhere. He could be partying with the wealthiest men and women in the world, walking among the elite, and yet here he was sitting in London eating shitty fast food with a drunk soldier. He chose Price every time. Every time. Price felt tears prickle at the corners of his eyes. "Nikolai..."

"Da, captain."

"I think I love you."

Nik grinned, huffing a soft chuckle. "Mmhm."

"No, no," Price swiped his beret off, which had somehow managed to cling onto his head while they had staggered through the mean streets of Westminster. "I... I'm serious. I... I love you. Have for, uh," he hiccuped, fucking hiccuped, tried to recover by puffing into his clenched fist, "...have for a while," he squeaked. Oh, fuck, was that indigestion?

Nik put his box of chicken nuggets aside and turned, arm draped over the back of the bench. He slid a gloved hand under Price's chin and turned his head up. Seconds later, they were kissing. Fucking... Nik's fucking lips were on Price's and, and...

Price hiccuped again.

Nik chuckled into his mouth, before drawing away to smooth his thumb through Price's beard. "This is not how I imagined it, but it is... somehow, right."

Price's face was bright red, he could feel it burning, and his eyes were wide. "You, uh... You..."

"For many, many years, solnyshko."

"We've... that's a... a long time." Price said softly.

"I am a patient man. And you are worth waiting for."

After that, Price didn't really recall much. The MacDonald's hit the deck and Price climbed Nikolai like a bloody tree. They ended up in his hotel room, with Nik's expensive suit and Price's (honestly, perhaps slightly less) expensive uniform on the floor. It might have gone further than boyish fumbling if Price hadn't fallen asleep face down in the pillows after saying he didn't want to take advantage of Nik in his current state. Nik had chuckled at that and laid down next to him, stroking his hair.

Price woke up in the morning with a sore head and a dry mouth, and found Nik sitting by the open window in a hotel dressing gown. "Nik, did I..."

"Nyet, captain. You were an absolute gentleman." Nik put the newspaper aside and took his glasses off, delivering the waiting pint of water and aspirin to Prices hands. "Do you... remember what you said?"

Price's cheeks reddened. "Yeah, look, I'll understand if--"

He didn't get to finish. Nik kissed him squarely on his stupid mouth, stroking a big palm through his hair. When he drew back, he hummed softly. "Drink that and then we will go to breakfast," he said, walking away. Price couldn't help but stare as the dressing gown slid down his broad back, revealing a full arse framed in black boxers. "And brush your teeth."

Price downed the water and staggered from beneath the duvet. He was ready to head down within ten minutes, desperate for a strong coffee and a greasy sarnie. Unfortunately, the rest of his task force, Los Vaqueros, Chimera, Laswell and a handful of her agents happened to be in the dining room already.

"Eyy, there he is!" Gaz called, toasting his mug of coffee.

Soap looked round, glanced at Nik and then back at Price. "Fuckin' finally."

Laswell rested her chin on her palm. "Bagged your man then, Nik. Well done."

Price blinked, squinting in the bright morning light. "So you all--"

Simon walked past, his plate heaped with bacon and eggs, and shoved a coffee into his captain's hand before patting his shoulder. "Yeah. Everyone did 'cept you."

Price looked at Nik for help, only to receive a shrug and a quirked eyebrow before Nik wandered off to the buffet.

"Bloody bastards," Price muttered, glancing at each triumphant face, thumbs up and smirk, before slumping into a nearby chair. Bloody. Bastards

[redflagshipwriter]

Nest Swap 9

masterpost

Having a mission changed everything. 

Tim took full advantage of his new knowledge of the holy manuals. The first rule that he took to heart was that he was meant to be armed. Of course! It made sense.

Unfortunately, he was also not meant to take any weapon onto the field that he hadn’t trained with. Tim thought hard for a while whether or not a suburban house counted as ‘in the field’, but it seemed like he should pay lip service to Batman’s rule. So he got some sharp things that seemed interesting and spent some time throwing them at a target. They kind of looked like Batarangs, but… different. 

“I don’t think bats change shape in the next ten years or so,” Tim muttered. He gave another half hearted throw. The thing dinged off the wall below his target. “So this isn’t meant to be a bat shape. Did Batman rebrand to the Birdman and no one fixed his wiki page yet? Is this a parallel universe and not my actual future?”

It occurred to him that it might be a bird because of Robin. But come on, Robins didn’t use sharp things. Robin was a child. It was irresponsible for children to use blades. 

Tim sent another thingy into the wall. It hit with the pointy end first this time and sank an inch into the wall to the right of the target. He held his breath as it wiggled for a moment. Then it went still without falling.

��Yes!” He punched the air. Thank gosh! He was getting bored with that. It was good to be done with training. It was kind of dull.

Steps one and two were finished. He had a weapon and he had trained with it. Tim went back to his list. The next technical skill set was lock picking. That was super easy and fun! Tim enjoyed the clear diagrams and explanations. There wasn’t anything to practice with, but he thought that he had the concept down handily. He grabbed a set of lockpicks for his khaki pockets. 

He needed to do a little more to understand the patterns of the target, as well as their background. Tim considered asking Jason for any information, but he probably didn’t have any. Maybe he wasn’t very good at googling. So he just did it. The Sausage Guy was more commonly known as Benedict Orange, a name that Tim really liked and mentally stored away to use as an alias when he was a superhero. 

Anyway. Tim figured out how old the guy was, where he’d gone to school, and a bunch of other stuff like the record of his marriage ten years ago. 

“Huh,” Tim said, brows furrowed. “I didn’t find a divorce record. But he’s single now?” Mr. Orange had accounts on a lot of dating sites. He was using his engagement photo for the profile photo, with his wife cut out.

That was weird. He tried to find the wife, but there wasn’t anything more recent than 8 years ago, when she’d announced that she was quitting her job on social media. 

…Tim had kind of a bad feeling about that. 

He put a pin in it for now, but he had a small theory at the back of his mind that started with ‘I think this guy killed his wife.’

Maybe that was how the human sausage thing started. Maybe he’d killed her on impulse and then needed a way to get rid of the body. And then maybe he’d gotten a taste for it.

Tim shuddered. Okay, okay, he was for real done thinking about this! Big yucky.

Benny Orange was an office worker with a title that Tim didn’t really understand. It seemed vague to the point of uselessness, but then again, that was office work. The relevant thing was that he got home around 6 pm, and he left at 8 am.

It was 10 in the morning. Tim could get over there and toss Benny’s home before the end of the workweek if he hurried. The manual said that you should never spend more than an hour investigating an unsecured location. It also said that you should file a report or directly inform someone of where you’d be. 

That part made Tim pause for a moment before he remembered that he’d told Jason. Jason would probably check on him when he woke up, or whatever.

Tim found an equipment belt that he could wrap around his waist twice to buckle on. He put his sharp things in it. Then he untucked his shirt, because he had tucked it in out of habit and that would make it harder to access his weapons. He frowned as he did it. It just felt wrong.

He put on his shoes and got out the door. He didn’t have a lot of time to waste if he wanted to be able to take his time, so Tim hailed a taxi to cross most of the distance this time. He was grateful that Mrs. Henderson was gone and there was no chance of seeing her. Last time had been a little bit of a disaster. Needing civilian help to get into the building was not a winning move.

He had bat-approved lockpicks this time. He went to the front door and did his best. 

It turned out that maybe he should have practiced? Tim started to sweat out in the open. It felt like someone was staring at his back. He looked at the houses around. No one was at their windows or walking outside. He started jumping whenever the tall herbs in Mr. Orange's garden swayed in the breeze. He had a lot of plants.

His hands were shaking. The sweat made his shirt stick to his back. He was going to get caught and in so much trouble.

When the door finally opened, Tim offered up a thanks to Bast, because he assumed the cat goddess was more likely to be pro-breaking and entering than other gods. That logic was just based off of what he knew about Catwoman, honestly. 

The first glimpse into Benedict Orange's home was disappointingly normal. He had vinyl flooring (easy to clean!), leather furniture, and a big flat TV high up on the wall. He didn’t have enough knickknacks and there was no art. There was a wood and glass case that was full of identical, unlabeled bottles with something red in it. Hot sauce? Was he a hot sauce guy?

Tim mentally reclassified Mr. Orange further down the list of ‘people I could talk to at a cocktail party.’

The place had the same layout as Mrs. Henderson’s place, just in reverse. Tim beelined to the kitchen because.. Well.

He just did.

The counter space where Mrs. Henderson had a hot water kettle, a big stand mixer, and a toaster was mostly clear here. Mr. Orange only had one piece of cooking machinery. Tim didn’t know it. He squinted at it. It was a big shiny stainless steel thing. It had a metal tray, a wheel, and like… a nozzle. When he climbed on a chair to look down, he could see there was a little tunnel tube thing where you could put stuff inside the body of the machine.

Weird. Moving on!

He checked inside the fridge. He stared for a moment of aghast silence. There was a stack of takeout containers, a bunch of seasonings in the door, and a stack of tupperware with something red in them. 

Cautiously, Tim dug one out and opened it.

“That’s raw meat,” he said, voice high. He put the box back in and then hesitated. Maybe he should be like, taking it? Or taking a sample? To see what animal it came from?

“I’ll think about it.” Tim shut the fridge a little harder than he needed to and beat feet out of the kitchen. He started checking the other rooms. He found the master bedroom. His nose wrinkled. “I don’t think he’s restyled this since Brenda died,” Tim complained. He looked at the curtains with extreme judgment. They were so outdated it wasn’t even funny, but they also weren’t retro yet!

Oh. Wait. Belatedly, Tim remembered that it was ten years into his future. So, maybe they were retro now. Anyways, Brenda had liked the trend for chickens and roosters. There were chickens and roosters everywhere in the decor, including a cute print of what was obviously intended to be a husband and wife pair snuggling on a sofa.

His heart hurt a little. He looked at it a little too long. 

Tim took a deep breath. Then he went back to looking for evidence. There wasn’t much in the bedroom, so clearly Mr. Orange had a personal office elsewhere. There were two more rooms in the apartment.

Tim opened the next door. The room was mostly a guest bedroom, with the notable exception of a huge chest freezer and a weird long wooden bar across the room.

Tim shut the door.

The last room was the office. There was a desk, a file cabinet, and a lockbox full of women’s drivers licenses.

“Yeah, okay,” Tim said under his breath. “He’s a serial killer.” He took photos and sent them to Jason immediately with the subject line “Yeah he’s a killer!!!”

Then he got down to sorting through the papers to see if there was anything else. Jason was a Robin, Tim supposed, so he’d need the evidence to show the police. It would be helpful if he just went and sorted it out now. He found warranties for the TV, the new freezer, and he presumed that ‘Meat Grinder’ meant the thing in the kitchen.

“I appreciate that he’s so organized, actually,” Tim muttered. He was hunched over digging through the bottom drawer now.

A key went into a door. 

Tim froze stock still. He slowly, silently shut the drawer. He stared at the closed door to the living room. On the other side of it, Mr. Orange unlocked and opened the front door. Tim slowly looked up, saw 12:14 on the clock, and vaguely registered that sometimes people come home on their lunch breaks.

The front door shut. There was a quiet metal sound that Tim thought was probably the chain lock. The chain lock that was too high for him to move without a chair to stand on.

Okay. Uh. He looked around for a place to hide. The best option was under the desk. Tim crawled through the legs of the chair, heart beating furiously.

He weighed his options. Wait it out and hope Mr. Orange didn’t come in?

…Seemed risky. But there was no way he was going to run out past the guy to the front door. At least, the odds that he’d get grabbed were just not good, not when he didn’t know where Mr. Orange was. 

Alright. Tim knew reality. He might not be able to get out of this on his own. At the very least, he should let Jason know what was going on so that they could add his murder to the list of charges. And maybe Jason was close by to help? Wayne Manor was awfully far away, so probably not. But it didn’t hurt to try.

He got his phone back out and was silently very glad that he had it. Jason had responded to his message. Tim didn’t take the time to read it, instead typing up a blank email with the subject line “um might need help asap :( he here”. He sent it. Then he huddled down to wait.

Noises came from the kitchen- the suction as the fridge opened. The beep of the microwave. A man’s voice saying, “What the fuck? Did I leave this here?”

His blood turned ice cold.

‘What did I do?’ Tim desperately tried to remember what he’d touched in the kitchen. Had he really moved something around? He didn’t remember anything! His heart rate went up like crazy.

The door opened. Tim flinched. His whole body started shaking uncontrollably.

Oh. No. It wasn’t this door yet. It was the door to the next room, the spare bedroom. He heard the weird squelch of the chest freezer opening. Then the closet door squeaked open. Something heavy moved around. 

“Well, it wasn’t you,” said Mr. Orange. There was a mean satisfaction in his tone. The heavy thing moved again.

Tim’s brain went a bit blank.

Who was he talking to? Was there someone in the apartment? Hidden behind something heavy?

He opened up another email. Jason hadn’t responded, so there was no way to know if he’d seen. Tim hastily typed up, “I think there’s a living hostage in the house” and sent it as the door to the office opened.

He hugged his arms around his knees and squeezed his eyes shut. Oh gosh. Oh heck. Oh no, oh no. He bit his lower lip and broke skin.

‘No. I can’t be a baby about this.’ 

It was really hard with how stiff his fingers felt. But Tim put the phone in his pocket and wrestled the sharp bird weapon out. He held it clumsily. And he watched Mr. Orange’s feet move around the room. They walked around the room. He saw the curtains move as Mr. Orange pulled them to check no one was hiding there. Then he knew that Mr. Orange was coming to his hiding spot.

Tim swallowed. He waited until Mr. Orange’s feet were in sight. He stabbed his sharp thing down through the top of Mr. Orange’s sock.

Mr. Orange bellowed and fell back against his filing cabinet. 

Tim scrambled out and ran.

He went towards the front door on automatic and nearly got there before he looked up and saw that yes, the chain lock was on. He couldn’t reach it. 

“You little shit!” Mr. Orange bellowed. He lunged at Tim. Tim barely dodged. He jabbed at him again without looking and barreled towards the door to Mrs. Henderson’s apartment. It only had a doorknob lock. He unlatched it, praying that she had not changed her ideas about the open door policy. The door handle turned.

He threw himself into the room and slammed the door shut. He clicked the little button lock.

Mr. Orange hit the door, hard. It shook. He wasn’t saying anything anymore. There was something about that which struck Tim as absolutely terrifying. Didn’t people bellow and yell when they were mad? 

He looked towards Mrs. Henderson’s door. The door shook again as Mr. Orange hit it.

Wood splintered.

If he went out Mrs. Henderson’s front door he could sprint for it. What were the odds he could outrun a grown man? If he did, wouldn’t Mr. Orange just get in his car? Potential witnesses had made Mr. Orange back off before, but he was more invested now in silencing Tim. And there was no one around. Tim had checked. 

The door splintered again. He could see Mr. Orange’s shoulder. Then a socked foot.

‘I don’t think I stabbed his foot well enough,’ some distant part of Tim’s brain catalogued. ‘He’s still moving on it. If I live past this, I’m going to commit to the next stabbing with more enthusiasm.’

He bolted for the stand where Mrs. Henderson kept her mace. He was just out of sight from Mr. Orange’s hole in the door. His heart thudded so loud. His shaking had stopped. The mace didn’t  feel heavy. 

‘If I was taller, i’d aim for the face. I can’t pull that off. I’ll aim for center mass. He may block with an arm, but theoretically his arm will be hurt enough that I’ll be able to pull back and make another swing.’

There was a catastrophic smash from inside Mr. Orange’s apartment. 

Then a “What the fuck-” that got cut off a little early. Mr. Orange sounded mad and confused. 

A thud. Two smaller thuds. A clicking. Tim wanted so badly to know what was going on. 

A hand reached through the hole in the door and unlatched the lock. 

Tim swallowed. He readied a swing. 

The door opened.

Tim took a step forward and swung Mrs. Henderson’s antique mace with maximum strength directly into the armored center mass of a guy who was NOT Mr. Orange.

“Oh my gosh,” Tim said, horrified, at the instant he connected. The guy was looking forward. He looked down too late, just as the mace hit.

There was sort of a bounce. The mace bounced back off the tummy armor without digging in or drawing blood. Half of Tim was relieved, and half was terrified that his plan had failed. 

The guy doubled over and made a sound that was a lot like GURK. He clutched at his torso with one arm and pointed a gun at Tim with the other.

Tim put his hands up.

The guy looked at Tim. Presumably. It was hard to tell through his ugly red motorcycle helmet.

“I really should have known.” 

His mechanical voice was scary.

Bad guy! 

Tim took his chances and another swing before the guy could shoot him. He expected to hear a shot as he smashed his mace again. The guy yelped and jerked backwards to avoid getting hit. Then there was a thud.

Tim peered through the door cautiously. The guy had tripped over Mr. Orange. Mr. Orange was laying on the floor facedown, arms zip tied behind his back. 

“Oh, sorry,” Tim apologized. He took a couple steps over to put the mace back away. He gave Mr. Orange a wide berth.

“I never would have guessed that the Red Hood used kids like this,” Mr. Orange said meanly. He narrowed his eyes at Tim. “Small, even for bait.”

The Red Hood guy pointed his gun at Mr. Orange’s head. Tim shrieked.

The Red guy stopped. He seemed to look at Tim again. He had some really bad words. “Alright.” He got back up to his feet and put the gun away.

Right. He’d probably just been joking or something. Tim belatedly registered the control it must have taken to not accidentally shoot while being attacked and falling over. 

Oh. Wait. It was a huge coincidence that a hero came right now, unless-

‘Is this Jason?’ Tim felt his eyebrows go all the way up. He wanted to ask a million questions. His mouth was firmly glued shut, though. Partly it was infosec. But it was also embarrassment.

[archiveikemen]

Liam Evans 2nd Birthday Campaign: Story

Chapters 1—3

This is a fan-made translation solely for entertainment purposes with no guaranteed perfection; expect mistakes, grammatical errors, and some creative liberties. All original content and media used belongs to Cybird. Please support the game by buying their stories and playing their games. Reblogs appreciated.

Read this before interacting

One night, a few hours before his birthday.

Liam: Are you ready, Kate?

Kate: Yes, sorry for keeping you waiting. 

I thought back to something that happened a few nights ago—. 

= Flashback Start = 

Kate: Nn…

Liam: Sorry, did I wake you?

I was woken up by Liam’s gentle voice as he climbed into bed like a cat. 

Kate: It’s okay, welcome back.

I reached my arms out to hug him and my eyes narrowed from the feeling of his body warmth, when— 

Kate: … You smell nice.

There was a delicious smell coming from his clothes. 

Kate: Did you eat something, Liam?

It wasn’t the first time he went out at night. 

(Before we started dating, it seemed that he had to regularly go outside and satisfy his curiosity.) 

(But after we started dating, he did that less frequently and stopped doing dangerous things.)

I thought that going out at night was a way for him to distract himself a little because he couldn’t sleep, but…

(Why did he come back smelling this delicious…?)

Liam: I didn't eat anything… maybe the smell from the food stalls clung to me. 

Liam: There’s a nighttime event happening in London for a week, starting from today. 

Liam: I passed through the market where the food stalls were, so I think that's why I smell like them.

Liam: The smell must be bothering you. Sorry, I’ll leave right away. 

I grabbed his hand as he was about to get off the bed and buried my face in his clothes. 

Kate: … Now I’m hungry.

I couldn't help but laugh. He happily hugged me again and narrowed his eyes tenderly.

Kate: I wish I went with you.

Liam: I wanted to go with you too.

Liam: How about we go together?

…

Liam: Shall we get going?

As we walked hand in hand, I recalled the conversation we had about his birthday present.

(Knowing how he is, I didn’t expect Liam to directly say what he wanted…) 

Liam said that going out together was his birthday present. 

(But I still want to make him happy and give him something.)

After giving it some thought, I had an idea and decided to put it into action. 

…

Kate: Wow…!

The bustling market lined with various stalls lit up the night. 

Liam: There may be a lot of people here, but it’s still night time. Don’t stray too far from me, okay?

He took my hand, and we walked along the street filled with delicious smells and cheerful sounds. 

Kate: They have alcohol, fish and chips, pie, and even scones.

Liam: They’re selling sausages and other meat dishes too.

Kate: And there’s gelato over there! 

We chatted happily while exploring the stalls, but—

Liam: Ah, I thought you’d like this pie, Kate.

Liam: Those limited edition cookies over there look lovely, I think you’ll like them too.

Liam: These cocktails are low in alcohol content, so they're suitable for you to drink. 

Kate: … You sure know a lot, don't you, Liam?

He scratched his cheek and smiled bashfully, narrowing his eyes. 

Liam: I memorised those things because I’m always thinking about you.

(I truly am the luckiest person alive…)

His words brought me joy, and his actions conveyed his love for me.

Liam: How is it? Does it taste good?

I nodded repeatedly with a mouth full of meat pie.

Seeing this, he looked satisfied and ate his pie, however—

Kate: Liam, you have something on your mouth… 

Liam: Kate, you have something on your mouth…

Both of us reached out at the exact same time to brush away the crumbs from the corners of each other’s mouths.

Our eyes met and we blinked at each other in silence. 

It was him who burst out laughing first.

Liam: Haha! We were thinking the same thing.

Kate: Fufu, even our timing was the same.

Liam: We might really be getting increasingly similar to each other recently. 

Kate: We even bought the same food the other day. 

When I went home with new items from the bakery, I saw him waiting for me with the same items. 

When I was mentioning places I wanted to go on dates, he suggested the exact same spots… 

(I feel so much joy whenever such things happen.)

After laughing together for a while, he caressed my cheek.

Liam: … I guess this is what they call “feeling blessed”. 

Liam: It looks like our worlds revolve around each other. 

Liam: I can’t contain my happiness whenever I realise that.

I wrapped my hand over the one caressing my cheek and lowered my gaze. 

Kate: I feel happy and blessed too. 

Kate: Wonderful, isn’t it? We’re always thinking about each other.

We smiled and gently embraced each other,

Liam: … You’re a natural at making me happy, Kate.

Kate: Fufu… and you’re a natural at making me happy. 

The sound of his laughter in my ear filled me with joy once again.

Liam: I feel like kidnapping you right this instant and take you straight to bed. 

Kate: Before you do that, I want to buy a cake first.

Liam: Could it be… my birthday cake?

Kate: Yes. Shall we choose one together?

I was sure he would be happy with anything if I were the one choosing or baking it. 

(But Liam isn’t a fan of sweets, so it might be better to get a smaller cake.) 

Liam: … Yeah, I want to choose one together with you.

Kate: There’s a cake shop over there.

Kate: Let’s go, Liam. 

The way he squinted as if dazzled by a bright light the moment I took his hand left an impression on me. 

= Flashback End = 

Kate: … Liam, you’re upset, aren't you?

He paced around with light, cat-like steps while carrying me in his arms and suddenly stopped.

Liam: I’m not.

His lips didn't form a smile, causing me to feel guilty and reflect on my actions a few hours ago.

= Flashback Start = 

Kate: This is all we could get. Are you really okay with it, Liam?

Liam: Yeah. I like this cake better, actually.

The cake shop had such a busy day that only small cupcakes were left.

(This is a little too plain for a birthday cake…) 

While I was thinking of wanting to somehow bring a birthday feeling to the moment, something caught my eye.

Kate: Liam, I’m going to get a little something from that shop over there. 

Not wanting to disturb him while he was browsing other shops, I let go of his hand after saying that. 

He frantically tried holding my hand again, but— 

Kate: It’s okay, the shop’s just over there. 

Since the shop was only a short distance away, I started walking towards it before he could grab my hand. 

The instant I turned around after buying what I wanted,

Kate: … Liam?

There was a sudden crowd of people passing by and before I knew it, he was out of my sight.

Just as I was desperately searching for him in the crowd, I felt my body being lifted off the ground…

= Flashback End = 

(We somehow managed to reunite and return home, but…)

According to the hands on the clock, it was almost dawn. Yet, I still hadn't been able to say happy birthday to him.

As I was gently set down on the edge of the bed, I glaced up at him standing in front of me.

Seeing the sadness in his eyes caused guilt to well up in me again. 

Liam: … Had I held your hand properly, you wouldn't have gotten lost. 

= Flashback Start =

Liam: There may be a lot of people here, but it’s still night time. Don’t stray too far from me, okay?

= Flashback End =

(I should've known that Liam would put the blame on himself instead of me.) 

Feeling ashamed of myself, I once again held the hand I had let go off. 

Kate: It’s not your fault, Liam! … I’m so sorry for worrying you.

His voice was trembling as he hugged me tightly, his eyes shaking. 

Liam: Don’t ever leave my side again.

Kate: … Okay. 

While we were feeling each other's warmth, 

Liam: ah…

He noticed the time and pulled away.

Liam: I didn’t realise it at all. 

I took a cupcake and something else out of a paper bag and lit it.

It was a candle in the shape of a rose. 

Kate: Happy birthday, Liam.

His eyes wavered as he accepted the cupcake. 

Kate: I’m so happy to celebrate your birthday again this year.

Kate: Thank you for being born. 

Liam: … You left to buy this? 

I nodded with a wry smile, and he bit his lip before smiling softly and closing his eyes.

Liam: … Thank you, Kate. 

Bit by bit, he started speaking the words he had been hiding in his heart.

Liam: Before I met you, I was always afraid of celebrating my birthday. 

Liam: I used to think that as long as I never know what this happiness feels like, I won’t feel sad when it disappears. 

I was reminded of the things he said when sharing his true feelings on his birthday last year.

= Flashback Start =

Liam: I… I was terrified of being celebrated… and knowing how it feels to have a birthday with you in it…

Liam: I was foolish and all I could think of was the possibility of me losing all of that… it scared me.

Liam: But if I keep running away… I’ll be trampling all over your kindness and feelings.

Liam: I don't have any other option but to choose this moment, because I just love you so much. 

= Flashback End =

The rose-shaped candle melted away, like it was shedding one petal at a time.

Liam: … There might come a day when, like this candle, all these happy moments will melt away. 

Liam: But I can’t go back to spending birthdays without you, and I don't think I can ever let go of your hand. 

He blew out the candle and it turned into something shaped like a flower bud.

Liam: Next year, the year after that, and until the day I die… will you celebrate my birthday by my side?

He brushed his finger across my lips as he made a wish for a future we had yet to see. 

Kate: … Of course I will. I’ll be right here by your side, celebrating your birthday even if you say you don’t want me to. 

Kate: I’ll keep doing that until the day you can finally say from the bottom of your heart that you’re glad you were born. 

I heard a slight gasp as I pressed the cupcake to his lips. 

Kate: Let’s eat, Liam. 

(Liam still struggles with his birthday.)

I can’t save the person who lived through his painful past. 

(I sometimes find myself wondering why couldn’t we have met sooner…)

(But I’m sure there’s a reason for us to only meet now.)

It's because I’ve set my heart on loving all his past wounds and living by his side.

Liam: … Kate.

Kate: Nn.

He stole a kiss from my lips after taking a bite of the cupcake.

Liam: Is it sweet?

Kate: … It became sweeter because of you. 

He kicked the cream from the corners of my mouth, looking amused—.

Liam: I’m not a fan of sweets, but I want to see more of your sweet expressions.

He deepened the kiss and we fell onto the bed. 

Kate: Liam, wait a second.

Liam: I can’t wait anymore.

He undid the ribbon at the back of my shirt, causing it to fall off my shoulders.

As he took off my skirt, he reached for his own shirt as well.

Liam: I want you right now. 

I was enveloped by the sweet smell of vanilla, tempting me to give into him on the spot, but—.

Kate: I want to give you your present! 

I slipped out from under him and reached under the bed.

Liam: … Don’t tell me, you’ve been hiding it there?

I lifted up a large paper bag with two hands and showed it to him, who was still in shock on the bed.

Kate: You never noticed, did you?

(It was the right decision to hide it before we headed out.)

Kate: Now close your eyes.

Following my instructions, he closed his eyes. I stood on the bed and swiftly ripped open the paper bag.

Liam: Wha…

He looked up and at the same time, a shower of flower petals rained down on him.

Liam: Wow… petals!? 

The pink petals fell over his head like blessings, scattering onto the white sheets. 

In an instant, Liam and the bed were covered in petals. I couldn't contain my smile of satisfaction.

Kate: These are the petals of the modern roses you’ve always been giving me. 

Kate: I thought of expressing my gratitude by giving you a bouquet.

Kate: But apparently, pink roses have another meaning to them.

Liam: Another meaning…?

I picked up one petal from his head.

Kate: It means “happiness”. 

Kate: I wanted to shower you with petals signifying gratitude and happiness, because you’ve given me an abundance of them. 

Sitting on the bed surrounded by the smell of roses, he fell silent for a moment before chuckling and squinting his eyes as though faced with a bright light. 

Liam: I truly am so blessed.

I leaned in and was about to kiss his forehead covered with rose petals, when— 

Kate: Whoa!

Liam: Are you okay!? 

I slipped and fell right into his chest. 

Kate: T-this is embarrassing…

I got on my knees to support my body, he wrapped one arm around my waist and cupped my cheek with the other.

When I lifted my head, I saw that the light of dawn was starting to shine into the room. 

Liam: I’ve always wanted to be a star.

Still smiling, he started to speak.

Liam: I thought that everyone would love me if I shined brightly enough. But then I realised, I can’t just turn into a star.

Liam: Because today, you’re the one shining so bright. I’ve always thought so, but you’re especially dazzling today.

(Ah…) 

I recalled noticing him gazing at me while squinting his eyes as though dazzled by a bright light. 

Liam: You gave me love that was once so out of reach for me, and made my days so bright with happiness that it’s almost terrifying. 

Liam: The name of the brightest star in my world is Kate. It shines so brightly and is precious to me beyond words. 

Liam: It’s you.

His smile as his joy and love overflowed was so bright, it made me squint my eyes. 

There was a star right there before my eyes. 

Kate: For me, you’re that star, Liam. 

Kate: The person who brings me so much joy and love… you’re my brightest star.

We laughed together and it was soon dawn. 

Liam: Well then, because I want to hold onto my brightest star…

With the arm wrapped around my waist, he gently laid me down onto the bed and I rested my body against his. 

Liam: Even after the night fades into day, stay shining in my arms.

My heart hammered against my chest as I closed my eyes and waited for a kiss. 

— We were each other’s brightest stars, shining brightly through our love. 

[thebestofoneshots]

Gilded Constellations | (wolfstar x reader)

✩₊˚.⋆⁺₊✧ Merry Christmas everyone ✩₊˚.⋆⁺₊✧

Series Masterlist | Previous episode

Pairing: Wolfstar x Reade rWord Count: 7 K Warnings: None. Prompt: Where does your hear lay? Who does it belong to? This IS a wolfstar x reader fic, but it's incredibly slow burn. They won't start all dating each other until we're very deep into the story, but I promise the long wait will be worth it.

Chapter 26: Hooked on a feeling

Thursday, November 25th, 1976

As you walked back to the common room with your friends, Sirius didn’t let go of your hand at all. Remus, who had been the one with the idea, stood rather close to the two of you, and the rest also kept a close eye on you. Especially Peter who seemed to have been altered by the whole situation. 

By the time you’d got to the common room you were a lot more relaxed, there was something about walking with your friends that just made you feel instantly better, even if you weren’t saying much. You easily realised how fast Remus had driven the subject of the conversation to something else, being backed up by Sirius who didn’t shut up about the new songs he’d gotten from his cousin Andromeda, it all had helped you order your thoughts better. 

Yes, you hadn’t been paying attention to the strength of your spell, and yes, it had been quite strong, enough to push Evan back a couple of metres but not enough to really hurt him, it had probably stung like a bitch, but looking at things from a different perspective, he might have been more pissed because he lost, and because you had helped turn off the fire with your relashio, than he had been hurt by your spell. In fact, even if Seraphina had practically dragged him out of the classroom, he had been walking when he left. 

And then you remembered the way he had laughed at your attempts to open the door of the shack and you almost thought he actually deserved it, even if your intention had never been to actually hurt him. And then you remembered Barty, and you knew he’d be absolutely pissed at you which had you shiver and inch just a little closer to Sirius. 

He gave you a rather puzzled look, wondering what could have been going on in your mind before squeezing your hand comfortingly. 

Eventually, you all ended up in the common room, Remus pulled out the food from his backpack and handed it over to you. They had picked sandwiches, sausages, bacon and a lot of other tasty, meaty treats. You almost laughed, they had noticed that you had been craving meat, and they had gone and picked probably every single thing with it on the meal. 

When the girls had gone off to the library together, James, who had been sitting on the rug as he snuck some of the treats from your plate when he thought you weren’t looking, leaned in to ask “How did it go with Ricchie?” 

You looked around for a second, making sure there was no one listening in, and responded “he’s on board, he said it’d be hard to convince the headless hunt.” 

James smiled “knew you could convince him,” he said as he pulled back “You’re damn good at that.” 

“I guess I am,” you smiled. quite pleased with yourself, “Does that mean I’m playing on Sunday?”  

James laughed as he shook his head in disbelief “Don’t push your luck Vixi, you might be charming, but it depends on how you know what is looking by then.” 

You huffed in response, and let yourself lean back in between Sirius and Remus as you took another sausage and started to munch on it “When will you go get the recipes?” You asked, turning to Remus.

“After dinner,” he said, “you think your talk with Nightshade will be done by then?” 

You took a deep breath “I certainly hope it will… Oh, by the way, I found the perfect place to brew the potion…” 

“Really, where?” Sirius asked casually. 

“There’s a secret room near the Prefect Bathrooms, Richie showed me,” you started “It’s very small, kinda like a map room, with lots of forbidden books hidden in there, I assume Richie was as much of a trouble maker as you lot when he was alive…” 

“Kinda like a map room?” he asked again, you had piqued his curiosity. 

“You lot?! As if you weren’t included…” mumbled James. 

You threw him a wink and turned back to Sirius “Well, it’s got a massive table in the centre, perfect for maps or large parchments and things like that,” you explained, “but I also saw a few potion things on the corner, I mean of course there’s no sink or anything like that, but I’m sure we can make do with what we have, it’s perfect! Completely away from prying eyes too. And you know people barely even cross that hallway anyway…” 

“Well I guess you’ll show me your secret room and I’ll show you our secret map,” Remus said with a shrug. 

“We’re showing her the map?” Peter asked. 

James nodded “Indeed we are little Wormtail, it was an executive decision since she’s now an Honourable Marauder.” 

“Wait! Really?” you asked, with a small gasp. 

Sirius nodded, wrapping his arm over your shoulder, leaving his hand near your neck so as not to touch your wounded arm and smiled at you “You didn’t know?” he tsked. 

You shook your head, “but it’s only natural, isn’t it? You know my secret now,” Remus said calmly.

“Lily does too,” you replied “And she’s not a-“

“And then there’s Vixen,” Peter said matter of factly, cutting you off mid-sentence. 

“Aaaaand you’re going to do your first official Marauders Prank tomorrow,” Sirius finished. 

“But… this- this feels like… It’s like being knighted or something…” 

That got a chuckle from every single one of the boys, James stood up then, taking his wand in his hand, you looked at him puzzled when he extended his arm with his hand and placed it over your shoulder “Lady Vixen…” he started. 

“What? Prongs you’re insane!”  

“Shut up,” he said simply, and cleared his throat “Lady Vixen,” he repeated the same actions as before “I hereby declare you an honourable member of The Marauders,” he finished. 

“As an official member, I ratify the decree,” Remus added. 

“I ratify it a second time,” Peter added. 

Sirius looked at you with a teasing smile “I don’t know about that…” he started but laughed mid-sentence when he saw the stares from all of his friends “All right… All right… I ratify the decree a third time, Kit’s one of us now.” 

James smiled “Settled then, you can now know about the map.” 

“Which map?” You asked, curiosity taking the best of you. 

“Not yet,” Remus said “She’ll see it in due time.” 

“Oh! You’re such a tease!” you said, leaning back in between Remus and Sirius again, crossing your arms over each other with a small pout, which just got Remus to chuckle, you looked way too adorable. 

Then the clock chimed in “Dinner time,” Peter said with a smile. 

James stood up “Sounds brilliant, I’m famished.” 

“You’ve been eating my food since we got here,” you teased. He looked at you in shock, as if he was surprised he hadn’t been as sneaky as he thought he had been. The rest of the boys just laughed. 

“No, I haven’t.” James said casually “must have imagined it.” 

You just laughed at the seriousness he used to say it “So you’re saying I hallucinated it?” 

James nodded “Indeed you have, perhaps we really should take you to Pomfrey.” 

“All right Prongs, whatever you say,” you responded. 

You separated from the boys when Marlene waved at you to sit right next to her, she wanted to ask you about learning to use confringo, and you spent the rest of the dinner discussing some advanced duelling spells with her, Beth, Lily and Mary had joined in the conversation a little later on and you discovered you all knew some spells the others didn’t. 

“We should study them together,” Beth said “Find a quiet place and practice so we become better duelists.” Beth had joined the duelling club a couple of weeks before you had. 

“I’d tag along with you girls,” Mary quipped “It’s always useful to know a thing or two about defending yourself, could help me brush up on my curses and hexes for next year’s N.E.W.T.S.” 

“It’s a fantastic idea indeed,” Lily said “I say we do it.” 

“Really?” You asked her a little surprised. 

“Yeah, we could make our own little duelling club,” she said “Seems useful for the times we’re living in.” 

Mary’s face turned a little sour. “I’d rather not talk about the times we’re living in.” 

You were about to say something else when you felt a hand on your shoulder, you looked up and swallowed, it was Professor Nightshade, “Have you finished your meal?” she asked politely. You nodded in response. “Good, please follow me to my office.” 

Lily gave you a worried look but you gave her a smile in return, whatever punishment she was going to give you, it couldn’t be too bad. “I’ll just take something for the way,” you told her, stood up and walked towards the boys, leaning in to grab an apple from the bowl right next to Remus “Where are we regrouping?" you whispered. 

"Give me your hand," he said. 

You turned to look at Nightshade, she was tapping her feet as she stood near the girls and looked, you swallowed, but instantly did as asked. Remus took your hand and placed a small, crescent moon bead that he took from his pocket, allowing his fingers to linger on your palm for a little too long before he spoke again.

"Keep it with you, we’ll find you."

You frowned, giving him a puzzled look, but turned back at Nightshade who looked like she was losing her temper and you nodded, Remus heard you say something like "Sorry Professor, I was looking for the right one," as you approached her with what he assumed was another one of those charming apologetic smiles of yours. 

"You gave her your charm," Sirius said as he saw you go. 

"So we can find her after the library," Remus responded, turning back to the other boy, "you ready?" 

Sirius smirked "I’m always ready, Moons. But we need to get the cloak first."

"And the map," the other boy added. “Prongs and Wormtail will be working on the escape plan all night, you’ll join them and practise the spells afterwards, right?"

Sirius nodded in return, “You’ll stay with Vixen and prepare the potion,” he then hesitated for a second “Ask her if she’s all right for me?” Remus gave Sirius a frown, and the blue-eyed boy took a deep breath, “She’s always at ease when you’re around, and for some reason, I feel like she would tell you if–” 

Remus shook his head “–She wouldn’t.” 

“No, but I’m sure, you even told me about that time after practice that-“ 

“–Pads.” Remus said calmly “She’s not going to tell me shit, not this time.” 

“But–“ 

“-It’s because it was me,” the taller boy explained. “She won’t say shit because I was the one to scratch her, I’m the reason she’s hurt.” 

“That’s not fair,” Sirius countered, “You didn’t mean to, she knows it.” 

“And that’s exactly why she wouldn’t tell me if she was off,” Remus sighed “She doesn’t want me to feel bad about it, and I don’t want to make her uncomfortable by making her lie.” Yeah, Remus knew what it was like to lie to his friends about the way he was feeling, he knew what it was like to feel the need to do it as if not to worry them, he didn’t want you to go through that, especially since he had been the one to hurt you in the first place.

Sirius sighed, leaning against the table, holding his head up with his hands, his beautiful curls cascading around his face and spilling between his fingers. Remus stared, almost enthralled by the beauty of his friend before speaking again. 

“She knew, you know?” he said suddenly. 

“She knew what?” Sirius asked, pulling his head up to look at Remus straight in the eyes. 

“She knew I was a werewolf,” the boy admitted. “When she arrived at the Shack and cranked the door open, she was relieved to see me for a whole of like 60 seconds before she realised how screwed she was.” 

“But how?!” the blue-eyed boy asked, confused.

“At first I thought it had been you–“ Remus admitted.

“I would never!” 

“I know,” Remus agreed “But you can’t blame me for thinking it a possibility, especially with how close you are to each other.” 

“But you should know I would never, especially after the-“ 

“–I know.” Remus cut him off, a little sharper now, he did not want to talk about the prank. 

“Then how did she find out?” 

“She guessed it,” Remus said with a tight lip smile, surprise and unbelievability spilling from his voice. Had Sirius not been paying attention to how attractive his friend looked with that smile on his face perhaps he would have realised the way Remus had said it sounded an awful lot like someone who had a crush “She said it was in the infirmary, last full moon.” 

Sirius almost winced “After the ring incident…”

“I highly doubt it was just the ring incident,” Remus reassured, “Anyway, my point is… she knew, and she didn’t tell anyone about it. She didn’t ask me, she didn’t ask you. All because she didn’t want to put us in an awkward position.” 

Sirius sighed, slumping his shoulders as he did “She’s a considerate idiot.” 

Remus laughed and nodded. After a couple of seconds of silence, he tilted his head just a little, effectively getting Sirius’ attention back on him. As much as he hated to admit it, he loved it when Sirius looked at him like that. “Let’s get the cloak then…” he said with a mischievous smile.  

“Let’s get the cloak,” Sirius responded with an equally mischievous grin. 

You had been the one to enter her office first, Nightshade trailing behind just to shut the door as she entered the room and walked towards her chair. She must have been just as tall as you, regardless, she carried herself in a way that made you feel smaller, almost intimidated, perhaps it had to do with how beautiful she was. You remember feeling like the time you met Walburga a couple of years ago, Nightshade had the same imposing aura, except she carried a hint of peacefulness to her, rather than the unhinged chaos that hid behind Walburga’s eyes. 

You swallowed as she continued walking all the way to her desk, she didn’t walk behind it though, she instead leaned back on it, elegance unmatched, “Miss (Y/LN).”

You didn’t say a word, instead, you nodded in acknowledgement, letting her know you were listening even if your voice refused to come out. 

“You must know why I brought you here.” 

“Because I used a very strong, downright almost-illegal hex on Evan Rosier.” 

She laughed, a graceful laugh that you were not expecting to hear “That’s not why you’re here.” 

“I’m sorry?! I thought you would– I thought I was here because… if it’s not that, then why?” 

“Take a guess,” she said with a playful smile. You weren’t sure if you were intimidated by it or not. 

“Because of the classes I missed? I’m sorry about that, it was really something unexpected and I–“ 

“That’s not it either.” 

“Then I– I don’t understand–“ 

“How’s your shoulder?” She asked casually. 

“It’s a lot better,” you said before you turned to look at her in shock. “How did you…” 

“You’re not the only one that’s friends with the ghosts darling,” she said. “Come over, let me check it.” 

You did as told, unbuttoning your blouse for her to inspect your wound “Is that why I’m here?” you asked as she carefully unrolled the bandage. 

“Damocles Belby came to me on Tuesday, knocking on the door very early in the morning,” she started, “he said you had gone to the forbidden forest to get an ingredient for a potion, and that you hadn’t returned when you told him you would,” you winced as her hand graced over one of the injured sections “he told me what he wanted and why he wanted it for. I knew in an instant either Remus had told you about his condition or that you had guessed yourself.” 

“You know about–“ 

“Of course I do. I’m the teacher of Defence Against the Dark Arts. I was informed the moment I got here.” 

“And Dumbledore just told you?!” you scoffed, sounding a little more offended and angry than you intended. 

She chuckled in return, “We go way back,” she said with a small smile “Either way, when you didn’t get to class I started to worry,” she continued “But I went over to check on Remus on the infirmary and he was calm enough, I knew he hadn’t hurt you, or at least that he hadn’t hurt you lethaIIy.” 

“If you knew I was hurt, then why did you put me in a duel against Evan?” 

“I didn’t think either of you would go as hard as you did on each other,” she admitted “and I wanted to know if you really were hurt.” 

“Is that why you placed your hand over my shoulder and helped me up?” 

“You almost had me fooled,” she admitted “I would have bought your act had it not been for the reactions of your friends.” 

A small smile played on your lips, you were proud. 

“You’re a strong one Miss (Y/LN),” she said as she inspected the wound “Whoever did the healing, is incredible at it,” she said casually “I’ve never seen a werewolf infringed wound looking so good after such little time.” 

You didn’t say a word which just got another small smile from her. She liked that you wouldn’t speak, it showed your strength of character and stubbornness. 

“Fine then, do not tell me,” she added as she started wrapping the bandage again “You know it will scar, right?” 

“Yes…” you responded. 

“And you don’t care?” she pressed. 

You turned to her, holding her stare as you clenched your jaw, what kind of question is that?, you thought. “I don’t,” you said simply, “If it had been anyone else perhaps I–“You stopped yourself from talking, she did not need to hear your inner monologue. “Why am I here?” you asked as you pulled back and started buttoning your blouse back up.

“Because I wanted to know something…” 

“And that is?” 

“Tell me, do you believe in bIood purity?” 

“That’s a bunch of bullshit,” you said simply. 

She didn’t react, her face plain “Bold of you to say, when you come from a pure-bIood family.” 

“It’s because I come from one that I know it’s bullshit, I know wizards twice as good as me that are not purebloods.”

She hummed, “I don’t think many wizards can be twice as good as you.”  

“You can think whatever you like,” you spat, you had always liked Professor Nightshade, admired her even, but you didn’t like the way she was speaking right now, it made you wary. 

“I like your bite,” she informed. “You could be really useful, you know...”  

“For who?” 

She smiled at the way you had asked, so forward “I can teach you,” She said, “Personal classes, one-on-one, I can make you the best duelist to ever walk out of this school…” 

“And at what cost?” 

“You don’t beat around the bush, do you?” 

“I have places to be, things to do, friends to see, don’t you?” 

She laughed, diverted at how serious you were being “Dumbledore.” You blinked a couple of times after she spoke. “You’d be working for Dumbledore.”

You looked at her, pupils moving fast as you thought about what she said “You’re not recruiting me for my talent,” you said then “you want me for my name, for my father’s contacts.” 

“Nothing slips past you, does it?” she said with a smile “but I wouldn’t be talking to you if you weren’t talented.” 

You squared your shoulders but didn’t say a thing. 

“So… What do you say?” 

Remus and Sirius had gotten the cloak and were already halfway through the passageways that would lead them to the library. Once they were about to get into the hallway, Sirius pulled the cloak from his backpack and handed it over to Remus, who, since he was the taller of the two, was almost always the one to accommodate it. 

Back when they were smaller it was way easier to get inside the cloak, in fact, the four boys would do it often, and they had no issues fitting in and still being completely invisible. The last time they tried to do it, no matter how close they stood to each other, someone’s shoes ended up being visible. That’s why they resorted to going two at a time, knowing full well that three was their max. 

Remus took the cloak and unfolded it in a swift motion, wrapping it around Sirius and himself in a movement that he had done so many times before that it made him look as elegant as a professional muggle magician wrapping his beautiful assistant for a trick. 

Sirius looked up at him with a teasing smile as he finished adjusting the cloak, “Let’s go then.” 

The two boys walked outside of the hole in the wall and walked alongside each other with practice ease. Remus was awful close to Sirius under the cloak, it was one of the reasons he’d almost always volunteer to go when he did, even if he was feeling off, hanging out with the boy always made him feel better. Either because of the jokes he’d cracked or because of the sheer excitement of just being close to him. 

Sirius heard a sound and stopped abruptly, placing a hand over his mouth to silently indicate to him to keep quiet. Remus, who was not expecting the sudden movement, collided with him, his nose almost crashing into Sirius’ head. He got a whiff of his scent, the one of pine trees, musk and a tinge of leather that you loved so much and he had to shut his eyes close to try and regain his stance. Sirius had no clue the effect he had on people. Or perhaps he did know the effect he had on people, since he often used it to his advantage, he just didn’t know the effect he had on Remus. After a second, the boy nodded and the two continued walking, once they had successfully gotten into the restricted section of the library, Remus took the cloak off the two of them. 

Sirius leaned closer, placing his hand on Remus’ shoulder to prompt his friend to bend down, when Remus obliged, he tilted his head towards the boy, his long locks brushing against Remus’ shoulder and cheeks. And while Remus was used to this, Sirius was touchy, he’d always been, and he probably always would be, it didn’t stop the shiver that went down his spine when Sirius finally whispered in his ear “Let’s split, I’ll find the potions book, you find the charms one.”  

When Sirius finally pulled back, his hand still on Remus’ shoulder, the boy nodded “Keep the cloak,” he suggested “My disillusionment charm is better.” 

Sirius arched his eyebrows, diverted. “You should see Vixen’s, she was never spoiled with James’  invisibility cloak like you and I.” 

“Bet hers is even better,” Remus said and gave Sirius a wink before casting the spell and becoming almost imperceptible to Sirius. He blinked a few times, staring at nothing for a couple of seconds before he turned around to look for the book. But as he did, he couldn’t help but replay Remus’ wink and smile in his head, he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen that expression on his friend’s face. Or perhaps he had seen it, he’d just never observed it properly. And it had certainly never lingered in his head like it had that day. 

But he shook those weird thoughts off and went straight to look for the book, using his wand to light the names of the tomes as he looked through the different potion books available. He skipped through Potionology: Crafting  Magic in a Bottle and Secrets of the Cauldron. There had to be something wrong with the way the books in the section were ordered since none of them followed the standard alphabetical order arrangements normal bookshelves had. 

He considered using Accio to get the book he was looking for, but it hadn’t worked last time, and most of the restricted section books had anti-summoning charms since they had to be kept away from most students’ hands. So he instead kept looking, making his lumus just a little more powerful so he could see a bit more of the books at the same time. 

Remus was on the far left corner of the room, looking through the charm books to try and find the right one when he heard a noise coming from the other side of the library. It had been faint, so faint that he wouldn’t have noticed it, had it not been because of his acute hearing. Sometimes being a monster came with its perks. 

He knew the sound was far away, so far that it wouldn’t be a problem for either of them if it didn’t get closer, so he kept his ears perked as he continued to look for the book. It didn’t take him much, since he knew exactly what he had been looking for. In fact, they had borrowed that same book a couple of times before, and it had a rather distinctive bright red cover, with shiny black details, it was almost impossible to miss. He took it out from its spot on the bookshelf, being careful not to make as much noise as he did, and then he placed it in his bag. 

But that’s when he heard it, the sound from earlier had been steps. Steps that were approaching them pretty damn fast. Remus looked around, trying to find Sirius, and the boy was still looking for the book with his wand brightly lit, completely unaware of the sounds that were so clearly drumming in Remus’ ears. “Fuck,” he whispered as he started speed walking towards his friend. 

Thud, thud, thud, the steps echoed ominously, growing closer and faster with each passing moment. Remus increased his peace, trying to get to Sirius before whoever was stepping closer to them did.

Remus looked around, trying to find him, and he was still looking for the book with his wand brightly lit, completely unaware of the approaching danger. Thud, thud, THUD, it was getting closer, so close Remus had to improvise. 

He grabbed the cloak and repeated the same motion he had done earlier, wrapping it around the two of them in a second, but not measuring his strength, he ended up pressing Sirius against the bookshelf, the boy was about to protest, but Remus heard the steps getting even closer, so he placed one hand on Sirius’ mouth and the other one, he wrapped around the light still coming from the boy’s wand. 

Sirius was shocked at first. It’s not that it was weird for Remus to stand so close to him, in fact, the line of personal space had been rather blurry between them for the longest time –especially with how handsy Sirius was all the time– but this was different. The way Remus was pressing onto him reminded him an awful lot of the way he pressed himself onto you sometimes. Sirius almost panicked, breath hitched in his throat when he turned his icy blue eyes to Moony’s face.

He was towering above him, breath steady as he looked to the side, head slightly tilted as he listened on. The footsteps were finally becoming audible for Sirius as well, but even if he was hearing them, he wasn’t quite registering them, he was too busy staring at Remus. He swallowed, focusing his eyes on Remus’s lips for a second before turning back to his eyes, feeling panic at the thoughts surging through his head. 

For the first time in a while, Sirius was completely frozen in place, not knowing exactly what to do in a situation like this. He wondered if Prongs had been the one doing the same thing, what would’ve been his reaction. How different would it have been from the reaction he’d given Wormtail? What if it was you? 

Remus, who had been focusing on the steps rather than on the way he had trapped Sirius between his arms, seemed to finally understand the position he had placed his friend in. But even if he could feel most of Sirius’s chest against his own, and how their legs were almost intertwined with each other, he had to focus on the situation at hand. Luckily Remus was resourceful enough to be able to focus on one thing at a time, and right at that moment, the approaching steps seemed to be a priority. 

The sound was so close now, even Sirius managed to free himself from the trance and turned his eyes to the creak of the metal door being opened. It was Professor Spellman, Remus realised. The man strolled in casually and started looking through the shelves with the light of a small kerosene lantern. 

When he got closer to the place where both boys stood, Remus pressed himself a little closer to Sirius, their heads so close Sirius could feel Monny’s breath on his ear. He could also feel the soft rise and fall of his friend’s chest against his own. For some reason the image of Remus’ pirate costume came to his mind, how both you and him had tried to fix his collar when Remus stepped away and took some distance. Remus certainly didn’t seem to care about the closeness now. 

Remus could feel Sirius’ curls tickling his cheeks, and he could also feel the way Sirius’ breath had caught in his throat. He could sense out the scent of his shampoo, and he also smelled a little of you. No, your smell was all over Sirius just like Sirius’ smell was almost always all over you. It was an absolutely intoxicating mix, downright bewitching. So much so that he almost leaned closer to bury his head on Sirius’ neck when he realised what he was doing and leaned to the side instead, pretending like he was just looking at Spellman.

Sirius eventually let go of the initial shock, and even if his heart was pounding against his chest, he managed to maintain a slow, regular breathing pattern, as if not to call the attention of Spellman. He had practice already, he’d been in one too many dangerous and exciting situations, being just about to get caught wasn’t foreign to him. What was foreign, is how weird being so close to Remus made him feel. 

Which is why he did the only thing he knew worked in situations like that, and he decided to make a joke of his feelings and thoughts instead of dealing with them. He vividly remembered his own reaction to you doing this to him, he wanted to see if Remus would keep his composure if he did the exact same thing. 

Sirius Black might give me a heart attack, Remus thought as he felt the way the blue-eyed boy shifted around. And then, all of a sudden, he felt it; wet and sticky, did he just fucking lick my hand? Remus wondered. But decided he might have imagined it. Except he felt it a second time around. He frowned, turning around to see if Spellman was still close, when he realised he was just far enough, he tightened his grip around the boy’s mouth “Sirius. Behave!” Remus berated in a low demanding voice. 

Not Pads, not Siri, but Sirius, your boyfriend realised as his breath hitched in his throat yet again. The way Remus Lupin had said that straight up sent a shiver down his spine. He gulped and obediently shut his mouth. 

Remus, on the other hand, was really trying to maintain his steady breath. Even, as he felt his heart hammering against his chest. It was so loud to him, he wondered if Spellman could hear it because Sirius had to be hearing it. At least he could chuck it to the brink of almost being caught. Eventually, the professor grabbed a book and walked outside. 

When the thumps of his footsteps sounded far enough, he finally pulled his hand from Sirius’ mouth,  looking at the boy straight in the eye as he continued breathing heavily. He pulled back as well, finally letting the space normal friends would keep when hanging around each other. Sirius almost missed the closeness, no he did miss the closeness, which was even worse.

“You got the book?” Remus asked before either of them could say something weird. Sirius shook his head and the two of them started to look for the book. Both still under the cloak, both still so dangerously close to each other that, had any of the two wanted, they would have been able to bask in each other’s warmth. But both kept their distanc, both too scared of what the other might have been thinking. 

“It’s here,” Sirius said as he pulled the book from the shelf “The Alchemist’s Grimoire, right?” 

Remus nodded, “Let’s get out of here.”  

You were walking back to the common room when you felt someone’s hand on your arm, yanking you towards their chest. You didn’t have to even look to know it had been Sirius. His cologne filling your nostrils the moment you were wrapped inside the cloak, “So you did find me,” you said turning to Remus, who was also under the cloak, he was placing a piece of parchment behind him, tucking it in between his pants and sweater. 

“How was the talk? You’ve got detention?” Sirius asked, moving you to stand right in between the two of them. You felt a little squeezed and thought it was weird since normally Sirius would just stand behind you, but shrugged it off. 

“No,” you said “She actually wanted to train me,” you explained “She said I could make a fine duelist.” 

“She’s not wrong,” Remus said simply. You turned to him with eyebrows raised “What? We all saw the way you quashed Evan.” 

“That wasn’t… never mind, how was your incursion in the library?” you asked, drifting the subject away. Both boys tensed up, you probably wouldn’t have noticed, but you were quite literally pressed in between the two “That bad?” 

“Spellman,” Remus said, “He walked inside while we were still looking, we had to stay very still under the cloak for a long while.” 

“Oh, must have been fun,” you joked with a teasing smile, but neither of them reacted, which had you side-eye the two with a bit of a frown. 

“You bet,” Remus responded after a rather long silence. You frowned, something was definitely off between the two. Did they fight? And if they did, over what? you thought, even if “fight” wasn’t exactly the vibe you were getting. 

The three of you continued walking for a while, “this is my stop,” Sirius said suddenly, the three of you stopped walking, and Sirius placed his hand on your shoulder to guide you closer to the entrance of the passageway he’d take back to the dorms. 

“This is for you,” Remus said as he pulled out the charms book from his shoulder bag, Sirius took it and gave him the other book in return. You observed their interactions with squinted eyes, they were both a little stiff, robotic. Especially Sirius, actually, it might have just been Sirius, Remus did look a little fazed but he always did after the full moon, and it had barely been a couple of days since the incident either way. 

“Mind if I steal her for a minute?” Sirius said as he grabbed your wrist and pulled you inside the passage along with him. You gave Remus a questioning look and he just shrugged, allowing Sirius to basically pull you all the way to the other side, letting the tapesry to fall back into place, giving you both just enough privacy. 

You managed to barely give Sirius a look before he had you pinned against the cold stone wall and leaned into you. You didn’t even have a chance to gasp before he swallowed the sound by clashing his mouth into yours. Sirius hadn’t kissed you that hungrily since, perhaps a couple of days ago when you were still craving meat above anything else, but even back then, it had been you the one that had started the kiss. The one time he had kissed you, remotely like that, had perhaps been at the Halloween Party…

You knew something was up, but you couldn’t help but melt into the kiss either way, perhaps he was just too stressed after almost being caught and he wanted a way to find release. And no, using you as a relief of stress was not at all making you feel bad, in fact, you kind of enjoyed being able to help him, to anchor him. 

Sirius pushed even closer to you, sliding his knee in between your legs as he placed both hands on your face, angling it however he pleased, you let him, in fact, you enjoyed it. The way he kissed you made you feel giddy and excited and almost weak on the knees. You wrapped your hands around his neck, using him as support as you brushed your fingers on the nape of his neck. He responded by pressing his hips to you, probably involuntarily, but you had noticed he absolutely loved it when you placed your fingers there, under his beautiful black locks, so you did it when you wanted a reaction from him. 

He accidentally brushed your wounded shoulder, and you winced, “Sorry,” he mumbled, separating from your mouth for just enough to be able to say the words and going straight back to kissing you, letting his hands wrap around your waist instead. You didn’t realise until much later that Sirius had not once, in the many times he kissed you after you got hurt, been so careless with his kisses, so needy. 

But you didn’t care, you couldn’t care, really. Not with the way he had you pressed against the stone wall, not with the way he had his lips moving around yours in such a demanding way, not with the way he smelled. And boy, did he smell fucking delicious that day. It was his normal cologne, the smell of musk and leather, but there was something else in the mix too, something you couldn’t quite place. Or perhaps it was something that your brain just didn’t want to place, since it was Remus. What you were smelling, the one thing that was different had been there just because of the way Moony had pressed Sirius against the wall. But you didn’t know, and there was no way you realised either way. Not with the way Sirius’s kiss made your mind foggy. 

When he finally broke the kiss, the two of you were panting, and he started placing soft, butterfly kisses all over your face. He looked at you with a lovesick smile “You’re stunning, you know that?” he asked. 

You blushed, as if it was possible to blush even more than you already had, but you somehow managed to sober up from the kiss and placed your hand on his cheek, he keened to the touch, still with a smile as he looked at you with those beautiful icy-blue eyes of his, shining brightly in the dark room “Are you okay Puppy?” you asked, a small smile forming in your face. 

Sirius’ smile faltered for only a second, as if he had remembered something and he nodded “More than perfect,” he smirked, “especially after that kiss.” His tone had changed, he was flirting, he was distracting you.  

You averted your gaze, sometimes you were weaker to his advances, sometimes his flirting affected you a lot more than normally, even if you should’ve already gotten used to it. But there was something still bothering you in the back of your head and you turned back to look at him, “Are you sure?”

Sirius smiled at your concern, but also because whatever had him feeling so off minutes earlier, was gone, you were there, and he wanted to kiss you, not Moony, but you. So whatever that had been, must have been a spur-of-the-moment thing, he was utterly and irrevocably in love with you, which meant there was no way he liked Remus. Because you couldn’t like two people at the same time, that was impossible… right? 

“Absolutely,” he said, placing another one of those quick wet kisses, this time to your lips, “Moony’s waiting outside for you luv, aren’t you planning to go?” 

You tilted your head, a small scoff slipping from your lips “You’re the one that cornered me in the dark hallway Puppy.” 

He hummed as he tilted his head “You want another kiss don’t you, little Kit?” he teased after hearing the nickname.

You shrugged, ignoring the pain from your shoulder and leaned in to whisper in his ear “Maybe later lover boy, we’ve got work to do,” you said in what you hoped was a seductive tone before leaning in and placing a soft kiss in his mouth. Seconds after you disappeared through the curtain. 

Sirius looked at you, frozen in place again, mouth agape as he saw the tapestry shut behind you. He swallowed, face stoic once more, the way you had whispered in his ear, had reminded him an awful lot of the way Remus had earlier, softer, almost like a purr rather than a demanding bark, but both had felt as intimate as the other. Both equally shiver inducing.

Series Masterlist | Next Chapter

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A/N: Merry Christmas Guys! Thought of giving you a special little Christmas gift today, hope you enjoy, and you're all having the happiest of times. If you are not thought, that is alright, and my DMs are ALWAYS open in case you wanna talk about it. -> AHHHH Sirius’ gay panic, I hope I got this one right, I’ve been wanting to post this since I wrote it a few weeks ago… how do you like it? Lilly xxx

Raead more Marauders Fiction

[charliehoennam]

home again.

A/N: request made here by @juniebugg and a nonny made here so i decided to mash these two together

Pairing: John Kinley x F!reader

Warnings: Language and smut. No minors, please!

Word count: 2,675

SHARING IS CARING, SO PLEASE REBLOG

The dusty gravel of your driveway crunched under the tires of Declan’s truck. You didn’t need to look out the window to know who it was, but you wanted to see him. Make sure he’s alright.

You’d refused to pick John up at the military base. You didn’t want to be anywhere near it. It’d been months since he’d been away and you hated every single second he was gone.

You missed him more than anything in the world. Deep inside, you were thrilled he was finally home and, most importantly, safe. Part of you wanted to race out the door and throw yourself in his arms. The other part, however, wanted to slap him across the face.

Months of his absence – provided only via letters and shitty connections through phone calls or video chats that could never replace his presence – drove you insane.

The only thing that was worse was zero contact. Not knowing if he was dead or alive; that every car that drove by the house would deliver that dreaded folded flag. Sometimes, you questioned why he would want to be in the army in the first place, fighting a war that he has no fault in. How could he just leave you?

You’d thought it would get easier to live with after you got married. Turned out, it wasn’t.

John called out for you and spotted you by the window where he’d caught you staring out of just before you moved away to hide. He read your resistance right off the bat.

“Hey, honey” he smiled as he set his army green bag on the floor in the hallway. “Don’t I get a kiss huh?”He tried to joke to loosen you up.

There was definitely tension in the air that he’d detected even before walking in, but he wanted to avoid conflict on his first day home. He’d missed you just as much as you’d missed him; there was no doubt the distance was hard on both sides. Yet you felt he was to blame since it was his choice to reenlist. You were there. You’d always be there.

You pulled away as he tried to pull you into his arms and marched back into the kitchen where you’d been making his favorite: Fettucine alfredo with crispy bits of Italian sausage. 

“Something smells real good.” His attempts were getting nowhere. “Come on, baby. Is this how it’s gonna be every time I come home?”

“You could just stay home.” You shrugged as you continued stirring the pot of white sauce before dipping a spoon to taste-test the flavor.

“We’re really gonna do this? Again?” He scoffed running a hand over his tired face.

“Do you really expect me to be all bright smiles when you were literally gone for 9 months in the middle of God knows where? After 11 days of sheer silence, I just found 6 days ago that you weren’t dead, John.”

“I thought that would be something to be happy about.” His brows furrowed.

“I am happy you’re alive, John. But I did also spend 11 days thinking you might have been dead!”

“That wasn’t my fault! We got ambushed by an IED in the middle of nowhere. We lost the RV and had to trek through the goddamn desert. You think I wanted that happen?!”

“Then you shouldn’t have relisted! I just don’t get it! Why would you want to go back to that?!”

“You don’t have to get anything! You’re acting like this is all new to you! You knew I was in the Army before, that it wouldn’t change when we got married!”

“Maybe I’d hope it would! So crucify me for thinking that maybe my husband would want to actually be home with me after getting married!” 

Your argument only escalated after that. John was angry and you were furious. A blur of loud voices, searing tears and fists pounding on walls and countertops. At some point, he had decided to blow off some steam and slammed the front door shut as he left to have a drink at the bar. He didn’t want to get drunk or talk to anybody. He just wanted to get out of there before you’d both said things that couldn’t be taken back.

Sat on a tall stool with a beer bottle cradled in his hands, he stared into nothingness wanting to forget everything. However, his mind found itself returning to you. To your scent that lingered on his clothes after his hug. To your warmth against his chest and arms. Fuck, he missed you badly and he hated that he couldn’t fucking forget it.

After pushing himself off the stool, he drove home in silence and cautiously stepped over the threshold. His eyes scanned the house as he made his way in, searching for any indication that could explain your current state. But he found only silence. A daunting calmness in the shadows of the home as the streets casted their lights in attempt to chase the gloom. But when his eyes landed on a pillow stacked upon of a folded-up blanket, he shook his head and ignored your punishment.

That was his limit. The final drop to overflow the flood he’d spent hours trying to contain.

You tossed and turned in bed, wondering if you had gone too far. You reflected on his words. He wasn’t wrong. You knew the Army was important to him going into the relationship. You knew that when you said yes when he asked you to marry him. You knew that when you said “I do” at the altar.

He felt his blood boil again as he marched up the stairs with his pillow under his arm. The door flew up open and he strode into the room, avoiding your bewildered gaze as you propped yourself up on your elbow.

“What do you think you’re doing?” You questioned angrily. “You’re sleeping on the couch.”

“The hell I am. I spent nine months away. I’m sleeping in my own bed tonight.”

You could hear the tinge of impatience in his voice. He sat at the edge of his side on the bed to untie his boots and set them aside with a thud muffled by the carpet.

“You’re not sleeping here, John.”

“You can sleep on the couch if you want, but I’m sleeping right here.”

“You’re fucking ridiculous, you know that?”

“Oh, I am huh? How about you? You’re the one that’s acting like a fucking child.”

You sat up in disbelief, ready for round two of your argument.

“Just don’t. I’m tired and I wanna sleep.” He stated as he laid back against his pillow, back turned to you.

“You think it’s fucking easy? You think it’s easy having you miles away, with no notice if you’re even alive? I thought you were dead, John!”

He was ready to snap back with his defense, but the tears building in your eyes warned him not to. Instead, his jaw clenched as he held his gaze on you.

“I spent night crying my fucking eyes out thinking you weren’t coming home this time! Just to get up the next day and pretend like everything was alright! Do you know how emotionally exhausting this has been for me?!”

He hadn’t thought about that. Guilt settled in his chest and started to build in his throat as he listened to your rant, which soon brought you to sob.

“Hey, it’s alright. I’m home…” he whispered pulling you into his strong arms, wrapping them around you.

Any resistance you had melted away against his warmth. You gave in and buried your face into his neck.

“I’m home. I’m with you and everything’s alright. Everything’s alright now.” he repeated as he soothed you with gentle kisses on the crown of your head. His palm rubbed circles against your back.

Your body was yearning for him. He could tell from the way your nails clung onto his shirt. His fingers lifted your chin to catch your gaze.

“Look at me. I’m right here. I’m with you and I’m not going anywhere, alright?” he whispered with a thumb wiping your tears away.

“I got you, hm?”

Sealing his promise with a kiss, your body softened and accepted his kiss. Then his tongue. You could feel it building in your core. That familiar lust that had haunted you during his absence. That craving that couldn’t be quenched.

Like magnets, your bodies had lost against the invisible pull. His hands slipped down to your thighs, guiding them as you straddled his lap.  The heated kiss was unbroken until your hands tugged at his olive-green shirt to release it from the tuck of his camouflaged pants. You helped him pull it off over his head as he helped you remove the Pink Floyd t-shirt that once belonged to him before becoming your favorite nightgown.

 As your lips collided once again – more feverish than before –, your hands roamed down to unbuckle his belt. The metal clinked as it hit the floor. John wasted no time to lay you down against the mattress. You needed him and there he finally was to take care of you. God, how he’d missed your taste.

He whispered continuous praises as his bushy beard brushed against your delicate skin, peppering kisses down to your breasts. His mouth closed around your hardening nipples, suckling them with eyes closed to relish their fullness and warmth.

“My beautiful wife. Missed you so fucking much.”

His hand kneaded each of them as he squeezed your flesh to his face. He could’ve stayed there forever, but he was eager to please you.

He forced himself up as he stood back on his knees, sat against his heels. His gaze on you was loving as if admiring a sculpture he’d carved from his own dreams. “I love you” fell from his lips over and over again, like a prayer in between the tender kisses he pressed against your legs, lifting them to rest against his broad shoulders. He hooked his fingers into your panties and slid them up your legs and tosses them to the floor. His eyes locked on yours was more than enough to cause your core to puddle. You could feel the slick building with every kiss.

He wasted no time settling between your thighs, trailing his kisses over your outer labia. This was about making you feel good. Making it sink into your brain that he was finally fucking home.

With your legs bent up over his shoulders, he moaned as he buried his mouth against your plush slick flush. One hand slid up to your breast as the other locked its fingers with your own. You moaned and wiggled against him.

He devoured you and smiled to himself as he watched the way your body arched in pleasure. The salty sweet taste of you liquefied his insides. He could feel him twitching as his cock hardened on the bed. After months of bottling in all his desires and having to satisfy himself with his hand and a photo of you in lingerie, his thirst for you was erupting beyond control. He had to remind himself that this was going to be about you.

His hips began rocking against the bed at the sounds your body was making. He was so eager to fuck you, but he had to contain himself to make it last. Yet his hunger for you had his hips grinding against the mattress, aching for any type of friction he could get as he battled with his self-control. His cock spasmed in his pants with every gentle tug on his hair or scrape of your nails on his scalp.  

With his tongue building up your orgasm, it lapped over your folds and concentrated on the overly sensitive nub. He swiped and swiveled over it; the pressure in your depths grew into hot white pleasure. You weren’t going to last much longer.

The hand on your breast slid down your scorching skin to hold your hips firmly in place as you wriggled, wrestling against the implosion and failing terrible to resist until you finally caved in. Your body trembled as your legs shut on either side of his head. He smiled as he proudly admired your reaction, enjoying how quickly your chest rose and fell. The leaking precum from his dick was beginning to sink through his boxers and pants; he was almost certain he’d left a wet spot on the bedsheet.

He lifted himself off and was unable to wait any longer. He needed to feel you on his cock. Kicking his pants off provided you a moment to regain yourself and admired the way his muscles contracted under his skin. This big burly man was yours, all yours.

As he crawled back between your legs and aligned himself to penetrate, you both watched his head slowly push in through your soaking pussy in burning anticipation lathered with only the spit on his fingertips.

His eyes closed tightly shut as he bottomed out and held himself there for a moment, controlling his own increasing implosion.

You could tell he was struggling a bit between satisfying you both and giving into his own carnal needs. You cradled the sides of his face and gently guided him down to kiss him in an attempt to distract him from the wonderful hug of your cunt on his cock.

With an arm propped on the side of your head, he kissed you hungrily as his hand gripped the soft flesh of your thigh and pushed your hips against his. His groin brushing on your swollen nub sent fireworks bursting through your nerves, forcing a shy moan from your throat. He smiled and pulled his head back to look down at you.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

As his lips latched onto your neck, his hips pulled back and slowly thrusted forward to begin his pace. Slow and gentle, but so deliciously full and stretched. You held your breath with every push and pull of his cock, clenching around it to hold him inside. You’d never let him go if you could. His cock in you made you feel so completed like this is where you both were meant to be.

His pace started to quicken. A sheen coat of sweat glazed your bodies in the cool blue light of the moon that rained in from the tall windows of your bedroom. The searing heat had begun to bubble from the inside out, oozing from your desperate desire to feel each other deeper.

The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed out the open door and into the hallway. His balls slammed against your perineum as your wetness began coating the bedsheet underneath, staining it with remnants of love and lust.

With labored breaths, he hugged you tightly against him with his other arm. It was building up in you for the second time and you could tell it was building in him as well. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as your toes curled against his hips. The tight embrace of your pussy as you came again had him frantically hammering into you as praises flooded out from his lips.

“Feel so fucking good for me. I-I fucking love you, baby. L-love you so much.”

Releasing you to lock your fingers together, he shuddered with a deep moan and slowed to a stop. You milked every drop. The hot load filled you with an incomparable warmth in your depths. Your walls were coated in his pearly white seed.

He panted as he held himself in your cunt for a moment longer until he finally pulled out and collapsed beside you. You turned on your side to face him. His hands reached out for you and pulled you into his arms. Perfectly nestled against his hairy chest, you smiled to yourself. His heart beating against your ear was the final reminder that he was home. He was here and he was all yours.

[transmascsteveharrington]

Sometimes Eddie can't believe that they've made it. He'll look at Steve, like right now across the lawn, watches him teaching little Emma how to put sausages and burgers on the grill, and Eddie still can't believe it.

For the longest time as a teen Eddie was convinced he would end up in the 27 Club. Trying to escape the reality of his meager life expectancy as a queer freak trailer trash kid in a small town in bumfuck Indiana by glamorizing going out with a sex, rock'n'roll, and drugs fuelled bang before the age of 30. He never thought it would be an angry mob of jocks and a thunderstorm of bloodhungry demobats that would almost take him out before the age of 20.

Eddie only managed to step away from death's door thanks to the miracle that is Steve Harrington. And he truly is a miracle. Not just because he carried Eddie's half-dead body out of the upside down and nursed him back to health. Not just because he helped get Eddie's name cleared and his charges dropped. No, everything about Steve felt like a goddamn miracle. The way he smiled, his bitchy but entertaining little jabs, the taste of his chicken noodle soup, the way he would comfort everyone who needed it. But the most miraculous thing to Eddie had been that Steve had chosen him. Had fallen in love with him. Had stayed with him.

Still feels like a miracle every morning when Eddie wakes up in Steve's arms both of their bodies aching. As if he could tell what Eddie is thinking Steve looks up from the grill and finds Eddie's eyes. He gives Eddie that private little smile, the smile that means, "you too are my miracle." Because Steve feels the exact same.

It took a couple more months and for Eddie and Steve to leave the god-forsaken small town of Hawkins behind for Eddie to believe that he might make it past 27. They moved to Indy first and then later to Chicago. Shabby apartments became home and strangers became friends, confidants, people that turned out to be just like Steve and Eddie and Robin. And then some of those friends started dying. Eddie kinda lost count of how many funerals they went to during those years. Is thankful every day that they made it, is thankful for all the friends that did make it.

He watches some of them across the lawn or on the porch, chatting, carrying potato salad, laughing and lifting up their kids or even grandkids. Eddie watches them all and takes in the miracle that is grey hair and wrinkles, looks at Steve and loves how the nickname "The Hair" doesn't quite apply anymore, curses the pain in his own back and kinda sees it a little bit as a blessing at the same time. As a reminder that they have made it. As a reminder that they get to have this, that despite supernatural powers and bigoted people they got to have this.

They got to grow older and will continue to grow older. They got to get married (three times: once in Amsterdam, once in Massachusetts and once last year in their backyard renewing their vows, celebrating gay marriage being legalized). Two arms warp around Eddie from behind and a soft kiss is pressed into his cheek.

"Hi dad," Allison, their eldest, says and let's go of him.

"Hey honey," Eddie says and pulls her into a proper hug, holding her tight.

She moved to West Coast for college, near where Will and Mike are located now, so Eddie and Steve don't get to see her all that much, as opposed to George who just moved to Detroit. It's nice, means Eddie and Steve get to see little Emma relatively often. As if on cue Emma turns around and looks from Steve to Eddie and Allison.

"Aunt Allie," she yells and runs across the yard to hug her aunt, leaving Steve all alone at the grill.

While Emma and Allison hug, Eddie makes his way over to Steve. Thinks once more how lucky they are that they got to adopt two beautiful kids, now have a grandkid too. Fucking miracle. Eddie reaches Steve and sneaks his arms around him, chin hooked over his shoulder.

"Oh hello," Steve says and turns his head enough to steal a quick peck. "What are you doing here?"

"Missed you," Eddie mumbles and buries his face in Steve's neck, nose brushing against Steve's scar.

"Sap," Steve says, but then adds, "Missed you too, baby."

Eddie closes his eyes and just drifts. Takes in the smell of Steve and bbq, hears children laughing and friends talking, feels Steve's warm body pressed against his. With the lives they have led, the places they came from the odds have never been in their favor. But somehow, by pure luck, miracle, determination and stubbornness they made it. And Eddie is thankful for it every day. Thankful for Steve, and Allision and George, and little Emma and everyone else part of their little miracle.

They've made it. Eddie still sometimes can't believe it.

[soft-persephone]

A Fresh Start 1

Mother’s Milk x Fem!Reader

M // WC: 1.3k // warnings: eventual smut, potential descriptions of mild violence, but mostly fluff, mostly sweet, typical romcom shenanigans // masterlist

“I don’t wanna go to the party.”

You sucked in a breath, holding back a sigh of frustration.

“TT, you need to make friends.”

Life was not what it should be, especially when 8 year olds are worried about your social life and general well being.

“Momo, I’m an adult,” you started softly, mustering all the cool calm collected and comforting and safe space energy you could, “and I take care of you. Not the other way around.” You put a hand on her shoulder, sliding it up and down her back.

“Thank you for thinking about me and caring about me. I love you just as much.” You studied her, hoping you weren’t making anything worse, “but you don’t need to worry about me. There’s nothing to worry about. Go have fun with your friends and I’ll be here when you’re ready to go or the party ends. Deal?”

“Will you at least be on your best behavior?”

You sighed.

“Go play with your friends.”

“But I just—“

“Now, Mo.”

Kids. You shook your head and grabbed the tray of food you made per the list that was sent out.

“You made it!” One of the mom’s wrapped her arms around you. You did your best not to look as uncomfortable as you felt.

“Thank you for having me.” You smiled and gave her the tray.

“Uhm, Sweetie. . . What are these?”

“Pigs in a blanket. Slightly charred A grade beef sausages, the mini ones of course, wrapped in a croissant dough, dusted with a caramel Dijon mustard and pepper sauce.”

“They’re third graders.” Sheila blinked at you.

You pouted with a huff.

“They’re just pigs in a blanket!”

“Sheila stop giving her a hard time.”

“Hi, I’m Tracey.” She looked back to you with a smile.

You introduced yourself slowly to all the other parents.

“So you’re Monice’s mother?”

You squeezed your hand.

Of course they all knew. At this point who didn’t.

“Uhm,” you took a breath for courage, “I’m actually her Aunt. Her mother didn’t make it through the accident.”

That’s what you had to call it, but it was far from an accident. Your dead sister in law and your brother in critical condition in a comma is not what you call an accident. Especially, when the forces that caused it had enough power in the world to prevent it if they weren’t such careless fucks.

But you couldn't say that part out loud or you’d get sued.

Some people gasped and you wanted to shrivel up and disappear. You wanted everyone to stop looking at you like you were about to break because you were, but it’s hard to keep it all together or at least just look like it with so many eyes on you.

“How are you holding up through all this?”

“We’re uh, we’re good. Monice obviously needed some therapy after what happened, and she wouldn’t do it unless I did it with her, but I honestly needed it too.”

Someone had made you a plate.

The pasta salad was amazing and the ribs spectacular. It was good to be around your people. You ignored the growing ache of your family. You all had been in shambles since the accident. Your mother barely talked to anyone. Your father was angry, but somehow rather a calm in the eye of a storm. He was holding it together for everyone, but at his age, he did not need to be doing anything like that, and nothing you said calmed either of them down.

“And you’re doing this alone?” Someone chimed in with a hand over their heart.

“Well, I had a boyfriend, but I guess he,uh wasn’t ready. He basically said he couldn’t be there for me.” You realized that might sound harsh, so you continued in an effort to diffuse the reality of your words, “he took me on a date to this beautiful restaurant we loved.”

You smiled at the thought, fighting tears.

“It was all so nice. . . And then he just started talking about how emotionally draining being with me was. How he didn’t want to start living with a kid and change his whole life around. That he still wanted more time and that it was just too much for him.” You picked at the roll on your plate.

“I always thought I had more time too, but none of that matters. Momo’s entire life has been turned upside down and she doesn’t know if her father will ever come back into her life or not. She’s scared all the time.” Your voice cracked.

“And this past Monday I was on the phone with my therapist just opening up trying, just trying, to get to a good place so I can be there for Mo, but she overheard me say I Feel like I’m alone and drowning with everything and that I just want my big brother back and now she’s so worried about me being alone and always asking me about my friends not being there for me like they were before and I just—“

Fuck you didn’t mean to say all that. You don’t mean to cry.

“Should we?” Sheila looked at Tracey who only shook her head.

“Maybe you should talk to Marvin?”

That’s all everyone in this community says.

“I heard Monice used to go to a different school?”

You but your lip. Unsure what to say.

“She was suspended.” You said matter of factly.

“After everything she’s been through?” Tracey asked.

“Everyone experiences trauma different. I want to curl into a ball, stay in my bed, and cry all day.” You sighed at nothing in particular, “Momo gets angry. Other kids still love superheroes and she lives in a world where superheroes took her family away. Long story short I’m in an office and they're telling me she’s a bully and has to go because her behavior is unacceptable.”

“That can’t be right.”Sheila said, aghast. “She’s a little black girl. It must be some sort of a mistake. You know how they are when we aren’t perfect all the time and I heard it was a pretty prestigious school.”

“I’d love to believe that was the case, but it’s not. She owned up to it. Told me everything and now we have to face the consequences of our actions, so bye bye old school, old friends, and all the other stuff.”

Everyone kind of stared at you.

Fuck.

You said something wrong. Or you don’t look so heartbroken and beaten down and broken enough, Or was it your parenting?

It was probably all of it.

You got overwhelmed, you wanted to chill out, you wanted to scream, you wanted to cry, but you got through it.

You looked out at the kids running around with large bubble wands and toys galore.

Momo seems to be having the grandest time with another little black girl. They chased each other with large bubbles, attempting to pop them on each other’s head.

She made a friend.

All of a sudden your shoulders were falling back and down into something relaxed. You were exhaling a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

Were you that tense the whole time?

You shook your head and made your way to the desert table once more.

There were these croissant donut things or some type of pastry. It looked so good, but you couldn't tell which one you wanted most. Between the decadent looking chocolate and the mouthwatering matcha strawberry. You couldn’t tell which one might taste better.

You only wanted one.

“You must be related to Monice?” A rich deep voice interrupted you.

You slightly turn around to meet warm brown eyes and equally comforting dark skin.

Butterflies filled your stomach. You chased the feeling down by fiddling with your fingers, still looking at him so it doesn’t come off as awkward as you felt.

“What gave it away?”

“You both stick your tongue in your cheek and pout when you can’t decide between more than one thing.”

You huffed a laugh through your nose. Your eyes rolling dramatically around not sure what to look at.

“I do not pout.” You crossed your arms. “I’m not a child.

“Well you're acting like one.” He picked up both croissants with a napkin and placed them on two plates. He gingerly cut both in half with a knife and swapped one of the halves. “Here, now you can have both.”

You held out both your hands. Looking at the plate and back up to him.

“How-how?”

“What do we say?” He ignored you. Taking a step into your space, leaning down so his face was in yours and staring.

“Stop.” You laughed but he didn’t move.

“Ugh, fine.” You smacked your teeth. “Thank you.”

“I’ll take it, but you could sound more grateful.”

“Mm.” You grunted at him and took a bite of the matcha one first.

He followed as you sat on the edge of the patio to continue to watch the kids play outside.

“Why don’t you come back in with the rest of them?”

“You mean inside with the women?”

He gave you an unamused look.

“You know what I meant.”

“Well, they started playing fuck marry kill for the Vaught dummies.” You picked at the corner of your paper plate, “and I excitedly yelled kill Homelander before anyone could say anything.”

You expected him to empathize. Maybe even give you a: damn, that’s tough. In the way some black men talk when they can’t express emotions, but what you don’t expect him to do was laugh.

“It’s not funny.” You muttered into your chocolate pastry as you took a bite.

“What did they say?” He bellowed and put his hand on his stomach.

“Nothing!” You laughed as he wiped a tear. “And that’s what makes it worse. I sorta lied and said I had to go to the bathroom and I’ve been out here ever since.”

“Well it’s nice to not be the only one around here.”

“The only one around here what?”

He looked at you. Really, looked at you.

“Who hates Supes.” He said lowly, leaning in so no one walking by could hear you.

You didn’t say anything and took another bite of the matcha one. You winced and he sort of turned to you, extending a hand as if he was going to hurily fix whatever was wrong.

“It’s fine,” you explained with a lick of your lips, “the matcha one doesn’t taste as good when you take a bite of the chocolate one before it, “it took me by surprise.”

“Oh.. right.” He put his free hand back on his plate, taking the piece of matcha pastry and stuffing the whole thing in his mouth, making him look 30 years younger.

A really really big kid.

You wanted to tease him for it.

But instead you handed him a napkin.

He silently took it before popping his thumb in his mouth and placing it on your cheek. You held in a breath as he wiped it across the corner of your mouth.

“I—“ you started.

“bad habit. I have a—

“DADDY!!”

A little girl squealed and ran up to you both.

You held a hand over your eyes to block the setting sun.

The man you wished you had asked a name of did his best to discretely lean away from you without his daughter noticing how close you were.

His daughter didn’t notice, but Momo was studying his every move.

Fuck, how were you about to explain this? Or rather, what is it that she thinks she saw and were you about to have a conversation you did not want to have. . . How much did she see?

“This is my new friend Monice! She goes by Momo or Mo!” His daughter went on and on to her father about every little fact about Mo, filling you with absolute glee.

Kids had that effect on you.

Whatever they were feeling just filled you up to the tips of your toes on steroids. Whatever she was about to ask him for you hoped he said yes. Who could say no to her? Certainly not you, but other adults seemed immune by this supernatural power obtained by every child. How? You’d never know.

It was your kryptonite.

“Can she spend the night?”

“Or can she spend the night at my house TT?” Momo excitedly interjected.

You looked up at, Daddy from where you were sitting on the patio. He had his arms crossed in thought but as he looked down, you could feel him telling you to pull yourself together.

You bit the inside of your cheek whenever you were deciding how to parent.

“Maybe some other time when me and Mr. . .”

“Milk” He filled in for you.

“Can talk about it? Okay?”

“What she said Janine.” Was all Mr. M said.

Janine was about to open her mouth to say more, but Momo knew better and pulled her away with a sigh.

“I can never have anything!” She frantically exclaimed as she dragged her friend away.

“But we —“

“No. We can’t!” Momo yelled back just to make sure you heard her.

Kids.

“You let her act like that?”

You narrowed your eyes and bit back a smile.

“Like what?”

“Oh, you know what I’m talking about.” He stuffed the other pastry in his mouth and brushed his hands together to get rid of the excess crumbs, making sure they didn't hit his clothes, “you’re spoiled too.”

“What makes you say that.”

“Spoiled children raise spoiled children.” He said it matter of factly, like it was wise somehow, and pulled a wet wipe out of his pocket. He handed you one as well before neatly putting the packet back in his jacket pocket.

“Sounds really funny coming from you.” Was all you said in the same casual tone he used before, taking the wipe and cleaning the excess sugar and sticky residue from your hands.

“Oh yeah.” He challenged, crossing his arms.

A cheeky grin slowly formed on your face. .

“Not when your daughter is clearly a Daddy’s girl.”

“Let me stop you right there—“

“—Who clearly gets everything she wants and more from you.” You raised a finger to his chest and he leaned in letting it touch him.

You don’t realize how excited you had got. Your cheeks were puffy with tears from laughing and your chest heaving from raising your voice for so long.

“And you love it.” You added with a huff and parted lips.”

“Takes one to know one.” He huffed. Perfectly still and unaffected, a wall of calm, but you saw the twitch of his lip.

“Look who’s pouting now.” You smirked.

He pulled away from you with a smack of his teeth and a groan.

“You got lucky.”

You curled your feet in the grass before you. Taking in the sounds and sights around for the first time, letting them wash over you, truly enjoying them since the first turn you arrived.

You were lucky.

.

.

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in next chapter:

@megamindsecretlair @nerdieforpedro @planetblaque @chaithetics @notapradagurl7

[happyprincesscycle]

Grump and Pupp

Pairings: Grumpy!Billy Butcher x Sunshine!Reader

A continuation of the Grump and Pupp series. I've compiled a bunch of random Butcher and Reader moments:

**The Breakfast Battle

It was a rare quiet morning in the house, and Butcher was trying to enjoy a peaceful breakfast. He’d just poured himself a cup of black coffee and was about to dig into a plate of eggs and bacon when you burst into the kitchen like a whirlwind of energy.

“Morning, Butcher!” you chirped, sliding into the seat across from him. “Whatcha eating? Ooh, eggs and bacon, classic! You know what would make that even better? Pancakes! And maybe some waffles. Or, wait, how about a full English breakfast? We could add beans, tomatoes, sausages—oh, and don’t forget the toast!”

Butcher glared at you over his mug. “I’m eatin’ what I’ve got. If you want the full works, make it yourself.”

You grinned, undeterred. “Oh, I could do that! But wouldn’t it be more fun if we cooked together? We could be like those cooking show hosts! We’d have matching aprons and everything.”

Butcher took a long sip of his coffee, trying to block out the mental image of you in an apron with your name stitched across it. “No aprons, no cookin’ shows, and no bloody beans. Now, piss off and let me eat in peace.”

You pouted, but only for a moment. Then you jumped up and started rummaging through the cabinets. “Fine, but I’m making us some pancakes! You’ll thank me later.”

As you banged the cabinets around the kitchen, Butcher could only watch in exasperation. His peaceful morning was officially over.

**The War for TV remote

It was movie night—though Butcher would have preferred to call it a ‘quiet night in’ if he had any choice in the matter. He slumped on the couch, ready to unwind with something violent and full of explosions, when you skipped into the living room with a stack of DVDs in hand.

“So, I was thinking,” you began, plopping down next to him. “We could watch something light and funny! Maybe a rom-com, or a Disney movie! How about ‘The Lion King’? You’ll love it—it’s got action, drama, and catchy songs! Oh, and talking animals, too!”

Butcher’s eye twitched as you held up the DVD. “Not a chance in hell,” he growled, snatching the remote before you could grab it. “We’re watchin’ ‘Rambo’.”

You gave him a pleading look, your lip quivering ever so slightly. “But Butcher, we always watch stuff like that! Just one time, can we watch something with a happy ending?”

“Nope,” Butcher replied, turning on the TV with finality.

Undeterred, you leaned in closer, your hand inching toward the remote. “How about a compromise? We’ll watch half of ‘Rambo,’ and then we can switch to ‘The Lion King.’ Fair?”

“Not fair,” Butcher shot back, tightening his grip on the remote. “You want happy endings, go read a fairy tale.”

Just then, you made your move—lunging for the remote with a grin. But Butcher was quicker, holding it out of your reach as you half-climbed onto him in a futile attempt to grab it. The two of you ended up in a ridiculous tug-of-war, with you laughing and Butcher grumbling under his breath.

Finally, you relented, falling back onto the couch with a huff. “Fine, you win. But one of these days, I’m picking the movie.”

Butcher smirked, settling back into his seat. “Over my dead body.”

**The Laundry Disaster

Butcher wasn’t one for domestic chores, but he liked things to be in order. So when he found you in the laundry room, surrounded by piles of clothes, he knew trouble was brewing.

“What the bloody hell are you doin’?” Butcher demanded, eyeing the mess you’d made.

You looked up from the mountain of laundry with a sheepish grin. “Laundry! I thought I’d help out, you know? But… I might have mixed up the colors a bit.”

Butcher’s eyes narrowed as he spotted a pair of his black jeans now sporting a very unwelcome pink hue. “You’ve gotta be kiddin’ me.”

“Okay, so maybe I used a bit too much detergent… and maybe I put everything in on the wrong setting,” you admitted, holding up one of Butcher's shirt that had turned pink. “But it’s the thought that counts, right?”

Butcher snatched the ruined shirt from your hands, his patience wearing thin. “The thought don’t mean much when all my clothes are buggered.”

You shrugged, still smiling. “Look on the bright side—at least you don’t have to do the laundry now! I took care of it for you.”

Butcher let out a low growl, rubbing his temples. “From now on, you stay out of the laundry room. In fact, stay out of any room with chores, period.”

You saluted him playfully. “Aye, aye, captain! But I’ll still help with folding, right? I’m great at folding!”

Butcher just shook his head, resigned. “Yeah, right. Folding me patience into a square, more like.”

**The Prank War

You were bored, which was never a good thing for Butcher. Whenever you got bored, trokuble followed. This time, you’d decided to amuse yourself with a little prank—harmless fun, you thought.

Butcher was in the kitchen, his back to you as he poured himself a drink. Perfect. You tiptoed up behind him and—snap!—popped a small party cracker right near his ear.

“WHAT THE FU—” Butcher jumped about a foot in the air, the drink sloshing out of his glass as he spun around to face you.

You burst out laughing, clutching your sides as you saw the look of pure murder in his eyes. “Gotcha!” you squealed, backing away slowly.

Butcher set the glass down, taking a deep breath. “You’ve got a death wish, don’t ya?”

You grinned cheekily, holding up another party cracker. “Maybe, but it’s worth it to see that face! Come on, Butcher, don’t be such a grump.”

He lunged forward, grabbing you by the arm. “Right, that’s it. You’re in for it now, sunshine.”

You yelped as he hoisted you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, carrying you toward the front door. “Hey! Put me down! Where are you taking me?”

“To the curb where you belong,” Butcher replied, though there was a hint of amusement in his voice.

You couldn’t stop laughing as he marched you outside, depositing you on the front step before turning to go back in.

“Come on, Butcher!” you called after him, still giggling. “It was just a joke!”

“Joke’s on you,” Butcher shot back, slamming the door behind him.

Of course, you weren’t deterred. Five minutes later, you were back inside, plotting your next prank with a grin on your face.

[hn-undercover-9503]

For the first time since being banished from his one and only home, Ren felt like he might actually be okay.

Things had gotten off to a rough start, but he was doing well now! He had his campsite, he got along well with the locals, and he had even managed to gather new armor and weapons to protect himself with. And then there was Luna, the beautiful gray dragon he’d nearly died several times over to attempt to save. She was probably the thing he was the most proud of with his new life, but there was one tiny little problem.

He had no idea how to care for a dragon.

He’d dealt with dragons before, back in his old kingdom. Except his job then had mostly been to get rid of them, and slay them if he was able. When it came to knowing what to feed them, what they needed, and how they liked to live he was totally clueless. He’d tried asking the high elf Sausage for advice, but he was little help. The way he explained it, every dragon was different and different attributes required different care.

So far, she had seemed content enough to curl up at his campsite and go off to find her own food when she wanted, and he felt comfortable letting her. She always came back eventually, curled up beside the water and went right back to dozing. But Ren felt bad, keeping her on such a tiny little beach.

Which was exactly why he had started clearing out more of the forest area behind his camp, hoping to give her a bit more space so she would be comfortable. It was as he was swinging his axe into the fifth tree, though, that he spotted the oddly shaped bump in the ground that he was sure hadn’t been there before. Curious, he set down his axe against the tree and walked around to the other side to investigate.

It was a small burrow dug into the ground, with a few chests and a large bedroll inside. He might have thought it was abandoned if he wasn’t certain it hadn’t been there the day before. His eyes found a small sign stuck into the ground in front of it, with scratchy letters carved into the wood.

Dragon's Lair

Martyn the Whyte

“Dragon..?” Ren mused, even more confused now. Luna was much bigger than this little burrow, and Sausage’s dragon was as well. There was no way a dragon would fit inside of there. Plus, he was fairly sure dragons didn’t know how to write Common.

He thought about looking through the chests, but decided that was probably a bad idea. The last thing he wanted to do was piss off a dragon, even if they might have been small. So instead, he turned back to the tree he’d been chopping and finished it off. With a bunch of freshly cut logs in hand, he started making his way back to his campsite, sidestepping the burrow.

He heard it before he even made it halfway. He froze, listening to what sounded like a roar followed by a huffing noise. Wind rushing, the same way it would when Luna had been struggling against the ocean’s current, frantically beating her wings as she tried to escape the water. Immediately, he dropped the wood and took off in a run, jumping the fallen log he used as a waypoint and stumbling into his camp.

He’d been expecting to find Luna under attack. What he had not been expecting to find was her sitting up and nudging a much smaller figure with her snout, huffing breath in their face and half covering them with her giant leathery wings. He gawked openly, watching as whoever she was being so friendly with laughed, trying to wriggle out from under her.

They did eventually succeed, managing to pull away and instead laying a hand on her snout, starting to gently pet her. It was a man, with long blond hair tied into a braid that fell over his shoulder. His hands were covered in blue and white scales, icy horns stuck out from the top of his head, and behind him lashed a thick, blue-white tail. Luna huffed again, eyes closed and some kind of rumbling noise shaking the ground at their feet.

W-Was…was she purring?

“Oh, hey.” Ren jumped, realizing then that the mystery dragon whisperer was looking at him. “Are you her owner?”

“Um–” He hesitated. “Yes?”

He frowned, tilting his head to the side. “You don’t sound too sure.”

“Um, uh–yes! Yes, I am her owner! My name is Sir Brie Ren, and would you mind telling me what you are doing in my campsite?”

The man laughed, stroking his hand down Luna’s snout still. “My bad. I just saw your friend here and couldn’t help myself.”

“How are you able to touch her if you just met her?” Ren wondered out loud. “It took me hours and hours of trying just to get near her, much less rescue her.”

The man shrugged. “Guess we just tend to trust our own, hm?”

“Your own?” Ren asked, eyes trailing back to his…less than human features. The tail, the scales, the icy horns. “What exactly are you?”

“I’m Martyn,” he introduced, raising the hand he’d been using to pet Luna and reaching out toward him with a half-smirk. “And I’m what you’d call a dragonborn.”

[chicago-pd-is-weird]

Hank Voight x Fem!Reader Oneshot (Part 2)

TW: Passing mentions of domestic violence

Synopsis: Reader recovers, but a year later, Hank is out of jail and he takes an interest in Reader. Reader doesn’t know how to feel.

You were discharged from the hospital after a few weeks, seeing as you were in no hurry to leave. After that, you went to District 21 with Trudy, filing multiple police reports and filling out so much paperwork that your head spun afterward. Trudy then took you out to get lunch, but you didn’t eat much. She helped you get onto your feet again, letting you stay with her for a few weeks until you could find a job and an apartment.

Truthfully, the job search was hard considering you had no experience, and you had a fifteen year gap in your resume. When you got back to Trudy’s place that night, you felt defeated. You’d been desperate and it showed, not to mention your still partially nourished, bruised body. You barely ate when left to your own devices, and didn’t eat much of whatever Trudy made you. You were grateful, but used to not eating. As you kicked off your shoes and shrugged off your coat, you let out a breath of relief. Being in Trudy’s house made you feel safe, if nothing else. You nearly took care of your coat and shoes before walking in.

“Hey, how was it today?” Trudy asked from the kitchen, stirring a pot of something.

“No luck,” you replied, sitting at the island and putting your head into your hands. “I’m sorry, I really am trying, I just-“

“Hey, that’s enough of that. Don’t worry about it.”

“I feel like I’m taking advantage of you, Trudy. I’m sorry, I should’ve just stayed with him and-“

Trudy quickly turned from the stove, walking over and pulling your hands from your face with a gentle firmness. “That’s enough, (Y/N). I’d rather you be here to take advantage of me than not be living at all. Why don’t you go get a shower and clear your head? Wash it away.”

You nodded as you looked into her eyes. ‘Wash it away’ was a phrase the both of you often used to shake off the events of any given day. “Thank you…” you mumbled, then slowly pulled from her touch and moved upstairs to take a shower.

When you came back downstairs, Trudy had a soup prepared on the table for you. She’d given you just a small bowl, knowing you didn’t eat much at all. “Hey, feeling a little better?”

“Yeah,” you replied with a small nod as you sat down. “Thanks, this smells really good.”

“It’s broccoli cheddar soup with some mini sausages in it. I have some crackers here, too, so feel free to put some in if you want.” Trudy smiled softly and beside you at the table. “And, if you want more, there’s plenty left.”

“Thank you,” you repeated. “It’s so nice to have you… Voight was right to point me this way.”

“Hank knows everyone in one way or another. He was dealing with a lot the day you reached out to him. I remember him talking about how he almost didn’t show up when you asked.”

“What made him come, then?”

“Well, he thought it was some kind of trap by IAD to prove he was working with Maurice. That he was a dirty cop.” Trudy shrugged as she took a spoonful of soup and blew on it. “But, I convinced him that somebody might really be in trouble, and that’s always worth fighting for. We couldn’t risk it if your story was real. Which it was.”

You looked down at the steaming bowl of soup, wondering where you’d be if Hank hadn’t come that day. Probably dead. You looked back up at Trudy and nodded. “Thank you,” you said softly. “I owe you everything.”

“Don’t mention it.” Trudy offered a small smile, which you returned as you took a bite of the soup. “Hey, listen, there’s a spot open at the district for a civilian records keeper. It’s yours if you want it.”

You looked up. “Really…?”

“Yeah, of course. I already cleared it with the commander.”

You couldn’t help but smile a little wider. “I owe you everything, once again.”

Trudy reached across the table to hold your hand. “I only want to see you happy.”

—

10 months later

—

Finally, everything had gone through for your divorce and restraining order. You’d quickly taken to the position in records and although it was tedious work, you loved having it nevertheless. You’d gotten your own apartment close to the district and worked very hard in the meantime to pay Trudy back for every penny she spotted you while you were down. You often made her meals and brought her lunch, as well as surprised her with little things here and there when possible. Your budget was tight, but you made it work and saved up some money while paying down your credit card debt. You found out how good you really were with numbers at that point, and although you scrimped and saved, you were able to budget all of these things in and still keep money in your new bank account.

As you walked into the 21st District that morning, something seemed off. Many of the officers around had been whispering amongst themselves. You furrowed your brow as you approached the front desk, where Trudy was looking down at some paperwork. “Hey, Sergeant…” you said softly, looking up at her. “What’s going on? Did I miss something?”

She looked down at you. “You didn’t know?”

You shook your head, furrowing your brow.

“Voight’s out of prison.”

You blinked. You hadn’t visited Voight in a long time, not since just after Trudy took you in. “He’s out?”

“And he’s assigned to the Intelligence Unit as the new Sergeant in the 21st District.”

You turned around as the whispering grew silent, Voight walking in the doors behind you. “Ah, it’s good to be back in the 21st. Trudy, nice to see you.”

Trudy nodded. “You too, Hank.”

“And who is that? (Y/N)? You look much better than the last time I saw you.”

You blushed from embarrassment at being called out in front of everyone. You waved a bit and nodded. “Hey, Voight…”

“Sergeant Voight,” the commander’s voice boomed from his office. “In here, now.”

Voight smiled and walked through to the commander’s office, shutting the door. You breathed out, blinking. You weren’t sure why you’d been so tense. Voight had helped you, so he was alright in your book despite being a dirty cop. You bit your lip and looked up at Trudy once again.

Trudy glanced at you, then looked at the other officers. “Get back to work, everyone. Let’s go.” When she looked at you once more, she nodded. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I… I don’t know why I’m so tense. Maybe it’s just the others in the room.”

“Alright. Let me know if you need anything.”

You nodded and walked behind the desk and into the back rooms, starting your morning duties.

—

Weeks went by, and every time Voight came through and smiled at you, you visibly shuddered. You had no idea what was causing it, but you typically mirrored his smile and sometimes waved. It was an odd feeling, almost as if he reminded you of that time when you were under your husband’s thumb. You knew that wasn’t it, but couldn’t find any better explanation for what you had felt every time he was near you.

One day, you were working in the basement, filing some records, when someone came up behind you. You turned your head, jumping a bit when you saw a male figure, whipping your body to match your gaze. When you found it was just Voight, you let out a long breath. “Damn it, you scared me.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to. I wanted to check up on you, without anyone’s prying eyes or ears. How have you been?”

You looked him over. His hands were shoved in his pockets and his body was relaxed, looking at your face. You nodded as you met his eyes. “I’ve been alright, Sergeant.” Somehow, you were still tense around him, but that wasn’t quite it. It was a feeling you couldn’t describe. Your stomach was in knots. Your face got hot. You bit your lip. “Trudy helped me get on my feet. Thank you… for everything you did on your end. I’m sorry it was such an inopportune time.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m just glad it worked out, (Y/N). And, call me Hank.”

You nodded. “Of course… Hank.” You crossed your arms over your chest, rubbing them. “How is intelligence? I heard you have Dawson and Willhite up there. They’re good. They helped get me out of there.”

“That’s why I chose them. My unit will be only the best, the handpicked people.” He hummed, looking around, then back at you. “In fact, I was wondering if you’d like to come work upstairs with me.”

“U-Upstairs? In Intelligence? I hardly think I’m qualified to-“

“You’d do fine. Just think about it,” he said with a small shrug. “If you want to, I’ll clear it with Trudy and the commander.” He turned around as you walked past him, back upstairs behind you. “Just give me an answer in a few days.”

“Wait,” you said softly, stopping halfway up the steps and turning to look at him. “Why me?”

He moved up so he was on the same step as you, your bodies nearly touching, making you blush deeply. “Because, (Y/N),” he whispered. “You’re smart, you’re kind, and you’re beautiful. I love seeing your face every day.” He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. “Take a few days to think about it, then find me.” With that, he moved up the stairs and back into the district.

You stood, gripping the railing, left speechless. Your stomach turned now, but not in a bad way. Your knees were weak, your breath taken away by the former dirty cop. One hand moved to touch your cheek where his lips had landed, and you were frozen in time for several moments, replaying the interaction in your mind. It wasn’t until someone opened the door and found you on the steps were you pulled back to reality, clearing your throat and pardoning yourself past them. You went to the bathroom and locked yourself in a stall, regulating your breathing as you figured out what you felt for the Sergeant.

You hadn’t been able to put a word to the feelings you’d been facing the last few weeks ever since Voight came back. You’d never felt them before, or rather, not in over ten years. Not since your former husband has wooed you the first time. You were terrified of this feeling of… love? Is that even what you’d call it? You took half an hour to think, regulating your breathing as you brought yourself back down to reality.

When you exited the bathroom, Trudy caught your gaze, motioning you over. You nodded and walked to her desk just as Voight passed by with Dawson and Willhite. You caught Vought’s eyes and he nodded with a small smile, just as he usually did. You couldn’t help but smile back. He liked your smile. It made you want to smile more.

Trudy caught this interaction, then put her hand on your shoulder. “Alright. Dinner tonight. My place. You’re going to spill it.”

You looked at Trudy, blushing heavily. “I… okay.”

.

After shift that day, Trudy drove you to her place, where she started dinner. Once she had it cooking, you sitting at the island, she turned to face you. “Alright. Spill it.”

You laughed awkwardly, having not said much this entire time. “Spill what?”

“You and Voight. Didn’t he go down into records?”

“Y-Yeah? So?” You blushed simply thinking about the interaction you’d had with the Sergeant just hours before, and the offer he’d made you.

“So… spill it. What happened that made you run into the bathroom so quickly after?”

“I, uh…” You bit your lip, not meeting her eyes as you stated at the granite countertop below you. “Uh…”

“(Y/N)? Are you alright?”

You looked up quickly. “Yes, yes, I’m alright. It’s alright. Nothing… nothing and happened. At least, I didn’t think it was bad.”

“So what did happen, then?”

“He, uh, just wanted to talk to me for a minute about how I was doing and all of that. And he offered me a spot in Intelligence.”

“Uh huh?” Trudy asked, urging for more.

“And… so I asked why me, and he said because I’m… I’m beautiful… and kind and smart and… he likes seeing my face every day…” You blushed deeply, your voice growing softer with each passing word. “And then he… he kissed my cheek…”

Trudy’s mouth dropped in shock. She had no idea Hank Voight would ever make a move like that. “He kissed your cheek??”

“Y-Yeah… is… is that bad? Should I, uhm, say something or…?”

“Well, were you okay with it?”

You nodded a little. “I think so, yeah… It caught me by surprise. I’ve been so tense around him but… I don’t think it was fear. I think I was just nervous. He’s… he’s attractive.” You shrugged. “Am I… trauma bonding to him? Because of Jeff? Should I… tell him to stop?”

“Hey, (Y/N), I won’t tell you who you can and can’t date. Hank is… he’s a good man, despite the dirty cop run he had. He was grieving. He lost his wife to cancer, what, three years ago now? I’m just glad he’s moving on and focusing on other things.”

“He… lost his wife to cancer?” You frowned. “That’s so sad… I could never replace his wife.”

Trudy hummed and nodded, turning to the stove to stir the pan. “You won’t replace Camille. Nobody can. But maybe you can help him find happiness again and get back on the right path. The only reason he ever went off the deep end was because she wasn’t there to hold him back anymore. He had to pay for her cancer treatments somehow, and he just never stopped taking the bribes.”

You frowned and looked down. “Maybe this is a bad idea… Maybe he’s not over her and he’s going to use me to grieve more…”

“Hey, Hank wouldn’t do that,” Trudy said, coming over to the island and holding one of your hands. “He’s a good guy. If you tell him to back off, he will. Maybe you should talk to him and tell him what you’re thinking. If it’s a no, then he’ll respect your choice.”

You sighed. “I just… I think I… have butterflies around him but I haven’t felt like this in over ten years. I mean, I don’t even know how to date anymore.”

Trudy laughed softly, shaking her head. “Tomorrow, why don’t you grab lunch for the two of you and just eat in his office. Very informal, and you can talk to him, alright?”

You nodded slowly, looking at Trudy. She seemed to be harboring some excitement for you, or maybe for Hank. You knew Trudy knew Hank for a long time and personally. “Why not you?”

She seemed taken aback by the question, stopping and staring at you. “What?”

“Why not you and Hank? You guys know one another. Seems like you know a lot about him, at least.”

She scoffed. “It’s my job to know a lot about everybody.” She stood and went back to the stove. “Hank and I just aren’t like that with each other. Never have been, even before he met Camille.”

“You’re saying you never had a crush on him?”

Trudy rolled her eyes and looked at you over her shoulder. “I never said that, but it wasn’t anything. When a male is kind to you in a hostile world, you tend to latch on to those things. I was young, and nothing ever came of it. We settled into a friendship role, maybe even a family role.” She hiked her shoulders and turned off the stove. “I could never see myself with him, even then. I just convinced myself I could.”

You hummed, then moved off the stool to set the table as Trudy finished putting dinner together. The two of you ate together and had some wine before you went home, lying awake in bed and contemplating what to say to Hank Voight the next day.

—

When he walked by you the next morning, you smiled, a more genuine smile than forced one. It made him look twice, seeing you smile genuinely. His lips pulled up in a smile just the same, barely watching here he was walking as he nearly ran into a beat officer. You laughed a little, both of you blushing as you shared a small moment that nobody else seemed to notice, not even Trudy, seeing as she was in the back at the time.

You thought about Hank’s offer once again. You’d be able to see him every day. But, he would be your boss. How would that even work? You hummed as you went to work, a small grin still on your face.

—

When lunch rolled around, you checked your watch, then moved upstairs and tapped Trudy’s arm softly. “Buzz me up?” You grabbed your lunch cooler from under the counter and slung it over your shoulder.

“Sure,” she replied, nodding to you.

You walked over to the cage, opening the door when Trudy buzzed you in. Then, you climbed the steps and looked around. You’d only been up to Intelligence a few times, only to bring files up. You typically never got further than Antonio’s desk before someone took them from you and sent you packing. That day, most of the Intelligence unit was gone. Only detectives Olinsky and Halstead were left, both sitting at their desks, chatting to one another. Hank was in his office, working on some paperwork.

Mustering all the confidence you had, you walked straight through the bullpen and into the doorway of Hank’s office. You knocked on the doorframe softly as he looked up, smiling at him. “Hey. Have you eaten yet?”

Hank hummed and sat up in his seat, having been leaning over before. “No, I haven’t,” he said softly, motioning you inside.

You shut the door behind you, sitting down across from him and pulling things from the cooler you’d since set down. “I figured we could talk and eat,” you replied. “Turkey or ham?”

Hank looked you over. “You didn’t have to do this, (Y/N).”

You blushed, but pulled out a chilled water bottle and set it in front of him. “Turkey or Ham?” You insisted.

Hank was silent for a moment, meeting your eyes. Your previously mustered confidence was the only thing holding you together, and it was quickly fading as Hank challenged your kindness. He didn’t mean to, it was simply his demeanor. “Ham,” he finally said.

You held out the chilled ham sandwich you’d prepared that morning, allowing him to take it as you cleared your throat, taking a moment to breathe before speaking again. “I just wanted to talk to you, ya know?”

“Okay,” Hank said, nodding and taking a bite from the sandwich. “About what?”

“About yesterday.” You took a bite of your sandwich as well to buy yourself some time. Everything you’d thought of went out the window as the butterflies set in. Hank’s presence was enough to make your head spin, let alone being in a room alone with him. “I, uh, thought about your offer a lot.”

“Mmhm?” Hank hummed as he chewed another bite, looking at you.

You blushed when you met his eyes, looking at your feet, using your free hand to wipe something off of your pants. “Yeah, I… I think… I think what happened was you offered me two things.”

Hank nodded, still looking at you. “I guess maybe I did.”

You looked up to meet his eyes. “Then you know… that those two offers conflict.”

His chocolate eyes ran their way over your figure, then back to your face as Hank nodded. “I suppose they do.”

“So you understand… I can only accept one of those offers. Not because I don’t want both, but because I can’t have both.”

“Which one, then?” Hank asked bluntly, his voice quieter as the tension became thicker between the two of you. He leaned forward in his seat again as he set down his sandwich.

You bit your lip, your chest growing tighter as you swallowed hard. “I… can’t join Intelligence.”

Hank stared at you, a small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “I understand,” he said softly. “I think that’s a wise choice, though maybe I’m just partial to that option.”

You blushed, nodding slowly, looking down again and picking a hair off your sleeve, then looking back up. “You… really want someone as broken as me?”

Hank let out a small laugh. “(Y/N), you’re not broken. I mean, you’re one of the strongest people I know. What you overcame and what you did to overcome it, that’s ballsy, to say the least. I mean, making Maurice Owens find you a dirty cop to help solve your issues?”

“Yeah,” you muttered, remembering you still hadn’t paid him back for that.

When your eyes moved to the floor once again, Hank noticed the troubled look on your face. “What’s the matter?”

“I forgot that I owe Maurice for a few favors. I don’t even know what he wants.” You sighed. “Shit… probably sex or money.”

Hank shook his head, getting up from his seat and walking over, then crouching in front of you, taking your chin gently in his fingers. You met his eyes again. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll pay Maurice off.”

“But… Are you still out there? Dirty?” You suddenly had second thoughts. If Hank was a dirty cop, he would take you down with him. On the other hand, you couldn’t go much lower than you’d already gone with Jeff.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said softly. “When the time comes, I’ll explain, okay?”

“I just… if we get serious, and you’re dirty, it could-“

“I would never let that happen. Do you trust me?”

You scoffed a little, a small smile pulling at your lips. “I trusted you with my life. It would be silly to stop now.”

“Then know that when I say I would never let anything happen to you because of me, I mean it. I’ll protect you.” His opposite hand was placed on your knee, his eyes looking intently into yours. “I’ll pay Maurice off on your behalf, alright?”

“You really don’t have to do that, Hank, I… I owe him a lot. He said it was doubled at one point… I-“

Hank gently shushed you, rubbing his thumb over your bottom lip as he cupped your face. “I’ve got it. Trust me.”

You nodded slowly. “Okay,” you whispered, leaning into his hand. His touches were so gentle, more so than any man you’d experienced before. For having a bad reputation, Voight didn’t seem all that bad. He was certainly better than Jeff. You understood why Trudy was close with him despite his dirty dealings.

“Okay,” he affirmed, smiling at you. You couldn’t help but smile back, and for just a moment, the world went away. Your horrible past, Voight’s horrible past, the debts you owed to Maurice, it all went away. You gazed into his chocolate brown eyes, his hands now gently holding yours, his smile wrapping you up and making you feel safer than ever. You knew you were making the right choice at that point. “Thank you, Hank.”

[sparklingelectricblue]

From the Ashes: Marvel Infinity #14

Continuing on from last week…

The comic starts with the following narration:

"Sometimes, you get a moment..."

We then see Max as a child with his father, Jakob.

The narration continues: "...when everything lines up... ...when anything is possible."

We now see Max facing a firing squad who has opened fire with Jakob's hand on his shoulder.

"When suddenly, you can make things happen."

We then see Max as child with bullets in midair.

"But other times.. Perhaps most of the time...

...you can't."

We then see blood and broken glass on the snow. We're back from where issue #13 left off and Max is waking up after being hit by a car.

Someone is calling to him off panel, "Mr. Eisenhardt..." Turns out, he's being roused by Rabbi Sagan and a bystander.

According to Google Translate, Max is saying "I... yes, Dad takes us across the Vistula. There's a famer in Radom who will hide us."

Cut off in the picture is the wreckage of the car in flames.

What might not be clear in the art is that Max is dragging his lower body to get to the car.

Narration continues: "A few months ago, Magneto could have made something happen."

"A few months ago, he could have dismantled the ruined car and spirited the child away to safety with a thought."

We now see a horrific scene of Anna in the fiery car screaming, "Somebody help us! Poppa won't wake up!"

Narration: "But now he is helpless"

Max is reaching into the car to get to her with the Rabbi reaching out behind him but Max is immediately burned.

Narration: "As helpless as he was when the jaws of the twentieth century closed on his people."

"Now, as then, he is condemned to simply bear witness."

Anna is grasping at her seatbelt, "I'm... I'm stuck!"

Max, face illuminated by the fire, is calling out to her "Then... then you must cut yourself loose! Is there anything to hand, a... a tool... something sharp?! Anything!"

Anna cuts through the seatbelt and begins clinging to her dad in the driver's seat, "I'm free! We can go now, Daddy!"

Max shouts back, "No! You have to leave him! He would want you to."

"Look! There are people here to help your father, but you have to climb!"

Anna is hesitant, "I... I..."

"DO IT!" Max shouts.

Anna starts climbing over her father as the firefighters are getting into position to hose off the car, "Daddy, I'm sorry! It's... it's too hot!"

"I've got you." - Max

Max is being attended to by a medical professional. They're wrapping up his burnt arm. Someone off panel says, "It smells like reindeer sausage in here."

Rabbi Sagan confirms that Anna is safe and well. "The father too. Concussion. Smoke inhalation, but he'll be fine."

Rabbi Sagan sits with Max. "... Did I tell you how my grandmother Coralie came to live here in Alaska?"

Max: "I can guess..."

Rabbi Sagan: "When she was just three years old, she was a detainee at Furs internment camp in France."

(as Rabbi Sagan speaks, we see scenes of grandmother Coralie's life illustrated)

"And she would have surely died there had Andree Salomon not rescued her and put her on a train bound for Lisbon, where the S.S. Mouzinho was waiting to take her to America.

She arrived in New York on June 21st, 1941, where she was placed with a foster family who moved to Anchorage soon afterwards.

On Purim, she'd always get maudlin drunk and tell us about her mother -- her desperate, hopeful smile as she entrusted her only daughter to a stranger and the sea.

She knew she wouldn't live to see her daughter thrive across the ocean.

She sent her anyway."

"With the coming of Moshiach and the resurrection of the righteous" the Rabbi responds. "But I think you already had one of those covered."

Back to X-Men HQ, AKA "The Factory." Later.

"Summers and the others are heading out on another mission. You should get some rest." Max says to Hank.

Hank: "Max... Respectfully.... ...You won't."

Max: "Henry, trust me..."

The end? Infinity comics will be focusing on the Alaska team for the next 2 issues so maybe we'll see more on this.

[wonton4rang]

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i love u 3000 ¡!

pairing: riwoo x reader.

warnings: +18, smut, fluff, some angst maybe, kissing.

summary: short scenarios of firsts with riwoo.

note: this is a series! you can find the other ones here <3 i am OBSESSED with those riwoo's pics because omg he looks so cute and soft :(((

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first time he realises he's in love; the cliché would be you guys having dance lessons together but we are better than that so imagine you are at a convenience store, getting some ramen, sausage and a cold drink to ease the stress of your day while you listened to some music. you would be so focused on the songs blasting on your earphones that you didn't even hear the soft voice calling for you until you felt a hand tapping your shoulder and looked up. pretty eyes staring into yours and a sweet smile greeting you before he spoke up, informing you that the store was supposed to close an hour ago but he didn't want to disturb you. tbh you thought he was the cutest and nicest person ever and he got curious about the way you looked so tired yet so beautiful, so you can bet you kept going there and both of you grew feelings. he knew it from the beginning because ain't nobody doing an extra hour until 1am for almost a MONTH just for fun, bffr. you even thought the store closed at 1am because he never said anything but today he noticed you looked too tired so he spoke up </3

how would he confess; after you guys had your first meeting and actually spoke to each other something more than just a simple "hi, yes, thank you, please" when he was at the register, you quickly tried to appeal more to him as you noticed he was kinda shy. which lead to you waiting for him to finish his shift and walk together to the bus stop while you talked about anything and everything, he was just so fun to be around and he felt the same way. so that day after you left the store and walked through the streets during winter, he held your hand so he could make you stop and look at him before he laughed softly and got closer to you, explaining how happy he felt by your side and that even if he wasn't the best boy in the world, he would like you to give him a chance to make you as happy as you made him.

officially dating w riwoo; do you know about those really clingy yet shy and retracted type of boyfriends that might be mistaken as really dumb and blindly in love and would be so funny to be around, making all sorts of jokes but just to you and with you because he just feels comfortable enough by your side? yeah, well, hi riwoo <33 he would always be making those dad jokes while he looked right into your eyes and waited for you to laugh at the most awful thing ever said by a human being. he would be really clingy, kisses all over your face, cuddles for hours and hours while he just softly caresses your hair and kisses your cheeks, even falling asleep for a while with you on his arms because that's just how much peace you gave him. you obviously did karaoke night every once in a while while singing your lungs out and dancing till your feet hurt.

first kiss; it would just be so cute, he would be so nervous yet decided to do it that it would make him flustered the moment he gets you alone, finally back at home (probably on karaoke night), he would sit besides you and you felt his hands shaking when he grabbed your arm and barely held your stare before looking at the ground. "is something wrong, riri?" his head denied your words but the way he kept shaking made you a little bit sceptical about his answer so you tried to make him look at you only to find his blushed face. "i feel so ashamed right now and i don't know how to ask but-" , "can i kiss you?" riwoo saw heaven's gates opening up when he heard that because he couldn't manage to say it himself. he just nodded and you were already leaning in to hold his face and lock your lips together in an innocent yet slow kiss without tongue that made both of your knees weak.

first time he wanted to do more than just a peck; even though he would be really shy during the first kiss, i do think that after the first was done he would gain confidence and kiss you a lot. so the day you guys were just watching some anime while sharing little pecks and giggles and you felt his hand hold your thigh, you knew that something was gonna happen. specially when you looked up and he just stared down at you with a soft grin, making you move until you were sitting on his lap so he could hold the back of your neck and kiss your lips like he never did before. he would have one hand on your waist and the other one on your nape, his tongue playing with yours in such a sensual way that you couldn't help but start grinding down on him. and even though things were getting hotter with each second that passed by, he managed to giggle during the kiss, pulling away to caress your hair and then your flushed cheeks before saying "i really, really like you, y/n" :((

first time meeting your family; i feel like he would try to pretend like he ain't that nervous but he literally has a notebook with notes about everything you've said to him about your parents, sheets and more sheets of recommendations, things to say, topics of things that were trending when your parent's were young, songs from your parent's favourite singers, he had everything wrote down and yet his hands were sweating and his throat got blocked when he tried to say "hi" to them. it was funny for you because you knew how nervous he was and he had no reason to be because honestly? your parents already loved him, they have heard and seen him multiple times when they video called you and riwoo didn't even notice when he kissed the top of your head and told you to come join him at bed so you could rest. so when they said those little details they have seen, he would nervously laugh and then start to get loose and make those really bad jokes that only him and your dad would laugh about. "i hope you guys get married soon, i want grandchildren" your mom would say without the two males listening "i just hope the kids don't get his sense of humour"

first time w riwoo; when you guys get to the point were this is gonna happen, riwoo is going to look so happy, so smiley and yet looking so hot that it's just crazy. you can't seem to understand the way he looks at you with such adoring eyes while his hands caressed your body. he would be the type to hold your hands while he deeply pounds into your cunt and sweetly smiles at you, kissing your cheeks, your lips, your nose, and even your forehead, brushing his nose against the crook of your neck before sucking lighlty the skin there and making you mewl, your legs trying to shut close but his hips stopping you. "i love you so much" he would whisper every time but the first one would be engraved in the crooks of your brain, always causing a swirl in your stomach and making you blush each time you remember it.

overall, riwoo is a very loving, caring and sweet boy, you could expect the same thing with him as a lover. he is very loyal, extremely, in fact, and has a sense of duty and responsibility that is almost crazy. i also find riwoo to be an observer, not much of a talker yet he always likes to light the mood with a few jokes that are not funny but you end up laughing at his laugh.

i don't think you guys would argue much but when it happens it would probably be over some moral stuff like you wanted to do something or said something that he doesn't find to be kind or actually morally correct. it could you defending an infidelity or someone lying over something so he would definitely speak up and be so offended that he could even say "so you would cheat on me or lie to me because is not such a big deal?" the argument would end in that moment and both of you would apologize for even discussing about it.

he would be close to your parents but not super close tho, he would love you blindly, make you food, take care of you when you're sick, always lighten the mood w silly jokes and definitely introduces you to his friends.

so if you need a puppy like lover but a little bit more introverted, that only has eyes for you but wouldn't fall in the boredom of being too complaint, someone who your parents will love and, eventually, so will your friends, someone with the one you can keep your health due to good alimentation and regular physical activity, and last but not least, someone who will not be the most secure person ever but will make sure to work on it and make you feel the best, then riwoo is your best choice !!

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i think i went overboard with some of those but i'm going through such a riwoo root rn that i couldn't help it 😔 hope y'all enjoyed tho !! 🫶