#we are at twelve hours and sixteen minutes!!

[nexternalknowsthingz]

The sketch is done!!! 🩵🩵

[madamechrissy]

♡ Time after Time ♡

♡ ♡ Pairings ♡ ♡ CEO! Satoru Gojo x Fem Reader

♡ ♡ Warnings ♡ ♡ MDNI- Just sexual tension in this chap hehe, more explicit as we go. Gojo is really a dick at first FYI

♡ ♡ Word Count ♡ ♡ 4,165

♡ ♡ Summary ♡ ♡ Satoru Gojo is your boss And you've been his head assistant for over two years now. You do everything for him, including and not limited to cleaning his messes, picking out his clothes, and writing his speeches. Sixteen hour days... night calls... You are tired of being overworked and at his beck and call. You decide you are going to put in your two weeks notice. He is shocked, and wants to try to keep you, because you're the best. But you know better. Right? . You really wanna fucking quit. You also wanna fuck him. Also, fuck him.

A/N (Kinda has 'two weeks notice' vibes a bit! No use of y/n.) Fully finished. This was my first gojo fic so maybe a Lil less put together than my current ones

Masterlist-

Chapter 1

You looked up at him from your desk. You were tired, so damn tired. You needed a fucking break, a long one. Your mind wanders to that vacation away from Tokyo that will never happen, not because you don’t have vacation days or money. Nope, it was  because you work far too fucking much, twelve to sixteen hour days sometimes. For him, your damn boss, Satoru Gojo.

Always asking you to stay late, always running his errands, saving his ass, covering for him. Writing speeches, making presentations, finding him dates even. When Gojo wanted something, he got it, and it didn't matter if it ruined every plan you ever had, you had to get it done for him.

He ran casinos, owned a hotel, a nightclub, you name it, Satoru Gojo owned it. He’d inherited some from his family but mostly he was self made. Even the tower you worked in, Kamo Tower, was one of the best in the city. Everything Gojo touched seemed to turn to gold, or better yet platinum.

You had been so excited two years ago to be his intern, then ecstatic when you quickly moved up the ranks to be his head assistant. You made good money, enough to send home to your family and take care of them too. But you literally were constantly at that man's beck and call.

Your tired eyes lower as you rest your chin on your hand for a moment, for even last night at two am you'd had to run to his fucking rescue.

You were asleep, but the phone never stops fucking buzzing.

Dick boss: I need you.

You: no.

Dick boss: triple OT pay?

You: fuck. What is it?

Dick Boss: I'm in a bit of a bind…

The bind? Three passed out naked women in his bed, and a room destroyed, that he needed to get fixed so he could sleep. Yeah.

The night before? Well he had urgently needed you to pick out his outfit for his soiree, he was too coked out to pick apparently. And Gojo Satoru had so many three piece suits, ties and shoes, it was actually disgusting.

Nanami Kento walks up to you, overworked from his own boss in the building, a trait you two share as head assistants. He hands you a cup of coffee in a styrofoam cup, with your name written on it in sharpie, clearly from one of the coffee shops nearby. If you had time to have a fucking life you would have flirted with him, for sure. Maybe he would have, too?

Dirty blonde and handsome, his suit stretched across his muscles just so… and fuck if he didn’t look like he needed a damn vacation too.

“Long night?” Kento asked, grabbing you out of your thoughts, an amused and tired expression on his face. You sigh, nodding.

“Thank you for the coffee. I owe ya one.” You let the sweet liquid hit your lips, eyes peering to Gojo's office. There was some lady in there, pretty as fuck in some crazy attempt at business stripper, but he for some reason was scowling at you. What, you dared to sip coffee and not work for two minutes?

“Not at all. Happy birthday.” 

“Shit that’s today?” You teased, but you did know.

“We don’t really get birthdays.”

“Haha no we don’t. But thank you!”

“Of course. Take care of yourself okay? Gojo is… ugh.” Nanami looked disgusted as he shook his head, pushing up his fancy glasses. You couldn’t help but giggle at that as Nanami walked off.

Your phone rings, because of course Gojo can't just come to you, you must go to him. Your eyes roll.

“Yes, Sir?” You answer the phone, tapping your glittery manicured nails on your desk, the one treat you gave yourself.

“My office.” That silken command may have excited most women, shit, most human beings, but it was a source of annoyance for you.

“Coming.”

You sighed, hanging up the phone and sipping your coffee. The office coffee usually went cold daily with the amount of shit you had to do. You smooth down your dress, adjusting the buckle of your belt just a tad before walking towards the giant glass office.

Gojo’s office had floor to ceiling windows surrounding it that had a ridiculous view of the cityscape below. You all were on the top floor of Kamo Tower, after all. The air was filled with a faint scent, woodsy and fresh, a signature fragrance that lingered in the space, distinctive to Gojo.

As you enter, you see Gojo himself reclining casually in a lavish chair, his signature Gucci sunglasses on, covering those ridiculous blue eyes. Which you honestly appreciated because he made shit hard to focus, even after two years of working as his assistant.

“Sir?” You stand there cautiously, thinking of just putting in your notice then and fucking there, like that dream you had in your two hours of sleep.

“Status update on my meetings?”

“I sent you them all.” He smirked, arrogant. You grit your teeth. “You have two meetings today, Sir, one for the new hotel partnership, then you have a meeting with Mr. Suguru about your casino. And of course, you have your event tonight.”

“Speaking of that, I need you to come with me tonight for the charity ball.” You sigh, shutting the door behind you, resting your aching head against it.

“I asked for tonight off.” You murmur, and Gojo scoffs, grinning, damn fangs like some vampire glinting from the sun that beamed in. He stands, stretching his long elegant limbs, before he walks closer to you, making the scent of him waft through your senses.

“I'll pay you well. Plus you’ll be going as my date for the event, not going to make you actually work. You'll get to relax and shit. Drinks and food.”

“As your date?” You blink, pursing your lips.

“I know, it’s kinda a dream scenario.” He laughed at his own joke, a habit he certainly had.

“Since when does CEO Satoru need a date? Especially me . I can just arrange you a date like I always do.”

“It's a delicate partnership and I need someone who is smart. Not eye candy. I need you, law school girl. Plus you’re American, and a lot of the people there are too. So it’s a no brainer.” You sighed, the comment about eye candy biting.

Men hit on you pretty frequently, any time you weren’t working, which you could not say was very often. But of course Gojo banged models on the regular, and you had no time to look like a model, you barely had time to slap on some mascara and concealer every day to hide how tired you were.

“So you don't need anyone pretty… is what you're saying.”

He pauses then, frowning at you. “You're very pretty.” He'd never said that. He'd barely complimented your work. You catch your breath; looking up at him, curious how he had gotten just an inch away.

“‘Not eye candy.’”

“We'll no, you dress kinda boring… like business and shit. Not sexy at all. I mean I’ve never seen you not in a business dress unless it’s at night and I call you, then you wear pajama shorts and shit?”

You snort. “I would dress up if I had a life. All I do is work.”

“Exactly, that’s what I mean by not ‘eye candy’. How you dress, not your looks. But I'll make sure your outfit looks killer, no need to thank me.” Gojo winks at you, lowering his shades, those insane cerulean eyes making you overheat against your will. Big and glittering with silver, the irises the prettiest blue that the earth could scarcely recreate. Eyes that made anyone do anything he wanted.

You were almost immune to that by now.

“It's my fucking birthday and you want me to do overtime?” You demand, and frowns with those full lips.

“Birthday?” Gojo looks confused, as if you should not have one of them, for it’s inconvenient.

“Yeah. Twenty-sixth.”

He evaluates you. “Why did I think you were like twenty two?”

“I’m not sure. If I was I wouldn’t even have my law degree yet, baby face maybe. But it’s my third birthday here, and you never give me the day off. I will absolutely not put in OT.”

“What, you have plans, hot shot?” Gojo chuckles, his tone mocking.

No. Sure don't. “Yep.” You lie. He knows.

“Cancel em.” He shakes a hand dismissively and you scowl.

“No.” You cross your arms under your breasts, and his gaze darts down for the briefest of moments.

“No?” No one turned Gojo down. No one ever told the gorgeous CEO no. His six foot four frame hunched as he placed an arm on one side of you, peering down, frown still on his handsome features. You bravely glare back up at him.

“No. Gojo, I'm really exhausted, and I just want to have fun and actually relax for my birthday.”

“Have fun with me. And make killer money. Win win.”

“That's work. Not fun.”

“Hmm.” He tilts your chin up with his long fingers, making you peer up at him, surprised at the contact. “I'll make it fun. Promise. Then I'll give you the day off tomorrow. Deal?”

“I could find you a smart American girl? Eye candy too.”

“You're my best, though, I need you.”

Bastard.

“Ugh. Fine.”

He grins, and you catch a breath as he backs away. “Good. I'll have the outfit brought to your apartment later? I’m assuming you don’t have anything fancy enough for this one.”

“Probably not. Fine. Need my size?”

His eyes are drinking you in as he smirks. “You think I haven’t gathered your size by now?” Your cheeks overheat. Though you’re used to him, at the end of the day you still had a damn vagina, and it reacted to him. He chuckled deeply, turning away and waving a hand. “You're dismissed.”

Just like that, your birthday night was just work. Work for Gojo.

***

“Can’t wait to put in my two weeks ugh.” You grumble to yourself as you finish up your makeup, for once having fun with it. If you had to work your birthday you would absolutely look gorgeous for it. Lashes, winged liner, red lips.

The dress he had ordered laid in a satin box on your white day bed. You sigh, opening it finally, and you blink rapidly as you look at the gown encased in baby blue and white tissue paper, the colors of Gojo himself. You gently pulled out the gown and most of your irritation died off.

Black and decked with sequins, it glittered in the light, it was a velvety fabric, as soft as a caress. As you slid it on it glided over your curves, accentuating the nip at your waist, the arch of your hips. The neckline plunged ridiculously low, revealing a generous amount of cleavage that you typically kept under wraps at work. You wonder how Gojo knew you had just so much up top…

Pervert is what he was.

Pervert with killer taste.

The dress had a slit that went dangerously up one of your well toned thighs, exposing nearly all of one leg, while the rest of the dress hit the floor. It was if he truly knew every measurement you had, for the dress could not have hit any better. Those damn analyzing eyes of his…

You spun to look at the back of the dress, which dipped daringly as well, exposing an expanse of skin, from shoulder blades down to the dimples on your lower back. You rummage through your little cherry wood jewelry box, eyeing to see what would work with the dress. Luckily, everything went well with black, so you snatched up a pretty silver cross necklace and earrings.

A text pops up, and you read it.

Dick Boss: Waiting out front in the car.

You: Just a few.

You slip on your shoes and spritz some body spray on, your favorite from Victoria’s Secret you save for special things, then slide on a pair of black heeled boots, contemplating putting on underwear. Did it matter what kind? It wasn’t like you’d had any dick since like college at this point. And you definitely weren’t fucking Gojo, since neither of you were interested.

You because you saw the girls he fucked. Him because… you weren’t ‘arm candy’. Or a dumb ass bimbo. Sometimes you wished you were, since they seemed sweet and happy in life, while you drowned.

Dick Boss: I’m waiting…”

Fucking Gojo. Ugh. You decide to slide on some lacy boy shorts, just in case that slit did go too high you’d have some coverage. Peeking one last time at the mirror, you had to admit you looked beautiful. You text Gojo.

You: Coming now.

You locked up and headed down the stairs of the apartment building, and there was Kiyotaka, Gojo’s driver, opening the door of the black limo for you. Kiyotaka, who somehow was your age now. That boggled your mind more than Nanami. Gojo wore people out, very clearly, but even you had it easier than Kiyotaka.

“My lady.” He said sweetly, and you smiled at him, sliding in, and there Gojo was across from you, long arms spread across the backs of the seat, his head rested back so that his throat was exposed. His head snapped down, and he looked right at you, no sunglasses, only those eyes. His lips parted, and you tensed, prepared for some lewd comment or rude one.

He blinked those white spiky lashes, arms sliding down as Kiyotaka shut the door, gaze taking you in ever so slowly, as if he had all the time in the world. You felt yourself holding your breath as it lazily traveled down and back up your body, clutching your little black evening bag tightly.

“You look…” He trailed off, shaking his head a bit.

“Thank you for the dress.” You cut him off. He exhaled, nodding.

“Of course. Consider it my birthday gift. You look… really fucking hot.”

You giggled at that. Not beautiful or breathtaking. But you’d take it. “Thank you, the dress is so beautiful.”

“Your body is that banging and you hide it like that?” He was somehow right next to you now, and you shiver a bit at the nearness. “I should reprimand you.”

You roll your eyes. “I can’t dress like this at work.”

“You sure the fuck can. I’m the boss, I say so.” His fingertips trailed down your shoulder, and it sent tingles through your body. Why was he so close? “I’m buying you a new wardrobe.”

“The fuck you are. I like to be professional, unlike you.” You smack his hand off errantly, and your bare shoulder grew cold without the touch.

“You do really look good.” You took in his outfit, a black tux, which fit his slim muscles perfectly. It was some shit Bruce Wayne would wear. Maybe Gojo was some super hero or villain. It would fit.

“You do too. You always do.”

“I know.” He winked at you, leaning forward to snatch up champagne and pop it, pouring you both glasses. You took one, letting the bubbles tickle your nose, taking a sip of the sweet drink, moaning softly and shutting your eyes.

“Delicious.” You lick your lower lip and find him a breath away. You don’t move, but you’re frozen, confused as he looks at you like he never has. “Satoru?”

“Are you really thinking of quitting?” He asked softly. You have never seen Gojo like this.

“How did you know?”

“I know everything, baby girl.” He gently runs his long fingers through your hair, a rare frown on his lips.

“Baby girl? The fuck, Satoru. Yes I was thinking of it, an seducing me is not going to change my mind. Is that the point of this?” You demand, irritated, and against your better judgement, fucking horny. His eyes study your own seriously.

“If that was my intention, you’d damn sure know.” Each word was bit out, distinctive, and his hand tightened in your hair, far too strong, yanking your head back. You scowl up at him, your hands clenched into fists.

“Oh, would I?” You challenged him, notching your chin up a bit. He laughed but it was without humor.

“How many women have you heard me fuck in my office? How many have you had to send home? You think I don’t know how to fuck the shit out of you if I wanted to. You wouldn’t even be able to walk.”

Gojo’s whisper was against your lips, and you could taste whiskey on his breath, mixed with his mints he constantly sucked on. He wasn’t touching you, but he was so close you could feel him…

“I won’t fuck you though, so what’s the point of even joking about it. You don’t want me anyway. Not your type.” He snorted, and one of his big hands came to your waist, touching the bare skin of your back and wreaking havoc on every sense you’ve ever had.

“You know my type?” You nod. His thumb brushed under your breast, an action that made the peaks of your breasts tighten, aching against the sequined gown. Damn if his gaze didn’t drop down. You cursed yourself. “The women who entertain me aren’t necessarily my type.”

“Hmm.” It grew difficult to focus. You sip your champagne, leaning back a bit, but Gojo’s grip stays. “It doesn’t matter. You’re talking out of your ass. Too much cocaine tonight?”

His grip tightened, and it made you gasp, looking up at his darkened eyes in the dim light of the limo. “I haven’t had any. I’m just pretty fucking irritated my best assistant wants to leave. You’re ungrateful.”

“Ungrateful!” You snort at that, tossing back the champagne and grabbing at his hand, his wrist, trying to get him off of you. “How the fuck, Satoru? I literally do everything for you!”

“And I pay you damn good!”

“I know. I’d rather be broke somewhere than do sixteen hour days. It’s my damn birthday and here I am!”

“As if you really had plans. You have no friends and no life.”

“Bullshit.” You grit your teeth, shoving at his hard chest. “That’s because I have no damn time! You think I wouldn’t have a boyfriend or something by now?”

“Maybe that’s your problem, why you’re so bitchy and stuck up all the damn time. You need to get fucked good.”

You slapped him then. Slapped your Boss. Slapped Satoru Gojo.

His hand caught your wrist, brutally squeezing, pale cheek just hinted with pink from your mark.

“Ring a little true?”

“I can get fucked if I want.” You yank your hand back.

“I didn’t say that. Clearly you can get fucked. It’s just you don’t even want to and you blame it on my hours, as if you were the type.”

“I’d fuck Nanami Kento if I had any damn time.” Gojo’s eyes widened at that, and his grip on your waist became brutal. “Yep. Sure would. He’s built as fuck, oh and he remembered my birthday. If either of us had time I sure would. So does that answer it for you?”

Gojo bared his teeth at her, a little blue vein in his temple popping out. Your heart beats in your chest, brutally, the thudding loud in your ears. “You… would fuck… Nanami… Kento?”

Each of his words were forced through his teeth.

Ah, you made him mad.

Good.

“Who wouldn’t? He’s hot.” You try to shrug casually.

“Out of anyone in the office?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Including me.”

You open your mouth to say yes, but you know it’s not fucking true. Of course you’d have fucked Gojo, if he wasn’t a dick boss, if he was just a dude…

Look at him.

“Cat got your tongue?” His free hand caught your chin, forcing your gaze to his piercing one. You gulp, licking your lips.

“No.”

“No, what?” His voice was a wicked caress.

“No… not including you. Goddammit. Is that what you want to hear? That I’m not blind? Of course you’re attractive, and you know it, stupid!”

He scoffed. “You’re childish.”

“You!” You shoved at him again, and he let you go, grabbing your glass and refilling it, watching you like a hawk. “It changes nothing. I am planning to leave. I will find a replacement, someone even better than me.”

“There is no one better.” He sounded sincere, a rare thing for Gojo, emotion cracking in his voice as he downed his own glass.

“You think fucking me will keep me as your damn assistant?”

“It’s worth a shot. I’m the best fuck there is.” He shrugged, some of that casual demeanor coming back, and you wanted to yell at your body for its reaction.

“It won’t happen.”

“Yeah? Why?”

“You’re my boss!”

“But you’re leaving.”

“I…”

“Hmm? You seem at a loss for words.” You scowl, looking out the window as the lights flickered by.

“Are we there yet?”

“Childish.”

“Says you!”

“You need a good orgasm. Or ten. Get you to be less of a stuck up nag.”

“I do not! And I am not!”

“You do, and you are.”

“I orgasm plenty, thanks!” You felt your body on fire at that, and Gojo couldn’t look more satisfied, like the Cheshire fucking cat, the grin as wide as it could go, running his hand through his silken white locks.

“Oh, do tell.” He practically purred.

“Cut the shit, Satoru. You’ve never talked like this in the years I’ve worked with you, where the fuck do you get off?”

“I get off in women. Or on them.” He shrugged, enjoying your open mouth, once again lost for words.

“You know I did not mean that!”

“Where do you get off? On a dildo maybe.” You blinked, eyebrows low in a scowl, wanting to hit him again. “No, don’t look the type. Maybe a rose toy. Hmm… or just these little things.” Gojo lifted your hand, already small but ridiculously small in his own, swallowed by him. “They don’t hit deep enough, do they?” His whisper shook you to your core.

You burned, breathless, as he held out his own hand to yours, fingers so fucking long they rivaled the length of a dude’s dick. Likely larger than the couple of dude’s in college, which was about all of your experience. He grinned as you stared on, palm hot and hard against your own.

“I… you…” You wanted to cuss him out. Quit right then.

You also wanted his fingers in you.

“I could get you off, put you in a good mood. We don’t have to have sex for that.” His hand took your own, putting your hand by your heat, between your thighs.

“Why… are you…act- acting like this?” You managed to breathe out, but you had no energy to move away from him, or shove his hand off. Because if you were being honest with yourself, you’d love to ride your frustration out on him.

“Maybe I realize how much I need you to stay as my assistant.” Gojo’s supple lips kiss down your jaw, firm but delicate, as his hand brutally grabs yours and shoves it against yourself, moaning in your ear. “Is my assistant already hot for me? Are you that easy to get wet?”

“Fuck off.”

It’s a whisper. You want it. And you hate him. You hate that your pussy is pulsing against your joined fingers through the barrier of your panties, that the moan in your ear made you wonder what he sounded like when he came. Gojo slid his own finger against your panties, pausing, moaning again, pulling back to look at you.

He was gorgeous.

Your chest rose and fell with your breath.

“Fuck.” He whispered, and something was just different. You saw Gojo with women, always so self assured. But something seemed surprised, vulnerable, when his long finger pressed against the damp sticky fabric, just grazing your clit. You arched your hips up, and his fingertip ran up slightly, pressing more, and Gojo’s lips were just a breath away…

“We’re here, Sir, my Lady.”

Fuck.

You two shot apart, and you struggled to catch your breath, adjusting your dress, gulping down one more glass for good measure. Gojo adjusted his pants, not even looking at you, clearing his throat. You cursed as you saw his tie.

“You can’t tie a tie for shit, Satoru.” You leaned over to him, pulling it apart gently and re-tying it. You noticed his Adam's apple bob up and down. He was quiet. Satoru Gojo, quiet. “There.”

“Thanks.” He said gruffly, and your eyes met.

What the fuck just happened?

Kiyotaka opened the door, exposing them to some cool night air, and you got out, curious just how the fuck this birthday night was going to go.

Chapter 2

Completed fic on ao3, will post chaps on here as well

https://archiveofourown.org/works/55424137/chapters/140629990

[moonstruckme]

hi hun!! i have another in a week :]] it's a little less cute than sunshine reader, but i read the fic where reader swore at someone and everyone was shocked and i thought it was so funnyy

i was thinking a.. hothead!reader who's got a sailor mouth and quick temper, so naturally she curses a LOT. and the boys dare her to try not to curse for just one day, and she accepts it, but without them even doing anything mischievous to tick her off, she drops something and she's like "fuck- shit, damn it!" and the boys are just giggling their head off and constantly reminding her to put money in the swear jar

ooh and maemae, i love the way you write descriptions omgg <333 especially when you write from james' pov, he's such a sweetheart!! ahh you're such an amazing writer, your stuff gives me all the warm fuzzies :] i hope you're taking care of yourself in the midst of writing all these requests!!

- ✏️

Thank you my love!

join the party

poly!marauders x hothead!reader ♡ 677 words

You know your boyfriends are plotting something. You eye them suspiciously as Sirius whispers to James, both of them giggling like children. 

“What,” you say flatly. 

James doesn’t even bother trying to hide his grin. “Nothing, sweetheart.”

You huff, biting your lip before you can call him any name that’ll make you lose your prize. It’s nine in the morning, and you’ve only got about sixteen hours to go with no cursing. Twelve if you go to bed early as a measure of self-censure. 

Remus had raised an eyebrow at you after a particularly colorful stream of expletives the night before, asking as you made your contribution to the swear jar, “Do you think you could go even one day without swearing like that?” You said you could, and Sirius had pounced on the opportunity for a wager, betting you that you couldn’t go the entire next day without using a single curse word. 

You’re sure the boys were hoping you’d forget overnight, but you weren’t accustomed to losing, and damned if you weren’t going to get your prize. Sirius had so little faith in you that he’d agreed to letting you pick what movies you all watched for the next month if you won the bet. The next month. That meant a month-long reprieve from those stupid fucking heist movies they all loved so much. 

You’re also certain that, failing their first plan of your poor memory, your boyfriends are going to be cooking up some other scheme to make you falter. One of their famous pranks, to be sure. They tease you incessantly for your short fuse, and they’re bound to try and ignite it any way they can today. 

You wonder what it’ll be. Dog breath potion slipped into your water bottle? Stink pellets tossed into your room? Or maybe something so simple as salt in your coffee?

You look down at the mug Remus handed you a minute ago, sniffing at it. They always use Remus when they want to be inconspicuous; it’s so hard to suspect him. But he wants you to lose the bet as much as anyone. 

You stand, carrying your still-full mug into the kitchen. 

“Not this time,” you mutter. 

Remus looks up from his paper, frowning at you as you stomp over to the sink. “Dove, what are you doing?” 

“You must think I’m so gullible,” you drawl, pouring the hot coffee down the drain. “There’s no way I’m ingesting anything you—” the handle of the mug slips from your grasp, the dish shattering in the sink “—ah, fuck!” You look up to see Sirius’ eyes widen, glee sparking to life, and realize what you’ve done. “Shit. Damn it!” 

Remus puts a hand over his mouth while Sirius hoots, and James simply collapses in giggles, disappearing behind the couch. 

“Tha—that was too easy,” Sirius cackles, using his forefinger to wipe under his eyes. “We didn’t even do anything yet!” 

“Sweetheart, I’m almost disappointed,” Remus says, shaking his head even as he grins from ear-to-ear. “I thought you’d make it to the afternoon at least. Get your money for the jar.” 

“That’s, what?” James' voice comes from behind the couch. “Three dollars?”

“Five,” you say gravely, holding up your favorite finger on each hand. “Fuck you, you assholes.” 

“Pretty sure that’s six, babydoll.” Sirius cheeses at you. “Gestures count, don’t they Prongs?”

“A dollar per hand,” James agrees, now recovered enough to sit up on the couch. 

You seethe at them, and Remus comes into the kitchen to help you clean up your mess, patting your shoulder consolingly. 

“We’ll put it towards date night,” he says. 

“Good idea.” Sirius kicks his feet up on the table, making a show of lounging in his chair. “I’m thinking tonight, we order in from that Indian place and watch The Italian Job. What do you think, lads?”

You bristle, but Remus sees the comeback sizzling on your tongue and squeezes your shoulder warningly. “Save your money, dove. Want me to make you some more coffee? Seems like you might need it today.”

[ssa-atlas-alvez]

okay but. imagine cowboy!reader is actually very educated. pro-LGBTQ, pro-choice, BLM, acab. very big speaker and doesn't take shit. BUT everyone thinks he isn't gonna educated and such until they're on a case dealing with like a trans kid and he's the first one to step up and comfort the kid and such. man im in the rabbit hole.

Allergies (Not Really)

No no no no no but the way I've started one where something of this theme happens (I don't want to give too much away aha)

Word count: 3.6k

Warnings: transphobia, sad reader :( (i teared up a little ngl - it's not sad, he's just sad), guns, bullet wound, fighting, briefly mentions some murders to set the scene a bit, someone calls reader a redneck

Also I just want to say that the relationship between Mia and (Y/N) is completely platonic, maybe familial (a bit older brother-y or fatherly) not anything else. Just because I'm panicking because they spend a lot of time joking about and I wanna make that clear.

Taglist: @xweirdo101x @xdark-acadamiax

Your blood boils when you hear the case, an unsub has been targeting young families (parents and three kids all under the age of sixteen). The last family had a survivor, a twelve-year-old transgender girl named Mia, who was currently in the hospital being treated for a variety of injuries.

Your jaw clenches as you read the hospital report, whilst it wasn't too long (thankfully), you knew she would still have a lot to work through mentally.

"You alright over there, Eastwood?" Morgan asks.

"Just angers me, is all," You answer, not feeling the need to elaborate, feeling the source of your anger being fairly self-explanatory. You miss the concerned look Rossi and Hotch share. 

A few hours later, the jet landed, once everyone was situated at the police station, you turned to the team.

"I'm gonna head to the hospital, make sure Mia's okay," You said.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Rossi’s the one that says it, but you can see everyone's thinking the same thing. 

"Wha- Why wouldn't it be?... Oh I see," You say as the penny finally drops and it clicks, "Y'all think 'cause I'm from the South I'm against her bein' herself?" You sigh softly, rubbing the back of your neck, "Have I not proved myself yet?"

No one says anything for a moment, shocked by the hurt that flashes in your eyes, before they can, you pick your hat back up, settling it on your head, "I'm headin' to the hospital,” You mumble, leaving the room before anyone can say anything.

When you leave the room, you rub your eyes with the back of your hand. 'Not crying,' You try and convince yourself, 'allergies.' You trying to ignore the fact you know, 100%, that you don't have any allergies. 

You get into one of the SUV's and begin making your way to the hospital, ignoring your phone as it lit up with various concerned messages.

The receptionist was a nice woman and was quick to show you to Mia's room (after staring at you hungrily for a few minutes). You gave a small knock before walking in.

"Are you here to tell me I'm too young to know myself as well?" 

You furrow your eyebrows, "No, who told you that?" 

"One of the nurses," She answers with a shrug. 

"You know which one?" 

"The guy with brown hair," She shrugs as she answers, "It's fine though, happens all the time." 

"I personally don't think y'all are too young to realise who you are," You said with a shrug, "I think anyone who thinks that is trynna hide their bias by invalidatin' your identity."

Mia looks at you for a moment, "I like you." She states, "I thought you were going to be against it." 

"I've been gettin' that a lot today, it would seem," You mumble before your head snaps to the door, relaxing when it's just JJ. "Anyway, I'm (Y/N), this is my colleague, Agent Jareau. Mia, you a'right if we ask you a few questions?" 

"Sure,"

"Could you run us through what happened that night?"

"Mum and dad were cooking. We were all sitting at the table doing our homework, and someone knocked on the door." Mia began, "They asked me to open the door, and he grabbed me and put a gun to my head. He shot my dad, then-"

You gave her a small, encouraging smile, "You're doin' great,"

"Did you get a look at the person that did this?" JJ asked, when Mia nodded, she continued, "What did they look like?"

Your eyes widen in worry as the heart machine next to Mia picks up, as does her breathing. You pull yourself together and turn your attention to her, "Mia? Mia, hey," Your voice is soft as you kneel next to her, "You need to take some deep breaths for me sweetheart,"

"Can't-"

You nod at her, "Yes, yes you can," You encourage, "Deep breaths, in, one, two, three, four, five, and out. That was good, keep going," 

It takes a moment, but her breathing evens out and she appeared to be less anxious, "There we go," You grin, "Told ya," 

"Okay, Texas," Your jaw drops slightly, the joke catching you off guard. 

"That's not fair, I can't even say anythin' back without bullin' a child," 

"Ha ha." She responds, you throw your hands up in the air, smiling when she laughs at you. 

JJ rolls her eyes slightly at you with a small smile as the doctor walks in with a few nurses for a routine checkup. Your eyebrows furrow when you see a male nurse with brown hair. Your eyes flick to the name badge, 'Darren', assuming this is the same nurse, you make a mental note of his name.

"We'll be just outside, a'right?"

Her hand shoots out, clinging onto your sleeve, "No! Don't leave!" She looks at you slightly hesitantly, "Please?"

"Hey, hey, it's a'right, I'll stay here," You answer, eyes flicking down to her for a moment before turning to JJ.

"Hotch wants me to go with Morgan to the scene," JJ said, "You good here? I'll let him know,"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm good here and thanks," You give a small smile.

When the doctor and nurses left, you turned to Mia, "That nurse you mentioned earlier? The brown-haired one? Was he in the room just now?" 

Mia nodded, "Yeah,"

"Had a name badge on, name Darren?" Mia nodded once more. "Alright, I'll be back in a moment,"

"Where are you going?"

"I just want a quick word with this Darren fella," You shrug, seeing the look on Mia's face you roll your eyes slightly, "Don't you worry your little head about it, I'm not gonna hurt him or anythin'."

"Okay..." She said.

"Is that a'right?"

Mia shrugged, "Sure." You nodded before exiting the room.

Furrowing your eyes when you came face to face with Rossi, "Howdy, I'm just popping out for a few," You said. 

Rossi nodded, walking into the room after you had left. "I'm Agent Rossi," He said, "I work with (Y/N),"

"The cowboy?"

"Yeah, the cowboy," Rossi huffs a small laugh as he sits in his seat. "Have the staff here been treating you okay?"

Mia shrugs, "Yeah," She answers, "There was one nurse but I think Texas has gone to sort him out or something. He might beat him up."

Rossi smiles slightly, "Texas?" 

"Yeah, the cowboy," She said, "I think he's frustrated that everyone keeps assuming he's going to be against me being trans... I'd be frustrated too, I think," She added after a moment's thought. 

You leave Mia, now feeling slightly better that Rossi will be there whilst you're gone. Spotting your target, you speed up.

"Excuse me! Nurse?" The man turns towards you, Darren. "I just wanted to have a word with you about Mia?"

You watch as Darren shifts uncomfortably. "Yes?"

"I just wanted to say that perhaps telling someone they're too young to understand 'emselves probably doesn't make 'em feel a whole lotta good about 'emselves."

Darren looks you up and down slightly as he takes a few steps towards you. "And what exactly do you know?" He scoffs, "I'm surprised a redneck such as yourself can read and write."

"That's some nice deflection there," You said sarcastically, trying not to let it show how much the stereotypes flung into your face hurt. "Just... don't be a dick. If you don't understand somethin', look it up. I'm sure you can read. So perhaps do your research before you project onto a twelve year old girl." With that, you give a forced smile before turning on your heels and head back to Mia's room.

"Welp, that outta have done it," You give a lopsided grin, "A'right Rossi?" 

"I'm fine Kid, you okay?" 

"Yes sir," You answered, "I might grab myself a drink, y'all want anything?"

Mia laughs, "Y'all?"

"Rossi, Imma need your assistance, I'm getting bullied by a twelve year old," 

"Sorry, Kiddo, can't help you there." He chuckled, "I will ask that you grab me a coffee though."

"Coming right up!" 

Hours later, she's sat up on the bed whilst you're sat on a chair (a rather uncomfortable one) next to the bed, Rossi having left an hour ago, both of your gazes focused on a small, empty glass bottle that stood on the overbed tables. Each armed with a small piece of string as a makeshift lasso. 

"You're not a very good cowboy, are you?" Mia observes as you miss once more. 

"Hey, I haven't done this in a while," 

"How longs a while? Never?" She asked, throwing the lasso perfectly once more. 

"I'll have you know its been, okay so it's been like ten years, a'right? You were two last time I had to lasso something," 

"Wow, you're old." 

"I had no idea twelve year olds were so mean, you're about to make a grown man cry,"

Mia gave a laugh, you quickly joining in. You flung the lasso half-heartedly, eyes widening as it hit its target perfectly. "Yeehaw!" 

"Yeehaw? Seriously? You're so lame." You jaw dropped once more. You both jumped as gunshots echoed throughout the hospital, you sat up straight, immediately turning to Mia.

"Mia, I need you to take this," You handed your phone over to her, "The pass code is 1999, okay? You need to phone Hotch. Lock the door behind me, go into the bathroom and lock that door too, okay?"

Mia looked up at you with wide, scared eyes, "Are you gonna be okay?"

"I'm gonna be absolutely fine, a'right?" When she nodded, you gave her a smile, "Don't open this door until I tell you to, or Hotch phones and says to okay?" 

You shut the door, not moving until you heard it lock in place. When you heard the soft click, you nodded to yourself as you began to make your way towards sound.

Seeing a nurse, you jogged up to her, "Ma'am, try and get everyone into their rooms, tell them not to come out, okay?" The nurse nods and runs off. You continue cautiously towards the sound of gunshots, revolver clutched in your hands.

When you find him, he's holding a person close to his chest, what with that and the people running past you, you don't have a clear shot. You meeting eyes with the wide yes of the hostage against his chest, you look at her, giving a small nod as you inch closer. 

When the moment's right, she ducks her head, pulls her elbow back, before slamming it into the guy's ribs. As he curls over, she wiggles out of her grasp, joining the others in fleeing. With a sigh, you brace yourself before charging at the man, tackling him to the floor.

It takes a moment for the unsub to recover, in that time you've delivered a few blows to his face, both of your guns falling during the tackle. He's quick to flip you over, he aims for the torso first, delivering a handful of well-aimed punches. Next, he takes a fist of your hair, slamming your head into the floor. Once, twice, three times before you get the momentum needed to push him off you.

You staggered up, paying no mind to the pain in your head throbbing in beat with your pulse, the blood on the side of you head that's slowly dripping into your eye, or the ache that's spread through your abdomen. You had to either distract this guy until the team got here or knock him out. Either way, you weren't about to let yourself pass out and let this bastard hurt Mia.

As you're breathing deeply through the pain, the unsub has stood, he (however) is not as chivalrous, so he takes the moment make his way over to you. He grabs your shoulders as he pulls his knee to your groin, pushing you to the floor as you double over in pain. Happy with having the advantage, he continues to aim cheap blows to your sides.

Despite this, you stumble up once more, you keeping your left arm wrapped close to your ribs on your right. They were definitely bruised as a minimum. You duck the punch sent your way, wincing slightly as it pulls on your arm and ribs. Both of your eyes lock on the gun at the same time as the pair of you dive for it. He reaches it first, gripping it tightly in his hands as you immediately go for it, to loosen his grip, anything you can think of.

There's a bang and you grunt as a bullet enters the top of your left arm, adding insult to injury. Okay, so disarming him didn't really work.

"FBI!" You sigh in relief as the unsub is pulled away from you, letting your head fall against the cold floor with your eyes closed - trying to get a grip on the pain. You listen as they cuff the bastard before dragging him out of the hospital. You let your eyes flutter open as you begin to push yourself off of the floor. 

"I'm fine," You mumbled, shrugging Hotch's hands off you, "I'm fine, check on Mia."

"Morgan, stay with (Y/N)."

When Hotch is gone, you turn to Morgan, "I'm fine, go help Hotch."

"Sorry, got my order," Morgan said with a shrug. You don't answer, as much as you don't want to admit it, the pain was really starting you affect your headspace. You felt like you couldn't think. "Come on, let's get you checked out." 

You shook your head, "No, I need to check on Mia first," You mumbled, giving a low groan as you pushed yourself up. 

"Alright, lead the way," Morgan said. You don't answer, simply forcing one foot in front of the other until you're back at Mia's room.

"Is he okay?!" You hear Mia's question through the door.

"He's okay," You hear Hotch reassuring her.

"Then where is he?! He said he'd be here as soon as he could!" Mia's panic causes your eyebrows to furrow, "Oh god, he's dead, isn't he?"

You push the door open, trying to look as put together as possible for Mia, not wanting her to panic. "I'm very much alive, thank you very much," You say.

"I thought he killed you!" She exclaims, rushing towards you. You groan when Mia flings her arms around you, burying her head in your chest and she immediately steps back, seeing the blood her eyes widen. "Holy shit he shot you?!"

"Hey, language," 

"Sorry Texas," She grins, and you roll your eyes. 

"Texas?" Morgan grins, "Oh, that is so sticking around,"

You groan slightly, "Seriously?"

"Seriously." 

You turn to Mia, "Thanks kid," You say sarcastically.

"No problem, old man." Your jaw drops once more.

"I don't know if my ego can take all these insults," 

"I don't know what y'all are talkin' about I would never do such a thing to y'all," She says, trying her best to do an impersonation, giggling slightly at the look of disbelief on your face. 

"That- Now that was just a bridge too far-" You barely get the sentence out before you're huffing a laugh (and then wincing because of said laugh).

"Alright, come on, Texas," Derek smirks, placing a hand on your shoulder, "Let's go get you checked out."

You weren’t too injured (thankfully), minus the bullet wound, it was mostly just bruises. Eventually, you were all stitched up and laid in a hospital bed - which you hated, but Hotch had glared at you when you went to protest. 

A soft knock echoed through the door before it opened, a blonde woman poking her head round. You frowned slightly, not recognising her.

"Hi, I'm Mia's aunt," The woman says and you straighten up (ignoring the discomfort).

"Ma'am," You said with a nod.

"I just wanted to say thank you," 

"What for?" You furrowed your eyebrows as she raised hers, motioning to your current state. "Ma'am I was just doing my job."

"Well, either way, thank you." 

You give a small smile, "No worries, Ma'am."

“I’m going to be her guardian now that-” Mia’s aunt paused, taking a deep breath to compose herself before she continued, “After everything and I really appreciate what you did for her.”

You give her a small smile, “Of course, Ma’am.”

She gives you one last smile as she leaves the room, “Oh, agent?” You look at her, “Is it alright if I bring Mia in? We’re about to head off and she wanted to say goodbye.”

You nod, “Yeah, yeah, of course,” 

When the door closes, you push yourself the best you can, the door opens a few minutes later and Mia walks in.

“How y’all healin’?”

“First, I wouldn’t say y’all if it’s just one person,” You said, rolling your eyes, “Second, I’m doin’ a’right,”

“You missed like seven letters in that sentence,” She laughs, you huff a small laugh, forcing a wince down.

“It’s an art form,” You reply. "Your aunt seems nice,"

“She is, I’m going to live with her,” Mia says, smiling, “She lives in California. I can’t wait, apparently my uncle’s been getting a room ready for me,”

“That’s great,” You smiled. "How are you feeling in yourself?" 

"I'm okay," Mia said with a shrug, "I know it's going to be a while until I'm back to one hundred percent, but I'm willing to put in the work."

"Smart kid," You said, "You'll be okay." 

"Oh, Aunty Meg you should have been there earlier! Texas was all like 'how are y'all doin'?' And he made lassos but he was absolutely useless with one and the last time he used one was when I was two and…"

Mia's voice faded as you looked at the hat on the table for a moment, lightly taking it in your own hands, brushing over the material lightly with the pad of your thumb. It was one of your favourite hats. You looked up, seeing the grin on Mia's face as she did her best cowboy impressions, you smiled. "Hey, I think you'll find, every southerner - impersonator or not - needs their very own hat," You said, reaching over to place it on her head. "Perfect, a true southerner!"

"Well I'll be damned!" Mia exclaimed, tilting the hat slightly. 

"Come on, we need to make a move," Mia's aunt said. "I think Uncle Jack's getting restless waiting for us,"

Mia nodded, reaching up and taking the hat off before handing it over to you. You shook your head. 

"Nah, you keep it kiddo, I've got hundreds." You give her a smile. 

Mia walked forward, clinging onto you as she buried her head in your chest, you ignored the dull ache that flared up in your chest as you hugged her back, "I'm gonna miss you."

"I'll miss you too, kiddo," You say, lifting one hand to wipe at your eyes. 

"Are you crying?" Mia asked softly. 

"No." You answered, "I've got allergies."

You wait for Mia to let go before you do, you gave her a small smile, "See you later, a'right?" She nodded, quickly wiping her eyes. 

"See you later Texas," 

The door shut quietly behind the two of them and you were enveloped once more in silence.

Whilst everyone was wrapping up the case, you were sitting in a hospital bed, bored out of your skull. With a sigh, you pushed yourself up, sneaking past the nurses and doctors as you made your way outside, wanting some fresh air. 

You sat yourself down opposite the hospital in the grass, letting yourself pluck a blade of grass from the ground, running it through your fingers as you lost yourself in your thoughts. 

You kept your eyes trained on the grass as Hotch sat down next to you. The pair of you sitting in silence for a moment. “Are you alright?”

“‘M fine, sir,” The answer rolls off your tongue. “Nothing to worry about,”

“If you want to get something off your chest, you can always talk to me,” 

“I know, Hotch,” You said, “I just… struggle with the whole talkin’ about how you’re feelin’,”

Hotch nods in understanding, for someone who doesn’t talk about it, you sure do end up giving a lot away. You both sit in silence.

"I know people think I'm stupid," You mumble, staring intently at the blade of grass between your fingers as you spoke, "I know I have that Southern drawl," You exaggerate your accent slightly before continuing, "That I don't exactly talk like y'all. I know some just see me as some redneck, but I can hold my own. I ain't stupid. And I certainly ain't no bigot."

"I know, we all know that." Hotch replies.

"But you didn't." You pointed out before sighing, "Whatever, it doesn't matter..."

"We were concerned because there was no way could have known."

"You could've just trusted me," You said, “I have, in no way, given any of y’all a reason to believe that I am against anyone in that community. And I get it, I do, it just… stings, is all.”

Hotch doesn’t speak, unsure of what to actually say. Because he did jump to conclusions, they all did.

"I think if she didn't have any family I would have adopted her, or at least tried to, anway," Your eyebrows are furrowed, gaze deepening at the blade of grass as you tore it apart in your hands. "But, hey, she's happy, that's the main thing and her aunt seems like a lovely woman."

With that, you push yourself off of the grass, ignoring the ache that shoots through your body. Leaving Hotch sat on the curb with a frown as you limped back into the hospital for one final check-up before your flight.

You wipe your eyes with the back of your hand, “Fuckin’ allergies.”

[hungermakesmonsters]

Catch Me If You Can

Chapter Twenty-Five

Plot summary : When your friend interviews for a position at Anvil, you have a chance encounter with Billy Russo. He takes you for coffee and, by the time you’re done, Billy decides he’s anything but done with you.

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : R 

Chapter Rating : R - smut

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] Smut and extreme cuteness. Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story. 

Word Count : ~5.2k

A/N : The final chapter. I really hope that this lives up to people's expectations.

CHAPTER ONE | CHAPTER TWO | CHAPTER THREE | CHAPTER FOUR | CHAPTER FIVE | CHAPTER SIX | CHAPTER SEVEN | CHAPTER EIGHT | CHAPTER NINE | CHAPTER TEN | CHAPTER ELEVEN | CHAPTER TWELVE | CHAPTER THIRTEEN | CHAPTER FOURTEEN | CHAPTER FIFTEEN | CHAPTER SIXTEEN | CHAPTER SEVENTEEN | CHAPTER EIGHTEEN | CHAPTER NINETEEN | CHAPTER TWENTY | CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE | CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO | CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE | CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Chapter Twenty-Five

The trip from the hospital to the penthouse left you feeling exhausted and, by the time Billy was helping you change into your pyjamas you were struggling to keep your eyes open. His touches were slow and delicate, treating you like you were the most fragile and precious thing in the world. And, you could tell from the little looks he shot you that he was still blaming himself for everything.

A soft sigh slipped from your lips as he helped you into bed and covered you with the duvet.

“You okay?” He asked in a quiet, subdued tone.

“Still a bit sore,” you admitted, “but I’m glad to be home.”

“Home,” Billy repeated, smiling. “This isn’t exactly how I wanted you moving in to go, but I’m glad you’re here.”

“I’m glad I’m here too,” you sank back in the pillows a little more, “I’m glad we can just be together now.”

“Me too,” he fell silent for a few moments, watching as you struggled to stay awake. “Do you want to get some rest? I could -”

“Can you stay with me?” You asked, eyes suddenly wide open. “Can you hold me? I’ve missed you holding me.”

“Of course I can.”

You watched as he quickly slipped out of his red sweater and jeans, stripping right down to his boxers before rounding the bed and climbing in beside you. There was noticeable hesitation as he edged towards you, his arm carefully slipping over your chest so he could hold you.

“Is this okay?” He asked.

“It’s perfect, thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me, sweetheart,” He muttered softly, smiling as your eyes finally closed.

“Love you Billy.”

“Love you too, sweetheart.”

After a few hours of sleep, you felt a little bit better. Billy was still beside you, scrolling through his emails on his phone. When he noticed you were awake, he smiled.

“How are you feeling? Need me to get you anything?”

“A glass of water would be great,” you answered, “and something to eat?

Billy gave a nod and quickly got out of bed. You watched as he left the room, phone in hand. He was only gone for a couple of minutes, you heard him making a call, obviously ordering dinner before he came back with your drink and handed it to you. Then, after a slight hesitation, he got back into bed with you.

“Can we talk about it?” You asked cautiously, after taking a drink. “Scott, I mean...”

“Why?” He tensed.

“I don’t know, I just -” you weren’t even sure what you wanted to say to him, what you wanted to ask, “- we didn’t get to talk about it at the hospital. Are you okay?”

“He’s not the first person I’ve killed.”

“It’s not the same; you were a Marine in a warzone. This is -”

“Murder,” he filled in the blank without hesitation, without remorse.

And, maybe that should have bothered you more than it did; Billy had killed a man for you. Admittedly, not a great man, and certainly not one that you were going to miss in any way, shape or form. But a life was still a life and you were certain that neither of you should feel happy about it.

Billy took a slow breath.”Look, you don’t need to feel guilty about any of it. I would have killed him even if you told me not to.”

“It’s not guilt, it’s just - I dunno, Billy. A man is dead because of me...”

“You could have died because of him,” Billy answered back without hesitation. “He tried to kill you twice. He called you a whore, said you weren’t worth it.” There was no missing the bite in his tone, or the way his hand curled into a fist. “You are worth it. You mean everything to me -”

“Billy -”

“No, I’d kill a hundred men like him if it meant keeping you safe. I’d burn down the whole fucking world just to protect you.”

And you knew he would. With anyone else you’d think it was hyperbolic, you’d think he was just saying what he thought you wanted to hear, but not Billy. That was the wonderful and tragic thing about him, about the way he loved you; it was a lot, it was everything he had, every ounce of himself. You’d never change that about him, and you’d never want to. That  was Billy. That was the man you loved, and loving him meant accepting him.

So, you nodded and reached for his hand, gently prising his tight fist open so your fingers could slip between his. 

“Okay,” you told him, and that was that.

It wasn’t long before your food was delivered and you couldn’t help but laugh that he’d chosen to order pizza, just like he had the first night he’d brought you back to the penthouse. You sat together in bed, eating pizza and watching TV until you finally fell asleep again.

Hours later, voices outside the bedroom woke you; Billy and Sam.

“Look, I appreciate what you did for her, but I think it’d be better for everyone if she came back to Connecticut with me,” you heard Sam say. “She needs people around her to look after her.”

“She has people here,” Billy answered. “She’s not going anywhere.”

“You can’t expect me to leave my sister here with a killer.”

“And you can’t expect me to let her go with the man who allowed that piece of shit to keep breathing after the first time he tried to kill her,” Billy replied. Your breath caught, torn between listening to more and calling out to stop them from fighting. “Anyway, I’ve seen your service record, you’ve got blood on your hands too.”

“You think I didn’t want to kill that fucker -”

“I think you had every opportunity and you didn’t. I won’t let her go with anyone who’s not willing to do everything to protect her.”

“I know you think you love her, but -”

“I do love her, and there is nothing I won’t do for her,” you could hear the edge in Billy’s voice, the anger that he was barely managing to hold back. “Look around, look at the life I can give her; she’ll always be safe, she’ll never want for anything. You want to take that away from her? You want to take her away from everything that she’s achieved here? Her friends, her new job?”

A silence followed and you didn’t dare breathe in case you missed something.

“You don’t know her like I do,” Sam stated and your heart sank a little but you didn’t get time to dwell on it.

“I know her better than you do,” Billy was quick to answer. “You see her as some weak little thing just because she’s your sister. But I don’t. I see a woman who’s not scared to put me in my place when I fuck up, someone who’s been through so much and has kept going. She’s carried the guilt for your sister’s death for years, even though it was an accident, a stupid mistake. She’s the strongest person I’ve ever met and if you can’t see that, then you don’t know your sister at all.”

Before that moment you hadn’t thought it was possible to love him more, but you soon felt tears welling in the corners of your eyes.

There was another silence before you finally heard Sam relent.

“Fine, but if you ever hurt her, I’ll kill you myself.”

“If I ever hurt her, I’ll let you.” Billy quickly countered and you could hear just how serious he was.

There were some more muttered grumblings between the pair, but the tone had changed and both men seemed to have resolved their differences. Sam muttered something about coming back tomorrow to say goodbye before leaving town again and, then, when everything had fallen silent, you assumed that he had left.

You didn’t mention any of it to Billy when he came to bed later that night, and didn’t in the days that followed; it didn’t matter, there was no way you were going to go to Connecticut with Sam, not when everything in your life was finally perfect.

Sam insisted on staying in the city a little while longer, wanting to make sure you were going to be alright before he travelled home. He came by to see you most days and, slowly but surely, the tension seemed to ease between him and Billy, and they were able to stand each other enough to make small talk without either getting snippy.

Your heart was racing when the police arrived at the penthouse unexpectedly a week after you came home from hospital. Billy and Sam insisted that you weren’t ready to see them, that you were sleeping, but you managed to get yourself out of bed and made your way out of the bedroom.

The second you did, Billy was at your side, taking your arm.

“You don’t need to -”

“It’s okay, Billy. I’ll be fine,” you told him, letting him help you towards the sofa. “I need to tell the police that I’ve remembered what happened.”

Everyone, the police included, seemed a little taken aback by the comment, but no one tried to object. You sat, grimacing but trying not to let it show how sore you felt - the last thing you wanted was for Billy and Sam to worry about you. Before you started, Billy insisted on getting you something to drink, which in turn led to getting drinks for both of the officers, Sam, and himself.

The two officers sat opposite you, offering up their names and a few pleasantries before finally getting down to business.

“You said you’ve remembered what happened,” the younger of the two officers asked, a boyish looking man who had a friendlier face than his older partner, “would you be able to walk us through it, everything you remember from leaving Mexico right up to the incident?”

You nodded, discreetly trying to swallow the lump in your throat. Billy sat beside you and you soon had his hand in your own, held on your lap.

“We had an argument,” you glanced at Billy briefly, “Billy surprised me in Mexico and I thought - well, I thought he was there to propose to me,” at that Sam almost choked on his coffee, “but he wasn’t. It wasn’t a big argument, it was silly really, and I was embarrassed.”

Billy’s hand gave yours a gentle squeeze.

“I decided to come back to New York early because of it. I wanted to finish packing up my old apartment so we could move in here when Billy got back, and I wanted us to have a day or two apart so I could get over my embarrassment,” you shrugged uncomfortably but managed to force something of a smile to your face.

“I took a taxi home from the airport, had something to eat, then I was about to try to get a couple of hours sleep when someone knocked on the door,” your voice cracked. You tried to lean forward to grab your mug from the coffee table, but winced as pain lanced through your abdomen. 

“Here, sweetheart, let me,” Billy reached for your mug as you sat back and, when he handed it to you, you caught something almost helpless in his eyes. “You don’t have to do this now if you don’t feel up to it.”

“It’s fine. I want to tell them what happened,” you told him, taking a quick sip of your coffee before continuing. 

“You heard the knock...” the older officer prompted.

“I thought it was just a delivery or something for Tammy - Tammy was my roommate - but it wasn’t,” again your voice threatened to break. “It was my ex-boyfriend Scott Hendrix.”

“And did you talk to Mr Hendrix at all? Did he say anything to you before he shot you?” The younger officer asked, furiously scrawling in his notepad.

“Yes,” you answered without hesitation, feeling Billy’s hand twitch in yours. “He told me he wanted money, he said he owed someone money and he thought I owed him.”

“And why did he think that?��� The older one asked.

“He blamed me for his life falling apart,” you gave another awkward shrug, trying to ignore the pain in your side. “He went to prison for a DUI after crashing his car with both of us in it, the judge gave him a harsher sentence because I was badly hurt but -”

“She wasn’t just hurt, he was trying to kill her,” interrupted Sam. “She wouldn’t testify because she was scared of him and his family.”

The officers looked at you and all you could do was nod to confirm the story. 

“He tried to kill me because I wanted to leave him; I’d had enough of the drinking and the drugs. So, when he showed up and demanded money, I knew that was what it was for. He got angry when I said no and pulled a gun,” you looked down for a moment at Billy’s hand in yours. “He told me they were gonna kill him if he didn’t get their money -”

“Did he say who they were?” The younger one interrupted.

“No, he just said he owed a lot of money and, he figured, because I was with Billy I could get it for him. I told him no and tried to close the door, that’s when he -” when your voice broke again, Billy decided to intervene.

“Is there anything else you need? She needs to rest,” he stated, his grip tightening but this time not loosening even a fraction.

“How did you get that bruise on your cheek, Mr Russo?” The older cop asked, eyeing Billy for a second.

“I gave him it,” Sam answered, reminding everyone that he was still in the room.

“And why was that?” Asked the older officer.

“Because my sister had just been shot and I was looking for someone to take my frustrations out on,” Sam shrugged.

There was a moment of silence as both officers glanced at each other, as if deciding what to say next.

“You should know that we found where Mr Hendrix was staying in the city, as well as recovering a gun - it’s being tested at the lab to see if it matches the weapon that was used to shoot you,” the older cop explained. “Mr Hendrix was nowhere to be found.”

“What do you mean nowhere to be found?” Asked Sam.

“You mean that prick is still out there?” Billy added. The pair of them deserved an Oscar nomination.

“There was evidence found at the scene to suggest that Mr Hendrix had been badly injured, though we won’t know for sure until we hear back from the lab but, I can give you my assurances that the NYPD are looking for him.” The younger cop told you, offering a soft smile, as if he wanted to try and make you feel better about the thought that Scott could still be in the city.

“We’d offer to put a uniform on your door, but it seems like Mr Russo already has that covered,” added the older guy with a glance in Billy’s direction which, in turn, led to you looking at him.

“I didn’t want to worry you,” Billy offered.

“Anyway,” started the older cop, draining his mug of coffee and placing it down before reaching into his jacket for his card, “I think we’ve got everything we need. If you remember anything else, my number is on the card. And if Mr Hendrix tries to contact you -”

“He’ll wish he didn’t,” Billy stated, letting go of your hand and getting to his feet. “We appreciate you stopping by, officers, but she really needs to rest now.”

The officers stood, muttering their goodbyes and telling you that you didn’t need to see them out, but that didn’t stop Billy from following them and making sure they got on the elevator.

“What the fuck that?” Sam asked around twenty seconds after the elevator doors had slid shut.

“What was what?” You asked, feigning ignorance.

“That - lying to the cops,” he sounded annoyed. “Have you got any idea how much trouble you’ll be in if they figure out you lied?”

“What was I supposed to do? Wait until they find something that might lead them back to Billy?”

“Sweetheart -” Billy tried to interrupt.

“No, you protected me, now I’m protecting you. Scott took enough from me, he’s not going to take you too, Billy. I won’t lose you,” you told him.

“You won’t, sweetheart, I promise you won’t,” he told you, sitting beside you and placing a soft kiss on your cheek.

“We protect each other,” and that was how it was going to be from now on.

You felt a little better with each passing day but Billy continued to dote on you, barely leaving you alone for a moment, even after Sam had decided you were well enough for him to return to Connecticut. He did his work from home, hadn’t been to the office in over two weeks, but as much as you loved having him around, something was missing. 

Him.

All of him.

He was treating you like some fragile thing with delicate touches and the sort of softness that felt like he was barely there at all. Of course, you understood he was being careful because he loved you, because he didn’t want to risk hurting you or causing you any sort of pain, but you knew it wasn’t doing either of you any good. He sated some of your longings with his fingers, and you’d given him more handjobs in the last few weeks than you had in almost eight months of being together, but you needed more.

You both had needs, but you were coming to realise that Billy wasn’t going to be the first to act, so you decided to take the initiative. You slipped out of the bedroom in nothing but a silk robe, finding him on the sofa. His eyes followed you as you approached and grew wider as you dropped the robe to the floor and climbed onto his lap.

Before he could even think to question you, you were kissing him desperately, pressing yourself against him and slowly starting to rock your hips. Billy easily lost himself to you for a few wonderful minutes and you felt him start to grow hard in his pants, but it didn’t last.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he muttered against your lips, sighing but not pulling back. 

“Then be gentle,” you retorted before capturing his lips again.

For a few moments he was content to kiss you, his hands running up your bare thighs to your hips, then your waist, but the feel of the dressing over your injury caused him to pull back again.

“I - I don’t know if I can be gentle.”

“You can,” you told him softly. “I don’t want you to fuck me, Billy, I want to make love.”

His breath caught and, for a few seconds, all he could do was stare at you awkwardly, as if he wasn’t entirely sure what you were asking him for, like something about your suggestion worried him. Your hand found his cheek, and you held his gaze.

“I don’t -”

“You do,” you told him softly, reassuringly, before taking his hand and slowly getting to your feet.

Billy rose slowly and let you lead him to the bedroom, where you slowly undressed him, running your hands over every inch of skin that you exposed. Once he was naked, his fingers lifted your chin and he just stared at you for a moment before, finally, kissing you. He held you close and carefully moved you onto the bed, placing himself on top of you, keeping his weight on his arms at your side.

Hesitation was etched on his features as he broke the kiss and stared down at you.

“You won’t hurt me,” you told him. “I trust you, Billy.”

His hips lowered and you felt the tip of his cock graze your clit and, after weeks of nothing but his hand between your legs, it made you shiver. He hesitated for a few seconds, but the moment he was pressed against you, the moment he could feel how wet you already were, he knew he couldn’t stop.

A long, relieved exhale escaped you as he finally started to move. The feeling of his cock pressing into you after so many weeks without it felt heavenly, and Billy’s soft groan told you he felt the exact same way. He moved so slowly that you could feel every inch as he filled you, and once you’d taken him all, he lingered long enough that you could feel him throbbing inside you.

Any discomfort you felt was forgotten the moment his hips started to draw back, your body already trembling beneath him.

“Billy -” you moaned, your fingertips pressing into his back.

Once he was certain that you weren’t in any sort of pain, he started to move with a little more purpose, not in his usual fast or rough way, but in a way that let you experience every single sensation.

“I love you,” he muttered breathlessly against your ear, lingering there and letting you feel every shallow breath against your skin, hearing every time his breath caught and every little groan.

“I love you too, Billy,” you moaned, angling your head so you could capture his lips in a kiss.

Your moans got louder, swallowed by Billy’s lips. Everything about it was perfect, everything was Billy. Fingers slipped into his hair and you heard him groan his approval, his lips pulling into a smile against yours.

“Mine,” you told him when your lips finally parted.

“Yours. Always,” he told you. “You feel so good...”

“So do you,” you moaned as he filled you again, your walls trembling and squeezing around him the closer you got to climaxing. 

It was like nothing you’d ever felt before, a level of connection with him that made you feel like nothing existed outside of you and him and the moment you were sharing. His movements got a little faster the closer you got and, from his barely restrained groans, you could tell he wasn’t going to last much longer either.

You moaned his name as you came, your whole body shivering with a pleasure you didn’t even know how to completely process. A few seconds later, he was following, twitching inside you as he emptied himself.

“Fuck -” he grunted, the movements of his hips turning awkward before finally stilling.

He leaned, his forehead against your and his eyes shut tight. You ran your fingers through sweat-damp hair, smiling and waiting for him to open his eyes. When he did, you could tell he was at a loss for words.

“That was amazing,” you decided to break the silence.

“I love you,” was how he chose to respond, pressing his lips to yours in a brief but wonderful kiss.

The room was slowly turning dark around you and, as much as you’d wanted everything that had happened, you felt exhausted. Billy slowly pulled out and moved to lay beside you, gathering you in his arms so you could rest your head on his chest while his hand gently stroked your hair.

Your eyes closed and you let out a slow breath as everything turned still and silent around you. Minutes ticked by, the steady drumming of his heartbeat almost lulling you to sleep. His hand in your hair had fallen still and you assumed that he’d fallen asleep. Everything about the moment was perfect, it was how you wanted to spend the rest of your life.

Then you heard it.

“Marry me,” he whispered softly. 

It sounded like he was testing the words, like he was trying them out to see how they sounded. You wanted to answer him, but the words wouldn’t come; he wasn’t asking, not really, he thought you were sleeping. So, you kept your eyes closed and, eventually, drifted off to sleep.

The next morning you woke to find Billy in an infectiously happy mood - obviously he’d needed last night just as much as you had. He made you breakfast in bed before surprising you and telling you that he was finally going to go back to the office. It felt like everything was going back to how it should be; you were feeling much better, he was going back to work, and in a week you’d be starting your job with The Bulletin. It was perfect. 

Billy left for work and you spent the day relaxing with a book, before throwing together a casserole in the kitchen for the pair of you to have for dinner - as much as you’d been enjoying Billy taking care of dinner since you’d gotten home, you were starting to get bored of take out. Once everything was ready, you returned to the armchair in the bedroom, alternating between reading your book and watching the sun set over the city.

He was later than expected getting home and, when you heard the elevator, you expected him to call out. Instead there was silence. It was enough to have you anxiously getting up from your chair and heading out to see why he was being so quiet.

You found him standing awkwardly, looking at the floor, a serious expression on his face. Your heart skipped a beat and dread started to coil in your stomach.

“Billy, what’s wrong?” You dared to ask, making your way towards him.

The suddenness of your voice startled him, and he looked at you like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck.

“Nothing,” he managed in the most unconvincing tone, making you panic even more.

“Is it Scott? Did the police find something?” You stopped in front of him, worry written across your face.

“No, it’s not -” he looked at you for a moment before forcing a breath. “It’s not that. It’s - I need to ask you something.”

Your heart stuttered, remembering his whispered question the night before, and all you could do was nod, not knowing what you could possibly say. Billy took a moment and, for a second, you thought you could see fear in his eyes, like he was scared about what was about to happen.

“I know we haven’t known each other very long,” he started, his eyes fixed on yours, “but this last few weeks has shown me that I can’t go back to living without you. I don’t want a life that doesn’t have you in it.”

Despite his obvious nervousness, you felt your lips pulling into a smile as tears started to well in the corners of your eyes.

“I love you,” he continued, “more than I thought I’d ever be able to love anyone, and that’s never gonna change.” 

Your heart almost stopped when he slowly got down on one knee and pulled a ring box from his pocket. His trembling hands opened the lid to reveal the ring inside; simple, delicate and elegant. Perfect.

“I know I fuck up sometimes and I piss you off, but I’m willing to spend the rest of my life trying to make you happy,” he looked up at you expectantly, even though he hadn’t actually asked.

Wiping your eyes, you smiled down at him. “Ask me the question, Billy.”

“Sweetheart, will you marry me?”

“Yes,” the word was instant, not even needing to think about it or consider any of it. Maybe it was crazy, but you’d been through more with Billy in the last eight months than most couples went through in a lifetime.

“Really?” His question, the confusion and relief in his voice, was enough to have you dropping to your knees in front of him, taking his face between your hands.

“Yes, Billy.” You told him again. “I will marry you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

His hand took yours, sliding the ring onto your finger. A perfect fit. You leaned forward to kiss him, tears of joy streaming down your face.

“I love you,” he told you softly. “We don’t have to marry straight away, we can have a long engagement, we can do whatever -”

You pressed a finger to his lips, silencing him.

“Take me to bed, Billy.”

A blink of an eye later and you were on your back in bed, Billy’s greedy lips and tongue on your pussy, driving you insane. Your fingers tangled in his hair and you could see the diamond ring every time you looked down at him. Crying out as sank his fingers inside you, and trembling as he sucked your clit. Even though Billy tried to take things slow, with teasing and measured movements, it had been so long since he’d gone down on you that you came after only a few minutes.

He lifted his head and smiled up at you, his lips and chin glistening, though he seemed hesitant and you could guess why.

“Don’t you dare ask me if I’m okay,” you warned playfully. “Just get up here and fuck me.”

Billy didn’t need to be told twice. He moved up your body like a predator and, when you reached for him, you could feel his taut muscles beneath your hands. God, you wanted him. You’d never stop wanting him. And just one look from him told you that he felt the same. 

He kissed you as he slid inside you, and you held him tight, moaning against his lips. When hips started to move, you could tell that he was still holding back. You moved beneath him, meeting his thrusts, silently begging him for more with every shift of your hips.

“Billy -” you moaned against his lips, you fingers curling in his hair again, “- I said fuck me.”

He started to move a little faster, sinking himself deeper with every stroke, his cock filling you in a way it hadn’t for weeks.

“Such a needy little pussy,” he muttered against your lips. “It’s all mine now.” 

His lips moved to your neck, sucking and nipping at your skin, driving you wild. And still - still you wanted more. Everything. You could hear him muttering and grunting against your neck, the word ‘mine’ leaving his lips, over and over. 

“I’m yours, Billy,” you moaned breathlessly, “forever.”

You pulled at his hair, causing him to lift his head from your neck so you could kiss him as you came for him, moaning into his mouth as your wall clenched around him. It was enough to drive Billy over the edge and soon you felt the steady pulse of his cock as he filled you.

“Fuck, that feels so good,” you moaned as he came, holding him tight as he stilled deep inside of you.

“I love you,” he told you between panted breaths, lingering inside you long after he’d finished, not wanting to sever your connection. “I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Epilogue

END NOTES :  I don't know what to say. Honestly. When I started this I expected maybe three of four people might take an interest but I've honestly been overwhelmed by all the likes, the reblogs, and the comments; it's really made this a joy to write. While this is the lat main chapter of the story, I will be posting an epilogue next week and, in future, I might do some one shots with with reader and Billy. But, ultimately, after everything I wanted them to have a nice, happy ending and I hope you all enjoy that.

Thank you so so much for for those who have been following for the last five months! ... I know, it really has been five months and my mind is blown. This is the longest, consistent writing project I've ever undertaken - for context, altogether, this fic is about 110000 words and 220 doc pages, which just sounds insane.

ANYWAY. I'm rambling. Tune in next week for the epilogue. And thank you again, whether you like/comment/reblog or just read along every week. You all made this such a wonderful and fun experience for me!! I will have a little update next week after the epilogue when I decide what I'm going to do next on this blog. Have a great weekend!

If you want adding/removing from the tag list let me know (I know it’s not working for everyone - if it’s not working and you don’t want to miss a chapter, I post every Friday around 7:30pm gmt)

TAG LIST

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[esamastation]

Part thirty-one of Shizuroth, aka, the SOLDIER General's Self Saving Shizun.

Ao3 link.

Previous parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty

-

They've landed in Wutai after a frankly miserable plane ride in a windowless, seat-less troop carrier - which, why even call it a troop carrier when it's clearly not designed to be carrying people? The thing is filled with boxes and stuff, there was barely enough room to move!

Guess that's what happens with last minute takeoffs - you get what you get.

The first few minutes onboard were fine and kinda novel - being on a plane at all was kind of a mind trip, because, heh, plane, Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky, eat your heart out! But then it became just hours upon hours of boredom in a rattling tube of metal. Sword flying is clearly a superior mode of transport.

"We will have your things delivered to wherever you're going to be staying," Reno says, waving them off the plane, hiis attention fixed on one of the bigger boxes. "Rude, come give me a hand with this…"

"We should -" Rude starts to say, looking at the SOLDIERs.

"Yeah, yeah, now come give me a hand with this."

Angeal gives them an awkward, slightly relieved smile and then claps Sephiroth on the shoulder. "We better get out of the way," he says, and together they exit the plane.

Sephiroth had been bracing himself for a warfront, Angeal had even told him what to expect, but he… didn't actually know what that entailed.

Shinra troops had taken over a small town at the foot of Tamblin Mountain sometime in the past and are now using it as their forward base. That's where they land - in a dirt runway cut into the forest, just by the town. And it's…

It reminds him of old movies, the mixture of vaguely mixed Asian style buildings, with these modern canvas tents pitched in between them and on the roads. There are trucks that totally aren't jeeps that have worn grooves into soft  streets, unprepared for such traffic, making everything messy and muddy. They've erected fences all over the place, sectioning parts off, and there are  floodlights everywhere. There's also  robots patrolling the place. 

In the distance, on the rolling hills somewhere to the west, there are rice paddies and behind them mountains. All around them there's a lush wall of green that looks almost like a rainforest. It actually might be rainforest! It would fit the allegory!

The mental, ethnic vertigo is so strong for a moment that Sephiroth doesn't know which way to turn to look. He doesn't know what to think. Mostly he just feels kinda… unnerved.

Angeal returns to his side before he even realises he'd gone somewhere. "I talked to the Colonel. Come on," Angeal says, clapping him on the shoulder. "They've set up a place for us. We'll… debrief there."

"... Hn," Sephiroth answers, and follows him.

There's a lot of Shinra troops milling about, infantry mostly, but some SOLDIER Seconds and Thirds too. They all stop to stare. Some of them look excited, but most just look tired and dirty and worn.

Sephiroth wonders if the Colonel is in charge of them. Actually, it might be that they're now in charge of everyone here! They're SOLDIERs First Class. Isn't that the highest rank? He can't remember if Sephiroth being a General was fanon or canon, but hasn't he been involved with the war since the beginning?

Would he have to give orders now, orders to march, to fight… to kill?

Angeal shows him to a house that was clearly someone's home before Shinra took the place over. It's a single room with tatami floors and rice paper walls, and the military bunks clash with the aesthetic horribly. Their pillows are clearly seat cushions.

There's a fancy looking kimono stand that's being used to hang bags and ammo satchels.

"What happened to the people who lived here?" Sephiroth can't help but ask, staring at the stand and wondering where the kimono had gone.

"They abandoned the town ahead of the troops," Angeal says.

Sephiroth looks at him and then at the room. Did they really, or is that a nicer thought than they were all executed? "... Right," he says and picks up the seat cushions from the bunk, piling them up in the corner - wondering if there was a table here, and what happened to it.

"Are you alright?" Angeal asks.

Probably not! "What's our mission here?" Sephiroth asks, picking up bags and satchels from the stand and carrying them outside.

"... We have a day to acclimate. After that, there's a number of things that need to be accomplished," Angeal says, subdued, and takes out his phone. "We can start slow - there's no major engagements being planned just now, no one will mind."

"Mn, and what does starting slow mean?" Sephiroth asks, as he picks up stuff around the hut and gets rid of it.

"Well, there's a number of monster extermination requests around here - Wutai wildlife is high-level, and it's rumoured that they're being intentionally bred by Wutai people. They've been attacking patrols."

Sephiroth gets rid of most of the random crap in the hut and then considers the bunk beds. They're ugly and probably unpleasant, but… they have to sleep somewhere. 

It takes just one swing of Masamune to improve the situation immensely.

"Um," Angeal says as Sephiroth finishes separating the beds and moves one of them to the other side of the hut. "... Why?"

"I am not sleeping in a bunk bed," Sephiroth says simply and looks around. "... Do you think they have folding screens around here?"

 Angeal arches his brows. "I don't know for sure. I suppose we could ask around? I think there's a storage house where they've put the collected, um," he clears his throat. "Things that will be sent to Midgar eventually. Maybe we can requisition some of it."

Things to be sent to Midgar…  that's nice. That's a nice way to say the spoils of war, huh. 

Sephiroth looks away. It's the way of war, he knows that, nothing unusual about it. It happened in PIDW too - cut out all the smut and stupidity, and all Binghe did was plunder and loot and pillage. When he wasn't being handed tributes, anyway. It's just par for the course! Right? Right…

"You…" Angeal starts and then sighs and puts the phone away. "How about I'll go get a screen for you, if there's any available. Do you want anything else?" He sounds very indulgent and understanding.

"Two screens. And a table," Sephiroth says without facing him, feeling like a sullen little kid being placated. "... Thank you. Can you ask someone to get rid of the - stuff outside?"

"I'll take care of it," Angeal promises. "You just… take a moment to make yourself comfortable, okay? There's no rush."

Aka, pull yourself together, man, you're looking really pitiful right now. Thanks, Angeal-bro.

Sephiroth's waits until Angeal is gone before sinking down to sit on one of the beds, putting his head in his hands.

Though they'd not seen much from the plane, what with it not having windows and all, he can see it in his mind's eye now. Burned villages smoking in the jungle, scorched fields, muddy paddies ruined. He'd never cared much for any kind of war stuff, but he'd seen his share of first person shooters and letsplays.

It all feels very real all of a sudden.

And he's supposed to be the Big Bad here! The Demon of Wutai! Who knows how many people he's already killed in this war! And sure, it is a war, and that's what happens, and yeah, he has killed before as Shen Qingqiu, but -!

Going to war on behalf of the America-allegory of the situation? The invader, the hostile occupier, the - the evil planet-sucking dystopian megacorporation?!

Dragging his hands down his face, Sephiroth sighs and looks up.

There are calligraphy scrolls hung up on each side of the door. One reads Integrity and the other Honour. Sephiroth stares at them miserably for a long moment.

Yeah.

He's so going to end up defecting here, isn't he? Four days, four days in this world, and he's doing to fuck up the whole plot, right here and now. It must be some kind of record! But where the fuck will be even defect to? The Demon of Wutai, hello?! The locals probably want his head on a spike!

"I am so fucked," he mutters wretchedly and hangs his head.

[draconym]

Hi! I really like the version of the Galaxy Song that you posted way back in July. I was wondering if you had the chords for it anywhere? I'm learning the ukelele and I think it would be a fun one to try out :D

Thank you! I'm delighted that people still enjoy it.

I was sure I had this one in my songbook doc, but it seems I didn't, and when I tried looking it up elsewhere I was rudely reminded by my synesthesia that that my friends and I transposed it to C (from the original Monty Python recording which is in the key of B). We did that because I was a real beginner eight years ago, and admittedly the key of C is still a much easier choice for this song if you can forgive the fact that it makes the whole thing kind of orange.

Anyway, it turns out @adoubtifitbeus kept track of the chords and I've stuck em back on the lyrics under the cut below for your enjoyment.

Chords inside:

Just [C] remember that you're [Em] standing on a [Am] planet that's [C] evolving

And revolving at nine hundred miles an [G] hour

That's [G7] orbiting at nineteen miles a second, so it's reckoned

A [G] sun that is the source of all our [C] power

The [C] sun and you and [Em] me and all the [Am] stars that we can [C] see

Are [A7] moving at a million miles a [Dm] day

In an [F] outer spiral [Fm] arm, at forty [C] thousand miles an [Am7] hour

Of the [Dm] galaxy we [G] call the Milky [C] Way

Our [C] galaxy [Em] itself contains a [Am] hundred billion [C] stars

It's a hundred thousand light years side to [G] side

It [G7] bulges in the middle, sixteen thousand light years thick

But out by [G] us, it's just three thousand light years [C] wide

We're [C] thirty thousand [Em] light years from [Am] galactic central [C] point

We go [A7] round every two hundred million [Dm] years

And our [F] galaxy is [Fm] only one of [C] millions of [Am7] billions

In this [Dm] amazing and [G] expanding [C] universe

The [C] universe [Em] itself keeps on [Am] expanding and [C] expanding

In all of the directions it can [G] whizz

As [G7] fast as it can go, at the speed of light, you know

Twelve [G] million miles a minute, and that's the [C] fastest speed there is

So [C] remember, when you're [Em] feeling very [Am] small and [C] insecure

How [A7] amazingly unlikely is your [Dm] birth

And [F] pray that there's [Fm] intelligent life [C] somewhere up in [A7] space

'Cos there's [Dm] bugger-all [G] down here on [C] Earth

[acciojaeyun]

– 1:16 am ; how jungwon falls in love

genre: fluff pairing: yang jungwon x gn!reader trope: childhood friends to lovers

a/n: HAPPY BIRTHDAY JUNGWONIEEEE 🥺

love had the last cup of vanilla ice cream with rainbow sprinkles and mini marshmallows.

it was not that hot out when you both first met outside of your respective houses. in fact, it was hot, albeit a bit cooler than normal. but the temptation of the vanilla ice cream was something undeniable, that not even the faintest drop of temperature could stop you from having your hands around the waffle cone.

love shared an ice cream cup with you when he was eight and you were seven.

love shared an ice cream cup with you when he was eight and you were seven.

“we could share,” the kid with smiled, dimples showing as he showed you the ice cream cup he had in his hands.

the thing about being a kid is, your parents have warned you not to talk to strangers. and the kid that apparently had your favourite ice cream was a stranger. you heard the words of your parents repeating in your head, but your favourite vanilla soft serve was held between the stranger’s small hands. 

so, you smiled at love, and love smiled back at you.

you were first acquainted with love through an eight-year-old jungwon, who had his hair in a bowl cut and whose cheeks are puffed out with dimples as deep as it could get. the jungwon who preferred to play chase with you on a bike at exactly 4:00 in the afternoon once you’re done with your classes, an hour before your own private lessons.

at twelve, love danced gracefully to the music you blasted on your speakers.

“i know this song!” jungwon would tell you while jumping as the music blasted your bluetooth speakers you brought to his place on afternoon.

you watched as jungwon hit every beat, you watched how he isolated his body to incorporate meaning to the words of the music, you watched how he smiled while catching his breath after dancing one whole routine.

“you’ve improved a lot on your dancing,” you smiled at jungwon who blushed in return. “i’ve been practising,” he responds as he takes a seat beside you on the floor to steal the fry you have in between your fingers. 

jungwon promised a lot of things.

first, jungwon promises not to refrain himself from stealing your food.

you let him steal your fry, just like how many times he had stolen your food. it was something unspoken between you two: you order jungwon’s usual while he claims to not order his, since he wanted to try some other things.

at the end of the day, you would eat the aloha burger and curly fries as he takes bite off your chicken sandwich and regular fries.

second, jungwon promises to put you first and protect you from everything.

“y/n!” he shouts as he pulls you by the arm to the pavement, saving you from an accident on the road. “y/n, you could’ve gotten hurt!” he says through teary eyes, checking your face whether you’ve had inevitable repercussions from the incident.

and lastly, jungwon promises to be your best-friend all the time.

“i love you,” he smiles through his chocolate tongue, savouring the last remnants of the chocolate ice cream he ordered instead of vanilla. you giggled and said it back with such sweetness, vanilla draped over the words with such delicacy and childlike intensity. 

love was ice cream shared under the sunset after a thirty-minute bike ride before jungwon goes to taekwondo and you go to piano lessons.

but love fails.

“up for a bike?” you asked one afternoon after your classes, just like you always did. and while you expected jungwon to nod at you and agree, he pouted and shook his head, “i have training.”

“oh,” you nodded and pouted as well, “it’s alright! we can bike some other time!”

at sixteen, love leaves for its dreams.

“what do you mean you’re not sure when you’ll come back?”

“i’ll come back, y/n.” jungwon sighs as he packs his clothes.

“what if you don’t?”

“then i’ve reached my dreams.”

for three months, love was seen through the screen. 

you couldn’t be prouder for jungwon, you knew you left bittersweetly. it ended in such a way that you have told jungwon that you didn’t want him reaching his dream when it was in fact the opposite.

“i’m proud of you,” you’d say when he decided to call you one random night. 

jungwon smiles. “how are you?” he asks.

jungwon still steals your food whenever he came to visit you. he still preferred ordering mundane menu items while subconsciously wanting yours – where he ends up eating your food and you end up eating his.

“i kinda want to try the mint choco,” he says as he looks at the ice cream menu.

“you never liked mint choco…” you trailed off as you knew where this was going.

jungwon still protects you from everything, that he had his sunghoon-hyung teach him how to skate because you told him one time you wanted to try ice skating; how was he supposed to protect you when he didn’t even know how to?

“since when did you learn how to skate?”

“i think you forgot i have a professional ice skater in my group.”

jungwon kept his promises. 

heck, he promised even more than that.

“would it be weird if i asked you if i could take you on a date?” he asked as he looked at you while you nursed yourself with hot chocolate.

“it would be,”

“but i could, right?” he presses, hopeful.

“you could.”

he releases a breath he has been holding, “alright.”

you looked at him expectingly.

“i’ll take you on a date,”

“as a bestfriend?”

jungwon takes a sip on his hot chocolate, “that and more.”

[sluttywonwoo]

instead of you [part twelve] || l.mh

pairing: [best friend’s brother] lee minho x college!reader ft. han jisung

summary: you didn’t expect to spend your summer pretending to be your best friend’s girlfriend- then again, you didn’t expect to fall for your best friend’s brother, either. 

warnings: swearing, mentions of sex (18+ mdni)

word count: 3.5k

a/n: revamped my tom holland series from my main blog ( @wazzupmrstark ) to try and motivate myself to finish it!!

series masterlist | early access to the next chapter on ko-fi

The flight from Naples to Tokyo took fourteen hours, not including the two-and-a-half-hour layover in Istanbul, meaning you had sixteen and a half hours to sit in awkward tension-filled silence next to Jisung. The tension was one-sided, of course, but it was still agonizing to endure.

You had been able to push your anxiety aside during your last day in Italy because it had been so busy. There had been a power outage in the middle of the night, causing everyone to oversleep and miss the ferry for one of your tours that morning. It had been a scramble to get back on schedule and do as much as possible with the time you had left. The boys had been hungover and their parents were tired of wrangling them. You had dozens of photos on your camera roll of Jisung and Felix bickering when they were supposed to be posing for a nice picture, and even more of Minho flicking them off. 

But now you were stuck alone with your thoughts, unable to use distraction as a means to escape. You tried reading your book, but found yourself unable to concentrate on the words on the page. After staring at the same paragraph for over fifteen minutes Jisung noticed and asked if you were okay and you finally decided to call it quits. 

You almost wished the Hans hadn’t scheduled in a day and a half to adjust to the time zone change. You’d rather exhaust yourself with the nonstop tourist bullshit than have to cope with the reality that you had gotten off to thoughts about your best friend’s brother. Not to mention living with the secret that the same best friend’s brother had kissed you not long before that. 

If Jisung noticed anything was off, he didn’t mention it. He probably chalked it up to lack of sleep, or perhaps was too tired himself to care. 

“Which one of us do you think will be randomly selected in customs today?” Felix asked, stretching his arms above his head. 

You were standing in the aisle waiting to deplane, placing bets on who’d get searched by border agents this time. Somehow each time you traveled to a new place one of you was always chosen to get pat down or have your carry-on searched. Minho had yet to be the lucky winner, and you suspected it had something to do with his celebrity status. 

“Y/n,” Minho answered easily. “She has the U.S. passport.”

You rolled your eyes. “Like Korea has a squeaky clean record with Japan.”

“Okay, but it’s the other way around for us. At least we didn’t-”

“Bro, you can’t say the b word on a plane,” Felix interrupted.

“Even when the plane’s on the ground?”

Jisung shrugged. “Better safe than sorry.”

“Whatever,” Minho continued. “It’s definitely going to be y/n.”

-

“Would you mind stepping out of line, ma’am?” 

You sighed, not even bothering to look back at the boys. You already knew they were grinning like idiots and you didn’t want to give them the satisfaction. The agent ushered you to the side behind a glass partition, but not before you heard another agent repeat the same question to one of the Hans. You smiled to yourself, happy not to be the only one singled out.

Behind the privacy screen another agent greeted you and asked you to take your sweatshirt off, explaining that it was too baggy and needed to be checked. You saw other people in baggy clothes who weren’t getting pulled out of line, but assumed they didn’t have the red flag of “U.S. Citizen” printed on their identification that would be cause for any additional suspicion. You complied with the agent’s request and pulled your sweatshirt off for them to further inspect.

You were glad you’d worn a sports bra beneath your sweatshirt because you usually didn’t wear anything underneath them. As soon as your head was out of the pullover you immediately met by Minho’s polite smile. 

He averted his eyes as soon as he saw you, pausing his conversation with the official to mumble a quiet ‘sorry’ to you as he was shown to the spot next to yours. 

You zoned out as they spoke, only aware of him again when he started unbuckling his belt. You caught his eye this time. 

“Forgot to take it off,” he explained.

“Sweatshirt’s too loose.”

You both faced forward as the customs officials proceeded through the motions. You were stuck standing there half-naked with your arms wrapped around your chest self-consciously while an agent pat Minho’s legs down. 

“Dad said we can meet them at baggage claim,” Minho said after a few moments of silence between the two of you. “They went on without us.”

“Okay,” you squeaked back in response. 

You knew it wouldn’t take long, but it still made you nervous to be alone with Minho. Jisung was like a safety blanket, or a buffer between you and him and without him you were afraid it would be painfully awkward. 

The woman handed you your sweatshirt back and you had to wait for Minho outside of the screening area. He joined you a minute or so later.

“They find any dirt on you?” you asked from where you were leaning against the wall across from the exit. 

“Nope, you?”

“Yeah, actually I’m in custody right now. Can’t believe you missed the handcuffs.”

“Man, what’d they get you for?” 

“Identity theft,” you sighed. 

“Damn, that’s a bummer,” Minho replied, false sympathy rolling off his words. 

He cocked his head in the direction the rest of his family had went, indicating that you should get going, and held out a hand to pull you upright. You took it hesitantly and let him help you. 

“I was actually hoping you could bail me out?” you went on, continuing with the bit. 

Minho made a sound through his teeth and grimaced. “I’m kinda broke right now.”

“Aren’t you a famous dancer?”

“Sorry, but I think you have me confused with someone else.”

“No, you’re definitely the guy!”

“You’re thinking of Choi Minho,” he insisted.

“Remember that IOU you gave me? I’m cashing it in now.”

“That’s not how it works!” 

You laughed. “No, but if I ever actually get arrested I’m using my IOU to get you to bail me out of jail.”

“I don’t think that a kiss and getting bailed out of prison are comparable, but I didn’t put any conditions on that postcard, did I?”

“Nope!” You smiled happily.

“Well that’s on me, so…”

You took the shuttle together to the other side of the airport where the rest of the Hans were waiting and finally found them with all of your luggage at the furthest carousel from the entrance. 

“It’s about time!” Felix yelled over the crowd as soon as he saw you. 

Jisung grinned when he saw you and you couldn’t help but grin back. He wrapped an arm around you instinctively and you relaxed into his shoulder, relieved to be with him again. It hadn’t dawned on you until that moment just how attached you were, but you didn’t have time to dwell on it because the other Hans were all looking at you expectantly.

“Did everything go okay?” Nikki asked. 

Minho nodded. “They made y/n strip, but it was uneventful otherwise.”

You pursed your lips, cheeks burning. “It was just my sweatshirt!” you hissed to Jisung. 

“Yeah, but you never wear anything under your sweatshirts!” Jisung hissed back.

“I had a bra on this time.”

“Oh, so it was just another night at the bar for you?” You wrestled yourself out of Jisung’s grasp at that and glared. “Am I wrong?”

Jisung’s dad cut in before you could respond. He had a habit of calling “family meetings” in the middle of public spaces to finalize plans and get everybody on the same page, which was always an experience. 

“Alright, gather up, gang!” he said, beckoning you all closer. “So we’ll be staying at… this hotel,” he explained and turned his phone around to show you the name of it. “And the thing is, we have two rooms to share between the six of us. One for your mother and I, and another for you four.”

“What?” Jisung asked. “You’re going to make us stay with them?”

“I thought we were getting three rooms like every other time,” Minho chimed in.

“We were meant to, but I made a mistake when booking it,” Dom clarified.

“How?”

“The entire website was in Japanese, Jisung. I don’t know Japanese!”

“Dad, Google has a translate webpage option!” Felix groaned.

“Well no one told me that while I was booking this entire trip by myself!”

You traded a look with Minho, who looked just as panicked as you felt. But it would only be for a week. You would find a way to manage. You didn’t really have any other option.

“I’m sure it’ll be fun,” Jisung tried, forcing a smile.

“That’s the spirit!” Dom cheered. “We’ll make it work.”

-

“Ji and I will take the bunk beds.”

The room was a decent size. It was definitely bigger than Jisung’s dad had made it sound. A large window on the back wall flooded the space with natural light and offered a view of the city below. By the door was a small fridge and a countertop with a sink and a couple of burners built in so that guests could cook their own meals. There was a queen sized bed jutting out from the western-facing wall and built into the adjacent wall were two twin-sized bunks, one on top of the other, making the room feel… cozy.

Felix and Minho traded looks with each other.

“Kidding.”

The boys visibly relaxed and chuckled awkwardly.

“If I ever have to share a bed with Minho again it’ll be too soon,” Felix sighed.

“Is that any way to treat your big brother?” Minho scoffed.

“I’m taller than you.”

“That’s only because you’re wearing boots.”

“Whatever,” Felix grumbled, kicking off his shoes by the door.

Minho slung his backpack onto the top bunk and pulled his sweatshirt off over his head, exposing a strip of his stomach in the process. You looked away instinctively, hoping that you hadn’t drawn any attention to yourself while doing so.

“You always get the top bunk,” Felix whined.

“Yeah, because I’m older.”

“That’s not fair!”

“My brothers are actually ten years old,” Jisung explained to you, raising his voice so that you could hear him over the bickering.

“No, I think ten-year-olds know how to take turns,” you said dismissively, not missing the glares from the other two Hans.

“You’re right,” Jisung agreed. He pushed his hair out of his eyes and sighed. “Reminds me of the family vacations we used to take. We used to share one hotel room when we traveled.”

“All boys… I don’t know how your mom did it.”

“None of us do.”

“I thought we were going to sleep,” Felix muttered from where he was already laying down on the bottom bunk, clearly irritated.

“Give us a minute to settle in, dude,” Jisung shot back before dropping into a whisper. “It’s going to be a long week.”

You shook your head, putting your hands on his shoulders. “Everyone’s just cranky because they’re tired,” you reasoned. “We’ll get some sleep and then grab some food and then maybe they’ll be in a better mood.”

“You don’t know them like I do,” Jisung warned.

“That’s true, but won’t they tone it down since I’m here?”

Jisung snorted. “Wishful thinking.”

You rolled your eyes. “Whatever, I’m going to hop in the shower. I feel gross after being on a plane for so long.”

“I’ll go after you,” Jisung replied with a nod. “Let me know if you need anything.”

You thanked him with a kiss under the watchful eyes of his brothers who both groaned in protest.

“Oh, fuck off,” Jisung growled against your lips.

“By the way, sharing a bed doesn’t mean you get to mess around because I don’t want to hear that shit.”

“Felix!” Jisung and Minho shouted, Minho going as far as throwing a pillow at his younger brother from the top bunk.

“Just being honest! We heard you going at it like rabbits when you had your own room, and I didn’t say anything about it then-”

“Felix.” To your surprise, it was Minho who cut him off, raising another pillow in warning. Thankfully, Felix took the hint that time and shut up, crossing his arms over his chest in annoyance.

You smiled to yourself with the knowledge that your little Easy A stunt had worked, and looked over to see that Jisung was wearing a matching smirk. He winked at you before turning to glare at his brothers.

“On that note, I’m going to shower,” you said, mostly to Jisung, and made your way over to where you had dropped your suitcase by the door.

You gathered a set of pajamas to change into and then wandered into the bathroom, quietly closing the door behind you. It was one of those rolling doors so you had to be extra careful not to knock it off its hinges or the track and cause even more noise than necessary. You set your change of clothes on the counter next to the sink and began to undress, leaving your worn clothes on the floor.

The shower was kept in a room separate from the room with the sink and vanity, something you had read was common for Japanese washrooms. Inside the second room was a bathtub with a complicated looking panel next to it. With a closer inspection you determined it was used to fill the bath with water and customize the temperature. The showerhead was secured to the wall just to the side of the tub which meant you would have to hold it while you showered, but you didn’t mind. You were used to holding the showerhead for… other reasons.

Your shower was quick. You didn’t want to take too long when you knew other people were waiting for it. You were drained too. Even as you dried yourself off with a towel you could feel your arms start to get heavier.

You wrapped your hair in your towel and put on your pajamas shortly after, trying not to cringe at the way the fabric clung to your still-damp body. Usually you wouldn’t get dressed in the bathroom right after taking a shower because it was always so humid and sticky, you’d go out in the bedroom to do it, but as Jisung’s girlfriend the latter wasn’t an option. So you dealt with the discomfort and ventured back into the main room.

It was dark now. Someone, you assumed Jisung, had pulled the blackout curtains shut so that the daylight could no longer stream through the window. Felix was already fast asleep, but Minho and Jisung were still awake, scrolling through their phones on their respective sides of the room.

Jisung was perched on top of your bed, resting comfortably. He wasn’t underneath the covers, probably because he knew you didn’t like to share a bed with someone who hadn’t showered.

He smiled when he saw you and pushed himself up onto his elbows.

“Shower’s all yours,” you said.

“Thanks.”

You watched him rifle through his suitcase for pajamas and then eventually disappear into the bathroom before finally flinging yourself onto the bed. You still needed to take your hair out of the towel and brush your teeth, but you took a moment to just. Lay there.

Minho didn’t acknowledge you, hadn’t so much as looked at you since you came out of the bathroom, but you still found yourself looking over to him.

At the airport he had seemed at least a little concerned that he would have to share a room with you. Even in the cab to the hotel he kept sneaking glances at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention. But now he looked completely relaxed and you were second guessing yourself. Maybe you’d been projecting. Maybe he hadn’t been anxious at all.

You, on the other hand, felt like you hadn’t been able to exhale since Dom had announced that you’d be sharing a room with Jisung’s brothers.

It had dawned on you as soon as you stepped into the hotel room that you’d never be able to let your guard down. Before this point you had at least been able to take breaks, retreat to your hotel room with Jisung and be yourselves without worrying that one of his family members was around. You hadn’t needed to keep up the act 24/7, but now you had no other choice. It was only for a week, but you knew it was going to be exhausting. You weren’t even sure that your current performance was believable, and that was without all of the more intimate interactions couples had in private. The good night kisses, the cuddling in bed together, falling asleep in each other’s arms, the good morning kisses, all things you’d have to take into consideration. Most couples you knew moved in harmony, like they were one person, half of a whole. You and Jisung were more like the hands on a clock. You were always moving in the same direction, and once in a while you’d overlap, but more often than not you were facing each other on completely opposite sides of the clock. It was what made you such good friends. Best friends. But what would make you terrible lovers.

To be fair, a lot of people misunderstood your dynamic, which you had been using to your advantage. They assumed that since you were always together you were basically the same person- and they weren’t necessarily wrong. You and Jisung spent a majority of your time together. You knew each other well enough to finish each other’s sentences, to voice aloud what the other was thinking before they even said it.

The vibration of your phone next to you disrupted your train of thought. It was a text from Jisung.

Can you come here rq? I need help lol.

Confused, you pushed back the covers and stood up. You dropped your phone back on the bed and walked over to the bathroom, keenly aware of the way Minho stiffened in his bed.

You rolled back the door and found Jisung standing in his boxers next to the tub.

“What is it?” you asked, shutting the door behind you.

“How did you figure out the shower? I can’t get the water to be hot.”

“This is what you called me in here for?” you said, exasperation dripping from your voice.

“Yes! I don’t want to take a cold shower.” He said it like it should’ve been obvious.

“Did you try messing with the knobs? That’s how I figured it out.”

Jisung’s cheeks turned a faint shade of pink as he pursed his lips, thinking about how to answer.

“Not all of them,” he admitted.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Sorry?”

“It’s the one on the left, dumbass,” you said and twisted the knob for him.

“Thanks,” he mumbled sheepishly. “I just didn’t want to fuck up the shower or anything.”

Men, you thought to yourself shaking your head.

“I’m going to bed,” you told him. “Before your brothers think I’m in here giving you head or something.”

“Let them think what they want,” he said, shrugging it off.

“I want to preserve what little amount of respect they have for me, thanks.”

Jisung just chuckled and thanked you again as you let yourself out into the room with the sink. While you were there you hung up your wet towel and brushed your teeth with your finger and the toothpaste the hotel provided. You were too lazy to go get your toothbrush out of your bag.

“That was fast.”

You jumped, hand racing to your heart when you realized it was just Minho. He was still in his bed, but had rolled onto one side so that he could talk to you.

“You scared the shit out of me!” you hissed.

“Sorry.” He didn’t sound very sorry. “What did my brother want?”

God damn it, Jisung.

“Why do you ask?”

Minho shrugged. “Just wondering.”

“He needed help figuring out the shower,” you explained.

“Glad he has you for that.”

You narrowed your eyes at the boy in the top bunk. He was trying to get under your skin. Why?

The ball was in your court. You could be the bigger person and let it go, or-

“He has me for a lot of things.” You pushed your tongue against your cheek so that there was a visible outline and brought your fist up to your mouth, moving it back and forth subtly so that he’d get the idea without being too obscene. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

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[plotting-against-you]

My Own Worst Enemy

Fandom: One Chicago

Characters: Halstead Sister Reader, Jay Halstead, Will Halstead, Dr. Charles, Ethan Choi, Maggie Lockwood

Summary: You have a relapse in your anorexia, and no one knows until you show up at Med.

Warnings: Eating Disorders (i.e., anorexia) and their symptoms and habits.

Author's Note: I know nothing about anorexia, so I had to google it. If this comes off in any way incorrect, please know that I'm sorry. Also, if you ever find yourself in this situation, please seek help...I know it's hard, but we want you safe and healthy.

It started with a harmless comment. That’s what anyone would have thought, though you knew it wasn’t harmless. Not to you at least.

You had just gotten a full-time job at your local library, which seemed heaven-sent. You’d always loved being around books, so it all seemed to click when you found this job online.

Then the comment came.

You were eating during your allotted thirty-minute lunch break in the staff break room a week after starting when two women walked in from another department. You hadn’t met them yet but cringed when you saw their figures.

You hadn’t had the easiest time growing up. You were constantly picked on and developed an eating disorder at sixteen. Coincidentally, that was when your mom got sick, so you hid your illness in an attempt to keep the focus on her. It worked…until it didn’t.

You’d landed in the hospital where they diagnosed you with anorexia, and you’d had to work extra hard to come back from it ever since.

Seeing the women and their “perfect” figures didn’t make you recoil as it once would have, but their comments did.

“Girl, you brought a whole package of turkey to work? How many sandwiches are you planning on making?”

The other woman shrugged. “Don’t make fun of me! I like my turkey sandwiches, okay? Besides, you know I could eat a whole horse and not gain a pound.”

You looked down at the leftover beef stew in front of you and slowly laid down your fork. You had been having a stressful time recently with the new job, and your already fragile psyche took the hit as if it were a personal attack on you.

Boxing up what was left of the dinner you’d had at Jay and Hailey’s the night before, you tossed it in the garbage and grabbed a water.

“This is all I need today.” You told yourself. “I’ll do better tomorrow.”

…

You hadn’t done better tomorrow.

In fact, it had been weeks since you had started up your old habits. Luckily for you, it was easy to hide the signs from your family since it was just Jay and Will, and they’d both been working weird hours, making it impossible to see each other.

You had just gotten home from your day at work, having had nothing more than a bottle of water for lunch, and leaned against the couch in exhaustion. Though you grew increasingly tired every day, you found it hard to sleep at night.

You knew that was a symptom of the disease that had come back in full force, but you refused to accept it.

Dropping your bag, it made a thud on the floor, and you blinked your eyes a few times to clear them of the dots that danced in your vision. You were dizzy, but you refused to call your brothers for help.

Just as the thought entered your mind, your phone rang, and everything went dark as you reached to answer it.

…

You woke up on the floor behind your couch, your head pounding, your stomach growling, and your phone still ringing.

Reaching out an arm to search for your phone, you pulled it to your ear and scrunched your face in annoyance. “Hello?”

There was a pause. “Thank fuck.”

You continued to lie on the floor but opened your eyes in confusion. “Excuse me?”

“I’ve called you like twelve times.” Jay’s voice said on the other line. “I thought maybe you had been hurt or something.”

“I was napping.” You lied, though you figured it was close to the truth. “It’s been a long day.”

Jay snorted. “You work at a library. How hard can that be?”

“You’d be surprised.”

He ignored you. “Well, did you forget that you were supposed to meet Will and I at Molly’s for a drink tonight?”

“Shit. That was tonight?” Between focusing on work and spending your free time counting your calories, you’d forgotten about the invitation from your brothers. “I’m sorry. I’m exhausted.”

“Are you sure nothing’s wrong?” Jay’s voice sounded concerned.

“I’m fine, honest. Just tired. Rain check?” You ignored the fact that you were still lying on the ground.

Jay sighed, disappointment filling his tone. “Okay. We’ll do it another night.”

“Thanks, Jay.” You told him as you hung up.

Then you lay on the floor, resting a hand on your aching stomach. It had been some time since you’d put anything other than water and some nuts into it but couldn’t bring yourself to care.

You would soon be at your ideal weight, and everything would return to normal.

…

You nearly screamed when you brushed your hair the following day and found a large chunk of it tangled in the brush. Your hair started falling out again, as it had when you were younger, and you sighed.

You knew you needed help, but you didn’t want any. You liked this control, and you liked having this ideal image in your head.

Ignoring the anxious pit in your stomach, you continued to get ready for work and left your apartment. Everything would be fine, you told yourself.

And it was…until midday.

You had been in the stacks trying to locate a book for a patron when the dizziness set in. Blinking it away, you reached for the top shelf when the world tilted on its axis, and you were suddenly lying on the ground staring up at the ceiling.

People were around you immediately, but everything sounded like a train flying past your ears. Sitting up, you waved everyone off but let your director pull you into the first aid room.

He grabbed a bottle of water and had you sit while he pulled out your emergency contact information. “You’re okay, Y/N. I’m going to call your emergency contact to pick you up and get you checked out.”

Groaning, you tried to stop him. “It’s okay, really. My brother is a doctor. I’ll just get him to check me out after my shift.”

The last thing you needed was for him to call Jay, your first emergency contact, or Will, your secondary contact. They would freak out, and you didn’t want them to know anything about this.

“Y/N, you collapsed. That’s not something we play around with here.” Your boss told you.

You shook your head and went to stand when the world went black again, and you crumpled to the ground.

…

“Dr. Choi! We’ve got incoming.” Maggie yelled to the physician and turned to the ambulance bay as the doors opened.

“What do we got?” He asked, running over and meeting the eyes of the paramedic.

“Thirty-year-old female collapsed at work twice. Lost consciousness on the second fall. Severely malnourished and dehydrated. BP is low, and so is her blood sugar.”

Looking down at you, Ethan sighed. He knew what this probably meant and knew your brothers would be worried. “Mags, keep them out of my treatment room until after I’ve finished.”

“You got it.” She told him and looked at you worriedly.

As they transferred you to a hospital gurney, Ethan shined his pen light into your eyes. “Y/N? Can you hear me?”

Your face contorted in disgust, trying to escape the light as you nodded. “Hmm…yeah.”

“Can you open your eyes for me?”

“If you stop shining a light in them….” You muttered but instantly felt terrible. “I’m sorry….”

Ethan shook his head. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for, Y/N.”

He rattled off a bunch of tests to the nurse before you bit your lip. “I’m screwed, aren’t I?”

He sighed. “Y/N…you know how this looks. You can either let me run a bunch of unnecessary tests, or you can let me call Dr. Charles, and we can get this over with sooner.”

“What about my brothers?” You asked meekly.

“I can keep them out until after you talk to Dr. Charles if you want?” He suggested though he knew he’d have a battle on his hands.

You nodded. “Please.”

“Okay. I’ll have Maggie page Dr. Charles, and we’ll go from there.”

…

While he usually walked into work at a leisurely pace, Will found himself rushing inside to meet his brother. “What happened?”

Jay shrugged. “I don’t know, man. Her boss called and said she’d passed out twice at work today, but when I got here, Maggie and Ethan told me I had to wait out here.”

Turning to look at the nurse, Will’s eyes held fury before Ethan stepped in. “Will, she asked for some time. Dr. Charles is in with her right now, and then you can go in.”

“Dr. Charles?” Jay asked him. “But why would-”

The thought dawned on both brothers simultaneously, and they looked sadly at each other. It had been nearly fifteen years since they had dealt with this, but it looked like your worst enemy was back and swinging.

The door opened, and Dr. Charles walked out of the treatment room. “Boys. You can go in now.”

Jay took off the second the words came out, but Will stayed back, looking at his colleague in fear and anguish.

“Is it…it’s back, isn’t it?” The redhead asked him.

The seasoned doctor sighed. “She’s permitted me to tell you this, so yes…her anorexia is apparent again. She said she’s been dealing with it for a few weeks now.”

The eldest Halstead looked towards your room and sighed. “I wish we’d known. It’s the same thing that happened before, you know? We didn’t know until she ended up in the hospital.”

“This can be a tough thing.” Dr, Charles told him. “But you know as well as I do that recovery is possible, and you had to know that a relapse could happen.”

Will nodded. “Yeah, I just thought we were in the clear.”

“Well, I can tell you that we came up with a therapy plan and scheduled a meeting with a nutritionist. I can also tell you that your sister is very strong but very scared of what you might be feeling, so please…go in and see her.”

Nodding almost robotically, Will moved over to your room and sighed as he took in your appearance. “Hey, kid.”

You raised your tear-filled eyes to him but kept your grip on Jay’s hand. “I’m so sorry.”

Will moved forward instantly and came to your side, brushing the bangs out of your face. “You have nothing to apologize for, Y/N/N.”

“What happened?” Jay asked quietly.

You bit your lip. “I’ve been really stressed lately, and then someone made a comment at work…it just slid away from there. I didn’t mean for it to get this bad.”

“When I called you last night, and you said you’d been napping?”

You looked at Jay sadly. “I had passed out in my apartment and didn’t want to tell you.”

“Y/N…you can’t be doing this to yourself,” Will told you. “I know you’ve started on a plan with Dr. Charles, but will you let us help you, too?”

You nodded slowly. “Please. I need help.”

“And you’re going to get it,” Will promised his little sister.

Jay sighed. “Listen, I think you should move in with Hailey and I…at least for a little while. It might be easier to handle if you have support around you.”

You snorted. “You just don’t want me home alone in case I relapse again.”

He looked at you sadly. “Can you blame me?”

You shook your head. “No…no, I can’t. And I will take you up on that offer so long as Hailey’s okay with it.”

“She will be. You know she loves you.” Jay smiled, though it was strained. “You know we love you, too, right?”

You nodded. “Yeah. I love you both right back.”

[violettavonviolet]

Tim Drake fic recs part 3

All of these fics are finished and amazing! The word count progressively goes up and all the ratings are noted, but def do check the tags for any triggers. all fics that have been stuck in my head since I read them are marked with a star.

Batfamily genfic's

Gotta Roll With The Curveballs

justapoorboy

Summary:

“How’d you cry so easily?” Duke asks, still entirely too awkward because no matter what Steph says, Duke still thinks Tim is kinda cool in a weird way. A really weird way.

“Oh, I classically conditioned myself over winter break when I was eleven. All I have to do to tear up is pinch a certain point on my arm. See?” Tim viciously pinches a spot on his inner forearm. Immediately tears start to well in his eyes.

Or: Duke Thomas dealing with Tim Pod-Baby Drake and what exactly that entails.

4.5k crack gen

A Matter of Trust

KelpieCodyne

Summary:

When Damian learns of an unexpected list of Batman contingencies, he's forced to go to Tim to vent.

And in doing so, might help the two of them find some common ground.

5k tim & dami gen

Days I Have Held (Days I Have Lost)

sepia_stained_sunset

Summary:

“You’ve outgrown me”

Damian frowns when he meets Tim’s gaze. He doesn’t say or do anything that warrants the feeling of loss that crawls up his arms and settles in his bones.

Then Tim is leaning towards him, on his toes, hands automatically going to his hair and mussing up his locks like he can’t fully miss the chance to annoy him. Still, his grip is gentle and his smile is real and Damian is more than glad to pretend that his eyes are devoid of their bitter sadness.

Or, Damian outgrows Tim. It shouldn't change anything, really, but it does. It does.

9k tim & damian gen

Satisfactory Bonding Activities

raven_of_hydecastle

Summary:

“Look, Dick and I had no idea how to be brothers either," Jason said, "but we made an effort to spend time together. If you and the demon brat aren’t sure where to start, maybe you can decide on some things to kick start these bonding activities.”

“Like what?”

“Hell if I know. Play twister, do an escape room, take over the world, learn to knit, I don’t care. Just pick something you can both agree will keep you busy for an hour or two and it’ll be fine. Now hand me that Molotov, these guys are going down.”

12k gen, tim & Damian

So...Rock, Paper, Scissors?

Miss_Lazy_Tuesday

Summary:

His smile widens. “You will pick one to kill. I shall give you ten minutes to decide and say your goodbyes. If you have not killed one of your brothers when the time is up, I will kill all three.”

Jason feels the bottom drop out of his stomach. This was supposed to buy him time, not give him a literal deadline.

“You see, little blade? I have made it so easy for you. You aren’t even really killing one. You are saving two. Your time starts now.”

24k angst mature

i can't let go when somethings broken

pennneminem

Summary:

the sky is blue, the earth is round, dick and bruce fight.

tim wishes it was a little easier sometimes.

or: tims crash course in the remains of childhood, rose colored glasses, and the economics of brotherhood

28k gen angst

Bludhaven Police Department

Lady_of_Lorule

Summary:

Sgt. Amy Rohrbach learns that her partner, rookie cop Dick Grayson, is not what he seems. Or how Amy finds out that Dick Grayson is the heir to the entire Wayne fortune, the vigilante Nightwing, the leader of the Titans, and meets some of the Batfam and the Titans along the way.

31k gen humor

right place, wrong time

Valkirin

Summary:

Twelve-year-old Tim Drake has homework to finish and dinner waiting at home. He even has an invitation to spend time with Bruce before patrol the next day reviewing toxins and antidotes. It doesn't matter that Bruce prefers to keep things all-business and down in the Batcave. Having Robin again is helping, Tim can already see that, and it's always a relief to know when he's invited back.

Sixteen-year-old Tim Drake decides that he'd rather keep his distance from the tempting research project Bruce has across two work tables. It's archaeology and time travel all at once, even more interesting than usual after Bruce's long trip through time, but Bruce probably won't crack that in one night. Getting involved in the project will eliminate Tim's chance to escape to his apartment for a quiet evening rather instead of struggling through an awkward dinner with Jason and Damian and Bruce.

When the Tims suddenly switch times and places, twelve-year-old Tim has an invitation to dinner and sixteen-year-old Tim knows just what kind of ripples someone can leave from the past.

38k teen angst

Say Uncle

Megaerakles

Summary:

Tim is prepared to take the steps necessary to ensure that Bruce will not feel obligated to adopt Tim when a comatose Jack Drake inevitably dies. But what could be better than preventing Bruce from ending up with a son he doesn't want? Bringing back the one he does.

Jason agrees to the Replacement's stupid, stupid plan to invite some strange adult man he's never met to come live with him, if only to keep the idiot alive long enough for him to serve his purpose in the Great Red Hood Revenge Scheme.

Might this new roommate situation have an impact on either of their worldviews? Surely not...

46k teen

Vultures, Squirrels, and Other Flying Menaces

AstraEllis

Summary:

He used to think that Batman needs a Robin. 

Now, Tim’s pretty sure that Robin was only ever a band-aid. 

He never tried to learn Batman’s identity, but he knows it, and Tim has no idea what to do next to save Gotham from Bruce Wayne’s violent rage. 

He becomes Batman’s shadow – never sidekick – trying to clean up the wreckage he leaves behind. 

A vulture, trying to remove decay before it has a chance to poison everything. 

Tim’s quest to save Gotham from Batman leads him to the most obvious victim – the man’s first Robin. But Dick Grayson’s grief is complex and deep, and not something the twelve-year-old has a fix for. 

What Tim Drake does have, however, is the know how to make money difficult to trace and a certain phone number.

51k dick & Tim & jason found family

Option C

CasualGeek

Summary:

Jason had to make a choice.

Enact his vengeance by killing the Joker himself.

Or

Forget Gotham and stay with Talia.

However, there was an option C.

One that could end with the Joker dead, with Bruce proven wrong and with Gotham changed for the better.

Jason took Gotham to court.

78k teen

cards on the table

wesslan

Summary:

Tim's parents faked their deaths and fled the country years ago, but neglected to take him with them. He spent some time on the streets, and now at 16, he makes a living as a fortune teller, stalking and hustling the shit out of Gotham's elite by telling them eerily accurate fortunes based on the information he gathers about them.

His life is peculiar but he wouldn't change a thing. When he gets booked for the big Wayne Halloween party, however, he finds himself getting all tangled up with the Waynes, and the more fortunes he tells, the tighter the snare becomes.

or: Tim just wanted to scam Gotham's elite, not end up on the Batfamily's watchlist. But it seems they just won't leave him alone..

69k not rated

Bruce Wayne

there but for the grace of god

TheResurrectionist

Summary:

From a tumblr prompt. 

AKA, "A Justice League fic where everyone argues about who's the most beautiful and intimidating sexy from the Big Three and everyone has valid points."

3.7k crack not rated 

Aliens Made Us Do It

FabulaRasa

Summary:

Bruce and Hal run into a little bit of cultural difficulty on an off-world mission. This was really, really not supposed to be Bruce Wayne's wedding day. Consider this story the traditional fannish "oh no we have to get married!" with a BatLanterny twist at the end

25k explicit hal/bruce

Acid Rain and Black Umbrellas

heartofhush

Summary:

Clark Kent hates Gotham. The people are weird, it's always raining, and nobody will give him a straight answer about anything.

He's certain that these people know who the Batman is, but nobody is talking. He just needs to find one of them willing to spill the secret. Any one of them. Seriously, there MUST be at least one.

His teenage son-clone-whatever is losing his powers, and Clark is torn between finding a cure, flirting with Bruce Wayne, and trying to figure out who the hell the Batman is under that cowl. 

Maybe this Tim Drake kid knows something useful.

39k bruce/clark timkon

Friends - Definitions May Vary

Slades_Snowflakes

Summary:

Bruce Wayne and Lex Luther are not friends.

However, Bruce Wayne's persona Brucie is about to re-define what friends means. And due to a series of weird and random moments, Bruce is about to learn that Lex Luthor could be a friend. Whatever that means.

154k Bruce/Lex

[owl-with-a-pen]

Brainy had noted a change in Zor-El’s demeanour from the moment he’d first dispelled his image inducer.

There had been an intensity about him ever since they’d been paired together to create the virus intended to stop Oscar. At the time, Brainy had simply elected to ignore it. Adjusting to Earth had not been easy for him, after all, and Zor-El had clearly been haunted by phantoms of his own past—those that did not take the shape of something that could be so easily conquered.

Brainy hadn’t pressed. It was an… uncomfortable topic for a great many reasons. Reasons he, too, had chosen to overlook. Besides, their most pressing task had taken his full attention… barring – of course - a tiny, negligible… mere handful, of thought tracks that could have potentially mulled things over if given the opportunity. But there was none. Of course, there was none.

Obviously.

It wasn’t until they were alone together on the Legion ship that Brainy allowed himself to re-open those specific thought tracks, skirting over them in finer detail as he simultaneously marked out the co-ordinates for Argo City with a superfluous flick of his right hand.

The ship had been silent since their departure from Earth’s atmosphere, a soft purr from the engines acting as the only sign of life.

Brainy was no stranger to long silences, especially on journeys where he found himself far removed from the goings on of the rest of his crew, far too immersed in his own work. Now, though? Well, the removal of his inhibitors often left him restless, encouraging him to fill every space with a thought or calculation to occupy his time. His mind ran faster than it ever had before, so much that slowing it down to a purely biological mindset was oftentimes inconceivable, especially if he’d worked himself up.

Had he done so now? Perhaps the mere idea of this journey had triggered something in him, because suddenly all those thoughts had nowhere left to hide.

Brainy twisted his ring mindlessly around his finger, pinching skin, digging into the indentations with his thumbnail. When that proved an insufficient distraction, he leant forward in his chair, sending himself on fruitless ventures around the circumference of the navigation room. His legs kicked empty air as his mind continued to whirr, thinking – no – fearing that his theory may have been correct.

Running out of relevant physical and mental stimulus to occupy his time, he admitted something of defeat by leaping from his chair, heading instead in the direction that he had last seen Zor-El before he had conveniently wandered off.

He hadn’t gotten far. In fact, he was stood in the adjacent hallway, staring out through the ceiling to floor windows that ran in a curved slope down the left-hand side of the wall.

Outside, the world was still, the darkness of space only interrupted by sparse flecks of microscopic balls of light, glowing from a lifetime away. It was impossible to tell what Zor-El was thinking in that moment, although Brainy considered it might have been hope for what was to come; to see his home again – if only in part.

But something cold had settled in Brainy’s stomach from the moment he’d stepped through the arch, and he felt a question rise suddenly on his tongue. And so, it was with a wary curiosity that Brainy wandered the hallway to join Zor-El, his hands folded tightly to the base of his spine.

He swallowed down the urge to ask and cleared his throat, electing instead to tell. “We should reach Argo in the next four hours, twenty-five minutes, sixteen—twelve—seconds,” Brainy said, flinching at his own miscalculation. He had failed to account for the seconds that had passed in the time it had taken him to deliver said information. A schoolboy’s error, one that he did not make lightly. After all, the difference between a few seconds could often mean life or death.

Life or death. It certainly felt that way now, waiting on Zor-El’s response. The arm on Brainy’s internal clock couldn’t have ticked slower if it had tried.  

Eventually, Zor-El lowered his head, blinking away decades-worth of reverie. He failed to meet Brainy’s eye. “Very well.”

The question was back again, nagging on the tip of his tongue. Brainy scratched awkwardly at his collar, drawing forward a little impulsively. “Have I… done something to offend?”

He had assumed the answer long before this conversation, and yet Brainy still felt a sinking in his stomach when Zor-El drew to his full height, easing his shoulders back as he continued to regard the emptiness ahead of him. “My wife and I always taught our daughter to see the best in people,” he spoke calmly, his dark eyes tracking the stars one by one, “only I never realised that those teachings might one day extend to one of your—kind.”

Zor-El’s gaze moved suddenly, no longer capturing the world outside, but rather holding firm on the one reflection cast against the glass. Of Brainy’s ghostly silhouette, the glow of his projectors a subdued brilliance in the simulated dusk of the ship’s dimly lit hall.

“Ah,” Brainy said tightly. His mouth was suddenly very dry. He swallowed hard, clenching his hands behind his back. “I had suspected.”

“And so you admit it!” Zor-El said immediately, spinning suddenly to face him. His expression was a mask of perfect fury. Staunch and unyielding. “I recognised those markings on your uniform the moment I awoke from that hell.” He laughed colourlessly. “And that moniker they call you, as though your heritage is nothing but a fallacy. Now, you show your true colours hidden behind that image modifier of yours, parading yourself about so bluntly, as if you have no shame.” His lips twitched dangerously. “But I know you.”

For a moment, all Brainy wanted was to dare the words right out of Zor-El’s mouth, but he didn’t get the chance. Zor-El was far too quick.

“You are one of them. A Brainiac.”

“Brainiac-5,” Brainy corrected lightly, holding firm in his stance. “You may call me Querl, if that’s—”

“I may call you nothing!” Zor-El spat. “You are an enemy to our people. Have you told my daughter what you did?”

“What my ancestor did.” Brainy bristled, biting down hard on his tongue to keep from speaking out of turn. Still, his anger stirred deep inside, restless in its pursuit to freedom. Brainy refused it. It felt as though he had been refusing it for far too long. Instead, he said, “I have told her what he was responsible for. I have told them all.”

Zor-El made a derisive sound. “He. Is that how you worded it, is that why she has forgiven you so easily?”

“I am not responsible for my ancestor’s actions. I have done nothing but strive—”

“Is that so?” Zor-El spoke over him. “Then answer me this, Brainiac, are you not bound to the minds of your clan? Do you not hear their voices as though they were your own?”

Brainy flinched, his lips thinning into a tasteless smile. His anger somersaulted into something more indulgent, veering towards petulance. He folded his arms. “I would ask how you know this,” Brainy said levelly, cocking his head, “only I know the answer already. For, Kara told me what you used my people for on Krypton.”

Zor-El’s eyes were as dark as coals. He shrugged, running a hand across his jaw. As though it made no difference at all. “Yes, we worked with the Coluans.”

“They worked for you,” Brainy corrected. “You used my people, outfitted them for your own means all in the name of making your planet greater.” He barked out a sarcastic laugh, gesturing to himself with a flourish. “Just as I performed today. Did I not save your so-called invention from destroying Earth?”

“My only error was to trust in Coluan technology in the first place,” Zor-El said coldly, raising his chin. “But I suspect you know just how temperamental it can be. Brainiac-8 is also your relation, is she not?”

Brainy’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t see how that is relevant.”

“No, you don’t,” Zor-El cried. “Because that would mean admitting fault. You say you oh-so heroically saved this planet today, then I say it is the least you could have done after the abduction of Kandor, of the havoc that was subsequently wreaked on Krypton’s core, of everything the Brainiacs have destroyed!”

Brainy ran his tongue over his front teeth, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood. “Okay, okay, I see where this is going,” he said, sinking back into a more languid stance. “My ancestor’s sins were abominable, I make no argument for him, but just hours ago it was you that was admitting fault for Krypton’s destruction. It is only logical you would wish to divert that blame elsewhere now that you are mere hours from what remains of your home, from your wife. So that you may lessen your own guilt.”

Maybe that had been the wrong thing to say, but Brainy no longer cared for tact. His anger was agitating again, spitting and swirling inside his stomach, and no amount of breathing exercises or Dolly Parton was about to take that away.

Zor-El’s eyes were wide. “You dare speak to me in this way?”

“Look at where you are, Zor-El,” Brainy said. “The ship in which you stand. Your fight isn’t with me. Stand down and we continue to Argo, to your people and your wife. Persist and I will gladly divert our course back to Earth so that another of my friends may make this journey with you.” He quirked a brow. “And believe me when I say that turning this ship around would take just a fraction of my mental capabilities.” He waved a hand towards the console in the room over with more aggression than was needed, clenching his fist. At the same time, their current course flashed across the screen, pasting itself as a 3D image above the control panel.  

Zor-El offered it one scathing look before huffing his disapproval, turning back towards the window. “Typical Coluan egotism,” he muttered.

“Typical Kryptonian pig-headedness,” Brainy shot back, enjoying the way Zor-El’s shoulders drew together at the insult.

Neither one of them spoke a word after that, though Brainy suspected the rest of their journey together would not be a pleasant experience.

---------

They landed in a quiet pasture on the outskirts of the city, just before sundown. The tallest points of Argo’s developing structures were barely visible from their vantage, smothered by a dense treeline.

Only one person stood to greet them. Brainy recognised her the moment they stepped outside, for she shared the same kind smile as her daughter’s.

Alura Zor-El swept her husband into her arms the second he stumbled into the grass, no longer guided by the light-footedness he’d found so easily beneath a yellow sun. Brainy deftly averted his gaze when the two embraced, not wishing to encroach on the moment. No matter how tense their trip here had become, Zor-El deserved this moment of reunion with his wife. With everything he’d lost.

Besides, rage was not new to Brainy’s systems by now, and with the last few hours of silence to help gather his thoughts, he’d been able to put much of his anger aside in favour of a more optimistic outlook.

One that reminded him that he would be making the return trip alone. Indeed, soon he would be putting a sizeable distance between himself and all the contempt that Zor-El held for him.

It was only when Brainy heard Alura’s sharp intake of breath that he tuned back into the here and now.

She was no longer in the arms of her husband but had rather taken a step forward before falling quite still, studying Brainy with meticulous curiosity. She folded her hands in front of her, reviewing at first his hair, then his face, then the dot formation across his chest.

Brainy’s stomach clenched the further her eyes travelled. A part of him wished he’d activated his image inducer again before leaving the ship. Maybe that would have made things easier.

When Alura took another step forward, Brainy braced himself for the worst, stiffening when her eyes widened in surprise.

“You—” she said, and for one awful moment Brainy felt sure that she might strike him. Flashes of a familial sneer caught in his memory banks, and as Alura drew closer, he suddenly couldn’t tell her face apart from the mother that haunted his own childhood. It felt harder to hold his own against her, somehow, and he had to fight his every instinct not to retreat.

Instead, he was faced with the most curious of attacks. One that came in the form of a hug.

Flummoxed, Brainy held still in Alura’s embrace, not daring to breathe again until she’d released him. When she did, her brow furrowed, recognising his bewilderment.

“It is you, isn’t it?” she asked, suddenly uncertain of herself. “Brainy, of the Legion?”

Wordlessly, Brainy nodded. He could feel Zor-El’s eyes on him, but didn’t dare turn from Alura.

Alura’s face crumpled into a relieved smile. She bowed her head into a formal greeting. “I had hoped that we might one day meet,” she admitted. “There are many here who have wished the same. To meet you—to thank you.”

Now, Brainy was truly at a loss. “Thank me?” he repeated flatly.

“Thank him?” Zor-El echoed, equally dumbfounded.

“But of course,” Alura said, scooping Brainy’s hands suddenly into her own. Her eyes were bright. “Some years ago now, I was reunited with my daughter. She came with a friend – Mon-El of the Legion. He brought with him a piece of technology, your invention, one that helped eradicate Thalonite Lung completely from our community, as well as many other childhood ailments. So much of our medical history was lost on Krypton, but your invention filled in many of the gaps in our knowledge. It saved our children, our future.” Alura kissed him suddenly on the cheek, squeezing his hands. “You have my gratitude. You have Argo’s gratitude.”

For the first time in a long time, Brainy’s mind drew a total, unnerving blank. He stared at Alura uncomprehendingly, clearing his throat with more force than was necessary. “I—uh—I mean – you’re—you are very welcome.”

Alura chuckled, patting his knuckles gently. “This was not the welcome you had anticipated, was it?”

Brainy’s face fell. “Not at all,” he admitted, earning another laugh from Kara’s mother. “I—I suspect that you too know of my family’s history.”

Alura’s expression changed then. A profound sadness swept through her eyes. Sympathy, not scorn. “Yes,” she said, nodding slowly. “But… we do not choose our families. When I sent my daughter away, I only hoped that she would find safety on Earth, find a family, and I was fortunate that my prayers were answered. Not all of us are as lucky.” She smiled kindly. “We choose our paths, and from what Kara has told me, the path you have chosen is a noble one. So, Argo welcomes you, Brainiac-5.”

“This is all true?” Zor-El asked into the silence that Brainy left. He’d made an attempt at moving closer since his wife had begun to speak, a waver of distrust still evident in his dark eyes.

Alura paid it no mind, turning to take Zor-El’s face in her hands. “Oh, my dear husband. Every word.”

A pained look pulled Zor-El’s brow taut, and for a moment he said nothing at all. Eventually, he took his wife’s hand with a tenderness that spoke the years they’d been apart, holding her fingers there against his cheek, as though afraid of what might happen if he let go.

Brainy knew that feeling all too well. His heart ached to recall his own forced separation from Nia, how ardently he’d held onto her when the dust had settled after all the mistakes he’d made. He imagined now how her eyes would have lit up seeing another world like Argo, how different this experience might have been had she been at his side.

But perhaps this discomfort had been necessary, because when Zor-El finally turned to face Brainy, there was no more hatred left to greet him.

Instead, he said, “I believe I owe you an apology, Querl Dox.”

Brainy’s lips twitched. “And I you.” He shrugged. “I could have—handled your scorn better.”

Zor-El laughed. “You handled it well,” he assured him. “I-I admit that I have not been the easiest to deal with since my return from the Phantom Zone. My guilt—it was unfair to make that your burden. You have proven who you are over and over in the short time I have been reunited with my daughter; I just let my pig headedness get in the way of seeing that.”

“I am certain my Coluan ego did not help matters.” Brainy smirked. “But… I forgive you.”

Alura glanced between them both, a smile of her own playing on her lips. “I imagine the trip here was quite tense?”

Brainy and Zor-El both laughed at that. “You could say that,” Zor-El said.

Alura rolled her eyes, beckoning them towards the woods. “Come, then, both of you, before it gets too dark. Let me show you around.”

Lulled by this new serenity in his emotional state, Brainy nearly followed after her. He stopped himself short, clenching his hands reluctantly. “I—I must be returning to Earth. The Super Friends—”

Alura cut him off, swooping in to take his arm. “And you will. But please, Querl, allow me this opportunity? As I say, many of the people here have wanted to thank you.”

Brainy realised he could not deny her. Perhaps he didn’t want to. The invention he had created had been for the betterment of all society, and while he had never envisioned it landing a thousand years in the past, helping the remnant of a planet thought to be destroyed in the fallout of his own ancestor’s attack, he supposed it was somewhat fitting.

He may not have been responsible for Krypton’s destruction, but if he was able to do something to help the people who had suffered because of it, then there was absolutely no question. He was grateful Mon-El had been able to use it here, and it warmed Brainy’s heart to know that he had shared stories of the Legion with the people of Argo City while he had been there. Enough that, perhaps, the name Brainiac might instil something other than fear in the hearts of the children who ran free here. Healthy… because of him.

And so, Briany nodded. “A few hours, then,” he agreed.

Alura’s smile widened. “Excellent!”

With that, Brainy fell into step with Zor-El and, together, they let Alura guide them home.

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Light on the Darkside - Chapter Twenty Four.

Big thanks as ever to you all, the LOTD book club! :)

Previous chapters - One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen Sixteen Seventeen Eighteen Nineteen Twenty Twenty One Twenty Two Twenty Three

Tag list - In the comments. Please DM to be added/removed.

Words - 3,268

Warnings - 18+ throughout. Topics cover depression, suicide and eating disorders. Minors DNI!

“Oi! Put it down!” 

“But dad I can use it as a lance!” 

“Nah, son. No improvising medieval weaponry. It’s too sharp, drop it.” 

“N’aww dad! You get to play with weapons!” 

“That’s for music videos and album art. Put the bloody massive stick down, Wolf.” 

“Alright. If I find one that isn’t sharp, can I play with that one?” 

Closing his eyes, Steve groaned, brows furrowing as his best mate hissed with laughter at his pain. “That boy’ll be the fucking death of me.” 

“Can I, dad?” 

“Fine, go on, find another,” he called, watching his son run off at the speed of light across the muddy terrain. “Anything to save my pissing ears for five fucking minutes!” he then added in quieter tones, James still laughing.  

They’d taken the kids out to Kinver Edge for the day, a woodland escarpment four miles west of Stourbridge. It was over an hour away from where they lived, but definitely worth the visit. It brought back many memories.  

“Freya,” James warned, his child now taking over in the picking up something she shouldn’t stakes. “Put the rock down.” 

“I can’t! Need it!” 

“What for? I don’t trust that you’re not about to dash it at your sister.” And for a three-year-old, she had one hell of a throwing arm.  

“Demons!” 

“Ain’t no demons up Kinver, baba. Put it down.” 

“There might be, daddy! Who can say!”  

He couldn’t keep the smile from his face. “Well, if there is, you’re enough to see ‘em off all on your own, innit. You forget that you’re the chaos of the night, they don’t stand a chance.” 

The rock was dropped. “And I have the army of the dead!” 

“Yeah, you do!” he chuckled, Steve laughing at his side. 

“I love that kid to pieces, she’s such a riot.” he spoke, the pair watching as Freya pottered away over the mossier ground, Logan and Zara leading the pack in the distance along with Hugo and Otis, as well as Fenrir, Steve’s Northern Inuit dog. As soon as he’d seen them used as the dire wolves on Game of Thrones, he’d chewed Andrea’s ear off until she’d agreed they could get one.  

And James was stuck with French fuckery number one and number two. Because Ella had always wanted French bulldogs and he couldn’t say no.  

Continuing to walk, they navigated a path down to one of the draws of Kinver Edge, the famed and old red rock dwelling that apparently used to be inhabited by a herbalist until her death in 1617. Many folklore stories existed about the woman, most of which James and Steve had heard when visiting the place in their youth.  

“Ahh, the last time we were up here, sunshine. Getting stoned with them hot girls,” Steve began, the kids screaming with mirth on the other side of the rock formation, the dogs barking excitedly. “You over in that corner getting ridden by that bird you were seeing from... where was she from?” 

“Halesowen,” James confirmed, looking over, remembering his nineteen-year-old self, and the gorgeous twenty-year-old he’d been casually dating at the time.  

“And what was her name?” 

“Nicola.” 

Steve flicked his fingers, waving his hand in remembrance. “That’s it! That was her, and I was having a bit of her mate...” 

“Cerys.” 

“Yeah, her,” Steve grinned, remembering. “Oooh, that girl couldn’t half suck a dick. Telling ya. Quality blowjob skills, proper gorgeous an’ all. Fucking sky blue eyes and great big tits.” 

“Calm yourself,” James snorted, “but yeah, she was top grade sexy. Never told you this at the time, but after you and her stopped seeing each other, I was shagging her for a bit. She used to go up that rock club in Birmingham, XL’s. Gaz was seeing her best mate Nat, so yeah. Took me up there with him and it just happened one night. Broke the bed in Nat’s spare room giving her a damned good banging. Proper little wild thing, she was, innit?” 

Steve boomed with laughter at that revelation. “You fucking tart, Jim! Nabbing my leftovers, ya dickhead.” God, how they’d had some fun in their single years. “We were proper reprobates in our youth.” 

“Ain’t much fucking better now, man,” James chuckled, “just married ones with kids and mortgages and all that.” 

“Yeah, suppose you ain’t wrong there.” How different things were upon their return twenty-one years later. “Logan, don’t lick the rock, son.” 

“Why? Freya did!” 

“Freya, stop licking everything. It ain’t yours just because you lick it, we’ve talked about this,” James called, the tiny destroyer of worlds grinning at him, her mouth covered in red dust. And so, it continued... 

“Logan, mate, don’t pee off the side of the rock! There might be people walking below.” 

“Freya, don’t wipe snot on your sister.”  

“Wolf, that’s a branch. You’re not bringing a branch with you! Now look, the bloody dogs got in on it too! Fenrir, come back.” 

“Zara, don’t put mud on your face! No, it ain’t warpaint. Stop.”  

Steve was in hysterics at the last one, reaching for her as they caught up, dropping a kiss atop her head. “Something might’ve pooped in that, honey.” 

“Doesn’t smell bad, though,” she reasoned, giving him a quick hug before she was hurtling off again, threatening Wolf with a beating. 

“Yeah, you give him stacks, sweetheart,” Steve chuckled, shaking his head. “So how come big girl didn’t come along? She’s usually well up for this.” 

“Gone off swimming with her mates,” he revealed, unscrewing his water bottle and taking a few gulps. “That almost didn’t happen either, with the mouthful she was giving her mum this morning.”  

“Yeah? Guess I’ve got all this to come, but boys are easier. We just communicate in a series of grunts an’ all that.” 

“Yup, and girls screech, which was Lyra’s preferred communication at being told she wasn’t allowed to go to the cinema later. Like way later tonight. She knows she ain’t allowed out past eight, but nah. Really trying it on right now, so yeah, Ella is satan at the moment because she put her foot down and told her she’d be collected from Kitt’s at 6pm as arranged.” 

Steve clicked his tongue with a small grimace. “Nah, can’t be good, mate. Suppose it’s normal, though. Ain’t like we never challenged authority. Remember when we snuck out of your bedroom window and ended up in The Crown all night when we were fifteen?” 

Ahhh, the halcyon days of the nineties, where I.D’s weren’t checked if you looked eighteen, James and Steve looking much older than their years for both being tall and needing to shave from their early teens.  

“Fuck, yeah I do. Dad opening the back door and finding us on the shed roof pissed out of our heads, trying to climb back up to my room again! Sneaking us through the house so the duchess didn’t wake up. Man, if Lyra gets up to even half of what we used to, I’m gonna be going even more grey than I already am real fucking quickly, innit,” James laughed, remembering how cool his dad had been about it, wheeze laughing at the teenagers as they’d staggered around atop the shed. 

Their trip down memory lane was then disturbed by the demoness of darkness, shouting loudly. Freya did, after all, only have one volume. “Daddy! I’ve found a corpse!” 

James closed his eyes, wincing slightly. “I ain’t a religious man, but I pray when we get over there that it’s a bird or some kind of woodland animal, cos’ with her, you never know.” 

Steve hissed with laughter. “She’d not be scared, would she?” 

“Nah, she’d be there poking it with a stick screaming ‘why are you dead, though?’ and all that. She’s too much like me for her own good.” They caught up with the kids, seeing quickly that it was a dead and decaying badger, Steve moving quickly to grab Freya when she went to touch it. 

“Oi, no touching the cadaver, little destroyer of worlds,” he advised, holding her in his arms as she began to fiddle with his long, blonde hair. Gone were the days of dyeing it dark brown with his two bleached streaks at the front, Steve back to his natural colour, plus a few silvery grey strands he couldn’t be bothered to dye. Unlike James, who dyed his every three weeks to keep them at bay.  

“Uncle Steve, can I have piggy back?” 

He nodded, pointing a finger. “Yeah, but no kicking me, right?” 

A kiss to his cheek was delivered, Freya beginning to scramble around to his back with his help. “Promise no kicks!” A further three kilometres were walked that afternoon, returning to the carpark and going their separate ways. Ten minutes into the journey home and James had two sleeping children in the back of his truck, the dogs settled in the front passenger footwell also nodding off. Long walks were a sure-fire way to exhaust those with abundant energy, that was for certain. 

They arrived home at just gone six, Ella obviously out fetching their eldest. He couldn’t see anything obviously set out for dinner, deciding to order pizza in for everyone instead after quickly calling his wife to check. She thanked him endlessly, telling him they’d be back in ten minutes. He noticed she sounded a little terse on the phone, swiftly finding out why that was when she and Lyra entered the house not long after, the latter causing a fuss.  

“Zara, take your sister to the den, go on,” James spoke, jerking his head in the direction, not wanting them to have to suffer what would likely be a full-scale attitude fit. “I’ll call you when the food arrives.” 

His second eldest nodded, picking up Freya and heading out. Five seconds passed before the kitchen door flew open, the harbinger of said attitude stomping in. “Dad! Tell her she isn’t fair, because I cannot with her. I really can’t!” 

“Is this about the cinema again?” he asked, leaning against the dishwasher and folding his arms, turning to give Ella a kiss. God, she looked tense. He envisaged she would need a large drink and a shoulder rub later that night, both of which he’d happily provide.  

“It isn’t fair! Kitt is allowed out until ten, so why can’t I be?” 

“Kitt’s a little bit older than you. Once you’re thirteen we can talk again about how late you’re allowed out, but while you’re twelve, eight o’ clock is late enough,” he explained, being met by further exasperation. 

“You’re only saying that to side with her!” she raged, gesturing towards Ella as she took a seat at the island, combing her fingers through her hair a few times with a sigh. 

“I’m saying it because it’s a rule we set as your parents, and what we say goes.” 

A loud huff filled the air, Ella chipping in to try and deescalate the situation. “Kitt also has Danielle with him, so he’s only allowed out late because of that, since she can take them both home afterwards,” she reminded her, speaking of Kitt’s elder sister, who was seventeen and had her driving license as of a few months before. 

“She could have brought me home, too! Or one of you could have picked me up!” she screamed, James frowning. 

“Lower your voice, Lyra,” he warned, watching his daughter stomp to the fridge, pulling a carton of juice out aggressively. “She couldn’t have brought you home because it meant you being out past your curfew, and that ain’t happening. Same with us picking you up. Plus, even if the time wasn’t an issue, I’m knackered and so is your mum. We drive you guys around for this and that all week. Now, be bloody told.” 

“You dad is right, love,” Ella spoke, receiving a thunderous look, “and you know you had to be in at six tonight because you’ve got homework to do, which you really should be making a start on now instead of arguing with us.” 

“I fucking hate you!” 

Oh, now she’d done it. “Oi, less of that. You ain’t getting away with swearing at your mum like that. Room. Now.” 

“But dad, I...” 

“Lyra, get upstairs. Now. I ain’t joking.” 

Grabbing her juice, she flounced from the kitchen, slamming the door so hard the glass pane rattled, James moving to behind his wife to begin kneading her shoulders. “Fancy letting those magical hands wander lower, baby?” 

He laughed dirtily. “Yeah, and I’ll follow ‘em with my mouth later on, too.” 

Tilting her head back, she kissed the side of his neck, leaning against his chest when he wrapped two massive arms around her. “I approve of this.” 

“Thought you might,” he winked. “So, good day apart from big girl being a beast?” 

“Yeah, it was great,” she replied, heaving herself up and reaching for the bottle of Merlot over on the other counter, pulling two glassed from the tall, slim cupboard beside it. “I got all the house clean, laundry caught up on, then had that one session that I needed to rebook because of my dentist trip on Thursday. I even had a nap in the bath. Woke up all bleedin’ crinkly like E.T! How about you?” 

He took the glass of wine she passed him, moving to sit down at the island next to her. Sitting felt good after an eight-kilometre walk. Their dogs agreed, neither of the potatoes moving from their spot on the rug in the lounge, where they’d flopped down as soon as they’d arrived home.  

“Yeah, had a right top grade time, with Freya being Freya. She found a bloody dead badger and didn’t even flinch. Then on the way back, she went headfirst into a massive puddle. Got most of it cleaned off her but she’s gonna need flinging into the bath.” 

Flung she was after they’d all sat down to eat together, minus a moody Lyra, who Ella had taken a plate up to and received nothing in response. Once the youngest two were bath fresh and in bed, their parents happily sank down onto the sofa to watch a film, choosing Goodfellas, one of James’s favourites.  

“Oh, can I watch this with you?” Lyra spoke, entering during the first ten minutes of the film. It was nice to hear her a little more cheerful, but then again, they could both guess it was only because she wanted something. 

“Hmm, no, sweetheart. It’s got a bit too much questionable content for a twelve-year old,” Ella spoke, after thinking on it for a few moments. She didn’t want to be overly strict a mother, but with the foul language – much worse than anything James came out with in front of the kids – and the murder, plus drug use, she didn’t feel it appropriate. 

“But you let me watch Guy Richie films and they’re full of the same!” she had argued back at her, as Ella knew she would. 

“Yes, but they’re not quite as graphically depicted.”  

A large huff left her mouth. “Treating me like a child.” 

“Newsflash, Lyra. You are one,” James offered, starting to feel his patience wearing a little thin. If Ella was being in any way unreasonable, he might understand the hostility, but in truth, she wasn’t. 

“You know what, dad? You used to be so much cooler, like even a few weeks ago but now you just take her side all the time! Tired of it!” Oh, god. Not round two. 

James merely shook his head, sighing hard through his nose. “And we’re tired of you being a drama queen over the slightest thing. Ain’t exactly like you’ve had a stifled upbringing is it, Lyra? You’ve spent virtually every summer since you were born at music festivals, we’re way more relaxed with things than our parents used to be with us, but nah. That ain’t enough, is it? Really getting tired of your shit, kid. The way you speak to your mum especially.” 

Leaving for the kitchen, her mouth threw back some further attitude. “Moody old bastard.” 

“Woah, no, no,” Ella spoke, pressing a hand to his chest and pushing him down when he went to jump off the sofa. If James was pushed too far, he had the tendency as ever to run his mouth, and loudly. Him and Lyra were entirely too similar in that respect, and it was the last thing she wanted to see happen. “Let me go, calm down.”  

She rubbed his chest fondly, leaning to kiss him before getting up, entering the kitchen. 

“What now?” Lyra snapped, Ella closing the door after her and pointing at the island. 

“Sit down.” 

“Don’t want to.” 

Her jaw tightened, eyes rounding. “I said sit down. Now.” Ella didn’t raise her voice a single octave, but the look on her face made Lyra understand loud and clear that she meant business, the girl moving to a seat, her mum standing adjacent. “Look, what you’re doing right now, all this gobbing off and pushing back against us, or rather me more often than not, I get it. You’re a teenager, it goes with the territory,” she began, Lyra rolling her eyes. 

“Here we go. Therapy bullshit,” she scoffed, Ella closing her eyes and counting to five. 

“It isn’t. This is me telling you I understand the mood swings, the challenging us. I wasn’t born at thirty-nine, Lyra. I was twelve once too, you know, and I was a gobby little cow to your nanny April as well. You need to stop throwing my job in my face at me when what I’m doing is no different to any other mother concerned for her child. And yes, you are a child still.” 

Her words were met with a sniff on nonchalance, Lyra beginning to pick at the ends of her hair as her mum continued. “Listen, you know your dad and I have been quite relaxed as far as parents go, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t any rules. Life doesn’t work like that. It’d be nice if it did. I’d definitely like to tell the council to piss off on occasion with how much they bleedin’ rinse me for tax every year.” 

Despite herself, Lyra snorted, not quite able to bite back her little burst of laughter. “Suppose.” 

“If you met us halfway, too, we might be a bit more lenient with you, but as it stands, I don’t think we’re being too firm.” 

She continued the hair picking, her moment of being entertained over as the smirk returned. “Could have done that tonight and let me stay out, but no.”  

It was like running in circles, it truly was. “I’ve said all I need to on that front. Just try to meet us halfway, alright?” 

“Yeah,” she hummed, “whatever, mum.” It was a little less frosty than before, but her face said it all. While Lyra returned upstairs to head to bed, Ella collapsed onto the sofa, burying her head in James’s lap. 

“While you’re down there, little.” Emerging, she saw him wink, his grin widening considerably. “What?” 

“Dirty boy. But I will, don’t you worry. I need a damned good shagging to unwind a bit.” she spoke, turning over and stroking his thigh while continuing to watch the film. By the time they headed to bed, another few glasses of wine drunk, sleeping definitely was not on the agenda.  

In times of parenting hardship, they always had one another to fall back on. Or in that particular instance, fall onto a bed with. 

[brazilian-whalien52]

PatPran Fanfic Rec!

So I have been reading fanfics of my boys and wanted to sharedsome titles

* Pinocchio by aworkingprinter

It had been a long time since he was a scared twelve-year-old, terrified that his Pinocchio syndrome would leak his thoughts to the outside, that he could keep no secrets. He was sixteen now, and he was made of secrets, and he could keep them safe.

Or so he thought.

Pran is born with a disease that makes him hiccup every time he lies.

* An Eon and Six Days by Hazzapixie

- Part 1 of the On My Skin, In My Heart Series

"Pran is six days older than Pat. It has forever been something of a pain in Pat’s side, knowing that his biggest rival is older than him. 144 hours. 8640 minutes. Sometimes it feels like a lifetime.

Six days. Not a lot, but enough that he will turn twenty six days before Pat. Which means that Pran will know his soulmate six days before Pat. Hence, the month before Pran turns twenty, Pat is having a minor breakdown.

Pat had grown up with two ideas swinging in tandem. There is someone out there for him to love, and to hate."

Or the soulmate au that desperatly needed to be written.

* You can hear it in the silence by threewontons

Pran takes a deep breath and opens his Spotify, going to the playlist titled “❤️” that’s been waiting for him since he created it four years ago. There’s only one song on the playlist, saved precisely for this moment. Ever since he first heard it he knew that he wanted it to be how he introduced himself to his soulmate.

Before he presses play, he freezes, a melody starting to form in his head. It’s almost as if the volume is being turned up, louder and louder and…

It’s Baby Shark.

His soulmate is listening to Baby Shark.

(or an au where you hear whatever song your soulmate is listening to <3)

* The Hardest Thing I Had To Do Is Not Kiss You by Ablazen

Pran's friends organize a kissing booth. It goes just about as well as you'd expect.

* Up the Ante by Incandescentflower

“You’re so cocky. You are just asking to lose this thing.” Pran put his hands on the wall on each side of Pat’s head and leaned forward, whispering, “If I put my lips on yours again, this would be over.”

Pat’s pulse raced, but still somehow he knew exactly how to respond. The exact thing to get what he wanted. “You’re making excuses. if you kissed me again, you couldn’t stop yourself from confessing.”

“Oh, is that so?” Pran asked. “Then I guess we should find out.”

* The Fine Line Between Hormones and Home by seekingmoonscapes

Pat didn’t care what anyone had to say about the miracle of life and the wondrousness of nature and the celebration of creation; being in heat was just fucking annoying.

---

AU set between episode 2 and 3: Pran comes home from university to visit his parents one weekend only to discover Pat is also at home but for a very different reason...

* Alpha x Alpha the series by JustImproving

Alpha Pran and Alpha Pat

[embossross]

From His Mind to Hers

chapter 8 >> Chapter 9 (Interlude)>> masterlist

✣ Pairing: Hanma x AFAB fem!Reader

✣ Warning: 18+, minors DNI; unhealthy relationships & dark content

✣ Chapter CW: hanma has violent thoughts

✣ Story CWs: patient/doctor relationships; smut (oral, ptv, pta, etc.), degradation, stalking, torture (not of y/n), murder, discussions of trauma and abuse, drug use, and more

✣ Synopsis: Forced into therapy, Hanma expects to waste his time and yours, but you’re not about to let the chance of a high-profile and higher paying patient slip through your grasp. The fact that you’re both attracted to each other doesn’t hurt either.

✣ Word Count: ~2.5k+

Sometimes an emergency looks like a crowd. The troops marshalled, bodies colliding like pinballs in a machine. Then, other times, an emergency looks like this.

A quaint pre-war house far from Toman’s usual haunts. The kind of neighborhood where everyone properly separates their recyclables lest the neighborhood grandmothers raise their quiet version of hell. The kind of neighborhood that only hears sirens when an old man falls in the shower and shatters his hip. Decorated with bric-a-brac and greenery, amid a dozen identical houses is the home of Kisaki’s maiden aunt, a sixty-something widow who favors her left-side because she can’t hear so much as a shout into her right ear.

Here, in the early pre-dawn hours, Kisaki calls together the men he trusts most, the inner circle of the inner circle. Paranoid as he is, that circle consists of only Koko and Hanma. The three men sit in the windowless basement, fending off the auntie’s many attempts to serve them breakfast as they discuss the morning’s leak.

It happened like this.

On the stroke of midnight, an unknown poster released a zip file titled “Toman’s Secrets_2018” onto a dark web brokerage site. The contents were locked behind a paywall, but in a good faith gesture, the poster released unredacted hundreds of emails between Kisaki, Koko, and Inupi from the last two weeks. The website advertised that the rest would be released to the highest bidder with the auction starting at ¥15,000,000.

The post was live for four minutes before it pinged an alert to Toman’s cybersecurity team. Twelve minutes later, the entire site crashed along with any archive of the post.

In the sixteen minutes that passed from start to finish, eighty-five visitors saw the incriminating post.

“The problem is that fucker, Inoshita,” Kisaki rants. “How much do we pay him to keep us safe? Seriously, guess how much? Almost a hundred million yen a year! And what does he do? He lets us get hacked. Doesn’t notice – fucking Kokonoi had to realize something was up – and then, he lets it get posted on the fucking internet for anyone to see! If I didn’t know any better, I’d say this was an inside job.”

Kisaki paces the length of the basement like a firefly trapped in a jar, flinging himself recklessly against his cage. His jaw twitches between breaths, a paranoid tick that when partnered with the glint of mania shining off his glasses makes him look truly deranged. A haunted insomniac, Kisaki wastes the nights as his mind supplies the worst-case scenarios, the ones where he’s betrayed, arrested, shot, strung up, laughed at. Now, he can hardly tell if he’s awake or lost in one of his bad dreams.

“It could be the HJK. Weaken our position before the final negotiations in the hopes to sweeten the deal. We talked about this, knew it might happen,” Koko suggests reasonably. Seeing someone else panic always mellows him out, like he can outsource his own fretting.

Of all of them, Koko has the least to worry about anyway. At the first sign of trouble, he probably moved all his money to the Virgin Islands and chartered a jet on standby to whisk him away. There are dozens of wealthy men – the kind who supposedly built their fortunes on the straight and narrow – who would love to conscript Kokonoi to inflating their own bank accounts. He’s in no danger.

Kisaki, on the other hand, has reason to be paranoid.

“Doesn’t mean Inoshita wasn’t their mole on the inside,” Hanma offers.

“It’s not the HJK. They want this deal as much as we do. Weakening us is one thing, but this could be a killing blow. What if the police get their hands on those files? We’re flat on our asses if that happens,” Kisaki snaps.

“Was anything incriminating in the email previews?” Hanma asks.

Koko shakes his head. “Everything we write is coded. Neither of us would ever say anything incriminating in an email. You could get a sense of some of our operations and use that to set up a sting, but nothing that would hold up in court. If you got the whole thing though? You’d be able to track the money, and that’s where things get real bad for us.”

While they sit with their thumbs up their own asses, the guy behind this is somewhere laughing. Hanma should be out there, hunting, sniffing out the fucker and acquainting him with the taste of fear. Instead, he’s hunkered down in a room with no windows, listening to the thumping footsteps of a batty old lady overhead. He tells Kisaki as much.

“Oh, you’d find the guy behind this, huh? Like you found out what the Haitanis were up to when I asked? I didn’t realize Detective Galileo was on the case, excuse me. I’m so relieved now. Problem solved! Tell me, Shuji, what the fuck have you been up to the last few weeks? Other than wasting our time and leaving us vulnerable. Tell me!”

Hanma could kill him, both of them, Kisaki and Koko, before either could fight back. A bullet to Kisaki’s temple. Koko would dive to the ground, go for his own gun, but there is no cover in the wide-open basement the old lady uses for laundry. And, Koko isn’t much of a shot. He’s only gunned someone down once. Meanwhile, Hanma’s gun would already be drawn. He could turn it on Koko before the other man has a chance to take aim. The old lady upstairs wouldn’t hear the bullets. He could put her down nice and humane without her ever realizing what was happening and be on his way.

The only evidence of this vivid fantasy is the twitch of Hanma’s forefinger. Three flicks. One for each gun shot.

“Where would you even start?” Koko asks.

“I’d kill two birds with one stone. Haitani! I’ve been saying it from the beginning. He’s our guy. I gun him and his runt kid brother down, and then, you’ll see there will be no more leaks, no more posts. It dies with them,” Hanma says.

“You haven’t found any evidence to tie them to the HJK,” Kisaki says doubtfully.

“Exactly! I’ve found fucking nothing. There should be something. A little scheme here or there. No ways those fuckers are keeping their hands out of our territories entirely, but they come up like ghosts when I look. Your auntie’s less clean than they are!”

Hanma’s conviction that Ran was up to no good strengthened with every day that passed. He never underestimated the man, remembered the way he lorded over Roppongi through his own strength, remembered searching for the boy after his release from juvie, fascinated to stare into the face of a murderer. What he found when he searched that face was pure ambition, unmitigated ego, power.

The version of Ran that Hanma constructed through word of mouth in the last month is to be despised, a label-whoring, double-talking golem with no blood in his veins. Just a smirk as he evades Hanma’s every attempt to find him out.

It’s enough to drive a man crazy.

“You can’t just off the Haitanis. They’re too big. It would be an obvious hit, and there would be a massive investigation. Our people on the inside are saying that the body count’s too high lately. You keep killing people, and it fucks up the city’s murder stats. The police will have to do something soon, and the Haitanis could be the final straw. They’ll write in the papers that there’s a turf war, get the public all in a panic, the politicians will foam at the mouth, and we’ll have a team of auditors up our asses for the next decade,” Koko argues.

“Who cares about that?” Hanma snaps.

The problem with Koko, of course, is that he, like Haitani, lacks blood in his veins. He replaces with shiny coins and foreign currencies.

“I care! I care about the future of my fucking empire. And, I’m not gonna let you burn it to the ground just because you’re having a tantrum,” Kisaki hisses.

 Kisaki points a finger in Hanma’s face, close enough that Hanma’s breath could fog up his glasses. Kisaki is shorter and weaker, but as he glares up at Hanma, it is the glare of a god who knows his power.

Quietly, but no less venomously, Kisaki continues,” You, Shuji, are a dog. A dog. You can whine and bare your teeth and bark all you like. Why? Because you aren’t going to bite anyone unless your master tells you. I’m your fucking master, Shuji. Me. I tell you who to bite, when to bite, how fucking hard to bite. And I’m telling you to tuck your tail between your legs and lay low until this blows over, or, so help me, I’ll put you to sleep myself.”

The nail of Kisaki’s pointer finger is trim and clean as it waves in Hanma’s face. Hanma could bite it clean off at the tip before Kisaki finishes his speech. He debates it, imagines the taste of blood and gristle, how he’d swallow down Kisaki’s howl alongside it like a wine pairing.

Violence permeates from his skin, a smell that only the initiated would recognize. As it settles in his bones, Hanma has no choice but to obey, to serve it up blood. His whole being demands it.

So, it’s important he leaves, here and now, or his decade long friendship is going to end with the boss man dead on the floor. A sad downfall to the grand empire they once built together.

“Fine,” Hanma seethes. “I will leave the fucker alone for now. And you can cry from your jail cell how you should have listened to me. Sound good, Master?”

“Good boy,” Kisaki says, but his eyes glaze as they rescan the screenshots of the night’s post. Already, distracted, like Hanma is merely an obstacle to handle.

Hanma stomps up the stairs, ignoring the sympathetic smile that Kokonoi tries to give him. Rage is blinding, and the edges of his vision are blurred with it. It obscures time and logic, too, so that Hanma returns to himself some time later, not knowing where he is or how he got there.

He takes stock of his surroundings.

The roar of a subway train as it speeds by beneath his feet tells him he’s at a station. A sign overhead reveals it’s Tokyo Ginza. Men and women with pressed hair and suits, backpacks and briefcases, rush by every few seconds, so enough time must have passed for the start of the morning commute. In front of him is a line of pay-by-the-hour lockers, and his hand is held around a small, plastic square inside an open locker.

Yes. His phone. Kisaki made them lock up their phones in storage to avoid the risk of a trace. He’s returned for his phone.

The sharp return to the material world doesn’t quell the murder in his heart at all. He is well-versed in waking up from blackouts in strange surroundings. If anything, the disorientation only heightens his need to take action.

There is time to return to Kisaki, to crack his skull in sacrifice to the demand for retribution that roils his guts. Or, he could find Haitani. He could reclaim his free will, figuratively kill Kisaki and the yoke of control he claims over him and have the satisfaction of obliterating a sword enemy off the map. Or, he could disappear into the dingiest streets of Tokyo, prowl for a fight, leave an abundance of broken bodies – not dead so as to spare the police’s precious murder rates – but hurt enough that Hanma can wash clean the violence that possesses him.

Hanma takes a step towards an oncoming train, half an idea already formed in his head, when the phone rings. Your name lights up the screen.

Today is meant to be his first real session in weeks after things went off track at the horse races. He’s seen you, but not in the clinical setting of your office. He had been looking forward to it, imagined that guilt would eat you alive when you fucked him in your office. There would be no denying your culpability then, the reality of your choices, no way to forget that he is your patient first. Hanma thought that would be a delicious comeuppance for you, a little game.

But now…

“I can’t come in today,” Hanma says before you have a chance to greet him.

“What? You want to meet somewhere else?”

Your voice is delicious. A little raspy, like maybe this is the firs time you’ve spoken this morning. Such a little thing, but with his heart already pumping with fury, he hardens in his slacks. Wanting to fuck doesn’t even slightly decrease the violence in him.

“No, I can’t see you today,” Hanma says. “If I see you, I’m going to hurt you.”

No answer, just your heavy breaths, like maybe you’re lifting something heavy or moving quickly. Hanma doesn’t hang up. Just listens.

“Are you losing control right now?” you finally ask.

“Hmmm, I’m completely in control,” Hanma drawls, breaking into a giggle that is decidedly out of his control. “I mean, I’m going to enjoy every minute of what I do next.”

“Are you bored?”

“No, Doc. I’m not bored. I’m fucking pissed.”

“Is there a difference between when you lash out when you’re bored versus when you’re just angry?”

“Hmm…Intention. It’s the difference between eating a good meal you ordered and a good meal you cooked yourself. I’m going to eat well today.”

His feet take him deeper into the belly of the city as he takes the escalators two steps at a time. Two trains roar into station and drown out your next response. Hanma has to ask you to repeat yourself. Two minutes until his train arrives.

“Let me help you!” you shout to be heard.

“Help me?”

“Yes, help you!” you shout. “You asked me before how I intend to divert you when you’re losing control. Let me show you! Give me the chance to show you how you can control it.”

“You don’t want to see me right now, Doc. If I see you, I’m going to hurt you.”

“I’m asking you to trust me. Meet me at Shidoshita Beach in two hours. If you’re still feeling this way when we’re done, I won’t stop you from doing whatever you need to do. But give me this chance,” you plead.

“And if what I need to do, I do to you?”

“I’m trusting you, too, Shuji. Meet me at the station. Two hours.”

The phone beeps twice to signal the end of the call as his train pulls into the station. And he doesn’t move a muscle as he debates where to head next.

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

Lovers & Friends (18+ Fic)

Pairing: Keigo Takami x Black!Fem!Reader (Friends to Lovers)

Synopsis: In which you and Keigo have begun to realize the strange new feelings you both have for each other after one drunken night at a close friend’s wedding that ends with you in his bed, but because of your longtime friendship and committed relationships with other people, you’re more than happy to forget that night even happened and keep your mutual feelings in the dark…for now, at least. 

Story Warnings: Smutty smut; 18+ (MINORS GET AWAY); Cheating/Infidelity; Mating; Light Degradation; Spanking; Exhibitionism; Multiple Positions; Creampie; Unprotected PIV Sex; Facials; Scent Play; Marking; Spitting; Deepthroating; Cunnilingus; Begging; Edgeplay; Power Play; Daddy Kink; Some Angst; Hurt/Comfort; Mild Violence

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic (except for Rei and Haruko). However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Writer's Note: Got myself a job!! I'm so excited but I'm also shitting myself lmaoo but I'm still gonna try to update as frequently as I can. Enjoy! -Jazz

Chapters: One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty. Bonus Chapter.

Read on AO3 here!

************

Chapter Three: Those Bachelor Days Don't Last Forever.

Keigo sits on the edge of his king-sized bed in his master bedroom feeling sick. Is it weird for the best man to get cold feet and he isn’t the one getting married? 

Well, that’s exactly how he feels now, dressed in his best Armani suit with a pink flower nestled in his breast pocket in accordance with the color scheme of the wedding. He sits with his legs wide and his head down, feeling like the entire world is crashing around him. 

“Baby!” Sakura calls from down the hall in one of Keigo’s three bathrooms. “How much time do we have left? My hair isn’t working with me today.” He hears her grunt in frustration and the sound of a hairspray can fills the air. She’s been in there for nearly an hour getting ready for Fatgum’s wedding, prepping herself as Keigo’s plus-one. 

“Twenty minutes!” he calls back, checking his Rolex watch. “You’ve got time.” And so does he. Thank God because he has to get his shit together. He has to be the best best man for his friend today despite having never been a best man before. 

But he knows this isn’t the main reason why he’s ready to blow chunks all over his red-bottom shoes. He doesn’t hate weddings either. He went to Yu and Nemuri’s wedding two years ago and had the best time of his life stuffing his face with cake, downing all the champagne, and taking home two of the hot waitresses catering the event. 

He knows his anxiety has a lot to do with his conversation with him and his friends last night which led to him coming home early and fucking Sakura’s brains out just to prove to himself that Fatgum wasn’t right.

He had met up with him late last night for Fatgum’s bachelor’s party, which was really just a trip for some ramen dinner and then a game of pool at Fatgum’s favorite high-end bar. It was located in a fancy hotel across the city. Fatgum drank, ate, and rented rooms free since he saved the hotel from a villain attack years ago when a bomb was built under the building. 

The conversations went from 0 to about 1,000 when the drinks kept pouring and the hours kept ticking down till the wedding. Fatgum was happy, giddy even, as he leaned against the pool table in his skinnier form. “Ah, I can’t believe it,” he sighed. “I’ll really be a married man soon! I get to be with the most amazing woman for the rest of my life!” 

“Rest of your life?” Keigo parroted, scoffing at the statement. “C’mon, man, don’t get ahead of yourself. That’s talkin’ forever.” 

“Exactly!” Fatgum gave him a big, happy grin that was so full of love and bliss, it nearly killed Keigo’s buzz. “Haruko is the one I wanna be with forever. I wouldn’t have proposed if I didn’t see us together for all that time, and I plan on havin’ that woman till I sprout grays.” 

“Not to be a downer or anything,” Toshinori aka All Might said from his spot next to Aizawa aka Eraserhead, busy taking his turn at the pool table, “but you do realize that forever for a pro is limited ‘cause of multiple things, right?” He started ticking off the number of possible threats on his fingers. “Villian attacks, missions gone wrong, crazed fans. The list goes on.” 

“Oh, come on, fellas!” Hizashi aka Present Mic (Mic for short) said from his spot on his stool, sipping from his cocktail with a little umbrella in it. “Don’t rain on poor Fatgum’s parade! I think it’s a wonderful thing to want that with someone. Just look at me and Shouta: six years strong.” He flashed the crew his gold band and grinned at a blushing Aizawa. 

“I get what you’re sayin’, Toshi,” Fatgum said genuinely, patting Toshinori on the back, “and as much I appreciate your honesty, I already know my time may be limited on this earth. That’s why I’m makin’ it count. With my Haruko.” He sighed dreamily; a picture of being in love. “She’s my forever, however long that may be for however long she wants me.” 

Keigo felt something shift inside of him at those words. He realized with a shock that it was jealousy. But who wouldn’t be jealous of a cute ass relationship like Fatgum and Haruko’s? They’d been together for six years, fighting through the ups and downs, the good and bad. Keigo couldn’t imagine being married and doing that. To him, marriage was the ultimate commitment. 

And he wasn’t good at commitment. His list of past relationships that could stretch from Japan to Antarctica would tell you that shit. You, Dabi, and Rumi made fun of him for having “international community dick” because Keigo has seen it all, done it all. As a pro hero, he’s traveled the world for business deals and important meetings, and in every place, he’s had at least one body. 

Keigo just isn’t for relationships. He loved his freedom too much–the freedom to jump from one person to the next in any city or country he wanted. He always figured he was too busy with his hero work to focus on falling in love. He just dated for a good time, which was usually a good fuck that lasted him one night or a few weeks. 

That is until you fell for you. He still doesn’t know when he started falling or how. All he remembers is looking at you one day and thinking, “Damn, she’s beautiful” and then “Damn, I really love her”. 

When he realized what happened, he freaked out. He couldn’t be in love, especially with his best friend! You shared too much together and your relationship was too amazing to be ruined. So he kept his feelings to himself all these years, knowing this love would remain unrequited and unspoken. 

But that doesn’t stop the daydreams of you and him together, you underneath him or him underneath you, your gorgeous face contorted in the pure ecstasy he gave you as he drives his cock into you again and again, making you cum like you’ve never cum before. That doesn’t stop him from wanting to hold you, or feel your lips against his, or feeling hot with jealousy at the other men you give your time to. 

That includes Rei aka Tempo. God, he hates your new man, but not just because he had you. To him, Rei seemed like a fake; like everything he did was for approval and validation, including what he did for you–the dates, the gifts, the cute little IG comments under your photos. It was all for show.

Keigo isn’t with that. You deserve better than that. And now that he knows the dude can’t make you cum, he’s definitely tempted to ruin your relationship with him. But Keigo also isn’t an asshole. He’s also a good friend and wants to see you happy, no matter how much it hurts to pretend. 

“Damn, Keigo, you good?” Ken Takagi aka Rock Lock, asked in concern as he sipped his beer. “You look like you’re about to deck somebody.”

Kan Sekijiro aka Vlad glared at Keigo from his spot at the pool table, his big frame nearly blocking Keigo from the game. “Better not be me if you know what’s good for you,” he grumbled.  

“Chill out, frost tips,” Keigo blandly replied. “I wouldn’t dream of fightin’ your big ass.” Vlad’s glare intensified while the others laughed. “And I’m fine, Ken; thanks for pointin’ that out,” Keigo sarcastically replied to his friend and coworker. He really wasn’t in the mood for this tonight. 

“I would’ve done it, but I didn’t feel like it,” Aizawa deadpanned from the bar. Mic nudged him roughly with his elbow. “Talk to us, Keigo!” he encouraged the winged pro. “What’s eatin’ at you? You don’t agree with someone being your forever?” 

Now the attention was all on Keigo. Usually, he liked it this way, but not right now. He was just trying to enjoy his friend’s bachelor party to celebrate his big day and then go home to have drunk, nasty sex with Sakura. But he knew with a crowd like this, he’d never get away from the topic of conversation.

“It’s not that,” he sighed, sitting on the corner of the table. “I, for one, would love to be with someone I feel like I can see my future with. But as a pro, being in a romantic relationship is difficult and exhausting. Complicates life too much. That’s why I always stuck to my hookups or flings.” 

“So what about Sakura?” Fatgum asked, raising an eyebrow. “Is she a fling or a hookup too?” 

She was, at first. Keigo met the pink, curly-haired cutie at a party he didn’t want to be at downtown (for a business deal) and they got to talking when he offered to buy her a drink after the bartender messed up her order. He was curious about her as soon as he got a look at her in her periwinkle dress that did wonders for her body.

He learned she was a nurse for sick children and her quirk allowed her to ease their pain and discomfort for a few hours by giving them bursts of pleasure in their bodies. He charmed her, danced with her, and managed to get into her bedroom when she invited him back to her place for the night. 

Sex with her is by far the best thing Keigo has ever experienced. Sakura used her quirk on him many times that night to increase his pleasure and gave him some mind-blowing orgasms in the process. To put it bluntly, he was hooked and started seeing her more and more. Unfortunately for him, his pimp shit was squashed when he got to know Sakura more and more. He became fond of her sweet personality and almost innocent outlook on life. He cared deeply for her. 

But while he cared, he knew that care didn’t amount to what he felt for you. He’d give you the whole moon and the sun if you asked. He’d gladly die and kill just to ensure your safety. He didn’t care–he just loved you. He knew he could never love Sakura or any other woman the way he loved you, but he could try. After all, he and you were friends. There was no way he could ever tell you how he truly left, and has been feeling for years. 

“She was supposed to be,” he admitted earnestly, “but after getting to know her, I found I really enjoyed talkin’ with her. She’s a sweet girl, don’t get me wrong…” He trailed off, not wanting to get into it, but already leaving breadcrumbs for his highly-interested audience.

“But?” Fatgum pushed. “I know there’s a “but” in there, Keigo. Don’t deny it.” 

Keigo sighed in frustration, knowing he’d look like a fuckboy for this. “I’m just with her for the fun of it!” he confessed with a shrug. “Nothing long-term or committed. I’m not gonna cheat or hurt her ‘cause I’m not a jerk, but I’m also not lookin’ for something for ‘forever’.” He used his fingers to quote the word, earning a perplexed scowl from Fatgum. “We just laugh, talk, and have a good time.” 

“You mean fuck?” Shouta asked blankly. Even Keigo flushed at the harshness of the word. “Well, if you wanna be blunt, sure.” 

“Keigo!” Fatgum gasped, looking at Keigo like he just admitted to murder. “I’m shocked! You’re really tellin’ me you’re not gonna try to lock a cutie like Sakura down? If you don’t do it now, you’ll regret it later.”

Keigo just waved off his friend’s statement, paying no time to the dramatics. “I don’t regret shit like that.” Fatgum shook his head in pity. “You will when you wind up cold and lonely in your big penthouse without someone to cuddle with.” 

The winged hero sucked his teeth, shaking his head at the others. He knew that wasn’t true. No matter how doomed he was to love you, he also knew he’d find someone else, especially in the future. There was no way he’d be alone forever…right? 

He decided to leave it alone as he waltzed over to the pool table for his turn. He leaned forward, stomach flat against the table, and aimed at a red pool table. It teetered to the right and rolled into two more balls. Once all three fell into the left pocket, he pumped his fist in victory. 

“Do you believe it’s possible to find the one for you somewhere out there?” Mic asked curiously from behind him. He turned around, slightly irked this conversation was still rolling, but he wasn’t going to blow Mic off. The guy was too nice! “I mean, sure,” he replied thoughtfully, “but I can’t just look for ‘the one’ in every single person I date.” 

Rock Lock nodded as he shoved Vlad out of the way to do his turn at the pool table. “I gotchu. You don’t date to marry; you date for fun. You’re still young, so it’s different for guys like us.”He took a shot at a blue ball, grinning when it rolled into the left pocket. 

“Exactly!” Keigo laughed, happy someone was seeing things from his perspective finally. “See? He gets it! I’m way too young and at the top of my game to be tied down right now.”

Fatgum turned to him, adding more of his two cents. “Be that as it may, Keigo,” he argued, “and while I totally respect our differences here, don’t you think you sound just a lil’...I don’t know…” He trailed off, looking for the right word. 

“Cynical?” Aizawa finished. Everyone’s eyes trained on him to which he passively shrugged. “What? He needed a word, I gave him one.” 

Keigo was irked at his friends’ assumptions about him, especially Fatgum. So what if he felt this way? So what if he liked his freedom and his sex? So what if he jumped from relationship to relationship to avoid thinking about you and being alone? It was no one’s business but his. “I’m just being honest,” he scoffed, downing his third beer of the night. 

“And I get that!” Fatgum replied, putting his hands up in defense. Sensing that his friend was feeling attacked, he put a hand on Keigo’s shoulder. “You’re totally entitled to feel how you feel, Keigo. And you’re right: you’re young, attractive, wealthy, and the second most popular pro in Japan. You’ve got brand deals, international fame…you’re the total package! A complete bachelor.” 

Keigo cringed slightly, not sure if he liked being called that. “But one day, all of this ain’t gonna be enough for you,” Fatgum continued a soft look in his eyes. “You’re gonna want something different. Someone who you can trust to love you and not judge you to share your life with.”

He squeezed Keigo’s shoulder, and Keigo felt like he was getting advice from his father. “Trust me; those bachelor days don’t last forever, my friend.” 

That night after going home to his penthouse, his relationships with you and Sakura sat on Keigo’s tipsy, fuzzy mind. Even as he sits here now, waiting for his girlfriend to finish up, he reflects on them heavily. While both have their fair share of positives, he also knows he could never have what he has with you with Sakura. 

He’s known you since middle school! Since the days of acne, schoolyard fights, and other adolescent cringe. You know him inside and out: all the ugly; the bad; the flaws that make him Keigo. You know of his hurts and pains; the childhood trauma that sometimes has him waking up in the middle of the night; the insecurities he has in himself that sometimes get him down. Plus, you understand the difficulties, horrors, and uncertainties that come with being a pro.

You understand why he stays away from romance and steers clear from falling in love. Sakura could never understand any of this, and he is sure if he tries to explain any of this to her, it’d turn her away for good. 

“Keigo?” 

Keigo jumps, nearly having a heart attack at the sound of Sakura standing in his bedroom. She’s dressed in a pale pink sundress that pairs well with her hair which cascades down her back in waves. She looks like a beautiful, pink angel wearing sandals and with lips that remind Keigo of berries.  “You alright?” she questions, worry in her eyes; those eyes like the cleanest, purest waters. 

Quickly, he stands and clears his throat. No time to reflect on his future and lament his love life. He has a wedding to go to. “Yeah,” he assures her with a smile. As if throwing him a bone, his phone dings, signaling the arrival of the car he ordered twenty minutes ago. “Good, the car is around the corner. We should head downstairs.” 

He goes to Sakura and wraps an arm around her lower waist. He presses a kiss to her lips, breathing in her scent of rose-scented perfume. “You look amazing, by the way. Maybe those two hours in the bathroom were what you needed.”

Sakura laughs and nudges him as they venture down the winding staircase to catch their ride. 

************

Fatgum and Haruko’s wedding reception is thrown in downtown Musutafu at the largest park in the city.

When Keigo gets out of the car and helps Haruko out of the backseat, he can see his friend broke his bank for the occasion. During wedding rehearsals (which occurred a week before the wedding and Fatgum’s bachelor party), their chosen portion of the park wasn’t yet decorated or littered with guests. But now, the place looks like something out of a damn Disney movie. 

A trail of white satin leads to the area under a canopy of trees winded with fairy lights where the bride and groom will soon stand in front of seats reserved for specific guests from the front to the back.

A few yards away, and a walk away from the park’s parking lot, are the bar, bathrooms, and dance floor littered with white table-clothed tables and chairs for after the wedding reception. Among all of that are rolling hills of freshly cut, green grass and gazebos that will make for great photos. A few white tents litter the area as well, two of which Keigo is sure are reserved for the bride and groom. 

When Keigo and Sakura walk into the wedding hand-in-hand, people are already setting up. A live band sets up their instruments while the priest stands at his post, reading over his lines. Guests are busy finding their seats, among them being fellow pro heroes, Fatgum’s and Haruko’s family and friends outside of the hero industry, and some UA students Keigo recognizes. 

He instantly sees Ejriou Kirishima and Tamaji Amijiki, Fatgum’s prodigies. He winks at the two UA students, earning an overly-excited wave from Kiri in his suit while Tamaki looks like he wishes he wasn’t there. Off to the side near the punch bowls, Hitoshi Shinso is kneeling in front of little Eri, Aizawa and Mic’s daughter, fixing up her dress littered with blooming flowers as she giggles. 

“Let’s get a drink,” Keigo suggests to Sakura to which she agrees. As they walk over to the mini bar for water or maybe a soda, Keigo is immediately ambushed by his friends. Yu aka Mt. Lady, in her normal form, practically runs over to them in a flowing purple dress and her creamy blonde hair tied in a French braid. “Heeey!” she sing-songs, already tipsy with champagne. “There’s my favorite couple!” 

She throws herself at them, nearly breaking Keigo’s neck. “You say that about every couple you know, Yu,” he grunts while Sakura giggles, hugging her back. Yu pouts. “Well, I can’t help that I love love!” she protests. “Baby, tell Keigo to stop bullying me!” 

On cue, Nemuri aka Ms. Midnight steps into the scene with her beautiful and busty self. She decided to go for a nice cobalt blue dress with a slit at the thigh while her hair is pinned back into a curly updo. “My, look at the sights here,” she purrs playfully. She gives Sakura a hug. “You look absolutely amazing, darling. That dress goes with your hair so much.”

Sakura blushes, happy with the compliment. Nemuri smirks at Keigo, a hand on her hip. “Hawks, you’re looking quite dapper today. I’m not used to seeing you without your goggles or a box of fried chicken in your hands.” 

Keigo raises a brow at her, wondering why she wants violence so early in the day. “And I see you ditched the kinky collar for today’s festivities,” he retorts, nodding at her neck. “That’s sayin’ you didn’t bring it with you.” 

“Oh, we did!” Yu says a little too loudly. “Nemuri insisted we take it with us for later.” Nemuri’s face turns as pink as Sakura’s hair while Keigo gives a big, bellied laugh, leaning back as he does. “Alright, alright, take that horny shit somewhere else,” Rumi grumbles, stepping over to shoo the two women away. Yu sticks her tongue out at the bunny hero, but leaves with Nemuri anyway, a hand on her waist. 

Rumi eyes Keigo and Sakura, a playful smirk on her face adorned in soft makeup for the occasion. She went for a one-shouldered red dress that stops just above her muscular thighs and pumps that make her much taller than Keigo. But even with her normal height, the girl is an amazon. “Well, fancy seein’ you two here.” 

“You too, cottontail,” Keigo replies, giving her that same sly smirk. “Where’s your date at?” Rumi gets a devilish look in her eyes as she sips her glass of champagne. “Oh, I’ll be findin’ her after the reception.”  

“And you call Yu and Nemuri horny,” he scoffs. Sakura suddenly taps him on the shoulder, pointing at a nearby outhouse. “Keigo, I’m gonna go to the bathroom real quick before the reception starts.”

He nods and they share a short kiss before he watches her walk away. Rumi watches her too before her eyes tick back to Keigo. “She looks really nice today. Surprised you even let us see her.” She chuckles despite Keigo’s eye roll. “Y’know, for a while, I thought she wasn’t real.” 

“Gimme that,” Keigo grumbles, snatching the champagne glass from her and taking a sip. He wasn’t planning on drinking so early, but he might have to. “Anyway, where’s your roomie? If you’re here, ain’t she here too?” 

He looks for you among the guests, figuring you might be with Rei. “She’s runnin’ late for some reason,” Rumi explains. Keigo scowls at her in confusion and she passively shrugs, crossing her muscular arms. “Kenji came over when I left early to help with decorations, I dunno. Maybe call the girl and find out.” 

Keigo almost doesn’t want to. He has a feeling you’re late for a reason. Maybe you and Rei are fighting? Does he have to pull up and beat some ass, he wonders? Before he can contemplate calling, one of the wedding organizers hurries over to him and Rumi.

“There you are!” he sighs in relief. “We’re gonna start setting up for the reception, so we need you with the other best men.” Keigo winks at Rumi before sauntering off. “Duty calls!” he yells to her over his shoulder. “See you later on the floor!” 

Quickly, he is whisked over to the reception area where most of the guests are seated and the band is readying to begin. When he shows up with the other best men, most of them being pros that he knows, he claps his hand with Fatgum and congratulates him on soon being a married man which Fatgum, in his suit, nearly cries about (the man is very emotional). Afterward, he stands at his post with the others while the bridesmaids face them from the other side where Haruko will soon be. 

Taking advantage of the freedom he has now, he slides his phone out of his pocket and calls you. You don’t pick up on the first ring which is unusual for you unless you’re at work. So Keigo immediately knows something is up. 

You pick up on the fourth ring. “Hello?” you answer, sounding less than pleased. Hearing your biting tone, warning alarms begin to blare in Keigo’s head. Maybe he really will have to beat some ass. Where’s Dabi at today? Maybe he’d be able to help Keigo bust some ass if he the pro can successfully bribe the warden. 

“Hey, where you at?” he whispers into the phone before he can get any other murderous thoughts. “The wedding is starting soon.” You sigh in frustration, making his stomach roil anxiously. “Rei lost his wallet, so we’re gonna be late,” you explain in a huff. “Just save me a seat at the bar when it ends. And take pictures.” 

Though Keigo is disappointed in the outcome of things so far, he promises to do so and hangs up before the wedding can start. It does so about fifteen minutes later. As soon as the band begins their rendition of “Here Comes the Bride”, Keigo’s stomach drops and he stands rigid as if he’s the one getting married.

Fatgum stands with the priest, his hands folded behind his back and trying to appear calm, but Keigo can see that the man is sweating through his suit. Eri comes out in her cute, frilly dress and sprinkles flowers along the floor before she’s scooped up by Aizawa and is sat down in one of the guest chairs. 

Then, finally, Haruko enters with her father, locked arm in arm. The guests stand and turn to the bridge, watching as she waltzes in wearing her flowing white dress adorned in lace and holding a bouquet of red roses that match her waves of red hair. She walks slowly, taking her sweet time. 

But as she does, Keigo notices something: while everyone’s eyes are on her, including Fatgum, her eyes stay strictly transfixed on her soon-to-be-husband, her stare never breaking for a moment. It is as if he is the only one in the room to her. No one else matters. “Isn’t she beautiful?” he hears one of the guests whisper to the other. 

He blinks and suddenly, he is not looking at Haruko in her wedding dress, but at you. You stand there, glowing and radiant in white, your pretty brown eyes staring up at him as you stand together in front of the priest, ready to become one. 

‘Yeah,’ he thinks to himself with a soft smile. ‘She absolutely is.’