#when tang is around to see red switch sides

[durrtydawg]

Stalemates

(Sam Drake x F!Reader smut)

'Talking it out' often makes for appropriate conflict resolution. But where's the fun in that?

Masterlist

In which they switch it up like nintendo-oh 🎶 . 12k words of switchy, yucky, hate sex. 3rd person, no y/n, grammatical errors (ooo scary) likely

CW for mildly dubious consent and two bitches being mean to each other. For detailed tags take a peek at ao3! Could only bring myself to write this while ovulating which is why it took so long </3. Enjoy!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭

Sam doesn’t know what smells worse. The stale carpet, the acrid, yellowing wallpaper, or her fucking attitude.

His hand lingers on the doorknob for a beat, eyes scanning the motel room with feigned indifference. He bites the bullet and steps in, dropping his duffel onto the bed, preparing himself for an ear-full.

“Wait,” she says sharply, her voice cutting through the repetitive clicking of the faulty ceiling fan. He cracks his neck in preparation for another bitch fit.

She’s still standing by the door, her breath still heavy from the adrenaline of the last few hours. She's had enough. She wants a plan, a strategy. But every damn thing is on the fly when he’s around. Mortality included.

“What the hell is this?”

“What?” he replies, all casual like they hadn’t just escaped certain death and walked straight into… this.

“What do you mean, what? This place is a dump.”

A beat of silence. Then, “Yeah. I see that.”

She rounds on him. “You see that? That’s all you’ve got to say? There's one damn bed-”

“What do you want me to do, princess? Build a second one?” He practically spits the nickname.

She slams the door shut, throwing her bag to the floor. "Far be it from me to want a bit of space after you tried to kill me off."

He groans. "Don't start-"

"Don't start?" Her incredulous laugh escapes before she can stop it. "I almost got impaled back there because you couldn’t be bothered to share your genius plan - oh hold on. No - that’s right. There wasn’t one.”

“There was a plan,” he counters, turning from her to pat his pockets for his box of cigarettes he’d somehow managed to salvage from a trap he’d accidentally triggered hours earlier. “You just didn't follow it.”

All right, so she'd fallen with the box, stuck clinging to the edge of a spike-filled pit. So what? He pulled her out. She's fine.

“Because you didn’t tell me!”

“It was implied,” he says, the smirk tugging at his lips enough to make her see red.

"What else was implied was the fact that you don't ever think about anyone but yourself."

“Really? You think I dragged your ass out of that hole because I wanted a goddamn medal?”

"Oh, fuck off, Sam." She exhales sharply, hands braced on her knees as she plops down onto the end of the bed.

Get a grip.

Her chest still heaves from the rush of it all - dodging death, being forcibly confined to his bullshit, this shitty room. Feels like a boot on her chest.

She forces herself to breathe and enjoy the momentary silence.

Clink.

Her head snaps up. Of course. HA! Of course.

Tck-tck.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she snaps, seething again. “You’re actually lighting up in here? Can't even be bothered to open a damn window?”

He doesn’t even look at her, his lighter sparking to life. “Relax,” he mutters, cigarette between his lips. “Look how yellow the walls are. You’ll survive.”

Her fists curl at her sides as the sharp tang of smoke curls into the air. "Unbelievable." She marches over to the window, wrestling with the latch. "You couldn’t wait two minutes?”

He exhales deliberately, the smoke drifting lazily between them. “Two minutes, ten minutes - doesn’t really make a difference. You’re gonna bitch about it either way.”

Her jaw clenches, “God, you’re… infuriating.”

“Gotta unwind somehow.” His drawl is lazy, but his eyes are sharp - he’s waiting for her to crack. “Unless you’ve got a better idea.”

Her stomach twists. It’s the way he looks at her, like he’s waiting for her to lose it. She huffs, giving up on the stiff window latch, turning back to him with a scowl.

She doesn’t like it. She hates it.

He takes another drag, exhaling slowly, watching her through the clag of smoke. “Tell you what,” he drawls, shifting his weight, standing upright as opposed to leaning against the chest of drawers with a few missing handles, “Why don’t you take a swing at me, huh? Let it all out.”

He beckons her with two fingers, the cigarette still pinched between them, his grin deepening as he watches her stiffen. “C’mon, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his tone dripping with mockery. “You’re dyin’ to give me a good fuckin’ smack. I can see it.”

Her nails dig into her palms, biting into her skin as her pulse pounds in her ears. She pictures her fist connecting with his jaw, that stupid smirk wiped clean off his face as she pins him down. It would feel so good.

He takes another step forward. “All that energy,” he murmurs, his voice lower now, almost provocative. “What’re you gonna do with it?”

Fine. Definitely provocative.

She swallows hard, her voice tight. “You’re disgusting.”

Sam watches her, his lips curling as she darts a glance between him and the cigarette. He leans back against the wall, a picture of nonchalance, silently revelling in the way her composure seems to crack, his arrogance only bolstered by her obvious distaste.

Without a second thought, she yanks it out of his mouth, shoving it between her own lips in one fluid motion.

“Really?” he growls, reaching for it, but she steps back, holding it just out of reach with a glare.

“What’s the problem, huh?” she taunts, the cigarette dangling between her fingers. “Can’t go five minutes without something in your mouth? Guess that explains why you’re so full of shit.”

“Ha. Classy.” He scoffs.

 “You are the most crass, irresponsible - no, insufferable - asshole I’ve ever met.” She can feel his eyes on her, and she takes her sweet time before looking back up at him, taking a drag, before huffing it out purposely up towards his face.

He waves a hand in front of him, coughing once. “Real fuckin' cute. Give it back.”

“Give it back,” she mocks, her voice purposely lowered in a crude impersonation of him. “No, no, hold on a sec. I wanna be like you for a moment.” she says, her voice tight with anger, the smoke rolling from her mouth with every word. She raises her chin up to face him. "Can’t be that hard, right? Just gotta act like an arrogant prick."

She ignores the burning ash against her fingers as she scrapes her hair back from her forehead - a gesture that makes him roll his eyes. She leans against the wall in a stance that's just as affected and smug as he is.

“Hmm. Yeah, this - this is nice.”

He chuckles thinly, his arms folding tight across his chest. “Well, I’m glad someone’s entertained.”

“Entertained?” She leans into the word, dragging it out as she takes a drag from the cigarette, blowing the smoke in his direction with a casual flick of her wrist. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m more than entertained.” She snaps her fingers, flicking ash. “I’m inspired! I mean, you’ve got a hell of a system going. The quips. The brawn. The charisma - God, it’s practically oozing out of your every pore, right?”

His grin freezes in place, tight at the edges, but she’s not done. Not even close.

“Hi, I'm Sam. I like to fuck my way out of every tight spot I get myself into, then proceed to leave everyone else behind to clean up the mess.” She steps forward, her eyes gleaming as she watches his jaw tick. “It’s genius, really. Self-destructive, sure, but hey, you’re nothing if not consistent.”

His smirk twitches, then falters. “You done?”

She ignores the warning in his voice, taking another slow step toward him. “Have you ever thought about teaching a class? Writing one of those 'for dummies' books? ‘How to Charm Your Way Through Life Without a Shred of Accountability.’ Could be a bestseller. You’d make a killing.”

“Alright,” he mutters, voice clipped. “That’s enough.”

“Enough?” Her head tilts, her eyes wide. “Come on, Sam, don’t tell me you can’t handle a little constructive criticism.”

He stays quiet, his grin gone now, his jaw tightening as his eyes follow her every move. She doesn’t stop. She loves this. Loves seeing him like this.

His eyes narrow, but he doesn’t say a word. The muscles in his jaw tighten, and though his expression remains composed, she can feel the anger simmering beneath the surface. It thrills her. She doesn't want to examine it too closely - the rush - but she can't deny the flicker of satisfaction in knowing she’s gotten under his skin. Better than that smug, righteous babe-magnet haughty bullshit he insists on projecting ninety-nine percent of the time.

“You’re just trying to distract yourself, aren’t you? The scams, the smirks, the sex - oof, let's not forget that. It’s all noise. A shitty cover-up for what you actually are.”

The tension in his jaw, the way his eyes darken, the little scrunch at the bridge of his nose; it's real - a side of him he tries too hard to hide behind that dumb, cool exterior. Boy, does it add fuel to the fire. A rogue spark bouncing onto kindling. She knows she’s pushing him. But hey, they're stuck together for the foreseeable, so what's really the worst he could do?

“And what’s that?” he finally bites out, his voice sharp and low, but she doesn’t flinch.

Her lips curve into a cruel smile, and she gestures to him with the cigarette, her tone cutting. “A sycophantic hedonist with a nicotine addiction, trying - and failing - to claw your way out of your brother’s shadow.”

Then, he laughs, teeth bared in a parody of a grin. No trace of humour. It’s dangerous now. She licks her lips.

“You wanna say that again?”

“Sure.” She takes another step forward, close enough now to feel the heat rolling off him. “I think you’re lame. A shadow-dwelling grifter who’s just pissed he’ll never. Be. Good enough.”

Before she can blink, his hand shoots out, rough fingers clamping around her chin. The suddenness of it sends a shock-wave through her, and she stumbles a little. “And I think that you," He yanks her face up toward his, his grip just shy of bruising, "Are a frigid little control freak who wouldn’t know fun if it bit her in the ass.” he shoots back. The cigarette flies onto the floor, smoke trails smouldering between them, until his boot grinds it into the carpet without even looking.

Her breath stutters, but it’s not fear that does it. She smirks, even as her pulse races. “Hit a nerve, did I?”

Then he shoves her, hard, and her back hits the wall with a thud, his thumb digging in just beneath her cheekbone.

“Listen, you sanctimonious bitch,” His eyes are sharp, narrowed, the fury in them burning hot. “I’d have loved nothin’ more than to have left you to rot in that pit - hell, I’d certainly have much less of a goddamn headache right now if you’d’ve fallen ass-first onto one of those spikes.” Her head jolts in his grip as he punctuates each word, “But luckily for you, I’ve got a job to do. So here you are.”

She doesn’t shrink. Doesn’t falter. Instead, she pushes, craving the intensity. Ha. Frigid. “And wouldn’t that have been dull.”

Stupid fucking men and their need to assert physical dominance. It’s boring.

Her lips curve, deliberately, the ghost of a smile curling at the edges. Not sweet. Not kind - never kind with him. Instead, mocking. Dangerous. 

Her chin tips up, her lips parting ever so slightly as she pushes against his grip, her breath warm and steady as it grazes his mouth. Close, but not close enough. She doesn’t blink, doesn’t look away.

Go on, her silence says. Do something.

Sam’s jaw is ticking. He wants her to flinch, to crack, to give him something - anything - but all she gives him is a tilt of her head, her neck arching just a fraction to shift the angle.

“Do you get off on this?” She speaks quietly, her chin moving against the palm of his hand. The question catches him off guard, making his frown deepen. Because a part of him does. “Using your height and your muscles and cute little frown to intimidate girls young enough to be your daughter?”

He’s holding on by a thread. She knows it. His jaw clenches, and his pulse hammers as she lets her fingertips drift across his stomach. Teasing, toying, until she hooks them around the buckle of his belt, tugging him closer.

Disgust flashes in his eyes. But beneath it, intrigue? Desire? Some gross spark that twists him up inside. He’s disgusted with himself for feeling it, for letting her get to him like this. But the hard truth, as betrayed by the semi he can’t fully hide, is that part of him is undeniably drawn in.

She sucks in a breath through her teeth. “Oh… I think you do.”

His breath falters - barely perceptible, but she catches it. Of course she does. Her eyes catch the flicker of hesitation in his, narrowing as his anger wavers. Shifts. Into something else entirely. It takes a monumental amount of effort to stop herself from laughing in his face.

Her lashes lower, eyes dropping just below his belt for a heartbeat before dragging back up. Slow. Calculated. Intimate, to the point where she’s almost taking herself seriously. She’s not backing down - no, she’s playing with him now. She tugs at the leather, a deft pull that has the belt sliding free of its buckle, then presses her palm against him - light, barely there - but enough for him to feel it.

She feels his fingers loosen their grip on her jaw, just slightly. It’s so subtle, he thinks he’s gotten away with it... and he would’ve, if he hadn’t audibly swallowed and given himself away mere seconds after. Her mouth twitches. The strings are falling into her hands.

“Look at you,” she taunts, her voice a purr now, filled with mock encouragement. “You've got it all under control, haven't you?” She lets her hand move over him again, slower this time, the pressure just enough to make him grind involuntarily against her touch. His breath comes faster, harder, and she feels his body tense against hers.

His grip on her face tightens as he stares at her with scorn - it's starting to hurt, now - she's almost certain his thumb's going to leave a bruise just beneath her cheekbone - but she doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t give him what he wants. She holds him there, her fingers still teasing him through denim.

Her lips are hovering just shy of his, still. The space left between them is so veil-thin it’s barely there. She won’t close it, though. She wants to let him feel her there - let him ache for it. Allow the tension to fester, coiling tighter and tighter with every second that ticks by. His pulse kicks - hard.

Sam doesn’t realise he’s leaning in until it’s too late. His rage, his whole resolve, all of it crumbling under the weight of her strategic silence. His fingers tighten their grip again as he feels his frown falter, thinking it’ll hold up the bravado.

She pops the button through its hole, pushing the zip down with her thumb, "Do you want me to touch you, Sam?" she whispers, stroking along the length of him, light and teasing, drawing a sharp intake of breath from his throat. His body reacts before his mind can catch up, his hips pressing into her touch, desperate for more. "To treat you like the big, strong man that you are?"

Her deepening smirk tells him he’s fucked it all up. It’s slow and sly and her eyes are sparkling with a satisfaction that’s almost unbearable.

He can’t think straight.

“Fuck you,” he growls through gritted teeth, but there’s no strength behind it. It’s not a threat - it’s a plea. Even he knows it's lazy.

She laughs, soft and mocking, her hand still stroking him through his boxers, the feeling of him hardening against her hand is captivating.

She leans in, too, grinning against his faltering grip, letting her lips graze against his in a way that goads him so hard that the power trip alone sends heat coursing through her. He remains still, aside from the loosening grip of his hand once more. He’s trapped.

Her eyelashes flutter as she pulls back mere millimetres, eyes intentionally dropping to his lips again before flicking back up, head tilting. Making sure he sees her display of self-indulgent curiosity. He doesn’t know she’s just tossing the bait into the water.

His fingers twitch at her cheeks, grip loosening just as his body instinctively leans closer, reeled in by her. His hand starts to slide, his palm brushing the curve of her hip as if testing the boundary of how far he can take this.

Her lips part, and for a split second, he thinks she might actually let him. That she’s given in, that this isn’t just some cruel game she’s playing at his expense.

She thinks he's a moron.

So she finally yanks on the rod out of the water.

She stills her hand, and whispers against him: “I’ll take the floor.”

Before he can react, her palm presses against his chest in one swift, decisive shove, forcing him back. The movement isn’t violent - she doesn’t need it to be.

By the time he’s recovered his footing, she’s already long gone. The smirk she tosses over her shoulder is pure satisfaction, her steps casual and unhurried, as though she hasn’t just torn him apart and left the pieces scattered across the shitty old carpet.

It takes him a moment to realise she’s actually walking away. His chest rises and falls heavily, the faint scent of her still clinging to the air around him, all warm skin and sweat and something faintly sweet. Infuriating.

The humiliation crashes over him in waves, his pulse pounding. His body burns with frustration, with the bitter taste of defeat. He feels like a fool - a complete fucking idiot.

He had her caged, in his grip, and still, she slipped through his fingers, leaving him humiliated, rock-fucking-hard, and wholly unsatisfied.

He watches her approach the window, his hands curling into fists as the truth sinks in: she never lost control. Not for a second.

He's not about to let that stand.

His tongue drags over his teeth as he exhales sharply, rolling his shoulders back while she struggles against the window lock.

Poor thing. She usually knows how to press the right buttons.

The sound of her irritated huffs provokes him. She’s giving him space - space to stew, to think. Maybe she knows it. Maybe she planned it. The thought only pisses him off more.

“You’re good at this.” He murmurs, letting his voice dip low, zipping his jeans back up, “The games. Smirks. Little looks. Actin' like a fuckin' skank ‘cause you think it makes you untouchable.”

Her fingers still, gripping the latch tightly. She doesn’t turn. She hums contemplatively.

“Untouchable? No.” Her voice is steady. “Smarter than you, though? Sure.”

He can’t help but laugh. “You think you’re smarter than me?”

“No, Sam, I know I’m smarter than you.” She doesn’t bother glancing his way, but her smile - the kind that cuts and soothes all at once - tells him she’s enjoying this. “You huff and puff around, throwing tantrums, like you’re God’s gift to brawn,”

His self-control is hanging by a thread. He knows he should let her have the last word and leave it at that. Walk away. Take a fucking shower and sleep it all off, but he can’t. 

“Brute force doesn’t equate to intelligence. Pushing me against a wall, blah blah, fucking blah. What next? Gonna toss me out the window because I bruised your ego?”

It's a nice thought. He'll give her that.

His presence is a shadow swallowing hers, a heat at her back that she feels before she even registers the sound of his boots crossing the room. She stiffens, her knuckles whitening on the latch as his arm brushes hers.

Before she can snap, his hand replaces hers on the latch, effortlessly forcing it open with one sharp motion. The cool air floods in, trading places with the stale smell of smoke, but she barely notices it. She’s too focused on him - on his arm brushing against hers, the way he leans in slightly closer than he needs to.

His hand is on her hip.

No more beating around the bush - He rams her forwards with a thunk, her palms bracing against the windowsill as his chest pins her in place.

She sighs, performative insouciance, despite her racing heartbeat. “What are you doing?” she manages, her voice sharp despite the subtle wavering to it. He catches it and he bites back his grin.

“Opening the window. Putting my brute force to good use. Can’t have you straining yourself, can I?”

Her teeth grit together. She doesn’t push him away, though.

The hand at her hip digs in, while the other drifts upward, curling around her throat. Firm. Controlling. She stiffens, chastened anger flickering hot and wild in her chest, but her body doesn’t move. It can’t move.

What the fuck is he doing?

“Tell me to get off’a you.”

His chin rests against the top of her head, a display of dominance so casual it makes her blood boil.

“What the fuck are you playing at, Samuel?”

His lips quirk in a dangerous smirk, his confidence snapping into place now that he has her at his mercy. “Making sure you get the last word, sweetheart. Isn’t that what you always want?”

“You’re such an-” she starts, but he cuts her off with a low laugh, speaking through the top of her head so his voice reverberates through her skull.

“What? An asshole?” His voice cuts her off, gravelly and edged with something teasing. “Crass? Reckless? Got any new ones, or are we recyclin’ tonight?”

She blinks, her mind struggling to catch up.

“C’mon,” He chuckles again, “Tell me to get off.” His grip tightens, just enough to keep her in place but not enough to hurt.

Her heart is thundering now - a crack in the armour she’s so desperately trying to keep intact. What’s worse is the heat from moments ago continues coiling low in her stomach. She hates it. Hates that her body betrays her rationale, hates the smugness in his reflection. That's what she tries to tell herself, at least… though, the reality is more that she hates how much she's anticipating his next steps.

“You’re insane.” she mutters, though her voice lacks its usual bite.

“Insane,” he parrots, his lips brushing the shell of her ear, “Insufferable. The list goes on.”

Her lips part, a retort on the tip of her tongue, but it refuses to come out. She’s frozen, her pride locking her in place even as her body betrays her.

She feels his grip shift, the hand at her hip sliding lower, brushing the top of her thigh, coming round further. The deliberate motion pulls a defiant grunt from her throat, her body betraying her mind’s fury. 

“Listen,” His fingertips rub circles into her thigh.

Light, slow.

“I might be all those things,”

Inwards.

Upwards.

“But, I’m not a monster. So…” Her eyes dart downward, caught between the shame of her own hesitation and the maddening awareness of his every movement. He’s quick to correct that, fingers tightening around her throat just enough to force her head upright again. “Uh-uh,” he chides. “Eyes up, huh? Don’t go gettin’ all shy on me now.”

She almost bites out another snarky comment but all semblance of wit flies out of her head as his thumb swipes between her legs along the seam of her shorts.

Shit, shit, shit.

Her thighs tighten together instinctively, mindlessly trapping his hand there, which only makes him laugh into her ear, squeezing the sides of her throat a little tighter. He's such a delinquent, relishing in her hushed breathlessness and all the soft sounds she's trying to keep behind her teeth.

“Last chance.”

She’s livid. Because she thought she fucking had him.

Say something, She thinks. No - don’t. That’s what he wants. Don’t give him the satisfaction. Ah, shit.

Her mind scrambles for control. She can’t tell Sam to stop. To do as she’s told. He’d just love that, wouldn’t he? He’d win. Never let her live it down. But she shouldn’t let him keep going, either - because, then, he's still winning, and worse, she’s letting him.

Panic swells in her lungs, her insides churning.

“All you men,” She starts, pausing to compose herself once she realises how breathless she sounds, “are exactly the same. So desperate for things you can’t have. Pathetic, really.”

Not her best attempt at tugging back the reins. But at least she didn't call him a skank.

His breath skates along her neck when he snorts at her, and she swears she’ll scream if he doesn’t stop - if he doesn’t move - if he doesn’t-

“All the same, huh?” The condescending prick speaks into her temple, hips pushing firm against her so she knows she's got no choice but to reap what she's sewn. “Wonder if that rule applies to uptight little smart-asses like you?” His hand trails back up from between her thighs to her waist, fingers pulling the material of her shorts away from her stomach, smoothing over warm skin as she tries to control her breathing. “In my experience, they're wet in an instant - fuckin' freaks behind closed doors.”

Her embarrassment is flaring white-hot now. He's giving as good as he got.

Her pulse quickens, and she forces herself to glare at him, jaw tight, nails gritting against the glass to keep her hands from trembling. She refuses to give him the satisfaction of a reaction other than that.

Which is a huge mistake.

“Jesus Chr-” He giggles, rubbing against her underwear with an abruptness that has her biting back a mewl. “You’re actually wet, aren’t you?”

“Choke, you piece of shit.”

That makes him snort.

“Choke? What, like this?”

His fingers flex harder against the sides of her throat, applying just enough pressure with each hand to make her body arch involuntarily against him. It knocks her for six, eyes widening as a palm clambers its way from the window pane up to the hand squeezed around her neck.

He hums low in his throat, a sound of mock consideration as her nails scratch at him.

“That's what you want? To see how far I’ll go? Never pegged you for a whore.”

Her teeth grit, rage bubbling as he sneers his way through his sentence. The push and pull of him pressing damp fabric against her isn't helping matters.

Everything’s too much.

The weight of him pressing her down. His hand at her throat. The fucking self-satisfaction on his face as he pinches her clit through her underwear and makes her buck into him.

She wants to snap. To move. To do something. But her thoughts are slipping and it’s all more intoxicating than it has any right to be.

He thinks he’s in control. He’s so damn sure of it, so drunk on his own smug confidence. She can feel it radiating off him.

Her lashes lower. She lets her lips part slightly, and her body slacken against the window. A deliberate show of defeat. A histrionic surrender. His grip eases just a fraction, and she feels the subtle shift of power.

Her breath shudders, her chest heaving in what she knows he’ll mistake for resignation. He leans in closer, his body flush against hers, bulge pressing into her ass adding insult to injury as she tries to maintain concentration.

She's reluctant to admit to herself how galvanising it all is. The weight of him. The heat rushing through her as his fingers stroke and tease. The unbearable closeness-

Nope - no, this can't continue. Not like this, at least. Let him have what he wants. But it'll be on her terms.

He doesn’t expect her to fight back. He’s too caught up in his performance, too sure of his control. The stupid fuck.

She lets him savour it - hell, she lets herself savour it for one, two, three seconds.

Then she strikes.

Her hand shoots up, grabbing his wrist. Hard. She doesn’t pull away. She pushes, twisting his grip just enough to loosen the choke-hold on her throat. Clarity floods her brain, and her elbow drives back - sharp, fast, ruthless. It connects with his ribs, and the sound of his grunt sends a wild rush through her.

He stumbles, grip faltering.

She pivots, twisting out from beneath him in a blur of motion. Her hands shove against his chest, forceful, determined. He doesn’t stand a chance. His balance tips, his knees hitting the edge of the bed.

Sam falls flat on his back.

For a moment, he looks almost comical, sprawled across the bed in stunned silence, blinking up at her as though he can’t quite believe what just happened.

She takes a step forward, her breath still heavy, her heart pounding against her ribs as she looms over him.

And there it is again - that shift in power, slipping through his fingers and landing squarely in hers.

He knows it. She knows it. She’s straddling him before he even has time to process it fully, pinning his wrists hard against the mattress above his head, her knees clamped to the sides of his hips.

“Cute,” the sarcasm comes out low and gravelly. It's… well, it's hot. She digs her nails into his skin out of contempt for the both of them.

“Well,” she ignores him, leaning in close, her nose brushing his. “Congratulations.”

His brow quirks. “Yeah? For what?”

“For proving my point.”

She can feel the heat radiating from him, the steady rise and fall of his chest against hers. His skin is warm under her touch, and the way his muscles twitch beneath her grip sends an undeniable rush through her. Her nails dig into his wrists, and even she isn’t sure if it’s to keep him down or to rile him up any more.

There’s tension beneath his skin, the restrained strength of someone biding their time. He stays still. Watching. Waiting. Curious. His muscles flex in warning, but his eyes glint with that maddening mix of intrigue and amusement. Always testing her. Always waiting to see how far she’ll push.

"And what point is that?"

She's strong. He's watched her kill men twice her size. But still, he knows he could have her flipped onto her back in a fraction of a second if he pushed.

Her line of sight rakes down his face. He looks infuriatingly good pinned beneath her, and it grates at her self-control. His confidence seeps through the cracks of her power, unrelenting even now.

Her body remembers his touch, the bruising force of his hands, and it deceives her reasoning. She’s soaked. Her arousal seeps out to the tops of her thighs as she gives her hips an experimental roll against his.

She watches him swallow, jaw clenching slightly to fix his smirk in place. She leans in, lips grazing his ear as she grinds on him again.

“Men,” her lips drip venom, “are fucking pathetic.”

Her pulse races, hammering through her, but she pushes the doubt down, letting the smirk sharpen into cruelty. The ever-precarious balance continues to tip in her favour as she senses a touch of nervousness in his little huff of laughter.

“And you,” she whispers, forcing him to hone in on what she's saying, “might be the most pathetic of all of 'em.”

“Keep runnin’ your mouth. See where it gets you.”

Her head tilts, eyes flashing smug. “Right where I want to be, obviously.” A bold move to admit it, but they know each other too well to deny what's about to happen. Of course they do. To despise is to know.

Her hands move fast - just quickly enough for his arms to stay where she's had them. The hem of her shirt is over her head in a fluid motion. His eyes flicker, distracted for the briefest second.

“Focus, Samuel,” she snaps, her grip catching his chin, forcing his eyes back to her face. “Getting distracted already? You’ll never keep up like this.”

"What's there to keep up with, huh? A little dry humping? What are you - fifteen?"

His jaw clenches, but he forces out another frustration-tinged laugh. She can see through it, feel the way his body tenses beneath her. She shifts, pressing harder against him, and the subtle change in his expression tells her everything.

His control is slipping.

"What? Desperate to get your fingers into me? Pervert." She raises a brow, palms moving from his face and wrist to trace the tension in his forearms. His muscles twitch beneath her touch, a reminder that this could end the moment he decides to reclaim control.

She sits up, hands pressing flat against his stomach, tucking under his t-shirt and smoothing over hair and warm skin as her fingertips curl into the fabric. She speeds up when she sees him watching her hands work, until she yanks the shirt up and over his head.

She tosses it aside as his eyes narrow. For a moment, it looks like he might flip her over, shut her up, but she restrains him once more. His muscles flex beneath her grip, coiled tight and ready to spring, but she keeps him there, her nails biting into his skin as if daring him to break free. The uneven rhythm of their breaths fills the tiny space between them. The room is too small, too hot, and the tension is making it all the more damn suffocating.

Suffice to say, Sam's had enough of the purgatory.

When he finally moves, it's sudden - violent almost - a flash of motion she doesn’t anticipate. His head snaps forward, and his lips crash against hers with enough force to steal her breath. It’s hardly a kiss; more of an attack, all teeth and heat and fury. She gasps into it, shocked, her body stiffening for a split second before the wave of intensity drags her under.

Her grip on his wrists loosens as his mouth claims hers, teeth scraping against her bottom lip hard enough to sting. The faint taste of copper blooms on her tongue, but the pain only fuels her, sending a jolt of heat through her spine. Bastard.

She collapses into him, matching his ferocity, her hands abandoning his wrists to thread into his hair. She tugs hard, earning a low, guttural sound from deep in his throat that vibrates against her lips. Her nails scrape against his scalp, and she feels him shudder beneath her as one of her hands flies down, scrambling for the metal of his zip. Her nail catches - it snaps. She hisses.

His hands move fast as she's momentarily distracted, one wrapping around the back of her neck, the other gripping her hip. The total one-eighty in power is instantaneous, his body surging up against hers as he pushes back, refusing to let her hold the reins any longer.

She doesn’t fight it. She lets him guide her into the chaos of it. His lips move against hers with bruising intensity, his tongue sweeping past her teeth in a way that makes her snarl back at him. Her nails rake down his shoulders, over the expanse of his bare chest, leaving faint red lines behind - the broken, jagged edge of the one she'd caught seconds ago scratching against his nipple.

He hisses against her mouth, his grip tightening as he shifts his weight. Then, with a sharp twist and a surge of strength, he flips her onto her back.

The mattress creaks as she lands, her breath knocked from her lungs. His body presses down against hers, pinning her in place as his mouth moves to her jaw, then her throat, teeth nipping at the sensitive skin there.

Her hands are on him immediately, roaming over his back, her nails digging into the hard lines of muscle as she arches up against him. Her heart pounds in her chest, adrenaline tangling into a volatile and all-consuming high.

His lips find her pulse, and she swears under her breath, the sound caught somewhere between outrage and need. She bucks her hips up against him, desperate to feel more, to take back some semblance of control.

But he doesn’t let her. He hovers above her. She whines, and it's embarrassing.

"Christ - someone's in heat, huh?" His tone is entirely too nonchalant given what they're doing.

She has half a mind to tell him to go fuck himself, but as the words form in her brain, the sensation of his hand snaking back into her shorts, scooping her underwear aside to stroke a line through her arousal only causes her to shudder. His mouth twists into an even deeper smirk at the atypical shake in her throat, taking it upon himself to make said shake worse by single-handedly shunting the waistband of her shorts down to mid-thigh.

She grunts, grabbing his face, pulling him back down to meet her, and this time, it’s her tongue that presses forward, demanding, devouring.

Teeth smack teeth and he mutters something about how wet she is - that his 'theory's got legs' - she calls him an insufferable cunt. He laughs, tracing circles everywhere but where she most needs it.

She bites his bottom lip, returning the favour from earlier, neither of them able to decipher whose blood they're tasting at this point. It's hard enough to make him pull back, his breath ragged as his eyes lock onto hers.

His patience snaps.

“Fucking animal,” he growls, his grip tightening on her waist.

Before she can call him a hypocrite, she’s flipped face-down on the bed, her arms crushed beneath her chest, as he presses himself down against her back.

Her breath leaves her in a startled rush.

Oh, shit.

Her thighs press together instinctively, and she thrashes, but it’s useless - he’s stronger, and he’s got her pinned. Hard.

She snarls into the sheets, writhing beneath him, but he doesn’t budge. Instead, his arm slides under her, curling around her stomach, palm pressing firm against the soft plane of her lower abdomen before moving lower still.

Heat licks up her spine, colliding messily with her frustration as she stiffens.He enjoys this - holding her down, feeling her succumb.

“Jesus, don’t tell me you’re getting comfortable,” he murmurs, his voice all mock sympathy, breath hot against her ear. His fingers flex, tightening his hold. “That’d be embarrassing.”

She lets out a sharp, breathy laugh, twisted against the sheets, her cheek pressed hard against the mattress. “Oh, please, do keep talking.” she spits, writhing against his grip.

His lips twitch, but he doesn’t give her the satisfaction of a response. Instead, he curls two fingers inside her, her body arching involuntarily into him, a curse slipping from her lips before she can stop it.

He smirks, his free hand sliding up her back, snapping apart the clasp on her bra, before snaking back up just below her throat, leaving her no time to retort. His thumb presses lightly against her windpipe, a warning, as his fingers continue their infuriatingly pleasant pace. She swallows hard as he speaks into the shell of her ear.

"Growing a bit compliant there, doll. Makin' me think this has been on your mind for a while."

With a grunt, she jostles herself up hard, trying to throw him off, trying to wrestle back the last bit of power she can. But he doesn’t budge. If anything, he only presses into her harder, his fingers hooking up in a way that makes her vision blur at the edges and a soft gasp fly out of her mouth.

Her lips part, her breath ragged, eyes locking with his over her shoulder. "You think… th-this means anything?" she spits, but her voice trembles, a touch of desperation creeping in.

He leans in closer, teeth grazing her bottom lip again, but this time softer, taunting. "Not sure." he replies, amused. "Ask me again when I've got my cock in you." He snorts at his own asinine remark. Her nostrils flare.

“Pig.” she manages to grit out, voice hoarse, teeth clenched.

His lips brush her ear, and he chuckles. "Pig? I'm not the one squealin'."

His wrist picks up the pace, causing her face to screw up, expression tightening as his thumb finally nudges her clit - her body seizes; she contracts unwillingly around his fingers, but he pries her back open with a third.

She can’t stop the moan that tears from her throat, her eyes squeezing shut as he watches her start to unravel beneath him with a sadistic grin.

Her body jerks against him as much as it can, the sharp edge of pleasure overtaking the defiance she's clung onto for the past few minutes as she tries to free her arms. She bites her lip hard, refusing to give him the satisfaction of her falling apart beneath him.

That is until she feels his hand pull away from between her thighs with a humiliating squelch, and she tries with all her might to hold back a defeated whimper at the sudden loss of sensation.

She tries to turn her head, impatience tightening her muscles, but he’s got her locked in place, every shift of her body met with an unyielding press of his weight. She can’t see him, can only feel - the absence of his fingers a cruel tease, leaving her thrumming with frustration.

Then she hears him sigh - quiet, almost contemplative. Then the slow drag of him sliding against her, gliding through the pool of slick he’s already drawn out.

Her breath stutters, thighs twitching in trepidation as the warm head of his cock nudges at her clit, pressing into her just enough to make her agonise for more. It’s humiliating, the involuntary clench of muscle, the way her arousal drips down onto the sheets. She hates it. Hates him.

Hates even more that every nerve in her body is screaming for him to keep going.

His chest is flush against her back, the unbearable heat of him sinking into her skin, searing, suffocating, branding, almost, in ways she refuses to acknowledge. She won't be forgetting this feeling for a long time. Neither will he.

His breath skates along the shell of her ear - ragged, smug. He knows. Of course, he fucking knows.

His hips shift, and then - fuck.

The first thrust knocks the air straight out of her lungs. He doesn’t ease in, doesn’t give her a second to adjust - just drives into her in one inexorable push, filling her so deep her fingers claw uselessly at the sheets.

She chokes on the moan that tries to escape, biting down hard on her lip until blood oozes back onto her tongue. She refuses to give him the satisfaction.

“Holy sh-” he grits out, adjusting his grip, one hand firm on her hip, thumb digging into the dip of her spine. “Wasn't expecting such a tight fit - Jesus.” His words cut through the haze as his other hand re-tightens around her throat.

Her eyes screw shut, her pulse hammering away. He shouldn’t feel this good. Given his big fucking mouth, she'd always assumed he was trying to compensate for something. More fool her.

Sam pulls back slowly, the stretch sending unbearable anticipatory pleasure sparking through her veins. Then he slams back in with a grunt, punching a breathless gasp out of her. He holds himself there for a second, feeling her stretch and squeeze around him.

“This really all it takes to get you to shut that whiny little mouth a'yours?"

Her hands fist into the sheets, wishing the same could be said about him, as numbness sets into her arms from being stuck under her own weight for so long, her jaw clenching as he sets a brutal rhythm, every snap of his hips forcing her forward, shunting her deeper into the uncomfortable mattress.

Her body gives in so easily, molten heat spiralling away in her stomach. Ugh, she wants to spit something back at him, but she can’t. He’s fucking the breath right out of her, and all sense of the disgusting room around her is fading, slipping into nothing.

In her attempt to keep quiet, she must make a sound - broken, subservient - damn near wrecked, because he laughs against her sweat-damp skin, pressing her down harder, cock driving deeper, with the intention to bruise - he wants her to remember this.

She groans, long and lewd, her forehead pressing into the mattress, her body traitorously growing more pliant under him. The pleasure is unbearable, tangled with resentment, with rage, with the utmost desire to wipe that smug tone out of his voice.

His hand around her throat scoops her upwards, and she whines through gritted teeth as her back is forcibly arched and her breathing is restricted. Every breath is laboured, his grip unrelenting, pushing her into a tight space between ecstasy and… well, suffocation, probably. Her vision blurs slightly at the edges, but a dull prickling sensation creeps through her arms. Pins and needles.

She feels the slow return of blood flow, the sluggish tingling that signals her strength coming back. The feeling shoots through her hands, all the way to her fingertips. Soon… very soon, she’ll have enough control to move. To shove him off, regain the upper hand, and wipe that smug expression off his face. Or… Or she can let him keep going. Let him use her, drive her deeper into this haze of loathing-stunted pleasure.

“Y’know,” oh what the hell does he want now? “I could stop-"

“Don’t you fucking dare,” she snaps, her voice rough from the pressure on her throat. His laugh vibrates against her back - he calls her a whore again. A cheap insult, but infuriatingly taunting nonetheless.

“Ugh,” she rasps, struggling for air, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’re-”

He cuts her off with another brutal snap of his hips, his fingers tightening around her throat, making her clench her teeth around a particularly loud moan.

“What was that? Couldn’t hear you.”

Her arms twitch beneath her, the prickling sensation turning into something more solid. She can feel the strength returning, knows she can move if she really wants to. But does she want to?

“So fucking full of yourself,” she manages to spit out between gasps, but even as the words leave her lips, she’s not sure if she believes them. She’s close - too close to care about pride right now. Her hands flex against the sheets, feeling the last vestiges of numbness fade. She knows she has a choice to make.

He lets out a low, breathy chuckle, somewhere between a smug exhale than a giggle, his thumb brushing possessively along her jaw. “God, I can think of a great retort for that one,” he murmurs, his focus now on the ripple of her flesh as he buries himself into her again and again. “Bit on the nose, though, even f’me - ha, fuck.”

And then she notices he’s losing it. Rhythm’s all over the shop. Messy. Sloppy. He’s lucky he’s got such a maddeningly nice dick because he’s barely holding it together. And the grip? He’s not pulling her up to control her anymore - he’s using her to hold himself up. Leaning on her, pressing his weight down into her and her shaky arms that are just about holding her up. Idiot.

Ooh, he's close.

He shifts slightly, just enough to adjust his grip on her, and that’s when she moves.

She bucks once more. As hard as she can. A violent twist of her hips, using the last of her strength to wrench herself sideways, unbalancing him just enough to make him swear under his breath as he slips out of her.

She almost mourns the loss… but she certainly won’t waste it.

Her knee plants against the mattress, her body surging with a reckless, desperate twist. He tries to grab her, but she’s already moving, shoving her shoulder into his side, using her full weight to knock him off balance.

And then they’re falling.

They hit the floor hard, tangled, his hand shooting out to grab at her, but she’s already moving.

A scramble, her knee grinding into his ribs. A sharp shove. Teeth gritted. His growl’s met with a vicious laugh.

He reaches for her wrist. Stupid move.

She twists his arm instead. Slams his chest to the floor. Limbs tangled, messy, but she’s got him now. Breathless, glowing with sweat. Arousal. Victory.

“Finally,” she exhales, shaking the hair from her face as she plants her weight against him. “You alright down there, champ?”

He’s seething. Muscles coiled tight - and he’s still fucking hard despite it all. God, he’s pissed, and she's more than aware that she's got limited time to wrangle full control, so she’s already moving, already fumbling for the closest thing-

His belt.

Perfect.

Leather snaps free from his jeans with a crisp thhhhk, click-clack, and Sam’s eyes go wide, rage and panic flickering. He’s still throbbing, still right there on the edge, but everything’s slipping out of his hands. Stone to sand. All power gone. Kaput.

“Nah - no, no, no, no. We’re not doin’ this," His voice breaks, a low growl, a shot of panic. "We’re not-“

His laugh comes out stilted, but it quickly morphs into a guttural growl of frustration as he tries to throw her off. She digs in - knee to his shoulder blade, boot to the small of his back. It’s enough to pin him, pain sharp, getting the job done.

His hands press to the floor in a last-ditch effort to push up. “You arrogant, goddamn- Agh-”

Her hand’s in his hair. Brutal. His face gets shoved to the floor, cheek grinding against the rough, dirty surface.

“Shhh.” The slimy little bitch’s voice is low, condescendingly soothing - all a stark comparison to the way she yanks his arm round to his back. “Quit being so dramatic. You’re gonna get us noise complaints.”

He spits curses, body jerking beneath her, but it’s all in vain. Leather loops once, twice, three times. Tight somewhere between his wrists and his elbows. Just out of reach of his fingers. The buckle clinks. Coffin nailed shut.

By the time he stops thrashing, his breathing’s ragged, face half-planted on the floor, arms bound behind his back.

He’s trapped. Tense. Furious. Fuck this.

"Up you get, big boy." With a grunt of effort, she grabs the fabric of his trousers near the waist and braces herself, leaning back slightly to use her weight. It's not graceful, but it's effective. He resists, of course – a deliberate shift of his shoulders, a tensing of his limbs that makes it harder than it needs to be. She growls in frustration, her fingers digging into his flesh as she pulls. He shifts begrudgingly, his body fighting her for every inch as she hauls him upright.

Another shift, a last-ditch effort to resist, but finally - finally - he’s on his knees, breathing hard, eyes glued to the floor as he fruitlessly tries to tug apart his arms.

She looks down at him, noting the anger in his expression, as he looks over his shoulders to assess the binding situation he's in. Then, she glances at the rigid set of his cock sticking out of his jeans. A grin tugs at the corner of her mouth as she mulls something over, sore lip pulled between her teeth.

“Show me your tongue.”

His head snaps in her direction, eyes shifting up towards her, but he remains silent.

“You heard me.”

The corner of Sam’s mouth twitches.

“You’ve lost your mind,” he mutters, his brows furrowing as he looks up at her with that familiar blend of defiance and derision, swallowing at the sight of her nudity.

She cocks her head, the very picture of patient amusement, and sighs theatrically, as if his resistance is nothing more than a mild inconvenience. “Always the hard way with you, isn’t it?”

Her fingers find his jaw, the pads of them tracing the gentle edge of bone with mock delicacy, dragging down to his stubbled chin and around to the nape of his neck. Her touch is deceptively gentle, lulling him into a brief moment of unease.

He doesn’t like the way it feels. Softness isn’t her weapon of choice; she’s more prone to acting like the human equivalent of barbed wire, so this tenderness sets his nerves on edge. His eyes flicker, skittering over her face as she kneels to his level.

“Ah, shit-”

The words break from him as her fingers knot into his hair, the tenderness of her touch abruptly morphing into a sharp yank that forces his head back. His throat bobs as he swallows, the motion starkly exposed in the taut column of his neck.

Sam tries to shift under her grip, angling his head in an attempt to take control of the movement, but she tightens her hold, keeping him off balance. It’s a deliberate cruelty, that refusal to let him get comfortable.

“Open your mouth,” she demands, her voice dropping. “And show me your fucking tongue, Sam.”

His eyes squint against the sharp tug of her grip, discomfort twisting his features as his teeth clench in defiance. For a moment, it looks like he’s going to push back, to spit some insult at her that will surely make her pull harder. She almost wants him to - any excuse to relish in this a little more.

But then her thumbnail skims over the head of his cock, fingers squeezing him gently, coaxing out a pretty bead of precum as her other hand digs fiercely into his scalp, sending a sharp pulse of debauched pain and down his spine, and he realises - reluctantly - that there’s no winning this battle.

His lips part slightly, the smallest gesture of compliance, allowing a soft shudder of a gasp to slip. Enough to earn a triumphant quirk of her brow, nonetheless. Her smile sharpens, and he hates it. But still, he swallows his pride and lets his tongue dart out briefly as she pumps her hand tight around his slick shaft.

“There he is,” she murmurs, her tone laced with condescending approval. His eyes shut in an attempt to remove himself from the situation - just to focus on the feeling of being jerked off, and she watches him with parted lips of her own.

She exhales slowly, her hand loosening in his hair just enough for him to relax a fraction; her thumb hooks over his bottom lip, prying him open just a touch more, tip of it resting against his teeth.

It’s all a cruel mislead, of course - an opening for her next move. Her tongue rolls around the floor of her mouth, letting herself salivate for a moment as satisfaction rolls through her in waves.

With a sudden, fluid motion, she leans forward and spits. Directly onto his tongue. The wetness lands with an audible sound, catching him completely off guard. His body flinches instinctively, a mix of shock and disgust flashing across his face as his eyes snap open.

Sam recoils, twisting sharply in an attempt to pull away, but her hand tightens in his hair again, keeping him in place.

“Swallow it.”

He gawks at her, blinking, disbelief carving deep into his face. Then, defiant, just as she’s halfway to standing - he spits right back at her.

It lands on her thigh.

Her eyes track the slow slide of it, narrowing, sharp with intent.

"You're gonna clean that up."

It hits him sideways, enough to make him bark out a laugh and tell her she’s fucked in the head. He shifts, rocking back to stand, sick of it- but before he can get far, she’s got him. A sharp yank, fingers curling tight in his hair, dragging him between her thighs as she sits herself on the edge of the bed.

He fights. For a second. Maybe longer.

Jerks against her grip, muscles straining, breath sharp. A tangle of half-formed curses and gritted insults spill from his mouth. He bucks, twists, pushes back all sloppy and desperate. But it’s instinct more than anything.

She holds steady.

Unyielding. Even shushing him at one point, her harsh clawing at his hair turning into a patronising stroke.

Just a roll of her hips - grinding her cunt against his spit-slick lips. His breath stutters, his pulse a frantic hammer. He wants to pull back. He needs to, or he’ll never hear the end of this. But it’s already slipping - crumbling.

And she knows.

That faint, knowing smile. Just enough to gut him.

He loathes her. But right now, he's fucking powerless against the way she holds him, so he loathes himself just as much. The beauty of her contempt, the sight of her; swollen, dripping, so fucking pretty - it unravels him, inch by inch.

Lust coils around his willpower, thorned vines twisting, piercing, digging in deep, holding him there just as her thighs do. Every defiant twitch grows weaker. His fight crumbles, piece by piece, drowning under the weight of his own sickening want.

It’s like being stuck in a weird loop - one second clawing for control, the next watching it slip through his fingers. His mind spirals, blurring need with shame. Clawing for control. Losing it. Over and over again.

A shuddering sigh escapes him. Surrender. His mouth moves before his mind can catch up, tongue finding rhythm, following instinct. Thought dulls. Exhaustion takes hold.

She tastes incredible. Feels incredible. He lets her keep rubbing against his nose, his lips and tongue - hell, he even catches himself looking up at her to see how she reacts - if he’s doing a good job. And worst of all - he can feel his cock twitch as she damn-near suffocates him.

Fuck, he hates her. She sounds so goddamn pretty as she pants and mewls as she uses him like a toy, and he fucking hates her.

Her thighs tighten around his shoulders, boots digging into his back, tugging him in closer. He exhales, sharp, ragged. It fans over her clit and she laughs softly at his final act of dissent before it all caves in.

No words. No insults. Nothing.

Just her control.

And his capitulation.

She’s watching him. Half-lidded, eyes glazed, lips parted - lust-drunk.

Then, her head tilts and her eyes drop between his legs. She streams around his tongue when she sees how swollen he is, reminding herself of how he felt minutes ago.

A sharp tug - his hair burning against her grip as she pulls him away, just for a moment, just to drink in the sight of him - face slick, pupils blown, chest heaving. He barely has a second to catch his breath before she shifts, hands pressing against his shoulders, shoving him back.

He hits the ground with a ragged gasp, body thrumming, limbs heavy. The world tilts, his mind scrambling to keep up, but she’s already moving - crawling over him, her thighs bracketing his head, knees pressing firm into the floor.

His bound arms ache beneath him, shoulders burning, but it barely registers.

Sound, weight, scent - she drowns him in it, a force as consuming as the taste of her on his tongue. It suffocates, but he doesn’t fight it. No, he revels in it.

The pressure of her thighs, the slick heat against his mouth, the way she bears down with full intent - it dilutes the pain, the sheer humiliation, all eclipsed. And God, does he feast.

He laps over her, tracing the edge, tugging at her hardened clit, pulling a raspy cry from her, muffled by her thighs. He pushes his tongue just a little further, breaching and earning another gush as she braces her hands against the floor.

The sharp roll of his tongue, the relentless way he works her over - it’s almost too much. Her thighs twitch around his head, her breath coming in short, hitched gasps, and she knows she’s close. And she won’t give him that victory yet.

She moves because she wants to see his face - wants to see the mess she’s made of him. It’s not enough to feel him unravel beneath her; she needs to witness it. Needs to drink in the sight of him, sweat-damp and dazed, lips pink and slick, chest heaving from the effort of it all.

She lifts herself just enough to glance down, and - oh.

He’s a sight. Pupils dark and glassy, lips parted, jaw slack like he hasn’t quite remembered how to hold himself together. His shoulders twitch beneath the strain of being bound for so long, but he’s not focused on that.

Her legs feel unsteady as she moves, dragging herself up his body, heat still pulsing between her legs as she settles over his chest instead.

His face is slick with her, lips parted, gaze flickering between her eyes and the curve of her mouth, like he’s searching for something -defiance, permission, something he can twist back in his favour. But she doesn’t give him the satisfaction.

Instead, she just smirks, tapping a single finger against his jaw. “Arms hurt?”

His eyes track her, blinking through the mess, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. His lips part, like he wants to say something, but instead, he just watches her. There’s defiance, of course, and something almost like curiosity.

“Arms. Shoulders,” he mutters, still catching his breath, his eyes narrowing up at her, “you try being tied up by a total amateur.”

She laughs lightly, breathless herself. “Could’ve fooled me, you seemed to be enjoying yourself.”

He groans, rolling his eyes, but there’s a hint of something that might be a laugh in there. “Enjoyin’ mysel- Jesus, you really are… not right in the head.”

Her smile sharpens, and she leans down, foreheads touching as she mimics his cadence. "You really are… not handling this well, are you?"

His jaw clenches, a muscle ticking in his temple, but his voice comes out hoarse, lacking the bite. “I swear to God…”

She can’t help it - she laughs. Breathless and sooo giddy.

He shakes his head, hers still resting against his, a mix of frustration and something dangerously close to resignation. “I’m gonna break your damn neck in a min-“

She silences his cheapened fury in an instant - he doesn’t even realise she’s kissing him until she pulls away and his lazy threat slides back down his throat. She tilts her head, lips curving in that smug, infuriating way they always do.

“Get this shit off of me,” he grits, trying to hold onto something solid, cheeks warming despite his best efforts to keep it together.

Her grin spreads, slow and syrupy, and her fingers trace along his jaw, then down to the ink on his neck. Her hips press down, just enough to make him aware of the weight of her against him, soaked folds sliding over him.

“In a minute,” she chides.

He groans, a tongue pressing against his teeth, a mirthless huff of laughter escaping as he turns his head slightly. “Nope. Right now,” he mutters, but it’s more of a complaint than a command, his resolve fraying at the edges, worn thin under her touch.

She hums thoughtfully, as if actually considering it, before leaning closer, lips brushing his ear. "Do you want to finish?" Her tone is casual, light, like they’re talking about the weather.

Ugh. He rolls his neck, a sharp crack that makes her wince, but there’s no real venom left in him. Just frustration, heat, and a grudging acceptance of the situation.

“Thought so,” she murmurs with a grin, and she angles herself against his tip, he doesn’t have the energy to fight it.

She watches him with curious intensity as she sinks down, a soft laugh and long exhale pulled out of her when he winces. Her cunt swallows him whole, searing her in two, boiling his blood, all the heat and tension and rage and exhaustion of this seemingly endless ordeal of being stuck together for weeks on end - making them a mess of tangled limbs and ragged breaths, sounds pulled out of both of them, her moans caught between sharp inhales, his teeth clenched around groans that scrape up his throat.

“Mm-ff-fuck-” he stutters, teeth snagging against his lower lip as he can’t prevent himself from fucking up into her any longer. “Y’know you’re so much more- ha- more tolerable like this.”

“Woah - was- was that a compliment?” She slows, letting him take the reins for a moment.

He laughs, head tilted back into the carpet. “Fat chance.”

“Oof,” She scoffs, leaning back to brace her hands on his thighs. She sits up fully, enveloping to the hilt and he watches himself repeatedly disappear into her, lips parted, trying to maintain a semblance of control over his breathing. Fuck, she loves the way his eyes roam her body - hungry, devouring, darting from the ripple of her stomach to the bounce of her tits, lingering on the flush that spreads over her skin, the sweat-slick glow catching in the dim lamplight. “And to think I was about to give you some… jargon about how nice your cock feels.”

“Wouldn’t want it.” He lies, eyes shut as he smirks to himself. “Servile praise never really did much for me.”

“Hah, well your tongue was acting pretty servile a second ago… ugh, fuck.” She groans, shunted forwards, hands smacking onto his chest to stop her falling flat onto him. He swears as she accidentally pushes more pressure on his arms. His shoulders flex, trying to balance the ache beneath him with the overwhelming pleasure of her on top, the cruel mix of restraint and indulgence that keeps him teetering on the edge.

She should leave him like this. Should keep him right where he is. But when he shifts beneath her, just enough to drag a ragged groan from deep in his chest. Something about it makes her cave. Maybe it’s pity, maybe it’s power, maybe it’s just the fact that she wants to see what he’ll do with his hands freed.

She reaches behind him, fingers working the buckle loose, and the second the belt slips away, his arms fly forward. One hooks around her waist, dragging her down so fast the breath jolts out of her, the other fists into her hair, yanking her into a kiss - clumsy, messy, all teeth and heat and unspent frustration. It’s not tender, not sweet. It’s nothing but a last-ditch attempt to swallow down the sounds she’s already torn from him, to reclaim some semblance of control before she can smirk against his mouth and make him feel even more, as she’d rightly put it, fucking pathetic.

She’s embarrassed him enough. He’s got to keep something to himself. He fucking groans anyway when he feels her clench around him.

She pulls back just enough to smirk. “What was that?”

“Will you shut your fucking mouth?” He doesn’t give her time to answer. Just flips them, shoving her onto her back, thrusting into her with new, unrestrained fervour. She gasps, half-laughing, half-moaning, her nails digging into the back of his neck.

“I get it,” she breathes between ragged inhales. “You - oh, fuck - you’ve gotta hold on to what little dignity you have left.”

His jaw tightens, nostrils flaring. “Be quiet.”

It’s a half-hearted command, lost between a sharp exhale and the way his pace turns frantic, his restraint fraying at the edges.

But she’s not faring much better. Her moans rise in pitch as his hand pushes between them, recklessly rubbing against her clit again - no doubt she’ll have something smart to say about him coming first - she writhes, arching up unto him, tits crushed against him, her thighs twitching around his waist, her nails pressing deep enough to leave crescents in his skin.

She gasps, startled as he presses against her almost painfully, and he takes the opportunity to bite down on her lower lip, just to feel her jolt against him, just to make sure he’s still got some say in how this plays out. But she’s never been one to let him win easily - her fingers twist into his hair, pulling just enough to sting, her hips rolling up against his in a way that makes him groan despite himself. He curses into her mouth, swallowing it down just in time.

Her body tightens beneath him, trembling, and god - he knows she’s close.

So is he.

“Gonna- ah, shit, c- can I cum in you?”

She swallows before she can register what he’s said, eyes squeezing shut as a stuttered cry tumbles out of her mouth - then she’s pulsing - gushing around him. Nails dug into spade, heart, club, diamond, as he fucks her through her climax. Lucky is right.

She feels nothing short of transcendental around him - the only thing putting a stop to him mindlessly telling her this is his own building panic.

“P- shit- fuckin’ answer me.”

Oh, he’s seriously asking? Her thighs tremble as she falls limp under him, nodding into his shoulder as a cock-drunk flash of a smile plasters its way onto her lips.

His hand quickly tangles into her hair as a ragged, stuttering groan resonates in his chest; the jerky, force of his hips against her thighs bruises as he succumbs to his own release. She’s all-encompassed by a sudden warmth filling her up, the intensity of her heartbeat thrumming away in her ears.

He lets out a long huff of air, hand snatched from between them as he braces himself against the ground, breathing heavily.

For a moment, neither of them move, bodies buzzing with the mental and physical aftershock, chests rising and falling out of sync.

He eventually rolls off of her, rubbing a hand over his face.

“What... the hell was that?”

She huffs, staring at the ceiling. “Your poor anger management.”

He turns his head to glare at her, but there’s no real bite to it, just exhaustion and the ghost of humiliation he’s struggling to swallow. "Yeah, well, you’re not exactly a picture of restraint either.”

She shrugs, stretching her arms above her head as she sits up, cheeks flushed, hair matted. “You called me frigid. Had to prove you wrong.” He snorts, full of resentment.

A few more beats of silence, then- “What are you smiling about?”

She bites back the smug little grin threatening to spread wider, rising to her feet. “C-c-c-can I c-c-cum in you?” She stutters, blatantly ribbing, voice pitched in a terrible imitation of his desperation.

His jaw twitches, shuts his eyes, grits his teeth. Ugh. “Your presence is excruciating.”

She clicks her tongue, gesturing to the pearly liquid slowly dribbling down her inner thigh. “Sooo excruciating.”

He groans, shoving a hand through his hair, looking very much like a man questioning his life choices. “Fuck off.”

“I am.” She steps over him, standing on shaky limbs with an obnoxious head tilt as she goes for one of the poorly folded scratchy towels on the dresser. “I’m not leaking all over the floor. Even if you’re sleeping there. I have standards.” He makes a face, brows furrowing, mouth parting slightly like he wants to argue but just… can’t.

She watches the realisation dawn on him with no small amount of satisfaction.

“Jesus Christ.” He groans, flopping back onto the carpet, throwing an arm over his eyes. She laughs as she heads for the bathroom. His hand blindly grabs for his belt, launching it in her direction with an irked grunt.

It thuds against the door as she shuts it behind her. He exhales sharply, rubbing at his jaw. Stares at the ceiling. Fuck.

[lunar-wandering]

Happy Salmon

A short lil LMK fic of just the gang having fun, because man, they deserve a break.

Summary: MK brings a new card game to game night.

Word Count: 1.5k

Read on Ao3

MK slapped the new game he had purchased earlier that day onto the table in the Noodle Shop. Everyone was sitting together, the Noodle Shop closed for this night's round of Family Game Night. Through a lot of bribing and convincing, Macaque, Wukong, and Red Son were joining them for the first time. They’d already played through some of their usual games, and aside from a couple small moments of laughter and over dramatics (when Macaque found out one game hinged on being able to tell who was lying and who was telling the truth, oh, he put his theatre voice on up to the NINES, speaking in the exact same overdramatic fashion at all times, making it impossible to tell if he was outright lying or simply overdramatizing the truth), but thus far, things hadn’t descended into true unrestrained chaos. Yet.

That was soon going to change.

As the others discussed how the past games had gone, MK sat in his chair and took out the game’s rule book to silently read through, knowing that so long as he read it at least once before reading it outloud to the others, he’d be able to articulate it in a way the others would better understand before they played their first practice round.

He didn’t even make it through reading the first sentence before he choked on his own spit, drawing everyone’s attention to him.

“Ya alright, kid?” Pigsy asked, and MK held one hand over his mouth for a moment, in shock, processing, before holding back laughter as he set the rule book down on the table so that the others would be able to look and read it over his shoulder.

“Oh, I think we’re in for it.” MK snickered, pointing at the very first paragraph. “The very first line says ‘this game is best played when standing’.”

A near simultaneous “Oh- no.” went around the table, and MK laughed even harder when he read the next line.

“This game requires you to shout at all times-”

Another, more serious “Oh no.”, mostly said with humor, albeit there were a few looks at Macaque, to see what he thought about it. Noticing the looks, he simply shrugged, waving them away. He could deal with it, it would be fine.

MK, laughing the entire time, ran over the rest of the rules. Apparently, you needed to find someone who was shouting the same action card name as you, perform the action with them, and then discard the card from your personal deck as fast as possible by any means necessary, even if it meant throwing the card over your shoulder or to the floor. There were a total of four actions, high fives, fist bumps, a kinda secret handshake-esque thing where you each lightly slapped the other’s forearm, and- MK nearly wheezed before he read the next bit- swapping places with the other person.

The air was tinged with the anticipation of chaos as they all stood up, moving the chairs they had been sitting on out of the way as MK set out the proper amount of card decks on the table.

“Ok.” MK said, as everyone picked up their own deck. In all honesty, the game sounded simple enough, just find someone who matched what you were shouting and miming the action of, discard your card, and be the first person to get rid of all your cards. It probably wouldn’t take too long, nor be that hard. “Everybody ready?”

There was a series of nods around the table.

“Then three… two…. one…. go!!”

Almost instantly, it was like pure chaos had manifested itself into the room. It was nigh impossible to tell who was yelling what, and MK could barely breathe from the energy as everyone frantically exchanged high fives and fistbumps- MK caught Tang also shouting ‘Switch it up!’, and upon making sure they had locked eyes, both of them took off running to get to the other’s spot on the other side of the table. At the same time, Pigsy and Wukong did the same thing, MK and his mentor almost bumping into each other as they skidded into place, tossing their cards down at the same time. Macaque’s ears were pinned against the side of his head in response to the loud noise, but still even he was smiling and laughing like a maniac as he fist bumped with Mei.

They almost missed it when Red Son shouted that he had won, all his cards gone, it taking him repeating it a solid 3 times, as well as slamming his hands down on the table, before any of the others noticed.

Almost instantly, it was like a pressure had abated, as MK practically collapsed to the ground, holding onto the table with one hand as he struggled to regain his breath, feeling like he had just run an entire race, struggling to take deep breaths in and out around remnant laughter. Holy shit, that had been far more intense than he had thought it would be, and it wasn’t even like he’d done anything difficult!! A couple of the others were in the same state, Mei and Red Son shrugging off their jackets, knowing full well that, with this practice round as an example, they were likely going to end up working up a sweat as everyone decided that they simply had to do multiple more rounds. Macaque rubbed at his ears a little.

“Do you need some headphones, Macaque?” Mei asked, as she went through the process of picking up the cards that had been scattered haphazardly around the table, sorting them back into their own colour coded decks.

“Nah, I’m fine.” Macaque picked up the purple deck as soon as it was finished, absentmindedly shuffling it. “I know what I’m in for this time, chaos isn’t nearly as annoying or painful as the background noise of electric lights.”

“Cheers to that.” MK said, picking up the yellow deck as soon as it was ready. “Alright, everyone ready for round two?”

There was multiple sounds of agreement, and things readily fell into chaos once again.

Round’s 2 and 3 were much like the first, filled with chaos, and a cacophony of noise. The only real difference was that, when MK won in round 3, overwhelmed by the sheer energy the game had put into him, instead of yelling that he had won, he simply shrieked, which ended up being a lot louder and higher pitched than he had been expecting. He covered his mouth apologetically as the others winced, and Macaque covered his ears.

“...Sorry.” Macaque waved him off.

“‘S fine bud, just don’t do it again.”

It was round 6 when things started to go a little downhill.

“Switch it up!!” MK had yelled- looking around the table and straining to tell if anyone had the same action card as him- only to yelp as it suddenly felt like the floor gave out from under him as he plummeted down-

There was a flash of violet, and suddenly he was standing on the opposite side of the table from where he had been before, Macaque standing where MK had previously been.

Oh.

Oh, so that’s how he wanted to play this, then.

Okay.

As soon as Macaque’s shadow-portalling had registered, it was instantly like all bets were off. Obviously, there wasn’t much that could be done in terms of the fist bumps and high fives… but the switch-it-ups were now a competition.

Red Son started using his fire teleportation- very nearly singeing Tang’s arm as he appeared right beside him, Tang only just barely managing to lean away in time. Both Mei and MK started using their enhanced speed to get around the table faster, very nearly hitting each other multiple times.

Wukong, unwilling to waste time with a backflip to summon his cloud, simply decided to outright vault over the table, sending cards flying everywhere with his action, and almost slamming into Macaque as he landed on the other side.

This went on for nearly 2 minutes- fire, green and yellow sparks, as well as purple shadows flickering around the room as the chaos unfolded.

It only stopped when both Wukong and Macaque threw their final cards down on the table and shouted “I win!!” at the exact same time.

Both monkeys immediately paused, before glaring at each other, fur standing on end in a way that MK mentally compared to two cats about to start a fight. Thankfully, they were spared from witnessing another monkey argument as Sandy spoke up.

“Uh, actually, I won about a minute or so ago- but you were all too distracted to notice.”

Everyone glanced over and, sure enough, there were no cards remaining in Sandy’s hands.

“I also think that, maybe, we should switch to a different game.” Sandy held up a nearly burnt card, using it as an example that had everyone visibly wincing. “Y’know, before we accidentally destroy Pigsy’s shop.” 

…Okay, so maybe things had gotten a little out of hand.

…Happy Salmon quickly became regulated as a game to only be played outside, or in Wukong’s house. 

[skellebonez]

You write Tang and Red's dynamic so well! Could I ask for more Tang being a wholesome dad to Red with 7 please?

Tang and TLT Red are really interesting to write like this, I could write 500 prompts of them interacting! I decided to go slightly farther back in the timeline for this one. Like. VERY far back in the timeline. So far back this is how Tang decided he was dad now back.

I am apparently incapable of not writing things that are nearly full length fics right now. This is as long as a chapter of SFAUT.

“Do you need anything else?”

The new routine... or was it a habit? Both? Whatever it was,Tang had decided it was alright, despite the fact it had first started out of a mixture of suspicion and curiosity. How could it not have, with one of the first and most stubbornly determined enemies that had been fighting MK showed up at Pigsy’s Noodle’s after hours with two Bull Clones holding onto the side of his truck, haphazardly packed with boxes they could see through the windows and holding an injured arm?

“As of 6 hours ago I am no longer assisting my parents” was the explanation Red Son had given, short and to the point, when they had all raised their weapons (makeshift in the case of himself and Pigsy) at the sight. No one had believed him at the time, but apparently something made MK stop the demon when he made to leave without another word.

----------

“What do you mean? Why the boxes?” MK asked, gripping onto the back of the demon’s coat. He let go and shrunk his staff when he tugged at it and Red Son took in a sharp breathe of pain. Clearly he didn’t think Red Son was a threat with his injury, “What happened to your arm?”

“My shoulder was dislocated,” Red Son explained in shocking honesty at the last question, turning to look at the group once again in only slight hesitation. Tang realized that he looked... tired. His eyes were red and irritated, it reminded him of how MK’s eyes looked when Pigsy first taught him how to cook and he got a face full of hot broth steam in them. “There was a... complication with some demons that wished to do business with my parents. They have been dealt with.” Tang did not miss how MK’s eyes widened in realization. He must have known was Red was referring to.

“Shouldn’t that be in a sling?” Tang asked without thinking, earning a tight glare from Pigsy and Mei as he lowered the bowl he was brandishing back to the countertop. “What? It’s what you’re supposed to do!” Something was... off. Tang didn’t know what, but something didn’t feel right about this. And not in a ‘this is secretly a trap’ kind of way.

Red Son looked at him oddly, then back down as the arm he cradled in his uninjured one before addressing MK again with an aggravated sigh. “I supposed you’ll find out eventually, you’re persistent like that. I have a... safe house, I suppose you’d call it, hidden away in the mountains far outside the city. Not even my parents know about it. I’m going to stay there. I suppose you could consider me defected to your side from now on, should a large enough problem arise.”

“Did something happen with your parents?” Tang asked, taking a step forward with a raised eyebrow and ignoring the yells of “what are you doin have you lost your marbles!?” from Pigsy and the shocked look from Mei.

The odd look was back on Red’s face, mixed with surprise and anger this time. “NO.”

“Because people usually don’t run off to a safe house their family doesn’t know about and defect to the other side of a conflict unless something happened.” Tang emphasized each of the most important parts of his accusation carefully, hoping that at least MK would pick up on what he was hinting at. The silence behind him told him Pigsy seemed to. “Especially with not a truck packed with what looks like everything they own, and double especially when they take the time to stop to visit someone they hate to tell them goodbye.”

“It-!” Red started to snap, a shaky sigh leaving him as he calmed himself. “It’s none of your concern.”

“Did your parents hurt you?” MK asked softly, a smattering of horror under-toning his words and tang could head Mei choke back a noise behind them. It wasn’t an angry one, and definitely wasn’t happy. Pigsy remained quiet.

“NO!” Red snapped  with his hair ablaze as he turned back to MK, hissing in pain as he jostled his arm. “They wouldn’t-! They-! Not... not like that.” His temper and and hair and voice fizzled out like someone dumping a bucket of water on a campfire and Tang did not miss the implications of those words, whether Red had meant to let them slip past or not.

“You need medical attention,” Tang stated, putting his hand on Red Son’s good shoulder gently. Red Son tensed under his touch. “I cannot in good conscious let you leave without that at least, especially not if you’re telling the truth about not fighting us anymore.”

“Why?” Red asked, odd look back. Tang realized it was confusion. “I know I just said I’m not your enemy, but why are you offering to help me?”

“Because I want to.”

----------

Exactly WHY that managed to work, Tang still didn’t know. But for some reason his words seemed to have struck a chord with Red Son and he agreed to have his Bull Clone driver follow them (them being MK, Mei, and Tang as Pigsy still had to manage the Noodle Shop) to the secret base (or the Sea-Crate HQ) at Sandy’s.

Sandy was shockingly understanding, welcoming him onto his boat for treatment with just the barest explanation. It probably helped that half of Sandy’s cats immediately flocked to the fire demon to run against his legs and his only reaction to them was a hesitant look down as he tried not to step on them.

Red was unusually quiet the entire time, as if he was trying to understand what exactly was happening around him. Mei tried to make snide remarks to get a rise out of him, to just growls and glowers. MK tried to talk to him about anything, mostly Monkey King related questions, but again he got the same reaction. Mei eventually changed her tactic to talking about tech and that got at least some responses from Red. Eventually they just watched as Sandy patched the demon up and all of his cats piled on top of him to the confusion and amusement to everyone.

It wasn’t until Sandy had properly patched Red up that Tang suggested he just stay at the base for the night instead of heading out that everyone not named Red Son seemed to realize what Tang’s real plan was.

Keep Red Son close just in case. Tang did not think Red was lying, not in the slightest. He was acting too off for this to be an act. But he knew that not everyone on Team MK would agree with him. After all, it was easier to keep an eye on your enemy if he was right next to you. But Tang did not think he was lying. Tang thought he needed help.

He seemed at least somewhat impressed by the base but didn’t really say much. Sandy had brought up the important question of “what if DBK and PIF find out you are here?”, to which Red explained that if they discovered he was there they wouldn’t just storm the place and drag him home given demon customs and the like. Using the safe house instead of his penthouse (and wasn’t it a trip to learn he had a penthouse) was more for him to not have to deal with their attempts for as long as possible.

MK and Mei had jokingly told him he owed them for letting him stay and while their reaction to him agreeing to pay them back whatever they liked was amusing, it made Tang wonder exactly what kind of situations Red Son was used to. Where he would have to pay everything done for him back. He seemed to accept their rebuttal that he just needed to promise not to light anything on fire easily enough.

“Do you need anything else?” was his final question to Red before they left him be, trusting the security system and Sandy (and the ocean) to handle anything that may come up. He placed a hesitant hand on Red’s head, something he did for MK and something he hoped would not offend Red Son. He felt the heat of the fire that would flare up his hair. He could feel it fluctuate, heating and cooling and heating again in response to something. Fascination couldn’t be erased from Tang’s face.

Red looked at him with that odd confused look again and said. “No... but... thank you?”

Red Son announced in the morning that he would be staying and would join Team MK.

----------

“Do you need anything else?” Tang asked, placing his hand on Red’s head. This had become... something. Something he just did whenever he could. A way to gauge how Red was feeling and a way to show him he trusted him given how easily his hair flared up. As well as a way to show he did care. They ended the day the same way every time, the question and the gesture one after the other.

“No, but thank you,” was the reflexive response from the fire demon. It was said so much easier now, so much more honestly. Sometimes he would answer with an affirmative, long ago hesitant but now just as easy as saying the sky was blue.

Tang couldn’t have been more proud of Red Son. He was still the proud and loud and showoff-y and fiery tempered demon he always was, but he was also trying to show he wanted to change. Wanted to be a hero now. Red was still unsure of a lot, but he seemed to be molding himself into the entire team well. Even Pigsy had quickly taken a shine to him after he offered to fix his kitchen appliances!

Tang also did not miss how he was starting to forget to call him Mr. Tang now, at very rare times. Whether it was because of MK calling him something else or just how Red Son felt, the scholar wasn’t sure. But hearing Red Son stop and correct himself with a “thanks d-MR. tANG!” was also something. Tang had decided that was alright as well.

DBK, on the other hand, didn’t seem to think it was given his reaction in that last fight when that happened. But Tang couldn’t rightly care what he had to say about it.

[kedreeva]

Eddie/Steve Sentinel AU

(My askbox is open for ST prompts!)(Previous Prompts)

For those that don't know what a Sentinel AU is, it's from a 90s TV show by the name "The Sentinel" and the wikipedia read is a lot of fun, but I'll explain it some here too, with liberties taken. Every fandom deserves a little Sentinel AU... as a treat. So when my best friend asked me... well! Enjoy!

-----

Steve wakes in a cold sweat, the overwhelming iron taste of blood in his mouth. He struggles away from the images of demobats grabbing at his flesh, of the feel of a serrated tail wrapped around his throat. He tries to shut out the memory of their shrieking, the acrid scent of them, and falls deeper into the taste of his own blood.

He’s choking on it. He’d dying.

All he can taste is the metallic tang of blood.

The thick, revolting flavor of it taking over everything else.

He cannot hear the screams, see the bats, feel them.

There’s only blood; red blood cells, softer in flavor than the white, the mild plasma that tastes almost eggy at this level.

He scrabbles for anything else, but there’s nothing.

He’d drowning. He’s dying.

He cannot get out.

He’s dying.

------

Robin knocks frantically on Steve’s front door while Eddie mills around in the garden behind her. “Steve!” she shouts, using the flat of her palm to slap faster at the door. Not as loud, so she switches back to the side of her fist. “STEVE!”

“Hey,” Eddie says, under her racket. “Key.”

She whirls and finds him holding a small stone statue of a- a snail, she thinks, and in his other hand is a small, brass key. She snatches it from his grasp and attacks the door.

“He’s gotta be home, his car’s here,” she says as she fails to get the key in the hole.

He’s gotta be here. He’s gotta be okay.

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Eddie says mildly.

“Of course you would say that. You’ve skipped class and, like, jobs, and- and why can’t I open this fucking door,” she snarls, and then backs up and holds herself very still and tense for a second.

“I’m going to forgive you for that,” Eddie says with a snort, “because you’re worried.”

“Steve doesn’t skip work,” Robin tells him, and then calmly sticks out the key to the keyhole. It slides in and she twists the handle, following the door open like she’s a part of it.

She’s haring up the stairs to Steve’s room before Eddie can even cross the threshold. The door to his bedroom is open, so she bursts inside and freezes when she sees Steve in the bed. He’s lying there, eyes open and completely, utterly still. Her heart seizes up, strangling a broken sound from her before she sees him blink, and relief nearly crashes her entire system.

“You asshole!” she exclaims as she tries to relax, crossing the room to his bedside. “You scared the shit out of me!”

He doesn’t answer, or move, just continues to stare blankly up at the ceiling. She can hear Eddie climbing the stairs as she leans over Steve and touches his arm gently. He doesn’t respond at all. She pinches him, to the same effect. She pinches him harder just as Eddie peeks into the room.

“He’s- something’s wrong,” Robin says weakly.

Eddie steps in further and cranes his neck a little to peer at Steve without getting too close. “He’s breathing, right?”

“Y-… Yeah,” Robin says, after checking quickly. “It’s like he’s asleep.”

“With his eyes open.” Eddie shakes his head. “Maybe he had, like, a stroke or something? We should call an ambulance.”

“We can’t just call an ambulance,” Robin says, stricken. “If it’s… upside down shit, we can’t call a hospital. I don’t have the number for the lab, do you?”

Eddie shakes his head and then jumps, and reaches to pull a battered wallet out of his back pocket. “Actually, I might.” He extracts a tattered business card with a hand-written number on the back of it, and passes it to Robin.

She snatches it up. “Okay. I’ll call Owens. You need to call Nancy and the others, get them all over here.”

“Wait, what? Robin!” Eddie calls after her as she bolts for the nearest phone. “I don’t know Nancy’s number!”

“Then call Dustin!” she tosses over her shoulder, and heads down the stairs.

-----

“Well,” Owens says, after the latest head shake from his pet scientist, “we’re not finding any residue from the other dimension. His wounds have checked out as far as we can tell, and he’s not- he’s not braindead.”

“Well he’s clearly not okay, either!” Nancy spits venomously. Eddie’s glad he’s on this side of her ire.

“I know, I understand your frustration, but we’re going to have to do some more testing, see if we can figure out what’s wrong with him, and if any of you are at risk of something similar. Any of you felt… weird?”

“Weird!” Dustin exclaims in disbelief. “What the hell is that supposed to mean? Do we feel like we might be falling into a waking coma?”

“He’s not-”

“-in a coma,” the kids all chant together, and Owens nods like he should have expected that, one hand sweeping as if they’ve just proved his point for him.

“Can we see him, at least?” Dustin asks. It sounds like a demand, but Eddie’s pretty sure he’d stay in the hall if Owens told him to. At least for now.

“Sure, kid,” Owens says, stepping aside so the group can shuffle back into the room.

Eddie lets everyone in before him, catching Robin’s eye as she passes. She looks like she’s going to be sick, and he wishes he could tell her it’s going to be okay, but he has no idea. The Upside Down had nearly taken his life last year, and the thought of facing it again still makes him feel skittish. So much for bravery, but it was fucking scary and he’d done it then and he’d probably do it again if they have to, so he thinks he deserves a break for feeling terrified at the prospect.

“Did you check his mouth?” Dustin asks from beside the bed.

“His mouth?” Owens asks, looking at his scientist, who shrugs. “No, it seems we did not check his mouth, why?”

“There’s blood,” Dustin says, pointing. Eddie leans to see, and sure enough, there’s a minuscule smudge of blood at the seam of Steve’s lips.

“There’s blood,” Owens says at his scientist, aggressively, and then gestures toward the gear they’d carried in. They’d been afraid to move Steve out of the room, not sure what it would do to him if they couldn’t tell what was happening. He turns back to the group. “It’s possible he had a seizure, maybe he bit his lip or his tongue.”

Eddie barely hears, staring at the little smear of red, the open-eyes, the slack expression. The waking coma as Dustin had called it. He’s never seen it in person, but he knows it, the haunting familiarity of it, down to his bones, down to his soul.He swallows and leans over the bed, bracing himself with one hand, and touches Steve’s cheek. No reaction at all from Steve, but the touch echoes inside of Eddie.

“What are you doing?” hisses Nancy, and Owens grabs for him but Dustin knocks his hand away.

“Eddie,” Dustin says. “You’re not thinking…?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, absently. He uses a finger to pull Steve’s chin down a little, enough to part his lips and see teeth stained in fresh blood. He hasn’t even tried to swallow any of it, to clear his mouth. “Shit.”

“Boys,” Owens says, like a question.

“You know how to test it,” Dustin ventures.

“I know, just- shut up for a minute. Everyone.”

Eddie steels himself and maneuvers until he can just barely push past Steve’s lips, touch a fingertip against his tongue to introduce a fresh taste, something other than blood. Steve’s eyes close, a shudder twitching at his frame as he breathes out, the first reaction he’s had since Eddie and Robin had first found him. Eddie pulls back like he’s been shot at, hand tingling.

“Fuck.”

“What’s going on?” Robin asks, looking between the two of them like she’s going to climb over the bed and strangle them both if someone doesn’t start explaining what's wrong with her best friend.

“It’s not the Upside Down,” Dustin says, catching Eddie’s eye. He’s the only one Eddie had ever told. The only one that had stood a chance at recognizing the same symptoms Eddie just had. “Steve’s a Sentinel.”

“A what?” Robin says at the same time Mike says: “No way. No way, man. Steve?”

“Yes, Steve,” Dustin snaps, twisting to look at Mike.

“What’s a sentinel,” Max asks, exasperated, before they can begin to argue about Steve.

“It’s a person with vastly superior senses,, like practically a super power,” Nancy says, causing everyone to gawk at her. She shrugs one shoulder and adds: “I found out about it when we were trying to help Max. Sometimes one of a Sentinel’s senses gets so overpowering that they actually get lost in it, and it sends them into a- a sort of waking coma. If that’s what’s going on, then he needs a Guide.”

Eddie’s eyes close, lips pursing.

“Eddie,” Dustin says, wheedling.

“Eddie?” Robin prompts. She’s already caught on, then.

“Shit,” Eddie cusses under his breath, and then: “Shit, shit, SHIT. Fuck.” He balls up his fists near his head and then releases them. “Absolutely fucking not.”

“A party member needs you,” Dustin says firmly.

“He can’t- he-” Eddie stares down at Steve, lips now widely smudged with blood, breathing even and eyes still open, empty.

“Eddie?” Nancy says quietly, drawing his attention up. “Are you… a Guide?”

He nods, feeling sick. His mother had been one, when he was little. She’d taken off to Guide a Sentinel, had never come back. He’d sworn he wouldn’t do it, wouldn’t follow in those footsteps. Wayne had tried to teach him, but Wayne hadn’t know any better than Eddie had, hadn’t known more than Eddie’s mom had already taught him by then. Eddie had spent his life wanting nothing to do with this garbage, and it had somehow snuck right in the front door.

Everyone’s looking at him, though, so he sighs and closes his eyes to get away from them. “It’s not… exactly… casual,” he bites out. “Sentinels get… they don’t just change Guides, and I’ve never- I might mess it up, I’ve never done it before. I’m just supposed to make that decision for him? Possibly bind him to a fucked up Guide?”

“Well, it’s not like he can choose right now,” Dustin says, barbed. “So, are you going to do it or are you just going to let him die?”

“Die!” Robin exclaims.

“Hey, hey,” Owens says, holding his hands up, splayed, to tone down the volume. “No one is dying today. Young man, do you know of any other Guides nearby that we might call upon, if you don’t want to do it?”

The thought of someone else doing it only makes Eddie feel sicker. He’s not sure how much of what he feels is fear of messing up and how much is bone-deep rage at the thought of anyone else touching Steve. He’s not sure either feeling isn’t being caused by being this close to an active Sentinel in need of him.

“I’ll do it,” he snarls finally, because the thought of someone else doing it makes him angrier than the thought of messing up scares him. “Everyone else needs to get out, though.”

He’s sure he can wake Steve up from this, he just has no idea how Steve will come out of it- softly or violently or terrified… broken, because Eddie doesn’t do it well enough. He’s also just… he’s embarrassed, for himself on some level for his inexperience, but definitely for Steve, for them both to be as vulnerable as they’re about to be. He doesn’t want Steve waking up and being immediately subjected to the knowledge that everyone saw him like this.

Dustin stays until the last second, then gives his shoulder a squeeze and leaves as well. He peeks around the door the second before he closes it, and Eddie gives them all a minute to move away. They won’t all go- Robin and Dustin and probably Nancy will stay in the hall. It’s enough.

Gingerly, Eddie takes a deep breath and a seat on the edge of the bed, and reaches to brush his fingertips over Steve’s wrist. There’s no reaction, but he hadn’t really expected it to be that easy- he’d had his finger in the guy’s mouth a second ago and it didn’t wake him.

“Steve,” he says, quietly. “I’m uh… I’m really sorry about this.”

He wraps his fingers around Steve’s wrist more securely, and begins. “Steve, this is Eddie. I’m… I’m going to be your Guide, I’m going to help you out of your senses.” He keeps the words steady, measured, and pushes them forward. “Right now you’re focused on your sense of taste. You’re tasting blood, your own blood, and I’m guessing you got lost in it because of a nightmare. That’s going to happen again, but I’m going to be here for it, okay? From now on, I’m going to be here. But what I need from you now is to hear me.”

Steve’s wrist trembles in his at the words, hands shaking, and Eddie feels… something. It feels cheesy to call it a spiritual connection, the way his mother had, but maybe… primal. Animalistic, perhaps, but in a basic not a base way. Simple.

“Good,” he says, the corner of his lips curling when Steve’s eyes close at the single word. Alright, then. In for a penny, in for a pound, he supposes. “You’re doing very well, Steve. I need you to keep being good, keep trying to get to me. Focus on my voice. Follow my words. Hear the pitch, the timbre, the cadence. Feel the vibration of it in the air. I’m calling to you, Steve. I’m calling you.”

Steve’s adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, and Eddie feels a little thrill. It’s working. This is the terrifying part. A first fugue state like this is the most dangerous, shouldn’t even be attempted by a new Guide alone. Someone,anyone, should have been preparing Steve for this, he should have had a Guide picked out ages ago. They should have had an experienced Guide ready to help both him and his chosen Guide through it.

Not that it matters; this is what they have. Steve doesn’t know and Eddie isn’t prepared, butSteve can hear him now, he’s pretty sure, which means he stands a chance at getting him out of it. Unfortunately, this is the point that runs the risk of just shifting which sense he’s lost in, if he can only get Steve to hear him. A Sentinel lost in a new Guide’s voice is so, so much harder to pull out of it.

Split their focus, his mother had told him. He barely remembers. He hopes it’s enough.

Eddie loosens his grasp on Steve’s wrist, and slides his hand up Steve’s arm, applying pressure evenly until he reaches the shoulder.

“You’re doing so good, but I need you to split your senses again, Steve,” he says as he does it, giving Steve’s shoulder a hard squeeze. “I need you to feel my hands. I need you to listen to my voice, and feel my fingers, and my palm. Feel the pressure.”

He drags his hand down Steve’s chest, over the scars on his belly. Swipes his thumb gently over the edges of them, sure that the new skin is just as weirdly sensitive-not-sensitive as his own, produces the same weird gut-twinge as sticking a finger into his belly button too deep.

“Feel my thumb. Hear my words. Feel my skin, the fingerprint lines.”

He presses his fingertips just above Steve’s hip bone where there’s still skin, lightly at first, and then deeper. Steve makes a small, pained noise, his face scrunching up, and Eddie feels relief flood through him. He’s feeling it.

“Good, Steve, that’s good, you’re listening, you’re following. Come on, now,” he coaxes, adding his other hand to Steve’s arm as he moves the first past Steve’s hip, over his boxers and down his leg. “Hear me, feel me. Relax your senses, let go of the taste of blood, that’s not for you right now. Can you do that for me, sweetheart?” He winces, eyes closing. Stupid. “Steve.”

Steve licks at his lips, clearing the blood, eyes opening even though they are still far away, glassy and unfocused. He can feel Steve… reaching for him, trying to anchor himself in all the senses that contain him. Eddie breathes out and in. Almost over.

“That’s right, there you go, good boy.”

Steve’s eyes tick in his direction when he says it, and Eddie leverages himself up a little so he is leaning his hands on Steve, pressing heavy upon him, as well as being in his line of sight. His hair drops down, framing his face a little dramatically, but Steve’s eyes tick again to meet his.

“Hey there, Sleeping Beauty,” he greets. “You see me? You hear my voice still, feel my hands? You’re coming out of a sensory fugue. I need you to focus on me, on coming back out of your own head, out of your sense of taste.”

Steve blinks, and his brow furrows a little in confusion, and Eddie’s breath rushes out of him at the recognition.

“Eddie.” It sounds like relief.

“Yeah, buddy,” Eddie says, so gently, as he leans back, taking pressure off his hands on Steve. “How’re you feeling?”

“Bad,” Steve says, closing his eyes.

“Nuh-uh, keep them open,” Eddie says firmly, reaching up to tap at Steve’s cheek with flat fingers. “You need to use all your senses for a few minutes, until you’re actually evened out again.”

“What?” Steve asks, but he does open his eyes, turns his cheek into Eddie’s palm more fully, pressing.

Eddie blows out a breath and withdraws his hand to rub at his own face. This cannot be happening to them. Of course it would happen to them. “I have some uh… bad news?” he offers weakly. “Do you know what a Sentinel is?”

“No?” Steve says, looking at Eddie’s hand like he might perish if it keeps on Eddie instead if Steve. Eddie puts it back on him, resting over Steve’s hand instead of his cheek.

“They’re… Well, you know how people think humans survived all the dangers of prehistoria because of, like, thumbs?” Eddie asks carefully, and Steve nods but looks confused still. “Not to discount thumbs, but a lot of humans survived because some of them were born with way, way, way better senses. They could see or hear or smell or feel stuff that no one else could, and it let them sense when danger approached. They guarded settlements, and allowed them to prepare for bad things. I guess you uh… you must be from one of those bloodlines, and… your… interdimensional adventures may have triggered you to come into your senses.”

“Come to my senses?” Steve says, confused.

“Nope, no, that’s different,” Eddie says with a smile he only partially manages to hide. The confusion, the pliancy, will wear off in a little bit. “Not sure that’s ever going to happen. For any of us. No, you came into your senses. Or one sense, anyway. I’m guessing your major sense is taste. You got lost in it.”

“Blood,” Steve says faintly. “All I could think about was the blood, the taste of it in my mouth.”

Eddie nods. “Makes sense. Bit your tongue during a nightmare and it was too much.”

“I don’t- I don’t understand. What do you mean got lost?”

Eddie runs a hand through his hair and scratches at the back of his neck. “It’s like… well, you’ve had panic attacks before right?” When Steve nods, Eddie gestures. “It’s like one of your senses having a panic attack. Except you can’t get out of it by yourself. It doesn’t go away on its own. You need a Guide.”

Steve looks up at him and then struggles up into a sitting position. He absently touches his wrist where Eddie’s touch still lingers, and glances around the room. “… You? You’re the Guide? My Guide?”

“Unfortunately,” Eddie says, trying to sound sympathetic. He is pretty sure that Steve Harrington doesn’t want to be intimately linked with Eddie “the freak” Munson, even if they have been tentative friends for while now. “But, you’re still new, like you’re still… there’s time to switch. You should have had your Guide picked out years ago. I have a number at home, we can call. There are other guides out there, y’know, you can get someone else.”

“Someone else?” Steve echoes, brow knitting. “You… don’t want to?”

Eddie swallows. God, he wants to. It’s just- “You deserve to get to pick,” he says softly, looking away. “I’ve never done it, I don’t really know what I’m doing, and it’s kind of uh… a full time gig. Live in, you know? And that’s… that’s hard even when you like the other person.”

Steve’s brow knits further. “You don’t like me?”

“No, I do,” Eddie says. He’s messing this up. He sighs. “It’s just, you…”

“You think I don’t like you?” he asks, cottoning on.

“I think you don’t know me like you should, to pick me,” Eddie says, heart twisting up for Steve. This is going to suck so much for him. Eddie really is going to throttle his parents for not teaching him any of this if they knew. He hopes they didn’t. “I’m- I’m loud and weird and-”

“I’m best friends with Robin and Dustin,” Steve interrupts. “You think I don’t like loud and weird?”

Eddie’s belly does a little flip, shaking up all the butterflies and sending them into a riot. “Do you?”

“I do,” Steve says. “And if… if you… I don’t really want to go find some complete stranger to live with, if it can be you instead. If you’re okay with it, I’m good with it. I’m glad it’s you, in fact.”

“Oh,” Eddie says.

Maybe he’s the one that’s slipped into a fugue state now, because this cannot be happening. He never thought he’d actually be dragged into being a Guide in the first place, had avoided it as best as he could. Certainly he cannot lucky enough to be found by a Sentinel he actually, desperately, wants.

He can be normal about this.

“So…?” Steve prompts gently, because Eddie never answered.

Failed step one, he thinks, so he smiles and tries to be normal. “Uhm, yeah, I mean, yeah, man.” He shrugs a little, smile turning genuine when Steve relaxes. “I can be your Guide. I’d like to, in fact,” he echoes Steve.

“Good,” Steve says, leaning back against the headboard and letting his head thunk back against it.

He looks fucking exhausted, Eddie thinks, wondering how long he was in that state. Getting lost used to kill Sentinels, if they didn’t find Guides quickly enough. Eddie’s never been so grateful for Robin being stubborn, making him drive her over, insisting on checking. Calling in the cavalry immediately.

Robin seems to hear she’s being thought about, because her voice filters in from the other side of the door when they’ve been quiet too long. “Did it work??”

Eddie grins as Steve laughs, and something within Eddie relaxes. They’re gonna be okay. They’ll be okay as long as they can still laugh.

“It worked,” Steve calls. “I’ll be out in a minute, just let me get dressed.”

Cheeks pinking again, Eddie hops off the side of the bed and stands, finally breaking contact fully. “I’ll just- I’ll leave you to that then.”

“Hey,” Steve says, shifting like he’s going to try to grab for Eddie even though he doesn’t. “Um… thanks, man. You really did save my ass this time.”

Eddie searches his face for some kind of joke, but there’s nothing but that strange, quiet earnestness he’s come to associate with Steve. He smiles, nods once, and heads into the hall to report to the others that Steve’s going to be just fine.

[red-letter-imagines]

heyy there!! can you do another part of the “reaction when you suck on their tongue but with Mikey, Rindou and mitsuya?

You have no idea how happy I am that my work's so well-received! So there's been more than one request for a part 2, but for different characters. This little dove, however, is the first one so I'll be doing this, then the other characters in later parts, alright? Alright.

Now *cracks knuckles* let's begin!

Reaction When You Suck on Their Tongue Part 2 (Sano Manjiro, Haitani Rindou & Mitsuya Takashi)

Sano "Mikey" Manjiro: (Bonten! Mikey)

You sure you don't need a chaser with that? Sanzu snickers from across you, pupils already blown wide from the pills he'd taken half an hour ago. The pure vodka sears your esophagus, a pool of liquid fire in your abdomen. Tears are springing up your eyes and you wince. Truly, it had been a horrible idea on your side to make bets with Sanzu, of all people. That man has had every drug imaginable enter his system and three overdoses later, is still standing. You should've known better than to order Spirytus, but Sanzu has a way of getting under anyone's skin, especially yours.

He knew you had more than several bones to pick with him after he coaxed Mikey into accepting a million-dollar drug deal with some shady Western cartel. Throughout Bonten's history, it was one of the more careless business trades you'd ever gone through, one that put Mikey in a precarious position. The cartel demanded Mikey's audience for the deal to be done, and while Sanzu reassured you that nothing would happen to their "King", that never stopped you from worrying your head off.

A part of you wanted the drugs and alcohol put him into a coma; you just had to hold your liquor until then. Yet this poisonous bastard is still standing, while you barely have the confidence to stand up straight. He's fucking crazy.

You eye the remaining shot glass. It's rim and ridges bounce the bright glow of the chandeliers above you, its crystal clear contents an elegant deception to those unaware. You suck air through your nose and grab it. Before you could down the last drink of your life, a slender hand slides to your shoulder.

You turn to face Mikey's lilac-rimmed gaze, the darkness swimming within sucking you in like a vacuum. Once he sees the flares of red across your cheeks and down your neck, his lips curl a little. Mikey hates alcohol with a passion; he told you early on that he abhorred its bitterness and how it hazed your mind.

Instantly, you cave under his disappointment, and none-too-gracefully drop your shot glass back on the counter. You barely had time to utter his name before he cups your cheek and kisses you. It's gentle, caring yet the pressure of his pecks stamp his dominance into your very soul.

He plunges his tongue into your booze-laced cavern, and you eagerly latch onto it like a hungry pup. He tasted of red bean paste, its sweetness a balm to your burning senses. He keeps a hand on your neck while you have your fill, biting your lower lip when you part.

You're panting, eyes glazed with wanton need. He strokes a thumb under your ear, and you smile.

You could drink all the alcohol you wanted, but nothing could make you drunker than Sano Manjiro's affection.

Haitani Rindou:

You frown to yourself as you waited outside the heavy steel gates of Roppongi's juvenile detention center. It's been six months since the Haitani brothers had been arrested because of Tenjiku. Along with the other Heavenly King named Mucho, they also scored a reduced sentence, and today will be their first taste of freedom in half a year.

You'd been forced to stay behind when the battle happened; Rindou told you that he didn't want to have to look after you while fighting. A cover-up for his worry, of course. The younger Haitani isn't known for being as emotionally apt as his older brother, yet somehow that rigidness of his is one of the things you love most about him. To this day, Ran still loves to give you both shit for it.

Rindou knew that you'd be pissed beyond belief once you got the news; he promised not to leave you alone again like last time. You didn't come to his trial nor see him when he got permitted for visitations. Ran is in a different cell, and he had nothing but time.

Of course, other than being absolutely furious with him, there were other reasons you couldn't come see your bone breaker of a boyfriend. With them detained, no one is left to defend their title as the Kings of Roppongi. No one except you, that is.

You're quite the force of nature yourself, even before meeting Ran and Rindou. Roppongi had been your stomping grounds since you were ten, and when they started making a name for themselves you refused to submit. Thinking back, it was quite a comical scene: a scruffy-looking little girl baring her teeth at two brothers who'd basically killed a man not too long ago. Despite how ruthless they truly are, they never stooped so low as to hit a girl, much less gang up on one to prove a point. Instead you became friends, and later on fell in love with the younger Haitani, and he with you. Together you ruled over Roppongi, and the rest is history.

So while your man stared at white walls in the slammer, you splattered blood across brick walls as warnings to those who thought they could conquer the city. All on your own, you reigned over Roppongi the entirety of their sentence, and now it's time for the kings to reclaim their throne.

You hear them before you see them; Ran's whimsical tones against Rindou's monotone rebuttals. They're wearing casual clothes instead of the jumpsuits, Ran's hair is in braids as always, but Rindou...

The extra inches of hair does something to you. It flowed around his face like a lion's mane, faded blue streaks shining in the noon sun. He's wearing contacts instead of his frames, and his jaw is sharper than you ever remembered it. Fresh out of prison, and he looks every bit the king of carnage you adore.

Licking your lips, you saunter over to them. The clacking of your heels turn their heads, and they smirk at you. You could see Rindou tense for a split second before reigning himself back in. Once you get close enough, you rear a hand back and slam it against his cheek hard.

Then you grab him by the collar and smooch him right in front of the jail gates. His recovery is quick, and he pulls you close in a vice-grip. You press a thumb down his chin and take his tongue right from his mouth. The light graze of your teeth against the flat of it earns a growl from Rindou. You left me again, you fucking asshole you hiss as you pull away. You doubted he really heard you though, because he dived right to your neck after your liplock. You sigh, meeting eyes with a disgusted Ran.

This man is going to be the death of you one day.

Mitsuya Takashi:

Throughout your relationship, Mitsuya is nothing but gentle. It almost gave you whiplash how different he is when he's with you and when he's with Toman. He's more than happy to bash some scumbag's face in, yet he couldn't look you in the eye if he shows up to school bruised the next day. You're one of the reasons he got so good at dodging blows in the first place-all of this just to keep you from remembering just how dangerously he lives.

His carefulness translated through his affections, most of all. He didn't hold you, he cradled you. When he kissed you, you could practically feel the repressed passion just burning beneath the surface. He treats you as if you were a dandelion on a windy day.

And while you thought his unspoken sentiments are nothing short of chivalrous and sweet, you also found it quite stupid. You knew what you were getting into when he sheepishly confessed, knew about him being a captain of Toman's second division. So naturally, you'd braced yourself for all sorts of chaos. Plus, only having to witness one side of him irked something inside of you that you couldn't quite explain. You'd made it perfectly clear that you loved him, bruises and all. Yet when he looked at you with such adoring lavender eyes, you couldn't bear to chide him for wanting to treasure you.

So, you decided to show him through other means.

You're waiting for him to finish inside the sewing club room. He's finishing the hemline of a kimono-a birthday present he's preparing for Draken early on. His eyelids hang low, but his gaze is as intense as ever. Nothing is said between the two of you, but you can't help staring at his pursed lips, now bitten red from his habit when focusing. You internally proclaimed your love for him yet again, unable to stop yourself from wandering over to his hunched form.

Just as he looks up from the sewing machine, you dive in with a kiss that, even you had to admit, is a little too intense to be this sudden. Yet you couldn't help it; even the simplest things he did could turn you into quite the sap.

He doesn't fail to reciprocate it, though. His lips, a little rough and a bit wet, switch from caressing your top and bottom lip each time you return to each other. Somehow, it ended up with you sandwiched between him and his desk, thighs on either side of his hips. His hands never stay in one place, smoothing down your uniform and rubbing your back. He never strays too far down your waist, and that tang of frustration sours your sweet little moment yet again.

Bracing one hand on his shoulder and the other on his jaw, you grind down hard against him. His mouth drops open in a barely contained moan, and you close your lips around his tongue. The noise he made when you licked at it could've put BL voice actors to shame. His fingers rake against the sides of your hips, jolting you out of your sultry scenario and into a bout of giggles. And while you sit there steaming in your embarrassment at ruining such a delicious moment, he simply gapes at what just happened, his face stained a pretty crimson.

Well, that was awkward...but you wouldn't have had it any other way.

[cheri-translates]

[CN] S2 Gavin and MC in Chapter 11 (Part One)

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers from Season 2 🍒

I’m focusing on the interactions between Gavin and MC, not the plot (because the latter requires extensive time and effort that I can’t spare). So the less essential parts are in bullet-point form :>

Phone calls: First l Second

To investigate an issue related to pathological changes in Evolvers, MC heads to a hospital to talk to the director (who is a genuinely kind man)

While they’re discussing the issue, the alarm suddenly goes off, and two Evolvers barge into the office and bring them to the main lobby

Cutting the drama short: Five Evolvers have taken everyone in the hospital hostage. They don’t have weapons, and are subduing everyone with their Evol. The person leading them is a 43-year-old man called Yang Ping, who has a compression Evol. This means he can exert pressure on surrounding objects at will, and can even destroy a person’s organs

Yang Ping releases the Evolvers, but MC decides to stay because she wants to figure out his plan

MC notices a little girl crying, so she controls her own trembling and comforts the girl:

Girl: T-they suddenly barged in! And they said all of us would become hostages... and that they wanted to negotiate with the STF!

A man without a left hand offers the girl a tissue (this fact sounds really random but it’d make sense later!)

MC tells the girl not to worry because her boyfriend the STF will never lose to someone who isn’t on the side of justice:

MC: As long as that person is around, STF will never cower, and will definitely protect everyone’s safety.

The STF arrives at the scene, and Yang Ping uses a row of doctors as a meat shield while he negotiates with the STF

Gavin is in complete Commander Mode™:

Gavin: Your actions have amounted to “endangering public safety”. Release the hostages right now, and the STF will take this into consideration for leniency in punishment.

The moment I hear Gavin’s voice, I finally heave a sigh of relief.

He seems to be standing among a small formation towards the front. Even though I can’t see his face clearly, I know he’s there.

At this moment, it’s as though all the fear is gently pried open by a gust of formless wind, and the leaves outside sway slightly.

As though it’s saying - Don’t be afraid. 

Yang Ping states that the recent series of Evolver assassinations and Evolvers going missing shows how they aren’t being protected sufficiently. He demands for the STF to promise to change the way Evolvers are managed, and to give them better privileges and protection. If the STF refuses, they’d start dealing with the hostages one by one

MC spots Gavin with his team, and thinks he can’t see her from where he is

The little girl starts crying again, and it annoys one of the kidnappers. MC is worried he’d harm the girl, so MC speaks up, admitting that she’s an Evolver and that she fully agrees with what Yang Ping said. She tries to reason that hurting a civilian would be ruining the entire plan because they’re the bargaining chips to negotiating with the STF. If any of the civilians were to be harmed, STF would never listen to their requests

The kidnapper recognises MC as a suspect of the assassination incidents, which makes MC think that there’s more to this kidnapping situation than merely waiting privileges and protection

After all, aside from a few people in STF, no one should know that she’s a suspect i.e. there might be a spy in STF PLEASE DON’T BE TANG CHAO LOL

-

Now, we switch to Gavin’s perspective of the same events

He has received surveillance footage of what's going on in the hospital, and is discussing the issue with Tang Chao and Eli while figuring out how best to get the hostages out...

All of a sudden, Gavin’s pupils widen slightly, eyes focused on one spot, and he freezes.

In the footage, after a stream of Evolvers have left, a girl remains at the same spot. She glances around her surroundings, then smiles as she says something to a little girl, and appears to be consoling the other party quietly.

At this moment, he feels as though his heart has stopped.

What’s she doing here?!

Gavin realises that his right hand is trembling. He clenches it into a tight fist, fingertips buried in his palm, silently turning white.

His mind is a complete blank. All he wants to do is rush in and bring the girl out safely.

Gavin closes his eyes, taking a few deep breaths. When he opens his eyes again, they are filled with an even colder aura.

The sound of his beating heart in his chest gets louder with each beat, as though questioning his forced facade of calmness.

He watches as MC talks to the kidnapper, and realises that MC is using this method to show that she has faith in him

At this point, a call from the “other side” tells him to give up on negotiations and rescue the hostages using force

But Gavin refuses because there’s still time to negotiate, the hostages would be put at great risk, and STF will only use force when truly necessary

The “other side” says it’s an order. So Gavin says that the STF will handle problems using its own ways and hangs up LOL

Tang Chao: Captain Gavin, no matter what you say, the Special Operations Team will only listen to your orders.

Eli: Same for the STF.

A chilly wind brushes the faces of everyone on the scene, but the trust and determination in their eyes remain resolute.

Eli: Also, we aren’t the only ones in this battle.

Gavin smiles, returning his gaze to the small figures in the footage. The girl is standing before the man firmly, reminiscent of a flower that can never be destroyed. 

Gavin: She’s always been very brave.

The smile on his lips is abruptly tucked away. Gavin leans in closer to the screen, and sees that the girl is being brought closer to the entrance by one of the kidnappers.

--Every nerve in his body tenses up once again.

-

And we return to MC’s perspective

As the negotiations progress, Yang Ping tells the kidnappers to bring all the doctors back inside, except one

MC figures out that all this time, the real objective of the kidnappers is to test the STF

Gavin steps forward:

Ever since Gavin and I parted ways at the STF the last time, I haven’t seen him again.

Even though I’ve been asked to report my activities to STF at regular timings, Gavin has been very busy during this period of time, and I haven’t seen him much.

Looking at Gavin in front of me, it seems as though everything else in the world are kept outside a screen, and I can only see his eyes.

His hair is a little fuzzy, but he still looks unstoppable. It’s just that while his eyes have always been determined, they now carry an almost imperceptible worry.

I smile, wanting to tell him that I'm fine. Gavin’s gaze lingers on my face of a few seconds. When he sees my smile, he blinks, then shifts his eyes to the man.

The man and Gavin exchange glances for a few seconds. The corners of his lips simply tug upwards, pushing me around five metres away from Gavin.

Even though it looks like I’m a supporter whom he has incited, I know that I’m just another hostage.

Yang Ping gives Gavin a choice - If Gavin pushes that one doctor out of the window, the kidnappers will release everyone in the hospital and will turn themselves in. But if he chooses to save the doctor, he’d blow up the entire hospital

Basically, the kidnappers are trying to stir hate towards STF because no matter which option he picks, it’s going to cause public uproar

Gavin is quick to point out that the kidnappers haven’t directly hurt any of the civilians. Because they are representing Evolvers, they can’t hurt anyone or it’d give all Evolvers a bad name

Gavin, who represents the STF, has to find a perfect way to resolve this matter - no one can die, even the kidnappers

What he says are actually hints on what MC should do

MC gets it  - she pretends to fall to the ground, and cuts her own arm with a dagger she’s hidden

The reason for this is because Yang Ping’s plan rests entirely on his status as “helping Evolvers”. If MC manages to show that Yang Ping would hurt Evolvers too, his plan would fail

While Yang Ping is shocked, Gavin rushes forward and flips Yang Ping onto the ground. The Special Operations Team rush out and arrest them using Evol-neutralising handcuffs

Gavin arrests Yang Ping:

Gavin: Evolvers and humans - neither will be sacrificed, including you. If you think there’s only a superficial peace and balance now, and that you can’t see normal civilians and Evolvers walking down a common path, just open your eyes and look. I’ll walk down that path.

It dawns on MC that she barely made it out of this situation alive, and she shivers. Then, she’s drawn into someone’s arms:

Lifting my head, I see that Gavin’s handsome eyebrows are scrunched up. His hand is holding bandages he took from the medics.

Gavin: You were supposed to pretend. Why did you actually cut yourself?

MC: Doesn't this have a greater impact? It’s more realistic.

He sighs slightly, holding my wounded arm gently and bandaging it meticulously.

Watching as Gavin leans over as he helps me with the bandage, the fear I had suppressed earlier suddenly pour out from my heart like a tidal wave.

MC: I won’t be this rash next time.

Gavin: There won’t be a next time.

When our eyes meet, I see the worry and earnestness in Gavin’s eyes. 

MC: Okay, there won’t be a next time.

Thinking that the matter has been settled, MC waves at the hospital’s director from afar, and he smiles at her

A red dot suddenly appears on his forehead, and Gavin tries to rush to the director... but he’s too late, and the director is shot by a sniper... T^T

MC is dumbfounded as she takes in everything that’s happening - shrill cries from the crowd, the STF members who are once again on guard, and the director on the ground

Gavin kneels behind the director. Perhaps if he made it a second earlier, he could have prevented this tragedy.

The STF uniform, which has always been white, is now dyed completely red. There are specks of blood on his face, and droplets of blood roll down the sides of his face slowly.

He kneels in place, and doesn’t turn back for a very long time. The hands at his side tremble slightly, and he quickly balls them into fists. 

After a long while, Gavin turns his head expressionlessly, looking at a shocked Yang Ping.

Yang Ping shakes his head repeatedly, muttering softly as he backs away.

Yang Ping: No... this isn’t right...

He stops backing away, as though something dawned on him. Then, he suddenly bursts out laughing.

Yang Ping: ...looks like the people from GRAY RHINO are even better.

In the next second, the sound of a gunshot once again fills the air.

Yang Ping is standing in position, and I watch as blood spatters from his temple.

His eyes are wide open, is in a daze for a moment before toppling to the ground.

Another patch of crimson spreads on the ground. Yang Ping’s twitches slightly, as though saying something, yet no sound comes out.

His eyes remain open till the end, staring at Gavin.

I’m in a state of shock as I take everything in, and feel unsteady on my feet.

An incredibly icy aura exudes from Gavin’s body. He stands up slowly, like a silent volcano.

Gavin: Who was it... who fired the gun?!!

I seem to hear something which had been crumbling finally caving in.

-

MC gets home somehow and falls asleep LOL same

At the STF office, the Special Operations Team are gathered and there’s a really heavy atmosphere in the air

Tang Chao verifies that the bullet that shot Yang Ping wasn’t from the STF’s sniping team. Another member pipes up and adds that even so, it belongs to STF

Gavin asks for further details, but another officer reports that there are no leads. There’s a possibility that an Evolver did it

Gavin orders them to investigate properly

And sounds really fierce (つω`｡)

Afterwards, Gavin walks along the street and some random man without a left hand steps out of an alley and greets him with: “Captain Gavin, this is the first time we’re meeting.”

-

By the time I’m roused awake from the heavy downpour, it’s already late at night.

With a sigh, I get up from the sofa and decide to draw the curtains. 

Large droplets of rain continuously pelt onto the ground. I stare outside the window in a daze. When my eyes focus, I see a familiar figure downstairs.

MC: ...Gavin?

Taking an umbrella, I rush downstairs. Gavin’s profile enters my vision -- and my heart is tugged.

I have no idea how long he’s been standing in the rain, and his entire self seems to be soaked in it.

The rain has soaked his entire body. Drenched hair sticks to the sides of his face, water droplets continuously sliding off his chin.

The STF uniform is in a mess, sticking to his body. The organisation’s emblem on his chest has been washed till it has lost its metal shine. 

I step out of the apartment building slowly, rain pouring down.

I suddenly recall the night he spent accompanying me in the rain a very long time ago.

--it’s as though he’s lost his drive, removed all his defences, and it gives one heartache and sadness.

I have no idea why Gavin is standing here right now, but across the curtain of rain, I seem to once again see that careful heart.

Gavin seems a little surprised by my appearance. His unfocused pupils constrict slightly, and his shoulders tremble imperceptibly.

Gavin: ...why aren’t you asleep?

MC: ...if I were asleep, were you planning to stand in the rain for an entire night?

I walk over slowly, lifting the transparent umbrella over our heads. Rainwater patters against the surface of the umbrella, becoming the only sound in this silence. 

Gavin doesn’t speak. His eyes, which have always been shining with light, seem to be layered with the colour of the gray clouds overhead, and an unspeakable dullness. 

There’s neither grief nor anger in them. All that’s left is helplessness.

Very slowly, his lips finally twitch slightly, breaking the silence.

Gavin: Aren’t you going to ask?

MC: Nope. If you want to talk, I’ll listen and resolve the problem with you. If you don’t want to talk, I’ll keep you company as we stand here, then...

Gavin: Then?

MC: Trust you.

I smile as I reach out, brushing the drenched fringe in front of his forehead, revealing his beautiful amber eyes.

MC: No matter what happens, I’ll always trust you.

Gavin’s eyes widen slightly. The hands beside him are clenched into fists, trembling slightly.

Gavin: ...you once said that every single one of my bullets are for justice. If you were to find out that perhaps I can’t really do that... 

Gavin: ...what would you think?

I’m stunned.

Gavin’s voice is faint, a solid darkness hidden in his words.

His entire self seems to be encumbered by a layer of thick sheet of iron. His back is straight, as though waiting for a final judgment.

MC: I’d look for the truth behind it.

Gavin purses his lips and doesn’t say a word. But I know that he’s waiting for my answer solemnly.

MC: Even if there was really such a bullet, I’d want to further verify why that bullet strayed from its course. And whether, at that point of time when the situation happened, there was really a violation of justice?

Gavin watches me quietly, and I smile as I look at him.

MC: No matter what reason you had for standing there, and for shooting that bullet, you would have done so based on what you saw, heard, and the result of thinking. And I believe in it, and I believe in your judgment at that point of time. That bullet definitely has its meaning.

I say these things instinctively, hoping to give him even the slightest bit of support and courage.

The dim streetlights meld into the water droplets, reflecting into Gavin’s eyes.

The rain gradually lightens. The air Gavin breathes out turns into a white patch of mist in the air. 

Gavin: I’ll find the truth behind this matter. I can’t use “I don’t know the true state of affairs” as an excuse. If it’s something I’ve done, I should take responsibility.

Gavin takes the umbrella in my hand, his eyes carrying with them resoluteness and certainty.

Gavin: I don’t want to fail to live up to your trust, but I... have to face up to the truth. To give you, and to give those who no longer have a voice, a genuine explanation.

-

Two days pass after that rainy evening

Even though MC doesn’t know what Gavin is up to, she can tell that it’s something important and dangerous

She’s at STF to give her regular report, and Gavin walks into the room. His eyes are bloodshot, and he looks thinner and more pallid, and she knows that he’s been working very hard to live up to that promise

I think of comforting him, wanting to tell him not to overdo it, and to take care of his health.

However, the moment I open my mouth, all my emotions morph into a dry greeting.

MC: Gavin, have you been really busy lately?

Gavin doesn’t respond. He simply places his palms on the table between us, his expression solemn as he comes closer to me.

Gavin: Are you investigating the Evol assassinations?

MC: Of course. I’m still a suspect, so I need to think of ways to clear myself of suspicion.

Gavin: This matter could be even more serious than you imagine.

Looking at Gavin’s somewhat resigned expression, I smile.

MC: Things have already reached this stage. What could be even more serious than this? Don’t worry, I know what I'm doing. But are you going to do something dangerous again? You’ve got to take care of yourself. If you need my help, just say it. After all, I’m Nox from Black Swan!

I deliberately use a light-hearted tone, and the corners of Gavin’s lips tug upwards as well.

Gavin: Proudly saying that you’re from Black Swan in the STF - you don’t want to leave, do you?

MC: ...

I freeze. Only when I see the teasing glint in Gavin’s eyes do I realise that he’s toying with me. 

At the same time, I release a sigh of relief. At least Gavin is still in the mood for jokes.

Gavin: To be honest, what I need to do is indeed very dangerous, and I need more people whom I can trust completely. With your help, my investigation will definitely progress much more smoothly.

He lifts his head to look into my eyes directly. The light in his amber eyes reveal trust and sincerity.

I’m left astounded. Receiving such an invitation from Gavin for the first time makes my mind lag a little.

MC: Gavin, what you're saying is... that you’re letting me help you?

Gavin: You didn’t mishear.

The faint scent on his body fills my surroundings. In my trance, I even think that a gentle breeze brushed my cheek. 

Gavin: ...of course, from my personal perspective, I wouldn’t want you to be involved in such matters. So, you’re free to reject.

MC: Why would I reject! I’m really happy to be of help.

Gavin stares deeply at my smiling face. After a long time, he reveals a somewhat relieved and resigned smile. 

Gavin: Thank you, MC.

Part two: here

[lilbabycee]

Also while I’m here, can u spare some drunk horny Steve content pls ma’am

mead // steve rogers

↳ pairing: steve rogers x reader

yes i can!:

steve drinks socially, beers and whiskey not doing much for him (or anything, really) because the supersoldier serum always burns it off almost immediately

so tonight, when your husband tells you that he’s going out with the boys, you just nod absent-mindedly and continue typing away at your laptop as he dips down to press a kiss to your cheek

you’re working on some presentation that was supposed to be done by your co-worker, but they couldn’t “figure it out” (although you don’t know how hard it can be, it’s fucking powerpoint), so you end up doing it yourself because if you don’t do it, who will?

(nobody. the answer is that nobody will.)

it’s well past one in the morning when the key turns in the door and steve walks- stumbles, rather - through the door, not even bothering to flick on a light switch as he kicks his shoes off and hangs up his coat

they both end up strewn on the floor but in his drunken haze, steve is pleased with how neat he’s being and knows that you’ll be so proud of him in the morning

you’re sitting on top of your bed with your back resting against the headboard, eyes tired and brain at 2%, when you hear the door creak open

distractedly, your eyes glance up only to see your very large husband peek around the door (as if it’s not also his bedroom) with a dopey smile on his face and his cheeks flushed red

“there she is,” steve coos, walking in and closing the door behind him with a click. “my baby.”

you figured something was up when you took in his appearance but now, you know for sure that he’s acting a little strange

it’s not that he’s not ever happy to see you or doesn’t call you baby, but he seems extra affectionate as he crawls onto the bed and engulfs you a massive bear hug

luckily for you, you’ve just finished your presentation and shut the lid of your laptop, sliding it into the drawer on your bedside table as best as you can with steve’s arms around you

your husband manoeuvers the two of you so that he’s taken your former position, sitting upright while he sets you on his lap, right on top of his very prominent erection

“steve,” your voice is unsteady because his hands are brazenly roaming the length of your body, warm palms sliding underneath the t-shirt that you’re wearing and gliding against your soft skin, past your waist, and down to cup the round cheeks of your ass

“yes, baby?” he pushes you down onto the very hard bulge in his pants and since you’re only wearing panties, you gasp at the sensation of the thin material of your underwear rubbing against the rough denim of his blue jeans, bracing your hands on his chest

“are you drunk?”

he doesn’t reply. instead, his large hand grabs the back of your neck and forcefully pulls your face towards his, lips crashing onto yours roughly as he claims you

your teeth clash violently and his lips are slick as he pushes his tongue into your mouth and it’s messy and delicious and subconsciously, you grind down on him harder, relishing in the friction that you get from rolling your hips against his

he moans loudly into your mouth and you swallow it, his hands tightening their grip and he rocks you back and forth faster and faster

when he pulls back from you, a thin string of spit connects your lips and steve grins, cheeks pink and hair tousled messily

“no,” he says, obviously lying because the sweet tang of asgardian mead lingers on your tongue and you’ve almost forgotten what you asked him in the first place

“stevie-”

“shh, sweetheart.”

he slips his index and middle fingers between the seam of your lips to shut you up and you involuntarily moan, though it’s muffled by his hand in your mouth

he stares up at you with heavy eyes and a lazy smile as his deft fingers push your panties aside, a thick digit sliding up and down your wet slit before slowly dipping it into you

“doll baby, is this all for me? you get this wet for me?”

you nod distractedly, grabbing his hand as you suck lightly on the tips of his fingers

“mmm, good girl.” 

he pulls his finger out of your slit and slides it in his mouth, dick jumping underneath you at the taste of you

unzipping his pants and then pulling both yours and his shirt over your heads, he frees his throbbing length from the confines of his jeans and strokes it languidly while staring at you topless, licking his lips hungrily

“c’mere, angel. i’ll let you ride me.”

and you’re excited so you do as you’re told, going to take off your panties before steve stops you abruptly. you meet his eyes in confusion and are shocked by the passion that lies within their depths

“keep ‘em on.”

you could’ve come right there and then, a shudder travelling up your spine at the deep, commanding tone of his voice

positioning yourself right over the tip of his dick, you hold him at the base as you slowly slide down onto him

the guttural sound that comes from within steve’s chest as he bottoms out inside of you makes you jerk, a spasm of pleasure seizing your body

“oh, baby, look.” you glance down to where the two of you are joined and notice, not for the first time, that you can’t take all of him inside of you. “this tight little pussy can’t take much, can it?”

he punctuates his statement with a slap to your clit that makes you whimper

“hmm, doll? can’t handle it?” he starts to bounce you up and down on top of him. 

“it’s so big,” you whine, hands on his chest as you meet his upwards thrusts

“i know, baby,” he coos, “i know. but look at you, you’re takin’ me so well, like a good girl.” he slaps your ass loudly, fingers digging into the soft flesh as your wet heat swallows him again and again. “hmm? you my good girl?”

the diamonds on your wedding ring twinkle in the low light of your bedroom and the sight stirs something inside of you

“yes,” your voice is breathless so steve smacks your ass again

“louder, sweetheart.”

“yes i am, i’m your good girl,” you babble as steve moves his hand to use his thumb to circle your clit because he knows that you’re close

he is too - in fact, he’s surprised that he’s lasted this long because ever since he walked into your bedroom and saw you in nothing but some panties and one of his t-shirts, he’s been a breath away from coming

“that’s right,” he grunts, leaning forward to capture one of your nipples in his mouth. “you gonna come for me, doll? gonna come all over this cock?”

you can do nothing but say “yes, yes, yes”, the sound of skin slapping together loud and rapid

steve feels your walls flutter with the telltale impeding sign of an orgasm and ruts into you faster, coaxing you with a “come for me, baby, do it”

and you do, falling on his chest as your body spasms powerfully and your heat clenches around steve, causing him to still and spill into you too with a deep moan

the two of you, sweaty and naked, lay there for some time to catch your breaths, steve still buried inside of you

“i lied.”

steve breaks the silence and you’re lost, so you furrow your brows and you lift your head up to look at him. he says nothing but rolls you to the side, spooning you from behind

“what?”

he puts his lips right next to your ear conspiratorially, as if he’s about to reveal some huge secret

“i am drunk.”

[emilia3546]

Shadowsinger Part 11 - Gwynriel

ACOSF Spoilers! Do Not read this unless you have finished ACOSF and the Azriel bonus chapter

*

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

*****

Azriel's heart sank, and he shoved Nesta to the side, knocking both her and Cassian out of the way as a bolt of power shot down the stairs. A slow clap sounded while Azriel glanced around, another way out, there had to be one,

"It seems the bird got out of the cage. Such a shame it'll never fly free." Azriel waved a hand subtly at Nesta, and she froze, his brother's attention was still fixed on him, if she moved, Azriel didn't want to think what would happen if he decided to really use that killing power. Get back in your cage." The door to his cell swung open, and Azriel fixed his brother with a glare, shadows gathering around him,

"You know what, I don't think I will." He leaped forwards, pressing himself against the wall beside the staircase, green light rushing past moments later. The back exit, where was it?

Find another exit.

Shadows raced off in all directions, and Azriel waited, in a few moments his brother would lose his patience, and, shit. Footsteps on stone, he rolled forwards, shielding Cassian and Nesta, his wings spread wide to take the brunt of any attack. Weapon, he needed a weapon, or at least a shield of some sort. He had seconds before his brother located them, even with the shadows cloaking him from sight. A second set of footsteps joined the first, lighter, more cautious. Azriel sent shadows flying for that second figure, and dodged the immediate blast of power from his brother, letting it shoot over his head. The second guard stumbled backwards, and yelped when Azriel slammed into him, twisting the pommel of his sword out of his grip, and swiping the dagger from his belt.

At a glance, Nesta was trying to drag Cassian away, down the corridor,

Behind them, all the way down, there's a way out.

"Run!" He bellowed, and tossed Nesta the dagger, taking up a defensive position to slow the guards starting to return to the dungeons. Nesta grunted behind him, she was still too close, and Cassian said something, too quietly for Azriel to make out the words, but the urgency was obvious,

"No," Nesta sobbed, "I can't," she repeated over and over, she couldn't leave him, Azriel dared a glance over his shoulder, and cursed at the sight of more guards blocking their exit. If she were alone, Nesta could escape, but convincing her to leave Cassian, no, she would never do it.

Even armed, even with his shadows darting around, disorienting his enemies, attacking them, there were too many of them. This was it. He was going to die here.

Azriel was forced backwards, until he was stood back to back with Nesta, Cassian struggling to rise to his feet between them. Azriel dropped a hand onto his shoulder,

"It's been an honor, brother."

*****

Gwyn set the bedside table down, right where the old one had sat, and glanced around the room, the same, but different, altogether too new, unused. She sank onto the bed, and the shadow came to rest in her lap,

"I miss them," It shuffled and swirled up her arm, nestling against her cheek, "Do you miss him? Of course you do, thank you for staying with me." Even with him gone, a little part of Azriel would always be with her so long as the shadow remained. The room was exactly as it had been only a few days prior, but so different, so un-Azriel somehow, maybe it was just that he wasn't there any more, even his scent was fading with the old furniture having been removed. Gwyn squeezed his jacket tighter around herself, and closed her eyes.

"Someone's there!" Mor's voice echoed through the House, "Gwyn?"

"Here!"

"Nuala just got back, someone is at that old keep, we don't know who but-" Gwyn was already moving, already sprinting for her room, collecting her weapons on an instinct. She sighed as she switched Azriel's jacket for her own, his was way too big, she'd never be able to fight properly, let alone quietly in it, no, she had to wear her own. She left it on her bed as she ran back to Mor,

"When do we leave?"

Rhysand had winnowed her with him out to the keep, and Mor had complained bitterly at being left behind, but Gwyn could move and fight silently, and only one person was likely to be able to get in. Rhysand had brought her because he knew the layout of the keep, at least in theory, if it was anything like the others built at the same time, he knew the layout. But he would have to guide her from outside, mentally.

Gwyn took one final, shuddering breath, and let him in,

Breathe,

She did, slowing her breaths, stilling her mind, panic was no good now. She was the rock against which the surf crashes. She was a Valkyrie. She was Gwyneth Berdara, and she would not be afraid.

The keep itself was almost silent, only the echoing of far-off footsteps and the candles and torches along the wall proved that she wasn't alone.

Okay, go left here,

Gwyn pressed herself against the wall, and dared a quick glance down the corridor, one guard, facing away from her. She stepped into the corridor, keeping to the shadowy places along the wall, her footsteps muffled by her shadow, well, Azriel's shadow. The guard didn't turn around until she was right behind him, his eyes widening as he drew breath to shout. Gwyn slammed the hilt of her dagger into his temple, and his eyes rolled back as he collapsed. Gwyn made sure to catch him, and lowered him slowly to the floor, avoiding the clatter of his armor on the stone.

Rhysand guided her deeper into the keep, she met few guards, too few, something was wrong.

How many guards should there be?

It depends, but you should have met at least ten by now.

There's been four.

Four?

Yeah.

He waited a while to respond, as if he were trying to decide something, probably whether to tell her to get out of there,

That's not normal, you know that?

I'm not leaving without them.

Be on your guard.

There were no more guards until Gwyn heard the clash of metal on metal, and almost launched into a run. The corridor she'd been walking down lit up more and more with each step, until she found a stairway,

That should take you to the dungeons, be careful.

I will.

She sent the shadow to check if it was safe, and it flew back to her almost immediately, both trying to go back down, and back the way she had come. It was torn between protecting her and Azriel, he was down there, he had to be. If the shadow wanted her to run, something was wrong, she had to move, now.

The dungeon was filled with guards, there were three at the base of the stairs, and too many to count beyond that. Gwyn couldn't fight her way through,

There's too many, I can't see them,

Wait.

I can't.

Gwyn. Wait. I'm on my way, the way you came is clear. Wait for me.

She should wait, but she couldn't, Azriel was there, Nesta was there, Cassian was there, if she waited, every lost second could spell their doom. She glanced around, torches, there were torches along the wall. She tugged experimentally on one, it didn't budge, she put more weight onto it, and pulled herself up, climbing over the guards' heads. She braced herself to fall, waiting for a few heartbeats, but the torch's stand held strong, she leaped to the next one, almost slipping, but the clashing of blades covered the sound. She scrambled up, moving to the next one, and the next. They were only a couple of feet apart, but each jump felt like forever. She paused on the next, catching her breath, and reassessed the situation. There, only a few more jumps away, Azriel was back to back with Nesta, guards coming from both sides. She thanked all the gods that the corridor was so narrow, only three guards could attack at once. Azriel stumbled, armed with a sword from one of the fallen guards, and Nesta braced against his weight, helping him regain his feet, her own sword looked heavy, she was tiring. Cassian, where was Cassian? There, on the floor, he blinked, trying to rise, and collapsed again, and Gwyn had to clap a hand over her mouth to stop herself from crying out at the sight of him.

Oh gods, there was so much blood, not all of it was his, of course, but his wings, oh gods, that was bone sticking out of one of them, and that glazed look in his eyes, Gwyn had seen that look before, how he was still trying to fight was beyond her. Even as he stumbled, he said something, and Nesta whirled, slamming her sword into a guard's gut, he was warning her, guiding her blade. That look in his eyes, he knew it, he was still fighting for her, even though, even though Cassian was dying.

Nesta turned, presumably to check on Cassian and Azriel, and let out a sob when she saw Cassian slumped against the wall, unmoving, silent. She was forced to turn away to block a blow from a guard, but Gwyn was close enough that she could just about make out her words,

"Cass, come on, please, you're gonna be okay, please," Her sword arm was shaking, and Azriel moved to cover her as she dropped to her knees beside her mate, holding his face, and begging him to hold on, just a bit longer. Azriel's strength was waning now, he couldn't hold off attacks from two sides for long. One last jump brought Gwyn close enough to finally help. Red misted her vision at the sight of a sword hurtling towards him, right for his exposed back as he handled another guard. Gwyn didn't think, didn't plan, she just moved.

That guard was dead before his sword got anywhere near Azriel, but close enough that Azriel realized how close it had been when he turned, surprise glimmering in his eyes,

"Gwyn? You have to go, leave us, go!"

"I can't." She moved again on an instinct, blocking another blow that Azriel had missed in his shock, "Rhysand's on his way, we just have to hold on until he gets here. We're getting out." Gwyn took up Nesta's position, her fear a metallic tang in the back of her mouth, especially at the rumble of power that rolled through the dungeons. She hardly noticed the shadows around her, darting forwards, helping her with each blow, each enemy, before darting away to Azriel.

They didn't need to speak, each move was together, as one, he moved, she moved, she moved, he moved. Gwyn rolled backwards, Azriel stepped around her to cover her, Azriel stepped sideways, Gwyn whirled to dispatch that enemy. Each movement was easy, fluid, unhurried, Gwyn fell into a familiar headspace, the same as it had been on Ramiel, but this time is wasn't her sisters she was protecting, it was her, whatever Azriel was.

Power rumbled through the dungeons again, and Azriel shoved her sideways against the wall, throwing his wings up around her as dark power tore through the remaining guards. Gwyn gasped, and hid her face against Azriel,

"It's Rhys, it's okay." He released her moments later, "He'll cover our escape, let's go," he looked around again and swore,

"What?"

"Their leader, my half-brother, he's gone, the coward." Azriel grunted as he hauled Cassian to his feet, with Nesta on his other side, half-dragging him the way they had come. Gwyn followed, keeping an eye out for danger, with Cassian almost completely unconscious, neither Azriel or Nesta would be able to carry him and fight, that was Gwyn's job.

"Is he -" Rhysand's eyes widened at the sight of them, of Cassian

"He's alive, just about." Cassian's head was hanging low, his eyes closed, his breathing ragged and shallow.

"Get him out of here." Gwyn ran up the stairs, taking two at a time, and nodded, desperately wishing that they would move faster, she had no idea how many guards there might be in total, more might show up at any moment. Adrenaline faded as they made their way out, movements becoming slower, injuries more crippling, so much so that by the time they had made it outside, into the fresh night air, Azriel was dragging a leg behind him, his breathing shallow as he hauled Cassian with him. They had to stop, if they didn't, he'd keel over, and Gwyn had no idea how to go about healing anything. There was a grassy bank a few hundred meters away,

"There, can you make it?" Azriel grunted in response, and Gwyn grabbed Cassian's arm from him, "I'll take over," together, she and Nesta just about managed to carry his unconscious weight to the cover of the bank. It was only when she set him down that Gwyn got a chance to really see the scope of Cassian's injuries. His face was pallid, and far too pale, pale from the blood seeping from his wings mostly, broken almost beyond recognition, a bone sticking out of the right one. His breathing was shallow, uneven, and Gwyn gently ran her hands along his ribs, three, no four, broken, another cracked, possibly more, and then there was the sword wound. Nesta was already pressing her hands against the ragged wound in his side, and Gwyn shrugged off her jacket, "Use this." Nesta nodded, her eyes unseeing, tears flooding down her face.

Azriel hung back, avoiding getting in the way probably, but he was injured too, it was just Nesta that had gotten off lightly, but that was probably why Cassian was as bad as he was, he'd undoubtedly protected her.

"Sit down, Az, honestly." Gwyn had no idea what she could do about Cassian's wings, and the bleeding was slowing, so she could at least do what she could for Azriel. "Is it just that?" She gestured to the wound on his leg, and he just stared straight at her,

"You came."

"Of course I did, did you think I was going to still tight and wait?"

"You shouldn't have. It was dangerous."

"Excuse you, why do you think I'm training?"

"Not to clear up my messes."

"Your mess?" Gwyn blinked in disbelief, "How is this your fault?" Azriel shrugged, and muttered something, just loud enough for her to hear, but no one else,

"It always is." Her heart broke a those words, and she froze,

"It is not." Tears threatened to fall, and she didn't stop them, "You are the bravest male, no, bravest person I've ever met, and you have saved countless lives, avoided countless disasters, the Night Court would be long destroyed without you." She knelt beside him, and cupped his face, "Don't for one second think that, okay?" For perhaps the first time ever, Azriel smiled and muttered,

"Okay."

"Now. Is it just that?" She pointed again at the leg wound,

"Oh. Yeah."A shadow danced around Gwyn's head,

"Liar," she crooned, "What did you do?"

"Nothing!" She raised an eyebrow, "Broken ribs," he admitted, and she groaned,

"Idiot. I can't do anything about the ribs though," She pressed the wound, the bloodflow already slowing with him being still.

Gwyn.

Rhysand's voice tapped against her mind, and she let him in,

Where did you go?

Grassy bank. Hurry up.

Moments later he crested the bank, and jogged the few steps to reach them, Gwyn had finished patching Azriel up, and turned back to Cassian, he still wasn't waking up, but at least the blood had stopped flowing from that sword wound. Nesta was still quietly crying and begging him not to leave her, Rhysand placed a hand on her shoulder, and said something quietly, and she let him pass, his hands hovering over Cassian's right wing, the one with the bone snapped in two. Gwyn moved to Nesta's side, cradling her head against her chest, she had to hold Nesta tight when Cassian screamed as Rhysand's magic forced the bone back to the right position, and sealed the wound,

"You're hurting him!" She screamed, trying to break free of Gwyn's grip,

"He's fixing the bone, he's helping, he's helping," Gwyn muttered, letting Nesta cling on to her as she cried,

"I can't, Gwyn, I can't, I - I need him," she broke off as another sob forced its way out,

"I know, I know, Nes, I know. You're not losing him, you're not, okay?" Nesta nodded, but tears were still streaming down her face, "He's gonna be okay." Cassian screamed again as Rhysand set the other dislocated or fractured bones to where they should sit, and Nesta cried harder with each cry of pain from Cassian, until her whole body was shaking with the sobs. She rushed towards him as soon as Rhysand stopped, cupping his face in her hands, running her gaze across his wings, checking that they were really okay,

"Thank you," she whispered, and noticed his ribs were untouched, but Rhysand pre-empted the question,

"I'm no good at ribs," he admitted, "But we should be able to move him now,"

"Why isn't he waking up?" Nesta demanded, and Rhysand threw his hands up,

"Because he'd be in a lot of pain, so I knocked him out."

"But he'll be okay?" Nesta's usually powerful, commanding voice had fallen quiet, shaky, and her shoulders were shaking as she brushed the hair out of Cassian's face, and softly kissed his brow. Azriel limped his way towards them, holding on to Gwyn as she held Rhysand's hand, while Nesta gripped the other, and braced herself to winnow.

*****

Rhys winnowed them directly into Madja's house, to the room she used to house patients, and shouted for her, apologizing for showing up this late, but she just waved him off, rushing to Cassian's side. Gwyn forced Azriel to sit on the second be in the room, fussing again now that they were safe,

"You're damn lucky, Rhysand, if you'd got this wrong," she gestured to Cassian's wings, "He might not have been able to fly again, as it is, it's not perfect, but I can fix it." She finished fixing his ribs, and bound his wound before crossing to Azriel, and he winced when she re-set his ribs, and bound his own wound, "You can sleep in your own room, Azriel, Cassian stays here, I need to keep an eye on him tonight."

"Will he be okay?" Madja's professional demeanor dropped for a moment as she took Nesta's hands,

"I hope so, he's lost a lot of blood but he's survived this far, so he should make a full recovery, you can stay with him if you like." Nesta nodded,

"Thank you." Madja squeezed her hands,

"Go get some sleep the rest of you, Mother knows you need it.

Rhys winnowed Azriel and Gwyn back to the House before wishing them goodnight and promising to see them in the morning. For a proper debrief  is what he didn't need to add. Gwyn led Azriel straight back to his room, and pulled out a set of sleeping clothes for him, grabbing a spare shirt and turned around for him to change, she seemed to know that he needed quiet to sort through his own mind, but still wrapped her arms around him, reassuring herself that he was okay, and he held her against him. Azriel didn't miss the fact that she'd just changed into one of his spare shirts, that his scent was all over her, and hers all over him, but it was comforting somehow, just to have someone be that comfortable with him,

"You need to rest," she murmured, and guided him to the bed, pulling herself a chair over, he didn't miss the movement, tried not to think how he had slept in a chair beside her too many nights recently. She had slept in his bed before, but maybe after that nightmare was different than normal, he wouldn't ask her if she wanted to share, she'd probably go back to her bed anyway once he was asleep. Still, his mind emptied when she clasped his hands and brought them to her lips, before leaning against the bed and closing her eyes as he closed his.

Gwyn held his hands all night, and she was still leaning against the bed when Azriel woke the next morning, his head clearer than it had ever been the morning after a return home. She opened her eyes and looked across at him, her eyes full of hope, and leaned closer to brush her lips against his, smiling as she sat up,

"I missed you," she mumbled, "I was so worried, especially when we couldn't find you."

"How did you find us?"

"The shadow." Ah, he'd been wondering if it really had been able to sense the others,

"Thank you, for coming to find me."

"Always," she whispered.

[lunar-wandering]

Sparkling Laughter

the giggle glow au is the only thing keeping me sane right now

Word Count: 2.6k

Read on Ao3

MK hadn't really noticed it at first.

Between always being in a brightly lit area and mainly focusing on training, it wasn't exactly like he saw Wukong laugh often.

So maybe it took him a while to notice.

But after he noticed, it was kinda hard to miss.

Wukong straight up glowed when he laughed.

And MK didn't mean that figuratively. No, he meant it very literally.

A single chuckle was enough to get Wukong glowing like a nightlight. Full out laughter could very nearly light up a whole room.

"You know, the stories never mentioned that you glow." MK said, one day, a few monkeys climbing all over him. The monkeys messing his hair up was what had prompted Wukong to start laughing in the first place, and MK figured there was no better time than the present to bring it up.

"It was never really something that others deemed important, I guess." Wukong said, shrugging, still faintly glowing with a few remaining chuckles as he helped remove some of the monkeys from MK. "It's definitely not showstopping or cool, so it was just left out."

"I think it's neat." MK said, "You're kinda like... a light up toy or something."

"Hm, not sure how I feel about that comparison." Wukong said, pulling the last monkey off of MK's shoulders, and ruffling MK's hair, fixing the mess the monkeys had left it in. "There you go, bud, all good as new."

"Thanks, Monkey King." MK said, scooping up his bag from where he'd laid it on the ground, summoning the staff and getting ready to vault back to the city. "Y'know, we are just doing game night tonight. You're welcome to join if you want to-"

"It's fine, I've got something to do tonight." Wukong said, giving MK a smile that didn't feel...fully real. "You go have fun with your friends."

MK slowly nodded, not fully believing Wukong, but figuring that arguing would probably get him nowhere. So he turned, jumping off of Flower Fruit Mountain, and leaving Wukong all by himself.

-

Two months later, on the ship, Mei found a game of Twister in one of the closets.

It hadn't taken much to convince everyone else to join in, that is, other than Macaque, who insisted on not taking part. Not even 4 minutes into the game, Red Son forcibly kicked Wukong out, on the grounds that his tail gave him an unfair advantage. This left only Tang, Pigsy, Sandy, MK, Mei, and Red Son on the Twister mat.

Macaque lazily spun the spinner with his tail.

"Left hand blue." He said, voice a complete deadpan. Mei moved to reach over across MK-

And Tang fell down, bringing Pigsy down with him, who accidentally bumped into Red Son, who, knocked off balance, fell into Mei, who fell down on top of MK.

In the end, only Sandy was left still in 'standing', the others in a pile on top of the twister mat.

".....Sandy wins?" Macaque said, a questioning lilt in his voice, prompting MK to look over at him-

Which caused him to notice the expression on Wukong's face.

It suddenly struck MK that within the one week everyone had been on the ship, Wukong had yet to laugh, which in hindsight was rather concerning, but right now that meant that the other's didn't know-

"Uh guys? You might want to shield your eyes." MK said, barely managing to say it before-

Wukong burst out laughing, doubling over, and lighting up like a flashlight, accompanied by a few sparkles shining in the air. Macaque startled at the sudden noise, and ended up falling off the couch, which just made Wukong laugh harder, glowing brighter as a result. The others yelped at the sudden brightness, MK's warning not having registered in time.

Wukong, registering the fact that he was currently blinding the others, calmed down a little, the glow lessening as he went from full out laughter to soft chuckles.

"S- sorry I just-" He started, clearly trying to keep himself from falling back into hysterics again. "You looked so funny I just- I couldn't help it-"

Mei was the first to manage to blink the residual spots out of her vision and register what had just occurred.

"You glow?!" She asked, incredulous, the others also sporting similar expressions of surprise.

Things proceeded to go downhill from there, questions getting thrown out without any answers. At some point, in the chaos, Wukong straight up left the room without anyone noticing he was gone until Macaque pointed it out.

Of course, after a day or so, the hype of the new information had died down a little.

But not completely.

-

It was early morning, and almost everyone was in the kitchen. Mei and MK on their phones, Pigsy working on breakfast, Sandy pouring some tea, Red Son sipping some coffee, Tang reading a newspaper, and Wukong leaning against the kitchen wall, looking lost in thought. (They'd all long since learned it was pointless to try to wake Macaque up, he was not a morning person.)

Overall, it was an average morning.

And then Wukong started giggling, glowing softly. He was clearly lost in thought, probably completely forgetting where he was at the moment. Mei looked up from her phone to glance over at him.

"What, did you think of something funny, 'Sparkle Snickers'?" Mei asked, and Wukong-

Wukong's giggling abruptly cut off as became aware of where he was again, and as soon as he registered what Mei had just said, he looked away, rubbing the back of his neck in a flustered motion.

It took a moment for the others to connect the dots.

"Oh you've got to be kidding me." Mei said, an evil smirk appearing on her face. "Glitter Gleam."

Wukong's tail waved back and forth in a nervous gesture.

"Giggly Nightlight."

A nervous smile formed on Wukong's face.

"Twinkle Toes-"

"Okay, stop." Wukong said, a hand covering his face, a faint blush visible on the tips of his ears. MK almost felt bad for him, but at the same time...

"C'mon, after everything I've tried teasing you with, nicknames about your Giggle Glow is what gets to you?" Mei asked, laughing a bit herself as Wukong squeaked as the word "giggle glow" left her mouth. "Seriously? This is what embarrasses you?"

"It's not embarrassing-" Wukong said, which was a sentence nobody really believed, considering the way he still wouldn't look at them and the fact that the faint blush still hadn't faded. "It's just, not....cool, y'know?"

"No, I don't know." Mei said, leaning forwards on her elbows. "Please, enlighten me."

Wukong stuttered, clearly trying to figure out how to explain it, as MK set his phone down on the table.

"Is that why the stories don't mention that you glow?" MK asked, "You don't think it's cool, which, by the way, it totally is, but since you believe it isn't you got them to cut it out cause you're embarrassed over it?"

"It's not cool! And I'm not embarrassed!" Wukong denied, fur bristling as the others leveled him with a look that clearly showed that they didn't believe that statement one bit. He looked around the room, registering everyone's expressions-

He could tell they weren't going to let him live this down.

So he did the first thing he thought of.

He turned and ran away, hitting the light switch as he did so, sending the room into complete darkness so no one could see where he went.

"Wh- hey!" MK cried out, standing up and fumbling for the light switch. As he did so, he heard a thump, a muffled yelp, and a door shut, but he was mainly focused on trying to find the stupid light, why could you never find it when you need it-

The light switched back on, revealing that MK had been a good distance away from it. Macaque stood beside it, looking confused.

"What is going on?" He asked, looking confused.

"Monkey King ran away over something stupid." Red Son said, filling the shadow monkey in on the situation.

"So, what, you're all going to go look for him?" Macaque asked, sighing when the others nodded in response. "I should've expected that...."

"C'mon! You can search with us!" Mei said, grabbing hold of Macaque's arm and dragging him with her, MK and Red Son following close behind. Tang, Pigsy, and Sandy opted to stay in the kitchen, in case Wukong ended up circling back. MK, Mei, Macaque, and Red Son ended up walking through the halls, keeping an eye out for any sign of the Monkey King.

"Couldn't you just, y'know, use your hearing to find him?" Red Son eventually asked Macaque, who stumbled a little at the question, having not expected to be addressed.

"Who, me?" He asked, looking...oddly nervous. "Nah, he has ways of getting around it anyways."

"...Are you sure?" MK asked, now feeling just the slightest bit suspicious. "I remember you saying that you could hear anything-"

"I'm sure! I won't be any help here, I assure you!" Macaque said, shrinking down a bit as the three continued to stare at him.

"Y'know, you've seemed a little off this morning...." Mei said, and Macaque scratched the side of his face nervously. "Are you....okay?"

"What? Oh, I'm fine." Macaque said, chuckling nervously- and immediately realizing his mistake, as a faint glow resonated from him for a few moments. It wasn't long, but it was enough.

"Monkey King." MK said, and Wukong turned, dropping the Macaque glamour as he ran down the hallway, the trio chasing after him. he rounded a corner, and the trio turned to follow, but MK paused, hearing a faint banging coming from the closet door. He stopped, letting the others continue to chase Wukong, and turned, opening the door-

And the real Macaque tumbled out, onto the floor.

"I'm going to kill him." He mumbled, distractedly letting MK help him stand up. "He locked me in the closet. I'm going to kill him."

"Yeah, maybe save the murder for later." MK said, turning to follow where he'd seen the others gone.

-

He eventually found them, standing in the common room, looking around them with a healthy does of suspicion.

"Where'd he go?" MK asked.

"We know he hasn't left this room. Red Son made sure of it." Mei said, Red Son holding up a tablet to show he'd hacked into the ship's security systems. "But as for where in this room he is...."

"...As much as I hate this, I've got an idea." Macaque said, the others looking at him with mild shock. "Don't look at me like that, I'm only doing this because it'll be funny, and cause I wanna get revenge on him for locking me in a closet."

"The floor is yours." Red Son said, doing an over dramatic bow as he said it. Macaque rolled his eyes (and MK mentally decided to bring up the shadow monkey's own dramatics later-) but he stepped forwards, into the center of the room.

A shadow clone appeared, slowly emerging from Macaque's own shadow. It stood there for a moment, still, before turning and merging with a shadow on the wall.

A few seconds passed.

And then a faint glow, as well as some muffled giggling, came from behind one of the cabinets. MK quickly moved forwards, reaching behind it-

And pulling out a doll-sized Monkey King, holding him up by the edge of his clothes.

Wukong squeaked, quickly switching back to his usual size, sending MK a bit off balance, and trying to run away, but MK refused to let him, holding tight to the edge of Wukong's outfit. It took a few minutes of struggling, (which Macaque clearly enjoyed, if his own muffled laughter was anything to go by.), but eventually Wukong gave up, sighing as he fell down onto his back, laying there, defeated. Mei and Red Son moved to stand closer to him, and MK lightly nudged him with his foot.

"You ready to admit that your Light-up Laughter is cool now?" He asked, and Wukong groaned, rolling over so that his face was hidden by the floor.

"Stop giving it stupid names!" He whined, "And it's not cool!"

"I should warn you." Macaque said, sitting down on the nearby couch, "You're not going to make much progress on this. He was like this even back when we we're 'friends'. I'm surprised he didn't grow out of it, honestly."

"You shut up." Wukong hissed, sitting up a little just to glare at Macaque before going back to laying face down on the floor. "I should've never let myself laugh in front of any of you."

Well. That sentence was, on some level, mildly concerning, but MK decided to brush past it for now.

"Aw, c'mon Monkey King." Mei said, kneeling down and poking Wukong's arm, repeatedly. "You can't just mope over a few nicknames forever."

"Watch me."

"If you keep this up, we'll have to start calling you the emo monkey, instead of Macaque." Red Son said.

"Should I be offended by that?" Macaque asked, "I feel like I should be offended by that-"

Wukong didn't respond, continuing to lay face down on the floor. Mei continued poking his arm. After a few minutes of consideration, MK started to lightly nudge Wukong as well. Red Son knelt down beside MK to start poking Wukong in the back with a pencil he'd found on a nearby desk. Macaque watched this go down with thinly veiled amusement.

After a few moments of no response from Wukong though, Macaque sighed, standing up and making his way over. Silently, he created a few pairs of sunglasses, handing them off to each member of the trio, indicating for them to put them on. A bit confused, but willing to go along with it, they complied, sliding the glasses over their eyes. Macaque, having affirmed that their eyes were protected, slid his own pair of sunglasses on, then looked down at Wukong, contemplating.

And then he leaned down and skittered his fingers behind Wukong's knee. The reaction was immediate, Wukong squeaking before breaking into loud laughter, lighting up like a beacon, sparkles shining all around him. It was nearly bright enough to make the trio shield their eyes, even with sunglasses. Wukong kicked his leg out, very nearly missing hitting Macaque in the face, rolling over and getting up, practically scrambling to get away from the other monkey.

"Don't do that." He hissed, once he'd managed to get a hold of himself, the light dimming and vanishing completely. (Mei, quietly, mumbled something about wishing she'd gotten that on camera.)

"Either you stop moping around and accept the facts about your, what did Mei call it- right, 'Giggle Glow'-" Macaque said, giving Wukong a threatening look. "Or I tickle you again. Your choice."

".....Fine. Fine!" Wukong said, "It's cool! Whatever! Can we just drop this already?!"

-

They didn't drop it. They very much didn't drop it.

Whenever Wukong so much as lightly chuckled, someone would comment on the glow. At some point, he genuinely considered the idea of just never laughing in the others presence ever again, but that plan was quickly laid to rest-

The others were just. Too. Funny.

"Kill me." Wukong muttered, his face on the table, a faint glow still surrounding him from residual laughter. "You guys are going to kill me."

"Yep, that's the plan!" Macaque called from the door way. "Can't believe it took you so long to figure that out, Sparkling Peach-"

"I hate all of you."

[astarryon]

Amends

Pairing: Bucky x reader

Warnings: mentions of violence and weapons, slight language, short fight scene, etc.

Summary: The last thing you expect to find when you come home is the most important ghost from your haunted past.

A/N: Not really sure where this one came from, just something I dreamed up after watching the first episode of TFATWS! Let me know what y’all think!

Masterlist

It’s the sharp, cloying scent of cologne that tips you off.

You don’t think much of it at first, initially having caught the trail of it down the hall from your apartment door. Automatically, you assume it belongs to one of your neighbors, or even one of the guests they’ve invited over for the night. Nothing to harbor any sort of significant concern over.

That changes the instant you reach your front door.

It’s locked. In addition to that, the hall light is off, and from what you can see there’s only darkness to be seen beyond the bottom crack of the door. For all intents and purposes, as far as you can tell, everything is exactly how you’d left it upon leaving your home earlier in the evening. But the closer you’d walked to your door, the more concentrated the scent had become –– to the point that it’s now the only thing your sharpened senses can focus on.

You didn’t used to be like this. Paranoid. Always instantly assuming the worst, to note something as simple as the smell of cologne hanging in the air and immediately jump to the conclusion that it meant someone had finally come to put an end to you. There’d been a time, once, when you trusted easily and laughed with everyone. When you would make conversations with strangers as you passed them by on the street, when you could spend ages soaking in the sun with your eyes closed with no worry of whether you’d open them to find a knife buried in your chest or a bullet lodged in your skull.

But you hadn’t been that way in a very, very long time. And as you crack the door to your apartment open, reaching for the knife hidden at your hip as the cologne’s stench only grows stronger, you can’t help but wonder if that isn’t as much a blessing as it is a curse.

Your apartment is dark, but that doesn’t make much difference to you. You’ve got the space memorized like the back of your hand, know where each corner is and where every weapon is placed –– home court advantage. Stepping inside and closing the door as softly as you can, you make sure to keep your back to the wall, clutching the handle of your knife ever tighter. You might know your way around, but you’ve been intentionally dulling your senses, your reflexes, in an effort to bury the past and leave it behind you. You’re not entirely sure where the intruder is in your home, and you’ll be damned before you let them get the drop on you before you’ve put up a proper fight.

And then you hear it. A creak in the floor boards with the shifting of body weight, just to your right. In your chest, your heart thumps so forcefully that you’re positive its bound to explode right through your ribcage, and you know you don’t have much time, but that doesn’t stop you from slipping your eyes closed for the single spare second you do have and steeling yourself for what’s sure to come before opening them again, sliding your gaze just over your shoulder to assess the present threat.

Your mouth instantly runs dry the moment you lay eyes on him.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” he says softly, but your reflexes kick in the moment he speaks and before you can blink, you launch at him in a flurry of fists and panic.

That face. How many hours have you spent trying to convince yourself you would never see that face again, never have that bone chilling, bloodcurdling voice rasping in your ear? How much time have you spent nervously glancing over your shoulder, moving from apartment to apartment because something in your gut told you he was on your trail? You didn’t want to believe it, had always tried to reassure yourself that he was gone –– that all of Hydra was gone –– but you’d never quite managed to convince yourself.

And, given that you’d just walked into your apartment to find the Winter Soldier staring back at you, that was apparently for good reason.

He blocks the first hit you throw at him easily, sidestepping out of its way. The second manages to clip him on the jaw, though it doesn’t succeed in knocking him back as it would on any normal person. He opens his mouth to speak again, but you don’t give him the chance to get a word out before you send a kick flying toward his face. He’s forced to duck and roll, which in turn gives you an opening to launch another kick, but he reaches out with a hand and clamps a vice like grip around your ankle.

All it takes is one decisive tug for him to put you flat on your back.

“Stop,” he snaps, reaching to knock the knife from your grip. Funny, that. In your panic to land a hit on him, you hadn’t even thought to make use of it. “Stop fighting. I’m not here to hurt you.”

It’s the second time the words fall from his mouth, but as with the first, they don’t leave much of an impression.

The Winter Soldier looks just the same as the last time you’d been in his presence, save for shorter hair and a clean shaven face. His skin is still pale as a sheet, turned ghostly in the few slivers of moonlight that manage to creep their way through the blinds hanging in the window. His eyes are still ice, a shade of blue that makes you grind your teeth and sets your nerves on edge. He’s got that same melancholy about him that had been there the first time you’d seen him, though now you knew better than to sympathize with it, to trust it.

Making that mistake years ago had cost you your life as you knew it.

“Get off me,” you command, struggling hard.

It’s no use –– his grip is much too strong. You won’t be going anywhere until he wants you to.

“Please stop,” he tries, an odd desperation in his words.

“Get off me!” you yell again, kicking with your legs like a helpless child.

The Winter Soldier clamps the hand not preoccupied with pinning your wrists above your head over your mouth, waiting for your muffled screams and swears to die down before trying to speak again.

“Look, this is simple,” he sighs tiredly, inexplicable sadness shining in his eyes. “I will let go of you as soon as you calm down. Alright? All I want is to have a conversation.”

You want to call bullshit, but his hand over your mouth still robs you of your voice. You aren’t sure what game he’s playing, but it doesn’t seem like he’s leaving you with much of a choice but to participate. And… well, technically up to this point, every move he’s made has been defensive. Perhaps playing along wouldn’t necessarily be the worst course of action.

He removes his touch from your body as soon as you nod and go still, making it clear that you have no intention to repeat your flurry of attacks from before. Part of you is tempted to make an attempt to pull one over on him, strike and get up and leave as fast as you can, but you know it would be in vain. He’s faster than you, always has been. It wouldn’t take more than a passing second for him to get his hand around your throat and squeeze.

The two of you sit together in silence for a few awkward minutes, trading nothing but ragged, adrenaline spiked breaths and charged stares between you. Just when you’re sure his ploy for peace had been nothing more than a cheap trick to allow him time to catch his breath before finishing the job and killing you, he opens his mouth, then closes it again, and repeats this sequence of actions two more times before actually giving a voice to his words.

“My name is James,” he tells you, casting his eyes down to the floor. “I’m… I’m not who I used to be.”

“You’re not?” you seethe, barely managing to keep your volume level in check. “You sure look the same.”

“I’m not,” the Winter Soldier –– or, James, as he’d introduced himself –– insisted. “Not at all.”

“That’s funny,” you spit, hands trembling where you’ve forced them to remain down at your sides. If you squeeze your fists any tighter, you’ll be sure to snap a bone. “Because I remember you. You and all the little lessons you made sure to incorporate into your training.”

“That wasn’t me,” James mutters lowly, jaw working hard enough that the grind of his teeth was audible.

“Oh, wasn’t it, though?” you hiss, flashes of red anger lacing your vision. “You weren’t the one who dislocated my arm and then forced me to spar without resetting it? You weren’t the one who taught me to lie by holding a blade to my throat and pressing the knife harder against my skin every time you saw a shift in my expression? Neither of those were you?”

“No,” he mumbles, but you hardly hear it, and you don’t care to.

You aren’t done with him. Not yet.

“Then you also must not be the one responsible for the deaths of my family,” you throw at him, the tang of iron souring the back of your tongue. “The one who took my parents away from me with the squeeze of a trigger? The same one who happens to be the whole reason that Hydra managed to get their hands on me in the first place? You knew what it was like, to be taken and turned into a monster, a–– a machine for them to build to suit their needs and use whenever they felt like they didn’t have enough power, but you didn’t care. You could have stopped that from happening to me, but you didn’t.”

“That wasn’t me,” James snaps, raising his hoarse voice at you for the first time all evening. The sudden outburst is so jarring it takes you aback, forcing a pause in the functions of your brain. All you can do is continue gazing upon the quiet anger which slowly boils into James’ features. “You were with Hydra for twenty years before Steve blew their cover, I was with them for seventy. Seven decades, doing the work of the people I enlisted in the world war to stop in the first place. Knowing that, do you honestly think the things I did were at all my own decisions?”

You cross your arms, swallowing hard as your gaze switches from his contorted expression to the floor. You don’t want to hear this. All these years hiding, trying to get back to some semblance of normal and carve out as much of a life as you could for yourself, it hadn’t been the faces of the Hydra operatives that haunted your nightmares each time you closed your eyes to fall asleep. It had been one with eyes blue as ice and twenty times colder, no compassion, compunction, or remorse to be found at all within their depths. One with a gaze deader than any of the corpses he’d been responsible for making.

That face was his.

“So why are you here then?” you sigh, still staring at the floor. You can’t trust yourself with anything else, not right now. Actually looking up at him holds the potential to yield very dangerous results. “To finish the job? I’m not stupid, I know none of the other agents are left. But if you think I’m just going to sit here all quiet and make killing me easier on you––”

“Oh, you people and your assumptions,” James mutters blackly under his breath, reaching a gloved hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “That is not why I’m here. Which I might have been able to tell you if you’d just let me get a word in edgewise.”

“You mean like you used to let me?” you scoff, rolling your eyes to the ceiling and doing your damnedest not to give into the rage rising in your chest. “You’ll have to forgive me for not buying that, considering the entirety of our past and all.”

“Christ,” he gripes, more to himself than to you, “and Raynor says I’m paranoid.” The name isn’t one you recognize, but to James its significance is clear. Speaking it seems to serve as a reminder to him, and he exhales deeply and loosens his shoulders in response to it. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he almost appeared to be counting himself down to his next sentence –– like it was so important he needed to work his way up to it. “I’m here… because…”

You blink, tilting your head to the side as you await his explanation. Actively refraining from attempting any guesses. Not exactly a challenge. If he truly didn’t come here to kill you, then his motive was a complete mystery.

Ages pass before he finally works up the nerve to say what he’s been meaning to.

“I’m here,” he sighs, carefully enunciating each word like he’s afraid they’ll break if he doesn’t pay them enough care, “because I am no longer the Winter Soldier. I am… I am James Bucky Barnes, and you are part of my effort to make amends.”

His words are small, crafted with the brittleness of glass and about ten times as fragile. They’re spoken so resolutely that you’re positive this isn’t the first instance in which he’s uttered them to another human, but they seem… choked, for lack of a better description. Judging by his grimace, they clearly don’t come easily, either.

You’re entirely unsure what to make of them.

“You don’t have to say anything,” James assures you, clasping his hands together in a manner that almost looks meek. “I don’t expect… What I’m trying to say is that it’s not transactional, this apology. There isn’t anything I want from you, or anything I’m looking to take. Just… My doctor, she had me write out a list of names of people to confront, and some to apologize to. That’s the one yours is on.”

You hear the words coming out of his mouth. What’s more, you understand them in a conceptual sense. But for some reason your brain lags in correlating the words and their meanings, in properly contextualizing them in accordance with his soft tone and the sincere regret in his eyes. Of all the nights you’d spent living in fear of this exact moment, that your mentor of once upon a time would one day appear to quietly finish you off, the last thing you’d ever expected to be met with instead was this.

Whatever this was, exactly.

You scan his body head to toe once more, searching more carefully this time. Dressed in all black as he was, it made it slightly more difficult to be certain, but you don’t see any telltale signs of a gun hiding anywhere beneath his clothing. That didn’t mean there wasn’t one, nor did it mean there was no knife strapped to his arm or tucked away in his boot, but you could spy no evidence.

So, no weapons. No yelling, other than to cut through your assumptions of violence. No hissed warnings or threats. No apparent sign he’s looking for a fight. Each of your senses scream at you to ignore all of this, to put no trust at all into the meaningless words of a man, a machine, who had only ever served to bring strife and suffering into your life. Even in spite of the realization that he’s likely unarmed, you still find yourself tempted to attack and flee before he inevitably makes his move.

But then…

“Why?”

The question catches each of you by surprise. James, because he clearly hadn’t expected much of a response, and if he got one, he didn’t think it would be simple as a posed curiosity, and you, because you hadn’t truly meant to ask the question aloud.

“Why…?” James echoes, brow furrowing in confusion. Certainly a sight to behold. Time away from existing as the Winter Soldier had evidently made his face that much more expressive.

Strange, that there could be so much to read in that face, yet so little at the same time.

You open your mouth to speak, carefully sifting through words in your mind before deciding upon the proper combination to convey your meaning. “Why would you want to do something like that?”

James squints in confusion. “Apologize?” he reiterates, gears in his head visibly turning a mile a minute.

“You had to know what I would think,” you explain, “seeing you after all this time. You say you have a list? Well, I can’t be the only one who instantly jumped to the worst case scenario. Why would you… why would you want to put yourself through something like that? A slideshow of the people you hurt? That’s painful, James.”

“No more painful than all the things I did to them,” James sighs, shoulders deflating. “To you. And anyway, it wasn’t me who did all those things. It was someone else’s will, I was just… I was just the tool. That’s not something I can change, and I can’t bring back all the people Hydra used me to kill. But I can apologize for it, because I am sorry. Just like I’m sorry for my part in what happened to you.”

You can see it more clearly, now. The human in him. Before, he’d been cold. Mechanic. Void of any and all emotion as far as the eye could see. That had made it easy to hate him, all those days he’d made you fight, spar, endure endless physical and emotional pain until you learned to be the tool Hydra wanted you to be. In your pain, your rage, your fear that all you would know for the rest of your existence were dark rooms and metal walls, the Winter Soldier had been the one to incur your wrath.

But this man was not the one you’d known. This man was different. This was a man whose eyes glimmered with remorse so bright it looked like unshed tears. This was a man with a face so expressive it was hard to believe you’d known its features for decades. A man who only wanted to talk, because if he’d had a more sinister motive in coming here, you would surely be dead by now.

Just as he’d told you moments ago, this man was not the Winter Soldier.

“Does it help?” you question, unable to force your words above a whisper. “Seeking people out, apologizing like this.”

“Not in the way you’re thinking,” James tells you, blue eyes wandering back to the floor. The light of the moon peeking through your window casts them an odd tone of silver. “It doesn’t take the hurt away, not for me or for them. But it helps to say it out loud, that I’m not that person anymore. Not everyone believes it, but all of this isn’t for them. It’s for me.”

“To what end?” you ask, words coming out harsher than you mean them to. “What’s the point, then?”

James shrugs a shoulder, head shaking. “My doctor says closure,” he supplies, reaching up almost nervously to scratch at the back of his neck with a gloved hand. “Making amends helps process difficult situations. It’s not easy, but I figure it’s as good a shot as I’ve got to move on from all of this.”

All James was looking for was a way to move on. Wasn’t that the same thing you’d been trying to do these past few years, when you laid down to sleep at night and did your best to push all the faces of the people you’d hurt at Hydra’s direction out of your mind? You certainly wouldn’t consider yourself the same person you’d been back then. Was it really fair of you to condemn James to his past in the way you’d been trying so hard to escape yours?

“I’ve been at this a long time, James,” you sigh, shaking your head. “Trying to move on from my past, trying to… forget. So far, it hasn’t worked out.”

“Forgetting isn’t the point,” James responds carefully, analyzing your face with marked carefulness. “You’ll never be able to forget. The past will always be there. It’s not something you can run from.” He pauses then, and the next time he speaks it sounds as if he’s been struck hard by a sudden epiphany. “But you can come to terms with all of it,” he goes on, “if you try. And you really gotta try, ‘cause otherwise all that bad will still be waiting for you when you wake up in the morning. Take it from someone who knows.”

And you don’t really know what to say to that. You’re not really sure what you can say. James’ certainty is tangible. You can feel it in his words, the way they tickle your brain like ribbons and set your mind rolling down a path you don’t altogether recognize. You want to ask him about it, make him elaborate further on all that he’s said, pick each and every one of his sentences apart until you understand the methods and reasonings for what he’s doing so you can know for sure if it will work for you the same it clearly seems to be working for him.

But he’s clearing his throat and running a hand through his dark hair before you get the chance.

“Like I said,” James tells you. “I’m very sorry for the hurt and the pain my actions have caused you. I can’t take it back, and I can’t change the past. All I can do now is try to be someone better. I hope… I hope you understand.”

And then he’s gone, out the front door so quickly you don’t realize until it shuts behind him.

You scan through your dark apartment, taking note of all your surroundings. James has left no sign of his presence, hasn’t disturbed a single one of your belongings. Even his footsteps over the floor on his way out had been remarkably silent –– though that, you supposed, was characteristic of his capabilities. Here and gone in an instant, fluid as a ghost.

The realization that you’d only been aware of his presence before entering your apartment because he’d wanted you to be strikes you dumb.

He hadn’t come here to cause you harm, hadn’t shown up at your home to kill you, rid himself and the rest of the world of the living reminder of the dark things which had gone on in the Hydra base –– though, doing so would have required such little effort on his part. No, James… James’ reason for seeking you out had been exactly what he’d told you.

Making amends, in an attempt to forgive himself for the things which others surely couldn’t. Perhaps that had been your mistake all these years. Rather than beating the past out of your mind with a stick, refusing to acknowledge it for everything you’re worth… maybe trying something else was the correct way to go.

Surely taking a page out of James’ book couldn’t hurt.

Your body took charge through no accord of your own, and before you realized it, you were standing in your kitchen beneath the glow of a single light staring down at a blank sheet of paper, fingers turning the pen in your grasp over and over again in your palm.

Names. You needed to write down names. But doing that would require you to actively delve into your past, and you weren’t sure that was something you could handle much of tonight. But there was one name which immediately sprang to mind, one repeating itself over and over in your head like a mantra. Sighing, you uncapped the pen and touched its point to paper, hastily scrawling out a single name before setting it back down on the counter.

James Bucky Barnes.

A list of names to make amends, half to confront, half to apologize.

You’d been on his. It only makes sense that he’d be on yours, too.

[inkweaver22-blr]

Welcome to chapter nine! This one was meant to just be another filler with one of my own AU’s, but Tang just had to be introspective and have a moment of character growth. Hope you enjoy!

EDIT: This chapter has been edited to include some new info dropped on the same day I originally posted this! More info in the End Notes!

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Scattered Cicadas - Chapter Nine: Rocks and Roles

Tang knows how to act. That doesn't mean he likes to play every part.

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Tang liked to think of himself as a decent actor, at least back in the original timeline. He had been part of the theater class in high school and telling stories required a bit of a dramatic flair if you wanted to keep your audience entertained. Convincing Pigsy he was a popular food critic hadn’t been too hard back then.

The many cycles he had been through had certainly helped polish his skill into a genuine talent. That one time where he and everyone else had been professional actors playing the roles of themselves from the original timeline as part of a show had especially allowed him to hone himself to a greater degree than before.

Being stuck jumping through time had practically made it a necessity.

It wasn’t that Tang enjoyed what was essentially lying to his family. It was more for their protection. He had almost broken the “No Interference” rule a few times when he hadn’t properly reacted to events that, while shocking or upsetting to his family, were simply part of his routine by now. He couldn’t allow the repetitive nature of the cycles to make him slip up and potentially cause more harm by being confronted by his lack of surprise or fear.

So he acted. He gasped at all the right moments or screamed in fear when in danger. Every laugh, every sigh of exasperation, every freak out over something related to Wukong was perfectly performed so as to not to raise suspicion. So long as the proper reaction occurred in response to the correct effect, everything went smoothly.

It wasn’t too hard or taxing as he never needed to fake his enjoyment of being around his family. Luckily for him, he also didn’t have to act exactly as he had been in the original timeline, or he may have gone insane from the monotony of it.

The cycles where his background was entirely rewritten were blessings in disguise, really. They were new. Fresh experiences for Tang to have and not have to work as hard to realistically react to.

He treated them like a method acting exercise. The new memories as part of Tang’s new backstory was the motivation for the ‘character’ he was playing. He didn’t have to fully adhere to them, but they certainly helped him play the role provided to him for the cycle.

He still disliked playing the villain however.

It happened a few times before already. The most notable had been when Zhu Bajie was in the role of Sun Wukong as MK’s mentor.

Tang shuddered at the memory of that timeline.

Saying that version of him had been unhinged was severely downplaying the many atrocities he had performed on both himself and others. Committing suicide to erase his name from the books of the dead, killing demons to absorb their lifeforce, and cutting open his own chest to manually insert the gem holding that lifeforce into himself for power were simply the tamer actions he had committed.

He supposed that heartbreak, jealousy, and internalized insecurities could drive even the most benign people to madness so long as they properly justified their actions to themselves.

It had been the first time in quite a while that Tang seriously considered intentionally breaking the interference rule and just running off to live in solitude for the entire cycle. Getting “redeemed” had been one of the most difficult things he had tried to pull off.

Tang dodged a swipe from the Monkey King’s staff as he was brought back into the present.

He was the villain once again this cycle. Luckily though, he was much less of a threat to his family this time around.

He was replacing Red Son as the demon child of Demon Bull King and Princess Iron Fan.

Tang, Son of the Earth.

He wasn’t the only one who was switched around. Pigsy, who went by Bajie, was a human who had become Wukong’s successor. MK was a boar demon who ran the noodle shop. Red Son was a scientist and engineer who frequented the restaurant.

It was almost an opposite reflection of the cycle he had just been musing about.

“You’ll have to do better than that, noodle boy,” Tang taunted as he swung his arms to pull chunks of stone from the ground, his hands and the Earth he controlled both glowing with a golden-yellow light.

He supposed that it made sense for him to have some sort of elemental power if he was this timeline’s Red Son. Earth fit as he had certainly mellowed out over the course of the cycles, becoming more focused and self assured. His original self would have most certainly been associated with air with how flighty he had been.

Tang made sure to keep his full concentration as he attacked Bajie. Earth may be the element of the sturdy, but it had the potential to be much more volatile than fire. It was easy to let loose and cause a catastrophic earthquake. It took precision to control smaller pieces of rock without causing too much collateral damage.

Bajie batted away the earthen projectiles with ease and rushed into an opening Tang had intentionally left. He had to do his best to not rely on the fighting skills he had from previous cycles and use only what his memories knew when playing a villain. Otherwise he’d easily beat the fledgling hero and that certainly would be treated as interfering.

Tang winced as the staff connected with his ribs and sent him flying. He coughed as he pulled himself up, holding his injured side as he glared at the now smirking Bajie.

“How’s that for better!”

“This isn’t over,” Tang cried out dramatically. He activated his powers, this time summoning a whirlwind of sand to teleport away.

Another scene as the villain successfully played out.

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Tang sat in his workshop, calculating the specific size of a rune circle he would need.

It seemed that similarly to how Red Son was a genius that incorporated magic into science, this version of Tang was one who incorporated science into magic. Not a big distinction, but important in how the process worked. It still took an impressive amount of knowledge on both subjects to work them together in the end.

Setting his pen down to take a break, Tang looked around as he stretched. He caught his reflection in a nearby piece of metal machinery he had been fiddling with and examined himself once again.

He didn’t look too different from his human self, his face remaining the same. His hair was now a dark brown with yellow highlights and his glasses were much smaller. The biggest difference were the bull horns sticking out of the side of his head.

He didn’t mind them too much, but having to give up any pull over shirt for button downs was a hassle.

Looking at his horns lead the demon scholar to think about his parents in this timeline.

Demon Bull King and Princess Iron Fan.

Tang frowned as he recalled the less than comforting welcome he had received after returning from his defeat. The disapproving dismissal from his father and scathing taunts from his mother had been demoralizing. It would have hurt more if he hadn't had the years of time jumping behind him.

If this was how Red Son was commonly treated, it was no wonder he worked hard in everything he did just to gain a scrap of approval and praise.

And yet he knew they loved each other. The moments he noticed didn’t happen often, but he could tell that his parents held some affection for him, and he obviously cared for them. He just didn’t understand why they acted so cruelly to one another.

Was it a demon thing? Were they afraid that by showing their love they were showing weakness?

That was certainly possible, but Tang disagreed with the sentiment. He had been through enough cycles to see that love made one stronger. It wasn’t the weakness their enemies thought it was.

Tang was already planning on becoming redeemed in this cycle. It hurt to think his parents would disown him, but what if that didn’t have to happen?

He thought about that one specific cycle and how he had become so twisted. All of it could have been avoided had his past self simply let go of his long held beliefs and went with Bajie.

Now he just had to make two powerful demons do just that.

Tang was an amazing actor.

He also had many years of watching the people around him and knew most of them almost better than they knew themselves.

His current parents were no exception.

He could see the potential for a loving and healthy family, buried just beneath the surface.

It would take some work, but he was sure he could unearth it and polish that potential until it shined.

With renewed energy, Tang pulled out a blank scroll and began planning.

He had a family to save.

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Welcome to what I’m calling the Noodle Swap AU! It is named that way because the only change is that the pairs that make up the two most popular noodle ships (SpicyNoodles and FreeNoodles) swap places!

Shout out to @winterpower98 for their amazing Actor AU and Dad Swap AU mentioned in this chapter! Go check them out!

Yes, yes, I know I’ve basically made Tang here Terra from Teen Titans. Most people would give him Air as an element, but 1) we already have an Air user in Princess Iron Fan and 2) Tang has changed quite a bit since the start of this Time Hopping experience, as he states himself in the chapter.

I do genuinely believe there’s a loving family hidden somewhere underneath all the cruelty the DBK crew throw at each other. It’s already been hinted that Red Son will get a redemption arc in the show, but I want one for his parents too.

That’s all for now! See you in the next chapter!

:IMPORTANT EDIT!!!!:

There's been a few paragraphs changed and added to include the new canon lore for Tang in the Dad Swap AU! Go check out @kitkat1003's absolutely ASTOUNDING work, When the Tide Pulls Away and the Earth Sharpens to Steel! It is INCREDIBLE and if it was finished, you'd absolutely know there would be an entire chapter dedicated to it here.

[thesightstoshowyou]

Okok Pennywise fluff? If you can. Just a cute little thing with pennywise. If you need an idea maybe Pennywise seeing s/o dancing in their room on a rainy night then he decides to join in? And then cuddles after ?( ^ω^ ) hope you are doing well and this isn’t too much to ask.

I am doing very well! Thank you so much for the ask. You are very sweet, anon. I gotta be honest with you, though. I struggled with this ask! With the way I write him, I have difficulty seeing Pennywise in fluffy situations. But, I’m always up for a challenge. I’ve come up with a compromise that I hope suits us both. I’m calling it “creepy cute.” Enjoy :)

For familiarity, I’m sticking with the same reader from my other Pennywise fics on my Masterlist.

Warnings: Horror elements, nothing too crazy

             A movie plays on the television, one whose title you cannot recall. A heartfelt scene between generic man and woman characters reflects off your glassy eyes. Absently, you scratch the scabbed over bite marks on your shoulder.

             Your eyelids droop. You hover on the precipice of sleep, the movie’s soundtrack now a distant drone in the back of your mind. The muted colors on the screen begin to morph, growing bright and loud. A clown wearing red and white face paint dances around a neon stage, giggling and kicking red balloons that fall from an unseen ceiling.

             Your eyelids flutter. Pennywise points to the side of the screen and grins wide with too many teeth.

             Wakey, wakey. There’s someone at the door.

             BANG BANG BANG

             You jerk awake, sitting bolt upright. Disoriented, you look wildly around the room. The television is off—hadn’t it just been on—and the living room is quiet and mostly dark, only illuminated by the light from the kitchen. Rain pummels the windows and wind howls through the trees outside, lightning and thunder cracking overhead.

             You take a shuddering breath and realize you must have been dreaming of the clown again. They happen so often anymore, the dreams. You think you should be used to them by now.

             Dragging a hand down your face, you stand and head to the kitchen. You peek in the fridge and open cupboards, your body anxious to move and relieve your jitters. You decide to make a snack. Maybe food will calm you down.

             You choose a playlist on your phone, hoping some music will fill the uncomfortable silence broken only by the pitter patter of rain on the roof and the rumble of thunder. You push the tab on the toaster, mindlessly swaying to the music crooning quietly from the speaker.

             You sing along, tapping your fingers on the counter in time with the beat. You pause, falling still. Unease settles heavy in your gut.

             Your skin crawls. You tense. There’s something behind you, right behind you, breathing down your neck, hot, metallic breath that reeks of death—

             You whirl around, eyes wide and heart hammering. The kitchen is empty, save for yourself. You draw in a shuddering breath, gripping the counter in an effort to steady yourself.

             He’s here, somewhere, toying with you. You’ve long since abandoned the hope that these little occurrences are all in your head. The reality is far more frightening. Something hunts you.

             You shriek when the toast pops out of the toaster. Gripping your chest, you smile sardonically and shake your head. Fuck, you’re gonna have a heart attack—

             Suddenly, the lights go out with a click. You’re plunged into darkness. Your music slows unnaturally, tone deepening, a low growl replacing the lyrics and rising to a deafening roar.  

             You slap the screen and pause the song, your breath coming in rapid gasps. You sprint to the light switch, flicking it off and on to no effect. Trembling from head to toe, you wait for the laugh, the bite, the long, gloved fingers closing around your throat, the next trick.

             Nothing. The rain and wind still rattle the windows. Lightening briefly illuminates the kitchen and thunder booms. Nothing.

             Then—

             BANG BANG BANG BANG

             You yelp, clapping a hand over your mouth. Someone is pounding on the door, just like in your dream. Maybe it hadn’t been a dream after all….

             Slowly, timidly, you make your way down the hall toward the front door. You stifle a whimper as you round the corner to the entryway.

             BANG BANG BANG

             The door rattles with the force of the blows, the frame splintering, wood chips skittering across the floor. A scream tears from your throat and you jump back, tensing and wanting nothing more than to flee.

             Do you run? No, you’ve done that before. You can’t escape him. Then, do you open the door?

             You wait. And wait. Silence. Lightening flashes, thunder rumbles. Silence.

             Where did he go?

             You turn and run straight into a solid chest. Bells jingle. A white glove wraps around your throat, cutting off your next panicked shriek.

             “Rude, rude, girl to leave poor Pennywise out in the rain.” You meet his glowing yellow gaze, drool dripping from his full, bloody lips to splatter onto the floor between you.

           You don’t fight. There’s no point anymore, no escaping him. There was only ever one outcome. This doesn’t mean you are any less afraid, however. You’re shaking so badly your teeth are nearly chattering in your mouth. You wonder what fresh horror he has in store for you tonight.

             Pennywise tips his head to the side, leaning over you, observing you. He hums thoughtfully. The hand around your throat moves to your jaw and he gives your head a playful little shake.

             “Little thing.” Odd. It almost sounds affectionate, the way he says it, instead of condescending as it does normally. He leans low, burying his nose in your hair and inhaling deeply, “Want to know how your fear tastes? Sweet, honeyed, sticky, sticky girl. Addictive.” The last word is purred against your cheek.

             With a giggle he takes your hand, spinning you in a circle before pulling you back against his chest. His other hand wraps around your waist and he sways back and forth, just as you had in the kitchen. He takes a huge step, long, gangly leg reaching into the hallway, towing you with him as he goes. He’s swaying still, waltzing down the hall toward your bedroom. Frantically, you think this is, without a doubt, the most bizarre thing that has ever happened to you.

             As he swings you around, he hums a tune that sounds vaguely familiar but, at the same time, impossible to place. You struggle to keep up with his long strides, stumbling along awkwardly as he half drags, half swings you down the hall. He pauses at the doorway to your room to kick it open, laughing when it bounces off the wall.

             Once inside your room, Pennywise scoops you up and tosses you onto your bed as though you weigh nothing. You bounce, nearly rolling off the other side completely. Before you have a chance to right yourself, he’s gripping your calves, pulling you toward him.

             You expect him to tear off your clothes, but he surprises you once again by bundling you up in his arms and curling up on the bed. The way he holds you, tucked neatly under his chin, drowns your face in the ruffles of his costume and you must crane your neck to avoid suffocation. This close you can smell everything, the rotting carrion scent of his breath, the musty smell of his costume, the metallic tang of blood still lingering on his lips from who knows what.

            You can’t see his face from where you’re smashed against his chest so there’s no way to tell what he’s thinking; if he’s leering at you with all those teeth on display. What is he planning? The suspense is going to make your heart burst.

            “Wiggly thing. Hold. Still,” he commands, crushing you harder against his chest and burying his face into the top of your head. Immediately, you still, your panicked breaths making the dingy ruffles billow. What is happening?

             Is he…is he cuddling you?

             You were wrong before. This is the most bizarre thing that has ever happened to you.

            “Poor pet. Too many thoughts. Human minds are always so frenzied, a thousand wretched insects fluttering, buzzing….” As he muses, he pets your hair, twisting the strands between his spidery fingers. He playfully tugs a strand before resting his hand on the back of your neck.

             Minutes pass where you stare, wide eyed, at the ceiling. Pennywise hasn’t moved, aside from the steady rise and fall of his chest. You’re so confused, anxious thoughts reaching, reaching for an explanation.

             You jerk when a low rumble starts up in his chest. At first you think it’s a growl, but when it continues, an incessant, deep, rolling sound that vibrates in your own chest, you realize it’s something else. You gape.

             He’s…purring. Purring, like a cat!

             You give up. The more you try to understand this unusual situation, the more curious it gets. There’s nothing you can do about it anyway. You’re trapped here in his arms until Pennywise decides he’s had enough.

             The clown titters quietly above you. He must realize he’s won. You sigh and will your tense body to relax.

             Eventually you do relax. Your frantic heart rate slows, your gasping breaths even out. The gentle drone emanating from his chest is oddly soothing and soon your eyes droop. The heat from his body lulls you into a cozy, semi-conscious state. Slowly, hesitantly, you slip into slumber.

             In the morning, he’s gone, the mussed bedsheets the only hint he was ever there at all. 

[heliads]

Switching Sides

Y/N L/N is a Phoenix, a supernatural who can conjure up fire. When she first meets up with Theo Raeken, he teaches her to use her powers as long as she goes along with his plan to take down the McCall pack. Will she be able to go through with it, especially after experiencing the kindness of Beacon Hills?

masterlist

There’s a pounding in your skull, growing louder and louder with every second that passes. You’ve had pain like this before, pain that’s been especially brutal in the last couple of weeks, but never as bad as this. There have been other things, too, flickers of yellow and red appearing out of the corners of your eyes that almost look like flames. They disappear whenever you look too hard, though, and some part of you thinks you might almost be hallucinating.

Today, though, you have no time to worry about that. You’re in class, and supposed to be concentrating on a calculus lesson, but you feel like your skull is about to crack in two, the pressure building until it feels like you’re on the bottom of the ocean. You weakly raise a hand, asking if you can use the bathroom, and once the teacher reluctantly nods you duck out of the class, moving as fast as you can in your deteriorating state.

You barely make it out of the room and close the door behind you before the pain reaches a new height of agony and you collapse against a wall, breathing in and out shallowly. Even that faintest of motions sends you off again, and you squeeze your eyes shut in pain. Luckily, the hallway is empty, but you still clap a hand over your mouth just in case.

The pressure behind your eyes is growing, growing, and then it suddenly releases all at once. The yellow and red lights are all around you again, dancing in a haze in front of you. As you stand up, though, you realize there’s no way you’re just seeing this in a fever dream caused by the pain. Your arms, your hands, every inch of you- it’s all coated in flame. Tongues of it dance to the ceiling, but yet you don’t feel hurt. The fire is all around you, but it doesn’t burn you. Not for a second.

You stare at it, openmouthed, then do your best to calm down and try to reel in the fire. Slowly, painfully slowly, it begins to shrink, fires dying away into mere sparks. You sigh in relief as the last of it goes away, but then your eyes fly up and meet a pair of shocked brown ones across the hall. It’s an English teacher, an old man just crossing in front of the hall.

Your head snaps up, and you turn to him, pleading. “Don’t say anything-not a word- please! It won’t happen again. Please don’t say anything.” The man stares for a moment longer, then nods slowly and walks away as quickly as he can. You sink back against the tile of the hall, which is now hot to the touch. Your head falls into your hands. What just happened to you? And what is going to become of you?

Surprisingly, nothing happens for another few days. You almost believe that you’re going to get away with whatever just happened until the school day ends and you find a group of strange men standing outside your car. The men are dressed in dark clothing, and you can see weapons strapped to their belts and gripped tightly in their hands. You look around for any onlookers to make sure you’re not imagining things, but you’d stayed late after school and the parking lot is empty in the dark night.

They stare at you as you approach, then pull out a man who’s been hiding behind their ranks. “Is that the girl?” The man cowers, then whispers in a hushed voice. “Yes.” You realize with a sickening jolt that the men are speaking to the English teacher, the one from before who’d seen the fire. They release the teacher, who scurries back to the school. You glare at him as he runs past you. “How could you do this! You spineless little-”

One of the men cuts you off with a bitter laugh. “Look, she’s got a temper to match her mistakes. Don’t yell at him, supernatural, he’s a human and therefore far above you.” You turn back to face him, and realize he’s taken a gun out of his belt and is pointing it at you. Your breathing starts to come shallowly, and you realize you’re terrified. “What are you doing? Don’t kill me- I had no idea what was going on!”

The man just shakes his head, laughing. “You don’t get a choice.” His finger tightens on the trigger, and you fling your arms up in front of you. There’s a sudden tightening in your lungs, and then the same thing that had happened earlier happens again- a rushing sound, a pain in your head, and then a wave of flame erupting out of your hands. The men duck for cover, rolling away to escape the fires. The man with the gun isn’t so lucky- he’s coated with burns and lies on the pavement, unconscious from pain.

The other men stare at you, and then raise their weapons. You raise your hands in turn, desperately trying to use your strange abilities again, but nothing happens. Then, there’s a sound from right behind the men. It sounds like the growling of a wild animal. The men turn around, and then a blur of sound and violence hits them. 

When the growling stops, the men are lying on the ground, either dead or knocked unconscious. Your rescuer turns out to be a teenage boy about your age, with dark hair and eyes like the stormy sky. You stare at him, at the claws extended from his fingertips and his eyes, which glow a gold color you’ve never seen before. He looks at you for a second before retracting his claws. “My name is Theo. I’m here to save you from the hunters. I can teach you how to use your powers.”

That was how you met Theo Raeken, how you learned just what supernaturals were, and the beginning of your journey to master your abilities. Theo told you that you were a phoenix, some powerful supernatural being he’d never even heard of before he saw you. As the weeks passed, you learned to control the fire that shot from your hands, the strange gut instincts that told you snatches and glimpses of the future, and how to heal and fight like any other supernatural.

You also learned the truth about Theo Raeken, and his plan to save all of the supernaturals in a small town called Beacon Hills. Theo was a chimera, of course, not a werewolf like so many others. You had met the Dread Doctors, too, although they weren’t as interested in you because you weren’t a chimera that they could experiment on in some way. You were thankful for that- despite Theo’s assurances that they wouldn’t hurt you and were on your side, they still seemed like terrifying forces that would kill you at a moment’s notice and enjoy it, too.

You and Theo crafted a careful plan for your arrivals at Beacon Hills. You would show up first, claiming that you had heard of a true alpha in town and had hoped he could protect you from the hunters. You would reveal your status as a phoenix, but only after he’d accepted you into his ranks. Theo would arrive about a month or so later, and would help save you from some errant chimera who would attack the school. You would use your new friendship with the McCall pack to ensure that the others trusted Theo, and then you two would work to destroy the pack from the inside.

Although the pack would be kind to you, you knew better than to trust them. Theo had told you all about the McCall pack, and how they left a trail of destruction and dead innocents in their wake. Besides, only a few of the pack would be injured after the plan was fully carried out, Theo made that clear to you. Their powers would be taken, Theo would become as strong as a chimera possibly could and then the two of you would leave town to take down hunters with the aid of the Dread Doctors if necessary.

On the day you were set to leave your old hideout behind and begin the drive to Beacon Hills, you found yourself speaking with Theo for the last time until the next stage of the plan. The two of you had driven your car out to a ridge overlooking some great swathe of woods, and you stood right next to him, hearts beating as one. You glanced over your shoulder at the chimera, trying to ingrain this last memory of him into your mind before you had to leave.

You had grown close to Theo since he had saved you from those hunters, and you had spent almost two months with him. He had been there to teach you everything you knew about the supernatural world, and you had made yourself indispensable to the formation of his plan to gain power. You had lived almost your entire life without him, but now you find you don’t even want to leave his side for a month.

Theo notices your gaze and smiles, a light bittersweet tang stopping him from looking fully content. “I’m going to miss you, you know.” He says, reaching out an arm to wrap casually around your waist. You return his smile. “I’ll miss you too. I keep telling myself that it’ll only be a month, but even that seems too long.” Theo considers you for a second, then leans forward and presses a kiss onto your lips. He draws back just an inch, speaking in a whisper. “Wait for me. I’ll come as soon as I can.” “I will. You know I will.” He nods slowly. “Good.” Then he kisses you one last time, one final time before time tears the two of you apart.

The drive over to Beacon Hills takes about two hours. You play the radio in the car on the way over, head nodding absentmindedly when you hear a good song come on. You’re silent almost the entire time, head still spinning thinking about the boy you left behind. This is the plan, you tell yourself, you knew this was coming all along. Yet it still hurts to be apart.

It’s surprisingly easy to convince the McCall pack that you can be trusted. You recite the same excuse you’ve been rehearsing for months about how your family was killed by hunters and you knew a pack with a True Alpha would be able to keep you safe. They practically fall over themselves in a rush to assure you that everything will be fine, that you’re one of them now, and that means they’ll always have your back. It’s almost laughable to see their generosity.

They’re actually pretty good people, you notice, and you’ve only known them for a couple of weeks. It’s strange- they give off this warm atmosphere, like by running with them you’re a part of some supernatural family that always protects each other. You watch as Scott teaches Liam how to be a werewolf, how Stiles makes sure Lydia’s alright after she uses her banshee abilities. Some dark part of you twists inwardly at the realization that you’ll be the one to tear this apart, to take this perfect set of paper dolls and set fire to everything around them. You do your best to push away that rising feeling of guilt. Theo will be here soon, and he will make sure everything will be better.

Tonight is the Senior Scribe, the night you’ve been waiting for the past month. You all show up to the school, sign your names on the shelves of the library, then head out. Scott, Malia, Kira, Lydia, Stiles, and yourself have just arrived at the school, and are walking around the area. Just like clockwork, there’s the chimera attacking the pack, and just as planned, it’s extremely hard to defeat. Scott and Malia are slashing it with their claws, Kira’s got her kitana out, and you’re shooting fire out of your palms.

The chimera lunges at you, and you duck and roll underneath it. It’s about to reach around and hit you again, and then just as it reaches you it whips back around, smarting from an injury dealt by some unknown rescuer. You smile to yourself. Even without seeing his face, you know who’s just arrived. Man, you’ve missed him so much.

Sure enough, when the defeated chimera eventually runs away to face the wrath of the Dread Doctors, the pack turns to face Theo, who’s standing a few feet away with a smirk. His eyes shift to you for just the briefest of seconds, and you feel your heart race at the warmth in his gaze. Then, Scott asks him who he is and what he’s doing in Beacon Hills, and Theo’s focus snaps back to the pack.

Theo is eventually able to speak in his defense, and although Stiles seems to have some strange suspicion about the chimera, you’re able to convince him and the rest of the pack that Theo’s alright. After Senior Scribe, you head in your car and drive home, only to find a figure waiting for you when you walk in and lock your door behind you.

You beam at him as he walks over to you. Theo kisses you, then draws back to look at you. “I missed you so much, you know that?” You laugh quietly. “Trust me, I missed you even more. I can’t wait until this is all over and we can just be ourselves again.” Theo nods, agreeing, and leans forward to kiss you again.

You’re running with Mason towards the library. Something’s wrong- something is very, very wrong. When you burst through the doors, you freeze in your tracks. Melissa McCall is kneeling over her son. Scott is lying on the ground, chest covered in blood. Your hand flies to your mouth. “He’s dead. Oh my God, Scott is dead.” Melissa shakes her head fervently. “He’s not dead. Not yet. He can’t be dead, he can’t be.” 

You and Mason watch as she performs CPR, but you can’t focus on anything through the spinning in your head. This was not supposed to happen, Scott was not supposed to be hurt this badly- god, the guy might be dead forever and it’s all your fault. You start to pace back and forth, breathing heavily as the full extent of what you’d just done hits you. There’s a slight gasp behind you, and you whirl around to see Scott sitting up slowly.

You let out a shaky sigh, relieved. “Scott, you’re alright.” Staring at him, at the werewolf who’s barely older than you and yet just died right in front of your eyes, is starting to make you realize something about your involvement in Theo’s plans. You start to walk away from Scott and towards the door. “I think I need to have a conversation with Theo.” You mutter, and Scott weakly holds out an arm to you. “Wait, Y/N!” You turn back to face him, eyes starting to bubble up with tears at the overwhelming guilt of what you’ve caused. “I didn’t know you were going to be hurt. I didn’t know any of this was going to happen. I’m so sorry, Scott.”

Scott nods slowly. “It’s alright. Just promise me you won’t tell Theo that I’m alive. Until we get a better plan, I need him to think I died.” You stare at him for a second longer, then nod as well. “He won’t know a thing.” With that, you drag your eyes away from Scott’s bloodsoaked form, and your feet carry you out of the library and towards your car.

You’re not entirely aware that you’re driving at all, just that you end up striding hurriedly through the tunnels to where Theo was staying. Your guess as to his location is correct, as you throw open a door to reveal the chimera standing in front of the Dread Doctors’ empty operating room. He turns when he sees you, but his smile starts to fall flat when he sees the tears and look of horror on your face.

He walks quickly up to you, starting to wrap his arms around you but you shake them off. “Don’t touch me.” You say, backing away from him. Theo frowns at you. “What’s wrong?” You just give him a bitter glare. “You never told me that Scott would be hurt, that any of this would happen!” You choke back a sob. “Scott is dead, and his blood is on my hands. Why did you lie to me?”

Theo sighs. “I knew if I told you everything you wouldn’t have trusted me. This was the only way. Nothing like that will ever happen again, I promise. The Dread Doctors said that if he died, no one else would have to get hurt.” You just shake your head in disbelief. “And why should I believe a word you say? How do I know you’re not lying again?”

Your words seem to cut Theo like a knife. “This is the only thing we could have done.” His voice drops a little, cracking. “I love you, Y/N. Isn’t that enough?” You just shake your head, feeling more tears bubbling up but you can’t find the strength to wipe them away. “I can’t do this, Theo. They’re good people. I can’t hurt them.” Theo’s eyes widen as he realizes what you’re saying. “Y/N, wait! Don’t go. I love you!” You look at him one last time. “I love you too. More than anything, but this is too much. I’m sorry.” With that, you turn and leave the room, hearing the desperate shouts of the boy you love disappearing behind you with every step.

You confess everything to the McCall pack. You tell them how you first met Theo, about the Dread Doctors, about the plan the two of you had created. You apologize profusely, saying that you would understand if they want you to leave and never want to see you again. It’s the least they could ask for, judging by how much hurt you have caused them. Yet they shake their heads, reaching out their arms and saying that they still want you in town. Your powers as a phoenix could come in handy, and your connection to Theo could be used as a weakness against him.

You’re walking with Mason and Liam in school a few days later, and glance over at the werewolf when you see his gaze shift from distracted to furious. “What’s wrong, Liam?” He just jerks his head in the direction of a pair of people leaning up against the lockers. “Theo. He’s got Hayden following him now.” You follow his gaze to see Theo smirking at Liam, taking pride in the rush of anger caused by the sight of Theo barely inches away from Hayden. The sight hurts you, too, and in a sudden impulse you turn to Liam.

“Two can play at that game, you know.” Liam registers what you’re saying and grins, casually looping his arm around your shoulders. Theo sees this and his gaze flashes with pain for a second before becoming a glare. Liam laughs as the three of you turn down a hallway. “That felt good.” He says, and you force a laugh. Did it, though? Did it not hurt even more to see how quickly Theo moved on from you, or the fact that he still loves you just as much as you love him?

The days come and go, each just as painful as the next. It hurts you to leave Theo, and it feels like your heart’s been cut open and left bleeding on the floor. Even though you know that he lied to you and killed Scott and done any number of horrible things, you find you still love him. You’ll probably always love him.

After the Beast is released and begins to plague the streets of Beacon Hills, you can tell Scott and the McCall pack are desperate for something, anything, to do to save those they care about. When Liam pulls you aside after class one day, you’re not surprised to hear that he and Scott have found a possible plan to save the town.

“There’s only one problem, though.” He tells you as the two of you head down the halls. You look at him quizzically. “What is it? Too dangerous?” Liam winces. “No- we realized we needed more people on our side and so we formed a temporary alliance with Theo.” You stop in your tracks. “What? Theo?” Liam nods. “Is that alright with you?” You look at him, then back down the halls. “I don’t know. I just wish I knew what to do when I see him again.”

When you finally arrive at your house at the end of the day, your head is still spinning. Theo, working by your side again? You have been purposefully avoiding him this whole time, as every glance across a crowded room feels like a thousand daggers thrown into your heart. It hurts to see him, to know that you left him and can’t ever return to his side, no matter how much you miss him. The lock clicks behind you, but you frown slightly. There’s something wrong here, some scent that you haven’t caught in a long time-

The light flicks on in the room, revealing an all too familiar figure. Your breath catches slightly in your throat. “Theo.” “Y/N.” He looks just like that silhouette in your memory, the same dark hair slightly tousled from where he raked his hands through it in frustration, same gray eyes that draw you in until you feel like drowning, same light smile that makes you want to run to him. But you remember yourself, and force your feet to stay right where they are.

“What are you doing here?” Your voice breaks the stillness, and you’re slightly surprised to hear it. Theo sighs. “I know you heard about my alliance with Scott. I just wanted to see if- if you still hated me. I don’t hate you, you know. Never could. I just needed to see if I had a chance with you anymore, or if I should just try to forget you, even if I know it’ll never work.”

You feel a bitter laugh spilling out of you. “Theo, I could never move on from you if I tried. Don’t you know that? I’ve tried to forget you a hundred times every day, and it never works. I can’t stop loving you.” Theo looks up at that, a quiet smile crossing his lips. “I’m not asking for forgiveness. Just a second chance.” He starts to walk towards you again, slowly at first, and keeps moving until he’s only a few inches away from you when he realizes you’re not going to stop him.

You tilt your head up to face him, breath starting to come unevenly when you notice how close you are to him. The light warmth from his breath makes your head rush. “I think that could work.” You manage, and he looks at you, that same full gaze that you’ve missed for a very long time. “I’d like nothing more.” He leans in and kisses you, and you feel more complete than you have since you first walked away. You don’t have to leave now. Even if things aren’t perfect, even if the path you walk is jagged and broken, at least you’ll be able to bear it with him at your side.

[katsukikitten]

Golden opportunity

A/N Hello lovies. This one is a bit more intense as I've been corrupted by Jo @lady-bakuhoe so enjoy some sub Bakugo with a delightfully hurtful twist. This is my first sub Bakugou work so I hope you enjoy.

WARNINGS: NSFW, 18+ AU/ Adult Au. Heavy Adult themes such as dub con and non con. Mentions of cheating. Imbalanced power dynamic.

Bakugo grinds his teeth to prevent himself from blasting the door off of its hinges, mad he let you slip through his  fingers. Angry hands shoving the key into the knob before roughly shoving it open only to slam it shut. 

"You make this too easy." Your voice rings out in the darkness of the apartment but burning red eyes find the source easily. He doesn't even bother flicking on the lights as his eyes adjust to see you sitting on the countertop of the island. Hand holding up a golden apple. He lunges for you, hands outstretched to strangle you to keep you quiet but you uncross your legs just in time to land a steel toed boot into his ribs. He slides back hitting the side table, he catches the lamp before it can crash, ears perked and eyes peering down the hall to the beds rooms. 

"You know what happens when I take a bite don't you?" Your voice is a low hum in his ears, "I would hate to wake the new addition of the happy Bakugou family." 

The threat competes with the rushing blood in his ears. Rage flowing hot in his veins as he watch you bring that deadly apple to those damn plump lips. His mind playing over the last time you had bitten into the apple of discord. One bite could cause the smallest of arguments in an instant, throwing even the most level headed team into chaos. 

But two bites, two bites could end lives and random and three? 

Well the last time you had taken three half of the city was swallowed whole by a swirling black portal. 

A tremor runs through him to be so powerless. 

"Eris…" Your villain name but not your true name leaves his lips. It never fails to cause a shiver down your spine. The gruffness to his very tone was enough to have you wanting more. It always had, especially the first time the two of you met. He pinned you against the brick, few fast enough or strong enough to do such a feat. You watch his Adam's apple bob as he swallows thickly, his crimson eyes raking over your body clad in a black skin tight suit with a zipper resting just below your collar bones. Your swift fingers yank it down to your navel.

His wedding band burns on his finger, each time he was forced to please you he had come to like it just a tad bit more. He swallows again as you jump from the counter with a sigh. 

Going through the same song and dance was beginning to get so boring. He wanted you, it was so clear in the way that he watched you, in the way he was first on scene for your crimes no matter how far away and in the way he kissed you when asked. 

So why did you have to threaten his family in order to get what you both want? 

With ever step you took forward he took back until his sculpted back was pressed against the wall. Your hand wraps around his thick throat as you shove him further into the wall, the light switch bites into his shoulder hard enough to leave a bruise but he's had worse. 

Why was he denying you? The thought alone had you seeing red as you're sure to make his vision blur. His still gloved hands gripping onto your forearm as your free hand travels just above the hem of his black hero pants before you shove it down his boxers to slowly stroke his thick length, coating him in his own precum. 

His eyes flutter from the combined actions. 

"Such a dirty boy huh?" You purr, he glares your way as he gasps out his response. 

Trying so hard not to moan your name. 

"You're the desperate slut forcing me." Your press your hand harder careful to avoid his larynx despite how badly you want to damage it now. Pressing until his grip on your arm begins to weaken, his breaths coming out as desperate pants as you increase the pace. He groans, unable to stop the buck of his hips into your touch.

"Am I really forcing you though?" Your honeyed voice in his ear prompts another illicit, breathy grunt as your apple blossom wine and bonfire scent smother his senses.

Fuck is all he can think as you relieve the ache of his cock, threatening to burst in your delicate deadly hands. His tell signs of coming are easy, flushed cheeks, eyes rolling into the back of his head as he fights it, before the lock onto you. You stop just in time, pulling harshly on his tight balls, he lets out a whine as you remove your hand from his throat.

"I didn't hear you ask permission to cum." You move the fabric of his hero shirt, stretching the collar to bite down on his shoulder, harshly sucking and nipping until you were satisfied. A set of red teeth marks and gorgeous black bruises adorn his shoulder. Another set he will have to somehow hide. 

"Fuck. You." He snarls quietly, trying to push you away but your nails bite into his balls before you give them a tight squeeze. He gulps down air as he watches your ass sashay away. Stopping just before the couch to point with an expectant finger. 

"Now." You bite impatient as ever as he reluctantly makes his way to the couch. Glancing down the hallway praying that the two of you are quiet enough. 

Last time the both of you were almost caught, your mouth wrapped tightly around his length as he was forced to have a conversation with his sleepy wife. You being the devil that you are, had slid two arched digits into his ass at the wrong time. Almost getting the two of you caught. 

He came in your mouth as he told his wife "I love you." 

Again his wedding band burns along with his heart but nothing beats the burning in his loins. 

He swallows thickly, hands popping as he  removes his gloves. 

"We could've done this when I saw you earlier tonight." He bites, attempting to take control as he towers over you, large hand wrapping around your throat. Making sure you see stars but you hold his glare, hardly ready to give power to him. 

At least not until he stops lying to himself by thinking he could actually play house with a boring, quirkless woman. What a waste of his seed. 

"Such a dirty boy. You would've rather fucked me in the dark alley?" You purr, breaking his hold with a jab at his arm before you shove him on the couch behind you. 

"Would you have liked that better because you would have been able to scratch my back against that brick again? Was it the thought of being caught that made your cock so hard for me?" You straddle him to remove his shirt and marvel over your work. A mix of bruises and bites from past battles and previous fucks. You bring your mouth to his ear, pulling the lobe between your teeth. 

"Or maybe it's because you got to yell out my name when you came." A shudder runs through his body, his cock aches and twitches at the memory. 

Of you looking so fucked out as you finally allowed him a moment of dominance. Your tits bouncing as he roughly pounded into your sopping pussy at one in the morning in a dimly lit alley. The sound of bodies clashing and throaty moans echoing back to him before you held your half lidded gaze with his, your throat marked by him for once. Your eyes rolling into the back of your head as your thick frame quaked in his arms, cunt grabbing onto him for all he was worth. 

He hated to admit but it was the best cum of his life. Fucking into your tight pussy as hard as he wanted. 

Your name, your real name, leaving his lips and his knees weak. 

He swallows guilt whole as you ease off of him yanking down his pants and boxers. His cock springs free causing you to lick your lips and fight the urge to rub your thighs together for some desperately needed friction. You slide out of your suit easily as you step forward, legs slightly apart as your eyes stare hard at the man before you with a  silent command. 

He sucks his teeth but does not disobey as he lets his fingers find your soaked folds. He growls, swirling calloused digits around your swollen bud. Waiting for those thick thighs to shake before he reaches around to grab a hand full of your ass. Pulling your delicious and heavenly naked body towards him. Your nails bite into his forearm as you glare down at him. 

"Did I say you could touch my ass peasant?" You hiss, bending over to grab his jaw tightly. 

He sneers, baring his teeth as he replies. 

"I'm not the dirty slut who's been breaking into houses and threatening heros to fuck them, Princess." He keeps up his quick pace, wanting nothing more than for you to come undone by his hand, on his command for once. Waiting for your thighs to quiver beneath him but instead you shove his arm away before he can slink to your core. 

Straddling him, purposefully shoving your tits in his face with a single command. 

"Suck." You say humping his length but never slipping onto him, he growls with each stroke, teeth nipping at your perked nipples waiting for the familiar feel of your velvet walls.

The house settles making a creaking noise that has Bakugou's hands on your hips, his throat closing up as he strains to listen. You grab onto his face harshly, letting your thumb pull at his lower lip before shoving it into his mouth, deep enough that he gags. 

"I didn't tell you to stop." He wants to bite your thumb clean off and relish over the coppery tang that would flood his taste buds. But instead he gives your thumb an obedient suck.  

He pulls away with a lewd pop, one hand twisting a sensitive bud while the other sucks, all the while your clit slides delightfully over him rocking yourself through your first three orgasms of the night. 

As the third washes over you, you plunge onto his weeping cock and he can feel your pussy convulsing over your last high. Making you almost uncomfortably tight but you felt so good and full. You grab onto the couch beside his head staring into his eyes as you growl.

"Don't you dare come, I don't plan to stop until I  squirt all over what's mine." He swallows thickly and answers before thinking. 

"Yes, Princess." You smirk, having finally gotten something trained into him before you start the violent roll of your hips. His cock hitting all the right spots, already making the coil in your stomach tight. 

"Touch me." You moan and his hands begin to roam over your body finding your hips that grind on him, and squeezing your ribs. 

You were so tiny in his large hands yet you held so much power over him. The thought made his dick twitch, squeezing harder to keep himself from pumping up into you, he groans relishing your tightness around his girth.

"F...fuck Katsuki." You cry out, coming undone again, fucking your self through another impossible high. 

He sees it on your face, how desperate you are for another release and he wants so badly to help you keep good on your promise and squirt all over what belongs to you. He should feel guilty, he should feel angry and disgusted over your words but instead all he feels is undeniable pleasure.

To be honest the thought of his wife wasn't on his mind at all. 

He could see only you, sitting atop your throne using him as a living dildo, fucking yourself to greater highs.

"Peasant, help out your Princess." He thrusts into you harshly, reminding you of his own power angling his hips to snap just right. His dick slides along that sinful spongy spot that has your vision blurring. Still you see the sweat on his brow as he is ready to chase his own release. Fighting to keep himself from painting your walls white. Movement in the hallway catches your eye, you smirk looking down to see his eyes fluttering as he looks up at you.

"Make me cum first. Then I want to hear you cum." You squeeze his throat, making it that much harder for him to focus on not busting. He goes feral, pounding up into you carelessly and loudly grunting as best he can through your steely grip. You take your free hand and harshly rub over your clit until he's threatening to spill. You hold eye contact with a figure in the dark before you look into a deep set of crimson eyes. 

Throwing your head back as you grind your hips to meet his until you're moaning entirely too loudly, squirting onto your, fingers, his lap and his chest. 

As you promised. 

Your pulsing cunt grabs onto his throbbing cock so tightly that he cannot take it. He groans as his hips sloppily piston and stutter. 

"F...fuck fuck. Eris…" Head falling onto the back of the couch as he fills you to the brim. Your name leaving his lips with a final thrust. 

"Bakugou?" A shaky voice calls out, harsh light flooding the living room showcasing what he had avoided for almost a year. 

His wedding band burns against this ring finger, a lie lodged in his throat as he sits covered in a mixture of your slick and his seed. He looks to you with wide, angry eyes. His hands burning the skin on your bare ribcage. You smile, leaning down to kiss his horrified and angry face. 

"Another day my naughty peasant." You smile with delight, apple appearing in your hand. You take a large bite out of the golden flesh and disappear into thin air.  

[thexgrayxlady]

Notes: This is a purely self-indulgent and very lighthearted AU and if I’m the only one who is enjoying themselves with it, that’s all that really matters. TBCH I’m not sure where I’m going with it and I know this isn’t very good or perfectly in character, but I’m having a good time and it’s been a long time since I’ve written anything, so I’m okay with it if I’m just writing a messy little crash into hello.

The Universe Won’t Wait for You

Outside the ruined temple, dark clouds gathered and howling winds carried the metallic tang of summer storms. Heady incense drifted from inside, where the flicker of braziers cast statues of forgotten gods in stark chiaroscuro. Yet, under the wind and crackle of flames, the air hung still and silent, charged with the promise of lightning.

The jungle crept up around the ancient stones. Gnarled vines threatened to drag the crumbling archway back into its depths. Fragments of cracked and chipping mosaics peered through the leaves, their tiles scattered across the floor with the trees’ detritus.

The roof had long since caved in and the once gilt friezes lining the main hall were now washed almost smooth. The faceless figures posed in the uncanny silence, leading the way to the sanctuary.

At the altar, a group of very annoyed people stood over the unconscious leader of a dragon cult and his scattered cards, having narrowly averted the end of the world for the third time in as many months. The timing was inconvenient for everybody involved and it was universally agreed upon that it would have been better if these assholes had waited until next weekend to try and destroy the world.

“So if we beat the megalomaniac of the week, why isn’t the portal going away?” Tea asked, vaguely gesturing to the swirling silvery distortion above the altar.

“I keep telling you nerds it’s not a portal.” Although against his will and his better judgement, the geek squad had grown on Seto Kaiba like E. coli on room temperature meat, he would still sooner saw off his own hands with a rusty spoon than admit it.

“We could always leave it alone,” Bakura said, disdainfully looking over one of the cultist’s discarded scrolls before rerolling it. “His Latin was terrible. It probably won’t do anything.”

“It won’t do anything because it’s a not a portal.” Their group would have it found it infinitely more worrying if he didn’t insist that the latest near apocalypse had a logical explanation. As of late, he’d settled on saying that anything he couldn’t immediately explain wasn’t magic, just science they didn’t understand yet. Everyone might have appreciated this a bit more if not for how often they had to deal with the fallout of his attempts to understand the science. “Watch.”

He picked up one of the scattered cards (rare, but only good for niche dragon decks and he would notadmit that he would have found this clown’s cards useful) and tossed it towards the floating mass. It passed through without incident and collided with the back wall.

“Wheeler could make something more convincing.” He rolled his eyes. This entire escapade had been a nuisance. He still wasn’t sure how he’d been talked into it. The others certainly hadn’t just mentioned that they needed a ride.

“Yeah, these guys tried to take our dragons cards and dragged us out here to show us some crappy holograms,” Joey replied.

“You would believe a bunch of delusional lunatics.”

Yugi paused checking on the cult leader and decided to head this off before it became serious.

“Guys, stop fighting!” he said, his voice quiet and gentle, yet brokering very little argument. When he realized that Kaiba was gearing up for an argument, he added, “You’re wasting time and the sooner we figure this thing out, the sooner we can leave.”

“Whatever,” he said, turning dramatically, letting his coat flare behind him. “I’m going to figure out what’s going on because some of us have jobs to get back to.”

“You’re self-employed!” the blond shot after him.

While he examined a pile of rubble on the far wall for a projector or an off switch, the others looked over the altar and scrolls. He was just about to shift some stones out of the way when lightning split the sky.

The portal flared and spun wildly. Roaring thunder followed close behind and a glowing thing shot from the portal before it collapsed upon itself as if it had never existed.

“Kaiba look out!” Yugi shouted. “That thing’s headed straight for…”

“It’s a hologram,” he shouted back, gesturing dismissively at the thing barreling towards him without actually looking at it. “It’s not like it can hurt…”

The next thing he knew, he was flat on his back, his ears ringing, and struggling for a full breath.

When he regained enough sense to figure out what was going on around him, he realized that his arms were wrapped around something warm and solid. The thing thrummed under his hands, like working on an ungrounded circuit. He came around to a curtain of white and a pair of horribly familiar blue eyes.

The woman shot back, her fingers splayed across his chest, her face contorting in stunned confusion. She started to speak, her voice raspy and quiet, stumbling over words in a language he didn’t understand. Yet even without knowing the words, he got the sentiment.

“What. The. Fuck.”

This couldn’t be real. She couldn’t be real. He must have cracked his head when he hit the ground. She had to be a hallucination or a hologram or…he didn’t know, he couldn’t think clearly enough to figure out what specific kind of nonsense was going on.

Somewhere off in the distance, the nerds said something, but it was like listening under water. And as much as he wanted to shout at them to shut up so he could focus, the words stuck in his throat.

He knew her. From that trip to Egypt. Her name was…

No. No.

This wasn’t happening. The world didn’t work this way. People did not just fall out of holes in the sky. He’d been dragged kicking and screaming into accepting that maybe the supernatural bullshit that followed him around possibly had some merit, but thiswas a step too far.

None of this made any sense. Kis…She was impossible. You couldn’t just fling someone through space and time with badly mangled Latin. It took energy. It took machinery. Complex math, things that went beep, big red buttons that gave the nerds heart attacks when he pushed them.

(But these idiots were trying to summon a dragon, weren’t they?)

This violated so many different laws of physics. There must be another explanation. He just had to keep calm and think of it. His heart hammered against his chest. Every time he almost had a grasp on this, he caught her eyes, and any theory beyond rote denial slipped away.

She couldn’t be real. He’d barely thought of her since that trip. Whatever, whoever, she was, it was the past. It didn’t matter. She didn’t matter. He had to focus on figuring out how the hell some loser cultists managed time travel with some incense and dead lizards, no if they managed time travel some incense and dead lizards, when, despite his disregard for the laws of men and gods, even he was still mostly beholden to thermodynamics.

They probably hadn’t. There had to be something in the incense.

Still, the logical part of his brain told him that even his best holograms didn’t feel this real and there was no logical way they knew what she looked like. Her heartbeat fluttered under his hands. She smelled like prison grime and ozone and petrichor.

So a hallucination then. But everyone else kept talking. He still couldn’t really hear them, but maybe they could see her too. Or that was just another facet of his concussed delusion. But if this was a hallucination, then why couldn’t he understand her? He’d never hallucinated in a language he didn’t understand before.

Not a hologram. Not a hallucination. Where did that leave him? Flat on his back on a cold stone floor with a dead woman straddling his waist and the growing certainty that he would never live this down.

Again, she leaned in, her head tilted to the side. Time slowed as she brought a hand to his face and his heart beat too steady to be truly calm as she studied him. She was so small. He could easily throw her off and get away, but he couldn’t move. He couldn’t even look away as the world shrank down to just the two of them.

She didn’t look quite the same as in the memory. She didn’t seem half so fragile. Her long, pale hair was tangled and her face prematurely lined. Her dress was more a collection of mismatched patches than an actual garment. Bruises and scars bloomed along her arms and collarbone amid patches of thick, almost scaly looking skin.

He wondered if the memory, vision, whatever it was, was accurate. How much of what he knew about her was true? How much had been made up by someone who’d never met her to fit her role in the game? Did it even matter? He was his own person, why should he care about her just because of a supposed connection to the Blue Eyes White Dragon?

Yet despite everything going on, she seemed alert and curious, determined to figure out what exactly just happened, whereas he had to remind himself to keep breathing.

Just before her rough, calloused fingers brushed his jaw, a jolt of static leapt between them. She reeled back, her pupils snapping into narrow slits. Thin, cracking lips curled back over sharp teeth in an inhuman hiss. Her shoulders flexed and he half expected wings to unfurl from her back.

Then she must have caught sight of the others because she shrank back, trembling. A horrible charge built under his hands. He willed himself move just enough to let go.

She scrambled away, breathing in sharp, hissing gasps. Upon reaching the far wall, she shot up a crumbling pillar and crouched as far back on the bottom ledge of a frieze as she could manage and stared down in horror as the first few drops of rain fell through the broken ceiling.

He stared back, the concussed or drugged or shocked daze lifting just enough to drag himself to a sitting position.

She was impossible. But her eyes were electric bright and she’d felt like a damn live wire in his hands. He hadn’t figured out the physics behind this yet, but he understood one thing.

Kisara was very real.

[arinmelnikov]

B L O O D   F R O M   A   S T O N E

     Another sunrise. The tall, opaque windows in their apartment were a pink and yellow gradient, the sun chasing away the grey of the predawn murk and setting the room alight, liquid gold glowing on every surface. Arin had finished narrowing down the buildings to look at in the woods, and was preparing to leave when his phone buzzed – twice. He crossed the room to it and picked it up, glancing at the screen: Ivan. The first text was a picture, the second a question mark. Zooming in on the picture, he saw it was taken in the street; a brick wall, or the side of a building, plastered with wanted posters, some old and faded, some just printed. Three of them were his, grouped together in a triangle as if one wasn’t enough to get the point across, but that wasn’t what the photo was of. Across them, written in red spray-paint, was a message: IF YOU WANT TO SEE HER COME HOME. Arin called instead of wasting time writing a reply, speaking the second Ivan picked up.    “Где это?”      “Повсюду. Я видел по крайней мере четверых.” He was still outside, the sounds of traffic and the public burbling in the background, underneath his voice.    “Они все одинаковые?”      “Да. Что происходит?”    “Ничего. Я разберусь с этим.” Arin ended the call, putting his phone away. He knew he’d been right about the fucking Bentons, and yet having it confirmed made him more furious still, Gerard’s subdued but smug face sneering at him in his memory. If you want to see her, come home. There was no doubt who the message was for, and there were no doubts as to its meaning – not to him. Perfectly fucking tailored; to anyone else, vague and meaningless, and to him, crystal fucking clear.

     Another sunrise, another trap – and just like the first one, he had no intentions of walking into it unprepared.

     He hadn’t set foot in or near their old apartment building since they’d abruptly vacated it in the middle of the night, and it was a little strange, seeing it still standing when the last two places he’d lived before it had been razed to the ground. Assuming they’d be watching the street, he approached from the back, out of sight of the apartment’s windows, through an alley that snaked between two of the nearby buildings, over a tall chainlink fence and into the private back area. He stood on one of the dumpsters that were lined up along the wall there and climbed the fire escape up to the fourth floor, approaching the window on the far right and glancing in through it before he stuck one of his blades in between the rails, coaxing open the basic latch that held the lower sash in place. Arin pushed the window open and stepped through, closing it quietly behind him and redoing the latch once he was in. The apartment was still, and its sixty-something alcoholic occupant was nowhere to be seen or heard; the only trace of her was the musty smell that was probably ingrained in the fucking walls by now, and the cloying tang of brandy hanging in the barely breathable air. If he was lucky, she was sleeping. If he was even luckier, she was out somewhere, more likely than not meeting with whatever hookup bitter old cunts had for liquor.      Soundlessly, he moved from the hallway he’d landed in and towards the living room and kitchen, looking around but seeing no movement. The glass door to the balcony wasn’t far, but he had to slow down once he reached it, because he needed to be completely silent – he didn’t want whoever was waiting for him on the other side of the wall to be forewarned and ready. After unlocking the door, he carefully slid it open (as small of a gap as he could fit through), internally demanding from the old bag who lived there that she not pick now to fucking show up as he slipped outside and pulled it shut once more.

     For a moment, he paused there in the sun, listening, his back pressed against the smooth limestone wall, his breathing slow and even… and he heard it. Voices coming from their old apartment. It was impossible to distinguish what they were saying, nor if they were ones he’d heard before – but it didn’t really matter. Arin, not giving himself another second to consider shit that could go wrong, stepped onto the railing and pushed himself into a standing position again, balancing on the metal banister. His eyes locked on the next balcony, and he jumped, sixty feet of nothing underneath him for one exhilarating heartbeat before he reached the opposite side. He let his boots touch down on the other railing briefly, slowing his momentum but not landing fully, his soles slipping off and hitting the ground with a jolt that he absorbed by letting his legs bend, dropping into a crouch. No time to fucking waste. Unsure if the assholes inside the apartment had heard him, he moved quickly, tugging the gas mask that had been resting on top of his head down over his face and tightening it, freeing the SMG from its holster at his rib, switching off the safety – extracting a gas canister from his pocket and pulling the pin. As it started smoking, Arin pointed his weapon’s muzzle at the bottom left corner of the glass in the door and pulled the trigger. The glass shattered, a hail of glittering shards raining down on him as he threw the hissing canister into the apartment, closely followed by another he’d yanked from his left pocket, the sound of both of them rolling across the floor drowned out underneath the shouts that erupted from inside. If Queenie was in there, she’d forgive him.

     Gunfire came next, through the door, hitting the frame and the balcony’s railing, shattering the window above him where he sat crouched against the wall. Arin counted. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. The shooting died down, replaced by indistinct thudding, muted sounds of struggle. Twenty-five. Twenty-six. Twenty-seven.      He let a full minute pass before he got up, stepping through the broken door, glass crunching under his boot as he entered the apartment. All their shit was gone – whether it had been cleared out by the Bentons or the building’s owner, he didn’t know, but it was immaterial, and not what he was focused on at the moment. Four bodies in black tactical gear lay strewn close to each other near the doorway, two on either side. Arin approached one of them, not caring that his carbine was still in burst mode as he aimed at the head of the closest unconscious form and squeezed the trigger, and it was fucking cathartic – the rapid torrent of the three shots exploding through the room, the weapon kicking in his grip, the blood spattering the floor, the wall, him. It wasn’t the actual Bentons – not yet – but it was a step closer than Noriko’s disloyal ass, and it felt fucking good. He moved on to the next soldier, another headshot, and the next, another; three dead pieces of shit, nine bullets, three pools of crimson spreading on oak floorboards, soaking into the wood.

     In front of the last soldier, he dropped to a crouch, hands dipping into pockets and patting over hiding places as he stripped the man of any and every tool he had on him. His weapons and ammunition went skidding across the floor, pushed away, his phone was thrown out through the windowless door and off the balcony, plummeting to the ground several stories below, and the communication device in his ear was taken out and stepped on. Arin grabbed the soldier by the collar and hauled him up, propping him against the wall before he brought the back of his hand hard across the man’s face, stirring him from his unconscious state. His movements were dazed, slow at first, confusion glazing his eyes for a long moment before they finally focused on Arin and he tensed, feeling the muzzle brake that was digging into the center of his chest. Arin pushed a little harder, his index finger resting against the side of the weapon, just above the trigger. He wanted to shoot; wanted to look the soldier in the eye, see the realization flash in them, the fear, before the abrupt departure of the fickle little spark that was life – Government fucking filth – but he couldn’t. He needed this one… for now.

   “It’s your lucky day, asshole.”