#yeah this is what I’m doing at half past 3am

[my-t4t-romance]

HELLO fellow trekkies I have something you NEED to see

there’s more on the same channel, and I learned in the comments section that @wilwheaton (oh god I’ve summoned him) has said that Brent Spiner used to pull faces at him just before the director said “action” so he’d laugh and mess up the take lol

[ur-boyfiend]

here's some changlix x reader fluff because i'm eepy and want to cuddle and kiss the loml rn but i can't :( kinda wish i'd done more for the ending but i've got no clue what to add rip

i also added the cut so it's a bit less annoying to scroll past ^^

you groan in relief, collapsing face-first onto your bed. your shift was exhausting, most of the kids in the special ed pre-k group you work with struggle with communication, but one consistency is that if one of them is having a bad day, they’re all having a bad day. 

you’re also empathetic to a fault, and you get it, you really do, but that doesn’t make these kinds of days less tiring. it makes them more tiring if anything. you’re just glad that it was a half day so you only had your morning class. 

you know that your boyfriends won’t be home for a while, since they both have afternoon shifts, and had already left by the time you got back. instead of trying to do anything productive, you wrap yourself up in the comforter from the bed the three of you share, falling asleep after only a couple minutes.

you wake up again to the sounds of people moving around the apartment, you stay put and listen to the shuffling and chatter. you quickly recognize your boyfriend’s voices, they’re trying to be quiet but they’re not particularly good at it. 

rubbing your eyes, you climb out of bed, still with a throw blanket around your shoulders. you trip over your own feet slightly, almost falling, but you catch yourself before your face can have an unwanted meeting with the floor. 

the bedroom door squeaks as you open it, and you hear the talking stop, but it starts up again after a moment, both of them blaming the other for waking you up. you laugh, making your way into the kitchen where your boyfriends are sitting at the breakfast bar. 

“mornin’ sleepyhead,” changbin teases, earning an eyeroll. 

“like you’re any better, binnie,” felix responds, laughing.

you sit on the stool next to felix, resting your head on his shoulder, “this is why felix is my favorite.”

changbin rolls his eyes, “i was the one that went out to get ice cream at 3am so y’all could eat it while crying over finding nemo.” 

you lift your head and point at him, “you said you wouldn’t make fun of us for that.”

“i’m not making fun of you, i’m just stating a fact.”

“speaking of ice cream and movies at 3am,” felix butts in, before the two of you can start bickering, “we should do a movie night again. we still haven’t taken down the fort from the last one.” 

you hum in agreement, “corner store and boba?”

“hell yeah lets gooooo!” changbin is halfway to the apartment door before he’s even finished the sentence, you and felix laughing at your boyfriend. 

you drop the throw blanket back onto the bed before grabbing a hoodie and sneakers and following your boyfriends out the door. as you walk to the store you chat idly, by the time you get there you’re holding hands with felix, changbin’s arm around your waist.

you quickly grab snacks, and changbin ends up paying, you and felix both grumbling about it, but you both forgot your wallets so there’s not much you can do.

you decide to grab ramen bowls as well as bubble tea from the boba place, you fishing a gift card out of your jacket and holding it up triumphantly before changbin can pay. he rolls his eyes, but he’s fighting to keep from smiling. eventually felix pokes him in the shoulder a few times and he loses the fight, trying to swat felix’s hands away. 

once you’ve claimed your order and thanked the restaurant staff, you start heading back to your apartment. this time felix is in the middle, changbin on one side, and you on the other, occasionally squeezing felix's hand as you walk. 

you put the bags of food in the kitchen once you get back and grab a few more blankets and pillows from your room, changbin grabbing gyu as well, you and felix also choosing plushys from the marginally unreasonable collection you’ve amassed. 

you all drop the soft materials into the fort you’d made for your last movie night, then grab your food, settling down onto the couch to eat so you could put your food on the coffee table.

you watch a few episodes of trese, a show that's been idling on your watchlist, after finishing your food and putting your dishes into the sink, you all settle into the fort, unpausing the episode you’d been in the middle of. 

none of you are really watching it, you and changbin are busy trying to count felix’s freckles, and felix is busy trying not to move and end up ruining your count. after he giggles and makes you lose track for the third time in five minutes, you squish his face slightly, kissing his nose. 

when you let go of his face he puffs out his cheeks, and changbin quickly takes the opportunity to kiss them. felix squeaks and rolls over, wrapping his arms around your waist and hiding his face in your stomach. you laugh, playing with his hair. 

you shuffle around a little, leaning back into changbin and tilting your head back to look up at him, getting a kiss on the nose in return. you smile, giving him a quick peck in return.

after a couple minutes you hear felix snoring quietly, playing with his hair always knocks him out. you also yawn, “‘m sleepy.” 

changbin smiles softly, managing to lie down and pull a blanket over the three of you without removing his arm from where he’s wrapped it around your waist. you’ve shifted felix so he’s lying at the same level as you are, and changbin moves his arm to wrap it around both of you. 

“g’night, i love you both.” you mumble, already half asleep. 

felix mumbles something you can’t understand, but you figure it’s some kind of agreement, and give him a small kiss on the nose.

you feel changbin kiss the top of your head, “goodnight, i love both of you too,” is the last thing you hear before finally falling asleep. 

[onceuponastory]

3am - bucky barnes x reader

And now it's 3AM and you're calling me up again And you wanna know if I meant every word that I said - 3am by you me at six

Plot: One night at 3am, Bucky Barnes gets a call about his ex, Y/N. Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader Warnings: Being drunk, injuries/broken bones, a tiny mention of vomit, and a few mentions of Bucky’s past as the winter soldier (but nothing too graphic). As always, if I miss any triggers please let me know! Notes: Thank you to my bestie @staticscreenwriting / @astartothemoon for my dividers. Not beta’d, so any mistakes are my own.

One winter night in the middle of Brooklyn, Bucky Barnes is fast asleep. For once, things around him are quiet, and he’s finally able to get some rest after the years of pain and torment he’s been through. Yet soon, the phone rings, startling him.

“Hello?” He murmurs, still half asleep.

“Hello, is that Mr Bucky Barnes?” Bucky’s brows furrow, not expecting to hear his full name at three in the morning.

“Yes…it is. How can I help you?” He expects this call to be inconsequential, at most a prank being played by Sam or the kid. However, when the voice on the other end speaks, Bucky realises that this call will be everything but insignificant.

“This is the hospital. I’m calling on behalf of Miss Y/N Y/L/N.” At the mention of her name, Bucky sits up, immediately awake. Y/N is his ex-girlfriend. He hasn’t spoken to her in months since they broke up. Since he got scared that he wasn’t good enough for her because of his past and broke up with her a few months ago. And now, the hospital is phoning him up at 3am to ask about her. Concern floods Bucky’s entire body. Although they broke up, he still misses her dearly, and would move the ends of the earth to make sure she’s safe. Despite this, he hasn’t said anything to her about it, wanting her to let her get on with her life rather than being laid down with him and his issues. Honestly, he thought she had moved on a long time ago.

“What happened? Is she okay?” He asks, speaking a mile a minute.

“Yes sir, she’s okay. She got quite intoxicated, and had a nasty fall which resulted in her breaking her ankle.” Bucky breathes a sigh of relief. This is better than expected. She’s okay. She’s not dying. “I’m calling because she has you down as her emergency contact, and she has no way of getting home.” His words make Bucky stop. Even though he’s an Avenger, Bucky and Y/N never spoke about things like this, about what would happen if the other was hurt or in danger. It was just assumed that he’d take care of her and she’d take care of him, like any boyfriend or girlfriend would do. When they broke up, they were focused on bigger things, like coming to terms with almost a year of their lives suddenly meaning nothing, or moving stuff out of each other's apartments. Neither of them thought about the little things like this, how they could suddenly be confronted with each other once again. Yet, breakup or no breakup, Bucky would still do anything to make sure she’s safe. Picking her up from the hospital is nothing. “Mr Barnes? Hello?”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

Bucky makes it to the hospital within ten minutes, furiously searching for any sign of Y/N. When a nurse points him to the right room, he almost pulls the door off of its hinges with the speed he opens it. As the door opens, Y/N turns around, looking at the new entry to the room. As soon as sees Bucky, her eyes light up, and she grins. The same smile that Bucky has missed for so long. Immediately, he starts smiling too, and butterflies start to flutter in his stomach. Maybe, just maybe, her happiness at seeing him isn’t just because she’s drunk. Maybe she misses him, too.

“Bucky! What are you doing here?” She gasps.

“I’m still your emergency contact, doll. You okay?” 

“Ohhhhh! And yeah, I’m fine.” Y/N nods. Bucky already knows she has no idea what he’s saying. And judging by the moon boot she’s wearing, her ankle is definitely going to start hurting soon. Alcohol is a hell of a drug. Yet, seeing her so happy despite everything still makes him smile. It reminds him of before, when they were both happy together. Back when things were still good between them, when they could speak to each other without devolving into arguments. He misses those days more than anything in the world. In all honesty, if he had the chance to go back in time, Bucky wouldn’t go back to the 40s, before his life changed in the worst possible way. Before he became a weapon of mass destruction. He’d go back to when he lost Y/N, and try to make things right, rather than running at the first sign of trouble. 

He’s good at that. At running.

As the doctor explains the break and the healing process, Bucky listens attentively, ensuring he’s ready to support Y/N and her needs. He’s not been good at much throughout his long life, especially not talking about his feelings. But he can be good at this, at taking care of the woman he loves. He can at least give her that after their relationship broke down. And then, something brushes against his hand. And then it does again. It’s only then that Bucky realises that something is Y/N’s hand. Feeling her fingers brushing against his still sends shivers throughout his entire body. Even though he’s been alive for decades now, Bucky swears that Y/N is the only one who makes him feel alive.

Soon, the doctor sends the pair away, and Bucky wheels Y/N towards the elevator. Immediately, he feels the atmosphere change. At least when they were with the doctor they had a middleman, someone to do all the talking to prevent them from speaking to each other. Now, it’s just them both, brought together again after being apart for so long. “This is fun.” Y/N mumbles with a giggle. 

“Just trying my best to make the ride as smooth as possible for you.” Bucky replies, chuckling to himself. Yet soon, the smile fades. Sure, they’re getting along now, but that’s largely because Y/N’s drunk and doesn’t remember that they’re broken up. But what happens when things go back to normal and she does remember? When this little pocket of happiness is gone? Honestly, Bucky can’t bear to think about it. But then, Y/N starts laughing again, and he can’t help but smile once more.

Maybe he can stay in this happy time a little longer.

Soon, the pair reaches Bucky’s car, and he lifts her into the passenger side, buckling her in before crossing over to his side and buckling himself in. As he drives, the pair sit in silence. For a while, Bucky thinks Y/N has fallen asleep, and is about to check on her, until:

“You know Bucky….” she trails off, and he raises a brow. “I miss you. I don’t know why we stopped talking.” The words are murmured, but Bucky hears them loud and clear. And they almost make his heart stop. Of course, he knew she had forgotten why they’d stopped talking, but he wasn’t expecting to hear the first few words. And it hits him like a bucket of cold water. She misses him. Maybe he has a chance to fix this. 

“I miss you too. More than you’ll ever know. I regret what happened every day.” He tells her. But then, Y/N goes back to her drunk mumbling as if nothing happened, as if both of them didn’t just admit that the pain and heartbreak of the last few months could’ve been avoided. Bucky sighs. He’s probably right. She’s just drunk, and her words mean nothing.

When they reach Y/N’s apartment, Bucky helps her up the stairs and into her apartment. She still keeps a spare key under a plant pot, just like she did when they were dating. Bucky still remembers warning her about it, how anyone could find the key and break in. To his surprise, though, she simply laughed.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got a super soldier to protect me…and he’s really cute, too.” She laughed, pulling him close for a kiss. That was the day she’d been making cookies, and she tasted like cinnamon and chocolate. Remembering the memory, Bucky smiles. At least he still has those to keep him happy.

Once inside, Bucky helps her towards her bedroom and into bed. “Thank you Bucky.” She murmurs. And almost as soon as her head hits the pillow, she falls asleep, snoring softly. Bucky sighs.

“I know you’re just drunk. You’ll wake up tomorrow, and this whole thing will be just a dream, and you’ll hate me again. But I’ll deserve it.” He sighs. After checking on her again, he leaves the room, ready to spend the night on her couch. Of course, it’s not the most ideal situation as her ex, but this way he can make sure she’s safe, and that she doesn’t hurt herself any more. 

As he gets himself comfy, Bucky glances around the room. All the pictures Y/N has with him are taken down. The sight makes his heart sink. He knows that keeping pictures of you and your ex-boyfriend around after you’ve broken up isn’t something people do, but seeing them all gone is like the final nail in the coffin. The ultimate confirmation that all hope of them having a happy reunion after this is gone. And Bucky knows he only has himself to blame.

So, with tears stinging his eyes, Bucky settles down to try and get some sleep.

The next morning, Y/N limps into her kitchen, rubbing her eyes. When she sees Bucky leaning against her counter drinking a coffee, her eyes widen.

“What happened? Why are you here?” Bucky sighs. He’s been awake for most of the night, trying to figure out the best way to explain the events of the last couple of hours and coming up empty. 

“I’m still your emergency contact, so I got a call from the hospital at three this morning saying you had broken your ankle and needed a ride home. So, I came and got you.” He explains. “The doctor wants to see you again tomorrow, so I can drop you off if you want.”

“Oh…thanks for doing that.” 

“Y/N, you were drunk. I wasn’t going to leave you alone in the hospital. I brought you home and put you to bed. I know we’re broken up, but I uh, I crashed on your couch to make sure you didn’t fall over or throw up during the night. Hope that’s okay.”

“Yeah, that’s fine. Thanks…again.” She nods. And just like Bucky predicted, things between them are back to being awkward. There’s no way she remembers her admission to him last night. Although he knew she wouldn’t, he can’t help but feel disappointed. Part of him was expecting them to make up right here, like they do in the romcoms.

“I’ll just finish my cup of coffee, and then I’ll go. Don’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything.”

“No! No, you don’t need to go.” She gasps, the quickness of her reply making Bucky raise a brow in confusion. Is she really that upset at the thought of him leaving? Does she really want him back, after all? “Not yet, anyway. You can stay a little longer.” Bucky nods, helping her sit down at her table and passing over some coffee.

“Do you want some breakfast? I could make you some pancakes, or we could order something in.” He offers.

“Some pancakes would be nice, thanks.” Bucky smiles.

“Coming right up.”

“You know….” Y/N sighs, stopping only to finish her last bite of pancakes. “That was really nice. It was just like how things used to be. You made me these every Saturday morning, remember?” The faintest hint of a smile twitches at the corners of her mouth. Bucky can pick up on the melancholiness in her voice, and how she misses their past. After all, he’s feeling the same way. 

“Yeah, I do. Those were great.” He sighs. All he wants is to tell her right then how much he misses her, how he’d give all he has to go back to those days, back to when they were both happy. He just doesn’t know how to tell her. The words just won’t link up to his mouth.

“How was I last night, by the way? Did I say anything, or was I out of it?” 

“No, not at all.” Bucky insists. She doesn’t have to know the truth about what she told him. Yet, his words make her furrow her brow.

“Well, you’re saying that Bucky, but I can tell you’re hiding something. I always could.” Bucky gulps.

“Yeah, you could.” He laughs awkwardly, and Y/N nods.

“So there’s that, and there’s also the fact that I wasn’t drunk enough to forget everything I said to you last night. At first, I thought it was a dream, but now you’re here....” Shit. “So, I’ll ask you again. Did I say anything to you last night? Like…about missing our relationship?” Bucky stammers, his eyes widening. 

“Yes. You did.”

“And you weren’t going to tell me?” She demands. “What, you were just going to let me carry on like I didn’t tell you the truth about how I’ve really been feeling?!”

“I didn’t think you meant it or that you’d remember! I thought it was just the alcohol! And besides, I wanted to say something, but the last thing I wanted was for you to wake up still hating me, and then find out you said something you didn’t mean.” Bucky explains. Y/N sighs.

“I never hated you, Bucky. Maybe at the beginning, but as time went on, I just realised how much I miss you. And I still do.” Bucky gasps, and he scoots his chair forward.

“I miss you too, Y/N. More than anything. I hate how things ended, and how I ruined everything. I’ve regretted it ever since. I was just so worried about hurting you, because of my past, but I ended up hurting you even more. I’m sorry for hurting you.” He sighs. To his surprise, Y/N starts chuckling.

“You know, we really should’ve told each other this before now.” She says, and Bucky nods, unable to stop himself from laughing too. It feels weird, being comfortable and laughing with each other after being apart for so long. Maybe though, the fact they’re able to do this shows that things might be okay between them both after all.

 “Yeah, you’re right. You know…if you’d like to start over, I’m okay with that.” When she doesn’t reply at first, Bucky gasps. “But if you don’t want to, that’s totally okay. We can take things as slow as you want.” Y/N smiles.

“Sure. Maybe after my appointment tomorrow, we can go get a drink or something?” 

“Yeah…I’d love that.” Bucky smiles.

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[rxgueone]

LIVE FAST, DIE YOUNG PT. 7

Word count: 6,274

Pairing: Austin Butler x oc

Summary: Austin and his best friend Nik, go out and take care of multiple drug deals. They’re night runners and it’s their job to do such things. A client overstays his welcome, and pushes the boundaries. Eventually leading Nik trying to resuscitate an overdosed woman, with Austin killing the client.

Warnings: cursing, threatening, fluff (?), murder, overdose, r*pe, orgy, murder, substance use, substance abuse, knife, gun, gore, blood, smut (?), cigarettes, smoking, strangling, choking, dealing, all I can think of.

Tags: none.

Note: This chapter is a bit darker than your average chapter (of the series). I wrote this at 3AM. Have mercy on me bros. PT. 6 PT.8

—

Austin was chowing down on a Red Delicious. Chomping down on it, he was gnawing on it like it was some sort of bone. Nik, who was beside him lit a cigarette to smoke. “The fuck is going on around here.” Nik muttered as he was side eyeing a couple beside him.

The woman beside him was completely naked, the male on top of her was going down. Austin didn’t even notice it, in fact. The boy was enjoying his Red Delicious. Nik could feel a woman rubbing up against his back. “Austin what the fuck did Al put us in?” He craned his head towards his friend.

“I dunno,” Austin remained oblivious, “this is a really good apple though.” He smiled at his friend. Looking over to see all the naked people around him. “Oh yeah an orgy, heh.” He sniffled. “Yeah Al wants us to meet someone.”

He bit down on the core of the Apple. Spitting out the seeds before he finished the whole thing. Nik and Austin stuck out. Partially because they weren’t naked.

Nik wore his usual outfit. With Austin somewhat matching it. Wearing a black dress shirt that wasn’t really buttoned. Out of the six buttons only four were clicked together, which caused half of his chest to be exposed. He wore black slacks, and like always, a pair of ripped low tops.

Austin had been wearing nice outfits for the past few weeks because Aurilia had gotten tired of seeing him in the same thing. A tank top with ripped sweatpants. Even Al and Keith got tired of it. So, Al wanted his tailor to pick out his kid brother's clothes. His tailor did so happily, she loved Austin.

Nik flicked his cigarette away, grabbing another. Austin looked around, he wasn’t paying much attention to the orgy happening around him. But his eyes were narrowed towards a lady who was approaching them. She was in nothing but lace panties.

Austin nudged his friend. Who was staring down at the ground so he wouldn’t see anything. In spite of the place being filled with obnoxious moaning and groaning, the music was still ear breaking like usual. “I ain’t lookin’ up Aus. Ain’t no fuckin’ way man. I’m good.”

“You gotta man. You gotta—“

“Aus go fuck y’self.”

“Jesus,” Austin pouted, scratching the back of his ear, “someone’s grumpy.” He stopped conversing with Nik once the woman was in front of both of them. She was smiling.

Standing still with her hand on her waist. “You must be Al’s boys?” She asked.

Austin glanced at Nik who was still smoking away while staring at the ground. Looking at the woman. “Yes, we are ma’am.”

“You got the package?” She raised a brow. Austin eagerly nodded, grabbing the grip of the suitcase to lift it up. An affectionate smile plastered on the woman’s face. She was amused with Austin. “Al didn’t tell Curtis that’d he bring such attractive men, I’m Cherry.” She offered her hand so she could lead them through the sweaty crowd.

Austin took her hand, holding it in his. He handed her the suitcase as well, to which she took. “I’m Austin,” he smiled, “that there is Nik.” He flicked his head to his friend. Nik still didn’t budge. Without thinking, Austin held Nik’s hand. Which yanked him off the chair. Once Cherry got the hint that they were ready, she led them through the crowd. All three of them holding hands.

Nik coughed and sputtered like a broken down train. He had felt something rub on his crotch. Of course he didn’t know what it was since his eyes were closed, his free hand covering them just in case.

Austin was oblivious. He was humming a tune and looking around. “Yeah nice place you got here.” His eyes were looking at the ceiling. Cherry looked back at him for a moment. He’s cute… but.. dumb. She chuckled to herself.

Slipping to the backstage of the club. She opened the doors to the makeup room. To which, even more naked dancers were. As they walked through the makeup room, Cherry opened the door to another room.

It was a VIP room… in the makeup room. There is a VIP room in the makeup room?? Austin looked around confused. Ignoring the oval shaped couch in front of him to which a man was sitting on it. Austin felt Cherry let go of his hand, in response he let go of Nik’s hand.

Cherry walked towards the man. “Hey Curtis- these are Al’s boys.” She introduced them. “They came with your package.” She put the suitcase down on the coffee table that was in front of the couch. Austin finally looked at the man.

He was shirtless, and beside him were two naked women underneath his arms. Because of course this is a club for orgys. Austin thought to himself. The man had his hair slicked back, with a clean shaven beard that was even. A cigar in his mouth, and he was wearing black silk pants.

“Thank you Cherry,” with those words he dismissed her.

She walked back to Austin. His eyes trailed her, until she stopped in front of him. “You should come by.” She said suggestively with her hand on his chest, going on her tippy toes. She gently tapped her lips against his, a quick peck on the lips before she left them. Nik, on the other hand was staring with a perked eyebrow and narrowed eyes. Confused as to what was happening.

Austin cleared his throat, looking back at Curtis. “So, you got the money?” He went straight to business.

“Woah, hold on.” Curtis smiled, puffing out smoke. “We gotta check the drugs first.” He grabbed Austin’s suitcase. Opening it up, he was greeted with foiled boxes. He cut them open, and out came heroin. It was white, snow white. Pure heroin. “Al’s improved his recipe…” Curtis wiped the heroin on his teeth. Nik and Austin watched quietly as Curtis suddenly ripped into the bag. Throwing it onto the girls beside him.

Austin was getting increasingly annoyed. “You checked your doe now give me the money.” His tone was harsh.

“Let us have some fun here.” Curtis pushed Austin away. In a blink of an eye Austin grabbed his switchblade. Jumping over the coffee table so he wouldn’t dirty the heroin. He grabbed Curtis’ forehead, pushing it back so the blade of his knife was against his neck.

“Listen here you blood sucking pimp. I’ve had enough of your bullshit. I waited out there by the bar for a fucking hour. Then I walk through a sweaty ass orgy crowd that’s tryna pull me in. Not to mention, I didn’t even get to eat two apples!” His voice boomed in the VIP room. “So give me the fucking money!” He pressed the blade deeper.

“Alright alright!” Curtis thought Austin was being unreasonable. Slowly moving his hands down, Curtis grabbed a suitcase off the ground. Austin without looking away from Curtis grabbed the suitcase, handing it to Nik.

Nik took it, quickly unlocking it. He started counting the stacks inside. In about two minutes, he finished. “Hundred-kay.” Nik informed Austin, closing the suitcase right after.

“Good,” pulling away from Curtis. He put his switchblade back into his pocket. Looking over at the two women, “ladies.” He dipped his head. He and Nik leaving right after.

—

Nik and Austin dropped off the suitcase. Al let Keith open the case to count the cash. Taking out 10k, they split it into 5k and gave it to both of them. 5k each.

Austin looked at the stack. He wanted to give it to Aurilia to thank her for taking care of him recently. Inhaling deeply, they both shoved the money in their pockets. “Listen you two,” Al began. Nik and Austin tilted their heads to indicate they were listening. Al breathed in, “there’s new competition. Brent told me he saw them in our territory.” He looked at both of them.

A nod in response.

“I told every dealer this. But if you see em, unfamiliar dealers. They’re it. So take the it out of the picture.” Al ordered.

“Got it.” Austin and Nik both said in sync. They both left together to walk deeper in the basement. Austin had known what Al was talking about. He recognized people at campus that would deal around the dorms.

Austin was leaning against the pillar, his hand in his pocket. His other holding the phone as he could hear Aurilia’s sweet voice. “I’ll meet you at the coffee shop at five yeah?”

“Yeah,” she responded, “and don’t be late.” She added sharply. “You’re always late.”

“I won’t.” He promised. Looking behind him, he could see Nik wrestling with Keith. Even though Keith was much smaller. That of being 6’3” and Nik being 6’8” Nik had the advantage. But, didn’t use it for some reason. “I gotta go.” He said, hearing shouting in the background.

“Pfft,” she snorted. For some reason when he heard that. The brightest smile appeared on Austin’s face.

“Hm?” He hummed.

“I can hear the background.” She had a lighthearted giggle. It was dumb that Austin was calling her while she could hear multiple people shouting in the back. “You should call me when you’re alone.”

“I missed you though.” He said defensively. “I mean—“ stopping himself. I love you. He added those words in his head. “—you’re very important to me.”

“Likewise,” Austin could hear her smile, “cya at five?”

“Definitely. Cya.”

“Cya.” The call ended. And Austin looked up, seeing Keith punch Nik on the ribs. Slipping his phone into his pocket, Austin pushed through the cheering crowd. Crossing his arms over his chest. Nik collapsed on the ground, with Keith crawling on top of him. His fist plummeted into Nik’s face. In response, three taps on the floor. He tapped out.

Keith gently pat Nik’s face. “You alright?” He asked gently.

“Good.” Nik held up a thumbs up. Keith quickly got up, stepping back. He grabbed Nik by the arm, lifting him up. He put his arm over Nik’s shoulders, walking him over to the chairs.

“Brent and Austin you’re up.” Al said, pointing to the two of them. Austin quickly unbuttoned his shirt, walking to the center of the basement. While he was doing so, he took out his piercing and his two bands. Brent followed behind, throwing his own shirt off as well. Austin heard him unbuckling his belt, throwing it off.

They stood in the center. The crowd was completely quiet. Before every fight, they would fist bump each other.

Brent was the first to attack. He swung at Austin, who stepped back to dodge. Another swing, met with another stepped back. Brent slammed his fist against Austin’s abdomen, causing him to almost throw up. Flexing his abdomen to take in the oncoming punches, he felt another punch to his abdomen again, met with a swing across the face.

A low ‘ooo’ left the crowd. Austin almost fell back, shaking himself as he stood straight. Wiping his already bleeding nose. Austin lunged forward, landing a punch on Brent’s ribs, then an uppercut to daze his opponent.

Brent toppled over just like that. His face hitting the hard cement, blood splattered from his nose. A deep cut near his eye. Turning around quickly on his knees, Austin punched him down. Brent tried grabbing at Austin’s face, only to be pushed off.

Grabbing his hair, his face slammed down on the ground. He did this repeatedly until he could see Brent lose a tooth. All the anger that was pent up in him, he could finally unleash it today.

Brent gathered up all the strength he had in him to push Austin off. Balling up his fist weakly, he tried to hit his opponent on the jaw. Only to be thrown off. Austin got off the ground, spitting blood out.

Brent got off after, they both grabbed at each others shoulders. Pushing against one another. Austin quickly countered with moving his arms underneath Brent’s armpits. Hooking them underneath, he straightened out his hunched back to pick Brent up. Twisting his body, Brent’s back slammed on the ground, with Austin following behind like a domino affect.

Austin turned around to pin Brent down on the ground. Flipping him over onto his front, he grabbed Brent’s arm and pulled it behind his opponent’s back. Twisting it and bending it the opposite direction. Brent tapped the ground repeatedly, letting out painful screams.

Austin immediately let go of his friend. Weakly pushing himself off Brent. “You okay?” He asked, picking his friend off the ground.

“Can barely see shit. But I’m good.” Brent smiled through bloody teeth. They both walked back into the crowd.

Austin approached his eldest brother who had just called out who would be fighting next. Al looked at Austin, gently patting his face. “Good job, kid.” He praised. “You definitely are my brother.”

Austin dipped his head in thanks. Leaving after to go sit beside Nik. Nik was smoking a blood stained cigarette. Austin would watch the fights go on, his eyes narrowing as he watched.

As he walked up the basement while buttoning his shirt. It was already 4:30PM. He’d be late for his meeting with Aurilia. As he exited out the bar, he began running to the coffee shop.

—

Opening the door of the coffee shop. It was 5:10PM. He was late by ten minutes. Aurilia looked up at him, seeing him brush his hair back with his hands. He was buttoning up his shirt and wiping off lint. She saw him reach into his pocket to put his bands on, as well as his earring.

Walking over to her to sit at her side. She scooted over, seeing him wipe his nose. He looked at her face, blinking cluelessly. She squinted at him. His eye was freshly bruised, and his cheek was cut. “What’d you do?” She asked.

“Nothing.” He said calmly, brushing it off.

“You jump off a ramp or some shit? You look awful.” She leaned back to look at him clearly. His knuckles were freshly bruised and cut. His left knuckles had deep gashes in them. “Did you fight?”

“What? No—“

“Austin.” She groaned from annoyance. “You can’t keep doing this.”

“I’m fine.” He reassured, patting his chest down. “Don’t worry. It’s just something Al does alright?” Scooting closer to her, she had rolled her eyes. “C’mon,” he whined.

“You’re a handsome guy.” She had a calm voice, but there was a hint of worry slipping in. “Frankly, I like it. I want you to remain handsome. Don’t you?”

Austin never cared much for his looks. He was a drug dealer. Girls would suck his dick if he was ugly for some pot or powder either way. “No.” He had a blank tone.

“You don’t care about anything.” She muttered, tired of him.

“I care about you.” He pushed his bruised hand towards hers that was resting on the table. Gently pressing his index finger on hers. His hand crawled underneath hers so he could hold it.

“I care about you as well.” She looked at both their hands. “So please- take care of yourself.”

“I have you to take care of me.” That snarky smirk appeared on his face. “Oh, right.” Reaching into his pocket. “I got us some money.”

“Us?” She emphasized.

“Yeah..” his eyes looked to the side, questioning himself, then at her, “we’re friends.”

“Oh- oh. I’m dumb.” She muttered under her breath. Her cheeks slowly flushed with light pink.

“Here.” He put down 2.5k on the table. “We split fifty. So… two-point-five kay for you.”

“I can’t-“

“Just take it.” He pressed, ignoring her request. “C’mon, you always take care of me. So let me take care of you.” His tone became whiney mixed with a bit of frustration from her stubbornness.

“Alright alright,” she shook her head, “I don’t agree with this.” But it didn’t stop her from hiding it in her backpack. She looked at his outfit, seeing a bit of white powder, and she brushed it off of him. For the past few weeks he was actually voluntarily wearing nice outfits. “You look nice.” Leaning on his shoulder. She linked her arm around his, their fingers intertwined.

“Al’s tailor has taken a liking to me.” He smirked, shaking his head. It was unbelievable to him still.

“I can’t blame them. You look good in everything.” She commented. Looking at him fondly. Even though he was bruised up, she still took in the time to admire his features. “Why do you fight anyways?”

“It makes me feel something.” He answered without a second thought. “I don’t feel dead. I actually feel… alive. It’s just…” turning to face her. “..you actually feel something. You get high off of the excitement and adrenaline. It’s amazing what the body can do when that adrenaline kicks in y’know?”

“Yeah,” she nodded her head, not wanting to judge him. Everyone had their vices. His just happened to be fighting. Breathing in, “do you feel something with me?”

“Yeah,” smiling while looking at her, “always.” He swore. She smiled back at him, shaking her head before looking back at her book that was displayed on the desk. “Do you feel something with me?” He repeated her question to her.

She answered with no hesitation. Looking him square. “Yeah, always.” She echoed. He looked away after she said that, biting his tongue to keep himself from smiling. “Like I said on the phone, you’re important to me.” She recalled.

“Yeah. Likewise.” He cleared his throat. Looking back at her, he leaned his head down. She, craned her head upwards towards his. They stopped until their noses touched. “Want an apple?” He asked.

“No.” She smiled, pulling her head away from his. She went back to reading quietly. Austin bit his lower lip. Looking away from her. I can’t get involved with her. He leaned back, closing his eyes.

Aurilia looked over at her friend. Seeing how he had already fallen asleep in three minutes. He was breathing deeply, with his arms laying by his side. As she watched him sleeping soundly, she had came to the slow realization that there was a possibility she loved him much more than intended.

—

Austin woke up an hour later. Aurilia was leaning on his shoulder, breathing a bit deeply. She had fallen asleep as well. Looking out the window of the shop. He could see something across the street, someone was holding a newspaper. It was folded up, and bagged. Ten bucks was handed towards the person.

Not even five minutes later, it was the same thing. Five minutes later, it was the same thing. Austin knew what it was, another drug deal. He knew cause only dealers charged ten bucks for weed. Not for newspapers. Newspapers were worth two bucks tops. Not a solid ten.

Not to mention when Austin first began dealing. He took the same route. With the newspapers. Staring at the dealer, they looked unfamiliar. They weren’t one of Al’s boys. He knew that damned well.

This person, whoever he was. Was dealing in the wrong territory. Al had already claimed his turf. Anyone who deals in it, would get jumped. But it was odd, turf was claimed by the clubs, bars, gas stations, or liquor shops, someone owned, as well as tags.

Which had only meant one thing to him. Someone was coming into Al’s turf to deal. They must’ve bought a building close by. He concluded, looking away to grab his phone from his pocket. Wanting to message his eldest brother to inform him what he just saw.

In less than a minute. He had gotten a response. ‘Take care of it.’ It read. Austin slid his phone away.

—

Aurilia shifted awake, letting out a mewl of a yawn. Austin looked at her, as she pushed herself off his shoulder. It was 8PM, she was supposed to have left an hour ago to her dorm.

“You’re late by an hour.” Austin told her. She looked at him with half opened eyes. Smacking her lips in response. He placed his palm on the back of her head, gently wiping her eyes with his other hand so she could see clearly. “Wake up, doll.” He hummed softly.

“I’m up.” She whined at him, pushing his hand away. She grabbed her book to slip it into her backpack. He was the first to get up, then she got up. They bid their goodbyes to Mr. Reed just before they left the shop.

Austin looked past his shoulder, the dealer was still there. Waiting for his customers.

After dropping her off. Austin had met with Nik. Who was wearing a black leather jacket. He wore a white button up that was barely even buttoned, as well as his black slacks like usual. “Sup,” he puffed out a cloud.

Austin saw the cigarette was a black cigarette with a gold filter. “Nat Sherman Black Gold?” He named the brand.

“Yeah,” Nik smiled, “Al gave me a box.” He chuckled. Smoke blowing out his nose.

“Getting fancy out here.” Austin shook his head, “lets do what we came to do.” Both of his hands in his pockets. They were both walking side by side. Both made their way to the Coffee Shop, seeing a guy passing out newspapers.

“That’s him huh.” Nik grabbed another Nat Sherman, lighting it ablaze. He reached into his pocket to get another pack, grabbing a Camel Unfiltered to hand to Austin. Austin wasn’t a smoker, but he was taught how to smoke in situations like this.

A smoker who was looking for a deal looked promising to another dealer, but two? Even better. Nik struck the match for Austin who popped the camel in his mouth. Nik leaned down to light it for Austin, stepping back. Austin inhaled deeply, tasting the sweetness of the tobacco. He kept the cigarette in his mouth, slipping both hands in his pockets.

Both walking across the street, looking of course. They both approached the guy on the bench. He wasn’t selling his newspapers, just sitting there. “Hello.” Austin took a drag, grabbing the cigarette between his index and middle finger. The man looked up, he was around the same age as Austin. “What’s your name?” He asked.

“…Tommy,” he muttered.

“What?” Nik leaned forward.

“Tommy!” He said more clearly. “I’m Tommy… you?”

“I’m Aus,” he smiled, looking at Nik who was beside him, “Nik.” He pointed simply. Looking back at Tommy. “Tommy huh?” Austin repeated his name. “Never met no Tommy. Have you Nik?”

“Nah.” He shook his head.

Austin caught the disgusting aroma of weed. “Your paper smells a bit like weed.” He smiled ever so charmingly. “Right Nik?”

Nik inhaled deeply. “Yeah, I can smell weed and cigarettes.” He agreed.

“You sellin’ doe?” Austin perked up. Tommy looked at the both of them, confused. But, he gave a nod in confirmation.

“You lookin’ to buy?” He asked the both of them. They gave nods, eager nods. “Ten an ounce.” He revealed his prices. Austin and Nik both looked at each other, smiling a bit.

Looking back at Tommy. Austin flicked his cigarette away, launching at Tommy. Both fell off the bench, and Nik dove into the plastic basket which held the newspapers. Getting lighter fluid from his pocket, he dumped it in. Lit a match quickly then dropped it in the basket. The basket erupted into flames, causing Nik to flinch away.

Austin wrapped a rope around Tommy’s neck. Tightening it as he dragged Tommy’s thrashing body. He was clawing at the rope on his neck, trying to get it off. “Shh shh sh.” Austin sang. “Don’t worry, we won’t hurt you.” He promised. Nik grabbed Tommy’s legs, lifting him up to help Austin with dragging Tommy.

They both dropped him onto gravel that belonged underneath the bridge of the highway, ignoring the nearby homeless people. Nik grabbed a gun from the inside of his leather pocket. It was a Colt M1911, a cult classic. One of the most famous and comfortable pistols.

Nik handed it to Austin, who took it in his grip. Holding it by the grip with his index finger resting on the barrel. The safety was still clicked on. They wanted to scare Tommy, not kill him. “So your name is Tommy, you’re a dealer. But you sure as hell ain’t a dealer for Al.”

“Al?” Tommy sprawled onto his back, quickly getting on his knees and raising his hands. “You guys are Al’s boys?”

“You were dealing in Al’s territory-“

“Woah woah woah!” Tommy exclaimed in surprise. He was frantically looking between Nik and Austin. “I thought I was dealing in Curtis’ territory. Not Al’s.”

“Curtis?” Austin repeated the name.

“Yeah,” Tommy was spilling the beans. He had heard a lot of things about Al’s men. Frankly, he did not want to fuck with them. Especially with a guy who had a gun pointed to his head. After all, he had just started working for Curtis. He wasn’t too deep in yet, “Curtis owns the massage place just down the street of the coffee shop.” Tommy started.

“What goes on there?” Austin knew about the stupid orgy club. Now he just wanted to know if he was pimping out the workers at the massage place.

“From what I know. He imports girls from all over. Especially Asia, he sneaks them there. Makes them work at the massage place.” He said honestly. “He comes there everyday by twelve-pm dead. If you work for him, you get benefits there.”

Nik and Austin raised their brows. “Why’d you work for him?” Austin asked.

Tommy blankly stared at him. Then looked at Nik who was lighting another Nat Sherman. Looking back at Austin. He breathed in, washing away his embarrassment. “…I really wanted a walkman.” He admitted.

Austin squinted in confusion. Lowering the gun from Tommy’s face. “You wanted a walkman?”

“Yeah… y’know the ones-“

“I know what they are.” Austin cut him off. “Did you want Sony’s or what?”

“Yeah.”

“Sony’s?” Nik scoffed. “Sony makes some expensive ass fuckin walkmans. Last one was seven-hundred at the vintage store.” He claimed.

“Huh,” Austin too scoffed, “no shit.” He smirked. Reaching into his pocket to grab the 2.5k. He grabbed 700 bucks out of it, walking towards Tommy. “Here. For your walkman…” he offered his peace token. Tommy was astonished by this gesture but, gladly took the buck. “Aye listen Tommy,” Austin crouched down to swing his arm over Tommy’s shoulder. “I appreciate what you told us.”

“Yeah course, I don’t want any trouble.” Tommy nodded, understanding why they did what they did.

“You should go work for Al. He pays handsomely. Go down to the Lights Out bar, and go to the bartender named Joe. Tell him you want a job, and flick your head towards the basement. He’ll understand immediately and show you the way.” Austin promised.

“Thank you.” Tommy dipped his head deeply. Austin ruffled up his hair, getting up. He walked towards Nik and handed him the Colt.

“Have a good night.” Nik smiled through the cigarette.

“You too…” Tommy muttered, watching the pair walk away. He was amazed by them. Al’s boys are much nicer than I expected. He chuckled to himself, holding the 700 bucks in his hand. “What just happened?” He blinked.

Nik and Austin walked side by side. Nik’s messy black hair was pushed back, he shook his head violently. “Curtis was setting that boy up.” Nik looked at Austin lazily.

“I know.”

“What should we do?” Nik took a drag.

“The shit we always do.” He had a calm tone. “Tell Al.”

—

Al looked at them, his hands folded around his chest. “Curtis huh?” He was enraged. “I give him a pure batch and he does this to me?!” He snapped. “Pimps out chics?!”

“He’s the owner of an orgy strip club. What were you expecting? A hotel ballroom?” Austin challenged. Keith gave a nod in the background. His little brother made a good point.

“Take care of it.” Al muttered.

“How?” Austin questioned, tilting his head like a confused dog.

“The same thing we did to Ken.” He smiled.

—

Nik leaned on Austin’s shoulder. Both of their arms were folded and Austin hadn’t slept at all that night. His eyes remained on the massage place that was a block away from the coffee shop. ‘Trinity Spa’ was the name of it.

Austin looked at his phone. It was 11:55PM. He saw a black Cadillac pull up to the side. Opening the door and out came Curtis with a batch of a few girls who were barely dressed.

He nudged his friend awake, a snort in response to the nudging. Nik snapped his eyes awake. That was the thing about Nik. He could wake up at an instant. Austin knew this was due to what Al did to both of them when they were kids. Austin took his time to wake up at times but, when he was around his brothers. Taking his time was not a thing.

“Shit he’s here?” Nik popped in a morning smoke, quickly lighting it.

“Mornin’ sunshine.” Austin smiled. Nik could see Keith’s smile reflecting off of his best friend. He shook his head, hating the fact that Austin and Keith shared the same mischievous smile.

After twenty minutes had passed, they both took the same amount of strides through the street. Opening the door quickly to the massage place. Austin and Nik both took out cash to pay for a session with one of the girls. Once they were cleared, they waited in the lobby for a moment.

Two Asian girls walked out, both were petite and small. He has a type. Austin thought to himself. Letting one of them take his hand to lead him into a private room, the other leading Nik away.

As they were both led into separate rooms. The woman pushed the door close, looking over at Austin. “Is there anything you want specifically?” She asked him in a gentle voice.

“Yes,” he sauntered over to her. Stopped in front of her. He loomed over her figure and he quickly grabbed her throat. Tightly gripping it as he took out his switchblade. He smiled gently, “hush hm?” He tilted his head, she nodded. “Curtis, y’know him don’t you?”

She nodded.

“Heroin? Y’know that too, don’t you?”

She nodded.

“He use it on you?”

Another nod.

“When you feel like shit. He used it on you so you can work, yes?”

A nod.

“I know he’s here. So tell me. Which room?”

She held up both her hands.

Looking at her hands. Room 10. Then back at her eyes. “Good girl.” He breathed. Letting go of her throat, she inhaled deeply. Trying to catch her breath. “Stay in here, yeah?”

“Mhm.” She looked up at him. He smiled a bit, leaving the room quietly. He looked at the lady at the front counter, she was focused on another customer. Who happened to be a male. Looking at the back of the building, he could see room 10 tucked behind a corner. Whistling as he walked by the other rooms, Nik walked out of his quietly, falling in with Austin.

As they turned the corner towards room 10. Nik pressed his hand against the door knob, twisting it slowly. It had suddenly stopped. It was locked. Nik, smiled a bit. Reaching into his jacket pocket to get out a lock pick. He leaned down, slowly inserting the pick into the key hole, he began picking.

Austin looked through the corner, the lady seeming occupied. He looked back at Nik, hearing a click. Getting up quickly, he opened the door without hesitation. Austin followed behind, seeing Curtis.

Curtis was on top of a woman who looked drugged out of her mind. Her arm was belted tightly, and there was a syringe in her arm. She laid sprawled on the bed, bare skinned. Curtis looked up, recognizing Austin immediately. He got off of her quickly. “Ey listen I can explain!”

“Why you son of a-“ Nik shut the door quickly. Austin grabbed Curtis by the neck and threw him down on the floor. Nik locked the door as he heard his friend go at it with Curtis, and went to the woman. He noticed how she was sweating, her eyes rolled back. Checking her pulse, it was slow.

“Hey- hey- hey hey!” He shouted. “Aw fuck fuck fuck.” He took off his leather jacket. “Narcan narcan narcan.” He repeated to himself, searching his jacket.

Curtis threw Austin off of him. Flipping him over, Austin’s back hit a cabinet. Curtis threw it on top of him, and Austin pushed it off with pure adrenaline. He threw a punch to the ribs, then an upper hook. Knocking Curtis down to the ground quickly. His fist plummeting into Curtis’ face repeatedly, crimson splotches splattered onto the wall.

Curtis lost a few teeth in the process, his nose cracked upon impact to another punch. Austin in turn was cutting all of his knuckles. He was using his left hand with his metal bands to punch the son of a bitch. Grabbing Curtis’ hair, he slammed his head against the wooden floor repeatedly until blood poured out of his head. Making Curtis face him, he smashed his fist on Curtis’ face. Austin let out every single bit of anger he felt inside himself.

In his head he was saying every curse word he could think of. Letting out anger he felt towards the death of his mother. His brother slashing his neck. His brother burning his neck. Forcing himself to accept the life of dealing. But nothing, nothing beat his hatred towards pimps. Why? Maybe because it was embedded in him to hate these Cocksuckers.

But the way they acted. Like arrogant pieces of shit who drugged up young women for their enjoyment? No. No after seeing what happened to his clients. Watching them overdose. He hated it. Maybe he was doing what he did to Curtis out of spite towards himself. But he didn’t care anymore.

Nik gently pat the woman’s face, opening her closed eyelids. “C’mon c’mon!” He prayed. He had already called 911. Pressing down on her chest to help her breathe. He looked at Austin, knowing what would happen if the police saw him doing what he was doing to Curtis. Curtis was already dead, but Austin kept beating down on him. “Austin!” He shouted. “Stop!” He ordered.

Austin snapped back to reality, looking at his bloody knuckles. He squinted his eyes a bit, confused. “What did I—“

“Get the fuck outta here!” Nik cut him off. “I called the police for her. If they catch you beating Curtis’ ass. They’re gonna lock you up!”

“I can’t leave-“

“Get. Out.” Nik warned. “I’ll be alright. I’m tryna keep her here. But you’re beating on a man.” He said. Austin nodded, Nik quickly tossed him a pair of gloves. And with that, Austin slipped away.

Running through the back door. He was met with a brick wall, grabbing the top of it. Pulling himself up, he jumped over the wall into the parking lot of another shop. He tumbled over, unbuttoning his shirt quickly. It was stained with Curtis’ blood, and he knew he had to get rid of it.

Wiping the blood off his face with his shirt. He breathed in deeply, he knew he had to get to Lights Out. Ruffling up his dirty hair, he shook himself. Clearing his throat. His black slacks were dark enough for the blood to blend in, the splatters making it look like art.

—

He threw his shirt into a dumpster that was often used as a fire pit in Lights Out. He was watching the shirt burn to bits, and after half an hour. Austin walked into the bar to use the shower.

Getting out of the shower, he walked to the basement. Joe eyeing after the boy. Austin opened the door and quickly walked down the steps of stairs. “Curtis is dead.” Austin said without any hesitation as he stepped in front of Al. Who was eating a PB&J sandwich.

“What?” Al blinked.

“I killed him.” He stated.

“Oh… shit.” Al was speechless. “Where’s Nik?”

“We separated.” He had a blank face, Al saw that he was empty. He had no feelings.

“Alright… you need anything?” Al looked at his kid brothers bare chest.

“Clothes.”

“Over there.” He pointed behind Austin to a dusty old box. He walked towards the old box. “Hey kid,” he called after his kid brother just before he opened the box. Austin looked back. “Take the day off.”

After Austin had changed from his clothes. He didn’t even need to think to himself. He already knew who he’d go see. Aurilia. He was desperate for her warmth.

[latibvles]

SAD, BEAUTIFUL, TRAGIC.

beautiful, tragic // bark and bite.

daisy's on a losing streak.

masterlist | gallery | taglist

TAGLIST: @liebgotts-lovergirl [ … ]

WARNINGS: none

SUMMARY: daisy continues in her commitment to avoid speirs no matter the cost. except for the cost of her mail.

DEDICATIONS: dedicated this chapter to @liebgotts-lovergirl for listening to my incessant rambling at 3am. you are the sweetest ever :) ♡

Daisy remembers sitting in the backseat of her father’s Cadillac when James was learning how to drive. She dug her nails into the seat when her brother would pump the brakes and lurch the three of them forward. He had this wild look in his eye, as if his poor braking was some kind of adrenaline rush. Her father had swatted him upside the head from the passenger's seat, hurling all types of warnings. “Don’t play chicken on the road, boy,” he’d warned him. “You sure as hell won’t win it.”

It seems like now, every encounter with Speirs feels like a short game of chicken, and she’s been on a losing streak for the past few days.

If he’s walking in her direction, she turns away. If he goes left, she goes right. She avoids the more popular places where soldiers tend to hang out unless Liebgott’s the one dragging her along. She doesn’t know what she did for the man to take such a liking to her — but she likes the friendship they’ve been building on snarky remarks and playful sarcasm. She avoids common places to smoke like the plague, because if there’s one thing that still remains, it is Speirs' vice for tobacco. Which she only knows, because apparently he gave those German soldiers cigarettes and lit them before mowing them down.

It’s roughly noon — she, Rita, and Patty are just getting out of a debriefing with the other nurses and medics who’d been called back. The two are going back and forth over the newly introduced “acrylic eyes” they’d be using at the dental laboratories. Only half-listening, Daisy’s eyes scan the people milling about before settling on Eugene Roe’s face. She gives him a small wave, and he smiles in response.

“Well look at you, Miss Popular,” Rita drawls out. “First that boy from Easy and now their medic? The scandal. By all means if you’ve moved onto the doctor I will gladly take that other one off your hands,” she continues and she hears Patty erupt into giggles. Daisy rolls her eyes.

“There’s nothing to take off my hands, but if that’s what you want. I’m getting real sick of losing at darts anyway.”

As if on cue, she watches as Joseph Liebgott makes his way towards the three of them, hands in his pockets. His face is still flushed from whatever morning PT they’ve had to do while they wait for orders. Drills, training exercises, and other routines fill their days — Ginny likes to poke around and see what information she can squeeze out or overhear from the COs who let things slip when they aren’t fulfilling their own duties. He greets her with his usual call of her name, before approaching.

“New faces,” he observes, looking over her two friends, before introducing himself with a smirk she knows all too well at this point and a “Liebgott.” Daisy watches as Rita tilts her chin up to look him in the eye, looking him up and down.

“I know,” is her immediate reply, cut and dry, before a subsequent, “Rita McCarney. This here’s Patricia Kegley — that’s Miss Kegley to you. Are you a friend of Daisy’s?” Daisy bites the inside of her cheek to keep from giggling at the tone Rita’s using. It’s half-scolding, very reminiscent of a mother’s voice. Liebgott looks to her, and then back to Rita.

“Yeah, I would say we’re friends now,” it comes out slower than his usual responses. “Speaking of which, what’re you doing right now?” Refocusing his attention on her.

Daisy looks to Rita, then back to Liebgott. Then something in her clicks.

“Actually, Patricia and I have to make a visit to the Supply Office,” Daisy hums out, reaching behind Rita to curl her fingers around Patty’s arm. She leans in close to mutter a quick “Your hands now,” before yanking their friend rather abruptly, giving Liebgott a quick wave and scurrying off with Patty close behind. She almost feels like a schoolgirl — but the sort of childlike giddiness left in the wake of a small trick is a welcomed feeling. Still, Patty gives her a worried look.

“There are rules against this kind of thing,” is her soft warning. Daisy just offers her a bright smile.

“Trust me, I wouldn’t have left her alone if I didn’t think they’d be fine.” Patty’s lip purse, and her gaze shifts past Daisy, up ahead.

“Yeah, but I think that guy noticed and might say something.” Following her stare, Daisy looks ahead and swears under her breath for reasons entirely separate from her little stint. She stops in her tracks, eyes meeting with Speirs’ only a few feet away. Her nails, instinctively, dig into Patty’s arm, and she grunts a little bit so Daisy loosens up and gives her an apologetic side-glance. Speirs begins to walk towards them, and Daisy remains unmoving as he approaches.

Like a game of chicken in her dad’s shiny Cadillac.

He stops in front of her, and she looks up at him.

“Lieutenant Clarke.”

“Lieutenant Speirs.”

He looks over, nods at Patty in acknowledgement, then looks back to her.

“I need to speak with you about an important matter,” she has half a mind to invite Patty to come with them. As if clued in on her scheming, he quickly adds “alone. It’s a follow-up to what we discussed with Captain Winters and Captain Brant on Monday.” She narrows her eyes at him. Now Patty’s gripping onto her arm a little tighter.

“What we discussed..?” Some things about him haven’t changed — like his ability to lie through his teeth. It was useful for tricking James into doing her chores. He nods again, definitive.

“It’s sensitive intel, as I’m sure you’re already aware,” now he’s looking at Patty, who swallows hard under his intense stare. “So it’d be better if we talked about it alone.” She feels Patty’s grip on her loosen, and she mentally curses.

“S’fine Daisy. I’ll catch up with you later, okay?” Patty insists. If Daisy had no pride left, she’d probably insist Patty stay. But unfortunately, she still has some pride retained despite her game of hide n’ seek over the past week — and so she lets Patty go with a quick ‘See ya Pats’, watching as the girl makes her way back towards where they just left.

She turns, looks up at Speirs expectantly, he turns on his heel, putting further distance between them and Patty. Begrudgingly, she follows, until he leads her to a quieter spot, near a fence made of stones piled up to her hip, walling off whoever’s property it is from the rolling hills.

He turns, fishes around in his pocket, and pulls out a folded letter, sticking it out to her. Daisy looks down at it, then up at him with a raised brow.

“Captain Brant wanted me to give this to you. Mail came in. It’s from your mom.”

Ginny was the only one who knew that she and Speirs even knew each other — and even that admission was like pulling teeth after being scolded for scurrying off. A quick “we‘re both from Boston and he was Rita’s patient. Small world.” She didn’t indulge her with the fact that he and Daisy hadn’t actually spoken in a year, nor that she was admittedly avoiding him.

A misstep on her part, because now he's delivering her mail.

“And you had to deliver this in private because…”

“Well, you seem pretty committed to pretending not to know me.”

She isn’t sure if it’s supposed to be a snide remark or a blunt observation. Either way it smacks her in the face. She wasn’t trying to be subtle necessarily, but even then she didn’t think he noticed. Daisy reaches over and grabs the letter from him, staring at it. Sure enough, the return address is to Irene Clarke.

“Thanks Speirs.” Is her brief reply, glancing up at him. There’s a pause, heavy silence. She gets ready to leave.

“So we’re really not gonna talk about it?” Straight to the point, despite being a good liar, retaining a preference for honesty.

That much had remained the same.

“Nope.”

She watches his steeled features break for a moment as he clenches his jaw in frustration. Daisy gains no satisfaction from it, but doesn’t yield. He narrows his eyes and takes in a deep breath, reaching up to rub his mouth with his hand.

“So what? you disappear for a year and then—”

“I didn’t disappear, I just stopped writing.”

“—And then you’re here, and pretend like I don’t even exist? Just like that? No explanation, not even just a ‘don’t write to me anymore’, silence for a whole damn year and you’re not gonna tell me why?” He leans down slightly to look her in the eye, but doesn’t step any closer to her, not making any move to trespass into her guarded space. Her arms wrap around herself, and glancing at his hand that resides on the wall — his grip on it is knuckle-white. She swallows hard.

“I told myself I was going to stop writing to you and I did, that’s all there is to it,” She doesn’t mention how she opened every single letter he sent until she shipped out to Camp in Fort Devens. She doesn’t mention how it took all of her strength not to reply. She doesn’t mention how not even his mother knew she stopped writing to him — because Daisy didn’t want to explain, because every time she thought about it, a lump would form in her throat and her voice would start to crack. “I got busy, I didn’t have time for… writing.” If she wasn’t trying to at least be mildly convincing — she’d cringe at her own excuse.

She doesn’t mention the letter burning a hole through her pocket, that she still doesn’t have the courage to return to him. He blinks at her in disbelief.

“You didn’t have time for writing?” he parrots. Daisy offers him nothing more than a stiff nod.

“One minute I’m working a nine-to-five, the next I’m being shipped off to Fort Devens for a military training program since I’d already completed three years of nursing school. Then everything that came after — training, England, nurse duties. You were getting ready to be a freaking paratrooper, Ronnie, and every commanding officer you told me about sounded awful. You had bigger things to worry about — we both did!” She’s lying through her teeth, but something in his gaze softens. Her tone becomes pleading, and she isn’t sure if it's her own commitment to the lie, or the fact that she’s almost pleading with him to believe her.

In all honesty, how much of a lie is it?

She hates this look on his face. Softened gaze, looking into her eyes despite the clench of his jaw and the furrow of his brow. His grip on the wall loosening. This is Ronnie. The one who listens to her every word, even when he’s upset with her. Who doesn’t give in to the anger she knows he possesses, because she’s seen it.

And she’s lying. Uncertainties aside, she’s lying to his face. 

“Daisy…” He starts and something in her cracks. She fears what it might be.

“Thanks for the letter.” Her voice softens and she breaks eye contact, turning on her heel and walking back the way she came before she says something she might regret.

She’s far too committed to her word to do that.

Daisy can feel his eyes boring into her, but she doesn’t stop — not until she’s returned to the general populace, and even then she continues moving until she reaches her tent. She enters through the flap and throws herself on the cot unceremoniously.

With Ronnie’s soft expression in the back of her mind, she opens it.

[the-baddest-of-batches]

Dar'Aliit: Chapter 6 - Something Personal (pt 2)

Mer’en paces the room. Bevik, utterly defeated, sits in the corner sulking. We’re all crammed into the controls room where a constant loop of the separatists conversations have been pouring in. It’s mostly reports on the ship. We’ve only got five hours left till rendezvous.

“Good news,” Mer’en turns and paces back past Aftermath. I think about moving my legs off the console, but I’m too tired, especially after nine games of Dejark. Neither me nor Bevik are great losers. But I’m still the ultimate winner.

“We got a ride?” Shave asks.

“We have a ride,” Mer’en confirms. “Bad news. Getting a ride means they’re going to push the rendezvous out another day because they had to commission a ship that could handle the atmosphere. So we’re stuck here another day. Better pack in and get comfortable.”

“Is there anything to eat down here?” Aftermath asks.

“Rations,” I tell him.

“You know, sir, I think the rookie is picking up on my snark and I don’t appreciate it,” Aftermath adds.

I smile at him and get a scowl in response.

“I don’t care about your snark,” Mer’en says. “Now all of you, I want a watch at all hours. Who’s going first?”

Bevik raises his hand.

“No,” Mer’en says. “Kian, Bevik, you both need sleep. You took pretty decent hits today, you can take later watches.”

“I’ll go,” Shave offers.

Mer’en shakes his head and locks his eyes on Aftermath who groans.

“I guess I’m volunteering?”

“Thank you for your service,” Mer’en chuckles. “Shave you can have second. Bevik, third. I’ll take fourth. The usual two hours shifts, understood?”

“Sir?” I lift my hand. “I can take a watch.

“You’re fine, rookie. Get some sleep.”

“If this is about my face, sir,” I sit up.

“It’s not,” Shave butts in. “Kian,” he looks over at me. “We all know you haven’t slept well since you got here. This is your chance, get some rest. Bunks in the crew quarters are clean. Maybe a little stale, but clean.”

I avert my gaze. So, they have noticed the fact I’m up half the night. I can’t help that all I can dream about are faces that look exactly like mine showing up on corpses. I swallow and pull my feet off the control panel. “Yes,” I look at Mer’en. “Sir.”

“Good, now go on. Aftermath, don’t touch a button in here, got it?”

“You put me on first watch,” Aftermath lifts his hands and they’re all I can see from behind the chair he’s sitting in. “Whatever happens, happens,” he says.

“The nothing had better happen,” Mer’en threatens.

Bevik snickers and gets up. I pull myself out of the chair and wander toward the door where Shave is standing. Mer’en follows as does Bevik and we slip out into the hall. Shave takes Bevik ahead of us and Mer’en falls back so he’s in step with me.

“You noticed, sir?” I ask as we walk toward the crews quarters.

“Kian you leave the room at 3am standard time. The light wakes me up.”

“Oh,” I feel my stomach grip in regret.

Mer’en just laughs though. “Don’t worry, we’ve all done it. You go down to the training rooms, don’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“If you need to spar someone you can wake me up next time.”

I glance at him. “You’ve done this longer than me, how do you put up with it?”

Mer’en shrugs. “Everyone has a way. I focus on making sure you all come back alive, but I can’t really blame myself if we don’t can I? If I do everything in my power, I’ve done my job.”

“Aftermath told me to take it out on stuff.”

“That works too. Just don’t let it…overwhelm you. Otherwise, you’ll lose yourself.”

I look down at my boots and stop. We painted my armor before leaving and there’s orange-yellow stripes across my thigh plates along with a mismatch of patterns Aftermath decided on while we were watching old Mon Calimari opera holos. The stripe down my left arm, the band on my right—except the pauldron, which is Nyo’s. There’s stripes down my chest. I think all of it had some meaning.

I don’t remember what half of it was, but I look like I’m a part of this team. These guys are my brothers. Ner’vod.

How am I not supposed to be overwhelmed with grief if I lose them? I clutch my helmet against my hip. “Does it ever get easier, sir?”

Mer’en blinks. His eyes are glassy, and he looks down the hall. “No. But I guess I’ve learned to become indifferent.”

I nod.

Mer’en rests his hand on my shoulder, right on Nyo’s shoulder pauldron. None of them asked me why it’s different. Aftermath is the only one who really knows. He wouldn’t even paint it.

Said that was up to me entirely.

I can feel Mer’en’s hand on my shoulder, heavy like the burden of all the other hands that have been there, reassuring me, placing their faith in me, every person that I’ve ever known. Every name on the underside of that shoulder pauldron.

They’re all my brothers and they always will be. Maybe Mer’en can become indifferent to the loss, to the death, and the grief, but I don’t think I can. I won’t forget them. My jaw clenches.

Mer’en draws back. “Get some sleep, Kian. Don’t think too much about the past.”

I nod, but my voice is only a whisper. “Yes, sir.”

#

Despite the extra hours, the Republic broke through the atmosphere with a ship that stayed in one piece this time. Shave took the duty of carrying Kit’s body. The rest of us fell in silently and we marched to the drop zone. A team of clones in battered armor escorted enviro-suited operators to take the station over.

As we pass by, I nod silently to the older troopers. Their battle-scarred armor shows not only experience, but survival. They nod to us. There’s a silent reverence. We respect each other. And we respect our collective fates.

“Everyone onboard!” Mer’en calls from the lowered ramp. We shuffle onboard. The pilots remain. We pass through airlocks to clear the acidic air off our suits before we’re allowed into the free open air of the ship.

Bevik whips off his helmet first and gulps down the fresh air. “I could kiss this floor right now!”

“I wouldn’t if I were you,” Shave says. He veers off with a nod to Mer’en.

I hang back by Bevik. His relief washes over me too. We’re here. We’re alive, and for the first time, I’m not the only one going home.

I blink. What’s the next step? Another mission? On Kamino we filled out time with pointless banter, training, and sleep. There was the occasional recreation.

“Hey,” I walk up to Bevik. “Don’t you still owe me a drink?”

“Think ten-year-olds can drink?” Bevik flashes a smile.

I grin back. “If they’ll let you in, they’ll let anyone in.”

“Hey!” He slams his helmet against my shoulder. I laugh just moments before Aftermath breaks us up.

“Enough!”

“Feeling left out?” Bevik clobbers Aftermath over the head. The two are at each other’s throats and we’re all laughing as Aftermath spouts insults in Mando’a and Bevik takes it all with a smirk.

“Ahem,” Mer’en clears his throat. He leans, helmet off, against the wall. “I believe we’re going to be taking off soon if any of you would care to get settled. We have a cruiser to get back to.”

We’re all three at a loose attention in seconds. I raise my hand in salute. Neither of the other’s do and I see the quirk of a smile on Mer’en’s face at my formality. I lower my hand.

“Sir, think we’re going to make it back in time for the Bolo Ball matches? I gotta get some dye.” Bevik points at his shaved head.

“If you get your shebs in gear, maybe. Go!” Mer’en shoos us.

We scatter like womp rats up to the front of the ship. A crackle over the comms informs us of departure and I feel the ship shudder under my feet as we all scramble for seats in the common room.

I grab the straps and buckle in. I’m not taking chances in the atmosphere this time. My arm still moves stiff at the shoulder even though Shave says it’s mostly just skin laceration that will need time to heal. The bandages peek out from under my bodysuit.

With deep breaths the ship rocks and I feel a ghostly hand on my shoulder.

Afraid of flying?

I inhale deeply and focus my vision on Bevik and Aftermath who are across from me in two of the crew chairs.

“You watch Bolo Ball?” I ask weakly. Morgan and Hook sometimes went wild for that stuff. I saw Nyo try to dye his hair once. Didn’t work.

Bevik nods. “Sure do. Matches are on tonight. I heard the 501st Captain is a pretty big fan too.”

“Are you all going to…get together?”

“You wanna come?” Aftermath asks.

Do I? The ship shudders. “Sure,” I breathe. My breaths come deeper over time. I remember the exercises from Kamino. I focus on the little blip inside my—no Kit’s—HUD and see that we’re rising rapidly. The shaking isn’t nearly as bad this time. The lights don’t even flicker.

We break the surface. I feel it as all resistance is shed from the hull and with something of a last final groan, we’re free. I grip the webbing of my seat.

“Prepare for docking with cruiser,” the intercom drones.

The final thud. The airlocks mate and I’m not focused on my breathing anymore. It’s more like the lull carries a gravity I wasn’t prepared for. The whole ship is silent, but not with death. The universe is acknowledging it.

We’ve done it.

Bevik and Aftermath stand. I follow suit and we file back onto the cruiser. And we’re met by an officer with a skittish look in his wide Rodian eyes.

“Sir’s! A ship is waiting for you in hanger bay delta where you will be debriefed by the General, please proceed immediately there.”

“What?” Bevik’s face drops with my stomach. “Another mission?” he groans.

I look at Mer’en who steps forward. “Delta bay?”

“Yessir. Immediately.”

Mer’en shooed the nervous officer out of the way. “You heard him,” he says, and I can see him sigh. “Report to delta bay, immediately.”

Just like that, the weight hits my shoulders, and my stomach. We might’ve won, but we’re still at war.

We report to Delta bay. All through the cruiser officers hurry from place to place. Clones run from place to place, different platoons manning different stations. No one is sitting around, and no one is waiting.

When we reach Delta bay I can see why. Half the squadrons are assembled. A brown haired and bearded Jedi strides before them. We fall in beside Ronto squad, one of whom glances at us and just nods. The Jedi keeps pacing, hands locked behind his back, his tall figure powerful and stiff. I can’t discern whether his heavy brow is angry or merely thoughtful.

“Men,” he looks at us. “I have received word that General Nidor has become mired on Indol where we will arrive in two standard hours. The separatists have pinned down him and his forces in the city of Manuk. We must aid General Nidor and his men. I will deploy you all to the outskirts of the city near the Gin’das ridge. From there you will flank the enemy forces and take back the main road.”

I felt my chest constrict. A full-frontal assault.

“Half of you will land behind the city and make your way through the forest inside. The droids have not breached these forests as they cannot move their tanks there. We will fortify the main gates from there and aid General Nidor to make a two pronged attack. We will surround the droids. Am I understood?”

Weakly I join in. “Sir, yes sir.”

“You have your posts, move out!” With a sharp point, he directs us to the ships. Kenobi, I think someone once said the name of the General was. I see a worried glint in his eye as we break.

Unlike Krell, Kenobi reminds me of a father. I wonder if it’s real, or a façade he wears. I put the thought from my mind and about face, following the others as we head off to the armory. Two hours. Just enough time to suit up and get ready to deploy.

“So much for Bolo Ball,” Bevik mutters into his helmet.

“Next time!” Aftermath says.

I mute myself and let their idle chatter run through the background as we all file into the armory. All over again I feel myself wishing I could slam the butt of a blaster into the face of something else. We just got back.

“And now we’re going to get tossed out like canon fodder again!” I jerk a rifle off the wall and inspect it, careful not to let anyone see my heaving chest. My fingers tighten around it.

“Take it out on something,” I mutter. I’m holding a DC-15x, a snipers weapon. I inspect it and finally hand it off to a trooper I can see eyeing it. I don’t need long range, so I grab a fresh DC-15A, sturdy and reliable. The model is standard. It’s not fancy, and it doesn’t need to be. It’s the perfect make the slag a droid or smash its head in; Something up close; something personal.

[k9wa]

༊*·˚ COLLEGE CLICHES. featuring haruchiyo sanzu, manjiro sano, keisuke baji, ken ryuguji, takashi mitsuya.

∴ SYNOPSIS : sappy and stupid college cliches i think the tokyo rev boys would fit.

∴ CONTENT : highschooler tries to write about college, fluff if you squint, this is a little silly, gn reader (no referring pronouns.)

∴ NOTE : if u would wanna see this with a few other characters feel free to lmk! hope u enjoy :]

༉‧₊˚. HARUCHIYO SANZU — who is your lifeline in adv calc, when your teacher is the biggest asshole and neither of you are as good at math as you thought.

⠀

sanzu slowly rubbed over the skin on his face as his eyes danced between his computer screen and textbook, and he came to the conclusion he genuinely had wanted to just die right then and there. 

his professor was driving him absolutely insane; another old man with a stick up his ass, who he swore only took up teaching to make a bunch of college kids feel like idiots, and it didn’t help that he was shit at his job either. sanzu wasn’t built for school, let alone calculus, and every day he remained in that class he questioned what the fuck possessed him to take it in the first place.

he threw the cover of his textbook closed and picked up his phone, opening his messages to the only reason he hadn’t dropped the aforementioned course.

sanzu: this prof is fucked

sanzu: like seriously wtf is half of this shit

♡: switch courses i dare u

sanzu smirked down at his phone when you had responded so quickly.

you two had made an agreement upon meeting at the beginning of the semester, and quickly bonding over your regret for choosing adv calc; the first person to drop the course owed the other one $100. (a good chunk of money, considering you were both broke.) it was the start of a beautiful friendship, and an even more passionate shared hatred for the man you were meant to be learning under. plus, haruchiyo couldn’t deny that he enjoyed talking to you outside of complaints and 3am meltdowns over whatever the hell the derivative matrix was.

♡: or come study with me

♡: cus idk wtf im doing either

sanzu: switch courses i dare u

♡: kys come over

sanzu snorted to himself, swiftly turning around in his chair and throwing his belongings into his cross body bag. as shitty as his class was, at least he had met someone worth sticking around in it for.

sanzu: im omw relax

♡: can u get coffee on ur way

sanzu: what happened to please

♡: please haruchiyo my favourite man in the whole entire world

sanzu: drop calc with me and i will

♡: shut up tbh

it was worth a shot.

༉‧₊˚. MANJIRO SANO

— who hit a volleyball straight into your cranium and insisted he buy you lunch as an apology.

⠀

embarrassed was an understatement for what you felt.

it was like some terrible romcom, something you only see happen in movies with an unrealistic representation of what post-secondary school was actually like.

some blonde boy— one who you’re sure you could have gone your entire life without knowing rather peacefully— handed you a bag of ice, along with a neatly wrapped egg sandwich from the cafe he’d dragged you to.

“you sure your head is okay?” he watched as you pressed the cold plastic to the back of your skull.

“yeah, i don’t think it hit me as hard as it looked.”

“well, it did kinda knock you off your feet.”

you glared at mikey, and he had to stifle a laugh at the expression on your face.

“i’m sorry! you’ve gotta admit it’s kinda funny right?”

you used your teeth to unwrap some of the parchment paper and took a bite from your sandwich, at least the food was good.

“you nearly took my head off.”

“well it's less funny when you put it like that.”

you couldn’t stop the chuckle that slipped past your lips at how casual he was being, despite the context that you were two total strangers.

“seriously though, ‘m sorry. y’know i never would have hit you if i was playing soccer, volleyball is a shit sport anyway” the way he crossed his arms and pouted like a little kid was the slightest bit endearing. “i mean, why use your hands when your feet work so much better?”

maybe it was the spur of the moment, or the likely concussion giving you a skewed sense of judgement, but part of your brain was starting to like him.

mikey couldn’t explain it either, but a similar part of his brain was glad he had gotten the chance to meet you, though the circumstances weren’t ideal.

“hmmm…i dunno,“

he tilted his head at you, wondering where your sentence was headed.

“i think you’re gonna have to buy me lunch a couple more times to make up for it.”

mikey couldn’t help but smile, he poked your forehead.

“i must have hit you way harder than i thought.”

༉‧₊˚. KEISUKE BAJI

— who always throws the best parties, but never actually enjoys them unless you show up.

⠀

the pounding on the door of your dorm was quick to pull you out of your focus, forcing your nose out of your books. there was only one person who would knock so aggressively at such an ungodly hour, and he’s lucky your desk chair was becoming uncomfortable and you were planning on getting up to stretch your legs anyway.

swinging the door open, there stood baji, hair tied loosely into a bun at the back of his head, and two coolers occupying each of his palms.

he handed one to you, you gladly took it.

“so this is what you’re doin’ instead of partying with me right now?”

keisuke followed you into your dorm, making himself comfortable on top of your bed, you sat on the free space beside him as you cracked open the can in your hand.

“i told you i couldn’t come like, three days ago.” he groaned at your answer.

“i didn’t think that meant y’would actually flake!” you chuckled as you sipped at your drink, eyes playfully rolling back.

“you’re gonna thank me when this exam rolls around and i actually have notes to give you.”

baji’s lips formed a tight line, he hated when you were right.

“what’s the big deal if i didn’t go? literally almost half of campus showed up at your dorm hall anyway.”

he groaned again, yet louder this time, sitting up so he could open his own drink. he reached his free hand out to flick you right in the tip of your nose, earning a quiet ‘ow..’ from you.

“cus it’s lame when you don’t come around!! and who else is gonna take care of me after i blackout huh?” he took a long swig from the can in his fist.

“how about you go drink your body weight and i’ll come get you in an hour?” although the offer was tempting, and you could see keisuke consider it for a moment, he shook his head and flopped back down on your bed.

“nah, rather chill with you anyway.”

he reached over to hold his drink in the air beside you, and you gently cheersed his can, being careful not to spill any liquid on your bed.

“so, the hell is the exam s’posed to be about anyway?”

༉‧₊˚. KEN RYUGUJI

— who sits in front of you in engineering, and covers up the entire white board in front of you.

⠀

not one note.

not one single note in your binder was finished, all half written or only partially filled out. you wouldn’t have bothered spending the money on equipment to take cute notes if you had known some giant would be sitting in front of you. how were you meant to write anything down when you couldn’t even see the damn board?

at first he intimidated you, how could you not be at least a little afraid of a man who stood at nearly twice your size? however, that intimidation quickly turned into pure irritation upon another day of more blank paper, and you were following him out of the room at the end of class before you had a chance to react.

“hey, you.” 

ken turned around to see who was calling out to, who he assumed to be, him. 

“oh, hey—“

“you’re switching seats with me tomorrow .”

“…why—?“

“because you’re way too big and i can’t see anything past you when you’re in front of me! and i am way too behind in my notes to even hope to pass anymore unless i get caught up!”

ryuguji stared down at you, who was oh so short and angry, while blinking silently as he processed the words being said to him. it was surprising how small you started to feel so quickly when he had to crane his neck down to make eye contact.

“we’re like, two weeks into the semester and you’re telling me this now? i would have moved if y’had said something sooner.” ken chuckled and placed a hand on his hip, leaning down to your height with the most smug look suddenly dawning on his features. you opened your mouth to respond, yet only a jumble of stutters fell off your tongue. the irritation had subsided, and the intimidation was back in full throttle.

“i'll tell you what,” he began, “why don’t you sit beside me tomorrow, and i'll share my notes with you so you can catch up.”

well,

you supposed that would work. 

“my way of apologizing for bein’ ‘way too big.’”

…you really did need those notes.

“okay, fine. that’s fine.” with a small bow, you turned around to begin your route to your next class, eager to run away from the awkward conversation you’d stuck yourself in.

“thanks, um, tall…guy— whatever your name is.”

and as quickly as you came, there you went. 

it was about to be a whole other problem when the next day rolled around, and you would discover ryuguji’s terrible handwriting.

༉‧₊˚. TAKASHI MITSUYA

— who is your favourite study buddy, and knows your cafe order by heart.

⠀

the smell of freshly brewed espresso and slightly stale confections danced through the air, a comfortable aroma for mitsuya to sit in while he scribbled at a design that had been picking his brain all day. the headphones in his ears played some random pre-made lo-fi playlist as he sipped his coffee (—black, 2 sugars) that had long turned lukewarm, yet was just hot enough to warm his palm through the paper cup. the booth by the window he was slouched in was empty, save for him of course, and he waited ever so patiently for his classmate to join him and fill the space across from him.

the sound of the cheap bell above the cafe’s doors chiming alerted him that you had finally arrived, and he pried his attention away from his doodles to see you shuffling over to the spot you both had become perfectly familiar with, laptop in hand along with a knit hat and matching scarf keeping you warm from the autumn breeze.

“how late am i?” you plopped down in your seat, placing the tote bag hanging from your shoulder onto the seat beside you.

“probably,” he checked his phone, “twenty minutes.” mitsuya pulled his headphones down so they sat slack around his neck. 

you groaned at his answer, you hadn’t meant to have gotten so hung up with club activities.

“i’m sorry, this stupid– festival is seriously giving us a run for our money. i didn’t even realize what time it was.”

takashi listened to you intently, nodding his head quietly as he pushed a small plate towards you; a croissant decorated in your favourite jelly, as well as a coffee cup similar to his own, the only difference being the mound of cream and sweetener inside yours.

the action had become so normal, you hadn’t even paid any mind to the way he would always order for you anymore, having your order ready by the time you arrived to meet him was just the usual.

mitsuya truly remembered the littlest details about your coffee order, from how thick you liked the foam on top to the temperature. not to mention his mental database of the variety of pastries you would eat alongside them.

“tell me about it. what’s your club doing again?”

he remembered, takashi just enjoyed the way you got so excited talking about it.

he listened to the way you rambled on, the way you so easily talked to him, how you could do it for hours, and not once would he be anywhere near sick of hearing the sound of your voice

⠀ ⠀ ⠀m.list⠀ ღ⠀send me an ask!⠀ ღ⠀navi

[jwillbiteyourfingersoff]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ Tea Partys and Tears ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

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Platonic!Steve Harrington x FtM!Sibling!Reader

!TW FOR!: use of deadname (unintentional/unmalicious), mentions of dysphoria, mentions of transphobia, mild internalized transphobia

Genre: Angst and Fluff

D/N = Dead name, Y/N = Your (Chosen) name

Period typical terminology, so the use of Transexual instead of Transgender

(wrote this at 3am, didn't really beta read, hope you still enjoy :])

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“STEVEEEEEEEEEEE! GET DOWN HERE!” you yelled.

Your hands won't stop shaking.

Your parents were away for the week (like usual), so you had decided that quality sibling-bonding time was in order. It had been a while since the two of you sat down and hung out. No missing child, no dead house guest, no little girl with super powers, no threat of deadly monsters coming from some mysterious unknown dimension, just you and him. The Harrington half-time show, as he affectionately deemed your duo.

But for the past few years- quite frankly your whole life, something had been eating at you. A deep set offness, building to a head when one day you looked in the mirror and realized that you weren't you.

It had taken some research, but you had found the word that described you.

Transexual.

But you had yet to share this discovery. Because frankly, you were scared. For good reason too. The world isn't nice to people like you, this town even less so.

But after finding out about Robin, not only that she was a lesbian, but also that Steve (Steve!) of all people had been the person she’d come out to? It’d made you a little more confident in how supportive your brother may be of you.

The key-word? A little. You were still pissing yourself, but at this point you'd rather be homeless than keep living this lie.

“Heyyyyyyy, D/N! You called?” Steve said, smiling at you over the stair banister.

“Yeah, uh, tea party… like old times?” you muttered, smiling back faintly.

You hadn't had a tea party since you were at least 10, but you remember them being the highlight of your day when you did have them. You'd bring out all of the dolls grandma had bought for you and set them all up around the table, asking mom for help with the tea brewing process once you got to it, and then you'd yell at Steve from the bottom of the stairs. He’d always come down and ask what you wanted, to which “tea party” was the only reply he ever received. He was always a gentleman to your dolls. Your not sure if mom made him play along at first, but even if that was the case he came around eventually and started genuinely liking tea time.

“Shit, really? Yeah, totally! Is Ms.Shatter gonna be there? Cause she and I have some unfinished business.” He joked, trying to make his most serious face.

“Of course!” you laughed, walking back to the kitchen “wouldn’t be a party without her, would it?”

He ruffled your hair as he walked past you, “Ha! Guess you don't need mom's help anymore.”

He was right, you didn't need any help for tea parties from mom anymore. You could make a nice pot of tea and buy cookies yourself, thank you very much. Plus setting up had always been your job anyways, so you never needed mamas help with it. The teapot goes in the middle with the milk and sugar on either side, a plate and napkin with 3 cookies in front of every chair.

You take your seat, and he takes his.

“Now, ladies and gentlemen, the tea party has begun.” you announce in your fanciest voice.

Just like old times, you and Steve talk about little things during tea time. How your homework has been going, his hair routine, your friends, his job. After a little while, you both settle into a comfortable silence, listening to the soft clinks of fine china against itself.

“Hey, you know, I can tell when you’re upset or nervous,” Steve began “ and I’m pretty sure you didn't throw a tea party just cause you wanted to. You know I love you, you can tell me anything.” you looked up at him, locking eyes from across the table. Shit. 

“I… I do have something to tell you-”

“Is it someone at school? Did someone make fun of you? Are you getting bullied? I swear to god I’ll beat the shit out of them! Or is it a crush?” he feverishly rambled, gesturing wildly as he talked.

“No! No! Nothing like that, Steve.” you reassured “It's just…” You took a deep, shaky breath.

“I’m transexual.”

The words dripped from your mouth and hung, thick, in the air. You looked at your hands. They wouldn't stop shaking. You couldn't look back at him. You couldn't. He's probably disgusted. He's probably gonna beat you up himself, rough you up and kick you out on the street. It serves you right, your a dirty-

“Really?” he said.

“Yeah.” you whispered.

You heard the chair scrap the floor as it was pushed back, and the footsteps walking toward you. But instead of the hit you were anticipating, his hand softly landed on your back.

“I wasn't joking when I said that you could tell me anything,” he started, putting his other hand on your cheek “or when I said I love you.”

In that moment the flood gates opened, everything you had bottled up came hurdling out at full force. You hiccuped as you wept uncontrollably, hurling yourself into your older brother's arms. The tears flowed down your face in what felt like thick globs of pure relief. part of you felt bad for getting his shirt wet, but right now you couldn't care less.

“I want you to call me Y/N now, please.” you got out between sobs.

“Y/N… Y/N, you’re the best brother I could ever ask for. I love you.” he whispered, hugging you tight to him. 

“I'll always keep you safe, because I'm your brother. That's what I'm supposed to do.”

তততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত

Thanks so much for reading! I made this cuz I needed a lil comfort lol, hope you enjoyed :]

[inkykeiji]

i can take you there but baby you won’t make it back

character: dabi | todoroki touya

notes: stepcest (kind of—ur parents aren’t married yet) with dabi-as-touya x a very naïve and inexperienced reader, normal!AU (no quirks, dabi also has tattoos over his scarred + fully healed skin), university!reader, implied yakuza!dabi, excessive use of the words niichan and good, praise kink, fingering, face fucking, title credit = save that shit by lil peep lmao  uhhhh yeah i hc dabi as a very intelligent and perceptive individual soooo i feel like he’d be a master at reading a person & their emotions and then adapting his manipulation techniques

warnings: 18+, pseudo-incest (stepcest), noncon/dubcon, slight somnophilia, emotional manipulation, toxic relationship, size difference, slight degradation, mentions of drug use

words: 7.1k

part 2.1 | part 2.2

synopsis:

“You want to be good for me, don’t you, sweetheart?”

“Of course,” you respond instantly. Later, when you lay awake in your bed, you’ll feel ashamed by your actions, by how readily captivated you were with him, by how easily he was able to manipulate you with those sapphire eyes and that rough voice—

But in that moment, you’ll do anything to pull that little smile from him, anything to hear him tell you you’re good. You just want to be good.

Something dark and primal flashes in those gorgeous eyes as they gaze down at you, a small grin spreading across his face. “Of course,” he repeats softly.

        ✰          ✰          ✰          ✰          ✰          ✰          ✰          

Your dad’s been dating Rei for a while—nearly a year, now—when things begin to get serious, and he proposes to her.

She accepts, so it’s not exactly a surprise when she suggests you guys move in with her—she’s got more than enough space, she tells you, it’s just her and her son in that big old house—and your dad seems pretty thrilled about it. This was the next step before marriage, after all.

You like Rei well enough, she’s always been nothing but sweet to you, and anyway, your father’s relationship really isn’t any of your business or concern.

It isn’t that you don’t want to move in with her—her house is in a better part of the neighborhood, a standard detached upper-middle class home, and just a short walk from a bus stop that’ll take you directly to university, which you start in a week.

It’s just…You’re a little apprehensive.

You know she has kids. She mentions them in passing every once in a while, but you can’t for the life of you remember their names, or their ages, or how many of them there are. You know they don’t all live with her, that her relationship with her ex-husband is complicated and rocky at best.

But you’re still surprised to hear that only one of them, her eldest, lives with her. She tells you he’s five years older than you are, that he’s a clever, smart boy, going off on a tangent about how disappointed she is that he didn’t go to university, because ‘he would’ve done so well—he could’ve shone so brightly.’ Something about the way she says that, the way her voice sounds almost sad, makes anxiety turn to lead in your stomach. She talks about him as if he’s already a lost cause, but he’s only in his mid-twenties, isn’t he?

You understand the moment you see him. The man standing in front of you as you shift from foot to foot unsurely in the foyer of this unfamiliar house is about as far from what you anticipated as he could possibly be.

He’s tall, skin pale as moonlight, with jet black hair and the most stunning blue eyes you’ve ever seen. But that isn’t what captivates you. It isn’t the lip ring curled around his bottom lip snuggly, and it isn’t the tongue piercing you’re about to find out he’s hiding in his mouth, either.

Every inch of the exposed skin of his arms is covered in intricate, seamlessly flowing tattoos—or, for a moment, you thought it was tattoos, plural. Upon closer inspection, you realize that each arm is actually covered in one giant tattoo, giving a new definition to the term ‘sleeve’. It’s all black ink, not a splash of colour anywhere, depicting an extremely detailed and anatomically correct mechanical arm, complete with what would’ve been joints, ligaments and bones in the form of wires and steel.

The tattoos extend onto the tops of his hands, made to look as if surgical staples are peeling his skin back to reveal the robot beneath. This same tattoo continues up his neck, along his jaw and onto his cheeks, all the way to his bottom lip, spreading across his entire face and disappearing into his hairline and onto his ears. Finally, there’s a small portion of the tattoo underneath his eyes, the surgical staples lining the edges of the face tattoos, too.

It startles you—you’re not necessarily scared, you just…weren’t expecting that. But there’s no denying the rush of breath that involuntarily escapes your lips as your eyes search his face, raking over his body in a brazen way that should make you feel shameful, travelling back up to find him smirking smugly at you, raising an eyebrow as your eyes meet again.

The look in his eyes tells you he knows, knows what you’re thinking about, knows how undeniably attracted you are to him, and scalding heat floods your cheeks.

He chuckles a little, which does nothing but add insult to injury, and sharp anger slices through your chest at the way that you stomach absolutely drops at his gravelly voice. You can’t believe yourself, can’t believe your body is reacting and responding so readily to this man—this stranger.

He introduces himself as Touya, in that rough, deep voice that forces a jolt of electricity to run through your veins. You idly wonder what your name would sound like on his tongue, how it might sound if his voice dropped to a growl, find yourself stuck thinking about this for the rest of the night.

✰          ✰          ✰          

To your disappointment, and as much as you are unabashedly interested in him, you don’t interact much with Touya for your first few weeks in the house—in fact, you barely see him at all.

This only piques your curiosity about him more, finding that you’re unable to tear your eyes from him on the rare occasion that you are in a room together. He catches you staring every single time, and he has the audacity to chuckle to himself and shake his head when his gaze meets yours, your eyes quickly darting away and cheeks burning at his laugh.

You begin gathering little tidbits of information about him, purely sourced from interactions you witness in the house, desperately praying for something that’ll give you an opportunity to start a conversation with him.

Your efforts prove fruitless when, almost a month and a half since you moved in, you’ve still only spoken a handful of words to him. You do learn a bit about him through observing, though.

You discover that he’s a smoker, which really doesn’t come as a shock at all. Marlboro’s are his favourite, and he’s always got a pack in his back pocket or rolled up in the short sleeve of his t-shirt. He must have them imported—Marlboro’s are incredibly rare to find all the way in Japan.

Touya must have a lot of things imported.

You find out that every other Thursday, Touya discreetly stuffs an absurdly large wad of cash—all composed of ten-thousand-yen bills—into his mom’s hands, forcing her fingers to curl around it. She fights him on it, every time, but he’s firm and adamant that she take it. It always ends with Rei giving him a small, watery smile, Touya pressing a kiss against the side of her head and murmuring that he loves her.

After you witness this interaction for the first time, you begin to notice that, while the house looks relatively normal on the outside, it is stuffed full of luxury on the inside. Flat-screen TVs each complete with full entertainment systems, state of the art appliances that are somehow up to date with all of the latest trends (including a smart fridge—absolutely ridiculous), custom made furniture, ornate rugs, a housekeeper that drops by every Sunday…

You have no idea what he does for work, but you think you’ve got at least some sort of idea when you catch him one night, just past 2AM, exiting his room and using a thumb to brush excess white powder off his nose. His eyes catch yours, pupils blown and shining in the low light, and he smiles darkly at you, winking once as he walks away.

You don’t ask—no one ever does.

You don’t ask about the crimson splattered on the toe of his boot, or why he sometimes smells metallic, like copper, the strong scent wafting after him and invading the halls as he stalks leisurely toward the bathroom. You don’t ask why he leaves the house at odd hours in the night, and you definitely don’t ask about the soft clinking and clicking you hear through the thin walls every so often while he cleans his gun at 3AM.

You’re not sure if it’s really any of your business, anyway. So you stay quiet, and continue to wait.

The opportunity finally comes one Wednesday in October, two weeks before Halloween, when you’re in the kitchen after school busy fixing yourself an afternoon snack. Touya comes home uncharacteristically early—you rarely see him before 10PM, so his entrance scares you, and you jump a little.

“Sorry,” he murmurs as he passes by behind you, just an inch too close, just enough so you can feel his body heat radiating off of him.

“It’s fine,” you say quietly, shaking your head a little and trying in vain to stop your hands from trembling as you spread peanut butter across a piece of bread.

You can feel his eyes on you, and it makes you nervous, makes your skin crawl in a way you’ve never felt before. He laughs a little at your struggling, leaning against the counter next to you and crossing his arms over his chest.

“You don’t have to be so nervous around me, y’know,” he says with a smirk, eyes glittering at the way your lips part in surprise, your breath stuttering a little. “I’m your niichan after all, aren’t I?”

You hadn’t even considered using the honorific until he himself uses it.

Your hands freeze, hovering over your plate, and you look over at him slowly. “You…Want me to call you that?”

“You can, if you’d like,” he says smoothly, nonchalantly, like he doesn’t have a care in the world. It makes no difference to him, he tells you, but when he finally looks back at you, you think you can see it in his eyes—a sharp, small glimmer of…of something. Something that makes your stomach twist in a way you can’t decide if you like or not.

But this is it, you think, this is your opening to finally begin talking to him.

So you do. And the smirk he gives you the first time you address him by the honorific, voice quivering slightly as you ask him where Rei normally keeps the blender, is nothing short of predatory.

“It’s on the top shelf. It’s too high for you, though,” he says, voice so sickly sweet it almost sounds mocking. “Let niichan get it for you,”

It isn’t, but you let him get it for you anyway.

And he knows—knows he’s got you the moment you gasp at the honorific leaving his lips, trying to hide it behind your hand, nodding quickly and squeaking out a thank you.

It starts after that. He begins playing with you; a sick, perverse game of cat and mouse, hunter and hunted, and you play your part perfectly.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t love it, if you said it didn’t send wicked sparks of excitement shooting up your spine and an intense fluttering in your stomach.

And it starts slow. It starts with gentle pet names—honey, sweetheart, princess—and fingertips trailing down your arm as he passes you. It starts with a large hand placed on the small of your back, guiding you—out of the house and into his car, out of the kitchen and into the living room, out of the hallway and into his bedroom—and with little pecks on your lips stolen when no one’s watching, quick kisses that leave you feeling exhilarated despite their chastity.

Suddenly, he’s home a hell of a lot more. He’s sitting too close to you on the couch while you curl up with a textbook, his thigh pressed against you and flesh burning hot through his black jeans. He’s joining the family dinner a few times a week, idly hooking and unhooking his ankle with yours beneath the table while smirking at you from across it.

Suddenly, he’s asking you if you need a ride to school, or if you need someone to pick you up. You don’t, you tell him, the bus is just fine, but he insists. It’s what niichans do, he says. He wants to take care of you, he says.

Who are you to deny him that, really?

✰          ✰          ✰          

The first time you experience Touya angry is about a month after the inciting incident, when he catches you walking home with a few of your university friends.

He had texted you earlier that day, telling you that he—very regretfully, he said—would be unable to pick you up from school this afternoon because ‘something had come up’.

You didn’t question what it was—you knew he’d lie even if you did. So you accepted it obediently, reassured him that it was fine, that you’d find another way home.

You’re pretty sure if you had told him that you didn’t have any extra change on you for the bus suddenly whatever important thing that had ‘come up’ which so desperately needed his attention wouldn’t be so urgent anymore. But you didn’t want to be a bother, or inconvenience him, so you say nothing.

Two friends decide they’ll accompany you on your walk home, so you aren’t lonely, they claim. Normally, the walk from campus to your house is about thirty minutes, but that day it takes you nearly an hour, wasting time goofing around and walking slowly as you talk idly.

Touya’s already pissed that it’s taken you so long to arrive home, that you’ve ignored all of his extremely considerate texts asking if you’re alright, but when he sees you squished between two boys, giggling as the three of you stumble up your driveway—he’s fucking fuming.

“Where the fuck have you been?” he asks, voice calm and monotonous, leaning casually against the doorframe.

Your head snaps up—you swear he wasn’t there just a second ago—blood running cold.

His stance is relaxed, arms crossed loosely over his chest, lazily raising an eyebrow as your wide eyes meet his. Technically, the only indication that he’s furious is the blazing blue fire in his eyes, but your friends can read the tension in the air surrounding him, shuffling a little closer to you. This minuscule action does not go unnoticed by Touya, sharp jaw clenching once.

“You had niichan worried,”

You’re frozen a few feet away from the porch, unable to find your voice, to move your legs, to breathe at all.

“I didn’t know you had an older brother,”

Your eyes do not leave Touya’s as you speak, the words hoarse. “Oh, we’re—”

“Yeah,” Touya bites, irritation finally bleeding into his voice. “She does,” his eyes float back to yours. “Come here, princess,”

Your body snaps into action, moving automatically before you can even comprehend it, allowing Touya to tuck you into his side the moment you reach him.

Your hands are shaking, but you have no control over them as your fingers curl in his white t-shirt, clinging to him. To your surprise, the arm around your shoulders hugs you closer in response, thumb caressing you.

“Thanks for making sure she got home safely,” he tosses over his shoulder, managing to make the simple sentence sound like an insult, tone bordering on patronizing, while he turns on his heel, marching you both inside.

“I-I’m so sorry,” you’re rushing to say the moment the front door shuts behind you two, Touya’s arm still wrapped firmly around you.

He looks down at you coldly. “Don’t you dare pull shit like that again,” he tells you, eerily calm voice forcing spikes of icy dread up your spine. He pauses for a moment, letting his words sink in as his eyes bore into yours. “You had me worried sick,” he breathes out then, squeezing you again. You’re surprised in the sudden change of tone, feeling your chest swell at the thought of him fretting over you, a small smile gracing your lips.

“I…I did?”

Touya’s eyebrows furrow, as if he’s offended at your questioning, mood morphing in the span of a second. “Of course you fucking did,” he spits like you’re stupid, arm dropping. “Do you ever check your phone?”

“Wh-What?”

Touya rolls his eyes. “Check your phone,” he calls out airily as he begins walking into the kitchen, shaking his head a little, disappointment rolling off him in waves.

Hastily fishing your phone out of your bag, you’re astonished to see eight texts from him and three missed calls. You scroll through the texts quickly, each one making you feel more nauseous than the next. ‘Is everything okay? You should’ve been home by now’; ‘Please answer me, princess, you’re making your niichan nervous’; ‘Where are you? Answer my fucking calls already’. Guilt turns sour in your mouth and you hurry after him.

“I-I really am s-so sorry,” you force the words out, unsure as to why there are suddenly tears stinging your eyes. He isn’t even doing anything—his back is facing you as he nonchalantly begins brewing a pot of coffee.

But the thought of him being upset with you, of losing his approval, sends a sharp pain searing through your chest.

“Are you?” he asks, and although his voice holds no malice in it, it causes your whole body to stutter with a harsh breath.

“Yes,” you whimper out, latching onto his arm and tugging in an attempt to draw his eyes to yours, to see how regretful you are, the remorse written across your face. “I should’ve…That was so careless and inconsiderate of me,”

“It was,” he agrees simply, voice still light, as if he’s discussing something as mundane as the weather. “But you’ll never do it again, right?”

“Right,” you agree readily, breathing out the word before you even realize what you’re agreeing to.

“Tell niichan you’ll never worry him like that again,” he finally looks over at you.

“I-I’ll never worry you like that again, niichan, I pr-promise,”

His eyes hold yours for what feels like eons, before he finally twists his arm out of your grasp, instead wrapping it around you and tugging you against his body. You stay staring up at him, eyes wide and obedient, breath bated as you wait for your next order, so pliant and ready to serve him.

“Good,” he whispers, eyes finally softening, and you feel like you can breathe properly again. His free hand cups your face, thumb running along your lips, then your chin, then your jaw. “You want to be good for me, don’t you, sweetheart?”

“Of course,” you respond instantly. Later, you’ll lay awake in your bed, feeling ashamed by your actions, by how readily captivated you were with him, by how easily he was able to manipulate you with those sapphire eyes and that rough voice—

But in that moment, you’ll do anything to pull that little smile from him, anything to hear him tell you you’re good. You just want to be good.

Something dark and primal flashes in those gorgeous eyes as they gaze down at you, a small grin spreading across his face. “Of course,” he repeats softly.

  ✰          ✰          ✰          

He begins to trust you more. You meet his friends, each one terrifying in their own right. Jin is alright, although his brain is fried from drugs, and he talks to and contradicts himself a lot, earning the nickname Twice from Tomura.

Tomura horrifies you to your very core—a tall, lanky man with sunken red eyes and sickly pale skin who looks like he’s one bad day away from death—and Touya tells you very sternly to stay away from him.

A university student not unlike yourself, Keigo is your favourite. Keigo is the most normal, with his wild blonde hair and enticing gold eyes that always look like they’re playfully holding the secrets of the universe just out of your grasp.

Keigo’s brain is always going a hundred miles a minute, although you’d never guess it with his trademark lazy drawl, speaking as if he hasn’t got a care in the world. But he can always keep a conversation going, knows exactly what to say to avoid awkward silences or lulls in the discussion, and you appreciate that. You think he’s so cool—he has so much knowledge about the oddest things, everything and anything, ‘a walking encyclopedia’, Tomura calls it, and it fascinates you to no end.

It’s the speed, Touya tells you one night while you’re laying on the couch, your body on top of his, the pads of his fingers dragging down your back in rhythmic strokes. Speed is Keigo’s drug of choice, you find out. Speed is the reason why Keigo knows as much as he does.

“Sometimes he doesn’t sleep for days,” Touya says. “That’s how he has all the time to memorize everything he knows—though that big overactive brain of his plays a part in it, too,”

The thought inexplicably makes your heart sink in your chest, and you don’t say anything else. If Touya notices your shift in mood, he doesn’t mention it. You idly wonder what Touya’s drug of choice is, but you’re too scared of the answer to ask.

  ✰          ✰          ✰          

It’s only a few nights later when you wake with a violent jolt, breathing laboured as you absentmindedly press your palm to your chest, trying in vain to calm your racing heart.

A nightmare.

You sit in silence for a moment, listening to the sound of your own harsh breaths echoing off the walls and debating what to do next. A minute later, you swing your legs over the side of the bed, wincing when your bare feet touch the cold hardwood, and pad down the hallway.

You try to trick yourself into believing that you aren’t using this purely as an excuse to spend the night with him. It really was so scary, you reason with yourself, it really has made you all shaken up…

Who are you kidding? You didn’t even attempt to go back to sleep.

You’ve been in his room plenty of times now—sitting daintily on his bed as he introduces you to new music, new movies, new books. Stuff that reminds him of you, he says, stuff that he thought you might be interested in. You’re grateful for it; there are so many things you’ve learned in the short time you’ve known him.

That isn’t all, though. There’s no denying the warmth that spreads through your body, that tiny excited flutter in your chest, when he calls your name and interlaces your fingers, leading you toward his room and telling you he’s got something to show you.

Yes, you’ve been in his room plenty of times now. But this is the first time you spend the night in his bed.

He’s still up, soft golden light leaking from under his closed bedroom door. Your hand quivers a little as you lift it to rap your knuckles against the wood. He appears in the doorway a moment later, leaning against the frame in a black t-shirt that looks like it’s a size or two too small for him, riding up to reveal a teasing sliver of milky skin, tips of his hipbones jutting out from the waistband of his plaid pajama pants.

“Princess? What is it?”

You didn’t realize you were staring, and you jump a little at his gravelly voice.

“Oh. I, um—Well, I just…had a nightmare a-and I can’t sleep,”

You can barely look him in the eyes as you say it, your cheeks burning. You both know it’s a lie.

But he plays along.

“Aw, baby,” he coos, drawing you into his arms, into his room, into his bed.

“You’re trembling,” he murmurs as he turns on his side to face you, propping his head up with a hand. “Poor thing. Was it a bad one?”

Your mouth feels like its been stuffed with cotton, rendering you incapable of speech, tongue dry and sluggish. You nod in response, heat seeping into your cheeks again at just how loudly your heart is thumping while you roll onto your side. There’s only a few inches of space between your bodies now, his hot breath fanning across your face as he speaks again.

“Do you want niichan to help you forget about it?”

The question hangs heavy in the air, and you suck your bottom lip into your mouth, eyes searching his. Your thighs squeeze together at the way his voice has dropped an octave, low and husky, familiar heat pooling in the depths of your belly. He waits patiently, lifting a hand to caress your cheek, then runs his fingertips down your bare arm, goosebumps following.

Finally, you nod. You think you see the corners of his lips quirk up into the slightest hint of a smirk, but you blink, and it’s gone.

“Here,” he whispers, hooking an arm around your waist and pulling you against him. Hand cupping your jaw, he tilts your face up and slots his mouth against yours.

You’ve kissed before, of course—in his bed, in yours, on the living room couch, on the kitchen counter with his hips shoved between your thighs—but this…this feels different.

These are kisses with intent, with purpose, with a goal in mind. These are kisses that keep you distracted—slow, soft, messy with saliva—as his hand slips down your body and between your thighs.

Your gasp breaks the kiss, wide eyes blinking up at him then fluttering shut as he brushes a knuckle against your clit. He hushes you, nimble fingers spreading your folds before he drags them up your slit, huffing out a laugh at how wet you already are.

“Were you thinking about something naughty before?” he gasps mockingly, sliding the pads of his fingers back down as he speaks.

His hand withdraws from your shorts and he orders you to lift your hips, tugging the waistband down your thighs. You squirm a little, forcing them further down your legs until you free yourself of them completely, eyes gazing up at him again, awaiting your next command.

Legs part dutifully as his hand travels back down to the apex of your thighs, pushing a finger into your soaking pussy.

It’s slow at first, thrusting leisurely with his middle finger a few times and loosening you up a little before adding his ring finger. Sapphire eyes watch his motions, captivated by how your eager little cunt sucks his fingers in selfishly.

“Look at that, huh?” he breathes, looking down at you. “Such a pretty little pussy you’ve got,”

You open your bleary eyes to peer at yourself, mesmerized by the way his fingers are pumping in and out of you, glistening in the dim light of his bedroom. He curls his fingers and you inhale sharply, hips twitching toward his palm.

“Oh?” he chuckles darkly, knuckles nudging the spot again. “Did niichan find something, baby?”

You don’t know, you’re not sure, you try to tell him, but all you can seem to manage is pathetic little whines while you nod your head.

“Have you ever touched yourself?” he’s asking as the pads of his fingers tap against that spot, your entire body jolting.

“Y-Yes,” you whimper out, a little breathlessly. “But it’s never felt like this,”

“Aw, baby,” he coos, and it’s so condescending. “Then you weren’t doing it right, sweetheart,”

He quickens his pace, chuckles at the way you try to desperately fuck yourself on his fingers at such an awkward angle.

“Poor little thing, can’t even get herself off properly,” he tsks. “You need your niichan to do it for you, don’t you?”

Soft whines spill from your throat as you nod eagerly, your stomach coiling tightly.

“One day,” he breathes, curling his fingers with a vengeance this time, your hips rolling up off the mattress. “When we have the time, I’ll teach you how to make yourself feel so good,”  

He’s talking too much. You want to tell him this, tell him to shut the hell up, but every time you try to speak he presses the heel of his palm to your clit and grinds against it, effectively scattering all of your thoughts, soft mewls of niichan the only sound escaping your lips.

Can’t deny his voice is fucking hot though, a form of foreplay all on its own.

And he knows this, can read you like a goddamn book, especially when he’s got his fingers two knuckles deep inside of you. He can feel it, he tells you. You don’t even need to speak; he can feel your thoughts when his voice drops an octave and your cute little hole flutters, when he chuckles and your pussy clenches around his fingers—a slut for his voice, aren’t you?

“Pretty baby, you can’t do anything but nod dumbly, can you? Been fucked stupid by my fingers alone, huh?”

Your head barely moves, lost all control of your body by this point, only able to whimper in response.

“Gonna come all over my fingers, pretty girl?” the knuckle of his thumb begins grazing your clit in quick strokes. “C’mon, make a mess for niichan,”

And it’s pathetic, how quickly your body obeys. Your pussy squeezes once, twice, three times and you’re gushing all over his fingers, juices collecting in his palm, running down his wrist. You’re embarrassed—you’ve never cum that much before, have you?

Breathing still ragged, you nuzzle into his sheets, partially hiding your face from him. Nothing could hide the involuntary grin that forms on your lips, though. Arms snake under your boneless body, tugging a bit.

“Oh no, baby, we aren’t done yet,” Touya’s saying while he hoists you up, letting you lean heavily against him.

Head tilting in confusion, your glazed eyes find his. “Wh-What?”

He looks down at his lap and your gaze follows, a tiny whimper slipping past your lips at the bulge straining against his pants. “Doesn’t niichan deserve a nice reward for helping you forget that scary dream?”

Eyes darting back to his, you nod slowly, whispering out, “Yes. But—But…” But you’re hesitant; you’ve never done anything like this before. Shaking hands reach for the waistband of his pants, beginning to pull them down but freezing when the head of his cock peeks out.

Touya sighs. “Come on, you wanna be a good girl for niichan, don’t you?”

Of course. Of courses you do.

Then he wants you to touch him, he says. He’ll help you; he promises.

“But you gotta get it wet first,”

You ask how, and he laughs at you. “With your tongue, stupid,” he tells you.

He instructs you to kneel on the floor and you comply immediately, trembling legs folding beneath your body as you situate yourself between his knees. He inches forward on the bed a little, shuffling himself to the edge and caging you between his thighs. Bringing his cock close to your mouth, he taps the head against your closed lips.

They part instantly, obediently, his eyes flashing with something sinister as you take the head into your mouth and suck hesitantly, big eyes staring up at him waiting for approval.

He curses, his hips twitching ever so slightly, skin stretched taut over bony knuckles as a hand forms a fist in the sheets. Starting with kitten licks at first, the tip of your tongue barely touches him, tracing veins, then begins to gain more confidence as he groans a little, telling you what to you, that you’re doing good, so good for him.

Watching him through thick lashes, you have the audacity to look bashful as your tongue laves around the shaft, drenching it in saliva. A hand tangles in your hair and yanks, pulling you off his cock when he decides it’s sufficiently wet enough. Long fingers encircle your wrist, bringing your hand to form a fist around him.

“Like this,” he says, jerking your hand up and down.

You’re terrible at it, movements awkward and uncoordinated, but in that moment he doesn’t really care. He’s irritated a little, wondering out loud how anyone can be bad at handjobs while a large hand wraps around yours and forces you to speed up. Bad? Your heart sinks at the small three letter word, a hard lump forming in your throat, looking as though you may start crying.

But he cums quickly after that, ropes of searing hot white painting your cheeks and face. You watch him the entire time, panting a little, lips parted slightly and your tongue darts out to lick them, tasting him.

He laughs at your bitter reaction, and it’s such a patronizing sound.

“Don’t worry,” he says, collecting the cum off your face and forcing his fingers into your mouth. “Someday I’ll stuff your throat full of it.”

  ✰          ✰          ✰          

You can no longer mention needing—no, wanting—anything around him anymore, because within the next few days it’s sitting pretty and perfect on your bed, propped up against your lace trimmed pillows.

He’s so good to you; you should be grateful you have such a generous niichan, one who eats you out and spoils you with gifts. You’re so spoiled.

And he tells you this, in the dead of night when you wake to find him shoving his cock into you, snarling a little at your soft whines of protest.

“Don’t be a brat,” he warns. Just be a good girl and take his cock. He does so much for you, can’t you be good for him?

Yes, yes, you want to be good for him, you want to be the best for him.

By this point you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve woken up in the middle of the night with his head between your thighs, prepping you to take him.

“Stay sleeping, baby,” he’ll tell you, words whispered into your hair as his cockhead nudges against your hole.

As if you could ever stay sleeping when only a few minutes later he’s pounding you into oblivion, large hand clasped over your mouth so tightly his blunt nails are digging into your cheek, so hard that it’s yanking your head back, neck beginning to ache.

He tells you to be quiet, “You don’t want anyone to hear, do you? Then we’d have to stop, and you don’t want that, right, sweetheart?”

You don’t, you whimper. Of course you don’t—you want whatever he wants, you want to be his perfect little baby, you want to be told how good you take his cock, the praise mumbled against your skin in a low, strained voice right before he fills you with cum.

  ✰          ✰          ✰          

He disappears for a few days near the end of December. You have no idea where, Touya answering your curious texts with playful quips at first before he grows tired of it and tells you to stop fucking asking.

But eventually, he returns.

The front door slams shut and your body flinches with a jolt of excitement. Adrenaline spikes your blood when you hear his heavy boots colliding with the hardwood, getting louder, louder, louder…

He passes right by you, not glancing at you at all. Moments later, the sound of water hitting the tiled shower wall echoes down the hallway.

And you wait. Patiently, you wait, like the good little girl you are, not daring to move a muscle. Eventually he re-emerges, hair still damp, a few strands sticking to his neck.

With a groan, he collapses on the couch next to you, flopping his head into your lap and gazing up at you with glazed, blown sapphire eyes.

“You’re high,” you say softly, not accusatory, just an observation. He giggles a little.

“So what if I am?”

“What did you take?”

“Oh,” he gasps mockingly. “Oh no, baby, I can’t tell you that,”

Why? The question is burning on the tip of your tongue, and you can tell that he’s anticipating that to be your next response, but you bite down on your bottom lip, holding it in. You know his answer already, can practically hear his patronizing voice—Because good baby sisters aren’t supposed to know about stuff like this.

“Can I try some?” you ask instead.

All of the mirth fades from his eyes in an instant, and he moves in a flash despite his inebriated state, so quick you can barely tell what’s happening. His large hand wraps around your bicep in a bruising grasp, pulling you towards him as he sits up, his face an inch away from yours.

“Absolutely fucking not,” he spits, cobalt eyes blazing and voice rumbling against your chest. “And if I so much as catch wind that you’re using, have a mere feeling that you’ve tried it—even just once—I’ll slaughter you and the fucker you got it from. Do you understand me?”

Surprised tears spring into your eyes and you nod jerkily, body beginning to tremble as your breath gets caught in your throat. You want to tell him that you didn’t mean it, honest, you promise!; that you were just kidding around, you swear!, but you can’t, voice mangling itself with the hitched little breaths on the back of your tongue.

He growls at your silence, his grip around your arm tightening and you cry out, terrified that he might actually crush the bone with his bare hand.

“Say, yes Touya, I understand,”

“Y-Yes Touya, I understand,” you manage to stutter out, voice returning only at the command of a direct order, tears spilling over and rolling down your cheeks in pairs. His eyes search your face for a moment, his features contorted in fury, before he sneers at you, squeezing your arm once then roughly letting go, shoving you away from him.

You fall backward against the arm of the couch, heart thumping so vigorously you’re sure he can hear it. He groans, throwing his head back and closing his eyes, exasperated.

“Fuck,” he sighs, eyes opening to glare at the ceiling. “You’ve ruined my high,”

You stare at him, breath coming out in uneven huffs, clinging to the couch.

“I-I’m sorry,” you whisper, terrified to move lest you upset him more.

He’s silent for a moment, still staring up, until he lolls his head to the side, glancing at you through the corner of his eye. A small smirk spreads across his face.

“C’mere,” he says, nodding his head a little in indication.

“Wh-What?”

“C’mere,” he repeats. “Come make it up to me,”

Your body’s moving before you’ve given it permission to, crawling into his lap obediently, thighs on either side of his hips. His smirk widens, and you love it—you love how much control he has over you without even trying, you love the way a quiet whimper slips through your lips as his large hands begin kneading your flesh, running up your legs and grabbing your ass.

Lips trail up the column of your neck, and you tilt your head back, a silent plea for more. You can feel the way his lips curl into a grin against your skin, nipping at it a second later.

“So, how you gonna make it up to me? Huh?” he shifts his hips under you, pressing his hard cock into your clothed core. You whine a little, grinding against him.

“I’ve got a few ideas,” you breathe out while sharp teeth mar your collarbone.

“The hell you waiting for? Show me,”

You begin sliding down his body and he pushes on your shoulders, forcing you to your knees between his spread thighs. He watches you through half-lidded eyes, gaping pupils outlined by a thin ring of blue.

Holding his gaze, you lean forward with your pretty little tongue hanging out and begin licking along the straining bulge, tracing it slowly, the denim rough against your sensitive muscle. You relent though, lapping at his clothed cock in slow, long strokes, and his jeans are just thin enough for you to feel him pulse in response.

A giggle bubbles up past your lips, muffled by the denim, already beginning to feel heady as you pull simple reactions from him. Your mouth forms a cute little ‘o’ and you suck on him the best you can through his jeans, drooling all over his lap and soaking through the material.

The hand in your hair tightens into a fist, yanking hard and pulling your mouth away. “Stop fucking teasing,” he warns, a hint of something ominous in his voice.

You obey, because you always obey, tiny fingers working to quickly unbuckle his belt, pop the button, yank down the zipper. He aids you, lifting his hips and allowing you to tug his jeans down his thighs enough for his cock to spring out.

His own hand wraps around the shaft, you pausing mid-action as you reach for it.

“Open,” he demands, your dutiful lips parting immediately, letting him push his cock into the warm, wet cavern.

He sets a brutal, punishing pace from the start, refusing to give you a single moment to adjust. His other hand fists in your hair, forcing you to stay still as he rams his cock down your throat.

Reflexive tears burn your eyes, blurring your vision. You blink quickly to clear them, desperate to watch him, to catalogue all of his micro-expressions and the sound of his voice as he grunts out your name, to burn it into your mind, etch it into your very soul.

Touya’s head falls back against the couch, Adams apple bobbling with his rough whimpers, long neck and sharp collarbone on full display. If your mouth wasn’t otherwise occupied, you’d love to lick up his smooth skin, to trace the dips of his collarbone with your tongue and sign your name in brilliant splotches of blue and purple.

You’re gagging around his cock now, starting to feel lightheaded and struggling to inhale enough oxygen. The ache in your jaw is beginning to spread, but you ignore it, stretching your mouth open wider, to take more, to be good for him, to make him proud. It’s worth it for the hoarse, throaty moans you’re pulling from him, to hear your name shuddered out, followed by a breathy, “Fuck,”

He forces hot cum down your throat a moment later, and you choke on it, sputtering around his cock, throat spasming as it tries to force the foreign object out. He won’t let it, though. He holds your head in place, nose pressed against his pubic bone, and you can do nothing but take it, like a good little girl, like he tells you to.

But it’s all worth it. It’s all worth it, to hear his broken whines like that, to have him look down at you and pull your hair and tell you you’re good, so good for him.

And you’re sobbing by the end of it, gasping for air the moment he lets go of you, wheezing violently as your head collapses against his thigh.

“Did I—” you cough, voice raspy from having your throat fucked raw, “—Did I make it up to you, niichan?” you gaze up at him, eyelashes spiky with residual water. You’re the perfect picture of obedience, strands of hair stuck to your face where your salty tears have dried and swollen lips gleaming with saliva as you watch him with glittering eyes, waiting desperately for his praise.

He looks down at you, eyes devious and diabolical, chest heaving a little. “Of course you did,” he tells you, corners of his lips tugging up into a sharp smirk as you melt into him. “You always do, don’t you?”

[unhealthyfanobsession]

If you’re still taking prompts:

“Keeping a secret from your best friend is difficult... but when that secret is that you're madly in love with her, it's downright impossible. At least that's what Cassian thought, until he was a little tipsy and sharing a sleeping bag with said best friend. (College, modern AU)”

With smut please?🧎🏾‍♀️🙏🏽👀🥺

Oh hey bestie! So I think maybe you had like after a college party in mind for this but I went a… different way. Also it’s only smut-adjacent because I think good smut requires a Drabble of its own I think I’m sorry. Hope you enjoy!!!

Camping.

Nesta had two weeks between the end of her internship and the beginning of her last year of college, and somehow, she let herself get dragged along on her sister’s annual camping trip.

Their whole friend group was weird and twisted around like Ivy vines with who was closest to who, who was related to who, who was dating who, who had slept with who’s father (looking at you MOR!), and Nesta tended to avoid the big group things.

But this was only Feyre, Rhys, Azriel, and the real reason she was there… Cassian. Fucking Cassian dragging her off into the woods.

Nesta loved her sisters. She did. She wouldn’t spend time with them and pretend she didn’t hate their boyfriends if she didn’t love them. (Pretending not to hate Rhys and Lucien, for Nesta, pretty much required the energy of a full time job.)

She loved her sisters. But she was there for Cassian. Because she liked Cassian. Genuinely and entirely liked him. Nesta Archeron liked another human being. They’d been best friends since eighth grade when he tried to ask her out on the swing set and she elbowed him in the jaw.

Saying yes to that middle school date would’ve been the worst mistake of her life. Because then she’d have had this short drama filled relationship with Cassian and she wouldn’t have gotten to keep him. And she really loved that she got to keep him. Even if sometimes she wished he’d been her first kiss instead of Tomas.

Anyway, when he said he was going on this camping trip Nesta realized she had to go too. Because there was no way she was spending her free time somewhere that he wasn’t. He was her person. The person she wanted to spend her free time with.

“Pathetic,” Cassian grinned, plucking the pack right off of her back as if it weighed no more than a purse. As if she hadn’t been struggling under its weight for the past 4 kilometres.

“I agreed to camping. I didn’t realize a 7 hour hike was involved to get to the damn place.”

“Two hours at most, sweetheart.” Nesta scowled, pretending, as she always did, to hate his little endearments. “And all of the best spots require a hike. Otherwise they’re overcrowded.”

“Maybe overcrowded is a good thing. Maybe overcrowded means loud and safe instead of offering ourselves up to be a bear buffet.”

“I’ll protect you from any bears, I promise, Nes.”

Nesta glared. “You’re going to fight off a bear if it tries to eat me?”

“Of course I am,” Cassian nodded. “These muscles aren’t just for show.”

Nesta laughed. “How sad I’m going to lose my best friend on this trip. Don’t worry I’ll come up with something nice for the tombstone. “Here lies Cassian. Tried to fight a bear so his muscles would have a purpose.”

“I take it back, you can get eaten by the bear.”

“I’m going to shove you in front of the bear.”

Their water break had landed then both a few hundred feet behind Feyre, Rhys, and Azriel, so Cassian kept hold of her backpack as they moved, teasing her that he was still faster with two packs than she was with none.

When they arrived at the little clearing Nesta had to admit it was beautiful. Serene. A big patch of grass surrounded by trees with a stunning view over the mountains from a clearing just a few feet away.

“Worth the hike?” Cassian asked as he set up their tent. That was the deal. If Nesta was going to camp then he had to do all of the work. Because she didn’t know how to do it. Also he had to share his tent with her because seriously? Why would she own a tent? She wasn’t a damn mountain man.

“It is really pretty.”

“I told you you’d like camping, Nesta!” Feyre called out from over fifty feet away where Azriel, Cassian, and Nesta all banded together to force her and Rhys to put their tent. Far away from the other two. Nesta was so not sleeping on the ground AND listening to her little sister have sex all night.

“Cassian?” Consciousness pulled lightly through Cassian’s sleepy mind. “Cass? CASS!” He shot bolt upright, body instinctively turning to Nesta, looking her over, checking her for injuries or any other thing that might have her yelling his name into the pitch black tent.

“Oh good, you’re awake.”

Cassian laughed. It was probably 3am and she’d just woken him up, and still he was laughing. Man he had it bad.

“What’s up, buttercup?” He made a show of flipping around to face her even though he couldn’t really see her.

“I’m freezing.”

As his eyes adjusted, Cassian looked her over with a frown. She was bundled up in her sleeping bag, wearing his sweater… which he hadn’t given her, but he had discarded in between them before he went to sleep so that was fair game he guessed. It was far from the first time in over a decade of friendship that she’d stolen his sweater, but man… it still did something to him.

“Your sleeping bag isn’t made for below freezing temperatures, is it?”

Nesta stared at him. Blinked. “No. Why would it have to be? It’s August!”

“It’s colder up in the mountains,” Cassian explained. “Especially over night.”

“Great. I’ve been brought into the mountains to freeze to death and now Eris is going to win the gold medal for our year.”

Cassian laughed, “Well I can’t allow that. The horror.” This was probably a bad idea. No it was definitely a bad idea, but the words couldn’t be stopped from leaving his mouth once they popped into his mind. “Come share mine.”

Cassian half unzipped his sleeping bag and made a show of shuffling himself over.

“You’re too big.” She said.

“Thanks I work out,” Nesta glared at his cocky smirk. “Come on Nes, it’s this or letting Eris win the gold medal.”

Nesta huffed, but unzipped her sleeping bag and crawled over to his, her legs were cool as they tangled with his in the tight sleeping bag. Cassian pulled her in, one arm wrapping instinctively around her shoulders to pull her against his chest, before he zipped the sleeping bag up again after her.

This had been such a bad idea. But what could he do? Let her freeze?

Cassian told Nesta everything, so it was already difficult enough to be keeping a secret from his best friend... but when that secret was that he had been madly in love with her since middle school, the situation became impossible. And pulling her perfect body tight up against his and wrapping her in his arms, hands moving up and down her shoulders quickly to try and warm her up, was not helping the situation.

“Thanks,” Nesta murmured sleepily. “I’m already a lot more comfortable.”

Me too, Cassian thought but would never say.

“Hey Cass?” Nesta’s voice was teasing. “What do we do if you wake up with morning wood?”

Cassian chuckled into her hair, a little bit drunk on the familiar scent of rosehips and iron will.

“Then I guess we’ll finally have sex.” He deadpanned.

Nesta’s jaw dropped. Ok. Bad joke. “I’m not having sex with you for the first time in a tent Cassian!”

Now Cassian’s jaw dropped. That was her issue with his suggestion? “I… Nesta I was joking. But… the tent is the problem? The only problem?”

“Grow a pair!” Nesta batted at him with her hand, an impressive feat considering she was all but pinned between him and the sleeping bag. “I thought this was you finally making a move.”

Cassian stared down at her. It was pitch black, but even with just the shadowy outlines of her features, he could see her exact expression in his mind.

“I wouldn’t use you freezing as a ploy to make a move, Nesta.”

“And why not?” She humphed, “it’s the perfect opportunity.”

“It’s… coercive.”

“Do I look coerced to you, Cassian?” Nesta ran her foot up his bare calf and Cassian shuddered.

“I can’t have sex with you if you’re looking for a friends with benefits, Nes.” Nesta paused her movements. “I… fuck, our friendship means so much to me and I’m so afraid to fuck it up. And if we start having sex I won’t be able to handle it being just sex and you’ll start to resent me so we just… shouldn’t go there.”

Nesta’s arms wrapped around him now, struggling to span the full width of his chest. “And if it wasn’t just sex?”

“Please don’t fuck with me about this,” he whispered. Low and Ernest in a way he almost never was.

“What?”

“Dont joke about this if you’re playing around or I don’t… you have to know, Nes. You have to know how completely in love with you I am.”

“Yeah,” Nesta tucked her head under his chin. “I know. I’ve just been waiting for you to make a move.”

It was dark. Cassian could barely see her. But there, with his arms around his best friend in the world, sharing a sleeping bag to keep her warm, Cassian nudged her out of his chest and found her lips in the pitch black.

Why had he kept this secret for so long? Everything in the world was better when he was kissing his best friend.

[jackrrabbit]

cooking at 3am /// Osamu x f!Reader

Request: Imagine cooking together with Osamu at 3am because neither of you could sleep (or because ‘Samu got the midnight munchies lol). You don’t have anything specific in mind; you’re just playing around and feeding each other little bits of what you make.

A/N: bruh you said munchies and my mind said [[ h i g h o s a m u ]] sorry this went in a kinda different direction? but still fun 3am cooking project vibes :P

Tag/warnings: fluff, light drug use (weed), you and Atsumu are lowkey Bros™️, Osamu's kinda baby 🤧

Osamu’s not good at smoking.

He doesn’t really know how to inhale—you know, hold it in his lungs so it can soak in or whatever—and when he does, he coughs. Except he tries to repress the coughs. Even if he wants to hide it, he’s always close enough to you that you can feel his chest moving from trying not to cough when he takes a hit.

And also, like every baby smoker, he can’t really tell when it’s kicking in until he’s off the deep end.

“Can you feel it yet?”

“No.”

You shoot Osamu a glance where he’s sitting on the ground in front of the couch, watching a nature documentary on Atsumu’s TV with a glazed-over look on his face. “You sure? Your eyes are super red.”

“I can’t feel it. Give it—“ He holds out his hand and honestly you’re pretty sure he’s had plenty, but it’s Atsumu’s vape so who cares. You hand it over and Osamu holds it up to his mouth and sucks, eyes fluttering closed as the light on the side of the Pax glows yellow.

God, he looks hot when he does that. Something about a hot guy smoking, yeah? Actually, no. Something about your hot boyfriend smoking.

Except 'Samu holds his breath a second too long and you can see the urge to cough hit him… Wait for it, you think to yourself, and a second later he hacks and wheezes the vapor out in a wispy cloud that reflects silver against the semi-dark. You coo in sympathy and pat his back. “Want some water?”

Osamu shakes his head, hand over his mouth to stop the coughing. On the tv, David Attenborough talks about penguin courtship rituals and Atsumu (who’s been draped on the couch next to you for the past few hours) gives a light little sigh in his sleep. You check the time. 3am. Bedtime. Too bad you and 'Samu are both too high to drive home…whoops. Guess you’re spending the night at Atsumu’s place.

Osamu rubs his bloodshot eyes like they’re itchy, which they probably are. “Hey, can we— uhh… Do we have pancakes.”

“Pancakes, babe? You mean the ones you made for breakfast?”

“Yeah, there’s leftovers…I made you extra and you didn’t want them.” He twists around and gives you an incredibly dirty look, like this is something you did on purpose to hurt his feelings. “If you don’t want them I’m going to eat them.”

“Wait, 'Samu—“ But Osamu's already getting up off the floor to wander over to the next room. You debate pausing the show—it’s a really good scene—but you leave it going for Atsumu's sake because you’re pretty sure the narration is the only thing keeping him asleep. He’s kinda drooling on your shoulder and you have to push him off to go follow your boyfriend to the kitchen.

“What is all this stuff? Ugh…” Osamu's pawing through the fridge. There’s a lot of crinkling, plastic sounds—you catch a glimpse inside and all of the shelves are stacked up with plastic bags and styrofoam containers.

You yawn and hop up to sit on the kitchen island. “Takeout? I don’t think he cooks.” Atsumu's going to get a lecture tomorrow for keeping 2-week-old Indian food in his fridge. God knows you heard it way too many times before you and Osamu moved in together. You don’t envy 'Tsumu.

Osamu sits down in front of the fridge, fumbles with a drawer, and pulls out a bag of moldy grapes. “Gross…who lives like this…”

You snicker into your hand.

“I can’t find the pancakes.” 'Samu's pulling the plastic drawers all the way out now, setting them down on the floor as he inspects the contents of the fridge.

“They’re not here.”

“You ate them?”

“No, I— Hey, put those back in,” you tell him helplessly as he shuts the door of the fridge, ignoring all the leftover food he took out. Yeah, half of it was probably off anyway, but Atsumu's gonna be pissed if he wakes up and there’s takeout going bad all over his kitchen floor.

“You threw away my pancakes?” Now the look on Osamu's face is utter betrayal. He stands up off the floor and glares sulkily at you. “I made those for you…”

“I didn’t throw them away, they’re—“ You hold back a laugh and wish you had your phone on you (where did it go?) so you could take a picture. He’s so cute when he smokes. “—they’re at home.”

“At home?”

“Yep, at home. The place where you and me live, remember?”

“Oh.” Osamu pauses, reaches out absently to grab the edge of your sleeve. You’re wearing one of his hoodies. “We’re not at home?”

“Nope. We’re at Atsumu's place,” you tell him through a giggle.

He plays with your sleeve, contemplating. “Why?”

“Because we’re out of weed and he said he’d smoke us out. And we like hanging out with him.”

“Oh. We do?”

“Yes.”

“…’Kay.” It takes Osamu a second to accept this, but then he nods seriously. “(Y/N), I'm hungry.”

“I know. What do you want to eat? You could probably have any of that stuff, I don’t think he’ll miss it.”

'Samu thinks about it for a moment, scanning the array of takeout containers spread out across the kitchen floor. “I want pancakes.”

“The pancakes are at home, remember?”

“Yeah…” Osamu flips over his grip on your sleeve and traces his thumb down the lines in your palm. “I could make some?”

More pancakes? “I don’t think 'Tsumu has eggs, babe. Or flour. Or…baking soda?” You’re not really sure what ingredients go into pancakes. Whatever cooking skills you possessed pre-Osamu have deteriorated significantly since you moved in together and he took over any and all food preparation for your household.

He pouts at this, and his hair is a little messed up, and he’s so pretty that you can’t stand how much you like him in that second. Mine mine mine, something in the back of your brain says. He’s mine.

You reach up and Osamu obediently ducks his head down so you can smooth his hair back into place and fix the bits that are flipping over his part. “Is there anything else you want to eat?”

“Onigiri.”

“Oh…” Well, at least Atsumu probably has rice. “Sure. Ok. That’s your specialty.”

“I want ya to make it for me.”

“What?” You frown and pull your hand out of his. “You know my cooking sucks.”

“No it doesn’t. (Y/N)’s food’s the best.”

“You own an onigiri shop, come on—“

“Please?”

One of his bangs falls back in his eyes and without thinking you reach up to put it in place. “Okay, fine. But you can’t complain about it if it’s not good.”

He smiles and you want to blush. “Yes! I promise.”

So you do it for him. Even though you’re high too. You measure some rice and water into the rice cooker (Osamu has to give you pointers on how much of each to put in) and you scrounge around Atsumu's depressingly bare kitchen for a few sheets of seaweed and some easy fillings. Osamu pulls a stool up to the island counter and rests his chin on his hands so he can watch you with a bleary look of adoration on his face.

It takes you…maybe half an hour to be done? It’s hard to gauge time when you’re high. You and 'Samu both jump when the rice cooker finishes and plays the little rice cooker song, which will remain stuck in your head for the foreseeable future. 'Samu hums it in a loop while you shape the rice into lopsided triangles and wrap the nori around it.

“Here,” you tell him when you set the plate down in front of him. He looks entirely too happy to be eating your mediocre food for someone who literally does this for a living, but who cares.

He picks one, takes a bite, swallows. And blinks.

“What do you think?” you ask in spite of yourself.

“Umm…salty,” Osamu says.

You grab one to try yourself and it’s salty. Like, ocean salty. Yuck. “I told you it would be bad,” you complain, trying to tug the plate away but Osamu grabs it and pulls it back.

“Noooo…it’s good,” he lies, although his face is giving him away. Still, he takes another bite and chews enthusiastically.

“Shut up.” You tug a little harder but Osamu doesn’t let go.

He swallows, pulls a face, and takes another one. “So good. I love it.”

“Shut up. You sound so fake. You’re going to get sick if you eat that.” You keep pulling, but he insists on pretending it’s edible so you admit defeat and help him finish the onigiri off. God, they’re awful. But he keeps eating and so you do too.

When you’re done, your mouth feels dry as fuck and you want to sleep almost as much as you want to drink about a gallon of water. “Is it bedtime yet?” 'Samu asks, wiping his mouth and then rubbing his eyes again.

The clock over the oven says it’s past 4. “Yes. It’s bedtime.”

“Wait—we’re…we’re not at home, right? We’re at 'Tsumu's?”

“Mhm.”

“I prolly drove here…I dunno if I can drive now,” Osamu tells you slowly, like he’s apologizing. “I think I'm kinda high.”

“Oh yeah?” You hold your laugh back and put your hands up on his cheeks. “How do you feel?”

“Dizzy. Blurry? Like…you’re in slow-motion.” His hands come up to layer over yours. “You’re pretty in slow-mo.”

“Prettier than usual?”

Osamu closes his eyes, scrunching them up to think and then looking over your face intently. “Same amount, just slower. So it’s easier to see.”

“That so?” You slip your hands around to drape over his shoulders and get up on your tiptoes to give him a little kiss on the cheek, because he’s earned it. “You know what, I think I'm kinda high too. I think we’re going to have to have a sleepover.”

“On the couch? S’not big enough for us both.”

“You can sleep with 'Tsumu in his bed…or I guess you could sleep on the ground?”

'Samu's mouth twists and his brows draw together. You can practically hear the gears in his mind turning while he considers alternatives. “Can we share the bed?”

“I think Atsumu's gonna want it. It’s his house.”

“But he’s already sleeping.”

True, you can hear Atsumu snoring lightly from the living room underneath David Attenborough’s description of endangered falcons in the Philippine rainforest. You should really wake him up—matter of fact, you should really clean up the kitchen because it’s a huge mess—but 'Samu's already pulling you away. And you’re so sleepy.

“He’s going to be pissed tomorrow,” you tell Osamu through a yawn, but you let him steer you in the direction of Atsumu's bedroom, holding your hand.

“Don’t care…I hate sleeping without you.”

“Yeah,” you say, and you squeeze his hand and he looks back at you like you’re the literal best thing in the entire universe—and you decide you should get him high more often. “Same.”

[doctorstethoscope]

Brown Bear || A. Hotchner x Fem Reader

Hello my loves, this is a double whammy, because it’s for @ssahotchswife‘s soft Hotch Saturday AND for @anxiousblanketqueen’s birthday challenge! 

prompt: reading to your baby!

warnings: insane fluff, discussion of pregnancy, mention of morning sickness, injury mention, aaron hotchner being completely wrapped around a baby’s finger

word count: 1.7k

You and your husband hadn’t slept for more than six hours at a time in one month, two weeks, and four days, not that you were counting. Okay, fine, so maybe you were. But to be fair, it also had been one of the most incredible six weeks and four days of your life— the number of days since Alexis Haley Hotchner had entered the world. She was worth every sleepless night. 

The past six weeks had been total bliss— both of you on parental leave, Aaron dropping Jack off at school every morning and then coming home to “his girls,” as he had affectionately dubbed the two of you. You’d spend the day together, getting to know the little girl who had stolen both of your hearts in an instant, and then Jack would come home after school and complete your family unit. He couldn’t be more obsessed with his baby sister, and it melted your heart to watch his little fingers push hair out of her even little-r face.

So when Alexis’s coos woke the both of you up at 3AM, you couldn’t bring yourself to be mad at her. How could you be, when she had come into the world and made everything so perfect? You sat up in bed to go get her, but Aaron threw a tired arm out.

“I got her,” he mumbled, inching himself up to a seated position. “You did the last one.” He says as he tries to delicately disentangle himself from you. 

He stumbled out of bed and across the hall into the baby’s room. You hear him simultaneously from her nursery and from the baby monitor on the bedside table as he crosses to her crib.

“Hey, angel, it’s okay. Daddy’s here.” He whispers as he cranes into the crib to pick up Alexis. “Shh, daddy’s got you.” He says, hoisting her up against his chest and placing one large hand over her back. 

She’s quiet after a moment, content to be pressed against her father’s chest as he softly bounced around the room to calm her. You couldn’t see her face through the monitor, but you knew her well enough to know that her quiet did not mean she was back to sleep— you were sure that when Aaron checked her big eyes would be wide open and staring up at him. 

You were right. Aaron shifted so that she was cradled in his arms and he could see her face, very much awake and enamored with her father. 

“Lexie, my little love, “ Aaron cooed out as he settled in the rocking chair in the corner of the room. “It’s not time to get up yet. Mama and daddy need a little bit more sleep to keep up with you and your brother.” 

Lexie blinked up at him, unconvinced by his pleas. 

“Okay, sweet girl. One story, but then you have to go back to sleep.” Aaron answered the question that Lexie couldn’t possibly articulate as he reached blindly for a book off of the shelf next to the rocking chair. She couldn’t even ask for what she wanted, but Aaron was already helpless to do anything but give it to her.

“Brown bear, brown bear, what do you see?” 

You let out a contented little sigh that no one could hear. You had loved Aaron’s voice since the moment you met him, but listening to him read to Jack and Lexie was always special. He was softer with them, more vulnerable than he was with the team. You could hear his love for them in every syllable. 

“I see a red bird looking at me. Red bird, red bird, what do you see?” 

He’s so quiet with her, so gentle, and you can’t help but remember the way you stunned him into silence when you told him about her for the first time. 

Aaron was away on a case when you found out, off in Michigan or Nebraska or somewhere else that was decidedly not your home in Virginia. 

You thought about calling him, but you wanted to see his face when he heard the news. Wanted to be able to pull him into your arms and thank him for choosing you, for choosing to let love in again when life had told him over and over again that doing so was a mistake. You wanted to thank him for this incredible life.

It was late when he finally came home. You had tried to stay up, but the morning sickness had you awake early most days and you were exhausted. You stirred when the bedroom door clicked open.

“Aaron,” you mumbled out, not sure if you really said it or if you just dreamt that you said it.

“Shh, it’s me. Go back to sleep. Love you.” He said, already divesting himself of his suit coat and his tie. 

“Turn the light on.” 

“Honey, I’m alright.” 

It was a habit the two of you had developed— he would never tell you if he was injured on a case, so you insisted on giving him a once-over when he came home, making sure he was all in one piece. Aaron pretended it was ridiculous but he’d never tell you how much your tender touch would warm him from the inside out, how it would bring him back to the bright and soft place in his heart that he saved for you, and how it would pull him out of the darkness he worked in day in and day out. 

“Turn on the light, please.” 

Aaron obliges you, flicking the switch as he unbuttons his shirt and tosses it in the general direction of the hamper. You squint against the harsh light after just waking up. By the time you’re brave enough to fully open your eyes, Aaron is at your bedside in just his boxers, awaiting his examination with a fond smile. You rise to your knees on the mattress, running a gentle finger over the planes of his jaw and nose before giving him a quick kiss. You missed him. You ran your hands over his shoulders and down his arms, inspecting his chest and finding only the regular nine scars. 

“Turn around.” You tell him. 

“The unsub confessed. I didn’t even draw my gun.” 

“Well then this should be quick,” you quipped back, and he turned with a roll of his eyes and a smile that betrayed his affection. 

As promised, he was completely unharmed, and he turned to face you again. 

“Can we go to bed now?” He asked, moving in closer to wrap his arms around you, his hands settling on your hips.

“Aaron,” you said, raising your hands to his face and placing your thumb where you knew his dimple would appear at your next words. “I’m pregnant.” 

Sure enough, your thumb slotted right in. He couldn’t bring himself to form any words, but his beaming smile spoke loud enough. You couldn’t help but match it. There was a long beat before he spoke.

“Really?” He whispered, after a moment.

“Yeah, honey. Really,” you confirmed. 

“You’re sure?” If he wasn’t smiling so big, you might have mistaken his hesitance for fear. You knew better. 

“I haven’t been to the doctor yet, but I’m eight for eight peeing on sticks. I bought every brand at the drugstore. So I’m pretty sure.” You confessed with a little giggle.

He’s kissing you before either one of you can say anything else, and it’s perfect. He’s home, and he’s here, and he’s perfect, and you’re going to have his baby. He’s wrapped up in your arms and you’re wrapped up in his and you’re pretty sure you could just stay like this for the next nine months until Alexis makes her appearance. 

Aaron’s snore, loud enough to be heard from both the monitor and your half-opened door, distracts you from your reverie. You smirk a little as you swing your legs out of bed and cross the hall. 

The book is propped up open against Aaron’s chest, his arm occupied with cradling your little girl and his other hand splayed over her slight frame. Luckily, she’s asleep too, and you begin your quest to remove them from each other without waking either of them. 

Aaron, ever the anxious sleeper, wakes with a start as soon as all nine pounds of Alexis are taken from his arms. You shush him before he can say anything. 

“You fell asleep, baby. Go back to bed.” 

“Could’ve dropped her.” He murmured, not pleased with himself, and you let out a dissatisfied little tsk as you place Lexi against her crib mattress. 

“You had both hands wrapped around her. You weren’t gonna drop her. She was fine.” You corrected him.

He rose from the rocking chair and tugged at your hand. “You coming?” 

“I just want to look at her a little bit longer.” You tell him

“You know, you aren’t supposed to be awake at all. Sleep when the baby sleeps.” He chastises with absolutely nothing behind it, settling in to wrap his hands on your waist and tuck his chin into your shoulder. 

You watch her for a moment, or two or three. It’s hard to tell. You could look at her forever. 

“Thank you,” you both say after a moment, and turn to each other with exhausted little smiles. 

“Come on, let’s get back to sleep before we get sentimental and weepy,” Aaron teases, tugging you back towards the bedroom. 

“It’s a little too late for that, love.” You tell him as you climb into bed, scooting towards the middle of the mattress so you could wrap your arms around him and place your head on his chest. He just places his lips against your forehead by way of response, falling back to sleep before he can move away. You sigh that contented little sigh again, and Aaron’s arm pulls you in closer to him. He really had given you the perfect life. You couldn’t wait to repay him with baby number three.

[undinegeist]

can’t tell if we’re taking this too far (3)

1 - 2

- xx - nikki - xx -

We’re sitting at our old booth; or my old booth, at least.

It’s the first time we’re all here together, properly eating something; Vince wanted to take the groupies back to our place, but I thought his girlfriend might kill me in my sleep, so I convinced him to ditch them for the night, despite knowing it’s not gonna last, judging by the hungry glances he’s giving Y/N…they make me uncomfortable, though I don’t mention it.

“What the fuck happened back there?” She raises an eyebrow at him, unbothered, clearly asking me from across the table, where she’s tucked into a corner next to Tommy.

“Some asshole spit on Vince’s pants…”

“Fuck, not the white ones?” She’s slightly more sympathetic when she looks at him…it stings. Useless.

“Yeah, the white ones. But it’s whatever…I’ll wipe it off in the morning and move it along.”

“I could take them back to my place if you want…Florence Nightingale has a way with the washing.”

“You live with Florence Nightingale?!” Tommy’s wide eyed, completely clueless.

I don’t know who laughs louder, me or her; Mick even smirks, which is a lot for him. Tommy’s still confused, Vince too coked out.

“Florence Nightingale lived in the 1800s, T-Bone.”

“That just means she’s a vampire.” That’s Mick with a straight face, though there goes the smirk again when we laugh.

“Can I see your neck?” Tommy’s dead serious.

She throws back her hair, humoring him, tossing me a smirk.

“She’s not eating you, then.”

“Only people I like get to eat me.”

“Then Nikki’s gonna dine on you by the end of the night.”

I try not to, but I know I’m going red; fucking Vince…I can barely look at her, so instead I focus on kicking him off the booth under the table…he’s so far gone, it’s way too easy, though of course I bang my ribs against the edge, and he laughs at me as he lies on his back on the floor.

Tommy and Y/N haul him back up, Mick refusing to move an inch, and when it’s over she’s next to me instead of Tommy, and I can’t tell if this is an improvement or the beginning of the end.

- xx - tommy - xx -

It’s the end of the night, and I’m half carrying Vince as we go down the Strip; it has to be at least 3am, though I’m way too fucking straight to be carrying a dude in his underwear past all the hot chicks I can’t make passes at ‘cause they’re laughing at his attempts to do the same.

Mick is MIA, Nikki went off with Y/N and Vince’s pants to the Vampire House…at least the waffles were good, plus Nikki’s getting laid.

- xx - nikki - xx -

“I’m surprised you haven’t told me to fuck off yet.”

“Because Vince the zombie thinks I like you?” She rolls her eyes so far out of her head, she could be having a seizure.

“Chicks have told me to fuck off over less than that.”

“I don’t really care…besides, he’s not wrong.”

“Hmmm.” That makes me nervous.

“Want to come up?”

“To eat you?”

She laughs. “Maybe, if Flo’s unavailable…nightly feedings go both ways.”

I laugh. “I can’t tell if we’re taking this too far or if it’s too much fun.”

“My take is both.”

She shoves open the door; we climb the stairs, three floors, all the way to the top…it’s surreal that a place like this could exist in the same spot as our messy little hole…plus, it does look like the kind of place a vampire would live.

“Can you believe I’ve never seen this place til today? Despite having walked up and down the strip a million times.”

“I’d never seen your little diner either, and I must have walked past it a million times too…blindness is fatal.”

I laugh, drop Vince’s pants on a coatrack just inside the door…it’s a small room, but there’s shit thrown everywhere, just like at our place…she’s not embarrassed, either, just shoves the clothes in the closet, making space on the bed.

I take off my shoes, sit back against the wall, reach for her stack of books. “Hmm. Naked Lunch?”

“Haven’t read it yet.”

“It’s shit.”

“Everything is.”

I laugh. “That’s optimistic.”

“But true.”

“Yeah…”

We go quiet, and I turn to look at her, really look at her; she’s doing the same, but our eyes don’t quite meet…almost by unspoken choice.

Her eyeliner is smudged, fainter, but also spreading down, making her eyes darker, messier, enticing…

I can still feel the pressure of her between my legs, fingers in my hair while she did my eyes, more careful than she had to be…like she cared to not break me.

She breaks or tightens the spell, slipping a strand of my hair behind my ear, fingers lingering down to my neck…a few minutes later, we’re sharing her bed, and then I’m gone, asleep faster than I usually get for not being high.

- xx - nikki - xx -

It’s early afternoon when we get out of bed, make our way to the Rainbow for the same old waffles; I’m relieved we didn’t fuck.

“Think Vince and Tommy made it home?”

I shrug. “We didn’t run into them in some gutter on the way over, so my money’s on yes.”

She smirks. “It’d be a shame for those pants to be orphaned; you could adopt them, though.”

“Vince would chase me in hell when I got there…plus, I’m not sure white’s my color.”

She watches me, biting her lip, making me nervous, even when she drops her eyes. “Yeah, you’re probably right. The dark stuff’s more you.”

“More you, too.” Though her hair’s more like Tommy’s, untamable and wild.

She only smirks, but then looks me over again, different from before…it makes me nervous, but I don’t look away.

“So, when’s your next gig?” That question goes against the look, but I don’t mind.

“I don’t know; Vinnie knows some people he thinks might let us have a shot at their places, but he won’t be up til at least three, judging by his state last night.”

“Couldn’t we ask around ourselves til then?”

“Maybe? I don’t usually do that…don’t make the best impression, they’ve all seen me fucked.”

“They haven’t seen me, though.”

- xx - nikki - xx -

So that’s what we end up doing…walking the entire Strip, scoping out places…the promising ones she goes into, hands over some of our sample mixtapes we had from Tommy plus our pitch, our phone number scrawled on every tape, which we did still at the diner, though mostly I just called it out as I did my own until she remembered, we split the rest of the tapes to finish faster.

“I’m never gonna forget your number as long as I live.” She wraps an arm around my waist as soon as we’re out of tapes.

“You gonna write it on your grave too?” I slip my arm around her shoulders.

“Probably, yeah. Just to spite my family.”

“I hope we live at least long enough to do that while we’re still alive.”

“Me too.” She slips her fingers in my pocket. “Where are we going now?”

“I think the guys are probably gonna hit the Strip, but I just wanna flop down somewhere with a book and tapes.”

“Want company?”

“Hell yeah.”

- xx - nikki - xx -

We end up in my room, which miraculously isn’t as much of a mess as I remembered; I’d be embarrassed about the rest of the house, but she barely spares it a second glance, more interested in the stuff written on the walls, the books and tapes all over the place…I don’t want to think she’s perfect, ‘cause that’s how things get broken.

We end up on my bed, unwashed sheets, but she doesn’t seem to notice that, either…she’s borrowed me her copy of On the Road, so I borrow her Junkie, which she says she’s never read.

That’s always exciting, indoctrinating someone new into my favorite things…always a bummer when it fails…though this time, I know it won’t.

[hyunjilicious]

a helping hand [henry cavill] - part 2

A/n: I’m sorry it took me so long. I don’t like how this part turned out, at all, but I rewrote it 3 times and I can’t even think about these scenes anymore without getting annoyed. I’m just happy it’s finished and that I can start working on part 3 (that is, if you like this one enough to want to keep reading lol)

Summary: After you post on onlyfans a video starring another man, Henry decides to take matters into his own hands. (cameo: Steve Rogers) KINKY 4k

Warnings: spanking, daddy kink, dirty talk, mentions of smut and masturbation (male), humiliation/degradation kink, groping, mentions of porn and filming pornographic material, stalker-ish/obsessed Henry. (also tumblr crashed when I first tried to upload this so maybe that a sign this sucks)

You can read part 1 here!

-

The sight brought down a storm upon Henry's mind. He stood there, mouth agape, watching the screen, unable to believe his eyes. It was one thing to post videos of yourself on the Internet, but to have someone else take part in them was too much. At least for Henry. Still smart and composed, he realised there wasn't anything he could do about it, but nevertheless, he was determined to not let this shit slide for much longer. 

As much as he wanted to hunt down that man who dared put his hands on you, Henry gathered himself, took a deep breath and closed the onlyfans page. He was perfectly aware that just the right amount of you could get him to lose his sense of control and do things he'd later regret. Still, in desperate need to see you, he grabbed his phone, eyes scheming over your socials, only to see that the last time you had been active was 7 minutes ago. So, without much consideration, he started typing.

"You up?"

"Yep. Finishing up an essay. Coffee in 30??"

Oh, and how deeply that hurt him. "Of course" he sent you, and then checked again the post you made at 3am. '...I'll go to sleep right now, edit it for you when I wake up...'

You were lying? Why were you lying to him? It drove him insane. Henry felt like he couldn't sit down anymore, like he had no chance to catch his breath. He couldn't think straight, so he wasn't really to blame for what he did next. 

Henry's fingers flew over the keyboard, accessing Facebook and logging into your account, desperate to see whether he could find out who the man in your video was. And it was as easy as it could've been, considering your last 5 conversations were with the girl friends he already knew about. But somewhere among them, he spotted an unfamiliar name - Steve R., and instantly clicked and opened the conversation. His blood started to boil when the multitude of emojis you sent reached his eyes, but he scrolled up, until he found the beginning of yesterday's conversation. 

It was started by you, and with a request. You were blunt and went straight for it, asking him with just one message to be in the video with you. There was no trace of your relationship with him on the Internet, so Henry had no idea regarding the nature of yours and Steve's connection. Judging by the way you addressed him, he could easily assume the man was nothing more than a fuck buddy. Even though it angered him, Henry kept his calm and decided to go about this with care. It would only be a matter of time until he removed Steve from your life. But for now, he just had to keep digging for information. 

Steve R.: "Exactly what do you need me to do, baby? Spank you? In front of the camera? Are you serious?" 

"Yes, Steve. Come on!! I know we haven't seen each other in a while, but still... 😇 when it comes to these things, you know me better than anyone"

Henry scoffed. Who the fuck was this guy?

Steve R.: "I know, baby"

Steve R.: "What's in it for me?"

Smoke came out of Henry's ears, and the fact that you acted so sweet and innocent made him want to smash his keyboard.

"Whatever you want! Just do this for me!!! Please!!!! 🥺😊😋"

Steve R.: "Ofc I'll do it, sweetheart. I got you"

"Thank you thank you thank you 😘"

Steve R.: "I should be the one to thank you"

Steve R.: "Send me the location and I'll be over there asap"

After that, your address followed and then that was it. Determined to dig deeper, Henry started to scroll up again, wanting to find out as much as he could about this mysterious man. He didn't get a chance to lurk too much before this computer alerted him of a notification, the onlyfans tab glowing orange. His attention was instantly won, smiling devilishly as he checked the content.

Posted 30 seconds ago, was the new video. Ready to kick back and enjoy, Henry pressed the play button, ready to go at it with an open mind. 

He reluctantly accepted the fact that there was another man in it with you, but he decided to enjoy it nevertheless. The video started, displaying Steve seated on the couch, thighs suggestively parted. He had a pair of black dress pants on, dangerously stretched over his massive thighs. A white, elegant shirt hugged his visibly sculpted torso, the top two buttons undone to show just a hint of chest hair. Quite a sight, but all Henry saw was trash. With his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a silver watch on his wrist and a pinky ring on, Steve patted his thigh, cueing your entrance.

When Henry saw you, he felt his breath reach a new, sudden level of difficulty. With the shortest of skirts barely managing to cover your ass and a mostly see-through shirt on your top half, you made your way to him in such an angelic way that Henry couldn't believe his eyes. 

You looked like happiness personified, and it came in such a painful contraction to what you were about to do, that it twisted Henry's mind in such a perverse way, his cock nearly twitched just by seeing you. 

When you were about to bend over Steve's thigh, he grabbed your chin and stopped you mid action, his lips slamming against your as his free hand lewdly caressed your ass. He flung the skirt over your hips, your flimsy underwear on full display. 

Attentive to the events unfolding on the screen, Henry found his cock, teasingly rubbing it over the material of his pajama pants. His mouth watered when he felt the sensibility in his tip, actually believing this would be easier than he initially anticipated.

"Are you going to be Daddy's good little girl, or do I have to make this fucking hurt?" Steve asked and Henry almost threw up. 

"Yes, Daddy. I'll be good" you mewled, wiggling your feet. 

"Let's see" the man menacingly chuckled, releasing a sharp slap against your ass that made you yelp out in pain.

At this point, about 30 seconds in that was, Henry was already losing his mind. It was as if you took a trip inside his dreams and decided to play out his fantasies. The only problem was that you did it with another man. It was next to impossible for him to keep this going.

"Can you count?" Steve taunted, his hand traveling all over the back of your thighs, your exposed ass and between your legs. 

"Yes, Daddy" you eagerly nodded and Henry almost threw up.

"I wouldn't be surprised if a dumb slut like you didn't know how to" Steve chuckled, "But it's ok, that's how we like our girls. Dumb and pretty"

"Thank you, Daddy"

Henry couldn't believe his eyes. He refused to accept the fact that a random man got to play with your innocence like that. You were his sweet little girl. And if until now he pushed through heroically, when literal yelps of pain started erupting from your lips as the blonde man slapped your ass hard enough to rock your whole frame, Henry's blood ran cold.

But no matter how hard the jealousy had hit him, the video was still pushing his limits of self control. It was still what he always wanted to see. When he reached inside his pants and grabbed his cock, a low grunt of early satisfaction left his lips. He once again found himself picturing you, willing to please him, but this time, he didn't get to go too far. The buzzing sound of his doorbell rang through his apartment, and he never stood up faster.

Cock still hard and completely visible through his pants, Henry slapped the pause button and minimized the browser, before springing to his feet and rushing to the door.

"Henry!" you exclaimed as soon as he came into view. He looked somehow tired, but it was easy to tell there was something else bothering him. "You didn't answer your phone" you pouted.

"Yeah, sorry" he shook his head, a few sweaty curls falling against his forehead. "I was busy with something. What's up?"

You raised your eyebrows and pointed to the door of your apartment, "You said you'd come over? Coffee? Remember?"

"Oh, shit, yeah" Henry cringed, rubbing his forehead. "I'll be over in 10 minutes, that ok?"

"Sure" you beamed, completely oblivious to the way he just tried to get rid of you. With utter nonchalance, you pushed your way past him and strolled into the kitchen.

"You wanna wait here?" he muttered.

"Yeah... Is that a problem? I can leave..."

"No, no" Henry eventually sighed and rushed over to you. He cupped your cheeks and kissed your forehead. "Wait here, I'll be right back"

And that was what you did. You silently sat down, grabbing a bag of chips you found laying around, and settled to wait. And maybe, a few seconds passed where nothing devious came to mind, but as time ticket itself away, boredom got to you. First you stood up, and padded to the hallway, looking around. There was almost nothing new over there, but it still felt so homey you absolutely loved to inspect every detail. The TV in the living room was turned off, a couple of pizza boxes on the floor and his DVD cases laying around - absolutely nothing interesting.

You sighed and plopped down on his couch, folding your legs under your body, ready to flip through the channels on TV until he'd decide to join you. Nothing seemed of interest, being bombarded with news and fishing programs. "Old man" you thought to yourself, before opening up the menu in search for something less depressing. A wave of nostalgia hit you when you came across a Spiderman marathon, and you were done for. Maybe one full episode passed until Henry walked out of the bathroom, but you were nowhere near ready to leave.

"Look what's playing!" you beamed, pointing to the screen. Henry raised his eyebrows in amusement, his shoulders shaking as he softly laughed at your unusual choice of entertainment. 

"Are you serious? Cartoons?"

"Yes!" you scoffed, extending your arms and gesturing for him to join you. Although reluctant at first, Henry agreed to sit and watch the show with you, but not before brewing some coffee first.

When he returned from the kitchen, two steaming mugs in tow, you shuffled to the side and welcomed him on the couch. He brought you close against him, draping his arm around your body. With your head resting on his shoulder, you sipped your coffee, eyes glued to the TV. "You seriously never watched these as teen? You were 11 when it came out."

"I did" Henry laughed, rubbing his hand up and down your side, "I was in love with Felicia Hardy"

"MJ was so much better!" you shook your head disappointed, "You have no taste"

"No need for that" Henry threatened, his fingers exploring their way down your body. The way he trailed his hand across your hips and thighs made you squirm, smiling to yourself as you shuffled closer to him.

Henry was more than happy to reciprocate, kissing your forehead and squeezing you tighter. 

And just like that, you didn't care about Spiderman anymore. You flung your leg over Henry's lap, all but crawling on top of him. The episode was still playing in the background, but none of you was paying attention anymore. Henry wrapped his muscular arms around your frame, eliciting a soft moan from your lips as you pushed your hips down against his thigh. His hands traveled lower, exploring your body with delicate but greedy strokes. 

As you let yourself get carried away with absolutely no worry in mind, Henry knew exactly what he was doing. And considering how easily you let your guard down, he had you right where he wanted. 

When you hid your face in the crook of his neck, your nose rubbing across the slope of his collarbone, Henry's right hand found your ass. You froze for a second, but his gentle caress helped you relax again in an instant. With his lips against the top of your head, he allowed his fingers to sink into your flesh. Your whole frame stiffened as you gathered a handful of his hoodie into your fist.

"What's wrong?" Henry cooed, grabbing your chin, "You ok?"

"Yep" you whimpered, and then winced again as he squeezed your ass once more. "I'm good-" you lied, cupping the side of his neck into your palm as you crawled higher up his body, your lips right against his ear. 

As weak as he was for you, Henry stood his ground. If you wanted to play this game, he'd do it, but he wouldn't let you win.

"Does this hurt?" he asked, roughly groping your ass.

Jumping slightly from the pain, you still managed to shake your head, blurting out another lie. "... no"

"What about this?" Henry teased, grinning widely as he shoved his hands inside your leggings, under your panties. 

The urgency of his touch made your eyes open wide, your back arching as you tried to push yourself off of him.

"Does it hurt, darling?" he continued, keeping you in place with ease. 

Defeated, you sighed and lowered your gaze, "A bit" you mumbled.

"Just a bit?" 

"Henry-"

"Did he fuck you good?" 

Your mouth fell open. "What- no, I didn't- we didn't do anything-"

"Didn’t do anything?" Henry grinned, his perfect teeth showing as he proudly pried information out of you.

"I just... fuck-" 

Seeing no way out of this one, and eager to stop hiding, you pushed yourself back. Henry's hands left your body as you sat beside him, and he watched you curiously, patiently waiting for you to word your thoughts. "I just filmed a video for my page, that's all" you bowed your head.

"What kind of video?" Henry questioned.

His demeanour was so relaxed, he was right in his element, unlike you, who were riled up to the extreme. "A spanking video-" you cleared, awkwardly fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. 

"Did he spank you good?" 

His hand found your hips again, and you leaned into his touch, nodding your head yes as you were too embarrassed to actually word your answer.

"Then show me" 

He was dominant and stern, and even if you wanted to, you felt like saying no wasn't an option. Henry didn't wait for your permission as he grabbed your waist and pulled you up to your knees, chuckling softly to himself when he saw you shyly smile down at him. 

His fingers curled around the waistband of your leggings, forcefully pulling them down your thighs. "Come on" he urged you, softly guiding you to lay down across his lap, your ass barely covered by the pinkish and slightly unflattering underwear you had chosen for the day.

Henry's breathing picked up at the sight, and so did yours. You watched him over your shoulder, his fingers tracing over the bruises Steve left on your bum the night before. 

"Henry-?" you whimpered, the anticipation building up in the pit of your stomach becoming too much to bear. 

"Yes, darling?" he cooed, leaning down to the side to kiss your cheek. His stumble tickled your skin and you whimpered when his hand made its way between your legs.

You felt his fingers against your opening and involuntarily clenched your thighs around him, hiding your face in the cushions of below your head.

"Tell me" Henry pushed, teasing your folds and clit over your underwear. 

"Nothing, I-" you cried, making him chuckle.

He loved giving you a taste of your own medicine. He straightened himself up and grabbed your ass into his hands, squeezing until you yelped out in pain. A soft laughter of approval escaped his throat as he bent down and pressed his lips to one of your cheeks, applying lingering kisses over each and every single bruise. 

The way he took control of the situation and handled your body, turned you on to no end. For whatever reason, being exposed like that for him, waiting for any kind of judgement to leave his lips, you were getting more and more riled up by the second. You were done for. You did your best not to moan with need, but little did you know that was exactly what kept you from being thrown onto the floor and fucked into oblivion. Just one single sign was all you needed in order to break his self control, but you didn’t have it in you to do it. 

But he didn’t say anything, instead just keeping you on your toes as he had his way. You were dripping through your underwear, and judging by the bulge in his pants that pushed up against your belly, you knew he was on the same page as you. But again, he didn’t allow things to go further. Everything about this moment pointed in the right direction - the teasing, the touching, you were all but whimpering in his lap, but he cut the moment short with a sharp slap against your ass before he helped you up. Henry acted as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened as he pulled your leggings back up, but this glare became colder when he found your eyes.

He bent down and spoke into your ear, "He could've done a better job"

Completely under his spell, you bit your lip and furrowed your eyebrows. "I don't think I would have been able to take any more"

"That's not what I said" Henry shook his head.

"Look at you being an expert" you teased, relishing in the fact that he seemed eager to keep things going. 

"All I'm saying is that if you had asked someone else-" Henry laughed, stroking your cheek, "Things would have turned out much more different"

"Oh" you pouted, ready to tease him further. "Who should I have asked-"

Just when you started getting comfortable and confident enough to push things further, Henry's phone rang. "I don't have to take that" he shook his head when he heard you stopped talking.

"Just see who it is" you giggled, slapping his shoulder.

Before doing so, Henry grabbed your chin and kissed your forehead, his touch drawing you in like a magnet as you leaned into him when he pulled away. With a sigh, you eventually crawled off his lap and then your face fell with disappointment when Henry showed you the screen of his phone. 

"Yeah?" he huffed after picking up, his boss being the last person he wished to talk to right now. 

You watched him closely as he listened to whatever the man was saying, and almost whined out loud when Henry frowned annoyed.

"I'll call you back in 5, ok?" he asked and after a couple of seconds hung up.

"I'm so sorry-" Henry sighed, turning to you, "I gotta go take this, there's a problem with one of the radars, I need to go see if I can fix it remotely"

"Sure thing" you shook your head. "But please tell me you don't have plans tonight"

"I don't" Henry leaned towards you and again, kissed your forehead. As much as you loved the sweet gesture, it was now more than ever that you craved something else entirely. 

"And please don't forget about me again" you giggled, grabbing his biceps and stopping him from leaving without a promise.

"I won't" he sighed, "I'm really sorry about that. I'll make it up to you"

"However I want?" you beamed and licked your lips.

"Absolutely" Henry smiled, sweetly embracing you before walking you to the door.

You had his word now, and you were planning on making it count. There was no way either you or Henry would act as if nothing had happened, and you couldn't wait.

Once alone and seated at his desk, Henry opened up the text editor associated with the code he wrote months ago. When his screen was flooded with errors and his chat popped up with three different messages asking for help from his colleagues, Henry all but yelled out loud in frustration. Not only did he wish to be with you, it was also Sunday, one of his days off. But he couldn't just text the pilot of the plane whose radar went berserk and tell him to wait. So he got to work, determined to get this done as soon as possible. 

But unfortunately, that 'as soon as possible' turned into 3 hours of continuous work. He didn't even stand up to go to the bathroom until he made sure everything was on point. It was about 4pm when the program started running smoothly again, and seeing how he had a few more hours to waste until he had to see you, Henry decided to make the best of them, by getting a head start on his tasks for the following day.

Productivity flowed through his fingertips as he solved the first issue he had been assigned for the day to come, getting ready to start working on the second one when a call caught his attention. He didn't recognize the ring tone, and it only dawned on him that he was still logged into your facebook account a couple of seconds after it stopped ringing. 

Still curious, Henry switched the tabs on his computer, noticing that the chat with Steve, which he left open hours ago, showed that there was an ongoing video call. His jaw fell. Henry tightened his hands into fists, fuming with anger. First as you for doing this, and then at himself for allowing you to believe this was an ok thing to do. He knew there was no way to eavesdrop on your conversation even if he had the password, but that didn't mean his curiosity died down. No, it only grew stronger.

He felt lost for a minute, but then he thought of something. On his dresser, right next to his winter gloves and under his favorite jogging hat, laid an extra set of keys. Henry remembered the day you gave them to him, saying something along the lines of 'I feel much safer knowing that if something were to happen, you could always get to me, Henry.' and then remembered how you stuffed them in his pocket, and kissed his chest before stepping back. Such different times. 

There was no trace of hesitation inside his mind as he grabbed the keys and made his way out of his home. He passed the hallway in less than a second and pressed his ear to the door. It was perfectly quiet, and through the peephole, he couldn't see any light. You weren't in the kitchen or living room, so he felt confident enough. After putting his phone on vibrate, Henry ever so gently pushed the key inside, turning it inside the lock with the most meticulous movement his wrist could muster. The sound of the door knob being turned was so faint he barely even heard it, but his pulse skyrocketed when he heard the click that signaled the door was finally open.

With small, careful steps, he made his way inside. The entire apartment was dark and quiet as he made his way in, stopping just outside your bedroom as the relaxed, deep voice of a stranger became audible through the wall. “Trust me, sweetheart. Just relax, I got you. You’re all tense, I can see it from here. You know I have more experience with this than you do, just do as I say”

With one hand on the doorknob of your bedroom, Henry was ready to put an end to this whole charade. He knew he might regret it later, but he didn't care. The image of a so called friend, pushing you to do anything that you seemed to have clearly stated your discomfort about, flipped a switch inside his brain. There was no stopping him because no one, no one got to push you around like that. Not while he could do anything about it.

[arrowflier]

Hi I don't have tumblr, so not sure how this works. Came across your blog though, and spent three days just reading everything you've written and reblogged. Such a fun three days! I have so many ideas for prompts, but the one I'm most curious about is what happens when Ian has a rough patch of mania maybe a couple years into their marriage and what kind of plans do Mickey and Ian have for either an upswing or a downswing of his bipolar? Thanks so much excited to see what you come up with!

Hi there! It's such a compliment that you went through my rambles, glad you're enjoying.💖 Standard disclaimer: everything I know about bipolar disorder comes from the internet. It's an important part of Ian that I want to be respectful of, so as always please let me know if I miss the mark.

Caring for your partner, Rule 1: Be There

When Mickey woke up, Ian wasn’t in bed.

That wasn’t terribly unusual in and of itself. What was unusual was that it was only 3AM, on a Saturday, and Mickey could already hear his husband moving outside their room. The footsteps outside the door were soft, restrained, like Ian didn’t want to wake him. But the following clatter in the kitchen was alarmingly loud as Ian opened the drawer under the oven to pull out a pan, and Mickey groaned.

He wanted to roll over, pull a pillow over his head, and block out whatever this was so he could go back to sleep. They’d been working long days, and sometimes longer nights as the dispensaries were all pulling overtime with increasing demand. They’d only made it to bed like two hours ago, for fuck’s sake, and Mickey was tired.

But Ian should have been tired too, and it was never a good sign when he wasn’t. So Mickey sat up with a sigh, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand, and swung his legs out of bed.

He winced when his bare feet touched the cold wooden floor. They had been here for almost a year already, and they still hadn’t gotten ‘round to buying a fucking rug for the bedroom.

Mickey shivered as he hopped awkwardly toward the closed bedroom door, grabbing his robe from a hook there and tugging it on over his thin shirt and the boxers he was pretty sure started out on Ian’s side of the dresser. Wrapping it closed, he slipped out the door and into the brightly lit hallway, squinting blearily as he followed the sound of pots and pans to the kitchen.

Ian had half their crockery out on the counter already. His red hair gleamed under the sharp light of the long fluorescent bulbs overhead as he stirred batter in a large bowl they had borrowed from Debbie last week and never given back, wooden spoon clanking against the sides erratically.

Erratically. That was a good word for it, Mickey thought. The mindless clink clink clink of wood on metal in no discernible pattern, just like the route Ian took around their table, to the counter, to the fridge, and back to the oven again. Mindless, pacing, random.

Mickey leaned against the wall, and watched.

They had talked about this, since the last time. At least, since the last time Mickey had been worried. When Ian was down, when he didn’t want to get up. When Mickey dragged him out on his first run and they talked afterward in the kitchen, when Mickey made clear that his worry was just one more face of what they had together.

He’d come down the next morning to Ian at the kitchen table, the whole place eerily quiet for a place they still shared with too many fucking people. There had been coffee in the pot, toast on the table, and Ian, picking at his cuticles and not meeting Mickey’s eyes.

“We need to talk,” he’d said, and Mickey’s heart had dropped into his stomach.

“Can I wake the fuck up first?” he’d asked, but Ian had just kicked a chair out for him and waited, not meeting his eyes, until Mickey sat down.

They’d sat silently for a long moment, Mickey unwilling to ask what it was about. Finally, Ian had sighed, and reached out for Mickey’s hand across the table.

“It’s about the bipolar,” he’d said, and Mickey had been so relieved he could feel it in his fucking toes, bare and cold against the tile floor.

“Oh. Okay.”

Ian had been startled by his easy acceptance of the topic, he could tell.

“That’s it?” He’d sounded almost confused.

Mickey had shrugged.

“I mean, yeah?” He’d rubbed the rest of the sleep from his eyes with the hand no holding Ian’s. “You had me worried, man, with the we need to talk thing. But this is just normal shit.”

Ian had just stared at him, then released his hand to lean back against his chair.

“Normal?” He’d asked disbelievingly. “There’s nothing normal about planning for my imminent mental break, Mickey.

Mickey had snorted at the irony of it. “You kidding me?” he’d said. “It’s the most normal fucking thing about us.”

As he watched Ian in the kitchen now, making pancakes at 3AM on a Saturday morning, Mickey thought that was probably still true.

“Hey, Martha Stewart,” he said softly from his position against the wall, still leaning there as Ian spun around with surprise painted over his face. His eyes were off, the light not quite there, but they still warmed when he saw Mickey.

“Hey,” Ian said back, voice high and too chipper. “I’m making pancakes, you want some? I’ve got banana, your favorite, and chocolate chips, and strawberries…”

He went on to list more ingredients, but Mickey wasn’t really listening. He could see it all anyway, spread out over the kitchen like so many half-made decisions, half-baked ideas that kept giving way to something else.

“Mickey?” Ian asked, and he snapped out of it.

“Yeah,” he answered with a smile. “Yeah, I’d love some pancakes. Why don’t you let me stir for a awhile?”

—

They had their pancakes standing up next to the counter, nowhere left to rest their plates on the crowded surfaces of the kitchen. Ian talked about the merits of each ingredient as they ate, and Mickey listened, and nodded along as best he could.

This was okay. It was pancakes in their boxers at 3AM with no sleep in a kitchen that looked like it was hit by a tornado, but Ian was eating, and Ian was smiling, and Ian was there.

And when Ian stopped and tried to set his plate down, distress on his face as he was confronted with the mess he had made, Mickey took the dish from him with easy hands.

“You want to sit down awhile?” he tried, nudging Ian gently out of the disaster-zone. “Bet you’re tired after eating all that.”

He knew Ian wasn’t, but he kept a hand on his back anyway until they were out in the living room, next to the sofa. Mickey let go to sit down himself with a groan, tired muscles aching at being used for too long without rest. He kept his eyes off Ian, just standing there, looking at him in that too-present, too-absent way of his, and leaned back against the cushions, eyes falling closed.

After a moment, the sofa dipped as Ian settled in beside him.

“Mickey?” Ian asked. The cushions bounced as he tapped his heel repeatedly on the floor.

“Yeah?” Mickey responded, squinting his eyes back open.

“Can I touch you?”

Mickey repressed the urge to sit up, to take Ian into his arms. Ian sounded too hesitant, a shift from moments before as he playfully shoved bites of overcooked batter into Mickey’s mouth.

But Ian didn’t like to be held like this.

“Of course you can, you moron,” Mickey said instead, and watched as Ian’s leg stopped moving. The other man drew closer, reaching a hand out to card through Mickey’s hair and drag down the side of his face, a touch too shaky and a touch too firm.

Ian had once said that touching Mickey grounded him, and Mickey hadn’t known if Ian thought that was a good thing or not. In the midst of hypomania, Ian didn’t always take kindly to being grounded.

But tonight—well, this morning—it seemed to be a good thing. Mickey was grateful for that.

Grateful, because it meant that Ian looked like himself as he moved to lay against him, and not like some over-saturated facsimile painted with too much water on the canvas, always shifting, always running. Grateful, because it meant that Ian pulled Mickey’s arms around him and settled into his side like they always did, even if his body never quite stilled at the contact.

Grateful, because it meant they wouldn’t fight tonight. That Mickey wouldn’t have to worry as much about what Ian might say, might do, if he stepped out of line. If he went off the script they had planned on a good day for dealing with bad ones to come.

He wouldn’t have to call Lip for backup. He wouldn’t have to tail Ian as he left the apartment to make sure he stayed safe. He wouldn’t have hide the knives, or their wallets, or anything else.

Not that he would have complained if he did. It was what it was. Ian was who he was. And Mickey would always see him through it. Love him through it.

They lay there, mostly quiet, except for the mindless tune Ian hummed against his neck, and the tap tap tap of his fingers on Mickey’s collarbone.

Eventually, the song cut off.

“Do I need to call the doctor?” Ian asked quietly into the echoing room, and Mickey nodded, rubbing a gentle hand through his hair.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “I think so.”

He'd get everything together in the morning. Ian's journals, their schedule, their meal plan. The little notebook where he kept track of Ian's prescriptions, how they worked, how long they lasted.

Something had obviously slipped, either in their methods or in Ian himself. But Mickey was well past dwelling on what they could have done differently, and focused on what to do next.

Things happened. Things changed. They would adapt.

At Mickey's confirmation, Ian just nodded against him, fidgeting until their legs were too entwined to separate.

“Sleep first, if you can,” Mickey told him, settling in for a long rest of the night. “We’ll do it together when you wake up.”

Together. They’d do it together. Again and again and again, as much as they needed to. Because Ian was his husband, and this was their normal.

And their normal was still pretty damn good.

[moldisgoodforyou]

bahamas (iii)

wordcount: 4.5k

warnings: smut ! , lots of drunkenness

_______

“Rafe.” Sophie grinned at him through a mouthful of toothpaste, bumping her hip against his as they stood in front of the mirror of the master bathroom, at 3am after a long night of going out with their crew.

(He’d called first dibs the second they strolled into the entryway of the house, and no one protested except Sophie, who meekly suggested that they draw straws. James had cheerfully clapped her on the shoulder and insisted that they take the master because it was on the opposite end of the house from the other bedrooms, and he didn’t want to have to hear them having sex. She conceded soon after that.)

He stretched his arms out wide, flexing as he did, before looping them around her torso and settling his head on top of hers. Drunk Rafe was always extra cuddly and clingy, and often led to being more touchy than needed - but when she was drunk too, she fully embraced it. “Yeah?”

She spat out her toothpaste, rinsed her mouth, then shifted in his grip to look up at him with eager eyes. “You remember what we didn’t do when we were in Nice?”

He frowned as he pondered the answer, unsure. “Go to that one museum because we didn’t have reservations?”

“Beach sex.” She corrected, giggling when his eyes went wide. “And I was thinking, since you’ve never...and we basically have a private beach…”

“You’re drunk.” He cocked his head at her, still processing the request.

“Yes. But so are you.” Sophie reached up, her hands going to unbutton his shirt. “Come on, we need to shower afterwards anyway. We can be quick.”

“You’re serious?” He asked warily, letting her undress him. “Like, you’re 100 percent sure?”

“Hundred percent.” She replied, smoothing her palms over his chest. “Please?”

He glanced over, trying to ignore the uncomfortable tight feeling in his shorts. “Alright. But you have to keep your voice down, and we’re going back in through the kitchen door so we don’t set off any alarms, and I’m bringing a towel because I don’t want sand up my ass - Sophie, wait!” Rafe called after her as she giggled and slipped out their bedroom door, running out toward the water.

“Better catch up!”

He grabbed a towel and sprinted after her, catching up easily. “What did I just say -”

Sophie cut him off with a kiss, jumping up so he caught her around the waist and he slid his hands under her thighs to support her, momentarily thanking the girls in his head for convincing her to wear the flowy sundress. She locked her legs around his waist. “Shh.”

“You’re trouble.” He mumbled against her lips, glancing around the empty beach before walking out with her closer to the water. “Remember when you said you’d never skinny dip again because we nearly got arrested?”

“This is different.” She argued. “No one’s around. Didn’t you say you know the security guard?”

“Yeah, Sarah and I used to pay him to disable the alarms when we would sneak out in high school.” He grinned, sliding his hands up to grip her ass. “I fucking love you - hold on, are you not wearing underwear?”

She moaned against his mouth, moving to kiss along his jaw, then down his neck. “No.”

“Oh my god.” He set her down before she could suck a mark on his neck. He laid out the towel that was slung around his shoulders, making sure to put it in an area with packed sand, the ground still a little wet. “Lay down for me.”

“You don’t have an ounce of spontaneity in your body.” She laughed, but complied, the hem of her dress falling up her thighs as she leaned back on her elbows to look up at him.

“Shut up.” He countered lamely, surprising her as he knelt down and ducked his head under her dress, pressing kisses up her thighs.

Sophie let her eyes flutter shut, her legs falling wider. “Fuck, Rafe, I just wanted -”

“You’ll get it. Be patient.” He chastised, sliding two fingers across her dripping core. “Jesus, Soph, this really turns you on?”

“Yeah - oh.” She breathed out as he started rubbing steady circles across her clit. “It doesn’t for you?”

“I never said that.” He started making quick work with her under his tongue, knowing exactly how to make her moan.

She gripped helplessly at the sand, dropping her head back onto the towel. “Fuck, okay. Can you - we should prob’ly be quick -”

“Be quiet, Sophie.” He commanded, not giving her a second to respond before diving back in, his nose nudging against her clit.

She yelped, caught off guard, and immediately slapped her hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry - fuck, don’t stop -”

He spread her legs further apart and kept up his motions, not stopping even as she tugged on his hair, making him groan against her. He added in one finger, then two, pleased by the little whimpers she made, knowing she was close. “C’mon, baby, wanna hear you when you come.”

Sophie shook her head but gasped as he stroked just the right spot in her, forgetting to keep her hand locked over her mouth. “Please, Rafe, there - please -” she tensed just as he pushed her past her peak, not realizing she’d basically kneed him in the head in the process.

He worked her through it anyways, pinning her legs down with his forearms. Once she dropped her head back to the towel, satisfied, he grinned up at her. “You good?”

“Yeah.”

“You didn’t stay quiet.”

“Nope. I swear, you have a nose meant for eating me out.” She exhaled, smiling dopily up at him.

He laughed, going to tug off his shorts. “What’s that mean?”

“It’s, like, sloped perfectly. I dunno.” She pulled the dress back down, sitting up on her knees. “How do you want me?”

“You didn’t bring a condom out, right?”

“I have the IUD now -”

“Still.” He regarded her carefully, a slow smile creeping onto his face as she reached up to unbutton his shorts. “Sophie.”

“Yes.”

“Your knees are gonna be bruised.”

“Oh well.” She palmed him over his shorts, satisfied when he hissed in response.

“Everyone’s gonna know.”

“Pretty sure they already know I’m sucking you off regularly.” She replied, tugging his shorts down. “It’s not really a secret.”

“We could at least take it inside…” He trailed off as she slid her hand down his cock, stroking her thumb over the head of it. “Shit.”

“I don’t think you’ll last that long, baby.” She teased, licking her palm then worked her hand up and down his cock in slow, long strokes.

He opened his mouth to reply just as she took him into her mouth, and promptly shut his instead. Clearly she wasn’t in the mood for conversation.

If there was one thing Sophie had learned in their relationship, it was that the only time Rafe ever shut up was when she had his cock in her mouth. (She wished she’d known that sooner. They could have solved a lot of arguments that way.)

She kept up a slow pace as she bobbed her head up and down on him, making Rafe begin to grow impatient.

He carefully tugged on her hair, making her glance up, and raised his eyebrows.

“Yes?” She pulled off him, raising hers back as she licked her lips. “Something to say?”

“You’re teasing.”

“I literally had you in my mouth, Rafe, that’s not teasing.” She insisted, digging her nails a little into the back of his thighs. “Now, if you’ll just -”

The tide came in right at that moment, soaking the entire bottom half of her dress and his shorts pooled around his ankles. They both yelped in surprise, Sophie jumped up, and Rafe tried to pull his shorts up as quickly as possible. “Shit!”

Sophie couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled out of her, clapping her hand over her mouth. “I can’t - we have to go back in.”

He shook his head, extremely uncomfortable in his sopping wet shorts that he barely managed to zip up over his now-painful boner, but grinned anyways. “This was your idea.”

“My dress is soaked.” She complained, wringing out the fabric. “You should have checked the tide -”

“Are you seriously - Sophie, you suggested this -”

“You should have told me no!” She argued, loving pushing his buttons as far as she could, and got up in his face, inches apart from him.

“Like you would have listened.” He stepped back right away, placing his hands on her shoulders and keeping his arms outstretched to keep her at a distance. “I know exactly what you’re doing.”

She took a step closer anyways, then squealed as he immediately grabbed her around the waist and tossed her over his shoulder. “Rafe!”

“Sophie!” He mimicked, tugging her dress down so it covered her ass and strode back up to the house, towel forgotten. “Fucking tease. You know, I thought the arguing might stop when we were dating.”

“You love arguing with me.” She retorted. “It turns you on.”

“Damn right it does.” He replied, palming her ass. “You’re so fucking sexy. I need to tell you that more.”

“Rafe.” She whined, squirming in his grip. “Quit.”

He only set her down just before the front door of their bedroom, glancing around. “If I ask nicely, will you help me out in the shower?”

She perked up, eager. “Will you beg for it?”

“Do you really want me to?”

“I always want you to.”

Rafe shook his head, grinning, and swatted her butt. “Get your ass in the shower, pretty girl.”

Twenty minutes later, with both of them finally warm again from the shower (among other activities) and completely clean, Sophie had a fresh bruise on her hip from slipping in the shower and Rafe not being quick enough to grab her before she hit the faucet. They slipped into bed just after four in the morning, both exhausted, and Rafe fumbled for his phone to set an alarm before they fell asleep.

“Put your phone away. Go to sleep.” Sophie mumbled, her head on his chest and fingers curled around his bicep.

“Uh.”

“What.”

“Seems the bathroom has good acoustics.”

“Oh, fuck.” She groaned, grabbing at his phone. He had three texts - two from James, saying shut the fuck up and I hate you both so much, and one from Colin, saying I literally never want to hear Sophie moaning ever again.

“That’s it. We’re getting back on the plane the second the sun rises. I never want to see the boys ever again in my life.”

He pulled his phone out of her grip and set it aside on the nightstand, kissing her on the forehead and hugged her back to his chest. “I’ve had the misfortune of hearing both of them in bed, we’re fine. They should be sleeping anyway. It’s not our fault.”

“If they say one single word tomorrow -”

“I won’t let them give you shit, I promise.” Rafe smoothed his palm over her hair in an attempt at a soothing gesture. “Though I don’t think I can control your girls if they heard it too.”

She yawned, shutting her eyes again. “Julia’s definitely gonna say something.”

He smirked. “Complimentary, I assume.”

“Baby?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

_____

The rest of their day ended up as uneventful as they’d like - full of drinking tropical drinks, napping in hammocks in the sun, and a few games of beach volleyball. After one too many pina coladas, James found himself parasailing on the back of some random guy’s boat, with Colin roped along for assistance. Meanwhile, Rafe and the girls went snorkeling, and Julia insisted that a shark had bitten her toe (it was a baby whitebait, but still).

After dinner and a pregame, the group made it back to their now-favorite bar (after only three nights). It only took them a couple hours for everyone to get a buzz. They all took turns in pairs to get drinks upon Rafe’s insistence, making sure everyone was safe. They kept everything on a tab on Rafe’s card and agreed to pay him back at the end of the week - he had to talk them into it, wanting a reason to piss his dad off. (Sophie wasn’t thrilled, figuring Rose would find some way to connect it back to her, but agreed after a few drinks anyways.)

When Sophie returned with Rafe from the bar after their turn, drinks in hand, she stopped abruptly in her tracks at the scene before them. He promptly ran into her, stumbling in an attempt to catch both of them and not spill the drinks. “Hey! Pick up your feet, Soph -”

“What the fuck?” She demanded, staring straight ahead at James and Julia making out on the dance floor. They were in their own little world, arms wrapped around each other.

“Shit.” Rafe mumbled, following her gaze. “Okay, baby, let’s be rational here -”

She ignored him, storming forward, and decided the best course of action was to duck in between the two of them to break them up, making Julia accidentally smack a sound kiss to her lips.

Both the boys gaped for a moment, then regained their senses and exchanged a glance. Rafe cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck as a blush rose to his cheeks.

Julia’s eyes snapped open and she pulled back a second too late, confused and definitely not sober. “Soph?”

“What the fuck, you two?” She exclaimed, whirling around to face James, who had both hands up in defense and had taken several steps back.

“I didn’t - we haven’t -” He fumbled for an excuse, sending Rafe a desperate look, but he just shrugged in response.

“Stop kissing each other! Or trying to hook up! God!” Sophie knocked back a big swig of alcohol before glaring at both of them, her eyes a little wild. Rafe had seen that look before - many a time, actually, but more so in high school - and was extremely thankful he wasn’t on the receiving end of it for once. “Why is that so hard to understand?!”

Julia shrugged, having absolutely zero remorse. “He’s here, he’s a good kisser. Just happened.”

“Well stop making it happen.” Sophie frowned, turning back to James. “Last time, you -”

“Hey.” Rafe stepped in abruptly, interrupting what she was about to spill to Julia, about how last time James felt guilty for an entire month after, and how he had asked Rafe if he was a bad person for wanting to just hook up without a relationship, and if he was screwing Julia over. (Julia couldn’t care less, she was just happy to be getting some no strings attached, but James struggled with the whole idea.) “Okay. Let’s not. Where are Colin and Allie?”

James shot Rafe a grateful look and then tipped his head toward the bar. “Allie’s getting hit on by the bartender and Colin is…I don’t know.”

“You lost Colin?” Sophie asked, pulling out her phone to search for him. “When?”

“We didn’t lose him, he was talking to some girl. That’s mine?” Julia asked, taking one of the drinks from Sophie’s hand.

“Yes, but you don’t deserve it.” She grumbled, but let her take it anyway.

“Soph.” Rafe chastised, firm. “Okay. So Colin’s fine, do we need to intervene with this bartender?” He glanced back and was surprised to see normally-quieter Allie leaning across the bar, twirling a strand of hair around her finger as she giggled at something the bartender said. He recognized that tactic straightaway - Sophie had done it all the time when they first started to be friendly with each other. For a moment he questioned if that was actually her flirting or something she’s tried at Julia’s coaching - honestly, that was probably it.

Whatever. It still worked.

“Is she flirting? Wait, is this the same guy that was hitting on her last night?”

“Yeah. He’s hot.” Julia commented with a grin, raising her eyebrows at Sophie. “Think she’ll go home with him?”

“No one is going home with anyone.” Rafe shook his head, settling his arm around Sophie’s shoulders. “If they want to do anything, it’ll have to be at my place. We’re not losing track of anyone. Where the fuck is Colin?” He scanned the room along with James, both of them a good head above the crowd.

“Oh! There.” James pointed out, spying Colin talking to a girl at the end of the bar, watching as he kept glancing toward Allie with a frown and barely paid the other girl any attention. “Man. He sucks at flirting.”

“Not his strong suit.” Rafe agreed. He watched with raised eyebrows as Allie balanced an entire tray of double shots back to their booth, cheeks a little flushed and bright-eyed.

“Hi, you’re back! I brought shots, where’s Colin?” She started passing them out to everyone, placing a small bowl with lime wedges in the center of the table.

“Who’s your friend, Al?” Rafe grinned.

“I...I don’t know what you mean.” Allie blushed, pushing Rafe’s shot toward him a little more insistently. “Here. Drink.”

“Allie’s gonna get some,” Julia sang, knocking back the first shot without waiting for the others. “Did you pack condoms? I have extras -”

Colin appeared out of nowhere, squeezing himself into the booth besides James. “Who needs condoms?”

“No one.” Rafe and Allie replied at the same time, Rafe immediately going into protective mode. Allie was blushing furiously by now and shoved a shot toward Colin, grabbing her own and raising it. “To...trying new things.”

James whistled, laughing at Sophie’s cheer before they all took the shot together. After the second one, Julia winced, biting her lip, and Sophie recognized the telltale sign immediately. “Jules, bathroom?”

“Yeah, I - yeah.” She nodded, slipping out of the booth and hurried after Sophie. Tequila never treated her well, but when she was drunk enough she’d drink whatever was put in front of her.

Allie watched them go, gathering the shot glasses back onto the tray with the discarded limes - she scowled as a trail of juice made it down her wrist. “Okay, I’m bringing this back. Are we good to go after this, do we want more drinks…?”

“I’m pretty sure Jules is throwing up, so I think we’re done.” James informed her unhelpfully, leaning into Colin a little too much - Colin just shoved at him to keep him upright.

“Right. Um.” She spoke the next words too quickly, all strung together like she couldn’t get them out fast enough. “Rafewhat’syouraddress?”

“Huh?”

Allie blushed, shrugging. “Address? Where we’re staying?”

“Oh. Oh! Um, it’s...lemme just…” He pulled out his phone and dropped her a pin. “There. Texted it to you.”

“Why do you need the address if we’re all going home?” Colin asked with suspicion, scowling.

“None of your business.” Allie told him curtly, lingering for a moment longer before taking a deep breath and strolling back up to the bar.

The bartender, Carlos, greeted her with a broad smile. He’d made the first move when she got drinks for the group the day before, complimenting her on her shirt and the color, then on how cute she looked when she blushed. “You came back.”

“Yeah. I did.” Emboldened by the alcohol, she held out her hand. “Can I have a napkin and a pen, please?”

He nodded, sliding both across the table and stroked his thumb over the back of her hand before letting go. “Are you leaving without me?”

“If you can get off in the next hour - shit -” She blushed at her word choice. “I mean, um, if you want to come by in the next hour. If the bar’s closing. You can, um, show me more of that tattoo you were telling me about.” She nodded toward his chest and the bit of ink peeking out from beneath his button up shirt, biting the inside of her cheek with instant regret at her poorly delivered pickup line. There was a reason she stuck to dating apps and let Julia and Sophie handle the ghostwriting on her account, preferring to stick to one night stands if anything.

Carlos accepted the napkin she slid back with the address on it, nodding. “I’m off in an hour.” He paused, eyes raking over her for a second. “You said you’re 22?”

“Yes? Is that a problem?” She asked with a little too much of an edge of nerves to her voice, instead of confidence like she’d hoped she could deliver. Channeling Sophie’s argumentative energy and Julia’s flirtatious energy never worked for her.

“No, I’m 25. Just wanted to make sure.” He flashed her a bright grin, one that made her feel a little weak in the knees. “I’ll see you soon, Allie.”

She could barely get out a “see you” before she hurried back to her friends, biting the inside of her cheek so she wasn’t smiling so wide. James grinned at her knowingly, Rafe raised his eyebrows as if to check in that she was okay while Colin seemed distant, distracted. “Okay. Let’s go.”

“The rest of our girls are still -” Rafe started, then cut himself off as Sophie and Julia arrived behind Allie. “Never mind. Let’s roll.” He sent Sophie a quick glance, nodding briefly toward Allie before tugging the boys to fall into step ahead of the crew. It was only a seven minute walk back to the house, placed perfectly in between the nightlife and the beach.

Sophie read his glance right away, nudging her hip against Allie’s and lowering her voice as they all followed the boys out. “So. The bartender?”

“Carlos.” Allie corrected.

“Are you gonna fuck him?” Julia asked a little too loudly, yelping when Sophie punched her arm.

“...I think so.” Allie nodded, only sounding a little unsure of herself.

“Don’t do anything you don’t want to.” Sophie told her, hooking her arm in hers. “But if you do want to, make him go down on you first.”

“Voice down, Soph!” Rafe called out ahead of them, turning to walk backward and send her an amused look.

Sophie just flipped him off, making him roll his eyes and turn back. “What! She should!”

Allie raised her eyebrows, gesturing between the two of them. “I thought you went down on him first.”

Sophie waved her hand, shaking her head. “That’s besides the point. We knew each other, all that. You don’t know this bartender, but if he’s worth anything, he’ll prove it first.”

“She makes a good point for someone who’s had only one random hookup.” Julia interjected with a grin. “I saw him take a tequila shot with one of the old ladies at the bar last night. His tongue is -”

“Oh my god, no, shut up.” Allie interrupted, turning bright red as they followed the boys into the house, Rafe holding the door for all of them. “This was a bad idea, I shouldn’t have - no. I don’t do this for a reason.”

Rafe straightened up, crossing his arms with a frown. “You don’t have to do a single thing you don’t want to. I’ll tell him to fuck off if you want.”

Julia reached out and combed her fingers through the ends of Allie’s hair, arranging it perfectly. “Yeah, but don’t hold back if you want to do this. One and done, babe, then you never have to see this dude again.”

“Yeah, we’ll go to another club if you want. You set the rules here, Al.” Rafe promised sincerely, genuinely concerned for the well-being of his friend.

Allie nodded, taking a deep breath and glanced around at everyone gathered in the foyer. “Right. I’m gonna - I should take another shot or something.”

“No.” Colin’s permanent frown hadn’t left his face since they’d all left the bar. “If you’re not gonna do this sober, then you’re sure as hell not gonna do it drunk.”

“One shot wouldn’t make me drunk -”

“No, Allie -”

“Colin.” James cut in sharply. “She can handle herself. C’mon, I want to scout out where to go for dinner tomorrow and I want your help. I don’t think I can type right.”

They all stood there in silence for a moment, tension thick in the air, until Colin grumbled and headed off to their room without a word. James rolled his eyes at his surliness but followed.

Julia grinned at Rafe once they left, arms crossed as she leaned against the wall. “So if Allie’s hooking up in my room, does that mean we get a sleepover?”

Rafe’s face dropped and he glanced toward Sophie, who was just holding back a grin. “No. Jules, you can sleep on the couch or something - look, this dude isn’t spending the night, right Allie?”

“Um…no?” She questioned, glancing around at her friend’s faces. “No? No. Uh, I don’t think so.”

“Good choice.” He nodded, glancing out toward the street where they could all hear the sound of a car pulling up outside. “Want us to hang out here?”

“Yeah, just, uh.” Allie waved toward the couches in the living room area. “Go be distant. Shit.” She mumbled as he started walking up the drive. “Jules, where are -”

“Condoms are in the side pocket of my duffel.” Julia supplied helpfully, laughing when Rafe made a face. “What! She needs to be protected -”

“Shut up!” Allie hissed back, straightening a little and offered a slightly nervous smile to Carlos as he strolled up and greeted her with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Hi! Um, do you want to...let me show you this way.” She ushered him away, but not before Rafe caught his eye and stared him down.

Julia watched Rafe with a smirk, nudging him once the two had left their earshot. “You are so totally the dad friend. I hope you know that.”

“If that’s setting me up to be a good father, I’ll take it.” He replied quickly, with a little too much sincerity to be taken as a joke.

“Just don’t become a father on this trip.” Julia shot back with a teasing grin.

His eyebrows shot up and he immediately looked toward Sophie, giving himself away.

Julia laughed, punching him in the arm. “Yeah. I heard about her stomach flu incident. You two are so dramatic, immediately assuming she’s pregnant.”

“I told you that in confidence, Julia.” Sophie groaned, her cheeks going red.

“Yeah, as in don’t discuss with the boys, not your boy.”

Rafe couldn’t hide the pleased smile he got at ‘your boy,’ wrapping his arm around Sophie’s shoulders as she rolled her eyes. “Jules, you good hanging out here? I can take the couch if you want.”

“Nah, I’m good. Night Dad.”

“Stop.” Sophie insisted, not amused in the slightest.

“Okay, Mom.” Julia rolled her eyes. “Jeez, I know who’s gonna be the fun parent.” The moment she registered the slightest flinch in Sophie’s facial expressions, Julia softened, reaching out to pat her knee. “Kidding. Sorry.”

“S’alright.” Sophie mumbled, standing. “I’m going to bed. Night, Jules.”

Rafe stood after her, following immediately. “Text if you need anything. Blankets are in that basket over by the fireplace.”

“Thanks. Night.” Julia replied, watching them go. She briefly thought about knocking on James’ door - she’d forgotten he was that good of a kisser - but decided against it. Some friendships just needed to stay intact.

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