there is an absolutely heartbreaking dearth of opla whump fanfiction. i need it. i need to dig into all the tiny little opportunities to hurt my favourite pirate crew and wallow around there. post cabaji stab wounds for zoro? post tank cpr for luffy? a few nice little broken bones from the well for zoro. everyone getting sick from poison after dinner at kaya's!

Impact

1,846 words. Original Series: Liliholm and Page.

[Masterpost]

Content Warning | horror, body horror, whumper-turned-whumpee, a borderline-immortal whumpee described as a dead body, gore, aftermath of an explosion, head injury, seizures, casual misogyny, excessive foul language. DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT.

Taglist | @ink-and-salt @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @whumpvp @redwingedwhump @lave-whump @castlehillwhump @sideblogformindtrash @burtlederp @fanastywhump @whump-in-the-closet @sunshiline-writes 

Author’s Note | It’s finally here! The very first solo Luca and Garcia chapter in the series. I do have one detail for you before you read (one that will be worked more organically into other L&P chapters in the future): With Luca’s healing, be it on themself or on others, every single moment of the pain it would take to heal on its own still has to be felt. All those weeks and months of pain get compacted down into a matter of seconds. And if it was something that should never have been able to heal in the first place? Well. Why don’t you watch.

It had been longer than it should.

Garcia had his head buried in his hands, his knee tapping nervously. It had been almost two full minutes, and the shredded remains of the body next to him hadn't moved. Glassy blue eyes stared up at nothing, blood smeared across pale skin. Half of their lower jaw was missing entirely, what was left of their ribcage torn open like stuffing from a doll. Their head sat at an angle that was intensely wrong, and he knew even without touching that it was because the back of their skull was little more than pulverized bone.

No twitching fingers. No tears brimming in those empty eyes.

Nothing.

He stood up and started to pace. Aimless circles around the perimeter of the room, round and round the black-red pool of blood clotting on the floor. He saw nothing of what was in front of him, only thought of where to place his feet.

Three minutes.

Their arm looked like it had too many joints, now. A patchwork of wrong angles and open fractures, peppered with torn flecks around the shoulder. There was barely any skin left. Barely any muscle, either. Garcia couldn't bring himself to even look at their hand. The finger stuff had always made him queasy.

For a moment, he thought he saw movement. But when he looked again all it had been was the draft catching on a lock of their hair.

Four minutes.

Fuck. Fuck. Come on, Luca.

He sat down on the crate again, raking his hands back through his hair.

Five minutes. Six.

He'd never seen their healing take more than thirty seconds to begin. Usually it came even sooner than that, whether they started off conscious or not. But this? He'd never seen them hurt like this.

They might not be coming back from it at all.

There, on the very edge of his hearing. A sound like the crinkling of cellophane, something wet just barely beginning to shift. He watched as their head began, in almost unimaginably small increments, to turn.

There was still nothing at all behind their eyes.

A flood of icy adrenaline locked his limbs in place. He stared, paralyzed. It was only after a few more moments that he recognized the movement for what it was.

Their skull was beginning to piece itself back together.

He let out a breath of relief, watched as those vacant pupils slowly constricted down to pinpricks. Then Luca's entire body arced off the floor.

Their body went into flailing convulsions as neurons began to weave back together, eyes open wide. The bones in their ribcage shifted and cracked back into place. Their diaphragm was visible beneath the spongy remains of their lungs, hiccuping in some desperate attempt to pull air through a windpipe that wasn't there. Their jaw was moving soundlessly. And all the while the mushy back of their head rattled against the floor, uncontrollably battered by their seizures.

Garcia didn't touch them. He knew they wouldn't forgive him if he did.

After five seconds those attempts at breathing became a rhythmic wheeze of air through their throat. Ten seconds, and the sound became a rattle. Fifteen seconds, and Garcia finally recognized the spasming of their diaphragm for what it had been since it began.

Luca was screaming.

He turned his face away. Counted his breaths. The sound filled every inch of the room, echoing until it was deafening. It drowned out even the snapping of bone, pitchy and full-throated and raw.

The convulsions gave way to active thrashing as their body healed. They writhed and twisted like a snake with its head cut, clawing at their own wounds in mindless agony. 

The screams didn't falter. They just became slowly more and more recognizable, until there was no mistaking whose voice was behind them.

He had never heard them like this. And there was no describing the selfish amount of relief he felt when the last of their skin finished stitching together, and the screams rose to a fever pitch. And then they suddenly died off into breathless, wheezing sobs.

Luca's back was turned to him. They just collapsed into a heap of limbs, every inch of them soaked red.

Thirty seconds passed. A minute. It was some time before they managed to get themself back under control. They tried, shakily, to push themself up onto their elbows. Then to their knees. 

They swallowed several times before they managed to get the remaining scraps of their voice to work. "...what got me?"

"Pill bomb. Looked like they'd set it into the door frame, just above the handle."

"Fuck." They had their head in their hands, as though staving off a horrific headache. Their voice was raspy and thin. "Did they get away?"

"Molinaro went after them."

"Alone?"

Garcia didn't answer. There hadn't been enough of Luca left to move, and someone had needed to stay to watch over their body.

"...Fuck."

They tried to push themself up onto their feet, arm shaking where it was braced against the wall.

"Hey, what are you doing? You know you can't be up yet—"

"We're going after him."

"No, you're sitting your ass back down before you—"

"Garcia!" They turned on him, their eyes as cold as their voice, "I'm hunting them down whether you come along or not. Where is my gun?"

Garcia sighed. There really was no winning with this little shit.

"Fine. You know what? Here," he pulled it out of his back pocket, and handed it over. The safety was on, but there was already a round in the chamber.

They shoved it into their waistband. Their dark shirt was completely in tatters, holding on only around one wrist and in the scraps of fabric still tucked into their trousers. They looked down at themself, and made a face that was half self-consciousness and half distaste. The only place on their body that wasn't covered in blood was the upper half of their face, and what little of their near-white hair hadn't been plastered down with gore. It made their expressions all the more haunting.

They looked back to him and held out their hand, "Give me your shirt."

No, Garcia wasn't surprised. He could already see them fighting back the urge to wrap their arms around themself, the bristling antsiness written all through their body would only get worse as the seconds passed.

"Give me your shirt."

"You are such a demanding little priss, you know that?" But he turned around and started taking off his jacket. "If I'd wanted to get nagged at like this I would have gotten married rather than becoming a mercenary." He pulled his t-shirt off over his head, and tossed it to them before putting his jacket back on. He kept his eyes averted while they changed.

"Does Molinaro still have his tracker?"

"He'd better." Garcia dug his phone out of his pocket, and pulled up the app on his screen. Luca joined him a moment later, tying the shirt in at the waist.

It looked utterly ridiculous on them. Garcia was a 3XL, and he'd be surprised if they were even an XS. It made them look like a child in a parent's nightgown.

....albeit a very gorey one.

"There. Three blocks north, one block east," he said. They both watched the blue blinking dot for a moment. It wasn't moving. That....very likely wasn't a good sign. They needed to go, now.

"We'll take the subground, we're too conspicuous to walk up top."

"No kidding." He grabbed his own gun.

Ten minutes later they were at the base of the new building, far below the tracks of the Mag-Link that rushed overhead. Down here the sidewalks were wide and abandoned, nothing to see them but trash and the occasional tramp. The few people they passed took one look at Luca, and immediately found reasons to leave. They weren't far from the shipyard, and the warehouses like this one mostly stood abandoned.

"There," Garcia said quietly. Thirty feet ahead, one of the metal doors stood slightly ajar on its hinges. Luca followed his gaze, and pulled out their gun. 

Inside the warehouse was vast, lit from far overhead by panes of yellowed, broken glass windows. Dirt covered every inch of the cement floor, piles of broken equipment and empty beer bottles heaped around the edges. The place smelled like old pipes and piss.

Despite the horrific consequences they'd just faced, they didn't hesitate before being the first one through. 

Luca nodded down to a smear of blood on the floor. Part of a boot print, another smear, another print. Both of them followed it, keeping their eyes moving about the dim space. The trail lead up a wide, metal-grate staircase to the loft level, half of the steps bent and warped with wear.

Garcia gave them a dubious look. He was a very big man, and nothing about those steps looked stable. Even if they didn't collapse, if the metal shifted wrong then everybody in this building would hear it.

They rolled their eyes, but gave the steps an assessing once-over. They set their foot on the first level, slowly. No sound. Their weight shifted up onto it. Still no sound. They kept their gun close, and moved smoothly up the next few levels before pausing to glance back at him.

Well that's great for you, Luca, but I weigh a hundred and seventy pounds more than your puny ass, his face said.

That's your problem.

And they continued upward without him. Garcia gave an irritated little sigh. But his boot settled on the first step right above the brace, and he carefully followed after.

There were voices from up ahead. Too faint at first to distinguish, but as they grew closer he began to make them out. The first one was unfamiliar, wet and nasally. They were speaking quickly, an edge of franticness to their voice.

The second one, notably calmer and steadier, was familiar. Luca heard it too—he saw it in the way their shoulders lowered just the smallest bit.

Garcia whistled loudly. Both voices stopped. 

Molinaro called back to him, "What took you so long?"

They ascended the last of the steps, and were greeted with a welcome sight. Two dead bodies on the floor, and Leon standing over a third mark with his gun pointed at their head. 

The man was kneeling with his back to the rusted railing, both hands cuffed around the pole behind his back. His nose was broken, blood pouring down his chest. And when his eyes settled on Luca, he went paler than a ghost.

"You—no! I saw....I saw you—" The captive shrank in on himself as Luca stalked forward. Molinaro lowered his gun.

Their voice was vicious, "If you wanted me dead, you should have tried harder."

The toe of their shoe smashed into the man's windpipe, snapping his head back into the railing with a BANG. His mouth fell open into a silent gasp, eyes wide as he tried to draw in air. The noises his collapsed trachea made through those attempted inhales were like music to Garcia's ears. And all the while those wide, horrified eyes stared up at Luca as they knelt down in front of him. Their thumb dug savagely into the indent in his throat until their nail drew blood, cutting off what little remained of his air.

"And now, you're going to pay for it."

Fitness from October to March

Running

Yesterday, I ran a mile to compare with the mile I ran in November. The results were remarkable. My average heart rate was down 10 points. My max heart rate was also down 10 points. I only ran for 25 or 52(can't remember) seconds in zone five. It only took running zone 2 intervals for 5 months.

I started out the intervals at 3 mph walking and 4.5 mph running. Sometime in October or November I added 5 minute running intervals to the end of the workout for a total of 20 minutes with zone 2 intervals, 5 minutes running, and 5 minute cool down. This was to be more in line with the 80/20 method where 20 percent of running will be at higher heart rates and 80 percent will in zone 2. I progressed to incline running for a few minutes in running interval and have also added a few minutes of decline running.

Somewhere between October and December, I saw some gains in the running intervals. They were becoming longer than the walking intervals. That felt pretty amazing and really showed improvement. I would compare my time in zone 2 with earlier runs and it was increasing. However, my running intervals returned to looking "toothy" like far-spaced pumpkin teeth. I reminded myself that progress isn't linear and kept doing what I was doing and tracking my time in zone 2.

I was getting a little unmotivated though. All of my effort and consistency and my results appeared to be back tracking. I wondered if I had a heart condition until I finally started to compare my time in zone 1. My time in zone 2 had increased, but also had my time in zone 1! My theory is my heart rate lowered too quickly during the walking sessions and my watch wasn't checking and reporting heart rate changes fast enough.

My latest running workout is now at a faster walking pace. I think that this is the key to improvement and eventually running an entire mile in zone 2. My hypothesis was that, with walking at 3mph and running at 4.5 mph, I would eventually see a straight line after seeing longer and longer running intervals compared to walking intervals. This was was proven wrong! I need to continually challenge my heart. I needed to increase the minimum speed range and continue to challenge my heart.

The weather should be warm enough to run outside in May. Until then, I will continue to increase my lower range incrementally and continue with 4.5 mph as the running interval rate. I would like to also continue experimenting with inclines and declines.

I recently read an article about a woman runner who does short intervals, long intervals, hill runs, and progressive runs. I would like to incorporate these into my running but continue to do it with zone 2 intervals. She also does this in a 2 week cycle. I will think about how to incorporate these training concepts into my plans.

Yoga/Pilates

I probably repurchased the ashtanga yoga book after my last post. Then sometime in January or maybe even December, I repurchased the pilates book. I have chosen to focus on the asana sequence from the 45 minute sequence at the back of the book. Initially, I focused on ensuring that I wasn't going to overuse my trap to prevent the sneck problems from reoccurring. I have also omitted the up dog(?) and am still working on my chataranga. After building upper body strength to prevent sneck-injury, I have now begun focusing on opening my hips and working on the flexibility of my hamstrings. As for pilates, I have decided to remain with the 9 beginner poses until I feel really solid.

St. Elmo's Fire

Arcs of lightning flashed like a divine lantern across the Orion’s spiraling tusk, shocking first seat pilot Price up and out of his chair. The belts on his shoulders pulled him back into his chair. He heaved, and looked to the other two in the aircraft head.

“St. Elmo’s fire,” said Captain Eman chuckling softly. She blinked the lights from her eyes and kept the hurricane hunter plane on course.

Price pouted, “I knew that. Just on edge... Against all my years of piloting sense we’re going into the storm rather than against it. You know what I mean?”

“Been too long since I turned from turbulence. This on-the-job training is about to be a real paradigm-shift for you, Price.”

Flight engineer Bluford pulled the dinosaur head helmet off and put on a headset. “Wow, we’re already here? Should have woken me up.”

“Hands on deck, Blue. Our feet have been wet for hours.” said Eman. She felt the first real strain on the yoke. The plane bucked, but Eman’s grip and steering sense held steady. She rolled with the motion. Her eyes laser focused on the oncoming thicket of clouds.

“Dropsonde 1 going out,” said the loadmaster. A data collection buoy shot from Orion’s belly and disappeared into the cloud cover.

“Copy,” said Price. “Two hundred knots at forty thousand feet and climbing. Feels faster,” said Price. His thousands of hours flying for Continental felt like nothing in the face of this mission.

The navigator relayed the angle and current coordinates. Eighteen souls in their metal cage, diving into the now category five beast in the Atlantic. The feeling Price noted could never be shaken from a pilot’s mind. Eman did the best she could to transform that anxiety into excitement.

Bluford slapped the kermit sticker on his window. “Go time.” He stretched his fingers and pushed the lever further. Orion’s engines roared a little louder in response.

Eman and Price’s eyes flew across the dashboards, monitoring conditions and data while maintaining conditions. Though he was green, Eman trusted Price. Likewise, Eman was the closest thing to autopilot that Price had.

She bobbed with the plane’s increasing oscillation and grinned with her teeth. It was the greatest challenge as a pilot against the most destructive force of nature.

 “Breaching the eye wall in approximately ten minutes,” said the navigator.

“It’s about to get a whole lot worse in here,” said Eman. “Sit tight, team.”

Precipitation and lightning streaked across the windows, worsening by the second. Bluford lowered the speed incrementally. The plane floundered in all angles of pitch and yaw and roll. The two pilots and engineer worked together as if they’d flown for years, communicating in short bursts and adjusting on the fly. Eman made a hundred decisions a second. Time crawled as if the hurricane’s strength dilated time.

 

Then a particularly bad surge of wind slammed against the plane. Eman jerked to the side. She slipped past her seatbelt, slamming her head into the metal beside her seat. Price shouted something. Lightning flashed before her glazed eyes. Her lapse in consciousness lasted less than a fraction of a second when a thought crossed her mind.

How did I get here again? Ah… that’s right.

 

When she was a child, she entered the school science fair with a triptych about hurricane formation. A tupperware bowl etched with lines from all the lunches her father took to work and a box of food coloring. She would stir, and the the judges watched with swirling eyes. A drop of food coloring. Two. The blue bands spiraled in the pink bowl. Bands deepened until the mass of the hurricanes body clouded the center of the bowl.

The judges moved to the next table when a sound like an angel screaming pierced through the walls of the gymnasium. Eman covered her ears. Her mother muttered a prayer and dragged her by the elbow out the crowded doors. The wind shot up her jacket. Her mother took the bowl and the box.

The tornado siren continued to blare. Eman clutched the tri-board with both hands. Through a brief respite in the sound she heard the wind howling through the trees. Her board picked up enough drag to take the weight off her heels, lifting her an inch above the pavement.

She didn’t scream. Didn’t make a sound. Her mind swirled with a cocktail of emotions. Curiosity, anxiety, and awe. Awe that struck the fear of god in her heart.

Her mom yelped and brought her back to earth before her tiny body could take flight. The damage was done, though. And there she was, so many years later in a hurricane’s raging fist.

 

Bluford’s hand hovered above her shoulder when she snapped back into her mind.

Blood trickled down and onto her left eye. She wrestled against the rocking force to strap herself back down in her seat. Once she nested in the seat, she breathed deeply and gripped the yoke with both hands. The Orion’s frame groaned. Eman growled back.

A clambering of thunder, shouting crewmates, and enough hail to build a church from then the Orion burst through the eye wall.

All was still. All went quiet. The whimper of a memory of wind rushing past the plane. Lightning shattered the darkness again and again, lighting the mile high cloud cliffs of white like rogue waves on white waters. A rather immense smattering of ink in the bowl.

Eman shivered. This wasn’t home. They were eighteen fleshy bodies forging through a hostile planet’s best attempts to kill them. Ants in a storm drain. She looked at the other two in the cockpit, and they must have felt it too. The fear of god.

She stared at the blood on her sleeve and turned off her mic. As her mother did, she prayed. For safety and because there was no other way she could think of to categorize the feeling in her chest. The remergence of her sense of scale. The volume of lightning could have been fooled you into thinking it was somehow daytime in the storm’s eye.

She could only hear her words through the physical radiation of sound across her cheeks.

Eman breathed again for the first time in what felt like eternity. She turned her radio back on. “Alright team. Turn 180. Second pass.”

 She held onto the yoke as she held her presentation board many years ago. She held on and flew.

the grand deeds of great men, the smallest of gestures

"My hero."

An (extremely late) request of sorts from @taizi for some solid nishi content, involving Tanuma putting those childhood karate lessons to good use. Established tanunatsu.

Ao3 link in the notes. 

“Your boyfriend,” Satoru announces without preamble, dragging Tanuma by their joined hands through the hotel room door, “is a badass.”

Natsume looks up sharply from where he and Atsushi are huddled over a pile of rumpled travel pamphlets on the bed. But it’s Taki who’s on her feet first, closing the distance to the door with a pinched look and taking the shopping bag out of Tanuma’s hand.

Satoru’s grinning. Tanuma is very much not.

But they’re both shaking.

Satoru doesn’t let go of Tanuma’s hand until Natsume’s there to take it. Atsushi’s there to grab Satoru by the shoulders, and the five of them shuffle back as one towards the beds.

Natsume doesn’t press for the explanation until they’re all seated, he and Taki pressed up against either side of Tanuma, their knees bumping up against Atsushi’s and Satoru’s in the narrow space between the two beds. The muttered question is probably more directed at Satoru than at Tanuma, because Tanuma’s gray-faced in the lamplight, gaze a little too wide, breaths coming a little too fast. Both Natsume’s hands are wrapped around Tanuma’s slack one, and on his other side Taki’s hands are gentle where they rub his back, but her keen eyes keep darting over to Satoru, expression tight with all the same concern. Satoru, for his part, is practically vibrating where he sits tucked against Atsushi’s side, from nerves or exhilaration or both, Atsushi can’t quite tell.

“He flipped a guy!” Satoru declares, with a wide one-handed swoop of a gesture at Tanuma, sounding positively giddy about it.

Well. Whatever Atsushi was expecting to hear, it wasn’t that.

“What,” Natsume says, blankly, at the same time that Taki says, “…wait.”

And then they’re all looking at Tanuma. Who very much looks like he’d rather not be looked at.

“It was the actual best thing I have ever seen,” Satoru says, nudging Tanuma’s knee with his own, and there’s something fierce and warm in his eyes. “And he thinks he’s gonna go to jail or something for it, which he’s not, because the guy deserved it, so that would be dumb.”

“What happened?” Atsushi blurts, now well and truly alarmed.

And he tells them.

They’re in Osaka for a long weekend, because Natori had invited them all along for some premiere of a new period piece that Satoru had been gushing about for months. Natsume’s not exactly ecstatic about attending the event itself, but he’s clearly happy that Satoru’s happy—Atsushi gathers that that’s whole point of this—and even if Natori himself is all booked up with press events for the majority of the weekend, it’s a chance for them all to explore the unfamiliar city together.

Not thirty minutes ago, Satoru and Tanuma had volunteered to make a combini run for snacks, only about two blocks from the hotel. But once they’d finished and were through the door, bags in hand, Tanuma had realized he’d forgotten to get the ice cream Taki had asked for. He’d gone back in to get it, while Satoru stayed out front to sip at the cocoa he’d bought. They hadn’t really paid any mind to the group milling about out front. Salarymen, by the looks of them, three or four younger guys in tidy suits with raucous voices and beers in hand. Satoru had been making his way to the bench near the entrance to wait, not quite looking where he was going, and he’d bumped into one of them, causing some of his beer to slosh over the lip of the can and onto the guy’s blazer sleeve. From his place in line Tanuma had heard it, the sharp “Oy!” and the rumbles of displeasure from man’s friends. Tanuma’s not sure what became of the ice cream he’d been holding—maybe he dropped it, maybe he shoved it into the hands of the customer beside him—but the next thing he knew he was out the door, wedging himself firmly between Satoru and the man who now had him by the arm.

“And then he just…bam!” Satoru mimes the motion, as though he’s grabbing something heavy with both hands from behind, and twisting it downwards in front of him. “Like. Grabbed him. And just. Flipped him! Guy went down beer and all, and he looked super confused about being on the ground all of a sudden. And it was amazing, and I had no idea he took karate before.”

And with that, three sets of startled eyes all land squarely on Tanuma. Natsume taps his knee, like he’s trying to break him away from whatever’s got its grip on him behind his own glassy gaze.

“Karate?” Taki looks, at first, gobsmacked by this piece of information. But it morphs into something like slow-breaking delight across her features.

Tanuma’s nod is a single, tight bob of the head. “Just, um.” It’s the first time he’s spoken since walking through the door, and his voice is a ghost of a thing, like it might get swallowed up by the stale air of the room. “Until I was twelve. On and off. I don’t remember much.”

“You remembered plenty,” Satoru tells him, tone banking no argument, before clasping his hands together dramatically. “My hero.” His grin is so wide and irresistibly cheesy that Tanuma looks up, just for a moment, with the barest twitch of his lips before his gaze drops back down towards the stretch of flowery pink carpet beneath their toes. Natsume shoots Satoru a grateful look, even as Atsushi finds himself doing the same to Tanuma. Somewhere, during the course of the story, he’d found himself squashed up impossibly close against Satoru, arm tucked firmly around his shoulders. He seems genuinely excited, not distressed, but against Atsushi’s side he still feels wound up tight as a coiled spring. It’s definitely not lost on Natsume, either, judging by the glance he gives Atsushi. Atsushi nudges Natsume’s foot—he’s okay, I got him—and Natsume nods, once, though his gaze lingers a moment longer on Satoru’s flushed, still-beaming face.

“So you’re afraid someone saw?” Atsushi asks, while Taki fishes out a tea bottle from the shopping bag, uncaps it and presses it into Tanuma’s hand.

Tanuma doesn’t answer, but that touch of a grin from before has twisted itself into something distinctly nauseated.

“If anyone did see, they’d know the dude was fine.” Satoru shrugs. “Also that he deserved it, remember. We ran, anyways.”

Natsume blinks. “You ran here?”

And Atsushi can’t help but see the comedy in that being what Natsume seizes on, considering the truly impressive amount of times Atsushi’s seen him tearing through town apropos of nothing like he’s got a swarm of invisible hornets on his tail.

“Yup,” Satoru says, brightly, tapping Tanuma’s knee. “Felt like an action movie.” A pause, before he tacks on, not unkindly, “Y’know, if you’re not gonna drink that tea, then I will.”

Tanuma blinks down at the tea bottle, which had tilted enough in his hand to nearly spill onto the scratchy comforter as though forgotten about. He manages a couple measured sips before letting Taki take it back and cap it.

Natsume squeezes Tanuma’s fingers in his own, looking unsettled. Taki looks thoughtful, idly tapping the bottle in her hands.

“Were you thinking they had a security camera out front or something?” she asks.

Tanuma says nothing.

Taki leans into his side. “You know, even if anyone watched the footage, it’s like Nishimura said. All they’d see is that man getting exactly what was coming to him,” she says, fervently.

“And you being cool as hell,” Satoru adds. “Seriously, they teach twelve-year-olds how to do that?”

The way his shoulders loosen, just a fraction, feels like a win. “I don’t…actually know?” he starts, squinting like he’s trying to recall. “I was in this class for high-schoolers at the time, because there were nothing else available in the town I lived in.” A shrug, a sheepish glance up and away. “Usually I was just partnered up with my teacher.”

“That actually sounds kind of brutal, though,” Atsushi says, curious now. “Did the teacher demonstrate take-downs and stuff on you?”

“She did, but. Really slowly,” Tanuma replies, and it’s as though the warmth of Natsume’s and Taki’s shoulders pressed up against his has started, though incrementally, to seep into his voice, his eyes. “And I never really got the hang of doing any of it back to her. I’m surprised that worked, earlier.”

Precisely none of this explanation seems to have made Satoru look any less starstruck. Atsushi has to hold back his snort. “You should totally pick it up again,” Satoru’s saying now, around a mouth full of the lemon ice pop Natsume had fished out of the shopping bag for him. “What color belt did you get up to?”

“Um.”

Just that half-second’s hesitation is long enough to put a loaded look into Natsume’s eyes, for him to slot their fingers together properly and squeeze.

Tanuma lets out a breath, and there’s something years-old and lonely clinging to the edges of his smile. Atsushi doubts he’s aware of it. “None.” He shrugs. “I didn’t pass the one exam I took. I got pneumonia that year and had to quit after that, so.”

He looks faintly embarrassed, now, and Satoru opens his mouth as though ready to nip that right in the bud, but Taki beats him to it.

“Tanuma,” she says, solemnly, turning around to face him. “You have got to teach me how you did that.”

***

By the time the polite-yet-firm call arrives from the front desk, indicating a noise complaint from their neighbors in the next room and forcing them all to call it a night, things are better.

By then, Tanuma had been goaded into demonstrating some unwieldy modified version the maneuver behind his earlier takedown, executed on a poor unsuspecting hotel pillow because the entire room had immediately nixed Satoru’s offer to be the human test dummy.

Now, Satoru and Taki are a boneless, lightly snoring tangle of limbs on the far bed, one of Satoru’s arms thrown over Natsume’s whale shark plushie. (A surprise gift from all of them, Taki’s idea, after they’d caught him eyeing it more than once in the aquarium gift shop yesterday. If he’d walked out of the aquarium clutching it to his chest just like he might’ve done with his fat cat, currently hundreds of kilometers away, none of them said a word about it.)

Natsume himself is dozing in the other bed, but he lies facing Satoru—and Satoru’s fine, he’s unharmed and happy and completely safe, he is. But for some reason the longer the night’s worn on, Atsushi’s had to remind himself of these facts more, not less. He knows the dark cast to Satoru’s slack wrist is the lamplight-shadow of his sweatshirt sleeve, knows because he checked.

Still.

Tanuma’s in the bath, now. And he seems, well. Better than he was, certainly. But Atsushi had seen the taut-lipped glances he’d stolen at Satoru, and he looks about the same way Atsushi feels. At least the unwelcome scenarios and possibilities unspooling in his own mind have got to be more vague than whatever Tanuma’s imagination was serving up. Tanuma had seen it. Had stopped it.

Let Satoru wave it off, insist ‘til he’s blue in the face that it was fine, all fine, that he hadn’t been in any real danger. If it would put his friends at ease, he’d have said the same with a smile on his face even if he’d just been robbed at knifepoint.

Atsushi really needs to stop thinking about this.

He’d heard Natsume earlier, voice whisper-gentle through the bathroom door after he’d led Tanuma in by the hand behind him. Satoru and Taki had drifted off by then. Atsushi couldn’t make out the words, and heard nothing at all from Tanuma, aside from a few isolated, stuttering breaths. Tanuma had re-emerged dazed, red-eyed, but calmer than Atsushi had seen him all evening.

When the door opens now, Tanuma steps out in a halo of steam, wet-haired and barefoot in an old t-shirt. Atsushi’s on his feet and halfway across the room before he’s even really aware of it, the change of clothes for his own bath forgotten at the foot of the bed.

Tanuma goes still, when Atsushi pulls him close. Atsushi almost lets go, but then he feels the tentative hands come up to rest on his back.

“Thank you,” Atsushi mutters into his shoulder.

“I—“

“No. Listen.” Atsushi pulls back, hands shifting to rest on his upper arms. And god but Tanuma looks exhausted. “You kept him safe,” Atsushi says. “And don’t try to tell me you didn’t, because you did. Thank you.”

Tanuma opens his mouth, closes it again, swallows. He says nothing for a long moment, but he doesn’t look away. Finally, “…sorry for freaking out.” He smiles as he says it, but his voice snags on the words. He swallows again.

“Hey.” Atsushi waits until Tanuma’s now-dropped gaze returns to him. “You don’t ever have to be sorry for that, okay? Not with us.”

A sound like an inhale, somehow sharp and shaky all at once, and then it’s Tanuma that’s pulling them together again. A steadying breath, in-out-in that ruffles Atsushi’s hair. Stillness.

“Okay,” he whispers.

***

If he does go to jail, it's Natori who'll have to bail him out :)

Sensei didn't come along because I like to think Hiiragi, Sasago and Urihime have been taking turns watching over Natsume, which is more than sufficient, except for when it's *not* Natsume himself who's getting into trouble--

Fun fact, according to the most current iteration of canon, Tanuma's taken judo in the past as well as karate, but the bulk of this was written before that chapter came out.

All credit to taizi for the nice hug idea--

Recollection

Recollection - @midnightsconspiracy

Summary: A drunk night ends with you in your bosses bed, but he won’t admit to it until someone else makes a move

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1248

Requested: Yes!!

‘The reader is new to the unit and Hank and the reader went to Molly’s one thing land to another and the reader wakes up in Hanks bed naked. She and Hank both decide not to talk about it but once Hank sees other males hitting on the reader he cannot hold back his attraction to the reader.'

A/N: Started rewatching Chicago Fire so want to start writing about them soon after I get through my current requests

Masterlist

Being new to the unit was a scary thing, everyone watching you, judging you, monitoring you to see whether you fit in or not. It was like have a bunch of spies lurking in the darkness watching and waiting for you to mess up just a little bit. You had bought it down to the fact they didn’t trust you yet, having only worked there for a few days so far, and you understood that completely, you’d been the same to newbies when you had worked in the narcotics unit. But, today you had finally proven yourself, having covered for Ruzek against an offender who had managed to get a one up on him, showing them that you could be a trusted member of the unit. That had led you to receive an invitation to the prestigious Molly’s for a couple of drinks with the rest of your colleagues, even being told that on this rare occasion the Sergeant would be joining you as well. This was a huge success in your eyes not only were you gaining the trust of your fellow detectives but potentially the sergeant too, having not really had any interactions with him since joining. His reputation was one you had always heard, through whispers of other officers and detectives, telling you of his dangerous antics and dirty tactics. But of what you had witnessed, he seemed like a decent man, always doing things with the intention of protecting himself and the unit which you admired, despite it not always being the most morally correct way. So as you entered the bar, settling down in the booth with the rest of the team, you tried to strike up a conversation with the man, wondering if his reputation really proceeded him. But he seemed to reject your small talk, instead turning to Olinsky and Lindsay smiling and laughing with them, leaving you to converse with the rest. None of them really seemed interested though, wanting to talk to those they already knew instead of you. So the only way around the problem that you could think of was to drink. And so that’s what you did, order drink after drink, the others joining in, deciding that maybe you were a fun person after all. Halfway through the night, even Voight had decided maybe you weren’t that bad, not only discussing your past job and life but making each other laugh.

At some point during the evening, things started to become blurry, the alcohol finally getting to your brain, your recollection of events starting to develop holes in it. You could vaguely picture moving over to the bar in order to get yourself another beer, being joined by your Sergeant after placing your order with Hermann. You had stayed there for what you assumed was a couple of hours, the previously friendly conversation turning riskier by the second. But it hadn’t made you uncomfortable that your boss was flirting with you, in fact, it was the opposite, you had embraced it thinking highly of the man. He was handsome in your eyes, with a friendly personality which you had found out that he only exposed once he had warmed up to you, something that you had apparently done during the span of that one evening. The last thing you could remember was walking to his car, for what you thought would be to take you home, but obviously, that was one part of the evening you had misremembered.

Because now you were in an unfamiliar bed, naked, with a figure facing away from you. How you had got there was unknown, the time between the car and now currently a black hole, absolutely nothing coming to mind when you thought about it. But one of the questions was answered, as the unknown person turned around, pulling you into them further from the hand that was now clutched around your waist. Your features struck with confusion as the person hugging you tightly was your boss, Hank bloody Voight. You froze, staring at him, not knowing how to react to the situation you were in, choosing to try and escape back to your apartment. Wiggling your body out from beneath his arms, you fumbled around the room, trying to remain as quiet as possible as you retrieved all of the missing clothes that were thrown around.

That day you went to work as normal, you tried to think back to what had happened the previous night, hoping that seeing your other colleagues would encourage your other memories to appear. But that route seemed to be a bust, still coming up empty of what exactly had happened. The only thing that did come back were snippets of your and Hank's sexual escapade, all coming back in small increments at inconvenient times during your workday. One thing that did remain consistent throughout the day, was that you and the Sergeant were both refusing to talk about it, completely avoiding each other and the subject. However the others acted as if nothing had changed, well because to them nothing had, so they went about their days, solving crime and joking with all the team. However, one new thing from last night was Detective Halstead’s ‘friendliness’ towards you. Any time you were in the break room or had a free five minutes he would come up to you, flirting in front of everyone, not caring about anyone else hearing, despite the no in house dating rules set in place. He was relentless to the point where you were wondering if this was a dare or not, making you very uneasy in the process.

You weren’t the only one who it was making uncomfortable. In his office, Voight was seething, Jay was not only acting out of line with the unit’s rules but also the fact that his detective liked you. He had originally planned to talk to you about what had happened last night, but he couldn’t stop the anger he felt from acting out in that moment. Shouting you into his office, he slammed the door as you entered, getting you to take a seat as he prepared himself for the talk he was about to have.

“I wanted to talk to you about last night,” he started, refusing to look you in the eye. Nervous about what he was saying, but still keeping his tough exterior.

“Ok?” You answered unsure whether he wanted more or less following your interaction previously.

“I don’t appreciate you leaving my bed without me knowing Y/N,” he stated, sounding harsh but the flirty glimmer in his eye gave him away completely.

“I'm sorry I didn’t realise you thought it was more than a one-night thing.” By this point, you’d guessed what he wanted, both his words and demeanour telling you. But confusion still took over, why out of all the females at that bar last night had he chosen you?

“Of course it was, I don’t do one night stands” he assured before continuing on,

“There’s just something about you that I’ve noticed since you walked in, but I just couldn’t pinpoint it until last night,” he smirked, knowing you were probably flustered from his declaration considering you were his employee and one who had just joined at that. Keeping the air of mysteriousness around him, he tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, before leaning down and whispering the words,

“That's the last time I want you leaving my bed without me knowing alright?”

----------

Taglist: @mileika @Redpoodlern @ohitshanksgirlxo @Chazubagi@scarletsoldierrr @cindydoll2

Want to join my taglist? Click Here

injury | cha eunwoo

a/n ~im a simp for eunwoo, you’re a simp for eunwoo, let’s be simps for eunwoo~

LMFAO anyway this is the first week w/o true beauty and yes as much as suho’s character was a bit toxic, he was end game and that’s it !! also eunwoo bb worked so hard :’) no one can deny eunwoo’s superb acting skills alright !! and if they do they boutta catch these hands. so here’s a cute little something of basketball player!eunwoo bc im in love with him

pls watch handsome tigers or this tik tok if you wanna indulge in basketball player!eunwoo bc everyone should at least once in their life

→ pairing: basketball player!eunwoo x athletic trainer!reader

→ genre: fluff, lil angst

→ word count: 5.1k ________________________________________________

Your POV

One thing you didn’t expect when you applied to be a student athletic trainer for the university basketball team was to end up dating one of their star players, but here you were: holding hands with Cha Eunwoo–the starting shooting guard–as you two walked into the basketball court. 

He gave you a smile and a kiss to the cheek before going off to join his teammates in stretching. You let out a content sigh, watching as he happily greeted the other basketball players, and then went over to the other student trainers. 

Usually, you wouldn’t have much to do since the boys were just practicing, but there was someone new joining today, so you and the other trainers had to give her a little rundown on what she signed up for. 

“-mostly we just tape up and ice the guys if they have an injury or a muscle strain, but yeah that should be about it. Simple, right?”

The new girl nodded, eyes trained on the court as the team just started their warmups. “Who’s that? Number 97 is hot–”

“And dating y/n.” One of the male trainers, and yours and Eunwoo’s close friend, Rocky said, narrowing his eyes at the new girl as he rested his elbow on your shoulder. “So don’t even think of any ideas to–”

“Rocky,” You scolded hitting his stomach, “Don’t be rude.”

The girl gave you a once over, an uncomfortable smile on your face, as her eyes met yours. “Ah...well, you must have an amazing personality, y/n!”

You were taken aback, did she just call you ugly? You forced a laugh, trying your best not to quip back at her. Rocky, though, had no restraints, “Clearly a better one than yours.”

Before the new girl could respond, the head trainer called her over, a huge sigh of relief coming from you. Rocky clicked his tongue as he stared at her back, “She’s not going to last long with us. I don’t get why you’re so timid when others are clearly insulting you, y/n.”

You rolled your eyes at him. When it came to your friends, it was definitely Rocky and Myungjun who were not afraid to be bold about what they were thinking. “Eunwoo and I have been dating for more than a year now, you don’t think I’m used to people always saying that my boyfriend is out of my league? I just try to ignore it now Rocky c’mon, I know how Eunwoo feels about me and that’s enough.” 

“Damn hyung’s handsome face.” The younger male shook his head. You chuckled, the two of you taking a seat on the bench and conversing as the basketball practice went on. During water breaks, Eunwoo would come over to where you and Rocky were sitting, chatting it up with you two in brief increments before resuming practice. He would always pucker his lips up for a peck before leaving, which you would definitely grant and Rocky would pretend to be disgusted.

By the end of their practice, you managed to successfully avoid the new girl, waiting outside the locker room like you always do after bidding Rocky goodbye. Eunwoo smiled once he saw you, immediately draping his arm around your shoulders as he kissed your temple in greeting. “Baby, I’m hungry.”

“Mmm, you want to eat out or order in?” You asked looking up at him.

“Order in, I’m tired.” He said, the two of you already making your way to his car.

--

As soon as you two arrived back at Eunwoo’s apartment, he immediately plopped down on the couch. You chuckled, lightly smacking his butt, “Baby, go take a shower first, you’re sweaty.”

“Wanna take one with me?” He asked blinking his big beautiful eyes at you. You grinned, the offer was tempting, but you already took a shower earlier today and you wanted to order this food as soon as possible. Eunwoo pouted as you shook your head in rejection, getting up to go the bathroom looking like a kicked puppy. 

You turned on the television to whatever variety show was on at the moment, barely paying attention as you were looking through the food delivery app on your phone. You turned your head as Bin walked out of his bedroom, no doubt having just woken up from a nap.

“Oh? You guys are back.” He said sleepily, waving to you.

“Binnie, we’re ordering for dinner, do you want something?” You asked offering him your phone, a laugh leaving you at the boost of energy he received from the word ‘dinner’

“You know a way to man’s heart, y/n.” Bin said jokingly as he started looking through the menu. “By the way, Rocky texted me about that new trainer–rude ass bitch.”

“God you guys spread gossip faster than girls.” You said amused, “I told him earlier, I’m used to people saying stuff like that. It’s whatever.”

“I guess, but you know how sad Eunwoo will be if he finds out this is still going on?” Bin said handing you your phone back. “We’ve been telling you this since the beginning, don’t let other people’s opinions get to you. You’re attractive, y/n! And to Eunwoo, you’re the most beautiful person in the world.”

You smiled, touched by his words of comfort, “Thanks Binnie, ah where would me and Eunwoo be without all of your guys’ support?”

“Nowhere because he wouldn’t have had the balls to confess to you if it wasn’t for us.” He scoffed heading to the bathroom.

“Change your mind, baby?”

“You better stay in the shower! I don’t wanna see your dick while I’m peeing.”

You laughed at their interaction, your attention shifting to the television as you patiently waited for your food and company. Within 30 minutes, the three of you were happily stuffing yourselves full with the takeout, talking up a storm while watching tv. You leaned back against the couch when you felt your stomach capacity maxed out, hands perched on your belly as you groaned, “I can’t eat anymore.”

They looked at you in amusement, Bin laughing while Eunwoo rested his hand on your knee, a fond smile on his face as he told you he’ll finish up your leftovers. The two boys then got engrossed in their own conversation of sorts, you listening quietly to the side as the food coma started to kick in. Somewhere in the midst of their conversation, you settled behind Eunwoo, legs draped next to his body as you snaked your arms around his waist, resting your head on his back. He hummed, still chewing on his food as he took one of your hands and squeezed it. 

You started to zone out, their dialogue beginning to sound like a bunch of nonsensical noise. Bin looked over to where you were laying, “I think y/n’s about to knock out.” 

Your boyfriend turned his body to get a glimpse of you, grinning as you whined from the shift in movement. He changed your positions so that you were leaning next to his side, his arm around your waist as you rested your head on his shoulder. “Food coma?”

You nodded, snuggling into his side to get comfortable. Bin watched the two of you with a smile, scooping up the last of his food before clapping his hands, “Well! you guys being all cuddly is making me miss my bub...so see you lovebirds tomorrow!”

You snort, eyes still closed as you respond to him, “Aren’t they hanging out with Eunbi right now? I saw it earlier on their Instagram story.”

He shrugs, gathering up the trash, “I’m going to crash their hangout because I want to cuddle too. Have fun you two, good night sweet dreams, use protection...or not, be a little spicy!”

Eunwoo rolls his eyes as he picks up a throw pillow and chucks it at his roommate, “Alright bye Binnie.”

It takes all but five minutes before Bin leaves the apartment. The moment you two were alone, Eunwoo immediately tightened his hold, practically pulling you onto his lap as he laid you both down on the couch, spooning you from behind. You let out a smile, hands on top of his as he kissed your shoulder, “You ran a lot today baby, are your legs okay?”

He cutely nods his head, his chin lightly digging into your skin, “My calves are a bit tight, but I’ll probably just roll them out at the gym tomorrow.”

You hummed, rubbing his arm, “Do you want me to massage your legs?”

“It’s okay baby, we’re both tired. I’ll just do it tomorrow.” He said, not wanting to move from the couch any time soon. You chuckled, turning around so that you faced him, your eyes finally blinking open, “If you wait until tomorrow, your calves are gonna be stiff and sore, you might get a muscle cramp. C’mon baby.”

He kissed your nose in response, “You were literally about to knock out from a food coma five minutes ago.”

“The feeling comes and goes,” You grinned, moving to stand up from the couch. Eunwoo pouted at your absence, but followed your movement anyway, taking your hand as you led him to his bedroom. He obediently laid face down on his bed, waiting as you searched his room for the roller stick. “Can we cuddle after?”

“Yes,” You laughed, giving him a kiss before you sat down next to his legs. “Baby, this is your perk for dating an athletic trainer. I need to make sure you’re in tip top shape.”

“But rolling calves always hurt.” Eunwoo whined, already wincing as you started to apply pressure under the back of his knee. You tried to be gentle at first before really going in with stretching his calf muscles, “that’s because your calves are the tensest muscles in the body, they’re put under a lot of strain and pressure from walking and running so it hurts when you try to relax them.”

“I love when you talk medical to me,” He sighs dreamily. You roll your eyes, pressing down hard on the meat of his calves. You felt bad when Eunwoo started letting out complaints of pain, trying to talk him through it and distract him from the pressure on his legs. “Ow ow baby! It hurts!”

“I know I know, almost done baby, I promise.” You said gently, rolling the stick thoroughly over both calves a couple more times, trying to get rid of all the deep knots that accumulated in his muscles. After deciding that he’s suffered through enough with the stick, you put it to the side and began kneading the heels of your palms through his skin, stimulating his muscles gently after the harsh rolling session. Your hands slowly moved north until they landed on his shoulders, briefly massaging the knots out in his neck as well. You ended up laying next to him, cooing cutely as you pressed a kiss to his cheek, “all done.”

Your boyfriend smiled, pulling you into his chest as he kissed your forehead, “thank you baby.”

“You better not ask any of the other trainers to do this for you,” You pouted, a little bubble of jealousy coming up from the earlier situation at the gym. “Except Rocky, maybe.”

Eunwoo scoffed, running his hands through your hair as he met your eyes, “I would much rather have you give me a massage than Rocky. And hey, you better not offer this treatment to the other guys too or I’ll get jealous. You’re my trainer.” 

“Deal.” You grinned hugging him tightly, all feelings of jealousy quenched.

--

Game days always had a specific schedule to be followed. In the morning, you two were free to do whatever you pleased, but it always ended up with the two of you procrastinating in bed until 11 am. Eunwoo always ate a high-protein high-calorie meal whenever he had games and today’s lunch was no different. After eating, the two of you began to get ready, which included showering and getting dressed.

Today you wore a simple set of jeans a black crop top, finishing your look with the university sports quarter zip, which you were required to wear for every game. After tying your hair up, you turned to your boyfriend who was just starting to dress himself. You took a seat on his bed, marveling at how attractive he looked as he slipped on his jersey and shorts. “I’ll never get over seeing you in your uniform, baby.”

He grinned, placing his arms on either side of your body as he hovered over you, leaning down for a kiss. You expected it to be short and sweet, but Eunwoo had different ideas, lips still working against yours as your back gave in, laying down on the bed. You whined as one of his hands took place on your waist, rubbing at the exposed skin, “Mm, baby, we have to leave soon.”

“I know,” he said moving his lips down your jaw, “I just wanted to kiss you.”

“You can kiss me all you want after your game.” You lightly chuckled, wrapping your arms around his torso in a hug. He nodded, face buried in your neck as he dug his hands under your body, hugging you tightly. You hummed, caressing his hair soothingly, “Are you nervous?”

“A little, I’m always nervous before a game, baby.” Eunwoo said pressing a kiss to your collarbone, “You’ll cheer me on, right?”

“Always,” You said patting his back, “C’mon, we should start heading out soon.”

He nodded, reluctantly getting off of you and pulling your body up with him. You offered your boyfriend a cheerful smile, reaching up to fix the bangs out of his eyes before cupping his cheeks, shaking his face in between your hands, “You’re going to do amazing today baby, as always.”

Eunwoo smiled at your action, pecking your lips again before the two of you did a last-minute search around his room for your belongings. After getting all that you needed, the two of you bid Bin goodbye, telling the swimmer that you’ll see him at the court later. You took your place in the driver’s seat, wanting Eunwoo to just relax for the short drive to the gymnasium. You dropped him off at the entrance first before going to find parking, having Eunwoo arrive early was more important than your arrival anyway. 

As soon as you walked into the court, the players were already doing their stretches, your boyfriend in the midst of them all. You glanced at him briefly before greeting the other trainers, the group of you having a quick pre-game discussion of roles before being dismissed to do your own things. 

You actively try to avoid the new girl as the time draws closer to the start of the game, not wanting your energy to get dampered. By now, the other team has already arrived and the stands were slowly starting to fill up. You were seated calmly behind the bench, trying to pass the time on your phone, before your boyfriend took the space next to you, hand automatically going on top of your knee. “You ready?”

“As much as I can be,” He grinned rubbing your kneecap, “Wanna come with me to fill up my water bottle?”

You nod, you weren’t doing anything anyway. The male immediately drapes his arm over your shoulders as the two of you walk to the water station, the two of you already getting excited about your dinner plans after the game. The rest of your friends would be joining you, no doubt, as you already spotted them near the front of the student seating. 

You were in such a good mood, anticipating the start of what was going to be a good game. Your university was going against their rivals, so expectations for both teams were high. You and Eunwoo were leisurely walking back to the court, he still had a couple more minutes before he needed to join his team. 

“Hey, you’re Eunwoo, right? I don’t think we’ve met before. I’m Hana, the new student trainer. You’re really good at playing!” The girl said walking up to the two of you. You immediately felt your body stiffen at her appearance, trying not to let it show to your boyfriend. He gives the new girl a polite smile, “Ah thank you.”

“If you need anything, I’ll be more than happy to help you.” She said batting her eyelashes sweetly at him. You pursed your lips tightly, jealousy easily building up inside of you. Eunwoo only laughed awkwardly, “I appreciate it, but y/n’s got everything handled when it comes to me, right baby?”

You nod, trying your hardest not to punch Hana in the face at her blatant attempt to flirt with your boyfriend right in front of you. Eunwoo noticed your discomfort immediately, removing his hand from where it was interlocked with yours before slipping it around your waist, squeezing the skin gently. “Well, it was nice meeting you Hana, but I should go back to the team...I’ll look at you when I need good luck, baby, hm?”

You manage to crack a smile, a little laugh leaving you when he puckered his lips out for a kiss. You step on your tiptoes, granting his wish quickly, before pushing him out towards the court. You turn towards Hana and give her a forced smile before searching for Rocky. 

You weren’t surprised to find him in the bleachers, sitting and chatting amongst your group of friends. You go and join them with a light feeling in your chest, greeting the other four of them with hugs.

“How are you doing y/n? You excited?” Jinjin asked as you take a seat next to him.

“Yeah! I mean the guys have a really good chance of winning this one, it’s gonna be a good game.” You smiled clasping your hands together. Rocky only scoffed as he pointed at you, “Bitch, I saw Hana approaching you and Eunwoo hyung, spill.”

You throw the younger male a joking glare, “Nothing gets past you, huh?”

Bin immediately cringed at her name, hand palming his forehead, “Oh God, what did she do?”

You shrugged passively, “She just introduced herself to him and said that if he needed anything, she’ll gladly help him or whatever.”

The boys groaned in response, Sanha reaching over Jinjin to tap your leg, “And? What did hyung say?”

“He let her down gently and said that he goes to me if he needs anything–”

“As he should!” Myungjun said indignantly, crossing his arms in annoyance. Jinjin only nodded, “Good boy.”

“If she even tries to homewreck y/n, just say the word and I’ll scream at her!” Myungjun said in all seriousness. You laugh at his claim, “thanks guys, but I think Eunwoo made it pretty obvious to her so it’s fine.”

The youngest sighed giving you a pout, “You’re too nice, y/n.”

“That’s what I’m saying,” Rocky said agreeing with Sanha, “If I was you and someone was flirting with my partner, I’d clock them right in the face.”

“Hey, I wanted to–”

“You should have,” Bin sighed, “What a shame, maybe next time.”

“I usually don’t advocate for violence, but I’d turn a blind eye for this, y/n.” Jinjin agreed. You rolled your eyes at them, “You know, as much as I love to sit here and get lectured, Rocky and I have to go down to the trainer section.”

“We’ll see you guys later!” Rocky said as the two of you stand to go to the bench, taking your seats with the other trainers–and as far away from Hana as you could. 

The game was already intense from the tip-off, both sides in a tight match to get a starting lead. The cheers from the stands were just as heightened, giving energy to both sides during baskets or free throws. Their plays started to get rougher from the beginning of the second half, more and more fouls getting called on both teams. 

You and the trainers were busy as well, assessing each player during substitutions and icing whenever they came back to the bench. By the third quarter, your team established a good six-point lead, the energy of your section high from Eunwoo’s back-to-back 3 pointers. 

You could distinctly hear Myungjun’s scream as he shouted Eunwoo’s name, a laugh coming from the bench at his volume. You hid your face in Rocky’s back, second hand embarrassment coming from the two of you at your friends’ loud cheering tactics.

You even spotted Eunwoo letting out a smile as both sides prepared for a free throw, your boyfriend giving a thumbs up to the guys in acknowledgement. His gaze then shifted onto you, your cheeks flushing as he shot you a heart-fluttering wink, a smile gluing itself onto your face.

You watched with pride as his concentration zeroed back in on the game, his team playing impeccable defense as they raced to your side of the court. After a couple back and forth relays, your team was on offense, trying to calm down the tensions as they strategized their next play.

It all happened so fast. The opponents stole the ball from your point guard, commencing a fast break. Eunwoo sped across court, the defense of your team depending on him and another player. 

“Eunwoo–screen!”

He followed the instructions of his teammate well, placing his body in front of the opponent as he tried to defend your team’s basket. Unfortunately, the momentum of the other player was too much, both players roughly colliding and falling on the court. 

You gasped in horror, immediately standing up from your seat as the referee blew the whistle to stop the play. Your teeth dug into your lower lip in worry as Eunwoo remained on the floor, clutching his waist in pain as some players and the referees surrounded him. The head trainer jogged onto the court, kneeling in front of Eunwoo to ask if he was okay. 

The gymnasium was quiet, looking on to the scene that was unfolding in the center of the floor. Slowly, the trainer helped Eunwoo stand up, your boyfriend leaning his weight on the male as he limped off to the side, the coach substituting in the other shooting guard in place of Eunwoo. Both sides started clapping in respect, as they always do when someone gets injured during a play. 

The head trainer looked to the group of you, “someone help me with Eunwoo.”

Before you could even respond, Hana beat you to the chase raising her hand, “I can help.”

“y/n,” Eunwoo said, eyes only on you. The head trainer looks between you and Hana, sighing, “Decide amongst yourselves, and fast.”

“It’ll give me more experience-”

“No, I want y/n.” Eunwoo said seriously, not even giving her a chance. The head trainer ushers you over, your feet finally taking a step with the help of Rocky pushing you forward. You accidentally shove Hana out of your way as you approach Eunwoo and the trainer, taking some of your boyfriend’s weight as the three of you walk to the locker room.

Once in the locker room, the head trainer immediately started assessing Eunwoo’s waist, trying to determine whether he needed to be sent to the hospital for a scan. Quickly and quietly, you follow the trainer’s lead, offering your assistance when he needed it. All the while, you hold Eunwoo’s hand as your boyfriend was trying not to think of the pain in his lower back.

“Do you think you can walk, Eunwoo?”

“I don’t know, there’s a sharp pain in my waist if I try to turn my body.” Eunwoo said attempting to rotate his upper half.

“No no no, don’t move. Let’s get you to the hospital to make sure there isn’t anything broken.” He sighed taking out his phone to call the medical team, “y/n, I’m sure you’ll be accompanying your boyfriend. Text me Eunwoo’s updates, okay?”

You nodded, briefly leaving Eunwoo’s side to gather both his and your things. Within the next five minutes, a group of EMTs entered the locker room, lifting Eunwoo onto a stretcher and rolling him to an ambulance, you following closely behind. 

You didn’t say much on the way too the hospital, your mind too preoccupied with worry and thinking about the worst-possible scenario for your boyfriend. Even when you arrived at the hospital, Eunwoo was immediately whisked away to get some scans and X-rays done, you being escorted to the waiting room in the meantime. It seemed like forever until a nurse approached you, leading you to the room where Eunwoo was being held. 

You let out a sigh upon seeing him, almost being moved to tears as he offered you a smile, “You’re smiling? Cha Eunwoo, I oughta–”

“Baby, I’m okay.” He chuckled lightly, hand outstretched to meet yours. You frowned, putting both of your bags down to the side as you took a seat by his bedside, “Are you okay? What did the doctor say? I need to update the trainer and your coach too.”

“Nothing’s broken,” He said first, attempting to ease some of your anxiety. “The doctor said I had a nasty fall that bruised my coccyx so there’s a lot of inflammation to the area. They gave me some pain medication so I don’t really feel anything right now, but I should be discharged tomorrow. And then he gave me a referral to a chiropractor who I’ll see in about two days. But baby, I’m okay, promise.”

“You can’t play though,” You said softly, hands fiddling with his fingers, “I feel like I’m more upset than you.”

“I played hard today so I don’t regret anything.” He said simply, “it sucks that I couldn’t finish the game, but injuries are a part of being an athlete, you know that baby. Besides, from what the doctor said, I shouldn’t be out for too long, maybe just a game or two. I told him I’m in especially good hands because you’re gonna take care of me.”

You said nothing, still not fully believing that he’s taking this situation so well. “Baby...give me a smile, hm? I’ll feel much better if I see you smiling.”

Mustering up the brightest smile that you could, you finally looked up at his face. His features only softened, knowing that you were trying your best to stay strong for him, “Are you still worried?”

“Baby, you’re in the hospital.” You said as if stating the obvious, “How could I not be worried?” 

“You’re so cute being all worried about me,” He teased squeezing your hand. You scoffed, finally easing up a little at his flirting. “You laughed! I heard you laugh just now!”

“You’re annoying,” You said as you took out your phone to give the head trainer updates on Eunwoo’s condition. After you pressed send, you immediately received a call from Sanha, “Hello?”

“Is Eunwoo hyung okay?!” “Is he dying?!” “Eunwoo no he’s too young to die!”

You flinched at their loud volume, turning your phone on speaker so that you and Eunwoo could both respond to their chatter. “Guys, he’s not dying.”

“I’m okay,” He laughed taking your phone. “Hold on, did we win?”

“Are you fucking serious? That’s what you wanna know?!” Myungjun scolded into the phone. You chuckled, the guys talking over each other again as they announced they were on the way to the hospital. “They never said if we won or not.”

“I guess you’ll find out when they arrive.” You said, patting his cheek as you stood, removing your sweater. “Do you want some water, baby? I could go get some.”

He shook his head, puckering up his lips for something else. “Please? I’m injured.”

“You’re going to use this to your advantage, aren’t you?” You asked leaning down to grant him a quick kiss. “Maybe.”

After handing Eunwoo his phone, you went to the bathroom for a little bit before coming back and taking a seat on the hospital bed that he so highly encouraged. “If we get scolded by the nurse, I’m blaming it on you.”

“It’s not like you’re laying in bed with me, baby. We’ll be fine.” He said putting his hand on your thigh. He rubbed your cloth of your jeans gently, thinking to himself as you responded to messages on your phone. “Baby, you know I love you, right?”

You made a sound of confusion, looking up from your phone and meeting his eyes, “Hm? Of course I do. I love you too. Why, all of a sudden?”

“Just, when Hana was talking to us earlier and when she volunteered to try and help, I could see that you were uncomfortable.” Eunwoo said gently, “It annoyed me too, to be honest. Like what else did I need to do to show that I’m dating you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” You said stroking his hair, “I’m used to people thinking that they can steal you away just because they’re prettier than me or more handsome than me or whatever. It doesn’t bother me that much anymore, baby––and it shouldn’t bother you too.”

“That’s so fucked up, y/n, how can that not bother me?” He frowned. “You are the most attractive person in my eyes, baby. If anyone pulls this shit again, I swear I won’t let it slide.”

“I know,” You said quietly, kissing his cheek. “I love you.”

“And I love you,” Eunwoo said, “I don’t want you to ever forget that y/n, you’re mine and no one can do anything to change that.”

“Mmm, I’m lucky that you and the guys always defend me, aren’t I?” You lightly smiled, “God, you have no idea how many times Rocky cursed Hana out in the past week.”

“As he should,” Eunwoo nodded kissing the back of your hand, “see, this is why they’re my friends.”

“Speaking of our friends.” You said looking at the door, “I can hear them coming.”

Your boyfriend chuckled, both of your attentions at the door, which shortly was opened by five boisterous guys. The sound in the hospital room suddenly increasing tenfold at their appearance, all five of them crowding and fussing around the bed. You giggled, sharing a look with Eunwoo as the guys started talking all at once. He grinned, listening until the end of their rambles. Although he was injured, Eunwoo noticed that he couldn’t be feeling any happier. He had no doubt that he would have a speedy recovery, especially if you and his best friends were right by his side. _______________________________________

2-12-21

Bakufeed

Little update real quick - college is duplexing me into the ground. I’m so tired. I’m sorry if it takes a hot second to respond to DMs and comments and things I’m tagged in, but I genuinely enjoy the thought and will get around to answering and seeing everything as soon as possible!

Once again this was supposed to be a Drabble but then it turned into a not-drabble idek anymore take it or leave it

TW - non-con, nipple play, wet and messy, not fully NSFW, just titty sucking

It’s ironic that I got that last ask when I did. I’ve been thinking about Bakugou and titty-sucking for a hot minute now (like a week lol I watched “The Hills Have Eyes” and there's a scene where non-explicit breastfeeding happens. the context was very sickening because as always! this is literally violation! very bad behavior! should never be done, and I am not joking. Please be safe everyone), didn’t want to commit to making anything for him but then that anon pops up with the delicious imagery of firelight bouncing off Kiri’s naked chest as the two of you sprawl out in front of the fireplace on a cold night.

But BAKUGOU

hoohooo boi.

Probably kidnaps you just because he wants to play with your tits. He doesn’t give a flying fuck if they're big or small, they’re tits - he’s gonna suck on ‘em.

Catches you in an alleyway, as you quickly walk home from work. Shoves you up against the wall and then his chest his against your back, his large hands grabbing and groping at your chest. He’s breathing softly into your ear, and lets out a quiet little “fuck” every now and then. 

Of course you’re terrified; you could scream or try to run, but you recognize that voice, the man behind you is definitely Ground Zero, and you are definitely going to die.

But then you’re being dragged along behind him, further into the alleyway. It’s hard to see in the darkness, but you hear a door open, get shoved inside, and then the door closes. 

A light flicks on, and you get a good look at the probably the last thing you see before you die.

You’re in a one-room ground level apartment, and on this side of town you’d expect everything to be grimy and dirty but it’s not. It’s immaculate, sparkling and pristine, unnervingly clean.

Everything’s clean except for Ground Zero.

He’s got on civilian clothes, a hat pulled over his blonde head, a large hoodie hiding his frame. You aren’t stupid - you’ve heard about the fights that involve him and the hero’s, you know that he could kill you without breaking a sweat.

But the man doesn’t want to do anything of the sort.

He forces you down onto the bed that’s pushed into a corner and rips off your shirt, throwing it behind him. Next is your bra, but when you struggle incrementally the blond gives up and burns through the fabric instead, sneering as you gasp in fear while his hands spark so close to your body.

The second your chest gets uncovered, the man stills, staring down at you-no-your tits with his eyes wide. The air stills, and you don’t know what to think, don’t know what to expect.

Then the villain is hunching over you, attaching his mouth around a nipple and sucking.

Immediately your back arches off the bed, and you cry out for him to stop. But the man doesn’t listen, just growls through the tight suction his lips have around your nipple, and you flinch when the vibrations send jolts of pleasure down into your tummy.

When he lets your spit-slicked nipple pop out of his mouth, he growls out his name - Bakugou. Figures you should know his name before he violates you, ‘cause he’s nice like that.

And then he really goes to town.

It’s almost savage, the intensity with which Bakugou attacks your chest, kneading and massaging and grabbing every inch of soft flesh he can. He groans lowly about how fucking soft you are, so warm. 

Then he’s mouthing at you again, sucking on one nipple and then the other, not even bothering to let his mouth close as he switches, drool slipping out and landing on your tits. 

Unfortunately, it feels good.

You don’t want it to, won’t allow it, so you stay silent, try not to writhe too much underneath his concrete hold on your chest and against the hard body straddling your hips. Bakugou doesn’t really care too much, he’s getting what he wants, and that’s all that matters.

He gets to lick over each breast, mouthing wetly at the hot flesh before occasionally letting himself bite down. Or he gathers the saliva in his mouth, spits it in a fat, wet, nasty glob right in the center of your chest, then uses his rough hands to spread it around, grabbing at your tits like a child eager for it’s mothers milk.

Bakugou’s obviously getting off on it - hunching over your chest like a predatory bird, red eyes occasionally meeting your own as he spits out a degrading compliment or two.

Snickers about how fucking stupid you are, walking around this part of town alone - and at night? You were asking for it, stupid bitch. Yeah, be a good little bitch for him and lie there and take it, and maybe he’ll let you fucking live after this.

But you’re too distracted by the rough, wet movements of his hands sliding against your tits, pulling and slapping and jiggling each mound on your chest as if they were his to touch.

His hips are slowly dragging over your own, not necessarily trying to rut against you, it seems more of like an unconscious reaction, the man idly rubbing himself off against you while he pays attention to your chest.

It’s all so wet, each slap of his rough palm against your chest, each pressing suck to your nipples, the way he licks and mouthes and nibbles at the flesh around your areola like it’s a five course meal. 

The man pushes your tits together, mashes his face down onto them, pushes forward, feels your skin against his face and how the fat of each breast squishes him between them.

It’s humiliating.

It’s humiliating and awkward and embarrassing and you wished you had enough money to call an uber, or at least a cab to take home from work. Maybe then you wouldn’t have ended up in this situation.

Pinned down by a man determined to get his rocks off using any passing citizen.

He’s suddenly over you, face flushed, gasping for breath, teeth bared like a feral animal as those red eyes stare you down. Then he rushes forward, lips meeting your own. Bakugou uses your mouth like he had treated your chest, not hesitating to bite and pull and push and lick and do whatever the hell he wanted.

It’s not like you could stop him.

When he pulls away, he immediately swoops back down to your breasts, latches on to a nipple again. This time, Bakugou shifts his legs, maneuvers so he’s laying down between your legs, suckling at you like a calf. His movements are gentler now, less frenzied and painful.

It’s like the fight went out of him, like suckling at you like an infant is relaxing him. You still can’t move - one hand is on your shoulder, pressing you closer to him, and his other hand is playing with your other breast, languidly pinching the skin, rolling your wet nipple between his fingers, placing his palm flat and rubbing over your entire breast in a circular motion.

He reminds you of the babies you’ve seen latched onto their mothers, greedily gulping down milk, making little grunts and soft suckling sounds as they try to huddle themselves closer to their mommy.

Bakugou’s like a child.

Immediately as you think that, Bakugou decides to bite down, chew a little bit on your nipple. 

It hurts. It hurts so bad. You grab at his hair, too afraid to pull him away, just anchoring yourself as he plays with your abused nipple, catching it between his teeth.

The chewing slowly settles down, and then Bakugou switches to your other nipple, immediately latching on and suckling and slurping and massaging your tit as if he was trying to encourage-

oh god, was he hoping you had milk? 

There was no way.

But a man could try, and Bakugou enjoyed every second he spent nursing at your chest.

The suckling faded to a comforting, tiring sensation, especially after having adrenaline pumped through your body at being snatched off the street.

You feel asleep to the sound of Bakugou, the villain Ground Zero, sucking messily at your tits

I Don’t Want To Wait, three

rowaelin high school bff au  masterlist

Based on the prompts : 

Subtle glances at each other but they don’t notice Everyone else knows how they feel Where one of them subconsciously copies the others movements.... For Rowaelin HS au (of course)

Person A sneaking things into the cart when Person B isn’t looking. I thought of Aelin sneaking some chocolate sweets 😂

“Ace, control yourself.”

Rowan removed the family-sized bag of assorted chocolates from their grocery cart and replaced it with a smaller one. Aelin pouted and widened her eyes, hoping that her puppy dog eyes would distract her best friend, but he remained resolute. He walked a little further down the aisle and placed a bag of trail mix into the cart. Aelin picked it up and frowned.

“Ro, there’s not even chocolate in this!” she whined, and Rowan rolled his eyes. “Who eats trail mix without chocolate? That’s a crime against humanity.”

“Some of us have lacrosse nationals to prep for and might want nutritious snacks.”

“You can have all the carrots and humus you want,” Aelin laughed, grabbing two bags of potato chips and a can of queso.

“You’re never going to make it through this all-nighter if you eat that crap,” Rowan chastised, but Aelin merely flicked him off in return.

“Please. My body runs on grease and sugar and caffeine,” she bragged. “I’ll be fine.”

Rowan’s eyes slowly perused her body, and Aelin resisted tugging at the hem of her cropped hoodie, studiously ignoring Rowan’s pointed gaze.

“It is kind of insane how true that is,” Rowan said, eyes still affixed to the few inches of exposed skin between her jeans and top. “You’re a medical marvel. Doctors should study you.”

“I exercise,” Aelin huffed in response, and Rowan barked out a loud laugh. As a varsity athlete, Rowan’s exercise regiment bordered on extreme – a five mile run every morning, lacrosse practice every afternoon, followed by weight lifting.

“Says the girl who uses cramps to get out of gym every other week, and then the week you actually have your period.”

Aelin snorted loudly. “It’s not my fault that Coach Hammel doesn’t know anything about the female reproductive system.” Aelin frowned. “And by the way, it’s weird that you track my period.”

She watched as Rowan’s ears turned pink, but he rolled his eyes regardless. “It’s for my own protection. I need to know when to steer clear, otherwise you might mistake me for a piece of chocolate and bite my head off,” he said, poking her in the ribs.

Aelin could feel herself heating up, imagining how delicious Rowan might taste with some chocolate on him.

Since Aelin’s birthday, it was as if her hormones were constantly going haywire. Some sort of teenage hormonal glitch, for sure. Her lust for Rowan had blossomed, and she was no longer in control of her thoughts or her body’s flustered reactions to his presence.

Since their weird, too-close slow dance just a few weeks ago, Aelin had kept track of every time Rowan had touched her. Her body was just… hyper aware of him.

It wasn’t as if Rowan hadn’t touched her before – no, the pair of best friends had always been comfortable with each other in their casual physical intimacy. But suddenly, it was driving Aelin insane. To the point of distraction. She’d written down every pinch and tickle and arm slung over her shoulder with a time code into her diary, just to organize how frequently he touched her.

It wasn’t even that the touching was inappropriate. No, it was completely innocent, but she couldn’t stop herself from wondering if it meant something. Like, maybe Rowan wanted to kiss her too?

She mentally clocked another one to add to her diary – Tuesday at 5:12pm: Rowan poked her side in the grocery aisle.

To combat her rising flush, she diverted her attention to their full cart, overflowing with every kind of junk food from frozen pizza to cookies to tubs of icing to energy drinks and every snack food in between. Rowan’s healthy food section was a paltry sampling of baby carrots, hummus and now his gross, chocolate-free trail mix. They had exactly what they needed for a late night of cramming for their world history exam.

As they made their way to the front to pay, Aelin took a quick moment to replace the bag of chocolates with the family sized one. Rowan didn’t notice until she placed it on the conveyer belt to pay, which he noted with a loud sigh.

“You’re a menace to society,” Rowan he said, squeezing her side.

As Aelin paid, Rowan brushed by her again, his fingertips ever so slightly caressing the bare skin of her back, flustering Aelin completely. Her cheeks heated as she fumbled with the credit card in her hand. Gods, she could not get her lust under control today. How many times had she blushed in this shopping trip alone? But also…

Was that necessary?! She wanted to scream at him as he took his place at the end of the belt to help bag groceries. She looked up at the cashier, who was looking at her with a knowing smile on her face.

“Huh?” Aelin asked, not having quite heard the cashier.

“$83.78,” the cashier repeated, glancing quickly at Rowan and then back at Aelin.

“Right,” Aelin mumbled, ignoring the cashier’s pointed look and swiping her dad’s card quickly.

Rowan hoisted the bags onto his broad shoulders and led the way back to his car, completely oblivious to Aelin’s most recent spike of arousal. Luckily, Rowan was unable to touch her over the large center console of his jeep, and Aelin propped her feet up on the dash, giving herself some space to cool down.

But as he put on his driving playlist, her eyes unwittingly slid to him. She couldn’t help herself.  Somewhere over the last six months, he’d grown about four inches and had started filling out his lanky body with actual muscles. She glanced at her best friend’s face, noticing his long blonde lashes and sloped nose and his silver-blonde hair, in desperate need of a haircut, falling ever so slightly into his dark green eyes.

“Why are you staring at me?” Rowan asked, never taking his eyes off the road. He was nothing if not an overly cautious driver.

Aelin leaned forward and poked her thumb against his cheek. She briefly wondered if Rowan was cataloguing every time she touched him, too. She doubted it. Instead of saying anything incriminating, she went with something ridiculous.

“Do you think you’ll ever need to shave, or are you too blonde to grow facial hair?” she asked, causing Rowan to scowl. He leaned his head down and lifted his shoulder, trapping Aelin’s fingers. She laughed loudly, wriggling her fingers, but she didn’t try hard to remove them. Why would she?

“Why, you think I’d look good with a beard?” Rowan asked, and Aelin crinkled her eyes trying to imagine him, even more grown with a full face of stubble. She just couldn’t.

She must have been making quite the disgruntled expression, because Rowan looked immediately offended as he released her hand from its hold and snapped at her free fingers with his bared teeth. Aelin squealed and pulled her hand back into her lap. “Rude,” he said, pulling into Aelin’s driveway.

“Your dad just left,” Elide announced, barely waiting until the jeep was in park to pull the door open. “He said not to burn the house down.”

Aelin rolled her eyes. That was her dad’s sign off every time he left to go to work. Aelin had started one tiny fire while attempting to cook dinner alone one time, and her father had shown up with the entire Orynth Fire Department in full gear, ready to rescue his daughter from certain death. He’d never let her live it down. She was OFD legend.

“What’d you get?” Lysandra asked, rifling through one of the grocery bags. “Oh! Stuffed crust,” she said with a grin. “Have I mentioned how much I love you?”

Lysandra batted her long lashes at Aelin, slipping her arm around her friend’s waist as Aelin led them all into the house. Another arm tugged at Lysandra, pulling her away, and Aelin laughed at Lysandra’s annoyed squeal with her boyfriend.

“Wes, go help Elide set up our work stations,” Lysandra ordered, and Wesley immediately pouted, wrapping his arms around his girlfriend’s waist even tighter, nibbling at her neck.

“But I’m so hungry,” he complained.

Lysandra pushed his face off her as she narrowed her eyes with warning.

“You get that snack after you help me ace this exam,” Lysandra smirked, and Wesley nuzzled his chin against her shoulder, pulling her closer.

“This is a PDA free night,” Rowan groaned, unloading his healthy snacks. “You promised.” He wagged his finger at the amorous couple, who, since losing their virginities to each other over spring break had been completely inseparable. At the mouth and the groin.

Wesley kissed Lysandra one last time before taking a large step back.

“Just because you’re not getting any,” he grumbled, “Don’t be a killjoy.”

Rowan’s mouth dropped as he continued to plate his carrots. “I could get some… if I wanted…” he mumbled under his breath, causing both Aelin and Lysandra to burst into laughter.

“Sure you could, Buzzard,” Aelin said with an overzealous wink. She grabbed her bags of chips and queso and left a flustered Rowan in the kitchen.

Aelin plopped down onto the couch and groaned at the extensive schedule Elide had written up for them.

“I’ve broken up our schedule into twelve, forty-minute long increments,” Elide explained, tying her dark hair up into a bun. “If we stick to the schedule, we should be fully crammed in… eight hours.”

Aelin pouted as she opened her chips. She knew she was in for a long night, putting Elide in charge of the study schedule. But… eight hours? That meant they’d be studying until two in the morning.

Elide clapped loudly as she started handing out flashcards. “Let’s go, team.”

Six hours later, Aelin was ready to collapse. It was approaching midnight, and they’d made it through nine of the twelve study sections. Only three more to go until freedom. She knew she was supposed to have thoughts of Elirea history swirling through her head, but since Rowan took his place on the floor next to her, she was having a hard time concentrating.

“You know what we need?” Wesley said, twirling one of Lysandra’s chestnut curls around his fingers. Aelin shrugged. “A bowl,” he said. “I always study better when I’m buzzed.”

“You think my dad wouldn’t be able to smell weed as soon as he walked into the house? The man is like a bloodhound for smoke,” Aelin replied, trying to ignore the way Rowan leaned back into her in agreement.

“Gods, I can’t wait to smoke a giant bowl after lacrosse season is over,” Rowan said, resting his chin on top of Aelin’s head.

“Pack it for two, Buzzard,” Aelin said with a laugh, and she could feel Rowan nod against her scalp.

“What about ice cream instead?” Elide suggested. “I think we could all use a sugar bump.”

Lysandra jumped to her feet, moaning loudly as she stretched her arms above her head, her back popping with each subtle movement. Aelin watched as Wesley practically salivated, getting a glimpse of her lacy bra strap. He grabbed at Lysandra’s thigh, and Aelin laughed as she kicked him off gently with a wink.

“Soon, babe.”

Aelin’s filter must have disappeared with her exhaustion because upon looking at her two friends she shouted out, “You two cannot fuck in my house.”

“Please, I’m classier than that.”

“Are you?” Aelin asked, causing Rowan to snort into her hair.

Lysandra blushed but ignored Aelin as she swayed her hips all the way into the kitchen. She reappeared with three pints of ice cream and five spoons.

Aelin immediately grabbed her favorite flavor, Half Baked, and stuck her spoon into it. Her lips wrapped around the cold metal and she couldn’t help but moan loudly at the fudge brownie bite.

She nearly protested as someone else stuck their spoon into her pint, but she stopped herself when she saw it was Rowan.

“Sugar? Really?” she asked. “You must be really tired.”

She watched as Rowan smirked in response, taking a large bite for himself. Aelin’s throat dried as she watched his lips wrap around his spoon, his tongue peeking out and licking the remainder of the ice cream. How was it possible that he made ice cream look pornographic?

“Yum,” he said softly, and took another bite for himself.

There was something weirdly intimate about sharing a pint of ice cream. One pint, two spoons. Aelin completely missed the tenth section of Elide’s schedule because she was too focused on the way Rowan was eating next to her, occasionally knocking his spoon into hers.

When they got to the second to last section, Aelin realized she’d forgotten her notes upstairs. Grateful to have an excuse for some space to cool down, she made her way up to her bedroom to search for her notebook. Even though it was exactly where she’d left it – on her desk, Aelin couldn’t resist the fluffy allure of her bed. She looked at the clock, almost one am. She was so, so tired.

Knowing her friends would absolutely send someone to find her if she didn’t come back downstairs in a few minutes, Aelin risked getting into bed, huddling under the covers for a very quick power nap. Sleep found her quickly, and before she knew it, she was being woken up by soft whispers and laughter.

“Should we wake them?” she could hear Elide ask, and Lysandra’s chuckled reply came quickly after.

“No, don’t wake them.” A long pause. “They’re so cute.”

“And stupid,” Wesley drawled.

Aelin went to roll out of bed, but she found herself pinned down by something heavy. She cracked her eye open and was shocked to realize that Rowan was on top of her comforter, arm flung around her shoulders, deep asleep next to her. His light snores made Aelin smile.

Aelin moved her head over her shoulder, only to see her three friends standing in her doorway, staring at the sleeping friends, wide grins plastered to their faces.

“We sent him to bring you back an hour ago,” Lysandra explained.

Aelin glanced at the clock. Officially 2am. They must have finished Elide’s study schedule. Shit. Well, hopefully Aelin could remember enough of the other topics to do well on this exam. Despite her movement, Rowan didn’t stir once.

“Just leave a note for my dad downstairs that Rowan is here?” Aelin asked, not feeling particularly inclined to move out of his grasp at all.

“Done.” Elide nodded. “Already texted Aunt Maeve, too.”

“Love you,” Aelin mumbled out to her friends, already letting sleep overtake her vision again.

“Love you, too,” Rowan mumbled in his sleep, sticking his nose into Aelin’s hair.

Aelin ignored her friends’ snickering and closed her eyes and burrowed into Rowan’s soft shirt. Inhaling deeply, she was asleep before she even heard the front door close.

~*~*~*~

AN: I’m starting a ToG tag list. Please let me know if you’d like to be added to it HERE (replies in notes tend to get lost, so if you’ve asked to be tagged already and you’re not, please don’t hesitate to ask again!)

tag list:

@df3ndyr

@hizqueen4life

@maastrash

@justgiu12

@aknymph

@bamchickawowow

@thewayshedreamed

@strangeenemy

@studyliketate

@iammissstark

@heirofthenightcourt

@acourtofmarauders

@cmoff1

@stardelia

@b00kworm

@wordsafterhours

@m-like-magic

@the-third-me

@cursebreaker29

@annejulianneh111

@queen-of-glass

@aesthetics-11

@x3hopelessdreamer

@illyrian-velaris

@galyxsy

@cool-ish-nerd

@althelkingshorses

@rockgirl321

@westofmoon

@sanakapoor

@louiseleblancdiggory

@superspiritfestival​

What is the best way to tease someone?

A 3,449 word essay broadly covering the methods with which we tease

Twenty-five minute read

"There can be no true despair without hope... I will feed the people of Gotham hope to poison their souls."

Bane: Dark Knight Rises

“Without hope, there is no despair. There is only meaningless suffering.”

D. Morgenstern

For this essay I will define teasing as a playfully enforced delay of indulgence. While the above quotes are dark for sure, and do not directly apply to this topic, I think they highlight aspects of teasing that are foundational to its differences from other forms of play. I believe there can be no true teasing without hope of gaining one's desire. If one feels they cannot reach their goal or desire, I believe that becomes an expression of submission to another, to the situation, but not a teasing of the mind.

Studying the possibilities of this field of play is one that takes special care because it draws on what we know about our counterparts like few other disciplines do. It requires us to first know what our counterpart desires most, and how to then playfully enforce the delay of indulging in that desire. Finding out what another craves, and creating structures with which to playfully impede the immediate gratification of that craving are challenging enough on their own, but combining these working pieces of teasing into a system is incredibly complicated— requiring intimate knowledge of one's counterpart’s boundaries and turn offs. While there can be no best way to tease someone, because of our inherent human complexities, this essay will attempt to put forth the best practices I know to have a mutually rewarding and pleasurable experience.

I think the first step in the process of teasing is to gain understanding; Get to know each other, build understanding, rapport and trust. This knowledge may be gained through focused, play specific conversations. Communicating in this way allows effective play to happen sooner. For example one could have a conversation as brief as please rub my clit until you break my mind, I'll beg you to let me cum, but don't let me. I'll tell you to stop if something goes wrong, and we'll talk about it after. The two drawbacks of this style of conversation is that it will remove some surprise as there isn't enough information yet to synthesize possible play patterns on your own, and one will lack a whole understanding of the person one is going to play with.

If a more holistic experience is desired though, it comes through best, in many cases, through a conversation as broader life and fantasies are discussed over many conversations that take place naturally and organically. The bits of information that may apply to play may be more separated, but they come with so much more information that can all be used to generate a deeper relationship, and broader play. We learn about each other through the listening mentioned above, and in our turn sharing our own desires and hesitancies. We have to open up also so we can be cared for ourselves and build trust through reciprocated, honest, vulnerability. These conversations inform us and build trust as we learn that both sides hear each other, want good things for the pairing and will not shy away even from the more sexually hungry sides of each other.

While this type of understanding centered communication is meaningful on a grand, human scale, even in the comparably limited topic of teasing it is needed in many ways. First, that trust built will be necessary in teasing play as it often leads to walking the edge of what a person can handle in the moment, both mentally and physically. To what degree we can trust, we can relax our fears of being hurt, allowing us to enjoy each sensation with less calculation of how to protect ourselves, allowing us to live in the moment in proportion of our trust, and to have the confidence that our partner cares to hear us when we make objections. Secondly, the information gathered in good communication is essential in order to know: the desire we are waiting to fulfill, the stimuli we will later use to push our counterpart to the point until it consumes every bit of them, warn us of the stimuli that could end play terribly, and how to recover from that event should it happen.

Some examples of what we may learn about play in everyday life- You may learn how meaningful it is to your partner when you hold your partner's face in your hands as you kiss them, or he/she may ask you if the you like being made to chase them down in a kiss. They might mention how they love the pain of their workouts, or that high rep sets are their favorite because they get test how long they can go before their will breaks. Watching a movie, and seeing one of the couples depicted playfully kissing each other, your partner might reveal that pulling away from a kiss doesn’t read as a building of desire to them, instead it feels like one is trivializing their highest expression of love— Making them feel their love is disrespected and devolved into a game. These lessons should be drawn deeply within ourselves. Making note of what makes them feel loved and pleausured, and special note of what makes them feel awful. Violating these turnoffs by accident or design may have terrible trust breaking outcomes. It is important to understand the reasonings and depth of their dislikes. One's dislike may be superficial, like forms of pain that, with a different approach, can be enjoyable, but some, like the kiss, may be fundamental to their world view. (Example of what could be synthesized from the above person’s information may be found at the bottom — Bonus Example 2)

The second thing is to determine how you will delay their indulgence in what they crave, by means of space, time, or even their own will. All of these modes and tools can be used in vast and narrow applications. Space, for example, can be used in inches or miles. Suppose your submissive wanted to touch, but you knew they wanted to be teased even more than to rub. You could grab your trusty ropes and tie their hands, one to the bed post, and the other by way of slinging a rope through the head board. You could release the tension until their hand is an inch away from their most sensitive spot. They can twist and moan and beg as they can almost reach, their finger tips just able to move the sensitive flesh nearest their most sensitive spot. They could reach up and play with less sensitive spots, but they won’t be able to reach any more, at least not without raising their hips to their hand, which can become quite challenging. Space has now been used as a tease. A boundary on their experience that they cannot get out of, nor do they truly wish to escape. A second instance of space as a teasing tool, known as "The Kiss" will be given in my final example at the end of this essay (Bonus example 1)

As examples for time and space — At work, one could be sending sexy texts to their counterpart who decides to be a little bratty. The dominant in this exchange could text back, “Say that again and I’ll have to remind you what happens to brats when their dominant gets home.” Knowing that their submissive will have to wait hours longer for the thrill of the attention of the punishment they asked for. In the same way a domme could send, "You've been such a good boy today, working so hard at work. I’ll keep dinner hot for you." Attached to this text would be little gif of her rubbing herself for him. He too will have to endure the boundaries of time and space. Time has been a tease in that hours will pass before they get their desire. Space has been incorporated in time because even if all parties from the individual couples decided to meet in the middle somewhere, they'd still be teased by time as they cannot magically teleport home to cross the space (if you can, please teach me). An example of time alone being a tease would be giving a submissive a vibrator with only five or ten minutes charge left in it. They can play all they want with it, but they don't know how long it will last.

The previous examples examined using time in minutes or hours, Time, like space, though, is incremental. Time can be used in minutes, hours, or like in the next example, seconds. Suppose you had an exhibitionist submissive walk with you in the woods and told them that they will flash you whenever you want them to. Already they’d be excited to have their desire at hand, knowing you crave to see them exposed, as well as the desire to be under your caring control. As you two walk you command your submissive to flash you for a few seconds here and there. Blushing, but proud, they obey. You praise them appropriately and enjoy your walk. Eventually you two hear the distant, barley audible, murmurs and stompings of a team of hikers. This time you turn to your submissive, order them to stop walking and command them to flash you, they willingly obey, but the knowledge that hikers are approaching you they risk discovery. They can hear the hikers drawing closer and they continue to obey, trusting you. Each tenth of a second registering in their minds and each snap of a twig causing their heart to pound in excitement. Time has become a tool for this second by second tease. As soon as you hear the first full word of the hikers you know they are almost close enough to see, so you order your sub to cover. You then praise your sub highly for their perfect submission and continue on your walk, no hiker the wiser.

Will is unique among the teasing tools. Time and space exist outside of our bodies, but will is our’s alone to interact with. Of all the tools of teasing will is perhaps the most wicked and most variable of all. If your submissive is a lawful-good type and aims to please, then you could use their will as a tease and simply ask them to spread their legs and start to rub or stroke for you. Tell them that they are not to cum without your permission. The pleasure from their body mixes with the pleasure from their mind as they internalize the fact that they are uniquely pleasing you, hopefully bolstered by your praise. These stimuli serve to push against their will to obey. What makes this particular mode so wicked is that their desire to please and obey is fueling their mental pleasure. Their will to obey forces them to stay within the boundaries you set, or lose what they truly crave- the sensation of pleasing you. As they get closer and closer their requests turn to quivering moans and groans- the craved treat of a teasing dominant-. You tell them no, and they continue to obey, rubbing or stroking for you. Their requests are denied until they speak in pleadings and beggings. In a bounded, short term tease of ending play, you simply let them cum, and praise them for their perfect obedience. In a boundless, pushing kind of tease though, you could deny permission until they slip over the edge and spectacularly cum. This form of play, for an obedience minded submissive, will feel like disobedience to them. — You must reinforce the fact they did all they could to obey you. You wanted to find their limit and they showed you beautifully.

For long term teasing you could tell them they are not to cum without your permission, if they do they will be punished for it. This punishment is one they are okay with, but might not know. This leaves them to fight their own will for pleasure, obedience, freedom, and even pain. Lest they slip over the edge, they might force themselves to stop altogether, or you could command them to stop, leaving them quivering in utter denial. Their will has been the tease preventing them from indulging in orgasm. You comfort them and tell them maybe you’ll change your mind tomorrow, but, for know, they're done. Now time and will act as the tease. You cannot supervise them at all times, and especially without chastity- their own self will begins tease them until eventually they must resist their own desires at all hours of the day. Proving to themselves they crave metaphysical pleasure more than the physical release.

You may also balance will with consequence of pain if your submissive is bratty or masochistic in a way. Telling them that if they slip over the edge they will be punished, even tortured. Without knowing exactly what it is they may fight harder to stay on the edge. They edge spectacularly for you, but eventually crumble under the self inflicted stimuli, they cum and you deliver the next stimuli- maybe you simply force their hand to hold the vibrator against them, turning teasing play into overstimulation, or turn them over to spank them.

The third thing that must be done is to manage the environment we are in to best suit the play we will have. The space we are in should be constructed to do as much of the heavy lifting in our communication of the tone of the experience, and the desires of our counterpart, that we can. For example, an environment that is clean and bare suggests that nothing else will be happening in this space but what the two of you create. This type of room seems fitted to a private submissive who cherishes time and quiet exploration, and will become stressed or distracted by a number of other stimuli. A single sash and short rope laying on the couch suggests light bondage will be involved. A kind of quiet in the room implies that no one will be interrupting their play. They can take all the time in the world. On the other hand, a hot kitchen that is just a few steps from a noisy living room full of friends can generate a whole new tone. One of desperate craving for your counterpart, a contrast between the necessitated quietness of your actions and the noise and business of the space, a daring display of desire as you two risk discovery of your intimate acts with even the smallest allowances of expression- such as slipping your hand under their shirt and scratching up then down their back. If they let out a noise, they could be discovered. If someone walks in, they'll have to act like they haven't been delightfully toyed with for who knows how long, or the two of you might have to talk your way out of it. (Bonus points by the way if you pretend to be casually doing something else while your sub enjoys the predicament you're creating) Suddenly a kitchen becomes an environment perfect for sadomasochism and borderline exhibitionism. A room were will, time and space are used to holistically create a tease.

Finally, words and tone should be used to highlight the teasing. Drawing on the hope of the situation, highlighting what prevents them from indulgence, seems like the most fundamental approach to using our words to tease. Even in a relatively SFW tease with a short sub that is into strength kink, and having her height used against her. You could hold a stuffed animal out of her reach, she'd enjoy her feeble attempts at trying to snatch it away from you. Highlighting this exchange with your words would likely be welcomed. "Oh come on, hun. You have to be stronger than that. Maybe get up on your tip toes and reach for it. Haha. You're using both of your arms. Can't you pull harder? To end this form of play you could simply hand it to her, or let her gain some ground and take it from you before you transition to another fun game.

In summary, the best general approach to teasing someone is by fully utilizing the knowledge we have of their desires and drives, selection and use of proper abstract and practical blocks to that desire formatted to what degree they like to be pushed in their comfort levels or have their impulses blocked, that balance hope and the knowledge they will likely not succeed should then be traced with our words. All of which is bounded within trust and care for their overall well-being.

Bonus examples

1. The Kiss

I grasp her face with both my hands, knowing this makes her feel desired. My eyes meet hers and she knows this will be no little kiss. She shuts her eyes. I use her favorite kiss, placing the softest kiss I can on her waiting lips. She lets out a little shiver. She pushes into me gently, and I pull away just enough to keep our kisses feathered. I kiss down her jaw line, moving my face nearer to her ear and whisper a command to stay perfectly still as I let her go. I pace around her once, gently caressing, with one finger, places that catch my eye, her sensitive jaw line and clavicle, along her lower spine. I slip a finger into her waist band and slide across a few inches. Then I tug her by her waist band to me. I catch her by her shoulder and steady her, placing my hand on her jaw I pull her in for another kiss. I praise her for keeping her eyes shut. What a good girl she is. While I caress her cheeks and brush her hair away from her face, kissing her cheeks and forehead as I do this. I ask “are you going to continue to be a good girl for me? She breathes out a hot “yes” , “Look up”, I command. I place my hand on her neck and pull her into a deep kiss- gently moaning into her lips. I push her off and again praise her for being so obedient, so compliant. Praising her plump lips. I bring her back this time for gentle kisses. This proceeds until they become more insistent again, my grip on her neck tightens ever so slightly and she kisses me more intensely. I push her off and tell her soft kisses now. We return. She does so well at first. It’s not but a minute or two before she starts to get more intense though, whining and squirming into me trying to kiss me more deeply. Now I begin to pull slightly away each time the kiss becomes to firm. Leading her in a chase. Backing myself slowly into the corner she has lost track of. I push her off of me and say “You will kiss me gently. Yes, baby?” “Yes. Please” “Good girl. Now kiss me”, she goes to lean into me, but realizes my strong arm will no longer let her. She fights my strength, choking herself in my grip- I’m careful to keep my palm away from her trachea. I see her hunger flicker to desperation- I tell her to open. Her eyes snap open and I see her pupils constrict as they focus in the light and on me. As soon as she opens her eyes I grab her shoulder with other hand and pivot my hips, stepping forward and slinging her to my former spot as I switch places with her- now she is in the corner and I say, leaning in to just outside of her necks reach “oh, come on, baby. I thought you wanted to kiss me?” I feel her hot breath on my lips. “I do, please” I extend my arm again. “Prove it” she pushes again. Hungry eyes on mine. I watch her expression waiting for the slightest break in arousal, a second or two later I allow my arm to bend and let her come to me. It’s her turn now to lead. I grab her rib cage and let her press her lips into mine as she please. My hands caress her sides as she spins, pushing me into the corner. I match her passion and rhythm. She presses her body into mine, squirming against me as she places kisses on my lips, fevered and then soft and then heavy again. When she seems to be fading in decision, I slowly spin her back into the corner. My forearm framing her face on one side, my palm on her cheek, my fingers in her hair, and my extended arm on the other side boxing her in. I place soft kisses on her flushed skin and proceed to praise her and hold her gently.

2. Bonus example two. Referencing paragraph six. — Once we have this information of preferences and possible obstructions of it we can begin to synthesize it into possible modes of, and tools for, play for long or short term. For instance, using the above examples we can put together a possible play session that involves lots of skin to skin contact, unbroken kisses and maybe a pushing of minor, but prolonged pain to be a style this counterpart would enjoy. Such as having your sub straddle you, so your legs are touching theirs, putting your hand under their jaw, you drawing them in by it, using slow, soft kisses, but putting a teasing parameter on the kiss of a moderate painful stimuli, like slowly twisting the sensitive flesh on their ribs as long as they kiss you. They get a small dose of pain that they enjoy, lots of kisses and lots of skin to skin contact- both of which they adore. The pain they enjoy mixes with all of their love languages and make a special thing happen in their mind while it acts as a form of a will tease. After they limit is reached one could return to normal kisses and start a form of aftercare.

Waxing Gibbous 

Pairing: Ezra + femNurse! Reader

Rating: Hard M / 18+ ONLY

       * Warnings: Angst/ violence/ mention of blood/ SMUT/ PIV, fingering/ public sex/ slight exhibitionism

      * Summary: Ezra confronts his fears. A night out on Central does not go as planned.

      * Word Count: ~2600

*Part ONE* *Part TWO* *Part THREE* *Part FOUR* *Part FIVE*  *Part SIX*        *Part SEVEN*  *Part EIGHT*  *Part NINE*  *Part TEN*

PART ELEVEN

    You learned quickly that when Ezra told you he was going to try, he tried. The very next day, he asked you to take him down to the lobby. You’d attempted to protest, but a facet of his personality you were getting more acquainted with over time was the man’s stubbornness. 

    “Mama always told me I was more stubborn than a mule stuck in a mud puddle,” he’d rambled to you once.

    On this day, he said, “You know there’s no other way for me to do this except to get it done, Dove.”

    You moved to stand in front of him. You crossed your arms, head tilted to one side as you surveyed him before you. He looked determined, jaw working rhythmically. His hands hung loosely at his sides, but you noticed how he was clenching and unclenching his fists restlessly.

    “Ezra“, I don’t expect you to just waltz out of the apartment and seize the city like a lump of aurelac,” you reasoned. “I want to do this on your terms, and I don’t want you to feel in any way pressured. I feel like you think I’m expecting you to do this.”

    “Dove, you know that as decisive as I may be, one thing I am not is easily swayed or pressured. Trust that I feel no such thing from you, as it is my choice alone to foray out of this nest.”

    So, you had accompanied him cautiously onto the elevator, carefully watching and gauging his reactions to being confined within the claustrophobic reaches of the metal box you found yourselves encased in, ferrying you downward. Ezra’s tongue darted out to wet his lip nervously, you noticed his foot tapping against the carpet. You wondered if he noticed he was doing it.

    When the elevator reached its destination with a faint ping, you steeled yourself. You were ready for his impending meltdown, his shaking uncertainty, possibly his refusal to walk any further. Your eyes widened as you watched him stride determinedly out into the lobby. You trailed close behind, ready to reel him back in if he became overwhelmed. You thought that he’d pause a moment, reacquaint himself with the lobby itself before venturing further, but he strode bullishly toward where Brice was standing near the front doorway.

    “If you’ll excuse me, my good man,” Ezra muttered through the grim set of his mouth. He did not pause, he did not hesitate. He gave Brice no opportunity to hold the door open for him. He grasped the handle himself and thrust himself out onto a bustling street.

    You were right behind him, your brows drawn with concern. You reached out to grasp his hand.

   “Ezra?”

    His shoulders squared, he turned to face you. He was breathing heavily, his eyes moving in disjointed stutters as if he was trying to download and process everything at once to a file in his brain.

    “Ezra, take a deep breath.”

    His eyes finally settled on you, dark pools of intensity. He did as you asked. His shoulders dropped to their natural position. Your other hand joined your first, clasping his large hands in yours. People continued past you on their way to their lovers and jobs and homes and they parted like a sea around the both of you as his gaze held you, hypnotic and deep. His hands pulled from your grasp and he crushed himself to you, his mouth finding yours in a dizzying kiss. Breathless, desperate, the rest of the world disappeared.

    “I did it, sweet love,” he whispered against your mouth. You did not heed the noise and push of the city thrumming around you, the entire street ceased and froze as if the universe was swallowing its own stars and they reappeared, rebirthed and glittering, in the encompassing weight of Ezra’s eyes upon you.

    “All manner of things in this world are limitless and surmountable, survivable, when I have you by my side.”

 ******

     One week later you found yourself in a dive bar that ended up being approximately twenty minutes from your loft. You had worked incrementally each day, walking with Ezra as he ventured further and then a bit further. You saw his confidence begin to return. You had sat one morning at a small table on the sidewalk of a cafe, reading Keats to one another as you sipped cappuccino. Ezra made sly remarks about the goings-on of passing strangers, weaving threads of supposition according to what he thought of what they wore, how quickly they were walking, who they were with. His eyes were lively. He reminded you of the person he’d been at his table in his tent on the Green: head thrown back, joyous.

    You were finally knowing him like this.

    And so, you sat in the crowded bar, smelling the cologne and sweat and smoke enveloping you and those around you. You had felt nervous entering, a sudden impulse to look for the nearest exit slammed into you. A patron sidled past you, bumping your shoulder. You jumped, your heart hammering. You tried desperately to quell what seemed to be an oncoming panic attack- there were too many people, it was so, so loud and anyone could just reach out and grab you, slam you into-

    “Dovie.”

    Your frenzied reverie was interrupted by Ezra’s warm hand on the small of your back as he guided you to a table in a corner. His breath tickled the hair that curled around your ear as he spoke close and low.

    “Sit here, see? Your back will be against the wall. You can see everyone this way. You are safe with me, sweet one.”

    With his voice close, grounding you, you took deep unsteady breaths until you felt your heart rate begin to slow. You reassured him as the bartender approached you. You decided that alcohol may not be a bad idea, for either of you, in helping you relax. You ordered a gin and tonic with lime, Ezra requested an extra dirty vodka martini. While you waited for your drinks you took in the humid press of bodies gyrating on a makeshift dance floor, you absorbed the loose, languid movements of the inebriated patrons before you. Could you do such a thing, would you ever be capable of such abandon again in a place like this?

    Your drinks were set in front of you. Ezra reached for his and took a long sip, his eyes closing with a soft groan.

    “I cannot begin to tell you how long it’s been since I’ve imbibed such high-brow spirits in what amounts to a dusty hovel.”

    You sipped your own drink, the burn sliding down your throat blooming into warmth when it hit your belly. Your brain quickly began to feel fuzzy, your limbs loose and warm. It had been stands since you’d had anything stronger than wine. You set your glass down and turned to see Ezra staring at you, his own cheeks pinking from the effects of his drink. He leaned his head to the side, one hand reaching for your bare knee, at the same time the sudden crack of a pool cue across the room made you jump, an arm shooting out in unconscious self-defense as your hand connected with your glass. Ezra’s own hand reflexively moved to catch the glass before it could topple and shatter, but not before the contents sloshed over the edge to soak down the front of your new dress.

    “Kevva-damned. Shit….This is the first time I’ve even worn this!”

    Ezra was unperturbed, smiling gently as he squeezed your knee.

    “I’m sure it will come out in the wash, love, I’ll leave you only briefly to procure you proper cleaning implements. Do not trouble yourself.”

    You sighed, nodding gratefully. You watched as Ezra stood up and made his way to the bar. It was crowded indeed tonight, and you noted that there were quite a few people in line ahead of him. You sighed again, looking down at your front. You wrinkled your nose; you smelled like a distillery.

    Klutz.

    Lost in your thoughts, it took you a moment in your blunted state to notice that another drink was slid in front of you as the chair beside you scraped back from the table. A man sat down next to you, grinning crookedly. He leaned forward before speaking.

    “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in here before. Sorry about the drink, I thought maybe you could use a replacement.”

    His hair was flame-colored, unnaturally so. His nose, eyebrows and ears were heavily pierced, and his arms were covered in tattoos. In another lifetime, perhaps, you may have welcomed his advances. Tonight, however, you glanced around frantically for Ezra. You felt suddenly exposed, like a lame rabbit trapped in a dog pen.

    “I…..I’m not alone, you know. I’m here with someone. So, no thank you. On the drink.”

    The man’s brows shot up in surprise. “Oh! I didn’t mean….sorry. I saw you spill your drink, and then I saw your friend get up...I was getting my own drink, I figured you could use another one as well.”

    You swallowed down your panic, your hand twitching in your lap.

    If only I had a thrower.

    “You were watching me?”

    “Relax. I was just trying to be nice!”

    “What did you put in this drink, anyway? Sedative? Some kind of amatory agent?”

    “I don’t know what you-”

    The man choked on the rest of his words as he was yanked out of the chair roughly by the back of his shirt. He was slammed up against the wall, Ezra’s fingers wrapped around the man’s throat.

    “I do believe the lady would like to be left alone,” he hissed darkly, jaw clenched. His head was lowered, eyes blackened pools of rage. His voice wavered on a razor-thin edge of control. The interloping man’s eyes were wide, it appeared that he was gasping for breath as Ezra’s knuckles turned white. You noticed the knife in Ezra’s hand. You had the far away realization that he must have been keeping it in his boot, the same way he had on the Green.

     He had carried it all this time.

    Ezra brought the tip of his knife to a slot of pulsing skin between his fingertips. The blade pressed in, a bead of blood pricking forth as the man gasped. A dark spot spread on the front of the man’s pants.

    “Do you know how quickly a man bleeds out if cut in just the right way? I do, I know from experience. Do you also know how to make things last, how to prolong one’s mortal agony until they plead for the sweet embrace of oblivion? I know that too.” 

    You were monsters, you realized with a sudden, shocking clarity. You were not fit for civilization. Ezra was a hair's-breadth from murdering a stranger in a public place while you watched impassively. This is who you have become. This is what the moon had done to you.

    Without thinking, you jumped up from the table. Your hand grasped Ezra’s shoulder.

    “EZRA.” your voice was clear, sobered, authoritative. “Stop. Come back.”

    Ezra almost shook his head as he looked at his hand, holding the knife as if it belonged to someone else. He let the man go, and the man slid down the wall to crumple onto the ground.

You realized it was silent- everyone in the bar was staring.

    You grabbed onto his hand in a vise-like grip and moved to the door.

    “We’re leaving. NOW.”

    There was a sea of shocked silence that parted around you. You did not hesitate, you did not stop to take in the widened eyes, the slack jaws. You walked until you were both out in the cool air of the warm night.

    You kept your eyes forward with a tight grip on Ezra’s hand.

    Get away, you repeated in your mind like a mantra. Get away, get away, get away…

    You squeaked out a wordless exclamation when Ezra halted, pulling you backward into a narrow side alley. He spun you to face the cool brick wall, caging you with his hands and hips. He pressed up against you insistently, panting as if he’d been sprinting.

    “Ez-” your words were cut off as his lips crushed onto yours, rough and messy. His hands grasped at the hem of your dress, raking it up around your waist. He ripped your underwear down past the curve of your ass with trembling fingers. You gasped when his fingers entered you, rough and sudden.

    “Ezra, we’re in an alley, someone could walk byyyy…” your last words dissolved in a whine as he angled his fingers, expertly curled, and hit that spot inside- the place he knew you needed him most.

    Hot plosives of air against your ear, you felt fully enveloped by Ezra and completely exposed to everything else. He withdrew his fingers suddenly and frantically went to unfasten his pants.

    “I need you,” he rasped, his voice desperate and shuddering. “I need to come back to myself. Remind myself. Please. I need to know you are mine. Show me.”

    You felt the blunt head of him notched at your entrance. Grasping his cock in his fist, he spread your leaking arousal to mix with the precum dripping from his own slit before sliding into you with a single thrust. His hips met yours as you brought your fist to your mouth, biting down to keep from screaming. Ezra withdrew almost completely, still trembling, and slammed back into you. Your breasts were mashed against the rough wall, you had to use both hands to brace yourself against the onslaught of his thrusts. One of his hands went up to your mouth and covered it firmly; his other hand reached between your legs to circle your clit roughly.

    He fucked up into you with abandon, without regard for his surroundings and despite the possibility of being caught. He kept his voice low, gasping and whining as his punishing rhythm had you quickly hurtling toward your own release.

    “Mine….mine,” he groaned into your ear, slapping sounds from your desperate union echoing in the air of the alleyway. “Going to fuck you like this in every corner of Central, on every surface. Claim this pussy over and over again. Take you apart.”

    His words against your sweat-slicked skin, his hot breath, his fingers on your clit, his brutal thrusts all melded into the sin of him taking your like this, claiming you in the open. You release slammed into you, unexpected, overwhelming. You bit the inside of his hand, breaths harsh, ragged, keening. You sobbed wordlessly against him as he stilled, spilling into you as he cried out. The intensity and strength of his orgasm had rendered him incapable of remaining quiet. Your legs shook, Ezra’s arms wrapping firmly around your waist to keep you from collapsing to the dirty concrete.

    When your hammering heart had finally slowed and your breathing finally evened out, Ezra reverently helped you back to some semblance of presentability before you made your way back to your apartment, still shaky and somewhat lightheaded.

    Once back in the safety of your shared home you sighed deeply before wrapping your arms around Ezra’s waist. You knew you both had quite a bit more to work through than you’d originally thought, but Kevva knew there was no one else for you. You gazed up at him with a small, sad smile.

    “We can’t go back to that bar, Ezra.”

    “I know, Dove.”

Tags: @ifimayhaveaword @thedaysarenotfull @absurdthirst@cinewhore @hopelikethesun @yespolkadotkitty @lose-eels @lackofhonor @din-damn-djarin @mrpascals@theocatkov @thefineandnobleartofavoidance@hellojustheretolookatmeemees @cyaredindjarin @im-like-reallythirsty @mstgsmy @goldafterglow @sistahsarah-sallysaidso @givemethatgold @shaqbutt @sirianisrock@artemiseamoon @thatreclusewriter, @scribbledghost@f0rever15elf @opheliaelysia @qveenbvtch@hdlynnslibrary @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa@spacegayofficial @ezraslittlebirdie @ezrasarm@ezraslittleblondestreak @tintinwrites@kindablackenedsuperhero @darthadeline @alexisinorbit@knittingqueen13 @lueurnotes @xakilicious@keeper0fthestars @huliabitch @di-kut @zombieaurora@corrupt-fvcker @cryptkeepersoul @teaofpeach

hmm maybe magmel and first time making the other laugh?

hello. this is over 4k words, because of course it is

Rating: T for swearing and suggestive conversations

Read it on Ao3, or keep reading below

A general meeting occurred exactly at twelve. The subject: team building.

Melmord couldn’t tell if the presentation was a punishment aimed at him, Magnus, both, or something Offdensen deemed necessary for the betterment of the company. Admittedly, their first few days partnered together could have worked better. Melmord ended up writing a few complaints regarding the threats of violence during the first two days, a meeting with human resources after a suggestive comment about deserving a busted lip on the fourth, and practically begging Offdensen to “have a word” with Magnus regarding his short temper close to the end of their first week as workmates. He assumed Charles wouldn’t bother, and either tell Melmord to make it work, or accept that Magnus was, to some extent, equal parts partner and penitence.

But was the powerpoint necessary?

“Here’s, ah, a slide I think many of us here can relate to,” Charles’ voice broke through the stuffy air and uncomfortable silence hanging in the meeting room. “Behavioral Management in the Workplace.”

Across from Melmord, and sitting close to where Charles stood, was Magnus. Arms crossed and legs kicked up on the table’s edge, he was high on alert, defensive and incredibly unapproachable. There sat the first musician Melmord was charged with since meeting Dethklok. The first real talent Melmord was assigned, and when Melmord tried greeting him the first time, had a ball of phlegm hacked and unloaded right between his feet. The first prisoner Melmord had the pleasure of meeting, speaking with, and discovering a shared hatred of Offdensen, though to what extent Magnus refused to share. There were a lot of things Magnus Hammersmith declined to provide Melmord, including the reason behind his imprisonment, his prior relationship with Charles, and why the hell he was “worthy” enough to come back. The file Offdensen handed him hours before his assignment only contained the basic information, the kind of trivia any committed Dethklok fan would already know. The whole “stabbing Nathan Explosion” thing was new and certainly worth discussing drinks over one night, but aside from that? He inquired to know more about Magnus, of course, but according to Offdensen, had to “earn it” on his own time.

Melmord shrugged at the backdrop of words playing around him, setting his interest on the exposed, pink scar resting dead center between an older, paler set of scars already adorning Hammersmith’s chest. Technically speaking, Melmord didn’t know what killed Magnus Hammersmith. The pink, healed scar suggested something involving the chest: a heart attack perhaps? Heart failure? But if that was the case, what made Dethklok’s infamous rhythm guitarist worth the trip to hell and back?

“Fjordslorn?”

Melmord returned to the darkened meeting room, to Offdensen’s reflective glare cutting at his throat. Next to him, Magnus remained positively disengaged. At the center of the table was a hat filled with shreds of paper.

Melmord raised a brow at the two. “Come again?”

Melmord watched Charles bring his eyes to a close, then raise his hand and signal a klokateer to hit the lights. With a restrained sigh, he asked, “Can you manage several unsupervised minutes conversing with your client without upsetting him?”

Carefully, Melmord made a quick glance to the projector, images blurred from the additional light now blaring in the room. The title of the slide read something along the lines of exercises, and beneath it a list of team activities. He saw an image of a small, happy-go-lucky group of hoods huddled together, pulling cards from a bowl.

A team building activity? Really?

Melmord returned to Charles. “Sure, as long as you’re back before we perform the trust falls.”

Offdensen’s eyes narrowed, frown thinning to an almost white line glowing with disapproval. It’s a slap on the wrist compared to what he was used to from Charles. With a sigh, he shut off the power point, then turned to Magnus.   

“Magnus.” He placed a hand on Magnus’ shoulder, steady against the jolt that arose at the contact. It was like Magnus had been struck by lightning. He looked ready to leave his seat. Tear at his jacket and toss it to the floor. Melmord almost flinched in reaction, watching silently as Magnus’ eye lit up, not with fear, but pure indignation.

He turned, disgusted, entirely repulsed by the hand that remained, but with a swallow, made it all disappear. An exhale, and his shoulders sank. His wild hair deflated. He withdrew. “Charles,” Magnus returned, voice not carrying a shred of what Melmord was sure he’d seen just seconds before. It still wasn’t fear, but it was something. Another fine reminder that they shared a common enemy. 

Charles slipped off Magnus, then headed to the door. Behind him, two klokateers followed.

“Gentlemen,” Charles announced, then opened the double door. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. If there’s any problem, these two will, ah, act as mediators, understand?”

He shut the doors behind him. The gears immediately stood in front of it, blocking Magnus and Melmord’s only exit. 

Melmord waited until he heard the footsteps disappear, then started to relax. Finally, the devil was gone. The lackeys were still hanging around, but there was a change in the air. Even Magnus, who’d been so rigid, finally let go of his arms in favor of having them drop and rest on his knees as he sat.

Glancing at the door, Melmord chuckled, “Can’t stand the man, but I got to give it to him: he makes a mean presentation.”

Magnus’ bad eye twitched. He sank into his chair, the heel of his boots now barely hanging from the table's edge.

“Damn, not even a snicker?” Melmord asked, shrugging at the less than stellar response.

“I’ll laugh when you finally say something warranting it.” 

Was there ever a day in which Magnus didn’t have a stick lodged deep in his ass? Well, so much for the presentation doing its job, not that Melmord could give it any credence to begin with. Hopefully Offdensen wouldn’t test them on the subject later.  Melmord could handle a difficult client, but failing a test?

“Well, I appreciate the honesty,” Melmord said, coming to a rise. 

He left his chair, kicking back his seat with the sole of his shoe. He glanced at the hat filled with colored pieces of folded post-it notes and rolled his eyes. Did Charles really assign someone the task of writing conversation starters and then folding them into some worn hat? For what purpose, other than to waste their precious time? Melmord could go on, but left the thought to hang at the edge of that foreboding cliff. After death, time was literally the only thing Melmord had, which meant Charles wouldn’t return until whatever sick lesson he wanted to teach had finally resonated. That, or in increments of five minutes, like the slide suggested.

With a sigh, Melmord reached for a folded sheet of paper. “How about–”

“You do realize this is a waste?” Magnus loudly interrupted. “Charles has us together for the sole purpose of watching us bicker.” 

“And you’re fine with proving his point?”

Magnus sneered at him. “Excuse me?”

The paper crumbled in Melmord’s hand. “Contrary to what he’s told you, I’m not a complete fool.”

Magnus remained unimpressed by the declaration, and merely shrugged in response.  A nasty jab at the pride, but Melmord knew that was the point. This wasn’t supposed to be easy. Some clients will be difficult.

“Offdensen wants us miserable,” Melmord continued, reopening his palm to find the crumbled shred of paper. “Guy’s been busy. Too busy to fuck with us as much as he’d like.” 

That had to be it. Why else would Offdensen award him with the challenge and opportunity to train and work alongside a musician? Magnus was well known in the music industry as someone difficult to work with, to the point that once his name was on a project to help boost sales he was cut and kicked from further creative output. But was that punishment enough for someone as bored and desperate as Melmord? It wasn’t like Offdensen was offering him freedom or the chance to promote from his position to an official member of the dethstaff for kissing up to Hammersmith. Just the order to work with him and do everything in his power to get some new, original creative content from Hammersmith. That was all, and Melmord hungrily took the job knowing the rumors shadowing the man. He’d been that eager to take on the project. They both had, so whatever hesitations and challenges they posed were merely products of their own undoing. This presentation, cringe inducing as it was, held no contest. This was a test posed by Charles, and right now they were playing into his hands.

“He’s relying on us to do the job for him.” Melmord snickered as Magnus’ attention suddenly came alive. “You said it yourself, right? So, you going to prove to him we can’t get along, or can we get this cheesy team building crap done and over with?”

He held his ground, patiently awaiting Magnus’ response. There was a long, drawn out silence that followed. Still, Melmord waited. He knew he couldn’t delve into the nitty gritty with Hammersmith. The man wasn’t prone to easy persuasion. But Melmord hung to that hunch that they were both desperate to chat with anyone aside from their malevolent overlord, and leaned against the table until Magnus finally snorted a hot burst of air through his nostrils. 

“Fine,” Magnus replied stiffly. “I’ll placate you and Charles if it means making it back to my room sooner rather than later.”

“A fine goal,” Melmord responded, keeping his tone as neutral to avoid offending the older man. He had Magnus working with him for now, and that was a start. If he could get through a few questions and make it out without upsetting Magnus any further, then maybe Charles would put an end to this silly game. Hell, maybe Charles would congratulate him on a job well done.  

He snorted at the thought as he unfolded the paper. The post-it read:

Are you making the most of your second chance at lie? Why, or why not? 

Melmord stared blankly at the wrinkled sheet. He read it over one more time, his jaw clenching and teeth grinding as it played out in his head. Was that correct? Lie, or did the klokateer charged with writing out the questions make a mistake? Were they capable of such?  Did Charles write this? Was this part of the game? Was this for him?

“Well?” Magnus asked, still disinterested. He rubbed his sole into the table’s edge. “What does it say?”

Melmord put on a smile. “Your… favorite mixed drink?” 

Magnus tugged the base of his beard, eyes cast upwards as he thought a moment. “Whiskey sour. No egg white. Fresh cherry.”

Short, quick and to the point. But it was a response, and it was something Melmord could most definitely use in the future. It had always been a habit of his to take his new clients out for a drink, and to continue inviting those who were easily swayed into making poor decisions under the influence. Though he doubted he could take Magnus out any time soon, he could at least make a note of his preferred poison and give him a good time soon, should Magnus allow it. A hard liquor man, too. Non-conventional, either. Not afraid to go against a recipe for his own comfort, not that Melmord needed the drink to figure that one out.

“Nice, a whiskey man,” Melmord replied coolly, then selected the most nonthreatening drink he could still compare with Magnus’ choice. Equally unconventional, but recognizable. Nothing too fancy. “I’m a tad less refined. Cuba Libre, heavy on the white rum.”

“Defeats the purpose, doesn’t it?” 

“I like to have a good time,” Melmord replied. He rolled the sheet into a tight little ball, then tossed it over his shoulder. “To add on, I like it with two lime wedges and sativa. Huh, guess we have something in common.” 

“Which is?”

“We both like our vitamin C.”

Magnus rolled his eyes. “You’re not funny.”

The statement arrived less harsh than the previous comments. Another good sign. Melmord shrugged. “I got plenty more where that came from.”

Magnus shook his head at the thought, then turned inward to the hat filled with conversation starters. “Guess it’s my turn,” he said, dropping his long legs from the table. They landed hard with a thud that rattled Melmord.

He froze as Magnus reached for a shred of paper. “Oh, you–”

Magnus picked up a sheet from the messy pile. Anxious, Melmord pressed more of his weight against the table, dug his nails into the fine wood. His eyes locked on fingers unfolding a small pink slip of paper. Magnus raised the sheet up and quietly read the line. Silence returned, and Melmord swallowed thickly at the sight of Magnus’ pupils shrinking to a dot at whatever was scribbled on the sheet. Melmord had no idea what sort of questions had been laid out for them, and whether the previous one he read was written with him in mind. If any were written with him in mind. God, if only he knew what sins Magnus committed beforehand, what foolish dance he engaged with Charles to be trapped in this predicament. 

A clock ticked. Melmord shrank into his chair. “Well?

Magnus finally lowered the slip. “How many years have you been working in the music industry?”

Relief.

Melmord fell into his seat, lighter and mind temporarily cleared of doubt. With a hand, he fixed his hair behind his ear. “Seven together,” he answered smoothly, replying to Magnus’ recovering stare with a honey sweet smile.

An interview question? Well, a tad conventional, but he appreciated Magnus’ effort for trying to hide the truth and keep with the peace. And an interview question, while lackluster, was something Melmord could manage without effort. 

“I’ll be real, music’s been an on and off relationship for me,” he explained with a strong command of his words. “I take my business where it’s booming, and music? That girl’s volatile. I’ve had my hits, but I’ve also experienced my losses, and although my manner of style suggests I like a good time, I prefer my career like my relationships: easy and stable. You dig?”

There was a little bit of everything there. Plenty of options for Magnus to pick and comb through, select and build off from. Vague enough for anyone listening to not make any sense of, and be forced to interpret on Offdensen’s order at a later point. 

And to his surprise, Magnus smiled at the question. “Indeed,” he replied, bringing his arms back up. But when he crossed them, Magnus didn’t keep his appendages close to his chest, but instead let them rest upon his stomach. “Well, by this point… I’ve been living it for about half my life? Let’s see, I didn’t get discovered until I was about twenty-three…” 

Melmord lifted from the scarred chest, to the thick array of dark brown and graying curled laced throughout his many waves. Melmord quickly performed the math, and like clock, devised a compliment. “You’re lookin’ pretty damn for someone…” he stopped once he saw Magnus start to regrow his frown. “I’ll be quiet.” 

Magnus’ fingers tightly wrapped around his thin, frail waist. Melmord tried not to notice, but quietly cursed himself for his impatience. Why did he go and inject humor the second things were just starting to let up?

Magnus huffed, clearly offended by Melmord’s attempt. “…to make a long story short, I’ve been on and off projects. Much like yourself, I chase after success. If something stops sounding like a good idea, I cut my ties and move on.” 

Short, vague and to the point. Great. 

Still smiling, Melmord clasped his hands together and hoped there was more to come. He had Magnus relaxing a second ago, surely he hadn’t fucked up so monumentally that he was back to square one. That couldn’t possibly be all, could it?

Melmord playfully shook his head at the silence. “That can’t be all though? Given your history–”

“What about my history?” Magnus inquired stiffly. With his thumb and forefinger, he raveled the pink post-it sheet into a compressed  ball, then brought it down on the table, crushing it with his fist. The smack echoed in the small, stuffy room, and old rumors about Hammersmith’s unpredictable behavior arose to smother any remaining familiarity that sparked between them.

“Nothing.” Melmord pointed to the hat situated on the table. “My turn.” 

Magnus’ heated stare never left his hand. Melmord scooped folded sheets of green, blue and yellow post-its, letting several fall from between his spreading fingers until only one remained resting on top of his open palm. Hesitantly, Melmord picked it up. He unfolded the sheet and carefully read the sentence to himself: 

How did you die?

Melmord’s throat dried at the final word. Somewhere, he heard his screams getting lost in the winds, the distant howl and pleas of his animal spirit calling to the heavens for another shot, a second chance at life.

“What does it say?” 

Magnus’ voice disappeared under the growing nausea, the darkness numbing Melmord’s senses and drowning out his thoughts, his ability to push words out from his constricting throat. This question. Was this question just for him? 

“Well, Fjordslorn?”

Melmord lowered the yellow sheet. “Uhm, what’s your favorite…”

Wind spiraling. Falling. Magnus watching from afar, growing smaller, fading.

“My favorite what?” 

“…Brittney Spears song?”

“What?”

“You know?” Melmord blinked, surprised by how soft he’d gone. He cracked a nervous, strained grin. He fought the deafening rumble of an incoming train threatening to crush and end him, and scrambled for a chorus line, a melody or title that he resonated with. Anything, but what was daring to crush him a second time. “The artist?” he added with forced gusto. “I, uh, really have a thing for “Femme Fatale”. Yeah, that one. Some real bangers in that CD, let me tell you.” 

Magnus was incredulous. “Are you serious?”

“I know,” Melmord said, rolling the paper between his sweaty palm and the table underneath it, “It’s recent, and there aren’t many big hits in that one, but here me out: I’m pretty sure “How I Roll” was written specifically for my Friday night benders. Like, it’s a “party and get fucked” song, but it’s confident and in control. Just the right amount of chaos before crashing into bed with a stranger. My kind of anthem if you ask me.”

Melmord heard the words coming out from him, and wanted to scream. Of all the impromptu questions for him to come up with, this was arguably one of his more cringe-worthy ones. Pop subjects were best regulated to other pop artists, preferably the budding kind lacking any sense of identity. To bring up another artist in front of someone already so seasoned, and of an entirely different genre. And fucking Brittney Spears, too. If Melmord wanted to come off non-threatening, that artist and song certainly did the trick. Magnus was busy staring at him, mouth agape and being supported with the help of a hand. Eyes glazed in a layer of perplexing aura, a haze from which the hard rocker was trying to discern from a joke. This had to be a joke, right? But it wasn’t and Melmord, panicked, went on about the song’s upbeat rhythm, the positive notes surrounding female sexuality, and how up until recently, resonated with the whole “nine lives” bit.

“Like, doesn’t even have to be for Friday night’s either,” Melmord went on, to the point where the men guarding the door were now invested in his argument. “There’s a lot of workout potential in that release. It’s a fun song. She’s having fun and living her life.” 

“Melmord,” Magnus interrupted as Melmord mentally scrambled for something palpable. Lost in the moment, and caught red-handed by Magnus, he stuttered himself into muteness. He was a man proudly poised in his seat, but behind the visage, he was shaking, sick and at a complete loss for words. Across, Magnus leaned close. He pointed at the flattened, yellow thing resting on the table. “What did the paper actually have written down?”

Without moving, Melmord brought his eyes to the stained paper. Did he have it in him to confess what he had read to himself, and why it affected him so? Could he effectively call Magnus’ bluff and return the very same question towards him without risking a black eye or tossed chairs? He wanted to stay on Magnus’ good side. Magnus looked concerned. That was a good sign, right? Did it matter? Did being honest matter if it meant facing the deadlights charging at him at over 100mph?

Melmord carefully resituated himself into place, brushing his coat down and fixing any slight wrinkles starting to form. He reclined into his seat, resting his hands behind his head. “We’re doing trust exercises, and I just poured out my heart and soul to you,” Melmord stated as best he could without faltering. “Now you’re telling me you don’t trust me? I’m hurt, Hammersmith.” 

It was so quiet Melmord was sure he could hear the maggots in the walls squirming from the line he uttered. A chair groaned. A klokateer coughed.

Magnus was beside himself. He stared at Melmord, dumbfounded that he’d have the gall to use humor to deflect, and after so many warnings about how unamusing he’d already proven himself. His jaw sank, as did his hands. And then he snickered. He shut his lips and fell into a low, short chuckle that was further muffled by him slowly covering his mouth. 

“Alright, Fjordslorn,” Magnus replied. He fell into his seat, hair flowing over it as he drew a fine smile for Melmord. “I’ll let you have that.”

If it were possible, Melmord would have slipped in his chair. He slipped a sigh through his barely parted lips, letting the fear that collected spill out while Magnus regained better control of himself. When he was feeling a little better, he asked, “How about a song title, while we’re at it?” 

Magnus snorted. “Don’t push your luck.”

“Alright,” Melmord conceded. “I'll take the laugh, though. Save it for a rainy day, if you don’t mind?”

And just like that, the topic was dropped. Easier than Melmord could have hoped, and over a terrible joke, a sad attempt to deflect from the conversation. It wasn’t very funny, but Hammersmith laughed, and Melmord hardly had a chance to process the significance behind the act when Charles returned a few minutes later. It was hard to say whether he was pleased or upset at the peaceful scene he had entered. Magnus smiling, and Melmord so relieved. Charles merely looked over the table, the few tossed pieces of conversation starters, and gave a short nod.

Two new klokateers followed after him, one wheeling a cart carrying something that was covered in a sheet. The second klokateer picked up the hat. Both Melmord and Magnus watched from their seats. Neither had bothered removing any more shreds of folded post-its from the hat. While they never commented on it beyond what was already hinted by Magnus, both harbored their own suspicions regarding the remaining questions posed. While it was pointless to make accusations, both agreed to keep their mouths shut about it and agree that Charles carried some ulterior motive. Whether that motive was to unsettle or unify would remain unspoken, as neither were willing to take a risk and openly discuss Charles when his men were within earshot.

“Offdensen,” Melmord greeted dryly.

“Charles,” Magnus murmured, eyes avoiding said man as he took to the front of the table. 

“Gentlemen,” Charles greeted with his usual, contained tone. “Glad to see the two of you chatting. Are we, ah, ready to begin the next set of exercises?” 

“Yes, but only if you let me catch you first,” Melmord sarcastically jested and, to his delight, heard another snicker from Magnus.

“Now is not the time for jokes,” Charles stated firmly, earning the shuddered grimace of several cornered gears. Such a reaction would normally crumble Melmord’s resolve and make him regret his decision, but in angering Charles, Melmord only humored Magnus more, and as Charles’ eyes narrowed in annoyance, Magnus broke into a fit of airy laughter, enjoying every second of his flushed face, many lines and trembling bottom lip. How could Melmord possibly regret speaking when Magnus’ antagonistic laughter carried the schedule off course, and jabbed at the once unmovable figure that haunted their every waking moment. 

Best of all: this time, it sounded real.

3. you did this?

FOX! 911 | post 2x18; hurt/comfort, recovery from serious injury

∞

Buck's body woke him up, and it took several sluggish seconds for his brain to follow. He blinked slowly up at his ceiling, trying to remember where he was, when he was, trying to make sense of the warm sunlight streaking through the windows behind his head. After some time passed - it could have been a minute, could have been five - he registered the buzzing in his ears. That might have been what woke him. Another few minutes and he realized what it was. Music, so quiet he couldn't make out any words, floated towards him from the kitchen. He didn't remember putting anything on, but then, codeine had that effect on some people.

He pushed himself to sit up. Moving at all felt like swimming through thick mud, and he normally only felt that way after a particularly heavy workout, the kind he did when he was upset and needed a physical outlet for his feelings. He had to lean back on his hands.

Now exposed to the air, he felt the sweat cooling all down his back. If he looked, he knew his pillow and sheets would be damp. It was yet another reaction to his painkillers. Waking up drenched in sweat was nothing new, and it almost made him miss the hospital. At least there, someone would wipe him down every day. Now that he had to do it himself, it didn't seem like much of a priority.

Buck sniffed at his armpit and winced. It had been five days - a week, maybe, since he'd been discharged - and he was losing the battle to ignore the smell. He moved to put his feet on the floor, his cast thudding against the wood. He grunted at the dull ache pushing through the haze.

A moment later, the music stopped, and he tipped his head. Something swelled in him, filling his chest from the belly up. It was suddenly hard to breathe.

Then, "Buck?"

Footsteps sounded below him, and soon Eddie appeared, skipping two steps at a time as he bounded up the stairs. He wore an oversized white Henley, one of his favorites, and an old pair of jeans, and a crooked smile. He was also shoeless.

Buck blinked, frowning at his bare feet. "Hi." His voice sounded wrong, hoarse and far away. He cleared his throat and stuck a finger in his ear like he could manually clear the cotton fogging his brain.

Eddie crossed over to him, holding out a hand.

Buck ignored him in favor of looking around for his crutches. It was only after he'd bent over, checking under the bed, that he remembered losing them under the railing the night before. They had clattered noisily past the rustic hanging bulbs, possibly shattering one.

He took Eddie's hand and together, they got him standing. It took almost all of his energy, and he sagged against Eddie's side, his arm snaking up and around Eddie's neck. He could feel the rumbling of Eddie's voice against his body, and looked up, frowning again as he registered that Eddie had been talking.

"What?"

Eddie laughed, the sound vibrating into him where their ribs pressed together. "Come on, let's get you downstairs." They made slow progress down to the first floor of Buck's apartment, not only because Buck was still shaking off the remnants of his drugs, but because he was trying to place the feeling that something had changed.

After Eddie deposited him at the dining table, Buck continued looking deeper into the apartment. He swept his eyes in an arc and finally realized what was different: The last time he'd been conscious, there had been takeout containers scattered through the kitchen, a few in the living room. Clothes strewn about, left where they were because he couldn't be bothered to take them upstairs with him once he'd taken them off. Dishes piled in the sink, more left in various places.

Okay, so he might have been wallowing in his self pity, but cleaning up with only one leg to stand on was hard. An almost impossible task, especially with physical therapy sapping most of his energy during his waking hours.

His eyes landed on Eddie standing at the stove with his back to the apartment, a dish towel slung over his shoulder. The kitchen filled with the smell of whatever was cooking, and Buck's stomach rumbled as if in affirmation that it was indeed appetizing.

Buck shoved his chair back and hauled himself up, using the table and then the island to pull himself along. He made it around the corner before Eddie turned.

Amusement and exasperation crossed his face in equal measures, but he didn't protest; instead, he stepped away from the stove, allowing Buck to once again use him as a crutch.

Buck did so, slinging his arm over Eddie's shoulders for stability as he leaned over the pot to take a deep sniff. His mouth watered.

"What is this godly creation?" he groaned, straightening back up. Eddie's grip loosened, but he didn't pull away. His hand moved from its place on Buck's ribs down to his hip, keeping their sides pressed together.

Eddie picked up the wooden spoon he'd been using to stir with, and blew on it for a moment before leveling the mouthful in Buck's direction.

"Abuela's recipe. She makes it whenever Christopher or I get sick. I asked her to make some for you."

Buck moaned at the flavor and sagged against Eddie, overtaken by bliss. Eddie watched him with a soft smile. He tossed the spoon into the sink and took out a new one as Buck licked at the soup that had dripped onto his chin. He took the towel from Eddie's shoulder and wiped his mouth, then tossed it down with a sigh. Something prickled up the back of his neck, an unpleasant feeling that took him a long, quiet moment to place.

"What are you doing here?" he asked carefully, almost afraid of the answer. The fog lifted more and more with each passing minute, and he realized he hated the effects of the painkillers more than anything. It was impossible to think clearly, like trying to run on a treadmill that was cemented in place.

Eddie didn't look at him.

"Bobby called the hospital. They told him you've been pushing yourself too hard. Then he told me, and you didn't answer your phone, so I came over to check on you."

"You did this? While I was asleep?" Buck gestured around them, at the clean counters, the spotless floors. He finally noticed the sound of the washing machine going and his frown deepened. His face and neck grew warm imagining what Eddie must have thought when he walked in.

"Yeah, you're dead to the world when you're not on painkillers," Eddie said, on the verge of laughter. He looked sideways at Buck and seemed to think better of it, schooling the amusement off his face and out of his voice. "You haven't been taking care of yourself," he added softly, and his arm tightened incrementally at Buck's hip.

"Just because I can't clean? I've been working out," Buck defended, gesturing at his bare chest with an awkward flex of his biceps.

Eddie shook his head. "This stuff takes time. If you rush it, you'll only make it worse."

Buck huffed at him. He indicated the soup and said, "Is this ready yet?"

With a nod, Eddie let him go, and reached for the cabinet that held serving bowls. Buck settled into the corner of the countertop, grateful for the distraction of food. Eddie filled a bowl and passed it to Buck along with a spoon.

He ate it while standing there and told himself it was so he could get seconds faster, but in reality he didn't know if he'd make it back to the table.

The soup disappeared rapidly, and Buck set the bowl down, wiping at his mouth again with the dish towel.

"More?" Eddie asked, his eyebrows raised.

"Should probably let that settle. I… can't remember the last time I ate," Buck admitted, averting his gaze to the floor.

Without a word, Eddie reached out to shut off the stove. Whatever opinion he had, he kept it to himself.

"Where's Christopher?" Buck asked, desperate to find something else to talk about.

"He's…" Eddie licked his lips and rubbed at the back of his neck. "At a friend's."

Buck narrowed his eyes and ducked his head, trying to catch Eddie's gaze.

"I didn't know what shape you'd be in," Eddie caved, the words falling out in a rush. "If you'd want him to see you like this."

Emotion clawed up Buck's throat, choking him up faster than he expected. He pressed his lips together to stop them from trembling and looked, unseeing, toward the far end of the apartment.

"Thank you," he managed quietly, but it sounded more like he was saying sorry.

Eddie stepped in front of him, and there was no way for him to escape when Eddie wrapped him up. He tightened his arms around Buck, and all Buck could do was hug him back. He pressed his face into Eddie's shoulder and closed his eyes against the tears threatening at the corners.

"It's okay," Eddie whispered, his hand smoothing up and down Buck's back. He held Buck tight, telling him over and over, telling him that he'd get through it, that his life would be waiting for him until he was back to full capacity.

They stayed wrapped around each other for a long time, Buck clinging to Eddie and his words like a lifeline.

Living is Harder

Read here on AO3!

Summary:

Tim drops the knife like it’s white-hot. Oh, god. Oh, god.

Tim did this. He was...he didn’t mean it. He didn’t. He would never. But the man was on top of him and Tim couldn’t breathe, and...he didn’t mean it.

Tim is walking home from Steph’s house, his light-up Sketchers the only things illuminating his path through the Gotham night. He stayed out later than he planned, utterly captivated in the Among Us tournament he and Steph were playing against their Titan friends all the way in San Francisco. (And Tim would have gotten away with the murders too, if it weren’t for that meddling Bart Allen who stared Tim down every time he killed a player, watching it happen but never reporting until Tim finally cracked from the shame and called an emergency meeting on himself.)

Tim rode in Steph’s car on the way to her house, but forgot that it would mean he’d be without a ride home. Steph offered to drive him back to the manor, that she doesn’t mind losing a measly hour of sleep, but Tim insisted he didn’t mind walking. Besides, it’s not like it was a lie. Sure, it’s Gotham, which means Tim can see drug deals going down on street corners and the occasional drunkard puking into a trash can, but Tim feels at peace here.

It brings him back to his early days of climbing fire escapes, tailing Batman and Robin under the cloak of night in the hopes to get just one more photo for his collection. It was a simpler time with fewer psychotic clowns—back then it was just the one, and all he did was tell shitty jokes and occasionally tie Robin up over a swimming pool filled with Jokerized sharks. Nowadays it’s all grotesque murders and creepy masks made of human skin. Where’s the showmanship? Where’s the pizzazz? Disgusting. Deplorable. Lazy beyond all reason. Tim is insulted by the lack of artistic ability in these new Jokers, and you may quote him on that. Regardless, Tim takes comfort in knowing that if something did go wrong, Cass is patrolling somewhere a good five blocks ahead. Maybe he can track her down and pick them up some corn dogs. He’s currently in the Red Hood’s territory, but whether Jason is around at the moment is a gamble at best. His schedule is harder to tamp down than a solid answer on Ted Cruz: Zodiac Killer. Jason might not even be in Gotham right now; he could be in space for all anyone knows. Sometimes Tim feels like Jason is more of a feral cat than a brother, which isn’t too far off, really. Tim happens upon an empty beer can on the sidewalk in front of a boarded-up store that he’s fairly certain used to be an adult film shop. Good ol’ Gotham City. He stoops down to pick up the crinkled can like the good samaritan he is and drops it into a trash can at the mouth of a nearby alley. He wipes his hands on his jeans, designer style be damned. That’s when Tim is grabbed from behind, a hand reaching up to cover his mouth and muffle his shout. He’s pulled into the alley and pushed up against a wall, the bricks digging into his back and knocking the breath from his lungs. Shit, shit, shit. How could he have been taken by surprise so easily? It’s hard to make out his attacker in the shadowed alley, the only discernible features being dark eyes and bared yellow teeth—never a good sign. Tim’s hands are pinned together above him in a strong grip, practically wrenching his shoulders from the sockets. He tries to scream, but the man’s disgusting hand presses harder against his mouth. Tim freezes when he feels the poke of a knife at his throat, digging into the skin just below his Adam’s apple. “Make a sound and I’ll gut you,” his attacker says, his voice a low rumble. The stench of cigarettes and alcohol assaults Tim’s sinuses and makes his stomach roll. He’s going to have to be careful about this. Robin could get out of this hold in five different ways with varying degrees of injury to the opponent, but a civilian couldn’t. Even if the only witness is a low-life scumbag, he shouldn’t run the risk. Better to wait until he’s at the point of no return to bust out the Robin moves. Instead, Tim goes for the oldest trick in the book and knees the man in the crotch, hard. It has the desired effect and the grip on Tim’s wrists slackens, the man dropping him with a grunt. Tim ducks out of range and makes a run for it. If he can just get to the street, he should be home free. Even in Gotham City, there are always witnesses to help out a poor, defenseless teenager under attack. Tim almost makes it to the sidewalk when he’s grabbed by the hair, crying out as he’s thrown violently to the ground. Then there’s weight on top of him, pinning his shoulders to the dirty ground under his back. Tim fights, kicking out and delivering purposeful hits under the guise of a panicked struggle. “You little shit,” the man spits. He’s still got a hold on Tim’s hair, which he uses to slam Tim’s head against the pavement so hard that Tim goes blind for a good ten seconds, his head spinning. The back of his scalp feels wet, and he hates to think about what bacteria must be lurking on the ground beneath him. The knife clatters somewhere to Tim’s side and he’s almost relieved until a hand wraps around his throat, cutting off his next breath. Instinct plunges him into panic, choking on the lack of air and scrambling to get a hold on his attacker. Scratching, kicking, desperately trying to loosen the grip crushing his windpipe. “You didn’t have to make this so difficult,” the man tells him. His body presses down on Tim’s smaller form, keeps him trapped against the unforgiving asphalt, and this is it. This is the point of no return he’s been waiting for, but now Tim is here and he can’t do anything about it. Not even Robin could get out of this without a weapon, and Tim has none. He’s powerless. The creep releases Tim’s hair with a whisper of, “Don’t move.” Before he can do anything more with his newly freed hand, though, Tim’s body is thrown into action faster than he can comprehend moving at all. The world goes hazy, time itself turning to molasses. Absently Tim feels muscles flex, sees shapes move in front of his eyes, but someone else might as well be controlling Tim’s body while he’s locked in the backseat, missing the entire ride. One minute Tim is on his back with the creep on top of him, and after a chunk of time that Tim can’t remember participating in, he’s standing against the alley wall with something clutched in his hand. Tim blinks back the fog, but it lingers. He looks down and studies the way his fingers clasp the handle of the knife. That can’t be right. He wasn’t holding a knife before. Tim comes back to his body in increments, a stop-motion reel. First there’s a stinging ache on the back of his head, blood soaking into the back of his shirt and plastering his hair against his neck. His gaze slips from the glinting knife to the blood that covers his hands, warm and sticky. Then he catches a shape on the ground in front of him and Tim’s breath catches in his throat. The man from before is on the ground now, his eyes closed and blood spreading from a stab wound directly over his sternum. Tim drops the knife like it’s white-hot. Oh, god. Oh, god. Tim did this. He was...he didn’t mean it. He didn’t. He would never. But the man was on top of him and Tim couldn’t breathe, and...he didn’t mean it. Tim staggers back until his back hits the cold brick wall, his pulse pounding in his ears so loud the entire city must hear it. He just stabbed a person. He just killed a person. The one rule he’s supposed to follow, the one thing he promised never to do, and he just did it. Without even a second’s hesitation. He took a life. What is Bruce going to say when he finds out? Tim’s legs are made of jello, wobbling in warning until they give out entirely and he slides to the ground, knees pulled in close to his chest. His hands are still covered in blood. A dead man’s blood. He should...he should do something. He should act. First-aid, stop the bleeding, do whatever it takes to help in case there’s a chance. Tim doesn’t move. He doesn’t even try. His limbs have been replaced with rubber, his brain with slush. He just killed a man. In the back of his mind he knows he can’t go home, not like this. Not covered in another man’s blood. Even if he tried, Tim isn’t sure he’d make it two steps without collapsing into a puddle of whatever emotion is making him feel as though he’s rotting from the inside out. His family lives by a code, would sooner die themselves than take a life. Bats don’t kill. Tim doesn’t kill. Tim killed. His fingers shake as they take out his cell phone on autopilot, and the screen is cracked at the corner from when he was slammed into the ground. That’s going to cost money to fix. Tim gets blood on the screen, smudging over his contact list and warping the names. He finds the one he’s looking for and puts the phone to his ear. A ring. Two rings. A click. “This had better be important,” Jason says. Tim swallows. “Um. I—um.” He can’t take his eyes off of the body, lying there still as a corpse. Because it is a corpse. “My...head isn’t working. It’s—something is wrong. With me.” “Are you high or something? Because if you are, I’ll fucking kill you.” That does it. What little resolve Tim held on to cracks in one clean split and a sob bursts through. He covers his mouth with his elbow, choking on gasps. “Jay, I—it was an accident. I swear to god, I didn’t mean to. He was...it wasn’t...I didn’t mean to.” There’s a creak on the other end, maybe Jason sitting up in his chair. Or maybe he just sat down. Maybe he closed a door. Too many things in the world are creaky. “What the hell are you talking about? What happened?” “He’ll kick me out. He’s gonna take Robin away from me.” Something slams—definitely a door. “Kid, tell me where you are.” “I don’t know. It was—” His brain isn’t working. For the first time in his life, logic and reason escape him and Tim’s mind pushes into overdrive, drags him deeper and deeper into oblivion. Bruce is going to find out. He’s going to find out and he’s going to hate Tim for the rest of his life. Bruce doesn't like murderers. “Goddamn it. Tim, listen to me. Can you do that?” It takes a moment, but Tim manages to get out an affirming noise. “I’m going to track your phone and come get you. Don’t move, got it? Stay right where you are. I’ll be there soon.” Jason hangs up, leaving Tim alone again. He drops his phone back on the concrete, uncaring of potential breaks. It’s already been cracked. “He’s going to kick me out,” Tim repeats to the empty alleyway. ------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tim is cold by the time Jason arrives. Or maybe he’s been cold this entire time. It’s hard to tell. “Fuck,” Jason swears as he takes in the scene before him. The body on the pavement. Tim, huddled against the alley wall, his eyes glazed over as he stares at the body like a horror movie he can’t turn off. Jason isn’t wearing his helmet, just a domino mask. He takes it off when he kneels in front of Tim, makes Tim meet his eyes. “Hey, kid. You with me?” “I killed him.” The words taste acrid on Tim’s tongue, sour. “Don’t worry about that now. Are you hurt anywhere?” Tim doesn’t answer. The back of his head stung before, but the pain is muffled now. Everything is muffled. “I killed him, Jay. I’m a murderer. Bruce is...I’m not supposed to kill. Robins don’t kill. They don’t.” His chest is tight, getting tighter by the minute until it feels like every breath is being sucked in through a tiny straw. “Tim, breathe,” Jason tells him. He puts his hand on Tim’s shoulder, and that helps a little. Gives him something to latch onto. “You’re in shock. Try putting your head between your knees.” Tim does, stares down at the dirty pavement between his sneakers. His eyes linger on an old fast food receipt. It has droplets of blood on it. “I don’t know what happened, I really don’t. He was—it was an accident. He was on top of me and he had a knife and then he was choking me and...I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t breathe, so I just—I just moved. And now he’s dead. I killed him. What am I going to do?” “It was self-defense,” Jason says, as if the answer could really be so simple. “If you hadn’t acted, he would have hurt you. Maybe even killed you. You did the right thing.” “No, it’s—” Tim picks his head up, digs his nails into his knees to keep himself above the fog. “No. I took a life. I’m guilty. I can’t—there’s no coming back from that. There isn’t.” How can he live with himself after this? Does he even deserve to? “What, so you would rather be dead than have to tell Bruce you took a life? Seriously?” “Yes.” There’s no hesitation, not even a pause to let the words soak in. Jason sighs, and Tim is too far gone to decipher what it means. He squeezes Tim’s shoulder once and stands, goes over to the body still lying on the ground. (As if a dead man would go anywhere.) Jason crouches down and takes off one of his gloves, presses two fingers over the man’s neck. After a moment or two, he lets out a breath. “He’s still alive.” Tim’s breath hitches. “Really? Are you sure?” “Pulse is thready, but he’s not dead.” All of the air leaves Tim’s lungs in one huge whoosh, making him lightheaded. “Oh my god. That’s…” That’s good, right? It’s a good thing. It should be a good thing. “Yup. That’s one hell of a relief.” Jason straightens up from his crouch. He reaches into his jacket, pulls out a gun, and fires it into the man’s head. “Jason!” It happens so fast that Tim doesn’t even have the capacity to think about the blood and brain matter splattered over Jason’s clothes, Tim’s shoes, the cracks in the alley’s pavement. “How could you—” “What? It’s not like he was going to walk it off or anything.” “We just—” Tim’s stomach churns. It feels like he’s going to be sick. “We just killed a man.” “No, I killed a man.” Jason holsters his gun, then kicks the body in the side for good measure. “You, however, are off the hook.” “What are you talking about? I stabbed him.” The knife is around here somewhere. That’s evidence. Proof of what happened tonight, what Tim did. What Jason finished. “And I shot him in the head. One of those is worse than the other.” “But I—” “No,” Jason snaps. He lowers himself to look Tim in the eyes. “You didn’t. Kill. Anyone. Got it? I killed him. Your slate is still clean.” “There’s a body. Evidence. I still did this.” Jason grabs the bloody knife and tucks it into his jacket. “No, the Red Hood did this. He cornered the guy in an alley, stabbed him, then shot him in the face. That’s what happened.” Tim shakes his head. “You can’t. You can’t take the fall for me.” “I’m not. I’m the one who killed him, right? I’m just taking responsibility for my own actions, which nobody is going to look twice at because this is the third one this week.” Jason takes Tim by the arm, pulling him upright and keeping him steady when he wobbles. “What about Bruce?” “We’ll tell him the truth. That you got attacked by some creep, I killed his slimy ass like he deserved, and then I let you crash at my place for the night to make sure you were safe. That’s it. Understand?” Tim isn’t sure if he does or not. He’s too numb to attempt puzzling it out, but he does know one thing he can say. “Thanks, Jason.” “Don’t mention it. Just try not to puke on me until we get to my place and I’ll call us even.”

Kinktober Day 8

@starkerfestivals​

Want What I Want

Prompt: Pillow Princess

Word Count: 1313

Summary: Tony knows just how to get Peter to do all the work.

(pillow princess, selfishness, topping from the bottom)

*

Tony's flopped down on the bed when Peter finds him, sprawled on his front and contemplating never moving again. It's not that he hurts, necessarily, or is tired, but that he just doesn't have any energy.

"Hey," Peter says, crawling up next to him. Kisses his neck, Peter’s hands sliding down his back. "Tired?"

Tony groans. "Tired enough," he mumbles.

"Too tired?"

It's a delicate little question, and Tony knows what Peter isn't saying. He turns his head enough that he can see Peter. "Not if you're up to it," he says.

Peter smiles, ducking his head to hide it against Tony's shoulder. "Yeah," he says. "I'll take care of you," and god, he loves that Peter can do this for him.

Here, with Peter, he doesn't have to be Tony Starktm.

Because Tony Stark fucks. Men or women isn't the important part to the image; it's what he does. It's that Tony Stark takes what he wants in bed—you'll have a good time too, don’t worry—and what Tony Stark wants is to fuck, is to get sucked off, is to have a good time. Be in control of it.

And it's not wrong.

But it's not right, either.

Tony Starktm doesn't get fucked. He can, he has, but it's often more trouble than it's worth, and the people most willing to take him up on that are riskier. It's almost never quite right; it's hard to really enjoy yourself when you're wondering if that one's going to decide this means Tony wants it rough, or this one's thinking about the payout they can get for a tell all. Almost never quite right because they still don't get it.

Peter rubs his fingers over Tony's hole, slick and slow, drawing it out because Tony likes it. He knows Tony well enough by now, knows Tony's body well enough, that he can make it take as long as Tony wants, can make a good fingering the main event if Tony's so inclined. He's got beautiful fingers for it, sliding so easily into Tony; slender but long, and it's never been about the girth for Tony. Peter's cock is much the same, just made for fucking him.

It's pretty selfish of him, Tony thinks as he moans into the pillow. Incredibly selfish, actually, because Tony knows what he wants and he's not always sure Peter does. Peter wants to make Tony happy, wants to feel like he did good and made Tony feel even better, but is that really about what Peter wants? Is it really fair for Tony to take advantage of that and let Peter focus entirely on Tony's pleasure, to the exclusion of all else?

Oh, it's not, he knows it's not; he just doesn't care as much as he should.

Peter rolls him over and Tony goes with it, limply, sprawling out. He gazes up at Peter and Peter smiles, soft and sweet and happy. Leans down and kisses Tony just as nicely as he catches Tony's wrists, drawing Tony's hands up above his head. Just loosely, not to pin him or change how he's laying; no, it's permission to leave them there, to not even have to think about touching Peter. Tony sighs against Peter's lips. "Come on, sweetheart. Not so slow this time."

"'kay," Peter murmurs, kissing him again, and then he's scooting back, his hands sliding under Tony's ass and shifting him, positioning him just right to sink into Tony in one long, perfect thrust. Tony arches into it, his eyes closing as his breath catches; fuck, that's good.

Not so slow is still pretty slow, Tony taking the time to savor the feel of Peter fucking him like that, the sweet slide of his cock. Peter's got Tony's legs caught up over his arms, Tony not even having to deal with that either, and he's thrusting forward in little increments, watching Tony. Waiting for Tony's word. "Little higher," Tony tells him, and Peter shifts again, tucking Tony's legs closer to his chest and bending over him. Tony shakes his head, the slightest of movements, but Peter gets it. Pushes forward a little more, and christ, fuck.

"Right there," Tony says, even though he doesn't have to; Peter knows exactly what it means when Tony groans like that, when Tony can't stop himself from grabbing at the pillowcase. "Yeah," Tony gasps, "fuck, right there Peter. Just like that, baby."

Peter's gotten so much better at this, at being able to give Tony a good fuck. Come so far from the kid who'd come in five minutes, tops, and even if it's easy enough for Peter to get hard again, his embarrassment could really kill the mood, put Tony right back in the role he'd been trying to escape. That's not something Tony even has to worry about anymore. Fuck— like this, Tony doesn't have to worry about anything except how he wants it.

Harder, he decides, and— he can come like this, but not tonight. "Want your hand, nice and slow," Tony says, "and fuck me harder." Peter moans softly and stills for a second, sorting himself out so he can get his hand on Tony's cock, get it wrapped around him and still be able to fuck him like Tony wants.

He settles back into the rhythm of it so easily, his hand sliding up and down Tony's cock slow and tight and so good, dragging his palm over the tip every few strokes. His cock fucking into Tony harder, not faster but harder, enough that his skin smacks loudly against Tony's ass; Peter leans forward a little more, flexible enough to do so without changing the angle, and kisses Tony's neck. "God, Peter," Tony moans, "perfect, baby, just— fuck, don't stop, keep—"

It's perfect when his orgasm hits him too, the shuddering, spreading wave that means Peter balanced things just right. It’s perfect too the way Peter keeps fucking him though it, his hand going faster, looser. Fucks him a little slower, steady, keeping Tony coming, keeping him caught up right on that edge for so long, god, right up until it's too much, until Tony's too sensitive; Tony doesn't even have to say a thing, just make that sharper groan, almost a whine, for Peter to still. Peter takes his hand off Tony's cock and slides out, slow, slow enough for it to still feel good. Good for Peter too, judging by the way he moans, but Tony's done.

He opens his eyes enough to see Peter, to watch while Peter kneels between Tony's legs and jerks himself off. He likes to watch Peter like this, that little edge of desperation, that want that he's been holding back for Tony's sake; he's fucking stunning as he gets closer to coming, red all down his chest and panting, looking at every inch of Tony. "Tony," he whispers, "can— can I—"

"Sure," Tony says, and then Peter's groaning, shooting come all over Tony's stomach. Tony loves the way he looks like this just as much; "Come here," he says, and Peter falls forward onto him, his breath still stuttering as he kisses Tony, clumsy.

Peter will get up in a few minutes, Tony knows. Will catch his breath and fetch something to clean them up with and curl up with Tony for the night, will haul Tony half on top of him and wrap his arms around him, even if Tony is too heavy, the casing on his chest too pointy and hard for Peter to really be comfortable. He'll do it anyway, because when Tony's in this kind of mood he wants to be held close like that, wants to be an inconvenience and kept close anyway.

But right now, right this second Peter gets to bask in knowing he catered to Tony perfectly, and Tony— 

Tony gets exactly what he wants.

media reccs? 👀 since apparently you are a man of good taste?

Wow thank you 😏 I have a masterlist of movies that have changed me I often recommend to people, I'll just copy and paste here with quick synopses lol, it's kinda long. I'm not super great at writing synopses tho so bear with me

Dead Poets Society (1989)

One of my favorite movies of all time and a total classic. It's about a group of boys at a strict boarding school who are inspired by their new English teacher (played by Robin Williams) to think for themselves and chase their dreams. This movie literally changed my life lol

Quadrophenia (1979)

This movie is based off of the story behind the concept album by The Who of the same name. It follow the life of a young man named Jimmy who is in a gang called the Mods. Theres this huge gang war between them and the Rockers (I think that's their name, it's been a while since i watched it) and Jimmy questions his beliefs about coming-of-age and his values in life throughout the film

Cabaret (1972)

Based off of the Broadway musical of the same name, this movie is about a British man who moves to Germany during the beginning of the rise of Nazis. He meets a woman who basically turns his world upside down, and it follows their love affair and sexuality and anti-semitism, and it's hilarious and heart wrenching and a beautiful movie

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (2004)

This is a super trippy romance film. Basically in the universe of this movie, theres a technology that is developed that can delete memories of an entire person from your mind while you are in a dream-like state, and the main character of this movie (played by Jim Carrey) decides to undergo the procedure after a bad breakup. Its soooo good I highly recommend this movie

It's Such a Beautiful Day (2012)

This is an animated film about a man named Bill who is going through brain cancer. Its told from the perspective of an unnamed narrator essentially communicating everything Bill sees, hears, and experiences. This is the movie that got me into film and it is still a complete masterpiece and one of the most beautiful movies I've ever seen

The Dirties (2013)

Loved this one a lot back in high school, it's been a while since I watched it. This is a film made in Canada about a high schooler named Matt Johnson and his friend Owen who decide to make a short film for their class about them killing the gang at their school that bullies them, and things take a dark turn. It's a hilarious movie and hits pretty close to home for me in a lot of ways haha

Logan's Run (1976)

Great movie, pretty cheesy though so be warned. This is based off a book with the same name, and it takes place in the future where most of humanity is wiped out except for a small society that lives under a domed structure. No one is allowed to leave the dome, and to control overpopulation, no one is allowed to live past the age of 30. It's really bizarre but I love this movie

Donnie Darko (2001)

Pretty sure this was Jake Gyllenhaal's first big hit when he was super young (I think he was like 19 in this movie but I'm not sure) basically about this kid, Donnie Darko, who is somewhat schizophrenic and has a habit of sleepwalking. After one particular incident he has a near-death experience and starts seeing a man in a bunny costume everywhere who makes him do weird stuff. Another pretty trippy movie with a crazy ending

American Psycho (2000)

Honestly I'm sure a few on this list you've probably seen (most likely this one included) but I didnt wanna leave any out because they're all so good. If you haven't seen this, it's about a Wall Street executive named Patrick Bateman who is a materialistic phony by day and a serial killer by night. I tried to read the book but the inner dialogue was really hard to get through lmao. Awesome movie though huge recommend.

Clockwork Orange (1971)

Yet another trippy one. And fuck it's been a long time since I've seen it so I might get some stuff wrong here. But it's basically about this serial rapist guy who hangs out with this group of goons and they all like to go beat up homeless people and shit, but the main character gets captured and has to go through reformation therapy to make him a better person. It's an extremely bizarre movie but soooo good and kind of hilarious lol

Creep (2014)

Of course this is on my list haha. If you haven't seen it yet, it's a horror movie about this freelance film guy who answers an ad on craigslist to help a man with cancer film a movie for his unborn son. And shit gets weird real fast. One of my favorite horror movies ever, I wouldnt say it's super scary but it's fun as fuck

Hereditary (2018)

If I'm being honest, I don't like a lot of big movies made in super recent years and especially not horror movies (mostly because they're all cheap cash grabs with no substance) but this one is an exception for me. Hereditary is fucking masterful in my opinion, legitimately creepy as hell and well-produced and well written. To put the plot as vaguely as possible without spoiling anything, it's about a family (mostly the mother) who go through some crazy fucked up shit. That's literally all I can say without giving anything away. Super good flick, big recommend

Gattaca (1997)

This list isn't in any particular order, and I love all these movies to death, but if I had to rank them this would probably be on the lower end. It's not a bad movie, it's still great but it's just not as life-changing as the other ones lmao. This takes place in the future where genetic modifications have progressed to a point where you can modify your unborn child's DNA to have the perfect baby. This has led to, essentially racial bias against those who never had that procedure when they were born. The main character was not one of these "special" children, but he wants an extremely prestigious job which requires that of the employee. Through the film, he is trying to fake his identity and fool the company into thinking he is one of these perfect people. Still a great film

Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas (1998)

Johnny Depp, man, he is something else. I LOVE this movie. Based off a true story and a book written by the man who lived it, Hunter S. Thompson, this follows the adventure of the writer and his attorney as they go on a drugged-out, psychedelic romp through Las Vegas with the original intention being to cover a story on a motorcycle race, but things go off the rails as they both terrorize the entire city in a way. Just a fun ride the whole way, a great movie

The Truman Show (1998)

God I'm realizing this list is long as fuck. Don't watch all of these movies, it might take you a lifetime lmao. Anyway, this is a classic Jim Carrey movie and another one you've probably seen. But again, if you haven't, this movie is about a man whose entire life has been fabricated and shot for television without him knowing. Super great, super moving, fantastic film 10 outta 10 I gotta wrap this shit up

A Scanner Darkly (2006)

A lesser known Keanu Reeves movie, but fuck I wish more people have seen this. This is one of my favorite movies of all time, and it's based off a book which is just as amazing. This movie takes place in the near future, where facial recognition technology has progressed wayyy too far, and drugs have gotten to the point of no return. The plot follows a detective who is undercover in a junkie house trying to figure out who is the top of the drug dealing totem pole, but ends up wrapped in the junkie lifestyle a little too deeply. Seriously, I recommend this movie to everyone who asks, it's so damn good

Fight Club (1999)

Another popular one. If you havent seen it, it's based off a book by Chuck Palahniuk following the story of a man (the main character actually doesnt have a name lol) who meets a guy named Tyler Durden who changes his entire perspective on how the world works. They start an underground boxing club together to help themselves and other men blow off steam and get away from the capitalist consumer-centric lifestyle they are forced into. Big twist at the end, great movie five stars on yelp

Harold and Maude (1971)

This is a weird one. Gotta say. It's about a guy in his 20s who meets an old woman at a funeral and falls in love with her. Sounds pretty ok at face value but theres a lot of really strange subplots and a huuuuge twist at the end (one of the subplots being the guy compulsively fakes his suicide to get his mother's attention) big recommend

Polyester (1981)

This one I cant even explain u just have to watch it its fucking bizarre

Fargo (1996)

Ok lightning round on the synopses, this movie is about a man who wants to commit fraud by hiring guys to kidnap his wife so her father can pay them ransom and instead the husband gets the money but everything goes wrong it's really good

Bad Times at the El Royale (2018)

Another modern movie I actually like, last time I watched this I was on shrooms and it was crazy but it's about this hotel right on the border of california and (Nevada I think?) And all these weird people are staying at it and there are twists at every turn and chris hemsworth is a cult leader in it its great

Memento (2000)

GREAT MOVIE GOD PLEASE WATCH THIS ONE it's about a man who develops short term memory loss after witnessing the rape and murder of his wife AND WHEN I SAY THERE ARE TWISTS LIKE EVERY TEN MINUTES I MEAN IT. The film is chronologically backwards, in that the first scene takes place at the end of the story and works back from there in increments of like 5 minutes. Basically each scene is a segment of time that this guy remembers before his memory loss kicks in and he forgets and FUCK it's so good please god watch it

Almost Famous (2000)

This is another one that would probably be low on my ranking but still a great and fun movie, it's about this kid that wants to write articles about rock stars for the rolling stone (based off a true story btw) and he ends up running away to go ride on a tour bus with some band and gets into all types of shenanigans and its great and sad

Parasite (2019)

Another modern movie I love, fuck this is getting too long lmao. Poor family wants to make money and they hatch a scheme to pretend to be bougie and work for this rich family but shit gets weird and everything goes wrong and it's so good (also literally the only film ever that made me speechless afterwards)

Pulp Fiction (1994)

Pretty much lives up to the hype, I totally forgot the plot but it's pretty damn good I remember that lmao

The Warriors (1979)

Fun movie, theres a bunch of teen gangs in New York and the leader of all of em is like "hey we should rally all the gangs together and fuck up the cops so we can rule this city" but then he gets shot by someone in the crowd and the gang The Warriors gets blamed so the whole movie is them running from all the other gangs so they can get back to home base and it's just an all around fun time movie

12 Monkeys (1995)

THIS MOVJE IS CRAZY it takes place in the future where a virus has almost completely wiped humans off the face of the earth so these scientists send this guy back in time to figure out where it came from so they can stop it from ever happening but obviously everything goes wrong and yadda yadda yadda it's amazing

Waking Life (2001)

Gonna preface this by saying this film is definitely not for entertainment, it's kind of an arthouse-type flick. It's the type of movie you have to think really really hard about to watch. The basic plot is the main character is stuck inside his own lucid dream, and is walking around listening to all these characters in his dream talk to him about, idk like the meaning of life and consciousness and shit. It's really good if you're in the mood for that type of thing.

Okay I'm finally done, you probably didnt expect this but I've been meaning to put my movie recommendations on this blog anyway haha. I deleted some just cause it was getting wayyyy too long. If u want a shorter list I can just give u like a top 5 in DMs but there u go have at it, every movie on that list is a banger I swear