recent doodle requests from multiple medias. not bothering to make separate posts ik scandalous

PlayTime

Summary: You want attention from your boyfriend while he’s working.

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x reader

Warnings: heavy use of daddy kink, brat!reader, dom/sub dynamics, degrading language, spankings

Bucky Barnes was a busy man. If he wasn’t on a mission for a week or two, then he was at a briefing. If he wasn’t at a briefing, he was busy watching surveillance footage or scrubbing through case files.

You missed your boyfriend.

He tried his best to take care of you. Show his love to you and you were thankful for that. Whenever he had free time, he would be on you in seconds. However, at times he couldn’t give you that special undivided attention like right now. It bothered you especially since your time of the month was coming soon. You were extra horny.

Everything Bucky did throughout the week turned you on. The way he would unbutton his shirt to the way his arms bulged had you in a whimpering mess. Your thighs occasionally clenching to get some friction whenever he wasn’t looking.

Honestly, you couldn’t take it anymore.

“I miss you” you drawled out the last words as you followed Bucky around your shared apartment. Your arms wrapped around his waist as you buried your head into his chest.

“S‘ miss you more sweetheart, but I have to take an important call—“ he informed, kissing the top of your head.

He strides over to his work area, taking a seat on the chair. You pouted heavily, but Bucky didn’t want any of that. He gave you one look where you knew better to just stop.

His face expressed exactly what he was thinking.

Don’t act like a brat.

“But— you were at the headquarters all day. What else do you guys need to discuss?” you huffed heavily, wanting to roll your eyes but you quickly chose not to.

Bucky sucked in his bottom lip, his eyes trailing up and down your body, as you walked over to him.

His lap looked extremely comfortable.

Especially when he would spread his legs. It’s like he was teasing you.

You tried to place your hands on his chest but he caught your wrist.

“Daddy—“ Bucky chuckled softly at your whines, your bedroom name for him trying to awaken something. But, he stayed calm for now...

Before Bucky could respond, his phone started to ring which signaled his anticipated phone call meeting.

“Princess, just give me a few minutes alright?”

Bucky kissed your wrists and then let them go as he picked up the phone. You groaned lightly, watching as your boyfriend laid back in his chair and took the call. It definitely would be more than a few minutes. You shamefully walked away swaying your hips, hoping Bucky would notice.

Oh, and he did.

There were only two options left. Wait for Bucky to finish his stupid meeting on the phone or tease him through it. Obviously, the latter sounded more fun but it would definitely come with consequences.

You giggled heavily as you ran into the bedroom, quickly getting to work. You rummaged through your belongings until you found exactly what you were looking for.

It was the lingerie set Bucky had brought for your birthday. You remembered the countless orgasms you received on your birthday, already making you shiver. Hopefully, Bucky would be reminded and take you right in his office.

You looked into the mirror and fixed your hair. Your fingertips ran against your figure as you quickly posed in front of the mirror.

Good luck.

Bucky was concentrated in his work space. His voice was low as he talked on the phone. You couldn’t make out all the words but the premise of call was about a new accord. Some of the avengers were in and some were out.

Boring. Something Bucky could definitely miss.

However, one thing you always failed to consider was the fact that your boyfriend had super hearing. This meant he could hear you whenever you tried to keep quiet.

He heard you giggling, the way you ran into the room, and the fact that you were hiding behind the corner. Bucky knew something was up. He tried to concentrate on the call but he couldn’t help but to think what his girl was up to.

As you rounded the corner to his office, Bucky’s eyes were already met with yours. His pupils blown into something much deeper as he saw the lingerie you decided to change into.

You walked closer to him with a smirk as Bucky had to quickly fix himself in his pants. A quiet groan escaping his lips.

“What was that?” Sam asked into the phone, a curious tone present.

“Nothing—“ Bucky cleared his throat, as he watched you round his desk. He took the phone away from his ear for a moment before raising a finger to his lips.

You pretended to zip you mouth as you plopped down on his lap. Your legs falling onto either side of his thigh. The friction and thickness of him already had you in putty. His hands still straying away from you. He wasn’t going to give in that easily.

“What are you doing?” He mouthed curiously, looking at you. “Playtime—“ you started to dangerously grind against his thigh.

Bucky was not happy. You could tell by the way his eyes pierced on you as his jaw twitched.

The voices from his phone call started to drown out. The only thing on his mind was putting you over his knee. You were acting like a brat.

Instead, His lips found their way to your earlobe. He tugged it lightly, ready to speak but was interrupted.

“Mr. Barnes? I said, What do you think?” A voice came through the phone. A sudden rush of guilt flushed your cheeks. You were interrupting Bucky and his work. And he doesn’t take his work lightly... god what were you thinking?

“Sorry, I think I lost connection—“ Bucky lied as he clenched his jaw towards you. The look he gave you was deadly. Goosebumps arising against your skin.

His metal hand found its way to your ass and gripped it heavily. The pain making you want to scream but in a good way. Before a yelp could make its way to the person on the other line, Bucky’s hand flew to your mouth.

“Don’t you fuckin’ dare—“ he mouthed again as you desperately tried to stay silent as his hand pinned against your mouth. A pool of wetness embarrassingly forming in your underwear.

You loved when Bucky showed his dominance.

“He said that we are going to need you to come in on Saturday and sign the settlement. I’ll be there and so we will Sam” Steve restated on the line, as your mouth was still pressed against Bucky’s hand.

“Sounds good.” Bucky replied, his eyes still on you. His hand left your mouth to wrap around your throat.

Another way to show his dominance.

You slowly started to grind against his thigh again but he then squeezed your throat. It was too good to be true. You tested his patience.

“You’re in for it, baby” You whimpered lightly at his mumbled words, your eyes falling down to his lap, his bulge evident.

There was only one way to get him on his good side.

Your hand fell onto his bulge as you looked up to see him glaring at you. Maybe, this was a bad idea...

But Bucky still wasn’t making any indication of for you to stop. You decided to continue with your plan. Your fingertips ran against his length, his cock twitching lightly and then you stopped. You looked up at him again.

He nodded lightly and you grinned. You quickly found yourself palming him through his sweats. His cock getting harder and twitching underneath the fabric.

“Daddy...” you mumbled lowly, your other hand going underneath his shirt to trace his chiseled abs. You even began to press soft kisses on the special spot of his neck that he loved so much.

“Hmmm?” Bucky was slowly falling into a sudden daze from your touches. You loved how easily he could crumble within seconds. It gave you an overwhelming amount of confidence and power. You relished it in because it wasn’t going to last long. Bucky always took back his dominance.

You leaned in and whispered as best as you could in his ear. “Daddy... want your cock in my pussy... play time — please” you asked sweetly again, your arousal leaving a stain on his thigh.

You spat onto your hand before you dug under his sweats. Your slicked hands stroking him fast and edging him to finally get what you wanted.

Bucky’s hips awkwardly bucked into your hand from an angle, a light moan escaping his lips which he clearly covered up by dropping some pens on the ground. He quickly went to pull your hands off.

He was still on a conference call after all.

Bucky tapped your ass, motioning you to take off your lingerie piece. You instantly got to work, scrambling to stand in front of him naked. Your pieces of clothing flown across his home office.

Bucky finally spoke up. “Hey — you said Saturday right? Well, I’ll see you guys then. I’m in the middle of something...” he announced, as he motioned you to do a twirl.

God, He loved that piece on you. But now he wanted it off. His lips aching to leave marks on every inch of your skin.

You gladly gave him a view as you twirled and showed off your bare ass. He slapped your ass as he watched the skin ripple. This time the sound of the slap and your yell reached the phone.

“Excuse me, Buck... We’re not done—” Steve chided. Steve was anything but gulliable. He knew his best friend couldn’t control himself.

Not with you.

“Shit, did I hear a smack?” Sam smirked, exposing the two of you. He was eager to hear more. A sudden burn fell onto your cheeks.

Everyone knew.

“Just update me, I gotta go—“ Bucky instructed, his voice huskier as he hung up and threw the phone on his desk.

It was one of the most unprofessional things he had ever done so far. He allowed everyone to piece together what had been going on behind the phone.

Once the phone was discarded, you slowly positioned yourself on his desk. Your hands on the desk and ass faced upwards towards him. Your punishment was coming. Bucky smirked at how prepared you were.

He pulled your hair back as he pressed his bulge against your ass.

Bucky Barnes was going to ruin you and you deserved it.

“You think my job is a fucking joke?” His bare hand smacked your ass, your chest falling onto the desk. “Hmmm—! Answer me—!” Another smack sounded the room, making your body jump.

“No—! Daddy, I’m sorry...” suddenly you felt ashamed from the way you acted. It was fun in the beginning but tears started to run down your cheeks from the sudden pain & pleasure. He wasn’t holding back.

“I tell you to give me a few minutes, and you can’t even do that. Gotta act like a fuckin needy slut!” He spat, his metal hand taking over and giving the next round of smacks.

“You just wanted everyone to know how much of a slut you are!” his fingers slid to your folds, your sleek covering them instantly.

He laughed at how wet and pathetic you were for him. Bucky pushed your fingers into your mouth, your tongue lapping around them. The taste of your arousal infiltrating your buds.

“I bet you wanted them to hear me fuck this tight pussy on the phone, isn’t that so?” He questioned, gripping your hair harder and pulling you back.

He grabbed your body harshly as he maneuvered you to his desk chair. Bucky took a seat and put you over his knee.

“You wanted Sam and Stevie to get all horny for you because you’re a fuckin’ slut who can’t appreciate her own daddy—!”

His words hit you one after the other. At this point, you were sobbing for a bunch of reasons. Your face was a mess and ass ruined, but Bucky loved every second.

“No.... I only love you daddy... only want you.” You mumbled meekly, afraid if you were even allowed to speak.

“Oh, don’t be shy now, little girl. You were begging to play with daddy’s cock. Of course, you wanted them to hear—“ his thumb swiped over your tears as he kissed your ass cheek. The mark of his hand proudly displayed on it.

However, his innocent act only lasted up to 20 seconds before his hand was back to smacking your ass. You lost count of how many slaps you were given.

By the time it was over, your thighs were dripping with arousal, ass red and bruised, and begging for it to be over.

“Daddy, it hurts!”

“It’s supposed to—“ he groaned finally letting go. In the back of his head, he didn't want to go this far with you, but you left him with no choice.

Embarrassing him in front of his friends and authorities.

Bucky sighed heavily looking over at your now exhausted body leaning over his knee. He pulled you up and pushed wet strands soaked from your tears away from your face.

“Come on, I’m not done with you... but I’ll go easy... daddy didn’t mean to push that far” He kissed your lips softly as you tried to him kiss back. Your limbs exhausted and legs shaking. Bucky noticed. He wasn’t a monster. He did take pity on you.

“You want daddy to carry you? Is that what my baby wants?” He cooed, tracing your lips with his thumb. You whimpered at his words, only being able to nod in agreement.

He picked you up swiftly taking the both of you upstairs to finish what you started.

Shameless Flirt

Hey hoes! I’m (partially) back!!!

I had a sudden burst of writing inspo. I am very excited to finally give y’all my long awaited Hevy X Reader fic!! I loved writing this, Hevy was so fun to get into the head of. I was going to post this yesterday but then (of course, right as I wanted to start posting again lmao) Life Happened aHA-

Anyways! The Reader Is A Lady (although, it’s not really specified aside from she/her pronouns. still tagging it as female reader though)! No warnings apply, just a lot of flirty banter and a bit of smoochin! Reblogs, replies, and comments are highly encouraged. I love hearing from y’all! Enjoy!!!

~

Technically, it was your day off. However, being the workaholic you were, and bored just sitting in your quarters, you decided the best course of action was to pick up some things you had left at one of your workstations in the ARC training sector...like the stopping point of your last project. You waved and smiled past the guards and troopers patrolling the halls, the vode knew you so it’s not like they were surprised when you strolled through the stark fluorescent halls in your lounging civvies you brought from Corrie. It’s not like you didn’t do this every other off day. It’s not like they haven’t tried to stop you- but not even ARC Commander Blitz could give you orders to go relax as you hunch over another blaster, detonator, or even some type of launcher, without you grinning like a cheeky loth-cat, “I am relaxing, Commander.”

After the first few months of working alongside Blitz, he came to understand that nothing was going to come between you and your work. At least nothing short of the consequence of you kicking and screaming all the way back to your quarters. So he let you be. “Don’t mind her, boys, that’s just our weapons tech. She’s always at the armory, or here in the target range. Think of her as a part of the training- don’t you dare get distracted.” Every new batch of ARC-trainees got told the same thing, and everytime you’d smirk into your work with a casual but polite wave over your shoulder, not even bothering to look back-

“And what about after training, Commander, will she still be ‘distracting’ up here?”

-until today. His shameless intention laced his words, and you could feel his eyes run up and down the curve of your spine, following the shape of your legs. You stood straight from your bent position over the standing turret, turning around with an unimpressed brow as you cocked out a hip, “I sure will, but you’ve got curfew to make, trooper.”

It was easy to single out the flirt, even if they were all wearing helmets. There were five trainees this time, four of them had their shoulders shaking as they choked back giggles with varying snorts and fake coughs at their brother’s expense. The one second from the end to your right seemed taken aback by your retort, spine stiff, and visor still looking at you dead on. You slid your eyes over to where Blitz was sighing and shaking his head, taking as step forward as he ordered, “Fives, thump your brother’s helmet for me.”

“Aye, sir,” Fives managed to breathe out the two syllables without breaking, but needing to clear his throat before swatting the upside of the flirt’s head, effectively taking his gaze off of you and immediately to the floor. Blitz made his way across the room to stand in front of the trooper, and even though they were the same height, Blitz carried himself in a way that made him seem to loom over the younger soldier.

“CT-782, you said your name was Hevy, right?” 

“Yes sir,” Hevy confirmed, voice coming out low, in a natural huskiness some clones seemed to have, as he stood even straighter, trying to mimic the Commander’s practiced stance. Blitz nodded a couple times, humming sagely- you recognized this though. He wasn’t thinking at all, he was just adding tension, the dramatic bastard. You couldn’t help but scoff silently at his demeanor as he took an inhale before continuing.

“I’ve read up about you and your brothers, soldier. The outpost at Rishi, getting recruited into the 501st, your entire batch surviving every fray, hells I just saw all five of you in action during the Separatist invasion just a couple days ago,” Blitz took a moment to exhale, something that could have been mistaken for a sound of intrigue, “You no doubt deserve to be here. An entire batch making it to ARC training? This hasn’t been done since the last batch made specifically to be ARCs themselves. But son-” in the pause, now you could never be sure, but you were positive in that moment you heard the grating clicking of Hevy grinding his teeth at the term, “-I don’t recommend playing with fire. Lucky as you all have been, even in ARC armor, you’ll get burned.”

Hevy stole a glance back at you, to which you gave him a mock salute with your screwdriver and a delightfully crooked smirk before turning back to your work.

Instead of taking his Commander’s words to heart as a warning, he took them as a challenge. From that day on, whenever he found himself in the same room as you (provided Blitz wasn’t there to reprimand him) he would try his hand to win you over. Admittedly, it was very fun to trade bouts of wit with him. He was a cocky brute, but held a sharp tongue. His hot-headedness made it especially entertaining to get him all riled up, teasing him back, only to give him a flick on the nose or a poke on his chest plate. Hell, there was one time you went as far as squeezing his bicep. Specializing in weaponry, especially the heavy duty kind, his arms were definitely impressive. How could you not take that chance? 

On the slower days, when he was too tired to even run his eyes over you, he’d still find you hunched over your workspace in the armory to watch you perform your task of the day. An arms specialist finding interest in a weapons technician’s work? Shocker. Still, being surrounded by the blasters and countless ammo and bombs in the armory, listening to the gentle clicks of your tinkering and watching your fingers go through repeating nimble motions over metal plates and little rivets did seem to put him at ease after a rough day. It was something you could much too easily relate to. Over the course of Domino squad’s ARC training, those days where he gave you quiet, warm company were your favorite.

Today was not one of those days.

You had been given a new assignment, transferring from the training base...to travel with the Domino squad once they graduated in the next few days. And it seems like they just got the message too. You rolled your eyes as you heard his low whistle from across the room, but from the safety of being turned around you couldn’t help a sly grin take over your face. 

“And what, praytell,” Hevy’s gruff voice fills the armory as his boots echoed off the walls with their weighted falls, like you could hear the sway in his step to the beat of his walk, getting closer to you as you continued to lean over your work table, “Did the Domino ARCs do to get a pretty little thing like you to be our weapons technician?”

“Oi, leave her alone, Hevy,” ever the gentleman, Echo tried to ‘defend your honor’ from the shameless flirt as he walked in not a moment later, “Unless you want her to issue herself for a transfer to a different band of ARCs? Keep talking to her like she’s some meat pie, see where it gets you.”

“Awh, thank you, Echo,” you cooed over your shoulder before pushing up your goggles to give Hevy a sugar-coated pout, “Eat shit, Hevy.”

Hevy knew this game, taking his helmet off he shot you a charming wink, before turning to his brother, “What other ‘band of ARCs’? We’re the only notable ones, all the other ARCs are in CO positions, or are riding it solo and getting contracted to separate battalions for separate missions every day! We’re the only full squad of-“

“Half a squad,” Echo interrupted, taking off his helmet to shoot his brother a criticizing arch of his brow, “You realize a full squad is nine soldiers, right? This stuff has been drilled into us since decanting-”

“Then why do they call us the Domino squad?”

“Rolls off the tongue better than Domino batch,” you grumbled into your work, slipping your goggles back on and trying to focus amidst their conversation, “Look, are y’all actually here for something, or-?”

You trailed off, continuing your practiced movements as you waited for an answer. Hevy leaned next to you on the table, careful not to jostle it, or you, with his weight. He had learned that lesson the hard way...some nights his shin still throbbed with the memory.

“We’re gonna celebrate, not just the graduation, but now with you getting to tag along!” Hevy’s unusual cheeriness made you pause in your work. You turned to him, about to say something when he continued, “And we want you to join in the celebration too, mesh’la.”

You blinked at him, surprised by his offer. Sure, you were friendly to the troopers, and Hevy seems to have gotten especially comfortable around you, but you didn’t think they’d want to invite you to something as special as that. You pulled the goggles completely off your head, setting down your tools as you turned around to lean against your table, “I’ll bite. What’s the catch?”

Echo and Hevy looked between themselves, before glancing at you with mirroring expressions of confusion. 

“Why do you want me to join?” you elaborated, bringing up a hand to count on your fingers, “You wouldn’t want me there unless you had a reason for me to join, what is it? Contraband liquor? Snacks? Do you want me to secure the armory for the get together so you don’t have to have it in the barracks, or my quarters, or what?”

“The catch,” Hevy took a careful step into your space, mimicking your new pose, giving you an amused if not surprised smile, “is for you to have fun, not surrounded by guns and ammo.”

“And that’s coming from Hevy,” Echo scoffed, but agreeing with a wide shrug of his shoulders as he crossed his arms. You looked between the two of them as the moment stretched out for what felt like a lifetime… for Hevy at least. All the times he spent with you, all the terrible flirting and unashamed eyeing- he really wanted you to join. He could feel sweat begin to creep down his neck, the longer he waited for a response, swallowing down a gulp of dry air as his gaze flicked nervously over to Echo. Echo simply rolled his eyes- all of Domino Squad knew about Hevy’s true feelings for you. It was hard not to take notice when Hevy was just, well, like that. But they never seemed to learn about Hevy’s quiet times in here with you, how you two would partake in silent togetherness, finding peace in each other’s company. Not that Hevy was embarrassed, far from it, but he liked having that little piece to himself. Of course, he wanted more of you to himself, but for now those comforting silences while you built and rebuilt blasters were enough for him, because they were enough for you.

You kept your gaze neutral as you weighed the option of joining in your mind. It was far from a bad option, you liked this batch. They had been through a lot together, loved and protected each other like brothers should, and along with Hevy they accepted you as one of their own. What was one night?

“Yeah, alright,” you looked between the two ARCs, a grin forming as you stole a glance at Hevy, “I’ll join in. When is it?”

Hevy could jump for joy at your agreement, but he was still leaning on your workspace. Instead he smiled wide, tattooed cheeks crinkling parallel to the corners of his eyes, letting out a relieving breath, “Tomorrow night, the eve of our first deployment as ARCs. Be at our bunks at 1930…and if you do have any liquor-”

“Hevy-”

“Of course I have liquor,” you interrupt Echo’s chiding with a wink to the heavy gunner, bringing your forefinger up to trace Hevy’s jawline, gliding along the sharp edge, the pad of your fingertip calloused from years of work, and swelling with pride at how his dark eyes fluttered shut as he leaned into your teasing touch. Coming off with a playful tap to the tip of his chin, his eyes snapped open at your sultry chuckle, “See you tomorrow, soldier.”

You turned back to your work, slipping your goggles on a final time, but not before a quick and casual wave over your shoulder, “Later, Echo.”

Echo couldn’t figure out your mood toward Hevy worth a damn. He looked between your aloof manners and Hevy’s moony grin, deciding it just wasn’t worth trying to pick your brain at, partially because he was smart enough not to get involved, but also he wasn’t certain he’d be able to stomach the answer. Catching his brother's eyes, he made a discreet gagging motion to him before fitting his helmet back on and walking out the door, “See you, techie.”

Hevy stayed back a bit longer, continuing to watch you work. He was completely quiet, but his silence was deafening. You breathed out a huff of laughter, the tops of your ears beginning to heat up at his attention, wetting your lips, “Well?”

“Hm? Well what?” he shook himself out of his stupor, blinking back into time at your voice.

“Are you gonna leave now n’ let me work?” You cursed inwardly at your harsh words. You liked Hevy, deep down he was a real sweetheart, but you always found yourself being so coarse to him. Thankfully, he was as much of a hardhead as he was a hothead, and he met your indifferent glare with a devilish grin that made your heart jump doubletime.

“No, I think I’m gonna sit right here and watch your lovely hands make something amazing.”

“Amazing?” you scoff, shaking your head at his compliment, “I’m just fixing up another DC-15A that some cadet broke. You need to head to the med station if you think that’s amazing. We both know the Z-6 rotary is far superior-”

“When you’re done with it, it’ll be the best DC-15A in the GAR,” Hevy interrupted, eyes shifting between your face and your hands, “Everything you do is amazing.”

You stopped what you were doing at the genuinity that filled his praise. He always spoke to you with a hint of truth, a bit of heartfelt sincerity to make his easy way of speaking more personal to you, more interesting. But there was something in his expression, maybe the dreamlike haze filling the depths of his eyes, or the way that his accent rolled off his tongue that had you placing your palms flat on the table before speaking low to him, “Hevy, what are you doing?”

“I thought I was pretty clear,” he shrugged with a sideways grin, still careful of the lean on your table, “I’m watching you. You’ve let me before-”

“I mean with the…” you gestured to his full self, keeping your eyes on your now resting project, “The whole...flirting thing.”

You caught him off-guard. The two of you have been at it for months now, but neither of you had ever said or acknowledged anything about it. It was like a silent pact between the two of you, continue the performance, but don’t mention the game. To suddenly come out of the unsaid arrangement, Hevy felt himself draw back, slowly lifting his weight off the table, “Do you...not like it? I mean I figured that you...you know, you’ve always responded…”

You couldn’t believe it. After always having something to say, being able to trade quips, building a friendship over the shared banter and ripostes, the fearless ARC trooper you’ve seen grow so much these past few months was babbling out broken sentences at a single question.

“I can stop, if you’d like.”

It was that whispered phrase that brought you back into the moment, turning to him with burning cheeks, “I didn’t say that.”

“Well then what do you want?” He took a step into your space, brow set and a jaw flexing as he frustratingly tried to understand your sudden shift, “We’ve been...flirting-” the word left him like he was saying it for the first time, each syllable carefully leaving his lips- “since the day I met you. Mesh’la, if you don’t like it, say something! We’re about to go to work together, travelling the galaxy for a long time-”

“Exactly,” you countered, poking at his chest as you stood defiantly to him, tearing off your goggles and mussing your hair off to the side, “Whatever this is, are we gonna continue it? Continue dancing around each other like some kind of goddamned soap opera where everyone but us gets off on our own self-denial?”

“Self-denial?” Hevy repeats, an incredulous sound leaving his chest as you saw a fire spark behind his stare, “Sweetheart, I’m not denying anything, especially things I haven’t been asked!”

“Alright then, fine!” Somewhere down the conversation, your voices had raised to shouting in the small space, even as you two stood almost nose to nose, and your breath hot on his lips you asked, “Do you like me, trooper?”

“Like you? It was love at first sight when you first told me off,” Hevy couldn’t find it in himself to be embarrassed at his confession, just focusing on fueling the flames between you, “And what about you, techie? How do you feel about me?”

“I think you’re a smartmouthed asshole with a heart of gold and a pretty face- yeah, I like you a whole fucking lot!” 

This was ridiculous. You knew it was ridiculous. You could see it in his face too, the two of you breathing heavy, barely a hair’s width away from each other. You’re unsure who started it, later on you two would always claim the other giggled first, but eventually you found yourselves holding onto each other for support as you laughed out the rest of your pointless venom. His arms fit around you perfectly as your hands held strong to his wide shoulders, your laughter filling the room together, the sounds swirling in their melody as everything started to click perfectly into place. Once everything quieted down, your head resting against his chest as his hands ran up and down your back, you exhaled low and steady against him, slowly rocking in his hold, “Plastoid isn’t that comfortable to rest on, huh?”

“You should try wearing it,” Hevy snorted at your comment, leaning over to rest his cheek on the top of your head, “So...what now?”

You hummed, feigning thought before angling your face to brush your lips over the column of his throat, murmuring into his skin, “I wouldn’t be against a kiss.”

Something rich left his throat, the sound deep and thrumming through his chest before one of his hands found its way into your tresses on the back of your head, tugging gently at your hair to guide you to his lips. You couldn’t stop the brief hitch in your breath at the daring move, but you wouldn’t have expected anything less from the brash soldier. At your word he took the lead, slanting over your mouth in a soft motion, breathing you in as easy as air. You followed in confidence, welcoming the boldness with which he kissed you as the same boldness that had him playing the game you both set up. A small noise of satisfaction left you, not just from the perfect pressure from his lips moving so softly against yours, but also from the way his hand gripped so firmly at your waist through your canvas jumpsuit, his other hand still carding so thoughtfully through your hair; it was a sweet little gasp that Hevy swore he’d be replaying in his head for a week. Or at least until he was able to make another sound tumble out of you.

Your hands came up to cup his cheeks, thumbs tracing the edges of his tattoos, pulling him impossibly closer. The payoff of this single kiss was absolutely worth all those months of gentle torture, the teasing touches and glances, discreetly watching his lips when he’d talk and thinking about how he’d feel against your own. Or even how he’d taste. In a stroke of your own audacity, you ran a slow, languid lick of your tongue against his lips, and the growl that came from him made the most delightful of shivers shoot right down your spine.

He had a robust, spicy taste, earthy and rich with a bit of heat that came tickling at your tongue. It wasn’t too surprising- he smelled the same way, smoky and hearty with the biting musk all clones seemed to carry with them. What did surprise you was the honeyed velvet of his own tongue eagerly coming to meet yours as you repeated your action. You could feel his infuriating grin at the helpless whimper that dripped from you at the feeling, and you nipped brazenly at his bottom lip in retaliation.

Before he could respond to your playful attack, the two of you froze as a throat loudy cleared from the entryway of the armory. Hevy almost didn’t pull away from you, a near silent broken whine coming from him (for your ears only) as he came off of your lips with a wet smacking sound. After a quick flex of his fingers, he removed his hands from you just as slowly, your own hands sliding down from his face to clasping behind your back. You both turned to face the bucket of Commander Blitz, arms crossed and stance wide in the doorway. He nodded toward the hall, “You left the door open.”

You cleared your throat, pursing your lips to keep from saying something ridiculous. Hevy clenched his jaw, trying to accomplish the same thing. Blitz’s visor smoothly slid to gaze over you, and you straightened in the mimic of his cadets. “You finally relaxing, techie?”

A short chuckle escaped you, lips twitching up in a coy grin, “I am, Commander.”

He nodded, that same dramatic humming leaving him as he turned then to Hevy, who tensed at full attention to the ARC Commander. “What about you, son. How’s that burn feel?”

“To be perfectly candid, sir,” Hevy, always pushing the limits, turned to shoot you a look with a quick lick of his lips before responding, “Absolutely thrilling.”

Blitz nodded again, taking slow steps into the room, like how Hevy had earlier that day, letting each step echo off the walls until he was about two feet away, “I’m happy for you both, but please. Don’t be stupid. You’re lucky it was me walking by and not one of the longnecks, or the nat-born chief trainers. Close the doors. And do me a favor, wait till you’re both off Kamino for any of the heavier stuff, okay?”

You and Hevy both confirmed the Commander’s request with quick nods and mumbled “Yes sirs,” making him let go a long breath. Uncrossing his arms, he pointed to Hevy, “Trooper, hit the showers. Move it.”

Hevy shot you one last look, if you didn’t know any better you’d say he was bashful, before saluting Blitz, grabbing his helmet and marching out of the armory. You stood straight, still under Blitz’s cold stare from his visor, until he sighed, slapping a companionable hand on your shoulder, “If he steps out of line, I better be the first vod you call. I will kick his ass so hard, he’ll be knocked back to failing the Citadel the first time-”

“At ease, Commander,” you rolled your eyes, you hand coming up to hold onto his, brushing your thumb over his knuckles with a soft breath of laughter, “He didn’t lay a hand on me until I asked him to.”

Blitz squeezed your hand, taking off his own helmet to look at you. He looked a little older than Domino did, cheeks slightly hollowed and eyes a bit deeper set, a bittersweet shine coming over his amber stare, mouth twitching up into a lopsided smile, “I’m gonna miss you, after you go off with those fools.”

“You’ll make great friends with the next techie who comes along. Who knows, maybe they’ll actually listen to you,” you smile back at him, the two of you masking the tears threatening to fall from your lashes. He pulls you in, touching your foreheads together, before giving two more pats to your shoulder.

“And remember,” he pulls off of you, placing his helmet back on and causing his voice to come out in a soft static, “Please, for the love of Jango, don’t-”

“Don’t be stupid,” you salute to him, winking for extra effect, “Aye-aye, ori’vod.”

[Kingdom Hearts] Shutter to Stutter

Summary: By far, Ven’s got the most boring job at the flower shop; the cashier. Sitting day in and day out for someone to browse along the rows of flowers and gardening tools, then probably walk right out again. Sometimes an interesting thing would happen- but they were few and far between. [flower shop AU focused on UX kids][Part 8 in a series of oneshots][VenxOC][EphemerxOC/F!Player] 

Rating: K+ (mild cursing)

Word Count: 2,062 words

If you liked this story, please reblog!

---

Ven couldn’t remember the last time the flower shop had this much activity to it. At least, in terms of what they did for their billboard ads. Most of the time it was some seasonal flower with witty text advertising the store. Apparently this time, someone had requested something a bit more ‘personal.’ Which meant that they needed models this time around. Sabrina was a shoo-in; her face more than once gracing the billboard on I-02. But this time Luca was also being brought in. The two were to pose as if Luca was giving Sabrina a sunflower, and at the moment, the toddler wanted to do anything but.

It probably would have helped if the space wasn’t so overwhelming. Literally everyone was here. Lauriam had gotten a full camera set up- two large lights, a tripod, and his DSLR he usually used for some horticulture club he was in. Brain was his assistant, of a sorts, helping with adjusting the lights every now and again. Strelitzia -and surprisingly, Elrena- was there to do Sabrina’s make up for her. (Luca had been lucky to have Anora’s darker skintone, leading him to not be as washed out as the paler Sabrina.) Since their child was being exploited, of course both Ephemer and Anora were there to coax him to cooperate. And then there was Skuld- pretty much directing everyone, and likely not helping in Luca’s resistance.

No one had really asked Ven to help with this project, so he sat behind his counter to continue being invisible. Although he did wonder- was he still getting paid for this even though he wasn’t directly helping? This was still his normal shift, after all.

“Luca, look here.” Ephemer coaxed his child from behind Sabrina. “Look over here!”

Luca refused to acknowledge his parent. Instead he made do with picking off the petals on the sunflower with rather impressive pinches. It was less impressive when a strand of the toddler’s hair got into his face, and he used his whole hand to wipe it away. He didn’t even bother to look up when Anora started to shake what Ven could only assume was Luca’s favorite toy. The poor thing rattled not far from Sabrina’s face. No envy was lost as Sabrina’s face grew incredibly dark at the annoyance of having Ephemer verbally calling his son, while Anora rattled a toy on the other side. At this point, even if they could get Luca to remotely look Sabrina’s way, it was going to take another five minutes for her to look close to pleased again.

Brain knew his sister was pushing her limit because he gently pushed his way over to Skuld just to suggest, “Maybe we should try something different?”

Skuld looked at him like he gained another head.

“No.” she said to him with a shake of her head.

“So you want Wabi-Sabi to go Hulk when Ephemer calls for Luca again?”

“She’ll be fine.” Skuld snapped. To further prove a point, Skuld shouted at Sabrina, “Sabrina! You’re doing fine with Ephemer and Anora behind you, aren't you?”

Sabrina gave Skuld a glare so dark, it sent a chill up everyone’s (or, at least the people who happened to be looking at her at the time) spine. Skuld didn’t seem phased.

“Hey Sabrina,” Lauriam then spoke up from behind his camera. “Can you look over here for a moment? Cross your legs a bit too?”

Hate turning into an expression of mild confusion, Sabrina turned her body a bit to better face Lauriam. She crossed her legs and sat a bit straighter. Lauriam checked his camera’s viewfinder for a moment before several shutter snaps could be heard.

“Perfect.” Lauriam nodded. “Thank you.”

“Lauriam, stop taking boudoir photographs of my sister.” Brain teased as he went back over.

Lauriam actually looked rather offended at the idea. “I'm pretty sure these photos are taking themselves, Brain.” he informed his coworker. “My finger's not even on the trigger.”

“You have a remote.” Brain nonchalantly pointed out.

“Do I?” Lauriam looked down at his hand. Sure enough, there was a remote there. He looked up at Sabrina who was trying to scoot Luca back so they could maintain the agreed distance. Lauriam didn’t look away as he took another photograph, using the remote to trigger the shutter. He once more looked down at his hand in wonder before saying, “So I do.”

The duo shared a hearty laugh. The sound irking Sabrina’s nerves again as she also gave them a death glare. She was perfectly ignored for the time being. Every now and again, Lauriam still pressed the shutter button on the remote, even if nothing of substantial use was going on. He was going to end up with a lot of junk photos later, but he had always preferred to overshoot for that reason. If none of them had the particular vision Skuld was looking for, then surely there would be something that could suffice. There had to be.

Meanwhile, sitting by the main counter where Ventus was trying not to be seen, was Strelitzia and Elrena. Strelitzia was humming a little tune to herself as she watched over the main chaos.

“I wonder why Luca isn’t paying that much attention to Ephemer or Anora.” she casually wondered, placing a hand against her cheek. “He’s usually so attentive when they’re around.”

“Humph.” Elrena grumbled. “You know what they say, just like with dogs and cats; babies can sense evil.”

“Explains why he won't go near you.” Ventus hissed under his breath.

Both girls immediately looked at Ven- Strelitzia looked partially amused, while Elrena’s face could almost rival how irate Sabrina was. Elrena immediately slammed her hand down on the counter.

“Listen here, Roxas,” Elrena said, emphasizing the wrong name because she knew he didn’t like it, “I don’t know what’s gotten into you recently, but I’m not liking this bold streak you think you have going on. It’s not impressing anyone.”

“You wanna bet?”

Ventus, Elrena, and Strelitzia all turned their attention to Sabrina. She was sitting up straight and giving Elrena a particularly hard glare. Every other sound in the flower shop came to a grinding stop. (Spare for a few camera clicks, but at this point it was out of habit.) Seeing Sabrina defend Ventus made Elrena laugh.

“And what are you going to do?” Elrena challenged.

“Elrena.” Lauriam warned. She just as easily ignored him.

“‘Oh, look at me, Miss Independent.’” Elrena taunted. “‘I don’t care about anyone until I suddenly do. Oh, woe is me, being a cold hearted bi- I mean, witch, there’s a child present, I suppose- is just exhausting. It’s everyone else’s fault but mine. Oh woe!’”

Sabrina got up from her spot so quick, Brain nearly tripped over Lauriam’s tripod just to make sure his sister didn’t go straight for Elrena’s face. But she didn’t have thoughts of smashing the electric blonde’s face in just yet. Strelitzia had moved just as fast to take hold of Elrena’s elbow. Her grip was tight- a nonverbal warning that her friend needed to dial it back soon. But the shots had been fired, and neither one of them were going to let it go unattended.

“Brain, let go of my arm.” Sabrina hissed to her brother, not letting her gaze waver from Elrena. “You guys can keep going with the photoshoot, but there’s something I need to tell her a bit more privately.”

“You’re not leaving the shop to do it.” Brain told her.

“Of course not.” she spat- perfectly paired with a roll of her eyes.

“Luca will probably sit still for the camera better with her gone too.” Skuld spoke up, as if she wanted to remind everyone on why they were here today. “Lauriam, can you make it happen?”

“Of course.” he agreed. He took a look at his sister, giving her a stern glare meant to communicate that she needed to leave with Elrena soon. Strelitzia’s face paled a bit, but she gave a nod to show she understood.

With that, Brain let go of Sabrina’s arm. She very carefully walked around the photography junk to stand right in front of Elrena. Ventus could feel the air on the back of his neck stand up. There was a fury in Sabrina’s eye that he couldn’t tell if he admired or feared. He would have left to further give the girls time alone, but something kept him rooted in his spot. Everyone else returned to trying to take a good picture of Luca holding up a flower.

“You know, Elrena,” Sabrina started to say, “We’re a lot alike- you and I.”

Hearing this, Elrena stood a bit straighter. Ven tried to hold back the urge to shout that they weren’t. Sabrina gave them enough time to consider the idea before she continued.

“We’re both rather harsh to people we don’t like. Quite frankly, I don’t think we have ever liked each other. Sometimes, it’s very gratifying in just watching the world burn. You know what I mean?”

“Pssht. Yeah.” Elrena snorted. “Some people just deserve it.”

“And that’s where we differ.” Sabrina mused, taking another step toward Elrena. “You keep hiding. You keep hiding every little thing until you’re desperate. It’s not even a matter of holding your cards close- you literally can not let anyone in. People always ask who hurt me, but do they ask the same about you? I know where I fucked up in life, but do you? At least I’m able to admit that I like the person standing two feet away from me. By way, Ven? Last week? That was my first kiss. Great job.”

Ven immediately looked down, his face flushing a deep red. The black haired, brown eyed bitch smirked at the reaction. It became malicious when she looked back at Elrena.

“Have you kissed the person standing two feet next to you yet, sweetie?” She turned to look Strelitzia dead in the eye before asking, “Has she?”

For a moment, Strelitzia didn’t know how to respond. “Elrena doesn’t…” she tried to say, but she wandered in looking at Elrena’s face. The electric blonde’s face was a shade of red that it rivaled the ripest of apples.

“You- you just can’t say that!” Elrena spat. “You don’t know-”

“I may hate people, but I know them. But if I’m wrong, then kiss her.”

Elrena looked like she wanted to throw up.

“S-Strelitzia,” she then stammered. “We need to go now. You’re my ride home.”

“Yeah…” Strelitzia slowly nodded. “Let’s go.”

Strelitzia started toward the front door without a second thought. She paused at Lauriam to tell him something, (something he did not look pleased about at all) before leaving the building altogether. Elrena remained in a deadlock with Sabrina.

“You’re a bitch.” she told the dark haired girl.

“Have to be,” the reply came, almost as pure and simple as day. “How else will the person I like know I actually do like them?”

Elrena pursed her lips together. She tried to storm out, but the attempt still seemed rather half hearted at best. Sabrina casually watched her leave as she leaned against the counter. She refused to look at Lauriam. She knew he was giving her a heated glare.

Ven leaned forward on the counter just to whisper at her, “You’re insane.”

Sabrina moved enough to give him an over the shoulder stare.

“And yet, you’re the one that kissed me.” she mused, rather triumphantly. “Guess that makes you just as bad.”

“It was one kiss.” Ven tried to say in his defense. “Didn’t have to mean anything.”

“No, no it didn’t.” Sabrina quietly mumbled. She got off the counter and took her spot back in front of the camera equipment. Her expression was hard as she told her brother that things were fine. She even told Lauriam that she didn’t mean to put Strelitzia on the spot. But then she went back to modeling like nothing had ever happened. Right down to being slightly annoyed at the parents on either side of her trying to get their kid’s attention.

Ventus hummed as he rested an elbow on the counter, then cupped his face into his hand. Only one thought entered his head as he watched the photoshoot, and it was one that sent butterflies to his stomach.

She is amazing.

summer days

The one where you and Billy need some cooling down after a hot summer day.

Warnings: Jealous!reader, smut (oral, reader receiving), swearing, some dirty talk, fun with ice

a/n: this is the first time I wrote something for Billy/Stranger Things and I had so much fun writing this, so I hope you all have fun reading it as well! 

Fic is beneath the cut! 

She knows she isn’t the only one who knows Billy Hargrove is a looker. She knows she isn’t the only one who lusts after him. They are not really a couple, she can’t imagine Billy to be ever serious about love. But they fooled around, and they did it plenty of times for her to know what he does and does not like.

Is it because the abs, is it because his wild hair, is it because he drives a rad car? Is it because of the intensity of his blue eyes, is it in the way he smokes his cigarette? Or is it because he is everything that you should run away from? Is it the need to see what lies behind the leather and snarky comments? Is it the need to be what makes a tough guy soft?

She thinks it is a wicked combination of all the above. The elder woman lust after him because they see in him what they can’t get in their pitiful husbands. The other girls want him because he smells like nicotine, oil and everything else that is dangerous. They all want to burn and Billy is the fire that will suffice.

She does not like the way they stare at him, like they’re already his and he is already theirs. She watches the housewives pose at the other side of the pool. She can’t stand the way they are only here for him, she can’t stand that he gives them what they came for.

She grinds her teeth when she sees him sit down at his post. He pushes down his sunglasses when he spots her, his eyes fall in hers. The cheeky smile he gives her almost makes her blood boil; why is she so bothered by him and his actions? She looks away from his gaze, stubbornly she stares at the children playing in the water. Why can’t she just want a boring, plain but normal boy? Why does she always wants the ones that will burn her? She shakes her head, not wanting to think about him any longer.

--

Later she finds herself at his place anyway. She is sitting upon the desk he probably never uses. The door is closed, but the window is opened.

“I fucking hate this heat.” Billy lies on his bed, he’s holding  a red coloured popsicle in his hand. Her eyes roam over his sweaty nude torso, to the washed out jeans he’s wearing. She remembers how the women at the pool had watched him the same way as she is watching him now. Another wave of jealousy goes through her body. She cannot hide her sour tone when she answers him.

“The heat does give you the opportunity to show of your abs to those hungry housewives at the pool though.”

Billy sits up straight, his blonde curls fall in his eyes as he does so. “What do you mean?”

Her laugh is humourless, “Don’t deny it, you like the attention.”

“Are you jealous?” She looks away from him.

“You are!” Stubbornly she does not answer him. She does want to give him this small victory. Of course she is jealous, of course she wants him to herself. How can she not?

“Come here.” Billy his voice is soft, she finally looks at him. He looks amused by her jealousy, but also slightly annoyed.

She sits down on his bed. “You are cute when you’re jealous, but also a huge bitch.” His hand grabs her tight. “You don’t have the right to be jealous. I am not even really yours.” Anger flares up in her, her brows furrow. “You had the right to be jealous when I went on a date with Peter.”

Billy rolls his eyes. “Peter is a dick, I can’t believe you stood me up for him.” Her eyes spew fire. “At least he took me on a date.”

They watch each other for a couple seconds, there is something buzzing in the air. It’s all teeth clashing and hair grabbing when their faces collide.  She can taste the sweet taste of the ice upon his tongue when she opens her mouth to let him in. His curls are twisted around her fingers, she can feel the cold ice against her upper arm when he holds her.

When they part to breath, Billy speaks, “I think you need some cooling down. Lie down.” She is excited and curious, what will he do? She is happy she decided to wear a dress.

Billy crawls on top her, placing his knees on both sides of her body. He looks down on her, a smile decorates his face.

“Open your mouth.”

What he does next is unexpected. He pushes the popsicle he was sucking on just before into her mouth. Her lips automatically close around it, she keeps on watching him. She lets her tongue swirl around the cold sweetness.

He moves the ice-lolly inside her mouth like he would move his dick, pushing it deeper with each ‘thrust.’ He won’t be satisfied until she gags on it.

“Yes, baby, suck it like it’s my dick. I know you wish it was.” She makes an agreeing humming sound. The sucking sounds she produces as he pushes the ice in and out her mouth is driving him insane. Her cheeks hollow as she sucks on it. God, he almost wants to replace the popsicle with his cock. But Billy has other plans tonight.

Red coloured drool drips from the corners of her mouth, her pleading eyes are looking up to him. Sweat is making her skin shimmer in the dim yellow light of his room. “Such a good girl you are.” With his other hand he strokes some of her hair from her face. “So precious, so obeying.”

Then he pops the popsicle from her mouth. Her lips are swollen and sticky and Billy needs to taste them. With his thumb he strokes her drool away, bringing his thumb to his own mouth after. He gives her the ice-lolly back. “Here, hold this for me.”

He presses a kiss in the crook of her neck, going down to press another one against her collarbone. He goes down, until he is between her legs. He pushes her skirt up, exposing the white panties she’s wearing. Billy pushes his thumb against her center, rubbing it over the dampening fabric. “Are you afraid I will ever touch someone else like this?” He moves his hand to the edge, slipping his fingers inside her underwear. “Are you scared I will grow bored of this?” She gasps when his fingers slide through her slick folds. With his left hand Billy tries to push the underwear of her. She moves her hips up so he can do so.

The warm summer air feels cold against her throbbing cunt, she is so turned on she might cry if he leaves her hanging for too long.

Without giving her a warning first; he pushes one of his digits into her cunt. “Are you afraid I will find another tight pussy to fill?” He slowly pumps his index finger inside her, taking his sweet time. Her hips automatically roll against his hand, a breathy moan falls from her mouth. “Yes… Fuck, it feels so good, Billy.”

She is still holding the ice, but it’s dangerously close to falling to the ground. Billy pulls his fingers from her. “Give me the popsicle.” He orders.

There is not much left of the ice, so Billy decides to eat the last of it. “You wasted my ice. I guess I’ll need to suck on something else now.”

He spreads her legs, moving his head between them.

His cold tongue is pressed against her cunt. She shudders because of the sensation, she wants to cry out because of the feeling it gives her. 

He licks her from the bottom to the top. The taste of her mixing with the sweet taste of the ice he had. He wants to moan because of it. Her hips thrust up as far as they can to meet his face. Her moans are soft, it is not enough. Billy wants to hear her scream. He wants her to wake up his dreadful father; he wants the whole neighborhood to know she is his. “Let me hear how good it feels baby, don’t hold back.”  

She can’t take it any longer, the way his tongue circles over her clit, the soft sounds he makes as he does so. Both her hands grab the sheets when she feels her orgasm building. “Fuck baby, you are so good at this. You make me feel so good, only you can do it like this.

”She cries out when his fingers fill her up, his tongue circles her clit. Her body trembles, her legs grow numb. She pushes her head into his pillow, her back arches. His shouts his name, not carrying who wakes up. She hopes everyone will hear how she has him. No one else can have him like she has.

She rides out her orgasm against his face, not caring how desperate she may looks. When he crawls up to lie next to her his face is wet with her arousal. She is embarrassed, but not enough to not feel smug. The smile he gives her is all telling. She smiles as well.

“Well this didn’t cool me down at all, I guess we need some more ice.”

Billy laughs hard after her sentence. “I guess we do.”

This is my drunk promise, ily bitch, this is for you @avesatanormalpeoplescareme 

Tags: @sloppy-little-witch-bitch26 @thechildofmay @ccodyferns @imtherain @whitewolfiee @ilovethewayyourheartbeats 

shitpost

im sorry

An Eye For An Eye

It was raining in Garreg Mach. Not an uncommon occurrence but today it was pouring particularly hard. And Dimitri was sitting out in it. Alone.

There were many things on his mind today. The tragedy of Duscur, the betrayal of Edelgard, the war ravaging Fodlan... but a new phantom had started to haunt his head.

It was a voice. A voice that was low and deep and almost like it was always on the verge of laughing.

At him.

It taunted him.

"You... How dare... GET OUT OF MY HEAD!" he screamed into the rain to no one.

"Dude, chill."

Dimitri froze, There, coming from behind him, was the source of the voice, in the flesh, instead of just his head.

:"You... I... I'll..."

He whirled around,

:"I'LL FEED YOUR GUTS TO THE VULTUR-"

He stopped. Standing before him was a short, squat skeleton, in a blue jacket and slippers.

"Joke's on you, I have no guts."

Dimitri stared, as hard as he possibly could with only one eye.

"What... What are you?"

"A skeleton."

"N-no that's obvious but - who are you then?"

"I'm Sans. I've got a bit of a funny bone."

"Strange creature, why do you speak in riddles and puns?"

"It's my brand. Also you look like you could use some humor in your life."

The rain started letting up. Dimitri paused.

"I... I guess I could."

"Don't suppose you've got a Grillby's around here? You know, for like, food?:

"No, but... we have tea?"

Sans sighed. "It'll do."

-------------------

The two were sitting together around a small tea table, with pastries and a pot of tea in the middle. Dimitri gingerly sipped his tea, rocking back and forth in his seat slightly. Sans just kind of... Poked at his cup of tea.

"So," said Dimitri. "Where are you from? I doubt it's Fodlan."

"I'm from the Underground."

"You mean like... the sewers? And I thought the sewer people were a myth."

"No, like... we're monsters, we live under a mountain, there was a barrier, but this nice human set us free. At least in one-"

He grew silent.

"One what?" said Dimitri.

Sans gave a very fake yawn. "I'm too tired to explain."

"...If you say so. Well the Kingdom Of Faregus will welcome you."

"This is like, medieval fantasy land, right?" said Sans. "I'll be fine."

It was then Ashe approached.

"Dimitri! Hello! I've been looking all over for you!"

Dimitri turned to Ashe (not literally).

"Hello, Ashe. Have you met Sans Undertale here?"

Ashe looked over to where Sans was sitting, but could only see an empty chair.

"Uh...  Sorry Dimitri, I don't see anyone..."

"...Whar? What?! Sans is right there, you're looking right at hin!"

Sans just awkwardly waved at Ashe.

"Er, did... something... hit you... on the head?" Ashe said, slowly backing off.

"No... It can't be... He's there, I'm telling the truth!" said Dimitri

"I'll... I'lll go get Marianne!" said Ashe, running off.

"Er, bro, you might wanna chill," said Sans.

"No...I'll show them you're real! I'll show them all!"

He picked up Sans - who yelped - and carried him off.

---------

"Look at him! Look at him! Look at him! I want you all to look at him!"

Dimitri ran around, shoving Sans into people's faces. Most just backed or ran away, or laughed only to stop when Dimitri gave them a menacing glare.

Finally Dimitri stumbled over to Byleth.

"Can you see him? You probably can't, I'm probably wasting my ti-

Byleth's eyes widened and he gave Sans a quick tap on the forehead.

"That tickles," said Sans.

"Professor... You... You can see him?"

Byleth nodded.

"Excellent! You can explain to the others what's going on."

Byleth tilted his head.

"Actually... Sans, what did bring you here?"

"I was bored," said Sans. "Plus you seem like you could use the help?"

The eyebrow over Dimitri's good eye raised. "Help with what?"

It was then Ashe came over with Marianne. "There he is!" Ashe said.

"Please, hold still while I heal your head injury!" said Marianne. "You will feel a few moments of excruciating pain, but that's normal for this spell and you'll be all better right after!"

"Wait, what? I don't need this!" said Dimitri.

Byleth waved his hands in a "woah, slow down" gesture.

"Relax, he knows me from Smash," said Sans.

Byleth gave a "kind of" gesture.

"Wait..." said Marianne. "Byleth, do you see it too?"

Byleth nodded vigorously. Marianne paused.

"...Oh goodness, you must ALSO have a head injury!" she said. "Hold still while I-"

And just like that Byleth, Dimitri, and Sans were gone.

-----------------

The three were now in the sewers. Water dripped around them and there were unsightly lumps Dimitri avoided touching.

Byleth tapped his forehead.

"He says he has connections down here." said Sans.

"...Oh. Right. Yuri and his friends. Anyway, Sans, what did you say you were here for?"

"I wanted to talk. About your sis."

Dimitri scowled. "What of her?"

"You two need to talk."

"No. Disgusting. I refuse."

"Listen, me and my bro butt heads too and like, it doesn't start wars but I see myself in you. And I've seen timelines back home where things could get bad. Real bad. And I don't want your timeline to end up like those."

Byleth nodded.

"Byleth here reminds me of this kid I know. Went through a lot of paths in their timelines. A lot of them were real bad. But they eventually settled on a good one. I know Byleth is trying to do... somewhat like that."

Byleth nodded again.

Sans yawned. "Man being altruistic is exhausting. But really, talk to her."

"Suggest that again and I'll grind those bones of yours into powder."

"Rude."

Byleth struck a thinking pose, then bent down and signed something to Sans. Sans nodded and turned to Dimitri again.

"Would you do it for some tasty weeds?"

Dimitri's eyebrow arched over his good eye again. "Not even for that."

"What if I had a killer supply of weeds. The tastiest weeds I could ever stuff down your gullet. An infinite smorgaspoard."

"Tempting but still no."

Sans leaned forward. "I have the weed."

"...Fine. Fine, I will talk to her. But I cannot guarantee it will end well for either of us."

"Great!" said Sans. "But... How do we get there? I never bothered to bring a map." "You imbecile!" said Dimitri. "You're the one who proposed-"

The two noticed Byleth beckoning them further down the sewer tunnel.

"Let's follow him!" Sans said.

And so they did.

---------------

The three emerged from a sewer grate right outside of a castle.

"Impossible... This is Enbarr, capital of the Adrestian Empire!" said Dimitri.

Byleth nodded and smirked.

"Well we just need to get inside then," said Sans.

"We need disguises," said Dimitri.

---------------

The three were now wearing baggy brown cloaks.

"Perfect!" said Dimitri.

The three walked up to some guards.

"Excuse me we're-" Dimitri started to say.

"Hot dog salesmen," said Sans.

"What?" said Dimitri. "That's ridiculou-"

Byleth nudged him and he sighed. "Hot dog salesmen."

"What are these... Hot dogs?" said one of the guards.

Sans produced a platter of hot dogs that Byleth passed to the guards, and the guards passed around and tasted, their faces lighting up in delight.

"These are wonderful!" said one.

"We're delivering them to the Emperor," said Dimitri, suddenly getting an idea. "They could potentially solve world hunger."

"Of course! Usher them in straight away!"

And the group was indeed ushered in.

----------

The three walked inside, through the winding corridors, all the way up to the throne room.

There, on the throne, was Edelgard, Hubert by her side as always. Dimitri whipped his cloak off.

"YOU!"

"YOU!" Edelgard said right back.

"Stand by, Edelgard, I will dispose of him sho-"

"Woah, woah, woah, hold on!" said Sans, removing his cloak and waving his hands. Byleth sighed and removed his as well.

"The old professor too? What is the meaning of this?" said Edelgard.

Dimitri sighed. "The skeleton you can't see wants us to talk."

"....Talk about what?"

"Our issues, apparently."

Byleth nodded.

"But... Why? After everything?"

Sans whispered into Dimitri's ear, leading Dimitri to reply.

"Because our sibling feud is hurting a lot more than just us."

Edelgard thought a second. Hubet twiddled his fingers in annoyance.

"...Fine. Let's talk." said Edelgard. "But it's not going to end well."

--------------------------

The meeting for a peace treaty between Faergus and Adrestia was a rousing success. Reform spread through both nations. Peace was on the way to Fodlan.

During a festival celebrating the alliance, as a crowd outside the castle rejoiced, Edelgard and Dimitri approached Sans and Byleth.

"I just wanted to say... Thank you for helping make this possible professor!" said Dimitri.

"He had a little help," said Dimitri, winking at Sans in a way that looked like blinking because of the eyepatch. Sans winked back.

The two royal siblings left, and then Sans turned to Byleth.

"You saw them too huh? All those icky bad end timelines."

Byleth nodded gravely.

"Yeah, like, I know the feeling," said Sans. "I've been there. But a certain kid a lot like you... the one who made the good decisions anyway... they taught me to care just a little."

Byleth gave Sans a pat. Sans smiled.

"Well, you owe me one for help untangling those! Say hi to the guys in Smash for me."

Byleth, uncharacteristically, grinned as they gave a thumbs up.

-----------------

"I CAN'T BELIEVE IT SANS!" said Papyrus, shaking his controller with glee. "THEY ADDED A HAPPY ENDING! IT'S WHAT I ALWAYS WANTED FOR THIS GAME!"

Sans, laying next to him on the couch, groaned. "Pipe down, will you?"

"WELL EXCUSE ME FOR HYPING RESPONSIBLY!" said Papyrus. He put a hand to his chin. "THOUGH... I NEVER LEARNED ABOUT THIS NEW DLC ROUTE BEFORE... AND I THOUGHT THE DLC WAS DONE AFTER ASHEN WOLVES... AND I HAVEN'T HEARD FROM ALPHYS AND UNDYNE ABOUT IT EVEN THOUGH THEY RECOMMENDED ME THIS GAME."

Sans shrugged with a smirk. "It's not like I did it."

"OF COURSE YOU DIDN'T," said Papyrus. "LAZYBONES."

***

Happy April Fools y'all

Hisoka Dirty Alphabet

OK so that’s my first contribution and obviously it has to be a thirsty post about Hisoka. I love that man and it says a lot about me.

also English isn’t my first language so if you see some horrible mistakes in my writing please let me know .

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

I feel it can go either way. Either he would stays and let you cuddle while he plays with your hair and tease you about the faces and sounds you made earlier or he could just straigt up leave once he's done depending on his mood. If it does stay and spend the night you better bet that he'd be ready for another round in the morning.

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Hisoka definitly knows  he's eye candy, this man loves every inch of himself head to toe but he likes to attract attention on his arms and hips suggestively, you think he's just making weird pose ? It's not, it's a mating stance. I don't see him as a man who'd be too picky apparence wise for a partner. He can appreciate conventional beauty but as long as  his interest is caught and he thinks he can have some good time he would go for it, he's a sucker for nice full lips though.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

Be prepared to have cum litteraly everywhere, even the walls are not safe with the trash clown. Hisoka's cum is opaque, very sticky and slighty sweet like you would expect for someone who calls his Hatsu "Bungee Gum : Elastic Love" and while it's nice when he finishes in your mouth it will drive you crazy when he'd aim for your hair. Just imagine washing honey, you'd need at least 3 shampoo to get everything off and he knows that perfectly, he finds this funny for some reason. As much as he likes to finish inside, when he knows that you both have all night he'd make it a game to cum in a different place each time to see how much of your body he could cover. He won't let you shower inbetween, he likes to make you dirty.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He have no shame period. He will tell you everything even if you don't ask for it. Wether it makes you wet or cringe he doesn't care, he just wants to see your reaction.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

He had too many partner to even count, this man needs standards (and Jesus) . Everything he didn't already experienced or heard about he'll think of it on his own. He's smart and have a lot of imagination as we saw during his battle so it's only natural that he'd use his mind in bed. He would be very attentive to everything you say, your movements, gasps etc he'd find your button really fast whithout you having to guide him at all. Like everything else in his eyes, sex is a battle and he wants to win, his goal's to break you with pleasure until you're a drooling, half conscious mess.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

Everything that let him have a good look at your face when you cum. He loves the physical pleasure of sex there's no doubt about it but what he aches for is contemplating the result of his caress and thrust when you come undone under him. He get an enormous satisfaction knowing he's the one doing that to you, like I said that's his win. I can see him asking you to look at him in the eyes when he senses you're close and his climax won't be long after yours.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

Depends on his mood too. He would be pretty playful most of the times, driving you mad with his shitty grin of his but I can also see him not fooling around when his need is too strong. In the latter situation he wouldn't be up for foreplays either he'd just want to be inside you fast, like yesterday fast. He won't force you but he'd be a lot more agressive than his usual flirty self when he'd tease you so much that you'd be the one begging to finally getting him to fuck you. When he's impatient he'd just finger you and grind himself on you to relieve the need a bit until you're ready to accomodate his cock, once he's inside he would pound you like there's no tomorrow but still intend to make you come too either with his hand or, if you didn't finish before him, with his mouth afterward.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

I see a lot of headcanon of people thinking the carpet match the drapes. I don't . Hisoka is all for surprise and I can imagine having his pubes the same color as his hair being boring for him. He would make stupid shape and dye his pubes in a color that complement his hair, no fashion faux-pas like Yellow and Orange.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

Well ... he can fake it. It would be one of his games to tease you on how much you like it when he's sweet to you, and that maybe you like him and shit like that, I can't see him being genuine. He would like it  if you're overly sweet to him sometimes though, he have time when he likes being pamper a bit and won't tease you *too much* about it.

J= Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

Yeah he jerk off a lot too. When he got times he'd go all out with lube, toy and getting in a room where he'd be in front of a mirror (i did say he really LOVES his body). This guy doesn't just jack off, he treats himself to a full course of pleasure. He would go slow and taking time to give attention to every of his sweet spots before even touching his dick. Hisoka would tease himself like he would for his partner, always delaying just a bit more the moment when he'd start pumping himself. I can see him  being pretty rough when he gets going, gripping his cock with way too much force to be comfortable. If you're available he'd call you when he's near his end so he'd come to the sound of your voice and because he's an oversharing slut.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Blood play, bondage, asphyxiation, edging, outdoor... you name it he loves it.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

He loves thrill, he loves to embarrass you so semi public is the way to go. He'd fuck you particularly hard and fast to make you as loud as possible, don't even try to stay silent that'd encourage him to try harder and in the end he will win anyway. Bonus point if you're as shameless as he is and don't give a shit if someone sees you, he'd get out of his way to pick locations with the riskiest chance to get caught. He wouldn't go full public though he like the thought of being surprise in the act not giving a show to a crowd.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

If you breath he's already hard. Don't you know the man is a hoe ?

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

I can only think of things that would gross him out, lack of hygienes, poop or pee, things like that being a big NO. I headcanon Hisoka as a very clean man, sure he likes to get you and him dirty but in the *right* way. Eveything else he would consider a boring fuck if it wasn't for his taste but he would sure as hell finish before leaving and never come back.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

Both. He will eat you out any chances he gets, he's great at oral and he'd uses it to tease you relentlessly, stopping just when you're about to come to kiss and lick your thigs with his shit eating grin glued on his face. He would do that a few time until you start threatening to kill him if he doesn't let you finish. Seing you grabing his hair, feeling your legs shaking would delight him beyond words. Please look at him when he goes down on you, he's happy when he gets your full attention. He loves attention to his dick too, any kind, so he's pretty enthusiastic if you blow him, he would moan loudly and sing your praise in a way where you wouldn't really know if it's bullying or genuine compliment. Be careful though, if you want him to finish in your mouth he WILL fuck your face.

P = Pace (Are they fats and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Whatever makes you lose your mind. That doesn't mean he's a selfless lover just that like I said he wants to win, he'd be sure that if anyone ask you "who's your best fuck?" his face pop immediately in your head. He's pretty good at manipulating people, even if you don't share his tastes at first he'd make at least some of his kinks yours by slowly incorporating them into your sex life and merging them with things he knows you like until you get some pleasure out of it. You're his toy and he wants to play with his rules. However when he chases his own orgasm he's very rough and if you weren't already into that it would be the moment when he'd bruise you with his gripe and leave bite mark on you. He would apologize after if it bothers you. He's not sorry at all.

Q= Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

He loves quickies but more like something punctual than an habit, he'd prefer to take his time to have you needy and begging, he does love his mind game. Sometimes he would like to take you in a more animalistic way, right here and right now, it's usually when he's in his "no bullshit just fuck" mood, after a particularly exciting fight for exemple, in this case he would just straight up says that he wants you now and it's even better for him if you're outdoor so he can still indulge in his kink. If you accept he'd take you into the nearest hidden location and wouldn't lose any time to get started. It would be one of the time when he'd like to take you for behind and only focus on his sensation.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

Hisoka isn't even careful with his life he wouldn't be careful with his dick. Do your worst to him there's a high chance he'd like it.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

You'd be spent waaaay before him, there's no question about that. He can go for days and his only limit is your staminia. You'd be raw and sore in the morning every time but hey you knew it would be like that ! That's why you chose to fuck the trash clown in the first place.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

He uses them on him or his partner sometimes, it's more an once in a while fun. He likes the different sensations that toys can offer but he'd still prefere to go natural when he's with you, it's an ego thing. When he's doing his all "jerking like a diva" routine that's when he uses them the most.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Very very very unfair, that's his main turn on. Either with words or actions he would tease you all the time, coupled with the fact that's this man couldn't shut his mouth to save his life, be prepared to have a comment for everything you do to him and every reaction he'd fish out of you. With edging being one of his kink too don't expect him to let you come anytime soon, he'd be teasing you until you whimper in frustration and even then it wouldn't be the end of his torture. When he's going down on you or pleasing you with his finger he'd make you say eveything you'd want him to do to you, and then how, where, what rythm. You'd need to spell eveything out for him to let you finally come. It doesn't seems that hard but in the state you'd be in, just articulate a word would be harder than solving an advanced math problem. The good news is that he likes being teased too so feel free to make him pay.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

So loud, you can't even compete. He's shameless and he'd make every sound an human mouth can make. He has no restrain at all.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

Hisoka nipples are extremely sensistive, you can make him come just playing with them. That's the spot to go when you want to have him going boneless under your touch and that's the spot to go when you're feeling mean and want some vengeance after all his teasing.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

Thicc. Hisoka's cock is around 16cm, very grithy and curbing a bit to the right. The skin is pale like the rest of his body but  in a redder shade, his head get very red when he's aroused and precum, so much precum.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

If he didn't like fighting that much he would be fucking all the time, that's how high is sex drive is.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Depends if he's sleeping alone or not. If you excuse yourself out after you're done with him (because you're a smart girl and you know that all of this was a mistake) he'd go doing something else, I don't think the sex would have tire him so much that he'd need to sleep right away. He would probably take a shower first, maybe bother Illumi with some texts or keeping track on some of his fruit. If you do decide to stay and he's in the mood to let you sleep with him he'd sleep close to you and cuddle a bit if he's satisfied, he'd fall asleep not long after you and skip the shower so you could both take one in the morning together (and do the do once again).

It’s Only a Game (Part 4) (Colt x MC)

A/N: This is completely AU and has gotten so far away from me, I don’t even know how this happened. This will have 8 parts once we are done (at least that's the plan...). Still pretending that Chapter 10 never happened.  Also, anyone else excited/terrified for tomorrow? Only me? Ok then.

Pairing: Colt x MC

Rating: PG-13 (swearing and kissing)

Length: 2929 words 

Summary: The crew needs three rare cars to pacify The Brotherhood so Ellie and Logan go undercover.

Tags: @deimosensblog @alegria1580  @choicesarehard @thefarrari @client-327

Disclaimer: I own nothing. This is only for fun.

Ellie slid into the rideshare, making sure to gather the fabric of her dress in alongside her. It was undoubtedly the nicest thing she had ever worn, the delicate beading falling in waves down her body and the thin fabric skimming her hips.

She turned to Logan as he shut the door behind him. "You look dapper." She grinned and reached out to straighten his bow tie. He was in a tux, black, tailored to fit. For someone who had never been accustomed to the finer things, he sure pulled it off well. 

“Thanks,” he grinned at her. He pulled on the lapels of his jacket and struck a pose. “It is going to be weird living it up like rich people tonight. I am definitely looking forward to being a fly on the wall.”

“You know Brent. Didn’t you get enough of that lifestyle at his parties?” Ellie leaned back in her seat and pulled her purse closer. It contained two tickets to the Los Angeles Arts Association Masquerade Ball and she needed to be conscious not to lose them.

Logan looked at her and shrugged. “This feels different. Brett is rich but these people are on another level; not only did they pay to get in, but they are donating more than most people see in a year.” He grinned at her and winked. “I also have the most gorgeous date in the house.”

Ellie chuckled and elbowed him. “Nice try, charmer. Here we are.” The rideshare pulled up to the elegant gates of a West LA mansion. The owners, some couple who owned a baseball team, had a palatial home and Ellie felt her jaw drop as she stepped out of the cab.

Logan let out a low whistle. “Not too shabby.” 

Ellie could only nod and look at him. “Ready?” She pulled out the elaborate gold mask out of her purse and grabbed the tickets.

“Ready.” They took turns fastening their masquerade masks. Finally, with their disguises on, Logan held out his arm and they headed up the marble steps together. Ellie’s heels clinked with each step and she had never felt more glamorous in her life. 

After handing over their tickets, they entered a receiving line to greet the hosts. “Thank you for having us," Ellie smiled and shook the hand of a distinguished looking gentleman. His giant watch sparkled in the chandeliers of the entryway and he looked vaguely bored. This was all so formal she felt like she should curtsy. Next to her, Logan put a hand protectively on the small of her back and forced a grin.

"Hello. I'm Danny." The boy next to the baseball owner smiled, all teeth, and instead of shaking her hand, kissed her palm. He looked like he was Ellie’s age and would have been cute if not for the aggressive leer on his face. She forced a smile and could audibly hear Logan's teeth grinding next to her.

Ellie plastered a smile on her face and began the slow process of extracting her hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"I'm Logan," he aggressively butt in, shaking Danny's hand, eyes hard.

"Of course," Danny smiled again but this time, it did not reach his eyes. "Please enjoy our party." 

Logan led her through the party with a hand on her back. Dipping low, he whispered in her ear, "I am so looking forward to lifting a few cars off their hands." The squeezed though what felt like an interminable mass of people until, finally, they were able to separate from the crowd. Together, they headed over to a quiet corner to strategize. Logan looked at her intently. “Do you remember the plan?”

“Of course.” Ellie nodded, trying to contain the butterflies. “We mingle and, in five minutes, you sneak out the back and open the garden gate for Colt and Mona. I stay here. You get the cars. I watch the back door to the garage. If anyone goes down...” She trailed off. The earpieces hadn’t been discrete enough for this mission so they were relying on a bit of improvisation.

“If anyone goes down, try to head them off. If you can’t, try to be loud so we know someone’s coming.” He placed his hands on her shoulders, their weight comforting Ellie as she nodded. “You’ve got this.”

“Ok. Let’s do this.” Together, they wandered over to get appetizers, stole a flute of Champagne (Ellie decided against drinking it, but couldn’t deny it looked stunning against the navy of her dress), and circled the party, mapping out possible exits. 

All too soon, Logan nodded. “Ok. I’m headed out.” He squeezed her elbow and looked intently into her eyes, nodding. “Have fun. You’ve got this.”

Ellie watched him walk down the hall and fade into the distance. She took a deep breath and looked around. “Ok.” She muttered to herself. “Go time.”

She started to mingle, trying to make the most of the party while keeping an eye on the back entrance to the garage. She tried appetizer after appetizer, fended off advances from a couple of people who probably shouldn’t be driving home, and tried to look as natural as possible. It was hard when she didn’t know anyone but, given the theme, she supposed she was lucky. She could hide behind her mask and no one knew her either; she felt a certain safety in that.

She was edging down the hall, heading towards the bathroom, when she saw the creep from the front door, Danny, stop outside the door to the garage. He looked around, completely confused and then, to Ellie’s horror, he opened the door and peered inside. Before she could move, he had taken two steps inside and shut the door behind him.

“Crap. Crap crap crap.” Ellie walked as quickly as she could towards the door, frantically thinking as she went. She had no idea what she was going to say but, before she could talk herself out of it, she opened the door and quietly ducked in after him.

Once she shut the door, it took a minute for her eyes to adjust. There was some moonlight coming through the windows but it was mostly dark. She squinted, trying to find where he went. The cars were there, at least, so she couldn’t see anything dramatically askew in the room; hopefully, Danny was also seeing nothing.

She crept down the stairs and finally saw him, standing next to the giant garage doors. “Hello?” he called out, looking around. He must have heard something; if they made it out of here, she was going to be sure to give Colt hell for this.

Internally debating, she thought that she might be able to get the jump on him, but decided to try something safer. “Danny?” she called.

He twirled around, startled, and she continued down the stairs. “Hi. Sorry. I saw you duck in and just had to follow you.... It’s Ellie, remember me?”

As she stepped into the moonlight, he visibly relaxed. “Of course I remember you. Where is your date?”

Ellie sighed. “I think he actually left me here. He was talking to some girl and now I can’t find him anywhere.” She trailed off, biting her lip. “It’s just so sad being here alone; I think I might head out and wanted to say good-”

“No, no, no.” Danny interrupted her and moved closer. “Are you sure you want to leave?”

She looked up at him, biting her lip and trying her best to play the part. “Well, I mean, I was having fun but it is so lonely-”

He cut her off. “Stay with me. I was just looking at our car collection and I would love to show you.” 

Her eyes widened and she had to think fast. She turned her lips down and sighed. “I was actually hoping to dance but now....”

Danny grabbed her arm. “Would you dance with me?”

“Really?” She lowered her eyes and then gazed up at him. “I mean, I don’t want to bother you...but it would be nice to get to know you.” She cocked her head at him and touched his shoulder, letting her hand trail down his arm. She thought she heard a thump in the darkness of the garage, but relaxed when the only thing Danny did was take his sweet time looking down her body and back up to her face.

He nodded eagerly and grabbed her hand, leading her back up the stairs. “Of course.” She had to suppress a smile; were boys always this easy?

~~~~~

Ellie had no idea where they were in the timeline but she knew that having him see either the crew or the missing cars would throw a serious wrench in the plans. Unfortunately, while rerouting Danny was a success, that meant she now had a new shadow at the party. Gratefully, he didn’t insist on a second dance but now he was at her shoulder and would not be dissuaded. He was telling her some story about the Maldives and Ellie thought she would fall asleep of boredom when she felt a gentle hand on her elbow.

“Excuse me. Could I have this dance?” Ellie looked up in confusion. Colt was standing there, looking slightly out of place, wearing Logan’s tuxedo jacket and mask, with a devil-may-care grin on his face.

Ellie opened her mouth and then closed it again. He only grinned wider. “Sure,” she said, clutching his outstretched hand. 

She could hear Danny sputtering behind her about how she said she was tired but she was only paying attention to Colt. He led her though the crowd, to the middle of the dance floor, surrounded by couples swaying and laughing. Turning around, he grinned impishly at her. “Hey.”

Ellie looked around at the couples gliding to some slow pop ballad. When no one was paying attention, she stopped to stare incredulously at him. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“What do you mean? And you don’t know who I am; I’m in disguise.” He jiggled the mask on his face at her.

“Seriously?!” Ellie rolled her eyes at him. “I would know you anywhere. And I also know that you have somewhere else to be.”

Colt shrugged. “We had ten minutes to wait before we could sneak out the driveway. I figured that I should enjoy the festivities too.” He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer. “So....you should know that I don’t really dance.”

Ellie sighed, putting her arms around his shoulders. “Then why are you out here?” Her dress was so thin that she could feel all of his fingers resting on her back. She could not afford to get distracted.

"For the caviar?”

Ellie cuffed his ear. “This isn’t part of the plan.” They were slowly swaying now and, if Ellie closed her eyes, she could almost imagine she was at prom. That was a different world, one where she had continued on her same-old muted path; she couldn’t go back now. There the everything was drab, grey. Here, it was vibrant, almost too intense. She was different too; she was both terrified and bold but she couldn’t give up the life between her fingertips.

“I made the plan. It’s my plan. I can change it.” He smirked, tightening his fingers around her waist. “I also wanted to make sure Richie Rich over there behaved himself.”

Ellie glared at him. “Seriously? You thought I couldn’t handle one dance with him?” 

“I just...” Colt trailed off. He looked at something behind her for a few seconds before turning back to her. “I just-”

“You just what?” She shook her head before she froze, realization dawning. “Wait, you were there. In the garage.”

“Yeah, we were there. Nice save, by the way. Much better than plan B.” He pulled her closer, fingertips on her lower back. “Plan B would have been rough.”

“What was plan B?” Ellie looked up.

Colt shrugged. “Probably make a break for it.” He smirked at her dumbfounded expression.

“Didn’t you say that you needed to prepare for anything?”

He grinned, reaching up and tracing his fingers over the delicate mask on her face. “And didn’t you say that I wasn’t prepared for you?” He trailed his fingers down her cheek to the back of her neck.

“And you’re not.” Ellie tilted her head and looked up at him with a smile, but he wasn’t looking at her face anymore. He was watching his fingers slowly trail down her neck to her shoulders, a ghost of a touch. Ellie froze; Colt glanced at her and, emboldened now, continued. The gentle fingers kept going, sliding under the strap of her gown and he slowly trailed them down, tracing the line of the beading as it curved delicately across her chest. Whereas Danny’s eyes on her had made her feel vaguely dirty, Colt’s focus was different. She felt warmth blooming in her stomach and she couldn’t move, couldn’t think. She was paralyzed and could only stand there, watching him watch his fingers trace along her dress, over and under the hem, over fabric and bare skin, to stop at the lowest point of the delicate beading, right in the center of her chest.  

She drew in a shaky breath and Colt looked up, looking into her eyes. Her mouth was suddenly dry and her lungs wouldn't inflate. She had no idea what he saw there but he turned back to his fingers, sliding them up the dress, slowly, to her opposite shoulder and playing with the strap there. 

Ellie realized her legs were shaking. She couldn’t breathe.

Colt looked at her then, right into her eyes. “I just didn’t want him dancing with you.”

Ellie grabbed the sides of his face and pulled, throwing their lips together in a frenzy. Colt reciprocated in kind, sliding his hands down her back, pulling her to him with rough hands. His lips were hungry on hers and she groaned into his mouth as he gently bit her lower lip and then soothed it with his tongue. She had no idea how long they kissed but he was all she could feel, touch, taste; he was everything in that moment and nothing else, nothing, mattered. A hand slid down and somehow found the high slit in her dress, tracing her thigh and setting her absolutely aflame. She was on fire, a delicious burn throughout her stomach, lower, and nothing was strong enough to put her out.

“Ahem.” Ellie heard something but couldn’t tell where it was coming from. Nor did she care until, again, a louder “Ahem.”

She came up for air and saw a disapproving woman in a fur stole glaring at them. “The song is over.”

Ellie looked around. The song was indeed over and couples were edging around them, heading to the bar or to the appetizers. Her cheeks burned and she averted her eyes until the woman huffed and walked away.

Colt gently touched her waist. “I have to get back.” His hair was mussed, lips chapped and a blush on the tips of his ears. I did that, Ellie thought. He leaned down and kissed her, deeply, fingers lightly mapping the curves of her cheeks as if he was mapping her features, afraid they would disappear.

“Ok, now I really have to go.” He turned and made his way through the crowd, ducking quickly through the back hall. Ellie watched as long as she could, then turned and slid through the crowd. 

She could not afford to get distracted.

~~~~~

Ellie stumbled out of the cab and through the back door of the shop. She was exhausted and would have pulled off her heels, but she didn’t know what Toby had left on the floor of the shop. She yawned and made her way towards the stairs to the loft when a sudden movement made her freeze. She peered into the dark floor as a shape stood.

“Colt?” He had been sitting on the stairs to the loft and he looked as tired as she felt. "What are you doing up?”

“Where were you? It’s almost 5am.”

“I had to wait while they questioned every single person at the party. They took a special interest in me because Logan disappeared, so I was talking to the police forever.”

“What did you tell them?”

She smiled. “That he ditched me to go hook up with a cocktail waitress there. Played the whole jilted date card and everything.”

Colt chuckled quietly. “Good thinking. Do you think they suspected?”

“Not at all. Did everything go ok?”

“Like a charm. All three cars out and hidden around the city.” He rubbed the back of his head, looking at the floor. “Thanks for being there today.”

“Wait...were you waiting up for me?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “You were supposed to be back hours ago. And you didn’t have your phone. I didn’t know what to think.”

“You were worried.” Ellie smiled, secretly pleased.

Colt rolled his eyes. “Well, I need to make sure that the crew gets back....and now you’re back.” His smile softened and he nodded at her. “Good night, Ellie. Good job.”

He was almost past her before she moved and she was able to just barely grab onto his elbow. “Colt?”

“Yeah?”

She took a deep breath and bit her lip. “I just....I don’t want to sleep in Logan’s bed tonight.”

His eyes widened and he swallowed hard. He stopped for a beat, looking at her questioningly, but didn’t say anything. He just nodded and laced his fingers in hers, leading her down to his room.

Different

This a second part to Choukeimatsu’s Same as Always, but with Iromatsu!

Ao3 Link

It all started with irritation. Ichimatsu wasn’t sure when exactly it started, only that it was around the middle of their first year in high school, but Karamatsu had started to get on his nerves. If he was being honest with himself, Karamatsu never did anything wrong, not really. But a little while after joining that stupid drama club, his older brother had started acting weird. He just suddenly started talking in such an irritating way around the house, like when he did in those dumb plays of his. But soon enough he was talking in that painful way all the time, no matter where they were, and with the same confidence he had on stage. As if the entire world was Karamatsu’s stage.

He admired hated Karamatsu for that.

One day, Karamatsu had just been a bit more annoying, telling Ichimatsu about the new play he got the supporting role in and how excited he was about it. Normally Ichimatsu enjoyed didn’t mind listening to Karamatsu talk about his day, but whenever his older brother talked about drama club, the thing that changed his beloved older brother, the thing that made him different from each other, Ichimatsu couldn’t stop his anger from boiling, and that day, it boiled over capacity.

“I don’t care about your stupid club activities, Shittymatsu.”

It had surprised everyone. It had surprised Ichimatsu himself. An apology had been lodged in his throat that he had been struggling to get out, but then Karamatsu just laughed it off and he had apologized. 

“I’m sorry, buraza, I didn’t realize I was boring you. I’ll keep that in mind for future interactions.”

Of course, Karamatsu would forgive him. He was too kind even to a gloomy loner such as himself. But that’s what infuriated Ichimatsu. Karamatsu should’ve gotten angry at him for that, should’ve demanded an apology, should’ve told him off for it, but instead he had forgave him and apologized! Whether it was a conscious decision or not, Ichimatsu referred to Karamatsu as Shittymatsu from that day on.

His behavior towards the second eldest grew worse and worse the more Karamatsu’s personality changed. When he started to wear ridiculous clothes near the end of their first year, Ichimatsu began to glower and glare whenever Karamatsu tried talking to him. Even being in the same room as his older brother seemed to put Ichimatsu in a bad mood. When Karamatsu started to teach himself how to play the guitar and sing songs on the roof in the beginning of their second year, that’s when Ichimatsu started spitting out insults whenever he got the chance. And, God, when Karamatsu started stringing English into his sentences, Ichimatsu just flat out ignored him and deliberately pretended he didn’t exist, even going as far as saying things like ‘Did you guys hear something?’ whenever Karamatsu spoke. 

His other brothers at first tried to stop and chastise him for his behavior, but every. Single. Fucking. Time...Karamatsu would just laugh it off and forgive Ichimatsu. Eventually the rest of the sextuplets stopped trying, maybe even caring, over Ichimatsu’s bad treatment towards Karamatsu. Because surely if it truly bothered Karamatsu he would say something...right?

Wrong.

All of sudden, one day, about a month before summer break, Karamatsu had started wearing sunglasses, even when they were indoors. It had been too much, too extra, that even the others started calling Karamatsu ‘painful’ and bully their brother. But never at Ichimatsu’s level of bullying which had taken a new extreme:

Breaking Karamatsu’s things. 

And by things, it was those stupid sunglasses. The first time Ichimatsu had broken them, he had felt a bit bad because he realized that Karamatsu had been trying to hide a bruise under his eye. It was probably the only time Ichimatsu ever apologized ever since he started this rebellious behavior against Karamatsu, however, when he had tried to ask Karamatsu about the bruise and Karamatsu had responded with ‘Heh, a Karamatsu Girl reacted a little too roughly towards my attempts to romance her’, Ichimatsu decided that he didn’t and wouldn’t feel bad anymore. After all, he didn’t think he’d break anything super important of Karamatsu’s, just the painful things like his sunglasses (which Karamatsu continued to wear even after the bruise had faded away) or those stupid tank tops that had his name on them.

Wrong again. 

There had been something else that changed aside from the addition of those glasses and that bruise: Karamatsu’s relationship with Osomatsu. 

Karamatsu and Osomatsu had never been especially close when they were kids or growing up through middle school. Not to say that they were on bad terms, but they just hadn’t been close like they were with their partners in crimes as kids. Just like Ichimatsu is closest to Jyushimatsu, Osomatsu is closest to Choromatsu and Karamatsu is closest to Todomatsu. Well, was closest to Todomatsu. Nowadays the youngest Matsuno spent most of his time avoiding being seen with the second eldest and opted for hanging out with his group of annoying friends. Although Osomatsu was still close with Choromatsu, he suddenly started hanging out lot more with Karamatsu right before their summer break, and Karamatsu in return had become a bit different. 

It was as if being around Osomatsu was a reversal spell on Karamatsu. He didn’t talk that stupid flowery speech around Osomatsu, he dressed normally when he and Osomatsu left the house to who knows where, he smiled and laughed more genuinely with Osomatsu instead of that fake deep voice he used when he tried to be cool, and he was just overall like his old self before entering high school. But only around Osomatsu. With anybody else, Karamatsu slipped back into that painful persona. And it seemed like none of the other sextuplets noticed this little detail. It seemed like only Ichimatsu noticed how different Karamatsu behaved around Osomatsu. Even after summer break had ended and they were all back in school, Karamatsu and Osomatsu were always seen together between classes, during lunch, and strangely enough, whenever Karamatsu was said to have skipped out on drama club, Osomatsu would be nowhere to be seen. It made Ichimatsu livid every time.

This morning wasn’t any different. 

This morning, on their day off, Osomatsu and Karamatsu volunteered to clean up after breakfast, so the rest of the sextuplets went upstairs to put away the futon. When the futon had been put away, everyone got ready to do whatever they wanted to do for the rest of the day, whether that was to go out with friends, study for a test, practice their swings, or in Ichimatsu’s case, play with his cat friends. But for that, Ichimatsu needed his cat treats, which were in the kitchen.

When Ichimatsu was in the kitchen, looking for his cat treats, he heard soft murmurs from the living room. Now that he thought about it, Osomatsu and Karamatsu didn’t go upstairs did they? Ichimatsu scowled. So they were chatting up again, how annoyi—

A sob came from the living room. A sob he knew belonged to Karamatsu. A sob he hasn’t heard in a long time.

Body moving faster than his mind, Ichimatsu went over, ready to slide the living room door open, to demand what’s wrong, to see what he can do, but despite his desires to see if his older brother was okay, he only opened it a crack. What he saw made his jaw drop. 

Karamatsu was basically in Osomatsu’s lap, facing him, with his face buried into the eldest brother’s shoulder and arms clinging to him, and Osomatsu in return was holding onto Karamatsu just as tightly, with one hand rubbing his back soothingly. He could see Osomatsu murmuring something to Karamatsu, but couldn’t catch any of it. Whatever he said, however, made Karamatsu shake his head against his shoulder and whine.

“Well then he’s just going to continue bullying you,” Osomatsu said with a huff, but didn’t stop consoling his immediate younger brother. 

What? Someone was bullying Karamatsu at school? Who was it? He’ll beat the shit out of them. No one was allowed to make his brother cry like this. No one.

Before he could stop himself, Ichimatsu slid the door wide open, startling both older brothers.

“Who’s bullying, Shittymatsu?” Ichimatsu asked, teeth grinding and voice a low growl. He will find this piece of shit that was tormenting his older brother. 

“Are you seri—mfph!”

“No one is bullying me, my dear buraza!” Karamatsu said quickly as he quickly slapped his hand over Osomatsu’s mouth. “You see, I have a performance coming up! After all, the Cultural Festival is just right around the corner!”

Oh yeah, that was a thing. Now that he thought about it, Karamatsu had been practicing his lines a lot more nowadays, and working on some shitty props for drama club. Didn’t he also bring his costume to show off the other day? But Ichimatsu wasn’t stupid, those were real sobs he heard.

“But you’re crying.”

“Mere acting, my dear buraza!” Karamatsu said, as he climbed out of Osomatsu’s lap and jumped to his feet so he could face Ichimatsu. His tears were still there, but he wiped them away with so much unnecessary movement before he struck a pose. “You see, I asked our dear brother, Osomatsu, to help me with my lines because my scene requires me to shed tears. I want my performance to be authentic, and what better way to produce authentic tears than in the warm embrace of my dear older brother!”

There was a long pause with Ichimatsu staring long and hard at Karamatsu before the fourth son finally clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes. So he wasted his time?

“But,” Ichimatsu glanced over at Karamatsu when he noticed that he wasn’t speaking in that obnoxious tone of his, and sucked in a breath when he saw the gentle smile on his older brother’s features, “I appreciate your concern, Ichimatsu.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Ichimatsu grumbled, quickly shutting the door so neither Osomatsu nor Karamatsu would see his face flush pink. He walked back to the kitchen to look for the cat treats he had momentarily forgotten about, not realizing that there was a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Wow, you really do have some serious acting skills. You almost had me believing all of that bullshit you told him was true.”

Ichimatsu froze. Did he just hear Osomatsu right? Did he think that he had gone back upstairs? Or did he know that he was in the kitchen? Ichimatsu heard Karamatsu sigh heavily.

“He doesn’t need to know,” Karamatsu said in the most tired voice Ichimatsu’s ever heard him speak in. “This is my problem to fix, I’ll just burden him with it if I told him... Come on, we have to clean up.”

Cat treats forgotten, Ichimatsu stormed back upstairs, not caring if his thunderous steps revealed to those shitty older brothers that he had been there the entire time, nor did he care that he startled his other brothers when he slammed the door to their bedroom open. He was seething. 

“What’s got you in a bad mood this time? Did you have to listen to Karamatsu-niisan monologue?” he heard Todomatsu say, but Ichimatsu didn’t spare him a glance as he searched the room for something, anything. And once he found it, he channeled all of his anger into it. 

He ripped, shredded, and utterly destroyed whatever it was he had gotten his hands on. He wasn’t completely sure what it was because he swore all he was seeing was red, but he knew it was something of Karamatsu’s and that’s all that mattered. He thought he heard alarmed voices around him, probably telling him to stop, but he ignored them. There was a couple of times he felt someone try to touch him, but he shoved them away, never really seeing who it was. 

How dare he. How dare Karamatsu look down on him like that. How dare he lie to his face like that. How dare he make it blatantly obvious that he thought he was better than him. That his problems were too good to share with Ichimatsu. That Ichimatsu was utter trash unable to help him with his problems. How dare he play favorites! He used to cry in front of all of them, he used to tell all of them when he had problems, he used to rely on all of them. He used to rely on Ichimatsu! But now it was only Osomatsu. Only Osomatsu got to see glimpses of the old Karamatsu. Only Osomatsu could see him cry. Only Osomatsu knew his secrets and problems. Only Osomatsu was relied on. Only Osomatsu.

Ichimatsu was breathing hard when he was done with the deed. He felt a lot calmer, although his hands were still trembling a bit, but he was back to his senses so that seemed to be a good sign.

Ichimatsu looked down at the mess he made, expecting to see broken sunglasses’ or ripped tank tops and sequin patterned anything or both, but it wasn’t any of that. There, laid before him in shreds and pieces, was Karamatsu’s prized costume for his play. A play he had coming up in a week and had a leading role in. 

Ichimatsu felt his hands grow clammy and his boiled blood instantly run cold.

“What have you done, Ichimatsu?” Choromatsu voiced what everyone in the room was thinking, even Ichimatsu himself. Ichimatsu clenched his jaw and balled his hands into fists. He knew he did something wrong, worse than the usual even. He knew he should really apologize once Karamatsu find outs but when he opens his mouth—

“Shittymatsu pissed me off. He shouldn’t leave his shit lying around.”

With that said, Ichimatsu got up and walked over to sit by the window, not bothering to clean up the mess. Let Karamatsu see what he’s done. That’ll teach him for being so full of himself. Serves him right.

Everyone else lingered a bit, exchanging looks as if wondering if they should do something, but ultimately decided to just carry on like nothing happened. After all, Karamatsu would just forgive Ichimatsu like he always did. However, despite that thought, tension lingered in the air, and it grew thicker and thicker when footsteps of the eldest brothers grew closer to the bedroom. Ichimatsu’s never done something like this, so they weren’t sure what was going to happen once Karamatsu sees his costume destroyed.

Soon the two eldest stood in the doorway and whatever they had been chatting about quickly died in the air when they laid eyes on the mess on the floor. The silence rang loudly in all of their ears. Osomatsu was the first to move, but only towards their shared closet so he could get changed. Karamatsu on the other hand stepped towards his torn costume, getting on his knees and scooping up a handful of fabric. He had his back to everyone else, so no one knew what kind of face Karamatsu was making. 

‘Probably that stupid kicked puppy look,’ Ichimatsu thought to himself, not bothering to hide his smirk. He was taking great pleasure in watching his older brother despair and quietly collect all the pieces together into a neat pile. That’s what he gets. Choromatsu, Jyushimatsu, and Todomatsu on the other hand were all giving the second eldest looks of pity as he stood up, back still to them. They couldn’t help but wonder if he was trying to hide his tears.

“Who did this?” came Karamatsu’s steady voice. Probably holding back tears, they all thought. There was a long pause.

“You should know better than to leave your shit lying around, Shittymatsu,” Ichimatsu finally said, his smirk growing into a Cheshire cat grin. “It was just begging to get ripped—”

The sound of the drywall cracking and so easily, frighteningly, giving in filled Ichimatsu’s ears. 

“—apart...” Ichimatsu’s sentence, which had started with malicious confidence, ended with meek fear. He glanced to his left and swallowed the lump in his throat when he saw a bare foot an inch away from his head. He followed the leg the foot was attached to up to the body that hovered threateningly above him and up to the stoic face of Karamatsu, who’s eyes burned holes into him. 

“That costume was made by a friend of mine, Ichimatsu. She worked really hard on it. It took her about two weeks to finish it,” Karamatsu said in an eerily calm voice, but his eyes were anything but calm. They were like the eyes of a beast that’s been taunted and prodded at for far too long and at last the cage was left open. Ichimatsu’s never seen Karamatsu this angry before, he could hardly recognize him, as if Karamatsu was a different person altogether. It was uncomfortably terrifying. It would’ve been better if Karamatsu had yelled at him and showed his anger in an explosive manner like Ichimatsu did, because this—this was such a cold fury, he was afraid he might get frostbite.   

“So imagine my surprise to see it destroyed. All her hard work? Gone,” Karamatsu stomped on the drywall with the word ‘gone’ for emphasis, and Ichimatsu was mortified with how badly he flinched. “All because you had a temper tantrum. I’m very disappointed in you, Ichimatsu.” 

Ichimatsu just stared up at Karamatsu with wide eyes, and he hated his body for betraying him and letting his eyes well up with tears. His only saving grace was that they didn’t spill over, but God, he never thought hearing such words from Karamatsu would hurt so much.

“There’s a lesson in this. What is it, Ichimatsu?” Karamatsu asked.

“U-uh...” Ichimatsu glanced around Karamatsu’s intimidating figure, trying to catch someone’s eye so they could help him. But every time he did, they looked away. Even Jyushimatsu looked away, not at all eager to interfere with an angry Karamatsu. The only one who didn’t look away was Osomatsu, who held his gaze for a minute before he gave him a shit eating grin. Shitty eldest.

“Ichimatsu.”

“Y-yes...!?” Ichimatsu yelped, face flushing with shame. 

“The lesson.”

“Y...Yes.... u-um...” Ichimatsu hated this so much. “I-I shouldn’t break things...”

“Whose things?”

“Shitty—”

Karamatsu, with his hands in his pajama pants’ pockets, suddenly leaned forward, intentionally or not digging his heel deeper into the drywall as he loomed closer above Ichimatsu.

“Hmm?” Karamatsu hadn’t said a single word but the message was loud and clear.

“Karamatsu-niisan’s things...!” Ichimatsu corrected himself, voice breaking a bit and heart racing in his chest.

“Good.” 

And just like that, Karamatsu’s menacing figure was gone, and Ichimatsu let out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding in. Back pressed against the wall and body tensed, Ichimatsu followed Karamatsu with wide wary eyes as the second eldest went over to the closet to change out of his pajamas. No one said a word and no one dared to move an inch. Well, no on but Osomatsu who laughed his ass off, but one firm kick to his stomach from Karamatsu quickly shut him up. All the younger brothers merely watched as Karamatsu went about grabbing a plastic bag and putting his torn costume into it, then walk towards the door. Just when he was at the door way, he was stopped by Osomatsu.

“Where are you going, Karamacchan?” Osomatsu asked, earning looks from the younger brothers. How could he be so casual at this moment?! Could he not read the mood?!

“Out,” was Karamatsu’s crisp reply, not bothering to look back.

“Do you need me to come with you?” Osomatsu asked, earning, again, strange looks from the others, but Ichimatsu hadn’t missed the serious undertone to the question. There was a long pause where the tension seemed to grow thick as wool, but it quickly deflated with Karamatsu’s deep sigh and the slight sag in his shoulders.

“No…”

“Okay, then have a safe trip, and be back before dinner time!” Osomatsu said with a grin, merely earning a nod from Karamatsu before the second eldest closed the door behind him. They all remained quiet as they listened to his footsteps, and it wasn’t until they all heard the front door close that they all let out a sigh of relief. Well, except for Ichimatsu, because now all eyes were on him.

“You screwed up,” Choromatsu said gravely.

“Screwed up big time,” Todomatsu said with a pitying shake of his head.

“1 strike! 2 strikes! 3 strikes! You’re out!” Jyushimatsu said, air swinging for emphasis.

“You better apologize to him when he comes back home,” Osomatsu said as he gets up from his lying position on the ground to sit with his legs crossed.

“W—why should I?” Ichimatsu spat. Despite his harsh words, he was still pressed against the wall from shock and he could still hear his heart pounding in his ears.

“Ichimatsu, I know you’re not stupid enough to need me to spell it out for you,” Osomatsu said, his gaze serious for a second and when he got a silent confirmation from Ichimatsu, he closed his eyes and stretched his arms. “In my opinion it was about damn time Karamatsu lost his patience with you.”

“Patience?!” Ichimatsu growled, glaring at Osomatsu. “You call that losing his patience? He nearly smashed my face in with his foot!”

“Oh trust me, he would’ve if you were anything but his cute little brother,” Osomatsu said with a knowing grin. Ah, it irritated Ichimatsu so much when Osomatsu acted like this. As if he knew Karamatsu better than anyone or knew something that Ichimatsu didn’t. Ichimatsu hid his jealousy annoyance with a scoff.

“Please, everyone knows that Shittymatsu is the weakest one after Choromatsu—”

“Hey!”

“—I could’ve easily taken Shittymatsu out like I’ve always done,” Ichimatsu said with more confidence than he felt.

“Mmm, are you sure about that?” Osomatsu said, making a disbelieving face that made Ichimatsu want to wring his neck.

“Yeah, Ichimatsu-niisan! Have you seen the size of the hole in the wall?!” Todomatsu piped in. Now that he thought about it, Ichimatsu hadn’t, and when he did he felt his stomach drop a bit. The hole was the size of his head, he could actually see the wall stud through it, and holy shit, a piece of it had been chipped off. Was Karamatsu’s foot okay?

“There’s a lot about Karamatsu you guys, especially you, Ichimatsu, don’t know about,” Osomatsu said with a stern voice as he folded his arms across his chest. “He went through a lot for you guys, but don’t tell him I told you guys, he’ll just deny it if you do and he might get angry with Oniichan, but try to—"

“Are you fucking bragging?”

Everyone turned to look at Ichimatsu with wide eyes, surprised at the venomous tone he used on the eldest son.

“So, what? You and Shittymatsu are now the best of friends? You guys braid each other’s hair and tell each other secrets when the rest of us aren’t around?” Ichimatsu hissed, his glare focused on Osomatsu, who looked back with surprised and confused eyes. But then a look of realization settled in those identical brown eyes and another knowing smile spread across his face that made Ichimatsu bristle.

“Don’t worry, Ichimatsu, we didn’t start having slumber parties until recently,” Osomatsu said, relishing the way Ichimatsu turned to face him, like a cat ready to pounce on his prey. He laughed as he put his hands up in a surrendering way. “I’m kidding~ Jeez, if you felt lonely without Karamatsu’s attention why don’t you just say so instead of letting jealousy get the best of you? None of this would’ve happened if you were a bit honest with yourself, Ichimatsu.”

“I don’t give two shits about Shittymatsu,” Ichimatsu hissed, ignoring the way his ears burned. Him? Jealous? Of Osomatsu? Yes No.

“Oh really?” Osomatsu said with one brow raised. “Then you won’t care if he doesn’t forgive you for this right?”

Silence met Osomatsu’s words, because until now, Ichimatsu hadn’t considered that. He never considered that maybe one day Karamatsu wouldn’t forgive him so readily anymore. Sure, it pissed him off when he was easily forgiven, but he had never wanted to be…hated by Karamatsu. Did Karamatsu hate him now? The thought made Ichimatsu visibly wilt like a flower.

 “But Karamatsu-niisan is so nice! I don’t think he’ll stay angry for long!” Jyushimatsu piped up, his usual wide-open mouth smile had shrunken in size as he nervously looked between Ichimatsu and Osomatsu. It was obvious he was trying to reassure Ichimatsu, and it seemed like it helped a bit judging by the way the fourth son perked up slightly.

“But this is different. This isn’t his cheap sunglasses or his custom-made shirts. This was his costume for a play he is in as the lead role,” Osomatsu said, arms crossing over his chest again as he shook his head a bit. “Karamatsu really worked hard for this, it’s his first actual leading role.”

Every word Osomatsu said was like a brick added to Ichimatsu’s shoulder as he further slumped from the growing weight of guilt. He did, kind of, sort of remember the day Karamatsu announced her got a leading role in his all-time favorite play for the cultural festival. He could kind of remember how excited he had been about it and the twinkle in his eyes. He could also sort of remember the way Karamatsu showed off his costume but had been extremely careful with handling it. The only reason it was hanging in plain sight was because Karamatsu wanted to be reminded to work hard so he can put on a great performance…or something along those lines anyways…

“Honestly, I am 99% sure that he’s only angry that you destroyed his costume because his friend had made it,” Osomatsu said, looking up off to the side in thought. “If it had been store bought he probably would’ve forgiven you like always and would’ve just bought another one. But well, it was hand made by someone, so who knows if he’ll forgive you on their behalf.”

Ichimatsu felt the back of his eyes burn but refused to acknowledge that they were tears threatening to fill his eyes. He hated it, but Osomatsu was right. Karamatsu was kind; he never got angry on his own behalf, but on other’s. Just like the bully situation he overheard earlier. If Karamatsu used even an ounce of the anger he had shown to Ichimatsu to the bully, they wouldn’t think twice to mess with him again. But he was stupidly kind, he would never do that. So others have to get angry for him.

“You know what to do right, Ichimatsu?” Osomatsu asked as he smiled patiently at his third younger brother, smile widening when he got a nod in response.

—

Ichimatsu stared through the crack in the door, knees trembling and hands sweating, as he watched Karamatsu silently work on what he assumed was his costume. The second son had come back a lot sooner than the rest of sextuplets had thought he would, but it became apparent with the rolls of fabric under one arm and a bagful of sewing tools in the other hand, that he had gone out to buy the things he will need to remake the costume. After letting Osomatsu where he would be, Karamatsu had holed himself up in the guest room with the materials and their mother’s sewing machine. It was near dinner time, and Osomatsu had sent Ichimatsu to go fetch Karamatsu. He had tried to protest, but Osomatsu didn’t have any of his bullshit and threatened to eat his cats’ sardines if he didn’t go make up with Karamatsu. So here he was, trying to build up the courage to face Karamatsu, but he was afraid that he’ll lose before he even get’s a chance.

Swallowing his fear and his pride, Ichimatsu steeled himself, and his moment of courage he opened the door.

“K—Karamatsu-niisan…!”

Karamatsu stopped marking patterns on the fabric he was working on and looked over with a smile on his face.

“What is it my dear—oh. What do you want?” the change in Karamatsu’s tone and the instant drop of his smile when he realized that it was Ichimatsu and not any of the other brothers, gave Ichimatsu emotional whiplash.

“It’s— I-I uh— D-dinner is ready,” Ichimatsu said after a minute of struggling to find his voice, eyes sliding down to look at the ground.

“Okay.”

That was all he got. Ichimatsu willed himself to glance up and saw that Karamatsu had turned back to his work. Was Karamatsu ignoring him? Just like the number of times he has ignored his older brother? Well, Karamatsu was a little nicer about it, he at least answered him when he talked to him. But Karamatsu looked like he couldn’t be bothered to even look at Ichimatsu. Osomatsu’s words from earlier rang loudly in his head. Maybe Karamatsu really won’t forgive him this time.

What did he expect? He was trash, high school has made him realize that. He had no friends other than cats, and whenever someone did try to talk to him in class, he’d scare them away with a glare. He would rather reject people than get rejected after all. With Karamatsu it was the same, he kept rejecting this different side to him, not able to accept this new painful persona. But Karamatsu had always been nice to him and kept trying to reach out to him despite the constant rejection, and now the joke’s on Ichimatsu, because he was being rejected by his kindest brother.

The door shut behind Ichimatsu and he stood by it for a moment before he stepped forward and sat in seiza directly behind Karamatsu. He noticed Karamatsu’s shoulders tense, but he said nothing nor did anything.

“You don’t have to say anything just listen to what I have to say,” Ichimatsu said with more confidence than he had thought possible, but it was a bit ruined when he quickly added in a quiet, “Please…”

He got silence in return, but Ichimatsu took it as permission for him to continue.

“When we entered high school, you suddenly changed… You were the first to become different from the rest of us, and one by one we followed your lead…” Ichimatsu said, his hands gripping his knees to keep them from trembling so much. He wasn’t good with expressing himself very well, but he had to try. “Osomatsu-niisan stayed the same pretty much, but Choromatsu-niisan became such a model student, Jyushimatsu showed interest in baseball and joined the team, Todomatsu became a social butterfly, and then there’s me. I-I’m not as carefree as Osomatsu-niisan, I’m not very smart like Choromatsu-niisan, I’m not athletic like Jyushimatsu, I don’t have any friends like Todomatsu does…I was the only one who wasn’t able to change or adapt, if anything I became trash…but I thought maybe you’d be like me too.”

Ichimatsu swallowed the lump in his throat and bowed his head before he continued.

“You weren’t very smart, or athletic, or had many friends because of your new, strange personality so I thought you and I were the same. We were loners for different reasons, but I thought we could’ve been the loser brothers of the bunch together,” Ichimatsu noticed a tremble in his voice but he tried his best to hide it, mask it with a growl instead. “But you just had to go and join that stupid drama club!”

That finally got a reaction from Karamatsu, as he suddenly turned around to sit facing Ichimatsu, eyes narrowed as if daring the fourth son to disrespect the drama club again. Ichimatsu did jump in alarm when he suddenly had Karamatsu’s full attention, but his anger was greater than his fear, and it drove him to glare back at Karamatsu.

“You just had to get the upper hand on me didn’t you!?” Ichimatsu growled, nearly shouted. “Even though people cringed at the way you talked sometimes or laughed at the way you dressed, you never let it bother you because you were so full of yourself! You thought—you think you’re so cool! Like when you play your stupid guitar on the roof, something you only picked up this year yet you you’re not ashamed to play your mistakes to the world. As if you actually have an audience! And suddenly your acing all your English exams because you think it’s so cool to add English in your sentences! And that ridiculous deep voice of yours! None of it makes you cool! You’re so fucking lame! Fucking trash just like me, but you have so much confidence and a high self-esteem, things I don’t have, and I resent you for that!”

Ichimatsu was breathing a bit heavily from all his shouting, brows furrowed together as he continued to glare defiantly at Karamatsu, but the burning feeling behind his eyes made him turn his gaze down towards his hands on his knees.

“I-I wanted to break that confidence…prove that it was just a façade and prove that you weren’t any better than me… So I started calling you Shittymatsu, insulting you, ignoring you, a-and breaking your things. Because it made me feel better about myself and eventually you would have to give in… But every time. Every single time you would just forgive me. Brush it off—brush me off like it was no big deal. Like I was just some minor inconvenience that didn’t really need your full attention or concern, like all the other little inconveniences you’ve brushed off like nothing.”

Ah great, the tears were starting to well up in his eyes.

“I-I—I just wanted you to go back to how you were. No terrible fashion sense, no stupid deep voice, no flowery sentences, no guitar… Just how you were before, back to when you were timid and a crybaby and you told us everything and—and you relied on us…b-back to when you relied on m-me.”

Great, his throat was tightening up with emotion and as a result his voice was starting to crack. Ichimatsu’s stared down at his hands, noticing that his knuckles were white from how tightly they were gripping his knees. But in a matter of seconds, the sight was blurred as tears spilled and flowed down his face. Heaving in a deep breath, Ichimatsu threw his head back.

“I just wanted my niisan back!” Ichimatsu wailed, no longer trying to hold back his emotions. He didn’t know what kind of face Karamatsu was making, whether it was still stoic or if he was surprised. Even if he tried to see, Ichimatsu couldn’t really see much through his tears even as he tried to wipe them away with his hands, more just kept coming.

“You wouldn’t tell me what was—what was wrong this morning! You only rely on Osomatsu-niisan! Only Osomatsu-niisan!” Ichimatsu wailed through his hiccups and hitched breaths. “It made me so angry! It made me feel like I wasn’t good enough! So—So I destroyed your costume! But that wasn’t the right thing to do, I’m sorry! I-I shouldn’t have r-ripped up your costume! It was wrong of m-me! I know how much i-it meant to you! I’m so sorry Kara—Karamatsu-niisan! Please don’t hate me!”

With his heart on his tear-soaked sleeve, Ichimatsu felt a little lighter getting everything off his chest. But he was still sobbing and sniffling into his balled-up hands because this didn’t guarantee Karamatsu would forgive him. He was too afraid to look at him, because just the thought of seeing rejection in his older brother’s face despite his heart-felt apology would just break his glass heart.

“I could never hate you, Ichimatsu.”

Ichimatsu’s sobs came to an abrupt stop at those words, and he blinked tears out of his wide eyes as he looked up at Karamatsu. The second eldest had bags under his eyes, so obviously exhausted from all the late nights of practicing his lines and no doubt this morning’s stress, but there was kindness in those eyes and a gentle smile on his features. Relief washed over Ichimatsu like a waterfall and before either of them knew it, the younger brother lunged forward to hug Karamatsu around his middle, his face pressed against his stomach, which was a lot firmer than Ichimatsu remembered it being, but nonetheless, he cried against Karamatsu like a little child.

“I’m sorry too, Ichimatsu. I acted rather violently in my moment of anger. I shouldn’t have done that to you,” Ichimatsu heard Karamatsu say as he felt a hand pet his hair. He shook his head against Karamatsu’s stomach.

“N-no, you did nothing wrong, Karamatsu-niisan, you’re only human,” Ichimatsu said, sniffling loudly. He heard Karamatsu chuckle, but he said nothing in return as he continued to pet his hair. They stayed like that for a few minutes, with Ichimatsu clinging to Karamatsu as he calmed down, and Karamatsu soothing down his hair and nerves. It was nice, Ichimatsu had thought. But once he felt calmer or at least got his tears to stop, he pulled away from Karamatsu and sat up. He grimaced when he saw how snot covered and tear soaked Karamatsu’s shirt was.

“Sorry…” Ichimatsu mumbled, face pink from embarrassment now that he was back to his senses.

“Don’t worry about it. It’s just a shirt,” Karamatsu said with a smile that made Ichimatsu felt like he was being blessed by some divine being. His older brother was too kind to trash like him, and he thanked God that he didn’t lose this kindness due to his stupidity. “Come on, let’s go to dinner. I still got a lot of work to do, but I can’t work on an empty stomach!”

Ichimatsu bit his bottom lip in guilt at that, but took Karamatsu’s hand when it was offered to help him get up. However, he didn’t let go of his brother’s hand when he tried to pull away. Karamatsu gave him a questioning look. Ichimatsu looked off to the side, brows furrowed as he opened and closed his mouth a couple of times before he finally found his voice.

“C—Can I help?” Ichimatsu mumbled, looking down at his feet like a child, but took a peak at Karamatsu when he heard him laugh.

“Okay, I’ll be counting on you Ichimatsu,” Karamatsu said with a wide grin that Ichimatsu found a hard time not giving in with a small smile of his own. He didn’t know how helpful he’d be, but even if it was just holding shit, he’d happily do it for his beloved older brother. Tears dried and wiped away for extra measures, both brothers left the guest room and made their way to the living room. However, when they were walking down the stairs, Ichimatsu spoke up.

“I-I can help with your bully problem too u-uh…that is if y-you want my help.”

“Hm? Bully problem?” Karamatsu said, giving Ichimatsu a confused look. Wait, had that really just been an act? Ichimatsu’s stomach started to sink at the idea that he had misunderstood everything and destroyed Karamatsu’s costume for literally no reason, not that his reason was a good enough reason in the first place but still! “Oh! That, um…don’t worry about it. It’s fixed now.”

“Fixed now? What do you mean? Can you really only rely on Osomatsu-niisan for that?” Ichimatsu asked, a bit of annoyance in his tone, but god damnit he couldn’t help it! They just had a heart to heart, if Karamatsu really didn’t want his help he should just say so!

“N-no it’s not that! It’s just well—um…” Karamatsu looked embarrassed as he struggled to find words.

“Well what?” Ichimatsu said with narrowed eyes. Made up or not, he will keep his right to get angry where it’s due. Suddenly, Ichimatsu felt a weight on his back and if he hadn’t grabbed onto the railing he probably would’ve fallen down the stairs and taken Karamatsu down with him. Ichimatsu looked over his shoulder to see Osomatsu grinning at him. Ugh.

“You still haven’t taken a hint, Ichimacchan? You~” Osomatsu twirled his finger in front of Ichimatsu’s face, “were Karamatsu’s bully, that’s what.”

Osomatsu booped Ichimatsu on the nose, ignoring Karamatsu’s vexed ‘Aniki’ as he watched realization dawn on Ichimatsu’s face as well as a humiliation flush over the fourth son. Ichimatsu then proceeded to sit down on the step with his knees up and face buried against them to muffle his screaming. It took a good thirty minutes for the brothers to calm him down and in that time Osomatsu earned a black eye. The other younger brothers weren’t sure if it was from Karamatsu or Ichimatsu. 

Pidge and Lance with 127 or Nico/Victor with 65?

127. “What are you listening to?” Pidge and Lance. Sleep issues and friendship. 1607 words.

“What are you listening to?”

It’s Lance, teasing already apparent in his voice. Like they’re back in the Garrison, and he’s gonna make fun of his weird little communications officer for believing in aliens.

Pidge thinks back, wonders if she could redo it if she’d laugh more and tease him back, or if she needed to be as closed off as she was, to get them to that roof, so they could watch Shiro fall.

Pidge thinks in code sometimes, how one missing semicolon can make everything grind to a halt. And fate isn’t really her thing, but there were so many things that could have gone wrong, so many places a semicolon could have gone missing, and then they wouldn’t be here, in space, fighting a war. She grits her teeth, because that kind of thinking is an exercise in uselessness, and because she didn’t pause the recordings she’s listening to when Lance walked in, and now she’s lost track of what’s happening.

“Some of the files we gathered from the last mission are audio files,” she says. “I’m going through them.”

“In the middle of the night? Are they really that important?” Lance flops down next to her on the couch. He’s got headphones on too, although they’re not connected to anything. His sleep mask is pushed up into his hair like they’re designer sunglasses, and he’s doing a very good job of faking that ‘I just woke up’ air, but there’s deep circles under his eyes, and Pidge knows him well enough at this point to know he hasn’t managed to get any sleep yet tonight.

She doesn’t sleep much, which is an ongoing joke among her old Garrison team but is also a fact. And especially not in her room, with its bare walls and its tendency to resemble her old room back at the Garrison, when she wakes up all of a sudden, sometime between lights out and what counts for morning in the Castle. That’s the worst, because for a second she thinks she’s back on Earth, no closer to her family or to anything than she was before, and it turns her stomach.

So most of her sleep nowadays is stolen in power naps, scattered across the castle like she’s playing some long game version of hide and seek. She knows all of their nighttime habits, watches Hunk get up too early, pretends she believes his excuses about just wanting to get a head start on breakfast. She watches Keith sneak out like he’s still back home, still trying to avoid the teachers that will throw him out eventually anyways, disappear into the training room for hours on end. Shiro wanders the halls like he’s sleepwalking, and sometimes he sits with her and they talk about little things, stretching their few points of pre-Voltron connection into nights’ worth of conversations. If they talk about the people they’re both missing at night, not meeting each other’s eyes, then their performances of being okay ring more true around the rest of them.

Allura plots, when she can’t sleep. She pulls out old star charts and makes notes, crossing out civilizations and strongholds that fell before humans had ever learned the word ‘empire.’ Pidge sits with her sometimes too, dozes off to the sound of the pen-like thing Allura uses to record 10 000 years of missing history gliding across the paper.

Coram checks and double-checks every system, when something keeps him up. It’s rare though, to see the older man out and about. He’s a soldier still, at heart, and he’s learned better than any of them to grab sleep when he can.

Lance is less predictable, and also the most frustrating, when it comes to late night company. He wants Pidge to engage, and Pidge always feels like he’s asking her for something but never knows what it is. And she cares for all of them, for this weird floating family of theirs, but she still hasn’t found the right words to express that just yet, so she’s left like this, scowl stretching her tired face as Lance taps almost-familiar beats into the couch cushions and stares at her.

“What do you want?” she snaps, and she doesn’t mean to, but she’s tired and she’s trying to do something, and he’s making it harder. Even when he’s not speaking (a rarity), his presence is enough to make paying attention to something else difficult.

Lance shrugs, which makes her scowl deepen.

“If you’re bored, you can go bother someone else.” She twists her whole body in on itself, like maybe if she can’t see him she won’t be distracting by all of his fidgeting. “I’m working.”

A pair of hands reach over and pluck her laptop from her lap.

She shrieks, and her hand flashes out and punches Lance in the shoulder. It’s a slower reaction than it should have been, and maybe it has been a couple of days before she’s gotten anything resembling a good sleep, but that’s not important right now. What’s important is that Lance is being an asshole.

“Give that back!”

Lance lets out a whine at the hit, but is now standing and holding the laptop over his head. She growls, and stands up only slightly unsteadily on the couch, practically climbing him to get her computer back.

“No, wait- ow! -Pidge, this is an intervention! Ow, not my fingers, I’m the sharpshooter I need those!”

“Should have thought of that before stealing my shit!”

Pidge gets her hands back on the laptop just as Lance loses his balance, and then the two of them tumble back down onto the couch in a mess of limbs and wires. Pidge makes sure to give him an elbow to the ribs as she’s detangling herself, and takes great pride in the muttered ‘quiznak!’ this earns her.

“You’re a terror.”

“Thanks,” she says, and goes to plug her headphones back in. 

“Wait, Pidge! I really did come here for a reason.”

She raises an eyebrow at him, trying to channel the disbelief that Shiro always emitted when one of them tried to pull something. It’s a work in progress, but once perfected she will be unstoppable.

“Yes?”

Lance grins, any pain from the last few minutes instantly forgotten. His sleepmask is hanging halfway off his head, and he looks ridiculous. Pidge loses her Shiro-stare to a giggle, and Lance, performer that he is, strikes a pose that turns the giggle into a full-out laugh.

“Okay, fine. What do you want?”

“You like heights, right?”

Damn her and her curiosity.

Shiro is headed towards the observation deck when he hears something strange.

He’s cutting through one of the big dark and empty rooms that must have been used as some sort of hall, back when the Castle was bustling with people. He knows his way, doesn’t bother turning the lights on. The unknown noise makes him tense, arm lighting up for the briefest of moments before his brain catches up to his anxieties and he recognizes it as a snore.

He looks around, confused. There’s nothing in this room, not that he can see. Then he looks up.

There are little balconies scattered around the walls of the room, and in the one closest to him, he can make out a mess of blankets and pillows. It takes him a moment to find the right door that will lead him up to the balcony, and he takes great care to tread lightly on the stairs, because regardless of who it is in this makeshift nest, Shiro’s sure they deserve the rest. 

He finds Lance and Pidge, their matching bedheads just barely sticking out of their pile of blankets. Pidge’s laptop is closed and tucked carefully away against the wall, which means either she fell asleep before Lance did or for the first time since they left Earth, Pidge let herself fall asleep on purpose. It’s her snoring he heard. He hadn’t known she snored, which makes him think that she usually never lets herself sleep this deeply. Under the snoring is the soft sound of waves, which makes sense. Lance can’t sleep in the quiet, and sure enough, his headphones are resting on a pillow near Pidge’s laptop, the recording they got at the last planet they’d stopped at with an ocean trickling through them.

“H'lo?” Lance murmurs, one eye cracked open and staring in Shiro’s general direction.

“Just me,” he whispers. “Go back to sleep.”

Lance nods, and then rolls over, and pats the space next to him. Shiro suspects there might be some stripped rooms throughout the castle, for them to have this many blankets and pillows, but he doesn’t think Allura will mind. 

“Lots of room,” the boy says. He’s right, too. “No claustrophobia here.”

Then he turns onto his side and pulls at a corner of a blanket until he’s buried again, only leaving enough of his face uncovered that he won’t suffocate.

Shiro wonders what it was that gave it away to Lance, why he struggles with sleeping in his own room. Or maybe he just guessed, like how he guessed that Pidge’s fear comes from waking up alone.

It’s not a bad idea. Shiro had tried sleeping in some of the bigger rooms, but he felt too exposed. Here, tucked away like this but with so much open air, he might actually have a chance of sleeping for longer than a few hours.

“Not today, kiddo. But thanks.”

Lance smiles, and Shiro leaves as quietly as he came. He’ll let Hunk know that they might miss breakfast, and to set some aside for them. Sleep had been too scarce, of late. They deserved the rest.

The Congregation

Initially published 1/5/2018. Direct follow-up to previous post ‘Into the Woods’.

Took a bit of forcing myself to get this one done, which I think is what happens when you don’t write for months.

-----

If someone had told her that the very Light itself flowed through the cathedral, not a single doubt would have escaped her. Everywhere she looked seem to positively radiate the holy source, from the priests and paladins who wielded it, to the sun as it glared through the various windows that dotted the enormous hall. Each window lovingly carved to depict a verse from a holy text, or at least so she had been told. Far as she could determine, they mostly appeared to be people performing miracles, or fighting off the forces of evil. The latter of which, happened to include the Scourge. Which, unfortunately, she happened to bear a striking resemblance to. Namely because, far as any of the holy individuals gathered, she was little better than them, if she was any better at all. She carried the same taint, was cursed by the same plague, and smelled of the same rot as any of the Scourge soldiers they had valiantly slain in the name of the Light. Her bones may be better cared for, and better covered by what skin she had left, but she could feel any number of them forcing away the idea of simply smiting her where she sat. An ironic twist of fate, she believed, considering that they had taken up residence in a cathedral that had once housed the Scarlet Crusade. None of them would want to admit it, but at least some likely agreed with the Crusade's lust for the eradication of the undead. To rid the world of the abominations of nature, as they considered them to be, via the method of holy fire. But, to keep themselves from that image, they were forced to act pleasant, and keep their distances. In return, she had kept her distance, back against a wall, seated lazily on a bench. When one of them stared at her in disgust, she stared blankly back. Once they realized that she had no need to blink, they would relent and return to whatever they had happened to be doing. At some point, she told herself, she was going to determine just who exactly it was she wanted to speak to. That moment had yet to come. On the recommendation of a necromancer, she was seeking out a wielder of the Light. Someone who could perhaps help her with her terminal problem of being undead. In a way that didn't end with her being dead once more, that is. Except knowing absolutely no one made it impossible to decide on who was worth bothering with any details. Any number of races were prowling about, ranging from humans and elves to Draenei and Tauren, and each and every one of them seemed like poor ideas to approach. The longer she sat idly by, the more she considered the fact that the entire suggestion had likely been meant as a joke at her expense. Something to send her off on a journey that was going to end with her being a smoldering pile of ash being danced upon by a number of individuals dressed in matching golden armor. On the one hand, she considered that immensely cruel, and was silently wishing she had maybe put at least a couple of holes into the necromancer. In this situation though, now that she thought about it, there was no other hand. At first she wanted to believe she could respect the macabre nature of the joke, but by this point was more frustrated than anything. Each minute that passed seem to find her slouching more and more. To the point where her shoulders appeared to be folding straight into her knees. An uncomfortable sight to behold, she presumed, and a pose that would have caused her back problems if her spine wasn't hunched and deformed as it was. Forcing herself to sit up, she could feel individual parts of it pop and crack and they settled back into place, and took the moment to appreciate the fact that the entire process was painless. The same could be said for her the rest of her, her bones scraping and grinding against each other in a symphony of horrible noises as she returned to a standing position, making for the cathedral's grand exit. So distant were her thoughts that she barely noticed as a priest growing gradually closer to her. It wasn't until they collided that her attention returned to the area around her. In an instant she had skittered back against one of the hall's many pillars, crouching low, hands hovering over her daggers. Her beady eyes bored into the priestess she had rammed into, who herself had already retreated a good distance away, her pale hands coming up to cover her mouth. When it became apparent that there was no need for her blades, Lenora straightened herself, hands dropping lazily to her sides. Eyes darting away from the priestess in an awkward fit of embarrassment, she let out a hoarse mutter. "Sorry." The priestess blinked at the noise, taking a moment to be sure that it had actually come from the undead woman. Or perhaps she was more surprised by the fact that she could still manage to speak Common. Regardless of the reason for her surprise, the priestess managed to overcome it, returning herself to something resembling composure. Brushing off what dust had gathered on her robe, she shook her head dismissively, "Don't worry about it. I am at least partially to blame." Lenora allowed her head to bob up and down at the prospect of sharing the blame. Anything to keep from having to be too apologetic, and to end this quicker. She wanted to leave, and this had only extended the entire ordeal of her departure. "If you don't mind me asking," the priestess said, taking a step closer, "I am curious about what it is you're doing here." She blinked once, then twice, turning her attention from the exit to the priestess. Another set of blinking didn't exactly do anything to help her confusion, but she proceeded to do it anyway. There wasn't so much surprise in the question, she assumed most everyone else had been wondering why an undead had crawled into their halls and sat herself down there without saying a word, but rather the suddenness of it. There was supposed to be conversation leading up to such a brazen question. Something about manners, and dancing around an issue before it could be fully address. And here it was being simply ignored. Inching ever so slightly closer, her eyes narrowed, darting left and right to confirm that there wasn't some paladin waiting in the wings to burn her in holy flame. Deciding the coast was clear, she allowed her shoulders to roll, "Uh. Just. Just looking for some help." It wasn't the response the priestess was expecting, made clear by the way her eyebrows knitted together, and how long it took her to process. Her hands rose and dropped as though she were about to start making a point, but said points appeared to die before they could ever leave her mouth. Taking yet another step closer, she eyed the undead woman over once more. Had Lenora been standing straight up, they likely would have been similar in height. But hunched over as she was, that involved the priestess literally looking down on her. "It sounds. Sounds really. Uh," Lenora said, looking away again, "Sounds really stupid. I. I know." A short chuckle escaped from the priestess, "I am inclined to agree." Once more Lenora turned, eyes narrowing at the bluntness of the response, but she didn't say anything more. Slightly taken aback, the priestess brought her hands up defensively, offering a soft smile, "I can't imagine what sort of help you imagined you could get, especially from anyone here." Lenora's shoulders shifted up in a shrug once more, "I. I don't know. Just. Maybe. If anyone. Seeing if anyone could. Fix. This." She made a weak gesture to herself. A more serious expression took over the priestess's face, "There's nothing here to fix that, save having one of the senior members give you a merciful death." "I. I figured. I figured that out," she muttered, rubbing the back of her neck, "Still. Still thought I. I thought I should. Find out." The priestess gave her a questioning look, to which the undead huffed, "Just. Just think about. Think about what you'd. You'd do." It surprised Lenora to find that the woman's already pale face could go a few shades lighter. All it took to reach such a point was for the woman to imagine the curse of undeath. If anything, Lenora wondered if she wasn't going to throw up from the thought, with the way she started swaying, but she steadied herself, shaking off whatever had just possessed her. "Yes, well," she said, idly bringing her hands together, "I suppose that makes sense. But you'll find no solutions here. The Light has the power to return the dead to life, but only in the state that they left it. Or so I have been taught." Lenora's eyes narrowed as she considered that. "So were you resurrected, you would only be returned as you are now. Or worse, given how the Light might sear you." Her eyes once more scanned the room, considering that. And again, all she could bring herself to do was shrug. Even if she hadn't know it for certain, she had know that hoping for some sort of miracle cure was insane. Not that she had stopped hoping. "Guess. Guess I'll just. Start. Looking somewhere else." The priestess blinked, head tilting at the prospect, "There isn't a cure for undeath. Nothing about you can be fixed. Your body is." She paused, biting her lip for once to prevent herself from making such a clear statement, "Obviously not well. And I doubt that your spirit has done any better for being tied to such a thing." As Lenora opened her mouth to make some final statement, she continued, "But there if there was someone who could help in matters of the soul, there might be individuals trained for the task. My instructor once told me of her sister, beyond the Dark Portal, who had trained to be a 'Soulpriest'. Though last I heard, they weren't welcome to outsiders." Letting her eyes drop to the floor, Lenora stared at the white tile. Without another word, she turned to begin shuffling towards the door. Behind her she could hear the priestess scuffling along after her. Still saying things that she couldn't be bothered to listen to. She pushed herself past the heavy doors the moment she reached them, giving no regard for the cold beyond. Nor the snow, with her bony feet pressing on without missing a beat. At some point her little sabbatical was going to have to end. She knew was much, tried to convince herself as much. In fact, if she were wise, it would have ended before now. Before going to the ends and edges of the known world, and now beyond, for the sake of a solution that didn't exist. The answer to her question was well known, and she simply refused to heed it. Everyone else seemed to have gotten with the program, and settled into the fact that this was their normal, or at least had convinced themselves to play the part. Once more her eyes narrowed, and her fists clenched. An eternity awaited her. Either one of darkness when she had her final death, or an uncountable number of lifetimes spent falling to pieces and struggling to keep herself together. And since that was the case, who was to say she was wrong in spending all of it searching for the ever illusive third option.

I would like to see a AU with the Eldarya guys in a police station (pleeeease, give me a police officer Valkyon!)

Hang on… the Guard of El is not a medieval police station? Whatabout those underground cells? And Miiko and Leiftan’s good-cop-bad-cop-add-Jamonroutine? o_o  

Oh, all right. Let’s assume theGuard of El has been given badges, handguns, and sirens they can stick on topof their car to tell traffic on the road to clear out. Are they going to be anymore efficient?

… …Why am I even asking…? -_-

Nevra, the Detective

The star of the El Police Department’sinvestigative division: the high-flying lead detective with the unerring nose whonever works in anything but dashing black. (Hey, being a plainclothes officer meanshe can actually dress the way he likes on the job. And despite what colleaguesmight say, he does need the sablecashmere scarf, the tight black trench coat, and the designer leather ankle-boots because… it gets cold in the city and he’s not going to miss a day ofwork because of the flu.)

Anyway. Nevra will be happyto confirm that 1.) he does have a veryacute sense of smell, and 2.) he has neverfailed a case since joining the department, even after the Oracle’s fall.Once he’s on the trail, you can bet that he’s going to unearth answers andproduce an arrest warrant for so-and-so. (Actually getting the reprobate into acell isn’t his job though.) In fact,there is no such thing as a cold casein his book; merely one that’s…. waiting patiently for more evidence. (If youtry riffling through his office, you’ll find years of ‘not-cold cases’. But don’tsay a word to anyone, or Nevra will be after your ass for ruining his image as ‘theBloodhound of El’. And for bypassing that custom lock on his office door.)     

For all his over-achievingtendencies, Nevra’s actually a popular guy in his department: charming,amiable, savvy, extremely loyal to the force, and the best man you can have foreither a night of swing dancing or a weekend football match. The only catch:think twice about inviting your girlfriend. And sometimes your boyfriend. There’sa running poll in the office on how many disgruntled exes have tried stabbinghim with a cafeteria steak knife this year. And a second poll on how many ‘damselsin distress’ that visited his office this half-year have walked away decidedly lessdamsel-like.

Also, be careful whenworking with Nevra on the field. His loyalty to the department can’t bequestioned, but there’s a reason why he works primarily with his loyal caninecompanion Shaitan (AKA the world’s most terrifying police dog). Ex-partners willwarn you that he never gives up a chase in the long run,even when outgunned and kneed where it hurts the most (and yes… they do have afew stories about that….)      

Ezarel, the Chemical Forensics Specialist  

Every department needs anegghead who can prove to the court of law that that rust-colored smear isn’tfrom a jar of strawberry preserve smashing into the wall. Or that the faintspecks of dust on a man’s coat lapels are what actually killed him, and not thebullet that was inserted into his chest a few seconds later as an afterthought.In the El Police Department, that (figurative) egghead is Ezarel. (Because hehas an honest-to-goodness ponytail that reaches to his waist. Don’t bother to tell him to get a haircut; he’ll just tell youthat he works in a lab-coat, not a suit.)  

No one really knows why thisfilthy-rich trust-fund-baby from uptown is working voluntarily in the dingy labof an inner-city police department. But if they have to guess, it’s eitherbecause he watched too many episodes of ‘NCIS’, ‘Sherlock’, and ‘The First 48’ whilegrowing up, or he’s really a mad scientist looking for a passably legal applicationfor his experiments. It’s honestly hard to tell which theory is true when talkingto him, since the man seems incapable of taking most people seriously unless they’reasking for a report. The number of smart comments that fly out of him at anyand all hours is on par with an award-winning novelist living deep in a forestcave. Or the typical biochem student. He reacts about the same way when untrainedvisitors try touching things in his lab. Including him.

Still, for all his curmudgeonlytendencies, Ezarel inspires respect from the police force for his completeindifference to rank, his thoroughness, and his generally nonlinear thinking (whichcomes in handy for reconstructing crime scenes from tiny scrapings of suspectsplatters). And he’s feared for his pranks. Department rookies are hispreferred prey (though again, office rank means little to him). Many of themhave never forgotten the night that Ezarel secretly smeared ghostly faces,handprints, and body-prints across the walls and windows of the lounge, in apeculiar type of paint that came alive only when the Halloween strobe lightswere switched on. Or that time he posed as a fresh corpse in the archives, withhis arm still caught in a file drawer and ‘bullet holes’ peppering his back,just in time for the records officer Kero to find him. (To this day, Kero stillrefuses to file any of Ezarel’s paperwork for him.) The day never gets boringif Ezarel’s in the building.        

Valkyon, the SWAT Captain

Police captain Valkyon—from thespecial response division—is one of the few full-time ballasts in the dysfunctionalpolice department. Part of it is because the man seems incapable of losing histemper. He may frown like thunder, but no one has ever witnessed him so much ascurse, even after all his years in one of the toughest divisions of the police force,that sees the highest yearly casualties from the number of riots, armedhold-ups, city terrorists, mobsters, and generally-lethal upstarts they engageon a regular basis as the frontlines of the city’s peacekeeping forces. Then again, tough talkmight be unnecessary in his case; would-be troublemakers on either side of thelaw only need to look at the span of his shoulders, or the number of pale scarscrossing his chiseled chest and back whenever he drops his shirt in thetraining room, to think hard about their projected lifespans.  

Except for his clean (andsomewhat wooden) language, Valkyon comes across as the quintessentialhardboiled officer. Colleagues know him as either a.) the by-the-book workaholicwho refuses to flinch in the face of fire (and doesn’t have much of a personallife), or b.) the dedicated bachelor who defends his privacy with deadpanremarks and genuinely doesn’t know what to do with himself during an officeparty. Besides downing a few bottles of beer in the corner. Personally, Valkyondoesn’t really see it as his fault if people mistake him as unsocial—since whendo people need to talk so much tomake themselves understood?  

Even after he downs five tosix beers, no one has ever succeeded in prying from Valkyon the story of hisdays before the police force. (And when his face shuts like a hangar door, it’sa good idea not to piss him off further.) But there’s a running theory in theoffice that not all of those famous scars and tattoos seen in the training roomcame from upholding the badge. That some might have been acquired from a lifeon the opposite side of the law. But who would think of slandering their big bronzebear of a captain that way? You don’t find many people who’ll charge a riflemanon the street with just a riot shield and his weight, coming at speed from halfa block down. Much less succeed.  

He does have a darling inthe office though. Sadly for some hopeful officers and interns, Valkyon’snon-professional eyes are trained solely on his pet mouse Floppy, who lives agenteel existence rotating between his office, his coat pocket, sometimes underhis cap, and her handmade little house inside his one-man apartment. At leastuntil the flighty thing escapes again. That’s when he starts papering thebulletin board with office-bounties for her safe return.   

Leiftan, the DistrictAttorney  

It’s one thing tochase hardened criminals through faked financial reports and pitch-dark docks,prove that three-day-old blood is in fact blood, or send a rifleman sprawlingonto the sidewalk with just a dented riot shield. But if you can’t bring themall to court and convince both judge and jury to believe what happened, thenthere will be no justice. That’s where Leiftan comes in: the so-called WhiteKnight of the El Police Department, always toting a mysterious briefcase and asoft smile that’s even more mysterious.

Although there’s along-running tradition of animosity between policeofficers/detectives/forensics specialists and anything that resembles a lawyer,the El Police Department makes an exception for Leiftan. He keeps reasonableexpectations on them and the court, does his best with what he can workon, never loses his temper when a case is thrown out or grinds to a stalemateand settlement (which happens despairingly often), and is so ceaselessly politethat it’s hard for even the dedicated grouches on the force to hate him. (Maybejust a little for how he never loses his gentleman’s polish like a normalflesh-and-blood person). But more importantly, it’s because Leiftan’sunofficial job is being their PR man whenever a case becomes high-profile enoughto hit the headlines. The public is more likely to buy an assurance that ‘dueprocedure is being followed’ and ‘several promising leads are being explored’if it comes from the gentleman-lawyer in the suit than one of them cops. Especially if they did actuallyslip up once or twice in the chase. And sometimes (i.e. often) Leiftan is the one thingstanding between them and their fire-breathing chief-of-police Miiko if ahigh-profile investigation goes awry, raising one hand politely from the sidewith a life-saving suggestion that they might be able to use acertain piece of evidence in court.  

Just because he’s thesoft-spoken type of lawyer doesn’t mean he can’t go toe-to-toe with the best ofthe officers. Over the years, Leiftan has survived many attempts by opponentsto ‘privately settle a suit’: on the street outside the court-house, at thedoor of his apartment, behind a bar, from the back of his car, or even (on onememorable occasion) on the witness stand in court. In all cases, pistol-packershave learnt the hard way that Leiftan has an aikido master’s reflexes and amean right-hand undercut. Not to mention that that reinforced briefcase—withwho knows what in it– seems as determined as he is in defying bullets.  

Jamon, the Bailiff  

Cell occupants at the policestation know Jamon as that taciturn, terrifying mass of muscle with hands thesize of dinner plates who just shoved them inside. Or if they were out-coldwhen that happened, they know him as the living pillar watching them from themain door of the detention center at the moment they woke, crunching casuallyon raw carrots that are each roughly the width of a girl’s wrist. In eithercase, the possibility of escape tends to leave them. Even if Jamon offers them carrotsthrough the bars as a healthy snack for behaving well.  

For a senior police officer,Jamon’s responsibilities are fairly light: he’s mostly tasked with watching theever-revolving population of temporary inmates in the holding cells at thestation. And to escort (and occasionally subdue) the more ornery detainees throughthe foyer, fresh from the patrol car or on their way to the court house. But intruth, it takes a very peculiar figure to turn this precarious, powder-kegposition into little more than a routine stroll through HQ, accompanied by anoccasional loud clearing of the throat when inmates get restive.  

No one’s inclined to test aseven-foot officer who prefers five-word remarks and has a grip like a parkingboot. No matter how good he is with the occasional child who visits the stationand insists on climbing onto his shoulders, or how friendly he is if you’requiet and stay at arm’s length when he opens your cell door.

Kero, the Records Officer  

The long-suffering head ofAdministration, whose primary task is to ensure that the bunker’s worth ofpaperwork in the station gets filed, stored, and used correctly. And from there…very, very slowly translated into electronic data. Make no mistake: it’s adaunting task even for a modest-sized police department, where at least half theforce despises picking up a pen (for all the other shenanigans they get into ona daily basis).

Or maybe they just love tokick at him… It’s not his fault that he dislikes pulling a gun on people, andinstead honors the tradition of muttering darkly under his breath in theirdirection. And wears glasses. It must be the glasses; who on earth says thatthey’ll make you look more respectable at work? The only one who gets moregrief at work than him is that rookie Chrome.

Needless to say, Kero spendsmost of his daily existence either instructing (for the umpteenth time) hisfellow officers in what needs to be filled out and in what order and where theyshould be deposited. (Not in his briefcase!) Or running a never-ending cycle ofproofread-return-receive-file-repeat for police records, statements, and other liabilityforms deep in the archives. Until a kind soul remembers to bring him outsidefor sunshine.       

Chrome, the Rookie  

A kid swept in from thestreets who, after the Oracle’s fall, ran odd jobs for the police in exchangefor quick cash and amnesty from the neighborhood gangs, even acting as an occasionalinformer for Nevra. Once he hit fifteen, Chrome finally applied for detectivetraining under the latter’s encouragement, figuring that he can apply hislifetime’s worth of street smarts, spying, making Molotov cocktails, and vanishing through alleyways togood use: cleaning up his hometown.  

Unfortunately, he firstneeds to survive both basic training and the company of his new colleagues atthe station. Not all of whom are impressed by his bluster and recklessdetermination in field exercises. Or his notoriety in returning to the stationhours late from a routine patrol. (For the last time: he swears he’s not visiting any girls on the side! Just because he’s ateenager doesn’t mean his hormones are always raging! The last thing hewants in life is to grow up to become his boss, thanks.)

Needless to say, this poorkid is a regular target of Ezarel’s jokes. Within a few days of his official adoptioninto the force, the forensics officer has coined a new nickname for him thatspread through the department like a virus: ‘Puppy’.

Karuto, the Donut Shop Owner

A police force cannotsurvive without a steady supply of cheap donuts and coffee that comes withinwalking distance. But unlike some franchises that offer free pastries inexchange for police protection, Karuto doesn’t actually need police protection: he was first brought into the station afterusing a kitchen blowtorch against a luckless punk who tried pointing a gun athim over the register one night. The punk lost, by the way, and it was theoutraged donut shop proprietor who was slapped with heavy charges instead. Can’ta man defend his own property anymore without the police state cracking down on him?

In exchange for reduced policesurveillance for his ‘dangerous temper’ (you’ll find out what ‘dangerous’ is ifyou dare clap an ankle-monitor on him),Karuto agreed to provide free pastries and coffee to the entire department.Which inevitably brings them sniffing around his shop every morning andafternoon, but at least they’re there as (nonpaying…) customers instead oflegally-mandated babysitters. For the vast majority of officers, he’s oldenough to be their father.    

Ashkore, the Urban Legend

The notorious master hackerand systems saboteur who was never caught after bringing down the Oracle: the cutting-edgesupercomputer that once occupied a building of its own just behind the policedepartment’s headquarters. Once upon a time, the Oracle had single-handedlytracked city-wide activities at all hours, from mass civilian movement andcommunication, to entertainment and news broadcasts, local traffic on land, sea,and air, changes in the local power grid, economic transfers, hospital activity,and population fluctuations. It was the (some say sentient) supercomputer that keptvigil over the entire city of El and predicted where and when crime happenedfrom a precise convergence of socio-economic triggers, with an astonishingsuccess rate that ushered in years of civilian peace. The police force backthen were merely the arm of the law, arresting the troublemakers that theOracle identified. They didn’t even need to patrol.    

To this day, no one knowsfor certain how Ashkore and his group destroyed the Oracle. (Perhaps they hadcolluders from inside HQ. Or perhaps Ashkore was an ex-officer himself, whichcould explain how he knew precisely when, how, and where to strike.) But their methodseemed to have involved a precise tripping of the city power grid in the deadof night to force the Oracle to fall back briefly on its reserve power sourcebelow its mainframe, shutting off noncritical external security systems forjust a few minutes. Then the hackers moved in, cutting through theround-the-clock team of technicians and engineers who maintained thesupercomputer in the adjoining office. And the next thing the dazed policedepartment of El knew, a fire had broken out from a catastrophic cascade ofshort-circuits that came from deep inside the august machine. By the time thesmoke cleared the following morning, the charred, office-sized hunk that wasthe Oracle was taken apart for inspection and eventually pronounced dead (muchless its cadre of engineers). All except for a single, hand-sized matrix ofcrystal memory chips that miraculously survived the night intact. This mega-chipis now stored in a maximum-security bunker underneath thenow-fearfully-independent police force, in hopes of being the first data blockof the new incarnation of the Oracle (still under construction).

The day after the sabotage,Ashkore’s group leaked an untraceable video on the internet to claimresponsibility for the attack, hailing a new era of freedom now that the commonpeople have wrested control of their lives back from the machine, and that the yokeof the police-controlled city-state has been overthrown. The mastermind himself—wearinga CG dragon’s head digitally-imposed over his face– signed off the video by mock-lecturingthe police force to get off their lazy asses and patrol the streets as wastraditional, using just their wits, brawn, the people they spoke to, and theevidence that they found directly. Oh, and good luck at their new job.          

Needless to say, the manhuntfor the dragon-headed hacker and his cohorts is still ongoing. But without theOracle to guide them, crime spiked in all sectors across El, as civiliansupport fell proportionally and police casualties mounted. The El Police Departmentwas hard-pressed to reapply their old training to keep the main avenues of thecity more-or-less safe to walk through, much less pursue Ashkore and his hostof internet ghosts. Who gallingly proved their corporeal existence by branchingout to other activities: from city council blackmail, to leaking highly-classifiedsecrets apparently copied from the Oracle’s databanks before they fried, tofree-for-all theft, to sabotaging whatever convenient police car strays too farbeyond HQ. Just to be considerate, they always email a photo or video of theirlatest stunt to the police department from an untraceable device less than anhour after the event, signing off with a grinning cartoon dragon icon.    

Actually, it’s hard to sayany longer if it’s really the original group of saboteurs who’s sticking athorn in their side, or a larger, looser offshoot of the original group, or amotivated team of copycats taking up the cause of city anarchists. Regardless, it’sup to the motley, much-reduced police department of El to save their city,restore their people’s trust in them, and rectify what Ashkore and his grouphave catalyzed, before he strikes with a still more ambitious blow from thecrowbar of civil anarchy.  

Whoops. I might have gone a little far with the plot-crafting for that last one. Social subversives are the engine of stories. 

Anyway, I hope this satisfies, @mentacomchocolate. :) Though I’m getting the impression that you’d really like a Valkyon-in-SWAT-uniform picture to go with this, but I can’t find any on the internet. :(

Maybe one of you readers can help out? ;) 

Oh, and uh… don’t forget to review. If you do, I might post part 2 of this set. ;) A police station isn’t just a chest-thumping club anymore. 

Edit: In fact, part 2 is right here. Time for some estrogen action at the police department. 

Think Outside the Love Square 6

Day 6: Social Media AU

Here is some ChloNino for the soul! I hope you like it. Can’t believe week 1 is already almost over! Hopefully you have enjoyed each of my short submissions. I’ve enjoyed trying out new pairings that I’d never written before, and maybe I’ll write some more of them soon! Follow @thinkoutsidethelovesquare for all of the details on the rest of the month! I will also be remixing one of my own fics for week 4, so look forward to that eventually! (Note: They are aged up in this fic, I assume early-mid-twenties or so and Nino works as a DJ at a nightclub)

FF | AO3

Nino flipped a new record over onto his stand, bobbing his head to the beat as Chloe sat and watched, her phone raised and recording a video for her Snapchat. Nino cocked a brow at her as she typed the caption and turned it around for him to read.

“My hot DJ hard at work #blessed” it read, and Nino chuckled a little.

“Aren’t you bored sitting up here with me? Don’t you wanna get down and dance?” He asked, fiddling with the settings on his sound board a little as he transitioned into the new song.

“What and have sweaty low-lifes trying to grind on me? No thanks.” Her nose wrinkled a little, and she shook her head before hopping off the table where she sat and pacing over to lean her head against his shoulder. “I like being up here with you.”

“Well, I don’t mind the company, so stay as long as you like,” He said, pecking her cheek affectionately.

“Smile!” She requested, holding her phone up.

“Babe, I’m working. I don’t have time to pose with some silly flower crown filter,” He scolded gently, stepping away.

“But I need all of our friends to know how cute and happy we are.” She pouted, but he gave her an unwavering frown of disapproval. “Quick one? No filter.”

“Alright.” He rolled his eyes, and wrapped his arms around her waist, leaning his head against hers. She snapped the photo and examined it thoughtfully.

“The lighting is all wrong, can we-”

“Chloe,” Nino warned, flipping through his records.

“Fine,” She sighed as if it were the biggest inconvenience before swiping through different filters. “Okay, now one for Instagram.” Nino gave her a look. “What? Marinette and Adrien post the most horrendously adorable photos, and I want people to be jealous of how great we are together.”

“You’re gonna get me fired,” He teased, pinching her sides and pressing his lips to hers for another photo. “I love you, but no more.”

“I’ll just get you after work then,” She huffed, slipping her phone back into her purse.

“After hours, you can do whatever you’d like with me,” He said with a laugh, and she snaked her arms around him from behind and kissed his shoulder.

“Don’t I always?” She murmured, pinching his butt playfully before moving around to the stairs. “I’m gonna go tweet pictures of drinks so you can work.”

“Thank you,” He called as she skipped off toward the bar.

His phone buzzed in his pocket with Chloe’s insta notification, and he smiled down at the caption that read: “Bothering my honey in the booth. I love him so much!” followed by several heart and kissy face emojis. As annoying as she could be sometimes, he had to admit that she could be pretty damn cute.

Red Streak [1.1]

Chapter 01: Shakedowns [Part 1 of 4. Revised June 2017]

Read the complete fic on AO3

Jane SSV Normandy 2183 CE

A sharp voice cut through the after-hours quiet of the cargo bay, but Shepard didn’t flinch. She’d been expecting this.

“Middle of the night and pumping iron, with Eden Prime mere hours away. How true to form.”

Hackles rising, Shepard slowed midway through a lateral curl and turned her head to meet a pair of prying eyes. A mutual clash of acid-green. She could feel her blood darkening in her veins.

The Spectre.

He was posed thoughtfully in the elevator, studying her with all the aloof curiosity of a hitman. His gaze zeroed clean onto the center of her forehead, distant yet steady.

Under that kind of scrutiny, a carefully flattened “Spectre Kryik,” was the most diplomatic greeting she could manage.

As if no one had spoken, Kryik slowly toured the aft quarter of the cargo bay. Far from Alliance standard, the area had been jerry-rigged into Shepard’s personal training course: a Hierarchy Crucible, laden with turian ordnance and gear.

Taking it all in, he mocked her in bland tones: “It’s one thing to look you up on the extranet,” he muttered, addressing the exercise equipment.  “Query Commander Shepard, and you’ll return one wild story after another.”

Before she could stop herself, she lowered her barbells and rumbled low in her chest.

Kryik’s face plates twitched, an almost laugh. “Yet here you are, flesh and blood. Jane herself, ridiculously true.”

She ground her molars, taking his point. Here she was. Awake in the middle of the night. Training before a mission. Heavily fatigued after her second round of PT, grinding herself through a Hierarchy Crucible. She’d seen plate glass windows less transparent than this display. Less fragile. Of course a turian Spectre would come to give Commander Shepard hell for pretending to be something she wasn’t.

She flexed a cramp in her left hand, then stared intently at the floor panels beneath Kryik’s casual, contrapposto feet. She was being sized up. Her neck tensed at the thought and she cracked her bones audibly, showing off.

“Fine. What do you want to know?” She said, rumbling in his general direction. “What lullabies he sang to me?”

Kryik took a half step back. His posture stiffened into a more formal parade rest, surrendering little. Sounding annoyed, he said, “Shepard, please. I’m not here to raise awkward questions about your fahrtrix—”

“Pari.” She spat, voice tightening.

A grim silence followed, broken only when Kryik forced a cough.

He rerouted to the weapons bench in the forward port quarter, pulling his shotgun from his back. An unnecessary inspection, she was sure - little more than an excuse for a bit of hands-on busywork. She replaced her weights and  resumed her reps, grateful for her own distraction.

Assholes were all the same, regardless of their planet of origin. If Kryik wanted to start something, she’d leave him the opening, just so it could be finished, and quickly.

A few moments later, he relented to her silence.

“I wasn’t trying to provoke you,” he said blandly. “I admit to some curiosity about your upbringing. More than a few questions.”

She froze mid-lift to telegraph him a dark glare, but he wasn’t looking at her. Eyes on his work, he drove forward with the same ease he was using to dismantle his gun: methodical, professional, rote.

“One of my mentors held a particular grudge against you,” he said. “His fury peaked my interest, and I’ve been a spectator of your progress since… well, since you tore through half the commissioned officers at Cipritine Military Academy to earn your N4. Your record…” He tilted his head, at a loss. “It’s… Attention grabbing.”

Her stomach churned. If the Spectre had some personal stake in Shepard’s career, this was the first she’d ever heard of it. His manner since boarding the Normandy had been pure professionalism through and through, almost to a fault. Nihlus Kryik was inscrutable and superior, like some kind of armored iceberg slowly chilling the ship. He didn’t seem the type to be driven by a Fornax-fueled fetish for squishy human maidens, but it wouldn’t be the first time Shepard had been caught unawares.

“I don’t appreciate being watched,” she said, low with warning.

That struck a chord. He stiffened and shot her a look that landed like a disciplining blow.

“Don’t misunderstand me, Commander,” he said. “I’m here for the mission. End of story.” Shepard balked, shoulders tense. “I came to speak with you about Eden Prime,” he added, still serious. “The colony itself.” He had a drill instructor’s rigidity; a face that screamed straighten up or go home. That, at least, was familiar. Something she could work with.

“I’ve never been,” she said, rolling a shoulder.

“They say it’s a symbol of your people, one of the first stable human colonies beyond the Charon Relay. Proof that you can protect a perfect little world on the edges of the Terminus.” He paused and considered his weapon carefully. “But how safe is it really?”

Shepard threw down her weights again, frustrated enough to spit. “Enough ballet, Kryik. What are you dancing around?”

He looked in her direction and squinted academically, but offered no further explanation.

“This is no ordinary shakedown run,” she said, rushing at the chance to confront the Spectre about this face-to-face. “Even Corporal Jenkins isn’t that green. An experimental Hierarchy-Alliance stealth frigate with Captain Anderson and a Council Spectre aboard at zero hour? I don’t think so. And then I get the call: reassigned and promoted by Admiral Hackett himself, just like that.” She snapped her fingers. “Give me some credit, Kryik, I know I’m not here to smash a bottle of champagne on Normandy’s hull.” She paused for breath, only to lose it all in a defeated sigh. “Or hell, maybe I am. What’s the story this time? Reparations for Shanxi? Some big fireworks display to congratulate the politicians on their latest ass-kissing? Did you smuggle in any reporters for the big circle-jerk?”

She kicked a cargo crate, hard, just to be sure. No startled yelp from within, no hidden camera fell out. Her only reward was silence and a sore toe.

Kryik looked like he had a great deal to say, but no idea what order to put the words in. On his frostbitten face, the lack of sure footing looked almost like embarrassment.

After taking a moment to compose himself, he said, “I suppose it bodes well that Normandy’s crew is smarter than the Council gives them credit for. Anderson knows his people. And he chose the right second in command to back him up. Make no mistake, politics aside, your promotion was his doing.” He quirked his head as if chiding himself, quietly adding, “...and my own.”

Shepard blinked, too stunned to react, but Kryik didn’t clarify. Instead, he firmly steered the conversation back to the mission.

“Our purpose on Eden Prime is twofold,” he said. “First, the Council has asked me to assist Anderson with the covert extraction of a Prothean artifact--”

Shepard interrupted: “Wait. The Council flew a mint-condition experimental frigate to the edge of the Terminus, just so a Spectre could hand-deliver some… what? Museum piece? Or is this for a private collection? I thought the Protheans were a million-year-old myth the hanar sang glow-in-the-dark songs about on Citadel street corners.” She snorted rudely. “So, who’s buying, the asari councilor? Tevos probably likes looking at art that’s as old as herself.”

Kryik’s mouth opened, mandibles twitching, but he seemed incapable of finding the correct words to fill the void.

Finally, he settled for a strained cough that bore only passing familiarity to laughter, and said, “My my, how insensitive. The artifact is a Beacon. Rare finds, exceptionally valuable to posterity, and dangerous as hell. I need to transfer this one to a proper research facility on the Citadel before it falls into the wrong hands.”

“What wrong hands? Human ones?”

Kryik was still aping at cleaning his gun, attempting to split his attention between the weapon and Shepard with an equal lack of favoritism, but the cracks in his veneer were long past showing. When he spoke again, the calm in his voice had taken on a practiced edge.

“The Terminus is a cesspool of pirates and criminals who’d love any excuse to ransack a human settlement,” he said. “Batarian splinter groups that haven’t forgotten the Blitz.” He slowed, pausing deliberately. A show of force.

Much as she tried to hide it, she was sure he’d hear her heart skipping beats. He knew more about her past than he was letting on. Whatever his motives, he didn’t linger.

“At best, humanity has a shaky foothold on the Citadel,” he said. “Last time your people dabbled unchecked among Prothean ruins, that didn’t pan out so well for galactic peace. Whatever that Beacon contains, it affects all of us. Technology like this is unpredictable, very dangerous. Which brings me to my second objective…”

“And what’s that?” she said, hearing the eyeroll in her own voice.

“Evaluating you for Spectre candidacy.”

Shepard went still enough to feel her own bones.

Minutes later, still dazed, she grunted, “You just made that up to piss me off.”

He chuckled unexpectedly, then immediately stilled.

“Strong words, spoken by the impossible human legacy of Albacus Regidonis.”

Hearing her father’s name uttered aloud for the first time in years, Shepard flinched. She closed her eyes to savor the rarity of the sound. Or to block it out. Or both.

“Say I buy this Spectre joke,” she said, hissing through a clenched jaw. “Why wasn’t I briefed by Anderson on any of this?”

“Alliance brass made that call, not me. You were meant to be briefed at the mission sitrep first thing this morning, once we were in orbit. But since…” he glanced at her Crucible again before continuing, a slow, visible arithmetic behind the movement of his eyes. “…you don’t seem bound by Alliance rules and regs, why bother? Whatever gets the job done. When it comes down to it, this mission is Council purview, anyway. It’s need to know, and now you do.”

“Alright, fine, I follow.  I’m with you so far. But a human Spectre? How long has this been in the works? Who’s pulling the threads in that spider web?”

“Your people have been pushing for a hand in galactic politics since Relay 314 blew up in your faces, and what better avenue than the Spectres? As to your nomination specifically, I was the one who put your name forward.”

She shook her head, agog. “You?”

“Like I said. Your record is attention grabbing.”

The twist in her gut returned, redoubled.

“No,” she said, biting back a snarl. “I won’t be paraded around like some show animal just because of my father-”

“Too bad,” he said, dropping all pretense. The shift in tone hardly put them on equal footing. Instead, he spoke to her as if she were twelve. “The Council can’t wait to jump on a publicity stunt like you. You have frankly unprecedented perspective on interspecies cooperation.” Shepard crossed her arms and felt the skin on her face boiling, but Kryik lectured on. “Regidonis is only the tip of the spear, the means to an end. Hell, if you really were turian, you’d have already earned this nomination five times over. Your list of accomplishments is preposterous. The bleeding hearts pinned a medal on you for saving civilians in the Blitz, but I dug up the rest. I know what the Alliance tried to hush up, how far you were really willing to go to take back the Skyllian Verge.”

She stared at the Spectre, heart in her throat. He was reading her like a set of first-tier omni-tool instructions, then pushing all of her buttons at once, just to see what she would do. The dim third shift lights had thrown his face into deep pockets of shadow, and she trusted him less than ever.

If Torfan was the moment that made Shepard worthy of being on the Council’s short list, then may she rot in Hell.

“That victory was nothing to be proud of,” she said, meaning every word.

“Say what you want. An ugly call, but you saved thousands and ended a war almost single-handed. You’d make one hell of a Spectre, species be damned.”

Thoroughly and needlessly cleaned, Kryik had finally begun to reassemble his shotgun, one piece at a time. Working from memory now, he kept his eyes on Shepard, watching her with an expression that might have meant anything: challenge, acknowledgment, understanding, disdain. No matter how close she got to his heels, he always seemed ten paces ahead and hidden from view.

After a careful moment’s study, he slowly added, “I imagine your patrem would be proud of all that you’ve accomplished.”

Her blood froze, fists clenching automatically at her sides.

“Proud?" She jerked her head to one side, teeth on edge. "My father would have ripped the Star of Terra right off my uniform and melted it into slag." She stared at her own hand, seeing red. "I promised myself I’d never do anything that ruthless again.”

Kryik nodded seriously, then slid his gun into place on his back.

“And I risked it all, betting on you. If you’re who I think you are, maybe you can prove us both right.”

Then he was gone.

More Than Kind and Less Than Kind, Chapter Two

A/n: Wow, this chapter is much longer than the first. C’est la vie. Please send in plot ideas if you guys have any bunnies jumping around in your head. I know the adlock fam is much smaller than some of my other fandoms, but I love you guys and I love writing for this fandom because we get so little on screen. I hope you all enjoy. I love writing Sherlock and Irene. Their banter is my favourite. All I’ve got say is…beware the East Wind.

Find all my stories at https://www.fanfiction.net/u/3738156/PixieKindOfCrazy if you care.

Chapter 2:

“You do realize, at one point, you will have to leave this room?”

One would assume that this question was directed at Irene by Sherlock, hoping to avoid his blogger seeing the Woman. Incorrect.

Irene was leaning in the doorway, attempting to repress the urge to put her hand on her hip and scold the man lazing in bed.

“That poses a rather brilliant existential question, my love-if I stay in this exact spot forever, and the furnishings around me change, am I still in my bedroom?”

Irene rolled her eyes starkly, pushing off the wall in frustration and stalking away to the kitchen. She couldn’t help that her body portrayed her emotions with him sometimes. His presence had a way of stripping off her veneer without her noticing. It was rather irritating.

A few moments later, she heard the distinct sounds of his sluggish foot steps.  She was too busy making herself a cup of coffee to bother to turn around and face him.

“I feel sorry for your mother,” she remarked as she felt him enter the room, “You must have been a hellishly difficult child.”

“Hmm, I feel sorry for you actually,” he smirked, pausing a moment to simply watch the way her hands moved as she stirred the cream into her coffee.

“And why is that?” she finally turned to look at him, blinking twice as she tests her patience to indulge him just this once.

“Because,” he chuckled, a deep timber, “I was a difficult child. And I still am,” he finished, taking the mug of caffeine from her hands smoothly.

He sipped it in appreciation and held back the full smile that often wanted to break out on his face whenever he teased her, “Mmm. Quite good.”

Her stare became icy and her eyes resembled those of a feline, hunting and planning its next move.  

“Oh stop,” he mumbled, handing her the mug back and giving a quick, amused snort as he walked to the refrigerator. He opened the door, looking around for the experiment he started the day before. Where are those eyeballs??

“Excuse me?” she bantered back, “Stop what?”

“The look on your face,” he gestured vaguely to her expression, not bothering to actually look at her.

“The annoyed look? I’m sorry, but I’m afraid that may stay on my face for the majority of the time we spend together, darling.”

He grimaced at the pet name and leaned against the counter, nibbling on the biscuit he’d gotten out of the fridge John kept telling him that biscuits go in the cupboard, but he liked them better cold.

“No-the murder-plotting look. As you stated previously, you can’t kill me and hide the evidence before John gets here.”

She scoffs, “Please, I don’t have a-“

“It’s the same look you get whenever I stop moving right before you orgasm or if I wake you up before your alarm goes off. When I leave a plate out on the table after dinner-that look,” he points at her face, matter of fact, “And when you find one of my experiments on top of your bag, I can tell the murder would be quite creative. Call it what you will, but I know what you’re thinking when that look is on your face-you’re imaging creative ways to maim me.”

“Hmm. He’s learning,” she cooed and carefully pressed her body close up against his, loving to feel how his heartbeat sped up as he squirmed. She smiled up at him, fake sweetness and eyelashes, as she slid her hand expertly up the collar of his robe. His eyes flickered down to follow the movement of her hand, for once, unaware of his actions.

“However….” She breathed softly, her face tilting up towards his.

“However…?” his gaze is trapped on her lips now, smeared lipstick still there from the night previous and he wondered if she has left the same mark on him. Most likely.

She deftly grabbed the biscuit out of his hand and stepped back from his body, leaving him cold. She hopped up to sit on the kitchen table behind him and grinned. It is the only time Sherlock could remember having ever seen her resemble a child and a mischievous one at that.

“However, I’m the master.”

His expression automatically fell into Pout Number Three, as she liked to call it. Or ‘the one where Irene beats me and I don’t get to feel like the cool one.’ She forces herself not to admit that the frown looks a little bit charming on his daft face as he mutters, “Biscuit thief, more like.”

He grumbled slightly as he pulled up a chair at the island and sat next to her, picking up the newspaper whose origin of appearance had had no idea of. He hadn’t picked one up yesterday and he didn’t remember seeing Irene with one. Quite a small, unimportant detail, but it perturbed him; he hated not noticing things. She distracted him.

“Sherlock!” the two strange creatures inhabiting the flat heard a voice call out as marked, familiar footsteps approached, “You better still be in here of sound mind or I’ll be having a talk with Greg to get guards at this door,” John Watson walked into the flat quite casually, like he was still living there, and hung his coat on the rack. His back was towards them so he had yet to glimpse the woman, sitting on the kitchen table in his best friend’s dress shirt.

Sherlock smiled ever so slightly, the tiniest bit amused, and nodded at Irene. It was a silent gesture for her to hide. It wasn’t as if he didn’t want his trusted friend to know that he…kept in contact, so to speak, with the Woman.  But he had an idea in mind.

Sherlock didn’t say a word, but Irene knew that he wanted to play a game on his blogger. Their similar world-view lends the couple several advantages; the gift of silent, efficient communication is probably the most useful.

Before the good doctor could even turn around, Irene had slipped from the kitchen to hide in the bathroom alongside. She briefly wondered what Sherlock was playing at and how long it would take John to notice her signature Louis Vitton heels on the floor by Sherlock’s chair.

“Oh calm down, John. I’m perfectly capable of caring for myself. You lot seem to forget, but I am not actually an infant.”

John fixes his friend with a potent glare, “No, actually-my infant is easier to watch after. At least she doesn’t shoot up heroine when she’s upset.”

Sherlock held back the first acrid thought that came to his bitter mind- ‘that you know of’ probably wasn’t the best joke to tell a man about his daughter soon after his wife had died.

Instead, he lightly rolled his eyes and went to sit down in his chair in the living room, still reading the paper, “It was cocaine this time, actually.”

John walked further into the flat and heaved a sigh, nodding, “Of course it was. You don’t-“

“No, Watson. I don’t still have any; Lestrade made sure to confiscate every last piece of contraband I own.  Well, of the drug variety.”

John frowned slightly in response, wondering about that last remark for a split second before he cut his thought process off, “Nope. Don’t need to know the particulars. Don’t live here anymore. And I am not your babysitter, Sherlock.” “Could’ve fooled me.”

The shorter man paused, a little thrown by the change in his friend’s attitude. He seemed…less down than the night before. His tone was distinctly less pained than yesterday. Almost playful. When john looked at his eyes, he could tell the pain and guilt were still there. But there was something else. “Are you…high right now? Or perhaps a little drunk…”

“Wha-“ Sherlock scoffed and put the paper down dramatically, “I just told you that I don’t have any drugs in the flat. I know you’re not dumb, John, so maybe you’re going deaf?”

A comment that should have stung simply bounced off John’s jacket; he was too used to Sherlock’s verbal antics and deflections.

“No, you just seem….” He scanned the room for clues- something he learned from the man he was currently analyzing- and his eyes fell on a distinctive pair of high heels with red bottoms, “distracted….better, maybe. Than yesterday.” “Hmm,” Sherlock hummed neutrally, neither agreeing nor disagreeing, as he watched John’s eyes to see the gears grind in his head, “Well I am certainly not high, unfortunately. I can assure you that.”

The room is dead silent for a minute before the sound of Sherlock groan of pleasure cut through the air. Which was quite confusing for John considering Sherlock’s mouth had not opened or moved. The man looked rather bored, really.

“Sherlock??” John raised an eyebrow in a slightly disturbed, confused expression, “Was that-“

He sighed as he hears a woman’s voice cursing quietly from the hall, “No…well, not live,” he rolled his eyes as Irene walked out from the bathroom and came to stand behind him, “It was Irene’s text-tone,” he sensed her behind him and turned slightly to give her a brief, annoyed stare, “I still don’t understand how you recorded that without my knowing. Or why.”

Irene Adler laughed softly to herself in a way a woman does when a man asks a very dumb question. She moved to position herself in front of the chair, sitting on the arm of it and draping her legs across Sherlock’s lap. She smiled briefly at John, enjoying his bewilderment.

“Do use that beautiful brain, Sherl. You know you don’t notice much when I’m getting you to make those sounds.”

Sherlock’s eyes flare at her in annoyance as John’s widen in shock. “Irene…” John says her name, almost to himself, as he stares at her and tries to ascertain if she’s real or not, “I knew you weren’t dead, but-“ he blinks, stopping as something suddenly catches up with him, “Hold on, did she just call you, Sherl?”

Sherlock sighed in exasperation-he had hoped his friend wouldn’t notice that part- and reluctantly bit out, “Apparently, it’s her new method of torture. I’m trying to get her to stop.”

“Right,” he nodded to himself continually, too shocked to process all of his thoughts, “Okay…..” he stared at the previously dead woman lounging on the detective’s lap and can’t seem to accept the visual in front of him. This was worse than the time Sherlock had pretended to date what’s her name, “Why is she sitting on your lap? There is another chair.”

“She,” Irene suddenly spoke up, with a slight spike to her voice, “is sitting right here and can speak for herself, Dr. Watson. I’m in this chair because the other one is yours. Obviously.”

John froze, taken aback at the respect that she had automatically showed him, “Oh…but I’m not using it.”

“No, but you always come back to that chair. And argue with Sherlock. He needs that. If I sit there, I might eventually get in the way.”

Sherlock looked out the window and shoved the smirk he waned to let out back down into his pocket, “Plus it is easier for her to manhandle me this way.”

“Hush, you love how I handle you.”

Sherlock did not blush. He does not blush. Ever.

He may have blushed, “Woman…” he pinched the bridge of his nose, impatient with her, “Would you please refrain?”

“Of course,” she stood up gracefully and leaned over to kiss his lips- a short, surprisingly loving touch, “I have to go shortly, anyway. Business to attend to.” She headed to his room to get changed, but not before giving one last sharp remark, “The cinnamon roll in the fridge is mine and if you eat it while I’m gone, I will bake your microscope in the oven until it’s just as gooey.”

“Noted.”

-----------------

The two men sat in silence in the small, shabby living room. One casually flipped through the newspaper, pretending to be interested in it to avoid the other man’s gaze. The other man, for his part, waited until the woman had shut the door of the bedroom before he exploded on his friend.

“Sherlock!” he almost shouted, sputtering, “I can’t believe…actually I can,” he took a deep breath and shook his head, calming himself down. “Explain,” he demanded.

“What exactly do you want me to tell you? I thought the situation was self-explanatory.” Sherlock was genuinely confused.

“Don’t give me that! Until the other day, I thought she was dead! Then I have to piece together by myself that you saved her. And now she shows up in the flat. I knew you kept in touch with her occasionally, but…she’s wearing your shirt Sherlock and I know what that means.”

“I don’t think you do-“

“I’m a grown man. I know how sex works.”

Sherlock held his tongue in his cheek for a second before explaining, “She’s not wearing it because of some sexy cliché. I ripped her dress. She has nothing else to wear.”

“Oh.”

“Yes,” he nodded, pretending not to be proud of himself for that.

“That still explains nothing!” he snapped, “I’m your friend, Sherlock….this sort of stuff-major life stuff…well, I kind of thought you would tell me about it.”

He wanted to tell him not to be a girl about this, but he could sense that that would be indelicate at the moment. As Irene said, he was learning; his emotional intelligence was growing.

Sherlock groaned, unsure of how to be proceed, and feeling a slight stab of guilt. He had already caused John too much pain, “John…you are my only friend. Really,” he shrugs, “And I wasn’t hiding her. It’s not as if I don’t trust you.” “Then why did I have no idea?”

He broke, “Because I don’t know how to do it, John! It wasn’t a plan. I didn’t come up with an elaborate secret and purposely keep it from everyone. I just didn’t talk about it…about her. Because I don’t know how to. Not knowing makes me uncomfortable, you know that. So I avoid the topic. Until she shows up.”

John nodded in understanding. Sherlock really wasn’t as complicated of a man as he would have liked everyone to think. He was a brilliant mind guided by the soul of a confused child that only ever wanted adventures. Interpersonal relationships were not his forte. Most children learned to navigate their way through relationships, romantic or otherwise, as they grew up and became adults. Sherlock skipped that stage. He went straight from child to adult; the empathy, the stage that links childhood to adulthood, was thrown out in his upbringing. And the reason for that dismissal of empathy was erased, replaced by a macabre nursery rhyme.

“So…” John leaned forward, elbows on his knees, ready to listen, “Why did she show up?”

Sherlock didn’t answer, glancing to his phone before he could control the impulse.

“Ah,” John smiled, proud that Sherlock had taken his advice, “You texted her.” “Yes,” Sherlock assented, “…We talked about cake.”

John threw a disbelieving quirked brow at his former flat mate, “Is that all you talked about?”

Sherlock did not move. His body stayed still as his mind whirled, debating how much to tell John. It is still a sensitive subject for them both.

“No,” he hesitated before continuing, “Of course not.”

“Then what-“

Sherlock ran a hand over his face, rubbing his forehead in distress, “Mary. We talked about Mary.”

John’s eyes widened for a second, a little worried that Sherlock was sharing such personal details to a woman that was technically a criminal.

Sherlock shook his head, reading the thought off of John’s face, “I didn’t tell her. She already knew. I just…elaborated. On my part of the story.”

“There’s still something I don’t understand, though. Why? Why did you message her in the first place? I thought you didn’t text her back.”

Sherlock chuckled at his friend’s see-through lie, “No, you didn’t. You didn’t believe me when I said that.”

John smiled, happy to see his friend more at ease now than he had been the last couple of weeks, “No, I didn’t. You’re not as good a liar as you think.”

“I know,” he said, “I…wanted to talk to someone that I didn’t have to explain things to.”

John frowned again, offended just a tad, “Just because I’m not as intelligent as you, doesn’t mean I wouldn’t understand what you were feeling.”

“No!” he explained, “I didn’t mean it like….I’m honestly not sure how to explain this, but Irene knows what I’m thinking. You know I don’t like to voice my feelings out loud. Especially the really difficult ones. If I talk to her about everything, I don’t have to say what’s bothering me. I deflect her questions too, when she probes too deep, but she reads between the lines of my words and…she knows what I’m refusing to say.”

The way John was looking at him at that moment made Sherlock want to take back everything he just said and throw himself into a black hole. Why does everyone have to look at him like that green Christmas monster that grew a heart whenever he talks about what he feels? It’s not a conducive reaction if they’re trying to get him to open up more often.

John looked at Sherlock like he finally realized his friend was capable of real human emotion. And, admittedly, it made John feel good that there was finally something he knew more about than Sherlock.

“So you wanted to talk to her so you could feel like someone was sympathizing with you, without having to do any work?”

Sherlock glanced down at the paper again, supremely uncomfortable and uninterested in the daily news, “I guess it was just easier,” he said, “She understood. Didn’t think I was crazy, or going soft. And it helps that she doesn’t look at me like a baby learning to speak when I announce that I ,in fact, do have emotions.”

John felt a little bit bad for that part, so he gave in, “Fair point.”

---------------

The restaurant she was supposed to meet her next client at was filled with pretension. The overly ornate curtains covering the glass windows had fleur de lis carefully stitched onto them. The hand folded napkin at each place setting was an origami swan. The entire décor screamed for attention, but Irene was not intimidated. She knew how to make herself appear as if she belonged anywhere. She was the ultimate chameleon and her sleek dark blue dress was all the camouflage she would need today.

For the man she was meeting, however, she could not say the same. As she walked in, she saw him sat at one of the front tables by himself. He was meeting the dress code of the restaurant, yes. But only technically. His sport coat was a size too small-obviously borrowed from a much fitter man whom could afford fancy dress. His face was freshly shaven, but littered with tiny razor nicks, as if he didn’t groom himself often enough to know how to do so properly. The little hair he had was combed over into the only decent style he knew. As much as she hated crediting Sherlock’s ego, she had to admit that spending time around him seemed to have given her powers of observations a tune up.

The man did not fit in in this place, but he was trying hard to disguise himself. That fact put Irene off just a little bit. Usually, if a client is unkempt, they don’t ask to meet in a place like this, knowing they wouldn’t blend in. But she sat down across from the man regardless.

“Your associate said you had some information I might find useful…” she let her red-painted lips naturally curve into the sinister smirk that never failed to ensnare every one of her clients.

He swallowed and used the pristine napkin to wipe the slight sweat that had accumulated off his forehead. Nerves. Why is he so scared? She wondered as she slightly narrowed her eyes in suspicion.

“Yes,” he managed to stutter out, eyes darting from side to side once, checking if he was being watched? “And I will tell you, I swear. But I believe my associate mentioned something about your methods of compensation?”

She rolled her eyes elegantly, picking up the menu to scan it for her favourite cocktail-dealing with this man may require booze, “Recreational scolding. The rough stuff,” she flicked her eyes back up from the menu to meet his in order to gauge his reaction, “If I deem the information you give me to be valuable, then I will pay for it.”

“Wait, you mean…if I tell you first, right here, then you will…punish me?”

She sighed and nodded nonchalantly, bored, “Yes. But only if the information is worth it.”

“No!” he frowned at her, fear in his eyes, “I want a guarantee that I will be paid. This information…it isn’t safe for me to be giving.”

“Not safe for you or not safe for me?” she lifted an eyebrow curiously.

The man suddenly became serious and a cold look came into his eyes, as if a chill had invaded his bones, “Not safe for either of us.”

“Oh, I’m intrigued,” she grinned, refusing to allow this man’s fear to rub off on her, “Do explain, sir.”

“Guarantee my payment. I guarantee you it’s worth it…if you value your life.” In Irene’s line of work, threats to her life were not uncommon. She refrained from another eyeroll, “Of course I do. But how can I be sure that you aren’t simply pulling my leg?”

“I know who you are, Ms. Adler. You’re supposed to be able to tell when a man is lying to you. That’s what they say, at least. Look at my face, look in my eyes….I’m not faking.”

Irene paused, briefly admiring the hit at her ego as an attempt to persuade her. She examined the man’s expression, the thoughts behind his eyes, and something there shook her a little, “You really are scared…But, of who?”

Most people would ask ‘Of what?’, but it’s quite obvious what he is afraid of-whoever he got this information from will kill him if he relays it to her. Ergo….who?

“Someone that is very interested in you, that you better pray you never meet.” “Is that all you can give me?” She pretended to not be affected, as was her method.

“I can tell you that the man I got this information from checked himself into an asylum the next day, muttering ‘Don’t let her in.’”

“So it’s a woman that’s in control, huh? Refreshing,” she quipped, looking the man up and down for a second, “And what is this information you’re lording over me?”

The man’s face went pale, all life drained away as he looked towards the door for a second then back at her, “Leave England. She’s after you. The man I spoke of…he gave me this, stole it from one of her guards.”

As he handed over an old crumpled note, she frowned in interest, “She has body guards?”

“No…cell guards. My informant worked as a janitor at her prison.”

She took the note from him carefully, a dubious expression etched onto her face, “She’s coming to get me…from jail?”

“Oh yes, Miss. Read the note.”

The woman looked down at the faded piece of parchment in her hands as was barely able to discern ‘Irene Adler-221 B Baker Street.’

The man nodded at the aghast look that came over her face; Irene hid it well, but the fact that this crazy woman knew she would be at Sherlock’s place worried her, “She was scribbling that over and over again on the walls of her cell.”

“But this isn’t even the current address of my hotel in London.”

“No,” the man smiled, darkly amused despite himself, “But it’s where you were last, isn’t it?”

A silence fell across the table as Irene considered this pathetic, little man, and whether to trust his story. When she got up from the table, she still hadn’t decided, “This meeting is over. Consider my payment nullified.”

She drowned out the man’s indignant complaining as she walked out of the restaurant, her heart beating in her ears.

-------------

She honestly wasn’t going to concern Sherlock with this worry. She could take care of it herself; this type of thing has happened to her before. And she certainly wasn’t running from London because of a sad, horny man’s anonymous tip.

But she had gone back to 221 B, as the note had predicted she would. Her desire to be unpredictable lost to her stubbornness to admit she was afraid. She was sitting at the kitchen table, sipping a cup of tea when she received a text from an unknown number and dropped the cup to the floor, the pieces shattering as her skin went icy.

Contact: Unknown, received 2:05 p.m:

As the east wind blows to beautiful Calypso So approaches his test The sea has grown treacherous, the waves don’t love him They will give him no rest When the waters turn against, his body fully spent He might give up his quest If I wreck his ship and he still doesn’t quit Should I take the pirate’s treasure from his chest? His spoils mean nothing, his gold is rusted These things hold no value for this man But if I wreck the siren, calling to be trusted, He will swim where no one can After all, If you take a man’s heart from his breast, Really, truly, what will be left? -Much love. “Eurus…” she said the name on an exhale of breath, feeling like a ghost had entered the room and was now watching her. She had been begrudgingly worried before; no matter how used to danger you are, it’s still a little concerning. But now…

Normally once she figured out who was after her, the process became easier, but not this time. This time, knowing only terrified her. Her sources had informed her about Sherlock’s sister before, obviously. She was not someone to challenge. She had to admit, from what she had heard, Eurus was smarter than her. Smarter than Sherlock. And Irene had learned a long time ago to never challenge someone smarter than yourself. Muscles really didn’t intimidate her; they weren’t the biggest sign that a person was dangerous. The weakest, scrawniest person could burn down the entire world if they knew how. And Eurus, despite being locked up on her own personal island, had managed to make men oceans away tremble with fear. Sherlock told her that her guards’ time in her cell was always carefully monitored because she could essentially brainwash people into doing whatever she wanted.

Sherlock’s head ticked up immediately when Irene muttered the name. He took in the broken tea cup on the floor and the fear on her face as she stared at her phone. From that, it took his mind less than two seconds to realize that Irene was looking at a message from his sister. Or rather, a threat.

“Show me the phone.” His voice was modulated and in control. It was a tone that says ‘don’t argue’. Usually, his demanding anything of her would not end pleasantly for him. But Irene was in a state where all she could do was lift her arm and hold the phone out for him to take as she thought about the message, replaying it in her head.

He took the device from her, keeping the hand he took it from in his larger one, squeezing her fingers. He may not be good at vocalizing feelings, but he can express himself very well physically.

He quickly read over the text and the old lyrics that Mycroft used to sing to him, out of key, floated into his head, I that am lost, oh who will find me? Deep down below the old beach tree…

Sherlock’s mind jumped back to the first time he had learned what terror felt like. A picture of Redbeard flashed through his mind, first the imaginary dog, then the little boy he had lost. For a minute, he was a curly-headed child in the long grass, running to save his best friend. He remembered how the cold wind whipped his nose until it was red, how the air smelled faintly of honeysuckles from his mother’s garden. But all he could taste was the bitter tang of dread as saliva gathered in his mouth. That was when he learned that fear had a taste. He remembered looking down into the well and seeing the last light of the day reflecting against the top of the water. His friend’s triton hat floated to the surface, soggy and tired. He picked it up and sat by that well, staring at the sun going down.

Mycroft had found him still sitting there the next day, barefoot and shivering, and refusing to speak. His eyes were empty. He supposed that was why Mycroft decided to make him forget the event. And her. He had to fill his eyes again; he couldn’t grow up knowing what had happened. Mycroft knew that his little brother wouldn’t have been able to live with it.

Never again. She will not destroy someone I love again.

He came back from his reverie and felt something squeezing his heart, “Irene…” The way he said her name, with such sincerity, broke through her shock and caused her to meet his gaze, “Sherlock?”

His voice was steel as he vowed to her, and himself. “She will not take you from me.”