#but it’s just me dragging him by the ear from LA across the country to NJ

[foolishfalls]

Me dragging gabe to his scheduled Babygirl tourdust appearance myself after we got both bilvy and travie

#I really can’t get over witnessing travie guys #fall out boy #like I really can’t #decaydance #gym class heroes #Gabe saporta #the academy is… #going doom man in hell on his ass #but it’s just me dragging him by the ear from LA across the country to NJ #so he can be with his kin in the garden state as god intended

[renecdote]

something human

For @thekristen999 💛

“Buck,” Eddie starts, gripping his sleeve.

“Don’t even think about telling me you’re fine,” Buck snaps, but he turns his arm and grips Eddie’s hand just as tightly.

You’ve got me, Eddie wants to say, of course I’m fine. But he bites his cheek instead. Breathes in through his nose. Feels the way it all hurts.

For BTHB: blood from the mouth

[Read on AO3]

The first thing he tastes is burning metal. Hot and acrid, the smell of fuel in his nose and the taste of metal like blood at the back of his throat. The chopper went down, Eddie thinks. We’re under attack. He rolls over, pushes himself up, grit and melting asphalt under his palms, and—

Not the desert.

Not a helicopter.

Pain, sharp enough to steal his breath, lancing through his chest, his head, his knee.

Buck.

“Buck,” a breathless groan. Eddie’s vision swims when he tries to push himself up to his feet. He doesn’t get further than his knees. Licks his lips and tries again, louder: “Buck?”

Everything is hazy with smoke. The Jeep is… The Jeep is up against a power pole, but it’s fine. Buck was walking, talking, but they only spared a minute for each other because—

because—

The truck is burning. Eddie blinks phantom sand out of his eyes, pressing a hand hard against his side, the pain like a lightning strike: blinding for a moment, the sizzling taste of it left on his tongue when the flash fades. He forces himself to stand up. Forces himself to breathe, and step forward, and breathe, and step forward. Buck went around to help the driver. Eddie—Eddie has to help Buck.

There’s a ringing in his ears that might be sirens, might be wishful thinking. Might just be the echo of the explosion. Buck was carrying a fire extinguisher when he went around the truck, because that’s the kind of thing he has in his car these days, just in case, Eds, you never know when you might have to fight a fire! It’s dented now, almost tripping Eddie up as he stumbles through the choking smoke. He blinks and tastes jet fuel. Blinks and tastes the grain spilling everywhere, hot and humid and burning.

El Paso isn’t crop country. Not really, not the way other places are. Eddie grew up with cotton on one side, cattle on the other, and pecans down the road. Grain fires are the kind of danger he never thought about until he went to war, of all places, and met a kid from Kansas who knew a hell of a lot more about farming than guns.

Hershey isn’t crop country either, but parts of Pennsylvania around it are. Montana is. And even if he hadn’t spent time in both those places, Eddie is pretty sure grain fires are just the kind of thing that Buck would know about. He’s also pretty sure neither of them expected to almost crash into one head-on half an hour out of LA.

Something pops within the truck, another surge of flames leaping into the sky. Eddie ducks away instinctively and—there, movement ahead—his eyes catch on the ground first, white sneakers like a beacon through the flames and smoke, and he follows them up the long line of Buck’s body to see him struggling to pull the driver out of the truck.

“Buck!” he calls again, coughing through smoke and pain, eyes watering.

Buck’s head turns, his lips already moving, gesturing with one hand: help me.

They get the driver out together, half carrying and half dragging him across the scorched road. Sorry buddy, Eddie thinks, half praying with the heat at his back, teeth gritted against a scream, a sob, he doesn’t even know. He’s shaking by the time they get to a distance that feels halfway safe. Training and adrenaline keep him moving while his lungs try to catch up, pain like a vice around his chest.

“Holy shit.”

Loud and jarring. Not Buck’s voice. Eddie turns and finds other cars have stopped now, a crooked line of bystanders gawking and holding phones up. He hopes one of them called 911.

Then Buck is the one cursing, low and rough, and Eddie turns back. Focus, he reminds himself, but it’s harder than it should be. His chest feels heavy and he knows, even as he’s working through all the steps he knows by heart, that they may have pulled the driver out, but they’re not going to be able to save him.

Another loud bang, a burst of flames high in the air, and Eddie winces against the heat of it. He thinks the ground is trembling, and he puts a hand flat against the asphalt, but maybe it’s just him that’s trembling.

“Come on,” Buck is saying, pleading, his whole body rigid as he does compressions, the rhythm repeating over and over and over.

It could be seconds or minutes before he pauses and Eddie checks the driver’s pulse automatically. He shakes his head. Buck keeps doing CPR.

It could be seconds or minuets before someone says, “We’ve got him,” and then there’s a hand on Eddie’s shoulder, pulling him back, pulling him out of the way.

He ends up slumped back on his heels, watching through a haze as the paramedics work. Their movements are quick, urgent, all of them grim-faced, and part of Eddie wants to look away, wants to be anywhere but here, but he can’t make himself move, even after they’ve lifted the driver on a stretcher and slammed the ambulance doors shut. The air is hazy with smoke and his eyes sting, the scene around him blurring as they water.

There’s something about the smell of burning fuel. The taste of it, the way it settles deep in his nose, the way it turns his stomach. Eddie feels dizzy with it. Dizzy with the shallow breaths that don’t let enough air in but still fill his mouth and nose with acrid fuel. Fuck. Has breathing always been this hard? The pain sharpens again, a knife between his ribs, and Eddie’s next inhale becomes a cough.

“Eddie?”

There’s blood on Buck’s shirt. His hands. Eddie doesn’t know if it belongs to him or the truck driver.

“Hey.” Hand on his shoulder, eyes wide and worried. “Are you hurt?”

Eddie starts to shake his head—nothing serious—but then he coughs, harsh and rattling, and tastes blood—sees blood, splattered on the sleeve he used to cover his mouth, bright red against grey cotton. There is a flash of adrenaline, fizzy like panic, and then something like clarity: oh, okay, maybe a little bit serious.

Buck has gone pale, his birthmark as bright as the red on Eddie’s sleeve.

“Hey!” Yelling to someone over Eddie’s head, consonants tripping over themselves. “We need another RA unit over here!”

 “Buck,” Eddie starts, gripping his sleeve.

“Don’t even think about telling me you’re fine,” Buck snaps, but he turns his arm and grips Eddie’s hand just as tightly.

You’ve got me, Eddie wants to say, of course I’m fine. But he bites his cheek instead. Breathes in through his nose. Feels the way it all hurts.

“Ribs,” he tells Buck. “Must have—” hissing when he moves, pain like a vice around his chest “—broken one, punctured lung.”

Maybe in the initial crash, maybe being thrown by the explosion, maybe with all the moving around. Buck is already lifting his shirt up, hands shaking as he probes gently around the bruises coming up on Eddie’s torso. Another firefighter is approaching, kneeling down beside them with an easy calm, the kind they don’t teach you at the Academy but you have to learn as you go. It reminds Eddie of Chimney and he squeezes his eyes shut then looks again just to make sure it isn’t. Realises immediately how stupid that is, of course it’s not Chimney, so maybe he’s a little more banged up than he thought.

We’re firefighters too, he wants to say, you don’t need to sugarcoat it. But he’s fast running out of breath to speak and he feels like he needs to save it, just in case.

“You’re gonna be fine,” Buck tells him, and Eddie has a vague memory of him saying those words when he got shot, or maybe just something similar, and it’s not the same situation, nothing like it at all really, but—

He doesn’t lose consciousness. He can see the worry on Buck’s face out of the corner of his eye the whole trip to the hospital. Through the oxygen mask strapped to his face, the needle stuck between his ribs to aspirate the air, the doctor at the other end who tells him he’s lucky, it’s only a partial collapse, but they might still need to put a drain in. Lucky isn’t really how Eddie feels—lucky would have been not ending up in hospital at all.

“Christopher—gotta call—”

“I’ve got it,” Buck promises. “I’ll call Carla, let her know what’s going on.”

He smiles, but it looks all wrong. Eddie catches him by the shirt before he can leave the room.

“Buck. I’m okay,” he says, as reassuring as he can through the oxygen mask over his face.

Buck’s eyes search his face for a long moment, his lip caught between his teeth. Then he nods.

“I’ll call Carla,” he says again, more steady this time. “Won’t be long.”

Eddie fights every instinct he has to hold on (forever, always forever) and lets him go. He closes his eyes, then opens them again a minute later, rotating his wrist, then his shoulder, just to check that he can. His head is aching, a concussion to go along with the broken ribs and punctured lung, and even with the hospital antiseptic soaking the air, he can’t get the smell of burning jet fuel out of his mind.

It’s a relief when the curtain is pushed aside and Buck ducks back into the cubicle. He settles into the chair beside the bed like he’s prepared to wait for a while, and Eddie thinks he should tell him that he doesn’t have to stay, but—he doesn’t. Doesn’t want to. It feels selfish, but he knows Buck wouldn’t leave anyway.

“Chris is okay,” Buck tells him before Eddie can open his mouth to ask. “Carla is going to bring him to the hospital, but she’s got another client this afternoon so she can’t stay. We can hang out here for a bit, or I can take him straight home once he’s seen you’re okay?”

The sentence ends on a nervous uptick, Buck’s fingers tapping against his phone case. Eddie watches, confused, his muddled brain taking too long to realise that Buck doesn’t want to seem like he’s overstepping, making decisions without consulting Eddie first. 

It’s only really hitting him now, that they were in a car accident. A freak explosion. That it could have been a hell of a lot worse. That everything about this would be worse if Buck wasn’t here with him. He looks at his best friend sitting beside the hospital bed, a bruise on his jaw and scrapes on his arms, stepping in to look after Eddie’s son like it’s the easiest thing in the world, and—

“Stay,” Eddie says, and he thinks he means I love you.

He thinks he has been meaning I love you for a long time, honestly, and he’s probably going to have to go back to Frank and tell him how much of an idiot he is for not realising sooner. Maybe call Hen and have a minor breakdown about it. Hen is good at advice, she’ll be straight with him.

Well. Not straight, but.

Eddie swallows all the words suddenly buzzing on his tongue and realises the taste of jet fuel isn’t as strong anymore. He’s still breathless, but. That’s maybe not entirely because of the punctured lung.

Maybe Buck can feel it too because when he smiles this time, it looks more real.

“Okay,” he agrees, soft and sincere. “We’ll stay as long as you want.”

He wants Buck to stay forever. Has always wanted that. Maybe one day he’ll be brave enough to say it.

“Thanks,” he says instead, letting his head fall back against the pillow and his eyes close.

He doesn’t sleep, but when Buck reaches out a few minutes later and gently takes his hand, it feels like a dream. Eddie smiles, and he only feels like a little bit of a coward, knowing it is hidden behind the foggy oxygen mask. They’ve got time, he reasons, he doesn’t have to be brave just yet.

Buck isn’t going anywhere.

#Eddie Diaz #Evan Buckley #911 Fox #fic #badthingshappenbingo #yes I didn't write for two months #yes I'm posting my third fic this week #no I don't know how this is happening

[ali-annals]

The Very First Night

Jasonette, T, 3.1k | Masterlist

Present

Marinette’s phone rang sharply, jolting her awake. 

“Uh,” she answered, not awake enough for anything coherent.

“Miss Marinette?” a cultured British voice asked.

“Felix? It’s one-thirty in the morning, you clown.”

“I apologize for the early call, but I am not Felix. My name is Alfred Pennyworth, the Wayne family butler. Master Jason told me about you, and I thought you should know that he is currently unconscious after a mishap on a case he was working on,” Alfred said soberly.

Marinette was now much more awake. “Jason’s hurt?! I’m assuming it’s bad or you wouldn’t call. Can I come visit?”

“Of course, Miss Marinette. I shall prepare Master Jason’s room for you, although I imagine most of your time will be spent with him. My apologies for waking you so early with such unfortunate news.”

“No, thank you for calling me. I’ll call you back at this number when I have my flight details, if that's alright?”

“Certainly. Good day.”

“‘Bye.”

Marinette hung up and flopped back in her bed, blowing a strand of hair out of her face. Now, more than ever, she wished she hadn’t given up the Miraculous. She could have portaled over and attempted to heal Jason, no waiting needed. But here she was, across the country and her plans to move to Gotham thirteen days ahead of schedule. 

Focus, Marinette! She scolded herself, making herself get up and begin to pack for her flight. Chloe would probably let her take her family’s jet, but she’d question why and be hurt that Marinette hadn’t confided in her…no, flying public was best. She pulled up the schedule and bought the ticket, glad her returned inspiration had replenished her bank account. Last-minute tickets from LA to New York weren’t cheap.

~~~~~

Five months ago

The doors to the glittering ballroom released a burst of noise. Undulating conversation patterns, glasses clinking, bursts of laughter, and exuberant greetings hit the newcomers’ ears.

Little groups of people gathered around round tables, socializing and sipping from tall flutes of champagne or other drinks.

The newcomer approached a table situated close to the middle of the room, the fabric of their gown swishing in gentle steps as they moved.

“Mari! You made it!” a vivacious blonde jumped up to hug the newcomer. “And you managed to drag Luka out, too!”

Laughing, the brunette untangled herself from the embrace. “As if I wouldn’t make sure he arrived, presentably, to an event he’s won an award at! It’s good to see you, Chloe.”

She moved to greet the other occupants of the table, leaving Luka and Chloe to rib each other.

The evening went on, speeches made, awards received, drinks swallowed, and jokes exchanged.

“And of course, our Mari is responsible and ‘focusing on herself’,” needled Chloe.

“You mean, ‘focusing on depriving us of things to tease her about’,” corrected Adrien.

Mari smiled into her flute and took another sip. “The media is bored with my personal life, just as it should be. I only bring one of you as a plus-one and they know we’re all strictly friends. You should try it sometime, Playboy from Paris.” She narrowed her eyes at the blond across the table teasingly.

“Nah, it’s too boring. And having no consistent date keeps them from digging further. I’m a genius, myself; you’re not the only one in this group.”

“Ridiculous, utterly ridiculous,” sniffed Chloe.

A little while later, Marinette said her goodbyes and excused herself to continue her work on her new line, which was her first in a couple years. Inspiration had finally flown, gushed, even, and she wanted to take full advantage of it when she could.

~~~~~

Present, 8 Hours After the Call

Alfred was waiting for her with a car and a sign with her name on it when she disembarked from her five-hour flight.

He looked tired and worn but welcomed her warmly.

“Jason always seemed happier when he talked about you,” Alfred confided, pulling into NY traffic with ease. “He only spoke of you to me, however, so the rest of the family do not know about you. They will be confused and likely suspicious of you, but I will handle them.”

“What happened?” she barely dared to ask, but she needed to know.

“He was on a stakeout with Batman, Red Robin, and Nightwing. They decided to act and engaged the criminals. Master Jason was the last to leave the building, as he had found an unconscious civilian under the influence of some drug. He gave them his helmet to filter the air, which was sprayed with some gas. He had a rebreather and was almost out when the building exploded. The criminals had rigged it on a timer, as it was their final time using it when Batman apprehended them.”

Marinette sucked in a horrified gasp, knowing what had happened the last time Jason was in an explosion.

“Do you know…how badly he was hurt?”

“He is currently being kept sedated in the Batcave. He has second-degree burns, a closed head injury, bruised ribs, and

several abrasions, contusions, and lacerations. He also inhaled some smoke, dust, and drugs while he was unconscious before Batman and Nightwing rescued him, but his rebreather prevented the worst.”

The remainder of the ride was quiet.

~~~~~

Five Months Ago

The taxi pulled up to Marinette’s apartment building.

She pushed the button in the elevator and waited patiently for the doors to open; with a quiet ding, she was alerted to her arrival on the floor she’d chosen.

She stepped out quickly, heading determinedly to the black car waiting underground, and slipped into the backseat.

She smiled brightly at the other occupant of the backseat and opened her arms. “Miss me?” 

Jason hugged her tightly. “So much.”

A giggle squeezed out of her lungs. “It’s been less than an hour."

“And that’s less than an hour too long, Pixie.” He hoisted her onto his lap and cupped her face in his large, warm hands.

Marinette returned the gesture. “Who taught you to be so smooth?”

“You just bring it out, Pix,” he grinned at her.

She leaned down to smooch him, but he caught her lip between his teeth and tugged gently.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“...nowhere.”

“Darn right.” His mouth covered hers and no more words were exchanged during the ride.

~~~~~

Present, 10 Hours After the Call

Alfred took Marinette’s bags up to Jason’s room, then led her to the clock and down the secret passage to the Batcave.

Marinette spied Jason on the bed in the infirmary corner and beelined for him, ignoring the surprised Bats sprinkled around the cave that Alfred warned off with a stern glare.

Tubes and wires connected Jason to various machines, the white light harshly emphasized the paleness of his skin, and the monotone beeping made Marinette tear up.

She wiped them away and moved to take Jason’s hand in hers. It lay in her grasp cool and limp, unlike his usual warm grasp and the three squeezes he gave her when she took it.

She rested her forehead on his forearm, heartbroken by seeing him lying there so still and pale and bandaged.

Even when he was in her hands, he wasn’t there.

“I miss you,” she whispered.

This aching loneliness was even worse than the first night, when he wasn’t there…

~~~~~

Five Months Ago

“Want something to drink?” Jason held the door open for her like a gentleman, as if he hadn’t been very un-gentlemanly pawing at her fewer than five minutes ago in the back of the limo.

She kicked off her heels and sighed in relief. “Mm, just some water, thanks.”

She followed him to the kitchen and took the glass he handed her gratefully, swallowing the water in three gulps, which he watched in mild admiration and horror.

“How’d you get away from your family so soon?” she asked, refilling her glass (but sipping slower this time).

“Usual excuse-I’m tired of their company and I’m going to work out.”

Marinette grinned at him. “So no excuse, just a delicate rephrasing of your thoughts, huh?”

He smirked at her. “Of course. Heaven forbid I taint some little ol’ lady’s innocent ears–as if li’l ol’ ladies aren’t the most devious people I know.”

“Nonna Gina,” they said in unison, grinning at the remembrance of their first meeting, which was a setup, of course.

Humming a few lines of music that had been playing earlier that evening, Mari began to sway her hips and twirl around the kitchen. She advanced on Jason, who was leaning against the counter, watching her with a mix of emotions in his eyes. She didn’t want to analyze them, so she adjusted her plans slightly; she set her glass in the sink, leaning behind him to reach. As she brought her arm around him again, she tickled him in the only ticklish spot he had (that he reacted to, at least), and immediately backed away, grinning.

Jason’s hulking form came after her with incredible speed, making her shriek with laughter and run away, attempting to evade him.

She headed for the hallway, calling on all her regular workouts and smaller frame to make her quicker than him. She burst into the bedroom and was tackled to the bed by his flying lunge at her, his hands pinning hers above her head and resting his body weight on her.

They both breathed heavily, which was suddenly not from their impromptu game of cat-and-mouse. She stared defiantly up at him, tipping her head back to see his complex expressions.

His eyes darkened and he leaned down to kiss her fiercely.

~~~~~~

Two Months Ago

The dial tone hit Marinette’s ears.

This number is currently not in service.

She hung up and curled around a pillow, feeling unbearably lonely and missing Jason fiercely.

~~~~~

Yesterday

Marinette’s phone rang, breaking her attention from her friends’ conversation. She checked the caller ID and excused herself.

“MDC speaking,” she answered professionally, knowing her friends were half eavesdropping before she moved out of overhearing range.

“Pixie, do you know how much I miss you?” whispered Jason. “These annoyances are driving me to do stupid things like call you in front of them just so I don’t blow us all up and alert the people we’re watching to our location!”

“Aw, poor Jay,” she commiserated. “You need some reminders to keep you from eliminating your siblings?”

“Please.” His exasperated tone in that one word told her volumes.

“You’ll be in your family’s bad books if you do that, which means they’ll keep an even closer eye on you, which means you can’t see me without alerting them to my existence in your life.”

Jason exhaled sharply. “Thank you, Pix. I shall restrain myself. Two more weeks.”

“Two more weeks,” she echoed happily.

She returned to her friends’ chatter around her kitchen island as they gossiped and caught up on the happenings in their lives.

Chloe headed to the refrigerator to refill her water glass. “That’s a cute pic of you, ‘Bug.”

“Thanks!” Mari said casually, hoping Chloe wouldn’t consider the fact that there was a picture of Mari, meaning someone else had to have taken it, or the note in marker on the bottom of the Polaroid, a little heart and infinity symbol Jason had drawn.

Two more weeks, she thought happily.

~~~~~

Present, 19 Hours After the Call

Alfred gently tapped Marinette’s shoulder.

She straightened and rubbed her eyes, taking the tray he offered her. “You need to eat,” Alfred nodded at her. She smiled hollowly back at him and nodded, taking a spoonful of chicken soup. 

Once Alfred was satisfied that she’d eaten enough, he took the tray back and suggested she might want to wash up.

With a final glance at the still form on the bed, she followed him up the stairs and into the Manor, then to Jason’s– and now hers, she supposed– room.

The ensuite was stocked with Marinette’s favourite skincare and hygiene products. She looked questioningly at Alfred, who was showing her how the faucet and handles worked in the shower.

His lips tipped up. “Master Jason spent a good deal of time in the store aisle, searching if they had your favourite products here. He was quite excited about your upcoming move.”

Marinette angrily brushed the tears that had welled up away. Why couldn’t she stop crying?

Alfred patted her shoulder and left her to cry in private.

After showering and changing into sweats and Jason’s Gotham Knights hoodie, she unpacked her things and then set off to thank Alfred for the food and meet Jason’s family, who she was sure was unbearably curious about her.

Dick and Damian were in the kitchen with Alfred, also partaking in the soup. 

She smiled shyly and waved a sweater paw in greeting. 

“Hi, I’m Marinette, Jason’s fiancee.”

Dick choked on his soup and Damian solemnly slapped his back several times.

Alfred gave the males a pointed look from his position at the sink.

Dick wiped his hands on his napkin and stood, extending his hand. “Dick Grayson. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Damian Wayne,” said the spiky-haired boy on the stool, notedly not extending his hand. He nodded at her and resumed his meal, but Marinette noticed he kept his ear tilted towards them.

Bruce and Tim arrived, herded by Babs, Steph, and an older woman Marinette didn’t know.

They paused, seeing Marinette in the doorway. 

She extended her hand. “Marinette, Jason’s fiancee. It’s nice to meet you, though I wish it were under better circumstances.”

Bruce opened his mouth, saw Alfred’s glare, shut it, and took her hand gracefully. “Likewise.”

Tim nodded at her and headed straight for the coffee maker, but the women took her hand and smiled at her when they introduced themselves. The unknown woman was Leslie Thompkins, the doctor primarily in charge of Jason, which made Marinette feel better, knowing an up-to-date trained medical professional was looking after him.

Once the introductions were over, she slipped back down to the Cave to sit beside Jason.

~~~~~

Six Months Ago

Marinette stepped onto the porch, surveying the lush lawn and the small figures running around on it.

Fei Wu’s twin toddlers were being chased by Jason, who pretended to run slightly slower than the toddlers, letting them escape his long arms and legs.

Sabine came out and stood beside Marinette and Fei Wu. “He’s good with children. You picked well, qian jin.”

“Nonna picked us for each other,” said Marinette absentmindedly as she watched Jason finally catch Zhen and hoist him in the air, making him squeal in laughter. He was good with kids and so gentle. It was such a contrast from his violent vigilante persona, but Marinette knew both were a part of him.

The warm sunshine beating down on the three forms collapsed on each other, sprawled lazily in the grass, painted a picture Marinette wanted to keep with her always.

She studied Jason’s peaceful face as he tilted his head more towards the light, sunbeams dancing across his features. 

I love him.

Oh no.

I love him.

~~~~~

Present, 55 Hours After the Call

Jason’s eyes fluttered open and his hand twitched in her grasp, waking her from her half-asleep state.

Figuring that he would want water, she held the straw up to his mouth, letting him sip slowly.

“Mari? How are you here?” his voice was scratchy from the smoke and not speaking for a few days, but he was speaking and coherent. Marinette realized she was unintentionally squeezing his hand harder and relaxed her grip.

“Alfred called me. How are you feeling?” she brushed the curls out of his eyes and left her hand on his head.

“I’ve felt better,” he admitted. “But I’ve also felt worse, so overall…”

She frowned disapprovingly at his humour. “Not the time, mon amour.”

“S’rry.”

“It’s fine. I’m so glad you’re awake. You were sedated for two and a half days. It’s May 17th and-” she checked her phone- "May 18th, and 12:14 am.”

“How’s civvy?”

“They were taken to the hospital and released yesterday. They’re fine, thanks to you.”

Jason closed his eyes. “Good. ‘M sorry, but I’m kind of tired…”

“Have a good sleep.” She kissed his forehead and stood to collect a paper to record the incident for his health file.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Present, Four Days After the Call

Jason moved slowly across the room to Marinette. She was watching Cass and Steph train on the mats and didn’t hear him shuffling closer.

She glanced up when his shadow hit her. “You’re up!”

“Yep. Doc cleared it, don’t worry.”

“Are you cleared to head back into the Manor?”

“If I take the elevator up.”

Alfred was overjoyed to prepare a snack for Jason and Marinette and they talked quietly in the breakfast nook while they ate, glad to be alone and not have one of his family members hanging around obnoxiously close to them.

“I finally called them and let them know what’s happening,” Marinette referenced her friends. “They were mad I hadn’t told them everything sooner, but they’re finishing packing up my stuff and will ship it over. I expect at least half of them to come with it, of course.”

“Of course,” Jason agreed, familiar with her friends from all the stories she’d told him. 

“The apartment is taken care of, so we can move in whenever, and I let Audrey know I’d be back in New York for the foreseeable future, and she and Chloe were able to make sure my space there was kept and ready.”

“You were sure busy, Pix.”

“Didn’t want to think,” she murmured.

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. I knew what I was getting into. And none of it was in your power, anyways. I’m not mad, just…I really missed you. It was worse than the first night I knew we were pregnant and couldn’t tell you ‘cause you were off-world.” She wrapped her arms around Jason, careful not to aggravate any injuries.

They held each other for a long time, too wrapped up in each other to notice Alfred shooing away any potential interrupters.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jason recovered quickly, thanks to the Lazarus Pit enhancement, and soon was back to full capabilities.

He and Marinette moved into their new apartment, helped by Chloe, Adrien, and Luka, who’d come along to babysit the blondes.

The Bats soon warmed up to her, especially when they knew she had also once been a hero. The fact that she was pregnant with the first nephew/niece/grandchild probably also had something to do with it.

The next May, seven months after Wren’s birth, Jason and Marinette were happily wed and celebrated by their families.

#jasonette #ali writes #fic #dcxmlb

[kjmsupremacist]

maps and constellations (chan/felix)

After their senior year of high school, Chan and his closest friends decide to go on a road trip together to close out their time as children before they move on to college. Though Chan’s excited for the trip, he knows the pressure of the next stage of their lives looms bigger on the horizon every day, and he’s not sure how well they’re all going to handle the transition, especially because they’ll be scattered across the country in the fall. Even more pressing, however, are the feelings he’s developing for his best friend, Felix.

Chapter 2   |   prev   next   mlist

Characters: Felix, Chan, the rest of skz

Genre: romance, fluff, angst, friends to lovers, coming of age, growing pains, getting together

Pairing: Chan/Felix

Warnings: mild california slander, swearing? idk dude by my standards this is rather tame. we get into the smut later lol

Rating: Teen & Up

Length: 2.7k

listen to the official playlist here!

They depart from LA pretty quickly, heading a little further up the coast to Santa Barbara. This is more exciting, because there’s less Shitty California Energy and more cute little side markets and small, pretty things to find.

They drop their things at their next hotel and then head out, finding a small farmer’s market and dedicating their day to strolling up and down the brightly colored stalls. Chan lets Felix drag him away from the rest of the group, chasing the sweet scent of fresh baked goods. They share a chocolate croissant, warm from the oven, chocolate all melty.

“C’mere,” Chan says when he notices powdered sugar on Felix’s nose. “Got something.” Felix stills, blinking up at Chan and letting him carefully dust off his nose. Chan can’t help but smile at him.

“What?” Felix asks.

“Just,” Chan says, releasing him. “You’re still my cute little brother. That’s all.”

Felix groans, but he’s laughing. “I’m not little anymore!”

“Little to me,” Chan says, grabbing him into a tight hug and squeezing until he protests. 

Stomachs now satisfied, they end up poking through a few art stands. Felix lingers over the jewelry, fingers brushing a pair of simple silver earrings. 

“Let’s get these,” he says suddenly. “One for you and one for me, and then when we miss each other this fall we can wear our half of the pair and it’ll be like carrying a piece of the other person wherever we go.”

Chan thinks he’s melting, maybe. “But I’ll just be wearing it all the time,” he says.

Felix rolls his eyes. “Don’t be dramatic,” he says. “You’re gonna be too busy to miss me that bad.”

Chan isn’t sure about that. They buy the earrings. 

They meet up with Hyunjin and Jisung at a honey stand. “We got matching phone cases,” Jisung brags while Hyunjin eats a honey straw, smiling. 

“They’re pretty!” Felix says. “Look at the earrings Chan and I got!”

“Just one pair?” Hyunjin asks.

“We’re sharing,” Felix replies. 

“God, that’s so you,” Hyunjin laments, curling his lip in joking disgust. “You seem like more of a couple than we do.”

Chan doesn’t know why that comment sends him reeling. “We’ve been best friends since birth, almost,” he defends. “Of course we’re really close.”

Hyunjin makes a face at him. Felix is already distracted, though, looking over the different flavors of honey. Chan watches him, something scratching at the back of his brain. He’d considered it before, but—Felix is like his brother. They both say it all the time. He’s very fond of Felix, that’s true, loves him more than almost anything in the world. He says that all the time, too. But they’re not like a couple. Chan’s already thought it over and decided that’s definitely not what their relationship feels like. He loves all of his friends like that—deeply and overwhelmingly. He’s definitely not in love with all of them, so that means he’s not in love with Felix, either. Right? Of course each relationship feels a little different, so the parts that are unique to him and Felix don’t necessarily mean anything. 

But still… He thinks about the earrings. It’s not like it’s strictly romantic behavior, but he supposes Hyunjin has a point. He imagines trying to explain it to one of his classmates in college. Why don’t your earrings match? Oh, well this one is half of a pair. My best friend has the other one. He imagines raised eyebrows.

“There they are!” A loud voice, Changbin’s, from the end of the aisle, breaks into Chan’s thoughts. The other three are with him, all carrying little bags and snacks. “I can’t stay here any longer or I’m going to spend even more money that I don’t have.”

“You’re rich, I don’t think that exists,” Seungmin comments drily as they come up to the honey stand. 

“We can’t fit much more in the cars,” Changbin rephrases.

“Yeah, I’m about done here if you guys are,” Chan says, shrugging.

“Let’s find a beach,” Minho suggests. “We still have all afternoon.”

So they do just that. They swing by their hotel to drop off all their things and get a change of clothes, then walk to the nearest beach. It’s not too far, but one of them still lets out a cheer when they see the entrance. Chan smiles fondly, watching his friends skip and jump towards the sand. He pauses, pulling out his phone, and snaps a couple of action shots—Jisung in the air, one arm raised; Seungmin yelling while Minho puts him in a chokehold; Felix with his head thrown back, laughing loudly as Hyunjin takes his hand; Jeongin, pelting ahead of the group, blurry in the background; Changbin, turning and catching sight of the camera and throwing up a peace sign almost reflexively.

“Watch out for sticks and broken glass!” Chan calls when Jeongin pauses to tug off his shoes before launching onto the sand.

“Yes, Dad!” Jeongin calls sarcastically over his shoulder.

“Yes, Daddy!” Felix adds in a silly voice, laughing even when Hyunjin smacks him.

Chan takes his time following them down to the water, watching carefully in case someone drops something. It’s worth it—Jisung loses a sock and then circles back to retrieve it from Chan, thanking him quickly before running off again. They’re all already up to their knees in the surf by the time Chan even gets near the part of the sand that’s wet. He drops their things on a beach towel Minho haphazardly laid out a little further up, making sure all their valuables are tucked away and that nothing will get carried off by the wind (or a seagull) before strolling toward the shore.

“Hurry up, old man!” Seungmin calls.

“I’m gonna get you!” Chan shouts, jogging toward him. “I’m gonna get you, Seungmin!” Seungmin yells, sloshing through the shallows, but Chan catches up easily and hoists him up over his shoulder, wading out a little further before slam-dunking him into the water. Seungmin emerges just a few moments later, spluttering, and pulls Chan in with him.

“Now Felix!” Minho yells, picking him up bridal style. Felix yelps in protest, kicking his feet, shaking his head as he hides his face in the crook of Minho’s neck.

“No, don’t,” he whines. “I’ll get in myself, I just don’t wanna drop this!” 

Minho relents, putting him back down on his feet and lunging for Jisung instead. Felix splashes out to where Chan and Seungmin are still half-heartedly wrestling. 

“Look,” he says, holding something up. “I found a sand dollar!” 

“Ooh, it’s intact and everything!” Chan exclaims, releasing Seungmin. “Good eye, Lix.”

They swim until the sun starts to get low in the sky and some of them start to complain about being hungry. Together, they gather their things and trek back to their hotel, stopping at a food truck on the way for street tacos. The sun is setting, turning the sky a brilliant, shining orange when they finally get back to their rooms.

Chan’s sharing a double-queen room with Felix, Minho, and Changbin; the other four are in the room next door. Chan showers first since his roommates are still unpacking, and then sits up in bed and listens to Jisung and Jeongin bickering through the wall, smiling faintly.

Changbin, once he’s done showering, comes over to Chan’s bed to review their route. They’re going to the Los Padres National Forest tomorrow, which means signal might be spotty, so it’ll be good to know the route on a physical map if their phones drop. When Minho’s done showering, he comes over, too. They trace the route a few times, pulling up street view on Chan’s laptop to find a few landmarks, then call it good. Changbin and Minho retreat to their bed, fussing over the pillows, while Chan puts everything away and gets settled to sleep.

He’s just quadruple checking his alarm when Felix emerges from the bathroom, towel on his head and wearing cloud-patterned underwear. He blinks sleepily as he rummages through his bag of toiletries, patting on some moisturizer as he yawns. He towels off his hair again and shuffles over to the bed.

“Lights out?” Minho’s poised by the master switch.

“I think so, yeah,” Chan agrees, and the room is plunged into darkness.

Felix trips getting into bed, and ends up collapsing half on top of Chan. “Oof,” Chan grunts, reaching out to help steady him.

“Sorry,” Felix whispers, crawling over to his side of the bed.

“You’re good,” Chan laughs quietly. “You okay?”

“Mm-hm,” Felix hums. He kicks the blankets up so he can worm his way under, pressing cold toes to one of Chan’s calves. Chan clenches his teeth so he doesn’t yell. 

“Hey,” he hisses.

Felix just smiles, eyes already closed. “You’re warm,” he says. 

“And you’re freezing,” Chan mutters, but he doesn’t push him away, just gets settled against the pillows. He traces his gaze over Felix’s freckles, visible now that his eyes have begun to adjust to the dark. There was a game they liked to play when they were little. It started because Felix was getting made fun of for his freckles, and he came to Chan with tears in his eyes, asking how he could remove them. So Chan started finding constellations, and mapping them out on Felix’s cheeks for him to see. It didn’t matter if they weren’t a perfect match. It made Felix laugh every time.

There’s the Big Dipper, Chan thinks. There’s Hercules, Ursa Major, Cassiopeia. There’s my birth sign, Libra. There’s your birth sign, Virgo. Right next to each other, here. 

A wave of nostalgia, laced with a bittersweet sort of tenderness, floods Chan’s chest and makes his fingers ache. There’s a part of him that wants to burrow down into the bed with Felix and stay there for a really, really long time. It’s strange, the way time creeps up on you, he thinks. He’d been aware of its passage all through high school, watching the little pieces of his childhood slip away, but now it feels like it’s leaving him all at once, fast and almost violent. 

When did we grow up, huh? he thinks, looking over Felix, the peaceful sweetness of his sleeping face. He imagines them another fifteen years down the road, in their thirties. He can see the sharp sturdiness of Felix’s face, with none of the baby fat that clings even now. His smile, still bright and warm. Somehow, though, he can’t imagine them apart. And how could he? They’ve never been apart. Chan isn’t sure he knows who he is without his friends, without Felix. He doesn’t think he wants to find out.

* * *

Chan wakes before his alarm and turns it off so it doesn’t scare his roommates, slipping out of bed carefully and padding to the bathroom. He gets ready quietly, starting to gather up their things and put them into piles based on who owns what. He knows Felix likes a morning shower, so he leaves his things in the bathroom and brings everything else out, scattering it on the TV stand.

“Lix,” he whispers, shaking Felix’s shoulder as gently as he can. “Hey. D’you still want to shower before we go?”

“Mm,” Felix grumbles, yawning. “Yeah.”

“Gotta get up now then,” Chan says. Felix gives a groan of complaint. “I know, so sleepy. But we have to get on the road soon if we want to complete the hike when we still have sunlight. It’s already almost eight.”

“Five more minutes,” Felix mumbles. 

“Okay,” Chan relents. “But only five, I’m serious.”

He checks social media and retraces their route again while he waits. He actually gives Felix more like ten minutes, then crawls back onto their bed and brushes Felix’s hair off his forehead.

“No,” Felix whines.

“C’mon,” Chan coaxes, fighting laughter. “Up, up.”

He gets Felix into the bathroom and then works on the other two next. “Minho,” he whispers. “Changbin. Gotta get up.”

“Ugh,” is the only response he gets, muffled by a pillow. 

“I’m gonna go knock on the other door,” Chan says. “Be up by the time I’m back, okay? We still need to get breakfast.”

“Mmph,” comes an affirmative reply. He’s pretty sure it’s Changbin.

There’s some scuffling in response to Chan’s knock, and then a bleary-eyed Jisung opens the door. “Time to get up?” he asks, blinking against the harsh hallway lights.

“Yes.” Chan steps into the room just to make sure everyone’s working on getting out of bed. Hyunjin has an arm thrown over his face, but Chan can see his pout. Jeongin is a messy lump of blanket and pillow, curled towards the wall, but Seungmin is stretching, bedhead visible even when he’s hardly more than a silhouette. 

Jisung tugs on Hyunjin’s arm; Chan thinks he hears him trying to manipulate his boyfriend into getting up with kisses (“I get kisses from you all the time, I don’t need any more,” Hyunjin mutters). Chan shoos Seungmin to the bathroom to fix his hair while he works on peeling the covers away from Jeongin.

“Hyung,” Jeongin complains. “Cold.”

“Get up and get dressed, and you won’t be,” Chan says. “C’mon, the faster you get up, the faster all of us can get some coffee.”

Eventually, everyone’s on their feet, and Chan heads back to his room with a reminder to be all packed and ready to check out in thirty minutes. A chorus of yes, Dad, follows him out the door. 

His room kept their promise—Changbin is brushing his teeth, and Minho’s trying to convince his bag to zip shut while Felix pats on toner in the mirror. Chan opens the blinds, ignoring their yelps of protest, then finishes packing his own stuff up.

Half an hour later, they’re sitting in front of cups of shitty hotel coffee and picking their way through the complimentary breakfast bar, room keys returned and bags heaped by their table around their feet. 

The coffee does work, though, and by the time they’re cleaning up and getting ready to head out, everyone is in high spirits. Chan watches fondly as Jeongin wrestles with Jisung while they’re waiting for a few stragglers to come back from the bathroom. Hyunjin and Felix are bent over one of their phones, watching something. Chan doesn’t realize he’s watching them until Felix lifts his head, catches his eye, and says, “What?”

Chan smiles, shaking his head and looking away. He’ll be teased for being sentimental if he says anything. Felix seems to know though; Chan can hear him giggling even as Jisung yells something at Jeongin. 

They pile into the cars, in the same formation as before, and head out. The ride is easy—it’s the middle of the week, so there aren’t a lot of cars out on the road, and even though the highway gets a little twisty in places, they make it to the trailhead by noon.

They do stop at one point to pick up sandwiches while they refuel the cars, so they eat quickly before locking everything up and heading into the woods. They’ve chosen the Hot Springs Canyon trail, which is just under four miles. It’s good; it’ll fill their entire afternoon and leave them enough time to get to their next hotel before dark.

The hike is a little challenging, but they’re all in pretty good shape, so it doesn’t prove all too difficult. Chan races Changbin up some big rocks they find on the side of the trail while the others shout at them to be careful. Felix runs ahead, and then returns moments later with a cluster of wildflowers. 

“Look at these!” he calls, coming back down the trail. Chan has to stop walking to laugh. “Aren’t they pret—why? Why are you laughing at me?”

“No,” Chan says, “not at you. Yes, they’re pretty.”

“What?” Felix presses.

“You’re cute,” Chan says, “and I love you.”

“Ugh,” Felix says, and dodges Chan’s hug to go show the flowers to the others. Chan turns and watches him go, still laughing.

#stayhavens #straykidsland #works #chanlix #chan #felix #bang chan #stray kids #stray kids fanfic #stray kids fanfiction #bang chan fanfic #bang chan fanfiction #felix fanfic #felix fanfiction #chan x felix #felix x chan #chanlix fanfic #chan/felix fanfic #chan/felix fanfiction #stray kids chan #stray kids felix #stray kids chan fanfic #stray kids chan fanfiction #chan x felix fanfic #chan x felix fanfiction #lee felix #lee felix fanfic #lee felix fanfiction #felix/chan

[streetlightdiaries]

Somewhere over the I-90

Excitement is contagious. 

I walk down a quiet country road. The predictable crunching of gravel under my sneakers soothes me as I go; I’m a little nervous. I’m a little nervous about a great many things. 

As the wind picks up, distant sounds are carried into my ears. I hear a traffic whistle, children laughing, bagpipes, and the low idle of a large engine. I’m unsure of what I’m walking into, but I’m out of the woods now. A man on a bicycle winks at me as he rides by. Suddenly, a rusty truck pulls out of a driveway, sending a hot wave of ominous dust spiraling toward me. I gasp—It’s a twister! 

Chittenango, New York is holding its annual Oz-stravaganza this weekend in honor of its most famous citizen, L. Frank Baum, the author of The Wonderful Wizard of Oz. As its newest citizen, I figured I’d better have a look around. 

The dust settles and I turn the corner to be confronted by a brilliant burst of technicolor. Pink tulle drags along the pavement, glistening red shoes click-clack across the street. Law enforcement directs as rainbow-themed floats get into position and spectators look for a spot to watch. I move up Genessee Street, crossing over onto its yellow-bricked sidewalk before finding my own place. The parade begins at 2pm. 

I take note of passerby’s as I lean against a store front. All degrees of participation are present here, from League-sanctioned bonnets to green-faced goths, tinfoil-wrapped funnel hats and fur vests with detachable wings and tails. I fall in love with a floor-length ball gown, but really, anything gingham will do. It’s sort of hard to tell who is in before-character costume and who just happens to be wearing their overalls from this morning’s farm work, but it doesn’t matter, because everyone is just so excited.    

As the march commences, the fire engine, garbage truck, and snow plow are so clean and shiny that I involuntarily start to sing “and a couple of tra-la-las” under my breath. Bubbles glide out from school bus windows and a former MGM child munchkin giggles as if no time has passed.  

“And you, and you, and you, and you were there” 

Anyone who has ever done anything that could possibly relate to Oz is in this parade; authors, historians, people who saw the movie and happened to have liked it. Chittenango is excited. They are proud. They are celebrating and warmly welcome you to join in with them. I hardly recognize myself as I run to catch a small toy thrown from a parade float. I start to sing along to the VFW’s brass band, and I blush when the Scarecrow waves at me. What a Hunk.

A troupe of belly dancers in the height of their crone era undulate up the street, triggering fight-or-flight responses with their spot-on Wicked Witch cackles. They are casually followed by the community church group. The grand marshal holds a rainbow-colored umbrella to keep the sun off him as he rides in the back of a ruby-red convertible, and when the third grade class sings “Somewhere Over the Rainbow,” more than a few eyes prove cowardly. 

We all follow the end of the parade into the town park, where the fair has been set up since last night. Artisan vendors, kettle corn trucks, and Professor Marvel’s traveling wagon sit adjacent to traditional fair rides. The line for face painting stretches well beyond the fried Oreo stand, and the balloon man twists up terriers as quickly as he can. I notice a booth running a sale on red-and-white striped compression socks. 

There is an unparalleled confidence at a rural fair, and I find any worry over embarrassing myself to be quite irrelevant since these people are much too humble, too kind, and too generous to notice as I wander around alone as if I’ve just run away. There are so many genres of people here I couldn’t possibly not fit in. I see every age, every ethnicity, and every economic class mingling together where Dunkin Donuts smartly hands out free munchkins and I think—it’s small-town eccentricities that make these corners of the world more imaginative than any city I’ve ever been too. I am so glad I’ve returned. There really is no place like my home. 

I find my way to the historical landmark sign to sit down amongst the poppies. As the crowd dissipates, dads start to loot through their kids’ goody bags. The scarecrows scratch at their collars and the witches head to the Ten Pin. I pick up a cherry Dum Dum off the street and wonder what dues the Lollypop Guild has to pay. If I had a crystal ball, I’d say we’re all going to be just fine.  

Your old pal,

Terica

#the wizard of oz #the wonderful wizard of oz #l frank baum #chittenango ny #sullivan county #parade #fair #small town #small town core #home

[one-boring-person]

snake plissken + only one bed? 👀 if you feel so inclined 🥰

Thank you for requesting! I hope you like this!

Typical.

Snake Plissken (Escape From New York/LA) x gn!reader

Warnings: smoking

Masterlist

Like my work? Buy me a coffee!😁

"Typical." I curse to myself as I see the very thing I had dreaded the most: a single bed for two people.

"What is?" Snake's cool voice comes from behind me, as indifferent as ever.

"That there's only one bed." I gesture to the offending furniture, turning to face him, unsurprised to see him frowning at me, as  he always does, his blue eye dark in the dingy lighting.

He lifts his brow, shrugging off his beaten leather coat as he moves further into the room, chucking it over a chair in the corner. He moves to sit on the same seat, pulling a cigarette from his pocket, lighting it lazily and taking a drag, watching me as smoke curls from his parted lips. I swallow to keep myself from watching his muscular arms flexing as I wait for him to reply.

"I don't have a problem with it." Snake finally shrugs, seemingly leaving the conversation there.

Huffing to myself, I roll my eyes and pull my own coat off, hanging it up before going into the damp bathroom to splash some water on my face. Having done so, I come back into the room, taking note of the fact that Snake hasn't moved and simply watches me with his eye, staying mostly still apart from the movement of his hand to his mouth, and the slight contortion of his jaw as he inhales. Being tired after a long day of trekking across the country, I decide to forgo eating anything and kick my shoes off instead, climbing onto the rickety bed. 

"Night." I murmur, knowing Snake will hear me from across the room, not expecting any response as I pull the thin blanket to my chin.

He grunts, but doesn't say anything, seemingly content to smoke and sit for a while. 

Sighing, I close my eyes and try to sleep, which I soon find to be very difficult. The blanket is far too thin, the cool air from the room around me seeping into me despite my layers of clothing, making goosebumps break out on my skin. I shiver, teeth quickly starting to chatter as I curl in on myself, trying to warm myself up, fruitlessly. It's horrible, the cold enveloping me unbearably quickly and with finality. 

After a short while, I hear a noise of slight irritation, before the sounds of my companion moving to join me on the bed fill the small room. Instinctively, I tense as I feel him climb onto the bed, the man sliding under the covers and filling the space behind me. My tension only increases as I suddenly feel his arms wrap around my middle, pulling me into his broad torso, his body hard against mine.

"Snake? What are you doing?" I question softly, unsure of how to react as he just tightens his grip on me.

"Your shivering was getting annoying." Is all he says, going quiet again.

Warmth begins to seep into me from his body behind me, my muscles automatically relaxing as I get used to lying in his grip. His arms easily wrap around my torso, completely pinning me against him, muscles flexed ever so slightly as he holds me, fingers idly rubbing at my body. A strong odour of sweat, gunpowder and motor oil surrounds him, strong in my nostrils as he presses closer, his nose brushing against the skin at the back of my neck as he slightly bows his head. My body is already getting looser, enjoying being safe in his grip.

"Thanks." I finally say, closing my eyes and leaning back against my friend, feeling more comfortable now.

He doesn't say anything to begin with, making a soft grunt instead until I've just begun to drop off.

"Anytime." Snake's voice is rough in my ears, but reassuring nevertheless.

#break writes #snake plissken imagine #snake plissken x reader #escape from la #escape from new york #kurt russell

[some-kindofgnome]

tastes so bitter (tastes so sweet)

You’re driving back from an out-of-town mission with Hawks when your car breaks down on a very sparsely-populated highway. While you await relief, things get... personal. 

characters: takami keigo (hawks) x f!reader

word count: 7.1k

warnings: smut (18+ please!), car sex, pro hero!reader, angst, emotionally unavailable hawks

notes: ta-dah!!! the car sex fic! this turned out way longer and way more feelsy than I ever intended it to be. but I’m grateful for the chance to show you how I play with plot and emotion as well as some good porn. porn with feelings, y’know? 

EDIT: The supremely talented @la-saffron​ has created an absolutely spectacular piece of artwork for this fic! Please go and look at it right here, it’s really quite splendid

Masterlist

The shadowy trees on either side of the highway cast a chill across the pavement as the sky went dark.

It was far from sunset, but the woods were so tall and thick that the light had disappeared from the road a long time ago. The overpriced navigation system laid into the dashboard of Hawks’ luxurious car was no help at all; not when you were taking the only road for miles around.

The highway narrowly passed for two lanes, winding precariously down from the mountains. Dotted with reflective yellow signs- deer crossing, bear crossing, creatures-of-unimaginable-horror crossing. Bigfoot himself could have wandered into your headlights and you barely would’ve flinched.

But that was to be expected, given where you’d come from.

That day’s mission brought you both far, far away from the city. There was a national forest about three hours away- one of the biggest in the country- and you and Hawks had been called in at the crack of fucking dawn to drive all the way out to the woods and investigate some ‘strange reports,’ as the rangers cared to call them.

Most park rangers knew what they were seeing when guests came in from the woods reporting abnormal happenings. Nobody was truly immune to fear, though, when faced with the impossible.

Whether there were paranormal creatures lurking in those woods or not, you couldn’t have been sure. But after spending the day exhausting both your quirks combing every spare inch of those woods, you were relieved of your overnight duties by a group of other, more nature-savvy heroes.

Hawks had been miffed, but too exhausted to argue. He didn’t like to think he’d been overshadowed. You were just thankful to be going home to your own bed.

“Okay,” you sighed, nursing the last of a lukewarm soda from a burger joint at the edge of the only one-horse town you’d passed through. It was a pretty unassuming stop for dinner, but you and Hawks both agreed that the burgers were way too good to be sold to so few patrons.

Keigo was driving, with one palm splayed lazily across the bottom edge of the wheel. His scarlet wings stretched into the backseat, draping over the shoulders of his black leather backrest like some bizarre kind of seat cover.

The fact that his car was so luxurious was not lost on you- although you were more surprised to find out that he had one at all. Hawks seemed like the last person in the world to need a car, after living in a fantastic downtown penthouse. And owning a pair of wings, come to think of it.

He owned it because he could. And because he knew how good he looked in the driver’s seat.

“What?” He turned a curious eye toward you, though he never quite pulled his gaze from the road.

“I know we started this conversation on the way here,” you began, “but… we never exactly finished it.” You swirled what was left of the ice chips in the bottom of your cup, considering the best way to voice your thoughts.

“Alright.” He sounded vaguely amused, slouching a little further down and drawing an idle palm over his feathered hair. “Shoot.”

“Well…” You trailed off. “You’re kind of… a city guy.” You were already starting to talk with your hands. The racket coming from your half-drunk soda was proof enough.

“What makes you say that?”

“You are,” you defended. You let a playful edge creep into your tone. “And the agency’s kind of a city thing.”

“Am I really as one-note as you’re making me out to be?” He was chuckling. Your cheeks were going hot. You weren’t sure how this became a personal conversation, but you were determined to steer it in the proper direction. You course corrected.

“I just mean, we don’t take a lot of jobs outside the city. Like… ever. So, what’s with this one? Why this call?”

He didn’t answer right away. When you glanced across the car, he was licking his lips and appearing to be, very genuinely, thinking.

“Well,” he began. There was an immensely appealing depth that wore around the edges of his voice when he was deep in thought. You hung on tightly, trying your best to hide how intently you listened.

“I was just… bored, I guess.” He gave a lazy little shrug. His eyes were still trained on the windshield, but you could feel the weight of his urges. He wanted to look over. You turned your head, willing him to.

“Probably sounded like bullshit, now that I think about it,” he confessed, “but if there really was somethin’ freaky in those woods… I dunno. I wanted to see it.”

You resisted the urge to snort.

“Maybe you should start a ghost hunting branch at the agency.”

“Aw, c’mon,” he protested. This time, he really did drag his eyes away from the road for a second. They glinted playfully in the dark. You got a flash of pearly canine from the barest hint of a grin, but it was enough to put a stupid smile right across your face.

A sickening thud from beneath the hood zapped any false confidence you’d been building. There was a dull pop, then the engine died.

“What the- shit.” Hawks scrambled to put both hands on the wheel, navigating the car with what momentum remained over to the narrow shoulder. The tires hit gravel and soft mud, rolling pathetically to a stop and settling in damp silence.

“What the hell was that?” You leaned over the dashboard as your pulse came down from near-terminal velocity. There were half a dozen lights blinking away on the dashboard- symbols you couldn’t understand.

“Not sure.” Keigo was doing his best not to sound too perturbed. As a result, he was just perturbed enough.

You knew what those lights implied, though. Service due. Oil change due. Battery maintenance due.

“Jesus Christ,” you hissed, “when was the last time you took this car in for service? It’s a miracle you even made it out of the goddamn garage.”

Hawks was in the process of mashing the engine start button like an arcade game. When you spoke up, he pushed it down and held. The engine gave a dull, sad sort of sputter, but nothing roared to life.

“Look, look,” he dismissed, waving a hand in your direction as he unbuckled his seatbelt. “I don’t drive this thing that often, okay? I’m gonna go check under the hood.”

He climbed out of the driver’s side and slammed the door before giving you the chance to remind him to pop the hood. For a minute, you let him wallow in his mistake, watching gleefully as he pried at the seam of it. Finally, you unbuckled yourself and leaned over, flicking the release for him.

He gave an unamused glance toward the windshield and lifted the hood, obscuring all but the very tips of his drooping wings from view.

After about fifteen seconds, he ducked back into the car with a rush of cold air behind him. He rubbed his palms together as you watched, arms folded over your chest.

“So?” You prompted. He gave a sideways glance in your direction, blowing into his chilled hands.

“So what?”

“Oh my g- what’s wrong with the car?” You tried your best not to let panic set in.

“I don’t know. It’s just a bunch of pipes and wires under there. They didn’t exactly give me a map of the thing when I bought it.”

You’d seen Hawks pull people out of burning buildings before. You’d see him think on his feet, devise a plan and act on it in the blink of an eye. Usually, he was impulsive. Confident. Clever.

Tonight, on the other hand, he was demonstrating a very clear affinity for money over brains.

You flopped into your seat, scrubbing your hands over your face. You were not going to freak out. You refused to. It didn’t matter that Keigo had suddenly become useless in the face of disaster. You were heroes, even if you had to save your damned selves.

“Oh,” he quipped from beside you. “Still got bars. See?” As you peeked over at him through one cracked eyeball, he waved his illuminated phone screen at you. “It could be worse, kid. If this were a horror movie, this thing’d be dead.”

He tapped away on the screen, seeming very pleased with himself. Even his wings gave a little ruffle, draping themselves smoothly over the back of his seat again.

“I’ll call us a tow. We’ll be outta here in no time.”

A few minutes later, you had a map pulled up on your phone while Hawks’ brow creased deeper and deeper.

“Uh-huh.” His voice had taken on that irresistible deepness to it again, but this time it was sending pangs of dread through your gut.

“Right.” He brought a palm up to smooth over his jaw, fingertips bending and pressing idly against the patches of scruff that dusted it. “Y-yep, yeah, I understand. Fifty miles is a long way. I know it’s gonna be a lot to send a truck that far. But-“

As he was abruptly cut off by the other end of the line, those idle fingers slipped up to his temple, pressing inward and rubbing in stiff little circles.

“Okay. Alright. Yeah, I guess we’ll wait, ‘cause there’s not much else we can… I understand. Yes, thank you. Thank you. Okay, we’ll be here. Or within a ten-foot radius. Thanks. B-“

He blinked rapidly at the screen as he pulled it away from his ear. “Have an excellent night, sir,” he muttered under his breath. He let out a deep sigh, lifting a hip to tuck his phone away again.

“They said they would send someone,” he said, “but the depot is, like, fifty miles from here. Could be a couple of hours.”

“A couple hours?” That cold dread was settling into your chest again. So much for sleeping in your own bed.

“Yeah. C’mon, get out.”

“What?” You glanced past him at the frosted driver’s side window. “It looks freezing out there.”

“Well then, you’d better bundle up. C’mon. I’m gonna fly us back to the city.”

“No way. Hawks- Keigo.” You grabbed his arm and squeezed tightly as he made to get out of the car.

“What?” Exasperation was creeping into the edges of his voice. The sides of his gaze, too, as he landed against the seat back with a thud and turned his cheek to look at you.

“You’ve been flying all day. Your wings are shot. You’re not flying anywhere.”

“What? They’re fine.” He gave the appendages in question a defiant flutter and a cloud of expiring feathers floated into the backseat.

You folded your arms across your chest. Hawks gave a frustrated growl.

“What do you suggest, then?” He retorted in fierce opposition to your silence. “Just sit around and fucking… die of old age before the tow truck comes?”

“Oh my god, you’re the number two hero,” you snapped back. “When did you become such a drama queen? Yes, we’re going to wait. Like a normal person would have to.”

“I’m not being dramatic; I’m presenting you with a legitimate solution and you’re ignoring it!”

“If you try to fly us both out of here, you’re gonna hit the ground before we’re halfway home. And then we’ll be really stranded, with no water and no shelter. So, if you’d like to fly back all by yourself, I can’t stop you. But I’m not going to let you kill both of us.”

“Fine!” Hawks’ cheeks were flushed with temper as he kicked the door open and clambered out of the car. He kicked it shut again so hard the whole body rocked, and for a moment you were left, trapped in shocked silence.

He was really going to leave you out here. Alone.

Half a dozen heartbeats passed before his boots crunched on the shoulder and he wrenched the door open again, flopping back into the car with an immense sigh of irritated defeat.

“Fuckin’ freezing out there,” he muttered as quietly as possible.

You wanted to punch him.

“You ready to wait?”

His wings stiffened behind him, then drooped so lowly they seemed to disappear into the backseat. He looked at you from the corner of one tawny eye.

“Yeah.”

For the first hour, you honestly enjoyed yourself. As soon as Keigo accepted his fate, he got much closer to his usual mellow self. You finished off cold fries from dinner, listened to true crime podcasts on your phone, (you listened- he talked over the whole thing) and played a few ruthless games of hangman on a couple of napkins you found in the glove compartment.

You’d spent a lot of time with Hawks in a professional capacity. As partners, you took most of your missions together. You were well-versed in the way that he liked to think, the way he approached a job, a conversation. You worked well with each other and you were drawn to his quick wit and laid-back humour. Even if he was a piece of work at times, you made a strong team. But you didn’t do a whole lot of hanging out.

“Okay, that’s it,” he chided as you added an extravagant top hat to the completed, dressed hangman scrawled onto the inside fold of your last napkin. The word he’d failed to guess was ‘patience,’ and the irony of his struggling was not lost on you.

“Aw, c’mon,” you protested. “You’ve still got gloves and a bow tie left.”

“No, no, no.” He held up a palm, shaking his head. There was a good-natured grin curling his lip as he bowed toward the door. “I’m callin’ it. I gotta take a leak.”

You snatched your soda cup from the drink holder, clutching it protectively against your chest.

“You’re not going in here.”

Next, it was Hawks’ turn to shoot you a deadpan stare.

“How about in the woods? Is that allowed?”

Your cheeks went hot. “It’s pretty dark out there.”

“Aw.” Hawks shoved the door open. There was an unfamiliar glint to his eye as he tossed a mischievous look over his shoulder. “Guess you won’t be able to sneak a peek, then.”

You slammed your fist into his back. “Shut up and go take a piss.”  

As the car door clicked shut, you turned the other way out of sheer habit. All you could see in the opposite window was the reflection of your own face. Maybe it was just the dim light, but you looked exhausted. Keigo had seen you caked in blood, streaked by mud and soot before. But you’d both been awake since four o’clock that morning and there was a special kind of ugly feeling that came with overtiredness.

You were dreaming about the first thing you’d do when you got home again when Hawks climbed back into the car. He looked considerably brighter as he ducked inside, and he brought a flush of rich, earthy forest-smell along with him.

“Don’t tell me you couldn’t find it in the cold out there,” you quipped. Payback.

But Keigo just chuckled, shaking his head.

“Close the door,” you whined as the frigid air from outside finally reached your bare arms. “It’s already cold enough in here.”

“Aw,” he crooned, tugging the door shut behind him. “You scared of a little cold now, kid? It’s not so bad out there. Feel.”

He lunged at you, ducking rapidly to rub his frigid cheek against your shoulder. You let out a terse yelp and squirmed, trying to shove him back amid a sea of chilled giggles. He got a few passes of his icy skin on yours before you both realized how close you’d gotten.

Hawks cleared his throat and scooted away from you. In the bare light from the shitty overhead lamp, you were starting to see the outline of a flush creeping into his cheeks.

The light abruptly went out, leaving you in darkness again.

“Tell me something,” he mused, grabbing for the abandoned takeout bag and digging a hand into it. He produced a tiny wrapped square and tore it open with his teeth, removing the folded alcohol wipe from inside and gliding it with impossible grace over his fingertips. He eyed you sideways.

“How come we don’t hang out more?”

Your chest went cold. You’d been dreading that question all night. Longer than that, even.

“What d’you mean?” It was a gut response, but you instantly kicked yourself for even attempting to play dumb.

“You know,” he chided, dumping the wipe back into the paper bag once he was finished with it. “We work. We do interviews together. We do those bullshit PR functions together. I’ve known you- what, two years? And we’ve never even been for a drink. What gives, kid? Don’t tell me I grate on you.”

“I get plenty of you on company time,” you retorted. You were starting to panic. You weren’t ready for this conversation, but it didn’t seem like you were going to be rescued by the timely arrival of the tow truck.

“Okay, okay, I’d take that,” he laughed, “if you hadn’t agreed to take this mission with me. C’mon, this wasn’t exactly a nine-to-five gig.”

He paused. “Come out with me this weekend.” He nudged your shoulder with a bony elbow. You tried your best not to snap.

“Stop,” you pressed quietly. “You know why we don’t.”

The smirk slipped from Keigo’s face.

“What? Why?”

“Don’t make me say it.”

“Wait a second, there’s an actual reason? What the hell is it?”

The confusion was genuine on his face. Hawks could be a smarmy little shit when he wanted to be. But you could tell he wasn’t fucking with you.

“Oh my god.” The words slipped out like a deep breath. Your hand drifted to your mouth as cold shock ran over your skin. “You really don’t remember.”

“No.” His confusion was bordered with fear. He sat back a little, letting his eyes drift over your expression. “No, I really don’t.”

You swallowed hard. You should have known that you’d have to talk about this eventually. But he didn’t even remember the night that had been changing the way you acted around him for nearly a year.

“Last Christmas,” you began. Your breath was so short that it put a desperate hush to your voice that you absolutely hated. You revelled in your ability to act casual around him, but the more probing he got, the harder that composure was slipping.

“At the agency gala. You remember the party, right?”

Hawks rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, and I got trashed.” He paused. Realization dawned on his face, and he shot you the deepest, most sincere look of concern you’d ever seen. Even more sincere than the look that crossed his face when you got shot off the roof of a house and broke a rib.

He leaned forward.

“Did I do something?” He swept a palm over his mouth, fingertips dallying at his chin. You knew exactly how he felt in that moment. You’d been there before, too, realizing that you’d lost control. Blacked out. Understanding that you might have done something you were going to regret.

“You really don’t remember a thing?” It was your turn to be horrified. How could something that consumed your every thought stay so damned far from his?

His fingers were still curved around the point of his chin. He’d gone white, and he shook his head as his eyes cast down to his lap.

“You fucking kissed me, okay?” You snarled with a whip of frustration. “There was mistletoe and you kissed me under it and-and Christ, I can’t believe you.”

“What? What?” He demanded as his voice grew defensively sharp.

“I had no idea what you were gonna do. What you were gonna say, what was gonna change between us. I showed up to the agency the next morning and your hungover ass acted like nothing had ever happened.”

“Of course I did,” he defended, “I didn’t think anything did happen. Oh my God, did I really kiss you?” His wings were coming to life all of a sudden, bristling on either side of his seat. There was a dull whisp as one edge of them brushed against the window. They seemed to expand, along with his horror, to fill the entire car.

He pushed further. “Well, did you… did you want me to?”

You could see where his thoughts were taking him. The answer was an impossible dilemma. To lead him further down that path would not only be cruel, it would be untrue. But to tell him the truth- that you had wanted it- would be to shatter the fragile illusion of casual, platonic intimacy that you’d been building over the last two years.

You chewed your lower lip. Hard enough to hurt.

“Oh god, you didn’t,” he gasped. That was enough for you to lift your chin and shoot him a sudden, sad, pathetic little look.

“Jesus,” he gasped again, deeper this time. “You did.”

“Look,” you snapped. “I was never gonna say anything to you. I was never gonna push it. You didn’t feel that way and I knew that and I just wanted to work.”

He told you enough about his personal life as it was. Every date he swung in from on Monday morning, every Friday night he spent preening in the last hours of the workday hurt enough already. If you’d grown close, fallen harder, it would’ve become too much to bear.

“What do you mean, I didn’t feel that way? What way don’t I feel? How could you even know that?” He was beginning to raise his voice back at you and the adrenaline was pushing you way too far to listen.

“Because you never said a fucking word to me about that kiss! You pretended like it never even happened, Kei! What was I supposed to think!”

“If you’d asked me, you woulda known that I didn’t speak up ‘cause I didn’t remember a goddamn thing!” Keigo jammed a finger into his temple. His golden eyes flashed. He was so fucking hot when he was angry, but this was not a fight you ever wanted to have.

Luckily for you, he was having it without you.

“What do you want me to say to that?” He snarled. “Huh? What- you want me to tell you that I’m sorry for not having psychic powers? That I’m sorry I didn’t hire a mind-reader to tell me what the fuck was going on with you?”

He scrubbed his hands over his face. You were on the verge of tears.

“I-I never-“ you began, but Keigo beat you to the punch,

“You know, maybe I noticed that you were actin’ funny around me. And maybe I should’ve asked. But maybe if you ask yourself, and if you really, honestly give yourself the truest answer, you’d be able to admit that you knew how I felt about you. That you always knew.”

“Of course I knew!”

Your response echoed raw and deafening in the silence of the car. You’d lost your temper and shouted it at him with every decibel left in your breathless chest. Your fists were clenched atop your frigid thighs as you bent over in your seat, shivering. To your immense embarrassment, warm tears trickled down the sides of your nose.

He was right, after all. Every sideways smile he’d given you was just a little too broad to be friendly. Every time he caught you by the hand, he held it just a little too long. Every time he offered you the crook of his elbow at a stuffy charity gala and every time he poured you into a cab at the end of the night, he promised to take good care of you. Every time he looked at you at all it was with a depth that you had recognized, but never understood.

“But look at us, Kei. Look at what we do to each other.”

You sniffled, scrubbing tears off your cheeks with the heels of your hands. He reached for you, seeking to comfort, but his hands twitched midair and he drew back instead.

“Yeah,” he croaked. You tossed a glance in his direction. He looked more dejected than you’d seen him in a long time. He rested both hands on top of the wheel, the rest of his body sagging against the seat back.

“Except now I’ve told you,” you continued. “And now we both know, so everything’s fucked no matter what.”

You were met with silence. The truth was dawning on you. You hated to even consider it, but it felt like what needed to be done.

“When we get back to the city,” you started. Hawks interrupted you with a low rasp of your name.

“No, when we get back, I’m giving you my resignation.”

“Fuck, stop.”

Keigo lunged, grabbing you by the back of the neck and pulling you toward him. He rested his forehead against yours and closed his eyes. The warmth of his closeness weighed on you like a heavy quilt. You couldn’t even pretend not to be immensely comforted by affection from him.

“I’m not gonna let you do that, kid.”

You were both drawing deep breaths- slow, rolling gulps of air that matched over gradual time. You licked your lips, bracing your chilled palms on his shoulders. Your fingertips brushed the very edges of his feathered hair, dull and soft in the dark.

You’d talked each other down from bigger, badder edges before. But this one had sharp, jagged rocks waiting at the bottom. This one, you were going to have to jump from together.

“I can’t do this,” you pleaded. “I can’t keep myself away from you like this.”

“Don’t.” His voice was hushed and so achingly tender, like he couldn’t take the command himself.

“I can’t-“

“Then, don’t.”

He was firmer this time, and the pad of his thumb brushed the bottom of your lip. He pulled back just a hair, grazing the tip of his nose across yours. The heat of his breath puffed over your lips and his blonde eyelashes threatened to tickle your cheek.

He drew in a slow, calculated breath.

“Lemme kiss you. Lemme try again. I’m not gonna forget it this time, I swear.”

“Keigo, please.”

“Just lemme try. Just once. I’ll never ask you again, if you don’t want me to.” He pulled back the rest of the way and your body keened at the loss, but he looked deeply into your eyes. Deeply like he’d never been allowed to look before.

You licked your lips. Considered it for half a heartbeat. Then you gave a slow little nod.

“Okay.”

To your surprise, he didn’t lunge again. He took his time with you. He cupped your cheeks tenderly between his bare palms, memorizing the curve of your face. He stared, taking you in like this. At his mercy.

Finally, he leaned in and captured your mouth in a soft kiss, heartbreakingly loving. You responded eagerly, blossoming beneath his touch and bracing your hands on the broad plane of his chest. Your fingers curled in the fleece that lined his coat.

You kissed back with near-desperate urgency, shamelessly showing him how touch-starved you’d become. Dating was pointless when Keigo stole your whole heart every time you showed up to work.

The quiet press of his tongue had your jaw going slack in his hands. Your kiss went needy all at once, and he licked into your mouth with a hunger behind his movements that you never anticipated sensing from him.

You broke from him first, turning your cheek to him as your lungs burned. Your mouth was swollen, and you gasped greedily for whatever stale air lingered between you. He grabbed your chin and forced your eyes back to his.

His gaze was fearsome. Ravenous. You were powerless beneath it.

You combed your fingers through his hair like you’d always wanted to, settling your palm at the nape of his neck. Your own voice was nearly unrecognizable, nothing more than a feral growl.

“Get in the back.”

Hawks took one look at the narrow gap between his seat and yours and sat up, nudging the driver’s side door open. He climbed eagerly into the road and then back into the back seat, settling in the center with his legs and wings splayed wide.

Meanwhile, you took the opportunity to wiggle out of your boots and pants and slam dunk everything into the foothold of the passenger’s seat. You climbed over the center console in your underwear and settled into his lap.

Even though you had to bow your head against the cushioned ceiling, it was a holy sensation. Your thighs settled perfectly into the crooks of Keigo’s legs, and his hands slid so naturally over the curves of your hips. It was as if you’d done this before.

You kissed him again, using the weight of your newly boosted height to descend hard and loving against his lips. He grabbed you hard by the ass, drawing you smooth and tight against his hips.

“God,” he groaned eagerly into your mouth.

“You’re so. Fucking. Perfect,” you hissed back into his, and he squeezed you harder, breaking his lips from yours to trail a hungry path of kisses along the edge of your jaw. His scruff scratched at your chin just like you imagined it would. You loved him like this- trimmed, unshaven. The rougher, the better.

“Don’t say that,” he purred dangerously close to your ear. “You’ve seen me at my worst.”

You tried not to grin, remembering Keigo barfing over the balcony of the Plaza after one too many charity-benefit martinis. Keigo caked in ooze after cutting open that sludge villain from the inside. Keigo on the verge of tears, just a few minutes ago.

“I still think so,” you pressed, and he smiled against your cheek. His wings, tired and bruised but majestic as ever, stiffened proudly. They were capped firmly by the cramped space that surrounded you, but the feathers that spread across the back seat were sleek and graceful.

You dug your fingertips between his jacket and his t-shirt, feeling the warmth of his torso all over. He did his best to shrug it open, but the material was caught up on his wings- no getting it off now.

He wound his hands into the hem of his shirt and tugged it up for you. The skin you could feel by slipping your fingers underneath was all you were going to get.

Not that it mattered to you. It was far more than you’d let yourself so much as picture before. While you felt your way across his heated abdomen, he dipped his head to your pulse point. He scraped the points of his teeth across your tender flesh, making you sigh and shiver. He pressed a hand to the small of your back to keep you close and nibbled all the way down to your neckline, leaving a trail of tiny welts in his wake.

They would fade by morning. Tonight, the feeling was enough.

He glided smooth, tender fingers up your sides. You straightened, letting him wedge your long-sleeved t-shirt up around your shoulders. You had to bend even further and press your forehead awkwardly against his shoulder to wrench it off. Once he peeled the fabric over your head, you tossed it haphazardly toward the front seat. Keigo was already going to work on his fly.

The tender press of his erection had grown apparent by that point, stiff and needing down one thigh of his thick pants. You reached between your legs and palmed it indulgently. There was an answering throb of arousal in the pit of your belly as you felt the shape and thickness of it trapped against his body, and an even stronger one when his hips pressed into your touch and he gave a low rumble of approval.

“Don’t act so surprised,” he crooned. With his pants unfastened, and the bulk of his cock shifted to the stretchy pouch of his undershorts, he slid a fingertip down the plane of your belly and curled two graceful digits between your thighs.

“Are you wet for me yet?” He shot you a deep, lustful stare. You rocked your hips against his fingers, hopeless in resisting the pleasure he offered. Keigo nudged the crotch of your thong easily aside, dipping his middle finger against your slit.

He sucked a sharp breath through clenched teeth as you gave a simultaneous yelp of stimulation. When he looked up at you again, he bore a sly little grin. You’d seen it a thousand times before, but never with such desire. And never all for you.

“You’re drippin’, kid.” He arched his palm, slipping that finger slowly upward and easing it inside you. There was no stretch, but the sensation of intimacy- of being felt in such a way by those hands that you’d never dared to fantasize about- was intoxicating in its own right.

Keigo was, apparently, feeling it, too. His eyes were deeply lidded, glazed completely by his own desire. The tip of his cock had found its way over the waistband of his undershorts, weeping shiny precum against his stomach and the bottom of his shirt.

He curled a blunt fingertip inside you, massaging your tender front wall. The feeling rappelled up the column of your spine and brought deep trembles forward. It brought fresh handfuls of wet slick from your depths, gliding down his palm and between his fingers. He took the hints your body offered and rubbed faster, watching the way your expression morphed from desire to pleasure.

“Stop,” you hushed, leaning forward and pushing your lips to his. He drew his hand back from you immediately, settling it on your thigh. The wet little print it left against your skin wasn’t lost on you.

“Something wrong?”

“No,” you replied. “Just ready for you.”

He gave a low, loving little chuckle and shifted beneath you. “Can’t hold out any longer?”

You smiled into his hair. “Don’t want to.”

“Fair enough.” His smile was even, but the tug in his voice betrayed his fraying nerves. It thrilled you to know that you weren’t the only one putting way too much emotional stock in this. It was immensely validating to discover that he’d been anticipating it, too.

He wiggled and squirmed against the backseat, shucking his pants and underwear down over his thighs and letting his cock pop out. It bobbed against his stomach- thicker than you’d imagined- framed by a trimmed scruff of tawny hair that disappeared under his shirt.

“Fuck,” you sighed in spite of yourself.

“I know, right?” He rasped. He reached for you, cupping your jaw. He brought your forehead down to his, giving a weak laugh. “What the hell have we been waitin’ for?”

“We just needed the bottle episode to shove us together,” you giggled. “C’mon, we’re a walking trope right about now.”

“We’re about to become a different trope if you don’t let me fuck you.” It was his turn to play the desperate card. But the ache between your thighs had not dulled, even a little.

He wrapped his fingers around the base of his shaft and you lifted your hips. He gave the heated tip a playful little swipe along your slick slit, but his game backfired when both of you let out tight cries of sensation.

You rocked your hips forward, taking his tip eagerly inside. The sensation was toe-curling, made even better by the way he held you tightly against him, nosing at your ear and kissing any patch of skin he could reach.

He brought his free palm to your ass as soon as you were situated, helping you slide the rest of the way onto his cock. With your knees braced on either side of his lap and your feet pressed tightly against the front seat, you let him bottom out. And for a moment, you just sat there.

“Jesus,” Keigo sighed, lolling his head against the seat behind him. You still had your head deeply bowed, trapped in the space that seemed just an inch too tight.

“I…” Your thighs shuffled. Your hips gave a little squirm. It felt good, but it wasn’t enough. Keigo cracked an eye and lifted his chin, sensing a problem.

“What’s the matter?”

“I just…” Your cheeks went hot. You licked your lips. “I can’t move.”

His gaze cast downward, to the place where you were joined. He took in the press of your thighs, the curve of your neck. He snorted.

“No, you can’t. C’mere, kid, I gotcha.” He planted that palm on your ass again, drawing your hips forward and up, as far as you could take them. Your head and neck bowed with the rest of your back as he draped your upper body over his chest and held you tightly against him.

Then he planted his feet and gave one good, deep thrust. Your innards gave a jerk. Oh, fuck.

“That’s it,” you panted into his ear. He nodded tensely.

“Yeah?” He prompted. “That’s workin’ for ya? Alright, alright. We’ve got this, kid, c’mon. Lemme show you somethin’ good, okay?”

One thrust sent you spiralling. But the rhythm that he dove into- steady, tough, fluid- sent every nerve through your body into meltdown. You were entirely incapable of dealing with such pleasure, combined with the emotions that swirled through your lovestruck brain.

It felt as though you had been holding out needlessly for all this time. Like all the hurt and frustration and heartbreak you shed over him would be evaporated, now that you understood that he wanted you like this, too.

Like that was all there was. You, Hawks, and the free love you could now share.

“I’m n-not-“ Keigo stuttered, piping up after a series of breathless pants and airy groans, “n-not gonna last much longer, kid, you’re… really gonna make me feel it.”

“Yeah,” you breathed back. You looped your arms tightly around his neck, tilting your hips forward. You could feel the barest hint of stimulation when your clit brushed his belly, so you leaned into it- aching for your own release.

His rhythm doubled as the intensity of your pleasure spiked dangerously high, and when you gripped him hard and rocked your hips in time with his, there was a low, warning pull that echoed all the way up to your throat. You were close. Very close.

Your head dropped backward and Keigo leaned forward, drawing his mouth up the vulnerable column of your throat. He panted hard and heavy against your pulse point.

“That’s it, kid, that’s fuckin’ it, baby, oh, God, I’m g-gonna f-fucking… I- shit, I- can’t… fffuck!”

Keigo let a vicious roar tear from his throat as he reached his vibrant peak. His erratic thrusts brought you to a tight little climax, too, and you clung to him and whined and rode through the pleasure as he fucked madly up inside you, spurting messy shots of cum into your depths.

Gravity took hold of his pleasure, dripping it onto his shaft and pooling it in a sloppy mess between you. And when it was all finally over, you collapsed against his body and you both stayed, airless and spent, wrapped tightly around one another.

It was the bright flash of headlights on the back of his neck that brought you to the surface, moments later.

The inside of the car was warm and stuffy and damp. Had you just come in from outside, you might have realized that it reeked of sex. Sweat and breath and fluid and feeling. The windows were near-opaque, fogged by the dampness of your lovemaking.

It was a moment you might have loved to capture, if you weren’t about to be so rudely interrupted.

The light in your rear windshield was bright white and flashing orange. Unmistakable.

“The tow truck,” you wheezed, scrambling off of Keigo’s lap. “Oh, fuck.”

“Get dressed,” he muttered weakly, already scrambling to get himself cleaned up and decent. He was far more dressed than you were, so you did your best to climb back into the passenger’s seat and slide back into your own clothes. You banged your shin hard on the center console, and your head on the ceiling as your body flailed in retaliation. You crumpled into the front seat and nearly kneed yourself in the mouth trying to scramble back into your pants.

By the time you climbed out of the car, fully dressed, with a few additional bruises, Hawks was already standing on the shoulder, talking to the driver. The driver was wagering a few guesses on what might be wrong with the car. Hawks’ eyes had already glazed over.

“Hey,” he greeted, as he spotted you emerging over his shoulder. He introduced you quietly to the driver before the ballcap-wearing, bearded man spoke again.

“Yeah,” he gruffed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ll give you a lift to garage nearby. It’s kinda late, but he keeps weird hours. I bet he’ll take a look for you, it’s prob’ly an easy fix.”

“That sounds great,” you gushed, clasping your palms together. There was a lot of stiffness settling in around your hips and thighs. You couldn’t be sure if it was a result of the compromising position you’d nearly been discovered in or the whole lot of not moving you’d done for hours before that.

Either way, it felt good to stretch your legs.

“You c’n go ahead and hop in the back,” the driver directed, waving the key that Keigo had apparently already given him in indication. “I’ll get you hooked up, no problem.”

Keigo opened the truck door for you, and you climbed over the passenger’s seat into the back. He followed closely behind you, tugging the door shut and slouching into the opposite side.

You sat in silence; hands clasped between your knees. A confusing air settled between you.

You felt vulnerable and raw and moony. You wanted to hold his hand and curl up to him in the back seat. Kiss his cheeks and tell him how good it was, tell him how much you felt.

For you, though, it could never be that simple. There was no free love for heroes like you.

Pay later, always.

Keigo felt the weight of your gaze. He turned to meet your eyes and shot you a thin smile. You’d seen the look that he’d turned to hide from you, though.

The truck driver climbed into the front seat before words could pass between you. But you didn’t need to hear them to know what they were going to be.

You didn’t need a warning to understand what Monday morning at the agency was going to look like.

#hawks x reader #hawks #takami keigo x reader #takami keigo #hawks x you #takami keigo x you #boku no hero academia #mha fanfic #my hero academia #bnha fanfic

[ultimatetrashyfanfic]

Non-despair AU! And ever since I watched that thirty minute anime clip with Nagito’s perspective on things, I’ve really liked the idea of him being buds with Kazuichi and Fuyuhiko. And Nagito openly talks about his past trauma on a plane so… what better way to bond than bonding over trauma? Anyway, I love these three so much. Also Komahina because I love them - Circle

(Also forgot to add this, sorry, but it’s on AO3 too) https://archiveofourown.org/works/33483538

Warning: descriptions of panic attacks, nausea, motion sickness, very mild vomiting (like barely any).

Fuyuhiko always thought Nagito was spouting a whole load of bullshit when he lamented about his talent being useless; he would’ve loved having Ultimate Luck right now.

“Haha! You got the short straw, Fuyuhiko!” Akane crowed. “Tough luck!”

“Wait, no! Can’t we do a best of three?”

“Somebody has to sit with them, man,” Nekomaru said. “You guys are already friends, it’ll be a great bonding experience.”

“I don’t want to bond with them in that situation. Because you all know it’ll be a shit show. That’s why we’re fucking doing this,” Fuyuhiko growled, glaring at each of his classmates in turn. Only two were missing, the pair who’d triggered this whole unfortunate drawing of straws in the first place.

“Why can’t you sit with them, Hajime? Nagito is always hanging off you anyway. And Kazuichi is your friend too,” Fuyuhiko said.

“I’m afraid I can’t, Fuyuhiko.”

“Why the fuck not?”

“Because I didn’t draw the short straw.”

“Go fuck yourself.” Fuyuhiko stomped away, his classmates’ laughter echoing behind him. This class trip was already more trouble than it was worth and it hadn’t even started. He was almost tempted to skip the plane journey with the rest of them and hop on a different flight to Novoselic, just to show them. It wasn’t like he needed Sonia to pay his way. But she’d been so enthusiastic about taking her friends to see her home country, and Fuyuhiko couldn’t think of any way to tell her without causing offence. He couldn’t really say he just didn’t want to be stuck babysitting Kazuichi and Nagito on a flight.

It wasn’t that Fuyuhiko didn’t like Kazuichi and Nagito. Sure, Kazuichi could be a real pain in the ass sometimes, and Nagito would go all weird and self-deprecating if you didn’t watch out, but Fuyuhiko still considered them close friends. But the flight to Novoselic was long. Kazuichi could get motion sickness on a fucking bicycle, and Nagito hadn’t set foot on a plane since his parents died on one right in front of his eyes. There was no way it could possibly go well. Fuyuhiko pictured hour after hour of Kazuichi puking and complaining and Nagito… well, he wasn’t sure what the hell Nagito would do. He’d never seen Nagito get flustered before. Hell, that was much more terrifying. He had to get out of this.

In the days before the trip, Fuyuhiko kept trying to convince his kinder classmates to take responsibility for at least one of the other men. “It’s gonna be impossible to help them both,” Fuyuhiko said. “It’ll be better for them if you help me.”

“You could sit between them,” Mahiru said. “And I’ve already promised Hiyoko I’ll sit with her. Sorry.”

Asking Twogami was a no-go too. “It’ll be more considerate to the other passengers if they’re both in one area,” he said. “To limit the disturbance if they become distressed.”

“I’m the one who’ll be feeling fucking distressed,” Fuyuhiko snapped.

Peko overheard, and came over at once. “I’ll take your burden, young master.”

“No, not you!” Fuyuhiko hated the whine in his tone - and he hated the smirk on Twogami’s face too. “You don’t have to do it. You sit with Gundham and pet his hamsters or something. I… I want you to be happy,” he mumbled, blushing fiercely.

Damn it. He could be as bad as Kazuichi sometimes.

There was no way to wriggle out of it. The morning of the trip dawned bright and sunny, and Fuyuhiko’s ticket set him directly between Kazuichi and Nagito. Fantastic.

At least check-in and security went by reasonably peacefully, the walk to their gate quiet. Only Akane and Nekomaru seemed to be properly awake this early in the day, and they stuck with each other. Fuyuhiko glanced at his two friends. Kazuichi still seemed half-asleep, curled on one of the uncomfortable chairs by the gate, watching the planes take off and land in the distance through the huge windows. Nagito was much more concerning. He was smiling brightly… but he didn’t look happy at all.

“Hey, Fuyuhiko, want to know how a plane engine works?” Kazuichi asked.

“No,” he said, but he sat down with a sigh as Kazuichi started talking anyway. He tuned out after a second, though Nagito looked like he was listening.

“Seeing you talk about your ultimate talent is so inspiring, Kazuichi,” Nagito said - and smiled. That weird smile again, desperate and strained.

“It’s nothing. I just think planes are interesting. From an engineering point of view. I really wish I didn’t have to fucking ride one,” Kazuichi groaned.

“Aha, I can’t help feeling apprehensive too. The last time I was on a flight, both my parents died.” Nagito spoke emotionlessly, as if reciting a shopping list, but that smile was still fixed on his face. “But it’s okay. That bad luck brought me a lot of good luck later on. You just have to have hope that things will work out.”

Kazuichi stared at him, mouth open. “Um. Okay. Sorry.” He caught Fuyuhiko’s eye and mouthed what the fuck? Fuyuhiko wasn’t sure if Kazuichi was just now hearing the story or if he was confused by Nagito’s weird behaviour. He shrugged helplessly.

There wasn’t much conversation after that. You couldn’t really carry on your casual chit-chat right after somebody brought up their dead parents. Fuyuhiko kept an eye on Nagito. He was bolt upright in his seat, his eyes staring straight ahead, hands clasped so tight in his lap his knuckles bleached white. With his pale hair and ashen face, he looked like all the blood had drained out of him completely.

Their flight number was called far too soon, and Fuyuhiko dragged his motley crew to the right aisle, pondering where to put everyone. Kazuichi should probably be on the end if he’d be passing vomit bags to some poor stewardess. Fuyuhiko needed to be in the middle, so that left Nagito by the window. He’d have to keep the shutter pulled down.

Hajime passed them on the way to his own seat, and stopped short when he saw Nagito’s face. He leaned right over Kazuichi and Fuyuhiko, ignoring their complaints and curses, and took Nagito’s hand. “Are you alright? You look… off.”

“Don’t worry about me, Hajime.”

“Your hands are clammy.”

“Ah, I’m sorry. How disgusting for you,” Nagito said, smiling. Always smiling.

“That’s not what I meant… Look, do you want to sit with me?”

“Can we move it along please?” somebody called irritably down the aisle.

“You’re holding up the line, Hajime. Don’t worry about me,” Nagito repeated. Hajime looked like he was worrying dreadfully, but he was forced to move along. Nagito clasped his hands again and fixed his gaze on the seat in front, smiling smiling smiling. It was freaking Fuyuhiko out. He looked like he was wearing a mask and his eyes were the only real part of him, swirling with turmoil.

“Hey.” Kazuichi nudged Fuyuhiko’s shoulder and whispered in his ear. “Are Hajime and Nagito… you know. A thing?”

“Mate, you told me you’ve seen them leave Hajime’s cabin together in the mornings.”

“They could just be having a sleepover. As bros.”

“I don’t think it’s that, Kazuichi.”

“Are you sure? ‘Cause I don’t want Hajime to get a new best friend,” Kazuichi said.

Fuyuhiko sighed. “I think you’re safe.”

There was a pause. Then another shoulder nudge a second later. “So Hajime and Nagito? Seriously? Am I the only person on my own in this class?” Kazuichi muttered.

Fuyuhiko was spared from responding by the flight attendants starting the safety briefing, demonstrating how to use the oxygen masks and the life jackets in case of emergency. He had to admit, it was pretty eerie to think that you could, however unlikely it may be, crash into the ocean or need extra oxygen to live long enough to get to land. He glanced over at Nagito nervously. His arms were now curled across his chest, hands gripping his elbows. His head was bent, a cloud of puffy hair hiding his face. Maybe that was for the best.

“Can you try not to puke as long as possible?” Fuyuhiko whispered to Kazuichi. “I feel like I might have a situation to deal with.”

“I’m never trying to puke,” Kazuichi said, but he seemed worried too, glancing past Fuyuhiko. “Hey, Nagito, you doing alright?”

“Don’t worry about me, Kazuichi,” Nagito said, eerily calmly.

“That’s not the same thing as saying you’re fine, is it?” Kazuichi whispered to Fuyuhiko.

“He’s clearly not fucking fine,” Fuyuhiko snapped.

“Should I ask Hajime to swap?” Kazuichi asked.

Fuyuhiko nodded, but before Kazuichi could even undo his seatbelt, the plane jerked and started reversing out of the gate. Fuyuhiko heard Nagito draw in his breath sharply - then he was the one fumbling for his seatbelt, standing unsteadily.

“What the fuck are you doing, man?” Fuyuhiko yelled, catching onto the back of Nagito’s coat as he tried to clamber over the seats. “Sit down!”

“I’m afraid I need to get off,” Nagito said, voice still calm despite his frantic movements.

“It’s already moving, for God’s sake! Sit down before a flight attendant sees you!” It wasn’t hard to force Nagito back into his seat - he seemed light enough for a strong gust of wind to knock him over - and Souda hastily got the belt fastened again just as the plane rolled onto the runway.

“Okay. It’s fine. You’re fine,” Fuyuhiko gabbled, trying hard not to shout or swear or scream at all his classmates for making him deal with this. “Just sit still and… I dunno, plug your ears. The takeoff part is the worst.”

There was a cacophony of whirring as the engines roared to life and Fuyuhiko would be very grateful for all that noise in a second, because Nagito started to laugh. Dry, hysterical laughter, his eyes over-bright and manic, lips bared in that grisly parody of a smile.

“Has he lost his fucking mind?” Kazuichi asked, sounding genuinely frightened.

“You must really hate me, Fuyuhiko,” Nagito gasped. “To restrain me here… You must despise me.”

“I’m not restraining you!”

“Then let me off.” He locked eyes with Fuyuhiko and for a second the manic grin faded. “Please…”

The engines roared to a crescendo and the plane shot forward so quickly everyone was pinned to their seats with the force, zooming on and on until they could feel the entire structure lurch into the air. Kazuichi groaned softly, shutting his eyes, but Fuyuhiko was far more focused on Nagito. He had his eyes squeezed shut too, but his hand clamped hard onto Fuyuhiko’s arm. Really fucking hard. Shit, maybe Nagito wasn’t as weak as he looked. Fuyuhiko cursed as his terrified companion started digging his nails into his skin, actually drawing blood. The pain prompted Fuyuhiko to try prying the hand loose a little, but Nagito clamped on harder, carving several new scratches. Fuyuhiko didn’t dare attempt again; he’d get his arm cut to ribbons.

When the plane was flying high and the swirling, disoriented feeling had eased, Fuyuhiko checked on both men. Kazuichi had his head in his hands, but he gave a shaky thumbs up when Fuyuhiko prodded him.

“‘M okay,” he mumbled. “Got through takeoff. Gets better when it’s levelling out.”

“Right, good. Try to stay that way, yeah? I’ve got a lot to handle right now,” Fuyuhiko sighed. Nagito was still shredding his arm up, but he could feel one finger tapping for attention.

“What? What do you need? Please, no bullshit, Nagito. I don’t know what the fuck I’m supposed to do,” Fuyuhiko said. He was practically yelling in his panic, and the people across the aisle turned to glare.

It was several seconds before Nagito could gather enough breath to speak. Fuyuhiko saw that awful smile stretch across his face again, like somebody had twisted his frown the wrong way round. “Aha, I’m sorry to trouble you, Fuyuhiko, but I think I might be having a panic attack.”

“What?” Fuyuhiko felt like he was going to have a panic attack too. “Why? What’s going on?”

“I can’t seem to catch my breath. And the cabin has been spinning for several minutes.”

“Jesus Christ! Why didn’t you say anything?” Fuyuhiko hurriedly pushed Nagito’s head down as far as it would go before it bumped the seat in front. “Fucking… think of things you can see or something? Shit, I don’t remember.”

“Five things you can see,” Kazuichi chimed in. “Is he really gonna pass out? Hajime is gonna kill us.”

“I’m gonna fucking kill him for leaving this shit to us! How stupid can you get?”

“Ahh, I’m such a nuisance. If I’d known I’d react in such a shameful way, I’d have been sure to take a seat away from all the Ultimates. Why are you taking care of someone like me?”

“Nagito, shut up, this isn’t your fault,” Fuyuhiko said shortly. “Stop babbling on about ultimates and do the panic attack thing. Listen to Kazuichi, he knows how to do it.”

Nagito did as he was told, working through the grounding techniques with Kazuichi while Fuyuhiko held onto his shoulders feeling helpless. Nagito was shaking so hard it was difficult not to drop him altogether. He didn’t pass out, but even after the grounding Nagito looked far from what you’d consider calm. He was grey-white when Fuyuhiko carefully hauled him back upright.

“Are you okay..?”

The smile came back, though it seemed a lot more tired than manic this time. “Ah… I don’t think so, Fuyuhiko.”

“Well. At least you’re honest. Can you tell me how you’re feeling? Physically, I mean. Clearly I see you’re fucked mentally. And please stop smiling like that, you’re creeping me out,” Fuyuhiko said.

Nagito finally released his grip on Fuyuhiko’s arm, his nails coated with blood. He bent forward slowly, carefully, like he was terrified any sudden movements would send him spiralling again, and let his elbows rest on his knees. “I still feel slightly lightheaded. And nauseous. I’d still like to get off.”

Fuyuhiko examined the long scratches on his arm, sighing and mopping the blood with his sleeve. “Well, you’d have a long drop if you tried to get off now. You should cut your damn fingernails too. I’m going to get Hajime.” He turned to Kazuichi. “Watch him for a minute, okay? I don’t fucking care about drawing the short straw anymore, I can’t handle this.” Fuyuhiko scrambled over Kazuichi’s lap into the aisle, ignoring the flight attendant yelling for him to remain in his seat until the seatbelt signs went off.

“Hey! What did you mean drawing the short straw?” Kazuichi called behind him. Fuyuhiko didn’t look back.

“Hajime!” Fuyuhiko yelled when he was still more than six aisles away from the startled man. “You’re swapping with me!” He lowered his voice when he reached Hajime’s seat, but only marginally. “I can’t handle this. I don’t know how you expected Komeada to react to this shit, but whatever you thought, it’s worse. Way fucking worse. And I can’t help him. So go fucking do it yourself.”

“Well, I was going to swap as soon as the seatbelt signs were off,” Hajime said pointedly.

“I don’t give a shit. Look at my arm! Your fucking boyfriend nearly ripped it off at the elbow.” Fuyuhiko brandished his scratched, bloodied arm, and Hajime looked genuinely shocked.

“Oh my God…” He stood up hastily, clinging to the seats in front as the plane was still slightly off-balance. “I’m sorry, Fuyuhiko. I didn’t expect him to panic so much. He never said anything much about it when I asked.”

“Yeah, well, no offence, Hajime, but you can be as thick as three short planks sometimes. So if he implied anything, I don’t doubt you missed it,” Fuyuhiko snapped, taking Hajime’s empty seat - next to Chiaki, thank goodness. She hadn’t even looked up from her Switch this whole time. Perfect.

“I have taken some offence…” Hajime mumbled, then turned to go back down the aisle, trying hard not to catch the eyes of the other passengers staring like they were all part of a circus act. He was pretty sure the whole class was going to get banned from this airline. Gundham had been in trouble already for taking his hamsters out of their little travelling cage - several times. He was insulted by the insistence of the staff that all pets had to be contained, both by their labelling of his hamsters as mere pets and from their implication that his dark devas could ever be contained.

Hajime followed the sounds of more disgruntled passengers to Nagito’s seat. He was in the middle now, hunched over one of those white sick bags, while Kazuichi awkwardly patted his back. He looked relieved to see Hajime, beckoning frantically. “Come help me! I think he’s gonna spew. Weird that it’s not me for once.”

Hajime sighed, struggling to shuffle past his friends to get to Nagito’s other side, squashed by the window. Nagito didn’t acknowledge him. Hajime could see he had his eyes closed, his face strangely calm and smooth, though his breathing was erratic.

“Hey, Nagito? You hearing me?” Hajime called, tapping the other man’s pale cheek.

“Did I drive Fuyuhiko away?” Nagito said, voice strained. “I’m not surprised. To bother the Ultimates with the problems of an insignificant nobody like me.”

“Dude, shut up,” Kazuichi groaned. “Nobody thinks that. Stop being so weird. Fuyuhiko just doesn’t know how to look after people.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to sit up? I doubt you’ll throw up, you wouldn’t eat anything this morning,” Hajime said.

At that exact moment, almost as if to pointedly prove him wrong, Nagito made a choked retching sound and ducked his head down further, cringing.

“Oookay. Or not. Um. You’re okay,” Hajime muttered, placing a wary hand on Nagito’s hair to keep it out of the way. It was strange hair; soft yet thick at the same time, and it poofed up determinedly no matter how many times Ibuki tried him out with different hairstyles.

The seatbelt signs were now off, so Kazuichi stood up hastily, trying to shield Nagito from the people hurrying up the aisle to the bathrooms. Hajime was grateful, but part of him wished he could switch places with Souda. He didn’t think he’d be having to coach Nagito through something so strangely intimate so soon into their… relationship? They’d never come out and actually said they were boyfriends, not even to each other, but their classmates seemed to think they were a couple.

As Nagito really hadn’t eaten much of anything all day, the actual vomiting didn’t last too long, but the dry heaving continued for several agonising minutes, and the nausea remained indefinitely. But Nagito felt safe to lift him head, his pale cheeks dusted with pink. He smiled shakily at Hajime. “How embarrassing. I caused a scene in front of all these people. You must be lamenting the day you set eyes on me.”

“Stop,” Hajime sighed, taking the soiled bag and handing it to Kazuichi.

“Hajime!” Souda squealed, hastily handing it off to a flight attendant, who offered a bottle of water for Nagito in response. Her smile didn’t slip once. Hajime was impressed by her poker face.

“Drink,” Hajime prompted, forcing the bottle into Nagito’s hands. “I want you to try eating something later too. You’re going to pass out.”

Kazuichi sat down again, glancing at Nagito. “You feeling… okay now? Like as okay as you can?”

Nagito took a long drink of water, eyes blank. Then he smiled again, that strange, forced smile. “I really am pathetic, aren’t I? Causing such a dramatic spectacle over something that happened years ago. I don’t deserve such attention from the Ultim-“

“Stop!” Hajime took Nagito’s face in his hands, forcing him to meet his eyes. Hajime thought he saw something flicker in them, some semblance of an honest emotion. “Nagito, can you please stop trying to act like you don’t have feelings. I know you’re scared. And you know what? It’s okay. It’s completely fucking normal to feel like this right now. I shouldn’t have left you. That was me being dense, and I’m sorry. But you can stop pretending. It’s just me here - and Kazuichi, but he’ll understand too. He’s scared of everything.”

“I am not!” Kazuichi cried, outraged.

Hajime didn’t break eye contact with Nagito, both breathing heavily. Nagito glared back at first, his face twisting into a scowl, but Hajime didn’t falter.

“Let me in,” Hajime muttered. “I know you, for God’s sake. You’re not gonna scare me off. It’s okay to need help. Please.”

Another silence for several long, tense seconds. Then - finally, amazingly - Nagito made a soft frustrated noise, lunged forwards and wound his arms around Hajime’s neck so tightly that for a second Hajime thought he’d messed up so badly Nagito was trying to throttle him.

“Hey, careful,” Hajime said, but his voice was gentle and he didn’t try to pry Nagito off. Nagito let his forehead rest on Hajime’s shoulder, his hair falling to shield his face completely. Hajime snaked his own arms awkwardly around Nagito’s slender waist. He could feel Nagito shaking, feel the warm puff of his breathing against his shoulder. The shaking never eased, but as time passed the breathing seemed to calm slightly.

Nagito didn’t speak as he clung to Hajime for dear life. Not a single word. But Hajime hadn’t really expected him to. This was already a degree of vulnerability that Nagito was completely unaccustomed to showing anyone, let alone his almost-boyfriend, his classmates and an entire plane full of strangers. It was a good place to start.

Kazuichi watched them slightly bitterly. “It’s alright for some. I wouldn’t mind someone to cuddle up to,” he muttered.

“That’s your other talent. Ultimate Third Wheel,” Hajime quipped.

Their row of seats was reasonably peaceful after that, though Hajime could hear the laughter and yelling from their classmates further back. He hoped the sensible members of the group could stop them causing too much trouble. Hajime couldn’t go tell them to knock it off himself; whenever he moved at all Nagito would tighten his grip.

He sat there, hour after hour, until he had to pry Nagito off him for a bathroom break. It wasn’t easy. Nagito fought him and clung on as much as he could, though Hajime explained he’d be back in five minutes.

“Look, cling onto Kazuichi while I go pee,” Hajime suggested. Kazuichi didn’t look overly enthusiastic about that idea, but he didn’t protest.

Nagito sighed. He slowly drew back his arms, and whispered three breathy little words into Hajime’s shirt before he went, perhaps the most raw, vulnerable words Hajime had ever heard Nagito say: “Please come back.”

“I will. Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere,” he murmured.

Nagito shifted shakily in his seat, turned to Kazuichi and lunged at him too, wrapping his arms around his neck. Kazuichi squealed and whined that he was being strangled, but he didn’t shove Nagito away. Hajime almost felt like they were new parents, passing their newborn between them: “I’ll hold him for a bit, you go to the loo.”

There was a queue for the tiny airplane bathrooms. Hajime stood impatiently, wriggling his cramped shoulders and rocking back on his heels; he was glad Nagito seemed to be trusting him more, but he was pretty stiff after sitting in the same position for hours.

Two women ahead of Hajime in the queue seemed to be having an animated discussion about something, and when Hajime caught the word “school” he started to listen properly.

“I don’t know what sort of school they come from, but they’re a strange bunch,” one lady hissed. “There’s an odd boy in the row ahead of me, one of that lot, who has a collections of rodents, all free from their cage! Running all over the seat trays! Well, that’s not very hygienic, is it? But when I told him as much, he gave me the most incredibly rude answer.”

“Young people have such foul mouths these days,” the other lady agreed.

“No, he wasn’t swearing. It was ever so strange, almost as if he was… well, you’ll think I sound silly. But it was like he was cursing me.”

It was a good job for Hajime that the toilet became available and the lady rushed inside, because he was biting his cheeks to contain his laughter. When he’d used the loo himself and gone back to release Kazuichi from Nagito’s vice grip, he recited the story for both of them.

Kazuichi laughed, poking Nagito gently. “There you are, Nagito. No need to worry. No matter how weird we are, we can always count on Gundham to be weirder.”

Nagito didn’t respond, but Hajime saw a hint of a smile - a real smile - on his lips before he buried his face in Hajime’s neck again.

#super danganronpa two #danganronpa 2 #emeto tw #nagito komaeda #hajime hinata #kazuichi souda #fuyuhiko kuzuryu #panic attacks #past trauma #komahina #fear of flying #non despair au #mod circle #our writing

[misslilli]

Whelp, with yesterday we're back at school. Teaching first grade is hard, man 😂 Thank you guys, again, for going on this adventure with me :)

Felix Felicis

MSR. AU. PG-13. | tagging @today-in-fic | read on AO3

Chapter 17 - The Mulder Boys's Birthday Bash

[ DS ]

The Saturday of the Mulder Boys’s Birthday Bash, I find myself standing in front of my closet with the girls, frowning at my selection of dresses. “What about this one?” Holly fingers a yellow sundress.

“Nah, it’s pretty but she looks like she’s going to church in that one.” Sarah tugs on a dress with a daisy print on it.

“Are you joking? That one’s even more Virgin Mary than the yellow one!”

Alex reaches into my closet and pulls out a navy two-piece dress I bought on a whim a few years back, but have never worn since then. “How about this one?”

“A, that’s perfect! It’s classy, yet sexy, just what we’re going for!” Sarah shoves me towards my bathroom. “Go try it on, D! And wear those nude heels with it.” I take the dress out of Alex’s arms and the shoes from Sarah and change into the outfit quickly. The straps drape across my arms just below my shoulders and it’s low cut just enough for my comfort. My cross necklace gleams against my skin and I decide to keep it on for tonight. Since it’s a two-piece, there’s just a sliver of skin visible between the top and the skirt, which flares out and swishes around my knees.

Slipping on my heels I step outside and the girls gasp in unison. “Yes, that’s the one! How does it feel D?” Holly pulls me over and I twirl in front of the full-length mirror, smiling as the skirt billows out around my legs.

“It’s beautiful, I love it. Thanks, girls!”

“The Mulder boys won’t know what hit ‘em when you show up wearing that!” Sarah winks at me suggestively and I roll my eyes at her.

“You know exactly that that’s not why I’m wearing it!”

Now it’s Sarah’s turn to roll her eyes. “Yeah sure, just keep telling yourself that…”

“Come on guys, we’re already unfashionably late. I’ll just call us a cab, are you ready?”

I grab a shawl against the cold and my purse before we make our way downstairs to wait for the cab. When we arrive at the house, we can already hear faint party noises from the backyard and my heart’s beating hard against my chest when we walk up the front walkway to ring the doorbell. My gaze wanders around the front of the house, the glass veranda on the right catching my eye. It’s completely different from our beach house, but it’s beautiful all the same.

The door opens to reveal Principal Skinner with a glass of whiskey in his hand and he holds the door open for us. “Hello ladies, come on in! You look extraordinarily beautiful tonight! Follow me, the party’s out back in the yard.”

He leads us through the house and I notice that it’s got polished hardwood floors and is furnished with antiques, giving it a cozy feel. We walk past the glass veranda which houses the dining room on the right and the living room with a massive couch to the left, which opens into the kitchen. The wooden staircase to the first floor is tucked away in the back. Skinner points us to the bathroom as we walk past it before we step outside onto the back porch and my breath catches in my chest.

They really went all out on this party, there’s string lights twinkling all around the hedge and in the trees, catered food and a bar in one corner, round tables in the middle and a massive dancefloor with a DJ in the other corner. Holly whistles through her teeth. “Man, they sure know how to live it up. Why are our parties never this nice? Jesus, I think they invited half the town for this.”

“Well, that’s on me I guess, they don’t know many people around here yet so I figured it would be the perfect opportunity to make new acquaintances,” Principal Skinner admits but I’m only half listening because my eyes are too busy scanning the crowd. Sarah nudges my hip and tilts her head over to the bar and I’m embarrassed that she knows exactly who I was looking for. There he is, deep in conversation with Skinner’s wife, laughing at something she said.

He’s wearing a dark blue suit with a white dress shirt and a crimson tie and while the sight of him in a plain t-shirt with jeans are enough to make my heart skip a beat, him in that suit is going to give me a heart attack.

“Would you look at that D, you color coordinated, matchsiiiesss.” Holly whispers in my ear and I give her a pointed look.

“Shut up, Holly!” I hiss at her.

Just then, he looks over at us standing on the elevated porch and I can practically feel the slight burn his eyes leave as they travel up and down my body, giving me the once over. I hope he has a defibrillator. He flashes us a smile and raises his hand in a small wave, then continues his conversation with Arlene Skinner.

“Come on, girls, let’s put the presents on the gift table and get something to eat and drink.” ‘Eat, drink and be merry for today you may die.’

At the bar we sidestep the wine for now, since we haven’t eaten yet and I don’t want to embarrass myself by getting tipsy and stumbling over my heels. With my luck, I’ll just faceplant at a certain someone’s feet. ‘Huh, maybe he’ll catch me in those strong arms of his, though, if you’re really lucky…‘

When he spots our little circle, Felix comes over to us wearing a boy version of his dad’s suit, only with short dress pants and sneakers better suited for running around with the other kids. He’s tugging a tall woman along, with wavy brown hair and a kind face that seems somewhat familiar, but I’m not sure where to place her. His face is flushed and he beams at us happily.

“You came!”

“Of course we came, happy birthday Felix!” Sarah raises her glass to him and we all chime in with our Happy birthdays. The woman he came over with also raises her glass and ruffles his hair affectionately.

“This is my teacher Miss Anderson, and Miss Carter and Miss Spencer and Miss Scully,” he introduces us while the woman takes her turn shaking our hands. She regards me curiously and her lips curve into a smile.

“I’m Sam, Fox’s sister and Felix’s favorite aunt!” His sister, that’s why her face seemed so familiar. “So you’re the enigmatic Miss Scully I’ve heard so much about. It’s so nice to finally meet you!” She notices the surprised look on my face. “Only good things, I promise. Felix won’t shut up about you when we talk on the phone.” I laugh, mostly because of the exasperated look Felix gives his aunt at revealing his secret.

“Glad to hear it, we’re having a lot of fun with him during recess! Nice to meet you, Sam. I really like your dress, did you get it around here?”

“Thanks, but no, I got it back in LA, I’m only visiting for a couple of days, I just couldn’t miss my two handsome boys’s birthday bash!”

“Handsome, huh? You spoil me sis!” Her brother has snuck up behind her, throwing his arm around her shoulder, pulling her into his side and planting a kiss on her cheek. “Hi ladies, thanks for coming, you look very lovely today!” We raise our glasses to him as well, wishing him a happy birthday and my drink spills over a little in my shaky hand. I pray that no one notices.

“Sam I’m so sorry to drag you away, but can you help me out and check if everything’s alright with the caterers?” They excuse themselves and we decide it’s time for us to check out what said caterers have prepared, our stomachs already rumbling. Hopefully, the butterflies in my stomach will make room.

----------

[ Sam ]

After checking with the caterers inside, I return to the party, standing on the back porch to watch everyone have a good time and I’m secretly a little proud of myself. Planning the party from all the way across the country had been stressful to say the least, but it turned out great. My gaze wanders around the tables and it catches on the tiny red-head and her three friends, who seem to be having a great time, laughing and chatting at their table.

I’ve heard many stories from Felix over the last few weeks but what surprised me the most was the way my brother looks at her. When I saw the way his whole face lit up when she walked in, I realized that Felix was not the only one taken with Miss Scully. She’s not his usual type - not that she’s not pretty, she is, very much so - but she’s actually nice. A vast improvement from the piece of work that’s his ex-wife, let me tell you. I wonder if he’s thought about asking her out yet.

----------

[ DS ]

After dinner, we’re treated to another visit from the little Mulder, who’s breathless from the game of tag with his friends. “Hey Felix! Are you having a good time?” He nods enthusiastically, trying hard to catch his breath.

“Yeah, auntie Sam did a really good job! I can’t wait for my cake, she said it’s really huuuge! And the DJ is playing aaaall my favorite songs, too!”

Suddenly shy, he shuffles his feet a bit and then, gathering all his courage, he looks up at me and holds out a tiny hand. “Miss Scully, will you dance with me?”

“Of course, birthday boy, come on.”

----------

[ Sam ]

Once I’m finished making another round of checking that everything’s running smoothly, I spot my brother standing at the bottom of the stairs, watching the party. Stopping on the last step, I wrap my arms around his waist and rest my chin on his shoulder. “Great party, huh?”

“Yeah, you did a pretty good job sis. And Skinner’s managed to gather up quite a crowd. Almost everyone’s here tonight!”

“You know what I think? You’d be just as happy if it were only you and one other special guest here tonight.” He turns his head a little, frowning.

“What?” I motion my head to the woman who’s currently talking to Felix at her table. “Aah. Is it that obvious?” I snort derisively

“Are you kidding me, bro? I’ve known you all my life, I can see the hearts in your eyes from a mile down the road. Have you asked her out yet?”

“No… I’m so nervous around her I can barely string more than a few coherent words together. She probably thinks I’m a huge idiot. I asked her if she believes in aliens, Sam!” We watch as Felix holds his hand out to her, asking her to dance with him. He’s so cute I can barely stand it.

“I’m sure that’s not true. You should take a page out of your son’s book though, boy’s got game!” My brother laughs as the somewhat mismatched pair sways on the dancefloor.

I release him from my embrace, an idea popping into my head. “You should go and cut in.” Now he fully turns to me and looks at me like I’m crazy.

“What? No…” He’s making his panic face.

“What yes! Carpe diem, right now!” I give him a gentle shove in the direction of the dancefloor. “Go! I’ll handle the music.”

----------

[ DS ]

Of course, I can’t say no to the little charmer and we make our way to the dancefloor and I sway with Felix in time to the music, twirling him around until he giggles.

“You look really handsome tonight, Felix!”

He smiles shyly and narrowly avoids stepping on my shoes. “Thank you! You look really beautiful too.”

“You’re absolutely right, son. Mind if I cut in?” A tingle shoots up my spine at the sound of his voice and Felix nods, stepping back. His dad holds out his hand to me. “A dance for the other birthday boy?”

“Well technically, it’s not your birthday for a few days.” I tease him, but I slip my hand into his and he spins me against him, wrapping his right arm around my waist, clasping my left hand in his tightly. The DJ fades into a new song and I groan inwardly as Sonny and Cher’s “I got you babe!” starts droning from the speakers. We sway for a few beats before he whips me across the dancefloor in a quick waltz. Over his shoulder I can see countless pairs of eyes following us but for once, tonight, I don’t care because all I can feel is the burn of his fingers resting on the sliver of exposed skin of my waist and the tickle of the hair at the back of his neck against my hand. God, this guy can waltz.

On the last few notes, he twirls me out with a grin on his face, tugging on my hand to bring me back in and then he dips me back for the grand finale. Dips me. The move takes me by surprise and I laugh, breathless when he brings me upright again.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to dip your lady in a waltz!” I realize my Freudian slip a fraction of a second too late. ‘Your lady? What the heck, Dana.’

He just shrugs nonchalantly, still grinning. “If I fancy to dip my lady, I will dip my lady! Thank you for this dance, Miss Scully!” He bows his head and I chuckle, curtsying. “The pleasure was all mine, Mr. Mulder!” ‘Who ARE you?’

We step off the dancefloor and I return to our table, sitting down still a little bit out of breath, only to be met with three incredulous stares. ‘Here we go, 3, 2, 1…’

“What was that, D?” Holly.

“Oh my God, the two of you on the dancefloor!” Sarah.

“That was incredible!” Alex.

I shrug, picking up my glass, but I can’t hide the blush on my face and smile around my straw. “Mr. Mulder can waltz.” I’ll never live this down.

Sometime after the birthday cakes came out, Felix appears at my side again and leans against me heavily. I can tell he’s coming down from his sugar-high. “Miss Scully, remember how I told you about the encyclopedia on butterflies?”

“Yeah I do, what about it?”

“Would you like to see it?” He looks up at me hopefully and I agree, glad to get away from the action for a while.

“Okay, come on!” Together we climb the steps to the back porch and he tugs me inside into the living room where we sit down on the couch. I can finally slip off my heels while Felix runs to get the encyclopedia and after returning, places it on my lap curling up into my side. He opens the heavy book and shows me his favorite butterflies, explaining in great detail what’s so special about it.

His voice gets more and more quiet with each new butterfly until he stops talking altogether and looking down I realize that he fell asleep, completely wiped. Coming off my own sugar high, I scoot down lower into the cushions and lean my head back against the back, closing my eyes. Just for a second.

#xf #the x files #xf fanfic #msr #felix felicis

[selfproducingfanfictionauthor]

Lessons to Build - ii: you can’t outrun what is in you

Summary: Two years ago, you break off your 5-year long engagement with Min Yoongi of the Min family and ran off to New York. However, for people like you, running away has never been a lasting solution.

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader / Taehyung x reader

Warnings: None for this chapter. Y/N comes home, we meet Yoongi but not MEET-MEET. Might make you root for Taehyung. Notes: Short chapters for quicker updates is my jam. This took a while because i wasn’t sure how I wanted to present Yoongi yet. But here it is. He may be “kind” but there are other things at play that affected (and will affect) his decisions. Same with Y/N. Also Tumblr won’t let me tag some users. :(( I hope you guys find this update! And thank you for the people finding this fic!  Word Count: 1.6k Prologue  Lesson I 

Home.

Home shouldn’t be something you have to run away from. And yet, the moment you booked your flight, fingers tapping away on your phone - your passport details, credit card, seat number - an undeniable weight has began to made its home on your shoulders. As encompassing as a blanket but as imprisoning as heavy sand.

“What do you mean you’re flying to Seoul? Now??”

Isn’t it funny how things change in less than 24 hours? In a blink of an eye?

Taehyung’s voice is shrill in the background as you toss clothes upon clothes over your shoulder, hopping they’d get at least near the perimeter of your open suitcase.

Around you is your life in disarray. At the back of your mind, you find it slightly disturbing how easily it could fit in several boxes. No roots.

“Yes—“

“Why?”

You pause from grabbing your toiletries. There are things to do here in LA - there’s the campaign, the meetings with investors, your contracts, your would-be dog - your life.

Your mother told you that your father doesn’t want you to make the flight. That he’s fine, and it’s just exhaustion but the waver in your mother’s voice had your heart dropping straight to your stomach. And so despite her half-hearted protests, you’ve turned over your works over email and sent the rest for your assistants to manage.

Seoul may as well be just another place in the map. No, you’re not coming for Seoul, you’re coming for family.

You grab your phone off your bed side table and press it against your ear. “My dad had a heart attack.”

On the other line, you can feel Taehyung consider his words. “I’m coming with you.”

Your hands pause from folding your clothes and you look at your phone and as if seeing your questioning gaze, Taehyung plows on. “Yeontan and I are coming with you.” “Why?”

There are two ways for Taehyung to answer. One easy way is to tell you the truth. That he knows you need a friend, a tether to your life here, someone who will solidify what you’ve built. Someone, something tangible, someone to prove to you that your life here is as real as the life you left.

Going back always runs the risk of regressing, falling back to old patterns, he learned.

After all, he knows the feeling of being forced back to square one.

Or, he could tell you this, “My brother’s been bugging me to visit. And I hate flying alone.”

You don’t mention that he’s flown across the globe more than you could count - even flew to France once because he wanted authentic mille-feuilles - and just nod. “Okay, I’ll send you the flight details.”

“Okay, Lady, I’ll be there.”

The collapse of the CEO of the biggest chain of hotels and one of the upcoming land developers in an annual gala event can never be kept a secret.

You’ve seen it happen only once before, to Mr. Min. As a young girl, you remember how the media feasted around him like flies, and how shareholders of his company stalked around like wolves under sheep’s clothing.

It was as if everyone was waiting with a baited breath for the old man to die. A final shift of power from the old ways to the new. It was sensational, romanticized by the public - not sparing a thought or two to the families except when they needed something.

That was years ago, and it’s an unfortunate fact that hasn’t changed a bit.

“Well, can’t say I didn’t expect this - at least we look good.” Taehyung mutters, decidedly ignoring the occasional flash of camera in his periphery. They were still trying to be subtle, maybe not sure of the “scoop”? Scared of your supposed hidden bodyguards? Who knows?

“You always look good, Tae.” You whisper lightheartedly, forcing calmness in your words.

Around you, people continue to buzz around, grabbing their suitcases from the conveyor, talking on the phone, glancing at their watches. But they too have noticed, and glances towards your way multiply as the minutes pass by.

Taehyung hums in agreement, looking as if he hadn’t just flown across the world. “Yes, it requires effort, but don’t go telling them that.”

A loud shutter sound draws you away from your conversation and you boldly meet the lenses of a masked photographer eye-to-eye. Every bit of the Oh heiress they’ve built up in their mind.

Last time you checked, you were the high society’s prodigal princess. Ran away from home, off to play Cinderella in the United States. Keeping busy with shallow causes, burning through your daddy’s money.

You wonder how they come up with their headlines. You’ve long since given up in appealing towards their journalist’s ethics, but with how creative they come up with stories, you’re a bit disappointed with the headline you last read. The least they could do was make it more fun - a hidden lover? Pregnant? A twist, or something.

You scoff. Although you may have been away for two years, you still are your parents’ daughter. This is child’s play.

Dressed in a black luxury pantsuit, heels lifting you up from the ground and make-up on point, you provide no weak points. Eyes half-lidded you stare straight to the cameras who’ve come out of their hiding, propriety be damned and all.

Oh Y/N is back.

(And if it feels like shrugging on a second skin, you pay it no mind)

“Tae… Tae… Tae!”

Taehyung jostles awake beside you, the hand you were shaking him with falls on your lap. “Wha— What?”

Yeontan’s yip echoes his owner’s confusion. The sound sounding as exhausted as he probably is. Flying has and will probably always be stressful for pets, but Taehyung refused to have someone dog sit Yeontan for this trip saying that he needs to meet his cousins, RJ or something.

Your eyes soften at your friend’s sleepy eyes. Outside the sky is bright, but you too can feel the time difference and jet lag creeping up.

“Sleep this off at the hotel, Tae. I’ll have the driver drop you off.” You’re already reaching out to press the button for the partition when Taehyung shakes his head.

“‘M not sleepy.”

“You’re dead on your feet, Tae.” Fondness laced in your words, you watch Taehyung straighten in his seat beside you and card his fingers through his hair, making the mess look like a ~coordinated~ one.

“I’m not letting you go there alone.”

“I’m going to the hospital, Tae, not war.” You chuckle, rolling your eyes. Taehyung spies the way you tuck your hands around yourself, almost curling inwards, almost shaking.

No.

“Could’ve fooled me, you’re dressed to kill.”

You look over expecting a teasing grin on his face but you falter, frozen, at the sight of his eyes. Dark chocolate eyes pin you to your spot, and heat blooms on your cheeks. Suddenly, you feel like your suit is too tight and even in its dark shade - too sheer.

Almost two years of friendship has not rendered you immune to Kim Taehyung.

Like the passing scenery, the moment is gone as quick as it came. Taehyung smiles and lifts Yeontan to his shoulder.

“He’s going to be there, isn’t he?”

There’s no question as to who he’s referring to. “He might be, my mom said he almost hasn’t left my dad’s side.”

Taehyung scoffs, “Like a vulture.”

You want to defend Yoongi but despite leaving the country because of him, you did keep updated. Partly because it’s ingrained to you to stay on top of news relating to your family business and its periphery but also… well, you don’t know what you hoped for.

In the span of less than two years, Min Yoongi dragged their struggling company and made it great again. Competitors lost out, assets were seized left and right, absorbed, repurposed in the gaping maw of a resurging giant.

He’s ruthless.

But you can be too.

Oh Jiyoung is not a young man anymore.

He doesn’t think he’s been young since his mother abandoned him and his father when he was ten. He wasn’t young when he left school at fifteen, or when he went back when he was eighteen.

He wasn’t young when he bussed tables, or worked in shucking oysters Yeosodo with swollen scarred hands. He wasn’t even young when he first met his wife, fell in love and learned what it was like to be loved back.

So, no, he isn’t surprised when he had a heart attack. A little off-put, and a bit terrified but not surprised. He’s lived more decades than he actually expected to already.

Looking down at his hands, he thinks that if he’d kicked the bucket right then and there the only true regret he’ll have is one that involves the young man across him.

Oh Jiyoung is old, but he hasn’t forgotten the mannerisms of a young man. His wife still makes him feel like one after all this years. So of course, he’s noticed the young man across him fiddle with his rings, his feet tapping to a rhythm only he knows.

“Don’t tell me you’re nervous.”

Yoongi looks up from his seat to the teasing face of his would’ve been father-in-law. His thumb pauses from rubbing against the ring in his forefinger, he doesn’t answer. He feels the stare of your father bore down on him and he almost shifts like a boy caught in a lie.

Your flight has landed just less than two hours ago, he doubts you’ll give yourself time to rest first before heading to the hospital. Which means, any time now, those doors will open and you’ll be here.

How odd.

As if summoned, the doors open and —

— there you are.

Yoongi’s eyes don’t stay on you too long, not with a tall man hovering behind you, dark eyes trained on him. Your ease at this man’s close proximity sets fire at the back of his neck, and even if he wanted to say hello, this, instead comes out.

“The rumors are true then, huh?” 

Tag List: @moonlitmyg @shadowstark @kookiebunnii @loveyoongles @swegstuffsuckers @anpanman-sonyeondan @veronawrites @ariadne-06 @springjade @neverthefirstchoice @creatorspalace​ End Notes: Hearts are appreciated but comments are gold. Let me know what you think and if you want to be included in a tag list!

#chaebol min yoongi #CHAEBOL TAEHYUNG #chaebol reader #CEO min yoongi #Future CEO reader #model taehyung #foiled arranged marriage #arrianged marriage au #marriage of convenience AU #Yoongi x reader #min yoongi #taehyung x reader #bts x reader #bts fanfiction #bts angst #yoongi angst #lessons to build #bangtanarmynet

[sophiewritesworld]

Don’t mess with her boyfriend | Montgomery de la Cruz

Requested by anon (a while ago) : You & your blog are both amazing I have so much love❤️ could u pretty pls do a Monty x reader, her ex comes back to Liberty and approaches her trying to get back together totally ignoring Monty’s presence, obviously Monty gets annoyed and tells him to get lost, her ex starts dissing Monty.. let’s just say she’s a feisty one and nobody messes with her baby EVER, so she starts defending him and maybe even throws in a slap lol but that’s your call to make.. xx

Word count : 1.1k words.

 As you walked inside the crowded hall of Liberty, you felt some students weirdly stare at you but you just ignored it and walked over to your locker to get your books out for the day. You had a lot to do this week including convincing your parents to let you go to Jessica’s party on Friday. You were so deep in your thoughts until somebody pulled you out of them.  “Hey babygirl” You smiled and leaned back until your back gently collided with your boyfriend’s chest as he wrapped his arms around your waist. “I missed you.” He whispered to your ear before kissing your cheek. You turned around, grabbing the front of his shirt to steady yourself and kissed him, soft and slow. 

“De la Cruz, (Y/L/N), lay it off!” Kevin Porter shouted from across the hall, dragging the attention of most students around on you. Nothing unusual. 

“I missed you too.” You whispered against his lips before moving away to close your locker. By the time you turned around, your eyes landed on somebody who shouldn’t have been in Liberty. “You have to be kidding me…” 

“And that’s what I wanted to tell you.” Montgomery sighed. 

Your mood went from extremely happy, even though nobody is extremely happy on a Monday morning, to extremely angry within the matter of seconds. Standing a few feet away from you, with the rest of the jocks, was your ex boyfriend, the person you hated the most on earth, Noah. 

Jessica introduced you to Noah at a party over the summer before sophomore year. It didn’t take long before you started dating. You spent the whole summer together. And you did that terrible mistake of trusting him and giving yourself to him. You were in love. Or so you thought. By the end of summer, Noah moved across the country with his parents. A decision he knew about for months but never told you about. You got the news on the first day of school when Zach and Justin asked you about how you were going to manage a long distance relationship. It didn’t hit you right away. It hit you when you saw a new guy on the field with Noah’s number. It hit you when you texted him and he simply told you that he didn’t think it was that big of a deal to tell you. It hit you when everybody at school was talking about you. You went through the first half of sophomore year secluding yourself in the Library, studying and keeping yourself from seeing anybody. You were ashamed of how naive you were to trust Noah like that.

One day, while you were busy finishing your Spanish paper, Montgomery pulled the chair next to yours and loudly crashed on it. “Shhhhh!” Someone angrily looked at him.

“The fuck you want nerd?”

He was about to stand up and fight that innocent soul for hushing him that way when you grabbed him hand to stop him. “Don’t.” And he didn’t. He just glared at the young boy and looked at you. You didn’t even stop what you were doing. “What are you doing here? I’ve never seen set a foot in here before.”

“Wanted the test the ambiance.”

You chuckled shaking your head. “What do you think about it so far?”

“Sucks.”

“And how about you tell me the real reason why you’re here?”

“I got an essay to finish.”

“Liar.”

“I am worried about you.” Your head shot up in surprise. His signature smirk was replaced by a rather concernes expression. “You never leave this place unless you go home or to class.” At least in the school library nobody judged you, too busy studying. 

“I wanna pass. Is there a problem with this?”

“You’re a straight A student, you don’t need to put efforts to get the highest grades.”

“Maybe I do now.”

“Liar.” 

“Get out if you have so much to tell each other. People are trying to study here.” Another student loudly whispered to you.   

And you got out. You didn’t need people to notice you there. Montgomery followed you until you suddenly stopped and turned around to face him. “I am fine Monty.”

“Are you gonna keep lying to my face like that all day?”

“People keep talking about me, Monty. I hear them.” You sighed. “All the time and trust me, they’re not gonna drop the hottest tea in town so easily.”

“Let’s give them another one.”

“What?” The bell started ringing right at that moment and students were rushing out of class, filling the once empty hall you were standing in. At that exact moment, when some of them spotted you probably for the first time in days -or weeks-, Montgomery did something unexpected. He quickly closed the distance between you and pressed his lips to yours in a gentle and slow kiss. It took you one second to realize Montgomery was kissing you and another second to realize you were kissing him back. That was it. That was right. And that was nearly two years ago.

“What the fuck is he doing here?” You asked your boyfriend without looking away from Noah’s tall figure that could be spotted from miles away. Your blood was boiling inside of you.

Before Montgomery could say anything to try and calm you down, Noah saw you and walked over to you. “Hey baby, missed me?” His hand went to touch your cheek but you stepped back avoiding it. “Come on, I know you did.”

“How about you leave my girlfriend alone Carter?” Montgomery came to stand between the two of you. 

“You replaced me with this poor latinx (Y/N/N)? You know you can do better.” He was completely ignoring Montgomery’s words and pushed him to the side to get closer to you. “We can start over beautiful.”

“Fuck off, Carter.” A crowd was slowly forming aroun the three of you and the boys came right away to hold Montgomery back. But he wasn’t the one who needed to be held back. 

Noah looked at Montgomery who was trying to free himself from Jeff’s hold and chuckled. ’“Look at this attack dog, he can’t do anything but get into fights. What kind of future do you think he can give you?” 

No one had the time to make a move that your knee collided with his crotch and as he bent down in pain, your forehead violently collided with his nose, making him fall in pain, blood flooding out of his nose. “Wanna say that again asshole?”

Next thing you knew, you were sitting in front of the honor board under the very disappointed gaze of Mr Porter. You didn’t speak, holding the icepack the school nurse gave you against your forehead on which a bump and a bruise were forming while Noah was sitting on the chair next to yours, blood still dripping out of his nose and on his white t-shirt. It didn’t take long for the honor board to come to the conclusion that you were the one to be blamed for everything and got you suspended for two days. 

#montgomery de la cruz #montgomery x reader #montgomery de la cruz fanfiction #montgomerydelacruz #montyxreader #monty imagine #monty x reader #monty de la cruz #montydelacruz #monty de la Cruz fanfic #montgomery de la cruz imagine #montgomery de la cruz x reader #reader insert #readerinsert #13 reasons why #13reasonswhy #13rw #13 Reasons Why fanfic #13 reasons why imagine #Bryce Walker #marcus cole #kevin porter

[georgemackayhey]

And I’m Coming For You

a/n: I think I’ve gotten at least a dozen vauge requests to write something for Ned over the year I’ve had this blog and I finally figured something out! 

warning: This wasn’t supposed to be nsfw but it’s Ned Kelly so it got a little steamy. Proceed with age appropritae caution or else! Basically 18+

gif by @hold-fire​ 

───※ ·❆· ※───

The Kelly’s. You knew the family name. Heard it through gossip in the village shops. Heard men on horses declare their mission to cease one of the gang’s latest schemes. Heard ladies worry over husbands who got mixed up with the lot. But never did you imagine any of the Kelly’s to be so handsome. 

But you didn’t know he was one of them… not right away. In your mind, The Kelly’s were a group of savages who hid out in the bush, waiting for passersby to torment. That’s the way all the rumors made it sound, anyway. So when a well-built man with piercing blue eyes strolled up to your stall, you didn’t second guess his status. You could hardly conjure up a polite greeting when you first laid eyes on the guy, only because of how alarmed you were by his beauty. He was sculpted by the angels, surely. You must have passed out in the deadly summer heat and a vision came to keep your comatose mind company. Till he spoke, in a voice that snapped you back to life.

“What have you got?” He asked like he was worried you wouldn’t have any of the things your booth advertised. But you understood his tone all the while. The summer was the driest yet, and the country's crops were long past suffering. You sold a farmer’s seeds, while the man was busy off bartering for more. If anyone was lucky enough to afford a bundle, the seeds still weren’t guaranteed to sprout in the dry barren world you’d found yourselves in, this year.

So with the sliver of hope you held fast to, you listed off the supplies in your sock, and avoided the man's piercing eyes as he watched you speak. When your spiel was finished, he shifted, and you pretended not to admire the way he moved- even the minuscule change in his stance seemed like a sight you were lucky to behold.

“I’ve only got these. Give me whatever they’re worth.” The guy laid two coins on your stand. They were barely worth handing over. And you’d been getting better at turning folks away, even given the circumstances, you had to eat too. But the thought of upsetting the tall brooding fella across from your stall made your stomach turn. So you gathered a reasonable collection of seeds and handed them over.

“There are too many here.” He glanced down to the bag, and then back up at you, like you’d wronged him. Like you, he had to eat too. So you added an extra few in, hoping some of the extra meant he’d surely have success. 

“Take them.” You pressed, sitting back on the stool that kept you in the measly shade.

The man sighed and tightened his grip on the small sack of seeds before turning away. He gave you a nod and the flex of his structured jaw before disappearing. You noticed his hair was a bit longer in the back as he drifted away, while you tried to memorize his every move in hopes you’d better spot him again one day.

The weather started to let up after then. Like your interaction with the handsome stranger set the world to spin right, again. How silly of you, dreaming of a face you’d likely forget about by the next burning summer. But even when a few gentle breezes passed by, the heat nearly sent your mind to melt out of your ears, and you seriously considered packing up your things and hiding away till winter came. 

The farmer you worked for was away longer each week, and your supply was running low. But even the most selfish and demanding customers seemed to understand though. Everyone was doing whatever they could, and most of the time that was nothing at all. In the beginning, you didn’t mind sitting around, waiting for someone to pass by. You were pleasantly occupied, and getting paid for it. But as the summer dragged on, and the community had taken to staying in, you loathed every new minute behind your stall.

Even when the barmaid brought you a cool drink, you could only smile at her thoughtfulness before regressing back to melting. Even when someone came by for some of the withering veggies you’d started trying to sell; you couldn’t be coaxed into feeling much more than dread.

Then he came back. The man with the icy eyes and choppy hair. He floated toward you with an all new vigour, like he’d known exactly what he’d come back for.

“Here.” He said, extending his long hand toward you. You straightened, and opened your palms at the command without question, though you had many.

“You gave me more than I needed, and we’ve had more than we ever had before. I must repay you.” His voice was full, and your palm was now heavy under the weight of a golden ring. An emerald set sparkling in the middle of the gaudy band, and your eye’s went wider the longer you admired the thing.

“This is a bit much for a few extra crops, don’t ya think?” You stammered and shook your head, and shoved the jewellery back toward the man who you’d lost hope of seeing again. As soon as your reach met him, the man grabbed your wrist with a lithe urgency. You watched as he took the ring from your grasp, looked back up to you, and slid the thing on your finger.

You gapped, watching the guy watch you, the feeling of his remaining grip warmer than all of summer, firmer than the ring he put on you, out of the blue.

“Isn’t it a bit early in the day to be harassing the townswomen, Kelly?” A distance voice cut in, from an officer high upon a trotting horse. 

At the man's word your mind spun a mile a minute. Your blood ran cold- and then it started to boil as you noticed the flash in the eye’s of the man; The Kelly who still held your hand like a prized flower.

“You’re the only one disturbing the peace, officer. Now do ya need seeds or shall we see you on your way, then?” You spoke sternly, shooting a glare to the officer. He grumbled and tightened the reins of his horse and turned to leave, keeping an eye on your interaction for a moment longer still.

“What’s your name?”  The man with sapphire eyes wondered, quickly taking back his hand yet standing still nearer than ever.

You told him and he repeated it, taking a dragging step back. And then another. You watched each other in the dry summer heat for what felt like forever.

“Ned.” He nodded. You smiled and watched him walk away with a fiercely beating heart, wondering why no one ever had a good thing to say about those Kelly’s.

__

A day passed, full of girlish bliss and silly daydreams bold enough to distract you from the heat. You wondered everything about Ned. Who you hadn’t thought of was the officer who seemed so eager to catch the guy in some kind of compromise. But it was the officer who came back the next day. He waited in line behind an elderly couple as you gave them what they asked for. And when they shuffled toward the closest indoors, the officer stepped up and seemed more keen on taking what it was he wanted than asking nicely for it. 

Before you could so much as ask how his day was going, the guy reached past your counter, grabbed your hand and yanked you eye to eye. 

“Nice ring you’ve got, here.” He glanced down to your finger in his vice grip, the ring from Ned placed proudly on the finger he himself adorned. “Too bad it’s stolen.”

“Are you implying I’m a thief?” You guffawed, trying with a sudden might to yank your hand away. Your strength was lacking, and the officer was quick to haul you away from your stand. You went fighting, cursing the man who dragged you down the block toward the police house at the end of the row. You didn’t care who might have seen from the windows of their cool shelters. You hoped somebody might have, in fact, and would race to your defence.

How dare he accuse you of taking what wasn’t yours.

“I know you saw as this ring was placed in my possession. How can you drag me in here and say I stole it?” You spat, fighting the officer’s grip all the way through the door of the jailhouse. He threw you toward the office with his name displayed on the door, but it might as well have been a cell.

“Oh, I know you didn’t steal it, las.” The officer grinned, giving your shoulder a harsh push so you sat in the chair across from his desk, as high and mighty as the horse he could usually be spotted upon. The officer leaned there, with a boot propped on the arm of the chair you’d been confined too. You gawked at the man in anger that boiled over your confusion.

“Ned Kelly stole the ring. Right from my very own pocket. He beat me bloody in a boxing match and decided on his own that my gold was his preferred prize for the attack.” He explained with a queasy smile. You started to sink in your chair, only attempting to distance yourself from the way the officer slinked closer and closer toward you.

“I want it back.” He grinned, right before you. He grabbed your hand in a gentle way that was equally as nauseating as his clawing at you had been. And then he regressed back to the only way he must have known, or prefered, ripping the ring from your finger in a way that caused you to subdue a shriek. You weren’t about to let your guard down. 

“And I’ve got it back.” The officer kept his slimy grin, leaning back against the desk and sliding the ring on his smallest finger. The jewel seemed so ugly now.

“I could have done that just as easily back at your stall. But I’ve brought you here because I just have this burning feeling that, when I ask you where Ned’s gone off to, you’re going to pretend not to know. And unfortunately, you can’t leave until you tell me.”

“What?” You asked through your teeth, sitting up with an all new rage sparking inside of you. 

“Tell me where that Kelly devil has run off too this week, and you can be on your way.”

“I don’t know Ned Kelly. Though it makes me curdle to admit to you I wish I did, he only gave me that ring in exchange for the seeds I sold him.” 

The office chuckled darkly, slamming his foot back on the chair you started to lean too far away from to hiss your honest truth.

“That game isn’t going to work.” The officer bent so his eyes burned right into yours and you knew he was right. You also knew if you lied, and gave away some random coordinates, that Ned most likely wouldn’t be wherever you imagined he might have been, and the officer would come back to treat you much worse than he was now.

“I don’t know where he is. Your ring is back on your finger now let me go.” 

“This was never about the ring, was it?” The officer cocked his head, and you realized there was no real way out of this.

“If it’s revenge you want you’re no better than a Kelly yourself.” You sneered. You’d come to reevaluate your mental image of the gang you’d only ever heard rumors about. You came to wonder if the officer was to blame for spreading most of them. But your insult was his final straw. His nails dug into your arm once more and he pulled you away from the office to a hole in the wall of the next building over. 

“You can’t do this!” You shouted, trying harder than ever to escape the man's grasp. He was strong enough to throw you behind bars, and fast enough to lock them before you could stand.

“I’ll find Ned one way or another,” The officer assured. “But you’ll stay here until you speak the truth.”

You wanted to cry but the summer heat had dried you from the inside out it seemed. You lingered for a while near the bars, hoping someone would pass through the barren land and you could talk them into breaking you out. And when the sun started to go down, a breeze came to chill the evening. What small hell, being falsely prisoned in the heat and finding no shelter in the night's cold. You grew tired of worrying and sat in the empty space watching the stars decorate the horizon. If you listened closely enough you could hear the sounds of the town coming alive in the distance. You could see flickers of lanterns and hear the ruckus from the pub, and even a few horses carrying people to parties that weren’t too hot to throw at this hour.

But the sound of trots became unmistakable gallops and as you tried to imagine what was happening, the horses seemed to stall somewhere near. You heard voices and the thud of feet on the ground and the shout of the officer whose voice was grossly familiar to you now. You stood to peer from the bars, hoping to catch a glimpse of the comotion, but no sooner than you rose to your feet, someone appeared on the other side of your cell. His hair was long and black and there were keys in his hand that he jammed into the lock. 

“What’s happening?” You asked, in a frightened hush. You didn’t know this man or why he’d chosen to break you out. And with the way the evening had gone, you were afraid of where it might have been going now. The man swung open the gate and waved you to freedom with a wild look in his eye. You hurried from the cell, but before you could turn in the direction of home, the sound of gunfire rang from just around the corner. 

You started to scream, but the man who’d freed you pressed his hand over your mouth and demanded you stay silent with one bone chilling look. What the hell have you gotten yourself into? As you wondered what was to become of you and what you might be able to do to decide your own destiny, the deafening quiet was broken.

“Get off of her. We’re done here.” Ned Kelly approached calmly, leading a speckled horse toward where you stood. The man with dark hair let you go and followed Ned’s command to get gone. But you stood, taking the sight of him in, trying to wrap your boggled mind over what was going on. You were much too scared to ask.

He was brooding as ever, his clothes seemed a size too small and his brow seemed permanently furrowed yet it seemed like the most beautiful sight you’d ever seen. 

“How’d you know I was here?” You asked, hardly having processed that you’d ended up where you had yourself.

“Someone wiser would have sold off that ring for something better,” Ned spoke, looming before you. Was his bold presence what shook the townspeople so? Was it only you who felt safe when he was near?

“You could have done the same." You pointed out.

"I gave it to you." Ned seemed to reason, in an endearing way that he didn’t even seem to realize.

"And I couldn't take it off then, could I?" You couldn’t help your small grin, considering everything.

Ned seemed to consider your words and then offered to take you home. You perhaps agreed too quickly, but you were on the back of his horse before you had time to second guess your eagerness. And though you longed to cling to Ned on the ride, you didn’t take your gentle hold on him for granted. You only hoped that once his horse rode past the mess of trees to your humble little home, that Ned would agree to stay for dinner. 

You talked the guy into leaving his horse in the stable near the woods, and promised you had more than enough of an evening meal to share with him.

__

Ned sat quietly in the corner of your place, a glass of water in his hand. Though the evening was chilled, your fire put on to cook dinner was reminiscent of the daytime temperature. You didn’t have to do very much but mix a few things in a pot and leave it to simmer. So when your task was finished for the near future, you turned your sights to the man you’d invited in.

“You saved me.” You said, walking toward the chair Ned waited in. Your statement was a sort of thanks and a question as to why all wrapped up in one. And while you sat in the seat at his side, Ned turned his head your way but didn’t look at you.

“I also got you into trouble. I shouldn’t have mixed you up in my way of things.” Ned countered, keeping his glass of water in a tight fist and letting his eyes travel up your figure until they locked with yours.

“You didn’t. I was already pretty mixed up with your way, myself.” You couldn’t help but admit you hadn’t stopped thinking about him from the moment he showed up that first day. When he came back, you were done for. And now here he was, in your home, his sapphire eye’s gazing into yours after he’d somehow come to your rescue.

You leaned in, and when Ned didn’t move away, you kissed him. Just a slow and sweet. He didn’t kiss back, not really. He just sat frozen, like you’d stalled time. You pulled away, hoping your blush could be excused but the temperature in this shack of yours. Just the heat getting to your head, again. You rose from your chair with a meek apology, and padded toward the fire to check on the stew. You killed the flame and scooped some of the meal into bowls and toted them toward the table. When you moved to refill the pitcher of water, your mission was halted. 

Ned’s fingers were around your wrist, gently yanking you closer to fill the space between the two of you. You could feel the rise and fall of his chest, and you could feel his breath on your lips, his eyes fluttered away from yours like he didn’t really want to look away from you. His nose nudged yours as his free hand rose to your jaw, and then he kissed you. 

It was slower and sweeter than the first time, totally unexpected. You smiled when you realized this mysterious rumored neerdowell was hardly any of the things the rumors surrounding his name made him out to be.

Because even as you snaked your arms around his neck and deepened the kiss, Ned’s hold on you reamied tender. 

“You’re not going to hurt me, Ned.”  You chuckled, taking one of his hands and pressing his fingers around your waist. “I trust you.” You nodded gazing up to the guy who searched your eyes with the slightest furrow of his brow. And maybe it was because your hands rested there but you swore you could feel some kind of weight lift from the guys shoulders. He leaned in for another kiss that traveled to your neck. You leaned into the wall and pulled him along too, and it seemed he wasn’t afraid to hold back after then.

His lips bruised yours and his rough hands trailed toward your chest and you already seemed to float closer to heaven while his touch had yet to meet your skin.

“Let me repay you for coming to my rescue.” You sighed, hooking a finger in the hem of his trousers. 

“Only if I’m to repay you in turn, and we might forever be in each other's debt.” Ned’s breath hitched in your ear, one hand daring to creep up your thigh below your dress. 

Dinner went cold as you pulled Ned toward your bed. You thanked him in more ways than one, and tugged at the hair that grew longer around his neck. You watched his brilliant blue eye roll as your hips met and soon forgot how to speak in the middle of telling him how best to use his hands. Yours stayed gripping the sheet and your mind wandered and made itself up. Even though you barely knew more than rumors about Ned Kelly, you learned the truth all night long, in a way. And if one day you’d come to find a reason to nod along with the townspeople while they gossiped about the Kellys; you prayed it might be because you’d become more than familiar with Ned’s mysterious ways

───※ ·❆· ※───

#george mackay #george mackay x reader #george mackay imagine #george mackay fanfic #ned kelly

[nuatthebeach]

New Ginny

Link to AO3 for comments/reviews

"You know this was not what we had in mind for a low budget vacation, Winston!"

"You said you wanted to go somewhere you couldn't find at home."

"So, why would you take us to the beach all the way across the country, man?!" Sand shot in the air as an angry kick on the shore was executed effortlessly by the man Schmidt himself. "We live in freakin' LA! There's beaches crawling out of everywhere! And you wonder why no one lets you choose any of our vacation spots anymore, ya freak."

Cece threw up a hand in exasperation, diamond ring winking in the sun. "Yeah, why didn't you just tell us we were going to the beach, Winston? We could have saved a lot by just taking a car nearby instead of you surprising us with these 'low cost' plane tickets."

"See, you guys don't get it. I told y'all we were going on a cheap trip we ain't never done before, right?" Winston's smile brightened, the look of misguided, twisted comedy overtaking his expression with alarming speed. "And then, boom, I took y'all to the beach. On the East Coast. Ha! You just got Bishoped!"

Nick shook his head, right hand rubbing wearily against his face, looking just as tired as the rest of them. "You've gotta stop with your pranks, man."

"Y'all should've seen the look on my face - "

"Y- Seen the look on your face?"

The only word to describe the look on Schmidt's face was 'flabbergasted.'

" - When I swiped y'all's credit credit cards last month as you were all arguing with Nick over that Flat Earth theory video on YouTube - "

"When they asked the guy about his qualifications, he answered 'critical thinker'! Does that sound like someone who would just lie to you?!"

" - And for your only holiday weekends too! And, man, Nick is so broke right now! I was trying so hard to hold it in!" Winston was absolutely beaming with mirth at this point, reducing his friends' sense of camaraderie towards him to a terrifying low. "You know, you guys should really be checking your billing history more often, for real, someone could really be stealing from you, and you'd have no idea."

Before Winston could register Schmidt's increasingly tomato red face, something else in his periphery caught his attention. "Damn it, Ferguson, don't go near that water! It is not your friend, baby!"

"What type of idiot lets a cat roam free on the beach!"

While Cece attempted to alleviate the pressure between Schmidt's tightly clenched teeth, an irritated look overpowering her own, a low voice spoke from behind. "Are your friends always like this?"

Ginny, who had been laughing at her loftmates' antics and was surprisingly not feeling as bothered by Winston's tendencies as the rest of them (this vacation is, after all, well-deserved after the shitty week I've had, and every second counts, even if they are each spent planning Winston's upcoming ultimate demise), turned around to see an incredibly fit man her age speaking to her directly.

Sweeping her eyes over his form once, she leaned closer. "I'm afraid they are, yes, but I've got to warn you I'm not much better."

He seemed equally as amused as her. "How so?"

"Well, as you can tell from my completely American accent," she deadpanned in her British accent, amused when the stranger rolled his eyes in response, "my sense of humor is a bit dry. Superior, of course, but I'm told some people can't handle it."

"Natural selection will handle that, I hope," he chuckled.

"If we're lucky," she smiled. Feeling particularly introductory that late afternoon, she gestured halfheartedly to the obnoxious chatter several meters ahead of her. "My loftmates here, on the other hand, each have an equally questionable sense of humor themselves."

"Who, those few?"

She rolled her eyes, failing to prevent the corner of her lips from quirking upwards. Pointing to the man who was now dragging an increasingly wet and agitated cat from the Atlantic ocean, his jeans completely soaked from the knees down, Ginny drawled, "That idiot over there who cost us a proper, well-earned vacation is Winston. The only thing this man loves more than crazy pranks is his even crazier cat, who I'm pretty sure doesn't even know he exists. Needless to say, I've really never been more envious of a cat's attention span myself."

Moving on to Schmidt and Cece who were lying on the shore as far away from Winston as much as possible as a form of spite, Ginny explained matter-of-factly, "Schmidt and Cece don't have a cat, but that won't stop them from also making ear infection-inducing noises at six in the morning through our paper thin walls."

Pointing to the last couple on the beach, she continued, "Not like Nick and Jess are any better, though. They like to make weird noises too, but it's not always during sex, and that scares me more than it should anyone, really."

She gestured to herself. "And last but not least, you have me, whose most normal experience of today is having a fit guy at the beach wonder out loud about how five idiots managed to drag their even more fit loftmate out of her comfortable bed and into an expensive five hour flight. Just to do the same things that I easily could have done if I just took a simple albeit very long stroll outside. And I would have had a much better view, too, no offense to your rather peculiar looking ocean over here. What shade of contaminated gray would you call that hue, by the way?"

"No, that's a pretty accurate way of describing it, actually. I'd like to think there is some green in there, though. Just to give it the illusion of appearing to be clean." Reluctantly, Ginny had to agree.

The stranger's lips pressed firmly in amusement the entire time she was talking - ranting, more like - clearly trying to not give her the satisfaction of knowing how funny and charming he thought she was.

She found that endearing. They all try at first.

Eventually, he settled with: "So you and, uh, Winston, are the only two people in the loft who are not coupled up?"

She raised an eyebrow, impressed by his nerve. "Pretending to ignore your intentions for asking such a tactfully worded question, no, actually, when Winston's not too busy canoodling with his cat, he's canoodling his girlfriend - Aly - back at home, but she couldn't make it here today, lucky girl. So it's just me."

Finally smiling now, the stranger ignored her challenging look ('why are you so curious about my relationship status, you hot, inquisitive, none-of-your-business stranger?') and asked her teasingly, "Aren't there a lot of people to fit in just one loft?"

"I mean, we're from LA. Rent there is mad, so we need all the help we can get," she shrugged. "But, yeah, most definitely breaking some housing rules here or there. Is that something that bothers you?"

He smiled, something akin to arrogance taking over his face. She found that look more stirring than she'd like to admit out loud. "You'll find I'm not really the rule caring type."

"Oh? When would you imagine I'd be finding that out?"

She was beyond the point of caring how brazen she must have sounded to a complete and utter stranger. And if she was being honest with herself, she never did care, really. Besides, if she was going to fit a hot summer romance in the span of a whole day, she thought she might as well get on with it.

He cleared his throat, his gaze silently indicating how much he'd like to agree with her on that one, too. "Okay, Miss Dry Humor. I guess I know everything there is to know about your loftmates without risk of my mind being fully blown apart, now. What's your story?"

"What's yours?"

He chuckled at her retort though immediately furrowed his eyebrows afterward, as if he was confused by this question himself.

Ginny did not know what to think of that, though she found a strange fog overtaking her when she tried to ponder on her own personal history too.

Strange.

Instead, she prompted, trying to clear her mind, "You're a lifeguard here, right?"

He looked down at his form, a lanyard draped across his increasingly interesting collarbone and a whistle resting just above his bare chest.

"I can't swim."

She blinked.

"What?" she laughed. "Isn't that, like, a hazard for what you do?"

"Probably," he said sheepishly, rubbing his hand against the back of his neck. "I don't mean to, like, put anyone in danger or anything. It's a long story, but basically, I'm covering for my friend while he's, um...making noises with his girlfriend, as you said. Hence, the whistle right here. So I'm not really a lifeguard. But if anything happens, my other friend - an actual reliable lifeguard - can help you out. He's right over there nearby."

He pointed to another dark-haired, attractive man standing farther away from them along the shore. At first, Ginny thought he was winking at her, but when she saw the tension building along the shoulders of the stranger next to her, she knew who that teasing look was meant for.

"Sorry about him. He thinks I'm trying to make a move on you."

"Oh? Is that not what's happening right now?"

His cheeks flushed slightly. Ginny found it amusing how this man could be so confident but also so shit at flirting too. It strangely caused warmth to expand, but this time it was not through her lower belly.

"I don't want him to think that, though. I'd never hear the end of it."

It was not a direct answer to her question, but his eyes were so soft and mischievous that she had no doubt as to what he really meant.

She rolled her eyes anyway. "I thought you Americans were supposed to be more direct than that."

He scoffed, eyes lighting up at her jibe. "Oh, I see. You're one of those. Dry humor doesn't have to equate to being mean, you know."

Ginny laughed. "Well, that's why my loft arrangement works out so well with this lot over here," she jabbed her thumb to her friends, watching as Ferguson was attempting once more to drown himself in the ocean to escape his owner's clingy attentiveness. "My sense of humor is mean and dry, and their sense of humor compensates by being mean and wet."

He coughed. "Wet?"

She raised an eyebrow at him, pretending like she hadn't made any suggestive comment whatsoever. "Well, occasionally we do like to alternate, though."

"Of course."

"If I was always dry, and they were always wet, we'd have a different problem altogether."

He barked out a laugh, his cheeks flushing again. "How are you even real?"

"Well, anything's possible if you've got enough perv."

The man's breath hitched, his green eyes staring at her intensely. Despite her earlier insult, Ginny thought the color reminded her exactly of the ocean they were at now, something much stormier than the one back in California.

She found herself growing fond of this beach in a way she was not before.

"Do I know you? I swear I feel like I met you before."

She leaned closer to him, fighting feeling flustered herself. "I've probably got one of those memorable faces or something."

"Something like that." His eyebrows furrowed, but his lips were still upturned. "I'll certainly remember it much later today anyways."

His ears promptly reddened.

She gasped playfully, smiling as she hit him lightly on his very fit arm. "You are much smoother than you look. And randier."

He laughed. After a short while of them standing in a silence filled with smirks and silky sheet-like possibilities, he finally asked, "Okay, Miss Dry Occasionally Wet Humor - "

"Nice."

He bit back another chuckle. "What's your name?"

"What's yours?"

He rolled his eyes ("stubborn too"), he relented, "I'm Harry."

She chuckled, shaking his hand that was offered to her mockingly. She tried to ignore how well it fit in her own small one.

"Ginny."

He watched her nose crinkle, a deep smile spreading across both of their lips contentedly.

It was something tangible, she thought, as her insides fired up, not out of lustful heat - though certainly that too - but something warm, like receiving hugs after being shoved outside in a freezing tent in the woods for months and months, with nothing but a piece of marked parchment to keep one sane.

Parchment?

Something within her squirmed, and she thought that if she listened closely enough, the sounds of seagulls cawing in the distance could easily be replaced by something akin to an audience crooning in sympathy.

As if watching a pair of hopeless lovers on a silver screen.

Suddenly, Nick's comically high pitched scream filled the air, allowing Ginny to shake her head at her crazy thoughts.

"It's just a ghost crab, Nick!" Jess yelled from far away, annoyed as her boyfriend jumped on her back in fright, almost causing her to topple over herself.

"Why are there crabs and ghosts, Jess! You can't have both! You know I always told you that crustaceans are the cockroaches of the sea! It's a crazy world out here!"

At Jess's blank stare, Nick chuckled incredulously, his last brain cell firing meekly. "Wait. I get it. You're teasing me, Jess. Ghosts aren't real. Psh. Nice try."

Nick's neck cricked as he glanced around in paranoia.

Jess rolled her eyes, attempting to drop him down from her back but failing badly, his legs wrapped around her like a vice. "Ghost. Crabs. Nick. I don't know why you're even scared of them - they even walk sideways like you do!"

"They should not be blending in with the sand like that! They're all spooky ghosts! It's not right!"

"You. Are. So. Infuriating, Miller!"

As Nick hopped off of Jess to moonwalk away from the ghost crabs, a thought came to Ginny.

"They kind of remind me of..." Both Harry and Ginny said at the exact same time, causing them to stare at each other hastily.

When neither of them finished their sentences (what even was I going to say anyways?), Ginny huffed. "Right," she said, "Well, I've got to head back now before Nick finds out that it's getting late, which can only mean that more ghost crabs are bound to be crawling all over the place soon."

He laughed but quickly became alarmed when she made to leave. "Wait."

She turned around, hand cupping her forehead to squint at him through the waning sun. Harry swallowed, eyes drifting to her red hair in a daze.

Before he could say anything, however, Schmidt and Winston's obnoxiously loud voices were shrill above the sounds of the waves crashing ahead of them.

"Of all places for a prank!" Clearly, Schmidt's ability to let things go was about as weak as Ginny's right hook. "Why did you decide to take us here in the end?"

"As in, why the East Coast and not a beach in a whole other expensive ass country? Damn, now that would have been a better prank."

Four legs reached out to kick sand in Winston's face, Ferguson following with a screech.

"But to be honest, I couldn't wait to see what the sunset looks like on the other side of the country."

Pause.

"Winston! We are on the East Coast! The sun falls west at night time! Look at where the sun is now," Schmidt gestured aggressively behind him, where towering beach homes covered the view. "You can't see the freakin' sunset on this beach, man!"

"Aw, damn, my bad."

"How are you actually one of the more intelligent people I know in my life?!"

If there was one thing she and Schmidt shared, Ginny concluded, it was their inability to handle rage.

Her eyes flitted to Jess, who was trying to catch her attention.

Ginny chuckled, holding up a hand to let her loftmate know to wait there when she saw her smiling knowingly towards her and Harry. She watched as Jess's eyebrows waggled dramatically, stuffing her index finger through a hole she made with her other hand in repetition as she chomped down on her lip.

Completely unfazed by her loftmate's quirks at that point, Ginny turned to Harry again.

"If we can't do that sunset, I suppose I'll have to make plans for a sunrise tomorrow before we head back to LA, then. Join me?"

His answering smile could make a grain of sand feel alive.

She had the strangest feeling that the sound she could have sworn she heard a while ago was ringing faintly in her ear once more.

This time, she thought she heard boisterous whoops instead, clapping cheerfully as Ginny smiled one last time to Harry before finally walking toward her friends.

…

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#so i may have wrote a crack crossover for hinnys birthday #im a little late but here you go #hinny #meet cute #harry x ginny #ginny weasley #this was written for the harry and ginny discord birthday challenge #new girl #who's that girl #its gin #i wrote this a while ago so idk if i entirely love it but oh well

[niksixx]

America’s Most Wanted

Requested: Kind of :D 

Pairing: Duff McKagan x Fem!Reader 

Description: While you and Duff are lovers, you’re also killers. A modern day Bonnie and Clyde love story. 

Warning: Mentions of murder, blood, stabbing, guns, etc. I tried not to make this fic graphic, but please read at your own risk if you believe this piece will trigger you. 

A/N: I am blessing you all with a Duff fic because I know how much you lovely humans wanted me to write something for him!! It’s a different type of fic, I consider this ‘horror’ but again, I tried not to make it super graphic that way you can still enjoy it! 

*Picture is NOT mine. Found on Google. Credit to the owner.* 

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The streets of Los Angeles are uncharacteristically quiet at four thirty in the morning. Normally buzzing with crowds of inebriated young adults who spill out to the sidewalk after a night at the Roxy, they have become calm and eerily so. Illumination from the lamp posts provides the only source of light throughout the city in the late hours of the night. Stores and clubs remain closed for the second week in a row. Workers and customers alike are suffering, but the safety of the LA citizens is at stake.

The police and the FBI are frazzled. Patrolling the streets is too dangerous. One by one the death toll increases, with each murder more gruesome than the next, always unprovoked. Media outlets across the country keep the American citizens informed. The mugshots of the murderers are on every news channel, and posters are hung on every telephone pole. The two killers are wanted dead or alive, and they are Bonnie and Clyde resurrected.

Sitting at the base of a tree is one of the killers, the more experienced of the two. He goes by Duff. Long leather clad legs are splayed out in front of him as he cleans the fresh blood from his knife with a towel that has seen better days. Beside him hidden in the grass is the lifeless body of a twenty-nine year old man who had made the mistake of stepping outside his home. The scent of blood is strong, but Duff’s used to it. After brutally ending the lives of thirty innocent civilians up and down the west coast, the pungent odor is rarely a bother. In fact, Duff finds it comforting.

At first glance, Duff appears just like any other man in Los Angeles. That alone makes him deadly. Tall, blonde, and adorned in leather assets from head to toe, he’s intimidating. But it’s not the kind of intimidating that urges people away. He possesses an allure that pulls them toward him, draws them in. And then, when they least expect it, he strikes. One and done. Swift and clean. No remorse.

With his back against the base of the tree, Duff scans the empty streets, looking for any sign of life that is foolish enough to leave the safety of the indoors. He knows the police are doing everything they can to locate him without putting themselves at risk. He is aware that cities all across the country are terrified that they’ll fall victim to his murder spree. And yet there are still people who choose to enter the outdoor world, exposing themselves to potential harm. There is always the option of breaking the glass windows and terrorizing the people who choose to stay inside, but that isn’t the name of the game. Duff waits for his victims. He never goes looking for them.

Heels clicking against the cement pavement grabs his attention. Turning his head toward the sound, a petite woman in a red peacoat has a bit of hustle in her step as she pulls the jacket tighter to her body. The naive little thing is alone, checking over her shoulder once, twice, before exhaling a breath into the air.

From his pocket, Duff digs out a cigarette. Holding it between two gloved fingers, he lights it and casually blows a ring of smoke into the night. “You know darling, you shouldn’t be out here all by yourself.”

The clicking comes to a halt. Caught in the midst of her venture home, the lady stops and turns, worry lines etched in her forehead. Duff sighs. Poor thing doesn’t know what’s coming for her. “I know. I’m coming from a friend’s house. My apartment is just down the street.”

Duff heaves himself to his feet, brushing off the dirt and grass from his body. Shockingly, the lady doesn’t budge, but her eyes watch his every move. Stuffing his hands in the pockets of his jacket, he lets the cigarette dangle from his lips. A few steps forward and he’s standing in front of the young woman who squares her body defensively. She doesn’t recognize him, another shock, as his face has been plastered all over the 11 o’clock news, but her guard is high.

“At four in the morning?” Duff asks incredulously, playing the part of an intrigued stranger. He uses his charm for an advantage. The woman smiles a little, relaxing her shoulders. Duff notices. “What were you doing?”

He doesn’t have to do this. He doesn’t have to pretend to care, to warm up his victims before the hunt. But killing is a game, and games are meant to be fun. “I was planning on staying over, but I have trouble falling asleep in homes that aren’t my own,” Her eyes travel the length of Duff’s body before settling back on his face. She has trouble reading him. “What’s your excuse for being out so late?”

A few feet away, a shadow emerges from behind the cars parked along the street. Straining his neck to get a closer look, Duff recognizes the shadow and snickers to himself. Curiously, the lady turns her gaze just as the shadow disappears behind a different car. “I have trouble sleeping. Past trauma,” Duff lies casually, eyes downcast at the cigarette in his mouth. “Fresh air and a smoke usually calms me down.”

“I’m sorry to hear that…”

“Duff,” He answers back with a slow smile. “And you are?”

“Linda.” A wary smile surfaces on her lips. The rise and fall of her chest is normal, not as panicked as it was before.

The shadow in the background slithers around the cars, inching its way closer. It’s on the hunt for its next prey, but Duff shakes his head, chuckling under his breath. He looks to Linda again, who stares back quizzically. “Well, Linda, it was very nice to meet you. It’s late, though, and you should head on home.”

With a curt nod, Linda tugs her purse higher onto her shoulder. “It was nice to meet you too, Duff.” Linda attempts to step around him, but Duff sidesteps and blocks her path. Linda straightens, the muscles in her face tightening.

“One more thing,” In the shallow pocket of his leather jacket, Duff runs a thumb over the tip of his blade, leaning toward her with a smirk. Linda recoils, and he deadpans. “Don’t scream.”

For a split second, Linda’s fight or flight response is activated, only to be cut off by the sharp pain of a blade wedged in the side of her ribcage. A gloved hand covers her mouth, suppressing the soft whimpers of agony. Cocking his head, Duff stares into her eyes as tears spill over the apples of her cheeks. With a quick, slick motion, Duff pulls the knife from her side before penetrating the skin just above her collarbone. Lightning quick, the shadow emerges from the darkness and hurls itself at Duff, knocking him against the brick wall of a building just a foot behind him. If only the shadow had been quicker, not as hesitant, then it may have claimed Linda as its victim.

Now under the light of a lamppost, the shadow appears in its true form. The second killer. Dressed head to toe in black garments, the boxcutter held tight in its grasp, it takes one step forward, lips curled back in contempt.

“Fuck you, Duff. I had that.”

The anger in your voice turns him on, the opposite effect that it should have on his body. You were right. Linda was your kill, but she’d been alive for far too long. Things didn’t always have to be planned. Excessive planning, while it worked in most cases, could end up being a weakness. Sometimes, you just needed to go for the quick kill.

“I am so sorry, sweetheart,” Feigning innocence, Duff gestures to Linda’s lifeless body as he blows a cloud of smoke into the air. While he’s positive Linda is as good as gone, there was always the chance she was grasping at life by the skin of her teeth. And if she was indeed just another lifeless body bleeding out on the concrete, Duff would enjoy the sight of you exploding in anger right in front of him. You were always more beautiful that way. “But her apartment was down the street. You were just a bit too slow, darling. She would have made it home alive.” Your eyes fall downcast. Duff sighs. “Tell you what. Check her pulse. If she’s still breathing, I’ll let you finish her off.”

Crouching down to the pavement, you slip your hand into the collar of Linda’s peacoat, two fingers positioned on the side of her neck. Blood trickles onto your hand, the pungent liquid dripping down the side of her neck to her ear. Closing your eyes, you concentrate on finding a slow beating, but the only pulse you feel is the one flowing through your fingertips.

Eyes narrowed to slits, you watch as Duff chuckles from his place at the wall, taking drag after drag of the cigarette. He knew she was dead. He was toying with you. Teeth clenched together, you find yourself pressing his back further into the bricks, snatching the white cancer stick from his lips, and crushing it under the heel of your boot. You hold the blade against his neck, applying just a bit of pressure to make him slightly squirm under your touch. Neither you nor Duff are strangers to rough play.

He blinks in pure astonishment before curling his lips into a sly grin. Your fingers twitch, itching to wipe the smile off his face, but he’s caught your wrist far too many times in the past when you’ve tried. “Someone’s a little angry, aren’t we?”

Linda’s blood smears over Duff’s lips as your fingers graze over his face. With your lips by his ear, you reply breathily, “Don’t ask questions you know the answer to.”

Pulling away, you let your hands drop by your side, curling and uncurling your fists as a way to release the tension in your body. It was your kill. How were you supposed to get better if Duff claimed the victims for himself?

“Maybe you need more training.”

Your blood boils, eyes shifting back to Duff’s smug face. If you needed more training, it was his fault. “Maybe I need a better teacher.” It was easy to get under each other’s skin, although most of the time it was playful banter that morphed into sexual tension. From the bulge in his jeans and the hazy look in his eyes, you knew Duff was dangerously close to claiming you on the sidewalk.

“Temper, temper,” Duff taunts, pushing off the wall with the sole of his boot. The way he eyes you is how he gazes at his victims, like prey, but there’s a side of Duff only you’ve seen. Despite his primal instincts and the nagging urge to have his way with you whenever and wherever, you meant more to him than that. “You have a sharp tongue, sweetheart,” You tilt your head confidently upward, not breaking eye contact as he towers over you. Trailing a gloved hand over your exposed collarbone and up the side of your throat, his fingers slide around to grip the nape of your neck. With untamed hair, crazed eyes, and lips smeared with the blood of the fallen, he’s a madman, a killer. And while the feelings between you aren’t rational, you can’t deny your love for the wild criminal. “Show me what else it can do.”

His lips draw you in like a magnet. Many kisses have been shared between you and Duff, but your heart still beats wildly like it did the very first time. With his hands on either side of your face he keeps you still against him, lips moving in a frenzy before biting down on your lip. He’s rarely gentle, and it drives you mad.

The taste of blood floods your tongue as his tangles with yours, hot, heavy breaths fanning over your face. Your body tingles with fervent need, stomach twisting in passionate knots. As much as you want to enjoy the kiss, the taste of him, you pull back reluctantly, the thoughts in your head overwhelming the rest of your senses.

Duff’s hands cradle your face with a gentle touch. He eyes you with a hard look, a look that warns not to lie. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

The words spin around in your brain. Did you really need more training? In only six short months, Duff taught you everything he knew. You followed his lessons, mimicked his every movement, practiced until your muscles ached from the pain. “Am I disappointing you?”

Duff’s eyebrows furrow. His hands fall to your waist, tugging your hips firmly against him. “Disappointing me? Hardly. Sweetheart, you amaze me.”

“But you said I need more training.”

He chuckles softly. “And you do. That’s not a bad thing. But you’ve already come so far. Just a few months ago you were a dainty little thing who loved watching romance movies and baking cookies on Friday nights. Now you can shoot a gun with your eyes closed.”

“And you were just getting out of prison,” Snaking your arms around the back of Duff’s neck, you pull him closer to you, noses brushing tenderly. If it weren’t for Duff’s inmate taking the blame for the murder, he still would have been staring at the prison walls. How they were able to fool the system into letting Duff go was unfathomable, but he was here with you now. They had let a man guilty of first degree murder walk free, and that man turned into one obsessed with death. Along the way he found you, recruited you as his companion, and now couldn’t picture a world where you weren’t by his side. “I was smitten with you from the moment we met. And I knew you were trouble. I just didn’t care.”

“And look at us now,” Duff grins, stealing a quick kiss. Tendrils of wavy blond hair tickle your cheeks when he dips down to your lips. You never understood why he felt the need to steal them. Anything he wanted, you gave willingly. The rest of the world saw his demented and damned soul. You were fortunate to know every complex piece of him, but not all of them were rooted in evil. His love for you was genuine, unwavering, quite possibly his only redeeming quality. “America’s Most Wanted.”

Your head snaps over to the sound of an apartment door closing. Jogging down the steps and onto the pavement, a man untangles a green leash before hooking it onto his dog. The word screams in your head. Target.

Duff is already smirking when you look back at him. He gives you an encouraging nod; You dig into the back pocket of your jeans, pulling out the boxcutter with a sly smile. “Go get ‘em, sweetheart.”

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