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quixotic-writer · 4 years

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Adult Entertainment (part 2)

request: basically everyone

summary: Sal had made a bold statement saying he could last longer than Q watching porn. They both decide to put those words to the test and placed a bet in typical joker fashion: loser gets punished by the winner.

Warning: Smut ahead!

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It had been about a week since their porn escapades that doubled as a steamy night in and they were ready for their next challenge, one that Sal had proposed afterwards: how much could they handle before they came undone untouched?

Rules were worked out between the two: They weren’t allowed to cum for a whole week to up the challenge, their hands were to be restrained the night of, they both would have their own dildo to use for some sort of pleasure (Sal suggested it), they would both throw together a playlist of porn to play for them to watch on the couch together. They would have no clue what videos they put into the playlist for the other so when they finally put themselves to the test, they would each be pleasantly surprised. Bottom line was: first one to cum gets a punishment. Simple and clean cut rules and regulations for another hot night.

Knowing the rules, it didn’t stop them from finding certain loop holes that they both didn’t mind but drove them crazy. There was only two words to describe the excruciating week: Edging and teasing. Sal’s favorite thing to do was to bend over in front of Q, giving him a full show of his ass or “accidentally” grind his ass against Q at any opportunity he could. The farthest he’s gone to torture Q was waking him up with a surprise blow job and pulling away to go and shower once he was close, this was the moment where Q almost lost his mind. As for Sal, Q would start talking dirty to him, sweet nothings serenading him and tantalizing his senses, then he would start rubbing his hands over his bulge and sometimes go as far as to start jerking him off. The moment Sal was close to cumming, he would back away and just leave him in that desperate state and quickly reminded him of the week’s rules. A taste of his own medicine.

By the time the seven days were finally done and over with, they felt so sensitive and as though the mere thought of release would be enough to get them hard and close.

They gathered all their things for the evening in the living room, the screen was already lit up and loaded up with their filthy playlist of porn, the blinds were drawn to a close to hide their dirty shenanigans from wandering eyes, and both men were stripped down to their boxers each sporting a semi hard on.

“How you feeling about this baby?” Q questions to Sal as he helps tie up his arms behind his back.

“Like this is going to be the hardest i’ve cum since my teenage years.” He jokes. His wrists are tightly (but safely) bound behind his back and the sensation of the restraint turns him on. Q helps remove his boxers and sees already how hard Sal is and feels himself twitch at the sight. “You don’t need to prep me by the way, got that bit covered.” Sal gives him a wink and Q felt his soul leave his body, but little did Sal know that Q had a surprise up his own sleeve.

Sal managed to help sloppily and loosely handcuff Q despite his arms being behind his back, he got on his hands and knees and took the band of his boxers between his teeth and gently pulled them down allowing Q to spring to life. When Q turned around to go sit on the couch, Sal felt as though he could’ve unraveled right then and there.

“Brian Quinn you naughty man.” In between the mountains of flesh tucked away was a butt plug that Q had snuck inside of him earlier that day to prep himself.

“Wasn’t used to having something in me, so I took the extra step.” Q reaches for the toy and slowly pulls it out, sad that he feels so empty, but eager knowing something better is to come. “Well Sally boy, time to put your money where your mouth is. Lets see which one of us can last longer.” Q sat himself on a dildo, slowly sinking down relishing in the full sensation of it all with a low hum. Sal joins in next to him with his own toy slowly entering him until he was fully seated with the toy poking at his prostate, making him close his eyes and bite his lip.

They take a moment to catch their breath and stare at the screen with a thumbnail of the video to play with a giant pause symbol over it. They look at each other, then to their tied up arms, then to the remote sitting on the coffee table in front of them.

“Brian Michael Quinn if you do what I think you’re about to do.” All Q does is smile and take his foot and press the play button on the remote with his big toe. Sal looks to him in disgust and makes a mental reminder to sanitize the shit out of the remote after all is said and done.

The first video begins and it was Q’s first pick: A basic vanilla porn, missionary position, minimal action, just something to get the blood pumping. Q sat in his seat and shifted slightly and felt as the toy moved around inside of him, gently grazing that special bundle of nerves, he bit his lip and hummed. Sal was trying to resist all urges to start bouncing on his toy and finally get the release he craved, but he was stubborn enough to hold himself back just to prove a point. Video one was short and over with pretty fast, but it did leave the two standing at full attention and already leaking pre-cum at the tip.

Next was Sal’s choice in video, things were slowly starting to pick up now. It was the same video of that girl riding a guy the first time they had watched porn together a week ago. Memories flooded quickly into Sal’s head that sent shockwaves to his cock and he found himself bouncing a little to release some tension. When his eyes glanced over to Q, he watched as his dick twitched in agony, now was time to play a little dirty.

“Brian, Nothing will ever compare to the way you fucked me hard that night. The way your hard cock slammed into my tight hole and filled me right up, fuck Bri, it drives me mad just thinking about it.” Sal spoke in a sultry seductive tone and watched as Q’s eyes began to haze with lust and his hips began to flick upwards in search of pleasure. He remembered the sensation vividly and recalled the way Sal felt and looked that night, the way he channeled a whole new side of him that was so sexually charged, and the dirty talk. The dirty talk is what turned him on the most, the way Sal described how horny and desperate he was without him. “Seems that you’re thinking about it too, huh? Thinking about slamming into me until i’m a whining mess below you begging to cum because i’ve been teased all week, watching me lose control in your arms and knowing you’re the one that made me unravel.” Sal kept painting such a clear picture for Q and he felt himself getting closer and closer to the euphoria he’s sought for a whole week.

But the realization that he was so close made him stop all his movements. Despite the disappointment and feeling the welling sensation die down in his pelvis, he knew what Sal was trying to play, and he refused to lose for such a pitiful reason, he would prove he had more self control. Q brought himself back down and watched the rest of the video through and knew his next choice was coming up on the queue.

When the video began, Sal’s senses felt heightened and as though his pores were shooting out lightning. Q bit his lip and smirked as he watched Sal begin to frivolously bounce on the couch next to him. Checkmate.

On occasion if the couple was feeling extra daring or knew they’d be apart for a while, they would whip out whoever’s phone was closest and hit record. It was their own personal collection of self made porn that they would indulge in whenever the mood struck them individually. Q had built up quite the collection and often turned to it when his imagination just wasn’t enough to get him off. Now he used it as his personal ammunition, and he knew he was getting exactly what he wanted.

The screen was lit up with the low quality phone footage of Sal bobbing his head up and down on Q’s dick. Filthy wet noises emanating out of Sal as he took Q further and further into his mouth making the man above him a filthy moaning mess.

“Fuck baby, your pretty little mouth feels so good around my cock. Come on now, you can take a little more darling, I know you can.” His voice is smooth and baritone, he speaks softly as a hand comes into frame and tangles into his hair and brings him down more soliciting a few gags from Sal as his nose hit Q’s stomach.

Sal at this point was fucking the toy inside of him like his life depended on it with the video playing fueling him further. He forgot all about the bet, he didn’t care if he lost, he didn’t care what his punishment would be, he wanted one thing now and he was focused on getting it. Q knew at this point he had gotten what he wanted, and all he wanted now was to watch the man he loved unravel before him. He smiled in victory and had already began plotting his special arrangements for Sal once this was all over.

“Sal, please, if you keep that up i’m gonna bust baby.” Sal felt heat rising fast in his abdomen, each time Q’s voice echoes from the TV, he felt it building quicker. His hips bucked in desperation

“Sally baby, are you close?” Sal lets out a whine in response unable to form actual words. It was enough to give Q an answer. “Look at you, getting off watching yourself pleasure me. Sensitive and desperate, so easily submissive to your desires. You’re a dirt little slut for me aren’t you? Do it then Sally baby. Cum for me on the dildo just like you did when you were horny and needy.” And just like that, with mere words and another slam of his hips downward, Sal was sent into blinding ecstasy. His torso going tense as he hunched over at the relieving sensation, hot thick ropes of white shooting out of him hard.

He collapses on his side allowing the toy to slip out of him gasping for breath feeling the energy draining quickly as sweat drips down the temples of his head. Q manages to slip his hands out of the cuffs that were (thankfully loosely wrapped around his wrists and get up off the couch to untie Sal.

“Are you okay? Did that feel good?” Sal, still in a haze smiles and nods and takes a gentle hand to Q’s cheeks and brings him in for a kiss. “Do you think you could handle more?”

“I haven’t cum in a week and i’ve got a lot of pent up energy.” Q’s eyes go dark as he gives his signature devilish grin to the man in his arms.

“Well then, my love. It’s time for your punishment then.”

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A/N: I know this is a wee bit shorter than what I normally write ( ; w ; ) I was planning on adding the punishment to this part, but I decided why not make that a whole part in itself.. either that or i’ll come in and edit this to attach that extra bit. I’ve been slightly busy these pst few days but I just wanted to get something on here for my non-wattpad/ao3 users

#brian quinn #sal vulcano #vulquinn #smut #suki writes

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mrs-takami-keigo · 4 years

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King of the clouds

Chapter 5

Main Pairing: Hawks/Quinn(OC)

Story Rating: Explicit! 18+

Genre: Romance/Action/ Smut

Words: 7.3K

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Notes: To the people that do read this, thank you so much! This story is my baby and I plan on seeing her through to the end. Everytime I see a like for this I get a little emotional, beacuse I do put a lot of thought and heart into this story. But I would also love to hear from you! Please don’t be afraid to comment or anything, I love reading people reactions to this.

“Okay so the objective is Phoenix is going to be the villain and it’s up to you, Bakugo, to subdue her before back up comes. Once you put the handcuffs on her you win. You have twenty minutes.” I heard Aizawa explain over the earpiece.

“Tch just start the clock already.” Even without the device, I could hear Bakugou’s loud voice resonating. ‘Why does this kid have such a big mouth?’

“Your twenty minutes start now.”

The sound of an airhorn rang through the training grounds, signaling the start of our match. I was given a head start so I could hide. Figuring my best option was to start off on higher grounds, I stood atop a medium-sized office building. Even though I wasn't in his line of sight I could see him. Watching as he started down the main street of the training ground, looking around, trying to pinpoint my location, Bakugou’s guard was up, ready for anything. I’m sure he’s waiting for me to make the first move.

“Come on you old hag I know you're here!”

‘OLD HAG?!’ I could feel my eye twitch and my blood began to boil. This kid sure does have a lot of nerve to talk to someone like that, but it’s one of the reasons I looked forward to meeting him. His attitude, skill, and demeanor reminded me of my own at times. I went to the edge of the building, slamming a combat booted foot on the ledge, my hands on my hips as I yelled down to him.

“Anybody tell you it’s rude to disrespect your elders?!”

“Shut up!” I saw him lift an arm up and a giant explosion generating from his palm. Glass windows shattered as the blast made its way up to me. Using my wings I shot up into the sky, trying to avoid the blast. Covering my face with my arms I felt the heat from the blast run through me, the air around the blast whipping around me, my curls flying everywhere. The sheer force of the explosion was impressive for a kid his age, if I weren’t able to use my wings to fly away, I for sure would have been finished.

“That’s it?! I thought you had an explosive quirk, not a firecracker! Honestly, you must be great during festivals.” The look of annoyance washed over his face as I spoke. “You know that’s what Imma call you from now on. You're just like a firecracker, all you are is nothing but noise!“ I let out a belly laugh as I wrapped my arms around my stomach. I knew I was pissing him off but that's what I wanted.

Straightening up I wiped the tears from my eyes, stopping my laughter. Bakugou’s teeth were bared in annoyance, his gloved hands balled into fists. “Come on firecracker you wanna play with the big dogs right?! Then let's play!”

Lifting my arms towards the sky I channeled all my energy into my palms, that same feeling when I formed my wings ignited through my body. Soon two large fireballs formed in each of my hands. Taking a deep breath I threw both fireballs directly at the teen. Due to their size and how fast they were going, it would take precise movements and fast reaction time to dodge them, but from what I’ve seen previously and from Shouto’s letter I knew he could dodge them with ease.

Just as I had anticipated he shot off his own blast towards the ground to propel himself into the air barely dodging the two balls of fire as they made an impact with the ground.

“Should have guessed an old hag like you didn’t have any juice left!” Changing his direction he used his explosions to make his way to the roof trying to chase me and fight me head-on, but I’m faster.

“No juice you say.” Horror was written on his face when he heard my voice from behind him. My fire wings let me reach insane speeds, the last time I checked I clocked it at a hundred and eighty miles per hour. Using fire to help me, I flipped over myself, bringing my right leg down landing a hard dropkick on his shoulder, sending him straight back down to the street. I made sure not to use my full strength afraid I would cause too much harm to his body.

When Bakugou landed, he was face down groaning in pain. Lowering myself back on the ground, I watched as Bakugou rolled to his side, gripping the shoulder I kicked him on with his hand, coughing as he tried to catch his breath.

“What your problem is, is that you underestimate everyone around you.” He had stopped his coughing, glaring at me. “Now, Katsuki Bakugou stand up, and let’s fight for real.”

“You’re gonna regret sayin’ that old woman.” Bakugou stood up, shaking off my last attack. I could sense that his attitude had changed, he now saw me as an opponent.

Using his power like before he launched himself forward at a faster speed, throwing me off for a second. Smirking I flew up into the sky ready to miss his attack only to be stopped. I felt his hand wrap around my ankle. Glancing down at him, a satisfied smirk played on his face.

“Tryna fly away already?” Before I could comprehend what was happening I felt my body be spun around.

Bakugou was using his other hand to set off small explosions resulting in him spinning around like a tornado and taking me along with him. He reached a speed that made everything look like one big blur before letting go of my ankle, I had no time to react with how fast I was traveling through the air.

“AUGH!” The air flew out of my lungs as my back came in contact with the brick, the impact was so strong that I left a small crack in it. Catching myself before I fell to the ground, I saw Bakugou get ready for another attack.

“That was impressive kid but you won't get another shot like that again.”

“Try and stop me.” Bakugou went to move again but stopped in mid-motion. “What the-” Soon he was flung up into the sky, coming back down at neck-breaking speed, slamming into the earth. A chuckle escaped my lips as he struggled to stand up or move in general, cursing as each attempt turned out to be useless.

“I’m well skilled in close combat but I excel at long range. Not only because of my fire but because of my other power.” As I spoke I stalked closer to the young boy, the sound of broken glass and gravel crushing under my boots. Whenever I used this quirk my hair would float behind me, as if I was underwater and my eyes would change from hazel to grey. My right hand was extended out pushing him further into the ground. “My telekinetic powers allow me to do things like this without even touching another person.”

Still holding him down I squatted next to him, balancing myself on the balls of my feet. “Now that you have a taste of both my powers let’s continue yeah?”

“Times up!” We both heard Aizawa say over our earpiece. The training grounds were in shambles, building missing walls, windows blown out. Parts of the street were torn up, it looked as if a war had passed through here. It was partially true, seeing as how after I had un-pinned Bakugou we both went all out. There were times where I was sure he had me but it was always because of a silly mistake on his part that I would escape.

Which led us to this moment, I had him trapped in a cage I made out of metal pipes when I sent him flying across the training grounds with a punch and firepower mixed in it.

“NO! Let me go again! I can beat this old hag!” He had his hands wrapped around the metal pipes, trying to shake them loose.

“So I’m back to being called old hag huh? And here I thought we were getting along.” I reached through the bars ruffling up his hair. “I’m actually thoroughly impressed with you firecracker in all seriousness.” He stopped his manic behavior, a reserved look on his face.

“I’m looking forward to what you do in the future. You’re special, firecracker, that’s without a doubt.” I flicked my wrist, moving the cage off of him. “When it’s time for your next work-study, be sure to contact me.”

“Tch! Whatever old hag.” I couldn’t help but smile, he may have said that but the small blush on his cheeks and the satisfied smile he wore didn’t go unnoticed.

“Okay, kiddo’s, who’s next?”

Stretching my arms above my head, I cracked my back and neck as I sat in the nurse's office. Recover girl had helped ease the pain in my back from when Bakugou slammed me into the building and my sore muscles. She told me if he had tossed me any harder my back would have been broken and that I’m lucky all I had was the giant bruise on my back. Going twenty rounds in combat with those kids wreaked havoc on my body. Some were easy to defeat and some proved to be quite the challenge.

“That was too much Quinn.” Shouto handed me a glass of water as he took a seat in the empty chair next to the bed I was on.

“Oh please, that was nothing compared to the villains I’ve fought before. And you were holding back, don’t think I didn’t notice Shouto.”

“I was worried, it's only been a few days since you’ve gone back to work after the incident.” Shouto clenched his fist as his expression turned dark. “Since that bastard put you in the hospital.”

It wasn’t until that moment I registered that I haven’t really seen or spoken to him since that day. Fuyumi told me that Shouto was at the hospital that day, and saw exactly what Phoenix Rising does to my body. That image of me hooked up to machines, clinging on to life must have fucked him up.

“Shouto, look at me.” He still had his fist clenched tight, I was afraid that he would draw blood if he held them any tighter. “Come on half-pint look at me.” Facing him I leaned down a little so I could try to catch his eye. Once he heard the nickname I used to call him, his eyes met mine. Those once bright eyes of his now held years of pain, abuse, and burden in them.

“I thought you were gonna die, I-I can’t lose you.” His voice was shaky from trying to hold back his tears as he spoke.

“I’m not going anywhere, half-pint. I would never let scumbags like Dabi be the end of me, I promise you that.” I took his hands in my own. “Do you know why I came to Japan?” Shouto just shook his head, too afraid to speak. “I came to protect you, Fuyumi, Natsuo, and Auntie Rei. I failed in protecting Auntie and Touya, I’m not going to make that mistake again.”

“Quinn…” I got off the bed to stand in front of him, making him stand up with me.

“So don’t worry about losing me okay?” Giving him a reassuring smile I squeezed the hand that was in mine. “Come on you gotta change out of your costume and go do your homework and I gotta go home, there is a nice hot bath screaming my name right now.”

Once I got home I stripped off my costume, noticing that it had some rips in it, I made a mental note to go and try to get that fixed. Grabbing my hair towel and robe I made my way to the bathroom.

Besides having roof access, this apartment had an amazing bathroom. White tiles lined the floor and walls but the sink, cabinet, toilet, and bathtub were a solid black. There was also a separate stand up shower in one corner, while next to it was a clawfoot tub that was so big it could fit two people comfortably.

Turning on the water and stepping into the shower, I washed the day’s sweat and grime off my body, relishing in the feeling of the hot water running down my body and through my soft curls. Once everything was washed off, I filled up the tub with hot water adding in some of my favorite eucalyptus and spearmint bubble bath soap.

Sinking in my body in the hot water, I slid my aching body down the back of the bathtub leaning my head back to rest over the edge.

“Ah now, this is the life.” Closing my eyes I could feel my muscles relax under the water. Between the relaxing smell of my soap and the soft 90’s slow jams playing in the background, I felt myself let my mind wander.

“You’re so beautiful not only cause of your looks, it's that heart you have.”

‘Hawks.’

I could still feel his lips pressed against my palm. How his golden eyes shined under that moonlight. It was only for a moment but the usual playful glint in his eyes had disappeared when he spoke about how that was the only place he was actually at peace. That sadness made me want to reach out and hug him, make sure that the sadness left.

“No! Snap out of it Quinn!” I sunk lower into my tub, the water coming up just past my lips. Bringing my knees up to my chest, I hugged them. The best thing I could do for both of us is just be friends and that’s it. There was no way I could get my feelings involved, not with Hawks.

I stayed in the tub for another ten minutes, the water started to cool down and my fingers turned pruney, telling me it was time to get out. Standing up I could feel a dull ache in my back.

“Maybe I should put a patch on this.” I put on my purple fuzzy robe and wrap my hair in the pink microfiber towel as I walked through the bathroom door that led straight into my room. Going through my draws I found a clean pair of panties, and my favorite red satin shorts and camisole pajama set.

Shedding off the robe and grabbing a soft white towel, I swiped it across my damp skin. Feeling like I was dry, I slid the undergarment up my legs followed by my satin shorts and top. Going up to my white and gold-lined vanity, I grabbed my favorite body lotion that smells of vanilla and coconut.

After applying lotion I went through the rest of my night routine. Doing my skincare, massaging oils into my curls to keep them hydrated, and putting on my diffuser with peppermint oil in it, hoping the essential oil will soothe my aching body and my thoughts about a certain red-winged man.

Just as I stepped into the bathroom to grab an icy-hot patch, the sound of something faintly knocking on the door that connected to the roof caught my attention. My guard went up instantly, no one knew I was there besides my family, Mirko, and Hawks. Putting my slippers on, I tiptoed to the staircase that led to the door. The pounding became more frantic as I crept closer.

I could feel my heart begin to race with each step I took. It would have been one thing if I lived in a house, but I live in a highrise apartment building and there were over thirty floors of people that lived here. If something went wrong I would have to worry about them before backup could arrive and fend off whatever or whoever this is.

Igniting my right hand with flames, I kicked the door open, ready for a fight.

“OH MY GOD!” I stopped my flames immediately and ran to catch Hawks as he swayed to the side, catching him as he started to fall to the ground.

“Hey, fire….bird…” Hawks could barely get my nickname out of his mouth before he coughed, blood landing on my slippers. I could see he was holding on to the last little bit of consciousness he had, his wings were almost non-existing save for the few small feathers that were left.

‘How the hell did he fly here?!’ I slung his arm around my shoulder, my right arm wrapped around his waist, trying to hold him up. After about five steps Hawks lost all consciousness and became dead weight, making it hard for me to carry him.

“Hawks what happened to you?!” I used my telekinesis to help me bring him down the stairs and into my living room. Laying him down on the couch. I ran into the kitchen grabbing a small dish towel, running it under cold water, then running into the bathroom grabbing the first aid kit under the sink.

Running back to the couch I was able to finally take in his appearance. His usual beige colored and fur-lined coat was covered in blood, it looked old seeing as how it was all crusted. His pants were dirty and covered in tears, those brown leather gloves were gone as were his yellow visor and headphones. Not wasting any more time, I kneeled down, opening up the first aid kit.

“Okay, dove lets get you out of this coat.” Placing my arms around his torso I lifted him up, using my body to hold him. Hawks head fell on my shoulder, his chin hair tickling my neck. Bunching the coat in my hands I slid the heavy material off his shoulders, and since he had such small wings at the moment this was easy to do.

I threw the coat to the side, planning on washing it later, I held back onto him as I lowered him on the couch. Getting hold of the wet towel, I brushed his soft dirty blond hair out of his face. I couldn’t help but wince when I realized how badly he was beaten up.

“Oh Hawks, who did this to you?” I could already see a black and blue under his left eye, his lip was split open, dried blood around the wound. I started with the blood around his lip, trying to see exactly how bad it was.

“Fuck that hurts.” My eyes shot to his golden ones, well one, his other one was so messed up he couldn’t open it fully. “Whe-where am I?”

His eye was searching the room, trying to make sense of where he was, but drawing blanks. The panic in his face was becoming more evident. Gently touching his cheek I made him lock eyes with me.

“Hey, look it’s me, Quinn. You are safe, Hawks you’re safe, okay.” His widened eye started to relax as my words hit him and my face came into focus. His body visibly relaxing as I kept my hand on his cheek.

“Quinn? How did I get here?” He tried to sit up but winced in pain, falling back down on the couch.

“That’s what I would like to know, but later let's try to patch you up okay?” I continued to clean his face of the blood, putting ointments where he had open cuts. Pushing myself up off the ground I reached down to help him stand up.

“What are you doing?” Hawks was confused but still stood up in front of me.

“I have to check under your shirt for any other wounds.” Without another word I tucked my fingers in the hem of his shirt, my fingers brushing against his skin, pushing it up. He tried to stop my hands as they began to lift his shirt.

“Oh stop it, like I haven't seen a man's chest before, now let me do what I need to do.” I inspected his torso and didn't see any cuts or scrapes, just mild bruising. Pulling the shirt down I helped him lay back down.

“Mind telling me how and who fucked you up like this?” I was cleaning up the mess I made while in my frantic mode.

“A couple of low-grade criminals is all. One of them had a time warp quirk and one was a power quirk, not a great matchup for someone like me.” By the tone in his voice, I knew he was upset and embarrassed, he probably didn’t want me to see him like this.

“Why didn’t you call for backup? Shit, you should have called me silly.” I looked back down at him, a soft smile forming on my lips as I tilted my head to the right, my hair flowing over my shoulder. “You may be a man that's too fast, but I’m the woman who can keep up.” I bent down to grab the towel that was on the floor, only to feel Hawks palm on my cheek. Using his other arm he propped himself up, bringing his face closer to mine.

“The only woman that can keep up with me, I like the sound of that.” His voice came out as a gentle growl. I couldn’t look away from his golden eyes, there was something behind them, something that left my stomach in knots. It was as if I was under a spell that no matter what I couldn’t break. He kept leaning closer to me, his warm breath fanning over my slightly parted lips. Hawks’ hand that was on my cheek moved so it could cup my jaw. Soon I felt my eyes begin to close as he did, our lips just about to graze each other.

Suddenly the sound of the Imperial March from Star Wars echoed through the room, breaking the spell between us. I pulled back, eyes wide open. My cheeks hot from a blush that crept up. I looked at Hawks just as he flopped back on the couch, his arm covering his eyes as a deep sigh came out of him.

The song kept blaring trying to get my attention. I already knew who it was, my mother. Jogging into my room I picked up the small purple phone off my bed sliding the arrow on the screen to accept the call.

“Hey, mom!” I was still trying to calm down my racing heart.

“Quinn! Honey are you okay? You didn’t call me once you got home from work. I called your Uncle and he said he hadn't heard from you since yesterday!” I could hear the sheer panic in her voice, knowing that she hadn’t slept all night.

“I’m fine mom, just went to Shouto’s school to help out, then came home and took a shower. I was going to call you, I swear.” I may be in my late twenties but my mother still treated me like a baby at times. I couldn’t blame her though, I am her only child and well it’s been rough.

“Well, you could have just texted me.” Even though I couldn’t see her, I could see the pout on her face.

“I’m sorry mom. Wait what time is it there? It’s nine at night here.”

“Well my dear daughter it’s 8 am here and I have not slept because I thought my beautiful child was missing or hurt somewhere!” Shaking my head I knew that, that was coming, guilt trip. Classic Emiko.

“Oh my god mom, don’t start that.” I chuckled, stepping out of my room to check on Hawks. He still had his arm over his eyes, but his mouth was moving like he was talking to himself.

“I wouldn’t have to if you would just call your mother.” I sighed as I went back into my room. I put her on speaker as I went around the room looking for my hair tie. “Oh Quinnie, I wanted to ask if you're doing anything next month on the twentith?”

“No, not that I can't think of why?” Taking my hair in both hands I put it up in a messy bun, black and burgundy curls sticking up out of the bun. I continued to try and fix it when she dropped a bombshell.

“Well, I’ll be coming to visit for six months!” I halted my movements, staring at the phone wide-eyed.

“Wha-” I was going to say more only to hear a crash in my living room.

“Fuck!” I heard Hawks shout soon after the crash.

“What was that?!” My mom’s voice went back to worry as I grabbed the phone from my desk and turned it off the speaker.

“Hey mom I gotta go, I’ll call you back later!” Without even hearing her response I hung up the phone, tossing it back on my bed as I ran out of the room.

There in the middle of the living room floor was Hawks, face down on the ground, his fist gently pounding on the floor, muttering a string of cuss words.

“What the hell Hawks, are you all right?!” I ran to his side, trying to grab his hand to stop the pounding. Once the pounding stopped, I ran my hands through his soft blonde hair. I was trying to coax him into turning his head to look at me.

“Come on dove tell me what’s wrong.” I continued to rub his head for the next five minutes and nothing happened.

“Hawks…” I gently grabbed his face, turning it towards me. The second my eyes landed on his face I couldn’t help but smile. He had fallen asleep from me petting his head. He looked so serene while he slept. I’ve seen his face countless times, more so in my head but still, I’ve never seen him look like this.

“Alright, you big bird let’s go on the couch.” I used my powers again to move him over to the couch. I figured the most comfortable position for him would be on his stomach, seeing as how even though he had barely any wings it would be uncomfortable on his back. I picked up his head to slide a small pillow under it and covered him with my blanket. I squatted down, running my hand through his silky hair once again.

“Goodnight Hawks.” I stared at him a little longer than I should have. I stood up ready to go call my mother again when I heard him mumble.

“Quinn...please….” I looked at him, my brows furrowed in confusion.

‘Is he dreaming of me?’ I returned down to my squat like before.

“Don’t...don’t go..” His face started to contort into a sad expression, a single tear falling from his eye.

I don’t know what possessed me to do it but I wiped his tear with my finger and leaned closer to him.

“I’m right here Keigo.” I gently pressed my lips against his temple. His soft hair brushing against my nose, tickling it. Pulling away I saw a slight smile form on his lips, his expression went back to the beautiful serene one.

He finally settled down after another minute or so, now snoring his life away. I had moved to my room, after putting his jacket in the wash and just sat in the middle of my bed, hugging a plushie of Mirko, as I thought back to the almost kiss.

‘What the hell was that?!’ His golden eyes replayed in my head, and how low his voice was when he said ‘The only woman that can keep up with me. I like the sound of that.’ I could feel my cheeks burn as I blushed.

“What the hell are you blushing for Quinn!? It’s just Hawks, a wild card, a guy that's five years younger than you. He's an arrogant, big-mouthed, rude, smart assed, man. It’s not like you lik-” I covered my mouth before the last words came out of my mouth.

Shaking my head I knew I had to get my mind off of the guy, so I texted Mirko to see if she wanted to go for a workout in the morning. Knowing that a good workout would set my head straight.

The next morning I woke up, my pajama’s all ruffled, black, and burgundy curls all over the place. I swung my legs over the edge of the bed onto the cold wooden floors. With my eyes, half-closed I slid my feet all around in search of my Winnie the pooh slippers. Once I had them on my feet I stood up, stretching my arms above my head, and that dull ache came shooting from my back again.

“Fucking feral child.” I cussed as I remembered exactly why my back hurt. Walking through the bedroom door I made my way to the kitchen, ready to make my coffee and breakfast before my workout with my good friend Rumi.

I glanced at the couch as I passed it to check on Hawks, who had one leg and arm hanging off the furniture while his other arm was slung over the back of it, and drooling. He was drooling on my nice pillow.

“God Hawks, you really can be an animal at times.” I turned my face up in disgust. ‘How could I possibly think about kissing him last night, look at him.’

I turned on my Keurig to heat up, making my way to the fridge. Grabbing a couple of eggs, onions, scallions, and cheese, I decided on making a nice healthy omelet and maybe some fruit on the side.

“Where am I?!” Hawks shot up from the couch screaming, nearly making me drop my plate.

“Holy shit Hawks! You scared the hell outta me, you damn bird brain!” If there was one thing I hated, it was jump scares of any kind.

“Quinn? How did I get here?” He slowly stood from the couch, looking around the apartment. I know I saw him last night but for some reason, he looked different to me as if he was more attractive. We were about the same height but he looked taller. The was his black and gold muscle shirt clung to him like saran wrap, showing off every definition of his chest and arm muscle. His hair messier more so than usual, lips puffy from sleep.

‘Stop it, Quinn!’ I shook my head as I placed my plate on the kitchen island.

“You flew here after a bad run-in with some low-grade villains.” I walked up to him, putting the back of my hand against his head. “Well, at least you don’t have a fever. You took quite the beating dove.” I pulled my hand from his forehead, going down I took his chin in between my thumb and pointer finger.

“The ointment I put on your lips seemed to start working and your eye isn’t as swollen as before.” As I examined his face I could see the slight blush forming on his cheeks.

“Sorry to have bothered you, firebird.” His voice was soft as if he was in trouble for something.

“You weren’t a bother Hawks, just next time please call me if you need backup. I’d hate to see my friends injured like that.” I had to remind myself he was my friend, and that’s it.

I saw him nod his head, his eyes roamed over my body, before coming back up to my eyes. “Nice jammies you got there princess.” He wiggled his eyebrows at me.

It wasn’t till that moment I remembered what I was wearing. “Shut up you ass! It’s my house and I can be as comfortable as I want, I could walk around naked if I wanted to.”

“Now that’s when I should come here!” I pressed a finger to the bruised area on his cheek causing him to wince. “Oh yeah!?”

Hawks grabbed me by my waist, his fingers started to move fast, tickling me. I tried to move out of his grasp but he was stronger, even though he was beaten up.

“Hawks stop!” I couldn’t help but laugh hysterically, tears falling from my eye. “Come on stop!!” No matter what he did not stop. I moved slightly back, the back of my knees hitting the coffee table. I was about to fall over when Hawks wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling my body flush against his.

“Hey Quinn, you ready for the work...out..? My, my what have I hopped in on?” We both looked at the door to see Mirko standing there, her spare key and carrot keychain hanging from her hands.

I pushed Hawks away from me, fixing my top that had ridden up. “Nothing, just some guy pretending to be hurt so he could take advantage of my kindness.”

Mirko pretended to gasp, her hand coming up to her chest. “Hawks how could you?!”

“Ha-ha-ha, you’re both hysterical.” He had pulled out his phone from his pocket. It looked like he was texting someone.

“I’m gonna go change real quick.” I walked back into my room, leaving the bunny and the bird alone.

It only took me ten minutes to change into my workout clothes, which consisted of a hot pink sports bra, black biker shorts, and a pair of running shoes. My hair was pulled up in a high ponytail and my hands wrapped like boxers, knowing full well that I and Mirko were going to do hand to hand combat.

Making sure my hands were wrapped properly I sauntered back into the living room.

“Really!?” I heard Mirko yell, as she laughed in Hawks’ face. His face had turned red as she continued to laugh.

“Shut up Rumi!” Hawks hissed between his teeth once he noticed my presence in the room.

“What did I miss?” I looked between the two. Mirko was trying to collect herself from laughing so much and Hawks looked panicked, his eyes wide as he kept glancing at me and at Mirko.

“Hawks said-” With a quick movement, Hawks jumped over the couch to get to Mirko as he covered her mouth with his hand.

He had one of those fake smiles plastered on his lips. “I said nothing!” He looked back at Mirko, his face turned serious as he whispered in her large bunny-like ears.

“Okay…” I walked past them going to the kitchen, I still had my suspicions about the two. “I’m just gonna eat my breakfast and then we can head out.” I reached down into the fridge to get a water bottle when I felt someone touch the bruise on my back.

“That’s a nasty bruise you got there, Q.” I had flinched a little from her touch.

“Yeah I went to U.A. yesterday to help class 1-A train and that kid Bakugou threw me into the side of the building. It hurt like a bitch but I’ll be alright.”

“That was the one who won the sports festival right?” Hawks was next to touch the mark, but his touch sent chills down my spine. His soft touch against my bare skin felt like icicles against my warm skin.

“Yeah.” I didn’t mean to sound cold when I said it, but I couldn't help it. Moving away from his touch I closed the fridge.

I took a swig of the water, glancing at his face, he looked puzzled but before he could say anything his phone went off.

“Hello?” I turned around walking away from the two of us. Mirko took this opportunity to talk to me.

“I thought you had fire quirk, not an ice one, cause that was cold.” She stood next to me with her arms crossed, her foot tapping against the floor.

“I’ll talk to you about it later, it’s a lot.”

“I’m gonna head out ladies, my ride's here.” Hawks made his way to the front door. I didn't want to be like this towards him but right now he was messing with my head, and I needed space.

“I’ll have my uncle’s sidekick bring your coat back when it’s cleaned.” Not even sparing him a glance, I went to my forgotten food. I could feel Mirko’s stern stare on me.

Hawks just nodded as he sent a wave over to Mirko before shutting my door.

“Do you mind telling me what the fuck is going on with you?” Mirko is the type of person to not hold back on anything.

“First we can just go workout, I got a lot of stress to release.”

“Fine but the minute I beat your ass in combat, you gotta talk Hunny-bun.”

All I could do was smile at her. “Who says you're gonna win?”

Throwing myself on the floor of the boxing ring, my chest was rapidly falling up and down as I tried to catch my breath. Mirko was a monster when it came to combat, she never held back, not even for a second.

“You’ve gotten better, but nowhere near beating me.” She flopped down next to me, chugging her water, then passing it to me.

“That's because you're insane!” I heard her low chuckle as I dowsed my face with the water. “Seriously Mirko, like what the hell? Are you even real?”

“Whatever, don’t think I forgot about this morning now spill!” She gave me a swift punch in my arm.

So I told her, I told her everything. From the lighthouse moment to the moment she walked in on our tickle fight. Tucking my arms behind my head I just laid on the floor, looking at the ceiling.

“I don’t know, what do you think? Am I crazy?”

“Nah I don’t think you're crazy.” She was still sitting next to me, her arm was across my stomach, making her lean over my body. I’ve only known her for a short amount of time, but she was the first hero to be genuine with me. Besides Hawks that is, but he was a different case.

“What should I do? I want us to stay friends and just friends, but the sexual tension is so thick you can cut it with a knife.” Her long hair was tickling my exposed stomach. Reaching down I played with it between my fingers. “I just have to get my mind off of him.”

“I know a perfect way.” She leaned down, her face coming closer to mine. “You need to be fucked, that way all that pent up sexual tension could be transferred to someone else.”

“Oh yeah and by who?” I laughed at just the thought of it.

Mirko had a devilish grin on her face, that scared me a little.

“Mirko, this better work.” I looked at my friend as she walked in front of me. I had to admit she looked hot. She had on a pantsuit, but instead of a shirt, she wore nothing under her blazer. A long gold chain with the initial M hung from the end of it and she had on black stiletto heels. We walked past a group of men who couldn’t help but stare at us as we passed, mouths to the ground.

“Oh trust me, with you looking that sexy, it’s gonna work.” She wrapped her arm around mine as she pulled me to the front entrance. I did have to admit I did feel sexy in my dress. It was a baby blue, satin bodycon spaghetti strap mini dress, that came up mid-thigh. The way it hugged my curves was perfect, and it was low enough to show off my cleavage but not enough that I had to worry about my boobs popping out when I danced. The sound of my clear open toe heels could be heard, stepping in rhythm with Mirko’s.

“Hey, big red.” Mirko stopped at the entrance of the club she decided to take me to. A man that had to have been at least seven foot tall, stood at the door.

“I feel like it’s been a while Mirko. How have you been?”

“Same old, same old! Just taking my new friend from the states out on the town. Phoenix, this is Big Red, Big Red, meet Phoenix.”

“Nice to meet you.” I went to give him a handshake but he just scooped me up in one arm, lifting me into the air. “Oh, we're a hugger I see!” I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Yeah, I should have warned you.” Big red put me back down on the ground. “Is our table ready, I called Daichi earlier.”

“Yeah! Come on in ladies.” Big Red opened the door for us. As soon as he did the bass from the music vibrated through my body, the lights on the ceiling moved in time with the music, people singing and dancing along with the DJ. It was amazing.

“I see Daichi!” Mirko shouted over the music, pulling my hand as she led me through the crowd.

“It’s about time you go here Mirko!” When she finally stopped I could see a fairly tall guy, he had long black hair, tied up in a messy bun. His features were that of a god, his gaze would have anybody stopping in their tracks. His dark sharp eyes would pull you in, while his charming smile had you blushing like a schoolgirl with a crush. He wore a simple black and white flower-patterned button-down with his sleeves rolled up and black jeans. Even with something so simple he looked so hot.

“Sorry, my friend took a while to get ready. Phoenix, this is Daichi, one of my best friends and owner of the club. This is Phoenix, she’s a pro from the states.” Mirko took a seat in the black leather horseshoe booth, pouring herself a glass of vodka.

“Nice to meet you Daichi.” I stuck my hand out for a handshake. His large hand grasped it gently.

“To meet a beautiful woman such as yourself, the pleasure is all mine.”

I smirked at him as I took a seat next to Mirko. “Your right Mirko this may work.”

The night passed on and the drinks kept flowing and I got closer and closer to Daichi. I learned that he was a year older than me, quirkless, and no relations to heroes besides being friends with Mirko. He was the opposite of Hawks and that's what I need.

“So Phoenix does a woman with your stature dance with a quirkless man?” He stood up, his hand out for me to take it.

“If the man is you, I’ll make an exception.” I handed my purse to Mirko as she flirted with someone she met at the bar.

Daichi guided me to the dance floor, just as a song with a slow sensual beat blared through the speakers. Once we got to the dance floor, Daichi turned me around, his hands were on my hips. My body started to sway with the beat against his, my butt was grinding against his pelvis.

With each seductive roll, his body met mine, with my back pressed against his chest, I could feel the alcohol run through me. I let it take over my body, not caring about anything. I just wanted to feel the man behind me as he slowly ground himself against me.

There were no words exchanged between us as we continued our sinful dance, or as we made our way to my apartment. Even as he pinned me against the wall, his lips hot on my neck, leaving a trail of kisses down to my chest. His cock, hard and pressed against my leg or when he moaned my name all night while I let him fuck me. I was doing this for myself, I needed to get that image of Hawks’ smiling face out of my head. And if that meant I had to find a surrogate for my desires for him so be it.

‘This is just how it has to be Hawks.’

#bnha hawks #bnhabookclub #hawks x oc #bnha #mha hawks #keigo takami x oc #takami keigo #bnha x reader #bnha fic #slow burn

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flipmeforward · 4 years

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fic: I’d marry you with paper rings (Nando/Quinn, NC-17)

Man, I don’t even know. I’m maybe writing a fic that’s forced slow burn, and I needed to write something light and easy. Mel’s Cricket Series has brought me so much joy and happiness during this weird and crappy spring, and when I read this post, I was like, yes, let’s write my obligatory crossdressing fic that i apparently write for every ship i ever write for, and this thing just ... happened.

@poindextears, thank you for letting me take your characters and have my wicked way with them. Also, I’m sorry.

Here’s this thing on ao3.

Nando would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little bit worried about the way Quinn has been behaving today. He’s not sure anyone else has picked up on it, but then again, no one else spends as much time as close to Quinn as Nando does. He doesn’t really know how to explain it, but if he had to, he thinks he’d describe Quinn as skittish today. He hasn’t shied away from Nando’s touch, really, but he has tensed up slightly every time Nando’s hand has reached below, like, shoulder level. It’s weird, Nando doesn’t like it.

Something about the check in at the hotel is taking longer than usual. Everyone else has already been sent off to their rooms, but Quinn is still talking with the guy behind the desk. He has to stand on his toes to properly reach up and it probably shouldn’t be as adorable as it is, but it’s not like Nando makes the rules. His boyfriend is adorable, that’s just the way it is. And, finally, his boyfriend is done being Team Manager. Nando sincerely hopes everyone will behave tonight, so he can have Quinn as his Boyfriend until they wake up tomorrow. He grabs their bags and starts heading along the corridor everyone else had gone into, but Quinn’s voice stops him.

“Sebastián. This way.” Nando turns around, and Quinn is standing by another corridor, reaching out a hand. Nando is confused, but where Quinn goes, he follows, so he walks over and takes his hand.

“Where are we going?” he asks as they head down the corridor towards an elevator.

“To our room, of course,” Quinn says, then starts humming a song Nando doesn’t recognize. Nando sighs, but he doesn’t ask any more questions. He’s learned a lot during his almost-four years at Samwell, and one of those things is when it’s just completely useless to try to get Quinn to talk when he doesn’t want to.

They take the elevator to the fourth floor, then Quinn leads them through corridors and around corners. There is no way Nando will be able to find his way out of here alone. He squeezes Quinn’s hand. Good thing he won’t have to.

Finally, Quinn stops in front of a door at the end of a hallway and taps the keycard against the lock. The door beeps, lets them in, and Nando barely has time to drop their bags on the floor before Quinn is on him, kissing him like they’ve been apart for weeks. Nando responds in kind, but he barely has time to put his hands on Quinn’s waist before Quinn pulls away.

“I’m going to take a shower,” he says. Nando looks at him, surprised. He doesn’t bother pointing out that it’s pretty useless to take a shower before they have sex, because Quinn knows that as well as he does. But, if Quinn is taking a shower now, that might mean he’s not up for sex, but that’s also weird, because between the two of them, Nando is usually the one who begs off. Not that it happens often (because hello), but when it does, it’s usually Nando.

That doesn’t mean he won’t respect Quinn’s wishes, though, of course he won’t try to talk Quinn into having sex with him. “Okay,” he says, and if he wasn’t already pressed against the door, he would take a step back. Instead, he shoves his hands into his pockets. Quinn reaches up to press a kiss to his jaw, then grabs his bag and locks himself in the bathroom. Nando stands by the door for a few seconds, confused by what just happened, before he grabs his own bag and moves further into the room.

There’s a double bed, which is standard for the two of them nowadays (Nando loves that he’s dating the team manager), a desk, a tv. Standard room. He drops his bag and starts to pull off his clothes, preparing for bed. It’s quick work, then he grabs the tv remote from the desk and lies down on the bed. He kicks the bedspread down and then starts to channel surf, with the sound of Quinn’s shower in the background.

A few minutes later, he hears Quinn coming out of the bathroom. Nando moves to grab his toiletry bag, his attention mostly on the tv, but he flicks one glance at Quinn and freezes.

“Uhm,” Nando says, then swallows. Quinn, his outrageously hot boyfriend, the love of his life, is standing in front of him wearing nothing but a sweatshirt. Nando’s sweatshirt. It’s a navy blue soft-washed thing that Nando barely recognizes, he hasn’t used it in a long while, which means Quinn probably dug through his closet to get it. Nando doesn’t mind, especially when this is the result. The sweatshirt is too big on Quinn, it reaches halfway down his thighs and the arms have been folded up to show his hands. At the neck, the opening is wide and shows Quinn’s collar bone. His hair is ruffled in the way he only allows it to be immediately after a shower, and Nando is going to explode with how much he loves Quinn. Also, he’s going to have to jerk off in the bathroom, because Quinn looking like this does things to Nando.

He takes a breath to steady himself and then stands up. His erection is showing and he knows it, but at least he no longer feels guilty at being turned on by the sight of his boyfriend looking like a wet dream.

“Get back on the bed,” Quinn says in a no bullshit voice. Nando is used to it by now.

“Baby, I just need to—”

“Sebastián. Get back. On the bed,” Quinn repeats, much sharper, and Nando’s dick twitches. He gets back on the bed.

“Are we gonna have sex?” he asks, because he needs to know. Quinn kneels on the bed and stares at him.

“Of course we’re going to have sex,” he says. “Did you think we weren’t?”

Nando shrugs. “I mean ...” he waves a hand towards the bathroom. Quinn rolls his eyes and crawls towards him.

“You’re an idiot,” he says, but the tone of his voice makes it sound like I love you.

Nando settles back on the bed and drags Quinn towards him, onto his lap. “I’m your idiot, though,” he says, wrapping his arms around Quinn’s waist and pressing his face into the curve of Quinn’s neck. He smells like soap, and his skin is still slightly damp from the shower, and Nando loves him so much. “I love you,” he says, because he needs to. He doesn’t need to see Quinn’s face to know he’s smiling.

“I love you, too,” Quinn says, and then he grinds down on Nando’s lap, reminding him that while his boyfriend is the sweetest man he’s ever met, he’s also a sexual deviant who’s going to break Nando one of these days, honestly. “Not having sex,” Quinn continues under his breath as he settles into a much-too slow rhythm. “As if. I even flirted with the reception staff to get us a room without anyone next door.”

“Baby,” Nando groans, equal parts impressed and jealous. Given the chance, Quinn is loud during sex, and between the Haus and Quinn’s dorm, there aren’t many chances. They didn’t even realize just how much being loud was a thing until this past summer, when they’d spent hours in Nando’s childhood bed, both sisters and Mama out of the house. Nando’s dick twitches just at the thought of Quinn not having to hold back anything tonight. If he’d had any lingering tiredness in him after the game, it’s fully and thoroughly gone by now.

He slides his hands from Quinn’s waist, down under the sweatshirt to grab his ass, but stops when his fingers don’t meet the soft cotton or bare skin he’s expecting. He lifts the hem of the shirt to get a look and holy fucking fuck Nando is going to die, and when his Mama finds out the cause of death she’s going to revive him only to kill him again, but it will be worth it.

Quinn, his beautiful, sexy, adorable Quinn, is sitting on his lap, draped in Nando’s sweater, and lace panties. They’re a dark, rich purple, contrasting beautifully to Quinn’s winter pale skin, and Nando doesn’t know what to do. He wants to look at Quinn forever but he also wants to put his hands and his mouth all over him and worship him. Also fuck him.

“Is this—okay?” Quinn asks, suddenly unsure when Nando is having a minor breakdown. It makes Nando pull himself together, a little bit, enough to realize that there is no way he can let Quinn be even the tiniest bit unsure if Nando likes this or not. He moves his hands up to cup Quinn’s face and kisses him, trying to put everything into it. They usually discuss it at least twice before they bring anything new into bed, but Quinn hasn’t said a word about this, so Nando gets why he’s worried, but Nando also has absolutely no complaints whatsoever. And it’s not like it’s a completely new thing, Nando hasn’t exactly been discreet when they prep for Rhodey’s shows, but they still haven’t discussed it, not in this context. So yeah, Nando gets why Quinn might be worried, so he really, really tries to convey with his kiss how much he absolutely doesn’t mind, how much he loves it, how turned on he is just by the short glimpse he caught. Which—Nando should do something about that. He needs to see.

“Wha—Sebastián!” Quinn yelps as Nando grabs him at the waist again and flips him over, onto his back. He straddles Quinn’s thighs and pushes the sweatshirt halfway up his stomach, and then he just—looks. It’s maybe the best thing Nando has seen in his entire life. Quinn is hard, and some part of Nando will probably never get over the fact that he brings out this reaction in Quinn.

Nando drags a hand down Quinn’s stomach, lets his fingers ghost feather light over Quinn’s cock, over the lace.

“Say something,” Quinn says finally, and Nando realizes that he hasn’t, in fact, said anything for several minutes.

“Oh my god,” he breathes, stroking his palm over Quinn’s cock, feeling it twitch against him. “Quinn, baby, you—you’re the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen,” Nando says, and Quinn blushes. “I love you so much,” he says, again, because he has to. He rubs harder against Quinn, and Quinn responds by arching up against his hand and letting his head fall back, exposing his neck. Nando leans forward and presses a kiss against the flushed skin, then opens his mouth and sucks a mark there. It’s winter, Quinn wears scarfs all the time anyway. Quinn moans, and Nando can’t help but preen a little. He is the cause of that moan.

Nando’s own dick is rock hard in his boxers, and he groans when his hips jerk down on their own accord, making him grind against Quinn’s thigh.

“What do you want, baby?” he asks, because seriously, Nando wants everything right now, he can’t decide, Quinn’s going to have to call the shots here. Quinn’s hands clench where he’s gripping Nando’s sides, and he draws in a sharp breath.

“You—your mouth, please,” Quinn says, almost whines.

“Yeah?” Nando works his way up Quinn’s neck with kisses, then finally reaches his mouth and kisses him properly. “You want me to suck you off?”

“Yes, fuck,” Quinn breathes out against Nando’s mouth, and okay, if Quinn’s already cursing, this won’t take long.

Well. It won’t take long the first time.

Nando kisses Quinn for another couple of seconds before he tears himself away and crawls down the bed again. Quinn is still wearing the sweatshirt, and Nando is in no hurry to take it off him, he loves seeing Quinn in his clothes.

He also loves seeing Quinn in lace panties, which was not something Nando expected to learn about himself, but he’s not sorry at all about that revelation. Quinn’s cock is straining against the purple lace, and it must be a boy model, because there seems to be more room for that than what Nando would’ve expected. He wonders if Quinn bought them the last time he was in Boston, or if he ordered them online, if he has more, and which colors, and—God, Nando is about to die.

He knows they will talk about this, later, so for now, he just bends down and presses a soft kiss to the tip of Quinn’s cock. Quinn draws a sharp breath, and when Nando glances to the side, he sees that his hands are gripping the sheets. Nando would absolutely love to drag this out for hours, but he’s too turned on, Quinn is too turned on, they actually need to sleep at some point, so in what should be considered an act of mercy, Nando pulls the front of the panties down enough to get Quinn’s cock out, then takes half of it in his mouth in one go.

“Fuck,” Quinn shouts, as if it’s been punched out of him. This is why they take advantage of hotel rooms.

Nando smiles, sinks further down, takes more of him in his mouth. After three years, he likes to consider himself an expert on sucking (Quinn’s) cock, and he really, really likes doing it. He loves the feeling of Quinn’s cock in his mouth, loves that he can render Quinn into this whimpering mess with just his mouth, loves that he can glance up and watch his reaction, loves when Quinn sometimes tangles his fingers in Nando’s curls and presses him down, never forcefully, but enough that Nando gets the hint. He even likes the taste, which wasn’t something he expected, but sure does make things a lot easier.

He likes it even more when Quinn is not fresh from the shower, like when they meet up after Quinn has had an intensive dance rehearsal. He hasn’t dared to say that out loud yet, though.

When Nando pulls off to breathe, Quinn whines. It’s such a difference from his normal, composed self, and Nando feels privileged that he gets to see it, gets to draw it out of him. He has to reach down and stroke himself a couple of times, just to take the worst of the edge off, and for the briefest of moments, he’s tempted to just kneel and jerk off until he comes all over Quinn. It passes when he takes Quinn’s cock back in his mouth. He swallows around him, takes more of him, and Quinn groans.

“Fuck, you’re so good at this,” Quinn pants, and Nando smiles around him. He slides his hands down Quinn’s thighs, grabs him behind the knees and pulls his legs up to rest on Nando’s shoulders. It gives him better access to grab Quinn’s ass, to run his palms over the lace there, and Quinn moans, jerks his hips up to fuck into Nando’s mouth.

It takes just another few seconds of enthusiastic sucking from Nando before Quinn’s hand settles on his neck, a sure sign that he’s close. Nando sucks harder, runs his tongue up the length, squeezes Quinn’s ass again, and that’s enough. Quinn grabs his neck harder, a warning, and Nando has no plans to pull off but appreciates it anyway, swallows easily as Quinn comes in his mouth, all while Quinn keeps up a steady stream of fuck and oh god.

He pulls off when Quinn tugs at the curls at the back of his neck and looks up to grin at him. He presses a kiss to the inside of Quinn’s thigh before he crawls up again, hovering over Quinn, covering him, as he bends down to kiss him.

Quinn kisses him back lazily, licks into his mouth, licks the taste of himself out of Nando’s mouth, and it probably shouldn’t be as hot as it is.

They stay like that for a while, but despite Nando’s fairly rigorous training routine, he still can’t hold himself up on his arms like this for long. He swings one leg over Quinn so he can kneel beside him, kisses Quinn one more time, then gets off the bed to grab the lube.

During their first spring together, when they started getting intimate, they’d gone to the student health center for STI testing. They’d both been clean, not that Nando hadn’t expected anything else, but his Mama didn’t raise no fool. They still use condoms sometimes, because cleanup is easier, but after some experimenting, they’d found they both enjoy the sloppy, filthy part of it. So Nando grabs the lube, no condom, and gets back on the bed.

“Flip over,” he says and takes off his underwear, Quinn doesn’t obey, instead he kneels on the bed and brings his arms up around Nando’s neck and angles his face up to kiss him. Nando wraps his arms around him and drags him closer, settles one hand on his ass and cups Quinn’s head with the other.

Quinn’s crotch rubs against Nando’s thigh, and his dick is still hanging out. It looks a tiny bit silly, but feels incredibly sexy, and Nando is so, so glad that multiple orgasms come easy for his boyfriend. It allows for situations like these, where he can suck him off and then fuck him, and it’s—amazing.

Nando moves his hand a little, puts his fingers against the crack of Quinn’s ass, presses gently against the lace, and—He draws a sharp breath and looks down at Quinn.

“Baby,” he says, unsure, and Quinn’s shy smile is answer enough. Nando is going to die. “Did you—Have you—All day?” Nando asks, incapable of complete sentences. Quinn nods. Him shying away from Nando’s touches all day suddenly makes sense. Nando quickly thinks through what they’ve been doing today and groans, then presses harder against the base of the plug that Quinn has had in his ass all fucking day. Through breakfast, the bus ride, the game, everything.

“How are you even real?” Nando asks and moves his hands so they’re inside the panties instead. He doesn’t allow Quinn to answer, kisses him instead, grabs the base of the plug and twists it.

Nando is ... well equipped. Quinn loves it, so it’s not an issue or anything, but it does require some preparation. Butt plugs aren’t a new thing for them, and Quinn has worn them for a longer period before, but during those times, they’ve both been in on it, and it’s been low-stakes situations like just hanging around campus or maybe during a home game. He’s never had one in for this long, in secret, while just going around his business.

“Sebastián,” Quinn moans, getting impatient. “Please, just—”

“Okay, baby,” Nando murmurs, pressing another kiss to his lips before looking over Quinn’s shoulder, down his back, to where his hands are straining against the lace, pressed against Quinn’s ass. “God,” Nando breathes. He pulls down the waistband of the panties, settling it just below the curve of Quinn’s ass. When Quinn makes a motion as if to pull them off, Nando grips his ass harder. “No,” he says. “Leave them on.”

Quinn gives him a dirty smile, as if he isn’t the one wearing lingerie. Nando smacks his ass, once, and Quinn gasps and goes absolutely still. They rarely do that, because Nando isn’t really a fan, but Quinn loves it. Nando takes advantage of Quinn’s stillness to reach for the lube, then sucks another mark on his neck as he gives him another smack.

“Fuck,” Quinn moans, pressing against him, trying to get impossibly closer. “Baby, please.”

Nando presses soothing kisses against the mark he just made, simultaneously uncapping the lube and coating the fingers on one hand. With the other, he gently drags the plug out of Quinn’s ass. Quinn moans, and Nando kisses him, swallows the sound, even though he doesn’t really have to, here, in this room. He presses two fingers in, easily thanks to the plug, and god, Nando hopes he never gets used to this, never takes this for granted.

He adds another finger, and it’s only thanks to the fact that he’s so much bigger than Quinn that this position is even possible. He can’t actually fuck him in this position, though. Nando pushes Quinn away, gently, but can’t decide which way he wants him. Quinn on his back means he can keep the panties on, but Nando sort of wants to see his face.

Quinn, as always, seems to read the dilemma on his face. “I can wear them again,” he says, gently, as if that statement doesn’t break Nando’s brain. At least it helps him make up his mind.

“On your back,” he says, and Quinn grins at him as he obeys. He finally gets to take his underwear off, throws them carelessly onto the floor, spreads his legs.

Nando grabs the bottle of lube and moves to kneel between Quinn’s legs, again. It’s definitely one of his favorite places in the world. He lubes his dick, quickly, adds more lube to his fingers to press into Quinn with a couple of fast pumps. Lining up his cock with Quinn’s hole, he meets Quinn’s gaze, raises an eyebrow in silent question and gets a nod in return. Nando starts to push in, slowly. This part is always the hardest (hah), because there’s no getting around that Nando is big and Quinn is small and no matter how many times they do this, it’s not like his ass will stretch. Not that Nando would want it to, because this feels so good, but it wouldn’t exactly hurt if they could do it a little bit faster sometimes.

A minute later, Nando is fully inside of Quinn, and leans down to kiss him. He pauses there, waits patiently until Quinn moves his hips a little, fucking himself onto Nando’s cock. That’s when Nando moves back to kneeling between his legs, carefully pulling out almost all the way before pushing in again.

Quinn is still wearing the fucking sweatshirt, and if Nando’s brain wasn’t already broken, it would definitely break at the sight of him like this, with his head thrown back, throat exposed, one hand around his cock and the other clenched in the sheets until Nando reaches for it and tangles their fingers together. It’s such a soft gesture, feels at odds with what they’re currently doing, but it also feels right.

Little by little, Nando increases his pace, until he has to let go of Quinn’s hand and grab his hips to keep them steady. Quinn has his legs wrapped around Nando’s waist, his heels digging into Nando’s ass, and it’s—perfect. It’s perfect, perfect, perfect, Nando is so happy, lucky, turned on, in love, he’s going to explode.

He slips during a thrust, just a little, but enough to change the angle, and Quinn’s responding moan is obscenely loud.

“Fuck, oh my god, honey, god, keep—there, please,” he moans, begs, and Nando does his best to keep fucking him from the slightly different angle. He’s close, he has been close since Quinn got out of the bathroom dressed like that, and it’s not going to take a lot more for him to—

“Quinn, baby, I’m—,” he stutters, past being able to make sense, but Quinn gets it, of course he gets it. He clenches around Nando’s cock, jerks himself faster, brings his other hand down to stroke his balls. His fingertips brush against Nando’s dick and it’s like his fingers are made of electricity, the tiny touch sparks something deep inside of Nando and he just, it feels like he just combusts from within.

Nando is pretty sure his brain leaves him for a moment, because when he comes back to himself, he’s laying on top of Quinn, his face pressed against Quinn’s neck, his cock still inside him, and his breaths coming in heaving gasps. “Fucking hell,” he pants, and feels more than hears Quinn’s responding weak chuckle. He feels Quinn’s heavy breaths, feels his come sticking to his stomach and seeping into the sweater, feels the satisfaction that settles on both of them.

Quinn drags his hands out from between them and settles them on Nando’s back instead, and Nando doesn’t care that they’re sticky, he needs a shower anyway. Quinn does, too.

“I love you,” Nando says, turning his head to kiss Quinn, slow and indulgent, before he kneels up again to pull out.

“I, ah, I love you, too,” Quinn replies, grimacing a little.

“Sorry,” Nando whispers, but Quinn just smiles back at him. It’s par for the course, and it’s worth it.

Nando lies down beside Quinn and wraps an arm around him, pulling him close. “Thank you,” he says, pressing a kiss to Quinn’s mouth, then another.

“For what?”

Nando shrugs. “For getting us this room. For being awesome. For ...” He trails off, glances quickly towards where Quinn threw the panties earlier, and Quinn grins, understanding.

“I take it you like them?” he says, aiming for innocence and failing completely.

“I love them. I love you,” Nando says, and he doesn’t even know how many times he’s said it tonight, but it can’t be too many because there’s no such thing. He grabs Quinn and rearranges them until Quinn is laying on top of him. Nando strokes his back through the sweater, slowly moves his hand further down until he’s cupping Quinn’s ass. He presses his fingers gently against Quinn’s hole, sticky with lube and Nando’s come, and can’t help but smile when Quinn hisses.

“Sebastián. I’m too tired,” he says, and Nando kisses the part of him closest to his mouth, which happens to be the top of Quinn’s ear.

“I know,” he says. He isn’t aiming for a third round, he just can never help himself with this, dreams of a day when he gets to just lay Quinn out on a bed and see how many orgasms he can give him, what Quinn will sound like at the end, how he will look, and okay, Nando needs to stop right now before he does want a third round. “I can’t wait until we get to do this every day,” he says, a smile on his face like there always is when he thinks about them living together.

“Every day?” Quinn replies, and Nando hears his smirk. “Sounds optimistic.”

“Oh shut up,” Nando says, pressing two fingers inside of Quinn just to spite him. “You know it will happen, at least in the beginning.”

“True,” Quinn concedes, obviously torn between tearing himself away from Nando’s teasing and just giving into it. Nando makes the decision for him, because they do really have to sleep. He drags his fingers out, wipes them on the sweater and then gently pushes Quinn off of him.

“I need to shower,” he says, stepping down onto the floor and holding out a hand to Quinn. “Wanna join?”

“Why yes, Mr Hernandez,” Quinn says, taking his hand. “I’d love to.”

Nando loves him so fucking much.

#poindextears #omgcp fic #you gotta read up on the crickets #quindo #i don't know how to tag this thing #fmf fic

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jossisarose · 4 years

Text

BASICS

Name: Joss Alex Rose

Alias: Joss , JossIsARose (Social Media)

Pronouns: They/Them & He/Him

Age: 29

Date of Birth: November 13th

Gender: Genderqueer (AFAB)

Sexual Preference: Queer

Occupation: Costume Designer and Professional Cosplayer

Personality

Positive

creative

driven

independent

Negative

fickle

withdrawn

jaded

FAMILY

People

Mom: Millie Rose

Twin: Marley Rose

Pets

Cat: Lena

PAST

Hometown: Plant City Middle of Bumfuck Nowhere, Florida

triggers: instance of misgendering and reference to Joss’s dead name early on, stalking, violence, rape, self harm, substance abuse

[dead name mention] Joss Rose wasn’t always who they are now. Once upon a different time, Joss was Jocelyn and “she” was troubled. Or so people liked to think. Born the youngest of a set of twins, to a single mother, Joss never really fit into gender norms, or societal norms, for that matter. Whether it was going without a bra until long after most girls started wearing one, a disinterest in anything outside of their art, or an increasingly morbid sense of humor, Joss was an outcast from day one. Small town life was often the bane of Joss’s existence.

As a child, Joss enjoyed Little Mermaid, but more importantly, Little Mermaid II: Return to the Sea. Joss related to Melody on a level that they didn’t quite relate to Ariel. It sparked a love of all things mermaid, and all things Disney, in them and their art portrayed this. Their mother, Millie, taught them to sew and crochet, two activities that seemed to be the only “feminine” thing about their interests. They would alternate between drawing and painting to crochet and sewing, often designing their own clothes. They weren’t necessarily nerdy, but they had their loves. Mostly it was things like Harry Potter, Doctor Who, or other such media, but they also had a love of sports, predominantly hockey. They were a huge Tampa Bay Lightning fan and would often go to games when they had the chance. They were an excellent runner and ran track all throughout middle and high school.

However, in school they did often struggled with anything involving a majority of their body being seen by other people, but especially changing for PE and track. The idea of getting changed in front of other people unnerved them. It was when they felt most vulnerable, most exposed. It was also when they felt the least like themself. Seeing a female body under typically masculine clothing really hurt, but living in a small town, that was only known for a festival based on strawberries that often invited country and Christian musicians, being anything but straight and cisgender was asking for trouble. More trouble than Joss needed.

In high school, as their sense of self wavered further they withdrew into themself, their passion for costume design became even more apparent. They started cosplaying, attending conventions all over the state of Florida, as a way to be themself, without being themself. They tended to cosplay male characters, taking pride in their ability to pass a male, but refusing to think anything of it, in terms of how they felt. It was this that led them to find a college with a crafts department, where they could major in costume design.

They skipped eleventh grade and then received an early acceptance letter to Carnegie Mellon University in Pittsburgh, PA. With permission from their mother, and a number of legal officials, Joss took off. Moving from small town life, to big city, took Joss by surprise. They were in a place where people who weren’t straight and cisgender were more widely accepted, which made trying to find themself much easier. As a freshman, Joss began to experiment, with a lot of things. Between sexuality and gender identity, they found out a lot more about themself than they were ever expecting. This included the realization that they were trans.

For Joss, the idea of being anything but a female made perfect sense. They tried a lot of things over the next few years, in an attempt to figure out just who they were. They knew they didn’t identify fully as male, and definitely had no intentions to transition, but for the longest time couldn’t figure out just how they felt. Outside of gender being a completely social construct, they needed a label. It came in the form of the terms “genderqueer” and “non-binary” as well as the idea that there was an area between female and male. To Joss, being both agender and male made more sense and they quickly began to explore it as a full identity.

By the time Joss graduated, they had legally changed their name, going with a gender neutral name, as a way to alleviate the pressure from being misgendered, which quickly became a sore spot. Given their more feminine features, being called by male pronouns was a difficult thing to get across, especially given their decision to not transition. When they discovered the singular they as a pronoun, Joss jumped at the chance to use it. While it’s still hard to get people to use it, and they often encourage people to use male pronouns if unable to use it, the singular they felt right.

While in college, between balancing a job with the Pittsburgh CLO and cosplay commissions, their career as a cosplayer, youtuber, and twitch streamer took off. They won a number of cosplay contests and with their youtube channel they really became a household name in the Pittsburgh convention scene. Shortly after graduating from college they were a featured cosplayer on Syfy’s Heroes of Cosplay. They would then go on to be one of Twitch’s first partners and earn the money needed to move out to LA.

Once stationed in LA, Joss went headfirst into life as a streamer and cosplayer. Between winnings at cosplay contests, being invited as a guest to larger and larger conventions, their streaming, and their cosplay commissions, Joss was able to establish a life for themself. One that allowed them to take on international conventions and get their name even more known around the world. In 2015, they were invited as a guest to San Diego Comic Con, and took on a job as a costume designer for Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice. Thus sparking both their spot as a returning guest to SDCC, NYCC, and a job with DC as a costume designer for their films and consultant on their shows.

[stalking tw / violence tw] However, after a number of years in LA, Joss found themself overwhelmed by a growing fame that was starting to trouble them. They were more frequently recognized in public and with that came danger. Joss ended up being stalked repeatedly and it ended in a number of physical altercations and the cops being called. After over a year of court battles and a restraining order, Joss decided to leave LA. Their initial destination wasn’t Clover City, TN but they had someone who had commissioned a costume dress from them for some big pageant and was informed that the town could use someone with their talent. It was close to Nashville but just far enough that Joss didn’t think they’d have to worry about being recognized too often.

In the two years they’ve been in Clover City, Joss has flourished. They’ve done more work for the DCEU and found their place in the world again. Just famous enough to be recognized when they visit bigger cities for conventions but just the guy next door with the great sewing skills to everyone in town. The perfect balance they’d been missing in their life while in LA.

[rape tw / self harm tw / substance abuse tw] Under the seemingly perfect surface, however, Joss is starting to fall apart. While it’s been two years since they escaped the hell that was LA, Joss has only now started processing everything that happened to them. Including the fact that part of the court battles involved reliving multiple instances of rape. In trying to cope with it all, Joss has started being self destructive, both in the form of self medicating and self harm. Doing anything they can to stop the way their hands constantly shake and the nightmares that plague what sleep they get around their busy schedule.

Joss maintains various forms of social media that pertain directly to their career. Their twitch channel is often filled with in-cosplay gaming, cosplay building, and even live convention coverage. Their youtube channel is full of cosplay videos, tutorials on everything from how to sew to how to pack cosplays for conventions without breaking them, and everything in between.

When they’re not working, Joss spends their time running, watching hockey, hanging out in clubs, playing video games, or hanging out with their cat, Lena. They run at least one marathon a year, but typically more, and have even run the Boston and New York marathons. They have a giant comics collection and an annual pass for both Disneyland and Disney World. They’re also an avid swimmer.

CREDITS

Syfy’s Heroes of Cosplay (2013) - Cast Youtube (2014) - Hit 1 million subscribers Twitch (2014) - Became partner Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice (2016) - Costume Designer Wonder Woman (2017) - Costume Designer Birds of Prey: And the Fabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn (2020) - Costume Designer Wonder Woman 1984 (2020) - Costume Designer San Diego Comic Con (2015 - Present) - Featured Cosplay Guest New York Comic Con (2016 - Present) - Featured Cosplay Guest

APPEARANCE

General

Face Claim: Melissa Benoist

Eye Color: Blue

Hair Color: Brunet & Blond

Height: 5'8"

Biological Sex: Female

Gender Identity: Genderqueer

Gender Expression: Androgynous

Other

Tattoos: tbd

Scars: tbd

Piercings: Ears and Nose

Hair Cut/Style:

Joss typically wears their hair loose around their shoulders, but will occasionally pull it back into a braid or low ponytail.

Clothes/Style:

On a regular basis, tends to stick to more of a punk-lite style, mixing comfort with style. They enjoy wearing beanies, leather, and anything with studs. If they go out, they definitely tend to wear a lot of necklaces and/or bracelets. When it comes to formal wear, they really like suspenders and bowties.

Make Up:

While Joss doesn’t always wear anything more than concealer/foundation to correct for sitting in front of bright lights while on stream, they appreciate a good lipstick and are rarely seen without black nail polish, at least outside of cosplay.

#about: a goddamn mermaid #bio #[this is their full bio and appearance info in one place]

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raybyanothername · 5 years

Note

Can you do a Seal Team fanfiction with Brock. Something where a higher-up looks down on him for being a dog handler and the team is super protective of him. It could be the higher up gets violent with Brock or something of the nature.

The Goodest Boy

Cereberus growled low as Admiral Doherty entered the briefing room. His attache, Captain Walsh, eyed the dog with a wrinkled nose and pursed lips. Brock patted Cerb's side and the dog settled. The rest of Bravo eyed the brass as they walked up to Harrington.

"This particular mission is high priority," Harrington cleared his throat, raised a hand to indicate the two men beside him. "Which I'm sure you've all gathered."

"The mission is both time sensitive and politically volatile." Captain Walsh stepped forward and clicked a button on the remote Harrington handed him. The screen behind him flickered as a map of Canada popped up - Quebec specifically.

Sonny snorted, "Politically volatile? Looks like political suicide from where I'm sittin'." Clay and Trent nodded, chuckles barely suppressed at a look from Jason.

Captain Walsh cleared his throat, "You'll be aiming for zero detection for that reason, Mr. Quinn." Sonny's eyes narrowed at the address.

"So what, exactly, do you want us to do?" Jason asked as Ray's attention flickered over the brass. Harrington and Blackburn were just as in the dark as they were - given the tension in their jaws and tightness around their eyes.

"Your primary mission is the retrieval of a prototype."

Brock snorted. Walsh glared at him. He just grinned as the man continued to explain what was, basically, government-sponsored corporate espionage.

All of Bravo was wearing a blank face by the end of the briefing. Even Harrington had flat eyebrows as he took in the plan that Walsh had laid out for them.

"And we're delivering this prototype to a bunch of contractors?" Ray's lips twitched as he asked the question.

"Only after you cross back into American territory." The Admiral finally spoke, eyes sharp as he pointed a finger at the map. "If you're captured on the other side of the border you'll be disavowed."

Brock barked out a laugh, "Great!" He patted Cerb's head, "I always wanted to be a spy as a kid." He winked at Walsh, "Had too much common sense and morals for the CIA recruiter."

That earned him a chuckle from Mandy. And Sonny was cackling. Admiral Doherty pinned him with his eyes, "I'm not sure what use a spy organization would have for a dog walker, Mr. Reynolds."

"That's Petty Officer Reynolds. Sir." Brock ignored the look Blackburn was shooting him. Talking back to an admiral was probably not great for his career. But…the asshole deserved it.

Cerberus jumped down from his chair to take up position at Brock's feet. He did not sit back down. Brock barred his teeth as the Admiral glanced at the dog.

"Don't worry," Jason pipped up, a sardonic smile gracing his face, "The dog's a total teddy bear."

"Maul you just as good as one too," Trent chuckled, his eyebrows jumped up to emphasize his point.

Harrington coughed and Bravo turned as one to face him. Their faces went flat. Cerberus kept his own attention on the admiral.

"What are we thinking for infil?"

They hammered out the details for the op within the hour. There weren't a lot of options for a silent run like this.

"You know, I've never been to Maine." Trent commented as they walked into the ready room. Brock only half listened to Sonny's tirade about the dangers of the Appalachian mountain and snow and moose.

He did catch the part where he called them meese, which had started Clay. Apparently there was a linguistic reason why such a pluralization was offensive to the English language.

Brock tuned the reason out and handed Cerberus a bone while he fit his harness on him. He grabbed Cerb's travel bag next. He dug around a bit - it was the only bag Davis didn't pack for them - before pulling out the near empty doggy water bottle.

"If you don't want to use mooses, what about moosak?"

"I ain't referring to an animal that fights with whales as a genre of elevator music!"

The door of the ready room closed just as Clay was launching into another explanation about orcas - which, yeah, there was no way Sonny wasn't provoking him on purpose now.

One day the kid would realize Sonny spent most of his time outside of bars watching documentaries and the discovery channel. That day was obviously not today though.

"Petty Officer Reynolds."

Brock was stopped before he reached the end of the hall by the voice of none other than Captain Walsh. Brock turned on his heels to face the officer, but he didn't bother with a salute.

The captain's face puckered. "I'd like to talk to you about disrespect of a commanding officer."

"He started it." Brock snickered.

He was not only on base, but in one of the most secure buildings on the whole installation. His team was literally a room away. He was talking to a Navy officer. An officer!

There was no reason to have his guard up. None at all. Which is why being slammed into the cinderblock wall came as a shock. The air in his lungs abandoned ship immediately.

"Look here, your only value is in your handling of that dog." The captain was literally sneering. Brock would have laughed if he wasn't coughing from the sudden exfil of his air supply. "You've obviously got an over-inflated ego from the-"

Captain Walsh had his guard down too. Though having it up would not have saved him from the teeth sinking into his arm. Cerberus had lunged right for the bicep of the arm pinning Brock to the wall.

Jason was blinking from his position by the door of the ready room. Brock rubbed at his chest and knelt to pick up the water bottle he'd dropped before whistling.

Cerberus backed away from the captain, who was now a simpering heap cradling his arm. Brock nodded to Jason and then continued on his mission to refill the water bottle. Cerberus hung at his heels, whining dramatically.

"Wow." Jason walked over to the captain lying on the floor. "You should probably see a medic." He grinned down at the man, "I'd get Trent, but, uh, he's got a strict policy about not fixing any damage that Cerberus causes."

Jason knelt beside the captain. He was bleeding, but he'd certainly live. He patted the hand gripping the dog bite. Walsh flinched.

"You got off easy." Jason's voice dropped to a flat tone as he whispered into the captain's ear. "You ever touch a member of my team again, Cerberus will eat well for months." He patted his hand again and stood to return to his cage.

Cerberus held his head up as he and Brock passed by again. The medics were loading him on to a stretcher - with many an eyeroll exchanged.

"Don't worry," Brock called over his shoulder, "Cerb's had all his shots." One of the medics stifled a laugh as the captain began muttering.

"You're gonna owe Blackburn a case of beer you keep that up," Ray shook his head at Brock walked into the room. He was smiling though.

Trent grinned ear to ear, "I saw we put it on Sonny's tab."

"He is the bad influence!" Clay added as Sonny squawked from his cage. A new debate emerged between the two men, with Trent egging them on from the sidelines.

Brock just repacked the bag for Cerberus and handed him a treat. The dog took it cheerfully, tail wagging as he sat at Brock's feet.

#ask ray #prompt ray #ray writes #cbs seal team #seal team cbs #seal team #brock reynolds #cerberus

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longhornfabrays · 4 years

Text

Let’s Play || Self-Para

Who: Quinn Fabray

Where: The Fabray Family’s place in Austin

When: April 29th, 2020

Notes: Quinn sneaks off to her parent’s apartment in Austin to stream for her secret channel like usual and thinks about what she has done.

Quinn unlocked the door to the apartment and sighed out of anger as she closed the door. Today was definitely not her best day. She should’ve felt happy for Finn and Marley. They were overcoming the unexpected and figuring out how to raise a baby together. It was good. And she shouldn’t have tried to get Rachel to say she wasn’t happy about any of this; whether she was or not. The blonde just didn’t want to be the only one semi-furious about all this. She really had no right to be. She knew that. And yet...

She was hurt a little bit. Not that she wanted to be in any of their shoes. She didn’t want to be single and pregnant with her best friend’s boyfriend’s baby. Or in a relationship with someone who was expecting a baby with her best friend. It was more the fact everyone was suddenly happy and moving forward in some way with their lives. Even if they were all young, it seemed like people were getting serious about things and she was at the same place she had been for years. Sure, she was working on her degree and she had this Twitch thing that no one but her family knew about, but really where was anything else going?

This date coming up with Sam was going to be the first big relationship move she made since Kyle. She still had to set things up and make sure he still wanted to even go with her. If those texts she sent were spoken about... she knew it could hurt things. And maybe that would’ve been a good thing. The young Fabray would definitely deserve it. She really was the Ice Queen, wasn’t she? A little laugh escaped her. She hadn’t thought about that nickname since high school.

How was she supposed to show her face at that karaoke thing? At least to Finn and Rachel. And how was she supposed to act? It was all such a mess that she caused for herself. She knew that. A lot of alcohol was going to have to be in her blood to even have fun, but that was going to be a worry for the next day.

Making her way through the apartment and turning on some lights, she ended up in the room where she streamed her games every Wednesday night. She was a little late, which she tweeted, InstaStoried, and whatever else about on the BeautyQueenGames social medias. Her followers were of course understanding and waiting patiently for her to start up a stream. She really didn’t feel like doing any of this after the day, but she didn’t want to let her fans down.

She went to her mirror and put her hair up into a top bun before taking out one of her many masks she wore for this. She started this just so people at her high school wouldn’t find out it was her playing these “nerd games” online. And then it stuck. This wasn’t her scene and it was getting harder and harder to hide. Especially when most of the people she spent time with would’ve loved to know she played these games too. Maybe she should just come out with it. Her fans were dying to know what she actually looked like. But, for now, she was going to stay hidden behind her mask and keep living the easier life she apparently was in.

She sat down in front of the set up she had done and turned on her Playstation 4 so she could stream Overwatch. She needed some to release a little anger tonight. Quinn got everything set up and started before waving at the camera like she always did. “Hello, my lovely royal subjects and welcome to another stream. Today, we are going to play some more Overwatch while I try to perfect the skills of Echo and start getting this week’s loot boxes. For those of you who are on my friend’s list, you are more than welcome to join me in a group. I’ll wait a little and we’ll switch on and off like usual so everyone can hopefully get a chance to play. Let’s get started!”

The stream lasted the usual two hours and she said her goodbyes to her viewers. She promised to upload some content on her YouTube page giving updates on her Animal Crossing island and she got off for the night. She made sure everything was off before taking off her mask and sighing as she looked at her phone. She took a deep breath as she texted Sam. She wanted it to be clear that this date was going to be different for her. For them. Maybe that was a bad idea, but it was the only thing she could think of doing.

She then made herself something to eat, got on her pajamas, and watched a movie before just heading to bed. She’d get up early and make her way back to the school and to her classes like normal. Until that night. When she was supposed to be Quinn Fabray and be the girl everyone expected her to be. She groaned as she buried herself into the bed and tried to think of anything else.

#sp;let's play #quinn;self

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legrandepapillon · 6 years

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3 Times James Madison Hated Himself [And The One Time Thomas Wouldn’t Let Him] (jeffmads)

Summary: James’ jokes have been getting darker and darker lately, and Thomas is growing steadily concerned. Prompt: ‘Look I know your self-deprecating humor isn’t jokes do you need a hug? A therapist? You’re a great person don’t feel that way’ Author’s Notes: tw: Suicidal thoughts, self-deprecating humor, suicide attempt

Early autumn evenings were Thomas’ favorite kind of day─especially when he was spending them with his best friend. James had been putting off this coffee date for weeks in favor of working from home, but Thomas had finally triumphantly convinced him to come out for some fresh air and sunlight. It was too often that James let his sickness and depression eat away at him, holed himself up and away from the world so that no one would see him at its worst state. Things got better after he separated himself from his homophobic father and had gotten that prestigious job he’d been gunning for. But lately… lately James had been backsliding something awful. And Thomas simply wouldn’t stand for it.

“Ain’t it a lovely evening?” Thomas asks, after retrieving their coffees from the barista and setting them on their table. He’d gotten a lovely booth near the window that allowed the sun to filter in. He can’t help but notice at the way it made James’ dark skin glow. “Perfect for a walk in the park, don’t y’think?”

James sniffles quietly─recovering from a cold, the colder seasons tended to do that to him─and attempts to pull his coffee cup closer to him. Instead, he accidentally backhands Thomas’ cup─sending the coffee tilting and splashes against the table, Thomas’ new jeans, and the floor. After the ensuing yelps of pain from the taller man, and James hurriedly running to get napkins to get the hot coffee off his best friend’s skin, the two manage to settle down. The throbbing pain slowly but surely subsides in Jefferson’s leg, and James eventually returns with a new drink for him─looking both disappointed and angry, though neither seem to be pointed at the man seated across from it.

“Heh. I’m such a fucking clutz, I can’t even grip right. I’d be a great sidekick,” James chuckles after about twenty total minutes of silence, barely noticing that Thomas isn’t partaking in the ‘joke’ with him. Jefferson looks up from where he’d cleaning the last of the spilled coffee from the seat, brow furrowing. “I’d just run around tripping over all the bad guys, like some bumbling idiot.”

“I s’pose. It’s not that big of a deal, Jemmy, y’know it’s just a dollar cup of coffee, right?” Thomas asks hesitantly, taking a few napkins and dabbing at the mess. “And I’m not even really hurt. See? Just a little burn, probably, nothin’ that some Neosporin won’t fix.”

“Yeah, sure. It was just a joke, Thomas.”

The second time is on the roof of Jefferson’s house, at nearly midnight. James doesn’t know what came over the taller of the two of them to climb a fucking house, but that’s exactly what Thomas comes knocking on his door at eleven in the evening to do─luckily, James hadn’t been sleeping much so he’s awake and able to accompany his far more outgoing friend on another ‘wacky adventure’. After picking up James from his apartment and driving the 50 miles to the outskirts of town to his perfect three-story home, Thomas grabs some blankets and snacks and uses a ladder to make the trek up.

Thomas’ house is far taller than James remembers. Or it must be, because his eyes keep cautiously darting to the edge─where, should anything ‘accidentally’ happen, there’d be nothing but a cement driveway to break a fall.

James voices this exact thing─in the middle of Thomas attempting to point out the Orion constellation─and it sends his best friend to a grinding halt. With all his blabbering about stars and belts, Thomas hadn’t noticed that James had been slowly shimmying towards the edge of the roof so that his feet dangled just slightly over it─it would just take a nudge forward, a slight lean, to send the boy tumbling down to the hard concrete. His hands grip the edge of the roof tightly─so tightly that his knuckles visibly pale a bit─and there’s something dark in his eyes. Something that Thomas had only seen once before, when a girl he’d liked had smiled at him in the hallway.

Longing.

“Dare me to jump? I bet you five bucks I could let on my feet,” James whispers, a faint bit of joking tone coating the edges of his voice─but still not quite there.

“No… because, you wouldn’t, James. You’d die,” Thomas splutters. This seems to snap his friend out of whatever trance he was in, because James looks up and lightly socks him in the shoulder─though the look of longing doesn’t disappear.

“I know that, stupid. It was a joke. Don’t get all butthurt.”

Thomas almost isn’t sure about the third time. They’re hanging with friends─something that had taken three months for James to allow Thomas to plan─and for the first time in a long time, it looks like James might be doing a bit better. He’d showered that morning, and had slept a full eight hours last night─both of which were better than the pattern he’d been keeping up for the last six months. Some of the bags under his eyes were gone, and his eyes were twinkling.

James just needed to get out more… didn’t he? That must’ve been it. Depression was only a state of mind after all, and once someone started putting their mind to it, it could be cured. All he had needed to do was cheer up a bit.

Or at least, this is what Thomas tries to convince himself all night while controllers are passed around─each person trying to beat James’ current winning streak in Injustice 2, and failing miserably. James was wiping the floor with every one of his friends, and it seemed like he was having a fairly good time.

At least, until Peggy got hold of the controller. It wasn’t uncommon knowledge that Peggy gamed professionally─she had a very popular Twitch stream, and an even more popular YouTube account. There wasn’t a game someone put in front of her that she couldn’t beat on the first try. Hell, she had even started a gaming channel with other gamers that discussed every aspect of games and did co-op gameplays. She was very good at gaming─as she had to be, it paid her bills.

When Peggy begins winning against James, much to the utter amusement of Alexander─who James had Flawless Victory’d in twenty seconds─the young man becomes visibly frustrated. Though not in a sore-loser type of way, just in a way that someone who couldn’t beat a particularly hard level would become.

And when Peggy finishes him with the Harley Quinn super move, James laughs and tosses the controller to Aaron─who was next up on the rotation to play.

“Ah, I’m garbage. Just gotta throw the whole James away, start fresh,” he jokes lightly, stepping over Angelica’s legs to get over to the kitchen. The comment earns a few chuckles from John─but for the most part, everyone in the party just looks… concerned. The relaxation that Thomas had been slowly allowing to ease into his bones dissipates, and he worriedly searches James’ face for any sign of truth to the sentence. Was James going to do something ‘throw himself away’? Or was it a silly passing comment?

“You alright, Jemmy?” Thomas asks, stopping the young man on his way to get another beer. There’s a brief flash of sadness in his eyes, but James shrugs Thomas off in place of saying whatever he was going to. Instead, he calls back,

“Don’t be a worry wart! Loosen up a little!”

(1)

Usually, Thomas would work through lunch on Friday’s─cramming in as much work as possible in order to have the best possible weekend. He didn’t want Martha calling him in the middle of one of his binge watching sessions to review a new advertisement design or put together a presentation for one of their products─he’d rather just get it all done and be able to kick back for the entire weekend.

However, he hasn’t seen James in going on two weeks and he has to admit─he’s becoming a bit worried. It’s not entirely his fault that he had abandoned his best friend, there had just been too much going on. There were those interviews for the companies Fall Fashion line they showcased, and then the catalogues needed to be finished and sent out and he had to make sure the catalogues were being shipped to stores on a good publishing date. Then there was that company stalker scandal that he had to scramble to distract the media from… he’d just been far too busy to check in on his friend like he usually would. Working PR for a big time fashion line was hard work, and besides─Jemmy would be fine, wouldn’t he? It wasn’t like his depression handicapped him─if he needed someone, he knew how to call Dolley or Martha.

Even despite this mantra repeating in his head, Thomas can’t stop the gnawing guilt that eats at him during his work day. So much so, he doesn’t even have the energy to insult Alex’s terrible fashion sense. All he can think about is if James is okay, and what would happen if he isn’t?

As the clock strikes eleven, he simply can’t take it anymore. Calling to Martha that he’d be taking an early lunch, Thomas snatches up his jacket and hurries as fast as he can out of the building. The second he gets behind the wheel, he goes as fast as he can without getting caught─which, with the noon traffic, isn’t very fast at all. Every second seems to tick by, going faster than Thomas can keep up with.

It takes a total of twenty-one minutes and thirty-four seconds for Thomas to properly get inside of James’ apartment, and just a second more for him to locate his best friend curled in a ball in the center of his bed─certainly looking worse for wear. Its obvious─if judging by the trash can by the side of the bed is anything to go by─that he’s been vomiting, and for a second Thomas thinks he’s simply got another stomach bug. And oh how he wishes it were just a stomach bug. But then the glaring orange bottle of painkillers on the nightstand catches his eyes, along with the bottle of vodka sitting half-empty beside it.

Approaching the bottle, Thomas’ prayers to God go unanswered when he finds the bottle of medicine is indeed empty. James had tried to kill himself, and now his body was rejecting the medication.

“James…”

“Hush, Thomas, save it. I already know. I’m such a fuck-up, I can’t even kill myself properly.” The joke comes out dry, it definitely falls short of landing. Sighing in both exhaustion and deeply seated sadness, Thomas grabs the young man by the shoulders and lifts him up so that he can rest against the headboard. After double-checking to make sure there are no more pills within arms reach of James, he heads into the adjoining bathroom to get a warm towel.

The entire time, Thomas finds he’s unable to fight the urges that bubble up inside of him. The urge to yell at him, the urge to slap him, the urge to leave. He’s angry. And don’t get him wrong, Thomas knows that’s not the appropriate response. He should be comforting James, holding him, assuring him that everything will be alright. But… Thomas is at the end of his rope, and if he had lost James, he doesn’t know what to do.

“Mads… I… are you purposefully stupid or just blind? Killing yourself? What the hell would that solve, huh? You… that’s… it’s selfish! I could’ve lost you, forever. And if I had… if you hadn’t of failed, I─” Thomas cuts himself off as he sits on the edge of the bed beside him, wiping the vomit, tears, and general grime from his best friend’s face. James’ expression softens with each word, until he’s eventually leaning into Thomas’ touch with his eyes closed.

“You don’t think I know all that, Tommy?! I get it, okay, I’m a selfish piece of shit and I don’t deserve how good you are to me. I get it!” James’ voice is helpless as he says that, filled with a pain that Thomas had never heard before. Mads was exhausted, and all his actions did was prove just how much so.

“That’s not what I meant, James, I’m just… I’m just angry. Okay. I’m sorry. I just don’t know how to help you and that frustrates me. I know you’re going through a lot but I don’t… I don’t wanna lose you. So do you want to see a therapist? Do you need to be on some more medication? What do I do?”

“Just… hold me, for now? Don’t leave me.”

And so, Thomas obliges him. He wraps his arms around James’ slight figure, pulls him close against his chest and holds him. He doesn't move when his lunch is over, or when the sun begins to set. He doesn’t move when James begins snoring, he when he needs to pee. He stays. It’s the least he could do.

They’d figure this out. They’d get through it.

#hamilton #thomas jefferson #james madison #platonic jeffmads #jeffmads #thomas jefferson x james madison #thomas jefferson/james madison #tw suicide #tw suicide attempt #tw depression #an idealism #my writing #writing #hamilton fanfic #drabble #ficlet #boy do i have a queue for you

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shaudswrites · 6 years

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Heads

Stephanie fought not to cringe at every turn as she made her way through one of the most twisted, dark places she'd ever had the displeasure of visiting, and she'd visited a lot of twisted, dark places. The heavy footsteps of the guards behind her were the only things that drowned out the creepy sounds and she was left feeling oddly empty when the steel door shut behind her and she had to traverse the rest of the corridor alone.

Stupid bat training that left her footsteps so light. She clutched the paper bag just hard enough that she didn't squish the contents into so much mush in her shaky hands. The door she was nearing was both forever away and getting closer way too quickly for her liking, and she considered stomping her feet on purpose just so she wouldn't have to deal with the quiet when the grey slab of metal was right in front of her.

With a deep breath, she tried to pull up her Batgirl mentality. It was just like interrogating any other criminal, being in Arkham didn't make any difference, it wasn't like he was Joker-level crazy or anything. Still, better to be polite. She raised one hand, and before she lost the little confidence she'd pulled together she knocked.

She jumped when the sound reverberated through the corridor much more loudly than she'd though it would. There was some rustling from the other doors; bloodshot eyes pressed up to the little barred window cut into the door followed a particularly loud BASH from one nearer to her.

Stephanie chuckled nervously and waved at the inmate as she pressed her back against the door she'd knocked on. Someone else's amused snort was heard from inside. She pushed down the minor irritation at letting the place get to her before she'd even gotten into the damned room.

Barbara had said it was a bad idea, that she had nothing to prove, but they'd both known it wasn't true.

'Right, going in.'

She held the bag in front of her like a shield and pushed the door open.

Jason Todd, the Red Hood, slouched in his rickety metal chair like it was the most comfortable seat in the world. "First the old man, and now Robin 4.0, guess the grave's just not what it used to be, am I right?"

Stephanie took a second to wonder just what the hell she was doing there before she strode over and took the seat opposite him, nothing but the sturdy table between her and a killer with a grudge against anyone wearing a bat.

The bag crinkled when she set it on the table, his eyes barely flickered to it before settling on her, a creepy smile playing on his lips. Stephanie tried to channel her inner Barbara, but failed spectacularly when after a few minutes her fingers began drumming on the rusty metal. She'd been so focused on not chickening out of her visit she hadn't planned any conversation starters for when she actually got there. Everyone said Jason loved to talk? Why was he being so still?

The current Batgirl looked between him and the paper bag before awkwardly pushing it right to the edge of his side of the table. "So…"

"What, you put a head in there?" He cocked his head. "Cause even if it is mine, you can't exactly add to a life sentence."

"No, Penny-one said you liked chili-dogs." Stephanie blurted out, a little queasy at the idea of lugging around head in a paper bag. "Why would you think I brought you a head!?"

His shackles clinked when he poked the bag, toppling it on its side. "Was as good a guess as any." He shrugged. "Putting heads in bags is what the Gotham street dealers know me for."

"Okay, gross." She waved her hands as if shooing his words away. "Can we save the blood and guts story for another time?"

"Made three of them blow chunks." Great, now he was being chatty. "Made up for the two hours work on its own."

"You know, saying things like that is why you didn't pass your mental evaluation. You could be…"

"I'm not crazy." He didn't quite slam his hands on the table, but having them in sight was unnerving enough. Those were the hands that had killed literally hundreds and all that stood between them and her was a table and some handcuffs.

"Suuure you're not." She drawled and tried to be subtle about sliding her seat a few more inches away from him.

He growled and clicked his jaw before speaking again. "Just tell me what you want so I can get back to sleep."

"Rude." Stephanie rolled her eyes and folded her arms. "Do you have any idea how hard it was to set this thing up?"

"I'm flattered, now. What. Do. You. Want, Blondie?" He'd balled his hands into fists now, and she knew she should have been more afraid, but she was emboldened by the mere fact that he hadn't tried to attack her yet. Not that she was kidding herself with the tried part.

"No really, it was a nightmare. It took forever to convince them I really was even Batgirl, you know one of them thought I was Harley Freaking Quinn for like an hour? Then Oracle tells me that nutcase actually pretended to be Batgirl once? And don't even get me started on the work it took getting them to let me bring in the food –which you'd better eat- when they got the idea it was components for Smilex and you were the Joker's apprentice or something." She had to cut her rant short to take a deep breath.

"You done?" He looked supremely bored as he looked at a point somewhere behind her.

"No, I am not done. Calling yourself Red Hood? Just why, you'd think it would occur to someone smart enough to take over the Gotham underground that naming yourself after that freak would give you some problems down the line." She huffed.

"Making it easy for teenage girls to visit me wasn't a factor, no." He folded his arms, the motion almost distracting her from what he said next. "It was supposed to be ironic."

"Dude, it would be like calling myself Black Mask and running around with a power-drill, it's dumb." She shot back.

The silence stretched on just long enough to be uncomfortable again before he spoke and she took the time to study the dark circles under his eyes. "No, that would be like calling myself Joker and running around with crowbars and bombs."

"You do kinda blow things up a lot." She mimicked his posture. "Hey, aren't you a teenager too?" She cocked her head with a frown.

He snorted. "No." His eyes shifted off to the side.

"Oh my god, you are!" She jumped to her feet and pointed one of her fingers within grabbing distance before she really registered what she was doing. "Just imagine the reaction it'd get if anyone found out that Red Hood, scourge of Gotham's underworld, isn't even twenty yet. They'd flip the fuck out."

"You kiss your mother with that mouth? 'Cause I can send it to her in a box" As if he wasn't angry enough before, he was steaming now. If she'd felt like pushing her luck more, Stephanie would have called his expression a pout, but she really wanted to leave Arkham alive, so she didn't let that thought linger.

"Please, it's nothing compared to the audio logs I've heard of you." She chuckled and settled back into her seat. "What were we talking about again?"

"You leaving." He growled.

"Nope, pretty sure it was me getting here." She held up one finger. "So anyway, I thought I was going to have to ask for help from Batman…" here Jason scoffed, "… but for someone that cold he can be a little over-protective, and I couldn't exactly ask Oracle, because, like no one knows she exists and the most she could do was schedule a 'legitimate' visit, and by then the chili-dogs would have been cold, and it would have been a tiny bit suspicious if a blond girl with a paper bag came in right after blond Batgirl with a paper bag left…"

"That was too many ands," Jason cut in.

"So I just told them I was your sister and that you'd be real mad if they didn't let me in." She spread out her arms and grinned. Jason's folded arms were twitching in a way that told her he was fighting to keep them that way. "Also, one of them, Schools or whatever, was kind of handsy and I said you were going to get him for it so…"

"You really have no idea what you've done, do you?" He clasped his hands in front of him tightly enough that his knuckles cracked.

"Came for a nice visit and brought you some non-prison food?" Her smile slipped just a little under the intensity of his glare. She lifted the paper bag upright. "Are you going to eat it?"

"No." He wasted no time in replying. "If you don't have anything important to tell me, then leave." He didn't turn away from her, but he might as well have.

"You really are an ass, you know." She sighed and stood up. "But, er thanks for not killing me the second I walked in the door." He scoffed and she took one last look at him as he slumped a little further into the uncomfortable chair before she left.

The heavy metal door was between them and let out a breathy sigh. That was it, mission failed, whatever that mission had been in the first place. She paused on her way to the other end of the corridor. Had she really failed?

Walking in she'd fully expected a fight, those cuffs couldn't have held him. Heck, even a strait jacket couldn't have held someone half as skilled as any robin was expected to be, and Jason did have training on top of that. That was something at least.

By the time she'd left the asylum, Stephanie had come to the conclusion that she'd made the same mistake this time as she had when she'd enacted the War Games, lack of information. She didn't know how to talk to Jason because she didn't know anything about him.

She'd have something to tell him the next time she showed up, because next time she'd know more than his favorite food.

Stephanie Brown was a detective too, and it was time she proved that she could put those skills to use.

#stephanie brown #jason todd #aekham asylum #fanfiction #stephanie and jason #tell me a story

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davidcarner · 6 years

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Chuck vs the Nanny, Ch 7, Who’s your Momma?

A/N: I don’t know how many of you write, and those of you who do, I don’t know how many write like I do. See, I get an idea and just start writing and then fix things as I go. Some things really don’t matter, in this case, who the “big bad” is. When you write novels, it’s no big deal, you just go back and edit them, but when you write fan fic and post chapters as you go….well, it can be a bit of a problem. I knew who the “big bad” was in this story, but it never felt right, and honestly, most of you guessed it. However, I got a message from Marc Vun Kannon, and it got me thinking. I went back and reread everything, and honestly, nothing was really said that stopped me from changing the “big bad”, so I have, and honestly, I think it’s better, in fact, it really works. It’s amazing how well it works. Sometimes my mind does things when I write that I don’t realize, and this is one of those times. Sit back, relax, and enjoy my favorite chapter of this story.

Disclaimer: Still don’t own Chuck, but actively working on getting the rights to Steampunk. Chuckster so she can write the movie, season 6, or WHATEVER SHE WANTS!

Carmichael Industries, Russian branch

“Mary, you might want to see this,” Jenny, Mary’s assistant said. Mary walked over and looked at the computer layout of the facility. There was a flashing dot off to the side of layout. Mary frowned. “How is this possible? It’s outside of our facility and there’s an intrusion? The software must be buggy.” Mary smiled, and gestured toward the keyboard. Jenny moved out of the way, and Mary typed a few things, and another facility schematics came up on the screen. “What is that?”

“That, is Alexei Volkoff’s office, and someone is in there.” Jenny’s eyes grew wide. She had always heard the rumors about Alexei and his private office, but it remained off books. Apparently for a very good reason.

“I’ll take care of this,” Mary said, drawing her weapon, and she left quickly. As she approached the doors she hoped to never see again, she noticed it was cracked open. She pushed it open, and used all her spy training not to gasp.

“Alexei! Hands up or I will kill you!” she screamed, pointing her gun at Alexei. However she quickly realized it wasn’t Alexei and then laughed, as Hartley screamed as only he could scream and slumped out of the chair to the ground while trying to raise his hands. “Hartley, I’m sorry, it’s just you know you’re not supposed to be in here.”

“Do you think I want to be in here?” he yelled/screamed in a panic.

“Hartley what’s wrong?”

“They have Vivian,” he said with tears in his eyes. Mary’s face hardened.

“Come on, we’re going on a trip, there’s someone I need to make sure is where he’s supposed to be!”

}o{

Vault

Chuck watched his wife Sarah’s head twitch and jerk as the Intersect uploaded itself into her mind. Suddenly she stopped twitching and fell over, not moving. The bodyguards moved forward, and as good as Chuck was with a tranq gun, he knew he was no match for 12 guards that approached him. One of the bodyguards kicked Sarah’s foot, and she had no reaction. The men turned toward Chuck, who raised his hands in surrender, knowing he had no chance currently. They pulled him out into the open and Chuck began to think this might be it.

“Hey, I recognize her,” one of the bodyguards said. “That’s the girl that was supposed to take this guy out, back when I worked for Quinn.” Chuck rolled his eyes thinking things couldn’t get any worse.

“I mean really, this guy, Intersect, does anyone ever bother to learn my name?” he asked disgusted. One of the bodyguards cocked his gun aimed at Chuck. Chuck swallowed. “Got it, not important right now.”

“Frank?” Chuck heard Sarah’s voice. Chuck looked over and she was sitting up, starting at first Chuck and then the bodyguard. She shot Chuck a death look, and his heart sank. She looked up at Frank. “Thanks,” she said to Frank. Frank looked confused. “You got my memory back.” She looked at Chuck with disgust, and Chuck swore to himself that if he ever got out of this, he’d quit ever thinking things couldn’t get worse. “Do you know I had to sleep with that idiot and have his kids,” she said with venom in her voice that Chuck had only heard once…it was the time Quinn had taken away her memories. Chuck felt sick.

“Sarah, are you okay?” Frank asked. She nodded and stood.

“Let me,” she said to Frank, gesturing toward the weapon. Frank shook his head. “Hear me out. This…nerd…made me have his children, had his way with me, and kept me away from what I do best, just to be a mother to his kids.” Chuck stared straight ahead, his heart breaking with each word from her, and wondering how she could be remembering things the wrong way. She wanted kids, she had stayed an integral part of Carmichael Industries, and every once in a while she unleashed her ninja kick-assery skills on those that deserved it. “He had me watch all those goofy movies. They were sooooo stupid.”

“The prequels,” Frank said.

“Hey, they’re not that bad,” Chuck interjected. Everyone turned to look at him. “Right, shutting up.” Frank shook his head and handed her two guns.

“Enjoy,” he said. Sarah winked at Frank and turned toward Chuck. She walked right in front of him and squatted down, looking him directly in the eye. Chuck was terrified…and a little turned on.

“I want you to hear this Bartowski, all of this,” she said. Chuck looked into her eyes. “Of all the nerdy things you made me watch, I think the worst is Star Trek II The Wrath of Khan.” Chuck raised an eyebrow. She turned and looked at Frank. “You know the worst thing, besides these nerds running around and talking in Klingon?” Frank shook his head. “They used some stupid code to communicate with each other, Regulation 46A. I mean how dumb do you have to be to tell someone what you are doing with a barely disguised code?” She asked, turning and looking directly at Chuck. Chuck had had enough. He decided he wasn’t going out, without taking a few of his own shots, besides what did he have to lose?

“That’s the worst memory?” Chuck asked. Sarah nodded. “I would have thought it would have been you having to say these words to me. ‘Chuck, you’re a gift. You’re a gift I never dreamed I could want or need and everyday I will show you that you’re a gift that I deserve. You make me the best person I could ever hope to be and I want to spend and learn and love the rest of my life with you.’” One of the guards wiped his eyes. Chuck looked at him like, “really?” He turned back to Sarah. She was smiling almost evilly.

“I’m used to lying,” she answered. Chuck nodded with a smirk on his face. “The worst thing I had to do, was listen to you. ‘How do I express my love for you? Or my dreams for our future? Or the fact that I will fight for you everyday. Or that our kids will be like little superheroes with little capes and stuff like that? Words can’t express that and don’t do it justice. They just don’t cut it. So no vows. I’ll just prove it to you everyday for the rest of our lives. You can count on me.’” Chuck leaned back, placing his hands behind the legs of the two thugs behind him.

“So that’s it? After all this time, this is how I find out?” Sarah bounces a shoulder and shrugs. “So it’s time to end this?” he asked. She nodded, stood and looked right at him. “Do you have anything you want to say to me?” She grinned.

“Perfect,” she said. Chuck brought his hands up and forward, hitting both of the guards in the back of the knees, as Sarah squeezed off two shots at them. They were dead before they hit the ground. Chuck looked up. He knew it wasn’t possible, but it seemed like things were moving in slow motion as Led Zepplin’s Immigrant Song played. There were 12 guards, two dead with her and Chuck’s move. The guards attempted to move their guns to aim at Sarah, since they had had them down during the two’s exchange. Sarah side kicked Frank with her left leg, sending him into three off to the side. That left six, two behind her and four to her right, she dropped down into the splits and spun, taking out the four to the right while the two behind her shot over her head. Chuck shot cover fire over the heads of the two, from one of the guns on the ground, and the two scattered. She stood, moving to her right, taking out three of the five on the right, leaving Frank and another guard and the two behind them. One of the guns jammed, and she threw it at Frank, knocking him backward. She shot the other behind her, the gun running out of bullets. Chuck shot cover fire again at the guard on the right, and he ducked. Sarah kicked the guard in the face, and caught the gun Chuck threw to her. The two were down, and Sarah looked at Chuck not sure what to do. As she did, Chuck saw Frank rise with a gun, and he started to cry out, as she shot both Frank and the other guard all while looking at Chuck. Chuck nodded understanding what she had to do. He stood and walked to her.

“Regulation 46A, if transmission are being monitored during battle, no uncoded messages are to be transmitted on an open channel,” Chuck said, smiling. Sarah put her hand around his neck.

“See, I did pay attention during those movies,” she said, grinning.

“Everything?” he asked, a grin on his face. The smile on Sarah’s face nearly made Chuck cry.

She straightened his tie, pulled him in, and kissed him. “Who’s your Momma,” she asked when she pulled away, with a coy smile and a raised eyebrow.

“Hi-Yo!” he yelled, and gave her the 100 megawatt Chuck smile that was reserved for her.

“Uh, we hate to break up the party there, but we have a situation in Castle,” Carina said over the earpiece. Sarah and Chuck’s hearts leapt to their throats, as they remembered the situation with their kids.

“We’re on our way,” Sarah responded. There was no answer. “Carina? Carina!” Static.

}o{

Five minutes earlier, Castle

Samantha and Stephen were in their prep room when the fire fight broke out.

“I wasn’t ready for this,” Samantha said, working on the computer as fast as she could. Stephen watched her, understanding what she was doing, just not caring.

“You missed that code there,” Stephen said, looking for nunchakus. She looked over at her brother.

“You really need to let Mom and Dad know that you understand all this coding,” Samantha began. Stephen sighed, not finding what he was looking for. “Are you really going to use Kung Fu?”

“Of course I’m going to use Kung Fu, and why would I tell them I can?” Stephen asked, annoyed by his younger sister. “They’ll want me to do stuff on the computer, and I can’t watch the cool movies with Uncle Morgan.” Samantha studied him for a minute.

“You do know if Dad knew, you could help him and Uncle Morgan write a video game?” Stephen turned toward her, his mouth dropped opened. “There!” she exclaimed. “I’ve got Aunt Ellie total tactical and communication control of Castle!”

“Let’s go beat up some bad guys,” Stephen said, finally finding his nunchakus. The two headed toward the firefight.

}o{

Now

“Carina!” Sarah shouted, worried.

“Sarah, we are five minutes out,” Casey said. “However, I’m afraid bodyguards are headed your way.”

“Sarah?” Ellie’s voice came over the coms.

“Ellie?” Sarah asked, as her and Chuck exchanged a look.

“Listen, your children have locked Devon, Clara, and I in a panic room.” Sarah looked at Chuck.

“It’s not my fault!”

“You Bartowskis are always protecting everyone,” she said, with both pride and irritation.

“I have total schematics, and you have nearly a hundred guards heading your way,” Ellie said. Sarah’s eyebrows shot up. “Are you showing any side effects of the Intersect?”

“No, not yet, in fact I remember everything.”

“Any headaches?”

“Nope,” she said popping the P. “How long until it starts?”

“I truly don’t know. Here’s the bigger question, can you take out a hundred?”

“Ellie, she’s Sarah. With the Intersect. How-” Chuck said, before he was cut off.

“I don’t think I can take that many,” Sarah said, looking at her husband. Chuck gave her a surprised look. “I’m not that good.” Chuck smiled like he disagreed.

“Chuck,” Ellie began. “Your best chance to get out of this and get back here is to put on those glasses.”

“Is it safe?” Chuck asked.

“I have no idea,” Ellie replied.

“If it messes me up I’ll be no help to Sarah.”

“Sweetie, let’s be honest, the way you are you can’t really help a lot in a fight,” Sarah said honestly. “I mean you can take out some, but it they come in firing…” she couldn’t complete the sentence. Chuck nodded and held out his hand. She handed him the glasses as he looked at them.

“One more time…with feeling,” he said, as he put them on. The flashes came across, and blinded him for a second. When it was over, he took off the glasses, handed them to Sarah, and fell straight back, on the ground. “I hate that part.”

“I really need remember to catch you when you fall after doing that,” Sarah said with a grin. She bounced a shoulder with a shrug. “I guess I forgot,” she said, smiling.

“HA!” Chuck said.

}o{

Castle

“Carina, are you alright?” Zondra yelled, returning fire.

“My shoulder hurts like a-” Carina began but was cut off.

“Aunt Carina!” Samantha shouted out with a warning. Carina and Zondra turned toward Samantha as Samantha gave her a dirty look.

“I’m shot, doesn’t that let me say what I want?” Samantha shook her head. The firing stopped from the twelve men who were trying to take out the remaining CAT squad members.

“Boss said not to hurt the kids,” one of the guards yelled. They kept their guns trained on the CAT squad members. Stephen came walking forward, swinging the nunchakus, and promptly hit himself in the head. Carina rolled her eyes.

“You’re definitely the Nerd’s kid,” she said.

“I’ll make you a deal,” Stephen said, rubbing his head where a welt was starting to form. “You capture me and my sister, we’ll gladly go with you, and you don’t hurt anyone else here.” The guard laughed.

“Kid, it’s on.”

“Stephen, don’t!” Zondra yelled. Stephen turned toward his aunts, and grinned, a grin they both recognized from his father.

“Hey,” he said softly. “It’s me.” They stared at him, as his eyes moved rapidly. If they hadn’t been looking at him, they’d have never seen it. Their eyes grew huge, but not as huge as the 12 henchmen that found themselves in the middle of a fight they weren’t prepared for. Samantha launched herself at the two nearest her, Superman punching one, knocking him out, and leg sweeping the other as she landed. He crashed on the ground and she brought her foot down on his head, knocking him out.

Stephen threw the nunchakus across the room, knocking out two instantly, as he sprinted toward two more, slid under one of the henchman’s legs, stood and turned quickly. He hit both in the back of their knees, and the two men fell. He jumped, grabbed both henchman by their necks from behind and slammed their faces into the ground, knocking them out. Carina and Zondra exchanged a look, nodded, and stood. The other six were stunned with no idea what to do. The former Cat Squad members each took three shots, taking out the other six. Samantha turned, furious.

“We had a deal!” Samantha said, furious that they had killed the six.

“Zondra and I didn’t, and for that matter, they would have killed us, if you two had lost.” Samantha thought for a second.

“Bad guys tend to not keep their words,” she said, understanding. She walked over to the computer and hit a few buttons. A few seconds later the Woodcombs, having been freed, appeared. “Carina’s been shot,” she told Ellie. Ellie nodded and began to take care of her. The doors opened and the team minus Chuck and Sarah stormed in. They surveyed the carnage.

“What happened here?” Casey asked. Beckman, who had been pushed to safety during the firefight, looked over at the two Bartowskis with pride.

“Stephen and Samantha,” she said calmly. Casey looked at them, and then at the CAT members. Zondra held up her gun and nodded at those with gunshot wounds. Casey’s mouth was still open.

“Chuck me,” he muttered.

“Where’s Mom and Dad?” Stephen asked, and everyone realized the two of them were still in danger.

}o{

Undisclosed Location

The tall man stroked his goatee as he watched everything take place.

“They’re good. They’re so good, and they remember. It’s good to remember, because now, I can hurt them.” He turns toward the woman prisoner. “I apologize Vivian, but your father gave them too much, and they must pay for what they did, and so must he. Don’t worry, I’ll kill you first so he can watch, and suffer.” The two men that were tied up looked at each other, desperate to escape. “Don’t worry, they’ll all pay, no one takes away my play thing.”

Vault

5 minutes ago

“Are you going to lay there all day,” Sarah asked, searching in her purse. She found a ladies watch and put it on, she made a face and smiled. “That’s better.” She continued to look in her purse.

“You know back when I was the asset you used to help me in these situation,” Chuck said as he slowly got his bearings and got back to his feet. Sarah gave him a look. She was trying not to smile.

“Maybe you should go wait in the car,” she deadpanned still looking. She smiled when she found what she was looking for and pulled it out in front of him. “Maybe I think since you’re no longer an asset, you can get up off the ground while I take care of more pressing matters for you. She took the watch and fastened it on his wrist. Chuck sighed as he felt the stress leave his head.

“Ohhh, fancy. His and hers governors?” he asked.

“No reason not to be stylish,” Ellie answered over comms. “I had them prepared in case things went south.”

“I mean that was a stretch because things never go south when we’re on a mission,” he said to Sarah, with a grin. Sarah gave him an amused look and shook her head.

“Guys, be careful.” Ellie said over the comms. Chuck looked at Sarah and smiled.

“Please it’s us,” he replied. Sarah smiled at him. “Leave me a few?” he asked. Sarah bounced a shoulder and shrugged.

“Keep up,” she replied, and the doors opened in front of them. Ellie listened for the next five minutes and heard groans, shouts, bodies hitting things, and all sorts of mayhem.

“Now you’re just showing off!” Chuck yelled once.

“Maybe I’m just better at being the Intersect,” Sarah’s playful tone said. A few seconds later, “Oh, now who’s showing off!?”

“I’m the OG Intersect, Baby, and don’t you ever forget it.” Ellie heard what sounded like someone getting swatted…in their seat area. “Hi-Yo! Mrs. Carmichael, are you getting a little frisky?”

“Mr. Carmichael, if you don’t know the answer to that, I’m not doing it right,” Sarah replied.

“Children, I can hear you,” Ellie answered, her head in her hand.

“Sorry, Mom,” Chuck yelled. “We’re out!” Chuck and Sarah left the party and looked around. A Porsche pulled up with two bad guys in it. Sarah threw the two handguns she had left at both, knocking them down. She looked at the car, then at Chuck, and did her version of the Bartowski eyebrow dance. “You are going to be the death of me,” he muttered. She bounced a shoulder.

“You’ll go out with a smile on your face.” Chuck watched her head down to the car, and nearly drool over it. She hopped in. “Are you coming?” Three and a half minutes later they entered Castle.

}o{

Castle

“Where’s Mom and Dad?” Stephen asked.

“Right here,” Chuck answered, grinning as they walked in. Sarah handed the glasses over to Ellie who quickly began running tests on the glasses.

“Chuck, you’re kids…” Devon began.

“Awesome?”

“They were like miniature versions of you and Sarah! I’ve never seen anything so scary as those two kids beating everyone up.”

“Which means one of us is going to have to keep the Intersect,” Sarah said. Chuck and everyone looked at her. She shrugged. “It’s going to be hard to discipline your kids if they can tie you up, put you in safe room, and you can’t do anything about it.”

“Then let’s get it out of you, before you start having problems,” Ellie said to Sarah. “We’re going to upgrade it first to make the removal easier than it was in the past.” Sarah nodded, and grabbed Chuck.

“Come on, you’ve got to get upgraded too,” she said. The computer flashed as everyone looked away. After the upload, Chuck felt Sarah’s hand on his back to make sure he wouldn’t fall over. He looked over at her and grinned. “Flash on Jenny Burton, Chuck,” she said softly. Chuck did, and noticed there was no headache, strain, and it happened almost instantaneously. “Chuck, flash,” she said. Chuck smiled.

“I did,” he replied. Sarah was shocked and then she heard Ellie yell, “Yes!” and did a fist pump. Chuck grinned and turned to his sister. “Fixed it?” Ellie nodded proudly.

“Okay, Sarah, let’s get it out of you,” she said, and with that, she handed her the removal glasses. “Morgan, you’re next, we’re going to fix you too.” Everyone seemed excited and happy, except Beckman and Jason Black who were off by themselves. Little did they realize that Samantha had moved close and was listening to everything they said.

“We shouldn’t,” Beckman began. “But, if we don’t he’ll kill our love ones.”

“Your love one,” Jason replied, looking down, and then back at the group. “I feel more love here than I ever did with him.” Beckman nodded.

“And, how would she react if he died,” she asked looking at Sarah. Jason nodded, looking at her.

“She’d never forgive me,” he replied. “Of course, I’m not for sure she’ll forgive me now.” Samantha thought she knew what was going on, the only question was, should she tell everyone.

}o{

A deep dark hole

“Ma’am, I’m telling you he’s here,” the guard said.

“I’m telling you until I get a look at him, I don’t believe it,” she replied. The guard sighed and looked at the two.

“Follow me,” he said, and let Mary and Hartley into the prison. The two got on a cart and rode for what seemed like miles until they came to a fortified cell. The guard had radioed ahead. Mary and Hartley walked up to the cell, and a guard slid a small door covering an opening no more than 1 x 2 open.

“Company!” the voice inside said. Mary looked at him.

“You’re here?” she said, shocked.

“Who were you expecting, Superman?” Shaw asked. “Oh, I get it, someone is after Chuck and Sarah and you thought it was me? Would they like help? I’m always in a mood to kill those two!” Mary nodded at the guard and he slid the piece of metal shut. “Nice visit,” came the muffled voice from inside.

“Was that him?” Hartley asked.

“Yes, that was Daniel Shaw. So who is doing this to Chuck and Sarah?” Mary shook her head. “Come on, it’s time I went home and try and help the kids figure this out, and you’re coming with me.” Hartley nodded and followed her.

“You know I never really thanked you, I could have been in here if it wasn’t for you.”

“You gave the kids 837 million dollars, I’m pretty sure that covers it,” Mary said smiling. Inside her guts were churning. Who was doing this to her family?

A/N: I’m at a dilemma. The next chapter will basically end this story, but like I said, I have some ideas for a whole season. So, do I keep going with this one, or mark it complete and start my second story? You guys tell me. Do you want one long multichapter chronicle, or several 8 to 10 chapter stories? Let me know, and I really hoped you enjoyed it. I can’t wait for the big reveal next (Jason Black, I promise)

#Chuck #Sarah #Charah #Season 6 #I still miss them #Chuck vs the Nanny #I needed a little fluff and I'm not even sorry.

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xxautumnivyxx · 7 years

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"The Raven" by Edgar Allan Poe A classic. Done in my own pace by my own definition. Hopefully you like. See more from Edgar Allan Poe - Read a book, start off with the fun stuff! ~DON'T FORGET TO LIKE AND SUBSCRIBE!~ I love suggestions, throw some of those in here too! I read for you guys so suggestions are always welcome! If you wants to send me stories, poetry, creepypasta or anything really please send me an email. *** EMAIL ME AT: [email protected] *** ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ FIND ME AT: ►FACEBOOK - www.facebook.com/autumnivycosplay ►TWITCH - www.twitch.tv/xxautumnivyxx ►INSTAGRAM - https://www.instagram.com/xxautumnivyxx/ ►TWITTER - https://twitter.com/xxautumnivyxx ►TUMBLR - autumnivycosplay.tumblr.com ►YOUTUBE GAMING CHANNEL AND OTHER STUFF - youtube.com/AutumnIvy *************************************************************** VIDEO CREDIT: https://www.videvo.net/video/moon-ove... Description: A static animation of the moon over the sea at night time. License: Videvo Standard License Usage All projects and media. MUSIC CREDIT: "Quinn's Song: First Night" Kevin MacLeod (incompetech.com) Licensed under Creative Commons: By Attribution 3.0 License http://creativecommons.org/licenses/b... "This House" Kevin MacLeod (incompetech.com) Licensed under Creative Commons: By Attribution 3.0 License http://creativecommons.org/licenses/b...

#the bone collector #autumn ivy #narrator #female narrator #narrating #poetry #the raven #edgar allan poe #poe #creepy #spooky #classic #classic poetry #narration #short #voice actor #acting #actor #vo

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404botnotfound · 5 years

Text

The Line [9]

…and where to draw it

SERIES: Destiny WORD COUNT: 7,753 SHIP: Quinn/Drifter CHARACTERS: quinn leonis (AU), glyph, the drifter, ash, finn, adebole

ix. ex tenebris

phrase. from darkness

Thunder cracks, the sound lost somewhere in the perpetual storm covering Titan’s surface.

Lightning flashes and illuminates the dark, hive-infested methane rig stretched out below the building she had scaled in search of motes; stressed, rusting metal creaks, the abandoned facility pressured by both the massive waves of the methane sea below and the roaring winds.

The mote bank in the center of the rig dimly lights the raised dais it’s been fixed into, a soft glow from the vile energy contained within washing the closest buildings and catwalks around it adding to the dim lighting already provided by the irregular flickering of fluorescent lamps.

Below her comes the feral howls of enraged Hive.

‘Now!’ Glyph calls out.

She darts forward and leaps through the hole blasted into the side of the building, sheets of rain pelting her already wet coat and armor as she falls through the open air.

A wizard shrieks as the full force of her weight and velocity flattens it to the ground. The stiff, organic material chips and breaks off from its chitinous body in spots from the blow.

It surges up with a blast of the magic this breed of Hive uses to float and throws her back a few steps; she retaliates by firing a loud triplet of hand cannon rounds into its skull, shattering its arcane shield and drilling a sizeable hole that puts it back down.

It crumbles into dust, leaving the symbiotic alien worm within to drop to the deck with a sickening plop. Her nose wrinkles when it hisses angrily, then shrivels up and crumbles like its host.

Ick, she thinks as Glyph grabs the three motes it drops.

A deep howl of rage from what she can only assume is the wizard’s mate reaches her. The knight is close by and very, very unhappy.

“Duck!” someone shouts from somewhere to her left.

She drops flat to the ground without hesitation, goosebumps rippling over her skin as static fills the air above her—an electrified Finn leaps right over her and slams into the knight that had been rushing her in search of vengeance.

Ripping the stone-like sword carried by the knight from its hand, Finn swings it into the creature’s body, once, twice—until it, like its mate, crumbles into dust. Another trio of motes fly up from the felled knight and are picked up by their ghost.

Arms straining, Quinn pushes herself up off the ground. “Glyph, where are we at?” she asks as Finn jumps up onto the raised dais and deposits their motes.

‘With Finn’s deposit, fifty-five out of seventy-five. You’ve got fourteen.’

She hears a screech from behind her and ducks into the decaying building long enough to shoot a thrall in the head and grab the single mote it drops, then follows Finn’s lead.

The bloated rush of Taken power above the bank doesn’t cause so much as a flinch.

“Taken ogre to the other side!” Drifter lets out a whoop over the comm. “You fight dirty. I like it.”

Her back goes ramrod straight with heated mortification before she realizes the second half—low and throaty just as he’s unfortunately noticed earns him a particular kind of reaction—had come over a private channel.

He’s been doing that more often ever since their conversation the other day. She can’t tell if he’s tap-dancing just shy of laying it on thick or being his usual button-pushing self, and she’s having trouble deciding if she wants it to continue.

‘Can you stop? You’re distracting my guardian!’

Glyph, on the other hand, definitely wants it to stop. It closes the private channel for the third time this match just as the Drifter starts laughing at it.

Exhaling, she hops away from the bank when it beeps and retracts into its base. A pair of Taken phalanxes appear, and they’re both gone before they can even look in her and Finn’s direction.

“Guys,” she calls over the comms, “we need five more for a Primeval.”

‘I need four more for fifteen, hold on!’ Ash replies.

Quinn bounces impatiently between her feet a few meters away from the bank, watching the gray portion of the opposing team’s bar tick up another few notches. They’ll catch up if they bank before someone can jump over and cut those gains.

Her team had won the first round, trailing at first due to the other team’s coordination and speed; when she had invaded and performed a heart-stopping repeat of her first match, that coordination of theirs had vanished.

They’d won the round without the other team even managing to summon their Primeval—but more importantly, the Drifter had been right. The portal acted as some kind of catalyst. Some kind of push.

As soon as she had jumped through the portal, she’d felt that extra rush of power that she had pulled with her through the imperceptible hop through space. Those powers that she can’t identify and yet feel so familiar to her had been brought to bear.

And she had paid attention. She thinks she might know how to tap into them on her own, now.

If her hunch is correct, she has no idea how Glyph is going to react. Hell, she’s not sure how she’ll feel about it, and she doesn’t even know if she’s right.

The next few minutes will tell.

The gray bar on the other side ticks up again. Finn hops in place next to her a few times, and from a catwalk up behind the gate Adebole glides down on his light to join them.

“Will you invade again?” he asks.

“If it pleases His Majesty,” she quips blithely, and Finn snorts out a laugh at the tease. “Why? Worried you can’t handle a Primeval without me?”

He scoffs as he reloads his shotgun. “It is not me that cannot be revived. I do not want to lose on account of you making an idiotic mistake.”

Her lips twitch up at the corners. Despite the haughty tone there’s only a barely noticeable tinge of animosity; somewhere across their half a dozen matches together, the open hostility between them had evolved into some strange kind of friendly rivalry.

Emphasis on the ‘rivalry’.

“I’ll be fine,” she says, keeping the Drifter’s vote of confidence hovering in the back of her mind.

Ash leaps down from the same catwalk Adebole had come from and Quinn sets into motion, the two of them passing each other as they cross the dais.

Behind her she hears the bank retract and Taken portals scream into existence, the smell of ozone suddenly sickeningly thick in the air—the gate flashes and pops, and she hops through without a trace of hesitation.

The other realm grips at her as she passes through, its dark power seeping into her light. She blinks, the portal having set her on a high catwalk on the other side of the rig, and she’s quick to leap off. A pulse of light lets her drop to the ground safely and break into a run towards the center of the other team’s arena.

The tingle of charged energy threatens to burst free again, but she forcibly holds it back. This is riskier, but she needs to know for sure.

She holsters her hand cannon and Glyph drops her fusion rifle into her hands just as she rounds a group of crates twice her size.

The first of the enemy team comes into sight past the hulking form of the ogre Ash had dropped on them; she takes aim and squeezes the trigger, letting the charge build up until it fires with a piercing noise. The warlock in her sights vaporizes, leaving a startled ghost that scrambles to get its light shield up before something hits it.

One.

She’s already holding down the trigger before she sights on the next guardian, and the titan she finds goes down the same way.

Two.

Her radar blooms with red, pounding bootsteps on the ground approaching from the right reaching her ears.

‘Sword!’ Glyph cries out frantically. ‘Sword sword sword sword—’

She ducks, displaced air and a thin shing of sharpened metal cutting through the space where her head had been a split second ago, sending a harsh pulse of adrenaline through her body. Fuck. Taking advantage of her lowered position, she spins and knocks the hunter’s legs out from under him, sending him sprawling.

Shifting her fusion rifle to one hand, she grabs her hand cannon from its holster with the other and fires off two shots into the hunter’s head as he’s trying to rise.

Three. Holy shit.

Holster. Get up. Go.

No one is in sight when she pops out into the open, but the ogre is firing its powerful eye blasts at the corner of a group of large crates on the opposite side of the bank.

Lowering her gun, she hops up onto the landing and sprints ahead to pass the ogre by. Her proximity draws its attention—not ‘Taken’ enough to move under its instinctual radar, she supposes—and it rounds on her, swinging its massive arm in a flat arc.

She twists and drops, one leg bent under the other as she leans back and slides right underneath the massive limb without breaking speed.

‘Six seconds!’

Digging her heel into the ground to tip herself upright and keep moving, she jumps and bounces through the air on her light. As she passes over the tops of the crates, she takes aim below—the last member of the opposing team has his gun raised, but the charge of her rifle releases before he can fire off a shot.

Their unfilled portion of the tracking bar is empty.

“Was that all of ‘em?” Drifter asks, giddy with excitement. “That was all of ‘em!”

His delighted cackles in her ear infect her with a bright grin, and as the arc of her jump drops, she feels the pull of power dragging her back through space.

Glyph isn’t nearly as happy as the Drifter is. ‘I don’t like how good you’re getting at that.’

She tunes it out; save for the usage of darkness against the light, there’s nothing different about this than the Crucible. Nothing they’re facing here in this arena is unlike anything they’d face in the field, otherwise.

This ‘game’ is honing skills to fight an enemy that’s almost—’almost’ because they no longer have a King—as dangerous as the Hive, whether the Drifter gets a kick out of the mayhem or not.

The last of her momentum drops her to her feet within a building back on her team’s side of the arena. Her eyes flick up to the top of her HUD, noting that the rest of her team had knocked their Primeval down to half health while she was gone.

Forget her getting good at this. They’re all getting good at this.

They’d been an absolute disaster at first—a fact which she has a sneaking suspicion had been intentional on the Drifter’s part—and now they’re all working together like a well-oiled machine.

Now for the moment of truth.

Taking a steadying breath as she moves around a building towards the center of the arena, Quinn remembers the feeling of the darkness that washes over her when she jumps through the portal, drawing on the remnants of the dark energy that had seeped into her light from the last time.

Her light flares just as it had in the last round, and a turbulent surge of excitement and unease fills her at the confirmation of her theory. The theory the Drifter had helped push her towards.

She needs the darkness to draw out her light.

All three of her teammates are huddled within Adebole’s Well of Radiance and hammering at the Primeval with their bolstered weaponry. A rocket streaks towards the behemoth and cracks into the massive, dark mimicry of a Cabal centurion.

Down to a quarter health.

Operating on instinct and memory, she throws out her hand and one of her glowing orbs of light flies from it, splashing across the shoulders of the massive Taken with sparkling crystals and erupting a moment later.

The force of the blast knocks it back a step.

She twists, intending to throw her light blade at the Primeval, but pauses when a group of Taken goblins spawn in around it. The other team reorganized quickly, this time.

Adebole’s Well fades. Without it, the extra firepower from those goblins will cut through their shields and slow them down, giving their opponents time to catch up.

More Taken spawn in around the goblins, called by the Primeval, and her decision is made for her.

“Focus on the Primeval!” She shifts low. “I’ve got the pests!”

Time slows and she flashes into a warp, closing the distance between her and the swarming Taken, tearing through them in a streak of glowing light and clearing them out as quickly and efficiently as any Bladedancer or Stormcaller could.

Energy beginning to wane, she skids to a halt behind the Primeval and turns on it, drawing her blade to a point and pushing her light below her and leaping up. She phases through the center of it like an exceptionally shimmery phantom, and the creature lets out a monstrous howl as her team’s gauge empties completely.

The crystalline blade fades from her hand and she hops away from the collapsing creature as it thrashes and dissolves, flecks of viscous energy flying from it in all directions.

Two-oh. They win.

Drifter lets out another whoop over the comm and she feels light and giddy, the excitement of what she had done overcoming the upset of what that discovery meant.

Something slams into her from behind and nearly knocks her over, the arm slung around her shoulders covered in purple gear that announces Ash before the bell-like laughter does. “What the fuck was that? It was awesome!”

She shrugs, unable to answer out of both wariness and a general inability to explain. It’s as instinctual as it is calculated—if she had just unlocked her own supercharge, she imagines it’s not one that any cryptarch or warlock in the Tower had ever seen before, let alone can explain.

A dizzying, static-y sensation overtakes her as they’re transmatted back up onto the Derelict.

They have to wait for the Drifter’s cheery laughter to die down before he can give them a closing spiel, a pleased, easy going demeanor replacing the excited one. He turns to the losing team, first, as he usually does. “You all did good, just gotta be faster next time. Learn from it.”

It occurs to her, then, that he always leaves the losing team with some kind of encouragement after a match. She hadn’t paid any attention to it until now. Sometimes that encouragement is harsh, but, save for that first match when her quote-unquote nemesis had gotten pissy, never unkind.

He’s a mess of contradictions. Friendly but secretive, toying with the darkness but not shying away from the light, encouraging but unforgiving. It’s like he doesn’t give a damn about making sense or abiding by rules or picking sides, eschewing the status quo entirely in favor of trailblazing his own path.

He’d outright told her the other day that the Vanguard’s entire system of operation is too restrictive. He doesn’t like rules and boxes, and she’s beginning to wonder if he’s got the right idea.

She’d already been toeing the line of believing Zavala’s command is too rigid and cautious to be effective since returning from the Reef, and now that Drifter’s advice has paid off...it’s hard not to believe he does have it figured out.

Probably not a great thing to admit out loud.

Guardian beliefs—dogma, as the Drifter likes to call it—for years have been steadfast in the understanding that they’re paragons of the light, the absolute antithesis to the darkness and the last line of defense between humanity and extinction.

If that’s true, then what does that say about her?

She’s lost in thought once they’re all dismissed, and she and the rest of her team file out of the bay and head for the usual room they meet Drifter in for their payout.

‘Quinn?’

Glyph’s voice draws her back to the present. “What’s up, buddy?”

‘When you—did that thing and killed the Primeval, we picked something up,’ it says, sounding hesitant and very, very uncomfortable. ‘I didn’t even notice it until now. I’m not sure how that’s possible.’

“The Taken don’t exactly operate within our bounds of understanding.” It goes unsaid that the possibility of that awful other realm squeezing something through their reality right under their noses is very high.

Still, now that it’s drawn her attention to within, she can feel something...off. Something that should have faded the moment she had burned her light surge in the match.

‘I know that,’ it grouses.

Which means that this is on an entirely different level than what they’re both used to. “So, what is it?”

‘That’s the thing,’ it says, ‘I have no idea. But, it’s...Quinn, it’s evil. It’s not right.’

With no idea how to think or respond to that, she keeps quiet. If it came from a Primeval, she’s not surprised that it’s altogether wrong. The Taken, by their very nature aren’t right.

After she fails to respond, Glyph huffs. ‘I’m just going to dismantle it. It’s worse than those motes, I don’t like it.’

“Wait—don’t.” They may not know what it is, but the Drifter might, and she’s been hoping for an excuse to talk to him again. Now she has one, and she’s curious to know what he’ll say about it. “Hold onto it. I want to see if the Drifter knows what it is.”

It says nothing for a long time, waiting until they reach their destination to speak and sounding quietly unhappy as it does. ‘I don’t like the kinds of things you’re playing with lately, guardian.’

You don’t like a lot of things lately, she thinks to herself, dryly.

Her throat constricts with guilt; that’s no way to think of her ghost, least of all when it’s concerned about her. Even so, all she can think of is the conversation she’d had with Drifter in the bar and how he’d had Glyph reeling from the implication that the Traveler’s dogma may be just that.

She trusts Glyph, but she also trusts herself—and right now her instincts are telling her to keep walking the path she’s on. Carefully.

Then again, she may just be too curious for her own good.

Standing apart from her team so she can talk to Glyph, she folds her arms over her chest and tunes out their chatter along with Adebole’s studying gaze. “I’m not treating this lightly, Glyph, but he just helped me figure out how to use my light. That’s something no one in the Vanguard operation has been able to suss out for the dozen years I’ve been active.”

‘Maybe you’re better off not having it if you have to do what I think you did to use it,’ it replies.

She winces, saying nothing as it grabs her glimmer payout and scarcely paying attention to the Drifter coming and going. The rest of her team leaves, with Ash and Finn inviting her to hang out sometime, which she smiles and says ‘I’ll think about it’ to.

She hangs back. “Do you think I’m going to be able to kill the Barons with prayers and dumb luck?”

It flashes into sight after a moment with its facets pulled close around its eye in seething disapproval, the feeling radiating from its tiny shell and so virulent that her eyes widen. As though to make itself more intimidating, it demats her helmet so it can look her right in the eyes. “You have a fireteam.”

“And none of them are interested in doing what we should be doing.” Her arms fall to her sides; she shifts uneasily.

“Have you asked them whether that’s the case?” it demands, animated in its—frankly—righteous anger. “You’re not the only one that feels like you do. You’d know that if you weren’t shutting them out.”

“I’m not—” She cuts herself off with a heavy sigh, one of her hands settling on her hip and the other lifting to pinch the bridge of her nose. “Glyph, can you just...trust me? Please? I know I haven’t exactly been the best friend or even very stable recently, but I’m getting better. More focused. You can see that, right?”

Glyph stares at her, shell twitching. “Ikora warned you that if you cross a line, you might not be able to come back from it. Do you remember?”

“I do.” Acutely. Everyone and their damn mother seems to be trying to remind her of the line. Problem is, she’s not sure where that line is, whether anyone else knows where that line is, or even if she’s already tap-dancing along it considering what she’d discovered about herself today.

Regardless, she’s going to do what she has to in order to avenge Cayde. And she is going to.

The seconds stretch on while it studies her carefully; then, it bobs once as though nodding with unhappy acceptance. “Okay. Come on, roach man went this way.” She can’t help her snort at its distasteful insult. “I want to leave as soon as we hand this thing over.”

Knowing the kind of response she’ll get, she refrains from voicing her disagreement aloud. Drifter has said she’s welcome any time, and while she has no idea if he had meant for Gambit or for the kind of amicable conversation they’d shared in the Tipsy Sparrow, she’s not eager to leave.

Plus, she’s never been allowed to wander on a ship this size before—let alone allowed on one at all.

Arach Jalaal is stingy about his fleets, and she’d been no more eager to pledge allegiance to Dead Orbit than she had been to giving in to Executor Hideo’s aggressive pestering and preaching.

Not only does pledging allegiance rub her the wrong way (the Vanguard can order her onto a suicide mission, but that sure as fuck doesn’t mean she’s going to do it), the underhanded requirement of allegience for starship travel and residence puts a bad taste in her mouth.

Many people in the City support Dead Orbit just for the potential to flee the system should humanity be threatened with another Collapse.

And that is a terrifying thought that she’s displeased with having crossed her mind; she hadn’t even been around for the first one, but even seeing the aftermath of the cataclysm is enough to stoke fear of it.

All those decaying ruins of what had once been sprawling cities and thriving human culture and innovation, spanning dozens of planets and moons, system population slashed from tens of billions to a scant few million—if even that—leave no question as to the magnitude of the threat they face.

She wonders if that’s why the Drifter has no interest in fighting for the sake of the City or the Traveler. If true, does it mean he’s just out for himself, or is he simply fighting in his own way without the restrictions of dogma?

“Hey, Glyph?”

It stops and turns back with a questioning blink.

“How bad was the Dark Age?”

Shell twitching and shifting in discomfort, it says nothing for long enough that she can feel the answer more than she needs to hear it. A coldness fills her chest, the only sound being the soft whir of ventilation fans and the near imperceptible hum of electricity.

It blinks down at the ground and then turns away, continuing onward. “Bad.”

She follows it quietly.

The Derelict isn’t exactly labyrinthine, but it still takes them a bit to track the Drifter down; the whole ship feels almost like it had been scavenged together from chunks of other ships, some halls and bulkheads completely mismatched from the rest.

It’s oddly fitting, considering its owner.

His voice reaches her ears as she makes her way up a flight of stairs after Glyph to another deck that makes a sharp turn and leads down a hallway towards a lone bulkhead sealed shut. Running all along the hall is a sheet of glass, separating the hall from a bay down below.

She pauses long enough to look through it, and what she sees makes her eyes widen and a shiver roll up her spine.

She’s seen that bay before, the length of it darkened and cavernous and filled with strange, almost icy pillars and mounds that look more like a planet’s surface rather than the inside of a ship, criss-crossed by catwalks.

More importantly, she’s seen the massive, kit-bashed vex gate fixed right into the center of it.

Swallowing, she turns away and hurries after Glyph, offering it no explanation as she passes it and its questioning gaze by. Okay, no big deal. Probably just caught sight of this at some point before, somehow. Just a weird coincidence like what he said in the bar. No big deal. It's fine.

The Drifter’s muffled voice is a distraction she’s grateful for, and she focuses on it as she approaches the bulkhead it’s coming from behind. “No, no, no, that ain’t gonna work—don’t gimme that look. You know I’m right.” A pause. “Your circuits fried? Nah, we’re not doin’ it.”

The door hisses open when she steps in front of it, to her honest surprise. She had thought it would be locked and she’d have to try and get his attention. Slip of the mind on his part?

Inside the room is a workshop, just as chaotic and disorganized as the space he occupies within the Tower. Parts and tools and scattered papers and datapads litter every surface seemingly without care, including a few she has to carefully step over.

How does he get anything done?

He’s standing in the center of the room in front of a table that’s equally as messy, his hand raised as though he’d been in the middle of gesturing animatedly before she had interrupted.

Next to him floats a ghost, its shell a dark iridescent green. Its eye glows red rather than the typical blue she’s used to, and she blinks. It blinks back, bobs once, and then flashes out of sight quickly and without a word.

Drifter looks surprised to see her.

“Nice to finally meet your ghost,” she says, toeing around a thick cable running the length of the floor and glancing at the haphazard bunch of machinery shoved into the corner it leads to. “Sort of.”

He comes around the table as she approaches it, leaning back against the surface and crossing his legs at the ankles. The smile he fixes her with doesn’t reach his eyes. “Didn’t expect you to stick around.”

“Neither did I,” Glyph mutters beside her.

She frowns at it and then at him, wondering what the frosty look is for. “You did say I was welcome any time. Giving me what counts for a skeleton key kinda implies you meant for more than just Gambit matches.

In a social sense it also implies something else entirely, but wow is she ever not going down the alley her mind just tried to steer her into.

“S’pose I did. Got somethin’ on your mind?” He relaxes, one of his shoulders lifting in a shrug and his arms crossing. She wonders if he’s irritated she had interrupted his work.

The only real thing on her mind, save for just wanting to talk with him more, is appeasing her ghost and handing over whatever she had accidentally picked up from the match. Her hand lifts, and whatever it is nearly rolls out of her hand thanks to the haste with which Glyph makes to transmat it out of her inventory.

It’s about the size of a soccer ball, but it’s oily black and wavers with wisps of pure darkness. No wonder Glyph wants it gone—like the Drifter’s motes it burns to hold, but on a different, vastly more uncomfortable scale.

She hefts it once and then lightly tosses it to him. “Brought you a present.”

He catches it, holding it out in front of him with genuinely startled look. She’s never seen him speechless before, but the longer he stares at it without some kind of witty quip, the more curious she is about just what the hell it is.

“Can we go now?” Glyph asks her, twitching and ducking down so it’s peeking at the sphere suspiciously over her shoulder.

“I figured you’d know what that thing is. Glyph doesn’t like it, and I don’t like the feel of it, either.” Hopefully the honest statement eases her ghost’s agitation enough to allow her to stick around just a bit longer.

He laughs, breaking out of his baffled daze and tossing it lightly between his gloved hands like he isn’t handling something full of really dark and really nasty energy. Like he’s immune to it. “Yeah, I know what it is. How’d you get it?”

“Beats me. Glyph didn’t even notice it in my inventory until after the match ended,” she answers, arms crossing and weight shifting as she taps the toe of her boot on the ground.

“Well, congrats, darlin’,” he grins at her, lifting the object as one might a glass of wine during a celebratory toast before setting it aside, “‘cause you ripped out the heart of a Primeval. Consider me impressed.”

It’s her turn to be startled. She blinks at him owlishly, thinking that it certainly explains why Glyph hadn’t liked holding onto it and why she could feel its energy from her inventory when even motes don’t make a blip on her internal radar anymore.

Glyph reacts faster than she can form any string of coherent words. “She what?”

“Don’t tell me your circuits are fried, too. It’s a Primeval’s heart—pure darkness in solid form. Been a long time since I’ve seen one.”

“Taken don’t have hearts.” Glyph flits around her shoulder to fix him with an adamant stare. “They’re an amalgamation of ontological and paracausal antimatter that consumed something sentient and physical. They’re pure entropy, they’re not alive!”

Drifter leans towards it with a challenging grin. “Do me a favor, rewind what you just said and play it back again, thinkin’ ‘bout it real hard this time. Try not to blow a bulb.”

Glyph’s facets spin in an equally challenging expression of energy, but it freezes quickly, blinking and looking away as it—shockingly, considering who it came from—does as requested. Then, a spark of light accompanies its facets popping out from its eye in disbelief.

“That’s not possible,” it says, flatly.

Alright, she’s lost. That had been a whole lot of words that make sense individually, but she’s no Asher Mir, and she’s unashamed to admit that every time he or Luke or any other warlock with an inclination to start talking jargon her brain has to crash and reboot.

She likes to think she’s wise, street smart, and adaptable, but she’s not particularly intelligent as far as finer sciences go.

It’s also never been an inclination of hers to try and understand the Taken beyond knowing that she hates them and they scare the shit out of her. Less so, these days, due in no small part to the man in front of her—still, every time Asher starts ranting about neutrino particles and something something spatial disruption, she tunes it out.

She knows to point and shoot and how to do so effectively, and as far as the Taken go, that’s all she cares to know. “Um?”

“You think the Taken give a damn about what you think is possible, ghost?” He snickers at Glyph, head shaking and hands settling on the edge of the table behind him. Then, he nods at her. “What d’you think? Is the talkin’ pinball right?”

She glances uncertainly between the two of them. “I...have no idea?”

“Yeah, you do. You wouldn’t be so afraid of ‘em otherwise.”

Her back straightens. “I’m not—”

The look he gives her, head tilting and lip curling just enough to let her know he’s not buying her denial, shuts her up. Still reading her like a fucking book.

“You’re not scared of them.” She scoffs lightly and looks away.

“Anyone with any ounce of sense would be,” he replies breezily.

“Are you saying you’re insane?” Glyph’s tone has gone dryer than Mars sands. “Because that would explain a lot.”

The insult earns her ghost a bark of laughter. “Yeah, guess it would. Maybe I am! Everything I say and do, maybe it’s all a result of a guy gone whackadoo. Would that make you feel better, ghost?”

Glyph doesn’t answer.

She studies him with a furrowed brow; what kind of a person doesn’t challenge an accusation of mental instability? Especially one that’s clearly as intelligent as he is. Eccentric or not, there’s a difference between eccentricity and insanity in this kind of context, even if that gap is pretty gray.

Asher Mir is proof enough of that.

Drifter is weird and walks to the beat of his own drum, and there’s definitely a few things that can be said about using the Taken as chess pieces in a sport that falls just shy of the spectator variety, but it’s not insanity—he obviously knows how dangerous they are and understands them on a level she’s not sure even Ikora or Asher do.

What’s the point of his Gambit if not for reckless amusement? Does he actually get something other than entertainment out of guardans blurring the line between light and dark, detached from the dangers of it?

Maybe he’s not insane, but it’s not difficult to assume there’s some touch of madness to him.

“How’d it happen?”

She blinks, looking up and realizing he’s been watching her while her mind traveled. “How’d what happen?”

“Your fear,” he clarifies, the amused edge in his voice gone. He sounds more curious than anything. “The way you froze up that first match. Your reaction when I was givin’ your team the run-down. How’d that happen to a force of nature like you?”

Lost for words at the glowing compliment from a man who doesn’t seem too eager to hand those out freely, something warm and appreciative fills her chest.

His implication doesn’t go unheard, either—most guardians come out of their first experience with the Taken shaken, but not traumatized to the point of freezing up in terror. He considers her tough-skinned enough to not respond to the enemy as she had.

Still, nice compliment (that makes two) or not, she’s not giving that story up without reciprocation. With a sigh, she joins him in leaning against the work table. “We’re not doing that.”

“Doin’ what? I’m just curious.” A shrewd smile appears on his face.

“Yeah, and so am I,” she replies, ignoring the blip of aggravated protest Glyph gives her. “If you want to get to know me, then I want to get to know you, because I don’t know a damn thing about you save for the fact you’re a prickly bastard that makes a hobby out of being suspiciously friendly.”

And the inexplicable ability to drag a genuine smile out of her at a time when they’re not coming easily. She’ll keep that one to herself.

His eyes, surprisingly blue now that she’s close enough to notice them, watch her quietly. It’s the same kind of studying gaze he’s given her every time he intentionally tests her will, but at the same time feels completely different in a way she can’t describe. “Alright,” he finally says, “ask somethin’.”

Damn. She hadn’t actually expected him to agree to the quid pro quo. “What’s your name?”

He snorts. “Ask somethin’ else.”

“That’s not how it works,” she huffs, punching him lightly on the arm.

“I say it is. You already got a name. Ask somethin’ else.” The aloof reply sounds forced even to her, like he’s trying to maintain the devil-may-care attitude and is falling short. There’s a warning hidden in it, too.

Frowning, she watches him lift a hand to scratch his jaw in a display of body language that she can’t decide how to interpret. It’s almost like discomfort, but that seems horribly out of place for him.

She ultimately decides against debating him on the demand; it’s tempting to point out that ‘Drifter’ isn’t a name so much as an occupation of sorts, but something in the set of his shoulders and the tick in his jaw under his smile stops her.

Acquiescing, unfortunately, leaves her without an idea of what to ask. He’s such a blank slate that there are a dozen different things she could ask, with every quirk and mannerism either contradictory or devoid of a telling nature, that leaves her aggravatingly indecisive.

Luke would know what to ask, if not for any other reason than his mouth tends to run faster than his brain sometimes.

She ends up shrugging in defeat. “Just tell me something about yourself?”

It looks like he wants to comment on the vague request, but he gives her a wry smile instead like he knows exactly why she had asked it.

Head tilting back and eyes lifting to the ceiling in thought, the seconds tick by in silence as he considers what she imagines is the least informative information he can give. “You ever been so hungry you’d settle for just about anythin’ to ease the ache?”

“Once or twice.” A fact which she’s thankful for. Glyph usually keeps small provisions on hand for her just in case field operations keep her out longer than planned because she’s got far more human-like physical requirements than her peers.

Ikora suspects it has something to do with the unusual circumstances of her existence, but, as with pretty much everything about her, the ultimate answer remains an open book and unsolved.

“Back in the Dark Age,” he says, and she makes note that he doesn’t or won’t look at her while he speaks and looks particularly sobered, “wasn’t a whole lotta food to go ‘round. Lotta people dyin’ left and right from starvation. Gettin’ killed over rations and supplies. Dog eat dog, that kinda thing.”

At this, she glances at Glyph, her earlier question and its simple but hauntingly poignant response thrown into an even sharper light.

Few guardians remember their life before being risen, even if they’re brought back into the world of the living with a personal item to identify themselves. Does he? “Were you one of them?”

“Probably. Only explanation I’ve got for why I’m so hungry all the damn time.” He sounds disgruntled, like it’s not the first time he’s gotten aggravated over the idea.

What would dying of starvation have to do with being alive as a guardian, though?

Her silent confusion draws his attention back to her, and he cocks his head to the side at the open bafflement on her face. “What, don’t you know how those things work?” He emphasizes the question with a nod in Glyph’s direction.

Its shell spins grumpily like it’s insulted Drifter has the gall to call it a ‘thing’. She’s a little insulted, herself, but she doesn’t voice it aloud.

Glyph can’t revive her, so she’s never thought to ask exactly how revival actually works for guardians. She has no idea what the answer to his question is, or if there even is one.

Under her scrutiny, Glyph tilts and drifts slightly, reading the request for clarification in her eyes and blinking in thought. “The Future War Cult,” it says, “they once hypothesized that ghosts can tap into alternate timelines like the Vex and that’s how we revive you. By pulling a template of you from a timeline where you didn’t die, and reassembling you from it.”

Oh, that’s not a hypothesis she imagines the City factions and leaders were pleased with. It makes her wonder if Lakshmi-2 isn’t the first head of the Cult.

“Provided their educated guess is right, there isn’t a single timeline I didn’t die of starvation,” Drifter adds with a slow drawl completely devoid of humor.

Her lips part with horror at the thought. The idea of dying like that as a human and not being free of its consequences as an immortal guardian, hundreds of years old… “I’m sorry, that sounds—”

“—you start pityin’ me, any kinda friendliness we got goin’ here ends,” Drifter cuts her off, gesturing sharply and giving her a hard look that makes her snap her mouth shut. “Got over all that hundreds of years ago. I’m alive. I’m gonna stay that way, any means necessary. That’s all that matters. Got me?”

He’s a lot more expressive when he’s alone, she realizes. The smug tone of voice is less overbearing, the mask of aloof cheer dropping for genuine emotion rather than a mask of indifference.

Maybe that, in and of itself, is a mask. She can’t tell.

He eyes narrow on him in contemplation; he mirrors the expression, leaning away from her as she continues to stare. “What?”

“Maybe it’s psychosomatic?”

He stares at her, then barks out a laugh as he catches up to where her thought process had gone. “Did you just call me psycho?”

“You said it, not me,” she points out with a smile.

The easy response, something she’s been getting better at where he’s concerned, has him sniggering. “Alright, brat, your turn.”

A quiet, choked noise sticks in her throat; that term had almost sounded fond to her ears. Like with the flirting, she’s got to be imagining it or it’s got to be him just trying to get under her skin.

The return to his initial question keeps her from thinking about it for too long, and her smile drops, boots shifting uneasily on the ground. The memories rolling about in her mind are different than voicing it aloud—every time she tries, it feels like she comes within a hair's breadth of summoning the dead Taken King just by association and sending herself into a panic.

But this time, it feels like she might finally be able to manage it.

“Botched mission on the Dreadnaught, before any of us really knew what the Taken were capable of,” she says, her fingers drumming on the edge of the table to alleviate the mild agitation building within her. “My fireteam was swarmed, team leader was killed…”

His eyes as well as Glyph’s are on her but she can bring herself to meet neither gaze, the heel of her boot on the deck replacing the tapping of her fingers.

“I don’t know if it’s because of how different I am from other guardians or if it was just a fluke, but I got...a knight grabbed me and dragged me into the Ascendant Plane. I was stuck there for…” way too long. The quiet statement trails off, and she returns to the present when Glyph settles on her shoulder in an offer of comfort.

“And all the nasty things you can find there wanted a bite.” It’s not a question, but she nods anyway.

Silence surrounds them after that, oddly comfortable; it’s surprising he’s so patient considering his usual active and outgoing—in a sense—demeanor, but it’s like he can tell she needs the time to gather herself. The unease melts away as the seconds stretch on, and once it does she offers him a weak smile. “Thank you.”

He blinks at her. “For what?”

“Gambit’s helping me get over it. I don’t feel like a kinderguardian when I see them anymore. And—” she waves a hand vaguely, starting to mention that he’s also giving her an outlet for her anger and frustration after losing Cayde but holding it back and replacing it. “For listening. Or being willing to.”

Just like that, the obnoxiously smug grin is back in place, and he pushes away from the table. “Hey, what’d I say? You’ve got grit, it’s somethin’ I can appreciate. Somethin’ I’d hate to see you lose ‘cause the Vanguard wouldn’t know potential if it bit ‘em in the ass.”

She snorts, twisting to watch him as he moves back around to the other side of the table and returns to work on his project, muttering a mocking ‘sometimes ‘and how does that make you feel’ don’t cut it’ as he goes.

Glyph abruptly moves around to hover directly in front of her, making her recoil. “What’s your game, Drifter? What do you want with my guardian?”

“No game, ghost,” he replies, grasping a part of the cylindrical device and grunting as he rips it off, unceremoniously tossing it aside after. “Just happen to like her is all. She’s different from the rest.”

“I don’t believe that. You’re always up to something—you seem like you’re always up to something,” Glyph insists, the last part coming out quickly like a last-minute correction.

Huffing, Quinn lifts a hand under her ghost and it obediently follows as she coaxes it out of the way. “What do you mean I’m ‘different’? Aside from the obvious.”

“Among other things,” he says, without looking at her, “you’ve got what it takes to survive what’s comin’.”

The answer surprises both her and Glyph, for more than one reason in her case; what does he mean ‘among other things’? Their silence doesn’t prompt him to elaborate, and she stands, leaning forward on the table to force Drifter’s attention onto her. “What’s coming?”

“The Taken are kittens compared to what’s out there.” He tilts the canister upright and leans on it, giving her a long look.

For a moment she thinks he looks haunted, but it’s wiped away quickly by another friendly smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. She always gets the sense he’s hiding something—a lot of somethings—but this time he’s openly, deathly serious. His gaze flickers over her, and she holds her breath.

Then he returns to working on the device in front of him.

“Didn’t stop at the first Collapse, darlin’,” he eventually says, the cold certainty in his voice leaving her feeling chilled. “Another one’s comin’. I’ve seen it. Just a matter of when, and the Traveler’s light ain’t gonna be enough to stop it this time. Not sure anythin’ will be.”

#f: the line #sh: embrace the dark #c: quinn leonis #ch: the drifter #c: ash #c: finn #c: adebole #c: glyph

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