#I do hope to one day make some teeth gear for EXTRA sharp teeth. But of course I'll have to look up safe materials and such.

[sssssaarn]

Regularly brushing my teeth has been another great result/effect of me embracing being physically nonhuman. It really DOES feel great to have clean, perfect for shredding, teeth!

[risatawine]

Finally. - The Clock is Ticking Collab

Levi x reader

Summary: A journey through your time with the man you love

Tags: MANGA SPOILERS, SFW, AFAB, Pregnancy, Cannonverse, Angsty, Kinda Fluffy, talk of death

Word Count: 3.9k

A/N: Alright, first official fanfic that has ever seen the light of day. Thank you to @sintiva for hosting this "The Clock is Ticking Collab" and providing an opportunity for someone who has never done this to dip their toes in the water. Also big thank you to all the fanfic writers that I have read since middle school its through your work that I feel inspired... remember most of the people who write for our enjoyment do it for free. Feel free to comment on any glaring eorrors in my writing and I sincerely hope you enjoy it!

Finally… it ends. Life doesn’t flash before your eyes… it fades in and out—a highlight reel of sorts. With a warm yellow hue and fuzzy borders, your life plays before you as you hang in the balance of life and death, time stills. At each flutter of your lid, a reminiscent dream plays. You’re not at all shocked at the first face you see—your husband.

~~~~

You can smell the thick musky air. A silhouette is standing above you. You lay on the muddy ground, your chest aches from your lungs attempting to expand. The shadow just fought off some other kids and teenagers beating you for the slice of moldy bread you just stole. The beating is a symptom of living underground. The shadow turns around and extends a hand down at you. Hesitantly you reach up, the stranger pulling you from the ground in a quick, almost painful motion. Now able to make out the face of your savior, the first thing you notice is his steel eyes, black brows pinched above them. “What do I owe?” you ask as confidently as you can muster. Knowing nothing down here is free.

“tsk..” the sound scratches out of his teeth as he rolls his eyes and turns away. The first time you heard that sound, it annoyed you. So pretentious, so dismissive, so annoying. It soon became a familiar thing that brought you comfort. His voice cuts in, “We can talk about that once you’ve cleaned up, you’re filthy” In the end, you agreed to join his gang of friends. It took a while for him to trust your ability. Despite your first meeting, you could throw a punch when you weren’t starving and outnumbered by so much.

You stand in the makeshift kitchen brewing a cup of tea while Levi, Isabel, and Farlan talk about their stolen maneuver gear. You walk over, handing him the tea and dropping down onto the sofa next to him. An appreciative look shoots your way when you meet his eyes. No words are exchanged, and none need to be, you understand. Jumping into the conversation, you lean forward and ask questions about how the gear functions. You do your best not to make a big deal of the warm hand that is gently placed on the small of your back. Letting it rest and feeling comfort in the physical contact. The voices fade away in echoes as a dull light blurs your sight.

~~~

A cool breeze kisses your cheeks as the blue sky comes into view. Your body is sore and tired after the grueling expedition. Your heart and stomach ache from grief and shock. Levi sits next to you, his head in his hands and his elbows on his knees. He didn’t say a word the whole journey back other than giving reports and shouting orders. Petra’s dad meeting him in the street caused even those communications to stop. You weren’t in his squad, having been separated to offer support to another squad who needed a little extra skill mixed in. You remember what Isabel and Farlan’s death did to him. You have no idea how much time you had been sitting in silence next to one another. Suddenly his voice cuts the quiet air with a sharp tone, thick with sorrow and anger. “What are you doing wasting your time here?” His voice is harsh, a hiss almost. Having spent years with Levi you didn’t flinch anymore at his weaponized words.

“I’m sitting” you state in a monotoned voice. Not wanting to leave the question unanswered but knowing if you gave into his harsh tone and spat back or walked off it would hurt him. That’s what he wanted really; he wanted your reaction to act as a punishment to him.

“tsk,” the familiar sound rings again at your straightforward answer. “that’s not what I meant” he states finally lifting his head and shoulders. He leans back and looks to the sky, you can see the tense muscles in his neck as you glance over to watch his movement.

“What did you mean then?” Curious about his answer, somewhat surprised by his willingness to talk, maybe the loss of his friends and comrades has his walls lowered.

“What are you doing wasting your time with me?” His voice is low in volume and in tone. Eyes locked at the clear sky as the sun changes the hues with its departure.

You watch him closely, examining his unmoving face for any hint to show his intention behind the question. A minute passes before you determine the appropriate response, “I’m not wasting my time Levi, you should know that”

His response is quickly calculated but choked out “You’ll just end up dead.”

You have had feelings for him for almost as long as you’ve known him, and you know he shares those feelings. Neither of you has acted or talked about the feelings because the time was never right. There was always some threat that stopped you from having the emotional or mental energy to figure out what was happening between you two. Every now and then you’d share a loving touch that the other pretended to ignore. Your eyes would stay locked for a second too long. Your faces would get just a little too close. At this moment you knew it wasn’t right. Levi was dealing with a huge loss and you both were tired. You also knew at this moment he needed comfort, he needed hope, something to push him forward other than his overbearing duty to save humanity. Your head spins with emotion and calculations before your brain gives up from the exhaustion and says the thought before you could filter it “We both might die, but I don’t want to spend another moment waiting for one of us to die before I get to experience a love with you” your face tints pink but your body doesn’t move holding its position awaiting his response.

His breath hitches, finally looking at you. You feel his gaze scan your face before you finally make eye contact with him. Your glossy orbs communicate to him the emotions that didn’t come spewing out of your mouth. His eyes go through your skin and bore into your soul. His silence makes your body rigid and stiff. He finally looks away leaning his head back to watch the now entirely orange sky. “I’ll try” he says firmly.

“What?” you genuinely seek clarification now turning your body to face him not allowing your body to relax too much.

“I’ll try to love” he pauses “I have feelings for you, but I don’t know how to do this, and I can’t lose you. It will break me. If I let myself have a love with you, it’s just another thing for the world to take away from me” He looks back down at you his body mirroring yours facing you bringing you so close to each other you can feel the heat of his breath on your face.

“Well, let’s try” you state as you bring your hand up to his chest feeling his heartbeat. He raises his hand to the back of your neck cradling your head as the other grips your waist pulling him forward into him. Your lips crash into his. Years of emotion spill into your heart at once as your tongues dance together in a fiery passion. Both of your faces become flushed pink when you finally pull away from each other. Your heart is in a conflict between the joy of the moment and the somber reality of what just happened. You close your eyes and lean forward resting your head on Levi’s shoulder listening to his quickened heartbeat.

~~~

You open your eyes and you’re in bed, lying next to your boyfriend. It’s been 3 months since he had to choose between saving Armin or Erwin. He hasn’t been the same since then. He’s always been the silent type, but he was usually affectionate towards you peppering kisses on your skin whenever he could, whispering praise in your ear about how good you looked or how much he loved you. Since that day though he was not doing any of that. He wouldn’t let himself give any emotion away. He didn’t want to give pieces of himself to people that could be taken from him, or worse that he would have to choose to let go for the greater good. He hasn’t held you in his arms, he hasn’t said anything outside of business and small talk. After two weeks of the treatment, you asked him if he wanted you to move out of his room, figuring he needed space. He responded to that with a stern look that turned somber before stating “it’s up to you.” You saw that your suggestion hurt his feelings and was ashamed of yourself. It’s not your fault that he was so cryptic with his feelings, what you would give to understand that man’s head better.

It’s late and you have been laying in bed for several hours unable to have enough peace to fall asleep. You could tell Levi was awake still too because of his breathing, not yet taking the long breaths of slumber. He is facing away from you on the edge of the bed and your body mirrors him on the opposite side. You want to feel his presence, you want to feel his warmth, his comfort. A part of you can’t help but feel mad because even though he had to go through something terrible, so did you. You knew Erwin for just as long and had a relationship with him too, not to mention all the other soldiers that died that day. You had the courtesy to let him grieve in the way he needed to, but he was not extending the courtesy to let you grieve the way you needed to.

“Levi” you muster in a small voice. Nervous about how to bring your issues up to him. You wanted to be sensitive to his needs, but you also needed support and you were tired of waiting.

“hmmm” his voice is low but unwavering, he shuffles slightly laying on his back to hear you better.

“I don’t know how to say this, but have you had enough time be—”

“What are you talking about? Just spit it out already.” He has always been straightforward, but you’d be lying if you didn’t say it stung a little this time in your current emotional state.

“I need you; I’m hurting too, and you have let me out to dry.” You get straight to it not wanting him to lash out again.

“W-what do you mean...?” his voice falters filled with concern now at your accusation.

“I mean Levi... ugh” groaning out of frustration from your own emotions “You have been completely absent for the better part of three months, and I let you because you needed to mourn in your way and you needed to get through your shit but I have been going through this too and this is something we could have... no we should have done together, and I’m all alone now...” out of breath from your rant you feel a weight lift from your chest as you rid yourself from the emotional burden.

Levi sits in silence for a moment, and you let him process the words. A single tear leaves your eye choking back a sob. “I told you I would try” he states pausing to collect his words “but I don’t know how to do this” he adjusts now laying on his side facing your back.

“Then ask, I don’t need you to know everything but just have the courtesy to ask every now and then.” You adjust yourself now lying on your back instead of facing away from him not quite ready to look him in the eyes.

“Okay, what do you need right now? Do you want to talk or, yell, do you want some tea?” His anxiety is somewhat evident, eager to please you and eager to get back on to good terms.

“I just need to be held.” Whispered as you roll to face him, eyes glossy and lip quivering slightly.

He pulls you toward him your forehead touching his hard chest and your head resting on his bicep, flexed from the bend in his elbow so his hand could hold your shoulder rubbing small circles to your exposed skin. Overcome with emotion you begin to sob; three months of loneliness deprive your lungs of air, the overbearing loss of your old commander and all the scouts tear a hole in your heart. Levi’s thin t-shirt is wet with a mess of your tears and snot by the time your sobs finally stopped. Head is now throbbing from the tearful hour and your throat is hoarse from the sobs. Levi is gently rubbing your back as his deep voice alternates between “let it all out” and “it’s going to be okay” as he does his best to comfort you.

In all honesty, it felt terrible having to relive all the pain and loss again, but you were relieved because it meant you could finally heal. Allowing yourself the time to grieve and the time to feel everything. After sobbing you were suddenly aware of the heat from Levi’s body and the comfort of his arms again, finally feeling like you could get a half-decent night of sleep.

“I love you” he whispers as you doze off, finally back in your lover’s arms. The next morning you were surprised when you woke to the warm kiss of the sun peeking through the window. Your heart sinks when you feel the absence of Levi’s presence. Lifting your head you find a note on his bedside table.

“My Love,

Enjoy your sleep. Don’t worry about work today I spoke to Hange, you

have the day off. I want you to spend the day resting and doing whatever

you need to do to feel better. I’m not too busy today so if you need me for

anything please come to my office. Thank you for letting me continue to

try. I love you.

Levi”

Smiling you fold the note to place in the drawer of your nightstand. Lids falling back to a closed position, taking up your lover’s offer to take the day. The warm sun makes your eyelid let off an orange hue.

~~

The orange candlelight burns bright in the bathroom of the shared townhome. A year has passed since the rumbling and Levi has been fully recovered for a little bit now. Therefore you find it annoying that you are about to go through nine months of feeling poorly as soon as he begins to feel better. You haven’t told him about your condition yet. You’re sitting in the bathroom early morning as you finally put all the symptoms together. Levi was out of the townhome to pick up some fresh pastries from the baker down the road.

The door to your home opens and closes as you finished brushing your teeth. Walking out of the bathroom you meet Levi in the kitchen as he places the pastries on the counter heading to the cupboard with the tea. His eyebrow raises as he looks at you in the hallway from the side of his eye. “You look like shit, why are you even awake this early?” he scoffs inquisitively.

“Good morning, Levi, thank you for your kind words first thing in the morning. I simply love the way you romance me.” The sarcasm is thick in your voice. Your eyes can’t help but look at the bottom of his stomach as his shirt lifts slightly as he reaches up for the tea. You scold yourself almost as quickly because it was thought like these that put you in your current position. You were nervous, Levi and you had never talked about kids except for once many years earlier when you determined bringing kids into a world like this would be cruel. But the world is not like that anymore. No titans, no war, there were still issues as the world worked out how to co-exist with Eldians, but you had faith in Armin to assist in ironing out those wrinkles. How do you even tell him? Will he be happy? Is he ready? Are you? Levi looks over to you after successfully obtaining the tea box

“What’s wrong?” Suddenly aware that your face betrayed you in sharing your worry with him before you were ready.

“I have to tell you something, and I don’t know how you are going to react.” You answer, not lifting your eyes from the fixed spot on the counter.

“Well, just spit it out brat” his patience is as thin as ever, you watch as he limps over to stand on the opposite side of the counter. Again, thankful that there was a doctor from Marley who knew how to give him a prosthetic leg.

Looking up to his face finally your eyes scan his face in the hope to find a reaction to news you haven’t even told him yet. His scars were looking so good healed up, a testament to his strength, to what he was able to survive. Reminded of his strength you worked up the courage to tell him. “I think I am pregnant.”

His body is impossibly still in this moment, his breath stuck in his throat. The quiet morning air adds to your anxious shiver. “What do you mean you think?” he says after a moment.

“I am late on my period, and I just finished throwing up in the bathroom, my breasts are tender, and I have been exceedingly emotional the past few weeks”

A smile cracks onto his face his good eye begins to glisten. He walks around the counter to stand by you. Following his movement, you turn to face him as he approaches before, you’re stunned by the strength of his arms as he embraces you tightly and lifts you from your feet turning in a circle.

“Wait you’re happy,” you said, you expected him to be somewhat saddened. Often the fact that he was alive while so many were gone made him somber during life’s moments as he felt undeserving. So, when he was acting genuinely happy it was refreshing and your heart began to sing.

He suddenly set you down and rushes out of the kitchen “Stay there” He yells as he walks away returning almost as quickly as he left. He holds a little velvet pouch in his hand duping the item in his palm before laying the bag on the counter. You try to tell what it is but are unable to. He looks into your eyes holding a closed fist in between the both of you near your chest.

“What?” it comes out of your lips with a light-hearted yet very confused chuckle. Before his fist opens slowly revealing the item. A ring, an elegant thin silver band twists itself a beautiful green gem in the middle. It’s small and dainty not too flashy, but beautiful and elegant, nonetheless.

As your eyes examine the token in his hand he speaks up “I would get down on one knee, but I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to get back up. You taught me how to accept love and I told you I would try; I have been trying to find the right time to do this but there was always something going on. I wanted to wait till I was completely healed before I asked, but then you told me this and I knew it was now or never. Will you marry me?” He never rambles like this, it’s clear that he’s nervous, and it’s adorable.

Your eyes swell up and you don’t hold them back as a cheesy grin finds itself on your face. “Yes, Levi! Of course.” your heart sings and beats in flutters as his arms sweep you into another hug lifting your feet. Finally setting you down his lips crash into yours.

~~

Over the next several years the two of you raised 3 beautiful children. Erwin, Isabel, and Farlan were their names, you tried to convince him to have one more to name it Hange. Instead, you both opened a tea shop in town and named it Hanges. You often reflected on those you lost, how they never got enough time to see the end of the war.

You fell in love with each other every day. The way he held your hand, the way you brewed his tea. How he let himself be less reserved with your children but was just as strict when they were getting into trouble. He loved how you taught them how to handle all their emotions and gave them space to be vulnerable. He loved that they wouldn’t have to go through the growing pains he did. Overall, you were both happy that you survived long enough to see this. It was still sad every now and then, when birthdays or death dates passed, or when Farlan who was too curious for his own good asked too many questions.

You wouldn’t trade it for the world though. Now in your loved home Levi, the father of your children and the love of your life sat at your bedside holding your hand. You couldn’t believe you made it to this age, dying of age never seemed an option before. His other hand rest on your greyed head. Weakly you open your eyes to see him, reminiscent of all the memories you just saw again. “I can’t believe I’m going to die before you, I mean you were blown up for Ymir’s sake.” Your chuckle turns to a cough, out of breath you sigh. You see a faint smile on his face.

“I guess I’m just too stubborn to die” he responds trying to keep the light mood going for your sake.

“Ah well, Hange was always right in the end anyway.” Sitting up slightly his body instinctively goes to adjust your pillow offering more support for your neck.

“You can go.” His voice is serious and quiet, sad but not angry. “I know you’re worried, about me. About how I will be. I will be okay. I have the kids, the grandkids, and the tea shop. I don’t want you to hold on for me anymore, you’ve done more than enough. You don’t owe me anything and you’ve done more than pay your dues for when I saved you in the alley, you deserve to rest. I will meet you there when it’s my turn” Tears stream steadily out of his ducts, he recognizes the state of your affairs. He knows you better than he knows himself. He wants to give you peace.

“Oh, Levi” your hand weakly reaches his cheek his coming to meet it to hold it to the scars on his face. “I love you” His tears wet your delicate fingertips.

“I love you” he replies watching your face.

Your eyes close, a faint smile on your face. Darkness sweeps over you for a brief moment before a bright wight light shines in your eyes. A crowd of silhouettes stands before you and you know immediately that they were there. Everyone you lost, everyone you missed. The ones that didn’t get enough time, were watching as Levi and you lived out your lives to the fullest. Savoring every moment. Finally.

[dissociativedaydream]

Soft - Part 3

Pairing: Bossk x Vertani!reader (read more about Vertani here)

Word Count: ~2.4K

Tags: NSFW (18+), brief mentions of alcohol, a dash of protective!Bossk, talks about family building, illusion to breeding kink, unprotected PiV, double penetration (both in V), brief mention of cum eating

A/N: so I have a headcanon that Trandoshans make noises like some lizards do to indicate their needs/emotions, I bring it up here toward the end so I wanted to address it

<- Part 2

NSFW below the cut

“No, the agreement was you could come but you stay on the ship.”

It had been months since your father kidnapped you from the apartment you had shared with Bossk on Tattoine. With the help of Latts you were able to convince your husband to let you follow along on jobs. He still insisted on continuing to pay rent in case you one day decided that you wanted to stay behind.

So the fact you were starting to ask to actually help with jobs was annoying him.

Latts and Dengar, the human man that joined your pickup, enjoyed the fact that you were annoying the normally stoic Trandoshan. It was evident now as Latts giggled and Dengar smirked while gathering his gear.

“Please. I can be helpful.” You pouted.

He huffed. “This isn’t a discussion about you being helpful. I don’t want you in danger.”

You continued to pout as he nuzzled your hair before following the other two bounty hunters off the ship. Boba hadn’t come on this one, something about them being able to do the job without him. He was sprouting into quite the leader.

To pass the time you took inventory and tidied up the ship. For someone that was a bachelor up until recently, Bossk kept his ship pretty well organized and clean. That meant you quickly ran out of ways to keep yourself busy. You grabbed the datapad that Bossk had gotten you for situations like this.

Settling into the copilot chair you read up on the planet you were currently on, some backwater jungle planet. You lost track of time, only looking up when you heard the group return. They all sounded like they were in good spirits so hopefully, that means the job went well.

“Hey wifey!” Latts Razzi swept into the cockpit with her standard smirk. “We’re going to go get drinks so celebrate, want to come?”

You all but jump out of your seat, “yes please, I’m so bored.”

Latts giggled holding out a hand to you. You wrapped your arms around each other’s shoulders and walked to where the boys were waiting just outside the ship.

Bossk clicked his tongue as you two appeared. “Making a move Latts?”

“It’s tempting,” Latts leaned her head into the side of yours as you two giggled.

Your husband extended an arm to you and you moved to embrace him. He leaned down to press a kiss to your lips, a rare occurrence for him. While Latts was joking, maybe he was a little nervous. Or the job paid a lot. You didn’t really care, you enjoyed the extra affection. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders as your group walked to the closest bar.

The bar was crowded, only a few seats were open at the bar counter. People stared at your odd group as you walked to the seats, Bossk’s grip on you tightened as someone whistles. There were only the two open seats and Bossk all but pushed you down into one, Latts sitting in the other. He took a territorial stance behind you two, glancing over his shoulder.

You followed his gaze to a group of Trandoshans, surprisingly you recognized one of them as Cradossk, his father.

Leaning in you whisper so that only he and Latts could hear you, “what is he doing here?”

“There was a liiiittle competition for the bounty.” Latts admitted, an uneasy grin on her face. “They’re not super happy about it.”

You grasped Bossk’s shoulder, his muscles were tense. “Maybe we should wait to celebrate until we’re back on Tattoine.”

Dengar snorted behind you, “I doubt they’ll actually try anything. Cradossk wouldn’t stop asking about you when we bumped into him in the middle of the job.”

You quirked your brow at him, “why?”

Before he could respond Bossk growled, effectively cutting him off. You frown, turning to your husband. His face was scrunched, his already intimidating appearance looking downright frightening. Well, frightening to other people.

“If you think I’m not going to get the answer eventually, then you don’t realize who you married.” You grumbled, squeezing his shoulder.

His face relaxed slightly, a breathy chuckle leaving him. “I know. Let’s get a drink then get going.”

~

“Are you going to tell me what your dad was asking or am I going to have to annoy it out of you?” You mumbled into the collar of your husband’s nightshirt.

You’d made it back to Tattoine that afternoon, the three bounty hunters going to report to Boba while you headed back to your and Bossk’s apartment. He’d stayed away until it was late, no doubt hoping to avoid this very situation. Unfortunately for him, you’re stubborn as hell.

He grumbled in response, the low noise rattling his chest. “Can’t this wait?”

You rolled your eyes before moving so you were face to face with the Trandoshan. He refused to make eye contact, instead opting to stare at the ceiling. Sighing you traced a finger down his chest, with his muscle relaxed he was softer than he looked.

“You’re hoping I’ll forget.” You smirked. “If you don’t want me to keep asking, then you’ll have to just tell me. It can’t be that bad.”

He was quiet and still for a moment, if it wasn’t for his blinking eyes you’d think he fell asleep.

“He wanted to know if you were expecting yet.” His voice was uncharacteristically quiet, obviously not wanting to have this conversation.

“Oh,” you reply.

You weren’t really surprised. Both Trandoshans and Vertani had a heavy focus on families and a baby would solidify your marriage. It was odd that Bossk was so reluctant to tell you something so normal to both your people.

While you wanted answers, you were reluctant to push. You liked to annoy him with little things, this didn’t seem little to him. Instead, you snuggled back into his side.

“That’s it?” Bossk interrupted the silence.

You hummed, “yeah.”

He pushed you back slightly so he could sit up, you propped yourself up on an elbow to watch him stretch.

“What do you think about it?” He asked, standing to gaze out the window blinds.

This was the most fidgety you’d ever seen him in the last year you’d been together. Normally he was the definition of either stoic or angry. It was making you a little nervous.

Nevertheless, you answered. “I would like a family but it’s not the end of the world if we don’t have one.”

Bossk didn’t react for a few minutes. You laid back down, tracing patterns on the blankets, waiting for him to respond. Finally, he moved but instead of speaking, he moved to hover over you, caging you to the bed.

“Pretty relax answer for someone trying to figure out my cycle.” He chuckled.

You felt your cheeks flush. He was half right.

“Sort of,” you admit.

He says nothing as he leans down, tongue lolling out of his mouth before he licks a stripe up your neck.

“Continue.” His voice resumes its relaxed grumble.

You sighed. “I thought maybe my cycle would sync with yours if I was around you more.”

His eyes snap up to yours, a mischievous glint in them.

“You should have told me, little wife,” he clicked his tongue in pretentious chastising. “Pheromones would fix that right up.”

Pheromones, duh, why didn’t you think of that? Bossk often let you know he could tell what emotion you were feeling through your scent, it made sense pheromones would be a factor.

“I didn’t know how you would take it.” Your second admission caused him to look at you skeptically.

“Isn’t communication key my little wife? Why wouldn’t I want to give you exactly what you want?” His voice is almost a purr as a hand moves down your chest, pausing over your breast. “What my girl wants, she gets.”

His words went straight to your core, surprised at his words.

“What about you? What do you want?” You asked.

Bossk’s hand moves down and lingers on your stomach, thumb stroking the fabric of your shirt lightly. He looks up at you pointedly.

“Noted,” you breathe, somewhat surprised.

You guess you shouldn’t be surprised. It’s not like either of you had been careful with sex but explicitly saying it changed things, made it real. He shifted, hand moving down to the crotch of his pants to adjust himself and drawing your attention to the straining fabric. Raising one of your brows you smirk at him.

“So pheromones, huh?” You giggled.

He shot you a warning look before pulling his shirt off, discarding it on the floor.

“I won’t be gentle when I fuck you while in rut.” He growled.

You giggle, “you’re usually gentle? Pretty sure the bruises on my hips beg to differ.”

He leaned down, nuzzling your neck before licking it again, this time with his sharp teeth grazing over your pulse point as well.

“That’s nothing little wife,” he murmured against your skin.

“Show me.”

The growl that erupted from your husband’s throat went straight to your core and admittedly startled you momentarily. He grabbed your shirt, the sound of ripping fabric the only sound in the room as his claws tore it easily. His tongue teased across your breasts, his saliva leaving a warm trail across your skin. He trailed his tongue up your neck and chin, nipping your skin lightly as he went. A strong hand trailed down your naked body, grabbing your underwear, nearly ripping it too.

“Uh uh, these are the ones you like.” You interrupted his movement.

He grumbled but conceded, they were his favorite, he carefully moved the fabric over your hips before his tongue was between your legs. Bossk’s tongue pushed inside you, a content grumble in his throat as he tasted you. His claws dragged up your thighs causing you to hiss at the sting. He paused, glancing up at you checking that you were okay. When you nod he acknowledges it with a flick of his tongue, hitting a soft spot inside you.

You moan loudly, his claws digging into the meat of your thighs in response. He’d stated on a few occasions that he enjoyed the variety of noises you made, especially in the bedroom.

“You know,” you murmured. “This isn’t very different from normal.”

His reply chuckle was deep in his throat, “Let me enjoy you little wife, I missed your taste.”

You huffed and rolled your eyes, squeezing his head between your thighs to be a brat. He growled in response, nipping your thigh with sharp teeth.

“Ow!” You recoiled, seeing red pinpricks where his teeth pierced your skin.

“That’s a taste of what you wanted me to show you little wife. Do you still want it?” He murmured before licking across the small wound.

You thought for a moment, you knew he wouldn’t hurt you to the point of genuine pain. Not that you entirely hated the pain either. All you knew right now is his tongue felt really good as it soothed your skin which caused you to whimper.

Bossk groaned, pulling his pants down. He reached down grabbing his cocks in one hand and started stroking himself, groaning at his own touch. You whimpered in disappointment and pouted.

Chuckling Bossk clicked his tongue, “want something?”

You reached down between your legs, touching your neglected clit. He grumbled, watching as you traced tight circles around the sensitive nerve. Pushing your hand away, he lined his cocks up with your entrance.

“Ready to try?” He asked softly.

You nod nervously, up until now you’d only taken one at a time. But you knew during his rut his amped up body would only be satisfied if you could take both.

He rubbed the heads of his cock through your folds, adding your juices to his, “Breathe little wife.”

Bossk eased into you slowly, you winced at the stretch and a whispered chorus of curse words left your lips. He moaned loudly as he bottomed out inside you.

“Fuck,” you whimpered.

His cocks left no area inside of you untouched, you’d never felt so full. You looked down your abdomen slightly swollen from the intrusion. Bossk was still other than his claws digging into the sheets with an audible tearing noise. His hips rocked slightly, pressing against every sensitive spot inside you.

Bossk groaned something in Dosh as he almost collapsed on you, his hips pulling back slightly before snapping into you again. You gasped loudly, you could feel yourself clench around him though his cocks didn’t allow for much movement.

“You’re so tight little wife,” he moaned before licking up your neck. “I could cum just like this.”

To emphasize his point he pulled hips back nearly all the way, just leaving the heads inside, before pushing back into you. You gasped again, each movement he made pressed pleasure up your core, the growing pressure of your orgasm coiling tightly in your belly.

He grasps your hips, pushing his flush against yours rocking so that his cocks pressed against the one spot he knew would unravel you quickly. You wrapped your legs around him as he pulls back just slightly before snapping hips back to press into just the right spot, hard. Your thighs shake as you feel the tension from your belly spread heat up your spine and down your legs, another thrust hitting just the right spot caused a shockwave of pleasure to flood your body.

Your pussy clenched around his cocks, Bossk swearing before he shuddered, his own orgasm hitting him as his cum flooding your pussy. As he pulled out you could feel the mixture of your juices drip from you and he leaned back to admire his handiwork.

You dropped your head down to the bed, feeling sore and more than exhausted. Bossk spreads your legs, mindful of pushing you too much as you hiss. He dips his head down, tongue running over your slit, tasting the two of you. You’d normally would have made a smart ass comment but his tongue soothed the sting that the stretch of his cocks left you with and you didn’t want him to stop.

He moved again to rest his head on your stomach the rest of his body still resting between your legs. You reached down stroking his face, earning a sleepy but content sounding grumble from your husband.

“You did good little wife,” he mumbled, “now go to sleep.”

You shift slightly, centering his head on your stomach before you stretch and close your eyes. Bossk made a quiet clicking noise, a noise you’d heard a few times when he was overly content, it was a welcomed noise as you drifted off to sleep.

[goldenboywrites]

in my mind, you're mine forever

“Ollie?” Oliver Davenport looked up mid pancake flip and met the adoring gaze of Theodore Maddox-Wicker. He leaned across the counter after Theo hopped up onto a stool and ruffled the kid’s bedhead even more. “Good morning. Did dad already leave?”

“Good morning, birthday boy.” He flipped the pancake again before deeming it worthy enough for the boy sitting across from him. “Yes, he left early for work but he wanted me to tell you that his first present to you was not waking you up before he left and that he will be home early to celebrate with all of us.” Oliver spooned cut-up strawberries onto the plate then poured a healthy amount (which Apollo could scold him for if he were present) of syrup on the pancakes before passing the plate off to Theo. “Your uncle Cass will be by later and your aunt Artemis…” 

Theo forked a strawberry, his carefree smile turning into a frown. One that pained Oliver’s heart to see. “But I won’t see my dad.” 

He wasn’t talking about Apollo. 

“No,” Oliver said carefully, turning off the stove and placing the last pancake on a plate for himself. “Probably not tonight but you’ll see him this weekend. And I heard a rumor that he may be taking you to Australia for a few days as an extra special surprise but don’t tell him I told you.” The former Gryffindor grabbed a fork and cut through the side of the pancake. Theo’s frown only deepened and Oliver inhaled slowly before continuing. “I know it’s not what you want but both of your dads are doing their best. Remember that, kiddo.” 

Theo made a noncommittal noise and ate some of his pancakes. Oliver knew him well enough to see the gears turning in that brain of his. “Do you think my dad will come home soon?”

He nearly choked on the piece of pancake in his mouth. Immediately Oliver grabbed a glass of orange juice and washed it down. He glanced at Apollo and Isaac’s son, the most wonderful kid he had the pleasure of knowing. There was nothing Oliver wouldn’t do for Theodore Maddox-Wicker. He would move mountains, slay dragons, give him a kidney. This was the kid that he and Cassio both loved as if he were their own. Guilty, his gaze quickly shifted down to his own plate. He didn’t have the courage to tell Theo that he didn’t know. 

“I wish they would just talk like they used to,” Theodore said as he pushed his plate away, more than half of it was uneaten and Oliver knew he should be the adult in the situation and make sure the boy ate a good breakfast but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Not when it was the first birthday Theo would have to celebrate twice because his dads weren’t together. “I know they still love each other.” 

Oliver sighed, pushing his own plate aside and resting his arms flat on the counter. He bent his back,  groaning lightly at the light crack of his spine. Fuck, he was getting old. They all were. “I think they’ll always love each other, kid. And if it’s meant to be then they’ll find a way back to each other. All we can do is give them time.” 

“Time makes things worse. Space makes things worse.” Theo argued, his mouth forming a pout. 

Not always. Sometimes staying together when things aren’t working does more damage. Is what Oliver wanted to say but he had to remind himself who he was talking to. A child whose entire world was upside down and changing. He didn’t want to crush the innocent hope he still had. “Alright, you’ve got me there.” Oliver threw his hands up in mock defeat. 

“So you’ll help me then?”

Oliver Davenport’s face paled and his brow furrowed into a line of confusion. “Help you?” He questioned.

“Parent trap them, duh.” Theo reached his hand out expectedly and gave Oliver an impatient look. “Phone, please.” 

“I don’t understand that reference,” Oliver admitted but still took his phone out of his pocket and handed it off to Theo despite the uneasiness he felt in the pit of his stomach. “Please tell me you just want to play candy crush…” 

“I’m going to get them to talk or remember how much they love each other and our fam-” Theo explained at the same time that Oliver warned, “Theo…” 

“Please, uncle Ollie?” Oh no, his heart clenched in his chest and he tried to look away before but no, Theo that look on his face. His big, brown puppy dog eyes staring up at him as if he put the stars in the sky. “Please help me. I can’t do it without you…” 

Oliver sighed. Then he sighed again. After that, he crossed his arms over his chest and light stomped his foot out. It wasn’t fair. The love he held for this kid wasn’t fair. Cassio was going to murder him for getting involved. “As your father’s best friend,”

“I thought uncle Cass was dad’s best frien-” 

“Uncle Cass and I are a packaged deal so if he’s your father’s best friend then that makes me his best friend too. Also, I saved his life one time and uncle Cass hasn’t,” Oliver paused, shaking his head. “Never mind, anyways. As your dad’s best friend I say heck yes, let’s do it. But I also feel like I need to also say that as the only mature, responsible adult, and your unofficial guardian when your dads are working, that I do not approve of meddling in other adults private affairs.”

But Theo wasn’t listening. He was punching in number’s on Oliver’s phone and then lifting it up to his ear. Oliver heard it ring and then the muffled voice of Isaac on the other line. Theo whimpered at sound of his dad’s voice and huffed out, “Hi dad,” trying (and succeeding) in making himself sound as sad and pathetic as possible. He was good. He was real good. And Oliver was scared about what he had just agreed to do. 

===============

“This better be an emergency. I’m trying to leave the office on time,” Apollo muttered into the phone as he tucked it between his ear and his shoulder. “Please tell me you were able to pick up the cake.” He shuffled through a thick stack of papers, notes from his three current court cases. The work never seemed to end these days. 

“Hi, sister. How are you? Are you well? Are you enjoying the nice weather we’re having?” She said in a mocking tone. “It’s amazing to me that you have so many clients when you clearly don’t know how to properly answer the phone.” Sometimes, most of the times, Apollo wished he was an only child. Having a twin sister who constantly called you out on your own bullshit was exhausting.

“My clients don’t pay me to be polite on the phone,” He reminded her with a sigh. “They pay me to win their cases.”

She scoffed and he imagined rolled her eyes at the same time. “Ah yes, my brother. The shark of the wizarding world. Anyways, I was checking in to make sure you didn’t need me to pick up anything else but since you’re in wonderful mood, I’m not sure I want to do you any favors.”

He was trying. Really he was, despite what everyone around him thought. Despite what Isaac believed about him these days. He was trying to be a better person and a better father. He was trying to control his anger, still trying to work through the hardships he had faced in his life. There were still quite a few things that haunted Apollo even though he had tried to put his past behind him. A lot of it was bubbling back up to the surface now that Isaac had left him. 

“Hello?” Artemis sang into the phone. Apollo shook his head and refocused. 

“Just get to the house. Oliver is there with Theo. Cass is picking up dinner and I will be home in half an hour.” Apollo stopped suddenly, his phone nearly slipping from his ear as he felt the wards around his building shift in a sickeningly familiar way. He gritted his teeth and then, in an attempt to calm himself, took a sharp breath. “Just keep an eye on Theo, okay? He’s really struggling with everything that’s going on and I want him to feel special on his birthday. I know he’s disappointed that-” He couldn’t say his name. He wouldn’t. The door to his office opened and Apollo glanced up to see a trio of men standing in his door. “Artemis,” He hissed, not breaking eye contact with the man in the middle. 

“Yeah, Apollo. I know. We’re all make sure he has good time tonight and you will too, right? You’ll be home on time? Promise me you won’t let him down today…” 

The men walked to the bar cart on the right side of Apollo’s office. They helped themselves to glasses of scotch. With his free hand, Apollo rubbed at his forehead. “I uh,” Sometimes the weight on his shoulders felt so heavy he was scared he would crumble under the pressure. “Something has come up. I’ll get there as soon as I can.” 

“Apol-” He hung up on her.

“This better be good,” Apollo said through gritted teeth as each of the men took a seat in front of him. “I have somewhere important to be.” 

The man seated in the center, tapped his fingers against the glass and raised a brow at him. “Do you now? Something more important that this meeting, you say? Do we need to remind you that you are indebted to us for life? Must we remind you that you are here in this fancy office because we put you here? You would be rotting in Azkaban with Beery if it weren’t for us. So how about we start this meeting over again. This time with manners.” 

Apollo gritted his teeth so hard, his hands shook and he laced his fingers together so they wouldn’t see. An empty glass on the bar cart behind him shattered. Yet he didn’t pay it any attention. Instead he leaned back in his chair and forced a tight grin to show. “What can I do for you gentlemen?”

Maybe one day he would free from the things that held him prisoner.

[heliosthegriffin]

Jaune’s Big Breakout Pt 2

Part One

------

“Ack!” Jaune yelped as he halfway fell off his cot.

He had failed another attempt.

“So much for breakout number 30...”

He sighs and slides to the floor.

“This is getting depressing, I wondering how everyone else is doing?”

He frowns. “Nah, no use worrying about them, they’re probably better than ever without me there.”

“Why are you talking to yourself?”

“Ah!” Jaune jumps up and looks at the door, which had been cracked open, where a scraggly looking man leaned against the wall. Jaune could smell the booze on him from across the room.

“Ha, you gave me a heart-attack, who the heck are you?”

“You didn’t answer me question,”

“And neither did you, why are you in my cell?”

“You call this a cell? If it is, it’s much nicer than any other cell I’ve been in.” The scraggly alcoholic pulled up the only chair in the room, the one that was for the desk.

“Ok, my containment room I guess.”

“Well, anyway I’m the guy that dropped your butt in here, so lets see if that can turn the gears in that blonde box you call a head.”

Jaune frowns. “You’re trying to figure out why I’m trying to escape, aren’t you?”

The drunk smiles. “See, you didn’t need to be a genius to figure that out.”

Jaune climbs back on his padded cot, it was actually really comfy. “You wouldn’t believe me.”

“Why’s that?”

Jaune leans back on his bed looking at the ceiling, where the only window was, and the skylight, watching the blue sky. “You’d just think I’m crazy,”

The guy just sighs. “Fricken teens, man. You’re all so damn self-important, you know what? Whatever, you do you, kid. I’ve seen the feeds, you don’t have what it takes to escape Beacon.”

Jaune frowns. “Is that why you haven’t taken Crocea Mors? You think I’m too pathetic to be a threat?”

“Your words not mind kid, but, I’d also say that we couldn’t take the sword from you.”

“Huh?”

“Anyway, try to be a little less destructive in your attempt to leave, Goodwitch is getting prissy about having to do reconstruction.”

Jaune gave the man a smile. “Oh, it makes her mad, does it?”

“I don’t like that look on your face, way too sinister for a kid.” The drunk gave a smile in return. “But, yes. It does make a her day harder. Go buckwild, kid.”

The man turned to leave, opening the door.

“It gets lonely in here, talking to myself helps.”

The man paused. “I guess it would, names Qrow by the way.”

“Jaune Arc, you’re pretty alright for a guy who imprisoned me.”

“Don’t take it too hard, kid. I’m just trying to do right by me and mine. It’s not forever either, we just got to keep you out of the spotlight till after Vytal, after that we’re shipping you out, maybe home, maybe Atlas, maybe something different. You’re just a kid, so we’re going easy on you, so don’t worry about real prison or anything.... But, anyway here’s some advice from a veteran though, don’t make waves, the attention is not worth it.” 

Jaune let out a sad laugh. “I think it’s a little late for that, the whole school, Haven, Shade, and Atlas all know. Everybody knows team JNPR’s leader is a fraud, and they’re laughing at me, and they’ll keeping laughing at me as long as I’m around.” He rest’s his head in his hands. “Ah man, I hope their doing alright, my team I mean, well my former team. I doubt they want anything to do with me, now.”

Qrow looked at Jaune from the hallway, gripping the door in a reverse grip, and shrugged. “That’s for them to decide, not you. I can’t imagine many people are allowed to visit you. Even I’m a special case.”

Jaune sad nothing and looked at the ground. “Why would they even consider wanting to see me?”

“Why not find them and ask if they want to?”

Jaune looked at Qrow. “I thought you said I’d never breakout of Beacon?”

The older man smirked at him. “I said out, I never said anything about this little tower or getting into the campus.”

A slight smile breaks across Jaune’s face. “I’m not trying to breakout of Beacon anyway, I’ve got somewhere I want to get to on Beacon soil.”

“Hmm, maybe.” Then the man closed the door.

Jaune got up and stretched, loosening up his body for his next escape attempt once his aura recovered in a couple minutes. Then focused his semblance, rapidly regenerating from any exhaustion and damage he’s taken.

His aura full, he sighed contently as a feeling like a warm, fuzzy blanket settled over him. “Lets do this, try 31.”

--------

Attempt Third-One, The third floor in front of the stairs.

Jaune had once again cleared out the first two floors of the drones and was sitting comfortably at the seventy-five percent mark, it was getting easier.

Hopefully it would be enough to defeat the tank on legs.

Jaune opened his shield and stared at the metal giant in the center of the room.

“Lets do this,”

< TARGET SIGHTED, SURRENDER OR BE EXPOSED TO MAXIMUM ALLOWED FORCE > 

Jaune took a determined look at it and assumed a combat stance.

It’s singular eye glowed a blue-white and fired a lance of burning light at Jaune, who hastily raised his aura charged shield, which absorbed the light with burst of aura, the shield’s glow diminishing by at most half.

The two rocket launchers on the robots shoulders then pointed at Jaune and he got the message and started to run away as rocket exploded behind him, heat burning his calves and shrapnel cut at his aura on his back and legs, still it was better than enduring rockets to his arm and getting pinned.

He kept running till he heard a click as the last of the rocket were fired, or at least he assumed so.

Jaune made a sharp turn in his run to the robot, he wasn’t going to escape and let it be on his tail while he fought whatever dangers blocked the next floor, and held his shield high as another laser hit him.

The energy hit the shield and broke the aura coating on it, Jaune tsked and kept running forward, recharging the aura into the shield to give it extra oomph.

The robot seemed stunned at Jaune ran into it’s legs shield first and unleash a shock wave into it’s pillar like legs, only briefly though, before bringing an enormous fist down on Jaune, who was too jarred from the impact he delievered to dodge the blow.

The fist the size of a bucket hit him on the shoulders and knocked him to his knees hard enough to feel a buzz in his teeth and chest.

He snorted and tried to rise, pooling aura into his legs and arms, to push up against the mechanical menace. But the robot threw it’s other arm down on him, pushing him to the ground on his knees.

Then he gulps as he heard a mechanical whirring, and buzz coming from it’s head.

< INITIATING RELOAD >

It’s cyclopean eye then begin to glow as it’s shoulder rockets turned towards him.

His world became a explosion of light and fire for the second time today.

Attempt 31 failed.

Defeated by Mark IV Sentinel  

[mckinlily]

.match made

Summary: Shiro and his master need to make a dangerous bet to get off of an Outer Rim planet. This would not be the ideal time to scout out new Jedi potentials.

Shiro disagrees.

(thanks @void-tiger​ for the beta and making sure my Star Wars isn’t complete nonsense!)

“I can do it, Master.”

Kolivan hummed with an almost growl in the back of his throat, no expression crossing his stern face. “It’s risky.”

“It’s podracing,” said Shiro, both confirming and refuting the point. “And it’s not like we have better options.”

Kolivan’s scowl deepened. Shiro was certain he was miserable with his thick fur in the Tatooine heat, but Force forbid the Jedi admit it, let alone take off a few layers. 

“Podracing is dangerous.”

“Dangerous is part of being a Jedi.”

“Padawan.”

“Master.”

Kolivan huffed.

“We’re not getting off this planet until we get the part for the hyperdrive,” Shiro pointed out, continually astonished by how the same master who had raised him on the mantra of patience yields focus could be so needlessly stubborn when things didn’t go his way. 

“Master, I can do this,” he repeated. 

Kolivan exhaled heavily, finally relenting to the fact that the universe wasn’t going to magically whisk them away just because he wished it. His expression didn’t change any, but Shiro had become attuned to his master’s ways and could tell by the slight roll of his shoulders that he was giving in. 

“I’ll go place our bets,” he conceded. 

Shiro grinned. 

***

The thing about podracing was it was entirely unregulated, despite perfunctory rules, and the only real requirement was that it be entertaining. Entertainment fueled the bets after all. 

Shiro knew this as he walked around the podracer they’d “borrowed” from a local junk trader as part of the bet (Shiro had never thought that being Jedi included so much sketchy betting with sketchier characters, but needs must). The podracer was in standard barely functional condition, and if Shiro didn’t end up needing to hold some part or other together with the Force by the end of this, he would be very much surprised. 

As it was, he was excited.

Jedi probably weren’t supposed to be excited at the prospect of entering a dangerous and by some definitions illegal pod race, but Shiro still struggled to wrestle himself into the part of a proper Jedi at times. Most times, it seemed according to Kolivan and certain members of the Council. But he could at least affect the appearance of a calm, collected Jedi while he looked over his competition. Shiro took note of their craft, the likely strengths and drawbacks, possible weaknesses to take advantage of—and who among them was angry or bitter and willing to play dirty.

A sudden, bright flare in the Force caught his attention, and Shiro looked around, distracted. He hadn’t thought any of his competitors were particularly Force-sensitive, but—

There. For a moment, Shiro thought it was the Toydarian dealer, but then his focus narrowed in on the small boy nearby. The kid was maybe eight or nine—or possibly a very scrawny ten. His dark hair was overlong and fell into his face while he scowled and steadfastly ignored who Shiro strongly suspected was his master. (A child. A child slave, and slavery in general was appalling but there was something particularly despicable about enslaving children.) 

No one else seemed remotely sensitive, but the Force had gathered in tangled, turbulent knots around this one child. A child who on the outside appeared to be nothing but sullen and underfed, but in the Force he glowed—

A sharp tug on his training bond told Shiro that Kolivan had noticed his distraction and was not impressed. Kolivan never did appreciate deviations from the mission. An unplanned pit stop in the Outer Rim had only made him grumpier. Shiro sent back a pulse of reassurance and climbed into the cockpit. Focusing, Master. I’ll get us those hyperdrive parts.

***

There was another human in the line up. Keith frowned while he wormed into a more comfortable position in the pod racer. Humans couldn’t compete in podraces: their reflexes were too slow.

Well. Humans who weren’t Keith.

So why did he have the staticky, tingling feeling this one was going to win?

***

The pod race started off with a bang, two pods almost immediately crashing and catching fire, and Shiro was having fun. His podracer was stiff and shaky, but he pushed it to the limit anyway, quickly getting a feel for its hang ups and how to push through them. The challenge of it was thrilling, as was the prickle of wind in his hair, and he quickly pulled to the front of the pack. Most the contestants seemed more concerned with sabotaging their competitors than actually flying, unfortunately. 

For them. 

Shiro rarely felt as one with the Force as he did when he was flying, and this time was no exception. By the second lap, he had a feel for both the pod and the course and with an extra burst of speed pulled into the lead. With space between him and the sabotaging competitors, he felt free to open the throttle and push the pod to its max, less concerned with beating everyone and more with the delight of going fast.

Except. Shiro had left most his competitors behind. There was one stubborn racer who was pulsing a warning of pride-bitterness-malice into the Force that Shiro kept an eye on. But even closer, nearly on his tail, was the kid from earlier, his presence in the Force more of a wordless fire. And he was keeping up, matching Shiro almost move for move, which was impressive seeing as Shiro was definitely using the Force as a counterbalance to offset his sharp cornering. But the kid refused to fall behind, fueled by either exceptional determination, exceptional stupidity, or possibly both. In other circumstances, Shiro would try slowing down just to see what the kid could do (and make sure the same kid didn’t get himself killed), but he and his master still needed that hyperdrive part and he couldn’t afford to let the rest catch up. 

There was a sharp bang! and out of the corner of his eye, Shiro caught sight of sparks flying out of the pod behind him, but he didn’t have time to worry about the kid because the Dug racer was on him and—

“A blaster? Seriously?” 

Of all the uncivilized things. Shiro growled under his breath as he dodged the shots. He could block them, but he was pretty sure the bet would be voided if he pulled out his lightsaber and besides he was affronted by the very idea of bringing a blaster to a podrace. This was a sport, not a war zone. Someone could get killed.

Shiro ground the gears, using the slope of a boulder to launch himself up and crash next the Dug, motors nearly tangling and energy arcs spitting angrily. The Dug snarled, likely something uncomplimentary about Shiro’s parentage, and pointed the blaster at Shiro’s face, but Shiro ignored it and instead leaned in more, grabbing hold of the other pod’s main fuel line, and yanked. 

The pod and the Dug screamed in equal fury. Shiro threw his sticks forward, pushing the pod into the redline, willing it to get him out of the spiraling hellfire that was quickly consuming the other podracer. Smoke, debris, and heat haze clouded his vision, but Shiro grit his teeth and pushed forward. 

The kid was ahead of him now. He’d gotten control of his podracer and used Shiro’s confrontation with the Dug to pull ahead. Which was a smart move, and another day, Shiro would let him have it, but…

“Sorry, kid,” said Shiro, yanking his pod sideways to draw even through a narrow passageway and plucking wires on his consol with one hand. Flying with the other, he bypassed the safeties, pouring unfiltered power into the engines. He pushed the Force down the lines as well, willing the pieces to stay cool while the rotors screamed and the air wavered with white-hot exhaust. 

Shiro was flirting with disaster. The last leg of the race was rocky and littered with less successful podracers, and he was brushing supersonic speeds. But there was no one else out here besides him and the kid. Shiro opened up his senses to the world around him and the Force. 

Times like this, Shiro almost understood what the masters meant when they said all was one with the Force. Time seemed to slow. He was the desert, the rock and grains of sand, the screaming motors, one small pilot, billions of particles in the air. He existed at the mouth of a canyon. Two miles down, launching over a crevasse. In the middle, calculating multiple trajectories.

The moment is vast. All time is now.

The Force sang in his ears. Shiro streaked over the finish line, the edges of his turbines just starting to turn red and deform and little sparks of electricity flashing dangerously along the leylines. He has his work cut out for him, bringing the pod to a stop without the entire thing turning into a fireball, but on the very edge of his awareness, he noticed the kid also pull across barely a handful of seconds after he did. Damn, but that was impressive. Though Shiro did notice his pod was in even worse shape than Shiro’s was. 

Shiro quickly gave the podracer a once over, ensuring it wasn’t in danger of exploding in the near future. As he did, he kept part of his attention on the crowd, making note of Kolivan making his way to collect their bets. Figuring his master had that in hand, Shiro jumped over his cockpit and approached the other podracer.

The kid was covered in dust and soot but overall didn’t seem too worse for wear. He looked up when Shiro approached, and the Force flared up in a defensive wall before settling down into something more cautiously hesitant.

“How did you fly like that?” he demanded, surprising Shiro by speaking first.

“The Force,” said Shiro honestly.

The kid scowled and glared at him like he was being intentionally patronizing—which, yeah, okay, Shiro could see that.

He crouched down so that he was closer to eye level and offered what he hoped was a soothing smile.

“I’m a Jedi,” he explained, voice low because it wasn’t something he wanted the entire arena to know. “We’re trained to use the Force to enhance our reflexes and our connection to the world. Flying is just one part of it.” A pretty frivolous part, really, but Shiro loved it too much to give it up. “I’m more impressed by what you managed, though. That was some pretty impressive flying you pulled off.”

For a moment, the kid almost preened. “I’m the best podracer there is,” he said confidently. “I’m the only human who can do it.” Then, he seemed to remember who he was talking to and his shoulders slumped, “Well, except for…”

“Jedi, remember?” Shiro gently reminded him. “I don’t exactly count as normal.”

The kid peaked up at him through his bangs and almost, almost seemed to smile. But he held back, seemingly uncertain and wary of what that could mean.

Shiro’s heart ached.

“Do you have any family?” he asked, but the kid shook his head.

“No. My dad—” He broke off, shook his head. “He was freeborn. He was. And so was I!” He looked up again, fire in his eyes, daring Shiro to challenge him.

Shiro didn’t blink or break eye contact. “I’m guessing the slavers didn’t care,” he said simply, disgust darkening his voice. 

“Yeah,” agreed the kid, too much bitterness and disillusionment in his voice for a kid his age. For anyone, but this was a child, and a brilliant, strong-willed, talented one too, if Shiro’s brief interaction with him was anything to go by.

(It occurred to Shiro that those traits probably were not missed by the boy’s master, and it made his blood burn.)

“Do you know where your master keeps the detonator?”

“What?” 

“The detonator for your implant. Does your master keep it on him or somewhere else?”

The kid’s eyes narrowed, sizing Shiro up in a way that should not make Shiro feel as much like a nervous youngling as he did now. 

“Yeah, I do,” said the kid. “But it’s in a safe only he can open. It’s keyed to his bio code.”

Shiro smiled in a way that was neither Jedi-worthy nor nice. “I have a lightsaber,” he pointed out, and the kid’s eyes went wide.

And then lit up.

***

“Takashi.”

“Yes, Master?” said Shiro as pleasantly as he could while running full tilt through the crowded market.

“I thought you said you could, and I quote, ‘do this.’”

“In fairness, I did win the podrace,” said Shiro, grabbing Kolivan’s arm and dragging them both behind a stall to avoid blaster fire. “It’s everything else that went sideways.”

“By which you mean breaking into a well known house, destroying every inch of their security, and then stealing valuable hyperdrive parts and a slave.”

“First of all, you can’t steal a person,” snapped Shiro. “And his name is Keith.”

Keith, for his part, was hiding silently in Shiro’s shadow, but the glare he was sending Kolivan spoke volumes.

Kolivan titled his head back and grumbled something in Galra that Shiro had never gotten him to give a translation for, but from context, he figured it meant something like, This padawan will be the death of me.

Which was unfair, really. Drawing the attention of every bounty hunter and mercenary on Tatooine was hardly the most dangerous thing either of them had done by a long shot.

Keith tugged hard on Shiro’s robe and pointed.

“Security droids at nine o’clock,” said Shiro, dumping the hyperdrive parts into Keith’s arms so that he could pull out his lightsaber. Kolivan, whose large frame clearly did not appreciate crouching in the small space, had already leapt into action, his silver-white blade flashing against the backdrop of sand and brown and dust.

“Take these to that ship,” Shiro told Keith, pointing. “We’ll cover you.”

Keith looked ready to be suspicious and stubborn, but then he caught sight of where Shiro was pointing and his eyes went wide. “Is that your ship?”

“Yep,” said Shiro proudly. “Once we get out of here, I can show you how to fly it.”

“Takashi!”

“Yes?” replied Shiro with sing-song pleasantry. “Go on, get out of here,” he added, giving Keith a little push with the Force. “We’ll be right behind you.”

“We will talk,” said Kolivan as Shiro jumped in beside him, expertly deflecting blaster fire back at the perpetrators.

“Yes, Master,” said Shiro, foreseeing a lot of forced meditation in his future but refusing to regret it. He and his master moved like one in battle. Kolivan grabbed a transport with the Force, and Shiro deflected a blast into its cargo, causing an explosion of feathers and shrieking chaos as the livestock escaped. 

On an unspoken cue, both he and Kolivan turned tail and bolted for the ship, guarding each other in turn.

“Get us in the air!” ordered Kolivan, as they leaped over the loading ramp into the ship. “And take the youngling with you.”

“On it,” said Shiro, blocking blaster fire and drawing up the ramp. He nudged Keith towards the cockpit, squeezing his shoulder. “Want to see how we get this thing in the air?”

“Focus on the task at hand, padawan!” Kolivan snapped from the engine room.

Shiro rolled his eyes. “I can do both,” he muttered, knowing Kolivan wouldn’t care. They needed to get off planet before the entire population of Tatooine started firing on them.

“Here,” said Shiro, quickly plopping Keith into the copilot seat. “Strap in,” he added, throwing himself into the other seat and beginning to flip switches and override warnings (yeah yeah, broken hyperdrive, they knew that) to get ship live and ready for take off. Engines spluttered, coughed—then purred, and the dashboard lit up. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Shiro saw Keith hadn’t strapped in at all, instead staring open-mouthed at the controls and standing on tip-toe to see more out of the view port.

Eh. He’d learn.

Shiro flipped on the intercom. “Ready, Master?” he asked, already setting the launch trajectory.

“Get us out of here, Takashi.”

“You might want to sit down for this,” Shiro added to Keith, intentionally not looking at the kid and pretending he hadn’t noticed the moment of awestruck curiosity. He gripped the sticks and launched them into the air, no less than three ships on his tail, and Keith let out a gasp that a moment later was followed by a flood of sheer delight in the Force.

Shiro grinned, easily maneuvering two of his tails into each other and quickly outstripping the third, before launching into open space.

Over all, he thought things were going very well.

And Kolivan’s grumbled swearing could just deal with it. 

[fanartfunart]

Fly Away: Episode 7, Theatrix

Ao3 - First - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6

(Féline Sombre & Paon Lilas designs)

Summery: An AU where Adrien never went to in-person school, not getting the cat miraculous, and found the peacock miraculous. - The school holds an audition for a play and Chloé is determined to sabotage Lila's audition. It goes about as expected in terms of akuma-creation.

-

The black box theater was small. Assorted students unfolded the bleachers of the theater seats. Chloé watched Marinette and her gaggle of friends in the theater crew chatter while they set up the theater room. She hummed as she stood on the edge of the stage.

“Quaint,” Chloé rolled her eyes, “This better not be where we’re actually holding the play, or I’ll have to talk to the manager of this whole mess. Sabrina, did you remember my costume?” She asked, looking at her nails.

“Oh… no… It’s only a school audition. Do you need it?” they said. She held the script and a makeup bag against her chest.

“I need it to get into the role! The mind of the character! You know that!” Chloé huffed, turning to look at them with crossed arms.

“Oh-oh sorry! I’ll go get it!” 

“Go! Go! Hurry, we only have half an hour before I’ll be on stage!”

Sabrina squeaked and scrambled out of the room. They narrowly avoided crashing into Lila. “Sorry!”

Lila smiled, “Don’t worry about it,” she waved as Sabrina raced out of the room. She walked up to Chloé. “Fancy meeting you here. Auditioning for the role of an extra?”

Chloé huffed, “Of course not, I will only take a starring role, of course.”

“Oh really? I mean, keep your hopes up high, right? I’m sure the teacher would want the most experienced actor, unfortunately for you.”

“Ha! I’m sure he’ll know talent when he sees it. Besides, I know about professional acting from my best friend, Adrien~ I’ve even helped him in some of his photo shoots.”

“Of course, of course…” Lila rolled her eyes then tilted her head, “Oh, speaking of Adrien, what are you going to do about that book Marinette stole?”

“Yeah yeah, you told me about that weeks ago. Ridiculous, utterly ridiculous. Fun fact, I don’t care about what you say!” Chloé smiled sharply, “You’re just jealous that we’re friends with Adrien and you’re just another one of his little fans. Alya told me Marinette lost it and was intending to give it back. They even went back to look for it. Alya isn’t my favorite journalist but she knows how to get the truth.”

Lila hummed, “Of course. It’s not like Alya couldn’t be lying to protect her best friend,” she sighed, “I’m just looking out for him.”

Chloé frowned and folded her arms, “Right, because you’re sooooo sweet.”

“Aw, I’m glad you think so,” Lila smiled. Chloé glared at her.

“I have your costume!” Sabrina cheered, holding the outfit against her chest. “Er…” They glanced between Chloé and Lila. She grabbed Chloé’s arm, pulling her away, “Let’s go get you ready!”

Chloé maintained a glare as she was dragged away. They walked into a back room, and Chloé huffed. She took the outfit from Sabrina. “I’m going to destroy her chances at getting any role in this play.”

Sabrina grimaced, “Chloé… you can’t solve everything like this-”

“I can too!” Chloé scoffed, “Eliminating her will even give me an upper hand in the audition. If Lila wants to be the center of attention she’ll be the center of attention,” Chloé walked out from behind the dressing screen and spun in the dress, “Come Sabrina, I have a plan.”

They frowned, “I’m not going to help you.”

“Huh? Why not?"

"It's going to hurt her feelings. There's plenty of spots in the play, you can get the lead even with Lila in the running. You need to be the better person."

"...I’ll let you borrow my new scarf?”

Sabrina shook her head, “Sorry Chloé, but I can’t help you.”

Chloé blinked. She huffed, “Fine, I don’t need your help.” She turned on her heel with a flick of her hair.

They watched Chloé storm off and glanced at the floor. Something sharp threatened their heart. She shoved it down, racing to follow her best friend.

Something moved behind the curtains when Lila got onto the stage. ...And no trace of Chloé. Sabrina frowned. She wasn't seriously going to sabotage Lila still... was she? They slipped away from their seat and up to the backstage.

Chloé glared at Sabrina from her hiding spot. As if to spite her, she maintained eye contact as she slid a banana peel under the curtain onto the stage. Sabrina frowned and glanced towards Lila. Gasping, they lunged forward and grabbed the banana peel before Lila could step back into it. 

She giggled awkwardly as Lila turned, looking at her. She glared, clearly assuming she was the one planting the tripping hazard. Sabrina inched backwards, back behind the curtain. Chloé frowned. She glanced at the lights and raced for them as quietly as possible. Sabrina gasped and raced after her. 

Getting into the light booth, Chloé glanced at the buttons to see which one would help her ruin Lila's audition. The booth door slammed open.

"Chloé, don't," Sabrina whispered urgently.

"I'm not listening to you ex-best-friend. Just don't get in my way and I'll think about taking you back as my best friend."

Sabrina gasped, taking a step back. The sharp thing came back, digging into her heart. "Chloé, please."

"Hm? Who said that?" Chloé taunted. She pressed a button to turn off the lights. The crowd in the theater murmured to each other.

Sabrina surged forward and flipped the light back on. Instead of returning to normal, the lights grew intensely bright. The theater teacher was glaring at her, and Chloé was already making her way down the steps casually. As if she had nothing to do with it.

"The lights are prohibited to students right now! Get down here!" The instructor called. Sabrina squeaked, scrambling out of the booth.

Blinded by the sudden light, Lila stumbled, hair flopping into her face as she caught herself. Her shoe slipped off and was flung into the rafters, stuck. A ruckus of giggles echoed from the students watching the performance. 

Lila stood up, flushing in mortification.

The teacher wasn't even watching her. Too busy telling Sabrina why she wasn't allowed in the light booth. She glared at the redhead, then to the giggling students. Well. She wouldn't give them the time of day. Let alone the satisfaction of seeing her embarrassment. She marched out the door. Fists clenched and face burning. 

Lila fumed all the way to the courtyard. A purple butterfly fluttered down from the sky. Lila turned, face to face with the purple butterfly. She stared at it. She'd never been akumatized before, but she'd seen plenty. The chance to gain power was far too enchanting. She raised the crumpled script in her hand, and it disappeared into the paper. 

“Theatrix, I am Hawkmoth.”

Paon Lilas kicked his legs against the edge of a roof, humming to himself. Yet again, his father was gone all day. Marinette, Chloé and Sabrina were at school for their play and Kagami was busy at a dinner party with her mother, so he couldn't hang out with any of them to fill the empty space in his heart. There was no trace of the book to occupy his time chasing. So instead he was on a roof, taking in the feeling of being someone not Adrien. A pair transformed into someone a little more whole than either half alone. 

He glanced in the direction of the school with a wistful sigh. He tilted his head. A red curtain covering the building. Fluttering over the building. Whatever was that? He stood, eyes wide. Leaping to the building, he circled the curtain. He reached out to touch it, and a small red blur flew out of the curtain. He stumbled backwards. 

The kwami looked up at him, gasping. “Paon Lilas.”

“Sugercube, did you find the exi- oof!” A black kwami bumped into the red one, shaking his head and frowning, “Well if it isn’t Big Bird.”

“Wait… You’re not Ladybug and Féline Sombre’s-”

“We are. I’m Tiki and this is Plagg,” the red kwami introduced, gesturing. She zipped up towards Paon Lilas’s face. Her eyes narrowed at him for a moment. Seeming to weigh her options, the kwami very seriously pointed back inside. “Our holders are trapped inside. You must stop the akuma yourself so that Ladybug can cleanse it.”

“Ladybug and Féline? How?” 

“They fell for some cheap theatrics and illusions,” Plagg sighed, waving a paw, “Look kid, we couldn’t get to them without being caught. So I guess it’s up to you, Feather Fluff… Oh well! Got any Camembert by chance?”

“We will attempt to assist however, right Plagg?” Tiki huffed, paws on her hips.

"Yeah yeah, but some cheese before we go would be nice," Plagg said with a sigh.

“I don’t have any cheese…” Paon Lilas shook his head and geared up to run inside, “Alright, let’s go then-”

“You can’t dive in head first!” Tiki exclaimed, pushing back on his chest. 

“Why not?” Paon Lilas and Plagg asked at the same time. Paon tilted his head at the black kwami, confused. One minute he’s trying to get out of coming with, the next he’s anxious to get going?

Tiki sighed, “You need a plan. The entire school is shrouded in an illusionary world. We need to be cautious.”

Paon Lilas huffed, “Okay, uh, I’ll figure it out when I get in there.” Paon ran into the curtain, Plagg close behind. Tiki sighed as she followed them. 

The lights were blinding, as if a spotlight was pointed at him. He looked around past the light, as he was far too used to doing. The room was a grand stage, with a graded wooden floor and endless rows of empty seats beyond the stage.

He could feel himself automatically changing how he walked. Less of a heroic stride and more of a model’s purposefully casual sashe. The one that he’d practiced so often it became second nature. Far too Adrien Agreste while he was Paon Lilas. An intense feeling surrounded the realization, shaking him to his core. Yet, even with his powers to help, he couldn’t quite place what that feeling was. His heart squeezed, like a spasm in his chest. Like he’d been dunked in ice-cold waters. 

He grit his teeth in determination and focused on the emotions around him. He couldn't sense the emotions of the kwami to his surprise. Maybe that was to hide their holders from anyone with this power. He glanced around. Hints of people's emotions were everywhere. But he didn't see anyone. "Weird," he muttered. "Ok I can… tell people are here but, I don't see anyone..." He doubled over with a hacking cough.

“Woah kid, are you okay?” Plagg said, zipping in front of his face.

He nodded, "Fine. Just… I've been ill, don't worry about it."

Tiki hovered over his shoulder, "Try to pinpoint the Akuma if you can."

Eerily cheerful music twinkled around them, coming from nowhere in particular. 

"Well hello," a familiar voice sang, "Well, where were you now?" Sabrina was suddenly across from him, spotlighted. They wore a historical suit, accented in purple and blue flourishes, and a masquerade mask that looked like it had been paper crafted. They walked towards him with a light bounce, as if she was about to break into dance. “We’ve been waiting for you~ Welcome to the show!” She spun, grabbing his arms. They continued with a cheerful sounding song, dragging him along into a dance;

“We’ll have singing and dancing for you, /Oh yes, ever the hero, /Come with us, birdy, fly the coop! /You don’t need to worry, no”

Tiki hovered over his shoulder, “Don’t listen to them! The singing is what created the illusion!”

“Here in this land of dreams come true! /You’ll be happy here, you know. /We hope you can join us too, /Welcome to the show!”

Paon Lilas tugged away from their grip, shifting into a fighting stance, glaring as they continued to twirl around him. “But... Sabrina’s not the akuma, is she?”

“No, of course not!” Plagg called out, looking at the teen with more concern than Paon expected.

Sabrina bowed with a welcoming gesture and was joined by several other students in masquerade style outfits, in a grand finale of their opening song.

“You’ll be happy, yes /Unless you try to escape /Our leader demands success! /We wouldn’t want to cause a mess, /You see, this is no rescue, /It’s just the beginning though, /We’ve been waiting for you, /Welcome to the show! /We’re pleased to introduce our noblesse, /We’re sure she will impress, /The grand stage’s greatest actress, /Please welcome Theatrix!”

A light burst onto the stage in front of him. Paon Lilas shielded himself and the kwamis with his fan from the brightness. He slowly lowered the fan as a hypnotic voice vocalized to the growing music.

“Well, well, well,” Theatrix sung. She had bright red hair, pinned back loosely with a white rose clip. She wore a white suit with long floor-length coat tails, which rolled up like a scroll. Her suit collar had a large black bow. She wore a white masquerade mask accented with lines of writing. She practically shimmered in the light as she smiled at him. “Welcome to my show.”

The lights immediately went out. Paon Lilas strained to make out where everyone was in the sudden dark. He knew how to walk on a dark stage well enough. Familiarizing himself with the incline (there was surprisingly none), he kept a cautious distance from the edge.

The light faded in again and Theatrix was next to him. She propped an arm on his shoulder. Everyone else was busying themselves with various tasks, around what now appeared to be a dinner hall. She was mostly calm, but anger and embarrassment boiled under the surface. She must’ve been the second calmest akuma he’d met…. After his own father.

“So,” she said, uncomfortably close, “Here to nicely hand over your miraculous? Where’s your friends?”

Paon Lilas threw her off, shifting into a fighting stance, “...They’re not… they’re not my friends. I’m by myself.” 

“Oh?” Theatrix tilted her head, “So you’re all alone~” she sung, “All by your lonesome.” Music trickled back in, gentle and quiet… dark.

“Oh don’t start-” Paon huffed. He raced forward with a swing. She jumped out of the way, and beckoned Sabrina and Chloé forward as the pair began to harmonize with her.

“So you’ve come to save the day, /Without a friend to aid you~ /Your heart calls out to me, /Lonely darling, come with me,”

“I’m not lonely,” he interrupted with a glare. 

Plagg zipped around from one hiding place to the next, looking up at Sabrina. Trying to figure out how to release them from the akuma’s hold. 

“You’ve been wishing, /Wishing for a friend, oooh, /Darling let me guide you-”

Paon Lilas shook his head, “Get out of my head!” His voice came out sing-song, matching Theatrix’s haunting voice. She smiled. He looked around frantically. He needed to find a way to ignore her song properly. He spotted a boy with headphones loosely hanging around his neck.

“I can heal the hurt, /Just come and stay with me, /Forever~”

He ran up to the boy and snatched his headphones. Nino turned on him, grabbing his wrist.

“Stay,” he sang in tune with Theatrix.

“Don’t fool yourself, /We can be your friends /Forever~”

Paon Lilas twisted himself with a grunt, escaping Nino’s grip, “Not like this, not ever,” he sang, and pulled the headphones over his ears. It muffled the music, and the scene faded, revealing the school courtyard. Theatrix glared at him and pointed. "Get him."

The idle students turned towards him. Paon's eyes widened as he was tackled. He yelped and struggled to keep them off.

"I've got to find out how to release everyone from her hold! Any ideas would be great," Paon harshly whispered, trying to spot the kwamis in the fray. 

Tiki zipped up to him "Everyone's lure song was different. If you can figure out why, maybe you can release them!"

Paon Lilas huffed, barely blocking a tackle from Marinette, stumbling backwards. "Okay, okay."

"You can dive deeper into people's emotions and get some surface reasoning!" Plagg said, "Just focus."

"I can?" Paon Lilas kicked his attacker's legs from under them, coughing.

"You can. Your powers work similarly to Hawkmoth. You can do this, I believe in you!" Tiki cheered.

He leaped up to the second floor of the building now that he could actually see it. With a frown he paused and focused on the dulled emotions of the first person he saw, Sabrina. 

The emotions felt slippery, as if he was trying to catch water with his bare hands. Fear, abandonment, concern, duty. He closed his eyes, trying to focus on the why. 

Behind his eyelids, he saw it. Sabrina reached out to the retreating figure of Chloé, expression outright heartbroken. He opened his eyes. "Her," he pointed the redhead out to the kwamis, "Sabrina. Did either of you guys hear her song?"

Plagg waved a paw lazily, "Some boring ditty about being used and being left behind."

Paon Lilas frowned, "I have an idea… It's dangerous. But if I can confirm it I should be able to make a sentimonster to free everyone."

"Careful," Tiki whispered.

He leaped down and grabbed Sabrina, who shrieked. With gymnastic grace, they twirled in his hold and kneed him in the gut. He sputtered on a cough, but kept her grip on them. He was quickly surrounded, and he struggled to fight them all off while keeping Sabrina in his hold. 

"I'm trying to help you!" Paon shouted, frustration mounting. 

The headphones were ripped off his head. Theatrix dangled them from her finger, humming. 

"What do you want, /What do you really want, dear /What is in your heart, /This is your brand new start!"

Paon let Sabrina slip out of his hands. He covered his ears, brows furrowed.

"Just tell ussss. /What do- /You want~ oh ooh-oh! /Just give me your heart's song /I'll give you your heart's wants, /All I need is a heart song, /Open your soul, dear. /Give it to meeee, /What do- /You want~" 

Tears streaked down his face. The song just bubbled up in his chest before he could stop it. Theatrix echoed him, smiling and drawing closer, like a circling shark.

"I want a lifeee /Impossible to reach. /I want people /Who I'll never see /Nothing will give me, /What I need. /Nothing could be, /What I truly want. /Deep down, I know /My heart still bleeeedss- /For someone, /I'll never see!-" He choked as a hazy silhouette of his mother blurred in his vision. "Again…"

He twisted his eyes shut and shook his head, he spoke, "She's gone, an illusion won't bring her back..."

"What do you want, /It will be easy for me," Theatrix continued, gently touching his cheek, "soft as a dream, /Real as can beeeee~ /But only if you, /Give your miraculous to me."

The two kwamis made sounds of alarm.

Paon Lilas looked down at the brooch and clamped a hand around it, "No."

"...No?"

"You won't take him away from me too. I can’t get her back, but I can still hold onto this!" 

He threw off the few remaining people holding him in place and grabbed Sabrina. She tried to throw him off again, but expecting it, he hoisted them into a fireman carry. He leaped up out of immediate reach, yelping as Theatrix followed close behind. He deposited Sabrina on the roof and held her arms.

"Listen to me. You're worth so much, Sabrina, just break free. You're smart and kind and generous. Please, be generous to yourself and break free. Chloé won't leave you, you're her best friend. Trust me."

"...How do you know? How do you know I won't be alone?"

"You're never alone. You… you have family. You can even make new friends! I'll even be there if you need me, I promise."

"Paon...Lilas?" They said, cautious, tilting their head, "...When did you get here?"

He chuckled uneasily, "Not too long. Are you with me? No more illusionary world?"

"Illusions…" Sabrina gasped, "Oh no an Akuma?!"

"It’ll be okay! I...have it handled. Mostly. But… I need a little help. Can you release the rest of the people Theatrix captured?"

"Of course!" Sabrina exclaimed. She gasped and pushed him out of the way, "Lilas watch out!"

He coughed as he tumbled down the slope of the roof. Theatrix was fuming. He couldn't see where Sabrina went.

He latched onto her clear determination, her drive to help, and quickly plucked a feather from the fan, "Fly Away little Amok, and give them a helping hand!”

"You're done for Birdy! You're ruining everything! It was nearly perfect!" Theatrix shrieked.

"Purrfection is impossible to strive for, didn't you know that?" Paon Lilas called back. Theatrix growled and flung herself at him.

The feather landed in Sabrina's glasses. A floating mirror appeared in front of her and an image of herself smiled back at her, waving. She stared at it, shocked. 

"I need you to show Mirror Me to everyone you see and convince them to leave their illusion like I did with you! It should show you what they're seeing and the song they were lured with." Paon Lilas said over their telepathic connection.

Sabrina snuck back down and harshly whispered "Plagg?!"

The kwami zipped over to her with a teary giggle, "Oh, don't do that again."

They smiled softly, cuddling the kwami against their cheek, "I won't. Come on, Plagg, Claws Out!"

Féline Sombre looked up towards Paon Lilas struggling to keep Theatrix at bay. She frowned, focusing on the students and friends trapped in their illusionary worlds.

“Oh, to no longer live in a world so secret, /Close to friends, close to family, /Nothing to take it all away in a minute. /Oh, to be open and free /Who would care I’m a klutz, /When the world is happy. /Safe and carefree,” Marinette sang as she flitted around the bakery with the hazy “casual” form of Féline Sombre. “Oh! To no longer live in a world so secret, /No more lies, no more cries, /Nothing to take my friends too quick.” She giggled as Tiki and Plagg zipped past, openly, stealing away with a bag of cookies.

“Oh, to be open and free, /Who would care I’m not strong enough, /When the world is happy. /Safe and carefree.”

“Listen to me!” Féline Sombre’s voice called out, “I know it would be nice for us to be safe, but we’re not until we defeat Hawkmoth. This isn’t real.”

Marinette tilted her head, then looked around at the cheerful world, “But it looks so…”

“Paon Lilas needs our help… Er, I need your help.”

Marinette blinked and her hazy “casual” Féline Sombre, solidified into the masked version. She sighed at the loss. “One day...” she whispered. They held out a hand and she took it.

Féline Sombre smiled at her, as Marinette looked around the courtyard. Several other students were moving around, trying to talk to their friends. “Try to release as many of your friends as possible, Paon Lilas made a sentimonster that can help you know what their illusions are.”

Marinette nodded numbly.

Paon Lilas fell through the roof with a panicked yell, and thudded onto the ground. Theatrix landed on him, knee pushing against his chest. He sputtered painful coughs, struggling weakly. Féline Sombre gasped and raced forward. Theatrix rushed to meet her, kicking their legs from under them. Tiki zipped over to Paon Lilas and placed her paws over his chest, on the peacock miraculous, a frown flickering on her small face. She glanced up to spot Marinette and gasped.

Marinette ran in the opposite direction, trying to find a good spot to hide. She ducked into the bathroom, opening her purse “Tiki! Sp-” she sputtered to a stop. Her heart leaped into her throat. The kwami wasn’t there. “Tiki?!” She looked around, “No, no, no, Tiki?” 

Tiki phased through the door, “I saw you get released from the akuma’s control but you ran so fast!” 

Marinette laughed in mild hysteria and relief, “Ohmygoodness, you’re here, oh thank goodness.”

“I’m always here for you. But right now, we need to help them Marinette!” 

Marinette nodded in determination, “Tiki, spots on!”

Paon Lilas hadn’t moved. Féline Sombre was fighting Theatrix and the remaining students under her control. Paon Lilas still hadn’t moved. He laid on the floor, curled in clear pain. 

“Lucky Charm!” Ladybug called, figuring she didn’t have a second to lose. The charm produced a gauze. “Oh no-” She glanced towards Paon Lilas, who struggled to stand up, his miraculous beeping incessantly. 

She ran towards him. “Let me help-”

His eyes were wide with panic. Bracing an arm against his chest, he ran. She saw the flash of light from the detransformation just as he opened the door to a classroom. Pushing the desire to follow him out, she refocused on Theatrix and Féline Sombre. 

“Ladybug! I’m pretty sure the akuma is in the mask! It’s the one consistent thing in her and her minions,” Féline Sombre called, “But I can’t reach it because she keeps moving!”

Ladybug nodded, and glancing at the gauze and Theatrix, she leapt into action. “Kitty, cataclysm now!” 

“You got it, Bug! Cataclysm!”

She twirled her yoyo to capture Theatrix’s arms, and created a loop with the gauze to stop her from thrashing her head. She strained to keep her secured as the remaining students still under her control tried to grab Ladybug’s arms and pull Theatrix free.

Féline worked faster than the controlled people, luckily. The paper mask turned to ash in the cataclysm, and the purple butterfly fluttered out. The illusion fell. 

Ladybug took a moment to sigh in relief before capturing and purifying the pesky butterfly. She raised a hand for Féline Sombre to high-five.

“Miraculous Ladybug!” she called, throwing the gauze into the air.

Lila looked up at the pair with a remorseful look. “Oh- oh what happened? Why am I here?”

Féline Sombre leaned down and offered a hand to help Lila up. “You were akumatized…”

Ladybug looked around, noticing the sentimonster had disappeared. A spike of urgency pricked in Ladybug’s mind. “I need to get Paon Lilas!” Ladybug exclaimed, racing to the classroom the boy had detransformed in.

Adrien kept his back to his door, taking harsh, crackling breaths. “I need to get out of here,” He muttered towards Dusuu. The kwami looked at him, eyes wide and tearful.

Between gasping sobs, he said, “Adrien, the miracle cure didn’t even help, you need to start being more careful...” 

He nodded, “I will-��� he coughed, and the door moved against his back.

Ladybug knocked urgently, “Paon! Let me in.” 

He stood up, bracing the door closed. He exchanged a worried look to Dusuu, “Dusuu, spread my feathers!” He raced forward to the window and Ladybug managed to open the door just as he started climbing through the window. They both stopped, staring at each other. 

Ladybug raised her hands like he was a skittish animal, “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” He wheezed out, he swallowed, leaning out the window and looking down.

“Wait- please, just tell me who you are! Just… let me explain.”

He closed his eyes, listening to her footsteps slowly come closer. She was worried. But that didn’t mean she was worried for him. She was frustrated too. She was definitely frustrated about him. 

Her footsteps were getting too close. He snapped his eyes open and jerked back. She took a step backward. He coughed, and shook his head, “Sorry.” He leaped out the window and left her standing alone. He didn’t look back.

Tiki paced through the air as much as a floating creature could pace.

"Usually I'm the one freaking out, what's wrong?" Marinette asked as she finished her Paon Lilas doll.

"The peacock miraculous... it's broken," Tiki said, frowning, "I... don't know how."

"It didn't look broken? ...Does it being broken hurt you guys?"

"Yes, and our holders," Tiki said, eyes wide. Terrified. "We need to find them and we need to fix the miraculous."

"...How do we do that?"

"The spellbook."

[reyesstrand]

#9 for Tarlos please 🥰

thank you for the prompt! i hope you enjoy!! 💗

feel free to send me a number from this list. also available on ao3!

((tw: minor description of blood/injuries caused by a car accident)) 

Ever since he was a kid, he knew that it was hard to leave some calls at the scene.

Sometimes they lingered on the trip back to the firehouse, where a silence fell over the whole crew as nothing but dead air passed between their headsets. Other times, they dug in deeper, as if they were physical things with claws and teeth, refusing to be shaken off until something worse occupied their minds. He saw it enough with his dad when he was still a little too young to understand why he had to work such long hours; he saw it when the towers fell, and it was like he had to grow up overnight, practically set aflame at the thought that he could’ve lost his dad, like other kids lost their parents in a single moment.

TK doesn’t let that stop him from giving his all, though, even if that means he becomes too personally wedged into rescues.

It seems like it’s going to be a standard day, when they get the call from dispatch about a motor vehicle accident. The rest of the team seems to think the same thing—given the fact that they seemingly have no qualms about pushing him for the juicy details on his date night last night, only spurred on by the fact that Carlos had picked him up at the station yesterday afternoon and dropped him back off this morning.

“Come on, aren’t we supposed to be professionals here?” TK says, though he can barely get it out without smiling.

Immediately, voices erupt around him through his headset, all of them essentially calling his bullshit. Marjan smacks him in the shoulder. 

“Hey!” TK laughs, nudging her in the side with his elbow in retaliation. 

“If you spilled the details, maybe I’ll go easy on you,” Marjan says, cocking a brow, and TK rolls his eyes and barely suppresses a groan. 

“There’s nothing to tell?” TK tries, though he knows his lie is evident to all of them. 

“That hickey says otherwise,” Judd pipes up, and TK shoots him a glare. 

“Come on now, children,” his dad says, and TK huffs a little laugh. 

And then he looks out the window as the rig slows. 

“Shit,” Paul says, following TK’s line of vision. And, well, yeah. Because the road is a mess, various vehicles piled up. But it’s what’s at the heart of the accident that catches all of their attention: a semi-truck, tipped onto its side, with a dull grey car trapped underneath. 

“Okay, everyone, all hands on deck,” Owen says, all of them out of the truck the moment it comes to a full stop. They’re the first to the scene, only a few police cruisers trying to set up a barrier, and so he hears his dad yell to him that he’s on point for checking on the car driver. It’s all he needs to hear to immediately jump into action, even as his dad keeps shouting orders for Paul and Judd to grab the jaws and deal with the truck driver. 

He and Marjan move into a jog, hiking their gear up high on their shoulders. 

Once they get to the driver’s side of the car, TK knows it’s going to be a tough day. 

The driver is completely crushed under the weight of the steering column, the whole front of her car folded in like an accordion. There’s blood dripping from a gash on her forehead, and what looks to be a broken arm, and TK has only barely set eyes on her and he already doesn’t like the way she’s trying so hard to breathe. 

“Ma’am? My name’s TK, and this is Marjan, we’re AFD,” TK starts, the spiel coming out of his mouth without a second thought. Marjan clears the window of the sharp shards of broken glass, giving them more room to work; he meets her eyes and she nods, reaching down for her radio to call for the jaws and some extra hands. “Can you tell me your name?” 

“Rachel,” she gasps, and TK nods, pressing his fingers to her wrist that looks mostly uninjured for a pulse. It’s weak, but he tries to school his features so she can’t see his worry. 

“Marjan, we’re going to need to secure her neck, and once medical gets here we’re going to need to get her on oxygen,” he says, before meeting Rachel’s eyes. “Okay, Rachel, we’re getting you out of here. We just need a minute to secure you.” 

“Hurts to—breathe,” she stutters, and TK clenches his jaw. Marjan opens the backdoor of the car with a few good tugs, and slips into the seat, reaching around to place a neck brace on Rachel. 

“TK, tell me what’s going on.” 

His dad’s voice pulls him from listening to Rachel’s shallow breathing, and he responds: “Female driver, she’s completely pinned, Cap. Weak pulse, low BP—I need medical here now.” 

“They’re coming, maybe a minute out,” his dad says, sidling up to him. He looks through the car and meets TK’s eyes, both of them knowing how time sensitive this rescue is going to be. 

TK feels a little relieved when he sees Mateo arrive with a backboard, and Nancy and Tim trailing just steps behind him. Judd’s voice crackles through the radio, informing them that the truck driver’s only a little banged up. 

“Hey, Rachel, the paramedics are here now, okay?” TK says, though when she latches onto his arm, he squeezes her hand. “I won’t leave you.” 

She nods, looking at him with wide, scared eyes.

When Nancy gets the other side of the car open, pulling a nasal cannula from her bag and talking with Tim about her ABCs, TK keeps her looking at him. She looks like she’s going to drop any second, tears sliding through the grime on her cheeks, her breaths still too weak. 

“Hey, just talk to me,” TK says, his only thought to keep her awake. 

Rachel just starts crying harder. 

TK meets Nancy’s eyes from across the car, and feels Marjan at his side. “Hey, hey, Rachel. Listen to me. Do you have someone? Someone waiting for you at home?” 

“Lena,” she sniffles, her voice growing weaker. “We’re—we’re getting married in April.” 

“Tell me about her,” TK says, eyes pleading, barely registering the murmured conversation around them as a plan forms. 

“She’s always worrying about me, calls me a danger magnet,” she laughs wetly, and neither of them mention the blood that stains her lips. 

“Sounds like my boyfriend,” he tells her, and she meets his eyes, something hopeful presented in her gaze. ���I got shot last year and burst my stitches a week later. He tells me all the time that I’m not allowed to go to the hospital again unless I want to send him to an early grave.”

Rachel smiles at him, faintly, and squeezes his hand. “She—she’s my best friend. I just want to see her again.” 

“You will,” TK says, before he can even think about what he’s promising. 

He steps back for a moment, being pulled into the plan from his dad. He’s left with the job of talking to Rachel, considering he’s made the most significant contact with her. 

TK takes a deep breath, and returns, frowning at her pained expression. “Okay, Rachel. We’re going to have to use some equipment to get you out, and I won’t lie to you, it’s going to hurt. But think of Lena, okay? I promise you that we’ll get you back to her.” 

“But my chest,” she groans, trying weakly to move against the weight pushing her down again. Both he and Nancy immediately reach out to settle her, hands on her shoulders. “I think I have a concussion, and—and it hurts. Everything hurts.”

“You’re going to see her, so soon,” TK promises, imagining what he’d want to hear if he were in her place. He thinks of Carlos, and knows he’d do anything if it meant getting home to him. “I swear to you. I will make sure you get home to her.” 

“TK,” Marjan whispers, and he meets her gaze before his eyes flit away. He knows what it means, to make impossible promises. But he fully intends on keeping this one. 

“Now, I’m going to count down from three, and me and my team are cutting you out of here, okay?” TK says, and she nods, eyes closing tight. “Think of Lena.” 

It’s a bit of a mess, once Owen starts them on the routine procedure, using the jaws and every tool they have to remove the driver’s door; to wedge her out from the steering column. Once she’s on the backboard and lifted onto the stretcher, they start losing her, and Tim immediately starts on compressions. 

TK holds his breath, staggering back against the car. Marjan squeezes his shoulder until they hear Nancy declare that she’s got a pulse. They rush her to the ambulance, and that’s supposed to be it. TK knows it. 

“Take a breather,” his dad says, cupping the back of his neck. TK nods, feeling exhaustion ache deep in his bones. “You did good, kid.” 

TK just nods again. Marjan knocks her shoulder into his before giving him some space, heading off to check the few witnesses still standing around for any superficial injuries. He ends up walking to somewhere private, which ends up being the back of the ladder truck, where he can lean against the paneling and keep himself upright. 

He doesn’t realize how out of it he feels until there’s hands gently cupping either side of his face, carefully tipping his head up. 

“Carlos?” TK’s voice sounds weak even to his own ears, and his boyfriend nods, looking concerned. 

“TK, are you okay?” Carlos asks, and it’s only when he drags his thumbs across TK’s cheeks and wipes away the tears there that TK realizes he’d even been crying. “Sweetheart...”

“I’m okay,” TK says, sniffing hard. “I swear. I’m just exhausted.”

He leans into Carlos’ touch, though, because he’s got his boyfriend here and doesn’t want to have to let him go just yet. 

He voices his desire, barely audible to anyone but his boyfriend. “Stay with me for a minute? I just need to—to get my head on straight.” 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Carlos whispers, and TK sighs and drops his head to rest against Carlos’ chest. 

“Just—just a rough call,” he murmurs, mostly into Carlos’ uniform. He feels a hand carding through his hair, and settles under the touch. “I’m glad you’re here.” 

“I’ll be wherever you need me, Ty,” Carlos says, ducking down to press a kiss to the crown of TK’s head. “Always.” 

[gwynposting]

All Along the Watchtower (Ch. 3)

This story takes place after the “All Along the Watchtower” ending of Cyberpunk 2077, so spoilers ahead.

NSFW chapter ahead~

AO3 Link | Ch. 1 | Ch. 2

Panam was never one for being able to hide her emotions, and the attempted smile betrayed by the rest of her cringing features gave testament to it. Cassidy, on the other hand, looked upon V with amusement. 

“Yeah, uh,” V started with an awkward cough, “guess the rockerboy part of Johnny didn’t overwrite my brain yet.” She stared down at Cassidy’s borrowed guitar with a tinge of blush on her cheeks before handing it back to him. 

“Well anytime you want to start learnin’, give me a holler,” Cassidy said with amusement as he set the guitar in his lap and plucked away at an idling tune. 

V smiled in appreciation and turned to Panam, “So, what’s the plan for tomorrow anyhow?”

Panam leaned forward, the fire in her eyes sparking. “We’re meeting up with a contact of ours that’s worked with us and other Aldecado families in the past - Bryce Bane. We’ve used Bryce as our point of contact for operations in the Tucson area in the past - we figure it’s a good idea to help get general intel as well as see how we can help solve your problem.”

V nodded along, “And we can trust this Bryce?” 

Panam scoffed, “Could you trust Rogue?” 

V grimaced in recognition. “Only after convincing her a 50 year old terrorist from her glory days was trapped inside my head.”

“So unless you got another cyberpsycho inside your noggin’, I wouldn’t get too friendly with them.” Panam could see the disappointment creep along V’s face - she was rather decent at hiding it, but the subtle quiver of the lip always gave her away. “But,” she resumed, “with all the gear we’ve gotten from the Arasaka raid, it’d be hard to say no to a fresh load of biz coming their way.” 

“Right…” V hesitated. “Okay. So - who, when, and where?”

Cassidy let out a chortle, “Mitch wasn’t kiddin’ about you city slickers.”

V smirked, giving her forehead a few taps, “I blame the ticking time bomb in my head.” 

Panam broke in, “We’re due to meet them around noon, on the western side of the city outskirts. Now, I don’t have reason to suspect they’ll pull anything, but it never hurts to come prepared. V, you’ll be accompanying me to the meet while Cassidy, Mitch, and Carol provide overwatch.”

“All eggs in one basket, hmm?” Carol interjected, sizing up the roster for this mission.

“More like this is our first meet with this city and I need to make sure we get off on the right foot. And that means no itchy or jumpy triggers. I know I can count on the vets for that.” Panam looked around the table to mixed reactions. “With that being said,” she continued, “I want to perform some reconnaissance of the area so we can set up 3 separate areas of vision around the meeting place. That means we’ll be setting out early tomorrow - around sunrise - to set up. 

“Mitch, V?” she gestured towards each respectively, “You two are going to drive out today and use the drone to do some recon. Note the terrain in the area and try to find overlooks that give a good view of the entire meeting sight as well as any paths to the area.”

V and Mitch made eye contact and nodded in agreement. “We’ll set out right away then,” Mitch said.

Panam smiled and nodded in affirmation, “Excellent. We’ll reconvene later tonight when you two return and go over the finer details.”

“Preem. Anything else?” V asked.

Panam shook her head, “Nope, that’s it. Just lemme know when you two get to the site.”

“Yes, mom,” V smirked, and Mitch failed to suppress his own smile. Panam shot her a deadpan look of annoyance. 

Mitch and V broke off and made their way over to the mechanics station. The Aldecados had set up shop in an abandoned warehouse of some sort - its floor had been picked clean so there hadn’t been much cleanup required at all. But now, it housed the mighty Basilisk, along with the plethora of other vehicle repair necessities.

Mitch pointed to one of the corners, “Drone case is over there. I’ll grab a couple battery cases just in case.”

“What for?” V asked.

“Well, never know if we might need to use the active camo when we get there. And if we do, I’d rather we be able to get a full scan of the area. Not cut corners, y’know?”

“Good thinking,” V said with a huff as she lifted the hefty clamshell in her arms.

Mitch made his way back over, battery packs slung around his shoulder, and together they set off to their ride. 

“How well do you know this Bryce?” V asked.

“As well as you know any fixer in Night City, really.” Mitch responded with a gruff. He was set to leave it at that, but looked over to V’s expectant face. “We didn’t have a particularly contentious past, it’s just been quite a while, and well... we’re runnin’ blind right now. A lot can change in 3 years.” 

V felt the gnawing of doubt creep back into her mind, despite her best efforts to keep it suppressed. The last thing she needed right now was to fall into despair before they even tried their first option. But even the existence of those lingering thoughts sent worry through her, every setback felt so severe and her mental health so weak, like fractured porcelain held in place by glue. A vace drifting through the air in slow motion, desperate for someone to catch her before she reaches the harsh and unyielding floor below.

Mitch seemed to be able to read the apprehension of V’s face, “But hey, we worked with some great techies back in Tucson. If they don’t know what to do, then they sure know someone who will.” 

A shaky smile formed on her face, but hopeful words did little to soothe her anxiety. But she didn’t have much time to ruminate over her thoughts as they pulled up to Mitch’s ride. They took turns loading their equipment onto the bed before climbing inside the cabin.

“Alright then, let’s get this started,” Mitch stated with finality. 

** 

V slung the canteen over her shoulder and let it rattle to the floor with a clank. She whinged at the sharp sound but was far too tired to react. It felt as if her entire body had a layer of dirt, like a second layer of skin. Yet all in all, it had been a very uneventful day, and she liked it that way. Though, she couldn’t say the same thing for tomorrow, whatever that would hold. V had been used to working with fixers in the past, but this time it was different. She wasn’t some solo anymore, money and fame the only thing on the mind. She was part of a family once more, her clan. When things went wrong, everybody had to suffer the consequences for it, whether physical or emotional. She had everyone else to think about. She had - 

Judy. V smiled as she saw the soft hue of blue light bleed through the cracks of the garage door. She shrugged off her jacket and hung it on the coat rack, pausing as she flexed and stretched her stiff limbs. In a similar fashion she shuffled off the boots from her feet.

V made her way over to the garage to poke her head in, but stayed silent as she saw Judy sitting in her desk chair, BD wreath wrapped around her head. But something caught V’s eye - many things, really. Judy’s hands clenched the armrests of her editing chair, her thighs pressed together as her legs writhed small motions back and forth. Her chest rose up and down with deep breaths, and the skin visible from the cut of her shirt was painted a deep blush.

V was about to raise an eyebrow in concern, but was interrupted by a soft mew that escaped Judy’s lips, followed by a much lower moan. V chuckled in response, Couldn’t wait for me it seems, she thought to herself. Deciding it wasn’t the best for her to interrupt Judy’s alone time while filthy, V made her way to the bathroom to wash away what she imagined were kilograms of sand and dirt from her body.

Of the few comforts she had gotten used to in Night City, hot water would have been one of the highest. The Bakkers had raised her through the traditional nomad lifestyle, but clearly she had softened up in a few ways. Shivers shot down her back as the cold water began rushing over her body, washing away the caked dirt and leaving goosebumps behind. 

V was meticulous when it came to cleaning, especially with her cybernetic implants. She gave extra care to clean the creases and ports of her mantis blades. She had never had a problem with them so far, and she planned to keep it that way. It had been a recurring fear of hers that some mechanism would fail her when she needed them most - whether they failed to open properly, or extended on their own without command. In those moments she could almost hear Panam rage at her tombstone for being stupid enough to let something like routine maintenance lead to her downfall.

Just as she finished rinsing the suds from her hair, she heard the bathroom door open and close. She turned her head to see Judy rolling her panties down her legs, bra already discarded on the floor. Without a word, Judy climbed inside and pressed V against the shower wall, capturing her lips with her own. Her hands betrayed her neediness as they traveled along V’s skin and down to her ass, roughly taking hold of each cheek. V yelped in surprise at the onslaught, but quickly gave in. V’s hands, momentarily idle, found new life as they began to roam up along Judy’s curves, coming to rest upon her cheeks. 

Judy paused and broke away, leaving both of them panting for breath. They looked into each others’ eyes, lidded and wanting. “Didn’t hear you come home,” Judy breathed.

“Didn’t want to interrupt your fun,” V smirked, “plus, I felt gross.” 

Judy’s hands began shifting, creeping around V’s front, “Probably woulda jumped your bones anyways.” 

V’s response was cut short by her own sharp exhale as Judy ran a hand along her hardening shaft. Judy bit her own lip in smug satisfaction as she felt V’s desire manifest within her grasp, before leaning back in, breathing warmth on chilled skin, and taking V’s lip between her teeth. The two came together once more as their lips interlocked, broken apart only through momentary calls for air or teasing bites. Judy’s hand began tender strokes, back and forth, along V’s length. Judy couldn’t help the butterflies that poured through her as she felt V’s hips begin to thrust ever so slightly - signs of a woman too pent up for her own good.

But Judy also felt that need, and it was quickly tended to. V’s curious hands traveled downwards until they reached Judy’s waiting sex. Her fingers teased along Judy’s entrance, lightly brushing over her clitoris. Judy flexed under her touch, her thirst finally given life. But V, not one to tease at the moment, deftly inserted two fingers and began to give slow, languid thrusts. A flare of pride rushed through V as Judy began to push into her grasp, grinding her clit against the palm of V’s hand. 

Each needy thrust and flex spurred the other on, as they fed off each other's need and want, pressing into each other, grasping, thrusting, their pace increasing with every shaky breath. Their kiss became sloppy and unfocused, disrupted through their descent into pleasure. The drone of the shower head and the cool of the pouring water faded into the back of their minds - all that mattered was their touch. 

Judy hovered over V’s lips, to whisper, “V-” as if but a gasp. V closed the distance once more and captured Judy’s lips as she came undone beneath her. Shivers radiated through Judy’s body as V’s fingers coaxed her through her orgasm. V’s free hand brought Judy closer, pressing her against V’s body for support as she came. Judy broke their kiss and slumped her head into the crook of V’s neck, her moans becoming muffled. 

But her comedown didn’t slow Judy’s pace - if anything, it increased her fervor. As she regained her footing, Judy changed tactics. Instead, she focused along V’s erogenous zones, kissing and leaving love marks along V’s jaw and neck to below her ear, stroking to the tune of the heady thrusts that met her hand. 

V was holding on, prolonging her suffering, until she heard Judy plead, “Please V -” and she came undone. With each stroke V shivered, her hips spasmed unpredictably and unpracticed, almost fucking the hand wrapped around her throbbing length. Each release brought haughty gasps that sent fire through Judy. 

With one final languid squeeze, V nigh collapsed on top of Judy. “Woah there,” Judy helped lean V back against the shower wall.

V returned the smile, albeit weary, before leaning in to give Judy one last kiss, “Couldn’t stop thinking about this all day.”

“My my, what a pervert~” Judy floated.

V snorted, “Says the one sending me nudes mid-op,”

“Details V, details,” Judy reached for the soap once more. “Think we need to get cleaned back up, hmm?” 

“And then we go straight to bed,” V concluded.

“Right. Bed.” 

[dothwrites]

part v of mafia!au 

part i | part ii | part iii | part iv

---

Dean’s never been so happy to see Sam in his entire life. 

His gangly little brother sits behind the wheel of the Impala, face drawn tight with worry. He relaxes in stages as he sees Dean, sees the blood on his clothes, then sees that little of it belongs to him. 

“Where’s Gabriel?” Sam demands as he rushes to open the backseat for Dean. His eyes widen as he takes in the ruin of Castiel, but he doesn’t say anything. 

“I don’t know,” Dean says, grunting as he hefts Cas’ unconscious body into the backseat. “Get his legs.” 

Between the two of them, they get Cas into the backseat, though not as gently as Dean could hope for. If a few extra bruises are the price which Cas has to pay for his freedom, then Dean’s willing to fork that payment over. 

He collapses against the Impala’s sturdy frame, chest heaving. Carrying Cas wasn’t easy; despite all his jabs about Cas being a nerdy little dude, Cas is solid, and carrying his deadweight through the halls of the Novak mansion counts as a workout. Sweat dapples the back of his neck, cooling unpleasantly as Dean waits. 

Once again, he’s in the garage of the Novak mansion. He tries to keep his eyes away from the spot where he last saw Cas, though he can’t stop his morbid fascination with the place. He wonders if there’s a bloodstain there. 

“Where the fuck is Gabriel?” Dean growls, when his body temperature changes from overheated to clammy. “We can’t risk sticking around here too much longer.” 

As if in response to his prayers, Gabriel comes tearing down the staircase. He races towards them at a dead sprint, tossing a few flashbangs behind him. “Get in the car, get in the car!” he shouts, heaving himself in the passenger seat. Dean doesn’t wait for another invitation, but gets into the backseat, arranging Cas’ head on his lap. Sam spares him one shocked look before he gets behind the wheel. 

Sam slams on the gas too hard, causing the Impala’s wheels to squeal and smoke against the concrete of the floor, but when he eases off a little, she jumps forward, as eager for freedom as the rest of them. Dean doesn’t breathe until they crash through the gates and the outline of the mansion disappears in the rearview. 

After weeks, they’re all finally free. 

---

Only when the mansion vanishes completely does Dean dare to look at Castiel. 

Once he does, he regrets it. 

He got a few glimpses when he first saw Cas, but he hadn’t been too interested at cataloging injuries. At that moment, escape was the only thought in his mind and Cas’ injuries were only obstacles to be overcome. 

They have time now, or at least a lack of pursuit. In their world, it amounts to same thing. Dean flicks aside the tattered remains of Cas’ shirt and looks down at the bleeding ruin of his chest. His gorge rises as he looks at the wounds littered over Cas’ torso. Some of them are still bleeding.

Bruises spread over his skin in varying shades of purple, yellow, and green. There are several puncture wounds that Dean recognizes as belonging to a taser. Rage clouds up high and sour in his throat as he considers the varying stages of healing of the wounds. They’ve been hurting Cas from the first day they had him. 

Rage and nausea rise in Dean until he thinks he might choke on them. The bastards turned Cas into a canvas.

“Son of a bitch.” He looks up to see Gabriel leaning over the front seat. Thin white lines of fury etch along his mouth and eyes. 

In the past few weeks, he and Gabriel have come to understand each other as partners and allies, pushing aside their prejudices in favor of a common goal. Dean trusts him as much as he trusts anyone other than Sam, but for the first time since he began working with Gabriel, a little tendril of fear pokes at him. 

“He’s alive,” Dean says, the barest form of comfort he can offer while being truthful. “He’ll be ok. He’s strong.” 

A muscle twitches in the corner of Gabriel’s jaw as he stretches out his hand to brush through Cas’ hair. A soft noise caught between contentment and distress escapes through Cas’ lips and Gabriel withdraws his touch. 

“Just get us home,” Dean tells Sam. 

---

In hindsight, he should have expected the nightmares. 

They made it back to their safehouse without anyone following, which makes Dean stupidly think that they’re out of the woods. Sure, they probably have both the Novak and Winchester families gunning for them, but he, Sam, Gabriel, and Cas are all under one roof. Together they’ve got enough brains, skills, and ruthlessness to take down any threat. 

Dean thinks that right up until the first scream splits the peace of the night. 

He bolts upright, gun already in hand, eyes darting wildly around in search of the potential threat. When he finds none in the immediate vicinity, he runs out of the room, already calling for Sam. 

Sam’s head pokes out of his room, hair sleep tousled and eyes heavy with interrupted slumber, but he looks confused instead of terrified. The fear on his face is directed outward instead of for himself. “Dean? What’s going on?”

Another scream rips through the night. This time Dean recognizes the voice underneath the terror. 

“Cas,” he murmurs, thundering down the hallway. 

The door opens under his touch into a horror show. Cas writhes in the middle of the bed, sheets tangled around his body. His back bends into a rigid, impossible arch as his fingers claw at the mattress. Tendons in his neck bulge as he forces a scream out through clenched teeth. His feet kick uselessly, forcing Gabriel to try and dodge his inadvertent blows. Blood trickles down Cas’ bare chest as his wounds reopen. 

“Cas, you’re ok, you’re all right, come on Cas.” Gabriel’s voice is frantic as he tries to pin Cas’ flailing body. “Easy Cas, easy!” 

Cas screams again. The raw sound tears through the quiet night like a knife blade. The safehouse is removed from civilization, but not so far away as to be isolated, and Cas’ shrieks are loud enough to break glass. 

“Sam, go get my bag,” Dean says. His heart is pounding so hard it’s amazing he hasn’t fainted. His gun is heavy in his hand, pulling his whole arm down to the ground. “There’s a sedative in there; it should be enough to knock him out.” 

“No!” 

Gabriel’s voice cracks like a whip, stopping Sam in his tracks. “What the hell?” A ragged, tortured sound rips out of Cas’ throat. It seems impossible that a single person could hold that much tension in their body without snapping in half. 

Wild eyes and bared teeth are all Dean sees of Gabriel. “You are not putting anymore drugs into him!” 

Dean’s eyes fall to Cas’ arm, to the series of haphazard bruises blossoming along the vulnerable flesh of his inner arm. An awful, terrible picture paints itself in Dean’s mind, one which explains Cas’ state of mind, his hazy eyes and wandering train of thought. It’s not real, none of this is real...in my head, there are things, there are people, and they lie--

Dean thinks he might be sick.

Without consciously realizing it, Dean finds himself moving forward. At first, he means to do nothing more than to help Gabriel restrain Cas from hurting himself, but then he finds himself murmuring soft reassurances, things that his father would have slapped out of his mouth if he could. 

“Hey Cas, you’re all right, you’re all right, you’re ok, I’ve got you, me and Gabe are here, you’re ok now--” 

He runs his hand over Cas’ forehead, wiping sweat away from his skin. “You’re safe, you’re all right. No one’s going to hurt you, I’ve got you.” 

He’s aware of the weight of Sam and Gabriel’s eyes, but he keeps his eyes focused on Cas. One last, thin wail rips from his throat and then, like a puppet cut from his strings, Cas collapses bonelessly onto the mattress. He shudders once and is still. 

Dean holds his breath for ten seconds. Then, when Cas sleeps peacefully on, he lets it out in one long whoosh. His knees buckle, threatening to send him crashing onto the mattress right beside Cas. 

“Go back to bed, Sam.” A few hesitant protests come from Sam, but they’re swiftly silenced with a sharp bark of his name. 

“Call me if anything changes,” Sam shoots off as a parting salvo, but Dean doesn’t think it’ll be necessary. If Cas has another screaming fit, Sam will know.

Sam’s door closes and Dean takes a few steps backward. His shaky legs give out just as his back hits the wall, and he slides down until his ass hits the ground. “Jesus,” he breathes. He buries his face in his hands, unwilling to allow Gabriel this view of his weakness. “God, oh god.” 

For thirty seconds, he allows his horror, and anger free reign. Then, with effort, he pulls himself back together, stitching together reason and rationality until he’s able to think. He looks up at the bed, where Gabriel’s head is bowed low over the mattress. 

“Drugs?” Dean finally asks, his voice a hoarse rasp. 

Gabriel’s head rises like it’s moving on rusty hinges. His golden eyes are bleak. 

“I recognize the handiwork. It’s from Naomi, one of Dad’s pets. She likes to experiment. Pump them full of hallucinogens, tear them apart, and see what falls out. By the end, they’re reprogrammed into something else they wouldn’t even recognize. Stands to reason they’d set her loose on Cas.” 

Bile rises in Dean’s throat. Cas is brilliant, his mind sharper than a steel trap. Behind blue eyes, thousands of gears are constantly turning. To think of someone rummaging around in that machine, upsetting the delicate balances and systems...It’s perverse, an upsetting of the natural order. Dean doesn’t believe in God, never has, but the idea of Cas losing his reason due to outside influences is as close to blasphemy as anything else. 

“Why don’t you get some sleep? I can stay with him.” 

Gabriel’s scoff isn’t as strong as it could be. Instead, he just looks weary and defeated. “You know, when I first thought of a Winchester taking my place, I thought I was going to kill you myself. And now...” He shakes his head, dismissing whatever he was going to say next. “I’m going to get a few hours worth of sleep. I’ll come get you then.” 

For a moment, Dean thinks Gabriel might go so far as to pat him on the shoulder. His hand hovers awkwardly in mid-air before it drops to his side. Gabriel shuffles towards the door, each step taking an eternity to accomplish. He waves at Dean, a limp gesture, before he heads down the hallway to his bedroom. It shuts behind him, leaving Dean alone with Cas. 

It takes almost all of Dean’s energy to make his way to the opposite side of the room. He collapses into the armchair, still warm from Gabriel’s ass. 

Blood dries tacky on Cas’ chest. None of the wounds he ripped open were deep enough to really hurt him, but seeing the reminders of his treatment torn stark red on Cas’ chest is still like getting a punch to the gut. 

It seems wrong, somehow, for him to see Cas brought low. He knows Cas wouldn’t want to be seen like this. When he wakes up, Cas will probably either punch him or shoot him, and that’ll be fine. It’ll be worth it to see Cas’ eyes open and shine with lucidity. 

“I’m sorry,” he finally says. His voice sounds harsh in the quiet of the room. The very air molecules bristle with disapproval. It’s nothing compared to the contempt which Dean feels for himself. 

“If it hadn’t been for me, you never would have been caught up in this. For whatever reason, you looked at me and you saw someone worth saving. I don’t know why you thought that. I don’t know what I did to make you think that I was ever worth this.” 

Dean’s fingers crawl across the mattress to take Cas’ hand in his. Cas’ fingers are cold and limp. Blood is caked into his cuticles. In his sleep, Cas murmurs. Whether it’s a sound of distress or happiness, Dean doesn’t know. He’s afraid to know. 

The first time he saw Cas was at the exchange. The Novaks were lined up on one side of the hotel and the Winchesters on the other. Dean had barely been able to swallow his rage at being sold off like a pawn, all so his father could swagger around the city like he owned something. He’d focused that rage on the family who, up until a few weeks ago, it was his purpose to thwart in any way possible, death not excluded. Now he was expected to join them, with nary a word spoken otherwise. 

He recognized Michael Novak and he’d gotten intimately familiar with Gabriel Novak’s file. Neither of those Novaks were as interesting as the Novak who stood at the back of the room. 

Even without knowing his name or anything else about him, Castiel was the Novak who caught his attention. He moved through the rest of them like a panther moving through wolves, all coiled grace and tightly bound intent. Where the other Novaks were stiff, he was fluid, where they were cold, he burned hot. Dean looked at him and saw the proverbial diamond in the rough, one jewel amidst a sea of imposters. 

And now here he is, shattered into a thousand pieces, a sacrifice laid in front of the altar of Dean Winchester. 

“I’m sorry.” Dean’s voice croaks on the last syllable. “Cas, I’m so sorry.” His instincts tell him to crush Cas’ hand in his, to bring him back with nothing more than sheer force of will, but he already knows that’s not an option. He needs to learn how to hold things without destroying them, how to love something without smothering it. 

“I wasn’t worth it. Whatever you thought you saw, it wasn’t worth this.” Heat prickles behind Dean’s eyes and works its way up his throat. “I’m so sorry Cas.” 

Misery forces his head low and Dean presses his forehead against Cas’ knuckles. Cas’ hand is so cold. The rise and fall of his chest is subtle, worryingly so. Dean doesn’t know how it feels to fall asleep without the taste of fear thick and sour on his tongue. 

He falls asleep with his lips still shaping the word sorry. 

---

Dean drags himself up from the pit of sleep, roused by a stimulus so weak it might as well be nonexistent. It’s still enough to pull him out of a troubled slumber, heart pounding. 

It takes his pupils a few seconds to adjust to the lack of light. When they do, they immediately find Cas. He lies, flat on his back, but his hand reaches out towards Dean. The weight of his hand is almost like a whisper as his fingers ruffle through his hair. 

“Cas,” Dean croaks, his pulse suddenly racing like a runaway carriage. “Cas, are you awake?” Are you ok, are you whole, please, tell me you’re all right, tell me that I didn’t destroy you like I destroy everything else in my godforsaken life-

A faint smile creeps over Cas’ face, like the sun struggling to break through the darkness of night. It’s a faint sliver of a thing, but it’s there, inescapable and wondrous. 

“Hello Dean.” 

[mamabearcatfanfics]

This little ficlet doesn’t really have a name. It’s set in the world of The Importance of Ramen and occurs sometime between Chapter One and Two. Not quite angst I don’t think, but not very happy either. Because not everyone gets their happy ending. It was just something I needed to write today. The image below is of Yanaka Cemetery in Tokyo.

“This really cannot continue Higurashi-san”, droned the school Principal’s voice over the phone. “I understand you have concerns about your daughter’s health, but we can no longer accept phone calls and sick notes signed by you for her absences. Unless you start providing medical certificates, signed by a medical professional, we will have to alert the proper authorities. She may even face expulsion over her non-attendance, and we wouldn’t want that now, would we?”

The man’s tone was critical, condescending, his disbelief regarding Kagome’s illnesses barely concealed, and Mama swallowed the sharp retort that wanted to slip past her teeth. Deep breath. She needed to stay calm.

“No, of course not, Yamato-san”, she said, enunciating clearly, her voice dripping with feigned politeness. “Thank you for taking the time to speak to me today. We all have Kagome’s best interests at heart.”

“I hope we will not have to repeat this conversation again, Higurashi-san. Good day.”

Mama placed down the receiver on the phone with a deep sigh. She really couldn’t blame the man for his skepticism though. It had been a mistake on her part to ask ojiichan to provide the excuses for Kagome’s constant absences from school. Varicose veins for a sixteen year old? She had recently taken over, providing much more credible excuses, much to Kagome’s relief. She had to admit though, it was hard to keep up the constant pretense of Kagome’s illness, although she had no problems in playing the role of concerned mother. That wasn’t an act.

She’d bid a cheerful goodbye to Kagome and Inuyasha early this morning after they’d eaten breakfast, waiting for the flash of light that signalled their disappearance down the well to let the fake smile fall from her face.

Every time her daughter left, she had to swallow the panic that rose up, imagining all the gruesome and horrific ways it was possible to die in that time period, even without the addition of battling the supernatural. Every time she said goodbye, she worried it would be the last. She’d taken to reading medical books in the evenings when Kagome was away, just in case the knowledge might be needed someday.

She sometimes wondered if Inuyasha could sense her fear – he’d been looking at with a very serious expression this morning before they departed. But her Toshi had always said that fear was something that should be faced, that it was something that should not stop you living life the way that you wished to, and she was doing her best to support Kagome in what the fates had chosen for her. Her daughter was working so hard to train and learn and keep up with her school work. She was inordinately proud of her. But it was hard.

Eri’s mother had called yesterday, wanting to know if she could assist in any way with Kagome’s health. She had clucked sympathetically over the phone, but Mama had immediately recognised the call for what it was. Questions must be circulating again about Kagome’s continual absences through the parent’s grape vine, and Eri’s mother was fishing for gossip. The line being cast became even more obvious when she’d commented on Kagome’s ‘boyfriend’, a topic Mama refused to either confirm or deny. She’d managed to fob her off this time with a vague excuse saying they were waiting for results from a clinic, but that woman was persistent, the thin edge of a very large wedge of parents who were all ready to judge at the slightest sign of weakness.

After making ojiichan his lunch, she decided the monthly accounts could be put off no longer. She sat at her desk, the hot cup of tea she’d made herself neglected until it turned cold and bitter while she struggled to make the figures stretch as far as she needed them to. The government allowance for keeping the shrine running was not huge. The Sunset Shrine was only small, visited by faithful locals, rather than large crowds of city dwellers and tourists ready to spend money on omamori and fortunes that the more popular shrines attracted. She would have to think about ways to bring in extra money. Ojiichan was getting older, and she wanted to be able to look after him and provide all the comforts he deserved in his old age. And then there was schooling for Kagome and Souta.

She was startled out of her calculations when Souta burst in through the back door like a whirlwind, kicking off his shoes and dropping his bag with a thump in the genkan. School was over already?

“Hi Mama! Can’t stay, I’ve got kendo practice! Sensei said last week that my gi is getting too small and I need a new one. And the competition fees for next weekend are overdue! I gotta go get changed or I’ll be late!”

“Souta! Your bag does not belong in the entryway where everyone will trip over it young man!” Mama called out, but he’d already flung himself up the stairs. She looked over the figures again worriedly. Maybe they might have to sell some of the family ‘treasures’ out in the shrine store room. If she could pry them out of ojiichan’s reluctant fingers that is.

Her head was thumping, and the figures seemed to be making even less sense than they did when she’d first sat down more than an hour ago. She finally gave up, shuffling the paperwork back together to file it away in her desk, then reached up to the small box that sat on the top of the fridge filled with more regularly used medications, to get herself some paracetamol. But the box was empty. Kagome had obviously raided it again, taking all the paracetomol and ibruprofen to restock her medical kit. Right. She took a slow deep breath in, rubbing her forehead in exasperation. It wasn’t that she minded Kagome taking them, they were obviously needed, but she could at least inform her that they needed to be replaced.

There was a hollow feeling in her chest. An empty ache. All day long, there had been a nagging feeling that she was forgetting something important. It was dragging at her memory, wanting her to concentrate on it, but everyone seemed to need something different from her, and she’d not been able to concentrate. Maybe it was a shrine anniversary of some sort? She checked the calendar, and her heart dropped into her shoes.

Oh Toshi. It was their wedding anniversary. She’d got through more than half of the day without even thinking about him on a day which had once been so important. Her throat felt thick, and she bit her lip hard, trying to force back the tears that wanted to spring to her eyes. Don’t cry. You can’t cry when Souta is home. She pinched hard on the inside of her wrist, a trick she’d learned over the years to help push back the grief when it surfaced at inappropriate times. Deep breath. She heard Souta’s heavy steps as he thundered back down the steps, wearing his gi and hakama with his kendo gear bag over his shoulder. She was ready to greet her son with a bright smile as he headed out the door.

“Straight back home after practice okay? I’m making curry, seeing Inuyasha-kun isn’t here!”

“Okay Mama. See you later!”

The door slammed as he took off, and Grandpa grumbled as he re-appeared in the kitchen carrying his empty plate, complaining about the noise.

“He’s just young, ojiichan – he didn’t mean any disrespect. How is your back feeling?”

“Not too bad. At least Inuyasha-kun didn’t break anything this time”, he said, rubbing down low on his spine. He’d been taking an inventory yesterday, and had made Inuyasha help him with the heavier boxes.

“He’s actually a very helpful boy you know, when you let him get on with things, and don’t hover over him with sutras”, Mama remarked, teasing him a little. Grandpa snorted.

“That ‘boy’ is probably older than you and me put together”, he huffed. “Plenty of time to have learned the good sense he doesn’t display that often. The kitchen has never been the same since he took a swing at that cockroach with his sword.” He looked carefully at his daughter-in-law, taking in her overly bright smile. “Are you okay Kaori-chan?”

“I’m fine”, she smiled. He gave her a hard stare and her smile faltered. “Alright, I will be fine. But I might go and to the family haka by myself for a little while, if that’s okay ojiichan? I promise I will be back in time to make dinner.”

The old man reached out and took one of his daughter in law’s hands in his, the look on his face sombre but understanding.

“I probably don’t say this enough Kaori-chan, but my son chose well. I could not have asked for a better daughter.”

“Thank you ojiichan”, she smiled, patting his hand. “I feel the same way about you.” She dropped a kiss onto the old man’s balding head, then went to genkan to put on her jacket and shoes., letting her mind wander as she walked down the steep shrine steps to the bus stop, waiting for the familiar bus that would take her to the family plot at the cemetery.

Her own family had turned their back on her when she’d refused a marriage offer by an older, much wealthier man to marry Toshinori, her high school sweetheart. Her parents had not spoken to her since she’d left home, but thankfully Toshi’s family had welcomed her with open arms as the daughter they’d never had.

She loved Toshi’s parents, and had come to think of them as her own. She’d been there for Toshi’s mother Hana, nursing her at home when she was diagnosed with cancer. She’d done her best to ease her growing pain with all the love and care she could until she’d died a year later, surrounded by family. Then Kagome was born, a few weeks after Hana’s death. It had helped to have a baby to focus on, even though it was a hard time. Kagome had been the apple of her grandfather’s eye, she still was, and he had spoilt her rotten.

After years of trying, when Kagome was nearly eight, she’d become pregnant again, a boy this time. Toshi had been overjoyed. They were so happy, so in love. It didn’t seem fair that not everyone could have a life like theirs, and she pitied those whose marriages were not a true meeting of hearts like hers was. They knew each other inside and out. Teased each other constantly, laughed at ridiculous things, loved their baby daughter with all that they had. And now they would have a son too. It felt like the kami were smiling down on their little family. Right up until that night that the police came to the door, to inform her about the car accident.

Toshi had never woken from his coma. She had been the one to make the decision to turn off his life support, with ojiichan’s blessing. Toshi had been a man full of life, full of joy, and she knew that he would not have wanted to continue in the state that he was. She had wept beside him, gripping his hand and repeating ‘I love you’ constantly, as if trying to complete the next forty years of being unable to say it to him in person into the short time left. And then she had left the room, knowing she would never see him again. If it had not been for Kagome waiting for her at home with ojiichan, and their son still growing in her womb, she would have left the hospital and gladly walked straight into the oncoming traffic so she wouldn’t have to live in a world without him in it.

The sound of the bus pulling up alongside her stop startled her out of her thoughts, and the bus driver nodded politely at her when she mounted the steps – he’d been driving this route for many years, and knew where she was going.

“It’s a little later in the day than you usually go Higurashi-san”, he remarked as she tapped her bus pass. “Make sure you don’t miss the last bus back.”

Mama smiled politely. “I’ll remember. Thank you.” She made sure to keep the mask of politeness set on her face as she moved to her seat. Being part of a shrine family meant being recognised on sight by everyone in the area. Expectations must be upheld.

It was a twenty minute trip to the cemetery, which she spent silently, her eyes gazing out the window but focused internally on the many happy memories replaying in her mind. She paused to buy a bunch of rust coloured chrysanthemums from the flower stall at the gate, then followed the path down through the maze of family graves, the tall markers reaching up towards the sky like a well ordered stone forest. Finally she arrived at the Higurashi marker.

Kneeling down, she washed her hands, then arranged the flowers carefully in the vase, straightening bent stalks. She lit the sandalwood incense stick, watching the swirling ribbons of smoke disippate through the crisp breeze, then clapped her hands.

‘Hello Toshi. I’m sorry I’m late dear heart. Happy Anniversary.” She leaned forwards, pulling out a stray weed that had grown up through the pebbles around the marble. “Were you waiting for me? I can’t stay very long this time. I promised Souta I would make curry for dinner this evening; he always works up such an appetite after kendo practice. And he’s a growing boy, your son. His kendo hakama and gi are getting too small for him.”

Her fingers traced over the graceful incisions in the marble that marked her husband’s name, the gold inlay glinting in the afternoon sunlight. The thought of Souta’s hakama sparked a memory.

“Do you remember all those photos we had to sit through, after the ceremony?” she smiled. “We kept giggling, and your mother scolded us, because she wanted some serious photos. You looked so handsome in those traditional striped hakama. Our wedding day was one of the happiest days of my life.”

Without warning, her bottom lip trembled, and the hot tears that she’d put aside earlier in the day returned with a vengeance, falling thick and fast. “Why did you have to go my Toshi? I miss you. I still miss you. You were such a good good man, how could all that disappear in an instant? Why did you have to leave?” she sobbed, her fists clenched in her lap, gripping the fabric of her skirt tightly as she bent forward to rest her forehead against the cool stone. It took her a moment to calm her sobs, breathing deeply, letting the coolness of the stone soothe her aching head.

“I’m sorry for the tears on what should be a happy day”, she whispered, “I’m just so tired Toshi, so very tired. I’m always worried about Kagome. She works so very hard, trying to do her best for everyone. I know Inuyasha is there to protect her, but I’m her mother. I’m always wondering if I’m doing the right thing, letting her do this. Your father was against her going through the well at first, but you always told me to trust what my heart said, and my heart says this is right, even though my head is terrified.” A small breeze swirled around her, lifting the chrysanthemum petals and wafting the incense towards the grave in a steady stream. She smiled a small teary smile. “I’m glad you think so too. I’m still not quite sure what to do about her schooling, but I will figure it out, I’m sure.”

She spent the next half hour sitting silently, listening to the chirping of birds, the rustling of leaves, and the muted sounds of Tokyo traffic. It was such a peaceful place. A place where she could sit quietly and regroup, try and regain her strength. She checked her watch, and realised that it was time to leave, if she were to make the next bus.

“Thank you for letting me ramble on koishii. I will come again, as soon as I can. I might bring your father with me next time. I’m sure he would love to visit with you and obaachan.” She got to her feet slowly, hissing a little as the blood rushed back into cramped feet.  

It was a slow walk back to the bus stop, then a winding route back, but she didn’t mind. It was nice to be alone with her own thoughts once in a while, without the constant needs of others crowding in. By the time she’d climbed back up the steep stone steps and walked back into the kitchen to cook dinner, she was ready to tackle the world again. For a while at least.

[33skeletons]

This is a list of all the people currently available

If this blog gains any real traction, I’ll add more... but until then, I don’t want to get too carried away until I’m 100% sure that the effort is worth it. I hope y’all understand

Name: Deydra Age: 18 Likes: ice cream, yaoi, drawing, roleplay dislikes: rude people, coffee, people putting words in her mouth, XP, Punk Bio: She’s in an open relationship with Scruff. she’s mute, but doesn’t know sign language, so she communicates via charades. She’s a low key perv, but tends to feign innocence.

Name: Friday Age: 22 Likes: flirting, coffee, making people flustered Dislikes: tea.... that stuff’s too mild, spicy food..... are you fucking insane!?! Bio: This tall drink of water is not for the feint of heart. He knows all the right buttons to push to reduce you to a blushing puddle. He has a goofy sense of humor and will often make a complete fool of himself just to make people at least crack an amused smile.

Name: Manga Age: 24 Likes: being pampered, the finer things in life Dislikes: getting dirty, being treated like a commoner Bio: This Miss Priss is a purebred with a pedigree. She believes herself to be an aristocrat and deems those of lower standard to be “plebian filth” and below her. Quick witted with a sharp tongue to boot, she’s not the nicest person to be around unless you can meet her high standards.... or give her a bottle of fancy ketchup. She has a weakness for tough guys that can match her mental capacity and hold intricate conversation with her.

Name: Punk Age: 32 Likes: What’s it to ya? Dislikes: Like you’d like ta know! Bio: he’s quite stand-off-ish and likes to keep people at arms length as much as he possibly can. He gets along with very few people and likes to shroud himself in mystery, the less you know, the better for him. He’s a wild card that enjoys throwing people for a loop at every turn.

Name: Scruff Age: 19 Likes: protecting Deydra, spicy food, tea, cuddles Dislikes: sushi, bone broth Bio: he and Deydra are in an open relationship. He cares more about Deydra than his own life. He’s a tad stand-off-ish towards anyone he doesn’t know. He tends to act as a translator for Deydra when someone doesn’t understand what she’s trying to say. All the scars on his face and his gold fangs are all from fighting to keep Deydra out of harm’s way. Wherever Deydra goes, Scruff is never very far.

Name: XP Age:15 Likes: destruction, being an asshole, getting what he wants Dislikes: being told no, having to be nice, things he destroys being fixed Bio: This edgy teen just wants the world to burn. He strives to hurt people any way he can and often ends up getting beaten senseless by Scruff when he targets Deydra. Being an Error Nightmare, he can use both Error strings and Nightmare tentacles to bring about destruction and pain, though he normally keeps the tentacles hidden as not to instantly rouse suspicion from his targets seeing as most actively avoid Nightmares, but are okay with Errors, though he can’t hide the goop that covers his right eye, which gives away his other half if anyone’s attentive enough to put two and two together in time

Name: Hokori Age: 23 Likes: food, blood, peanuts Dislikes:..... meh Bio: With his hood up, he appears to be a Dust Sans, but with his hood down it reveals a large gash in his skull and allows him to pass as your average Horror Sans. He’s volatile and unpredictable, but the fastest way to this skeleton’s proverbial heart is lots of food. He’s a bottomless pit with an insatiable apatite. If he’s out on a killing spree and has decided to target you, your best bet at escaping is to toss a handful of some kind of small, easily scattered snack such as peanuts. He’ll stop and start picking up and eating whatever you threw like James Woods from Family Guy. He’s also a bit of a perv once he’s deemed you not worth the energy of killing.

Name: Calibri (left) Age: 21 Likes: shredding sick riffs on her guitar, rapping, beating the snot out of assholes that need a checkup with karma Dislikes: Assholes, people calling her fat... I’m a queen with more curves than you know how to handle!!! get it right, fuckers!!! Bio: This badass, bodacious babe is one of Gears’s twin daughters. She’s got a sailor’s mouth with an alcohol tolerance to match. She’s hot-headed, but also mediates when her sister Chiller is too angry to see straight and starts edging too close to the line when putting her foot down. Calibri is sexy and she knows it with a ride or die attitude. She don’t need no man to take care of her, no sir! She’s perfectly capable of paying her own tab and fighting off a group of thugs that don’t know how to take no for an answer! She, her sister, and her mom can play Through The Fire And Flames on their guitars. Name: Chiller (right) Age: 21 Likes: playing guitar with her sister Calibri and mother Gears, reading Dungeons and Dragons books Dislikes: movie adaptations of books, live action adaptations of animations, assholes, being angry Bio: Chiller’s a badass babe in her own right. She survived being hooked up to a car battery and has the scars to prove it. She’s a lesbian and proud, and prefers taking on the dominant role in a relationship. Her pain tolerance is incredibly high. She enjoys hip hop, interpretive and break dancing, and is one heck of an archer with nearly dead shot aim. She’s normally stoic and very blunt with her words, preferring to only speak when necessary. She’s a natural born pack alpha.

Name: Sparkle Age: 41 Likes: anything sweet, bright colors, J-pop, K-pop Dislikes: anything bitter, having to get violent, seeing others get hurt Bio: she may look all sunshine and rainbows, but she can punch like a freight train and sometimes forgets her own strength. She suffers from hypoglycemia and has to keep sweets and candy on her person if she leaves the house, though she will gladly share them if you ask. She enjoys baking, and can often times be found doing just that out of boredom, not that anyone has been complaining. She may appear frail, but she can tank hits like a champ so long as said hits don’t come from a sharp object or gunshot. Her twin sister is Shade. She has a problem with producing more magic than her body can handle, so her sister comes in handy for that issue.

Name: Shade Age: 41 Likes: star gazing, dark colors, bitter and robust flavors, Evanescence (she knows all of their songs by heart) Dislikes: sweets, bright light, satanists Bio: Miss Doom And Gloom here is a wiccan highly skilled in her practice. She has the ability to leech magic from other monsters because she has no magic of her own to use, so she uses the magic of others, though mostly the excess magic her sister overproduces. She doesn’t enjoy getting her hands dirty in a fight,.... good thing she wears gloves! She’s rather soft spoken, but make no mistake, she has an outside voice and will not hesitate to use it if someone’s getting on her nerves. She mostly uses defensive magic to protect others, though she knows attack spells purely for the defense of herself and others should it be absolutely necessary. She also knows basic healing magic, though she can only heal minor injuries.

Name: Aiden Age: 40 Likes: pain, meat, grunge and screamo Dislikes: pop music, allergy season, Bio: This sharp toothed masochist ADORES pain, both receiving and inflicting. She got so mad once, she ruined her voice, so now she sounds like she smokes a pack a day. She’s very fast, agile, and super flexible since she’s double jointed EVERYWHERE!!! She has three rows of those razor teeth and a tongue which is so long it can act as an extra limb, which she enjoys showing off to freak people out via picking up objects such as cups, keys, pencils, and even going so far as to balance on it. She has very bad allergies, so she smells by flicking her tongue out like a reptile. Her spit and other bodily fluids are highly acidic. She’s normally chill, but it’s still obvious she’s a bit unhinged.

Name: Gears Age: 40 Likes: hot sauce, children, playing his acoustic guitar, working on cars, blacksmithing, learning new things Dislikes: sitting still for too long, sweets, water, cold, rude people, being alone Bio: Gears is a country boy that enjoys staying in top physical shape and keeping his hands and mind busy at every chance he gets. He’s just as strong as Sparkle, but slower. He has fire magic that when not fighting to keep others safe, he uses to forge metal as a freelance blacksmith. He carries a ridiculously enormous wrench forged from the hardest metal known to man that he uses as a melee weapon. Fire doesn’t harm him, but water sure as heck does (but he can drink things like koolaid and soda and be perfectly fine... just no water on it’s own or saline solution)!!! He bleeds ferrofluid, which he can manipulate, harden, and liquify at will as a last resort in a fight or to keep his injuries from deterring him too badly. He’s a bit of a himbo, but not as dumb... he just has his moments where “me brain am no werk so gud” and it’s evident when he starts having Freudian Slips in whatever he’s trying to say or his response to a question is “uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuhm...... wait one...... run that by me again?”. Gears was around during the great human monster war, which in his AU the humans sealed them in the mountain, but chased them till they were backed against the barrier, but the monsters hit a massive stroke of good luck and managed to take back the underground with the help of Frisk. Being a war veteran that has seen things no one should ever have to, he suffers from PTSD. Gears has a soft spot for children, and will often babysit for others if they ask.

Name: Sketch Age: 40 Likes: drawing, painting, coloring, blood, sketching,..... what? Dislikes: ......... what were we talkin bout? Bio: Sketch is an unhinged scatterbrained clutz of an aspiring artist.... with a dark side. She’s a low-key sadist that’s developed a taste for blood. Once you piss her off, stopping her is like trying to stop the Doom Guy.... just... stay out of her warpath and pray to whoever you pray to that you’re not the one she’s storming towards. She’s a MASSIVE perv and will openly stare at whatever she sees that she likes a little too much, even known to get handsy when the person doesn’t take the hint. She often loses track of important things like her phone, keys, ect and loses her train of though every now and then or feigns it to skillfully dodge questions and conversations she’d rather not be having.

Name: Rave Age: 42 Likes: singing, dancing, fashion and most importantly BOOOOOOOYYYYYS~ Dislikes: ..... depends on the situation, really~ Bio: A flamboyantly gay vigilante is also a medic with powerful healing magic. Rave is fleet of foot and deathly quiet when sneaking up on someone and with enough stamina to outrun most of his targets. His weapon of choice is a glowstick staff. Wanna hear what he sounds like? Go to youtube and look up any nightcore male version of any Ke$ha song and that’s what he sounds like. Rave likes looking hot AF and can frequently be found rocking women’s punk, pop and grunge style clothing and looking damn good in it and some eyeshadow, eyeliner, and mascara. He prides himself in keeping himself as healthy and fit as he possibly can at all times. He unironically likes pumpkin spice anything, peppermint bark lattes, and kale chips. 

Name: Dante Age: 42 Likes: children, Italian food, guns, cigars, wine, bourbon, being a wise guy mobster, Helping others.... so long as they help someone else in return that is.... sorta like.... paying for the person behind you in a drive thru where it starts a chain reaction of people paying for the next person’s meal..... little acts of kindness make the world go round, y’know.... and I’m a charitable man. Dislikes: rude people, having to go “Melancholy”, Bio: This Mafiatale Ganz (GZTale Sans) is the don of his own mafia that deal in guns, alcohol, and providing protection to those who come to him on the day of his sister's daughter's son's niece's nephew's grandmother's sister's wedding-..... pffffft hahaha!!! Just kidding! He has no blood relatives besides his brother Leon, but this group of people (everyone in the two pictures above this) are like.... illegitimate family.... adoptive you could say. Dante’s great with kids. He and Gears are the best at babysitting and often work together to help lost children find their families again when they’re out and about. Dante enjoys giving back to the community as much as he possibly can, even spending his free time doing volunteer work and donating funds to the city. When Dante gets a custom order on a gun, he has Gears forge it for him and focuses on the fine details, dip dying, engraving and making custom bullets to match.

Name: Anomaly Age: immortal, frozen at age 23 Likes: helping others, traveling to other AUs, fruity alcohol, karaoke, JAPANESE FOOD!!! Dislikes: spicy food, beer, celery, mushrooms, country music Bio: Anomaly has ben around for god knows how long. They are bigender. They have wings and horns (cause They’re a fallen angel) but prefers to hide them away. 40 years ago, they decided to create their own AU as a safe haven for anyone trying to escape danger, though danger seems to find their little safe haven more than they’d like to admit. It was around this time they discovered forgotten AUs and ones being destroyed or deleted and decided to try to rescue as many people from them as they could, bringing them back to populate their AU Crossroads, aptly named due to it being a meltingpot of the multiverse and still growing in size and population to this day. The 9 skeletons listed above were the first 9 they ever rescued and they became like their own kids. They’re a goofball, but make Them mad and you’ll feel their wrath! Skilled in a multitude of weapons and fighting styles, they’re a formidable force of nature. They can shift between male and female at will, though they prefer their female form due to them being able to fit in smaller spaces, being lighter weight, and being able to doe eye and bat their eyelashes out of most situations.... plus free drinks at the local bar on Thursdays.

Name: Eros Age: 19 Likes: long walks on the beach, cuddles, his family, oreos Dislikes: rainy days, confrontation (cause it makes people afraid of him) Bio: This 10ft tall, frightening behemoth is actually Aiden’s son! Out of all the second generation, he’s the youngest of the adults, but the most responsible of the four boys, often being the voice of reason amongst them, especially when it comes to the well being of children around his idiotic cousins Etch and Scribble and often being the one to get little ZJ to listen to what he’s told by telling him going to bed on time and eating vegetables will make him grow up big and strong like him. He’s actually a little on the shy side and very humble, only hamming things up around ZJ and other small children present. He suffers from early onset arthritis and has to take medication for it to keep his joints from locking up and grinding together, but he doesn’t let it hold him down. He and his uncle Gears work out together because it helps his aching bones and because Gears turns it into fun little challenges for him to keep him going with it instead of giving up.

Name: Etch Age: 21 (but a few months younger than Chiller and Calibri) Likes: mEmEs!!!, weed, being annoying, prank wars Dislikes: being forgotten, being ignored, pain (has a very low pain tolerance) Bio: One of Sketch’s sons and Scribble’s twin brother. He’s just very lonely and wants people to pay attention to him to stave off being alone for as long as he can... whether said attention is positive or negative. When no one pays attention to him or there’s no one to keep his thoughts from wandering to dark places, he steals his brother’s weed stash and gets high... which his brother hates because Etch could easily go to a doctor and get his own prescribed to him, but Etch fears the doctor’s office more than death and adamantly refuses to go, even hiding or running away at the mere mention of it. Etch tried to get a tattoo once.... he went into it screaming like a badass Viking, but before they could even roll up his sleeve to start, he ran out blubbering like a baby. He’s the most irresponsible one in the entire family and is always the one to cause major problems because of a bad idea he thought was good at the time. He ends up in bad situations a lot and finds himself with the wrong crowd more often than not, but lucky for him he has a family full of badasses that come to bail him out of any situation before he ends up hurt too badly.

Name: Scribble Age: 21 (but a few months younger than Chiller and Calibri) Likes: memes, weed, hanging around Etch, Eros and ZJ, cuddles Dislikes: when Etch steals his weed, when Etch gets into trouble, pain (another with very low pain tolerance, looky there! But he has literally no tolerance for pain.... he screamed when he got those piercings)  Bio: Scribble suffers from anxiety and clinical depression and was prescribed marijuana to treat it. He and his brother were home schooled after freshman year of high school due to Etch pissing off the entire football team and them all ambushing the brothers in the locker room after gym class and um... let’s just say Etch got over it and Scribble still fears .....backdoor intimacy after what the football team did to them. Scribble is unable to protect himself and is a firm believer in pacifism. In times of battle, Scribble acts as a messenger, able to write notes in magic ink that can only be seen by it’s intended recipients. He normally just rolls with whatever Etch is doing or does what he’s told to avoid a conflict.

Name: Spritle Age: 20 Likes: Cheesy romance, dark humor and morbid jokes, rainy days Dislikes: removing her death touch nullifying necklace, people sexualizing her right off the bat, people underestimating her because of her appearance Bio: This brightly colored reaper girl is one of Sparkle’s daughters. She prefers to blend into the background and not be the center of attention if she can help it. Yes, her freckles are rainbow colors. She’s more on the proper side like her aunt Shade and enjoys a relationship if it’s not centered around perversion. She’d rather spend the day cuddled up on the couch watching disney movies, eating pizza and sharing a drink with two straws. She really likes nostalgic and retro things like 50′s diners and drive in movies. If you’re with her and intend on asking her out, doing old school gestures like laying your jacket over a puddle so she won’t step in it is the quickest way to win her over.

Name: Pixie Age: 19 Likes: when any guy is interested in her, when soon to be reaped souls try to run from her sister (It gives her something to do), sushi Dislikes: When people think she’s a child because of her nearly flat chest and high pitches voice, How her big sister has a bigger bust than her (Sprilte: Hey, if I could switch with you, I would! These things hurt my back!) Bio: Sparkle’s youngest daughter. Her father was an ErrorFellSwap Papyrus. She works with her sister as a chaser. Her job is to chase after, disarm and detain souls that refuse to be reaped when their time comes via trying to fight death or outrun it and thus trying to fight/run away from Spritle. Pixie is the first ever chaser on record and was the one who proposed the idea to the reaper council to keep reapers from tearing their bodies up to do their job. Chasers can be identified by a little white cross on their clothing or accessories and are required to be fast runners and ferocious fighters. Pixie has the speed and ferocity of a FellSwap Papyrus and is able to use her error strings to easily take weapons from your hands and tie you up to await the cold bite of Spritle’s scythe or claw blades. Pixie enjoys puzzles, her favorite being rubix cubes.

Name: ZJ Age: 4 Likes: coloring, playing outside, hanging out with the older boys, spending time with uncle Gears and uncle Dante, when his momma reads to him, hide and seek, COOKIES, CAKE AND CANDY!!! Dislikes: When people are mean and hurt others, vegetables, bed time Bio: Shade’s adopted son. ZJ is shy, yet a hyperactive ball of energy that likes to hang around with Etch, Scribble, and Eros. He has wisdom beyond his years thanks to his mother reading college level literature as his bedtime stories, but he has trouble articulating his words from the first three years of his life being spent with everyone baby talking him. When he doesn’t know how to respond to something, he just reacts by screaming “I DUNNO WHAT’S GOIN ON!!!” the same happens when he gets overwhelmed, but it’s accompanied by him hiding behind the nearest trusted adult.

FEEL FREE TO START SENDING ASKS AND RP STARTERS!!!

[op-peccatori]

a helping hand (nsfw)| MLQC Victor

A/N: Alright, so. A couple things: I wasn’t sure how...heated I should make it, so I didn’t make it very explicit. Also...I don’t know a word of french. I had it for three years in middle school–about ten years ago lmaoo so...had a little too much fun with the translators

If there are any French speakers/readers reading this...please don’t cry. And if you have any corrections, please dm me! I’ll be happy to make changes XD

Anon...I hope you like it. I had a lot of fun with it. totally not cackling. 

Fandom: Mr Love Queen’s Choice

Pairing: Reader/Victor 

Rating: 18+

Summary: In a shocking turn of events, a lesson with Victor leads to other, intimate, activities. He’s a lot more talkative than usual except–you don’t understand most of what he’s saying.

(tags under the cut)

Warnings/tags: nsfw, oral sex, nothing too explicit, my amateur English to French online translations, Victor getting the cheesiest lines in the scene

translations at the bottom for those who want ‘em

“La carte, s’il vous plaît,” you say out loud, with as much confidence as you can muster. There’s still a quiver of hesitance in your voice, but Victor lets it go. 

“Qu’est-ce que vous conseillez?” He nods, and you take it as an indication for you to continue. His living room is warm, a place you've grown to be comfortable in with time, and you’re feeling rather unhelpfully cosy as you sit next to him with your little notebook in hand.

“Um, nous...nous voudrions commander maintenant.” You try to refrain from glancing at your notes as he shifts closer, the heat emanating from his body tempting you in small rushes. His hand brushes yours as he reaches for the notebook, slipping it from your grasp with little resistance.“Je ne peux pas manger...” you trail off, unable to remember the word. “...peanuts?” 

Victor seems almost distracted as you turn to stare at him expectantly. His fingers are curling a lock of your hair around them over and over, and it takes him a moment to realise you’re looking at him pleadingly. “Les cacahuètes.” 

You try to ignore the shiver that crawls down your spine at the way his voice works the words, and focus on saying them. “Les cacahuètes.” 

“Hmm.” He seems completely relaxed as he reclines on the sofa, his body angled to face you with his elbow folded on top of the tight back sofa back, his head resting on the palm of his hand. You can’t quite bring yourself to face him as, despite his arguments against the fact, Victor has a very distracting face. Not to mention the fact that he’s been oddly focused on you since you stepped into his house. Even now, he looks at you as if he wants something but doesn't quite know how to say it, or doesn’t want to. You understand, but his reluctance to express himself does frustrate you at times.

With his sleeves rolled up to his forearms, a missing tie and the top two buttons of his shirt undone, you also have to make a valiant effort to keep your drool in check. 

“Merci beaucoup,” you say cheerfully, taking the twitch of his mouth for what it is–his attempt at suppressing a smile. “Let’s see...oh! L’addition, s’il vous plaît.” 

“Beau travail." You think it’s unfair that he makes it sound like that, like art that hides away on his tongue and allows you small glimpses to torment you, derailing your entire thought process with sickening ease. 

'I mean...I am allowed to thirst after my own boyfriend...'

“I wish I could go with you,” you grumble, trying to imagine whole days spent listening to Victor speaking French as he feeds you little bites of cake. It would be lethal. 

A good way to go, you think. 

“We can.” He leans until his lips brush over the shell of your ear. “I want to go with you.” 

‘But this is a work-related trip,’ you protest in your head because your lips won’t move to say them. You’re travelling to France for a show, and he’s been a little off since you told him about it. He did agree to teach you a few basic phrases, and you have to admit that he’s a great teacher even when he’s sulking. Your relationship is still new, but you know him well enough to know it’s because of one of the cast members of the show. Kim, one of the singers, hasn’t exactly been shy about his interest in you. He’s backed off since you told him you’re not available, but it seems Victor’s still on edge about it. 

It must still be on his mind because he sighs and rests his forehead on your shoulder. You can’t help but run your hand through his silken strands, the urge to soothe his irrational worries away driving you to act, even if you think he's being a touch melodramatic.

Not that you’ll ever say that out loud. Victor probably knows he’s being irrational, he doesn’t need you to tell him that. You hope.

You also hope he doesn’t feel the kiss you press into his hair, light and sneaky as it is. His hair smells sharp and fresh, and you barely restrain the urge to get another sniff in.

“There are so many places I want to take you,” he mumbles, shifting until his lips settle on the side of your neck. Heat spreads through your body as he leans over you, a hand coming to rest on your other side, half-caging you between his body and the sofa. You hadn't expected him to shift gears this quickly, and the way his lips brush against the spot where your pulse feels stronger doesn't quite match up with all the pouting he's been doing. It does, however, open a door you've been hovering outside of all day.

This is your chance. 

“Victor?” You heart races as you try to remember the right words. This is, as they say, not in the syllabus and you’re not even sure if it’s correct, but you want to try it anyway. 

“Yes?” You feel your breath catch in your throat as he inhales deeply, and his tongue flicks against your warm skin. You’re wearing a scent he’s expressed partiality to in the past, and if the way he hums with contentment is any indication, he still quite likes it. 

“Victor, je peux t’embrasser?” you ask, your cheeks flushing and breath quickening when he pauses. You fight down the embarrassment and focus on his reaction.

Can I kiss you? 

The curl of his lips is obvious as he meets your eyes, and even as he kisses you, you can feel it on your lips. The butterflies in your stomach explode into a tizzy It’s too warm all of a sudden, and your lungs work extra hard as the space between you both lessens. Victor is nearly on top of you as you both sink into each other, deepening the meeting of your mouths as his hands begin to wander along your sides, firm in the way they glide along your clothed skin.

It's not the first time you've kissed, but it feels different. The sweetness of it has solidified into a foundation for the hot desire that slowly spills out of you. There is something needy in the way he clings to you and then pulls away, as if he's unsure of how you'll take it. You pull him closer in response, overwhelmed by your own sudden yearning. 

His thumb rubs slow circles over your knee as his lips glide across your jaw, down the slender slope of your neck. He grows more fervent with each breathless sound that leaves your mouth, and you want to lose yourself in his arms. It is the one place you wouldn’t mind being lost in for the rest of your days, and the thought should terrify you more than it does.

And as his lips slide over to press sweet kisses under your ear, he begins to speak words that seem to have been crafted with the sole purpose of stealing your breath away. “Je sais que je ne trouve pas toujours les mots, et je ne ressens pas toujours les bons sentiments...” His voice is pitched low yet so roughened with emotions you can’t even begin to pick them out; you’re torn between hissing with outrage and moaning with pleasure. “...mais je t’aime fort, et il faut que tu le saches.”

As he teeth scrape against tender skin, as you moan softly, your mind struggles to work through what little you caught of his words. 

‘Je t’aime.’ Your heart pounds as he pushes you down onto your back, and you get a glimpse of the liquid want swimming in his eyes. Your legs part so he can rest between them, and your mind nearly collapses when your shirt is pushed up and his lips travel south through the valley of your breasts, roaming over the soft planes of your stomach. 

“Victor,” you breathe, twisting under the maddening explorations of his mouth. 

“Tu es si belle,” he groans into your waist, as he if can't help it. His hand plays with the hem of your skirt, and you think you might lose your mind if it stays there. A part of you hopes dearly that you can at least retain some of what he’s saying; Victor has a terrible habit of whispering soft things in your ear, and you would appreciate it a lot more if you could actually understand what he says. The way he says them hints at sweet romance, and you can’t help but melt at the dulcet tones of his voice every single time–but you had initially thought he could be making fun of you.

You don’t think he’s making fun of you right now. 

“Victor, please,” you whimper. You cycle between cursing and pleading at the unfairness of this man, at the way his hand dips beneath your skirt but doesn’t go too far, his curious fingers stroking your tender skin gently.

“Mon cœur bat pour toi seul."  With a pounding heart, you watch as he tilts his head up to study you, his eyes ablaze with a hunger that threatens to burn if you stare too long. The slight smirk that twists along his lips can only be called sinful, giving away his intentions before he even ducks under your skirt. 

As his mouth latches on to you through damp cotton, you can’t help the squeak that escapes you when you hear him inhale, a low groan at its heels that borders on obscene. You strain your ears when you realise he’s saying something, but you’re not sure what it is, and he doesn't give you a chance to find out. He wields his tongue like an unholy weapon and slowly works you through a slow descent into madness. What’s left of your sanity decides it–you must devote yourself to learning this language. 

“Je suis...fou amoureux de toi,” he whispers into your skin, so softly you think you might have imagined it. He climbs back up your body, and an eager kiss awaits him at the top.

“I’m not going to give up until I know what every single word means,” you mumble, the dazed vow amusing your boyfriend immensely as he curls around you. The quiet breath of laughter sounds faint but you feel it against your skin.

“You’ll have to be a good student and attend every lesson.” 

“With a professor so handsome? I couldn’t miss a single one.” You turn to press your mouth to the skin above his heart, smiling when he squeezes you tighter.

“Oh, handsome?” He clearly tries to aim for cockiness, but sounds a little too pleased to be convincing in any way. His heart throbs powerfully under your lips, and you slide them over to his clavicle, deeming it your turn to do the tasting. But before you start, you have one final card to play.

“Mhm. Je te trouve très beau,” you say teasingly, with the most charming smile in your arsenal and a saucy wink–before being driven to helpless giggles as he pounces yet again.  

Translations:

Qu’est-ce que vous conseillez?: What do you recommend?

nous voudrions commander maintenant: I want to order

Je ne peux pas manger: I can’t eat

Les cacahuètes: peanuts

Merci beaucoup: thank you very much

L’addition, s’il vous plaît: the bill/check, please

Beau travail: good work

je peux t’embrasser?: can I kiss you?

Je sais que je ne trouve pas toujours les mots, et je ne ressens pas toujours les bons sentiments: I know I don’t always find the words, and I don’t always feel the right feelings

mais je t’aime fort, et il faut que tu le saches: but I love you very much, and you need to know 

Tu es si belle: you’re so beautiful

Mon cœur bat pour toi seul: my heart beats for you alone

Je suis...fou amoureux de toi: I’m madly in love with you

Je te trouve très beau: I think you’re very beautiful/handsome

[raewrites98]

Runaway Train

For @foxeshaveclaws! You wanted long-distance relationships and surprises gone wrong- it's my first time writing for Andreil and this fandom, so I hope this still manages to live up to that, while staying withing the realm of their relationship :) Thank you for your wonderful prompt! Happy Valentine's Day <3 @aftgexchange                                                          *** “Come on, Josten,” Wymack yelled from where he stood behind the plexiglass, “Hurry up.”

Neil grit his teeth. He readjusted his grip on his racquet and swung, fast and hard. The ball sailed across the court, right into Robin’s waiting net as she caught it with practiced ease. He tore his helmet from his head and ran a hand through his sweaty, tangled hair. Fuck. That was the third shot he had missed. (Keep reading here or on AO3!)

“Nice shot, captain,” Jack taunted with a sneer, leaning against the wall. He shared a glance with Sheena, who scoffed in agreement.

It was late afternoon and the team had gathered to practice for their home game against the Breckenridge Jackals this Friday. They had been running drills for the last half hour or so and Neil was suffering. He couldn’t focus. The harsh fluorescent lights stung his eyes and his head pounded viciously. His thoughts kept drifting off into nothing, mind numb from exhaustion. At this rate, Coach was going to bench him.

Wymack blew his whistle, the sharp ring echoing across the court. “Go home,” he said, “You better not pull this shit tomorrow.” He spoke to the team, but Neil could feel the weight of his words as if they were directed at him specifically. He was captain, he should be better than this. He was better than this.

They dispersed slowly, the girls heading to one locker room and the guys the other. Before they parted, Robin brushed a hand against Neil’s shoulder. “Sweetie’s later?” She gave him a half smile. Her wild, curly hair stuck to her forehead, face red and sweaty.

Neil nodded. He went to his locker without a word, sat down and started peeling his shoes off one at a time. Bruises were starting to form where he had been body-checked into the wall several times during their scrimmage. It was a familiar feeling, one that usually offered comfort, but now only made him feel worse. 

A shadow fell upon him. Neil glanced up to see Jack leaning against the lockers, arms crossed. He was still in his bright orange gear, golden hair slicked back. “You better not fuck up this weekend,” he said. “I don't want people thinking the whole team sucks as much as our captain.” A few snickers passed through the room. 

Neil grit his teeth. He undid the Velcro strap of his gloves. Not for the first time, he found himself wondering how Dan had ever managed this- the disobedience and disrespect from players who thought themselves superior. Even as vice-captain, he at least had been able to rely on Kevin’s demanding personality and fame to keep them in check.

But neither of them was here now. Even the cousins were gone, leaving Neil to start the fall semester on his own. He thought after years of running, he was used to being alone, but his time with the Foxes had changed that. He would never admit it out loud, but he missed them. Badly. 

“If you do blow it, though,” Jack continued, “maybe Coach will actually do something worthwhile and give your position to someone who deserves it.”

“Like who, you?” Neil eyed him up and down. Jack was only a sophomore and already thought he was better than everyone else, simply because Kevin recruited him. He started shoving his gear in his locker. “Your defense is weak, you can barely hold your own against the press and, frankly, your personality is shit.”

Jack scoffed. “That’s rich, coming from the guy getting fucked by that psycho Minyard,” he spat, as if the words left a foul taste in his mouth. “Bet the press would have a field day with that.” 

Neil clenched his jaw. Fuck this. His and Andrew’s relationship was never a secret, not with the way the Foxes gossiped, but it was private. He didn’t go around throwing it in everyone’s face, and he definitely didn’t need some arrogant little shit doing that for him. “Don’t,” he warned.

Jack laughed, raising his hands. “What are you gonna do? Make me run laps?” He rolled his eyes.

That was it. 

Neil’s fist collided with Jack’s nose. It gave a satisfying, sickening crack, blood spurting from his nostrils as he stumbled back with a cry, clutching his face. “What the fuck!” He lunged forward. Acting quickly, one of their teammates grabbed him and held him back. “You son of a bitch!” he snarled.

Neil slung his bag over his shoulder. “You want the extra laps too?” Jack glowered at him. “I didn’t think so.” Neil slammed the door shut as he left, the sound of it echoing throughout the gym.

                                                               ***

Neil’s phone rang as he was forcing himself through the last of his math homework. He picked it up without checking the caller ID. All these years and he still had the same ringtone. “Hey.” 

“Hi.” Andrew’s voice was muffled. There was some shifting and crackling through the speaker, until he sounded clearer. “Heard you finally snapped.” 

Neil rolled his eyes. “Who told you?” He chewed the cap of his pen and scribbled down something he thought resembled a logical answer. Tiny inked fox paws and exy racquets littered the margins of his paper. 

“Robin.” Of course. She, along with the rest of the team, had found out during morning practice, when Jack strutted in with a bruised face and swollen nose. To say Coach had been displeased was an understatement.

“He was asking for it.” Neil shoved his book aside and walked over to the bed. He let himself fall backwards onto the mattress, hitting it with a soft huff as the air left his lungs. He balled his hand into a fist, watching the ugly, shiny white scars stretch across his knuckles. A deep purple bruise colored the skin of his hand. He didn’t regret punching Jack. If anything, he wished he had done so sooner. 

“I’m surprised it took you this long,” Andrew remarked dryly.

Neil chuckled. Silence passed. He fidgeted with the strings of his sweater. “How was your day?”

“Long.” After graduation, Andrew had signed a three year contract with Boston’s pro team.  He lived there now, in a small apartment Neil had the only spare key to. It hung on his key chain, along with the ones for Columbia and the Maserati. 

Neil hummed. “You talked to Nicky?”

“More or less,” Andrew said. “He’s as disgustingly happy as ever.” A few months ago, Nicky finally moved to Germany. The wedding wasn’t until next year, but it was all he ever talked about.

“Good.” A pause. “You visiting soon?”

Andrew was silent for a while. “Not for a few weeks,” he said. “Think you can manage that long, Josten?”

He huffed. “I’ll be fine.”

“Sure,” Andrew drawled.

He rolled his eyes. He flipped and laid on his stomach, holding the phone in front of him. “I want to see you,” he mumbled into the sheets.

There was another pause, and for the briefest moment, Neil wondered if he had crossed a line. If he had made things weird. This was their first year apart and learning to navigate this whole long-distance thing was frustrating. They weren’t the most outwardly affectionate to begin with.

“Happy now?”

Neil looked up. A blurry, pixelated image of Andrew appeared on the cracked screen of his phone, glasses sliding down his nose and hair damp. 

He was wearing his PSU sweater, Neil noted. “It’ll do, I guess,” he said with a shrug.

“I could hang up on you, you know.”

“You won’t.” Neil’s smile grew.

He didn’t.

                                                              ***

“You sure you’re okay, Josten?” Robin asked as she chewed at the end of her straw, bending it left and right. Sweetie’s was surprisingly empty for a Monday night. A few people lingered at the bar and an elderly couple occupied the booth behind them, but other than that, it was empty. “And don’t give me that I’m fine crap.” 

Neil pushed his eggs around, watching how the yolk broke and spilled across his plate. “Just tired, I guess,” he mumbled. It wasn’t a lie. He always slept better with someone near him. It used to be his mom, but over time, Andrew had managed to worm his way into that spot instead. In his absence the mattress felt too cold, too empty. It took Neil hours to fall asleep.

“You talk to Andrew?”

“Yeah.” They had called for another half hour or so, before Neil left to finish his homework. It was fine at first, but their conversation had quickly grown stilted, punctuated by one word answers and long silences. He noticed that was happening frequently lately. Thinking about it made him sick to his stomach. He pushed his plate aside.

“Then what’s got you so fucked up?”

“Nothing.” 

Robin gave him a look.

He ran a hand through his hair. “It’s this whole captain thing, I guess,” he said, slumping back in his seat. The leather booth squeaked under his shifting weight. 

“Hey,” Robin said, reaching over to squeeze his hand. “You carried us through the first season. You’re doing fine.” She offered him a reassuring smile.

The gesture was appreciated, but it didn’t make Neil feel that much better. “Yeah,” he muttered, tearing his toast to shreds.

Robin picked up her pencil and started tapping it on her sketchpad. The book was filled with scribbles and quick sketches of him and the team. She carried it wherever she went. “You know what? We should do something fun,” she said suddenly, sitting up. “After the game. Go out for a movie or whatever.”

Neil considered it. He wasn’t a fan of movies, or anything social really, but the idea of spending another night locked in his room alone sounded excruciating. “Sure,” he said with a shrug.

Robin looked surprised. “Okay,” she said. “Cool. Meet me here at eight?”

He nodded. Maybe it would help distract him, even if only for a few hours.

                                                          ***

They ended up losing the game.

Earlier that morning, right before their last practice, Neil sent Andrew a quick text. 

To: Minyard [6:45am] You watching tonight?

From: Minyard [7:25am] Can’t. Plans.

That shouldn’t have bothered him so much. When he was on court, adrenaline pumping through his veins, the weight of his racquet in hand, he couldn’t care less about who was watching. All that mattered was the ball in his net and the goal ahead. Everything else faded into the background.

But Andrew always watched his games. 

And then, when he tried to pry for answers as to what these plans were, Andrew’s replies went from short to nonexistent.

Neil managed to walk the team through warm-ups, but he couldn’t stop the flow of thoughts that forced their way into his mind, whispering of his incompetence as captain, his lack of friends and his possibly dying relationship with Andrew. When the first buzzer sounded and he nearly dropped his racquet, startled out of his spiraling thoughts, he knew it wasn’t going to end well.

It had been a close call in the end though. With thirty seconds left on the clock, Neil soared across court, twisting and turning around the Jackal’s defense until the goal was in sight. He stopped, swung his racquet back and took the shot.

The Breckenridge goalie dove for it and at the very last second, caught the ball with his net. The crowd gave a deafening roar, drowning out the buzzer as it signaled the end of the game. 

Neil’s heart dropped to his feet. He stared at the goal, a cold, dreadful numbness spreading through him. 

“Come on,” Robin muttered, slapping him hard across the back, “Keep it together.” 

The rest was a blur. As captain, he upheld his duty to entertain the press, but didn’t have it in him to bite back against their snarky, provocative comments. Wymack seemed pleased, if not a little concerned with his compliance. 

No one spoke in the locker rooms. Tension hung in the air, sharp and uncomfortable. Most of his teammates slipped out of the room without a word, but Jack stopped in front of Neil as he stood. He towered over him, six feet of anger and misplaced arrogance. “Should’ve fucking known,” he hissed. 

Neil bristled, fists clenched and ready for a fight. 

“Don’t bother, Jack,” one of his teammates said. “He isn’t worth it.”

The door closed and Neil was left alone surrounded by an oppressive, judgmental silence. Sweat trickled down his neck. His chest felt tight with each breath. 

There was only one thing left to do. He had to run.

                                                           ***

The sun was long gone by the time Neil made it back to the Fox Tower. His legs burned and arms ached, but he felt better. Running lessened some of the panic that had held him in a vice-like grip, but their loss still hung over him like a thick cloud. What if Coach was wrong? What if he wasn’t cut out for captain? 

The parking lot was mostly empty, save for a single car parked under the lamppost. Neil crossed the street and kept his head down as he passed. A few steps from the tower’s entrance, he stopped.

He turned. “Andrew?”

Leaning back against the hood of the car, a cigarette in hand, stood Andrew. He was wearing a burgundy button down and black tie, sleeves rolled up to reveal his arm bands. Under the flickering yellow light, his hair glowed a deep gold, neatly swept off his forehead. Neil swallowed thickly.

“Running away again, Josten?” Andrew took a drag from his cigarette and blew the smoke in his direction. His dark eyes flickered over Neil’s sweaty, disheveled appearance.

Neil walked over and came to a stop in front of him. It didn’t make any sense- Andrew wasn’t supposed to show up for another two weeks. What was he doing here? Had he been at the game? Neil hoped not. “Why are you here?”

“Take a guess.”

“I thought you had plans,” Neil bit, shoving his hands in his sweater.

 Andrew looked unimpressed. “Is that your guess?”

“I don’t know,” Neil snapped. “Are you here to watch me ruin my career as captain?” He kicked a stone, watching as it skipped across the parking lot. 

Andrew raised an eyebrow. “One game and you’re ready to jump ship?” He tsked, shaking his head. “I thought you were over the whole ‘flight risk’ thing.”

“I’m not running away,” Neil snapped. 

Andrew stared at him, waiting.

“I just-” He tore a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing, okay?” Once he started, he found he couldn’t stop. The words came rushing out with a single breath, every thought and twisted emotion he had bottled up since the start of the school year. “I’m not Dan, or Kevin. I don’t know how to be a good captain, and I definitely don’t know how to do it on my own.”

“Then quit.” The cigarette glowed bright orange, another puff of smoke drifting in the air.

Neil scoffed and rolled his eyes. “It’s not that easy.”

“Nothing is.” Andrew reached for him, turning Neil’s chin so he was forced to look up. He stared at Neil, stoic and calm, the deep brown of his irises like liquid gold, holding Neil captive. It was in that unwavering apathy he found himself relaxing, shoulders slowly sagging as his worries slipped away. “You’ll manage.”

Neil drew a slow breath. The acrid, sharp scent of the cigarette smoke eased his nerves. He nodded. 

Satisfied, Andrew dropped his hand. He picked up Neil’s wrist instead, analyzing the bruised skin of his knuckles. He brushed his thumb along the row of scars.

Neil’s heart skipped a beat. He cleared his throat. “You didn’t answer my question,” he said. 

“You missed dinner,” Andrew remarked.

A frown furrowed Neil’s brow. “What do you mean?”

“You had plans, didn’t you?”

Fuck. In his sudden and overwhelming distress, Neil had completely forgotten about Robin. She was going to be so pissed.

“Yeah, with Robin,” he said. “Did she tell you that too?” He wasn’t the kind to be jealous, but sometimes he wondered if she spoke to Andrew more than he did. 

Andrew looked unamused. “I can’t believe how incredibly stupid you are sometimes.” He gestured to himself.

“What?” Neil’s eyes flickered over his outfit. Then it clicked. “I wasn’t meeting Robin, was I?”

“Reservations were at eight,” Andrew remarked dryly.

Neil checked his phone. Quarter past ten. He winced. Had he really been gone that long? 

He didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t like Andrew to visit unprompted. Definitely not like this. Not as a ... surprise. 

Something else caught Neil’s eye as he looked at his phone. “It’s February 14th,” he said, a slow grin curling his lips.

“He knows how to read,” Andrew said with mock surprise.

“That’s Valentine’s day,” Neil persisted.

“Really?” Andrew flicked the cigarette onto the ground, stomping it out with his foot. 

“You know,” Neil said slowly, trailing a finger along the fabric of Andrew’s collar, “I wonder what the press would think if they knew Andrew Minyard was a hopeless romantic,” He stepped closer.

Andrew narrowed his eyes. “One hundred and three percent, Josten.”

He leaned in close, lips inches from Andrew’s. “Yes or no?”

Andrew flicked his head but pulled him forward by his collar. “Yes.”

His lips met Andrew’s in a soft, warm kiss that sent pleasant shivers down his spine. All of his worries faded into nothing and when Andrew’s cool, rough hands found their way into his hair, pulling him even closer, he knew that in the end, he was going to be okay.

[crimsonbluemoon]

Working For Love: A TerrorMoo story 14/17

Heyo! Hope that you’re all having a great saturday! I’m gonna post more drabbles tonight after this, but I wanted to get this out so I didn’t forget!

Previous Part

Start from the beginning

Brian liked to think he was a good trainer. 

“I can’t do that.” The pinched look the older man gave Brian was hard to ignore, accentuated by the way he tilted his nose at the equipment Brian was showing him. 

“The bike is the easiest machine in the gym,” Brian explained, counting back from 100 in his head to keep from snapping at the customer. He liked working with the public, and normally his charm helped motivate others to improve themselves. But there was a reason he was working with this particular client; Tyler had given him to Brian because of how hard he was. He paid monthly for his one session, giving the gym revenue. Sometimes, the guy was ‘too busy’ to come to Brian’s session, giving Brian a free hour of extra pay. Though normally, Brian tried to keep a consistent weekly schedule with his focused clients, this one was a very rare exception. 

“I have bad knees.” Which was only true because of his extra weight. The man reported being close to four hundred pounds, yet in the four months Brian had started to work with him, refused to change his diet. His weekly intake of fast food alone was more than Brian had in three months, not that he seemed to find a problem with that. 

“Which is why we decided to work on the bike. You were worried the treadmill and elliptical would be too much strain.” This was how they had spent their last session, arguing about what his body was capable of. Three sessions in, and they had yet to actually touch a machine. 

“This looks like it’ll be too much, too. I can’t risk not being able to walk with my career. I have people who actually rely on my mobility.” He was a lawyer at a medical firm and sat on his ass 95% of the day. Plus, connecting this man to the word ‘mobile’ was a joke. Brian had to force himself not to roll his eyes at the statement, knowing it was just another dig at Brian’s profession. This man was very aware of their salary difference, and made sure to slip it in once a session. 

“Did you want to try one of the weight machines, instead?” He asked through clenched teeth, wondering how Tyler even got through the intake with this man without punching him in the face. If anyone had a worse temper than Brian, it was the gym owner. 

“I’m feeling I need a break. Can you have someone set up one of the massage beds for me?” The twitch under Brian’s eye was impossible to stop, though he turned his body away from the customer to keep it from showing. 

“Sure thing. Go talk to Evan, and he’ll set you up.” The man walked with entitlement to the front desk, never once thanking or looking back at Brian. He took three slow breaths after the man was out of his hair, cursing under his breath as soon as the air was out of his lungs. His palms were quick to press to his eyes, rubbing them slowly to alleviate his headache. 

“Having fun?” Brian scowled when he glared over to his co-worker, catching Luke’s shit-eating grin. “He looks real focused getting his massage reps in, so good work trainer.” 

“Fuck off,” Brian muttered, hating the feeling lingering in his chest. He didn’t like the guy, but that meant nothing when it came to wanting to see him progress in his health. That was why he decided to follow his fitness career path; too many people in his family had been affected by unhealthy lifestyles. He’d had an uncle who died from heart disease, and diabetes ran rampant in his family. Some were willing to change, but didn’t have the genetic disposition to do it on their own. Brian wanted to help those types of people get healthy, one session at a time. In his head, he knew this guy’s lack of motivation and negative attitude would forever hinder his life. Eventually, it would catch up to him, whether Brian wanted it to or not. 

“That guy’s an ass.” A hand dropped on top of his head, ruffling his hair in a way that was normally reserved for older people. Luke had a good amount of years on him, but he wasn’t parent level. Still, he didn’t bat the hand away, somehow knowing that Luke wasn’t trying to be condescending when he did it. “For every idiot like him, you get a guy like Brock.”

“Wait, he’s here?” Surprised when Luke nodded, Brian was caught off guard by the information. How long had he been there? How hadn’t Brian seen him? Then again, having to work with his resistant client took up most of his energy, so it was possible that Brock walked right by without Brian even noticing. 

“And you should see how much ass he’s kicking.” The sentence didn’t feel right when speaking about Brock, making Brian’s eyebrows push together in confusion. Luke laughed and dropped his hand onto Brian’s shoulder, pushing him toward the other side of the gym. “You’ve been teaching your boy well.” 

“What are you-” but then Brian’s world stopped. There, in the middle of the room Luke used for kickboxing and self-defense, was Brock. His hands were gloved up and poised to either side of his face, ready for the next combination command. Anthony looked nervous when Brock hit a strong jab against his padded hand, and he actually took a step back when Brock’s knee finished the combination. Stunned didn’t cover Brian’s feelings, his jaw dropping down without his permission. Brock looked good. In truth, Brock always stole Brian’s attention, no matter what he was doing. Yet here, in the low light of the kickboxing class, with a confidence that was so rare in Brock’s aura, he looked flawless. 

“He’s been coming twice a week for about two months,” Luke explained softly, a friendly arm dropped over Brian’s shoulders. “And he’s been leading everyone else to push themselves.”

“Brock’s always been motivated,” Brian breathed out, unsure why seeing Brock so fierce made his pride surge. 

“Funny, he keeps saying you’re the reason he’s never given up.” Luke’s blunt response caught Brian’s ear, though he couldn’t turn away from Brock’s steady hook punches. “Brock claims that you’ve been the one teaching him how to lift weights, his form, and have encouraged him every step of the way. So all the progress he’s had this far? You’re a part of that.” 

“I…” He trailed off slowly, unsure how to respond. Normally, he took compliments and ran with them. But when it came to Brock, he wanted to shower the praise all on the other man. Unsure of where to go with the information, he stayed silent, watching Brock’s movements. They weren’t perfect, since he was still a beginner. Sometimes he led with the wrong foot, or his punch didn’t hit high enough to be correctly placed. But he was giving it his all, and the stamina he’d been able to increase since his first trip to the gym was obvious. Brock’s shirt stuck to his form from the enduring lesson, showing the trimmed stomach and firmer thighs. Even his calves had better definition, his triceps tightening with each calculated punch. 

But the best part of it all? Brock looked happy, which all that really mattered to Brian. 

“Finish your current set of combinations, then put the gear away!” Luke’s sharp order beside him cleareded his mind just in time to catch Brock’s face turning toward them. His shock was immediate, and the confidence he’d had seconds earlier started to melt away. Trying not to let that self-esteem erode, Brian gave him a thumbs up, hoping his eased smile proved just how proud he was. Brock’s features wobbled for a second before he nodded, pulling his shoulders up to stand tall again. He bowed politely to Luke and rushed to help the Anthony move one of the standing heavy bags. 

“He tell you not to tell me?” Brian asked, Luke shaking his head.

“Nah, just thought I’d save it for a rainy day. Just to remind you that you ain’t that terrible.” The words weren’t sweet or soft, just basic facts. That didn’t take away from Brian relaxing under the arm still holding his shoulders. Like a switch, his unease from before was gone. 

Brian didn’t think he was a good trainer; he knew it.

Ahh I love these two together. ^.^ Such a happy dynamic. I can’t believe this story is coming to a close soon! I’ve had a lot of fun with it, and I missed writing bbs boys something terrible. Maybe I won’t stay too far this time? So as always, like, reblog, and let me know what you think! 

[everlastingconnection]

Chapter Two - Failing Expectations

Story: An Everlasting Connection Chapter Two: Failing Expectations Rating: T Word Count: 2,802 Disclaimer: This chapter is heavily based around events of the Goblet of Fire, but in Viktor's perspective. Also, as his first language is not English, it should be assumed that all thoughts and spoken words are in his native tongue unless specified otherwise. Summary: The story of Viktor Krum and Hermione Granger, from the first time they came into each others sights until the day one of them says the binding words of ‘I do’. Can they defeat the odds of their everlasting connection to find happiness elsewhere, or will they admit the fact that their lives are brighter with the other near?

~*~*~*~

"You must get the snitch straight away Krum. You understand? Do whatever it takes. Cause us penalties if you must. Just. Get. The. Snitch."

The very same words had been spoken to Viktor time and time again since he'd officially become part of the Bulgarian team earlier in the summer (after a year of being a reserve player due to age). As always, he nodded curtly, keeping his face stoic, void of all emotions.  The teams manager barely waited to see Viktor's confirmation before turning away, going to speak with the other team members. Much as Viktor loved the sport he’d grown up with, joining the team had tainted it somewhat. At Durmstrang, though his level of skill was far above those around him, his team mates worked together much more fluidly. Here, he carried the entire team, and everyone in the world now knew it. 

Turning back to his locker, he finished pulling his gear on, aware of the mutterings around him. The manager now informed everyone that scoring should not be their first priority. Keeping the Irish team from scoring came before all else. Attempting to zone them out, Viktor slipped into a trance, going over plays in his mind until he heard the coach call them to go on the pitch. With a deep breath, Viktor grasped his broom and fell into the back of the line. In front of him, the others whispered to each other, assuming he wouldn’t hear - or maybe they didn’t care. Yet, he heard them. Heard every bitter comment about how he must think so much of himself to not socialize with them. It was all more or less the same that he’d heard in the past few weeks as they drew closer to the end of the Cup. No one cared about the team that struggled to score when they had the youngest professional player who carried the team among them. 

Giving himself a mental shake, Viktor focused on what they were doing as the doors opened and the most deafening roar cascaded over him. It was near enough to knock the breath out of him, but instead he gripped his broom tighter as the others mounted theirs and zoomed out. As the teams keeper mounted his own, Viktor followed suit, waiting a heart beat after the other had flown out to join him. 

The roaring crowd was nothing compared to all of the blinking lights, the flying banners, and the way the pitch walls reflected himself all around him. While somewhat used to the bigger stadiums since starting the Cup this year, none of them had been anything like this. As he flew with his team, he looked around in mental awe, his heart hammering in his chest. It was real. He was here, the very place he’d dreamed of since being a child. Hearing shouts and cheers of his name only amplified the moment, and it wasn’t until everyone flying in front of him began to go into a formation to start the game that he could shake away the feeling. 

Game time. 

It turned out to be the greatest game of Viktor’s life. While he’d competed with some amazing teams over the past few weeks, none of them compared quite to the Ireland team. He’d zoned out the score keeping as they began, focusing only on what he absolutely had to. Where the other seeker was, where the bludgers were, and looking for the snitch. At the back of his mind, he did realize that the other team was scoring far too much, too fast. And so, he used a tactic he hated - he forced the other seeker to gain an injury in order to have extra time to search. Admittedly, he didn’t think his opponent would fall for such a stupid scheme, but it seemed he overestimated the other seeker. 

As the game continued to wear on, Viktor grew internally more frantic, wondering why he couldn’t find the snitch. Keeping a close eye on the other seeker, all while desperately searching for the snitch, Viktor ignored the drama beneath them until-- WHAP! Groaning, he felt pain sear through his face that was unlike any other pain he’d felt before. His entire head began to ache, and he lost focus of what he was doing for a brief moment until the green robes he’d been watching suddenly went into a dive. 

No time to think about the pain now. 

Viktor lowered himself flat against his broom, diving after Lynch, putting all of his weight into it to force his broom to fly down quickly as possible. The beating of his heart and excitement surging through him numbed the pain, though he itched to wipe away the blood, he ignored it. Instead, he focused on the glimmering ball he could only just barely see past Lynch as he edged around the other player, slowly outstretching a hand.

This was it. They likely wouldn’t win, but they could be saved from being a total embarrassment. He could catch his very first World Cup Final snitch right now. The thought pushed him forward just enough to feel his fingers brush along the smooth surface. He was only just barely aware of how close to the ground they were coming and with one last push, he shoved Lynch’s hand out of the way and grabbed the snitch before swiftly pulling his broom upwards, pushing his weight back to help it ease back up into the air, a grin forming on his face as he heard the whistle blow and a slump from beneath him. Both sounds were soon forgotten as the crowd burst into a roar that put all others from tonight to shame. Ireland had won - but he had caught the snitch. 

For that, he could be proud. 

With the snitch still held proudly above his head, Viktor slowly started to feel the effects of having lost so much blood. Needing to grip his broom tighter, he slowly lowered himself to the ground, his brain feeling more light and nauseated than he could ever remember. All of the blinking, blinding lights came into sharp focus until the mediwitches surrounded him, all fussing with such strong accents he could barely understand them, particularly with the screaming from every corner of the pitch. 

“Leave him, leave him! We must go!” Viktor heard the voice of the coach, speaking in rough English to those around Viktor. Having gotten used to the gentle touches of those who were trying their best to patch him up and access the damage, his coaches tight grip on his arm as he yanked Viktor away was rather unwelcome, but necessary. Viktor’s own hand remained clenched around the snitch, unable to quite believe this was all real. He’d caught the snitch in his first world cup finals. His mind ran through the list of names who had managed the same feat... a very tiny list. 

Viktor allowed himself to be shoved up to the top box, his mind very much in a dream like state as his nose and head continued to throb. The pain was a secondary thought to him though. There was too much awe inside of him, that he’d managed to do what seemed to be impossible. He barely noticed the angered looks being thrown back at him from his team mates as they climbed. The noise from the crowd made it easy to block out their bitter words. 

He had done what he was meant to - he caught the snitch as soon as possible. Had the game gone on, the gap between their scores would have been larger. Something he was sure the experts would agree on when reports went out the next day. 

Being led into the top box, Viktor watched numbly as his team mates were introduced and shook the hands of the ministers, only then realizing he still held tightly to the snitch. While he hoped no one was watching, he switched the snitch to his other hand, his fingers aching dully now that they were freed. Then, his own name was called, and the crowd... it was almost as loud as it’d been when Ireland were crowned winners. Something Viktor was sure he would never grow used to as he numbly shook the hand of the over eager man with the too bright cap on, before shaking his own ministers hand. 

As they were guided to the side, Viktor looked across the box to see who else was among them, hearing a familiar name whispered among his team mates. Harry Potter. He looked in that direction, vaguely curious, only to catch eyes  with a girl. Not anyone he recognized in the slightest. Something about her however, caught his attention. The bushy hair, slightly bucked teeth, not a trace of makeup, and clothes certainly not in style. There was a light in her eyes, but not one he had grown used to. In fact, she didn’t seem very interested in him at all, as her eyes broke contact and followed the current action, where as the red head beside her continued to gape at Viktor. Clearing his throat, he clapped his hands politely for the winning team, pushing thoughts of the strange girl aside. 

The media frenzy that followed was unlike anything Viktor had dealt with before. After answering seemingly the same five questions over and over until he’d gotten cotton mouth, his captain finally had mercy on him, informing them all that he needed to go celebrate his amazing catch with his team. Viktor fought to keep his face neutral at the comment. No doubt he wouldn’t see his teammates again until next season. None would want to look him in the eye now, unless to blacken it again (thanks to the healers who quickly patched him up before his interviews). No, instead the man lead him to the private tents with security surrounding them to keep fans out, and then to Viktor’s private tent. 

“You did exactly as I intended today, I am proud,” his coach informed him as he entered the tent, not making eye contact with his teammates and their friends who’d begun to drink and party outside their tents. Viktor merely grunted as he began pulling his uniform off and tossing it aside. “It is unfortunate that we could not win, but I knew that to be the likely outcome. It would have been better had you caught the snitch earlier, but I cannot fault you too much on that.”

Viktor’s belt made a sharp snapping sound as he whipped it against the back of his chair, losing his patience. “If you expect me to apologize for not being able to catch the snitch in the first five minutes, you have come expecting the wrong thing. Perhaps had our other players been better prepared and not quite so hung over, I would have had time to catch it within winning chances.” It was not often that he lost his temper, but today had pushed his limits. It ought to have been the best day of his life, and instead, he was being criticized for recognizing his team would never pull their act together enough to win the cup. 

His coach flinched, backing away, but still with a glare in his eye. “Careful how you speak to me Viktor. Players can always be replaced.” 

“And what a fool you would look to replace the seeker who caught the golden snitch at the world cup. You may leave now. I have things to do.” Truth be told, Viktor wanted a moment alone before his headmaster found him. A chance to breathe and recollect himself after a chaotic day. 

The older man grunted, still glaring. “Do not think this conversation is over, Krum. This team will never come together unless you become part of it. Brooding and believing yourself to be better does favors for no one.” With that he turned around, and Viktor gripped the back of the chair so tightly his knuckles turned white. 

How ridiculous. He wanted nothing more than to be part of the team. To be taken off of this pedestal that everyone had forced him on. Being the youngest Quidditch player in the league to make it to the Cup had placed a target on his back. Certainly, he’d never had so many photos of himself taken in his entire life. It was an uncomfortable thing, but not one that anyone cared to listen to. Sighing deeply, he pulled the rest of his clothes off and headed into his restroom to bathe and redress. 

By the time he’d settled into an arm chair with a bottle of rum to ease his nerves, the flap of his tent opened to reveal his headmaster. 

“Viktor! How proud of you I am. You were unlike anything else out there today! It has made it all the more certain you will be chosen by the Goblet this year. Yes, this will be the year you become a legacy, my boy. A true legacy. Not a person in our world will forget your name.” The mans blackened teeth shone with happiness that merely made Viktors stomach churn. 

With a shake of a head, he swirled the drink in his goblet. “That is, if it happens. Nothing has been finalized yet, has it?” Viktor reminded him. His headmaster had cornered him at a practice nearly a month ago to tell him the Triwizard Tournament was returning this next year. And at the time, Viktor had been enticed and excited by the idea to make a name for himself. After all of this however... a reluctance had built. The idea was becoming the Tournament winner was still very much enticing, but Viktor wasn’t certain he was cut out for all of the media attention that would come with such a thing. Part of him almost hoped it would be pushed back a year, making him no longer an option. 

Karkaroff waved off his uncertainty. “Finalization's are simply formalization's, my boy. It’s happening. Pack for warmer weather this year, you’ll be spending winter here,” his grin somehow grew. 

Viktor hummed before taking a drink. “The Potter boy, do we think he will apply?” he wondered lightly. He could not deny his interest in the boy. Who couldn’t be interested in the boy who lived -- the only one to ever survive the Dark Lord?

The headmaster scoffed before helping himself to some of Viktor’s alcohol. “No. Not that it would matter if he could. You would sweep the floor with him! Of that I am sure! But he is too young to compete, I believe. The ministry here is pushing no one under age. Better for you. Means no one can doubt that you had a leg up on anyone. Too many times past winners have been accused of only winning because their competitors were younger! No, we need a true hard win, Viktor.” 

Viktor merely hummed in agreeance, not caring too much about the subject. If the Tournament did happen, he cared not who he faced. So long as he could prove he could accomplish the tasks, that was what mattered. Winning at all costs, being the first to the finish line. Everything else mattered little. 

“Ah, my. Much as I would love to stay and chat, Viktor, I must be on my way,” Karkaroff sighed, looking at his watch and setting his goblet down. “Get some rest, why don’t you? You look as though you’ve not slept in days.” 

Viktor nodded, watching his headmaster leave before putting a charm on his tent to lock anyone else from coming in, and then silencing it, desperately needing some peace and quiet. Knowing his family hadn’t come today, he could safely assume no one else would bother him for the night. And with the teams tents being so far from the public tents, no one would be able to sneak in and bother the players. For those reasons, and those reasons alone, Viktor was the only one able to sleep peacefully that night. 

It wasn’t until the next morning that he learned of the horrific news. His team had already been port keyed away, and his captain made certain he was given the next one out back to Bulgaria. Rage consumed him the more he found out about what he’d missed in his peaceful slumber. And the more the anger built, the more passionate he grew about wanting the Tournament to happen. Wanting to ensure no one else from his school could participate. No, he would not let his classmates win with dark methods as most would surely use. He would prove that someone with a pure heart would beat out any possible darkness. 

Darkness would not win. Not with him around.