#although The Heart of the Obscure can stop him

[pucksandpower]

War Is Over

Lewis Hamilton x Rosberg!Reader

Summary: Lewis parks his car … right into his best friend-turned-nemesis’ little sister (and somehow reunites Brocedes in the process)

Warnings: descriptions of serious injury

Note: the fact that he not only won a race again but it was his home race … this calls for a Lewis Hamilton fic 🥹

The Monaco sun glints off sleek sports cars lining the streets as Lewis navigates his Mercedes through the winding roads. He’s running late for dinner with some sponsors and the traffic is only making things worse.

Lewis mutters under his breath, “Come on, come on. Just need to park this thing ...”

He spots an open space in front of the restaurant and starts to maneuver in, glancing at his watch. The ticking seconds only increase his frustration.

“Bloody hell, why is parking always such a nightmare here?”

Lewis throws the car into reverse, not bothering to look behind him. He’s done this a thousand times before. What could possibly go wrong?

The sickening thud comes a split second before he slams on the brakes. His heart leaps into his throat as he whips around, praying he just hit a trash bin or something.

But the crumpled form on the ground is undeniably human.

“Oh God, oh God, no ...” Lewis fumbles with his seatbelt, hands shaking as he bursts out of the car. “Please be okay, please be okay ...”

He drops to his knees beside the prone figure, a young woman with long hair obscuring her face. Blood is already pooling beneath her head.

“Miss? Can you hear me?” Lewis gently brushes the hair back, and his world stops.

It’s you. Nico’s little sister. The girl he’s known since she was in pigtails, cheering from the sidelines at their early karting races.

Lewis’ jaw drops open as the full horror of what he’s done sinks in. “Y/N? Oh God, Y/N, please wake up!”

He cradles your head, heedless of the blood staining his designer shirt. Your eyes remain closed, skin alarmingly pale.

“Someone call an ambulance!” Lewis shouts, his voice cracking with panic. “Please, somebody help!”

A crowd starts to gather, murmurs of shock and recognition rippling through them. Lewis barely notices, focused solely on your still form.

“Y/N, come on, open your eyes. Please, you have to be okay,” he pleads, gently patting your cheek. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you, I swear I didn’t mean to ...”

Your eyelids flutter, a soft groan escaping your lips. Lewis nearly sobs with relief.

“That’s it, that’s it. Can you hear me? It’s Lewis. You’re going to be alright.”

Your eyes open, unfocused and confused. “Lewis? What ... what happened?”

“Don’t try to move, okay? There was an accident. Help is on the way.”

You try to sit up, wincing in pain. “My head ...”

“Shh, just stay still. I’ve got you.” Lewis supports your shoulders, keeping you from moving too much.

“Did ... did you hit me with your car?” Your voice is small, disbelieving.

Lewis swallows hard. “I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t see you, I swear. God, Y/N, I would never ...”

You manage a weak smile. “Always knew you’d be the death of me, Hamilton.”

Despite everything, Lewis can’t help but chuckle. “Don’t joke about that. You scared me half to death.”

“Sorry to ruin your evening,” you mumble, eyes starting to drift closed again.

“Hey, hey, stay with me.” Lewis gently taps your cheek. “Keep those eyes open, okay? Talk to me.”

You force your eyes open. “About what?”

“Anything. Tell me ... tell me what you’re doing in Monaco. Are you visiting Nico?”

You shake your head slightly, then wince. “No, I ... I moved here. Got a job at the yacht club.”

“Really? That’s great. When did that happen?”

“Few months ago. Needed ... needed a change of scenery.”

Lewis nods, desperately trying to keep you engaged. “I get that. Monaco’s beautiful. Although the parking situation leaves something to be desired,” he adds wryly.

You manage a weak laugh, then grimace. “Ow. Don’t make me laugh.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Lewis glances around anxiously. “Where’s that damn ambulance?”

As if on cue, sirens wail in the distance. Lewis breathes a sigh of relief.

“Help’s coming, Y/N. Just hang on a little longer, okay?”

You nod slightly, eyes becoming unfocused again. “Lewis?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t tell Nico.”

Lewis’ heart clenches. “Y/N ...”

“Please. He’ll kill you. And then me. For being stupid enough to walk behind a car without looking.”

“This isn’t your fault,” Lewis insists. “I should have checked my mirrors. I was distracted, rushing ...”

You shake your head stubbornly. “Promise me. Don’t tell him.”

Lewis hesitates. “Y/N, I can’t just ...”

“Promise,” you repeat, gripping his arm with surprising strength.

Lewis sighs. “Okay, okay. I promise. But he’s going to find out eventually.”

“Let me handle it. When I’m not ... you know. Bleeding on the pavement.”

The ambulance pulls up, paramedics jumping out. Lewis reluctantly moves aside to let them work, hovering anxiously.

“Sir, can you tell us what happened?” One of the paramedics asks as they begin assessing your injuries.

Lewis runs a hand through his hair. “I ... I hit her with my car. I was backing up and didn’t see her. It was an accident, I swear.”

The paramedic nods, focused on taking your vitals. “Miss, can you tell me your name?”

“Y/N Rosberg,” you mumble.

The paramedic’s eyes widen slightly in recognition, but he remains professional. “Alright, Y/N. We’re going to get you to the hospital. Just try to stay still for me.”

As they prepare to move you onto a stretcher, Lewis steps forward. “Can I ride with her?”

The paramedic hesitates. “Are you family?”

“No, but I’m ... I’m responsible for this. Please, I need to make sure she’s okay.”

You reach out weakly, grasping Lewis’ hand. “Let him come. He’s ... he’s family.”

The paramedic nods. “Alright, but stay out of the way.”

As they load you into the ambulance, Lewis climbs in beside you, still holding your hand. The doors slam shut and the sirens wail as they speed towards the hospital.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Lewis says softly.

You give his hand a weak squeeze. “Couldn’t let you ... sulk all night. You’d probably ... crash into a street lamp next.”

Lewis chuckles despite himself. “There’s that Rosberg wit. You sound just like your brother sometimes.”

You grimace. “Don’t insult me when I’m down, Hamilton.”

The banter feels surreal given the circumstances, but Lewis is grateful for it. It keeps the crushing guilt at bay, if only for a moment.

“Y/N, I ...” he starts, then falters. “I don’t even know how to begin to apologize.”

You shake your head slightly. “Later. When everything ... stops spinning.”

Lewis nods, throat tight. He watches the paramedics work, feeling utterly helpless.

“Tell me something,” you murmur after a moment.

“What?”

“Anything. Distract me.”

Lewis thinks for a moment. “Did I ever tell you about the time Nico and I got lost in Ibiza?”

You manage a small smile. “No. Spill.”

As Lewis launches into the story, embellishing for comedic effect, he can’t help but marvel at your resilience. Here you are, cracking jokes and asking for stories while bleeding from a head wound he caused.

The guilt threatens to overwhelm him again, but he pushes it aside. Right now, keeping you conscious and calm is what matters. There will be time for apologies and recriminations later.

As the ambulance weaves through Monaco’s narrow streets, Lewis silently vows to make this right, whatever it takes. He may have destroyed his friendship with Nico, but he won’t let you pay the price for their rivalry.

The hospital looms ahead, and Lewis squeezes your hand. “We’re almost there, Y/N. You’re going to be okay. I promise.”

You meet his eyes, a flicker of something — trust? forgiveness? — passing between you. “I know,” you whisper. “I’ve got my guardian angel, after all. Even if he is a bit rubbish at parking.”

Lewis laughs, the sound catching in his throat. As they wheel you into the emergency room, he realizes with startling clarity that nothing will ever be the same after tonight.

But looking at your brave smile as the doctors surround you, he thinks that maybe, just maybe, that might not be such a bad thing.

***

The steady beep of the heart monitor fills the hushed hospital room. Lewis sits hunched in an uncomfortable chair beside your bed, his eyes never leaving your sleeping form. The stark white bandage wrapped around your head is a constant reminder of his guilt.

A nurse pops her head in. “Mr. Hamilton? There’s someone here to see-”

She’s cut off as Nico barges past her, his face a mask of fury. “You son of a bitch.“

Nico’s fist is already swinging towards Lewis’ face when a doctor in a white coat steps between them. “Gentlemen! This is a hospital, not a boxing ring!”

Nico’s momentum carries him forward, nearly stumbling into the doctor. He catches himself, chest heaving as he glares daggers at Lewis.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Nico snarls.

Lewis stands, hands raised placatingly. “Nico, I can explain-”

“Explain? Explain how you nearly killed my sister?” Nico’s voice rises, causing you to stir in the bed.

The doctor clears his throat. “Mr. Rosberg, I presume? I’m Dr. Moreau. Perhaps we should step outside to discuss your sister’s condition.”

Nico hesitates, clearly torn between getting information and pummeling Lewis. Finally, he nods curtly. “Fine. But this isn’t over, Hamilton.”

As they step into the hallway, Lewis sinks back into his chair, running a hand over his face. He glances at you, relieved to see you’ve settled back into sleep.

In the corridor, Dr. Moreau speaks in low, measured tones. “Mr. Rosberg, your sister suffered a severe concussion and a fractured skull. There was some internal bleeding, but we’ve managed to stabilize that.”

Nico’s knees go weak, and he leans against the wall for support. “Oh God ...”

“She also has three broken ribs, a fractured wrist, and various cuts and bruises,” the doctor continues. “Frankly, it’s a miracle she wasn’t more seriously injured. The impact could easily have been fatal.”

Nico slides down the wall, sitting heavily on the floor. “She ... she almost died?”

Dr. Moreau nods gravely. “It was touch and go for a while. But she’s young and strong. With time and proper care, we expect her to make a full recovery.”

Nico buries his face in his hands, shoulders shaking. After a moment, he looks up, eyes red-rimmed. “Can I see her?”

“Of course. But please, try to stay calm. She needs rest.”

Nico nods, pulling himself to his feet. He takes a deep breath before re-entering the room.

Lewis stands as Nico approaches the bed. “Nico, I-”

“Save it,” Nico snaps, but there’s less venom in his voice now. He gently takes your hand, his thumb tracing circles on your palm.

Your eyes flutter open. “Nico?” You mumble groggily.

“Hey, little sis,” Nico says softly, managing a weak smile. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I got hit by a car,” you deadpan.

Lewis winces, but Nico actually chuckles. “Well, your sense of humor is intact, at least.”

You try to sit up, grimacing in pain. Lewis and Nico both move to help, then freeze, glaring at each other.

You roll your eyes. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. Both of you, help me up. And then explain why you look ready to kill each other. Again.”

With their combined efforts, they manage to prop you up against the pillows. You look expectantly between them.

Nico breaks first. “How can you even ask that? He nearly killed you!”

“It was an accident,” you insist.

“An accident?” Nico scoffs. “He hit you with his car!”

“Which I’m pretty sure he didn’t do on purpose,” you retort. “Right, Lewis?”

Lewis nods emphatically. “God, no. Y/N, I swear, I never saw you. I was distracted, rushing ... but I would never intentionally hurt you. You have to believe that.”

Nico’s jaw clenches. “Maybe not intentionally. But your carelessness nearly cost my sister her life. How am I supposed to forgive that?”

“You don’t have to forgive me,” Lewis says quietly. “I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive myself. But Y/N is the one who was hurt. Shouldn’t it be her choice?”

You nod, wincing at the movement. “Exactly. And I choose to forgive you, Lewis. It was an accident. A stupid, awful accident, but still an accident.”

Nico shakes his head in disbelief. “Y/N, you can’t be serious. You’re lying in a hospital bed because of him!”

“And he’s been by my side ever since,” you counter. “He rode in the ambulance with me, held my hand through all the tests and scans. He’s barely left this room in hours.”

Lewis looks down, uncomfortable with the praise. “It was the least I could do.”

Nico runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. “That doesn’t change what happened.”

“No, it doesn’t,” you agree. “But it shows he cares. That he’s taking responsibility.”

“I’ll pay for all her medical expenses,” Lewis adds quickly. “And anything else she needs for her recovery. It’s the least I can do.”

Nico snorts. “You think you can just throw money at this and make it go away?”

“No!” Lewis insists. “I know nothing can undo what happened. But I want to help however I can.”

You reach out, grabbing both their hands. “Listen to me, both of you. I’m tired, I’m in pain, and I don’t have the energy for your macho posturing right now.”

They both have the grace to look ashamed.

“Nico, I love you, but you need to calm down,” you continue. “Lewis made a mistake, a big one. But he’s trying to make amends. And frankly, I need both of you right now. I can’t deal with you at each other’s throats on top of everything else.”

Nico’s expression softens. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I just ... when I got that call, saying you were in the hospital ... I’ve never been so scared in my life.”

You squeeze his hand. “I know. But I’m okay. Or I will be. And having you two fighting isn’t going to help me get better any faster.”

Lewis clears his throat. “She’s right. Nico, I know you have every right to hate me right now. But can we please call a truce? For Y/N’s sake?”

Nico hesitates, clearly torn. Finally, he nods stiffly. “Fine. A truce. But only for Y/N.”

“Thank you,” you sigh, relaxing back against the pillows. “Now, can one of you please get me some water? And maybe sneak in some real food? I’m starving and the hospital jello isn’t cutting it.”

Lewis jumps up. “I’ll go. Nico, you stay with her. I’ll be right back.”

As Lewis hurries out, Nico settles into the chair beside your bed. “You sure you’re okay, little sis?”

You manage a small smile. “I’ve been better. But I’ve also been worse.”

Nico raises an eyebrow. “When have you been worse than having a cracked skull and broken ribs?”

“Remember when I was eight and fell out of that tree in the backyard?”

Nico chuckles. “God, I thought Mama was going to have a heart attack. You were so stubborn, insisting you could climb higher than me.”

“Still can,” you tease.

“Maybe hold off on the tree climbing for a while, yeah?”

You pretend to pout. “Spoilsport.”

The banter feels good, normal. For a moment, you can almost forget you’re in a hospital bed.

Nico’s expression turns serious. “Y/N, are you really okay with forgiving Lewis so easily? You don’t have to, you know. Not for my sake or anyone else’s.”

You sigh. “I know. And believe me, I’m not thrilled about the whole getting hit by a car thing. But Nico, you should have seen his face when he realized it was me. He was devastated.”

“He should be,” Nico grumbles.

“I’m not saying there won’t be consequences,” you continue. “But I don’t believe for a second he meant to hurt me. And holding onto anger isn’t going to help me heal any faster.”

Nico studies your face for a long moment. “When did you get so wise, little sister?”

You grin. “I’ve always been the smart one in the family. You were just too busy crashing karts to notice.”

Nico laughs, then sobers. “I was so scared, Y/N. When they called and said you were in the hospital ... all I could think was that I couldn’t lose you.”

You squeeze his hand. “Hey, you’re not getting rid of me that easily. It’ll take more than Lewis Hamilton’s terrible parking skills to take out a Rosberg.”

“Don’t joke about that,” Nico says, but he’s smiling.

Lewis returns then, arms laden with bags. “I wasn’t sure what you’d want, so I got a bit of everything. Sandwiches, fruit, some pasta salad ... oh, and chocolate. Lots of chocolate.”

You beam at him. “My hero.”

Nico rolls his eyes, but there’s less hostility in it now. “Is this really the time for sweets?”

Lewis grins sheepishly. “Hey, chocolate has healing properties. I read that somewhere.”

“Sounds like solid medical advice to me,” you chime in, already reaching for a candy bar.

As Lewis unpacks the food, a tentative peace settles over the room. It’s fragile, built on shared concern for you rather than any real reconciliation between the two men. But it’s a start.

You watch them, noting how they unconsciously mirror each other’s movements as they fuss over arranging the food on your tray. For all their differences, for all the bad blood between them, there’s still an underlying connection there. Years of friendship and rivalry can’t be erased so easily.

“You know,” you say around a mouthful of sandwich, “this whole arch-enemies thing you two have going on is getting a bit old.”

They both look at you, startled.

“I mean, come on,” you continue. “You were best friends for years. You’ve known each other longer than most marriages last. Is it really worth throwing all that away over some stupid trophies?”

Nico frowns. “Y/N, it’s more complicated than that-”

“Is it, though?” You interrupt. “Because from where I’m sitting — or laying, I guess — it seems pretty simple. You both love racing. You’re both insanely competitive. And yeah, sometimes that caused friction. But at the end of the day, who else understands what you have been through better than each other?”

Lewis and Nico exchange uncomfortable glances.

“I’m not saying you have to be best buddies again,” you add. “But maybe ... I don’t know. Maybe you could try not actively hating each other? For my sake, if nothing else. I’m going to need both of you while I recover and I really don’t want to deal with World War III breaking out in my hospital room.”

There’s a long moment of silence. Finally, Lewis speaks up.

“She’s right,” he says quietly. “Nico, I know things have been ... difficult between us. And I know this situation hasn’t helped. But Y/N’s important to both of us. Can we at least try to be civil? For her?”

Nico hesitates, then nods slowly. “I suppose we can try. But Lewis, I swear, if anything like this ever happens again-”

“It won’t,” Lewis says firmly. “I promise you, Nico. I’ll do whatever it takes to make this right.”

You beam at them both. “See? Was that so hard? Now, who’s going to help me eat all this food? Doctor’s orders, you know. Got to keep my strength up.”

As they both reach for the tray, playfully battling over who gets to hand you what, you can’t help but smile. It’s not perfect, not by a long shot. But it’s a beginning.

And really, you think as you watch the two most important men in your life grudgingly share a bag of crisps, sometimes beginnings are the best part of any story.

***

f1-fanatic-2024

[Image: Lewis Hamilton and Nico Rosberg exiting a hospital, walking side by side]

OMG IS THIS REAL??? Brocedes spotted together??? What year is it???

#what is happening #f1 #lewis hamilton #nico rosberg #brocedes

---

brocedes-no1-stan

[reblogging f1-fanatic-2024’s post]

I’m sorry, but are we just going to ignore the fact that they’re leaving a HOSPITAL??? Is everyone okay???

#concerned #hope everyone’s alright #but also lowkey excited

---

vintage-f1-vibes

Okay but why does this feel like a glitch in the matrix? Haven’t seen these two willingly in the same frame since like 2016 ����

#blast from the past #what year is it #f1 #lewis hamilton #nico rosberg

---

racing-queen-93

[reblogging f1-fanatic-2024’s post]

BROCEDES RISE!!! 🙌🙌🙌

My 2014 heart is SOARING right now. Never thought I’d see the day. BRB, gonna go cry in a corner.

#i’m not crying you’re crying #brocedes #lewis hamilton #nico rosberg #f1

---

silverarrows4ever

[Image set: Multiple angles of Lewis and Nico leaving the hospital, including one where they appear to be mid-conversation]

New Brocedes content in 2024? Maybe miracles do happen 😭

But seriously, hope everything’s okay. Weird to see them at a hospital.

#concerned but hopeful #lewis hamilton #nico rosberg #f1 #brocedes

---

formula1-history-nerd

[reblogging silverarrows4ever’s post]

Okay, but can we talk about how neither of them has aged a day??? What kind of vampire magic-

#aging like fine wine #drop the skincare routine boys #f1 #lewis hamilton #nico rosberg

---

racingdaydreams

Me: I’m over Brocedes, that ship has sailed

Also me seeing these pics: 🥺👉👈

#i’m weak okay #f1 #brocedes #lewis hamilton #nico rosberg

---

fastcarsgovroomvroom

[reblogging f1-fanatic-2024’s post]

Everyone freaking out about Brocedes and I’m just wondering why they’re at a hospital??? Hope everyone’s okay!

#f1 #lewis hamilton #nico rosberg

---

f1-drama-central

BREAKING: Lewis Hamilton and Nico Rosberg spotted leaving Princess Grace Hospital together. Sources say they arrived separately but left at the same time, engaging in what appeared to be civil conversation. More updates as the story develops!

#breaking news #what’s the tea #f1 #lewis hamilton #nico rosberg

---

retro-racing-vibes

[reblogging f1-drama-central’s post]

2014 me is SCREAMING right now. 2024 me is cautiously optimistic but also kind of worried because ... hospital?

#conflicted feelings #f1 #lewis hamilton #nico rosberg #brocedes

---

formulaonefanatic

[Image: Close-up of Lewis and Nico talking, both with serious expressions]

Whatever brought them together, it looks serious. Hoping everyone’s okay. But also ... is it wrong that I’m a little excited to see them talking again?

#concerned but intrigued #brocedes #f1 #lewis hamilton #nico rosberg

***

f1-gossip-central

[Image set: Lewis, Nico, and Y/N on Lewis’ yacht. Another photo of Lewis kissing Y/N with Nico cringing in the background]

WHAT IS HAPPENING??? Lewis and Nico on the same boat??? Lewis kissing Nico’s sister??? I need answers!!!

#what timeline is this #i’m shook #f1 #lewis hamilton #nico rosberg #y/n rosberg

---

brocedes-ride-or-die

[reblogging f1-gossip-central’s post]

EXCUSE ME??? Lewis and Y/N??? When did this happen??? How did I miss this??? 😱😱😱

#new ship alert #what is happening #f1 #lewis hamilton #y/n rosberg

---

vintage-f1-drama

Okay but Nico’s face in that last pic is sending me 💀💀💀 Big protective brother energy

#siblings be like #f1 #nico rosberg #lewis hamilton #y/n rosberg

---

formulaoneobsessed

[Image: Close-up of Lewis kissing Y/N]

New F1 power couple alert? 👀 But also, how is Nico okay with this?

#f1 #lewis hamilton #y/n rosberg #nico rosberg

---

racingheartstrings

[reblogging formulaoneobsessed’s post]

I can’t decide if this is the best or worst plot twist of the 2024 season 😂

Either way, I’m here for the drama!

#pass the popcorn #f1 #lewis hamilton #y/n rosberg #nico rosberg

---

silverarrowsforever

[Image set: Lewis and Nico chatting on the yacht, looking relaxed]

Can we talk about how this is the most relaxed we’ve seen these two together in YEARS??? Whatever’s happening, it seems to be healing old wounds and I’m here for it 🙌

#f1 #lewis hamilton #nico rosberg #brocedes

---

f1-fanfiction-addict

Me: furiously rewriting all my Brocedes fics to include Y/N

The plot twist we never saw coming 😅

#f1 #lewis hamilton #nico rosberg #y/n rosberg #fanfiction problems

---

speed-queen-101

[reblogging f1-gossip-central’s post]

Y’all are focused on the Lewis and Y/N kiss but can we appreciate how GOOD everyone looks??? That Monaco sun is doing wonders 😍

#glow up #f1 #lewis hamilton #nico rosberg #y/n rosberg

---

formula1-history-buff

Imagine telling someone in 2016 that in 2024, Lewis would be dating Nico’s sister and they’d all be hanging out on Lewis’ yacht. They’d think you were crazy!

#how times change #f1 #lewis hamilton #nico rosberg #y/n rosberg

---

racingdaydreams

[Image: Nico’s cringing face as Lewis kisses Y/N]

Tag yourself, I’m Nico 😂

#third wheel vibes #f1 #nico rosberg #lewis hamilton #y/n rosberg

---

fastcarsgovroomvroom

[reblogging racingdaydreams’ post]

Petition for a reality show following this trio because I would watch the HECK out of that

#make it happen netflix #f1 #lewis hamilton #nico rosberg #y/n rosberg

---

f1-drama-queen

THEORY TIME: What if the hospital visit from last week was for Y/N??? And that’s what brought Lewis and Nico back together??? 🤔

#conspiracy theory #but makes sense #f1 #lewis hamilton #nico rosberg #y/n rosberg

---

brocedes-forever

[Image set: Lewis and Nico laughing together on the yacht]

My Brocedes heart is THRIVING right now. Yeah, the Lewis and Y/N thing is cute, but look at these two 😭❤️

#f1 #lewis hamilton #nico rosberg #brocedes #friendship goals

[choas232]

G/N Chatty reader x Steb 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

Summary: In which you grapple with feelings you don’t yet understand by talking a certain enforcer’s ears off. Forced proximity makes everything worse, as it tends to.

CWs: Profanity. Canon typical violence. Reader has some bias about Zaunites they probably need to work on. I wrote most of this at 10pm at night, so be warned.

No use of Y/N, neutral terms and they/them are used to refer the reader. Set in episode three, season 2.

Word count: 2.9k

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞𓆝 𓆟 𓆞𓆝 𓆟 𓆞𓆝 𓆟 𓆞𓆝 𓆟 𓆞𓆝 𓆟 𓆞𓆝 𓆟 𓆞𓆝

“God. I’m starving. And tired. I barely slept at allllll last night. Do you think the Grey’s keeping us awake? Our glorious leader Kiramman sure wants it to, dragging us along at this cracking speed. It’s been a whole week, too. I’m gonna drop dead, at this rate.” You lament. Your fellow enforcer does not comment from his place behind you, his footsteps echoing around the pipe.

Graffiti crowds the metal surface, amateur artworks, declarations of love, violence, and scripts you don’t recognise cramming themselves over one another, space sparse and sought after. It’s not Jinx’s work. Still, there’s a chill on your back you choose to attribute to the profanities.

The people of the underground sure know how to decorate, that’s for sure.

You two have been chosen to scout out a fairly low-danger area in search of a Zuanite’s sighting of Jinx. He did say it after a hefty heaping of Grey was funnelled into his lungs and a gun was held to his head, but Caitlyn is paranoid enough to bark at shadows, and you will oblige, if only to keep her happy.

It’s not like any of you are much better. Loris is quieter than ever, Maddie jumps at the smallest sounds and of your companion… you have no idea. You never have. Steb’s inner workings remain a mystery to you.

You turn. “Are we there yet? We should be there soon, right?” Steb nods distantly, more focused on the setting around you.

This part of the pipes is yet to be flooded with grey, so you can see him clearly without the obscuring mask.

His light teal skin, thin lips, nose, sharp, angular features. His neat uniform. His polished posture. He is distinctly and utterly out of place amongst the chaos that surrounds you. His eyes are so blue. So opalescent, shining like pearls in his eye sockets. Is that weird to notice? How much detail is it normal to notice about someone? You should probably stop looking.

His ribbed ears flick back, ever so slightly, eyes flicking to meet yours for a brief moment.

You look away. “Uh.” His eyes. His blue eyes. Blue. “God. I’m sooo hungry. Hah. I haven’t eaten since this morning. The rations are running out, and all the Zaunite stuff Vi is bringing in is uhm, questionable.”

You don’t look behind you again, your mouth moving quicker. Your breath is tight, probably because of the steady stream of words flowing from your mouth. You think. “I would kill for a good sandwich. Or two. I might have to resort to cannibalism—”

Hands enclose around your collar and yank you back with force.

Below you, a human sized-hole lined with rusted, broken metal grating, a slowly, ever spinning fan—

Your heart staggers in your chest like a drunkard. Images of your empaled, scraped, body twisted and pressed beyond recognition cram into your skull, rattle and scream.

“Fuck.” You mumble, quietly. Steb’s hand releases your collar. “C-close one. Thanks. Fish-sticks. How didn’t I see that?” You laugh. He doesn’t. It isn’t funny.

He brushes the shoulder pads of your uniform off, carefully but hastily looking you up and down. He keeps a respectable distance between you, but you can still see his adam’s apple bob as he swallows. You mimic him. Your mouth feels dry.

He fixes you with a look as his hands drop to his sides, and although his face usually retains some semblance of ambiguity on it, you know exactly what he’s thinking. Watch where you’re going.

“Sorry doc. I…” You trail off. You should stop talking. You probably talk so much around him because he makes you nervous. Why does he make you nervous? Your usual slamming of thoughts trickles dry. You have no idea.

Carefully, you two traverse over the great gaping hole in the pipework. How did you miss it? You don’t sure don’t miss how Steb watches you hawk-like though, and the following guilt is low and prickling in your gut. He goes first, and every small unprompted movement of yours has him stiffening, arm moving to steady you.

“Jeez. Don’t mother hen me, I’m all grown-up, I assure you.” You bat him away, landing with a clang! of the metal against your boots as you leap across the last segment. His frown is resounding.

A corner stretches before you, now. You let him go first with a swing of your arm just in case the metal of the pipe opens up to attempt to swallow you yet again. “All yours,” He obliges.

It’s an open space. Milky green light filters through the roofing, painting the graffiti stained flooring monochromatic and hazy. Two other pipes adjoin to the room, and a mural of Janna clad in white laced with metallic armour bounds over the walls. It looks exactly like what was described, which is worrying, because hey, Jinx!

The sniffling child is even more worrying, though. Looking up, she brushes away dark locks  from her face and bursts into prompt tears. “Please, m-my-my… my leg. it really hurts.” She wails.

Sure enough, one of her legs is crushed under a slab of tin, making itself known as the cause of the light filtering through the roof. “Please. Please.” Snot dribbles down onto her ragged shirt, her big brown eyes blown wide.

Steb is already gone before you can access the situation, bounding over.

Poor kid. You wince, tapping your fingers against your lips. Probably just playing with the ball you see perched nearby when shoddy craftmanship led to tragedy. Still… “Jeez. Think to consider a trap? No? Just me.” You mutter.

“Just you.” The voice from behind you amusedly whispers, and then you feel the cool rim of the gun pressed against your skull.

Fear makes a mockery out of you. Your thoughts accelerate, snapping at each others heels, but you cannot think. You aren’t really the brawlers of the team. He’s the field medic, for fuck’s sake, and while you can handle yourself in a fight this is more of a Vi job. You regret mocking her cuisine choices. This is probably some kind of sick karma. Sick? You feel sick. God, your stomach is writhing, your insides eating each other up.

Steb, still blinded by his tunnel vision, hauls the tin off of the girl. His ears flick down as he peers down at the clean space beneath, clean of blood and gore. Her leg, unblemished and by all means healthy looking, curls back into her body, and then she bursts outwards like a spring, down the nearest tunnel.

Too late, he looks back at you.

“I’m sure they require you topsiders to rattle a few braincells together to wear that fancy uniform. They don’t need allll of them, do they?” The man holding the gun to your head calls out to him. Flesh drips from his arms, lanky and lean, pressing against your neck as he holds you into him. You smell the shimmer on his breath before you see his blood lined eyes.

Steb jerks forwards. Bruisingly, the gun slams into your skull. “Move and their brains go BOOM! Hands in the air. Now.” He snarls, and Steb freezes in place, slowly raising his hands. You can see him breathing, hard, heaving breaths.

More people clamour their way out of vents, behind slabs of wood. You count at least four. Shit.

Shit.

This is bad.

“Woah! Talk about dramatics, huh?” You start, and almost in shock, the man holding you to himself grip loosens. From Steb’s place, you can see the wrinkle that lines his mouth when he gets stressed creep into existence. (That’s normal to remember. You should know when your coworkers get stressed. Part of the job, and all.) He slowly shakes his head. You mouth, trust me. He shakes his head harder. “Maybe we should talk this out? Civilly, tea and biscuits? …No?”

“It stopped being civil when you went for one of mine.”

Of course that guy you beat the shit out of gave you the location of an ambush. He was all too eager to speak, and when you go poking your hand down foxholes, it’s going to get bitten off. You feel both incredibly stupid and incredibly self-satisfied, you knew it, and you went here anyways.

“One of yours? I mean, we probably didn’t mean to? It was probably a mistake—” he shoves the gun down your throat. Spittle drips down the barrel. You taste dirt and gunpowder. You taste the blood leaking from your tongue.

You taste fear.

“Well? Your bag.” He gestures loosely to Steb.

Steb locks eyes with you as he gently tugs the straps off of his back, letting the hefty bag land to the floor with a thump. Carefully, he steps back, raising his hands in the air once again.

One of the hovering goons quickly snatches it, tugging it open. Medical supplies, bottles, all-the-like clatter the ground, but she continues shifting through hastily, eyes slowly narrowing. The last of our food supplies…, you mournfully think, quickly followed by Caitlyn is going to kill us, and she’s probably right to.

“You told us there would be hex tech, you fucking liar.” She drops the bag carelessly, starting towards the man holding you. “Well, do you think I’m some sort of prophet? You knew that it was an estimate.” He snaps back, grip on you loosening, the gun shifting out of your mouth to point towards the soft flesh of your cheek, spreading out your blood clouded spit as it does.

“I think you set us the hell up. You promised we’d split the money, but where’s the money now, huh? I gotta family to feed, hired work is dropping like flies with the chem barons at each other’s throats, which means I missed on any number of begging clients for this shit.”

You get an idea.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

It’s a terrible idea.

Steb tears his gaze from the arguing pair to meet your eyes, perhaps on some precognition of the mistake you are about to make.

You wink, grab the gun pressed to your cheek and then you yank.

It comes as cleanly as expected, the man’s adrenaline rattled, drug loosened reflexes nothing for the shock you give him when you take the gun from his hands, and than run. Surprise gives you the upper hand, yells clouding your soundscape. You still manage to pick out Steb’s footsteps, clean and even behind you as you barrel down the nearest pipe.

You run harder than you’ve ever run, past graffiti, with only your breath, the calls behind you, your heartbeat and the echoes of his and your boots slamming against metal to guide you.

You turn the corner so hard you slam your side against it, feeling your already bruised cheek cry out in pain in time with your yelp, and you stumble. Steb catches your shirt and yanks you right back up, and then you’re in another wide-open space.

Your head swings around, fear hammering around your ribcage like a desperate songbird.

Steb grabs your shoulder, gesturing with his head. You follow his gaze. There’s a smaller pipe in the wall, covered by a draping of torn fabric, and you rush towards it before you have any time to think, the fabric draping over your hair, the surface cool under your fingers.

He follows, your pursuer yells barrelling into your ears as the curtain draws shut.

The space is tight, circular, not even big enough for you to stretch out an arm and not brush the opposite end. Your back is pressed flush against the concrete and plaster. Your legs cage Steb, as do his, looping over one each other, his knee bent at an angle that’s for sure going to hurt later. His arms clutch the walls of the tube, yours resting bent in your lap.

He leans down, and his fingers gently grasp that stupid beret of his and tug it down onto his lap, before he pulls his head back up, his head scraping the roof. He’s a least a head taller than Maddie, and although you’d like to think of yourself as average, you are now grateful for the height you lack.

“OVER HERE!” Did they see you? Is this it? What can you do, two against at least five or so. You mean, counting has never really been your strong suit under pressure, and who’s to tell? Are you going to die? Are you going to die, your legs pressed into his midriff?

The gold smattering across Steb’s undereyes and nose adjoins with the darker turquoise scales lining the cavities his eyeballs are strung into, carving out little gold, blue, orange stripes, like the ones on the fish you and your parents used to gawk at the aquariums had.

Are they going to cart out your body to your parents, after your fellow enforcers find you, crammed into a hole in the underground? What would you had died for?

His eyes are so blue.

He blinks, smooth, deep lapis overtaking the gleaming surface of his eyes before his eyelids do. He has a second eyelid. How did you never notice?

His lips, perpetually downturned as they are, his steady line his eyebrows carve themselves into, his perfect posture, even as you are cramped within the pipe, the smooth, angular frame of his cheekbones all of it make him look like one of those forever uninconvenienced paintings the councillors hang from their mansion walls. He looks calm. His stupid snooty resting face cannot fool you. You know he isn’t.

His lips are parted, the gap between his front teeth visible as he stares down the opening of the tunnel like a loyal family dog. His little giveaway.

Maybe his inner workings aren’t such a mystery, after all.

He makes you nervous. He makes you so nervous. He makes you into a wreck.

You think you might be in love with him.

—and your pursuers are rushing past you, all until you can’t hear their voices and you’re alive. You’re alive and you’ve never been so happy to tomorrow eat shitty Zaunite food and have Caitlyn yell at you for loosing supplies and talk and talk and talk until your throat is raw.

You don’t. Talk. You don’t talk.

He’s looking at you.

You feel like a fool.

You sit there, just looking at him too. His eyelids slip halfway, letting you count the short lashes that frame them. His expression relaxes, loosens, ever so slightly, his arms moving from the wall of the tunnel to his lap.

You could sit here with him for hours, death inches from you both, and you could be happy. You could be suspended in disbelief and plausible deniability; you could allow yourself to lie. Your heart is pounding from the adrenaline, of course. Your face is pink because of overexertion, and you kind of want to kiss him because you’ve never kissed anybody and you may as well as get it over with before you die, right?

He points to his face. You blink, and then he points to yours. You brush your finger cheeks against the flesh and feel the sting of injury, spittle and blood on your fingers. Right.

Right. He’s looking at you because you’re injured right?

Of course he is. (Disappoint is still food, and you swallow it.)

Gently, he reaches into his breast pocket, pulling out a handkerchief. Instead of sparring you and handing it to you, he merely carefully holds your head, one hand on your jaw and the other gently patting down the mess on your cheek. His head is tilted. You feel your heart slam up your throat, a throbbing, horrible pain that lets you part your lips to let the breath escape you before it can choke you.

The hand cradling your jaw moves a careful finger up to brush your lower lip.

Accident, of course. He’s not even looking at them, rather, the mess, taking his sweet time as he does, so very gentle.

You think he might be the danger, not the hell that is the pipework, nor the Grey, nor not the man with the gun

He pulls back, tucking the handkerchief back into the pocket and shallowly inclining his head towards the opening.

With a long look back at you, he crawls out of the hole first. You follow, dizzily. Ever the gentlemen, he offers you a hand as you push your way out of the hell that made you. You take it and feel incredibly guilty for doing so, stumbling to your feet.

He fastens his beret, usually a sign from you to inwardly (or outwardly) mock his silly hat, still watching you. You do not, in fact, mock him. You might be shaking, in fact, and that thought makes you hate yourself more than you could ever despise that ugly navy piece of fabric.

He frowns, and then he gestures to your mouth. You flinch without meaning too. “Huh?”

He mimes speaking, shallowly opening and then hastily closing his mouth

He's right to be concerned.

You haven’t spoken since you two trapped yourselves in the tunnel, after all.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞𓆝 𓆟 𓆞𓆝 𓆟 𓆞𓆝 𓆟 𓆞𓆝 𓆟 𓆞𓆝 𓆟 𓆞𓆝 𓆟 𓆞𓆝

Notes: Thank you for reading!! :)))) STUPID. IDIOTS IN LOVE. Him under the guise of medical assistance letting himself touch you... bro isn't slick whatsoever. If you have any ideas, be sure to drop them in my ask box, there is lack of fic on him holy hell. As a side note, we all need the comfort after season two part two holy cow…

[hamsterclaw]

Black Ice

Bangtan Christmas drabble 7 - read the rest here.

Min Yoongi only cares about three things. The thrill of drifting, his friends, and cars, in that order. Somehow, you've got under his skin. Part of the Drift Kings AU.

Pairing: Yoongi x f! reader

Rating: 18+

Genre: Street racer/mechanic! Yoongi, smut

Word count: 3.2k

Warnings: Sex, swearing

Min Yoongi knows loneliness. He knows the unrelenting ache of it, the way it permeates every aspect of one’s psyche.

He knows what it feels like to look for a connection that isn’t there.

When he was ten his father took him into work for the first time, and it was then, amongst the smells of engine oil and new paint and pinewood air freshener, that Yoongi discovered his first true love.

He pored over engine diagrams, admired the easy simplicity of every tool falling into its destined purpose, got used to his clothes being stained from tuning up cars all day long.

He’d loved every minute of it, and the truth is, he still does.

Then his cousin Yijin had given him a lift down Mount Samo one day, and 14 year old Yoongi had learned that there was more than one way to soar.

He learned to drive navigating the hairpin bends of Mount Samo, and although he’s perfected the art of drifting up and down it, could do it blindfolded a hundred times over, the thrill of it has never really faded.

He’s picked up a collection of friends over the years, all of whom love the adrenaline of street racing – not knowing what’s round the corner, trusting your own reflexes and instincts to save you when you can barely see for the blood rushing in your veins. 

Kim Seokjin, his oldest and closest friend, the chaebol prince who can put together a Supra’s turbo-2JZ engine almost as quickly as Yoongi himself. His sister, a corporate princess who makes Yoongi’s heart soften and the opposite happen to his cock. They’re the two people Yoongi would do anything for, not that he’d ever tell them that. 

Jung Hoseok, the gifted mechanic with a heart of gold and the sunniest demeanour Yoongi’s ever been able to tolerate, creature of the night that he is. 

Jeon Jungkook, the baby fuckboi of the group, a man with the looks of a god and the persona of a baby deer. Yoongi finds it hard to be anything but endeared by his earnest good nature and anything but amused by his swaggering. Maybe one day the kid will grow into the bad man he so badly wants to be, but Yoongi hopes not. He’s great the way he is. 

It’s been a while since Yoongi felt lonely, in fact his life’s pretty good right about now. 

And at this exact moment? It’s perfect. 

Yoongi’s senses are on overdrive as he swings into a hairpin bend on Mount Samo, tires gripping tarmac sideways. His foot taps the throttle, his hand on the handbrake just in case but he doesn’t need it, he knows the terrain so well his body’s reacting on instinct. 

Sideways on he can see Seokjin to his right, composed, barely breaking a sweat as his rear wheels scrape the very edge of the path, inches from the steep drop. 

Yoongi catches sight of himself in his own rearview mirror, teeth bared in a feral grin as he shoots out onto the final stretch, so fast there’s nothing to see but black. 

He’d normally stop, celebrate his win with a cigarette, but he’s got somewhere to be tonight. 

Behind him now, Seokjin’s headlamps flicker in lieu of a goodbye. 

Yoongi depresses the horn, a sharp short blast, and then he’s gone. 

***

Kang Yubin’s been supplying Yoongi’s father’s garage for years, and Yoongi’s been going to him for car parts since before he knew a spark plug from a catalytic converter. 

The Kang warehouse has an unassuming front in an industrial estate on the outskirts of Seoul. Yoongi parks outside the familiar glass door, can see the dim lighting filtering through the tinted glass as he approaches. 

He pushes open the door, stops, nonplussed. 

Instead of Kang Yubin’s steel-rimmed glasses and grey hair, he’s greeted by you. 

Half your face is obscured by a black face mask, your hair up under a baseball cap, but you’re definitely not who he expected to see. 

He blinks. 

Your eyebrows rise. 

‘Are you lost?’ you inquire, an edge to your voice that pulls him out of his surprised reaction and reminds him why he’s here. 

‘I was expecting Mr Kang,’ Yoongi replies. 

Coming closer to the counter he picks up on a guardedness to your posture, a weariness that you don’t bother to hide. 

‘I’m his granddaughter,’ you say, brief. ‘I’m guessing you didn’t just come here to stare at me, what do you want?’ 

‘Spark plugs – I have a —’ Yoongi breaks off as you get up. 

‘I know who you are, and I know what car you drive. Stay here and I’ll get you your stuff.’

You disappear behind a door, return in minutes with a cardboard box. 

You pull a box-cutter out of a desk drawer, slit the masking tape, pull the flaps up. 

‘Feel free to take a look,’ you say, looking at him. 

It doesn’t take long for Yoongi to verify that they’re what he needs. 

‘How do you know who I am?’ he asks, as he pays. 

There’s a faint spark in your eyes, a flicker so quick he wonders if he’s mis-read it. 

‘My grandfather said you were due around this time.’ 

You nudge your shoulder vaguely in the direction of the screen to your left, a view from the camera overlooking the front of the warehouse. ‘Not many people drive a car like that.’ 

You take his money, nudge the box in his direction. 

‘Pleasure doing business, Min Yoongi. I’ll give my grandfather your regards.’ 

You’re already looking back down at your phone like you’ve dismissed him. 

Yoongi picks up the box, casts another glance at you, and leaves. 

He’s still thinking about you when he reaches home. 

***

Yoongi’s concentrating so hard on the engine in front of him that he barely hears Seokjin approach. 

‘Dinner?’ asks Seokjin, eyes flicking over the V configuration of the 8 chrome cylinders in the custom Nissan with interest. 

Yoongi leans back, massages the crick in his neck from leaning over. 

‘Yeah. Quick though, the client wants a rush on this.’ 

They exchange a look. 

‘More money than sense,’ Seokjin says, critical. 

‘Pays the bills,’ Yoongi counters. 

They have similar opinions about rich clients who want their supercars tuned up. It’s rare that a client’s got the ability to do justice to the horsepower under the bonnet of the flashy exteriors. 

Yoongi shrugs, goes to wash his hands. 

‘Is your sister coming?’ he asks. 

Seokjin’s still admiring the engine. ‘Not tonight. Jimin’s in town,’ he says. ‘There’s a race later, if you change your mind. I’m meeting Jungkook after dinner.’ 

‘Is he still sulking over Mijin?’ Yoongi asks, falling into step beside Seokjin. 

There’s no need to confirm where they’re going, they always stop at a tiny restaurant run by an elderly woman who seems utterly unimpressed by their good manners but makes the best broth in town. 

Seokjin rolls his eyes, but his tone is sympathetic. ‘You know how it is. People never expect him to be as soft as he really is.’ 

Yoongi nods. ‘Tell him if she can’t appreciate him she’s the one missing out.’ 

Seokjin snorts. ‘Tell him yourself, he’ll love it. Are you coming to Seulgi’s party?’ 

It’s rare that Yoongi goes out at night, he’s busy and he does his best work at night time, both in the workshop and on the streets, but he’d promised Seokjin he’d go. 

‘Next week?’ he asks. 

Seokjin nods, pushes open the door to the restaurant. 

‘Yeah, don’t forget.’ 

***

Seulgi is a friend of Seokjin’s, they’d dated briefly, years back, but it hadn’t worked out. 

She greets Seokjin enthusiastically at the door, the pink flush on her cheeks deepening as Seokjin gives her an affectionate hug. 

She beams at Yoongi, and he smiles back because he’s not proof against her cheerful nature. 

It’s how he became friends with Hoseok, after all. 

‘Drinks, let me get you drinks,’ Seulgi cheers, leading them into her kitchen. 

Seokjin’s swept away by Seulgi and her friends, he’s always been a popular guy. He shoots Yoongi a look as he’s pulled into the lounge, which Yoongi pretends not to see. 

He lifts his cup to his lips, decides to go outside for a bit. 

The deck outside has a few scattered people, mostly couples, some groups. 

Yoongi leans against the wall, looks around idly. The throbbing bass of the music feels like a heartbeat. The night is cold and crisp, the skies clear, but there aren’t any stars visible in Seulgi’s backyard. 

He lets his mind wander to his next project, restoring a classic Toyota for a friend from the circuit. He’ll need parts. 

He wonders if you’ll be behind the counter when he next goes to the Kang warehouse. Then he’s straightening up, unsure if he’s manifested you into reality. 

He’s never seen your full face, but he’d know your eyes anywhere. 

You’re standing across the deck, looking straight at him, coat open over a dress that shows a hell of a lot more than the hoodie and sweats you had on the last time he saw you. 

For the first time tonight, Yoongi feels a prickle of interest. 

He’d known you’d be beautiful, there’d been something about the way you carried yourself.

You’re still looking at him. 

Yoongi walks over. 

‘Who’s manning the warehouse?’ he asks, when he gets close enough. 

You tilt your head. ‘Are you really so concerned about my family business, Min Yoongi?’ 

There’s a mocking note in your voice, Yoongi finds he likes it. 

‘You have the best quality parts,’ he says. 

Your smile blooms over your face, making your eyes bright. ‘I knew there was a reason my grandfather liked you.’ 

Yoongi nods to your dress. ‘You look pretty.’ 

‘Thank you,’ you say. ‘You look pretty too.’

Yoongi can feel his lips curving. Are you flirting with him? Seems like you are.

He’s all for it.

You’re raising your cup now, taking a sip.

In the night time lighting, your lips glisten with moisture and whatever lipstick you’ve got on, making him wonder what they’d look like around his cock.

You eye him like you know exactly what he’s thinking.

Yoongi says, ‘Do you like cars? Want to see mine?’

***

You’ve got your legs either side of his torso, your ass bouncing in his lap, and Yoongi’s front seat’s reclined all the way to make room for you to ride him.

The lines of your beautiful body are reminiscent of a triumph of masters of Italian design. Long smooth thighs, tightening around him with every rhythmic thrust. 

The curves of your breasts, bouncing right in his face.

The long line of your neck, head thrown back, the pulse in your throat fluttering as he holds your hips so he can fuck you back, fuck up into your sweet warmth.

His cock fits inside you like he was made for you, and god fucking damn, you feel so good around him he’s on a hair trigger.

Yoongi cups the back of your head, tugs you down so you’re close. Goosebumps prickle your flesh as he tells you how good you are.

Your eyes close as he kisses your bare neck, flicks his tongue against your skin.

You had been whimpering steadily as your arousal dripped down onto him, soaking his balls, pooling at the base of his cock, and as Yoongi picks up the pace he’s gratified by the hitch in your breathing.

Yoongi’s always been damn good at helping his partners find their pleasure, and he’s sure as hell not going to stop now.

Your breasts are still in his face, half out the low neck of your dress, chest heaving.

Yoongi rubs his thumb over the outline of your hardened nipple, and you cry out, muffled with your mouth against his skin but still loud enough to make his ears ring.

His balls tighten up even more as your walls flutter around him, and Yoongi would know you were coming even if you hadn’t gasped it.

God, you’re so sweet and sexy he’s lost.

He can feel your panting breaths against his neck, the weight of your warm body as it goes lax after your peak, the sweet grip of your cunt taking in everything he has to give you as he releases, a pulse of pleasure so intense it sends shockwaves through his skin.

Yoongi’s floating, and like reaching the summit of Mount Samo, he immediately wants to do it again.

You’re looking at him, lips still so swollen and pretty his spent cock gives a residual throb inside you.

‘Like my car?’ Yoongi asks. It’s stupid, but it makes you laugh and he’ll be as stupid as you like if it makes you sound like that.

Your chin lifts, and you say, ‘It’s all right.’

The flash of merriment in your eyes gives you away.

Yoongi laughs. ‘Maybe next time we can get the car started and I can actually take you somewhere.’

‘I don’t know,’ you tease. ‘Are you a good driver?’

Yoongi reaches out, tucks the lock of hair that’s fallen over your eye behind your ear.

‘Let’s find out,’ he says. ‘Where do you want to go?’

***

Yoongi’s thinking about you the next morning when he wakes up. He’d ended up taking you back to your place, where you’d kissed him sweetly at the door and bid him goodbye like a promise to see him again. 

His phone rings and he’s still got you on his mind, so it takes a second for him to regroup. 

‘The maknae needs help,’ Seokjin says, no preamble. ‘I’m going to swing by yours, be there in ten.’ 

Yoongi hangs up, wonders what the hell Jungkook’s got himself into this time. 

By the time Seokjin arrives, Yoongi’s had time to bolt coffee and change, but Seokjin still raises a brow as he swings into the passenger seat. 

As always, Seokjin’s impeccably dressed, dark hair swept back from his forehead like he’s going to his own fucking wedding instead of about to deal with some shit that’s going down. 

Yoongi suppresses a yawn, tugs his beanie down over his brow. 

‘What’s going down with JK?’ he asks. 

Seokjin cuts off another car so smoothly they’re halfway down the intersection before the irritated horn blares. 

‘Remember that race the other day? Jungkook beat Seungho fair and square, I was there.’ 

Yoongi groans. ‘The fuck. I thought we weren’t going to race that fragile asshole anymore.’ 

Seokjin glances in the rearview. ‘The maknae was still hurting over Mijin, I thought an easy win might make him feel better.’ 

‘So what’s Seungho done?’ 

‘Brought in the big guns,’ Seokjin says grimly. ‘Called in some guys from Hongkong. JK’s with them now.’ 

Now Yoongi’s fully awake. ‘Should’ve taken my car instead of this piece of shit,’ he says. 

Seokjin just laughs. ‘Don’t worry about my car, Yoongi. Maybe think of a way to hide that big–ass hickey on your neck.’ 

‘Suck my dick,’ Yoongi says, like they’re 16 again. 

‘Looks like someone already did,’ Seokjin returns. 

***

Yoongi parks up outside the Kang warehouse, pushes open the door. 

You look up from your phone. Your face mask is off, so Yoongi has the privilege of seeing the way your lips curve in a smile. 

‘There’s been a shipment of fuel injectors,’ you say. ‘Want to take a look?’ 

Yoongi stops just in front of the wooden half-panel that separates you from him. 

He tilts his head. 

‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘Also, I took my friend’s Honda for a spin today, I’ve got a list.’ 

He smooths out the piece of paper he’s got folded in his pocket, places it on the counter. 

You pick it up, get up. ‘I’ve got you.’ 

Yoongi runs a hand over the hickey over his neck. ‘I’ve been taking shit all day, about this,’ he adds. 

‘Yeah?’ you ask, but you don’t seem the least bit contrite. ‘You did your share of marking, Min Yoongi.’ 

Yoongi asks, ‘What time do you get off?’ 

You’re about to answer when the door opens. 

Yoongi turns and tenses immediately. 

Fucking Shin Seungho. 

‘You following me?’ he asks mildly. 

Seungho scoffs, doesn’t deign to reply. 

‘I’m collecting an order,’ he says to you. 

Your face mask is back on, your face carefully blank. ‘Sure, what’s the name?’ 

When you go into the back to collect it Seungho turns to Yoongi. 

Yoongi concentrates on the silkscreen of a cat on the wall behind the counter. 

He can feel Seungho’s eyes on his face. 

Just try it, fucker. 

The fact was, he’d pushed Seokjin’s Honda to its limits beating Seungho’s friends today, and although the adrenaline’s ebbed, there’s a thin streak still running through his bloodstream, and he’s a spark away from igniting. 

Seungho takes a step closer, and Yoongi turns to face him like he’s got all the time in the world. 

You return just as Seungho opens his filthy mouth. 

‘Looks like you’ve paid,’ you say, passing the box across the counter to Seungho. 

You pull out the box cutter, slit the package, open it up for him to check, but don’t put it down. 

‘Am I going to have trouble here, boys?’ you ask. 

Seungho barely looks your way, Yoongi’s always known the man lacks vision. 

‘Nah,’ Seungho says finally. He picks up the box, sneers at Yoongi. 

Yoongi blanks his expression. There’s no way he’s going to start shit with Seungho in front of you. 

The asshole’s not worth it. 

As soon as the door closes behind Seungho you put down the box cutter. 

The next words out of your mouth surprise him. 

‘Shit, you’re hot when you’re mad, Yoongi.’ 

Yoongi stares at you, flummoxed, then he laughs. 

‘Just when I’m mad?’ he asks. 

You shrug. ‘Take me out on a date and I’ll tell you more.’ 

‘How about right now?’ Yoongi asks. 

‘Yeah,’ you say. ‘Let’s go.’ 

***

As your grip on his hair loosens, Yoongi lifts his mouth from your cunt, swipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Helps you tug your panties back up, smooths your skirt back down over your thighs. 

He notices you’ve still got his cum in the corner of your lips. As he watches, you flick your tongue out, lick delicately. 

His cock stirs with interest, and you act like you know it. 

‘More later?’ you ask. 

‘Yeah. After I win.’ 

Yoongi reaches over to help you with your seatbelt, arranging it across your chest, between your breasts, securing it. 

You lean forward and kiss him as the belt clicks into place. 

Yoongi starts the engine, turns the heating back on because he’s noticed your hands get cold easily. 

‘I can drop you off at home before the race,’ he offers. ‘Come see you after.’ 

‘I want to see you drive,’ you say.

Yoongi wouldn’t say it, but he’s pleased. He knows he’ll keep you safe, it’s a circuit through the city outskirts he’s done a million times, and he’s looking forward to you meeting Seokjin and Hoseok and Jungkook. 

He flicks on the lights, rolls into oncoming traffic. Heads North. 

By the time he pulls up to the starting line there’s the usual crowd gathered. He parks up next to Seokjin and Hoseok.  

In his rearview he can see JK surrounded by people. He’s lost the sad puppy air he had for a few weeks whilst he was pining after Mijin. The kid’s going to be all right, not that Yoongi’s ever had any doubt about that. 

Engines all around him are starting up, a deafening series of rumbles. 

Beside him, Seokjin waves, and Hoseok smiles so brightly it’s blinding. 

The flag waves, and Yoongi accelerates. 

Checks on you in the rearview, and you’re as pretty as he remembers. 

Min Yoongi’s spent a lot of his life looking for connection, and by his reckoning, he’s doing pretty well right about now. 

Lights flash by in a blur. 

Yoongi drives. 

Author note: And that's a wrap! Thank you for reading, hope you've enjoyed, here's to a brighter 2024. This time last year we were saying goodbye to Kim Seokjin, I can't wait to start welcoming the boys back again. Happy holidays to you all!

©hamsterclaw 2023

[world-in-a-nook]

"And upon his name was a crown of jewels, and the brightest was Hope"

character : Aventurine pairing : Aventurine (drunk!Aventurine at the end) x avgin!gn!reader (specified blond hair) ; angst/comfort art : @しかく

synopsis : Aventurine, while sitting in a bar, finds you performing at a bar in Penacony. Surprised to see another Avgin, he watches your dance performance and comes to see you after it. inspiration : dance ; warnings : spoiler for 2.1 (all of the Aventurine's backstory) ; Avgin racism (implied prostitution); alcohol ; petname ( little gem ; darling ;) ; survivor guilt ; might be ooc lore taken from : Signoia, Unclaimed Desolation (I went full on worldbuilder and might have expanded a bit) wc : 3.1k author's note : not my native language

The night had long started inside the bar with drinks passing from hand to hand, chatters getting loud. The cocktail, an Imagined Sunrise, in Aventurine’s hand swirled the sweet colour of sunsets. He was seated in an obscure corner, far from anyone’s gaze. Although his client had long left, he decided to stay anyway to pass time. Why stay in the boring room when you can have fun outside?  His bodyguards would have preferred the former since it meant being less alert but Aventurine wasn’t the type to cooperate especially after a frustrating deal.

Through the rose-tinted glasses, he looked at his surroundings. The bar was crowded like any night of Penacony, people sipping on the dream syrup or on some Soulglad. The chatter filled the room mixing with the clicking of the ice and the music. The coloured bottles shined in the dimlit bar creating drinks. His own was gleaming like some dawn, one that he dreamt so much of. He took a sip before looking at the clock, curious to see if the casino might still be open. His thought process was interrupted by the bar’s owner standing up on the stage:

“Tonight, folks, I’ll present you with an exotic flower from a faraway land. This desert bloom will offer you a performance like none other!”

It was at this point that you appeared on the stage, waiting for the musicians to start. Though Aventurine was already captivated because he could now grasp what the owner meant with “faraway land”. He recognized the patterned clothes, the colourful jewellery and golden hair gracefully swaying with each movement. And when he finally saw your colourful eyes, he felt as if the ground was breaking before him. Each one of your movements seemed like turning his world upside down. He followed the movements of the colourful fabrics, of the golden jewellery. The fabric moving like the wind in the golden dunes, your hair like the rays of gold that warmed his skin. The jewellery chimed together as making a melody on its own. He crossed your gaze through his glasses and couldn’t resist to lean forward in disbelief. Those movements reminded him of the time faraway from now, a time where each shimmering aurora had the warmth of comfort, of home; a time in which he danced with his family and rejoiced in the Kakava festival; a time which felt so far away, yet he yearned for it.

His contemplation continued: how the fabric’s colours and your movements was a wildfire swaying to your liking, each of the golden jewellery was a spark for every new flame, the chiming of it like the crack of the firewood. The dance sending him into a spin of fascination and disbelief. Each step like an acknowledgment of your presence, each beat of the music making him realize that he wasn’t the only one left. The fire continued to dance and show off its movements with the rhythmic music. The drums beating as hard as his heart, the graceful sway of the fabrics leaving him in a daze. With each new melody, he took a sip of his own drink. His head spined with the dance, the alcohol, and your twirls.

Before a stop, the dance ending, and some applauses. Pearls of sweats had appeared on your body completing your jewellery set. You bowed with the applauses and toss of coins, though Aventurine could hear some of many murmurs:

“An Avgin? They’re just some snake, manipulating their charms for money.”

“They’re just trying to find a fool for the night!”

“You know Sigonians, rotten to the core…”

He didn’t care when those insults were about him. He had heard them so many times now that it felt numb, but he wasn’t the target of it, another Avgin was, and it felt so different. Someone like him was insulted. His eyes darted to see your reaction if you would say anything back. Though you had already escaped from his gaze, the only remain of your performance was your faint perfume.

He wanted to follow you through the narrow corridors, through the dazzling streets of Penacony, through each planet, through the desert dunes until that moment where he could go back to that very moment, that impossible moment in which the festival took place in joy. The faint perfume did bring him back to reality after a moment and like the good businessman he was, he knew how to use his tongue. A slight gesture and the owner approached:

“Good evening, Mr. Aventurine. Thank you for choosing our humble establishment!”

“Oh, but I must thank you, my friend, for the atmosphere, the drinks and even the entertainment!”

“Oh, did you like tonight’s beauty? A rare gem…”

How he objectified you felt repulsing, you were a being, not some sort of possession limited to its beauty. Aventurine bit his tongue, though he had led the conversation where he wanted to, so he asked:

“Oh indeed, a one-of-a-kind. May I ask if it could be possible to see that gem?”

“I’m sorry sir but they don’t accept visitors…”

He gazed upon the owner facing him. It was easy to see his lies: the crossed arms, the slight bite of the lip and this twitch of the eyebrow he had seen in some gambler he provoked. He had encountered so many liars like him, so confident yet wearing their emotions under the spotlight. He didn’t mind it, after all that’s how he won. So, he asked:

“My friend, I have heard that your establishment lacked customers. I might be able to do just that… Some of the Strategic Investment Department needs a place to have fun time. Would you be able to grant that?”

“Yes Mr. Aventurine, of course. Our humble establishment would gladly welcome your colleagues. They would also have a price. The IPC, and yourself, have done so much for us !”

“Then make me another drink for me and your generous patrons! It’s on me!”

The owner rushed to the bar, urging his employees to start serving drinks to all patrons. A big investment for just one fleeting moment. Drinks appearing and going from left to right, up and down, cheers coming from one side to another, praises for the generous esteemed guest. Yet he knew how they were just hypocrites, esteeming him during their drunken state. One moment, he was one of the avgins “rotten to the core” and the other he was an “esteemed guest”, what a joke. He looked back at the owner, now was truly time for the gamble:

“If I may bring a drink to the precious gem…”

“Oh of course, Mr. Aventurine. Let me show you the way…”

A few corridors later and they entered your dressing room, knocking on your door. You were facing a vanity taking off the jewels resting on your forehead and chest. The owner introduced:

“Little gem, one of our esteemed guests wanted to give you a drink. So, I brought him to you. He is a particularly important guest which is giving us new clients which means you could get more money for your performance. Treat him well…”

The owner escaped while Aventurine sighed at the owner’s lack of subtility. He signed his bodyguards to stay outside the door and after a few seconds, you finally spoke for the first time:

“I’m not selling my body…”

“Oh no need to inform me, I’m not here for that…” replied the businessman.

To confirm his saying, he sat down on the furthest couch and laid your drink on the nearest table to you. More seconds of the awkward silence, silence in which he delighted because as a gambler he knew it was a silence of thinking, of calculation. You asked politely while turning:

“Then why are you here sir?”

“Because I think we have something in common.”

“Oh really?”

Aventurine, for the first time, took off his glasses to reveal his colourful eyes while his left hand went inside his pocket. Your gaze met and there was this moment. He could see emotions passing through your mind and body: first, the slight widening of your eyes from the surprise, the lips parting as if trying to find words, the quivering fingers as if grasping for reality and then seating back as in disbelief. At last, the nod of acknowledgment. Both of you stayed staring at each other, like staring into mirror. Two beings that started the same but ended up as opposites. You broke the silence:

“I’ve heard rumours about an IPC debt collector being Signonian but are you…?”

“I’m an Avgin.”

The sentence was short, but it felt like a revelation for both of you. An acknowledgment of each other’s fate, each other’s hardships and despair. The realisation of each other’s suffering by the mere gaze, the lack of shine in each other’s eyes. He broke the silence by sipping some of his drink, it was easier to numb the pain. You took again the lead in the conversation:

“May I ask for your name?”

“They call me Aventurine.”

“Doesn’t sound avgin…”

“As I said, darling, they call me that way.”

Behind the dismissive use of the petname and the play on words, he didn’t expect your wit. Although you were quite right to not trust him at first in this cold world. He couldn’t bear to see you slip between his hands like the golden sand. Another gulp of alcohol, of courage. For a second, his vision blurred and his head spinned. For the first time, through sheer will or maybe was it his thoughts blending into a mess, he broke again the silence:

“And may I call you something else than what that man called you? May I have your name?”

You replied, after a few seconds, with your stage name which he immediately got:

“Oh, come on darling, it’s not that much of a big risk to give a name.”

“Says the one who didn’t give his name either…” you retorted.

“Touché! But I did it because I’m known as Aventurine and besides, I’m part of the IPC. As a member of the Ten Stonehearts, I shall reveal no secrecy and invest in my persona.”

You could hear the sarcasm dripping from his lips and he started to be more talkative, probably from the alcohol ingested throughout the night. Even if you wanted to go, you had to stay and treat him well because of the owner’s order. You would be interrupted in your thought process by the blond:

“Those jewels… Are they from turquoise meteorites?”

“Yes, they are. Mama Fenge has blessed my family with it and so I carry them to each performance”.

“Can I see them up close? No touching you or them if you would like to, it’s just been a long time since… Well, it’s been a long time since I’ve seen some… Would it be possible?”

He silenced himself by taking another gulp of his drink and he put the fedora away, starting to feel hot from the alcohol. He let out a small sigh of relief when you approached to let him look at the golden chain, which was previously attached to your belt, with turquoises and charms. The melody of the chain lulled him into deeper memories, and he started to talk again:

“You know, I’ve heard that these turquoises were as beautiful as Gaiathra Triclops’ eyes, but I wander if they are as valuable as hers. If turquoises are that valuable, then is that why our land was destroyed? Why were our valuable land and people left for dead?”

You didn’t respond because of the sudden emotion. The alcohol had certainly turned the gambler into a sentimental. You didn’t know how to quite manage to those questions because, you too, didn’t have the answer to that question. The dreading question that didn’t come in each other’s mind since a time long ago, a time that felt like forever. Yet your thoughts were again interrupted by him:

“I have a lucky charm too, not as valuable as turquoises but a gold lucky charm my mother gave me. Lucky charm to a lucky child, quite an irony. Big sis’ told me that it was to symbolize my name. “Blessed by Gaithra Triclops”, Kakavasha, lucky child yet received a lucky charm.”

You didn’t comment on how he just told you his name, his mind obviously elsewhere, probably drowning in the memories and the alcohol’s fog. You parted your lips as if trying to find your words, they didn’t come. The small details in his drunken speech seemed to confirm his identity as an avgin. It wasn’t one of the silver-tongued men but of an avgin, one of the last. You tried to continue the conversation:

“But you were blessed by Gaithra Tricolps. You are here, and you are someone powerful and you are quite fit at gaining money at the roulette.”

“Blessed… Lucky me, I guess! Luck makes powerful but my destiny not lucky, not just…”

“Then, how about we pray to the mother goddess for such luck and a happier destiny?”

His eyes widened at your proposition. You showed him your left hand to initiate the prayer, yet you saw his glassy eyes look at your hand like witnessing some kind of miracle.

He was about to take another gulp of his drink, but his hand was too shaky. He didn’t even know now if it was from the alcohol or the emotions, perhaps both, perhaps one facilitating the other. He approached his gloved hand and, after some clumsy movements, rested upon your hand.

You started the prayer, his voice being quieter. With each sentence, the blond went quieter and staring at the joined hands. You didn’t yet notice, at first closing your eyes in this ceremonial moment but when the prayer ended, you could see how his glassy eyes turned teary. You parted your lips trying to say something, hoping you didn’t do anything wrong, yet your surprising reflex was to embrace him.

You were shocked by your sudden gesture, and you couldn’t see Aventurine’s reaction. Though you could sense how tense his body was, how his shoulders were trembling. At first, you thought he would immediately pull away, and he didn’t. You let out a sigh and wrap your arms around him, not sure how it ended up like this. First you were dancing on stage, swirling to the tambourines and bells, and now you end up with a man – you didn’t quite process that he was an avgin just yet- in your arms.

You thought it would be another moment of silence. Not an awkward one, like when he entered your dressing room, but one of acknowledgment. One of contentment in which each other saw pain and sorrow. Yet this silent was broken by his slurred words:

“I should’ve saved her… I should’ve…”

You should hear the slurred words mixed with the throat tightening. The shoulders continued to shake in your embrace. Blond locks following his shaking. The taste of alcohol blending with the salt of the tears. Slowly dripping on your performance outfit, yet you didn’t care. It wasn’t about your outfit or treating him how the owner wanted. It was about helping him in his pain, comforting him. And you didn’t even know but it was the first time that anyone had treated him that way, that anyone had seen him in such despair, that any miracle had managed to quell his solitude.

Everything felt numb, his muscles tensing as if he couldn’t breathe. How would he dare to live? How was he allowed to? He was blessed, yet it was like a curse. He couldn’t bear to think that the one who didn’t come one was the closest to him. He had selfishly followed and ran, as far as he could, even though he knew something horrible was coming. And when he came back, it was too late: the cackling Katicans, blood drenching the golden sand, the fire devouring the tents. And of course, he had survived. He hated that he survived. Tears running down his cheeks and drenching the colourful fabric.

Yet, in this tender embrace, he could smell your perfume. Eyes slowly closing into those nights he longed for so much time: the warmth of the bonfire, the feast with spiced meals, the laughter and conversation swaying, music echoing in the valleys. It was the night of Kakava. Jewellery and colourful fabrics blending in the dance, his sister looking as beautiful as a gem, inviting him for a dance. The well-known steps coming back to him and following the music. You had come into the dance, and all laughed. He took his sister’s hand to give her a turquoise necklace, as precious as Gaiathra’s eyes, just for her to wear in this special occasion. He told her about all the travels he did, journeying far beyond Sigonia, of all the riches he gathered, of all his schemes that worked and some that didn’t. The tender embrace exchanged afterwards bringing him the warmth he so much desired. Sparks going back into his eyes as the warm embers of Hope coming back. They smiled and dance until the blinding dawn came. He turned to his sister and saw her smile, as bright as the sun.

Yet it was the same sunlight that awoke him. He rubbed his eyes and slowly looked around: he was laid down in his bed, with the same outfit as last night – well what he could remember of it – and his headache reminded him of his alcohol consumption. He could almost hear Ratio’s sermon about how alcohol kills his liver. He took out his phone and checked his messages and bank account, thankfully he didn’t spend anything drunk nor text any weird messages. There was only him in his bed, so he didn’t bring anyone home or they might’ve escaped before he woke up.

He slowly sat up, leaning on the headboard, and heard something fall onto the sheets. After rummaging a little, and taking a sip of water, he found a turquoise charm. He couldn’t quite remember when he bought it or if he won it yet there was some sense of familiarity. He approached it, made it shine in the golden rays before the realisation hit him: it was one that once was on your golden chain. As precious as Gaithra’s eyes yet you accepted to give one to him, a fellow Avgin. He swallowed his tears and stood up, one day he hoped to thank you. He didn’t look at his reflection this morning but if he had, he would see that glimmer of Hope back in his beautiful eyes.

[multi-fandom-imagines8]

Torn by the Dark

Part 1

Summary: Captured by the Empire, you’re brought before Darth Vader. Standing defiant, you sense a familiar presence in him. And as he tries to bury his past, the walls around him begin to crumble.

WC: 2 K.

A/N: This is an unburnt Vader/Anakin AU.

You can read part 2 here. Fictober Challenge

After the fall of the Jedi, you had gone into hiding on Jedha, adopting an alias. Over time, you forged a rebel cell, one that had become a thorn in the Empire’s side. But, your base was discovered, and although you managed to evacuate your people, you couldn’t save yourself.

Captured by stormtroopers, you were brought before the Emperor’s enforcer: Darth Vader.

You had prepared yourself for death the moment you were seized. But as you were forced to your knees in front of the Dark Lord, something strange stirred in your senses. A presence- familiar, but elusive. You couldn’t quite place it.

Vader stood before you, silent, as if contemplating something beyond mere interrogation. His black mask obscured his features, but you could feel his intense gaze studying you. 

He signaled to the nearby troopers. “Leave us.” His deep, mechanical voice cut through the room, cold and commanding. The troopers complied, leaving you alone with him.

He took a few steps toward you, his heavy boots thudding against the metal floor. “So, you are the rebel leader we’ve been looking for-” His voice was measured, but something lurked beneath it- curiosity? Recognition?

“You won’t get a word from me” you snapped, your chin lifting in defiance.

He tilted his head slightly, as though amused. Your defiance. It’s familiar, he thought. He was used to resistance, used to prisoners refusing to cooperate.

“Is that so?” His tone dropped, venomous. “You underestimate me, rebel. I have methods you can’t even begin to imagine.”

“Try all you want,” you shot back, eyes blazing. “I’d rather than betray the cause.” 

For a moment, he stood still, and you almost thought you heard a faint chuckle beneath his mask. You hadn’t changed, not really, he thought. His voice softened, but the danger remained palpable. 

“You are brave, I’ll give you that. But bravery won’t do you any good here.” He stepped closer, looming over you. “You think you can defy me? Resist my power?” His voice dripped with mockery. “You’d be a fool.”

“Go ahead,” you said, though a chill ran down your spine. “Do your worst.”

“You have spirit,” he acknowledged, his words betraying a tinge of something softer. He began pacing slowly around you, measuring you like a predator sizing up its prey. “But spirit alone won’t save you. You’ll break eventually. They all do.”

He stopped in front of you, gloved fingers lifting your chin with deliberate care. He could sense your fear- not overwhelming, but enough to remind him of the control he held. Though your fear wasn’t of him, it was of him prying out something vital. “You will tell me what I want to know. One way or another.” He knew your spirit would not break easily; you would put up a fight. But he also knew that if he used the full extent of his power and resources, it would either force you to talk or kill you. And he didn’t want to risk the latter.

Your heart pounded, but you held his gaze. “Your mind tricks won’t work on me, Lord Vader” you spat, your voice hardening.

His grip tightened for a brief moment before he released you, stepping back. His head tilted once again, as if trying to unravel something about you. He knew he could utilize your fear against you, but he couldn’t bring himself to use the same brutal techniques he’d used on others. Not  that it would work on you. The thought of hurting you twisted something inside him.

He turned away, trying to gather his thoughts. He needed something else, something subtle.

“Tell me, rebel,” he began, his voice probing, almost calculated. “Do you have anyone to care for? Family? Friends?” His voice lowered, something sharp cutting through his words.  “A lover, perhaps?” He winced internally at the last words. Why did he ask that? The idea bothered him more than it should have. He shouldn’t care. But deep inside, he did.

“No,” you said, your voice tinged with hatred. “You killed them all.”

The words cut through him. Though his voice remained cold and emotionless, deep down, they stung. He could sense your pain and anger at him- at what he’d become. 

“So, you truly are alone,” he murmured, trying to regain control of the conversation. “No one left to care for, no one to care about you?” 

Ah, so that’s what he was going for. He wanted to make you feel vulnerable, exposed. But you wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. “I’m not alone. There are others like me. And eventually, we’ll win, even if it takes a hundred years. The light always wins.”

He scoffed, the sound coming out as a low mechanical rumble. He was irritated by your unwavering faith in the light, by your belief in hope. It made him feel things he didn’t want to. “You’re a fool if you truly believe that. The light may have been strong in the past, but the dark side will always prevail. Look at the Jedi- they were weak and naive, and their light has faded.”

“No,” you said quietly. “The dark side is weak. You act on impulse, out of fear and anger. You have no control. That’s why you’ll never win.”

His fist clenched at his side, frustration mounting. “You know nothing, rebel” his voice rising. “It’s the strength of the dark side that crushed the Jedi and rules the galaxy. The light side’s lies kept its followers weak, never reaching their full potential. Now, they are gone, and those who remain- and dare resist- will perish.”

“As long as there’s tyranny,” you promised, “there will always be resistance.”

His breath quickened behind the mask, the tension between you palpable. “Those who resist will fall. And you will bow to me, willingly or not.”

You met his threat head-on. “I will never bow to you.”

He leaned down, his presence suffocating. He could sense the strength in you, but also the hint of vulnerability. “You will” he whispered, his voice low, almost a promise. They all do. Even the strongest, most willful, they all break at the end.” Though, a part of him didn't want you to. A part of him wanted you to remain strong, to resist like you always had.

“Not me. I have nothing to lose. You made sure of that. Do.Your.Worst” you challenged.

He drew back, and though you couldn’t see his face, you sensed his grin beneath the mask. He always loved a challenge, especially when it was you who challenged him. 

“As you wish,” he said softly. “You will regret it.” 

He called back the troopers, ordering them to take you away. As they dragged you off, he gave one final order: “No one touches her. No one, no matter what.”

As they dragged you to the prison cell, you knew you had to act fast. You made your move, breaking free and rushing through the halls. The escape was going well- until you reached the hangar.

Vadar strode in, his fury palpable, destroying everything in his way as his heavy footsteps echoed off the walls. He barked orders for your recapture. 

Normally, he would execute any prisoner attempting escape or crossing a certain line, but since it was you, he couldn’t- something was holding him back. This mask he wore, these walls he’d built, they were starting to crack.

“You really thought you could escape?” The frustration in his voice was visible, though he tried hard to mask it. “You are a fool if you think you can run from me.”

“I will, or die trying” you shot back, using the Force to pull his lightsaber from his belt. You ignited it and cut down the approaching troopers, before launching yourself at him. But he was faster, catching you mid-air, slamming you against the wall with the Force as he retrieved his lightsaber.

Other troopers came running, pinning you to the ground, and you yelled at him. “Fight me, you coward!”

He glared down at you, his anger rising at your insolence. He could easily take you down, ending this fight with a single swipe of his lightsaber. Hell, he didn’t even need it. He could simply use the Force. But, something in him craved this- the thought of you fighting against him again. So, he entertained the idea.

“You dare challenge me?” he asked, wanting to hear your confirmation.

“I do. I challenge you to duel.” That might have been the stupidest decision you’d ever made, knowing how powerful and undefeated he was.

He sensed your conflict and cautiously asked again, “You really think you stand a chance against me?”

But you didn’t back down. “I don’t care. Give me a lightsaber, and we’ll let our skills decide.”

He stood still for a moment before commanding one of the troopers. “Very well.. Bring her a lightsaber.”

The troopers exchanged glances, hesitant and uncertain. One dared to speak, “Lord Vader, are you sure-” Before he could finish, Vader’s hand shot out, Force-choking him into silence. His lifeless body dropped next to you.

“I said, bring her a lightsaber!” he repeated, and a second trooper scrambled to obey.

The silence was menacing as the two of you stood face-to-face– well, face to mask, but you could feel something in the air shift. He was feeling…nervous. And it wasn’t because he thought you might stand a chance against him. It was something else, and it bothered you not knowing.

You could feel his gaze boring into you from behind his mask, and something about it made you anxious.

As the trooper handed you the weapon, stepping back, Vader spoke again. “Are you ready?”

“Your move, Vader.”

“No matter what happens, no one interferes,” he commanded his troops. They stepped back, watching from the background.

He ignited his blade, the red glow bathing the room in an eerie light. He circled you slowly, watching your every breath, every twitch of your hand. It was like he was testing you, seeing if you still had it. 

Growing tired of him circling you, you struck, and he blocked easily. 

While you had improved since the last time he’d seen you, he still knew you like the back of his hand.

You knew he wasn’t giving it his all- he was toying with you. Every move you made, he anticipated, his skills superior but controlled. 

It was only after you took an unexpected approach, catching him off guard, that you noticed it- a familiar move, a twist of the saber that only one person you knew had ever used.

A gasp escaped you, your eyes widening. “That move…only one person I knew used that.” 

You circled him, and his voice hardened, trying to deflect. “Are you going to keep talking, or fight me?” 

But the realization opened your eyes to other things you hadn’t noticed earlier. “You lack patience.” you said, stepping back slightly.

“Do not mistake my restraint for lack of patience.” he snapped, his irritation barely masked. “I am simply enjoying this dance.”

Wanting to test your theory, you pushed further. You used a technique only Anakin had known how to counter- a move the two of you had perfected together. His saber met yours in a clash of sparks, and for a moment, you felt it again. The presence. Anakin. 

Panting, you stepped back, lightsaber lowered. “Who are you really?” you demanded. “ And why haven’t you killed me yet?”

For the first time, Vader hesitated. His voice was quieter now, almost introspective. He could deny it, pretend he didn't know what you were talking about, but the truth was obvious. You knew who he was- who he had been.

Still, he needed to be certain. “What do you think you know?” he asked, his voice guarded.

“There’s no use fighting you” you said, lowering your lightsaber completely and deactivating it.

He was taken aback, and though the mask concealed his face, you could sense the sadness radiating from him. Memories of the past flashed before his eyes. “You know who I am” he said, his tone still cold, though it wavered slightly. “You know the truth.” Slowly, he lowered his weapon, following your lead.

You stared at him, disarmed in more ways than one. “Anakin?”

Tags: @mother-dragon-and-her-hatchlings @dcrthbaeder @aoi-targaryen

[mistydeyes]

Hello! How would the task force 141 members and los vaqueros react(?) to a fem reader who is a lot like Ghost? By that I mean in terms of appearance (I hc him as a blonde with blue eyes) and personality. I imagine that others would think that Ghost has a twin sister who he never mentioned. Feel free to ignore if it's too specific or anything.

I happen to be similar to Simon in terms of my appearance (although his appearance is hc'd) and even my name. My name's Simona (⁠´⁠-⁠﹏⁠-⁠`⁠；⁠)

anon plz that’s so funny ur genderbent simon! I loved this request and had a lot of fun with it :) Peep the little pharmacist cameo in Soap’s part!

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You’re the newest addition to the 141, a joint decision by Laswell and Captain Price. You came from selection and were known for your specialties in sniping from near-impossible distances and your silent takedowns. You gained the name, Bones, based on how you left your many enemies lying at your feet. When you first met the team, you didn’t think much about your resemblance to the Lieutenant but loved some of their reactions (to most to least shocked).

Price

The captain is relatively unfazed. He picked you based on your merit and your lengthy resume. The recommendations about your takedowns on the field and weapons handling were a nice touch. He can’t deny the resemblance when Laswell first brings you to the team. You shook his hand confidently and he looked into your blue eyes, one’s that suspiciously resembled Ghost’s. “Nice to meet you,” he responded, “heard they call you Bones.” You nodded in response and he led you to meet the team. He appreciated your quiet demeanor, you’d offer a much-needed reprieve to his other chatty sergeants. “You’ll fit in well here, Sergeant,” he said and introduced you to the rest of his squad. Throughout the entire Graves and Hassan fiasco, he keeps his conspiracies quiet. That is until he celebrates with Laswell and the rest of the 141 and drunkenly asks her, “So how did you track down Simon’s sister?”

Alejandro

Similar to Price, Alejandro could’ve cared less. When he greets you, Soap, and Ghost as you get off the plane, he just assumes the resemblance is a coincidence. Throughout your time in Las Alma’s, you didn’t make much conversation and listened to his and Ghost’s orders intently. It wasn’t until the pestering of Rudy and seeing your sniping style during the Dark Water mission that makes him think you might be related. As you provided overwatch on the oil rig, he takes this time to ask. “Hey, can I ask you a quick question, Bones?” he whispers as your eyes are focused through the scope. “Sure Colonel, what do you want to know?” you respond. “Are you and Ghost related?” he asks bluntly and you can’t help but laugh. “No Alejandro, I promise you we aren’t,” you say and he never follows up, having his answer.

Rudy

Now we’re getting to the more shocked reactions. When Rudy sees you exiting the plane into the Las Almas heat, he can’t help but look at both you and Ghost. Something about your quiet and commanding demeanor to your blonde hair and blue eyes, makes him suspicious. Especially when he sees your light eyelashes, he just can feel in his heart that you and Ghost are related. He eyes you in the backseat, wedged in between Soap and Ghost, as they talk about the interesting political climate of the town. He even makes sure to lock eyes with you when he says that Ghost fits perfectly in the town. He just wants to ask if you’re his sibling, even his twin, but Alejandro stops him from prying. When he sees your sniping skills on the field, he comments to Alejandro, “Todo lo que necesita es una máscara.”

Translation

“Todo lo que necesita es una máscara” - “All she needs is a mask”

Gaz

When you first walked onto the base to meet the team, Gaz did a double take. While you didn’t have a mask obscuring your face, your light eyelashes and blue eyes were uncanny. He immediately looked at Ghost and accused him of using his familial ties to get you on his unit. He was embarrassed when his Lieutenant reprimanded him for the accusation and said you weren’t related. He tries to drop it but a part of his brain keeps him from letting it go. Eventually, as you are sitting on the plane to Chicago, he asks you personally. “Hey Bones, I just have to know before we die,” he begins to ask and you laugh a little at his nihilism. “Spit it out Gaz, stop being such a pessimist,” you reply and eye the man. “Are you sure your mum never shagged Ghost’s dad?” he asks. Before he has time to say anything more, you quickly deliver a punch to his shoulder which shuts him up.

Soap

Despite the verbal beatdown Gaz got, Soap still has a conspiracy theory that you’re Ghost’s twin. In fact, he even gets in trouble when he tries to convince the pharmacist to relinquish your medical file and family history. “Just ask them yourself, Sergeant, and stop asking me to violate HIPAA!” she yelled before kicking him out of the pharmacy. Despite all this, Soap will try to put all the pieces together about you and your “sibling.” He is relentless during the slow days at the base and on surveillance missions. “Are you SURE you weren’t separated by birth?” he pestered you on the comms. You rolled your eyes and looked as Ghost as you saw the Scotsman navigate El Sin Nombre’s base. “Shut up MacTavish!” you growled back and he stopped. At least for that day. You and Ghost take great care when you’re sent to spar with him. But be warned, he will make sure to note your clear similar fighting styles.

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Bonus! Ghost

Of course Ghost had heard of you, he likes to keep tabs on rising talent in the SAS. He tried to suppress the surprise when he finally saw you in person. He couldn’t deny that the rumors of your relation had some merit. Regardless, he kept this surprise secret and did his best to keep his team and the Los Vaqueros in line. But when he fell asleep at night, he would feel a pang of hurt as your face flashed in his mind. Why did you have to look like his late mother?

[phonydiaries]

Worse for The Wear, P X Reader

Disclaimer: I've barely progressed past the first miniboss in Lies of P and I don't want to spoil the story for myself so I'm going off of information pretty much exclusively based on gifsets and screenshots,,, so if some of this isn't lore-accurate pls forgive me! it's indulgent fluff. Also if you enjoy this short piece and want to read more from me please tell me! I'd love to interact with this fandom more. Thanks, hope you enjoy!

---

As you kneel under the dank and decrepit streetlights, your knees are dirty, damp, and freezing cold against the pavement of Krat Station. Couldn’t this stranger have chosen a more convenient place to lose consciousness, you wonder. Perhaps he could’ve collapsed in a setting just slightly less dramatic than a torrential downpour? You’ll be sure to ask him as soon as he awakes. If he awakes. God, you hope he does. 

You came upon him by accident really. Weaving your way through alleyways, dimly lit and speckled with decaying automatons. Miraculously you were able to avoid being detected, though the boy now lying in front of you wasn’t so lucky. The sight of him made your heart sink; limbs strewn about on the ground, his face equally obscured by dark soaked locks over his eyes and the wet pavement pressed against his cheek. The poor thing’s once-white shirt was discolored to a near black, smeared with slick tarry oil. Against your better judgment, you stopped to make sure he was alright.

With one arm you reach around the man’s torso and ungracefully heave him into a face-up position. As gently as you can, you adjust so his head is allowed to rest in your lap. The stranger's face, like his clothes, is marred with automaton grease; streaked across the bridge of his nose, caught in his dark angular brows, blotting his delicate mouth. He looks elegant somehow, even in his current state. His lips are slightly parted as he breathes in, shallow. Breath! He is alive! Curious, you ever so slowly bring two fingers to the man’s mouth and carefully wipe away a smear of oil. As you go to inspect the material closer, something closes, steely and cold, around your wrist. Startled, you yelp and your eyes dart to whatever is now clutching your arm. A masterfully crafted hand of pure steel curls its fingers around your wrist. The metal chills you to the bone. Monetarily frozen, you catch a glimpse of brilliant blue glinting in the eyes of the stranger, like sunlight diffused through seaglass. 

“I-I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you.” You say, your voice a bit more shrill than you would like. The stranger's eyes narrow momentarily, but quickly soften. His energy is clearly limited, without much to be spent on anything other than remaining conscious. This is clearly evidenced by the immediate loosening of his grip as his head lolls back into your lap. 

“Oh…” You murmur, watching him with some concern. It’s difficult somehow to work up the courage to ask for more details on his injuries. You find yourself somewhat distracted by the beauty radiating from his waifish face. Your hand slides into place, cupping his pale cheek against your palm. His skin is soft, but cold. He can’t stay out in this storm much longer if he’s to have any chance at recovery. He seems to have momentarily slipped back into sleep, and so you take the opportunity to swipe away a lock of dark hair covering one eye.

“Sir,” you say softly “Can you stand? I’ll help you out of this rain if you’re able.” 

He stirs then. His lids flutter, heavy, as if each time he blinks it becomes harder to keep his eyes open. Your heart jumps a bit at the sight of it. 

“Please,” You trace the line of his sharp cheekbone “I’d be happy to get us both out of this mess.”

The stranger says nothing, but nods, and leans forward in an attempt at becoming upright once again. You preemptively hold your arms open, and he falls somewhat awkwardly into your chest. He’s heavier than you expected for someone with such a slight build! Although the mechanized arm probably accounts for most of it. With a bit of strain on your knees, you’re able to hoist him up into a standing -albeit hunched- position, his arm slung haphazardly around your shoulders. You swear a whimper escapes his lips as his chin dips into the nape of your neck. You try to focus on the task at hand, but have to admit to yourself that the feeling of his breath on your skin is electrifying. 

“Where -um- which way did you come from?” 

The stranger lifts his head just barely and looks around, obviously dazed. His gaze settles ahead and he raises his mechanical arm in a weak gesture towards a structure in the distance. You recognize it as Hotel Krat, a place you know of, but have never actually been. 

“There?” You ask, and the weary boy nods. In preparation for the journey ahead, you adjust your stance slightly. “Onwards and upwards then…” You mutter; and the two of you stumble forward stepping on each other's toes occasionally. Slowly but surely, you head towards shelter. 

The interior of the hotel is lit warmly, inviting and decorated beautifully. Under better circumstances you would’ve taken ample time to admire the whole place, but as soon as you step through the doors your companion collapses against the wall. He sucks in a sharp breath of air at his shoulders collision with the wall. Quickly you come to his aid, holding him steady at the waist and offering up your shoulder once again for him to lean on. Through a thick curtain of thoroughly drenched dark hair he looks at you, appreciative. 

“Thank you.” 

And the words are so soft, so melodic, you have to wonder if you only imagined it. Stunned, you respond simply,

“You’re welcome.”

You feel those striking blue eyes dance across your face, making it wildly difficult to think straight, much less speak. A sudden realization comes upon you; that in this moment you want nothing more in the world than to stay here, even freezing cold and soaked to the bone, taking in the sight of this man. 

You notice just above his brow there’s still remnants of that black liquid. Absent-mindedly, you move your hand from your companion’s waist to wipe it away, leaning in ever so slightly to get a closer look. The boy catches your hand halfway. At first you think he’s swatting it away, but instead he stares at it with undivided attention, as if it were some rare treasure. Silently he intertwines his fingers with yours. For a moment, you’re frozen again, a jolt of blue lightning shooting up your spine at the quiet intimacy of the gesture. The mysterious boy inches closer, his nose grazing yours as he places a tender, appreciative kiss on your lips. You feel your face flush and reflexively tighten your grip on his hand. This seems to startle him and he stumbles out of the kiss. Your hand, however, is still holding tight to his, and so the two of you take a short sweet tumble onto the glossy floor. 

Quickly you attempt to readjust, but you’ve landed conveniently head first against the boy's chest, so close you can hear a mechanical whirring beneath his skin. Your companion lifts your face with his human hand and inspects it carefully for injury. He squints, but seems satisfied that the only thing bruised by the fall is your ego. Carefully, the boy stands, pulling you up with him. His mouth curls into a kind smile, which becomes a melodic laugh gracefully escaping his lips. 

We’re even now, you think to yourself.

 Now we’ve both helped each other up. 

---

[skidtheperson]

Relationship Chart

So people have made SC relationship charts, so I decided why not make one myself

Template

[ Relations ]

Explanation below : [It is long]

Bobby Bearhug :

Picky is nice. She likes to go over and eat at her house every once and a while, even helping her make food sometimes! She's kind, but can be a bit rough at times... Catnap is strange, that's the best way she can put it. He's not bad! She knows he's not very talkative, so she doesn't force him to talk. She also makes sure he's ok with her daily hugs, though she can be forgetful. And when she can't sleep... He's. ALWAYS THERE. Crafty! Her best friend ever! First person she met actually! She LOVES giving her hugs and complimenting her on her art when she can. She's such a talented artist! Bubba can be a bit much sometimes, but she doesn't mind at all. She listens to him talk on, and then she can share info she knows! But... She's a bit worried though, knowing the elephant, he stays up very often. Why he stays up, she doesn't know... She just hopes he's ok. Hoppy... Oh Hoppy. Where does she start? She's always at her games to cheer her on, even if she loses, she's there to congratulate her on being so cool! She loves watching her run around, kick the ball, everytime she cheers when she scores... It makes her heart soar!! ❤ She knows it's love, but she doesn't know how to tell her. Kickin is cool too! Not as cool as Hoppy, but still epic nonetheless. She likes being friends with him and he's actually really good at the sports he does. Though that chicken can be a little dumb sometimes, oh well. Dogday! The leader! He's always so sunny and cheerful! She loves talking with him, giving him hugs galore! He's the one that likes the hugs the most. His fur is so soft, and he even helps her out with valentine's day presents for everyone. Who could ask for a better leader?

Picky Piggy :

Bobby is a nice gal. Always there to cheer someone up. Hell, she's helped with gardening, keeping the barn good, and baking/cooking goods. Though, she can be TOO touchy sometimes, she's trying her best to learn boundaries, so she isn't pushing too much. Catnap, she doesn't care too much about. She stays out of his way, he stays out of hers. He's weird, yes, but as long as she's not bothering him, he doesn't interact. The only time they Eben kinda talk is during group activities or when they need to sleep... Creepy. Crafty is kinda silly sometimes. She makes great art, yet never seems to understand that! She always thinks she can be better, but she's already good enough. Picky herself has tried to paint, but isn't the best. Bubba is nice to talk to. He rambles on sometimes, but never really is too annoying. She doesn't mind being around him. Although he has insisted she eat less, and she's tried, but it ain't easy when you're a pig known for eating. She just ain't the best at that. Kickin and Hoppy are very similar in many ways, the most notable being they're both sporty and energetic. She likes them, they're not bad, but they have tried getting her to do a bunch of sports she doesn't care about. She's told them, and they backed off, but they keep doing it, and it's a bit annoying. Though she finds the sibling rivalry they have funny. Dogday is very nice! He's always happy and go lucky, with a big grin, an idea, and an adventure. He's energetic, yes, but not to the point she is annoyed by him. He's always trying to make sure everyone is happy and having fun, and she likes that about him.

Catnap :

He hates them all. They're so.. FUCKING ANNOYING. They talk and talk, running around.. They even pull him along on their shitty adventures! And they're always asking him to help when they can't sleep. Oh how he wishes.. HOW HE WISHES HE COULD MAKE THEM SLEEP FOREVER TO DIE AND FADE AWAY INTO OBSCURITY! He can... He knows he can, the red gas was made to put people to sleep so that [REDACTED]. But something is stopping. Not something. SOMEONE. That damn, annoying, cheerful dog. What was his problem? He was always smiles, tail wags, and happy arua and.. He... Didn't know why, but it made him feel something other than rage and anger... Something that made his own tail sway and made him heat up. What was wrong with him, why was he like this? He hated it, but also liked it..? That canine is the only reason he's even staying, why he even joined... He hates it. He hates this feeling, he hates everything but that dog! Stupid dog. .... He knows this will all come to an end. They'll figure it out eventually, that elephant already is trying to, he knows he is. He can see the elephant staring at him, analyzing him. He's seen nights where he stays up, looking up and reading through books. If he wasn't stealthy, he would have been caught by now. He wants to put him to sleep, but the chicken always comes and does that for him. That's the only time he's thankful that elephant is gay. He doesn't have to worry too much. But, still... He has to stop this. He can't let them find out. And he knows how.

CraftyCorn :

Bobby is also so kind and nice. She comes over everyday, and everyday, Crafty shows her her art! Whether that be a new piece, a WIP, an updated version of the art before, Bobby didn't care. Bobby just always loved to see how she improved, and Crafty always loved getting compliments from her. All of these love and affection she was getting showered with resulted in her gaining a bit of a crush on the lovey bear. Picky is an interesting person to be around. She's always making goods, and always sharing them with the others. Though Picky leaves most of it for herself, Crafty still finds their friendship good. So yeah. Picky isn't the best painter, but she can always teach her! Catnap is nice. She was the first person Dogday introduced him to, since they're close friends, and she found him nice. Crafty would often show him her art, knowing the cat didn't care or mind. She didn't need words, just needed a head nod and a thumbs up. They don't talk, and Crafty doesn't mind. She likes to sit in silence while Catnap just stared at her art. Or at her. She didn't know, but he was always quiet, and she never minded. Bubba and her talk. He's always supportive of her, and she can proudly show her art to him. Like a dad! She comes up to him, he asks what she needs, and she shows him her art, which he compliments. He also gives feedback and comments about her art to help her improve, which she enjoys. He explains and teaches her things too, like math and science. He's gotten her art tools to help with her art. Hoppy is nice to be around. She's energetic, fun, and loves getting dirty and messy with her. But she can be a bit too energetic and fast, which she can't keep up with at times. But they're good friends! Kickin is a prankster, but also one of the coolest people she knows! He's always doing some cool and awesome stunt fearlessly, and she appreciates that about him! She's the polar opposite of him, shy, reserved, nervous... He's so cool, she just wishes she could be even the factor of awesome he is! She gained a crush on him a while back and confessed, but he politely turned her down since he did not feel the same way. But they're still good friends, nothing changed there. The crush eventually went away. Dogday, one of her best friends! He's always running around playing, and she loves to join in. He's always showing her affection and helps plan out her art contests. She and Dogday like to go on walks through the park, and Dogday talks while Crafty sketches what she sees. She likes being around him. Though Catnap always stares at her when she hugs Dogday when he's around. Whatever..

Bubba Bubbaphant :

Bobby is a very kind and caring person. Every time he's down in the dust, she comes along to try and make him feel better. Sure she can be a bit TOO clingy and touchy sometimes, so he has to tap her shoulder with his trunk, but she's still very sweet and motherly to everyone. Though he doesn't like it when she tries to play match maker since that isn't how the mind works you can't just put people together and make it work. Picky and him don't really have a relationship in his eyes. He's tried helping with her eating a bunch of food, but she eventually gives up, so he's instead advised her to eat healthy foods. He's still trying, but it's not that easy. Catnap. He doesn't know what that.. Thing is. It's a cat, yes, but he's not like them. That weird smoke he produces, the fact they are obsessed with it when he breathes it out... Begging for more, begging to sleep... And the weird thing is, the others are just... FINE WITH THIS? This isn't normal, HE'S NOT NORMAL. He's tried researching everything, day and night, best he's found so far is that California Poppy flowers have been known to help with sleep disorders, they're no where near California! Dogday should have never taken this cat in, it's driving him insane trying to figure out what the hell Catnap is. He doesn't want to admit it but. Catnap scares him. He hates him, and yet, he's scared to anger him. Something is wrong with that cat.. He... Maybe he just needs more s l e e p... Crafty is basically his daughter. She's always looking towards him for help or guidance on her art, and he agrees, teaching her about color theory and how to draw certain things. He even gets her art supplies and other tools on her birthday and other holidays. He loves seeing her improve and get better over time. It makes him happy. Hoppy and him don't really have a relationship, much like Picky. He is impressed with her skill and endurance while sporting, but they don't really talk to much. Kickin, the dare devil, and his amazing boyfriend. He's always there for his games, to watch him surf (and also make sure he doesn't wipe out), and all in all being a supportive boyfriend. Kickin is so crazy sometimes, and Bubba can't help but find that so cute and adorable. Especially when he first met the guy. Bubba wishes he could be as strong and brave as him, but he knows Kickin loves him being the nerdy and smart guy he is, so he wouldn't change that for the world. When Bubba is stressed out and on the brink of a breakdown, he will ring up Kickin, who will rush down and comfort the elephant. This is the same for the amount of nights he's spent staying up researching. Kickin will just go into his house, and if Bubba's still up, he's dragging him to bed to sleep. He fights back, but it falls on deaf ears as he snuggles with him. He loves him as much as can. Dogday was always someone he found interesting. His huge bursts of energy, excitement, and the want to make sure everyone is included intrigued him. He never knew how the dog had so much in him, but he never cared too much. It is nice to see he was happy as always at least. He's tried asking and telling him about Catnap and how maybe getting them addicted to the red smoke he produced is not good for them, but he always has to look on the bright side of everyone. It's a nice trait, but it's also detrimental when Catnap is most likely hurting them. He just wishes the dog wasn't so naive...

Hoppy Hopscotch :

She and Bobby always had a great relationship, finding comfort in one another. Bobby cheers her on at her matches with Kickin, and she helps Bobby work out. Though what shocked her the most about the nice, respectable, motherly bear is the sheer strength that women possesses. She thought she was strong, yet that women had muscle. She always found it hot though, so she can't complaining. Especially when she can get carried after a tough match. So she happily takes it. She can't wait to ask her out. Picky is nice. She makes amazing food, and she likes rough housing sometimes. Though while she tries to get Picky to work out and pay sports, the gal always turns down the favor, not liking to or wanting to, which she respects (for the most part). But she's still nice! She doesn't mind Catnap. They don't get to interact much, since she's always running around and he much rather sleep the whole day. The only times they interact is when she accidentally bumps into him while he's sleeping or when he's helping them with sleep. Catnap seems like a nice guy though! Crafty was fun to tease sometimes. The girl is always shy and jumpy, so it can be funny to prank her sometimes. Though she knows she can be very easily scared, so she always puts it on the low for her pranks. She also knows that she shouldn't make her mad... That didn't go well when she ACCIDENTALLY ruined one of the paintings she was working on.. Hoppy couldn't play soccer with a broken leg. But they're good friends, even after that! Bubba can be annoying at times, always talking about his science mumbo jumbo, whatever (no clue what the hell Kickin sees in him). It can get very boring very fast for her, she doesn't really care at all about it. But he's not a bad person, he's the one they go to for medical help when they get hurt after all. He's trained and knows much more than she ever could, so she respects him for that. She just wishes he wouldn't ramble on sometimes. Ah, Kickin! Her enemy and rival... Or well, brother. She and Kickin have been siblings for a long time now, ever since her parents found the small egg in a bush while walking, thus took him in. She grown attached, and ever since, they've been the sporty duo who fight to win. Even though he has WAY too much of an ego sometimes, he's a good brother and she wouldn't ever ask for anyone else. She loves to pull his leg and mess with the ego filled chicken, though sometimes it backfires on her. Like the time she started the "prank wars" with him. It resulted in both her and him getting scolded and being put in "time out" essentially. She and Dogday get along very well! He's the most energetic out of everyone, even Kickin, so getting to run around with him and play all sorts of fun hyperactive games really helps with all the energy she saves up. He also is really good at fetch, so they will often play it. Fun guy all around! No wonder he's the leader.

KickinChicken :

Bobby and him get along, she loves to just show him affection to the max, and he doesn't mind it. Except for sometimes when she just runs up to him and hugs him out of the blue. He doesn't like that. He also hates it when she just states hugging him without asking. Though she had tried to improve and stop doing that, which he likes. So she's not that bad! He doesn't mind Picky that much. He wished she would play sports with them more, but he can't force her. She makes food for their events, which he enjoys, so she's not that bad. But they just don't interact a lot. Catnap is ok. He helps them sleep when they can't, like a thundering night or after a nightmare, so the guy's cook. But Bubba had gone on rants about the guy and how something wasn't right about him, making him a little afraid or scared of the guy. Though Bubba could just be anxious and paranoid, so he's still giving Catnap the benefit of the doubt. Crafty is a sweet girl! Kind, shy, nervous, and a great artist! Though he overlooks the girl due to her quietness, he also sees her as a friend. He tries to teach her how to speak louder and be more assertive, but the poor woman can't bring herself to do so, thinking she'll come off mean and rude, no matter how much he reassures her. Her art is amazing, but she's so shy she couldn't even show him at first since she thought he was gonna find it childish and dumb. He wishes she could express herself more. Bubba! What a sweet gentleman. Always telling him new facts and things he found out, and when he sees a cool plant, that man will list off what plant it is, how to grow it, and what not. He also helps him when he gets hurt, which is often, so he's thankful for that. He's there to comfort him when he gets scared (which is easily) and make sure he's ok. He loves playing with Bubba's big floppy ears when he's stressed. It calms him down, and helps him relax. Anyways, both he and Bubba make mistakes, yes, like the time he and him had a small argument because he accidentally broke one of Bubba's favorite mugs, but he wouldn't love anyone else. He just loves snuggling into that guy. He couldn't get enough! He also always helps the other with his sleeping issues, since that poor guy has been staying up more often. So he goes over, drags him to bed, then cuddles with him under a weighted blanket. It helps Bubba fall asleep. He wishes he could stop staying up multiple nights, but he insists that it's for a reason and that he has to continue his research. But he'll continue to help him, no matter what. Hoppy, his sister, is a pain in the ass. But also his friend. She always teases him and messes with him just to spite him. She's been like that for years. He and her fight about random small things, and always try to beat and top the other in what they're doing, causing a competition between them. A constant battle basically. They're always at each other trying to be better than the other, whether that be in sport, baking, running, anything. Like siblings always do. She's a great big sister though, has helped him through tough times, and he can't be more grateful. Dogday is like that guy you always see around the block. Always running, always doing things, always happy and excited, and just a great guy overall. He goes to him when he needs to plan things with the group or ask him when an we went is happening. He also goes to him just to pay video games and fetch with him, since the dog loves that game. He's so sweet sometimes.

Dogday :

He finds everyone as his best friend! They're all nice to him and, as their leader, he must make sure everyone is happy and included! However, Bubba has been telling him that Catnap could be a danger to the group, and how the red smoke is causing problems for them, and how maybe Catnap isn't a good person... He doesn't understand though! Catnap is such a sweet, adorable, quiet kitty that sleeps a lot. There's nothing wrong with him, he thinks that at least. Speaking of which, Catnap. He's been having these strange happy feelings lately around him. His purring is calming, the way he yawns and curls back up is so cute, and when he's all sleepy and tired.. He's just a ball of adorableness! Is that a word? He doesn't know. But it's how Catnap is! He just wants to give him all the kisses in the world! He's talked with Bobby about the feelings, and she says it's love. He's not sure yet though if it is love or not. Maybe he just... Really likes his best friend! That's it. Maybe...

[rockingrobin69]

Insistently, Stickily Sweet

It started raining outside, a constant patter hitting the window, tap-tap-tapping away merrily. Inside, cocooned under a thick blanket, only a smattering of blond hair and the tip of a nose visible: “Is it finished,” a husk of a voice. He’d fallen asleep sometime during the second episode. Harry didn’t have the heart to wake him.

“Yes, sweetheart. Shall we call it a night?”

“No,” grumbling, fighting tooth and nail to free an arm, then another: emerging from the fuzzy material all mussed-up and bright, and lovely. “No, we said we’d watch them all.”

“Darling,” laughing, “you can’t even keep your eyes open.”

Draco stuck his nose up, the gesture slightly ruined for the pink of his cheeks. “I don’t need to see it to follow. Quiz me, on any part. I’ll tell you exactly what happened.”

“Oh no, I believe you,” Harry said quickly, half an excuse to wrap his arms around him, to press a mollifying kiss to his cheek. Pulling closer: “Come on, baby. This is stupid, and it’s getting late. Let’s go to bed.”

“No,” Draco still insisted, although he burrowed into him, leaned his head back. “Come on, press the button-thing. I have to know what, ah, Monica said to—Jerome.”

“Not even close,” Harry chuckled. “Did you catch any of it?”

“Of course. I caught it all. Come on, Harry, we’re not getting any younger, and I will not be the one to let our friends know we haven’t—argh!” when Harry grabbed him, “stop, stop, you goon, ah, the—fuck, Harry, with the tickling, have you no shame, a man comes to you vulnerable in half-sleep and you torture him, ah, ha, stop, stop!”

The words becoming shriekier and shriekier, delivered directly in his ear, and Draco was squirming in his arms, was too—an exhale, slightly shaky on how much, on how terribly much… buried his head in Draco’s neck, in the tacky warmth and the smell of the blanket and Draco’s shampoo.

“You’re impossible,” Harry said, muffled into his skin.

“I know,” with a smile so thick in his voice it was honey, it was gold. “So, what do you say. Another episode, no? Come on. Be a good boy for me, we both know you want to.”

“God, shut up,” just as it occurred to him: I’m going to spend the rest of my life with this man. The rest of his life. It felt bigger than a Wednesday-night, past eleven, Chinese takeout still sitting on dirty plates and re-runs of a silly 90’s comedy series on the telly. This, his Draco, with fluff from the blanket in his wild hair: it was so much bigger than anything he could have imagined.

“Fine,” helplessly, “one more. But just the one, Draco, I mean it. And then we go to bed.”

“Deal,” he smiled easily. Too easily: they’ll have the exact same argument when the episode’s over. Draco was a menace and Harry couldn’t wait.

Smugly, “Pansy will not be able to say she’s more well-versed in Muggle culture than I am.” Draco tucked himself under his arm, grumbled until he had the other one wrapped around him. Then the blanket, to cover them both, then his feet on the table, right in front of Harry’s face, obscuring half the screen. “All right?”

Breathing in deep: “Yeah, all right.” Pressed the remote control, and the sound of canned-laughter filled the living room.

Outside, the rain was still pouring, a continuous happy song Harry’s heart echoed. Inside, it was Wednesday, they both were so tired, and over-warmed, and massively, stickly, stupidly happy.

(Flufftober day 2. Find the soft AO3 collection here).

[us3rnam3-r3dact3d]

i assume you'll be coming for blood (that makes two of us)

Chapter 4

Ao3 | 1.6k words | Sweetheart's POV

The trail gets hot. Sweetheart finds something. They steal themself for what comes next.

TW: dead body, blood, dead parent, could be construed as MCD

Hey, Dad. Just checking in. 

Hey kiddo! It’s been a few weeks. Honestly, I was starting to get worried. 

Sorry. Work. I’ve been busy. 

But safe, right?

Yeah.

Because you promised me you would be when you took this job.

I know, Dad. I promise I can handle whatever DUMP throws at me. 

So could your mother.

Dad. 

I’m sorry. I just worry. You got her strength and tenacity, but you also got her bullheadedness. And I’m sorry to say that’s what got her killed. I worry because I know you won’t reach out for help when you need it.

Then what do you call this?

Do you need help? Kiddo, if you’re in trouble, just say the word. I will DESCEND!!

I’m fine, Dad. Just wanted to say I love you.

You locked your phone before his frantic typing could culminate into a panicked reply and pointedly ignored the insistent buzz of your phone in your coat pocket. That had been more of a tell than you’d intended, but the thought of walking into this kind of trouble without telling him made your throat close with grief. You didn’t say ‘I love you’ often, and you didn’t say it without reason. 

Your mom used to say it liberally. She said it when she woke you up for school in the morning, when tucking you into bed, when you made her laugh, when you broke her heart. She had a lot of late nights, and you never slept when she was away. You would pretend to when she snuck into your room in the wee hours of the night or morning. She would bend over you, smelling like sweat and blood and expended magic. You stayed still and silent as she pressed her thin, shaking lips to the crown of your head and whispered it into you;

“I love you, I love you, I love you…” 

Like a promise. Like a prayer. 

Your chest ached with the absence of her. 

By the time you found it again, the shade had become fully corporeal. Dahlia was a great town for it, full of powerful, magical people, and stupid, stupid college kids who would brush off its after effects as a bad hangover. 

It was actually a rather clever method, how you found it. You got access to D.A.M.N.’s clinic records through less than legal means, thanks to a friend of a friend who didn’t ask questions when fifty bucks were involved. You tracked the shade’s effects through a half dozen students, found a few of them who also folded at the offer of another fifty bucks and found out their frequent haunts. You formed a geo profile (something you’d learned in the Academy but had never had occasion to use, much less with a proper paper map and pins) and triangulated an area where the shade was most likely to be. 

Now, you had an area of about three city blocks to patrol, you were dodging non-stop calls from both your father and Jet, and you were flat broke from all of your very illegal bribes. 

You were considering becoming a private eye. If this was how effective you were with no oversight, you’d have finished this case up in a matter of days. 

Although, you weren’t actually sure how many days it had been. You weren’t exactly sleeping regularly. 

When you cornered it, it was in a little park just off of college town. It was barely a park, really, more of a very large median. It was a stretch of poorly maintained grass, a smattering of small, young trees, and exactly three benches. On one of said benches, there was a crumpled form, curled over one of the arm rests of hostile design, obscured by layers and layers of ratty clothing. When you spotted them, you cloaked without even thinking. Your magic fell over you like a blanket and smothered out a handful of the sensory indicators around you. That was the downside of cloaking, afterall. Your senses weren’t entirely stolen, just dampened. But in your line of work, that could be the difference between life and death. 

The closer you got, the more you convinced yourself that the figure was just someone trying to sleep in a dry, semi safe place. The rounded armrests that cut up the bench were designed to deter this, but something digging into you only worked so long when you were bone tired. You didn’t think it would do much to you at the moment. 

You placed one hand on their shoulder and slowly, as though not to startle them, rolled it back to reveal their face and chest. 

He wasn’t sleeping. You knew as soon as you saw his skin, dewy and gray, that he was dead. Two, ratty jackets pulled back to reveal a slim frame and a drawn, boyish face. As you disturbed him, his body let loose the torrent of blood that his crumpled rib cage was holding in. It spilled, still hot, over your shoes. 

He was young. Barely eighteen, if that. Thick glasses, dusty hair, a smattering of freckles across his nose. Everything he had on him was packed into a well-loved, bright green Jansport backpack. He was a kid, just a kid. 

He had been empowered. You didn’t know how you knew, but you did. It was some sort of absence, you thought, some emptiness where he had once been so full. Your threads strummed uneasily towards him, but found no reply. 

He looked so small, curled in on himself on that park bench. 

Your mom had looked small too. She was an exceedingly lively woman, and a fire elemental so powerful that she had struggled to contain her heat even when not impacted by her emotions. Her aura felt visible at times, tangible, like you could wrap your chubby toddler fingers around her power and pull.

It was a closed-casket funeral. The shifter that had killed her very nearly tore her apart. Your father had her buried in a white button up, slacks, something your older brother had snagged from her closet without thinking. You figured that your dad wanted it over with, wanted her in the ground. He had to identify the body. You remembered sitting in the waiting room while he went in to see her. You could hear his wails through the walls. You’d be surprised if anybody in the hospital, anybody in Dahlia, anybody in the world was saved from his screams. 

The doctors did everything medically possible, but there was only so much one could do to make such a mangled corpse look normal, look human. There were thick, medical staples stitching her demure features into another face entirely, lopsided and strange. You had stared at her in the visitation room, tearless, for half an hour before some well-meaning relative or another pulled you away. Your brother and sister had refused to look at her, your father couldn’t stop sobbing long enough to do it, but you couldn’t look away. There was something enticing about it, looking at her and trying to find all of the bits that were missing, to decipher the riddle of her glued-shut eyelids, the hollow, serene pose of her always moving, always working body. There was something powerful about her. Even her corpse held an echo of it. 

You numbly retrieved your phone from your coat pocket and found Jet’s contact. He answered on the first ring and let out a string of protests and admonishments that he must have started long before your call came through, judging by the hoarse quality of his voice. 

“I’ve got a body.” You said, reported. The Investigator overstock you, forcing out the emotion that threatened to topple you and replacing it with the familiar cadence of your crisis training. You felt for his pulse, found nothing. You sent a static shock of magic into him to see if pain or stimulus would rouse him. It did not. 

“What are you talking about?” Jet snapped. “You need-” 

“I’m in the park off Jackson.” You interrupted. “I’ve got a body. Slashed, but not a shifter.” You knew what it looked like when a shifter killed. “I need a unit out here immediately. The shade is corporeal.”

“Investigator,” Jet balked, “you are not cleared for duty. Dr. Collins is calling for a psych eval. Do not tell me you’re still working your case.” 

“Well, I don’t like to lie to superiors.” You sighed. You stood and forced yourself to turn away from the kid- the body, you reminded yourself- taking in your surroundings. It was dark. Shades could hide in the shadows nearly as well as you could. You re-upped cloak, let your magic ripple through your clothes, your phone, muffle the sound of your voice and heartbeat. “Regardless of my clearance, this thing has killed and I intend to finish my work.”

“You’re in over your head.” Jet snapped. “And if you don’t disengage and report back to HQ immediately-”

“Jet, I’m in the heart of college town right now!” you seethed through gritted teeth, “If I leave it, it’s going to cut down a dozen college students before anybody bothers to deal with it. Send backup or don’t. I’m not letting it kill anybody else.” 

You were shaking with rage or panic, which you didn’t know. You turned on your heel, towards the scant tree line, and started walking. The only evidence of you was the bloody footprints you left in the grass. 

You pulled up Milo’s contact in your phone. You typed out your dad’s phone number and sent it without allowing yourself to overthink it. 

That’s my dad’s number. If anybody happens to me, please don’t let him be the one to identify my body. 

You stuffed your phone back into your pocket and turned your mind towards the matter at hand.

[galebrainrot2024]

GalexTav Enemies to Lovers Part 24

Summary: Gale and Tav are childhood rivals who find their paths crossed once more to defeat the absolute. Fluff and angst content ahead, mutual pining, some tragic timing ahead. Mature content ahead, Enjoy! Gale's POV Word Count: 7.7K

Master List | Read on Ao3 | Part 23

Every night after dinner and after a majority of their companions dwindled to their bedrolls, Gale and Tav would slip away. They would never wander far, just past the small waterfalls- and would lie within a small, rocky entrance obscured by the undulating waters. 

The roar drowned out their voices, filtered them away from where the nestling warriors slept. Gale wasn’t quite sure why they felt the need to creep away into the night, but there was something thrilling about it all. 

His heart thrummed with trepidation and anticipation, endlessly sifting how he would tell her. These moments were built for it, and yet his words caught in his throat every time he tried to reveal the truth to her. The more days that passed, the worse the gnawing in his throat grew. As insatiable as the orb itself. 

What often stopped him was a look or a caress. Once it was because she let out a cross between a sigh and a yawn that made a pitiful squeak that made his heart flutter. Another time it was because her leg was finding a bit… too much friction between his thighs. 

Often they would lie their, tracing mindless patterns across one another’s clothed bodies or faces, he would caress her hair as they lay in blissful silence. The other night she animatedly shared a story from their youth that made Gale’s desperation for her infinitely deeper. 

He had asked her, after he shared a foolish story of his youth, for her to return the favor to lessen his embarrassment. Although, he wasn’t embarrassed telling her the story - but he found self-deprecation useful in moments of vulnerability. 

“Oh, well… before gym, me and my friends would play this game we made up… Howling Cleric.” 

Gale cocked a brow and a grin curled his lip, “Howling Cleric?” He felt his stomach lurch as her cheeks flushed and eyes danced in the moonlit waters light. 

“A game where one of us would cover our face with our shirt and cry out like a ghost to tag each other.” 

Gale had broken out into such a fit of laughter that tears pricked his eyes and she pouted in jest. He had pulled her into his lap, pressing his face into her neck. He brushed the skin away to kiss across her shoulder. Apart from light, relatively innocuous kisses he hadn’t allowed himself to go farther with her. Not yet. “I do apologize.. that’s just the most absurd game I’ve ever heard of, how did you come up with such a thing?” He planted his lips where her ear met her neck, “I love getting these glimpses into that abstract mind of yours…” 

He had intended to tell her after the fit of laughter subsided that night but when she began to sigh heavily and press her hips against his lap as he brushed his lips across her supple skin… his mind was still having trouble recovering from such moments, especially as there was no relief just pent up need that grew by the day. 

Tonight, when her head was nestled in his chest, he was prepared to tell her everything. Unfortunately for Gale, the day had been difficult - they barely managed to escape with their lives after a disagreeable run in with a Thorm. Tav was in a fowl mood that radiated off of her worse than cloud kill. 

Tav did not seek him out that night and when Gale approached her tent she poked her head out and held up a hand, “I love our time together,” Gale’s stomach dropped and he felt heat creep up his neck, “and tonight I need to be by myself - I need to blow off steam.” 

“I can certainly help with that,” Gale said, though immediately regretted his choice of words. He had promised himself he wouldn’t, not until he told her what he had done - not until he could show her pleasures of mortal flesh and more. Panic rose in his gullet, the acid tearing his esophagus until he saw her shake her head. 

Despite his panic there was still disappointment that flooded him alongside the instant relief of her refusal. He was gripped with a sense of unworthiness, at her declining his advances until he felt her fingers pull him closer to her. She gazed at him with wanton yearning and the lustful pink on her cheeks gave away her intentions. She leaned forward to whisper in his ear, “I’d rather draw this out…” Gale felt sick with desire. He felt himself thrum with arousal and shifted as blood rushed between his thighs. “Think about me tonight instead… while I think of you.” A soft groan spilled from his lips when her lips grazed his neck. “It will be our secret.” 

Abruptly, she pulled back and smirked at him before retreating into her tent. Gale swallowed hard, unable to turn around and face his companions yet. He thought about the worst things he could imagine and still the tidal wave of lust did not break. 

When he was able, he returned to his tent, grateful the rest seemed otherwise occupied. Her words wrap through his veins and the corners of his mind with wicked euphoria. 

He thought of her writhing in her bedroll, shaking and touching herself as she thought of him and it was nearly enough to force him to rupture. The need was too great. Tonight, he would do as she wished. 

*** 

The next morning as Gale prepared breakfast, he felt fingers trail along his shoulders and felt his resolve crumble. “Did you manage to blow off any bit of steam last night?” Gale’s husky voice gave away his extreme hunger for her and he was glad no one was around to hear. 

“Hm…”

“Hm?” Gale rose a brow and turned to face her and was struck with the same love sickness when their gaze met. Oh no. 

How was he meant to tell her? How could he? He was so close to having her and yet impossibly far. It shouldn’t be this difficult to share this with her, surely. He felt the words hot on his tongue and still, they would not come. He turned and shook his head, trying to settle his uneasy mind. 

“Did you?” Her voice against the back of his shoulder was too much, he was off kilter, starved for her. 

Gale cleared his throat and gave a slight shrug. “Perhaps I did.” She scoffed and felt her jolt away from him as Astarion’s voice cut through their thick tension. 

Astarion’s eyes narrowed and he pursed his lips, though there was a devious glint in his eye. “Good morning. Far be it from me to interrupt the two new lovers.” Gale glanced at Tav who averted her gaze, turning red. “Oh, darling, I don’t hold it against you,” Gale’s stomach gnawed, the tentacles of envy poising him as he watched Astarion brush her hair back in an overly familiar way. “I wouldn’t want to be in a love triangle with,” he rolled his eyes, “Gale.” 

“Astarion,” Tav hissed, taking a step back. 

“Surely, you’ve told her?” Astarion’s lips curled and he stalked towards Gale, one wrist idly rolling as if he were stretching. 

“Tell me what?” She flicked her eyes to Gale, alarmed. 

Gale froze. All air left his lungs and his spirit left his body. When Gale spoke he was underwater. “What?” The words croaked out, his mouth barren.

Astarion didn’t know. Gale’s flight or flight was just overreacting. He couldn’t possibly know. 

“Come now, don’t be coy Gale -“ Astarion hummed as he stepped closer, holding his chin in his hand and then his eyes widened as the fiendish grin spread across his lips. 

The world stopped. The sensation that washed over him was worse even than when he presented Mystra with the piece of Weave. Worse than the orb. “Astarion -“ Gale tried, but black spots dotted his vision and nausea roiled through him. 

“Oh, don’t worry, I would hate to spoil the surprise. I guarantee it will be quite the spectacle.” 

[zaceouiswriting]

Betrayal

Characters: Brett Talbot x male reader, Isaac Lahey x male reader

Universe: Teen Wolf

Warnings: None

"Brett! I need your help!” You called into your house when you opened the front door while your little brother was still in the car. When you looked at him - as you waited for your husband - you noticed again that your brother is not that small anymore. Big enough that you can't carry him on your own. Although these new procedures are slowly getting him back on his feet, walking or standing up without much help is still too much for him.

For a moment, you just stood in the open door, waiting for your man to come from somewhere, most likely shirtless. But even minutes later he didn't come.

Worried, you entered slowly and carefully. After all, you never knew if a group of hunters might have found your man. With your heart beating like crazy, so fast that it concerned you that all supernatural beings in a ten-kilometer radius would soon come to look at what was happening, you moved to the living room. As quietly as you could, you opened a hidden wall and pulled out one of your late father's guns. Your homemade miracle weapon is already loaded.

With that gun safely in hand, you first checked every room on the first floor, but nothing was there, no person and no sign of a fight... no signs at all. Now really worried, you started stumbling up the stairs, beads of sweat pouring down your forehead from the warmth of your body, almost obscuring your field of vision.

You took one of your hands off the gun to wipe away the beads of sweat. But it didn't help much. Soon there were more, which put even more concern in your mind.

After a few steps, you could hear a sudden noise. You couldn't really make out what the sound was, so you stopped and looked up and down the stairs to make sure no one was walking past you. At the same time, you listened carefully.

It was quiet again for a while. But as soon as the sound returned, you were already on high alert. It sounded like a groan of pain, as if someone -most likely Brett - was badly hurt.

Light as a feather, you bounded up the rest of the stairs, almost silently, your gun slightly lowered as you passed locked doors. The further you walked, the closer you got to where the sounds were coming from, making you tremble with fear that Brett was being tortured.

When you had to stand in front of the room where everything happened, your blood ran cold. It was... your bedroom? Your shared bedroom! The bedroom you are sharing with your husband! Who on earth is sick enough to torment someone in their own bedroom?

You stood there to make sure it was the correct room, and when you were sure: you yanked open the door, raised your gun, and searched the room. But once the bed you slept in just a few hours ago, with your husband by your side, is a sight you will never forget. "Mum?" Your voice cracked, calling out the only "parent" you had left.

She just looked at you lazily and grinned. At the same time, through her movement, you could see who was below her: whom she rode like a horse.

The first thing you wanted to do was shoot them both. Instead, you turned around and slammed the door behind you. Just to be safe, you locked your gun: so you couldn't shoot even if you wanted to.

Mumbling curses, hot salty tears pooling in the corners of your eyes. "Babe, wait! I can explain it!” You heard your husband's deep voice. Which just a few hours ago made you jump with lust. Now you made you want to strangle the bastard.

"I'm sure you have an elaborate, sad excuse for shagging my drug-addict mother who tried to kill me multiple times, spent the last ten years in prison, and paralyzed my brother."

He already knew all that. After all, there's no getting around not telling such important things like that. In the end, it would have come out anyway.

"She's clean and wanted to reconcile, one thing leads to another and-"

"Yet you fucked her, destroyed my trust in you, and asked me if she was the only one." At this point, you both were standing in front of your house - Brett was only in his underwear, though. "Let me guess. You two had a secret affair for at least six months. Because she is out of jail since then, she's most likely been telling you some shitty sob story about how my dad kept her away and used his contacts to get her into trouble, that she's actually the good parent."

From his silence, you could tell you'd hit the nail on the head, and you backed away in disgust. "She only loves herself. She never wanted to make up in her life, but I can tell you, she wants your money. She knows you're are loaded, and since she doesn't have access to my or my brother's money. She must have thought my hot bisexual husband might be an easier target. And unfortunately, she was right."

When you rushed over to your car, your brother sat in his seat in absolute shock. Although recent surgeries have been a success, and he has regained some control of his body, he still has a long way to go. Brett was like another older brother to him, a rock to both of you. Hearing your babble obviously upset him. But at this moment, you couldn't talk about it, too upset about the whole situation. So you just started the car, let Brett bang against the car doors as you rolled down the driveway, drove off immediately, and left him in the dust.

Kay didn't even look at you, too deep in thought. Subconsciously he played with his hands. It made you happy to see him moving at all and seeing him exercise when he was stressed made it even better. Even if he still has a lot of work to do before he can fully use any part of his body again.

For about two hours, you just drove around. But Kay began to whine about his body aching from being cooped up in the car the entire time.

You knew you had to crash somewhere. So you went to the only place you could think of. With a heavy sigh, you turned the wheel to head back toward the city you so badly wanted to leave behind forever.

Deeper into the city and not back to the outskirts, you were living a happy life until that wrench of a woman came back like the plague and destroyed it again.

You soon found yourself in a relatively newly built skyscraper. You carefully got your brother out of the car, put him in his wheelchair, and wheeled him into the lobby. The guard greeted you warmly and asked if he should warn him before you just stood to get to his door. But you waved him off and wished him a nice day after he gave you a visitor pass.

You knocked on the door quite softly; you visit so often. Someone scrambled inside but quickly got to the door. As soon as the door opened, the breath caught in your throat.

"Is everything ok?"

"Not really," you told him, almost throwing up at his feet. "Can we come in?"

He just stepped to the side because he knew you would tell him what was going on soon enough. "Can I go back to one of the guest rooms?"

"Of course, little buddy. You know where to go, don't you?" Isaac's smile was so bright as he spoke to your brother. It warmed and melted your heart at the same time.

Kay immediately used all his strength to roll over there. The moment you heard the door shut, you broke down: you cried ugly tears and fell to your knees. And all before your host could even react.

"Calm down! Your heartbeat is too fast!"

You hate his wolf hearing, you can never lie to him, and he always knows when something is wrong. He soon came to your side and pulled you into his arms. You've been a bit distant with him for the past few years after he's openly admitted to everyone about his feelings for you. Brett had no problem with your friendship with Isaac because he knew you only loved him. But you didn't see fit to get too close to Isaac under the circumstances.

He was right. Nothing had ever happened between you and Isaac. Now you hated yourself for it. You should have followed your heart when you fell a little in love with your childhood friend after a year with Brett, but you thought Brett would be a better husband. How wrong you were back then; you should have left Brett and gone to your childhood friend instead. After all, everyone knew your husband was a player, but you thought he'd changed, that you'd tamed him enough to remain loyal, but now you know it was just wishful thinking.

Isaac only held you for a long time, later even carried you to the couch, put a blanket over you, and even went so far as to make hot chocolate with little marshmallows: just as you like it.

"So what happened?"

You feared this question. But you knew it would come sooner or later. Suddenly your eyes went dry, and your sadness turned to numbness as if nothing had happened. It sends chills down Isaac's spine to see you like this. Fear overcame him, even trying to put some distance between the two of you, but you crawled onto him as if your life depended on it.

Sitting there, a frightened Isaac, and you, clinging to him, have told your story. That you believed for about two years that your husband had multiple affairs but could never prove it; On this day, however, you caught him in the act.

Isaac tensed up at the mention of an affair, but when it dawned on him that you had mentioned several, his face twisted into one with anger. But you weren't even in the best part yet.

Isaac knows your mother and how terrible this woman was to you and your brother that even the state didn't want to hand you over to her after your father died but had no choice until she paralyzed Kay. You were then emancipated and took custody of him. With your father's money, you could easily find a caretaker for your brother when he came out of the hospital or rehab.

So when you told him how you found her in your marital bed with your husband, he got up, pushed you back on the couch, and paced the room.

He cursed under his breath, cursing Brett to death, mumbling that he gave him a chance to be with you before he would've picked you up. And if he hadn't gone to France, you would have been certain that you never married Brett, but him: your childhood friend, first crush, and first love, even if it was just on your side.

As you saw his anger spiraling out of control, as he slowly transformed, you stood up yourself, but it was too late; cabinets and closets were his victims, poor wooden things.

"I swear if I get my hands on that little rat, I-"

Suddenly a loud knocking was heard. Both Isaac and you looked at each other in shock. They both seemed to know where the other side was, and neither wanted to deal with it.

[Masterlist]

[or13m]

Waking Dream (fnaf) Chapter 011

You were incredibly lucky that Jon and Jessi had vacated the premises by the time you'd made it out of the party room. Although, they probably wouldn't have seen you even if they hadn't left with how quickly you shot through the halls in search of your elusive prey.

You didn't bother to see if the daycare attendant was in pursuit of you or not. You were much too busy trying to map out the giant megamall to remember where the offices were. That was the one area that both Sun and Moon had shown you--on a map and in person, respectively--in order to prevent you from ever going near them. The other animatronics had their own rooms, but they tended to wander around. The big boss apparently liked to stick to his office, even eating and sleeping there. It may be nearing 2 in the morning, but you were banking on Moon's depiction of the insomniac to still be there.

You were horrible with directions so it took you longer than you'd ever admit to, but...

You burst through the door that was proudly embossed with the new owner's name, wincing as the wood slammed into the wall before bouncing back. Maybe you needed to practice the amount of force you applied? Eh, it was an emergency so they should let this slide, right? Splinters of wood or no...

"Monty?! I told you--!" a familiar voice began but cut itself off when its owner actually looked towards the doorway.

And saw you.

"You're not an alligator..."

"Uh, no?" you affirmed, albeit confused. Did he regularly break things? You knew Moon had issues with the gator, but the naptime bot seemed to have problems with everyone.

"Who are you and how did you get into my plex?" Peter got to his feet, standing tall and proud as he made his way around the giant desk at the back of the room. You barely got a chance to glance around at all the mess of parts, computer monitors, and piles of paper spread all over before he was stalking his way towards you. You flinched at his approach before steeling yourself, non-existent heart hammering in your chest.

He abruptly stopped, losing his stoic guard when his brown eye fell to your neck. Your jaw tightened, well-aware that he was staring at what Foxy had called your "death mark". Exactly as the name described, it was a black ring around the neck of the dead or dying. Why it existed was beyond the understanding of even the three ais you'd come to befriend. You hadn't even known it existed until they'd said something about it so your knowledge on the subject was absolute zero.

You relaxed only when Peter's expression softened and he no longer looked like he wanted to pick you up and yeet you into the parking lot.

"Alright," he sighed, as if this was an everyday occurrence for him. "You don't look like a kid so how'd you get here?" He peered down at you, his messy brown hair obscuring one of his eyes from your sight.

Now that you were face to face with him, you were struck by a strange sense of deja vu...

"Oh!" You perked up, filing away that curiosity for a later date. There was a very urgent matter to deal with first! "Uh, Moon! Sun? Um, something's wrong with them? Can you...help, please?"

Well, that didn't go quite as you had planned. Bursting into the office with a confidence that you most certainly didn't have had left you with very little time to figure out how to word the problem at hand to what you hoped and prayed was the mechanic. Foxy had said that it had been PETER who had saved them so you naturally assumed that meant he had been the one to fix them.

"Aaaalright," the man relented, quirking a brow but not questioning your urgency. "Can you describe what happened?"

As you explained to the best of your ability, Peter went around and gathered up the equipment he figured he would need. He paused in the middle of picking up a pile of cables before depositing them into a messenger bag when the image you were painting seemed awfully reminiscent.

"That sounds like the virus, but I swear that I got rid of it..." he mumbled to himself, twisting one of the rings on his fingers as he considered what you'd told him. Something must have occurred to him because he suddenly turned to you. "Wait, you said that they were BOTH talking to you?"

At your nod, he hummed and tossed a small tablet into his bag rather than the chunky laptop he had been reaching for. "Did their coloring change? Or just Moon's eyes?"

"Uh, I think Moonie's white may have changed a little, but it was hard to see..." you relented, before snapping to attention. "Oh! Sun's rays peeked out a little! Not more than an inch, but..." you trailed off, thinking back on how odd that had been now that you had time to reflect. It wasn't as if your brain had been focusing on those slight changes. Your friends' erratic behavior and uncharacteristic demeanor had taken center stage, not their physical appearance.

"Huh," was all the brunette said before shouldering his bag of gear and heading out the door. "Follow me."

You scrambled after him at the order, opting to walk like a  normal person rather than fly around and waste any more energy. You were still shivering with nerves, Sun and Moon being all you could think about. Guilt was already creeping in on the edge of your mind. No doubt, your yelling at them like that had pushed them over the edge. You just hoped that Peter could pull them back...

[theladyofbloodshed]

Chapter 9 - You're The Closest To Heaven I'll Ever Be

Azriel is just in emotional agony, warring inside his own head

'We appreciate you taking the time to see us again.’

Only two queens had come for their meeting – the eldest and the golden-haired one – although the same number of mortal guards had escorted them. Their keen eyes did not miss Feyre and Rhys’ entwined hands or the matching crowns on their heads signalling an accepted mating bond.

Azriel had taken up a post near the bay windows close to where Nesta stood poker-straight with her shoulders locked. He hadn’t sent any shadows to comfort her, yet one was twining itself around her hand and another had looped around her ankle the moment they had all finished their tea. If she found comfort in his shadows, she would be the first – beside him. They weren’t prone to fleeing from her. In fact, they seemed to bolster their courage in Nesta’s presence. If they were not in the midst of a terse meeting with mortal royalty, the others would surely notice his shadows behaving differently. As it was, nobody noticed a thing. Not even when the shadow looped around his wrist and Nesta’s, tying them together.

‘After being so gravely insulted the last time…’ A simmering glare was thrown at Nesta that had Azriel squeezing his hands into a fist, but the mortal woman next to him levelled her own look of unyielding flame back at her. ‘We debated for many days whether we should return. As you can see, three of us found the insult to be unforgivable.’

More words were batted back and forth between Rhys, Feyre, and the two queens. Insults were thinly veiled behind them.

This close to Nesta, Azriel hardly dared to breathe. That agonising ache in his chest that had been with him for weeks had suddenly eased. More than that, a flood of heat was leaking out from where the pain had been. He felt warm and cosy, like he was being brought in from the cold. A maddening desire to curl his face into her neck had him tensing his legs to stop his wayward heart from daring to do it. He risked a glance to the pale column of her neck, at the space where it met her collar bone. He thought of a kiss placed there – chaste to a degree but also a prelude to more.

What was wrong with him?

Why was he fantasising about touching this mortal female?

Had it been so long since he’d bedded a female that his heart would run away with only a pretty face?

Azriel tugged his wrist free from the shadow binding it and focused on the conversation. If he did not fulfil his duty here – as a result of daydreaming about Nesta Archeron – he would never forgive himself.

‘There is an iron engagement ring upon my sister’s finger – and yet she stands with us.’

The queens’ stare landed on Elain in her pale pink and blue dress. She was uncomfortable under their scrutiny and did a poor job of hiding it. Beside him, he felt Nesta go rigid. How she didn’t snap in two, he did not know.

‘I would say that is proof of her idiocy,’ the golden one sneered, ‘to be engaged to a Fae-hating man… and to risk the match by association with you.’

‘Do not judge what you know nothing about.’ The words came out from Nesta as a hiss, coiled by her anger.

‘The viper speaks again,’ the queen said with a raise of her brows towards Feyre. ‘Surely the wise move would have been to have her sit this meeting out.’

‘She offers up her house and risks her social standing for us to have these meetings,’ replied Feyre fairly. ‘She has the right to hear what is spoken in them. To stand as a representative of the people of these lands. They both do.’

Without realising what he was doing, Azriel reached for Nesta’s hand. Shadows obscured it. Nobody looked their way; Mor was opening the lid of the box where the Veritas orb was stored. Nesta risked a glance to him then down at the layer of shadows masking their entwined fingers. She did not pull away. Her fingers did not go limp against his scarred touch. No, Nesta held on tighter – the first sign of her fear. Likely the only sign she’d ever be willing to show. Azriel had never wished more to be a daemati. He wished he could speak to Nesta, offer her soft, comforting words to soothe the fear masked as vitriol.  

Velaris was revealed to the queens but Azriel kept his attention fixed on Nesta, measuring every slight change to her expression as she took in the City of Dreamers. Even the sight of his beautiful city could not persuade the queens. They demanded more time to deliberate. There was no time. The never-ending drumming of war stormed closer each day. It would be on their doorsteps before they knew it.

Even a love letter from Rhysand was read out by the elder queen, imploring them to see reason and save Feyre’s people.

‘Who is to say that this is not all some grand manipulation?’

‘What?’ Mor blurted.

‘A great many things have changed since the War. Since your so-called friendships with our ancestors. Perhaps you are not who you say you are. Perhaps the High Lord has crept into our minds to make us believe you are the Morrigan. ‘

The fingers cradled against his own slipped free. Nesta gave a loud exhale. Elain reached for her – to stop her. ‘This is the talk of madwomen. Of arrogant, stupid fools.’ The venom in her voice threatened to buckle the very foundations of the home. The queens stared at her with blinding shock. Even the sentries hadn’t moved to grip their weapons. ‘Give them the Book.’

The queens remained blinking at her.

Nesta snapped, ‘Give them the book.’

Despite the queens’ refusal, Nesta went on. Her arms flung out, brows drawn together with despair. ‘There are innocent people here. In these lands. If you will not risk your necks against the forces that threaten us, then grant those people a fighting chance. Give my sister the Book.’

The elder queen averted her gaze as if she could no longer hold Nesta’s burning one. And she did burn with a fury and a passion that nearly brought Azriel to his knees.

‘An evacuation may be possible-’

‘You would need ten thousand ships,’ Nesta said, her voice breaking. ‘You would need an armada. I have calculated the numbers. And if you are readying for war, you will not send your ships to us. We are stranded here.’

The crone gripped the polished arms of her chair as she leaned forward, a cruel smile edging onto her lips. ‘Then I suggest asking one of your winged males to carry you across the sea, girl.’

Azriel would. He’d fly across the ocean again and again, saving every mortal he could, until he died of exhaustion if Nesta asked him to.

Nesta’s throat bobbed. ‘Please. Please – do not leave us to face this alone.’

Azriel was moved by her words. Even the stars would move for her.

Just as he made to step forwards, to go to his knees before her and offer his wings, Cassian crossed to her. Azriel stiffened. Nesta lifted her chin to meet Cassian’s blazing gaze.

‘Five hundred years ago, I fought on battlefields not far from this house. I fought beside human and faerie alike, bled beside them. I will stand on that battlefield again, Nesta Archeron, to protect this house – your people. I can think of no better way to end my existence than to defend those who need it most.’

A single tear fell down her cheek at his declaration. As Cassian reached to wipe it away, Azriel turned his eyes to his boots. His chest was caving in. He had been so long without contact that a muted smile from Feyre’s sister had him unravelling. If Cassian wanted to tangle himself with a mortal whose life was limited, that was his brother’s choice.

Nesta did not pull away, did not stop him from touching her cheek with everybody watching.

A shadow burrowed up his sleeve, wending its way towards his chest to lay against his thumping heart. The sooner they were back in Velaris the better. Being in the mortal realm did not agree with Azriel. It churned up his emotions, his sense, his shadows. He wanted to go home.

The queens departed. They would not offer the book nor aid. They would leave the mortal world to rot and ruin.

Nesta stepped away, back towards Elain. A comforting arm went around her sister’s shoulders although she had been the one visibly distressed. When Azriel’s shadows moved to go to her, he called them back. For once, they listened.

‘It will be alright,’ she murmured to Elain though those words were for herself too, he supposed.

Feyre gave a gasp. Beneath her chair was a box containing the Book. Rhys picked it up and veiled it with his magic. They would leave swiftly before the other queens knew it was missing.

 Rhys inclined his head to the eldest Archeron sisters. ‘It is your choice, ladies, whether you wish to remain here, or come with us. You have heard the situation at hand. You have done the math about an evacuation.’ A nod of approval as he met Nesta’s red-rimmed eyes. ‘Should you choose to remain, a unit of my soldiers will be here within the hour to guard this place. Should you wish to come live with us in that city we just showed them, I’d suggest packing now.’

A long beat of silence followed. Nesta looked to Elain, who was still silent and wide-eyed. The latter thumbed the iron ring on her finger. A promise to a mortal male who would likely be a dead man soon too.

‘It is your choice,’ Nesta said with a tenderness that had his shadows yearning for her. ‘I go where you go.’

Elain swallowed like a doe caught in a snare. ‘I- I can’t. I…’

She was choosing love over safety. And that would damn her sister too. Love was a poison that ruined all it touched.

Surely Rhys wouldn’t allow it. They were his mate’s sisters. They should be brought to Velaris where it was safe. Azriel would keep them safe.

Rhys nodded with understanding, his grip tightening on Feyre’s waist. ‘The sentries will be here and remain unseen and unfelt. They will look after themselves. Should you change your minds, one will be waiting this room every day at noon and at midnight for you to speak. My home is your home. Its doors are always open to you.’

Azriel would be there for the first night. He would volunteer himself to guard the sisters. He could not conceive of Illyrians or Darkbringers in this place protecting mortals. They were more likely to make them suffer. No, he would guard them. Him and Cass. A bitter taste of jealously slid down his throat at the thought of Cassian being alone with Nesta. Cassian would seize the chance. From the way he lingered near her now, he knew his brother was desperate for another moment with her.

Despair paled Nesta’s face. She looked at them all then to Feyre. ‘That was why you painted stars on your drawer.’  

[kaixserzz]

Together

ੈ♡˳ Childe x Gn!Reader *ೃ༄

ੈ♡˳ 3.7k words ┊ Reverse hurt/comfort *ೃ༄

ੈ♡˳ Masterlist *ೃ༄

author's note ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

FINALLY I WRITE SOMETHING THAT ISN'T DOTTORE... this idea has been stuck in my head for AGES.. this was originally a part for my childhood friends to lovers with childe, but the shit i wrote was honestly too boring so i'll just post the interesting part!! also this is to celebrate childe being in fontaine!! yippiee !! (kinda became character analysis ,,)

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ cw: canon typical violence, blood, mentions of death, childe and reader are both crazy, can be read as platonic or romantic!! set before childe became a harbinger!!, childe having a panic attack?? (i have no experience so it may be inaccurate but i DID do some research b4! it's not intended to be a panic attack but it seemed like it was while writing it, childe is just really out of it x-x), heavy angst on childe's part like, a bit of suicidal thoughts? maybe ooc?

There are times when Ajax felt lost and alone.

It was as if all the high he felt during battles, the exhilaration as he swings his blade, suddenly all drained from his body and there was nothing left, but a husk of a boy that he used to be.

Another day, another mission.

Ajax's face was completely painted with dark red, clinging to every fabric of his clothes. He was almost unrecognizable; a scarlet behemoth traversing the hushed, frigid halls of Zapolyarny Palace. All the blood has dried upon his return, now free of duty to do whatever he pleased.

Although the option to reunite with his family beckoned—to give them gifts he has bought for them with his salary—Ajax remained rooted in the palace.

He was searching for something. But he didn't know what he was looking for. His feet were moving on their own, leading him to rooms he has visited before, familiar spots etched within his memory, and places he wasn't even allowed to enter, yet the yearning within him persisted and was left unfulfilled, a phantom ache echoing within his heart.

Ajax wandered with purposeful yet aimless strides. He felt hopeless. He was akin to an animated corpse, stumbling over his own feet and eyes more dead than the countless bodies that piled behind his back.

Everything was dark. He was lost, afraid—there was ringing in his ears the longer he walked the massive maze that is Zapolyarny palace. He wanted to claw at his chest, to rip his heart out to finally stop it from yearning for something he doesn't even know; to stop it from beating so erratically, his breathing started getting caught in his throat—

This all felt familiar.

He felt like he was falling again, engulfed with darkness that seemed to swallow any sort of life. Ajax was back in the pits of despair. Back into the Abyss. Prickling heat seared all over his body as he felt eyes staring onto his soul—watching, waiting, for his whimpers to quiet down into nothingness, so they could finally bare their teeth onto the poor little defenseless boy with a broken leg—a hapless offering selected by the Abyss itself for an agonizing demise.

"Ajax, my boy,"

The ringing in his ears grew faint as a familiar and reassuring voice emerged, like a beacon cutting through the enveloping miasma. It was the soothing and resonant call of a man he held in high regard, someone whose integrity and reliability had earned Ajax's profound respect. This was the same man he had entrusted to safeguard his family during his absence.

The shadows that had once encircled him, obscuring his vision and drowning him in despair, relinquished their hold with reluctance. In their wake, the obscurity dissipated, as if it had been an illusion all along, unveiling a world that had seemingly vanished into the void.

Slowly, Ajax opened his eyes, and his gaze met The Rooster's. His voice, laden with genuine worry, pierced through the residual haze that clung to Ajax's senses. "Are you alright? You have been on the floor for quite some time now."

At first, he didn't know what he was talking about. He had been standing just a moment ago, but realization seeped in when he noticed that Pulcinella was peering down at him. That doesn't seem right, the elderly man was a lot shorter than him.

...How long has he been kneeling on the ground?

His fingers were tangled into his messy hair and his right leg ached, a foul reminder of his injury upon his fall. The eyes that bore into him were nothing more than the fearful and worried glances of his comrades, standing a few feet away from him.

The Rooster probably told them to give him some space.

Ajax almost flinched when he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder, his eyes immediately snapping back to Pulcinella's. His body went rigid when he remembered that he was, in fact, a Harbinger and that he should be bowing his head and addressing him with respect. But the elderly man just helped him back to his feet, disregarding the putrid smell of death.

"Are you looking for your friend, boy?" A warm, patient smile was all there was on The Rooster's face as Ajax finally regained full control of his body. He was still lost, afraid, and his mind merely buzzing, but his heart lurched at the sudden thought of his comrade. It seems like he has finally identified what he has been looking for. "Fortunately, they just returned from their mission. You can find them in the training area."

Ajax wanted to thank him. For snapping him out of the madness that clung at the back of his mind, for being patient, worried, and kind enough to point him where you were, but his body moved before he could. Although, Pulcinella just watched him rush across the halls. He already understood was the boy was grateful.

Growing up, Ajax has learned to tolerate other people's views of him: a ferocious, impulsive brat embracing battles just for the fun of it. His willingness to accept harm in the fray was an emblem of his addiction to that intoxicating thrill. Each ache, each hurt, served as a reminder, that his strength could burgeon, proving that his human form contained the potential to transcend limits.

He can, and will overcome anything that gets in his way.

But what of it matters when he's nothing now? He is nothing but the naked, raw emotion of his deepest darkest fears and doubts—a side of him that no one has ever witnessed, not even his family.

If they did, what would they think of him? Weak? Pathetic? He wasn't the same little boy he was, he has become something better, greater.

Only, perhaps, it cost his soul.

If they knew, would his siblings still look up at him in glee? Would his mother still press her forehead against his and promise that everything will be alright? Would his father recognize him as the same son he lost all those years ago?

Fear. Disdain. Disgust. Anger. Hatred. Emotions he has grown immune to, the gazes, glares, and stares of people he knows not of their names, yet familiar through their eyes.

None of them could see who he truly was inside. Perhaps he doesn't deserve it.

Blood soaked all over his hands, after all.

He has committed sins no man should be forgiven for.

He did it all on a whim.

Ajax wishes the Abyss could swallow him again. There, he would never feel shame. There, he could indulge in the adrenaline that will forever be pumping in his veins. His family would be safe, from the dangers of his enemies, and from himself.

"What are you doing just standing there?"

The loud, gusts of cold wind abruptly stopped and were replaced by an enveloping warmth that emanated from a mere presence. A voice, effervescent and kind, cascaded into his ears and jolted him awake from his daze.

How could he forget about you?

You were different.

You never regarded him with fear, even when his form was veiled in dried blood. Nor did you harbor any disgust or avert your gaze. You had always been the same toward him, ever since you were young. You defended him when the adults start yelling at him for his behavior. You'd pull him away from fights before he could join them.

Sure, you found his violent tendencies a little out of hand, but you paid him no mind. You were his only friend ever since he left the Abyss. You'd wipe the blood off his knuckles, reprimand him for running off to wherever he pleased, and would spend your days playing together.

Not only that, but you've allowed him to spar with you, training together to get stronger. He knows it was your efforts to keep him out of trouble, to keep him entertained, to prevent hurting himself.

Even in the present moment, you simply raised an eyebrow at his display, a wry amusement dancing in your eyes. "Hey, don't go dirtying the halls!" Your laughter resonated, accompanying your confident stride as you drew nearer.

You expected him to laugh along with you, to give you his usual shit-eating grin that you've grown fond of over the years. To smear his dirty gloves onto your face as a joke, or roll his eyes.

But he didn't. He hadn't spoken a word, only stared into your eyes.

Your brow furrowed, the concern etching lines onto your features. Ajax's expression was hard to read, or, well, there was nothing to read. He looked lifeless, dead. His eyes appeared vacant, the spark of life far long extinguished. His posture, stiff and unmoving, could have been mistaken for that of a statue. Ajax himself was aware of that. He finally found what he was looking for, but now he didn't know why. He wanted to speak, to quell your worries, yet his voice remained trapped, and he stood there, frozen.

Despite this, you still notice things no one ever could. The subtle tremor in his lower lip did not escape you, the telltale reddening of his eyes, nor did the indentation of his nails against his palms. He wanted something, needed something. You could tell he was pleading for anything.

"Ajax?" You call out his name, and he barely responded to it, lost in his muddled mind. "Ajax." You try again, louder, and closer to him. "Are you okay?" He gave you a hum, and that was all it took.

He felt your arms slowly snake around his torso, wrapping them around him, and pulling him into a hug. Ajax reacted almost immediately, hands flying to your arms with a crushing grip, ready to break them.

"You here with me?"

Ajax's eyes widened his eyes as soon as realization sank in, his grip instinctively slackening as regret permeated his being, whispered curses escaping his lips as he glimpsed the faint bruise on your skin. Why hadn't you reacted? The pressure of your weight against him acted as an anchor, grounding his spiraling thoughts and guiding him back to his senses. But why didn't you defend yourself?

Did you trust him that much?

"Hey—what are you doing? Let me go!" Please don't, he pleaded desperately, his trembling hands clutching onto your shoulders. His breath quivered, weakly squirming away from your hold. "I-I'm literally disgusting right now! Why are you hugging me?!"

You gave him a small pout, your hand pushing his head on your shoulder, and he struggled to fight against your hand and his desire to just give in. "I thought you liked hugs?" You murmur softly against his ear, and it sent shivers down his spine. "C'mon, it's not like you're fighting it."

Ajax hated that you were right. For the first time in years, he has never felt so vulnerable, and weak. If it were someone else before him, they would've taken advantage of him and ended him then and there.

But this was you, his best friend since he was little. The person who knew Ajax before his fall, and still accepted him for who he was despite his massive change. In your eyes, he was still the same boy who would pelt you with snowballs, push you onto the soft, white ground to make snow angels, and would chase you around your hometown.

He may have changed. But he was still your Ajax, your best friend. The one person you could rely on, and trusts enough to let your guard down completely before him.

Ajax's arms finally wrapped around you, his breathing in sync with yours. It was the only way to quiet down his buzzing mind, to stay conscious, and not drift back into the dark.

Your demeanor towards him remained unchanged. You still cared about him as if he hadn't laid waste to battlefields. You extended your care to him, undeterred by the carnage he might have wrought. Tenderly, you bound his wounds in bandages, scolded him for his recklessness with a stern voice, and enveloped him in warm embraces whenever the need for solace arose.

You saw him for who he was.

Not as Childe, not as the monster people perceive him for, nor as the responsible big brother he was.

No, you only saw Ajax, underneath his desire for battle.

You offered a gentle pat on his back, your voice soothing as you spoke, "Alright big guy, go take a bath." However, Ajax clung to you for a moment, an unyielding grip that seemed to resist releasing you. A soft chuckle escaped your lips as you playfully urged him, "C'mon, you reek. I'll fetch you some fresh clothes."

Ajax, with reluctance, let you go as he allowed to you to lead him to the shower rooms. He was glad you didn't ask what was wrong with him any further, he didn't even know it himself. Or perhaps you already knew.

He wishes that you knew that he would do the same for you.

You suggested that the two of you should go ice fishing as soon as Ajax has finished cleaning himself up.

It was random, and it left him confused, but he still found himself holding two fishing rods while you deftly worked to cut through the thick layer of ice that concealed the familiar lake you both frequented for ice fishing.

Ajax's father would always invite you whenever he decided it was another day to go ice fishing. Both you and Ajax would be in awe whilst you listened to his father talk about tales of heroes and adventure.

He took those stories to heart, and oftentimes, whenever he played with you afterward, he'd perceive himself as the main character, a hero, of the epic tales his father told him.

You, on the other hand? You never believed in heroes. You think they're just stories to entertain children, and those who call themselves heroes whilst being a hypocrite were unworthy scum of such a glorious title.

But you always indulged in Ajax's whims. As he swung the wooden sword his father had crafted for him, you played along, allowing him to 'save' you from the imaginary 'monster' lurking amidst the snow-covered landscape.

Nowadays, Ajax usually went ice fishing alone.

Even though Ajax has experienced the perils of the Abyss, you've always bested him in combat. He taught you what he had learned from the Abyss and from his master, Skirk, but he didn't really expect you to outperform him. So, compared to his duties, the Fatui has always deemed you as 'more useful' and 'less wild'.

Maybe, Ajax mused, if it had been you selected by the Abyss, things might have turned out differently. You could have navigated its challenges more adeptly than he managed. A thought tickled his mind—imagine you outmatching Skirk in a sparring match. Your instincts, forged by years of street life and survival in an icy nation, had helped you in ways more than he could ever think of.

So he doesn't ask you to do such a trivial hobby with him anymore. Nor did the two of you talk as much as you did.

You were a person of a higher position, closer to being a Harbinger than he was.

Ajax always thought that the growing gap between your friendship, as the years went by in the Fatui, was merely caused due to work. He wanted to train, to be even stronger than he is now. He has assumed that you were far too busy, answering the Tsaritsa's beck and call, leaving little room for anything else.

Yet he has never seen you so utterly content for quite some time. Sat next to him on a wooden stool, you cast your line onto the hole you've chiseled through the ice. You would smile at him, and it emanated warmth hotter than the burning flames of a campfire. His chest tingled, and he slowly cast his line as well.

Perhaps he was wrong.

That he was the reason the connection between the two of you was on a thin line. You've always sought out for him, but he would just excuse himself to train, or remind you that you had a mission to tend to.

Nonetheless, you didn't hesitate to accept him with open arms. To soothe him when he most needed it, to help him relax and found refuge in shared pastimes he had once assumed were best pursued in solitude. It was nostalgic. It reminded him of times when you were both smaller, clumsily pulling the line when a fish bites, and slipping on the ice.

Ajax felt nothing, but at the same time, he felt everything.

The chilly wind blowing against his hair, the way his gloves creased as he tightened his grip on his fishing rod, and your presence right beside him, ever so soothing and warm. He was at ease.

Ajax wishes that things should just stay like this.

"I've always thought about leaving the Fatui at some point."

Ajax's heart drops.

His hands suddenly weakened, and his fishing rod was almost lost in the cold depths of the water beneath the ice. His head turns to you with wide eyes.

He was at peace. Everything was fine. Why did you have to ruin it?

Ajax was well aware of what the Fatui truly was. He couldn't even remember how many people he has killed for the sake of the Tsaritsa's will.

You were the one who wanted to join the Fatui with him. You were the one who helped him fight all of those soldiers just to receive the same 'punishment' as he did. Now you're telling him you want to quit?

To just leave him like that?

"I want to live a normal life," You began, reeling the line of your rod and absentmindedly tapping your foot against the ice. You kept your eyes on the hole in the ground, choosing to ignore the heartbroken stare Ajax gave you. "Buy a house, have a family, and just live a life without crime."

You looked up into the white sky, the sun hiding behind the endless expanse of clouds. "Be happy, be normal. Pretty boring, right?" You chuckled, "But every homeless kid who grew up in this shithole has always dreamed something like that. Either live a happy, long life with a stable income or be filthy rich."

Ajax can't blame you if that was your dream. After all, you've grown up in very different conditions than he did. His family wasn't rich, but it was enough that Ajax wouldn't have to worry about if they were going to eat.

But being a Fatui without you? He could hardly imagine.

Sure, you've only talked to each other after for so long just a while ago—but you were his best friend. You were his sparring partner. The person he trusts the most, the person he knows will have his back no matter what.

Though, if this is what you truly wanted, to leave the Fatui, to leave him... He guesses he could let you go. Ajax can't force you to do something you didn't like.

"I don't really have any reason for staying in the Fatui but..." You finally turned to look at Ajax with a mischievous smirk on your lips. "Someone ought to keep an eye on you."

Oh, Ajax blinked at you, in the end, you decided to stay. A sigh of relief escaped him, a weight lifting from his chest as he released a breath he hadn't even realized he was holding, his previously tense shoulders sagging in relaxation.

He finally finds it in himself to speak, his voice, though still a little quiet and shaky, was loud enough for you to hear. "Looks like we're pretty different in terms of goals." He mutters as he reeled the line when he felt a bite. "I'm going to overthrow the gods and conquer the world."

For a moment, it was quiet. Ajax almost thought you found him ridiculous with such foolish ideas. But you threw your head back and your shoulders shook as you laughed, a sound so familiar, yet he craved to hear more. Your laughter wasn't malicious, nor it was condescending. It was pure bewilderment, in awe of his boldness."

"Wow, even if you've calmed down, you're still talking nonsense." You said between giggles, wiping away the tear that formed in your eyes.

Ajax pouted at you, throwing the fish he had caught onto your lap. "I'm strong enough to accomplish it! You don't believe in me?"

Your eyes twinkled as you grinned at him, cooing at his reaction. "Of course not! At least, not alone." Ajax raised a curious brow as you continued, "You can't conquer the world by just wildly running around and beating things to death."

Ajax was slowly catching on with your intentions, and he fought the urge to smile. "So, what do you suggest then?"

"You need strategy! And knowledge." You nodded to yourself, the smile never leaving your face, "Power is important, but you can't just fight a god to overthrow them. After all, every meathead needs a brain."

"Hey!"

"Will you be my brains, then?

"Me?" You gasp in fake surprise at his question, pointing at yourself. Though, you could tell he has become serious at the thought of it.

"Conquer the world with me," Ajax smiles, his eyes trailing down to the hands that gripped the fishing rod. "I need a... sense of direction, and you're always there to help me get my shit together when I need it. Besides, it'll be more fun with the two of us!"

You laughed again, watching him brighten up at the idea. You were glad he was back in his spirits. If you were honest, you have never seen Ajax so out of it before. His eyes held nothing, but you could sense fear. It was unusual, but you could only do your best to help him through it.

"Fine, fine," You playfully roll your eyes. "I'll be your partner in crime. You can't reach your goals without me anyway."

He turned to look at you, his eyes bright like they used to be, "Promise?"

"Yeah, I promise."

Ajax then brought up his pinky finger to you, his grin widening. "Pinky promise?"

"What?" You narrowed your eyes at him, suddenly annoyed. "Are you a child?"

"My code name is Childe.

"Ugh, stop." You intertwine your pinky finger around his. "I pinky promise."

- ̥۪͙۪˚┊❛❛ If you like this a lot, consider reblogging! I'll appreciate it very very much! Don't repost and/or translate my work anywhere. ❜❜ ┊˚ ̥۪͙۪◌

[good-beanswrites]

Added my Double drabble to Lights, Camera, Sing Your Sins! I snuck it into chapter 2 so I figured I'd make a quick post with it here :)

“Hey, stop bumping me.”

“You’re bumping me – I can’t see!”

“Just scooch over.”

“My toes!”

Mikoto looked back at the group of prisoners huddled around him, packed tightly so that they could peer over his shoulder at the monitors. His hand paused from where it had been sweeping the stylus around, rearranging his latest creation.

“It’s not that exciting guys,” he laughed. “Let me at least show you some of the finished pieces, I’m sure this is boring…” 

Not that the other pictures were that exciting, either. He pulled up the other frames he’d been busy editing. There came a chorus of oohs and ahhs, but Mikoto knew it was just out of obligation. He flicked through a few of them as quickly as he could.

It was the type of art he loved to do (with some input from Red now and then) but it didn’t really suit any of the other prisoners’ tastes. He’d heard enough questions about his field to know it wasn’t all that impressive to most people. 

Sure enough, Kazui squinted at the screen. “You made all these?” he asked. “Like, you drew them?”

“Er…in a way. I drew some of the elements, and had to do some work to make the effects look right. And the color coordination takes time too.” He scratched the back of his head. “I know it doesn’t look like much…”

When he glanced over, though, Kazui’s expression was one of awe. “No, no, you’re very talented!”

Haruka’s finger tapped the screen. “Can you go back to that one?”

Mikoto clicked back to a photo of himself sitting on one of the train benches. It was meant to depict Red, made abundantly clear by the blood spatter, colored eyes, and savior label that had been placed with much deliberation. Blue had insisted on it, though Red only agreed with the addition of quotations. Their guilty verdict had been crushing for both of them (though not wholly unexpected), so it was important to show all sides of them, now.

Although it had been one of his favorites when working on it, he suddenly wondered if his personal flair had gotten out of hand. It was hardly distinguishable as the original shot, with too many textures and additions obscuring everything.

Fuuta whistled. “Man, that looks sick. You should have done my video…”

“Mine too!” Mahiru said. “I love the bright colors you’re using in all of these. And the paper and ink just looks so crafty!”

Kotoko leaned in to get a better look. “I really like the focus on the eyes here.” 

“O-oh, thanks!” He could feel his chin lift at the commentary. “I got the idea a bit ago… it’s kind of a running thing now? I drew some of them here –” he scrolled though a few frames. “And a scribble over the face here to keep the theme going. Little ones here, a string of them like this. Heh, I drew about a thousand different eye designs to get any actually liked. Then I have these big ones, see? I’m debating on including a blue version, too, but maybe I’m going overboard. I think Jackalope might have a heart attack, seeing all this crap.” 

“He’ll get over it.” Yuno answered his joking smile with a genuine one. “I’m so glad you’re having fun with these. It’s all very… you.”

Mikoto’s gaze fell onto the last frame he’d pulled up: another messy one of Red filled with pink and blue, with the text save you repeated nearby.

“It’s both of us.”