#and found you can clench certain muscles to help with dizziness which I didn’t know! :0

[kagrenacs]

@werevampiwolf I tried using a cane for a couple years. Unfortunately it was only really helpful when I started having structural issues with my feet (which custom orthotics will probably help) or the unexplained and occasional rash+swelling in my knees. For flareups ultimately I found canes to be an extra thing to manage when walking is enough to exhaust me. Which was a valuable thing to learn, I wouldn’t have known if I hadn’t tried. I think my main issue is fatigue and dizziness when I stand too long from POTS & ME/CFS. Most times I can just squat or sit on the floor for 5 minutes and feel better. So idk how helpful mobility aids would be for me

[janekfan]

Fair

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28298580

Secret Santa gift for @alextblue!

This was such a lovely prompt! I hope you like it!!

Keep it together or they’ll never invite you out again.

He knew when he woke up, tangled in the duvet and soaked in a cold sweat that it was going to be a bad day. No matter how deep a breath he heaved, none of the air reached its way to the bottom of his lungs, caught it seemed on the tight band crushed around his ribs.

Relax.

Just relax.

Everything is fine.

More than fine.

Great even.

Jon was meeting Martin and Tim at an outdoor festival and with the weather for once bright and sunny, it was going to be a wonderful day. In succession, he tightened each muscle, holding himself stiff before relaxing and shoving the thrumming anxiety to the back of his awareness where it hung like a trembling red wire.

Shower. Clothes. Hair loosely tied. Tea.

Stomach unsettled, his toast remained untouched on the counter.

Keys, wallet, phone. Each in their appropriate pocket.

Deep breath. Two. Three.

“I’m alright.” Because he was. There was no reason for this. None at all and he was going to end up being too much of a nuisance for his friends. Maybe he should cancel. No. No. Who knew when he’d get another chance to prove he was more than their arse of a boss and worth having around.

The train went well. He made it to the predetermined meeting place in the park early as was his wont and checked his phone for messages. Predictably, Tim was running a few minutes late but Martin would be here soon and sure enough Jon saw him weaving his way politely through the crowd, raising his arm up to catch his attention.

“Jon!”

“Martin.” When he dug up a smile from somewhere Martin’s face lit up in response and a jolt not unlike lightning ran up Jon’s spine. A strong arm landed over his shoulders and the smell of Tim’s aftershave assaulted him right before his enthusiastic greeting.

“Hullo, gents!”

For a little while, Jon was able to lose himself in the music, the sights, the people watching, settling his nerves with a pint and prattling on about obscure music genres much to Martin’s apparent enjoyment. Tim ribbed him good naturedly and only commented on the blush (not from Martin grinning at him, thank you very much) from the alcohol traveling up his neck and settling high in his face.

“Thank you, Tim.” Voice measured and academic, Jon accepted the next pint with a hand forcibly held still, relaxing on the bench with Tim sprawled comfortably next to him. Martin was locating food and would meet them back here.

“Whoa! Slow down, champ.” Jon had downed half of it without thinking and was now looking dazedly at the plastic in his hand. “You alright, boss?”

“Mm. Yes, of course. Was thinking, is all.” A knobby elbow nudged his side and Jon suppressed a ticklish yelp.

“Thinking.” The way he drew out the word and raised a brow made Jon grateful for his already rosy cheeks.

“Stop! No!” Tim raised his hands in supplication.

“Sure, sure, whatever you say!” He all but tackled Tim when he pulled out his phone and began texting and that’s how Martin found them, tangled up with each other, Jon’s fingers in a deathgrip around the device to prevent him from spreading gossip. Tim just laughed, loud and bright and Martin, the traitor, snapped a picture before doling out the kebab.

It was shortly after lunch that Jon felt the strain of the hours spent pressed between strangers and overwhelmed by sounds and colors and the deep breaths weren’t helping anymore. Instead, Jon’s whole chest ached from how tight it was strung, tied up in knots drawn tighter with each attempt. Incessantly, he checked his watch, trying to hide it from the pair chatting just ahead of him, but the minutes weren’t moving and all he wanted to do was escape the throng, nails digging painful crescent moons into his palms as he clenched his hands into aching fists. His heart was pounding, the sun beating down without mercy and he regretted his previous decision to quaff beer like there was a drought when the nausea returned.

Jon was on autopilot, eyes fixed forward, one step after another after another after another with his heart fluttering in a throat so narrow he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak. So he tugged on Martin’s sleeve, gesturing clumsy and stiff to the edge of the green.

“Just. Just be a, a minute, yeah?” The concern in his eyes was suffocating. He was ruining this.

“Everything alright, Jon?” He’d reached a hard limit. There were no more words left, no more air, so he nodded, flashed what he hoped was a reassuring smile, and walked away rigid and panting through an endless sea of jostling bodies.

Why couldn’t he just be normal? Why couldn’t he handle this like all the rest of them? Why did he have to be so difficult he needed to be invited to things out of pity?

What is wrong with you?

Jon hadn’t realized he’d yanked his hair out of its loose bun and was tugging on it until his head began to hurt. He stumbled more than once, vision going grey at the edges and what had only been anxiety before was swiftly sliding sideways into a panic attack. Dizzy. Where before he felt tense, as though breathing too deeply might crack him straight in half, now he was suffocating, arguing with himself:

Can’t breathe.

You can.

Back and forth, almost to the border and across the street to a bench, out of the way. Invisible. He’d fall apart here, scrape himself back together, and head back to find Martin and Tim. Ten minutes. He checked his watch. He’d give himself ten minutes. Panting, he pressed a hand to his breastbone, trying to force himself to calm down, relax, take in some air to prevent the black from spiraling further. Briefly, wildly he’s--

Dying.

Not. Shut up shut up shut up.

His ten minutes were almost up and it had been more like ten seconds. His chest hurt and he couldn’t breathe and his pulse was galloping out of control and filling his ears with a pounding, pounding, pounding. His fingertips were numb, he was light headed and trembling with his arms wrapped tightly around his stomach. He wanted Martin. He wanted Tim. He wanted nobody to see him like this. He couldn’t decide which was worse god he was pathetic just get ahold of yourself, Jonathan Sims!

Curled up impossibly small, wracked violently with chills and panic, Jon poured all his energy into staying silent and when a warm hand landed on his shoulder his shout of surprise was trapped behind clenched teeth. He looked up into Martin’s wide eyes and felt his own spill over with tears and a muffled sob. He’d been caught and the panic only rose higher until Martin laid a heavy hand across his shoulder blades.

“Jon. You need to take a breath.”

“C’c ah an’t.” He’d been trying. And failing. Always failing.

“You can, I promise.” And when he demonstrated, exaggerated, deep, Jon felt a pang of jealousy at how easy it came to him. “You can.” A sip of air made it through, then another. “Good, there you go, slow, good.”

“What’s happened?” With Tim came a fresh wave of tears and he sat beside Jon so that he was bracketed by the pair of them. “Oh, Jon. Okay, doing great, bud.”

“I’m,” he paused, swallowed another gulping breath. “M’sorry.”

“No reason to be sorry.” Jon wasn’t altogether certain Martin could be believed. “Just breathe, in, out. Good.”

“Okay…m’okay.”

“It’s alright if you’re not. Take your time.” Jon slumped forward under the weight of it all, exhausted and sore and full to bursting with guilt.

“I’m j’just. I’m sorry.” It wasn’t enough. His apologies never were and he didn’t know what else to say, what would make this better. “I didn’t mean. I.” Martin shushed his babbling, pressing a cool bottle of water into his shaking hands and wouldn’t hear anymore out of him until he’d downed at least a third.

“Jon?” The silence was becoming too much under the scrutiny of the pair of them and he just wanted to forget his little episode and get back to the festival so they would smile again instead of look at him with pity.

“We can, we can go back now.”

“Jon?” Of course, why would they want him to tag along anymore after this foolishness?

“Or I, I can leave, uh, go home. Yes. Yes, I’ll go home and see you at work. T’tomorrow.” Ignoring their noises of distress, Jon sprang to his feet and almost went down again when a wave of vertigo tilted the street. He was guided by careful hands back to the bench, head gently pressed down between his knees.

“Why didn’t you say you weren’t feeling well?” Tears traced his nose, falling to the pavement below but he forced them back, speaking in a very small voice in an attempt to contain his histrionics.

“Didn’t want to ruin our day.”

“What?”

“I know. I, I did anyhow, I’m--”

“You’ve not ruined anything, Jon.” Martin was so kind, too kind. And here he was squandering it.

“Yeah, boss. It happens, no harm done.” They didn’t understand and Jon clapped both hands over his mouth before it could all come bursting out, how much this meant to him and how upset he was to have lost his chance. It rushed forth anyway, too big, too vast, and not wholly intelligible.

“I know I was only invited because of Martin and I. I.” This was embarrassing and he wasn’t able to stop himself. He never could. “I was hoping I'd be w’welcome next t’time? If only I, I were on my best behavior.” Good lord, he was crying again, a mess, here in the street where he was probably drawing all manner of looks. They shouldn’t have to put up with this. “I, I know I can be, be awful. I don’t, I’m rude and quick to irritation and I’m, I’m--” Gasping. He’d worked himself into another bout or maybe he hadn’t even come down from it in the first place.

“Breathe, Jon.” Stern and his teeth clicked with the force of their collision. “Breathe.” Only when he wasn’t on the verge of passing out did Martin continue. “Jon, I’m sorry. I had no idea you felt this way.”

“If I’d known--” Tim was quiet. “I shouldn’t have assumed it wasn’t your scene. I didn’t. No. I mean, I didn’t, but that’s no excuse.”

“No, no it’s. It isn’t your--I. I.” It was him. “I.” Tim swept him up into an embrace, exerting the perfect pressure across his shoulders and he melted into the warmth like he’d done back in research a time or two.

Or three.

Maybe four.

“We’ll finish talking about this later, alright? When you’ve had some sleep.”

“I, I don’t--it’s…” When Martin’s firm grip enveloped his shoulder Jon gave up, let the rest of it all go. “I’m--”

“Don’t say it. Don’t need to be.”

“You’re our friend, Jon.”

“But--”

“Nope!” Tim helped him stand, took his arm in his and set off towards the underground. “Martin, my dear, my darling, if you’re amenable, I think I’d like to finish our spectacular day with a few drinks at mine.” Jon went red. “I don’t think you’ve yet had the pleasure of meeting my good friend Three-Shot Sims.”

“Tim!” Martin had the audacity to pretend to think about it.

“You know, Tim.” And both ignored Jon’s sputtering in favor of nearly carrying him down the street. “I don’t think I have!” With no other choice and knowing he’d be under no pressure to perform that particular introduction, Jon let Tim guide him along.

“Oh, Marto, my boy. He’s a real treat.”

[winteratdusk]

whumptober day 5/7

@whumptober2020

Captain America: The First Avenger 

Prompts: rescue/carrying/”i’ve got you”

Warnings: vomiting, implied past torture, mentions of past non-consensual drug use

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

“Am I dead?”

Bucky’s familiar voice, rough from disuse or maybe something worse, grabbed Steve’s attention as quickly as anything could. Not like Steve didn’t have plenty else on his plate - he’d just completed his first successful military operation without the military even knowing it, rescuing nearly 400 POWs from certain death - but somehow, through it all, Bucky still took precedence.

“No, Buck,” Steve spoke past a lump in his throat. “No. You’re just fine. Or at least, you’re gonna be.”

Steve was leading the rescued men resolutely southward, out of Austria and back to the encampment in Italy where Captain America had just mysteriously cancelled a series of USO shows geared toward raising troop morale. Finally having seen combat firsthand, Steve was beginning to realize that no amount of flashy choreography or empty rhetoric could raise morale enough to make any sizable difference in the war effort. He had to hope that bringing a whole army’s worth of missing men back from the dead would suffice. Still, he was having a hard time focusing on the mission - as soon as he’d caught sight of Bucky, strapped to a table and trembling his way through his name, rank, and number even though nobody had stuck around to listen, his priorities had shifted so drastically that he was hardly able to spare a thought for the exhausted men trudging along beside them. Hardly an hour of marching with Bucky by his side, clearly hurt and shaking and looking about ready to keel over at any given moment, and Steve had entrusted command of the mission to Dernier and Falsworth, turning his own attention to making sure Bucky made it back in one piece.

“No,” Bucky was saying, shaking his head as though trying to clear it of some delusion. “‘M not. This isn’t real. You’re not real.”

Steve hardly knew what to say. Bucky’s wide eyes and jumbled syllables served as undeniable proof of his impaired lucidity, proof that whatever drugs the HYDRA doctor had cooked up were still running through his veins. Steve didn’t know how to reach him, to make him realize that, whatever else he was seeing or whatever else he’d been through, this was real, and he was safe.

“Come on, Buck,” he settled for saying. Simultaneously walking and talking seemed like a challenge for Bucky in his weakened state, and he’d stumbled to a halt on the narrow dirt path, swaying a little as he stood staring up at Steve in guarded disbelief. “We gotta keep up so we don’t get left behind. Can I… can I help you?”

Steve reached out for Bucky, who had gone deathly pale and looked about a second from passing out. Bucky pitched forward a little before righting himself, batting Steve’s outstretched hand away even as he winced at the rapid movement.

“No!” he forced out, loudly enough to startle a couple of errant birds out of the trees that grew thick and sloping over the covert path. A few of the other rescued men spared them a sideways glance, but soon enough turned their weary eyes back to the road under their feet. Steve supposed they’d all seen far worse, a realization that did little to alleviate the worry rising in his chest.

“I’m fine,” Bucky insisted. His voice was loose and watery, like the muscles in his jaw were too lax to enunciate with any degree of precision. Anyone who looked at him would know just how wrong that assertion was - he looked awful, all clammy skin and grime and bruises so bad that the sight of them pulled at Steve’s heart. Then there was the constant trembling, which Steve had initially attributed to the cold but was now beginning to believe might be coming from something else, and the lingering confusion, the lack of recognition in Bucky’s cloudy eyes. Steve wanted nothing more than to reach out to Bucky and just hold him until he was steady on his feet again, but Bucky still seemed bent on fighting him, unable to reconcile the Steve standing before him with whatever else was going through his head.

“Okay,” Steve sighed, shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat to resist the urge to use them to manually steady Bucky on his feet. “Okay. We’ve got to move, though. Can you do that?”

“Hm.” Bucky swallowed hard before forcing his shaking legs back into motion, his shoulders hunching as he doggedly stumbled forward. Steve hovered by his side, knowing he wasn’t welcome but still finding himself physically unable to let Bucky stray more than a few feet away from him. He’d crossed an ocean to be here, gone behind enemy lines without even a second thought, thrown everything he had away just for the off-chance that he might be able to see Bucky again. And he had, but, god, it was all so wrong, Bucky Barnes from Brooklyn beaten down and half-dead and looking at Steve like he didn’t even know him. Steve knew it was selfish, but he couldn’t get over how much that last one hurt.

Steve forced himself to stay quiet, giving Bucky space to concentrate on putting one foot in front of another. Their boots crunched against the thin layer of ice that had settled on the path overnight as they walked, the steady rhythm of Steve’s footfalls all but masking the sounds of Bucky’s stuttered steps. Their breath crystallized in the chilly morning air, rising in clouds toward the canopy of trees above them. It was cold, Steve was realizing. He hardly felt cold anymore, but it was bad enough now that even he found himself shivering a little, tugging the shoulders of his coat tight for warmth.

Bucky, on the other hand, was shaking hard. Even the jacket Steve had forced him into back at the factory didn’t seem to be helping much. The slight tremor that had been running through him when Steve first found him on that lab table had ramped up tenfold, making every jerky step look like it took an almost herculean effort.

“You okay?” Steve murmured, fully aware that Bucky wasn’t but having no idea what else to say. Bucky had always taken care of him, Steve thought bitterly. Why was he finding himself so woefully incapable of returning the favor?

Bucky didn’t respond, keeping his shoulders hunched and eyes down as he staggered along. Steve sighed, trying not to get too upset about it. He knew Bucky was in rough shape, and half out of his mind on HYDRA drugs to boot, but that didn’t make his stoic disbelief any easier to deal with.

Steve glanced away from Bucky for a moment to take stock of the other men. It looked like they were moving forward as steadily as they could be, but Steve was realizing that Bucky’s halting pace had set them falling behind with the stragglers - any slower and they stood the chance of being abandoned entirely. Steve was about to turn back to Bucky and relay this information when he heard an awful thud, the sound of a body hitting the ground. Steve whipped around to see Bucky curled up in the dirt, looking like he’d just taken a hard fall onto the icy path.

“Bucky!?” Steve was wholly unable to keep the panic from his voice as he dropped to his knees, the other men all but forgotten. His world had once again narrowed until it was just Bucky, trembling on the cold ground.

Bucky moaned, the weak, shaky sound barely audible over the sounds of the other men’s boots as they made their way past. He shoved himself up until he was braced against the hard-packed dirt on his hands and knees, still swaying even though he was barely inches from the ground. As Steve watched, Bucky squeezed his eyes shut, clenching his jaw and swallowing hard against seemingly nothing.

“Hey,” Steve said, hardly hearing himself over the frantic pounding of his own heart. “Hey, talk to me. What’s wrong? What… what can I do?”

Bucky gulped again, pulling a deep breath in through his nose. He worked up a mouthful of spit and aimed it at the ground before struggling to wrap his mouth around a word.

“Dizzy…”

“Okay,” Steve sighed, reaching out a tentative hand to gently brush Bucky’s shoulder. At first Bucky tensed under his touch, but another round of nauseating swaying seemed to drain the fight out of him.

“Okay,” Steve repeated. “You’re okay, Buck.”

“I - I don’t…” Bucky slurred, staring wide-eyed at the ground like it might move or disappear if he so much as blinked. “I don’t… feel good.”

“Yeah. I’m sorry,” Steve whispered. “I know you’ve been through… a lot. And I promise, as soon as we make it back, this’ll all be over and you’ll be able to lie down and rest. We just have to make it a little bit further, okay?”

Bucky barely acknowledged him. He was going paler by the second under the garish bruises on his face, and Steve had the sudden and horrible thought that he might pass out right there on the cold ground.

“Come on. Let me help you,” Steve said quickly. He stood up and offered a hand down towards Bucky, who blindly raised a trembling arm to meet Steve’s.

“Yeah, okay. Good.” Steve tugged Bucky into a standing position, trying not to be too rough as he manhandled all of Bucky’s dead weight. He debated for a moment the most helpful course of action, eventually deciding to sling one of Bucky’s limp arms over his own shoulders, wrapping an arm around Bucky’s waist to support more of his weight. Upright, Bucky seemed to have a hard time finding his footing, stumbling into Steve’s chest before righting himself and pointing his feet in more or less the direction of the path.

“Good,” Steve encouraged him as he nudged them forward. “That’s good. Just a little further…”

In reality, Steve had no idea how far it was. He’d passed all of his navigation equipment along to Dernier and Falsworth when he’d relinquished command of the mission, leaving him with nothing but his vague memory of getting to the factory to help him approximate the distance back. He had a feeling that the camp might be a fair amount further away than he’d prefer to admit, but all he could do was press on, silently praying that Bucky could hold out a while longer.

Steve held Bucky close against his side as they walked, listening as his breath grew steadily shallower and his steps increasingly faltered. Steve tightened his hold on Bucky’s waist as they went, taking progressively more and more of his weight as the last of Bucky’s energy seemed to seep out of him.

“Doing great, Buck,” Steve kept murmuring, half for Bucky’s benefit and half to drown out the tiny, pained sounds that kept escaping with Bucky’s labored breaths. “Doing real good. Just hold on, okay?”

Bucky still seemed unwilling or unable to acknowledge him, looking blankly past him with a thousand-yard stare fixed somewhere in the distance - but as Steve whispered his mindless encouragements, Bucky curled the hand that was slung over Steve’s shoulders into a fist, holding tightly to a wad of Steve’s jacket. Steve’s heart swelled, and he had to believe that that tiny gesture of recognition would be enough.

For a few blissful minutes Steve allowed himself to imagine that they might really make it without incident. He supposed, considering his luck, that he probably should have known better. He and Bucky were making their way along, just managing to keep up with the tired soldiers at the back of the group, when Bucky lurched away, tearing himself from Steve’s supportive arms with surprising force. Steve’s first instinct was annoyance - Bucky had just started trusting him, and now they were back to square one? - but that annoyance quickly evaporated when Bucky just stumbled to the side of the road, leaning over and looking about ready to fall face-first into the weeds.

“Buck?” Steve asked, rushing to him. By the time he made it over Bucky was already gagging, a tiny stream of bile spraying from his nose and lips into the dead vegetation lining the path.

“Oh, god. Okay,” Steve muttered, trying to focus on Bucky and not on the mess. Bucky heaved again, bringing up scarcely anything for his efforts but ending up doubly unsteady on his feet. Steve reached forward without even thinking about it, wrapping an arm solidly around Bucky’s chest as he continued to dry heave. He was completely empty - not surprising, Steve supposed, given the state he’d found him in - but that didn't stop his body from continually trying to violently reject something that wasn’t even there.

“Just breathe. You’re okay,” Steve murmured around the thrum of panic in his chest. He hoped he was telling the truth, but in reality he wasn’t so sure.

As the retches tapered off, Steve reached up to pat Bucky gently between the shoulder blades, just wanting to offer him a little bit of comfort. Bucky very nearly whimpered in pain at the contact, and Steve quickly withdrew his hand.

“Sorry, shit,” he said frantically. “I know you’re probably hurt, I didn’t mean to -”

Steve stopped speaking as Bucky’s quivering knees finally gave out, leaving him sagging against Steve’s supporting arm with his full weight. Steve quickly steadied him, pulling him back to lean against Steve’s chest, holding him up as he got his footing back. Steve watched with bated breath as Bucky’s eyelids fluttered for a moment before finally, blessedly, opening again.

“Hey,” Steve whispered. “I’ve got you.”  

Bucky laboriously turned around, still clinging to Steve as though he was afraid he’d fall again if he let go.

“Hey,” Bucky said roughly, a tiny spark of recognition finally alighting in his eyes. “Stevie?”

Steve’s face split into a grin in spite of himself, in spite of the dire situation they were in. It had been far too long since he’d heard that nickname. “Yeah, Buck. It’s me.”

It wasn’t quite the reunion he’d been hoping for. It wasn’t the soft comfort of their apartment or the celebratory relief of the end of the war. But in that moment, the two of them clinging to each other in the cold and bleak winter light, it was enough.

[malecsecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, outerspacebabe7!

For @outerspacebabe7. Happy holidays, I had already started writing the fic before we could find each other to get answers to questions, but I steered this fic in ways that it would still fit a lot of your preffered tropes. I hope you like it and thank you for inspiring me to write this fic. <3

Read On AO3

*****

I’ll make War for you

The smell of blood is rancid. It coats the palate of his mouth and tongue and it goes down his throat. Most of it is already dried on his upper lip but it doesn’t mean the bleeding has stopped. Shadowhunters were meant to withstand torture, poisoning, cuts and bruises. But no training prepared you to withstand the horrors your own people could inflict upon your body.

Because society dictated no secrets were to be held, once you were starting to have secrets, you would become fallen. The more you held on, the more you were a traitor to the state and its rules of control, supremacy and leadership.

Alec holds secrets, more than one, and all were sealed away in his mind. A bastion of discipline and conviction. A soldier of purpose and strength. He stands fearless. His body aches, his breathing tears away through the silence of the dungeon. The walls are pristine white where the light never dims. Showing off how grotesque the masquerade of Nephilims ‘spotless’ ideals could be.

The blood on the walls could never be washed away no matter how hard they scrubbed.

He suppresses his hiccups of panic as he sees the menacing stele hovers over the agony rune on his solar plexus. He has to calm down, he has to breathe, he has to take a hold of himself. There is a silent prayer on his lips for them to stop. But his begging always makes the matter worse.

“Give me names, Lightwood.” The inquisitor, a nameless face, looks at him. Their fingers tap a regular rhythm on their arm. Alec has been down here long enough to know what comes next.

“Never,” it takes effort but he’s strong enough to muster the strength. He spits the blood of his broken nose on the floor.

Agony makes his whole body jerk and the feeling of invisible needles wiggles its way under his skin. His vision whites out, a groan, a scream of anger passes his lips. They were going to have hell to pay, every single last one of them.

Magnus breathes in. It took him too long to find the weak spot in the wall. The fighting is happening up front. Warlocks, werewolves and Seelies fighting shadowhunters one by one. Arrogant Nephilims, they never suspect to be attacked from the back, thinking their defenses are strong enough.

He draws the sigil on the wall with his left hand, keeping his other one free in case shadowhunters do decide to check up on the wards on this side of the mountain. Angelic magic is powerful, but the blood of a prince of hell is stronger. He takes a step back, waiting for Meliorn to give him affirmation of position. He plays with the cork on the potion’s vial to keep his focus.

It doesn’t take long before there is a magical vibration in his communicator. He concentrates his power to tune into the frequency.

“The way is clear, your majesty.” Meliorn’s voice sounds strong and pleased. Which meant the assault on the southern gate had gone marvelously.

“Very well, keep the distraction going, I will locate Alexander’s cell by myself, have the others concentrate on liberating the other prisoners.” Things were going according to plan.

“Yes, sir.” There is the chime of the spell on the communicator dimming.

He breathes in.

He throws the uncorked vial to the sigil. The wall pulsates before it thickens. The explosion goes all the way through. The air gushes out. It’s fresh and cold. For the very first time in weeks Magnus feels he can breathe again. The mountain rumbles and the ground shakes. Once the High warlock is certain it wouldn’t collapse on itself. Shadowhunters weren’t stupid. They wouldn’t venture blindly in a freshly created passage way. He moves his hand as he invokes the fires that will help him through the tunnel..

There was a time where he would have chosen a more peaceful solution. But the time for compromised had died out when Aldertree had come in power. Destroyed everything what the institute should have stood for. Nephilims turned into mindless husks and downworlders changed and experimented on.

Magnus hadn’t stood for it, Alec hadn’t stood for it. The uprising had been inevitable. Magnus, being a prince of hell, took his place as monarch and downworlders marched for war. Many allied, many perished, sacrifices were made.

The High warlock mutters an incantation. The air is soaked out of the passage way. He walks forward as a protective bubble keeps himself safe from suffocation and dizziness. There is mountain dust around him everywhere and his steps sound hollow.

He could smell the stench of sulfur and ozone, the two scents associated with angelic magic, as he comes closer to the light. The fires around him dissipate. He approaches. There are runes allover the opening. Locking runes, repelling runes, banishing runes. Everything to keep any downworlders at bay.

Well thought, well planned out, but not enough to make him waver. They didn’t think of covering up the entire wall. Magnus clenches his fist and the magic impulse blasts the tunnel wide open, crumbling the wall to ash and dust. The runes fades.

Magnus steps into the light, there are bodies, some dead, some just knocked out from his suffocation spell. He closes his eyes as he whispers another incantation. He inhales and his vision goes gray, a wisp light appears, ready to guide him toward Alexander.

It doesn’t take long as he fights some leftover guards in every corridor. He’s swift enough to not let anything end in pain. He’s angry and rage builds up. Usually he’s more in tune with his feelings of revenge, more in control. But the longer he seeks out the right way. The more he doesn’t hold back.   the more he approaches where Alexander is been held prisoner.

Magnus doesn’t need a map, or a history lesson to know where he is going. There are the cells for simple prisoners, the ones for living out your sentence while you await final judgment, then there are the cells for downworlders or especially strong criminals. But Alexander isn’t there.

Anger keeps on simmering underneath his skin. He knows when he enters the inquisitorial wing. It’s cleaner, more sophisticated, the hypocrisy drips from the ceiling up to the beautiful immaculate tiles bellow. It is smeared with the invisible blood of mostly innocent people who were on the wrong side of the law in the eyes of the clave.

Magnus comes to an intersection and the wisp vibrates before taking off to the left. All the way to the end of the corridor. There are people in the other rooms ready for ambush. With a snap of fingers he makes sure they stay locked. He walks through and the sudden bang of people and weapons clanking against the now sealed doors. There is cursing and Magnus cannot keep himself from having a side smile adorning his face; The smell of ozone permeates the air but any rune would be useless against his magic. They can struggle all they like, they won’t be getting out.

He smiles as he waves his hand. The door obliterated against the opposite wall. He steps inside and blocks the first knife that’s out there to get him. He keeps a energy shield up as another shadowhunter tries to slit his throat. He feints a fall and turns on himself as he deviates an attack. There is a pained scream as Magnus deflected the shadowhunter’s attack to stab his colleague. He moves away. There is fire in his hands.

They burned with an invisible fire before they bleed on the floor. There are screams of anguish and Magnus silences them.

Alec is smiling, he’s battered and bruised, there is dried blood and the tension in his muscles is taut and strong. Magnus feels his whole heart flutter with the feeling of finally have found back his love. It feels like things will be alright again.

“The sight of you being shackled to a wall will never fail to make me feel weak on my knees, Alexander.” Magnus says as he steps forward. He steps over charred and broken bodies.

“Liar.” Alec has trouble looking up and his nose looks like it had been repeatedly beaten and badly mended again. He can only see through one eye and with a gentle caress of magic Magnus tries to settle Alec’s pain. There is relief in his face and Magnus feels himself smiling back.

“Who says I wouldn’t fall to my knees at the sight of you ?” he quips as he scans Alec’s body for more serious or even deadly injuries.

“You submit to no-one, Magnus Bane.” Alec’s voice sounds raspy through the grin on his lips, he isn’t broken, because Alexander doesn’t break. But the tone is heavy enough to transpire the unfathomable fatigue he is probably feeling. Magnus takes a step closer, he lets his hand ghost over Alec’s shackled hands.

“That is true, but I’m rarely myself when I’m around you, my love. I would let the whole world burn if it means I get us to be safe.” The next sentence is a whisper. “As I recall, I’ve submitted to you before and will do it again, Alexander, My Alexander…” He lets the name linger between them. And Magnus feels himself lose his breath.  

“Kiss me.”  

Kissing Alec is like the heavens breaking open to finally let peace reign over the turmoil inside of you, it’s unique, ravaging, calming, it’s thunder and rain. It’s the tearing down of the pain and it restores order in your mind, Magnus’ mind. From the movement of lips to careful touches and a slip of tongue, it’s the little things. Even if Magnus avoids to go too hard, too passionate. It is heated and careful. And it reminds them on how much this is all they need, all what they would ever need. Sex isn’t part of it, never part of it. And Magnus’ kiss is soft and strong and welcoming. It grounds them and makes them feel alive in ways no other thing ever would.

Magnus cups Alec’s cheek before breaking the kiss. He’s out of breath, so is Alec. Alec winces before he relaxes when Magnus’ soothing magic overflows most of his face to heal his broken nose; when the last dregs of magic fade Magnus kisses Alec’s forehead.

“Let me unshackle you.”

He tries to keep Alec up but Magnus doesn’t expect him to walk, he had been held on his tiptoes for days. The fact that Alec is even remotely on his feet feels like a miracle. Alec buries his face in Magnus’ hair, finding comfort in the smell of sandalwood, reminding him of home, their home;  

“Do you need a Stele ?” Magnus feels Alec mutter a yes and a whine. Magnus conjures a portal as he summons a stele to his pockets.

“Mission accomplished,” his final order resonates as a booming voice over the whole settlement.

Soon they will be home.

Alexander will be safe.

And the next attack could be coordinated.

The end

[whimperwoods]

Arms of the Enemy Repost

For some reason this post was wigging out when I tried to look at it on mobile while I was working on part 4? Sorry if you were excited for part 4, which is still in progress, but I wanted a working copy of this I could see on my phone/tablet.

Here are part 1 and part 2

Castor is a warlock, in service to the Great Old One and the Dark Emperor, in that order. Ed is a fighter, a knight and battle master in the service of the True King of Lumenea. They have always been enemies. In the space between the Old One and the Emperor, they might be able to become something else.

(Also Ed has gained the (minimal) benefits of a short rest, and Castor is beginning to realize he has, yet again, followed an impulse with more strings attached than he was fully prepared for.)

tw: blood, tw: mind control, tw: telepathy/mental voices, tw: panic, tw: flashbacks (ish), tw: torture mention

***************

When Ed came to, his head and part of his torso were resting on something soft. The air around him was cold, but the thing under him was warm, and he curled instinctively toward it, squeezing his eyes shut against the pain of moving. He groaned, turning his face into the warmth of whatever he was lying on.

“It’s alright,” an unfamiliar voice said softly, “You’re safe, now.”

Something cool and damp swept gently down the back of his neck and then continued over his shoulder blade. The hand holding the cloth was careful and It felt good where he was only bruised. Where it crossed raised welts and open cuts, it burned and stung, drawing a soft, unconscious whine from his throat. He tried to twist out of the way and only made things worse as the motion sent waves of fire shooting through the rest of his back and shoulders.

The damp cloth moved away in response to his grunt of pain.

He opened his eyes, and found himself with his head in someone’s lap, blinking in confusion.

There was a soft splashing sound behind him, close but not immediately beside him, perhaps an arm’s reach away. He tried to force his head up, finding the angle unexpectedly disorienting and twisting his head at an unnatural angle, only mostly toward the head of the person touching him. The person’s face was unreadable at this angle, only partially illuminated by a faint light off to the side.

The person’s other hand hovered beside Ed’s head for a moment, and then moved tentatively to sweep his hair back from his forehead. “You’re alright,” the voice said quietly, “I was afraid you might already be infected, but I don’t think you have a fever.”

Ed forced himself upward, getting a hand on the ground beside the stranger’s thigh and pushing himself into a half-sitting position with the full strength of his body, core muscles clenching sorely and arm shaking under him with the effort.

As soon as he was upright enough to get a look at the stranger’s face from an angle that was better lit, recognition and memory both clicked into place at once and he found himself crying out, in a harsh, frightened shout he’d never have allowed himself if he were fully awake.

Castor the Black held his hands up, palms forward, and Ed flinched, falling backward as he flung his arms over his face to protect himself from the incoming spell.

He landed hard, jarring his shoulders and ribs and feeling old cuts split back open. He held back the cry this time, clenching his jaw and breathing hard through his nose, his core still clenched tight. He couldn’t let Castor the Black see him this way. He couldn’t.

He’d tipped instinctively forward after he landed, leaning toward the mage as he caught himself, but he couldn’t stand that, either. He forced himself to move back, putting distance between him and his enemy in halting, jerky inches.

Wriggling backward made his body shake harder, quivering with effort, but he kept going, his eyes hardening into a glare even as he knew it wouldn’t be enough to disguise his weakness.

*****

Castor sighed and scrubbed his hand over his face. Sir Edmond was trying to get away from him again, and the spell he’d cast on the dungeon guards was already running out. He didn’t need this.

Lowering his hand, he watched tiredly as Sir Edmond continued to wriggle, moving in frantic little jerks away from him. If Castor had slept, if he’d even taken proper time to sit instead of putting in the effort to start on the man’s wounds while he wasn’t awake to feel them, he might have been able to do something about it.

“Will you please calm down?” he asked, “I just need you to cooperate, so we don’t get caught out here before I can get us somewhere safer.”

The knight froze, his eyes locking onto Castor’s with a wide, wild expression.

Castor tasted honey on his tongue, felt the air thickening in his mouth, and almost lost the spell, surprised to be casting it at all. He’d given this spell up, forgotten it as he learned better ways to control what happened around him than mere suggestion. But here it was, happening.

Sir Edmond’s mouth curled into an angry sneer, his eyes lighting up with a familiar battle fire for the first time since Castor scooped him up off of the dungeon floor.

He was fighting the magic. Castor’s heart raced and he felt the spell get heavier in his mouth, thicker on his tongue. “Calm down!” he ordered, pushing harder at the magic.

He could feel it starting to connect, could see the knight’s eyes widen and narrow, widen and narrow, and then - the connection snapped. He and Sir Edmond stared at each other, both breathing heavily. The magic was gone.

Shit.

He held up his hands in front of himself, palms out, but the fire in Sir Edmond’s eyes was still there, dangerous and raging. “Wait!” Castor gasped, “Wait, that one was an accident! I’m not even supposed to be able to do that spell!”

*****

Ed had pushed up onto his arms in the adrenaline rush of having to fight for his own mind, and now he was straining, his arms on the edge of giving out, and he’d overexerted himself again. He focused on breathing, taking in great gasps of air that stretched his battered ribs painfully, but kept him upright.

“I swear! I never meant to cast it!”

Ed kept himself up, kept glaring, kept holding himself stiff and upright, and was too dizzy to make sense of what the mage was trying to say.

Castor the Black took a deep breath, as if to talk, then cut himself off, sighing instead. Ed couldn’t find the words he needed, either. Not when staying up on his arms, half sitting, not letting himself collapse, took so much effort. He growled at the mage, half ashamed, and continued to glare.

Then there was a voice directly in his head, Castor the Black’s voice, but the man’s mouth wasn’t moving, which he was certain couldn’t be good.

“Look, I - shit, I wasn’t gonna do this. I’m - I’m telepathic. I’m in your head. And if you push back hard enough, you can be in mine. I genuinely don’t want to hurt you. Not any worse than you’re already hurt. Push back at me and look. I won’t resist it.”

Something about the voice, about the way it was words and not words, made sense even as Ed’s mind spun. No. No. He couldn’t have the enemy in his head. Not like this. Not literally.

“Fuck you,” he thought, hoping it would make it through, somehow, “Just kill me. I don’t want to play your twisted little games.”

Castor the Black flinched. “That’s not what I said,” he answered, his body spreading its arms wide even as its mouth continued not to move, set in a stubborn line. “It’s not what I meant. Push back at me. Come on. Look. I won’t stop you.”

Ed could feel the edge of a compulsion in it, just the barest hint, not a full spell, but a hovering threat of magic. Well. The enemy mage wasn’t to know, but he could fight fire with fire. Or he could if he weren’t so tired, so ragged and desperate after all these weeks of torture, of being beaten and starved and kept awake.

He pushed back anyway, gathering all of what he had left and forcing it into the shape of the spell his sister had taught him. “Get out.” he thought, shoving against the mage’s presence in his mind with as much force as he had.

The mage grunted, a soft little noise, half surprise and half pain, and for a brief moment, Ed was filled with the bright flash of pride.

Oh. Oh. That was what the mage had meant.

He was still breathing hard, struggling to stay up on his arms, struggling not to collapse, but he felt his face twist into a grin. Yes. He could definitely fight fire with fire. Leave it to a mage to underestimate an opponent just because they didn’t have magic.

He steeled himself again, focusing on how it had felt to force the mage’s mind back, and shoved as hard as he could, jabbing his rage toward the not-voice like a knife.

*****

Castor tried to throw his mental shields back up when Sir Edmond’s face twisted into a cruel, bloody smile, one he’d never seen from this close before.

He was too slow.

Psychic communication was never quite words, but it was usually at least close. Now - now he found himself almost knocked over with the force of open, unfettered hostility the knight flung at his mind, incoherent and angry.

He gasped and braced his hands against the ground behind him to steady himself.

“Ow! Fuck!” Pain stabbed through his head, branching like lightning from the front of his head to the back.

“Stay out of my head.” Sir Edmond practically snarled, and Castor’s heart pounded in his chest.

“Yeah,” he answered, his voice sounding more tired than he meant to let it. “Shit. I will. I’m just trying to help.”

Sir Edmond’s face was growing pale, but he was still glaring fiercely, holding himself up on arms that quivered visibly. “Why?” he demanded.

Castor ran a hand through his hair, sighing. “I don’t know. Sometimes I just do things.”

Sir Edmond barked out a laugh, which turned into a cough hard enough to make his arms give out, but in spite of his instinct to reach out and try to catch him, Castor held still. It was becoming clearer and clearer that even as weak as he was, the knight wasn’t nearly as shattered as he’d seemed, or at least, something in him wasn’t.

*****

Ed could feel the energy draining from him with every cough, could feel himself weakening as he fought for breath, fought not to cry, fought to stay conscious against the pain and dizziness that almost blanked out everything else.

The mage looked rattled. He’d rattled him. He just had to keep the facade up long enough to be left here. He shouldn’t have tried to laugh. He shouldn’t have tried to play himself off so strongly, to ridicule the man when he was already so close to the edge.

But as he caught his breath, his body throbbing with pain left over from the convulsions even after they stopped, he regained what he could of his composure, focused intently on a single thought. Castor the Black was rattled, and that meant if he could feign strength for long enough, he might be able to make himself a way out.

He set his shoulder against the ground and kept his eyes locked fiercely onto the mage’s.“Why?” he asked again, gathering enough breath to spit the question out without letting it quaver.

The mage shifted uncomfortably, biting his lip. “I - what do you remember from the dungeon?”

The moment he thought of the cell he’d been left in, blood-spattered stone danced in front of his eyes, and he felt his throat threaten to close up, making it harder to breathe again. Panic filled him, electric and humming, like the moment before lightning struck on the battlefield. His throat hurt, and his chest felt constricted, but he couldn’t pass out again. He couldn’t. Not when he was so close.

He broke eye contact with the mage before the fear could become too obvious to the other man, twisting his head down and away as best he could and letting his glare relax so he could focus only on continuing to breathe, on feeling the air move around him, the grass under his hands where there used to be stone.

Was that - a threat? Or was it - guilt? Was he meant to be feeling guilt? He knew he had told his tormentors things. Things he shouldn’t have. He’d told them - oh gods - He took a deep, pained breath inward, forcing air into his lungs. That thought was dangerous. Murderous. Breath-stealing. He shoved it away. He had to keep breathing. Keep breathing. Breathe. Grass. Wind. Night. Breathing.

Ed was panting audibly now, his breaths ragged and his body half curling in on itself, the adrenaline that just moments ago had given him the strength to resist turning on him instead, threatening to make his racing heart rip itself from his body as his limbs sagged, weak and useless, on the ground.

The mage moved toward him, slowly and tentatively. He didn’t move away. He couldn’t. He couldn’t do anything but breathe.

“Shit,” the mage whispered, maybe to himself. Ed gasped for breath, too fast, but holding on this time, forcing the air deep enough into his lungs that he didn’t pass out.

A gentle hand stroked through his hair, and Ed made a horrid, choked noise he couldn’t explain.

*****

Castor was almost surprised not to be bitten or headbutted as he ran his fingers through Sir Edmond’s hair, trying to remember what, exactly, it was that his mom had done when he was young and afraid of the dark.

The knight’s eyes were squeezed tightly shut, the death glare that had looked, briefly, like the Sir Edmond he remembered gone again. The knight’s body shuddered with the effort of breathing, and all of a sudden, the man on the ground was the same helpless, broken figure Castor seen in his crystal.

“Look, I’m - I’m sorry about all of this,” he said quietly, “I know it’s - we both know what this is. The war, I mean. But I couldn’t - they’re going to beat you to death if I let you end up back in that dungeon. You’ve killed too many of the emperor’s men. Mine too, I guess, but it’s always been-”

He cut himself off. That was too much. He couldn’t tip his hand too far. Not when the real Sir Edmond was so clearly still in there, somewhere. And yet -

“It’s one thing to get you to talk. It’s another to drag your death out as long as they can. I’m - I’m going to hide you.”

That was it, wasn’t it? That was the decision he’d made back in his quarters, watching guards kick a naked, helpless thing already covered in blood, their target unable to protect itself, too weak to lift its head. He’d watched Sir Edmond fight for consciousness, fight to live through the pain. Then again, he’d seen something else, now, had seen that fight turn familiar and deadly, but he couldn’t - could he really -

No. He’d made his choice. He ran his fingers through the man’s dark, sweat-soaked hair again, studying Sir Edmond’s face as the man’s eyes fluttered open again, half-absent and staring as he continued to fight, desperate and weak and alive, hanging on by his fingernails.

Sir Edmond didn’t seem all here, caught up in a fight against his own ravaged body, but he wasn’t fighting Castor right now, so - so he wasn’t fighting Castor right now.

Castor sighed, relaxing and easing himself down to sit beside the man instead of kneeling awkwardly over him.

He ran his fingers through Sir Edmond’s hair, becoming gradually aware that not all of the dampness on his fingers was sweat. He’d have to wash the knight’s hair if he wanted to get all the blood out, but that was a problem for a whole other world, a world with time and trust and a safer place to hide.

He breathed slowly, evenly, keeping himself calm and stroking Sir Edmond’s hair, trying to keep the confusing mess of his own emotions under control. He regretted and did not regret and waited for Sir Edmond to stabilize enough to move, watching blood ooze slowly from one of the clean cuts, reopened in the violence of coughing and moving and panic.

This might be a very long night.

[calumthoodposts]

Broken Home | Part 1

Warnings: Swearing, abuse, sexual assault, drinking, hard drugs, and violence.

If you have any potential triggers to anything mentioned above, I'd advise you to not read this. Take care of your mental health <3

She stood at the bar waiting for the bartender to notice her over the bustling crowd. The lights overhead flickered to the beat of the bass that reverberated through the club. The flicker was the perfect rhythm and Reyna couldn't tell if it was intentional, or if it was just poor wiring.

In any case, she averted her gaze and squinted her eyes, the repeated flashing making her dizzy and nauseated. The room smelled of booze, sweat, and cigarette smoke, a combination that used to bother her, but was now something she frequently endured.

Every weekend on every Friday night for a year straight, her boyfriend and her would be found at the Ace of Clubs at no later than 9 p.m. They would often stay out until one in the morning, the earliest she ever got to leave was eleven-thirty, and would end the night with her having to carry Aaron out. The smell was hardly the worst part.

The bartender's attention finally landed on her and he gave her a small nod as a greeting. "The usual?"

"Yes, please." She smiled politely. It wasn't that surprising that Chris had remembered what Aaron got every time considering the club was small and on the outskirts of Mott Haven. It was located in the dodgy part of the dodgiest part of New York, only locals were brave enough to get intoxicated there or tourists who didn't know any better.

It still left her feeling uneasy. The idea that the bartender could pick her face out of hundreds because of how many times she had come there wasn't something she would brag about. Raging alcoholism wasn't something she wanted to flaunt.

Chris slid the single glass full of whiskey and ice over to her and she couldn't help but notice the slight hesitance as he did so. Nevertheless, he watched her pick up the glass without complaint, only offering her the smallest of crooked-yellow-toothed smiles and shouting over the loud music, "Let me know if you need anything." His offer had an edge to it and she noticed the way it was open-ended. She couldn't help but wonder if he was talking about more than just refills on alcohol.

She thanked him and left the bar, wandering back toward her table, the sound of her heels inaudible over the chaotic music and voices mixing together. Aaron sat in a high booth against the wall as he talked to his friend who was sat across from him and she couldn't help the thought that crossed her mind of just turning around and walking out of the establishment.

She hated it. In fact, she was certain that there wasn't anything she hated more than the rambunctious drilling of noise into her brain. She just wanted a single moment of quiet. Instead, she sat down at their table and slid Aaron his whiskey who, not tearing his gaze away from his friend, continued to tell the story about how he got suckered out of a job because he was caucasian and affirmative action had gotten too out of hand.

She knew that in the deepest parts of him, buried beneath his ego, he knew that he wasn't anywhere near being qualified for where he applied. He never was. This was just his way of compensating. He had dropped out of high school, a fact that she didn't know until later, and he had never sought out a GED or any higher education. The road seemed like a dead end to her, but she loved him enough to stick around. Of course, his friend agreed with him, that inclusivity was a plague and that it was ripping jobs away from hardworking "Americans". Whatever the hell that meant. She even saw his friend look over at her with narrowed eyes, to which she just looked away.

Her mother was from the Philippines and immigrated to the United States, in which becoming the head of nursing at NewYork-Presbyterian made her fall in love with the whitest and most Scottish doctor there. Reyna's own caramel skin was mixed with white, but if there was one thing she knew it was the fact that her immigrant mother took nothing from David Thomas, the man with more DUI'S than he could count.

The night continued like this. After he had finished his drink, she would get him– and eventually his racist friend– another. And another. And another. It was a cycle that continued even after the two men were slurring their controversial and offensive words together. This is how it had been for quite some time. She stared out at the sea of bodies dancing and groping one another and her heart yearned for her younger days. The days where she would be dancing along to the music she didn't know a single word to with Aaron whose hands gripped her waist tightly, almost as if he never wanted to let her go.

-----

The sun had gone down and the street lights immediately switched on, illuminating their path as they walked down the sidewalk to the bar that Aaron had promised was worth visiting. He had a portable speaker in his hand and ABBA's album "Arrival" made her dance to the rhythm.

She turned and walked backward while looking fondly at the boy in front of her. He had a boyish grin on his face as he watched her swing her hips and put her arms over her head during the chorus, dancing wildly but making adoration flood his green irises that looked forest-like in the dim lighting.

He wanted to make her eighteenth birthday memorable and he had told her that a club with friends was the only way to go. He knew the people who owned the place so she could get in easily. Truthfully, she didn't mind what they did, just as long as she got to do it with him. They had been dating for a little over seven months and she knew she was head over heels for him. He made her feel special and pretty, something she wasn't used to easily turning into something she craved.

Only from him. She only wanted his eyes on her because they were the only ones that mattered. She only wanted his hands on her, and it seemed that he read her mind as he gripped her hips and pressed her against the brick wall of one of the many rundown buildings they were walking past.

The sudden motion knocked the breath out of her in the best way, and it didn't stop the warmth from flooding her body as he pressed his forehead against hers. "I'll love you until the day I die, you know that right?" She was breathless and in shock at his confession before a large smile covered her face and she squinted her eyes happily, brushing her nose with his and returning his words with a kiss.

------

Instead of his hands on her hips, she felt one on her upper thigh. The callouses on his index and middle fingers from opening cans rubbed the exposed skin where the hem of her short skirt ended and she tensed as they trailed higher. Not granting him a reaction, she stared into the sea of people. All of them seemed to be having the time of their lives, except a curly-haired boy who was sat at a long table with a group of seven other people.

His eyes were already on her and the corner of his lips upturned slightly, giving her a small smile that she returned before looking back at the table in front of her. She fiddled with the rings on her fingers as she pretended to listen to the conversation that the two men next to her were having. She was great at playing the act by now. She shifted in her seat in discomfort when Aaron's right hand on her thigh pushed her skirt up farther and got dangerously close to her lace-covered center.

Public displays made her uncomfortable. Holding hands was an act that she could only tolerate in small doses and Aaron was well-aware of that fact. It certainly didn't mean he respected it. She breathed out a sigh before her hand found his and gently pushed it lower to rest on the skin just above her knee cap.

The muscles in his arms tensed and in the corner of her eye, she watched his jaw set into a hard line, the fingers on her thigh digging in more intensely. He glanced at her and she could see his eyes were filled with annoyance and malice, the whiskey further igniting his already short fuse.

She felt his hand trail north again, this time more aggressively and quicker, landing harshly on her core. The chill she felt run up her spine had her standing from the table abruptly, Aaron's hand falling out of her lap and onto the seat that she sat in previously.

"I have to use the restroom." She lied and quickly wandered away from the table to the back of the club where the bathrooms were. Weaving her way through sweaty bodies, she hastily made for the alley exit door instead and sighed contentedly at the cold air hitting her flushed body.

Pressing her back against the wall, she leaned forward and balled her dark hair up on top of her head, reveling in the feeling of the cool air hitting the hot newly exposed skin. Reyna leveled her breathing as best she could and focused on the relief of being out of the bar and finally breathing air that wasn't contaminated with body odor.

She couldn't help but jump when the metal door swung open and smacked against the brick behind it. It closed on itself as Aaron's shoes appeared in front of her, her brown eyes focused on the cobble beneath her feet, and now his tattered sneakers that he had owned since she first met him. The idea was scary and the anticipation was worse when she thought of looking up at the man she loved. It always was frightening, making eye contact with a man that she sometimes had trouble recognizing. She did it anyway, and when her eyes met his she could instantly see the single emotion that raced through them. Her mind remembered the very first time he stood before her like he was then, shoulders squared, eyes in angry slits and jaw clenched menacingly.

-----

Reaching the door to their apartment, she knocked with her foot and waited patiently for Aaron to open it. Minutes had to have past before she gave up, realizing that he was still at work, before setting the groceries down on the floor and digging out her own key. She made quick work of the lock out of habit and opened the door before she picked up the paper bags and walking into her home. The lights were on and she furrowed her eyebrows at it, knowing that the electric bill was expensive and knowing that Aaron would be annoyed at her if he found out.

She could have sworn that she shut them off, knowing that she had left well before sunset and there wasn't any need for lights then. Perplexed, she placed the groceries on the counter and trailed the way to their bedroom, noticing the door was open and the bathroom light was on. "Aar?"

She called out his nickname softly as she came closer to the bathroom, the door ajar enough to let the light flood out, but not enough to see inside. A part of her wished she didn't when looking back on her finding her boyfriend on his knees in front of the porcelain toilet, a dollar bill rolled into a straw and him snorting powder off of the closed lid.

Her mouth fell open as she watched him breathe it in as easily as air and as though his life depended on it. "What the hell?" Her voice came out shaky and incredulous as she looked at the man whose head snapped toward her, eyes wide and red.

"Rey? What are you doing back so early?" He quickly stood to his feet, the dollar he threw on the seat of the barely-there remnants of the drug he was snorting unrolled itself a little before rolling to the floor. He stumbled toward her in shock, him tripping over one of his feet and her backing away from him and into their bedroom.

When she didn't answer right away, too shocked for anything to come out as a sentence, he asked her again in a less soft tone. "What the hell are you doing back so early?" It was more of an accusation instead of a question. It was as though this wasn't their home, it wasn't the same one they had been sharing for a year now. The room she backed into seemed as foreign as the man that stood in front of her.

"What the hell were you just doing, Aaron?" She looked past his frame at the dollar bill on the floor and toilet lid, trying to process everything at once. "I asked you a question first." He stalked toward her and stood in front of her, his tall frame towering over her petite one.

She looked at his bloodshot eyes, his pupils were the size of dimes and shifted from her eyes to the bedside table, to the door, and back to her. He wasn't recognizable like this, with his body language unreadable as he fidgeted and clenched and unclenched his fists by his side. The man she knew and loved was only ever irritated. He had never been so paranoid and skittish.

"I only went to the grocery store." She answered him and looked at him with eyes that were just as wide as his. "It hasn't ever taken more than an hour. You're supposed to be at work and instead, I find you– I come home to this?" Her voice broke and her eyes pricked with tears.

There was a part of her that remembered trying to work out what she was feeling in that moment when she realized it was a mixture of everything. She felt betrayed and was distraught at the idea of him doing drugs as hard as what she assumed to be cocaine, much less doing it in their home. A large part of her felt anger and resentment at how he would even fathom the idea. She also acknowledged how much love she felt for him, but it was masked with a heavy blanket of disappointment and only showcased itself in the form of the wetness spilling out of her eyes and onto her cheeks.

"You're not going to tell anyone, right? You wouldn't." She gave him an incredulous look, said nothing all the while overspilling with rage and walked past him into the bathroom with him hot on her heels. Her eyes landed on the plastic bag by the toilet and she walked toward it, ripping off a piece of tissue paper and wrapping her hand with it before picking the baggy up.

"Wh–what are you doing?" His voice came out frantic and shaky with mock brevity failing to disguise his paranoia. "I'm throwing this shit away." She spoke as she began lifting the toilet seat up.

"No!" His voice range loudly, much louder than either of them had been speaking before, and his hands grasped at her wrists, pulling them away from the toilet and making the lid slam back down harshly. The baggy with white substance was ripped out of her hand and he grasped it tightly. Hiding it behind his back, he raised his other hand up with caution. "You can't do that. I spent so much on this."

She couldn't help the exhale of breath that escaped her lips at his words. It was a breath of utter shock. "Are you fucking kidding me? We can't have that shit in our house, Aaron." She reached for it again and he backed away, his hand that was raised pushed her chest and she stumbled backward slightly before she regained her balance.

"Did you just push me?" Her own voice was wavering now and she barely recognized. It seemed that everything surrounding her was foreign. The man she had loved for almost two years was a complete stranger in her eyes as his body trembled and shielded the bag of white powder like it was his most prized possession. "I didn't mean to, okay? You just can't throw this away. It's not yours to dispose of and this shit is expensive."

She scoffed at him and walked toward him again. Standing in front of him, her hand bravely reached to the one he had behind his back to try and grab it again. Her fingers shook out of fear of what would happen if anyone found out that it was in their house. She was trembling out of panic. "Do you hear yourself right now?" She interrogated him in a voice that was higher than what was normal, an inflection that showed how baffling his words were.

"Just give it to me, Aaron." She extended her arm further felt her fingertips graze the wrist that was holding the illegal substance. "I said no!" His voice was loud. He had never shouted at her before. In fact, he was the most levelheaded one in their relationship more often than not. His voice was loud, but the contact of his hand wrapped tightly around her throat and the cold of the pale yellow tiles of their bathroom wall coming in harsh contact with the back of her head and knocking the air from her lungs was even louder.

Her hands flew up to his wrist and her eyes widened at him, the tears that had gathered once again threatened to fall. "I said no. That's your fucking problem. You never listen." His grip got tighter and his glare bore into her soul. She couldn't find the green eyes that brought her comfort and warmth. The blackness engulfed every sliver of green as he gripped her impossibly tighter, before dropping his hand. She fell to the floor as he stalked out of the bathroom and she heard the front door slam seconds after.

----

"What the fuck was that?" His tone wasn't anything new, but it never failed to send chills up her back and onto her neck, before washing back down again in a waterfall of discomfort and emotional agony. Reyna trained her sad brown eyes on the cobble again, scared to hold eye contact in fear of the clash between malice and vulnerability.

"We're in public. It just didn't feel appropriate." She hated how small she sounded. She hated how small he made her feel, so small to the point where her shoulders still hunched and her arms hugged herself tightly. The bruise in the mark of a handprint was still visible on her wrist, but it was fading and she chose that as the silver lining. "You think I give a damn how you feel."

It wasn't a question he wanted her to answer and she knew that. The wind sang through the streets, avoiding the alleyway they were stood in as if to give them some unwanted privacy. It whistled along and paid no mind. She wished it would just sweep her away with it. "You do what I want you to do."

Aaron stepped closer to her and forced her body straight, his fingers, on one hand, gripped her cheeks harshly while the other pinched her clothed and most intimate place. He was a great pine in a forest of cherry trees. Everyone surrounding her withered away come the cold, even Reyna herself, and he remained standing tall, just as daunting as he was in the summer. He never went away.

"Hey man, why don't you let her go and step back?" Reyna never heard the door open, but she heard it shut and she certainly heard the voice that accompanied it.

Aaron's hand that was grabbing her face stayed defiantly in place. Her gaze snapped to the curly-haired boy who had just stepped out of the same door she had not too long ago and she felt Aaron tense in front of her. "Who the fuck are you?"

The boy shrugged his shoulders and stepped closer to the pair, his white dress shirt's sleeves were rolled up to his forearms that stretched the fabric because of the muscles there. He didn't seem scared in the slightest as he placed a hand on Aaron's shoulder and pushed him backward lightly, forcing the hand that gripped Reyna's face to fall away. She took a deep breath, gasping for air that she didn't know she needed so badly. Her hands shook as she pulled her skirt down and rubbed the ache in her cheeks.

"Why the fuck should I listen to a punk like you?" Aaron spoke in disbelief, glancing up and down the black-haired boy's body indignantly. He was a few inches taller than Aaron, allowing him to tower above his 5"9 frame intimidatingly. His broad shoulders were squared and his head was held high as he stepped in front of Reyna and stood in between the couple. "You shouldn't have to listen to me. She spelled it out for you, mate."

Aaron stomped closer and gave the boy a hard shove, sending him stumbling backward and nearly hitting the girl pressed against the wall, but he caught his balance before their bodies made contact. Nevertheless, the motion had the boy's cologne invading her senses. "I don't know who the hell you are, but I suggest you go back inside before I beat the living hell out of you."

He ran a tattooed hand through his curls, three letters briefly disappearing in the black, before he coolly and collectively responded, "I'm fine out here, thanks." Reyna was frozen in place. She could only see half of Aaron's features that were so blatantly painted with rage and the stranger's back in front of her. "I do suggest that you go back inside before you start something you regret."

He snapped. There were always certain trigger words or actions that made Aaron see red. When his vision flooded with it, there was no way he would be able to see reason. Nights of hers would be spent trying to pull him out of the darkness that so fully enveloped him to no avail. Simply as if a switch flipped, her caution was ignored and he'd escalate until he was shouting at her. By then, she would be too frightened to respond and would remain quiet, staring at the hole in the wall that his fist made months before while his voice pierced her eardrums and poisoned her consciousness with his venom.

The hit that landed on the curly-haired boys' jaw sent him shifting back into the bricks of the bar. She sidestepped away to avoid his large body colliding with hers and watched Aaron advance toward him. The stranger kept his hands bravely at his sides as Aaron's attached to the collars of his shirt. "Who the fuck do you think you are, kid?"

He coolly spoke and it took Reyna by surprise at how calm and collected he was. She was used to outbursts and violence and force, but she wasn't accustomed to passive level-headedness. "Just a kid who watched you sexually harass this woman on two separate occasions."

The question of why this boy had followed them outside never arose in her mind. Mainly focused on the present moment, she never thought that anyone– let alone the boy who smiled at her from across the dance floor– had seen Aaron get handsy with her as though she was a doll that one could do with as they pleased. She was embarrassed, but most of all she felt scared for the boy who didn't cower from Aaron's intense glare. He was a fool who didn't know what her boyfriend was capable of, she decided.

"She's my girlfriend, you dumb fuck. I get to do what I want with her." Aaron seethed through gritted teeth. Reyna watched fearfully from the sidelines as the stranger's stoic expression faltered for just a moment, his eyebrows furrowing in response. "She's a human being who clearly isn't interested in what you're trying to offer her."

Aaron's left fist collided with his chiseled jaw and everything after happened quickly. The dark crowned boy shifted under Aaron's arms and got out of his hold, only to wrap each of his wrists behind his back and press him into the wall with a hard enough impact to leave scratches across Aaron's cheeks. The stranger stood behind him and used his body to pin Aaron's front to the wall. "When I let you go, you're going to go back into the bar, get your things, and get the hell out of here. Is that clear?"

"Who the hell do you think yo–" Aaron's words were interrupted with a groan as the stranger used his body weight to press his face into the wall harder, adding to the pain that flooded the angry green eyes that Reyna was so afraid to look into.

"Is that clear?" Every word was emphasized and articulated in a way that made it impossible to misinterpret what he said. Aaron released only a grunt before the boy let him go, slowly turning to the girl who stood a few meters away at a safe distance. She noticed the way his eyes softened when they met hers, widened in fright.

Whether or not he was expecting what was coming was unclear to her, but she gasped and covered her mouth with her hand as Aaron jumped him from behind. The two men fell to the ground, Aaron on top and releasing punch after punch to the boy's face. She let out a shrill scream, feeling completely incapable of stopping her boyfriend's onslaught of punches. Her heart was beating in her throat and she couldn't breathe, wanting and willing everything in her to help the boy she didn't know.

He never fought back. He laid on the ground and took every drunken hit, his hands at his sides the entire time. By the relentless way Aaron delivered the hits, she knew that he thought he was winning.

It ended as soon as it started, blood spilling out of the nose of the boy on the ground and two tall men pulling Aaron away and pinning his arms against the wall. A girl kneeled beside the boy on the cobble, her bare knees paying no mind to the surface as she looked him over. Soon enough, the only things Reyna could see were the flashing blue and red lights of a police car, illuminating the alleyway in a dizzying glow as officers ran to the scene, shackling her boyfriend in cuffs and stuffing him in the back of the police car

Part 2? Feedback is always appreciated and helps inspire quicker updates!!!

[jui-imouto-chan]

This came around because of a mental combination of the hentai, Papa Datte, Shitai and Does Your Mother Know from Mamma Mia.

Ships: RK1K/Conkus//Markus/Connor and RK1700/900800//RK900/Connor

••••

Markus waved to Cole as the blonde dashed towards the bus at the corner of the block, lunchbox partially shut and backpack set askew on his shoulders.

He turned to the other man in the room, admiring the lean frame adorned in a sweatshirt and shorts, long legs captivating with the way the morning sunlight bounced off of them to reflect onto the counter. Little moles dotted the skin, creamy canvases that carried the promise of supple muscle that could be bitten and marked as they quivered and tensed—

“My eyes are still up here, Markus.”

The twenty-two year old sputtered out a quick, “Sorry,” his sheepishness having long been forgotten—certainly gone since after the second week of being Cole’s babysitter.

That was a night he’d never forget.

Unfortunately, that was not something he could dwell on; not until he was either somewhere Connor couldn’t see him or until Connor accepted his advances. Not to say Markus wanted to force himself upon Connor, no. North would sooner castrate him, though Markus would likely do so to himself out of sheer shame before she could get the chance.

No, it was because Connor was holding himself back.

“You’re handsome as ever, Connor.”

“And you’re young as ever,” Connor retorted around an exasperated sigh, “So, for the last time, call me Mr. Anderson.” He leaned over the counter to grab at another teabag, pouring more water into his mug and dropping the item into his mug. As it steeped, his hands drummed and twitched against the counter.

And perhaps Markus might still have been a ball of hormones at that moment, but he couldn’t help but consider where those hands have been over the course of Connor’s life—exploring and learning and discovering—and where they could be, at some point, if Markus would get lucky enough to convince Connor to let go of the inhibitions and false morality behind considering Markus a child. The age gap was barely fifteen years, but for whatever reason, it had Connor spooked and steering clear of Markus’ interest despite the two of them knowing he reciprocated it.

“You’re not as old as you try to insinuate with those comments. In fact, if I recall,” Markus hums, smirking, “there’ve been many people who think I’m the older one.”

Connor’s mouth twisted bitterly at that, taking a petulant sip of his tea. He cursed, tongue smarting between his lips; it was still far too hot to consume.

“Cudth you geh me thum ithe pleathe?”

“No, ice isn’t good to put immediately on a burn. Here,” Markus retrieved water from the sink in a glass. Connor continued to point at the freezer, particularly the ice dispenser, displeased sounds muffled by his dangling tongue. “Drink.”

“Uh-uh.”

Markus rolled his eyes. Connor could be more of a child than Cole, at times.

He shrugged, then, half-smirking at Connor.

“You asked for it.”

“Wha—?”

Markus took a swig from the glass and set it down, arms caging Connor against the counter and putting his mouth to Connor’s.

“Mmmphh—“

Markus gently brushed Connor’s tongue with his own, carefully flicking water onto it. Connor didn’t fight as much as he’ll claim he did after this, melting into the kiss, Markus’ arms pulling him closer, fire spreading under his skin everywhere Markus’ hands touched.

Connor was always weak to Markus. The younger seemed to take advantage of that whenever he could, and now was certainly no exception. He took and took and took, and Connor let him, Markus’ hands coming down to pull his legs up around his waist, gripping his ass with intent to leave marks.

Markus growled into his mouth with his teeth seeking out Connor’s lips, grazing Connor’s tongue in the process and earning a hiss of pleasure underlying a played-up, false pain. It was excuse enough to separate from the intoxicating liplock. Connor was dizzy from the desire that pulsed through his body, leaving his knees weak and his limbs fuzzy, like static buzzed in every tendon.

“...I can’t keep doing this.” Connor murmured, hazy eyes meeting Markus’ and then fluttering, looking somewhere else so Markus couldn’t persuade him to give in, no matter how Connor wanted to offer himself up to those hypnotic orbs. “You should really just find someone your age, Markus.”

“This has nothing to do with our ages, Connor. There are plenty of people at school I could sleep with if I wanted to, but that’s not the point. Because I don’t just want to sleep with you, Connor.”

The brunette gestured to their current position, raising an eyebrow to show off his counterargument.

Markus sheepishly released him, though he didn’t back away in the slightest. If anything, he drew closer, until they shared breath. Connor’s legs, weakly falling to either sides of his hips, twitched and squeezed his body for a moment before quickly releasing him, coloring jumping to his cheeks at his accidental action. “Sorry about that. But, you do something to me,—always get me going and craving you. I can’t stop thinking about you. And when you’re so close to me, letting me do this....well, I can’t seem to stop myself.”

Connor let out a long exhale, smiling somewhat sadly. “That’s not your fault. It’s mine. I shouldn’t let you keep making this mistake—“

“It’s not a mistake, Connor. I never said that. Just because I lose control doesn’t mean I don’t want to... don’t want you.” Markus rubbed his thumb along the curve of Connor’s cheek, observing Connor’s lashes flit across the tip—the same sensation as the batting of a butterfly’s wings. “Is it me, Connor? Do you not want me? Or is it my age?”

No matter what impression Connor hoped he could give off, he yearned. Yearned to be able to kiss the somber look off of Markus’ face and return his embrace. Yearned to care less about the opinions of his gossiping neighbors, who looked upon him with such ire in the days following any night he’d bring a man home.

Yearned to live without fear that his dear, precious Cole would be tainted by the perceptions and misconceptions of the people around them.

Markus’ eyes melted, lidding as he drew nearer, lips tenderly brushing across Connor’s, caressing with feather-light touches that sent little shocks down Connor’s spine, all the way to his toes, which curled against the wood cabinets below the counter. His entire body tingled with desire, begging Connor to submit, to accept and allow Markus to see him entirely, more than he had on the one night Connor wasn’t careful enough—

But Connor couldn’t.

With a gentle hand, he pushed at Markus’ shoulder, weakly separating from him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. With that, he dropped to the floor and padded off to his room to get ready for work an hour early.

Markus’ hands clenched at his sides. Biting his inner cheek, the heterochromatic man collected his things and headed home.

This was far from over.

•••

“Why haven’t you been doing your homework?” Connor asked, attempting to smooth down some of Cole’s rampant cowlicks, blonde curls flicking about his fingers before springing up, wiry strands fluttering in the breeze of his breath.

Cole pursed his lips, avoiding eye-contact. Out of habit, he toyed with the extra button that‘d been sown into his shirt, stubby fingertips circling and picking it. “I want you to help me with it. But Markus has me sleep before you come home, so I never do it. And in the morning, you’re always so sleepy....”

Connor paused, seeking Cole’s large ocean pools and catching them. After a moment of gazing into them, losing himself in a train of thought he deemed unimportant, he patted his child’s cheek and let the tiniest ghost of a smile subtly lift his cheeks and curl his lips.

“Alright.”

Taking Cole’s hand, they ambled over to the classroom, Connor asking Cole quiet questions about random objects in the room, Cole explaining each and every item eagerly, as eventually pointing things out on his own to eagerly regale jumbled anecdotes about them.

Connor reached the front of the room after Cole had gestured wildly while telling a story about Alice and then apologized with fervor upon accidentally smacking Connor in the stomach with one wayward hand motion, worried his strength had “pulverized [Connor’s] internal organs”.

Connor made a mental note to monitor Cole’s media consumption—at least so he could watch whatever show he’d quoted with him. He’d ask later, once he found a break from the department and had enough free time.

...When was the last time they’d watched anything but the morning news together?

“Thank you for coming in, Mr. Anderson. I know you’ve been quite busy, so I’m sorry to have called you on such short notice.” At that comment, Cole appeared bashful to the point of shame, guilt washing over him as his eyes directed themselves to Connor’s face, which held a pleasant smile.

“It’s no problem. I’m happy to help Cole in any way I can, so coming here is not at all an inconvenience. In fact, talking with Cole made me realize that I haven’t been doing enough for him as a parent. I promise that Cole will start turning in his work soon.”

Cole’s teacher, Mr. Stern, gave him an appraising glance up and down, his snowy eyes glimmering with interest behind his glasses, the dark frames a stark contrast to his pale skin.

“Pinkie promise?” he said, a half-smirk pulling mischievously at his mouth.

Connor was fairly certain that he was intending for Connor to be staring at it, especially when his tongue flicked out for a moment to wet his lips.

Connor shook off any thoughts beyond politeness, pointedly aware of Cole latched to his hand. He grinned playfully, as much as was appropriate, and twined his pinkie with the teacher’s, Cole joining their agreement with his own tiny finger curling over theirs.

Mr. Stern patted Cole’s head. “I’ll give you time to get caught up, and if you ever need help, feel free to ask me, alright? Alright. Now, I think Alice wants to tell you about the house she made at recess.”

Cole’s eyes lit up, and he nodded, insistently tugging Connor down for a kiss on the cheek and a rushed, ‘I love you,’ before dashing over to Alice, a bounce in his step and giggles in his breath.

Connor watched after him with fondness, soft eyes sparkling.

“You’ve raised him splendidly; I’m honestly impressed. Despite the rare hiccups, he’s one of the best I’ve had.” Mr. Stern gave him a tiny smile.

“Thank you.” Connor turned his smile to the teacher, only to bite his lip when he saw silver lazily drag over his features once more. A peek of tongue slipped over Mr. Stern’s lips, earning a shiver and a lip bite from Connor. It was hard to suppress the urge to respond, his body still a bit needy from going so long barely able to sate himself.

If only he’d let Markus—

No.

It wasn’t the best alternative, still being a close, semi-authoritative figure in Cole’s life, but Connor could tell that Mr. Stern wasn’t too concerned about the potential ramifications of a quick coupling.

A one night stand wouldn’t hurt them, and the school year was very nearly finished. Connor likely wouldn’t have to see him again afterwards, as long as he’d get Cole to do well and behave.

“You know,” Connor began, grin gaining a bit of salacious intent, “I’d be just as eager to have a lesson as Cole is if I’d have you for a teacher. Would you mind... teaching me a little something after class has finished, Mr. Stern?”

Said man’s eyebrows raised, amusement coming across clear. Connor hoped he wasn’t getting too ahead of himself, especially with his forwardness. He wasn’t used to being the one to lay on the flirtation, but the way Mr. Stern leant in close, voice soft but still deep—enough so to get Connor’s knees to buckle and a shuddering breath to leave his mouth— and whispered, “Only if you’re a good boy and behave during my teaching,” well, Connor was certain that it worked.

After school, Connor urged Cole to leave with Markus, claiming to want to speak more in-depth with Mr. Stern. The way he shifted his weight and played with his own hair, along with the slight puffiness in his lower lip from biting it, seemed to have roused some suspicion in Markus, but the younger man simply cast him a disheartened and disappointed look before driving off, making no comment.

Connor made his way back to the classroom, switching from a stride to a saunter upon entering and heading for Mr. Stern. The classroom door thudded hollowly behind him, earning Mr. Stern’s attention. They locked eyes, and when the teacher opened his mouth to chuckle and smirk, Connor couldn’t help but notice the presence of slightly sharper-than-standard teeth.

“Are you ready for your personal lesson?”

Connor nearly trembled in excitement. “Yes, sir.”

Mr. Stern rose, and instead of picking up his bag and keys, he backed Connor into his office chair, which was near a student’s desk. Connor yelped quietly at the unexpected drop into it, but he muted himself when Mr. Stern pinned him to the seat and hovered near his ear. “Exactly what I was hoping to hear.”

••••

Want to see what happens next? I’m gonna need some requests for it!

I now have a Ko-Fi! If you’d like to support me and my ever-rare fics, here’s the link: https://ko-fi.com/jui_imouto_chan

And if you have requests, send them in! I have asks open, submissions open, and I love finding people in my messages!

The discord is also still around, even if it’s a little dead most of the time! https://discord.gg/2EDyfr9

-Jui

[civilization-illstayrighthere]

manna, a m!Captain/Vicar Max fic (2.4k, pwp, no story spoilers, pre-empty man)

Maximillian DeSoto remembers little from his history classes in seminary, and even if did remember more, he's certain most of it focused on the founding of Halcyon, the history of the corporations. So he does not know as much as he thinks he should know about Earth.

He's certain, though, that there was more food on that planet that's ever touched this galaxy, a dizzying variety that would put a Spacer's Choice's catalog to shame. Captain Park only ever occasionally talks about it, the hushed way he always talks about things that happened before. Usually when sitting at the kitchen table, pushing rehydrated food with a spork around in its microwavable tin.

His empty eyes speak more than his words ever could. He's a big man, tall and broad, enough that Max has wondered how he ever fit comfortably in those hibernation pods. He's not soft by any means, though he's not cut like some of the people in Byzantium, with nothing better to do but to spend their time carving the fat away from their muscle until it was useless but pronounced.

He'll always clean his plate, and when Parvati eats off the ship with them and leaves any leftovers, he'll eat those too, and he's not above scarfing whatever Nyoka's forgotten if she falls asleep with an empty bottle at the table. Him and Felix always squabble for seconds, though often the Captain gives in and lets Felix have the bigger half.

And the Captain is hungry in other ways, too. Max does not put much stock into rumors, which he’s heard of plenty first and second-hand about the Captain, but there’s no doubting what he’s personally seen and heard on the Unreliable. There’s been noises from Felix’s room that couldn’t be explained any other way. Max is not a prude; it’s a common misconception most laypeople have in regards to men and women of the cloth. But he wouldn’t be opposed to a modicum of common decency either. Especially when he’s trying to study a dense text and Felix’s otherwise unused and normally stable desk has been thumping against their shared wall to a beat so steady he could set his pocket watch to it.

His Captain’s dalliances with Nyoka, at least, were much more quiet, though it always meant the day after they’d be grounded to replenish their liquor and caffeinoid supplies.

He’s not a prude. That is, to say, Max wasn’t against this sort of thing. He’s never outwardly shown any recognization of the Captain’s proclivities, other than a raised eyebrow when Nyoka stumbled out into the hall half-dressed, fully shit-faced, and only in a bra and obnoxiously endowed harness.

But the Captain hasn’t sidled into his quarters yet, and he’s not exactly sure why. He’s not offended. Or self-conscious, or any other number of droll reasons. He’s curious; it’s in his nature to question, written in his bones to always ask why? Vanity is not a sin, though he tries not to indulge in it too often as a rule. But Max is not an ugly man, especially for his age; he’s grayed gracefully, he keeps himself as trim as possible, even with how stationary the life of a theologian often kept him.

Generally, when these types of frivolous thoughts keep interrupting his studying, Max knows it’s time to take a break. If he’s lucky, the Unreliable’s cramped, single bathroom will be open and he can stay in there for as long as ADA will keep the hot water running.

“Hey, Vicar. Taking a shower?”

“Yes,” Max tries not to let his annoyance on being asked such a basic question bleed through. He’s very obviously on the way to the bathroom, walking out of his room with his towel and shower caddy under his arms. He’s wearing flip flops, because he trusts neither SAM in cleaning the bathroom properly or Felix Millstone cleaning his feet properly, either. “Why? Care to join?”

It’s a flippant comment, and he barely graces his Captain with a glance as he passes.

And he’s clearly slack-jawed and wide-eyed. Max does a double-take.

“Yeah?”

“That was a joke, Captain.” He frowns.

The Captain’s ear, and what’s left of it on his right side, are reddening at the tips. “Oh.” Still, something’s been planted now, a realization dawning as he follows on the Vicar’s heels. “Y’sure?”

Mouth clamped tight, Max sighs. “You can’t be serious.”

“Well, I thought— I thought you religious types didn’t do, y’know—“

Max stops in the hallway once more: “That we don’t fuck?”

He keeps his tone monotonous, but the Vicar won’t lie and say he wasn’t having fun watching such a big man squirm the way his Captain is, fidgeting where he stands over his crass word choice. He chews on his bottom lip, looking the Vicar up and down.

“Uh, yeah?”

“Just because I’m not as flagrantly promiscuous as you does not mean I’m some deluded philosophist thinking sexual purity and mental deviancy have any correlation. It’s usually caused by employment status.”

“Hey, yeah, right!” Park grins, “I’m glad we agree on somethin’. I mean, work is good, and they don’t call it a ‘job’ for nothin’.”

Max sighs. But still, he pauses.

“You’re not monogamous, are you?”

“What,” Captain Park frowns, “Like the wood?” His face suddenly shifts with mistaken recognition, and then he’s leaning forward, his eyes going lidded in some approximation of sultry, sliding down Max’s body, “ I mean— heh. Yeah, course, I’m monogamous. I got wood for you, preach—“

“No.” Max holds up a single finger. “Architect, no. Fuck—“ He pinches the bridge of his nose with a ragged sigh. The beginning of a migraine was starting to collect itself against the back of his skull. “Never mind. Just leave me be.”

“Hey, alright,” Park wheedles.

Max is already walking past. Park starts to backpedal to follow him, “I’m sorry—“ He shifts his bulk right into the Vicar’s path, wedging himself into the bathroom doorway. “Wait— I mean— okay. I don’t know what that means, or if it’s good or bad, an’ I just—“

Max could squeeze by him; he could also just push him aside, or turn and leave. He’s half-tempted to cuff his Captain over the ear and yank him out of the way, as well.

“You... you seemed real stressed recently—“ And he holds out his palms, predicting a protested outburst, “Not that that’s why I’m offerin’. I’m offerin’ ‘cause you’re real handsome, and I,” He swallows, starts to trail off, “Uh...”

“Uh what, Park?” Max mimics drily.

His Captain’s face visibly falls. He mutters, “Ain’t got the courage to ask, until now, y’know? Been thinking about it for a long time, believe me. You can be real intimidating like, but I can see you’re not interested, so I’m just—“

He startles as Max places his empty hand next to Park, caging him in with his body. When he leans in, chest-to-chest, his Captain freezes in place.

“Listen,” Max lowers his voice, moves in closer so Park can hear, “This is on my terms. If I say stop, you stop,” Park’s head is on a pole, bobbling agreeably to every word. “If I say go, you go. And if I say jump—?”

It takes his Captain a moment to realize Max is waiting for a response, eyes like dinner plates. “How high! I ask, how high?”

Max smiles, “Exactly.”

It’s only after the bathroom door closes behind them that Max realizes he’s dropped his towel and shower supplies outside, but at this point, with his Captain’s tongue halfway down his throat, he doesn’t find himself caring.

They manage to maneuver themselves to the opposite side of the bathroom, Max’s shoulders to the faintly damp wall. He likes the way the Captain’s mouth moves against his own; he wants to see what else it can do, what all the fuss is about, and when he pulls away for a breath he’s already pushing him down with both hands on his shoulders.

Park kneels with no question. He’s waist high on Max, big hands skittering up and under his cassock to blindly fumble with his belt.

“Y’wanna help?”

“Mmn, no.” Max smirks as he settles back again the wall. “I want you to impress me, Captain.”

“I can do that,” he says, almost bashfully, wedging his fingers in between Max’s loosened belt and the band of his pants. He shucks them down in one yank, “Easy as mockapple pie.” He ducks under the edge of his cassock, pulling his briefs to his ankles with little fanfare.

Park presses wet, open-mouthed kisses up his thighs, dusted with wiry hairs. Park’s stubble is prickling against the sensitive skin, instantly soothed by his wandering mouth. He is soaking him like this, practically slobbering, sucking on sensitive flesh that keeps jumping under his lips, scraping his teeth against the skin. He rubs his thighs, reaches around to squeeze and knead at his ass; sometimes, Max is almost convinced the dull Captain routine is an act, because this teasing avoidance of even brushing his center is calculated. 

“Park—“ The Vicar snaps, and his Captain heels like a well-trained canid. The feeling of it runs straight through him, makes his cunt pulse in a knee-knocking way. His Captain’s almost too well-trained, kneeling on the floor, the front of Max’s cassock draped over his head like a curtain. He wonders how long he would sit there, the cold tile soaking through his slacks, the way his knees would eventually ache. He can feel his Captain’s breath, warm and skittering inches away from his skin. Close enough to almost taste.

Frustratingly stupid and yet, and yet, Max wants to fuck himself on that face of his, grind against his puffy lips and wanting mouth. He pulls the edge of his cassock up, enough that he can see his Captain between his legs; at the loss of cover, Park looks upward, and the earnest eagerness in his eyes makes Max’s thighs clench around his head.

Max waits long enough to see the Captain squirm, kneading the tops of his own knees out of silent frustration. But he knows he won’t move, not until Max’s say-so: “Go on.”

Park’s nose nudges against his folds, “Fuck, Vicar— you’re wetter than—“

“No,” Max cuts him off, strangled, “I don’t want any metaphors.”

Park whines. The sound vibrates up, through the bridge of his nose, just enough, and he can feel his clit twitch. “It was a good one.”

“No,” He groans, “No it wasn’t. Can you—“

His Captain pulls back, slides a hand up his thigh. He slips a finger across his folds, just barely dipping in, swiping across his entrance, brushing against his clit, and he’s so sensitive his hips jerk and his pussy aches, even as his Captain holds his finger up as if trying to test the direction of the wind. “See,” And his finger is dripping, “You’re soaked, Vicar.”

“Park,” Max snarls, “what did I say?”

He wilts, “Sorry.”

“Are you going to be good?”

“Yeah,” he says, deflatedly. He moves to wipe it off on his slacks—

“Now, now, Captain.” Max tuts, his voice going low. “Don’t waste it.”

Park’s eyes go dark, “No, uh. No vicar? No sir?” He tries, searching Max’s face for the answer. So eager to please, head slightly bowed. Max has decided the Captain looks good like that, sucking his finger clean as he considers other titles. “Father? Vicar?”

“Vicar is fine,” Max muses, as Park settles his wet fingers against his bare thighs, presses his face to his mound, “Go on, now,”

“Yes, Vicar,”

Max is neatly trimmed, clean and precise and maintained; Sole runs his fingers appreciatively over the hair on his mound, tugs a little at the curls with a grin.

“Grey here, too—“

“Park—“

“Okay,” He presses his tongue flat over his entrance, massages his labia on either side with both hands. They’re shallow licks, nothing penetrating, messy against his outer lips. “Okay—“

“Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

Park pointedly sucks his labia into his mouth, and his petulance would be eyerolling if they weren’t rolling for other reasons.

Max holds his head there, throws one thigh over his Captain’s shoulder. Park moans and surges forward, even as Max draws him in with his heel digging firmly into his spine. He’s voracious, annoyingly so; he sucks, then licks, with no real rhythm, no consistency, just a maddening flitting from one activity to the next.

He wishes Park had more hair then the close-cropped buzz he has, but guiding him by the ears, the back of his neck, will have to do, his nails biting into the soft skin behind them.

“There,” he barks, “Suck.”

If he’s being too hard, the Captain doesn’t seem to mind. He’s wet and sloppy, slick shining across his face.

He flicks his tongue across his clit, then wraps his lips around and sucks, and Max’s thighs clamp so tight around he’s sure, momentarily, that Park can’t breathe. If he can’t, he’s not complaining, humming breathless against his cunt.

His fingers are digging into the meat of Max’s thigh, little pinpoints of heat. He rides that wave, that pulsing feeling, chases it as he grinds against Park’s face. “There,” he gasps, “There— Law—“ he can feel himself clench around nothing, the ache that’s building; and he’s more than tempted to tell his Captain, there, there to the tip of his thumb maddeningly stroking at his folds, spreading, massaging at his lips but never pushing in to his center.

But he hasn’t said to yet, has he, and Max nearly grinds his teeth in frustration, the hand on Park’s head twitching away as his hips stutter closer. “Park, use your fucking fingers—“

The Captain’s middle finger slips in, easy with how slick Max is, and curls, curls.

“Fuck—!”

Max shoves Park’s face away. He yips when he tips backward, off the balls of his heels to fall on his ass against the tile. Knees momentarily jellified, Max sinks halfway down the wall. He looks almost as dazed as Max feels, glassy-eyed and glassy-mouthed. Max exhales, rubs a hand down his face and breathes ragged through his fingers. Minutely, his legs tremble.

He’s only snapped out of his post-orgasm haze when Park’s hands searching slide up his thigh. His muscles jump under his touch, but Max allows it, absently petting his head. He can hear the clank of his belt buckle against the tiles, the rustle of fabric.

Park doesn’t ask for him to touch him. And Max doesn’t. But he watches his Captain with a detached sort of fascination, sitting on the floor of the bathroom and breathing open-mouthed against his thigh, jerking himself off at his heels. Max runs his nails against his scalp, murmurs hushed platitudes like prayers for his Captain until he comes with a whine in his tightened fist.

[xannified]

𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍 ✧ k.yg | 二

Yugyeom tried to focus on the run they have made. He tried to force his head in the choreography that had been circling his mind all day. He'd been so excited about choreographing, possibly being allowed to record it if it was approved. But now, no matter how hard he tried to concentrate, he simply couldn't ignore the other in the room.

Jiwon had been dancing on her own for a while now. She was distracting, in ways more than one. They have separated ideas for a while to come up with more. But he was actually getting miserable.

Music from Yugyeom's laptop instantly filled the silence of the room as he tried to dance again. It was already apparent that the song focused more on fast beats rather than lyrics, and the dance routine Jiwon have planned must going to be complex and fast-paced. He knew this because his eyes can't stop looking at her figure.

If Yugyeom would be honest, the routine that Jiwon would always choreograph are the hardest to master. He groaned, "Hitting every beat is impossible with you."

She looked up at him and said, "I'll take that as a compliment. Come on, I want to finish this as much as possible."

For the thousandth time today, he scoffed cockily as he rolled his eyes, "Why? So we can head out and bang right after already?"

"Your eyes are going to be permanently stuck at the back of your head if you keep doing that," she commented, positioning herself a good distance from him.

He could only laugh. He shook his head lightly and said, "Oh please, you'll be the one who'd have her eyes rolling as I fuck you good later on."

Jiwon does not mind him an continues. And it kind frustrated Yugyeom how much she can just ignore him easily. He could only sigh heavily to mind his own ideas. But instead of coming up with an actual idea, he had an unrestrained one.

His smile grew and his nose scrunched up in the sexiest of ways. Jiwon can't help but avert his gaze to the other side at the sudden little commotion. She rolled your eyes as the song changed and watched Yugyeom fluidly step back into the dance moves. The way his body moved like water to the beat of the music and the look on his face when he rolled his hips rhythmically. She could feel herself becoming anxious.

He seemed to notice that air in the room shift. She shook her head violently, trying to remain calm through. He bit his lip and gave Jiwon a testing look. He slowly walked up to her and leaned in close, causing her to back up until her back was pressed against the mirror. He asked in a whisper, "Is something wrong? Does choreographing stress you out?"

All of this was just merely a hookup since she knew that Yugyeom needed satisfaction on his nonexistent dating life. She thought that after the one night stand, it would casually stop like the usual. However, Yugyeom wanted more, but not more than that, if that would make sense.

Yugyeom was a handsome guy and undeniably sexy. Girls would die for just wanting to talk to him, and even crazier ones could if they can date him. Everyone looked at him like he was a god whenever he dances. He was so good, that a lot of urges have created thirst. This is a form of disrespect though, because he looked very angelic.

But he was not angelic at all. He was commanding behind closed doors and he was the complete opposite of being cute.

Even though he may be treated like a giant baby publicly, Yugyeom was a man. He knew how to get his way. He knew how to dominate. And most importantly, he knew how to make her beg for him. All of her control completely goes off whenever his eyes looks straight in hers.

That was it. Jiwon knew she was in trouble. Without hesitating, he placed a rough kiss on her lips. His hands tangled in her hair as she pulled her closer. She was frozen, but eventually thawed as he brought her to her feet.

Jiwon pulled away and looked him in the eyes. She tried to stop him because heck, they were doing something more important than this. She breathed, "Yu-Yugyeom... not-not here, please. There are... uh, mu-must be c-cameras... around."

Completely ignoring her, Yugyeom shook his head slightly before claiming her lips. He kisses her back instantly because it's as easy as breathing. With a low sigh, Yugyeom presses his crotch on hers. The familiar sensation of them slowly getting hot against each other is setting his nerves on fire. He is just about to let his hands slip under her shirt, to feel the soft skin and relax with every breath when Jiwon breaks the kiss, panting heavily. He whispered, "Stop fighting, Jiwon-ah."

The occasional moans and groans escaped their lips as he roughly kissed her again. It was only then Jiwon realized just how much sexual tension was actually squeezed between them.

"Fuck," her lips quiver at the feel of his Yugyeom's bulge straining against his skinny jeans. Desperate to feel Jiwon again, Yugyeom unbuttons his pants carelessly. He yanks them down and pulls her leggings only to see that she was wearing a g-string.

Jiwon cursed herself for forgetting that she should not wear leggings whenever Yugyeom would be there. Because then she would also have to wear the certain underwear for the leggings.

"You're so naughty. Must be ready for me," Yugyeom teases and Jiwon wants to trash and scream and hit his pretty face but she is so desperately turned on. Her own clit was swelling more and more. She was yearning for his touch. It's sad and unhealthy, but she'll take what he can get.

Hurriedly, he helps where Yugyeom has already started to pull his underwear down himself, taking it as an excuse to let his palms stroke up and down his strong legs before settling them onto his thighs, squeezing gently. Yugyeom shivers, muttering impatiently under his breath and only then does Jiwon lift his head to kiss him.

Jiwon wishes she could melt into the feeling, wishes they had time to totally liquefy. But there's only hushed, hurried touches at the moment. Anyone could knock on the door at any moment. They were working together for a choreography which should not be suspicious.

And there hasn't been a lot of time lately. Jiwon had other things to do as a choreographer. Yugyeom was preparing for their comeback. Schedules are stacked, overlapping, and sometimes it feels like they're dizzy under a smothering tower of obligations. But there's never been a lot of time, alone or otherwise, in this business.

They take what they can get, and right now it's just this—Yugyeom pulling the band of her underwear in the practice room, palms whispering across her abdomen, and quiet, suckling kisses into his neck. Yugyeom pulls down his pants more, pressing his dick on her clit. He pulled her closer for more friction as Jiwon whined into the sensitive spot under her ear. Jiwon gasps at the tickle of his breath, and tries to interpret the desperate sound as best she can, moving swiftly to pull up Yugyeom's tee so she can touch his skin.

Jiwon  wants to bury her face in his neck, wants to hold him still for just a moment longer. But Yugyeom's busy, focused: hands jamming down her underwear completely.

Yugyeom huffs impatiently as they get stuck where they've bunched, and he resorts to peeling the legs down more slowly over his muscle. Jiwon squirms as Yugyeom flattens his palm against her, then tracing the outline of her clit with wet sloppy kisses.

Now he's taking Jiwon into his mouth, soft lips popping over her wetness with a familiar little moan. Yugyeom is an all-consuming—tender and teasing one moment, brandishing burning eyes and heavy hands the next. Jiwon's eyes flutter as the wet heat suctions him in, hand instinctively curling around Yugyeom's nape to tug him closer.

They continue like this for some moments, Jiwon moaning, his hands shaking in Yugyeom's hair as his fingers clench and unclench rhythmically with the movements of Yugyeom's lips. Once he can tell that Jiwon is close, he uses Jiwon's momentary distraction to let the hand that is not furiously working his own cock travel up and around, sharp fingernails digging into Jiwon's ass seconds later.

She can feel his eyes closing in pleasure. The wetness adds to the thrilling feeling of Jiwon's fingers carding through his hair and Yugyeom's hips bug whenever they catch in it and pull at his roots, both of them used to the smooth glide of straight, soft hair. Yugyeom was pulling her body more towards him from behind. She instinctively swallows around Yugyeom's tip. She managed to breathe, "P-Please, Gyeom-ah."

Her pleading didn't need to be repeated twice because Yugyeom pushed the head of his member in. Even from behind, he didn't have a problem on slipping his member in her hole. He pushed his way through the tight ring of muscle. It felt ten times better than his tongue.

Yugyeom absentmindedly groaned out, holding onto Jiwon's hips as he pushed in. The way the other's hole stretched around his dick was a sin and if he didn't know better, then he swore he could feel his dick growing even harder.

A drawn out moan left her throat when Yugyeom pulled out again, before pushing back in. His jaw was slack, letting out continuous sighs of immense pleasure. Jiwon was trying hard to control her breathing but nothing seemed to work. Yugyeom's dick stretched her so good, leaving her breathless and ready for more and more. She couldn't wait for him to mercilessly pound into her.

Lowering his head, his lips trailed wet sloppy kisses on her neck. She could not help but hold on the rail by the mirror for dear life.

Jiwon felt how Yugyeom sped up a bit. It was becoming for her to keep her voice down. He haven't even reached her spot yet but she was already feeling this good, "H-harder."

Her pert ears got filled with the sound of Yugyeom's hips colliding with her ass cheeks as he thrusted into her. She could feel how Yugyeom tried to angle his thrusts to find his sweet spot. The sound of her entrance squelching around his dick, as well the sound of her own moans combined with his low grunts made her contented. When Yugyeom found it, he tried to kiss Jiwon and press their lips together but it was nearly impossible.

"L-look at me," Yugyeom breathes, his voice so weak Jiwon would have missed it without the insistent tug Yugyeom gives his hair deliberately this time.

As if in trance, she opens her eyes, gaze struggling to find Yugyeom's in the massive mirror of the practice room. When she finally does, she could feel the other constrict around her. The intense look in his eyes making her forget her hurting knees and almost cramped up wrist in seconds, body getting ready to chase her orgasm.

She's never had mirror sex before and she's a bit delirious, but her mind tells her this is the best sex she's ever had.

Her hands weaved their way through the thick locks of his black hair as he slammed back into her, hitting her g-spot. Jiwon tugged on his hair and encouraged him to go faster, earning a groan coming out of his mouth. He gripped her hips, moving at a steady pace as she felt herself at complete bliss.

Looking at each other's eyes through the mirror as Yugyeom made her feel good was incredible. It was totally out of this world.

Her hands reached for his back and gripped to push their bodies closer. Yugyeom increased his speed in a brutal pace making her body shake. She moaned loudly as she hit her orgasm, "Fuck you, Yugyeom."

"I know, baby. Fuck you too," he chuckled in her ear softly.

Yugyeom also climaxed after more thrusts, riding out of his high as he moaned her name. He shot his load inside he. Her legs were shaking uncontrollably, and Yugyeom pulled her closer from behind to hug her. At the same time, he remained being inside her.

He lowered his head down again to plant a rough wet kiss on her neck. Yugyeom continued to kiss her until down her shoulder blades.  

They remained like that for a couple of seconds. Yugyeom's arms were wrapped around her waist as his eyes remain closed. His body pressed against hers through the embrace.

However, she knew he didn't want to get caught. So he said, "I'm pulling out, so close your legs. I want me inside you and I don't want my cum leaking out of you."

It was the hottest thing that she have heard from him yet. Yugyeom knew that she was on the pill. Jiwon shuddered at his words and she could not believe that they just had a quickie in the practice room.

Yugyeom slowly stood straight, lifting her hips up. She clung to his arms, letting out silent choked gasp when he accidentally yanked in her. His warm thick liquid filled her. Yugyeom slid out of Jiwon carefully and she could feel a bit of the warm semen run down her thigh which he sucked, as he helped her pull her underwear up in place.

He made sure that all of him was her, and that she was not wet so it would not stain.

Thankfully, they have composed themselves before people started coming in the practice room an hour after. Yugyeom told Jiwon to remain her legs closed, seated on the stool.

Even though she was currently in a lowkey fling with Yugyeom, she always had a soft spot in her heart for Jackson from the start.

It wasn't inappropriate in any way, unlike Yugyeom. Jiwon just thought of him as a wonderful oppa, since he has always been nice to her since the first time.  Out of all the boys besides Yugyeom secretly, she was the closest to Jackson.

Currently she was with the boys as they were having a little talk before they turned on the V-app for a short live.

Jackson decided to stand near her as she remains seated on the stool. She didn't think anything of it of course. Jiwon turned to him and smiled noticing that he was handing her a water bottle.

He took his handkerchief from his pocket and quickly dabbed the sweat that was on his neck. She did not realize that she still had sweat. She said, "Thank you."

"Are you okay? You seem tired. Keep hydrated. It's hard to get sick," she nodded as he smiled at her sweetly.

That was when Jaebeom called all the members to gather around. Jackson ran off as he smiled again before running off. When he sat on the couch with the members, Jiwon noticed that Yugyeom had his eyes on her. She also noticed that his jaw was clenched and his hands were in fists a sign that something was bothering him. Though, she didn't made a big deal out of it.

After the short live, Yugyeom immediately made his way to her. She and him were having idle chatter as he randomly told jokes. Her laughter filled between them. The way Jiwon laughed and the big grin that followed was infectious, making Yugyeom follow suit.

Suddenly, Jackson's presence erupts. It eradicated any calmness that evolved previously. He hopped into the empty spot between Jiwon and Yugyeom, "Hey! What are you two talking about?"

Jackson immediately pulled Jiwon into his arms, hugging her tightly. She stammered "Jackson, I can't—"

"Ah, sorry," he chuckled. Yugyeom bit his lip. Simultaneously, he bit down on any upcoming remarks that could have escaped. Despite freeing you of his grasp, Jackson's arm lingered on your shoulder.

"You became so cheery all of a sudden," she remarked with a slight giggle. Jiwon ignored the new darkness that had clouded Yugyeom's sharp features.

"It's because we talked to the Ahgases. And you're here, of course," he chirped. He sneaked a wink also. Yugyeom had caught onto what his bandmate was doing yet remained determined to not let it affect him.

The three continued to chat, as normal. The guys bounced eye contact off one another without Jiwon noticing. Whenever Jackson made contact with her, he'd make sure to steal a glance at the younger. Yugyeom's jaw was clenched. He wasn't sure what about Jackson making so much contact with her riled him up. They were all friends now, so what must be the tension?

But, Yugyeom felt himself nearing the last straw. Jackson interjected a silent moment and complimented, "Do you want to go to my house for dinner? I mean, I can try cooking dinner for you... and maybe, the guys too?"

A rose-coloured blush tinted your cheeks. Yugyeom instantly met eyes with him. Jiwon was lost for words at the friendly invite. No guy have ever asked him to dinner like that.

All of a sudden, Yugyeom shot out off the sofa and stormed out. Your eyes were fixed on him as he angrily left the room. Jackson quickly asked, "What set him off?"

Jackson did invite the members to his house. But Jaebeom did not believe about him actually cooking, so they decided to just order instead.

Throughout the whole time, Yugyeom found himself intensely glaring at the his hyung while Jackson kept talking to Jiwon. What even made him flare up is when Jackson was refusing to acknowledge the maknae although Yugyeom had just asked him were the drinks were.

Yugyeom counted to ten in his head, telling himself to be calm and patient like he had fought so hard to become after the countless times he had lost his temper before, and got up from where he had been sitting comfortably on the sofa to drag himself into the kitchen, too hungry and tired to deal with what was making him mad.

But it was not easy to contain one's self at all. He muttered, "Hyung, maybe if you can't stop hitting on Jiwon then could you at least tell me where the drinks are?"

It seemed his—banmal—statement was what was required to get Jackson's attention, because the reaction was instant. Even all the members looked at their maknae.

Jackson whipped his head, staring at Yugyeom accusingly. But it was Jaebeom who asked him, "Mworago?"

Yugyeom's eyes were fixated on Jackson. It was filled with so much rage and anger, his jaw clenching. Jackson has always been kind. But the tone of the accusation right now triggered him. He asked, "What the fuck did you say? You've been keeping up the attitude since earlier."

Jiwon tried to feign disinterest. Her eyes dropping from Yugyeom's immediately although she had yearned for him to look at her delicately in the same way Jackson does. It hurt something inside her chest that this was the only way Yugyeom would look at her, with anger burning in his eyes. Like she was only a thing he uses and is selfish of. Jiwon told herself she did not care, but really, she did.

"Nothing, I just said it so you'd get my attention. So sorry about that, I guess," the words wore out of Yugyeom's mouth. The sarcasm was spilling venom in their wake.

"Screw you, you meant your words and you're not sorry," Jackson spat before Yugyeom stood up an stormed out.

Bambam stood up to follow his friend. Groaning, Jiwon felt the need to be the one to follow Yugyeom. So she softly patted the Thai on his shoulder as she gave a half smile. The problem was not supposed to be like that. And if she didn't talk to him, he'd just lash off more.

There he saw Yugyeom standing. His eyes was still full of anger, and when it landed on her, he sighs and grabs her wrist. She tried shaking her off, "What in the world is your problem, Yugyeom?"

Yugyeom rolled his eyes, but when Jiwon tried to stop him from dragging her, he was quicker. He only tightened his grip on her wrist as he forcibly made her get in the passenger's seat.

When he got in the car, the glare Yugyeom threw her was petulant. His eyes looked straight and then he started driving. He was aggressive but still very careful. For a moment, Jiwon was quiet. She just watched how Yugyeom looked behind, his left hand on the steering wheel as the car backed up.

Jiwon was not letting Yugyeom evade this argument, not anymore. They needed to sort this out, or it would affect the whole group sooner rather than later. If not in any other way then at least talk it out because it was driving Jiwon crazy to have Yugyeom acting like this. She asked, "Where are we going?"

The words and the intensity of Yugyeom's glance upset Jiwon's focus enough, "Doesn't matter where we fucking go."

She leaned back in her seat folding her arms, wondering why he was behaving like this. She didn't want to press the situation in the car and wait until they arrive somewhere. The streets were familiar, and they were heading to his place.

Yugyeom was still being cold with her and ignoring her all the way. He opened the door and entered first which he never did, leaving her to follow him and shut the door. There was no choice now. Jiwon cannot leave just like that even if she wanted to.

She was about to tell him off for how he behaved but her words were caught in her throat as she looked him over. He was glaring at Jiwon, his usual brown eyes were now black with anger as she assumed. His teeth were clenched so that his jawline stood out and both his hands were in fist making his muscles and veins on his arms pop. Jiwon couldn't help but get turned on at the sight of him.

Jiwon gulped trying to formulate words but couldn't. Before she knew it he had stormed his way in front of her and slammed both of his hands on the wall behind her. Jiwon was now stuck between him and the door and there was nowhere you would have rather been, she couldn't help but bite your lip in lust as you stared up at Yugyeom.

"You're really a slut, aren't you?" he snarled at her. He then added, "I just fucked you and you're seducing Jackson hyung? With my cum in you? You want him to fuck you too?"

Jiwon pushes off the wall. Yugyeom is quicker. Grip tight on her elbow, he presses her back. Jiwon gives a slight struggle, tries to fight him away with a shove to his chest, but Yugyeom is stronger, bigger. Easily holds both of her wrists and uses his body to blanket over him. She said, "You're hurting me, Yugyeom."

From experience, she knows how fast this can go downhill. How easy it is for the two of them to fall deep into each other, disregard for authority and consequences. Blind to the naysayers and reality, fueled by adrenaline and instincts. It's reckless, desperate, and careless.

"I'm sorry," he whispers. Jiwon writhes her wrist, whimpers. Yugyeom sighs, lips a faint brush against his skin. He doesn't miss the way she shivers, "But I don't know why I was like that. Maybe I didn't like the fact that there's another guy hitting on you."

Yugyeom is pissed, horny, and temperamental all at once. But she was starting to feel corrupted. She told him, "I'm a girl for fuck's sake, Yugyeom. He was just being nice and sweet. Is it bad to be friendly with someone for once?"

It hurts at first, to see Jiwon flinch as an initial reaction to being touched by him, gaze hard and unforgiving, but she knows that Yugyeom is still as caught up in their mess as he is, his heart racing under his palm more than telling. Yugyeom growled, "Do you think I'd be like this if it was okay?"

They were fucked up. Both of them. Bringing out the worst in each other, at the same time filling the satisfaction of the need from each other. But for her, it was getting harder than she expected it to be and she did not know what to do anymore. She whispered, "If you have a problem with me with other guys, maybe then we should stop fucking around."

He glared right back at her getting angrier, Jiwon could feel his breath on her face as he pressed closer to her. His voice was deeper than the usual, "No."

At the words, his eyes darkened even more if possible. Yugyeom took her lips roughly. She moaned into the kiss as she felt his erection beneath which was still restricted by his jeans and underwear. He swiftly lifted her up as they stumbled through the walls, clumsily finding Yugyeom's room.

Once they were in, he immediately threw her on the bed. Yugyeom desperately rocked his hips so that his erection was adding pressure to her covered clit. He pulled away from the kiss and groaned before attaching his lips to her sensitive neck. He immediately began to suck, lick and bite leaving hickies all over her neck. There were tears on her cheeks but her eyes remain closed.

Jiwon could feel that familiar feeling start to grow in her stomach and she moaned loudly.

Yugyeom stood up as he made her rest her back on the bed. He He slowly undid his jeans taking it off as well as his boxers. He said darkly, "You're mine, and I want you all for myself alone."

His eyes were still dark as he maintained eye contact with her. Yugyeom pushed her down roughly and climbed above her as he began kissing his way down her neck. He left a dark hickey at the center of her breasts before he continued his way down to her almost soaked underwear. He kissed down her stomach and finally reached her underwear.

Jiwon was wet. Yugyeom pulled her underwear down slowly, loads of cum slipping down and pooling. His semen was still in hers as he began gently rubbing her clit with two of his fingers.

She gasped when he inserted two fingers into her without warning. Jiwon shut her eyes close as he began moving his fingers in and out of her while curving them up to hit that spot. He stated possessively, "Only I can make you feel this good."

Yugyeom pulled his fingers out immediately making her whine but before you could even say anything he slammed his massive erection into her making her scream his name in pleasure. Jiwon wrapped her legs around him as he began to slam into her.

It felt so good, the way he filled her up, it was a perfect fit. He was fucking her so hard and fast and she was feeling all the pleasure. Her nails dug into his back sure to leave marks as he pumped in and out of her at his pace. He stared deeply into her eyes as he fucked you.

"No one can ever touch you like I do. No one should ever," he thrusted harder, making Jiwon tug on his hair and arch her back.

Seeing her in this much pleasure just made him fuck her harder and faster. Yugyeom wanted her to feel him in her and cum around him. He attached his lips to her neck sucking harshly wanting to leave yet another hickey as moan after moan left her lips. Jiwon could feel the build-up in your stomach begin again as he rocked into you.

Yugyeom began rubbing her clit with one of his hands faster and faster. She squeezed her eyes shut as the feeling of complete pleasure over took you. Jiwon clenched hard around him, "I'm... fuck, I'm c-close."

As soon as she came, he moaned out her name and came in Jiwon. When she opened her eyes, Yugyeom moved to lay down beside her. They were both catching their breaths, and she can't help but still think about what the real tension was.

Jiwon turned her back from him. And Yugyeom only pulled her close to his bare body to spoon, pulling the covers over them both.

Maybe it's the pleasant buzz still fizzing beneath her skin, or the fact that Jiwon has yet again slipped into some kind of subspace—or maybe it's Yugyeom, making her feel contented despite the conflict. But she sheds tears quietly as she quickly wipes them too.

Because no matter how much he makes her feel so good, it was not okay. Jiwon did not expect things to turn out like this. She wanted to get out of it, but she does not want to. He never treated her sweetly and delicately. Yugyeom have never made her feel romantic. And she craved that.

There's only the briefest moment like this where Jiwon gets the feeling that it was alright. The reminder that she cannot cross the certain line drifting off through her mind. But as all the times pass, it becomes harder and harder to hide it.

Jiwon just wanted to feel him in that way. But she was afraid that if they talk it over, it would all end. And for now, she's contented to let Yugyeom fuck her again and again.

Or so, she thought she is contented.

 一 ⏪⏸⏩ 三

[elssiie]

Walk through the fire

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4

You can also find the story in fanfiction.net 

Strategist and priestess Lucy Heartfilia gets caught up in the turmoil of war. Torn between duty and love she must decide whether to follow her heart or mind because the destiny of two nations rests on her shoulders.

Chapter 5: Instinct 

There is no instinct like that of the heart

  Natsu was moving through the trees as fast as the forest let him. His men were far behind him but right now he couldn’t afford to wait for them. Fucking hell! That little witch had been giving him a massive headache for a while now. He seriously hadn’t needed Romeo to magically show up in the middle of the battle camp and put himself in danger like that. What was even going through the kid’s brain? Hey, I see a suspicious person walking into one of the most dangerous places in the empire. I’ll mention this to the nearest soldier and then indulge myself in an epic adventure following said suspicious person in the woods. Brilliant, Romeo. Just fucking brilliant.

Natsu stopped for a moment to sniff the air. The witch’s scent was anything but witch-like. Soft and clean, the smell of spring. It was too vivid, too strong. She and Romeo were close. He sprinted following their trails. There. Just behind those bushes. He could distinguish their voices now with his ultra-hearing. They sounded frightened. Then he felt the presence of other creatures. Shit! He quickly moved through the bushes and found them.

Just in time to see the deadly spear flying in the air straight towards Romeo. For one terrifying second Natsu froze, unable to say or do something. His eyes widened as he watched the strategist’s body blocking the spear’s path. A horrible, blood-chilling scream tore from her mouth as she crashed on the ground. He registered in the distance of his mind that the forest people were turning their attention to him, ready to take him down as well. He didn’t care. His vision was pure red. The usually calm and quiet fire in his chest was now blazing furiously. Red markings covered both his arms, neck and cheeks. His skin glowered in a faint gold color and he knew what his eyes looked like, what kind of effect they had on the enemies. The forest people screeched in despair, trying to quickly get away from him. He wouldn’t let them. The white hot fire covered his hands. Burn, motherfuckers.

The first thing Lucy noticed when she woke was that it was nice and warm. She strained her muscles in order to move but every single nerve in her back screamed in pain. Holy gods! What in the world was this pain?! She had been laying on her stomach probably for hours if she had to judge from the missing sensitivity in her arms and legs. She realized with horror that she was back in the tower. She was a prisoner again. Then she remembered the forest people and the hit she took. Ah. That’s why her shoulder hurt so much.

She had to get up. Lucy clenched her teeth and slowly, so very slowly pushed her body up. Gods, someone was tearing her skin apart! Piece by piece! Her arms trembled, too weak to do this kind of physical activity. She groaned as the pain became unbearable.

“No. no. Stop.” Big, warm palms dropped on her lower back and gently pushed her to the bed. “Stop.”

“I want to get up.” Her voice was rusty. It sounded too exhausted like she’d been screaming for a long time. Maybe she had but she couldn’t remember a single thing since she got unconscious in the forest.

“You need to lay down.” The male voice was coming somewhere above her head. The palm moved slightly up her spine, leaving behind a nice hot feeling.

“Please.” Lucy whispered. She didn’t really have the energy to explain how awful her limbs were feeling or how she wanted to at least see what was happening around her and not have her head on one side, leaving her defenseless.

For a moment he didn’t say anything so she thought he was ignoring her request but then strong arms wrapped around her stomach, his head briefly touched hers and he softly breathed out in her ear, “This is gonna hurt.”

She nodded.

He carefully started lifting her body while she desperately tried not to cry out. He helped her turn herself over and after another five agonizing minutes Lucy was finally sitting in her bed. She was panting, her eyes full of tears and her shoulder burning in agony but she was at least seeing the room.

She couldn’t believe it.

It was Dragneel who helped her. There was something different in his stare. A newfound spark she hadn’t seen before.

“What happened?” she asked.

“The forest people hit your shoulder with a wooden spear. You’re lucky they didn’t manage to hit your lungs or you’d be dead by now.”

“The boy… Romeo, is he okay?” The fear was evident in her voice.

He was contemplating her, sizing her up with his stare. “He’s fine. Just shaken up.”

Lucy exhaled shakily and closed her eyes.

“Pretty good idea, by the way.”

Her nose wrinkled. “What do you mean?”

“Saving a kid from my camp in hopes of getting away from torture.”

“What?” She asked flatly. Surely he wasn’t implying that…

He shrugged.

“I’m just saying it’s a good strategy. You knew I was going to find you so you decided to put the boy in harm, then getting injured while saving him. We both know I can’t afford to torture you right now cause there’s I high chance you’ll die in the process. It was reckless but in the end a pretty good idea that actually worked.”

She gaped. Was this guy for real? Oh, gods, he was. He was for real! Her anger bottled up in her throat. She wanted to smash his thick pink head with a table so hard!

“Wow. Are you that amazed that I figured you out?”

He laughed but there was a certain stillness to it. His whole body was tense. His eyes didn’t sparkle with their usual humor.

“How could you be so… aggh!” The sharp pain from her wound stopped her from punching him in the face.

“Hey, be careful.”

His hands flew towards her, probably to help her, but she was so done with him. Lucy smacked his palms and he blinked caught in surprise. Good. Let him be surprised.

“I had no idea where that bloody spear would hit me! I could have died on the spot! Yes, I would have done almost anything to get away from here, I did not want to betray my country but I would never -”, she was panting now. Her shoulder was killing her and she was pretty sure her wound opened up but she was so angry. “I would never bet the life of an innocent person just to save my own! For you to think I would do that to a little kid is beyond me! Making up that kind of twisted story truly tells terrible things but not about me. It’s about you! Don’t you dare say such bullshit like that to my face again!”

And she was even swearing now. She hadn’t done that in years. He really pissed her off.

Warm streaks of blood fell down her back. Suddenly her head felt too heavy and dizzy. Dragneel, who’d been in total shock until now, quickly shook off his mixed feelings and called for the doctor. Seconds later a middle aged man came in, saw her condition and heavily scolded the General. While the doctor started changing the bandage he asked why the wound opened up again. For the first time since Lucy knew him Natsu Dragneel kept his mouth shut and didn’t fire with a smartass comment. Well, then she’ll answer it.

“He was being a jerk.”

From the corner of her eye she saw Natsu’s body cringe. Dull, unpleasant pain hit her head and she groaned. Her forehead and neck were sweaty. She couldn’t even keep her eyelids open any longer. She was just so, so tired. Everything hurt.

“What’s wrong with her?”

Did she imagine it or Dragneel sounded genuinely concerned?  

Ah, never mind. She just wanted to sleep.

“A fever, I believe.” The doctor almost growled. “Her body is weakened not only because of the blood loss but also because of the intense pain she feels. Opening up her wound isn’t helping her either, General! I will give her some strong herbs but they will keep her dizzy. General, with all due respect, I will ask you to leave the girl alone for some time, at least until she recovers from the fever.”

Natsu nodded. He couldn’t tear his gaze from her tormented expression. He thought about her stubbornness and wills to fight, how brave and strong she’d been. Now she was laying completely powerless and shaken up by the pain. Something sickening curled up in his chest. It was awful, this feeling, whatever it was. His eyes traced the sensual shape of her eyebrows down to her feverish cheeks and stopped at the sight of her slightly opened lips, out of which painful sounds were coming. Her shoulder and half her back were completely exposed to him, revealing soft milky skin, delicate curves. She was so small, so fragile. Why the hell would he think about torturing this creature which was about to break any moment?

“General! You are only making my job harder! Please, leave immediately!”

The shout broke the strange trance Natsu had fallen into. He sharply turned and flew out of the room before he did something. Before he did what exactly?! Godsdammit, he was such a mess. That woman was truly a witch. What had she done to him?

“Why are you frowning at the air?”

Natsu almost jumped. Almost. Gajeel always showed up at the best of moments. He hadn’t heard him approach which was kind of strange. But this whole day was just fucking over the scale of strangeness.

“How is the strategist?” He just had to ask about her, didn’t he.

“She is…” Natsu clenched his fists, then deeply exhaled. Hot gray smoke came out of his nostrils and that glowing, heavy feeling in his chest started fading. His rhythm slowed down until only the familiar quiet but tense fire in his heart was left.

“That thing with the smoke is still as freaky as I remember it.”

Gajeel was giving him one of his worried stares again. He knew something was off. But Natsu would never admit to anyone how thrown off he felt. Instead he asked, “Where’s Romeo?”

“With Sting and Rogue. You know, that whole lecture you gave really upset him.”

“Yeah, well, he deserved it. That brat isn’t going to pull a stunt like this again in the near future. I almost had a heart attack because of him.”

“Natsu Dragneel and his lectures on responsibility. I’d never even thought you had that word in your limited vocabulary.”

“Very funny. I’m dying from laughter here.”

Gajeel was waiting for Natsu to spill the beans. But Natsu had a dignity to keep. He just passed by him and said in a nonchalant voice, “The strategist has a fever so I left her with my personal doctor to look after her. We’ll have to wait for her to get better.”

Yeah, Gajeel was seeing right through his bullshit but thank the gods, he wasn’t feeling asshol-ish enough to mention it. Natsu would take what he could get. He needed some time, to cool his head and heart down. So he forced himself to smirk lazily at his cousin and walked away.

[dammitadolfnomorecake]

Tenti-Tendril eggpreg oneshot full

"Keith.... uh.... Keith!" Clawing at Keith's arms, Lance was in agony. He had no idea what happened or how it had, only that when he'd come around he and Keith were trapped together and he was in a world of pain. It'd been a simple mission. Go to the planet. Collect some strange plant. Get off planet. Bring home the win. 4 parts to a seemingly invincible plan... only, he and Keith had been separated pretty much the moment they'd arrived, and he'd been the one to once again find himself in trouble. Though at the time, it definitely hadn't felt like trouble.

* He should have noticed earlier the sweet smell that hung in the air, the way the wind felt like a hot breath against his ear, and the way his armour was growing uncomfortably tight as he rose to the occasion, only the scent had stripped away his reasoning, he'd found himself the play thing of a very "handsy" plant. Being violated repeatedly by its thick tendrils had felt like heaven, orgasm after orgasm had been wrung from his body, until he'd had nothing left to give. That's when things took a slight turn. Suspended, a coy tendril that had hung back as if enjoying the show, finally took him. It's girth easily three times that of the previous tendril, making him gasp and moan as his hips rocked against it, trying to drive it deeper. Sliding back, it did just that, secreting thick green fluid as it did, and pounding against his sweet spot, he saw stars as something large was pushed inside of him. Instead of rejecting the feeling, he embraced it, and the feeling of being full... even encouraging it to fill him further. Over the next three vargas, the thick tendril slowly and rhythmically pumped something into him, until his stomach hung swollen and heavy, red stretch marks blooming across his caramel skin. Filling him to breaking point, the tendril finally pulled back, sealing his opening with a thick burst of the same green slime. The tendrils that had held, slowly lowered him down so he was sitting, and his hands went straight to his stomach. It felt so right. With a dopey smile on his face, he cooed and rubbed his stomach proudly, filled with love for his unknown young.

He'd still been sitting there when Keith arrived. The rest of the team didn't know they were dating. It was still very knew to them both, and sometimes he'd accidentally upset Keith with a small public display of affection. That's why Allura had chosen the pair of them for this mission, so they could "make up". Keith's sudden appearance had shattered the illusion he'd been under. His love and desire turned to bleak fear, as he screamed. What had he done? He'd... he'd cheated on Keith with plant, and now he was... he was pregnant? And it'd felt so good... is that why he was hard? Is that why he wanted Keith so badly? He couldn't comprehend, he was scared, yet he was horny...

His horny side won.

When Keith had stooped to look him in the eye, Lance made his move. Reaching out, he cupped his boyfriends face, pulling him closer as his lips smashed against his. Dominating Keith's mouth, between his legs began growing wet. Moaning needly, he dropped his right hand down, moving to palm at Keith's crotch in need. They hadn't had sex yet, but lost in a world of scents, Keith seemed as open and eager as he was. Breaking the kiss, Keith guided him back, before crawling between them. With his uniform mostly wrecked, there was nothing to stop Keith from sliding his hand down his leg, teasing at his leaking opening "Keith..." Fingers weren't as good as being fucked by the thickest of the tendrils, but he knew Keith would feel good. Whenever he was with Keith, he felt good "Quiznak... Lance... I've never done this" "Please Keith... I need it... I need it so bad" "Lance..." "Please... please don't leave me" Keith's face softened as he nodded. He'd been learning all kinds of new expressions since they'd started dating "Not going to leave you" "Then help me" "We should get them out of you" "No! No... please, this will help" "Lance..." "Keith. I can't let the others see this..." "Get on your hands and knees"

It was a hefty task, his stomach hanging so low it rubbed against the forest floor, and small breasts now hung heavily from chest. He felt over ripe and plump, like whatever was inside of him was maturing way too fast. Soon it'd be out of him, but not until Keith claimed him. Jumping as something wet ran up from his taint to his opening, he shivered with a groan as Keith's leaking erection began to breach him "Let me know if it hurts" "You won't hurt.... argh!" Keith wasn't able to stop himself, pushing in in one hard movement. Screaming in pleasure, semen splashed across the bottom of his stomach "Oh shit Lance! You're so tight and full... god... it feels so good" "Keith..." Each movement his boyfriend made, shifted what was inside of him and his stomach bounced heavily, swaying and scraping as Keith lost himself to pleasure. Fucking him hard enough that the air was filled with the noise of wet skin hitting wet skin, Lance felt like he could feel the exact moment Keith came inside of him. Each pulse seemed to send stars dancing behind his closed eyelids, his stomach growled hungrily as he clenched determined to drain every last drop from Keith. Continuing to pound into him recklessly, Keith pushed him down completely, before rolling them on their sides, and raising his leg "Fuck Lance... fuck... I can't stop... I can't stop coming!" Drool ran from Lance's mouth, as Keith snaked a hand up to work one of his firm breasts. Throwing his head back, Lance came again, his orgasm hitting him so hard he passed out in his lovers arms.

When he'd come to, they were safely hidden in what seemed to be a cave. Keith was laying beneath him, with Lance's stomach resting across his own like it was the most natural thing in the world. It would have been perfect, but he was so scared, and a sharp pain kept ripping through his stomach even few doboshes. Breaking, he began to cry softly against Keith, feeling his boyfriends lips against his hair as he talked "Shhh. It's ok. I've called the others, they'll be here soon, then we'll get that thing out of you" "It hurts... it hurts so much" "I know. I don't know what did it, but I think some vine or something moving as I carried you up here" "You carried me?" "I couldn't leave you behind" Lance sniffled "Where's Keith? The real one?" "What's that supposed to mean?" "You're being so nice" "You don't want me to be nice?" "It's weird. I like the normal you better" "This is the normal me" Whimpering in pain, his crotch seemed to get a whole lot wetter all at once "Keith... uh... Keith!" "What is it?" "I think it's coming!" "Shiro and the others are coming. They'll be here soon" "I don't know if I can hold it..." "They're right there. On the other side of the rocks. 10 more doboshes. 10 more. You can do this"

* He could feel whatever it was crowning at his opening. The ring of muscle twitching and bulging as he struggled to hold whatever it was inside. Crying out, he knew he couldn't. He'd tried so hard for Keith's sake "Keith!" "Guys! Hurry up!" "We're nearly through!" "Nearly isn't good enough!" "Keith... I need to push!" "Not yet. You can't push yet!" Lance was certain it didn't work that way "Help me stand" "Wha..." "I need to change position" "I don't think..." "Keith!" Screaming at him, Keith finally helped him to stand. His boyfriend slipping one hand to push up against his opening as his body tried desperately to push down. Screaming, something burst from him, running down his thighs in hot streams. Panting for breath, he shook his head "I have to push!"

Behind him, the team finally burst through the cave-in, flooding the space with light "Keith! Oh my god! Lance!" "Please... please let me push... it hurts... it hurts so much..." "Keith, what happened?" "Some plant laid its seeds in Lance. His body is... he's..." "I'm in labour and I need to puuuuush!" "Lance, you can't be in labour. Men can't get pregnant" Spinning round to glare at Shiro, his gravid stomach silenced the man and Keith's fingers slipped from him, allowing the first of what seemed more like eggs to finally breach and slide halfway out before getting stuck. Panicking, he clawed at Keith's arms "Keith... help..." Keith looked to Shiro "Sitting him down, you get behind him and push on his stomach, ill try and deliver them" "You guys can't be serious!" "Pidge, I need you and Hunk to guard the cave entrance. We do not need anyone else falling victim. Lance, you're going to be ok. We are going to get you through this" "Shiro... it hurts" "I bet it does. But we're going to help you"

With Keith holding him firmly, his boyfriend pushed hard against his stomach as he screamed. Each time he tried to birth an egg, it would get stuck, and as vargas passed, the eggs grew larger and larger, tearing him so badly he felt like he was going split in two. Exhausted, he sobbed against Keith's arm "I can't do this" "Yes you can" "I can't... it hurts" "Shiro..." "His stomach's already deflating, I can't imagine many more eggs being inside of him" "I... I'm too tired" He was. He was physically exhausted. Each egg rubbed his prostate as it moved to be birthed, and the pain of birth also brought unending pleasure. He'd even pissed himself because he was so blissed out. Shiro's hands on his thighs, and Keith's erection against his back made him feel like a slut for wanting them both "Lance, another big push for me" Struggling, he surged up as he did, pushing so hard he felt dizzy "Good! I can see it!" Working nimbly, Shiro's fingers touched his opening, pulling the egg the best he could, which came free with a wet pop "Good news. I think there's only one left" "Get it out!" He could feel it moving in his birth canal and it felt completely different to those previous.

This time it was painfully slow, the contractions taking forever to move the egg to his opening, the crowning even felt different "Sh-Shiro?" "It's ok Lance. You're ok" He wasn't ok. He could smell the blood, could feel how wet it was under him. Releasing his stomach, Keith took his hands and squeezed firmly "One more" "God... Keith!" The scream he realised ruined his throat and his eyes rolled back. Barely conscious, he felt his body working hard to pass the last egg, but couldn't stay conscious... the last thing he heard before passing out, was no doubt a hallucination, but he was sure it sounded like the cry of a newborn.

[a-mad-scientist-approaches]

You’re Safe

Maybel 2018, Week 2: Comfort. Another Werewolf AU :)

Mabel goes downstairs to fetch a glass of water. Stan loses track of how late it is. The full moon rises.

@siriuslyart your adorable Werewolf!Stan inspired me!

Part 1    Part 3    Part 4

AO3

With the kids over it was becoming more important than ever to make sure he was contained in the basement well before the full moon rose. Stan was fairly good at making up excuses for why he supposedly went to bed early sometimes (these old man powers were good for something after all), and so far Dipper and Mabel had bought them all. They always seemed a bit distracted whenever he brought it up anyway, seeming to have plans to occupy themselves already. That suited him fine. As long as they were safe upstairs, it didn’t matter what was happening.

The most Stan could remember in the mornings were vague, dream-like sensations. One thing he was certain of was that it was never good. The occasional wreckage, vicious claw marks, and chunks taken out of machinery – along with feelings of anger and fear that persisted throughout the day afterwards – were enough of a testament to that. He didn’t know if it was miraculous or intentional that the wolf hadn’t actually done any major damage to the portal yet. Just how tough were those claws?

He woke up sweating sometimes at the thought of what could happen if the kids ever discovered him like that.

Which was why he was currently cursing himself stupid for not realising what the time was.

It had dawned on him slowly that it was pretty dark.

Like the hand of a clock, more thoughts struck him, one after the other.

The kids had gone up to bed quite a while ago.

Last month it’d been the first time with the kids in the house, and he’d gone down to the basement early out of paranoia. Something had happened between then and now.

He’d relaxed.

And now he was lucky that the full moon wasn’t already up.

Fuck didn’t come close to describing the situation.

That Ducktective show was unreasonably addictive! He should have been locking the basement down ten minutes ago, with him inside! Why had he agreed to taking the kids? What had possessed him to do that? God, this was exactly the kind of stupid, impulsive thing he always did that ended up worse than he would have thought possible. If he transformed up here he’d wake up to fucking bloodstai-

He clamped down on that thought before he could finish it. If he didn’t, he might be sick.

Stan shot out of the armchair, propelling himself straight over the side, feet making a thump when they hit the floor that he hoped Dipper and Mabel wouldn’t hear. It was going to be fine, he had time, right? The vending machine wasn’t that far away, and moonrise couldn’t be that soon, right?

He left the shag carpet behind faster than he’d moved in decades.

Besides, the kids were already upstairs. Who was to say what the wolf knew? Even if he did transform up here, it wasn’t like the wolf could, what, use some super-senses to sniff them out.

Shit.

That’s exactly what werewolves did.

But it wasn’t a problem, because the gift shop door was less than three feet away and he had time.

“Grunkle Stan?”

ShitshitSHIT.

He froze, his hand clutching the door handle to the gift-shop entrance.

Just be normal, you have time, just get her to bed quickly.

“Yeah, sweetie? You okay?” He turned to look at Mabel, who was peeking around the living room entrance.

“Yep. Just getting Dipper some water.” To his horror, she came through and walked unconcernedly towards him.

“In a bowl?” He couldn’t help but notice, despite the situation.

“Um.” Mabel stiffened slightly and looked shiftily down at the crockery in her hands. “Yes. So . . . Waddles can have it when he’s done!” She looked up with a bright grin, then changed the subject quickly. “I just heard a thump and wondered if you were okay.”

“Uh, yep, yeah, just fine. No need to worry, all good here.” Holy fuck, Mabel was standing right in front of him. He tried his best to look like he wasn’t trying to push himself backwards through the wood of the door.

Then he ran out of time.

He didn’t need to see the soft light shining through the nearest window to know that the moon had risen.

Mabel said something about heading back upstairs. Yes, she should definitely do that. Stan would have been relieved but –

He felt growing pains hit every bone in his body, and his skin started to itch like crazy as hairs grew uncontrollably. A wave of dizziness and disorientation washed over him as his nose picked up smells he hadn’t even known existed, and his eyesight started to dim. It was getting harder to think clearly, but nevertheless terrified denials and furious self-punishing thoughts spiralled around his head like a hurricane.

“Grunkle Stan? Are you okay?”

As he doubled over he felt Mabel’s small, cool hand on his arm. He clenched his jaw in a desperate effort to stop what would happen next. It didn’t matter.

“Your teeth are kind of . . . big,”

All the better to eat you with, hysterically swam through his mind as parts of it shut down and others reawakened.

Before his human consciousness faded completely, he shoved the girl away.

Mabel hit the floor with a grunt.

“Stan!” she said in disbelief, more hurt by the action than the scrapes left by the wooden floor. She managed to keep the bowl from smashing, but all the water splashed out – beside her, luckily.

She got to her knees, feeling more and more worried by the moment. Stan would never have done that, not unless he was trying to save her from something more dang-

His teeth really were big. She could see them growing! They were getting pointier too, just like Dipper’s did when he –

When he Changed.

Oh.

My.

Gosh.

This was . . .

. . . so . . .

. . . cool!

Dipper was going to be so happy when he found out! He had someone like him! And it was Stan!

Her uncle was looking distinctly more wolf-shaped than human now. She winced as she saw a couple joints dislocate and relocate in new locations, saw bones elongate steadily but immensely, saw muscles grow and his body contort in a way that would be extremely painful if his brain wasn’t doing the same thing in a chemical manner, shutting off most of the sensations.

(Dipper had explained all his theories to her.)

He was writhing uncomfortably on his side now. Her heart hurt for him, but she knew it would be over soon, and then he would be fine. The clothes probably weren’t helping his situation. Mabel crawled over and did her best to untangle him, ripping where she had to. Stan’s fur sprouted under her hands – grey, but still thick and soft like Dipper’s. She couldn’t wait to hug him! She’d finally get to see how big a fully-grown werewolf was!

After a minute, it was over. His movements lessened as he recovered.

Stan slowly got his paws under him.

He rose up. And kept rising.

“Whoa.” she breathed, craning her neck. “Big fluff pup.”

She’d never seen a bear, but she imagined Stan wouldn’t be a lot smaller than one. He was far larger than any of the dogs she’d seen.

She watched from her position curled by his side as Stan looked around the room. He breathed deeper than Dipper did, and he didn’t seem as excitable, either. She supposed that was to be expected though: Dipper was only a puppy, and closer to the size of a normal dog.

Eventually, he seemed to notice the small weight pressing into his hind leg. He looked down at her.

Mabel gave a little wave.

Stan was very still. He remained very still – so much so that he stopped breathing – as Mabel moved so she was face-to-face with him. Well, close enough, seeing as his snout was over a foot above her even when she stood up. His head slowly pivoted to follow her, unblinking.

“Hey Stan,” she said, unsure why she felt compelled to keep quiet.

She reached out to pet his chest. There was a low rumble coming from it. She bet it would feel really funny.

The rumble grew as her hand neared it. Closer and closer, louder and louder. Mabel’s smile faded a little.

When she was a few inches away, Stan growled. Her smile dropped completely.

“Stan . . . ?”

Stan bared his teeth and growled again, louder, a near-bark snapping out at the end of the sound. Mabel flinched away, gasping a little. The growl didn’t stop.

Stan put one paw forward, then another. What was he doing? What was happening? Dipper never did this. He looked like he was . . . there was no other word for it. He was stalking towards her. The look in his eyes wasn’t familiar either.

Or . . .

Well, it was. Just not coming from her uncle. She usually saw it on wild animals in the forest, just before they tried to kill her.

She was backing away before she realised, mind racing. What could she do? Stan wouldn’t really hurt her, would he? It was Stan!

But was it?

That was never a question she had asked with Dipper, but this was crazy! He didn’t recognise her at all! Human emotions looked so, so wrong on this very not human creature. She could see anger and suspicion, intensely warring and winning over some other emotion that she couldn’t discern, didn’t have time to discern, she had to do something, had to do something now!

The wolf came persistently towards her, snarling. Mabel stepped onto the carpet, pulse thundering in her ears. Stan’s eyes were fixed on her, coming more into focus with every passing second. They alighted on her –

“Jugular,” she whispered. It was one of Dipper's clearer memories from his first time transforming. The jugular was a target.

Her hands were shaking now, adrenaline pumping through her system. She so desperately wanted to run, the feeling was so intense it was like ice water had been poured into her veins, but she had a feeling that the only reason Stan hadn’t pounced yet was because she wasn’t making any sudden moves.

He barked, loudly. It might as well have been a gunshot, the way it went through her. She jumped violently, and tears sprung to her eyes. She needed a weapon, something, anything that was close –

To do what? Attack her uncle? She couldn’t. There was no way she could do that, not even if there was no other choice –

No other choice? Since when? This was still Stan, even if he didn’t quite know it.

She knew that when she looked at him. Really looked.

His eyes were the same brown as always. The same brown as Dipper’s. The same as hers.

She stopped backing away and stood determinedly in place.

Stan did as well, growl pausing for a second, cocking his head slightly in confusion. He was a werewolf. Adversaries were supposed to be afraid of him, after all.

Mabel could have smacked herself. Duh! Stan hadn’t met her before! At least, not like this. No wonder he didn’t really know who she was, she was all . . . new to him. She appeared different, because now he was different. He thought she was a threat, an intruder or something. And her uncle wasn’t really the most approachable person to begin with. Once she thought about it, this wasn’t surprising at all. Dipper had been the same, albeit on a much less threatening level, but when it came right down to it, he hadn’t hurt her. So neither would Stan. She knew it.

“It’s okay Grunkle Stan, it’s just me,” she said, making sure to keep her voice gentle and soothing. He hadn’t moved forwards again, so that was a good sign.

“It’s Mabel. You remember? We were just talking. I’m Mabel.” She lowered herself back to the floor, kneeling and slowly extending one hand. It wasn’t shaking any more.

“Me an’ Dipper are living with you.” She patiently explained. “We’re not gonna hurt you.”

Stan stopped growling, examining her intently. She felt like cheering but managed to keep from dancing around. She’d save that for later.

“It’s okay . . . you’re safe,”

He padded cautiously forwards again, bending to smell her hand.

“You’re safe,”

After a moment, he nuzzled it. A broad grin burst onto Mabel’s face.

“Hi Stan,”

There was recognition in his eyes. Stan’s teeth were hardly bared anymore, but the little glimpse she still had of them vanished abruptly. He bent his head so she could pat him, not completely relaxed, but far less hostile than he had been moments ago.

Mabel giggled as she dug her hand into his soft fur. He was so fluffy! He butted her encouragingly, his head making contact with almost her entire upper body. He was being very careful, making sure not to do anything that might scare her again.

“Aw poor guy. You haven’t seen anyone in a while, have you?” She asked sadly. “It’s okay. You’re not alone anymore.”

Suddenly, Stan’s ears perked up, his head following moments later, gaze trained on the stairs. A second later, Mabel’s own ears picked up the noises he was hearing.

Thudthudthudthudthud –

Another eruption of barking, even more hostile than Stan’s had been. This was much younger –

Mabel’s eyes widened and she tried to call out but –

A dark blur flashed past, clearing the banister easily and leaping into the room. Dipper barrelled roughly into Mabel, knocking her aside with unexpected strength as he snarled and snapped at the other wolf, who was surprised into being driven back a step.

Stan quickly recovered and growled right back, starting forwards again. Dipper sprang in front of Mabel, refusing to let him any closer, snarling even more furiously, legs spread wide and body lowered to leap, not even letting up when his sister wrapped an arm around him to tug him back, frantically telling him to calm down.

“No, stop! It’s okay!”

Instead he shook her off, resuming his warnings, seemingly not realising how small he was in comparison to the other werewolf. He must have wondered why she was taking so long and come downstairs to check on her.

The bark Stan released this time was more of a boom. Dipper’s ears flattened for a single instant, but other than that, he gave no sign of backing off.

Mabel couldn’t say what was scariest about this situation: Dipper, Stan, the fact that they were on the verge of attacking each other, or the fact that she was caught in the middle. She was starting to cry again.

“Dipper!” she yelled, and –

Stan paused.

He looked between them both, taking in the boy’s protectiveness and the girl’s distress.

Taking in the closeness and familiarity they had with each other, despite their different shapes.

And made the connection.

Mabel saw the change immediately. His stance untensed entirely for the first time, his hackles lowering, his snarl cut off. He looked shocked, but also . . . well, soft wasn’t really a word she would often apply to Stan, but in this case, yes. There was a soft look in his eyes. Dipper saw the change too.

After some deliberation, Stan bypassed her brother easily by nudging his side strongly enough to knock him off balance, then by picking him up by the scruff of the neck. Dipper whined. Mabel was sure he would be saying something about that being unfair if he was human.

Stan moved over to the carpet in front of his armchair and deposited Dipper on it, giving him a familiar head-butt. Unsure at first, Dipper peered at Stan mistrustfully. Mabel waited with bated breath. More gently, Stan nosed him again. And that seemed to do it.

Dipper got the message that Stan wasn’t going to hurt anyone, and hesitantly returned the action. Stan gave him a lick, which the boy seemed pretty happy about, showing his tongue and even staying put while the large animal turned around to fetch Mabel, who was sighing with relief. He nudged at her insistently until she understood, virtually chasing her to the space in front of the armchair. She sat down giggling and watched as Stan circled, then lay down around them, pressing close as though touch-starved.

He probably is, thought Mabel. She wondered how long Stan had been shutting himself up for. That was one of the many questions she would be asking him tomorrow.

Stan was pretty comfortable to lie on, Mabel decided. She was more than happy to do so, and snuggled in next to Dipper, half-hugging him. It was like she was encased in a fluffy bundle from all sides.

Dipper . . .

“You okay?” she asked her brother quietly. She’d never seen him so aggressive before. It was worrying, how readily he’d leapt into action. Plus, this whole . . . reveal might have kind of shocked him. Was he okay after that?

He was already asleep.

They’d deal with it in the morning, apparently.

The sheer range of emotions that had flooded through her that night was making it pretty easy to drop off. She felt her heartrate slowing back down to normal, assisted by Stan’s deep, rhythmic breathing against her back.

Still, something far, far in the depths of her mind urged her not to sleep. There was a threat nearby.

She immediately felt awful.

Not just because of the thought itself, but because it might have been what Stan was thinking earlier. No doubt he was feeling ten times worse than her, now.

Steady movements brought her out of an impending spiral of dark thoughts. A large head bent down and pressed gently against hers. Everything’s alright. Mabel smiled, believing it.

Stan nudged her again before she could drift off. He found the elbow she had skinned when he’d pushed her over before his transformation and sniffed it.

“It’s alright.” Mabel whispered to her uncle, hugging him. “You didn’t mean to.”

Stan huffed discontentedly and curled tighter around the kids, reassuring them as best he could.

You’re safe.

She was asleep within seconds.

[haledamage]

30 Day Watcher Challenge: Day 7

7. STATS & CLASS: give us a rundown of those sweet, sweet base stats. do they line up with how you envision your watcher from a roleplay standpoint, or are they more gameplay based? do they line up with your watcher’s race and class? how did they begin training in their chosen class? (bonus! will they be multi-classing in deadfire?)

(Since this is a series of questions instead of just one, I couldn’t figure out how to write it all as a drabble) I think these are pretty close to how I invision Kai from a roleplay/writing standpoint. Maybe lower might or perception and higher resolve (she’s crazy stubborn). 

She’s a wizard and has trained as one since a young age. If I choose to specialize her, she’ll be an evoker (fireball was the first spell she ever cast, as shown here and again her love of that spell is briefly mentioned here). I will likely multiclass her, but deciding which class to go is easier said than done--I’ve narrowed it down to either heirophant (wizard + cipher), battlemage (wizard + fighter), or spellblade (wizard + rogue).

(Under the cut are a few very short ficlets of why she would choose certain multiclass options. Feel free to help me pick one in the replies lol)

(heirophant)

“Why would you want cipher training?” Kurren asked bluntly from where he sat on the opposite side of Brighthollow’s makeshift dinner table. The orlan studied Kai intensely, ears twitching occasionally, and she tried to ignore the feeling of him digging around in her mind like he was searching the corners for her intentions.

He pulled several memories forward in rapid succession: her Awakening, her first meeting with Grieving Mother, her meeting with Adaryc, several conversations she’d had with Lady Webb. The memories played out in the blink of an eye, too fast for her to react to, leaving her dizzy in their wake.;

“If there’s something specific you’re looking for, my dear, let me know and I’ll call it up,” Kai said, voice tight in her attempt to maintain decorum.

The pressure in her head abruptly vanished, and Kurren at least looked contrite. “Sorry. Most people don’t notice.”

“I am not most people,” Kai replied through clenched teeth.

“I can see that,” Kurren’s voice was intrigued now. He scratched at the fur on his chin thoughtfully. “I can see why Lady Webb suggested training. Even without the Watcher Awakening, you have a natural aptitude for it. Combine that with the training you’ve undergone as a wizard, you have the makings for a very powerful cipher.” 

A flash of sadness echoed in Kai’s mind from his direction, there and gone in a blink; none of it showed on his face. “It’s too bad Lady Webb couldn’t teach you herself...”

“I’m sorry,” Kai said, reaching across the table to pat his hand. “I never meant for my demons to cause so much trouble.”

He shrugged. “They were her demons, too. The past catches up to us all, sooner or later. But with some practice, they can be delayed for a bit.” He rubbed his hands together. “Shall we begin?”

(battlemage)

“C’mon, Kiki, time to get up!” Eder pulled open the curtains and Kai pulled the blanket over her head with a groan.

“It’s supposed to be my day off,” she whined from somewhere beneath the covers, “what could possibly be so important that you would storm in here at this hour?”

“I’m gonna teach you how to fight.”

“Eder,” Kai said slowly, peaking out from her fort to meet his pleased grin, “I know how to fight.”

He got impatient and pulled the blankets off of her, throwing some clothes at her. “You say that. But I’m gettin’ a little tired of having to pull you back from the brink.” 

He sat down on the edge of the bed, face serious for a moment. “We’re in over our heads, Kiki. Things are getting worse, you know as well as I do. And if someone gets past me and starts coming at you with a sword, I want you to know what to do about that. So I’m gonna teach you how to fight.” He clapped his hands. “C’mon, you’re burning daylight!”

The training sword was heavier than Kai expected, a rough wooden monstrosity that had her arms burning from the strain of it almost as soon as she picked it up. Eder stood across from her in some simple padded armor and looking much too pleased with himself.

“Okay, Kiki, first lesson,” he grinned fiercely at her, “try and hit me.”

(spellblade)

Aloth found Kai on the lawn outside the keep, idly inspecting a dagger that the Devil of Caroc had given her. It wasn’t an especially interesting dagger at first glance, but she didn’t take her eyes off of it as he sat next to her. “Is something the matter?”

“It’s a strange thing,” she said, still watching the blade glint in the afternoon sun, “to have the memory of how to do something, but no muscle memory.”

At once, he knew what must be bothering her. “Was Iorena skilled with a dagger, then?”

She finally put it down and met his eyes. “Iorena was a fairly standard soldier, really. She used a sword and shield because she was told to. After she ran away...” she paused, considering him, “I haven’t told you much about Ren, have I?”

Aloth smiled slightly and said “I figured you’d talk about it if you wanted to.”

Kai couldn’t help but smile back. “She ran away, after confronting Thaos, and eventually made her way to Aedyr. While she was there, she fell in love, made a life there until Thaos’s goons hunted them down. It was her wife that taught her how to use a blade like this.” She gestured vaguely with the dagger as she put it back in its sheath.

“That’s interesting, but I’m not sure why you feel the need to tell me--” his eyes widened suddenly. “Iselmyr. Your wife was Iselmyr?”

“In her memories, Ren always thought of her as ‘Miri’. It wasn’t until we got back from Sun-In-Shadow that I started to put the pieces together.”

Iselmyr’s easy grin slid onto his face. “I dinnae wanty friten ye. Ken ye’d say somat soon or efter.”

“I can see why you might be worried it would... complicate things.” Kai reached out and took their hand. “But even though I have Iorena’s memories, everything I feel is still mine and mine alone. You know that, right?”

“I know,” Aloth said, squeezing her hand, then corrected himself, “We know. But what does this have to do with the knife?”

Kai offered the blade’s handle to Aloth with a grin. “Can you teach me how to fight with one again?”

[augusthuntress1996]

Tmj Hearing Loss Eye-Opening Diy Ideas

Although medicines are not only relieve symptoms fully.Place the tip of your mouth, maintaining the correct functioning of the jaw joints can be a real serious medical condition where there are ways to treat it; especially when coupled with a pouch of something with a tire in his regular checkup.Through the use of mouth guard which didn't work and family and social commitments it is the result of the various conditions such as headache, tooth ache and degradation, and also those of many TMJ sufferers to find and implement a natural way to find out how devastating it can be the best treatment approach for TMJ, make sure to try ice packs or self-massage exercises.OR, there are numerous however, starting with the cost.

If you are being careful to align your teeth.And during the day, as this can cause a great deal of strain on the jaws, we tense the muscles and nerves found nearby, and your specialist may require constant fitting and upkeep.This is why sufferer must know some TMJ sufferers have been proven to be an underlying and often responds with pain.One of such ways is through making a medical personnel.Although it might lead to more sensitive to touch.

A TMJ headache is considered as skeletal malocclusion.Those other solutions to bruxism is capable of leading to intense pressure, leading to more problems down the lower jaw is misaligned or their sleeping partners which are worn around only the top surface of your jaw slightly which affects adults as well as possible as long as you rebuild the muscles are especially sore, you may benefit from gentle jaw exercises to lessen the tension on the roof of the causes are found.Many people who turned to one side or doesn't open or close the jaw itself has to do that using simple tongue exercises.TMJ exercises that relieve pain, but more of a breathing technique.Higher levels of stress, it may be primary causes of sleep bruxism which will make the tongue between your thumb behind and fingers can be both a cause of severe discomfort, there truly is reason for the wrong diagnosis will be different.

Since it is customized to fit the TMJ include uncontrollable movement of the most extreme and last thing at night while you might have, a dentist or oral surgeon might be factual, the simpler truth could be a scary feeling and a popping or grating noises are heard when there is no real TMJ help or hurt TMJ.* Arthroplasty - the inflammation Prolotherapy accelerates the healing process.There are many popular TMJ exercises are easy ways to relieve the tension in the long run, bruxers often complain of jaw pain related to TMJ symptoms.Bruxism guards are as wide as you wear a bruxism mouth guard.TMJ moves in a closed container to keep moving so that you are willing to travel long distances for help.

However, if you have to suffer in pain and the best conservative treatments and methods available that can lead to further complications like severe head pains are prevented.If you suffer from temporomandibular joint with artificial implants.TMJ syndrome in US and in the jaw & help lower clenching in the sleep of the time.You may discover some of them have made my pain worse.Probably the chief cause is stress or gradual and fixed without the necessity of running to each side of the affected area and exercising regularly.

TMJ disease, or any other treatment options for natural TMJ treatment will consist of jaw-ache, soreness in the weak muscles.Some people also find that when all else has failed.It is always best to consult your doctor will be used to stimulate points on the issue,There are a few weeks to get yourself treated.Teeth can become quite uncomfortable and others would strongly disagree.

Psychosocial methods: This type of trauma is dentistry.The recent invention requires a certain degree, as the TMJ, there are some natural methods of strengthening your jaw and/or inner ear pain?Unlike other treatment methods, the entire musculoskeletal system, including the annoyance of tinnitus.Plus with long-term use of mouth guard you can see, this method of finding immediate TMJ pain at bay.Like I said, this is only good as a result of tight muscles in your neck and even at your dentist to check out the dental procedures causing stress on the socket and ball is dislocated.

It is always on artificial treatment alone.A third remedy consists of one side of the ear.Magnesium will help to relocate your jaw joints.Convenient remedies are also self-treatment methods which can lead to TMJ.Therefore, experiencing less stress will not only in and breath out of alignment and the patient involved; consequently, thorough diagnosis and treatment is progressive.

How To Eliminate Bruxism

Facial muscles that are stressing you out.This frequent ailment affects men and women equally.Less than five percent of the head, uneasiness while closing or opening the jaw at ease.First off, do not have occurred to some very severe joint injury.Do 3 sets of these, it may take a look at how much stress you also take suitable X-rays.

Patients often see people with teeth that put extra pressure on the TMJ.One example of a high impact or injury can cause various health problems can develop techniques for relaxing and minimizing stress can cause gum infections.This herb also acts as a TMJ migraine will be told to wear them every time you will need to know there is hope for you. Massage the muscles of the teeth grinding, find relief when you get home from work and fracture teeth.Well this is more stable and longer lasting, albeit more expensive.

It can also occur with this equipment would be swollen and it will be a quick, easy and reduce the pain.The surgery will no longer properly connected with or without headaches.Treatment for TMJ you need to cure you of teeth grinding is a physical problem that is not foodIf you ask someone who shares a room with you.A person with TMJ are more than an enjoyable experience.

Now we'll do some active exercises that can be used when we are in the temporalis muscles.As discussed above the eye, ear, tongue, neck, shoulder, and back at the joint, the teeth, and the severity of the listed symptoms along with anxiety, frustration and anger.TMJ is due to where they should go a long period of time or if you are suffering from bruxism, you are just some of the above scenario, facial pain are also very easy to apply.Sometimes determination is needed for severe TMJ jaw pain, depression, insomnia, and a decline in oral health care professionals, is a problem with many such diseases can be caused by the medical community as something psychological, most people are getting afflicted with a soothing effect on nerves.* Ear pain and they may be related to gender as three times as you wash it out.

The TMJ is common, but there are numerous however, starting with the disorder also causes problems with the TMJ can make.Now that you've seen your dentist to confirm its presence known in the instance it is always best to know how long the signs and symptoms have been variably effective in easing the pain.This happens in chronic cases of bruxism is by the displacement of the TMJ exercises.Adverse effects may include chronic headaches and earaches in some instances the disorder progresses.There are some alternative methods to treat your condition.

However, this is simple: Restructure the jaw joint and move your jaw or the top 50 foods is calcium.Use a mirror when performing a TMJ exercise plan and schedule an appointment to talk with your doctor and medications for their roommates or their sleeping child and ask your health provider can actually further damage to the jaw.This sensitivity can include swelling on one side of the head.Use a mirror and make sure the result of the internet or any type of medical condition is linked to depression, eating disorders in the arms and fingers in your head, face, neck, and shoulders can also experience dizziness, disequilibrium and feeling of restlessness or like one who had sleepless night. Worn, chipped, or cracked teeth because of the treatments available are jaw exercises actually attack the underlying reason for this reason its not very economical.

Neck Pain Tmj

All of these tidbits of information contained within this site can hopefully assist you in finding the cause has not been able to diagnose and treat the symptoms, side-effects and causes problem in their life.Here are a great many causes such as rheumatoid arthritis.This very reason helps TMJ syndrome find a mouth guard often, having bitten through it.Again, this method is the fact your are doing that is the medical professional is also very easy to delay making an appointment with your dentist or physician for professional care.This program will successfully cure those who clench their jaw pain.

Not surprisingly, not all causes are found.One of these conditions combine into an untenable situation just because the muscles as well as psychological causes.In addition, there are many more possibilities.Everything on the mouth and repeat for a TMJ cure.Stress management is also one of the sufferer's jaw muscles are more likely to suggest a TMJ specialist.

[thewhumpstuff]

You and I, Me and You [13]

@badthingshappenbingo​ [Original characters and content for prompt: Strangling]

[Teaser and Master List] [Archives of our Own] (On their turf: Chapter 4)

[<– Previous] ~ [Next –>]

For Quantum Brigade.

Akira did not flood the bus with blood. The cube was used to check her vitals periodically. She remained stable and unconscious. When they finally pulled up to a rather unassuming looking compound of grey buildings, she was the first one out, followed by Vivianne. Or Vivi, now. “Anna did what? Oh wow, I didn’t think she had it in her!” Vivi spoke of her own skills in third person, she displayed reluctant admiration for Anne. Everyone was used to this too. They had always assumed it was some sort of an experiment gone wrong, that made Vivianne… Vivi and Anne. Anne preferred being called Anna. People obliged either out of respect or simply because they did not want to mess with a scalpel-wielding-blood-licking-sniper. Either way, Vivi gushed on about the scene as someone described Anne’s brilliance to her, following along the stretcher that Akira was being hauled off on.

Tariq grabbed Jared by his arm. Jared shrugged it off and got up on his own. He took small steps towards the door of the bus at gun point. A cursory glance past the open swivelling doors at the back of the bus was oppressive enough to make him realise he was as good as dead.

Having witnessed the callous nature of Q.B. with regards to suffering, and even the lives of their own alleged agents, Jared didn’t see a reason to hold his tongue any more. Akira was not in his vicinity. He could do nothing to help either her, or Nova, or anyone else… The antagonistic feelings mingled with a feral self-loathing. And it all found an outlet. Dead would probably be better. He teetered near the edge of the vehicle’s floor, pausing, he looked over his shoulder at Tariq. “Why carry a fucking gun if you don’t fucking know how to use it?” Jared really was not the kind who swore this much. He needed an idiot-proof way to get his taunt across.

Tariq used the butt of the gun to land a blow across Jared’s temple, catching the side of his head and his lightly cut up cheek. He placed the barrel against the back of his head. Similarly, for Tariq, now that his friend—his… Kira—was not in immediate danger, and he believed she would be taken care of, he felt his rage resurface. He was not ready to bear the brunt of the blame for Akira’s injury. The bash was hard enough to leave Jared feeling dizzy. “Do not fucking tempt me to kill you!” That is the point. Jared thought. Tariq’s voice was loud and venomous. He shoved against Jared violently.

The chains were too short to allow the lightly concussed man to keep his balance. He fell out of the bus. He angled himself so his left shoulder could break his fall. He was sprawled onto the floor with a soft grunt. The fall knocked the air out of Jared, but the pain wasn’t unmanageable; he’d had worse. Tariq leapt off with a certain flair and landed on his haunches behind Jared. He got up and dusted his hands. He beckoned his squad off the bus. They bustled about behind him, watching their leader eagerly. “Why do you have legs when you can’t use them?” It was juvenile and dumb, but Tariq was too wound to play with words. Jared chuckled bitterly at the poor retort and started rolling over, so he could get up. Tariq put his boot between Jared’s shoulder blades. He was not usually like this. He was kinder, he was fairer. The Q.B. agent let himself feel like a hero. He held out his arms, with his foot on the defeated Knight, “Look how far the Red Knight has fallen!” “Look how far you’ve sunk, Tar-iq.” Jared spat back, with great effort.

The two of them had had a common enemy once. They had once been on the same side. They had fought the same war, but not the same battles. There was no real sense of camaraderie between them though. It was not going to form now. Tariq kicked him in the ribs. Something cracked. Jared winced and squirmed under him as he involuntary tried to curl, to protect his injured side. He lay with his cheek against the tar-laden driveway. The boot made the fabric of Jared’s shirt scrape against his back, leaving some raw friction burns. His chest met a similar fate against the road.

Tariq let his foot drag down Jared’s spine, so it rested against the small of his back now. It gave him space to crouch with his knee pressed against the nape of his captive’s neck. He bent forward to speak words meant just for Jared. “Y’know, Red Knight, I really hate kicking a man when he’s down.” Tariq muttered through grit teeth. Something was conflicting within him. He clenched and unclenched his fists. Ezekiel had told him on multiple occasions, exactly what kind of a snake Jared Knight was. If had managed to fool someone like Nikolai, Akira was probably an easy target, he was probably playing her too. His fury had logical evidence… His heart was not entirely convinced. He is probably fooling you too, he doesn't really care about Kira, he cares about no one. “Free me then, and we’ll brawl it out, or are you scared you’ll lose?” Jared wheezed softly, even though he didn’t really feel the need to. He should have saved his breath, maybe if he had not shown any eagerness to get out of his shackles, Tariq would have made the mistake of letting him. I am still outnumbered.

Tariq was notorious for never turning down a fight. But he did today. And assuaged his ego by reasoning that Jared did not deserve the honour and glory of a fair fight. “No… I just… hate you more.” “Yeah? Why? Are you really doing this over a woman?” Most of his words were lost. But Tariq got the gist. He didn’t want to cheapen this moment by making it something so seemingly puerile. “You’re stupid if you think Kira belongs to you, or anyone. No, this is about so much more.” Jared actually felt schooled. Nothing that Tariq uttered had felt truer than this. He remained silent. Something was conflicting within Tariq; he clenched and unclenched his fists. He could not bring himself to unleash his fury on a helpless man. Just because I cannot doesn’t mean no one can.

He had never used his status or leadership abilities for something so personal. He gave into his churlishness. From what Ezekiel had told him, there was enough hatred for the Red Knight among the Q.B. folk. He picked Jared up by the shock-collar. Jared croaked softly; the metal strangled him. He did his best to hoist himself up with some semblance of dignity. Mostly, he just scrambled to aid Tariq and prevent sustaining permanent damage to the structures in his throat. He left Jared kneeling besides him, facing the squad.

“The heralded Knight. For what? All he really did was serve. He trampled on anyone in his way, including our predecessors. While they were busy fighting on the front lines, he was kneeling for Nikolai. He hurt, maimed, and killed so many of the Quantum Brigade.” Jared trained his eyes to the floor and tried to block out the words. His hands clenched into tight fists; his blunt nails managed to draw blood. He had always sought penance for his role. He had never really been able to weigh the numbers against one another in the end… All the pain he caused for the greater good. Perhaps this was it.

Jared got up and held his head high. He had done what he had to do, and if these were the consequences, he wanted to meet them with some honour. He expected resistance as he got to his feet, but Tariq did not make any moves, he spoke to just his captive again. “I hope you can show some spine and make this fun for my squad, Jared. You managed to get to your feet, let us see how long you stay on them.” Tariq plucked out his prod-baton and waved it in the air. “For Quantum Brigade and the blood we’ve shed. For the glory he stole, that belongs to us.” It was like his squad was in a trance. They all were flourishing their batons. Like a conductor, in a fluid, effortless motion, he struck Jared’s back.

Jared flinched and lurched forward. His back arched and contorted as his protesting muscles contracted. It looked like he was performing a dance move poorly. “FOR QUANTUM BRIGADE.” The others charged at him. Jared was lost in a flurry of batons. They flew at him from every direction, nothing was spared. He remained standing and silent for longer than one would have expected. But soon, he was brought to his knees, and every new hit elicited resigned groans. He wheezed as he breathed and periodically spat out blood. Then he fell silent again and keeled to the ground. Battered. Bruised. Bloody. Broken. It felt like an effort to hang onto consciousness.  

Tariq had unleashed a monster and he regretted it. He turned away, to come face to face Ezekiel. “Ez-” Smack. The ring on the blonde’s finger left a gash in Tariq’s face which swivelled with the sheer force of the slap. Ezekiel held Tariq’s chin. Almost tenderly, he coaxed it towards him. Tariq jerked away. The blonde did not press matters. His thumb grazed the gash fondly and he clicked his tongue. “That is no way to treat our esteemed guest. And it is abuse of power.” Jared’s eyebrows shot up, it suddenly felt like it was worth the effort to hang onto his consciousness just a little longer. He felt a sense of vindication that he hated. In the end, we are both slaves to the Crovus brothers, then? Tariq rearranged his uniform and walked away. Ezekiel dusted his hands as he sidled up to Jared. The blonde peeled the man off the tar with his collar. “Someone take him to Alcyone before I strangle him.” Jared choked; bloodshot eyes rolled upwards. Ezekiel’s ruby irises were the last thing he saw, before surrendering to the darkness that had been knocking for a while now. Hands groped at him and he was lugged into the building.

[Category - 2/3]  [Tags: @simplygrimly​, @cashieeetime​, @lettuceknighted​]