#and he breaks out and kills them all within five minutes of them floating the idea

[tennessoui]

With the throat fic, was Palpatine's plan to have Anakin experimented on so he becomes even more dark and dangerous?

lol the throat fic i love that

anyway i kept it sort of vague but i imagine dooku was like hey. hey sidious. can i experiment on your other apprentice. cause you know i hate him and also maybe it would solve The Padawan Problem

(sidious' biggest headache on any given day is the fact that four years ago his would-be apprentice got the stupidest fucking lightest motherfucking jedi padawan in the whole galaxy who is single handedly tethering sidious' apprentice to the light and skywalker will never ever ever let him go willingly and killing him is going to be complicated and messy if he doesn't do it right because skywalker can never know he orchestrated the death of kenobi but he also can't think the separatists did it and he can't think the sith did it and it would be great if he could convince him the jedi did it but that's almost impossible, so!)

and sidious is like ? oh?

and dooku is like yes. we kidnap skywalker and do some experiments on him, maybe light torture, make him really dark, make him really dangerous

and sidious is like oh???

and dooku is like right yeah and then after just a lot of torture and experimentation cause remember, i don't like skywalker,,,,

and sidious is like right right continue

and dooku is like we bring in his padawan and he kills him himself! :D Padawan Problem solved.

and sidious is like i have no other ideas at this point on how to solve a problem like kenobi, so. fine. take skywalker. have fun with it.

[pixlostinatos]

SO WHAT IS BEASTLIFE'S "FRIDAY LEAGUE"?

howdy all! as one of the very small number of people qualified to summarize the first two seasons of friday league, im here to give the frileague counterpart of @mcybree's satleague summary! that said, my memory retention abilities leave much to be desired, so please bear with me.

Beastlife is a fan-hosted life series by unidingo. It is currently on its fourth season, but there are two leagues that run simultaneously; this summary covers Friday League only, which is on its third season.

SEASON 1

as you may have guessed, friday league did not begin at the same time as saturday league. when satleague season 2 was first proposed, the idea of running a second league for people who couldnt make it to the saturday sessions was floated -- and what ended up happening was that we decided to run it two hours later in the day, and a significantly smaller group of people signed up.

as such, friday league couldnt run the double life gimmick of the paired satleague season -- instead, the five (kiiwiibird, vizquiche, unidingo, ekerlense, and jackofowltrades) ran a standard third life ruleset in a snowy and mountainous world.

vizquiche (hereafter referred to as "buiche", short for "beast quiche") went yellow almost immediately because they went mining without creating any sort of weapon and a zombie attacked them. naturally, it is mocked relentlessly

despite the mockery, eker and jack also lost their first lives very quickly -- jack to a zombie in a hole, eker lost his bc she and kiki went to a fucking pillager outpost within the first 10 minutes of the session

dingo fucked off to the caves. i genuinely have no idea what was going on over there but dingo and jack were both just kinda doing their own thing while the other three were Loring It Up

eker and buiche decided to stick together as the first two yellows. they chased kiwi around as he panicked and ran because he tried to apologize to eker for the pillager thing and asked what eker would want in order to forgive him. eker said all it wanted was its life back. eventually buiche and eker lost kikis trail as he fled back to his home in the mountains

eker went red before the break bc he got trapped under ice and drowned. buiche laughed and said it knew better than to do that.

either dingo or kiwi has died once by now? i think it was dingo

immediately after the break ended buiche decided to explore a little pool in the cave it and eker had decided to hide in when they logged out. as you may expect, it promptly got trapped under ice and drowned.

jack gets shot by a skeleton. the official life count is now 1 green, 1 yellow, 3 reds.

eker convinces buiche to go caving with them! surely nothing bad will happen

a creeper explodes in buiches face. oops bye buiche

eker builds a little mausoleum over buiches bed near the house the two had been building. with deemgos/gods permission, eker is allowed to do a little seance so buiches ghost can tell them where it put their sheep

jack dies. to another skeleton.

session 1 ends with one person on each life color yay!

kiwi builds a sacrificial altar for eker to kill him on because theyre gay and also he doesnt wanna be the only green anymore

eker kills him

dingo dies twice??? i genuinely have no idea what happened over there dingo pls elaborate

kiwi and eker have this long fun talk. eker kills kiwi again

eker is chasing kiwi down to kill him a third time

a skeleton shoots kiwi off the cliff

eker jumps after kiwi

the skeleton shoots eker as he is also falling

they die hand in unlovable goddamn hand

alexa play no children by the mountain goats. eker is the winner and has not been present in frileague since.

this was not canonized until late season 3 of saturday league, however, "friday league kiwi" is also a member of the system that kiiwii and peregriine (and duckiie) are part of, known as fiinch. fiinch also appears in the current season of beastlife!

Season 2

technically friday league's season 2 used the same last life styled gimmick as saturday league season 3, sans the boogeyman mechanic out of respect for the significantly smaller crew. kiwi and eker are not present this season; instead sonic sonicmike4077 mike, phia phiala, and tom tomscryingcorner joined in the fun, leaving us with a group of 6, briefly.

friday league's secondary gimmick for the season was that everyone was dumped on a deserted, desert island with only a stack of steak, some bamboo, a cherry sapling, and a single grass block apiece. a shipwreck is available to loot for.....wood and not much else, honestly.

dingo once again sets off to do their own thing. they get set up pretty handily with sheep and a mob farm

sonic and tom go exploring for more resources! turns out, deemgo forgot to set the world border. oops

this is quickly rectified, and sonic and tom are not allowed to keep their illicit gains. the lives they lose when the world border is set up ARE returned, however, since its not their fault the border wasnt there in the first place.

phia goes red within the first hour

everyone except phia (red) and dingo (knows what theyre doing) all band together to create the warren, a little communal mine/storage/house area named for the many rabbit heads buiche plastered above the door. the building was also intentionally built to be as ugly as they could get it with their limited resources.

jack and buiche spend most of their time mining for the first few sessions

tom starts working on a big birdhouse-styled building to live in

echidna of satleague fame possesses jack once or twice because of irl scheduling conflicts

everyone all stops what theyre doing to fish when it rains

genuinely its all just a very chill time. kinda hard for alliances to have issues with each other when theres not enough people for multiple alliances tbh

sonic, who only was granted two lives by the last life gatcha, loses his first life

phia has to quit frileague due to scheduling conflicts, sadly -- but even though she was the first out, we dont count her as the first permadeath of the season. dw its fine shes back for skyfall

buiche loses their second life, bringing it down to red as well

it abandons the warren, assuming itself to no longer be welcome now that shes dangerous. he starts work on another new house and a very ineffective mob farm. they call it "blood isle". when sonic drops by, buiche tells her that hes always welcome at blood isle and that as reds, they ought to stick together. sonic gives buiche some fireworks and agrees to return later.

sonic dies to a creeper.

buiche builds a little grave for sonic, as eker did for it in s1, putting a sign up telling him to "Rest in Violence".

a funeral party is held at the spawn campfire+cactus ring. a second memorial for sonic is built, telling her to rest in piece

sonics ghost tells quiche that he wants it to win. a creeper almost immediately blows up right in front of it. it survives but sonic scolds it for almost dying the same way she did right after she had placed his faith in it.

dingo steals a diamond sword and a very good bow enchantment book that buiche fished up from their front room chest.

buiche goes looking for its stolen items, and perhaps to steal from dingo itself, but cant find anything.

tom is still working on his house, and jack has started building a defensible cobble tower. chill times at the warren.

dingo and buiche fish together for a bit

sonics ghost is getting bored with everything staying so calm on the server despite buiche being a red name, so he starts urging them to kill. it pushes back a little, but without much convincing it gears up

reluctant to go after its day one ally alin jack, and fearful of dingos overall preparedness, it decides to go after tom

it kills him, she immediately turns around and, a red name now herself, kills buiche despite its pleas to talk about this. its awful and hilarious and awesome all at the same time. @dykevotions pls attach the clip im begging you

jack (yellow) and tom (red) decide to go on a bit of a hog hunt, as dingo is still on dark green

between the two of them, they actually manage to get dingo down to yellow before dingo kills tom, and jack brings dingo doown to red with him before he, too, falls, leaving dingo the winner of the season.

jack unfortunately has to leave future seasons due to scheduling conflicts, but we wish him the best!

buiche, about a week or two after the end of the friday league season, goes and possesses space since space cant make it to the first half of the satleague session. its a nightmare but buiche mentions it in frileague s3 a fair few times so i feel its important to bring up

finally this brings us to season 3, which is the current season!

im not going to summarize it here, in part because it is still ongoing, and partially because there's more people so there is a lot more going on to keep track of. i know kiwi, tom, and fishie have been releasing videos of this season, and vizquiche has plans to as well, so you have a few possible povs to choose from! happy beasting!

[beaversatemygrandma]

Oh wait. Holy shit. I actually DID get my license today First try on the test too! :DDD

After literally attempts to get even INTO the DMV. MANY Attempts. Many. All of them involving getting up at the ass crack of dawn and driving my ass to the DMV tired as shit, standing in for hours, getting sunburnt as the sun really showed itself, and then proceeding to be five feet from the door only to be told that appointments were closed for the day at 10am and going home empty handed and disappointed.

This one. Oh my god. This one. My dad took a day off and our plan was to get to the DMVs outside of the city. Just any of those small towns within 20-30 minutes from here. Any of them were better than anything within the city. This city fucking sucks. We were literally going to float past each one checking out their cut off times for walk-ins. We didn't even have to do the floating to other towns. And we got there at 9, knowing we didn't have to get there at fucking 7. There was no line. There was a sign on the door saying that walk-ins didn't even begin until noon. We were early. We were VERY early. We literally went to the other side of the complex and killed an hour and a half in a thrift store where i found a vintage west coast choppers flannel?? My dad says they're worth $200. I just thought it felt nice and had a Fantastic Quality. I got it. It was $7. A lovely shade of sienna and black. Ooh~ And then at like 11-ish, we just kinda ran across town for a bathroom and snack break. Went back. There were 6 people in line ahead of us. Literally not bad at all. Stood there. Everybody wasn't angry? Everybody was positive and chatty? It was NICE OUT?? There was SHADE??? I was inside by 12:15??? Holy shit. And they were UnderStaffed. The employees were pleasant (what world is this??), and everything was organized and just nice.

Though, i was sitting in a crowded waiting room flipping out inside because i had no form of stimulation other than listening in to the comments of other road tests for my own info. I was vibrating the WHOLE TIME. Anxious. My dad was outside talking to other accompanying people. I was sitting there staring at a wall, shaking. I think i got called up before 1. I got there. Everything is going over. I'm half hearing everything the instructor is saying. We did the vehicle test, I'm asking him to repeat himself because he's standing behind my car telling me to do the usual shit, blinkers, horns, brake light check, etc. This just made me more anxious. So much so that i forgot to shut the damn door after he was like "alright, seatbelt and shut the door. Let's go." Then the anxious explaining of the backwards passenger's seatbelt that my car has. It's so annoying. I'm vibrating. He's giving me directions. He's also giving me pointers as I go. Specifically because he could see my anxiety. Very high strung. Now. I was anxious about a 3-point-turn. It was FLAWLESS. Even though i jumped when a truck pulled into the same street. His only notes at the end were that i was too anxious, to be more confident with my driving (fair.), and stop swinging out so far when i turn on a road without lines (also fair). And also the things my dad was telling me to do weren't exactly right. (ex: stop riding the white line. there are MANY HUGE potholes that will wreck your tire rod-- in tanker town, yes. In small town there, no. The instructor was like "yeah, ride it. It's fine. better actually than the yellow.") Also my growing habit of rolling after a full stop at a stop sign because i have dealt with SO MANY blind intersections (This Fuckin CITY...) And well. He gave me my license. I'm a safe driver. I just have anxiety. :'D

It seemed almost lenient? I mean, he was explaining so much to me, and also explained insurance scams because you should ALWAYS let the person to your left make their turn first because apparently there's been a thing where people will just turn off their blinker and let you go first only to just ram into you because "they had the right of way". Which was essentially: You may not want to trust that. Which honestly, some Solid Advice. There was also no changing lanes? It was all just the one-lane roads. I thought I'd get points off for not shoulder checking fully and only using my mirrors. I mean, i do. But i don't do a whole ass thing there because I'm short and have trouble seeing over the seat sometimes.

Idk, still feels too good to be true, but i got my license. I can drive alone. Now to get used to doing that.

I made the goal of getting it before my birthday? I actually have a license? Did i REALLY have nothing to worry about? Apparently so. I did all that. A weight has been lifted off of me and i literally do not know how to react to this.

Plan phase one is a go. I fucking did it. Phase two: get back to FL. That's in action. My mom is being weird. the whole "your little sister and grandma wouldn't survive without you" well, they made it that far without me. And it's not really my responsibility. I'm going back home goddammit. You agreed to this literally last month. This one is riding on what she says here. Oh dear god.

[justalildumpling]

⇢friday night

synopsis: every friday night was a relaxing time for you, until one night your ex came to your doorstep and left you faltering once again. conflicted, you call your best friend sunwoo for advice; however, after sharing your vulnerabilities together, left you wondering where his true feelings lie.

pairing: best friend!sunwoo x reader (ft. ex boyfriend!juyeon) genre: angst, fluff, unrequited love word count: 1.2k warnings: drinking, break up, clubbing/partying note: lol i haven’t finished exams yet but i wanted to upload something so here u go hehe ;)

Friday night was your favourite time of the week.

It was your time to settle down on the couch without any worries about your mountainous workload and most importantly, it was quiet. As an office worker you were constantly surrounded by noise; whether it’s the managers nagging from your left to your nosy coworkers gossiping from the right, all you wanted was some peaceful time to yourself.

Every Friday evening had the same routine, go home, order food, shower, and watch TV. It wasn’t the typical Friday night that others imagined, but you didn’t want it any other way.

That Friday evening like every other, had you drained.

After ordering your dinner, you sat sprawled out on your couch, your head resting against its arms. You didn’t particularly feel like getting up, though you knew that you would regret it later.

“Five more minutes,” you thought.

Apparently the universe seemed to disagree as only a few seconds later your doorbell decided to chime.

Letting out a huff, you slowly crawled out of your position on the couch to the door. It was strange, you were pretty sure it had only been five minutes since you’d ordered your food, but then again, time seemed to go by so quickly lately.

With a click, the door frame is pulled towards your body. However, the person who stood in front of you wasn’t in fact your local pizza person, but Juyeon, your ex.

“Juyeon?” You muttered almost audibly, “What are you doing here?”

Juyeon remained silent, like he found it challenging to figure out what to say in response. Silence floated between the two of you, but it wasn’t awkward, but rather solemn.

“I missed you.”

|♥︎♥︎♥︎|

It was a typical Friday night for Sunwoo, leaving work ready to cool off from a long week. Though unlike your usual peaceful evening, his was spent at the nearest club.

There was something relieving about the powerful bass that always played inside the intoxicated place. Sunwoo always found the club fascinating, how quickly someone could change within the acidic hues of the smoky haze. Of course, most of the confidence seemed to arise after a visit to the people’s haven, the drink bar.

Sunwoo wasn’t a huge fan of alcohol, yet there he was every Friday night, downing his electric blue drink in one go, letting out a content sigh as he felt the burning, bitter taste of the drink rush down his throat. From his left he heard the muffled cheers of his friends, which made the corners of his lips turn upwards. Sunwoo was an entertainer, naturally making him love being around people, especially you.

Sunwoo had tried to drag you clubbing a few times, but you had always refused his offers, claiming that Fridays were only reserved for yourself. Sunwoo had always pouted at your words, never understanding why you would want to waste your Friday nights alone, but he never pushed you, especially after your break-up with Juyeon.

Sunwoo and Juyeon became close at university, both known as the faculty’s wildest party animals; it was only natural for them to be apart of the same friend group. You were quite outgoing during your uni days, willingly following Sunwoo to every party, and that’s when you met Juyeon.

It was a typical Friday evening at a stranger’s house, the music pumping through the speakers; the dance floor flooded by a sea of grinding bodies. You stood by the drinks table, sipping on some kind of alcoholic concoction, hoping that it wasn���t going to kill you.

You heard a voice calling your name, and that’s when your eyes met his.

Despite his cold exterior, there was a kind of warmth radiating within his dark eyes. Though, all his frostiness seemed to melt away as soon as his eyes crinkled into crescent moons. For some reason that moment made the corners of your lips turn upwards, your heart chambers slowly but surely opening up to the stranger who stood in front of you.

Your relationship with Juyeon blossomed not long after the party, and all went went until it came to a halt that Friday night. Insensitive comments and resentful screams thrown around the once peaceful apartment; tears threatening to spill down your cheeks as you faced his back to you.

Sunwoo never exactly approved of your relationship, though he himself couldn’t understand the exact reason why, and it frustrated him. Sunwoo took another swig of the burning liquor, his head anticipating the pounding hangover due the next morning.

Every Friday night was an unpredictable journey for Sunwoo; maybe that night he'd get into a pub brawl or accidentally end up passing out at Eric’s place. Though what he didn’t expect was to get a phone call from you.

As soon as he heard you speak, he knew something was off—the usual cheeriness in your voice was replaced with a hush tone, your voice cracking every so often.

You rarely cried, but whenever you did Sunwoo was always there. Always willing to drop everything to go to you, always ready to listen or just to simply sit until you were alright again and that night was no different.

After only a couple of minutes, there was a series of taps on your front door. Quickly wiping away the excessive tears from your stinging eyes, you opened the door to face him.

Sympathy lingered in Sunwoo’s eyes as he observed your glassy appearance. Though you remained silent, not knowing how to explain your faltering state, your eyes continued to gaze into his. But once that first tear broke free, the rest followed in an unsteady stream. You leant into Sunwoo’s arms, pressing your palms to his chest.

“I thought I was over him, Sunwoo.” You whimpered, “What do I do?”

“Let’s talk about it over drinks, shall we?”

—

The two of you sat around your dining table, enveloped by a comfortable silence, sipping on the only thing that seemed to be able to calm your racing mind.

“Pathetic right?” You suddenly spoke fiddling with your shot glass in your palms.

“What?”

“This whole thing.” You sighed. “We broke up three months ago, yet I’m still like this.”

Sunwoo’s eyes only panned to your empty glass, nodding as he poured you another round.

“At first everything seemed okay; maybe the house felt a little empty, but normal nonetheless.” You started though, pausing to take a sip. “So I believed I was over him.”

Though Sunwoo’s lips remained shut, he nodded once again, gesturing for you to continue.

“But when he turned up at my doorstep today, it felt like everything just came crashing down. It’s confusing right?”

You glanced up at Sunwoo to meet his eyes once again.

“Not at all.” he replied softly, a comforting smile adorning his face.

“I know how it feels.” He started. “It’s like no matter how many times you think you’re over them, but as soon as they do anything everything comes tumbling down.”

Sunwoo paused to glimpse up at you, his eyes boring into yours.

The dining room became silent once more, though this time the air felt thick, almost suffocating.

“What?” You whispered, your breath shuttering.

“I’m very used to that feeling.”

taglist: @deputyjuyeon

[shah-writes]

an artificially intelligent curse

so i read this article about a man who uses AI to speak with his dead fiancee and i simply cannot stop thinking about it. there’s no MCD in this! but you can find my thoughts at the bottom.

tldr; think AI + Inception + Drarry

“Draco’s dying.”

Ron is Harry’s best friend in the whole world but sometimes he can be a bit daft. 

“No, he’s not,” Harry replies serenely. He’s not. Draco is in the kitchen, wearing the light blue sweater Harry gave him last Christmas and a rosy flush Harry gave him two minutes ago. 

“They think you can help him.” Ron is staring at a point above Harry’s shoulder. Harry shifts slightly to follow Ron’s gaze and finds Draco standing there, levitating three steaming mugs of tea onto the table. 

Except. Except, Draco doesn’t drink tea. He drinks cheap, Instant coffee, a consequence of his time spent working in America. Harry teases him about it all the time. 

There’s a slight thud as two mugs hit the table, the third has vanished. 

Draco settles into a chair. “No tea for me,” he says playfully. There’s a small Statue of Liberty trinket on the bookshelf behind Ron. Harry relaxes. 

“Ron was just telling me a story,” Harry shares.

Draco smiles and leans forward expectantly on the table. It’s a set they thrifted last weekend: one Walnut table and four Cherry chairs— one ingredient away from a meal, Draco had joked. 

“It’s a curse, Harry. ‘Mione figured it out. It’s preying on your memories.”

Harry gives Ron a conciliatory nod and reaches out to brush a dark curl away from Draco’s forehead. Draco has platinum hair, he remembers, as an afterthought. 

The strands shift to a blinding white immediately. Or were they always white? They must have been, Draco would never dye his hair. 

“It’s you, Harry. You’re teaching it how to trap you.”

Harry reluctantly turns back toward Ron. 

“What makes us human?” Ron asks. “Harry, I know you can hear me, you just have to listen. What makes us human?”

“I… I don’t know,” Harry mumbles. 

“Instinct, Harry. Emotion and instinct.”

Ron is sitting on a cushioned armchair and Harry wonders absently where he got it. All Harry has are four Cherry chairs. He nearly expects to see Ron’s chair transform into dark wood. It doesn’t.

“You can’t teach humanity,” Ron continues. “You can teach a Thing how to learn, how to adapt. You can force it to consume everything around it until it knows right from wrong. Until it becomes as intelligent as any of us, but you can never teach it instinct. Look around, Harry, use your instinct.”

There’s a portrait on the wall. Four people. Harry and Draco. An older woman with almond-shaped green eyes and freckles over her nose; an older man with dark skin and Harry’s own unruly hair. 

“Hermione’s calling it an AI-Curse. Artificial Intelligence. It sweeps through your mind quickly and puts together a scenario where you feel comfortable. It’ll get things wrong, of course. It doesn’t know which memories are relevant, which are wrong, which are just daydreams. That’s where you come in. You tell It when it’s wrong and you reward It when it’s right.”

Draco’s sitting still at the table. Harry beckons him over. 

“I love that picture of us,” Draco says happily, laying his head on Harry’s shoulder. 

“What is this?”

“Us and your parents, silly.”

“Draco, my parents are dead. They’ve been dead for 27 years.”

Draco blinks. “I know. Do you miss them?”

Harry snaps back to the portrait. His parents have disintegrated out of the frame. 

Ron’s still sitting at the table in his armchair. “Malfoy’s condition is deteriorating. He’s succumbing to the curse. Once he’s given up all of his memories, he’ll die trapped in a fake world of his own design.”

“Stop,” Harry says; and then, “STOP,” louder, facing Ron. Ron doesn’t hear him. Because… because Ron’s not here. Ron and his stubborn, incongruous armchair aren’t here. Harry can hear the humming of Mungo’s Stasis charms echoing somewhere in his mind, the quiet bustle of the hallway, the frantic whispering.  

The only person here is Draco. Draco, who barely ever comes over to Harry’s flat. Draco, who flirts with him over lunches but flinches away when Harry reaches out to sweep his blonde hair off his forehead.

There’s a rosy flush on Draco’s cheeks except Harry’s not the one that gave it to him. Harry’s never kissed Draco; they’re partners and friends and maybe something that transcends description, but not this. Not yet.

“Draco, why are you here?”

“What do you mean?” Draco’s smiling at him, eyes soft. It’s a daydream. Harry swallows down the grief of the realization. 

“We’re not dating, we’re not anything, why are you in my flat?”

Draco freezes. 

“No, no, no, please, no,” Harry’s grasping at him desperately but there’s nothing there. Just pixels floating away from each other, dissolving into the air. 

“NO!” Harry’s kneeling, face hidden in his hands. “No, I can’t do this alone, I can’t, come back… please come back.” He knows it’s impossible; you can’t teach humanity, Ron had said. AI doesn’t understand emotions, won’t bring him back now that it knows he doesn’t belong. 

“They want to Obliviate you,” Ron continues, speaking at Harry’s bedside at Mungo’s, imitated in Harry’s subconscious. 

“What?” Harry turns and scrambles toward Ron.    

“Hermione had a near conniption,” he chuckles. “But it’s the logical solution. The curse absorbs everything you show it and gives it back to you, better and smarter. If there’s no data for it to learn from, then you’re free.”

Harry collapses into the chair beside Ron, mind whirling. The room twists around them. They’re in the Gryffindor Common Room now, Ginny and Hermione near the fireplace, no more Walnut table and Cherry chairs. Except, Molly Weasley’s washing dishes in the corner. No. 

Obediently, Molly Weasley pops away. And then, the room is shifting again. 

“Without memories, the curse will implode into the simplest version of itself: a basic mind trap. Straightforward, simple. The kind that Aurors learn in training.” 

“JUST TELL ME WHAT TO DO, RON,” Harry bellows. 

The Burrow. Except, there are two Georges. No. The room glitches and restarts. 

“They won’t try Obliviation with Malfoy. Healers think it’s too late, that he’s too weak even to break out of the simplest version.”

The office and Draco… he’s back. He’s back and alive and leaning back in his chair, feet propped up on his desk, inspecting a takeout box. Yes. 

The room fills in further, encouraged. Case files pile up on Harry’s desk; Draco’s Statue of Liberty trinket is back, in the right place this time; an evidence board on the wall, newspaper clippings, Draco’s neat, white notes, Harry’s scrawl. 

“It’s unethical to deprive him of his memories now.” Ron says. 

Harry inspects the board closely. 7 people dead over 2 months. Inconsistencies in their deaths, but clearly perpetrated by the same actor. A pale blue envelope mailed to each victim. It explodes within minutes of delivery, enveloping its target into a coma.  

Seemingly random victims. A middle-aged mother, an elderly school teacher, a teenager days away from his 15th birthday. Muggles, Purebloods, Half-Bloods, and a Squib. Varying races, different financials. 

“Weird, isn’t it?” Draco’s staring at him. “Almost as if they chose the most diverse targets on purpose.”

Harry turns to him slowly, “Why?”

Draco tosses him an egg roll and shrugs, “Make sure we can’t trace them?” Draco joins him at the board, looks over the victim list.

The first had taken one month to die, slowly incapacitated. The second had taken only half that time, he had perished within two weeks. Faster and faster after that. The latest victim, a five-year old girl, was gone in three days. 

It was the first time, in five years of working together, that Harry saw Draco break down. Crouched outside her Mungo’s room, shivering, quiet; Harry had pulled him up and deposited him home. He came back to work two days later, his clenched jaw and fierce determination lodging itself into Harry’s heart.

Draco’s written a note under her picture: The curse is learning. 

“What is this?”

“You didn’t see the Mungo’s report? They think it’s targeting memories. With each iteration, it’s getting faster and killing quicker. Hermione was telling me about this thing…”

“Artificial Intelligence.”

“Exactly,” Draco smiles, surprised, “it absorbs huge amounts of data until it learns how to adapt to every condition.”

“The diverse victims— someone is teaching it how to learn, adapt to every condition,” Harry repeats. Draco’s standing near his desk again, illuminated by the soft light of his lamp. Soft blonde locks fall into his eyes as he looks over a case file. Harry wonders if this version will flinch away if he reaches out. Wonders if the curse has learned this detail yet. He hopes it hasn’t.

“They’re going to let him die in his own fake world. A peaceful death, they called it.” Ron is still sitting in the corner of the office, in a cushioned armchair.

Harry shakes his head, silently, frantically. There’s a pale blue envelope on Draco’s desk. 

“Draco, what is that?”

Draco looks at the envelope and back at Harry, nonchalant. Then, his face morphs into fear, mirroring Harry’s own expression. It’s the curse, it’s learning. Harry’s teaching it.

“The curse was targeting Malfoy. You were hit since you were in such close proximity, but it's a much weaker variant. You can make it out, Harry. You can help Malfoy navigate out.” Ron says from his corner.

“Harry,” Draco whispers. “What do I do?”

Harry strides forward, takes Draco’s shoulders in his hands. This is real now; Harry remembers this morning. “I’ll come for you, okay? We know what it is now, we’ll figure out how to stop it. Draco, you’ll be fine.”

Draco’s falling now. His eyes are shut, he’s laying on the floor, head tilted toward Harry.

Draco’s dying.

“RON, WHAT DO I DO? TELL ME WHAT TO DO!”

Ron’s not in his corner anymore. He’s gone, and so is his armchair, and it’s just Harry alone, in his office, with Draco’s body. 

The room is still filling up around him. Draco’s coffee mug, steaming on his desk. Blank walls slowly plastered over with Auror-standard tan wallpaper. Except. Except, Severus Snape is standing over Draco.

Harry steps closer cautiously, willful not to let the curse know that Snape doesn’t belong. 

“The headmaster has asked me to teach you Occlumency. I can only hope that you prove more adept at it than Potions,” Snape says, looking up at Harry with dark, hooded eyes. 

A memory, then. Out of place, but relevant. Harry remembers Ron’s words: The curse doesn’t know which memories are relevant. It’s guessing, responding to Harry’s needs. It’s helping. 

“Right. You’re right.” Harry says, loud. Snape solidifies, robes saturating darker. 

“Rid your mind of all emotion,” Snape continues. “Empty it, make it blank and calm.”

“Empty it,” Harry whispers. He takes a last look at Draco and closes his eyes. 

He opens them to a plain white room. Nothing on the walls, the floor. Nothing, except a door. A simple mind trap. Harry opens the door.

i just love the idea that the curse helps him get out. since AI is always developed in service to others, i like the idea that even weaponized as a curse, it would still adapt to the needs of its target and help them in any way possible. idk pals!!!! i just have a lot of thoughts about AI, come scream with me about it!!!!!!!

also, if you haven’t already, i would highly recommend reading the article this is based off-- it is fascinating.

[henryobsessed]

The Veterinarian and the Werewolf - Chapter 13

Word Count: 1599

Warning - Angst

A/N once again thanks to my beta buddy @sillyrabbit81 I'm going to finish this story this week or next hopefully :) so hehe hold onto your hats Selah

Chapter 13 – Jessie

Jessie kicked the door to the back of the house open, for the first time in a long-time panic filled her brain as she yelled, “Quick Joe get my medical bag from the truck.” All eyes turned to her. She looked a sight, blood splattered across her top, her neck and face and through her hair. In her arms lay Henry his limp body terrifying the group more than the blood. Joe quickly jumped into action, his training kicking into gear as he ran to the truck. Tom ran to Jessie attempting to take the wolf’s body from her, but she refused to let him go. Refused to accept that he was possibly gone.

She pushed past Joe into the kitchen, sizing up the situation and determining the table was the best place to operate. “Dillon, go get the tarp from the shed? Tom, clear the table off, I don’t have time to get to the clinic, so this is going to have to do.”

Together the boys worked fast, clearing the table, laying out the protective cover, and Joe organising what was needed from the travel kit that she used at the ranches. Finally, she allowed Joe to take Henry from her arms laying him out on the table.

“Where is the wound Jessie?” he asked assessing his body.

“Shoulder, right scapula, the bullet is lodged in the bone.” The panic was beginning to settle allowing her training to kick into gear, but the next words from Joe halted her.

“Jessie, are you hurt? Where did all the blood come from? This wound would not bleed like that.”

The boys all looked at her, then she looked down at Henry, she couldn’t lose it, not yet, not until he was safe. A growl built in her throat busting its way through her mouth, “Just concentrate on Henry, I’m fine. Just focus on him.”

Together they worked on the wolf, after 30 minutes all that remained was a shaved square of skin and a neatly stitched up hole. A bullet lay next to the bloody gauzes and surgical tools. Together they cleaned him up and Tom carried him up to their bedroom laying him on the bed. They attached the IV bag to her headboard and at that moment Jessie's adrenaline faded, the images of what she had witnessed, flooded her mind and she shakily slid to the floor. Not sure what to do, the boys moved towards her trying not to crowd her, but all concerned.

Questions began filtering through her haze. “Are you alright Jessie? Are you hurt? What happened?” She tried to speak, but nothing could come out, even that action was too much.

She finally heard another voice, Dillon’s talking to the boys. “We have to get her out of those clothes and in a bath, Tom, go run a bath, Joe and I will look after her here, ok.”

She heard his shaky voice protest. “No, if anyone should do that it should be me.”

She wanted to protest to tell them to leave her alone, but it was like she was trapped within her own body. Nothing was working. Gratefully, she heard Joe’s placating Tom. “We have known her a long time Tom. Please, just do what we are asking you to do.” Silence hung in the air until a small sob could be heard and then footsteps.

Very gently the boys undressed her, assessing her body for damage, they left her underclothes on thankfully unspoiled by the blood. It was a strange sensation being cared for like this, Jessie wanted to talk, wanted to move but found she was too exhausted to carry out her own wants. Dillon, the stronger of the two lifted her gently bridal style, her long legs hanging off his arm as he gently sat her in the bath. Together, they removed all traces of blood from her hair and skin. At one point Dillon left leaving Joe on his own to sit with her. “Jessie, I don’t know what’s going on, but this looks really serious. Whatever it is you know that we will look after you, protect you and Henry ok. You’re safe with us.”

The words broke through her battered brain. Her breathing began to shudder, and her shoulders shook as the tears began to fall, the fear, panic and anger all tumbling over her in waves of emotion. Dillon returned with a cup of hot coffee saw the dam break, without thought he motioned for Joe, “Get in and hold her honey.” Fully clothed Joe got in the tub and pulled Jessie into his arms the water spilling slightly over the side of the tub as their weights combined. Dillon quickly sat the coffee down and mopped up the mess to the sounds of Jessie’s muffled cries.

A long time later, Jessie was warmly rugged up on the bed next to Henry. His breathing was gentle and steady, her shudders long subsided, chairs had been bought up to the room as Joe monitored Henry and no one was willing to leave Jessie. Finally, regaining some of her focus and right mind, Jessie had a new hot cup of coffee in her hands and was trying to work out a way to describe what had happened.

She looked at the boys who were all waiting patiently. “This morning when I went out to get the milk, there was a letter from Boyd. He threatened to kill Henry and harm Tom if I didn’t meet him this afternoon in the forest.”

Angry protests left Tom’s lip at this comment and Dillion placed a hand on his shoulder to calm him, before saying, “Keep going, Jessie. So, you slipped out to meet with Boyd?”

She looked down at Henry, her hand reached out to touch his fur and calm filled her at the contact. “He was blackmailing me to be his “little woman”, threatening us, and was in the process of trying to get me to kiss him when Henry jumped out in between us. Boyd laughed and pulled a gun on him, saying that if he killed five of the six wolves here fifteen years ago, he would kill one more. Something snapped in Henry, and he leapt at Boyd. The gun went off, but it didn’t deter him. He tore Boyd apart, ripping his throat out, and… and… once he was dead, he collapsed.”

Silence filled the room as each person looked at Henry, they all knew that he was now a condemned animal. If anyone figured out what had killed Boyd, the sheriff would order his destruction. Jessie would have no legal recourse to defy the order. Slow tears began to fall again down her cheeks, if only he could turn human if only he could fight hard enough then he would be safe. No court of law would be able to say a human had killed Boyd.

The boys began to stir, and it was Tom who spoke first. “Jessie, we can’t tell anyone. we have to let him be found by someone else. Give Henry enough of a chance to heal so he can get away. Once the town knows they will put out a hunting order, he won’t be safe anywhere here.” She knew he was right, if he was strong enough to move, she would have taken him far away, but he needed at least two days more to stabilise if his healing rate was anything like last time.

Grateful for his healing abilities she said quietly, “He will be ok in two maybe three days. You saw how quickly he healed last time Joe, then I will leave. I’ll drive until he is better, then we will find a new place to live. Joe, I’m sorry to do that to you. But I’m sure you could advertise for a new Vet to fill my place.” All three boys began to protest at her words none wanting her to leave. For a life lived in solitude, she had made an impact on all of their lives.

Tired and weary Jessie placed the coffee down and laid beside her rescuer, lover, and mate. Placing her hand lightly across his body, she shut her eyes and fell asleep.

Over the following day, Henry slowly began to wake. He had stopped appearing in Jessie’s dreams and his absence was acutely felt by her.

On the morning of the second day, Joe came running into the house shouting, “Jessie, Jessie, they found him! Jessie, the sheriff and the ranchers are set up at the local hall readying a hunt. But I heard Tom’s dad say they should start here first!!”

Panic filled her body; they had run out of time.

She ran up to their room. Tom was sitting by Henry, but there was no time to worry what he would think, what any of them thought. Pushing Tom out of the way she knelt next to Henry her hand threading into his fur as she had done that last time, they were together in her dream. Desperation filled her voice as she pleaded, “Henry, please Henry, you have to change, you have to come to the surface, they are coming to get you, I can’t protect you like this! Pleeeeese! Henry change!”

She heard the sound of someone banging on the front door, and Dillon and Joe answering. Loud shouts and angry voices were heard floating up the stairs as she looked back fixing her eyes on his startled blue ones.

“Please my love, my mate. Come back to me.”

Chapter 14

[waywardimpalawriter]

hi! i really love your writing, and was really hoping you could do another dean winchester x f! plus size reader. possibly were they are best friends and she is pining for someone else. so before she can make her move on someone else he stops her and confess his love for her. idk maybe some angst/fluff/smut?? you don’t have to if u don’t want to, it’s totally up to you. like no pressure at all! but seriously, i do really love all your writing and i wanted to say thank you for everything u write and do!! <3 once again no pressure at all with this ask, but overall thank you!!<3

Just one good reason

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus Size Female Reader

SPN mixed Bingo Square: Hurt/Comfort Square

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester,

Setting: mid season 11

Rating: E (explicit), NSFW, 18+ only please

Warnings: angst, smut, yearning, grumpy and sweet Dean (yes they need a warning),

Word count: 12,805 (Truly Was suppose to be this long. I blame Dean for this.)

Summary: He’s given a million reasons, damaged goods, blood on his hands, nightmares, scared in so many ways. But most of all that he’s not good enough. Just when you’re ready to walk out that door he gives you one good reason to stay.

Notes: Thank you Anon for this request, I love writing for Dean so very much and to add a plus size gal in as well that just makes my day. I do hope you’ll enjoy this story. The song “Million Reasons” both version’s by Lady Gaga and Briana Buckmaster are inspiration for this story.

Tag list: Is open for all character’s and series I write for.

@spnmixedbingo

Dean Winchester list: @akshi8278

Just one good reason list: @chickensarentcheap

@impala1967dwinchester, @lilacprincessofrecovery, @superavengerpotterstar @jbbarnesgirl @sofreddie  @slightlyobsessedwithissues  

Ancient hinges creak wearily, firm hand pushing to hold open the heavy door letting you and Sam pass by. Fatigued sigh leaves slightly chapped lips, “It’s good to be home.” Taking the stairs down two at a time, tossing duffle bags towards the war table.

“Going soft on us old man?” Teasing quip tugging a smile from your lips as you drop down into the nearest chair. “Getting use to having that soft bed under your ass now huh?”

Scoffing, whiskey flecked green eyes settling on your plush frame, “Woman you forget we’re the same age first off.” Playfully stocking towards you, hands placed on the back of your chair to cage you in. “Second damn right that bed is magical, memory form baby, it remembers me,” poking your side, giggle leaving your lips body squirming in the seat.

“Stop,” pleading tone entering your voice, trying to evaded his questing hands trailing along your curvy sides. “Please,” puppy eyes begging for mercy, his hands aren’t willing to give. Though you can’t bring yourself to care seeing the weight, even for a moment, disappear from his countenance. Or the fact your sides aren’t the ticklish spot on your body, moving in the seat purely for show.

“Say your sorry for calling me old,” brow lifting watching you squirm under his hands. Wishing and not for the first time, he could have your soft body slotted against his harder frame. Knowing how well you fit just in a different way, one that hasn’t been enough for a long time.

Giggles burst from your lips, hands flat against the hard plains of his chest tugging on the dark blue t-shirt to distract from his plans. Pushing him away which had as much of an effect as a toy bulldozer did against a real brick wall. “Okay, okay I’m sorry, promise I’m sorry,” gasping for breath giving a hard tap to his shoulder.

“Now who’s giving up too soon?” Hands pause as his eyes catch yours for a long moment. Smiling face beaming up at him, heart beating triple time and not from assaulting you with his hands. Unable to resist the urge to touch your soft skin. Callused fingers come up to barely graze just under your left eye carefully capturing the eyelash on the tip of his forefinger from your cheek, “Make a wish.”

Leaning forward to place your lips close to the offered digit, eyes closed to blow a cold stream, eyelash fluttering away unseen. Keeping your libs lowered for a bit longer torn between what you truly desire and what’s within your grasp. Whiskey roughened voice breaking through your thoughts, sending a pleasurable shiver down your spine.

“What you wish for?” Swallowing hard, beloved eyes flutter open to ensnare his in there depths. Catching something simmering just below but disappears quicker than a jack rabbit running from a coyote.

Clearing yours throat, “Can’t tell ya Deano won’t come true if I do.” Giving a smile, pressing him backwards to raise and grab your duffle bag. Cell phone signaling an incoming text message making you pull the the black case wrapped piece of tech out of your front jeans pocket. Bright smile pulling your lips higher seeing just who’s messaged you. “Catch y’all later.”

“Someone good?” Sam speaks for the first time since coming home. Watching the scene between his brother and best friend. Wanting to strangle the both of you for not seeing what’s right in front of you.

Head snapping up from buried in your phone to stare wide eyed at Sam, “Yes, no I mean it’s nothing but could be something.”

“Will again?” Peripheral catching the dark scowl pass over Dean’s features before disappearing behind a mask of indifference.

Humming sweetly, sparkle lighting your eyes that go back to your phone for a moment. “He’s asking if we can meet up tomorrow for lunch, trying to choose where to eat.”

“What about,” clearing his throat to unclog the emotions choking off the air to breath. “That little diner in town? It’s your favorite and serves the best pie aside yours of course.”

Trapping and tugging your bottom lip between nibbling teeth, head shaking in the negative. “Nope he’s not fond of greasy foods.”

‘Plus that’s our spot,’ unbridled thought slides into your mind and you want to look over at Dean to remind him. But push those thoughts aside with a wave, heading towards the bedrooms carefully making sure not to bump into a wall while responding.

Green eyes follow till you round the corner, heart catching in his throat cursing himself for mentioning your diner. Knowing better yet wanting confirmation without asking if the spot is still special.

“You’re an idiot Dean,” shaggy brown head shaking as he to snaps up his duffle bag to head towards his room. “The foundation is already there start building before it cracks.”

“Thanks Riddler, just cause I’m Batman doesn’t mean you have to be so fucking vague.” Left with his thoughts and the growing feeling he’s loosing you to another man. Dean leaves his stuff lay where it landed glancing over the chair you vacated not five minutes ago then heading towards the kitchen. In need of something harder than beer but settling for the dark brew being the only alcohol in the bunker.

Opening the fridge door, grabbing a brew his fingers brush against the clear plastic container holding a single slice of pecan pie. Eyes unseeing, drifting back into memories when the Mark of Cain still burned into his skin.

2015

Charlie’s dead, beaten, murdered and left in a pool of her own blood. Every time his eyes close she’s there, expressionless sea green eyes staring blankly into his own. Never hearing her snarky retorts, sassy ways or those hugs she gave. Staring into cold brown sludge, hands gripping the mug a little too tightly. Not sure why he chose to come here of all places. When he could’ve started out on his hunt for the Styne’s. Deep down though he knows the reason right as the little bell signals someone’s entered the small family owned diner. Knowing exactly who and trying to ready himself for your present.

Never ready for how your soft fingers brush along his temple, settling on his shoulder for a moment while you slide into the worn pleather covered booth. Trailing those gentle fingers down his black and grey plaid covered arm. Tugging one hand from around the ceramic cup to intertwine your fingers. Head coming to rest on his shoulder, no words just comfort in a time when he needs it most.

“You shouldn’t be here,” dark with hints of gravel and kissed with pain in the tone. Whiskey flicked green obits focus, for the first time on something besides the cup in his hands, landing on the top of your head.

Shrugging, “Where else should I be Dean?” Looking up at him sorrowful eyes meeting right when your other palm comes up to brush moisture from his cheek. Unnoticed tears sliding down cool cheeks, “You’re my best friend there’s no place I’d rather be then right here helping you.”

“You could get killed,” the very through twists his heart till almost bursting. Brings bile to rise in the back of his throat, slithering through his system to settle unpleasantly in the pit of his stomach. It’s one thing to loose Charlie a heavy casualty. But you, Dean isn’t sure he’d come back from the dark path he’d follow for vengeance.

Soft sad smile turns your lips barely upward, “Not gonna happen I have my knight in shining Impala to keep me safe.”

“I couldn’t keep Charlie safe how can I…”

Shaking your head, finger placed over his kissable lips, “You’ve given me a million reasons already Dean Winchester and I don’t believe a single one of them.” Resting your foreheads together a moment, tenderness skating across your veins for the man beside you, “You might not believe it but your a good man.”

Pie filled plate slides across scared formica table top, metal fork clattering against the ceramic pushed in front. “More coffee,” sweet feminine voice floats from beside you.

Nodding, “Please, sugar and cream too.” Giving her a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes feeling Dean stir beside you.

“Black like my soul you know that sweetheart,” slightly chapped lips brush your cheek. A simple thank you for this act of kindness he feels undeserving of. If he hadn’t already been head over heels in love with you this sweet gesture would’ve sealed the deal.

Breathless gasp parts your lips as you turn finding Dean closer almost invading your space. Leather, motor oil and Irish Spring tickle your nose, eyes locking with those agony drenched obits, making another gasp exist your lungs. Heartache rocketing through your body, colliding with anger directed at the Styne’s.

“Eat your pie Winchester we’ll talk about that soul of yours later after dealing with the Styne’s.”

Heart freezing at the mention of the murdering family, “No,” rougher than intended, Dean grabs your chin twisting your face towards his. Rage hot and potent flaring through those beautiful greens. “No you will stay with Sam I’ll deal with them myself…”

“Dean you can’t be serious…” grabbing his wrist, pleading in your eyes for him to listen. Loosing Charlie splintered your heart, counting her as the sister you’ve never had. Her blood demanding revenge for the grievous act. But loosing Dean would kill you, knowing you never would come back from that agony.

“I am, deadly so. You try and sneak along I’ll toss that sexy ass outta Baby faster than you can pray to Castiel.”

Snorting, pulling your chin from his grasp, “You couldn’t lift me Winchester and you can’t stop me…” but the look he gives you does. Any farther flow of words halt in there bid to tumble out of your mouth.

“No I can’t,” callused palms cup your cheeks keeping you in place. Searching your eyes and making sure you understood, “I don’t want you to come with me Y/N. If there’s anytime to listen its now. I’ve lost one sister I didn’t want.” Bitting those words out to keep from speaking the others which threaten to pour from his being. “I can’t loose you,” resting your foreheads together again.

Nodding, trying to keep yourself from rubbing your cheek into his palm or worse press your lips against his. Lying to yourself isn’t something you normally do and you wouldn’t start now with the realization you were in love with your best friend and worried your going to loose him to the all consuming darkness.

You're giving me a million reasons to let you go

You're giving me a million reasons to quit the show

You're giving me a million reasons

Give me a million reasons

Giving me a million reasons

About a million reasons

Present

Downing the last of his long neck, drawing patterns over the hardwood table underneath with the condensation from the bottle. Eyes trained on that single slice of pie you’d bought him weeks ago.

“I wouldn’t eat that if I were you D,” mirth filled voice floats towards him before you reach his side in body.

Hand coming into view grabbing for the container to toss it out. But Dean’s quicker, “If you value your life, you’ll unhand my pie,” thick fingers circle your wrist pulling your plush body down beside him. “It’s not nice to steal a man’s pie woman,” keeping his tone light, playful and away from the looming fate he knows will visit upon his person once you figure out Will is the man you truly want. Deserving of your light, and laughter, the sweetness, of your beauty that Dean only hopes the other man will appreciate.

Gasping in mock outrage, “Who me?” Hand to heart trying to keep the laughter from your tone. “I would never deprive you of pie Deano. But I would that slice since I think it’s become a science experiment.”

Narrowing his eyes towards the offending sweet dessert, “It is not.” Poking twice before pulling the pie forward for a closer inspection. Musical laughter meeting his ears, smothering the smirk threatening to bloom over his lips. “Okay so maybe your right,” turning his pouting face towards you.

“Course I am,” giving him a wink then standing to toss the ruined sweets out. Pausing by the panty, you peek in unaware Dean’s watching you from his seat.

Teasing sway to your generous hips has his eyes tracking every movement. Bitting the inside of his cheek to keep from groaning at how temping you look. Thick thighs encased in blue denim jeans feet bare from wearing those steal toed Dr. Martins during hunts. Body stretching upwards, soft cotton baby blue tank top riding up to bare a silver of delicate skin to his eyes. Your fingers barely snag the sugar container’s edge, pulling it down to clasp against your ample chest.

Chastising himself for the erotic thoughts flipping through his mind on a single film reel. “What exactly are you doing sweetheart?” Carefully keeping his lower half away from your line of sight. Lest you find out the problem currently tenting his jeans, teeth gritting to stop himself from acting on all those thoughts.

“Never you mind Dean Winchester,” tossing over your shoulder, checking for vanilla extract, light syrup, and butter from the fridge. Last stop the freezer mentally trying to remember if you there's a pie shell left or would need to make one. Hoping for at least a single, since checking the flour stock and coming up almost empty. “Start a list for me please and put flour on it,” setting the three ingredients in your hands down. Turning back to open the metal door to peer into the freeze, swaying slighting to a song running through your head. A triumphant “Yes,” exists your lips, a little dance of excitement upon finding the last shell.

Damn near swallowing his tongue so entranced by your movements gulping different words back down to keep from making a total fool of himself. As he utters, “Not till I know exactly what your making over there Betty Crocker.”

“Resorting to blackmail now?” Brow arched, unconsciously licking your lips slowly. Unaware of Dean watching the path it takes across your pump bottom lip, tucking it between indenting teeth.

For distraction purposes, Dean pulls his phone from the front pocket of his jeans. Bringing up the list app a suggestion to simplify things you gave him months back. Forcing himself to focus on the small screen in his hands instead of the woman currently dancing around the kitchen. Pulling bowls, pots and pans out, one chance glance has an inaudible groan vibrating through his chest at the sight of your plush ass. Bent over shifting through sheet pans knowing which you look for as arousal flares to life so potent Dean turns quickly hiding his reacting. Planting his face in the palms of his hands, elbows bent to catch the weight. Fingers digging into eye sockets to use the pain and banish the thoughts from reappearing.

Frowning at his actions you come over after putting the pan on the counter. Fingers running through his hair, scraping the scalp with short nails. Pleased smile at the groan you pull from his lips as he rubs his head into your palm like a little puppy. “Something wrong Dean?” Worry dancing through the cadence of your voice other hand coming to rest on his shoulder.

“Fine,” head popping up, forcing your fingers to slide out of his hair. Taking a chance to glance up into your worried eyes. Underserving of your soft touch searing his skin. An itch to run from our presence skitters across his veins. “I’m fine sweetheart just tired.”

Searching his face, those whiskey flecked green eyes so unlike the blue-greens of Will’s, catching something hiding in those deep depths he’s trying to hide. Never fooled by words, always inspecting his actions and those little tells partially concealed though you know them all too well. “You’re covering something up Winchester I’ll get it out of you one way or another,” patting his cheek and stepping away.

‘I don’t want you to go on that date,’ on the tip of his tongue poised to leave his lips he keeps smashed together burying those feelings to not ruin this chance you have at an apple pie life. The very thought tears his heart, rendering another hole in the punched out organ. Though it’s his own fault for giving you a million reasons to keep that boundary line in place. Tip toeing almost across a few times, but always toeing the line keeping himself in check. Head snapping around when something hard hits the back of his head, scowl in place though it’s more playful than menacing. “Did you just…” glancing towards the floor to find a lone pecan on the ground behind him. Head tilted to the side, eyes narrowed on your face, which is the total opposite of his holding a sweetly innocent look concealing the trouble he knows you’ll cause. “Seriously a pecan? That could’ve done damage Babe Ruth.”

Eyes rolling, snort issuing from your up turned lips, “I don’t know what you speak of Dean I’m just here making a pie minding my own business. Can’t help it if a pecan has it out for you.”

“Possessed it must be,” voice pitched in a poor imitation of Master Yoda, getting a boo hiss from your general direction. “Though something tells me a certain someone threw the poor helpless nut.”

Shrugging, face neutral a picture of indifference with hands on your wide hips ingredients spread out over the counter. “Stop calling yourself names Dean it’s not nice.” Bottom lip trapped for a second to keep from giggling at the way he’s looking towards you.

Enjoying this moment of normalcy you’ve managed to capture in these dark and dangerous times. Thoughts skittering towards Will, if he’s able to put up with the hunters life style? Former Marine, Will knows so little of what truly goes bump in the night making you worry he wouldn’t feel at ease. It’s the reason you’ve hesitated each time he’s asked you out. Not wanting to drag someone else into a life of blood and death. Persistence and patience paid off when you finally agreed on a dinner date for tomorrow night. One your actually looking forward to.

But then you glance towards Dean, seeing the smile grace those soft looking lips, shinning in his whiskey flecked green orbs for the first time in months and you hesitate. Would you want to leave this life for a man who wouldn’t understand you not fully anyway? Or stay and remain the best friend till a hunt takes one of you out? Could you truly leave your home with the Winchesters, with Dean?

His voice breaks through the your thoughts, ruthful chuckle echoing through the room, “Haha sweetheart stop trying to be John Candy it ain’t workin for ya,” bending to scoop up the tossed nut a memory filters through his mind. Opening a wound he thought long since closed over soaked in whiskey and women who’s names he’s forgotten. Shaking the thought away to ask, “You gonna chunk a nut at your boyfriend tomorrow night too? Or is that reserved for me?”

Not sure why he’s even asking or teasing you about it or the fact there’s a bite to the tone. He shouldn’t care about a simple date, yet the thought twists his gut smile slipping from his lips as he looks down at the pecan in hand. Unwillingly letting those images fill and play before his eyes.

If I had a highway, I would run for the hills

If you could find a dry way, I'd forever be still

But you're giving me a million reasons

Give me a million reasons

Giving me a million reasons

About a million reasons

December 2011

Run down two room shack a nicer way of putting it truly, you think while pulling up outside next to Baby’s sleek black side. Hands gripping the steer wheel till knuckles hurt and you can focus again through the haze of tears spilling down your cold cheeks. Still trying to grasp the fact Bobby Singer legendary hunter, go to lore man, and surrogate father, dead by a bullet from Dick Roman’s gun. Itching for vengeance you try to quell for another time when you can let all the anger out. For right now you knew he needed you more than any strategy planning or revenge thought.

Remembering Sam’s voice shaking, laced with pain, peppered with rage but above all coated in sadness you could hear over the phone lines. Never hesitating to drop the case — for now — breaking speed limit in the need to reunite with your boys. You’d do anything for family even those who weren’t by blood. Learning a long time ago that family doesn’t end with the DNA flowing through your veins.

Shaking those thoughts from your mind and existing the car only to lean back in and grab the bags from the passenger side. Standing to full height to peer over the top locking eyes with those anger clouded greens. “No I didn’t bring you anything Winchester so don’t bother asking.” Trying to lighten the situation with poorly used humor.

Words fail to leave thinned lips as you pass by, hand holding the creaking barely held together door open for you. Following behind his voice scratchy from no use, “Sam call you?”

“Of course silly why wouldn’t he?” Placing the bags on what could pass for a pile of rubble instead of an island countertop. Turning to face him cataloging each feature, the stone set of his jaw, shoulders tight with tension, eyes those beautiful normally vibrate whiskey flecked greens mute with anguish he tries to hide.

Shrugging, shoulders dropping forward with no will to keep them up, “He shouldn’t have your needed else where Y/N.”

“Bullshit Winchester,” moving with purpose to stand in his personal space. “Bobby was just as much a father to me as to you. There’s no other place I’d rather be than here, for a different reason yes but I’m not leaving so suck it up buttercup.”

Catching the flash of anger tinging the deep greens whether directed at you or himself you’re not sure. “We already salted and burned his body, there’s no reason for you to stay.” Turning away from your softening eyes knowing your going to try and reason with him. Make him see he’s not responsible for what happened.

“I know,” two simple words make him pause and turn back. “I didn’t come to say goodbye to Bobby, I came for you.” Taking one step closer arms wrapping around his slumped shoulders bringing him into the shelter of your embrace. Steady hands running the length of his stiff back, imparting your warm, trying to give comfort knowing he’s unaccepting of such sympathies.

Brows furrowing, frown tipping his lips downward, fists clinching at his sides, Dean tries to keep himself from giving into the solace he so easily could find in your embrace. Warmth sinking into his skin through the layers of clothing he wears, tingling his skin, quickening his pulse.“Why?”

“You need me, your not listening to Sam or Castiel talking about going off to track Roman down yourself,” spitting the Leviathan’s name out like chewed to long gum. Head resting against his strong chest feeling the slightly erratic beat of his heart against your ear.

Back stiffening, “I don’t need you to tell me what to do Y/N I can make that decision on my own.” Low growl rattling through his chest as he pulls from your arms and steps from the warmth evaporating from his body. “You should leave.”

“And get yourself killed?” Hands slamming to your wide hips glaring daggers at your best friend. “What happened wasn’t your fault Dean. Any one of us could’ve taken that bullet, Bobby knew the risks of the mission, accepted them and died…” swallowing the tears threatening to slip from your eyes. “A hero,” ignoring his last words, reaching out to try and take his hand only to have him pull away like you’ve burned him.

“Don’t, don’t try to reason this with me I know better,” turning his back to head for the wall covered in papers trying to figure out just what Dick Roman’s up too.

Shaking your head knowing he’s hurting but not wanting to voice those feelings, to make him appear weak. With a sigh leaving your frowning lips you move silently beside him looking over the wall of weird trying to piece together how everything connects. Brushing your hand against his, pinkie trailing to catch what you think is his forefinger. Wrapping the little finger tightly around his you lean over, “I’m right here when you’re ready Dean, I’m not leaving nor letting go.”

“You should,” not bothering to turn and face you. Memories of Lisa and Ben filter through his thoughts along with Bobby, his father and what he can remember of his mother. “I’m poison and get everyone around me killed.” He doesn’t want to add you to the growing list. Rather wanting you to leave and find a different path for your life.

Tugging on his finger to wrap the middle and forefinger with your ring and pinkie fingers, “Then Sam and I are the antidote to your poison.” Giving a soft sad smile to his side profile, wrapping him up into your arms. Resting your head on his shoulder, voice a gentle whisper of breath upon his cheek and neck,“Those reasons keep tallying up Winchester we’ll hit a million before long.”

Reminding you both of a long ago discussion between the two of you in Bobby’s junk yard while still teenagers. Before angels and demons, vampires thought long dead and ancient Leviathan brought back from the pit of purgatory. When you made the packed to never fall for each other and always remain best friends. To never let go no matter how dire the situation, you’d have each other’s back.

Evaporating memories of long ago, you speak softly still resting your head on his shoulder. “You work on this mosaic of papers you have plastered over the walls. I have a pie to bake,” not giving it much thought you quickly press a kiss to his stubbled cheek then turn to head back towards the passable kitchen area.

Tingles dance over his skin for longer than he wishes, wanting to suppress those feelings bubbling up to try and consume him. Thinking he could bury them under the mounting pain and self hated. Yet, the warmth of your arms, soft press of your lips, your words register and sink into his brain Dean turns to watch you work unable stop a few of those feelings from dancing around his heart. Single thought shocking him in its stark contradiction to his current state of mind, Dean Winchester self proclaimed ladies man has fallen in love with his best friend. A sucker punch to the gut making him gasp and reel that silent declaration in. Stuffing it under the right full emotions of anger and pain. Letting them tap dance through his veins instead, something much safer for the both of them. Something he could understand and deal with.

I bow down to pray

I try to make the worst seem better

Lord, show me the way

To cut through all his worn out leather

I've got a hundred million reasons to walk away

But, baby, I just need one good one to stay

Head stuck in a cycle, I look off and I stare

It's like that I've stopped breathing, but completely aware

'Cause you're giving me a million reasons

Give me a million reasons

Giving me a million reasons

About a million reasons

Present

“He’s not my boyfriend yet Dean,” eyes rolling as you turn to melt the butter in a small sauce pan. Though there is a part of you wishing he could one day fill the role unless a single good reason can change your mind comes your way.

“But you want him too?” Words muttered through presses together teeth. Hating the fact he’s letting something so trivial effect him in such a way. You’ve had other boyfriends, one night stands he’s had to sit through yet this one feels different. As if he could truly loose you this time and those thoughts scare the shit outta him the most. Because yes you’re his best friend for longer than he can remember but above that you’re the woman who gets him, argues with him, sets his ass straight when he’s being stupid and above all or so he hopes, loves him warts and all.

Hands pause at his question looking into the melting golden liquid bubbling silently remembering to flick the tiny knob and turn the heat off. While your head screams to say yes but it’s a little small voice beating quickly beneath your ribcage making you pause. Clearing your throat to gather what thoughts you could from their scattered places. You’ve always spoke with honesty to Dean, unless circumstances dictated other wise, and you weren’t about to change now. Through you wouldn’t turn to face him when you did wanting to keep from seeing his eyes. Finding the reason for his questions in those green depths you’ve fallen for though never spoken the feelings. “Yes, he could…” swallowing to coat your dry throat to spit out the words rotting your stomach. “I could have a chance at happiness with Will, Dean. Why do you even ask?”

“I don’t want to loose you,” ‘Because I love you,’ on the tip of his tongue to tell you, give voice and life to his true feelings. Wanting you to stay and forget about those million other reasons he’s let slip between the cracks in your relationship.

Frozen in place, hands gripping the countertop beside the stove. “You wouldn’t loose me Dean I’d still go on hunts with you, I’d stick around,” lies tasting bitter on your tongue, heart beating triple time wondering if he’ll pick up on the dishonesty your speaking. Always feeling he’d never see you as anything other than his best friend. Never the type of woman to draw his attention, too soft and plush in places most men wouldn’t want and you didn’t pine for a man who’s given you a million reasons to walk away. So you shoved those feelings, the love you held back trying to make it work with other men. To find the one who’d surpass Dean destroying your feelings for the green eyed hunter, giving you the one reason to stay and belong. So why now did he have to put doubts in your mind? Why ask these questions when in years past he’d brush other men away as nothing more than a passing fancy?

Silently Dean stands slowly making his way towards you, taking in the ridged stance of your plush form. Hands itch to wrap around your thick waist and haul you against his chest. Pausing right beside you, brushing his fingers against yours too hook what he thinks is your forefinger with his pinkie. “You and I both know things wouldn’t stay the same between us sweetheart. He’d find a way to take you away from me,” praying you won’t pull away Dean turns to stare at your profile. Taking in the beauty he’s catalogued thousands of times, the curve of your lips when you smile, slope of your nose, eyes bright with laughter or spiting fire when angry usually at him. Softness of your cheeks under his palms the times he’s actually got to cup and caress the skin.

“We’ll remain best friends Dean that’ll never change,” gathering the courage to turn and look into his eyes. Catching the sadness coating those beloved greens making your heart ache. Tongue slipping out to tug back your bottom lip between your teeth indented them to keep from asking the question your heart demands.

Of its own accord Dean’s free hand comes up to brush over your cheek, cupping the soft skin, fingers spread from apple to jaw wanting so badly to draw you in and kiss those tempting lips. “I want you happy Y/N and if it’s possible out of this life, been wanting that for you since Bobby,” sliding his hand to your chin to pinch the end with his thumb and forefinger tipping your face up to press a lingering kiss to your forehead. “I’ll miss you sweetheart.”

Eyes lock with stormy greens after he pulls back, soft gasp parting your lips at the simple touch, words sounding like a goodbye instead of their usual see ya later. Grappling for words to say, questions to ask, trying to figure out what’s going on, and why now. But he’s gone before your brain can catch up with your mouth, and your turning to rush after, seeing his back disappear around the corner.

Feet finally responding to command as you quickly follow stopping at the doorway, “Give me one good reason.” Praying he’ll listen and stop, hoping it’s not too late. “Stop giving me all these reasons to leave.”

Back ridged but his mind a flurry of thoughts and answers, more questions than he could shake a stick at. Only one reason comes to mind, “Good reason to what?”

Traveling the short distance to take his hand intertwining your fingers with his, needing him to turn around and look at you. Needing the connection while stating, “Give me a good reason to stay Dean to not go tomorrow night.”

“I can’t,” partly wanting to flinch from your touch, to tug his hand free, and partly wanting to sink into your familiar embrace. Soak in the peace he always finds in your arms, to bath in your warmth and possibly bask in your love. But Dean wouldn’t be selfish he’d let you go even if it meant killing his own heart and soul.

The urge to punch him grows strong but your refrain from using violence, “Why not? Too scared? Or you just don’t care?”

The warmth of your hand disappears from searing into his palm, tingling those long nimble fingers, his eyes close knowing you’re walking away because of that millionth reason. Till the first brush of soft fingers tender in there touch upon his cheek. He gives in to the urge and rubs his slightly stubbled cheek into your palm. “If that’s you Sam, I’m gonna kick your ass dude,” ignoring your questions in favor of basking in your touch instead. Hearing the soft giggle from your lips brings a smile to his own. Eyes finally opening too stare into yours, almost doing a doubt take at what he sees in those beloved depths. “I don’t deserve you Y/N.”

“Stop giving me a million reasons Dean and give me the one that’ll make me stay,” imploring him with your touch, fingers tracing over his cheeks and jaw. Tracing his plush bottom lip with the pad of your thumb, “I just need one good reason.”

He’d find the situation funny if it’s anyone else standing in front asking the same question. Even Sam would get a chuckle from his lips, but you, his breath freezes, heart thumping wildly in equal measures of terror and excitement. The very thoughts running unrestrained in his mind scare the shit out of him, but only one truly feels right. Snaking an arm around your thick waist pulling you against his strong chest, fitting like missing puzzle pieces. His free hand coming up to cup your cheek, “I love you.”

Tears slip from their ducts barely held back till those three simple words spill from his mouth jump starting your heart and sending your emotions swirling. Warm palms cradle your wet cheeks, gun callused thumbs brush hot tears away, you spy the worry and fear your non response sparks. “Do you mean it?” Wanting clarification before handing your heart over to the very man who’s held it for so long.

Knowing what your asking Dean stops waiting and lowers his mouth to yours. That first touch of lips electricity shoots through you veins. Body responding quicker with arms going around his neck to pull him firmly against you not a wisp of space between your bodies. Fingers tangling in the short hairs at the back of his head while you slot your lips against his. Demanding and deep, a tangled dance of tongues. Clashing of teeth, a melding mouths and finding the right angles to draw those delicious moans from each of you. Till air becomes necessary and you break apart panting, “That answer your question sweetheart?”

“No,” smirking when his eyes narrow, “I wanna hear it again.”

No hesitation in speaking those three words, “I love you.” Groaning when your lips smash back to his. Stealing breath from his lungs and a moan from his chest, Dean walks you backward till your pressed against the cool tile wall. Lower pelvis holding your soft body in place so his hands can dance over your cotton covered plush form. Palm’s flat against your thick waist, slowly dragging them around and down to cup your generous ass. Squeezing firmly and making you gasp.

Using the opening as a way to work his tongue back into your mouth, delving in for another taste of your sweetness. Low groan existing when rearranging his mouth to fit differently and snag a gulp of air. Stubble abrading your chin in the most spectacular of ways. Pooling heat low in your belly and making your mind wander in other more salacious directions. Brought back from teetering on the deliciously desirable edge by a sharp bite, his teeth nabbing your bottom lip to tug, letting go with a wet pop. Breath fanning out over your heated cheeks. Eyes once closed now open and locked with yours a pleading undertone to the desire darkened greens.

Knowing what he wants to hear and unable to wait along, “I love you too Dean.” Heart bursting with unrestrained joy flooding your system and making you love drunk.

“Thank fucking God,” groaning, resting your foreheads together still trying to reign in the wild thumping of his heart. Your admission only serves to make the largest muscle spasm quicker. All his pent up emotions, desires and needs flowing to the surface, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from rushing into something too fast. Remembering it’s still fresh and new between the two of you a different path to the relationship already established in friendship.

Giggling softly, you cup both his cheeks, thumbs brushing along his skin, three days worth of stubble abrading your palms. “So,” teasing smirk pulling at your lips, “I better call Will huh?”

“For?” Trying to keep the bitter growl from escaping and giving away his feelings on the sore subject. Tugging your soft body back in place from your wiggles to side free, not ready to let you go just yet.

Sliding one hand down his chest to rest where you know his anti-possession tattoo resides. Tracing the edges with the tip of your finger over the black t-shirt he’s wearing, locking eyes with his, “Seems I’m a taken woman. Wouldn’t want to lead the poor guy on now would I?” Watching how those whiskey flecked greens darken, pushing his lower body deeper into your plush form. Barely heard as you try not to give away the whimper of need his body produces in your own, with his pressed so tightly. Cool concrete keeping you body temp from over heating for the moment.

“No,” clearing his throat leaning in to draw his nose over your jawline. Touring towards your ear, catching the lobe between his front teeth to tug. Low desire filled growl leaving his lips, followed by, “Tomorrow is another day sweetheart and right now you’ve got better things to do.”

Heading tipping over granting access to the parts of your neck he wants, trying to keep the shiver from rolling over your body. Heat flooding your veins sparking a need you’ve never felt with any of the other men you’d previously had relations with. “What,” licking your parched lips, “what better things Dean?” Praying it’s the same idea rolling around your head for the longest time.

Pausing in his mapping of your neck and shoulder with his lips, Dean raises his head to spear you with a heated look. “Me for starters sweetheart, that is of course…” uneasiness has him trailing off the first time in his life. The bitter taste of uncertainty coating his thoughts for a fraction of a second before your lips land back on his.

Teasingly soft presses, little ghost touches of your tongue, playfully dotting his cheeks, chin and forehead with your lips before brushing close to his ear. “Hey Dean,” smiling against his skin, tenderly pressing your lips just south of his ear. Nibbling the found patch of sensitive skin behind committing the spot to memory for later. Breath puffing out quicker feeling him shiver, knowing what the next words would invoke in Dean and his love for the movie. “You big stud. Take me to bed or lose me forever,” sultry tone added to the cadence.

His eyes close for a moment, heart swelling as you recite the words to one of his favorite movies. Marveling at the fact you’ve remembered the lines perfectly and Dean falls deeper in love with you if that’s possible.

The gentle caresses of your lips against his skin setting fire to his nerve endings, room in his jeans becoming a hot commodity as his shaft thickens and throbs. Finding the distraction almost too much while trying to recall the next line. Teasing giggles reach his ears that he replies to with a deep chuckle. Words coming back to him, “Show me the way home, honey.”

Reaching down to tug one hand from your ass, chuckling with a shake of your head when it doesn’t budge but squeezes the generous globe. Notching himself tighter into your body, smirk appearing as your eyes widen, gasp issuing from parted lips. Bitting the inside of your cheek to keep from giggling before the words can escape. “Is that a pickle in your pocket or you just happy to see me?”

“Oh sweetheart it’s a great big dill I can show ya,” flashing a smirk, both of you trying hard not to laugh.

“Preferably,” deep voice tinged with slight offense but liberally coated in amusement. “In your own room so the both of you aren’t bare ass naked in the hallway bumping like bunnies,” having rounded the corner towards the kitchen and catching the intimate embrace. “A vision I don’t want branded into my skull thank you very much,” Sam paused arms crossed in annoyance. Golden dotted green eyes dancing with mirth, catching the playfully scandalous expression cross your features. Glancing towards Dean who buries his face in your neck getting a deep chuckle from his brother.

Try as you might to keep from busting out laughing they just rolled out of your mouth as your eyes lock with Sam’s. Acting stoic but the smile tugging at his lips and the teasing flash through his eyes speak a different story. Only thing holding you up is Dean’s body still pressed heavily against your. The man in question glancing up first to look at you then over his shoulder towards Sam. “Don’t even start Sammy,” grumbling good-naturedly giving him a middle finger salute and the opening you need to slip from between his hard body and the wall. Teasing growl rumbling through his chest at the loss of your warmth. Dean reaches out to snag your arm but you manage to dance out of his reach, giggles echoing off the walls trailing behind your disappearing form.

“Wouldn’t dream of it Dean but Cas owes me fifty bucks,” patent Sam Winchester smirk sliding over his lips. Brow raised at his scoff, “Can’t believe I had a betting pot going?”

Watching you run off happy grin tipping his mouth upward, he looks back at Sam grin still in place. “Just can’t believe it’s with Cas. Rowena maybe, Jody, Claire, Alex and Donna fuck yes but Cas,” incredulous look stealing over his features for a few moments.

“Who say’s the bet’s not bigger than you think,” broad shoulders shrugging same smirk in place, Sam enters the kitchen on that note leaving Dean to stare wide eyed after his baby brother. “Matter of time, always just a matter of time,” laughter tinged voice exists the kitchen, unseen shake of his head at the mess left behind.

Stock still for a fraction of a second till soft giggles echo quietly down the hall, grin turning into full blown smile. Need rushing back through his veins in remembrance of your position just a few short moments ago. Low curse existing his mouth, Dean turns racing off to find which room you’re hiding in.

Nerves tingled through your body, worry interrupting thoughts/memories of short minutes ago. Hard press of his body against yours, warm moist breath fanning out over your skin sending tingles of a different kind to skitter across your veins. But now standing in Dean’s room trying to figure out where to lay or stand that would invoke images of sensuality. You look down at your bare feet toes wiggling against cold concrete. Up wards to thick jeans clad thighs, a baby blue tank top covering your torso, self consciousness went out the window decades ago. After the first serious injuries you suffered at the hands of a vengeful spirit had you damn near stripped naked in front of Dean. Confidence in face of adversity knowing he’s the only one for miles around to patch you up.

Now though is different, same confidence but wishing for sexier clothing something to entice and tease. Small snort issues from the depths of your body knowing damn well you had nothing of the sort in your possession. Flannels, tank tops, t-shirts and jeans hunter’s required staples along with the functional under garments you groan at remembering are mismatched at the present.

“Beautiful even in those rumpled clothing,” deep voice breaking through thoughts and making a squeak sound as you quickly turn to face the lazily leaning against the door jam hunter. Arms crossed over muscular chest, biceps straining the black t-shirt’s sleeves, “I meant what I said before Sammy interrupted us.”

Tugging your bottom lip back under indented top teeth turning to face him fully, “Which part?” Barely keeping the mirth from bubbling over, “That I should show you the way home or you have a big dill?” Easy going banter calming your nerves even the part about feeling ill-prepared clothing wise.

Tender infused whiskey fleck green eyes turn molten with each sweep of your body. “I love you,” words escape as eyes stay locked, Dean pushing away from the doorway. Booted foot catching the hardwood door and slamming it shut behind him. Stocking towards you as a lion would his prey, licking parched lips wanting to devour you. Hands fisting at his side though to keep from reaching out and doing just that incase it’s something your not ready for.

His breath froze upon seeing you walking around his room, something akin to relief floods his veins along with a sense of rightness. Sure you’ve come in hundreds of times to wake him from a nightmare or mornings, to barrow music and to talk. Yet, this time feels different giving your relationship changed moments ago. Catching the indecision clearly written in those beloved eyes that don’t focus on one place too long. For a moment Dean wishes he could read your thoughts but then having hunted and lived together for decades he picked up the situation and cues without having to know your thoughts.

Pleased hum breaks Dean from the wondering trail his thoughts took him on to spy the sweet smile gracing your lips. Hands positioned on your hips one cocked to the side as you stand there waiting expectedly. Restraining himself, Dean opens his palms to bring them up and cup your cheeks dragging you against him. Lips meeting in the tenderest of kisses that he keeps in place while speaking, “You want this, want me?”

Recognizing his vulnerability and what he’s asking with those simple words, arms wrap around his back fisting the shirt tightly to press the two of you together. Love saturated eyes burn into those greens you could drown in, “That’s my question Winchester stop stealing my lines.” Flattening one palm to slide up and into his hair. Pressing another kiss to his soft lips you’ve only imaged kissing till now. The reality so much better than any fantasy you ever came up with.

“Calling me a thief now sweetheart?” Using jokes to cover the fact he’s searching for the right words. Flustered and frustration slither through his veins in a combination Dean’s not accustom, words stammering of unintelligible nature tumble from his mouth. The feel of your blunt nails sending pleasurable shivers down his spine.

Nodding, craning your neck back a few inches but keeping your eyes locked, “You stole my lines and my heart Dean so yes that would make you a thief.” Hand sliding over his back now and settling into the back pocket of his jeans, “I also meant what I said back there.” Catching the cocked brow you elaborate, “Take me to bed Dean I’m tired of waiting, I want to know how it feels to have you inside me.”

Soft groan issues from parted lips. Wanting to act on your words so damn badly his body vibrates with barely contained desire. Forehead coming to rest against yours, strong hands sliding too loosely wrap around and caress your neck. “You know I’m not great at relationships. I could seriously fuck things up.”

“I know but then so could I,” any doubts or insecurities evaporating into the ether with every look.

Callused fingers brush over your bare shoulders sending sensual shivers cascading down your body. Rubbing your thighs together for added friction with the heated look Dean’s fixing you with. Boosting your confidence to step back his hands drop to the side as you own pinch at the hem of your tank top. Slowly pulling it from your body, letting it drop with a barely heard whisper.

“Fucking hell sweetheart,” resolve snapping, reaching for your hips and tugging you back against him harder than intended. Lips sealing quickly to swallow the gasp existed parted lips Dean takes advantage of and slips his tongue inside the warm cavern of your mouth.

There’s nothing gentle about this kiss, it’s all teeth and tongues, fighting desperately for dominance. Pulling groans from the depths of Dean’s soul as he pulls whimpers and moans from your own. Till air becomes needed though it doesn’t stop your mouth from trailing a hot path across his stubbled jaw. Nibbling towards that little patch behind his ear to flick the tip of your tongue against. Smirking at the shutter rolling through his body, fingers dancing a rhythm over his shirt covered torso. Hem reached you tug twice to which he nods reaching behind him grasping and pulling the garment off to join yours.

Hands, palms flat immediately going to ghost over his rippling tummy. Muscle covered soften causing all moisture to pool south, clit throbbing almost painfully. Sure you’ve seen him bare chested before this time it’s different. For pleasure instead of patching him up. Drawing desired groans rather than pain filled. “I know Sam would abject but I so wouldn’t mind seeing you walk around shirtless.”

Full belly chuckle leaves Dean’s lips, “Sweetheart don’t talk about other men right now especially not my brother.” Possessive hands landing on your naked plush waist, fingers spanning the distance and gripping the flesh in his palm. Dreams having nothing on the real woman in his palms.

“Just stating facts sir nothing more,” trailing your fingers over the slightly hair roughen skin. Brushing pebbled nipples from the cool air and your proximity. Reserving a gasp when you lean forward to lap with the tip of our tongue and nip at the peaked point. Glancing to lock eyes as you switch and give the same attention to its twin giving the same attention getting a hiss from your actions. Dragging you lips upward to trace his tattoo with kisses.

Molten green eyes drinking in the sight of your lips on his skin, shooting desire straight to his cock. Throbbing need demanding attention no matter how good your soft lips feel against his body. “Baby girl,” groaning at the nip you place, eyes close to compose himself. Flying open as air cool brushes his skin inside of the shared heat of both your bodies. Mesmerized by the way you reach back to unclasp your bra, pushing your lushes breasts out teasing his vision, salivating for a taste of your skin.

He steps forward crowding into your space backing you into the bed till the back of your calves hit the edge. Wrapping his arms around your plush form to brush hands away and do the task himself. Finger tips skimming the edges of both straps till reaching the top at your shoulders and drawing them down. Keeping his eyes locked with yours while pulling the garment from your pliant body tossing it behind him. Eyes flicking down on a groan, licking his dry lips at the beauty displayed for his ravenous gaze.

“Lay down for me sweetheart,” meeting your lust blown orbs with his own. “I wanna see you in my bed,” biting off a whimper when you drop onto the edge. Bountiful breasts bouncing teasingly as he watches you slide backwards towards the head board. Hands going to the button of your jeans, low growl pausing your nimble fingers. “That’s for me to do baby girl, just,” swallowing harshly as he looks you over. Partially naked spread out over his bed picture perfect memory for those times when the darkness tries to steal this happiness. “Give me a moment to drink you in.” Unable to decide where to look first, “So fucking gorgeous.” Toeing off his boots, hands going to his own jeans your shaking head pausing the movements.

“I get the same pleasure,” licking your lips slowly while raising up on your elbows. Beckoning him with two crooked fingers, hand resting with the palms up beside your plush body, “Get up here before I get impatience and take matters into my own hands.”

Declaration making him pause a moment low growl rumbling from deep with in his chest. As desire blown green meet yours, smirk gracing his handsome features. One knee comes to rest on the mattress Dean leans forward keeping eyes locked while pressing a kiss to your ankle. Grinning, feeling the quiver that runs through your body. “You wouldn’t dare sweetheart,” adding his other knee to spread your legs and slowly fit his body between.

“Shall we make a bet Winchester?” Using your free foot to brushing the nearest thigh with the flat. Sliding towards the very noticeable bulge busting the seams of his jeans, toes teasing the thick ridge before pressing the flat of your foot against him. Rubbing the length slowly pleased when a growl echos the room.

Grabbing that foot tickling the pad enjoying the way you squirm and giggle. Taking the opportunity to move fully between your legs. “About that bet hum,” fingertips drawing an invisible path of fire down the middle your body. Bracing then both arms on either side of your shoulders hovering over you, warm breath fanning out over your cheek he nuzzles with stubbled chin. Pulling a whimper from your gasping lips.

Of there own accord, your hands slide up the strength of his arms and biceps to clasping fingers together around the back of his neck. Left leg draped over his waist to pull him against your pelvis, breathless moan parting your lips at the contact of his hard length pressing into your dripping center. “I don’t want slow or gentle Dean,” head tipping back to give access to his questing lips that find your wildly thumping pulse, sucking a mark into the soft skin. “We have all night for that I just…” words caught upon seeing whiskey flecked green eyes dilated almost pitch with desire. Cheshire Cat grin tugging kiss swollen lips upward.

“Just what sweetheart?” Humming, brushing your lips together before returning to his last spot. One hand dragging over your soft body cupping the generous globe massaging gently feeling the nipple peak against his palm. Teasingly circling the stiff nub with the tip of his index finger before giving a sharp pinch and making you gasp out. Back arching at the pleasurable pain skittering across your veins.

Grasping what’s left of your mind to try and form coherent words, body responding instead pressing your chest into his large hand. Nails score down his back, one completing the journey to give his ass a tight squeeze. As the other detours to between your intimately pressed body. Happy to find enough space to slot your palm against his erection, cupping his throbbing length and giving short little strokes. Smile blooming with a breathless groan against your collarbone where Dean’s forehead currently rests. Nimble fingers pop the small metal disk, pulling the zipper tab down to slip the hand inside. Warmth enveloping palm feeling him twitch has you slowly licking your lips at the mire thought of getting to taste him.

“You’re killing me Y/N,” rutting his hips into your hand, mouth coming back to claim yours in a punishingly bruising kill. Tangling your tongues together, nipping a little harder on your bottom lip than meaning to but the accompanying moan flows straight to his cock. Making him twitch against your palm that has slowed with the distraction of the kiss.

Breaking for air, panting while trying to form and speak the right words, “We’re both a little over dressed Dean.” Pulling your hand from the tight confines of his jeans, using the one at his ass to help pull them and his boxers down only stopping when you couldn’t reach anything passed his knees. Sigh of relief exists his parted lips making you giggle and press a kiss to his chin. “Feel better?” Bottom lip trapped and nibbled on as your fingers brush his length. Finding your fingers barely wrap around the girth while to stroke, palm sliding over precum leaking head. Hips thrust forward at the sensations tingling down his back gathering low in his belly.

“Now who’s over dressed?” Mumbling the words against your skin. Dean regretfully brushes your hand aside grinning at the annoyed huff that leaves your lips. “Ah sweetheart put that sexy pout away you’ll get a chance to taste me soon enough. Cause if you keep using that soft hand on my cock I’ll cum faster than I want.”

His words presenting so many thoughts to run through your mind only cut off when wet warm heat engulfs your right nipple. Tongue flicking quickly over taut peak, blunt teeth nipping then soothing over with the tip of his tongue. Switching to the twin leaving both sloppy wet and tight, gleaming in the low light of his room. Worshipping at the temple of your body with kisses pressed into your tummy, running scared callused hands over your skin in silent reverence. Eyes taking in very inch Dean sits back on his knees between your parted legs. Tracing his knuckles along the seam of your jeans covered cunt, making you jolt against him.

Pausing to strip your jeans and panties from your body, tossing them and kicking his own off to land somewhere on the floor. Raising up on elbows to finally get a chance to look at him in all his naked glory. Tracing each divot of scars over a broad chest, passing over the middle to admire thick bowed legs spread wide. Lips licked slowly upon landing on his ridge cock, slightly curved and resting against his lower belly. Palm itching for a touch, mouth watering for that taste. “You’re beautiful Dean,” words whispered so low your unsure if he’s really heard them.

Heat blooms over his cheeks at your admission, looking your fill of his adonis body. Dean returns the admiration. Tracing the features of your beloved face, staring a little too long at your heaving breasts, soft tummy he wants to nibble on at some point. Thick thighs he can’t wait to have wrapped around his waist once he’s buried deep inside your wet heat. The very though has his eyes dropping between your parted legs, glistening folds beckoning him forward. Caught in that tempting trance, Dean slides back between your legs. Brushing his lips just above your mound and receiving a whimper from you. Locking eyes, “I think you got that backwards sweetheart, it’s you who’s beautiful.” Dipping to run the thick flat of his tongue through your folds, humming at the tangy sweetness exploding over his taste buds.

Hips cantering against his mouth, your own letting a deep moan free as one hand slides down to card through his short brown locks. Tugging the strands getting a groan to vibrate against your cunt while his talented tongue dances through your soaked folds. Torturing your clit with ghosted touches, one arm wraps around our thigh spreading you open. As the other slips a finger inside your wet channel, finding you squeezing and tight, garnering a deep groan of arousal from the man between your lips.

“Dean,” voice wrecked and he’s barely touched you. When he doesn’t answer or budge from his sensual assault on your cunt. Lips having formed a perfect O around your clit, tongue flicking kitten licks to the tiny nerve filled nub. Pleased with he whimpers and whines that filter through his desire filled mind.

Resulting in you tugging on his hair harder, back arching as a small shock rocks through your body, tingling your belly when he bites carefully on your clit. “Dean please,” eyes rolling back into your head at the added second finger. Crooked and pressing into the little spongy spot you’ve never had anyone touch. Ripping a half scream from the hidden depths of your soul.

Smug smirk tugging over slick wet lips, stubbled chin coming to rest just above your mound. Watching as you heave a breath, breasts catching his eyes for a moment till you tug again. Fingers anything but still as they thrust and scissor you open, working you carefully to fit his slightly above average length not wanting to hurt you. “Yes sweetheart?” Licking his lips from your slick.

Free hand coming up to cover your heated face, “Don’t sound so smug,” gasping the last word when his thumb brushes over your clit making you jump and wither. Heat spreading from that special spot in your belly, where the tight coil starts to wind higher. Thick thighs tremble with each sensation Dean draws out of you. “Need you, please, please.”

Caressing your quivering walls with the gun callused pads of his fingers, massaging your clit as you plead. Breath chocked out on another moan, chest heavy, heat coating your skin as you wither under him. “Ah but I can’t help myself sweetheart you don’t know what seeing you like this does to me.”

Gathering what little strength you have in your limbs to reach down and cup his cheeks, thumbs brushing over the skin under his eyes. “Why don’t you get up here and show me Dean?” Voice wreaked yet a tender undertone rides through the cadence.

Pressing a single kiss to the pulsing little clit, giving once last flick making your squirm and Dean to chuckle. Slowly pulling his fingers out, stroking twice more your hips chasing the indescribable ecstasy winding its way through your veins. Only to have the tingles dance slower, the coil start to unwind as frustrated huff leaving your gasping lips.

Taking advantage to plunder your mouth, greedy for a sample of the wet cavern and a tongue tango that draws out a sharp moan of need. Especially tasting your tangy sweetness from his lips, sucking the bottom between your teeth to nibble. While reaching blindly over to the nightstand, damn near yanking the whole draw on the ground in his haste. “Give me a sec woman,” huffing out he rolls slightly off you. The noise drawing a giggle out causing him too stiffen, glancing back with a playful glare to refocus on finding his prize.

Using the opportunity to nose the thick column of his neck, taking in the scent of whiskey, leather and motor oil, peppered now with sex and sweat. Addicting and unable to help yourself from sink your teeth into his skin gently but hard enough to leave a small soon to purple mark. Soothing over with the flat of your tongue catching sight of the pause your actions caused. The aroused moan that leaves his lips, head resting on the bed to try and gather himself from your onslaught.

“Something wrong Dean?” Nipping just below his jaw, tracing your fingers along his side. Index finger swirling through the spares, crisp hairs leading a path to what you’ve craved to have inside you for a long time. Nimble fingers surround the base forming a perfect circle that can’t close but tightens. Stroking his length teasingly slow. In return receiving a warning growl — the sound devastating your senses making you throb — from the man currently fishing for a condom and growing frustrated when his fingers come up empty. “Shall I stop my love? Am I distracting you?” Whispered words breathed into his ear, lips kissing the shell. Knowing damn well just how tormenting you are to his senes and body. If his twitching cock your hand currently wrapping around stroking and the shallow breaths are any indication.

“Ha,” triumphant shout of accomplishment, Dean rolls back over you pressing bodies together and into the mattress. “Now where were we?” Flashing that teasing smirk with a hard rutting of his hips against your dripping core and tight fisted hand.

“What to you so long stud?” Biting back the giggles when he fixes you with a scowl.

Breath hissing out through clinched teeth when taking your hand off his cock, bringing those wickedly wonderful fingers to his lips and sucking on each one with a short nibble. Placing the open condom pack in your palm, “Do the honors sweetheart.”

Curling your fingers around the little foil packet, pressing your other hand into the back of his neck drawing Dean in for a tender kiss. Slow meld of your lips, light sips of your warm mouths. Tenderly tugging his bottom lip, to slide your tongue over the bruised skin and into his mouth. Licking and touring the heated cavern, seeking out ways to make his moan and grunt. A moment of forgetfulness while mapping his tonsils and sucking on his tongue, till you break for air. Chasing his mouth for more kisses only to receive a chuckle instead.

Eyes open to spear him with a heated look, foil packet crinkling in your hand a remind of your mission. Slipping fingers from his soft hair, to trace over his body, joining its partner between the two of your heaving bodies. Unlocking your eyes to glance down, hand wrapping back around his thick shaft to stroke twice getting a needy moan from the man above you. Before teasingly rolling the condom on paying special attention to the thick pulsing vein on the underside, mouth watering at the thoughts of getting to taste it later.

Dean grasps one of your hips to bring the leg around his waist, opening you up and feeling your soft skin under his palm. Sliding between your bodies to entwine his fingers with your, pumping his cock together. Different sounds, a hiss from Dean and a moan from you exists on shuttering breaths. Eyes reattach both blown with desire and coated in need, you notch the head of his cock at your entrance pressing the heel of your foot into the small of his back to urge him forward.

Teeth clamping to draw blood from your bottom lip but also to keep from screaming out in pleasure as he slowly sinks inside your quivering depths. Reaching up with his other hand to free your bruised lip, brushing the pad of his thumb over the glistening skin. “I wanna hear you sweetheart don’t hold back.”

“What about Sam?” Breath hitching, mouth hanging open on a moan that’s trapped on the edge of a scream when he bottoms out against you. Bodies flush, joined hands now resting above your head where Dean’s placed them.

Leaning in to press open mouth kisses to your lips and neck letting you adjust to his size, the exquisite stretch thumps through your veins the slight sting only heightening the pleasure. “Never mention his name while we’re in bed sweetheart,” snagging the lobe of your ear with his teeth. Pleased when you nod speechless, though not enough, “Words baby girl I wanna hear that prefect voice of yours.”

Swallowing trying to form words to answer, scoring your nails down his back an impatience mewling whimper leaves instead. Using the leg not wrapped around Dean’s waist as leverage to plant and push your hips up against him. Squeezing your walls tightly around his shaft drawing out a grunt from his lips. “Dean…” going to say more but he chooses that moment to pull out till just the crown rested inside your pulsing channel. “Just you…” hips snapping forward to fill you quickly stealing those words into a loud scream of ecstasy.

Starting a hard punishing rhythm, repeatedly waiting till your fixing to speak and either pulling out or trusting home. Always taking away what your going to say. Knowing your trapped between frustration and pleasure, Dean captures your mouth in another deep kiss. While his hips snap against yours, wrapping the other leg around his waist to angle you differently. Pressing your intertwined hands into the pillow beside your head and breaking the bruising kiss to gulp a lung full of air into both your burning lungs.

Feeling your walls start to quiver around his hammering cock, knowing by the pinched look on your countenance, the quivering of your thick thighs clutching at his trim waist. Heels pressing into the small of his back drawing him forward with quickened strokes that he’s shortened from the long deep thrusts. Notching your legs higher on his waist to press forward, curling his pelvis into your core, determined to make you cum first. Wanting to feel you soak his cock, see the looks of pleasure dance across your features.

Sliding his fingers through your soaked folds to find your pearl pulsing, pressing the pad of his thumb circling to make a gasp fly from your lips. Back arching, tingles no longer gentle but tap dancing a rhythm through your veins. Dean’s name a chant from your dry, parched lips, panting to try and fill your starving lungs. Body vibrating on a higher frequency only Dean’s turned in on as with every snap of his hips, brush of his thumb sends your spiraling deeper into euphoria.

Reaching up to wrap your hand around his neck to bring him back down for another kiss. This one sloppy as the thrusts of Dean’s hips, brief touches of lips, wet slide of your tongues across the other. Eyes sliding closed only to snap back open with a pinch to your nipple soothed over my his teasing fingers.

“Keep those beautiful eyes open for me sweetheart and cum for me I know your close. You just gotta let go for me,” resting your foreheads together, gritting his teeth to starve off his own orgasm. The wet clinch almost too much for Dean to handle. Always wondering but never imagining how good this truly would feel.

“Dean,” breathing out his name, a series of moans and whimpers following. Trying to capture his mouth for another kiss that’s broken off when your orgasm slams into you soaking Dean’s cock in your slick. Eyes rolling back his name a screamed prayer from your lips.

Body convulsing in pleasurable all consuming fire, little sparks of light pin prick behind your tightly closed eyes. Moisture breath fans out over your neck where Dean buries his face, lips pressing into your skin. Chasing that high while working you through your orgasm the wet clinch of your walls prove too much to starve off any long. Giving in with a groan of your name rubbed into your skin as he fills the condom. Circling his hips a few more times to drag out the pleasurable spikes racking his frame.

Collapsing into your arms a welcome weight pressing you into the mattress as you both try to capture your breath. He brings your joined hands down starting to untwine them but the shake of your head stops the actions.

“For a few moments longer,” voice hoarse from screaming out your pleasure. Free hand coming up to card through his sweat drenched hair. Brushing the strands back from his forehead and sliding your lips over his. Brief touches, lingering into something deeper. Tender caresses of mouth’s, nibbling, and sucking softly on bruised skin. Dean starts to move getting a whimpered whine from your throat tightening your arms around him.

“Gotta clear you up sweetheart I’m not going anywhere,” reassuring you with another soft kiss while carefully pulling out of your tender depths. Mesmerized by the slick coating your tights and dripping from your convulsing walls. Brushing his fingers over the reddening swollen skin, gasp reaching his ears, eyes flying up to yours. Then flicking across your body seeing the beard burn on your neck and chest, hand prints blooming over your hips. “Did I hurt you?”

Sitting up to cup his cheeks, “No Dean you didn’t hurt me. If you had I would’ve told you.” Leaning in to kiss him tendering, “Better take care of that mess it’ll get awful sticky otherwise,” giving him a bright smile. Watching while he gingerly takes the spent condom off, tying it closed before tossing it into the waste bin by the night stand.

Raising to walk on shaky bowed legs to grab up the wash cloth from the sink. Wetting with warm water he turns back stunned to find you watching him with a grin on your lips. “Like what you see?”

“Hmm no,” seeing the frown you go to finish. “Love Dean, I see the man I love,” frown switching to teasing smirk as he nears the bed.

Nudging you to lay back and spread your legs, tenderly wiping you clean. Dragging the warm cloth over your folds and inner thighs. Tossing it behind him to crawl into bed gathering your pliant plush body against his hard chest. Back pressed into his front, arms wrapped tightly around your thick waist. Placing a kiss to your shoulder, “I love to you Y/N, get some rest I’m far from through with you.”

Soft giggles vibrate into his chest, “Careful you’re getting old baby you sure you’ll have the stamina?” Toying with the fingers tapping against your tummy sending shivers cross your body.

Low growl accompanies the drag of his teeth over your sensitive skin, drawing a moan from your lips. Pressing his hips into your generous ass, “Give me an hour sweetheart and I’ll show you just how much stamina your man has.”

[katyatalks]

Mob Psycho 100: The Stage Play 3 - Final performance content spoilers

Here are all the notes I compiled after getting the chance to see the final performance for ‘Mob Psycho 100: The Stage Play - A Clash with Claw’s Seventh Division!’ live. Note this is essentially a write-up of the play from beginning to end - this will also likely be the version of the play that is used for the DVD release in December. I will also edit this when the recording becomes available for viewing and I can gain some clarity on sections I missed...

PRE-SHOW

- Reigen and Mob do a pre-show announcement relating to covid prevention measures (referred to not by name as Covid but an evil spirit) plus standard theatre etiquette rules (don’t use your phone, put it on silent, etc.)

SHOW

- Begins where stage 2 left off as a ‘Previously…’ segment for the audience. We once again witness Koyama knocking Mob out with the spray and kidnapping Ritsu.

- In the Teru/Dimple/Mob discussion part of the stage 2 recap, Teru takes the bird’s nest off his head and throws it off stage - we hear the birds within fly away.

- ((We immediately see how the reduced audience affects the play - a funny physical gag where Teru and Dimple bash heads happens but this receives no response from the audience))

- We reach the end of stage 2 recap with Mob stating he’ll destroy Claw as he does at the end of stage 2. The screen goes black and we hear the echo of a voice saying ‘Give [it] back… give [it] back, [It’s] mine, give [it] back…’ - this is implied to be Mob talking about Ritsu but the lights turn on to reveal S&S and turns out it’s Shou talking to Reigen about Touichirou’s card

- Reigen gives the card back to Shou, calls him a ‘baggy-clothed asshole’ and tells him to leave since Reigen is busy. Reigen puts his feet up on his desk and goes on his phone, leading to;

S: “What are you doing?”

R: “Reading the news.”

S: “You’re not busy, you’re bored!”

- Shou mentions that he’s also got 10k yen missing from his wallet and accuses Reigen of stealing it - Reigen insists he didn’t but starts doubting himself

- When Shou leaves, Reigen salt splashes in his direction (An English translation is now given under each of Reigen’s special moves ala Olympic parody)

-Reigen calls Mob, leading back to the Mob/Dimple/Teru scene - Terada and his cronies enter and Mob tells Reigen he can’t talk right now, hang up which leads to…

***

OPENING

- Yoru no Honki Dance - Call Out (as the previous two plays)

- Action takes place on the upper and lower stage - Ritsu and the lab kids on the lower stage with Ritsu in anguish with Mob, Teru, Dimple on the top stage

- Action shot with the show’s “Yeah!” line focuses on Reigen and Mob on the top level

***

- Teru tortures Terada with a taser rather than water - Terada is also wearing a ballgag with multiple kazoos inside it leading to a great sound whenever he screams

- Mob and Dimple are terrified of Teru’s taser torture whenever he does it

- Matsuo’s performance is sensual and slimy - great stage presence

- Ishiguro’s voice is distorted using a pitch filter resulting in something creepy rather than the female voice used in the anime

- Ritsu and the lab kids are seen in the jail cell - great banter with them and their Claw guard (Guard to Rei: “I won’t hit you because you’re a girl!” Kids: “A gentleman!”). Guard tells them they won’t get any food and they start rioting

- Mutou is VERY creepy and accompanied by terrifying music - he skulks around the stage with his ridiculous silicone chin

- When Mutou “kills” Kaito off screen we get a ridiculous extended segment featuring Daichi reacting to what is initially cries of his brother’s pain that turn into pleasure as if he is getting a massage - then turns back into pain

- Kaito is wheeled back on in a luggage/weight carrier with 4 knives in his chest

- Teru vs Terada is visually very fun - movement choreography is great, lots of Teru’s dance techniques that got cut from the anime

- Back in the jail scene Ritsu states he doesn’t remember the kids names so they re-introduce themselves to the audience

- Asahi and Hoshino heating up the spoon/bending spoon/on repeat is very well performed

- Ritsu tries to high-five with with one of the other kids when they escape the jail but finds he has no-one to do it with :(

- Back to Dimple/Mob/Teru - when Dimple-chan(puppet) says “Oh who’s that good looking guy? A model?”, Nadagi pulls a whole bunch of model poses

- When Teru tries to knock the security guard out he screams for AGES leading to one of the funniest moments in the play - he finally is knocked out but when Dimple tries to possess him he takes ages to be possessed - Taa (Teru) breaks character completely and doubles over laughing and Itou (Mob) refuses to face the audience making it clear he is losing it as well

- Muraki is creepy looking but his cloak is see-through and sparkly - his actor plays him as quite a timid guy

- Great visual gag with Mob throwing Koyama around and then sending him through the stage wall

- Ishiguro has a moment where he talks to the audience/the new recruits where he shows off the Claw face mask available as part of the merch

- Great fight choreography between SG!Dimple and Gen (played by Baba) - ends with SG!Dimple pulling his trousers down

- Teru tasing people left and right in this play…

- Great stage effects in Teru vs Miyagawa - Teru tases Miyagawa as well

- Tsuchiya calming down Mukai is lovely - followed by Mukai finding a puppet that she believes hasn’t been destroyed by Mob and getting excited - but the head rolls off so she breaks down crying again

- ((My stream cut here so I didn’t see the start of the Ritsu vs Shou interaction and whether or not he recognised Shou from their interaction in stage 2))

- We see a little Shou vs Ritsu - Ritsu flings an array of spoons at Shou - Shou lands a punch that sends Ritsu off stage

- Character design for Takeuchi has been corrected slightly from the anime

- Matsuo vs SG!Dimple stage effects are great. They’re both very flashy actors which creates fantastic visual comedy

- Matsuo takes off his jacket like he’s at a strip club - it’s all very flamboyant and fun

- ((Stream cut again so I didn’t actually see the joke, but some kind of adlib happens with Reigen in the taxi scene that causes Baba to break character))

- When Mob uses his powers to blow Takeuchi away someone comes on stage with a leafblower to blow his hair away

- Screen goes black and we cut back to Shou delivering the final blow on Ritsu. Shou says someone interesting is coming and leaves stage for Mob’s entrance

- Mob finds Ritsu passed out and holds him, finds he’s breathing but won’t forgive who did this to him

- Mutou enters and stalks around the back and creates the image of Ritsu dead on the floor with a knife in his chest for Mob which causes his freak out

- “What a great pair of brothers” - Shou leaning over Mob and Ritsu’s passed out bodies

- Shou floats Mob and Ritsu into the room with Sakurai/Teru/Ishiguro

- Small cut away to Reigen - he sees 500 yen on the ground and immediately runs to go pick it up

- Mob and Ritsu’s hug is very emotional - Ritsu is more panicked asking Mob if he’s okay and Mob is more emotional responding than the anime

- Mob pats Ritsu’s head to calm him down

- Visual gag where Shou steps on Ishiguro’s shoe - Ishiguro freaks out trying to clean it and Muraki offers emotional support

- Guy walks into the room with Sakurai/Muraki/Ishiguro/Matsuo/Shou and informs them “The boss is coming”, which piques Shou’s interest and he comes along to meet “the boss”

- Play then gives us a “5 minutes earlier” scene. Baba’s performance in the Claw break-in is more on the eccentric/aggressive side than the calmer calculating tone Sakurai had - changes the atmosphere for the scene

- The whole scene with Reigen saving the lab kids is redone to be so eccentric with everyone chanting BOSS! BOSS! BOSS! at the end for Reigen

- When Reigen starts making a comment about Teru’s wig and cuts himself off to not offend him, he goes to Mob like “wtf” and Mob whispers in his ear what happened

- Shou included in the scene when Ishiguro etc. face off against Reigen

- ((ARGH my stream cut out again, when it came back Shou had moved over to Reigen’s side - probably some good dialogue there between them that I missed))

- Shou says to Reigen ‘Give me back my 10,000 yen’ - Shou decides to stand back to watch the show

- When Ishiguro attacks, Mob protects Shou as well as everyone else

- We have Shou/Teru/Mob/Ritsu/Reigen all on one side vs the Claw guys on the other (Ishiguro/Sakurai/Muraki/Matsuo)

- When Reigen does his Anti-Esper Drop Kick, they choose to translate this in English as “Dropkick to the espers”

- Shou: ‘You’re really taking [Muraki] on? lol’ Reigen: ‘Shut UP you brat’

- When Sakurai attacks Reigen (first time), Ritsu helps him up

- Lots of good banter between Shou and Reigen (”Stop calling me ‘old guy!’”)

- Shou sits to the side and enjoys the show while Sakurai/Muraki/Ishiguro/Matuso vs Reigen/Mob/Ritsu/Teru happens, makes some comments (ie. “Damn you’re in a pinch, whatcha gonna do now?”)

- When Reigen is getting sucked up by the anti gravity bubble, Shou helps Teru/Mob/Ritsu out with saving him

- Sakurai cutting off Teru’s wig is made into such a Dramatic moment

- Shou joins the fight against Ishiguro - Ishiguro manages to knock him out of the field and Reigen expresses concern (‘Oh crap! Kid are you okay!’)

- Lots of stage theatrics - now that Shou is no longer in play scene plays out as it does in the anime

- Lots of Reigen protecting Mob and leading him away from danger until the climactic moment where Mob decides to fight

- Mob’s scream of ‘Shishou!!!’ is filled with emotion - Reigen collapses quickly and without theatrics, facing the audience

- He doesn’t get a cut in his jacket, nor does he remove it

- When Reigen destroys Matsuo’s pet - ‘Oh Jesus I’m sorry I didn’t mean to destroy your toy’

- More protective Reigen - puts his arm out to protect Teru and Ritsu & get them behind him

- Reigen’s “Purifying Salt Punch” -> English given as Prime Salt Punch

- ‘It’s rude to wear a mask when talking to people!’ - here his mask doesn’t come off - unsure if intentional

- ((The bento story is REALLY well performed comedically but doesn’t land with attending audience))

- Sakurai shoots Reigen and Reigen catches the bullet

- Reigen uses the spray to spray his armpits

- Reigen at Muraki’s forehead “what is this? A doorbell? Ding dong ding dong”

- Lab kids start making fun of Muraki as well (Rei: What is that, cosplay?)

- Rei has a crush on Reigen in the same vein as her crush on Ritsu - Calls him cool and stuff and tries to reach for him

- Mob: ‘Having powers doesn’t make you popular’ Rei: ‘Lame.’ Reigen: ‘Well there you have it.’

- Shou comes back in centre stage and knocks Ishiguro out - goes to Reigen and says it’s time to repay the debt he owes Reigen - knocks Ishiguro out fully as per anime/manga

- As Shou leaves he pats Ritsu on the shoulder

- When Reigen says ‘is this an evil spirit?’ He hold his nose as if Dimple stinks, then grabs his head and shakes him around. Gets some salt from his pocket and throws it at Dimple

- Rei goes up to Sakurai and asks to date him

- Shou goes on the phone on stage top level and calls Touichirou as per manga/anime lines

FINAL SCENE

- Shou returns to S&S - as it turns out Reigen had the 10k stuck in his pocket the whole time and returns it to Shou

- Mob and Ritsu (with a bag) enter S&S while Shou is still there but leaving - Mob thanks Shou for helping them and asks Ritsu to do the same - Ritsu complies

- Shou looks back at Reigen, then toward Ritsu and Mob and tells them all they’ll meet again

- Mob and Ritsu share a heartfelt moment - “Ritsu, you’re amazing” - “No you’re the amazing one Nii-san”

- Ritsu gets out Takoyaki for Reigen/Mob/Ritsu to enjoy and Dimple joins them

ENDING SONG - ‘mob.’

https://katyatalks.tumblr.com/post/659597484715278336/mob-ed-for-mp100-stage-3-a-clash-with-claws

- Itou’s voice is STUNNING

CAST COMMENTS

- Kawaharada Takuya (Teru) addresses the fact that he’s the person who laughed the most out of everyone

- Nadagi says he wants to do a stage 4 and that’s the general vibe with everyone  and it’ll be nice if the anime gets a S3 too

- Lots of talk about stage 4 and it only being possible if everyone comes together

- Itou: ‘Us being able to do this again out of the blue so suddenly is thanks to all of you’

ENCORE

- Itou and Baba

- Lots of crying from Itou relating to covid and how it has cut the audience - he is grateful but he’s still upset about it - Baba gives him a huge hug

[cleololax]

Lotto | A | Chapter One

MafiaBoss! UndergroundCriminal! Yoongi x Strugglingwaitress! Y/N

Word Count - 3,210

Yoongles has his silver hair in this one 👌🏼. Smut will be in future chapters. Enjoy !

The smell of grease and bacon has your brain pounding in your skull. A normally pleasant smell can get old after an 8-hour work shift, 5 days a week. Dave rings the bell once again and you zig-zag between the tables trying to get there, refilling empty coffee mugs and fetching missing condiments on the way. Another day, another measly dollar.

By noon, your feet need a rest and you need a break. The sneakers squeeze your feet so much it feels like they might bring you down a size permanently. Marla comes from the back, chewing that cheap gum that’s bought wholesale. You hand over the paper tab and fill her in before heading into the back room. Lunch is spent eating a stale sandwich with stale lettuce and softening tomatoes that can leave an unpleasant aftertaste. Mentally, there’s a reminder set to see what they have at the food pantry this week.

Hopefully, your brother ate his lunch. It’s not like he likes it anyways and you can't blame him for it. Anxious thoughts are interrupted when Mina opens the door in all of her cheerfulness.

“Y/N, someone is asking for you.” She must see your furrow brows cause she continues.

“Says he needs to see you, it’s been a while. Is he a bad ex? Should I get rid of him?” Her worry makes you inwardly smile and you head to the sink. “No, it’s ok. I’ll be right there.” She leaves with a nod. The smile drops the minute she does. What could he possibly want now? Something uneasy stirs in your stomach. It could be the food just devoured, but there is something more pressing at the moment. The dim hallway is empty and you carefully walk out, counting the black and white tiles. With your head held high, you walk towards the booths.

The blue hair peeks out from the top of the divider. He always sits in the left corner of the room, drinking a lemonade. Always at the same time. Always on time. You walk towards the table and sit down. Taehyung offers a small nod of his head in acknowledgment. Or at least that’s what he says his name is. The first time he had waltzed in, he turned heads. A beautiful man in a crisp Armani suit isn’t exactly discreet. You came out to greet him and asked if you knew each other when he uttered one word. Your father's name. From then on you knew whatever came of this interaction, it wasn’t going to be pleasant. That bastard had ruined your family and still, it's not enough. He continues to cause destruction, long after he’s been gone.

Taehyung's tan skin and blue hair are a striking match. Chocolate eyes study the way you clench your hands together on the table, steadying shaky fingers. Pretending to hold it all together.

“Hello, Y/N.” He asked for your name the first time and you refused to give it. Years of watching sketchy people walk in and out of your apartment teach you to be wary. By the next meeting, he had it on his tongue in greeting. Perhaps a show of how much they really knew and were able to find out what they wanted.

“I have a note for you from Mr. Min. It’s appropriate to now set up a formal meeting. Tonight.” The previous suspicion is proved correct. This elusive Min wants to meet and it has your heart sinking.

“I have my brother to pick up from school.” Demons may thrive and bath in the night, but the rest of us don’t have that luxury to choose.

“Sorry, but you’ll have to make arrangements. We could send one of our men to do it... if you want.” Absolutely fucking not. You may be bad at surviving, but stupid is not in your nature.

“I’ll work it out.” It's the first time you keep eye contact with him since he arrived. While he notices the sudden determination, you notice the prominent mole on his nose. He’s handsome in a catalog type of way. they must have to be, to make the jobs easier. His tan skin glows, even in the gloomy shadow that the grey skies cast into the room.

“There will be a car parked outside your residence to pick you up.” Being in a car with these people doesn’t seem like such a good idea, either. The next words are painful to say.

“It’s ok, I’ll walk.” He quirks a brow and looks sideways at the droplets sliding down the window.

“It’s going to be raining heavy tonight, though.” His deep voice fills you with dread. Especially because there is an underlying tone of sympathy in it. On cue, lightning roars from somewhere above the popcorn ceiling. Hopefully, it’s enough to distract him from the fidgeting.

He gets up to leave but not before looking down at your slumped form, trying to ignore how tired and pitiful you look. Deliver and leave. That’s the job as a messenger. All of the five times he has come here have made him wonder who you are. What put you in the sights of a man like his employer. You are young, but there is so much sadness already. Ironically, he knows how you must feel. Against his better judgment, he fixes his collar and is gone as quickly as he came. Don’t ask, don’t get involved with the debtors. It’s easier that way. All you can do is place your head on the table and zone out for a little. It’s the go-to self-care these days. Just to pretend that you don’t exist in this form in time, that you can blend in with the background and disappear. Not for the first time, you curse your luck, family ties. What have I been roped into?

When the sun sets, your legs are already carrying you down the street before Lina can change her mind. Thankfully, it isn’t pouring down yet. Closing the diner is normally your job and it is a dreaded task. Anything can happen in that timespan and it keeps the adrenaline constantly flowing. A girl alone in a diner with a cash register is a golden opportunity. It’s hard to feel like beyond the windows there aren’t eyes, waiting in dark street corners. After a couple of blocks, the old orange apartment building comes into view. At one time it must have been nicer and that's hard to picture. Mr. Shihan is playing cards with another older man on the sidewalk when you come up to the gate. Their concentration is fully on the game and he doesn’t give his normal greeting. He’s a sweet man with a terrible habit. The courtyard is empty. There are barks and kitchen sinks running, loud televisions that have no consideration. Unfortunately, there are no stairs and after long days, it’s hard not to just want to sit down on the dirty, concrete floor and fall asleep. Before you reach the 5th floor, you wait at the entrance to the hall on the 4th. It’s taken time for you to stop caring what others think of your situation, the disapproving comments, and glances from the teachers at your brother's school and almost anywhere you go. Too young, give him up to the state. Can’t take care of him, look how skinny he is, look how tired. People who look from the outside and have the luxury to judge. You are old enough to take care of him and he belongs with you. You’re the only family you two have left.

It’s only when you need help that it kills you to see Mrs. Litska. She’s an old woman who was able to babysit your brother while you are at work. With one knock, the door opens and you are met with a frown on her crinkled face. You don’t have time to say much, you just give her the envelope of this month’s pay and step inside. Your brother is asleep on the brightly foiled couch in the dim living room that smells of baked bread. The sound of Vivaldi comes through the ancient radio on the side table. His little fingers hold tightly onto the Spider-Man plushie picked out at the thrift store a while ago. It’s seen better days, but they are insuperable. Placing the stuffed item to the side, one arm loops around his shoulders to him up to place his head on your shoulder. The kid could sleep through anything.

The both of you head upstairs into your own living quarters. The lights don’t turn on when the flip is switched and you sigh as you try your best to remain close to the wall.it proves to be hard with your body ready to give out, but you ultimately make it to the room and place your brother into the squeaky bed. The candles are pulled from the drawer and each one settles into every corner of the space nicely.

Finally, you take off your partially wet clothes and put them into a pile by the tub. At least the water is warm as your body slowly leans down into it. Suddenly, the room is quiet and it’s hard to let yourself float away. It’s eerie and not comforting at all. It never is. There is no next destination besides a dreaded one, no way to work yourself towards, hanging on through the blissfully hard distractions that take up your life. They allow you to not stop, to not think about where you could be. Staying busy saves you from reaching into yourself too much.

Minutes tick by, a full half-hour before your skin is soggy and the water is cold. Still, it's better to be here than think that in another hour you could be trafficked and the little boy in the other room sleeping peacefully would have no one left. Mother dead, father gone, sister missing. It brings a chill to the room and it’s suffocating. Once you’re dressed casually, you check in on your brother who is still tucked in, his breathing mellowed out. Here’s to hoping he stays asleep and doesn’t wander through the place at three in the morning to an empty apartment. You kiss his forehead and bring his plushies within reach. They crowd the space around him, cocooning him in.

With one last safety check and blowing out the candles, you lock the door from the outside and move along the hallway down to the stairs.

Your neighborhood is wet and dark at this hour. Thankfully, you are prepared with a switchblade and pepper spray bought last week. It’s three blocks to the main streets where more people walk with umbrellas. Men in suits getting home and families hurrying to their cars. The shop lights flash, shop windows showcasing fried chicken and ice cream. Your stomach automatically grumbles.

Your umbrella holds up for the most part until the lights start to separate and the streets once again turn dim and dirty. The sudden gusts of wind fold it in and it snaps. Soda cans and bags of junk food litter the edges of cement. Shops on this side are all closed, bars and steel curtains drawn. Every little sound has the back of your neck standing up. A tabby cat pops up from under a beat-up truck and it has your heart momentarily stop. Hopefully, it’s around the corner. Your hands shakily open the worn piece of paper to try and locate the street. Luckily, it’s one street down. Once you turn the corner, you head right into a narrow alley. The pepper spray is held onto tightly with clammy hands.

The situation is starting to look sketchier as you go on. Once you reach the dead end, something to the left catches your peripheral vision. Off to the side is another narrow path, much shorter than the one you just went through. It leads directly to a steel door with a neon sign right above. The letters that read Welcome bathe the entrance in blue and red. When you come closer, you notice a little plant to the side. As if it can hide the strangeness of it all when all it does is highlight. Still, the harshness of the surroundings doesn't reach this corner. For a while, you stand there as the rain continues to patter. The sign buzzes and flickers. Your clothes get more soaked but you refuse to move forward. I’m a bad bitch, I’m a bad bitch. I got this. There is vibration coming from the floor beneath your feet. The door opens and a big muscular man gestures for you to come in. This is how it starts. A cliche buff bouncer opening the rope to the gates of hell. He stares and steps aside, gesturing again. Maybe you could have made a run for it before he appeared. Not now. It would be useless. They will come looking. These people always collect. You’ve seen it before. Ultimately, the decision has been made by someone else. There's more to lose if you don't and with a tug of your bag, you trudge forward.

What you had been imagining this past week was apparently absurd compared to the vision that lay in front of you now. There was no blood, no people begging for you to help them escape. No blindfold, just plenty of men and women holding down handles at the slot machines that showed them all the wrong symbols. You walked through the desperation into another area of green felt tables and cards being dealt. The air is stuffy and it smells of smoke and alcohol. Apparently, no one else is bothered. Ahead of you, a tall man is pressing on something in his ear with a meaty hand. Darting your eyes around, you take in more. Before confusion settles in on where to go you find the answer. From the second floor, Taehyung holds onto the railing, looking around. Your eyes meet and it’s strangely intimate. Too intimate. It must not be hard to be found when your clothes are wetting the floor beneath you.

He walks towards you with a small smile. His cobalt blue suit stands out and there’s a dangly earring hanging from one ear. His appearance is much flashier than it was the last time you saw him. With one look behind you, he leads you both up the stairs. On the way, you internally chide yourself for wearing what you are now. The wet clothes make you feel like a little sewer rat. You feel like ratatouille and the confidence that brought you here is dwindling. Instead of a shoddy warehouse that was expected, you are venturing deeper into a maze of halls with red carpeting and gold-rimmed mirrors. Eyes remain forward, but your mind tries to remember every sharp turn, every step that takes you further away from an exit. It is not hard to conjure up terrible, gruesome images and they flash a mile a second. There is only silence and you do not expect anything else. Finally, Taehyung comes to a halt and you almost bump into his back. The door is red and for some reason, it hits you know what big of a mistake you have made. You feel like you’ve been personally delivered to hell’s gates. No one knows where you went tonight. They could get rid of your body and no one would look. It would be easy. Just a poor, young person who could have been tossed or thrown into the river. Another cold case, another victim. He knocks on the door in a pattern of sound and pauses. Must be a code of some sort. Loud noises and laughter get closer until the door opens abruptly and an older gentleman with peppered gray hair greets the man next to you.

“Tae, my boy. Yoongi was about to cheat again.” Tae? Yoongi? This stranger’s excitement has you even more on edge. Your palms are now sore from clenching and cutting at them with overgrown nails. Taehyung moves forward and he smiles as an arm is put around his shoulder. There’s conversation but you don’t hear any of it. Somehow you get yourself inside the room and the door shuts right after. There’s even more smoke and laughter and a champagne bottle being popped somewhere. It all whizzes by. On the outside, your face must seem neutral but the inside is ringing with alarms and warnings. It feels like there’s a hole in the pit of your stomach. Somewhere along the way, the older gentleman named Lee went off to talk to some people on a chase couch against the wall.

There is a long gambling table at the end of this well-sized room and it seems to be the destination. When you get closer, there are about eight people around it. Mostly men with frowns. It must be the small number of chips in front of them. That doesn’t matter a second later though. Not when you catch the sight of the man sitting at the head of it. There’s a force that seems to be pulling everything in space to him, everybody. Bluish Silver hair catches the lighting of the small chandelier above as he gets up with a flute in between pale hands. His fingers grab a couple of chips from his pile which is no doubt the biggest of them all. They twirl in his ring-clad fingers. The veins line them and it’s hard to not stare. The robe that hangs off his lean figure looks decadent and expensive, so much so that it would stop the question of why he is wearing it entirely. There’s so much to take in. His face is gorgeous. His gummy smile numbs the feeling of panic that set in before. He gets closer, or perhaps you do. The two of you walk up to him. Realization dawns in then. Fuck My life.

“Mr.Min, this is miss Y/N.”

[starksvixen]

Don’t Belong Here (kenobidaughter!reader)

Masterlist

Summary: After being saved by a group of Mandalorians similar to Din, you begin to realize that your a puzzle piece that doesn’t seem to fit...

Warnings: Incredible amount of angst, lil’ bit of fluff, tension left unresolved

The soft babbling from the floating bassinet that follows you is like water against the fire that burns at your nerves. Looking down at the Child, you send a soft smile towards his wide eyes. How much does he understand of what is happening around him, you wonder. If he is fifty years old, he must realize the tension between you and his adoptive father. Of the situation at hand. 

You told Din that this whole deal didn’t seem right. Meeting a seedy character at the docks felt like a trap. But in typical Mandalorian fashion, he bulls ahead, not caring for your opinion.

“You’re a Jedi, you’re always suspicious,” he had said. 

Those words had unexpectedly wounded you deep, forcing you into silence. Instead of the pain, you focus on the subtle tug of your saber trying to break it’s bonds to your leg. The forceful tug of the holster digging into skin as you jump onto the ship, keeping your cloak close to your body. 

The seamen kept eyeing you, one even trying to pull your cloak away from your body which earned them a harsh glare. Apparently that was their breaking point. 

In a matter of seconds, you had been shoved into the pool of water you were standing beside. A glint of beskar is the last thing you see before water swallows you whole. 

Your lungs expand to their maximum as you hold what air you have left deep within them. Pulling out your lightsaber, you quickly ignited it, coming face to face to a beast with no face. With what strength you had left over, you swing, slashing it’s face almost in two. But the force you used in the swing caused what little breath you had left to escape into the depths. On instinct, you breathe in, water crashing into your lungs.

Suddenly two hands grab onto your shoulders and lift you out of the water. As you are tossed to the ground, your lightsaber flies from your hand. But the hit of landing on the ground helps you to cough out the burning liquid, your entire body vibrating from adrenaline. 

All you can focus on is the heaving of your chest, the fresh release of oxygen replacing water, and a rough hand on your back trying to bring you back to reality. 

Swiftly, you are pulled into the arms of the Mandalorian as he slowly rubs your back in secret to calm your heaves. Looking up, you see three other Mandalorians stand before you, one helmet standing out from all of them. You remembered it in photos your father had showed you during his time in the Clone Wars.

With the smooth caress of the Force flowing through your fingertips, you call the saber into your hands, extinguishing it.

“Interesting, your lightsaber didn’t short out,” the familiar helmet speaks. 

“My father showed me how to make it so, Bo - Katan,” you say sharply.

The armored warrior stiffens before pulling off her helmet, revealing the person who used to be the main character to your bedtime stories. Shakily you stand, putting the saber in it’s rightful place. 

“You must be a Obi - Wan’s daughter. Makes sense you would be raised as a Jedi.” 

“I’m no Jedi...” 

“Then why do you wield their saber?”  

“How about you keep your nose out of business that isn’t yours?” 

“Enough,” Din steps in between both of you. “Whatever family quarr-”

“We aren’t family,” you both say in unison. 

“Her father killed my sister,” Bo - Katan reminds. 

“And you’re the reason why Mom left her Mandalorian claim behind,” you growl. 

Din silently looks between the two of you, unsure of what to say at this point. He eventually turns to Bo - Katan, questioning why she had willingly taken her helmet off and the Creed. 

You force yourself to take a few steps away, picking up the Child and smirking down at him.

“Had enough excitement for one day?”

He yawns and nods softly. It forces a chuckle out of your chest as you wrap him up in what was left of your cloak that lay on the ground below you. Suddenly, you feel an arm wrap around your waist and blast off the boat, leaving what had happened behind. 

“What did they say to you back there, Din?” you whisper softly, still holding the Child close. 

You follow close to him as you walk through the docks at a late hour. His shoulders tense even more then usual, the soft cracking of leather bending to his tightened fists. 

“They said I’m a part of a cult, a Child of the Watch.”

You nod softly. 

“So what? What if you have different thoughts then them? You are a Mandalorian, you will obey your Creed. Just like I’m a Gray Jedi and I listen to my own code that is different then that of the Jedi Council.”

“It’s not like that...” he sighs. “You couldn’t understand.” 

Another deep wound etches its way into your heart, following the same pattern as the one before. With a sharp glare at the tin head, you hand him the Child. 

“What are you-”

“I’m leaving, that’s what I’m doing, Din.” 

“Not so fast...” another voice enters. 

“Dank farrik...” you mumble, slowly reaching down to grab your lightsaber. 

Someone steps up right beside you, red tentacles decorating his chin as he glares at you and Mando. 

“You killed me brother,”

“Let us pass,” Din warns. 

Your fingers wrap around your lightsaber tightly, your thumb inching it’s way towards the activation button. Deep down, you knew this would end up with some dead bodies. And you didn’t seem to care. 

“I don’t think you understand...you killed my brother. Now, I’ll kill your pet.”

When the Kid whimpers from behind you, you snap. Activating your lightsaber, you slice the tentacled freak in front of you in half without hesitation. With each incoming shot from his lackies, you block them with the twirl of your saber. 

The sound of thrusters ends from behind you and a rain of gunfire soon follows. Once it all dies down, the only tentacled freak left standing is the ringleader. 

“He didn’t kill your brother, I did,” Bo - Katan says from behind you before shooting him down. 

With a sharp sigh, you return your saber to it’s holster, turning to look at the gaggle of Mandalorians before you. 

“You fight like he did,” Bo - Katan says, the first nice thing she has said to you yet. 

You nod in response, gently taking the Child Din had extended towards you. 

“At least let us buy you a drink?” 

You let them lead you towards a bar, Child in hand, as they talk about God knows what. All you can focus on is how stuck out you seem. The group of warriors ahead of you seemed, for all intents and purposes, normal. You were the person with a lightsaber strapped to their thigh. The one with only clothes guarding their body, not armor. Once you had entered the crowded building, it all became so simple. 

You don’t belong here.

From your seat beside Din, you handed the Kid off to him and collected empty glasses. Walking to the bar, you get them refilled and send them back towards the group after tipping one of the waitresses. After that, you walk towards the front doors, not forgetting to look back at your Beskar clad lover before leaving completely. 

You wander around the streets alone, making sure to keep quiet so nobody targets you. The docks were easy to find after your last adventure, and paying for transport even easier. Many of them were looking for anything to spare for their families. 

As you count out what little credits you had on hand, the soft clank of armor echoes behind you. With a sigh, you hand over the credits to the transport captain, saying a soft thank you in his dialect, before turning around. And there he was, Din without his Kid, his hand on one hip as he stood perfectly still. 

“Don’t make this harder then it needs to be, Mando,” you say.

“You know that’s not my name,” 

“And if I say it, I won’t be able to go,”

“Then don’t,” 

“What was it that you said back there? Oh, that’s right, that I don’t understand. Well here you go Mando, now you don’t understand,” 

“Then make me,” 

“This is not a one way street! You don’t get to do that...”

A horn atop the ship you are taking blows, alerting its passengers to it’s five minute take off warning. With a harsh sigh, you turn around to grab your small bag that you had strapped across you.

The strap proves as a disadvantage, making it easier for Mando to grab onto you and pull you closer to him. Your walls come tumbling down and you know if you don’t pull away now you won’t be able too at all. 

“I don’t belong here...” you mumble, trying to pull away from his grasp. “You have your clan here, I don’t belong.”

“You’re wrong,” Mando says so quiet his transcoder couldn’t translate. Instead you’re met with the muffled version. 

“Din...” you say softly. 

“You belong with me,” 

His words force your gaze upwards, surprise fully etched on your face. Before you can respond, he does:

“Go protect the Kid, I have to complete this mission and then we’re getting out of here,” 

His hands leave your biceps as he tells you the Kid’s location. Then he disappears into crowd, leaving you confused but hopeful. 

Tag ListL (leave a comment on the Masterlist to be added) 

toribentleyva  mikariell95 edgy-wedgy-poo  tillytheslytherin  irishfaulk97 supergingerlocks  aeryn--sun  nedxwynert  forbidden-darkness

[avintagekiss24]

Hot for teacher [4] > Bucky Barnes

PAIRING; Dark!Professor!Bucky Barnes x black!reader, Dark!Peter Parker x black!reader

WORD COUNT; 7,973

WARNINGS; Age difference, teacher/student dynamics, spanking, smut, sex, loss of virginity, vaginal fingering, mention of blood, slight praise kink, slight crying kink?, overstimulation

SUMMARY; A friend comes to your defense and Bucky finally gives in.

NOTE; Gif credit goes to @/fluturojdallandyshia! I wanna say/reiterate that Cher, reader, and Peter are in their senior/last year of school AND they are all 18 years old. I had a “late” birthday (May), so I turned 18 three weeks before I graduated. My brother had an early birthday (September), so he turned 18 like two weeks into his senior year. Peter, Cher, and reader all have early (August/September) birthdays. Any crap about aging Peter up will be deleted and blocked. You’ve been warned multiple times - if you continue to read after this point, it’s on you.

I also gave reader a last name. Sue me. Hope this lives up to the hype... I’m probably gonna hide for the rest of the night and not look at tumblr for the rest of the night... posting anxiety sucks.

Any mistakes are mine, I was rushing towards the end, lol.

☞ PART FIVE | ☞ SERIES MASTERLIST

You toss your freshly braided hair over your shoulder as you move through the halls towards Bucky’s classroom. You’re actually pretty excited. Sure, you were fuming for most of the day yesterday but after a joint and an appointment with your vibrating boyfriend, your mind cleared. Your mother's words came floating back to you, and you knew what you had to do. Kill ‘em with kindness. After all, healthy competition goes both ways. 

You turn into his room, finding it empty, but the light on. No bother, you just move up the rows and plop down in your seat, pulling out your laptop. You don’t even look up when Cher walks in - late, of course - and sign loudly when she acknowledges you.

“Didn’t realize sucking up started this early.”

“And yet here you are,” you smile quickly, “Late, but here, nevertheless.”

She rolls her eyes, mumbling something about you being a bitch before she sits in her seat. Bucky arrives some minutes later, a cup of coffee in his hand, his glasses low on his nose, “Morning ladies. My apologies, I'm dragging ass today, had to get some coffee.”

You don’t answer. You don’t even look up from your screen as you tap away, finishing up your English paper. You hear the two of them making conversation, flicking your eyes up as Cher moves to the desk, leaning over it to no doubt show off the boob job her father paid for over the summer. Her irritating laughter rings out, but you pay it absolutely no mind until you feel a set of eyes on you within minutes. 

“You’re awfully quiet this morning.” Bucky says, tilting his head as you finally glance up at him from over your screen.

“Good morning Bucky.”

You watch as his jaw twitches slightly and his eyes squint at the sound of his first name. You shift in your seat, dropping your eyes back to your google doc, having to literally stop yourself from grinning. You’ve got him already.

“Bucky?” He questions, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

You click your teeth and scrunch your face as you pretend to be confused, “You did say at the beginning of the year to call you Bucky, yes? Has something changed?”

He scoffs lightly, a confused smirk playing on his lips as he rubs his chin, “I did, yes.” He agrees, shaking his head, “I thought you said you preferred Mr. Barnes.”

You shrug, “Well, I guess I don’t anymore.” You cut your eyes to Cher, who squints back at you, her lip slightly snarled, “If you want to be called Bucky, then I’ll call you Bucky.” You lift your eyes back to his, crossing your legs, “Just like everyone else.”

You drop your eyes back to your Macbook and fill the silence by tapping away at your keyboard again. You feel his eyes on you for a few seconds more before Cher draws his attention with some bullshit question. You stay true to course, never lifting your eyes back to him as he throws random looks at you, trying to get your attention as the class starts to fill up. 

You close your laptop but never really give him your full attention as you usually do as he begins his lecture. You glance out the window, or keep your eyes cast down on your pristine white shoes You gaze at your nails, making a mental note to schedule an appointment. You keep your legs crossed. You don’t engage, you don’t answer any questions, you don’t offer any insight. You just sit there -  like everyone else. 

His eyes are on you the entire hour. He poses questions, but ignores the raised hands for a few moments, waiting for yours to pop up into the air. When it doesn’t, his eyes linger on you for a few beats before he finally calls on someone. His questions get short, his thoughts sort of jumbled as the time dwindles. You smile. This is going to be easier than you thought. 

The bell rings and you fall in line with everyone else, heading towards the door. A hand catches your bicep and you sigh, but you keep your eyes straight ahead. Bucky nods and smiles at a few students before he turns his attention to you.

“You stopping by after class?” He asks gently, “I got something in my pants you might like.”

You smile back at him, cocking your head, “No, I can’t make it today.”

His lips part as his eyes bounce back and forth between yours, “Why not?”

“I have a riding lesson with Mr. Udaku.”

He laughs in disbelief as he runs his hand through his hair, “A riding lesson?” He repeats, “That early in the afternoon?”

“Yes.”

He clears his throat as irritation starts to bubble in his chest, “You gave me your schedule. Wednesday through Friday, six to eight, twice a day Saturday and Sunday.”

You shrug, “Not anymore.”

You take a step from him, but he stops you, grabbing your arm again. You turn towards him, your lips set in a hard line. He looks back at you, crossing his arms over his chest as you refuse to give in.

“Come on,” he says after the last student clears the room, “What is going on?”

“Nothing.” You shrug again as you answer sweetly, “What do you mean?”

“You’ve barely spoken to me today. This isn’t about yesterday, is it?” He probes, wrapping his arms around your waist, “I was just joking. You know you’re my favorite girl.”

You smile. It’s too late for that. You step out of his arms and head for the door as his eyes follow you, “You were absolutely right, Bucky,” you stress, “A little competition is healthy. For everyone.” 

You turn and walk out before he can respond.

----------

You brush down Apollo, your most prized possession as he neighs gently. You shush him, patting him softly on his side before you kiss him on his snout. He shakes his head and you laugh, reaffirming his good boy status just as Cher walks into the stalls. You throw your eyes at her as she stops in her tracks before rebounding quickly and moving to her horse’s stall.

“And just what are you doing here?” She asks.

“Isn’t it obvious? I have a lesson.”

You hear her scoff, “I’m not stupid.”

“You sure about that?” You giggle, rolling your eyes, “I moved my lessons to mirror yours, just so I can crush you everyday of the week. Show you who’s boss.” 

She tuts, batting her big eyes, “You just can’t stand it that Barnes doesn’t want you anymore.”

“Please,” you scoff, “Just the fact that he’s entertaining you, makes me reconsider his intelligence.”

You smile sweetly as you grab Apollo’s reins and start to walk him out of the barn. You lean into her and push some of her blonde hair off of her shoulder, “You fuck with me, I fuck with you. You should have stayed in your place, little girl.”

She slaps your hand away and you laugh before moving out into the field. You place your foot into the stir up and hoist yourself up onto Apollo, adjusting yourself on the saddle. You start a slow trot around the fenced in area, warming him up before you start working the obstacle course. 

Your lesson goes exactly how you thought it would, compliment after compliment from Mr. Udaku, (or T’Challa, as many of his students call him) about your form, your technique, your skill - while Cher struggled to keep up. Pride swells in your chest as you gaze upon her flustered, red face as she rips off her helmet and runs her fingers through her hair.

“Cher, you still need to work on not bouncing as much when you canter, you're still gripping too hard with your legs. Here,” T’Challa says,  “Watch Ms. Prescott.” 

He waves you forward and you start a canter with Apollo, your body moving naturally with his, “See how relaxed she is? You gotta let your legs stay soft. You have to remember to stay aligned with Cotton’s body or you’ll never be a smooth rider. Thank you Ms. Prescott.”

“Not a problem,” you coo sweetly, “I’m always here to help. You have my number Cher, you can text me anytime if you need any pointers.”

She narrows her eyes at you as she exhales hard, “Thank you.” She hisses as sarcasm drips from her words. 

“I mean, now that I’ve switched my schedule, we’ll get to ride together more. I don’t mind showing you the ropes. I know you’ve only started riding a few years ago.” You smile widely, continuing to step on her throat.

“I think that’s a good idea actually,” T’Challa agrees, “There’s no shame in asking for help sometimes Cher. Ms. Prescott’s knowledge and skill set could really help elevate your riding. You know she and Apollo are three time Champions.”

“Going for four,” you smile proudly, “Cher was there, cheering me on for all three of my wins. What did you place last year?” You ask, knowing good and damn well she was disqualified from your skill class.

“Fuck you,” she mouths.

Your smile practically breaks your face in two. Kill ‘em with kindness. You pull Apollo away from T’Challa and Cher, starting another slow trot around the fence. You glance over your shoulder and spot Bucky walking through the grass. You squint slightly, pulling on the reins to slow Apollo to a stop. You’ve never seen him out here before. He must be checking up on you, seeing if you really had a lesson this afternoon. You smile again. Men.

You click your tongue quickly and pat Apollo on his hip, turning him back towards the two teachers. You ride just close enough to hear their conversation but not close enough to where they’d know you’re snooping. You jump Apollo over the hogsback in the center of the arena as their conversation wafts towards you.

“I didn’t know she rode this early in the day, especially on Tuesdays.” You hear Bucky say.

“She usually doesn’t, but she texted me last night wanting to change her schedule to free up her weekends. She wouldn’t tell me why. It’s not like she really needs to practice this hard.”

You glance over at the two of them at the fence and meet Bucky’s gaze. You blink back at him, never one to back down from a staring contest, and quirk your eyebrows up your forehead. He turns his attention back toT’Challa, before he sends his gaze towards Cher. You turn Apollo again, trotting him over to another jump. 

You cut your eyes over your shoulder, watching Bucky shrug, “She’s been my TA for a few weeks. I just thought it was kinda sudden that she couldn’t stop by after class today.”

T’Challa slaps him on the shoulder, “I’m sorry man. Didn’t mean to steal your help away.”

“No, no,” you hear Bucky say before he links his eyes with yours again, “We’re just going to have to share her it seems.” He shakes T’Challa’s hand, “I’ll catch you later, huh?”

You watch as he moves back across the grass, running his hand through his hair as he bows his head. You let Apollo cool down for a few more minutes before you ride him back into the stalls. You brush him down again, before cleaning out his stall and laying down some fresh hay for him. You give him his dinner, feed him a few carrots as a treat for a job well done and rub noses before kissing him again. 

“You’re the only man I can depend on. See you tomorrow baby.”

You remove your gloves as you move out from the back of the barn, jumping slightly and clutching your chest when you come face to face with one Bucky Barnes, “Bucky -”

“Stop calling me that.” He answers sternly, his hands in his pockets, “You switched your riding schedule? Really?”

You shrug definitely, “So I wanted more lessons during the week, shoot me.”

“T’Challa said you don’t even need them. You’re just fucking with me.”

You giggle, “And Cher,” you add, “This isn’t all about you.”

“Can we just knock it off please? I’m sorry, okay? I told you, I was just joking yesterday.” He says with a huff, running his hands through his hair again.

You cross your arms over your chest, a smirk on your face and a sing-song tune in your voice, “But I’m just getting started, Bucky.”

“This isn’t funny.”

“Oh,” you laugh, “It’s a little funny. Look at you all worked up.” You mock, bopping his nose with your index finger, “You’re cute when you’re mad.”

“Hey. Prescott.”

You snap your head back towards the new voice, taking a quick step away from Bucky. You smile as the young Peter Parker leans up against the fence, nodding his head at you, “Peter Parker. How are you?”

“You got a minute?”

Your smile widens, “Of course.”

Bucky grabs your arm again before you step away from him, “I’m not finished talking to you.”

You pull away from him, “Well, I’m finished talking to you.” You state, stepping away from him, “I’ve been involved in competition my whole life, Bucky. I don’t cave and I certainly don’t lose. You wanted a competition, now you got one.” 

You turn on your heel and bounce towards the waiting Peter. He stands up straight, smiling at you again but keeps his eyes on Bucky as he walks off. Once you’re close enough, he nods towards him, “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

You wave it off, “No interruption. I don’t see you out here much.”

“Nah, I came by to see you. I think we can help each other out.”

“God,” you roll your eyes playfully, “You read my mind. I smoked my last joint last night.”

“Not with that,” he laughs, “Well, I can help you with that too, but I have something else in mind.”

You raise your eyebrows, intrigued with him, “Oh?”

“Word’s getting around that you and Cher are battling over Barnes.” You shoot your eyes towards him, “You know she’s got a big mouth.”

“Fuck,” you mutter.

“Don’t worry. Everybody here has something on them, nobody is gonna snitch for fear of it coming back on them ten times over.” He says slowly, scrunching his face slightly as he faces the sun, “That’s what I thought I could help you with.”

You cross your arms as you glance around the deserted area, “How’s that?”

“You know Cher and I fucked around for a while late last semester, right before summer. Turns out, the fucking bitch burned me.”

“Ugh,” you grimace, “You’re kidding?”

“No. My parents intercepted the test results. That’s why my ass has been on lock down. Plus, I had to be on a fucking regimen of antibiotics to get rid of the shit. Killed my fucking game for the summer, man.”

You giggle a little, bumping your shoulder with his, “Sorry to hear it, but what exactly does that have to do with me, Parker?”

“It would kill her if we hooked up,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows, “Barnes too. He hates me.”

You inhale deeply as your lips curl into another devilish smile, “I didn’t know you had Barnes.”

“I have him in the afternoon. He busts my balls over every little fucking thing.” He rolls his eyes, “Cher is absolutely obsessed with you, it would drive her nuts. It’s the best revenge that I can get and I know you love making her feel second best.”

“It gives me great joy, actually.” You watch as Peter laughs, “Alright Parker, you got yourself a deal, but we need to draw some lines.”

“Okay,” he nods, shoving his hands in his pockets, “Lay ‘em out.”

“I don’t,” you start, clearing your throat, “I haven’t fucked-fucked yet and I'd like to keep it that way.”

“Saving it for Barnes?” He teases.

“Fuck you,” you giggle, “Make outs, blow jobs, heavy petting… whatever, I’m down with all of that, just no fucking. Deal?”

He holds out his hand and you take it, shaking it to make it official, “A woman confident in her sexuality. I love it.” He pecks you on the cheek before he starts to walk off, “It’ll be a pleasure doing business with you.” He calls.

“Same to you, Parker.” You smile, “Same to you.”

----------

You and Peter keep your newfound “romance” on the low for the next few days, as not to arouse any sudden suspicions. You continue to show up to Bucky’s class a half hour early (always making it in before Cher) and completely ignore him. You catch up on homework, you read, you paint your nails. Your nonchalant attitude towards him has continued to get under his skin, as his frustration and irritation has bled over into his lectures. Everyone picks up on his attitude, even Cher, now also receiving a cold shoulder from him in the mornings and afternoons. 

You and Peter decide to start your attack bright and early Monday morning. You meet up in the parking lot, hanging out next to his car, laughing and joking with a few of his baseball teammates. You walk in around seven fifty, twenty minutes after Bucky has been expecting you, hand in hand. Peter throws his arm over your shoulders, pulling you into his body as the two of you make your way through the halls. 

You pass by the open door of Bucky’s room and Peter stops purposefully in front of it as he calls for one of his friends down the hall. You glance into the room, but quickly cut your eyes away as you find Bucky and Cher gaping out at the two of you - Cher practically flipping over her desk she’s leaning so far forward. You and Peter push forward out of sight and you lean against the lockers, pulling him into you.

You kiss him hard, making him moan in surprise at first but he quickly follows suit. You smack your lips on his a few times before he pulls away, resting his forehead to yours as he drags his finger down your now swollen lips. The two of you whisper back and forth, smiling and giggling all the while before he leans into you again, capturing your lips. 

A throat clears loudly from beside the two of you, but you both ignore it, continuing to giggle and kiss as if you don’t hear a thing.

“Guys,” you hear Bucky sigh, “Break it up.”

“Oh, Mr. Barnes,” Peter laughs, wrapping his fingers around your neck softly - possessively, “Shit, man. Sorry about that. Didn’t even hear you, did you babe?”

You shake your head, “Nope. Sorry Bucky.” You peck Peter on his lips again before reaching up to wipe away the excess lip gloss you left behind, “You’ll walk me to my next class, yes?”

He winks at you before dipping back into you to kiss you once, twice, three more times, causing Bucky to speak up again.

“Guys, I mean it. You aren’t on a beach somewhere and you need to watch your mouth, Parker.” He sighs loudly, “Ms. Prescott, your seat please.”

You roll your eyes and push away from the lockers, you and Peter linking hands and extending your arms as you both walk in different directions.

“I’ll be right here after class babe.” He says, winking again.

“Ms. Prescott.” Bucky barks before pushing a hot breath out of his nose.

When your hands actually come undone, you wiggle your fingers at him before tossing your braids over your shoulder and push past the verklempt Bucky. You step past Cher, and she grabs your wrist, pulling you down into her.

“So you want my sloppy seconds all of a sudden?”

“Sloppy seconds?” You repeat, laughing lightly as you tilt your head, “Sweetie, it’s the restaurant metaphor all over again. Peter moved on from a bug infested pizza parlor to a clean five star restaurant. You’re still the sloppy one here.” You wink. 

You revel in Bucky’s anger for the entire hour. He continuously cuts his eyes towards you, now dark and brooding, but you smirk back and drop your eyes to your book, not giving him the satisfaction. Your legs stay crossed and your panties stay dry - much to his chagrin. Peter is right there by the door as soon as the bell rings. The two of you intertwine your fingers and swing them back and forth as you walk down the hall, two pairs of eyes on you all the while. 

“Mr. Barnes, I-”

“Not now, Cher.” Bucky bites back, running his hand through his hair again quickly before he damn near shoves her out of the classroom, slamming the door.

----------

You pull your next stunt in the library a few days later. It’s a study period, so there’s a few more teachers and students loitering around than usual - Bucky just happens to be one of the loiterers. Peter pulls you through the bookshelves by the tips of your fingers, finding the perfect position for the two of you to be aligned within Bucky’s eyesight. 

He’s perched at a table, his glasses low on his nose as he scribbles into his notebook before returning his gaze to the thick book just off to this left. Peter pushes you up against one of the bookshelves, jarring a few of the books loose from their spots and sending them crashing to the floor. You laugh, and Peter covers your mouth with his hand as he leans in and kisses your neck. His other hand snakes up between your thighs and pushes into your skirt, his fingertips brushing along your sex.

You push your chest into his and sink your teeth into your bottom lip as your hooded eyes flick towards Bucky. His jaw is tensed as he stares back at you. His lips are set in a hard, thin line, his face flushed red as his chest rises and falls harder than before. He falls back into his chair and crosses his arms over his chest, almost daring you to keep going - to keep pushing him. 

You dig one of your hands into Peter’s hair, pulling softly and hissing when his teeth sink into the fleshy crook of your neck. You push your hips into his fingers as he teases your clit with light, soft strokes. He licks a slow path up your neck and chin before he kisses you deeply and pulls you suddenly out of Bucky’s sight. 

“This is fun,” he laughs against your mouth, kissing you again as he squeezes your hip.

You giggle in return, tilting your head up towards the ceiling, silently asking him to continue. He obliges, and starts sucking on your skin again, pushing his hand back between your thighs. He slips his fingers underneath your panties and moans when the slickness of your sex coats his fingers. You let out a small moan as your hips move with his fingers. You grab his free hand and push it to your left breast, helping him to grab a handful of you. 

You gasp suddenly when Peter’s fingers push inside of you. You laugh again but spread your legs instinctively, raising one slightly to rub his calf. You feel him laugh against you as his fingers pump softly, his palm rubbing against your clit. 

“Fuck, Peter,” you say softly, pushing your body into his again as he finger fucks you up against the wall of books. 

You roll your head and jump when those familiar blue eyes are on you again, this time just on the other side of the bookshelf in front of you. Your mouth falls open as you stare back at him over the tops of the books. He slides a book off of the shelf, removing his eyes from yours to flip through the pages before he slides his angry eyes back to yours. He runs his eyes along Peter’s body, then halts at his hand as it pumps into you. 

You snarl your lip as a pang of excitement flashes through you. You’ve never been watched like this before - it’s kinda fun. You keep your eyes on Bucky’s as Peter’s hand quickens inside of you, his palm beating against your clit. You bite down into your bottom lip as you rest your chin on his shoulder, your head falling forward as your orgasm starts to build. 

“Shit,” you whine, your breath growing ragged as your hips pulse with the pace of his fingers. 

You lift your leg a little higher as the lust in your stomach starts to flood through your veins. You wrap your arms around his neck and ball his t-shirt into your hands, struggling to keep your eyes open as Bucky peers on. You watch as he runs his tongue over his teeth, blinking at you slowly, anger brimming just below his surface. He doesn’t shy away though, he doesn’t walk off, he doesn’t lash out, he just flips aimlessly through the random book he picked up as he watches as you come all over Peter’s fingers.

You slam your eyes shut at your orgasm rips through you. Peter moans as he slams his fingers into your wet, tight muscles. His free hand creeps back up to your face and covers your mouth, stifling the squeaks and squeals that dribble from your lips. Peter crushes you to the bookshelf with his weight, chuckling as he nips at your chin and neck. You keep your bottom lip between your teeth as you smirk at Bucky. You wanted a competition, now you got one. 

Peter pulls out his phone and lifts it into the air, hitting record as you still lean up against the bookshelf, still panting and giggly as your body floats on cloud nine. He smiles slowly into the camera, before leaning in and kissing you deeply, his tongue skimming along the roof of your mouth before it slides along yours. He situates your panties and skirt, like the gentleman he is, before he tugs at your wrist to pull you out from between the aisles. 

When he clears the bookshelves, he stops suddenly when he locks eyes with Bucky just on the other side. He nods his head towards him, before shoving his wet fingers into his mouth. He licks them clean before he pulls them out with a soft pop and  glances back into his camera, throwing a wink it’s way. The two of you waltz out of the library, smiles on both of your faces. You hear Peter’s phone as it starts to sound, ding after ding after ding as a quick flurry of text messages slide through. 

He pulls it out and snorts before he tilts it towards you, Cher’s name flashing across it as a call comes through.

“This is going tremendously.” He smiles, declining the call and sliding the sleek phone back into his pocket.

----------

You glance down at your watch as you whistle slowly; 8:06am. You’re now officially late to Bucky’s class, and officially late for the first time in over four years. You turn down his hallway, scrolling through your tumblr as you come to his closed door. You push through and feel the eyes of the entire class on you as you waltz in without a care in the world. Bucky’s lecture comes to a halt as he slides his eyes with you as you pick your way through the seats to find yours.

You sit, taking your time as you pull out your notebook and pen while everyone watches, just as surprised as Bucky that you’re late. You take a deep breath and expel it calmly as you finally glance up at him.

“Good morning.” You say cheerfully. 

He crosses his arms over his chest and licks his lips slowly, “You’re late.”

“Oh,” you sigh a little, glancing at your watch, “Sorry about that.”

“We had a deal at the beginning of the semester.” He says, his voice deep.

You cross your legs and swing your foot lightly, “Did we?”

He narrows his eyes at you as he pulls his glasses off of his face, “Should I remind you?”

“Please.” You nod, “It’s slipped my mind.”

He nods slowly, starting to pace, “You wanted me to hold you personally responsible if you were ever late.”

You squint your eyes as you tilt your chin towards the ceiling, pretending to rack your brain, “That’s right, I did. That little check mark next to my name on the attendance sheet is gonna hurt.”

“Oh no,” He chuckles as you challenge him so openly, “You wanted to be held responsible. A little check mark isn’t going to do that.”

You smirk, “So what’ll it be, Bucky?”

“Detention.”

Your face drops. Detention? Detention? For one fucking tardy?! “Detention?” you repeat, sitting up a little straighter in your seat, “That’s a little harsh, don’t you think?”

He turns back to face you, leaning back on his desk as he kicks his legs out in front of him. He shrugs, shaking his head, “You asked for it.”

“You’re joking,” you laugh, your mind starting to race, “A detention for being late one time? Have you handed out a detention to anyone else?”

He shrugs, “Nope. But you’re not everyone else, are you?”

You squint your eyes at him as he smirks back. This is the only way he could get back at you - to tarnish your perfect record. Your body flushes with heat - you honestly didn’t expect this. This… this is below the belt. You’d figured that he’s been so out of sorts that he’d just slap you on the wrist and beg to see him after class. You’d trade barbs back and forth, he’d eat your pussy and the two of you would be right back on track, like this never happened. But this?

“I’m getting you ready for real life. That’s what you wanted me to do, isn’t it?”

A chorus of oooh’s ring out from the rest of the class as you throw your braids over your shoulder angrily, “I have a riding lesson at three twenty five today.”

“I’ll talk to T’Challa if you’d like me to.”

You laugh sarcastically, “This is ridiculous. This’ll go on my record, you realize that?”

He shrugs again as he pushes away from his desk, “Maybe you should have thought about that. Now,” he smiles, turning his attention back to the rest of the class,  “Where were we?”

He completely turns the tables on you after that. He ignores you for the rest of his lecture. His mood lightens considerably. He cracks jokes, he banters with other classmates as you stew in your anger. When class is over, he holds out your detention slip between his fingers, which you snatch and crumple up in your hand as you pass by without so much as a glance in his direction. 

Asshole.

The final bell of the day rings hours later and you start the trek towards Dr. Banner’s room, the resident detention monitor. He’s surprised to see you and gives you a reassuring smile as you head to the back of the room, plopping down in one of the desks. You catch Mitchell Bryant, the fifth year senior and fuck up extraordinaire, smirking at you and roll your eyes deeply before shifting in your seat to block him from your line of vision. 

You busy yourself with your trigonometry homework, actually getting into it within a few minutes. The door opens and you flip your eyes towards it, doing a double take when you spot Bucky walking in. He smiles at Dr. Banner, leaning into his desk and muttering something before he heads back to the door. 

“Ms. Prescott?” He calls,  “Grab your stuff and come with me please.”

You cock your head as your eyes instantly narrow at him. You take a deep breath, but stand and collect your things. You walk out into the hallway, finding him waiting for you, “Yes?” you ask, your tone flat and irritated.

He doesn’t answer, he just points forward and waits for you to start walking. You roll your eyes but ultimately obey, your feet carrying you back to his classroom. He enters a few steps behind you, closing the door softly before he flips the lock. 

You spin on your heel to face him as your bag hangs off of your shoulder, “What is it, Bucky?”

“Drop your bag. Put your hands flat on the desk.”

His voice is deep and eerily calm. Your lips part and your eyes widen a little as you stand in your spot. He cocks his head when you still don’t move, “Did you not hear what I said? Hands flat on the desk. Now.”

You drop your bag from your shoulder and move to his desk, flattening your palms on the top of it. You’ve never heard him like this before - so stern. You swallow hard as your eyes dart around the chalkboard in front of you. You feel his presence behind you, hearing the material of his tie rubbing against his shirt as he loosens it, before pulling it from around his neck. 

You jump when he slaps lightly at the insides of your thighs, “Open sesame.”

You spread your legs wider as his fingertips brush along your soft skin. His hand slides up your spine slowly and pushes you forward until your chest is resting flush against his desk. Your breath becomes audible as he pushes his hips into your ass, making you gasp when you feel his hard on pressing into your flesh. 

He grabs your right wrist, bending your arm to place your hand in the small of your back before he reaches for the left. You then feel the soft silk of his tie as it wraps around your wrists, looping around them both before he ties it tightly into a nice, firm knot. Without warning, he bucks into your ass, jolting you forward as you gasp loudly again. 

“You are one smart cookie, Ms. Prescott.” He says softly, running his hands along your hips and ass, “I underestimated you.”

“Mental warfare is my specialty.”

You bite your lip as your body starts to warm from his touch. A moan escapes you as he rucks your skirt up around your hips and groans at the sight of your sheer, pink panties. You close your eyes as his fingers dance along your plump ass, cupping it in both of his large palms and jiggling it gently.

“Nervous?”

You shake your head definitely, “Of course not.”

“Never one to show weakness, huh? I like that.”

You let out a sharp scream when a hard slap is suddenly leveled to your behind. Your body tightens as you pull against the tie wrapped around your wrists. He spanks you twice again in quick succession and you slam your eyes closed as you squeal and squirm underneath him. He pushes his hand back between your legs, his fingers brushing along the sudden, new wet spot on your panties. Goddamn him.

“I’ve gotta give it to you, Prescott,” he says softly as his fingers push underneath your panties and slip through your wet folds, “You had me going. I was jealous.”

You hiss as you roll your hips into his hand, “I told you Bucky - “

He spanks you again, the sound of his flesh meeting yours bouncing off of the chalkboard, “That’s not my name.”

“Fuck!” You mewl as the sting radiates through you, but you don’t give in. Not quite yet.

“What were you saying, darling?” He coos as his fingers travel to your hips and dig underneath the thin band of your panties.

He pulls them down slowly, slipping them over your feet. You hear him inhale deeply seconds later before his fingers slip through your folds again. Your mouth drops open as he plays with your clit, drawing slow circles around it before he pushes two of his thick fingers into you. His thumb pushes between your ass cheeks and flattens against your tight hole, applying a slight pressure as he starts to pump his fingers slowly. 

“Did you have fun with the young Peter Parker?” He asks, pushing his hips flush to your behind, “Hmm? Did he make you feel good?”

You whimper as his fingers curl inside of you, his thumb pushing just inside. When you don’t answer fast enough, he spanks you again, making you squeal loudly. He pushes his thumb further and you squeeze your muscles as tight as you can as you tilt your head towards the ceiling, relishing in the electricity bouncing through you. His fingers push deeper in your pussy and you growl as you run your tongue over your teeth. 

“Yes.” You hiss, the smart ass in you still winning out, “You were there, Bucky. You saw how good he made me feel.”

He chuckles deeply, removing his fingers from you before he pulls you up into a standing position. He turns you around  to face him and picks you up, sitting you gently on top of his desk. He stays nose to nose with you, his eyes bouncing around your face as he smirks. He lifts his fingers to your mouth, smoothing your wetness over your bottom lip. 

You lick your lip slowly before you suck it into your mouth, blinking up at him slowly as you swallow your taste. He kisses you hard, wrapping his hands around your neck and pulling you into him as his tongue bursts into your mouth. You moan, letting your head fall back into his hands as you accept him, sucking on his tongue as you pull lightly against the tie still around your wrists. 

He pulls back slowly, pulling your bottom lip with him before he lets go. He tilts his head as his fingers drop to the buttons on your shirt, popping them one by one until it falls open. He flips his eyes back to yours as he starts undoing his pants, letting them slightly  fall down his hips. You bite your lip as you watch him push his hand into his black boxer briefs, stroking himself. He pulls his dick free and you inhale deeply, your eyes growing wide as he springs out from behind the stretchy material. 

“That little prick couldn’t satisfy you.” He says quietly, “Not like I can, baby girl. I’m a grown man.”

Your mouth falls open as he pushes the tip of his dick along your throbbing clit and through your folds. He pushes your legs open wider, wrapping your right limb around his hip. He pushes at your slit, positioning himself right at your opening. 

“What’s my name baby?”

You bite your bottom lip again as your lips start to curl into a smile. You bat your eyes at him but shake your head - not giving an inch. 

He smiles back at you, “You are stubborn as all fucking hell.”

“You started it.”

“I suppose I did,” He laughs, leaning in to kiss you softly, “You’re my perfect little princess.” He says, “You always were, you always will be.”

“And?”

“I’m sorry,” he says, cupping your face in his hands, “Don’t be mad at me anymore.”

You breathe in confidently, pushing it out of your nose as pride swells in your chest. You never cave. You never lose, “Apology accepted.”

“Good. Can I fuck you now?”

You nod slowly, “Of course you can, Mr. Barnes.”

He bites your lips and growls at the sound of his name tripping off your tongue with such ease. He grabs his shaft, slipping the head of his cock through your folds again before he stops at your slit. He wraps his other arm around your waist and starts to push slowly, breaking into your tight canal. You squeak as your muscles spread for his flesh for the first time, hissing as a delicious pain courses through you. 

His mouth drops open as he watches you swallow him. He pushes a focused breath out of his mouth as he pushes until he completely disappears inside of you. A tear slips down your cheek as he pulls out and slides back in. You dig your nails into his desk as you adjust your hips - the pain and the pleasure of it all mixing and melting together into a perfect harmony. 

You moan loudly as he fucks you nice and slow. He pushes his fingers to your clit and rubs quick circles against it as he sinks his teeth into his bottom lip, his eyes hooded as he watches you squirm and writhe.

“This is what a real man feels like,” he says softly, digging his fingertips into your hip as he fucks you, “Do I feel good, baby?”

“Yes,” you answer breathlessly, tears streaming down your face, “You feel so good.”

“Mmm,” he grunts, “You are such a good girl. You’re taking me so well.”

Your head swims as he praises you, stroking your ego, making you clench around him. His hips start to move faster as his hands run up and down your thighs, gripping and kneading your flesh. His fingers roam up to your breasts, pushing into your bra to tease your thick nipples, adding a new sensation to the mix. He drops his right hand back between your legs, pressing the pads of his fingers against your clit and starts to rub again, his other fingers still pulling and flicking at your aroused buds. 

Your hips jerk without warning, pushing his cock into you deeper, pulling a guttural scream out of you. Your eyes continue to leak as your head spins and your body tightens and flexes. A shutter runs up your spine, your thighs shake. You tighten them around his waist and try to grip the desk below you as a dull ache sits in the pit of your stomach. 

He fucks into you faster - recognizing that you’re starting to come undone as he overloads your senses. He rolls your nipple between his fingers, pinching and pulling as he continues to rub your clit and pump his hips into yours.

“You gonna come for me?” He starts to coax softly, “Hmm? Is my girl gonna come?”

My girl. Your brain can’t even form a coherent sentence. You’re nothing but sensation as he pushes you right to the edge of the cliff. His strokes get harder, his fingers faster as he rests his forehead to yours. He leaves your nipple to wrap his hand around your throat. His hot breath washes over your face as he kisses you quickly.

“I want my girl to come. Come for me, baby. Give it to me, I want to own you.”

You grunt as your eyes start to roll. He fucks into you as your toes curl with each of his strokes, pushing, pushing, pushing, until he tips you right over the edge. You mewl into the empty room as your orgasm floods through every vein, every muscle, every sensor in your body. He loses his control - pounding into you as hard as he can as your pussy quivers around him.

Your clit jumps with contractions as you tighten your legs around his hips. He coaxes you on, whispering sweet nothings as wave after wave crashes against you. His grunts grow louder and more erratic, his hips faltering every now and again until you feel a sudden warmth burst into you. He hisses as he spurts long, hot ribbons into your cunt over and over again. 

He nearly collapses - having to slam his palm to the top of his desk to hold himself up. His breaths are deep and ragged as his head falls to your shoulder. He leans back after a minute and tilts his head towards the ceiling as he focuses on his breathing, pushing them in and out slow and evenly. 

“Fuck,” he lets out as a laugh rumbles through his chest, “Goddamn.”

He reaches around and unties your wrists before pulling you up into his arms. You throw your arms around his neck and let him wrap your legs around his waist as he walks you around his desk and sits in his chair. He curls you into him, wrapping you up in his warm arms before he sweeps your braids over your shoulder. He kisses your forehead and the top of your head as he strokes your spine gently. 

“You are so pretty when you cry.” He says gently, smiling at you, “My perfect little girl.”

You still can’t talk. You just smile as you nuzzle into him, blinking down at your thighs, a small amount of blood splashed on your skin.

“Can you cancel your riding lessons tomorrow and Sunday?” he asks after a few minutes.

You nod slowly, “Why?”

“I want you all to myself.” He says, pushing his knuckle into your chin to tilt your head up towards his, “I want you to pack a bag for the weekend. I’ll text you my address, okay?”

“Okay.” You say simply. 

“Okay.” He smiles, kissing you again, “Come on, let's get moving.”

You reluctantly climb out of his lap and start to arrange your clothing properly, buttoning up your shirt and smoothing your skirt back down on your hips. Your legs are shaky, your pussy and clit sore, but you’ve never felt better. He grabs your bag and places it on your shoulder as the two of you move to the door. When he opens it, the two of you come face to face with one Cher Goodwin, her hand still in the air as she was just about to knock.

Her lips part as she stares at you, before flicking her eyes towards Bucky, “I thought you had detention.”

You shrug, “You thought wrong.”

She slides her eyes down your frame, squinting as she looks you over. Her face drops as the realization floods through her. Your smile widens. She doesn’t even have to ask.  She runs her hand through her hair roughly as she takes a deep breath, letting the dread of knowing she’s lost again flush through her. She’s come up just short - second place, once again. 

“Cher,” Mr. Barnes starts, “I’m sorry. Something came up, I’m not gonna be able to stick around this afternoon.”

She scoffs, clicking her teeth as she crosses her arms over her chest, “Mr. Barnes, I - “

“I’m sorry,” he cuts her off, “You know, I can get you a couple of names of some really great tutors that can give you all the attention you need. Okay?”

She runs her tongue over her teeth as she stares off into the distance, laughing slightly, “Sure, yeah. Whatever.” 

Bucky pushes past her and out into the hallway, “I’ll have them for you Monday morning, okay? I’m sorry ladies, I gotta split. Have a good weekend. Thanks for all your help Ms. Prescott.”

You smile at her as he moves down the hallway, “Oh, Cher.” You laugh, “Poor thing.”

“I’ll fucking get you.” She sneers, “One of these goddamn days, I will win! I will fucking beat you!” You shouts, stomping her foot.

You nudge her chin with your fist, “It’s cute you still believe that. The only thing you’ll ever have over me, is knowing how second place feels.” You brush past her shoulder as a frustrated tear slips down her cheek.

“Oh,” you say happily, turning back on your heel to face her, “I forgot to tell you. T’Challa signed Apollo and I up for the relay competition on Wednesday. You’re participating in that too, right?” You wink, watching as her eyes fill with dread, “See you there.”

You throw your hand into the air as you walk away from her, wiggling your fingers, “Tootles, darling.”

[starman-john-tracy]

mmmmSKSKSKSKSK I sent this to the wrong blog but,,,for the prompt list thingy you reblogged, misc 13 with 2 characters you want

(I HOPE TO JESUS IT'S YOU WHO REBLOGGED IT THIS TIME)

“I’m worried about you.” [From this Ask meme]

The best response John can manage, at that precise moment, is a vague, dismissive flick of his fingers as he swipes his older brother’s hologram off of his screens, ending the call.

He’s busy, damn it, Scott.

Alan and Kayo have taken Thunderbird Three out to an asteroid between Mars and Jupiter to help a returning deep-space shuttle with engine failure and Alan’s got twelve minutes of air left in his tank, blood-red holograms ticking the numbers down at the corner of John’s vision. Thunderbird One’s been deployed to the Alps in the sub-zero temperatures of a snowstorm following reports from the family of a missing skier, and John could really have done with all the little comments about their Mom that Scott had decided it was a good time to slip in amongst receiving his instructions, probably in an attempt to keep it together himself. To crown it all, Gordon’s in the middle of a risky deep dive with Thunderbird Four in one of the darkest parts of the Atlantic Ocean, trying to find a missing ocean surveyor, with Two coasting overhead despite the fact there’s not much Virgil can do but clutter John’s airways with his worries. Penny’s apparently in the middle of some kind of bank heist in England, and so can’t take FAB1 to help. John, in an almost Scott-like fit of insanity, is almost itching for The Hood to turn up, just because he wouldn’t mind the opportunity to hit something very hard with the mooring claw…

It’s been like this for a week solid. John’s not slept in thirty-two hours and colours are desperately trying their best to become audible. His mouth tastes stale with jumbled numerical readings and directions and what-his-brothers-need-to-do-nexts. 

The astronaut takes a deep, ragged breath and rips his hands from the blue glow of his holographic array. He rubs the textured blue fabric of his fingertips hard against gritty eyes, trying to force away the tired moisture that’s gathering determinedly there from trying not to yawn.

This should all be routine by now. He’s got a schedule. A delicate balance of exhaustion and focus. John knows his body’s limits and how to push himself past them - swaddling himself in a cocoon woven of holograms and the loud, urgent voices of people who need his help until he’s lightheaded from the brightness and downing enough caffeine to make his hands shake is the only thing keeping him going.

It’s not a good system, but it works.

Well, sort of works.

John scrubs at his eyes harder, pushing against his closed lids until phosphenes bloom fractal galaxies across the darkness from the pressure. He’s so tired but there’s no way he's gonna be able to sleep this one off. Not with everything going on all around him right now. 

Not until these people are sa…

“John.” Fantastic. Scott’s back. Calling on his wrist Comm this time, and big brother doesn’t exactly sound pleased about being hung up on. John thinks better of ignoring him twice, though he rolls his eyes about it. “You’ve been running Comms for three days straight now, you need to take a break.”

“I’m fine, Scott.” John’s mouth shapes the words even though he feels anything but. He has to be fine. “I’m just doing my job. Go get on with yours. And fly a little lower, the wind speed’s up.” The holograms had started swimming alarmingly over two hours ago, most of their words blurring beyond legibility, but John knows what the warning orange blob and its proximity to the logo of Thunderbird One means regardless. Focusing is getting harder and harder and that’s probably dangerous because what if he slips up, what if he gives one of his brothers the wrong instructions and something bad happens, what if...

John really wants a coffee. Another coffee. That’s probably a bad sign in itself because John, ninety-nine per cent of the time, doesn’t drink coffee. Certainly not like his brother’s do. Thunderbird Five’s got a massive range of teas vacuum packed in little silver packets, mostly courtesy of the Lady Penelope, because John far prefers it, but there is a sturdy metal tin of strong, Indian coffee in the galley, waiting ominously for him like a red break glass in case of emergency box.

John’s been choking down up to three mugs of the stuff, black and thick as tar, spiked with crushed caffeine pills, every other hour, in an attempt to keep himself with it enough to do his damn job.

The system works.

He grinds the heel of his palm against his forehead, trying futilely to prevent his pounding headache from getting any worse. He thinks there’s a bottle of painkillers in the first aid kit, Brains’ good ones, and mixed with another mug of caffeine John reckons that should get him through the rest of today even though he’s hungry and exhausted, and all his muscles have a dangerous, creeping ache that warns of atrophy, of too much time spent in Zero G. John just knows his whole body is going to kill the minute he relaxes, and that, if the constant chatter of the globe weren’t enough, makes taking even a little break just not an option. He ignores it all like a pro, slipping out of the segment of Five’s ring with the globe in, and drifting toward the galley, his fingers uncoordinated and clumsy on the handrails.

Coffee. Black. Two capsules of painkiller and another of caffeine, crushed into a powder with his fingers and dumped in.

He snatches up the plastic cup of coffee and heads back toward his globe, lifting the cup to his lips.

“John,” Scott says in his ear. “You can’t seriously be going to drink that…?”

John does, in fact, drink that. He knocks back the boiling beverage so quickly he doesn’t even need to swallow and chases the scald down with another cold cup of coffee that’s been left on his countertop from who-knows-when in the past three days. It’s gritty in the bottom from the drugs. John swallows hard at the acrid taste, coughs, and shakes out his shoulders.

“Alright,” John manages, suppressing the urge to throw it back up. “I’m good.”

Scott just blinks at him like he’s clearly a moron. Which, John thinks, is a bit rude when he’s the one with two PHDs.

“How long has that mug been there?” Scott asks, gaping slightly. It’s not at all like John to leave liquids out in the open, and especially not in space. “John, it had a layer of mould floating on it.” Not like him at all.

“Yeah,” John offers him, with a weak, crooked smile that doesn’t make sense on his face. “Penicillin. Adjust your tail flaps thirty degrees, you’re coasting too low. You need to compensate for the way the wind’s being channelled between the rocks.”

“John,” Scott’s voice comes back dangerously low, “John, when did you last have a proper break?” John’s head throbs and he’s saved from trying to work out any kind of reply to that because Gordon takes the opportunity to check-in. It doesn’t matter that John’s vision is blurring, as long as he can hear his little brother just fine. 

Crackling static buzzes in the spaceman’s ears long after Gordon clicks off again.

The newest shot of caffeine is slowly starting to soothe his frayed nerves, though everything’s a bit… hazy, if he’s honest.

“John!” Oh, Scott’s still here, huh. “Ok, little brother,” The elder of them puffs his chest out and folds his arms, but John’s not paying enough attention to his hologram to notice. “If you string yourself out much longer, I’m going to put you on medical leave until you die, alright? Nothing can stop me.”

“I don’t need med leave!” John exhales all of the air in his paper-bag lungs at once. “I’m fine and I’m doing a damn good job monitoring everything! I never take sick days…”

“You never take vacation days, either.” Scott cuts pointedly across him.

“Irrelevant.” John dismisses him again, flicking the point away like it’s a hologram he’s done with, “I’m just doing my job. If you want to come down on me for working hard, then you’re the one with the issue here.”

“You’re going to kill yourself,” Scott growls. “Your exhaustion and carelessness puts everyone who works under you at risk and I don’t know what the answer to your workload without Dad around is, but it sure. isn’t. this.” A sweeping hand encompasses his brother head to toe - taking in the coffee stains on John’s blue fingertips and the darkness smudged under his eyes. “We’ve got to, I don’t know, there must be something that can take some of the pressure off. Alan was talking about wanting to try a rotation.”

“Alan’ll be bored to death within five minutes alone up here,” John points out, “he’s still too young.”

“Gordon then, or Virgil, hell I’ll do it. I’m sure we can scrape together something.”

“Scott.” John’s voice comes out much softer this time, certainly softer than intended. “We’ll work something out but… just… not right now, ok?” It sounds almost pleading. A little broken. Perhaps Scott shouldn’t have brought up their Father, or perhaps there’s already too much for John to focus on without throwing himself into the mix. “We can pick this up later if you want, when we’re finished,” He goes on to offer, hollowly, “but right now you need to check your heat scanner and find that missing skier before those kids who called lose a parent.”

There’s a harsh intake of breath from Scott at that. He knows as well as any of them why they, why John, does all this. If they can keep together just one family, compared to their own loss, anything seems worth it.

Doesn’t mean Scott’s got to like it though.

He clicks off and John closes his eyes for one, very long moment - the residual Comm chatter swirling in his ears. It’s tempting to just press his forehead against the cold glass beneath his feet and just not exist for a few hours... But Alan needs to get back aboard his Thunderbird with the crew members, and Gordon’s discussing going EVA with Virgil in the background and Scott’s thermal scanner has just picked up an orange blip amongst all the blue.

There’s always a later. When everyone’s safe. John can rest later.

[leiainhoth]

Summary: For so long, Din fought the reality of giving the child up, giving him to the jetii and moving on. He had prepared for it, packed a bag and left it all behind, so his son could have the life he deserved. 

All until he didn't have to. Or the one where Luke finds Grogu on Tython, and Din rescues Luke in turn.

...

Luke froze, his mind spinning as he swerved, the nose of his X-wing diving suddenly before Luke corrected it. Artoo whirled an admonishment, but Luke's mind swam with the influx of information. It was too much, and so clear, the words floating through his mind as he manually updated the nav-comp.

"I know, I know!" he exclaimed, his hands flying over the controls, mindful but mentally distant of his X-wing stopping suddenly in dead space. The words of his masters hung over him, but he had to move; something was wrong. He didn't know what it was (maker, he didn't know who it was), but he had to help them. Wasn't this his mission when he decided to become a Jedi master? To find others like him? To help them, if he could?

Luke corrected his course and turned the nose of his X-wing for Tython.

The force wielder there was strong, stronger than most. They were afraid, reaching out for fear of danger. It was lucky that Luke was close by, it seemed unlikely that another like him could reach the call before he could, but the message still hit him like cold water.

It had been so long since he had felt a presence in his mind; so far as he knew, he and Leia were the only other force-users left. The Jedi were gone, and Luke was the sole survivor of a once-great order— the very last Jedi master.

And now, this.

Whoever they were, Luke was desperate to reach them. They might have information to share, insights to spread. They were in danger, calling out from a seeing stone. Luke had been visiting the ancient Jedi temples, scouring the galaxy for something, anything that would tell him more about what it was to be a Jedi. There were so many clues, but they lacked cohesion. The doctrine and mantras flowed through his mind, but if he truly was the last, the very last Jedi, could he train others? Bring other force-sensitive to be one with the force?

Help, the voice had called, echoing and splintering through space— danger, capture. Help us.

Luke reached the planet and jumped out of hyperspace, Artoo whirling a warning to his speed. "We need to get there fast," Luke said, his mind swimming with worry.

The planet was rocky, nearly inhospitable. Luke spotted three ships docked to his left, a transport swarmed with troopers, some sort of gunner and kriffing Hoth; it couldn't be. The last time he had seen that ship was before they defeated Jabba on Tatooine, five years prior. He should be dead!

He was dead; no one survived a sarlaac. Han had killed him; the jetpack had misfired. But he wasn't, or someone had stolen his ship and landed here for some reason.

The air cleared, and the seeing stone appeared, the blue aura swirling around a figure too small to see. The force user wasn't presently in danger, but Luke watched anxiously, nonetheless. He looked closer; three figures were fighting the troopers in the rocks and seemed to be succeeding. But the child was alone, desperately calling for help.

"We need to land, Artoo!" Luke said anxiously, looking desperately for a landing pad. A shiver ran down his spine, and Luke looked up through the cockpit viewport to see a light cruiser entering atmo.

Stars,  Luke thought, his eyes tracking helplessly from the figure (was it a  child?)  to the cruiser. He needed to focus, he needed to think, he couldn't risk getting distracted. The child was his only priority: he couldn't think about anything else. They had called for aid, and Luke was anxious to provide it. But if others were after the child, it was his duty to protect him by any means necessary.

"Here we go again," Luke said, engaging the targeting computer. "Artoo, get a read on that cruiser. Scan for life forms,"

Artoo whirled and beeped, and Luke cycled through the settings on his gun array, locking the s foils in attack position, almost like second nature. He did it without thinking, and Artoo beeped to inform him that everything was engaged and ready for battle.

From the belly of the cruiser, four figures emerged, and Luke breathed deeply, desperately trying to keep calm as they made a beeline for the child. The troopers had no life signs; were they droids? Luke sensed no malevolence in them, programming only. He would feel no guilt at destroying them if it meant saving the child.

The first two were picked off with no problem; they kept such a tight formation that Luke supposed he could shoot with his eyes closed. The last one banked suddenly, and Luke's charge flew over its shoulder. He took a breath and fired again, downing it.

The last turned as if identifying Luke as a more pressing threat. He banked hard, surprising Artoo, but the droid followed, growing closer with each passing minute.

"Flaps!" he shouted and lurched forward as the X-wing flew backwards, momentarily stunning the droid. But it turned, and its arm made contact with the starboard wing, breaking off a strut and leaving the ship dangerously unbalanced.

"I'm losing control!" Luke shouted, his hands flying over the navigational instruments, but his ship was falling. The ground flew up towards him, but he managed to glide, favouring the port wing and landing with an earsplitting screech on the rock formation below.

Luke took a shuddering breath, lifting his visor with trepidation. He was safe; it wasn't his worst landing, but his ship…

He groaned, triggering the release mechanism with his thumb before bracing his hands against the viewport, popping the seal with relative ease. Luke clambered out and tried to orient himself. Where was the child? Had the troopers reached him?

"Stay here, Artoo!" Luke shouted, running with all his might towards the seeing stone.

The belly of the cruiser opened again, and the firepower from below the rise steadied his mind. The child was safe; the child would be safe. He felt for his lightsaber on his hip and ran like his life depended on it, up the rise to where the child sat alone and defenceless.

Help me

Luke's heart stopped when he saw the troopers, six of them with more incoming, descending to the seeing stone with an alarming velocity. He took the limp child in his arms and activated his lightsaber.

He sensed movement behind him, but Luke moved on instinct, ignoring all else but the ebbs and flows of the force. He was unused to having someone else to protect, but the baby clung to him like a vice; their claws digging into Luke's shoulder. He let the baby clamber up to his shoulder, and flexed his right arm, unhindered in movement.

He jutted forward as the troopers landed and sliced downward, cutting the trooper across the hips for good measure, another through the knees before beheading him. They seemed drawn to the child; as if they could sense them, as if they were hunting them.

"Kid!"

Luke swerved, unsteady, but corrected himself just in time to parry the block of a trooper before beheading them in a firm strike. The last three figures approached, heavily armed, and Luke felt cornered. Were they after the child as well? Or were they allies?

The child stirred, his thoughts loud and clear in the force. He squirmed, but Luke held him fast, the echoing shots of a sniper rifle just behind him ruffling his hair and hitting the trooper closest to him in the eyes before the nearest figure (a Mandalorian?) gutted him with a spear.

Two left.

Luke turned, too late, distracted and dazed from the confrontation, but the Mandalorian struck first, shocking the trooper with a bolt from a pulse rifle, leaving a sizeable hole in the droids sternum. There was no time to reload, but Luke blasted him backwards with the force, pinning it against the stone before crushing it from within. Luke turned as it fell, facing the others with the child in his arms.

The last figure tore towards him, and Luke moved on instinct, slicing the droid from hip to shoulder.

But he was too late. The droid's arm reached up with inhuman speed and punched him cleanly in the forehead, and Luke blacked out.

continued 

[mazzy-moon]

A Lone Butterfly - Chapter 1

Title: Chapter 1 ~ Captive

Word Count: 1650

Warnings: Mentions of kidnapping and brief descriptions of violence. Allusions to rape. Overall this story has some pretty heavy subject matter. 

Pairing: Javier Peña (Narcos) x Isabel Cotrille (OFC)

Summary: Isabel is captured by the cartel and seeks to find a way out.

Notes: This chapter is not explicit, but things may get spicy in later chapters. Go to my blog for more chapters. I will post chapters every few days as I finish writing them. If you take the time to read this, thank you so much! Would love feedback if you are so inclined.

I wake up to my hands tied above my head. The thin cord of rope gnaws against the tender skin of my wrist, immobilizing me. A numbing ache runs through my head as I tilt my eyes back to find the binding. The skin of my wrists are rubbed practically raw and every tiny movement of my hand is torture. I force movement anyway, pushing through the pain. My numb arms start to wake up also, and with it comes stinging soreness. I've been trapped like this for quite a while. I start to panic. Where am I? How will I get out of here? I have to get out. I have to. I wriggle my wrists against the binding desperately, immediately regretting it. The pain travels down from arms into my shoulders. I groan, not being able to keep quiet. I wish for the oblivion of sleep to relieve me once again.

Through tears, I look down at my scantily clad body. Bruises. I'm covered in them. A canvas of blueish purple splotches appear on my chest, and my upper thighs. One larger area, darker than the others covers the skin underneath my breasts. I take a sharp breath in and muffle a scream at the pain. I'd broken a rib, at least one anyway. I do my best to shove the pain away to a place at the far reach of my mind. I can't let it distract me. I have to get out of here. For a few minutes I just sit, taking soft breaths, willing myself to be strong. My memory slowly but surely comes back into focus.

I remember fighting. Kicking, screaming, punching until I was completely devoid of the energy to do anything at all.  I remember rough hands shoving me onto the threadbare mattress, pinning my arms down. The same mattress I am on now in this dark, cement walled room. I try to remember the time before this black hole of a room. How the hell did I get here? Pieces of my memory come to me as images flash through my head like a scrapbook.

I'm driving along an empty country road. Where was I going? Two men in workers uniforms stand before me. A rusted vehicle. An accident. Did they hit me or did I hit them? Squirming between two sets of iron hands forcing me in the back of the van. Pushing. Shoving. Both from me and him. Hands. Hands on me while I'm in a half daze. Waking up in a room similar to this one, only there's no mattress just a cold concrete floor. I can still feel it chilling my exposed skin. A man is there above me. Forcing myself to stand, to fight. Blinding pain as he throws me back on the ground. A punch to the temple. Darkness.

I will myself to focus on something else, anything else. I can't force the unrelenting memories away, but if I don't forget them for now I won't be able to figure out how to get out of this nightmare that has become my reality. I survey the small space as my eyes start to adjust to the dim lighting. A small wooden desk placed near the pallet I'm on holds a lamp. There's concrete floors here, too. No windows though, and I realize the faint light illuminating the room comes from a crack beneath the door.

I freeze. Noises come from somewhere outside. I make out a hoarse male voice, speaking harshly in Spanish to someone. I try to decipher what's being said but my Spanish is limited to a few a phrases. A few seconds pass and loud grunting noises intensify as I realize what must be taking place somewhere not far from me. Is a there a room beside me? Is there another girl here? How long before someone comes in my room?  I'm terrified to find out. I hear feminine cries and lose some of my hope.

What if I die here? I will never see my mother again. She can't lose me and my father. I won't let it happen. She must be worried sick. How long has it been that she hasn't known where I am? With no siblings, and no other family left we are all each other has. I left my apartment in the states after my father was killed to stay with her here in Columbia. Now she will be all alone.

I continue to breathe slowly in and out to keep from trembling.

"Focus, Isabel," I whisper to myself.

I attempt to inch up into a sitting position. It's tortuous. Everything hurts. It seems as if every muscle in my body has been pulled, and I catch an achy feeling between my legs that I choose to ignore. My shoulders introduce me to a new kind of agony as I shift them and the rest of my torso upright. My sense of time is nonexistent, but from the suffocating ache spreading from my shoulders, down my arms, and through my back I realize I must have been contorted like this for many hours. Once my rear is almost flush with the wall, I allow myself a break. Tears cascade down my face at the pain from my ribs. Determined, I peer over at my bound wrists. They're tied to a metal rod protruding from the wall on my right side. Immediately, I start rubbing my hands back and forth against the rod, hoping the friction will disintegrate the cord. I keep at it for what seems like an eternity, but must have only been around five minutes. The rope doesn't budge.

I search for an alternative solution. My eyes hunt for something  sharp enough to cut through the ties. That's when I spot something purple lying on the ground. Flung a few feet from the desk is a pair of underwear I recognize as my own. A wave of nausea cascades through me, and I almost throw up. The realization of what's been done to me sinks me into a fury of grief and anger. A silent sob escapes me and I can't breathe. My throat threatens to close up, and the air in the room feels sticky against my skin. I brace myself for some violent memory, but it doesn't come. Maybe I was knocked into unconsciousness. Maybe that's why I can't remember. I suddenly feel the urge to escape my body, to be somewhere else. I want to scrub layers off of my skin until I'm clean again. I float off for a second and force myself back into reality. I have to stop. There's no time to process what I'm feeling right now, and I have to get out of here. The new wave of anger makes me even more determined and I take advantage of it. There's nothing sharp that I can tell, nothing to cut through the rope that is nearly cutting off my circulation. I'll have to be more creative. I glance at the desk lamp to my right. There's no lampshade, just an exposed bulb. My right wrist is within inches from it. I lift my feet from the mattress and onto the cold floor. I stand up, hands still bound to the wall.

I mutter a curse as my ribs scream at me again from the movement. I position my arm in order to attempt to use the force of my elbow to crack the glass bulb against the brick wall. It doesn't work. I try again, and again, and again. The fourth time I gather strength from a place I can't comprehend, and manage to crush the glass bulb. Now there's nothing protecting the exposed filament from it's surroundings. I hunch myself over so that the base of the lamp is between my shoulder and the side of my face. The position of my body is awkward and painful, but I'm able to angle the lamp so that the lit filament comes in contact with the rope. It's working. The rope is turning to ash against the heat. I cry in relief as the scorching wire sizzles at my skin and the rope breaks free.

The victory gives me a rush of adrenaline, but I still have to figure out how to get out of this hell hole. I look down and see that I'm still in the outfit from the day the van hit me. My pale orange sundress is filthy and ripped nearly to my hip. I remember having my denim jacket on that day, but it is nowhere to be found. I look around for shoes to cover my bare feet, those are missing also. Okay, so I was going to have to do this barefoot and barely clothed.

Male voices approach outside my door and I scoot to the small space behind the door. There's no place to hide in here, and I don't know what I'll do if one of them comes in.

The footsteps grow louder and then fainter as they pass by my room. I wait until I can't hear them anymore, then let go of a nervous breath. Carefully, I try at the door knob. It twists underneath my hand. The idiots actually left it unlocked. I let go of the knob and scan the room once more, this time looking for some kind of protection to take with me. I know my options are limited, but I can't go out there with nothing. Who knows who or what I'll run into. I run over to the desk and quickly open the small drawer. Nothing. I swallow hard. My eyes fall to the ground and settle on the shattered glass from the lightbulb. One jagged piece is larger than the others. I pick it up and head back to the door. I listen for voices or footsteps once more. Nothing. I ease the door open and step outside.

[munofsilver]

Stuck In Between Capture 8

Still working on this. I'm not dead yet. I'm slowly working on this fic and others. I should have more free time soon. Ao3 link.

Summary: Rasa and Gaara talk sadly it goes the way their talks usually go. Warning: Swearing.

Rasa doesn't say anything. He only floats over to the table and sits down. With a snap of his fingers, a cup of tea appears on the table in front of him. Gaara closes the portal and walks over to his father, but he doesn't get too close.

"You should know why I'm here," Rasa sips his tea as his booming voice echoes loudly throughout the cave.

Lee heard the voice. It sounds like it everywhere. That made Lee jump, thinking an evil yokai is in the room with him. Then his fear turns towards Gaara. "Will he be alright?" Lee wonders. He would hate for anything more to happen to his fluffy friend.

"Didn't I already receive your punishment for entering the yokai world?" Gaara brushes a claw hand across his chest.

"No," Rasa's voice is low and deep, "That is for attacking my controller. You have yet to be punished for entering without my permission and for helping the human escape."

Another sip of tea before Rasa lets go of the cup, now levitating next to him. With a wave of his hand, a chair moves towards Gaara. Reluctant at first, but Gaara does take the offer and sits down. The two yokai never take their eyes off of each other. Rasa takes out a pipe and lights it. Rasa knows Gaara hates it when he smokes around him, so Rasa always brings out his pipe whenever he's around.

"Where is the human now," Rasa blows a cloud of smoke into Gaara's face as he talks.

Gaara waves the smoke away with his hands. He is keeping his eyes and mouth shut until it's clear.

"Gone. After I brought the human back to this world, he left the cave," Gaara lied.

Another cloud of smoke fills the room as Rasa puts his pipe next to his tea. Takes his cup of tea and drinks from it.

"That's not true. You would risk coming to get the stupid human only to make him leave in the rain," Rasa narrows his eyes.

"He left on his own. I tried to stop him. The human didn't want to stay. Said he felt safe wandering in the forest during the storm," Gaara shrugs before he crosses his arms.

Gaara is used to telling lies to his father. He's been doing it his whole life. This tricky tanuki knows how to make his lies seem real that even his father or Shukaku can tell they're being tricked.

"Why did you come to save him?" Rasa leans forward.

"The same reason I saved the other one. No human should have to deal with you just because they enter the yokai world by mistake," this time, Gaara is the one to narrow their eyes.

"You need to stop playing the hero. The only thing you get from it is pain. Not anymore," Rasa raises from his chair, "From now, I will have a collector at the tree. If any humans pass through, they shall be dealt with right away. They need to learn."

Gaara makes a tisk sound with his tongue. He hates how his father runs things. Rasa only acts this way because of what happened to Karura. Rasa only has himself to blame for it, and yet he makes everyone pay for it.

"Now is not the time for talking. That human was smart to leave but stupid to do so in this weather," Rasa looks outside, "Then again, maybe he shall do fine for now."

He puts the cup down and picks back up his pipe, "Now it's time for punishment."

Lee is pacing around in the room, still holding on to the box tightly. He's worried, by now, Gaara would have opened the way for him. If it were Shukaku or Matsuri, the human wouldn't have to hide. Then he hears it, the booming voice again. Lee can hear whoever's voice that is. He knows he won't be able to enter the yokai world anymore unless he has permission. That is one thing Lee doesn't mind. He would like to go there again, but he also doesn't care if he can't.

All of a sudden, it got quiet. That made Lee even more worried. Then he hears a loud roaring sound, and now he can't take it anymore. Lee has to know what's going on. Is Gaara alright? Does he need help? Lee tries to find a way out.

Gaara's roar of anger echoes louder than his father's voice. The tanuki is not hurt, but his anger pleases his father. Crushing the teacup in his hand, Rasa leans back in his seat. A wicked grin on his face. Rasa knows Gaara will break soon.

"That's for helping the human escape. Now for entering without my permission."

Rasa's hands turn into long sharp claws; he's about to attack Gaara when something stops him.

"That's enough, Rasa, back down!"

Standing between father and son is an angry older tanuki. Shukaku's eyes pierce into Rasa's. Ever since Shukaku first met young Gaara, he swore to protect him and teach him the ways of the tanuki. He did as a favor for Gaara's mother, the only human to ever trick the old tanuki, not once but a total of five times. Over the years, Shukaku thought of Gaara as his pup, even calling him as such. Right now, Gaara's two "fathers" are about to fight.

Out from the shadows, something grabs Gaara, covering his mouth so he wouldn't make any sound. Gaara could feel himself entering the wall and exiting in another room. It just so happens to be the same room as Lee. Right now, he's pounding on the wall, demanding it to open.

“Lee stop it,” calls out Kankuro.

"No! I need to help Gaara. He needs me, and I want to be with him," Lee's tone is full of anger and desperation.

"Lee, trust me, stop," Kanuro repeats.

"I will not abandon Gaara. I will fight any yokai or human for him."

"For fuck sakes, turn around, you dumbass!" Kankuro yells.

Lee stops and quickly turns around. Standing right behind him are Kankuro and Gaara. One looks angry, and the other one looks surprised. Lee himself looked relieved. Without thinking, he rushes over and hugs Gaara tightly.

"I'm so glad you're alright. I heard a roar and got worried," Lee sobbed.

Gaara looks towards Kankuro, hoping he will know what to do. The shadow man only shrugs. Gaara does the only thing that came to mind, he pats Lee's head, makes his tail extra fluffy again, and then wraps his tail around Lee.

Lee refuses to let go of Gaara, even with the fluffy tail within hugging reach. Lee doesn't want to lose Gaara. Lee releases his hold once he hears purring, making him smile and let out a soft little laugh.

"You are cute, Gaara-Kun."

Everyone's eyes spanned wide open at that. Lee then uses the fluffiness to hide his embarrassment. Gaara has a blush of his own, but he's too shocked to react to anything. Everything was dead quiet until Kankuro laughed loudly.

"It seems like someone has a thing for you, Gaara," Kankuro says between laughs.

Once he noticed Gaara was gone, Shukaku released his hold on Rasa, whose hands were returning to normal. The anger on Rasa's face matches Shukaku's. Rasa returns to his seat while Shukaku still stands.

"You have no right. Gaara is my son," Rasa growls.

"You have some lessons you need to learn. One is to stop treating others like property," Shukaku speaks in a calm yet threatening tone.

"I can do what I want; I rule the world. No one can defeat me," Rasa gloats.

"You don't rule the human world," Shukaku snorts.

Rasa only laughs, "Not yet."

"You never will if a young tengu can defeat you."

Rasa isn't a fighter; he likes to have others do the dirty work for him. Rasa gets his way by intimation. Shukaku knows that if anyone stood up against him, he would either back down or send one of his controllers after them.

Controllers are creatures that Rasa made himself by combining a bunch of yokai and monsters. He had made five in total before he ran out of parts. Each one looks and fights differently. Their main mission is to capture any humans that enter the yokai world without permission. They take the poor human to Rasa to either be killed, raped, or used as test subjects, sometimes all three.

The first and only fight Rasa got into was with a young tengu. Rasa sadly lost in a few minutes. He got his revenge and killed the tengu. Unlike what people believe, tengu are not yokai; they are demons. Little do people know demons can be killed. It takes effort to do so.

Rasa growls at Shukaku; he hates when he's being reminded of that incident.

"That was 300 years ago. I have gotten stronger since then," Rasa bites down on his pipe.

"Do you think the other yokai and creatures on the other side would let you take over the human world? The only reason you have some control of the yokai world is that it's only a small part. If you try to take more, you know what will happen," Shukaku isn't threatening Rasa; he is warning him.

Five rulers run the yokai world. Each one rules over their part of the world. If any would step out of line, a group called The Akatsuki will put that yokai in their place. Including trying to take over the human world.

Rasa relights his pipe, "Don't worry about me, Shukaku. I shall be fine." Rasa heads to the back of the cave, "My reason here is finished. Gaara punishment is in place," Rasa returns to the yokai world.

Once Lee and Gaara get separated, Kankuro asks his younger brother some questions.

"What happened with father?"

Gaara answered his brother's question with two words, "Locked door."

"Better than last time. How long?" Kankuro does seem to worry about it.

Gaara only shrugs. That means when Rasa wants to. That could take from days to years. It doesn't matter to Gaara. It's not like he goes to many places other than his cave. He is worried about how Rock Lee will take this news.

"What about him?" Kankuro points towards Lee with his head.

"Father doesn't know he's here. He should be free to leave. By my guess, he thought I didn't visit mother yet today and wanted me to suffer for it," Gaara smiles.

It seems Rasa didn't know that Gaara had already visited his mother's grave, or he does and doesn't care. As long as Gaara plays his part right, Rasa will be satisfied.

Soon the wall opens, and Shukaku enters; three sets of eyes fall upon him. He either ignores or doesn't notice them when he speaks.

"That, Rasa, is a real pain in the ass. How did Karura let alone anyone fall in love with him?" Shukaku growls as he takes out a bottle of sake.

After dealing with Rasa's stupidity, this tanuki needs a hard drink. Nothing better than chugging down an entire bottle of good old-fashioned strong sake. Seeing Shukaku drink the whole bottle, Lee leans over towards Gaara.

"Does he always have sake with him?" Lee whispers in Gaara's ear.

Gaara doesn't speak, only holds up three fingers. Lee's eyes widened. He would never have thought Shukaku would have three bottles of sake with him at all times. It seems that the stories of tanukis liking sake were true.

"You better go. I have a feeling Rasa will be looking for you soon," Shukaku points at Kankuro.

The shadowy yokai had a feeling his father would like to ask many questions to him and their sister. Hopefully, both at once. If he gets there in time, Kankuro and Temari can talk with each other firsthand and develop a plan. Neither wants to make things worse for their little brother. Without a word, Kankuro fades through the ground.

"Don't let your father know he's here," Shukaku now points at Lee as he takes his leave.

It's not like Shukaku even needs to tell Gaara that. There is no way Gaara will let his father near Lee; he will protect his human friend with his life.

[m0srael]

#4 for @magpiefngrl's 2021 Summer Writing Challenge Prompts: The Power's Out + Found Family + 2nd POV + Story within a Story 1.8k | G | No Warnings (except for spoOoOoky stories) Week 1 (4.3k | M) // Week 2 (4.4k | E) // Week 3 (2k | E)

Read on Ao3

You’re clearing up after dinner when the lights start to flicker. The mid-summer storm outside has been raging for the better part of an hour and shows no signs of slowing.

“Harry…babe!” you call, trying to catch your oblivious boyfriend’s attention. He was the one who insisted on moving into this Muggle house in a Muggle neighborhood powered by Muggle electricity. He should be the one to fix this.

“HARRY!” you bellow, as the lights flicker again.

“Bloody Merlin, what, Draco? Stop shouting!” he says, breezing into the kitchen as if your concern about the lights is entirely unfounded and you are overreacting...again.

You roll your eyes and fight a smile as he wraps his large hands around your hips, pushing you into the edge of the sink and trailing the edge of your jumper in the soapy water that’s escaped the basin.

You yelp when the lights flicker a final time before going off for good.

“What, love, afraid of the dark?” Harry teases against the nape of your neck.

You scoff and push him off, opening your mouth to retort before two tiny squeals reverberate from somewhere overhead.

“Oh, here we go..” you say, as two sets of small feet thunder down the stairs and through the sitting room. You wonder, for probably the millionth time, how two such small creatures can be so very loud. You were never that loud. Then again, if you had been, the consequences would have been... You’re secretly grateful for their noise.

“Dad, dad, dad, dad…”

“Scorpius, Scorpius, Scorpius, Scorpius…” you reply, scooping your son up into your arms.

“The lights have gone.”

“Have they? I hadn’t noticed,” you respond, drily, plopping Scorpius firmly back onto his feet.

“Careful, cub, stop running--you’re going to run straight into the table, or a wall…” Harry says, gripping Teddy by the shoulders to steady him in the dim kitchen. The only light comes from the streetlamp in the alleyway out back and the rapid flashes of lightning slicing through the sky.

“Harry...Scorp and I have just started on a Lego dragon, can you come light the lamps with your wand or something?” Teddy whines, tugging at Harry’s shirt like he’s two instead of twelve.

“Hmm...I have a better idea,’ Harry says. You recognize the look in his eyes, it’s the one that always precedes mischief.

“Scorp, you remember where we keep the marshmallows? Great, grab those...and the graham crackers!” Harry calls after Scorpius as he darts into the pantry.

“What are you up to?” you ask, poking a finger into Harry’s side.

“A time-honored Muggle tradition...you’ll like it, you’ll see.”

--

Harry insists you all forgo the perfectly good couches you spent days picking out and sit on the cushions he’s conjured on the sitting room floor. He arranges you in a circle around a conjured flame, floating in a shallow bowl.

“Mmm, we should turn the lights off more often, dad!” says Scorpius sliding several sticky fingers between his lips. He’s chosen to entirely ignore Harry’s careful s'more making instructions in favor of fitting as many charred marshmallows into his mouth at once as he can manage.

“Okay, okay, Scorp, take a breather, yeah?” you say, grabbing his hand and trying to clear the sugary cobweb from between his fingers with a napkin. “They’re never going to sleep, now, Potter, and I hold you solely responsible.”

“Come onnn, Draco, don’t be such a buzzkill!” Teddy groans around his own s’more, chocolate smeared around the corners of his mouth.

“Yeah, Draco, don’t be such a buzzkill!” Harry echoes. You glare at him as you respond to Teddy.

“Edward, I don’t know where you pick up these phrases, but I assure you I am not a buzzkill. I’d just like to get some sleep sometime this century.”

“Okay, okay, everyone shh…” Harry cuts in. “I’ve got a story for you.”

Scorpius wriggles on his cushion next to you, giddy from the sugar high and hanging on Harry’s every word. You place a hand on the top of his head to settle him.

Harry leans over the little conjured flame, shadows playing across his face and his eyes glinting behind his glasses.

“Once upon a time, there were two boys,” he begins, poking Scorpius in the tummy and setting off a cascade of giggles.

“Once upon a time,” he tries again, “there were two boys who were driving home from the movie theatre.”

“Who was it??” squeals Scorpius. “It’s me and Teddy, right??”

“Can’t be, Harry won’t teach me how to drive,” Teddy huffs.

“Ted, you’re twelve, twelve-year-olds can’t even get their permit…” you start.

“Ssssssshh…” Harry silences you with a raised hand. “Yes. One dark and stormy night, Teddy and Scorp were driving home from the movie theatre.”

“What film were we seeing? Was it Toy Story, Harry?” Scorpius whispers as if he’s trying to respect Harry’s request for silence but he desperately needs to know.

“Yes, love, it was Toy Story,” Harry whispers back. “So, Teddy and Scorpius decide to drive up to the top of a very tall hill overlooking the city.”

“Why?” asks Teddy.

“Why not, Ted, let him finish or we’ll be here till next weekend,” you scold, tossing a marshmallow that bounces off of Teddy’s nose. Teddy scoffs but pops the marshmallow into his mouth.

“As Teddy and Scorpius sit, taking in the beautiful view, an emergency news bulletin comes across the wireless.” Harry covers his mouth with one hand to muffle his voice and affects a newscaster’s cadence, “Breaking news, breaking news! A very dangerous convict has escaped from the local prison. We urge all citizens to be on the lookout, the man is missing one hand, and in its place he has….” Harry pauses for dramatic effect before leaning forward, hands raised, “a hook!”

“Coooooool…” interjects Teddy.

“Harry, where is this going?” you hiss as Scorpius climbs into your lap. Harry flaps the fingers of one hand at you dismissively, and you have half a mind to bite them.

“Harry, why does he have a hook instead of a hand?” Scorpius asks.

“I don’t know, Scorp, he had an accident.”

“And...the Healers couldn’t regrow his hand?”

“No, he isn’t a wizard so he can’t see the Healers.”

“Why is it a hook now, though?”

“Ummmmm, I don’t know. He thought it would be cool like Teddy does.”

“Oh.”

“Sshh, Scorp! I want to hear more about the guy with a hook for a hand!” says Teddy as he flicks Scorpius on the shoulder.

“Ow! You sssh, Ted, you’re the one who interrupted first!”

“Anyways,” Harry says firmly, planting his palms on his thighs. “The man on the radio tells everyone listening that they should alert the authorities immediately if they see a man with a hook for a hand. He’s a very dangerous murderer and won’t hesitate to kill anyone he encounters.”

“Wicked!” cries Teddy.

“One boy says to the other--”

“Scorpius and Teddy!”

“Yes, Scorpius says to Teddy: I don’t like the sound of that, we should probably go home!” Harry says, lowering his voice to a register far deeper than you’ve heard any five or twelve-year-old speak in. Scorpius just giggles and squirms about in your lap.

“Oh, don’t be silly, that man with a hook for a hand will never climb up this big hill!” Harry says, raising his voice about ten octaves. You wince as his voice cracks on the word never.

“Oi! I don’t sound like that!” objects Teddy. You hit him with another well-aimed marshmallow.

“JUST THEN,” Harry shouts across the giggling and shouting, causing everyone to fall silent, “both boys heard the faintest scratching noise just outside the driver’s side window...almost like...the sound of a hook...scraping across metal….” Harry waggles his eyebrows.

“OH NO! THE MAN WITH THE HOOK! HARRY!” Scorpius shouts, nearly bursting your eardrum.

“Scorp, for Merlin’s sake, don’t shout!” you say, wrapping your arms around his middle to urge him back to sitting. He stuffs one small fist in his mouth in what you know is a self-soothing gesture. Oh lord, you think to yourself, if the sugar doesn’t keep him up all night, the nightmares surely will.

Harry looks Scorpius dead in the eye before continuing in a high-pitched voice, “No way, Teddy tells Scorpius, even if it was the man with the hook, he can’t get in here the doors are locked!”

“Oh, yeah! The doors are locked!” Scorpius mumbles around his fist. Harry nods, but the firelight glinting off his glasses makes him look positively sinister.

“Yeah, Scorp, the doors are locked, calm down you big baby!” Teddy teases.

“Hey! You calm down, you big...jerk!” Scorpius fires back.

“Scorpius, what have I told you about calling people names?” you say, exasperated and ready for this whole charade to end. “Harry, is that the end of the story?”

“Oh no….ohhhhhh no, no,” Harry says, shaking his head and completely ignoring the unamused look on your face.

“You see,” he says, leaning in again and lowering his voice to a whisper. “When the two boys finally arrive home safe and sound, they step out of their car…”

“What…” Scorpius whispers back, fist firmly situated in his mouth.

“...they turn around to find….”

“Harry….” you say, warningly.

“A HOOK! HANGING FROM THE DOOR HANDLE!” Harry shouts.

What follows are possibly the most chaotic ten minutes of your entire life.

Scorpius shrieks and flails in your lap, overturning the bowl with the little conjured flame. The rug catches fire quickly.

Teddy starts chanting Harry’s name over and over and pointing at where the flames lick at the cushion he was just seated on.

You summon your wand, but Harry has his at the ready with a hastily muttered Aguamenti. The flames hiss as the water douses them, replacing the bright-hot fire with black smoke that has you all coughing into your sleeves.

You realize you’ve clutched Scorpius to your chest in a vice-like grip when he starts to pull at your sleeve and choke out, “Dad….dad! Let…me...go…”

“Sorry, Scorp...Ted, alright?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be alright? That was wicked, Harry! Nice one, Scorp!”

You roll your eyes, despite your still-leaping heart and rapid breathing, and jump as the lights flicker back on. The boys both groan in disappointment, but Scorp has one fist clenched around your wrist and the other still stuffed between his lips.

“Alright...bedtime, pajamas...now!” you say, sternly. “If anyone has any nightmares, I’m sure Harry will be more than happy to sleep with you!”

Harry just grins at you like the insufferable bastard that he is.

“Next time, let’s just light some lamps and make a Lego dragon, yeah? Or better yet, fix the bl--fix the lights!” you hiss.