#but I’m at a point in the game where I’m barely landing hits

[imogenkol]

Ok so I mayyyy have fucked my first playthrough of bg3 because I’m an impatient bitch when I get a new game and I like to steamroll through the main plot during my first go of it and I’m used to being able to go back and do side quests whenever I want but now it’s the beginning of act 3 and I feel like I missed important decisions/quests and I am already fighting for my life harder than usual 🙃

[clawsdevour]

victory reward

wc: 2.1k content warning: post-time skip, established relationship, ushijima x reader, smut, hinting towards a sex marathon, mention of semen retention, size kink, cream pie, not proofread

び˚ˎ 。

The final sound of the spike that your husband, Ushijima Wakatoshi, landed on the volleyball court secured the win for Japan in the Paris Olympics volleyball game. The cheering after Japan’s winning still rang in your ears when you left to go backstage in order to meet with Ushijima when he step foot off the blazing court.

“Toshi!! Right here!” Screaming against all of the sounds that resonated in the crowded hallway to get his attention. His stone cold eyes meet yours and softened immediately when he made his way to your direction. The closer he stepped towards you, his warm welcoming arms opened for a big hug despite being drenched in sweat.

“Hey love, did you watch me play all day?” Falling into his strong arms that held you closer to him, a faint smile spreading on his lips as you nod into his chest. The crowds’ are walking around you two while you quickly chatted in place about the match that just finished.

Leaving the big and roaring venue, the cold air hits your face once you step foot outside. Your arm clings with his for warmth, walking alongside him trying to not get caught up with the other people who strolled by. You’re praising him for his skills and the last strike he landed on court that brought Japan to it’s next match in the Olympics. He’s smiling to himself, content with the victory and the fact he now knows that you came and watched him play the whole time.

“When we get back to our hotel, are you gonna reward me?” Ushijima peers down to see your awestruck face frozen in surprise due to his silly attempt at hinting you two to do something suggestive. Ushijima’s not the type to ask for intercourse often, you’d have to pounce on him and have a whole build up to get to the tip of it because of how stern and naive he could be. Not to mention, his busy schedule to keep his volleyball skills and physique in check.

“Haha, Toshi would you even take my reward if I gave it to you?” Giggling to play with him a bit, half serious. He’s putting back on his game face as his piercing eyes scream out a simple Yes which was all you needed to know. He was serious, he must’ve been waiting for a long time to be buried in you once more.

The moment you enter and close your hotel door was the moment where his big silhouette carried and dropped you onto the springy and plush king sized bed. Ushijima’s hands are placed by your ears, trapping you in position underneath his heavy and athletic frame.

Wrapping your hands around his head as he leaned into you to share an intimate kiss on the lips. He couldn’t wait and be patient any longer, his tongue pokes through to completely take over the inside of your mouth. Ushijima roughly dominates the kiss by massaging his tongue around yours while you continuously moaned into the heated gesture. At some point he had to pull away to let you both breathe a little. 

Your lips were barely touching while you breathed in each others warm air, a bit dizzy from that intoxicating kiss. His honest and dark olive eyes couldn’t keep off of your slightly swollen reddened lips as he went in for another one. Tracing the shape of your lips with the tip of his tongue, you watched through his long fluttering lashes. Sucking on your bottom lip, eager for your tongue to slip into his mouth as you felt his thick fingers caress the side of your face. 

“I’m so.. Hard right now, it hurts. I haven’t let it out in so long.” Ushijima’s hot and raspy voice whispered in your ear. Tilting your head to meet his vulnerable face, his hand reaches for yours so he could lead you to feel what’s in between his tight shorts. Wow, his bulge was real big and stiff. You haven’t fucked with your husband in a month or two due to his intensive training schedule. Of course, he hasn’t let out any of his steam while being so caught up practicing to play for the Olympics. 

“You could let it all out in me Toshi,” bringing his hand down your waistband to feel the wetness at the bottom of your underwear. His eyes slightly widened at the dampness. Ushijima brings his lips down to your neck to plant a sloppy kiss as his fingers rubbed along your clothed slit.

“I love you.” Ushijima shuffles up on his knees to take off his suffocating shirt that clung to him for dear life to reveal his rippling and muscular figure. Your fingers reached to linger across his sculpted torso trying to reel him in as he leaned back down towards you, placing hands on his broad shoulders.

“I love you too..” Your lustful eyes watched as he makes his way up your shirt, essentially pushing up your bra to reveal your stiff and perky nipples due to being released from their cage. Ushijima’s warm tongue caressing your tit causes you to push your head back into the soft pillow, the more he sucked and licked across your sensitive nip the more your head sank down. His other hand fondled with your unoccupied breast, teasing and playing with it as his eyes remained focused on your reactions. 

Shortly after, his hands bring themselves down towards your hips, gradually bringing his swollen lips down with it. Ushijima’s working down your pants and underwear. You sit up to help him, also taking off your shirt and bra as you sat naked in front of him, with a slightly red hue flushed across your face. 

“You’re so beautiful. I can’t believe my job kept me away from you for so long, I’m sorry..” Ushijima’s parting your legs open like the red sea as you tried to resist out of humiliation. Of course, losing to his powerful and sturdy hands that kept you apart. His dark olive orbs lit up seeing your cunt already wet with your slick from all the kissing and slight nipple play.

Ushijima dives in with his tongue that draws steady circles over your little bundle of nerves, causing you to let out a whimper of shock. The foreign sensation of his tongue on your clit felt so good, your locked legs squirmed despite his grasp on the back of your thighs. The skin like dough seeping out of his hands while he holds you up. Your mouth parting and opening as your moans grew louder, whenever you call out his name in that lewd state he doesn’t hold back. Your hands were buried into his hair, pushing his face closer to your pussy. He’s adding in a thick finger or two inside to curl into your sweet spot to help prep you for his cock. He knows he’s gonna have to use more than two fingers, so he snuck in another one to stretch you out. Your legs are twitching like crazy as you squirmed and forced his head closer. His tongue swirls around in your plush hole once more, driving you to your spinning orgasm as he slurps up all of your remaining juices before his finishing course. 

He unlatches his mouth from your dripping cunt as you lay limpless trying to regain your composure, watching him slide his shorts and boxers down to reveal his massive raging erection that dripped with precum. Your arms help you up as you saw him stroke it a few times as he grunted before laying it on your pussy.

“Toshi, is it gonna fit..?” You’re looking at him with a bit of fear in your eyes at his big and girthy length that’s currently sitting on your clit. He’s guiding his mad red tip to glide around on your slit, collecting the juices you secretated.

“I’ll make it fit.” Ushijima’s determined and believes it’ll all fit in like always even though you’re always a bit worried. Everytime you fuck it ends up like this, but he’s always somehow balls deep inside your plush walls that clung onto him. You knew that and always trusted him during the whole process of just putting it in. You’re laying down flat on your back as he’s towering over you once again. Feeling his tip find and prob at the entrance of your hole, Ushijima’s looking for your approval as you nod at him to stick it in.

There goes the first part, your entrance expands to take in his circumference. He’s slowly pushing it in, trying to not cause any more discomfort than his cock is already putting you in. the pain from stretching you out starts to kick in when you feel the stabbing sensation. Your deathenly grip on his shoulders increases, causing crescent marks to appear on his smooth skin whenever you had to readjust your hand placement. 

“You okay? It’s just about in.” Ushijima’s grunting from the tight heated walls that held his cock, making it feel like it’s about to snap in half at any given moment. The waves of the killer stinging sensation began to increase when he started to slide out. It was like a metal fork scratching a chalkboard inside. Shoving it back was even more painful even though it was slightly starting to mix with pleasure that’ll soon start to wash over and fill your body. 

Your body’s producing tears as a natural reaction towards the affliction, your loving husband’s wiping them off your face with his thumb while peppering you kisses all over. The slow but earth shattering damage that his cock implies on your clenching walls continued its attempt at stimulating you. Throwing your arms over his head, bringing him closer to your tearstained eyes. Your cunt takes the form of his size the more he moved in and out of you, loosening your grip on his cock.

“It feels good Toshi, you can go faster..” sobbing in between whines as waves of pleasure started to take over your body. Nodding his head as he grunted, his pace began to increase from a turtle’s pace to making you arch your back as you held onto him with all your might. His eyes averted to your breasts enjoying each bounce as he started to thrust even more. 

The amount of inaudible sounds coming from your mouth and the squelching from below, he can’t take it anymore it’s been far too long. Ushijima’s uneven breathing came to a pause whenever your gummy walls clenched, eventually he came inside. Filling you to the brim even when he thought he emptied his load in you. Taking it out, his white goo continued to spray onto your breasts and stomach as some of it started to drip out of your cunt.

“Shit, there’s so much ha.” He’s trying to jerk it all out before taking on another round with you. When he thought he was done, it just started to leak out from his tip. Biting his lip as he continues to finish, before putting your legs up into a mating press. 

Your knees pressed against the sticky semen on your chest as he’s pushing your ankles further down, exposing all of your pussy to him. You’re dripping with his cum that keeps trailing out of your cunt. Feeling his girth press against you again, he’s scooping his creamy white substance onto his cock before smoothly attempting to slide back in with a moan of relief. 

Your head tilts back from all the stimulation as you’re grabbing onto the sheets. His cock is able to plummet and destroy your insides even more with his position that made your body more sensitive with how much deeper he can reach. All you can do is let out your loud continuous moans and praises as you take all of his length again and again. His unbreakable stamina turns your head into a groggy mess as you try to keep conscious throughout his heavy, hard poundings. Ushijima notices your change in reaction when as you try to keep up with his momentum and came to a complete stop.

“Hey, you okay? Do you need to take a break or drink some water?” Your eyes focus on him from between your legs. His words melt into your ears now that the sounds of flesh on flesh came to a halt. All you could hear was the heavy breathing ringing in your ears.

You shake your head ‘No,’ knowing you’ll have to at some point. All you could think about what how it’s gonna be a long night to celebrate. 

masterlist here

[onsomenewsht]

'cause everybody knows something I don't wanna know

About when, despite the victories and the defeats, you still talk a bit too much, but all the questions are answered

《 read part 1, I just wanna feel something, tell me where to go

》 Alexia Putellas x fencer!Reader

》 words count: +4.5k

》 move mountains [idiom]: to do something that seems impossible, particularly when love or belief makes one feel determined to succeed in something incredibly difficult to achieve

“En garde!”

The weight of the blade in your hand is familiar, well balanced as you adjust the position of your feet on the piste.

“Prêtes?”

A cocky smirk appears on your opponent’s face, somehow not disguised behind the mask tinted with the Hungarian flag. It just sparks more determination inside you, fuelling a fire that will burn ‘till the very last point.

“Allez!”

You know she’s coming even before her body moves in a leap, the sabre twitching to surprise you with a low line attack. A quick step on the side is enough to gain the space you need for a clear defense, deflecting her blade away from the target and sliding your own on her back.

A red light turns immediately on, firing up your side of the fencing piste.

The referee gestures in your direction to confirm the touch, the score is now 10-13.

With not much time left to catch up to your opponent’s advantage before the end of the second period, the need to start another assault overcomes the joy of the successful hit.

Three points behind, you can’t concede anything, you know that, but every single person in the arena thinks you’re desperate to land as many touches as possible.

However, you’re not desperate.

You’ve never been desperate in your entire fencing career, and you’re not tonight, at the dusk of your Olympic experience.

For once, for this last dance with the gods and goddesses of the sports, it’s all about being present and enjoying every moment.

~

“Look, this could be us if you let me take you out on a date”

Barely awake to register your words and definitely not enough to deal with your overexcitement this early in the morning, Alexia just takes the phone you unceremoniously put on her face as soon as you spot her eyes opening.

The article on the screen reports about "the 9 couples who competed at the Olympics together and won" with great details and pictures. She’s definitely not going to read it.

“We don’t play the same sport”, she states.

“Not the point of the article”

“We don’t even compete for the same country”

“Still missing the point”, you roll your eyes unimpressed, knowing she’s once again just avoiding the topic.

Or trying to annoy you for the abrupt wake up.

“We’re not together–”

“Yet!”

The footballer isn’t able to hide the smile that rises on her lips, yours is always so contagious. She hands back the phone, turning on her side to face you properly. The light sheets now barely cover her body, exposing a couple of darkening marks.

Not letting your gaze wander is, ‘till this day, the greatest display of strength and self-control you had to perform.

And you came back from the Olympic Games just a couple of months ago.

“We’re not together yet ‘cus you don’t let us go out on a proper date!”

It’s Alexia’s turn to roll her eyes, but the redness that tints her cheek is much more difficult to hide than your disappointment.

The two of you meet a few times since the Closing Ceremony, both with medals hanging from your necks and a strange force in your chest pulling one towards the other – despite everything.

Despite the older woman insisting it can’t work.

Taking advantage of a moment of distraction, you push her back onto the bed, sliding one leg over her body and successfully holding her hands above her head. The blush spreads on her face and your grin grows, but when you find her eyes, you make sure she knows you deeply mean what you’re saying.

“I just need a chance, Alexia”

“I’m–”

“Just give us a chance”

~

Fencing is a strange combat practice.

“En garde!”

Doesn’t matter how many times, how hard, or where you’re hit.

“Prêtes?”

You’re immortal.

“Allez!”

The only touch that kills you is the 15th one.

You launch yourself at the Hungarian girl, knowing that to win the game she just needs to land two more attacks or rely on your mistakes. She’s pushed to the very end of the piste, her sabre desperately circling around yours to defend her target, while her foot is moving quickly to avoid a step behind – a step that could mean one more point for you.

An idea comes up as you intentionally let your attack fall short, fooling your opponent to advance. Her front leg extends in a forward motion, pushing with the back foot to create more energy and gain space from the end line.

She’s exactly where you need her.

With a clean parry, deflecting her blade away, you successfully withdraw her line and gain right-of-way to attack. Now vulnerable and off balance, you just have to press the tip of your sabre on her shoulder.

The piste lights up with a vivid red and, a second too late, bright white reports her no valid touch.

11-13.

In your corner, your maestro is nodding his head slowly and suggesting you the next move with rapid motions of his hands.

Not a man of many words, someone could say, but you like him like that.

He knows exactly when to spur your competitiveness and hunger to win, when to keep your feet steady on the piste, and when to let you be.

~

“You know, I think I wasted my entire life”

Alexia moves her hands from your back to your shoulder, raising a sceptical eyebrow at your statements but now used – and resigned – to your questionable sense of humour.

“I’m made to be a wag”

As her head drops down and her eyes light up with pure amusement, you can’t help but think you want to be able to do this for the rest of your life. Managing to make her laugh so openly and carefree is still one of your biggest accomplishments.

“I have to say, you do look good”, the footballer points to the jersey you’re wearing, blushing a bit at the thought of her name on the back.

She can just hope you will not notice, blaming the effort the past 90 minutes demanded from her.

“Better do, I don’t know how much longer I can keep rocking Barça merch for”

“Good for you, there’s only one game left”

“Bold to you to assume I’m stopping at the Champions League, Putellas”, you reach out to drop one arm around her shoulders to hold the Catalan in an embrace you’re now really familiar with, “There’s a World Cup title to defend next year, I’ve already cleared my schedule”

~

Coming from a family of respected and accomplished athletes of the sport, the road ahead of you is marked out with the characteristic arch of a fencing blade since you’re old enough to hold the weapon properly.

Probably even before that, knowing your parents.

“En garde!”

The techniques of parring and thrusting, the movements of feet dancing on the piste, the special feeling of the blade as an extension of the body. You master all before you’re actually ready to admit the desire to make fencing a living, not just a passion passed on or a demanting hobby.

Hating the sport could have been so much easier, blaming the ‘nepo baby’ status either you succeeded or you turned out not to be up to it.

“Prêtes?”

But you love fencing.

“Allez!”

And you’re damn good at it.

A couple of steps into the assault, you take advantage of a moment of hesitation in the Hungarian’s preparation to perfectly timing your next move. Pushing from your front leg with impressive force, your body flies high to quickly cover the gap that divides the two of you. The jump allows you to deliver the attack slightly earlier than expected, striking your sabre against your target with no mercy.

The red light turns on as the crowds erupt in cheers, 12-13.

~

“Shouldn't I be the nervous one?”

Alexia’s hand finds yours before you’re even able to register her comment, stopping you from biting your nails off. She pulls it away and kisses your knuckles, keeping her eyes on your tense body.

The drive through the countryside’s streets is slow and calm, giving the footballer the time to appreciate the view but also a clear idea of how little you want to arrive at your parent’s villa.

A summer break under the Italian sun looks like a great idea, taking your girlfriend to your favourite hidden gems all around the country and finding together new places for new memories is just what you two need.

And it’s perfect, until your mother calls to invite you to spend the weekend with them.

“It can’t be that bad”

“You know my parents”

“I don’t, actually”, she argues, honest but not unkind.

It’s not like you don’t want Alexia to meet your family, she had bumped into them on several occasions and had brief conversations with them when their paths collided in your life.

A formal meeting though? Two entire days with your parents at their summer house? Sounds like hell to you.

“They’re going to be obnoxious and stern without reason”

“I can deal with them”

You stop at the side of a deserted road, too close to your destination for your own liking. Needing some time to prepare yourself and your girlfriend for the upcoming and unnecessary drama, the unplanned break looks like the best compromise over turning the car the other way altogether.

“I know you can deal with them, I don’t want you to”

That sounds wrong.

Alexia’s face contorts slightly, even if you’re perfectly aware she’s trying to understand you without just assuming you don’t want her to enter your family’s bubble.

“I’m not making any sense”, you state, taking a long breath in and relaxing at the feeling of the Catalan’s hand still holding yours.

“We don’t have to go if you don’t want to”

“No, I– Ale, my parents aren’t bad, but that doesn’t necessarily mean they are good. I told you what my childhood looked like. I had everything I’d ask for, and I’m grateful for that, but–”

When you meet her eyes you find complete support and desire to know how to take this pressuring weight out of your chest.

You never felt more cared for in your life.

“I met your family, I’ve been in your house. It feels like home, warm and lived, and– I can’t explain, but your family feels like a hug. My family?”, you scoff, trying to find the right words, “My family feels like a distant pat on the back on the good days. I don’t want you to feel like that, I want you to feel all my love”

She doesn’t let your hand go to gently hold your face with her free one, her thumb wiping away the traces of tears from your cheeks.

She makes sure to have all your attention, she makes sure to convey all her love for you.

“I’ll be your hug”

~

The protests of the younger opponent are cut short by the referee, who gestured for the two of you to take the centre of the piste.

“En garde!”

An old maestro, one of the unfortunates who had to train you when you were an annoying and reckless teenager, demanded from you absolute control of your reactions every time you landed a hit.

“Prêtes?”

You used to never celebrate any point but the last one.

“Allez!”

You don’t hold back anymore.

The Hungarian’s steps are now more calculated, jumping forward every now and then but keeping a fair distance from you and your sabre.

Fencing has taught you a lot about discipline and respect, you’re grateful for how much you’ve grown thanks to the sport. It was a long way from a tiny hyperactive kid, who just wanted to win and couldn’t accept any decision against it, to where you stand now.

Sometimes you still feel like that kid.

You hold your ground, you don’t rush the action just for the sake of it. Keeping up the pace of the assault, your blade finds the opponent’s one in rapid motions of attacks and responses without any real commitment to push for the point.

Other times you wish you were still that kid.

Suddenly, you both launch forward – aiming for a different target but with the same purpose. While she uses her front leg and an elusive movement of her arm to find your shoulder, your back leg slides and your body extends lower, trying to catch the other fencer by surprise.

The blades collide several times in a rapid succession of parries and responses until the piste lights up and you both pour out in celebration, claiming the touch.

You don’t hold back anymore, you have nothing to prove.

You don’t have to prove you’re worth your family’s name, you don’t have to prove you’re good enough to compete with the bests of the world in the biggest stages.

You don’t have to prove anything to anyone but yourself.

When both signals indicate the hit, it rests upon the referee to decide which fencer scores the point – retracing the entire action and giving their interpretation of it.

If they say the point isn’t yours, you have to accept the decision.

It goes without saying that you are not happy with it when the referee indicates your opponent when conferring the point.

12-14, it doesn’t look good for you.

~

Your pacing around the rooftop is frenetic, quite comical if seen from outside.

A gust of wind makes your exposed skin shiver, blowing your hair and completely ruining the intricate style you spend almost an hour on. It could also be your nervous hands making, but you’re not going to blame yourself for that too.

“Can you just stop?”

“No, Alexia, I cannot!”

The footballer covers the distance between the two of you in a few, determined steps. Her dress moves in a way that perfectly highlights the curve of her body and the definition of her muscles.

You could be fixed on your fiancé, devoting your attention completely to her, if you’d not be too preoccupied with freaking out.

“It’s not working”, you state.

“You really think that?”

Another shiver runs through your back, this time caused by the thought of the ending of your relationship with Alexia. Do you really think it’s over?

“We’re planning a wedding and we’ve never been in the same city at the same time for more than three consecutive months”

“Since when has that been a problem?”, she asks, holding you by your arms and never dropping her gaze, “We deal with the distance just fine. We go on dates and spend time together, we communicate and we are honest, we are there for each other when it matters”

“I want to be there when it doesn’t matter too”

“What does that even mean?”

The desire of stability and an everyday life that can grow into a future is something you both crave but are too scared to admit to the other.

“I want to be there when you’re back from training and you just want to watch a wild nature documentary, I want to be there for the daily and boring errands like doing the dishes or going to the supermarket just because we’re out of toilet paper”

It’s difficult to build your lives together far away from each other, to then meet and intertwine your paths, just to say goodbye and start all over again.

But the life you’re building is so beautiful.

A life that now looks like a carefully planned date in a stunning location, set up months in advance, or like a spontaneous surprise just because you have a free weekend and a pull from your heart that cannot be ignored.

But a life that soon will look like a walk out with a dog in the middle of the night because you forgot to do it after dinner, or like a weekly double date with your friends at the same restaurant.

A life that now looks like expensive gifts and flowers sent from a different country, but a life that soon will look like an electric bill with both your names on it.

A life that now looks like a shared calendar to make sure you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be, exactly at the right time.

But a life that soon will still look like a shared calendar to make sure you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be, exactly at the right time, just for completely different reasons.

A life you are already building, already living.

“Do you remember when you asked me to give us a chance? Well, now is my turn”

“Alexia, I–”

“Just give us a chance, amore mio”

~

“En garde!”

As a smirk reappears on the Hungarian’s face, you take a deep breath and remember your journey to this very fencing bout.

Your fourth Olympic Games, your fourth Individual Final for a medal.

“Prêtes?”

This could be a poker of victories or a bittersweet send off to the biggest sport stage.

“Allez!”

Sabre is the fastest and most aggressive of the three fencing disciplines, both parts rushing their opponent from the moment the referee commands to commence action. Just to secure a touch as soon as possible.

That’s why sabre fencers purposely take the defensive approach just in really particular situations.

You make a couple of steps forward, faking a lunge, as the young girl let her blade circle around yours without a real intention to engage. The exchange goes on like this far longer than you wish for, you know it’s a matter of moments before someone has to stir the combat.

Learning to understand when to attack and when to wait has been a challenge your entire life – not just professionally-wise. A maybe too talkative kid, a maybe too reckless teenager, a maybe too presumptuous woman.

Always maybe a little too much.

There’s a fairly big distance between the two of you, the Hungarian’s back leg shakes in subtle desire to close the gap and take the initiative.

It’s the hint you need.

Learning to understand your feelings and your emotions, accepting them as they are, doesn’t matter how strong or uncomfortable, has been the real challenge.

A battle you still fight against yourself, against your own mind. A battle no one can really see or comprehend.

You accelerate and move forward, stamping your front foot to the ground and extending your hand, both fainting an attack and disguising your defence stance. The motion is quickly followed by your opponent’s launch, but, tricked by the fast movement of your blade, she completely miscalculates the actual distance between your bodies.

She falls short, and, without time to recover, she has to take your punishment.

A battle you face with yourself, but with people in your corner ready to cheer for you despite the outcome.

Once again, the only light turning on is the red one – the score is now a compelling 13-14.

~

“Oh”

Looking up from the paperwork you’re proofreading, you notice how Alexia stops in the middle of your bedroom with a cup of coffee in one hand and a startstrucked gaze fixed on her face.

“We have to make another one!”, she whisper-shouts as she doesn’t seem able to look away from the baby currently sleeping in your arms.

It’s not the most comfortable position, but it’s too early for you to deal with your six-month old daughter’s fussing and your wife’s quite emotional state.

“We make another one”

“No, now hand me my coffee, please”, you lay the papers on the bed to make some grabbing gestures towards the cup – still in her very still, very far away hand.

“We have to replicate, we have to make another one”

“No, we really don’t”

“Look at her!”

You don’t look at her, finally reaching for your coffee as Alexia comes sitting next to you to gently caress the little girl’s face.

A smile rises on your lips, the picture of your growing family is always able to warm your heart and make up any doubts in your running mind.

Being loved and taken care of is not as hard as you thought it’d be.

It’s simple, it’s comforting.

It’s the hug she promised you, and you feel it wrapping all around your body when you need it the most, and also suddenly, out of nowhere and for no reason at all, in mornings like this one.

“She’s like a white rhino or the Amur leopard”, she doesn’t need to look at you to feel your raised eyebrow, “We fell asleep watching a documentary about the rarest and most critically threatened animals on the planet”

“I can’t leave the two of you alone unsupervised, never again”

“She’s rare, amore mio. We need to create more so the world could be a better place”

Holding back your laughs is getting more and more difficult, restrained just by the idea of waking up the baby still fast asleep. At least the Catalan is keeping her voice down as her enthusiasm runs wild.

As soon as she starts kissing her cheeks you know you’re done.

“Leave her alone, let her sleep”

“I can’t, look at her!”, she pumps your daughter’s nose with a finger, making her steer in your arms with a too-cute-for-your-own-good face.

She’s always reacting to Alexia’s soft touches and whispers.

Your wife’s basically tearing up at this point, too overwhelmed by the moment. At least you can blame the post partum hormones for your now emotional state.

The happiness you feel all around your home? That’s all Alexia’s making.

~

The crowd is loud and beaming, excited for the last tale of this fencing Individual Final and to see who will come out as the winner.

“En garde!”

A quick look at your maestro, he nods with his arms crossed. That will do.

“Prêtes?”

Breathing in and out, you savour every second of this as you find your position. A good preparation means everything in fencing. It’d make the difference in any moment of the assault, in any moment of the entire bout.

You learnt that a good preparation means everything in life too.

“Allez!”

The younger girl moves fast, launching herself forward as soon as the referee gives the go. But you’re prepared.

A good preparation gives you time to watch your opponent, ready to move in either direction you need to. You’re ready to move forward or take a step back, you’re ready to jump or to slide low. You’re ready to do everything you need to not get touched.

You’re prepared for this to be your last time fencing at the Olympic Games, you’re prepared for this to be your last time fencing all together.

The Hungarian tries to take you off balance with a quick sequence of attacks, going for the high hit and then aiming at your exposed target. You parry every single one, predicting her movement with impressive precision.

There are different ways to prepare – the posture, the speed, the steps can be varied, depending on the style of the fencer and on the opponent. There’s no right or wrong way. But you’re prepared for anything tonight.

When you see her going deep, you know how to move to anticipate her blade, rotating yours against it and leaving her target open just enough for you to breathe out and press the tip of the sabre in the middle of her chest.

The red light turns on before the green one, the score now announcing a draw at 14.

~

“This one looks comfortable”, you tap Alexia’s foot, waking her up efficiently from the nap you find her taking.

How can she manage to fall asleep in the most unhinged positions, it’s something you ask yourself to this day. Your daughter takes after her, obviously.

That’s how you find the two of them on the sofa with a National Geographic’s documentary on.

At least the girl immediately stirred up at hearing you coming back home after a couple hours out to run some boring errands.

“I was just resting my eyes”

“Sure”, you bend down smiling, kissing her forehead, “You have training in an hour, coach”

“Plenty of time”

A firm hand finds the back of your neck, holding you in place for a proper kiss. Alexia’s lips are soft and taste like fresh tomatoes and kid’s chapstick – the latter probably your daughter’s doing.

Said daughter now alone and unsupervised in the kitchen.

You reluctantly pull back from the Catalan, leaving a light peck at the tip of her nose as soon as she frowns unhappily about the loss of contact.

“You used to like me”, she complains.

“Good old days, mi amor”

~

Eleven seconds left may be the entire time of a race or may count nothing in some other sports. In fencing, eleven seconds may be the longest time ever or not quite enough at all for a point.

You’re not going to drag this into the final round.

“En garde!”

Breathe in.

“Prêtes?”

Breathe out.

“Allez!”

Smile.

As soon as the referee gives the go, you rush forward with your hand held back – quite a vulnerable move if not for the four metres distance the starting positions guarantee. You bounce a couple steps, staying very high against the Hungarian’s low stance, building speed and momentum to lunge upwards without giving her any clear clue of what type of attack you’re going to choose.

Your blade slides on the target before she has time to realise where you actually hit.

There’s no doubt, no hesitation.

The red light turns on in what feels like the longest time ever, the crowd erupts in cheers, and the mask falls off your head as you celebrate like never before in your entire career.

Taking the centre of the piste, you point your sabre in a really specific direction, aiming at a very specific person.

Two, actually.

You mimic a bow and the audience goes wild.

It’s for none but the two people you can’t keep your teared up eyes off.

After that, it’s all a blur.

Saluting the opposition and the referee is a natural gesture. You manage to give the younger fencer your sincere compliments and some words of advice she takes more gracefully than you could have ever done at her age.

Your maestro holds you in a big hug, he says it’s been an honour, and you will not start doubting him now.

Someone drags you for a quick interview, asking questions you have been asked your entire life. You answer sincerely, but the desire to get this over with as soon as possible is clear as the smile on your face.

“It’s a bronze medal, how do you feel about it?”

“Honestly? I think this is the most important and beautiful of them all”, you politely say your goodbyes to run in the opposite direction.

Finding Alexia has always been easy, your eyes lock in the middle of full rooms despite everything and everyone. A warm hug envelops your body when you’re close enough to fall into her open arms, feeling tiny hands holding onto you at the same time.

“We’re so proud of you, amore mio”

“Thank you, for the chance”

fine.

[iinryer]

I feel like 43 (piggy back ride) and 49 (leaning on the other for support) would pair with each other SO well 🤗☺️

A little scene prompt game to get me writing!

[43: piggy back ride + 49: leaning on the other for support]

—

“Come on, Buck,” Eddie grits out, as loudly as he can to be heard past the mask over his face and the roar of the flames a few floors above them, “come on, four more flights, we can do it,”

Buck just lets out a pained laugh, tightening his hold across Eddie’s shoulders—he’s been losing his footing more frequently and Eddie’s getting increasingly worried that they’re not going to make it to the ground level.

Eddie has been feeding him a litany of come on let’s go you’ve got it almost there the entire descent from the collapsed 11th floor, and at this point he’s not sure whose benefit it’s for.

The next time Buck stumbles, it’s on the landing between the third and fourth floors, and it’s accompanied by a weak, “Ed-Eddie, I can’t, I—,” before he pulls Eddie with him as he’s bracing against the wall and sliding down to the floor.

Eddie crouches in front of him, grasping the sides of his head, trying to get a better look through Buck’s cracked face mask.

“Buck—Buck! Hey!” Eddie gives him a frantic shake, “Hey, look at me, bud—yeah, that’s it, let me see those eyes,”

“Eddie, I’m—,” Buck cuts himself off with a cough and a harsh swallow, pupils visibly different sizes, “I can’t, I can’t—I’m so dizzy, Eddie, I can’t,”

Adrenaline zips down Eddie’s spine, hands tingling with it where he’s holding Buck’s face, separated only by the barely-functional protective gear, “Hey. Yes you can—Yes you can! Come on, we’re so close, we can swap masks for the last few flights—,”

Predictably, Buck interrupts him with a severe look—one that’s undercut almost immediately by the weak push to Eddie’s chest and slight slur of his voice—saying, “No. No, Eddie, not a chance,”

”Buck,” Eddie tries, again, like he has every other flight since floor 11, “I’m not the one with the concussion. Please—,”

“Diaz, Buckley—what’s your status,” Bobby’s voice crackles over the radio.

Eddie takes a frustrated breath before keying his radio, “Over three-quarters down, Cap. I can get us there, but Buck’s in pretty rough shape,”

Buck glares at him weakly through the crack splitting his mask.

Eddie glares back.

“Copy,” Bobby says, strain in his voice evident even through the radio, “IC is still adamant on personnel evac, they’re not permitting new entry unless both of you are compromised, the upper floors are too unstable. But we’ve got the best of the best waiting for the two of you by the eastern stairwell door,”

“Understood,” Eddie says, “Tell Hen and Chim they’ll see us soon,”

”We’d better,” Hen chimes in.

When the channel chirps closed, the only sound Eddie can hear is his own breathing inside his respirator as the two of them look at each other. Eddie gives them to the count of five in his own head before he’s saying, “Come on, Buck, time to go,”

Eddie pulls Buck up roughly, only for his limbs to ragdoll so quickly that Eddie ends up dropping harshly on his knees to be able to throw a hand out to keep Buck’s head from hitting the railing on his way back down.

To his horror, he can see tears spring to Buck’s eyes—ones that he’s sure have nothing to do with the smoke.

“I—I can’t, Eddie, I—,” Buck’s voice trembles, fumbling to grasp at Eddie’s turnout sleeve, “it’s spinning, and it hurts so—hurts so bad I can’t see,”

Concussion symptoms: loss of motor control, dizziness, pain, mood dysregulation.

Something above them crashes and roars.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Eddie tries, dipping down to press the front of his helmet to the top of Buck’s for a frantic moment, “I’ve got you, man, okay? I’ve got you,”

“Okay,” Buck nods against him, shakily, “Okay, you’ve got me,”

It very quickly becomes clear that Buck will not be able to hold himself up enough to simply lean on Eddie like before, so Eddie reconfigures.

Despite the weak protests, he manhandles Buck forward so he’s seated on the top step off of the landing. Eddie positions himself a step down with his back to Buck’s chest, and heaves the increasingly limp form behind him onto his own back.

There’s a muffled groan over his shoulder when he hoists Buck into a better position after standing, his own body screaming in response. But stand he does, and step by step, flight by flight, they move.

Almost like a mantra or a prayer, Eddie finds himself immediately falling back into the teeth-gritting promises of I’ve got you I’ve got you I’ll get us there I’ve got you all the way to the ground floor—and they’re promises he intends to keep.

[now posted on ao3!]

[flowerfreya]

Emotions

Part 6 of The Office AU

Pairing: John Price x Soap x Ghost x Gaz

Content: I saw a post that said a lot of poly 141 is actually just RH , which made me want to give backstory on the 141 and the lore

There is gay smut in this so minors DNI

Masterlist

They all met each other when they got recruited to be in a special task force that was made up entirely of SPECOP soldiers, Johnny for explosives, Gaz for communications , Simon for security, and John was the leader of it all. They trauma bonded, hard. They got close, closer than a lot of other special groups usually do. They were away from other humans other than themselves for almost 6 - 9 months out of the year. They went through everything together. One mission changed everything. 

It was cold , they were in Serbia doing recon in a safe house that maybe housed the spies that the brass has been looking for when they were spotted. A gunshot pierces Johnny in the leg and then another shot appears where his foot just was. Price is yelling , trying to get a nine line out here but it’s too hostile, too remote, too far. Johnny thinks he’s going to die, he sees all his blood in the snow and thinks this is it. 

“I love you”, he whispers, to no one specific because he is saying  it to all of them. Gaz is trying to stop the bleeding, making a tourniquet, shakes his head with a grim look on his face doesn’t respond, can’t respond. Sounds like a goodbye to him so he doesn’t respond and continues to try to stop the bleeding. 

“Shut the fuck up”,Ghost growls. He looks down and sees that Johnny's eyes are closed and gives him a little slap, “you're not dying that easy on me”. He sounds mad but his eyes are frantic, looking from Price to Gaz, to Soap’s leg and then back again. He can’t lose him because he knows if they lose Soap , they won’t recover after this they won’t. Price is screaming over the radio, just flat out ignores Soap goodbye because it’s not to him and he will be able to say it back tomorrow. They won’t give him the evac, stating that a helo won’t be able to land there without being hit by the hostiles. 

“We can clear the hostiles”, Price affirms. 

Ghost isn’t the best sniper out of the group but compared to the rest of the division he is ranked top three. He takes them out with three bullets, one for each person. When he lift the mirror from the quickly built cover and nothing happens , they quickly and carefully as possible haul Soap to the safe house. It’s bare, only a fire going and almost expired can be good but it’s a shelter. The evac takes 5 hours to get there. Johnny is sweating but every once in a while would complain of being cold. He’s pale and exhausted. He doesn’t get mad when they shake him away every time he closes his eyes. He knows he’s close to death but when he looks at Price’s face and it purr agony anytime he looks at him, Soap knows that he needs this, if this is all he can do to make him feel better he will do it. 

“After this, I’m done”, Simon speaks up, he looks down at the floor but he sounds resolved like he’s made up his mind. 

“Me too”, Gaz argrees. 

“Me too”,Soap whispers , he tries to raise his hand but Ghost gives him that if wasn’t already dying, Ghost would do it. Price just nods because even though his career is his life, what is the point when the people that he loves are not there with him. There is none. 

“Me too”,Price says.

~

When Soap finally gets out of the hospital after three weeks and two surgeries , he’s prescribed physical therapy and an honorable discharge. The rest of the boys take a minute to get that same honor but when they do , they take the night to celebrate. 

They are drunk, having brought the most expensive bottle of whiskey and mead that Price has. And they get drunk, they get horny. Someone suggested strip poker, “I don’t know how to play poker”, Gaz exclaims. 

“Come sit in papa’s lap , will help you”, Price is patting his lap and Gaz takes a seat already feeling his length against his ass. The game doesn’t even progress past the first pass before they migrate to the bed. Gaz lets out a mewl as Soap licks from the top of his cock and then gives the best rimjob that he’s ever received in his life. He grips Price’s shoulder as he lets out a needy hum into his mouth, thrusting up into the air looking for any type of friction and receiving none. “Please”, he whimpers. 

“Please, what”, Simon says. But Simon already knows what he wants and is prepped enough to give it. He swings his legs over Gaz and gently lowers himself onto his cock letting a low and slow growl as Gaz lets out a curse , “so warm, feels so good”, his eyes rolling into the back of his head.

Price grabs Gaz’s hand and places it on his hard cock and envelopes his hand to move up and down, he lets out a broken gasp , “Keep doing that baby”, he whispers in his ear. Ghost grabs the back of Soap's head and holds him there, Soap makes a filthy wet noise, his hips moving up and down against Gaz’s leg getting off the all the noise and just rimming him in general.

Gaz hips stutter inside of Ghost, Ghost grabs on to his own cock and sets a bruising pace , which Gaz matches on Price’s cock. Let out a collective variety of curse words before warm cum is all over Gaz and inside Simon. Soap lifts off of Gaz and gives a dirty kiss to Simon and then Simon gives a nasty and loud kiss to Price with Gaz reaching over Simon’s shoulder to give Soap a kiss.

Price get’s up to go to the bathroom to get them all cleaned up with Soap going to the kitchen to get a large water bottle. Ghost and Gaz are cuddling, with Gaz holding Simon talking sweet nothing in his ear with him already dozing off. Price gets everyone cleaned up and Soap makes sure everyone gets some water, then they get into a giant ass bed that of course Price custom made and goes to sleep , because tomorrow Price has an interview for a new permanent receptionist.

[withwritersblock]

Think Later

~think later by Tate McRae~

Author's Note: Requested! I love this song so mf much Summary: Jack and Luke's sister is in town to visit when she finds a different Devil's player more interesting Warnings: implied smut, a very brief mention of toxic relationships Word Count: 1,585 Nico Hischer vs. Hughes fm!reader

Jack pulled his gear from his shoulders, letting out a huff of air. The team had beaten the Bruins in a 4-2 win. Where he scored two goals. He was excited to get out of the locker room because his older sister was in town. Her flight landed an hour before the game started, she barely had to time to go to Jack’s apartment and drop her bag off. 

“You guys going to Jerry’s?” Nico asked. It was bar and restaurant that the team liked to go to after they won games. Or even after horrible losses. Jack shot a look towards Luke across the room. Luke took a deep breath.

“Our sister is in town, she might want to just go home,” Jack offered. Nico perked upward, a smirk toyed to his lips. 

It was safe to say, he has crushed on Y/N since the first time he met her. It was during Jack’s rookie season, she stayed with Jack for a few weeks. Jack was struggling emotionally for a lot of his rookie year, and having his older sister in town was simply enough to help him get through it. 

“Don’t even think about it,” Jack pointed towards Nico. The locker room was pretty empty at this point, most of the guys had showered and left already. Luke furrowed his eyebrows harshly as he whipped his head around. 

“I wasn’t-” Nico started but Luke interrupted.

“She just got out of a relationship,” Luke let out as he walked towards Nico. 

“I said I wasn’t thinking about it,” Nico defended as he ran his fingers through his hair, “I’m gonna hit the showers,” Nico continued as he had a small smirk on his lips. 

It took another twenty minutes before both Jack and Luke left the locker room to see their older sister Y/N waiting for them. Luke smiled widely as he quickly made his way towards her. She gladly opened her arms for her youngest brother. 

She was technically the oldest. She was older than Quinn by twelve minutes. A fact she constantly reminded Quinn of. She was the only Hughes kid that lacked any interest in hockey, other than her brothers playing. She was a theatre kid, which was a complete one-eighty to what her parents childhoods were like. Her brothers were always more than supported. 

She felt teary-eyed as she engulfed her younger brother in a tight hug. This was the first time she saw Luke play in person in the Devils jersey. Her ex-boyfriend was a really difficult guy and wouldn’t let her travel on her own. He never wanted to spend the money to travel, so she never went to see the games. She was tightly wrapped her arms around his neck tightly. 

“Good job, Lukey Boy,” she let out as she pulled away meeting his eye. He smiled softly as he blinked away his own tears in his eye. She moved away from Luke towards Jack. “What a game, J,” she mumbled as she hugged him tightly. 

“Thanks, how are you feeling? Up for Jerry’s?” he said as he pulled away, his eyes slightly teary. She nodded dramatically. 

“Oh god, my rich brothers buying me drinks all night? How could I say no?” she asked as she stared walking towards the parking garage, blindly hoping they’d show her where Luke’s car was.

~~ 

They stepped into Jerry’s to see the entire bar was the team and their partners. The three of them walked towards the bar. Nico was sitting alone, nursing a beer as he kept his gaze on the TV screen replaying their game. It was in the middle of the first period. Jack patted on his shoulder, pulling his attention towards him. 

“Nico, you remember our sister, Y/N!” he let out loudly, over the noise of the bar. Nico met Jack’s eye for a second before he turned his gaze towards Y/N. Her eyes widened slightly as she met his gaze. The smirk on her lips quickly went away as fast as it appeared. Jack gave him a visual warning, a small head shake. “I’m gonna get us drinks, Lukey what do you want?” Jack shifted his attention towards Luke. 

“Nico, it’s nice to meet you again,” she offered as she stood beside him, close enough their arms could touch at any moment. He turned his gaze towards her, his heart beating hard against his chest.

“You too, Y/N,” he licked his lip as he shifted his gaze towards Jack and Luke behind her. 

“What do you want?” Jack asked smacking his hand against her back. She jolted suddenly, looking towards the bartender.

“Tequila soda extra lime, please,” she expressed. The bartender nodded as he began to work.

“Are you sure? Tequila may not-”

“Jack,” she scolded. He nodded reluctantly as he leaned against the bartop. Over his entire life, he knew to never argue with his older sister. She was feisty and could easily ruin him. She turned her gaze back towards Nico.

He never once looked away from her features. He couldn’t focus, he couldn’t breath as she was so stunning. She knew it too. The second she met Nico’s gaze, she pursed her lips forward. She tried to not smile. 

“Bold choice,” Nico muttered as he lowered his gaze towards her lips. They were glossed with a red color. She shrugged slightly. 

“Boring choice,” she pointed towards the beer in his hand. Nico dropped his head, a chuckle leaving his lips. “Trying to act all tough in front of your teammates?”

“I don’t need to try, I am,” he never wavered eye contact as he brought his beer towards his lips. He took a small sip. 

The bartender slid the tequila soda towards her. She smiled politely towards the bartender as she brought the glass towards her lips. Taking a sip, it tasted perfect.

“At least my drink has flavor,” she mumbled as she took another sip. Jack and Luke got their beers and were long gone, didn’t want to stay to witness Nico hit on their sister. Or even worse, their sister play along.

“It has flavor,” he defended, taking a sip of the beer. Cringing at the taste, her eyes widened as she chuckled. He smiled, “Didn’t say good flavor,”  

She leaned towards him, sliding her glass over, “Go ahead, try it,” she expressed. He clenched his jaw as he reluctantly placed his beer down. He hesitantly took a hold of the short glass. “Come on it’s so good,” she offered as she delicately rested her hand onto his forearm. He smirked towards her as he took a small sip. He quickly pulled his face away, his face scrunch together.

“Oh that’s awful,” he barely got out. 

“Oh come on!” she groaned out as she pulled the glass towards her, “You’re joking,” she let out. He shook his head, quickly pulling beer towards his lips.

“No, that was horrible,”

It had been an hour since she showed up to the bar, and it was pretty obvious that her and Nico were into one another. Jack would show up between them every so often, trying to shut down whatever was happening but it wasn’t working. 

“You know, I’m not supposed to be talking to you,” Nico let out as he tilted his head to the side. He scraped at the label of his beer bottle. She squinted her eyes slightly.

“Why’s that?” she pulled her lip gloss from her front pocket and slowly started applying it to her lips. 

“Jack doesn’t want me involved with you,” he let out. She rolled her eyes dramatically. 

“He can’t control who I talk to, or who I get involved with,” she explained confidently. She shoved her lip gloss back into her pocket as she hopped off the stool. She seductively ran her hand across his arm, slowly gripping his bicep. 

“I live across the street,” he mumbled as he lowered his gaze towards her lips. She nodded as she slowly ran her hand down his arm again, interlocking her fingers with his. 

“I just got out of a bad relationship,” she explained, meeting his gaze, “Bad in more ways than one,” she let out. Hoping he caught on. He nodded as he cleared his throat. 

“Come on,” he mumbled as he stood up from his stool, guiding her towards the bar exit. Y/N’s met Luke’s gaze from across the bar.

He tried to hold in his laughter as he watched Nico drag Y/N out of the bar. Luke smacked his hand against Jack’s arm. Jack and Dawson both shifted their gaze towards Luke. “Caps hooking up with our sister,” he let out, subtly pointing towards Y/N stepping out of the bar. He started laughing. Dawson tried to keep his laughter inside as he saw Jack’s angry expression.

“That motherfuc-”

Nico continued guiding Y/N across the street towards his apartment complex. They stepped into the lobby, he nodded towards the receptionist as he walked towards the elevator. He pressed the up button multiple times. 

“Think once is enough,” she whispered. He rolled his eyes playfully as the doors opened. He took a hold of her waist, pulling her inside. 

“Once is never enough,” he muttered as he pressed the button to his floor. He quickly guided her towards the back of the elevator, devouring her lips in the process.

“Oh my god,” she mumbled against his lips as she ran her fingers through the ends of his hair.

[graciesluva]

jealousy, caitlin clark

caitlin clark x vb! reader

in which caitlin has a jealousy problem and let’s it get the best of her.

disclaimer: i don’t play volleyball :) i actually barely know anything about it except from what i’ve collected by watching my sister play so sorry if it’s inaccurate!

Caitlin made it a point to try and make it to all of your games. She rarely missed one unless basketball took her away, which you understood. You tried to make it to all of her games as well and you did most of the time, sitting with her parents if they were in attendance or just with your friends who also showed up.

Once the end of October hit, it was harder, but most of the time it worked out. August through September, you could almost always count on her being in the crowd, normally having Monika and Kate (or any of the girls) in tow.

On this particular night, the team was playing extremely well. You, a libero, had been taken out during the second set after landing on your arm in a painful way when trying to pancake on the floor. You were mad at yourself for it, never really getting hurt when diving or anything, but it was something that was out of your control now.

You were put back in during the third set, after winning the first and second sets. There was a dull pain in your arm as you dove to the ground to save a ball again.

Soon enough, the Hawkeyes took a third win, the game over. You clapped hands with the other team, heading back to the locker room with your team.

Once you’d gotten all of your things pack up, putting a pair of sweatpants, leaving you in your uniform top. You stepped out of the locker room, going to look for Caitlin who had told you she’d be here.

“Hey, 22!” you hear someone call. You share a number with Caitlin, something you both like. Quickly, you turn your head to see a girl from the other team stepping toward you, “You good from that fall earlier?” she asked.

You laugh softly, nodding your head, “All good here. I’m sure I’ll have some bruises.”

The girl nods, looking you up and down a little, pressing her lips together with a smile. Unbeknownst to you, Caitlin, Monika, and Gabbie were walking up after spotting you. Caitlin’s jaw was clenched, watching this girl check you out.

“Caitlin, you should calm down a little,” Monika told her, the three of them stopping far enough away to where you still don’t notice them.

Caitlin furrows her brows, “I’m calm,” she answered.

“You’re staring like you wanna kill someone and I know it won’t be y/n,” Gabbie chimed in.

Sure, Caitlin was a little protective of you. She had a little bit of a jealousy problem, but you couldn’t do anything about that. It’s like she knew when another girl or guy was flirting with you and it set her off real quick. When the girl talking to you gently hit your shoulder when laughing at something that was definitely not that funny, Caitlin almost lost it.

You felt fingers brush your back from behind you, latching onto your waist as they pulled you into their side. Knowing it was Caitlin, you put your hand on the side of her stomach, a smile gracing your features.

“Hi, nice to meet you,” Caitlin said to the girl in front of the two of you who now looks defeated. Caitlin looks a bit smug.

She smiled at Caitlin, “You too,” she said before looking back at you, “Good job tonight.”

“Thanks, you too,” you respond. The girl turns and walks away and Caitlin kisses your head gently.

You looked up at Caitlin, “Was that necessary, baby?” you asked with a smile.

She shrugged with a nod, “She was flirting.”

“She was being nice,” You respond.

Caitlin shakes her head as she presses a kiss to your lips, Monika and Gabbie walking toward the two of you.

Gabbie has a look of relief on her face, “We thought she was going to kill her,” the Marshall girl told you.

You stared up at your girlfriend with wide eyes as she shakes her head again, “They’re lying. I wasn’t going to kill anyone. Just had to make sure she knew you were taken.”

“Goodness, Clark, don’t lose your shit.”

[lostloveletters]

Still Crazy After All These Years (Bucky Egan x OC)

Summary: It's a perfect Saturday evening in spring, which means only one thing for the Egans: baseball (specifically their son's Little League game).

Note: Fluffy post-war fic of Holly and Bucky being unhinged Little League parents (but we love them for it🥲) Do not interact if you're under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 1.9k

Warnings: None.

“C’mon ump, that was out!” Bucky shouted from the bleachers. “Foul ball my as—butt,” he muttered to Holly, who had three-year-old Cynthia in her lap, her chestnut hair pulled up in twin ponytails that blew along with the late spring breeze.

The mid-May air was heavy with DC’s summer creeping up on them. The swampy, humid season dragged along until he finally reached fall’s reprieve. Spring was perfect, though, with its early season baseball games and cherry blossom festival. 

“It’s ridiculous.” Holly shook her head, her hand in the bag of pretzels she brought along, having carefully broken some into smaller pieces for Cindy.

“Who’s pitching? Is that the Baker kid?”

She nodded. “Yeah, Terry and Lynn’s youngest boy, Danny. He’s pretty good when he’s focused.”

“I can’t see,” Cindy pouted.

“Come on up, princess,” Bucky said, lifting his daughter and holding her on his hip. “Better?”

She nodded, wrapping her small arms around him as best as she could. 

“You know, when you’re a little older, they have leagues just like this for girls.”

“Honey.”

“I’m just letting Cindy know she has options!”

“Where’s Henry?” Cindy asked.

“You see him, right over there?” Bucky pointed at the boy playing shortstop whose dark, curly hair was barely contained beneath his blue baseball cap, a big orange ‘B’ for Bears embroidered on it. All of the local Little League teams were named after some type of animal, and Henry’s game schedule made him feel like he was in the Wizard of Oz with how many lions and tigers and bears were on the sheet of paper he brought home from his first day of practice.

“Henry! It’s Cindy!” she shouted, waving frantically at her brother.

The boy looked up, waving in the general direction of his family. Bucky and Holly had been in the middle of packing up the Christmas decorations when Henry asked them if he could sign up for the neighborhood Little League team that upcoming spring. Holly nearly dropped a box of glass ornaments in excitement.

Watching a major league game, Yankees or not, paled in comparison to cheering on for his own son. Even strikeouts and missed catches made Bucky overwhelmed with pride, because Henry was out there trying, making mistakes he could improve on in their backyard with Bucky’s encouragement to buoy Henry’s spirits if he felt a little discouraged—or got distracted. He had to give the coach credit. Keeping the attention of a dozen six- and seven-year-old boys long enough to teach them how to play a decent game of baseball couldn’t have been an easy feat.

“Out!” the umpire shouted.

Holly clapped as Henry’s team left the field to line up near home plate. “Now we’re talking.”

The kid batting before Henry hit a pop fly and was out before he could even make it a few feet from home plate. Bucky heard Holly take a deep breath when Henry walked up to bat. First pitch was a strike, but the second was almost perfect, the crack of the bat breaking through the crowd’s murmuring. The ball flew into the outfield, landing just in front of the chain link fence that separated the baseball field from the playground.

“Nice hit, Henry!” Bucky shouted.

Holly jumped up, bag of pretzels spilling across the bleachers. “Way to go, sweetheart!”

Bucky grabbed Holly’s hand as they watched their son pass first and make it to second before the centerfielder could throw the ball back to the infield.

“Kid’s a natural,” Bucky whispered excitedly, as all good parents do, adoration filling his chest. He pressed a kiss to the top of Cindy’s head. Holly liked to joke that the day Henry was born, Bucky cried more than their newborn baby did, but their son, and later their daughter, too, were the culmination of every hope and dream he desperately clung to for the better part of two years of just surviving. Because of that, he’d do anything for them.

He watched as the inning continued, his eyes on Henry the whole time. The next batter managed to get to first, but Henry flew past third and made a break for home just as the second baseman caught the ball.

“Go Henry!” Holly shouted. “Go go go!”

“You got this Henry! Come on buddy!”

Bucky was sure his heart was going to explode by the time Henry slid to home plate, barely a second before the ball flew into the catcher’s hand.

“Safe!” the umpire announced, nearly drowned out by Holly’s screaming.

“Attaboy Henry!” Bucky cheered.

“He did it! He fuc—flipping did it!” Holly gave Bucky a celebratory kiss, the two of them hardly able to contain their smiles long enough for their lips to meet for all that long. 

The rest of the game flew by. Nothing could compare to the rush of watching Henry steal home. The Bears won by a run, and Holly and Bucky were equally convinced it was thanks to their son. As soon as they found him after the game was over, Holly engulfed him in a hug, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

“You did fantastic, sweetie! What a game!” she exclaimed, almost looking a bit teary-eyed when she took Cindy’s hand in hers.

“Look at you! Stole home like a champ,” Bucky said with a smile, pulling off Henry’s cap to ruffle his hair.

Henry smiled, front tooth missing, the first of his baby teeth to fall out. The tooth fairy had left him a quarter to mark the occasion. “Thanks, dad.”

“I think this calls for ice cream,” Holly said, as if they didn’t go for ice cream after every game Bucky was able to go to.

Bucky nodded. “Definitely. Whatever you kids want.”

——

Scoopland was one of the first places Holly had taken him to when they were stateside and he made the move to DC with her. A neighborhood staple she frequented before the war, she’d been excited to bring him there. The place boasted over 20 different flavors of ice cream, and after trying them all over the course of their first summer together after the war, found he liked their Rocky Road the best. Holly was partial to mint chocolate chip, a newer flavor which he thought tasted like toothpaste. 

Bucky walked up to the counter, tasked with ordering the ice cream while Holly wrangled Henry and Cindy into a nearby booth. She had the most difficulty getting Henry to sit down, since he spotted some friends from his baseball team on the other side of the ice cream shop.

“How’s it going Mr. Egan?” the teenage boy behind the counter asked.

“Can’t complain.”

“The usual for you guys?”

Bucky smiled. The usual. He wasn’t sure he ever figured himself to be the type of guy to have a usual at an ice cream place, but parenthood changed a lot of things. Sometimes, Cindy dealt out tea parties and temper tantrums in the same day. Henry got himself a trip to the emergency room just a few months prior while he was sledding on a snow day with his friends and went straight through a neighbor’s fence. He wasn’t sure how Holly managed on her own when he’d go away for work. At least her parents were nearby and took every opportunity to spoil their grandchildren that was presented to them.

He brought the four cups of ice cream over to the table, two in each hand, and placed the hot fudge sundae in front of Henry and tutti frutti with extra rainbow sprinkles in front of Cindy. He gave Holly a kiss as he handed her the cup of mint chocolate chip and snickered to himself when he sat down next to Cindy and saw Henry’s nose scrunched on the other side of the table.

“Listen champ, if there’s ever a day I don’t kiss your mom, that’s when you should be making that face.”

“‘S gross,” Henry said through a mouthful of ice cream.

“So is talking with your mouth full.”

Cindy stuck out her tongue, a distorted rainbow of ice cream and toppings that made Henry laugh.

“Next time, we’re taking you both to the zoo and leaving you there so the monkeys can raise you,” Holly said.

“We’re going to the zoo?” Henry asked. “When?”

“I wanna see a zebra and a giraffe!” Cindy exclaimed.

“How about next weekend?” Bucky looked to Holly for her approval, which was given in the smile that’d begrudgingly spread across her face.

Everything said and done, they made a damn good team as parents. Maybe he indulged the kids a little more than he should have, but Holly did her fair share of it too, letting Henry skip school to bring him and Cindy to weekday Nationals games for the hell of it. 

“Can I go say ‘hi’ to Danny and Paul?” Henry asked, looking over his shoulder at his friends who were waving at him.

“Fifteen minutes, but we’re heading home soon. It’s past your sister’s bedtime,” Holly said. “Don’t climb over the seat, Henry, that’s—” She sighed as he climbed over the back of the booth anyway, leaving a streak of dirt from his sneakers behind him. “He definitely gets it from you.”

“Me? The first time I met your parents, they made a point to tell me how much of a wild child you were,” Bucky reminded her with a grin.

Her parents were gracious enough to let him stay with them until he and Holly found a place of their own, although he was sure her returning with a ring on her finger made it easier for them to welcome him into their home. Holly must have done a hell of a job talking him up in her letters to them, because none of the awkward tension he’d been expecting was there when he first walked through the door to meet them.

Holly laughed to herself as she wiped off the seat with a napkin. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Drawing on your bedroom walls?” he pressed.

“Can I draw on my walls?” Cindy asked.

“No. It wasn’t good when mommy did it.”

“Why not?”

“Because you have nice paper we bought for you to draw on, baby,” Holly said.

“It’s not as fun.”

“Sure it is,” Bucky said. “Remember the other day when we drew that castle with the unicorn and the dragon?”

She yawned. “You made the unicorn look funny.”

“Are you sleepy, Cin?” Holly asked.

Despite shaking her head, Cindy rubbed her eyes. She always did whatever she could to push out her bedtime, as if she were afraid she might miss something big if she went to sleep.

“I guess I should’ve asked mom and dad to watch her, huh?” Holly said. “I didn’t think we’d be out this late.”

Cindy mumbled something incomprehensible before dozing off.

Holly laughed softly, “And she’s out.”

“I got her,” Bucky said, picking up Cindy from her seat and placing her in his lap. She immediately curled up against him, and he tried not to think too much about how he wouldn’t know when the last time she’d ever do that would be. Hell, Henry was six and already ditching them to hang out with his friends. He glanced over at his son, face scrunched up in laughter at a joke one of them told him. His smile was like looking in a little mirror. 

Bucky ate a spoonful of ice cream, trying to tamper down the ache in his chest.

“You ever thought this would be how you’d spend your Saturday nights?” Holly asked teasingly.

“No.” Bucky smiled. “This is a lot better.”

[idontplaytrack]

can you make a comfort fic with janis x reader where they have been best friends since they were little but when reader realizes she likes janis she panics and janis finds her and comforts her

To fall in love

Janis ‘Imi’ike x fem! reader

Warnings: coarse language, some mentions & description of anxiety, homophobia

“If I’m too young to fall in love, why do you keep running through my brain?”

— Too Young, Sabrina Carpenter

“Why do you want to go to that party, Janis? Remind me.”

“Because—”

You looked at her, waiting for her to give you an explanation but it never comes. “She explicitly said that we would be playing games: spin the bottle. You want her to pull that same shit again?”

“Why are you so against going to a party?”

“I’m not against parties, Janis. Just the ones she holds.” You explained, “Janis, she hurt you.”

“And then she got hit by a bus, and apologised to me. I think that’s a fair punishment.”

You sighed, throwing your head back and it hit the couch seat. You stayed like this, seated on the floor and staring up at the ceiling.

“You gonna come with or not?” She asks, you could feel her eyes on you.

You pondered, wanting to tell her no but you decided otherwise so that she would at least have you there if Regina tries anything stupid.

Pinching your temple, you opened your eyes back up to look at her, “Alright, fine. Let’s go.”

“I’m ready to go, are you?” She asks, teasing.

“Does it look like I care about how I look at a party?”

“Yeah.” Janis laughs

“Whatever, this is fine. Let’s go.”

You snatched the keys from her, not wanting her to drive. “Hey!” She shrieked, “I am perfectly capable of driving.”

“I have memories that say otherwise. I don’t even know how you passed your driver’s test.” You retorted, “We…are going to walk.”

She sulked. “It’s not even a twenty minute walk from here.” You pointed out. “Fine.” She threw her hands up in defeat. You put the keys back in the bowl and left the garage with her. Janis input Regina’s address into your phone since she couldn’t be bothered to fish hers out from her pants’ pocket. From there, you two just chatted while walking towards the destination.

As the two of you walked, she naturally put her arm around your shoulders. Usually, you didn’t notice at all. But lately, that was all you could think about. Her putting her arms around you, squishing your cheeks, tucking your hair behind your ears. The little, little things that were so normal to you now sent swarms of butterflies raging around in your chest. It makes your breath get caught in your throat, and sweat like a nutcase. You could barely stay composed, you could barely pretend anymore. Pretend that you didn’t feel what you were feeling for her. You were growing more and more scared to be around her, you didn’t like that you were feeling this way. You didn’t want things to change.

————

Sitting in the den, Janis to your left and Gretchen on your right. Regina had spun the bottle and it lands on Cady, they kissed without hesitation. They were together, after all. Not that they announced it or anything, but Regina was heavy on the PDA. That was an announcement in itself that both of them were attached. Gretchen goes next, you didn’t pay attention but she did kiss the girl opposite her whom the bottle landed on— a quick peck. But next, was you. Your turn. Swallowing nervously, you held the bottle and spun it. You watched it closely.

Regina says, “That’d be Janis. Go on.”

You bit your lip, anxious. You slowly looked to your left. Janis seemed entirely unaffected, shrugging. “Wanna get this over with?”

What? No.

With your breathing growing heavy and your vision getting slightly warped, “I can’t, sorry. I gotta go.” Shit. You were embarrassed and getting a panic attack over this. Damn, absolutely giving Regina the stuff to make fun of you for. You got up from the floor and were ready to bolt. A hand grabbed your wrist, “Wait.”

You ripped your hand away from the grip, unsure of who it was. All you knew was that you couldn’t stay there any longer.

“You’re not going home alone after drinking.” Another voice spoke.

“Who cares? Let me go.” You scoffed, leaving the house anyway.

You weren’t drunk and capable of knowing where you were. Though, yes, you had two beers over the course of what must’ve been two hours. It wasn’t your first rodeo, let’s just say that.

You thought you were in the clear when a certain someone’s voice called out for you ten minutes later. “Stop, alright? What’s wrong?”

Janis.

What’s wrong? You just freaked out over a game everyone else had no issue playing. You even lucked out and spun and got your best friend, not anyone else. It should’ve been easy.

“Nothing.”

“Cut the crap, y/n. I saw what happened.”

“Then why’d you ask?” You snapped.

“Are you okay? You haven’t been able to tell me a lot about what goes on in your life lately.” The brunette fights the urge to sigh, hand running through her hair.

“What?”

“Oh, stop playing dumb. You know exactly what I’m talking about.” She huffs, “You used to go on and on telling about your day down to the little details. Now all I get is, ‘oh, it was fine.’, ‘it was okay.’, ‘nothing much happened’.”

You gnawed on your lower lip, feeling your heart pounding again.

“You know what really made my blood boil?”

You took in a sharp breath.

“Last week, you showed up to school, just completely a wreck: red eyes, trying not to cry but still crying, your knees were skinned. I told you I would pick you up, you declined. Why did you say no to that? I hate that you fell down and I was supposed to be there to protect you.”

“No, no you’re not supposed to be here to protect me.” You spat.

Janis’ eyes go wide, “Fuck are you talking about? I’m your best friend. That’s all we’ve been doing, keeping each other out of trouble and safe. What did I do?”

“Nothing.” Your voice quivered.

Janis’ gaze softens for a moment before the annoyance returns quickly, “Nothing? After twelve years of friendship, that's all you can give me?”

That painful lump in your throat makes its presence felt, you swallowed painfully as tears pricked at your eyes almost too harshly. Your heart was still racing, as was your mind. You had so much to say to her that you didn’t know where to begin. And eventually, you broke down in tears. That was all you could manage.

What an awkward place to have something like this. In front of someone else’s house, on the pavement. Fucking hell.

“I’m sorry.” You croaked, turning away and walking off.

“y/n.” She sighs softly, holding onto your wrist, “Look at me.”

“No, I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.” She insists, “Look at me. Look at me, bubs.”

Her anger dissipated the second you started crying. It snapped her out of it, her focus on you again, instead of what was frustrating and making her angry.

“Are you okay? Are you safe at home?” She cups your cheek, swiping the falling tears away with her thumb.

“I don’t wanna do this here.” You sniffled.

You followed her back to her place, she didn’t say anything on the way and neither did you. Eventually, you were back in her garage. Now you had to spill it. It’s already gotten to this point and you have no idea what kind of lie you can conjure up to save your own ass.

“If I could just lose my feelings for you, I would. But h— I don’t know how. It doesn’t seem possible or easy to let go of someone who’s been here with me through everything.”

“You…what?”

You looked up at her, sitting on the couch, she stood before you, “I— I like you. And I didn’t know how to tell you, I got scared and I didn’t want you to hate me after you’d found out so I just stopped—”

“You like me?” She asks, almost too quickly sitting down beside you.

“Yes.” You stared down at your feet, “I’m sorry.”

“God, don’t be sorry.”

“I shouldn’t like—” You licked your lips trying not to cry again.

“y/n, it’s okay.” She tells you, “No one should be telling you that you shouldn’t like who you like, it’s not something you can control.”

“I told them a few weeks ago. That I was…y’know, gay.” You revealed, “It just came up in a conversation and it just slipped out of my mouth. And I really should’ve just shut my bloody mouth because now they look at me like I’m some sort of monster. Things are so awkward, I’m miserable.”

“Guess it would be a good time to tell you that I like you, too.” Janis had her hand on your knee.

“No, you don’t. Why would you—”

She tilts your chin, gazing right into your eyes, “I’ll prove it.”

Your heart skips a beat, “What…?”

“That I like you.” Janis says calmly, leaning in.

“Oh, what will you do?” You scoff playfully, blinking your tears away.

“This.” Janis says, leaning in close enough to crash her lips onto yours. You were flabbergasted, completely frozen up. But once her hand trailed up your back, you relaxed as if on reflex, letting her take the lead while you melted into it.

Then, you two finally broke away when both of you were practically fighting for air. “I’ve…been wanting to do that for— wow.” You laughed in disbelief, your cheeks heating up intensely.

“Now, you can stay here for as long as you want. Do not go back home, I don’t want them to decide they wanna get mad and hurt you.”

“Or kick me out.” You scoff.

“Even then, you’d have beat them to the punch.” She strokes your cheek, “But seriously, stay here. Stay safe.”

“Thank you.” You hugged her and gradually just settled your head in her lap while she scratched your scalp soothingly. She smiled brightly, “Anything for you.”

“Kiss me again.”

“Sure, pretty girl.” Janis smirked, “Anything for you.”

🏷️ Tag list:

@ashecampos @auliisflower @cheesysoup-arlo @frogs00 @ludoesartandstuff @pda128

[toasttt11]

family

December 13, 2022

The Dallas Stars has just finished playing The New Jersey Devils in New Jersey winning 4-1.

The team noticed how excited Wyatt has been since they left Dallas and headed to Jersey, she’s been vibrating with excitement the whole game and they noticed pretty quickly the Devils were a lot kinder to Wyatt on the ice and gentler on the hits they landed on her.

“Johnny.” The stars coach Peter called out as he was about to head out after talking with the team, Wyatt looked up from where she was standing in front of her stall, “Your curfew was approved.” Peter smiled seeing her exicted smile.

Wyatt asked for an extension on her curfew to spend time with her family for the night as the team had an off day in Jersey tomorrow.

“Ooo!!” Tyler perked up looking very curious and turning to Wyatt wiggling his eyebrows at her, “Why do you need an extension for curfew?” Tyler questioned noisily.

“I’m seeing my family.” Wyatt answered as she started putting on her suit back on.

“Family?” Mason titled his head curiously.

“Mhm.” Wyatt nodded slipping her shoes on, “My god brother plays on the Devs so our families came out to see us play.” Wyatt smiled softly at the thought of being able to see her family today, she hugged Jack quickly when she saw him on the ice but she’s didn’t get to see anyone else before the game.

Wyatt’s parents had never named anyone her godparents when she was born not being able to choose someone and when they met the Hughes within a few years Ellen and Jim became her godparents.

“Who?” Jason questioned not knowing Wyatt had family on another team.

“Jack.” Wyatt answered as she stood up slipping her phone and wallet into her pocket.

“Wait Hughes?” Jason spluttered not knowing Wyatt knew them.
Wyatt just shrugged not answering as she walked out of the locker room and saw The Hughes all waiting for her outside.

“Rietta!” Luke beamed as he saw his best friend in the first time since the summer, it always made him sad how they aren’t as close anymore and don’t get to spend much time together.

“Moosey.” Wyatt smiled brightly back jumping into his arms and hugging his best friend back, she let out a sigh of relief being in such familiar arms and hearing her childhood nickname.

Luke had come up for the game so he could see his best friend.

“Come on i missed her too!” Jack whined pushing Luke away and pulling Wyatt into a tight hug, “Hey Rie.” Jack pressed a kiss to the side of her head, Jack has always considered Wyatt and Quinn as his sisters and they have always been his family as well.

“Hi Jack Jack.” Wyatt softly greeted back squeezing him just as tightly back.

“Oh my sweet Wyatt.” Ellen cooed pulling her goddaughter into a tight hug, Ellen has absolutely adored Wyatt and Quinn since she met them and consideres them both her daughters.

“Hi Aunty El.” Wyatt beamed happily melting into her godmothers hug.

Ellen rocked them back and forth before reluctantly releasing her and letting Jim pull Wyatt into a tight hug.

“Hi Wy.” Jim softly spoke pressing a gentle kiss to the side of head, he remembered the days she was shorter than him and now he can barely see the top of her head.

“Hi Uncle Jim.” Wyatt happily hugged him back.

Luke waited for Wyatt and his dad to stop hugging before he threw his arm around her shoulder and brought her to his side.

“What do you want to eat?” Ellen asked softly running a hand across Wyatt’s wet curls.

“Why does Rie get to pick?” Jack pouted crossing his arms, Wyatt snickered always finding Jack’s dramatics funny.

“Who won the game?” Jim snarked with a small smirk to his son watching as Jack gasped looking extremely offended.

It was a tradition they have had for years now, growing up most weekends Quinn, Jack, Luke, Quinn and Wyatt all had games so they would get a point if they won their game and points for however many points they got in the game, whoever had the most got to choose what they had for dinner.

“Rie.” Jack pouted still looking very offended.

“You choose for me.” Wyatt smiled sweetly, she truthfully did not care where they went and obviously Jack knows the food places a lot better here in New Jersey than she does.

“And this is why you are my favorite Rie.” Jack beamed and softly pressed a kiss to her cheek.

Wyatt just smiled and leaned her head against Luke’s head watching as Jack chose a place for them to have dinner at.

Luke watched as most of the players from both of the teams started to walk out of their locker rooms.

Luke noticed immediately when one of the players walked out and their eyes immediately were drawn right to Wyatt and Luke raised a suspicious eyebrow as the players face soften as he looked at Wyatt and smiled at her.

Luke looked at Wyatt and saw her sweetly smiling at the player and waving at him as he walked by.

“Who was that?” Luke questioned curiously wondering if that is someone she has talked about before.

Wyatt blinked in surprise and turned her attention to Luke and away from watching Jake walk away, “Oh that’s Jakey.”

Luke hummed noticing immediately how her voice sounded different talking about Jake and he remembered she has brought him up in quite a few of their conversations.

Whatever was going on between Wyatt and Jake was obviously not one sided and Luke decided to not pry yet but maybe in the future if nothing has changed between the two.

“Alright let’s go.” Ellen clapped getting Wyatt and Luke’s attention, “Jackie here has finally chosen a place to eat.” Ellen softly teased her middle son.

“Mom!” Jack protested pouting once again.

Ellen just snickered slighty as she looped arms with her husband and started walking away.

Luke and Wyatt shared a small snicker watching Jack as they followed all of them.

[ursa-tan]

141 + König teaching Medic!Reader to spar

—————

141 + König & Reader

Short Drabble

Price decides that you need to learn how to spar. He doesn’t really explain it, but you go alone with it anyway.

It would be inaccurate to say you weren’t surprised when Price called you into the gym in the middle of the day. You were in the midst of getting as much paper work out of the way as you could before you took your lunch break when you got the call.

“Head down to the gym, need your help with something.” Was all you got from him before he hung up. You were expecting to have to supervise a particularly rough sparring session.

Once you’re in the gym, Price calls you over to stand in front of him. “I’ve never seen you in combat, so I want to know what you can do.” Lucky for you, you were already dressed in some workout appropriate clothes.

“Don’t worry. You’ll have a good teacher.” He says, gesturing to…

———Simon “Ghost” Riley———

Isn’t going to go easy on you and treats you like any other rookie in need of training

Doesn’t train like he would with Soap or Price, makes sure to treat you like you have no experience in fighting

Doesn’t spend time letting you get any “free hits” in, not a hardass but definitely not just gonna “let you win”

Believes in the “people out there won’t be nice to you, so it’s best you learn now with people who will be”

Ultimately just wants to see you learn and be safe

Ghost steps onto the mat in front of you, practically staring you down through the holes in the fabric mask he wears around base. His gaze is cold and calculated, already analysing you as you step on in front of him.

He drops into a low stance, feet spread slightly, looking relaxed. His hands come up to shield his torso and face, balled into loose fists, hovering still in the air.

You barely have the chance to try and mimic him before he’s stepping in and throwing you to the ground. It’s a clean and controlled takedown, nearly landing you on your front. You would’ve been winded were if not for Ghost���s hand balled up in the fabric of your shirt, holding you up.

The moment doesn’t last long at all, as he elects to drop you onto the ground. You manage to catch yourself on your forearms before rolling onto your back and staring up at him. He holds a hand out to you, eyes crinkling slightly with a smile.

“Get up, you’re not gonna learn anything on the floor.”

——John “Soap” MacTavish——

Mostly fun and games, even during this

He doesn’t feel the need to be absolutely serious, but will still point out areas where he feels you need to pay attention

Knows this is likely your first time ever fighting, so takes it easy - but not too easy

Kind of forgets you aren’t a solider at one point and gets a little too harsh with his hits - he feels so bad

Enjoys helping you learn

Soap is bouncing on the balls of his feet as you try and ready yourself. You haven’t the vaguest idea what you’re supposed to be doing with your hands or feet. Luckily, Soap is here to guide you!

“Hands up, protect your organs and your head - they’re important, ‘specially for someone that has to think all the time, like you,” he chuckles lightly, bringing his head up slightly, looking directly into your eyes.

His eyes sparkle with mischief as you follow his instructions. You find your body sinking slightly, easing into a lower stance that makes your thighs burn after a few minutes.

“I’m going to punch you - slowly - and I want you to try and block it.”

He does as he says and you do your pathetic and best attempt to block it. That attempt being you brining your hands up to shield your head and scrunching up your face.

“I think we’ve got a lot to learn.”

Despite his chaotic nature, he makes a surprisingly good teacher.

———Captain John Price———

Feels responsible to do this, seeing as he’s the one who called you down here

Very slow in his movements - a combination of him being a patient man and knowing you have little to no experience

Much like Soap, he tries to keep it more lighthearted so you don’t feel under pressure

Spends a lot of time correcting you, moving to grab your arms and tug them into place or kicking/tapping your ankles to get you to move your feet

Price doesn’t bother trying to fight you, instead opting to stand with his arms crossed across his chest before you. He looks at you with a look somewhere between disappointment and analysis - you can’t really tell. Something about him does, however, says ‘deep in thought’.

“Hands up, legs apart, relax your knees,” he speaks while moving to stand behind you, placing his hands in your upper arms. You quickly realise he’s doing this to support you as he gently kicks at your ankles. It doesn’t hurt, but it’s just hard enough that it causes your legs to shift and you to sink your stance.

“There. Much better,” he mutters, moving round to the front of you and taking your wrists in his hands. “A low stance means a low center of gravity. A low center of gravity if good for balance. Better balance, less likely you are to be knocked over. I’m sure you can infer why that’s a good thing.” He speaks as he moves your hands, placing your hands about half a foot in front of you.

“Keep your guard up. You got one head, if the enemy gets it, you’re gone. Don’t give them the chance.”

He stands in front of you, out of reach of any misplaced punch or pathetic kick you might try and throw.

“You learn quick enough, I’m sure this’ll go smoothly.”

———————König———————

He’s well aware of both his strength and size and is incredibly nervous to try this - especially when he thinks about the fact that you haven’t been trained to fight

König wants to do right by you, he really does, but his nerves get the best of him sometimes

He’s very hesitant to touch you, so ends up taking a very hands off approach to teach you instead, opting to stand next to you and have you copy him instead

König is fidgety as he moves to stand next to you, holding his hands up with his left hand in front. He waits, unmoving for a second, before looking down towards you.

“Could you copy me please?” He speaks, voice seeming to crawl out of his throat at the same speed that honey drips off a spoon.

You do as you’re told, trying your best to copy his stance. It takes a few minutes for you to get it right, not including you making tiny little adjustments to your position to try and be as accurate to your teacher as possible.

König can’t help but chuckle a little at your actions. He makes a small comment, asking you to raise your front fist up slightly.

“Put your non-dominant hand forwards, so when you punch, you can punch with your dominant hand.”

You do as told, holding your non-dominant hand further in front of you than your dominant one. This prompts another laugh from him.

“You need to also put the same leg forwards. Left hand forwards,” He pauses for a second, taking care to gesture to his left hand. “Left leg forwards.” He does the same thing, this time gesturing to his leg, planted sturdy in the ground, providing a solid support.

“You have to do the same,” he speaks with a hint of a smile but with nervousness dripping off of every syllable.

“Don’t worry, it gets easier with time.” He reassures you, and you’re almost certain you see his eyes crinkle in a smile.

[allthesmutl0vers]

Hey girl could you do a demon! dean x reader x soulless Sam where they tie her up and play a guessing game that turns to smut pretty please!! Love ya boo😘

You got it girl! 🫡 Brace yourself!

Requests Open! Reblogs are always appreciated!

Guess Who

Demon!Dean, Soulless!Sam, Fem Reader. One-Shot. 

Summary:

Sam, Dean, and y/n have returned to the bunker from a hunt. Y/n jokes that she could tell them apart just by their dicks, and they decide to bet her on it.

TW: Wincest, Praise and Degradation, Blindfold, Handcuffs, Oral (F! and M! receiving), Breathplay, Choking.

Words: 1,455

Y/n

“Fuck, I needed that,” I joke as I walk into the common area after my shower. “Demon blood is so gross.” 

“Unless it’s mine, right?” Dean jokes back with a wink as he sips his beer at the table. 

I roll my eyes and laugh. “Pretty sure it all smells the same,” I taunt him as I grab a beer for myself and pop the top off. 

“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it,” Sam laughs as he looks me up and down like a meal. 

Dean points at Sam. “You try to bite my dick, and I gut you three ways to Sunday.”

“Don’t tempt me,” Sam flirts and winks at Dean as I sit down at the table. 

Dean rolls his eyes and looks back at me. “Nice throwing with that knife. But how’d you know you wouldn’t hit me or Sam? That place was pitch black.”

I chuckle and shake my head. “Please, I could tell you guys apart from just your dicks with my eyes closed and my hands tied.”

Sam and Dean look at each other and back at me again. “Is that so?” Sam asks curiously as he sips his beer. 

“As a matter of fact, it is,” I tease him with a smile. 

“Care to place a wager on that, princess?” Dean smirks. “If you can guess, you can drive baby. If you can’t,” he tsks and smirks. “Then you gotta clean her.”

“Mmm, I like where this is going,” Sam says, palming himself under the table. 

“Thought you said to never make a deal with a demon,” I taunt. 

“Scared you’ll lose?” Dean fires back. 

I stand up and walk over to Dean, leaning over his chair. “Two men with essentially no souls want to fuck me?” I ask, leaning in and barely brushing his lips with mine before pulling back, making Dean growl. “Either way, I’m still a winner. Bring it on,” I taunt Dean, looking into his eyes as they flicker to black. “Bitch.”

Dean stands up, his eyes black as he stares down at me. “Watch your mouth,” he warns me.

“But you do it so much better,” I tease him as I back up a step, only to land against a familiar chest. 

“You’re in for now,” Sam says darkly behind me. I don’t even get a chance to respond before he spins me and lifts me, throwing me over his shoulder. 

I watch Dean rub his hands together and bite his lip as he follows Sam into the interrogation room. “What the f-?” I’m cut off by Sam laying me down and strapping my hands above my head to the cuffs on the side of the table. 

Dean leans over my head and smirks. “You said you could do it blindfolded and with your hands tied, let’s see just how right you are, beautiful,” he says with a dark smile as he lifts my head and ties a blindfold around my head, covering my eyes and casting me into darkness. 

My breathing heavies as I feel their hands over my body, and I let out a sharp gasp as I feel one of them cut my shorts and top off of me. Another pair of big, strong hands cups my breasts and pinches my nipples. “Who is that?” I hear Dean ask. 

“Sammy,” I answer in a breathy moan as he pinches my nipples harder. 

“Good girl,” Sam answers this time. He kisses down my neck, and I tilt my head to give him more access as he sucks a hickey onto my neck.  

Both of their hands leave me, but I can hear their belts unbuckle and the shifting sound of denim and a soft ‘clink’ as their belts hit the floor. 

“Fuck you look so good like this, “Dean breathes heavily. “Spread out for us like our own personal sacrifice on an altar.” I feel his hands spread my thighs and the stubble of his beard on the inner parts of my thighs as his tongue dips out and licks between my folds, making me moan. “And sweet as fucking sin.” 

“Dean,” I moan softly as his tongue licks painfully slow circles around my clit, making my back arch off of the table. 

“Good guess, baby. But I gave it to you,” Dean taunts as I feel his tongue leave my needy clit and his hands leave my thighs. But who is this?” he asks as I feel the head of a cock press against my entrance and push inside. It’s long and impossibly thick as it stretches me, the pain slowly melting into pleasure as I adjust to his size. 

My neck arches as my head tips back. There are no hands on my body to give me any indicator of who it is, just a cock spearing me as he slams in entirely and pulls a long, loud moan from my throat. But I don’t need any hands. I know who it is. “S-Sammy,” I moan as I bite down on my bottom lip. 

A rough hand grips my throat suddenly as their lips brush against mine. “Are you sure about that?” Sam asks tauntingly, and suddenly, I’m not so sure. 

I moan again as hands land on my hips, and he thrusts into me harder with a grunt. Thrusting in and out harder and faster. “Fuck, y-yes, no, wait-” 

A finger lands on my clit and rubs it in the way Dean always does, slowly and roughly. Shit, maybe it’s Dean. “Last chance,” Dean warns. 

I decide to go with my guts, which are currently being rearranged by whoever is fucking me. “It’s Sam,” I moan. “I’m sure.” 

“Good job,” Dean praises as his hand replaces Sam’s and he pulls down my lower lip, tilting my head toward him. “Now open that pretty mouth and suck my cock like the filthy little slut you are for us.” 

I open my mouth, dipping out my tongue as the knot inside of me tightens, and I clench my hands in fists above my head. I taste the salty pre-cum on Dean’s cock as he slides it into my mouth with a groan, his hand gripping my hair and forcing me to take more of him as he thrusts into my throat.

I feel Sam’s fingers dig into my hips, definitely leaving bruises in their wake as he moans and slams into me harder. “Fuck, yes. Fuck her throat, Dean,” he moans. 

I hear Dean chuckle as he thrusts in my throat to the hilt. “You like that, Sammy?” 

I hear Sam moan in approval as one of his hands leaves my hips and lands on my throat. “Fuck, I can feel you cock in her throat,” he mewls. 

“Fuck,” Dean moans. “Grip it tighter, Sammy. Grip my cock through her throat like a good little boy.”

I focus on breathing through my nose as my orgasm comes to the brink, threatening to pull me over the edge. I moan around Dean’s cock as my eyes roll back under the blindfold, I can barely breathe, and I’m starting to see stars, but they know how much I love it. My legs begin to shake as I feel both of their cocks twitch. They’re just as close as I am. I clench my walls around Sam’s cock and swallow around Dean’s just how they love, and they moan loudly as they spill themselves inside of me, and we fall off of the edge together. 

Once our breathing settles, Dean removes the blindfold from my eyes, and they squint at the sudden invasion of light. “Guess you get to drive, baby,” Dean jokes with a wink. 

I moan contently as Sam uncuffs my hands and lifts me in his arms gently. “First, you need a shower,” Sam says, kissing the side of my head. 

“And here I thought you didn’t have a soul,” Dean quips as we walk out of the interrogation room and into the bathroom together. 

“Just because I lost my soul doesn’t mean I lost my manners. You should know,” Sam quips back as Dean starts the shower. 

“Keep that energy up, and I’ll show you just how much of a demon I am when I bend you over and force you to lick your cum from her pussy while I take your ass,” Dean warns.

Sam chuckles and kisses Dean as we all get into the shower. “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

[the-bad-batch-baroness]

A Man's Worth

Tup x Fem!Reader

Chapter 1: Death in the Shadows

gif by @kamino-coruscant

Summary: Your date-night with Tup is interrupted when your stalker finds you and won’t leave without you. Tup heroically comes to your defense, but is overpowered by the assailant and you are taken away. After your rescue, Tup struggles with his insecurities and self-worth as he tries to heal physically, mentally, and emotionally.

Pairing: Tup x Fem!Reader

Characters: Tup, Echo, Fives, Fox, Rex, Kix, Jesse, Dogma, Hardcase

Tags & Warnings: 18+, established relationship, domestic fluff, minor suggestive themes, stalking, kidnapping, violence, blood, major injuries, whump, trauma, angst, hurt/comfort, self-worth, masculinity, depression, PTSD

Word Count: 6.7k

Author's Note: This was supposed to be a one-shot, but it decided it wanted to be more. Don’t ask me where the idea came from. It was the first thing that popped into my head when I read the bingo square. Writing this was painful, but chapters two and three are worse, so... As always, please enjoy 💚

Beta Read: By the lovely @commander-sunshine because sometimes I think my work is trash.

@clonexreaderbingo Square: Obsession

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3

“I am so full,” you groan while exiting the restaurant. The fresh evening air hits your face and you take a deep breath to refresh yourself.

“Me too,” Tup agrees as he rubs his stomach. “I’m kind of glad the other place messed up our reservations, because this place was amazing.”

“Right?” you pop a mint into your mouth and offer one to Tup. “This is definitely going on the list of favorites.”

“Absolutely,” Tup agrees while taking the mint. He clasps his hand in yours and you stroll leisurely down the sidewalk together.

Date nights are your favorite nights. You and Tup always make it a point to set aside one night, while he’s on leave, dedicated solely to each other. It’s a time of bonding and learning about each other. Even though you’ve been together for two years now, you don’t want to get complacent and lose the spark that you had in the beginning. In order for the night to be considered a true date night, it must consist of three things: food, fun, and intimacy.

The food portion of the night has happily concluded at the new restaurant you just left. After your original reservation was mysteriously lost, you wandered down the streets looking for somewhere else to have dinner and this little hole in the wall with a crooked neon sign piqued both your interests. The inside had a lively atmosphere and good music. And although the menu was limited, the portions were huge and you barely finished your shared dessert.

The fun portion was completed before the food. You found out the hard way that food before fun only ended up making you both sick, so you switched them around. Tonight you swept the floor with Tup at mini-golf. He talked a good game, but his mini-swing lacked any sort of form. His golf balls landed in the water, in the dirt, over the fence, and in someone's drink cup. You really didn’t think someone could be that bad at mini-golf, but Tup is always surprising you.

Now, all that’s left is the intimacy portion. Intimacy can be anything as long as you do it together and are completely alone. Some nights you will bake cupcakes and make a mess with the frosting, or take a hot shower and wash each other’s hair, or cuddle up with a good holo-film and eat copious amounts of junk food, or just have sex. The day usually ends in sex, but it isn’t the point, or the main focus of date night, so it always falls to the bottom of the list of priorities.

The sun is setting beyond the horizon as you make your way home and you sigh in contentment as you lean your head against Tup’s shoulder. He glances down at you, smiles, raises your clasped hand to his lips, and kisses your knuckles. You smile warmly in return for his affection. Today’s date night is perfect and the weather could not be better. It’s not too hot, which is always a concern in the summer, with a light breeze that brushes gently by your exposed skin. 

You continue walking down the street, clasped hands blithefully swaying in the air like a young couple in love, relishing in each other’s presence. You see a bench coming up in your path and instead of letting go of Tup’s hand and going around it, you climb up it to walk across. Tup doesn’t miss a beat and continues holding your hand from the ground while you stretch out your other arm to balance. Once across, you gracefully hop off the end and continue your journey.

“You’re adorable, you know that?” Tup praises as he leans over and plants a kiss on your temple. 

“Stop it,” you laugh and tap his arm in jest.

Tup flexes his bicep and twirls you around to rest against his chest. He crosses his arms over your stomach to trap you and you giggle. He leans his chin atop your shoulder and whispers in your ear. “Never.”

You close your eyes and place your hands on his forearms as he sways back and forth, slowly dancing on the sidewalk to non existent music. You let yourself melt into his body’s warmth, feeling his firm chest against your back and his strong arms holding you, securing you in a gentle embrace. You don’t care who’s watching and you don’t care what they think. When you're with Tup your inhibitions and insecurities dissipate like clouds on a sunny day.  

You open your eyes and continue to sway when you catch a glimpse of a figure out of the corner of your eye. Your body stiffens and a shiver runs up your spine. You study the figure and your stomach drops as your heart rate increases. It’s him. You can’t believe it. You don’t want to believe it. How did he find you? You try to look away from his menacing presence as he observes you from the shadows, but you can’t. Your blood runs cold as fear washes over you.

Tup feels your muscles tense against his own as you stop swaying with him. The sudden change in your demeanor demands his attention. He notices goosebumps forming on your arms and wonders if you’re getting cold. He mentally kicks himself for not bringing a sweatshirt with him in case you needed it, however, something about your shivering feels off. The evening air is warm, not cool, as demonstrated by the sweat forming on the back of his neck.

“Cyare?” Tup asks in concern while cocking his head to the side.

You don’t answer, too afraid to form coherent words. It’s as if someone glued your mouth shut.

“Cyare?” Tup asks again, this time gently turning you around to face him. The look in your eyes tugs at his heartstrings. He can finally see what he was feeling emanating from your body, pure fear. 

You startle at the movement and look into Tup’s deep amber eyes, searching desperately for safety and comfort. Tup stares back, silently asking what you need from him, waiting for you to speak. You finally mutter the words. “I want to go home.” The syllables are soft spoken, almost broken, as if one more utterance would break an invisible dam, releasing a cascade of emotions. 

Tup doesn’t understand what is happening, but he does understand you, and if you say it’s time to go home, then it’s time to go home. For him, no more words need to be spoken. Whether you want to talk about it when you get home or not is up to you, but that’s not his main concern at the moment. His only concern is your safety and your wellbeing. He nods at your request, giving you assurance, clasps your hand in his, and begins walking towards home.

Tup takes ten steps and you abruptly stop. He doesn’t notice at first and continues walking, but stops when he feels the resistance as your hand strays from his. He turns on his heels and furrows his brow with concern. He doesn’t understand what is causing this sudden trepidation, but he’s growing worried. Is it him? Did he do something to cause this? The thoughts nag at the back of his mind, but he shoves them away in search of something more definite from you.

“Can we take the long way home?” you ask nervously, your gaze fixated on the shadowy figure Tup was inadvertently walking towards.

Tup’s confusion continues. The long way is ten blocks from your position. The short way is only two blocks. Tup scratches his head and searches your features. He watches you pick at your fingers, biting your lip, your legs trembling, and the way your chest heaves as if you’re being deprived of oxygen. He scans past you, desperately wondering what or who is scaring you so fiercely that you want to walk an extra eight blocks home, but nothing catches his eye.

Tup is snapped out of his focused gaze by you tugging on the sleeve of his t-shirt. “Please?” you plead with shaky breath, tears threatening to escape your eyes.

Tup’s heart shatters. He’s never seen you like this before. “Yes, of course,” Tup rushes to say when he realizes he’s taking too long to respond to your original question. “We can stop by that ice cream stand in the park on the way. Sounds good?” 

He gives you a small smile, hoping for your bright and cheery disposition to return at the prospect of your favorite summer treat, ice cream, but you don’t smile back and answer only with a slight nod. Tup frowns, his efforts to lighten the mood fail, but he takes your hand in his and grips it tightly to reassure you of his presence. If anything, he wants you to know he’s there for you, even if you never tell him what’s wrong, he’ll always be there.

You both walk in silence as you wind the long way around to your apartment. Tup continues to scan the surroundings, still searching for the source of your sudden fear, but he can’t locate it. The thought of him being oblivious to such an enormous fear of yours makes him feel insecure about how attentive he is. Maybe he missed it in a conversation or maybe you said it in passing and he forgot. He racks his brain trying to figure it out, but the dots won’t connect.

A cold shiver runs up Tup’s spine and the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, stopping him dead in his tracks. This feeling. He knows this feeling, intimately. He first felt it on Umbara as a shiny and he never forgot it. The feeling of cold eyes watching him from the shadows, waiting to strike him down. Is this what you saw? Is the source of these threatening eyes what is terrorizing his love? His breath quickens and he turns around, putting himself between you and the menacing gaze.

Tup steels himself, his eyes scanning for the source. He knows it’s out there, waiting, coiled, and ready to strike at him with venomous fangs. Then he sees it, the figure in the shadows that’s been watching and following. How long it’s been following you both, he’s not sure, but he’s going to end it here and now. He lets his training kick in and prepares himself physically and mentally. He’s faced many enemies and he’s not going to back down from whatever this one is.

The figure, realizing it’s been noticed, steps out of the shadows. Tup’s eyes grow wide as he looks at the towering figure and he takes a cautionary step back. The man is massive, at least three times his size and built like a gunship. Tup’s heart rate increases as he feels naked and exposed without his armor and his blaster. He understands now, your fear, because that same fear is biting at the back of his spine, threatening to alter his fight response into a flight response.

The large man takes a step forward, and Tup takes two steps back, pushing you back along with him. This isn’t good. Tup scans his surroundings quickly but there’s nothing he can use as a makeshift weapon. If this encounter turns violent, it’s going to be a fist fight and it won’t be pretty. The man steps forward again, chuckling darkly as Tup takes another few steps back. Tup glances over his shoulder and grimaces as he notices you’re both being backed into an alley.

“You thought you could run away from me again, did ya?” the man sneers.

Tup is baffled by his words, but he feels you bury your face into his back and a few pieces begin to click in his mind. “Do you know this guy?” Tup throws over his shoulder as he continues to back you both into the alley.

Your legs tremble as you try to move in step with Tup. “He’s…” you attempt to force the words out. “He’s my stalker.”

Tup curses under his breath as he mentally calculates the different outcomes, none of them ending well. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Tup asks, trying to swing his voice to sound more inquisitive than condemning.

“I thought he couldn’t find me here,” you answer through a shaky voice. “He’s been obsessed with me for years. I have eight restraining orders on eight different planets.”

Tup curses under his breath again. “Do you have a restraining order for him on Coruscant?” Tup continues his inquiry, well aware that it’s a dumb question. 

You nod your head and ball his t-shirt tightly in your fists. This is your worst nightmare. You’ve been moving from planet to planet for years attempting to shake him, but he always ends up finding you. There’s not a police force in the galaxy that has been able to catch him. He’s elusive and cunning, a stark contrast to his brutish appearance, and he’ll do anything to make you his. The sheer terror you feel in this moment is overwhelming and you want to vomit.

“What’s the matter baby?” the man asks. “Why aren’t you happy to see me?”

You flinch at the words. A muscle in Tup’s jaw tics as anger brims under the surface from your terrified reaction. He gives your arm a reassuring squeeze. 

“She’s not your baby,” Tup scoffs at the man’s false insinuation. 

“Oh?” the man raises an eyebrow. “And what are you supposed to be?”

“I’m her boyfriend,” Tup states confidently while using every bit of conviction he has. 

The man laughs loudly and points at Tup. “Him? You chose a clone over me? This subhuman blaster fodder is your boyfriend? Don’t make me laugh baby.”

Tup narrows his eyes as ire burns in his gut. The insults about his existence don’t bother him anymore. Not everyone has the same view about clones, but he’s still flesh and blood, like any other lifeform, and it doesn’t make him any less human if he shares the same DNA with a million other men. He has feelings, a personality, likes and dislikes, just like everyone else. No. What’s really bothering him is your tears soaking through the back of his shirt and it fuels his anger.

The man walks forward. “Come on baby, I’m taking you back home.”

“Over my dead body,” Tup snarls as he steps forward to meet the man’s movement. It no longer matters that he doesn’t have his armor or his blaster. This is carnal. This is something ingrained in him that just feels right. An overwhelming instinct to protect what’s his. No one is taking you away from him, not while he’s still alive and breathing.

The man straightens up to his full height, flexes his muscles, and cracks his neck. “I was hoping you would say that.”

His intimidation tactic is working as Tup feels an incredible wave of dread wash over him. He discreetly slips his hand in his pants pocket and activates the distress beacon on his comm link. Whether anyone will actually see it and come to his aid he doesn’t know, but it’s better than nothing. Tup takes a deep breath, gently pushes you aside, and stands his ground. He’s a clone trooper after all and he was bred to fight. This is what he’s good at, and he’s going to do it.

“Come on, clone,” the man taunts with a wave of his hand. “Show me what those little arms can do.”

“Sooran ni’jagyc,” Tup shoots back as a challenge.

Your jaw drops in shock. You’ve never heard something so vulgar come from Tup’s mouth, at least not when he’s with you. You imagine his vocabulary must be pretty colorful as a soldier, so it’s not surprising, but it sounds weird coming from his lips. You watch nervously as the two men square each other up, like predator and prey. You slink back to a reasonably safe distance into the alley to give Tup the room to maneuver without you getting in his way. The tension in the air thickens. 

The man lunges forward and Tup quickly evades his first strike. The attacker is large and his movements are sluggish and unrefined, whereas Tup is smaller, quicker, and more precise with his movements. Tup remains weary, even with his slight advantage from years of training. They play a game of hit and miss for several minutes and you fidget with your fingers and tap your foot as you watch. Your stomach lurches at the brutal swings as you wait for one to find its mark.

Sweat begins to form on Tup’s brow as he dodges another swing. His stamina is still good and if he can keep outmaneuvering his opponent, he just might tire him out. The man is getting frustrated that he can’t land any hits and his movements become more erratic and desperate. Tup takes the opportunity to look for an opening, anywhere he can land a hit. He finally sees one and goes for it, but Tup’s fist is caught mid-flight, the man’s hand encapsulating his entirely. 

“Gotcha,” the man says as he peers down at Tup with a devilish smirk.

Dread washes over Tup’s face at the realization that he’s been caught. He knows it’s over. He knows he can’t break free, not from the iron grip surrounding his hand. He once again feels small, naked, and afraid for not only his life, but also yours. A part of him recognizes he may not survive what comes next and he glances back over his shoulder to give you the best smile he can, knowing it may be the last one he gives you. 

“Look away, mesh’la,” Tup orders as calmly as he can. He doesn’t want you to see what’s going to happen next.

You nod, but you don’t intend to look away. At your confirmation, Tup’s gaze snaps back to the man towering over him. He tries to yank his fist out of the man’s grasp, but it won’t budge. The man watches Tup’s feeble attempts at breaking free and laughs. He rotates his fist outward, slowly bending Tup’s arm, forcing the clone to his knees as he winces from the twisting force. Tup grabs the man’s arm with his free one to try and stop his movement, but it’s not enough.

Crack

You gasp at the sound of breaking bone and the agonizing scream that follows. You put your hand over your mouth as your stomach churns. You’ve never heard Tup make a sound like that. It’s an unnerving and frightening sound that reverberates in your mind and echoes through your eardrums as it bounces off the walls of the alley. You should have listened and looked away. The sight of his arm twisted and mangled into a position inhumanly possible is not one that will soon leave your mind.

“Tup!” you yell as tears roll down your face.

“I said, look away!” Tup cries through labored breath, pain radiating through his broken voice.

This time you listen, clamping your hands over your ears and squeezing your eyes shut. You slide down the alley wall, slumping to the ground, and place your head against your knees. You don’t want to see it and you don’t want to hear it. You don’t want to witness this horrific display. It’s unfair that Tup has to suffer because of you. He didn’t do anything wrong and you wonder what you could have done differently to prevent this from happening, but nothing comes to mind.

Crack

You flinch at the fracturing of more bone and the excruciating shriek that follows. You press your hands firmly over your ears, but no matter how hard you try, you can’t drown out Tup’s tortured voice as he groans in pain. You want it to stop, all of it. You want him to stop. You want him to leave Tup alone and both of you go back to the way your night was before your stalker arrived. You flip through images of Tup in your mind and try to focus on his soothing voice and warm smile.

Crack

Your happy memories are shattered like Tup’s body while his anguished cries float across the air and find their way between your fingers and into your ears. You let out a frightened whimper at the noise, even though the sound of his suffering is your morbid reminder that he’s still alive. You want to open your eyes, but you're afraid. Then you hear a different sound, a gasping of breath. No. He’s going to kill him. You finally brave a peek at the scene and you gasp in horror at the sight. 

Your stalker has his hand wrapped around Tup’s throat, holding him several feet off the ground as blood drips from his pant legs and puddles on the ground beneath him. Tup’s limbs are twisted in a way they shouldn’t, with pieces of bone sticking out through bloody skin and ripped clothing. The pain he must be feeling is indescribable. You watch helplessly as Tup wriggles his mangled body gasping for whatever breath he can while using his only good hand to pull at the hand choking him. 

You slam your fist on the ground and sob. You’re desperate for someone to save him, anyone, but there’s no one. It’s just the three of you. The only person who can save Tup is you and you’re not even sure if you can. You think about how Tup selflessly threw himself at his adversary to protect you and you want to do the same. You want to protect him, save him, because it’s better for Tup to be alive without you, than to live knowing his death was your fault. 

You pick yourself up off the ground and stand on shaky legs like a newborn bantha. With one step at a time, you approach the man holding your mutilated boyfriend, stopping as you reach his side. You look up at Tup, his face is almost unrecognizable and his hair has left the confines of its tie with locks of curls pasted to his face with blood. Your heart breaks. “Please,” you beg with a shaky breath. “Please, let him go.”

The man moves his gaze from the bloody toy in his grasp and peers down at you. “Why should I?” he asks with a huff.

You take a sharp inhale and steel yourself. “If you let him go, I’ll go home with you,” you breathe out, completely surprising yourself with your resolve.

The man raises a curious eyebrow at your proposition.

“N… o…” Tup croaks out from beneath the man's chokehold, his eyes trying to meet yours, but all he sees is a film of red.

Annoyed by the talking piece of meat in his grip, the man takes his other hand and slams it against Tup’s jaw, knocking it out of place with a single deft movement. Blood flings from Tup’s face and splatters across yours as he lets out a stifled groan. His head rolls back as he fades in and out of consciousness. You gasp in horror at the violent act and you raise a trembling hand to your face to wipe Tup's blood off, taking a moment to stare at the crimson stain on your fingers. 

“There,” the man smiles satisfactorily. “Now we won’t be interrupted.”

New waves of terror wash over you as shock threatens to take over your system, but you continue to stand your ground, determined to save Tup. “Please,” you ask again with as much sincerity as you can muster. “Please let him go and I’ll go home with you.”

The man contemplates your offer and finally drops his toy. Tup gasps, with what little ability he has left, as he hits the ground hard. You sigh in relief, but it quickly turns to more horror as you watch the man kick Tup in the stomach and hurl him against the wall of the alley. At this point, Tup can’t make any more noises. He just lies against the wall, limp, bleeding, and broken. You look up at the man and beg him to leave Tup alone. You beg and beg and beg, crying for him to stop.

The man walks over to Tup’s mutilated, bloody body and picks him up by the neck again, his twisted arms and legs dangling lifelessly. The man looks at you and smirks. “Do you know where clones belong?” 

You whimper, stifling back a sob, and shake your head. 

“In the trash,” the man laughs as he tosses Tup’s body in the closest dumpster.

You tremble at the echoing thud Tup’s body makes when it lands in the dumpster. You wonder if he’s dead. He must be dead. No one can survive that level of physical abuse. You fall to your knees and sob. You sob for your lost love and you sob because it’s all your fault. You brought your past into Tup’s present and now he’s paid for it with his life. This wasn’t supposed to happen. This wasn’t the life you wanted and now you’re mourning the life you had. The life you loved.

The man grabs your arm and yanks you up from the ground. There’s nothing more you can do now. You don’t have a choice. All hope has been lost. You have found yourself at the end of a very terrifying road with no one to protect you and no one to save you. You swallow hard and accept your fate, a fate that Tup died in vain to prevent. You reluctantly go with the man who murdered your love, turning back to look into the alley one last time to mouth a silent I'm sorry.

“You’re overreacting,” Fives criticizes while putting his hands behind his head. “He probably hit it by accident.”

“That doesn’t sound like Tup,” Echo argues as he concentrates on the beacon. “He could be in danger.”

“It’s date night,” Fives reminds Echo with a cheeky grin. “The only danger he’s in is getting blue balls.”

“Real mature, Fives,” Echo rolls his eyes without looking up from the data-pad. 

“Listen,” Fives starts, “I was having a great night until you dragged me out here, in full kit no less, to track down Tup and his girlfriend.”

“Yes, I’m sure your hand is missing you very much,” Echo jokes with a small smirk.

Fives flicks an unamused look towards his brother and scrunches his nose to mock him. “Ha-ha, very funny.”

“Just shut up and focus,” Echo says with annoyance.

Fives crosses his arms against his chest in protest and continues walking beside Echo in silence. They follow Tup’s distress signal, winding their way past shops and restaurants illuminated by fluorescent neon signs. The vivid colors and bright lights dance across their armor against the dark backdrop of the night. They stop momentarily when the beacon alerts them to the location of Tup’s comm link being only a little distance up ahead. 

Trading concerned looks between each other, they warily continue forward. Echo watches the beacon closely, the beeping pattern matching his anxious heartbeat. There’s no reason for Tup to be here in an empty street like this. They walk past an alley and the beeping from the beacon slows. Echo puts a hand across Five’s chest to halt him, then takes a few steps back. The beacon beeps faster as he approaches the entrance of the dark alley.

Odd is the only word the two Arc Trooper’s can come up with as they share a nervous look. They step into the damp alley, flicking on their helmet lights to see into the darkness, but nothing catches their gaze. There’s nothing in the alley other than garbage, dumpsters, and mysterious liquids littering the ground. They continue to look around, the beacon guiding them to the distress signal. The beeping is loudest by the dumpster and they move towards it to investigate.

“I knew it,” Fives sighs as he puts his hands on his hips. “He lost it and it ended up in the trash. I told you it was nothing to worry about.”

Echo grumbles at Fives’ words, crosses his arms in annoyance, and leans against the opposite wall.

“He owes me for this,” Fives says as he walks toward the open part of the dumpster. He grips the metal side with both hands and hoists himself up to peer inside. He prepares himself for the stench, but nothing could have prepared him for the horrific sight. A beaten and bloody clone. His breath hitches and his stomach jumps into his throat. He swings his legs over the side of the dumpster and jumps in.

He kneels next to the clone. Their body is so mangled and twisted, he can’t tell who it is. He brushes the hair out of their battered face and his heart sinks. A blood stained teardrop under their right eye. No. It can’t be. This can’t be Tup. Fives’ heart races. He puts two fingers to the side of his brother’s neck, checking for a pulse, repeating ‘please don’t be dead’ to himself over and over again, a silent wish. Then he feels it, a faint rhythm pushing back.

“Hang on vod’ika,” Fives whispers as he gently brushes more strands of the blood-caked hair away from his face. “Hang on for me.” He debates whether he should move Tup himself, but with the amount of bodily damage, there’s no good way to pick him up without injuring him further. Fives curses to himself. “Call the corries,” He orders through comms. His voice is steady, but conceals a bitterness.

Echo is startled out of his roaming thoughts and pushes himself off the alley wall he was leaning against, “What did you find?”

“I said call the corries!” Fives yells, his voice now demanding as anger and worry seeps through. “And get a medic!”

Echo is taken aback by Fives’ aggressive tone and jogs over to the dumpster to see what he found. If they need the Corrie Guard and a medic, it can’t be good. He jumps up the side of the dumpster and leans over to see Fives kneeling next to a bloody body, a clone trooper’s body. Echo’s face contorts beneath his helmet and he wants to gag, not just at the smell, but also at the morbid sight of bones sticking out of the beaten trooper’s lifeless body. 

He stares for a moment longer when the realization washes over him like the raging waves of Kamino. The distress beacon, the alley, the dumpster, the bloody clone. It’s Tup. There’s no denying it, those lengthy curls, the tattoo under his eye. It’s him. Echo’s blood boils and he lets go of the side of the dumpster, landing back on the ground with a soft thud. He calls it in, his normally stoic voice steeped in fear and anger. Fear for his brother’s life and anger at the perpetrator.

After the call is made, Echo makes a second terrifying realization. He looks farther down the alley, scanning it for another life. A second cold wave washes over him. You’re not here. You’re not in the dumpster. You’re not in the alley. You’re nowhere to be found. The thought that you did this to Tup flashes across his mind, but dissipates just as quickly. There’s no way you could do this type of damage to a clone trooper. No, it must have been someone else.

The Coruscant Guard, led by Fox, finally arrive on scene. Flashes of red and blue illuminate the area and the alley is marked off with yellow crime scene tape. Late night bystanders stare in curiosity at the commotion, crowding the corrie guards as they try to keep the public out of the way. Echo gives Fox a rundown of the situation and mentions that you were out with Tup and are now missing. Fox records the information and places a reassuring hand on Echo’s shoulder.

“We’ll find who did this to your brother, and locate the missing girl,” Fox promises. 

Echo worries his lip and takes his helmet off, tucking it neatly under his arm. “With all due respect, sir,” Echo begins, pausing for a moment to decide whether he’d like his next words to be a question or a statement, "we’d rather take this one.” He knows they have no jurisdiction on Coruscant and no business taking on local crime, but this is different. This is one of their own. This is their brother. He has to try. He has to find a way for them to be involved, to get revenge.

Fox pauses at the bold statement, his expression hidden behind his helmet. He studies the ARC trooper in front of him, a level of burning passion and rage alight behind his eyes. He can already tell there’s no stopping this clone, or his brothers. Even if he orders them to stay out of it, they’ll never obey, and that will just create more paperwork for him. Fox sighs, hoping he doesn’t regret his decision. He points to his men. “The boys will give you what you need.” 

Echo nods his thanks and Fox nods back before returning to his men to explain the new situation. Echo grits his teeth and clenches his bicep around his bucket. He’s angry. No. He’s furious. His brother is lying in a pool of his own blood, straining for air, and walking a thin line between life and death. His only thoughts now are retribution. Whoever did this is going to pay in blood. He takes a deep breath to calm himself and walks back to the alley to check on Fives.

Extricating Tup from the dumpster is no small feat, not with the amount of damage done to his body. The corrie guard had to bring in special tools to take apart the side of the dumpster piece by piece. Fives stays inside the dumpster with Tup and shields him from the sparks as they cut the bolts loose. Once the side of the dumpster is removed, medics work delicately to lift Tup out of the garbage and onto a stretcher. Fives does his best to help, but the medics push him away.

Echo watches the medics work and approaches the hole in the dumpster once Tup is safely removed. He peers inside and sees Fives still kneeling in the garbage, his armor covered in blood. Covered in Tup’s blood. He watches as Fives picks up the flashing comm link that was hidden beneath Tup’s body. He grips it in his hand and chucks it past Echo while yelling in frustration. He pulls his bucket off his head, leaving blood stains behind from his soaked gloves. 

“How did this happen?” Fives asks, his voice angry and quivering.

Echo drops his gaze and kicks the ground. He has the same question with the same nonexistent answer. He lifts his gaze back up to meet Fives and offers a hand to help him out of the dumpster. Fives takes a deep breath and grabs his brother’s hand to pull himself up. They both sigh and lean against the wall of the alley, neither knowing what to say. Their silence is broken when Fox comes back around to grab their statements and to let them know he contacted Rex.

It didn’t take long for the rest of the squad to show up. Some in their civvies, some in their armor, and some in gym clothes, but all with worried looks plastered onto their faces. Echo and Fives maneuver out of the alley to greet them, waving back to Fox in thanks for his help. Their brother’s eyes plead for answers, for explanations, for anything that will tell them what’s going on. They see the blood stains on Fives’ armor and murmurs erupt between the clones.

“Maker!” Captain Rex exclaims when he sees Fives. “What happened to you?”

Fives chews on his lip, unsure of what to say when he realizes Fox didn’t tell them what happened. “It’s...” he pauses, the thought forming into a painful crushing weight on his chest. “It’s not mine.”

“Then who’s is it?!” Rex questions vehemently while looking around and doing a mental headcount of his men, desperately trying to figure out which one of them is missing from the ranks. 

Fives casts his gaze to the side, unwilling to meet his captain’s anxious and questioning eyes. He doesn’t want to say it. He doesn’t want to keep saying it. The amount of times he’s already had to recount what he’s seen is one too many. The words are like poison, slowly peeling away at the layers of his tongue, making it raw with emotion. He doesn’t want to think about it anymore. It makes him sick. The words, the smell, and the image twists his gut in discomfort.  

“It’s Tup’s,” Echo answers when he notices the distant look in Fives’ eyes. The words are like sharp needles pricking his lips as they exit, leaving a bitter and bloody aftertaste. 

Shock sweeps over the group of clones like billowing smoke, stinging their eyes and stealing their breaths. Their respective nights had been interrupted by an emergency comm from Rex notifying them that one of their brother’s was the victim of a crime. Dinners had been left cold, warm beds had been abandoned, and activities had been ditched at a moment's notice. They thought they were prepared for whatever this crime was, but they were wrong, very wrong. 

“Hey!” Kix hollers after scanning the area to locate Tup. “That’s my trooper!” He runs over to where the medics are attempting to stabilize Tup for transport and demands a debrief from the lead medic. 

The two medics argue back and forth about Tup’s condition and who has jurisdiction. Kix gets in the lead medic’s face, pointing a finger at his chest, and yelling expletives. No one gets in Kix’s way or tries to stop him, because they all feel the same way, the same fear and anger. Fox overhears the heated discussion and intervenes between the two clones before a fight breaks out. He sees the same fire in Kix’s eyes as the ARC trooper and lets him take the lead of the medics on scene.

Fives watches the ordeal and rubs his hand across his chin, pulling at his bottom lip in exasperation, while absent-mindedly leaving a trail of blood across his chin and goatee. Echo notices the striking smear and cringes at his brother’s appearance. He steps in front of Fives and brings his hand up to his twin’s face to wipe it away. Fives leans his head back in resistance to the odd gesture, but the glint in Echo’s eyes convinces him to trust what he’s doing. 

“You should change into something else,” Echo mentions as he works to wipe the blood off. 

Fives looks down at his armor and a small alarm sets off in the back of his brain. He drops his bucket and looks at his hands, pressing his fingers together while watching the blood ooze from his soaked gloves. He was so wrapped up in helping Tup, he didn’t even notice just how much of his blood was on him, staining him with a constant reminder of his brother’s mutilated body. He rips his gloves off and starts yanking his armor off, stripping like a madman in the street.

He needs it off. All of it. He doesn’t want to see it anymore. He doesn’t want to remember the disgusting images in his head. He’s seen blood before, lots of blood, but not this blood. This blood is different. This isn’t the blood of the faceless enemy, this is the blood of his brother. He claws at his blacks, desperately trying to remove them from his body in a frenzy. Through his hysterical haze, he feels Echo place two firm hands on either of his shoulders and he stops. 

Fives looks into Echo’s eyes as Echo breathes in through his nose and out through his mouth. He copies Echo’s breathing, slowly bringing his panicked breath in sync with his brother’s calm breath. Once he settles in the new rhythm, Echo closes his eyes and leans his forehead against Fives’, silently reminding him that he’s not alone and that Tup is still alive and fighting. Fives closes his eyes and lets his mind go blank, mentally preparing himself for what comes next.

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3

Masterlist

A03

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twiyor forced to fight? 👀 hope you’re having a good day!!! 🫶💖💞💝💗

OH that one slaps! I love me a good angsty fight between two loving spouses! ^_^ Aw, I hope you're having an awesome day too Sadie!! :D

----

“Yor…” Loid’s voice quivered, taking a step back.

Before him stood his wife, his for-Operation-Strix fake married wife, and she had stiletto daggers in her hands and a dark, unfamiliar expression on her face.

No, Twilight knew that expression well, had seen it in the faces of many men, both young and old, in the faces of the experienced fighters in the frontlines.

He had seen it when witnessing his sergeant’s eyes following the trickle of blood as it escaped their enemy’s mouth.

He sees it when he looks in the mirror too.

“Finish him, Thorn Princess. You know what’s on the line.” Shopkeeper’s low, deceptively calm voice sounded from the cover of shadows. It seemed to be all around them like a phantom.

Twilight’s fist clenched, the leather of his gloves groaning in protest. “Yor! Please listen to me, we can find a way to escape. We don’t have to fight!”

A voice Twilight didn’t want to acknowledge as his own quietly whispered in the corner of his mind: ‘I don’t want to fight you.’

Yor’s mouth turned into a thin line, raising the blade close to her face. “Loid, please. Run.”

It took a second.

No, half a second.

Even he could barely keep up.

A ringing.

White noise.

One swing of the blade.

A burn.

No, a cut.

With reflexes honed from grueling training, Twilight used the wall as leverage to jump over Yor’s next attack, but she seemed to anticipate his moves.

Turning faster than his trained eye could keep up, Yor turned her torso and threw one dagger up in the air.

It nicked his suit, a hair’s breath away from drawing more blood from him.

Twilight noticed too late the dagger missed him on purpose.

The actual hit knocked the air out of his lungs.

Yor’s heel dug into his stomach, the force slamming him straight into the opposite wall with a sickening thud.

Thorn Princess wasted no time to gain her footing and dash towards Twilight. The spy was no crumpled heap on the ground where she had thrown him.

A presence much darker and subtle barely tickled her senses.

Behind her.

Yor turned on her heel, muscles tensing to land a right hook at her opponent before her fist got caught in a much larger hand.

Twilight’s form was almost completely hidden by the shadows, the overhead lamp swinging softly to move her husband in and out of the light.

Much like her emotions that night.

Yor was used to sensing killing intent from her enemies towards her, the assassin within her was confused why she didn’t sense any from her husband, despite him appearing like an apparition of death itself ready to claim her soul.

Was this the last thing his enemies saw before Twilight the spy ended their lives? Thorn Princess didn’t envy them.

Twilight’s expression softened immediately, his grip tight but not painful on Yor’s hand. “Yor, we have to end this fight.”

The steel of her weapon caught the light once it hit them and Twilight swung his head back to dodge the upward thrust aimed at his throat.

Twilight put as much distance between them as possible, knowing it would be an easy feat for his wife to close that distance. He needed time.

“Yor, please, I can contact Franky, I’ll make sure Garden can’t hurt you or Anya! You won’t be forced to live like this any-“

“-You don’t understand!” the blade caught his eyes as Yor’s fist tightened around it further, but she made no other move to point it at him. Her eyes seemed to burn holes right through his skull. “I fed and clothed Yuri with this job! It’s the only thing I can do that I’m good at, Loid! My abilities…they, I can’t work like this at City Hall!” images of mocking faces entered Yor’s mind, memories of people ridiculing her for her lack of skills in everything but killing. “These hands…they can’t do anything else but kill…”

Thorn Princess wasn’t one to be caught off guard, but she was. Her body was too quick for her mind to catch up with.

The sharp point of her blade was turned up before she registered Loid crossed the room towards her.

The blade dug uncomfortably into his forearm, soaking the material of his suit in his blood, but Twilight ignored the burning pain in favor of holding Yor’s hands in his. His gaze finally caught hers and held it. “You’re wrong, Yor. These hands…they dress and bathe Anya every day. They make our dinner and buy the food we eat. They clean Bond after he comes home from playing at the doggy park the whole day. They gently carry Anya to bed when she accidentally falls asleep in the living room watching Spy Wars past her bedtime.” Twilight slowly rubbed his thumbs across Yor’s knuckles, feeling the bumps and callouses from fighting, but sensing their restrained power.

Yor was holding back.

Twilight smiled. “…They stroked my hair while I was having dreams about losing my mother in the war. They welcome me home and take my coat after a long day at the hospital. They patched me up after I got roughed up from a secret mission…I never knew these hands to be anything but kind to us, Yor. Maybe inanimate objects didn’t get that same treatment but…these are your hands, Yor! The hands that you love and protect with and kill. All these years, you’ve worked this job for the same reason I work mine: to protect the people that are dear to you.”

Droplets of liquid slid down over their joined hands and Twilight lifted one hand carefully to wipe away the tears falling down Yor’s cheeks. “These hands aren’t just good for killing, Yor. Just like you aren’t only good for killing. Just like I’m not only good for killing either.”

Yor’s- Thorn Princesses’ defenses slowly crumbled, the edge vanished from her eyes like mist in the wind and finally, Loid could gaze at his wife’s face without the looming threat of death hanging over both of their heads.

“Hey.” Loid leaned his head down to touch his forehead to hers and closed his eyes, nuzzling into her.

The sharp clang of metal hitting the solid ground echoed in the barren room as Yor dropped her dagger to curl her hand around Loid’s, pushing her forehead up against him in return. Yor’s watery “Hey.” made Loid wipe the remainder of her tears away and blink back the onslaught of his own.

Nuzzling into each other, assassin and spy allowed themselves this brief reprieve before Yor’s words washed over them both like a shower of ice shards.

“They have Anya.”

Taking a deep breath, Loid slowly straightened his back with his eyes still closed.

Opening them again, Yor knew it wasn’t her dear husband who stood before her.

It was Westalis’s greatest spy and Ostania’s greatest nightmare staring vowing a slow death to any who stood in his way.

And then Twilight spoke, words that caused Thorn Princess to pick up her weapons again. “My communication lines were suddenly cut, I suspect Garden isn’t the only one playing a hand in kidnapping Anya.”

The glare of the mighty Thorn Princess could topple the bravest men and send them begging on their knees. “If I may, I think I’ll have to take more lives today, including that of your colleagues.”

While Thorn Princess fixed her gloves, Twilight ripped a part of his suit to still the bleeding on his forearm. “Casualties are unavoidable on both sides, you have my full permission, Yor.”

Despite the use of her name, it was Thorn Princess’ gaze that glared daggers at the prospect of killing her husband’s fellow spies.

Together, both spy and assassin rushed to save their daughter from both Garden and WISE.

Thanks for reading! Hope you liked it :3  

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Her Embrace, Her Tears

Multi-chaptered, fluff, angst, eventually smut

Lae'zel probably didn't need a good excuse, or further motivation, to go to war with Shar. But, she is about to get it anyway.

Five years post game, Dark Justiciar/Mother Superior/Chosen of Shar Shadowheart and (with a few notable exceptions) everyone got their bad endings, in that everyone is still alive, but shitty. Lae'zel is thriving though, aside from her relationship.

Read Chapter One on Ao3

Read Chapter Two on Ao3

Read Chapter Three on Ao3

Read Chapter Four on Ao3

Read Chapter Five on Ao3

Read Chapter Six on Ao3

Read Chapter Seven on Ao3

or read Chapter Seven below the cut

Never before had Lae’zel’s reflexes failed her like this. 

She’d had the advantage, when Shadowheart’s spell failed to subdue her. But Astarion got to Shar’s Chosen first.

If she wasn’t so consumed with other emotions, she might’ve felt embarrassed.

It was as though a wicked giant stood behind her, physically restraining her limbs. Her keen eyes could just make out the staring match between Shadowheart and Astarion, pinned to the ceiling above. For a heartbeat, it wasn’t clear who would manage to overpower the other.

Even while agreeing with Astarion, she couldn’t help but feel a desire to see him fall before Shadowheart did.

Then, the radiant guardians vanished, and Shadowheart began to slacken in Astarion’s burning grip: defeated. Now, Lae’zel’s reaction came straight up her steel spine and through her swordarm before she even knew what she was doing. She hurled her silver sword and hit her mark as perfectly as ever she had. The broad side struck Astarion right along his shoulder and down his arm, forcing him to drop Shadowheart. Lae’zel was below her before her sword hit the ground with a thunderous crash. Shadowheart sank into her arms, folding into her, heavy with unconsciousness, but Lae’zel felt her heart beating, and the coolness of her breath against her neck where her head curled into her.

Astarion groaned. He’d landed too—not quite as loudly as the sword, and not unconscious like Shadowheart, but the hit from the thrown sword had been more than enough to force him to lose concentration and fall. He rose up, whincing, face and clothing burned from Shadowheart’s radiant spirit guardians. His handsome features smoking slightly, black and silver with residual light. He glared, but the look didn’t appear to be directed at Lae’zel specifically, more just a general expression of physical pain. He rose up slowly, his waistcoat and the shirt underneath burnt open to reveal more charred flesh down his naked chest. 

It seemed he wasn’t going to censure her, and was wise enough to discern that her attack against him wasn’t the initiation of a duel, but brutally effective mitigation.

“I’ll take her back to her cloister. Then, I’m coming for…” Lae’zel checked on the child, huddled were Alice appeared to have finally passed out completely. He looked frightened and so very small. Somehow smaller than she remembered him from just a few moments ago. What was she to do with one so weak? “We are not calling him Egg.”

“Don’t take her anywhere,” Astarion straightened, speaking through clenched teeth and visible discomfort. “We’ll lock her up here until we can get to the bottom of this.” His eyes were slightly unfocused, whether from the pain, the shock of Shadowheart’s sudden attack, or perhaps that was just the usual stupid look he wore when he was coming up with a singularly ineffective plan, and she simply hadn’t been forced to see that look on him in a while.

“Her people will come looking for her if she doesn’t return.” Lae’zel pointed out, but she tried to keep her voice a little soft as she corrected him. “If we can avoid a war with Sharrans…” She looked down at Shadowheart. They had to avoid it. She simply couldn’t bare it otherwise. She wasn’t sure how to fix this, but she had to try. Surely, five years negotiating between githyanki and githzerai had prepared her for this. She could talk with Shadowheart. She could reason with her.

But could she reason with Shar?

“We?” Astarion questioned, it seemed when he wasn’t telling others what to do, he was rather reluctant to be involved in the first place.

“You’re the one who attacked her,” Lae’zel reminded him.

“And you’re the one who hesitated,” Astarion had her there, though she bit the inside of her cheek, loathe to admit it. She’d rather hoped he hadn’t noticed that, or wouldn’t remember.

But, she would admit it. In part to humble herself, and take accountability for the mistake, but also because, frankly, she might need Astarion’s help again. “Yes.”

But he was correct that taking Shaowheart straight back to the enclave probably wasn’t the right call. They needed to talk about this away from the eyes and expectations of her people. Perhaps they couldn’t escape Shar herself, but perhaps they could. Lae’zel carried her out of the ballroom, out of the palace itself—no one stopped her. Once she believed herself to be just past the borders of any magical interference, she activated one of three rings on her left hand. All of them were teleportation-enabling items. The one on her middle finger was, in some ways, the weakest of the spells, in that it was the most likely to fail, and the most limited in its connection to real space. But, within the borders of Toril, it was the most versatile, and could be used twice a tenday. It couldn’t take her to any other plane as the destination, probably couldn’t even take her to Waterdeep or Calimshan, but it might manage Eltugard or  even The High Moor, and being able to choose the location was the main benefit. As long as she’d been there before and had a mooring point to focus on, the ring let her choose her destination.

The one on her ring finger was fixed, but could overcome a lot of the typical magical barriers when activated. It would rarely fail to take her to its tied destination, and when it did fail, it didn’t need the usual space of cycles to recharge its use. The final ring, the large golden one on her thumb, was her way home. It would be very difficult to interfere with, once activated, by even the strongest of counterspells. But she could only use it once, then the ring would break. It had cost much, and it was getting harder and harder to have them crafted for her interplanar use.

She used the ring on her middle finger to transport herself and Shadowheart to what she thought could serve as neutral ground, for them to talk, and where she could check in with an impartial cleric as to Shadowheart’s state. The Stormshore Tabernacle hosted a few idols, from what Lae’zel could remember about it. She wasn’t sure if one of them was Selûne or not (which she imagined Shadowheart could take issue with) but at least it was quiet and she couldn’t think of many other locations nearby that she’d been to previously.

As she’d hoped, there was no one there besides a single cleric, who didn’t ask a lot of questions, though the slight twinge in his lip might indicate that he had some suspicions about who Lae’zel had brought with her. 

Scratch served as a convenient distraction, in any case, stepping forward to greet the acolyte with a wag of his tail that was too charming for him to resist. Once received warmly, Scratch began to patrol the chapel. Lae’zel rather hoped he took the opportunity to relieve himself on the statue of one of the more hateful gods of Faerûn. There were so many to choose from.

Lae’zel found a stone bench beside the altar to Helm and carefully set Shadowheart on her back. Her arms chilled without her to hold.

Lae’zel purchased a rather well-made, but overpriced, health potion from the cleric, and took his word for it when he examined her and said there was no lasting damage done, then he mercifully let them be. She worried about the bottle of warm liquid in her hands as she sat on the ground before the bench, wanting to give Shadowheart a few moments to wake up on her own, if she could manage it, before she tried to get her to swallow anything. She didn’t have any visible wounds to treat instead—though there were shadowy bruises at the top of her throat and along her jaw.

She wet her fingers with the red liquid and stroked her gently where she could see the most color, gnawing on her full lower lip a little and imagining the satisfaction of kicking Astarion right between his long legs. But. She couldn’t really be properly angry with him. He’d simply drawn the highest card in the deck and then acted when no one else was able to, thanks to Shadowheart’s admittedly formidable spellcasting abilities. She would have been more angry with him if he’d also done nothing when she used command on them. But, she might not be fantasizing about hurting him if she wasn’t currently watching Shadowheart wince slightly with the ginger touch of her fingers against her bruised face.

As her dearest love’s eyes fluttered open, Lae’zel tried to live for an eternity in that moment of confusion, in the soft lean of her subtly mismatched gaze. For less than the space of a breath, she could see that Shadowheart couldn’t place herself, or Lae’zel, couldn’t remember anything that had happened. She was simply awakening in a quiet, cool, dark chamber with Lae’zel looking down at her, and almost a soft smile took her, then she stiffened, and Lae’zel knew that it had all come back to her, probably with a wave of discomfort, as her hand flinched up to her throat and her gaze hardened.

Shadowheart sat up, eyes searching her immediate surroundings, face hard. She seemed no less on edge when she observed that she and Lae’zel were alone, her brow furrowed as she glanced at the idols of gods around her.

Wordlessly, Lae’zel offered the health potion to Shadowheart to drink. She took it, which might have seemed a good sign, except for the slight flash in her eye, as though the purpose of restoring her strength was precisely so that she could spend it again.

“There is nothing to discuss,” Shadowheart stated once her mouth was free again.

“Discuss it with me anyway,” Lae’zel suggested, trying not to make it sound like there was an implied threat on the end of her words, though she couldn’t quite manage serenity.

“You understand I do not act of my own will. I never do. My will is my greatest sacrifice to my goddess. I have done…'' She stopped herself here, shut her eyes tight and Lae’zel felt the bolt of pain pass through her to strike Lae’zel right in the heart as well. She had done horrible things for Shar. They had both done horrible things for Shar, though for Lae’zel it was actually a matter of doing things for Shadowheart first and Shar, only begrudgingly. “I have been given the charge to care for this child, Lae’zel. Do you not believe that is something I am capable of?”

“I should love to see you as a caretaker.” Lae’zel couldn’t quite bring herself to say mother. Since her time on Faerûn, the concept of families had been something that interested her, first academically, and then, on some deeper, aching level that she seldom explored because of the way it made her feel heavy and oddly critical of her own life, of her own self. “I do think you are capable.” In truth, Lae’zel had often speculated that one reason Shar was so fixated on Shadowheart, and guarded her so jealously as her Chosen, was precisely because she had an endless capacity for compassion that Shar wanted to see run dry. “Shar is not.”

Shadowheart’s face darkened at this, “I always knew you didn’t truly understand.”

And their discussion might’ve ended there. Lae’zel might have had to abandon all attempts at reason, carelessly, for the sake of the satisfaction of finally saying what she had always felt. “You’re right,” said Lae’zel as tenderly as she could. “I did try. Because I love you, I tried. I wanted to see things the way you do, but I cannot.”

“Then we are at an impasse.”

“I am,” Lae’zel again conceded, but she held Shadowheart’s hand fast to keep her from rising up and fleeing. “You do still have a choice,” and her voice sharpened to a hiss.

“I definitively, do not,” spat Shadowheart, rising up anyway and trying to pull away. “And I don’t need one—I am proud, I am elated to do my lady’s work!”

“Talk to Jaheira,” Lae’zel said suddenly, realizing that she should have thought of this earlier.

“What?!” Shadowheart was taken by surprise, her shoulders slumped and she stopped trying to pull out of Lae’zel’s grip, momentarily, though she was very still.

“Go to the High Harper, and speak to her. Ask her about Viconia DeVir.”

As Lae’zel expected, Shadowheart’s blank look froze on her features. Her eyes unfocused. It was the look she always wore when it seemed like her body had reacted to something, but her mind didn’t understand why. “That name doesn’t mean anything to me.”

“I know,” said Lae’zel wearily. “But it should. I can tell you little. Jaheira can tell you much more. Viconia DeVir once stood where you stand. Once followed the will of her—beloved goddess,” she tried and failed not to spit the words.

“You cannot sway me with the dregs of my past!” Shadowheart shouted, “I have given it all away, it is not a part of me any longer—” 

“—and where she is now, you will one day be,” Lae’zel felt her grip around Shadowheart’s wrist constrict, felt her love pulling away, and knew she couldn’t keep this up. She just had to hope that Shadowheart heard enough to be curious. She needed her to heed her words. “If your past is not a part of you—so be it, but you still have a future. You should be at least as invested in that as I am.”

Shadowheart finally ripped her wrist from Lae’zel’s grip, and shook her hand, rubbing at it with her opposite hand and glaring down at where Lae’zel still knelt on the ground. She cast her eyes around the idols watching them, a slight snarl on her lips, then turned and started to stalk away.

“I did try to understand,” Lae’zel couldn’t stop herself from offering one final plea, one final note of insight from her own past that had haunted her for years. 

For a moment, it seemed like Shadowheart wouldn’t stay to hear it. Her footsteps were carrying her away, but they slowed.

“I told myself that I was merely projecting my own journey onto you. That, for you, it was different. That Shar was important to you and had cared for you in a way that Vlaakith never cared for me.” It seemed so stupid to say now, but, at the time, Lae’zel had convinced herself to ignore all the ways in which their circumstances were actually, exactly the same. “Now, I think I merely failed to understand everything. When I turned away from Vlaakith, I should have done everything in my power to help you understand why. I should have done more to share the pain, and the catharsis of that parting. Perhaps then you would have seen shades of yourself in me, as I see shades of myself in you.”

With a sharp click, Shadowheart came rushing back to Lae’zel. She leaned over just far enough to grab her hands and pull her up to her feet. For a long moment they simply stared at one another, and Lae’zel found, to her mild terror, that she could read nothing in Shadowheart’s features. Her beautiful face, so well known to her, so cherished in her mind, was that of a serene stranger. She could not see pity, nor anger, nor love, nor lust in her eyes, could not read laughter or annoyance or anger on her slightly curved lips. She was a mask, darkly shadowed and relentlessly quiet. Her hands pressed into either of Lae’zel shoulders, her fingers stroking her, massaging their way up her neck and onto her jaw and the back of her head. She pressed her lips into Lae’zel’s mouth, firm and sweet, and holding back with shallow, tremulous breath. Lae’zel kissed her back, closed her eyes and deepened the kiss with rising passion. They held one another until the world broke through with the soft whispers of crackling fire from the torches, and the breath of the door of the tabernacle being opened and closed as more worshipers finally began to make their way inside.

Shadowheart pulled back, face still unreadable, eyes far away. “Goodbye.”

And as Lae’zel stayed where she was standing, held only by the cold air, she knew, long after Shadowheart was gone, that she meant it.

[wildmtthyme]

Short little cross-over drabble that popped in my head the other day while I was playing Destiny. :P 141 x Guardians x Some kind of crazy dimensional vex interweaving thing. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Don't ask me, I don't make the rules!

Drabble Title: Well, Shit.

Warnings? Um... warzone? Fighting? Gunfire? Game typical stuff.

Ghost POV. Featuring one of my many hunter OC's in typical hunter fashion. :P Unedited because of course it isn't.

-*-

Lightning was arching all over the damned place as they made their way across the battlefield. And it was. A battlefield, that is. Yeah, they’d been debriefed but that didn’t help them any. The team had initially had a plan for infiltration of the base but it had gone to hell right quick and in a hurry. Simon could hear Soap grunting over the coms as he slammed into a nearby building, being thrown by another explosion. Price’s strained voice over coms told him that the Captain had gone through another narrow miss himself. These fuckin’ scientists and their fuckin—Gaz cut off, a rapid popping of gunfire from the base’s enemy soldiers filling the air instead of the man’s voice. It was like someone flipped a switch at some point and turned the whole damned place into a big Jacob’s ladder. Simon could feel the hairs on his arms standing on end even beneath his compression shirt!

“The fuck!” He barked out of pure human instinct as he slid down onto his hip, feeling the air sizzle around him. The wind whipped up and he swore he felt like he got hit with a fucking truck! A blast of purple light erupted around him and he landed hard in the dirt. He wasn’t down but for a moment before he felt a hard hand on his shoulder jerk him back onto his feet, his eyes widened as he was set back onto his boots, a slap to his back that nearly toppled him over! Keep your boots under ya, Guardian! A man’s voice that was way too fucking happy sounded off… his eyes following a man that was wearing some kind of exo suit or armor or… he had no idea but there was another blinding flash and he was just fucking gone!

Ghost! Ge’down! He ducked sharp, tasting metal in his mouth as another round of pops went off. The fuck was that! Gaz’s voice was filled with alarm and something cut into their coms. –ex on the right, guess they don’t know when to quit, right? Followed by a chuckle, a different man this time. Price’s voice next. Anyone else see that? There was a crack in the air before he swore it looked like a miniature missel flew across the field, cutting through smoke and lightning before it vanished. Nice shot, Dace! Their coms lit up with a few jeers of random people. Soap’s voice came over next. Our channel’s compromised! Price followed up. The electricity’s gotta be fuckin’ with it. Simon slid down beside a low wall and was about to peek over the edge when he felt a weight slam against the wall beside him.

He turned expecting to see Soap but froze for a heartbeat, blade palmed in the next. He felt a slender hand clap against his wrist the one after that and another lift up, finger gesturing over where her mouth would be… if her face were bare. She was strong. Much stronger than she should be. Easy there, Hunter. He blinked at her. Skull. Nice. He blinked again. Quiet type, huh? She shrugged and lowered his hand for him. He couldn’t look away from her, even as she peeked over the wall. So, what are we waiting on? She looked back at him and he just… he couldn’t fucking speak for a moment. Um… hello? Ghost?

That made him shake himself out of his stupor. “A clear path.” He growled out. Obviously, this was another operative that had gotten separated from them. Never mind her weird ass gear. Oh, so you can talk. He ignored that. He inched up to look just as she was doing. She gestured with index and middle across his face. Don’t know ‘bout you but I’m going that way. She clapped him on the back then. See ya on the other side. “What the fuck.” He growled and reached after her when she fucking climbed over the wall. And… was she wearing a fucking cape?!

Who the fuck is that? Price growled over coms and he just growled in general. “Some stupid fucking rookie.” He charged after her, not feeling like he had much of a choice. She’s gonna get herself killed! Soap this time. He was keeping up with her hunched over form for a moment before she darted ahead, sliding like she was sliding home until she was ducking into another building. He hissed and had to double time it. “Rook. The fuck do you think you’re doing?!” He barked after her. The woman glanced over her shoulder and stood up fully then, a fucking hand canon in her hand. She held it up and let it fall back against her thigh as if she were disappointed in him. The hell, man? I thought we agreed… I was gonna go this way… and you- he internally jumped as she swung it so nonchalantly across her body and into the open doorway she was standing beside and fired it, an enemy insurgent stumbling and falling onto the floor between them, in front of her… and she didn’t even look at the guy, her focus still on him! -were gonna go off the other way? We had a deal, man. She was standing there as if they were not behind enemy fucking lines!

“No. No fucking deal.” He growled, forcing himself to ignore her blasé attitude. Oh, I see what’s going on. She shifted her weight and wagged her finger at him, her tone couldn’t have been more… inappropriate for where they were!!! You’re freshly risen, aren’t ya? Well, don’t ya worry your pretty little head, just look to me for the changes and you’ll be golden. And watch yer flame, don’t want ya to burn out. She turned around then and jumped slightly like she was startled. He didn’t see… he lifted his gun but he was… for once… too fucking slow! He blinked as he watched the enemy combatant that had turned into the hall fall with her knife sticking out of his face! That’s a change-up. Keep up, Hunter! He blinked again and she was already down the hall pulling her knife out of the guy. He clinched his jaw and dashed after her.

There was no fucking way this woman was a rookie. No way. He fell into line right beside her and damn, she fought like she had been fighting longer than he had! Between her canon, her knives, and her rifle… she was… damned impressive. But she had a mouth on her! And she didn’t ever seem to be serious! And… she also didn’t seem to respond to their coms. They were by the doorway to the main building, on either side of it in fact. She was just about to turn in when he grabbed her shoulder and shoved her back. “No, we wait.” She did that stand-up straight thing again, as if she were annoyed with him. Wait for what? You’re really starting to cramp my style.

“I don’t give a fuck. We wait for back up.” She barked a laugh out at him and let her head fall back, her hood falling off and revealing the rest of her mask. Honey, I am the back up. He wasn’t amused. Who the fuck is this? Price said as he trotted up, both Soap and Gaz quick behind him and all three of them a little out of breath. The woman rolled her neck and looked at his team… but her weight shifted and she visibly looked between them, holding a hand out as if to stop them. Whoaaa… not a place for you three. Price’s brows shot up. Fucking excuse me? The woman shook her head and slapped her gun down into a fucking holster on her thigh and folded her arms over her chest. Vanguard business. This is not a place for civilians at all. The three of you need to get back down to the city.

Simon was… confused. “The fuck are you talking about?” It was his turn to stand-up straight, facing her more pointedly. A disembodied voice suddenly sounded off around them, her radio more than likely. Uh, I don’t think any… of them… are guardians. The woman looked between them all again and the silence that hung for a moment before she looked at him the longest. Oh shit. Price took a charging step towards her. “Oh shit is right. Now who the—” He was interrupted by a lot of yelling coming out of the building. Time seemed to slow… but it only seemed the way.

Simon looked but all he saw was a lot of red flashes… the barrels of guns going off. He was tensing, readying to roll out of the way… he saw Soap, Price, and Gaz all doing the same… but the woman… the woman was shoving them all! She moved… so fast… she threw herself in front of the doorway! Her shoulder facing the gunfire, her watched in minute horror as he was shoved back… Price landed in the dirt, Gaz rolled and Soap did much the same. A bullet dinged off her mask… which he realized wasn’t a mask at all but a fucking helmet! Ahhhh fucking hell!!! Her voice came out strained as she went down on a knee before she seemed to erupt… there was a crack like a whip… and she had a gun in her hand, lifted up in the air before she fired into the building… six shots going off rapidly, her cape flaring out behind her, also on fucking fire! Before she went dark… and went down…

Simon was panting heavy as the smoke started to clear… it was silent inside the building but… she was lying there… motionless. Price was waving his hand around… and Soap was doing the same. The fuck was that… all four of them leapt back, guns lifting when a small light flashed and a floating orb fluttered in the air. Gentlemen. If you please, give her some room. They… just stared at it. And there was a warmth in the air suddenly. Not heat… but… warmth. Like… light… it seemed to rain down on her coming from the little thing.

And then they all jumped again because… she coughed… and then groaned. Damn thing. Simon watched as she climbed back onto her boots… dusting herself off lazily almost. Thanks, Ghost. Soap spoke then. He didn’t do anything. – You’re welcome. The little orb spoke at the same time that Soap did and silence reigned. The woman tugged her helmet off… a cascade of silver hair fell around pale skin… vibrant silver eyes flittered between them all before landing on Simon. She pointed at him slightly. Ghost. Simon just nodded.

Then she laughed… she laughed good and loud and long… pointing between him and the little orb, who he swore narrowed its small light at him. It zipped at him then, getting right in his face… giving him a look up and down before it seemed to huff. *I’m* her ghost. It vanished then in a flash of light… while she worked on sobering. She was wiping her eye while she still chuckled a little. Ah… ah hell, now that… that’s funny. She just walked off a few steps. Zavala… come back. Her smile faded and her brow furrowed a little. Zavala?... Crow? Ikora? Anyone? She glanced back over at the four of them before her shoulders dropped just a little. Well, shit.