#half-tempted to just post it as-is when my head is less fuzzy and I can clean up the spelling errors and typos

[loregoddess]

oh damn, going through my drafts bc allergies are making my brain feel like it's filled with cotton, and found the 2-year old outline for my "parallels and mirrored themes for Avlora and Anna" analysis...

[mintseesaw]

Mad Passion | 2

Pairing: namjoon x reader Genre: arranged marriage au, smut, angst, fluff Word count: 14k Warnings: jealousy, possessiveness, graphic sexual content, unprotected sex Summary: As you become emotionally invested with your marriage, you have grown accustomed to being Namjoon’s wife. Not until you realize you barely have an idea what it is really like to be his wife.  *unedited

Part I | sequel 

The midnight moon illuminates vibrantly on the clear, dark blue-ish sky— a clear view from the sky high cocktail bar and lounge, of which is about to approach its peak hours, serving exclusively to the hotel guests.

The four and a half thousand square foot space is indeed a perfect place to unwind minus the bustling crowd and unnecessary loud music. Among the tables neatly scattered in the open air terrace, the two men occupied the miniscule pavilion situated on the right corner of the sky high rooftop, the farthest possible spot from the little crowd growing as the night progresses.

Seokjin and Namjoon are currently on a business trip. Namjoon rarely joins him on his international-scale meetings one as he isn’t an expert of the global market of fisheries like Jin himself. This time, however, it was Namjoon who initiated the trip to meet a good number of businessmen to secure a majority vote on the retail corporation he had invested in several months ago. He was new to this particular field, which was why Jin was here with him. 

Jin was with him all through the course of said meetings. As Namjoon’s schedule abroad concluded today, it was safe to say the result of these meetings posed a good sign. Namjoon will soon take over another company. Of course, Jin wouldn’t let the night pass without them celebrating. He could’ve invited the rest of the group if they came along on the trip. So it was only the two of them who are celebrating, as Jin insists to call it. Namjoon could have turned it down, and calling his wife appeals to him more, but he really needs a proper drink even if Jin under the influence of alcohol means having to endure his annoying ass for an hour or two. “Your wife doesn’t have any idea on all of this, does she?” Jin nonchalantly asks, the alcohol cleansing his palate refreshingly from the numerous glasses he had. They had been in the pavilion for over an hour or two, he’s not certain.

Namjoon gave him a stern look, almost feigning innocence on the question his friend suddenly threw at him. “Know what?” There it was, the annoying side of Jin. Jin smirks, shaking his head. He could read his friend like the back of his hand. Amongst the group, he knows Namjoon the longest. Even with the passive expression he always wears, Jin could easily see through him.

“She doesn’t know? You’re screwed, Kim.” By now, both have already had a decent amount of alcohol in their system. The younger one, however, doesn’t appear as fuzzy as the older one. “She doesn’t need to know about my business affiliations. It would not matter what she would think of it.” He remarks, before emptying the liquor in his glass. His reply only made Jin snorted. “I bet you don’t.” He muses before continuing, “No doubt, it would be a pleasure to meet the woman who stole your heart. Hoseok told me a lot of things about you and her. I’d like to confirm it myself. After all, it’s been months since you secretly changed your marital status.” Also, he ought to know why Namjoon seems to talk too little about his wife, as if he was avoiding the subject itself. Namjoon’s eyebrow shots up. “Confirm what, exactly?”  “How smitten you are to the woman.” Namjoon leans his back on the couch, “Shut it, Hyung.” He shrugs, eliciting too little expression that only fuels Jin’s amusement further. Crossing his leg to the other, he continues to nag his friend. “I thought I’d never see the day, my friend. Have I not mentioned how surprised we were learning about your marriage in a newspaper?”

“You did, you couldn’t seem to move on from it, can you?”

“How can I? You didn’t even us at your wedding!”

“I already told you why.”

“Well, you have to give the girl a proper wedding. That is… if you already bear feelings for her.”

“There’s no need for that.”

“Did you ask her? Girls like those romantic shit.” Jin concludes, his own experience being his reference.

“The marriage is a part of the deal, Hyung.” He says in an indifferent tone, a pretense he had mastered through the years of his experience in the industry. Jin already knew the story behind his marriage, but the rare chance of pissing his friend off tempts him as always.

“If you don’t love the girl, you can easily get a divorce once you have secured the position. With the influence you have over the Korean government, there’s no way you can’t be granted a simple request.” Jin continues to press, enjoying the look of irritation growing on Namjoon’s face. Namjoon chose to keep quiet, distracting himself with pouring alcohol in his glass.

“What do you think the princess would feel if her castle has already been claimed by her King long before her father steps down on his throne?” Jin queries in a teasing manner.

“You forgot to mention she had long abandoned her throne. She already lost the title when she left.” Namjoon was quick to answer back.

Jin smirks, “Touché.” Namjoon purses his lips, letting the air be filled with silence. At the mere mention of the lost princess that is his wife, his mind wanders off. It’s been almost a week since he last saw his wife.  He misses her that no amount of alcohol could suffice. Although he consistently calls you every day, it was not enough to make peace with his mind. How should he converse with you to prolong the conversation? He loves hearing you talk endlessly, regardless of what it is about. The conversations feel restricted. Whether it was because of his intimidating self or you’re merely not interested to talk to him—he has yet to know why.

What is certain, though, is he will finally come home tomorrow.

Mingyu quietly turns the ignition on the moment you climb inside the passenger’s side. Silence has awkwardly ruled between the two of you since two weeks ago especially when you don’t initiate a conversation, yourself. His actions are always calculated alongside the formality in his voice whenever you attempt to have a casual conversation with him.

And you figured, he might have been instructed not to entertain your friendly gestures, much less converse with you.

You find his awkward but formal disposition adorably hilarious, which sometimes make you laugh out loud, that in return, earns you questioning look from him.

Since his post as personal security detail two weeks ago, Mingyu always lingers on your whereabouts. The role he plays is obviously a college student, casually eating on a table far away from your usual spot, or pretending to read books in the library when you’re studying so he could unnoticeably guard you around. The pretense alone is a dangerous task, you presume, because he is an eye catcher and he has to stay low-profile not to gets busted.

You don’t even know how they can roam around the vicinity of the campus without alerting the security department. When you say ‘they’, you’re generally referring to the team of agents responsible for your well-being. After the incident involving your friend and one of them weeks ago, they have visually disappeared. But you were not that dense to believe they’re literally gone. For all you care, they are just scattered everywhere, pretending to be whoever they are. Namjoon is too smart to have the same men follow you around. If he intentionally wants to make you think he has removed an entire team in your care, he would strategically have new faces to do the job. As if Mingyu’s presence will make you believe that he’s the only person that guards you.

Until now, you couldn’t believe your husband selected Mingyu as your shadow amongst the couple of hundreds working under his security agency. Knowing he’s territorial when it comes to the male acquaintances you have, it makes you there’s an underlying reason for it. Perhaps, is it trap to test your loyalty? But the probability of it being true is too low, because why would your loyalty matter to him in the first place?

When Namjoon married you several months ago, not only has your life changed, but your feelings too. You used to dislike the thought of being forced into a marriage with him, with someone you barely know, with someone who has so many similarities with your father.

It wasn’t just a simple attraction that you have developed towards him, nor was the socio-economic status he has. There is not even extraordinarily admirable about his personality that could justify your feelings—that unavoidably blossomed through time.

He was not the typical guy, of course. Men his age are probably enjoying the time of their lives, partying and all that stuff or perhaps, struggling to even get a decent job that would financially support themselves. He was not the romantic type of guy. Sweet talks, knows how to make you feel giddy, charms his way to your heart— he is far from that. Strange, how he still unknowingly earns more brownie points the longer you live with him, despite the uncertainty.

The awkward tension between you two have improved after months of having formal and painfully monotonous interactions. Perhaps, the rare intimacy has helped you open up to him more casually.

Despite that, you couldn’t rest your mind with the fact that your relationship with him lacks emotional commitment.

While he has the money and power at such a young age, you have nothing but student loans and your father’s last name. While he sees to your every need, it was never really established what you two are aside from the arrangement of your marriage. Unfortunately, it was just that. There may be papers which legally conclude your matrimony as husband and wife, but there’s no certainty of mutual, requited feelings. Every single day that comes and goes around, you couldn’t stop yourself from wishing that the marriage had been alternatively a result of a conventional, romantic affair. Part of you wishes he could, at least, learn to reciprocate your feelings for him.

He asked you on a date before, the first and only one so far. It turned out as expected— a little awkward because he basically rented the restaurant leaving you two alone in the spacious, luxurious place which meant having to endure silence while he enjoys his food as you try to think of things that you could talk to him about. It was, nevertheless, sweet because you have not predicted he would be thoughtful enough to know the food that you like, having it served as the main course.

Since the date, Namjoon never really spoke about it or anything that may hint another one. You’re ashamed to even admit that you’re eager to know what he feels for you, now.

Has it changed?

~

It didn't take long before you arrive at the apartment.

Without waiting for your guard, you went straight to the bedroom, the same one you share with him. Despite his absence for six days, the scent of his signature perfume still lingers in the vicinity.

Heaving a sigh, you huff on the mattress, allowing your muscles to relax, and allow your mind to wander into nothingness.

Earlier, you magically crammed mind-draining essays due today as well as made progress on your provisions for your upcoming midterms. The mere thought of it all makes you want to take a nap before proceeding with your papers, again.

After a moment of silence, you decided to have a long, warm bath instead. It’s been ages since the last time you had one since you have a waiting husband in mind whenever you’re using the bathroom even though he has several spares in his penthouse.

You did just that. And about half an hour, the comforting and relaxing warmth seeping through every part of your body, and the peppermint scented diffuser further lets your mind float elsewhere. Before you know it, you have lurked farther into the depth of your endless thoughts, slowly leading you where darkness and dreamland meet. You woke startled by an endless sound of a familiar tone ringing. And as your eyes strained by the blinding light, you mindlessly search for the source. You couldn’t seem to find where it was coming from, although you know it was your phone. The mere sound of it tells it was not in the bathroom. Where did you place it, anyway?

Still dazed with the traces of your unsolicited nap, you carefully but swiftly climb out of the tub, grabbing the towel on top of the counter to quickly dry your body. You found it on top of the bedside table. The eerie silence inside the room made the sound echo all throughout, that you feel your ears bleed as it continuously rings.

Your thumb slides on the screen after you took a brief glance at the caller.

Your abandoned, dripping hair sticks irritatingly on your nape, soaking your towel as you forget to put on a robe.

“You’re not answering my calls.” Namjoon greets, his voice unrecognizably low.

What time is it there, again? You wonder. “Sorry, I dozed off in the tub.” You replied too quickly, words jumble in your mind as they stumble out of your mouth. Listening to the words seems wrong when you have come to understand what you said.

“You what?” He asks, sounding puzzled. A trace of concern laces in his voice more than anything, although you were too flushed to take the hint. “Uhh... Yeah, I fell asleep. Sorry about that...” You sheepishly falter. As you wait for his reply, you hear some shuffling instead on the other line. 

Your mind still is blank as white while struggling to come up with a better reply. 

“I heard that, but you fell asleep? In the tub? That’s not safe.” He probably just woke up. Perhaps, that must be why his voice is extra low, though he calls you every night and it sounded quite normal in his previous calls. “Right, I’m fine though. It’s not like I would drown or something.” You try to joke.

The silence lingers for a few seconds, before you hear him speak on the other line. “You should have rested instead of taking a bath.” He lightly scolds over the phone.

A chuckle bubbles past your throat, nodding in agreement. That was your initial plan. “I will...eventually.”

“Busy?”

This time, you hear people talking in the background. He’s in his hotel room, right?

“Just about. I had a long day, spent most of my free time in the library. I presumed, Mingyu already told you that, right?”

At the mention of his name, you didn’t see the way Namjoon’s eyebrows rose, as something weak but ugly feeling stirs inside him. “Hanbin communicates with him.”

Your mouth fell into an ‘o’, nodding as if he could see you. “Oh, right. He’s fine, right? I mean you approved of him as my guard?”

“Yes. Why do you ask? I trust that you’ll tell me if he ever acts inappropriately and I’ll make sure—“

“No, no, he’s okay, I mean… uh, he’s actually really formal.” You stammer, slowly growing flustered at the way you have spoken about Mingyu. The subject itself doesn’t really interest you, it’s just that you don’t want him to be dragged into Namjoon’s territorial issues especially when he’s not around.

Not only is Mingyu a taller version of Namjoon’s physique, he is also as attractive as your husband, which didn’t matter to you as Namjoon pretty much owns your heart, that you didn’t choose to.

“Good. I’m also expecting you to behave while I’m gone.” He warns playfully.

You scoff, returning the playfulness of his tone. “When have I not?”

“Of course. You’re a good girl for me, yeah?” He casually prods although the impact of his words seem to have struck you somewhere. 

You bit your lip, started pacing back and forth with the towel as the only cover in your body. What would he feel if you tell him that?

You decided to change the subject, “Hey, listen… uh… I heard your birthday is approaching.” You begin, recalling the conversation you had with the housekeeper. This would be your first time spending his birthday with him.

“Uhuh...” He trails, silently telling you to keep going.

“Do you have plans for it?” You nervously ask, biting your nail in agitation as you kept going around the vicinity of the room.

Being a part of the elite social class means birthdays are extravagantly celebrated. You had them when you were young. Yet, Namjoon has not mentioned to you about his birthday plans, if he has any.

“Plans?” He echoes with a curious tone.

“I mean parties and stuff.” You immediately clarified back.

“Angel, I don't celebrate birthdays.” He says in a casual tone as if he was just telling you a random piece of information.

Taken aback by his response, you repeated what he said in a form of question. “You don’t?” Namjoon has not sensed the change of tone in your voice.

“I don’t. I have to go, baby. I will call you again. Hmm?” He didn’t even wait for your reply, ending the call right away.

He doesn’t celebrate his birthday? 

Namjoon, who obviously has all the resources in the world to organize the most luxurious social events, happens to have disinterests celebrating his birthday?

You mean, you have too little enthusiasm toward social gatherings but that doesn’t mean you don’t celebrate your birthday. Even when you barely have enough savings to pay for your bills, you couldn’t let your birthday pass without treating yourself or spending the day with your friends.

It sounds weird, at the same time, lonely to hear that he disregards such an occasion enough to make your heart tug painfully. He must have had a horrible childhood, you thought. Or perhaps, he’s merely not fond of any kind of celebration. It shouldn’t be a big of a deal, right?

Slight dismay washes through you at the abruptness of the call.

What is it about him being away that bothers you? Is it his safety, your safety or...his mere absence?

For the nth time since Namjoon left for his business trip, you had slept through your alarm which only meant you were late again in your first class.

The day progresses rather slowly. When it feels like you’ve spent ages sitting inside the lecture theatre, barely listening to half the professor was saying turns out to be just a couple of minutes whenever you check the time on your phone.

After what felt like a day, your break comes rolling around. Bearing the effect of sleep deprivation, your walk towards the dining hall was unusually sluggish. Fortunately, Jihyo was already on the table of your usual spot waiting when you arrived. 

Your shadow has yet to make his presence known which seems odd as he always tail you far behind, at the same time, intentionally allowing you to spot him wherever he is.

With his height, you could easily see the top of his head through the crowd, only that you didn’t need to look around because he’s in front of you and Jihyo, slightly wide-eyed with Jackson on his left, the former seemingly forced to be here.

Your eyebrows narrow in confusion. Though your friends knew you’re being guarded by him, they never really showed intention to befriend him.

“What’s going on Wang? Mingyu-ssi?” Jihyo seems amused at the mere sight, holding back her laughter as she notices the discomfort written in the poor handsome boy’s face. Your bodyguard surprisingly fits well in his all black casual attire like as if he is sporting a bad boy college student vibe. You couldn’t even point anything suspiciously odd with the way he casually holds himself as if he has his own world, not minding others’ business.

Jackson plops on the vacant seat across Jihyo’s and drags Mingyu on the seat next to him. He obligingly follows suit.

“He seems nicer and harmless than the other ones, Y/N. Had to befriend him before he makes me his next target.” Mingyu gazes at him with his sharp gaze that strangely reminds you of your husband’s stare.

“I can perfectly hear you.” He formally says to your friend, which presumably meant alternative to warning him.

Jackson paid no mind on the harmless threat, giving Mingyu a friendly smack on the back instead. “I know, bud. I’m not the enemy here, is what I’m trying to tell you.” He quips, which made Jihyo chuckle in return. Mingyu peers in your direction, then goes back to Jackson’s and Jihyo’s in utter confusion.

He probably has no idea what transpired before.

“You didn’t know?” Jackson attempts to confirm with a question.

“What?” Mingyu immediately asks back.

His act of ignorance isn’t believable enough for you. On his first day as your guard, you were stunned at how proficient he seemed to be on his pretense for someone who barely knows his way around the campus as if he’s been here before.

Shaking the thought away, you chose to butt in, “Don’t give him ideas.”

Jackson’s eyes slightly widen in realization. “You’re right. Anyways, I’m officially inviting you to eat lunch with us everyday. Is it a yes or a yes?”

Mingyu stares at him, dumbfoundedly.

“Shut up, Wang.” Jihyo laughs and then turns her head to meet Mingyu’s curious eyes. “Ignore him, but you’re always welcome to sit with us, just in case you’re allowed to— you know, eat with us.”

You only nodded in agreement.  

If he ever considers it, he never showed any sign that he did as he ate silently the whole time while he listened to the three of you converse endlessly.

Like the past few days, the home feels different and strange without the towering owner lurking around the spacious vicinity like the king, himself. Namjoon never really confirmed when he will be back. He had not brought it up again after he once mentioned that the trip would take him a week. Perhaps, longer? It’s been a week. You don't know how long you’d manage without seeing him. His absence, as you first thought, would be a sense of breather for you for the first time since the marriage happened. But as days rolled around, you only hope for the week to end so you could see him again.

The longer you ponder over the thought of missing him, the harder it is to ignore the ache on the pit of your stomach, and desire pooling between your legs. The temperature on your body feels strangely higher considering it’s not yet summer and the room is fully air conditioned like the rest of the apartment. Your hair was pulled up in a bun, clothes thrown haphazardly on the cold, bathroom floor as you skimmed inside naked without bothering to close the door.

You let the shower run as you gradually get used to the feel of the water on your skin, your body shudders ever so lightly as you step under the running water, cautious enough not to get your hair soaked in the process. Shortly after, your shoulders slug as the water finally cools down your body, your insides almost relaxing.

You drew a long sigh, eyes closing, loving the therapeutic sensation of water as it soaks your body.

It wasn’t until you felt strong arms encircling your waist from behind that the heat spirals back into your body, especially in your lower region.

Their clothed body molding perfectly against your naked back as they pull your body impossibly closed. It was too sudden, and you were probably too lost in your own thoughts that you failed to hear any strange sounds, footsteps even. A shriek of surprise went past your throat, harshly squirming in reflex. You're too shocked to process who it is until he made a hush sound, calming you down. His lips found your naked shoulder, further making himself known through his gestures. “It’s me.” The familiar voice whispers next to your ear. Your violent movements instantly halted, but the shock still is evident through erratic beating of your heart. “Joon?” you softly call, trying to peer behind to have a proper look on him. In a teasing manner, he kisses your other shoulder, ruining your intent while your body is kept locked on his arms. By now, his clothes are already soaked against your back as wet as your hair as the running water continues to shower you both. And just as his lips found your nape, his hand cups one of breasts, softly squeezing the mound, his fingers gently pinching the pink nub. Your hand mindlessly flew to the hand on your waist that is keeping your body close to his, gripping it tight enough that your knuckles are turning white. Your eyelids fell shut at the sudden sensation, biting your lip to suppress any sound from your throat. His hand didn’t stop the gentle tormenting on your breast, his warm, sinful mouth now assaulting the skin on your neck, sucking it until the spot turns purple. The mere contact is enough to make you dizzy in need, intensely lighting your long overdue desire. And then the sensation stops all at once, his hand gone and his nose nuzzling your now-soaked hair. “J-Joon...” you softly beg. He didn’t answer, yet you could hear his ragged breathing, his crotch pressing hotly on your back. “Please,” you impatiently murmur. “Hmm...” Hums Namjoon, feeling his lips on your temple. “Please let me see you,” Your voice almost breaks. It’s been a week since you last saw him, his absence certainly overwhelmed you achingly.

His lack of response drives you into frustration. Then he swiftly spins you around, his hand on your hip pushes you further until your back is pressed flat on the cold tiled wall. Palms planted on either side of your face, entrapping you.

Your mouth left agape at the sight of him. His soaked white dress shirt, clinging to his torso like a second skin, further accentuating his lean body, his dripping wet slacks evidently showing the bulge of his arousal. Your mouth instantly waters at the sight, suddenly wanting to feel it under your touch, have your mouth and tongue taste him.

But you were too nervous to initiate a move. He continues to torment you under his wanton gaze, as if challenging you to protest against his captive. His eyes then roamed over the length of your body, feasting the view beneath his lashes, “Beautiful.” His fingers caught your chin, tilting it so he could look into your eyes.

His mouth draws nearer, until it lands on the wet skin of your cheek. He mumbles against your skin, “You have no idea how much I missed seeing your pretty face. Did you miss me, sweetheart?” Your eyes closing shut, nodding. “Yes,” You manage to say, while finding the strength to rub your palms sensually on his forearms that would hopefully coax him to initiate a move. He only hums in return, to your dismay. The running water from the shower head has stopped. Namjoon probably turned it off although it was too late as his whole body is already dripping with water.

His mouth is so close to yours, teasingly hovering over the corner of your mouth. When you ever so lightly tilt your head to the side, your lips caught his supple ones. Your delicate fingers found his cheeks, deepening the kiss. A groan vibrates on his chest, the weeks worth of abstinence has not been too kind for him, and he would undoubtedly break you if he suddenly loses the control he’s been nurturing instead of his desire.

Your actions, however, are doing so little for your own good. To your dismay, he was reacting too little, maintaining a minimal response. “Joon, please...” You mumble in between kisses.

“What do you want, sweetheart?” “I-I... I want you.” You moan, your voice almost failing you from the overwhelming heat of your desire.

The burning ache on his abdomen only intensifies at the mere sound of your begging. “You have me.” He says back in a soft voice, nuzzling your cheek while keeping a safe distance between your bodies. When your hand dares touch his crotch, a low growl rumbles on his chest, swiftly catching your hand on his, restraining your very intention. Tears pool in your eyes in desperation. And as much as you want him to fuck you senseless right this second, the desire to taste him was too intense and stronger to just set the thought aside. “Let me touch you... Joon, please...” His breathes quicken, refusing to entertain your offer. But it didn’t mean his desire is not spiraling wildly, his member twitching painfully the more your pleas feed his ears. His head momentarily threw back, and you use it as an opportunity to shuffle on your knees, your hands quickly found his crotch. Taken aback by your bold eagerness, he hisses harshly as your delicate fingers found his bulge. His intent to drag you back on your feet vanishes as he took in the sight of his naked goddess— blazing eyes returning his stare while hovering over his sensitive arousal. “Fuck, sweetheart.” He curses when you impatiently palms him while your other hand trembles as it attempts to unbuckle his belt. Helplessly murmuring, “Help me...” when you couldn’t seem to do it on your own. At your helpless plea, Namjoon quickly came to rescue your little dilemma. No more than a second, his large hand swiftly unbuckles his belt, your hand greedily undid his buttons, and tug his boxers enough to release his hard member. A gasp falls on your lips, taken aback at the sudden jolt of his thick cock against his stomach before your eyes. Surprise at the size of it, your insides clenches achingly, wondering how it had fit inside you before. But realizing why his entrance burns your insides despite your wetness, his huge cock filling you would extremely stretch your walls to fit himself.

You have seen it so briefly before on your first night together, but you haven’t had the time to admire it as Namjoon took you so urgently.

Your mouth waters at the sight of a glistening pink head, your cold, delicate fingers coming in contact with his slick member to wrap themselves around his thickness.

The subtle touch of your fingers felt too good. If it’s possible, his brown eyes only grew darker, that they are almost black now. Your mind is in shambles as both of your hands gently pump their way up and down his length.

His hips stutter at your ministration. As Namjoon falls into a state of euphoria, his head is thrown back, palms glued on the wall behind you to prevent his strength from crumbling. Drawing your lips near, your tongue did an experimental lick at the glistening pink head. The harsh intake of breath you heard from him coax you further, swiping the underside of his length with your tongue before slowly taking him in your mouth. ”Fuck!” He growls so sexily at the feel of your warm mouth. You felt his cock twitched, hips bucking at your warm, inviting mouth. Then you suddenly felt your bun loosens, followed by the pull of your hair as his fingers thread into your soaked hair.

“That’s it, pretty slut.” He breathlessly praises. He draws back before filling your mouth full again. His sensitive tip touching your throat has you moaning rather erotically which only turns him on further.

He is huge, and despite willingly taking him down to your throat, the length of his cock couldn’t possibly fit all inside your mouth. Your eyes closing for a moment, suppressing the urge to choke.

“Such a good little slut for me, aren’t you sweetheart?”

Namjoon’s grip on your hair tightens, manipulating the pace to his desired speed. You didn’t care, because his pleasure matters to you more at this point.

When he glides his cock back inside, you hollow your cheeks just in time, tight enough to have him nearly gasping his next breath.

You let him fuck your mouth slowly, until he picks up a pace. Assaulting your mouth with the intrusion while mixture of your saliva and his arousal continues to leak out of your mouth.

The sounds of pleasure you hear from him only intensifies your own arousal, your stomach heating up each time your core achingly clenches.

The darkness in his eyes and the way curses recklessly stumble out of his beautiful mouth while you suck him raw takes your breath away. You’ve never seen him this vulnerably clouded in pleasure. And you’d willingly let him fuck you again this way if it means having to witness him this helpless while he chases the feel of your mouth. Your eyes never left his as you peer up from your knees. The more you listen to his pleasure, the harder you want to take him in.

When you felt it twitch again, you deliberately took him deeper until you’re nearly choking.

Namjoon has had his fair share of women— all of whom are experienced, knew their way to pleasure him. But the goddess beneath him—his sweet angel, the woman of his dreams and dirty fantasies unknowingly had him at his mercy.

The addicting warmth and suction of your mouth pulling him further into the depth of bliss. “No, angel—” He rasps in between rapid breaths, wanting to prolong the fire until he gets to fill his favorite addicting hole, so tight, he could already taste the feeling.

You whimper, “No…” You wanted it so much. The thought of him cumming undone inside your mouth is a dirty fantasy you suddenly wish to fulfill right now.

“We’ll save it up for when I’m inside your tight pussy.“ He breathes, pulling you up and bracing you against the wall. Your thighs wobble from your previous position.

His eager mouth captured yours, harshly sucking your bottom lip, teasing it as his teeth gently pierces through your bruised lip.

He could taste himself in you as his tongue thoroughly laps the inside of your mouth. Until he moves down to your jaw, his tongue tracing his tracks down to your neck onto your already purple skin while his fingers found the pink bud of your breast. It was what made you react so sexily, moaning helplessly, burying your fingers in his hair tightly as his teeth punctures the skin then laps the area soothingly.

Your body continues to heat up in his ministrations despite the cold atmosphere in the bathroom, certain that your arousal now visibly pools out of your core to your thighs.

Your fingers hastily unbutton his dress shirt, impatient to reveal his bare torso for your eyes to feast on. But just about you had undone the last button, he crouches, robbing you of the chance to admire his body. His mouth encloses on your hard pink bud, his tongue teasingly encircling on the crown of your breast as his other hand works simultaneously, squeezing your mound inside his palm.

The sensitivity of your breasts adding up to the sensation of his mouth and hand is too much, panting as you struggle to catch your breath. Until his head lowers farther down, tracing his way down with his open mouth kisses.

Namjoon swiftly pulled your thighs apart, hooking your thigh over his shoulder to see all of you.

The mere sight of your sex could already tell how turn on you are, but it wasn’t enough for him. His fingers part your folds, dipping his thumb to feel your arousal. “Ah, you’re dripping, baby. Is this for me, hmm?”

His head lowers more, mouth hovering your pubic bone, teasingly planting sloppy kisses there.

The rapid intakes of your breath did not go unnoticed by Namjoon. A devious grin spreads on his lips as his thumb starts assaulting your clit enough to have your legs trembling from bliss. The reaction he seeks from you were generously poured out of your mouth.

“Yes god. Joon please—” Your hips jerking, needing more friction than what he’s giving. He was quick to restrain your movements, pushing your hips flat against the cold wall. Your whines of frustration soon echoes inside the bathroom.

Namjoon draws his mouth nearer, his nose erotically nuzzling your front sex that you could already feel his warm breath, “You smell exquisitely alluring, angel.”

Your anticipation shortly turns into desperation, continuously sobbing his name. Your heavenly pleas were enough to give you what you want, Namjoon willingly rewarded his tongue on your clit, licking your nub so good your eyes clenched from the sudden spark of sensation.

“So sweet…” he mumbles appreciatively, before sucking the sensitive nub in his warm mouth. The act alone has you panting in pleasure.

“Ahhh! Joon—fuck!” Your fingers quickly found his hair, your grip tightening the harder he sucks and laps your clit. You were drowning in need, darkness fills your vision as they remained shut, focusing on the sensation brought by his mouth’s ministrations. You could feel yourself leaking, and made it easier for him to slide his fingers inside your aching core, rubbing and curling them until you're visibly writhing. Cries of pleasure continue to pour out of your mouth.

“Ah! Joon! Oh god!”

Your beautiful sounds alone could bring him to hilt, his cock painfully growing harder, merely listening to you as his mouth and fingers drive you oblivion.

The painful tug of your fingers on his scalp as they tighten their grasp on his hair signals your forthcoming orgasm.

“That’s it, cum for me, little slut.” He mumbles against your sex, the vibration of his mouth against your core sending you further in the brink, as the knot of pleasure building up in your stomach snaps. You cry out, his name the only thing you can articulate of, as you climax deliciously against his mouth. Hips grinding to ride out your orgasm.

Namjoon greedily lap every bit of your sweet juices, while his thumb strums your clit to prolong your orgasm. He didn’t stop, not even when he hears you whining from overstimulation. He only withdrew his mouth on your core when you finally met his gaze, coming back from your high.

Your fingers raking his wet locks out his face as it keeps the span of his forehead hidden, wanting to see all of his pretty face.

Namjoon stood, his knees skillfully bracing you flat from the wall. He yanks his soaking, white top off his body, discarding it there before doing the same thing to his slacks proceeded by his boxers, revealing his perfectly honeyed skin body. This is the first and only time you had seen him completely naked right before your eyes.

The two of you sharing an expansive closet lets you have a glimpse of his naked torso once in a while, sometimes him adorning a pair of boxers while he selects his working attire for the day. But those times were always short lived, you shying away from staring for too long than casual glances.

From the intimate instances you had with him, you never had the opportunity to appreciate his nudity. Your eyes glint with pure admiration, seeing all of him now in front of you. Your tongue dazedly darted out to wet your lips, feasting purely on his body.

Namjoon yet again found your lips, his tongue unsolicitedly invading your mouth, fighting for the dominance which you willingly gave up. He took your responsiveness as an opportunity to pull your body in his embrace, your legs following on their accord as they automatically weave themselves around his hips over his back, your hands finding purchase on his nape. His very arousal pressing on your stomach has you moaning against his greedy mouth.

Namjoon gracefully carried you all the way out towards the bedroom, completely dazed in his kisses.

He didn’t let go of your lips all the way out, not until he dumps your wet body on the mattress. Namjoon kneels on the foot of the bed, hands grasping on your hips to flip you over.

“On your knees, sweetheart.” He commands.

A sound of what he initially recognizes as a moan tears out of you. He plants a small kiss to your hip, before he hears you object, “No!”

“What—“

“I want to see you,” You whimper, pulling his face closer, fishing for a kiss.

A smirk slowly made its way on his face, eyes darkening at the sight of you helpless in his mercy.

“You want to see me while I fuck you, is that it?” He trails, pulling your thighs apart, crawling his way between your thighs.

His nose nuzzles yours teasingly, hovering over your mouth.

Heaving a sigh in contentment, you nod. “I miss you...”

“Do you, now? Or... you only want to be fucked hard?” He murmurs, mouth ajar as it tormentingly touches your lips.

Your forehead creases in a frown, “That’s not true.”

“I’ve never seen you this needy before, Y/N. Tell me, what do you want me to do?” His fingers brushing wet locks away from your beautiful face.

“Please, fuck me...”

He nods, gently bucking his hips to slide his length on your slit. “Is this enough for you, sweetheart?” You whine helplessly.

“Joon, please… just fuck me!” Plea pours out of your mouth in complete devastation. His warmth doing nothing but fuel the ache in your core as it clenches in wanton need of friction.

You beg more and more, the longer he teases you. Namjoon lowers his head further in the crook of your neck, his teeth and tongue alternately grazing and soothing the sensitive skin. The sensation feel achingly erotic, until he not so gently bit your skin, enough to leave a mark. The mere distraction made you almost forget his tip on your entrance, until he thrusts so hard your eyes closed from the undesired pain, stretching you far too much.

“Joon—“ Your moan stifles, crying out at the painful intrusion. Tears brim in your eyes as his length stretches you fully, your slick wetness welcomes him in a swift but burning entrance. He captured your lips, somehow distracting you from the unavoidable ache of your union.

You almost didn’t want him to move from the burning ache of your walls around him. He rocks ever so gently, eliciting a sound of pleasure from you. The burning ache didn’t subside, but as he prolonged the small pace he started, you became used to the pain, chasing the tiny pleasure that comes with each thrust he gives.

The sounds you continuously emit signals him to keep going, until he picks up a pace. Soon after, sparks of euphoric bliss came shooting within your core, numbing the pain.

Your lustful gasps and his grunts were in unison as you both get used to the delicious friction of your intimate union.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” You deliriously moan when he suddenly pushes your thigh up on his shoulder, allowing his cock to plunge farther into your warm, tight depths until you’re writhing, your sounds were music to his ears further pulling him deeper in euphoria.

The feeling of your tight walls gripping around his cock is such a sweet, addicting sensation. The deeper he hammers into your core, the closer he gets to chase down the delicious spark of his pleasure. The new angle allowed him to discover the places untouched, thus finding your sweet spot, that has you rolling your eyes in the back of your end. Toes curling as sparks violently shoot through your core, intensifying the knot that holds your desire.

“I’m— oh yes, right there!” you gasp, “Fuck!” Your fingers tightly thread on his hair, mouth greedily seeking his attention.

“So fucking tight, sweetheart. You feel so good around me.” Namjoon growls in between sloppy kisses against your mouth. 

“So good… Joon, please... don't stop!” You sob, getting lost at your pleasure as you desperately chase the end.

Namjoon rolled his hips incredibly faster, ramming through you endlessly making you shudder from the intense sensation.

You could feel it, so close.

The violent pushes and pulls of his hips didn’t stop, rapid plunges in and out of your depths until the pleasure came rushing from the pit of your stomach.

“Joon!” You moan, the knot finally twisting, waves of euphoria shattering through your trembling body.

Namjoon’s hips stutter, savoring the feel of your clenching walls around, nearing his high. “Angel—fuck!” A long, carnal sound vibrates on his chest, as he picks up his speed while your insides tremor at the intensity of your orgasm, ferociously thrusting his cock so fast as he chases his own climax, and shooting his liquid generously inside you. His mouth attacks your breast to counter his sounds of pleasure. 

Your whimpers echo in the room, the post-orgasmic bliss mixes with the stinging sensation brought about by the love bites he generously marked on your skin slowly pulls you back from oblivion, while you listen to your pants and his rapid breathing.

When he finally comes back to his senses, his tired eyes briefly surveys your length. Your body remains still as your eyes are closed shut, chest rapidly rising and falling. Assuming you dozed off, he carefully untangles his limbs off of you to clean you up before tucking you in.

As he climbs off the mattress, your hand manages to grip his arm in time. “No, don’t go.” He hears you breathlessly whimper.

You look spent— satiated even. He could clearly see your eyes as they struggle to open still. He retreats back on the mattress, pressing a soft kiss on your forehead.

“I’m not going anywhere.” He reassures you in a soothing tone. A sigh went past your lips in relief. You gave him a subtle nod, trusting his words.

“I miss you,” You croak, you were just so tired, and sleepy. But you can’t seem to move on from missing him too much for the past few days.

He could see it in your eyes, the vulnerable side of you in the aftermath of the lovemaking.

“I know, baby.” He whispers close to your ear as he strokes your hair in a comforting manner.

His touch, so gentle in contrast to how he rammed you to the hilt minutes ago. It was as if he was cooing you to sleep. Few moments later, your consciousness slowly shrinks, finally succumbing to darkness.

The next moment your eyes open, the first thing they search around is him. His side of the bed is empty. And the moment you dared to move, you instantly felt the ache in your muscles and the numb feeling in between your thighs. Then your eyes noticed a shirt, which you have on. Just by the size of it, you knew it was Namjoon’s but you don't ever remember putting it on before you fell asleep.

How long have you been sleeping?

It was dark in the room, the dim lights supporting just enough so you could see your way through the room.

“Joon?” You call out, looking around the room. There’s no sign of him— until your ear caught a distinct clinking of glass, your gaze instantly landed on the very subject you were seeking for.

At the sound of you calling his name, his head snaps, instantly meeting your gaze as you struggle your way towards the corner of massive room.

He wore a pair of plaid pj pants and a plain white shirt similar to the material that covers your body now. His messy hair tells you that he had pushed back his locks more than once. His isn’t this long before, and you wonder how many regular haircuts he had abandoned to have it this long. With how endearing he looks with his hair, you made a mental note to have your way to stop him from cutting it any time soon.

When you shifted your gaze away as you near the stone coffee table, you saw there on top, a glass container of expensive alcohol, a liquor glass and an ashtray which made you turn your eyes back at him. You didn’t notice the stick in between his fingers right away.

“Angel,” he greets in a curious tone, surprised to see you awake.

“You’re not asleep.” You say, your stare following his fingers as he inhales a long draw through the stick before crushing its end against the ashtray. Smoke coming out of his mouth and nose as he exhales.

His hand caught yours, coaxing you to sit on his lap. His fingers brushing away your hair out of your face. “You okay?” His surprisingly gentle tone laces in concern.

You only nodded in reply, willingly obliging onto his embrace. Your thighs curling on his lap as his arms instantly pull you on his chest, preventing you from falling off.

The lingering smell of cigarette and alcohol from his breath mixed with his natural scent wafted through your nostrils as you find yourself burying your face on the crook of his neck. You didn’t know it could smell this intoxicating on him. As if your core is not literally burning enough from the intimacy earlier, you could feel yourself slowly leaking, core clenching painfully at the thought of his thick length inside you.

His hand rests on your back, the other on your thigh, the warmth in his body enveloping you from the cold.

You tilt your head to the side, “I didn’t know you smoke.” You say in dazed of your growing desire.

“Hmm, does it bother you?”

You didn’t answer. But let yourself drink in his exquisite smell.

You felt his palm soothingly rub your back, “You should rest, I’ve worn you out.” You cheeks heating up on his mere words.

Your lips pressing tiny kisses there, on the skin of his neck.

He stills, recognizing the intention of your sweet gestures. “Sweetheart—“

“Please, make love to me Joon.”

He sighs, “I was not gentle with you, sweetheart, it’s too soon for you.”

His shirt crumples beneath your fingers, “I want you.”

The way you beg him to take you made him forget how he was striving to control himself to fuck you again and again, until his needs are temporarily sated.

He was not gentle and the aftermath of the intimacy surely left traces of pain from how tight your core is. It was the reason why he’s now several glasses in from liquor, distracting himself because it’s too soon to satisfy the urge have his addicting vice.

With your plea, his restraint vanishes so quickly, giving you what you had begged for.

He took you there on the couch.

You were clinging onto him, urging for him to fuck you harder. Your sweet moans, your stinging bite marks on his shoulders, and your warm, tight core choking his cock brought him to the hilt. Cumming in the depth of your insides raw and hard. The thought of you bearing his child briefly feeds his mind as his liquid mixed with your juices gushes out of your core.

The alcohol, being the source of his early distraction, fail to restraint him to fuck you, again. For the third time of the night, you willingly gave yourself in to his carnal needs. Despite the evident ache in your muscles all throughout your body, his touch, his kisses and the pleasure he made you feel were enough to coax you.

The next morning, you unquestionably feel horrible. You could feel your head throb, and the slight attempt of moving made you whimper in pain. The burning sensation in your core is difficult not to miss as much as the ache in your body.

Namjoon is nowhere in sight and as much as you want to come search for him, the blinding light seeping from the floor to ceiling glass wall made it such a heavy task to do so.

What time is it?

You inwardly groan at the thought of missing your classes. You have done it a lot of times before that you literally couldn’t afford to miss some more.

Feeling the exhaustion from your body, you dozed off some more and only stirred awake when you felt something on your face.

With your eyes closed, you know it was no other than your husband. His hand moves from your face to your hair, gently stroking and raking your locks away from your face.

When the afternoon break came approaching, he paid a short visit to the room to check you in. He didn’t come to his office today, shifting his appointments through digital meetings in his study.

He’s been watching you for a few minutes now. Worry creeps into him, the intimate activities must have drained your energy empty. He mentally reminds himself to be gentle to you next time.

“Hey,” Namjoon suddenly hears you greet. His gaze lifted toward your eyes.

A smile slowly spreads on his lips.

“Good afternoon, sweetheart.”

He laughs when you groan, shutting your eyes closed in distraught as you realized it is indeed late.

Frowning, “I missed my classes.”

“You did. Your friend called this morning, I answered the call and told her you’re unwell.”

“Jihyo?“

“Yes. Perhaps, you’ve rested enough?” You nodded.

Unfortunately for you, that wasn’t the only time you missed most of your classes just because you were too tired to get up in the morning.

He didn’t falter the following days. Taking you one way or another. You even thought he would finally be sated with his needs after several days. You’re wrong. Because the more you allow him to touch you, the more he wants to take you shamelessly just about anywhere he can make his advances. “Joon, we’re in the kitchen.” You manage to say as his hand slides inside your sweatpants one Sunday evening. You‘re heating up a pasta that was abandoned several hours ago, starving from fulfilling your other needs. Miyoung must have kept the food in the fridge when she realized the two of you have no intention to eat the supposed lunch. Namjoon tags along, watching you prep the food in the microwave until he decides touching you seems like a better idea. His fingers almost there, where they were earlier on the bed, and if you weren't too hungry and spent, you would probably let him do you here. Your hand grips his arm tight, restraining whatever intention he has. “No one is here.” He insists, lips assaulting the skin on your exposed shoulder. The bulge of his crotch pressing on your back, feeling the evidence of his growing arousal.

A mere slave to his touch, you appeal, “Joon, can we eat first? I’m hungry,” when you feel his other hand sneaks under your shirt. His movements gradually took a pause, sighing in defeat. He kisses your temple before letting you eat in peace.

“Listen, can I talk about something?” Mingyu gave you a brief glance, although he seems to have his focus fixed in front as he drives you back home. “Of course, Mrs. Kim.” He says politely. Your face scrunches up. “I told you to call me Y/N.” That was on his first day, you instructed him to address you by your name when Hanbin introduced you to Mingyu as ‘Mrs. Kim’. Mingyu nods without returning your gaze, “I could, but I’m not sure the boss would be thrilled to hear I’m on a first name basis with his wife.” He could be right. But you choose not to voice it out. Shrugging, “I’m sure he would not mind.” “You don’t want the boss to get mad.” He states as a matter of fact, then adds, “What do you want to talk about, anyways?” You shifted in your seat, slightly angling your body towards him. “So, do you guys know what time Namjoon usually comes home?” He didn’t speak right away, eyes narrow hearing your question.

“Hanbin does not tell me that sort of information, unless it’s necessary. My job is to guard you, anyway. Why do you ask?” There was something in his demeanor that changed, or was it your mind playing tricks on you? “I... Uhm...” You fumble through the right words that could explain your plan, but all you had come up with is a simple reassurance of his participation. “Can I trust you though? You know... not to tell him?” He clears his throat and shuffles on his right earpiece. Your eyes caught it. Is someone speaking on him through it? “I’m not sure, we don’t keep a secret to the boss.” He responds, shortly. Part of his job requires him to disclose your activities and anything related to your safety. Entertaining your antics might put him in serious trouble. Your eyebrows rose. “Ever?” You ask, testing the water. His cooperation would really help you out.

His forehead creases, sizing up your words whether it’s a trap or just some white lies far from a threat to his job. “Are you questioning my loyalty, Mrs. Kim?” The thing is, as the conversation prolongs, it would be difficult for him to avoid trouble, he thought as he fails to understand your purpose.

“No. Just... it’s a different kind of secret.” Your voice falters. If you want to keep a secret, why should you drag him with it? “A secret is a secret. It would cost me my job, you know.”

Your eyes roll as if you don’t know that. He’s not even letting you talk before deciding on his own. You wouldn’t even bother telling him if you don’t need his support to pull off your plan, how will you buy stuff without him tipping it all off to Namjoon’s right hand man. Speaking of which, perhaps, you shall consider tagging Hanbin along in your plan. Heaving an exaggerated, you convince him further, “It's not something bad, will you hear me out? You won’t be in trouble if you keep it a secret. Just promise me you won’t tell him?”

He didn’t look at you, nor made an effort to acknowledge it. “Hear me out first?” You try again when he seems doubtful. His focus was clearly on the road as he shows clear disinterest to listen to you.

“Fine then...” You surrender, crossing your arms.

Silence filled the air inside the car all throughout the journey home, with you frequently shooting childish glares in his direction the entire time. When Mingyu expertly maneuvers the car on the garage, you quickly climb off the car fully intending to ignore him just so you could stir guilt in him because you couldn’t directly admit you need his help.

Unexpectedly, Mingyu catches up with you and suddenly offers, “We can talk tomorrow. On your break.” Then he sprinted toward the flight of stairs instead of usually taking the lift  before you could even process his words. 

He changed his mind that fast?

Out of curiosity, you did try to talk to him again during that night but you couldn’t get a hold of him. And going to the basement where the team camps in could raise suspicion so you waited until tomorrow.

The following day, you notice an unfamiliar guy adorning a similar all black uniform. It does not bother you though since your husband owns a whole agency. However, Mingyu didn’t show up and was replaced by a new one. Although questions start stirring up in your mind, you never really voiced out your concerns to anyone.

When you got home that night, you attempted to wring out an answer from Namjoon. You didn’t need to find him because the moment you returned from uni, he was at the foyer with Hanbin, backs facing your direction. By the mere looks of it, he was sort of giving commands to his right hand man, something you couldn’t properly hear what it is about.

“Hi.” You finally speak, catching both of their attention. Namjoon made a gesture in his hand, dismissing Hanbin while you approached his tall figure.

As Hanbin passes by you, he sends a polite nod to your direction as a greeting, before disappearing from one of the doorways.

With a few steps forward, Namjoon met you half-way, eyeing you up and down. “Sweetheart,” He murmurs while swiftly reaching for your hand, to pull you in for a kiss.

It wasn’t even just a peck. His lips have instantly dominated yours, making sure he sucked and licked your lips enough to have you catching your breath when he drew back. Your cheeks instantly flame at the sudden ministration. You couldn’t even keep an eye contact with him, too embarrassed with how quickly your body reacted to his lips. Unlike you, Namjoon still wear a passive expression, not even a single affected by the kiss. Of course, he did more than just a kiss to you before. Keeping a safe distance from him, you took a step back. “You replaced Mingyu?” You begin inquiring. Out of all the things you can ask, it has to be the very reason for his anger. He didn’t seem one bit pleased to hear you mention your bodyguard’s name instead of asking how his day had gone like your usual opening question during dinner. “I did, should it matter?” He answers with another question. Nervous by the intensity of his stare, you shrug, “I was just wondering why he’s not around.”

It’s true. If Mingyu didn’t promise the talk today, you wouldn’t be this curious. “He’s back in the headquarters.” Namjoon briefly provides.

But the information was too short to rest your mind in peace. Why did he suddenly removed him as your guard? “Oh, okay.“ Something tells you, it’s not all of that. Mingyu’s absence, for all you care, could be anything work-related or personal as long as the boss is concerned. You‘re already aware that Namjoon does not take jealousy too lightly, and somehow you’ve presumed Mingyu will inevitably be victimized under Namjoon’s territorial behavior. The problem is, you couldn’t seem to think of any instance that would make your husband jealous. Unless... Namjoon knows something else you’re not aware of.  “Will he come back here?” You ask further, nervously fidgeting your bracelet while surveying his expression. His eyebrows knitted for whatever reason, significant or not. “No.”  “Why not?” Namjoon cocks his head to the side, his now pitch black eyes strangely spoke with raw emotions you couldn’t tell what exactly is. “Tell me one good reason why he should be here...” He suggests with a nonchalant tone. Unknown to you, his patience is shrinking as he lowers his head to eye you with his tense stare. You didn’t understand what it is for, but you couldn’t help your body as it faintly shudder under his stare. “I’m just curious—”

“How many secrets of yours have you told the boy, Y/N?” Your heart momentarily stops at the mention of your name. Because he rarely calls you by name.

Is he referring to the conversation you had with him yesterday? “W-What... do you mean?” The cold temperature couldn’t even cease the rising tension between you two. “You perfectly understand what I mean.” He answers right away, locking his gaze to you. Making sure you could see the way his eyes flicker with fire. Mingyu told him?

You fumble with words, confused at Namjoon’s anger towards you. “How...w-what...what did he tell you?” “What do you think?” Namjoon returns the question back. And it confuses you more now for how your inquiry has turned into a confrontation, especially that the unnecessary anger is directed at you. You should have not beat around the bush and just directly told him you wanted to surprise Namjoon.

Now, Namjoon thinks you’re actually keeping something serious from him. Did Mingyu really snitch on you? You quietly ponder over, as you recall what happened inside the car. Mingyu was barely participating in the conversation, and the way he responded to you... it was formal, and uncooperative like the usual. The fact that Namjoon knows about it is already a giveaway that Mingyu actually tell-taled. Unless... the earpiece— “If he told you about it, then you would know he didn’t even let me talk, unless he told you something else...“ You trailed. The longer you think of it, the more convinced you are that Namjoon knows something more, just from the look he bears... “We can talk tomorrow. On your break.” Mingyu’s words echo in your mind, once again. And as your brain slowly processes the information, it gradually makes sense to you…

The way he was talking to you in the car made you believe he didn’t want to participate in whatever ploy you have, but he quickly changed his mind once both of you were out of the car. It was not his two-way earpiece. But the car-- Namjoon saw the horror slowly creeping into your face. “You heard, didn’t you...” You breathed. Namjoon heard it clearly, fully comprehending the words you just uttered.

“Something must be in that car, isn’t it?” You press, further.

He is well-aware that you’re not stupid, and you’ll eventually find it out. He just didn’t imagine it to be revealed this way. Nonetheless, his lips only pursed as he remains calm and collected, no trace of remorse or guilt visible on his face. 

His expression tells you he was not bothered by the fact that you found out. You didn’t know how the fire in your eyes is effortlessly piercing his heart. The kind he does not want to see in your eyes. You scoff, “What else—Is my phone bugged?” You suddenly prod, tilting your head up so you could fully observe him through your lashes. His face, however, maintains a straight face. You waited for his answer, silently wishing he would debunk your assumption.  The lack of response only made you confirm it. Fury quickly courses within you, “Why?” Your hands rub your face in utter disbelief. “You have me tailed everywhere by your men, is that not enough?” You spat, resentment slowly clouding your mind, 

”You have my freedom under your mercy, now my privacy? What else do you want from me?”

“It’s for your safety—”

You laugh humorlessly, harshly brushing the stubborn tears on your cheeks. “Tell me, is everything in your apartment bugged? The bedroom? The closet? The bathroom—” “Hush sweetheart, your body is mine and only for my eyes to see.” He was quick to come to your side, catching your arms. You didn’t like the proximity. It makes you weak.

“I’m not your fucking toy! You can’t do this to me!” “Calm down, baby. I love my woman submissive.” He says in a soothing tone. His words as softly as they were spoken hurt you deeply, fueling your ire even more.

You didn’t know how you found the strength to slap him. Your hand trembles, stinging from pain after it meets his skin.

“Find another woman, then!” His face barely turned from the impact, proceeding to address your anger.

“Calm down.” He attempts to console, but it only did the opposite to your ego. You trash your arms out, hating the way he still has the upperhand despite the table being turned upside down. Your strength could never compare to his as you struggle to push him. “You are my woman. Need I remind you that?” Harshly shaking your head, “No! Don’t touch me!” His grip loosens on your arms, and you took it as your chance to sprint off towards the stairs, not wanting to repeat what happened in his office before.

You locked yourself in the bathroom, somehow trusting that this is the only place kept hidden from any prying eyes. Tears uncontrollably flow through your cheeks, face buried on your hands as you helplessly listen at the loud thumping of your heart. If you didn’t pull back, chances are he would have his way to take your weakness in his advantage. The strong surge of emotions you feel cannot even compare to his physical strength.

You’re confused, hurt and disgusted all at once. You didn’t expect how messed up this whole marriage thing could get, realizing you actually know so little of him, of what he does in a living. To think that you have learned to trust him because of the stupid affection you have been nurturing for months, makes your insides twist in fury. Perhaps, it was a spur of the moment thought that you regarded as a wise decision, as anger overpowers your senses. You didn’t understand how it transpired, accordingly. When you quickly packed up a few things put the bag underneath the bed while waiting for the night to progress, Namjoon didn’t come to the bedroom. You thought it helped you leave smoothly.

Little did you know, Namjoon was watching the scene unfold through the numerous cameras simultaneously viewing before his eyes on the screen of his laptop. It was taking all of his willpower to stop you and lock you in his bedroom until your anger subsides, but something tells him it would not do good to cool down your anger.

Funny how the situation unexpectedly turns upside down as he recalls being gutted with anger. Not liking how you so easily open up to others than him. He couldn’t deny the ugly feeling traversing within him when he listened to your interaction with the boy.

As the night rolls around, the burning sensation of the alcohol in his throat becomes addicting, taking more until the ache in his chest numbs.

Jackson’s apartment was the only place you could reach at this hour. Considering Jihyo is staying in the college dorm, you wouldn’t be able to get inside the building for it was already past two in the morning. His place was not even considered a hideout. But at that point, you don't even care if Namjoon comes along breaking down Jackson’s doorway to force you back at home. You only needed a safe place away to think at the moment because you couldn’t bare to see him, yet. And you’re well aware of the effect he has on you. He can quickly cloud your judgement over his will through his mere touch. That’s how bad you’ve fallen for him.

Few days of distancing should enough for you to sort your feelings, if he doesn’t come collecting you himself.

“You okay?” Jackson croaks, seeing you trembling a little. Minutes prior, he was ready to beat the shit out of the person who was smashing his doorbell like a madman. Never would he think it was you of all people.

“He didn’t... hurt you, did he?” He hesitatingly asks, seeing the traces of tears staining your cheeks. Shaking your head, “No. We just had a fight.” “He doesn’t know, right? That you’re here?” You gave Jackson a knowing look, “He probably does by now.” Jackson offered his bed on the first night, but you turned his offer down. You took the couch instead, somehow preparing yourself for the imminent devastation of the storm. Fortunately for you, no one tried to break their way into Jackson’s apartment that night, relieved that everything is still in place or it’ll surely make you guilty for dragging your friends to your problems with Namjoon.

That following morning, you transferred into Jihyo’s dorm, deciding it would be best for Jackson’s safety. Six days insufferably passed. However, it felt longer than that. Staying away had not concluded the fight you had with Namjoon. There was also no sign of Namjoon or his men lurking around the college or the dorm in the past few days. And it bothered you more than it should have given you peace. The thought alone made you realized, you were more affected by your action as you were deeply tormented by the thoughts of him and the possibility that he doesn’t want you, anymore.

Your anger towards him couldn’t tame your feelings for him. Maybe you have underestimated it as a mere attraction—infatuation, even.

That night, Namjoon showed up in the dorm’s doorsteps, to which you had already expected since the first night. But you’re still left surprised, nonetheless.

Your heart painfully tugs, as your chest rises and falls with rapid breaths. “What are you doing here?” Indeed, it was unfair. While you wallow in despair for days, he seems not one bit affected by the situation.

“You will go home,” He calmly orders, his eyes briefly scanning you over.

As ever, he didn’t fail to make your heart thump crazily from the mere sight of him. While you look worse—missing a lot of sleep from trying to balance your studies and your issues with him, he looks stunningly gorgeous, powerful, and unfitting to be in a place like this. “No, I‘m staying.” You insist. “I’m not asking for you permission.” He corrects you in a formal tone, before walking past your figure. “Namjoon—wait! Where are you going?” You panicked, tailing behind him as he immediately finds Jihyo’s room where he scans around the small space. This is barely a room to stay in, he silently thought. “Pack your clothes. I’ll give you five minutes before we go. Unless, you want to leave without them—” You didn’t let him finish, cutting him of mid-sentence. “No, I'm not coming with you.” You compel, determined to follow what you had planned in your mind.

The look on his face is all too familiar, the one that tells you he won’t take no for an answer. “Do not test my patience, sweetheart.”

“Namjoon, stop.” You begin, visibly in distress by the sudden shift of the situation. You are aware he always has the upperhand.

“I want to stay here. Can’t you at least give me that after what you’ve done?” You implore. As much as you miss him, you couldn’t afford to see him yet, or it could break you. “I already gave you space, that’s enough for you.” Shaking your head, “I didn’t ask you to. I left.” You say. His height does not intimidate you anymore, but the way he holds himself now, he seems different. As if he was deliberately trying to make you succumb to him.

“Sweetheart, I had all the means to stop your ploy if I wanted to. I didn’t, because I figured you would need it.” Declares Namjoon, drawing himself closer to where you stood.

You took a step back. “What if I don't want to?” You challenge.

He lowers his head, allowing you to have a glimpse of his dark eyes, silently warning you. “You don't have a choice, sweetheart.”

You let him win, again. Because you were left with no option. You couldn’t think of anything else that you could do to oppose him without compromising anyone, especially your friends. Nothing you could do but to give in for now.

Namjoon already disappeared from somewhere when you entered the living room, leaving you all alone until you hear footsteps nearing towards your direction.

You turn to see who it was.

“What are you doing here?” You warily ask, utterly surprised to see him. How many more surprises do you need yo deal with today? By how ugly the events have turned out, you won’t expect to see him again, or anywhere near the penthouse. He gave you a nod as a form of greeting, before answering, “Working. What else do you think I’m here for?” “For Namjoon?” “Of course, he’s my boss. But he gave me a specific instruction to guard the queen.”

You only gave him a look, although with the obvious height difference, you had to tilt your head up to do so.

Your visible annoyance quickly amuses him. After what happened, he really has the nerve to smirk right in front of you?

“I’m sorry Mrs. Kim, but you look horrible today. You alright?” He shamelessly nags to which earns him scowl from you. “That’s nice of you to say.” You retort, “I’ve been missing a lot of sleep, thank you very much.” He laughs as if nothing really happened.

It’s not his fault, anyway. You don’t blame him for what happened. However, the urge to ask him why he’s back here almost slips past your lips. Only that you remember someone could potentially be eavesdropping to which you didn’t need unnecessary suspicions from Namjoon, anymore.

The conversation was short lived when Miyoung called you in, gesturing for you to come with her in the kitchen, not expecting to see Namjoon sitting in one of the stools in the island counter where food is sumptuously served.

Your footsteps stagger, half-considering to leave the kitchen. However, Namjoon patiently waits for your next move, as if silently ordering you to take a seat.

Heaving a sigh, you did just that, not wanting to stir an argument with him.

Once you sat down across from his seat, he starts placing various food from the empty plate in front of you, until it is almost full that you’re not sure if you can eat all of it.

“Stop... I can’t finish all of that.”

Namjoon pauses, peering at you in disbelief. “You can, it’s your favorite.”

You didn’t like the way he was acting up like he didn’t cause the problem in the first place. You hated how the impact of his action didn’t seem to affect him a single bit.

“I’m still angry,” You couldn’t help but to say.

His serious stare tells you he has no time for a confrontation, but so are you.

“I know, you can be angry for as long as you want. But please, angel, eat the food so I could have the peace. You haven’t been using your cards for your meals, did you intentionally do that to make me worry?”

You scoffed, his indifference to your issue only frustrates you even more. “Why would you think I’ll use your money while I’m gone?”

“You don’t have the means to live independently.”

“That’s not the point here, Joon.”

“It is, when you were not looking out for yourself. You haven’t been coping well… you look a few pounds lighter.” He said in a firm persistence to prove your inability to live well without using his resources.

So what if you were miserable? You couldn’t really force yourself to eat if you didn’t have the appetite to consume food. Either it was because of your distress over the fight or food simply didn’t appeal to you.

Speaking of, you barely touched the food in front of you. You’re not even hungry anyway.

“Shut up—“

Namjoon was quick to cut you off, dismayed by the lack of light in your eyes, you almost look like you’re about to pass out. “Why is it so easy for you to disregard yourself for your pride? If you have been taking care of yourself well I would have given you longer time to mourn in that little cubicle room you call a place.” Namjoon says in a clearly disappointing tone.

The fact that you lost a few pounds in a matter of days bothered him. It took so much of him to let you wallow in despair, he knew that disrespecting your privacy is not right and he understands how it left you scarred with the horrid feeling of betrayal. The same reason why he let you on peacefully for days, until he couldn’t handle it no more.

The short glimpse of you while he had you followed only did more damage to his heart than the peace he was aiming for. A single look from you and he already knew the fight took its toll on you deeper than what he had expected. Your physical state was the last straw to make up his mind to take you back, unwilling or not.

“My pride? You think it’s because of my pride? You think I’m mad because you outsmarted me with your stalking shenanigans?” You echo his words, finally losing the will to touch the food.

“What else is there to be angry about, I told you, it’s for your safety.” He counters back. His mind was spiraling wildly, uncertain how to handle this situation in a way it wouldn’t upset you more.

Namjoon was used to having the control in every situation, a single look from him and no other human being would dare speak further. He used to not care whether he could tear anyone apart with his mere words or sharp glares. He tried it with you and the impact only came shooting back at him, there in the depths of his heart, which no one had been able to inflict him with such raw powerful emotions, enough to make him bend helplessly on his knees.

“That’s the problem! You didn’t even tell me! I was kept in the dark all this time! And now what? You suddenly care about me when you didn’t even consider what I would feel when you gave everyone else something to snoop in about right under my nose?” You accuse, finding the strength to hit him with your words. A moment ago, you felt too empty to even bother a conversation with him. As the remnants of disgusting feeling stirs within you, you now want nothing but to lash out every bit of your anger towards him.

However, Namjoon didn’t want the confrontation this soon when he just had you back home. Though he would not avoid it, he believes now is not the time to talk it over.

“We can talk after you eat, sweetheart—“

“No, we will talk now!”

His gaze pierces straight through your eyes. Although his eyes almost reflected defeat, the aura he carries is so powerful. No one would ever dare scream or say no at him, unless, they don’t value much of their life.

You really are something. Someone who can never compare to him, someone whom he can easily crush in a snap of his fingers— but you’re not just some woman out there. You are his woman, the only one who has bewitched him—not only claiming his heart but also owning his dark soul. If you only knew the effect you have on him...

Silence fills the cold air, shortly. As you look away, not liking the effect he has on you, he quietly seeks for your eyes. He could always see through you—the emotions your eyes transparently reflect. He failed to see any of it when you turned your head away.

He sighs, before breaking the cold silence. “No one can access your phone, you don’t have to worry about it. It is for when… something happens, I could track your location and your digital activities.” Namjoon briefly explains.

There are things that should be left unsaid for your sake. His company has long strayed away from the black market since his father died. But the industry he belongs to will always bear ugly truths in order to sustain the reputation of his company. What he did, to put it into the simplest terms he could articulate of, protection does not only mean hiring people to be your human shields. In this digital age where perpetrators can utilize technology to harm their target, something has to be sacrificed to protect an individual alongside. In your case, it was your freedom, privacy and much more you have yet to realize. He didn’t want you to run away every time you learn something about him or the kind of business he has.

He could not tell you anything else.

“Liar! You’re only saying that to validate your action.” You say in an accusing tone. You got up from your chair, increasing the distance from him as the ambience gets suffocating.

“I’m not justifying what I did whether it’s wrong or not. I would do it again if it means to protect you. When have I not shown you I didn’t care?”

He didn’t mean no harm to disrespect your privacy, but that’s just a part of many things you would have to deal with when you’re married to him. Danger has come along with his name long before he was born.

As he steps closer, you quickly step away. Your head lowering, avoiding his eyes. “W-What are you… saying, you shouldn’t have kept it from me, in the first place. You don’t have to pretend you care. You’re only protecting me because I’m your responsibility.”

His forehead creases, “You are my wife. That makes you my responsibility, isn’t that the same thing for caring, sweetheart?” His hands extend forward to coax you closer.

You shook your head, “No.”

You couldn’t deny that he’s been attending to your needs, being more than just a guardian, crossing the line beyond the role of a mere provider. He became someone you have come accustomed as a husband despite the lack of emotional commitment from him, a friend under the guise of a husband. Even if you wanted more from him, who are you to demand such thing? The mere thought of your unrequited feelings towards him painfully tugs your heart.

Namjoon caught the raw emotions swimming from eyes. To what are those for?

“Have I not shown you enough? With my actions, with my kisses... when we make love—“

“Shut up, you d-don’t know what you’re t-talking about.” You stammer, turning your back at him as you feel your eyes welled up. 

“Then tell me how you feel, I can only take so much when it comes to you. I’ve never felt so helpless when I see you suffer, when you cry. Baby, I was so lost when you left. Tell me what I should do.”

“Stop… you’re confusing me with your words.” You croak, as you struggle to process his words.

The sound of his steps nearing made you still. Your eyes clenched shut, and as the tears stain your cheeks, you quickly wipe them away. Namjoon is so close, you literally could feel the heat of his body. 

“I’m not good at expressing my feelings. But I thought I made my intentions very clear. You don’t know how much I’ve missed you baby, please let me hold you.” Namjoon drew himself nearer, until your bodies are touching. When you made no effort to distance yourself farther, he cautiously encircled his arms around your waist.

You remain still as he pulls you even further in his embrace, nuzzling your hair from behind. You hate yourself for giving in too soon, the moment he has you locked in his arms, your anger quickly melts away. The warmth from his body felt too comforting as it slowly envelops your body, reminding you one again how much it tore you apart when you left. The ache in your chest, somehow, subsiding. You didn’t want him to let you go from his hold.

His nose traces an invisible path on the side of your head, loving the alluring scent of your hair. Softly murmuring just above your ear, “I have loved you since the day I saw you taking orders in that coffee shop. While you made me this crazy for you like no one else has ever done, you’re willing to leave everything. It was that easy for you to walk away and leave me, just like when you left your home for your freedom—“

The hard thumping of your heart is so loud as you cut him. He could probably hear it from the close proximity of your bodies.

“No, that’s not true! I didn’t leave you,” you pause, shaking your head violently to give emphasis on your point. Your heart aches, as your chest felt suddenly constricted hearing his confession. The information felt foreign in your ears, as if you were hallucinating. Is it true? Did he really know you way before you met him?

“I needed some time to think for myself. But I wouldn’t leave. I could never… I’ll always come back. I would come back to you.” Tears instantaneously flow in your cheeks. 

Namjoon spoke no more, as he squeezed your body in his arms, burying his face on the crook of your neck. Savoring this moment.

You in his arms.

You barely had a glimpse of what kind of his life he has, and have no knowledge of half the ugly things he had done. The deeper he falls for you, the more he willingly succumbing himself to your mercy, as if surrendering a dagger for you to destroy him through his weakness.

He silently wishes from the gods above that you would never walk away from his life again, when pieces of him slowly unravels to you through the course of time.

“Namjoon,” you whisper, seeking the attention you unknowingly have.

“Don’t leave me again, Y/N. I can take your anger, scream at me, hurt me— anything. I can take so much from you, as long as you’re right in my sight, the way I can protect you. I’ll give you as much as time alone.”

“Joon,”

“Promise me—”

“Namjoon!” You plead loudly, tugging his arm to gain the attention you want.

He takes a deep breath, confused at the tone of your voice. “Hmm?”

“I love you, too.” You murmur so suddenly.

He stills, hearing the words he had heard you say in his dreams. This time, he was awake with you in his embrace and he was uncertain if he actually heard the words right.

“Angel—”

“I love you so much.” You repeated, with a longing voice, this time you turned to face him. The look in his face tells you all of it. Shock was written all over his face, as if your confession was something he was not expecting in his wildest dream. Between the two of you, his confession of love for you is the most unpredictable thing you heard from him.

You tiptoed, reaching for his lips. He quickly met you halfway through, greedily capturing your mouth. His tongue went past your parted lips to dominate the kiss. You sigh against his mouth, missing the rich taste of his lips.

Nothing else matters now but his embrace.

Note: Hope you all enjoyed this one sjajahahagj 

This turned out a bit longer than what I had initially written only because I kind of included something to introduce characters/details that are part of my upcoming series. 

mintseesaw © 2020

[fairestwriting]

title: think about it tomorrow

word count: 2629

summary: Even after that difficult day of work, Ruggie had one more task he needed to complete, one that he didn’t expect would end with him just coming home.

this fic post is a lil different from my usual ones but! i did a trade with @nicoliharu​ !! and heres my part of it uvu

Savanaclaw’s lounge has an eerie glow at night, blue irradiating from the pool in the center that people say looked uncanny when it was empty, like now. That, or visitors would find it pretty.

Ruggie himself didn’t care much. Usually, when he had work at the Lounge, he’d come back to that, and it was more familiar than anything. Without the other students around, it was more like the only thing welcoming him back “home”, so there’s a vague comfort there. He always gives it a bit of a stare before walking to his room.

Sometimes he sits there and thinks over the silence. Makes calculations in his mind about how much money he was sending back home, how much he needed for himself. Thinks about exam dates and those extravagant events Azul made him and the other employees suffer through. Leona’s errands, Crowley’s tasks, windows to be cleaned, letters to answer.

He doesn’t have time for that tonight. Ruggie’s heading straight back to his room, Agatha should be coming over soon, after all, he promised he’d help her out with Animal Languages.

Yeah, it seems sort of insane to accept requests like these when he was having such a busy week, he knows. It’s not like he doesn’t have the spine to decline them, or something, just… well. Agatha is Agatha. She’s not like anyone else in that school.

Agatha was the only girl, for one, and also, one of Ruggie’s close friends. A couple sparks had been rushing between them lately, which made him so much more excited than he should be, but he was grateful for the friendship itself. In his two years of being a NRC student, he never really found someone who had a presence that… healing. Agatha was understanding and kind, the sort of person that compels you to wind down just by being there.

(Really, how rare was someone like that in Night Raven College?)

So he had a crush he was comfortable with. Nothing wrong with that, right? And nothing wrong with wanting to see her after waiting all these damn tables either.

He opens the door to his room and wobbles inside with a sigh. But, man, he was exhausted. He hoped it wouldn’t show through too much when she got there. It wasn’t necessarily that late, just… he hadn’t caught a damn break today. He wonders if there’s time to rest his eyes for a bit before she gets there—

“Ruggie?” He perks up at the voice he hears outside. “Are you in there?”

And there she is! He feels inclined to smile. One very much needed spark of energy runs through him.

“Yeah, yeah, just a second!” He responds, first moving to turn on the lights, which he hadn’t done yet, then to open the door. Agatha greets him with one of her usual smiles. “You ready to work?”

“Ah, well.” She laughs, a bit awkwardly. “I’ll be doing my best. I hope it’s not too much of a bother or anything!”

Really, how could she ever be?

“Nah, not at all.” He says, allowing her inside before the door is closed. It makes a bit of a heavy noise when he shuts it. “If it’s Animal Languages, then I’m your guy! And, I always have time for you, shishishi.”

Agatha gives him a small chuckle. “You’re too good to me.”

“It’s just what you deserve, y’know!”

She sits on his bed while he’s picking up the papers he’d put together earlier on his desk. Drowsiness creeps in, but he knows how to push that aside well enough. He needed to do his best now. Just not let all that exhaustion show through so he could lend Agatha a hand! Then, then he could sleep…

Sleep sounds nice, doesn’t it? His brain tempts him, but he blinks multiple times, and hopes that good enough to stave off the feeling.

“So, what part did you have trouble with?” He asks, sitting next to Agatha, opening the textbook over his lap. The logical part of his brain wishes he had more than one chair in his room, so they could sit by the desk. The less logical part is just happy to be here.

“Mmh, it was with these...sentences Mr. Trein asked us to translate, I think? I couldn’t really get the difference between these two noises… I think it’s in chapter 7, hold on.”

She gets the book from Ruggie’s lap, bringing it closer to herself. He lets his eyes linger on her a little while she’s flipping through pages, shiny amber eyes narrowed at the words.

A silly smile appears on his face. Ruggie feels like a lucky guy, which he guesses it’s sort of odd, they’re not even dating or anything like that. And this was supposed to be him doing her a favor. Technically, he doesn’t gain anything from this, and yet…

Agatha’s hair is this nice red-like color that stands out while it flows over her shoulder. Ruggie doesn’t know the exact word for the color, maybe it was burgundy? Garnet? That doesn’t matter. The point is she’s just… beautiful. Eye-catching besides that pleasant aura that melted all his worries away. She’s there, so it’s like everything will be okay. Ruggie lets out a small laugh, in a way, this looks just like a dream—

“Ruggie.” Her voice calls for him, firmer than its usual airy tone. He blinks, a stronger haze settling over his mind. So he dozed off. Huh. “...are you okay? I think you just fell asleep for a bit.”

“I’m good!” Ruggie chirps almost immediately. Her brows furrow in worry. “Just dozed off for a bit. Uh.” He laughs awkwardly. “What were you trying to show me?”

Agatha stares intently, concerned expression intensifying on her face.

“Ruggie…” She begins again, head tilting a bit towards him. “I don’t think you should be studying right now. You should’ve told me you were tired.”

“Hey, I’m good, though!” He argues, but there’s no bite to it, really, he couldn’t add that in even if he tried. Agatha sighs, shaking her head. “We can keep going.”

“I’m not letting you study like this. Come on, you should get some rest.” She moves to close the textbook, but he grabs at it first, reflexes slowed down or not. “Ruggie.” She says, in a gently scolding tone.

“It’s fine, I told you.” He tries to argue again. It looks like she wouldn’t buy that at all, and, well… “Didn’t you need help? It won’t even take too long, I can just…”

“No. That’s final.” Agatha states, cheeks puffing slightly. “You’re so stubborn. Just rest a little, okay? We can study tomorrow.” She huffs, hand placed on the top of his head in a pat — That turns into something like light petting that sends a weird, fuzzy feeling across Ruggie. “Come on. You can lean on me if you wanna.”

Ruggie crosses his arms, but she looks at him all invitingly, with that warm expression on her face. And his resolve dwindles…

Ah. Ruggie isn’t really a strong man when it comes to things like that, is he?

“...what kinda leaning are we talking about?” He asks, a bit of a smile on his face. Well, maybe this wasn’t bad either.

Agatha chuckles. “You can lay on my lap or on my shoulder, what you’d like. As long as you take a little break, you stubborn hyena.”

Yeah, it’s not bad at all.

“Then I’m on it, shishi.” He can’t help but grin a little. “You said I could do it, so.”

He pushes the book off Agatha’s lap — Hey, it’s an opportunity, he’s not just gonna miss that — and moves to lean his head on her thighs, sighing when they touch. Agatha does a bit of a small, barely noticeable jump like she wasn’t expecting him to take that offer, but in just a second, her smile widens, still soft and warm. Ruggie smiles back at her.

“That’s the only way I can get you to rest, huh?” Agatha sighs, leaning back for a bit. “You’re such a workaholic.”

Ruggie doesn’t say much of anything. He begins to feel drowsy already, but… really, when he’s like this, how could he really sleep? He can feel his heartbeat quicken, the room filled with a silence that’s both comfortable and comforting.

Agatha’s hand makes its way into the mess that was his hair, Ruggie feels himself perk up — and then immediately begin to relax, feeling how the tips of her fingers begin to run along it, untangling knots and gently scratching against his scalp, then the back of his ears—

Ah. The tension in his body starts melting away, pressing his face against Agatha’s thigh some more. Damn it, that felt nice. If he had to die like that, he really doesn’t mind. He feels all fuzzy inside, the humming that begins to leave Agatha sounds faraway, even.

He sighs.

His thoughts get muddled… was he that much of a workaholic, he begins to wonder. It felt so natural to just fill every second of his day with those part-time jobs. He didn’t hate it at all, he’d come to every location with a smile, ready to tackle the day, but maybe he pushed himself a little too hard sometimes.

It’d be nice if he could come back to something like this everyday. Ruggie found his dorm room decently homey, but… with Agatha there, it’s a whole different story. Maybe she’s just spoiling him like this — He leans against her hand as she scratches the back of his ears once more, knowing they’ve gotten a bit twitchy — but whether he’d admit that out loud one day or not, he just really likes it. He feels floaty, fuzzy…

“Hey.” He half opens his eyes, Agatha’s gentle smile is the first thing he sees, warming his heart. Something straight out of a dream. “Y’know what, I really like you.”

Her posture straightens in shock.

“Eh?” She blinks, and only now, Ruggie notices what came out of his mouth.

“Uh. I mean.” Oh. Oops, he giggles awkwardly. That hadn’t been how he thought he’d tell her about it, but… gotta make the best out of what you have, huh? Whether that went well or not… “Is that weird? If you don’t feel the same we can just drop it. But I’m telling you the truth. You’re just… special. I feel really comfortable with you, and all.”

He feels his face warm up, and he’s still laying there — These are kind of embarrassing things to say, aren’t they? But it’s her, and it’s true — Agatha is undeniably flustered, maybe they shared the slight red tint to their faces now. Ah, it’s weird. He feels anxiety threaten to pull him under for the first time in a while—

“I… I do too. A lot. M-Maybe too much.” And she stutters, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear as she looks away in this rare sort of shyness. “S-So, it’s not weird at all!”

Ruggie’s heart skips a beat.

“Cool. Okay.” The words processing in his mind, repeating over and over like they hadn’t registered yet, echoing. His face felt impossibly hot, his self control running low. “...can I kiss you?”

Agatha blinks, still wide eyed, and a smile appears on her lips, she fiddles with her hair again, brushing it off her shoulder. “I… yeah.”

All of this, it’s so… Ruggie has a tough time wrapping his head around it all, but he’s not going to argue a reality like this at all. Sparkling with excitement, he gets up, sitting next to Agatha again, and they exchange a look for a moment as he smiles, foreheads touching.

Ruggie feels like he doesn’t even know how to begin, like she’s his very first kiss. Tentative hands cup Agatha’s cheeks, and in the peak of his enthusiasm, they just go for it, so close to being at the same time — And their lips meet.

He feels euphoric, almost every bit of exhaustion forgotten when he feels Agatha’s smile against his, small breathy laughs bubbling up and leaving them before the kiss deepens and Agatha pushes back against him too.

They’re not really thinking about it at all, and maybe that’s how Ruggie prefers it. Agatha is warm when she presses closer to him, her arms wrapping around him, and he continues to hold her face in his hands even as they pull away to breathe for a moment, seeing her smile.

“You’re so cute.” She says in between slightly harsher breaths. “Ruggie…”

And he thinks of the time he’s thought about something like this happening, none of his fantasies ever really went like this — There was always some sort of struggle, a larger pause after he tells Agatha about his feelings even when he thought of victorious scenarios. Even when he had her with him in the end.

He wonders when they kiss again, should anything have the right to feel so easy?

She tastes vaguely like lipstick, something cherry-like and similar to what he’d associate to the color of her hair, with a hint of sweetness. Her arms around him pull him closer with surprising strength, he feels her heartbeat on his when their chests touch.

And Ruggie’s not good at keeping his hands to himself— He notices he’d been hungry, wanting something like this for too long, and even though the world feels too dreamlike, blurry from exhaustion and still a bit of denial, he lets his hands wander. He touches her arm first, but it doesn’t linger there, going down her sides and ending up on her hips, wondering if he could let them wander further, maybe over her thighs—

“Ahaha, s-sorry, I’m just really happy.” They pull away, breathing heavily, and Agatha is giggling, her smile turning the dim room into the sun itself. Ruggie can’t help but share the expression. “I never thought… this really feels like a dream.”

“Yeah.” Ruggie agrees. “What do we… are we doing anything else, or?”

His face feels hotter upon saying the words. He sounds lame, but—

“I don’t know.” She says with a sigh, but it’s content. Their foreheads touch, bodies still too close to each other, and too happy to be where they are. “I’m just happy we’re here.”

“Mm, me too.”

There’s one more kiss, although a brief one. Agatha’s hand is on his hair, idly running fingers through strands, even after they part again.

“You still look so tired.” She points out, voice gentle. “Don’t you wanna call it a day?”

Ruggie has to sigh. Well…

“Maybe.” He admits, finally, even though he doesn’t want to be away from her at all now. “But I’m gonna miss you if you leave.” It’s a playful complaint, even though he means it. Agatha chuckles a bit.

“I can stay with you, then.” She says with a rare sort of decisiveness. “Someone’s gotta take care of you if you’re not gonna do it yourself.” She pouts, pulling him a bit closer.

His eyes threaten to flutter shut like this.

“If it’s you, then.” He murmurs, laughing quietly. “Guess it’s alright.”

Agatha gives him one more kiss, a small affectionate peck on his lips.

“Good. Let’s think about everything else tomorrow, okay?”

Then it goes by easily. He sighs, releasing tension with his exhale, and Agatha holds out her arms for him with an inviting smile.

They lay down, not really bothering to turn off the lights just yet. Ruggie makes himself at home there, back of his head on her chest, an arm pulling him closer while she continues to pet him, warm and dreamlike.

And they think about it tomorrow.

[join-the-joywrite]

You are the music in me (part 1)

(mostly) juke soulmate AUs no. 1

Special thanks & shoutout to @endless-navigator and @i-spit-on-fire for helping me with my first juke soulmates au post, you guys are amazing!!

Suggested by the lovely Endless: AU where soulmates are musically connected, so whenever the one is playing music, the other hears it in their head (Everyone Is Alive AU, Trevor and Bobby are not the same person I know it doesn't make sense shh)

First of all, I love this au and my co-writers

Second of all, let's just pause for a moment to imagine Alex suffering out hours of Justin Bieber's pop music because that was Willie's playlist at one point. Alex retaliated by starting a rock band and that's the real story behind Sunset Curve, shhh

They all go to the same school & the entire grade is very aware of Julie & Carrie's rivalry for top spot in music, dance and drama. So far, Julie has music, Carrie has dance and somehow, Flynn accidentally got into drama due to an admin error in eighth grade and she's been rocking it ever since. But Julie and Carrie are best friends, don't doubt that. It may seem a little suspicious, but they do love each other.

Luke thinks Julie is a hotshot and finds Carrie super arrogant. He tolerates Flynn. He expects his best friends to do the same but Reggie adopted Flynn as his little sister and partner in crime, and Alex regularly sleeps over at Carrie's for spa night and boy gossip. Luke is very betrayed when he discovers this.

Once, Alex was over for a Dirty Candy recital and spent the next day singing the song they were performing and when Dirty Candy performed it, Luke and Reggie were Very Confused -- but half an hour later, Alex was singing Justin Bieber under his breath again.

Anyway back to the juke I initially started this for

Perfect Harmony

Luke doesn't really like Julie but he's the first to admit she's actually really talented. Julie has no idea who Luke is.

When Sunset Curve started up and found their sound, Julie decided that she couldn't wait to meet her soulmate because she was going to strangle them on sight. How was she supposed to get her homework done when all she had every afternoon was rock music???

They once independently went to the same concert and after realizing that the music wasn't bad, they were just hearing double, both got excited that their soulmate liked the music they did.

Julie wrote music with Rose a lot and often, she'd be the one singing. Luke often thought about penning down the unfamiliar lyrics to search it up later but he always forgot, getting lost in the beautiful music his soulmate listened to.

Eventually, Julie grew accustomed to the constant rock and decided to Google the lyrics in her head. After coming up blank everywhere, she concluded that her soulmate was making original music. So she had a talented soulmate. Didn't mean they weren't annoying.

Perfect Harmony

Julie still can't wait to meet her soulmate. Maybe she won't kill them on sight but she sure as hell will beat them with a cushion for the one calculus test she flunked after spending all the study time with loud music in her head.

Luke and Julie write music together

I love Luke but he's dumb and he doesn't even notice that he's writing music with his soulmate. Julie does, but only because her soulmate has a very distinct voice and any music that comes from her soulmate shares that voice and even though it's so very different to her own, there is an undeniable complimentary aspect.

Julie has like 8 duets locked away from her family that she co-wrote with her unaware soulmate.

Perfect Harmony

Sunset Curve has ballads now and then. Bobby, Reggie and Alex know why but they're not gonna tell Luke. They're just gonna share knowing glances and pretend like nothing is different. They have a bet going with how long it'll take Luke to realise.

Luke is falling in love with his soulmate because music is life and his soulmate has GREAT music taste. Unlike Julie, he hasn't yet figured out that the music in his head is original music.

P E R F E C T H A R M O N Y

Endless, Sun & I thought about killing Rose but we threw that out the window pretty quickly. Instead, we decided upon a year-long coma. In which Julie loses music.

Luke is absolutely distraught. He thinks his soulmate died. Reggie, Alex & Bobby don't think so for sure but the longer the silence goes on, the more convinced they get. It affects Luke's music too. Sunset Curve doesn't shut down like Julie did, but they do get softer.

Luke spends more time writing, singing to himself. If by some miracle, his soulmate isn't dead, then he's singing to them. Hopefully.

One day, Sunset Curve performs for Julie. Well, they don't specifically perform for her. They'd have to know her for that. Sunset Curve throws a small gig and "this song goes out to all of you who feel hopeless, like you'll never be able to wake all the passions you used to have up again."

Flynn decides Julie needs to start living again and drags her to the small mini concert because it's small and why not.

Julie goes through the entire evening in a daze, but after Flynn leaves her house later that night, Julie feels a little fuzzy, like something's wrapping her in a big warm hug. And the next day, Julie absolutely obliterates Wake Up.

A week or so after, Rose is concious again.

Now that the serious moments are done, let's get to some funnies.

Luke, distracted and bored: you with the sad eyes

Julie, trying to do her homework: W H Y

Luke, oblivious: don't be discouraged

Julie, squishing her scrap paper: >:(

Flynn finds this amusing and asks what's up. Julie growls, "he's singing Trolls."

"So sing back. Duh."

And then she does. Luke's singing gets less lazy and more energetic. Julie actually really likes Trolls music and she has to admit singing Poppy's lines are fun. Flynn is super tempted to record Julie and call it blackmail stock. Alex, Reggie and Bobby actually act on the temptation.

They do this often. Julie will be doing something mundane and then all of a sudden, there's a duet playing in her head and it's her idiot soulmate covering the song akd hoping she joins in. Thankfully, Julie is mostly alone but she wonders if her soulmate is acting a fool in front of other people just for the sake of hearing her voice. Endearing.

P E R F E C T H A R M O N Y

Julie needs some practice on her dance recitals okay, so randomly, she has the track playing on her headphones and bops her head along. Sometimes she's cleaning the kitchen and dancing with the broom pretending it's her dance partner. No I don't do that haha

It has been WEEKS of this.

Luke has developed brain cells. He now knows his soulmate is helping him write music. So he starts penning down a new song. Both of them know it's a duet. They've even had some joke practices together with no music and things like that. Julie doesn't know the music that goes with it because Luke is careful not to play it. Ever.

And so one night, Julie's down in the studio -- it's dusty and needs a little cleaning -- and pops her earbuds in and she's doin her lil dancy-dance as she listens to her the music for her dance class recital.

Luke: GUYS GUYS GUYS ITS TIME ITS TIME SHE'S PRACTICING GUYS GUYS

Alex: IT'S FINALLY HAPPENINNNGGGGGGG

Reggie and Bobby: so should we leave you two alone for a minute or--

Luke: NO YOU WILL STAY HERE AND YOU WILL PLAY THE NOTES I GAVE YOU LAST WEEK I HOPE YOU NERDS PRACTICED

Bobby: you know we're gonna silently make fun of you the whole time

Luke: I am aware but you guys love me and you'll do this for me now shut up I have to time this perfectly

Julie is hearing double. At first she thinks maybe she never plugged her headphones in or maybe Flynn or Carrie are nearby listening to it too or -- no wait hang on a minute that doesn't sound like the track she's supposed to dance to.

Taking out her earbuds confirms that the music is in her head.

Off topic, speaking of music in her head, Luke definitely thinks I Got The Music is a Bop™

Its soft, its sweet, it's just guitar. There is no way in hell her soulmate is listening to guitar instead of playing it. She knows that much.

So now Julie has forgotten about cleaning the studio up and is pretty much standing in the same spot, just holdin on to the broom that did just two short sweeps

"Step into my world"

"THE BASTARD WROTE A SONG"

"Bittersweet love story bout a girl"

big gasp "THAT BASTARD IS PLAYING OUR DUET"

"Shook me the core"

Julie's brain: singggg,,,,, Julie: I'm afraid, ,,, Julie's brain, in Flynn's voice: S I N G

"Voice like an angel, never heard before"

Julie, before she can back down, "here in front of me"

Luke's eyes get so wide and so happy. Bobby takes a pause to snap a photo. When they finally find Luke's soulmate, they're gonna have so many dorky pics to show

Y'all it is the most beautiful separated duet of all time. I mean, not for the guys, the pauses are really weird but hey, at least Luke seems to be enjoying himself.

Post duet: "Mija are you singing to yourself"

Julie: (screams and throws broom) no?

You know what maybe this needs to be split for a part two...

[murdersexual]

Heeeyyyy can I get an leorio nsfw alphabet 👉🏼👈🏼

6 FUCKING DAYS OVERDUE! I AM SO FUCKING SORRY! 🥲

I am terribly RUSTY at doing NSFW Alphabet. 😥😥😥 I had POSTING anxiety because of it. 😰😰😰

Feel free to challenge me to one liner fics, more alpha, and blah.

🚨WARNING MOTHAFUCKAHS🚨 (You’re all not mothafuckahs! I’m sorry 😥)

-RATED MA.

-STRONG SEXUAL CONTENT.

-NOT PROOFREAD!

-May contain HELLA mistakes.

NOW, WITHOUT FURTHER ADO... READETH THE SHIT!

And now presenting...

Murdersexual’s Leorio - NSFW Alphabet!

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

After a long round of position switching, tender and breathy whispers, passionately rough love making, just know you’re in the hands of a natural caretaker. Leorio’s the type to have an atmosphere made for the absolute best of comfort. If you’re at his spot, he’ll have the finest of AC in his room, a mini fridge full of various chilled drinks for you to pick from, the most fluffiest of blankets and most plush of pillows—unless you rather his chest be your pillow—all for you to be at ease. He’s the type to lay back and relax, maybe crack a few jokes while giving you compliments to your sex game. And after you both catch your breath? A round two or three or four maybe possible~

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

On you? Everything is perfect. There’s not anything to love about you! And on him? Well the same goes for that matter. There’s not a day where he won’t stand in the mirror and smirk with radiant confident and say: “Hmph, I look good~”

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Facials are a yes for him! To see your face highlighted from his cum will never fail to turn him all the way on~ That and if you’re giving him the most soul-sucking of blowjobs, watching you swallow his cum is always a win. 💦 Glazing your ass in his ‘glaze’ is one of his favourites as well. Especially since his pull out game is IMMACULATE.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

There’s more or less not a day where he’d come up with some pretty risky and outrageous fantasies. From the craziest of roleplays, using new props, being in very risky locations—like a dressing room in a clothing store. It’s never dull with him regardless but he rather not reveal such to you for he may or may not like to keep you guessing.

(For fucksake, I SUCK at these... 🥲)

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Hell to fuck yeah he knows what he’s doing! He’s more or less the one who’s hella encouraging and motivating to you to try all of the craziest shit he’s tried during his first time.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Missionary with one leg propped up on his muscular ass shoulder. Watching your expressions as he hits all of your sweet spots while secretly testing your flexibility is why he adores this one. Then there’s Doggystyle. He can never get enough of going to pound town until you try to put a hand on his thigh. Hell, prepare to get your hand smacked away or pinned to your lower back. That and he’ll make you throw it back~

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

It depends! But more or less, he will crack a joke or two here and there, anything to have a quick breathy laugh. After all, not all bedroom action has to be so boring, right?

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Oohhh, he’s rather nicely set down below. His happy trail is rather light, tamed and pretty fine.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

It’s always going to be passionately romantic. From touches, kisses, the low and soft whispers of genuine admiration and love… Just him having that naturally gentle sensuality is what makes every little second all the more euphoric~

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

When he’s far away, there’s never time he doesn’t think about you. But when you send him some rather teasing photos, the temptation can’t be helped!

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Satin ribbons, roleplay and domination seems like plausible kinks. Tying you up in some satin ribbons, just to see the deep colours against your skin looks amazing to him. Roleplay? Oh my, since he’s most definitely in school to be a doctor, let’s just say you’re going to always be his favourite patient to tend to~ Domination? He’s going to always be on top unless you somehow charm your way to making him beg for mercy. He’s going to always command you to throw that ass back and so on~

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

He’s a much more of a private type of guy, so more or less anywhere in his place—dorm or whatever. That means, couch, bed, shower, hell, even the wall! Oh, kitchen table! Maybe even bend your ass over the counter~ Same goes for your place~

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Teasing is a big one as well as when you’re mad at him. It’s lowkey kinda hot to him, especially since he’ll fuck your attitude away.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Don’t tell him you want some other guy fucking you while he watches. He’ll cuss you out and probably not want to see you for the rest of the day. That and he would never do anything that you wouldn’t want to.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Watch out, his tongue game is fuego. 👅💦 He will give and he’ll make sure that he receives! There’s no half and no other half!

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Starting out, his stroke game will be slow and long with a few twists and wiggle of his hips. He may slowly pull out all the way until the tip is all that remains inside. Midway? Stroke game gets shorter and quicker, and he’ll reach even further on the inside. After discovering all of your spots, you’re going to feel every little bit of him. He wants your legs to shake, hips to quiver, back to arch and toes and fingers to curl.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Quickies before his early morning class or before he heads out. He doesn’t mind one as long as you’re down for it.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? Do they take risks? etc.)

He loves to experiment! He’s open to MOST ideas! The riskier the more tempting. Ask him to fuck in public or in a car across from the police station, he’ll be down for it. 😏

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

His stamina is OUT OF THIS WORLD! 😏 Hopefully you can keep up~ Rounds? Probably about 4? Maybe 5! There’s no telling. He’ll go until his balls are completely drained~

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Ah, does fuzzy handcuffs and satin ribbons count? 👀 You can T R Y to use it on him but his strong ass will break out of them~

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He teases waayyyy too much! 😤 It’s even worse when he’s far away visiting his friends, he’s always FaceTiming or Skyping you looking way too fucking good... But when he gets back to you, he’ll pay for it! Not that he’d complain right?

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Typically, he’s loud when he’s snappy, but in the bedroom? His voice is much quieter... Suave and low. His grunts and moans are pretty quiet but when he’s fucking you outta anger or if he’s drunk? He’s pretty loud~

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He has a lot of pornographic magazines and Kama sutra books. He’ll fold the pages with some key positions or outfits he may want to try with you.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Beneath those clothes, you’ll come to see that Leorio is far more muscular than what he appears. He also has a ‘third’ leg down below that’s pretty flesh coloured, long and girthy. Since most of the things he wears is pretty fitted, you can never miss what’s packing in those boxer briefs and beneath that tank top and long sleeved button up.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

His sex drive is pretty high. (I mean duh, he’s a goddamn sex symbol. 😏) However, its controllable. You can always tell from the way his eyes scan you up and down and how he smirks with a soft bit of his bottom lip.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

YOU will ALWAYS be the first to fall asleep! There are times where he wanna fall asleep first with you but he’s more or less up doing any homework assignments or talking to his squad. Maybe even cleaning up then hitting the showers. His domestic ways are one of his biggest secrets.

You may now applaud!

Encore?

Thank you for the request! 😅 Sorry it’s not as good, I really... REALLY tried. 👉🏼👈🏼 I may actually have to come back and do this over... Because Leorio DESERVES! 😤 My little (tall) Koi Fish deserves waaayyyyy more love! (I really tried with the aesthetic omfuck...)

[ptergwen]

to be held

warnings: just the floofiest fluff and lots of kisses

summary: a snow day with tommy boy

a/n: it’s been a long ass minute hi guys!!! i’m so sorry for not posting i’ve been super busy with school and all that stuff BUT i have a bunch of wips rn! imma make up for it i promiseeee. until they’re all done here’s this :,) sidenote: stay safe from miss corona! always wash your hands after (and if) you go out or sanitize if you can’t! regular cold symptoms doesn’t = coronavirus! this is all really scary but try not to panic, just pay attention and take care of yourself bby

—

it’s a given that days off are a rare thing you and tom get to have. his demanding schedule and your own social life don’t allow for a lot of downtime, so tom’s break between onward press and uncharted filming has been a god send.

catching up on much needed sleep, self-care days with shared bubble baths and face masks, and video game sessions (that you mainly enjoy because of tom’s arms around you to help with maneuvering the controller) make up your current routine. the most you’ve had to worry about lately was what takeaway place to get dinner from.

you’ve definitely spoiled yourselves, but so what? you deserve it. doing nothing is everything you two need right now.

today greeted you with piles of snow covering your driveway and the streets, which gave you an actual reason to stay in. it also made the freezing cold london weather even worse. tom insisted on a hot meal for your troubles. you were planning to crank the heat and leave it at that, but he wants to show off what he learned from the cooking lessons sam has been giving him.

plus, you’re hungry, and he’s so adorably excited to make breakfast for you.

once you’re swaddled in a fuzzy spider-man blanket that you may or may not have stolen from tom, you head downstairs. you find him in the kitchen gathering ingredients. there are already two mugs filled with hot chocolate and mini marshmallows on the table. sam must have taught him well.

one says “tea’challa,” and the other is shaped like the iron man mask. if something is marvel themed, tom buys it. you chuckle to yourself at your fanboy of a boyfriend and hug his waist from behind, blanket hanging around your arms.

“you’ve turned yourself into a burrito. that bad?” tom turns his head to give you a cheeky smile, a box of pancake mix in his hand. the cold doesn’t hit him the same because he’s his own personal furnace. how convenient for him.

“and i’ve already raised the heat. i’m running out of options here, tommy,” you whine and tighten your hold on him. “i’ve got one for you. after breakfast, we could cuddle for a while? how’s that sound?” “mm, let’s go for the whole day. i feel warmer just hearing about it.”

still smiling, tom pecks your cheek and walks over to the stove. you keep clinging onto him while he makes the rest of the batter. it’s like how a koala is with bamboo. after pouring the batter into a pan, tom turns around fully in your arms. you take the opportunity to bury your face in his chest, feeling absolute bliss in being flush against him.

he’s soft and warm and shaking with laughter. he’s better than hot chocolate on a snowy day.

“love, what’re you doing?” tom laughs out and holds you at arms length. you make a noise of protest, going back to your new comfort spot; him. “i don’t know, pre-cuddling with you? yeah, that’s what i’m gonna call it. pre-cuddling.” “oh, so this is a warm up. literally.” your scoff is muffled by his shirt. he engulfs you in a hug with arms around your lower back.

you pull away slightly to pepper his chest with kisses, earning another breathy laugh from him. you know his sweet spots. after one more kiss to his collarbone and a low call of your name, his hands move so they’re holding either of your sides. “don’t get me wrong, y/n/n. i’m super into pre-cuddling, but there are pancakes that need to be flipped.” “damnit, tom.”

huffing over-dramatically, you free him from your arms. he looks you up and down. grabbing the pan off the stove, his gaze lingers on you. of course he picks right now to be a tease. the chills are starting to make their way back, and your blanket doesn’t do much about it. nothing can top the way it feels to be held by tom.

“can’t believe you have the audacity to leave me for pancakes. pancakes that aren’t even from scratch, at that,” you tease. the look of shock on tom’s face puts a satisfied smirk on yours. “hey, i’m a beginner! sam says i have to work my way up to making my own recipes.”

proving his point, he flips a pancake too high by accident and just catches it in the pan. he silently cringes at the almost kitchen disaster. “i see that now,” you remark, making tom groan and turn to face the stove.

he plates the slightly mishappen pancake and less confidently flips another while mumbling something about how it worked when he tried it with sam. not wanting him to discourage himself, you hold him by his waist again and place a few kisses behind his ear, which always drives him crazy.

“you’ll get there, baby. i’m sure the way you’re making these will come out just as good. it’s really cool that you’re giving this a try, yeah?” “thanks, love. you’re right. i’ll just take it as a miracle that i‘ve come this far without burning the house down.” he’s half joking but half serious. your lips trail down to his jawline, him tilting his head back to encourage you to keep going.

“you’re really good at that,” he breathes out as you press more soft kisses to his skin. “good at what?” you feign innocence in practically a whisper, since you’re close enough for tom to hear. his eyes close for a moment before he shuts off the stove and puts the pan down. he faces you again with slightly parted lips.

“distracting me. that’s twice today. it’s like you want me to actually set our house on fire, y/n.” he contradicts himself by pulling you closer, his hands on your hips. you let yours move up to his shoulders and tilt your head to the side.

“well, at least that would make it warmer.” “you’re such a div, you know that?” tom squints at you with a small grin, leaning his head down. he purses his lips expectantly. now it’s your turn to be the tease. “stop using british insults at me and go finish breakfast, chef holland.”

his grin fades. “but- but my kisses-“ “they can wait, but my stomach can’t. i’m gonna go set the table,” you pat a pouting tom’s shoulders, leaving him to go through the drawer you keep silverware in.

after putting out forks, knives, napkins, and grabbing toppings from the fridge, you go back over to tom. he steps aside to present two plates with bigger stacks of pancakes than you were expecting on them. “tada! i made a few more for your impatient stomach. or rather, bisquick made a few more.” he does jazz hands around the spread, both of you sporting matching smiles.

you look down at what he made and back up at him. “tom, baby, you think that’s a few?” “you said you were hungry!” picking up a plate, he makes a ‘duh’ face and holds it out to you. you take it. “fair enough. these do smell really good. like, really really good. are we sure the right holland is in culinary school?” his humble side takes over, a light shade of pink dusting his cheeks.

“aw, don’t say that before you’ve tried them.” “then i’ll say it again after i do.” you poke one of his blushing cheeks and nod towards the table. shaking his head, tom grabs his plate and walks over with you.

you both sit facing the window to watch the snow fall as you eat. even though it’s freezing you, it can still be pretty to look at. multitasking is a virtue. you load up your plate with maple syrup and chocolate chips, tom opting for fruit on the side. he sips his hot chocolate and watches intently as you cut your stack of pancakes.

licking your lips, you dip a piece into some syrup. you’re happily surprised at the taste of your first bite, bumping tom’s leg with your own to express what you can’t say with a full mouth. he leans in closer.

“how is it? good?” his eyebrows are raised in anticipation, trying to gage your answer. you turn to him and throw your arms around his neck all in one movement. he catches you and giggles as you kiss all over his cheeks, nose, forehead, and finally his lips, letting that one last the longest. your hands slide down to hold tom’s arms, him stealing another kiss from your lips.

he’s so precious that you sometimes have to find other ways than words to tell him that.

“in case you couldn’t tell,” you start, out of breath. “that’s a yes. i’m enrolling you in culinary school for real.” “that’d be fun. sam could use some competition.” “and you’d get to bring home more really good food for me.” he chuckles and rests his arm across the back of your chair, each of you ready to fully dig into your breakfast.

tom has the same reaction that you did, his face lighting up in awe at how the pancakes turned out. you’re tempted to launch another kiss attack on him, but your grumbling stomach wills you to finish eating first. it’s worth it. both of you end up clearing your plates and staring out the window at the mess of white and grey, too full to move.

“it’s really coming down out there. wonder when it’ll stop,” tom yawns and settles his arm around your shoulders. “that reminds me. cuddles?” “ugh, i physically can’t get up right now. let’s stay here.” you have to admit, you’re already pretty comfortable.

moving your head to rest on tom’s chest, you nod, your hair tickling his neck. you outstretch the spidey blanket still on you for him to get under. he wraps the rest of it around himself and leaves a quick kiss on the top of your head, leaning further into your side.

soon, your chills are long forgotten.

[beyondconfessor]

Principle Decisions [14/24]

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Zelda Spellman/Lilith

Summary: “I want to play with you. I want to fuck you if you would have me. I like you, Zelda. And if you don’t want any of this at all, I would very much so ask that we could be friends.”

N.B.: Also posted on AO3. This is pure fantasy, please suspend your disbelief.

With Christmas just around the corner, Zelda found herself at the local grocers, picking up last minute things that Hilda had otherwise forgotten in the last few shops or fretted that she didn’t have enough of for the pre-Christmas feast with Sabrina. There were only half a dozen items, but as she found herself perusing the flours, trying to find corn flour, she ended up stepping backwards into none other than the very same woman she had ghosted a few weeks ago.

Zelda drew in a breath, trying to steady the sudden need to run whilst mentally kicking herself for going to the same grocers as she had when she’d last ran into her.

Lilith looked well. Dressed in a thick woollen coat over a button-down shirt and a set of trousers. Her hair was out, cascading down her back, and her eyes were wide and bright in contrast to the dark colours.

All Zelda could think about was how much she wanted to kiss her. Her brain was short-circuiting as her heart leapt into her throat, and it annoyed her to no end when she’d spent the last few weeks trying to shove those feelings aside.

She’d been tempted to call Lilith––especially when her headaches eased, and her sex drive returned––, but like her emotions, she’d pushed aside that desire. After all, their relationship had grown too complicated. Lilith would never be interested in her like that, and if she continued down that route, she was only going to have her heartbroken when the woman clarified that whatever they had was for sex and kink only.

Lilith had not reached out either, but why would she? Zelda was just her client, after all.

“Zelda,” the woman said, her expression neutral, face tilting as her eyes glanced to where her long-since faded bruises had been. “You look well.”

“Thank you,” Zelda said before swallowing, feeling the awkwardness build between them. “I ended up having post-concussive symptoms after the fall. Apparently having migraines makes you prone to them,” she explained, feeling the words spill out of her without intention. “I haven’t…”

“Had much of a sex drive?” Lilith enquired. “I promise my feelings are hardly hurt in the matter.”

Zelda felt the sting from the comment. She doubted Lilith intended it, but her saying that did hurt her feelings. She had wanted to feel important with her, feel as if she mattered to Lilith, no matter how utterly ridiculous that was. At least it solidified that she was doing the right thing. “I see,” Zelda said. “Well then, I won’t bother you with your shopping then.”

Lilith’s hand snatched out as she turned away and Zelda paused, turning back to glance at her. She pressed her lips together and knew that a rather icy expression crossed her face.

“Are you okay, though?” Lilith asked softly. As if she cared.

“I’m perfectly fine. The sun does not revolve around you,” she said, shrugging off the grasp. Lilith laughed, and the sound caught Zelda’s attention.

“I thought that perhaps you were upset with me because you hit your head.”

“I––no, not because of that.”

Lilith’s expression faded into a frown then, her brow pressing together. “But you are upset with me?”

Zelda drew in a breath and looked around the store. This was not the place she wanted to have the conversation and Lilith seemed to pick up on that.

“How about a drink. On me tonight. I don’t have an issue if you are requesting to finalise services with me, but I am concerned if there’s something between us that’s unresolved––after all, I am the principal to your niece and I wouldn’t want unnecessary…awkwardness if there’s something I can do to fix it.”

Zelda swallowed, “There’s nothing you can do.”

“Try me,” Lilith insisted. “At the very least, let us clear the air so we can part amicably?”

She wanted to decline, but instead, she found herself nodding. “What time?”

“Six? We can go somewhere neutral, though there are few places we could go to. Perhaps..the Richmonds bar, if you’re so inclined?”

“The one in Riverdale?” Zelda asked. It was a little way out of her ways.

“No, it’s down the street, near the bookshop. They’re more of a pub, really, but it’ll do. No one will pay attention to us. Otherwise, you could come over to mine?”

Zelda felt the shiver run down her at the implication of going to her house. A drink with Lilith seemed very dangerous then, and Zelda felt the effects of last time wash over––legs spread, ass high and the sting of each hit.

God, she wanted that more than she should.

“The local bar is fine,” she agreed. She couldn’t remember having ever attended the so-called Richmond bar––but if she had, it hadn’t been a long time ago.

“Six,” Lilith confirmed, and Zelda was nodding again. “Don’t be late,” Lilith said with a stern look before she grinned, and then she was turning away, and Zelda was trying to quell the rising emotions in her.

As it was, she found the cornflour and tossed it the basket before heading to the cashier. A part of her hoped she’d stumble across Lilith again, but she did not. The line was long with other last-minute shoppers, and Zelda felt the minutes tick by, her thoughts drifting to what six pm would look like.

“Next,” the cashier called, and Zelda dropped her basket down, placing things out to be packed away. Then she was taking the groceries to the car, getting in the car, driving home, her thoughts still going over Lilith’s eyes as they’d looked at her. Her laugh, her smile, the way her hand had caught her wrist.

There was a fluttering feeling in her chest, and despite how she wanted to talk herself around the feeling, she couldn’t help but come face-to-face with the fact that despite weeks of not seeing Lilith, she still liked her.

Hopelessly so.

She went home and placed the groceries away into the fridge and pantry, and then she showered and dressed in new clothes, changing into a dress that she quite liked the look of on herself, and lingerie that she spent far too long choosing between.

She shouldn’t have worried about it, given that she was trying to convince herself that it was one drink at the bar, and yet she did, knowing that if the opportunity did arise, she wasn’t going to refuse her.

It was cold, so she pulled on her jacket, advising Hilda that she’d run into a friend and was going to meet for a few glasses of wine.

And then it was five-thirty. She was half an hour early sitting in her car, knuckles turning white on the steering wheel.

She hated the feeling in her chest, hated the growing fuzziness and the way her heartbeat pounded. She hated how her mouth felt dry, and all she could think about was Lilith’s laughter in her ear and how she wanted to see if she could make her laugh and moan in the same breath.

Zelda closed her eyes, and drew in a breath, pressing the feelings down. Sex was certainly one thing, but everything else needed to be ignored until it was eradicated.

She headed into the bar, her clutch in hand and threw her eyes around the room. She was still early, despite sitting in her car for however long, and Lilith had no reason to be here early.

So she went to the bar, ordered a drink and took a seat in a booth, ignoring the stickiness of the floor near the bar, and the fact that the only occupants were middle-aged men and women who all had an expression like there was nothing they wanted more than to hit something or cry.

She was beginning to regret being here.

Still, with a drink in grip, she sat down in the chair, trying not to let herself sit too far back, lest her back hit the spine of the rather stained chair.

She barely took a sip when the door opened again, and Lilith entered. She was dressed as she had been in the store, her face flushed from the cold as she undid her jacket, eyes sliding around the room until she saw Zelda and gave an acknowledging smile.

Zelda shifted in her seat, feeling the familiar flutter fill her as she watched Lilith walk up to the bar, and order, before she was taking her drink and coming over, setting it down on the table, opposite to herself.

“Zelda,” she greeted. “Don’t you look lovely?”

Zelda flicked her eyes away, hating how it was obvious that she’d taken the effort to change her clothes and make-up. There was no reason for her to have done it, and yet she had.

May as well be a giant neon sign before her flashing Down to Fuck.

“As do you,” she returned, though there was no warmth to her voice as she lifted her drink and sipped it, feeling the alcohol slide across her tongue and down her throat. This was a bad idea. She realised a bad idea to have alcohol and Lilith in close proximity to one another. At least this way she knew they wouldn’t engage in anything kink related.

“How’s your head?”

“Fine,” Zelda advised. “Fracture’s healed, I had a recent follow-up imaging done, and everything’s perfectly healthy. My doctor wants me to see a neurologist but honestly, if the scans are fine, then I’m certain the headaches will ease.”

“Do they happen often?”

“They were happening regularly, debilitatingly so, but since the winter break has started, they’ve been occurring less and less.”

Lilith smiled and didn't comment any further to that, and Zelda was thankful for it. The last thing she wanted was to have Lilith lecturing her again.

“Not to sound like a broken-hearted girl, but was that why you haven't been coming to see me?” Lilith enquired, her eyes flicking to hers. There was a mischievousness to the way she asked the question, though Zelda supposed it was a mask more than anything else. She was curious as to why Zelda had ceased seeing her when by all other means, they should be fine.

“In part,” she admitted.

“And the other part?”

Zelda took a sip of wine. As she’d dressed that evening, she’d gone over if Lilith were to ask the question, what she might say. Make a feigned reference to money––that she could no longer afford the sessions, but that was hardly true––or refer to the fact that she was seeing someone, also not true. The lies presented and fell and Zelda was left with either the truth or worse, a fabricated story that would defer blame to Lilith.

But she didn’t want to do that, and the woman’s expression was curious as she watched her, waiting for an answer.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I think whatever this is, is blending into something complicated and I’m not sure how I feel about that.”

Lilith nodded. “That’s fair. We can set clearer boundaries if you prefer. I admit I’ve been…unethical in how I approached this, especially with the football game and my office. Not to mention the time you stumbled across my little home.”

Zelda lifted the glass to her lips as she tugged down her skirt, trying not to remember the incident in the office.

“Do you want to keep playing with me?”

Zelda sighed, looking up at her. “I do,” she admitted. “I want…everything we had before.”

“Everything?” Lilith asked. “Or would you like more?”

Zelda felt her cheeks heat up, and was thankful for the dim light.

“I want more,” Lilith said, taking the first step and Zelda’s eyes turned and looked to hers. “I enjoy playing with you, Zelda. Quite a fair bit more than I enjoy playing with any other clients. And I wanted to ask you a while ago, but I was…worried that you didn’t feel the same.”

The words sent a warm flush through, and Zelda felt a smile tug on her mouth. “I feel the same.”

“If you like…we could engage into an arrangement,” Lilith offered. “It doesn’t have to be a romantic relationship if you’re not ready for that, more of a…between. I suppose.”

“And just what sort of an arrangement would that be?”

“Well, simply stated, I could become your Mistress, and you would be my…” she paused then as if tasting the words to find the right fit.

“Pet?” Zelda asked dryly, brows raising.

Lilith shrugged. “I feel there’s a more fitting word there somewhere, not to say that I wouldn’t enjoy collaring you.”

Zelda drew in a sharp intake of breath. She didn’t mean to, hadn’t even realised until it happened that she had, but there she was, staring at Lilith, wondering how it would feel to have the woman’s fingers setting a collar around her throat.

“You’re far too insubordinate for slave,” she hummed, and then Zelda could feel the toe of the woman’s heel stroking up her calve. “Servant, perhaps. Or maybe…” and she paused then, her grin all teeth as her shoe fell away and Zelda was left sitting upright at the table, clutching her glass tighter.  “Handmaiden.”

Handmaiden, Zelda blinked, feeling the brush rise across her face. “And what sort of…duties would such a position require?”

“Oh, we’d have to negotiate that. But sex…kink…anything you want, anytime you need it, wherever you desire.”

Zelda drew in a breath and held it in her chest, looking away. “And what would I need to pay for such a privilege?”

“This is an entirely separate arrangement. It would be entirely about mutual satisfaction.” So no payment. Lilith was asking her to engage in a full D/s relationship. There was much to think about, much to consider and how it would affect her life—but the truth of the matter was that she didn’t want to think about any of that. She just wanted what was offered before, plain and simple. “I want to play with you. I want to fuck you if you would have me. I like you, Zelda. And if you don’t want any of this at all, I would very much so ask that we could be friends.”

Zelda nodded, swallowing as she held the woman’s stare. Lilith liked her. Truly liked her. It was enough to feel her heart race. “I want those things too,” she admitted. And then she pulled back, straightening in the booth as she felt the reaction shiver down her spine. “What would this involve?

“Are you asking, or are you asking?” Lilith asked, and then she was sliding around the U shape of the booth, and Zelda could feel her body heat against her own. “Because we can talk if that’s what you want, but I need to know what you want right now.”

They should talk, sort everything out plain and simple, but Lilith’s eyes were on her mouth, and Zelda could feel the woman’s fingers brushing against the back of her hand, and all she wanted was to feel those fingers shoved down her underwear. But not here.

“We should…go,” Zelda said, “elsewhere.”

“Go where?”

“Wherever you can fuck me.”

Lilith smiled and then they were up and out of the booth and walking out of the bar and Zelda wasn’t sure how many steps they’d taken, but suddenly she was pressed around the side of the building, and there were bricks against her back, and Lilith’s mouth on hers as her the hem of her dress was being shoved up high on her thighs.

“Part your legs for me,” Lilith murmured.

Zelda obeyed and was rewarded with the woman’s fingers sliding underneath the band of lace, and sliding over her sex in a long, firm stroke that had her head rolling back against the wall as she gasped.

“Someone could see us,” Zelda said, but her hips rocks and she did not attempt to pull away. Only clutching at the labels of Lilith’s jacket tighter, tugging her closer. “Shouldn’t we––“

“Shh.”

Zelda’s words felt silent, though her mouth remained parted, a whine building in her throat at Lilith began to kiss down her neck, pressing against her pulse point, before the kisses began to have teeth and then Lilith was sucking against her shoulder as her fingers continued to stroke. It was all Zelda could do to focus on holding onto the jacket.

She looked up at the night sky, finding nothing but darkness with the heavy clouds that held over the town. It was early, too early for this. People could come across them, and yet there was no anxiety of anyone finding them, only a building thrill that they shouldn’t but they were.

“Good girl,” Lilith coaxed, and Zelda rocked against the fingers, biting down on her bottom lip to hold back from crying out.

She could feel the bricks against her scalp, dragging and catching against her clothes. There was cold air against her legs and a hot breath on her throat.

Lilith had one hand in her underwear as the other hooked underneath her leg and held it up, over her hip.

“You are an absolute divine calling, Zelda. I’m so glad we ran into each other.”

Zelda whimpered, and then Lilith’s mouth was on hers, and she was moaning into it, feeling a shudder build low in her belly before it built and built and then Lilith was increasing her speed, a finger running over her clit just right as––

“God,” Zelda hissed between them as Lilith laughed, low and warm against her mouth.

And then Zelda was coming in the parking lot of some bar, against a woman who used to be her paid dominatrix, now her mistress and all Zelda could think was how beautiful Lilith looked when her lipstick was smudged, and the distant golden street light haloed her.

“Come home with me,” Lilith said as she pulled up her underwear, smoothing her dress back down. Zelda nodded, feeling the tremor rush through her.

“I drove…” she whispered.

“Pick it up tomorrow. I’m not done with you yet.” It wasn’t a request, and Zelda swallowed back the noise in her throat as she felt her fingers lace with Lilith as the woman lead her to the black sedan. Before she could even think of argument (not that she wanted to), she was being guided into the seat, the door shut beside her, and then Lilith was sitting down in the driver’s seat, smiling at her like she couldn’t believe her eyes.

She hadn’t even drunk half of one glass of wine, and yet she felt the excitement buzz through her as if she’d downed a bottle.

She wondered if this was a good decision, and then decided she didn’t care as the car was started and Lilith was backing out of the car park. There was a flutter in her chest, and as they pulled out to the road, she glanced to Lilith and noticed the woman’s expression had turned into the familiar expression of her queen.

“Take off your underwear.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Oh, you’ll know when you need to beg,” Lilith said, and Zelda watched her eyes flick to hers before returning to the road. “Take off your underwear.”

Zelda felt the command wash over her, her chest warming with excitement. She didn’t wait to be asked again, reaching up to under her dress, she pushed her hips off the seat and slid her underwear down her legs, before sliding them off her feet.

“Good girl.”

Zelda sat up taller in the seat and waited, wondering what would happen, but Lilith was biting her lip, seeming to hold back her own excitement as she watched the road.

From memory, Zelda knew that the drive was fifteen minutes until they got to the house on the side of the forest, and as such, the idea of sitting there in the seat, underwear off was enough to feel the present growing wetness between her thighs.

But Lilith had other plans, she realised, as the woman’s hand slipped over her knee, drawing up her thigh. The other remaining firm on the steering wheel.

“Shift forward for me,” Lilith whispered, and Zelda did, because she was told to and Lilith was her queen.

Biting her tongue, she felt the woman’s hand slide up her thighs. She turned and watched as Lilith bit her lip, eyes on the road, and then Zelda was moving forward on the seat, and Lilith’s fingers were stroking over sex again, and it was she could do to draw in a tight breath.

“Don’t hold back,” Lilith said. “There’s no one here but you and me.”

Zelda sighed, giving a small moan as Lilith worked between her legs.

It was slow and steady and then she was sliding inside of her and Zelda was lifting a foot onto the console to spread her legs wide, pushing further forward on the seat so Lilith would slide deeper inside of her.

She didn’t hold everything back, but there was still restraint as she moaned, drawing her head back against the leather seat and pressing her hips up to Lilith’s hands, meeting her tempo.

She glanced towards Lilith again, watching as the woman stared out at the road, her face firm and focused, but there was amusement in her eyes. And then, all at once, she was pulling off on the road, and her fingers were sliding out of Zelda, placing the car into park shoving the hand brake on before the seat belt was unbuckled, and before Zelda could so much as gasp, the woman was on top of her, fingers burying deep inside of her again as she kissed and fucked her like they were running out of time.

Zelda’s eyes flew shut, heel pressing to the console of the car. The car was cramped and small and yet, Lilith showed no sign of being encumbered, fucking her as if the world depended on it and god Zelda’s world very much so did depend on her getting fucked right now.

“Lilith,” she whispered between them, feeling herself teetering on another orgasm faster than she could bear.

The woman nipped at her mouth, and Zelda’s mouth parted as she panted, unable to focus on kissing or fucking, or she could feel was the building sensation low in her belly as she squeezed around Lilith’s fingers closer and closer until there was nothing else she wanted but to be in that moment for all eternity.

“Look at you,” Lilith said, “You’re all mine, Zelda.”

“Yours,” she agreed with a keened noise as Lilith laughed, hitting just the right spot in her strokes, her thumb on her clit so Zelda’s foot slipped and she was coming again, harder than before.

And then Lilith’s hand steadied, and the woman pulled back, smiling at her. “I hope you didn’t have any plans for tomorrow, because I plan to fuck you until you use your safe word.”

Zelda shuddered out a breath, “Well, how can I argue with that,” she said.

Lilith smiled, and then she was sliding her fingers over Zelda’s sex again, despite how the intensity of it caused her to rock away, pulling from the severity of the touch. “I––“ she said, but Lilith’s mouth coaxed at her neck and Zelda found herself sighing again, melting against the woman as Lilith somehow managed to fuck out another orgasm from her (small enough that it ached and she wanted another, almost asked for it, but held back the words as she watched Lilith arched an eyebrow and climb back into the driver’s seat, licking her fingers with more arrogance than she had any right to).

And then Zelda’s leg was dropping to the ground, and she was deeply aware of how wet and aching she was, despite being fucked however many times in probably…half an hour?

She wasn’t sure. She barely knew what the time was and at this stage, if she was going to count, it may as well be orgasms. She doubted that minutes or hours would mean a whole lot if Lilith was planning on playing with her as much as she promised.

They drove in silence, the tension thick in the air between them as Zelda pressed her knees together, feeling the cool air of the air-con brush over the heat of her skin.

And then they were parking the car at the house, and Lilith was climbing out, opening the door for her to slide out, and they were walking up the wooden stairs, to the front door. Zelda watched as Lilith unlocked the front door, flicked the foyer light on, before setting her keys in the bowl by the door and then she turned on her heel and smirked at Zelda.

Her eyes ran over Zelda’s face, to her body, all the way to her shoes and then up again. “Get undressed,” she said.

“Here?” Zelda asked, eyebrows raised. “Truly?”

“Here,” Lilith confirmed.

The house was nowhere near as cold as outside, but there was a chillness to the air.

Zelda flushed, obeying as she pulled off her jacket, before undoing the zipper of her dress. Setting her clothes aside she stepped out of her heels and then watched as Lilith folded her arms, her lips pressed together in a pleased smile, brow-raising as if to say, well, go on then.

Zelda drew in a breath and removed the slip, before, reaching behind her as she undid her bra and slid that off too.

Then she was standing before Lilith, naked and ready. Her body burning with excitement.

She drew in a deep breath and watched as Lilith stepped closer. Entirely dressed, heels on still as she settled her hands on Zelda’s hips.

Now, because Zelda was barefoot and Lilith was in heels, the woman towered over her and Zelda couldn’t help but feel a rush of excitement with that.

It shouldn’t have had as much effect as it did, but Zelda found her chin tilting up, mouth parting to taste her as Lilith’s face loomed closer, promising, but not quite close enough to kiss her.

Lilith’s eyes were watching hers, drawing across her expression before she smiled, and leant forward, kissing her. It was gentle, promising and Zelda melted against it, feeling a cold shiver run across her.

And then Lilith was pulling away. “Stay here,” she said, before turning away, walking up the stairs. Zelda sighed, feeling the coolness wash over her.

She watched as Lilith’s hips swayed, walking up the stairs, her hand trailing up the bannister before she disappeared.

And then Zelda was standing alone in the front room, coolness washing over her. Her clothes were cast around her, and Zelda felt herself begin to shift on her feet with excitement.

She could hear rustling upstairs, and a part of her wanted to walk up curiously, but she knew that she’d been told to stay, so she stayed, feeling her excitement turn to tense anticipation, dreaming up all sorts of things that Lilith might be planning to do to her.

And then Lilith was coming down the stairs, seemingly with nothing new in grip, though she had a grin that was far too bright for there to be nothing. “Be a dear and light a fire,” she said.

Zelda swallowed, not sure of the game they were playing, but turned to the fireplace nonetheless. Kneeling before it, she moved the kindling and wood into the hearth, setting it up properly, before she took the match and lit the kindling.

It took a few moments, and then the fire caught on the pieces of wood and flourished, allowing Zelda to close the door of the fireplace and step back. Behind her, Lilith was sitting on the armchair, reclined back comfortably with a knowing expression on her face.

Zelda stepped forward, all the more aware of her naked body as she felt the firelight warm across her, and then she was standing before Lilith, watching as the woman’s hands reached up to her waist and tugged her forward onto her lap.

One leg on either side of Lilith, she straddled the woman’s lap and went to sit down, when she realised what exactly Lilith had gotten from upstairs.

Her mouth parted open, a slow deep intake of breath pooling into her lungs as Lilith watched her with a vested interest.

“Go on,” she said, and Zelda swallowed, before her hand reached to the zipper of Lilith’s pants, unbuckling the button before she pulled down the fly, and then she was reaching in to pull the dildo out.

Lilith grinned at her, amused by her excitement.

And god, Zelda loved that look. She wanted to slap it off her face as much as she wanted to kiss it as she felt the strap-on press against her thigh, nudging just below her sex.

Lilith’s hands settled on her hips and then she was slowly, carefully, encouraging her onto the toy and it was also Zelda could do to sigh, feeling the warmth pull in her lungs as her hips rocked over the tip, feeling it press against her clit before nudging down, lower to her entrance.

“Lilith,” she said.

“Ask me nicely,” Lilith said, and Zelda rocked again, feeling the embarrassment flush over her. She wanted to ask, wanted to plead because there was nothing she wanted more than to feel that fill her. “You can ask me,” Lilith coaxed.

“Please,” Zelda whispered, and Lilith brightened at the word, arousal washing over her face.

“Please what?” she asked, softly between them.

“Please will you fuck me with your cock?”

It was filthy, and terrible and should have sounded awkward coming from her and yet Zelda’s felt the embarrassment wash away as Lilith looked at her like she was starving and Zelda was a feast to be had.

Lilith’s lips parted as she nodded, and for once it seemed she was at a loss of words, and then her mouth was drawing up, and Zelda was leaning down, and the toy was pressing firmer against her as Lilith kissed hard, hand curling in her hair as she tugged her closer.

“Yes,” Lilith whispered, and Zelda felt a hand drew through her hair as the toy slid inside of her.

Zelda gasped, eyes fluttering as she sunk on top of the woman’s lap. It went in deep, easily filling her. Zelda whimpered against Lilith's mouth as she rocked her hips back and slid deeper on it again.

“Fuck,” she hissed, feeling Lilith’s hand coax her until the entire toy filled her, and then Zelda settled for a moment, drawing in a breath as she smiled at Lilith before she began sliding up and down.

She could feel her body adjust, squeezing around it. Then, when she was comfortable, Zelda tossed her hair over her shoulder, hands settling on Lilith’s shoulders as she began to ride the strap-on as Lilith watched her, completely enthralled as she rocked over it like it was a dance between them.

It’d been a while since she’d had any cock inside of her––outside of her own toys––but there was something intimate about riding a dildo with someone watching her. When she bit her lip, biting back a moan, Lilith’s face shifted, her face soft with amazement, hands gripping at her hips tighter so that Zelda ground down on the toy.

Zelda flushed at the awe on the woman’s face, feeling it spark through her. She was doing that; she was the cause of Lilith’s expression.

“God,” Lilith said, before clearing her throat, seeming to remember that she was meant to be in control––but Zelda could see it was quickly slipping, especially when Zelda began to intentionally draw high and then sink low, grinding down on it.

Zelda knew she looked good riding a shaft. She’d had many compliments in the past from many paramours, and yet the way Lilith looked at her made her feel incandescent.

Lilith seemed torn between sitting back and watching her and wanting to do more. Zelda could feel her nails digging it, trying to hold back and she couldn’t help from laughing as she bowed her head until their noses were almost touching and said. “I want you to fuck me on every surface of this house so you can’t go anywhere without thinking how good I look riding you.”

“Zelda.”

“Don’t you want to fuck me on that lovely kitchen table of yours?”

Lilith’s expression hardened, and the woman almost growled at her, “I’m enjoying the show.” But Zelda could hear it in her voice as it trembled, that she wanted something more. She wanted to fuck her, really fuck her and Zelda would allow it.

“You can do whatever you want to me. No hard limits tonight.” It was a dangerous thing to say, and yet Zelda already knew that the things that interested Lilith, interested her very much so. There were things she hadn’t tried that she would happily explore under Lilith’s guiding hand.

She squeezed her thighs, drawing her hips up and down, kissing Lilith hard as she felt nails scrape down her thighs.

“I bet you wish you could feel this,” Zelda said between a kiss, feeling Lilith groan against her.

“You have no idea.”

Zelda laughed. The last few months, it’d been Lilith in control, but here, it was her domain and Lilith was hers to play with.

She fucked herself on the shaft, riding it until Lilith seemed to burn with envy, and then Lilith was holding her still, the toy buried deep inside of Zelda as the building climax died suddenly––she’d been close, but not so close she felt frustrated by it.

“Enough. Get off. On your hands and knees.”

“Which am I supposed to do? Get off, or get on my hands and knees?”

Lilith’s expression tightened, annoyance creeping over her face at the backtalk. “Get on your hands and knees before I change my mind.”

Zelda laughed, climbing off of her. And then she settled on her knees on the floor, before the fire, but didn’t bend over just yet. If Lilith wanted to reign back control, she was going to need to work for it.

Lilith stood up, and then she was buckling her pants back-up, the shaft returned into them as she zipped it up. And then Zelda watched as the woman slid her jacket off and undid the button on her sleeves, before rolling them up.

Zelda swallowed, watching the hardened expression of the woman as then reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out the set of leather gloves.

“Disobedience will be punished,” she said. “Last chance, bend over, and it won’t be so severe.”

Zelda watched the gloves, feeling the flicker inside of her to obey, but she didn’t want to. She wanted to see what would happen.

Lilith smirked. “I was so hoping you’d make this difficult.” She stepped behind Zelda and drew her fingers over her hair, smoothing it back, and Zelda softened, her eyes fluttering shut before she looked up at Lilith.

“Do you remember your safe word?” came the familiar question, a soft, earnest expression reminding her that this, what was to come, was just a scene. Lilith was right there when if she needed her.

“I do.”

Lilith nodded, and then her expression shifted back into that of her Queen and Zelda felt it pull inside of her, a deep longing ache as the hand drawing through her hair suddenly curled, tugging her head back roughly. Zelda gasped, feeling her self pulled up straighter on her knees.

And then Lilith’s thumb was swiping over her mouth. Zelda parted her lips and felt as two gloved fingers slid over her tongue, pressing against it and pushing her jaw open wider. It didn’t hurt, the discomfort of it made her wince, and she watched as Lilith’s smirk tugged into a grin.

“Open wide.”

Zelda opened her mouth, and then Lilith’s fingers were retracting, though the hand in her hair remained firm, curling tighter so the nerves electrified.

“I know what you want is for me to spank you, but I think that would only encourage you to act like a brat.” She moved closer, and Zelda could see the bulge in the pants before her as Lilith shifted to stand in front of her.

With the toe of her boot, Lilith nudged at Zelda’s knees apart until they were awkwardly shifting apart.

Zelda’s muscles tightened as she tried to sit-up tall on her knees as she spread them wide.

Her hands hung at her side, closing into fists and Lilith looked down her, the warm firelight casting a golden hue over her face, making the blue of her eyes only all the more bright.

Zelda’s mouth slackened, sore from keeping it open, and the hand tugged harder at her hair. Zelda whimpered, looking up at Lilith. “Did I say you could shut your mouth?”

“No.”

“No…?”

“No, my Queen.”

“Open up then. You’re mine, now Zelda Spellman, and I intend to fill that mouth.”

Zelda shivered. Eyes holding Lilith’s, she opened her mouth. And then the woman’s brow was rising as she nodded for her to get to it.

So be it.

She undid the pants, unzipping them again as she had before, and pulled out the toy until it stood erect before her.

Scene aside, Zelda had to admit it was an aesthetically pleasing toy of black silicone. It was shaped nicely, somewhat larger than she’d expected with a decent length on it.

“Be a good girl and clean up the mess you made.”

Lilith’s hand, cloaked in black leather, adjusted the toy, so it sat where it needed to, and Zelda felt her breath pull. It’d been some times since she’d done this for a man, an action she reserved for paramours who’d proven equal in bed. But Lilith had worked very hard for her pleasure, better than anyone else.

If this was to be her punishment, she didn’t mind at all. She only wished she could truly show off her skill.

She felt the hand in her hair gently tug her closer to the dildo and Zelda submitted. Taking the toy in her mouth, Zelda ensured that it was much as a show for Lilith as the woman wanted, despite the flush of embarrassment she had warming down her body.

She let her tongue glide down the shaft, lips drawing over it, and she drew forward until she felt her tongue coated with her arousal. She slid her mouth over and then sucked, drawing back. And then her eyes fell shut, feeling the hand coax her deeper onto it before drawing back. Her tongue sliding down further and then up.

And then the toy was no longer tasting of her arousal and Zelda was looking up at Lilith, pulling back.

“Did I say you could stop?” the woman asked.

Zelda squirmed, shifting forward again and drawing her tongue back over it. She sucked the cock like it was a bodily attachment to Lilith. Her head bobbed, eyes drawing up to watch Lilith’s eyes dilate with arousal, her mouth parted in desire before Zelda was pulled off the toy.

Lilith smiled down at her, but it was not the warm, proud smile of a job well done. It was sharp. Zelda shivered, she wasn’t done being punished yet.

“On your hands and knees.”

The hand in her hair let go, and Zelda obeyed this time, bending over.

She was wet, absolutely, dreadfully drenched to the point it was sliding down her thighs, and Lilith knew. The woman’s gloved hands came, adjusting her hips and Zelda felt the gloved finger draw over where wetness had dripped down her thigh, slipping over it.

“Whatever am I going to do with you,” Lilith sighed. “Ever my darling masochist, aren’t you, Zelda?”

Zelda swallowed, dropping her head down to stare at the rug on the floor. Nothing was occurring. Nothing was happening, and she ached. Even though Lilith had already fucked her more than three times that evening, she felt very aware of how empty she was, how much she wanted the woman to slide inside of her.

And then, as if sensing her distress, she felt the glove fingers sliding inside of her.

Zelda whimpered, feeling the finger draw against her walls before they slid out again. The gloves felt strange, wronginside of her. She wanted her to do it again.

“Do you want me to fuck you?”

“Yes.”

A hand slapped at her ass, and Zelda gasped, feeling it rush over her. She bit her bottom lip, as a moan escaped.

“Let’s try that again. Do you want me to fuck you?”

“Yes, my queen.”

“Good girl,” Lilith said, and then Zelda was rewarded as she felt the head of the strap press against her, sliding purposefully across her sex, nudging up and over to her clit—and with it, Zelda moaned.

She heard Lilith laugh, her hands drawing her hips and Zelda realised what she planned to do.

This wasn’t going to be about her pleasure. This was going to be entirely about Lilith’s.

The woman tugged her hips, and Zelda felt herself slide back, until the shaft filled her suddenly, completely. And then Lilith’s hands, cool with the leather, began pushing her hips back and forward, leading her in a tempo. Zelda obeyed, biting her lip as she thrust her hips obediently.

“There we go,” Lilith teased. “Doesn’t that feel nice to be obedient for you, Queen?”

Zelda rocked her hips, feeling the woman’s pants bite into the back of her. She couldn’t deny the eroticism of being completely undressed. At the same time, Lilith remained completely dressed behind her, bouncing her back and forward on the shaft as if she didn’t care if Zelda would come from it––though undeniably Lilith did. The game they played allowed the confidence in Zelda to know that if she asked, Lilith would give her everything she needed.

“Spread your legs wider. There’s a good girl,” Lilith said, and Zelda spread herself as wide as she could, feeling her muscles aches.

And then a leather-clad palm was pressing high on her back, pushing her down firmly. Zelda’s face pressed against the rug on the ground, her forearms and hands splaying over it as she kept her ass up.

It was a fucking, meant to remind her that she was a bitch in heat for Lilith and Zelda’s eyes fluttered, feeling lost in the moment as she listened to Lilith fuck her.

There was a building tension growing in her, a pulsating need in her clit as a part of her wanted to reach between her legs and stroke just enough to get herself off––but she wouldn’t. She knew that if she did, Lilith would just as quickly slide out of her and then that orgasm growing inside of her would die away, leaving her hollow with desire.

“Lilith,” she moaned, her nails digging into the carpet as she squeezed around the shaft. “Oh God,” she exhaled sharply, feeling her breast drag against the rug, her nipples dragging with enough friction that she clenched again, feeling the aching desire building.

“What do you need?” Lilith asked, and Zelda felt her press against her back, her hips still fucking deep inside of her with a skill Zelda could not fathom.

“You,” Zelda assured. It was both a desire to say she wanted more and a soft whisper to ask for a reminder of her care. And then she felt Lilith shift behind her, watching as a single glove was tossed away to the floor before Lilith’s hand dropped down, her fingers entwining through one of Zelda’s hands on the carpet, holding her steady.

And Zelda squeezed, her fingers clenching around Lilith’s like that very act of tenderness seemed to let her know that Lilith was right there, it was a scene, it was a game, and they could stop if she wanted to.

She didn’t want it to.

Her hips rocked harder, as she gasped loud and sharp in the air, and felt as a mouth pressed against her shoulder blade, kissing it gently before it parted and teeth bit her. Zelda gasped desperately as the pain focused her, and then she felt Lilith’s other hand drawdown from her hips, to between her legs, to stroke over her clit.

It was gentle and then firm, and Zelda founded herself nodding and gasping “Yes, don’t stop.” Until she was coming forcefully, rocking over the shaft as her body tightened, nerves electrifying inside of her and over her skin as she cried out.

And then she was collapsing, dropping forward as she let go of Lilith’s hand to catch herself from smashing against the rug.

Carefully, Lilith withdrew from her and then she was nudging Zelda onto her side, and then onto her back as she looked down upon her, grinning brightly.

Zelda watched as Lilith lifted her gloved hand to her face (the bare one pressing warmly beside her) and used her teeth to tug it off before she discarded it over with the other.

“Hey,” she whispered.

“Hi,” Zelda returned, brows rising.

“You are heave sent, Zelda.”

“I’ve been told that before,” Zelda teased, smiling up at her as she felt a flutter in her heart as she watched as Lilith laughed, equally amused by her antics. And then when her laugh settled, and the smiled softened into a look of adoration, Zelda couldn’t help but lift her hips against the thigh pressed between her. “Tell me, my Queen. What else do you have planned?”

“Are you not satisfied yet?” Lilith asked, her brows raising with mischief. “And here I thought I’d thoroughly fucked you.”

“I don’t believe I said my safe word?” she teased, and then reached up, settling her hands onto Lilith’s shoulders to tug her closer. “Unless…you need to rest?”

“Insatiable,” Lilith said, leaning forward to kiss her. “I’m pleased that I ran into you today.”

“As am I,” Zelda said, genuinely meaning it. She’d been running from what she wanted for far too long. She didn’t know if this was a romantic relationship, or if Lilith only wished to continue the sex and kink in personal quarters—but whatever it was, Zelda wanted it.

She wanted her. Entirely, completely, however, Lilith would have her.

As Lilith kissed her, settling between her legs, hands cupping underneath Zelda’s knees to drag her into position, Zelda sighed with contentment.

She’d worry about the rest tomorrow. Tonight was about them, it didn’t matter the fine details, so as long as Lilith looked at her like that, she could pretend that they could stay in this sex bubble for a little while longer.

In the morning, she’d allow herself to worry about her family, about Sabrina and Ambrose, about if this really was a good idea.

But tonight? She was permitting herself to be selfish.

_______________

[biillyhargroves]

If I am able for a request when u have the time. Where the part with Robin and Steve in the bathroom floor. But instead it’s Steve and Billy and at the end when Billy says he likes guys he goes in for Steve I just need fluff Thank u

For the sake of brevity, let’s just say that this is in an AU where Billy worked at Scoops Ahoy with Steve (although I do have an idea for an AU where Billy is freed from the Mind Flayer but is kidnapped by some sneaky Russians before the kids can get to him post-sauna test, so if you want to think of it in that sort of scenario, be my guest! and someone let me know if you’d be interested in reading something like that because…now I’m tempted). 

take this to your grave(fic requests open)

The words leave his mouth before Billy can stop them. He can feel them popping off of his tongue and he cannot tell why, what their purpose is, if he even wants to hear the answer. “Have you ever been in love?” It’s a silly question. The kind that pre-teen girls giggle over at sleepovers, the kind that movie characters ask just before they confess their undying love for one another. Of all the questions that he could ask a drug-addled Steve Harrington, of the dirt that he could dig up, this is what his own hazy brain comes up with: 

Have you ever been in love?

And maybe there’s a reason for it, a reason that Billy is not quite ready to admit - that he won’t admit until he hears Steve’s answer. But maybe it’s there, lying underneath his softly slurred inquiry. Maybe there’s even a little glimmer of hope behind it.

From the next stall over, he hears Steve hum in thought. It a long while before Steve answers, so long that Billy things that he has forgotten the question - he almost hopes that Steve has, but then he hears Steve’s sleepy-sounding voice say, “Yeah.”

“Yeah?” Billy nudges.

“Yeah,” Steve repeats. “Uh, Nancy Wheeler. I don’t- I didn’t think I’d ever get over her.”

“No?” Billy asks. He cannot see it, but Steve shakes his head. 

“It, uh, it took a long time,” Steve admits. 

“But you did get over her?” Billy asks, trying to sound teasing but coming off curious. When Steve does not answer, Billy asks, “Are you still in love with her?”

“For a while I was,” Steve says. Again, he falls silent, and that silence stretches the full length of the empty bathroom. It fills it up and rings against the walls and Billy thinks it’ll make him go mad. When Steve says quiet for too long, he clears his throat.

“What happened?” he asks. 

“Uh,” Steve stammers. Billy thinks he sounds a little more sober, but he can’t be sure. “I met someone,” Steve says. “Someone else. And, uh, this…this person…sort of made me feel…not quite how Nancy did, really. I mean, it’s similar, but not the same, you know? It might even be better. I’ve never met someone cooler, you know? Or, like, funnier. Or smarter. I mean, I’ve known some cool people, right? But not like this. I mean, I’ve also never met anyone more stubborn, and for a while I thought…I thought that I’d never met a bigger fucking asshole. I mean, he’s got this wild temper. Fucking insane. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“He?” Billy asks. His heart catches in his throat and he has to swallow hard to get it to go back down. Even when he does, he can feel it pounding hard and fast in his chest, so severely that he thinks it’ll burst right out. Steve doesn’t seem to hear him. That, or he chooses to ignore him. 

“I guess things changed, though,” he says, though Billy is only half-listening now. He cannot move past that one little syllable that so casually fit itself on Steve’s tongue. He. It came out as easy as a breath. Steve says, “Changed in a a good way, you know? Like…really good, I think. I don’t know. I guess a kidnapping can bring people together.” Billy can hear the smile in Steve’s voice. It makes Billy’s heart- hell, his whole chest -burn. He thinks that he is fitting the pieces together, but he won’t let himself believe it. He won’t let himself think that Steve Harrington is making some grand, film-worthy love confession in an empty movie theater bathroom. Surely, his tongue is still thick with the drugs. Surely, his brain is as fuzzy as Billy’s whole head feels. Billy is so wrapped up in his thoughts that he almost doesn’t Steve falter when he says, “But…I don’t know. I don’t think anything can happen there.”

“Why not?” Billy asks. Steve huffs a small little laugh. 

“I don’t think I’m his type,” he says. 

There it is again, Billy thinks. His, Fitting so easily in Steve’s speech that Billy has to wonder if Steve even knows that he’s saying it. Has it found its way there on purpose? Does Steve hear it, too?

“I mean, how do you know, right?” Steve asks. “If someone swings that way, I mean. If I asked him I think he’d just punch me in the face, and I’ve about taken all I can of that.” 

Billy goes silent- really, really silent. The gears in his brain are churning so hard that Billy thinks he can smell the smoke they’re surely working up. He hugs his knees to his chest and buries his face against them. He breathes in deeply, exhales fully, tries to get his heart to quit skipping every other beat. 

He must be quiet for a long time because eventually Steve says, “Billy?” Billy peeks up over his knees and sees Steve’s shadow moving in the next stall. One sneakered foot pokes into Billy’s, and then another, and then Steve comes crawling his way under the gap. Billy raises a brow as Steve settles his back against the wall. “Thought I lost you,” he says quietly. 

“Still here,” Billy says. He straightens his back. He loosens his hold on his own legs and tries to regain some semblance of composure as the heat of Steve’s eyes- one of them so purple and puffy and bruised that it is nearly swollen shut -lock onto him. He lifts his chin, rolls his shoulders, though each little movement comes across less confident and more fidgety. 

“Did you, uh…” Steve starts, his hands doing some fidgeting of their own, “connect the dots?” Billy does not say anything, not yet, and these seems to touch on Steve’s already frayed nerves. “I mean, I’m not good at the, uh, code talk? And I guess, uh, well…I mean, you haven’t hit me yet, so-”

He is cut off, suddenly.

He is cut off by Billy’s lips on his. He is cut off by Billy kissing him. Billy’s heart in his throat and Steve’s jumps up into his own. Billy’s hands fall on Steve’s knees and he smells like disinfectant and sweat and he tastes like salt and copper and Steve’s back is pushed flush against the red wall of the bathroom stall because Billy Hargrove is kissing him. 

When they part, Steve is breathless. He counts to five before opening his eyes and he finds Billy looking at him. He forces himself to exhale and he says, “Um.”

“I connected the dots,” Billy says.

“You- uh, you-” Steve stammers. He clears his throat, then asks, “You…you like guys?”

“Sometimes,” Billy shrugs. “You do?” he asks.

“Uh,” Steve stutters. “Sometimes.” He leans closer, and they kiss again, and Steve feels like there are fireworks exploding inside of him. Billy brings a hand up to tangle in Steve’s hair. He kisses him deeper this time, and Steve lets him, and, God, they both pray that this is not some drug-induced fever dream. Steve even whispers, between the breaths swiped between kisses, “Is this real?”

And Billy answers, “Yes.” It’s real. It’s real.

[shortythescreen]

come over

Warning(s): NSFT/18+, friends with benefits, sex with feelings lol. 

Relationship(s): Octane/Female Reader.  

Author’s Notes: this was my first post on ao3 and i’m trying to actually start using this blog so. here’s the post, lmao! my spanish sucks but i understand everything, hence the ref to a meme in spanish. :) 

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3.

come over?

That’s what lights up your phone screen at damn near three in the morning. You roll over, squinting at the bright screen as you grab it from your bedside table. It’s one of the lamest texts you’ve ever gotten. It’s barely a step up from the even more basic ‘u up?’ and you’re half tempted to leave him on read. Octavio can do better than that.

Yet, you scroll through your compilation of gifs and send him one of a woman rolling her eyes. Sure, it’s disdainful but he now knows that you are, in fact, awake.

About three months ago, you were offered a job by Apex, the corporation running the well renowned Apex Games. The offered pay was astronomical in comparison to what you made at your humble little gig as a thorn in a journalist’s side. Room and lodging would be included in the miniature city built just for Champions and the people who made the games happen.

All you had to do was do what you do best. Take pictures.

Every advertisement, webpage, and piece of merchandise is covered with your pictures of the Legends. Those that you take in the studio given to you and those that you take off the clock. Every picture on your camera belongs to Apex, even with your signature scratched at the bottom of all of them.

Because of this, it had taken a select few Legends time to warm up to you. Others, not so much.

Octavio, better known as Octane, might as well have sat in your lap when you walked in with a camera hanging around your neck.

Though you’re a lot quieter than ‘The Adrenaline Junkie’, you have about as much impulse control as he does. So one night when he’d visited you in your studio a little past business hours, brandishing a bottle of Hennessey Black the size of your head, one thing lead to another and, well.

The events of that night lead to you getting texts from Octavio at damn near three in the fucking morning asking you to come over.

i have a box of wings and a bottle of Smirnoff with ur name on it.

You bite the tip of your tongue. The offer’s tempting.

and other things, if you can keep up. ;)

That, even more so.

Against your better judgment, you text him back with words instead of a gif. You’ll be over in ten minutes.  If he drinks all the liquor before you get there, you’re leaving. You imagine him cackling at his screen because if you know him at all, and you do, he’s probably polished off at least a quarter of the bottle on his own.

Octavio’s apartment is a five minute walk from yours but you gave yourself an extra five to brush your teeth and find your shoes. The penthouse suites offered to all the Legends is right across the street from your simple one bedroom.

When you first moved in, you thought maybe Apex Corp wanted you to take paparazzi sort of shots of their competitors. They’ve never asked you to and you haven’t bothered to try, so you guess they just gave you what was available.

Whatever. You don’t mind living in earshot of some of the deadliest people in the Outlands. Especially now that you’re fucking one of them.

God, you never thought you’d be in this position. Sure, you’re not fucking blind, most of the Legends are attractive. Bangalore has a smirk that drops panties and a voice that’s a little more gravelly than the average woman. Wraith’s got the prettiest eyes you’ve ever seen, powers or otherwise, and her skin is flawless. Gibraltar could probably defeat half of his opponents by throwing them.

Even those that you can’t see the faces of have appeal – Bloodhound’s shroud of mystery has gained them quite the following online and what Octavio doesn’t show of his face is made up for by his stupid little crop top.

You just… Didn’t anticipate any of them finding you attractive too. Least of all the speedster with a penchant for picking up bad habits. Like fucking the photographer. You run your hand down your face as you exit your house, locking it behind you before jogging across the street to the penthouse suites.

Even if you had toyed with the possibility of warming one of their beds, you certainly didn’t think you’d wind up in Octavio’s. Maybe Elliot, who’s got a reputation for getting around, or Ajay, who’s could crush you with her thighs. Octavio, whose accent and stupid selfies had caught the attention of many Apex fans, was the last legend you expected to end up making your heart do the jitterbug-

It’s not, you’re not, you vehemently remind yourself as you enter the elevator of the Legends’ suites. Absolutely not. No way. You walk down the hallway to Octavio’s door, reminding yourself over and over again you’re most certainly not catching feelings and whatever dance your heart is doing has something to do with the lack of sleep.

Even though that makes no sense, it’s what you tell yourself, because there’s no fucking way you’re into Octavio like that. Not into someone you’re just hooking up with. Not into someone who’s only interested in hooking up.

You knock once on his door and you barely have a chance to step back before Octavio’s tearing it open. His mask is gone and even though you’ve seen his face a million times by now, you still take a moment to breathe him in. He’s got the prettiest green eyes you’ve ever seen, glassy with alcohol, and you notice that he’s in need of a shave, his cheeks tinted dark by pinpricks of facial hair.

“It’s three am,” you tell him.

“Yet here you are, amiga,” he smirks.

“For the booze,” you reply and he snickers, shoving out a plastic cup you hadn’t noticed he was holding. The stench of Smirnoff envelops you and you sigh, snatching it away and shouldering your way into his apartment.

“What are you doing up, anyway?” You ask, flopping on the couch and taking a large enough gulp of your cup to make your nose burn. You squeeze your eyes briefly closed, letting out a little ‘ahh’ as Octavio’s weight sinks the opposite side of the couch.

“Couldn’t stop watching The Flash. But Barry got kinda boring, so I texted you,” he says and you snort, opening one eye to glance at him. You hadn’t even noticed the title glaring at you from the flat screen only a few feet away, the only light in the apartment aside from the stove.

God, he’s so unfairly pretty. He’s resting his tousled head of green hair, the same green as his eyes, in his hand, propped up on the back of the couch. His PLUS ULTRA tattoo peeks out from the three quarter sleeved shirt he’s wearing and you go for your drink, hoping you can excuse the warmth in your chest as Smirnoff.

“Of course you were. You’re so fuckin’ basic.”

“I’m on brand.”

“You’re at home. Alone.”

“Not anymore.”

You snort, finally beginning to feel that warmth in your chest drip down into your stomach. The easy, fuzziness that comes with being here, with drinking and banter and the promise of something so much sweeter.

“Well, thanks for inviting me,” you say, “now where are those wings?”

As promised, Octavio brings you a takeout box with about thirty wings. With liquor brewing in your stomach, you probably could demolish them, but you’re barely buzzed and still willing to be polite.

It’s the wee hours of the morning, so you’re grateful that each of the Legends have soundproof walls. You and Octavio put on old telenovelas, even though your Spanish is slim to none, and he makes you laugh by describing the scenes to you.

“Oho man, she’s such a bitch. The mother basically just told the son’s lover acompáñame a ver esta triste historia.”

“I don’t speak Spanish, Oc,” you remind him around a mouthful of a wing coated in ranch.

“Remember how the girl’s parents died when she was six?” He asks and you nod your head, vaguely remembering the shitty graphics acting as flashbacks. “The son’s mother heard that and might as well have said ‘that’s cute’.”

You were right to assume Octavio had already had a hefty serving of alcohol before he’d texted you, as he brings out the bottle when your glass gets low, a little less than half of it gone. He’s got a higher alcohol tolerance than you and it’s obvious the more you two delve into the Smirnoff.

He smirks at you when you whine about the wings getting low, polishing off what must be your twelfth. You’ve officially had enough alcohol to stop being polite and Octavio loops an arm around your shoulder. When had he gotten so close to you on the couch?

“There, there,” he murmurs into your hair, “there will be wings tomorrow, mami.”

“But I want them now,” you complain, only to completely forget your train of thought as you bury your nose in the collar of Octavio’s shirt. “Fuck, you smell good. Do you always smell this good?”

“I smell like liquor,” he snickers, kissing the top of your head and you shudder as he slides his fingers through the small hairs at the base of your neck.

“And soap. What soap do you use? I bet you use Old Spice. Old Spice is so basic but it smells so fucking good,” you ramble, tilting your head just enough so that your lips brush against his collarbone.

“Gracias,” he hums, tilting his head back a smidge. You take this as an invitation and begin placing careful, open mouthed kisses up the length of his neck.

Octavio sighs through his nose, arm around your shoulders sliding down your side to pull you half into his lap. Your teeth scrape his pulse and his grip on you tightens.

“You didn’t say yes or no,” you absently mumble as he grabs a handful of your ass. He squeezes before you pull back just enough to meet those pretty green eyes of his, dark with want.

“Yeah, it’s Old Spice,” he says, then leans in to devour your mouth with his.

Octavio kisses like he moves. Quick, eager, his tongue pushes into your mouth and makes you groan. You haphazardly drape one leg over his, twisting so your chest is flush against his. He bites your lower lip and you whimper, half grinding against his prosthetic legs, cool against your heat.

His free hand sneaks down to grab your other ass cheek, pulling you up to straddle him. His lips leave yours with a pop and he bites his lower lip as you shudder against his dick jumping under your hips.

“We haven’t even started yet,” you say, allowing him to slip his hands beneath your shirt, gripping your breasts and rolling the peaks under his thumbs. You sigh, continuing, “how are you so hard?”

“How are you so sexy?” He snarks, releasing your tits in favor of grabbing the hem of your top. He pulls it off eagerly, eyes hot.  

“You too,” you half beg and he obliges, tugging that snug fitting shirt over his head. You hum, hot with liquor, and with lust, and with the look he’s burning into your chest. He leans back into the couch, drinking in your disheveled state before reaching up to cruelly pinch your nipples.

You gasp, trying to lean into the sensation and alleviate the pain. Octavio only pulls harder, biting his lower lip when you’re almost chest to chest.

“Asshole,” you hiss and he grins, giving you a flash of his tongue piercing.

“You like it,” he says as you relent, going still in his lap. Octavio finally releases his almost too tight grip on one nipple in favor of looping an arm around your waist. He’s torturous to the other, squeezing, rolling, tugging. As a reward for the way you buckled, he slurps the free one into his mouth. You moan, his mouth all wet warmth and cool metal. His thumb flickers teasingly across your other pebbled nipple and you arch your back.

“Oc, please,” you pant and he pulls off of you with a pop, cupping the tit he still has a handle on to flick his tongue across it.

“Por favor? Por favor que?” He half laughs only to break off in a needy groan when you grind against him. “Fuck fuck fuck, okay, stand up for a sec.”

You roll yourself along his dick for a moment longer, relishing in the way his hips instinctually jerk against yours. He squirms beneath you, opting to tightly grab your hips.

“Shit, mami,” Octavio pants, sharply thrusting up before trying to push you off. “C’mon, c’mon, you’re wearing too many clothes.”

You finally climb off him and he follows you forward, sharply pulling down your sweats. A long, sticky trail connects you briefly to them and he outright groans at how filthy that is.

“You’re so wet,” he all but whines, fascinatedly rubbing a finger between your lips. Your breath hitches as he pointedly drags his knuckle across your clit, teasing you with the not quite enough touch.

“Shorts off,” you growl, and he hurriedly obeys. His cock springs free as his shorts hit the carpet and your mouth waters. The tip is swollen and pink, leaking with excitement. You’re half tempted to get on your knees, swipe the pre up with your tongue and put him at your mercy.

“Oh, mami, yes, you can do that for me later,” he babbles, making you realize you’d said that aloud. You try to climb back into his lap, only to have him grab you by the shoulders. You yelp as he tosses you onto your back on the opposite side of the couch, maneuvering himself between your thighs.

You two have been doing this long enough to have done away with condoms and you’re so fucking grateful for that as he pushes himself between your lips. Your slick helps him along as he glides the tip against your aching, swollen clit.

“Oc,” you impatiently murmur and he smirks. Octavio is a bastard at the worst times and not even the bedroom is exempt, because he grabs his shaft and taps the leaking tip of his cock against your clit.

“How bad do you want it, hm?” He asks and if you weren’t so overwhelmed, you’d roll your eyes. You settle for propping yourself up on your elbows and thrusting your hips up. His cock catches on your hole and his breath hitches in his throat.

“That bad, huh?” Octavio breathlessly whispers and you glare at him through the fog of your lust.

“Aren’t you supposed to be quick?”

“You want it to be over? Aw, okay, guess I’ll-“

Before he can pull away, you wrap your legs around his waist and yank him against you. Octavio slips, caught off guard, and he catches himself on the arm of the couch, letting out a strangled groan as the tip of his dick breeches your swollen cunt.

“Fuck,” he grits out, suddenly unconcerned with teasing. He drives himself the rest of the way inside and you sigh, relieved to be so wonderfully full.

“I’m trying,” you gleefully counter and he sharply thrusts into you with a laugh that’s half moan.

You reach around, clawing at his lower back as he fucks into you. His elbow lands on the space next to your neck and you find his hand cupping the crown of your head, simply resting there as he fucks you like he’s trying to win a race.

Octavio moans and curses and whines just as much as you do, his green eyes squeezed shut. You rake your nails up the length of his spine and he groans, giving you an especially brutal thrust. Your mouth falls open and he takes the opportunity to sloppily kiss you, tongue pushing past your lips to twist with yours and he doesn’t taste so much like liquor anymore.

You sob into the kiss as he angles his hips down a little, hitting right there. He gets the picture quickly and he aims just so, abusing that place that makes you see stars. His hips snap into yours and you grab his shoulders for purchase. It’s too much. It’s not enough.

It’s him, pulling away from your kiss to watch you with amazed green eyes. It’s him, grabbing your hips and yanking you onto his dick. It’s him, passing a thumb over your clit, making your eyes roll back. It’s him, hissing your name as his hips begin to stutter and shake. It’s him.

“C’mon, mami, c’mon, I won’t last,” he gasps, fondling your clit desperately and your jaw drops at the sensation. “C’mon, baby, need it, need to feel that tight pussy squeeze my dick, you can do it, do it for me, please, baby, please-“

You say his name as your orgasm hits you, shaking legs tightening so harshly around his waist you can feel every tremor of his hips. He fucks you through it, relentlessly rubbing your clit and you whimper, reaching down to try and shove his hand away. It doesn’t seem to stop him and finally with two, three more thrusts, he’s coming.

Octavio buries his face in your neck, saying something so low and garbled that you barely pick up that it was in Spanish. You don’t care to ask what he said just yet, too busy catching your breath as you clutch his back.

“Shit…” He breathes, turning his head to rest his nose against your still racing pulse. Now, though, it’s not just with need, but you don’t tell him that.

“How’s that for keeping up?” You ask and he snickers, slowly pulling out of you. Octavio reaches down, grabbing his shorts and tucking them beneath your hips to catch the spunk dripping out of you.

“I’ll go get a wash cloth,” he says as you paw at the coffee table for the TV remote. You groan at the time it shows you.

“It’s almost seven, you ass! I have to be to work in two hours!”

“Guess I kept you up all night. At least you weren’t bored.”

“I hate you,” you groan, scrubbing your hands over your eyes. Octavio snickers, making his way towards the bathroom.

“Oh, hey, wait,” you say, propping your head up. He stops short, meeting your gaze. “What did you say? I was kinda preoccupied and didn’t hear.”

“Kinda? You wound me,” Octavio says, placing a hand over his heart. You unceremoniously flip him off. “You think I remember what I said while I was nutting, chica?!”

Octavio grins roguishly. You roll your eyes, throwing one of the couch cushions at him. It doesn’t get anywhere close to hitting him and Octavio snickers, bending down to toss it back onto the couch. “Who knows?”

Octavio turns back to the bathroom and his playful expression slackens. His brow scrunches up as he flicks the light on, closing the restroom door behind him and staring disbelievingly into the mirror.

Te amo, he’d gasped into your neck when he was overwhelmed with the smell of you, the feeling of you, the taste of you.

[eturni]

Day 30 - Resolution

I’m behind again because D&D took my whole life and I only got this half done by the time I absolutely Had to sleep. For @drawlight’s advent calender prompt list https://drawlight.tumblr.com/post/188869931294/aziraphale-crowley-for-half-an-hour-youve-been and today (yesterday) is/was resolution.

It was absolutely supposed to be increasingly drunk, silly resolutions in the style that a couple of my friends did one year and then it took a hard lean into angst and pining? Suppose that’s what happens when two immortal beings can’t resolve to reach for what they truly want. Enjoy!

It was the second year of the Julian Calendar, Caesar was dead, Rome had devolved into civil war, and an angel and a demon were holed up in a small home with mistletoe tucked into the bottom corner of the window.

For months it had become a safe, neutral, space for the both of them as they monitored the fallout from the assassination and the progression of both the civil wars and little Octavius’ rise. Not a continually shared space, naturally. Each of them had their own quarters in entirely different areas of the empire and each of them had wildly different assignments in the aftermath.

What they also had was a central location where they had met, respectably rarely, to bitch, gripe, moan, and (on one very memorable occasion for Crowley) have what was worryingly close to a full human panic attack.

Aziraphale had of course protested heavily at the initial suggestion and yet by the time Junius was ending Crowley often found the angel at the little house before he turned up; often with a decent wine already unstoppered. It took a little of the edge off of ridiculous orders that had no regard or understanding of how the humans actually operated. They wasted (never wasted, not truly) nights with incredulous stories of their bosses and hyperbole about the good or evil they had seen in those humans they came close to.

The truce had still been tentative, it always was between the both of them. Crowley’s natural urge was to push against boundaries; to wheedle and tempt, where Aziraphale’s fall back was to the comfort of the party line and words that someone else had given him. Crowley always felt it was a shame that Aziraphale hoarded libraries around him and collected all the world’s poetry into his heart and yet, when push came to shove, what came out was always the silted practised words that the archangels had handed down.

Saturnalia that year had helped to change that. The mistletoe in the window declared something that wasn’t quite yet their side but still somehow took a sense of friction away from the space that neither had been truly aware of until it was suddenly gone.

Continue reading on AO3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/21638803/chapters/52627138 or:

Crowley arranged to have more work to do nearer Rome specifically and spent increasing amounts of time there for more than just shop talk. Aziraphale even returned one day to find that the demon had made himself a bed and was sleeping soundly in a blocked off corner. He was adamant that the demon would never find out how long he had stood there transfixed by both the sight and the whirl of complex emotions it had stirred up like a dust cloud with a good cleaning.

The place became almost like a home with the amount that the two of them frequented it. Not that it could be such a thing when it was a shared space. It was merely a neutral ground and both of them regularly reminded themselves of the fact, just to be sure.

Saturnalia passed with a surprising amount of fanfare. Some of the fighting lulled around the time and tentative celebrations kicked up right across the empire. A certain angel and demon used the tradition of role reversal to pretend to be human for a couple of days.

They were heading for Januarius and Crowley checked almost daily that the sprig was still there and that the peace between them wasn’t ending. In Hell it was always Too Late. As a demon you got used to it, though a mortal soul never could, but this in between uncertainty was somehow worse than the perpetual looming sense of having already lost.

This was living on borrowed time.

It was waking up in that house and knowing that the angel was somewhere nearby and knowing that it couldn’t be that way for much longer. Knowing that he would likely get no say in when that ended, or how, because he could never dare bring it up himself in fear of hurrying that inevitable end to the strange peace they had found amidst the chaos.

There was even the chance that it would be broken by someone from either of their sides turning up in the city. Even with the relative ease between the two of them it was a risk that consistently played at the back of both of their minds.

By the time the sun set on the eve of the new year Crowley was in the very nice loose-but-lucid state of drunkenness that allowed him to think a little bit less about the contingencies he wound into his life and plans. Somewhere far off pockets of civil unrest were still burning hotly and formed bright spots of potential temptation on Crowley’s radar that he shrugged off in favour of the warmth of Aziraphale’s company.

“Y’know, if you think about it. If you considered everything you did, and everything I did, and all this mess… We’d have been just as well not bothering at all really. All the bad, or good, it really did in the end.” Crowley mused, well into the second of the amphorae and desperately close to the beginnings of an idea that he would later claim a spark of genius.

Aziraphale tutted and rolled his eyes at this. “The whole point is that I guide and thwart your wiles and the humans get to make their decisions. It’s all terribly important for the great plan.”

Granted the plan was a little fuzzy after the amount of drink he’d taken but Aziraphale wasn’t about to admit to that particular point.

“Yeah; and they’re trying to make choices for the whole year right now. Future they don’t know if they’ll live to see,” Crowley flopped down onto the bench around their table, perilously close to Aziraphale’s lap, and looked up to the other thoughtfully. “What would you resolve to do?”

What in Heaven’s name do you mean Crowley?” Aziraphale wiggled a little uncomfortably, tips of his ears warming at the too-familiar nearness of the demon.

“Well, this whole thing’s about Janus, right? You look back, you look forward, and you decide what you want to do. We should do it too. What do you want to change next year?” He presses, getting up for just long enough to top up both of their cups before going boneless again.

“Well there’s hardly a point to that. I’ll have my orders I imagine, as will you. What could I even want to change?”

“C’mon though angel, really think about it.”

“I hardly see the point. I follow Janus no more than I follow Saturn. There isn’t any point in this little game for me.”

“I mean I don’t either you daft sod. I know what’s actually there, you don’t just forget that,” he rolled his eyes expressively behind small dark glasses “but it’s a bit of fun isn’t it? Think about all the stuff that happened year before and then decide what you’re gonna do… different.”

“You mean what you’re going to do better?” Aziraphale arched a brow.

Crowley scowled and waved off the idea with one hand while pouring more from the amphora with the other. “S’all relative angel. What’s better for them’s sure to be looked down on by your lot.”

“Well, they’re still trying to improve and that’s admirable.” Aziraphale huffed through his nose.

Crowley only grinned. “Well if you like it so much why don’ you join in?” He needled, a smug little bob of his head punctuating the sip of wine he took.

Aziraphale looked down into his cup with a tight-lined mouth, studying it too closely. “There’s nothing I could want to change.” He said, with all the intensity that he usually did when he wanted to convince himself more than anything.

“Bullshit,” Crowley declared with a grin “I’ll start us off. I’m resolving to try more new stuff than just wine next year. There’s a lot more they can make alcoholic with the right push.”

There was another sigh and a tut but Aziraphale seemed to relax incrementally and Crowley took it as a win. “I think I shall resolve to put up with fewer of your shenanigans.”

“I think you should resolve to put up with less archangel bullshit.”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale made a good show of looking scandalised as he sipped his drink. “I think you should resolve to learn how legs work finally.”

Crowley looked at him, mouth falling just slightly open in a way that just shouldn’t be so alluring. The demon looked somewhere between shocked and appreciative. “I’ll get right on that angel; just as soon as you learn how to dress in the right century.”

“Well it’s certainly not something I feel the need to resolve to do.”

They both took another few decent drinks before Crowley piped up again sullenly. “I’d like to resolve to tempt someone who wasn’t going to do something more horrific than anything I suggested.”

Aziraphale hummed distractedly. Some humans did feel like uphill battles at times. “I think I’ll resolve to be a little more active in thwarting those wiles of yours. You do seem to find the ones that do serious harm and I often let you go centuries without dealing with you.”

Crowley very carefully stopped breathing for a few moments to process the words, wondering exactly how bad it was that the resolution sounded appealing to him more than anything else.

“If I’m going to have my own personal angel thwarting me I suppose I’ll have to try a little harder at the tempting. Wouldn’t want you t get bored, angel.”

“I’m sure I won’t with your mischief.” Aziraphale declared, again with more concentration than should be needed going into his disapproving look. “Anyway. It’s almost the new year and I am famished; what say we eat?” He suggested, more for something to do to deflect whatever was happening. A miracle provided them any food that they would need and Crowley, thankfully, backed off for the moment.

By the time they were done with the meal and through another couple of amphorae Aziraphale was feeling far too relaxed and Crowley had, at some point, ended up almost on his chest as they reclined on the bench. He was absently passing up the occasional grape to Aziraphale as they chatted about nothing that made any sense.

Aziraphale was expounding on how hippopotamuses leading chariots would be both terrifying and awe-inspiring when he realised that Crowley had gone quieter than usual. He looked down, half expecting the demon to be asleep but instead finding him staring into his own cup intently, lips moving but voice too quiet to be heard over Aziraphale’s own excited musings.

Now that things were quieter he could hear the faintest murmurs of some of it. “Could resolve to listen to you like this forever. C’n’a resi-seso-thing even be to wile where you are? Resolve to watch you smile more. Make you smile more. Blessed idiot.”

The angel picked up speaking again, trying to pretend he’d never stopped at all, and eventually suggested that Crowley actually go to sleep while he tidied the mess.

Aziraphale knew the exact brand of coward that he was but the moment Crowley was asleep he used the opportunity to slip out of the home and take the sprig of mistletoe with him. His heart thundered and stomach churned the entire time with the feeling that he was doing something wrong. Still, he knew the only truly wrong thing could be in going along with whatever it was that stirred in him whenever Crowley was near.

He resolved, if anything, to be stronger against this thing in his chest that he could not feel for a demon. He didn’t see Crowley again until he was helplessly watching a young man from Galilee be put to death for nothing more than human kindness and a demon provided the only compassion that Aziraphale saw. Every moment between them ground down against a resolution that Aziraphale was increasingly uncertain he ever wanted to make.

[ckret2]

Hand In Chelicera

Fandom: Transformers IDW, post-Requiem of the Wreckers Pairing: Prowl/Tarantulas Characters: Tarantulas, Prowl, brief appearances by Springer and Pharma Words: 4500 Summary: Tarantulas, on the verge of death, requests to be left in his lab in the past to die. He doesn’t expect to find Prowl there. He expects Prowl to save his life even less. And now—waking up on a hospital bed with Prowl, here, sitting beside him—he’s beginning to consider that maybe his plan to win Prowl back used the wrong strategy. Notes: I’ve owed @fiveboos this fic since TFCon last October. Never let it be said I don’t keep my promises. Eventually. Warnings: Remember how Tarantulas looks at the end of Requiem? He still looks like that.

###

"One—" Tarantulas grasped pleadingly at Springer's arm. "One last request. I don't—want to—die, here."

Springer nodded, optics warm and focused on Tarantulas, giving him his full attention. He was so good, such a good person, and Tarantulas had made him. "Where?"

"M-my lab," he said. "On Cybertron. Where—where you were born." He smiled, and only felt half his face move. "After my last visit, but... before Thunderwing. I'll g-give you the date and coordinates." He'd lived in his lab; it was fitting for him to die there, to be entombed until Cybertron was reborn.

Springer nodded. "Okay," he said. "Your lab."

###

The pain increased as Springer worked out the controls and put in Tarantulas's coordinates, until it was dazzling in how excruciating it was; and then it faded, rapidly, to nothing. And that was more alarming. "I—h-haven't got much—"

"I know," Springer said grimly. Tarantulas could hear the time machine powering up, and the shadows on the ceiling above him shifted in the light of the portal. "Okay, got it. Let's go."

Tarantulas felt Springer's arms under his shoulders and legs. "N-no..." He pushed weakly against Springer's chest. "My lab, is—irradiated. And, c-corrosive gasses. If you come through— I don't want to h-harm you."

Springer paused; Tarantulas's one working optic kept focusing and unfocusing on his face, and the optic band over it periodically flickered out. "Okay. I'll carry you as far as the gate. Then what, you want me to throw you through?" He smiled.

Tarantulas laughed; it wasn't a full cackle, but it was enough to rattle something in his chest that shouldn't be rattling. "Set me on the floor. I can—manage a few feet myself."

"All right." He settled Tarantulas sitting upright, leaning against the frame of the portal. It hurt far more than laying down—he could feel the weight of his remaining spider legs pulling down on his back, ripping at already-damaged armor and struts in his blasted shoulder—but it would make it easier to get through the portal.

"Goodbye—S-Springer. Ostaros."

"Goodbye, Mesothulas. And... thank you."

Tarantulas smiled at Springer—or tried to, with his face shattered and half his mandibles missing—and for a moment, he was tempted to stay here, spend his remaining seconds with his creation.

But somehow he didn't want to force Springer to watch his maker die. And so, laboriously, he turned toward the portal, and dragged himself through with one arm and the awkward help of four spider legs.

The portal turned off.

Wounds already stinging from radiation, Tarantulas collapsed to the floor of his old abandoned lab and waited to die.

###

Except, the second he collapsed, a very close, very familiar voice said, "What the hell?!"

Tarantulas forced his fading optic band back on. There was someone in his lab. His abandoned lab, millennia after his own final visit to it. His vision swam, trying to focus on the hulking figure next to him—and then all at once it was crystal clear: a mech covered head to foot in the Autobots' preferred anti-rad armor. It was impossible to see who was inside it. But Tarantulas knew. He'd heard his voice. He'd know his voice anywhere.

"Pr—" he wheezed. "Pr—o—"

Prowl stepped back, slinging a gun off his back that, even with the added bulk of his anti-rad armor, looked ill-suited in his hands. "What the hell are you? How did you get in here?" He sounded angry, the same way millennia in the future he would sound angry to be trapped in Tarantulas's web, angry to be manhandled and blackmailed and bargained with; and only now did Tarantulas realize that the anger was actually fear.

Tarantulas realized with a jolt that Prowl had no way to recognize him. This was so long ago, Prowl undoubtedly still thought Mesothulas consigned to the Noisemaze. He hadn't seen Tarantulas's new body—or a natural tarantula, for that matter—hell, for all Tarantulas knew, Prowl had never seen an organic in the flesh before. And now here was a massive technorganic in front of him, mangled so badly he was probably hard to identify even as bipedal, who had tumbled out of a mysterious glowing portal in an abandoned radioactive lab—

"It's m-me," he wheezed. "Don't shoot, P-Prowl, please—I can'tzz h-harm..." He hacked up a mouthful of green energon, rapidly congealing. "Please."

The last time Prowl had seen him, he'd tried to murder him, and surely nothing about Tarantulas's appearance looked less worthy of being murdered now; and yet, Prowl lowered his gun. "...Mesothulas?"

"Zzyes. I'm... s-zztso sorry to... die in front of you, like this—" He laughed, coughed, and choked at the same time. "It's n-not what I zzzt wanted... you to..."

Prowl took a step toward Tarantulas, knees bending like he wanted to kneel next to him; but then he stopped, and backed up. And without a word, he turned and ran away from him. Sprinting at top speed, fighting against the clunky suit to move as fast as possible.

Tarantulas tried to call to him to stay—please, Prowl, don't leave him again—but all that came out was a dispirited, staticky hiss. Tarantulas's optic froze a moment, and when it rebooted, Prowl was gone.

Well, he'd come here to die alone, hadn't he? But it was worse now. Merely being alone was far different from contemplating the Prowl-shaped void in his life. He wished Prowl hadn't been here. He hated Prowl for being here.

He stared dully down the path Prowl had taken away from him, and listened as his systems shut down one by one.

And then there was Prowl, sprinting back for Tarantulas as fast as he'd left.

Tarantulas's spark surged joyously; he felt himself die a little faster. "Przzkl... Y-you came b..."

Prowl shoved him roughly onto his back, ripped Tarantulas's chest open wider—the metal screamed—and shoved a rusty, clawed weapon into the gap. Tarantulas tried to grab Prowl's wrist, but couldn't lift his arm. Why? Why?

Tarantulas dimly recognized the weapon as his own prototype spark extractor.

He felt his soul sucked inside-out.

Then nothing.

###

The first thing Tarantulas was aware of was the bright lights on the ceiling above him.

No. No, that wasn't the ceiling.

That was a face.

It was grinning at him.

It wasn't Overlord's face, and Overlord's was the only face he expected to be within five miles of him. Where was he? What was going on? He'd been dying, hadn't he?

Tarantulas stared at the face, blearily, as it swam into focus. And then croaked, "Primus?"

"Close!" the face said. "Pharma. And I am delighted to meet you, Mesothulas. I've got so many questions to ask about your body."

Tarantulas stared in fuzzy befuddlement at Pharma. "Ah?"

"I want to know all about where you got it and how it works," Pharma said. "It's so unusual, I was barely able to patch you up! Me! And the flesh that's grafted onto the surface—it's ingenious. Disgusting, but ingenious. Who made it? I'm convinced someone did make it—Prowl thinks you were somehow mutated in, oh, some parallel dimension, he wouldn't explain it, kept saying 'classified information'—"

It took longer than it should have for Tarantulas to register the name. And then he bolted up—or tried to. He was still missing half his arms and spider legs, apparently, and ended up instead sort of sliding sideways. "Prowl!"

"Pharma," the mech over him corrected.

"No! Where's— Where's Prowl? He was with me, where did he..."

"Ah." Pharma pointed across Tarantulas's berth. "On your blind side."

Tarantulas's head whipped around ("Careful," Pharma scolded), and there Prowl was. Sitting there, looking at Tarantulas, as though that was a perfectly natural place for him to be. By Tarantulas's side. On a chair. Looking at him. By his side.

Tarantulas stared at him.

Prowl looked away.

"Spark rpm kicked up," Pharma muttered. "I told you you'd make him anxious, Prowl. Out the door, I won't have you disturbing my patient."

"No!" Tarantulas cried, twisting to give Pharma a pleading look. "No, please, let—let him stay. I want to talk to him."

Pharma stared at Tarantulas. "I did plug your brain module back in right, didn't I?"

"Pharma," Prowl said crossly. "I told you I'd need an opportunity to debrief Mesothulas once he was conscious and stable. Is he medically stable to your satisfaction?"

Pharma sighed, and circled around to Prowl's side of the berth, so he could lean in and... Tarantulas presumed he was examining his wounds, although he was still blind on that side. He could see the edge of a hole still gaping on the left side of his chest, but couldn't quite bend his neck enough to see how much of him was still missing.

"Welds still holding," Pharma said. "For now. If you absolutely must interrogate him immediately..."

"Welds," Tarantulas said dumbly, as if it had only just occurred to him that he must have had some repairs done to him in order for him not to be dead. "How—how am I still—? I was dying. How in the world—"

"Prowl hauled you in with your frame already going gray and your spark preserved in the most jury-rigged excuse for a spark extractor I've ever seen," Pharma said. "Your spark decayed slowly enough in the extractor that I was able to repair enough damage to your body to get your spark home and reignite it."

Tarantulas's gaze jerked back to Prowl, who was looking somewhere past him. He'd saved Tarantulas's life. He'd saved Tarantulas's life? He'd snapped to save him the moment he recognized the damage he was in, the moment he recognized who he was. He'd run to save him.

And with a spark extractor, of all things! Tarantulas breathed, "Ingenious."

"Yes, I know," Pharma said smugly.

Prowl glanced up at Pharma. "If you don't mind..."

"Yes, yes, I'll get out of your way." Pharma fixed Tarantulas with a sharp look. "Don't let him force you to do anything strenuous."

"Don't worry, doctor. I'm not going to do anything more strenuous than talk."

"Talk with Prowl," Pharma said pointedly. Looking at Prowl, he said, like it was a threat, "I'm going to be monitoring his vitals remotely."

Prowl nodded. "Of course."

Pharma gave Tarantulas one last critical look, then turned to leave the room. The door swung shut behind him. His footsteps disappeared down the hall. Tarantulas simply looked at Prowl, reveling in the knowledge that he was here, at Tarantulas's sick bed; and Prowl looked back at him. For several seconds, they were silent.

Then they both started talking at once.

"How did you get out of the Noisemaze?!"

"What were you doing in my lab?!"

"What did the maze do to you?!"

"Why did you save my life?!"

"I'm sorry."

"Where in the universe did you take— Wait. What?"

Prowl couldn't look at Tarantulas. He looked down at his hands, laced in front of him, elbows on his knees.

"Repeat that," Tarantulas commanded.

"I asked you a question first," Prowl said. "And, as you pointed out, I saved your life. Answer my questions first."

"Saved it?! You tried to end my life," Tarantulas snapped. Prowl half-shrugged, grimaced, and tilted his head, as though to say, fair point. "Answer to me, Prowl. Repeat what you just said. I want to hear it clearly."

Prowl frowned. "I'm not—"

"Say it!"

Prowl flinched. For most people, flinching was a sharp cringe back, submissive and avoidant. Prowl's flinch made his expression harden and his back straighten.

"I'm sorry," he said. "For locking you in an experimental torture prison without a trial and leaving you there to die."

"And?"

"'And'?"

"And 'I'm sorry for kidnapping'...?"

"Oh. I wouldn't call it a kidnapping. He was incapable of any autonomous activity, much less of taking care of himself. If I hadn't taken him along—"

"Prowl."

Prowl huffed. "All right. From the perspective of, say, the beginning of the day, it’s understandable that my actions might have been construable as a kidnapping; and on those grounds, I apologize for the perceived—“

“Prowl."

He fell silent for a moment. Then looked down again. "I'm sorry for kidnapping Ostaros."

"Sorry," Tarantulas muttered. "Sorry. Everything I went through—everything you put me through—and all you have to say is sorry."

"Sincere question," Prowl said. "Is there anything else I could say that would help you?"

And there wasn't. So Tarantulas said nothing.

In truth, it was a marvel he had even gotten that much out of Prowl. He certainly hadn't gotten that from Prowl in the future, millions of years later, when he descended upon him with the evidence of what Prowl had turned him into—what he'd turned himself into for Prowl. What was the difference? Had Prowl lost his remorse over Mesothulas in the intervening millennia? Had Tarantulas been fortunate to jump into the past at one of Prowl's periodic dips into higher morality?

No—Tarantulas doubted it. Something else had to be different. What had changed—or would change, as the case may be—between this meeting and the one in which Tarantulas had kidnapped Prowl?

... Well. "Kidnapping Prowl" was a rather large detail, wasn't it. Kidnapping him and blackmailing them. In retrospect, Tarantulas supposed that would rather keep Prowl out of any sort of reconciliatory, remorseful state of mind, wouldn't it.

Is that all it would have took? God—did he waste all that time, all those years preparing the perfect trap to dazzle and intimidate Prowl, when all along, all he had to do to receive an apology was—was—was nothing? Just turn up? Just show up with a hole blown through his spark and collapse at his feet?

It burned to think that he had—that he'd wasted all of that, for nothing.

And for a moment, he wanted to make Prowl burn too. Just a little. "I'm surprised you bothered to save me," he snipped. "When you could have far more easily just left me to die—and ensure that your little secret about you-know-where would no longer have anyone left who could spill it."

He'd expected—he'd hoped—that Prowl would look scared, or hurt, or guilty. Prowl looked none of those things. What he didn't expect was for Prowl to look confused. Was he more callous than even Tarantulas had thought? To have forgotten Carpessa? To have forgotten which secret he'd thrown Tarantulas into hell to keep?

Then something clicked on. "You think I locked you up as a—as a cover-up? To keep a secret? You weren't going to tell, you didn't have anybody to tell." (It was so true that Tarantulas couldn't even be offended.) "That's—all these years, that's what you've believed?"

Tarantulas stared at him. "... Well, I did."

"That wasn't my objective," Prowl said hotly. "I was—" He paused; and there was the guilt and shame that Tarantulas had hoped to see. Now that he had it, he wasn't so sure he wanted it after all. "I—my objective was to... to remove the thing that... caused me to make decisions like that."

Tarantulas gaped at him. "You tried to kill me because you thought I was a bad influence?" He laughed harshly, angrily. It hurt to laugh, pained the parts of him that were missing. Prowl didn't look at him. "Why would—Why not kill me again, then? If my presence is so very terrible for your decision-making capabilities? Why did you save me this time."

"Because—you weren't what was causing me to do the wrong thing." Prowl's already guilty face twisted further, into something that looked uncomfortably close to self-loathing. Somewhere in Prowl's mind must have been self-reproaches compounded upon self-reproaches: the knowledge of the crimes he'd committed—and the knowledge that he'd martyred Mesothulas for those crimes, for no reason.

Tarantulas could have told Prowl that Tarantulas was never the one making Prowl's decisions. No one had ever guided Prowl's decisions except for himself. He was too stubborn, too proud, too beautifully distant and independent. Hearing Prowl admit it, Tarantulas should have wanted to gloat. It was what he'd always wanted to hear Prowl confess: that regardless of whatever high ideals he tried to serve, his stabs at performing morality were a sham; that he could be just as wicked as Tarantulas; that he was just as wicked. Tarantulas was never the one who dragged Prowl off his pedestal of moral purity and down into the dirt: no, they had each inspired the other to dig. Tarantulas should get to gloat over this.

Instead—to his surprise—he found his anger toward Prowl softening in empathy.

Since he'd started lurking in Ostaros's—Springer's—life, Tarantulas had found himself aching inside, like acid softly eating him from the spark out, whenever he thought on all the little things he'd done to help make the world Springer lived in worse—and all the much larger things he might do yet. It was one of the reasons that, even though he'd agreed, eagerly, to collaborate with Overlord, he'd decided that they would only dissect the specimen with a time machine: any incisions they made to the past could be effortlessly sewn back shut once they'd made their observations. Springer wouldn't have to suffer for the changes Tarantulas made. Tarantulas had changed; he thought he understood what guilt felt like, now. And now he couldn't mock Prowl for feeling it. Of course he felt vile for having done little things to help make the world a little worse. He understood.

Maybe, he'd considered, guilt wasn't the weakness he'd thought it as, but a warning sign—a signpost to help guide you away from doing something you ought not do again. A defense against stupidity.

Tarantulas was beginning to fear he had been very stupid.

It was no wonder Prowl hat shot him down when he'd tried to offer the power to conquer the galaxy.

"I'm—for what it's worth," Tarantulas said, "I'm no longer interested in—trying to talk you into doing things you'd rather not. Or, trying to convince you that you want to do something you don't think you do." Was that true? Tarantulas didn't know; but he thought Prowl would probably like for it to be true.

He didn't look like he liked it. Bitterly, he said, "I don't need your help to make decisions I don't want to." And then sat up straighter, smoothed his face from guilty to professionally neutral, visibly changing the topic. "I don't know how you got out of the Noisemaze. But, whatever your trick was—I'm—glad that you did."

Tarantulas perked up. "Oh? Did you miss me?"

"Do I have to have missed you to be glad you didn't die?"

That wasn't a no. "Did you miss me?"

Prowl harrumphed. "I wouldn't say that."

Tarantulas tilted his head toward him, smiling. The gesture hurt. "What would you say?"

"That..." Prowl tipped his head back, looking up at the ceiling, choosing his words carefully. "That—I have—been unsuccessful in finding an inventor to collaborate with who has—been as... responsive to my requests as you were. Do not mistake me, the Autobots have a plethora of scientists, engineers, and inventors more than competent enough to meet any requests I make—but they don't tend to innovate on my proposals the way you did. That's all."

Which was clearly, blatantly intended as a brush-off. I didn't miss you; all I missed was the things you made for me. But Tarantulas's spark spun faster anyway; his spark monitor undoubtedly would indicate an increase in the rpm again. Millennia in the future, Tarantulas would say to Prowl, I miss the way that you inspired me; and here, now, millennia in the past, Prowl had said to Tarantulas, I miss the way that you were inspired by me. The statements made a Möbius strip out of their mutual longing, each infinitely flowing into and looping back around to each other. Each the muse to the other.

And with that realization, he wondered, suddenly, what this strange new Prowl that paralleled Tarantulas's words and didn't cringe away from him would do if Tarantulas touched him. If Tarantulas reached out, took his hand, or cupped his face and pulled him in...

He tried to roll onto his side to stretch his one functioning arm toward Prowl; but doing so rolled him onto the wounded ruin of his shoulder and chest, and he curled in on himself, hissing in pain.

"Mesothulas!" Prowl's hands were on him, on his chest and shoulder, pushing him to roll flat on his back. "Don't do that." Prowl was standing to lean over Tarantulas, frowning down at him—annoyed or worried? It must be worried. Please, let him be worried. "Haven't you seen how bad your wounds are?"

In wonder, Tarantulas said, "You're touching me."

Prowl paused. "Of course I am." As if there were anything "of course" about this.

"Tell me again," Tarantulas said, "that you didn't miss me."

Prowl didn't. He looked away, lifting his hands off of Tarantulas's body. Tarantulas grabbed the wrist of the hand leaving his chest and pulled it back into place. Prowl didn't try to withdraw again.

"I missed you, Prowl."

"I can't imagine why."

"Can't you?" Tarantulas ran the fang at the tip of his chelicera-thumb in the gap between Prowl's wrist and hand.

Tarantulas wasn't sure whether Prowl shivered or shuddered. "That—whatever is protruding from your armor—"

"It's called setae."

"Does it—spread? Is it contagious?"

Tarantulas chuckled wheezily, at the same time as he found himself wondering whether Prowl, this Prowl, this younger Prowl had yet to set foot on an alien world and see organics for himself. "It is wholly contained to my own body, never fear."

"We can remove it while you're here getting all your other repairs."

"No, no." Tarantulas started to shake his head and immediately regretted it. "It's supposed to be there. I'm keeping it."

"Why? What's—What is it for?"

They were drifting frustratingly far from their original topic, and just when Tarantulas felt he was on the verge of persuading Prowl to admit something—something Tarantulas hadn't thought was there—something he so desperately needed to have confirmed. "If you don't like how it feels, then touch me somewhere else." He let go of Prowl's wrist, allowing him to withdraw completely if he wanted to. He felt like he was taking a deadly risk—but he'd already tried to force Prowl into choosing him, and see how that had all fallen apart. See how he'd said I want you, I want us, and Prowl had said you're asking if I'm frightened to face the repercussions of my terrible judgment: no. What he needed now was to see whether Prowl would choose him if he was free to make the choice, free of fear and blackmail and hostages and kidnapping.

For a moment, Tarantulas was terrified he wouldn't. Prowl bristled at the dare, pulling his hand back quickly; but then leaned back in, and closer, and cupped Tarantulas's face in his hand. His fingers fit perfectly in the corrugated grooves of Tarantulas's cheek. Tarantulas felt light enough to float.

"I shouldn't be doing this," Prowl said. Tarantulas had never heard him speak so softly before. "You're so injured."

"I'd be even more gravely injured if you pulled away from me now."

"Difficult to imagine. I can see your exposed brain module."

"Then I'm glad you get to see my best assets."

Tarantulas could have sworn that Prowl's face almost shifted, like he wanted to smile. "Stop that." He bent closer to Tarantulas, optics dimming—Tarantulas's vents hitched—Prowl's lips ghosted softly over the tips of Tarantulas's outstretched mandibles—

Footsteps pounded down the hallway. "I don't know what kind of torture you normally put your agents through, Prowl. But as long as this one is my patient, I will not stand idly by while his spark RPMs give off readings better suited to pulsars than to—" Pharma opened the door, took one step in, immediately backpedaled, and slammed the door.

Prowl jerked back, and when his lips left Tarantulas's face it felt like being paralyzed with a rush of icy wind. For a moment, there was silence.

"I'll check in on Mesothulas later," Pharma said through the closed door. His footsteps hurriedly vanished down the hall.

Tarantulas gave Prowl the best pleading look he could with half a visor and a broken optic. Prowl shook his head, and sank back into his seat. "You're injured," he said, yet again. "I shouldn't risk exacerbating it."

"I won't always be injured," Tarantulas said hopefully. "Then...? Or, when that day comes, will this be—just another mistake you've made with me?"

Tarantulas tried his best to keep the question gentle. Prowl winced anyway. "I hope not. But I don't know," he said. "I'm tired of making mistakes. It's going to keep happening, I know, that's life, but—I don't want you to be one again."

"What do you want me to be to you, then?"

Tarantulas was disappointed but he supposed he wasn't surprised when Prowl didn't answer.

"We can figure that out," Tarantulas offered. "Together, with time." Prowl at least nodded in agreement to that—oh, the relief. Tarantulas was getting a second chance. This one he wouldn't squander. He'd do anything Prowl asked, make anything Prowl wanted—that was all Tarantulas had desired in the first place, after all. He had knowledge of technologies that wouldn't exist for millions of years—he could become their inventor, dazzle Prowl with designs he'd never dreamed of. He had just enough knowledge of the war that he could steer Prowl away from the actions Tarantulas knew he would regret, oh, how grateful Prowl would be to Tarantulas for that—imagine! Tarantulas playing the part of Prowl's conscience! And soon enough the war would end—

The very fuel in Tarantulas's lines froze.

The war would end. And then the other Tarantulas would storm in, brimming with blackmail and greed.

He was out there already, no doubt. At this point in history he'd already escaped the Noisemaze, begun his long pilgrimage across the universe to learn from the luminaries of science. How long was it yet until he turned his attentions back to Prowl? If Tarantulas went through with his plan to provide Prowl with the wonders of the future, how long until his younger self deduced that Prowl had adopted a new pet scientist, and became fiercely jealous?

"Prowl—" Tarantulas reached for him, chelicera weakly pointed toward Prowl's hands. By now, Tarantulas had no idea whether or not to expect Prowl to take it.

But he did. Prowl scooted to the edge of his seat, and took Tarantulas's hand in both of his. He even ran his thumb, lightly, over the back of his chelicera, as though studying the way his setae bent under the pressure and then snapped back into place.

He'd deal with his younger self. Perhaps he'd teach him how to make a time machine of his own, and let him shunt himself off to another branch timeline where he could claim a Prowl for his own. But he'd kill him if he had to. He could do that. He was sure he could.

Tarantulas squeezed Prowl's hands, looked in his optics, and said, softly, "I'm not going to lose you again. I refuse to lose you again."

The look Prowl gave Tarantulas said that he was thinking the same words.

###

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[missblissy]

Low Honor!Arthur Morgan X Reader Part 2

((Many people asked for this and I wanted to write a part two to this because it was such a good prompt. Thank you again to the anon who sent it in!! You can read Part One Here!!))

A warm and gentle breeze greeted his skin. He cleared his throat a few times, hating the constant onslaught of phlegm he had to fight just to breath. Arthur was eternally grateful for the warm mountain air that tempted him. It was easy to breathe, and he felt light, almost like he was floating on the wind the guided him through the tall mountain passes. 

The mighty stallion he road might have disagreed, but Arthur much enjoyed this long and quiet journey. It had given him time to think, reflect, and judge himself. There was a lot to think about, between now and then. He had spent the vast majority of his ride already trying to talk himself out of doing it. This was a stupid idea, he would tell himself. But then the next second he’d say, If I don’t do this, I will regret it.

Arthur’s eyes perked up when he noticed the trail began to descend, “We must be getting close, almost there, boyah,” The horse didn’t reply, but still, Arthur leaned down to give the beast a gentle pat.

He thought back on how nearly a week ago he had fainted in the streets of Saint-Denis. How the Pinkertons raided a camp in the swamps. How Dutch was abusing his power over the local Native Americans. He thought a lot about his talks with Rains Fall. He thought most about what Dutch told him in Gurama. He could still hear those words ring in his ears like a screaming bell that wouldn’t stop chiming.

“She was pregnant, Arthur! She would be useless to us anyway! It’s better she’s gone, we have fewer people to worry about!”

How? He knew, but he didn’t. Months had passed since then. Enough months that maybe, just maybe, that baby had been born. Arthur thought of a million reasons why you left. He narrowed them down but never would have guessed which one. Yet again, much to his surprise -but not really- he had fathered another child. 

Finding you was the hardest part. When Arthur learned he was dying, he wanted to try and become a better man. He started helping more, robbing less, and doing what he thought was right. Which including going behind Dutch’s back. Again. And Again, and again. Even now he was. Dutch forbid Arthur to go searching for you, and for whatever reason, Dutch didn’t give a reason why. Arthur, being Arthur, did what he so damn wanted, especially if with the fact that he had fewer and fewer days to spare. This was one of the last things he wanted to do. After this... He needed to do everything he could for John.

Arthur spent the first three days looking for you by bribing post office men, and mailmen of the sorts by looking for a Miss (Y/N) (L/N). On his last day, he finally found someone that knew your name. The mailman said the last he heard, she was sending letters from Lake Alma, a large logging town in a deep valley far beyond the Grizzles, north of Ambarino. Very north of Ambarino. It was about a four-day ride north. 

He could see further down the mountain trail, as he ventured further into the valley, a welcome sign that said We Welcome you to Lake Alma!

Arthur felt very nervous, he had an address, and he hoped it was right. He wasn’t sure if you lived in town, or outside of town. Awful thoughts ping-ponged around in his head. He started getting confused and flustered about what to say to you. Arthur’s stomach twisted in knots and his breath grew thicker and heavier as he started to wheeze. He took a scrap of paper out and looked at it again, reading the street and address number. 

This couldn’t be right... No. Arthur found himself staring at a very large house. He’d go as far to say a mansion. Arthur was very confused, but this was the only lead he had. Perhaps you stayed here at one point? There was no way on earth you could afford to live in a place like this. Maybe you worked here? 

He got off his horse, slow and steady, and took his time walking up to the front porch of this big white house in the middle town. The neighbors had homes just as big and pretty and white. God, this was uncomfortable. Arthur found himself at the front door faster than he expects. He took a breath, shaky and weak, then knocked on the door three times. 

A second passed, then another, a few more then suddenly the large glass door was opened. A man stood there, tall stern. He wasn’t much taller than Arthur, but he had dark black hair that matched a small fuzzy beard. He peered over his half-moon glasses with old tired eyes. Arthur noticed he wore the kind of clothes you’d see a doctor in, “Can I help you?”

Startled and stunned, Arthur froze before clearing his throat, “Uh-”

The man cut him off, “I only see patients at my office,” He studied Arthur’s poor health, “Which is closed today.”

“N-no... Sorry, Mister,” Arthur tipped his head, trying to hide his face under his hat, “I was looking for a Miss (Y/N) (L/N)... Um.. she was a friend of mine-”

This bastard sure was rude. He cut Arthur off again while raising he brow and asked, “You’re... Arthur... Aren’t you?”

“Excuse me?” How did this man know his name? Who was he? Did he know you?

“Just a second,” The strange man closed the door quickly and Arthur could see past the distorted glass as he went deep inside the house. Moments passed and Arthur felt a flashback to when he visited Mary. His heart picked up, he felt nervous and self-conscious. 

Suddenly there was movement behind the door and the nob clicked open. 

“Arthur?” There you were. He couldn’t believe his eyes. You... You looked like a princess, dressed in an all-white dress, with your hair done up pretty, with earing and jewels. Like... God, he thought you were so much different than the cowgirl he knew. Always covered in mud, grime and dried blood. Wearing pants and hats with guns to the teeth.

“(Y-Y/N)... I...” He noticed how thin you were, “You look different,” Was all he could get out of his mouth.

You opened the door a little more, step out and onto the porch, “So do you,” You said grimly. It had almost been a year since you last saw him. Almost. Maybe a month or two shy. He looked... he looked downright awful, “What happened to you?” Funny, that was the only thing you could also say. How did he find you? What... What did he want?

Arthur gave you a small smile while reaching in his pocket and pulling out a cigarette. He let out a low hum while lighting it, “Lots of things,” He clicked his tongue, “But mostly... mostly just here and there.” You could see how hard it was for him to smoke that thing. He coughed a few times, bad, and he fought to catch his breath.

You’ve seen this all before, and you were damn familiar with it, “Arthur... you’re sick aren't you?”

He chuckled to your surprise, “You guessed it,” He sounded so bitter, angry even, “I’m dying, (Y/N).” He sounded like he was done talking, but he took a deep breath and brought his gaze to meet yours. You forgot just how blue and sad his eyes were, “I know about the baby, (Y/N). Dutch told me,”

You blinked several times, your mouth hung open slightly. You took in a sharp breath and shook your head slightly, “I-...Wh-what? Is that why you came here?”

Arthur was about to speak again but the stranger showed up again. He was really getting on Arthur’s nerves. Instead, Arthur got angry and little snotty, “Who is this guy?” He asked you as you waved a hand at the stranger.

The man didn’t seem fazed, he didn’t even react to Arthur’s immature tone. In fact, he just looked down at you, giving you the chance to explain. Arthur stared at you, waiting for an answer while you knitted your brows and frowned slightly, “My husband,” you said, “Arthur, this is Nick,”

“Nicolas Garcon, Dr. Nicolas Garcon,” The man’s voice was suddenly thick with a heavy French accent. Arthur very much suddenly hated this Nicolas.

You turned to your husband, a smile on your face, “It’s fine dear, go collect the rest of those books for me, please? Leave them in my gazebo and I’ll meet you there later?”

Nicolas didn’t say anything. He apparently wasn’t much of a man for words. He simply went on his way, back into the house and thankfully away from Arthur. On the other hand, Arthur was very... surprised. You married this guy? Of all the people? You either really loved him, or something he had, and Arthur wasn’t sure which.

After a few seconds, you looked back to Arthur, “Would you like to come in?”

His face was still hanging in disbelief, “Sure,” He didn’t sound too sure. Arthur followed you inside. The house was very nice. Smaller and cuter than Angelo Bronte’s house, but just as white and gold and glistening as Henri Lemieux’s large home. Regardless, he couldn’t deny it was beautiful. He had been in many mansion this past year, but yours was by far his favorite. He could tell you made this place your home.

There were books everywhere, you were an avid reader and enjoyed learning. He could see the painting you must have to choose, they were all of flowers or landscapes. Arthur faintly remembered a time when you were younger, bugging him to draw you pictures to hang in your tent. He even saw photographs hanging on the wall.

“That’s me-” Arthur caught you by surprise, you stopped and looked back at him. He was staring at a photo of himself, Dutch, Hosea, and you, “That’s... us. You kept this thing?”

You had nearly forgotten that picture you put up. It was one of the only things you had left to remind you of your old life. You missed it every now and then, “Yeah,” It hurt a little, “You guys are the only family I know,” Arthur kept looking at it, you could see him processing forbidden emotions. 

A woman unknown to Arthur came rushing down the large staircase you were already making your way towards, “Madam!” She called lightly, “Madam, the little one had woken up,” She was a short chubby woman, who looked twice as old as Arthur.

Both you and Arthur perked at her announcement, “Thank you, Laura,” You smiled at her, thankful she was around and here to help, “Can you hold on a moment, I’ve got a guest. We’ll be up shortly,” The maid nodded her head, give Arthur a smile as well before heading back upstairs.

Arthur looked back at you. You were a faint hollow shadow of your formal self, the real you. This? This... rich man’s wife? This wasn’t you, it couldn’t be, “How?” He simply asked, “How... Did you-”

You knew what he was asking, so you swallowed the lump in your throat, “Luck I guess. After I left the camp,” You paused, remembering things you didn’t want to remember, “I... I fled into the mountains. I knew I had to get out of the area, go somewhere I knew Dutch wouldn’t want to go. I made it here after two weeks of getting lost in the snow.”

“Then you met him?” He gestured to what Arthur assumed was your wedding photo, “And married him?”

Your laugh startled him and made his heartache. You giggled behind your hand, “Oh no- Nick and I only just got married, about a week ago.”

Something about that made Arthur irrational angry. His dumb man brain told him he had a chance to come up here earlier and he should have come up earlier. He cursed himself for prolonging this for so long.

“But- yes, Nick was the first person I met when I got here. I was already two months pregnant, starving and nearly frozen to death. He found me and took me into his home. This home. He’s been nothing more than helpful, and we are very similar people,” 

Arthur found that extremely hard to believe, you could tell by the way his face twisted up. He gave you that look often when you were younger. It made a small part of your heart flicker awake, that you thought was long since dead. It just didn’t make sense, so he asked it, “Why did you marry him?”

“He asked... And,” Your voice went a little soft, “This.. this was the best option for my daughter.”

A daughter? He had a daughter? Arthur’s face lit up, then went pale as a sheet. In his weak and sick state, he didn’t try to hide his emotions anymore. He was like reading an open book. You couldn’t imagine what he was feeling. And he was feeling a lot.

Arthur lowered his head eventually, he took on a grim tone, “I’m sorry,” He said slowly, “This- I... I shouldn’t have treated you the way I did, the last time we spoke. You were right, (Y/N). About everything. You opened my eyes up to that, and so did the threat of death that constantly hangs over my head.”

You forgave Arthur a long time ago. You thought you would never see him again, or anyone for that matter. To his surprise, and your own a little bit, you had turned into someone completely different from your formal self. You became a wife and a mother, something Arthur never saw in you. You became domesticated, in a way.

A somber look grew on both your faces. You swore that you’d keep your daughter miles and miles away from your former life. You devoted every second of your time to her, which was a surprise to you. It was a lot easier than you first thought, maybe that’s why you helplessly fell in love with Nicolas. For the first time in what felt like years, you found someone who wanted nothing more than to help you and make a better person out of you. He showered you in the attention you so craved from Arthur, or from any on-again-off-again lover. 

The fact that Arthur came all this way to find you, to find your daughter and confront you about it. It made you confused and honestly sad. If it was not for the fact that Arthur was quite literally dying, you’d probably turn him away.

“Do you want to see her?” You finally asked the question that Arthur couldn’t quite ask himself.

He stood there, silent, still and sad. His hat covered the vast majority of his face. Though it was barely noticeable, you saw the quick little nod and heard the tiny little, “Yes.” 

You went upstairs, Arthur following close behind. The tink tink tink of his spurs along the hardwood floors reminded you of the days long in the past. Seeing Arthur here? It hurt you honestly. It opened up wounds you thought healed, but really you only covered them up. You stopped at a white door that had a little pink sign on it that said, Meadow. 

Arthur could put two and two together, “How old is she?” He asked before you could open the door. He was so nervous. It was just a baby, it wasn’t like she’d know who he was. It’s not like you’d let her know who he was either. She’d grow with Nicolas as a father, not Arthur, and that's all she needed.

“Only a month,” You turned the door nob, “She was born a few weeks premature, so she’s small,” The crisp white room nearly blinded Arthur when he looked inside.

The nursery was cute, small and neat. He eyes immediately locked on a small crib where the maid Laura was standing. She smiled at them then excused herself. You walked over to your daughter without hesitation, unlike Arthur was seemed physically scared of a baby, “Come on,” You quipped, “She only bite a little.”

Arthur slowly tip-toed his way closer and closer to the crib. There inside he found possibly the smallest most helpless baby he’s ever seen. LIttle baby Meadow had large blue eyes that stared up at the world, and thin curly blonde hair growing in every direction. Arthur’s brows knitted together as he gazed down at this little girl. His face hardened, and you could see how much this hurt him.

“She looks like you,” You said quietly. She really did, she looked nothing like you in your opinion. She had Arthur’s eyes and his light hair. Her face was soft and round with little defining features yet.

“I’m...I...” He was at a loss for words, “Meadow,” He said the name, tasting it on his tongue. It was a fitting name, he thought, she was as beautiful as a wild meadow filled with flowers swaying with the waves of wind that passed over it, “Hello, Meadow.” Arthur bit at his upper lip, he was fighting emotions he thought he’d never feel again. But this time it was far more worse, and these emotions were very unwanted, “I’m sorry I can’t be your daddy, little girl, sometimes I wish I could,” He reached down slowly into the crib, holding a finger out for her. She grabbed it fast and held on tight, “You got a really smart, brave, and pretty mama. You got a rich daddy, a big house, and a life I could never give you,” He smiled when Meadow looked up at him and giggled, smiling her own toothless cheeky baby smile.

Hearing Arthur say those things touched your heart and soul. You could feel his pain, fear, and regret waving off him like a violent storm. For some reason, you had regret too. What if you stayed there, in camp? Would Arthur have changed? Would you have had a chance with him? But then you remember the newspaper article your husband gave you just a few days ago, about how awful and terrible the Dutch Van der Linde gang was, and all the gang members that have been killed, and all the people the gang killed. You knew in your mind that you made the right choice, but your heart was screaming for a different one.

Arthur kept looking down at his daughter, loving her for the few seconds he’d allow himself too. Eventually, he pulled his hand away and she began to cry. She let out small whimpers like she was begging for him to come back. It was hard, but he did his best to back away from the crib. When you looked away from Meadow, and back to Arthur, you caught a glimpsof him rubbing his eyes with his index finger and thumb. He shed little tears, but he still shed them.

“You made the right choice,” Arthur said after a few moments, “I’m glad you left, there wouldn’t be much of a life for her if you stayed. I wish it was different, I wish I was different,” Arthur paused, and you felt no need to cut into his words. He sounded like he was just rambling off his thoughts, not really thinking about what he said, but more so feeling what he needed to feel, “I’m glad I got to meet her though,” He ne he’d regret if he didn’t, and even though it killed him, he was still glad he did this before his time finally ran out, “I should get going, I don’t want to over stay my welcom-”

“Are you sure, Arthur?” You couldn’t stop the words from blurting out. You became nervous and quickly added, “It’s such along ride back. At-.. At least stay a little longer. Let Nick give you some medicine. He specializes in... in your area of illness. He runs a hospital ward just outside town.”

The offer was tempting, but he really shouldn’t. Yet despite this thought, he found himself say, “Alright.” 

You called for Laura, asking her to watch Meadow for a few moments while you walked Arthur down stairs once more and towards the back of the house. You called out for your husband and asked him to do a simple task, then left Arthur alone with the man he just really didn’t like.

“She says you’re sick,” Nicolas waved a hand for Arthur to step inside what looked like to be a science lab. He was a doctor after all. There was a chair for him to sit in so Arthur made his way towards it.

“Sure, something like that,” He really didn’t want to talk much, though he did look around a lot. He was impressed, “Are you some kind of scientist?”

“Something like that,” If that was his attempted at a joke, it was very unfunny. What did you see in this guy? Clearly something Arthur didn’t see, “I spend a lot of time studying medicine and diseases. I do a little embalming work as well.” Nicolas walked over to a cabnit and pulled out two little bottle, then a syringe. He filled it half way with both then returned to Arthur, “This will hurt.” he said in a monotone voice.

Arthur winced as the needle dug into his skin, and he let out a quick breath when he felt the liquid force it’s way into his blood stream. It burned and felt like he was dying there for a second. Thank god it was over as quickly as it started. 

He was about to thank him, but Noclas started speaking much to his surprise, “She cares about you, I hope you know that,” He was talking about you, “She talks about you often, as much as she’d never admit that. My opinon of you is very small, probably as small as your opinon of me, but I’d do anything to make her happy, also just like you,” What was he trying to get at? Arthur wasn’t sure but he kept listening, “When (Y/N) first came her, all she did was cry about you, how she missed you and how much it hurt to leave on such a bad note. I couldn’t believe such a man existed to be so... selfish,” Rude, huh? Arthur rolled his eyes, but he knew Nicolas was right, “I did everything in my power to try and make her happy, to make her smile. I bought her books, I drew her pictures, I filled this house with paintings and flowers, and anything she liked. When she gave birth to Meadow, she wished you were there. She doesn’t really love me, Mr. Morgan. Maybe she says she does, but you are the one, and have been the only one on her mind for so long,”

It felt odd, yet there was now sense of similartiy between himself and this stoic doctor. Perhaps they were two side of the same coin. Arthur could remember how mard and how important it use to be to him to make you happy and see you smile. Just somewhere along the line he lost his honor, his way of thinking, and morals. It took the threat of death to bring him back up.

Arthur nodded his head slowly, “You’re better for her, better than me at least. For the both of them,”

“I know,” Nicolas deadpanned, “And I love them, even Meadow. I love her as if she was my own.”

At least he was honest. Arthur could respect that. He sat up, getting out of the chiar, “Thank you,” he said, “For this-” He raised his shoulder were he got the shot, “And... And for doing something I couldn’t. And can’t.” Both of them shared a silent look, then a nod. Nicolas lead Arthur out of his little lab and back into the center of the house. You were waiting by the door with a small bag in your hands.

When Arthur approched, you held out the bag for him, “Please, there’s some medicine in here, and some food for the trip back. I can’t imagine Dutch being keen on you being gone for so long,” You tried to smile but it didn’t meet your eyes.

“No, you’re right on that,” There was a poor attempt of a smile on his face, “Thank you. Both of you,” Arthur looked at you and your husband then gave a nod of his head, “Take care of her for me,” He was looking at you now, “I don’t know if we’ll ever cross paths again, (Y/N), but... thank you, and... Be well. I hope only good things happen to you.”

He gave a little tip of his hat, kept his eyes looking at the ground and excused himself out your front door. When the heavy glass door clicked shut, you let out a breath, a heavy and sad one. How terribly tragic this was. You wished, just for a second, maybe a second more, that your life could have been a little different, and have a little more of Arthur in it for just a little longer.

[sweetcatmintea]

A Very Good Day

@inexorableblob​ tagged me in a find the word game and I didn’t have any that they’d listed. The challenge was set; write a sentence with all of the words. I wrote a whole scene :v Enjoy! (Thanks for the prompts ^u^) Feedback appreciated!

Prompt: Frontier, Insubordination, Minimal, and Victory (Frontier was hard)

Words: 3404

Character(s): Echo and Storm

          Was it a dumb idea to slip out of the facility, practically at the crack of dawn with a sleepy Echo in tow, before anyone noticed they were gone? Absolutely. Was it down right idiotic to bring Avian, of all people, in on it to find out who was supposed to be shadowing them that day? Undoubtedly. Was that exactly what Storm found himself doing that dewy morning in the middle of winter? Three for three. Echo followed along, obediently holding his hand as he guided them away from the building. She was rugged up to the ears in her fuzzy brown jacket, their mothers red scarf, and thick gloves protecting her fingers. A stark contrast to Storm’s thin hoodie. Although, he only wanted it to cover his wings. The cold didn’t bother him after all. He had thought it would be difficult for her to wake up so early, but she’d recovered quickly. She was having a wonderful time pretending to be a frost dragon. Funny, that trick never seemed to work for him.

          The real plan wouldn’t start for a while - the rest of the world needed a chance to get up first. But if they’d delayed any longer, there’d be no getting away. In the meantime, they found a small, open-all-hours diner. There weren’t many perks to his current … situation, but there was one definite advantage. Money.

          A blast of warm air and stale coffee greeted them when they entered. A jukebox muttered out a jangly tune as they slid into one of the many empty booths. Red faux leather creaking with their movements. Storm unfolded a menu, holding it open so Echo could see.

          “Pick whatever you want for breakfast. Today’s gonna be a lot of fun.”

Her face lit up. [Anything?]

          “Yeah. Whatever you want. It’s your birthday breakfast.”

          She let out a delighted chirp, making quick work of scanning the menu and carefully contemplating the options. There were so many things to choose from! So many things she’d never even had before. Two steps in front of her head, her stomach growled. Burgers, eggs. Soup, pancakes …

          [Can I have waffles please? With bananas and maple syrup? And cream too! Please?]

          “Sure thing.” Storm signalled the waitress. It’s all about the confidence, he told himself. He’s totally not completely out of place here. He repeated the order, adding bacon and eggs, a coffee, and an apple juice. He could hardly believe his little sister was already eleven. She certainly didn’t act like it, but he still felt old. His heart tweaked a little at the thought. She was growing up. A blink and she’ll be a teenager. Gods knew he wasn’t prepared for that. He could only hope he was making the right decisions for her.

          Echo poked his arm, pulling him out of his musings. She looked like she was waiting for a response. Had she asked something?

          “Sorry, what did you say?”

She huffed, but repeated herself. [Are we going to get in trouble for this?]

          “No, of course not.” The awareness behind her eyes made his fur stand on end. What happened to all that naivety?

          Her brow furrowed, worry playing on her features. [We’re not supposed to go out alone. They’re gon-] Storm captured her hands in his own. They still fit.

          “Trust me. Everything is going to be fine. We’ll have a nice day, celebrate your birthday, head back, and everything will go back to normal. No problems.”

          Doubt flickered but faith overpowered it. Echo nodded, smiling brightly again. That was better. Storm was, without a doubt, going to have his ear chewed off when they went back. White would probably accuse him of “insubordination” or some other garbage. It didn’t matter. There were more important things than pleasing that pig sniffer. If Storm wanted to spend one day with his sister, by the stars, he was going to. And if White had a problem with that, well, he was just going to have to get in line.

          Their food arrived quickly. Unsurprising given the sparse customers. Storm didn’t know if Echo realised it, but she was purring while she dug in, happily munching away. Darn, she was a cute kid. She offered him a forkful of dripping banana waffle in exchange for a bite of his bacon.

          Business began picking up for the diner, signalling the next phase of his plan. Storm gathered up his sister, paid for the meal, and strolled onwards. Echo remembered her manners, signing her thanks from the safety of slightly behind her big brother as they left.

          Breakfast sorted, they boarded a train and watched the city melt away. Passing towns, parks, and lakes, Echo couldn’t begin to guess where they were going. There was a half-grown hope that they weren’t coming back, but Storm was not the kind of person not to pack beforehand. Without a suitcase between them, it didn’t look likely. Regardless, they shouldn’t be too easy to track down today.

~~~

          She never expected to be led to a zoo. She couldn’t quite believe it even as they manoeuvred around other milling patrons to gain admission. A ticket had always been a luxury beyond their means. The biting cold snapping at her nose suddenly didn’t matter. Jittery excitement filled her limbs, warming her and filling her with butterflies all at once. She tried to contain it, but her tail was practically vibrating as she bounced on the balls of her feet. They were going to the zoo!

          One glance at Echo and Storm knew he’d made the right decision. He’d torn himself apart debating the purchase for weeks. He wanted to get her the right gift. Tickets were expensive, even now that they weren’t on dirt poor avenue, poverty lane, and he’d been carefully saving every peckie so they could leave as soon as possible. But it was her birthday and if anyone deserved something nice, it was her. Maybe it would make up, at least a little, for his forced absenteeism. He could hardly keep his own tail from wagging as Echo walked, spell-bound, through the gates. Whatever was waiting for him back there, today was going to be a victory.  

          Not three feet passed the entrance and they saw their first animal. A peacock, all dazzling blues and greens, wandered up to them. Echo, reckless as ever, immediately took off after it, almost disappearing into the crowd. Hand holding was going to be a must here.

          “Echo, don’t run off! I don’t want to lose sight of you.”

          She gave a sheepish apology. [I was asking Nathaniel, that’s Mr. Peacock’s name, where we should go. He said to see the birds first.]

          Storm eyed the bird. “Did he now?”

[Yep.]

          Storm opened the map, pointing out where they were. “The birds are all the way back here. If we go there first, we’ll miss a lot of other exhibits and have to backtrack. Why don’t you pick a direction, left to giraffes or right to sheep, and we’ll go from there? We’ll take the best route to see all of the animals.”

          Echo followed along as Storm traced his finger along the potential paths, proving his claim.

          [Let’s go to the sheep!] Bouncing again. [Will we be able to pat them? I wanna pat a sheep!]

          Storm chuckled at her enthusiasm. “It looks like you can. There’s a little hand sign on the map.” She bit back a squeal of delight. “Let’s go then. Hold my hand while we’re here.”

          They found the path with minimal trouble. Despite all of the movement and the winding walkways, the signs were very clear. Birds twittered overhead, presumably chatting to their exotic friends. They arrived at what Storm could best describe as a giant, open, barn, ‘Petting Zoo within. Please wash hands’ was painted over the large entryway. Sheep and goats took turns bleating a chorus to chicken clucks and pig snorts. The smell was offensive. Hay and timber on their own were pleasant, but they couldn’t compete with the musty farm animals. Echo’s beeline for the first enclosure was circumvented by the insistence she take two seconds to follow the posted rules. Other children ran ahead of her, trailed by their less enthusiastic guardians. Finally, permission was granted. Barely waiting for the zookeeper to open the gate, she was waist deep in animals in no time. Storm followed, ready to fish her out again at a moment’s notice.  She chittered and trilled to them, greetings and pleasantries he supposed, before running her fingers through the closest sheep’s woollen curls. If the way she beamed was any indication, it held up to all her hopes and dreams. The more she spoke to them, the more animals joined her. They mustn’t get many Tainted visitors, or at least, many with animal speak. Storm kind of wished he knew what they were talking about. It was uncomfortable not knowing what they were filling her head with. He scratched at the rough horn of a goat to distract himself from his own over-protectiveness. The hair was coarser than he was expecting.

          When murmured complaints began piling around them, Storm figured it was time to move on. It wasn’t Echo’s fault that the animals were ignoring the other kids but that didn’t matter. Besides, there were plenty of other places to explore.

          “Come on, say bye to these guys. I think alpacas are next.”

          [But I love them.] Echo wrapped herself around a lamb, snuggling into its soft coat with big doe eyes for emphasis. Storm sighed internally. Please don’t let this be the procedure for every animal. He wouldn’t survive. His resolve was already wavering. Instead, he plucked a hay straw out of her hair and tried negotiations.

          “We don’t have a lot of time before we have to go. You can stay here all day if you really want to, but wouldn’t it be better to see the other animals too?”

          It was so very tempting, but she relented, reluctantly untangling herself from the animals and leaving the barn. He was no match for her puppy eyes, but she couldn’t dispute his logic. Her high spirits returned as soon as she saw the alpacas wandering about their field. More so when they crept through the reptile emporium, making an exaggerated effort not to disturb the slumbering snakes. An interactive encounter in which a massive python was draped over Echo’s tiny shoulders left Storm’s stomach in his shoes and a spring in Echo’s step. Did children have no sense of self-preservation or was it just her? Tracing the scales on the snake’s behemoth body was enough to send queasy shudders down Storm’s spine.

          Monkeys next. Storm enjoyed their silly antics much more than his sister. It was fun to watch them swing around and groom each other. Echo claimed they were making a lot of terribly rude comments about visitors.

          The red pandas’ acrobatic show enchanted Echo and the kangaroos’ raw power awed her. Although she wanted to watch the crocodiles, she couldn’t bring herself to go anywhere near their big pools. Of course she knew there was no way to fall in, what with the dual fenced perimeter, but her feet would not allow it. It was beyond frustrating. So close to a living fossil, someone almost certainly acquainted with the gods, and the mere thought of approaching their watery habitat sent tremors through her hands. She wouldn’t have been able to speak to a crocodile regardless of whether she visited the exhibit, the language of reptiles beyond the frontiers of her abilities, but to stand in their presence would have been enough. After several minutes of trying to convince her body to follow her wishes, Storm saved her from her self-appointed torture. Scooping her up, he tossed her into his shoulders.

          “Come on big kid, let’s see the birds. Did you know it’s actually the dad cassowaries that raise the babies?”

          Two taps for no.

          “It’s true. They’re also one of the heaviest and tallest birds in the world. Let’s go see if we can find one.”

          One excited tap and a wiggle for yes.

          Even in the safety of her pen, the shaggy black and blue dinosaur bird was intimidating. She stared down visitors with an almost menacing cocked head. Judgement made, she disappeared back into the trees. It took longer than Storm would like to admit for the pair to remember to move. Thank the stars cassowaries are not native to Yonder.

          They enjoyed walking through the massive aviary together. Hundreds of different colours whirled around them as birds called and sang. A handful of crows jeered at parrots who performed for fruit. Echo tried to provide a running commentary for Storm’s benefit, but there was so much going on, she couldn’t keep any of the conversations straight. They came upon a big cockatoo that she really liked until he squawked in her face, making her puff in response. Storm had been mindful to accidentally miss the sign offering canopy walks. Echo would have loved to romp around in the tree tops but even he had his limits.

          At some point, they had found themselves at the giraffes even though they were supposed to be at the meerkats. Apparently the signs were not as easy to follow as Storm had presumed. Echo took to the tall creatures much more than Storm had anticipated. Sure they were cool with their weird alien horns, ambling through their fields like new age brachiosauruses, but that was more his interest than hers. When she started bouncing on her toes again, leaning over the railing to get as close as she possibly could, he had to ask.

          “They’re pretty cool, huh?”

          She turned to him, a full-fanged grin plastered over her face. [Yeah! Plus, they talk like me!]

          He focused his ears to the field. Giraffes were supposed to be silent. Did they communicate with inaudible noises like cats sometimes do? It wouldn’t be that strange, most researchers were just normal people. That kind of thing might have gone undetected. Though he listened carefully, he couldn’t hear anything. He glanced back at Echo.

          [Not like that! They talk with their bodies. They sign.] She turned her attention back to the exhibit, eagerly watching. He’d never thought she’d be so happy over something as little as that. It made sense, but he was so used to her little noises, the way she would chatter to practically any animal she came across, he’d never considered she might feel … isolated? Out of place? He didn’t really know. Was this what parenting felt like? Like you spend every day learning how much you don’t know about your kid? He felt a little guilty. He was doing his best, but she was just running ahead of him, changing before he could catch up. How was she eleven already? He used to think being a parent was synonymous with growing up. It’s not. His breath caught in his throat, a single quiet hitch. He rubbed the mist out of his eyes before Echo turned back to him, head tilted in concern. A charming smile – he was good at those – and an easy laugh to prove he was fine.

          “Are you ready to keep going? We’ll get some ice cream before we check out the next exhibit.”

          Echo slid her hand in his, giving a reassuring squeeze. “Mn.” She was still by his side.

~~~

          Finally, they arrived at the exhibit Storm was most excited about. He’d purposefully saved the best for last. A rush of hot air hit as they shuffled into a building, decorated with leafy plants growing up a forest mural splashed over the unoccupied walls. Silence settled around them. There was no one else there. Thick glass panels covered an entire wall, dividing the room from the habitat. With a sharp intake of realisation, Echo froze. Storm nudged her closer, one shaky step at a time. Face to face with the glass, she stared, wide-eyed at the great predator. He surveyed his land atop his artificial tor, reclining into the stony throne. Light and shadow waltzed over the orange flames of his pelt, leaving stripes of ink where they tread. Massive paws hid keratin daggers. Echo let out the tiniest of breathes. His round ears swivelled, taking note. He stared down at her. Gold so intense her gaze dropped. She was face to face with a tiger.

          He rose, stretching his body, a lazy display of godly creation. He did not leap, but dripped to the floor in one fluid movement. Muscles rippled under fur. He was no house cat. A low growl rumbled as he sauntered to them. Not a threat, a reminder. They were so very soft to him. Echo dipped her head, tail lowered politely. An automated response. She wasn’t thinking straight, too busy trying not to throw up her heart. Storm followed suit. Eagle eyes never left his little sister’s form. As closely as he watched the interaction, it didn’t change the facts. He was an outsider here.

          The tiger padded to the glass. He held his head high. Even sitting, he stared down at her. The growls continued. A quiet edge to the air between them. It felt as if she was nothing. Not that she was suddenly any Less but that he was looking past her. Past her body. Past her mind. Scrutinising her very being.

          “Chfufufa.”

Her ears flicked up. His razor gaze had softened to a kind king’s.

          “Chfufufa.” He repeated himself, waiting for her to understand. Starstruck, she almost didn’t respond, but she recaptured her flickering mind, returning the greeting with a chuff of her own. She hoped he wouldn’t notice how fluffed her fur was.

          {Are you going to introduce yourself?}

          {Oh! Sorry! Yes! I – I’m Echo. Echo Bell. It’s an honour to meet you.} She bowed again. His eyes crinkled warmly at her earnestness.

          {Little Echo, you may lift your head. I am Nikita.} He looked towards Storm momentarily. {Your guardian does not share our tongue, does he?}

          {No. I don’t think many people can. I – I don’t know many people who can speak to tigers.}

          He nodded solemnly, a noise of affirmation. {Few can. Fewer still I wish to spend time on. Perhaps once, but I am old now. My desires have changed. You are young, a child.} He paused. {It is lonely, isn’t it?}

          Echo’s fingers worried the soft fibres of her scarf. She tried not to think about that too much. To speak to more animals than most knew languages, and yet still only able to communicate with precious few humans. But she was a cat, what more could she expect? Realising she’d left him without an answer, she hurried to compile her messy thoughts, but his expression stopped her. He didn’t need her explanation. He already understood.

          {There is a piece of us in you. I can feel him. He’s young, rash, despite the ancient stardust lining his hide. You are afraid. That is understandable. You do not have to be. She guides you with the ferocity of a mother, but you are not overpowered.} A full smile. {You are very interesting little Echo. I can see why the remnants watch you so intently.}

~~~

          They continued talking until crowds filtered into the building. Nikita had little patience for their noise, slipping into his pool in retreat. By the time Storm had gotten them both out, a new plush firmly in Echo’s grip, it was time to leave. They farewelled the zoo, both knowing perfectly well they would not be able to return for some time. Neither was sad. It had been a very good day.

~~~

          They sat, waiting for the train to complete its journey. Echo had fallen asleep several stations ago. She’d fought the doze off with all her might, but the rhythmic click clack of the tracks had her out in minutes. She nestled into her brother’s side, content. Storm held her steady, making sure she didn’t fall off the chair while he braced himself for the garbage parade that was undoubtedly waiting for him. Of course he was going to have to face the repercussions of his choices. But when he thought about Echo’s expression as she recounted the day to him, like her eyes had swallowed galaxies, he knew he’d made the right decision. “Happy birthday Echo.”

----------

Taglist

@inkovert and @snobbysnekboi

[ilovelocust]

Mirror Mirror (Complete)

Note: Because not everybody enjoys flipping through a bunch of different posts to read one fic. The entirety of Mirror Mirror is under the cut. Be warned, this is both a hurt/comfort fic and a dark fic. There is explicit rape and torture alongside the recovery. Enjoy!

Ao3 Version

Chapter 1: “It’s Not Keith”

It's not Keith. He needs to remember. The thing with the sick smiles and lust for pain can't be Keith. For his own sanity, he has to believe that. Keith would never do something like this to him.

Sharp pain tears his thoughts to pieces. Muscles seizing, as electricity arcs through his side. Ripping a cry from his throat, before it’s gone. Shiro collapses against the tight ropes binding his chest. Panting, as the aftershocks continue to dance through him.

A rough hand in his hair yanks his head up, beautiful purple irises greeting him. He could see galaxies in them if he only tried hard enough. No, no, these eyes don’t belong to this man. This isn’t Keith. A cruel smirk stretches across the imposter’s lips. More proof it’s not him, he’d never look at Shiro this way, “You were drifting,” Not-Keith says, running the cold tip of the electric prod across his cheek. What, what would that even do to him? A shock so close to his brain. Would he bite off his own tongue, or just wish he did? “Tell me, what were you thinking?” The voice is lilting, mocking, nothing like Keith’s.

The tip of the prod caresses his jaw before slipping under his chin. Hard point jabbing against the soft flesh, forcing his head further back. He can’t hide the fear the touch invokes. Can’t hide the way his breath hitches. How he has to swallow before he can speak. He’s highlighting his weaknesses, telling his torturer exactly where to push, “Who are you?” Shiro’s voice is rough, but at least it’s still steady. Not one of surrender just yet.

The thing blinks at him, then chokes on a giggle before full on laughing. The prod falls away and there are hands cupping his face. Keith is smiling at him, that happy twitching lips as he tries to stifle the last of his chuckles smile. He always gets it when Shiro tells a bad pun and he’s pretending he’s not hopelessly charmed by Shiro’s dorkiness. Shiro’s sick to his stomach to see that look on the doppleganger’s face, “You already know who I am.” Not-Keith says meaningfully, but Shiro doesn’t. He knows who he isn’t, but who would want to do this is a mystery.

His torturer frowns, resting his forehead against Shiro’s. Another’s softness overtaking his expression, “You know me, Takashi,” He whispers, barely a breath, a secret just between the two of them…it’s the same…Same as the sleepy murmurs from a partner not quiet ready to leave the warmth of their bed. Same as the soft teasing, tempting him to risk everything in deserted corridors. Same as the quiet declarations of love, said over and over until they were etched into the very fabric of his being. Someone has waltzed into his deepest most private memories and torn them out to be used in a twisted display for their own sick devices.

Shiro’s lungs want to stop breathing, his head wants to scream, but he forces himself to stop at a clenched fists. That name in the fake’s mouth hurts him more than he can ever let them know. If they understand what they are doing to him, they’ll destroy his memory. Hurt him again and again, until Keith’s softness and pain are so intertwined he’ll never separate them. After all he’s lost, he can’t lose this last little bit of comfort and safety too.

His torturer leans back. Smirking, knowing, Shiro’s already shown too much, “What do you want?” Shiro says too quickly. Half honest plea, half desperate attempt to gain some control of the situation. Redirect things away from his too obvious weakness.

Not-Keith looks down on him. Imitations of warmth draining away as he calculates, letting Shiro stew in his helplessness while he plans his next move. His torturer unfolds his arms, slowly runs the prod over his clothed shoulder. He doesn’t watch. No point, his eyes won’t stop the electricity from spiking through his system, and he need not confirm how much this scares him. Even when the prod traces down to the seam where the flesh of his right arm meets metal. That place has always been sensitive. The druids could keep his body from rotting away at the unnatural connection, but they didn’t bother to make it painless. Electrical abuse would be agony.

“Don’t worry about that,” Not-Keith says, tapping the prod less Shiro get distracted from his impending torment, “When it comes time, you will give it to me willingly,” Electricity sears through him.

—

"Shiro! Shiro! No, please no," Keith's voice is panicked. Hands surprisingly gentle on his abused body. He must be worried he'd broken his favorite toy again. Shiro’d laugh, but he'd hurt himself more than he’d annoy his captor.

"Lance, get the healing pod ready! Hunk, help me move him!" Hunk? Lance? Why is Keith giving them orders? They aren't here. No one is here, yet the Blue and Yellow paladin’s answers are unmistakable. Darkness is comforting, promising safety if he only lets it drag him under once again, but confusion lures his eyes open. High arching ceilings, pale grey walls, and undertones of light blue. He blinks, but the mirage doesn't evaporate. Shiro is in the Castle of the Lions.

Chapter 2: No Ones There

Shiro screams himself raw. Jerking and spasming like a demented puppet for the monster wearing Keith’s face. Hours pass, the ropes dig bloody spots into his flesh, and his torturer watches on without empathy.

The prod deactivates. Shiro slumps into his ropes. Their abrasive surface digging into his injured flesh. The pain is nothing. Not when tremors wrack his body with remember shocks, and no amount of quickly drawn breath feels enough. He’s going to die like this. Crying out at the end of the prod without ever knowing who’s taken him or why.

A cruel hand wraps around his face, digging sharp nails into his cheek as it shoves his head back. He’s not struggling. He hasn’t since waking in this place. Defiance for the sake of defiance is something he left behind during his first captivity. He learned to save his strength for the fights that matter, but that’s not what this is about. This act is just more hurting him for the sake of hurting him. Like everything else his captors have done to him.

“You look tired,” An observation, the sky is blue, Galra are purple, my extended torture of you has made you exhausted. He doesn’t share his gallow’s humor. The riff tracks to his torment may keep him sane, but mocking his torturer is not conducive to his long term health, “Why don’t we stop for the night, start again in the morning.” The words may be kind, but the tone is taunting. Soft lips press a kiss to his temple in a parody of a loving gesture. He should try to understand the purpose behind the faked concern, but determining motivation takes more energy than he has left, “Get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning,” The fake laughs at his own words, like his privy to a joke Shiro didn’t hear. Maybe after some sleep, he’ll realize what he’s missed, but for he can barely keep his head up long enough to watch Not-Keith walk out.

The cell door seals tight behind him, and with it the already dim lighting turns off. Pitching him into complete darkness…he’s alone…he can’t see…there is nothing in here with him…he’s fought creatures that don’t need light to locate him…There is Nothing in here with him.

Is that a breeze? Just the slightest whiff, like someone barely passed the hairs on his arm. His arm is inactive, has been the entire time. He can’t get free. Can’t defend himself. Stop It! There is NOTHING in here with him.

Ignore the sound. There wasn’t a sound. It’s just a dark room. He’s faced so much worse. What would Keith think, broken by something so normal. He’d be embarrassed for him…No he wouldn’t, he’d understand. Shiro would be embarrassed, but Keith would search the Castle for a night light. Offer to stay up and watch over him so he could rest……

Screeching assaults his ears. Something is coming to kill him. The light is blinding. It hurts and he can’t see, but he’s exposed, in the open, and they can see him. He struggles against his bonds. Doesn’t even notice as the ropes tear into him again. He needs to get free, find a defensible position. Where is it? The cell is empty, where is the screeching thing hiding? There’s nothing there. Four walls and his chair. He alone..He’s completely alone.

His heart is thudding painfully in his chest. He’s alone. Breathe. There is nothing in here with him. He can calm down.

The lights go out.

—

He's in the Castle of the Lions. Not in his cell, not, not in the other places. He’s back home. He should feel something more at that.

Coran is buzzing around him, frowning and smiling in turn as his scanner beeps results for some test or other. Shiro doesn’t really care enough to ask what. The world is wrong, tilted on its axis while everyone still walks upright.

The healing pod had been delayed, after they realized he could stand on his own. Keith had stayed close to him anyways, like a second skin he couldn’t scratch off. He doesn’t remember when everyone but Coran had left. Had he asked for space? Everything is so hard to parse. Overly sharp and fuzzy at the same time.

Coran’s standing in front of him, looking at him expectantly. Oh, he’d asked if Shiro was ready for the healing pod. He guesses so. Maybe it will stitch something back together and make things make sense again.

Chapter 3: Freezing

He’s cold, so cold. The air carries a chill that covers his flesh in goosebumps and seeps icy tendrils into his very bones. He can’t see his breath, but a few more cycles of shrieking light and frigid dark will change that. The light is better, easier to to stay awake with the lights on. Easier to keep his drooping eyes from summoning more screeching and dropping temperatures. . . . Exhaustion weighs him down. Eyes drooping and head lolling against his will. How long has it been? His captor said he’d be back in the morning, but surely he’s been alone for longer than a mere night. Maybe not, maybe his tired mind is playing tricks on him, stretching measly minutes to unending hours, or maybe, this is how he is to be executed. Kept aching and awake, until no amount of willpower can stop sleep’s grasp, and the freezing cold can take his unconscious form’s life. . . . One of the walls is throbbing, pulsing with color in time to his heartbeat. Is it the sleep deprivation or has his captor grown bored and thought up some new way to torment him? His thoughts are underwater, sluggish and pulled off to sea by the tide. Only the aching under current of hunger persists through the waves. His throat is dry. He’s going to die like this, slowly from dehydration. His captor doesn’t care, isn’t listening. His yelled pleas that humans can’t survive this treatment have fallen on the deaf ears of an empty room. Unending silence his only answer. . . . Hot air sweeps past him. His skin screams in protest, as if he’s stepped too close to a furnace, but he doesn’t care. Can’t care. Anything is better than the eternal draining cold.

Keith is smiling at him from the open door of his cell, an angel surrounded by soft light. He must be the source of the wonderful heat, rescuing him from his slow death. Keith walks towards him. Cupping his face in warm hands. A soothing thumb strokes his cheekbone, and Shiro presses into the comfort, “Sleep well, pet?” Keith asks, voice and expression soft, like he cares.

The tone comes through, but the words don’t process. “Keith,” Shiro sighs in happiness, relaxing against the gentle touch. The laughter makes him flinch. Not-Keith, how could he forget this is not Keith. How could he forget who put him here. His captor ruffles his hair, then makes room for a cart to be pushed between them.

There is food on the cart. Small cuts of meat and, blessedly, a cup of water. Shiro’s stomach growls, redoubles it’s aching cry for food, “I thought you might want some breakfast before we get started today,” His captors smirk is knowing as he explains. ‘Get started’ that means more torture, but he’ll get food and water first. Putting off death in exchange for pain, a fairer trade than many.

His forgotten binds bite into his raw wrists when he reaches for the food. He stares stupidly at the ropes tying him down for moment, “My hands…” Shiro starts, but his brain fails to materialize more words. Keith’s patronizing smile is like churning acid in his stomach.

“Don’t worry, Takashi,” The pang at his exposed memories is less this time, other pains overwhelming it, “I’ll feed you,” Not-Keith picks up the glass from the tray, and presses the cup to his lips. Shiro gulps the water down greedily. Slaking his thirst, as fingers card through his hair, stroking him, like he’s some sort of cat. Food comes next. Each bite patiently lifted to his mouth. Crumbs wiped away after. Something soft, maybe even wistful, overtakes his captor’s eyes while he feeds him. It’s unnerving, wrong, in a way he can’t quiet name.

“Missed this,” The words are quiet, possibly a trick of his ears. He almost stops chewing, but he knows what it is like to slowly starve. He’s so close to that point already. His captor’s mind games aren’t worth jeopardizing a meal.

The food runs out too soon, the cart disappearing from whence it came. The softness in Not-Keith’s expression flee with the meal.  Hard eyes appraise Shiro once more. His captor picks up his favorite prod, “Ready, pet?”

-

A hiss and Shiro is stumbling out into the cool air of the med lab. A shiver shaking his limbs. Physically, he feels better. Mentally…mentally the removal of the fog of shock only reveals how much is still broken.

He needs rest, real rest. The pod fixed his body, but it doesn’t replicate a full nights sleep. Coran is here again, but a tired “Bed” is all it take to get him to let Shiro go.

Nothing has changed. Every door he passes, every corridor he walks down is exactly how he remembers them. No new battle damage, no sign that any time has passed at all since he was taken. He should feel like he’s in a dream, walking freely down these halls once more should feel like something more, but reality crowds him, reminds him of the truth. He was in hell, now he’s here. History is repeating itself once again. Soon he’ll be expected to fight a war on behalf of the universe once again, but that can be put off until tomorrow. For now, he can finally sleep.

The door to his room slides open, and Shiro draws up short. Keith is here. Sitting on his bed. Waiting for him.

Keith’s face lights up, “Shiro!” Keith practically shouts, jumping up and stepping towards him in unrestrained joy. He’s going to try and touch him. Shiro stumbles back. Preserving the space between them as his heart rate picks up. Keith falters in his advance, “Shiro?” His voice dipping in concern.

He can’t answer the implied question, not right now, “I’m going to bed,” He says instead. He hasn’t sorted out the difference between what he knows and what he feels yet. He isn’t ready to have this conversation, not with Keith.

Keith doesn’t move. Right, this isn’t just his room. Before he was…before, the Red Paladin spent most his nights in this bed. He can’t, he can’t handle that sort of closeness right now, “Alone,” Shiro adds.

There is a flash of hurt across Keith’s face, but he doesn’t say anything beyond a soft “Oh.” Shiro steps aside, provides an exit that won’t lead to them touching. Keith ducks his head and scuttles out of Shiro’s room.

Keith looks back, opens his mouth to say something more. Shiro shuts the door, engages the lock, securing the barrier between him and Keith. He’s alone.

The bed swallows his consciousness whole.

Chapter 4: “Do They Know?”

Time blurs. There’s no rhythm to his torture. Nothing to set his internal clock by. His meals are interspersed at random. Sometimes so close, he’s still stuffed full from the last. Sometimes so far apart it feels like his stomach is consuming itself for sustenance. The hours till morning are never the same, and ‘Goodnight’ could equally mean enforced wakefulness or fit-full sleep in anticpatory darkness.

He’s forced to count the forward progression of time through new pains and indignities. This was the point that his captor grew tired of his filth, and instead of untying him to bathe, cut his clothes off and doused him in ice water. That was the point he broke two of his finger. There was the point he hooked something up to Shiro’s deactivated arm, setting all the pain receptors alight, and was disappointed at how quickly he fainted.

On and on it goes, the only odd comfort coming when he’s fed. Not-Keith still feeds him by hand, petting and stroking his skin and hair like a favored pet. He should stay strong, resist giving anything of himself away, but the call of the soft touches is lulling. Offering just a bit of rest between the pain. He’s cracking. The longer this goes on, the more hair fine gaps develop in his sense of self. He has to welcome some comfort, no matter the source, or he’s going to shatter into a thousand pieces. Perhaps that is what his captor is after. Breaking him until there is no him left to break. His chosen guise would be apt for that goal. Who’s appearance better to steal to break the Black Paladin than his right arm?

Nothing truly changes until it does. Not-Keith is tracing the shaking muscles of his abs with his prod. That tool, out of all the implements of pain in his arsenal, seems to be his favorite. He’s been moving to progressively more sensitive flesh, applying shocks with abandon, wringing screams from Shiro’s throat he thought himself beyond the capability of making. Held close until his very flesh burns under the prod’s point. The shock stops, but spots continue to do his vision. His breath shaking in his chest. He needs, he needs a second, but his captor doesn’t want. Metal on flesh, then pain, then nothing.

.

He’s not in his chair. He’s lying on something flat and cold, unrestrained? There is a rustling clink off to his side, like someone is rummaging in a overstuffed bag, “Your slave’s wounds require proper medical attention my Prince,” The voice is unfamiliar, but the sound of speaking around fangs is not. Galra. He keeps still, hides his consciousness. Fingers prod the long cut from where his shirt had been sliced off, then his hand is picked up. Raw skin aggravated by touch before being set back down, “The wrist in particular requires care, if you don’t wish it to get infected.” A pause, “Unless you want to replace this arm as well?” Shiro inhales sharply, eyes flying open. They can’t take his remaining arm. He won’t let them.

He pushes up and is slammed back down by an iron grip on his throat. A sharp knee pins his flesh wrist to the ground. Purple eyes glare down at him in annoyance, “Calm yourself, Takashi,” It’s an order, said in a tone that expects to be obeyed, “I like you the way you are.” He doesn’t believe him, but Not-Keith holds him easily. Shiro’s unbound and still defenseless. Shiro goes limp and unresisting. His captor seems satisfied he won’t try to move again. He lets go of Shiro’s throat, but pointedly does not remove his knee from Shiro’s tender wrist. Not-Keith turns his attention to the other resident of the room. A Galra in the empires medical uniform is kneeling beside Shiro. He doesn’t recognize him from his time in the arena, and likely won’t remember his face in a day’s time. “He is not staying in the medical wing,” Keith says. No questions or hesitation, a superior telling a inferior how things will be.

“That will not be an issue,” The Galra replies with an acknowledging bow of his head, “I can treat him, take samples, then release him immediately. As long as his bandages are changed, his health will not deteriorate unduly.”

Keith seems satisfied with that answer. He makes a noise of affirmation, then looks down at Shiro, “Behave.” The ‘or else’ doesn’t need to be said. Keith stands, finally relieving the pressure on his wrist. Shiro stays put. The Galra rarely appreciate a prisoner moving without permission. “Follow me,” He orders. Shiro scrambles to his feet on shaky legs. His right arm is still deactivated, and he nearly falls back to the floor when his muscles scream at the sudden movement. He manages, though. Swaying he stands for inspection. Keith glances him over and seems to decide he won’t keel over. He nods approvingly, before turning on his heels and leaving the room. Shiro obediently follows him out.

-

Shiro tired when he wakes. He’ll require more than one peaceful night sleep to make up for all the ones he lost. He sighs, rolling out of bed. He’s disgusting. The healing pods are not cleaning agents. They leave their own residue on the skin. A hot uninterrupted shower sounds about as close to heaven right now as his own bed did last night.

His drawers have very little clothing to pick from, but unlike the pants he wears now, every article is something he selected for himself. Had the others noticed that? He’d disappeared in paladin armor, and come back shirtless, with new scars marring his flesh. A story written in healing pink for all to see. Did they know what happened to him? Did they read the marks across his skin? Did they know what he did to survive? He’s sick to his stomach. Empty acid want to crawl out his throat and spill to the floor. They can’t know. There wasn’t enough evidence for them to have assumed. They weren’t there. They didn’t know. Except Keith, he’d been there. He knew. No, no, no! This Keith hadn’t been there. This Keith talked to the other paladin. He lived in the Castle of the Lions. He wasn’t the same Keith that hurt him. Keith was to blunt in his tortures to go through the mind games of staging a rescue. They were different people. He needed to believe that.

Their is a knock on his door, Shiro jumps. Heart leaping into his throat. Calm, there is no danger. Someone just wants to speak with him. He puts on the closest shirt and heads to the door.

As if summoned by his thoughts, Keith is standing nervously on the other side. He’s wrong. Keith is always in control, sometimes angry but never nervous. No, that was the Keith who cause pain, the one from before. This Keith, the one standing in front of him, is not the same one. He shows weakness, some he’s held close since the Garrison.

He should say something, but no response comes to him. He stares, dumbfounded, until Keith breaks the silence, “Hunk just finished breakfast.” Keith says quietly, “Do you want to come down to the Kitchen?” There is unmistakable hope in that question. That somehow Shiro will start acting like the man his team knew.

He can’t do that, not yet, “I’m not hungry,” Shiro lies. He is hungry. His last meal is lost to the fog of torture, but it hasn’t been long enough for him to be starved, for him to ache. He can go without for a bit. Needs to go without. He isn’t fit for human company right now. His head packed full of contradicting emotions and facts. He needs to stay removed until the slightest critical view won’t see through him and his facade. This is his burden to carry, not share.

Keith hesitates, his disbelief obvious in the way he looks so closely. He tries not to see it as examining him for weakness, “Okay,” Keith says finally, “I’ll make sure, we leave some food for you. I case you get hungry later.”

No point, he won’t be out today, but Shiro nods anyways before reaching for the button to close the door. “Shiro, wait,” Keith says eyes still bright with concern, “I get you need some space, but you’ll tell me if you something, right?” There is a right way to handle this. A comforting yes, and Keith will go on his way, confident that he’d done what he can to help. Shiro shuts the door instead.

Chapter 5: Rest

There are two guards outside the cell. They snap to attention as his captor passes them. Fall into step behind Shiro when he follows Keith out. Now that he can see more than the four walls of the cell, the ship is obviously Galra. Dark metal halls highlighted with glowing purple, the common sentry marching by along with the rarer Galra soldier. He’s had screaming nightmares that start like this, some have even included him be just as naked as he is. Not that anyone seems to care about his nudity. Those they pass are too busy standing a bit straighter or patrolling a little more precisely to pay attention to him.

The doctor had called Keith “My Prince”. The title made sense in how the other Galra were behaving in his presence, but that also meant they recognized him on sight. Keith’s appearance couldn’t just be some weird illusion meant to fuck with his head, if the guards didn’t even gawk. For them to respond this way this must be what he actually looked like…Keith was a Galra prince.

Had he been critically injured in that last fight and was now trapped in a dying dream? He remembered fighting Zarkon, that final attack to rid the universe of him forever. Awakening Black’s true power, charging, then nothing. Then he’d woken up surrounded by lights and yelling voices, some sort of lab. He’d been dragged to the cell before gaining his bearings. This felt to real to be a dream, though. To sharp in places to be images conjured up from his mind.

Maybe Keith ignored his request to become the Black Paladin? Somehow becoming a part of the Empire. A quest to resurrect Shiro using their resources? No, no, that made no more sense than a Prince walking around with Keith’s face enough to be recognized. What was the point of going through all that trouble to resurrect him, only to do this? Keith loved him. He wouldn’t hurt Shiro. Not like this. No matter how much time had passed.

The stench of chemically enforced cleanliness hits him before they enter the final hall. This ship’s medical wing is the same as the one at the arena. Heavy duty restraint on the examination tables. Guards posted at the doors in case ‘patients’ attempt to escape. Sharp vicious machines that make a mockery of the name medical equipment. A place to sew prisoners back together or tear them apart, on the whims of the personnel. At least he can’t hear any screams. Either this ship doesn’t have any other prisoners aboard or they are in the middle of a night cycle. He’s grateful for either option.

A guard jabs him in the back, not appreciating his hesitance to enter the place of horrors. Shiro meekly crosses the threshold. The doctor from the cell walks up to a table that looks like every other, “Sit,” He orders. The metal of the table is cold, feeling too familiar from every other time he was on one of these. Still he sits. They’ll force him if he doesn’t. Click the restraints around his limbs and do as they please anyways. Don’t think about those times. He can’t panic here. Not now. This prince, this Keith, he can’t tell how he’d react, but the guards, he’d be lucky if they only tied him down until he hyperventilated himself into unconsciousness.

The doctor begins treatment. He isn’t gentle. Shiro’s wounds are brusquely cleaned and wrapped, his broken fingers set, and blood samples are taken. No care is shown for if the handling causes him pain, but the Galra is at least professional in speed and efficiency. Pain is the side effect, not the point. What does it say about him that he feels genuinely grateful for the lack of sadism?

Keith watches the proceeding with increasing impatience. He looks like he used to when he was forced to wait for his turn in the simulator. Annoyed and tapping his foot, as if the other cadet’s slow progress was a personal affront to him. Patience had never been his virtue, even if he had been trying as of late. There is a sharp tug against one of his bandages, and the doctor is turning away from Shiro to address Keith, “Done my lord,” He says, “If your plans permit, I recommend rest to promote healing. Otherwise keep his wounds clean, and he should heal given time. Bring him back if any of the wounds continue to be inflamed or he runs a fever.”

Keith waves dismissively, and the doctor bows before scurrying out of sight. Keith’s attention turns to Shiro. Keith approaches and he tenses, preparing for a fight. He won’t go back in the cell willingly. The guards will have to drag him. He only obeyed because the treatment was a reprieve from the pain. If Keith thinks his cooperation will extend to sitting back down in that chair, he’s deluding himself.

Keith doesn’t seem to notice or care what Shiro is thinking. The guards watch him warily, but Keith enters Shiro’s space like he’s no threat at all. Simply grabbing his chin to pull him down to his level, “Would you like that, pet? Some sleep?” Keith asks, “If you continue to be a good boy, I can arrange it.” Sleep? Is he serious? Is he actually taking the doctor’s advice, after so long of not caring about Shiro’s well being? This must be more false hope. A promised ‘Goodnight’ before the screeching kept him awake? Yet what if it isn’t? Keith must get all the response he needs from Shiro’s expression. After a second, he’s lets go of Shiro’s chin with a smirk, “Follow me.” He orders. The guards step in to make sure Shiro obeys.

Whatever Keith’s game, it’s different than the ones before. They leave the medical wing in the opposite direction of the way they approached. The halls are winding, but he’s not being led back to his cell. Keith stops in front of a door, opening straight into a single bedroom. It’s not fancy enough to be a prince’s quarters or even a high ranking officer, but it is far to nice to the sort of room you keep a prisoner. Even when he was at the height of gladiatorial popularity, the most he was ever given was a private cell with his own cot. Nothing like the luxurious bed that is the centerpiece of this room. The mattress is large even by Galra standards, enough space to fit ten of him with room to spare.

The guards take position outside the door, as Keith walks inside, kicking off his shoes and sitting back against the headboard. He looks to Shiro expectantly. Sighing, when he doesn’t move, “Lay down, Takashi,” Keith says, patting the spot beside him. Why? Why there? Why now? He hasn’t been given new clothes to replace the ones he’s lost. Crawling into bed with his captor while naked is-there are implications he’d rather not think about, but the cell, it’s still there, still waiting for him. He has to do something.

Shiro climbs in to the other side of the bed, as far as possible from the other occupant. It’s technical obedience maybe that will be enough. Keith dispels that though with a glare, “If you want to rest, you will come here,” Keith warns, displeasure coloring his voice. He doesn’t have a real choice, torture or obedience. Shiro scoots closer, maintain a little space between them. Keith tires of his hesitance and grabs his shoulder, yanking him down. His arm is still deactivated, he’s exhausted and injured, and Keith is strong. Anyone would have gone sprawling given those conditions. Shiro squawks in surprise as he topples, and Keith lets out an amused huff of laughter at his loss of coordination. He shoves Shiro around until only his head lays in his lap, “There, no you may sleep,” Keith says with a grin. He pats Shiro’s head before reaching for a tablet on the night stand.

Shiro waits, but Keith only turns the thing on and begins to read, seemingly satisfied with their current position. Is this all he wanted? To lay Shiro down like some sort of pet. He’s not okay with this. How could he be happy with the idea of sleeping with his head pillowed on the leg of the man who spent the last however long seeing how loud he could make him scream? He should do something, but his body disagrees. Whatever energy he’d marshaled to walk to and from the medical wing is dissipating the longer he lays still. His eyelids weigh a thousand pounds, fluttering closed every time he tries to keep them open. The sleep that pulls Shiro under is far from peaceful.

-

Being clean makes him feel more human, but not enough to leave the room. He should go see the others. Even if only long enough to grab the promised leftovers. The longer he hides in here the more worried they’ll be, but he just can’t. Outside these four walls is too much too soon. Responsibility lies out there. The Black Paladin mantle looming large suffocating Shiro in its shadow. One day, one day won’t cause them to worry too much more. He can have one day.

So he stays, drifts under his blankets. He has water, heat, he doesn’t need to leave. Dinner time rolls around, and there is another knock at his door. Keith is waiting on the other side once again, of course he is. He’d never leave him alone for long. Shiro almost shuts the door as soon as he open its, but Keith shoves his foot in, blocking it open, before he can.

“Shiro, wait!,” Keith says. Panic skitters through him. Stop, he needs to be calm. Keith is not here to hurt him. He knows that. He’s sorted his head enough to know they are different for certain.

“Get out of my door,” Shiro keeps his voice purposefully even, but something must show through, because Keith looks taken aback.

“O-okay, I’ll go,” Keith starts, “but take this.” Shiro hadn’t noticed Keith was carrying something, but now he’s getting a bowl pressed into his hands, “You don’t need to come out, or talk to anyone, just eat, please,” Keith says in a rush. When Shiro wraps his hands around the bowl, Keith removes his foot from the door and steps back, “Alright, I’m leaving. I’ll leave some more food for breakfast. You don’t need to answer the door. Just get it at some point, okay?” When Shiro doesn’t respond, Keith nods to himself and turns to walk down the hall. He’s completed his mission.

“Keith,” Shiro calls at his retreating back. Keith turns around, hope unmistakable in his eyes, “Thank you.” Shiro says, makes his words sound like he means them. Keith deserves that, because Shiro is grateful. Very grateful, for not being forced to leave. He needed someone to care about his wishes.

Keith smiles like Shiro has given him the world, “You’re welcome,” He says, “Be back tomorrow morning!” He waves, before continuing down the hall.

Shiro isn’t ready to come out yet, but maybe tomorrow, he’ll answer the door.

Chapter 6: Goatee

A brush of fingertips wandering down his chest. Softly tracing the bare edge of a bruise. Shiro snorts into his pillow, no not a pillow, clothing? Keith. He snorts into his Keith. It’s too early. He’s too tired for this sort of fun. He curls up closer to the other warm body, trying to fall back to sleep.

“Takashi, wake up I’m bored,” Keith whines, poking him in the stomach. Nyhhh, words are too much effort right now, Shiro shakes his head and grumbles. Keith huffs at him. Ah, cute little annoyed kitten Keith. Shiro smiles.

Keith moves out from under him. Dropping his head to the mattress. He mourns the loss of his bed partner, but not enough to open his eyes and chase after him. “You’re lucky I like you,” Keith’s fond voice drifts from above. The bed dip beside him, “I wouldn’t put up with this behavior from anyone else.”

Keith shoves his shoulder and Shiro rolls over on his back. Demanding this morning. Not that he can complain to much, because Keith’s warm body is crawling on top of his and Keith’s soft lips are pressing against his own. He opens up for the languid kiss. Letting Keith’s greedy tongue explore. He lifts his flesh hand, running across his lover until he can rest it on Keith’s sharp hip, squeezing encouragingly. Maybe he’s up to a round of fun after all.

Shiro smiles as Keith pulls back, letting his eyes flutter open. Keith is beautiful above him, naughty smirk on perfect lips. Dark hair framing an angelic face…The ceiling is dark metal…This isn’t their bedroom. No! This isn’t his Keith. Shiro shoves his captor off. Keith falls sprawling to floor, looking up at him in shock, “How could you?” Shiro is bordering on a shout, shoving himself up to face the man that would take advantage. He’s not tired anymore, “What is wrong with you!”

Keith’s shock morphs to anger, “How dare you!” Keith snarls and lunges at him. Shiro is still one arm down, but Keith is smaller than himself and he’s not flat on his back this time. Keith jabs him hard in one of his bandaged wounds, but he has experience fighting through pain. He throws his captor off the bed. Keith tumbles, coming up on his feet to face Shiro, teeth bared in rage.

“Guards!” Keith yells. The door whooshes open, the guards from before charge in, guns raised. Shiro scrambles off the bed, preparing to meet the new threat. He forgets about Keith. His mistake. Something hard collides with his skull. Shiro crashes to his knees. Keith watches, holding a table lamp, as the guards finish the job. Cracking Shiro’s skull against the floor and wrenching his arm painfully behind his back.

“Take him back to his cell,” Keith orders. The guards haul him off the ground. He’s not given a chance to comply. Rough hands grab his hair and twist his arm until it threatens to come out of socket, “You don’t get to reject me.” Keith sneers, as Shiro is dragged from the room.

.

Keith doesn’t forgive easily. He makes Shiro pay for his rejection with strips of his hide, quite literally at times. He loses half his finger nails in the first ‘day’ of Keith’s wrath. Becomes intimately familiar with the smell of his own burning flesh in the second. The fleeting kindness of his meals is gone. A sentry bot feeds him now, and if he doesn’t eat fast enough, well then he doesn’t need all that food after all. The flames of Keith’s anger aren’t even abating with Shiro’s screams. The longer he’s held here, the more they build. His torture quickly leaving the realms of scarring and painful to potentially crippling.

Keith’s burned most the hair from his leg. His lighter teasing along the side just close enough to bubble in spots before pulling away. Shiro’s crying, he doesn’t know for how long. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts. A hand wraps around his calf, fingers digging into a weeping sore. Shiro’s yowl is more of croak coming from his abraded throat. His foot is being lift, fires tendrils held under the pad of his foot. No, god no, “Please,” Shiro sobs. He can’t, he can’t lose his ability to walk too, “Please, don’t,” Some vague line of body autonomy with worth being crippled for the rest of his life. His pride isn’t worth this, “I’ll do anything. Just please don’t,” Keith can fuck him for all he cares. He just needs this to stop.

His captor cocks his head to the side looking up at Shiro, but keeping the flame where it is. Close enough that the heat builds and his sole is beginning to burn. He can’t pull away, can’t save himself, “Have you learned your lesson?” Keith asks.

“Yes,” Shiro nods desperately, “Please, I’m sorry.” He’d say anything his captor wants to hear if it will get him to stop.

Keith smiles and turns off the lighter. Climbs up into Shiro’s lap, running his fingers down the burns and cuts littering his torso. He leans in capturing his lips as he dig a nail into one of Shiro’s many open wounds. It hurts, but Shiro kisses him back.

-

Two more day, two more days of Keith’s meal deliveries being his only contact with the rest of the castle, before his mind finally settles enough that he can venture from his room. He doesn’t go to his team immediately. Ask the Castle where the other residents are and then avoids them. Giving himself time to re-familiarize himself with the normal places, kitchen, training room, bridge. All he is allowed to enter and leave as he pleases. No guards, no watching eyes. He’s home, safe, and ready.

Everyone is gathered in the common room, including Slav? When did he become a regular resident of the Castle? Lance spots Shiro hovering in the door, “Shiro!” He shouts, scrambling over the couch to wrap his arms around his leader in a hug. The whole room holds their breath, anticipation for a bad reaction. Had Keith told them about his current bout of anti-social behavior? Shiro embraces Lance back, and the tension evaporates as the everyone explodes in excitement. Pidge and Hunk run forward to join the hug, then Keith, and even Coran and Allura join in. Squeezing all the paladins half to death in their eagerness.

“It’s good to have you back man!” Hunk laughs.

“It’s good to be back,” Shiro responds, and he doesn’t have to force the smile. He missed them all terribly.

“You had us worried with that disappearing act,” Pidge says from where she’s squished between Keith and Allura. He can imagine. The team wouldn’t have taken well to their leader simply vanishing after the battle of the century, “Still don’t know how you pulled off dimensional travel.” She adds.

That stops him, “Dimensional travel?” Shiro says stupidly. What?

“You didn’t know?” Pidge says. Everyone seems to sense this might be the sort of conversation you don’t have while pinning someone, and the group lets go, giving him a bit of space.

Lance looks put out though, “Damn, guess that means you didn’t go to the evil goatee universe then,” Lance says. When Shiro continues giving his dumb look, Lance clarifies, “Like on Star Trek you know. Evil mirror universe, everyone has goatees to show how evil they are?”

“Only Spock had a goatee in that episode,” Hunk says. Lance scowls at his correction.

“Doesn’t matter, I had a bet with Pidge riding on that. Now I’m stuck with her shift for Slav’s assistant.” Lance moans, then switches his attention back to Shiro, “So if not evil goatee universe, where did you go? Was it a universe where everyone was a hot amazon. I bet it was a universe where everyone was a hot amazon.” His mood makes a 360 as he quite obviously starts daydreaming about a universe filled with beautiful women.

Shiro leaves him to dream, and addresses Pidge instead, “You don’t know where I went?” He asks. How could they rescue him and not know where he’d been?

Keith is the one to answer, “Slav tracked your signature down, but it was just numbers on a screen. We couldn’t see what was there…We weren’t even sure you were alive.” Keith’s first words since he entered the room. Tone saying too much, Keith had been spending sleepless nights thinking him dead. He should be giving comfort, he’s alive after all, but.

“Oh,” An alternate universe, “That makes sense.” Then Keith, wasn’t Keith after all, but was Keith too.

There’s a hand touching his arm. He looks at it a second before he realizes it’s attached to the Red Paladin. He doesn’t shrug him off, “Are you okay?” Keith asks. No longer preoccupied with his own remembered pain, when he has Shiro to be concerned for.

“I’m fine.” He says. Are the words even a lie? He doesn’t know, “I think, I’m going to go look around the Castle a bit. See what you all have been up to while I was gone.” Get enough space to process without everyone examining his every expression. Keith doesn’t look convinced but lets him go.

Chapter 7: Scars

Keith yanks at Shiro’s hair. Telling him to take his cock deeper into his throat, or a reward for a good job, or maybe he’s just enjoying hurting Shiro again. Shiro swallows around Keith, and his captor moans. His own traitorously hard dick twitches at the sound. Drugged and conditioned until he reacts like a trained dog. Keith’s pleasure is his own, no matter his wants.

The pad of Keith’s foot rubs against his crotch, and Shiro chokes, as sparks of pleasure go off behind his eyes. Why? Couldn’t he just be ignored this once. Allowed to do what was ordered without being touched back, “Enjo-ah-joying yourself pet?” Keith asks, rubbing harder against Shiro’s dick. He groans around Keith’s cock, even as his face flushes with shame. He can’t hold back, Keith gets angry when Shiro isn’t an enthusiastic enough participants.

A shiver runs down his spine. Keith insists he act like he is a willing a participant, breaking the illusion is to be punished the same as denial. The first time, the first time Keith reached down and found him soft, he’d called in the guards. He hadn’t meant to. He couldn’t help it. He wasn’t a masochist. He didn’t enjoy the feeling of Keith pressed against his still healing injuries. Somewhere in his panicked babbling, he’d convinced his captor that he wasn’t trying to defy him. Guards had been exchanged for a doctor and a weird concoction, his body had performed to Keith’s whims ever since.

Keith thrusts hard. Shiro gags, as Keith holds him still. Coming down his throat with a blissed out cry. His throat stings when Keith pulls out. Shiro coughs, and Keith laughs at his discomfort, “Come here,” Keith beckons with a smile. Shiro crawls onto the bed, while Keith leers, yanking him into a sloppy kiss as soon as he settles. Hands pull on the edge of his pants, sliding them down far enough to free his leaking cock. Shiro keeps his eyes closed, even when Keith pulls away to watch him. A slightly calloused hand wraps around his cock. Shiro sucks in a breath. Too tight, but he still reacts. Still feels good. Keith made sure of that, “Mmmmmm, all nice and hard for me,” Keith hums, pleased, always pleased, “You liked sucking my cock that much?”

“Y-yes,” No.

Keith kisses him again. Jerking him off, with his tongue in Shiro’s mouth. Shakes, as the heat builds in his gut. It’ll be over soon, “You always look so good like this. All hot and bothered for me,” Keith whispers into his ear, hot breath too close, “Make me want to tie you up and keep you like this for hours. See how long it takes to make you beg. You have such a pretty voice for begging.” Shiro keens. The sting of tears starting behind his eyelids. Please, just be talk. Please. This is bad enough. He can’t take a return of the ropes and this at the same time. Keith makes a pleased noise.

He comes like that, with Keith whispering dark promises into his skin. He hides himself against Keith’s shoulder. Bites his lip hard, as he hides whatever look of despair crosses his face. He’s given time to recover. Keith pets his hair, soft after getting what he wants. Letting Shiro pull himself back together.

A finger traces across his shoulder, tracing a purposeful but unknown path, “I miss your scars,” Keith says quietly.

“My scars?” His scars are right where they’ve always been. Prominent and unmissable when he looks in the mirror. Keith used to enjoy kissing them quite a bit, but that had been for Shiro’s benefit, not from any particular love of them specifically.

“Mmmhmm, especially this one,” Keith murmurs, tracing a circle around a point on his shoulder that is one of the few places on his body he doesn’t have a scar, “That one was my favorite. Always a reminder you were mine.”

“I don’t understand,” Shiro says, carefully pulling away. Watching for the ever present anger, always waiting under the surface.

“You wouldn’t,” Keith replies, with a sad smile, before his face suddenly lights up, “Oh! But I could give them back to you! They wouldn’t be that hard to replicate.” Keith’s crowding him, hands against cupping his face, as demon’s excitement brighten purple eyes, “You’d let me do that wouldn’t you Takashi?” No, no, god no. He has so many already. He doesn’t want any more reminders painting his skin.

Keith is’nt asking. Just speaking out loud. He gives Shiro a delighted peck on the lips, “We can start with the one on your shoulder.” Keith’s shifting around him, pressing up against Shiro’s unguarded back, “Stay still, pet, and I’ll get you a reward after.” He promises. Keith pushes him down to the mattress, straddling the small of his back. Shiro digs his fingers into the sheets. Counts his breaths. Don’t fight. Don’t panic. Don’t fight, “Stay very still, I don’t want to mess this up,” Keith says, giddy at whatever he’s about to do to him.

He can see him lean down, watch the sharp teeth grow close. His skin splits easily. Blood welling out of stinging pain. Shiro shuts his eyes, and tries to be somewhere else.

-

He’s been back two weeks before Keith realizes that he’s avoiding him specifically. Shiro tried to be inconspicuous about his discomfort. The problem is with Shiro’s inability to get it through his brain that this Keith isn’t the one who hurt him. Keith doesn’t deserve to feel rejected because Shiro can’t control his own irrational panic, but apparently he didn’t disguise his feelings well enough.

Keith catches up with him in the hall after a training session with the team. Allura had understood that they didn’t have time for his emotional breakdown, and he’d been back working with the others as soon as he stopped hiding in his room.

“Shiro, hey, you got a minute?” Keith asks, reaching out to touch him as casually as ever. He’s at least stopped needing to repress the urge to flinch every time Keith gets close, even if he remains hyper-aware of his proximity.

“Do you need something?” Shiro stops walking to talk to him. Model well adjusted leader.

“This is going to sound stupid,” Keith says, looking away from him to stare at the floor. The nervous gestures have been a constant in Shiro’s presence since his rescue, like Keith no longer knows what to expect from him, “I know you haven’t really wanted to talk about what happened before we got you back, and I get it. I’m not trying to pry, but you’ve been…distant. Around me. I understand those first few days were you just wanted to be alone, but I thought eventually, we’d go back to…you know…being together…again.” Keith’s picking at the edge of his armor, but he looks up for the last part, “We haven’t though, and I just need to know. Do you not like…are we okay?”

The last minute word change doesn’t go unnoticed. He’s hurt Keith. Coming back, yet being so distant. He’s so preoccupied with himself he forgets there are others, but what kind of answer can he give? His nights are a sickening mixture of nightmares about his captor and long hours staring at the ceiling missing Keith’s warm body again his own. He wants so many conflicting things, but breaking up not quite. A half-truth will have to do, that will give him a bit a longer, “We’re fine. I just, some things happened, in the other place. I was captured by the Galra again, and they-it’s not you. I just don’t want to be touched right now,” He says, those words can be interpreted multiple ways, “Give me some more time. To get right with myself.”

Keith looks relieved, so that was apparently the right thing to say, “You know, I’ll always be here if you want to talk.” Keith says.

“I know”

Chapter 8: “No”

The stars out the window are unfamiliar, but somehow still soothing. Out of all the privileges Keith has granted him, access to this viewing deck has been the truest reward. He can come here, dim the lights and get lost in the vastness of space. Let his thoughts drift on the wonders of the universe and just be.

“I thought I’d find you here. You always did love the stars.” Shiro jumps. He’d let his guard down, hadn’t heard Keith enter the room. “I’ve never understood what you see in them,” Keith says, dragging a finger across one of the windows, leaving a smudge across the clear surface, before walking over to drape himself over Shiro’s back. Resting his chin on his shoulder. He never hesitates, never asks before doing as he pleases, “But it’s good to see you enjoying yourself again.” Keith say, a soft fondness coloring his voice.

“Did you need something, my prince?” Shiro asks. Galra terms of respect have reentered into his speech so quickly. It’s like he never left their care at all. Habits buried after his escape reasserting themselves so easily when demanded of him.

“How are your wounds?” Keith asks, reaching down to pluck at his bandaged wrist.

“They are nearly fully healed, sir.” Once he was certain he’d obey, Keith had let the Galra doctors have him. Not the druid, with their masks and soul staining magic, but the medics with scissors and stitches. They’d rubbed foul smelling creams on his skin and injected him with oddly color liquids that made him ill, unable to stomach the softest meal, but every cut had begun to close up over night. Except, of course, the ones the prince wanted to scar.

“Mmmmmm, good,” Keith purrs, hands slipping under his shirt, “I’ve been thinking. It’s been far too long since I’ve seen you fight.”

“Has it?” Shiro says, trying not to betray how his gut is clenching at the thought.

“Yes, and I miss it so. You always look so dashing standing in the sands of the arena, coated in the blood of your opponents,” Keith’s grin is hungry in the reflection.

“I didn’t know you’d ever seen my matches,” Shiro replies hesitantly. Had he seen a recording? Why would Keith watch something like that? Why would he tell Shiro he had? He used to know that Shiro hated thinking about that year.

“Of course I have. It’s why I chose you,” Keith must notice his confusion, because he lets out a sigh, “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it. I came here to tell you that I think that it’s time for you to start again.”

Shiro jerks away, pulling out of Keith’s loose grip to face his captor, “No.” He says, his breathing picking up. He isn’t ever supposed to go back to the arena. That part of his life is over.

“Takashi! Come back here now.” Keith scolds, scowling as he gestures for Shiro to return to his arms. Keith was touching, he isn’t supposed to pull away.

Shiro slowly turns back around, scooting back, so Keith can wrap himself around him once again. “Good boy,” Keith scratches his head like a dog, “As I was saying, I think you’re healed enough to start back up. I’ve already picked a few slaves for you to begin with.” This, this is happening. Keith is going to force him to go back, to re-wet his hands with the blood of prisoners. He’s shaking, he can’t, “Don’t worry, I know you’re a bit rusty. I made sure they were some of the weaker ones.” As if he was doing Shiro a favor, by throwing someone helpless for him to slaughter, “You can start practicing on them, and then move back up to something a bit more difficult.” Keith explains cheerfully. Ignoring every sign of how Shiro doesn’t want to do this. He doesn’t care, how can he not care?

“What-”, Shiro hesitates, questioning Keith is walking on thin ice, but, but he has to, “What if I don’t want to.” Maybe, Keith sees this as some sort of reward. His idea of what Shiro should like is already so twisted. If he doesn’t want this, maybe he won’t make him.

Keith frowns, “Don’t be like that, pet. You’re the Champion,” He nuzzles against Shiro’s throat, reassurance for the wrong thing, “You will fight.”

“What will you do if I refuse to,” What will he have to pay?

“You know what happens when you refuse me,” Keith says, his nails beginning to bite against Shiro’s skin.

He does. He knows to well what will happen, no matter how much he tries to deny. Keith will throw him back in the cell. Keep him in the pain and dark until he’ll do anything to get back out. Last time he’d agreed to become a human sex toy so Keith would stop, but this, this is different. Whoring himself is only his own humiliation. His own scraps of torn dignity. Going back to the arena, he’d be a murderer again, but so much worse than the time before. He wouldn’t be fighting for his life, but merely to avoid his own pain. A whole new depth of monster. There was only one right choice to make.

Fear crawled up his throat, tried to steal his breath, force him to stay silent, but he meets those pretty eyes that hide so much cruelty.

“No”

-

The walls are closing in, pulsing with light as Keith laughs. He has a wicked looking knife, and he’s considering it with his demon grin. “You’ve been a bad boy, Takashi,” He grabs Shiro’s hair, holding him still while the blade dances in front of his eye, “Maybe I should cut out your tongue. It gets you in so much trouble.” The blade is pressing up against his lips, threatening to cut through them and tear the muscle from his mouth, “Mmmmmm, but then you won’t be able to beg me with your pretty pretty voice. How about something else, like your arm? You’d look so much better if they matched?” The knife stabs through his bicep, and Shiro screams.

“Shiro wake up.” His captor is hovering above him. His bonds are gone. He needs to stop him, but his captor jumps back before Shiro’s punch can land. “Woah, woah.” Hands up, motion to stop, “It’s me, Keith,” Shiro knows who he is, “It’s okay, you’re safe. It was just a nightmare.” Keith is backing up across the room, giving him space. Why? Shiro hesitates. The floor, the ceiling, light metal lit by blue, this isn’t his cell. He looks around, breathing hard. Soft couches, no bed. He’s not on a Galra ship at all. This is the common room in the Castle. Oh.

“You back with me?” Keith asks. Hands lowering, with Shiro’s realization.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m with you,” Shiro says. Why was he in here? Sleeping exposed? Movie, that’s right, he was watching a movie with the other paladins. Coran had insisted it was a classic, but the dullness with his general trouble sleep had him drifting off long before it was done.

“Good,” Keith says, sitting down beside him. Shiro flinches, and Keith immediately scoots further down the couch. Not his captor, but distance, distance is good.

“Where’s everybody else?” Shiro asks. Everyone was there for the movie, but he and Keith are alone in the room and something completely different is playing on the monitor.

“They headed off to bed after the movie. Coran said there was a sequel so I stuck around to watch it. You were sleeping so peacefully, we didn’t want to move you.” Keith explains. Probably not the whole truth. Keith has had a habit of trying to monitor his sleep since they became paladins, but he’d be a hypocrite to call him out on his half truth.

“Right, I think I’m going to try and fall back to sleep in my own bed,” Shiro stands up. Escape, maybe rest.

“You sure? I’m not that far into the movie, I can restart it. If you want to watch?” Keith looks up at him hopefully.

No, not alone, not with Keith, not after that nightmare. That wouldn’t be fair to either of them. That’s what he tells himself, “I’m too tired tonight, but tomorrow, when everyone else wakes up we can watch it. If you still want to.” He offers instead. Keith’s presence won’t be so oppressive when muted by the others.

“Okay, if you’re sure. Goodnight Shiro.” Keith doesn’t seem as disappointed as the other times.

“Goodnight Keith.”

Chapter 9: “I’m Sorry”

Keith has brought back his prod. Every muscle in Shiro’s body spasms and screams. Twists him against his binds until his flesh gives and his tendons wrench. There is no air left in his lungs, mouth locked open in a silent scream. Can’t think. Can’t plead. The current stops, Keith sneers, but his chest hearts, burns deep inside. Head light as air, spinning on the teacups. Pain, streaking pain. Keith’s lips move, more words, but he can’t hear. His ears listening through an ocean. The world is fading at the edges. Growing dark…slipping away…he can’t hold……

.

Shouting voices, clattering metal, alarms? Nothing coherent, a world painted in blurry water colors. His chest aches, like someone has taken a hammer to it. Someone has spilled ink on the painting, tendrils overtaking the colo……

.

Bright, painfully bright, an arena’s spotlight in his eyes. He can’t turn away, can’t protect his sight. “Taikashee Shirogainee” Deep bellows, a dream? Reality? Mountains mangling his name around stalactite fangs, “Can you hear me?” Head set in stone, can’t nod. A crack in the place of his voice, maybe yes, maybe the rock understands, “Basic cognitive functions seem to be intact. We’ll have to wait until he is more full recove-”……

.

Anger, rage, Keith, “When will he wake up!” Pain, this promises pain.

“Give him time, my prince. His condition was dire.” The deep voice sounds familiar but from where?

“I have given you time. More than enough time, and he still isn’t conscious.” He should say something. Redirect the anger before it grows too fierce. Keith will be mad at him if he doesn’t……

.

Scratchy sheets against his skin. Not warm, but not cold. Aches but no sharp tears. Shiro opens his eyes. Where is he? Everything echos of dejavu, but from when? Don’t try. If his mind has forgotten, then nightmares probably rest there.

“Ah good, you’re awake.” Deep voice, he’s heard it before. Oh, Galra, medical uniform. He was one of the ones with needles full of sickness and claims to make his wounds better. He must be in the medical wing. Patient room?

“Drink this.” Something is shoved in his face. Cup, he can’t see inside, but is that a bendy straw? Shiro smiles. Who would have thought the Galra would create something so simple and familiar. His lips crack around the motion, his throat sandpaper. He’s so thirsty. He pulls cool water in desperate little sips. The doctor takes it away long before he’s quenched.

The Galra pick up a tablet, opens up some program, “What is your name?” The doctor asks.

Surely, he already knows who Shiro is. The Galra are quite efficient with their files, but sarcasm towards the one treating him will only lead to unnecessary pain, “Takashi Shirogane,” His voice doesn’t sound like his own. Too rough and cracked.

A click, checklist, seeing if something is wrong with his memory. He’s done this before, “Where were you born?”

“Earth” The Galra use a different designation, but he refuses to say it. His home isn’t their’s to name.

“How many fingers am I holding up?” The doctor holds up two clawed fingers.

“Two.”

“Do you know what happened?”

Pain, so much pain, “I was tortured,” He whispers.

“Electrocuted to be precise. I told the prince that your system wasn’t strong enough for prolonged exposure, but does he listen to me. No, of course not.” The doctor grumbles, “Your mental functions don’t seem to have been affected from oxygen deprivation. Thank the Emperor. The fit that would be thrown if you came back an idiot.” The doctor finishes filling out his form and sets the tablet down, “The prince will be down in a moment. Try not to pass out between now and then. You will not like how you are woken back up.” Is that a threat or advice? It can be hard to tell with them. There’s nothing else, a few more readings are recorded and Shiro is left alone to wait.

Staying awakes isn’t a problem. He’s not tired. The Galra don’t believe in waisting pain medication on prisoners. The most a gladiator could hope for is a sedative to keep them still. If he’d been given anything, it has long worn off. Keith arrives before he can grow bored of accessing his injuries.

The prince isn’t angry. That’s not right. He should be furious Shiro had evaded his punishment. His rage has never abated without his concession before, but there is nothing but relief on his face. Keith rushes to his bedside. Shiro flinches, as he’s dragged into a hug. The arms around him hurt, carelessly squeezing against his abused skin. He dare not complain. This is the happiest he’s seen his captor since his refusal to fight. Maybe he’s been forgiven.

Keith releases him from the bone crushing hug, looking him up and down, making sure he’s okay. Shiro isn’t prepared for the fist crashing into his jaw, “Are you happy now!” Keith screams at him, wrenching Shiro’s face around before he can recover.

“You nearly died.” Keith raps his knuckles against the electrical burn over Shiro’s heart. It hurts, he wants to back away, but Keith holds him still with nails in his cheek, “After everything I’ve done. After all the work I put into bringing you back. You can’t just be grateful.”

Keith shoves him back, storms through the room, pacing and gesturing wildly, “You always have to push! Refuse to do as you’re told, and look where its gotten you!” Keith whirls around, stalks towards him and jabs his finger against Shiro’s burn, “Your heart stopped Takashi. The doctors told me you might wake up a vegetable.”

The strength fades from Keith’s voice, his face crumples, and his eyes shine with unshed tears, “Why do you do this to yourself?” Shaking fingers are touching Shiro’s cheek, “Why couldn’t you just do what I asked?” He’s being hugged again, desperately tight.

“I’m sorry,” What else can Shiro say, when presented with this?

“You better be.” Keith lets him go, “You aren’t allowed to leave me again.”

-

Keith’s performance has been suffering. He didn’t notice at first, so obsessed with making sure that his brand new set of issues didn’t interfere with his own, but as he has grown more comfortable, he’s started to see outside of himself again. Keith is very obviously losing a step.

The first time he’d asked, Keith just told him he was a bit tired and not to worry. Shiro didn’t press. Keith would handle his problem now the he was made aware others were noticing, and for a while he did. Keith pulls himself back together, watches the other paladin’s backs, and if he is unusually quiet, well Shiro is too. He is not in a position to judge.

Things don’t last. Eventually, Keith starts slipping again. Banging into rocky surfaces when precision flying Red. Failing to fully guard Lance’s back during group exercises. Taking one too many hits when solo training with the bots. The final straw is when Keith nods off during breakfast. Shiro has to intervene. He’s the leader of Voltron. It would be a dereliction of duty to allow this to progress any further. Left to fester this issue could potentially endanger one of their missions.

He’s not cruel. He doesn’t speak to Keith then and there. In front of his teammates and the Alteans. Shiro waits until he can pull Keith into a side room to confront him. Even if his chest tightens the moment they are alone together.

Keith doesn’t look good. There are dark bags under his eyes. His reaction time is just a moment more delayed than normal. His whole body seems to be sagging under the weight of exhaustion. He shouldn’t have waited so long to speak to him. A good leader shouldn’t let things gets this bad before intervening.

“How much rack time have you been getting?” Straight to the point has always been the best approach when dealing with Keith.

“Seven hours,” Keith says, bullshitting him straight to his face. He’s seen Keith on seven hours of sleep a night. He doesn’t look like this.

“Don’t lie to me,” Shiro adopts his old mentor tone, the coaxing one instead of ordering. Keith responds better when he doesn’t demand, “You look like a walking zombie. How much sleep have you been getting?” He asks again.

“Enough,” Keith replies obstinately. Brick walls had nothing on Keith Kogane.

So this is how it’s going to be. Shiro scrubs at his face, he doesn’t have anywhere better to be, but this could go on for hours depending on how stubborn Keith decides to be, “You nearly face planted in your food goo this morning.” He reminds him, “If that’s enough, I’d hate to see what too little looks like.”

Keith eyes cut away from him, staring off at nothing in particular, “I’m handling it, okay,” Keith says, “You don’t have to worry.”

“Keith, I’m responsible for this team’s performance.” The same thing he’d had to keep telling himself, when working up for this conversation, “It’s my job to worry.”

“That’s the fucking problem.” Keith mutters.

What? “Excuse me?” Shiro says.

Keith flushes, apparently he hadn’t meant to say that out loud, “No, forget I said anything. I’ll go get some sleep. Your leaderly duties are satisfied.” Keith makes a break for the exit, but Shiro blocks his path. Barring the door with his arm.

“I’m not just going to forget it.” He says, letting some of his building frustration leak into his voice. Since when had Keith been so unwilling to just tell him what he’s thinking? “Explain what you mean, how is my worrying the problem.”

“That’s not what I meant!” Keith shouts, “You’re getting it all wrong.” Keith crosses his arms. He looks like he’s trying to give himself a hug. What had he missed? What had he let build due to his own discomfort?

“Then tell me, and I can get it right.” Neither of them are going anywhere until this is resolved. He won’t let interpersonal issues compromise Voltron.

Keith knows him. Knows Shiro can be just as stubborn if not more stubborn than him. The younger man caves, “You were gone again, Shiro…” Keith starts, then trails off. Losing himself on the way to next sentence.

“You mean when I changed universes.” Shiro offers, a cue to jog his thoughts.

Keith nods, “Yeah, I’d finally gotten you back, after so long we were together again and things were right.” Keith’s lips turn up in a shaky smile, “Then…then, then you disappeared!” Keith’s eyes squeeze shut at the declaration, as if the thought physically pains him before opening them again, “There wasn’t a body, just like last time. You were gone, poof. Without a trace. We-I didn’t even know if you were still alive.” Keith’s staring somewhere around Shiro’s chest, but he’s not seeing him. Keith’s looking at an empty cockpit, “Even once we found out what happened, space is 99 percent empty. Slav calculated the odds of you going somewhere with oxygen and survivable temperature ranges. They were astronomical. He thought we were bringing your body back for a funeral.”

He’d never thought. He’d been so preoccupied trying to handle himself, keep everything that happened away from the the others. He never stopped to think what the search for him had been like. They thought they were bringing home a corpse, “I’m sorry.” He should have realized what his disappearance would have been like for Keith.

“Don’t, don’t apologize, it’s not your fault.” Keith absolves him off handedly, “Besides, that’s not the real issue.” There’s more?

“Then what is?” Shiro asks.

“I always believed you were alive. Just like after the ‘pilot error’,” Keith sneers on the words, like they taste foul in his mouth, “I knew you were still out there. I just had to find you, but when I did, it didn’t feel like you came back.”

Keith takes a deep breath before continuing, “I used to have nightmares about looking for you at the Garrison. Running through the halls calling your name, but I could never find you.” Keith arms wrap tighter around himself with his confession. He sniffs wetly, “They stopped when you crash landed back on Earth. I thought they were gone for good.”

Keith reaches up to wipe his eyes roughly, “Then you went missing and I started having them about the Castle. Except this time they didn’t stop when we found you.” Keith’s ducking his head, hiding his face behind his hair, “You’re here, but you don’t feel like you’re really here.” His breath is hitching. This is all Shiro’s fault. He’s the one who’s been pushing Keith away without proper explanation. He’s the one who’s been treating his lover like a leper with no real time frame for them to come back together. He did this to him.

“Keith,” Shiro says softly. Carefully placing his arms around the smaller man. Keith leans into the hug, fingers curling into Shiro’s shirt. He buries his head against his shoulder. The spot Keith’s hiding his eyes is grows damp.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Keith whispers. He’s trembling against Shiro. Too many emotions, suppressed for too long, “I shouldn’t be telling you this. You have your own problems. I’m so sorry.”

“Shhhh, it’s okay.” Shiro murmurs, gingerly petting Keith’s hair, “You didn’t do anything wrong. Everything is going to be okay.” Hesitantly, he presses a kiss to Keith’s temple. Keith cries harder.

Chapter 10: Takashi

The Champion is magnificent. Bloodthirsty and clever. He’s faced a hundred aliens faster and stronger than him in the arena and come out victorious each and every time. He is also the first of his Father’s race that Keith has ever seen.

Many deca-phoebs ago, Keith’s mother had come back from a scouting mission pregnant with the bastard child of a backwater race from a planet with little to no strategic value. Interbreeding may not be frowned upon in the Empire, even encouraged in the cases of species with useful traits for the Galra species as a whole, but the child she gave birth to was an embarrassment to his mother’s family. Keith was tiny, smaller than any of his cousins. No claws tipped his chubby fingers or sharp little fangs in his mouth. In fact he had no teeth at all! He didn’t even have fur to hide his sickly pink skin from the elements. Truly the tiny bundle his mother clutched to her chest was shameful in his weakness.

A creature only a mother could love, and when she died, his fate seemed to be sealed. He would be cast out. Thrown from his familial home, like so much trash, to navigate the world alone. A just place, for one with so little to offer. That would have been his future, if not for one of his uncles seeing the spark of something greater in his anger laden eyes.

He’d been taken in, granted a chance to prove himself worthy of his name. His uncle’s molding had been harsh, no room for vulnerability. Where others were merely expected to succeed, he was to excel. He was to be the quickest, the cleverest, the most learned, and the most skilled among all his peers. A finely tuned weapon, sharpened to a razor point. His upbringing had left scars, reminders of failure’s consequences, but his uncle’s care had created the Galra he was today.

Once unleashed upon the world, his preparation had made his rise to the uppermost levels of honor and power as a matter of course. He knew no mercy, raining down a cruelty on the enemies of the Empire unmatched by his pure blooded peers. His reputation became legend, the mere presence of his ship on the battlefield caused his foes to flee in terror, few managed to escape their fates. His prowess and blood thirstiness was whispered among the weak of stomach and toasted at feasts. Until tale of his work reached the Emperor himself. When offered the position of Prince, he had accepted his due. All knew the honor of his presence.

Now, in the blood soaked sands of the arena, he sees a kindred soul. Someone else wrapped in soft flesh and pink skin, who tears the throats from any who dare underestimate him. A member of his Father’s race, reminding all that Keith was not bred from an inferior strain. His was a heritage of victorious warriors, one to be feared. He would meet this gladiator, this reflection of himself, and he would own him.

.

The Champion stands quietly, letting Keith circle him unhindered. Mute but wary under his examination. He is taller than Keith. It’s disappointing to see that even among his Father’s kind he is short. The gladiator’s muscles are bigger too, shoulders broader, dwarfing Keith in every way. The effect is oddly appealing, dredging up flashes of desires he normally has no time for. He will forgive the gladiator his size.

“Champion, what is your name?” Keith asks.

“Takashi Shirogane,” The Champion answers promptly, his eyes not wavering from their forward position. Dutifully respectful.

“Takashi Shirogane,” Keith tries the name in his mouth. The combination of syllables is strange, but not the hardest he’s ever been asked to pronounce, “I assume that is your whole name, what is your given?”

“Takashi,” Hmmmm, yes, the alieness suits him. A constant reminder to all who hear, that the Champion is not one of the Galra.

“He will do,” Keith says to the guards. They will take care of all the necessary arrangements, “I expect him in my quarters by morning.” He turns and leaves them to his orders. He has gained quite the prize this day.

.

Takashi is everything he could have ever dreamed of possessing. Knowledgeable about his Father’s species, a deadly fighter, never disappointing in the arena, and a beautiful playmate in bed. If he could ascribe any flaw to the man, his tendency towards monosyllabic answers might rank. Conversation truly doesn’t seem to be his strong point, but that isn’t too much of a hardship to bear. He much prefers to be listened to anyways, and Takashi is an excellent listener.

.

Keith hurries through the halls. The desert in his hands will surely cheer his pet up. Takashi has been terribly depressed of late. Keith really should have refused to look up the fates of the humans captured with him, but his pet had asked so sweetly. Did that thing Keith adores with his tongue, then made his request in the after glow. He would have given the man the world in that moment. Keith sighs. What’s done is done. Takashi knows about the other’s deaths in the work camps. He can’t take the information back now.

He really doesn’t understand, why his pet cares so much. They’d been weak, unfit for his company. His very first act in the arena had been to attack one of them in his eagerness to fight. Of course, considering what he knew of the species so far, maybe such acts of violence where how they showed affection. No matter, he was carrying his Takashi’s favorite treat. Everything would be fine.

He found his pet where he left him, in their bedroom. Sitting with shoulders slumped on the edge of their bed. Takashi was staring at his prosthetic, activating and deactivating the deadly purple glow rhythmically.

“I’ve brought you something,” Keith announces, opening the box to show him the goodies inside. Takashi looks up at the confections for a moment, eyes dull without the usual excitement for his treats. He doesn’t reach for them, doesn’t hoard them to eat all in one sitting, just drops his eyes back to his hand.

“Don’t be like that. These are your favorites.” Keith cajoles, sitting down beside the larger human. Trying to coax him out of his funk. Takashi doesn’t look up from the slowly flashing light, “Come now, if you eat quickly, you can finish a few before your next match.” If he’d just behave like normal, Keith would gladly let them be late, so he could finish his snack.

The glow leaves his arm, but he doesn’t look up, “Match?” Takashi asks quietly. There is something strange about his eyes, almost too wide.

“Yes, a match.” Keith answers eagerly, arranged specifically to improve his mood, “Sendak has returned from his expedition and he’s found the most interesting new species. They haven’t achieved space flight yet, but they might prove capable in the arena.” Keith explains. Maybe he’s exaggerating their potential a bit, but all for a good cause, “I know you’ve felt terrible, so I’ve arranged for you to be their first opponent.” The fight would be a slaughter. Most these first contact fights were, but an easy slaughter would do his pet good right now.

As he speaks, Takashi stills. He hardly seems to breathe. His arm reactivates, the purple glow casting his skin in odd shades. His pet is shaking? A flash, a streak of light. Pure instinct has him throwing up his arms to protect his head. Something warm and wet splashes him, a droplet finding its way through to his lip. Keith lowers his hands…Takashi…His prosthetic, his arm, is still active. Boiling. Buried-dark red leaking, not purple, why isn’t there more purple-to the wrist, in his own throat.

The body falls over. Keith screams.

.

Takashi had been dead before he hit the floor. The heat from his hand had boiled his brain. Erasing everything that he was. Even the druids couldn’t bring him back.

Keith had raged in his mourning. His underlings had scurried to appease him. Offering the most beautiful, the strongest slaves they could find to replace his loss. Most never left his room alive.

One enterprising officer had taken a ship all the way to Takashi’s home planet. Coming back with a hold of new humans for him to own. He’d still hurt, but temporarily his rage had subsided. Only to come back ten fold when he found them to be weak cowering creatures to the last. None held a candle to the memory of his Takashi.

The doctors had offered to clone his pet. Bring back a perfect copy for him to train as he pleased. Keith had shut them down with a sneer. He didn’t want a faltering child for a slave. He wanted the Champion, vicious and victorious. What good was the body without the mind?

A druid was the one to finally come up with a plan to give him what he truly wanted. She’d spoken at length about the existence of multiple dimensions. How out there, somewhere, there were hundreds, thousands, no infinite amounts of Takashi’s with just the slightest variation from his own. She’d promised him, that with her power she could pluck one of these Takashi’s from his universe and bring him to Keith’s own. The price had been steep. More than a planet’s worth of quintessence and holds full of slaves for her experiments. He’d required her life as collateral, but if she succeeded, then all would be well spent.

She’d worked day and night. Requisitioning the labs of his ships for her machines. Calling in the highest level prisoners for consultations. Anything she needed, Keith granted her. Until one quintant, many phoebs later, she came to him. She was done.

.

The room is covered in wires, running to and from machines of unknown purposes, operated by cowed assistants. Mystical runes, stinking of dark magic, are carved into every wall and circle the floor in a building spiral centered around an altar. Raised from shadowy metal that absorbs light and play tricks on  the eyes. This is the culmination of the work that will bring Takashi back to him.

The druid has warned him that she can only bring back something that is close to his original. Searching the infinite dimensions for an exact match would take an eternity he does not wish to wait. She will find him a Takashi. One brought from his home planet to become Champion of their arena. He will have his deadly gift from the druids replacing his organic arm. Even his scars will be mostly the same, but his memories will differ. Small changes that must be ironed out with harsh training to mold him back into Keith’s beloved pet.

This is an acceptable caveat. He’s prepared accordingly. The perfect cell, the right tools. He is confident in his abilities. Within a deca-phoeb, he’ll have a perfect copy of the original. Not even he will be able to tell the difference.

“Begin,” Keith orders. The druid nods and signals to her assistants. A switch is flipped. Black energy begins to pulse out of her, dancing between the runes before feeding into the machines surrounding them. The very air is building, charging, in preparation. A moment of heavy anticipation, and then, a blinding flash of light. Keith shields his eyes, blinks away the spots. Dark lightening is crackling from the alter, striking out against the walls and those unfortunate enough to be too close.

Takashi is unconscious upon the dais.

Chapter 11: It’s Always Darkest...

The wonders of intergalactic medicine has never been one of Shiro’s regrets. Even in the arena, when his shattered bones became whole in mere days, forcing him back to the arena always too soon, he’d been grateful for what the healing meant for his survival. Wounds meant death and he’d wanted to live, but now, as the doctor clears him for return to Keith’s care, he wishes his injuries had not mended so quickly. Barely a couple days have passed since his near death experience, and he is already sentenced to the tortures of his cell once more. This is a hell without escape.

Two guards drag him from the medical cot. Escort him at the point of their rifles, from the meager reprieve provided by the medical wing. They are not taking him to his cell, not yet. First he must be judged, his punishment handed down, they are taking him to the Prince.

Keith is waiting for him in the bedroom he’s kept when not in the cell. Sitting on the edge of the bed with fingers steepled. Shiro is thrust to his knees before him, head forcibly bowed. The guards snap to attention, ‘Verpit Sa’, then leave just as quickly as the came. Shiro keeps his head down, eyes on the floor. There is nothing he can do, nothing he can say, to avoid his fate.

“Your stubbornness nearly got you killed,” Keith says, standing to circle him. Don’t flinch, don’t shake, fear will only make him angrier, “Tell me, have you learned your lesson?” Keith asks. He can’t give the Prince the answer he wants. The near murder was an accident. He doubts Keith will repeat it, which means nothing has changed. He’s still weighing his own pain versus an innocent’s life. He’s not desperate enough to be forced into that trade yet. Shiro stays silent.

Silence isn’t an acceptable response, “Answer me!” Keith shouts, grabbing his hair and pulling back his head, “Did you learn your lesson?” Keith snarls. There is no way to win.

“No, sir,” Shiro says, stronger than he is. He braces for a hit, for Keith to call back the guards and order him to his cell. He can’t stop this. He’s helpless to the whims of a maniac. The expected blow doesn’t come.

Keith lets go of his hair. Shiro bows his head again, waits. Keith sighs. Socked feet pad to the head of the bed, the mattress squeaks, “Come here,” An order, still angry, but not enraged.

Shiro looks up. Keith’s back is to the headboard, legs stretched out in front of him. He’s patting the spot beside him. A mirror image of a scene played out on many nights before. Expectations are clear.

Shiro climbs onto the bed, crawls towards him, and lays his head in Keith’s lap. As soon as he’s settled, a hand begins to card through his hair, “Good boy,” Keith says, “At least you still listen to me in some things.” He sounds tired. Shiro’s muscles relax in response. He should be on guard, trying to figure out what’s going on, but he’s been in so much pain for so long. He can’t resist the soft touch. The promise of some kindness.

“What am I going to do with you, Takashi?” Keith sighs. Speaking out loud, not a question seeking a response. Shiro keeps his mouth shut, and enjoys the scratch of nails against his scalp. If left alone, he could sleep like this.

“You know I can’t let you do whatever you want. It’s important that you obey me.” Keith says, like he’s a dog that peed on the carpet instead of a human he refused to participate in cold blood murder. Keith’s fingers drift down from Shiro’s scalp to tap against his chest, right above his heart, “Don’t think just because you nearly died, you’re getting out of things. You are still going into the arena.” Keith dashes his newly bloomed hopes. He’s so stupid. After Keith’s freak out and how his affectionate side had come back so suddenly, he thought, he thought maybe ideas of the arena had been abandoned. He’s such an idiot.

“But circumstances have convinced me that maybe it was unwise to rush you right back into things.” Keith says, going back to his ministrations, “Some have suggested that it might be best to ease you into being the Champion again. Start with beasts and we can work our way back up to prisoners. How does that sound?” Like delaying the inevitable. Putting off the punishment for refusal until a later date, all while providing amusement for bloodthirsty spectators. Still animals are preferable to scared prisoners. Turning down the opportunity for rest would be foolish. He isn’t going to get a better offer.

“Like a good idea, sir,” Shiro replies, closing his eyes. No better options.

Keith claps his hands together, scattering what little calmness Shiro had gained, “Perfect, we’ll start as soon as the doctor’s say you’re ready.”

.

Shiro gets a few days to sleep in a real bed before the guards come for him.

No restraints, no pointed weaponry, just two escorts ushering him down an unfamiliar path. He isn’t guided to the arena or even one of the preparation rooms for the gladiators. Keith is waiting for him in a chamber used for a smaller sort of spectated fights.

The room is dominated by the fighting ring. A large square of cleared space surrounded by sturdy partial walls. They are a bit tall for him to view over comfortably, but the average Galra would have no issue. Slots in the ceiling conceal a barrier that can be pulled down if a fight threatens to spill over into the watching crowd.

There are no crowds at the moment. Keith’s only allowed the bare minimum personnel necessary for the fight to take place. Was the Prince worried his unwillingness to fight would leave to a unsatisfactory performance? He seems the type to be concerned about witnesses damaging the Champion’s reputation. Maybe he will be spared the arena after all. Maybe, if he shows a lack of suitable blood thirst, he’ll never have to hear the deafening roar of a thousand alien tongues screaming the name ‘Champion’ again.

Keith waves him over. The Prince is opposite him perched on a dividing wall with a perfect view to see the fight in all its gory detail. Shiro walks to the nearest divider and hops over. Keith will read the move as eagerness, please him into believing this was the right division. On his way over, Shiro is forced to skirt a shaking cage watched by a wary handler, his opponent probably. A cloth is thrown over the cage, obscuring most of the creature from view, but a slimy black tentacle is wrapped around one of the bars and some sort of limb ending in a sharp point keeps stabbing the ground in front of it. He’s never seen something like this before. It’s probably deadly.

Keith smiles, as Shiro stops in front of him. Fingers cup his cheek, feather soft. Keith is getting what he wants, he’s always sweet when he gets what he wants, “Ready for your fight, Champion?” Keith asks.

Shiro bristles at the name, but doesn’t protest. Smaller venue or no, he’s still going to shed blood for their amusement. These are the acts that branded him with that title, “Yes, my Prince,” Shiro says, stiffly dipping his head.

“Good,” Keith says, viciously pleased, “I’ve found the most interesting creature for you today. The V’loks call it a Sqauch. Silly name for such a deadly creature, but what can you expect from the lesser races,” Keith waves his hands, “It should provide you an adequate challenge.” Keith gives him a light shove towards the center of the ring, “Now go, remind me of what you can do.” Shiro goes with the movement, turns and walks to his starting position.

The handler is watching him, waiting for his signal to start the match. Shiro nods, he’s as ready as he’ll ever be.

The handler kicks the cage, exciting the monster inside. Loud gurgling noises spill out, the shaking within growing so fierce the edges of the container lift off the ground. Satisfied, the handler pull the cloth free and hits the release button for the door in one fluid movement. He hightails it out of there ring before the creature can spring free. He needn’t have hurried, the thing only has eye stalks for Shiro. Generously, the alien could be called a spider the size of a large dog, with a razor toothed octopus for a mouth, and eyestalks pointed every which way. Not so generously, it was a freak of nature that Keith should have left in whatever hell hole he found it in.

The animal bends its legs, flaring its tentacles in a gurgling hiss, before leaping towards him. Shiro dives to the side. The thing hasn’t charged like a normal beast, only jumped. Possibly its main mode of locomotion when hunting?

It didn’t need a moment to catch its bearings, already coiling for another pounce as its feet touched the ground. It’s much closer this time and Shiro barely has enough time to scramble out of the way, he needs to attack back on the next move or he is going to get skewered by the points of it’s sharp legs.

Except another jump isn’t coming, one of the thing’s tentacles has wrapped around the fingers on his right hand. He’s too slow on the uptake, he hasn’t had any time to train since being captured. The beast pulls swinging its momentum around to throw itself at Shiro. Stabbing at him with the sharp points of its legs before he can block.

Pain slices his sides and flesh arm as he activates his prosthetic. Burning heat forcing the creature to let go. A gargling shriek, the thing pushes off with it’s hind legs putting distance between the two of them. He’s lucky, so lucky one of those blows didn’t go pierce his stomach. He should have turned his arm on the second he felt something touch it. This used to be instinct. Focus. Should haves later. Fight now.

The thing is gurgling to itself, focused in on its burn, patting at it with the other tentacles. Freak of nature it may be but still an animal. First thought of a predator, when the prey fights back, is to find easier prey. It hadn’t held on and fight until Shiro was a pincushion, so it was exotic enough to be poorly trained. Still running on basics instincts, more than what entertains the audience. It will be back momentarily, but he has precious time to prepare.

He’s had several jumps to figure out the limits of this creatures range. He backs up until he’s on the higher end. Here he’ll have more time to respond when attacked. Carefully he crouches down and hides his right arm behind his bulk. The thing was probably smart enough to realize the difference between the parts of him that hurt to touch and those that didn’t. He needed it to think he was a good target for another head on attack.

There is a sharp whistle from the handler on the sidelines, and the thing stops tending its burn and focuses back in on Shiro. Good. It bends its knees again and lets out another gurgling hiss. Then it is leaping across the distance between them. Gotcha. Shiro’s smiles. Springing forward himself. Ducking under the arc of it sharp legs, he brings his glowing purple of his arm up through its abdomen.

The thing shrieks. Shiro rips his arm out of its carapace, then plunges it back in closer to the head. No way to be certain where what passes for a brain is in this thing, but do enough damage and anything will eventually die. He stabs it several more times for good measure. Alien gore spraying up to coat him with each new wound. Adrenalin sings in his veins, shouting his triumph and survival, as the thing twitches once more before going still. Victory is a high like no other. At least, until he hears the clapping.

Clap, clap, clap, Keith is applauding with absolute glee from his perch. Shiro’s stomach plummets. He’s torn from the place of base survival, to be reminded exactly what he’s been doing. What a good little attack dog he is. A little violence, and he forgets all his distastes.

Keith laughs, waving him over, “Come here, come here, let me appreciate you,” Keith yells. Shiro’s feet are stone. Rooted to the earth with shame, but he pulls them loose and follows the call of his master. He’d wanted to please the Prince, convince him to accept this smaller show, and now he’s pleased.  No one to blame but himself.

Keith pulls him into a kiss, open mouthed and dirty. Hands curl in his hair as a tongue traces his teeth. Shiro is a dead fish, doing little more than limply letting Keith take whatever he wants. Keith doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, he never does. A harsh bite to his lower lip, and Shiro is released.

Hungry purple eyes look down on him, “Mmmm, you did so well, pet. Less than a minute between introduction ‘till kill. You always know how to please,” Keith wraps his legs around Shiro’s torso then drops down, forcing him to catch and support him. Keith is hard, turned on from watching him fight. Keith’s crotch rubs against Shiro as he leans in for another kiss. The guards are watching, the handler is watching. They have an audience, and the Prince doesn’t seem to care.

Keith pulls back, hands plucking at Shiro’s gore stained shirt, “It’s in your blood. Drop you into a fight and you just can’t help yourself,” Keith purrs. Pressing their foreheads together, letting his breath mingling with Shiro’s. Please no, please not here, in front of everyone. They know, they all have to know, the Prince has never been subtle, but…but…

“I think you deserve a reward,” Keith presses close, whispers in his ear, “Take me back to the room, and I’ll give you one.”

Relief floods his system, there won’t be a public display. He won’t be used in front of gossiping guards. Humiliation layered upon every else…but it’s still going to happen, “I’m tired,” Words spilling from his lips before he can think, “From the fight,” A poor excuse, but it doesn’t imply he’s unwilling in general. That he’s trying to deny the Prince, “It might be best that I rest.” He nearly died recently, and Keith seems to care about his physical well being, when he isn’t angry with him.

“Truly?” Keith asks with a small frown.

Shiro tries to looks as exhausted as possible, “Yes,” He nods.

Keith pushes at Shiro’s arms until he sets him on the ground, “Then I will just have to do all the work tonight,” Keith leans up and gives him a peck on the cheek, grabbing his hand to pull him along behind him, “Don’t worry, pet. You did very well today, and you will receive your reward.”

.

Keith presses a cloth bag into Shiro’s hands, “Clean yourself out, then come back,” A hungry smirk, appraising eyes, undressing him with a look, “Don’t touch the blood. You look so much better in color.”

Keith leaves him alone in the bathroom, Shiro empties the bag. A strange oblong device, a little bottle of lube, and a data slate explaining the use of both. How thoughtful. The giggles wrong in his throat. Breathe.

He can do this, he’s done this before. Not since his capture, not since his cell. The Prince has been too impatient for anything more than his hands or mouth, but he’s done this for Keith before, with different tools in a different place. This isn’t new.

The instructions are simple, he follows with slow hands, flushes, repeats. He doesn’t hurry, but there is only so long he can drag the process out. Eventually he has to go back to the bedroom, back to Keith.

Shiro opens the door, enters the room. Keith is waiting for him, sprawled out on the mattress. His pants pulled down just far enough that his leaking dick can stand tall and proud. Keith watches him, hand slowly jacking off on full display. He hasn’t seen him like this lately. As far as Keith has been concerned, tending to his needs is what Shiro’s mouth is for, but not right now, no orders to fold to his knees leave Keith’s lips. He just plays with himself, little shuddery moans escaping here and there, while Shiro looks on. Another setting, he could have been seductive.

Keith comes all over his hand with a gasp. Hardly an afterglow, before he’s wrinkling his nose at the mess, holding it out for Shiro, “Clean this off for me, will you pet?” Keith asks. Finally Shiro moves, sitting beside the Prince, taking his hand in his own. Obediently he begins. The briny taste sits disgustingly on his tongue. Lick, swallow, lick, until every finger is clean. A predator’s eyes watch him, preparing to tear him apart, “So good for me,” Keith praises, petting his hair, “Now strip and lay down, you won’t have to do anything else tonight.” Except pretend he doesn’t want to claw his own skin off. Pretend he wants him. Nothing more except that.

His clothes drop to the floor, Keith plasters himself to his back as soon as his shirt is off. Fingers running down his abs to trace one of the barely closed cuts from the beast. Why always his wounds? Shiro’s fingers don’t want to cooperate as he undoes his pants. Keith grows impatient, tears them off himself before pushing Shiro back on the bed, “Just relax, Takashi,” Keith says, kneeding the tense muscles of his stomach, “I’m going to take care of you.” Keith promises. He knows, that’s what he’s scared of.

A bottle of lube comes from somewhere, colorful label decorated with alien words. He’s drifting. He needs to stop, stay present. Keith will be mad if he doesn’t. A tap to his inner thigh, Shiro spreads his thighs. Rough cloth brushes between them. Keith settling. Pop, goes the lube bottle. The metal of the ceiling has imperfections, small ones barely noticeable. How odd, that a room belonging to a Prince would have flaws, “You’re so tense,” Keith says, too far away, Shiro comes backs, “Are you nervous?”

“Yes,” Shiro lies.

“Don’t worry,” Keith says, a kiss against his chest, “I know how to get you to relax.” A slick hand wraps around his dick, Shiro gasps. “After this you’ll be nice and loose for me.” He never touches him right, but he doesn’t need to. The warm wet channel of Keith’s hand is enough, Shiro’s hips thrust up on their own.

“Besides it’s only fair we both get to come before the fun really starts. Makes things last longer.” Keith whispers conspiratorially. Shiro can only moan, as Keith takes over the pace. Wringing pleasure from him, with a too tight touch. His own nails digging into his palms with pin point pain, something to ground, something to keep everything locked inside. Keith pushes and pushes, until he pushes him right off the edge. Shiro shudders, cries out as his cum splatters his stomach.

A haze, with Keith’s smile floating above him, “Feel better?” Keith asks. He can’t trust his own voice, so he just nods. It’s enough, “Good,” Keith says, “Now we can get started.”

More lube drizzled on his fingers, reaching between his legs. Shiro squeezes his eyes shut, then throws them back open at the first breach. It doesn’t hurt. It wouldn’t. Keith wants him to enjoy himself. This would be so much easier if it hurt.

Keith takes his time. Works him open slowly on one finger. Stay relaxed. Don’t tense. Clenching will only slow things down. The faster he’s prepared, the sooner this will be over. Another is added.

Keith starts to explore, pressing against his walls as he stretches. Shiro’s breath stutters, Keith finds what he’s looking for. Little sparks of pleasure, too soon for his soft dick, but the Prince still notices, “There?” Keith asks.

Shiro nods, and Keith pushes harder. Stop. He gasps against the sensation. Keith chuckles, “Still so sensitive.”

By the third finger, he’s recovered, twitching cock beginning to swell. No break, no relief. He’ll go until his captor is satisfied. Fingers slip free, leaving him open, an invitation he can’t revoke.

“You know, I’d almost forgotten how much better it is to fuck you after a fight,” Keith explores his torn flesh with his tongue. Wet trail around barely scabbed wounds, leaving their cooling mark long after the owner is gone.

“You’re so gorgeous and vicious, cutting down your enemies with ease, like the war gods of old.” What he did in the arena was nothing like a God of War. Enemy soldiers didn’t compare to scared prisoners, longing for stolen homes.

“Makes me want to drag you down and wreck you. Pin all that muscle to the sands, and make you scream with pleasure until you’re hoarse.” Keith grabs Shiro’s hair to hold him still as he licks a stripe up his cheek through the drying alien blood. He can see it, in his mind’s eye. The spectators would watch and cheer, Keith would laugh, white teeth flashing. Steaming corpses close enough for him to gag.

“Mmm, fighting even makes you taste good.” Keith smacks his lips and sits back on his haunches. It’s time, no more delays, “You know pet. If I’m going to do all the work, you should have to do the talking.” Of course, his silence wouldn’t be permitted. Not for long. His part to play demands he participate. Keith slicks up his own cock and shoves a pillow under Shiro’s hips.

“While I fuck you, you’re going to tell me a story, about how you got this scar,” He can’t be serious. This, this was supposed to be a reward. What mind thinks reliving his fights would be pleasurable, but there is no hesitation or question in his voice. Keith points to a broad slice from the top of his shoulder down across his collar bone. He remembers that one, the pain of receiving it. He’d thought he was going to die.

“Don’t look like that, pet,” Keith pats his cheek, “I know talking isn’t your strong point, but I won’t judge a bare bones story. Besides you can’t expect me to do everything, the least you can do is a bit of dirty talk.” He was. Keith was actually going to make him do this.

“Yes sir,” Shiro whispers, his voice so small a mouse could swallow it.

“Good,” Keith stares at him expectantly, waves his hand for Shiro to begin, “Go ahead pet, tell me of bloody conquest.”

Shiro licks his lips. Remember why he’s doing this. There are worse things than painful memories, “It was one of my early matches, before I lost my arm,” While he speaks, Keith pushes his legs further apart, the head of his dick running down Shiro’s perineum to press against his rim, “The guy I was fighting was big-Agh!” Keith pushes in, it hurts. Too much too fast, forcing Shiro to take him to the hilt in one long slide. No time to accommodate.

“Keep going,” Keith growls.

Don’t stop. Don’t make him mad. Just push through. The stretch burns, “He was big, and he had-ah,” Keith pulls back and thrusts in again, “a big sword. Oh,” Keith wraps his already slick hand around Shiro’s dick. Too much, too much everything, threatening to drag him under.

“All they gave me was a, was a, fucking spear,” Fear had churned in his gut as he entered the arena. His opponent towered over even the guards, a monster carved of metal and flesh. His sword alone standing taller Shiro. A mouse against a cat, he was going to die, “The spear didn’t make it aaaa minute. He just reach-ah fuck,” Shiro’s whole body arches as Keith finds that spot. He hits it again on the next thrust and again and again. His hand jacking Shiro off harder and faster. Building. Too much, pleasure, fear. He wants to wretch. It’s all he can do to gasp in air.

“Did I say you could stop talking?” Keith gives a particularly harsh thrust, hurt to drag him back, “Keep telling your story Takashi. You had a spear.”

His story, keep speaking, “Spear, I had a spear, but he-ah-broke it. Wi-with one hand just snapped it.” Like a twig in a fist bigger than his head. He’d been given a toy, and he wasn’t going to make it. Never see home again, “He swung his sword at me. I barely got out of the way. I almost di-ah-died.” A twist and he is so close. Little drips of pre-cum dropping down to his stomach. Why does he have to be so easy for the Prince. Keith removes his hand before he comes. Good, bad, loss. Shiro’s shaking, crying out from being left so high.

“After,” Keith pants, patting this flank, “Keep going.”

Remember, just finish, “There was a boulder, I slipped behind it,” Keith’s thrusts are growing ragged, less precise, less sickening jolts of pleasure, easier to think, “I kept it between us until I could circle ba-ack for my weapon.” Keith digs his nails into Shiro’s hip and yelling. Bowing under the force of his orgasm. Sticky cum deep inside. It’s over.

It’s not. Keith’s hand wraps around his dick again. Dragging him over the cliff too. Pleasure spilling over his stomach, before dropping him into free fall. No after glow, just a panting sticky mess, used once more.

Keith rolls off him, catches his breath slowly, “So, how did you get the scar?” Keith asks.

“He dropped his sword on me when he died,” A lucky hit, jabbed deep into a chink of his armor. He’d collapsed where he stood. His sword toppling on top of Shiro, as he fell.

“Seriously?” Disbelieving, disappointed. His Prince is turned on by close calls and slaughter, not humiliating accidents.

“It was a big sword,” Shiro says. The guards had laughed as they dragged him to the medical wing. Champion too small to lift his opponent’s sword, they’d said. Keith sighs, rolling off the bed. Uses Shiro’s shirt to wipe himself clean of cum, before straighting his clothes.

“The rest of the night is yours to rest as you see fit, Champion,” Keith says, “Do with it as you please.” A final peck to his lips, maybe regret at having to leave, then Shiro is alone in the room.

Shiro walks to the bathroom. He empties his stomach.

.

Several more fights pass against increasingly bizarre and dangerous beast. Keith’s lust for him after each fight doesn’t abate, but he seems to be satisfied at having Shiro on his knees. He doesn’t request a repeat performance of the first night, not yet.

He also starts to grant rewards that Shiro actually enjoys. He’s allowed back into the observatory, and Keith has a small training room cleaned out for his use. He gives Shiro small gifts, things he’s always surprised to find out he likes.

Like this one, Keith’s brought a box full of round bread balls back to the room after Shiro’s most recent fight. The Prince is radiating excitement. Leaning close as Shiro pulls one of the balls out of the bag. Practically vibrating in his eagerness. Shiro sniffs, the smell is like nothing he knows. Neither off putting or appealing in its strangeness.

Warily he takes a small bite. It’s good. It’s really good. Like a cupcake of some unknown flavor, sweet and warm. Shiro quickly pops the rest of the ball in his mouth, hoards the box close, lest it be taken. A silly thought, but there has been a persistent itch of anticipation since his fight, like he’s still waiting for the final blow.

Keith grins, triumphant, “See, I told you that you would enjoy them,” Keith says, “I know what you like.” He preens. Shiro nods, hunches as he eats another. Keith pats him on the shoulder and moves to his regular spot by the headboard. Pulling out his tablet to read whatever he reads on that thing.

That means he just wants to cuddle tonight. Where all he expects Shiro to do is act like an over sized cat. Curl up against Keith’s legs, until the Prince grows bored and leaves. This is as close to safe and cared for as he gets in this place, so why can’t he relax? His muscles have remained tight, since the last beasts death. A buzz like the bare edge of adrenalin running under his skin. He should be enjoying his reprieve, but instead he seeks danger in shadows.

He’s eaten a quarter of the box, when a ringing permeates the room. Someone wants permission to enter. He hardly ever hears the sound. Keith and the guards don’t care if he wants them inside or not. When he’s alone, anyone that wants him just walks in and drags him out. The door only rings when the Prince is inside with him. Keith’s underlings would never dare interrupt his time with his slave unannounced.

“Come in,” Keith calls.

The door opens, and a guard marches in. Shiny armor, hard clacking boots, coming closer, closer, stopping in front of him. He’s armed. Baton at the ready, to beat and break. Shiro tightens his grip on the box, muscles tensing. Guards and Keith, horrible things come from them. In this room, together, they mean pain. Being thrown to floor before being dragged to his cell.

The guard salutes, “Your guests have arrived, my Prince.”

“I see. Dismissed. Pet-” Shiro doesn’t hear the rest of Keith’s words. The guard is turning, meeting his eyes. One of his hands is moving towards him. He’s going to grab Shiro, hit him. Shiro moves first. Burning him open with the glowing purple heat of his arm. The guard reels back screaming. He won’t let him-

“TAKASHI!” Keith shouts. Shiro turns, Keith’s face is contorted with rage. No, no, no, don’t be angry with him.

There is a click and Shiro whirls around. The guard has drawn his rifle. Shiro splinters it in his hand. He grabs the guard by the front of the armor. One blow through the throat and the threat is gone.

“Put him down now!” Keith yells, and suddenly he’s by Shiro’s shoulder, so so furious. Shiro drops the guard and backs away. Keith follows him. He didn’t, the guard was coming for him. A fist coming for his face, crystal clear. He was protecting himself. Shiro’s back hits the wall. On the ground, a boot colliding with his ribs, no pain. He slides to his knees holding his head. He’s getting dizzy, breathing too fast. He doesn’t want to go back to his cell. Sizzling prod, burning flesh. There is a whining noise, high pitched, keening. It’s coming from him.

Crack, Shiro’s head snaps to the side. His cheek hurts with real pain, will probably bruise. He looks up. Keith’s back handed him, “Get a hold of yourself,” Keith spits.

“I’m sorry,” Shiro whimpers. Keith drags him up by his hair, another hit, his other cheek stings.

“You are the Champion,” Keith snarls, banging his head against the wall in emphasis, “This is not how you behave.” Keith isn’t angry anymore. He’s disgusted, as if Shiro was something foul he’d stepped in.

Keith let’s go of his hair and Shiro sinks back down, shaking. “Pick yourself up,” Him? No, the injured guard scrambles to his feet, “I will be back for you later.” Keith directs at him.

He’s left like that. Alone, shivering on the floor.

.

He doesn’t see Keith for the rest of the night. At some point he stands, grabs a pillow, a blanket, and cocoons himself in the shower stall. It’s the smallest most secure place he has access to. The most doors between him and the rest of the world in the suite, and not a single lock among them. The barrier won’t stop anyone for coming for him. Barging in, tearing him from his hiding place, but the comfort of the hard walls is enough that eventually a fitful sleep takes him away.

.

He’s still there when Keith comes for him. Multiple boots, he’s not alone, “Takashi!” Keith shouts. He’s still angry. Shiro scrambles out of his blankets and into the room proper, before Keith can find him and add to his list of offenses. It doesn’t matter. Keith takes one look at him and sneers. “Come, you are going to fight a criminal today,” Keith says.

“What?” Shiro takes an unintentional step back.

Keith notices the sign of weakness and his nostrils flare. He strides over to Shiro, grabs his shirt, drags him a stumbling forwards, “I’ve pandered to you far too much. Spoiled you soft,” Keith’s shorter but he’s looking down on him, “Made you weak, Champion, but no further. You will fight. You will kill.”

“I won’t,” He’ll go back to his cell first.

“That’s not a choice you get to make,” Keith snaps. He motions and three guards step forward.

Shiro tries to stop them, but they came prepared. A few shocks and gauntleted punches later, his wrists are locked behind his back. They haul him from the room. They aren’t taking him to his cell. He’s dragged down the path the chamber. The one where they make him fight animals. No.

The ring looks different from the last time he was here. The barriers have been pulled down. A clear pane separates the crowd from the combatants, and for once there is a crowd. No one is here without purpose, but Keith has posted a number of guards throughout the room. He won’t be breaking free.

Keith leaves to sit in a proper raised chair. A Prince’s seat, no casual view of a beloved slave. Shiro is guided to a hole in the wall and shoved through. There is a bang as the gate is closed behind him. Locking him in. The restraints fall off his arms with a click.

There are no exits. No way out unless he is let out. The other slave. Criminal, Keith said. Is standing across from him. He’s not the biggest Shiro has ever been forced to fight. He looks a bit like a crocodile raised up on two legs, biceps the size of Shiro’s thighs. He’s been given a club. Terrible weapon compared to Shiro’s arm. This isn’t a fair fight, not for the alien. He’ll die, unless Shiro can convince him to not go along with this.

There is no starting bell. His opponent just charges. Shiro side steps the blow. No time, dodge, get space to breathe. He has more experience. Swing after swing whiffs past him, allowing him to circle the other. Moving until his back is no longer to the wall. Then the first hit connects. A block against the metal of his arm, but it sends him stumbling back. His shoulder ringing. Nothings torn, but if he tries that too many times he’s going to lose use of that arm. Without his prosthetic, he’s as good as dead.

He can’t get enough space to talk. His opponent pushes without pause. Taking up all his spare breath to keep one step ahead of the crushing blows. He feels the air whoosh above his hair as he avoids a kill shot by a hair’s width. He’s never going to be able to talk this guy down. He’s not tiring out, not slowing for even a moment. The longer he delays the more close calls will come. If he doesn’t fight back, he’s going to die.

It’s a cold shift. Switching gears, goals. Letting himself drop into the mindset that keeps him alive. Shiro moves forward instead of back on the guy’s next attack. Slicing across the thing’s thigh, deep enough to slow. Good. A cheer rises from the watching guards, irrelevant. His next attack follows the first and would have gone up through the alien’s brain pan, if he hadn’t moved backwards at just the right time. The aliens gets away with a cut through the bone of his massive jaw. Extremely painful but not fatal. Shiro goes for his hand next, forcing him to let go of his club. The creature reacts with the rake of a clawed hand, but Shiro dances out of reach.

He circles his foe, deciding on the next route for his next strike. The creature turns with him letting out a roar, and Shiro charges before he can finish. He’s not stupid like the others. Shiro veers off to the side at the last second, avoiding the blow waiting for him and putting himself past his opponent. Shiro spins around and his opponent’s injured leg hampers him. He can’t turn fast enough to stop Shiro from getting a clear shot at his back. A single running blow and Shiro puts his hand through the back of the alien’s neck. Dead, sentients don’t fight without their heads.

The room breaks out in applause, just like every time before. Cold dissipates, survival finished. He comes back to himself, and wishes he’d stayed away. Shiro doesn’t panic. Even when the corpse falls off his hand with a sucking pop. He stands and waits for the guards to collect him.

They don’t recuff him. Somehow knowing that there isn’t any point, he won’t fight. He’s their pet monster. How could he have ever thought something different.

Keith wraps himself around Shiro as soon as he’s out of the ring. Smiling and touching, “See, things go so well when you do as your told,” Keith says, “I really should have done this sooner.” Shiro doesn’t respond.

Keith chatters the whole walk back. Shiro adds in a mechanical ‘Yes, my prince’ or ‘No, my prince’, when prompted, bu he doesn’t listen. He’s done it again. He’s killed someone who had no choice in the matter to preserve his own miserable life. Maybe that was why this was all happening. Keith had finally realized what a pathetic creature he was, and decided to treat him like one.

They enter his room, Keith presses him to sit down on the edge of his bed. He promises to be back in a moment with something that Shiro doesn’t catch the name of. Shiro nods vaguely, and when he��s left alone, stares down at his gore splattered hand. He has sensation in his prosthetic. As detailed and accurate as that in his flesh. He’d felt the bone give, almost melt against his hand. The liquid of the alien’s blood bubbling around his fingers at his super heated touch boiled him from the inside out. He activates his arm, lets the purple glow burn away the blood coating its surface. As if removing the evidence could make him forget. As if anything could make him forget.

Clatter, crash. Shiro looks up, Keith’s staring at him with wide wide eyes. “How could you,” Keith breathes, “Guards!” There is an explosions of movement, guards pouring through the door, “Take him to his cell,” Keith orders, pointing at him. Shiro doesn’t struggle as they pull him to his feet. He’s a murderer, he deserves this. Keith grabs his chin, pulls his face close, “I told you. You aren’t allowed to leave me.” Keith snarls, lets him go. The guards escort him out.

. . .

He doesn’t know how to make the pain stop. Keith won’t listen to him. The Prince has made him promise over and over not to leave, but every time he refuses to believe his words. Hurts him more, makes him promise again.

Keith’s caressing his tools, considering his next option for extracting the thing he won’t accept. There is the prod, brought back with little concern for Shiro’s health. A razor bladed knife, that cuts so clean he doesn’t even feel the pain until Keith digs his fingers in, and his lighter, with its small steady flame to hold against his flesh. Keith chooses the lighter. Not again, please not again.

Keith holds the flame under his flesh hand, lets the tongues lick up to burn his fingers. Shiro screams. Under the pain a tingling begins, it persists even as Keith pulls away. Growing in intensity, crawling up his limbs. He’s dying. His heart is giving out. Too much strain. Will he remember what it feels like this time? His vision’s blurring, sounds dissipating behind a roar in his ears. Keith is saying something, but he can’t understand. Everything goes white…

.

"Shiro! Shiro! No, please no," Keith's voice is panicked. Hands surprisingly gentle on his abused body. He must be worried he'd broken his favorite toy again. Shiro’d laugh, but he'd hurt himself more than he’d annoy his captor.

"Lance, get the healing pod ready! Hunk, help me move him!" Hunk? Lance? Why is Keith giving them orders? They aren't here. No one is here, yet the Blue and Yellow paladin’s answers are unmistakable. Darkness is comforting, promising safety if he only lets it drag him under once again, but confusion lures his eyes open. High arching ceilings, pale grey walls, and undertones of light blue. He blinks, but the mirage doesn't evaporate. Shiro is in the Castle of the Lions.

Chapter 12: The Dawn

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Keith whispers. He’s trembling against Shiro. Too many emotions, suppressed for too long, “I shouldn’t be telling you this. You have your own problems. I’m so sorry.”

“Shhhh, it’s okay.” Shiro murmurs, gingerly petting Keith’s hair, “You didn’t do anything wrong. Everything is going to be okay.” Hesitantly, he presses a kiss to Keith’s temple. Keith cries harder.

.

Keith’s breakdown is a wake up call. His continued distance is hurting his boyfriend, and this Keith, this Keith hasn’t done anything to deserve this treatment. He’s hovered, but left when asked. Watched Shiro’s every move, but only to make sure he is okay. He deserves better, than a cold shoulder. Besides, he misses him. The easy warmth they used to share. The comfort and safety he used to find in his arms. He owes it to both of them to at least try and reforge the bond they’d made before his capture.

For his first attempt, Shiro tries the obvious. He asks the computer where Keith is and goes to say hi.

Keith’s alone in one of the many rooms in the Castle who’s purpose has been lost to time. Chairs and tables are scattered here and there, but the room’s centerpieces is a curved wall of floor to ceiling windows with an unobstructed view to open space. If you dimmed the lights and stood close to the pane, you could almost think you were standing among the stars.

Keith doesn’t notice Shiro entering, too caught up in the galaxy laid at his feet. Shiro doesn’t say anything, not yet. He hasn’t had an opportunity to just look since he came back. Keith’s beautiful. Black hair contrasting against pale skin, back lit by the light of a thousand far away suns. The other Keith, the one from the alternate universe, he’d been attractive too, with sharp features and flattering clothes, but there’s a difference between finding someone attractive and being attracted to them. The Prince’s cruelty hadn’t turned him ugly in Shiro’s eyes, how much easier would everything have been if things were that simple, but he’d lost something, some critical spark that made the leap to something more. Shiro had never felt the desire to just sit and observe the other Keith. Not like this, not like now.

“Do you need something, Shiro?” Keith asks, his eyes never leave the window. Shiro cheeks flush. How long had Keith known he was being watched?

“I just wanted to talk,” Shiro says, walking closer to stand by Keith’s side. The Castle is passing a nebula right now, all vibrant reds and pinks. The scene is breathtaking. What would his younger self have thought, if he knew some day he could see something like this anytime he wanted.

“Is something wrong?” Keith turns away from the view. Eyebrows knitting together in concern.

Shiro smiles, reassuring, “Nothings wrong, it’s just been a while since we had a chance to just talk,” Shiro says. He doesn’t match Keith’s move. Watching the younger man’s reflection gives him some much needed distance. Everything a little easier when he doesn’t have to make eye contact, “I’ve kind of missed it. Haven’t you?”

“Oh, I guess,” The knot between his brows eases. Keith’s still concerned about him, but he’s no longer preparing for immediate intervention, “What do you want to talk about?”

“Ummm, well,” Right, subject matter, seems there is a fatal flaw in his plan, “What do you want to talk about?”

Keith face screws up for a second, then he snorts, “Takashi, did you just come here to try and make me feel better?” Keith’s voice is warm with held back laughter. Always so easily amused by Shiro’s social schemes gone awry.

Arms wrap around Shiro, a sharp chin digs into his shoulder. Cold sweeps through him, “You big dork, I’m fine,” The word’s only half register, there is an echo in his ears. The same voice, different words. Stars in front of his eyes, Keith wants him to fight slaves.

The arms around him go lax, let go, “Shiro?” Worry, for him.  He’s fine. There’s nothing wrong. This isn’t the same. The observatories lights are dim, Keith says he will fight.

“Shiro, breathe,” He can’t. Don’t make him. He doesn’t want to. Shiro closes his eyes, presses his forehead against the cold glass. He’s leaving smudges.

“You’re okay,” He’s not, “You’re safe,” Just a memory, “You’re in the Castle of the Lions.” Not surrounded by dark metal, no purple glow, not somewhere else. Not with him.

“Come on Shiro, breathe for me,” Keith is calm, steady, kind. Something to hold onto. Shiro takes a shuddery breath in. It hurts, like trying to force something past a closed throat, “There you go.  Inhale, now exhale, slowly, slowly Shiro. That’s it. You’re doing so good.” Keith’s voice guides him. In then out, in then out. The other place fades. There is just the cold touch of the window against his skin and the distant sound of the Castle’s life support.

Shiro’s on his knees. He stands back up. Straightens his sleeves.

“Are you okay?” Keith still there, close but not touching.

“Yes,” Shiro says, “I’m going to go.” He’s back, but untethered. This isn’t a good emotional state to be around Keith.

“Okay, if you’re sure,” Keith says, stepping back giving him more room, “Hey, before you go, thanks.”

“For what?” What about this debacle could Keith possibly be thankful for?

“For coming to see me. It means a lot,” Keith’s voice is so sincere it hurts. Shiro has to look away, nodding stiffly. He’s a mess. Keith shouldn’t be thankful for his scraps, but he is, always is. What is he supposed to do?

.

That had been a disaster, but he didn’t become the top pilot of his generation by quitting the first time things went south. He was going to try again. The next day, when Keith finishes breakfast, Shiro dumps his plate and follows him out.

He doesn’t get a chance to look this time. Keith sees him, and despite looking a little surprised, slows down so Shiro can catch up, “Hey,” Keith says.

“Hey,” Shiro says. Just spit it out and they can move on, “I wanted to tell you. I’m sorry about yesterday. I didn’t..didn’t mean to…”

“It’s fine,” Keith says, having mercy on him, “I get it. You don’t have to apologize.” Have and should are two very different things.

“Still-”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Keith stops, pinning Shiro with a glare.

Shiro puts up his hands in surrender. He knows when he’s beat, “Okay, okay, I’m not sorry,”

Keith nods in approval, then starts walking again.

“So,” Shiro starts again, “Where are you headed?”

“Training deck,” Not surprising, the Castle’s entertainment options can be pretty limited at times.

“Mind if join?” Shiro asks. They’d first bonded over sparring back in the Garrison. The gym was nearly single handedly responsible for him worming his way past the walls Keith used to keep everyone at arms distance. Maybe it could do the same in reverse.

“Of course you can,” Keith is looking at him, his nose all scrunched up like he’s trying to figure out Shiro’s game, “You don’t have to ask.”

Shiro opens his mouth to respond, “Shiro!” Allura’s shouts. The Altean princess is striding down the hall, clearly on a mission. Whatever she wants must be time sensitive, “The Blade of Mamora wishes to talk. I need you on the bridge.”

Allura’s issues with the Galra rebellion, had eased the more they worked together, but part of being a leader of a coalition was recognizing your weaknesses. She always brought a neutral party into her negotiations with the Blade, “I have to go help with this,” Shiro says, apologetically.

“Go, it’s not like me being in the training room is a rare opportunity,” Keith says, giving Shiro a little shove towards Allura, “You can join me some other time.” Keith smiles and the world brightens with him.

Shiro smiles back, “I will,” He promises.

.

Talking with the Blades gains them a lead on one of Lotor’s schemes to solidify control of his Father’s Empire. They chase him and his generals through half a dozen star systems, with pitched battles on barren planets, and deadly cat and mouse games through silent asteroid fields. There are too many close calls, but the mission, the goals, help Shiro keep his head on straight. Push the past away, while he focuses on being the leader his team needs. He doesn’t falter once, and victory comes with a glorious explosion, sending Lotor slinking off to lick to his wounds.

All in all, disrupting the plan takes days, and Shiro doesn’t speak to Keith once outside their roles of team leader and second in command. He can’t keep letting this slip to the wayside whenever something happens. If he’s going to fix things, he needs to do better.

This time he makes sure nothing can go wrong. No spontaneity, he plans ahead of time, lets Allura know he’s busy. He makes himself sleep the night before, meditates to calm his nerves, and only then invites Keith down over the comms.

He waits for Keith on one of the less used training decks. He’s wanted something that is face to face and simple. Simple for him and Keith has always been stargazing, piloting, or sparring. Stargazing is out after the incident with the dim lights and window. Piloting in the same ship or lion involved being locked in a tiny metal box with no quick way out, didn’t seem like the best idea considering the state of his head recently. That leaves sparring. Friendly, by the official rules, sparring. Where the worst that happens is someone gets a busted lip or a couple bruises. He can do this.

Waiting for Keith to arrive undoes all the good meditating did him. His stomach is a mess of butterflies. What if he has another panic attack? What if their relationship can’t be salvaged? Maybe he’s finally too broken to be with Keith. His hind brain certainly thinks so, little whispers of danger. He should prepare something bad is coming. No just Keith, his Keith. No danger. The doors open. Shiro shoves those thoughts to the side as Keith enters. Concentrate on the here and now.

Keith looks better than he did. There are still dark circles under his eyes, fighting Lotor never left enough time to rest, but he no longer looks likes he’s about to pass out on his feet. That’s good. Maybe crying out his emotions, telling Shiro about his nightmares, helped him, or maybe like himself, the mission kept Keith too busy to think of anything else.

“So I thought, maybe you’d like to spar. A few rounds, no weapons, might be fun?” Shiro asks, before he can over think things further and psyche himself out, “If you’re up to it?”

Keith raises an eyebrow, “Seriously?”

Shiro hopes his smile comes across as winning, or at least please take pity on me I’m trying.

Keith returns his smile with a fond shake of his head. Success! Keith strips out of his jacket and blade, tossing them to the side, before walking out to join Shiro in the middle of the room. He slips into a ready stance, “Ready old man?” Keith asks, smirking.

“Hey, I’m not tha-” Keith lands the first punch.

Shiro scores the next three, and the match goes just about as well as could be expected. Keith is a compulsive trainer, if he could have a bed in the training room he’d probably never leave, but Shiro has more hands on experience in life or death scraps than any person should. Shiro wins four out of seven rounds, and Keith makes him pay for every moment of hubris.

His bruises have bruises, but the laughter comes easy. Adrenalin lifts him up for competition and excitement. Nothing of value is on the line, no blood is spilled. They part happier than Shiro’s been for a long time. His gut doesn’t even twist, when Keith offers for the same time tomorrow. This is how things should feel.

.

Same time tomorrow turns into same time every day. It’s not that odd. They’ve been sparring partners for nearly as long as they’ve known each other, and with no other major meltdowns on Shiro’s part, at least not in the training deck, there isn’t a reason not to reestablish a routine they both enjoy.

They’ve just finished a session, panting and drinking water in amiable silence. They’ll both go their separate ways soon, but for now there is nothing pressing and his thoughts can wander. The Castle has reestablished it’s rhythm since his return. If Slav wasn’t still here, there wouldn’t be any signs that he ever left. No one even mentions the time he was gone, seemingly trying to forget the period ever happened. Had Keith even take over the Black Lion like he’d asked?

“Why are you staring at me?” Keith asks. Shiro startles. His eyes had wandered without his permission. How long had he been looking before Keith said something?

“You’re cute,” He says, distracting from his own embarrassment. Keith’s flush is just an added bonus, “Also, wondering how Black treated you while I was gone.”

Keith ducks his head, hiding his red cheeks from view. He’s adorable. Still shy about compliments, after all this time, “Fine,” Keith mumbles.

“Just fine, no details?” Shiro pokes Keith in the ribs. There’s a little spot right between them, that never fails to make Keith giggle and squirm.

Keith squeaks, grabbing Shiro’s finger in a death grip. Keith gets his knees between them, guarding his soft spots from Shiro’s wiggling fingers. Tickle fights had always been weighted in Shiro’s favor. Keith didn’t have uncles to pin him down and tickle him until he squealed as a child, so he’d made it all the way to adulthood without building up a resistance. Shiro is working on fixing that, “What do you want?” Keith growls, trying to look fierce and annoyed, but a smile keeps break through.

“Details on how my second in command did in the big chair,” Shiro says, grinning. He holds up his free hand threatening more tickles. Keith tries to bat it away but Shiro just pushes closer. Crowding past his defenses.

“Things went fine. I don’t know what you want to hear. Black let me pilot her until we found out where you were, but it’s not like it mattered. We only had four pilots, so we couldn’t form Voltron or anything.” Keith says with a huff, his eyes avoiding Shiro’s.

Shiro bumps Keith’s forehead with his own, waits until his purple meets Shiro’s grey, “Team listen to you?” He prompts.

“Yeah,” Keith sounds a little out of breath, “Everyone listened just fine. Even Lance, Pidge said it was because I looked like I wanted to bite someones head off. That’s never stopped him before though, so I don’t know why.” Keith’s pretty eyes have gone wide, pupils dilating. Shiro’s leaning over the smaller paladin, so close Keith’s breath mingles with his own. An inch and he’d feel Keith’s lips. There hasn’t been this little space between them outside of a spar since before…

Shiro casually moves away, reaching for his water bottle, “That’s good. Told you, you’d make a good leader.” Shiro takes a few gulps, then stands up, “Same time tomorrow?” He asks.

Keith’s staring at him, like he wants to pull Shiro back down to the floor, but he just nods his head, “See you tomorrow.”

-

Spending one on one time with Keith is good but not enough. Their distance reaches more things than just in private. Even the others notice. Hunk asks why he and Keith no longer sit next to each other during meals. Pidge keeps giving him meaningful looks when he walks into a room and doesn’t walk over to Keith. So he forces what used to be second nature. He stands beside Keith during briefings. Pats his shoulder when he does well during training.

His motions are stiff, more awkward than they’ve ever been before. Several times he has to back off, walk away and give himself room to breathe until his rational side an reassert itself, but little by there is progress.

Pidge organizes another movie night. By popular vote, Allura selects the film from the Castle archives to watch. Shiro finds a spot on the couch between Hunk and Coran to settle. Much to Lance’s disappointment, Keith claims the spot beside the Princess on the far end of the couch. Snacks are passed out and the movie begins.

Turns out, by earth standards, all Altean films are horrible. Filled with references Shiro doesn’t understand and humor that’s either word play in a long dead language or so bizarre as to be incomprehensible. Also, Allura is a fan of epics. Pidge and Lance are both passed out by the time the thing finally ends.

Despite his utter boredom, Shiro isn’t the least tired. He only waves as the three youngest paladins and the Alteans trudge off to bed. The door shuts, and he’s alone with Keith in the common room. Keith should be following the others to bed, catch up on the sleep debt he’s stubbornly carrying around, but his performance hasn’t been suffering as of late. If Shiro tries to shoo him off the bed, Keith won’t hesitate to point out the hypocrisy of Shiro refusing to go to his own. No other options then, “Want to watch another?” Shiro asks.

“Of this series?” Keith’s nose wrinkles with obvious distaste. Allura had eagerly informed them the movie was a classic, and spawned over six sequels, all just as fascinating as the first.

“I was thinking more along the lines of letting you try your hand at finding something interesting,” Shiro says, tossing the remote to Keith. Whatever he picks can’t possibly be worse than what they just watched.

“That’s dangerous. My tastes are campy remember,” Keith smiles mischievously. They were pretty bad. Shiro used to tease him relentlessly about cheesy movies. That hadn’t stopped him from curling up with Keith on the couch to watch Killer Clowns from Outer Space.

“I trust you, besides even the worst cheese would be better than whatever it is we just finished.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Keith starts clicks open the option screen, beginning his quest through the database.

Keith pulls up his legs, as he concentrates far harder than picking the way to waste their next hour or two deserves. There is so much space between them. When the couch was full with snoring teammates, everything looked fine, but now their deliberate position on opposite ends of the long couch is glaringly obvious. They look like one of those divorced couples, who are only in the same room to fight over custody for the dog. This is silly. He feels pretty good tonight, he doesn’t need five feet of buffer space, “You can sit closer if you want,” Shiro says, patting beside him when Keith looks up, “You don’t have to stay all the way over there.”

Keith cocks his head, assessing, “You sure? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” Because he never does, he doesn’t push Shiro. Monitors his boundaries like a hawk, in case he might cross a line. He’s too good for him.

“I wouldn’t offer if it would,” Shiro replies. Keith seems to accept that answer and crawls over. He settles a couple hand widths away from Shiro. Not cuddled up to him like they used to, but close enough Shiro could rest his hand on Keith’s thigh if he wanted. He keeps his hands to himself.

The movie Keith settles on is better than the one Allura chose, but only in the so bad it’s good sort of way. The characters and plot are the kind of stupid that go a thousand times better with a riff trax, and he and Keith are up to the challenge. During one particularly poorly written scene, they end up just muting the film and making their own dialog. Shiro laughs until his sides hurt, then laughs some more. The film ends, and Shiro isn’t ready to leave. Not when he feels so good and happy. Keith find a sequel, and he doesn’t have to. Tonight is terrible movie night for just the two of them.

Sometime during the sequel’s second act, Keith decides that Shiro and the main character are obviously two peas in a pod, and well, he just can’t let that stand. Keith earned that noogie all on his own, and if, when he’s done, Keith stays under Shiro’s arm, well he’s the one who put distance between them in the first place. He can take it back if he wants to.

He’s tired by the time the second movie ends, Keith is stifling back yawns, going soft against his side. If he left now, he could sleep, maybe even rest well, but the only thing waiting for him in his room is a cold lonely mattress. He’s not ready to leave the warmth of their movie night for that just yet. He turns on the third movie in the series and Keith snuggles closers.

Bzzip, Shiro’s eyes flutter open. The common room is quiet and dim. The monitor power light flashes once, then completes its deactivation. He must have fallen asleep. He’d been watching a talking scene, not even in the second half of the film, then nothing more. The room is safe, lit just enough to see everything, but not enough to dampen the sweet call from his dreams, luring him back to slumber.

A small snort, a second person is breathing, chest rising and falling against his own. At some point, Keith crawled into his lap cushioning his head against Shiro’s shoulder. Had he done that consciously? Keith wriggles in his sleep, he might have just squirmed to the best position to absorb Shiro’s heat without waking. Really shouldn’t have been a surprise he was related to the Galra, he loves his warm spots like any other cat.

Shiro runs his fingers through Keith’s soft hair. He doesn’t move, dead to the world. Shiro should probably wake him. Send them both off to their respective rooms for a good night sleep. Sitting upright on the couch isn’t the best for either of their backs, but he’s comfortable and so warm. How long has it been since he had both those things? Just for a night, even if it’s only for a little while, he deserves to enjoy this one thing. Shiro closes his eyes and drifts back to sleep.

Chapter 13: Again

Some sense of normalcy has finally returned to Shiro’s life. He can’t yet welcome Keith back to his bed, but outside the security of his room, he lets his lover in piece by piece. If things were to stay as they are, someday he might be able to go all the way. Bury the memories of his time in the alternate dimension in the deepest darkest corners of his mind, reserved for all things so much better forgotten, and build something new to cover it. Not a fresh start, but close enough. Of course, the tentative peace cannot last.

Keith is sparring with him. Hell or high water every day they meet for at least one round. Routine is so hard to find in the chaos of the Castle, he going to hold onto this one with everything he has. Keith’s flat to the floor, arms twisted in a hold he won’t be able to break. Now it’s just a matter of waiting out his struggles and eventual concession. There is a tell tale crackle of the Castle’s ancient speaker systems coming to life, “Shiro, please come to Slav’s laboratory immediately. Time is of the essence,” Allura’s tinny voice rings out.

Shiro let’s Keith go. Grabs his vest on the way out the door. He doesn’t take off his shirt outside his room, even before, even in front of Keith who has seen it all. The vest is the only concession to the heat he is willing to make, and he’ll put that on while he walks.

Keith materializes by his side, “Moral support,” Keith says with a smile. He must have keyed into Shiro’s, not very well hidden to be honest, distaste for being stuck in a conversation with Slav. Well, not like he was going to turn away any offered buffer between the eccentric alien and himself. His stress levels are high enough as it is.

The lab is one of many that lays abandoned in the Castle, only differentiating itself through the lack of dust and actively humming equipment from recent activity. Allura and Slav are both waiting when they enter, as is an oddly quiet Lance. Today is the Blue Paladin’s turn on the lab assistant schedule, one Shiro has been wisely exempt from since returning.

“Ah good you are here!” Slav rears up in front of Shiro, sending his heart into his throat and nearly ending in Slav losing his head. Not that that slows him even for a second, “Good, good, we may begin.” He scurries away to climb on top of a chair with far too many wires attached. It looks like something Haggar would cook up to pick through someones brain, “Sit down, we must hurry. Every tick we delay reduces our chances of success by .003 percent.”

Shiro looks to Allura, surely she knows what’s going on. He’d like some idea before sitting down in something that looks two seconds away from electrocuting someone, “Earlier Slav detected signals from what seemed to be another dimension,” Allura explains, gesturing towards a screen full of pictures and Altean symbols that clarifies absolutely nothing, “Upon further investigation he found that they originated from the dimension we rescued you from.” Ice trickles down his spine, “We think they might be searching for you,” Allura’s next words echo in his skull, “They may be trying to get you back.”

Get you back. There’s more, but he can’t hear it. His captor is searching for him. Reaching across the barrier between dimensions, to take him back. To lock him in his ice cold cell, run his fingers across his skin. He can’t, he can’t live through that again.

“Shiro!” Shiro opens his eyes. When did he close them? Keith is standing in front of him. Red jacket, not his captor. Pull it together, he can’t let the others see him like this, “Shiro you need to sit in the chair. You aren’t going back.” Keith says achingly soft, like Shiro might shatter with the wrong tone. Keith herds him, without touching, to the device Slav has rigged up. No restraints are activated, nothing is even attached to him, but his gut still churns. Machines, surrounding him, attached to his skin, there are always machines. Keith takes a step back.

“What does this do?” He asks, voice hoarse, trying to re-engage himself with the moment he’s in.

“It’s going to lock you into our dimension.” Keith says. His relief is hidden poorly. Shiro’s panic must make him feel helpless, Keith never did like feeling helpless, “Slav explained how it works, but it went over my head. All you need to know, is no one will be able to take you again after this is through.” The words aren’t just for him. Keith is reassuring himself as well.

Shiro nods his understanding. The machines hum, powering up, building energy. Keith is the only one with him. Everyone else has gathered around the controls, reading over Slav’s shoulder while he works. None of them can do anything but trust in the scientist’s many hands. They are all out of their depths.

Slav throws a lever and a low level buzzing emanates from the chair. There is a tingling in his toes and fingers. The machine must be doing something to him, “Hey guys,” Lance sounds worried, “Can we hurry this up. That signal from the other guys is getting really strong all of the sudden.” What does that mean?

The tingling starts to crawl up his arms and legs. Shiro chokes, breath stuck in his throat. The feeling. It’s not the machine. It’s the same as before, when he was rescued, when he was kidnapped. He’s going back. His captor is pulling him away again. He digs his fingers into the chair, metal bending under his right. Like he could somehow physically hold onto this dimension, force his rapidly disappearing sense of touch to stay. Keith will be so angry. He promised not to leave. He’s going to die in that cell.

Incoherent voices are shouting, his vision slowly whites out. Like someone is turning up the bloom on the world until he can’t make out what’s around him. His skin prickling like its covered in ants. Then…

Arms around him. Red jacket. Keith is hugging him. “You’re safe. We stopped them,” Keith words are muffled against his neck. Holding on for all he’s worth. No guards, no shock batons, the only purple in the room is Allura’s earrings. He’s, he’s still on the Castle of the Lions. His captor didn’t take him.

Keith lets him go, walks away. The set of his shoulders betraying his attempts to regain his composure.

“Dude, what was that about?” Every head swivels to look at Lance, “You’re awesome and all, but not that awesome. Why do these guys want you so bad?”

“It does seem exceedingly odd. In 97 percent of known universes kidnapping the Black Paladin from another universe is not worth the effort,” Slav adds. All eyes turn to Shiro, waiting. Things don’t add up, not from what he’s told them, they want an explanation.

“I-I don’t know why,” Shiro lies. He can’t tell them. They’d never look at him the same way again.

“Shiro,” Allura too, everyone pressing in demanding to know more, “I understand if you don’t wish to discuss all the grisly details, but trying to take you not once but twice, makes the interests of this other dimension important information. Slav and I, need to know at least.” They won’t stop, not until they have an explanation they believe.

“It was the Galra.” Truth “I was a gladiator, just like before.” Partial truth, “I don’t know why they want me back so badly,” Lie. He should be ashamed of how easily he looks the Princess in the eye and lies to her face, but knowing what his captor wants wouldn’t help her. Wouldn’t change the measures to prevent him from being taken again. Knowing what he had to do, would just make things worse for them all. Maybe she’ll accept this much. His memory problems are infamous. They could believe the arena took this time too.

Allura sighs, “Okay, I believe you.” She says, and the eyes finally stop looking. Turning back to their screens and data.

Shiro nods. Wobbles to his feet and leaves the room. Keith follows him out, but no one tries to stop him.

.

He wanders aimlessly through the Castle with Keith by his side. They don’t speak. He doesn’t have the words, but the tension is there every time Keith looks at him. Questions, emotions, building behind his eyes. A small storm brewing, “Why are you lying?” Keith asks, quieter than expected.

“I’m not,” Denial is automatic, thoughtless self-protection.

“Don’t bullshit me,” Keith says, and there is the expected frustration. Keith move in front of him. Physically bars Shiro from walking further, leaving this conversation behind. Forcing him to look into Keith’s upset eyes.

“You can lie to Allura and Lance and all the others, but don’t lie to me.” Hurt, Keith’s hurt. His eyes have the same almost wet look to them as when he confessed his nightmares.

“Why are you cutting me out? You used to be able to talk to me, or at least tell me when you couldn’t.” Because the truth would break him. Keith wasn’t like Shiro or his captor, he hadn’t committed any great sins worthy of punishment. He didn’t deserve to carry the guilt for things he never did, but he didn’t believe Shiro’s story. He wouldn’t accept the same line he’d given the others.

Half-truths, for Keith, he had to give more half-truths, “I was captured by the Galra, and they did make me fight. Not in the arena, but for their entertainment.” Keith’s eyes are still searching his face, watching him for more falsehoods.

“But that’s not why they want you back,” Keith prods.

Even a half truth is enough truth for Shiro to cut himself on, “No, that’s not why,” Shiro admits. He doesn’t want to say more, but he needs to.

“Takashi-” Shiro flinches, and Keith cuts off mid-sentence.

“Don’t call me that,” Shiro whispers, avoiding the concern in Keith eyes. Keith doesn’t try to touch him. He’d told him he didn’t like to be touched and he’d listened, because that’s what Keith does, he listens to Shiro. Doesn’t hurt him willingly, always tries to make sure he’s okay.

“My captor always called me that,” Shiro continues. No names, but he can share some. Just enough for Keith to understand, “I think that was the only name he knew,” Or maybe he hadn’t cared. He hadn’t cared about anything else to do with who Shiro was.

“He…I think-I think there used to be another me in the other dimension, and he died.” Keith is quiet, listening to him speak at his own stumbling pace. The words come easier, “My captor, I think, he wanted me to replace him. To be his Shiro.” The remaking scars, the talk of old times that never happened, very little else make sense.

How can he say the next part. He barely wants to remember what happened, “I don’t know if his Shiro was his…” He can’t say the word, “But I wasn’t willing. To his-to the things he did…I didn’t want it.” Shiro squeezes his eyes shut. He needs Keith to understand without him having to say it.

“Who was it?” Shiro opens his eyes. Keith’s clenched fist are trembling, teeth gritted. Rage in the lines of his face, “I’ll kill him.” Keith promises in a harsh whisper. He would, if given half a chance. Keith would kill his captor for him, for everything he did.

He’s not you, “You’ll never meet him.” Shiro says instead.

Chapter 14: Incoming

Two days, he only gets two more day.

It happens during their daily spar. Keith is in fine form. Flitting in then out before Shiro can retaliate. If Shiro can just get his hands on him, he can over power Keith and this round will be over, but Keith knows that as well as he does. He has no intentions of staying in one place long enough for Shiro to grapple him to the mats.

Feedback shrieks through the Castle speakers, “In…ming,” Slavs voice crackles on and off. Shiro’s looks at the speakers, that’s the only thing that saves his eyes. A blinding flash fills the room. Even looking away black spots dance in front of him. Shiro blinks, tries to clear his vision. Still blurry, but good enough to see Keith doing the same.

Shiro looks back to where the flash originated. The lights gone. Seven heavily armed figured stand in the midst of crackling black lightening. Six Galra guards, not drones, fully equipped for battle. Their flanking a single smaller figure. Pale skin, black hair, cruel eyes. His captor is in the Castle of the Lions.

Shiro limbs freeze can’t move.  His captor is here, standing in front of him in full battle armor.  The kind he’d only seen when he’d come to Shiro after attending to his other duties. This has to be a dream, a nightmare, this can’t be happening. He was supposed to be safe from him here.

“Takashi,” His captor’s voice rings in his ears. Delight, excitement, he’s smiling, stepping towards him. Shiro stumbles back. His legs don’t want to listen, wants to crumple to the ground and scream. He can’t be here. He can’t. He can’t! Black cloth, Keith, no armor, bayard raised. He’s standing in front of Shiro. Back to him, facing his captor, protecting him. When did he move?

“Stay where you are, come any closer and I’ll gut you,” Keith snarls, red energy forming his blade.

His captor attention is torn from him, assessing, but not coming any closer. The Prince frowns, annoyed, “I doubt you’d succeed,” He says.  He looks carefully between Shiro and Keith for a moment, then snaps his fingers, “Kill the double, capture the Champion alive.” His guards jump to obey

Their guns lift taking aim at his Keith. Kill the double. Shiro moves. Capture the Champion alive. He grabs Keith, pulls him to his chest, spinning them around. He’s bigger, broader. They’ll have to shoot through him to hit Keith. A single shot sizzles across the top of his shoulder. A glancing hit, not even enough to incapacitate. Pain barely worth noting. The guard must have jerked at the last second, realized how close he came to killing the Prince’s toy. No fate could be worse than that.

“Rifles down idiots!  You risk his life, and I’ll have you flayed!” His captor shouts. Unnecessary, they aren’t fools, they weren’t going to shoot him. Shiro lets Keith go, turning and activating his arm in one movement. Kill. He’s going to kill them all. They won’t stop. Never stop. Splatter their blood on the walls until he’s safe again.

The guards are switching weapons, dropping rifles for shock batons. Precious time lost. Shiro lunges. His captor avoids the first strike towards his face, and the second at his gut barely glazes the armor. There isn’t time for a third. The guard to his captor’s right freeing his baton and aiming down at Shiro’s chest. He breaks the man’s arm for trying. A swift blow to the Galra’s head, he will never stand back up.

The others are joining the fight now. Jumping to defend their Prince and capture his prize. One goes for Shiro’s exposed back, but a blade slices across his middle. Keith is there, behind Shiro. Covering his blind spots.

Back to back, two more guards fall, but the Prince stays stubbornly out of reach. Darting in to take swipes with his own sword, but never staying long enough for Shiro to fully engage.

The side of one of the two remaining guard’s heads explodes outwards, the other has a dozen holes materialize. Lance and Hunks cheer as their shots hit. The others have arrived. Pidge runs past them both, straight towards the Prince. He quick, deadly smart, but has obviously never seen a weapon like the Green Paladin’s before. He tries to block her attack with his metal sword. The extended shock leaves him on the ground, not dead, but no longer conscious.

Pidge is whirling around, hugging Shiro nearly faster than he can deactivate his arm. Too fast, to much too fast, “Are you two alright?” Pidge asks, letting him go.

Pull your head together Shirogane, fights over, be the leader of Voltron, “We’re fine,” Shiro says.

“Mullet, since when do you have a clone?” Lance asks. He’s standing over the Prince’s prone form, rolling him over with his boot.

“I don’t think I do,” Keith says, walking over to peer down at his alternate self. He kneels to get a closer look, before glancing back up at Shiro, “Is this him. The one who kidnapped you?” Keith asks. Too much meaning in that question.

Shiro can’t answer him, not with what’s implied, not in front of the others, “Hunk, get something to secure him with. Lance find out if the Castle has holding cells. I’ll contact Allura. Meet me on the bridge when you’re done. We’ll decide what to do from there.” Everyone jumps to obey his orders.

-

“We should space him.” Keith’s suggestion is barely above a whisper, but everyone hears him all the same. Do the others think he’s just being coldly pragmatic like normal, or have they seen the way he’s been glaring holes into the floor, willing his alternates death into being with his mind alone.

“We don’t kill unarmed prisoners!” Allura says, anger flaring to life at the mere suggestion. The ideals of Voltron, a force of pure good without grey, is the only thing that keeps her going some days. She can’t react any other way.

“He’s a monster!” Keith shouts, taking an aggressive step forward. The situation is escalating, “He doesn’t deserve to live!” Keith turns to Shiro, he’s been left alone until now. Allowed to be quiet in the debate on his captor’s fate. While they rile each other up and argue in circles, “Shiro, you agree with me, right?  He needs to die.” Keith says, almost a plea.

Shiro looks away from him, out into the room, at the others looking to him for guidance, “I’m with Allura.” Shiro says softly, “We don’t murder people in cold blood, Keith.” He can’t let the desire for revenge win. He needs to be an example. After what he did to thir important prisoner, he can’t risk setting any more bad precedent. The reprimand is mild, but Keith’s mouth hangs open in shock. He recovers himself, snaps it shut and turns away, without saying more.

“Not that I’m agreeing with the cold blooded murder plan, but what do we do with the guy?” Lance pipes up, “Give him a cup of tea and ask him to please stop trying to kidnap our leader?”

“There are planets we have saved with prisons.  We can ask one of them to hold him for us.” Allura says, turning to her controls to pull up possibilities.

“That’s all well and good, but the guy looked kind of important. Shiro you said he was a Prince right?” Hunk asks. Shiro nods. He hadn’t been able to keep things a secret anymore. He had to tell them who his captor was if still withholding some details. Only Keith knew he left out more than he said, “Won’t his buddies come here to try and rescue him?”

A decision needs to be made. The groups spinning their wheels, a plan needs to be chosen with and stuck with. They can come up with solutions as they go, “Pidge, when you stripped him, you said you found a device you thought might have to do with how he got here.” He doesn’t wait for her to confirm, “Take it down to Slav’s lab and see if you can work out someway to prevent others from following him. At least onto the Castle of the Lions and wherever we end up imprisoning him.”

He turns to the Princess, “Allura, you can question him when he wakes on if anybody else is coming.” He should do it himself.  Help preserve the secret of what happened, but the idea of being in a cell with his captor again makes his gut churn. He’ll just have to hope the Prince doesn’t feel like sharing.

There is more bickering.  More details hashed out, but they have a plan and that is enough.

-

Keith catches him in the elevator. The shorter man slams the emergency stop as soon as they are between floors, trapping him, “You should have told me,” Keith says, his shoulders are trembling.  Repressed anger, fear, tears? He can’t tell.

“Turn it back on Keith.” A quiet order but an order none the less. An enclosed space, emotionally volatile Keith, and no escape. This didn’t use to scare him on such an instinctive level.

“No!” Keith shouts, “Not until you tell me why you didn’t say it was me!” Keith stalking towards him, getting in his face. Too close. Shiro’s breath catches.

“Start the elevator,” Shiro voice shakes, he can’t stop it, “We’ll talk, but not here.” Keith’s eyes go wide. He takes a hurried step back. Turns the lift back on and stays on the other side. Giving Shiro space. Air comes more easily with the distance.

They stop on a little used floor. Keith steps out and Shiro follows him, he said they’d talk. He won’t back out. Down a few hallways, away from where anyone could accidentally stumble upon them. When Keith stops, waiting for Shiro to begin.

“Everything I told you was true.” The words taste like more lies on his tongue. He folds his arms together, tries to keep from hunching in on himself.

“You just decided to leave out the most important detail.” Keith says bitterly.

“You didn’t need to know.” That pain hadn’t needed to be shared.

“Of course I needed to know.” Keith tugs on his hair. His muscles tense, arresting the urge to step towards Shiro, “This whole time I thought it was that you didn’t want to be around anyone, but it was me that was the problem. If I’d known I could have done something about it. Cut my hair, changed my clothes, put on fucking make up, something!” Keith shouts, throwing his hands in the air. Keith turns heel, stomps a few feet away breathing hard.

“It wouldn’t have mattered. I can already tell the difference between you two,” Mostly through clothes and environmental cues, but once he knew they were two separate people, there were also slight physical differences he could spot from radically different lives lived. Those clues just sometimes took a bit to process.

“If that were true, you wouldn’t have asked me to restart the elevator.” Keith says, eyes accusing.

Shiro can’t argue that, “I didn’t want to hurt you,” That’s the center of it. If he has to be in pain, the least he can do is make sure the others don’t have to be. Keith doesn’t have to be.

“Hurting you because I don’t know better, hurts me,” Keith says. He takes a few soft steps towards him, lifting his hand to caress Shiro’s cheek. His fingers are warm, gentle. It feels nice, “We’re together. I care about you, and I want to face these things with you. I don’t need you to be protect me from the truth.”

Shiro’s vision is growing misty at the edges, “You shouldn’t have to.”

“I want to,” Keith says. He’s looking up into Shiro’s eyes now, and he’s so earnest. So certain that he wants to shoulder every ounce of pain Shiro carries. He doesn’t deserve him. Doesn’t deserve to be cared for so much, but he’s greedy and hurts so deep into his soul. He’s not a strong enough man to turn him away.

“Okay,” Shiro whispers.

-

The movie is brainless, something stupid and easy to distract him from thoughts of his captor. Keith’s warm against his side. He knows, not everything, but he knows what Shiro did to surive and he’s still here. Still wants to sit with him, offer his comfort.

Footsteps, Allura walks in. She looks between them, seeing but not comprehending.

“Our prisoner has woken up.” She says, almost apologetically, “He won’t say if there are anymore coming after him, or how his form of dimensional travel works. He refuses to speak to anyone except you Shiro.” Her eyes are sad.

He should have known this would happen. His captor has never been subtle in his obsession. He would never settle for speaking to the Princess. This demand was to be expected.

He’s had his space now. Some time to breathe. If he stays in the doorway, and doesn’t enter the cell proper. He can speak with him. Just long enough to make sure there will be no back up.

“Okay, I’ll handle him,” Shiro says. Allura nods, leaves now that her message is delivered.

“I’m coming with you,” Keith says, from his side.

Shiro starts to tell him no. He doesn’t need to hear whatever his captor has to say, but Keith already knows what happened. Maybe, maybe, having him there will somehow make this better, “Okay.”

Chapter 15: Confrontation

“Thank you, Pidge,” Shiro disconnects the call. The cell’s cameras are off now. She hadn’t wanted to, not at first. She knew something was up, even without him telling her. She was clever like that, and worried for him. Worried about him being alone with his captor with no way to monitor that he was okay, but Keith promised her he’d stay with Shiro. He wouldn’t let anything bad happen to him. That had calmed her. Now no one will be able to see what happens between him and the Prince.

The cell door belongs in a dungeon, the metal stretches up above his reach and runs deeper than a hands width. The Alteans had built it to hold the fiercest aliens in the Universe. No amount of strength, no acid, would pierce it. This was meant to hold monsters, and for the first time in centuries it did.

Shiro’s hand hovers over the entry panel. One push and he will be facing his captor in the dim light of a cell once more. Just one push. Keith’s hand wraps around his own, squeezing lightly, “You don’t have to, you know. He’ll probably speak to me, if I go alone,” Keith says quietly. If only he could take Keith up on his offer.

“If he would speak to anyone else, he would have spoken to one of the last two Alteans alive,” So much valuable information could be gleaned for use back in the Prince’s own universe from a casual conversation with Allura. Zarkon would surely reward him handsomely, but that isn’t what his captor came for, “I can do this. I’ll be okay.” He survived being held with no hope of rescue. He can survive one more talk where he has all the power. Keith lets go of his hand and steps back.

Shiro takes one last steeling breath and presses the button. The door pulls up into the ceiling without a single grinding noise to betray its weight. The cell looks nothing like the one he was held in.  Unlike the Prince, the designer believed in basic human standards for imprisonment. His captor isn’t forced to sit shivering in a hard chair. He has a cot, a pillow to lay down on, and a blanket to keep away the cold. This place is not his cell.

The Prince doesn’t care about his relative luxury. He’s furious. Pacing, snarling, worrying at the cuff that bind his hands together. For one second that rage is glaring directly at Shiro, then whiplash quick it dissipates. The Prince smiles at him, genuinely smiles, “Takashi, you came!” He says, happy, like Shiro is here as a personal gift.

Between one sharp inhale and the next, Keith has squeezed past him into the cell, taking up a position between him and the Prince, “Sit down.” Keith orders, anger is already leaking into his voice.

The Prince’s smile disappears, his nose wrinkles in distaste as he looks Keith up and down. He can’t see Keith’s face, but his captor’s eyes are narrowing into a glare, “I don’t take orders from you,” The Prince’s words drip with disdain. He dismisses Keith with a sniff, then looks back to Shiro still hovering by the door. The warmth doesn’t come back, his new smile is off, a mask, “Why don’t you come in, let me see you. Did they treat the wound on your shoulder?” Keith had, before they began the movie, “That guard was incompetent. If he’d lived, he’d have been punished. He should have never fired upon you.”

Keith has never done well with being ignored. The muscles in his shoulders bunch, preparing to lunge, attack their prisoner, “Keith, leave him,” Shiro says, reigning him in. Keith turns to look at him, frustration clear in the grit of his teeth. Shiro motions for him to come back. Keith’s stiff, but he obeys. Standing by the door, closer to the Prince, in range to defend Shiro, but further away than he was.

Shiro looks back to the Prince. He’s watching their interaction. Examining Shiro’s behavior, picking him apart at the seams, “I’m fine where I am,” Shiro says, shoving down the jittery scared parts of himself. The Prince can’t do anything to him here, he’s the one in control, “You said you would answer some questions if I came down here. I have a few for you.”

“Let me take a look at you first.” The Prince says, stepping closer. Keith stands up straighter, starts to edge between them again. The Prince bares his teeth at Keith, warning him off, before looking back to Shiro with softer eyes, “You had me so worried, when you disappeared like that. I thought something bad had happened to you,” The Prince’s voice is colored with the left overs of true fear, the clinging heart clenching kind that never quite goes away even when things are alright again. How could the Prince possibly think that anywhere else could be worse for him than that cell?

“I was rescued-” “Stolen,” The Prince interjects. “Rescued,” Shiro says again, firmer, “I’m fine. Now will you answer questions for me, or will I have to leave.” He won’t stay down here, playing this back and forth, if there is nothing to gain. He’s not that masochistic.

The Prince pouts, but sits down on his cot with a huff, “Ask your questions, pet.”

He’s heard the demeaning nickname so many time, it no longer registers, but Keith is a powder keg looking for a reason to light, “He’s not your pet,” Keith growls, fingers clenching into fists.

“Well he’s certainly not yours,” The Prince sneers, examining an imaginary imperfection in his nail, “He was much better behaved when I took care of him.”

Keith’s across the room in a blink, an anger powered magnet snapping towards the Prince, “You call what you did taking care of him!” Keith shouts.

“Keith,” Shiro tries to call him back again, but both dimensional versions are beyond hearing him.

“I gave him everything he needed.” His captor says, standing up to meet Keith, baring his teeth once more, “All the love and care and discipline he needed to be his best.” Toe to toe. Anger met by anger. They are like two dogs snarling and snapping, ready to tear each other apart. He needs to stop this. Things have already gotten out of hand. If he can just get between them, neither should be willing to tear through him to get at the other.

Shiro moves forward, he has to intervene, “You raped him.” Keith hisses. Shiro’s joints lock, legs refusing to take another step. No, no, no they can’t be talking about this. Not like this.

“I didn’t do anything he didn’t enjoy.” His captor hisses back. He hadn’t. He hadn’t wanted to be there. He just didn’t want to go back to the cell. That was different than wanting it. That had to be different.

There is a cry of rage, the thump and scrabble of two bodies crashing to the ground. Shiro forces air into his lungs. He can’t do this. Not right now. One foot in front of the other. Keith’s voice in double echoing in the room. Keith’s fist crash into his doppleganger’s face, he doesn’t care their prisoner is bound and can’t defend himself.

Shiro grabs his jacket with shaky fingers, hauls him to his feet with all the strength of his prosthetic. Keith fights him, tries to tear his way free so he can go back to beating himself bloody.  Shiro pulls him away, forces Keith’s purple to meet his grey, “Stop,” Shiro croaks, voice barely clawing its way out of his throat. He doesn’t sound like himself, but this time, this time Keith listens. Rage draining from his face, replaced with wide eyed worried. He’s finally seeing Shiro.

“Shiro,” Keith whispers. Then Keith is pulling him away, dragging him from the room, the door sliding shut behind them.

Keith’s cupping his face, the slight wetness of blood against his cheek. Who’s is it? Doesn’t really matter, does it. It’s Keith’s blood either way, “Shiro, I want you to sit down for me, okay,” Keith says. Shiro nods, slides to the floor, when Keith guides him to a wall. Keith kneels beside him, putting a little distance between them. He’s fine. He’s not panicking. Not for the third time in two days. He’s better than this. He’s supposed to be better than this.

“We didn’t ask him if he’s has back up,” Shiro says. The question is important. They need to be ready if his allies plan an attack.

“It doesn’t matter,” Keith says, “I don’t think he’d have answered honestly anyways.” But they can’t know that for certain.

“I still need to ask,” Shiro braces a hand to stand up. He needs to go back in there.

“No,” Keith’s hand is on his bicep, stopping him, “Shiro, please don’t. For me, if not for yourself,” Keith’s begging him, eye’s big and round with hurt.

Shiro looks at the door. The question is why he’s here, why he faced his captor again. If he never asks then what was the point? He looks back to Keith. Keith with his big eyes, asking him not to go back. Maybe Keith is right. Shouldn’t he know his alternate’s mind better than most? Maybe the Prince would never tell him anything. Just use any excuse to force his presence.

“Okay, okay, I won’t go back,” Shiro says.

Keith’s shoulder’s sink with relief, “Thank you.” He says.

Keith helps Shiro to his feet. Their hands stay clasped together as they walk in silence. Never making to let go. Keith’s hand in his own is comforting. A physical reminder that Keith is with him, looking after him. He needs that today of all days.

In the elevator, Shiro selects the floor for their room instead of the common room. He doesn’t care about their abandoned movie. The Prince came late in the day, and it was later still when he had demanded Shiro’s presence. All he wants to do now is sleep. Keith stays close to him. Hovering like a guardian spirit while they walk to his door. The door to his room has never felt so imposing. Here is warmth and comfort, in there is cold loneliness. He enters, and Keith will leave to his own room. It’s time, but he’s not quite ready to let go.

“Could you stay?” Shiro asks quietly.

“Tonight?” Keith asks, brows pinched in confusion, “Is that really a good idea with the other me downstairs?” That’s why he wants him there, his captor never cared if Shiro wanted his presence. He couldn’t keep him out of his cell or the room. Being alone had always just been a waiting game for the next time he’d visit.

“No, it’s a terrible idea,” Shiro admits, “I just don’t want to be on my own right now.” He looks up at Keith, lets the vulnerability he’s feeling show through on his face, “I might throw you out in the middle of the night, if it gets to be too much, but can you stay with me until then?” Just long enough for him to sleep, knowing someone is watching over him.

There are soft hands on his shoulders, and when he doesn’t flinch, he’s pulled into a hug, “Of course,” Keith says, voice muffled in his shirt, “For as long as you want me, I’ll stay.”

Chapter 16: “Something Important”

There is a line of heat against Shiro’s back, chasing away the chill that sneaks under his blankets. An arm rests around his waist and a nose is buried against his neck, another body curled around him, keeping him safe. If only he could stay like this forever, in the comfortable state between dreams and waking. Where his whole body is limp with relaxation and everything feels good, but the day cycle is starting in the castle. The lights are growing gradually brighter, a gentle reminder that he needs to get up.

Shiro gingerly removes his partner’s arm. Sitting up and rubbing the sleep dust from his eyes. Keith’s slow steady breathing doesn’t change. Peaceful despite all of Shiro’s restless turning through out the night. He hadn’t needed to toss Keith out after all. Even with his stress, Keith’s presence had remained comforting, the press of him soothing to some part of his soul that craved human contact even after everything. Asking him to stay had been the right idea. He’d needed this.

Carefully Shiro crawls over his partner and gets out of bed. He’ll let Keith sleep a little while longer, before waking him for breakfast. Shiro pads quietly to the shower.

.

The mood in the Kitchen is dour. He’d wanted to wait to inform everyone on the bridge, but Pidge wanted to know how the interrogation went and once it was brought up everyone had chimed in with questions. There really hadn’t been a reason to keep this from them, so now they all sat in silence, appetites mostly ruined. There was no way to know when or how many would come to rescue the Prince, but the other universe’s Galra would not let them keep him in their holding cell for long. After their meal, they’d need to begin preparing for another attack.

Shiro sets his spoon down, bowl clean of the green goo that was their go to for easy meals. He doesn’t skip meals, not if he can help it, “I’m going to update Allura on our situation. Meet us, when you’re done and we’ll go over our plans.” A couple nods, good enough. Shiro drops his bowl in the sink and heads for the door, only to nearly be run over by Coran.

There is a split second of pity in the older Altean’s eyes before he’s speaking, “The prisoner is gone.”

.

The Prince wasn’t loose on the ship. Sometime after their meeting, Pidge had turned the cameras back on, and they showed clearly where he’d gone. The Prince had been washing dried blood from his face, when suddenly he froze, staring at his hands. Seconds later he’d been consumed by a flash of crackling energy. It didn’t take Slav to realize he’d been pulled back to his original universe.

He’d be back. Of that there was little doubt, his retreat was only temporary. His captor didn’t go through this much effort, just to give up on his prize. As long as the Prince was out there, Shiro would never be safe again.

That’s why he had to make sure he couldn’t do anything else ever again.

.

Shiro picks up the device the Prince brought with him to the Castle. Pidge, Slav, and Hunk had been working night and day to determine that it was a recall device and piggy backing their own controls over it. Good for one trip there and back.

“No one will think any less of you if you let someone else go,” Keith says, quiet enough to be for Shiro’s ears only. He’s hovering close, eye’s pleading. He’d voiced the loudest objections to this plan, and would certainly like nothing more than for Shiro to allow him to go in his place.

“It has to be me,” Shiro says. They have to confirm that the Prince is on the other side, and Shiro is the only one that they know won’t be immediately shot if he’s caught, “I’ll be back before you even have a chance to miss me.” Shiro squeezes Keith’s shoulder and gives him a smile that wavers a bit too much. He turns away before Keith’s watery eyes can make him change his mind.

Shiro secures his helmet, just in case he gets dropped into hard vacuum, and walks to the center of the room. One last trip, one last trip and all this is finally over. After this, he’ll never see his captor again. Shiro signals Slav, and the now familiar tingling begins in his extremities. This is the last time…

-

Abruptly the tingling ceases, Shiro’s senses come rushing back to him in a tidal wave. Dark purple, recycled air, sharp angles, silence. He made it. He’s on board one of the Galra ships. The room isn’t familiar, filled with machines he’s never seen before and covered in oddly glowing runes. There is a clang behind him. Shiro whirls. A single Galra, dressed in white, stands behind him, eyes wide in shock, clipboard at his feet.

Shiro doesn’t give him a chance to recover. A punch to the gut, a sweep of his feet, then the glowing point of his finger tips against a purple neck. The scent of burning hair wafts into the air, “Whose ship is this?” Shiro growls. He could wander around, hoping to run into proof of the Prince’s presence by luck, but direct questioning is a much surer method.

“Champ-” Shiro punches the Galra before he can finish that word. He’s the one in control now.

“Whose ship is this?” Shiro repeats, pressing his finger tips closer to the throat.

“Prince Keith! This is Prince Keith’s ship!” The Galra shouts as his flesh begins to cook. Progress.

Shiro turns his hand off, dragging the Galra to his feet, “You are going to take me to him. If you try to call for help, you know what I can do.” This man isn’t an innocent. Not like all those he fought in the arena. He could have worked as a mall cop or a simple shop keep, but he chose to aid a monster. He can end him if he tries to fight. He will end him.

“Y-yes sir,” Shiro doesn’t let himself recognize the fear in those yellow eyes.

They make it two hallways before they are spotted. Sentry drones two of them. Easy enough to dispatch, sparking circuitry showing through the hole he rips in their chaises, but that means he has to step away from his hostage. He turn back to see the tale end of the Galra’s white coat disappearing around the corner.

Rats, he overestimated his own reputation, or maybe underestimated it. Either way he gives chase. He doesn’t stand a chance. Like most of his species, this Galra has a good foot on him and is all legs. It’s like trying to run down a cheetah. He’s lost him in the winding corridors in seconds.

There is only one chance. Shiro slides to a stop and listens. He hearbeat pounds loudly in his ears, but he strains his ears for the slightest noise anyways. Nothing, nothing, something. Far off to his right, something high pitched and panicked. Found him.

Four turns and words take shape, “I’m not on anything!” White coat in front of some sort of communication station. If the sentries weren’t bad enough, now security is certain to swarm him. Time for a new plan, “Do you really think I wouldn’t recog-” The Galra’s sentence cuts off, a single gurgle makes it out of his throat, before he collapses to the floor dead, spine severed at the back of the neck. Shiro deactivates his arm. The death was quick, merciful. He wouldn’t have survived the day anyways. He doesn’t need to feel guilty.

Shiro takes a steadying breath and steps in front of the camera, “Tell the Prince I’m back, and I will only surrender to him.” The Galra on the other side of the screen is still gaping when Shiro destroys the monitor.

The Prince will get his message, and he will come. He’s certain for reasons he can’t afford to examine right now. He just needs to wait, and very carefully think of nothing but the plan.

The sentries arrive first, tens of them, at the end of each hall. Blocking him in, making sure he doesn’t run, as if there is anywhere on this ship to run to. None of them raise their guns, none of them approach, they’re waiting too.

Thump, thump, thump, marching boots growing closer. Precise, but not as precise as the perfection of robotics. The sentries on one end part, lining themselves against the wall. Shiro’s breath catches in his throat, there is a group, but he only sees one. The Prince.

He’s wearing the same armor he invaded the Castle’s peace in. The same bright smile, that hides the pain he’s planning to inflict. Shiro fingers are numb on the device, but he finds the right button. The Prince’s location confirmed. Just a little longer and it’s all over.

“Takashi! You came back,” The Prince voice is pure delight. None of the surprise that should be there from Shiro willingly coming back to this hell. His guards stop, but he continues to stride forward. Shiro steps back. His captor frowns, head tilting as he stops, “Takashi?”

Little pricks along Shiro’s fingers, like he’s laid them somewhere awkward and they’ve fallen asleep. Almost done, just a little bit longer, “I need to tell you something.” Shiro’s heartbeat’s thundering, his breathing right on the edge of too fast. He must look like a cornered beast. His forearms begin to prickle as well.

The Prince must think so too, he holds out his hands as if trying to calm him, as if Shiro could trust him, “What is it? What do you need to tell me?” The Prince takes a step forward again and Shiro matches him backwards. He can’t feel the floor under his feet anymore.

“It’s important,” Shiro says as the hum of static begins in his ears. His vision starts to fade.

His captor’s frown is shifting from perplexed to annoyed, his shoulders tensing in irritation. He’s the only thing Shiro can still see, “Then tell me, already.” The Prince snaps, over the white noise in Shiro’s ears.

Everything tingles now, he can barely feel his lips past the sensation, but this is the most genuine smile he’s ever given his captor. There is only one last thing he has to do, “Keith,” Shiro says, his own voice almost inaudible, “I’m leaving you.” Everything goes white.

Takashi Shirogane disappears in a flash of light, replaced with a borrowed warhead on a ten second timer.

[imspardagus]

Belongings

I look into the mirror. The face that stares back at me is tired and wary around the eyes. I recognise it as my own while recalling with a ripple of regret that it used to look younger and more confident. In almost the same instant, and in the same features, I also glimpse my father, even though his Brilliantined hair, always precisely parted and regimentally slicked back from his forehead, remained a rich black all his life where mine is now a spikey, snowy white.

But my brain hasn’t finished with me. Indeed it has hardly even started. Without my asking it to, it has registered the shades of blotchy pinks, yellows and sallow browns of my ageing skin, the shapes of my features,  and reported to me that the face in the mirror is classified as white, and not just Western European, not even British, but English. It has determined that I am male (and fired a small salvo of regret through my mind). It has picked up an insecurity about who and what I am, somewhere between the sad compression of the lips and the illogical but patent wish of my reflection’s eyes to avoid looking back at me.

I realise that my brain is doing this all the time, as I move around. It is like having a scanning and recognition unit constantly at work inside my head. As people approach, in the street, in shops, bars and restaurants, driving cars, riding bikes, I am made aware of age, sex, orientation, bearing, mood. An assessment is made of the risk to my safety and comes through as a prickling tension.  An appraisal report reaches me as to the racial or ethnic background of the individual: Irish, Latin, possibly Romanian, Polish, Mali, Muslim, Hindu, Scandinavian. All in a split second.

I have no need for this speculation and, most of the time, no way of checking its accuracy, but, in all my years, I have never found the switch to cancel the operation. It is occurring well below the level of conscious control.    

Perhaps the racial side of this acute awareness is a product of my upbringing. I grew up in the Fifties in an Essex town on the fringe of London in a country imbued over centuries with a sense of its own supremacy. We did not think of ourselves as discriminating. The word “racist” would not be coined for another 20 years. But we had a name for every version of humanity that wasn’t “us”. Mostly not kind words; epithets and abbreviations that reflected not merely that we had noticed their differences but that we regarded those differences with disdain, if not active hostility. It is tempting now to list them but I will resist. I know better, even if my brain doesn’t.

It is easy to say we did not mean any harm. We were just doing what we had been brought up to do, generation following generation. But harm was done. Oh, yes, harm was done. In a world where racial, and sexual, inequality was (and is) rife, it is an awful irony that the best equality our racialism, and sexism, has generated has been an equal and opposite reaction in those of whom we mis-spoke and whom we routinely ill-treated; a claim of right to behave badly based this time in victimhood and vendetta: because your people abused and oppressed my people now I am entitled to abuse and oppress you, and you just have to take it.

In our relatively comfy suburb, I recall, we allowed ourselves a low-hate version of discrimination. We didn’t have misogyny. Men and women simply “knew their place”. We weren’t in your face xenophobes. We would go out of our way to remark of any Irish or German or Italian or French, or whatever, person whom we actually encountered (as opposed to generality of their kind) that they were really nice “all things considered”. We would allow an Indian doctor to practise medicine on us, noting that he had “such nice manners for an Indian”. If we ever encountered a brown face we would exude a post-colonial patronising condescension. It wasn’t as if they wanted to move in next door – yet. We weren’t in the frontline. All these people who were “not us” were so rare that we had the time and space to flatter ourselves that we were good people, tolerant, benevolent, even while we reminded ourselves that they were a lesser version of us.

The problems came later when they gave up the pretence of feeling gratitude for being patronised and started demanding to be treated as equals. Which, of course, they were.  And right then, if we had been the decent, tolerant people we thought we were, it should have been possible to see that we could equalise up. But just that very proposition made many of us feel like we were having to give up something vital to our own well-being. Our sense of self-esteem was not founded in our own worth as people but in our perception of the inferiority of others.

Though the terms of abuse were evenly spread across the nationalities, fostering and supporting the sensitivity to origin that I still find going on in my head, it was, of course, easier to identify those whose cosmetic and physical differences stood out from our pallid, mousey, beige norm: the gingers, the fuzzy-haired, the olive and brown skinned, the sari wearers, the hooded and turbanned. These we clumped together with obsessive efficiency and, regardless of their individuality of experience or culture, proceeded to stereotype into threats to “our way of life”.  

I don’t know why I didn’t have that mindset. I certainly had the racial awareness. It didn’t stop there either. As a boy and then a man, I also had an awareness that I was supposed to be better than the female half of the species, too.  And, as homosexuality became visible, the assumption that I was a straight man should have led to my regarding those who weren’t as deviant. As, nominally, C of E, I was supposed to revile the rabid, God-bothering servility of Catholics. As a nominal Christian, I was supposed to despise the money-grubbing, wily, Christ-denying Jews. As a nominal God-fearer, I was supposed to scorn the heathen antics of Hindus and Muslims.  Most people around me did. I didn’t because I couldn’t. Simply, I could not make it consistent with what I saw in reality. Quality, decency and beauty, and their opposites, worthlessness, inhumanity and ugliness existed in all of us, regardless of race, religion, sex, gender or orientation. That much was, to me as I looked around, obvious and undeniable.

But what I could never lay aside, though it upset me, and still does, was the recognition process. And like a persistent journalist, its presence badgered me, and still does. If I was constantly racially aware, how could I be sure that I wasn’t quietly xenophobic? If I was always aware of the physical differences that men and women manifest, how could I be sure that I wasn’t an unconscious sexist? If I had a part of my brain pointing out other people and whispering to me “gay”, “lesbian”, “tranny”, how could be sure that my behaviour towards them wasn’t affected by the perception? If I thought belief in gods was delusional, how could I be sure that I wasn’t allowing that to colour my judgment of those who believed?

I couldn’t. I can’t. All I can do is be aware and do my best to neutralise it. I think that is right. All the sense I can make of it is that the process is too deep-seated to be excised and yet too dangerous to be ignored.

This process comes down to us from the earliest of our sentient ancestors and it is not confined to our species. Discrimination, the process by which we identified small differences in the landscape and creatures around us and learned to link them to degrees of risk was a matter of survival then. As we evolved in a challenging environment, where territory, holding it, losing it, could make the difference between abundance or scarcity, literally between life and extinction, belonging to the group was core and being cast adrift was a death sentence. Identifying with the tribe was vital and mistrusting the outsider, the interloper, the non-conformist, was its counterpart.

But that doesn’t make it right now. It just goes some way towards explaining where the propensity for these uncomfortably pressing intolerances comes from. There are so many of these residues of our distant past wired into us which would be unacceptable if given free rein now. We have mostly learned to suppress or redirect them. The vast majority of us do not kill other humans (not by direct action, at least) and most of us believe that to do so is wrong. The vast majority respect other people’s property though we may covet it and though it would be so easy to join together to relieve them of it.

It goes further, into the positive. That feeling of fairness and unfairness which guides most of us to want to help those in need though they are unrelated to us in any close way, and to decry the oppression of those whose awful lives do not affect us beyond allowing us to source an abundance of cheap goods, that feeling is an extrapolation of another deep-seated instinct, the feeling of community, kinship, that we had when we lived in small mutually-supporting families and tribes. It is called empathy, or sometimes now, emotional intelligence. We have taken a very old human trait and, tearing down its former boundaries of familial extent, applied it, more or less, to the world.  

It may simply be impossible for our brains to stop noticing differences in our looks, our preferences and our behaviours. But if so, then then it is essential for us to keep noticing our brains’ noticing. We must demand of our conscious minds that they act as custodians and monitors of the unconscious. Awareness is key to preventing the misapplication of our natural and primitive responses. Awareness gives us the choice of doing the right thing for the right reason. And thus to make our old responses work for a better world. We need to train ourselves to understand that the colour of a person’s skin is of no significance as a measure of that person’s character or intellect or propensity to harm us. That the physical differences between a male and a female body are purely functional and not indicative of any comparative value or merit. That the attraction that occurs between people is simply that, and not indicative of the quality of their morals or righteousness.

And then, when we have taken to heart the lesson of the speciousness, and the downright wickedness, of such superficial associations, we have, consciously and deliberately, to accept and understand that most of what actually divides us is cultural and to insist on not making colour, ethnic origin, sex or sexual orientation a cypher for culturally-derived behavioural choices. While the content of religion is a cultural and political construct that we are entitled to challenge as an argument, the need to believe, the need to create ethical structures strong enough to make us feel secure in our relationship with others, is human and universal, even among atheists.

But above all, we have to see that we, ourselves, are both individual and universal. There are only people. We are one family, one race. But we are a race the diversity of whose members runs into billions. Diversity does not threaten us, it sustains us. We are diversity.

The word “kind”, meaning benevolent and well-disposed, has the same root as “kind” and “kin”, meaning family. Just as we are one kind, one species, one race, one family, we need to learn to be kind to each other. If we do not, if, in this crowded world, we allow false and unsustainable notions of the significance of difference to divide us, then belonging becomes baggage, weighing us down, impeding our progress, preventing us from solving the real problems that we have. If we can be kind to all mankind, if we consciously and conscientiously belong to the world, then the world and all its problems will come right.

[notdeadjack]

annual freaking rec list: 2016 edition

(aka the rise of voltron)

Fandoms represented in this list:

Naruto - 25 fics Haikyuu!! - 33 fics  Borderlands - 1 fic   Yuri!!! on Ice - 6 fics   Zootopia - 2 fics   Marvel - 8 fics   Star Trek - 2 fics   The Hobbit - 5 fics   Teen Wolf - 4 fics   Harry Potter - 6 fics   Fantastic Beasts - 4 fics   Game of Thrones - 2 fics   Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - 1 fic    Free!! - 1 fic      Boku no Hero Academia - 21 fics    Voltron - 133 fics    One Punch Man - 11 fics   

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265 fics under the cut!

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Naruto

yep. still naruto trash apparently

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https://www.fanfiction.net/s/7569102    It Started Over Coffee by Rasengan22    89k, AU, Naruto/Sasuke, romance, fluff, 

Naruto's polite gesture wins him a new friend. A very witty, charming one at that. 

this is just a pleasant read and honestly you can read it without any prior knowledge of the fandom and not miss anything.

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http://cywscross.tumblr.com/post/137996998075/shikanaru-if-it-catches-your-muse-or-uraichi   by cywscross   1k, Shikamaru/Naruto, drabbles,  

onesingledreamer asked: ShikaNaru, if it catches your muse, or UraIchi ;) I have a weakness for rare pairs and your characterizations are always badass yet on point. :))

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/62512    Stepping Stones by tuesday   10k, Lee/Gaara, Various, 

A generation stumbles to adulthood; a tentative truce turns into a lasting friendship; a war passes; and through it all, people try to find their way together, and Lee tries to figure out his relationship with Gaara.

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/3380381    Through The Spines Unfurling (Five Things You Should Know About Cacti) by mstigergun    12k, Lee/Gaara, kid fic, 

Lee accompanies a trade delegation to Suna for the change in scenery and to enrich his son's education. He learns a great deal about cacti.

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/502185    Rose Tinted by PhePhePhe    3k, Kakashi/Sakura, injury,

"Stay," he half-groaned. Sakura paused, tempted. "You have no idea what you're saying." "I may be an old man, but I'm not senile yet."

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/502183    Placebo by PhePhePhe    2k, Kakashi/Sakura, pining, side SasuSaku,

Sometimes fantasy is enough. 

Written well pre-ending, but works very well with canon. Which means: Ouch.

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/956948    Lens of Truth by kanames_harisen     25k, Kakashi/Sakura, injury, canon character death, minor gore, 

Her short nails, jagged from battle, dug painfully into her palms as her mind raced to catch a fleeting thought. There was something - something terribly important - that they were missing. Something obvious. 

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/724003    Red Rag Top by rabid_behemoth    2k, AU, Kakashi/Sakura, bittersweet, nostalgia, regret, 

He scanned the parking lot for the familiar red glint of his car, but his eyes were drawn to pink instead. Her short hair fluttered in the breeze, and maybe that was what attracted his attention. Or maybe it was the fact that she was scrawling 'WASH ME' in the dust on his back windshield.   

. http://archiveofourown.org/works/702846    Duet (Elegant Bindings) by kanames_harisen    5k, Kakashi/Sakura, voyeurism, angst, minor character death, protective stalking,  

And he prayed for someone to stop up that gaping hole and reapply the dye. Sakura was never meant to be monochrome.   

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/4849811    I Might Need You More Than I Think I Do by YamatoMyTomato (KinoKahn)    35k, Yamato/Kakashi, getting together, awkward sexual situations, 

A mission goes badly, and everything starts to fall apart (or maybe it's falling into place). Tenzou isn't sure where he stands anymore, but he is sure that Kakashi's skin is the warmest thing he's ever touched. 

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http://rilina-fic.livejournal.com/7702.html    Four Weeks of Rain by rilina    1k, gen, 

Rainy season comes to Konoha.  

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/4525815    An Invincible Summer by ShanaStoryteller     133k, canon-AU, gen, Naruto/Sasuke, genderfluid character, 

When Naruto is five, he's gutted by a drunken civilian and presumed dead.

Six months later a girl with ash pale hair and dark blue eyes enters the Academy.

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/5256338     As Is the Sea Marvelous by blackkat    58k, Tobirama/Madara, fix-it, 

Tobirama is willing to give absolutely anything for Hashirama and his dream.

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/6840838    Dreamcatcher by Airyo     71k, canon-AU, Itachi/Hinata, non-massacre, branch Hinata, 

Nothing about Itachi, she realized uncomfortably, was ever by accident... Nothing about Hinata, he realized with exasperation, could ever be considered normal. 

.  

http://archiveofourown.org/works/6798397     open season by sazzafraz    7k, Naruto/Sasuke/Sakura, 

The way Sasuke comes home is less myth and more devastatingly embarrassing happenstance.   

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/6437860    Castling by svana_vrika    19k, Shikaku/Asuma, power dynamics, shadow bondage, rough sex, 

To protect the king, you need to develop the rook  

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/6064288    Unto The Breach by LasySwitch    1k, Naruto/Various, time loop, angst, character death, 

The first time he saw the world rolled out in plains of red and grey he was not so suddenly surprised. When he opened his eyes to a white ceiling and lumpy mattress, lungs clear of blood, eyes clear of ash; he was. The seventh time, he was not.  

love this. a more “realistic” take on the time loop trope.

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/5944584    For Warmth by aintitnifty    3k, Team 7, h/c, waff, 

“Don’t panic, Naruto tells himself. It’s the first thing that pops into his mind, and the voice in his head sounds suspiciously like Kakashi: Just don’t panic.”

Kakashi is down for the count, and it's up to the kids to save the day.

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/6452965    A Consequence of Loyalty by leathansparrow    52k, canon-AU, Itachi/Shisui/Kisame, non-massacre, 

On a mission into Rain country, Itachi encounters a very large man in a red and black cloak who tells him: “I’ve only ever seen one person use crows as you do.”

He cannot take the man’s further advice: “turn back now, if you value your life.”

Everything changes. 

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/625517   An Unexpected Homecoming by Chrononautical    130k, canon-AU, Minato/Kakashi, 

The Reaper dies and those who were sealed alive are released. 

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http://archiveofourown.org/series/308052    Brilliant, Nervous Glory ‘verse by Chancy_Lurking     36k, Shino/Kiba/Hinata, side Neji/Tenten,   

The war is over, the truth is out, and Team 8 is doing the best they can to adjust.

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/3746824     Documenting Acceptable Levels of Insanity for the Shinobi Lifestyle by Aishuu   11k, Naruto/Sasuke, outsider pov, psychiatry, Saki-verse,    

When rumors of Sasuke dressing in drag reach Konoha's higher-ups, Team Seven is required to report to the village's "shinobi evaluator" to determine if Sasuke is too crazy to remain in service. Pity the evaluator.

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/4017499      Complications by thefairyprincev (QueenOfThePolarBears)     52k, canon-AU, Hashirama/Madara, gender changes, trans character, misogyny, misgendering, accidental pregnancy, 

In which Madara is a girl. And so is Hashirama. "But... Hashirama is a boy's name..." "It- It's complicated." And it is, it really is. And then it just gets worse.

A story about the lives of female Madara and transgirl Hashirama told in six parts.

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/1540754      The Second by Makkoska     10k, Tobirama/Hashirama, Hashirama/Madara, incest, angst, unrequited love, canon character death, 

There are certain things given, like his love for Hashirama or his brother’s love for Madara, and as hard as he tries, Tobirama is never able to change them.   

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https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11458228    Better Man by Kakashisgf    179k, Kakashi/Sakura, post-canon, infidelity, 

Sakura and Sasuke have been married for over a decade, but things are far from perfect, and Sakura's beginning to realize that maybe she deserves better.

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/8187845     Muddy Water by DimiGex     13k, Genma/Sakura,   

Sakura has spent her whole life trying to measure up and when a difficult mission comes up, she leaps at the chance to prove herself. Disobeying orders might get her killed, or it might lead her to realize she doesn't need anyone else's approval but her own.

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/6161044     Soulmates by moor    49k, canon-AU, Kakashi/Sakura, minor Itachi/Sakura, age-swap, mentioned rape, violence, 

Age-swap AU. A series of interconnected one-shots.

.

.

Haikyuu!!

since this is the gay volleyball anime, the majority of the fics have implied or featured side ships and i can't be bothered to tag them cause y'all already know which ones it is.

 .

Everything and anything written by buu http://archiveofourown.org/users/buu/pseuds/buu   

i pretty much spent a couple of days reading through the majority of their archive and it's all golden (not to mention the delightfully varied collection of kink fics). some favourites includes: confession http://archiveofourown.org/works/2620328 (confession) untitled http://archiveofourown.org/works/3288854 (casual touches + ) hands v2 http://archiveofourown.org/works/2559677 (hand kink) praise http://archiveofourown.org/works/2525891 (praise kink) am i gay? please help http://archiveofourown.org/works/2546768 (37k, firsts)

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/5103569   More by someonestolemyshoes   3k, Kageyama/Hinata, kissing, frottage,

Hinata isn’t sure when friendship with Kageyama escalated quite this far, but he doesn’t really mind it. In fact, he’d maybe go so far as to say he enjoys it; he likes holding hands on the walk home, and he likes that Kageyama buys him meat buns after practice and he likes that they get to sit just a little closer together when they’re watching movies or playing video games or even just doing homework.

He likes a lot of things, but his most favorite part is the kissing.

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/5028493     operation: find out if hinata has a hot bod by day   1k, gen, humour,

Kiyoko compliments Hinata's body. It turns into a chaotic mess where the team (aka Tanaka and Nishinoya) tries everything in their power to get a glimpse of Hinata shirtless.

Hinata is oblivious and Kageyama is stressed out.

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/2007114     If They'd Stop Dancing Around Their Fucking Feelings... by PrussianBluu     5k, Kageyama/Hinata, minor sexual harassment,   

Kageyama is emotionally incompetent. Or just really stupid. Or maybe a bit of both. Nonetheless, he doesn't know what the hell his feelings toward Hinata are doing anymore. He pisses him off, yeah, but why?

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/4591029    Shoreline by Latios     53k, AU, Kageyama/Hinata, mermaids,    

Hinata Shouyou and his sister are sent to their grandfather's for the summer, and he's absolutely sure he's going to be bored for a majority of it, Alone with only a beach to keep him company.

He's terribly mistaken.

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/1656539     SLAMMING the setter lmao sports by swiftonthedownside     10k, Kageyama/Hinata, 

*beatboxing* chapter fic

they're going somewhere to do some kind of practice match who cares

freaking love this. 

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/2378366     Skinemax by animehead     1k, Kageyama/Hinata, pwp,  

With what they’re watching, it was bound to happen. 

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/3683922     Crowchildren by crypsis     58k, AU, Kageyama/Hinata, various, death, character death, bittersweet,  

Kageyama is a crowchild, tasked with carrying the souls of the dead to their final resting place. The first time he meets Hinata is when the boy is on his deathbed. It seems like an ordinary encounter, though Hinata proves that he is anything but, sending them both on a journey of life, death, friendship, and love.

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/3811387      silver lining climbing on my desire by drunkonwriting     5k, Kageyama/Hinata, crossdressing, smut,  

“There's a girl sitting at Hinata's desk, for some reason. He marches up, intent on demanding what she's doing there and what happened to Hinata when she looks up at him with wide eyes and a red face and—

Holy shit, she’s Hinata.

Hinata with carefully styled hair that looks softer and wilder than his usual raggedy mop, Hinata with glossed lips and eyeliner, Hinata in the short skirt and blazer of the girl’s uniform. He’s wearing—he’s wearing stockings.”

tsukishima dares hinata to go the entire day dressed as a girl. tobio has unexpected kinks.

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/2140482  Two suns in one sky by Triana   17k,gen, minor Kageyama/Hinata, Natsu & the Team, fluff, protectiveness, injury,  

Hinata has to bring Natsu to Karasuno Volleyball Club. The girl charms everyone and easily blends in, but Kageyama Tobio isn't that easy to give up. Although, due to some unforeseen events and an unlucky weather forecast, he might want to change his mind in order to prevent something truly horrible from happening...

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/2816054   something old and something new by kittebasu   17k, Kageyama/Hinata, bed sharing,  

And Kageyama could pretend like he didn’t care one way or the other all he wanted, Shouyou wasn’t going to let him pout his way through winter holidays with that grim-reaper look on his face.

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/6374221     Point of View by LoudLucy     1k, Ennoshita/Tanaka, pining,  

Chikara spends a lot of time looking at Tanaka.

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/5794009   reading between the lines by murakamism   4k, Kageyama/Hinata, fluff, pining,  

Kageyama is selfish.

This is what he thinks when he lets Hinata sit so close to him that their sides press together. Hinata’s babbling, lunchbox empty on his lap. Kageyama chews carefully for once. He tries to concentrate on the food instead of the warmth at his side, practically cocooned into his ribcage.

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/6361276   Absolutely, Yes by garbagecannot   3k, Ennoshita/Tanaka,

Send help ASAP, because Tanaka Ryuunosuke has the biggest, stupidest crush and he just doesn't know what to do.

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/6378142   tobio by cornbreadkent   8k, Kageyama/Hinata,  

“Tobio doesn't suit you at all,” Hinata says, and Kageyama is caught off guard enough to forget his intentions for a moment. “You're too awkward and scary for such a cute name.”

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/6076395     Written in the Stars by nicolet   34k, Tsukishima/Yamaguchi, pining, misunderstandings, jfc just talk to each other,  

This is Kei's and Tadashi's journey together through the years, as they discover what it really means to fall in love with your best friend. 

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/3346724    In Transit by Mysecretfanmoments    4k, Kageyama/Hinata, physical proximity, 

Hinata finds that he likes standing close to Kageyama on buses and trains. It doesn't mean anything--probably. Maybe.  

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/4213860    wanna turn off all the lights by Authoress    3k, Hinata/Kageyama, masturbation, voyeurism, D/s undertones, 

The next whimper is louder, longer, and accompanied with a breathy gasp and the twitch of Kageyama’s sneakers on the tile floor. Realization hits Hinata like a freight train, and he whips back around the corner, leaning against the wall himself, covering his mouth with his hand, eyes wide. 

yesssssss  

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/2507660    Up In My Head I'm Your Girlfriend by dirtbag     4k, Asahi/Nishinoya, rule 63, 

When you’re as scary-looking and emotionally fragile as Asahi, a crush can only end in heartbreak. Especially a crush on another girl, and especially a crush on Nishinoya. 

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/7304422     Pink Polka Dots by Esselle    10k, Kageyama/Hinata, clothing kink, frottage,  

‘They have made it through less than one week of living together and here's Tobio, standing in the doorway of their cramped bedroom, the question on his lips about going out to grab dinner dying a violent death as he catches sight of Hinata standing in the middle of the room and twisting his lower half in place to survey how he looks in a skirt.

A skirt. Hinata is wearing a skirt.'

--

Whatever Tobio thought he was signing himself up for, when he agreed to room with Hinata in college, it wasn't this.

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/6103802    Twitch by CheekyBrunette     72k, Kageyama/Hinata, bullying, panic attacks, tourette’s, 

"He was aware of the itch he’d feel before he shook his head or scrunched his nose. He recognized the impulse to move, but he didn’t realize how compulsive the behaviors had become. He had to shake his head. He had to scrunch his nose. He had to shrug his shoulders over, and over, and over.

It wasn’t until he was nine-years-old that Shouyou realized he couldn’t control his movements like other kids could."

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/7457695    Pretty by someonestolemyshoes    3k, Kageyama/Hinata, fluff,   

"Kageyama is pretty. It’s just a fact, something Hinata has grown accustomed, like how Tsukishima is tall and Suga is nice and Tanaka is loud; Kageyama is pretty. He’s never really questioned it, either, because lots of things are pretty - flowers, and sunsets, and his mum when she wears her hair all sleek and straight and lines her lips in red and the point is, pretty isn’t weird at all.

But what is weird, very weird and very not normal and probably very not okay, is the fact that Kageyama is really, really pretty and it makes Hinata want to do things."

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/6640387     Surviving His Skin (Kageyama x Hinata) by ThatGinjahNinja     13k, Kageyama/Hinata, 

"Both looking up at the same time, Kageyama realized where he was and what he had just done and exactly who he had just done it with. It was irresistible, and his hands flew up to cradle Hinata’s flushed cheeks, as he pulled him in powerfully for their first kiss."

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/6513565     Hold On To Me, Just For A Little While by petmunchkin     5k, canon-AU, Kageyama/Hinata, established relationship,character death, disability, bittersweet,  

A terrible accident robs Kageyama of his eyesight.

That same accident robs Hinata of his life.

It doesn’t mean they can’t still be together. For a little while, at least...

.

http://archiveofourown.org/series/460189    Speed Demons series by Esselle    22k, AU, Kageyama/Hinata, street racing, car sex,   

' “Starting tonight. You—” Daichi says, pointing at Kageyama, “—will be giving him—” he points at Hinata, “—racing lessons.”

Kageyama looks like he has swallowed ten lemons. Hinata, on the other hand, is just baffled.

“Wait a minute,” he asks. “Why is he giving me racing lessons?”

“Because I am absolutely, without a doubt, a hundred percent, better at racing than you are,” the mechanic replies bluntly. “And even if you race every day for the next decade, and I go blind, you still wouldn’t be a better driver than me.” '

--

All Hinata has wanted his entire life is a racetrack under the wheels of his car and a crew at his back. When he's offered a spot with the crew of Karasuno Auto Shop, he could have it all. There's only one thing blocking his path to the starting line: an absolute(ly smoking hot) asshole of an auto mechanic by the name of Kageyama Tobio.

(i’ve clearly spent to much time in the weird parts of the internet because i felt the urge to clarify that with the “car sex” tag, i meant that they have sex inside of a car, not with a car)

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/6400633     Learning Us by Tsucchi    42k, Ennoshita/Tanaka, slow burn, implied homophobia,  

Tanaka Ryuunosuke had a lot to learn - about himself, about Ennoshita Chikara, and that "happily ever after" is rarely a direct path. 

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/7955074     Dreamless by Esselle    15k, AU, Kageyama/Hinata, smut, incubi, 

'Kageyama is relatively sure that the creature in his bed isn't human, but he doesn't know what it is, either. But this is not why he suspects he's dreaming.

He thinks he must be dreaming because the thing, whatever it is, is impossibly, breathtakingly beautiful. The little arched eyebrows and upturned nose and small, pouty smile on its face have his breath coming short; and the way it'slooking at him, like it's thinking about devouring him whole, makes him want to run and hide, or drift closer and let it happen, he isn't sure which.

Even without any previous experience, Kageyama knows what it wants. But no one has ever, ever wanted that from him before.'

--

A boy and a demon may know very little about each other, upon first meeting. But what they can't say in words, they make up for with sound and light and touch; and maybe, they learn by taking each other apart, before they piece one another back together again.

  .

http://archiveofourown.org/works/5873884       Shut Up by surveycorpsjean      3k, Tsukishima/Yamaguchi, 

"I want one day for Yamaguchi to turn to Tsukki and say “shut up Tsukki” and watch as Tsukki’s world crumples around him." - stressedanime @ tumblr

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/7228768       Lock and Key by surveycorpsjean     8k, Tanaka/Tsukishima, possesive behaviour,   

Together, they're two cogs that meld, the odds and ends meeting that never met before.

Despite what the world says, they were meant to be together.

Strings and all.

.

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Borderlands

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/5405723    Not Jack by vickjawn     297k, Timothy/Axton, h/c, alcohol abuse, mental health issues, torture, abuse, injury, off-screen non-con, violence, sex work, non-consensual body modification, mind control, suicidal thoughts, healing, happy ending,  

When Axton and Gaige bring a scarred, Eridium-addicted Timothy Lawrence back to Sanctuary, he agrees to tell his story, from the moment Athena left him in Jack's hands on Helios to the very last thing he remembered before waking up in the Crimson Raiders HQ. After that, it's a matter of healing and coming to terms with what happened to him at the hands of Hyperion, but that's a long, dangerous road to trek down, both mentally and physically. Friends new and old are there to help him, but they can't hold his hand forever. With the threat of a war looming on the horizon and Hyperion gaining wind of Timothy's location, it's only a matter of time before things take a turn for the worse.

legit one of the best fics i’ve ever had the pleasure of reading, i kid you not. it is long, plotty with beautiful characterisation and character growth. it deals with some seriously dark topics, but it focuses strongly on the healing aspect. also, one of the very few times flashbacks are handled so damn well you barely notice them.

.

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Yuri!!! on Ice

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/8242556     Praise Please by surveycorpsjean      5k, Yuuri/Victor, praise kink   

Viktor is a good coach. Strict, talented.

But Viktor is kind. He gives praise like a waterfall, overflowing and loud and it makes Yuuri drown.

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/8579203     hair by buu     4k, Yuuri/Victor, hair kink, 

It's Victor, of course. He looks the same as always, but something about that long hair framing his face, strands dipping over one eye makes him look softer. Yuri feels a little dizzy watching, like he's stepped through some time portal, like he's small again and watching awestruck as Victor spins on TV. Except this time, Victor is looking back at him, tilting his head so the hair folds over his shoulder.

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/8643673    hungry, but i'll hunger on by incode    6k, Yuuri/Victor, praise kink, body worship, 

Yuuri has been learning to reach out for what he wants.

(Yuuri is not used to having power, being strong. He’s used to feeling weak. He is used to being told what to do and doing it, and Victor has unlocked something vital and feral inside him; he’s made Yuuri into something new, or maybe Yuuri has created it himself with his inspiration. In any case, he’s not interested in unraveling now into the sweet, pliant thing Victor is used to, the shy doll, whimpering and soft, from their previous times together. Suddenly, Yuuri doesn’t want to be coached, doesn’t want to be patronized. He lets his body make a decision, for perhaps the first time in his life.)

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/8640379    Celebration by MemeKonYOI (MemeKonYA)    2k, Yuuri/Victor, 

“You seduced everyone out on the rink today,” Victor whispers, lips still brushing against the back of his hand. “Everyone was enthralled. You were amazing. Stunning.”

“And you?” Yuuri asks, not because he holds any kind of doubts about how Victor felt about his short program —he can still feel the searing heat of Victor’s lips on his, like a brand, invisible on him, burning in the best ways, reminding him of how Victor will always meet him where he stands, even if he has to run for it, work for it, grow for it— but because he loves knowing Victor is amazed by his skating, by him, and he’s greedy about the feeling he gets from that knowledge.

(Or: Yuuri and Victor celebrate after the Cup of China.)

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/8644615    When He’s Not Even Trying by qwartooty    2k, Yuuri/Victor, 

“Do you have any kinks?”

Viktor looked down at Phichit, surprised. “Excuse me?”

“Fetishes. Turn-ons. Things that make you go, ‘Oooh! Wow! Yeah!’”

“I know what a kink is. Why are you asking me that kind of question?”

“Don’t look so scandalized. It’s for my psychology project. Which I just told you about, but you were too busy drooling over Yuuri to listen,” Phichit said.

(post episode 7 - In which Viktor is enlightened, Phichit is a little shit, and Yuuri frantically searches for ways to keep surprising Viktor)

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/8420320    Touch and Go by Ashida     3k, Yuuri/Victor, 

Victor couldn’t figure out whether Yuuri Katsuki was utterly dense, truly not interested, or if he was in fact the biggest tease to ever skate the ice.

.

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Zootopia  

yeah

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/6017023   Fear by Ragamuffins   2k, minor Judy/Nick,  

It was almost hilariously ironic, that this one, tiny bunny scared him more than anyone else within Zootopia.

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/6261835     the plunge by brodayhey     10k, Judy/Nick, pining,  

Judy's life is nothing like a romance novel.

.

.

Marvel  

(all the franchise)

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/2578418   In Wade We Trust (We Are So Screwed) by dentalfloss   44k, Wade & Clint friendship, side Clint/Phil, minor torture, violence, humour,  

“Wade Wilson dropped by last night,” Clint explained, like it was any other Friday. “Brought pizza and beer.” There was a thoughtful silence through the phone and then: “You had a pizza party with Deadpool.” Phil said and Clint slid down the couch onto his back. Yeah, that pretty much summed up the situation.

Or: the one where Clint does something nice for Wade, and Wade decides to never let him go.

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/1373596   Wiping Off The Dust by dentalfloss   72k, gen, de.aging, implied child abuse, trust issues, violence, h/c,  

Teenaged Clint, it turns out, is a little shit.

Naturally this makes him Tony’s new favourite person.

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/278395    Safeword by melannen    5k, Steve/Tony, JARVIS, BDSM, bad BDSM,  

Tony Stark doesn't need to be safe, sane, and consensual. He has JARVIS instead. (Then he gets Steve.) 

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/3889561    Clint Barton's Super Secret Snipers' Club by sara_holmes    67k, Clint/Bucky, PTSD, deaf!Clint, 

Clint Barton's Super Secret Snipers' Club. (Invitation and pending mental health evaluation required.)

"When Steve brings Bucky back to the tower for the first time, Clint’s first thought is that Tony Stark’s pride and joy is quickly becoming a less of a very tall and expensive ‘fuck you’ in the faces of investors who don’t believe in self-sustaining energy, and more of a superhero rehabilitation center."

Boyfriends, compromises and learning to like oneself.

. 

http://archiveofourown.org/works/1581335    i was found and now i don't roam these streets by hipsterchrist    15k, Steve/Bucky, PTSD, hospitals, child sickness, healing, 

They’ve decided to start producing Bucky Bears again, now that he’s all shiny and redeemed and fighting for good on this big Avengers misfits team. "He has a little shiny gray arm," Bucky says, wiggling the stuffed arm in question, one of the tweaks made in the new model. It takes Steve a second to realize that Bucky’s got a small smile on his face, actually looks a little bit proud around the eyes.

Or, Bucky relearns himself and how to be on a team, the rest of the Avengers try to get answers, and everyone watches too much Criminal Minds.

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/504186    baby, i’d victoria your secret anytime by ghostsoldier    4k, Wade/Peter, crossdressing, 

Peter’s known Wade for a while now, so he can maybe see how this makes sense -- like, maybe Wade has a thing about going commando and just happened to have an old girlfriend’s panties lying around, one thing led to another…but…

“And the bra?” Peter croaks.

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/399351    And I'd Buy A Big House Where We Both Could Live by shinkonokokoro    59k, AU, Steve/Tony, amnesia, 

Missing: Tony Stark, billionaire businessman, heir to Stark Industries, reward: none

Only Steve didn't know that when he picked up the waterlogged unconscious man from the bank of a river.

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/3509063    the Steve Rogers problem by relenafanel   36k, AU, Steve/Bucky, fandom, 

Bucky doesn't consider his Steve Rogers problem as a problem so much as the solution he hadn't realized he was hoping for to help him through the transition from the Bucky Barnes he'd been before his accident to the new, shiny version of himself.

No, the problem isn't with Captain America and The Howling Commandos fandom.

The problem is the amount of porn Bucky managed to write and draw about Captain America before finding out that he's less than one degree of separation away from Steve Rogers. 'Less than' as in he's sitting across the table from him.

.

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Star Trek

(TOS and AOS/XI)

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/17969   Graduate Vulcan for Fun and Profit by lazulisong   15k, gen, Kirk.centric, secretly genius,  

It really does take a village to raise a Jim.

The members of the Kelvin's crew watch over Jim as much as he lets them.

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/462930   We Two Alone by shoreleave   101k, gen, injury, drama, slavery, starvation, survival,  

Academy fic. Dr. Leonard McCoy thinks he has nothing in common with command-track cadet Jim Kirk, until a series of events forces them together. When a simple training mission is derailed into a seemingly hopeless situation, both have to learn to trust one another, and they’ll need all their wits and survival skills to stay alive.

.

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The Hobbit

(aaand some lotr)

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/786339     Princes under the Mountain by Carcy     10k, Fíli/Kíli, 5+1, 

Fili and Kili are heirs and Princes Under the Mountain. They like being princes - they like the respect and the fancy clothes and sense of being needed. Sometimes though, they forget that they're princes. They've always been taught how to act royal so they never embarrass Thorin too much or make it awkward for him politically... But they grew up as exiled princes, they grew up learning trades and working for money and rolling up their sleeves ect. Sometimes they forget that they're not in the little village they grew up in.

Some of the servants, who have always worked for royals, don't know what to make of the sweet and charming young princes who seem to earnestly want to help and don't see why they shouldn't.

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/641409     those who wait by sospes      4k Fíli/Kíli, pining,   

Fili knows that his brother is the one he was meant to love. It takes Kili a little bit longer to work it out for himself.

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/921402    Signs by orphan_account    59k, AU, Thorin/Bilbo, various, domestic, deaf!Kíli,  

Thorin was certain he had a problem. After all, the man looked like a bloody grocer- like some curly haired, bright eyed, bushy tailed cherub: totally vanilla and not sexy in any way at all. At least, that was what Thorin was trying to tell himself.

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/690469      Parallel by dothraki_shieldmaiden     116k, canon-AU, Fili/Kili, incest, slow burn, dub/non-con, violence,   

When tragedy strikes the Line of Durin, Thorin decides to separate his infant nephews in order to keep them safe. Sixty-five years later Fili is the bored, dutiful heir in Ered Luin while elsewhere Kili is simply trying to stay alive between alleyway brawls.

Everything changes when they meet and a connection is formed which seems nigh unbreakable.

At least until the truth of the past and their heritage is revealed.

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/8420206     The Other Things We Never Knew About Frodo's Soulmate by Tozette  7k, Frodo/Sauron, soulmates, 

Primula was red-faced and exhausted by the end of the birth, and if she made a rude gesture at her husband and turned away sleepily, well, the midwife had seen worse.

So Drogo was left holding the baby in bemused confusion. As new parents are wont to do, he counted all the toes and fingers, marvelled at the child’s eyes, and then set out looking to see if there was yet a soul mark on his son’s skin.

There was.

The script was all long tails and swoops that ended in jagged flicks with characters that seemed more made of unpronounceable accents than actual letter, but the hand that wrote it was smooth and practised, almost mechanical in its precision.

"Curious," said Drogo, peering at the mark upon his thigh. "I've never seen anything like it."

The midwife seemed baffled by it, too, and when Primula woke he showed her and then they were three for three.

.

.

Teen Wolf 

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/1186243      Divided Loyalties by LennaNightrunner     154k, Stiles/Jackson, D/s,

Jackson returns home after a month spent in London trying (and failing) to start the next phase of his life there. Knowing now from experience that he’d be a fool to try to make it as a werewolf on his own, he asks Derek to take him in as a beta. Derek agrees on the condition that Jackson will do as he’s told. Jackson hopes that, despite the mess left in the wake of the Kanima, he might be able to repair his life in Beacon Hills. Of course, things haven’t really been going the way Jackson has hoped lately...

This is exactly the stackson fic i’ve always wanted to read. (you’ll def need knowledge of the happenings in s03a to follow the plot, since the author chose not to repeat the information)

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/8105281     I'll Dissolve When The Rain Pours In, When The Nightmares Take Me by clotpolesonly     38k, Stiles/Jackson, soulmates, dissociation, depersonalization, bed sharing, 

When Stiles finally managed to contort himself the right way without causing injury, he stared at the words on his inner thigh. And then he stared some more, long enough for the water to grow cold around him, wondering if this was part of the dream. Finally he decided that it had to be real only because his subconscious was not creative enough to come up with this.

There, in freckle-brown letters stark against pale skin, was the name Jackson Whittemore.

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/2311607     let me keep you safe (let me just keep you) by tryslora    30k, Stiles/Jackson, fake relationship, possessive behaviour, scent marking, 

When Stiles shows up unexpectedly on Jackson’s doorstep in London, Jackson has to protect him from his pack and blurts out the first thing he thinks of: that Stiles is his ex-boyfriend. When Stiles explains why he’s there, the two find themselves embroiled in a plot to save each other’s lives, and in the process of making it through alive, maybe they’ll find out they aren’t lying about how involved they actually are.

.

http://archiveofourown.org/series/290306      I Hope You Die (I Hope We Both Die) series by taylorpotato    5k, Stiles/Jackson, hate sex, alcohol, 

This is what regret looks like: fucking in a bathroom, with the door locked, at some stupid party, because neither of you are supposed to want it.

.

.

Harry Potter  

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/1113588    Business by esama    12k, canon-AU, gen, dark!Harry,  

The Dursleys didn't raise Harry Potter to be a very good boy.

Mildest of fusions with Sherlock Holmes

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/838184    Hit The Ground Running by Tozette   112k, canon-AU, slytherin!Harry, child abuse, 

The Horcrux in Harry's head wakes up and begins talking to Harry long before he's ever heard the name Voldemort.   

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/7548181     Slithering by astolat     27k, Harry/Draco, post-war, 

Draco found the nest down in the Manor’s cellars, while he was clearing them out.

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/6177703     House Proud by astolat    23k, Harry/Draco, post-war, 

His house liked Draco Malfoy more than him.

i love this kind of magic.

.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/4536005    Oh God Not Again! by Sarah1281    162k, Harry-centric, time-travel, humour, 

So maybe everything didn't work out perfectly for Harry. Still, most of his friends survived, he'd gotten married, and was about to become a father. If only he'd have stayed away from the Veil, he wouldn't have had to go back and do everything AGAIN.

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/825875    All Life is Yours to Miss by Saras_Girl    114k, Harry/Draco, slow burn, 

Professor Malfoy's world is contained, controlled, and as solitary as he can make it, but when an act of petty revenge goes horribly awry, he and his trusty six-legged friend are thrown into Hogwarts life at the deep end and must learn to live, love and let go.

.

.

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them 

tbh i don’t think i really have to tag these as emotional manipulation, dub-con and abuse since there’s nothing pure, innocent, happy, or healthy about the (canon) gredence ship or credence’s character in general but, yeah...

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/8619118    I Felt Your Shape by th_esaurus    3k, Credence/Graves, dub con, emotional manipulation, abuse, body horror,

Graves gets to his knees. His palms slide down Credence's shoulders, to his chest, and Graves rests his head against the boy's thin belly, one ear to his stomach.

"There is nothing dangerous in you," he says. "Nothing at all."

He sounds—disappointed.

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/8713267    such as is common to man by imochan    7k, Credence/Graves, fix-it, emotional manipulation, 

Arriving in London, Credence finds a familiar face.

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/8635411   The Lord's Work by betts    15k, AU, Credence/Graves, abuse, religious guilt, h/c, dissasociation, 

When Credence met the man’s eyes, he felt a strong jolt in his gut, a profound instinct of sameness about him, in some way he couldn’t fully conceive. The dark thing residing inside Credence was maybe the dark thing in this man, too.

His hands began to tremble as they did when he was scared, but this didn’t feel like fear so much as a heady thrill he didn’t understand. “Hello, my name is Credence. I am calling on you and your neighbors with an interesting article.” He handed over a copy of The Watchtower. “I am wondering if you would be interested in reading this.”

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/8677570    Show Me by callay    2k, Credence/Graves, possessiveness, public masturbation, 

“Tell me,” continues Graves, his voice even lower now. “Does this always happen when I heal you?”

“Always. When you – when you touch me.”

Graves takes a breath. Credence can hear it; Graves has drawn even closer, not so close that they touch but close enough that Credence can feel every scant inch of space between them. His voice is a low murmur. “And what do you do, Credence, when this happens to you?”

.

.

Game of Thrones 

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/813223    The Covering Sky by Rellie    136k, canon-divergent, Jamie/Brienne, slow build, 

AU, from the end of 3x07 in which the timeline is changed slightly and Brienne ends up as the reluctant guest of the Lannisters in King's Landing. 

.  

http://archiveofourown.org/works/1241512    The Seven Bind Their Fate by RoseHeart    191k, Canon-AU, Jamie/Brienne, slow build, UST, 

What if Jaime became a prisoner of Renly Baratheon, instead of Robb Stark, and he met Brienne earlier? This story delves into the changing nature of Jaime and Brienne's relationship in a time of war and shifting alliances and then explores how their journey, and the land, is changed by this small twist of fate. 

.

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Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles 

(no ship because turtle penises are scary)

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https://www.fanfiction.net/s/3624149    Underdark by Nekotsuki  43k, gen, Mikey-centric, injury, 1-pov,   

He’s hanging upside down in the middle of the great underdark, weighed down by a half hysterical turtle in the middle of a bunch of pipes and water and rock that are conspiring to kill us both off, and Leo still manages to sound like he Has A Plan.

an excellent example of “we’re injured and in deep shit and i’ve gotta get us out of here” fic that i adore. Also, Mikey really get to shine here, which is fab. Seriously, don’t let the 1-pov scare you off.

.

.

Free!

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/1856572    Catch A Falling Star by hoshruba      14k, AU, Haruka/Makoto, loss, pining, 

“Oh, darling, do you remember… what was his name? Makoto, was it?” Haru freezes in place, his breath catches in his windpipe like cloth on brambles. He feels Makoto stifle a gasp and try to shrink into himself.

“I asked if you ever saw him again.”

.

.

Boku no Hero Academia

(i did not end up with the otp i expected, but i’m so not complaining)

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/6961186     how they got detention for a week by eggstasy     5k, Bakugou/Kirishima, outsider pov,  

This is getting serious. Kaminari likes Bakugou well enough, as another individual in his class who is generally more capable than most of them and hasn’t yet tried to murder him personally, but that’s about where his good will ends. Especially where his best dudefriend is concerned (aside from Sero, but Sero isn’t a common sense deviant like Kirishima tends to be. Kirishima needs the supervision).

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/6693406     How to Make Bakugou Katsuki a Decent Human Being by keptein    6k, Bakugou/Kirishima, 

A how-to by Kirishima Eijirou.

(Kirishima decides to make Bakugou the guy Kirishima knows he can be. Everything else snowballs from there.)

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/7192085     The Hard Easy by dirtbag     5k, Bakugou/Kirishima, kissing, biting, 

"So," Kirishima says. "Kissing lessons."   

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/6895168    Bigmouth Strikes Again by dirtbag    1k, Bakugou/Kirishima, kissing, finger sucking, oral kink, 

"Do you remember that one time at lunch you were looking at my teeth and you had your fingers in my mouth?” Kirishima asks, all in one breath. "Can we do that again?"

works very well read after The Hard Easy, recced above. 

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/6946963     Pop Rocks by dynapunk (tyelperin)    3k, Bakugou/Kirishima, 

As if friendship wasn't being hard enough, he had to go and catch feelings. 

.  

http://archiveofourown.org/works/3793852    Dulcet by Ringi    4k, Bakugou/Kirishima, 

He’s angry, and too embarrassed to specify at whom. There isn’t even any real need to be, and if he were smooth enough, he could have dished out some bullshit yet still acceptable reply. But instead, he chokes--stammers:

“What the fuck?”

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/6835363    safe & sound by Authoress     4k, Bakugou/Kirishima, mentioned character death, 

“I don’t need a friendly face,” Bakugou says, purposefully sitting in the seat furthest from Kirishima.

“Okay, maybe not,” Kirishima says. He smiles. “But I made tea.”

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/4250985    Love Bites by Sleeves    1k, Bakugou/Kirishima, kissing, biting, 

‘ "You liked that," Kirishima says, not even bothering to hide the amusement in his voice. ‘

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/7229989    A Little Love Never Hurts (Until It's No Longer a Little) by furihatachlookie    4k, Midoriya/Todoroki, pining, 

It all started at the Sports Festival, and it all goes downhill from there. For Todoroki, at least.

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/4469489    Heavy petting by ImmaEatUrYaoi    7k, Bakugou/Kirishima, frottage,   

Kiripie and Bakagou does the sex at each other. Shameless, pointless, baseless smut.  

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/4333185     That's not a quirk, you dumbass. by ImmaEatUrYaoi    6k, Kirishima/Bakugou, fluff,  

Kacchan is being thirsty as fuk for Kirishima (but honestly who wouldn't be)

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/7142792     ragtag by SportsAnimeRuinedMyLife (KnightOfRage)     67k, Kirishima/Bakugou, violence, post-graduation,   

Kirishima Eijirou had enough to deal with before almost every pro hero went missing. But after an unthinkable disaster throws society into chaos, Class 1-A reunites and tries to figure out what went wrong and what exactly they're supposed to do next.

Or...Deku is missing, the pro heroes are gone, but Kirishima is trying his best.

very plotty, with excellent characterization and lots of love for the minor characters.

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/7618783     Present Mic’s Awesome Mixtape 2.0 by KuriKuri      10k, Eraserhead/Present Mic, pre-series, 

Hizashi is going to make Aizawa Shōta his friend if it kills him.

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/7829011     i feel your warmth, and it feels like home by trshchld     4k, Midoriya/Todoroki, pining, 

The five times where Shouto remembers that Midoriya is more buff than he lets on.

(alternatively titled the-one-where-shouto-internally-nosebleeds-and-tries-to-act-casual)

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/7826632     Tribute To by SugarMagic     5k, Shinsou/Midoriya, masturbation, fantasizing, praise kink,  

Shinsou makes use of an unconventional treatment for insomnia, and has someone on his mind.  

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/7785463    take the path that moonbeams make by plantegg    8k, AU, Bakugou/Kirishima,   

"What could possibly be better than Disney World?" "Death. Or literally anything else." Or, a Disney World au where Bakugou is a grumpy janitor and Kirishima plays the park's Peter Pan.

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/8101432    waterlogged (red blue, green) by lein    8k, Midoriya/Todoroki, soulmates, pining, 

Izuku has never been one to curse but the only way to describe himself as his mother hugs him goodbye that morning, is royally fucked.

He’s really, truly glad no one in their class has a mind-reading quirk because from the minute his feet touched warm sand, his mind has been screaming in tune to the same famous classical overtures Tenya listens to when they study together. Occasionally, the music pauses just long enough for his brain to point out observations about Shouto that make Izuku want to stick his head under the waves and just breathe in.

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/8068954    you and I might just be the best thing by Poteto     13k, AU, Bakugou/Kirishima, 

Kirishima has the bad habit of falling in love with assholes - and then he meets Bakugou.

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/6713596    Fight club by xShieru    7k, Midoriya/Todoroki, frottage, 

In his defense, Izuku would mention the fact that they are fifteen and that sparring with an extremely attractive male – it‘s just the adrenaline rush, really - is bound to result in this. Social media had taught him that much, at least.

It‘s just his rotten luck that his 'handsome sparring partner' happens to be his friend Todoroki Shouto. Which is entirely unfair and really bad for Izuku‘s poor rabbit-heart.

(alternatively: Midoriya fights his sexuality, his inferiority complex, his feelings, and his crush)

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/8269168    marketable by eggstasy     6k, Kirishima/Bakugou, 

Jealous Inner Kirishima has a better vocabulary than Actual Life Kirishima, who just has to open his mouth to make stupid words fall out in the wrong order. Bakugou throws a laundered sweat towel at his face and says, “Quit leaving your shit downstairs,” and Kirishima answers him with, “Thanks for my towel washing it,” which leads to him sinking down in his chair and trying not to die.

People notice.

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/4250985     Love Bites by Sleeves    1k, Kirishima/Bakugou, biting, sloppy makeouts, 

Bakugou doesn't pay attention to stupid shit like the color of someone's eyes or the shape of their lips or the way they walk, but for whatever reason he has instant recall of Kirishima's infuriatingly bright smile and every spike of his shitty ridiculous hair and the way he flicks his eyes in Bakugou's direction when he knows Bakugou is looking and every other excruciating detail of his existence like they're burned into his skull.

It doesn't help that Kirishima has him up against a wall right now, shoving all those little details right up in Bakugou's face.

.

.

Voltron: Legendary Defender   

(i just ship them all, ok?)

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/7298179    bench press me by eggboi    1k, Keith/Lance, 

“The hell are you doing?” Keith grumbles out, body mid-push up. There’s a snicker behind him, too close to his ears, though Keith can’t really understand what would be so amusing about this. Then again, he’s not really sure why Lance is lying on him while he’s doing push ups either. Other than to be, of course, annoying.

“Nothing.” Lance finally says. Keith hears the grin in his voice, which only proves to irritate him a little more. ‘Nothing’ his ass. “Continue with what you’re doing, Mr. ‘I’m-Too-Good-For-Socialization’.”

(Lance, as always, tries to annoy Keith by making his exercise harder. It doesn’t work. At all.)

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/7214380    Kiss Me If You Want Me by Barkour    3k, Keith/Lance, sex pollen, sex comedy,  

Lance has an epiphany and Keith makes a confession. Also, they fuck.

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/7444777    kiss me (on the mouth) by ashinan    3k, Keith/Lance, frottage, hand jobs, 

The training room was the only place Keith felt fully in control. Until Lance walked in. Then - well, everything tended to get a bit heated when they were together.

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/7352212    we'll make it, you and me by asexualrey    6k, Keith/Lance, injury, 

"Keith, if we make it out of this alive, I'm going to kiss you."   

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/7387033    Stormchasing by sinelanguage    18k, Keith/Lance, adventure, forced proximity, injury,  

This isn’t how Lance intended to spend his vacation, chasing after Keith’s premonitions. But here he is, and he’s one hundred percent blaming Keith for all the trouble they’re about to get into. Keith makes bad decision, Lance makes mistakes, and both of them are stuck together on a space pirate adventure neither of them asked for.

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/7381330    Your Grace Is Wasted by BossToaster (ChaoticReactions)    12k, gen, 5+1, 

Five times that no one was thinking of Shiro as a dad.

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/7537744    Acceptable Behavior by eso (cazzy)    3k, Keith/Lance, frottage, biting,  

Keith's chest heaves with the exertion of dueling a killer robot while simultaneously managing to open the air lock door in order to save his fellow paladin's life, and Lance thinks, Oh, fuck.

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/7332526    the whole town's sleeping by astrainclinant     17k, Shiro/Keith, slow burn, pining, 

Of inevitability and stars.

Alternatively, how Keith and Shiro come together.

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http://archiveofourown.org/series/502696     After The Fire series by WineBoxConfessions    54k, Pidge/Shiro, alien marriage, trans character, memory loss, PTSD,   

He refused to let anyone know about the heavy arm draped over his chest. The firm hand on his shoulder designed to send a message to anyone nearby. Pidge didn’t expect things to stay the same. People do strange and extraordinary things when they’re under extreme duress…He hadn’t expected to lose his best friend completely.

such a good

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/7452358     the electric synthesized pop ballad of why keith can’t have nice things by kay_cricketed     10k, Keith/Lance, a/b/o elements, 

Keith can't have nice things. That's it. That's the story.

(Or, in which Keith slowly learns that sometimes the best family is the one you make, Pidge has strong feelings about peanuts, Lance has a secret but would've spoken up sooner if he'd known it would break Keith's brain, Hunk is the actual best, and Shiro is just relieved he didn't have to give anyone the Talk.)

yes this is fantastic,. i love the take on the a/b/o trope.

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/7631584     what are you willing to do? by aknightley     3k, Lance/Keith, pwp, bareback, 

They fuck in the Red Lion.

"This is such a bad idea," Lance says, running his hands down Keith's sides and jerking his shirt out of his pants.’

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/7374097    What a Healing Pod Can't Repair by Remember_Me     36k, Keith/Lance, angst, h/c, 

The compromised wormhole was ripping apart at the seams, sending everyone spiraling away in completely different directions. Lance could feel himself being pulled and bent in ways he was definitely not supposed to be. -- Stitching the team back together after everyone is separated is difficult, and for one Paladin rescue wouldn't be coming for a very long time.   

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/7690066      pepsicola by stalemateBecks     10k, Keith/Lance, pining, 

It starts like this: Lance looking up at the scoreboard only a few days into his Garrison training and muttering to himself, “What the hell kind of a name is Keith?”

-- Or, Keith and Lance fall in love. Eventually.

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/7777147       blow me up by zxrysky     4k, Keiith/Lance, power bottom!Keith,    

Keith has no idea how this starts, whatever this is. All he knows is that Lance is hot, objectively, incredibly attractive with slim hips and tan skin and legs that go on forever, and yeah, Keith is attracted to that. Lance, for all his smart talk and irrational flirting with every girl he sees, is something that, weirdly enough, makes Keith like him.

Maybe it’s how unattainable he seems. Maybe it’s how fucking straight he seems, but after every mission he gives Keith this look, running his eyes up and down Keith’s body and giving him a tired, happy smile that makes Keith’s abdomen flip up and over inside.

-=-

Keith has a thing for Lance. He acts on it.

.

http://archiveofourown.org/series/520738      Make me come (again) series by MatrixCube     13k, Hunk/Lance, pwp, slight d/s, voyeurism, breath play, strength kink, rough sex,   

At the Garrison, Lance hooks up with people and enjoys life - if it weren't for a certain 'problem'. One night, he confesses to his roomie Hunk that he can't come from simply having sex with someone; he needs a bit more than that.

Good for him that Hunk is willing to help him out.

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/7739998      Take It from Me by onestrangenovelist     9k, Keith/Lance, kissing,   

“Well,” Keith says. “Are you going to kiss me back, or are you just that awful at kissing?”

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/7579015       No Phone Service in Space by lemoninagin     6k, Keith/Lance, UST, awkward boners, accidental bondage, forced proximity, 

“Oh man, you’re actually kinda sexy when you’re being all cocky, oh no. What have you done to me?” Lance lamented, turning his head to the sky and doing a cross motion, hand skipping from his forehead, down to his chest, then across each shoulder in silent, dramatic prayer.

Keith couldn’t believe it. He almost threw Lance in the weird river nearby. “What have I done to you? Are you fucking kidding--”

Lance clapped a hand on each of Keith’s shoulders, his face set into rigid determination. “Keith, real talk. Can I kiss you?”

my absolute favourite trope is awkward boners ok? especially combined with forced proximity,it’s the actual best fucking fight me

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/7452727     like the north star itself by raewrites     2k, Hunk/Lance, pwp, 

“You got plans, big guy?” Lance asks, grinning crookedly as he lifts his legs and hooks them around Hunk’s back, pulling him forward. Hunk stifles a laugh, opting to comment on the sharp boniness of Lance’s ankles instead, earning a half-hearted kick and a declaration to fight in return. “I’d win in a fight against you.” Hunk says, leaning over Lance to press the words against the flushed skin and fluttery pulse of the other’s neck, “I’d toss you over my shoulder like a sack of spare parts.”

Lance makes a low noise in the back of his throat like he wouldn’t particularly mind this.

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/7553101     A Regular Thing by cattchi     2k, Hunk/Lance, kissing, 

Lance has never been kissed and Hunk is a really, really, REALLY good friend

.   

http://archiveofourown.org/works/7762459    Ocean Frogs by surveycorpsjean     5k, Shiro/Shiro, smut, hella filthy,   

He's boiling.

.

http://archiveofourown.org/series/522925     Real Lions AU series by Titans_R_Us     ~8k, gen, fluff, lions,   

“Should I be closing my eyes? I feel like this is something I should be closing my eyes to.” Pidge says.  

yesssss, this pleases me. so much <3

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/7558720     You Smell Like Trash by BoxWineConfessions     29k, Canon-AU, Keith/Pidge, slow burn, 

“Garrison,” Keith hisses he turns his head in every direction trying to identify something, but can’t. “You’re a lot of trouble you know that.” He takes his knife from his belt and holds it in one hand. “Just follow my lead. You were kidnapped. You know, vulnerable smart shrimp.”

She feels the knife at her throat. Yeah. Like that explains it.

Or: Pidge meets a badly dressed smelly guy out in the desert. When he's not trying to get her killed, they actually make an okay team.

.

http://archiveofourown.org/series/500086     Ventures in Viridian series by The Qing    ~35k, Lance/Pidge, slow burn, bickering, pranks, 

On the hunt for their lost comrades, Pidge and Lance trade barbs, boasts, and battle scars in the boundless void.

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/7499001     Shadows of Our Dreams by KUG    10k, gen, h/c, fluff, cuddles, bed sharing,   

-There comes a time and place where you don’t stand so tall-

The Paladins of Voltron have been reunited and are now resting and trying to heal, but nightmares tend to stick around longer than physical injuries. Time for a good ol' fashioned sleepover with the team.  

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/7748638        bruises by Chaosandthecalm    3k, Keith/Lance, love/hate, 

"Show me how much you hate me.”

Keith wants to know what Lance's problem is. The answer might surprise him.

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/7502169     My Youth Is Yours by MilkTeaMiku    29k, Keith/Lance, fluff, kid fic, de-aging, 

An unforseen blast in the middle of a battle de-ages Lance into a child for a week.

Keith does not understand babies.

too cute 

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/7843912     Shiro is a Smitten Kitten by memoriesofrain     921 words, Shiro/Lance, pining,  

He didn't know how it happened, but Shiro found himself faced with an inevitable truth: he was head over heels for Lance.   

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/7844677     Let The Water Lead Us Home by LynnLarsh     12k, Keith/Lance, 

He’d just wanted a glimpse. It was stupid and childish and selfish, but he’d just wanted one more look out on the ocean, one more peek in the window of his family home, just in case they never made it back to Earth. Just in case he never got another chance.

But this wasn’t the Holo-Deck from Star Trek. And this broken simulator tube wasn’t going to be able to do any of that for him, now was it?

A.K.A - Lance finds himself stuck in a simulation and Keith is determined to get him out.

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/7890214    The Game is up by WHUMPBBY    2k, Nyma/Lance, dub-con/non-con, bondage, alien sex, 

There was this prompt on Voltron kinkmeme about Nyma fucking Lance once he's tied to a tree that caught my fancy. This is what we're getting here, folks;] *********

He stepped to her first, with a curious tilt to his mouth that she suspected was supposed to look flirtatious. She hooked him in with just a look and a spark of interest, encouraging his silly antics with a smile and a nod. It was supposed to be a quick con, but she genuinely liked the boy from the first look - he seemed young, inexperienced and gagging for it.

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/7738513     Trembling Lips by nonna    17k, gen, 5+1, angst, whump, 

Lance is an emotional person who cries easily (and does the trembly-lip thing a lot) but tries to stay strong in front of the team.

OR

Five times Lance stopped himself from crying in front of his teammates, and the one time he couldn't hold it back.

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/7883014    thread our way through a string of stars by steelthighsvoideyes    22k, AU,  Keith/Lance,  

Lance is a humble astrophysics student trying to conduct research, which turns out to be a bit difficult to do when he finds a strange guy sitting in his customary research spot. A strange guy looking for aliens, no less.

Lance isn't going to stand for this.

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/7835008     Standing in the Eye of the Storm by erisgregory     1k, Keith/Lance, pwp, angry sex, frottage, 

shameless pwp set in the training room after a fight.

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/7834108    i'd get lost in space with you by TimmyJaybird    30k, Keith/Shiro, trans character, dysphoria, pre-series, pining, angst, 

Keith never expected to fall so hard for someone as he did Shiro. He never expected to find support in someone they way he did in Shiro.

He never expected to lose someone like he lost Shiro.

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/7939960     A Romantic Guy by MatrixCube    3k, Hunk/Keith, pwp, bruises, biting, intercrural, 

“You like that?”

Keith nods eagerly, looking down on Hunk’s hands wandering to the inside of his legs. The skin is more tender there, more sensitive, and wow, Hunk’s complexion is a nice contrast to his own skin—

I want him to grab me so hard that it’ll leave bruises. The sudden thought goes straight to his cock. He really, really wants that. “More,” he breathes, and can see Hunk smiling at him.

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/7918087    Another Love Of Mine by maxsaystowrite    13k, Alfor/Coran, pre-series, 

They were King and Advisor. They were Paladins. They were friends. Coran always knew he would be loyal to his king, he never thought he would fall in love with him, raise his daughter, be the last of his subjects. Loyalty and promises never fade. And love strikes more than once for some.

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/7344679     Boom Crash the Sound of My Ship by maychorian    40k, gen, action, h/c, sick!fic, PTSD, cuddling, (bed sharing, bonding)

After a Galra attack splits Voltron, the blue lion is damaged and falls toward the jungle planet below. Shiro follows, and now he and Lance are stranded in hostile territory, fighting to survive. Lance is injured, Shiro is having flashbacks, and help is far away. And the Galra just...keep coming. 

A fantastic read. The entire series, called Boom Crash, is magnificent. It handles trauma and the after effects, and how to deal with it in a very skilled manner. I love the interactions between the paladins, the bond between them and the one between Lance and blue is a delight to read. Also, as a bonus, Coran great role in this.

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/7851415     Dirty by Rambutans    5k, Keith/Lance, domestic nudity, fluff,   

Keith is a nasty dirty boy and Lance decides its his responsibility to clean him up.

(This is a gross domestic fluff fic about Keith's poor hygiene skills don't let the description fool you.)

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/7892755    sedated by Chaosandthecalm    3k, Keith/Lance, pwp, rimming, sex buddies, 

Sometimes Lance needs some help falling asleep. 

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/7984711    adrenaline by Chaosandthecalm     2k, Keith/Lance, pwp, first time,   

Sometimes Keith just needs Lance.

the continuation of sedated, recced above

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/7975522    Isn't There a White Knight by BossToaster (ChaoticReactions)    7k, gen, 

Kink Meme FIll: "In the first episode, Lance says that Shiro is his hero. But Shiro is still just a guy in his mid twenties, and we've seen him join in on silly stuff ("Blam blam blam!").

So what I want is five times Lance sees Shiro do dorky, ridiculous things, and one time he realizes he'd still follow this dork to Hell and back."

C'mon, as if I could pass that up.

it’s important to me that Shiro gets to be a dorky twenty something and not just the responsible adult. also, i kept the tab open on my phone for about a week and whenever i saw the title i got that damn song stuck in my head.

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/7898674    Three Is Not A Crowd by HK44    8k, Hunk/Lance/Pidge, threesome, polyamory, 

He felt his face heat up, pressed his hand to the back of his head and gazed studiously at the wall. “Do you, Pidge, want to. Bang. With me. And- and Hunk.”

Her eyes flickered and she gazed studiously at the ground. “Um, sure. Sounds good.”

Whoever said three was a crowd, was a fucking idiot.

Edit: There is now a third part  which also features Keith \o/

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/7971835    breathless by zxrysky    6k, AU, Keith/Lance, mermaids, 

"You shouldn't go out to the sea at night," their grandmother says. She's in a rocking chair, old and creaky, her withered body settled with a shawl around her shoulders, wrinkled fingers gripping the edges of the arm rest. "Don't risk it."

"Risk what?" Shiro asks, eyes wide. He's fourteen, just a young boy, on the cusp of maturity, arms wrapped around his younger brother as they sit before their grandmother.

His grandmother pauses for a while. "There is danger in the sea."

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/7559206    A Song of Me Song in Need by vagrantBreath    9k, Lance/Shiro, depression, torture, 

Everything is okay. Got it? Lance is fine. Everything is fine. No one needs to worry about him.

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/7480611    Releasing Control by batbooty    1k, Lance/Shiro, fantasising, masturbation, 

Spicy bara titties thinking about your favorite blue paladin, at night (AT NIGHT).

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/7888423    Massage by Minter_W    3k, Lance/Shiro, massage, fluff,  

Lance is so stressed out that it's causing his back to hurt; a lot. After Lance misses a training session, Shiro comes to check up on him. He ends up giving Lance a massage.

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/7938886    your hands in the holes of my sweater by ladyfnick   7k, Shiro/Keith/Lance, 5+1, polyamory, cuddling, bed sharing,

So it turns out that space is hella cold, so it's only natural that Lance ends up platonically cuddling with the other paladins. Well mostly platonically. Lance blames space for the mostly part.

(idk why but i really love that title??)

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/7924666    Intergalactic Space Lothario by NeedMoreCyanInk    4k, Keith/Lance, kissing, wrestling, 

“What the hell are you doing?” “I panicked.” Keith sighs deeply. He feels funny all over, all jumbled up and lightheaded. His face is so hot. “For once can you not think with your damn libido?”

Cabin fever is driving everyone nuts. Keith and Lance wrestle. 

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/7957831    i can't help but want by aknightley    16k, Keith/Lance, slow burn, 

Lance deals with the aftermath of being sucked into a black hole and stranded on an alien planet.

When Lance wakes up, all he can see is blue. 

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/7978024    For Science by kali_asleep    13k, Shiro/Pidge, slow burn, 

It didn't take five years of hurtling through space with a ragtag group of galactic defenders for Shiro to figure out which fires to put out, and which fires to ignore.

But when Pidge and Hunk's zany experiments - "for science" - start hitting close to home, Shiro starts to wonder if maybe there are some fires that are better left to burn.

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/7906597    A Shove Towards Love by General_Button     30k, Keith/Lance, alien rituals, soul mates, minor forced proximity, 

A simple rescue mission turns into chaos when the species on the planet Novaria take an interest in the lives of two of its paladins.

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/7520926    Let me be your Fairy God Bro, Cinderella by RebornFromSeas    807 words, gen, fluff, trans character,  

Lance is left with more questions than answers after Pidge's announcement, and wants to make sure she's okay.

supportive!Lance is my favourite

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/7813126     Nightmares by Trashness    14k, Keith/Lance, fluff, bed sharing, 

Lance's nightmares are getting out of control. It's effecting his and the team's performance, but he's at a loss for how to fix this.

Apparently sleeping next to a warm body helps.

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/7406107    Short Hair by ElfGrove     6k, Shiro/Pidge, pining, PTSD, fluff, 

Just some quick, self-indulgent fluff themed around the changing hairdos of the two characters.

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/7801666    gabriel done came to me (and kissed me in my sleep) by ilgaksu    1k, Keith/Lance, backstory, Texan!Keith,  

“Dude,” Lance says, almost reverent if it wasn’t for the glee in his eyes, “How are you even real?”

this is beautifully written.

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/7794772    We Don't Fear Those Sleepless by NightsGears    13k, gen, implied relationships, PTSD, fluff, h/c, bed sharing, 

It’s difficult to tell how long after, especially when there’s no clock and the only others who could really tell what time it is don’t use the same system, but days, cycles, hours, ticks, or whatever later, the dynamics between the paladins shift from communal to familial.

Or, the team has sleepovers and work through their issues together as a family.

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/7811833    Last One Home by nawsies     6k, Lance-centric, minor keith/lance, isolation, 

After being flung through space Lance ends up alone at the far reaches of the galaxy waiting for a pick-up. It'll be a long time coming, but hey, at least the atmosphere wasn't 10% heroin.

"Sometimes Lance would sleep in Blue, her quiet whirring similar enough to the sound of the castle he could lie to himself, say he was back on board the ship and he’d wake up to Hunk’s cooking and Pidge’s latest invention...Lance enjoyed people, he enjoyed making other people happy and his own company was never as good as another person’s laugh at his joke, or even at his expense. The Paladins were the best people he’d ever met, family excluded, and he missed them more than he cared to admit. He’d been away from Earth for a long time now but it was only since landing on this planet that he really felt like he was away from home."

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/7465554    Deprivation Clarity by milky (milky_teacup)    6k, Lance/Shiro, rough sex, wall sex, 

When Shiro's Galra prosthetic malfunctions, it takes patience and good leadership skills to wait out for assistance. 

holy hell

.  

http://archiveofourown.org/works/7617793    Just Static by Jessadilla (wobblyarms)     84k, Keith/Lance, slow burn, h/c, pining, injury, 

--Static---- -iro, Hunk, Kei---, nybody? I’m---- -static-- --I’m sorry guys. This is all my-- --static--cc-- ---I found my coordinates. They’re-- -stttcc- -guys. I hear something--- --scccc- -end transmission-

Alone on a hostile planet, transmissions aren't getting through. How did it come to this?

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/7727824    Feel the Bonds by amycoolz, SylviaW1991     53k, Keith/Lance, smut, 

Being a paladin of Voltron is honestly the coolest thing that ever could've happened to Lance, but the people who should know probably never will. What could his family possibly think of him being gone for so long? But he can't think about them. He can't. He has to defend the universe and apologize to Keith for being a dick to him. Again. And, holy crow, is Keith checking him out? Please?

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/8031721     like honey by manamune    4k, Keith/Lance, dom/sub, 

Keith wants to lose control.

Lance has always liked helping people.

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/7991536    got got got it bad by kairiolette    10k, Keith/Lance, pining, 5+1, 

"He leans in to hook his arm around Keith’s shoulders in full. It’s right in Keith ear, when he speaks. “I have a crush on someone new, like, every week.”

“No—it's not someone.” Keith brings his head up, and it feels as heavy on his neck as if it were his center of gravity, and he meets Lance’s eyes with his own. Keith doesn’t mean to communicate something through their silence, he just kind of gets caught up in staring at Lance’s face, which tends to happen lately. Sharp features, cheekbones and chin. Impossible eyes and a loud mouth as expressive as his eyebrows. But Lance seems to come to some understanding on his own. He sits back in a rare, rare moment of speechlessness, that mouth of his slightly pursed and twitching in its search for words in what can only be, though Keith doesn’t know much about body language, immense confusion on the brink of realization."

Or: Keith acknowledges his feelings for Lance and promptly goes through the five stages of grief.

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/7991188     The Love of a Hero by quartetship    3k, Shiro/Lance, fluff, 

That guy's my hero.

Lance had always idolized Shiro, but never had he dared to believe they would grow to be as close as they had become...

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/7644025     Being an Idiot (the story of Lance) by Holle_wood     11k, Hunk/Keith/Pidge/Shiro/Lance, polydins, langst, 

He’ll fake it till he makes it.

Lance is the dumb one (just not dumb enough).

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/8073454     Eyeliner 101 by TinyShinyUnique     4k, Shiro/Pidge, fluff, 

Pidge is still struggling to get the feminine parts of her personality right. She has Allura for compassion, she has Lance for tips, but when it truly counts, her go-to-person is Shiro. Her little crush on him sometimes gets in the way though.

Or: Shiro teaches Pidge how to apply eyeliner.

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/8100694      blame it on the space booze by bishounen_curious     13k, Keith/Lance, aphrodisiacs, smut,

Lance was too much of an ass, Keith far too impulsive, and Shiro just wanted to have a good time. And, well, why exactly would they drink all that space booze when they had no idea what it actually was?

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/8109046     That's Rough Buddy by JoyouslyNeonLeon    2k, Lance/Shiro, 

“Oh uh…okay...” Lance says, “what's his problem?” Pidge shrugs, grinning from ear to ear, “no idea man.” ------ In which Shiro has a crush, Lance is (mostly) oblivious, Pidge is planning something, Keith and Hunk are buds and I get my much desired beach fic.

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/7879444   Good Boys by Jennypen  18k, AU, Keith/Lance/Shiro, Lance/Shiro, voyeurism, exhibitionism, porn, 

Keith searches the wrong thing on pornhub and gets a whole lot more than what he bargained for. 

This is so good you guys *cries a bit*  Was reading this while commuting to school and had to quit at a vital point and then i spent the entire lesson thinking about what would happen next. i didn’t absorb a word the teacher said.

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/7569946    ghost of a king by ashinan    27k, Keith/Lance, h/c, injury, 

During a routine recon mission turned ambush, Lance and Blue must take drastic measures to ensure their survival. The aftermath leaves Lance lost and dreaming, and the team helpless to the possibility that, without a guide, he won't make it back. 

.  

http://archiveofourown.org/works/8130655    need to believe you could hold me down by pageleaf    2k, Allura/Shiro, strength kink, slight dom/sub, 

"Oh," Allura says sheepishly. "Oh no, that was just me."

Shiro's eyes widen. "It...wasn't the shapeshifting?"

"No," Allura says. "Just my normal level of strength."

"Oh," Shiro says blankly. "Oh. Okay."

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/8144162     Tidal by noero     1k, Keith/Lance, bed sharing, 

Although Keith may not consider himself a theorist, he figures the impulse that fuels his own inertia is the only force that can stop Lance’s aimless velocity. They just fit. Far be it from him question the laws of nature. 

.  

http://archiveofourown.org/works/7679188     Under His Care by BoxWineConfessions     52k, AU, Shiro/Keith, slow burn, injury, 

Keith is living his childhood dream of co-owning the city's most famous motorcycle customization and repair shop. He spends a lot of time with Lance, Hunk, and his best girl Peaches (A 1972 Yamaha DS7). Life is pretty decent, even when he makes the mistake of answering the phone and Lance's mom is on the line chiding him about something he's pretty sure Lance is responsible for anyway.

Until the accident.

Apparently having a stupidly hot physical therapist is a pretty good pain killer.

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/8118802      Foundations by needchocolatenow     13k, AU, Keith/Lance, 

When Keith met Lance, it was over a briny sea.

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/8166058      Garden of Beginnings by needchocolatenow     5k, Keith/Lance, fluff, 

Hunk gets a criminal record, Pidge might have blackmail on Keith, and Shiro's wondering what happened to his shirt.

Keith and Lance fall into each other's orbit and keeps falling.

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/8157218      An Idiots Guide to Interpersonal Relationships.by Wishunew       5k, Lance/Shiro, pre-slash, 

Life is complicated, no one ever makes all the right choices for all the good reasons. Lance usually just gets by on luck. He's running out.

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/8224040     This Moment Alone by GlitchTheRoboticShadow    1k, AU, Keith/Lance, kissing,  

Lance wants to practice kissing with Keith. And Keith thinks that's utterly ridiculous. But what's even more ridiculous? He actually does it.

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/8137538      They Can Never Know by excadet, grosspaladin      6k, Hunk/Lance/Keith, masturbation, fantasizing, pining, guilt

They're in love.

All three of them in love with one another. None of them can know, they can't ruin their friendship so now it's their own dirty secret. What better way than to take it out by dirtying your sheets and fantasizing about the boys you can never have?

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/7966024      Old Sick Boys by leporicide     15k, AU, Hunk/Lance, violence, 

Hunk has a violence in him that comes out in the ring. He's barely contained, body vibrating with unused energy. There's nothing more amazing than winning, than fractured jaws and broken noses, split lips and bruised eyes.

That is, until Lance.

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/8142797     equations for a falling body by csoru      25k, Keith/Lance, non-consensual drug use, dub-con, 

“So, good news,” says Lance, voice a little strangled. “I seriously doubt that’s a killer neurotoxin. Or knockout gas.”

Keith, Lance, an alien drug and an enclosed space, and what happens after.

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/7870165     Like Devo by surveycorpsjean      8k, AU, Keith/Lance, blood, bruises, injury, public sex, 

As rival jammers, they're rough, skating around the rink, giving bruises, bloody noses, broken ribs and snapped fingers-

But when the cops show up, Keith grabs his hand and yanks Lance into the storm drain.

And thats how they start dating.

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/8272118     All In by cheshireree     7k, Keith/Lance, 5+1, 

As far as Lance's teenage heart was concerned, apparently everything started and ended with him cradled in Keith's arms. Or something equally as embarrassing that Lance didn't really want to think about.

or, 5 times Keith carries Lance and one time Lance carries Keith.

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/8279633      own little, pack light by lein     12k, Keith/Lance, trans character, 

His name sounds nicer now, echoed in the metal walls of the castle, warmer and more natural, like it isn’t a cruel joke he’s force-feeding the world. Keith likes it more, sounds it out in his bedroom, wraps his mouth around it like it’s important.

He’s Keith, the red paladin, a defender of the universe. Shiro’s beside him and so is Lance. So are Pidge and Hunk, Allura and Coran. This, he thinks, toes curling in his boots, this is a family.

This is more of a family than he’s ever really had.

He likes it.

.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/8341663      Damsel in Distress by birdzilla      6k, gen, humour, 

Somehow Lance always finds himself in trouble. Fortunately, his friends are always there to get him out of it.

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/8296028     Monster Lead Me Home by ColorWheel     7k, Hunk/Pidge, 

Pidge feels exhausted trying to fathom out the excuses anyone would have for acting like that. “I don’t want to hash out all of the reasons he’s not in love with me, today. It’s my birthday, let me have at least twenty four more hours to pretend that everything’s alright? I’m even going to let Allura do my hair today.” She flips her ponytail around haphazardly and even Keith can’t deny her that.

Pidge turns twenty one on a Tuesday, but she decides she won’t sort out this heavy weight in her life until Wednesday.

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/8302577     Like Forgetting The Words by BossToaster (ChaoticReactions)    12k, gen, Shiro-centric, PTSD, 5+1, 

5 times Shiro forgot about his metal arm, and one time he was comfortable remembering.

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/7841764     call me, beep me by safra     85k, AU, Keith/Lance, fluff, waff, horrible pet naming habits, 

(00:31) Do you think she gave me the wrong number on purpose? (00:31) Or was it a genuine mistake? (00:32) Like maybe she writes funny and I misread it? (00:32) Some of the numbers do look a little dodgy... (00:33) Cause, you know, her threes could very easily be poorly formed eights? And maybe she writes her sevens like her ones?

(00:45) What (00:46) The (00:46) Fuck??? (00:47) Oh good, you are awake!

where lance messages the wrong number and things kind of snowball from there

One of the few fics that ever managed to make ME feel nervous and giddy about them meeting. Can easily be read without prior knowledge of the series.

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/8319058     Earthbound by GemmaRose    6k, polydins, OT5, mental link, emotional h/c, cuddling, galra!keith, 

Returned to Earth after several years in space, the Paladins must deal with the shock of being separated from their Lions. 

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/8328523      A Ladder Most Handsome by wynnebat     757 words, Shiro/Pidge, pining, ust, 

The trend of Pidge climbing Shiro like a tree continues, but not quite in the way Pidge would like.

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/8140553     never saw you coming by dimpleforyourthoughts     47k, Keith/Lance, slow burn, pining, h/c, africa by toto, 

Three months in space on his own would have been fine. Three months in space with Lance McClain is a whole other fucking story.

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/8417293      what i have is right here by epiproctan     6k, Keith/Lance/Shiro, polyamory, getting together,  

ometimes it makes him think of their Garrison days. When Keith was a distant white-hot shooting star he chased because he didn’t know what else to do with him. When Shiro was something even farther, something brighter, the center of a galaxy that he never even hoped to enter. But all masses have gravitational pull. Everything in the universe attracts everything else.

Lance is grateful that theirs was strong enough to tug each other in.

or, a treatise on waiting

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http://archiveofourown.org/series/575692     punctum series by sublimation    6k, Shiro/Allura, praise kink, soft dom!allura, 

“You like that?” she couldn’t resist asking with a smile.

“Yes, Princess,” he answered without hesitation, with the same urgency as when she asked him tactical questions in the command room.

(Allura asks Shiro for a sparring lesson she didn't need)

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/8413471    Into the Skid by proleptic_fancy     23k, Keith/Pidge+Shiro, h/c, unresolved ot3 feelings,  

Stranded in dead space while the Castle undergoes repairs, everyone is starting to go a little stir crazy. A training accident drives a wedge between Shiro and the rest of the team, and things get complicated fast when Keith tries to bridge the gap.

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/8413474    The Finest Flower by mbaline     4k, Shiro, tentacles, 

After a bad crash leaves his Lion badly damaged and his supplies depleted, Shiro is forced to venture out into the thick jungle of this dark, quiet world in search of water.

He soon discovers that looks can be deceiving: this alien planet isn't quite as uninhabited as he first thought. 

the most consensual tentacle porn i’ve ever read, even if it’s still pretty dubious.

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/7425328    your claws in me by burlesquecomposer    49k, Keith/Lance, mind control, h/c, angst, happy ending, 

“Oh trust me. When I’m done with you, I won’t be able to stop laughing,” Lance says lowly, and his lips curl farther, and there’s something wild in his stare, and it hits Keith suddenly.

This isn’t Lance.”

Lance falls under the control of Zarkon's Druids, and although his friends manage to get him back, nothing is quite the same. Maybe the Galra succeeded after all. Maybe the Galra merely wanted to tear Team Voltron apart from the inside.

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/8373805     Your Love Has Shown Me Proof by freshia     13k, Keith/Lance, kid fic, future reationship, fluff, 

“This situation is a bit more complicated than we initially realized.”

Lance raises an eyebrow, but Pidge is the one to question that. “Define complicated.”

Allura takes no more time beating around the bush, “Well, I received a transmission. Keith and Lance--from the future, that is--would like to have their daughter back."

or: Lance and Keith deal with a walking spoiler, in the form of a little girl who just wants to get back to her own home.

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/8391862      Give Them Shelter by BossToaster (ChaoticReactions)     3k, gen, fluff, team feels, 

Have some freakin' gen fluff, you goddamn animals.

In response to Day 15 of legendarydesvender's Inktober.

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/8387245     the currents you create by theoddoodisnude     18k, Keith/Lance, h/c, seasonal affective disorder, 

Some days, he woke up even more tired than he’d been when he’d gone to sleep, and willing his body to go through the motions was just—tough. Like wading through thigh-high water or running on soft sand that gave under the soles of his feet.

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/8400094     Voyager, there are no bridges (one builds them as one walks) by dawnstruck    4k, AU, Shiro/Keith, prince!keith, galra!keith, dark!Shiro, rough sex, humiliation, 

He wants to fight this human. He wants to fuck him. No, he reconsiders, his thoughts oddly distanced from his physical being. He wants to be fucked, to be held down and taken.

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/8300251     Routine Maintenance by VelkynKarma    50k, gen, Shiro-centric, PTSD, injury, mild gore, 5+1, 

Being an amputee with a prosthetic limb is difficult enough. Having a solid metal alien prosthetic forced on you by another species entirely is even worse.

OR:

Five times Shiro’s Galra arm caused him trouble in some way and another member of the team helped him out with it, and the one time the same arm is the only reason any of them survive.

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/7454385     Dirty Laundry by Gibslythe    85k, AU, Keith/Lance, slow burn, fake dating, homo/biphobia, pining, 

"Two whole months of free laundry in exchange for two weeks of being my fake boyfriend. Deal?” Keith hesitated for a moment. Was this really worth it? Hardly. Lance was an asshole, and he wasn’t sure what fake dating would entail. But, free laundry was free laundry, right? “Alright, it’s a deal.”

Or: Lance makes the mistake of telling his Mom he has a boyfriend coming home with him for Christmas. Keith makes the mistake of agreeing to be Lance's 'fake boyfriend'.

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/7780750    This love won't ever be convenient by Lynn1998     78k, AU, Keith/Lance, high-school, trans character, slow burn, trans/homophobia, angst, fluff, 

*Complicated by Avril Lavigne plays in the distance*

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/8539195     a truth so loud you can't ignore by KaijuDork     9k, Lance/Shiro, pining, ptsd, fluff,  

Lance decides to start leaving anonymous notes for Shiro to cheer him up, and can't quite stop himself from expressing his age-old crush through them. He doesn't plan on actually confessing to the other paladin, though, because there's no way it could be mutual.

Besides, he never gets caught leaving them, so Shiro won't know that they're from him... right?

this is so damn cute i had to put my phone down in the middle of the paragraph in some scenes.

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/8481565    Out of the Cold by birdzilla     4k, gen, injury, hypothermia, sharing body heat, 

When Hunk and Shiro crash-land on a wintery planet, it's up to Hunk to keep Shiro alive and warm.

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/8465545     all we have to do aknightley     19k, Keith/Lance, pining, h/c, 

Keith gets hurt during a mission, and Lance is not sure how to handle that.

“Lance wakes up on the floor outside of the medical bay, jerking wildly, body a mess of aches and twinges.”

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/8460238     I Have and I Always Will by HomebodyNobody    3k, Keith/Lance, 

Keith can't sleep and goes a-wandering. Right into the living room. Where Lance is. With his guitar.

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http://archiveofourown.org/series/549544    Connections series by Washipuppy   ~36k, wip, team, self confidence issues, h/c, cuddling,  

The mind is a tenacious thing. Once it grabs hold of a thought, a memory, or a problem, it can be hard to convince it to let go. Pidge has her drive to find her family, though right now she has these communication codes that could help her do that. Shiro has his past, though right now he has his a lion asking him for help and teammates who won't tell him what's going on in their heads. Lance has his doubts. And Keith... Well, he's convinced that Hunk is some kind of Sex God who has slept with both Shiro and Lance.

Now, how to prove that?

Meanwhile, Hunk is just doing his best to look out for everyone. It's like herding cats.

Hunk is great. I love Hunk. 

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/8197430     Broken Cage by AshaCrone    35k, Thance/Shiro, a/b/o, body dysphoria, pregnancy, injury, suicidal thought, dub-con, 

Many things were lost to Shiro in the year he was a Galra captive. He escaped with a metal arm, a memory full of holes, and his body changed into an Omega that had recently given birth. All he can recall is someone there with him, holding each other's sanity together with their bare hands. He wants to remember... but he's afraid of what he might find.

Thace had never expected to meet the Champion. He had never expected to find something to care about after being cast out of the military. Together, they struggle to deal with being pawns in a bigger game.

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/8467450     Carrying the Team by maychorian     5k, gen, h/c, fluff, 

Everyone needs a piggyback ride sometimes. Hunk is (almost) always happy to provide.

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/8371768    Gifts of Rain by needchocolatenow     6k, AU, Lance/Shiro, human and animal sacrifice, gods, smut, 

Lance is the human sacrifice to Shiro, the wind god.

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/8505238     supermassive black hole by epiproctan    7k, Keith/Lance, friends with benefits, pining, 

“Keith has always known that he wasn’t going to get what he truly wants out of the arrangement, but he also hadn’t ever imagined that it would just…end.”

aka that classic fic where lance wants to stop hooking up but keith wants something else entirely

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/8515021     "Platonic" Antagonism, or, the Unfortunate Versatility of the English Language by obstinateRixatrix    6k, Keith/Lance, 

“Maybe you guys got off on the wrong foot, but there’s really no point in pretending you don’t like Lance.” “That’s not it, I’m not pretending I don’t.” Sure, Keith’s not the easiest person to read, but he didn't think he was this bad. At least he caught wind of this frustrating miscommunication before it got any worse. Hunk really did have terrible taste in friends. “Of course I like Lance.”

His admission is punctuated by an almighty clatter as Lance, standing at the door, drops the box of metal he’s holding. “I knew it!” He yells, before anyone can say a word. “I knew you had a crush on me!” “What,” Keith says, out of lack of any coherent alternative. “My space-junk,” Hunk says, looking despairingly at the pile of odds and ends now scattered across the floor.

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/8520619     uh huh, honey by Reminscees    7k, AU, Keith/Lance, friends with benefits, pining, 

Keith knows he’s doomed the moment Lance rests his arm on the wall behind him, leans a little closer and asks what such a pretty face is doing in a place like this: a fraternity house neither of them even go to. Keith stares up into pretty blue eyes and a bright smile that promises a whole world of fun and tells him, “Waiting for you to get me a drink.”

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/8546818     The Passenger by keir    7k, AU, Lance/Shiro, 

Shiro is rolling on another long haul, only a couple days left till he reaches the drop-off point. His semi purrs along the winding highways under the hot Texan sun with nothing but fields as far as the eye can see.

He does a double take when he sees someone walking on the side of the road, almost unable to believe that a person is hiking along the shoulder of the highway out in the middle of nowhere. His good conscience makes him pull over, the semi rolling to a rumbling halt fifteen feet or so behind the stranger.

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/8449300    Triple Entendre by QuillFeathers    4k, Keith/Lance, fluff, 

Keith knows the phrase. But the meaning of a string of words is more than just the paper definition.

Alternatively: Three situations Lance tells Keith "let's dance".

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/8589091     You Can Hear it in the Silence by Luddleston     4k, Lance/Shiro, h/c, panic attack, first time, cuddling, 

“Lance had never seen Shiro like this. Half-curled in on himself, hand tight in the fabric of his shirt, breath coming in harsh, unwieldy gasps, eyes unfocused. Scared. He was practically hiding on a corner of his bed, refusing to look at Lance, and that. That was not reassuring at all.”

Shiro has a panic attack, Lance has no idea what to do, but things seem a little better in the morning.

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/7607410    The Coxcomb by surveycorpsjean     68k,AU,  Shiro/Keith/Lance, strippers, polyamory, threesome, fluff 

Lance takes the job for the money.

Love is apparently a package deal.

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/8559784     I Need a Hero by Jennypen    2k, canon-AU, Lance/Shiro, age swap, role reversal, pining,   

Garrison freshman Shiro has it bad for senior Lance.

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/7892101      The Expiation Expedition by IntelligentAirhead, obstinateRixatrix    40k, Keith/Lance, fake relationship, 

Lance is well aware that miscommunications can result in horrific, preferably avoidable mishaps, which is why he tries to circumvent them whenever possible.

It just figures that the state of an entire planet's fragile political climate rests on him running straight into one.

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/8626207     nothing's quite as sweet by dimpleforyourthoughts, thebrotherswinchester 50k, AU, Keith/Lance, pining, slow burn,

Keith is a barista who hates his job. Lance works at the cat shelter across the street.

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/8609821    Twitterpated by warschach    23k, AU, Keith/Lance/Shiro, domestic, polyamory, threesome, pining, 

Keith had a problem.

All right, fine; it was more of a dilemma.

He liked his roommates, like A LOT, but here was the issue they're in a relationship with other each.

Shit.

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/8620729    So Beautiful, Yet So Unaware by SouthernBird    2k, Lance/Shiro, pining, fluff, 

In which Shiro is a pining sap and picks flowers on an alien planet.

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/8581786     you had me at merlot by DJalien    17k, AU, Keith/Lance, alcohol, 

“Oh my God,” Lance says as he covers his face. Keith’s tinny voice blares from his laptop speakers: “What do you call a fake noodle? An impasta.” See, this joke might have been funny if someone charismatic and charming had said it, but Keith’s flat voice and even flatter expression effectively kidnaps, tortures, and then decapitates any chance of it being remotely humorous.

--

Keith accidentally starts a YouTube channel. Lance, of course, refuses to be left out. It goes about as well as you'd expect. (Ft. copious amounts of wine and a truly shameless number of references to MyDrunkKitchen, DailyGrace, and general pop culture)

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/8678704    Guillotine by quartetship    3k, Keith/Lance, 

Whatever they are, they're frightening, but he likes them all the same.

Keith figures out his feelings and lets Lance know, little by little.

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/8465548     Smoke Signals by tango1_1    50k, Lance/Shiro, slow burn, pining, PTSD, adventure, 

When they say that life flashes before your eyes when you die, they’re lying.

Lance and Shiro get lost. And then, perhaps, they get found?

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/7940305     We'll Make It I Swear by Shipperbitch    31k, Keith/Lance, slow burn, gore, amputation, panic attacks, pining, 

Lance loses his leg during a mission and it takes a toll on the team, especially Keith. Except Keith begins to develop feelings for Lance during his time alone thinking. And when Lance is healed up, he too has some emotional issues that surface. Eventually they work it out, despite the harsh ups and downs.

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/8693962    Expecting the Unexpected by Anonymous    6k, Pidge-centric, oviposition, egg laying, pregnancy, giving birth, 

Team Voltron come across a peaceful, non-humanoid alien. Sadly, it's dying, and it has one last wish: it wants to lay its eggs in someone's uterus so its unborn children won't die with it. That's how they always reproduce, by laying their fertilized eggs in a willing host. Pidge agrees to go through with it.

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/8384884    Crossing Lines by Methoxyethane    12k, Keith/Lance, a/b/o, omega!keith, beta!lance, UST, slowburn, 

Okay so in retrospect, sitting outside of Keith’s door while he was in heat was not Lance’s best and brightest idea ever. But Shiro was the damned alpha round here and if HE refused to do anything when Keith was suffering so much… Well Lance just couldn’t leave him alone. It wouldn't have been right.

hooooly fuck this is right up my alley and i am a dumpster. UST perfection.

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/8262017    Magic Me Some Love by KaSaPe     143k, AU, Keith/Lance, galra!keith, panic attacks, violence, 

When Shiro's arm gets cut off while he is trying to protect Keith, Keith doesn't see any way to save his life but to break into the Galra's castle and steal some of their magical medicine. But nothing goes as planned and when he exits the castle empty handed he is cursed to look like a Galra until he accepts his halfbreed status. He is convinced that he has condemned Shiro to death - and then he learns of a magician that might be able to help just in time.

Meanwhile Lance didn't expect a Galra to turn up at his door, demanding him to save his half dead (human?!) friend. And he certainly didn't expect to fall in love with him either.

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/8836030     of friendship & accidental dick pics by kagshina    6k, AU, Keith/Lance, high school, sexting, 

Lance shakes his head, “You send a guy one dick pic and suddenly you’re best friends,” he mutters.

(Or, to Lance’s misfortune, there’s not a guidebook on how to act around your new friend who used to be your rival and totally still is even though now you kind of definitely want to kiss him.)

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/8772118    Induced by GemmaRose     4k, Keith/Lance, a/b/o, alpha/alpha, sex pollen, 

Alien substances can have unexpected effects on humans, sometimes pleasant, sometimes not. Luckily for Lance, Keith is more than willing to help him through his reaction to the strange plants of this planet.

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/8896312     Phantoms and Friends by Emerald_Ashes    2k, Lance/Shiro, h/c, 

After an accident during a training session, Shiro is left without his right arm for the night.

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/8897761    The Demon Haunted by slivered    5k, AU, Keith/Lance/Shiro, incubi, public sex, threesome, 

"Well, what sort of self-respecting incubus rocks a mullet, huh?"

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/8756821    Heat of the Moment by GreyscaleCourtier     2k, Hunk/Lance, sex pollen, 

Lance gets stung by a venomous creature on an alien planet. The symptoms are... unusual, to say the least.

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/8780950    i see the sky is on the ground by epiproctan    4k, Keith/Lance, Lance/Blue, masturbation, fantasising, pining, 

Lance is pretty frustrated, but the Blue Lion is definitely willing to help her Paladin out.

.

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One-Punch Man

because cyborg porn is exciting

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/5396942     Repairs by shaunhastings2012    1k, Genos/Saitama, unintentional orgasm, wire play, 

Genos needs to fix some of his wiring after a battle. It should've been a simple repair, but it wasn't going quite the way he'd expected. However, Genos didn't exactly mind what happened.

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/5739763    Distance Removed by General_Button    44k, Genos/Saitama, forced proximity, soul bond,   

Pain along his wrist fizzled into existence and then, like a switch, exploded. Saitama stumbled back, fighting the urge to shout, and waited for it to fade.

“What—sensei, are you all right?!” Genos was staring at him incredulously, his mouth agape.

“It’s like I said,” Saitama said, rubbing his wrist lightly. “Something’s happening to me."

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/5678506    After-School Karate Lessons by batneko    19k, AU, Genos/Saitama, masturbation, disability, 

Saitama has taught a lot of kids, is it his fault he can't remember this one?

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/5485139     Phantom Limb by batneko     4k, Genos/Saitama, accidental orgasm, hand kink, scent kink, 

Genos doesn't have a penis, but accidentally discovers his brain can make do.

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/6492796     The Apron by Bloodsbane    18k, Genos/Saitama, pining, UST, clothing kink, domestic kink, 

Shit.

The word buzzed around Saitama’s skull like a mosquito, one he truly had no chance of squashing between his fingers.Shit, he thought, observing his disciple/roommate/best friend as he scrubbed furiously at a spot on the floor with a rag. He was on his knees, bent forward slightly, putting all his weight into removing an ugly soy sauce stain.

The straps of the apron fell as if to purposefully frame his ass.

Fucking shit.

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/6184306     You Know The Fic by Akumeoi    28k, canon-AU, Genos/Saitama, slow burn, sex robots, 

Saitama rescues a robot who turns out to be a pirated sex-robot. Then it falls in love with him. This is not what he needed in his life. (Or maybe it was.) Disclaimer: This is not your average smut fic. Come for the smut, get hooked by the comedy, stay for the feels. Trust me.

contains no actual pirates

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/6353875     Cleaning Up by Guardian    3k, Genos/Saitama, somnophilia, dub-con, bathing, masturbation, 

All Saitama can feel is Genos's bare skin against his own, their bodies pressed together from head to toe. And it feels overwhelmingly good. Warm. Perfect.

It's the most awful thing that's ever happened to him.

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/7702978      Blood on the Ice by toastycyborg      73k, AU, Genos/Saitama, slow burn, mild gore, violence, 

Dragons have returned to Skyrim, but the hero of legend is nowhere to be found. There were stories, three years ago, of his emergence and incredible strength - until, one day, he disappeared. The dragons remain, and now there are only rumours - rumours that the Dragonborn hides from his destiny, that he became a nomad to live in peace and anonymity. There are also rumours of a traveller, a powerful fire mage and conjurer who came to Skyrim in search of revenge.

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/7568863    Outdated Technology by Hyenabutter (Koryos)    13k, Saitama/Genos, masturbation, 

Genos attempts to masturbate for the first time in four years. Saitama is there.

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/8055745      No Hard Feelings, Right? by Hot_Stuff, OldBeginningNewEnding    7k, Saitama/Genos, erectile dysfunction, fingering, first time, smut, 

“Well— I just….” Another deep breath. “...I just can’t…do it.”

“Date a man?” Genos’s heart deflated at the prospect, hoping his sensei would make this rejection quick and painless. “…A cyborg, none the less?”

“Wha— NO! I mean…Oh fuck, listen, Genos. I’m just going to say this once. I like you— a lot actually…but I just.” His sensei took a last deep breath calming his nerves while Genos’s core stood still.

“I just can’t get it up, okay?”

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http://archiveofourown.org/works/7515340     Extra Ordinary by choked_cherry     14k, Saitama/Genos, body worship, masturbation, frottage, minor voyeurism, 

Saitama and Genos have been living together for a year, and have discovered an easy, comfortable dynamic between the two of them until Saitama catches Genos doing something out of the ordinary.

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Need more? Check out the other editions!