#i hear the first three notes and i sit up in a cold sweat and start speaking in a british accent

[talentforlying]

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 

repost and list 5 songs that inspire you to write your muse:

I. private life — oingo boingo II. blood of angels — brown bird III. tainted love — soft cell IV. help i'm alive — metric V. sinnerman — nina simone

list 5 quotes that inspire you to write your muse:

I. "the first clear thought in years: i refuse to die." — marya hornbacher, madness: a bipolar life

II. "we live in capitalism. its power seems inescapable; so did the divine right of kings. any human power can be resisted and changed by human beings." — ursula k. le guin

III. "like a fly to the ointment, your conscience sticks to it. the limbed and headed machine of pain and undignified suffering is firing up again. it wants to walk the desert. hurting. longing. dancing to disco music." — disco elysium

IV. "i have a meanness inside me, real as an organ. slit me at my belly and it might slide out, meaty and dark, drop on the floor so you could stomp on it." — gillian flynn, dark places

V. "i know what you mean about your life, johnny. i know you've made your share of mistakes . . . you're not perfect. you usually end up covered in blood with the shit kicked out of you, pissed off at all the bastards with the power you just can't touch . . . the pogues wrote a song that could have been about you. you're a rake at the gates of hell." — garth ennis, hellblazer #63: "forty"

tagged by: @handgiven <;3 tagging: whoever's interested!!

[angeliicheartt]

🐬 "ᴘᴜʟʟ ʜɪᴍ ꜰᴏʀ ᴀ ᴄʜᴀᴛ!" — send a dialogue prompt and a character and i'll write a blurb!

“i’ll always be here for you.” 🙏 i need a sickfic with my bby shinsou 😞

“ɪ’ʟʟ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ʙᴇ ʜᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜ.”

includes: hitoshi shinso

fem!reader

note: 0.9k wc, comfort, mentions of pills (medication), everyone say thank you sennie's dream for giving me creative inspo to write

you bury your head further into your irritatingly hot pillow, trying to find some sort of comfort in the sweat-drenched sheets you're lying in. it's too bright, too hot, too cold, too stuffy all at once.

waking up to your alarm this morning had practically been like a zombie rising from the dead. your head was pounding, a nasty cough burrowing into the back of your throat, and your sheets soaked with sweat. after sending a quick note to aizawa, you immediately fell back asleep and have been on and off falling in and out of sleep all day.

you feel your phone buzz, as it had been doing practically all day. a whine leaves your raspy throat as you grab the device, the bright screen causing you to squint as you hastily lower the brightness. your free hand massages your temple as you check the notifications you had received during your slumber. a couple from each of your friends, and about ten messages from your boyfriend, hitoshi.

the first few messages asking where you were during classes, and eventually lead to him figuring out you're sick and texting you every hour to see if you were up. you prop your elbows up against your mattress as you text the boy back.

checking the time, you notice that classes got out 15 minutes ago. you sigh as you lay your head against your pillow again, shutting your eyes to spare you the migraine forming at the forefront of your head. 

only seconds after you shut your eyes you hear a small knock at your dorm door. your eyebrows furrow as you crack open one eye, “what?” you call, loud enough to be heard.

“it’s your boyfriend,” a low voice calls back, the familiar tones causing your lips to quirk up if only slightly, “come in.”

the violet-haired boy enters smoothly, a takeout bag in one hand, using the other to shut your door behind him as silently as he can before padding over to you. crouching by your head his hand smooths your hair down and out of your sweaty face as he places a chaste kiss on your forehead.

“how’re you feeling?” he murmurs, placing the bag he brought in on top of your side table. 

“like shit,” you murmur against the pillow, your cheek squished against it, muddying your words. He chuckles softly, tucking your hair behind your ear as he murmurs, “im sorry, angel,”

“i brought you some soup, as well as medicine and some water bottles,” he says as he stands up once again. the dull screeching of wood against wood prods at your ears as he drags your desk chair over to be next to your bed. sitting down he unpacks the takeout bag he brought. placing the takeout bowl on the nightstand, followed by three water bottles and a small bottle of medicine. 

“you didn’t need to do all that, toshi,” you murmur, only slightly louder than a whisper due to the dull ache clouding your head. 

“i wanted to, angel,” he says softly, his deft fingers opening the container of soup as he grabs the plasticware from the bag. he stirs the soup briefly before getting a spoonful. cupping his free hand under the spoon he carefully guides it towards you. 

“you are not spoon-feeding me right now.”

“i am,” he chuckles, one eyebrow raising at your unmoving frame before you give in, propping yourself up on your elbows once again before leaning forward and taking the spoon into your mouth. 

“this is so cheesy.” you say after swallowing, watching as hitoshi readies another spoonful. 

“you haven’t eaten today, besides i’ve gotta make sure you’re back in class as soon as possible,” he says as you take another spoonful, “it's miserable without you.”

you roll your eyes as a soft smile simultaneously forms on your face. “it can’t be that bad, toshi,”

“it is.”

hitoshi tells you about his “miserable” day as he continues to feed you, and soon you finish the bowl. hitoshi places the spoon into the now empty container before tossing both into the takeout bag. he opens the bottle of medicine, popping two pills out before screwing it shut again. carefully he drops the pills into your hand before reaching to open one of the plastic water bottles he brought for you. you take the now opened water bottle before popping the pills into your mouth, chasing them down with water.

“alright then,” he huffs as he stands up, stretching his back before dragging the chair back towards your desk.

“are you leaving?” you murmur, embarrassed at how dejected you sound.

“‘course not.” he scoffs before sliding in next to you, causing you to make room for him on the small bed.

“can’t leave my girl when she’s suffering, plus i haven’t seen you all day,” he says as he buries his nose in your sweaty neck. “i need my girlfriend time.”

“‘m all sweaty and gross, toshi,” you grumble, pursuing a weak attempt at pushing hitoshi away from you. 

“mm, i know, i don’t care.” he murmurs again, his arms wrapping around your waist, his above averagely cold skin becoming sweet relief to your overheating body.

“oh shit, that feels so nice,” you sigh as you take one of his hands, placing it against your forehead before sighing once again in bliss. “never leave,”

“wasn’t planning on it, i'll always be here for you,” he mutters against your neck, planting a soft kiss before the two of you are lulled to sleep by the other’s presence.

ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ: @satelitis @whenanafallsinlove @kozumesphone @tikitsune @goobzi @sviidoll @foxnikki

[sweetheart-satoru]

his addiction

he has an addiction to physical touch

author's note: bye i've been writing satoru a tad too much so let's cool ourselves off with some suguru <333

suguru is in love with holding you. whether it be in the car, his right hand always rests on your thigh, or if you are out to eat, he will sit beside you just so your knees or elbows touch. he doesn't care how he's touching you, he just needs to feel your skin on his.

now, it's two in the morning, and you need to pee. urgently. last night, before you went to bed your mouth was so dry you chugged so much water, but because suguru was rushing you into bed so you could cuddle you didn't get a chance to piss then. so you held it.

and now you can't.

suguru cuddles like he's a bear. in the winter it's more convenient 'cause he will warm you up in the cold nights, but hot summer days like this? you're screwed. one, you're sweating. you have three layers of blankets, the first being a sheet, the second being the comforter, the third being the decorative blanket and the fourth being the one and only suguru.

and two, his hold on you is crazy strong for someone unconscious. you want to shove him off you (with love ofc), or at least poke him or shake him gently but you know he's been overworking himself and even the slightest movement while he's sleeping can ruin his entire night. so now you're lost.

over the three years of dating, you've learned suguru struggles to get sleep at night. usually, when you scratch his head and hold him in bed, it's easy to get him to sleep. as long as he's in the comfort of your arms.

you feel bad but you really, really need to go.

instead of waking him, you try to unwrap his arms from your waist, and carefully move your legs to untangle yourself from him while also peeling off the heavy layers of blankets on you.

"mm, where you goin'?" he mumbles, pulling you back into him. you sigh, "suguru, baby, i need to pee. i didn't wanna wake you, go back to bed i won't take long."

"lemme come with you.." he's clingy when he's sleepy, you also have noted this throughout the years of dating him. "to pee?" you quietly chuckle, and he nods, his eyes shut.

"no, baby. sleep. you've been working so hard lately." you kiss his forehead, slipping out of bed once more, heading to the washroom. you shut the door to relieve yourself, not bothering to lock it because it's only you and him here.

it's not like he's the only one working hard these days. your boss has been putting more hours and shifts on your shoulders, the only reason they did that was because they knew you weren't going to say no. you try not to fall asleep on the toilet, but your head shoots up when you hear the door creek open.

"baby... you're taking too long." his voice is raspy with a of whiny tone in there. after you finish wiping, you move to wash your hands. "i told you to sleep." you jokingly scold him, scrubbing your hands extra good.

"hurry.." he whispers, and you do, quickly drying your hands and then taking him, guiding him to the bed. "you need to be patient, sugu." you kiss his temple as he cuddles into your side, "you take too long." he quietly mutters, and after a moment of silence passes, you can tell he's fallen back asleep.

"sleep well baby," you kiss his forehead, letting him bear hug you in his sleep even though you know you're going to wake up sweaty. but it's okay, you'll let suguru bear cuddle you in the desert if he wanted to.

you both know this.

guys i was gonna make this about satoru but then i was like no suguru needs some love and then i was gonna make this satosugu x reader and then i went NO. SUGURU NEEDS THIS. also idk if this seems like suguru, but it's whatever :,)

[youunravelme]

to all the girls you've loved before part 1

author's note: hi! remember that time i wrote jack fics? well i'm branching out, so BUCKLE UP BABY. it should be said that this will be multiple parts, i don't know how many though so again, buckle up. also i'm pretending the trade never happened

pairing: single dad!mat barzal x reader

summary: being a nanny for rich people was probably the worst thing that ever happened to you, until you started working for mat.

warnings: children, rich people, mentions of absent parent

mat barzal. nearly everyone in new york was obsessed with him, you knew him by the awkward elevator interactions when you were leaving work and he was getting home.

you nannied for a family in his building, a mom named erin who was rarely home with two really sweet children, ages 2 and 4.

you didn't even know his name until a few weeks after he moved in when erin mentioned his name in passing conversation, saying something about an nhl player living across the hall.

"i think he's around your age," she said with a sly smirk. "and handsome too, introduced himself to the kids too. such a sweetheart."

"erin," you started. "you can't possibly know he's a sweetheart from one two second interaction."

she tsked and waved you off. "first impressions have a great impact."

you met him when you were getting off the elevator. he had a duffle bag slung over one shoulder and wore a suit, his hair was wet and strewn about in every direction. you were in a pair of sweats to combat the cold.

he mumbled a small hey and made a pathetic excuse for a smile as he waited for you to get off the elevator.

everything you knew about him, you gleaned involuntarily. he must suck at cooking given the amount of times the smoke detector would go off in his place, you could hear the beeping through the walls. and his lack of cooking skills took shape in the trash bags filled with take out boxes that he loudly dumped in the trash chute. you even knew he had a best friend named "tito" from the shouting that erupted every time said friend came over.

you thought nothing of him aside from the mild annoyance at his loud noises.

it wasn't until the fall came and the two year old turned three (and therefore went off to preschool) that things changed.

you'd just settled into your pajamas when erin called asking you to come over.

"is everything alright?" you asked.

"you remember mat?"

"hardly."

she laughed through the phone, though it sounded a little strained. "can you come over? he's found himself in a bit of a situation."

you paused. "what kind of situation?"

spoiler alert: it was an eight month old baby girl kind of situation.

mat was sitting on erin's couch while the baby, whose name was apparently ella, snoozed away in the pack and play when you walked in.

erin explained the situation as you took a seat. something about a fling he had that resulted in a pregnancy (obviously) and the mom decided parenting just wasn't for her so she dropped the baby off with mat and has blocked him on all forms of communication.

erin leant some things like a pack and play for ella to sleep in until he got a crib. but he didn't need that as much as he needed you.

a nanny.

"i know you already have a job, but i can pay well and pay you more for watching all three kids when you have them," mat begged. "i know i have late games so it would require late nights but you can sleep in the guest room if you'd like and i might be gone for a week at a time, but you can invite friends over to hang out and--"

you held up a hand. listening to the man beg and plead for your help was almost heartbreaking. "i'll do it."

he sat back. "what, really?"

you furrowed your brows. "is that a problem?"

mat shook his head. "no! sorry, i was just surprised you'd agree so quickly.

"well, it's not like it would interfere with my time with erin's girls. i could watch your baby during the day and take her to pick up the girls from school and keep ella until you get back."

he still looked unsure. "i work late nights sometimes, is that a problem?"

you thought about the fact your schedule has been empty for the past few months, that the only reason you leave your shitty apartment was because erin needed you to nanny. "i think i can manage."

he smiled for the first time that evening, looking almost near tears. "thank you thank you thank you," he said.

you nodded, a little overwhelmed by his sudden change in demeanor. "when do i start?"

day one

you hesitantly walked into mat's big ass apartment to the sound of a screaming baby.

it was six in the morning.

mat ran into the living room, hair askew, clothes wrinkled, but his baby was in a clean set of pajamas with tears running down her face.

"i don't know what's wrong," he said frantically. "she woke up and i changed her diaper but she's still crying."

you dropped your bag on the floor and made your way over to him, taking ella out of his arms and immediately bouncing her in your own. "she's probably hungry," you guessed.

"i tried that! i put the bottle in the microwave but when i gave it to her she started crying harder and--"

"wait," you stopped him. "you put the bottle in the microwave?" he nodded. "with the formula?" he nodded again. "mat, you can't do that. heat the water separately and then add the formula. and then test it on your wrist to make sure it's the right temperature." you walked into the kitchen and prepared the bottle the right way, showing mat how to do it as you went.

when all was said and done, you placed the new bottle in ella's mouth and watched as she took it without issue.

mat's shoulders sagged in relief. "you're a miracle worker."

you gave him a sheepish smile. "you can go get ready, mat. i've got her from here." he nodded and hurried towards what you assumed was his bedroom while you walked over to the couch to sit down.

ella was a cute baby, you'd give her that. no doubt taking after her father. she looked at you with wide eyes as she drank her bottle, her irises never left your face. it would've been unnerving if she had been an adult.

mat came out a little less frazzled ten minutes later. ella had finished her bottle at that point and the both of you were laid on the floor doing tummy time.

"what's that?" he pointed to the two of you once he stopped running his hands through his hair.

"what's what?"

"what's that you're doing?" he gestured again before placing his hands on his hips.

"tummy time," you smiled. "it helps build her neck muscles. also helps prevent flat spots on the back of her head."

you didn't like to judge people for their skin color, because it's racist, but you didn't think it was possible for mat to be paler until you spoke.

"she could get flat spots?"

you hung your head as ella babbled to herself.

it was going to be a long employment.

day ten

you'd finally gotten mat on a rhythm, he looked a little less scared with every day that you came over.

but today was different.

he was going on an eight day roadie which meant you would be watching her overnight several nights in a row (on top of erin's kids).

you'd done much harder jobs before, so you weren't nervous about the time you spent with ella, it was more so you feared all the confidence you built in the week or so you'd worked for mat would disappear when he came back and realized he had an eighteen year commitment waiting at home for him.

"you have my number, right?" he asked even though you got it the night you accepted the position.

"yes, mat," you said instead.

"and you'll text me if anything goes wrong?"

you nodded. you bounced ella on your hip and held her hand up. "bye dada," you said for her, smiling as she did.

mat's bags were stationed by the front door, but he made no move towards them. he stayed planted in front of you, but his hands fidgeted.

"can i--" he cleared his throat. "can i hold her?"

"of course!" you didn't hesitate to pass her off to mat, who handled her like precious cargo, but was still a little unsure about the entire situation.

once she was settled, he took his eyes off her to look at you. "you know where the guest room is, right?" you nodded. "right, just make yourself at home. i stocked the fridge, i have just about every streaming service, so you should be fine." he paused. "but if you aren't--"

"mat--"

"--you can just text me if you need anything, alright?" he turned his head to focus on ella who took her hands to slap to his cheeks. "and you be good, okay baby?" his voice pitched higher right before he placed a gentle kiss on her forehead.

you checked your watch to keep yourself from intruding on what felt like a special moment. "mat," you started. "you should get going before you're late."

he nodded and pressed one last kiss to the top of ella's head before passing her back to you. "i'll facetime you when i get to the hotel, okay? so i can tell her goodnight?"

you nodded and left out the part that she would probably be asleep because honestly, you weren't expecting him to remember.

"alright," he said, wiping his hands on his pants before making his way to the front door where his bags sat. "i'll see you in a week."

"bye bye dada," you said in a high squeaky voice, using ella's hand to wave just like before.

he smiled before walking out the door and locking it behind him.

day fourteen

it wasn't until halfway through mat's roadie that weariness settled in. you were constantly surrounded by children, which normally wouldn't be an issue, but between ella and erin's two kids, you were practically a full time single parent.

which sucked because it wasn't even like you got laid to even create this issue.

mat, though, true to his word, facetimed every night he possibly could. he smiled wide every time he saw ella's face and while she was confused at how your phone worked, ella smiled and laughed at the sound of her father's voice.

"what have you been up to?" he asked one evening. you were spoon feeding ella sweet potato puree for dinner while he was laying in bed in his hotel room.

"nothing really, we went to the park today, she was really happy to see a few dogs."

mat grumbled. "certainly didn't get that from me."

you couldn't help it, you smiled at his pout.

"is that--" he guffawed. "did i make you smile?"

you rolled your eyes. "i'm sure i've smiled at you before."

"you haven't!"

"and i don't blame you!" another voice piped in. "he's not funny."

when mat saw the look on your face, he sighed. "that's tito," he said like that explained everything.

"nice to meet you, tito!" you called.

"is that your nanny?" you heard him call. "can i say hi to ella?"

mat rolled his eyes but moved the camera to show you a good looking man lounging in the other bed. he was handsome in a way that mat wasn't. you couldn't really compare one to the other in the same way you couldn't compare an apple to quantum physics.

"ella can you say hi?" you asked in a small voice. ella spared a single glance to camera before screaming. you laughed before spoon feeding her more puree. "sorry," you started. "she does that sometimes."

tito looked terrified but covered it up quickly when mat cleared his throat. "she just screams randomly?"

you shrugged. "usually when she's excited or frustrated."

tito laid back in his bed and started scrolling on his phone. "babies, man."

mat came back into view. his head rested back on his pillow as he held the camera above his face. "are you both doing okay?"

you opened your mouth to reply but tito cut him off.

"you don't need to ask her that everyday!" he said.

you couldn't see what he did, but judging by the shaking of the camera and the cackle that escaped tito's lips, you'd give your left leg and say he flipped his best friend off.

you took your eyes off the camera to look at ella who was using her puree covered hands to rub at her eyes. you put your phone down and grabbed a napkin to immediately start wiping her face and hands.

"is everything okay?" mat asked. "did i lose you?"

"just had to put the phone down to clean her up. she's getting sleepy." you pulled ella out of her high chair, resolving to clean it up later, and picked your phone up.

mat's face lit back up when ella came into view. "hi baby girl," he smiled. "are you getting ready to go to bed?"

ella rested her head on your shoulder and yawned.

"well, i'll let you two go," mat sighed. "i love you, ella bean." he directed his gaze to you. "same time tomorrow?"

"i'll let you know if anything changes."

"night."

"night, mat."

he ended the call and left you to take ella to bed.

day twenty-seven

nearly a month into working for mat and everything was going great. ella had gotten used to you which meant she knew you would come back when you left the room. the first two weeks, she cried every time you left. and if you had to guess, it probably had something to do with how her mother treated her.

and mat, well, he was embracing the father role well enough for someone who thought he was an unattached bachelor not even a month ago.

as far as you go, you were still getting used to the workload of erin's kids and ella. and while you would never breathe a word of it to anyone, you preferred ella over erin's kids.

your roommate and your boyfriend took some time to adjust to your new hours, but your roommate was excited when you contributed more to groceries and apartment needs. as far as your boyfriend went, he was still getting used to the idea of you being gone all day and sometimes even weekends, but even he admitted ella was the cutest baby he'd ever seen.

you were plating yogurt and some smashed peaches for her morning snack while holding her on your hip when mat walked in the kitchen, hair wet from a shower.

"hey," he said. "how is she?"

at the sound of his voice, ella turned in your arms and made a grabby motion for him. "you tell me," you said, handing her off to him. almost immediately, ella rested her head in the crook of his neck and popped a thumb in her mouth.

a smile crossed his face at the way ella fit so perfectly into the lines of his body.

"you're good at this," you remarked.

he laughed. "i have no idea what i'm doing."

"does anyone?"

"you seem to have it figured out."

the laugh was out of your mouth before you could stop it. "well then, let me go audition for broadway. i'm a better actress than i thought."

neither of you said a word, but you continued to stare at each other until his phone dinged. mat shifted ella around until he could fish his phone out of his pocket. "oh it's my mom." he scrolled through the texts when a figurative lightbulb appeared over his head.

"what?" you asked.

"my family is coming into town to meet ella next week so that might affect the hours you have." a flash of panic must've been present on your face because he quickly spoke again. "but your pay will still be the same! i don't want you to worry about that at all. i might still need you throughout the week."

"okay!" you smiled before moving ella's morning snack to her high chair. mat peeled her off of him and placed her in the seat before taking the chair next to hers.

his phone dinged again.

"oh," he said.

"what is it?"

"my mom wants to meet you."

"oh."

[procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics]

A Quiet Moment

Summary: based on some prompt that asked you to write a scene between two characters just being around each other with no dialogue. Immediately thought of Geralt.

Notes: saw a prompt on tiktok first thing I woke up and wrote this in a manic state. Enjoy :)

Taglist: @majesticwren @obsessiveformiyatwins @lucyinthelibrary @sunndust

Masterlist | requests are OPEN!

Neither of you are talkers. That’s Jaskier’s job, who chatters away about songs, affairs and other dramatic states of the world while you’re on the path. And despite your quietness, there always seems to be some kind of noise around you. Singing, fighting, talking, murmurs – whatever it is, it’s never really quiet.

Always except for these quiet moments, when the people in the tavern below you have gone home and Jaskier is in a room of his own.

It’s been a long day of killing for Geralt and a long day of waiting for him in a town full of talking, prodding people for you. So when you hear him sit down on the bed, you let out a sigh of relief. The day is over, and there are a few precious moments the two of you have to yourself now.

Geralt doesn’t ask you what’s wrong, and you don’t need him to. Instead, you go through your supplies, and grab bandages and ointments. Then, you get a bucket of water and a rag and sit down in front of Geralt.

He stops your wrist gently as you begin to loosen a buckle of his armor, but there’s a pleading look in his amber eyes. Geralt isn’t used to help, but he desperately wants to be taken care of.

Moments later, he lets you go, and you take off his stiff leather armor. The dirty undershirt follows quickly, and you see the bruises and cuts you expected.

You begin with his face, as you always do, wiping away dirt, sweat and grime, as well as some monsters’ blood. Gently, you take out the leather band holding his hair out of his face, before you move onto his chest.

Geralt doesn’t wince when you clean the cuts that run over his body, unlike Jaskier, who talks to compensate for pain. He’s so used to the discomfort that it makes your heart wrench. Carefully, you apply the ointments Geralt would tell you not to waste on him if he had the energy. But he doesn’t, so you give him this ‘luxury’.

Taking his breeches off should be sexual, but Geralt simply closes his eyes as you treat the massive cut that made blood drip onto the floor. If you knew how, you would probably stitch it, but you don’t and Geralt’s not human, so you have to leave it for now.

When you’re done with all the cuts and injuries, you grab him some clean clothes and take his dirty ones to be washed. The washerwomen know you and Geralt from earlier contracts, and they know you don’t speak much.

They don’t mind. You’re kinder than most and you pay. You hand over his sullied clothes and make your way to the innkeep next, preparing yourself to speak. It isn’t easy for you, especially after such a long day, but apparently, Jaskier is your saving grace today.

The innkeep hands you a tray with two meals on it, and only holds out a hand demanding payment. You provide it, taking the tray with stew and ale on it and make your way back upstairs to the rooms.

Geralt opens the door for you before you can knock. Either he heard your heartbeat or your footsteps – or both.

He takes the tray out of your hands and puts it down on the bed. You raise an eyebrow at that, since Geralt is normally unwilling to eat in the place he sleeps. It smells too strongly, he told you once.

You follow him, and he pulls you into his side, handing you a bowl. It’s cold, but you don’t mind. Geralt eats his as if he’s starved for weeks, and you can’t blame him. It does mean that you’ve barely taken three bites before he’s done.

His head is on your shoulder while you finish your dinner, washing down with a few gulps of the ale that has been stretched with water. You scrunch your face at the taste and a smile tugs at Geralt’s lips.

Before he can try to get out of bed, you collect the dishes and put them in a corner of the room where the rats won’t bother you.

On your way back, you can feel a sharp tug in your neck, and before you can stop yourself, you grimace. You hope he hasn’t noticed, but Geralt’s eyes flit up to the afflicted area immediately.

He doesn’t let you protest in any way – the moment you sit on your side of the bed, his hands are on your neck, working out the soreness in a way that would seem too gentle for a Witcher. When he’s done, you give him a smile, and he grunts in return.

The gestures turn into words in your head as you pull the blanket over your shoulders. Geralt blows out the candle on his side of the bed, before he wraps an arm around you.

He won’t sleep for quite a bit, so you stay still in the dark, feeling his hand stroke over your back and head absentmindedly. He does it with Roach too, to calm her down. You know he does it to calm himself aswell, and it feels nice, so you let him.

When his movement stills, you turn around to him, gently cupping his face, and giving him a kiss. It’s your ‘I love you’ before you go to sleep, and he returns it with his forehead against yours.

You can feel the tiredness creep in now, where all sounds but your breathing have stopped. It feels like the world has come to a stop, in the best way possible, and you cherish it. Feeling the warmth of his body against yours, your thoughts come to a stop and the only thing around is silence.

It’s a holy and rare commodity to you – one of the only things that doesn’t grate on your senses.

And as you fall asleep, you feel the Quiet in your bones. Tomorrow, early in the morning, it’ll be gone, but for now, the two of you are at peace.

[god-has-entered-my-body]

You said some day we might - M.H x Reader // pt.3

A/N: This one's a bit NSFW (minors please don't interact), also angsty and sad at parts. TW for hard drugs, take care of yourselves! This is loosely based off of my own experience, and I am not trying to glamorize it. Ily my dearest @beforeyougo-turnthebiglightoff for making sure it isnt shit xx

wc: 4k

part four

Picture a scene: flashing lights all around you, colors blinding as they move through the room, seemingly liquid. Music pounding in your head, almost as if it was trying to force its way into your body. People sweating, dancing up against strangers. You feel alive. 

Matty dances next to you, throwing his hands up into the air. You can hear screams as the music changes, now playing Britney Spears’ ‘Toxic’. He wouldn't admit it if you held a gun to his head, but he loves this song. Your hips sway to the beat, and you can feel arms on your waist. It's not Matty. The fuck? 

You didn't know this guy, but his hands were grabbing at you roughly like you were supposed to. His grin disgusted you. (Not so) politely shoving him off, you dance toward Matty, tapping his shoulder three separate times. That was code for ‘bathroom, now’. He nods, taking your hand and leading you towards the edge of the crowd. The sea of people thins out as you finally spot the glowing sign for the loo. 

“You alright?” He asks as you enter the bathroom. The walls were covered in graffiti, stickers, and the occasional phone number. There wasn't the classic smell of piss and sweat, which is why you liked Sound. It was fairly clean. The sinks were made of metal, and so was everything else. The lights were dim, and the mirrors dirty, lipstick stains adorning the edges. You can hear the faint noise of toilets flushing in the background. 

“I'm fine, I s’pose, just that guy was rubbing up against me all weird.” You fix your hair in the mirror, refreshing your eyeliner before passing it to Matty so he could do the same. You had taught him how to do it himself, saving you a load of time and effort whenever you were getting ready together. Tonight's color was red, both of you were wearing the same shade. 

The stall door flings open as a girl stumbles out, almost falling before she caught herself on the hand dryer. Fixing her bra strap, she wiped the edges of her mouth clean before reaching into her small blue handbag. Out comes a small baggie with white powder in it. You immediately recognise it. Blow. 

While you and Matty smoked copious amounts of weed, neither of you had ever tried anything harder. An exception was the occasional acid trip, and even that was a one off on Ross’ 18th birthday.  

Both you and Matty watch her intently as she starts cutting up lines on the edge of the sink, not caring that both your eyes were on her. She takes out a £5 note, rolling it before snorting the line. Her hair is wild as she lifts her head back up, turning to the mirror to fix it. 

“D’you fancy some, love? I have plenty for you,” she looks over to Matty, flashing him a smile  “and your friend, as well.” 

It takes you a split second to realize her statement was directed at you. Matty turns to make eye contact, before doing something you didn't expect. 

He nods, taking a step towards the girl. You do the same. ‘If you're going to try it’, you thought, trying to rationalize, ‘who better than with Matty?’

She shakes more of the powder onto the sink, cutting two lines for the both of you, and one more for herself. You notice the card she uses is a school I.D. A high school I.D.

She hands you the rolled up note first, and for some reason, you feel calm. ‘This is fine’ you repeat in your head, before opening your mouth to speak. 

“This is blow, yeah?” you ask, looking up at her from your position, which was currently hunched over the sink. It's cold, colder than it was. 

“Yeah, clean shit too, don't worry,” she offers a genuine smile, stroking your hair with her long, black nails. You steal a glance at Matty, who was now sitting on the sink next to you, watching closely. You nod, turning back to the line of white powder in front of you

You take a deep breath before snorting the line. It burns as it travels through your nostrils, and you don't feel anything for a second.

And then, it hits you. 

It hits you fast. Everything feels amplified, and you barely register as Matty snorts his. You feel good, euphoric even. Matty feels the same way, letting out a shout when he does lift his head from the sink. 

The girl was long gone when you exited the bathroom and reentered the crowd. You danced with Matty, the music controlling your movements. Deciding to get a drink, you drag him to the bar. The bartender looks you up and down, before shaking his head. He knew you were on something, but that wasn't a rarity in clubs like Sound. Everyone was on something, so, fuck it! Why couldn't you do the same?

Matty orders for you. A french martini and a glass of Malbec for him. The bartender raised his eyebrows at his drink order. “Who orders wine at a club?” he shouts over the music. Matty rolls his eyes before responding “I do! Why, d’you fancy buying me a drink when you get off?” he winks at him provocatively before taking the drinks from the counter. 

He hands you your drink, bringing his hand up to your face, wiping off the smudged makeup underneath your eyes. That's when you realize how hot it was. ‘Fucking hell’ you thought. ‘When did it get so hot? Jesus Christ, it's like I'm in a sauna’.

Matty had downed his glass of wine in two large gulps, wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his your wine red jumper. You rake your eyes over his body, a thin layer of sweat shone on his forehead. His eyeliner was somehow still perfect. 

He was perfect. 

March, 2008 // two months earlier

The mid afternoon sun was beating down onto your skin. The blanket beneath you molding to the ridges of the earth, digging into your back. You were lying in a field, surrounded by daisies and dandelions blowing softly in the breeze, a half-empty packet of crisps on your left. Your arms were sprawled out to the side, with Matty lying peacefully on top of you.

Adam had situated himself on a flimsy fold up chair. He hated sitting on the ground with a burning passion. You had promptly forgiven him for leaving you to fend for yourselves that past weekend, seeing as he promised to pay club covers for a month as an apology. Just you though, seeing as Matty would have abused the ever living hell out of Hann’s wallet if given the chance. 

George and Ross were in the lake located a few dozen meters from where you were sitting, having a swim. The weather was uncharacteristically nice given that you were in Great Britain, land of miserable weather, so the five of you had set out for a makeshift picnic at the last minute. 

It wasnt aesthetically pleasing by any means, with fag packets litering the dirty old blanket Ross had found in an old closet. Ross’ beer bottles were lined up at the edge of the blanket. You grab a pack, presumably Georges, and light up. Marlboro golds, not your favorite, but they’ll do. Breathing in the smoke, you turn your head to get a better look at Matty, who was draped over you, using your chest as a pillow.  

You wore Mattys sunflower shirt, unbuttoned, revealing a black sports bra underneath. He, in turn, wore one of your tops. Specifically, a lavender baby tee with the words ‘dump him’ scrawled across the chest in white glitter. Adam was dressed like a divorced dad, beige linen trousers paired with a Metallica band shirt. You laughed when you saw him, knowing he’d be sweating in under an hour wearing that.

Soft music played in the background, the speaker having been lost underneath the pile of Ross and George's clothes. The air smelled of summer, even if it was only March. You spot the wine bottle in Mattys hand as he tilted his head up, taking a drink. You tap him on the arm, and he hands you the bottle. 

White wine? Matty rarely drank white wine. You brushed it off, it was probably just the cheapest thing at the store. Matty loved expensive red wine, but did not have the money to pay for it, always settling for the bottle with the lowest price tag. Your attention is drawn to George screaming incoherent curses at Ross for throwing a rock at him. Absolute knobheads. 

“D’you reckon we need sunscreen? I don't wanna age my skin anymore than it already has.” he asked, his fingers lingering on his face. His skin was perfect, not a single blemish tarnishing it. “I dunno, I don't think we need to. It's not that hot.” you answer, looking around you. “It's not looking like we have any anyway” you add. 

You could feel Mattys' breath on you, ghosting over your chest. His legs moved, brushing against yours. You were suddenly very aware of the fact he was laying on top of you. It made you feel hot, and not because of the sun. 

He rolled on top of you, now straddling your legs. He was clearly drunk, slurring his words. His eyes stared into yours with such an intensity, you would've thought he was trying to read your mind. His face was bare, but the glitter from last night's adventures still stained his face, giving him a slight shine.

A smile crept onto his face as he brushed his hair out of his face. The blonde highlights had slightly grown out by now, and you made a mental note to ask him if he wanted you to do his roots. 

“Didnt you want to cut my hair?” He asked, and you recognised that look in his eye. Excitement. He jumps up, crawling to get his bag.

“I brought a pair of scissors, d’you wanna cut it now?” He held up pink kitchen scissors, handing them to you as you moved to a sitting position.  

“Are you sure? These are not meant for ha-” “I don't careee, just do it!” he slurred, cutting you off and settling between your crossed legs. He turns and looks at you expectantly, and you sigh in defeat. 

You try your best, snipping away at his hair randomly. Cutting layers into his hair, you try to make the strands around his face shorter. He giggles as it tickles his face, brushing it off his skin. The sun made him appear as if he were glowing, painting him in an orange hue. Trying not to cut it too short, you tug at it to get a good idea of the length. 

A soft groan escapes Mattys mouth, and he tries to pass it off as a cough, avoiding your gaze. A few minutes later, you tug at it again. A little experiment , if you will. This time, the noise is slightly clearer, and his whole body twitches. He busies himself with the bottle of wine in his hands, inspecting the label.  

He admires your work in a little compact mirror you had found in your bag. “So.. do you like it? Or have I completely fucked your hair?” you ask, watching his reflection. Matty grins, slamming the mirror shut. 

“I love it! The layers make me look hot, so you did your job right!” He pulled you in for a hug, kissing all over your face: He was obviously drunker than you thought.

You lay back on your elbows, closing your eyes, letting the sun shine onto your skin. This was nice. You felt truly alive.

—---------------------------------------------------------

Skin against skin, soft moans filled the room. You didn't even know who they belonged to. Desire took over your bodies like a foreign force. The room was dark, the only light coming from the streetlamp just outside, illuminating the space. 

“Fuck- can I?” hands trailed down your chest, toying with the buttons of your shirt. You nod frantically, smashing his lips back against yours. You find his hair, pulling slightly as he lets out a pathetic whimper. You drink in the noise as if it was the very essence of life, tugging even harder at the curls. Curls. Matty.

“Mmh- ah, fuck-” You can feel him against your thigh. You can feel Matty grinding against you. The thought makes your head spin, and you throw your head back, your hair splayed over the baby blue pillows. Mattys pillows.   

“You're so- you’re so beautiful, just let me- i’ll-” he cuts himself off, trailing his lips down your jaw, leaving searing, hot kisses in his wake. His mouth makes contact with your collarbone, biting down. You hiss, your nails digging into his scalp. He groans. Matty

His rough hands rub the tattoo on your hip, you feel his rough calluses. You pull his hair, making him look at you. Your eyes rake over his face, the glitter around his eyes shimmering in the faint light. His hand comes up to push your shirt up, the material bunching up where his mouth had just been. You make eye contact again. 

He grins before licking one long stripe along the expanse of your ribcage, letting out an obscene moan as he did. He was putting on a show, for you. The noise goes straight to your core. 

His fingers snap the elastic of your black underwear, making you jump. A laugh. Teeth graze your hip bone, tracing the tattoo. You can feel him slipping the lace down your thighs, licking and sucking lower, lower, lower…

You jolt awake suddenly, hot sweat running down your back. You turn to look at the time. 2:53am. 

What the fuck was that?

You close your eyes, the dream replaying in your head. Lips, your lips and his. Teeth, kisses down your neck, Matty, Matty, Matty-

You stop yourself, shoving your face into a pillow. This can't be happening. This wasn't real. This was all hallucination and you didn't just have a wet dream involving your best mate. 

Letting out a groan, you lay back down facing the wall. You desperately, desperately needed a good lay. If it had come to you having fucking dreams about Matty of all people, you knew it was time to find a guy and just shag him. That would solve your little predicament, you were sure of it. 

—------------------------------------------------------------

Admiring yourself in the mirror, you hike the ruched material of your dress up even further. Jewelry covered you from head to toe, complimenting the details of your bag perfectly. Hair done up in curls, you knew you were ready. 

You were going out. Alone.

The heel of your shoe clicked nervously against the pavement as you queued, giving the bouncer, James, a nod as he waved you through. “No Matty today?” he questioned, referring to the fact that you were alone.  

“Yeah, I'm out alone tonight. Matty is… sick. The flu.” you lie through your teeth, not wanting to disclose the real reason behind your solo-mission. The plan was to find a guy, any guy, and forget about that godforsaken dream.  

The music was loud, even louder than usual, and you were stone cold sober. Not good. 

Making your way to the bar, you order your usual, a french martini. Tobias, the bartender, handed your drink, and you close out. You didn't want to get hammered tonight. 

Your fingers drum along to the beat as you sip your drink, scanning the crowd. There weren't many people dancing, seeing as it was a Sunday night. Most had work in the morning, so going out wasn't an option. He had asked you if you really didn't want anything else, even offering you a drink in the house. You politely decline with a shake of your head, assuring him it was alright.

Suddenly, a tall man appeared in your peripheral vision. You had seen him a few times before, wandering about, flirting with the female waitresses. Blonde hair, blue eyes. The complete opposite of Matty. His arm rested against the bar, and you could see him flexing his muscles. On purpose. Jesus.  

He strolled up to you with an air of confidence. Turning to Tobias, he asked him what your drink was. “A french martini,” he answered, looking you up and down “and she's only had one the entire night.” The man laughs, “Well that wont do! Let me buy you a drink sweetheart, on me.” 

You nod, turning to face him. A smile makes its way onto your lips. Perfect . 

He introduces himself as David. He works an office job down the road, something something marketing. You didn't really listen to him, only laughing when he paused, expecting it

He seemed solid, and he was 19, so not too old. You really didn't want to deal with another Phillip situation. He had bought you three, quite pricey, drinks, and you knew he wanted more. 

He eventually asked if you wanted to come back to his place for some wine. You agreed, letting yourself be led out of the club by your wrist. James winked at you knowingly as you left.

He had a silver Toyota, the interior a cream leather. It was a big difference to Hann’s beaten up red Kia, but you weren't complaining. He was nice enough, opening the car door for you. 

The inside of his flat reeked of sickly sweet vanilla and cheap cologne. He opened a bottle of wine for the both of you, pouring two glasses. The conversion was mundane, but he was nice enough. You had switched your phone off, not wanting anything to distract you from your mission. He had made a move to sit next to you, his hand trailing up your thigh, inching higher with every word he uttered.

His mouth was against your ear, whispering sweet nothings into it, his other hand finding your chest, pushing you down onto the sofa. You let him move you, twist you as he pleased. It didn't mean anything to you, you just needed to get Matty out of your head. Matty.

His hands were soft, like he moisturized them regularly. You could feel his lips on your chest, leaving bite marks and kisses, but you didn't feel anything. Closing your eyes, you decide to let him do all of the work. You had even worn your only pair of lace underwear, a black number with a little bow on the front of the matching bra. The same pair you had worn in the dream. 

You mentally curse yourself, kissing David deeper, harder than you did before. Forget, forget, forget. 

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------

He wasn't the worst, but at least he tried. You tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. Laying on his (quite expensive looking) leather couch, you watch him as he gets dressed. He asks you if you need anything, and you answer with a shake of your head. You just wanted to leave. 

A phone buzzes, and you quickly realize it's yours. You pick it up, the screen lighting up. 3 missed calls from Matty, and 4 texts from him as well. 

// Where r you? I’m at your window. 

// Are you well? 

// Answer me for fucks sake, dont do this.

// I hope you’ve died or smth, you’re well fucking me off. 

You sigh, clicking the call button. It rings for a split second before Matty picks up. 

“Now you decide to ring me back? I thought you’d been picked up by a sex trafficker or something. Fuck you, honest,” his voice sounded worried, even tired, if you ignored the nature of his words. 

“Sorry mate, I was out.” You answer curtly, trying to keep your voice steady. Your fingers tap against the glass of the coffee table, and you hear Matty inhale sharply. 

“Out where? And why did it take me three calls and four messages to get a ring back?” he sounded more aggressive this time, and you could tell he had gotten up from wherever he was sitting. This pissed you off. Why does he have the right to know where you are, it didn’t concern him in the slightest, and he wasn't your father. You told him as much. 

“I was out, alright? I'm at David's place right now, and I'll be at yours in an hour, cool?” A moment of silence passes between you two before Matty spits out. “Whos the fuck is David?” The way he said his name made it sound like you had shagged his worst enemy, not some random guy. 

“He's just a bloke I met at Sound, I went to his place. D’you want me over or should I fuck off home?” The second option was just a courtesy, you were sure he’d want you over. You hadn’t seen each other since Friday. 

“Nah, it's alright, go home.” His voice sounded cold, unfeeling. A shudder made its way up your spine. He didn't sound like himself at all. What the fuck? “I have erm.. work to catch up on. You understand.” No you didnt fucking understand. 

You open your mouth to protest, but are rudely interrupted by a faint noise. The dial tone. Matty had hung up on you. Your mouth let out a gasp in disbelief. Fuck him. Fuck him all the way. 

You gather your things. While trying to find your shoes, David comes back into the room. You tell him you need to leave, and he tries to kiss you goodbye. It feels wrong. 

Deciding to walk barefoot, you do the walk of shame at 1 in the morning. Heels in one hand, your purse in the other, you trudge down the pavement. You feel dirty, like you did something inherently wrong.

Cars whizz by you, and you hear sirens in the background. It's cold, and you can feel goosebumps forming on your skin in the soft breeze. Feeling around for your cigarettes, you come across something small towards the bottom of your purse. You pull it out, your eyes widening at the sight. The lighter. Mattys lighter. 

The white letters on the side point and laugh at you. You can hear it. It was even more chipped than it was that night, how did it still work? M.H. Matty. 

In a fit of rage you chucked the lighter onto the ground in front of you. It splinters off, the metal top flying off onto the road. A car drives over it. You were angry. Angry at yourself for even going out alone. For going home with fucking David. You were angry at Matty for being angry at you. You didn't even understand why, but the mere fact he had hung up on you made your blood boil.

The lighter was now in pieces beneath your feet. The white letters, illegible. Feeling powerful, you decide to kick the rest of the plastic off onto the road, hoping a giant truck would run it over. You wanted Matty at your feet like this, pathetic and powerless. You needed him like this, to show him he can't just hang up on you like you're nothing. 

The mental image of Matty at your feet made warmth spread throughout your body. On his knees, looking up at you with glassy, glitter framed eyes. You wanted to take his beautiful hair and weave it between your fingers, forcing him to look up at you. You wanted to hear the pathetic whimpers escape his mouth, just like they did in your dream. 

You feel breathless, staring at the wet pavement where the lighter once was. You keep walking.   

[deathblacksmoke]

we tangle endlessly

pairing: noah sebastian x nick ruffilo x fem reader

cw: mention of alcohol consumption/intoxication, anal sex (m receiving), masturbation, threesome, the start of a cute lil polyamorous relationship

taglist: @concretenoah / @ladyveronikawrites / @xxrainstorm / @monotoniscreaming / @agravemisstake

let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future fics!

author’s note: another insert of this lil verse. i really love writing these three 🤍

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

Even as you hear the door open, then close, then shoes being toed off, then soft footsteps passing across the hardwood floors, you can’t bring yourself to get out of bed.

There is no right or easy way to ask Nick what you’re going to ask him, and it will never be the right time.

You think that any way you decide to ask your boyfriend this specific question, it’ll be the wrong way. So you sink beneath the covers, pretend to be asleep, and pray that Nick buys it.

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

The night before.

You were drunk—like, really fucking drunk. You were drunk enough that you had Noah leaning all over you, slurring his words, saying things he probably wouldn’t dare say if he was sober.

“What’s it like being with Nick?” Noah had asked, barely intelligible. You probably would have missed it had you not been listening closely, waiting for something embarrassing to slip out but not expecting that. “Is it good? I bet it is good.”

You didn’t really know how to respond to that. You knew the answer. Being with Nick is as easy as breathing, as comforting as a warm blanket wrapped all around you on a cold day, being tucked back into bed. It’s world-rocking and life changing and so many things you maybe shouldn’t be telling his best friend. So you settled for something else.

“It’s good,” you said, very matter-of-fact, hoping that it would end there but sensing that it wouldn’t. Plus, you’d gotten curious. “Why?”

Noah looked off, as if deep in thought, as if he hadn’t thought this far ahead and maybe he hadn’t. If he had, he probably wouldn’t have asked the question in the first place.

As long as you’ve known them, Nick and Noah have been Nick and Noah. Closer than anyone, attached at the hip. You had a feeling you knew where it was going and you tried to ignore the butterflies, the bubbling excitement in your tummy at the thought of Nick and Noah being Nick and Noah, in a way that’s more. In a way that would hopefully include you, too.

“I always wondered. I always wanted to find out for myself,” Noah said, looking dreamily at the ceiling, licking his lips, readjusting himself in his pants. “I was going to tell him. You got to him first.”

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

“Sweetheart?” you hear from very close by, probably just inches away above the covers, and then the covers are pulled back to reveal Nick, his shining eyes and his beautiful smile, now fallen in concern. “Baby, are you okay?”

Not at all, you want to say. I think I’m losing my mind, would probably be the most accurate. I don’t know how to ask you what I need to ask you and I feel like I’m exploding.

“I’m good,” you say instead, completely lying. The reality is your heart is beating out of your chest, your hands are sweating, your skin is red and blotchy with nerves, and you know Nick can see it. You know as soon as Nick smirks at your answer and tilts his head that you’re not very good at hiding it at all.

“Tell me what’s going on so I can fix it.” Nick says, brushing your hair off your forehead. You know that Nick wouldn’t be saying that so confidently if he knew what was going on and what exactly fixing it would entail. You have to say it eventually.

You sit up and get it over with.

“What do you think of Noah?” you ask, as if it’s a question that makes any sense to ask someone about their best friend.

You know it sounds odd, because it feels even weirder. There’s nothing normal or comfortable about asking your boyfriend if he wants to sleep with his best friend—especially when the answer you’re hoping to hear is yes.

Somehow that’s best case scenario, is Nick being into it. Best case scenario is you sitting back, watching Noah take your boyfriend’s cock—in his mouth, inside of him, sweaty and gasping.

You’re getting worked up just imagining it, and you don’t want to think about what that means.

You continue, braver now, although you have yet to notice a change in Nick’s expression that could tell you anything at all.

“Me and Noah got drunk last night, and got to talking—” you start. “About how he wants to know what it’s like to be with you. And I think I want him to know, too, if you want to.”

When you finally lift your head to meet Nick’s eyes, he looks bewildered. Not disgusted. Not terrified. Not angry. For now, you’re going to take that as a win. The fact that Nick is still in front of you and meeting your eyes, you’ll take it as a win.

“Let me just make sure I’m hearing you right,” Nick starts, scoffing a bit, but he’s not mad, you can tell that much. Confused, yes. Shocked, entirely. But mad? No, that’s not what this tone is. That’s not what the growing bulge in Nick’s pants is. “Noah wants me to fuck him?” you nod, although it’s a bit more than that, and you think you both know that. “And you want me to fuck Noah?” you nod, a bit too enthusiastically. “Do you want to fuck Noah?”

You don’t know how to answer that question, really. You’re decidedly not against it, not at all, a bit more interested in the idea than you’d like to admit, the idea of Nick and Noah and Nick and you becoming Nick and Noah and you. You can get to that part later.

“I want you to take him apart. I want to see it.”

Nick is actually grinning then, a look of disbelief but pure joy on his face. “Before I answer, you’re sure about this?”

You weren’t so sure before. Not when you were hiding in your bed, dreading having this conversation. But seeing the look on Nick’s face. The desire. You’ve never been more sure about anything, so you nod. “Positive.”

“Absolutely. I would love to.”

You always wondered and always suspected that maybe Nick wanted him and Noah to be a little something more, too. You want it for the both of them. You want it for all of you.

You’re crawling into his lap then, getting youself as close as possible, kissing him deep and warm and breathless and pawing at every available inch of him. Nick always said he would do anything for you and now he’s proving it.

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

You can’t help but stare in awe as Nick has two slick fingers inside Noah, Noah whining in what you can’t tell is pleasure or pain but is probably a bit of both.

Noah, completely bare, on his hands and knees on the bed. Nick still fully clothed, his left hand resting gently on Noah’s lower back while his right hand works Noah open slowly.

You’ve never seen Nick do this. You’ve only felt it.

It feels like something special to know exactly what Noah is feeling right now. He’s feeling your favorite thing. You aren’t sure what the feeling is that’s pooling warm in your belly, whether it’s desire, or something else. Suddenly you need to get so much closer.

You walk up behind Nick, pressing yourself to his back and resting your chin on his shoulder. You wrap your arms tight around his middle, completely awestruck at the sight in front of you both.

“How does he feel, honey?”

Nick just hums in response, leaning back into your embrace, simultaneously pressing his hands harder into Noah. A reminder to the both of you I’m right here.

“He’s so tight, baby. He’s so soft inside, too, and so warm.” Nick sighs dreamily, but leans his head against yours, a comfort. A reassurance. “Why don’t you go sit with him?”

You oblige, kissing Nick’s shoulder before moving to sit cross-legged on the bed in front of Noah. He’s gasping and shaking, head hanging low between his shoulders.

You tie Noah’s long hair back into a bun, like you’ve seen Nick do for him dozens of times. The sight of him right now is dizzying. You know how Noah is feeling, but at the same time, you can’t begin to imagine.

It’s been so long since you’ve felt this for the first time. It’s been so long since your friendship with Nick went from friends to more, and they’re closer than you and Nick ever were, as friends. They have more to lose.

You won’t let them lose it. You feel an overwhelming need to keep this.

You brush the hairs, sticky and sweaty, away from Noah’s forehead, tucking loose strands behind his ear.

“Hey,” you coo at him, bringing your palm to his cheek, flushed and burning hot. Noah gasps in response, sighs, his chest heaving. His arms are shaking as he struggles to hold himself up. You know the feeling all too well and rest your hand on his trembling one. “I know, Noah. I know. You’re doing so well.”

Noah is whining like he can’t even control it. He’s mewling in a way you know he would find embarrassing, and you won’t dare bring it up now or ever. You have such a love for your boyfriend right now—doing this for Noah, for you. You have such an adoration and softness for Noah, knowing that when it comes down to the wire, you’ll do absolutely anything for either of them. Even this.

“Are you ready for him, love?” you ask, not rushing. You and Nick will take this as slow as Noah needs, but you certainly don’t want to torment him. “What do you think, Noah?”

Noah nods.

“Yes,” he gasps, looking up at you, his eyes red and wet. “Yes, please.”

Nick looks to you for permission, and you nod. “Go ahead, baby. He’s ready.”

As Nick walks away, you notice a sudden shift in Noah’s demeanor. He looks over his shoulder to where Nick is shuffling around for a condom, then back to you, and his expression is different. It’s something that isn’t nerves and it’s not desire—it’s something closer to panic. Nick turns back around and you hold a hand up, because this isn’t normal. You can’t read Noah like Nick can but you can tell that something isn’t right, and you want this to be perfect for him. “Honey, hold on a minute, will you?” you say, and Nick nods, standing back.

“Noah,” you say, pulling his attention to you. There are tears in his eyes. “It’s just you and me, baby. Focus on me. Are you okay?”

Noah nods, but his expression sours, and he sighs. “I don’t know.”

You take Noah’s hands, rearranging him so he’s sitting up against the pillows at the head of the bed. You keep Noah’s hand in yours and face him. “Well, we need to make that a yes. What do you need? We can stop right now if you want.”

Noah shakes his head. “No, I don’t want that,” he says, and you nod, prompting Noah to continue. “I want to be on my back. Is that okay? I want to be able to see you both,” You nod. Of course you can. Anything you need. “And I know you said no, but I thought that maybe—”

You know what he’s going to ask for. It was one of the rules that you had made before you started, because you thought that it may have been crossing a line, for yourself at least. Now that you’re in it this far, it feels silly, and you know that you want to give this to Noah, too.

“I think I know what you need. I’m gonna bring Nicholas over, is that okay?” you ask, and Noah nods. He wipes tears from his eyes. He’s starting to settle. “Do you want me to stay here with you or go?”

Noah squeezes your hand, “Please stay.”

You nod, more than happy to stay at his side.

“Nicky, come here, baby. I think he needs a kiss,” you look to Noah. “Is that what you want?” Noah nods, but he still seems unsure. “It’s okay, Noah.”

Nick moves to sit next to Noah on the bed, resting a hand on his thigh. “Can I kiss you, baby?”

The kiss they share is familiar. It’s gentle, Nick’s hands resting on Noah’s cheeks. They’re both smiling into it and you can see as Noah’s entire body begins to relax, all the tension and all the nerves from moments ago melting away. You think that in a way, Nick needs this too, just as much as Noah does.

Nick isn’t used to this either, sex devoid of emotion and romanticism. Nick is used to you, your roaming hands and lips and tongue. Your whispers of baby and I love you and your nails dragging paths down his back. This is what they both need, Nick and Noah both, a bit of gentleness to cut the tension of this big thing you’re all doing.

“Better?” Nick asks when he pulls away. Noah nods and blushes. You can’t help but smile, seeing two of your favorite people treat each other with such care and softness. Nick leans back in for another kiss from Noah, slow and deep, and you have butterflies in your tummy. You don’t push them away this time. You love them both so much. “Are you ready for me?”

“Yes,” Noah says, but he looks to you for reassurance that this is still okay. You nod and smile, and Noah turns back to Nick. “I’m ready.”

Noah’s mouth is slightly open as the two of you watch Nick undress and slide the condom on. Slowly, pointedly taking his time and putting on a show. It’s working. Noah licks his lips absentmindedly.

You steal Nick for a moment before you both turn your attention back to Noah. You cup Nick’s face and kiss him deep, hungry. “I love you,” you whisper when he pulls away from the kiss. “Thank you for doing this for us.”

Nick blushes, mouths I love you.

“Go ahead and lie back for him, sweet boy,” you say, holding Noah’s hand as he rearranges himself to a more comfortable position. “You’re okay, baby. We’ve got you.”

You can tell from the first push inside that Noah is hurting. A dull kind of ache that never changes, just becomes something to get used to. You both hold him through it, Nick kissing all over Noah’s face and your hand resting on his belly, head on his chest. You watch as his expression morphs from one of hurt to one of pleasure, as Nick hits that spot inside of him, little ohs and huhs and oh my gods escaping his lips.

“That’s it,” you say, rubbing comforting circles on Noah’s tummy. “Let us hear you, baby.”

Noah’s mouth is open in a gasp, his breathing heavy, his eyes pressed painfully shut.

You have to close your legs, rub your thighs together, try to send the ache in your core away. You can feel how your panties stick to you and you need to be touched, but this isn’t about you. Not this time.

Noah gasps, opening his eyes to look at you. His eyes are glossed over—sober but drunk on something you recognize. Drunk on Nick. Drunk on Nick’s cock inside him, and you know that feeling well. You’re feeling short of breath seeing them like this.

“I know that look,” Nick says, smirking at you and you hate him for how well he can read you, especially now. “You like watching us, don’t you? I know you’re wet. I can tell.”

“Yeah,” you respond, squeezing your thighs tighter together, so transfixed by what’s going on in front of you. “Sorry, you two look so good together.”

Noah laughs, but it breaks off into a moan when Nick thrusts into him especially hard. They really do fit together nicely. You had expected to feel pangs of jealousy, watching this. It really did start as something he wanted to do for Noah.

The two of them just look so hot together. Lips hovering moments away from touching, sharing breath, skin warm and glistening. You reach out for your boyfriend, hand resting on his cheek, and Nick beams at you. He turns his head a bit to place a kiss to your palm and it all feels right. It’s safe here. Nick is so gorgeous, and this is everything. It’s just another thing you’ll all share, another thing to tie you all together.

“Touch yourself for us, sweetheart,” Nick says with a mischievous grin painted on his face. “You know I love watching you. Why don’t you show Noah how good you look?”

You blush under the praise, embarrassed at the thought of touching yourself for them, but you’re getting wetter despite yourself.

“Noah feels so good. He’s gonna cum for me soon, I can tell. Look at him. Look how much he loves my cock.” Noah is lying there, completely blissed out, little whines at Nick’s every push, hand tight around his cock. “He feels amazing around me. I’ll cum soon, too. Don’t you want to cum with us?”

It’s almost too much.

“We wanna see how good you can make yourself feel. Don’t we, baby?” Nick says, looking down at Noah. Noah opens his eyes, and you can tell he’s surprised that the baby was directed at him when he moans, hand tightening around himself.

Noah nods, his eyes falling closed again despite his best efforts to maintain eye contact. “I wanna watch you, please.”

What’s happening doesn’t feel real. As you’re removing your panties, your shirt, lying back down next to Noah, running a hand up your thigh and tracing a finger around your clit, it feels imaginary. As you’re touching yourself under the gaze of your boyfriend and his best friend, who are taking in the sight with a sort of hunger and desire, it feels fake. Like a dream.

But it’s real. Your hands on yourself, Noah’s hand on your thigh, Nick’s lips on yours, it’s real. When you do cum, with Noah’s grip tightening almost painfully on your thigh, that’s real too.

Noah gasping, finishing on his own belly, Nick releasing into the condom with his lips on Noah’s neck, it’s all real.

All tangled together, naked, sweaty, warm, tired. It’s right.

You can hardly believe what you’ve done. Even as you’re gathering the cum on Noah’s belly on your fingers, and Nick’s sucking those fingers into his mouth, you can’t believe it. You can’t believe you crossed this line that you can never uncross. You don’t think you’d change it. It feels right, like a natural progression, being right here with these two boys who you love so much.

You drape yourself along Noah’s back and watch as Nick cups Noah’s cheek and kisses him softly on the mouth. You hold your breath as Nick brings your hand up to his mouth, kissing every knuckle and murmuring sweet words into your palm.

You could fall asleep, just like this.

But the look on Nick’s face as he gazes at Noah, tracing the back of a finger along his cheek, makes you feel like you’re intruding. Like you’re witnessing a moment the two of them having been wanting for years. A pang of jealousy hits you as you disentangle yourself, scooting back slightly.

You don’t get far before Noah stretches an arm behind himself, hand searching for yours. When he laces his fingers through yours, pulling them back over himself, kissing your fingertips, the jealousy settles.

Nick’s eyes meet yours, a grateful look in his eyes, a question.

You have a feeling this will be a more permanent arrangement than you had anticipated, a feeling Noah will find himself in more than just your bed. Nick and Noah and you sounds like a perfect idea to you—you don’t even have to think about it.

You squirm as closely as you can, pressing a kiss to Noah’s back and reaching for Nick’s hand to hold.

“Best idea we’ve ever had,” you say, feeling Nick press a kiss and a smile to the back of your hand. Noah sighs and sinks into the bed, like he was waiting for someone to say it.

You’re happy to have him stay for as long as he wants.

[winterwhisperz-blog]

Hello!! I don't know if your TS head-canons still open (sorry if not) but can you make TS head-canons about MC almost dying? Like almost killed by souless, the curse is getting worse, almost died because someone stab them? Is your choice btw~ if you can't do it it's fine~ and sorry for my bad grammar, English is not my first language 🙂

(been craving come ANGST this day-)

Hi hi !!! They’re still open yes! I’ll have em open for awhile since I love doing these 😭 tysm for the ask !!

(I’m sorry for taking so long btw, writer’s block has been beating my butt)

I was only able to do three of the Li for now, since I was writing so much my tumblr was beginning to glitch so UHMMMM I’ll have to do a part two !! :,)

ALR LES GET INTO IT

The Lis Reacting To Mc Almost dying (P1)

Warnings: Angst,mentions of death, blood, violence, please proceed carefully if any of these may trigger you !!

Notes: GN MC, creative liberty, not proofread

Ais

Oh dear, NOW THIS WOULD BE SAD

Let’s say you were out at night, just heading back after spending time with Ais. Your head still humming with thoughts of his smile, his voice, and how he always makes you feel.

You get lost in the thoughts for a bit, forgetting your surroundings as you pet Princess goodbye.

The streets are foggy and cold, masking anything in the dark as harmless silhouettes.

You don’t notice until it’s too late—

Hot breath on the back of your neck, the growl of some unearthly shadow

A soulless, large and already dripping with blood—you leap forward just as its jaws slam shut

You’ve been in this situation before, you know what to do— you run

But it’s dark, and the moon, as if she’s just as afraid, flees fully into the horizon. Freezing you in pitch black.

You don’t see the rock in front of you, and fall face first into the bloody swamp of the wasteland.

You reach out, trying to both get up, to escape— to fight.

But it’s pointless, you’re trapped. There is no way out.

There’s pain, a scream, and you drown in the dry, suffocating dark.

The last thing you hear is a blood-curdling roar before ice encases your body, forcing you still.

….

Hesitant red light splashes across the lids of your closed eyes, a dullness like a soaked blanket over your form.

A low hum reaches for your ears, sounding faintly familiar. Comforting in a way that urges your chest to loosen, for your mouth to release sharp breath after breath.

But while the hum sharpens into a voice, so does the dullness into pain

The ice that had been embracing your body bursts into scathing fire, burning through your skin and sending a scream from your lips.

Something soft envelopes your legs and sides, a warmth that slowly soothes the pain. Something smooth comes to rest over your brow, a palm—a thumb gently caressing your skin.

“You’re going to be alright, Sparrow, breathe.”

You know that voice, and something about it makes you rest. Allowing the pain to slowly be smothered.

Opening your eyes, your vision clears to see a pair of red eyes and horns. Ais.

He’s the one caressing your forehead, the other wiping blood and sweat from your neck. There’s another figure working beside him, tall with sparkling eyes. Kuras.

You can see he’s bandaging you up, a bucket of blood-touched water sitting on the faraway counter. You’re laying down on a table—the same table from your first time in Eridia.

When the pain has finally vanished completely, and you’re fully awake, Kuras checks up once more on you before leaving you with Ais.

“What happened?” You mutter, trying to sit up and having Ais’ arms hold your back as you stumble.

“You were attacked by a soulless. Princess tugged you back—and I brought you to Kuras.”

The way he’s speaking is a little odd. It’s stiff, like he’s holding something back. His eyes darker, skin pale with lingering fear. “Ais?”

At your words, he brings you into an embrace. Taking a deep breath as you fall against his chest. You wince a little, and he loosens his grip. Though refusing to let go.

He doesn’t say anything for a long time, and neither do you.

Next time you spend the day with Ais, you’re also spending the night. He’s never letting this happen again.

I like writing angst >:]

I wanted to make it a bit longer but I don’t want to make these too too long

Leander

Hehehehe okay okay >:) so so so

You’re out in the middle of the day, the streets bustling and loud

The Sun, surprisingly, is out and showering the city with light and heat

Your bandages mixed with sweat ??? Not good not good

You weren’t prepared for it being hot today, especially with how cold and dreary Eridia usually is. And seems like, no one else was either. But the vendors are not letting it go to waste

They reach out for passersby’s, shouting and presenting the catches of today, along with an array of different trinkets and materials

You can’t help be a little curious, but once you stop in the road, people crowd by, bumping into you and sending whirls of panic each time.

You don’t notice that one particular shove scrunches up the bandages on your left arm.

Annoyed at the contact, you huff, preparing to just forget it and come back tomorrow—

“Ah, you there!” One of the vendors have spotted you, and without a care, they reach for your hand. Your left hand.

“Care for a… a…” they trail off, eyes losing their energetic glow. You know that look—and you look down to see their hand clasped around your bandages, palm brushing a cut in the protection, skin on your curse.

Your whole body goes numb in panic, and you quickly wretch your hand away, hiding both under your cloak. But it’s too late, it always is.

The vendor ducks their head, bangs obscuring their eyes as they clench the sides of their booth— veins pulsing under the skin. Then they start to laugh.

Your world comes crashing down.

Strangers don’t notice anything amiss, even as the laughing becomes maniacal. Or if they do notice, they only walk along faster.

The Vender lunches for your neck, taking you to the ground in a puff of dust. You slam hard against the road, hands clawing your throat.

If you how to fight, you manage to get them off, if you don’t, you shout for help, slamming your hands against the vendor in an attempt to shove them off.

The heat of the day blares against your eyes as you struggle.

(If you got him off thanks to your ability to fight, you knock into a few others, accidentally brushing against enough that you UHHH get outnumbered by people inflicted by your curse)

Things start to blur, limbs begin to weaken, and no one dares to help.

Of course, until someone does.

“Hey, get off of them!”

Bursts of air flood back into your lungs, hands coming to lift you up and drag you away.

“Die, die, die die die die!”

(This is really creepy if you fought him off at first and got outnumbered- just a bunch of crazy people chanting at you like this what the heck 😭)

You want to cover your ears, to block out the noise, the familiar, gut-wrenching voices that have followed you everywhere and refuses to leave.

Tears stream down before you can stop them as you run, barely noticing it was Leander who saved you.

You don’t take in the comforting coolness of the Wet Wick as Leander leads you inside, closing the door behind you. You barely hear his voice as he guides you back into your room. You only distantly feel the brush of his hands wiping away your tears.

“Mc… Mc? Can you hear me?”

You don’t answer for a long time, and only do along with a weakened sob.

“I’m a monster.”

There’s a silence before Leander gently starts to unwrap your bandages— you pull back instinctively.

“No, no- I can’t. I can’t.”

He pauses momentarily, fingers lifting your chin so you can look at him. “Mc, you aren’t going to hurt me. I told you I would be there for you, and I am.”

Something about how he says it makes you nearly believe it. You stay still, allowing him to continue unwrapping your bandages. He lifts your palm to his cheek, leaning into you.

His free hand coming to softly caress the golden lines on your skin.

“You aren’t a monster, to me.”

Afterward, the crazed person(s) were silently taken care of. Those who witnessed too closely, bribed to turn the other way.

Kuras

OKAY OKAY SO

I think it’d fun going off of that Kuras tour thingy where we spot him coming back from the wastes

We know he goes there, and now you’re determined to find out exactly why

So one day, without his knowledge, you venture out there, following him.

He’s fast, even more so than usual since he thinks there’s no one he needs to keep pace with

The day is quickly fleeing, your energy slumping entirely on the boost of curiosity

Your feet are becoming heavy, eyes collecting the dust of the waste so you occasionally wipe at them. But the second time you do so, you look ahead— seeing nothing but emptiness in front of you. Only the thin line of the fading light falling on the horizon.

Kuras has disappeared.

You’re alone—too far from Eridia to make it home before night

The cold can sense fear, gripping onto your throat and making your heart shiver under the skin. Shadows are watching you, whether they be soulless or…something else

You don’t want to call out, not exactly ready to face Kuras’ disappointed stare.

And still…you came out here to find out where he was going. Why stop now?

Swallowing your nerves, you plow forward.

Kuras couldn’t have gotten too far—you would spot him again soon. And once you figure out what he’s doing, you’ll never venture out here again. You’ll go home and put your curiosity to bed.

But the more you stride, the more the stars look like eyes, the cold becoming bites of teeth on your face, the wind a voice warning you to go back.

You start running without meaning to, the wind becoming a howl on your back.

Before you can stop yourself— you shout.

“Kuras!”

Something morphs in front of you, something dark and wicked

A soulless, you think. A foul, horrible soulless that doesn’t scream like the others. It stares at you, watching. Knowing you can’t go back now.

You reach hurriedly for a weapon, you know well enough to bring one always, but something stops you from using it. There’s something about this soulless—it has a mind of its own.

You heard of these types before, the ones that weren’t just mindless monsters. But you weren’t prepared to come across one—alone.

Shivering with panic, you watch as it prowls closer—and opens its mouth to swallow you whole.

The cold wraps itself around you, and just then you snap out of your daze to use your weapon. You didn’t expect the beast to be stronger.

It takes you down, forcing you to stare up at the hollow, but knowing eyes.

It opens it’s mouth, and laughs.

It lowers to rip into your throat— but it never reaches you.

A flash of golden light shakes the night, a blaze of warmth that burns your eyes and forces you to turn away.

Waves of heat pulses like an army of heartbeats, the wind turns into the mighty flapping of wings. Fear, joy, terror, elation— it all floods into your veins as you’re bathed with holy light.

There’s a screech, then a bang

You turn your face to gaze into the glow, seeing only a silhouette of something large and ancient before it all fades into a man you know well.

“Kuras?” You weakly mutter as he kneels beside you, cradling your thrumming head onto his lap.

“Be still, MC.”

You expected those words from him, the polite comfort of a doctor. But what you don’t expect is a kiss on your forehead, the voice of someone so calm to shiver with slight fear, longing.

“I have you now.”

If it was said by anyone else, it would sound like a generic word of support, but said by Kuras, it was an oath. A prayer of a priest who promised themselves to God.

OKAY THAT WAS RLLY LONG- I apologize- I just love Kuras a lot

Anyway !! That’s the first batch :] ! I hope you enjoyed !!!

I hope you have an amazing day, see a butterfly, eat lots of good food and have your favorite song play first in shuffle !! 🫶

[ventismacchiato]

16 just playing the part — enemies with benefits !

scaramouche x g!n reader

miscellaneous: i wanted to mention hair in this chapter 😭 i didn’t specify the length or anything but just an fyi yn is not bald in this au 😍‼️ also they don’t fuck i just thought it was a funny title ☠️

You’d arrived before Scaramouche, which you and Xiao shared a laugh on, whilst you drank the smoothie he’d brought you. It was refreshing on your tongue and you had easily drained more than half of it. You and Xiao were currently sitting across from one another, one leg outstretched to prepare yourself for the upcoming workout you would have to go through. Dance was always the most work with productions in your opinion, memorizing lines was far easier.

“How are things with Aether?” you teased, giggling as the bloom of red on Xiao’s cheeks as he grumbled at you.

“Good,” he mutters, “Why, did he say anything?”

“He wants to make it official so hurry your ass up,” you offer, wincing as the cold temperature of the drink. Watching Aether and Xiao dance around one another was getting to be troublesome, your group chat grew accustomed to Aether’s constant complaining on how dense Xiao seemed to be.

Before Xiao could reply the door to the studio opened and in came Scaramouche, tossing his bag to the side and joining you both on the floor, grabbing at the last smoothie left in the carton Xiao had brought.

“Nice of you to join us,” Xiao hums, kicking Scaramouche with his foot.

“At least I’m here,” Scaramouche says back, already draining a quarter of his smoothie, sounding out of breath, “Are we doing this or not?”

“Stretch first,” Xiao huffs, getting up and making his way to the speakers in the back, connecting his phone to it.

“You guys are slow dancing today,” Xiao explains, scrolling through his phone for what you assumed was a playlist, “Don’t be annoying about it.”

You and Scaramouche share a look, narrowing your eyes at one another.

“I won’t, but he might,” you remark, earning yourself an eye roll from Scaramouche. His lips turn up in a smile, which is quickly hidden as he busies himself with stretching.

“Stop stepping on my feet!”

“Stop stepping on my feet!”

“Can you both shut up,” Xiao lectures, separating you both from your pathetic attempt at slow dancing, “Come here.”

Xiao places his hand on your waist and his other in your palm, pulling your body closer as he started explaining the steps out loud for you and Scaramouche to hear.

“One, two, three, four,” he counted, guiding you seamlessly through the choreography, muttering the next step in your ears as he spun you around. The focus on not messing up while dancing with him left you with little to no room to focus on the intimate position you guys were dancing in. But that vanished when Xiao let go and let Scaramouche take his place.

You felt yourself unable to form words, breath stuck in your throat as Scaramouche tugged your body closer to his. It was different than with Xiao, whether it was in a good or bad way was something you couldn’t comprehend.

Xiao started up the song once more and your brain picked up the cue as the note you two were keeping an ear out for played out. Suddenly you were moving, your arms flailing above as Scaramouche guided you through the dance. The grip on your waist tightened as you were lifted into the sweat-stained air, legs pointing out as the room spun around you.

You were back on the ground, feet moving in sync with Scaramouche’s as the two of you moved across the dance floor. Foot forward. Back. To the right.

A hand grabbed your own and you were swung backward, dipped low, the blinding white lights adorning the studio’s ceiling momentarily blinding you as the tip of your hair grazed the wooden floor, Scaramouche’s face mere inches away from yours as your guys’ movements skidded to a stop. The music faded out as both of you were panting, out of breath as Scaramouche pulled you from your dipped position.

“Damn,” Xiao whistled, applauding you both, “There were little to no mistakes in that set, only took you both the entire time slot we had.”

You both hastily let go of each other, averting eye contact as you take in Xiao’s compliment.

Your legs were sore but the only thing you could focus on was the erratic beat of Scaramouche’s heart when his body was pressed up against yours. Was it due to the incessant dancing Xiao put you through…or something else?

You force yourself to get rid of those useless thoughts. How utterly absurd!

just playing the part !

masterlist — prev | next

SORRY IF YOU KNOW HOW TO USE CHOPSTICKS 😭 MY ASIAN ASS STILL CANT FIGURE THEM OUT SO I INCLUDED IT

also i wanted to slide in scara feeding you so ur welcome 🙄

the entire dinner is just you and scara bickering and xiao sighing like a disappointed mother

also i used the wrong xiao account for a tweet ignore that pleek 😇

synopsis: you and scaramouche are both drama majors and have been at each other’s throats vying for the same lead roles since high school. but when you’re both cast as each other’s love interest in your second year you’re forced to be civil with your academic rival and see him in a new light. are his feelings for you true or is he just playing the part?

taglist—CLOSED!!: @monochromaticelliot @kaedear @stxrgxzxr @shirmxie @elakari @lacy-lady @linn-a-a @one-offmind @kithewanderingme @quepasoash @leathernourishingshoepolish @mangobee @lxry-chxn @dameofthorns @scarasaver @kythe1a @elysiasbae @hikaru-exe @tokkishouse @raiihoshii @cherrybeomgyu @kunikuzushiit @thenightsflower @lilneps @goodthingimsam @lovelyiez @euhla @beriiov @abvolat @kittycasie @b0bafl0wer @bubblyclouds @atlatcaheart @artssleepy @baelloraa @tartagli-yuh @satowaluverr @hangesextra @scaranaris-lil-niko @caffinatedcoma @wheneverthesunrise @hajimeseyo @itsyourgirlria @hyunrei @redactedhimbo @caliginous-skies @vinskyspuff @miissfortune @criminalinthemaking @scaramouches-girlfriend

author’s note: i don’t think anyone reads these endnotes but i am updating this smau a lot to cope with the fact irl college is not the dream like wdym i have ten assignments due at 11:59 bffr 🧌 pls tell me ur thoughts in asks, rbs, or comments i love reading them yall r funny 😭🫶

[bunnydexterloveselvis]

Hiiii and welcome ✨🔆 If you are accepting prompts can i request one please, would you write cuddly fluff and / or agere with a baby BDE? especially a sick fic with a cg reader! Thank you ✨✨✨

Oh my god!!!!!!!!!!!! You're the first one to request a prompt!!! Thank you sooo much!!! Of course I'll write it!! How could I pass up such an amazing request? So cute!!! I've never wrote sick fics before so I'll try my best!!

Sick little baby.. (Agere!Big Daddy Elvis x reader)

summary: //elvis wakes up with a cold, is age regressed, and has you as his caregiver

type of fic: //age regression, tooth-rotting fluff, sickfic

warnings: //being sick?? the symptoms mentioned are sneezing, coughing, headache, mild fever, etc. no vomiting or anything like that. also it's pretty mild. he just sleeps it off, cuddling????? idk some people don't like being cuddled i guess, baby talk?? i don't think there's any serious warnings here besides being sick and age regression

word count: //675 (six-hundred and seventy-five) words

It was a fresh day, and you wake up in the morning, it’s around 8am. You look over at your sweet boy who is still sleeping. “What a cutie,” you thought to yourself. You chuckled and got out of bed to make breakfast. About 15 minutes later you come back, with Elvis still asleep in the bed. You smile warmly.

“Wake up, baby,” you whisper in his ear. He shuffles around a bit and lets out a whine. His eyes flutter open and he pouts. “Mamaaa- ’m sweepy!!!” He rolls onto his back. Oh. He woke up little! You almost giggle from how cute he is. He then sneezes three times and sniffles. “got da sneezies,” He mutters, with a short, reassuring giggle. Then he coughs a bunch. “Um, little one, are you okay??” You ask, caressing his shoulder. He looks up at you with sparkling eyes but very wet eyes. “M-mama I don’ feew so.. Good..” He wipes his forehead trickling with sweat, along with that, his soft chubby cheeks are red and his eyes are half-lidded.

He’s sick. But he has a concert today! “Awww.. What are we going to do?,” you thought. You’ll have to cancel it today. Can’t do a concert if you’re sick! So you make a call to explain that E is sick, and has to cancel the concert today. After that trouble, you run back to him. “Mamaaa…” he cries and makes grabby hands at you, implying he wants something. “What is it, E, baby??” you chuckle a bit from his overexpressed tone of voice. “Mmm.. t-tummy hurts..” he forces out while clenching his hands on his soft belly. “Awwww.. It’ll be okay. Mommy’s gonna help make your tummy feel better in no time!,” you tell him, sitting down next to him, massaging circles on his sore stomach. He looks up at you with the prettiest, sparkliest eyes ever. “Weawwy?” he asks softly. A small smile appears on his face. “Wiww mama make tummy free bettew?” “Of course honey, but you need to rest, I’ll be back with some stuff to keep you busy while I make you stuff to help you feel better! Sounds okay?” You murmur, making sure you don’t scare him. He gets scared when he hears loud noises, and you took note of that as soon as you found out. “Mhm!” he nods. You find his toybox and his paci and take it to him, pop the paci in his mouth while ruffling his hair very gently, remember he has a headache too.

So you give him all his gear, and as you walk away to go make him soup for his tummy, he cries out, “Mamaaa!! Don’ leave!!” You sigh. “E, baby, I have to make you soup so you’ll feel better. Do you wanna take the yucky red-coloured spoon medicine?” you threaten “No!! No yucky stuff!! Just wan’ mama..” he frowns and looks down. You slowly approach him and run your fingers through his hair, which usually calms him down. It did. He buries his face in your chest while hugging you tight. “I-I wuv you mama” he says into you. Making you smile sympathetically, you say, “Okay.. I’ll lie down and nap with you, but the first hurt noise I hear from you, I am getting the medicine,” half jokingly. He pouts as a joke, making you giggle. 

You pet his hair while trying not to get sick yourself. His eyes get half-lidded and sleepy. You pet his forehead in an attempt to calm his headache. It worked, weirdly, more like distracted him from his headache to your soothing touch. Elvis practically did something similar, he held you, his mama, close. Never letting go. Planting a kiss on his cheek, you whisper sweet nothings into his ear to lull him into a nap. Afterwards you make him some chicken noodle soup for when he wakes up in case he gets hungry.

You really hope he naps for a while, because you can’t seem to get this can of chicken soup open.

(i don't feel like this is good enough, i feel like it's too vague. let me know if you like it!! It was a teensy bit rushed and i wrote half of it when sleepy)

[octuscle]

Hello support! I hope you can help me because I am not good with this kind of tech and I don't want to make a mess! You see, I have taking bad decisions all my life. I decided to ignore I was gay and lived a straight life for 40 years... I never took care of my appearance and now I am a 42 yo man with a bellly, and I don't seem to be making any progress at gym.

I think... I feel like it's too late. I feel that even if I change the way I live from now on, I have lost too much time, too many experiences... and I want to use Chronivac to turn my life 180º. I don't really have a specific type of life in mind, but I hope you have some great presets for me.

Can you help, please? Thanks!

Fuck, dude! You've been sweating out your sexual desires your whole life? And this pathetic body is all you've achieved in the gym? Okay, good that you came to me. It would be terrible if things got any worse. Lie down, get some sleep, I'll take care of it.

Since your wife threw you out on the street, you've been living in a small boarding house until you find something better. The bathroom is in the hallway and you share it with the other tenants. Most of them are plumbers and other tradesmen working on a construction site in the area. They wait in front of the toilet. It's occupied, of course. You hear the flush. The door opens. A mason of the highest caliber comes out. His dick is still sticking out of his pants, which he only closes casually. You make eye contact. A little too long. The synapses in your brain run amok. You go to the bathroom. You leave the door unlocked. You drop your pants. The door opens. Jackpot!

You did good for a virgin. You blow like the devil. And you know how to massage a cock in your tight asshole. The men waiting outside the toilet grin shamelessly as first the bricklayer and then you come out. One of them slips you a note with his phone number and tells you to call him. Shit, you forgot to piss because of all the sex. And you haven't showered either. What time is it anyway? Dude, you're a little out of it. It's only 6:30. Sure, the workers are already leaving. But you just got off work. Being a doorman is a hard job. Lie down first. Your landlady already knows. Breakfast is usually served at 16:00.

The first guests are already coming home when you wake up. Dressed only in your jockstrap, you shuffle across the hall to the bathroom. There are phone numbers on the walls. Usually with a crude drawing of a cock above it. You take your magnificent piece out of your underpants. 20 centimeters flaccid. With an impressive PA on top. Fits well in your calloused hand. As you pee, your eyes wander up your forearms. Were those tattoos there yesterday?

You're sitting in the breakfast room in your tracksuit. You're watching porn on your cell phone. One hand always on your dick. You're always horny. Hey, 42 is no age. You're at the peak of your manhood. You grab your gym bag, kiss the landlady goodbye, and head to the shabby basement boxing gym in the red-light district.

It's around 8 p.m. when you come out into the fresh air. Three hours of hard training, jumping rope, punching bag, sparring, technique training, lifting weights. And then a cold shower. No soap. No deodorant. Routine for more than ten years. And it shows. Fuckin' fit. A machine. You belong here, among hookers, pimps and drug dealers. This is your world. You go to your favorite falafel restaurant almost every night. Because the falafel is good. And because the chef's son is hot and horny. Dinner and a fuck - a good way to start the evening. And then you open your club. It was always your dream to create a gay club, bar and brothel concept. You had the right instinct. The concept has been successful for years. Partygoers love your place. Within an hour or two, the dance floor and dark rooms are full.

You're one of the toughest bouncers in town. But it's also one of the hottest clubs in the city. And you're only at the door until two or three o'clock. Then you check the situation in the club. And if there's something hot to fuck, you check the situation in the darkrooms particularly carefully.

[mikhailwrites]

Soaring Ever Higher 3 - Ghoap/Ace Combat 7 crossover

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Ghost still owes Trigger that drink. However, it's not so easy for RAF and SAS soldiers to meet by chance. Or is it?

Two months after returning from Colombia, Ghost finds himself in the middle of nowhere, somewhere in Scotland, to supervise part of the SAS selection in the Highlands. He actually volunteered because it’s been either that or R&R, and he hates the leave much more than dealing with recruits.  

The weather is British or, well, Scottish, he supposes. Heavy clouds hang low, crying rivers over several dozens of trekking soldiers. Ghost doesn’t particularly mind; he would take rain and cold over humid heat any day. He’s on the tail of the group. He is casually noting who’s lagging behind, who’s breathless or sweating more than they should. For once, his mind takes a break, and he can take in the scenery. Harsh rocky terrain, hillsides covered in lush green grass and hardy shrubs. Ghost stops for a minute to take a few deep breaths, to taste the rain and the air. Momentarily, he looks back, just in time to spot… something flying in the distance. A bird, eagle, perhaps. But then it gets bigger and bigger, closing in fast. Soon, it’s clear that that’s no bird, or at least not one made of feathers and flesh. It’s a… jet? Every fibre in Ghost’s body tenses and senses focus on discerning if it’s friend or foe. It doesn’t make sense for it to be an enemy this far inland. How would they get here? And why? The jet closes in, rolling between the hills at high speed, manoeuvring with practised and deadly efficiency. Ghost realises the jet is flying even lower than he first thought. He can hear the aircraft now, too. The sharp, powerful whine will morph into a thundering roar once the jet passes.

As it closes in, Ghost frowns. That’s not the Typhoon. Nor the Lightning II. It’s bigger, sleeker, and weirder. And it’s dark, almost black. With three white strikes and claws painted on the tail fin. No way. Ghost’s breath hitches as the jet passes him. One person is sitting in the cockpit, and Ghost is pretty sure he knows them.

What are the bloody odds?

Later that day, when they return, and most of the people in selection end up immediately in their bed, he goes to the canteen, hoping to catch some locals there. He’s in luck; there’s an SAS sergeant currently engaged in a lively chat so that Ghost can pick up her Scottish accent. He gets a tea and waits patiently until she disengages.

He asks about the RAF bases around and is given a name: Lossiemouth Airbase. Apparently, the gal has some friends and even family there. Military runs in their blood or something. Ghost tries his best to be tactical and friendly at the same time, and he suspects he fails horribly in the friendliness department. It’s not that he’s a bastard or cold; no matter what people say, he’s just… not as good with words as he is with actions. It’s simple, really.

“You interested in a tour?” the Sergeant asks him with an easy smile, “I’m sure I could arrange something.”

“I’d like to meet someone stationed there,” Ghost admits.

“Right! Well, you should be able to get inside with your military ID. If yer lucky, you could even catch someone driving there who could take ye,” she shrugs and smiles, unperturbed by Ghost’s presence. It’s refreshing, but it makes sense; all sort of people try their luck in the selection; she must’ve seen weirder stuff than tall, broad and brooding Ghost.

He gets a couple of days off at the end of the selection. The last part are interrogations and he doesn’t need, nor does he want to be present for that. Instead, he hitches a ride to Lossiemouth.

His military ID gets him through the security checkpoint without any issues, just like the Sergeant said it would. After that, he’s a little lost. The base is big. It's not the biggest he’s been to, but it's big enough to warrant asking for directions. He also feels different. RAF is its own thing, with its own language and culture. Even though he only wears a plain black balaclava, he gets a lot of lingering stares. In the end, he chooses his victim: a wide-eyed young man.

He asks for the Strider squadron and then, specifically, for Trigger. The man, a Lance Corporal by the insignia on his shoulder, looks up at Ghost with poorly disguised surprise. “You a friend of Trigger’s?” he asks, searching Ghost’s plain attire for any indication of rank. He has a feeling he should be addressing the man as “sir”, but there’s no proof.

“Something like that,” Ghost answers without really answering, and he doesn’t clarify on his own rank, either. These are not his men, his people; why should he care?

RAF bloke nods and points to one of the large hangs further away. Ghost thanks for the help and goes on about his business.

The day is pleasant, with clear skies and sun that’s not too hot. It's a true rarity around here. As he nears the hangar, he notices the gate is open and, sure enough, there’s Trigger’s aircraft. Ghost strides across the tarmac, eyes set on his target. A shadow passes over him, and he pays it no mind. But then he’s startled by a deafening roar. He looks up, but the plane is long gone. Bloody madmen, these fighter pilots.

The path before him is clear, so he continues, noticing four Typhoons taxying on the runway. Nearing the hangar, he notices two people there. One is Trigger; his mohawk is easily recognisable. The other is a young woman with short, dark hair, clad in a grey overall and tinkering with something on the workbench.

Ghost comes nearer, stopping right at the entrance.

“Take a look at the starboard tail; it’s been acting up again,” John tells the engineer, motioning with his hands to illustrate the issue better. “I got a feeling it’s gonna jam one of these days. Maybe the frost issue, again?”

The engineer nods, scratching at her neck. “Listen, John, I know you love her. Believe me, I do, but it may be time to let her go. The tail, the flaps, the outer cockpit glass crack... I could go on. These issues? They’ve been stacking up lately. She will let you down one day, and I won’t be up there with you to fix ‘er up.”

“I ken,” Trigger sighs, brushing his fingertips over the edge of the wing; his voice is wistful. “I ken, Avril. But what am I gonna do?”

She cleans her oil and lubricant-stained hands and tosses the rag on the workbench nearby. “Fly something else, of course. The craft doesn’t define you. Do you think the brass doesn’t like you enough to get you the Lightning? Plenty of those down at Marham base. Or, hell, maybe some hush-hush deal to get a Raptor loaned?”

“I dinnae ken,” John shrugs, “that thing in Colombia is gonna stink for a while longer. Just… look at the tail for now. Please.”

“I’ll do the thorough maintenance, like I always do, love. Don’t worry. I’ll get the old Gray Ghost here all patched up and air-worthy,” the Scrap Queen smiles. “Just don’t go feeling sorry for saving someone’s life. You’re a good lad, John; don’t let the brass scream it out of you.”

“Thanks, Av, wouldnae still be here if not for ye.”

“That’s for damn sure,” she laughs as she picks up the toolbox and stepladder and goes around the plane. That’s when she notices Ghost, still standing by the entrance.

“Uh, John… you’ve got a visitor,” she calls out.

Trigger walks up from behind the jet with a mildly confused look. The frown deepens momentarily as he takes in the visitor in question. “Ghost? How did you... what are you doing here?”

Avril eyes him with sudden recognition; there’s a subtle smile on her lips as she pretends to focus on the machine.

 “I was nearby, and I still owe you that drink,” Ghost goes straight to the point. No greeting, no explanation. Simply stating the facts.

John visibly relaxes and chuckles. “That you do, but considering I stood you up, I guess we are even.”

“Duty called. Nothing you could do,” Simon shrugs. “So, I still owe you a drink.”

“Well, who am I to say no if you insist?” John inclines his head, blue eyes twinkling with mirth.

“I insist,” Ghost nods before he changes the topic. “I overheard her, something about old Ghost?” Ghost lowers his voice. He’s still unsure if he should feel offended or not. He’s not that old, after all.

Trigger takes a few seconds to connect the dots and then starts laughing. A bright, hearty laugh that causes Ghost to smile in return. Not that anyone could see it under the balaclava. “Come ���ere,” Trigger leads him around the plane until he stops and points at something under the fuselage. Ghost looks, unsure what he should see there. Then he understands. Behind the front landing gear, on the cover that is now open, is writing in thick black lettering: Gray Ghost. “It’s her name. And thank you for spoiling that, by the way. I was saving that piece of trivia for when we’re at least the second, possibly even third, drink in.”

Ghost’s mind is reeling both because of the explanation and implication. “So... that Ghost saved this Ghost’s arse, eh? What are the odds?” Ghost shakes his head in amusement.

“Not massive, I reckon, but it is funny,” John agrees, then, suddenly, his smile freezes, “or... it’s fate,” he says in a low voice, almost whispering. The sparks in his eyes are proof enough that he’s only joking.

“Yeah, I guess as far as destiny is concerned, I could’ve ended up worse than a destined love made of steel and having some wicked angles and curves,” Ghost snorts, placing a palm on the nose. The metal is warm as the sun shines through the open gate. “I wonder where the ring goes.”

Trigger laughs, then feigns offence. “Oi! This lass is already taken! And you don’t have what it takes to be with her, anyway.”

“Oh, and what is that? Lack of common sense and self-preservation?” Ghost mocks him lightheartedly.

“Exactly! Anyway, I still have some stuff to finish here, so how about you walk around, see our lovely home, and I’ll meet you here at…” he looks at the wristwatch, “five?”

Ghost agrees and goes on to explore the base as suggested. He truly hopes they will get to enjoy that drink this time—that, and maybe something more.

Some useless trivia for you:

Soap, or, rather, Trigger, in this case, is flying Northrop YF-23. Two prototypes were made in the late 80's/early 90's to go toe to toe with (Y)F-22, one of them was painted charcoal grey and named Gray Ghost. And yes, that is one (but not the sole) reason why I decided he will be flying this cool af, weird-ass thing.

[dreadsuitsamus]

Lost Part Three | Vegeta x Reader |

part one | part two | part four | part five | part six

author's note: sorry for the wait! i had a hard time getting a good flow with this chapter, and am not very satisfied with what i have here, unfortunately. i hope that for part 4 i will feel better about my writing, and that you all will as well

pairing: vegeta x fem!reader

warnings: canon-typical violence, ignore the canon timeline of events

Vegeta's ears ring, sounding as if he'd gone underwater when he hears Bulma yelling for his attention. He doesn't look for her, still locked onto that deadly serious look in your eye that's piercing his soul. He sees your sadness deep inside, how crushed you are to have to tell him of his son's betrayal. He feels like his stomach has dropped out of his body and his skin pales, knees giving out underneath him and sending him to the ground. He blinks slowly and looks in the fire, swearing he can see the image of his young son in the flames; the picture flickers back and forth from the strong young man he'd idealized, and then a more grimy, hateful man that barely resembles his oldest child.

"No… It… Can't be." Vegeta closes his eyes, determined not to cry in front of Kakarot and Bulma. This isn't their business, and he's getting angry with the way Bulma's pushing and prodding at him for answers. Her voice, shrieking and irritating, demanding things left and right without a care for what he's gone through since you came back into his life, strikes a particular nerve and his head throbs with every syllable she screeches.

"Vegeta!" She yells from the helicopter, luckily unable to land in the forest, else she'd be even closer to his migraine. "You scumbag, you haven't told me a damn thing! First you're married and now you have a-"

"Shut UP!"

Vegeta's eyes widen when he hears your voice. Your tails whips angrily and you've clenched your fists tightly, flying right up into Bulma's face. His hands grip into his sides, his stomach threatening to empty out the moment he tries following you to place himself in front of her. "No… Don't… Don't hurt her!"

You ignore Vegeta's weak plea, looking the woman that's stolen your husband directly in her eyes. "If you shriek one more time, I'll kill you." You growl.

A small hand slips into yours, and you nearly snap your neck when you feel it, seeing Gohan's concerned face looking up at you. Immediately you're subdued, having a soft spot for that young boy, your face falling; you've stepped out of line now.  You allow him to lead you away from Bulma, from the scene entirely, despite your rage and desire to be close to Vegeta.

Bulma's eyes are wide, her heart racing and veins ice-cold from your threat. You'd seemed so kind before your memories returned; and now, you've become a savage. She eyes Vegeta, noticing the haunted look in his eye as he stares down the fire. He hadn't budged a bit, not even after you threatened her life.

"I… Think you should take Chi-Chi and Trunks home." Goku says carefully.

"Are you kidding me?! How do you expect me to-!"

"Bulma!" Chi-Chi snaps. "Let's go. Goku, don't let her run off again. Bring her home."

Goku nods at his wife's order, following the direction you and Gohan left in. Bulma glares at her friend, but Chi-Chi doesn't back down to her. "It's not all about you, Bulma. Let's go."

Bulma huffs and turns the copter to go back to Capsule Corp, leaving Vegeta alone by that stream. The prince gazes into the fire again, seeing the image of the bastard that nearly killed you (His son!! How in the hell did it come to this?!) and he feels a fresh sheen of sweat on his face right before he loses the control on his stomach and vomits, coughing and spluttering once there's nothing left. The ground is cool and damp when he falls back onto it; all he can hear is the flow of water and the crackle of the fire before it all goes dark.

Gohan's led you to a cliff, sitting beside you in comfortable silence. "My acceptance letter came in the mail."

You turn to look at him, the only light you've got in your life. "Yeah? Good; I'm proud of you, hon."

His smile lights your own eyes up. "You'll keep helping me study, right?"

"You'll keep your training up?" You smile gently at the boy. He's got the sweetness your son used to harbor, but you know his human side makes him pure, unlike your full-blooded Saiyan son.

"Deal!" Gohan throws his arms around you, and you hug him tightly. You feel tears building and you pull Gohan just a tad closer to you, thankful he's allowing the bruising hug.

"It's gonna be okay." Gohan whispers before Goku lands nearby. He kneels on your other side and gently puts his large, warm hand on your shoulder.

"Hey there." He smiles so, so softly at you. "Been a few days. Let's go home."

You blink. "I…?"

"Always."

You look back in the direction you and Gohan had come from. You feel your husband's power level, though it's muted. He's likely unconscious, never being able to take shock very well. Where you would grow angry or remain calm, he'd faint. The wind chills the tips of your ears and a shiver tears through you, making a mockery of your thin jeans and tank top, hot-blooded Saiyan be damned against the cold air.

"Alright, Kakarot."

Goku scrunches his nose. "Aww, now that you remember stuff, are you gonna call me that now?" His lips push out into a pout, and you can't help but laugh at the pitiful look on his face.

"It is your name." You hum, buzzing your lips thoughtfully. "But… if you prefer Goku-"

"I do! Very much!"

You nod, carefully gripping his gi. "Let's go home."

"I thought you'd never ask!" Goku picks up Gohan, tossing him atop his shoulder and grinning at the boy's laugh, pressing his calloused fingers to his forehead.

Warmth is the first thing you feel, and the first thing you hear is Chi-Chi. Your chest rumbles with your laughter, which only serves to make her angrier, but simply hugging her calms the energy. "I know." You murmur into her dark hair. Her arms around you are tighter than you expected, and her strength impresses you.

"Go shower; you smell like Vegeta." She mumbles, delicate hands settling on your waist for a brief moment as she pulls back.

Fighting back the urge to smirk (he's your mate, dammit) you simply do as she says. Your thoughts travel to your son, remembering his rage and intent to kill. Ever since you found out Vegeta had been alive the entire time… V had changed. Your son had warped into a resentful, vengeful Saiyan. You'd lost count the amount of times he'd accused you of lying to him, or hiding him from his father. It was all nonsensical dribble, but V believed every word- and having no idea where it had come from, you still gave him the truthful answers you'd given him since he was young; but it wasn't enough for him.

You'd fought your son several times in the last two years, but this was the closest he'd gotten to killing you. It was as if his control was slipping each time; even with the power boost after your near-death experience, you'd have to train hard to be strong enough to only subdue.

Only subdue.

I can't kill him… He's all I've got left.

"Is this all you've got, Mother?!" V screams at you, a spitting image of Vegeta's rage.

You swipe your thumb over your lip, finding blood on it that you're not entirely sure came from your lip. Each strike of V's is true, the bruises and cuts on your face all the proof needed. You've trained him well; too well.

"I suppose time-out isn't going to work anymore."

"I'm not a child!" He roars, flying at you with the intensity of an explosion behind the fist you suddenly find against your stomach. The air leaves your lungs, the feeling of something rupturing inside. You cough, a splatter of blood from your bitten cheek staining his shirt. V backs away, leaving you to drop to your knees, cradling your stomach as your empty lungs beg for air, burning harshly with the first breath you can take.

"V… " Your eyes land on the pod you'd stolen, crushed and sporting a massive hole from the charged attack your son launched at you. You don't know what planet you're on or where you're close to, but if you don't find a way to get out soon… You're as good as dead.

"It didn't have to be this way, Mother." His footsteps crunch on the solid ground, approaching you with his hand glowing yellow.

"It still doesn't have to." You growl, eyes flicking from V's boots to the pod he arrived in. "We can find your father together, V."

"We could've done that a long time ago, Mother! But you lied to me!"

Summoning the little strength that remains, you move your body right as his blast singes the ground, kicking his feet from under him and unleashing a flurry of punches to his face. Your heart's in a vice, beating in your only child's face like this. You just need to keep him down long enough to get away…

A final punch across his skull results in your son's loss of consciousness. Without preamble, you scramble to the pod to get the hell off this planet. You have no destination; as far away as you can get from V is the only specific you've got in mind.

I've got to find Vegeta…

There's an explosion after a handful of hours, and the next thing you know, you're staring at a face you've never seen before.

It's well past midnight when Vegeta makes it back to Capsule Corps. Carefully trudging through to not wake anyone, Vegeta strips the second he's in the bathroom for a scorching shower. His body is covered in dirt and sweat, not to mention he smells like fish from the stream… Though no matter how intensely he scrubs his skin, despite how red and raw he's made it, he cannot make the feeling of dirt vanish.

He feels like a two-timing son of a bitch. To both you and Bulma. He was content with his involvement with her, whatever it was, living together and raising their child… Something he missed out on with his firstborn. And that was another matter entirely; he hadn't even thought to tell her about his previous life. How could he? His heart, forever wounded by the loss and tortured by each and every what-if couldn't possibly take retelling the tragedy. He held no shame for you, had no intentions on keeping secrets from Bulma…

Vegeta's head spins and he has to brace himself on the wall, lest he slip and wake up Bulma. She no doubt has room to be angry and feel betrayed, but good lord he can't take any yelling right now. Vegeta's mating scar burns, ripping a hiss from his tongue as he clutches onto it. His primal body yearns, begs for reunification with his mate. With you, his first love, wife, mate…

Mother of his child.

Vegeta presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, seeing stars in the blackness. What in the hell had happened for his son to nearly kill you? Though supposing he can't be a character witness for the boy, having last seen him as a baby who'd been out of his incubator for only a short time… It's possible his son was just… 

No. A son of mine would never be like that on his own.

And speaking of a son, he can hear the cries of his baby boy even with the noises of the water surrounding him. Vegeta suppresses a sigh and is quick out of the shower, hair dripping onto his shoulders while he shoves on a pair of sweatpants and carefully goes to tend to Trunks. Naturally, though, Bulma's already beat him there and has the baby in her arms, calmly shushing him through his wails.

Her eyes cross with Vegeta's for a split second, and a groan forms at the back of Vegeta's throat. She's hurt, no doubt by the secrets; and your threat on her life wasn't exactly helpful. "Bulma…" He begins carefully.

"Not right now." She murmurs sadly, bouncing Trunks into softer cries.

He steps closer to her, impossibly close but not touching. "Give me the boy, and get yourself some more rest."

Her cerulean eyes widen and she meets his, finding sincerity in them. She was surprised to even see him back here at all, knowing his affinity for running away all the time. And the possibility that he was just here for amenities she provides, which could still be the case, is lessened. "You…"

"He's my son." Vegeta mumbles finally, breaking eye contact with her to look at his little boy. His fingers twitch, too eager to hold him and cherish the moments he has available to him. "I want to hold my son."

Bulma pauses for a beat, gazing down at the young baby. Trunks has stopped his tears, staring openly at Vegeta with wonder and smiles at him, one of those chunky hands reaching out. Vegeta slips his hands around the baby and pulls him away from Bulma, holding him close to himself and sitting in the rocking chair, already working on lulling the boy to sleep.

"Get some rest, Bulma. I won't tell you a third time."

Her exhaustion outweighs her stubbornness and with light feet, she's out the door and comfortably back into her bed. Despite the odds of waking up alone, she fluffs the pillow on the left side and saves half of the blankets.

Vegeta stares outside for a while, rocking the chair and holding Trunks to his warm chest. "Trunks. I know you are young and won't remember this. You won't remember the way I treated your mother, or how I left you as a bastard for a time. You will never know how sorry I am… Or how grateful I feel to get the chance to be a father to you. Truth be told, I didn't plan for you to exist. I have a son from years past that I do not know. I don't even know what he looks like; the last time I saw him, he was around your age."

Trunks coos, blinking slowly and nuzzling Vegeta's bared chest. Vegeta finally looks down at him, swiping a hand over the purple bits of peach fuzz he's growing atop his head. "I have made a vow to myself to be present for you. I now make that same vow to you, my second son. I will be here for you; I will raise you as a strong warrior, and a good man. You will be better than me, I'll make sure of it. That's what children do; they surpass their parents. You will be no different. And so help me, if you try to kill your mother someday…" Vegeta pauses. His eyes are watery, he finds, as he blinks and feels the tears on his cheeks. "I will have failed yet another child, and you do not want to see what happens then. Be good, and be strong. That is all I ask of you, Trunks."

V, I will find you. And you will not be ready.

When you wake, it's dark out. Your scar burns, but you ignore it in favor of getting up and dressing for a day of training; the best you can do is a t-shirt and leggings, unfortunately, as your Frieza Force armor was entirely destroyed beyond use and even recognition by V's assault.

"And where are you going?" Chi-Chi's in the kitchen checking the ribs in the slow-cooker when you pass through, and you sigh to yourself.

It's like my mother's alive.

"Just to train."

"For?" She narrows her eyes suspiciously.

"To fight my son again."

"You nearly died, but you want to fight again?" Chi-Chi shakes her head; you damn Saiyans give her headaches.

"My pride as a Saiyan won't allow me to run and hide. And as his mother, it's on me to put him in his place. I have to become stronger to do that without killing him. He, for some damn reason, thinks I've lied to him his entire life. Like if I didn't know my husband was alive, I wouldn't have scoured every planet, every star and rock until I found him again. It's nonsense, but I haven't been able to convince him otherwise."

Chi-Chi sighs. "You'll need a good training partner then."

"Would you mind allowing Goku to train with me?"

"Can you wear him out enough so he'll be too tired to eat as much for a change?"

Laughing, your shoulders shrug while you rub the back of your neck. "I can try, but that's kinda asking a lot, don't you think?"

"A woman can dream." Chi-Chi sighs wistfully, setting the top back onto the slow cooker and washing her hands. "He won't be up for a while longer, so you'll have to settle for me instead."

"Oh?" You perk a brow, a smile forming on your lips. "You're a fighter?"

"How do you think I handle Goku?" She teases back and leads you outside, tying her hair up in a quick, messy bun. The air out is crisp and the grass is wet with dew, a few stars still twinkling in the sky as the Earth makes its way to the sun.

Your stretches are done in mostly silence, various bones snapping and popping from each of your bodies. You sigh to yourself; twenty years old was farther away than you wanted to admit. Chi-Chi seems to be on a similar train of thought, as her brow twitches in a manner you've never quite seen before. But she looks pissed now, and if that gives you a good warmup, so be it.

A quick bow and a pause later, Chi-Chi's testing your speed with her rush down maneuvers, her hands flying and advancing on you in impressive fashion. "I… Actually have to focus." You growl, your hands meeting every strike of hers and deflecting them from your body.

"You didn't think I'd go easy on you, did you?"

"I was hoping not." You grin and go on the offensive, pushing Chi-Chi back and switching into swift kicks she can barely keep her eyes on. She stumbles back, soon pinned under your knee.

"I'm more rusty than I thought…" She accepts your offered hand, brushing the grass from her pants while you ready into a new stance.

Chi-Chi spars with you for the better part of an hour, to her credit. You're relentless, your Saiyan appetite something she's surely used to with Goku. You bounce from side to side, rolling your neck and shoulders out, a big, satisfied grin on your face. "Man, this is fun! Think you can go faster?"

Chi-Chi huffs, clutching her side. If she were ever worried about her weight, a few mornings with you would set things straight. "Absolutely not. I'm… Going to make breakfast."

"Aww… Okay. Eggs?"

"Sure, sure…" Chi-Chi slowly moves into the house, leaving you by your lonely. With a little sigh you sit on the grass to meditate as the sun rises. A calm breath soothes the eagerness for Goku to wake up and start the real training, your mind oddly quiet despite the things you've been through lately.

Training always has been the best way to clear a Saiyans mind.

You wipe the sweat from your brow, the dust from your surroundings clearing. You and Vegeta have both been tense; the mating season has just come to pass and you were yet to be with child. It's disappointing to the King to hear, but not any more than Vegeta's anger at the situation. He stands from his position, blue fabric of his standard issue armor torn in various places. "Are you done?"

"Am I dead?" You snark, pulling yourself off your knees and launching a hefty energy beam at him. Your husband dodges, though not without more of his suit burning up.

"Point taken." He snarls and flies at you with a fierce kick, your arm coming to block as your poor bones ache at the contact. His other leg kicks out at you and sends you off your balance and into the ground. You've come to the less developed portion of Planet Vegeta, the area more commonly used for training the military recruits. It's largely rock and clay, the reddened dust everywhere. You and your husband are cloaked in it, the dust practically becoming a second skin after the several hours you've trained.

Vegeta falls on top of you, his arms only barely catching the full force of his weight. He coughs at the dust in his lungs, his exposed shoulder and one of his legs covered in it. "This is unbecoming of royalty." He groans.

You sigh and spread your limbs out, resigned. But the training was effective; the failures of your bodies are far from your mind. "Why did we come out here… Filthy training grounds…"

"I have no idea." Vegeta mutters into the breast of your armor.

"Let's go home."

Vegeta's up at your soft command, picking you up in a gentle bridal carry to fly you back home. He's not affectionate out in public; his love is no doubt strong and unbreakable, as your bonded mate. But he doesn't enjoy others seeing him so soft for you, lest they get the wrong idea and assume weakness of him. But he holds you close to his body as he flies home, even once you've reached the castle courtyard, he continues carrying you. Servants, guards and even high-ranking officers are around to see Vegeta carrying you.

"'Geta-"

"Hush, princess."

You close your eyes and just let it happen, your feet hitting the floor once he's reached your bedchambers. A servant quickly draws a bath and Vegeta holds your hand when you step into the large tub, ensuring you're down safely before climbing in himself.

Your husband waves off the servants, leaving the two of you alone in your bath. His rippling, filthy muscles flex while he pours a small basin of water over himself. His dark hair falls to his shoulders, the look rather striking despite the oddity of seeing it. He gazes at you through his lashes. "You like what you see?"

"If I do?" Soapy water falls from your body with each pass of the cloth. "What'll you do about it?"

"Not a damn thing. Continue eye-fucking me at your leisure." He smirks and washes himself, his legs opening up as you wade through the suds and into his personal bubble. He follows your lips after an attempt to steal one from him, kissing you with the passion he always keeps close to his chest.

"Did you enjoy training today?"

"I always enjoy training with you. I regret we haven't kept up the old routine we used to have." Vegeta murmurs. Once your marriage was settled and you began trying to conceive, you were practically banned from any meaningful training. And it being all for naught so far was an added kick to the ribs.

"I do feel rejuvenated. Perhaps… We go back to it."

Vegeta's dark eyes meet with yours, contemplating the suggestion. The water around you is cooling, your fingers and toes pruned as you step out of the bath. Vegeta silently follows your lead to then drape one of your many robes over your shoulders. His hands linger in the close space between you, roaming over your arms. They've lost quite a bit of muscle, regrettably.

"I expect you to gain your form back." He murmurs. "You've gotten too thin for a warrior."

"Oh, I'll show you form." You grin mischievously, pushing him to the bed and pouncing.

You laugh softly at the memory. Sure enough you'd gotten your warrior body back proper, and the stresses of getting pregnant were less present on your mind as a result of the training; and as fate would have it, you'd fallen pregnant the very next mating season. Vegeta theorized your body knew how strong a child between the two of you would be, and refused a pregnancy until you'd returned to peak strength.

"Don't tell me you're tired!" Goku's voice is cheerful and you fly to your feet, hands glowing yellow.

"Why don't you come test that theory?"

Goku's eyes shine, a slow smirk spreading on those lips as he takes his stance, bent over with one hand curled before him and the other raised above his head. "I hope you know what you're in for!"

Vegeta comes to in the rocking chair, Trunks long gone from his arms as the sun pierces the sky. He only panics a brief moment before his logical side catches up; Bulma's no doubt awake and with the baby.

He finds Bulma in the kitchen with Trunks, feeding him a spoonful of mashed carrots and failing to keep the boy's face clean, despite her best efforts. Trunks cheers at the sight of his father and subsequently knocks the baby food from his mother's hand; the glass shatters into a trillion little pieces, orange mush splattering any nearby surfaces.

"Eh?" Trunks follows the sound, looking over the side of his high chair. Bulma braces her head on the tray of the chair, her hair a wild mess and her pajamas wrinkled and covered in baby food Trunks had spat out.

Vegeta's chest fills, a terrible feeling lingering. What does he do about this? He's mated, connected to you through an invisible thread that cannot be severed. And how he's missed you, dreamt of you for years on end… Loves you still, with everything in his heart. You are his wife. His everything. His past, his lover, his best friend.

What does he do?? A lesser man would cast Bulma aside, and had this situation happened even just a year ago, he'd be that lesser man in an instant. She was only ever intended to be a one-time thing; he'd hit a moment of weakness, and her strong, abrasive personality caught him at just the right time.

She's perfect for any Saiyan male; it's not difficult to see how any of this happened. Bulma cared for Vegeta when everyone else wanted him dead. Food, a home, clothes on his back, her first child and her heart. She's given so much to him.

He is not worthy of either your love or Bulma's.

"I'll clean up." He murmurs, casting his gaze away from his second family and retrieving a new jar of baby food before the broom and dustpan.

Bulma's eyes shine with tears as she takes the jar from him; Vegeta opts to clean the glass up, rather than try to find any words for her. She sniffles and resumes feeding the baby, but finally finds her voice.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"They were dead." He murmurs.

"Well they're not. She threatened to kill me, Vegeta!"

Vegeta's eye twitches at her quickly souring tone, his temples already hurting. "And she didn't."

Bulma's jaw clenches. "I notice you didn't do anything about it; you left an eleven-year old to keep a savage bitch from-"

"Do not talk about her that way!" Vegeta seethes with pure rage in his eyes, throwing down the broom. His hair flicks gold once despite being able to control his Super Saiyan transformation. "That is my wife and she's been through a lot; a lot I wasn't there for! My son beat her so badly she lost her memories for months. You'll be just fine with a mere threat and not even a scratch to show for it."

"So you are going to leave! As if me and Trunks aren't your family too!"

"Leave Trunks out of this. Now is not the time for you to worry about relationships, if that is what you even call this. Not when V is out there, completely getting away with what he's done to his own mother. If you don't care about what I have on my plate then don't, but you will not sit there and spout nonsense. Do you understand me, Bulma?"

Bulma scowls, her eyes just as angry as Vegeta's. "Fine."

Vegeta hastily cleans the rest of the baby food mess and storms to get dressed; he can't afford to waste anymore time. He needs to find you and discuss a plan; he'll be damned if he lets V get away with this. You're capable of Super Saiyan, yet V still bested you; you'll need to train harder to kill him. You've bested Vegeta in the past, so he's not foolish enough to think his son will be easily beaten. He himself will train with you and become stronger together to face something more challenging than Frieza.

He's going to have to kill his own child.

pop

"Where are we?" You look around to find only blue skies and the platform you stand on.

"The Lookout!" Goku grins. "Chi-Chi can't find us here…" He looks around regardless, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. The last thing you saw before being brought here was a hole in the side of the house, courtesy of Goku himself.

"Hmm…" The hairs at the back of your neck prickle, and in an instant you've turned on your heel and fired off an attack you created with your husband; your hand is held out, thumb tucked in with a quick yet large burst of yellow energy.

"Woah!" Goku steps back. You're incredibly trigger-happy; Piccolo just barely dodged your great attack.

"Another Saiyan?" The Namekian grumbles, picking his weighted turban up from the ground and placing it back on.

"A very prideful one, Namekian, that doesn't appreciate your tone." You growl, eyes trained hard on the stranger, settling only with Goku's gentle touch to your shoulder.

Goku laughs nervously, hand coming to the back of his head as his cheeks flush with embarrassment. "Sorry, Piccolo! She's, ah, a little on edge. We're here to train in the chamber!"

"Hm." Piccolo's eyes harden. A strange Saiyan from nowhere, here with Goku's trust? Reluctantly, he crosses his arms and drops his suspicion. "What's the occasion?"

"I need to get stronger, so I can knock my son down a few pegs." You cross your arms. The thought of facing V, of going to him with the intention to harm him makes your stomach churn. But staying on Earth isn't an option; V must face his comeuppance.

"S-So I was hoping you'd help?" Goku grins at his friend. "Gohan got into college, by the way!"

The Namekian's barely-there smile surprises you. "Good. The one he wanted?"

"Yes." You confirm with a nod. "He's also promised me he'll keep up his training."

Piccolo stares for a beat, presumably finalizing his opinion of you with a nod. Goku sighs in relief and steps to the direction of the chamber, Piccolo following along. "I assume Goku has told you about the chamber."

"One day outside is an entire year inside." You confirm. The door looms over you with every step, your heart determined to come out of this chamber with the strength to surpass your son. The anxiety of the inevitable pushes through your veins similar to the feeling of being dropped into ice water, your heart pumping erratically with every step.

The hairs at the back of your neck prickle, Goku and Piccolo clearly having a similar indication. Your focus remains on the door, your hand even touching the handle, as you hear a pair of boots touch the ground.

"If anyone's going into that chamber with her, it'll be me, Kakarot."

Piccolo eyes Vegeta carefully; something about him has changed. This isn't an argument of his strength versus Goku's, for once. His eyes are locked solely on you, a Saiyan that as far as Piccolo knows, came from thin air. And if anyone would know another Saiyan, it'd be none other than the Prince.

"Go home to your wife and son, Vegeta." You hiss out, and open the door. Vegeta flies in between you and Goku, ensuring the door is slammed shut before Goku could even think about stepping inside.

You take in the surroundings of the room, an endless sea of white around the small rest area near the door. One year in this room.

With Vegeta.

[beyoursbb]

€uro Tra$h Series: Dipped in $ugar (Part 2)

Pairing: Billy Butcher x You (Reader) || Rating: Explicit || Word Count: 3.3k || Link to Part 1 and Link to Part 3 - final (Timeline for this work is Season 1 btw)

Summary: Billy comes back from work with The Boys. He can't say what he was up to, but makes sure your wait for him is worth it. 

Author’s Note: Really happy to post this sequel as I appreciated the love and feedback Part 1 got. Would like to know how this work compares to Part 1 (I feel like I let this one go more lol, tried to make the smut a little hotter, and be intentional with pacing the story) and hear any writing advice in general. I’m excited and enjoying getting back into it!

Warnings: same as before — sugar daddy / daddy kink (use of the name daddy 2 times), age gap (implied, not specified), swearing, protected p in v, tiny bit of choking and degrading reader

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You woke up startled. The sound of several deep, booming male voices arguing outside the room reverberated through the door. You hardly had time to blink the sleepiness out of your eyes before the latch unlocked and Billy came striding in followed noisily by three other men all talking at once. You lifted your head and instinctively covered your arms around your frontside even though you were completely clothed. 

“Jesus, fuck!” one of the men exclaimed, just as startled. “Butcher, who the hell—”

The sound of a heavy, blunt metal object clattering onto the table cut off the question and made you flinch as Billy stared at your rigid figure laying on the bed. 

“ ‘m sorry, sweetheart, thought you would’ve left by now,” he said.

Your eyes flitted between him, the group of strangers frozen in place on the motel’s sage green carpet, and the large semi-automatic rifle laying next to your half eaten dinner. You forced yourself to take a shaky breath as you noticed Butcher’s battered physique — in fact — you realized all of them were in pretty bad shape: clothes tattered, arms cut and bruised, faces caked in sweat, grime, and dried blood. Each had at least one handgun tucked into the waistband of his pants. 

“I’m going to get us another room,” the tall, skinny man announced awkwardly. “Come with me, Frenchie.” The shortest man nodded, took a moment to shift his gaze between you and Billy, then back to meet your eyes in a gentle glance as if he wanted to say something, but instead, he darted out quickly. 

“Un-fucking-believable. This where you  been fucking off to, Butcher?” the man who was left asked, glaring at Billy. “How fucking old is she, by the way?”

“She’s a fucking consenting adult so mind your fucking business,” Billy shot back.

“I would, if your business, like maybe the fucking plan tonight, didn’t always end up fucked up.”

Billy had been staring off at the far end of the room, but now turned toward his associate. He took one, slow, menacing step forward, squaring up chest to chest with the man, who was honestly built like a truck. Billy was obviously huge, but this guy’s biceps alone were bigger than your head. Billy’s gray eyes were piercing and stone cold, which you’d never seen before. They never broke contact with the pair of brown eyes across from him. You held your breath waiting for the first swing that never came. 

Billy’s voice was low and sounded angry, yet also eerily calm when he spoke. 

“You lot are the ones who called me for help. The fucking plan tonight was me doing my fucking best to clean up your mess. So I can fuck off where ever I want with whoever I want because I’m not the one who needs a fucking babysitter. Next time you get in trouble when you go off on your own, MM, call Janine’s nanny.”

The man’s jaw was clenched so tight as he glared at Billy, you thought it would pop. After the longest silent minute you ever had to sit through passed, he shook his head, turning to you. “I’m sorry we scared you. I’m just pissed at this asshole.” With a final angry scowl thrown in Billy’s direction, the last mystery guy pivoted to exit. 

As abruptly as the room had been filled, it had emptied. The distance between Billy and you felt like miles in that small, cramped room, alone. You checked the time on the digital clock on the nightstand and did the mental math of how many hours you’d been asleep. You didn’t even remember falling asleep, but from your estimate, you calculated Billy had been gone for five hours. Whether you wanted to find out what happened in those five hours, you weren't sure. 

You didn’t move a muscle, and neither did he as he sat against the table, arms crossed over his chest with one hand holding his bearded chin. His body was tense, his face hardened and unreadable. His eyes stared out in front of him, deep in thought. The silence hung heavy like the humid summer air in a New York City alleyway.

You felt confused, but mostly scared. Your heart was pounding in your ears from shock, your breathing was shallow and uneven as if you were recovering from a run, and the tension held throughout your body, culminating in your chest, was almost painful. Yet you couldn’t tell if you were scared of him or for him. It leaned toward the latter.

“That was work?” Your voice came out smaller than you wanted.

Billy straightened up slowly, making eye contact with you for the first time since he’d returned. 

“ ‘Fraid so, luv.” 

That already sounded like the end of the conversation. 

Billy moved to sit at the foot of the bed and started undressing, kicking off his shoes first. You scooted up so you were sitting against the pillows again and hugged your knees into your chest. It was cold because the air conditioning had been running when you accidentally fell asleep, but you didn’t want to get under the covers in case that crossed a line. 

You didn’t normally stay the night and sleep with Billy; actually, it had only happened once, when he hit you up on such a whim, you both arrived at the hotel at the same time. The front desk staff only gave a couple weird looks when you two checked in, but Billy being his usual, completely unfazed self helped you ignore any awkwardness you felt. He had appeared a bit disheveled that night, but it was nothing compared to how he seemed right now. You didn’t even have sex; all he did was sleep next to you, one arm wrapped around your waist. He stirred slightly every time you reached for the TV remote or shifted to a more comfortable position, but in the morning when he unceremoniously handed you your payment, he mentioned it was the best sleep he’d gotten in a long while. 

“How’d you get here?” Billy asked as he took the hem of his shirt and yanked it over his head. 

Your voice was a little stronger, but still quiet. “I drove.”

He nodded absentmindedly. “Offer still stands. You don’t needa stay.”

“It’s okay. It’s late. I’d rather not drive at this time.” 

He stood to remove his jeans. 

“Unless you rather I go,” you added, quickly. Maybe he wanted to be alone after whatever the hell he went through with his coworkers. 

“Don’t matter to me,” he replied plainly, shrugging and bending his arms at the elbow, palms facing up as he walked to the bathroom. 

This time, Billy stayed in there longer, which made you feel like the amount of time spent waiting with your fifty burning questions you assumed he wouldn’t answer anyways was more than twenty minutes. He went straight for the bed when he came out and untucked the covers on his side to crawl under right next to you. The mattress springs creaked under his weight as he sank in slowly on his back, trying not to wince. After his second shower of the night, he had patched himself up with several bandaids and medical tape wrapped around a couple fingers and his left wrist.

Before you had the chance to stand and wash up in the bathroom yourself, Billy rested his hand against your thigh down by your knee. You immediately relaxed the muscles you didn’t notice were still tense. 

“I know you probably have a million questions. I can’t answer ‘em.”

You looked at him understandingly, as if it was totally acceptable to be kept in the dark in regards to the whereabouts of a man whose BFG-50 was still pointing in your general direction, but at least he was straightforward. 

“You were never meant to know,” he added. 

Now that made you furrow your brows. Know what? You literally didn’t know anything about his life because he’s never told you anything. You and Billy were not close. Your irregular meetings meant you didn’t have a connection built with him like you did with other sugar daddies you saw frequently. Sure, you were madly attracted to him, borderline obsessed, but you were far from friends sharing secrets. The nature of your arrangement was always business, and said business was the epitome of “get that bread, get that head, then leave.” It was work you enjoyed, but the opportunity for meaningful conversation was severely limited. 

Billy’s hand slid up your leg and you stiffened again. He slowed, but kept traveling up past your hip to the middle of your back, turning his body onto his side closer to you, his other hand wrapping around your stomach, until you realized he was simply pulling you into a hug. You tucked yourself under his bearded chin and inhaled his scent off his bare chest, his fuzzy hairs tickling your nose.

Now that his adrenaline levels were down, his naturally rough voice was a tad softer. “You shouldn’t be scared of me.”

He spoke in a way that made you think he was not saying to stop your emotions, but externally processing the full realization of how the guys’ surprise entrance and his argument with his buddy affected you.

“Not scared of you,” you explained. “I was concerned for you.”

Billy’s chest rumbled with a chuckle. “Earlier you thought MM might’ve killed me right then and there? Not a chance, darlin’.”

You shook your head. Being witness to angry men sizing each other up can be terrifying, yes, but you hesitated telling him the truth about how you were still unsettled by their bounty-hunters-who-got-badly-beat look. 

“You're stiff as a board, luv,” he commented, gently separating you both and bringing one hand to lift your chin to look at him. It was true, you still hadn’t fully relaxed at any point since he’d been back.

Except at this moment — when his lips connected to yours. And you melted. 

It was probably the most tender kiss Billy had ever given you, but it didn’t stay that way for long. His tongue started it first, slowly going deeper into your mouth every time he took a breath, but it was your hands that gripped him tighter until your legs became tangled and your hips grinded together. You loved a makeout session that forced you to lose all your senses to where you could only handle hearing, taste, and touch. With your eyes closed, your sight disappears, and since your nose has to concentrate on helping your lungs obtain oxygen, you’re not really focused on smelling. But the sound, taste, and feeling of Billy in your arms is enough to overwhelm you. The longer you go at it, the heavier both of your breathing becomes, interspersed with short gasps and moans, the sloppier your taste buds get in exploring every centimeter of the other’s mouth, and the more desperate your hands are to tug, squeeze, and mold to the shape of your partner’s best assets. 

You didn’t usually take your time kissing either, maybe because you typically met on a time crunch, or you were just extremely horny around each other, so you tended to skip to the main event pretty quickly. But you got the sense that because of the night’s earlier situation, Billy wanted to slow down to make sure your head was in an okay space before proceeding, or not. You appreciated that; it was a gentlemanly move. You made sure he knew you were ready for more by rolling on top of him, straddling his hips, and grinding down against his hardening cock, all while keeping your fingers interlocked behind his neck and your lips mashed onto his. Billy responded eagerly, his fingertips gliding across the soft, smooth skin of your back, and creeping underneath your shirt to unhook your bra. He didn’t even bother to remove any of your top layers before feeling up your chest. You refrained from any wanton noises while he kneaded your breasts, but you did bite his lower lip a little extra hard when he teased your nipples. 

When you finally separated, the shift of your bodies made you well aware of the wetness in your underwear, and you were practically panting, your hands still roaming his torso because they couldn't decide whether to grip his muscular back, shoulders, or arms. 

“The other offer from earlier,” Billy said, his hands sliding down to your ass, giving it a squeeze, “also still stands.”

Catching your breath, you were so nervous of sounding utterly gone already without even being naked, all you could do was nod.

“That a yes? Want me to fuck you ‘til you’re screaming my name, princess?”

“God yes,” you almost moaned. “Please, Daddy.” 

You were pretty sure he could hear the urgency in your voice, but you made it crystal clear how badly you needed him by cupping the imprint of his dick through his boxers. Billy grunted in response, and in less than two seconds, he flipped you both over and discarded your leggings and panties carelessly out of the way. Now you were both playing with each other — you stroking his length while any number of his fingers rubbed your clit and teased your folds. 

“It’s more than wet down here, luv; you’re soaked,” he chuckled against your neck, his hot breath hitting your ear. 

It made you shiver, but at the same time, you were burning up, so you whipped off your shirt and bra. He wasted no time diving in to suck one of your nipples to a hardened peak. When he did the same to its twin, you finally gave in to the loud moan that had been gathering in your throat. Billy released his mouth with a pop and gazed down at you. 

“Fuckin’ beautiful,” he said, his eyes hungrily raking over your nude figure before he stood to finally take off his one article of clothing and retrieve a condom.

“That cock block of a call was bloody inconvenient,” Billy muttered as he rolled on the latex and lined himself up to your entrance. “Can’t wait to feel this sweet fucking pussy.”

His last word was punctuated by him sliding in fast and deep. Even though you watched him disappear inside you, you were still caught by surprise, evident in your eyes rolling back into your skull while your mouth formed a silent “O.”

Billy was so goddamn huge and he knew it. 

“Somethin’ tells me your other daddies ain’t cuttin’ it,” he smirked. He didn’t give you any time to adjust, just grabbed your hips and set the tenacious tempo he wanted.

“They don’t fuck me like this,” you admitted through heavy breaths, reaching to bring him closer. Your hands settled on his lower back and he leaned forward, his arms moving to either side of your head to prop himself up above you. 

“Like what?” 

You knew what he wanted you to say. Like I’m a slut. But you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction so soon, even if it was true and you loved it. Your ability to form a coherent response was waning rapidly from his hips pounding into you anyways. The rhythmic slapping of his skin against yours made your brain go numb. 

“Like what, darlin’?” Billy repeated. His right thumb swiped against your lower lip, ready to press into your mouth, while he pulled out and stopped, barely leaving his tip in you. The sudden emptiness brought you out of your daze. You opened your half lidded eyes to find his dark pupils peering down at you. 

“Like—like you use me.”

“‘Course I do; what else are ya for?” he snarled. 

His hand trailed down, fingers surrounding your neck, squeezing it just enough to hold you down to resume his relentless pace, sinking in deeper and deeper with every thrust. 

All your sugar daddies “used” you so to speak, and you obviously used them for money. But with Billy, it never felt like you were fulfilling an obligation to the bit. It was almost natural to sink into the mindset of being nothing but a tool for his pleasure. It was easy because there was something so, so hot about laying spread open for him, allowing him to fuck you any way he wanted, and not caring how rough he was. Knowing you would be left to find bruises and deal with sore legs for the next few days after taking his cock excited you in the most feral, animalistic way. 

You let your body go limp and closed your eyes to focus on the sensation of Billy’s dick continuing to stretch you out while he growled more filth disguised as praise in your ear. You were so distracted by his voice urging you to be a good little slut and let your wet cunt come all over his cock because you sounded so pretty moaning his name, you didn’t notice him lick two of his fingers and send them down between your bodies. If you weren't already laying down, the zap of pleasure that shot straight through your stomach from him circling your clit would have made your knees buckle. You were almost embarrassed at how fast your pussy clenched, though you knew it was just a compliment to Billy. 

“Don’t be shy, luv,” he chided, as if he was reading your mind. 

You gasped as your climax continued to build with each delicious stroke of his hips. The friction was like fire against your nerves, so close to setting your whole body ablaze. Billy was breathing hard now too, sweat beading at his brow. The thumping of the bed against the wall had long been ignored, but now was completely drowned out by Billy’s grunts and groans of how good you felt around him. 

“Fuck, you’re so tight. Like your cunt was made to fit my cock.”

That elicited a loud, unrestrained moan from you. “Daddy,” you whimpered. It was futile to try to hold out longer. Your body craved release. “I’m gona—fuck.” 

Your body seized and your mind went blank as pure ecstasy washed over you. The chant of his name filled the space and you wrapped your legs around his waist, sending him impossibly deeper. Billy groaned feeling your pussy contract around him, his climax following close behind. With a last couple thrusts, he shuddered to a stop as he milked himself dry. 

Chest to chest, with Billy’s head resting next to yours on the pillow, you slowly came down from your high, unintentionally clenching his softening length as your breathing steadied. 

He gave your sweaty forehead a quick peck as he rose up, removing his hand from your throat. You had honestly forgotten it was there, so engrossed in how your lower half had been responding to him. Billy carefully slipped out of you and took care of the condom while you adjusted the bed sheets.

Then he approached you with his wallet and held out two bills. “For staying the night,” he offered. 

You shook your head while waving them off with a flip of your hand, not even looking at the number on them. You hadn’t checked the original amount he left in the envelope on the nightstand, but you figured he probably already paid more than what would be equivalent to the actual amount of hours you spent interacting. 

“Special deal; cuddles are free, tonight only,” you smiled softly. 

Billy returned a small, amused smile. “Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

“Oh, I’m very comfortable,” you sighed, opening up the blankets to let him under, and settling into the crook of his arm. 

“Good, darlin’,” he replied with a yawn, his warm body pressed against yours, lulling you to sleep.

[she-wolf09231982]

Chapter 2-Fare Thee Well

Summary: Sam, Bobby, and Dean are about to face a nemesis more clever and adaptable than any they've encountered thus far. As the world around them becomes increasingly perilous, the resources they've come to rely upon have been stripped away. They will find themselves totally outmatched and outgunned and pushed to their limits, with no one to rely on but each other…that’s when they decided it’s time to bring you back to the team. In the meantime, Sam is literally battling the Devil internally after being roomies with him in Hell.

Castiel has inadvertently released Leviathans while defeating the Archangel, Raphael. With the Apocalypse averted, Castiel was again resurrected by God with new powers after absorbing all the souls of Purgatory, resulting in his powers reaching a level much higher than that of an archangel, but at a high price: the powers that the evil souls granted him had gone to Castiel's head, causing him to proclaim himself as the new God.

Leviathans (Ancient Sea monsters that were the first beasts created by God that harvest humans as a food source) become an imminent threat where Sam and Dean are required to team up with a resurrected Castiel (Angel), Meg (Demon), Crowley (King of Hell), and Kevin Tran the prophet to overthrow the Leviathans and their front-runner Dick Roman with a weapon designed by God.

Author Note:  Story starts during Season 2 (2006) then flashes forward to the beginning of Season 7 (2011)

Latin to English translations

*Carpe noctem-Seize the night

~~~~~~~~

Bobby is usually on point when it comes to knowing Sam and Dean. When he told you Dean would get past the fact that you were a witch, he was dead wrong. Dean’s resentment of you outweighed his ability to forgive you and has been giving you the cold shoulder since he found out about you a few days ago.

The air was heavy and awkward when each of you were in the same room. Whenever you try to speak directly to Dean, he’d ignore you and speak to Sam instead, replying with snide and sarcastic responses such as,

“Did you hear something, Sam?” or “I’m sorry, Sam, did you say something?”

Sam would roll his eyes each time while you release an irritated and defeated sigh. Dean was obviously upset, but his petty behavior towards you was getting to be too much… for you and all involved. Until day four of his spiteful performances, Dean ghosted you when you came into the kitchen and attempted to place a piece of pie in front of him, Bobby had enough.

“Alright, Dean, get back in here and have a seat!” Bobby bellowed at him.

Bobby’s voice stopped Dean in his place but remained with his back facing the three of you. Dean turned his head barely looking over his shoulder.

“What is it, Bobby?” Dean asked curtly almost sounding like a growl.

“Dean, we have to clear the air here.” Sam insisted.

Dean crossed his arms and scoffed, still facing away from all of you. Sam and Bobby exchange looks of exasperation. You sat quietly at the table with your arms folded with your eyes on Dean’s back. To Bobby, Sam, and Dean you were sitting there just listening and waiting. What you were actually doing was zeroing in on Dean’s internal movement. His heart rate, pulse, breathing, and his mental activity.

His aura was red hot, and his brain waves were surging with rage and rigor. The heat you sense radiating from him made you sweat in your chair. You zoned in so meticulously on Dean’s emotions you began to feel everything he was feeling. You finally decided to speak up while they were all talking over each other.

“Dean, your blood pressure is skyrocketing, please just take a breath. Sit with us. We can talk this out. Everything.” You proposed.

Dean turned finally acknowledging you.

“Y/N, I don’t need to talk about anything. I’ve heard enough to know that this,” he motioned to the group with his hand, “does not work.” He stated.

“What do you mean by ‘this,’ Dean?” Sam asked. Dean shot a look at him.

“I can’t hunt with someone that is one of the reasons we hunt, Sammy!” Dean yelled.

Bobby and Sam stared back at him.

Dean continued, “First of all, she withheld she was a witch for what? Over 25 years?? Makes me wonder what the hell else she’s been keeping from us.”

He looked at you, “How am I supposed to trust you to have my back…no, all of our backs if we can’t trust you to tell the truth?” He questioned.

You remained calm, not breaking eye contact or cowering back from his hostility. Sam and Bobby watched you with deer in the headlight eyes. Bobby secretly hoped you’d turn Dean into a rabbit or something to show him you don’t have to take his childish crap.

“Dean, this is exactly the reason why your parents didn’t want you to know about me. Because you would lose your shit and punch holes in the wall like you did the other day.” You finally replied.

Dean’s jaw clenched and lips pursed from both anger and embarrassment. He punched a hole through Bobby’s already deteriorating bathroom wall. His hand still bearing bruises and minor cuts. Dean isn’t proud of how he’s been acting out, but this deep-rooted sense of betrayal he felt triggered his inner monster, and he just couldn’t control it. He was angry that you were once someone that brought out the best in him and now the witch that activated his animalistic side.

Dean crossed over to all of you, placed his hands on the table and shifted his weight forward. His icy green eyes burning a hole into your soul.

“Y/N, as of right now, you won’t be hunting with us. I’ve been thinking about it a considerable amount, and weighed all the pros and cons, and it’s just not going to happen, babe.” He mandated.

Sam flitted a look of panic at Dean.

“Dean! Are you serious??” Was all Sam could say.

“Serious as a heart attack.” Dean replied without looking away from you tilting his head.

You move forward, leaning on your elbows meeting Dean halfway across the table without the fear of repercussions of getting too close.

“You don’t really want to do this, Dean.” You say softly but assertively.

Dean exposed a roguish smirk, “Oh, I know I do, babe. Your time with the Winchesters has come to an end.”

He pushed off from the table, slowly backed up, turned on his heel and exited out the front door without another word. You all hear the Impala speed off into the distance.

Sam stared into space with his hand over his mouth gripping his chin. Bobby started chugging his beer.

You stood up gradually, rolled your shoulders back and proceeded to where your jacket hung behind the door. Sam and Bobby watched you intensely, waiting for whatever might happen next. You sense their stares and quietly chuckle.

“You don’t have to gawk at me, you two.” You utter across the room.

Bobby and Sam looked at each other shaking off the shock of what just occurred.

“Y/N, I’m…Don’t think that-“ Sam tried to formulate a sentence, but you cut him off.

“Sam, don’t. It’s fine.” You reassure.

“No, Y/N, it’s not fine. Dean shouldn’t have the final say in this.” Bobby pushed.

“Bobby, it’s just easier this way. Dean will take every opportunity to throw this in my face if I stay. He’s right, we can’t hunt together like this. Someone will get killed. I’m just going to go.” You confirmed.

Sam’s eyes started to get glossy. He knew you would disappear, and that you were clearly capable of doing so. They may never see you again. Something Sam has never fathomed and quite frankly, whole heartedly disagreed with.

“But…where will you go?” Sam asked.

You gather your things into your leather messenger bag, don your jacket and beanie, and shoulder your backpack then turn towards Sam and Bobby as they walked over to meet you at the door. Sam towered over you when he reached you. You look up at him.

“Don’t worry about me, Sam.” You say confidently with a weak smile.

With Sam in close proximity of you, you fuse to his current sensations he was feeling.

“Heartache, hurt, sorrow, desertion…his aura is dark blue and cold. He’s fighting back tears...” You reflect to yourself.

As the intensity of Sam’s sentiment increased, you felt more of his emotions within you. One tear shed from your eye.

“We’re gonna miss you around here, Y/N.” Bobby said.

You look at him affectionately, “Bobby, I will never forget you.” You embrace him in a bear hug, hating the thought of letting go.

“Yeah, Y/N, I…I really don’t think you should go.” Sam urged pushing down tears.

You look back at him with a smile.

“Sam, all of our paths will cross again. Until then, watch out for each other.” You raise your eyebrows at him as if to ask, “Ok?”

Sam nodded and pulled you in for a hug. Sam being 6’4, he practically absorbed you as he held you. Your ear right over his heart, hearing his beat accelerate as you stood there with him. It’s time…

You pull away from Sam and pat him on his chest over his heart.

“*Carpe noctem.” You whisper to him.

He flashed a faint smile at you then looked at the floor so you couldn’t see his tears beginning to fall. You turn and walk through the screen door, and onward to the dirt road. You walk without looking back as Bobby and Sam stood on the porch watching you literally vanish into the fog that was beginning to form.

~~~~~~~~

Five years later…

Dean and Sam are about to face an enemy craftier and more adaptable than anything they’ve encountered thus far as hunters. As the world around them becomes increasingly perilous, the tools and people they've come to rely on have been stripped away. The Winchester brothers have found themselves totally outmatched, outgunned and pushed way beyond their limits, with no one to rely on but each other.

You relocated to Chicago, Illinois after you left Bobby’s house that day. You tried to continue hunting, but you’ve been denied joining other hunters after Dean’s resentment spread like wildfire. He put the word out that you were a turn coat witch and was not to be trusted. His warning hustled through the hunting alliances, and nobody would work with you after that. You decided to apply to a local pub in the downtown area as a bartender and just live your life using your craft to do good for people who seek your help and not you seeking to help others.

You began to sense a shift in the planet’s balances one evening while you were working. Gravity seemed to be heavier, the air was less breathable, and everywhere you looked had a foggy filter to it. Something was wrong…

A new evil was released into the world…

A dense, violent element hovered in the atmosphere…

Something happened. You close your eyes to concentrate on this fierce aura you were sensing, but it was impossible to concentrate on what it could be.

Then suddenly, another sensation pushed into your thoughts. Someone nearby was seeking you out.

You can hear the thoughts of this person looking for you.

“She has to be here.” You hear him think to himself. His presence is very familiar.

You furrow your eyebrows when his presence hits you like a train:

“Sam?” you whisper to yourself.

Your eyes spring open and you gaze out into the room to see Sam Winchester pushing through the crowd looking around like a lost child searching for a responsible adult.

You bee line through the sea of patrons towards him. His back is turned towards you when you reach him. He backs into you almost stumbling, then turns meeting your resting bitch face expression.

“Sam?” You say briskly.

Sam’s mouth fell open, his heart filled with panic. You felt it.

“Uh…Hey, Y/N! What are you doing here??” Sam responded a little too enthusiastically.

You narrow your eyes at him not believing his little ‘what a coincidence’ act.

“Please, Sam, there’s no way you just happen to be in Chicago. Let me guess? Dean is here, too. Don’t tell me where, let me guess. He’s either at the pool tables, or he’s at the bar buying a cheap rail shot for a girl who’s pants he wants to get into.”

You start to scan the busy room for Dean’s presence. It didn’t take too long to locate the glow of Dean’s green eyes. (As kids that’s always how you were able to find him when you played hide and seek).

There he was at the bar hitting on a pretty blonde female, ordering what looked to be two shots of second-rate vodka and a couple of beer chasers.

“I knew it.” You scoffed. “What are you doing here?” You ask turning back to Sam.

Sam looked back at you alarmed.

“Uh…we’re just passing through.” Sam struggled to respond.

You lift an eyebrow at him as you cross your arms.

“Oh yeah?” You shot back unconvinced.

Suddenly you hear another voice behind you,

“Oh good. You found her.” Another familiar voice called out over the music.

“Bobby??” You shrill as you turn around facing a worn looking Robert Singer.

You looked back at Sam with a ‘care to explain?’ expression.

“Found me? So, you were looking for me.” You confirmed.

Sam tightened his jaw in frustration as he looked beyond you at Dean who just walked up.

“Oh…Guess you didn’t tell her yet, huh?” Dean asked after seeing your irate expression.

Sam shook his head.

“Tell me what?” You snapped with arms still crossed.

Dean and Sam looked at each other, both letting out a long breath before looking back at you.

~~~~~~~~

After you finished your shift, Sam, Dean and Bobby accompanied you to your apartment just above the bar you worked at. You made a pot of coffee since the rest of this evening was sure to be a long one with this sudden appearance by the Winchester brothers. You give them each their own coffee mug with all the coffee condiments they may have needed while Sam explained why they came looking for you.

You massage your temples after Sam completed his story.

“Sooo let me see if I’m understanding you right: Your friend, Cas, unintentionally released Leviathans from Purgatory and in the process swallowed them to defeat the Archangel, Raphael?”

“Yes.” Bobby responded.

“Right. And this Cas guy is traveling through the public water supply raising cane with a Leviathan multiple personality disorder.” You continue.

“Sounds like you got the gist of it, there, sweetheart.” Dean stated condescendingly.

You slowly bring your gaze to Dean. Your eyes still piercing and contempt rising inside, then your lips curl into a mischievous smile. You’re amused by his boldness since it was his fault you left in the first place. Now here he is, seeking your help to battle mythological sea monsters. You look at Sam.

“I’m sorry, Sam, did you say something?” You ask him. Sam rolled his eyes and looked at the ceiling.

Dean chuckled sarcastically, “Ok I see how it’s going to be.” He said walking over to your fridge finding your beer stash and helping himself to two bottles.

~~~~~~~~

[kalevalakryze]

Hope

Fandom: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Rebels Pairings: Hera Syndulla/Ahsoka Tano/Kanan Jarrus Characters: Ahsoka Tano, Hera Syndulla, Kanan Jarrus,  Warnings: PTSD,  Fainting, Panic Attacks,  Notes: For @whumptober 2023 Day 3. Just a small thing because of my feelings for ahsoka and her need for hugs, okay? Prompt: No. 3: “Like crying out in empty rooms; with no-one there except the moon. “Make it stop.” Word Count: 1,901 AO3 Link: Here!

“The Apprentice Lives.”

The Darkness was all encompassing, aching and freezing in a way that hurt just enough to be familiar. Ahsoka Tano was no stranger to the dark side, had been fighting it since the day she stepped off that transport on Christophis, almost three decades before. The familiarity hurt; the feeling of an older brother, a mentor, a guardian, someone who she should have known being so warped and twisted, probing the bonds of a thread of the force and soaking the severed light in his darkness. 

Ahsoka could hear her own screams echoing through her montrals, the overwhelming suffocation bringing a whited out dizziness that had her falling backwards. Consciousness slipped away to the sound of her name being called and arms grabbing her from behind, plunging her in the darkness of that bond and the memories of the man who had taught her everything she knew. 

Ahsoka woke to a cool hand against her forehead and a broad chest at her back, head supported by a light armored shoulder. “Ahsoka?” Kanan sounded worried, like he had on the ship, settled behind her exactly as he’d been when she fell. 

“Are you alright?” Hera came next, a cold, damp cloth in her hand that had been wiping away dried sweat and the remnants of tears. Pushing herself up and off of Kanan’s support, his hands following hesitantly, Ahsoka managed to sit up on her own and rest her head in her hands, knuckles pressing in between her eyes to rub away the headache. 

“I.. yes, I’m alright, thank you,” Fulcrum pieced herself back together as quickly as her shields would allow, muscles aching from the weight pressing in all around her. 

“Do you need a minute?” Hera’s hand on her shoulder was gentle, she hadn’t been treated like something so fragile since before the clone wars, and it certainly wasn’t something she wanted to dwell on. 

“Yes, please,” The Togruta shifted the Twi’lek’s and human’s hands from her arms, pushing herself up on protesting muscles. To cover the trembling at the tips of her fingers, the woman crossed her arms over her chest and cleared her throat. “Could I take a moment alone? I need to gather my thoughts before speaking to Ezra.”

Hera watched the woman with worry, but nodded her head anyways- Ahsoka never gave her a reason to distrust her judgment on anything, and if anyone knew what she needed, it had to be herself, right? “Come on,” Her hand brushed Kanan’s shoulder as he watched the taller woman, brows furrowed as he bit his tongue, clearly wanting to say something. 

Sighing, he turned to the door to follow Hera, second guessing as the door slid open and turning his head back to the woman as she lowered herself into a seat. “Ahsoka?” Waiting until piercing eyes settled back on him, his hand moved to rest on the open door frame. “Trust goes both ways.” 

The door slid shut behind him, trapping Ahsoka in the idly noises of space; the quiet sounds of machines beeping, steel creaking, and her own breathing. Her shoulders slumped the moment she was sure she was alone, the pressure finally caving in around her until she was doubled over in the chair, feverish forehead pressed into her knees as her chest threatened to collapse. 

“Anakin,” She breathed, for the first time in years, fingers pulling and stretching at the fabric of her leggings, nails pressing into her calves at the response she received in the force, just like the day the Republic fell. 

“I Hate You!” His voice radiated so much anger, she could feel it poisoning her blood, poisoning her memory of the Master who’d given her her life back. “Ahsoka, I would never let anyone hurt you.” Was it a childish hope? Was it awful and horrible? What kind of person would it make her, to hope that her Master had died with the others, that the whispers were true; Anakin Skywalker died heroically, trying to save Jedi younglings from a new Sith, a name passed between contacts that had even her bravest of spies stepping away from it all. Darth Vader. 

But the… Thing in the shuttle, the darkness that pursued them, was so uniquely Anakin, in a way no other being in the galaxy could ever replicate. 

Kaeden had taught her breathing exercises, once upon a time; when finding the control to bleed her feelings out into the force came too much, when dizziness struck from the oxygen rushing into her lungs too fast and her vision swam with the effort of staying conscious. She’d seen it happen to clones so often during the war, but it had never become a problem for her until after everything was said and done. 

Her montrals itched with the sounds of her own breathing, unable to focus on the sounds outside the room, or the fleet on the other side of the transparisteel. Fulcrum managed a life where she’d never felt helpless, had become everything she’d needed and more, but she was still, and always would be; Ahsoka Tano, and Ahsoka needed more than Fulcrum could ever allow herself. 

“Make it stop,” She whispered to some unseen force, a child pleading for their Master to make the war end, to stop the suffering, to stop the galaxy as it tried to grind her bones to ash. “Please,” Who could she plead with, when the pressure closing in on her was a cosmic scale? What power could make the reality peeling the oxygen from her body merciful? 

She had to do it alone, it was safer for everyone. For Kanan, Hera, Ezra, Sabine, Zeb, Chopper, and every other lifeform who knew her as she was. Her legacy was one of death and destruction, it followed her everywhere she dared to go, but running… she couldn’t run from this, couldn’t run from the mechanized breathing in her nightmares each night. 

It was the reminder of necessity and the direness of the situation that had Ahsoka focusing her breathing, sucking in fiery breaths into her lungs, allowing each breath to ignite her blood, burning the poison away as she allowed the voices of her vode to echo. How Kix talked her through helping Fives through a panic attack after the loss of Echo, how Padmé had helped her through Anakin’s attacks after Zyggeria, and how Kaeden had helped her. Their voices combined in something comforting, and as her mind cleared, Fulcrum allowed herself to focus on the light their memory still carried in the cosmic force. 

Brushing away gathered tears, Fulcrum straightened until the cool material of the seat was against her back, shoulder blades pressing into the fabric as it warmed under her body heat. Ezra’s probing presence in the force grew near as the woman righted herself. Ezra’s description of the presence was enough to rattle the woman again, though she’d maintained herself rather well, considering… everything. Compartmentalizing the discussion and her personal feelings had the rest of the waking cycle passing by in a blur, passing information and deciding battle plans on autopilot, and pointedly ignoring the troubled looks from Ghost Crew’s ‘certified adults’. 

As Hera settled in to the open pilot’s chair beside her, Ahsoka allowed her attention to turn away from the vastness of the galaxy outside, from the sun’s light reflecting on the moons and planets below. Her head turned just in time to watch as the Twi’lek’s hand moved, hesitancy making her actions seem as if in slow motion. 

Ahsoka reached across the gap, closing her hand around Hera’s. Lightsaber calloused hands warm against the skilled hands of one of the Rebellion’s best pilots curled her fingers around her hand. When the door opened to reveal Kanan, Hera only turned her head to offer a welcoming smile. 

Silence stretched between the three survivors as Kanan settled into the seat behind Hera, Ahsoka could practically feel the gears turning in his brain. When he reached out at last, she turned her hand over, allowing him to cover Hera’s hand between them and for his fingertips to brush against her knuckles. “You’re right about trust, Kanan.” Ahsoka finally broke the silence, her other hand moving to cover his, if not for his sake, than to stop the way her fingers itched to fidget with the arm of her chair. “You have all given me more of your trust than I probably deserve,” 

“Ahsoka, no, that’s not-” Hera started, leaning forward to try and cut the Force sensitive off. 

“You deserve as much as I can tell you, both of you do… and I trust you.” I just hope it doesn’t get either of you killed. Inhaling slowly, Ahsoka squeezed both of their hands before releasing them to fold together neatly in her lap. “The sith lord we encountered was… familiar.” 

“Someone you knew before the war?” Hera’s brows furrowed as Kanan shifted to lean back in his seat, hand raising to scratch at his chin. 

“I believe so, yes. I don’t want to make any assumptions, on the chance I may be wrong, but it was familiar in a way that only one person had ever been… I think that’s all I’d like to say on it,” Her shoulders drooped again, a haunting feeling arching up her spine even as she allowed the name to stay in the shadows. 

“Ahsoka,” Kanan leaned forward again, Ahsoka couldn’t bring herself to look at him. “Is it..?”

“I don’t know…” Her teeth clenched together, muscles in her jaw spasming with the fight to keep her composure. If it wasn’t him, if she was wrong, then she would be ruining her Master’s memory, tainting the legacy of Anakin Skywalker and how good he really was. 

When Kanan’s hand settled on her knee, the weight grew. Ahsoka’s arm moved to cover her face as she turned away, hands clenched into fists. Hera moved first, rising from her seat and stepping into Ahsoka’s personal space. The Togruta’s arm was pushed away, the Twi’lek moving to stand between her legs as Hera’s arms wrapped around her, guiding her head onto her chest. Kanan was quick to follow suit, his hand covering Ahsoka’s shoulder where he settled, until Hera was guiding her to lean into him. 

With Ahsoka’s face hidden between Hera’s shoulder and Kanan’s stomach, hot tears once again spilled over, for the first time in over a decade, however, she was not alone in the sorrow. “Make it stop,” She gasped out again, muffled between the two rebel heroes. 

“In a heartbeat,” Hera promised, her hand smoothing down Ahsoka’s back lek, as Kanan soothed the twitching muscle beneath his hand, rubbing in slow circles. “We’ll do everything we can, Ahsoka.”

“And then some,” Kanan promised, head bowing to rest on the space between her montrals; Mandalorian in tradition, but carried across the battlefield by the clones that had meant so much to her, even with his own justified issues with everything that had to do with the brainwashed soldiers. 

“All we can do is hope,” Ahsoka’s arms finally moved, wrapping around  both Kanan and Hera, grounding herself to them, and the familiarity and comfort of the force extending out to her from the other Jedi. 

Hope was enough, enough to risk their lives for, and enough to soothe the poisonous thought that Anakin Skywalker could have been tainted by something like Darth Vader.