#i need to get this out my system before i start foaming at the mouth in unbridled agony

[the-stove-is-divorced]

i wish apple updates, ANY UPDATES, that change one small thing in the worst way possible while giving you no option to take it back, already having taken my info, my data, my privacy, now demanding what little joy and dignity I have left, a very much i hope you perish with fire on your skin and water in your lungs with the knowledge no one will ever love you and no one has.

[lucysarah-c]

Scratches down his back

Summary: Repeat after me, nothing good happens in the common showers unless it’s Levi sandwiching you with the wet wall. Sadly, this is not the case. So, nothing good will happen.  Author's Note: I'm revisiting this piece, my second-ever Levi fanfiction, after Tumblr inexplicably removed it. I've made a few alterations, so if you recall the original, you might notice some differences. I've attempted to recreate it to the best of my memory. Despite initially intending it to be full NSFW, I've reconsidered; it doesn't quite match the tone I'm aiming for. This leans more towards being a Crack fic than an NSFW one. Warning: This story contains suggestive themes but nothing explicit. Word Count: 2.8k

She lotioned up, fingers deftly twisting and knotting the towel around her body to keep it from slipping. Annoying groans echoed in the humid tiled space as she struggled to finish her routine while maintaining modesty and not taking up too much space. 

"Holy Sheena," a voice called from her right, making her turn around hastily. 

"What?" she responded. 

Hange walked closer, seeming less concerned about covering up after coming out of the shower. "Those bruises... tell Shorty he's supposed to fuck you, not try to kill you," they joked. 

She sighed intently and found the well-marked fingertips around her hips, washing away marks around her wrists and the obvious hickeys and bite marks on her inner thighs and lower collarbone to conceal them from daily life. Y/N couldn't help but chuckle. 

"Forgot I had those," she commented, momentarily happy before furrowing her brow again. "I can't find anything here!" 

The former HQ of the scouts lacked a pumping water system, everything (despite her boyfriend's attempts) smelled of mold and humidity. The place was freezing due to the tall ceilings and lack of proper insulation, especially in the middle of the forest where temperatures dropped the lowest. Having to shower there, under shaky candlelight, with buckets of water and a cup to pour it on her body was a nightmare. 

"How could you forget?" Hange seemed less stressed about the shower situation, either because they had fewer steps in their routine or because they were less ashamed. 

"I got used to it, and I usually don't share bathrooms, so no one can see me naked," she explained, searching among her personal hygiene items for the next step in her routine. "I forgot how impractical communal showers were." 

"Ah, yes, because you and your hubby have all the space for yourselves," the brunette joked, making kissing sounds to annoy her further. 

"You're just jealous that my love life is very active," she retorted. 

"Don't point those fingers at me, save those assumptions for Erwin," Hange teased. 

Their banter made her laugh and nod slightly in agreement. "Speaking of which, did he send you here to help with something?" 

"Supervise a bit of the situation for him and fill out reports for the MPs and the military board," Y/N explained casually as she started to put on comfy clothes. 

"So, basically... a conjugal visit so Levi doesn't get blue balls," They quipped. 

Coughing loudly as the foam from the toothpaste made her choke in shock, she spat into the sink before looking up, blushing deeply. "HANGE!" 

The squad leader chuckled, unfazed by the outburst. "Your marks tell me I'm right. You arrived last night, and he jumped on you like a beast in heat." 

She scoffed, not saying a word as her mouth was still full of toothpaste. Frowning slightly at the squad leader and shooting them an askance look, but Hange didn't seem offended, taking the conversation lightheartedly. 

As they finished their dental routines, Y/N was surprised by Hange's efficiency. They clearly had different notions of after-shower routines. 

"Don't be so hard on him," Y/N defended her boyfriend tenderly as she rinsed the toothpaste residue. "He's stressed about the whole Titan boy situation. He needed to unwind." 

Both walked out of the room lethargically, as if neither had anywhere urgent to be. "That's the excuse Shorty gave you? But if Eren is so meek around Levi..." Hange argued back between chuckles. 

The empty corridors of the former HQ made her shiver, quickly losing the warmth of the shower as they strolled. When the name of the new cadet in Levi's squad was dropped, Y/N couldn't help but grimace and bite her bottom lip to hold back a chuckle. 

"What's so funny?" Hange asked. 

"Nothing," she replied. 

"Come on, just tell me!" 

"Fine..." she relented, "but this stays between us." 

"You know I can't promise that," Hange joked, indicating that juicy information wouldn't stay secret for long. "Just spit it out." 

"I met Eren earlier today..." she began. 

"Yeah, and?" Hange prompted. 

Y/N's subtle, almost innocent blush didn't match her sassy chuckles. "He's hella cute." 

Hange's loud gasp echoed in the empty hallways, prompting Y/N to hush them intensely. "You're a taken woman, Y/N!" the brunette argued, albeit without seriousness. "And... He's a kid. Have some decency, you creep." 

"Hey!" Y/N quickly protested. "I never said I was going to sleep with him or something like that! Can't a girl admit when a boy is cute? I mean, did you see his eyes? He's going to be turning heads around here before you know it." 

Hange chuckled, "If he survives..." 

"What a depressing thought, Hange, for Sheena's sake," both continued walking. "Mark my words, he's going to be handsome and will have girls swooning over him." 

"Including you?" Hange teased. 

Y/N shook her head softly, regretting telling the squad leader about it. "I could teach him a thing or two," she joked back, earning a shallow laugh from her companion. 

"Don't let Shorty hear you say that," Hange warned. 

"I'm joking, I'm joking," she assured. 

The heavy stone walls seemed to catch every little molecule of dust between the bricks as she swung the door open to the basement kitchen, probably designed to keep the cold temperature for food storage. Or perhaps it was an old castle, and the staff was secluded to the forgotten and unpleasant part of the architecture. Once inside, Petra and Eren were cutting potatoes while sitting on big, chipped wooden boxes. 

"Hey," Y/N greeted, rubbing her arms over her clothes as the humidity and coldness of the place seemed to penetrate every piece of clothing. "The bathroom is free if you want to take a shower." 

Y/N chuckled softly at her own words. "Well, 'shower' is a bold word for sitting down and throwing buckets of water on yourself," she clarified, jokingly. 

Petra seemed to understand, smiled at Eren, and stood up to clean her hands before leaving. They were taking turns for showers, mostly because the former HQ lacked a water pumping system, so they had to fetch water early in the day. For showers, the water had to be warmed up by the stove and then carried to one of the rooms they had chosen as a bathroom. Neither room was ideal because of the wooden floors, but they made do. 

She noticed the big, almost innocent eyes of the cadet looking up at her, both seemingly waiting for the other to make the next move. Eren continued with his task silently until she cleared her throat. 

"So... have you taken a shower yet, Eren?" 

"No, ma'am," Eren replied stiffly, making her scoff. 

"You can call me Y/N," she said, taking a spot next to him on the box. "Here, let me help you, or we'll be having potatoes for dinner the day after tomorrow." 

Her hands began to peel the potatoes with expertise. "You're good at this," he commented, looking down at his own pile and noticing a good part of the peel had taken the potato with it. 

She chuckled, "Ugh, you know how many potatoes I peeled before I was promoted," she joked. "You're showering after dinner? Make sure to rinse the water out of your hair if you're going straight to bed; you might catch a cold otherwise." 

Eren seemed surprised by the comment, or perhaps by the interaction overall. "Yes, ma'am," he replied with less self-assurance. "Captain Levi said the rest should go ahead, and then we'll go... I feel bad that he had to wait to take his turn because of me." 

"You're showering with Levi?" she asked, entertained, cutting off a bit of the self-hate speech that the cadet was about to embark on. "You're not planning on stealing my man, are you?" 

Oh, how quickly the blood rushed to his cheeks. It was priceless. "N-NO! I-I, no. I'll n-never," the poor boy began to stutter. She playfully patted his back while having a blast. 

"Relax, Eren. I'm messing with you," she said between chuckles. "It's just a silly shower, sweetie. Levi goes to bed very late, so showering last doesn't affect him." 

"But Oluo said–" 

"Ohhh, please," she interrupted him again, rolling her eyes as she returned to her task of peeling potatoes. Momentarily pointing at him with the knife, as if to emphasize her point, she continued, "Do not listen to him. Oluo is like one of those very tiny little dogs. They bark and bark and may even bite more than a regular-sized dog, but they actually hold no power." 

It was time for the cadet to have a short chuckle at her comparison. "Mr. Oluo isn't going to like that." 

"Well, I'm higher in command than him so." 

There was a brief calm silence as both of them continued to prepare dinner. "You're too nice to me, Squad Leader," Eren murmured, slightly ashamed. "The rest of Captain Levi's squad is nice too, but I can feel their fear..." 

Y/N couldn't help but find it endearing, the little pout on his face. "Oh sweetie, I'm the one who brings the first paperwork of the day to Erwin, and sometimes I even have to wake him up. There's nothing you could do that could scare me after that," she said while reaching forward to pinch his right cheek while wrinkling her nose. "You're a cutie." 

The side smile mixed with a not subtle blush that extended to his ears and the subtle shame in his eyes. Everything in his attitude screamed 'I'm not a girl or a kid, don't call me that.' 

But that was exactly what he was in her eyes: a kid. 

Clicking his tongue, cursing under his breath, he moved the shaking candle around, trying to find a good lighting spot against the old mirror while passing the razor close to his skin. The flame shook under the little insulation of the old rooms, and the humidity of the showers didn’t help as it rained little drops of condensation too close to it. Unlike Eren, who had finished showering and looked around ashamed, unsure how to even begin to dress up for bed without looking awkward (he could start by not standing still in the middle of the room), Levi seemed rather relaxed. Apparently, his only problem was shaving under that type of light. 

The Captain looked over his shoulder, found the cadet looking as if he wished the earth could swallow him. “Come on, brat. We don’t have all night. Get dressed so I can take you to the basement,” Levi spoke up. “Don't be so tense. I cleaned the place myself.” 

‘The cleanliness is not my problem,’ Eren thought to himself as he tried to carry on. But keeping the towel around his hips while trying to put clothes on that stuck to his humid body, nothing was going according to plan. 

“I bet you shared showers in worse conditions at the training camps,” Levi kept his usual stoic face as he cleaned the residues of shaving cream from his face and carried on unaffected by the situation. 

But Eren couldn’t unglue his eyes as soon as he noticed them. Yes, them. The red striking scratches down the back of his superior. Well-marked, five on each side decorating his shoulder blades. Eren swore he was trying not to pay them any mind, trying to remember to breathe or even to stop the saliva as his mouth hung open looking at them. 

Levi mentioning the shared showers at the training camps didn't help. Because all he could hear repeating endlessly in his mind were the stupid conversations Reiner and Jean would have about the hypothetical chicks they were planning to lay with. How they throw their heads back as they moan your name. Their nails sinking in your back as you pounded into them. 

‘Think of something else, Eren. Think of something else,’ 

“S-sorry,” he stuttered out a reply as the object he was picking up slipped from his clumsy hands, gathering his superior's attention, who was now staring at him as he kneeled to pick it up with his face as red as a tomato and nervous eyes. 

Levi raised a silent eyebrow for a split second before slightly shaking his head, not giving it much thought. ‘Teenagers,’ he thought to himself while sighing. 

Eren wished he could stop his own mind because it wasn’t just Reiner’s voice playing in his head but the created mental images of what he thought, in his inexperience, it looked like: his superior—no—his hero, fucking the sweet, caring woman who had just been peeling potatoes with him. Her hands that pinching his cheeks, sinking its nails into his squad leader’s back while moaning his name. Wrinkling his eyes closed, trying to erase the mental images as he could feel the blood pumping. ‘You’re not planning on stealing my man, are you?’ her voice echoing in the walls of his head, pumped lips and sultry eyes as she looked back at him playfully. 

‘Think of something else!’ 

“What could you probably be thinking of?” Levi’s voice echoed as his worst nightmare. Had he said that out loud? This time Levi had turned around to face him, left hand resting on the sink as he had his trousers on but hanging loosely on his hips as he was halfway getting dressed. He didn’t seem friendly, and his dead glance demanded an explanation. 

“Ehm- I,” Eren began to stutter, trying to find a logical explanation. His mind was racing miles per hour, how to explain. He was peeling potatoes, she made a joke, now he knows they are dating, Levi had his back scratched by her. She, her nails, her joke, her pretty lips— 

“Y-Y/N,” 

Ah- He shouldn’t have said that, but it was the first word that came to his mind. 

“What?” Levi’s voice seemed to source from hell itself. 

Heavy steps again on the floor, as he rushed back to his room. “Oi, where are you going so angry, shorty?” Hange rested against the wood frame while drinking a cup of tea. They had heavy under-eye circles and despite the dose of caffeine from their drinks, they seemed very lethargic. 

“Tch, to talk to my girlfriend about not messing around with my subordinates,” Levi had a heavy frown on his face as his hair still leaked little drops of water. “I just had the most uncomfortable conversation with Eren,” Levi said between clenched teeth, barely modulating. 

Hange chuckled while raising an eyebrow, blinking a couple of times. “Y/N told you she thinks Eren is a cutie? I’m surprised...” 

Levi, who had never stopped facing down the hall to his room, not even when he began his conversation with the other squad leader, slowly turned around to face the brunette as he heard that with a clearly confused face that turned into a frown as the information sank in. “What?” he spat out. 

Hange began to chuckle as they feared that they had misunderstood, “Ha ha... didn’t you say you had an uncomfortable conversation about Eren?” 

“Clean up your filthy ears or go to sleep already, four eyes,” the captain said calmly before clarifying, “I said a fucking uncomfortable conversation WITH Eren.” 

“Now, tell me what the hell you meant by that and make it quick because I already stood in a leaky bathroom for easily half an hour hearing Eren stutter apologize after he said my girlfriend’s name with a fucking hard on.” 

Observing out of the window as she admired how calm the deep forest was at the former HQ. It was rather cold, but she had only her nightgown on, a sheer translucent piece of cloth. The door of the room swung open, revealing an extremely angry Levi. He shut his door close and walked up to her. 

“What's gotten into you?” She questioned, confused. But before she could even reply, he was grabbing her face, pressing her cheeks together, and slightly raising her face to have it inches away from his. 

“You’ve forgotten your manners. I’ve been too soft with you,” Levi groaned, “First of all, you don’t go around playing cheeky with my subordinates.” 

She could feel the tug from his grip, pressing her closer as her hands touched his arm. Breathing heavily, humming a moan at his words. “Second, you truly think you could have a brat like him when I can already tell you’re dropping with the idea of me teaching you your place again?” 

“Lev-” 

“Your next words should be ‘Yes, sir’ if you know what's good for you,” he let go of her face just to slap her ass, “Go to bed and ass up, baby girl.” 

She moved excitedly in the direction he indicated but turned around as she bit her bottom lip, watching as he grabbed a belt from his uniform, “and that?” she asked curiously. 

“To make sure I’m the only one who leaves marks behind.” 

Link to my masterlist and my other works if you feel like checking them out.

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[writing-mlm]

hii saw you also do marvel fics :) a scott summers x male reader would be so awesome i can never find any good mlm stories for him. bonus points if it’s like an opposites attract dynamic where the reader is more irritable and rash whereas scott is more level headed and critical. thank you, no rush!!!

Irritations and Delight

Summary: Your temper is well known amongst the others but they have a trick up their sleeves that works every single time. Pairing: Scott Summers x Male Reader WC: 4.7k a/n: genuinely foaming at the mouth for Scott I forgot how little screen time he gets LMFAOOOO

Scott sighs as he gets called down to the War Room just before midnight. It’s the third time that week he’s been called to stop a fight and considering that it’s only Monday he knows it’s going to be a very long week. Despite the urgency of Jean’s request, he takes his sweet time going down the stairs rather than taking the elevator as he should have and through the halls before he sees the door. It’s closed, so he presses his hand to it, rubbing the sleep from his face while it scans him.

“I’m not taking shit from someone I need to look down at!” He hears you scoff as the doors open. He knows you’re arguing with Logan, because of course you are, it’s more often than not him. “Keep your Canadian ass away from my fucking snacks!” You warn, nostrils flaring. Jean looks at Scott with a pleading look and he just leans against the door frame, debating if this is even worth intervening— spoiler; it’s not. He’ll let you go for a little longer, get most of the steam out of your system. 

“You can make more,” Logan shrugs. “Isn’t that your whole thing? Creating,” 

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were so broke you gotta steal like an alley rat,” Taking the jab as well as you expected, Logan flares— damn near growls, too— and clenches his fist. You grin, staring at his claws, and tilt your head, threatening him even to try and hit you. But he’s stopped by Scott calling for you. Your last name cutting through the air like a whistle during gym class.

Scott’s voice is half a warning, half a tired plea when he calls you. Regrettably, his presence makes Logan smirk and you scowl before it drops from your face and you glare over at him. “C'mon now,” He beckons with his index and middle finger before turning and walking away. You suck your teeth and drop the topic for now. 

“Run along,” Logan taunts as you walk past him. “Daddy’s calling.” You stop and look at the door before at Logan; it’s not really a split-second decision but you walk back around and punch him in the jaw before leaving. He doesn’t fight back, not when Jean is attending to his ‘wound’ and Scott yells for you. He should be thanking you, really. She hasn’t willingly been that close to him in months. With one last shared look, you head out of the War Room and into the bright hallway. 

“Don’t say it,” You grit, rubbing your knuckles as you walk in stride with him. It doesn’t hurt, you’ve punched harder things, but you’re making sure that you didn’t break anything seeing as your hand is technically still healing from your last mission. 

“Say what?” Scott pauses, standing with his arms crossed. “That you’re being childish or that you shouldn’t hit your teammates?” Sucking your teeth, you drop your hands into your pockets and kick the imaginary rock on the floor. 

“He called you my daddy,” You grumble. “I’m older than you, by the way.” It’s like four months, but that’s still older than him. 

“Really?” He grins, his arms still crossed but now he flexes his biceps. It gets your attention more than his words do and he knows that. Asshole. “I couldn’t tell.” 

“Shut up, Summers.” 

He just tosses an arm over your shoulder and drags you over to the elevator. You bite the corner of your mouth, stopping the smile on your face until you’re alone in the elevator. 

“What even started that?” He asks, his knuckle stroking your cheek. It doesn’t take an empath to know the action alone makes you weak in the knees; metaphorically speaking, of course. The man knows how to make you unfold in seconds, which is why he’s the only one dispatched to handle you. 

“I was making cookies in secret,” You start, pursing your lips. “It’s stupid but I was proud of them and-and they were mine. But Logan’s stupid fucking nose sniffed them out while we were out getting groceries and he ate every single one of them.” He frowns, just a bit. He doesn’t want you to think he’s pitying you but he knows how much it hurts you. 

Baking wasn’t exactly a hobby of yours, truth be told you were a disaster in the kitchen, but he knew well enough that you could make some mean cookies. Everyone knew that and snatched them up whenever you made any, leaving nothing left for you. And yes, your mutation allowed you to recreate those same exact cookies as much as you wanted but you never did. 

“I just wanted something for myself— and you, of course. Just this once. And that bitch starts going on about how I should’ve hidden them better or put a note on them if I didn’t want anyone else eating them. But they were! They were in our room, in my dresser, inside of my tupperware!” Now you’re shouting and Scott takes a step back, his chest rising as you enunciate each pronoun. 

“I’ll speak with him,” He promises and your head whips around to face him. The elevator gets to your stop and you face forward, marching out and towards the staircase. 

“Oh, because then he’ll talk about how my ‘daddy’ came to my rescue again!” You shout while using air quotes. “No— it’s fine. Next time I’ll just make him a batch and load them with laxatives and chocolates, have that dog dying with shit pouring out his ass.” 

“(L/n),” He scolds, following you as you climb the stairs two at a time. “You agreed to stop calling Logan a dog.” He catches you by the elbow, spinning you around so you’re facing him. 

“No, I said I'll stop calling him a mutt.” You correct, waving your finger in front of his face. “It felt like a slur, so I stopped. But technically wolverines aren’t dogs, they’re weasels. So, dog doesn’t work either.” Slow blinking, Scott drops your arm and follows you into your shared room. By that point, you’ve gone quiet and it’s not because it’s after hours and you, as the responsible adult and teacher, would hate to wake the children up. 

He sees a mess, the things in your dresser are tossed about and the tubberware is broken into several pieces. You don’t apologize, you don’t feel a need to, instead you huff and start cleaning while he sits on the edge of your bed. Knowing that you hate it when he helps with your messes, he waits until everything is neatly folded or tossed into the trash can before he pulls you over. 

“Would you like it if I talked to the Professor about getting a toaster oven for our room?” He asks while guiding you to your side of the bed. You shrug as a response, staring at the wall. “Hey,” Grabbing your face with a ghostly grip, he makes you stare at him. “You can’t just shut down, come on.”

“I guess,” You huff, moving his hand from your face. “It’s ridiculous that we’d need to do that, though. It’s a communal space but no one respects it. I’m tired of treating people older than me like toddlers just because I have something they want!” Tenderly, he kisses the top of your head and lays properly next to you. 

“I understand, we can have a conversation with the Professor in the morning. For now, rest,” While he puts his night mask on, you reach over and turn the lamp off before holding him close. He insists on laying this way, with your head tucked into his back or neck and his grip tight on your hands. You like it, too. Scooping his legs on top of your own, you sigh into a yawn and try to fall asleep. 

—

“Hey, pretty boy!” You call as you enter the garage where Scott is working on his motorcycle. Classes had since finished up and with no other work to do, it was officially time to do whatever the fuck you wanted. And what you wanted was to bother your oh-so-loving boyfriend. 

“Yes, hun?” He calls from under that damn bike. Only able to see his legs, you lay your head against the door frame and look around. 

“Would you mind if I sit and watch you?” You ask, checking out an empty spot. Maybe you should get a motorcycle— but then he couldn’t drive you around anymore. But you could ride with him. But you wouldn’t have an excuse to not go places alone anymore. No motorcycle. 

“Course not.” He responds, sliding out from under the bike and beckons you over. Taking long strides over to him, you settle next to him and he explains what he’s doing. Fixing an exhaust pipe and something on the bottom of it had been dragging during the last ride so he was checking on that. You used to offer to fix it, your dad is a mechanic and your powers could fix it in seconds but he said he liked getting his hands dirty. 

You just know he doesn’t like anyone to handle his bike. 

The two of you sit in a comfortable silence until he finishes, you’d given up watching him tinker because you wanted him to actually do his task and knew you couldn’t stop yourself from pestering. Instead, you grabbed a useless tool in the box and changed it into various objects, eventually changing it back and reaching for an instruction manual that was hidden under wrenches. 

It wasn’t riveting or even particularly useful, an instruction manual for a toolbox wasn’t the best literature. But it passed the time until Scott let out the huff that signaled he was done and would admire his work for ten minutes. 

“Have you eaten?” You ask while he washed his hands in the large basin in the corner of the garage. 

“Not since lunch,” Lunch, if you could call it that, was a single slice of toast with a layer of jam so thin you couldn’t believe he wasted a knife for that. 

“Perfect, let’s go get some dinner.” Dinner with the rest of the school was hectic; it was dinner with a bunch of superpowered teenagers after all. So whenever you can, you opt to eat away from them and luckily tonight is one of those nights. 

Charles had ordered enough pizza to fill a god and you snagged a box before anyone noticed. It was yours and Scott’s favorite, too, so you think the Professor knew your plan from the start. But who knows? You still head outside with the box in hand and head to your secret spot on the property. 

Since the mansion overlooks acres of land there were plenty of secret spots but you like to believe yours was actually a secret. When you first got there you’d create a tree house, back then it was just large enough for you and your items but nowadays you hang with him whenever you can. 

The great weeping willow was the perfect tree to hide the house in, too. The large dangling leaves provided more than enough coverage— even for the spiral staircase you climb to reach the top. 

“How romantic,” Scott teases when you appear with a pizza box, soda, and two cups. You’d forgone getting plates because eating from the box is just as acceptable. You thank him and slide the box onto the table. He stops it from sliding off, watching as you grab a vinyl from the display case and set it on the player. It’s a newer one, one you’d stolen on accident. You swear it was an accident and Scott is inclined to believe that for his peace of mind. 

“Dinner and music,” He meets you halfway and runs his hands along your arms. “You really know how to treat a guy.” He muses. 

“Not just any guy,” Your lips curl into a smile as you stare at him. “My guy.”

“Your guy?” He echos and you nod, your eyes darting to his lips. 

“My favorite guy, my dream man, my boyfriend. My heart— I can continue if you’d like.” 

“Message received.” He shakes his head and presses a slow kiss to your lips. When his lips leave yours, you slowly open your eyes and then nudge his shoulder, telling him it’s time to eat. 

When you spend nearly all day with your significant other, sharing memories and gazes throughout the day, one might think there’s not much to talk about at the end of the day. But you begin to word vomit the second your butt hits the chair. Scott listens and gives his own input whenever he wants and the conversation eventually evolves into very juicy gossip about your students. 

Not very mature, sure. But come on! It’s like your own reality TV show. It would be better if one of you were telepathic but oh well, word of mouth and visual cues are just as fine. 

You think Tamara, a girl who’s technically a senior in high school with the powers to walk through walls is the one who’s been helping the younger kids during their nightmares before the others could get to them. Scott disagrees, he thinks it's Kevin, a kid who can enter people’s dreams.

“But Kevin can’t control whose dream he enters,” You point out, stopping yourself before you tell him about the time Kevin went into your dream where you were inside of the White House trying to get the President— who’d been Bob Marley— to come to your birthday party. 

“He’s getting better,” Scott draws his hand to his hair, slicking it back. “Because he’s been helping the others. You haven’t seen the way the kids look at him?”

“Have you seen how they look at Tamara? She’s like a big sister to them.” Tossing the crust of your slice into the box, you grab another. Honestly, his point does make sense. How else is a kid with dream powers supposed to get better? By entering dreams. “Maybe it’s both of them.” You settle on. 

“What? Kevin deals with the dream and Tamara helps them if they wake up?”

“I mean…” You trail. “Their rooms are right next to each other, it’s not hard to believe.”

“I think we cracked the code,” Scott grins and you nod as pizza cheese slides off of your lip. 

“Man, sign us the fuck up for mystery solving.”

—

Physically imposing wasn’t typically a word people would use to describe you. You don’t have a body type close to Logan or even Scott. You work out just enough, truly you don’t care too much about lifting cars or being able to punch through walls.

It’s useless in your opinion when you could very easily just turn the wall into sand or make the car paper. 

But that doesn’t mean you aren’t strong. 

You’re plenty strong, you work out every morning with Scott. You often use the students as weights just for the hell of it. While you don’t keep track you think your current limit is two seventy-five on each side of the dumbbell. 

So when you punched a protester it caught him off guard. Which wasn’t hard considering he was busy shouting nonsense at your students. But, hey, he was being really annoying. No one around you said he didn’t deserve it, no one gave you a look of shame or disgust. 

But he didn’t hit the ground, time seemed to freeze and you sighed through your nose, fist still clenched as you listened to Charles making his way over. Scott wasn’t far behind, grabbing you by the elbow just before Charles spoke up. 

“Now, was that necessary?” He asks, his stupid holier than-thou voice doing nothing to make you ashamed of hitting the man. 

“When you talk shit about my kids, absolutely,” You tell him. “How about next time you agree to take at-risk children on a field trip, you use your shitty powers to make sure someone isn’t going to hurl cruel words at them.” 

“How’d he even know?” Scott asks, staring at the man’s clearly unhinged jaw. 

“Someone scared Man-man on accident and his face went all… froggy,” You explain, looking at Man-man with an apologetic look. He looks down, rubbing his arm. “And of course, the man saw.” 

“You should’ve come to me.”

“You should’ve known.” You correct him, staring down at him. “Isn’t that your whole thing? Mind reading, and understanding people’s characters? You’re supposed to look out for them and my method is much more effective than walking away and calling for you.” Scott whispers your name, his voice was soft, and begging you to stop arguing. 

You falter, not wanting to ruin the trip anymore, and run your face.

“Can’t you just wipe his memory? Only we saw.”

“And can we go somewhere cooler?” Claire asks, leaning against her boyfriend Todd. Her long blonde hair running down the length of her face before she shifts it behind her ear. “We’ve been to this evolution museum three times. I heard there’s a movie theater down the street.” 

“The movies sounds good,” Ororo agrees, ever the helper for Charles. “I’ve been wanting to see the new one, what’s the name?” She turns to Jean who whispers the name and she nods. 

“I suppose some quiet time in the cinema couldn’t hurt.” Charles reluctantly agrees and the kids cheer. 

“We could totally—“ 

“No.” Scott shoots the idea down and you sigh, crossing your arms while getting the kids to line up. He pinches your side as he gets his kids to line up next to yours and you pinch him back. 

“It would be for like twenty—“

“No,” He drags out, not even looking at you. 

“You don’t even know what I’m asking!” Giving you a look, you chuckle and nod. “I totally was asking for that.” 

—

“It’s nine,” Scott drawls from above you, one hand on your shoulder and the other on the headboard. “You’ve slept in plenty today.” You groan and roll over, pulling your cover up to your chin. 

“Suck a dick, Summers.” 

“I’m sure I will, later,” He blinks. “But you’ve missed breakfast and your first class. It’s time to get up.” Grumbling under your breath, you turn and face him. He’s been awake for hours, you knew because he woke you up when he did. Plus, he’s a messy sleeper and you relish the bed to yourself sometimes. He smiles and sits down on the edge of the bed next to you, stroking your hairline. 

“It’s Friday, man. Can’t we cancel class for one day?” Your eyes dart between his glasses, finding his eyes in the red. 

“I’m sorry,” He shakes his head. “It’s time to get up.” Relenting, you sit up and drag yourself into the bathroom. He doesn’t stay, he has a class to teach and he knows if he does, you’ll rope him into missing it. 

Thankfully, you only have three classes before you can sit and relax. But things are never that simple inside that damn school, something happened during the period just before lunch. Some telepathic kid messed with the newest kid to join and the kid absolutely destroyed the classroom with his shock waves. He told you it was something about his past and you reassured him it’ll be fine before sending him up to talk with Charles. 

Tragic backstory after tragic backstory, you must’ve thought yourself lucky that your trauma came from the one time you accidentally turned a candle into a stick of dynamite at a historical building during a field trip. 

Not your best moment, you should admit. But the tour guide was being a prick and it’s what you imagined throwing at him. Sorry to the historical building, though, shame it became an arcade like five years later. 

This mutant's anonymous shit wasn’t your speed, sure that’s not what Charles called it (he called it mediation between two students who are having issues), but that’s definitely what it was. Everyone sat in a circle, telling their feelings and instead of some chip to commemorate being a mutant, you’re left to go out on ugly ass spandex and give up your apartment in replace of living amongst traumatized teenagers and more traumatized emotionally stunted adults. 

But hey, you agreed to become a teacher for those same young mutants— you just didn’t expect them to take to you like glue on paper. For fucks sake, you taught them chemistry, far from a friendly subject. You know you hated it when you were their age. And Jean tells you that you’re far from a friendly person, too. Not too sure on how she managed that assessment because there’s a group of teenagers in your office eating and talking. Willingly, during their lunch period. 

There are six of them, one of which is sitting on top of your filing cabinets and eating straight from a cantaloupe. No spoon or anything, just his hands. Never mind the chunks falling on your floor.  

“No, because Todd is totally grinding my gears,” Claire grumbles from the floor. Todd, her boyfriend, definitely wasn’t on your list of best students. “He keeps talking about he’ll be the next leader of the X-men and I’ll be his trophy wife! Trophy wife!” She shouts through a laugh. “He runs fast and I can bend light to my fucking will!” 

“He tried to get with Stacy Ambers,” You hum, stabbing your fork into a piece of chicken. Everything quiets down and they turn to face you, their jaws dropped. “I caught them during class when you went to the bathroom. He ran to give her a note, she giggled and nodded.”

“That sleaze!” Kelly shouts, standing on her knees. “Ugh! And with Sticky-Stacy? As if,” She lowers herself back to the floor and picks up her juice carton. “I say we stick them together in the training room and use them for target practice!”

“Saying stuff like that will get you a week's detention if the Professor hears,” You lazily remind them but you do nothing more to stop that conversation.

“The owner of the school is a telepath,” Derek rolls his eyes. “I’m sure he already knows all the fucked up plans in her noggin’.” 

“Which you shouldn’t be encouraging,” Scott chides from the door. “Come on now, go with the rest of your peers.” The kids groan and pack their things, leaving you and Scott inside the room. He steps inside and shuts the door. 

“I wasn’t encouraging,” You defend, holding your hands up. “I was acting as an outlet to the children, as Charles always drones on and on about.” He smiles and you think, rolls his eyes before he walks over to your desk. 

“That’s not what he meant, and you know it.” 

“What’re gonna do about it, Summers?” You grin, rolling your head to the side as he gets closer. He shrugs and sits on the edge of your desk. Grabbing his thigh, you roll your chair over to him and hang your arms over his legs. “Because it seems like you’re jealous I’m the favorite teacher.” 

“Jealous?” He echos, staring down at you. “Far from it; I’m glad you’re bonding with the children. We know how your temper is.” Frowning, you shove his stomach and lean back in your seat. He tilts his head as though you’ve proved his point and you chuckle, rolling your eyes. 

“Why’d you come anyway? You never visit lil ole me during lunch.” Grabbing your food, he steals a piece and you’re just glad it wasn’t the piece you were eyeing. 

“I do visit,” He rebuts. “I visited you last week. But I wanted to see if you wanted to come with me this Saturday? The Professor wants me to check out a potential mutant fight ring,”

“Hmm,” You pretend to think. “Another mission turned date, I can get down with that. Where is it?” 

“Chicago. Close to the border.” 

“Groovy, I’m in.”  Patting his thigh, you push yourself back to your desk and grab your lesson plan for next week. “Do you think the Professor would be upset if I turned the walls of the classroom into chocolate? For science, of course.”

“Yes, he would. Especially since they’re currently being rebuilt.”

“Aw, man. That was my whole lesson for Monday.” 

“Why don’t you do normal chemistry lessons? Like toothpaste volcanoes or colored fire?” He grabs another piece of your lunch and some of your juice. 

“Firstly; it’s called elephant toothpaste. Secondly, it’s hard keeping them focused in class. Half of the kids already make colored fire!” Taking the juice from him when he’s done, you take a sip. “I mean, I could do normal lessons. But it would bore everyone.”

“How about boring lessons all week but on Friday you do fun stuff like chocolate paperwork or something.” The suggestion is obvious but you take it down all the same, writing that in the corner of a paper to look at when you get back from the mission. 

“Oh, and since classes are canceled because of the incident, we could leave for Chicago now. If you’d like.” 

“Oh man, would I? Let’s go, Summers!” Slapping his shoulder, you run out of the room and head up to pack your bags. 

—

“Can I be honest with you?” You ask while Scott flies the jet. It’s impossibly quiet inside, the unattended chairs and lack of chatter were almost foreign with missions. You’d been walking around, messing with straps, and threatening to turn a chair into water. It didn’t take a genius for Scott to tell you were talking about Logan’s seat. 

“You always are,” He hums and you grin, messing up his hair. He grabs your hand after a second and kisses the back of it before you move to take a seat next to him again. 

Sighing, you kick your feet up on the control panel, careful to not actually press any buttons. “I don’t know your eye color,” You admit, staring at him. Even though you’ve been dating for nearly three years, you’ve yet to see his eyes behind those red frames. You also haven’t seen any childhood photos of him. 

“They’re blue,” He answers with a smile. “I have blue eyes, Alex said they’re blue like the sky. I think they’re blue like Florida oceans.” 

“Blue,” You softly echo, staring at him. “I always thought they were brown.” He laughs and shakes his head. It makes sense, you think. Because of course, he’d have blue eyes, how could you picture him any different? 

“What about yours?” He asks. “It’s hard to tell colors,” You tell him, describing your eyes in the way that you view them. Correlating beautiful things to the shade. “That makes sense. I thought they were gold because of your mutation and that’s what Ororo had told me.”

“Oh, I wish!” You shout. “I’d be so cool, you couldn’t stay away from me if they were.” 

“I can’t stay away from you now,” You chuckle nervously, looking away from him and he just smiles. That asshole just smiles. “I love you, I hope you know that.” He continued just to see your reaction. 

“Yippee,” You respond and immediately cover your face. “Summers, take those glasses off and kill me.” It’s a near beg as you scream into your hands. You, a grown adult, had just uttered the word yippee following a declaration of love from your boyfriend. Oh, how prepubescent. How… emotionally stunted. Oh my god, you’re no better than the other X-men. 

This, this is your trauma. This is what you’ll look back upon and shiver, pushing it deep down in your memories as if it was bad food at a family gathering and the trash was nearly full. 

“I meant,” You shudder. “I love you, too, Summers.”

“Wanna try with my first name?” He asks and you groan. He blinks over at you, his eyebrows clearly raised at your antics. 

“Give them an inch and they’ll ask for a mile!” You joke. “I love you, Scott.” You finally say, looking back at him. He bites his lip as he smiles and you lick yours, nearly forgetting that he’s flying a jet and should not be distracted. Looking away, you see Chicago in the distance and remind yourself that the mission comes first. 

Go, X-Men, Go!

[sombrashe]

Hiii i came across your writing and binged all your troy stuff in one night lol 🫣🫣 you’re amazing and doing a great service to all the content deprived Tory girlies 🫡 I love the way you write him !!

Could you do another getting high one shot ? I loved the first one sm 😭🫶

thank you!! i hope you enjoy this one too, its not quite a one shot like the last one. this has reignited my troy love and im foaming at the mouth over him rn

afab!reader, smoking weed only reader smokes, high sex, dry humping, spit kink, riding, raw sex ꉂ(ˊᗜˋ*)

smoking with troy always includes

cuddles.

He makes sure to hold you close as you start smoking. The dry blunt gets caught on the skin of your lips. Pulling them slightly before popping off. Smoke swims in your lungs, filling them completely before your slow exhale. Gray covers your sight before dissipating into the grimy atmosphere. He never partakes and you don't mind, more for you. Another good puff and you can feel yourself start to relax. The aches and pains from living in a wasteland slowly ebbing away. Shifting closer into his arms you happily finish the joint.

touching.

His hands shift lower as they gently squeeze at your pudgy hip. Kissing your temple, you smile and simply feel his presence. Eyes closed you listen to him mumble on about some math. Fingers dance under your shirt and over the smooth pitted skin there. You don't focus on his words, instead you're drawn to the low rumble of his chest. Fingertips press against the firmness of his chest as his heart hammers away. He always gets himself so worked up when you lay against him.

kisses.

You spend a few minutes simply tracing the cracks along your lips. They feel so cold and you think maybe you should cry for them since they can't themselves.

"Troy, my lips."

You tilt your face to look at him, your neck twisting as you refuse to leave his touch. He hums and stops scribbling with his right hand. His poor hand, forced to hold a pencil instead of you. Looking down he cups your chin and inspects the cracks.

"What?"

You raise your chin further and press your lips together. Cracks being filled in with his matching ones.

grinding.

Your libido is at an all-time high despite the weed not doing much to your system right now. You were still very much in control and you need to show him. Crawling into his lap, you slot yourself directly against him. Pieces of fabric keep his cock constrained as your pussy hugs around it. Sighing into his mouth you start moving your hips. His hands slide up your sides before finding themselves resting comfortably against your ass. The fat there is gripped with such intensity, that you know you're gonna have marks in the morning. You're already soaked and the blunt starts filling your limbs with fog. Moaning, you speed up your movements. You're so close, yet nowhere close to where you needed to be.

affection.

"Slow down, sweet thing, we'll get 'ya there." His voice is soft, I like this, not so commanding. Your movements slow and his hands rise. You can feel the smoke trapped in your lungs start to spread throughout your limbs. It's mad uncomfortable and you start trying to shake the abstract idea out through your hands. Leaning forward you whine into his neck.

"Shh, I know. I told 'ya not to smoke the whole thing."

You huff and exasperatedly toss your arms onto his broad shoulders. His fingers have snuck up your front and are now brushing over your very sensitive nipples. Why, oh why, did you decide to wear no bra today?

teasing.

Your movements start back up again. Small little grinds, a distraction in play as you mouth at his neck. Licking a stripe over that delicious jugular vein, you rise until you're nibbling on his earlobe. Breathing out, you pull back to look at him. Eyes lidded and head tilted he looks delicious. Grinding down firmly, cock prominently felt. Wetting your bitten lips you realize just how dry your mouth is.

"My mouth is dry."

Hands are back on your hips, keeping you still and positioned. You want to pull away and get something to quench your increasing thirst.

"Open your mouth."

You obey immediately. You even stick your tongue out for him. Spit is accumulated on the tip of his tongue. He shows you his shiny tongue before dragging it up and over yours. You shiver at the feeling of his cooling spit coating your dry tongue. Grinding down, you feel his tongue enter your mouth. Eyes closed and lips pursed you happily move in sync with him.

riding.

You wish you could free his cock, fuck him right here. You need him. You feel so empty, so overstimulated. Sliding off of him, you yank your jeans down your ankles before climbing back into his lap. His cock is free and leaking. Pressing it against your stomach, you clench and shift with anticipation. Hovering you press his cock against your lips. You're practically vibrating with how excited you are. Months of being on the run means no sex and no sex fucking sucks. Sinking lower, your dripping core sucks in his cock inch by simple inch. You suddenly feel lightheaded and curl into his neck. He wraps his arms around your middle. Your hips grind against his, abdomen to abdomen. Deft fingers find your clit and you clamp down. Reinvigorated you give a few shallow bounces. Slick sounds are being pulled from your activities. You can feel your orgasm fast approaching.

"Don't cum yet, hold on a little."

You shake your head, that was not possible. You already struggled to keep your libido in check, you weren't going to deny it.

"Please, baby, for me."

You bite down on his shoulder. Clenching your thigh muscles tighter helps a little to manage the sickly sweet feeling between them. It takes approximately 26 seconds before you have to clamp down and nearly stop moving. Your orgasm is right there. About 13 seconds later and you're gushing around his cock. You tried to hold out, you really did.

"I'm sorry, I tried."

He huffs and stutters as warmth fills your core. You hum out against slick skin

[contentloadingandstuff]

Mortuarius - Chapter II

He struggles against the restraints. To no avail, as the metal cuffs hold firm despite his desperate efforts. Still he fights with all his might - there's nothing else he can do. He sees only darkness, the blindfold's softness a mockery of his position. His nostrils are filled with the choking, stinging smell of antiseptic. The lab's cool air makes his naked body shiver.

A hand, covered by a rubber glove, is placed over his mouth. Something cold and wet is rubbed across a part of his neck before he feels a sharp sting. He jerks, but the substance quickly spreads through his veins. Waves of spasms shake his body, making his limbs tremble and quiver. They feel fuzzy, then numb. Heavy, clumsy, like timber. 

His mind clouds quickly and he starts choking back coppery foam. His body bends upwards in desperate search for relief. 

Heavy limbs. Cut them off. He wants to cut them off. He would rather not feel anything in them for his entire life than endure this. 

He hates this feeling.

His chest suddenly feels heavy, as if being crushed in a Lawachurl's hand. He coughs out more red foam. 

It's bad. Maybe they messed up, and he will get to actually die this time. 

He hopes so. 

A pair of arms grab his left thigh and stab a short, fat needle through the muscle. The warmth of feeling spreads through his paralyzed limbs, the numbness replaced with a searing pain in the relaxing muscles. It burns as if he was on fire, but from the inside. 

He labels it closer to frostbite than to real fire. He wonders if there will be burns or if it will just be black and blue. 

A mask is forced on his face. He doesn't protest. There's no energy left in him to do so. 

He can feel his lungs decompressing, and the crushing feeling fades. Slightly. 

He isn't grateful for this relief. There's no point. 

"One fifth of a syringe of solution C16 seems to work, although only partially. Taking into account the exceptional resistance to toxic substances of the test subject, I conclude that this portion wouldn't be able to function as intended. Give him a few hours and we will go again, this time with three of ten. Noted? "

"Noted."

The voices fade out into darkness, but the remnants of pain remain. The once stabbing pain turns to a scraping one, and grows in intensity. It's like sandpaper being dragged over exposed muscle tissue. 

He knows that feeling well. 

Denki awakes with a gasp to the sight of the Watcher sitting casually on the edge of the bed, a leather-clad book in his hand. Upon hearing the human groan, he stands up at once. After grabbing a metallic cylinder and removing the cap, revealing a long needle, he stabs it right below Denki's left breast.

Denki fights back, pushing through the fiery pain. He grabs Watcher's arm at the elbow and tries to force it away. His heart is pounding as he struggles with the undead's grip. His mind is buzzing with desperate call outs towards his whole being. He needs to resist, to push him away, to escape. His ferocity grows as more and more of the ampule's contents are pumped into his system. In a last ditch effort, just as barely any fluid remains, he punches Watcher's hand with his own, breaking the needle. 

Before he can turn and attempt to raise up, something pins his body to the bed. His eyes dart between his arms, but the force remains unseen. Blood is now seeping from his small wound.

"Calm down, fool." Watcher pays no mind to Denki's state, retrieving the broken needle tip from his body. He promptly swabs the wound with a piece of gauze. "This is a sedative. It will help the pain. Deep breaths, human." 

Upon hearing his voice, his heart slows slightly. He does as instructed while Watcher observes him carefully. The adrenaline fades out, and panic is replaced by a feeling of shame. 

Shame. He was treated so well, and yet he did something so unthankful. 

"I'm sorry sir." He says weakly, looking down at the slightly bloody gauze.

Watcher scoffs. "Sir? Do not call me that. My title is enough." He offers Denki his hand. "Try to sit up now." 

Stinging pain resonates through his spine as he pushes himself upwards. Watcher's cold fingerbones guide him to rest his back against the wall. He shivers at how cold the stone is, as his loose shirt does nothing to insulate him. 

"How are you feeling now? Any pain, any uncomfortable sensations?" 

"I'm nauseous. My stomach hurts…" In that awful, familiar way. "... but it's just that I'm hungry. The pain is better now. Thank you for the medicine."

The Watcher nods his head. "Wonderful. Let's get this body some nutrients. Come on now." He raises up. 

Denki sighs and slowly moves his legs to the side. He looks down at his legs. They are completely hairless, and the skin is somewhat paler than before. 

What he finds the most surprising is the complete lack of injuries, or even their leftovers. On the pristine skin there is not a single flaw. Not a single scar that he remembers. He takes a closer look, and still he discovers more. His worry grows into fear, and then into panic. 

There isn't a single scar he had before. There isn't a single mole he remembers. His legs, his torso, his arms aren't skinny. 

"This is n-not my body! W-what did you put me in?" He can't believe his eyes. 

This feels like a dream. Or rather a painful, alien nightmare. This isn't him. This is something else. 

He is somebody else. 

"Of course it isn't, human. Your previous vessel would not sustain your soul for more than a few days, maybe weeks if we would be lucky. We transplanted your soul."

"Into w-what?" 

"This vessel has been designed based on your body structure, but has been vastly improved to perform even in the harshest conditions. Your face is still as it used to be, do not be concerned with that." Watcher opens the heavy wooden door, revealing the room behind it. Denki spots a table and a few chairs. “Come on.”

The skeleton leaves. With some effort, Denki is able to lift himself up. His head starts spinning, so he pushes himself up against the wall. He rubs his temple, and that’s when he feels it. 

There’s a sense of heaviness in his arm, a slight delay between the intent and the movement. He moves his arm again, and feels just the same things, on top of a strange feeling of limpness within his muscles. It feels as if the limb was pulled not by itself, but by strings. It feels just like… a puppet. 

He turns towards the door, and places a few careful steps forward. His legs are infested with the same sensation. Although with some difficulty, he manages to move towards the door, all the time paying great attention to each slow step. 

One leg after the other. This time, nothing hurts, more importantly - nothing is broken. He remembers walking with a broken leg. The current sensation is much alike, yet it doesn’t feel as agonizingly painful. Just… strange. 

He passes through the doorway and enters what looks to be a dining room. It is nothing like what he remembers from home - the table and chairs suggest a mainland-style interior. The first thing that catches his attention is the exquisite artistry of the design. Although barely visible from afar, the sides of the black furniture piece are riddled with small silver runes. Despite the overbearing simplicity of their design, he can clearly make out what they represent. A fly. A spider. A scorpion. A moth. A wasp. A hornet. A locust. There is a break and, painted in a golden color, is the same eye symbol as on Watcher’s stole. He approaches the table and touches the decoration softly. The material is hard and cold, like stone. 

“Black marble to be exact.”

Denki snaps towards the undead, who is now sitting in one of the two exquisitely decorated chairs. 

“E-excuse me?” He hopes he just misheard something. If not, that would mean…

“Yes, I can read your mind. How do you suppose I came to know everything about you, Sakurai Denki?” The skeleton laughs, the voice echoing through his empty ribcage. “I asked you about the name out of courtesy. To break the ice, you understand.”

Denki doesn’t know what to think anymore. He walks towards the chair, and glances at the seat. He probes the thin pillow with his hand, and, assured, he sits down slowly. His limbs simultaneously sigh in relief. 

Another door, located behind Watcher’s seat, opens, and a man holding a tray comes into the room. Denki traces his movements as a porcelain bowl is placed in front of him, filled to the brim with grayish rice. Next to the bowl is a simple, metal spoon. 

In the meantime, Watcher takes a clay bowl from the hands of the newcomer. Denki spots white pockets inside it. 

He turns towards the other human. He is wearing a white apron, two thin, drooping strands of gray mustache decorating his wrinkled and worn face.  Despite his well-kept appearance, it was painfully obvious that time has not been kind on this man. Denki spots his slanted eyes and speaks out in Inazuman, shyly. 

“I’m sorry, sir, but I think you’ve mistaken me with someone.” He looks towards the Watcher, clueless. “Is this… really for me?”

“Is the meal not to your liking, Master Denki?” The chef replies in Inazuman, although his Liyue accent is clear to hear. 

“Master”? Denki quickly shakes his head. “No, no, I just…” He can’t find the right words. 

“It has been long since you ate like this, hasn’t it?” The Watcher asks, and reaches into his bowl. He retrieves one of the wrappings, and undoes it with his thin, skeletal fingers. Much to Denki’s surprise, a round, slightly transparent object is hidden within. It’s outside has an iridescent shine to it. 

“I… yes. I am just…” He clears his throat, looking back to the bowl. 

“Would you like some soy sauce on the side, Master Denki?” The old man smiles gently at him. “Our rice may not be Inazuman, but I prepared it to match seihakumai’s taste as much as possible.”

Denki takes the spoon in his hand, and slowly takes a small amount of grains off the top. He eats them, carefully tasting them. They are somewhat hard and a bit bitter, but fairly good overall. 

“If that wouldn’t be a problem t-then… Yes, please.” 

“I will be back shortly.” The chef leaves, quietly shutting the door behind him. 

Denki takes another portion, this time larger in quantity, and inspects it. He finds nothing except the gray rice on the spoon. After another short moment of hesitation he eats it all in one bite. He takes another spoonful, now sparing just a quick glance. He speeds up, shoving portion after portion of the bare rice into his mouth, so fast that his throat barely has time to swallow before another dose enters his mouth. 

Denki forgot how hungry he was. This rice, as bare and devoid of addons as it is, is the best he had tasted in his life. He doesn’t care if there are pins, needles or razors inside the bowl. He wouldn’t mind them anyway - just the chance to eat rice again is worth all the pain and blood. 

He practically inhales the dish, but tastes not a single metallic drop of his own blood. 

Perhaps he got lucky. 

“T-thank you, I… Thank you!” He exclaimed, earning a nod from the Watcher. Even if he had no lips, Denki could sense he was smiling. 

“That was chef Liao Wei. He has been working here for over fifty years. His cooking is impeccable, I must admit.” Watcher lifts one of the gemstones up to his jaws, and crushes it. The remains drop down on the table, joining a small pile already there. 

“What are those… “ He stops. He steadies himself, and adds in an unsure, whispered tone: “... Watcher?”

“Ley Line Candy. You have heard of Ley Lines before, yes?” 

“Yes, I did. They contain memories, right?”

“That is correct, human. Within this small piece of crystal a memory is contained.” He lifts it up towards the lantern adorning the ceiling, and Denki can see a slight greenish tint on the inside of the candy. “The memory resonates with my Core, and I can experience it again. Those contain Sunsettia. Do you want to taste one?”

“A… Core? Do I have one in this body?”

“Yes, you do have one. It is necessary to keep your soul contained. It should work.” Watcher passes Denki the treat. “Crack it with your teeth.” 

Denki does as instructed, and immediately a peachy sweetness hits his tongue, a sensation of soft pressure on his gums and teeth, just as if he was biting into the fruit itself. He can tell it is a ripe one, just from the taste. He removes the crystal pieces from his mouth, placing them into his empty bowl. The taste lingers for a good while before fading out. 

“This is… fantastic. Truly incredible. How come you are able to get those memories from the Ley Lines?”

“That is a professional secret, I’m afraid.” Again, Denki feels him smile, even despite his skull remaining blank. He senses no sarcasm or mockery in his voice. “Now, Sakurai Denki, I expect you have a lot of questions about your predicament. Ask now, and I will answer you.”

Denki considers this for a moment, before crafting his reply. “Where am I?”

“You are in the city of Castra, the capital of the Necro Archon’s nation. You would not be able to find it on any maps of Teyvat, aside from our own of course. For centuries it has been hidden from mortal eyes.”

“For what purpose? I-if I may ask.” 

The Watcher bites down on another piece of candy. “Strategic reasons. The Necro Archon’s relationship with The Seven is complicated, you see. I’m guessing you want to know more about him?”

Denki nods. Liao Wei comes into the room, and places a small, wooden saucer, filled to the brim with dark liquid. Just a whiff confirms the contents. Much to his surprise, just when he is about to ask for seconds, a bigger bowl of rice is placed in front of him. Chef Liao thwarts his attempt at speaking. 

“I hope you don’t mind, Master Denki, but I brought you a second serving. You don’t look like a bountiful eater.” He bows slightly. “Forgive the comment.” 

“N-no, it’s fine, chef. And please, call me by my name. I don’t deserve-”

“I apologize, Master Denki, but this is what courtesy requires.” He quickly backs towards the door. “Now excuse me, please. I will go prepare the dessert now.”

He leaves before Denki can utter a single word. Watcher chuckles. 

“The Necro Archon chose him personally.”

Denki furrows his brow. “How come? Isn’t he unable to taste? Since, he’s the god of undead…”

“He can take on many forms, both living and undead. Though most times he remains in a skeletal body, on occasion he changes to a mortal one. He visited the official cooking contest under a mortal disguise, one that he removed only in front of the winner.” He sighs. “Liao’s face will forever be ingrained in my mind.”

“What is his name?”

“His divine name is Beleth, although here, in the nation of Umbra, he is known as The Great One.” 

“Great One… If I am allowed to ask, how did he earn this title?”

Watcher scoffs. “His might is beyond comparison in the mainland. Throughout history, The Great One bested gods of power beyond the human mind to comprehend. For centuries He has been watching over the people of Umbra, granting us protection and mercy. Respect is the least we can do in return for His kindness."

"I understand." Denki adds the final spoon of sauce to his food. "What happened to Inazuma while I was… gone?" 

"Well, I don't have good news. The Fatui conspiracy resulted in a civil war, and the introduction of the Sakoku Decree. Inazuma has been sealed off from the rest of the continent."

Denki nods slightly. He moves around the final grains of rice on his plate, speechless. 

What was he expecting even? The Kamisato Clan to rescue the situation? Kujou Sara to see through the lies? The Raiden Shogun to save her loyal subjects? 

His head throbs. He moves his hand to caress his forehead. 

"The sacrifice of yourself and your parents has gone to waste. Nobody questioned the Archon's decision. Especially not the Guuji. Lives sacrificed, by soldiers, nobles and commoners alike, all for nothing."

"S-stop! Do you have to r-rub it in?!" Denki lashes out, but quickly hides his face in his hands. "Just… please. Don't." He does his best to hide the quivering of his voice, to little effect. 

"Not all is lost. You are back, Denki, the last of the Sakurai. The Necro Archon gave you a chance, one you should not waste. A chance for vengeance."

Vengeance. A part of him wants to lie down, to never get up again. He doesn't want to feel the pain of this new body, he doesn't want to remember past agony. He just wants to go, where it doesn't matter. Beyond this world. A part of him wants the peacefulness of death. 

Yet another craves for something more. He held onto his life, his final possession for eight painful years, just to trample on his effort now? He survived, prevailed. He is still young. He has the time to make things right. To make then pay. 

He grits his teeth, and wipes his eyes with his forearm. 

"What is the price?" Denki looks up at the Watcher. "What does The Great One expect in return?" 

"Your services, Sakurai Denki. You will be fed, clothed, kept warm and trained, and as payment the Necro Archon will make use of your skills. You have already been brought back here, have you not?" The Watcher leans forward, and tilts his head slightly. "Rejection of such an offer would be foolish and disrespectful of His generosity." 

Denki takes a deep breath, finally regaining clarity of mind. "I accept the offer. Help me, and I will join your ranks."

"A good choice, human." The Watcher raises up. "Come now. Let us meet your new mentor."

Thanks for reading!

[lilja-the-alchemist]

13th Day of the Fifth Passive Moon, Draconic Cycle

I took a break from my travels today and set up shop by the river. Pesto got to work telling local creatures that we were there to help. News spread quickly and it didn’t take long before someone approached us.

I was expecting one of the local creatures, but it turned out to be an adventurer. A wandering knight based on their armor. They collapsed in front of me. I removed their face armor and unbuckled their chest piece to give them some air, and they turned out to be a female… Dragonkin? I’ve never seen one before. She was still struggling to breathe, so I gave her a more thorough check-up.

Symptoms:

Difficulty breathing

Her lips were blue and the sides of her mouth looked frostbitten.

She coughed, and it was icy cold.

Mana reserves went down with every coughing fit.

Diagnosis:

Most likely a type of Persistent or Chronic Spellcast. I’d normally ask the patient more questions before brewing a potion, but she was in no condition to speak. It could be natural or from a curse; I had to take both into account.

Cure:

Get inflicted with Silence for half a day to choke out whatever was causing the illness and give the body time to recover. Unfortunately, I didn’t know how to cast the spell, so I had to brew a makeshift elixir for it. Mana infusion post-treatment was necessary.

Hush Drops

1 teaspoon of powdered Muffling Ginger

Half a cup of Beehemoth Honey

2 tablespoons of citrus juice

3 tablespoons of sweet pollen

I boiled the honey, ginger, and citrus juice together until it foamed. I made the drops on some parchment paper and then rolled them in sweet pollen once cooled and hardened. Normally, one would use confectioners’ sugar to coat it, but that would be difficult to get out here and I didn’t have time to make some from scratch, even if I asked Pesto to grow a sugarcane stalk.

I put a Hush Drop inside the passed-out girl’s mouth, and she immediately stopped coughing up the spell. I laid her head on my lap and covered her mouth with a cloth damp with warm water, careful not to cover her nose, and occasionally re-soaked the cloth every 5 minutes. After what felt like an hour, I gave her another Hush Drop and applied some poultice on her frostbitten skin. I started infusing her with my own Mana while she was passed out, occasionally giving her more drops as the Silence wore off. We sat there for half a day before she woke up.

She sat up and tried to thank me, but the previous Silence was still in effect. While waiting, she loosened more of her armor to breathe easier

She started fixing her hair, the color of aquamarines. She tied it up in a ponytail to get it out of the way and then I saw her deep golden eyes. It felt like they had a radiant glow, like pools of molten gold. Like gems that somehow captured the warmth of the setting sun. It felt like time slowed down and I was enveloped in honey gazing into her eyes.

Note to self: Do a self-examination during my free time, I felt a heart palpitation during this patient’s treatment.

Once the Silence wore off, she introduced herself as Verena Ambergaze. What a fitting epithet. She explained that she was fighting off some kind of magical scorpion creature and she started uncontrollably Frost Breathing after she got stung. It sounded like the creature’s poison wreaks havoc on one’s internal ley lines and Mana systems. I’ve never met a creature like that, so I didn’t have an antidote. I wanted to get a sample of that poison; it could be interesting to try and counteract.

The best thing for Verena for now was to alleviate the side effects with the Hush Drops and let her body naturally recover until it flushed out the poison on its own. Although… She would need more Mana infusion in the meantime; we didn’t want her to pass out or anything. So I asked her to lie back down on my lap. She thanked me once again, took a Drop herself, and laid back down to rest.

[roseygoddess-blog]

The idea of this post is to just word vomit and see what sticks. It’s been a while since I’ve done any sort of writing so I just wanna see what I can do.

I’m reminded of a short story I once wrote in school. All I remember was that it was set near water and featured a sad girl. How apt. If you end up reading this - enjoy. It’s been a while.

I took a deep breath. The waves thrashed, water foaming at the mouth like a sick animal. I dug my nails into the palms of my hands hoping to feel some sort of ache, a blistering awareness of how crazy I must look standing in the middle of a beach, 8pm on a Wednesday, rain lashing down my face, staring out motionlessly to the ocean. If I was to see someone else like this I’d probably call down and see if they needed help, check they were okay. Instead, it’s me that’s stuck in the sand.

Shaking the thoughts free from my head I stare back out. My therapy session was tough today. Finding out your brain doesn’t work in the “usual” way is kind of a shock to the system. I always knew I had my shit, never doubted it for a second, but to hear that from a professional? To hear that maybe, just maybe, I’m not just lazy, unmotivated, not good enough. Maybe I’m just different.

The air washes over my back and I take another deep breath, filling my lungs with the salty sea air, feeling the sea spray hit my cheeks. Or maybe it’s the rain. It’s hard to tell anymore, the weather is getting worse yet I’m powerless to move, stranded by my own doing. One of my goals in therapy was to find a bit of peace in all the mayhem. I tried it once by walking along this same beach, in the quiet evening, hoping the sounds of the waves softly lapping on the shore would calm my tangle of thoughts. Instead, it just made me anxious. Anxious about the fact that I’m not calm, instead I’m not really feeling... Anything at all.

Turns out that what my soul needed was catharsis. I wanted to see my rage played out in the anger of the ocean, see my hurt and pain fall in the sheets of rain, feel my fear in the wind bristling the hairs on the back of my neck. I am at one with the world, and it’s not pretty or calm or peace. It’s anger and rage and nature. It is a piece of me, held so tightly within my very being. Ready to come out. Ready to feel safe again. Ready to be heard.

I grab my phone out of my pocket and look at the screensaver. A picture of me, my partner and our two beautiful children. I am reminded that within this rage that there is beauty, love and warmth. The rage is a piece of me but the love is so much more, it envelopes me suddenly, filling me to the brim and bringing me out of my fixation. I slide my phone back into my jacket pocket, retrieving my gloves in the process. I blow hot air through my hands to start the warming process before slipping the delicate black gloves on. I take one last look at the ocean before I turn and head for home.

[witch-hazels-musings]

Sudden Titles

Warning -> fluff, reader suddenly calls them a title they’ve yet to be given ;) 

Character X GN Reader | Anthology 

Includes: Albedo, Childe, Diluc, Kaeya, Scara, Thoma, Zhongli, Xiao | Beidou, Ganyu, Jean, Ningguang, Sucrose 

A-N: this was also a request, funny that I started this WIP a bit ago lol - blame discord shenanigans for this one (we get into some headspaces there often)

Albedo

Didn’t hear you since he was busy measuring ingredients for his experiment 

“Albedo.” You hummed his name in an attempt to pull him from his work. He’d been focused all morning, almost all afternoon too, that you were starting to worry he would pass out if he didn’t take a break. “Are you nearly finished?” 

“Mmm.” He answered you, kinda, even if it was more of a habitual vocalization rather than a real acknowledgement of your question. 

“Husband, can you take a small break for me?” You watched his fingers steadily pour the right amount of liquid into the container noting the complete lack of change in his expression. 

“Can you pass me the lid please, it needs to be sealed immediately.” With a sigh, you resign yourself to assist him but when you get close enough to look into his sea-foam eyes, eyes that reflect specks of bluish-green, you can’t help but try again. “Thank you.” He extended his hand but before he could pull away, you wrapped your fingers around his, leaned forward, and made your words as clear as crystal. 

“You’re welcome, husband.” Albedo slowly looked up from his work, his head stuttering as if he kept going back and forth on whether he heard you or not until, finally, his eyes connected with yours. The two of you stared intently at the other, unsure what to do next but you were certain the longer he looked at you the weaker your will was becoming until, like a blessing, the bottle in his hands caused a big enough reaction that his attention snapped to it while you dashed out of the room to hide your embarrassment. 

Childe

Wait ... 

“This isn’t what we agreed to, you’ve changed the price.” Huffing, you crossed your arms and listened to the pitiful excuses from the vendor. They were going back on their end of the deal and you weren’t going to take a single second of it. Unfortunately, no matter what you did or said, they weren’t listening to you which only further pissed you off. 

Scanning your eyes for another tactic, you spied Childe walking down the street and eagerly called out to him. “Childe!” You waved him over and hoped his reputation was known even by this shady garbage bag. “Thank you, can you please explain to my husband here why you’ve gone back on our agreement?” 

Childe blinked so fast you were sure his eyes were going to get sore but you tried to maintain your neutral expression even if you felt your cheeks flare up and the corner of your mouths twitch with a smile. It wasn’t your intention to put him in a difficult spot but, just as you expected, the notion that this Fatui ‘diplomat’ was your husband was enough to shake the nerves from the salesman. 

“Hu-husband, you are ...” They pointed at Childe whose expression had slipped into his acting grin. 

“Oh yes, I don’t take kindly those who upset my spouse.” His arm draped around your shoulder which caused your heart to pound in your chest. 

“No-no of course not. Let me get the re-rest of the supplies.” They stammered, tripping over their stock as they rummaged through to find what was missing. 

“Thank you, Childe I was at my -” 

“Husband?” He leaned down, lips brushing against your ear and a devious smile on the lips you didn’t dare look at.

“It was just a t-tactic ... don’t let it go to your head.” 

“Too late.” He whispered, pulling you closer to his side before returning to his full height and watching you stumble your way through the rest of the transaction. 

Diluc

operating system full shut-down 

The morning felt more rushed than normal and yet, somehow, was reminiscent of every day prior. You ran back toward the winery after having a brief conversation with several coachman, their wagons ready for travel but without the purchase ledgers there was no way they were going to know where to go. 

“Ada, where did ... have you seen the ledgers?” Shifting through the papers, you felt Adelind’s presence next to you. Quickly, she pulled a stack of documents from the drawer and laid them on the desk and, with a thankful sigh, you rested your hand on the leather bindings. “You’re a life-saver.” 

“Master Diluc just finished signing those, they should be ready to go.” 

“Excellent, where is - ah! There you are.” Diluc descended the steps and you made your way to him without pause. “Is there anything else we need, the coachmen are ready to go.” 

“There isn’t anything that I can think of.” His fingers curled around his chin as he thought which bought just enough time for an attendant to interrupt. 

“Excuse me, several items came for you. Where shall -”

“Ah, my husband can handle them, I’ll be back in just a moment.” You didn’t catch the light leaving Diluc’s eyes or the sudden silence blanketing the winery because you were already skipping into a light run and passing through the open door. Not a single attendant attempted to move out of your way, it was like they were frozen in time. 

After handing off the forms to each carriage, you made your way back to the winery but, when you heard Adelinde’s voice riled up in a stern lecture, you wondered what could have happened in the last five minutes. 

“Master Diluc, this is unacceptable!” Peaking your head in, you saw Diluc sitting on the stairs, head in his hands and several maids, attendants, and other workers crowding into the room. “For years I’ve been your housemaid, I’ve watched you grow up, seen you become a fine man but to find out you are MARRIED.” 

“Adelinde ... please.” 

“No, I have so much to do now. A reception to plan, guests to invite ...” Her arms were crossed but as soon as you stepped into the foyer her head snapped to you. “And YOU are no better.” She pointed to the stairs and, like a child in trouble, you made your way to them. 

“Ada, it was a slip of the tongue, we aren’t actually ...” You tried to explain, sitting on the step next to your ‘husband.’

“No excuses, there is work to be done.” With a loud clap of her hands everyone was rushing off to make preparations for two people who weren’t actually married. 

“I’ll try again when she calms down ... I can’t believe I accidently ...” Devastated and worried he would be furious with you, you hid your head against your knees and behind your arms. “I’m so sorry.” 

“It’s alright.” His hand moving to pat your back for a moment, “This was always expected. I guess I should have asked you sooner.” 

“Wait, what?” Lifting your head up, you caught sight of a small box in his outstretched hand. Frantic, you looked at him, his head resting in his palm, cheeks burning in red and eyes looking toward the door. “D...” 

Trembling hands reached for the box but when you saw the ring inside you felt your heart clench in your chest. “I was going to ask you but ... now I’m not-” 

“Ask me, please ask me.” Turning toward him, your placed your hand on his shoulder while your fingers hovered over the box and waited for the question you had always been ready to answer. 

Kaeya

well now ;>

Dashing, skipping, launching yourself from the higher levels of the city, you glided toward the front gate, your heart pounding in your chest. Today was the day your favorite knight was returning from his mission and you weren’t about to miss his homecoming. 

Your feet skidded over the cobblestone, hands stretched outward before colliding with the ground and, like a pro, you furled the wings that helped you get here. “Any sight of them?” You asked several other citizens waiting for their friends, family, lovers' to return as well. 

“Not yet.” Wrapping your arms around your chest, you leaned against the stone wall and waited ever so impatiently. Nearly an hour went by and no sign of them until, just when you were about to find a more comfortable position to wait, you saw signs of several people peaking out over the horizon. Hopes ignited, nerves set on fire, you wrung your hands together until you saw him - your Calvary Captain. 

“Kaeya!!!” You shouted, louder than any other call and welcome home but as soon as you saw him at the other side of the bridge you didn’t have the strength to hold yourself back. Running as fast as you could, you stretched out your arms and flung yourself into his before he had a chance to say your name. “Husband! You’re back!” You exalted against his neck, nose finding it’s home against his skin. 

“My, my what a reception.” 

“I missed you.” Several knights passed by but you didn’t pay them any attention, all you cared about was captured in your arms already. 

“I see that.” Easily, he lifted you onto the stone barrier, his body moving to the space between your legs, face turning away from the reunions happening behind him. “Now, I have a question for you.” 

“What??” Curious, you tilted your head, fingers slipping under his vest and low cut V-neck. 

“When is the wedding?” 

“What wedding?” 

“Ours of course.” Your confused expression made him laugh, a sound you hadn’t heard in weeks. “You’ve already called me your husband, I’m merely waiting for the rings to prove it.” 

“Whaaat, OMG.” Embarrassment sliding up your face, you hid behind the hands Kaeya tried to pry away. “I did mean ... Kaeya I’m sorry.” 

“No need for apologies. I am very pleased with this arrangement. I guess I should tell Master Jean I need time off for my honeymoon.” 

“Kaeya ... stop.” Shoving his shoulder you sighed when that didn’t halt the bombardment of jokes he let fall from his silver-tongue. 

“Samuel, join me for a celebratory drink! I’m Marr-” Desperate, you cut him off with a kiss but as soon as you let his lips go you knew this wouldn’t be the end of your torment. “Full of surprises today, aren’t we?” And you answered him with a groan. 

Scara

the hell you say?

“What is it?” Scara’s voice called out to you from behind the door. You half-expected him to disregard you completely but if you wanted him to take a break you had to be brave. 

“Are you busy?” You asked, pushing the door further ajar before stepping into the light of the study. He was sitting at his desk, hat hanging on the rack behind him while his hand curled into a fist and pressed against his temple. 

“Yes, what is it?” The quill he was using found it’s way to it’s stand, his arms crossed about his chest and eyes focused on you as you made your way toward him. 

“You’ve been working all night, how about a quick break. I made you something.” Setting the plate down on the desk, you waited for him to give it attention before making your next move. His hand reached for the small treats and you sighed relief when he placed it in his mouth. “These are your favorite.” 

“Mmhm.” He stood, hands busying themselves with several documents. Your nerves made you fidget even more and, soon, those butterflies were making all sorts of words fall out of your mouth. 

“I figured we could take a walk around the estate. It’s a lovely night.” He slid several files into the bookcase before heading back toward the desk, his hands resting on the arm rests as he began his descent into the chair. “Does that sound like fun, husband?” 

The sound of Scara falling onto the floor caused you to jump. The chair he was trying to sit in launched itself across the room while your hands extended to help him. 

“Scara!?” He stood quickly, face hidden from you and you worried he might have hit his head. “Are - are you okay?” 

“I’m fine, stop fussing.” He blocked your hands but there wasn’t much he could do when you finally saw his face. His cheeks were redder than the apples on the trees, it spread across the bridge of his nose in such a lovely shade you covered your mouth at the sight. “Do-don’t look at me.” 

“Okay.” Turning your head, you glanced at the poor state of the chair in need of repair when you felt a hand tug at your clothes. A hand caused you to take in every single thing he said as if your life depended on it. 

“Don’t ... say that in front of other people.” 

“Oh, okay, sorry. I won’t, I mean I didn’t -” 

“Just in front of me.” 

“uhh?” 

“You can only say it ... in front of me.” He whispered, eyes flashing to you before the color of his skin deepened and he quickly stormed out of the room leaving you a shocked and near giggling mess. 

Thoma

.... flustered af ... 

You were looking for him, though that wasn’t anything new, but no matter where you searched you couldn’t find him. That was until you spied him working in the sand garden, his hands busy with removing weeds and watering the plants. Yellow hair illuminated in the light, his accessories reflecting the world around him but it was him, just Thoma, that captured all your attention. 

“Thoma!” You shouted. Eyes glittering in anticipation but when he didn’t answer you or appear to notice your calls, you tried again. “Thomaaaaa! No reply so, in a huff, you moved to another location and tried again, this time with a little extra something that might pull him from his work. “HUSBAND!” 

He shot up so fast at the sound of your voice that he nearly stumbled backward but luckily was saved by a tree branch hitting the back of his head. Grimacing, you ran the rest of the way down to him and immediately offered him aid. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” 

“Ouch. You didn’t ... well ... you did ...” He tracked your face while you stood on your toes to examine the back of his head, your hand on his shoulder, fingers rummaging through his hair, lips dangerously close. 

“It looks okay, are you okay?” 

“... I’ll be fine.” 

“Good!” Giggling you brushed the dust off his shoulders and he found himself unable to stop the words tumbling from his mouth. 

“You ... you called me husband?” 

“Yeah, I wanted to get your attention. Sorry, I’m sure that was a shock.” 

Your smile, your eyes, your brightness made him sigh but he couldn’t deny that the word sounded quite nice from your lips. “It was but, I didn’t .. mind much.” 

“Oh, so can I call you husb-mm.” His hand covered your mouth, the scent of rich earth and sweetness filling your nose while your eyes soaked in the shade of pink slipping up his neck and chest. 

“Man, you’re gonna make my heart explode ...” He dropped his gaze and you were happy he was covering your mouth because, if he wasn’t, you’re squeal might have startled the birds. 

Zhongli 

pays it no attention at all

“How’s the tea?” You asked, setting the kettle on the circular pad in the center of the table. 

“Delicious, you’ve grown quiet skilled at this.” 

“I had a good teacher.” Giggling, you turned from the table and made your way to the cabinets that held several dishes you wished to use for the evenings meal but no matter how strained you made your body, you couldn’t reach them. “Zhongli dear, can you help me?” You shifted, tried again and waited for him to appear but when he didn’t you turned your head to see him distracted by the world. “Husband, a little assistance.” 

Immediately, he turned his attention to you and as soon as the teacup rested back on the table he was out of his seat, headed your way. His eyes gazed into your own, his chest so close to your arm you could feel his heat but the hand he placed against your back was even hotter. “Those ones, please.” Pointing, he followed your request easily and soon the plates were resting in your hand. “Thank you, hu-husband.” Glancing up at him you hoped for a bit more of a response but found only the standard Zhongli. 

“You are welcome, dear. Is there anything else?” He tilted his head and waited for you to reply but all you gave him was a quiet ‘no.’ 

Carefully, you placed the dishes on the island countertop and watched him turn back toward the table. “Husband.” You whispered thinking he wouldn’t really hear you. 

“Yes.” 

“So you can hear me ...” 

“Of course I can, do you need something.” 

“... No, I just expected more of a reaction from you ... nevermind.” Turning toward the sink, you reached for the faucet but stalled when a hand covered yours. 

“You are welcome to call me anything you wish.” Zhongli began, fingers running down your spine. “I will answer it because it is you. Though this title is currently unofficial, I have always considered you my partner and one day I will take your hand and this title if you’ll have me.” 

“Mmhm.” Nodding your head, you looked up at him and became lost in his auburn eyes. 

“I will get things in order, this contract is important after all.” He kissed your forehead and disappeared down the hall to his study while you stood god smacked near the sink. 

Xiao

what does that mean ...?

“Xiao Xiao!!” You called out, desperate to see him since you were going to be gone for several days. You were heading out to see some of your dear friends but felt a pain in your heart for leaving Xiao alone without you. Would he forget you, would he feel lonely, or get hurt. All the thoughts you dreaded came flooding into your head but you did your best to keep them subdued. “Where is he?” 

Leaning over the railing, you tried to see if he was below you when a huge gust of wind pushed you back and into the arms of the man you were looking for. 

“That was dangerous.” Xiao’s voice filled your ears and you quickly turned to face him. 

“I was looking for you.” 

“Just call my name, don’t put yourself at risk like that.” He gave your head a small shove and sighed at your silly reaction, the lighthearted giggle that told him you weren’t listening at all. 

“I wanted to see my husband before I left tomorrow! Are you busy, we can get something to eat?” 

“I’m not hungry, but I will join you.” 

“YAY!” Giddiness flowing through you, the archway toward the stairs had already seen your face before Xiao managed to grab your wrist and hold you steady. “Xiao ... what’s wrong?” 

“You ... you called me something different.” 

“.. huh? what did I ... oh ... OH MY.” The words you normally shared with your friends slipped through your barrier and into the ears of the one person you didn’t want to hear them. “Uuh, it’s just well ...” He crossed his arms and waited for your explanation. “It’s like a term you call someone you really like ... uh someone you love and admire ...” 

Terrible explanation there friend. 

“I see. Alright then, husband, let’s get you something to eat.” 

“AH! Xiao wait ... that’s ...” Your hands covered your face in utter embarrassment but he was already half-way down the stairs and offering greetings to Smiley before you heard the word “husband’ spill from his mouth yet again. “NOO!” 

--

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@noctynue @lotsoffandomstoimagine @justfandomlover @odafashioned

[qqueenofhades]

Russian here. While I totally agree with you re Baltic countries not letting us in, I totally disagree with your comparison of protesting in Russia and protesting in the USA. I’m not downplaying the bravery of BLM protesters in any way, but your jailing system (while horrible and especially dangerous to black people) doesn’t mean that you are definitely going to get tortured in some way or another, that you are very likely going to be raped and going out to protest doesn’t mean that you are going to get 15 years in prison (where again you are going to get tortured this time 100 %) with total disregard to any special needs you might have and basically left for dead (Sasha Skolichenko wasn’t even protesting by the way, I think she was doing what people in democratic states might call minor misdemeanor and she is now being purposefully held in such a way that will make sure that her health will deteriorate). The protesters were sent to the army yesterday btw. Those who were arrested yesterday were sent to the army.

USA is a democratic state. I live in a totalitarian dictatorship. I am being photographed by the police in Moscow metro on the daily basis, while going to work. With all due respect (and I have a lot of respect, I’m being serious) I have a suspicion that USA Americans are not accustomed to living like I do.

Like, I am completely at peace with the prospect of being hated for the rest of my life by other nations. I might even deserve it. But I am foaming at the mouth when people try to present that the current wave of protesters are people who have been pro war before. No. Just no. These are people who were celebrating the victories of Ukrainian army a couple of weeks ago. And these are people who are protecting their right to not be criminals.

There are a lot of people who changed their opinion on the war because they might get hurt, yes, but I assure you they are not the ones protesting right now. Cowards are not part of protest movement here. They just can’t be, the stakes are too high.

I would tend to agree with this, yes, and I apologize for making a somewhat too-broad comparison in my previous post. As you point out, a flawed liberal democracy (well, for the moment, since we have a very active movement trying to turn us into a fascist one-party state as well) and a totalitarian dictatorship are not the same social environments and do not have the same response to/expectation of protests. And yes, as I also said, it absolutely takes a great deal of personal courage to protest in Russia, which I have recognized from the start and continue to admire. I'm definitely not trying to come off as arrogantly ordering ordinary people to sacrifice themselves en masse in the teeth of a totalitarian state that will use all the amounts of force available to it and then some, and then (as you note) send them to the army to get killed anyway. Two for the price of one! So yes, your point on this is definitely well taken.

As I said in another recent ask, this whole thing is a tragedy on every level, not least for the untold, unmendable, and totally unnecessary damage that it's doing to Russia as a state and to the Russian people (yet again). There were so many choices that could have been made differently, in regard to Russia's post-Cold War path and regression under Putin, and... well, we're now all dealing with the consequences. There are absolutely some extremely brave people in Russia who have opposed the war from the start and continue to oppose it now, in unimaginable circumstances, and I'm not downplaying that in any way (and I really hope you guys can keep it up). I think some of my frustration is just a reflection of the fact that the world is wondering when or if that internal/domestic Russian resistance is ever going to reach critical mass, because -- as noted -- you're the only ones who can solve this mess, regardless of the terrible odds that are facing you. So yeah, the situation is absolutely terrible, and I'm not asking anyone to suddenly rise up and be a hero, but... still.

I hope you hang in there, and I hope you can find the strength to continue living somehow. Thanks for this perspective.

[i-am-bitterly-jittery]

On Death’s Doorstep (pt 18/?)

[<<First],,,,[<Prev],[Next>] [ODD Masterlist]

Word Count: 1607

Rating: Teen

Pairing: Anxceit

Warnings: past abuse, past death, I didn’t edit this at all before posting

~~~START~~~

Janus found themself in Virgil’s apartment at least once a day. They liked his company — shut up Remus — and they were pretty sure he enjoyed theirs too. Sometimes one or both (or even more) twins were there, sometimes it was just Janus, Virgil, and Patton. 

They’d been attempting over the last few weeks to teach Virgil how to cook. He’d mastered pancakes, but a healthy diet needed a little more substance. 

Virgil was awful at cooking. Like, to the point where Janus thought he might be self sabotaging on purpose. Cookies seemed to go from undercooked to burnt in half a second, any and all pasta was somehow way overdone even though Janus told him how long to boil the noodles for, and meat always seemed to be burnt on the outside and undercooked — sometimes cold — on the inside. 

But every time Virgil got something right, every time his food even resembled being edible, he seemed so pleased with himself…

Janus had it bad. 

Today, they’d been planning on showing Virgil how to use a rice cooker — very hard to misuse a rice cooker, just scoop rice, fill to the line, and hit cook, how hard could it be? — but Patton had other plans. 

“Daddy, can we go to the park?” Patton asked, wrapping his arms around Virgil’s leg and staring, pleadingly, straight up. The glasses Logan made him gave him the unfair advantage of having enormous eyes. 

“Sorry, kiddo,” Virgil grimaced. “I don’t think we can go today.”

Logan was very strict about when Virgil could leave the third floor and journey up to the rooftop park, and he usually required at least a day’s notice before allowing the trip in order to make sure the roof’s safety systems were still working properly. And besides, Logan hadn’t left his lab in days — at least, as far as Janus knew he hadn’t, but it was entirely possible that he was still mad at Janus and therefore just avoiding them. 

Patton, however, was allowed to go up to the rooftop at any time so long as he had a responsible adult with him (which in this case just meant anyone other than Remus, who was great with children, but terrible at being responsible). 

“I can take him,” Janus was offering before their brain had the time to catch up with their mouth. 

Why had they said that? They were awful with children! The first time they’d interacted with Patton, they’d only served to make his distress worse!

But Patton was staring at them with those big blue eyes, and Virgil looked so relieved. 

Janus had it so bad. 

So now Janus was on the roof with Patton trying not to be a complete failure as babysitter. Patton wanted to go on the swings, so Janus worried the whole time that they’d accidentally push him off the swing completely. Patton wanted to play heroes and villains, so Janus struggled to make even the most basic of dialogue — despite literally being a supervillain. Patton wanted to play tag, so Janus tried to run slowly enough to not tag Patton immediately, while also quickly enough to tag Patton eventually. 

None of this came naturally to them, but Patton seemed so happy that they thought that might be ok. 

“M. Janus,” Patton said eventually, tuckered out from their game of tag and lying on the foam play mats that lined the playground area. “Can I tell you something?”

“Of course,” Janus answered. They’d been lost in thought debating whether to stay standing or to sit on the ground with Patton, so the child’s serious expression startled them. 

“I don’t think my papa’s coming back.”

What were they supposed to say to that!? “What makes you say that?”

“Daddy doesn’t talk about him anymore,” Patton answered, frowning at the sky. “And he gets sad when I ask.”

“Oh,” Janus said, dumbly. 

“You’re nervous,” Patton observed. “Like daddy when Mr. Franky is around.”

“I’m not!” This kid was starting to freak them out, there was way too much intelligence in those eyes. 

“Lying is bad,” Patton pouted, and just like that, he was a little kid again. 

“I’m very sorry.”

“No you’re not!” Patton giggled. 

“No,” Janus agreed, finally deciding to sit. “I am not.”

“You’re silly!” Patton laughed. 

Janus cracked a smile at that. Maybe this is why people like children so much, they thought as Patton continued to giggle. 

“M. Janus, do you have a daddy?” Patton asked once his giggles subsided. 

“No,” Janus answered. “At least, not one that I ever knew.”

“A papa?”

“No. I used to have a mama, but she’s gone now, like your papa.” The smile slipped from their face at the memory of their mama. 

“I don’t have a mommy,” Patton said. “Daddy doesn’t have a mommy either.”

“Oh.” 

Asking Virgil about his old life had felt like crossing a line, but Janus was curious, and Patton was offering information…

“Have you met your grandparents?” They asked

“Uh huh!” Patton nodded happily. “Grandpa and pop pop visit a lot! Um, daddy couldn’t see them last time cuz he was busy, but Miss Sophie took me to see them in the visiting room and grandpa showed me a magic trick!”

“That sounds fun,” Janus said before their brain fully caught up to what Patton had said. “Visiting room?”

“Yeah! It’s got all sorts of games, and coloring books, and chairs for everyone to sit in! One time pop pop said it reminded him of a waiting room at the doctor’s office!”

“Oh…” Apparently, no matter how much Janus learned about the superhero program, there would still be details that managed to hit them like a ton of bricks. There was a reason they’d picked the side they’d picked, but they really thought the ‘good guys’ would at least put some effort into looking like good guys. 

“Why are you sad?” Patton asked, cocking his head to the side innocently. 

“It’s nothing you need to worry about, dear,” Janus reassured him gently. Patton was definitely a little too perceptive for a young child. 

Patton climbed into Janus’s lap and wrapped his arms around their neck. “Don’t be sad.”

Oh, Janus thought as a wave of contentment washed over them. He’s an empath. 

Their mama had been an empath, so they were quite familiar with the feeling of empathic soothing. It felt a little like being a kid again, they could almost hear their mama’s quiet humming and their sister playing in the other room. For a moment they let themself revel in the smell of bread baking and the faint sound of the fan whirling overhead. 

But then Janus opened their eyes, and they were back on the rooftop. Nothing but a memory. 

“Thank you, Patton,” they smiled, valiantly ignoring the faint misting of their eyes. “You are a very good cheerer-upper.”

Patton beamed proudly at the compliment. 

“Now, are you ready to go back inside, or would you like to play one more game?”

“Um, can we go on the big slide?” Patton asked, once again using his large eyes to his advantage. 

Virgil had mandated the first time they’d been brought up to the rooftop playground that Patton could only go down the big slide if someone was going with him. He hadn’t asked for it yet this time, but he usually asked his dad or one of the twins to go down with him at least once a trip. 

“Of course, Patton.”

Patton held Janus’s hand the entire way up to the slide, and showed Janus how to sit properly so that they could hold on to Patton without the toddler going flying. 

“Okay,” Janus said once they were all settled. “In three. Two. One!”

Patton screamed in delight the whole way down. 

“Again, please!” He begged once he was standing on his own two — wobbly — feet. 

“Hmm, I suppose one more time won’t hurt,” Janus mused. “But after that we should get going; we don’t want you daddy to worry too much.”

Patton nodded seriously as he dragged Janus back up the play structure. 

“Jus’ one more time,” he agreed. “Then we have to check on daddy.”

One more trip down the slide seemed to be all it took to wear Patton out. He held his arms up for Janus to pick him up once he’d finished giggling, and showed Janus how to properly hold him so that he was settled on their hip; to Janus, it wasn’t the most natural hold, but Patton settled immediately into the crook of their neck and was out like a light. 

Virgil was right there to take Patton from them as soon as they opened the door to the third-floor apartment, and Janus had a sneaking suspicion that he’d been hovering nervously by the door ever since they’d left. 

“Looks like you two had fun,” Virgil commented as he transferred Patton onto his own hip. Patton mumbled something, but settled down quickly. 

“Well, roughly speaking, I believe we played all of the games,” Janus joked quietly. “And we finished it all up by going down the big slide.”

“That’s nice.” It was a good thing Patton was mostly asleep otherwise he’d have been called out for lying. “I should put him down for his nap.”

“I should get going,” Janus said, turning back towards the door. 

“Or,” Virgil interjected. “Maybe you could stay for a while?”

When Janus turned back around the hero’s face was bright red. They considered giving a teasing reply — why my dear Knightcaster, it almost sounds like you’re fond of me — but they didn’t want the invitation to get rescinded. 

“That sounds lovely.”

~~~END~~~

AO3 comment: can’t wait to get a Janus and Patton “episode”

Me: oh yeah… that kinda needs to happen soon considering Janus is supposed to be Virgil’s love interest

So anyway, one more chapter after this in section 2 (it’s hella short, and I’ll probably post it in the next couple days)

For once in the whole time I’ve spent writing this fic the entire way forward seems clear to me, I know how to start section 3, I know what exactly happens in section 4, it’s all clear to me and I’m very excited about it (that doesn’t mean it won’t take me a while to write, but hopefully it speeds up the process a little)

ODD taglist:

@royalty-of-all-things-snuggly @pixelated-pineapple @arsonic-knight @misunderstood-shadowling @lost-in-thought-20 @remy-the-lemon-berry @jinxcrafter @apinkline2715 @gothfoxx @donutsarepartybagels @xoaningout @meganmoneky14

[honeymoonjin]

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ot7 x reader || ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 7.8k || ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: smut - rated 18+

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ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: threesome, nipple play, riding, unprotected sex, dom!taehyung, sub!?, restraints, blindfold, degradation, praise

A/N: it's my first time writing tgm smut in so long i hope it's okay ;;;-;

DAY TWENTY-SIX

Unable to fall deeply into sleep, when you wake fitfully at half past six in the morning, you decide to give up on it entirely.

A bath wakes you up slowly and gently, in no rush to clean yourself with a soapy loofah, the sweet smell of orange blossom lifting your mood just slightly. No matter how hard you scrub at your skin, Jin’s touch lingers beneath the surface like a tattoo, the reminder that you’d willingly chosen to cut him off from you that elimination day, and that your decision was keeping him from you.

The previous night, you’d spent hours with a hand cradling your cheek, trying to work out what the kiss even meant. A farewell, a consolation prize, a promise for patience? Either way, it just felt cruel to you. You rub harder, covering yourself in the foamed soap and watching it dissolve into the water.

By the time you dry yourself, well over an hour has passed, and the pangs of hunger start to flare off inside your stomach. You dress quickly, thoughtlessly, and sneak out of your door to the complete silence of the second storey. Nobody else seems to be awake yet, so you take your chance to go down and start on some breakfast.

The selection is relatively bleak to your lazy body, unwilling to make anything that requires the kind of effort the two eldest men tended to give for a meal. In the end, you tug some leftover curry from the back of the fridge, giving it a stir and setting it to heat up in the microwave.

The rhythmic whir and countdown combined with your lack of sleep is enough to have you feeling weak, slumping on the counter top. You rest your heavy head for a moment, pillowing it with your arm, and watch the dish turn around and around and…

“-matter, we’ll just wait and find out.”

“Are you sure?”

“Trust hyung. It’ll be fine. Can you pass me the- no, just beside it, the soy sauce- thank you. Should be ready soon.”

“Mhm, smells good.”

Adjusting to your sloped return to consciousness, it is the inviting smell that greets you after your hearing. A deep, meaty aroma is lifted with spices, making your mouth water.

The moment you shift, a sharp pain runs down your spine, settling at the back of your neck. You grunt, eyes squeezing shut at the ache.

“There she is. Must’ve been tired, poor thing.” The first one grows louder, sounding close to you as fingers reach out to tap your shoulder. “Wake up, sweetheart. Let’s get you something to eat.”

You groan again, lifting your heavy body up enough to prop your elbows on the table and press your hands against your eyes, willing coherence to sink back in. “Morning,” you croak, though by the way you feel, it could very well be evening.

The figure behind you - Yoongi, by his smooth rumbling voice - moves back around into the kitchen, and your ears perk up with the clink of bowls on the countertop. Blinking blearily, you yawn and focus in on the second person.

Jungkook is lifting a heavy saucepan and carefully pouring a stew into three bowls, the pink of his tongue trapped between his lips. “‘S that enough?” he questions, biceps flexing beneath his shirt as he hovers with the pan.

Yoongi nods once, fiddling in the drawer for spoons and chopsticks, and quickly hands you a set with your bowl, steaming lightly.

You smile gratefully, reaching out to feel the heat radiating off the ceramic. “Thanks, Yoongi.” The last of your sleep fades away, and you gasp suddenly, shooting up ramrod straight. “Wait - Yoongi, Jungkook! You’re back!”

“Keen eye,” Yoongi drawls sarcastically, but a fond smile plays on his lips nonetheless as he blows on a spoonful of broth. “Dad checked out of the hospital around 5. He’s doing really well.”

“Oh, Yoongi, I’m so glad,” you gush, relief filling your system.

Yoongi, however, seems to grow somber, eyebrows drawing together. “It wasn’t all good news, though.”

You freeze. “What? What happened?”

Like the news pains him, Yoongi grimaces. Jungkook, too, looks absolutely crestfallen. In unison, they open their mouths with matching frowns.

“The restaurant sold out of lamb skewers.”

“I didn’t see a single gho- Oh, yeah, the lamb skewers,” Jungkook tacks on, deflating. “But we stopped by a market on the way home to buy some lamb so we could make our own.”

“We?” Yoongi asks incredulously. “I didn’t see any ‘we’ when you refused to chop vegetables just now.”

Jungkook makes an offended noise in the back of his throat. “I just suffered a paranormal experience, hyung, I was too shaky to handle a knife.”

“You just said you didn’t see any ghosts.”

The youngest huffs. “I felt them.”

Your head darts back and forth, lamb stew forgotten as you watch the playful rally between the two men. Yoongi doesn’t miss a beat, raising a single brow. “What; was there a poltergeist petting zoo on the fourth floor I wasn’t told about?”

“Their presence, hyung. I felt their presence. Taehyung even said he could feel a chilling aura coming through the phone and into his body, but he thinks it could’ve just been Jimin’s feet.”

Yoongi presses a few fingers to his temples like he’s getting a headache. “You mean to tell me I had to get my sickly father to pretend you were his son all for you to stay the night, and the only thing that happened was Taehyung getting possessed by the ghost of Jimin’s feet?”

Jungkook blinks once. “There was a vending machine that gave out free lollipops,” he offers.

“A vending…” Yoongi sighs, eyes slipping closed. “Jungkook, I think that’s for patients who get low blood sugar. For emergencies.”

“Oh.” Jungkook considers this for a moment. “I took five of them.”

“Of course you did. Alright, eat up, please. It’s getting cold.”

You quickly thank Yoongi for the meal with a bemused smile, chest feeling light at having the two back in your company, and Yoongi in a visibly better mood than the past two times you’d seen him. The three of you fall into an easy silence for a few moments, but it doesn’t last long as the others in the house begin to wake.

Namjoon is first down, getting over his initial surprise quickly and rapid-firing countless questions to Yoongi about his father, ensuring he truly was alright. Taehyung and Jimin are next, the former just about barrelling into Jungkook and Yoongi, tugging them into a bear hug as Jimin watches fondly from behind. When a bleary-eyed Hoseok comes down, he notices the breakfast before the company, letting out a relieved groan at a mouthful of broth and promptly choking on it as he processes the presence of Jungkook and Yoongi.

Finally, it’s Jin that takes the longest to wake, and when he turns the corner and spots them, his only response is a wordless sigh, and a silent hug. Despite that, his emotions radiate off him in waves, and you don’t doubt there are unsaid words shared between him and Yoongi. To your surprise, he breaks away after a moment and pulls Jungkook into a tight albeit brief embrace as well, patting him on the back with a quiet murmur you don’t catch.

It feels right, comfortable and calming to have all eight of you back in the Villa together. The short absence feels so much more extended when you’re used to the same company twenty-four hours a day, and having them all back in your immediate vicinity again feels like a hit of some intense high. The relief rushes through your system, and you catch yourself unconsciously counting heads over and over.

“So I guess we just sit here?” Hoseok asks at one point, interrupting the blanket of quiet that had descended over you as you ate. “Do you think we should text Sejin and tell him to come debrief us or what? It feels like we’re in limbo.”

“No need.” A new voice resonates from behind you, Sejin himself walking through the doorway.

Taehyung narrows his eyes to the point of almost closing them, glaring first at the producer and then at the dormant cameras in the top corners of the room.

“Don’t worry, we aren’t rolling just yet. I’ve just been waiting a while for you all to get sorted. I figured you deserved to at least eat first, Yoongi, Jungkook.”

“Well, we’ve eaten,” Yoongi confirms, oddly stiff, an unreadable expression darkening his features. “I guess that means it’s showtime again.”

Jungkook looks up at him from his hunched posture leaning on the countertop. “I bet a lot of them missed you, hyung. The viewers. They seemed really worried on Twitter.”

Yoongi blinks, shifting. “Missed-? I- I suppose it was sudden. We should probably get this thing up and running again so they aren’t concerned.”

As Sejin nods in confirmation and pulls out his phone to relay the message, you nearly miss the quirk at Jungkook’s lips at changing Yoongi’s attitude so easily. The two of them seem at ease with each other like nothing you’ve seen before. No doubt due to the time they’d spent together last night, and it warms your heart to see them standing so closely.

“Come on, then,” Sejin announces, belatedly lifting his gaze and putting his phone back away, the cameras installed around the room blinking back to life with their steady red blip. “Let’s move to the couches again.”

“Just like the good old days,” Jungkook sighs dreamily.

Jin raises a brow, taking a seat in the center of the middle couch, the two youngest jumping in on either side of him like toddlers ready for a bedtime story. You do your best to ignore him, still feeling sensitive from the night before. “You mean ‘just like four days ago?’”

From his left side, Taehyung huffs lightly, though makes no effort to distance himself at all from the eldest. “Time is a social construct.”

“Can we make a start?” Sejin questions, perched on the corner of the coffee table with his hands on this thighs. “I doubt the viewers are here to listen to you bicker.”

“Right you are,” Taehyung notes, nodding sagely, “they’re here for the good stuff.” He shares a glance with Jungkook, and in unison the two of them place their hands side-by-side directly on top of Jin’s crotch, glancing up at the cameras expectantly.

Jin clicks his tongue like his dick being used as a prop is little more than a mild inconvenience, making no move to push their hands away.

They do, however, when Sejin flattens a stare at the two of them. The youngest properly chastened, the producer finally looks around at all of you as a group. “For the sake of continuity and coherence, we’re picking up where we last left off: Limited Edition week. Yoongi, you’re the only one to already have completed your prompt-” the man puffs his chest at this, sharp eyes darting to you as Sejin speaks, “-so you’re done for the week. Namjoon, Hoseok, Jungkook and Jimin, I’m afraid you’re left with very little time to complete yours. Because of this, you’re no longer required to wait for a text message to start your scenes, and I’m also postponing the Fan Favourite vote until Monday morning to give you some additional time. We’ll unfortunately have to merge it with the elimination meeting. Today is already Friday, so do the best you can.”

“We won’t let you down,” Jungkook promises fiercely, conspicuously glancing down at Jin’s lap as if he’s about to use it for emphasis again.

Sejin sighs, shifting back, continuing on as if he didn’t hear the strangely passionate pact. “If anyone has forgotten their prompt, don’t hesitate to ask, otherwise the show is back on as per usual. Producer Kang is coming in at midday to set up the confessional booth again, so from this afternoon onwards, feel free to use it again to share your thoughts. I’m sure the viewers will have their fair share of questions for you as well. Understood?”

Most of you nod, content with the update. You try and fight the sickly flutter of anxiety in your chest that creeps up at the reminder of elimination, focusing instead on the side of you that’s relieved to have this level of normalcy back, and secretly pleased to have your cards filled up for the next few days. It feels like it’s been longer than it has, and you shift in your seat wondering who will approach you first out of the four men yet to fill their prompt.

Perhaps it won’t be Jungkook; he pushes himself off Jin and tiptoes to Sejin’s retreating figure, asking for a reminder on his prompt with shy pink cheeks. The producer lets out a weak laugh of bemusement and guides him out of the front door to escort him to the producing van outside.

The others seem to know what they’re doing, and you spy Namjoon and Hoseok with heads ducked together, Hoseok grinning at something Namjoon’s saying. The two have been growing closer lately, almost out of nowhere, and you’re curious if they’ll stick as two peas in a pod when it comes to the game, too.

The four of you that remain chill for a bit, making lazy conversation on how strange it feels being back on the clock again. It’s nice, being able to enjoy the time relatively care-free. Despite the overall weirdness of the competition in context to real life, it’s become a comfortable familiarity, and you welcome it back.

You could happily spend the whole morning there, were it not for the sharp bolt of pain that rushes up your spine when you turn to listen to something Jimin has to say.

Gasping, hand coming up to cradle the back of your neck instinctively, you squeeze your eyes shut at the sensation. From beside you, it takes no time for Jimin’s hands to find you, gently settling on your back and arm as he asks you if you’re okay.

“I fell asleep on the counter this morning,” you admit, trying not to move your head at all as you speak, “I think it messed up my neck.”

As your eyes untense and open again, you see Jimin’s rounded in concern, first at you and then glancing over at Tae in sober worry. His teeth are running over his lower lip over and over, a habit that he does in moments of stress and helplessness, and through the ache you can’t help but feel warm at his reaction.

“When does it hurt most?” you hear Taehyung ask, and it’s habit that makes you turn your head to face him.

“Fuck,” you curse thickly, shoulders hunching up against the tight feeling, “just when I turn it. Feels like a tug that shouldn’t be there.”

Yoongi and Jin are silent, and from your new angle of vision, you can see their apt focus on you, Yoongi going so far as to be shuffled half off  his couch, ready to jump up and give medical aid.

“It’s probably a crick in your neck,” Taehyung asks, and you spot his mop of browl curls fill your vision as he crouches in front of you and looks back over his shoulder. “Right, hyung?”

Yoongi hums in agreement. “Sounds like it. I can get a heat pack?”

“I have some upstairs,” Taehyung answers, “I think a massage would help a lot. Y/n, do you think you can make it upstairs?”

You take a moment to consider this, and gently shift your head around with small motions. Up and down seems to be fine, and left and right hurt the more you turn. “I think it’ll be okay,” you decide, “I didn’t really notice it that much until just now.”

“Okay.” Taehyung presses his lips together and stands up again, holding out his hand to you. Slowly, with several check-ins, he guides you upstairs and into his bedroom, assisting you in sitting down on the bed, propped up against a mountain of pillows. You leave Jin and Yoongi downstairs, but Jimin insists on following, his hand warm against the small of your back the whole way up.

Feeling a little embarrassed at the fuss they’re making, you nonetheless soak up the chance to be at the center of their attention, Jimin linking your fingers together from the side of the bed as Taehyung rushes around, grabbing a single-use heat pack and some massage oils.

“You’ll need to turn around so your back is facing me,” Taehyung instructs, getting on the bed behind you. It’s a little awkward shifting around with three of you on the bed, and you unable to really move as freely as you’d like, but after a moment Jimin has replaced your original spot against the headboard, your knees bumping his as you sit cross-legged with Taehyung behind you. “Okay, that’s good. Just relax.”

Your shirt has a relatively low, round neck, and even though it’s not quite loose enough to push past your shoulders, Tae doesn’t want to make you take it off and risk hurting yourself further, so he just makes do, warming some oil between his fingers.

The soothing smell of lavender fills the air, and your shoulders go lax as Taehyung slips gently presses down on them with his still-dry knuckles, thumbs sliding up to hold your neck steady. As he pushes the hem down as much as he can and begins to slide his fingertips over your skin to spread the aromatic oil, you fight the urge to let your head loll back. It’s been a long time since Taehyung gave you a massage, and though you have no doubt he’d do it anytime in a heartbeat if you asked, you always felt strange approaching it. A crick in the neck was not ideal, but certainly a nice excuse to have his hands on you again.

In front of you, Jimin watches you carefully for any sight of pain. While a month ago you may have been intimidated or even put off by his intense stare, you know he’s there to make sure you’re alright, and you’ve seen him vulnerable enough to feel okay sharing this with him.

It is still a little awkward, however, and as Taehyung lets his fingers dip as low as they can between your shoulder blades, you send Jimin a crooked smile. “Do you want some popcorn?”

He scoffs warmly with a shake of his head. “If I’m bothering you…?”

You almost shake your head, sucking in a sharp breath through your nose as you fight the automatic urge. “No, you’re fine. I just don’t think me getting my neck fixed is very-” Your voice is abruptly cut off by a staccato groan punched out of you by Taehyung pressing his thumbs right into the knots on either side of the base of your neck. He crawls them up carefully but confidently, beginning to smooth out the tension, and you can’t help your eyes fluttering shut. “Very entertaining,” you finish, breathier than when you started.

“That’s where I’d have to disagree,” Jimin responds in a buttery whisper. With eyes closed, you don’t see him move, and are caught off guard by the tickle of sensation that arises on the sensitive skin of your inner ankle as he slowly sweeps a single fingertip in lazy circles around the bump of the bone. The touch isn’t particularly sexy in its location, but nevertheless feels dizzingly intimate with the knowledge of whose finger it is roaming the fine details of your body.

“I see how it is,” you manage to respond, but the fight is drained from you from both ends; Jimin at your ankles, Taehyung at the nape of your neck. Taehyung’s touch is distinctly heavier and more decisive than Jimin’s, and it becomes harder to resist lying back against him as he works at the sore muscles of your neck.

“My clients aren’t normally so chatty with someone that isn’t me,” Taehyung remarks from behind you, lightly flicking the side of your neck in playful complaint.

“Client?” you question with a pout he can’t see but can definitely hear. “Are we not even lovers, Tae?”

He hums, so low in his chest that it’s a soft growl, and his hands converge on your sternum, face coming forward to press at the side of your cheek as he hugs you from behind. Your heart rate picks up at the proximity; his lips so close to yours, but impossible to reach from the angle. “You know I can’t touch you like a lover should. Not now.”

“Would it be so bad?” you wonder aloud, even as you recall the rule that would get him kicked out should he touch you intimately. The rule wasn’t so harsh were it you to touch him, however. “I could.”

His breath comes out in a rush that tingles your jaw. “Don’t tempt me,” he warns, sitting back upright and pressing the sides of your neck to straighten you up again, “you’re injured.”

“I’m injured?” you retort, “I thought you were meant to be fixing me. You mustn’t be doing a very good job.”

This time, the sound that leaves him most certainly is a growl. His fingers dig into the dips in your upper spine with a ferocity that while measured is distinctly more authoritative. You feel manhandled into wellness, the pain malleable and easily manipulated by his touch. Your body is heavy, barely able to hold itself up, but inside you feel lighter than air, so thrilled to be at the receiving end of Taehyung’s dominance after such a long time under Jimin’s strong hand.

As if following your thoughts, Taehyung mutters out a low, “hyung?” Jimin hums in response, his fingers circling your ankle and letting the lax weight of his arm pin you to the mattress. “I want to touch her so bad.”

You let out an unfiltered moan as you hear Taehyung talk about you to the man on your other side as if you’re not even there, though his fingers never stop for a second, leaching away every last ounce of pain.

“You can’t,” Jimin replies simply.

“But you can,” Taehyung fires back. “Do you trust me?”

Your eyes open wide as you hear the hidden meaning behind his words. Jimin seems to recognise it, too, as he looks past you with lips parted in surprise. It takes him a moment, but he eventually does respond. “I trust you.”

“Get the blindfold.”

It’s clear Jimin is hesitant about letting Taehyung take control. Not the kind of resistance you’d expect he’d give someone else trying to dom him, but simply the delay of uncertainty, of inexperience. He gets up on his knees after a moment to reach into the bedside stand’s drawer, pulling out a soft black sleeping mask.

Taehyung’s hands finally slow, fingertips slipping just under the hem, fiddling with your bra straps. “Put it on, hyung.”

“Tae,” Jimin breathes, eyebrows furrowed in worry, but he goes along, slipping it over his head and adjusting it, lips pursed. You see the way his Adam’s apple bobs with a harsh swallow, his toes curling and staying tucked.

“How’s your neck?” Taehyung asks you, and in your daze at seeing Jimin gingerly submit, it takes you a second to even realise he’s addressing you. You quickly assure him it’s fine, and feel your heart race as he takes his hands off you and backs away, pulling you backwards as he does. “Lie down for us,” he commands softly.

Your breathing is elevated, and you can’t seem to calm it as you watch Taehyung in your peripheral pull up a chair to the side of the bed. His knuckles are white as he clutches the arms, but his face is darkly focused.

“You can’t fuck her with all those clothes on, hyung,” Taehyung states simply, and you can see the way Jimin’s brows lift above the blindfold.

Obediently, Jimin moves towards you, but with his vision obscured he pats around to find you, fingers running blindly up your side to seek out the lower hem of your shirt and lift it over your head. There’s something strangely exciting about Jimin being the one to disrobe you, when only Taehyung will see your naked body, and the clumsy way the older man fiddles with the zip on your jeans before slipping them off makes it feel like he’s touching you for the first time.

It takes him no time at all to unhook your bra once he finds the hinge, and soon enough your panties, the only scrap of fabric left on your body, are being tugged down your legs impatiently. Once they’re gone, however, Jimin’s hands hover uncertainly over you, awaiting further instruction.

Taehyung grins, though Jimin won’t see it, and wets his lips. “So you can be a good boy, hm? Who would’ve thought the big bad wolf was just a little puppy?”

Jimin swallows, nostrils flaring as he struggles with his own submission. He offers no answer, but Taehyung doesn’t seem to mind, sitting forward in the chair.

“Are you hard, Jimin?” The blue-haired man grits his teeth at the intentional lack of honorifics, but confirms reluctantly that he is. “Show us.”

After opening and closing his mouth, Jimin swallows hard again and his fingers pat against his waistband until he reaches the button, undoing it and dipping a hand in to release his cock. True to his word, he’s hard, the tip glossed with precum and angry red.

A wave of arousal rushes through you so strong that you clench around nothing, wanting nothing more than to push him back and take what you need yourself. But it’s fascinating seeing him like this, and you don’t want to even speak, too scared to break the spell Taehyung has somehow constructed.

The younger man just lets out a flat noise as if unimpressed. Jimin’s dick twitches as his cheeks heat in shame. “Tae,” he breathes, fingers digging into the tensed flesh of his still-clothed thighs.

“It would benefit you to give my name more respect than that. I’m not your boyfriend now, not your pet. I’m your boss. I say what you can and cannot do. So what do you say to me?”

Jimin’s lips are parted, a pretty pink that trembles if you look closely enough. He stays silent for a moment, thinking it through. “Mister Kim,” he says, going so far as to duck his head shallowly in an imitation of a bow.

A dark smirk tugs at Taehyung’s lips. “I like that,” he decides, “good boy. Why don’t you touch our girl, then? She’s arching so nicely for you, Jimin, I think she wants to feel you on her pretty little tits.”

Your eyes couldn’t be wider if you tried, fingers twisted harshly in the bedsheets on either side of you. It’s true, your back hitching off the mattress in need. Truth be told, you’re shivering in the desire to feel him anywhere, but the thought of him flicking at your sensitive nipples has you letting out a shaky whimper.

It’s not Jimin’s hands that greet you, however. Instead, he uses them to catch his fall when he hangs forward, face burying in the soft skin close to your right hip. You can feel the hard tip of his nose, the tickle of his eyelashes, and the plush warmth of his lips.

You tremble beneath him at the way his breath heats your naked skin in pants. Jimin navigates higher with his nose, running it over you, lips dragging against you just enough for you to catch scrapes of his bottom teeth occasionally as he works from left to right, seeking out the swell of your breasts.

It’s not long before he crawls high enough, but it feels like an eternity of absence has been broken when it’s not his fingers but his hot, wet mouth that closes over your nipple, sucking it in like a man starved.

You gasp at the sudden bloom of sensation, a moan getting clogged in your throat. Once Jimin reaches you, you can feel the confidence of his usual dom persona return in the intense way he laps and nipples at the stiffening peak, but the hastened breaths that have his chest heaving above you are entirely due to Taehyung’s invisible grasp on the both of you.

It’s not until Jimin fastens his teeth around your nipple and tugs once, harsh enough to make you keen and grab at his shoulders, that he moves to the other side, repeating the previous treatment with twice the hunger and desperation as before.

“Mm, atta boy,” Taehyung praises in a borderline sarcastic drawl. Jimin huffs through his noise noisily against you as he places sloppy kisses on the pebbled skin around your nipple, and your eyes roll back at the overwhelming situation you’ve found yourself in. There’s something unbelievably obscene about being at the whim of Jimin touch but Taehyung’s command, of hearing and seeing and feeling Jimin be just as affected by Tae as you are.

Jimin’s still mostly dressed, but you can feel the heat radiating from his unsheathed cock as it presses against your leg, and you will Taehyung to demand Jimin fuck you, feeling out of your mind with need.

“You want to taste her somewhere else, don’t you?” Taehyung asks after a few moments of ecstasy. Jimin groans lowly against you, and you feel his hair tickle your breast as he nods. Taehyung’s voice hardens. “That’s a shame. On your back, Jimin. Clothes off.”

You and Jimin whine in unison as you’re parted again, but the latter wastes no time in undressing, throwing his shirt, pants and underwear away blindly, almost hitting Taehyung with them.

Taehyung lets out a cheeky smile as he ducks out of the way, before steeling his expression again and standing up to join you at the bed. You prop yourself up on your elbows to watch as Jimin lies down beside you, head propped up on the pillows.

Making him wait in silence and darkness for a moment long enough to make Jimin hold back another whine with a bit lip, Taehyung suddenly reaches out and rakes his nails up Jimin’s chest from his lower stomach to his collarbones, flicking his nipples on the way.

Jimin hisses and almost comes clean off the mattress, arms flying down, but Taehyung catches him at the wrists and tugs his arms up with a roughness that takes Jimin by surprise, leaving him pinned open with reddening lines across his torso.

“Fuck,” he curses, head thrashing back and forth once in frustration. He looks overwhelmed already, though you’re beginning to suspect this is his first time subbing, at least in many years. “T- Mister Kim, Mister Kim, please.”

“Y/n’s going to take what she wants now, Jimin,” Taehyung instructs gruffly, sending you an expectant gaze for you to get up, “and you’re going to give it all to her. Isn’t that right?”

“Please,” Jimin repeats brokenly, fingers curling in the open air as Taehyung holds his wrists up.

Heart racing violently in your chest, you find yourself straddling Jimin with barely-restrained excitement. His cock is lying against his lower abdomen, leaking steadily, and the moment you reach out and take it in your hand he lets out a low, keening sob, thighs lifting as if to curl in on himself.

“Colour, Jimin,” Taehyung demands, loosening his hold on the man’s wrists briefly.

Jimin lets out a frustrated whine, foot stomping against the mattress. He’s panting like he’s run a marathon, even with your hand still on him, and it almost seems like he’s about to end the scene with the pained look on his face. “Dammit, green. Fuck.”

Taehyung pauses for a moment, but suddenly a booming laugh is leaving him as he stares down at the figure on the bed below him, with restrained arms hanging uselessly in the air. “Oh, you dirty fucking boy,” he gushes, bending down to nip at the already-swollen flesh of Jimin’s lips, making the older boy whimper, “you love this, don’t you?”

Shaking his head, Jimin can’t hide the way blood rushes to his cheeks, tinging his face and neck pink as his cock pulses in your grip. It encourages you to move again, and you lean down to spit on it, hearing him hiccup wetly at the feeling of it before you’re jerking him off steadily to spread the slick around.

As much as he tries, Jimin can only hold back the sounds of pleasure for so long, and by the time you’re straddling him, lining him up at your entrance, his chest is heaving and every breath out is tinged in a moan. He all but trembles in anticipation as his tip bumps against you, and you suck in a single slow breath to prepare yourself before you’re sitting on his cock, feeling it part your walls deep inside.

Jimin shudders, and his arms, still in Taehyung’s grip, tug towards his own face to cover it, fingers curling into claws at the flood of sensation.

“Is it good?” Taehyung asks rhetorically, allowing Jimin to pull his hands over his face before cruelly spreading them wide again, leaning down until their noses touch, voice dipping to a gruff whisper, thick with arousal. “You don’t get to hide from us.”

You’re propping yourself up with one hand on Jimin’s heated chest and another on the mattress, letting yourself adjust to the intrusion, and you see the way his lips tremble every time you clench around him.

Though it hasn’t really been that long, you feel the stretch more than usual, especially without the foreplay involving any fingering. But, if you’re honest with yourself, you wouldn’t want it any other way.

There’s something so divine about rocking your hips against him and having his cock open you up through your own movements. You control the pace despite the whines and weak growls of complaint, and you take your time with it. While Jimin might prefer more friction, more motion, you’re enjoying the deep grind, his pelvis pressed to your clit every time you lean forward.

You look up from him, at Taehyung holding him down for you. His hair is messy, but no more than before, and he’s still fully dressed. His eyes are dark with lust and glimmering with excitement, and once he feels your gaze he looks up at you sharply. Your heart jumps, and you squeeze unintentionally around Jimin, making him groan.

Still looking at Taehyung, however, at his sculpted lips, strong gaze and hooded lids, you’re overwhelmed with the urge to lean forward and kiss him. It’s like a string is tied between the two of you, being cranked tighter and tighter. It would be so easy just to give in and-

“Don’t be mean, Y/n. Jimin is being good for us.” Taehyung grins at you, teeth glinting. “Make him come.”

Jimin’s chest hitches, and his hips rock shallowly up at you, unable to get the momentum to do much more. Still, it causes him to drag against your walls, and the pleasure shoots up your core at the feeling. Inspired by both your own pleasure and the need to please the two men with you, you steel your thighs and begin to ride Jimin in earnest.

It’s harder than you expect to keep a rhythm up. Every time you get a good downstroke that reaches your g-spot, it makes your legs tremble, and before long your thighs begin to ache. Nonetheless, you’re determined as you watch Jimin’s blindfolded face contort in pleasure, and you shift your position and bounce harder.

In the back of your mind, you hear Taehyung praise you, but you barely spare him a glance, chest lowering so that you can put all your energy into the tight motion of your hips. Your fingers dig into Jimin’s shoulder, and his muscles tense beneath them as he tries to reach out for you.

Every time he’s reminded of the grip Taehyung has on his arms, Jimin thrashes just a little beneath you, but his cock just keeps on getting stiffer inside you, and as you suck in harsh lungfuls of air, you know he’s getting close.

The sounds that leave his parted lips are nothing short of pornographic, losing all sense of shame or hesitation as he approaches that peak.

You fight off your own orgasm, tightening around Jimin as you try and hold back and distract yourself with him. You’re losing stamina quickly, the rhythm falling apart into unsteady jerks and bounces.

Taehyung watches you carefully, before bending down again and biting right into the plush flesh of Jimin’s cheek, addressing him only after he soothes the blooming red with his tongue. “Why don’t you return the favour and fuck her a little, my good boy?”

Jimin sobs, and his abs tighten as he attempts to get up, but Taehyung just tuts, instructing him to do it right where he is. Clearly too far gone to protest, you feel Jimin prop his feet up against the mattress with a shaky sniff. That’s your only warning before he makes full use of his core strength to piston his hips up into you with toe-curling speed, purely seeking out his own end.

You cry out, knees buckling at the first thrust, and your chin hits his shoulder awkwardly, almost biting your own tongue. Clutching at his arms, you attempt to hold yourself up enough not to bear your dead weight on him, and go along for the ride.

Even from his unwieldy position, Jimin manages far better than you did, and his his moans quickly raise in pitch and shorten in length, until he’s whimpering in desperate yips, thrusting up into you with such ferocity that your teeth chatter.

He’s deep inside you, deeper than he’s been before, and your eyes begin to well at your own impending orgasm.

Closer than you, however, Jimin freezes for a split second before he’s shuddering violently and spurting inside you. Taehyung holds onto him for a moment longer before he releases his wrists, and suddenly you’re being caged in by Jimin, his arms holding you flush against his heated torso as he grinds his cum into you, still blindfolded and barely able to catch a breath.

It’s this rocking motion that tips you over the edge, your clit gaining enough friction to break the dam, and you sob hard as the pleasure wracks through you. There isn’t a single inch of space between you and Jimin, and just as you think you’re in pure ecstasy, you feel Taehyung’s hand tangle in your hair, stroking it as his lips brush the shell of your ear with praises intended for the two of you.

Your face is wet and your body is trembling uncontrollably as you let your climax run through you, and when it fades you feel hollowed out, boneless.

Jimin is clearly the same, because he quite contentedly lets you lie atop him, panting just as hard as you are. His eyes remain closed long after Taehyung slips the blindfold off, pressing kisses to Jimin’s eyelids and the flush on his cheeks.

After a sweet eternity, you gather enough energy to roll off Jimin and sit up, separating yourself from him. He sighs out weakly, and you’re shocked to see just how drained he seems. For a moment, your heart stutters, but as you reach out and grab his hand, matching Taehyung who has his other one sandwiched between his, a drunken smile stretches across Jimin’s face.

“What the fuck?” he asks breathily, chuckling slightly despite his exhaustion. A single eye cracks open, looks up at the two of you with a warm gaze, before slipping shut again. “Oh my god, I can’t believe… I can’t believe that.”

“Can’t believe you liked it?” Taehyung questions, and even after the scene you hear a tinge of nervousness in his tone.

“God, Tae, I think I get it now,” Jimin gushes, voice lowering into a sleepy slur, “it’s- that was fun.”

Taehyung beams, squeezing Jimin’s hand fondly.

Jimin sighs in bliss. “And next time I’m going to edge you so much you cry, Mister Kim.”

The smile drops off Taehyung’s face in an instant. “Hey! That’s not fair. I let you come.”

Whatever protest Jimin would normally fire back is dissolved in his post-orgasm bliss. Instead, he just hums sweetly, entirely unbothered by the sticky mess his lower torso has become.

“Come on,” you jibe softly, feeling your own skin growing tacky, “let’s get you in the shower.”

Jimin groans at the thought of standing up, but Taehyung is having none of it, digging his hands under Jimin’s back to lever him up like a crowbar. “Yeah, we’re not gonna stop taking care of you just because you busted a nut, asshole. Get up and let me clean your dick like the good dom I am.”

Though Jimin huffs all the way to the shower, as the two of you clean him up, dry him off and dress him in a pair of Taehyung’s sweats and a baggy shirt, his eyes never stop gleaming for a second, not-so-secretly enjoying every minute of it.

The three of you spend an hour or so post-shower chilling in Taehyung’s room before hunger overcomes you one at a time. You’ve certainly missed lunch, but there is plenty still left in the fridge, and Jimin takes on the duty of reheating it as a silent thank you for the scene.

He’s quieter than usual, and you know it has to do with the intensity of it, at least for him. It was a big deal, actually submitting to another, and both you and Taehyung keep a close eye on him, filling the silence between the two of you so he doesn’t feel the need to exert himself, but keeping him close nonetheless.

At one point, Jimin goes upstairs to take a nap, insisting he’s fine on his own, and Namjoon and Hoseok return inside from where they’d been having a picnic of sorts (or perhaps fucking on the lawn, though they refuse to deny nor confirm your teasing accusation). The four of you put on a random reality show you’d been meaning to watch, and it isn’t long before Jungkook is joining you too, piling on the couch between the two subtle lovebirds. When Jin comes down, he half-watches from the kitchen, preparing some side dishes for dinner, but Yoongi is nowhere to be seen.

Your mind doesn’t linger on the thought for long, getting distracted by the dating show that somehow is just as ridiculous as the one you’re on, and you let the time slip by as you watch episode after episode. It’s nice to rest up, aching a little bit in a new place than before, but satisfied.

When Yoongi comes down, you’re so caught up watching television that you don’t even see him. It’s not until he cuts into your line of sight and holds out a decisive hand that you blink into focus and notice his presence.

“Y/n. A minute.”

You stare at him for another minute, brain not catching up. Yoongi huffs and bends down, grabbing onto your hand and tugging you up off the couch.

The others stare at you in bewilderment, and you return the confused gaze over your shoulder as he tug you out of the room.

Stumbling through the hallway, you furrow your eyebrows as he leads you up the stairs, almost frantic in his pace.

Arriving at your own door, he throws it open and pulls you inside and shuts it behind you. Your brain catches up, and you let out an uncertain laugh. “Yoongi, you already did your prompt, you don’t have to-”

You’re cut off by a pair of lips on yours.

Yoongi’s body knocks you back and pins you firmly to the door as his mouth slants against yours. Both hands cupping your face, he kisses you like there’s no tomorrow, tongue darting out slightly to flick at your lips.

You let out a surprised moan that gets entirely swallowed by him, knees weak and held up only by his hold. Frantic, hurried, his kisses convey a thousand praises, and your mind whirls with the sudden passion.

This close, you can smell the musk of his cologne. It dizzies you, and you feel as if his hands on your cheeks and his lips on yours are the only thing anchoring you to the world. They move against you, exploring your mouth with a desperate sweetness. You can’t wrap your head around it, can’t catch up, and so you let yourself drown in it instead, clasping at the fabric of Yoongi’s shirt to hold yourself steady.

When you finally part, he rips himself away with dazed eyes, pupils blown with desire. “Y/n,” he breathes, staring at you in wonder as if for the first time. He steps back again, after a moment, touching his swollen lips with a disbelieving smile. “I really tried, you know.”

You frown in confusion, stepping forward to get closer again. “Tried what? Yoongi, I don’t understand.”

“I tried not to fall in love with you like the rest.”

You have no words, mouth hanging open. Before you can think of anything to say, he’s moving past you and letting himself out of your room, the door half-ajar as his footsteps recede into silence.

You stay up in your room for what must be hours, replaying his words over and over in your head, lips tingling.

You miss dinner that way, too occupied in your own thoughts to even notice the knock at your door. Even as the sky darkens outside your window, you feel too wired to sleep, running through every single interaction you’ve ever had with Yoongi. Reading them in every possible way you could.

Working out if you would be telling the truth to say it back.

Your mind runs in circles, unable to land on a single answer, on a single perspective or truth or belief.

Late into the night, and further to the early hours of the morning, you force yourself to think about every other member in the house, too. About how they treat you, how kind they are to you, the way they look at you.

About the way your heart races when you’re around them, even as they comfort you with their presence alone.

You manage to fall asleep shortly before sunrise, eyes aching and body exhausted, every line of thinking and internal interrogation whittled down to a single two words.

I’m fucked.

[randomrosewrites]

I would like to request Xiao getting sick and the reader has to take care of him! uwu thank you in advance <33

a/n: You can! Sick fics are my guilty pleasure, I hope I did Xiao justice <3

Under the weather

Pairing: Xiao x GN reader Summary: Xiao falls sick, and tries very hard to not let a certain someone help him out. Words: 1.5K Tags: Sickfic, fluff, comfort, Xiao acting tough when he's really a huge softie <3

Xiao is a person who rarely gets sick. Him being an adeptus contributes to that greatly.

…key word being rarely.

There are times, where despite eons of fighting and surviving the worst wounds, his immune system fails him, and he falls sick. He detests it. It makes him feel weak. His body feels miserable and his senses are dulled for a couple of weeks afterwards. Worst of all, it brings out that sympathetic, woeful look from others, which he despises. The last thing Xiao wants is for mortals to take pity on him.

So, when he wakes up with a sore throat and a persistent cough that refuses to go away, he continues with his day as normal, refusing to let some minor bug affect his job. He eats a quick breakfast, grunts a good morning to Ver Goldet at the front, and heads to the balcony to get to work.

The rain that pours from the sky stops him dead in his tracks. Of all the days to rain, when he’s feeling bad enough as is. He glares at the sky, dark clouds showing no sign of stopping. The last thing he wants to do today is to spend the day fighting monsters in the torrent, but duty calls.

Sighing deeply, he tightens his grip on his jade polearm, grits his teeth, and steps out onto the marsh.

---

Eight hours later, when he returns, dripping water, shivering, and exhausted, he knows he’s overdone it.

He barely makes it past the threshold of the inn and into his room, collapsing onto his bed wet clothes and all. He feels awful and his cough is so bad that it steals all the breath from his lungs.

He knows he should get up, at least to strip himself of his clothes, but he just can’t find the strength to do so. It’s like his limbs are made of stone, weighed down and heavy.

Rain continues pattering against the roof, and below, Xiao can almost make out the sounds of guests talking. It’s comforting. Background noise that puts him at ease. He’s never been fond of complete silence, nor an excessive amount of noise. Xiao closes his eyes, curling himself up in a ball on his bed. Sleep pulls at his mind, making his ragged breathing steady.

He’s so out of it, he doesn’t notice another presence in his room until he feels a pressure on his head.

Terror shoots through his veins and Xiao leaps up, clumsily drawing his polearm into his hands. Too slow. He hisses to himself. He’s right. A hand wraps around his wrists, easily twisting the weapon out of harm's way. He’s considering kicking the intruder in the chest when a familiar voice grounds him to a halt.

“Woah! It’s just me, Xiao,” your eyes are wide with shock, maybe even a hint of fear.

He blinks up at you. There are no enemies. His weapon disappears in a flash of light. “What the hell. You shouldn’t sneak into other people’s rooms.”

“The door was open,” you defend, letting go of his wrists after a moment. “And the carpet was soaked all the way from outside. What happened? You sound awful.”

“I got wet.” He coughs, squeezing his eyes shut. “Agh – do you need anything? Or can I be alone?”

You frown, starting at him so intently that he averts his gaze. “You’re sick.”

“And what if I am? That’s not your concern-”

You’re already turning away before he’s finished his sentence. He wonders if you’re just going to go out the front door and leave, until you turn into the bathroom, your voice calling from inside, “I’ll run you a bath.”

What.

“What?” he asks. “Why?”

“Because you’re sick. Just stay right there, it’ll be ready in a second.”

“I don’t need you to run me a bath like I’m some…” his skin heats with anger. (Or maybe that’s just his fever.) “Child.”

“You’re not. I don’t think you are. I’m just helping you out,” you say simply.

Xiao releases a breath, clinging to his stubbornness. “I don’t need your help,” With his nose plugged, it doesn’t sound half as intimidating as he wants to be.

Your response is light and tender, almost understanding. It makes Xiao’s throat tighten. “I know, Xiao.”

He doesn’t know how to respond to that, so he sits on the edge of his bed, listening to your shuffling. The water runs and after a few minutes, you exit, sleeves rolled up to your elbows.

“It’s all set, go in whenever you feel ready.”

Xiao gets up, clearing his throat. “Alright.”

He probably should say something else, but he doesn’t know what else to say. So, he awkwardly shuffles into the bathroom, feeling his cheeks burn as he closes the door behind him. The bath is fancier than anything he’s ever taken. A few bubbles foam in the water, and if his nose weren’t plugged, he’d be able to smell the fresh scent of Fontaine bath salts.

He strips quickly and carefully lowers himself into the water, sighing as the knots in his muscles unravel. He lets himself soak for a bit longer than necessary, slowly scrubbing his skin, only getting out once the bath starts to lose its heat. The steam does wonders for his breathing. By the time he dries himself with a towel and changes into a fresh set of clothes, he can breathe through one nostril again.

When he exits, you’ve gotten the blankets changed and are sitting in a chair by the side of the bed. A magazine is open on your lap, one of the ones that came with the room that he’s never read. You close it when you see him.

“Why are you still here?”

“Because you’re sick and need someone to care for you,” you turn, digging around in your bag by your feet. “I also want to take your temperature.”

He folds his arms and does his best to seem imposing. “I’ve survived for eons without the need for anyone else, what makes you think I’ll let you take care of me now?”

“I’m not asking,” you sit up, and with all the patience (or stubbornness) Xiao’s ever seen, pat the bed. “Come here, Xiao.”

He hesitates a minute more before ultimately giving in, planting himself in front of you. A thermometer is placed in his mouth, which he begrudgingly accepts. The chills start to return, so he picks up one of the blankets carefully folded at the edge of the bed and wraps himself in it.

His nose isn’t working, so it comes to a shock when he sees the steaming bowl of miso soup on his bedside dresser, boiled bits of soft tofu floating in the broth.

“Is that…mine…?” It sounds silly the moment he says it out loud, and curses himself for it.

“Mhm. I had the staff bring it up when you were in the bathroom. It’s plain, so it won’t upset your stomach, but I want to get some medicine in you before you have any.”

A bath…food…medicine…he almost feels sick with how much care you’re treating him with.

“This is stupid…” he murmurs as you pour a vile of red liquid into a small medicine cup. He has half the mind to tell you mortal medicine won’t work but knowing your stubbornness, he wouldn’t doubt that you’d gone ahead and purchased special medicine from the pharmacy in Liyue Harbor.

“Stupid is going out into the rain and catching a cold,” you quip back. There’s no aggression to your words, he almost feels bad when he responds with a snarky comment.

“I was already sick before I went out.”

You stop to stare at him, narrowing your eyes in a way that makes Xiao’s insides turn, before sighing. “Stupid is going out into the rain when you were already sick. Give me the thermometer, please.”

His temperature is high, by both mortal and adeptal standards. You force him to swallow two tablespoons of medicine that tastes like ashes and he manages a few spoonfuls of the soup before his stomach protests. He wraps the blankets around him, frowning when you get up and tuck the sheets around his body.

“I didn’t need your help.”

You brush the bangs from his forehead. Xiao’s eyes flutter for a brief moment. He doesn’t push you away. “Whatever you say, Xiao.”

“Let me finish,” he snaps, before collecting himself. He really needs to stop doing that. “I didn’t need your help, but…I appreciate it.”

Your eyes widen a smidge before a small smile spreads across your face, making Xiao’s temperature rise even more.

“You’re welcome, Xiao. Sweet dreams.”

You sit by his bedside until he falls asleep, feeling the safest and more comfortable than he’s ever been in a while. Xiao doesn’t dream anymore, but if he did, he knows it would have been a peaceful one.

[joheunsaram]

temper tantrums + cookies (myg)

Summary- Being a single dad is hard, especially when Yoongi’s daughter decides to throw a tantrum as he shops for groceries.

word count- 2.8k

pairing- dilf!Yoongi x Reader

rating- PG

genre- fluff, strangers2(maybe?)lovers, meetcute

warnings- YOONGI GROCERY SHOPPING, single fatherhood fears and insecurities

a.n- Omg my first fic on this new blog after the whole debacle. Thank you for everyone who followed me and bore with my clown self. I hope you enjoy this! Yes, I’m a simp for when Yoongi went grocery shopping in New Zealand. sigh.

A huge shoutout to @hobisbeautifulass​ for helping me plot this and @oftenderweapons​ for helping fix the ending! 💕

As always feedback appreciated, a reblog and a like goes a far way. Send me an ask! 💌

perm taglist- @cheesecakes-randomshitz, @aroseforyoongi, @hobisbeautifulass​

-

Yoongi groaned as he strained to open his eyes. He could barely stifle a yawn as he leaned on the stroller slowly moving it through the aisle. His phone rested atop of the little tray attached to the handles, buzzing incessantly as messages from his company bombarded the screen. Could he not have some rest even on a Sunday?

He sighed as he stopped in front of the cereals, examining the boxes, trying to decide between his craving for Froot Loops and the healthier choice of Muselli. Knowing that he would be eating said cereal for dinner this whole week, he opted for Museli, missing the days he had enough time to cook a proper meal for himself.

“Daddy! Up!” Hyunji’s lisp pulled him out of his reminiscing as he watched his two year old daughter wriggling around in her seat, arms up to coax him into carrying her. Rubbing his eyes and trying to balance his grocery basket, Yoongi crouched to her level as she impatiently smacked her hands on the foam bar in front of her. He couldn’t help but smile at her - her tiny eyes almost hidden by her rosy chubby cheeks, hair a mess as she had managed to pull one of her pigtails out. 

“We’ll be home soon, Ji,” he cooed at the chaotic love of his life, placing his basket on the floor to fix her shoe that had seemed to come undone for the eighth time this morning. However, his placades were lost on her as his daughter used her future swimmer lungs to scream, her shrill voice making him wince, but surprisingly working much better than the two iced coffees he had chugged earlier.

With a groan, Yoongi settled on the floor, trying to dodge her little feet that were kicking at him. He really couldn’t wait till she outgrew her temper tantrums. Reaching into his hoodie pocket, he pulled out a small pack of tissues, trying his best to get rid of the snot and tears that flowed down her face as she angrily fought him, her tiny fists colliding with his forearms.

“Ji, please. Calm down,” Yoongi sighed, trying his best to pacify his screaming daughter, while throwing apologetic glances at the shoppers passing by. “Okay, you want to be like that? Then let it out of your system. Go ahead.”

Resigning himself to his fate, Yoongi sat cross-legged in front of her stroller and rubbed his eyes. He knew Hyunji would calm down soon enough, and with the week he had he didn’t care if passerbys thought he was a terrible father for letting his daughter cry her eyes out in the breakfast aisle. In fact, he didn’t care that he himself was close to tears. He felt overwhelmed and bitter, the words of his mother ringing in his ears. “If only you had worked out your issues, she would be here, and you wouldn’t be alone!”

He laughed deliriously, the weeks of shitty sleep catching up to him as he pleaded with his daughter to calm down, bribing her with candy he never bought her to no avail. “Please baby, just half an hour and then we’ll be home,” Yoongi negotiated, his eyes glassy as Hyunji shrieked in response, causing him to startle and bang his shin against the wheel. He hissed in pain, grimacing with his head against the foam rod as she pulled at his dark hair. He loved his daughter, truly from the bottom of his heart, but he couldn’t wait till she started preschool next week and he could get some reprieve. 

“Do you mind if I try?”

Yoongi followed the voice to see you crouching next to him. Dressed in a printed dress with little dinosaurs all over it, and a pair of red glasses that matched your shoes, you didn’t seem like you worked at the store, but Yoongi couldn’t care less. He didn’t know if his exhaustion was blurring his mind, but you seemed like the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He couldn’t stop staring at you, from the slope of your nose, to your hair that fell into your eyes. Had Yoongi really been that deprived of adult human contact that just looking at you made his heart pound in his chest and heat rise to his cheeks? Wow, your lips were really pretty. They looked so soft, crinkling a little on the side when you spoke. Oh shit, you were speaking!

Yoongi was broken out of his thoughts by your voice. “What’s her name,” you asked, tentatively reaching out towards the angry toddler.

“Hyunji.” 

Yoongi felt as if he was in a daze, he couldn’t stop staring at you as you reached out to lightly touch Hyunji, your fingers grabbing her little hand in something akin to a handshake. He watched in awe as Hyunji immediately stopped her screams to look at you curiously, her head tilted to the side as she sniffled. Yoongi would be upset that his daughter seemed to be more calm with a stranger than him if it weren’t for how the soft smile on your face made him lose his train of thought. It made your cheeks puff up a little and he felt his heart skip a beat at the small movement.

“Hey Hyunji! I’m Y/N. How are you today,” you said, as Hyunji finally responded with what Yoongi had spent the whole year teaching her, moving her hand away and looking wary. Yoongi felt pride surge through him knowing that his daughter wasn’t going to let a stranger act all buddy-buddy with her. However, Hyunji’s rejection made a small frown appear on your lips, and Yoongi mentally willed his daughter to be nice to you. 

You weren’t deterred however, and with another smile, you reached into your bag draped across your torso to retrieve a small stuffed toy shaped like a chocolate cookie type character. Yoongi’s eyes couldn’t help but follow the strap of your bag as it rested between your chest, perfectly aligned with the slight cleavage afforded by the dress. He gulped, trying to shake the flurry of thoughts that ran through his mind like how his face would feel if it was the strap. 

“No handshake? Okay. How about a toy,” you asked, grinning and shaking the character in front of the toddler, your smile getting wider as she responded immediately reaching for the toy. So much for stranger danger training. Your voice turned high pitched and cartoonish as you pretended to be the toy, Hyunji immediately lighting up and laughing, the switch an instant 180. “Hi Hyunji, I’m Shooky! Nice to meet you!”

“Shooky!” she exclaimed, waving the toy towards Yoongi to show it to him gleefully. Yoongi smiled, cooing at his daughter. Turning towards you, he found you smiling at him, the same soft smile that made him senseless earlier. He wanted to thank you for saving him, for calming down his whirlwind of a daughter, but his mouth seemed to have a mind of its own.

“Is that a cookie? She’s not allowed to have cookies.”

“It’s a toy…” You seemed confused, rightly so, your eyebrows scrunched together as you blinked slowly, trying to decipher his meaning. Yoongi should’ve clarified, apologized, but he wouldn’t be himself if he didn’t double down.

“Shaped like a cookie. That’s a slippery slope.” He waved towards his daughter who seemed to be bashing the poor character against her leg, giggling. He realized his type of humour was not everyone’s cup of tea and so when he watched your lips down turn, he started to apologize only to be stopped by you smirking at him.

“So you’re saying a toy shaped like a cookie is a gateway drug to junk food,” you said, an eyebrow raised at him. Your wit made him cackle, an unattractive, loud scream of a laugh that immediately turned him red in embarrassment. God, he was such a loser! He cleared his throat conscious of the way you chuckled in amusement. He really needed to get out of the house more often.

“I’m sorry. I’m tired. Thank you, really. I had resigned to sitting here for a couple of hours.” He smiled up at you as you stood up and watched Hyunjin in endearment, who was now thoroughly engrossed in ‘Shooky’. Following your lead, Yoongi made to stand up, only to realize one of his feet had decided to fall asleep on him causing him to stumble back with a groan.

“Need a hand?” You raised a hand towards him, one that he took graciously, if only to feel how soft your hands were, and they were so soft. He groaned a little as he stood, taking extra care not to pull you to the ground with him, regardless of how much he wanted to. Jesus, Yoongi. Relax, dude.

“Thanks. I swear I’m not as old as I seem,” he deadpanned as you giggled a little at his bones cracking loudly.

“I didn’t think you were old.” You shrugged in response as he thought of ways to keep the conversation going. However, his mind was blank. You looked at him expectantly, and in true awkward fashion, Yoongi averted your gaze, instead looking at his daughter. His jaw dropped at the sight before him as he squinted at his offspring who seemed to be dozing happily in the stroller, clutching the cookie under her chin.

“She’s asleep… How did you do that?” He was dumbfounded. There was a reason Yoongi still seemed like he was sleep walking even two coffees down. Hyunjin had been having trouble falling asleep for weeks, waking him up at all hours of the night. The doctor said something about her delayed teething, but at this point Yoongi was convinced she just hated him for never letting her have sugar. 

“No biggie. I work in childcare. I’ve been trained.” He looked at you in awe and you chuckled, patting him on the shoulder in an attempt to break him out of his daze. Could he fall in love at first sight? He was beginning to think, yes.

“Yes biggie! She never falls asleep,” he exclaimed, running a hand through his hair. “What kind of witchcraft…” He looked from you to his daughter, still in disbelief as he muttered, earning a hearty laugh from you in response.

“I’m Y/N, by the way,” you said, smiling as you closed your bag and fixed the strap, and he had to physically restrain his eyes from zeroing in on your chest again. He wasn’t going to lie, his eye balls felt strained at the effort.

“Yoongi. But seriously, thank you. I promise I’m not a bad father,” he provided, the shock now wearing off into anxiety as he thought about how much of a crap father he seemed to be so amazed at seeing his daughter fall asleep. You shook your head at him, a small sound of disapproval leaving your lips.

“I think you’re a great father, Yoongi. Don’t worry, toddlers are hard.” The praise made his heart stutter as blood rushed to his ears. The way you softly affirmed him made him feel seen. He didn’t know how much he needed to hear that, and to be honest, he felt a little emotional.

“I… thank you. I’d like to say you’re wrong but yeah, especially alone,” he spoke quietly. He didn’t know why he specified he was single. Maybe to see if you were as interested in him as he was in you. He didn’t think it was possible. Who would want to be with a single father who couldn’t even handle his own child in a public space? He felt his insecurities gnaw at him as he descended further into his head. His sudden silence may have alarmed you because before he could say anything, you touched his shoulder gingerly, the feel of your fingers scorching him through the thick layers of his sweater.

“Well you’re doing great. Professional opinion.” You smiled and Yoongi wanted to cry. Why were you so nice? He missed nice. He hadn’t had nice in a long time. He wanted to say something, ask you for your number, but that seemed too forward so he settled for gratitude, as you picked up his basket and handed it to him.

“Thank you…”

“Cute,” you giggled quietly. “It was nice meeting you Yoongi.” 

Much to his disappointment, you started walking away. He really shouldn’t have gotten his hopes up. Hope always led to dismay.

“You too, Y/N. Really great.” He sighed, almost wistfully, resigned to the fact that he would probably never see you again as you waved and turned around.

“Say bye to Hyunji for me.”

“I will.”

----------

He looked at his daughter with pride as she stood in front of him, her dark hair in two slightly lopsided braids, that had taken Yoongi an hour to master through youtube tutorials. He couldn’t help but feel a little choked up as she excitedly pulled on his arm all but running towards her classroom, her frilly pink dress swishing with each step. He couldn’t believe she was old enough for school already - preschool, but still. 

Yoongi tried to stop his brain from conjuring up pictures of her future; her graduating, her walking down the aisle. No, screw sleep, he didn’t need it. This was too fast. He held her hand tightly, reluctant to let her go as they reached the door. 

What was he supposed to do now that she was going to be gone all day? He could almost feel himself tear up at the thought of how much he was going to miss her, and she was still holding her hand. Maybe he could ask the teacher if he could just sit and watch. Sure he had to be at his home office to start work in thirty minutes, but he could just say he suddenly fell ill.

However, all thoughts as well as his breath left him as his eyes fell on a familiar figure - the beautiful, kind woman from the grocery store. You. 

This time around you were dressed in a dress that had little planets on it, looking a lot like Ms Frizzle with your hair in a top knot. Yoongi didn’t know whether to be ecstatic that universe had given him another opportunity to talk to you or be depressed because he knew he would never be with.

“Yoongi!” The joy and surprise in your voice made his face crinkle in a goofy smile that he had absolutely no control over, as he fiddled with his fingers, Hyunjin quickly abandoning him at the first sign of new friends. She definitely did not inherit her stellar social skills from him, as he stood there unable to form a response other than a shy utterance of your name.

“I was hoping to run into you again,” you said, beaming blindly and Yoongi blushed.

With his heartbeat accelerating, he realised that those eight words were probably the best he had ever heard.

-

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[primatechnosynthpop]

Like A Catabolic Seed (I Want To Destroy Everything That's Mine)

Something's wrong with Neil.

He knows that much, and the others know too. He tries to hide it anyway. Don't worry about it, guys, I'm fine, honest-- No, not honest, and certainly not fooling anyone. But he puts on the act anyway.

Beneath the washed-out yellow bathroom light, he wraps a bandaid around his paper cut and pauses to take a long hard look at himself in the mirror. Pushing back his overgrown bangs reveals bloodshot eyes whose colour looks a little off. Maybe it's just the lighting... yeah, that's what he'd say if someone asked, but deep down he knows that's not it. His stomach turns with discomfort. Below those discoloured eyes, his skin is pale and clammy, seeming to press a little tighter than usual around his cheekbones. And ooh, his mouth... it's itching again. Lately he's had the urge to gnaw on things like a teething puppy. And they're not acting up right now, but his forehead and shoulderblades have been periodically aching in a way he hasn't felt since teenage growing pains. Finally, his fingernails need to be trimmed--when did they get so long and sharp?

Well, he can't do anything about 83.3% of his problems, but at least he can trim his nails. He reaches for the vanity and--

The glass cracks as suddenly as the lightning bolt that struck him the day before. Neil staggers back, eyes wide, hands instinctively clutching at his chest. He can feel his pounding heart, and... it's wrong. The rhythm is all wrong. His breaths come quick and shallow and distorted, wrong. Gosh, his teeth really hurt. He runs his tongue around the inside of his mouth and ooh, that's not the shape those teeth should be but more importantly, man, I could really go for a nice bloody steak right now. Just the thought of sinking his teeth into flesh makes him start salivating right there in front of the broken bathroom mirror.

Never mind the nail clippers. He can just chew them down--not a usual habit of his, but in this case it'll be killing two birds with one stone. And oh does he ever want those two birds dead. Heck, he wants the whole flock demolished and served to him on a silver platter!

Back in the living room, his friends are waiting for him with matching concerned looks etched across their faces. Neil takes a seat next to them and forces a grin.

"Everything okay, Neil?" Kevin asks.

"Yeah, you sure took a while in there," Ryan adds with a questioning tilt of his head.

Dang it, did he really zone out for that long? Skin prickling, Neil gulps and looks away. "Sorry, guys. I had trouble finding the right bandaids."

"Ohh... my condolences, friend." Ryan smiles, appeased by the excuse, and pats him on the arm. "I've had that same trouble more times than I can count."

They carry on with their house of cards like normal. It all ends in bad luck, but Neil barely notices. He zones out for a moment, thinking about how easy it would be to tear the whole deck of cards to shreds with his overgrown nails, and then how easy and fun it would be to tear apart the couch and the whole clubhouse and his friends' bodies and-- No, wait, I don't want to do that, what am I...? And next thing he knows the fire alarm is blaring and Kevin is whipping out the fire extinguisher. A few flecks of foam spray onto Neil's cheek. He hisses as he flicks them away, nearly slicing his own cheek open in the process.

This is no good. If they're going to make a webisode this week, he needs to get his act together. Luckily, Neil knows just the thing.

*

Fortuna Daemonium, also known as corpse puppet demons, have a tried-and-true operating system. They rely on humanoid host bodies, but lack other demons' ability to directly possess a living host. No, they can only inhabit inanimate objects, rudimentary plant life, and--as their colloquial name suggests--corpses.

In its larval stage, the demon takes the form of an item which mortals can't resist picking up. Upon contact with a suitable host body, the demon bestows a bad luck curse upon the (un)lucky mortal. Once the curse kills the mortal, the demon is free to transfer itself into their body and take control. The trouble only comes when a demon acts too hastily.

A direct lightning strike against an unguarded mortal should have been fatal. It should have! Was the luck demon truly such a fool for thinking, as its host crumpled to the ground with a smoking crater in his chest, that it was free to propagate? And yet when it sent forth its demonic seed, it ran up against a barrier. The human's brain and soul were--and indeed are--still active. The demon can't possess him yet. Frustrating, yes, but not the end of the world. It just has to keep triggering bad luck events, and eventually something is bound to keep the mortal down.

But there might be a problem. Some humans' blood is far purer than others, and they ingest all kinds of terrible things, so as a precaution Fortuna Daemonium release demonic toxins into the host's bloodstream before taking them over. The toxins essentially provide a makeover that renders the corpse (normally it would be a corpse at this point!) more habitable for the demons, and better suited to their violent needs. If released into a living being, however...

There are a few recorded accounts of such a folly, but accounts of what happens to either the host body or demon differ greatly--unsurprising, when these events rarely leave behind survivors. It seems humans can fight with surprising ferocity if they think there's a chance it will save someone dear to them.

*

Sitting on his bed with his legs drawn up and his shoulders hunched, Neil lowers the horseshoe necklace over his head with an unexpected tremble in his hands. His fingers twitch and jerk involuntarily like they don't want to touch the good luck charm--which is pretty silly of them, because those hands are high on the list of body parts that could use better luck. He takes a deep breath in and releases the string on the exhale. There, now he'll be safe from the...

Safe from...

Neil hears and smells his sizzling flesh before he feels it. But when the sensation does reach his nerves, oh, does he ever feel it. Screaming in agony, he rips the necklace off and flings it across the room. It bounces off the wall and lands with a clatter next to his trunk full of puppets.

Panting, he stares down at himself. Twin trails of smoke wind like lazy rivers off the points where either end of the horseshoe briefly connected with his skin. At least his shirt isn't completely ruined, but it's a tiny bit singed around the collar. Maybe he should wear a jacket today, so the guys don't get suspicious. Yeah, yeah, and if they ask he can say...

"Wait, who cares about keeping up appearances?" he cuts himself off. "I've got bigger fish on my plate right now. Like: since when am I allergic to horseshoes?"

And why is there a ringing in his ears as he slinks cautiously toward the discarded necklace? Why, as he reaches for it, does a hiss escape his bared fangs? Why does he have fangs and claws all of a sudden when two days ago his teeth and nails were perfectly normal and flat? He blinks against the strain of his headache, and--hey, were his eyelids always oriented that way? His shoulders twinge as he kneels down, and he could swear there's something swelling up beneath the skin, just like it feels like something's swelling at the top of his skull. There's no bruising, no recent injuries apart from the lightning strike which could account for all this. He reaches for the horseshoe with a trembling hand--his skin has taken on a yellowish hue now, and the veins on the underside of his wrist are green, which he's pretty sure isn't a normal human colour--and braces himself for a scalding sensation.

If he clutches the horseshoe for long enough, will it drive out whatever evil force has lodged itself inside him? Or will it just kill him?

"This is no good," Neil laments. Chickening out at the last second, he retracts his hand and drops it in his lap. The horseshoe goes untouched. "I need to ask Ryan for advice. He knows all about curses and stuff."

(Kevin might know something too, since he moonlights as a ghostbuster, but that's different. Kevin would worry if he knew. Ryan wouldn't worry. Would he? Neil won't tell him if it'll make him worry.)

*

Neil shows up for work wearing a horseshoe necklace and a big nervous grin. And colour contacts, apparently, unless his eyes were bright green the whole time and Ryan never noticed. But no matter, they have a webisode to film.

Ryan gets in the car and turns the engine over. For a moment he tenses, hairs standing on end in anticipation of something dreadful happening. But nothing does. Kevin climbs in beside him, and Neil allocates himself to the backseat, where he sits with his knees pressed tight together and his nails digging into the upholstery and his mouth all clamped up like he's got a case of lockjaw.

"Neil, you haven't stepped on any rusty nails lately, have you?" Ryan asks, shooting his friend a glance in the rearview.

Neil blinks in surprise, and oh dear, his eyes are definitely not supposed to be that colour and his eyelids are not supposed to go that way. It's an exciting new look, but not a style Ryan thought Neil would go for.

"Huh? Uh, no, I don't think so."

"You'd better not have," Kevin admonishes. "I've warned you guys about playing barefoot at the abandoned nail factory."

Despite the increasing worry about Neil's condition, they reach the warehouse they've decided to film at and get through a productive rehearsal without much issue. Eventually they encounter another bout of bad luck: one of their cameras acts up, and when Neil leans in to carefully adjust the lense, the entire piece of equipment crumbles to dust. That garners a concerned eyebrow raise from Kevin, which Ryan acknowledges with a tight-lipped nod: Indeed, something's not right with him. But clearly Neil doesn't want to talk about it, so what can they do? At least the curse or whatever it is isn't hurting him directly anymore.

Kevin heads off to buy a replacement camera while Ryan and Neil set up the rest of the equipment. Nothing goes wrong, and Ryan manages to relax a little. He almost wonders if there's no curse after all, and Neil is right to accuse him and Kevin of being paranoid. Nothing really bad has happened since the lightning strike, and those are usually random anyway, so...

But then Neil goes stiff. The chair he was moving drops from his hands in a clatter and he leans over it for support, hissing like a feral cat in distress. Ryan rushes to his side and holds him upright--he's clammy to the touch, and green-tinted veins pulse frantically beneath his skin. Brushing his bangs aside, Ryan lays a hand against Neil's head to check for fever.

Oh. Oh, there are some very strange lumps on Neil's forehead. That's... not good. Icy dread stirs in Ryan's gut as he pats his friend down.

"Say, Neil, what are those protrusions?" he asks, trying and failing to keep his voice from shaking. "You're not... sick, are you?"

Neil doesn't answer. His discoloured eyes are glazed over, and his breathing is shallow yet echoey, like it's coming from far away. The horseshoe necklace dangles loosely around his neck. Too loosely, for a heavy steel object.

Something snaps into place in Ryan's mind, and he jerks back with a gasp.

"An electric car! With the luck you've been having, its magnetized engine should have attracted your horseshoe... unless..." He rips off the necklace, and his hand closes around moulded plastic. "Ah-hah! You thought you could fool us with a fake horseshoe necklace? But--" Triumphant revelation gives way to an even deeper concern and bewilderment. "Why not wear a real horseshoe? A smart man like you should know the plastic ones never work."

Neil's shoulders spasm. His head jerks back, and his bangs fall back into place to conceal the tumours on either side of his forehead. His mouth moves to whisper something. It sounds like he's saying Ryan's name.

"I'm here, Neil," Ryan assures him, laying a hand on his friend's arm to hold him steady. "I'm right here."

"No... Ryan..." Neil shakes his head, and it looks like the motion hurts. Thin streams of blood trickle down from beneath his bangs. He bares his teeth in a grimace and they're so much sharper than they're supposed to be. "Run away."

And that's the only warning Ryan gets.

*

Neil's head is going to kill him. And that's not just a dramatic way of saying it hurts a normal amount; no, it really and truly feels like his skull is going to burst open and splatter his brains everywhere. He tries to breathe in and out evenly, like that'll help. But he can't catch his breath, nor slow his frantic pulse. His body shakes, and oh my god it hurts so bad help please guys you have to help me it hurts it hurts it hurts--

Ryan is saying something. Neil can't hear the words over the buzzing in his head, but the tone sounds reassuring. It's funny--Ryan is rarely the reassuring type, but when he is it's almost maternal. Neil wants to lean into his friend's touch, to listen to those calming words and fool himself into thinking he's gonna be okay.

But his fangs and claws itch to tear something apart. And if Ryan doesn't get out of the way--

"Run away," Neil pleads. There should be tears pricking at his eyes, and it feels almost like there are--his eyes are hot and irritated, and there's something wet sliding down his face now--but his tear ducts seem to have sealed up. He can feel something slithering out of his back, like being stabbed in reverse. "Please--you can't--I don't want to--"

Is he pleading to Ryan now, or to the thing he's becoming? It doesn't make a difference anyway. Neither of them listen.

Neil doesn't mean to swing his hand in an upward arc, claws extended. He doesn't mean for those talons to shred the front of Ryan's jacket and dig into the flesh beneath. He doesn't mean to send Ryan falling back, jaws parting in silent shock, or to then leap on top of him while he's down and bury his fangs in his shoulder. He doesn't want to do any of it.

But also... maybe he does want to do it. His pulse settles into a regular rhythm at last, a healthy pitter-patter of excitement, and he can taste the saliva swelling in his mouth when he rips a chunk out of his friend's shoulder and worries it between his teeth. The pain is finally gone. Now it's just a rush of exhilaration. Neil breaks into a giddy grin as Ryan screams and writhes beneath his claws.

This is going to be fun.

*

Their equipment still isn't set up when Kevin returns. That's the first thing he notices, and he frowns at the sight of the filmmaking gear strewn around like furniture after a robbery. His frown deepens when he spots his friends jumping around in the shadowy corner of the warehouse, apparently play-fighting--complete with disturbingly realistic screams and growls and hisses. What is this, a warrior cats roleplay? Eccentric as they are, Neil and Ryan are professionals; they should know better than to goof off at a time like this.

"C'mon, guys," he says, clapping his hands together like an animal trainer as he approaches them. "Let's get to--"

The scent of blood hits his tongue, and Kevin's breath catches in his throat. What are they... this isn't another one of Ryan's creepy rituals, is it? He flicks a lightswitch on to illuminate the warehouse. When he does, his blood runs cold.

Four leathery green wings protrude from Neil's back. No, not quite leathery--they're rounded, and they look delicate, like leaves. Less delicate-looking are the golden horns sticking out the top of his head, with swelling around the base and trails of blood running down from where they protrude. Just looking at the extra body parts makes Kevin cringe. Those definitely weren't there before, and it looks like their growth wasn't pleasant.

But his sympathy for Neil is dampened by what he's doing. Rather, what he's already done. Ryan sways on his feet with a sickly expression, arms wrapped tight around his own torso like he's trying to hold his guts in. Maybe he is. There's a lot of blood streaming down his face and matting his hair and staining his tattered clothes. One section of his sleeve is torn away, revealing a flash of exposed bone where flesh has been shredded.

Kevin takes this all in as a tableau, his friends both having froze in place like deer in headlights when he flicked the light on. It's several breathless, stomach-churning seconds until Ryan turns his wide-eyed stare on Kevin. He opens his mouth to say something--a plea for help? A warning to stay back? Some odd little overly casual remark, haha, typical Ryan yeah I bet he's not even bothered by this sure yeah he probably likes it, we know him, what a weirdo--

But Neil--if this even is still Neil--lunges before Ryan can speak. He grabs Ryan by the collar and flings him across the room, where he crashes against a radiator with a pained yelp and crumples to the ground. Neil grins, exposing a row of gore-caked fangs, and leaps forward to finish the job.

"Hey!" Kevin rushes forward with no plan in mind, just protective instinct. "Get away from him!"

He grabs Neil's leg and pulls him to the ground moments before those claws would have slit Ryan open. Neil hisses and squirms around, but Kevin locks his arms around him--though not without getting an armful of fangs. Diluted by adrenaline, he barely registers the pain, but he can see blood leaking through his shirt sleeve and his stomach hitches at the dull scrape of enamel against bone. Drawing in a shaky breath, Kevin closes his hand into a fist and draws it back. "Sorry about this, bud."

He clubs Neil in the back of the neck, like they do to knock people out in TV shows. Neil spasms at the contact and goes still. For a split-second Kevin is terrified he hit him too hard--but no, he still has a steady pulse, albeit one with an alien rhythm. Thinking fast, Kevin peels off his flannel shirt and ties it around Neil to bind his arms and those creepy wings (which upon closer inspection look like plant matter, but a tear in the lower right one--Ryan must have gotten a few hits in during their scuffle--is bleeding, and it's definitely not sap. He considers just ripping the wings off, but... no. Possessed or not, he doesn't want to hurt Neil.) Once that's done, he sits back on his heels to catch his breath. The pain from his freshly sustained wound creeps in now, and man does it ever sting. And that's just one bite, so he can't imagine how bad it is for...

Ryan. Oh, god, Ryan. Snapping back to grim urgency, Kevin scrambles across the room to his fallen friend in such a hurry that he trips over his own feet. He falls to his knees at Ryan's side and turns him over, shuddering at the glassy look in his eyes.

"Hey, stay with me, man," he commands. "We need a plan, and whatever's up with Neil looks like a two-person job."

"Mmn... a plan. Yes." Ryan rolls his head back and shifts slightly. "I definitely... have... a plan..."

His mannerisms are those of someone reluctant to rise from bed on a cold winter morning. Kevin's certainly been there, and the thought of such a simple shared experience makes him half-smile despite the circumstances. That smile fades when Ryan's face contorts in pain and he curls in on himself with a hiss. After a few shallow trembling breaths he speaks again, more faintly this time.

"I think Neil... is possessed. An exorcism may be in order. But there could be--" He coughs, and blood dribbles from his lips-- "another way. If..."

He trails off, head lolling to the side. Kevin waits expectantly for him to pick back up, but... nothing. Swallowing down a spike of anxiety, he props Ryan up and brushes a strand of sweat-and-blood-soaked hair out of his unfocused eyes.

"What's the plan, Ryan?" he prompts. "C'mon."

No answer. There's so much blood seeping through Ryan's jacket. Is it too much? He's not sure. It looks like too much.

"Ryan."

Nothing.

"Ryan!"

*

Neil stirs from a dreamless sleep to the sound of a dripping faucet. There's a damp chill to his surroundings that makes the human part of him shiver even though the demonic part is unbothered. He opens his eyes to find himself surrounded by four rough-hewn dark gray walls; the floor and ceiling are the same material. There's a busted pipe sticking out of one wall which seems to be the source of the dripping. In the far left corner is a staircase leading up.

What is this, a basement? Ugh, I hate basements... Neil hisses in annoyance and tries to move, only to find himself bound by ropes. Twisting his head around, it looks like he's tied to a wooden column, the way pirates used to tie up their prisoners. Uh oh. Am I gonna be executed?

As if in answer to that question, the sound of footsteps alerts him to a human descending the stairs. It's one of the same humans Neil was playing with earlier--the one with the short dark hair and the flannel (he knows their names, but that information is locked away right now). But he's not wearing flannel anymore, just a plain white t-shirt and jeans and... what is that, a backpack? No, it's something else, something Neil recognizes, but... his head feels funny. It's like his mind is splitting in two, and the half that's in control right now doesn't know or care about mortals or any of their strange devices. He just wants to torture and kill and eat them!

The mortal flicks a lightswitch. Neil flinches at the too-bright yellow glow that flickers on overhead, curling in on himself like a dying plant and hissing like a vampire. Only when his eyes adjust does he realize the lights were off a moment ago. Come to think of it, his surroundings did look a little washed out, but he could see everything perfectly. Woah, I can see in the dark, he realizes with a grin. Cool!

"So... Neil." The mortal strides slowly over to him and comes to a stop a foot away. He unhooks something from his backpack and points it at Neil as he speaks. It looks like one of those weapons mortals use--the kind they only bring out when they're really serious. So it's surprising when the mortal's first question is: "You okay?"

"Huh? Uh, yeah..." It's not a lie; the ropes might be a bit tight, but they're not hurting him. Heck, he can barely feel them, nor can he feel the cut on his wing or the spot where the mortal clubbed him to knock him out. Demons aren't built to feel that kind of stuff. "How about you? That arm looks pretty bad."

He nods to the appendage in question. The bandages look hastily applied, and he can smell that the wound isn't fully closed. The bloodscent is simultaneously enticing and sharply concerning. The latter reaction is surprising, moreso when Neil reminds himself that he did that, and it's nothing compared to what he did to the other mortal.

"I'll live," the mortal replies tersely. Only his inflection is more like "I'll live," as in yeah, he'll live, but somebody else won't.

"Is that supposed to be a threat?" Neil wonders aloud. The testy look he gets from the mortal in response seems to confirm it. "Pshaw, you mortals are so pathetic! What are you gonna do to me?"

The mortal cocks an eyebrow, and one corner of his lips twitches into a smirk. It's an amused expression--or no, the human side of Neil recognizes, a wry and weary one. It's all in the tired eyes: this mortal is not having fun. He raises his weapon and presses its tip against Neil's upper abdomen.

"Oh, you'll see what I can do to you."

*

Throughout this exchange, the true Fortuna Daemonium is silently screaming from within its four-leafed prison. Such sickening irony, to be confined to a clover pinned to the shirt of its would-be host body! And there's nothing else nearby to transfer itself to--nothing that would be any more useful, at least. Exiting the clover without transferring to a new vessel is out of the question. That would expose it to human eyes, which is probably just what the human with the proton pack wants.

Yes, Fortuna Daemonium know exactly what that device is called. It's imprinted in their collective consciousness, ever since the incident several decades ago when a group of four middle-aged mortals wielding such weapons managed to wipe out a whole colony of demons. If this newly demonic mortal isn't careful, its naive taunting will get both it and the Fortuna Daemonium captured at best and demolished at worst.

Only one way out of this situation, then. A bad luck event at a scale that can reduce mortal and half-demon alike to corpses fit for possession. As the two humanoids continue their exchange, Fortuna Daemonium tunes them out and channels its energy into summoning a natural disaster.

*

"Hey, where's the other mortal, anyway?" Neil asks, tilting his head. "He was fun to play with. His blood was delicious."

The mortal (Kevin, something in the back of his head supplies--the wall between things the demon knows and things it chooses to forget is crumbling) stiffens at that. He raises his head to stare into the ceiling light and waits until his eyes begin to water before speaking in a low voice.

"Yeah, I'll bet it was. But we pathetic humans only have so much blood we can lose, you know."

Neil blinks. Something about those words send a shiver down his spine... but they shouldn't. He's a demon, isn't he? What does he care about mortals getting hurt? He's just gonna eat them anyway. Sure, they're more fun to play with when they're alive, but... hey, what do those two specific specimens matter? There's whole cities full of potential prey! And here he is all worried about...

About...

"But he's okay, right?" he asks despite himself, or maybe exactly because of himself and despite the thing he's become. The question slips out as a nervous little squeak. "He has to be okay. We still need to film our webisode, and the script calls for all three of us--"

What is he talking about? It's like he's on autopilot now, human mind running on instinct and overpowering the demonic influence. There's that sensation of the bisected mind again, and the thing that calls itself Neil is standing on the brink with the ground splitting under it. He doesn't know which side he wants to land on anymore--powerful demon or feeble emotional human. All he can do is babble out his instinctive pleas for the status quo.

"--And we can't find a replacement on such short notice!"

"Well, maybe you should've thought about that--" Kevin's voice crescendos into a yell as he jabs the proton gun into Neil's ribs-- "Before you murdered him!"

...What?

"Oww," he whines at the jab of the weapon before his human side can fully process the mortal's words. Kevin's finger trembles over the trigger. There's a scent emanating from the weapon that makes Neil's hairs stand on end. It's not quite electric, not quite acidic, but he knows on an instinctive level that he can't let it touch him. If he does...

His fragile human side catches up just then. Tears well in his eyes. When he blinks them back, he finds that his eyelids are angled the right way again.

"You mean Ryan is...?"

"I just buried him in the backyard," Kevin confirms grimly. He squeezes his eyes shut until a tear slides down his cheek. "So you don't dig him up and eat what's left of him."

"But that's... no, I'd never do that..." Neil shakes his head, lips drawn back in a grimace. His fangs flatten when he presses them together. "Ryan has to be okay. Things always work out for us!"

His demonic side can't put up a fight anymore. Neil doesn't want it to. His heart clenches with such monumental dread that it shudders back into its original rhythm, along with his frantic breathing. He can't feel his wings anymore, and his horns feel lighter, like they're hollowed out and ready to crumble. He can feel the blood caked onto his claws even as they shrivel back into regular fingernails. Ryan's blood. Are his organs physically rearranging, or is that just nausea? It might be nausea. Oh, geez, he's gonna be sick.

In this moment of emotional turmoil, he doesn't notice when the earth begins to shake. It just feels like another part of his breakdown. Dust crumbles from the ceiling, and none of it makes a difference. The whole place may as well cave in at this point.

*

Despite everything, watching Neil break down is the toughest part of the ordeal. The ground shakes--some last-ditch resistance from the demon, no doubt. Even so, Kevin stands his ground. He bunches up Neil's shirt collar in his free hand and pulls it taut, while with his other hand he aims the proton gun at his possessed friend's chest. He keeps talking as he does this, grasping at any words that'll keep the demon distracted.

"He was the only one of us with a necromancy license, you know. So we're probably never going to get him back."

"No, no, we have to... he can't be dead, we... I..."

Neil's words give way to uncontrolled weeping. The unnatural colour of his eyes, toxic green with dark violet pupils, drains like cheap dye down a sink as he cries. Soon his swollen eyes are their usual shade, everything is its normal length, and his wings droop in a lifeless shade of gray-brown. He curls in on himself as best he can around the ropes to bury his head in Kevin's shoulder. The pressure against his forehead loosens off the horns, and soon they and the wings peel off altogether, shedding like snakeskin. It's over. Or at least it will be in just a moment.

Kevin twists the proton gun around to aim perpendicularly at the front of Neil's shirt, angled so it won't hit the man himself, and presses the tip directly against the clover. As carefully as they plotted all this out, his breath still catches when he squeezes the trigger. He didn't count on an earthquake when they made this plan. If he's off by an inch...

The clover explodes to ash in the glowing beam's wake. A demonic screech rings out, and green smoke trails into the air. Neil gasps and jerks back. The instant the job is done, Kevin releases the trigger and powers down his proton pack. The earthquake stops immediately upon the demon's demise, but he could swear he still feels the ground shaking beneath his feet. He can't breathe for a solid ten seconds.

It takes Neil several shaky tearful breaths before he straightens up and ventures to speak. "I can't believe I killed Ryan. What are we gonna do?"

"Worry not, my friend," Kevin assures him, laying a hand on his arm. "Things aren't quite as they seem."

*

Half an hour prior, Kevin shoved a half-conscious Ryan into the backseat and a possessed bound-and-gagged Neil into the trunk of Ryan's newly upholstered electric car that he definitely acquired by legal means. Minutes later, the frantic driver rounding a sharp corner pulled Ryan awake with a gasp. After a few dizzying moments trying to determine his surroundings and process the hurried explanation his companion offered, the cogs of his mind were set in motion. Passing out from blood loss served as a good excuse to not explain the plan he definitely had earlier, but it's even better to actually have a plan for real in times like these.

"When he was attacking me, he kept making pop culture references," Ryan mused, stroking his blood-matted facial hair thoughtfully. "I think Neil's consciousness is still intact. The right stimuli could draw his human heart back out."

"You think so?" Kevin met Ryan's gaze in the rearview, then shifted to glance at their possessed friend in the trunk. (Come to think of it, it's a miracle Neil stayed asleep the whole time. The fight must have really tuckered him out.)

"Well, I sure hope so," Ryan replied cheerfully. "Otherwise we're dead meat!"

"Dead meat..." Kevin echoed, drumming his fingers against the wheel with his brow furrowed. Suddenly he turned in his seat and snapped his fingers. "That's it! What if we make it seem like he killed you? A shock like that is bound to snap him out of it."

"Oh boy!" Ryan sat up excitedly, only to wince as his injuries offered their sharp complaints. Quickly recovering, he rubbed his hands together with a grin. "I'll slather myself in zombie makeup and moan about dragging him to hell."

"Hm... I was thinking more the kind of death you don't come back from."

"...Oh." Ryan sat back with a disappointed huff and crossed his arms. "Well, that's a little bleak."

"I know--" And judging by Kevin's tone, it didn't sound like he was thrilled with it either-- "but it could be the only way."

And so that's exactly what they did. Hiding at the top of the stairs and listening in on the whole shindig, Ryan soon decided it was for the best that they didn't go with his zombie performance idea. He may not be dead, but he is still injured. Overexertion is the last thing he needs--to say nothing of the brief earthquake toward the end.

Now, as the figurative and literal dust settles, Ryan braces himself against the banister and hobbles down the stairs, slow-clapping as he does so.

"A marvelous performance, Kevin," he says upon reaching the bottom of the stairs. "You almost had even me fooled!"

Kevin nods with a smug little I-told-you-so smile, crossing his arms. Neil stares blankly at Ryan as he walks to his side, produces a switchblade from his pocket, and cuts the ropes to release him. Upon being freed, the blank stare continues for several seconds before Neil rubs his eyes and gulps--not nervously, but like he's trying to swallow down any further tears.

"Ryan... you must've come to forgive me before you ascend," he murmurs sadly. Without waiting for a response, he pulls Ryan into a hug. "I'm gonna miss you, bud."

"Er, yes and no..." Ryan wriggles out of Neil's embrace--as lovely as it is, he could do without being squeezed right now. "Of course I forgive you, but I'm not actually dead. 'Twas but a clever ruse!"

He punctuates that announcement with a raised finger and a cheesy grin. After a beat, Neil slumps with relief.

"Boy, am I glad to hear that. I dunno what I'd do if I'd--if you were really..."

He starts trembling again and breaks off into sniffles. Ryan offers him an awkward pat on the back, while Kevin lays a steadying hand on his shoulder.

"There, there, Neil. You're alright."

*

But is he really alright?

He doesn't stop wondering, even six hours later when he's getting ready for bed. Running his toothbrush around his mouth for the fifth time in as many minutes, with a little too much pressure and way too much toothpaste, he finds that he still can't get the taste of his friends' blood out of his mouth. He doesn't like the taste anymore. Now it makes him gag, which might be more morally upstanding, but it's way less fun.

He cups some cold water into his mouth, swishes it around, and spits it out. The blood taste is still there, and now his teeth ache from over-brushing. At least they're not fangs. Nothing is growing in ways it shouldn't be.

He's not going to sleep that night. If he does, he'll dream about doing it all over again and maybe even worse. Or what if he turns demonic again in his sleep? How many people might he attack without even realizing--other friends? Family members? Random strangers on the street? Too risky. Instead he fixes himself a bowl of cereal, sugary enough to keep him awake, and nestles into the couch with a blanket and pillow to watch TV. He tries not to fidget too much, but it's hard not to. It's like when you wear a backpack or hat all day and then you can still feel it on you even when it's not. He keeps thinking he can still feel the horns and wings. Yeah, Kevin assured him the demon was gone, but what does Kevin know? He didn't think there was a ghoul in spooky manor either, and look where that got him.

Speaking of...

Neil grabs his communicator wristwatch and dials in the frequencies to contact his friends as, on the TV, a jungle snake lunges to attack an explorer. The watch displays a split-screen as Kevin and Ryan answer a few seconds apart. The timing of it coaxes a subdued laugh from Neil. I guess all three of us are on edge.

"What's wrong, Neil?" Ryan asks. "There's no sign of the demon re-emerging, is there?"

"No, but..." He leans back and worries his lip between his teeth, cheeks colouring with sudden embarrassment. Are they gonna think he's being a baby? Maybe he just won't admit to being nervous. "Do you guys wanna have a sleepover? And in case I go all demonic again--not that I think I will--you can get out the bible and holy water and everything and, y'know, take care of it."

"Sounds like a plan. We'll be right over."

Despite himself, Neil finds himself dozing off at some point. Even before they actually arrive, knowing his friends will be there is like a tranquilizer. Next thing he knows, Ryan is nestled in on his left side and Kevin on his right, debating in hushed tones which Ernest movie they should watch ("Scared Stupid might be too scary for him right now--" / "Yeah, but Goes to Jail has the whole identity-stealing thing, and that might..." / "Well, how about Rides Again? That way we could bore him to sleep!") Neil smacks his lips and tries to shake himself back awake--he doesn't want to miss the evening entertainment--but it's a lost cause. He sleeps peacefully that night, and clovers don't show up in his dreams even once.

Yeah, it looks like he's gonna be just fine.

[scapegrace74-blog]

New Ways of Turning into Stone, Chapter 5

A/N  Sorry for the long break between chapters.  As some of you might have seen from my Tumblr blog, I’ve been off on vacation these past two weeks.  Plus, when I felt the urge to write, it was my new Vaquero AU that kept calling to me (21,000 words and counting!), rather than this fic.  Which is probably a good argument for why I don’t like to post WIPs.  In any event, here is the next chapter some of you have been asking for, entitled Third Appointment.  Be careful what you wish for.  Angst ahead, plus a trigger warning for infertility trauma, miscarriage.

The first four chapters are available on my AO3 page.

The Thursday after her impromptu encounter with Jamie and his niece at the Royal Hospital for Children, Claire woke with a strange twisting pain in her gut.  Skipping breakfast, she was halfway to her office before she diagnosed herself with an acute case of nerves, the kind that sprouted between her lungs and ribcage like a vestigial organ whose sole purpose was to unsettle her.

She wasn’t in the habit of meeting patients outside of the clinical confines of her practice, but it was more than that.  Jamie had caught her in a moment of weakness, with both her personal and professional armour missing.  What he might have seen and how he could have interpreted it had occupied her thoughts ever since.

Eating lunch was out of the question.  By the time two o’clock approached, her insides were a buzzing hornets’ nest of anxiety, her palms clammy with sweat.  A half-empty bottle of Xanax called to her from the bottom of her purse.  Before she could weigh the implications of taking one at work on an empty stomach, Jamie’s familiar knock intervened.

She could tell as soon as he entered that Maggie hadn’t needed a transfusion that week.  His russet curls shone like garnets in the midday sun and his uncanny eyes glittered like sapphires.  Still, he avoided looking directly her way as he settled into his usual chair, and she wondered if the overlap of their personal and professional lives had left him feeling unnerved as well.

“No wheat grass smoothie,” he commented, his gaze running over her desk.

“No, I didn’t have time for lunch today.”  It was a blatant falsehood, since she’d spent her lunch hour picking her cuticles until they bled, but he didn’t need to know that.

“Ye should eat more, Sassen..., Doctor Beauchamp.  Ye canna help anyone else if ye’re no’ properly nourished.”  She caught the slip, and for some reason it angered her.

“Is this your attempt to negotiate a reduction in your fees, Jamie?  Dietary advice in return for counselling?  Because if so, I’m afraid I don’t bill on the barter system,” she snapped, despising her churlish tone.

Jamie’s eyes narrowed, then dimmed.  Message received, he sat up straighter in the armchair and crossed a foot over his knee, assuming a position of poised and detached calm that had no doubt served him well during business negotiations.  She regrouped by pretending to glance at her journal for the notes from their previous session, although the space next to his name was accusingly blank.

Boundaries thus defined, the session went surprising well.  Jamie spoke of his relief that Maggie’s latest round of chemotherapy was over, allowing her to return home and to some semblance of a regular life for a child of six.  Claire coaxed him gently towards the topic of his overwhelming guilt for abandoning his family when he was most needed.  Jamie processed pain through the recounting of stories, coming to terms with his self-decreed transgression by weaving together the tale of those he loved and pointing to the holes his absence had caused.

As his resonant voice spun its web of words, Claire became aware of an underlying hum.  At first it was subtle, like the mumble of traffic from a far-off motorway.  But as their hour together ticked by, it grew in strength until she could no longer ignore the buzz that pressed against her from all directions.

“... saw that it was really Jenny and Ian who I was... Claire?  Doctor Beauchamp, are ye well?”  Jamie was watching her with concern, and she realized she’d been shaking her head, trying to dislodge the omnipresent hum.

“Yes, I’m... yes.  Sorry.  Just a funny noise that’s...  Please, continue.”  When Jamie didn’t immediately pick up the thread of his narrative, she tried again.  “You were saying something about Jenny and Ian?”

Instead of continuing his previous thought, Jamie picked that moment to broach the topic she’d desperately hoped he would avoid.

“I hope ye’re no’ upset about the other day, at the hospital.  I didna mean tae impose or tae... o’erstep the bounds of our relationship.  No’ that we have a relationship, mind,” he hastened to add.  “Only a professional one.  But when I saw ye, I couldna resist introducing ye tae wee Maggie.  I hadna told ye about her yet, and I thought...”

“Jamie, it’s fine,” she cut in, halting his rambling explanation.  “She’s a lovely girl.  They all are.  It’s only that, I’m sort of...”

“Ye’re verra good with them.  Children, that is.  Ye’ll make a fine mother one day.”

All the oxygen left the room at once.  Her heart beat so hard there was a bruised feeling behind her sternum.   Launching to her feet, Claire stumbled blindly away from her desk.  She wanted to run, to scream, but her vision was a narrow chasm and a now-deafening throb filled her ears.  She only made it a few steps before her knees buckled and the carpet floated upwards to meet her.

“Ifrinn!”  Jamie leapt to her side, catching her by the shoulders before her head could hit the floor.  He lowered them both carefully to the ground, resting her body against his lap.  “Sassenach?  Claire?  Can ye hear me?  Do I need tae call an ambulance?”  The words reached her from very far away, but the threat of medical intervention acted like a dose of smelling salts.

“No,” she groaned, the room spinning around her like a kaleidoscope.  “No hospital.  I just... need to eat,” she grasped at the most innocuous explanation for her current state.

Without dislodging her, Jamie stretched his long arm and brought back the small basket of miniature muffins that were the day’s offering from Geillis.  With surprising dexterity, he peeled away the paper one-handed and broke apart a bite-sized morsel, holding it gently against her lips.  Realizing that her dignity couldn’t get any more battered, Claire opened her mouth and allowed Jamie to feed her.  After only a few bites, the buzzing disappeared and she was able to sit up on her own.

“Thank you,” she murmured, afraid to look into his eyes for fear of the pity she knew she’d see there.  “You were right. I  should have eaten lunch, I guess.”

“Claire.”  Jamie made a prose poem of the single syllable of her name.  She looked up at him through her lashes, stunned to find him looking back, not with pity, but with something akin to adoration.  “Mo nighean donn,” he ran a tender hand through her loosened curls.  “Ye need tae care more for yerself.”

“I will.  I’ll try.”  And when she said it to him, she really meant it.  Jamie made the impossible seem probable.

They stared at one another, shoulder to shoulder on the floor of her office.  She couldn’t think of anything else to say, but nor did she move.  Her gaze flitted over his face, noticing a vestige of boyish freckles across the bridge of his nose, a mole hidden in the harvest stubble on his cheek.  Jamie was performing a parallel inventory, eyes finally coming to rest at the level of her mouth.

“Ye’ve got a wee crumb, jus’ there.”  Unconscious, her tongue swept out, triggering a predatory response, twin blue laser beams narrowing on the target she had just painted on her lower lip.

“I... I’d verra much like tae kiss ye, Claire.  May I?”

An amputated moan was all she could manage in response, but Jamie must have understood its meaning.  He bent his head until only a whisper separated them.  The air crackled, sending that extra organ plummeting towards her hollow womb.  Clenching her eyes shut in defeat, she closed the infinitesimal gap until they met in an effervescent caress of lip and tongue.

Cold washed over her skin, bathing her in gooseflesh.  Jamie tasted like he looked; a banquet of fresh, volatile flavours that called to mind a picnic in a meadow, a spray of sea foam, the warmth of hearth and home.  She could feel him trembling against her, his moist breath rushing against her cheek in shallow pants.  For a score of heartbeats, Claire was the happiest she had ever been.  Then, reality crashed down around her.

“I’m sorry,” she stammered, pulling away.  “I... this can’t... I’m sorry.”

Jamie leaned back with a mixture of longing and resignation.  She hated adding herself to his list of regrets, but it was for the best.

“I’m your doctor, Jamie.  This isn’t right.”

“Aye, I ken.  I should apologize, but I canna seem tae find it in me tae repent.”

Jamie stood, reaching down to help Claire up as well.  As soon as it was apparent she was able to stand on her own, he dropped her hand as though it burned.  The line between his brows deepened, and she could see the question forming before he gave it voice.

“What if ye werena my doctor?  Would it be right then?”

“That’s neither here nor there, because I am, Jamie.  A relationship between patient and doctor of a romantic nature is ethically off-limits.”

Jamie nodded, apparently accepting her explanation at face value. Her heartbeat calmed.  He moved slowly, gathering his coat and starting to leave.  

“But what if ye weren’t?” he said, facing the door.  “If we’d met at the hospital, or out on the town?”

“I...” she stammered, searching desperately for any answer except for the truth.  “No, Jamie,” she said at last, watching as she destroyed his last bastion of hope.  “I’m sorry.  I just don’t feel that way about you.”

Nodding abruptly, Jamie let himself out of the office.  She listened to his low murmuring voice through the door as he spoke to Geillis, heard him make an appointment for the following week, then the loud snap of the main door closing.  Only then did she allow herself to collapse once more to the floor, angry sobs overtaking her.

***

“Are ye out of yer fuckin’ mind?” Geillis inquired with her usual brutal eloquence.

With the help of a Xanax, Claire had managed to see her last two patients of the day, and only needed to navigate the shoals of her office manager’s ire before she could go home and fully medicate herself into a dreamless sleep.

“Jes so we’re clear, ye want me tae write a letter terminating your services as a doctor an’ suggesting suitable alternative providers?  An’ ye want me tae send this letter, over email, tae Jamie Fraser?”

“That’s right.”  She had determined that icy calm was the best antidote to this conversation, which was fortuitous, since she felt numb all over.

“An’ what reason am I tae give fer this abrupt conclusion tae yer association wi’ Mr. Fraser?”

“I don’t owe him an explanation.  Only sufficient notice and an opportunity to seek counselling elsewhere,” she said, feigning reasonableness.

Pushed past her limits, Geillis rose from behind her desk, a tiny tempest of moral indignation.

“Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp, ye are a good friend, a fine doctor an’ a fair employer.  But I swear by the Almighty that if ye dinna drop the façade and tell me wha’ is going on I am going tae smack ye until yer ears ring!”

There was a certain relief in knowing that Geillis wouldn’t take no for an answer.  And unlike Jamie, she knew where Claire lived and would not let her rest until the truth came out.

“He kissed me.  Or rather, I kissed him.  And I liked it!  That’s why, Geillis.”

Her friend’s shoulders sagged, all righteousness gone in an instant.  She reached around Claire’s frame and held her in a bone-crushing one-sided hug.

“Och, hen.  An’ ye figured ye could deal wi’ those pesky feelings by jes, what? firing him as yer patient?”  

“I can’t deal with this right now, Geillis.  I can’t feel the way he makes me feel.  And this practice is all that I have left.  There’s no way I can risk losing it just for an affair that won’t even last the summer.”

She didn’t need to elaborate on her reasons for that dire prediction.  Geillis knew them as well as anyone.

“He’s an intelligent man, Claire. He’s gonna ken something is up.  Moreover, he’s a good man.  He deserves tae hear the truth.”

Shaking her head sadly, Claire walked towards the door.  Just before exiting, she called back softly to her friend.

“Geillis?  Make sure to include Dr. Rafferty’s name on the list of referrals.  I think they’d be a good match.

***

Monday morning dawned with little promise for the fledgling week.  Moving robotically through her weekend routine, Claire thought frequently of chickens.  How their bodies kept moving once their heads were lopped off, nerves and muscle and bone continuing to function for a time despite the fatal blow.

The elevator chimed its arrival on her floor.  As the doors slide open, Jamie was the first thing she saw.  He loomed by her still-locked office, a sun-topped thundercloud gripping a sheet of printer paper.

She’d worn her best black suit and a pair of chunky heels that brought her closer to his height.  Perhaps, on some subconscious level, she’d anticipated this confrontation.  Perversely, she relished it.  Vitriol and deceit didn’t suit her, but it was preferable to feeling absolutely nothing.

“Do ye mind tellin’ me,” Jamie began before she’d even set foot in the hallway, “jus’ what this is about, Claire?” He brandished the paper like a wanted poster.

“I would think it was self-explanatory, actually.  I’m terminating our professional relationship,” she huffed, golden eyes coming to life for the first time since Thursday.

“Via email.  Sent tae me by Miss Duncan, because ye dinna have the guts tae do it yerself.  Christ, Sassenach, even my ninth grade sweetheart didna dump me so cruelly!”

“I’m not your sweetheart!” she burst out, a flood of emotion cresting with her rising anger.  “Don’t call me that!  I was your doctor, Jamie, and now I’m nothing to you.  Nothing.  Just go.  Please.  Just go,” she finished weakly and without any hope that he’d listen.

“All this jus’ because I kissed you?” Jamie persevered.  At her stubborn silence, he continued, “Nah, I dinna think so.  Ye’re many things, Claire, but a coward isna one of them.”

She found this hysterically funny, since a coward was the only role she played to perfection.  She didn’t have time to laugh, however, because Jamie was suddenly standing much closer, forcing her to lift her chin to meet his stormy eyes.

“Nah,” he continued smoothly, a big cat alerted to the smell of its prey.  “If ye’d objected tae the kiss, ye would have told me so.  Read me the riot act or kneed me in the bawls.  I think ye’re scared, Doctor Beauchamp.  I think that kiss terrified ye, because ye realized ye liked it.  Somethin’ ye couldna  plan for in yer wee journal, right there under yer nose.  Bet it made yer heart beat so fast. So fast, jus’ like it is now.”

Jamie’s hand rested gently over the placket of her suit jacket, where he could surely feel the trip hammering of her pulse.

“Please,” she begged.  “Don’t.  I can’t...”

“Can’t what, Sassenach?” he whispered back, goading her.

The truth hung on her lips, and the toll of the past few days meant that she no longer had the strength to stop it from spilling forth.

“Can’t have children.  Ever.  I tried, for years.  Fourteen miscarriages, fourteen lost chances.  And seeing you with those children last week.  I know it’s presumptive, but I could never deny you that chance, Jamie.  That’s why I can’t see you anymore.”

She was looking down, watching the buttons of his shirt rise and fall with his agitated breath, but as she finished speaking, their movement ceased.  Chancing a glance upward, she was stunned by the fury that had overtaken his expression. 

Jamie opened and closed his mouth several times before he managed to speak in a gritty growl.

“Mutation of the RUNX1 gene tha’ causes leukemia.  I was tested, along wi’ Jenny an’ Ian, after Maggie was diagnosed.  I have a fifty percent chance of passing it along tae my children.  An’ since I canna stand the thought of ano’er bairn havin’ tae suffer as Maggie has, as soon as I got the test results, I went out an’ had a vasectomy.”

Claire recoiled as though she’d been slapped, a high pitched whine in her ears.

“Ye’re no’ the only one who’s hurting, Claire!” Jamie continued, voice dashing against the rocks of her name.  “We’re no’ meant tae suffer alone.  Ye, of all people, should ken that.”

Stunned in the silence following the thunderclap of his revelation, she couldn’t find the words to express her sorrow, her outrage, and her crippling shame.  By the time the power of speech returned, Jamie was gone. 

[winterscaptain]

permanent.

Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader a joyful future fic

a/n: just in case you missed it, i published a family tree for the hotchners! at this point, jack is married to bella and living in d.c. she’s a journalist for the washington division at the new york times and is generally pretty awesome. as always, lemme know what you think!

words: 3.1k warnings: language, hospital setting, canon-typical injury

summary: “write your injuries in dust, your benefits in marble” - benjamin franklin. au!december 2035

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | ajf faq | taglist | what do you want to see next?

“Come on, Soph! Go, baby, go!”

Your daughter is a vision. She streaks across the field, her green and yellow uniform almost melding with the grass as she keeps control of the ball. You can’t see her face too clearly, but you know she’s scanning the field with the same intensity you see in Aaron’s face beside you. 

Isaac plops down on the bench behind you, home from Los Angeles for winter break. “How’s she doing?” 

Aaron half-turns his head, keeping his eyes on the field. “Going for a hat trick - if she makes it, it’ll be her third this season.” 

“Excellent.” 

Caroline, down the field with her choir group, lounges happily between the legs of one of her friends, eating popcorn. When she sees you looking, she waves at you.

You wave back for a moment before your attention’s caught by a collective gasp and Aaron’s hand shoots to your forearm. You turn back to the field, but you missed it. 

Everyone’s moving and you don’t know why. 

With shocking agility for his age, Aaron all but leaps down the bleachers and onto the field. Your eyes search for Soph, but there are too many people on the field, all of a sudden. 

Caroline’s standing on the seat of the bleachers, her friends steadying her with their hands on her arms and ankles. 

There’s a hand, soft and scared on your shoulder. “Mom?”

You open your arms, and your nearly-grown son ducks under it, curling into you as you stand. “Do you want your earbuds?” 

You feel him nod and you pull them out of your bag. His trembling quiets a little after he fits them in his ears. 

There’s a clamber, and Caroline appears at your side. “What happened?” 

“I don’t know. I wasn’t watching.” 

She exhales, shaky and worried. “Where’s Dad?” 

“On the field.”

But where? 

You find Aaron, his salt-and-pepper hair stark in the autumn light. He’s talking to the referee, his brows low. 

You hear sirens. 

+++

“Oh, hey! What’s up, Mom?” 

You almost hate to ruin his mood. 

“Jack, honey, can you get down to the house at any point tonight?” 

You try not to grip the handle above the car door too tightly as Aaron races through the suburban streets, following the ambulance. Soph was definitely lucid when they loaded her up, but definitely in a lot of pain. 

“Ye - Yeah...Why?” 

“Soph’s headed to the ER - something happened on the soccer pitch today and her knee…” You shake your head. “I dunno. Her knee looks really bad.” 

“Fuck. Okay.” You hear him shuffle around and click his mouse - checking his schedule. “I can get down there after my last meeting at four - I’m headed there in a few minutes, but won’t be able to swing any earlier. I’d cancel it, but it’s literally SecDef and the Joint Chiefs and -” 

“That’s fine - I just need someone at the house with the kids until one of us can get back. Elliot’s at baseball practice until six and I’m not sure if -” 

“I’ll be there. I’ll get El and then I’ll swing by for Isaac and Caro if they’re still with y’all down there.” 

You glance over at Aaron and nod. He heaves a sigh of relief and mouths Thank you. 

“Thanks, Jack.” 

“Yeah. See you soon. Love you.” 

“Love you, too.”

+++

When you’re finally allowed in to see Sophia, her eyes are red and puffy with tears. Her right leg is braced and elevated at the knee. 

Her doctor explains the situation - dislocated knee and splintered patella with a torn meniscus and ACL. “This kind of traumatic knee injury poses a couple of issues…” 

He explains that the rehabilitation and surgery needs for both the ACL and meniscus are exceedingly different, and “It’s entirely possible Miss Sophia will experience permanent joint damage. However, we won’t know that until we have an orthopaedic surgeon look at it tomorrow.” 

“What about sports? Can I still play?” Soph tries to sit up farther, but Aaron’s arm shoots out, locking her against the bed across her shoulders. 

The doctor looks hesitant, and it’s all she needs to burst into tears again. Aaron moves, sitting on the side of the bed and wrapping her up in his arms. He looks over her head at you and your lower lip disappears into your mouth as you meet his gaze. 

You shift your attention to your other children sitting patiently behind you.

Caroline’s practically bit her nails to the quick - her hands looking more and more like her Aunt Emily’s as the moments pass. 

Isaac’s been sitting in the wide windowsill for the entire afternoon, his headphones on, staring out the window, his mouth tight and fingers tearing into the foam stress ball you keep in your purse. 

We’ll need another one of those. Or five.

 You get a phone call, and you step out. “Hey, Jack.” 

“Hey. Just got Elliot. We’re headed over to the hospital now. How’s she doing?” 

You sigh and press a hand to your forehead. 

“Oh, shit. That bad?” He asks. 

You don’t comment on his tell pickup. It’s in his blood, at this point. “Yeah. She’s definitely out for the rest of the season, and we’re looking at some long-term stuff, too.” 

“Fuck.” 

“Hey! I’m still here and she’s gonna kick your ass if you keep swearing in front of me, dude.” Elliot shouts from the back and it almost makes you smile. 

“I’m actually inclined to agree with you, Jack. We’ve got a dislocated and splintered patella in addition to a torn meniscus and ACL. It’s going to be a long rehab.” 

You hear a deep sigh into the bluetooth system in Jack’s car. “Well, I’ll stay here for the duration.” 

“No, no honey it’s alright. Your dad is home full-time and you’ve got a huge project reaching critical stages. Your room is all ready for you, but you really don’t have to hang around if you can’t manage the drive every day. And Bella -”

“Bells is looped in. She’s fine. She’s more than happy to tag out if we need to. Her deadlines are really loose right now what with the whole ‘nothing going on in Arlington’ thing this week. She’s heartbroken for Soph and wants to help where she can.” 

“Alright.” 

“Hey,” He huffs, sounding a lot like his dad. “I’ll let you go. I’ll text when I’m outside.” 

“Okay. Thanks, bud.” 

“Of course,” he says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “Anytime.” 

+++

Sophia’s sleeping when Alice and Hank come to visit later in the evening. Aaron went home a couple hours after Jack, planning to tag out with you later so you could get some sleep in your own bed before work tomorrow. 

Alice immediately embraces you, all but falling into your lap as you hold her. She’s shaking.

“Is she okay?” 

You push her back, smoothing some wayward edges at her hairline. “She will be.” 

Alice’s dark eyes fill with tears, and you brush them off her cheeks as they fall. 

“She’ll need your help, though. It’s gonna be a long time before we figure out what’s permanent and what’s not.” 

Alice nods and retreats, sitting in the plastic chair by Soph’s side, folding her arms on the mattress and laying her head on them. “Hey, Sofa,” she whispers, though Soph can’t hear her. 

“I haven’t heard that one in a while,” you tell her. Sofa is a nickname Derek gave Sophia when she was little. No big meaning to it, but it stuck. 

You wouldn’t be surprised if she stayed there all night. 

Hank lingers by the door. In the shadow of the room, you could easily mistake him for Derek, but that concerned pull at the corners of his eyes screams Savannah. 

Eventually, he crosses the room and sits on the little lounger beside you. 

He takes your hand and you kiss his knuckles. “I bet this isn’t how you wanted to spend your winter break, huh?” 

A little laugh leaves him. “Maybe not, but little Miss Thing over here dragged me out the door before I could get two words in edgewise.” He gestures vaguely toward Alice and you actually smile. 

“Yeah. In my experience, Morgan women don’t fuck around.” 

“You got that right,” comes a voice from the doorway. It’s Savannah, fresh off her shift and still in her white coat and scrubs. She scours over Sophia’s charts and checks on her before sitting on your other side. 

“Do you want the bad news or the good-but-also-kind-of-bad news?” She asks, almost inaudible. You glance up at Soph but Savannah shakes her head. “She’s out - those pain meds will leave this entire visit a blur.” 

You sigh. “Fine. Hit me with the bad shit.” 

“You sure?”

“Yeah.” 

Savannah rests her elbows on her knees. “I’ve seen a knee injury like this exactly once before. No matter what you do, they can’t and don’t always heal right. She could need a mobility device permanently, even after she’s healed, and I can tell you now she won’t play again.” 

That’s okay. She’s okay. 

Better soccer goes than her life. 

Soccer is her life. 

You only know that Alice can hear everything when her shoulders start to shake. She doesn’t make any noise as she cries. She’s like her dad that way. Hank stands and places a hand between her shoulder blades, but says nothing. 

“Is that the worst of it?” 

Savannah nods. “Yeah.” She takes a breath. “The kinda good news is that she’ll be totally fine no matter what obstacles she may run into. She’s tough. I wouldn’t expect anything less from a Hotchner.”

She snorts. “Hell, I watched you bounce back from crazy life-threatening shit with a quip and a grin.” 

You raise your eyebrows and shrug. “I do what I can.” 

+++

Caroline curls into her father’s side, her double bed big enough to manage the both of them. It feels a lot like when she was little - she’d have nightmares or couldn’t fall asleep and Aaron would come and sit with her until her breath was even and slow.

“Dad?”

“Mhmm?”

“What’s Soph gonna do about college?” Caroline’s voice is small, nearly smothered in Aaron’s shirt. “She already has scouting offers and stuff.” 

“Yeah,” he says with a sigh. “I’m not sure. We’ll all have to figure it out together, won’t we?”

+++

Aaron steps into the room, closing the sliding glass door behind him. Alice, just as you predicted, snoozes next to Sophia, her head pillowed on her arms. Sophia’s upper body almost arcs around her and she managed to snag one of Alice’s hands in her adjustment. 

Those two…

Maybe he won’t escape the inevitable after all. 

Morgan-Hotchner? Hotchner-Morgan? 

He really only ever prepared to lose his name with Caroline. Soph always seemed far too… herself to take on a new one. 

We’ll see.

You’re asleep in the pull-out chair, your brow drawn and arms crossed over your chest. He approaches you as quietly as he can, putting his go bag down and sitting beside you. 

Much to his chagrin, you startle awake. 

“Sorry,” he says in a whisper. “I didn’t mean to wake you.” 

You shake your head. “You didn’t.” Talking through your yawn, you add, “Just had a weird dream is all.” 

Aaron pulls you close and you relent, tucking into his side with a hand pressed to his chest. 

“Did Savannah come by?” He asks. 

You nod. 

“What did she say?” 

You sniff a little, more from the antiseptic smell than any emotional response - that will come later. “Soph won’t be able to play again unless fuckin’ divine intervention or some shit comes along and fixes her knee from scratch, but she’ll be able to move around just fine with a cane or brace or something after a while.” 

Aaron can only imagine it now - fits and righteous anger about getting around the house, watching games from the bench - the list could go on forever. “She’ll hate that.” 

You hum in agreement. “Just another parenting challenge. Already have the rest of the gamut covered neurodevelopmentally, so we were bound to get a physical challenge at some point.” 

“Never more than we can handle.” 

Shaking your head, you note, “This one just might do us in.” 

+++

“I swear to God, if I see you in the office at all this week I’m gonna smash your kneecaps in.” Emily pauses. “Sorry. Too soon?” 

“No, no, it’s fine.” You laugh a little and Soph sits up, her brow asking a question. 

You answer, pulling the phone away from your mouth. “Your Aunt Emily told me she’d smash my kneecaps if she saw me at the federal building this week.” 

Soph snorts. “Nice. We could match.” 

You reach over and tweak her nose. “We already match.” 

“Hey.” Emily grabs your attention again and you put your cell back to your ear. “I’m serious. I don’t want you to be here. Stay home for Soph right now and I’ll sign off on it and turn everything in for you.” 

You roll your eyes. “I can’t believe you turned into Rossi, Miss I’m Past Retirement Age But Twisted the Bureaus Arm to Let Me Work Myself to Death.”

She laughs and hangs up, leaving you and Sophia alone again in the hospital room. She tucks back into her Jello, taking bites that are way too big. 

“How are you feeling, bug?” You brush her cheekbone with your thumb and she shrugs. 

“Can you hand me my headband?” 

You reach over and dig around in her back until you find the wide swatch of colorful fabric. She takes it from you and shoves it over her head, pushing her hair back with practiced ease. 

She’s just like her dad. 

What? Loyal? 

Yeah. But also chronically avoidant. 

“You didn’t answer my question.” 

She huffs, playing with her fingers. “I’m fine. I think.” Her breath is shaky. “I can’t really tell with all the meds I’m on, but it feels… really bad.” 

When she looks over at you again, her eyes are glassy, tearful. “I know I can’t play again, maybe not even run.” 

You reach out for her hand, but don’t say anything. 

“Momma…” She pauses, looking down at her blanket. “Momma, I don’t know what I’m gonna do. I feel like I only know how to play soccer. I don’t know how - I don’t know if I want to do anything else. I’ve never thought about it before.” 

You run your thumb over her knuckles. “Soph, you can do so much. You have a great strategic mind - you think in these big, creative webs. It’s such an asset.” 

“Don’t profile me.” 

“I’m not profiling you, baby,” you tell her with a smile. “I just know that about you because you’re my daughter.”

Her mouth twists. “Right.” She looks down when her phone buzzes. 

“Who is it?” 

The corners of her lips tip up. “It’s Alice. She’s asking me if I want anything from the drive thru.”

You mirror her little smile. “That’s nice of her.” 

“Yeah.”

+++

“Alright so you have twenty nuggets, large fries,” Alice digs around in the bag, taking things out as she speaks. “And… a vanilla milkshake.” 

“God, I love you.” Sophia wraps her hand around Alice's head and pulls her close, pressing a kiss to her temple. 

Alice laughs, deep from her chest. “Shit, Soph, if all I have to do to secure your love is get you crap chicken, sign me up.” 

“You could get damn close.” 

Aaron watches the girls sit beside each other in the bed, taking turns dipping their nuggets in the sauce. They’ve always been this way, exchanging barbs and affection in equal measure. Symbiotic in the extreme, one is never far from the other. 

You’re home, getting everyone else in bed and settled for the evening. Isabella drove in a night early - Jack’s headed back to D.C. apartment for a series of days-long meetings at the Pentagon regarding his latest project. 

Aaron’s excited to see her. It’s been a helluva thing to see his son married, even more surreal to know and love his son’s wife like his own daughters. 

His phone rings. 

Speak of the devil. 

“Hey, Bella.” 

Sophia looks over at the mention of her sister-in-law, and Alice looks beside herself with delight. As well as being a hit among the parents, Bella’s a winner with the kids, too. 

Some days, Caroline likes her more than she likes Jack. 

“Hey, Pops. Want to tag out?” 

“Sure. I’ll switch with you. How long do you want to be here?” 

He can almost hear her shrug. “Eh. I’ll spend the night. My column isn’t due until the end of the week and I’ve got it covered. Don’t need to work, don’t really need to sleep. Win-win.”

“If you say so.” 

“I do. I’ll be there in twenty.” 

She hangs up before Aaron can respond, so he just pockets his phone and takes the loss. Sophia, after taking a sip of her milkshake, asks. “Is Bella here all night?” 

“Yeah, bug. She’ll be here.” 

Soph and Alice share a look. 

+++

“Well, Bella has more patience than I do,” Aaron says, dropping his go bag at the bedroom door. “She’s stuck with H&M for the rest of the night at the hospital.” 

You laugh, wrapping your arms around him. “I’m glad the girls have company, and fun company, at that.” 

“Fair enough.” 

The two of you quiet for a moment, and you tuck further under his arm, placing your hand over his heart. 

“Aaron?” 

His hand traces up and down your back, slow and steady. “Yeah?” 

“What can we do for her? She sounded so… defeated today.” 

And it’s true. You’ve never seen Soph like that, even at her lowest. If you were honest, it scared you a little. 

“We can be her parents. That’s all. And she’ll figure something out. If she needs to take a gap year, she’ll manage. She and Alice can search for programs together.” He sighs before he continues, leaning back to look at you. 

“All we can do is ask her what she needs and support her as best we can.” 

+++

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