#it’s hard doing it for the four men but i’m also sleep deprived and at work

[lethalchiralium]

what’s with the cod fandom and ignoring the original tropes- yeah yeah SHUT UP

the bet, college fraternity edition. five thousand dollars to the man (out of the four) who could pin you down for a date, a fuck, and make it as a date to one of your sorority events. you were one of the only single sorority girls on the whole campus, and one of them confessed to you being hot over drinks one night. so, the bet was born - the only catch was, if you denied one of them, they couldn’t ask again until the rest had a hand at trying.

soap goes first, he’s arrogant and way too headstrong, he gets laughed away by your girlfriends at lunch.

gaz is more suave, taking an interest with you as you browse the public library. he chats you up, asks for your number when you politely decline, saying you had a boyfriend.

price takes more of a reserved route - bumping into you at coffee shops, at the library you study at, and occasionally at the dining hall. he’s always polite, nice, you start to build a friendship with him when he asks you to join him at his favorite coffee shop, blandly suggesting a study date. but you shook your head, saying you’ve got a midterm to study for.

simon goes last. he’s more upfront, he walks up to you at the library to ask you questions. he’s adjacent to your major, you’re widely known as the smart girl, it’s often that you get asked things in your realm of knowledge. he actually befriends you, bringing you coffee when you’re studying late, offering you come of his crisps. it’s just when he asks you if you’d like to get a drink with him, you decline. again. stating you don’t drink.

“but thanks anyway, riley.”

“what for?”

“i just won my bet.”

and that’s how the four friends learned that you were playing in a league of your own, just… your bet included rejecting the four hottest men on campus for an all expenses paid vacation to france. and your (more than just a) best friend könig winks at simon before he leads you away.

[giggles-and-freckles]

How about “you. Rest. Now.” for obi-wan?? And maybe a grumpy anakin being mad that his master’s avoiding sleep AGAIN?

from these extremely exhausted starters

“–and we’ll be waiting for you here.”

Obi-Wan used his good arm to point toward the lower quadrant on the holo-map.

“Very good, sir. Are you sure you don’t want to stay aboard and coordinate from the bridge? I can promise constant communication.”

“No, thank you, Cody. I’d prefer to–”

His words were lost as the door to the briefing room slammed open. Obi-Wan closed his eyes and prepared for the incoming storm.

“You.” Anakin barked, marching toward Obi-Wan. “Rest. Now.”

Cody’s eyebrows shot up and Obi-Wan noticed the two troopers in the corner of their room shift a bit, in spite of their helmets.

“Could we try for more dramatics next time, please?” Obi-Wan sighed, rubbing at his eyebrows.

“You’re supposed to be back on Coruscant.”

Obi-Wan shrugged easily. “I’m also supposed to have a well-mannered Padawan.”

“I’m not your Padawan anymore, Obi-Wan. Which means I get to call you on your shit.”

“Oh, like that stopped you before,” Obi-Wan said, feeling quite proud of himself for that particular dig.

“When was the last time you slept?” Anakin demanded.

“I don’t see why that’s–”

“Obi-Wan.”

He shifted his gaze about the room and landed on Cody, looking for relief. But the glance revealed how unwilling his Commander was to come to his aid.

Evil man, that Cody.

“I’ve been busy.”

Anakin huffed in frustration. “You’ve been in deep space for four days! And your arm is broken!” He threw his hands up, gesturing madly. “You were supposed to rejoin with the 212th, give them their new orders, and go home.”

“Brachin needed our help.”

“Brachin is a planet completely under Separatist rule. They’re beyond help.”

“Well–”

“But even so, you could send your men and go. They’re capable. Just look at him–” He jutted a finger toward Cody. “His posture’s perfect! I think he can handle a few battle droids.”

Obi-Wan lowered himself onto the bench he’d pulled up to the holoprojector because, if he was being honest–it was rather difficult to keep standing after, hmm...six days without proper sleep?

“I’m perfectly fine, Anakin,” he said.

Anakin spun on his heel. “Is he fine, Cody?”

“I–” Cody peered over Anakin’s shoulder at Obi-Wan’s withering glare and dropped his own eyes to the floor. “I don’t believe he is, sir.”

“HA!” Anakin cried in victory.

“Cody!” Obi-Wan cried in betrayal.

Anakin folded his arms over his chest and stared down at his old Master for several moments. It was his thinking face and one that only ever led to trouble. 

“You know what?” Anakin stretched his arms up above his head. “You leave me no choice. I have to do it.”

“Do what?”

Anakin forced an over-exaggerated yawn and took a few steps toward Obi-Wan. 

“Anakin…”

“I’m just suddenly so tired, Master,” Anakin yawned again, this performance even worse than the first. A few more stumbles toward Obi-Wan.

“Anakin, don’t you d–”

He collapsed across Obi-Wan’s lap.

“Get off me this instant.”

“Can’t.” The younger Jedi wrapped an arm around Obi-Wan’s waist. Anchored himself. “Too tired.”

“You are not.” He scoffed indignantly. “Honestly, Anakin, you’re not a Padawan anymore.”

“Well, yeah. If I was, you’d be scratching my back by now.”

Obi-Wan’s face turned bright red as he looked around the room. This time the troopers in the corner didn’t even try to hide their laughter. Cody simply lifted an amused eyebrow.

“He was a child.” Obi-Wan defended himself. “Had problems sleeping,” he muttered.

“Do you need someone to scratch your back, General?” Cody bravely piped up.

“Out.” Obi-Wan commanded with a deadpan frown. “Go practice your posture.” 

Cody and the troopers laughed their way down the hall as the door shut behind them.

What had Obi-Wan done to deserve this? A commander who found humour in his folly and a Padawan who inflicted the folly. Cruel, cruel jokes from the Force. Or Master Yoda. Whichever.

Anakin didn’t move.

“Show’s over. Your audience has departed.” Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. “Get off.”

“I’m pretty comfy, Master.”

“You weigh a ton, Anakin. And my arm–it’s...I can’t move it when you–”

The mound of man on top of him shifted.

“That better?”

Well, yes, but he wasn’t going to admit it.

After a moment, Obi-Wan relaxed and resigned himself to being crushed by his ridiculously stubborn Padawan. He wasn’t actually that heavy, anyway. Not with his body completely stretched across the bench. More like a warm blanket if anything.

He rested the arm that wasn’t in a sling across Anakin’s back.

“I’ll let Cody lead this mission and take the transport back to Coruscant this evening,” he said finally. Because his arm really was hurting and he really was so very sleep-deprived.

“Really?” Anakin asked, and Obi-Wan couldn’t help but smile at the unbridled relief that seeped into the energy between them.

“Really.” Obi-Wan lightly moved his hand across his former Padawan’s back. “If he hasn’t quit by the time I tell him, that is.”

Anakin hummed in amusement. “If you haven’t scared him off by now, I think you’re safe.”

Familiar motions up and down Anakin’s dark tunic, his nails lightly scratching along the fabric. It has been years since he’d done this and the rational part of him knew it was foolish now. They were in a war and Anakin was a grown man.

But as Obi-Wan watched the deep rise and fall of his Padawan’s back as he continued his light ministrations, it wasn’t hard to forget that altogether. 21-years-old was hardly grown by any standards, other than a war’s. 

“Master?” Anakin murmured.

“Hmm?”

A pause. “I forgot what I was going to say.” His words slurred together and Obi-Wan had to withhold his chuckle because some things never change.

He felt the tension in Anakin dissipate slowly, slowly until it was gone. Only leaving behind soft breaths and a sleeping child. Because that’s what he still was, really.

Seems Obi-Wan wasn’t the only one who’d been missing out on sleep.

“Sleep well, Padawan,” Obi-Wan whispered, smiling to himself, because rest could come in many forms. Sometimes it involved a bed and darkness. But sometimes–sometimes it wasn’t so much a physical refresh as a mental one. And a bed and darkness would be a poor substitute for having someone you love so close.

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

Cult Girl: Doctorate (Hannibal x Female!Reader) pt. 8

Cult girl and Hannibal go through an exhaustive list of potential adoptive couples. 

@wisesandwichshark

Trigger warning: sexual harassment, christianity, discussion of pregnancy and family planning, adoption, murder and cannibalism 

Step two: find an adoptive family.

Some would say your list of expectations for potential adoptive parents was too extensive. Impossible for any human to reach. But it was really just the bare minimum.

Regardless of if they were two men, two women, one of each, or a few people, the parents had to be trustworthy. It wasn't easy to earn Hannibal's trust, but he could recognize those who had the capacity to right away. It was a little instinct you had dubbed 'friend or food'.

On paper, the apostolic pastor and his wife of 19 years seemed like the perfect candidates. The adoption agency tried to push them on you, as they had a great track record with adopting from them prior. Three boys, all of which were honors students.

Hannibal insisted on a formal introduction, during which you could conduct a proper, though surreptitious, interview. It was an invitation to dinner.

He invited the couple into his office, where a pot of tea and an interrogation was waiting for them. Then there was you. Barely-pregnant little [F/N], feeling entirely safe so long as your fiancé was beside you.

"You're doing the right thing, y'know." The woman, who introduced herself as Mrs. Landon, said upon meeting you.

"How do you mean?" You asked, already knowing the answer.

"All god's life is precious." She said, placing a hand on your not-even-remotely-showing-yet stomach. "You're walking in obedience to the lord by giving this child a shot at life."

Strike one: bringing up religion unprompted. Strike two: touching me without asking first.

You wanted to swat her hand away, but remembered that patience was a virtue. She and her husband took a seat across from you.

"Y'know," The man began, his mannerisms eerily similar to those of his wife. "I don't usually begin with the god talk, but I think a higher power had to have been involved in the conception of this- well, our child. I'd like to think the good lord brought us together today."

Strike three: already believes he is entitled to my child. You're outta here.

"Don't flatter the adoption agency like that, Jacob." Hannibal chuckled, placing his teacup on the side table.

"I'm serious, Dr. Lecter." Jacob interjected. "Faith and I really do believe that god put us on this earth to prepare his smallest soldiers for the spiritual war."

You shot Hannibal a side glance that said 'can we please just eat them now?'.

The answer was no. Hannibal liked to play with his food.

"And your adult children have all moved out?" He asked.

"That's right." Jacob nodded. "We have plenty of room in our five-bedroom house for the new little slugger to run around in."

"And if it's a girl!" The wife interrupted. "We have enough closet space for all the denim maxi-skirts money could buy."

Strike four: arbitrarily genders the behavior of a nine-week-old embryo.

The man then returned the teacup to the table, not bothering to use the saucer and instead leaving a nasty ring of condensation on the polished mahogany.

"Okay." Hannibal huffed, resignedly rising from his seat. He pulled two hypodermic needles from his back pocket and carefully, subtly stuck them onto the couples' necks. They couldn't even scream.

The tacos al pastor that followed (after a few days of marinating, of course) were exquisite.

The next week brought a new couple to your doorstep. Frank and Angela, they were named. Their claim to fame was that their oldest son played football for one of those big southern party schools. Either Auburn or Alabama. There was hardly a difference.

You sat for what felt like hours listening to the man speak in unintelligible football babble, waiting for him to take a breath. Surprisingly, it was the mom who got him to finally shut up.

"Frank, please." She said with more frustration than this one situation even remotely warranted. Either she had enough intuition to know she was being tested, or she’d spent the last decade putting up with this. Possibly both. "You're boring our hosts to death."

"What? No way! She loves it!" Frank replied, then turned to you. Not to Hannibal, just you. “Aren’t you having a great time, sweetheart?” 

Strike one: takes advantage of the female socialization to be passive and polite, allowing himself to take up the most space.

You shook your head. “I hate football.” 

His wife looked quite pleased with herself. 

“Angie, I just wanted her to know what good breeding her son is going to have.” He said, without a lick of irony or self-awareness. He eyed you up and down and licked his lips. “And it is mutual, I see.” 

The room went quiet as everyone tried to determine whether he was serious or if it was just a fucked-up joke. The longer the silence lingered, the more you realized he wasn’t kidding. Angela looked like she wanted to crawl into a hole and die.

“I don’t know what the agency told you, Mr. Wyatt,” Hannibal said, trying not to grit his teeth. “She isn’t a surrogate. She’s already pregnant.” 

Frank’s jaw hung dumbly open. “I thought you were looking for a sperm donor? I just-” 

“No.” You cut him off, raising your hand and covering your face. “I don’t want to know what you thought.” 

“Well, I would!” Angela interjected, righteous fury eclipsing what should have been crippling embarrassment. “What exactly did you think this was, Francis?” 

“The file said that he was over fifty, so I just assumed--” Frank rationalized, his voice far too loud for the room. “Y’know? That she wanted a baby that wouldn’t come out all funny-looking?” 

“You’re disgusting.” You blurted out. 

“Francis Howard Wyatt,” Angela scolded as if she were talking to her son. “You are forty-eight and the only increasing part of your body is your blood pressure. Why on Earth would any woman choose you over her smart, handsome doctor fiancé?”

This made Hannibal sit up a little straighter. He wanted Francis on the butcher’s block yesterday, but he momentarily considered letting Angela live. 

“They’re not married?” Frank whispered, or whatever the loud-aggressive-toxic-masculinity version of whispering was. He paused, as the dead hamster on the wheel powering his brain crept back to life. “That actually makes sense.” 

Angela loudly smacked her hand against her face. “Dr. Lecter, Ms. [L/N], I am so sorry.” 

“It’s quite alright, Mrs. Wyatt.” Hannibal stood up, readying the next batch of needles. “It just makes what I’m about to do easier.” 

It took quite a bit of restraint to not make their deaths hurt, but he made up for it when it came time to carve. He had fun running his fittingly small penis through a meat grinder. Not with any intent to cook it, though. Just because. 

Hannibal wanted to make Francis Wyatt into the least dignified meal imaginable. You quickly recalled going to a friend’s barbeque in Georgia and encountering a horrendously Southern delicacy known as Frito Pie. You proposed the idea to Hannibal, who, after reviling in abject horror at the notion of eating something out of a bag, agreed that it was the most fitting end. He could spare a few pounds of flesh to grind up and make into chili. 

The third week brought yet another couple. They seemed smart enough to realize your invitation wasn't the friendly olive branch the others had interpreted it as. Their healthy skepticism was refreshing, to say the least. Then, you met them: Max and Archie.

"You'll have to forgive my partner's paranoia." Max said upon entering the house. He tugged playfully at Archie's hand. "We watched Get Out recently, so an invitation to the suburbs sounded some alarms in his sleep-deprived brain."

"I love that movie." You chimed in. "It reminds me of my family."

"Oh no." Archie's eyes widened in only half-pretend fear. He shot an I-told-you-so look in his partner's direction. 

"But my favorite horror flick has to be Midsommar." You added. "My friends and I saw a midnight screening and we didn't sleep at all that night."

"But have you seen Hereditary?" Archie posited.

"Of course." You shrugged. "Aster is totally genius."

You made more than just polite conversation with the couple. Max, despite his young age, was a skilled data analyst and day trader. He attributed his success to the hard work of his immigrant parents. Archie was an environmental lawyer and land activist. He was also a bit of a thrill junkie, indulging in everything from scary movies to bungee jumping.

It didn't take long to realize that you wouldn't be eating them. They were far too pleasant of company to eat.

"So when is this baby planning to make its entrance?" Archie asked, gesturing to you. "You don’t look all that pregnant to me."

You put your hand over your slightly-protruding stomach. "Late August, I believe. If everything goes according to plan."

"You're not far along at all, aren’t you?" Max observed. "That gives us plenty of time to prove ourselves to you."

"Believe me." You put up your hand. "You're doing a great job so far."

“If you like horror stories, we might have to indulge you in the last two encounters we had.” Hannibal commented, leaning back comfortably in his chair. That was a good sign. “No blood was spilled, thank god. Would have ruined my carpets. But believe me when I tell you it came very close.” 

The couple laughed along. Archie leaned in like he was about to tell a life-shattering secret. “You wouldn’t believe the hoops we had to jump through to even have the chance to adopt. And I don’t want to say that it’s because we’re an interracial gay couple, but...” 

“Agencies aren’t exactly colorblind.” You finished, via his prompting. 

“She gets it.” Archie pointed to you. “See, Maxie? She agrees with me.” 

Max pushed his glasses up his nose. “I never said I disagreed.” 

You spent the rest of the afternoon waiting for the conversation to take a sharp left turn off a cliff, but it didn’t happen. They were wonderful company; polite, intelligent and articulate. Exactly the kind of people you’d want to see taking care of your child. 

You’d have to look for you next meal elsewhere. 

[velkynkarma]

Big List of FMA Parental Roy Mustang Fic Recs

Recently a family member of mine has been enjoying Fullmetal Alchemist for the first time. I’ve been revisiting it too for fun. While I was at it, I decided to poke through the fandom, revisit old fic favorites, and see if there were any good new ones. 

Turns out: there are!

I was always a big fan of Roy Mustang, and especially fics where he acts as a surrogate parental figure for Ed and Al, accidentally or intentionally. It was hard to find good ones though, so I thought I’d throw together a list of fic recs. 

Everything here is platonic, and does not focus on romantic relationships. Fics can be from the 2003 anime, Brotherhood, or the manga. 

To the Night Sky by Ranowa 

Summary: They tell him he lost his mind. He doesn't remember anything else, so he believes them. But if that's the case, then why does he sometimes feel like he doesn't belong here... and neither does that little, annoying, blond kid named Ed? 

Comments: In the author’s words, ‘not a traditional amnesia fic,’ and it sure isn’t. Long, eventful, has a ton of hurt/comfort but also a great background plot that ends up becoming more important the farther you go. This author also has a few other great FMA fics that are worth checking out, but this one stuck out to me the most. 

War Heroes by Akarii

Summary: Drawn by rumors of a Philosopher's Stone, Edward travels to North City along with Roy and the soldiers of Eastern Command who plan to compete in the North vs. East Training Exercises. However, Ed and Roy find their lives at risk when they get captured by a rebellion group who aim for the end of all State Alchemists and the entire Amestrian government.

Comments: Great adventure fic with some good hurt/comfort, but also plenty of Roy and Ed both kicking ass and taking names. This author also has some other FMA fics that are definitely worth checking out as well, but this was again the stand-out for me. 

Number Twenty Eight by Sevlow

Summary: As of today, Edward Elric had been missing for four months, two weeks, and five days.

Comments: An oldie but still a goodie. Ed goes missing, and when he’s found again, he’s a Nina-esque dog chimera in bad shape. With Al on the other side of the country chasing down another lead on his missing brother, it’s up to Roy to try and fix Ed, and take care of him in the interim. Chimera!fic was a dime a dozen back in the days of the 2003 anime fandom, but this was one of the ones that delivered on the premise. Years later, it still holds up and remains a personal favorite, with plenty of hurt/comfort and dark humor moments. Sevlow has a lot of other Roy-centric fics that are equally good, though not necessarily parental!Roy.

Warning: Parts of this fic do get super dark, with references to suicide, gore, and implied sexual abuse during Ed’s missing months. 

Bookwrm389: This author had some of my favorite FMA fics back in the day. Imagine my shock when I discovered their FF.net account has been completely deleted within the past year. Thankfully, they only orphaned their stories on AO3, so they’re still available. Since it is an orphaned account now, I can’t link to it for people to browse at their leisure, so here’s individual links to all my favorites:

Gold from Lead ~ There were whispers. There was absolutely no way to stop them. Ed would rip out his spleen if he knew what all those people were insinuating about the two of them.

Comments: Ed gets kidnapped by insurgents to be used as ransom against his father. The problem? Thanks to the rumor mill, everyone thinks his father is Colonel Roy Mustang. 

Your Son ~ "I'm not your father. It's not fair that you can affect me this much." A military function becomes a nightmare when Ed accidentally takes a poisoned drink meant for Roy.

Comments: Exactly what it says on the tin. Somebody tries to assassinate Roy, and Ed gets caught in the crossfire. Excellent hurt-comfort. Also features Maes Hughes being awesome, and Roy having an existential oh my god am I a dad????? moment. 

Tempest ~ Ed is adamant that he doesn't need a father. And it's only when he's about to lose the closest thing he has to one that he understands how very wrong he is.

Comments: Has a solid dose of both action-adventure and hurt/comfort and found family moments. It’s the full package. 

Shadow of a Doubt ~ It was meant to be a simple inspection, but a disturbing dream makes Ed uneasy and fearful. His anxiety intensifies when the mission takes a dangerous turn, putting his and Mustang's lives at risk. Can he hold it together long enough to save them both?

Comments: Another nice, long fic with a good combination of action, hurt/comfort, and family moments. One of my favorites.

Likeness ~ One morning mere hours before an inspection, Roy is amazed to receive absolute proof that his young subordinate is growing up.

Comments: A surprisingly adorable fic in which Roy ends up being the one to teach Ed how to shave. 

Bonus fics that aren’t specifically parental Roy but do still have some hilarious Roy and Ed interaction: 

Military Courtesy ~ Ed learns how to do a proper military salute and promptly drives the Colonel absolutely insane (or not)

Who’s the Alchemist? ~ A Who’s on First parody that goes exactly like how you’d expect but still had me cracking up

Name Calling by Lost_And_Longing

Summary: From the start, Roy Mustang had always believed in Edward Elric. Even after he'd learned the horrific story of their attempt at human transmutation, Mustang had just looked at Ed and offered him a chance. He'd come when Ed was despondent, weak, and helpless...and offered him a way out. Maybe that was why, out of all the men Ed knew, Roy was the closest thing he'd ever had to a father.

Comments: A 5+1 based on all the different names and titles Ed uses for Roy. Has a nice dollop of humor, hurt/comfort, and parental moments. 

Of Hospitals and Health by ReminiscentRevelry

Summary: Al is still recovering after the Promised Day, so Colonel Mustang pays him a visit.

Comments: Post-series (although not by much). A nice fic where Al actually gets a little moment with Mustang. Most parental Roy fics are with Ed, so this was a nice change of pace as well as as sweet little fic in which Roy shows he cares about both of the Elrics, even if only one is technically his subordinate.

Twelve Cups of Coffee by BeyondtheClouds777

Summary: Roy finds a sleep-deprived Edward in his office.

Comments: Just a cute little one shot in which a freshly appointed State Alchemist Edward Elric overworks himself trying to find the solutions to his and Al’s problem, and Roy makes sure he knows not to push himself too hard.

Point of Exhaustion by Took-Baggins

Summary: Roy never thought he'd be the one to be there when Edward finally pushed himself too far, but when the Fullmetal Alchemist suddenly collapses there's no one else to hold him down until he can stand again.

Comments: Another fic in which Teenagers Are Just Bad At Knowing How To Take Care Of Themselves, so the adults step in to make sure they do. Ed’s not eating or sleeping properly when he’s so obsessed with getting Al’s body back and makes himself sick. Features both a parental Roy and a parental Hawkeye, because both of them are fed up with the smallest youngest member of their team not properly taking care of himself and are not gonna let that stand. 

When the Rain Falls by Marcellebelle

Summary: Colonel Roy Mustang has two problems: Edward and Alphonse Elric.

Comments: Still a WIP, but the first two chapters are definitely promising. A sickly Ed calls Roy asking for help when his brother is kidnapped, and now Roy has to find one and make sure the other is taken care of. Really looking forward to seeing where this one goes.

As always, if you take the time to check any of these out, try to leave a comment or kudos for the writers and their hard work!

[sisterspooky1013]

Damsels, Chapter Eight: They Don’t Want to be Found

By SisterSpooky1013 / Read previous chapters here

Rated E / Tagging @today-in-fic

Mulder calls in to work the next day, too sleep deprived and mentally exhausted to function. After sleeping until nearly noon, he gets back in his car and returns to Philly. He checks into a hotel that’s just a few blocks from the club and then spends the next several hours trying to watch TV, trying to read, and jacking off picturing Scully topless. A short time later, he jacks off again, this time imagining what he’ll see tonight.

He isn’t really sure what he’s doing or why he’s here. The best excuse he can cook up is that she doesn’t have a weapon and he’s protecting her, but realistically he knows she can take care of herself. Is it really just perversion, that he wants to see her…exposed? What will he say if she spots him? He can imagine her level of mortification if she knew he was here, that he’d seen her, and he feels guilt churn in his gut. She might never forgive him for this.

He knows it’s wrong, but he can’t seem to stop himself from going back. He has to see her again.

Scully had lay awake for hours after Angel left, thinking about what had happened, wondering how it happened in the first place. She’s on a case, how stupid could she be? What if it comes to light that she’s become involved with a witness in the case? She might be suspended. At least then maybe they’d never ask her to do something like this again. What if Mulder finds out? Would he feel betrayed somehow? Would it turn him on?

Somewhere around 6 am, she had finally caved in and slid her hand down the front of her panties, groaning when she felt how wet she was. She swirled her finger around her clit, using her own arousal as lubricant, and imagined what might have happened if Angel’s phone hadn’t rung. Would Angel have touched her? With her hands, or her mouth? Maybe both. Would she have touched Angel? She was approaching the brink just thinking about it. She stopped suddenly, remembering something, and grabbed the bullet vibrator from her bedside table, switching it on and pressing it to her clit as she plunged the middle finger of her other hand as far inside herself as she could reach. Within 30 seconds she was unravelling, images of Angel and Mulder dancing in her head as her walls clamped tightly around her finger. Finally, she had slept.

She manages to sleep until nearly three in the afternoon again, then spends the day getting her nails done, reading, and devising a plan for how she might look through the files in that closet. Without knowing what’s in them, she has no way of gaging whether Ricky is likely to notice if she takes a few at a time and returns them later. Worse still, Lexie is working tonight and that gives any risk she takes the potential to blow the whole investigation. She’s positive that given one more red flag, Lexie will sing like a canary. The silver lining is that Angel won’t be at work for the next three days, so they can get some space from what happened between them.

The evening is mostly business as usual, and she’s a bit horrified to realize that this is becoming as dull and predictable as any other job. She lets her mind wander while she flexes and rolls over horny married men, wondering what Mulder is up to, whether he’s worried about her or even misses her. Part of her wonders if he might realize that his life is less complicated without her, and that he prefers it that way. She feels an ache in her chest, a bit further north than she has grown accustomed to, and realizes how much she misses him.

When he enters the club, she’s at the bar. Half her torso is resting on the bar top as she shouts to be heard by the bartender, who’s laughing at whatever she’s saying. The position she’s in pops her barely covered ass out prominently behind her and his eyes go big at how exposed she is, and how comfortable she seems with it. Her bare breasts are smushed against the lacquered countertop and he feels his cock twitch thinking about how hard her nipples will be when she stands up. Unfortunately, it would be too risky to stick around and find out, so he tugs his ball cap lower and finds a table in the back. The dancers never seem to come back here for some reason.

He keeps his head trained towards one of the other dancers at all times, while his eyes follow Scully’s every move. If he knows one thing, it’s that Scully can feel his eyes on her, so he needs to be careful. His disguise is painfully basic and all it would take is one solid look for her to know it’s him. He watches her give a lap dance to a blushing young woman, a soft smile on her face the whole time, and he can’t decide if he’s more turned on or touched by how hard she’s working to make the woman feel comfortable. The aching hard-on in his jeans suggests the former.

This time he’s mentally prepared for her stage set, and also realizes she can barely see beyond the tip rail with all the stage lights on her, so he lets himself enjoy it. He’s known from the moment he met her that Scully is beautiful, sexy, incredible in every way imaginable, but he never could have imagined her moving like this. She’s so graceful and captivating. He lets himself block out all the other jerks who are leering at her, stuffing bills into her underwear, and just watches her. His Scully. She’s ethereal.

“Seems like you’ve found your ATF,” a voice to his left startles him from his reverie.

“Huh?” he turns to see the same waitress who’d served him last night, clad in a fishnet body suit.

“You were here last night, right? You like Desi?”

He panics. “No! I mean, yes. But, don’t send her over here or anything.”

She nods in understanding. “You like to watch. That’s cool, whatever floats your boat, man. Can I get you something to drink?”

“Yeah, can I get a Captain and Coke?” He walked here, why not enjoy himself, right?

Four drinks for him and ten lap dances for her later, he stumbles into the balmy night and back to his hotel room where he jacks off again. Twice.

Everyone is trickling out slowly at the end of what has been a busy shift. Scully takes her time counting her tips, sharing a cut with her bird dog and the bartender on shift tonight. While she would not say that she likes working here by any stretch of the imagination, her coworkers at the club are her only source of socialization and (with the exception of Lexie) she truly enjoys their company. She’s helping one of the custodial staff, a wiry young man they called Don Juan, put up the chairs on the club floor so he can mop when Ricky approaches her.

“Desi, can I see you in my office, please?” He has a somber demeanor that concerns her.

“Um, sure, of course.” She bids the young man farewell and follows Ricky down the hall. He closes the door behind them and she feels her heart start to race.

Ricky sits down behind his desk and motions for her to take a seat across from him. She’s reminded of her first day here and the feelings of fear and anticipation.

“I need to ask you something, Desi, and I want to make sure you don’t mention it to the other girls.”

“Okay,” she responds, taking shallow breaths to obscure the fact that she’s afraid.

“Angel told me what happened.”

Her mouth falls open but no words come out. Is she in trouble for kissing Angel?

“That’s why she was so upset the other night, when you saw her in here. She told me that she’d talked to you about her past a bit,” he shakes his head ruefully. “Some gall those dirtbags have, shaming her for being sexual in any way, then coming to a titty club on the sly.”

She breathes a sigh of relief. “Right, yes, the people who came in. She was very upset. “

“It was really nice of you to spend some time with her after work. Anyway, I gave her a few nights off. She needs a break.”

Scully nods. “You wanted to ask me something?”

“Right! So, Angel is my right hand gal, she helps me with a lot of stuff around here. With her being out, I wanted to ask you to kind of be her backup, if you will.”

For a moment she’s afraid Ricky is asking her to perform some kind of sexual favor, but she recalls that Angel had said he’s gay. “What did you have in mind?” she asks hesitantly.

“Well mostly, I wanted to give you a set of keys for the club. Angel has one, in case something happens to me and I’m not here to open and close the doors, stuff like that.”

A set of keys? Scully feels a flush of adrenaline. “Of course, I can do that.”

“That’d be great, Desi. I know you haven’t been with us all that long, but you seem pretty trustworthy, at least compared to the other girls. Like I mentioned, I’m hoping we can keep this between us, just so there are no hurt feelings from anyone who’s been here longer than you.”

Her heart is pounding with excitement at the opportunity to gain access to those files. “Is there an alarm code or something I should know about?” She recalls a sign on the door for ADT.

Ricky dismisses her concern with a flick of his wrist. “No, nothing like that. I should get one, but I just pilfered those signs from my buddy to scare off vagrants.”

She nods in understanding.

“Ninety-nine percent chance nothing will happen and there’ll be no need, but thanks for being on deck, just in case,” he says as he hands her a playboy bunny shaped keychain with a single key dangling from it.

Scully smiles at him. “I’m more than happy to help.”

After she leaves the club, she first goes home to stash her tips and change into comfortable, dark clothes, and then gets a big cup of coffee and a disposable camera from the 7-11 near her apartment.

By the time she’s lurking in the corner of the club’s parking lot, watching the door, it’s nearly 4am and there’s still a light on inside the foyer. She sips her coffee and waits, shuffling her feet to keep warm. Finally at 4:50, Denny and Ricky emerge, locking the door behind them. After they leave the parking lot, Scully waits another 20 minutes before she creeps around the perimeter of the lot and approaches the door. Glancing around to be sure no one is watching her, she turns the key and steps inside, locking it behind her.

The quiet stillness is eerie in contrast to the throbbing hive of activity it had been earlier in the night and she flicks on her flashlight, making her way to Ricky’s office. She fits the same front door key into the lock and sighs in relief when it turns. Ricky’s security standards aren’t incredibly high, apparently, but in this case it’s to her advantage. She tries the key on the hallway closets just in case, to no avail, and returns to the office. Navigating to his desk, she pulls open drawers quickly, scanning their contents. Nothing is of interest, and she’s disappointed though not surprised that his keys to other areas of the club aren’t in here. That makes things more challenging, but not impossible. She’s spent her days off at the library researching how to pick locks, including buying a lock picking kit and some padlocks at the local hardware store to practice with, and she feels relatively confident she can get this door open without a key. She might just have to be the one to pick the lock next time she and Mulder have the need. She smiles to herself knowing how impressed he’d be.

Back in the hallway, she pulls the small lock picking kit out of her back pocket and kneels in front of the door, the pen light perched between her teeth. She studies the lock and then inserts a torque wrench at the bottom, turning it slightly to put resistance in the direction it will spin when unlocked. From the kit, she selects a straight, flat pick and runs it from back to front at the top of the keyhole a couple times. Next she exchanges it for a pick with a curved end, pushing it as far back and high as she can reach as she holds her ear close to the lock in the stony silence of the hallway. Bumping against the pins inside the lock, she listens and feels for a small click or give that indicates the pin has settled in its unlocked position. She continues this until she counts five pins clicking into place, then removes the pick and turns the torque wrench.

The lock releases with a soft click and she laughs out loud as the door swings open, beyond pleased with herself. Stepping into the closet, there’s enough room for her to close the door behind her and she does so, pulling a cord to turn on the overhead light. Taking stock of the beige bank of file cabinets, she works top to bottom, left to right, and immediately feels her heart sink when the first four drawers she tries are empty. Would this be yet another dead end? When the fifth drawer snicks open, she sees a small set of files hanging towards the back. She quickly checks all the other drawers so she’ll have a good idea of how much material she has to review, but they’re all empty.

She pulls the files out and sits down with them on the floor, setting the disposable camera near her thigh. There are eight folders nestled inside the hanging file, each one with a set of initials on the tab. The first one is marked “G.A.” and inside she finds an intake form, a personal statement that’s filled out by hand, and a release of liability form. The intake form is sparse and includes nearly no identifying information. The name is listed as simply GA and the fields below it include “entry date,” “exit date,” “reason for sheltering,” and “responsible individual.” On the form for GA, the entry and exit date are both a year and a half prior, about six months apart. Reason for sheltering is listed as “threat of violence-domestic,” and the responsible individual reads “brother.” She turns to the second page, which contains GA’s personal statement.

Continue Reading Here

[chubbymoongoddess]

TW: Mentions of mpreg, slavery, rape and stockholm syndrome.

if this isn't your thing, don't read it. This is also set in modern times.

Longer version.

Omega Jm born into a royal family, making him the prince. It's rare for male omegas to be born, so he's extra special. The more he grows over the years, the more beautiful he gets. He literally has every man and woman in the kingdom wanting him by the time he's 21. Not only is he gorgeous, but he's humble as well and his kingdom loves him for that just as much as they love him for his beauty. Jm takes to time to greet and speak to everyone he can on his outings, making sure to listen to any complaints they may have so he can relay them to his father. Literally the definition of an angel.

Well, one night he goes on an unsupervised outing. Everything goes well until he's on his way to return home. It's late and the streetlamps are really the only lights on so it's not that easy to see. One minute Jm is conscious and well aware of what street he's on and the next he's out cold, body being hauled into a windowless, unmarked van. Of course this would happen on the one night he decided to sneak out by himself. He should have known better.

He wakes up with a massive headache in a cold, damp stone room, much like a cell, with shackles on his feet and wrists, the ones on his feet being connected to the wall. His breathing is heavy as he's terrified and it only accelerates as the door to the room opens, a strange man he's never seen before walking in with an annoying smirk on his face.

"Well, well, our gorgeous prince finally awakens."

Jm backs up against the wall as much as he can, voice shaking as he speaks. "W..Who are you? Where am I? Why.. Why are you doing this?"

The man just laughs, moving over to Jm, grabbing his chin between his thumb and forefinger. "You're very sought after. I'd be stupid if I didn't try to catch you. You're going to sell for a very high price."

He was terrified before but those words make Jm's blood run cold. Fuck.. Fuck he had been captured by slave traders. If he was sold he knew he'd most likely fucking die after being tortured and abused for god knows how long. The only thing he could think to do was to plead for his life.

"No!! No please! I..If you let me go I.. I can get my father to pay you anything you want! Just please let me go!" There were tears in his eyes and his voice was wavering, bottom lip quivering as he tried not to sob.

The man just laughed, letting the omega's face go as he moved back toward the door. "The only thing I'll get if I let you go is sent to prison. What, do you think I'm stupid? Shut up and get some rest. Tomorrow is the auction day and I won't have you looking like some sort of sleep deprived zombie." and with that, he left, leaving Jm alone to sob himself to sleep on the hard stone floor.

Morning comes and jm is taken to a large room filled with seats with a single, circular stage in the middle. He watches as one by one, different people of different ranks and genders are auctioned off, until it's finally his turn and he's dragged up onto the stage by the shackles. He stands there as men start placing bids on him almost immediately. It doesn't seem to ever stop and jm just wants to go home. His attention is diverted when a man, obviously an alpha by his build, jm can't make his scent out in this room, stands up, offering more than 70 million usd for him. It's over then. the auction is won as nobody else wants to bid higher. Jm is led off of the stage and into the back room to meet with the man who bought him. He'll admit, he's pretty handsome, but that thought shouldn't even be running through his mind right now. The man doesn't ask his name. He knows who he is. They all know who he is. All the man says to Jm is "I'm going to have so much fun with you."

The omega is transported back to the alpha's home and luxurious doesn't even begin to explain how nice his house is. It's basically a mansion surrounded by massive, well kept gardens and fountains. Jm swears he hears a horse whinny in the distance. On his ride there, he's told what he will be used for. Sex and feeding. It scares the fuck out of Jm and he starts to try to get out of the carriage. He does NOT want this. There's no way he's ever going to want this! The alpha just grabs him by the hair and yanks him back. He's have made it a few steps away if the alpha wasn't so quick. Once he's shown his room, which is no more than a bedroll on the ground in the dungeon, he's explained the rules and what the alpha expects of him. He answers with a bitter "yes sir."

He's given an hour or two to "settle in" before the alpha comes back with servants wheeling in a little cart full of food. He hasn't eaten in a while so he is hungry, but only eats until he's full. After refusing a few times, the alpha forces his mouth open and forced the rest of the food into his mouth, leaving Jm with a bloated stomach that renders him too full to move. It's then that the alpha commands him to undress and get into "presenting" position. Jm panics. He's too full to even fucking move and he really doesn't want this alpha inside of him. He pleads, struggles even, but the alpha has had enough of the omega's resisting so he forces him into the position himself. Jm blocks out everything that happens next. All he knows is that he fought as hard as he could the whole way through.

This goes on for months with jm resisting and fighting back each time. It has resulted in him having a few black eyes, bruises littering his body. He hasn't gained any weight because he purges everything he eats when the alpha leaves him alone for the night. In fact, he's lost weight because of it. It results in more beatings. He doesn't want to give in, his will is strong and he keeps telling himself that he'll fight until the day he dies. That is until he finds out that he's carrying a pup. It was bound to happen, he had gone through a heat not too long ago and the alpha was in his "room" non stop. Things changed then as Jm's world came crumbling down. He couldn't continue to fight when there was a pup inside of him. He couldn't bear to have it hurt, despite it being his rapist's spawn. The next time the alpha comes in, Jm just looks up at him and opens his mouth. There's not much light in his eyes and the alpha notices. He asks what's going on and Jm reluctantly tells him. The prince has never seen the alpha's face light up the way it does at the news. Before he gets too ahead of himself though, he asks if Jm is going to be good from now on to which the prince quietly nods. The alpha is pleased with this and unshackles Jm from the wall, leading him out of the dungeons and down one of the many long hallways in the mansion. He's lead to a large bedroom, furnished with all sorts of things from bookshelves to a large tv hanging on the wall with a soft looking couch in front of it. There's a bathroom attached to the room as well. The only thing that Jm can really focus on is the bed.

He immediately starts to tear up, moving toward it. At first the alpha thinks he's going to try to run for it and he starts to reach for Jm's hair to yank him back but when he notices that he's moving toward the bed, he stops, watching as the omega carefully sits on it. It's been months since he's been inside of an actual room like this and all he wants to do is sleep. He asks the alpha if it's okay to which he responds a simple "after I'm finished with you." Of course it would be like that. Jm nods with a sigh and lets everything happen as normal, only this time, when the alpha is finished, he unshackles Jm, taking them in his hand and leaves, locking the door behind him. For the first time in months, Jm doesn't purge and he takes a shower before falling asleep.

Four months down the line, Jm is a different person. He's only been smacked a few times in the face since he's found out he's pregnant. After the last slap two weeks ago, he hasn't acted out since. He does his very best to keep "his alpha" happy, referring to him as master, owner..even my alpha . This has had him rewarded multiple times with things he asks for. Certain foods, games, anything to keep his mind busy when he's alone. He's thought about asking to call his family once, but decided against it as he knew he'd get punished for even suggesting it. Due to all of the stuffing the alpha made him do and since he was no longer purging, Jm had gained and it had definitely begun to show. He only ever wore robes anymore but he could feel how his ass bounced as he walked, could feel his thighs rub together more, there was even a bit of pudge on his stomach that wasn't caused by the pup. It.. It oddly felt.. good?

Jm exhaled and quickly shuffled into the bathroom to look at himself. His stomach wasn't very big yet but there was a rather noticeable bump and as he ran his hands over it, he bit his lip. The moment he turned around to look at his ass in the mirror though, he started to leak slick. It only got worse as he reached back to smack himself, watching his cheeks jiggle. He figured he had some time before the alpha came back so, he leaned back against the sink, groaning as he felt his ass spread against it slightly. He started to stroke himself, whimpering and keeping his noises to a minimum, lest anyone would hear. somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew this was wrong. He knew he shouldn't be feeling this way, but at the moment, he really could not care less. He came harder than he had ever came before after a few moments, panting heavily as he rested back against the sink. He began to wonder if he'd get more praise and rewards if he continues to gain and bare offspring for his alpha. He'd have to possibly ask the next time he came in. The prince cleaned himself and the mess he made up and went to sit on the bed to wait.

When his alpha came in, he found Jm sitting on his knees with his hands on his thighs. He raised a brow at the omega, moving over to stroke his cheek. He asks what's going on and Jm asks him about everything that's on his mind, promising he'll be a very good boy if the alpha agrees to this. His alpha is taken aback, honestly. He agrees almost immediately and explains that this is what he has bought Jm for. The omega nods and immediately crawls closer, opening his mouth for the food that his alpha had brought him. He was going to be the best boy possible from now on.

-----------------------------------------------------------

In my mind I see Jm getting to be about 450-500lbs in this. Still very mobile despite his weight. He essentially gives this alpha quite a few offspring, enjoying it each time. He eventually "falls in love" with this alpha, falls in love with how he is a servant to him. Loves the way the alpha makes him do certain things like crawling on his hands and knees, begging for his food or his alpha's cock sometimes. There's no dumbification really in this either. Jm is just tired of being beaten and he falls in love with.. feeling how big he's gotten and enjoys all of the belly rubs and groping his alpha gives him. He's able to see his pups, though not much. I kind of had an idea of this alpha eventually agreeing to let Jm see his family once as well. Idk.

[cyhyr]

Summer of Whump Day 15: Sleep Deprived

Fandom: Naruto

Rating: G

Pairing: Hatake Kakashi & Umino Iruka; Umino Iruka & Uzumaki Naruto

WC: ~3320

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Notes: AU backstory for the purposes of I Wanted To.

A/N: This is just. I don't even know guys. I started writing and then it got bigger and bigger and I couldn't stop. It's just. A Lot.

~

Kakashi has not been able to take care of his sensei’s child the way he should, the way the boy admittedly deserves; and yes, absolutely, he takes that fault personally but also doesn’t do anything about it because really… what can he provide for this child besides instability? He’s hardly in the village anymore, though Sandaime has hinted that, if Kakashi asked, he could be assigned missions closer to home. Instead, Kakashi does what he can without bothering Naruto or letting the boy realize that he even exists. He ensures the bills are paid up in six-month increments, and has the utility companies know to charge to his personal account anything he misses due to being out on mission. He provides non-perishable groceries, placed in the pantry late at night every month or so: oats, rice, dried or tinned meats, beans and legumes. He’ll bring a small selection of vegetables with him at the same time, (no more than three or four items, so they don’t rot before Naruto feels obligated to eat them) usually pilfered from Gai’s garden so he knows they’re not poisoned.

And whenever he’s in the village, he makes a stop at Naruto’s apartment at least once to check in on the wards wrapped into the walls and window frames.

This is how he learns about Umino Iruka and the interest he’s taken in the village jinchūriki.

~

The wards when he gets to Minato’s son’s apartment this time are different. Odd. Not… well, actually, they might be stronger; Kakashi glances at the walls with the sharingan and finds himself mildly impressed. Whoever placed these wards knew about the ones Kakashi put up, and modified their own to augment and strengthen Kakashi’s.

Kakashi says modified because he’s seen these styles of wards before, but never used like this. The key in the front door jingles a bit, like the person unlocking the door knows Kakashi’s in here and is giving him time to leave. Kakashi takes the out for what it is and slips out the window, closing it quietly behind him. He stays plastered against the wall beside the window for a moment, however, wanting to get a glimpse of who’s taking care of his sensei’s kid in Kakashi’s stead.

The door opens and Naruto—gods, how old is he, seven? Eight?—barrels by the figure in the doorway with a grin and shoots straight for the pantry.

“Naruto-kun, take your sandals off first. I mopped for you just earlier this week, I’m not doing it again so soon.”

One arm balancing a paper bag of fresh groceries, a leather school bag over the same shoulder; hitai-ate and vest both neat, but his sleeves and pants legs are scuffed; and his fingers carry the faint dusting of chalk that hours of holding ingrains and a quick wash won’t wipe away. A teacher.

“Iruka-sensei, I can mop later; I’m hungry now!”

“I won’t ask you twice.” The man—this Iruka-sensei—walks barefoot through the apartment and sets the grocery bag down on the kitchen table. Naruto hangs his head and goes back to the door, and once he’s out of the room, Iruka looks at the window Kakashi is peeking in, scowling initially. The scowl lessens when he sees the Konoha ANBU mask, and he nods, but makes a slight shoo gesture.

“What’re we making tonight, sensei?” Naruto bounds back into the room, barefoot as his sensei.

“I’m thinking of teaching you breakfast for dinner,” Iruka says. “Miso soup, tamagoyaki, steamed salmon; how’s that sound?”

“Sounds great!”

“And if we make enough, you’ll have enough for the morning, too,” Iruka ruffles Naruto’s hair. “Go grab out the rice and we’ll get started, okay?”

Kakashi leaves. Iruka-sensei seems to have only good intentions.

~

Iruka is a new teacher, one that (if the very quiet rumors are to be believed) didn’t initially want to be the jinchūriki’s homeroom teacher. Something changed his mind, clearly, and now he’s spending every moment outside of class with the kid.

Every. Moment.

Kakashi notices the third time he’s in the village after meeting Iruka—notices how tired the man seems. He follows the teacher from just before dawn when he wakes up and heads out to Naruto’s apartment and fixes him breakfast. Kakashi watches Iruka herd Naruto around the apartment, brushing teeth, getting changed, gods Naruto where’s your homework I told you to put it right back in your bag last night after I helped you with it. Then they’re out the door and one of them locks the deadbolt while the other activates the wards (Iruka always double-checks the wards if Naruto does them) and they walk to the Academy together.

Iruka spends the day in the Academy staunchly refusing to play favorites. If Kakashi didn’t know that the man had made Naruto eat breakfast while searching for a clean shirt for the child to wear, he’d swear Naruto was Iruka’s least favorite student—based solely on the amount of yelling.

But the two of them have lunch together, talk and hang out during recess unless Iruka shoos him away to play, and then they walk together to either Iruka’s or Naruto’s apartment after school. Sometimes they’ll go out for ramen, or to one of the training grounds to work on a technique they started in class which Naruto needs more time to fully grasp. Iruka is a patient teacher, especially one-on-one, and even though Minato-sensei’s son doesn’t perform well on the tests in school he learns the techniques after class and gains the appropriate muscle memory.

Which is admittedly much more important than the grades Naruto earns. Iruka won’t say as much, but it’s obvious that he agrees when his teaching style puts emphasis on practicals rather than paper tests. Kakashi approves.

After a day of minding twenty-five ankle-biters, an afternoon of extra training for the village jinchūriki, and an evening of making sure Naruto is fed and happy and his homework is completed to the best of his ability, Iruka then helps Naruto get ready for bed. Against the kid’s token protests, they’ll read a story together (Kakashi suspects Iruka does this because Naruto’s reading skills are lacking, but he could also very well just be doing it because he enjoys it—the man’s motives are enigma to him) and Iruka will tuck Naruto in. He stays at the apartment until he knows Naruto is asleep, tidying up here and there or even just leaning in the bedroom doorway watching the jinchūriki’s chest rise and fall.

Only when Naruto’s asleep will Iruka leave, activating the wards and locking up after himself.

It took only two times of Kakashi watching these kinds of days go by before he realized that Iruka knew he had been watched all day. As he passes the tree outside of Naruto’s building, the only one that reaches high enough to afford a glance into his apartment, Iruka looks right up into the limbs where Kakashi is crouched, waves, and continues back to his own home.

(He had been underestimating Umino Iruka’s awareness. He’s intrigued.)

(But anyway.)

Once he’s home, Iruka rushes through grading and lesson plans and adjustments. He makes lunch for himself and Naruto for tomorrow. Cleans, if he remembers; showers, if he has any energy left. Then, Umino-sensei crashes hard around one or two in the morning.

All to start over again at five-thirty the next morning.

It can’t be sustainable. Kakashi is morbidly interested in how long Iruka planned to keep up this kind of schedule.

~

It starts out with checking out during lunch. Kakashi is lounging in the trees on the Academy grounds, pretending to read but listening intently to Naruto ramble on about some new topping Ichiraku is introducing on Friday and please Iruka-sensei can we go? Then the soft click of dropped chopsticks against a bento box made Kakashi look down to the pair sitting at the base of his tree.

“Iruka-sensei? Are you—?”

“Oh, I’m. I’m alright.” Iruka laughs it off, fumbling for his chopsticks. “I was just thinking too hard there.”

“You shouldn’t do that!”

“Hu—?”

“You tell me not to think too hard all the time,” Naruto pouts. “That I’ll hurt myself.”

Iruka’s laugh crinkles his eyes and he tips his head back. “Gods, Naruto, I’m sorry—no, not—um. Listen, forget it, okay? Ramen, on Friday, right?”

“YES!”

And it was forgotten. Except, Iruka is unconsciously rubbing his fingers together beside his hip and Kakashi can see it. Something happened to force the drop—likely, he lost feeling in his hand briefly.

~

Kakashi’s out of the village as it gets worse, but he hears all about it from Shikaku and Inoichi when he gets back. They’re in the hallway outside the Hokage’s office, talking in low tones like they were discussing an attack on the village.

“What could cause such a serious mood shift?”

“Genjutsu; one of the other teachers sabotaging him; another student practicing poorly.”

“Iruka-sensei?” Kakashi asks.

Both men look at him as he approaches. He’s still in his ANBU armor, but the mask is in his locker. It’s an open secret he’s in ANBU; only his codename is high-clearance.

Shikaku nods. “Shikamaru’s complaining about the man’s temper being shorter than usual.”

“My Ino confirmed this behavior shift. We’re understandably worried, if someone if trying to use an Academy teacher to attack the kids—”

Kakashi shakes his head. “It’s not that.”

“And you would know?” Shikaku prompts.

“He’s taking care of Naruto,” Kakashi shrugs. “It’s probably catching up with him, finally.”

“What is?” Inoichi looks honestly confused.

Kakashi tilts his head and then realizes. “Ah. That’s right. You’re both married. You have a way to share the responsibilities.”

Sakumo hadn’t ever been irate with him, but Kakashi can remember him being tired. He lifts his hand and walks away. “I’ll see if I can’t have a talk with Iruka-sensei,” he says, as though he speaks with the man on a regular basis instead of just waving back from his shadowed space in the tree at night when Iruka leaves Naruto.

~

He doesn’t get a chance to talk to Iruka for weeks. When he gets back, it finally comes to a head.

Kakashi is perched outside Iruka’s apartment where he and Naruto are preparing their dinner. Naruto, still talking a mile a minute, hardly notices that Iruka is dazed at the counter, his hands going through the motions of peeling carrots and separating pieces of broccoli without being fully cognizant. He’s much paler than the last time Kakashi peeked in on them—all except for the bags under his eyes; those couldn’t get much darker if they were black.

He flinches forward as Iruka drifts to the side. Naruto catches his teacher before Kakashi can take a step, and the clang of a knife hitting the floor is more than a little startling. Together, they stick Iruka’s hand under running water from the tap, and then Naruto disappears further into the apartment and returns a few seconds later with a first aid kit.

“What was that about, Iruka-sensei?”

Iruka takes a bit to answer. “I haven’t been sleeping well,” he says. “I’m a bit tired, that’s all. Sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Naruto says. He finishes caring for his sensei and then says, “How about I go get some take-out, and then we can clean up and you can go to bed?”

Iruka smiles tiredly. “We can bring the take-out to your place, okay? I’ll clean up when I come back home.”

“But—”

“It’s okay, Naruto,” Iruka puts his unbandaged hand in Naruto’s hair. “I’d rather make sure you’re fed and well-rested for school tomorrow. That’s what's important.”

“You’re important, too, sensei,” Naruto says.

Kakashi can’t help but agree.

“Let’s go get some ramen, and we can argue about this later.”

Kakashi flashes away to Ichiraku to put in their order and pay. It’s the least he can do, right?

Later that night, Iruka leaves Naruto’s apartment and like always, lifts his head to wave up at Kakashi in the tree. Only, his eyes roll back with the movement of lifting his head and his knees collapse under him and Kakashi makes it just in time to keep the sensei’s head from hitting the ground. He catches Iruka with one hand under his back and the other cupped behind his head and eases him down against his raised knee.

As soon as Iruka is horizontal, his eyes flutter back open. “Oh, ANBU-san,” he mutters. He’s dazed and foggy, but tries to stand up on his own anyway.

“Sensei, are you well?” Kakashi asks, knowing the answer but needing Iruka to admit it.

Iruka waves him away. “I’m fine, I’m fine. Just a little tired.”

It’s more than that if you’re slipping into micro-sleep, Kakashi thinks, but lets the man stubbornly stand up. He’s still holding his hands out, ready to catch him again, when after five paces Iruka tips sideways and falls again. Kakashi keeps him upright this time, arms tight around his waist and back.

Iruka stays under for a few seconds this time, and when he wakes he leans more heavily into Kakashi’s armor and groans. “What’s happening?” he murmurs.

Normally, he would stay and look after Naruto all night, but this seems more important. “Umino-sensei, I’m going to see you to the hospital now,” he says.

“But… Naruto?”

Because of course Iruka figured out that Kakashi—his ANBU persona at least—stays close to Naruto at all times. “Together, our wards are top-notch, sensei,” Kakashi says. “He’ll be okay for a night.” He slips Iruka onto his back, pulling his arms over his shoulders. Iruka’s light breath huffs past his ear as he says, “Hold on.” Then, they’re gone.

~

Iruka wakes up much later, Naruto tipped against his hospital bed, snoring. He feels so much better after however many hours of sleep he’s gotten. He wonders briefly why he’s here, and where the ANBU that brought him here is. If Naruto is here, that ANBU is likely closeby. Iruka lets out a jaw-cracking yawn and settles back down on the pillow to sleep some more.

When he wakes up the second time, it’s because he has to pee so bad oh gods. It’s night time and Naruto is gone—Iruka tries not to feel disappointed. His legs shake under him when he tries to stand to get to the restroom; whatever’s wrong with him, it’s making him weak as a newborn but he will not embarrass himself by not making it to the toilet. He pushes chakra through his legs, and, finally, blissfully, makes it.

He gets a good look at himself in the mirror as he’s washing his hands. His eyes are puffy and red, but he has some color back in his skin. His hair could use a wash and some heavy conditioning—he hadn’t had time for that in awhile. All in all, it’s not bad; but he’s still wondering why he’s here.

Iruka leaves the restroom and is halfway across the room to his bed when his chakra flares unexpectedly. He stumbles, collapses, and feels his eyes blur and begin to roll back.

Before his head can hit the tile, he’s caught and cushioned by Naruto’s ANBU. The ANBU gently picks him up, one arm under his knees and the other around his back, and it’s like Iruka weighs nothing as the ANBU stands and carries him back to bed.

“Thank-you, ANBU-san,” Iruka says, flushed. “I promise I’m not usually so weak.”

The ANBU fusses with the blanket and covers Iruka back up. He (Iruka assumes they’re a he, the voice and height lead him to believe it but he’s been wrong before) seems frustrated, in the way that ANBU show frustration: by being busy, and then by being absolutely still. He’ll make sure the water pitcher is full, and then stand silently by the window for a few seconds. Pace the width of the room from window to door and back, and then stand at the end of the bed.

“What’s going on, ANBU-san? Is Naruto—?”

“Uzumaki-kun is safe, healthy, and well-cared for,” the ANBU says, cutting him off. “You are a godsend to this village, if only to care for the uncared for.”

Iruka glowers. “Someone had to do it. He’s seven years old and living alone and has lived alone his entire life. I couldn’t—”

“I’m aware,” the ANBU holds up a hand to stop his rant. “Believe me, if I could have done more, I would have. But an ANBU is no role model, especially not me. I’m glad he’s had you. That said.” The ANBU somehow matched Iruka’s glower through the mask; he was suddenly glad for all the time spent in Sandaime’s office around the ANBU that he can pick up on these micro-aggressions for what they are.

Iruka folds his arms and waits for the ANBU to continue.

After a heavy sigh, the ANBU says, “Sleep deprivation.”

“I—what?”

“What you’re here for. You’ve been running yourself into the ground, sensei. You slept for twenty-two hours, and you’re still not fully recovered. The medics say it could take up to a week of proper sleep for you to feel normal again.”

Iruka flushes and ducks his head. “I… But, that doesn’t…”

“How much sleep have you been getting? Three, Four hours a night? And then you’re exhausting yourself all day looking after pre-genin and then Naruto.” The ANBU folds his arms. “This isn’t sustainable.”

“I know that. I just.” Iruka groans. “I don’t have time for—” He scrubs both hands across his eyes. Now that he’s actually gotten some sleep he’s really tired. “No one else takes care of him, not the way he needs it; he’s just a kid! It bothers me enough that he lives by himself—”

“Your immune system was compromised when you arrived, sensei.” The ANBU snapped, quieting Iruka’s tirade. “Who’s going to take care of Naruto the way he deserves if you’re stuck on your back with a perfectly, normally treatable form of the flu? What will happen to him if you critically injure yourself due to a micro-sleep at an inopportune time and find yourself off-roster for weeks? What then, sensei?”

The silence is heavy. Iruka picks at a stray thread in the blanket on his lap.

“I don’t know,” he answers, his voice small. “I didn’t… I wasn’t thinking that far ahead, I guess.”

The ANBU nods. “At least you’re aware now.”

There’s a long, awkward pause as Iruka wonders what else there is to say.

“You have a spare room in your apartment, yes?” the ANBU breaks the silence.

Iruka nods, slowly, not sure where this is going.

“Maybe…” the ANBU continues slowly, “maybe changes in Naruto’s living arrangements can be made. If Naruto were living with you, could you agree to a better sleep schedule—one with which you can better take care of yourself and Naruto?”

Iruka could kiss this man.

“Yes! Yes, please, I’ll—yes! I’ll take him, even if it means I have to lose him as a student, I’d take him as a foster.”

The ANBU chuckles. “I’ll speak with the Hokage. If he says no, well… There’s nothing saying that Naruto himself can’t choose where he lives, is there?” Then his micro-aggression is back, leaning over the foot of the bed with his arms wide. “My only stipulation is that you take better care of yourself. A sick guardian can’t very well keep up with any child, let alone a jinchūriki.”

Iruka nods. “Deal.” He covers a yawn with his palm and asks, “Can this taking care of myself clause start now, with me asking you to leave so I can go back to sleep?”

“I’m not leaving,” the ANBU says, standing back up straight. “If you’re to be the guardian of our jinchūriki, you’ll need to get used to the ANBU guard, sensei. But please, get some sleep.” He chuckles lightly, “I think I’ve caught you enough in the last thirty-six hours, don’t you?”

[heavenunderthemoon]

Doctor, Doctor- Luke Alvez x Reader

Summary: Luke gets injured on a case and you’re his doctor

warnings: mentions of assault

The team had found themselves on a rather hard case, harder than most. Those that were in their home territory tended to do that.

Cases at home meant that, suddenly, that tiny, invisible, practically none-existent barrier between them and the monsters was ripped away.  That fine layer of protection that seemed to encase them every time they got off the jet, stepped off that plane and hailed their cabs back home, back to their family, back to their safety, was gone. Every twig snap, shadow, and eerie noise had their senses on edge. Not only did it cause the team to become more tense but it also awakened a protective rage. Monsters weren't supposed to follow them home.

But this one did.

A man, of course, white and in his mid-forties, avenging a mistake his mother made long ago. The team had split up, attempting to cover as much ground as they could in the abandoned warehouse. That was how they had caught him, the unsub leading them to a rather dilapidated part of the building. The floorboards creaked under his weight, and the team had shuffled in to follow uneasily. Distracted by the seemingly unstable building, they hardly had time to react when a blur of movement halted them in their tracks.

Luke had been the unlucky one to be closest to it. The hammer in the unsub's hands rained upon his head with a sickening crack and he collapsed to the floor with a groan. Already, his head was pounding, eyes fluttering in an attempt to shut them but he forced himself awake. His survival instincts kicked in, ignoring the team handcuffing and escorting the unsub out, only focusing on his breathing.

The team had been worried, extremely so. They practically had to hang up on the technical analyst, the Garcia woman  screaming into the phone as the team forced the former ranger into the ambulance bay and shuttling him off to the hospital.

He had protested the entire way. Sure, his head hurt, but he wanted to go home. Besides, it was a tiny little cut, how bad could it be?

After hours of pacing the waiting room and too many cups of cheap, hospital coffee, the team was informed by a nurse that they could see the man once more. With spirits high and hopes higher, the group made their way into room, surprised to hear a familiar laugh roaring through the space.

Sitting up in a hospital bed, gown disheveled and far too small on his muscular body, Luke wore a large, woozy grin. His hands clutched two slender fingers, his eyes never quite leaving the y/e/c orbs before him.

The room smelled like most hospitals, like sterilization and freshly laundered beds. The walls were covered in a pastel green color, as if reflecting its patient's illness on the walls. The tv played a re-run of FRIENDS, but the volume was almost non-existent, closed captioning dancing across the screen.

Beside the bed sat a small table, a small clipboard of notes lay across it, and a pen scribbled against the paper before the hands were returning to Luke's face. Y/n's hands floated before Luke's eyes, her soft voice telling him to follow her fingers before she was nodding with a smile, scribbling down something else.

With a lopsided grin, the man was speaking again. "How am I doin', Doc? Are you gonna need to amputate?"

From the minute Luke had been wheeled into your examination room, the man hadn't quite stopped looking at you like that. The way he looked at you made you blush, which was rather juvenile and not entirely something you would admit aloud, but true all the same. He looked at you as if you were wearing designer clothing rather than the two day old scrubs you had on. The scrubs you hadn't had time to launder because you had been working for thirty four hours straight, ones that had a stain on the sleeve that you weren't entirely sure what it was from.

Your hair had been thrown into a messy bun, the fast paced environment not giving you time to do anything fancy. And your makeup- well, you weren't wearing any.

But still, he looked at you as if he couldn't quite take his eyes off you. And it wasn't in the creepy, stalker way you had experienced men doing so before. No, because Luke was different. Just the man's demeanor told you so. The way he talked, voice slow and steady (maybe that was just the pain meds), or the way his eyes, two pools of melted chocolate, reassured you that being around him was probably the safest you'd ever be. You didn't need to see his badge on his hip to know that.

At the man's words, you let out a chuckle, clicking your tongue and sliding your pen back into your pocket. "I don't believe we'll be needing any amputations today, but keep landing on the wrong end of a hammer and we might have a different story."

Turning to the large group walking into the room, you smiled warmly. They were a large bunch, the jackets they adorned matching the one Luke had worn before he had been forced to change into a hospital gown. 'FBI' the breast pocket read. Briefly, you wondered what they did, but realized it didn't quite matter. They were here because they needed you to do your job, not to learn about theirs.

Patting Luke on the shoulder to indicate he could sit back, you grabbed your chart, going to stand near the team. They stood adjacent to Luke, and the small room allowed everyone to be in talking distance.

"I'm assuming you're the family? I'm Doctor Y/F/N Y/L/N, head of Neuro." Your easy smile was enough to release the tension from the team. Seeing Luke crumple the way he had made them worry, but the bright smile on your face reassured them.

"When he came in, the wound was looking a bit nasty." They listened intently while you talked and they didn't seem to miss the way Luke's eyes never quite left you as you spoke. "The swelling went down with some cream, and we took a CT to clear him of anything internal. Now, there was a small hemorrhage-" You watched as the team's eyebrows furrowed in concern, and you brought you hands out, a gesture for them to calm. "But his symptoms were small. Once we got the scan we saw that the bleed was tiny. Most bleeds will actually resolve themselves, so no need for me to go in where I'm not needed."

"Doc, you're welcome in my brain any day." Luke smiled cheekily, and your lips quirked, eyes narrowing playfully.

"I'm who you call when you need the big guns, you don't want me in your brain, Agent Alvez." His lips twitched when his last name rolled off your tongue and you would be lying if you hadn't gained the tiniest bit of satisfaction at the reaction.

He clicked his tongue, playfully grabbing his chest. "How you wound me. We went over this, it's Luke." He corrected, and he realized how desperately he needed you to say his name. He needed to say his name whether you were angry or sad or happy or excited. He needed you to say anything at all to him because your voice was something he hadn't even realized he needed until he heard it and now that he had he wasn't sure he would be able to live without it.

His actions made you chuckle, shaking your head at his antics. "Alright, Luke," You conceded, going to hang back up the man's medical chart on the bed. The nurses would take over from here, the former ranger only needing to be discharged after the rest if the pain meds wore off. The ones you had given him weren't too strong anyways, it wouldn't take much longer. "Try not to piss off anymore toolboxes, your head isn't as hard as you think it is."

The man smiled and just the sheer brightness of it made you suck in a breath. "I don't know, the screwdrivers in my shed were giving me a funny look the other day, I may have to teach them a lesson." He quipped smoothly and you rolled your eyes despite the large grin that grew on your features.

When you turned back to the door, the large group of agents seemed to be split between giving knowing smirks to Luke and impish looks to you. A certain blonde adorned in extremely bright colors seemed to want to interject, but the only other blonde clasped her hand onto the woman's shoulder tightly, stopping her from whatever she was going to say.

"I suggest that he doesn't go in the field for at least three days, and I would like to see him in a week for a precautionary scan to check and see if the bleed resolved itself. Other than that, he's good to go.  If you all have anymore questions feel free to ask Nurse Cassidy, she'll be in in just a moment to help you with discharge paperwork and medical prescriptions."

They nodded and, before they could respond, your pager was chirping, signaling the need for your presence elsewhere. Your hand grabbed at the pager clipped onto your waistline, eyes scanning the message before your eyes were flickering back to the agents.

"Duty calls. It was nice meeting you all." You gave a final nod, moving to leave the room, but just as you were about to exit a voice stopped you.

"Hey, Doc!" Luke called out, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

You turned, one hand gripping the doorway as your head peeked out from the side. You hummed in response, eyebrows furrowing.

"See you next week!"

Maybe it was childish, or unprofessional, or wildly inappropriate. Perhaps it was the fact that you were sleep deprived, hungry, and running on fumes, or maybe it was just the charming nature of the Alvez man, a gravitational pull toward the comfort he naturally exuded, but you found yourself smiling widely, a pink tint covering your cheeks.

"See you next week." You nodded in confirmation, leaving before you could say anything else.

[thejedifairy]

Kix x Reader, Needed sleep

You vigorously towel-dried your hair, hanging your head forward between your knees. Your (h/l) hanging down gives you better access to roots that would otherwise be hidden. Scrunching repeatedly until you were satisfied that you got the excess water. Your motions were halted by a shattering sound on the tiles. Pulling yourself upright you poked your head round the doorway searching for the source of the sound. Spotting Kix back swaying side to side, he took an unsteady step backward, his arms flailing out before shaking his head sharply and clumsy clutching the side of the counter as he struggled to hold himself up.

You knew something big had occurred upon the 501st latest mission on Umbara. The first thing you noticed was their behaviour; they were quieter than normal, none were so eager to celebrate what you told was a successful mission. It wasn't difficult to notice who hadn’t returned home nor understand that something had changed your boys in some way that wasn't for the best. 

Rex and Fives along with a few others you barely saw on the first day when they returned. In and out of meetings, debriefs, and reports. When the evening came and they returned for much-needed rest, they offered a wave or quiet goodnight before disappearing quickly as they came but in that passing greeting, you saw their facades crack and crumble with every step they took to their rooms, their eyes filling with pain and guilt.

In the night you were awoken to a quiet heated discussion which slowly increased in volume. You were about to get up and intervene only for a new voice to join in and silenced the argument. With the sound of retreating footsteps, the barrack returned to its stillness.

When you awoke again it was of your body's own choice. Stretching as you made your way into the common room. A quick survey of the room you noticed that the others had already gone for the day, the only ones to remain behind was Kix who was standing in front of the kitchenette. His back hunched as he stared at the cupboard in front of him as Rex stood close, speaking in a quiet tone. Kix gave no movement that he acknowledged his Captain presence. 

Once Rex clocked you standing in the room, a small smile graced his lips and moved away from Kix. “(Y/N)” he greeted you. You give him a mid-yawn “Mornin” in return. “I have a job for you, make sure Kix here” he gestured with a thumb back towards the clone “Is not doing any work and gets some rest if you can, he does not leave the barracks. Understood?” you gave a small nod of agreement. “Great, I’ll be back later. Kix, get some sleep” you felt his tone bordering on that of authoritative order. But before you could ask questions he was out the door and down the hall, with the door hissing shut. 

You turned to stare at Kix “What is that all about?” you ask confused. If he noticed you talking he didn’t show it. Before you could ask if he was alright he just shook his head and harshly muttered out “I need some time alone” before waving his hand as a dismissal. 

“Righttttt then, I’ll be in the ‘fresher. Why don’t you lie down for a bit?” you offered following Rex’s command about sleep, before sliding into the refresher. You debated for a second before sticking your head out the door “and don’t go anywhere” you told him earnestly, your eyes lingered on his back as he ignored you. A small sigh escaped you before showered. 

So here you were, watching the clone as he fought with all his might to remain upright and conscious. You had quietly approached him and now was standing only a few steps behind him. Waiting to see if Kix would remove himself and sit down or if his legs would give way and he crumpled to the floor. It wasn't long before his body decided on the latter. With his hands failing to keep his grasp on the edge of the counter, he leaned back so far with the support of his arms gone and his knees quickly buckled. You swiftly closed the gap between you. His weight was far heavy than you prepared yourself for taking you down with him but unfortunately, you cushioned his fall.

“Kix? You okay?” you groaned out. The floor greeted your ass with a hard slap. He grumbled to himself, rubbing his head. He crawled to hands and knees muttering as he went. You watched as he slowly pulled himself up using the counter. He acted like he didn't even register that you were there nor did he thank you. 

“I’m okay, I'm okay” you could hear his reassuring chant to himself as you rose to stand yourself. “Kix '' you called him. His own reassuring tone turned demanding as he continued to chant. His hands began clawing at his eyes pulling them open. “Kix!” grabbing his shoulders you shook him until his eyes locked onto you and had his attention. “Are you okay?” you asked softly. You pulled his hands down from his face. His eyes were wide and almost bloodshot. The bags under his eyes were clear as day. “Holy sh- Kix when was the last time you slept?” your tone demanding.

“I dunno” he looked to the ground in confusion shaking his head. “When we got back to the ship?” he asked you.  The ship?.  You searched through your memory trying to pinpoint when you got the transmission from Rex stating they were on the way back. 

Your brows furrowed as your mouth hung open “That was four rotations ago!” you cried in disbelief. “Sleep now!” placing your hands back onto his shoulders you twisted him towards the door of his room with his back facing your chest you began to gently push him with your body to guide him to his bed. Only for him to lock his legs and refused to budge. “No I can't i-i-i I’m fine really” he pleaded, trying to turn back round to face you.

“Fine? Fine? You can barely stand up! Sleep now, or I’m going to knock your ass out!” you began to push more forcefully, despite being severely sleep-deprived and uncoordinated he managed to stand his ground with only one foot advancing forward. 

“I can't, please don't make me” dropping to his knees in front of you. Taking a deep breath you stopped and let him turn around to face you. You noted his usual bright shiny eyes are now dull and glassy. You reached down to cup the side of his face, your heartfelt heavy as he leaned into your touch. His breath shook with each breath. Then he grabbed at your shirt with his large hands fisting the light fabric as he rested his forehead against your abdomen. Staring down at his broken form you froze. Unable to move as his shoulders began to slowly shake. Placing your hands gently over his you began to wiggle your fingers in between his, encouraging him to loosen his grip. You gave small tugs signaling him to stand which he reluctantly followed. His eyes almost closed as you watched as the tears ran down his cheeks. Pulling on his hands you led him towards the couch and this time he gave no resistance. 

You sink into your seat without a word. Kix followed a pursuit. “Kix, sweetie, talk to me” you whispered, you twisted to face him whilst he sat forward, his elbows resting on his thighs, his head cradled in his hands.

He took a deep breath “He betrayed us there was so much death, I-I couldn't save them” his voice ragged. He tried to look at you only to change his mind in the last second instead of opting to place his arms around himself. You couldn't figure if he was trying to make himself smaller or give himself some form of comfort you settled on both. “I left them to die (y/n)” with that he began to sob clutching his own body harder as he shook. 

“Every time I close my eyes I see them”

You were out of your comfort zone never before have you seen a clone breakdown like this let alone Kix, you didn't know what to say how could you make the pain go away? Was there anything to say? If he felt like this and the others would have surely have said anything similar to what you could think of now.

You decided on action over words for the moment. You grabbed his hand, shuffling further back so you were cradled by the corner section of the couch you tugged him forward. He reached for you similar to how a child would reach for its mother in the need of comfort. You guided his head to rest on your chest. You stroked his shaven head with one hand while the other ran up and down the top of his back. Feeling his arms snake against your sides and holding tightly made you want to cry. 

“Kix, I have no doubt that words right now no matter how many times you hear them may not help but I know this. You tried your damndest to save your men and I have no doubt to the point where you needed to be saved because you that selfless, you would throw yourself between the wounded and any incoming blaster bolt in order to protect them. So I don't believe at any given moment you left them to die” you held him tighter and left a kiss at the top of his head before returning to silence. 

He continued to weep in your arms, you felt the tears through your top. You tried looking up at the ceiling, you felt the tingle in your eyes as you took a quiet breath in, refusing to let your own tears fall. You placed your focus on the movement of your hands. Changing between light strokes to small circles, anything to keep you both distracted.

Within what felt like a few minutes, you heard Kix breathing steady out and his shoulder no longer shook nor did any more tears fall. Letting a small smile grace your lips. Staring at his form you debated whether or not to read the report of this mission once it was viewable. A part of you wanted to understand better what happened but another part of you couldn't bear being lost in the thoughts that would come in the learning of the mission. 

You were unsure on how time had passed sitting there on the couch, you had a feeling it was bordering on a good few hours for your legs had long since gone numb and you felt the approach of a headache no doubt due to lack of water luckily though that also meant you didn't need the toilet. You couldn’t imagine trying to hold that need back.

You daren’t move though. The mere thought of disturbing his rest appalled you and you had determined you would wait for the others and they could fetch what you needed. Kix’s sleep seemed content, there was the occasional moan or turn of his head which subsided once you returned stroking his head. Often he would hold you tighter or nuzzle you which made a light blush tint your cheeks. Happy that you could be a source of comfort in times such as these.

When the others returned they were quick to silence their loud chattering with a sharp glare and short shush from you. Each was either confused or making an interesting facial expression on your position on the couch. Kix lay between your legs, you had needed to move them to either side as this was the only way they were not being crushed by his body weight. The feeling you were grateful had returned

“Someone please get me a glass of water” you whispered in desperation. A few of them chuckled at your request “How long have you been like this?” Rex asked with a  raise of an eyebrow and lifted his arm to gesture at you “No clue, maybe an hour after you left?” Rex just stared at you unmoving “You been there for eight hours?” you looked at him and the others in disbelief however Fives suddenly sprung into action and got you a large glass of water. 

You so badly wanted to gulp down the fresh cold water but opted to slowly slip it in case it suddenly gave you the urge to pee. It wasn't long till a platter of fruit was handed to you to munch on. With the first yellow berry you placed in your mouth your hunger roared to life. You left no time and devoured what was on your plate. 

“You should move, we can take him back to his bed” Fives spoke from the far end of the couch and as if Kix heard the comment he tugged you even tighter daring you to move. You just gave Fives a shake of your head. “Yeah just have a feeling that ain’t happening” you spent a couple of hours chatting with the small group. You found they were desperate to talk about anything that wasn’t the mission and you didn’t mind. Soon enough they offered once more to take him but again you refused. Though you did ask for a blanket and a pillow in order to sleep and a painkiller to remove the headache. 

Rex draped the large blanket over your both and helped shove the pillow beneath your head as you shimmied down the couch the best you could. With Kix still directly on top of you, you bid the others goodnight and were surprised you fell to sleep with ease. 

When the next morning came you awoke with the smell of cooked food surrounding you. Taking note that the others were up and trying to make themselves a space on the couch. 

“Good morning” Jesse nodded his head to you as he took a sip from his mug. “How long have I been asleep?” you groggily asked, rubbing the reminder of sleep out of your eye. “You? Nine hours'' Tup answered flicking eyes up from his holopad. “Nine hours?” you asked yourself then looked down at your sleeping partner “How has he not moved an inch?” you asked no one in particular. 

“He been asleep for almost twenty hours (y/n) and while I may not be the resident medic, I do believe you should get up and move around as you haven't eaten, drank, or moved enough for anyone liking” Rex appeared at your side and you had to begrudgingly agree with him. 

You gently shook Kix awake, it took more effort than you would have guessed as you shook harder “Kix wakey wakey” you sang to him, and with that, he began to stir. As he slowly began to wake up. You held your hands out of the way as he placed his hands on either side of you in order to push himself up. With the weight free from your body you felt lighter as if your organs could once again move back to where they belong no longer crushed. 

You groaned as you slowly sat up noting your back was stiff and sore and your tailbone ached. “Good evening” Kix sleepily greeted everyone as he sat next to you. “Sorry (y/n) I must have just closed my eyes for a second” with that Fives burst into a fit of laughter, the others gave a chuckle as they watched him. 

“Good evening? Try Good morning” Fives hollered out. Kix contorted into confusion before Rex sat down on the other side of you with a tea in hand holding it out for you to take. “I don't understand?” Kix looked at you then Rex then back at you. You gave a small smile before filling him in “You been asleep for about twenty hours sweetie” 

“No that can't be right I only closed my eyes for a second '' he tried to explain himself and everyone as he tried to piece together how he was missing all that time. You leaned forward hearing your vertebrae crack as the release of tension, rolling your shoulders you stood with a groan feeling your body reluctant to move. With each step, another of your joints clicked and cracked. 

“Damn Kix you’ve almost broken her,” Fives said, watching you with a concerned look across his face. “What?” he spun to stare at Rex demanding answers “You basically been asleep on her the entire time wouldn't let her go” he chuckled he sipped his caf. Kix looked bewildered as he looked at everyone. 

“Right I'm going to shower then I'm going to drink enough water that this planet will have nothing left,” You told everyone, with a raise of your mug in the gesture of goodbye you slipped into the refresher. 

With the doors shut you could still hear them chatting faintly, the last thing you heard before you stopped eavesdropping and slipping into the hot spray of the shower, tea in hand was “That was the best sleep I have ever had”

[sachigram]

I know Halloween has long passed (*sob*) but what do you think of Izaya as a Witch? 🤔 (maybe with a side order of Shizuo being his beastly but also angry familiar? 😂😂😂)

((Okay so I went rogue on this one. It’s funny because @lateniteslacker and I have an rp going where Izaya is a witch right now so I wanted this one to be darker and wanted Shizuo to be a beast for real.))

The thing about humans is, they really do have more in common with wild animals than they'd like to believe. Izaya has always studied human behavior extensively, obsessively, and he's always excited when a completely civilized person gives into their instincts, usually in a moment of complete desperation. The four f's really are a universal truth, and while Izaya is captivated by humanity as a whole, he can't deny he feels a certain...thrill in knowing society could topple at any moment, with only the slightest push, and then people would show their true colors and what lengths they would go to in order to survive.

Thinking this over, Izaya lifts his eyes to the beast pacing around his apartment. It's late at night, obscenely early morning, actually, but neither of the occupants in the apartment have slept yet. It's close to sunrise, Izaya realizes, and Shizuo has still yet to kill him.

“You're letting me live again? How generous of you, Shizu-chan,” Izaya says, and when Shizuo growls at him in answer, Izaya's lips curl into a small smile. Shizuo can't reply at length, of course. No werewolf in existence can speak when they're transformed.

Shizuo's body could be considered grotesque, but Izaya's never been squeamish, and he doesn't mind watching the huge monster walk in circles, his features lit only by the city lights streaming into the windows. His skin is dark and leathery, only some of it covered in thick, wiry fur. Shizuo's mouth is gaping and filled with sharp, jagged teeth, so many that it seems to be hard for Shizuo properly close it, thus making him leave drops of saliva in his wake. His eyes are the same color as normal, so dark they're practically a mirror for anyone who looks into them, but they're filled with bloodlust and hunger, instincts Shizuo would be acting on if not for Izaya's potion keeping him in his own mind.

“You could sleep, you know,” Izaya continues, watching with glee as Shizuo's ears perk towards Izaya, hearing him whether Shizuo wants to or not. “I'm not going to do anything to you. We seem to be in a truce, don't we? Unwilling companions.”

Shizuo snarls openly at that and makes his way over to the desk, looming over it and salivating onto Izaya's papers. Izaya merely looks up at him pleasantly, knowing Shizuo won't actually kill him. Shizuo is too afraid of being left alone to do so.

“Is it some kind of atonement? You think keeping yourself sleep deprived will help you feel better about what you are? It's actually only making it worse.” Izaya listens to Shizuo's deep, rumbling growl, and hears it for the question it really is. “I'm not awake because I want to be, Shizu-chan! It's not the same. You know I have insomnia. At the very least, I'm grateful for your company.”

Shizuo huffs and turns away from him then, going back to pacing. Izaya knows how cruel it is of him to act as if Shizuo has any choice to be here, but it hardly matters to Izaya why Shizuo is here. He's here. That's all Izaya needs.

It was months ago, another full moon. Izaya was fed up with Shizuo, wanted him gone for good. Shizuo wasn't rising to Izaya's challenges anymore, would actually ignore Izaya if they crossed paths on the street. More and more of Shizuo's time was spent with that woman, that doe-eyed assassin, and Izaya decided he was done playing around. He hired some men, some higher-ups in the Yakuza, actually, and Shizuo fought as he always does, but he couldn't avoid the sharp teeth when they broke his skin and infected him with something that could never be cured.

It took two weeks for Shizuo to come to Izaya. Shizuo was pale, haggard, looked as if he hadn't slept in days. He stormed into Izaya's apartment and demanded to know what was wrong with him, why he wanted to bite and tear, why his dreams were filled with blood and viscera— “guts” is what Shizuo actually said, but that's besides the point.

“Why did you come to me?” Izaya had asked. “What makes you think I know?”

The answer was more than Shizuo could put into words. All monsters make their way to Izaya sooner or later, all of them knowing Izaya can help if he chooses to. It's why Shinichi made contact with him, why the more beastly members of the Yakuza put up with him. Izaya is stronger than he looks, smarter than is good for him, and filled with a constant boredom that makes him dangerous. To top it all off, he's one of the only witches in Japan, and an incredibly powerful one at that.

Izaya explained that Shizuo was bitten by a werewolf, and he would succumb to his desires during the next full moon unless he relented to trusting Izaya to help, and at first, Shizuo stormed out, cursing, threatening to bash Izaya's head in. A week later, one week before the next full moon, Shizuo was back, looking worse than before, and he had a tired sort of acceptance about him that let Izaya know the monster had already worked through all the other stages of grief.

Now, they can be around each other for extended periods of time, but never without underlying malice and contempt in their words and actions. Shizuo refuses to take the potion home and be alone in this, and Izaya hardly minds being subjected to Shizuo's transformation, despite the fact that Shizuo keeps promising to kill him before sunrise. They're at an impasse, and like all shaky alliances, they're waiting for the other one to break it first.

The next time Izaya looks up from his computer, Shizuo is back to normal, curled into a ball in the floor, panting at the strain of his return to humanity. Izaya stands and goes to his side, offering him a blanket to cover his trembling, naked body, and Shizuo swats him away, sending Izaya toppling to the floor. Izaya only laughs, pleased Shizuo still has some fight in him. It's so much more fun this way.

“Fuck,” Shizuo hisses, lifting his head to glare openly at Izaya. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” Izaya asks earnestly.

“Like you love this.”

Izaya opens his mouth to respond, but he decides Shizuo has suffered enough for one night. He stands and goes back to his desk, leaving Shizuo to his own devices. Normally Shizuo will dress and leave immediately, but he lingers this time, hovering almost uncertainly by Izaya.

“Your mind is a mess,” Izaya says, hating that he can hear the majority of Shizuo's thoughts. Izaya tries not to read minds very often, feels like it's an unfair advantage in his line of work, and he so loves an actual challenge. But Shizuo's mind is different; it's loud and demanding, wanting more than anything to be heard.

“Why are you helping me?” Shizuo asks.

“I help many members of this world and the next, Shizu-chan,” Izaya replies without looking up. “It's part of my job.”

“Why wouldn't you want me to lose my mind and kill someone? Everyone would know then, wouldn't they? That I'm a monster. Isn't that what you want?”

Izaya looks up at him at last, a bored expression on his face. “It's enough that I know it.”

“Bullshit,” Shizuo snaps. “I keep waiting for you to sell me out, to tell everyone what I am. Why the fuck haven't you? I wouldn't help you if the tables were turned.”

“I know that,” Izaya says, shrugging. “I guess you could say I've been touched by how pitiful you are. How helpless.” Izaya's smile stretches into a leer, and he can see the way it makes Shizuo's skin crawl. “You need me.”

“I could find someone else,” Shizuo says. “Celty could know another...magic person.”

“By all means, go find them,” Izaya says. “Go explore the country and beyond on your measly second rate bodyguard salary. Better yet, go to Kasuka and tell him what you are and beg him for help in finding someone else to give you the same potion I give you for free every month.”

Shizuo flinches at that. He's obviously terrified of Kasuka finding out, which is hilarious in itself, as Kasuka is dating Ruri, another of Izaya's clients. It's true she doesn't have much vampire blood in her veins, but she has enough to feel the bloodlust. Izaya hasn't told Shizuo any of that, though. If nothing else, Izaya is loyal to his clients until they give him reason not to be, even if those reasons are nothing more than being more interesting once they find out Izaya betrayed them.

“You could go to Celty, see if Shinra and his crazy father can help you look for a cure. You could do a lot of things, but you come to me every month.” Izaya rests his chin on his hand and watches Shizuo carefully. “Is it because you already hate me, so you don't mind me seeing you at your lowest?”

“Fuck you,” Shizuo says, and he marches towards the door. Izaya rolls his eyes and goes back to typing, but he looks up again when he realizes Shizuo hasn't left yet.

“Say whatever the hell you have to and then leave me alone,” Izaya huffs. He needs to finish this assignment soon, and he'd like to do it within the next few hours so he can sleep afterwards.

“I know how rare it is. What you are,” Shizuo says, his back still to Izaya. “Celty told me.”

“I'm surprised you spoke to her about any of it.”

“I didn't tell her what I am. I know she wouldn't judge me for it, but still, I just...” Shizuo trails off, and he turns to face Izaya. “But she knows what you are, and she told me. That's why I came to you.”

“And what did she say about me?” Izaya asks, amused. He knows the courier despises him, but he doesn't care much for her either aside what she can do for him.

“She said there's a reason witches are so rare, and it's because most of them have been killed off.” Shizuo moves closer. “She said the majority of them abused their powers, the same way you do, and that's why they're targeted so often.”

“She neglected to mention the part where it was everyone else who came to us first,” Izaya says sharply, remembering the first time he saw members of the other world. Ghosts, demons, monsters of every kind flocking to him, asking for help. He was a child then, a neglected one at that. He was on his own with no one to help him, and that was when he realized how unfair the world could really be. “You're always barking about how you can't control your strength, well I can't control this. I didn't ask for this either.”

“You did this to me,” Shizuo accuses. It's not the first time he's said it, but Izaya has never admitted to it.

“And if I did?” Izaya asks, annoyed by this entire exchange. “What are you going to do about it?”

Shizuo roars with rage and lurches towards Izaya, lifting him up and slamming him against the wall. He breathes into Izaya's face, his sharp teeth bared.

“Why can't you just leave me the fuck alone?!” Shizuo shouts, and suddenly it seems as if he's being deflated, like all the strength is leaving him. He drops Izaya's feet to the floor, but he doesn't step away from Izaya's space. “Why can't you leave me alone?” he asks again, defeated.

“Because you're interesting,” Izaya says, and when he lifts his fingers to Shizuo's face, Shizuo only flinches slightly at the touch. “Because you're right, I'm alone in this, and you were alone, too. You were surrounded by people, but you were alone. No one knows better than me how that feels.”

“You ruined my life,” Shizuo says, no ire to it.

“You ruined mine first,” Izaya says, not bothering to elaborate. Shizuo doesn't seem confused, just tired, and when Izaya tucks his face into Shizuo's neck, the beast only growls softly before allowing it.

The thing about wolves is, they always protect their necks. It's one of their most vulnerable areas. Shizuo is allowing this, and that speaks volumes in itself. Izaya smiles and wraps his arms around Shizuo, clenching his fingers in the fabric of Shizuo's shirt.

“It'd be easier for you, wouldn't it? If you actually hated me,” Izaya murmurs. He presses his lips to Shizuo's neck, and he can feel the tremble of Shizuo's body before Shizuo's arms wrap around him in return.

“You won't die, right? You can't,” Shizuo says, his voice muffled in Izaya's hair.

“Wouldn't it be better for you if I did?” Izaya asks.

“Yes. No. Fuck.” Shizuo kisses the top of Izaya's head, and he makes a disgruntled noise when Izaya pulls away, growling until he realizes what it is Izaya wants. Their lips brush together gently, a complete contrast to all their harsh words and usual actions. “Izaya,” Shizuo breathes, clinging tight enough to Izaya to hurt.

“You won't be alone, Shizu-chan,” Izaya says, sighing sweetly when Shizuo kisses him again. They wind up on Izaya's couch, their clothes scattered around them as they give into their basic instincts, showing each other just how beastly they can be.

[theloneliestshipper]

Boba/Leia AUs

Something like...oh four years ago I invited people to send me prompts based on a trope or an AU idea and I wrote various Boba/Leia scenes based on the prompts. I have reopened that collection for requests because they are a heckin’ fun writing exercise and so I’m kicking off Round 2 with a request by @nyelung for a Vampire AU.

AO3 Link

Vampire AU

Rated T

It’s dusk when Leia leaves her room, lamp in hand. With the curtains parted there is still enough light to see by, but in all common areas of the house the drapery is drawn tight. The master of the house suffers terrible headaches from light and so prefers shadows and gloom.

It’s a good story. She believed it once.

She slips quietly into Rey’s room first and tucks the blankets in around the sleeping girl. She never thought being a governess would suit her, especially after her uncle thwarted her true ambitions, but she has grown genuinely fond of Rey. She’s an orphan, as Leia is, both with solitary men as their guardians. She has her uncle and Rey has Mr. Fett, who took her in after both of her parents were slain in their beds by an unknown assailant.

The people of Mossbrook praise his kindness but all admit he’s a strange man. A handsome man, who apart from his headaches, gives every appearance of vigor. Yet he seeks no wife or companion. The only visitors to his manor house are the staff, who do not live on the premises and his attorney, who often brings along his son Finn along to play with Rey.

When Leia took the position, his instructions were explicit that Rey should not fall into his isolated patterns. “She must have an education and friends. She is an active child and she should be outside as often as the weather allows.”

This suits Leia well, as she was an active child herself. She takes Rey beyond the garden walls and they roam the woods. They climb rocks and wade into streams. They come home with muddy hems, hair askew and no one aside from the laundress looks askance. Every morning and evening Leia brings Rey to Mr. Fett’s study, a dire, windowless room she feels certain was meant to be a pantry. Rey doesn’t mind the stuffy atmosphere. She reports happily on their plans or activities and then wishes her guardian good night or good morning.

Sometimes she confuses the phrases, wishing him a good morning at night and a good night at morning, but he never corrects her. He responds in kind no matter what she says.

Leia would be more inclined to believe him to be a kind man if he were a man at all.

She suspects that he is not.

From Rey’s room she turns down the hall. His bedchamber is at the very back of the house. The lamp quivers a little in her hand but she keeps on, determined to persist. Perhaps if she were just a woman avoiding the title of “spinster” by seeking employment she would be content with her pay and the roof over her head. Perhaps she would not notice that she has never seen Mr. Fett eat or drink, and that he rides out at night and does not return for hours.

She has begun to track these occurrences. While Rey is at her music lesson in the village she reads the paper and takes note of any events within a certain distance. Disappearances. Deaths. People and animals found drained of blood. Strange markings found on the throats of people who don’t remember how they occurred.

The door creaks as she pushes it open. It’s a large room, well decorated, with a four poster bed. A fortnight ago she tucked a copper coin in the bedding, carefully concealed in a place where it would be easily dislodged by anyone using or making the bed.

She sets her lamp on the nightstand and feels for the crease in the brocade coverlet. The coin is still there, just where she left it.

There is a certain humor in the fact that Uncle Ben refused to train her in the ways of her ancestors, a long line of Skywalker monster hunters. It’s no life for a young woman, he told her emphatically. I cannot lose you as I lost your father. So she took a posting as a governess instead and now finds herself in the lair of a vampire.

He’ll have a coffin somewhere. That’s his true bed.

Her heart pounds as she looks down at the coin in her hand. If she slays this unholy being, her uncle will have no choice but to see her destiny.

“Miss Skywalker?”

She reacts on pure instinct and adrenaline, dropping the coin to the floor and reaching into the pocket of her skirts. Fett is behind her and then in front of her and then sprawled out on his bed with Leia on top of him and a sharp-tipped wooden stake poised over his chest.

She whittled it herself in the woods while waiting for Rey to climb down from the top of a tall fir tree.

The attack might have taken him by surprise, but once his eyes fall on the stake the transformation is instantaneous. Dark eyes heat to a glowing gold, like an ember in a smithy’s fire and sharp fangs emerge from his parted lips. “I knew you were clever,” he says. “It almost seems a shame to undo all of your hard work.”

“You can’t mesmerize me.” With her free hand she opens the hook that closes her bodice at the neck. Her hands are shaking and two more hooks pull free. Why should she care if he can see the top of her corset and chemise? The important part is the birthmark just below her clavicle. The same mark her father had.

“A trueborn hunter,” he says in a measured tone. “Remarkable.”

“I am Leia Skywalker, the daughter of Anakin Skywalker, slayer of demons. And today you will meet your end.”

“You appear to have me at a disadvantage,” he acknowledges. “But your mark only protects you from enchantment. At any point I could throw you into that wall and bury my teeth in your throat, but I have not.”

She would laugh if she weren’t still breathless. “You claim to have spared me while I hold a stake to your chest?”

“Aside from this unfortunate incident, you have been an exemplary caretaker. I would prefer not to deprive Rey of your company.”

“You have no heart or soul. How can you claim to care for a human child?”

“And yet, I have cared for a human child since the day she was orphaned. Her relatives abandoned her. The people of the village said she was cursed to madness because she witnessed her parents’ murder. I took her in and made her my heir.” A smile curls his mouth, baring more of his deadly teeth. “I also found the man who killed her parents. The blood of killers in a fine vintage, Miss Skywalker.”

“Do not speak my name, you monster.”

“What should I call the woman who has me in such a compromising position?” His hands move to her hips, a touch she can feel even through her bunched skirts. “Perhaps you would prefer ‘wife.’”

“How dare you.” She presses the stake into his shirt, her face flushed hot.

“Consider this, little hunter. Rey cannot legally inherit my estate until she comes of age. Kill me now and she will once again lose her home and security. If you can abandon her to that fate, you are the monster, not I.”

“First you question my honor and then you play on it.”

“I do not play with my daughter’s future, Miss Skywalker. You know the truth about me now. If you marry me you will have control of my estate and can therefore protect her.”

“This is only an appealing case for being your widow.”

“If you marry a dead man, what else are you? You may try to stake me again as often as you wish. I would not deny you the opportunity to hone your skills.” His tongue briefly appears, running along the edge of his fangs. “But in the future you should expect me to defend myself.”

Her breath catches in her throat. She should drive the pointed tip into his undead flesh. He’s a wretched, unnatural being who only feels warm and solid beneath her because he drinks the blood of other human beings. But she cannot argue with his logic. If she slays him Rey will be orphaned for the second time in her young life. And if she marries him-

No. It’s madness to even consider it.

Fett drops his hands to the bed and pushes himself up with no regard for the stake she still holds loosely in her hand. Their faces are inches apart and his eyes are still glowing with the fire of the immortal. “If it is monsters you want to hunt, I can help you find them.” One hand rises to touch her cheek and then lingers at her throat, caressing her skin just over her hammering pulse. “There are many in this part of the world, some human and some not. People want them gone, so badly that they will pay handsomely for their disposal. Marry me, and we will hunt them together.”

[jovialyouthmusic]

A Lythikan Liaison

After the death of Jackson Walker, the young King’s Guardsman Bastien Lykel accompanies the Royal family to Lythikos in mid December. 

Word Count 3517

Absolutely NS*W and NO UNDER 18s 

Pairing; Bastein Lykel and OC

1 At a Loose End

Bastien Lykel stamped his feet to dislodge the packed snow from his boots as he entered the staff quarters at Lythikos Lodge. The Royal family was spending some time before Christmas in the duchy and taking young Olivia back to the Palace for the festivities. It meant half of the King’s guard, recently deprived of its popular captain, Jackson Walker, travelled with the King and his two sons. Bastien had been Jackson’s protege, and the new Captain had his own favourite, so his duties had diminished somewhat. Bianca, Drake and Savannah had remained at the Palace, as Bianca didn’t seem to have the will or desire to uproot the bereaved children from their home, despite the attractions of skating and building snowmen. To be truthful, it was dubious as to whether the family would stay in Cordonia, and Bastien thought it likely that they would return to Texas.

So he had leisure time that he barely knew how to spend, as his shift was over and Captain Parker had told him he wouldn’t be needed until the return journey. He wondered why he’d been brought along at all, knowing that his time would have been better spent supporting the Walker family. He suspected that Constantine wanted him to cut his ties with them in order to concentrate on his job. But if that was the case, Parker should be keeping him busy, not laying him off.

He sighed as he took his coat off and hung it where the snowflakes would evaporate in the warm air of the entrance hall. He went to the canteen and took a bowl of stew and a crust of warm bread to a table looking out over the frozen lake. A few of the Lodge staff were also eating their evening meal but left him alone, which suited him fine.  The Lythikans knew how to make good hearty food, he’d give them that. He disliked their spiced drinks and the nog turned his stomach, but the red wine was robust and strong and the beer was tolerable in moderation.

He refused the hard spiced cookies that were handed out from table to table by a dour serving woman who leered at him and winked broadly, asking if he wanted someone to warm his bed for him or if he preferred a hot water bottle. Her tone made it plain that such a device was only for weaklings and children. He glared at her and replied he was perfectly capable of making his own arrangements and made his way to the bar, where a few of his fellow guards sat drinking.  Lewis sat alone at a table at the edge of the room, able to see all that went on, as a good guard should. Bastien went over to join him, seeing his glass was almost empty.

‘Hey Bas, how are you holding up?’ Lewis asked. The two men had joined the Guard in the same intake, and had helped each other through some of the more arduous training exercises. Bastien had finished top of his year with Lewis a close second, and the two men had formed a strong bond.

‘I’d be just fine if Parker gave me more to do’ he grumbled ‘I’d far rather be working than told to go and relax.’ He eyed his companion’s glass of Skullcracker ale, making a resolution to have no more than two pints himself before he went back to his tiny room. He may not be working the next morning, but he could do without the crashing hangover Lythican alcohol gave him nonetheless.

‘Sleeping okay?’ Lewis knew that Bastien suffered flashbacks from the assassination attempt that had taken his mentor’s life. Bastien shrugged.

‘A little better’ he admitted ‘It’s too cold to get up and wander around so at least I stay in my bed until breakfast’

‘I wouldn’t admit the cold to the natives’ Lewis said in an undertone ‘They make them hardy out here. It’s only been a decade or so since they stopped putting newborns out in the snow to test how strong they are.’ Bastien snorted

‘It’s rumours like that which keep relations between Lythikos and the rest of Cordonia at an ‘us and them’ level.’ Lewis shook his head and drained his glass of ale.

‘Don’t look now, but those two over by the bar have been eyeing us up since you came in’ Lewis said with an almost imperceptible nod. As he had said, two women were looking in their direction, no subterfuge in their appraisal of the King’s men. They were both well built, one of them taller, close to Bastien’s six foot four inches and had pale skin and rich auburn hair.

‘I’ve already been offered a bed warmer, maybe I should take one of them up on it and get it over with’ Bastien mused.

‘You know what Lythicans are like, you’ll be in for a hard ride’ Lewis warned him. He handed his glass to Bastien, who stood up to go and order ale.

‘I’ve not much better to do’ he said ‘I should make the most of my down time’ He strode to the bar and put the glass down. The bartender raised his eyebrows at him.

‘Another pint of Skullcracker and whatever these two are having’ he nodded at the two women. The taller one held eye contact as she replied.

‘Are you sure you can handle that ale, King’s man?’ she asked ‘Most foreigners find just the one enough to send them to their knees’

‘Foreign? I’m Cordonian just like I presume you are’ he replied ‘Or are you claiming Lythikos is independent of the Crown?’ She frowned

‘Last I heard, Constantine insisted he’s King, and Duchess Lucretia hasn’t made a counter claim. Yet. And we call any non Lythican foreign, even if they come from the next village outside the duchy boundary.’ she replied acidly, but indicated to the barman that she’d accept Bastien’s offer. The other woman took two glasses of ale and went to join Lewis at his table.

‘So what part of Cordonia do you hail from, King’s man?’ she asked, as she took a healthy gulp of the ale that made Bastien hope he could match her without invoking the hangover.

‘My family comes from the capitol’ he said.

‘Oh yes, and what name do you go by?’

‘Lykel. Bastien Lykel’ She pursed her lips and nodded

‘A distinguished name. You might have a claim to the throne yourself if you can prove your lineage.’

‘Power doesn’t interest me’ he said, shaking his head ‘Attending banquets and balls and talking to trade delegates isn’t my idea of a fulfilling lifestyle’ He took a gulp of the thick ale. ‘I take it you’re Lythican?’

‘Naturally. The name’s Marcia. Marcia Wolfsbane’

‘That’s a fine surname too. Have you got links to the Nevrakis?’

‘Only in service, but then doesn’t most of the duchy?’

‘What do you do for a living?’ he asked curiously, and she laughed out loud, slapping her palm on the bar.

‘Can’t you tell? I’m in the same line of business as yourself. I’m part of the Lythican Guard. I saw you and your friend arrive with the Royal family’ She grinned at having bested him. Taking another swig from her glass, she nodded at him appraisingly, her gaze raking him from head to toe ‘You want to come back to my place and fuck?’ she asked. Bastien swiftly got over his chagrin at missing her occupation and gave her a slow smile. He liked directness, it left no room for misinterpretation and he was relieved that she wasn’t interested in drinking herself into a stupor. It had been a while since he’d had anything but brief encounters and wondered if this would be more than a one night stand. It wasn’t important, his job didn’t allow for romantic commitment although Lewis had a steady partner.

‘Sure, why not. Let me finish this first’ he replied.

------

Ten minutes later he found himself walking beside the tall woman along the narrow streets of the town that served the lodge and ski slopes. The Lythicans had found there was money to be made from winter sports in peace time and had spared no expense setting up resorts in the hills. Between the low log cabins the snow turned to slush underfoot and he was thankful for his good leather boots and thick socks that kept out the cold and wet.

‘You do realise that a couple of decades ago you wouldn’t have dared to be alone with the likes of me?’ she pointed out ‘Thank goodness for peacetime’

‘I like to think I’m a good judge of character’ he replied. ‘It’s my job to assess dangerous situations’ They trudged on for a while, passing other Lythicans walking to and fro in the darkening early evening.

‘Is it true you use those new tracking devices to keep tabs on each other?’ she asked curiously.

‘I wouldn’t tell you if we did.’ He said shortly. She turned down a dim side street which struck him as the sort of place that unwary travellers might be lured before being relieved of their valuables. Warily he scanned the shadows for lurkers as she strode on.

‘My home’s just down here, King’s man. I share the cabin with my friend back at the bar when we’re off the duty rotation. She’ll leave us alone for the night so you won’t have to worry about disturbing anyone.’

‘Does that depend on the willingness of my partner?’ he asked ‘He’s in a relationship, I’m not sure that he’ll bite’ Marcia shrugged as she stopped at one of the almost identical cabins and put her hand to the door. Bastien noted that it wasn’t locked, a sign either that there was no crime in the town, or that nobody would dare take anything from the occupants.

‘She’ll find someone or somewhere else’ The door swung open and she beckoned him in. ‘Boots off’ she ordered. Bastien bent to unfasten them and left them by the door next to hers and shrugged off his thick coat. The cabin was cool and smelled of spice and pine. She had already hung up her own coat and disappeared through a door off the lobby. He followed to find her kneeling by a wood burner setting a match to it. It took easily and the room was soon warming up.

‘You’ll take a hot drink?’ she asked

‘Only if it’s not spiced’ he replied ‘I prefer my drinks plain.’ She laughed

‘You’re missing out, King’s man’ she exclaimed ‘They warm the blood and heighten the senses’

‘No good if my stomach’s turned’ he said sourly ‘A nip of whiskey does the job very nicely’

‘In that case, hot chocolate with a dash of brandy. No spice’

‘That would be very welcome’ She disappeared, and he took stock of the room. He knew that the town was relatively new, extended to service the ski slopes, and the few traditional buildings were at the centre of the town, and here on the outskirts the buildings were less than five years old. The cabin walls were of dark logs that gave a sense of warmth, and the check curtains were thick and heavy. The furniture was mostly dark stained pine, modern but utilitarian. The couch and chairs were draped in woollen throws, the wooden floor augmented by thick rugs. Red was the predominant colour with accents of green and splashes of golden yellow. Shelves held books and trophies, and he went closer to examine the gleaming silver. Marcia re entered the room with two mugs. He turned to take his, nodding toward the trophies.

‘You have a lot of awards for markmanship’ he observed. She shrugged as he blew on his mug to cool the hot chocolate, plain as she had promised with no scent of spice and no cream, but an aroma of good brandy rose to his nostrils. He took a sip and felt it beginning to warm him from the inside.

‘I have plenty of time to practice, and the hunting in the woods is good’ She put her drink down and took the hem of her woollen jumper, pulling it up off and throwing it onto the couch, with a sigh that indicated that she was hot. She still wore a simple blouse and under vest and was well built, solid and muscular but with enough womanly curves to stir his desire. He knew Lythicans were hot blooded and very active in the bedroom with a casual attitude toward the number of partners they had at any one time, so he had come prepared with protection. Nonetheless, he had a question for her.

‘Are you currently in a relationship?’ he asked. She looked at him over her cup, her piercing blue eyes locking with his grey.

‘Only with my housemate. Are you?’

‘No, but I don’t want to cause any conflict’

‘You won’t’ she said ‘There’s nothing complicated about this unless you want it to be’

‘No, simple suits me just fine’ She put her cup down and moved closer.

‘You have milk on your moustache’ she said huskily, and leaned in to suck at his top lip. He groped to put his mug down on the table next to him, returning the kiss and putting his hand to the back of her neck.

‘Your hair is too long’ she said, reaching up to his forehead, but he gripped her wrist before she could touch it. She bit her lip ‘Someone could twist their fingers into it and control you’ Bastien realised with a flash why all the Lythican guard, male and female, had short cropped hair. He took a pride in his appearance, and his raven black hair was his weakness, always glossy and impeccably styled.

‘They’d have to get close enough to start with, and a good wrist lock would solve the problem even then’ He twisted her wrist to demonstrate, just until he saw her grimace, and let go. She knew her stuff, and it was refreshing to connect with someone so tuned in to his own profession. Truth be told, it was more of a lifestyle than a job. He hoped they could trade work experiences without compromising any confidential information.

But at that moment there was something more primal at hand, something basic and physical that stirred and aroused him. He was always holding himself back, keeping something in reserve, and he guessed that he could let go with her, be himself in a way he couldn’t with anyone else he’d encountered so far. She pushed him back and they stumbled to the couch. A split second decision allowed her to push him down and follow so that she was straddling him, triggering his arousal as her thighs clamped to his. Again she reached for his hair and he countered, pinning her wrists behind her back. Still she surged forward, her breasts pressing to his chest, her lips crashing to his. She lost her balance, allowing him to pivot so that she was the one sitting on the couch. He braced his knee between her thighs, letting go of her wrists. She put her palms to his chest, keeping him from leaning in to claim her lips.

‘One of us has to yield’ he panted.

‘The stronger the fight, the sweeter the surrender’ she growled, and bucked forward pushing him onto the floor. He landed on his back, the thick woollen rug cushioning his fall as she followed him down. He fought back, and they rolled around on the floor, neither giving in until they paused, both panting with exertion, Bastien on top but bracing his weight off her, elbows locked.

He straddled her, pinning her hips down and straightened up to take his sweater and shirt off, warmed through at last from their battle for supremacy. Her eyes blackened as she gazed at his broad muscled chest and flat abdomen scattered with dark hair. Again she bucked and threw him off, mirroring his effort by pinning him to the floor and stripping to the waist before falling on him and delivering scorching kisses and little nips along his neck to his shoulder. Her breasts were small and firm despite her stature, her belly soft but flat, and he was hard between her thighs. They rolled around the floor managing somehow to assist each other to strip naked and end up side by side, her thigh thrown over his hip, breathing hard. She reached down to judge his size with fingers and palm, and a slow smile spread across her face.

‘You are big in every way, Bastien Lykel.’ she murmured appreciatively. ‘I knew there was something about you worth pursuing’ Despite the woollen rugs and the heat of the wood burner the floor was hard and cold and he was grateful as she rose and pulled him to his feet, guiding him with purposeful stride to her bedroom. It was cool but she threw back the bedclothes to drag him on top of her, sinking into the firm mattress and spreading her thighs for him. She rose to sink her teeth into his shoulder and clawed at his back. With an inhuman effort he drew back from her, not quite lost yet.

‘I have – we need protection’ he panted.

‘In the bedside drawer’ she groaned ‘Hurry, I’ve not bedded a man for months’ He fumbled in the drawer and found a foil packet, tearing it open and hoping it was large enough for his girth. He was in luck, and rolled the rubber sheath over his length without discomfort. She pushed him over onto his back and mounted him like an animal, pressing her sex to him before guiding him where she needed him and he placed his hands on her hips, trusting that she knew what she was letting herself in for. She groaned as she started to lower herself onto him, alarmingly tight, but she was wet and the noises she made assured him that pain and pleasure were inseparable for her.

Soon she sat flush to him and rolled her hips, rising up above him and throwing her head back with a guttural cry before leaning forward to bury her face in his between his neck and shoulder, sucking and biting. What they did in that bed bordered on fighting as they wrestled for dominance, rolling over, tangling in the bedclothes, settling into a fierce steady rhythm that challenged the strength of the bedframe. Bastien realised that she could take anything he gave her, and savagely thrust into her willing flesh, pinning her hands above her head until she arched her back and gave out a loud ululating cry. He felt her pulse around him, and with a roar he followed her over the edge until they lay spent and panting, and he rolled off her to the side.

‘Are you sure you’re not from Lythikos?’ she panted as he cleaned himself up.

‘I may have some ancestors somewhere along the line’ he remarked. He went to the bedroom door.

‘You can stay the night if you like’ she said from the tangle of bedclothes. He paused in thought. He could remember his way back to his billet but was reluctant to dress and go out into the cold.

‘That’s generous of you. I need to get my clothes and fold them’ When he returned, she had straightened the blankets and thrown them back for him, a naked leg uncovered. He got in and lay on his back. He wasn’t a cuddler and the bed was wide. She seemed to understand, and curled into herself on her side of the bed.

‘When are you on duty?’ she asked

‘Not until we leave’ he replied ‘My superior seems to think I need down time, but I’d rather be busy’

‘I heard about Walker’ she replied, and he gritted his teeth.

‘I was there’ he said shortly, feeling himself tense at the memory.

‘He sounded like a good man. I never met him’

‘And you never will’ he turned his back to her.

‘I’m sorry for your loss’ she said quietly. ‘That was insensitive of me.’ He snorted, biting back resentful words. He felt her hand on his shoulder. ‘I’m off duty tomorrow as well. If you like, you could come hunting with me’ Her hand fell away. ‘If you look outside the back you’ll see the green and the communal cookfire. All the cabins that back onto it contribute – either with meat or vegetables, or by cooking. I need to make my donation’

‘I’ll think about it’ He was tired – tired of the flashbacks, tired of grieving, tired of worrying about the Walker family, and now from the physical exertion he had just undergone. He felt the comfortable glow of his release, and that and the brandy lured him closer to the edge of sleep. He felt his eyelids grow heavy. His companion was silent, and he surrendered to the dark comfort of slumber.

@sirbeepsalot @stopforamoment @drakesensworld @katedrakeohd​ @texaskitten30​ @be-still-my-aching-heart @hopefulmoonobject @dcbbw @classylady1234 @rainbowsinthestorm @kimmiedoo5 @bascmve01  @ibldw-main @addictedtodrakefanfic @trappedinfandoms @fluffyfirewhiskey​ @kingliam2019 @bobasheebaby​ @marshmallowsaremyfavorite​

[gumnut-logic]

Minerva (Bit 1)

Okay, this fic is an attempt to get my mojo back. Every time I go on holiday it gets sideswiped. Being sick definitely did not help, though admittedly coughing all night last night may have made me my usual sleep deprived self, so who knows, it might have helped :D

But anyway, This fic is Kermadec because I needed a boat :D It also required a little research - Minerva Reef is a pair of actual atolls not far from Tracy Island. I’m not sure of the distance so I fluffed it.

Andre and Cecil are a pair of private nurses first mentioned in Gentle Rain. I like to recycle my OCs but I haven’t read that story in ages. Here’s hoping I’ve kept them true to form. They haven’t been sketched out in this much detail before, in any case.

There is fluff. I broke Virg again, oops, but there is resultant fluff. I’m sick, I can’t help myself. 

Many thanks to @scribbles97​ and @vegetacide​ for the read throughs and support. I haven’t forgotten about The Tattoo, I just needed a little self indulgence first.

This bit is mainly set up and I hope to write more asap. 1726 words.

I hope you enjoy it.

-o-o-o-

Two broken legs.

If there was anything worse than a broken limb, it was more than one and two broken legs was the worst.

Or two broken arms. He wasn’t sure as he hadn’t managed to break two arms as yet. But two broken legs definitely sucked.

Of course, it was worth it. Saving children was always worth it. But weeks of confinement, of being unable to do anything for himself, was about to send him around the bend, out the window and into the Pacific.

His brothers did their best and both Andre and Cecil, the family nursing staff - yes, they had enough injuries on enough of a regular basis to have nursing staff on their payroll -  had been called in on this one to cart him back and forth across the house, see to his necessaries, and pretty much do his bidding.

Which was fine, since he and Andre got on like a house on fire. The man spoke both paint and piano almost as much as Virgil and there had been fun times, despite his infirmities.

Cecil was a Gordon clone and those two got up to much more mischief than was really acceptable for an employee. But since Gordon usually took all the credit, even the time Scott had his eyebrows shaved, they got away with hell.

Besides, Scott’s eyebrows had been partly burnt off already and had looked stupid, so shaving them both off was an improvement that had to be done. How Gordon had managed it, Virgil didn’t have a clue...and also didn’t want to think too hard about it because it gave his rapscallion little brother powers that he really shouldn’t have.

Cecil played it straight and the Tracys put up with it. Because despite Cecil’s idiosyncrasies, the two nurses were very, very good at their jobs.

That and they came as a pair because Andre and Cecil were married.

So, other than expanding Gordon’s power of pranking, things were good. Well, as good as they could be while he had two broken legs. 

But there were days.

God, were there days.

Days, so many days, and today was one of them.

Scott had been called out early in the morning and consequently everyone was up. Alan was called next and he and Kayo were out dealing with yet another space freighter collision. Scott was going to kick some space agency ass about updating some space etiquette rules in the near future to stop this stupidity from happening, and considering how much profanity was bouncing down from orbit, both John and Alan would be there to back him up.

So three brothers were out, leaving Virgil imprisoned with Gordon, Andre, Cecil and Grandma. This combination wouldn’t normally be an issue, but Grandma was cooking up a storm and Virgil was trapped.

Gordon may be a pain at times, but he saw the hazard coming and he was a good brother at heart. So, with some assistance from Andre and Cecil, the Fish deployed his yacht, A Little Lightning, and suddenly the day seemed so much brighter.

Virgil was ensconced in pillows and the best of comfort on the back deck and had the privilege of watching Mateo pass on their starboard side as Gordon guided the yacht out into the open ocean.

Why he seemed to always be injured when aboard this boat, he had no idea, but Gordon was a life saver.

Virgil had no idea where his brother might be taking him and he didn’t really care. He just lay back and enjoyed a beautiful day, the breeze, the many sounds of water and the gentle bounce of the boat.

At some point he dozed off.

It had to be a sign of how much healing his body needed, but somehow he managed to sleep the entire trip, because it was the sudden change in the engine noise that woke him.

Andre was smiling at him in that soft caring way he had about him. Dark hair, blue eyes and a soft smile, the nurse was somewhat reminiscent of his big brother, but without the fire and the drive. The man was quiet and reassuring, exactly what was needed when ill or injured.

“It looks like you needed that.”

Virgil grunted, never a fan of waking up. 

But Andre knew this and had exactly what the injured engineer needed - a mug of steaming coffee.

Virgil forced the last few steps to full consciousness, and, pushing himself up, made a grab for the mug.

The mug moved away. “Uh-uh, stretch first.”

Shit.

It was a thing Andre made him do every time he woke. Before coffee, he had to stretch abused muscles that were forced to sleep in awkward positions due to his legs.

Virgil mumbled and grumbled, but did as he was bid. He knew how important the exercises were, but the lure of coffee was just cruel. He vaguely noted the yacht’s engine dropping to a slow cruise and the open ocean having just that touch more sway, rolling the yacht in the swell.

“Where are we?”

“Cecil says we’re visiting Minerva.”

“Oh.” Virgil blinked. He’d flown over the Minerva Reefs many, many times. They were a navigation marker not that far from Tracy Island. Though they were far enough away for him to have been asleep for some time. “How long was I out?”

That smile again. “Several hours. Did you good.” The nurse had placed the coffee on a side table and was helping Virgil sit up straight enough to consume the taunting liquid from heaven.

A breathless moment and the mug was in his hands and coffee was pouring down his throat. God, Andre made great coffee. Yet another reason to put up with his husband.

He surfaced at some point and managed a thank you that set the nurse grinning just as a coral reef started to drift past.

Virgil didn’t know much about the Minerva Reefs other than Melissa Fisher on Raoul swore about them..alot.

They were on the very edge of the Kermadec Ocean Sanctuary and she had wanted to add them to the exclusion zone for a very long time. But the reefs were owned by Tonga or Fiji, depending on which country you spoke to and the environment continued to suffer from it.

He vaguely remembered Gordon saying something about visiting the reefs in Four on several occasions and Virgil had no doubt that he and Melissa were likely doing some kind of sneaky ecological monitoring or some such. After all, the reefs were rather close to Tracy Island and Gordon rather passionate about such things.

As A Little Lightning cruised between two reef headlands, Virgil surmised they were at the northern of the two atolls.

As Virgil guzzled the last of his coffee, the yacht came to a complete halt in the lee of one of the headlands - if you could call it that, the reef barely made it above the water line. He heard the sea anchor deployed and there was suddenly silence except for the crashing of waves against coral and sand and the breeze.

Virgil closed his eyes and soaked it in.

The empty mug was tugged gently from his hand and he vaguely registered a plate being placed on the table beside him. “Cecil made pie.”

That snapped him out of it. “Pie?” The prankster could cook and he was suddenly assaulted with a delicious aroma.

“Steak and bacon, topped with mashed potato and cheese.” The plate had a generous serving along with salad piled up beside it. Andre was grinning at his expression. “He’s mine, you can’t have him.”

Virgil had to grin. “Well, at least I know one of the reasons why you nabbed him.”

Andre’s grin softened, but it was still a grin. “In the top five.” A hand landed on Virgil’s shoulder. “Eat up, you’ll need it for this afternoon’s workout.”

That deflated him a little.

The nurse noted what must have been in his expression. “Okay, perhaps it can be a brief session today.” A shrug. “After all, an atoll is hardly a swimming pool.”

“Virg trying to con you out of rehab?” Gordon bounced onto the deck, a grin on his face and that look of absolute relaxation the man got whenever he was out on the water.

“‘S not rehab.” So Virgil was pouting and acting like a child. “It’s maintenance.” Of what still worked, until the casts came off and then the hell would really start.

“Don’t let those baby browns lure you from the path of righteousness, Andre.”

“What? Like you attempted last time?” The nurse was grinning at the aquanaut.

That brought Gordon up short.

“I have to say that your eyes are a lighter brown, not quite the same colour, but the manoeuvring is almost identical.”

“What?” It was a two Tracy chorus shot at Andre with two brows, one dark, one light, shooting daggers at the nurse.

Andre just laughed and turned back to Virgil. “You going to eat your pie?”

The nurse’s blue eyes did some manoeuvring of their own and Virgil found himself snatching up the plate and hovering over it to protect his slice of pie.

Cecil chose that moment to appear. As usual, there was never a laugh far behind him as he was wearing a bright pink chef’s cap canted at an angle. But it was the two plates of pie in his hands that drew the attention of the other two men on deck.

Gordon didn’t hesitate, grabbing his plate and shovelling pie down his throat with barely a thank you. Virgil growled in his direction.

“What? It’s good pie. Cecil knows I appreciate him, don’t you, Cecil?”

But the cook was accepting a gentle kiss from his husband as the man took his plate, his other hand drifting from Cecil’s shoulder, down to the small of his back in a gesture simple but intimate enough for Virgil to turn away to give them privacy.

His eyes landed on Gordon, who’s face had an odd expression as he looked back at Virgil, as if he knew something that Virgil didn’t.

Virgil glared at him.

It, no doubt, had something to do with Kay. He would slap his little bro about the head later.

In the meantime...”So, what are we doing here?”

-o-o-o-

Bit 2

[harleyhua-archive]

it’s elle again! took me longer than I thought it would, but i’m here with the bio of my second son, harley. he’s my newest oc; i’ve had him for about a year, but i didn’t get to rp much during that time. i’m fluent in asl, so harley has a special place in my heart. usually my gifs that include him signing won’t actually match the signs up to what he’s saying, but this one does. he’s signing ‘hello, my name is....’ so it felt like an appropriate intro post.

[ chella man, genderqueer trans man, 21, he/him ] did you see who just walked in? it was that JUNIOR, the ╳ + HARDWORKING AND  - DISORGANIZED ╳  one? you know, the one who lives at SONTHENA HALL, HARLEY HUA! i heard they are majoring in ART and they can’t wait to get out of here to BECOME AN ILLUSTRATOR.  crap! stop staring, here they come!

name. harley hua hometown. detroit, mi major. art (illustration) birthday. may 27th, 2000 gender. trans man, genderqueer orientation. pansexual religion. jewish languages. english, asl, some cantonese and french hobbies. cheerleading, drawing, comic books

[ BIO ] [ tw. gender dysphoria ]

harley was born hard of hearing, although it wasn’t discovered until he was six. his audiologist discouraged his parents from teaching him sign, saying he would stop talking and stunt his language skills, so he grew up using his hearing aid and filling in the gaps with lipreading.

his yearly hearing tests showed he was gradually going deaf. he kept getting stronger hearing aids and being able to catch less and less of what was happening around him. the expectation was that he would get better at reading lips, but that only got him so far (only 30% of the English language is visible on the mouth!)

he had been a social kid, but he slowly withdrew into art. there, he could create anything he wanted. he often drew superheroes, or just ‘regular’ civilians (usually men). for a few years, harley took a sketch book and at least three graphic pencils everywhere he went.

in middle school, harley was eligible for a cochlear implant. his parents urged for him to get implanted, but decided to let him make the decision himself. he found a way to compromise with them; he agreed to get the surgery, but in exchange his parents agreed to pay for him and his brother to take ASL classes.

once activated, the implant was an immediate change. the world sounded different through it than what harley remembered, but he could understand his teachers and classmates better than he had in a very long time. he was able to join in again, and went from the kid scribbling in a notebook alone to being very outgoing. once he was able to use an ASL interpreter in classes, his confidence and grades shot up.

in high school, harley was very popular. it didn’t take long for his friends to give him a makeover, convincing him to throw out his baggy tshirts and most of his jeans, in favor of more feminine pieces. mini skirts, heels and crop tops (at least, when he could sneak them past his parents). he grew out his short hair to better hide his cochlear implants, smiling and nodding when he couldn’t keep up in conversations instead of drawing attention to his deafness. for the first time in his life he fit in, and he didn’t want to remind people that he was different.

(tw: dysphoria) but something was different, and it wasn’t his cochlear implants or the fact he was one of the only asian kids at his predominately white high school. something about the way he looked bothered him. he would often stare at himself in the mirror, and he knew the girl staring back at him in the mirror was pretty, but he couldn’t connect with ‘her’. she felt like a completely different person, almost like a mask he wore despite not understanding why he ‘needed’ to wear it or why he felt so numb to his own body.

the huas weren’t really hurting for money, but sending two teenagers to college only a year apart would be tough for any family. harley didn’t want to put that kind of stress on his parents, so he focused on cheerleading scholarships. he toured suffolk because it has one of the best cheer programs in the country. it was a dream school, but he doubted they’d want him on their team, let alone offer him enough money that he could afford to attend. yet that’s exactly what happened, so harley accepted and moved to boston.

during his freshman year of college, he realized nobody cared what he looked like in college. many of his classmates showed up to lectures in their pajamas. he started experimenting with his clothes, trading out the feminine pieces he’d been wearing for the past four years and wearing the things he wanted to; androgynous and masculine pieces. at first he wasn’t so sure why it made him happy, he just knew it did.

(tw: dysphoria) harley had never paid much attention to the trans community. he certainly never thought of himself as trans or genderqueer. sure, he often felt like an alien stuck in someone else’s body, but he assumed that was normal - something every girl secretly felt. after joining his college’s gsa and meeting trans people for the first time and hearing their stories, it began to click. harley came out towards the end of his freshman year of college, and started transitioning a few months later. his parents didn’t try to stop him, but it’s clear they don’t understand. a small part of harley is bothered by this, but he doesn’t let it get him down. it took a long time for them to accept he was deaf, too, but they eventually came around. they’re just slow to accept changes. between that and their refusal to learn ASL, harley isn’t on the best of terms with them, but he doesn’t stop to let this get to him. 

overall harley is a very happy kid. he’s at his dream college, living his best life and preparing for the future he’s wanted since he was a kid

[ HEADCANONS ]

not wanting to take much money from his parents, harley works as a bartender three days a week at a popular bar near campus

if he’s not at work or in class, he’s either practicing cheer, working out at the student rec center, or at one of two coffee shops (one being the starbucks in his building, the other being an independent mom-and-pop cafe not far from campus)

he’s basically a jock villager from animal crossing. as stated before, he’s really into cheerleading. since getting his top surgery last summer he’s fallen in love with swimming. he also lifts weights and goes running a couple times a week with nadia.

harley is very busy, and his schedule is constantly fluctuating between working late nights and practices at any time of day. he’s pretty much always sleep deprived, and lives on an insane amount of coffee (he doesn’t like energy drinks).

harley’s preferred method of communication is asl. he uses interpreters in class and is involved with the deaf community in boston. but since most people on the squad only know a limited amount of sign, and other people he knows on campus don’t know the language at all, he often relies on the combination of his cochlear implant and lipreading to communicate. if he can’t hear with his cochlear implant (dead battery, too much background noise, etc) he won’t be able to understand enough by reading lips. but on the other hand, if he’s using his implant to communicate, watching the other person’s mouth helps him fill in the blanks.

[ WANTED CONNECTION ]

teammate // they do cheer together, so they spend a lot of time with each other

asl friends // harley prefers asl, so it would be great for him to have people to sign with!

regular customer // your character hangs out at the bar harley works at. conversely, they’re a bariste at one of the cafes harley is at multiple times a day

workout buddies // they lift weights together

rainbow family // in the queer community, they say you make your own family. harley doesn’t have a great relationship with his parents, and his brother is attending school on the west coast, so harley could use some lgbtq+ family in boston

comic book nerds // harley loves comic books. they were a major escape for him growing up and how he got into drawing in the first place. so maybe your character is also really into comic books, or they just share a passion for the mcu movies

[ FINAL NOTES ]

That’s all I got, but I’m open to almost anything with him. Looking forward to getting to explore him more here!

[cosmicclownboy]

Me finishing something I struggled to write....wow it was actually likely :)

When his father is alive the idea of going to therapy is suffocating. It continues to be throughout his years in the air force until the day it's mandated because by that point everything was suffocating. Waking up. Doing his physio. Simple tasks.Hard tasks. He had survived against all the odds but a part of him felt dead. So a part of him was in this limbo where he always felt like he was dying. The first session he stares at the clock inching the minutes until the clock hand rests on the hour change. The second he stares at the glass of water. By the third session he's exhausted he hasn't slept he still hears the screams and the blast in his mind so he slowly lets the man in not to everything. Not to his dad but to the blast. He was diagnosed with Complex PTSD and he was offered many ways to help with it. He goes to his sessions. He does his physio. Alex slowly builds himself up then he goes back to work.

It goes well for the most part until someone slams a door shut and he has to spend an hour in the bathroom trying to eradicate the weight on his chest and how to stop feeling cold. His therapist offers anti-anxiety medication and whilst he nods his head eyes cloudy he hears his father's words.

"Manes men don't cry it's a sign of weakness. We are soldiers, not Sally's"

He tries different antidepressants settling on one that helps his thoughts slower and that helps him sleep. None of his friends knows it when he heads back to Roswell except Kyle after he's let in on the alien secret and he makes him his doctor in case of shenanigans.

His father dies and he thinks maybe things can be different better in a way he never thought possible. The statue gets put up and he has a panic attack so bad he spends the next two days in bed. It takes him two weeks to think about it really think about it. To face the battle he has to jump right in and the idea of therapy doesn't seem so suffocating any more he's no longer afraid just determined to make strides. With Kyle's help, he finds one that specialises in childhood domestic abuse as well as having experience with veterans. She helps him in ways he didn't think was possible and maybe a year ago the idea of the traffic light method would have had him rolling his eyes or silently repressing whatever emotions he had. But maybe this could be a good thing.

Michael is the first to notice they are on a recon mission together and he's passing across the really good coffee from Bean me up he raises his eyebrows at the sight of an orange bracelet.

"Didn't think you liked orange? expanding the airforce's colour scheme?"

He huffs at that. Who said he didn't like orange?

"My therapist said because of my upbringing and complex PTSD I have a hard time vocalising or communicating my feelings so she suggested a traffic light method. Green is a good day when my emotions are in check. Orange is okay I can manage the day. Red is when-

"everything too much"

"Yeah. On red days I write down everything as to why it's red including my triggers and talk them over with her. It also helps people around me recognise when I'm in that headspace"

Michael shuts his door purses his lips and blows into his own coffee cup.

"I'm glad you're talking to someone"

"Me too. Now, are we gonna recreate a buddy cop movie extraterrestrial style or what? Come on, Guerin don't tell me you don't want to unleash your nerd. This is a safe place"

Michael takes a swig of his own coffee shaking his head before chuckling and taking the wheel. Maybe they share a lot more longing looks then friends would normally. They've just always had a connection under the surface beating and bubbling all on its own.Unspoken and beautiful.

More often then not he wears the orange one. The first time the green bracelet graces his wrist is the day the homeless dog he found slowly offers her belly to be rubbed. Yeah, that day was worthy of a green one. The day Nova finds him and the days that follow which end in his house having a dog bed in pretty much every corner. He might end up replacing his leather couch but who cares it's just a couch. It has nothing on her.

It's only when the days veer closer to the fourth anniversary of that day he truly struggles. Phantom pain comes in waves and he grips every surface he comes in contact with. The days slowly blur together it's a cocktail of depression, sleep deprivation and nightmares that has him on the Tuesday reach for the red bracelet. He finds the Crashdown is a minute from where he is and he's in desperate need for coffee.

Communicating hasn't always been easy for him and Michael especially their fight and flight being fight or fuck over the past decade but they've been trying their hardest to strive to be better to build a foundation. The bracelets were always something Michael immediately sought out every time they were in each other's vicinity. He saunters into the Crashdown buckle first and smooshes himself into the booth without a second thought grabbing one of the menus and seeing what new alien pun food Isobel helped conjure. It isn't until he finishes his order smiling at Liz that he finally looks up to Alex who's completely dissociated. His eyes are dark and sunken his milkshake untouched and he just looks lost. Michael's eyes drift to Alex's fingers noting the tremors before his eyes peer up further and he sees the red bracelet. Michael has a choice at this moment he could leave Alex to it but something in his heart tells him that the days of leaving are behind them. So he slowly reaches for the right hand that tremors and lightly laces the fingers between them. By the time he's halfway through his fries, Alex is more self-aware. He looks to their joined fingers and Michael's mouth completely stuffed with fries and looks softly at him. He doesn't unlace them.

"Want to get out of here?"

They end up in their spot the desert vast and unnerving.

"Did I do the right thing driving us here does it bring up anything we can go back if you want? You never really told any of us what to do on a code red day".

He's right he didn't say to any of them what to do. Truth is anytime Alex usually has one of these days he locks himself in a room and allows every ugly emotion to override him until his body tells him otherwise. Today was a new one in that he wanted connection. He wanted to be with Michael and despite the fear of the unknown he confesses this to Michael.

"It'll be four years Sunday"

"Since your leg?"

Alex nods he doesn't really know how to delve into it the only people who know what happened are the people at the airforce. People don't ask they don't want to know and the people who do aren't worthy of the conversation. Not to mention a lot of his job is classified he can only offer what he can.

"It was meant to be a simple job. Twenty of us in and out.Forty minutes on the dot. I was meant to hack a server. We got to the room we swept the entire place we didn't realise there was a pressure-sensitive bomb until Avril took his foot off. He was the youngest".

Recalling it makes his body shiver his hands shake but he needs to do this.

"Only eight of us made it out. Everyone else had spouses and kids. I had a dad who when I woke up from a two-week coma said I couldn't get blown up right. I didn't understand it. I'm good at compartmentalising stuff it's what he taught me to do my whole life but that day...I felt everything then nothing."

They lay there for a while staring at the stars tracing them with their fingers with one hand lacing the other. There's a light breeze softly swaying in the air Alex softly turns his body to Michael's until they are laying on the side facing one another. 

"I get that feeling"

The confession Michael makes his heart ache and tighten he ushers the cowboy closer his fingers searching for his curls to slowly run his fingers through. Michael ends up the little spoon and judging by the little hum he makes he thinks he doesn't mind a little bit. Michael had the essence of a cat it's one of the many reasons he loves him.

"I know you do"

He pulls Michael tighter resting his head on his curls lightly pecking the crevice of his head.

"I think it's probably why we push each other away so much. I don't want the painful stuff I've been through to trigger or touch your stuff and neither do you so we pick a reason to walk away thinking the other one will be better off. I haven't been better off have you?"

Michael removes himself from his hold much to his disappointment and sitting up because he needs this conversation to be that of what it is a conversation.

"There hasn't been a day you've been gone where I thought that Alex. I'm just sorry for so many things"

"me too"

By the time he makes it to his house Alex is wiped he needs to feed Nova before she barks the house down. He also should really clean his prosthetic liner doesn't want to wind up getting sick. Not to mention taking his pain meds. Trust Michael to recognise all of this and tells him he'll feed her. He wants to argue but his eyes are drifting.

When he wakes up there's a glass of water his pain and anxiety meds on the bedside table and he's trying to remember how the hell he made it to his bed. Last time he checked he KO'd on the sofa as Nova was yipping at Michael's feet.

Michael.

Alex fumbles for his crutch and heads for the living room maybe he shouldn't make a presumption but he's pretty sure he knows his alien from the back of his hand and sure enough, he comes across to Michael and his Nova sharing the couch or Nova dominating both these things as if they are her own. It's the first time in a long time he's slept and he's hoping it's the first of many times he wakes up to Michael in his house. By the time he makes it back to the bedroom, he's staring at the red bracelet on his wrist and the notebook Michael also placed by the pill bottles sticky note on the top with a drawing of a lopsided penny. He spends twenty minutes writing it all down his triggers that day the way he felt all to make sure for his next session he can talk about it continue to make progress. By the time he's put the pen down and taken his anti-anxiety pill, he's greeted by his girl in the zoomies frame of mind.

"Hey, girl. Do you want to play? Give me a minute to put the leg on sweetie and I'll take you to the garden"

He stares at the three bracelets all meaning different things. Today isn't a red bracelet day so he turns to the orange one. It makes the most sense, doesn't it? Today he can manage yet there's something calling him to the green one. Can he go from red to green from a couple of hours? He'll make sure to ask in his next sessions but Nova excitedly barking wanting to play is reason enough for him to tie the green braids to his wrist.

"Do you always feel the need to dramatically lean against doorways".

His Michael senses are tingling he can't decide if it's a loving Michael thing or maybe the whole cosmic alien soulmate thing.

"You're wearing green today".

"Observant too"

He takes the coffee on offer delighting in the way the black bitterness soothes his soul.

"I think today could be a good day. Nova's happy. Plus you and I had an actual conversation which didn't end in tears, fucking or brokeback mountain angst"

Michael's not wearing his hat or his belt he's just leaning against the door frame with bedhead of the ages curls veering in every destination. He wants to run his hands through them and hold him. Fuck it who says he can't. He curls his head into his shoulder much to his surprise and tucks his arm to hold his waist. He feels the chuckle rumble against his ears

"We've had what ten years of it angst is overrated. You know what's underrated?"

"What?"

"Having breakfast. Holding hands. Watching a movie. Being boyfriends"

Alex feels a kiss against his head and peaks up to Michael softly cupping his cheeks he makes sure Alex's eyes are on his not looking away.

"I love you. If you aren't there yet that's okay. I don't want to mess with your recovery. If you don't want to be with me after everything that's okay too. I just want you to know I'm here and I'm not going anywhere"

Alex puts the cup of coffee down and brings his head up so their foreheads touch.

"I love you too".

Alex knows love won't cure everything and being with Michael doesn't mean it's automatically going to be green bracelets all the time. The red bracelet won't cease to exist. He still gets red days. But he does know this. Whatever the day and whatever colour he wears Michael will rub circles into his hand and hold it just the same. Some days he has a depressive episode or an anxiety attack and between his therapist and the people he loves they help him recognise it's okay. It's okay to be loved. It's okay to need and want people. His father's words can stay in the ground with him. Alex is finally content.

[kareofbears]

desperate as that sounds

Five times Ryuji ran for Akira (and one time he ran for himself.)

—  

read on ao3 or below the cut :)

It’s 4:45 am with the weather sitting at a brutal -3 degrees when Ryuji really starts wishing that he brought another jacket.

People are lined around Akihabara by the hundreds outside of closed electronic stores, and the sun has yet to even rise. Some people are yawning, some are clutching their rapidly cooling coffee in a death grip, and most have dark, purple bags underneath their eyes—proof of the battle scars that they’ve acquired. Every person here had the same goal in mind: To get what they need and get out as quick as possible.

As it turns out, if everyone has that same mindset, it creates the violent, yearly November tradition that is Black Friday.

Glancing around, he notices that people came in packs, teams. Teenagers and pre-pubescent kids are all scuffling around, hyping themselves up and creating strategies for the war to come. The more seasoned veterans of the yearly massacre came in pairs—the smaller the group, the faster you move, the move land you cover.

At the biggest electronic store in a region that’s already been nicknamed ‘Electronic Town,’ he is fourth in line—an impressive feat, especially for a first-timer. But it came with a heavy toll: he is completely and utterly alone.

”Skull, do you read me?”

Well, physically alone, anyway.

“Loud and clear,” he replies, readjusting the mic in his ear. “Not that I mind, but what’s with the codenames?”

Futaba scoffs. “You think Black Friday is just about the physical aspect? Foolish boy—the psychological aspects are half the battle. If I get you into the mindset that we’re in a Palace, then you’ll get into infiltration mode, and you’ll be OP compared to the nerds out there.”

“Ooo, I like it! Your brain is effin’ galaxy sized!”

“I do what I can for my faithful pack mule.”

“I’ll try not to take that personally.”

His deal with Futaba had been a simple one. She helps Ryuji navigate the horrors of Akihabara during Black Friday in exchange that he acts as what is essentially a drug trafficker sans the drugs. Despite her rigorous societal training she’d undergone with the Thieves, something about entering a borderline stampede still seems somewhat unappealing to her. Besides, he doesn’t mind. He’d always wanted to do something nice for Futaba anyway, and the store that has her computer thing is the same store that holds what he needs.

”Five minutes to go,” her voice crackles into his ear. ”Infiltration route—go!”

Their deal had also come in with an intense tutorial session that ended up lasting until one in the morning. “Floor 4, down 3 aisles, 8 steps in, turn right, second shelf, grab a box that says ‘GTX graphics card.’ Pink, if possible.”

“A+, Skull! You know, if you can memorize that, I seriously don’t get why you’re failing English verbs.”

“Please, this is actually important.”

Futaba cackles. “Now you’re speaking my language. With your legs and my navigation, this’ll basically be a Tuesday afternoon in Leblanc.”

People around him are starting to straighten up, some going as far as to remove the extra layer of clothing and shoving it in backpacks for maximum speed and minimum restrictions. “Damn, people here look more intense than some dudes in my track meets.”

“If you’re throwing out portable chargers with 30-hour battery life for only 800 yen, you’d be a little intense too.”

Ryuji scoffs and begins to stretch, being extra sure to get his right thigh. “I’m plenty intense. Just last Saturday, I almost beat the Big Bang Burger challenge.”

“Pretty sure Akira beat that on his second week in Tokyo. You know, you still haven’t told me why you’re bothering with this whole Black Friday mess. I didn’t peg you for an electronics type of guy, and your phone is as crappy as your posture.”

“Rude! But I can’t argue with that.” He starts to run in place, and for a brief second, he wonders if he should’ve packed a protein shake.

“Well, too late now. If your thing sells out because you didn’t want to give your Navi information, that’s on you.”

“Gimme some credit, Futaba,” an employee who looks equal parts sleep-deprived and terrified approaches the glass doors. “Ain’t no way in hell I’m failing either of us this morning.”

The glass slides open, and as if sunlight was released from the captivity of the clouds, or perhaps a meteor just broke through the earth’s atmosphere, the people start pushing, shoving, and flooding inside. The crowd looked both impenetrable and unwavering; an unstoppable force and an immovable object rolled into one giant stream of desperate shoppers.

Ryuji spares a split-second to crack his neck. Mission Start.

The moment he breaks through the initial threshold, people who were only one step behind him suddenly became ten, twenty, thirty. Weaving through crowds and aisles with the precision of a seamstress, Ryuji evades it all with ease.

”Skull, status report.”

“Smooth sailing, Oracle!” He ducks as an overly buff businessman turns around with a 3-metre pole used for studio lighting threatens to bash his head in. “You’re totally right about the codenames, by the way. It’s almost like I’ve got Captain with me.”

“Right?” She laughs. “It’s all about the mindset.”

Ryuji turns, and finally gets to the stairs—the most brutal section and the biggest gamble. It’s the reason why it was essential that he’s one of the first in line. Once the stairs get jammed with people, it’s game over. Making a mad dash up four flights of stars, he thanks any God that may be that Palaces are fantastic for rehab.

He makes it to the top, panting. It’s empty, save for a few nervous-looking employees. He hopes the smile he throws their way came off as ‘pleasant and grateful for their service’ rather than ‘a delinquent asshole who might steal loads of shit.’

“Down 3 aisles, 8 steps,” he mutters to himself as he quickly scans the fourth floor. “Turn right, second shelf,” eyes landing on his target, he grins. “I effin’ rock.”

”You got it?”

“Of course I did!” He fist pumps before swiping the box. In his excitement, he nearly runs over to give a random employee a high-five. “Alright Oracle, you’re up.”

”I love you so much in a non-weird way. Okay,” he hears the clacking of keys on the other side of the mic. “What do you need?”

“Two words: game console.”

The clacking stops. “You’re joking.”

Ryuji snorts. “I ain’t waking up at 3 in the morning for a joke.”

”Those are hard enough to get as is, and on a day like this—”

“So you can’t do it?”

In the same way every one of the thieves know they could bait Ryuji with a few choice words, it’s a lesser-known fact that Futaba is quite nearly as bad when it comes to open defiance. “Jerk. Of course I can.”

“Then let’s do it!”

“Ugh, fine!” The clacking resumes, more vigorously. “Yikes, only 3 left. Make it quick!”

“Got it,” he replies. He turns around and his stomach drops as he sees people rushing in. “What floor?”

“Third.”

Ryuji groans. The stairs, with people packed in like sardines, are a circus. It would take at least two minutes to try and go down a single flight of stairs. The elevator is even worse, and he honestly wouldn’t be surprised if it had already started to malfunction. Only one choice, then.

He takes a deep breath. “Pray for me.”

”Godspeed, soldier.”

Ryuji, like a wild animal on the loose in the streets of Tokyo, jumps on the handrails and begins his descent that way, begging to the skies that he doesn’t slip and create a domino effect that knocks down a dozen people.

In thirty seconds flat (with no small amount of cursing from both the customers and himself) he jumps off and lands (tumbles) onto the third floor, grinning triumphantly. Eat your heart out, Sumire.

“Oracle, I’m here. Almost broke my ankles. Where to?”

”Straight ahead,” she replies. ”Only one left, though. Better make it quick.”

His eyes land on the last game console, and he sees someone making their way towards it. “Not a problem.”

Ryuji sprints.

Throwing every societal rule and common courtesy into the air, he makes a mad dash and, somehow, miraculously does not bump into anyone or knock down any huge shelves.

In approximately 3 seconds, he grabs his treasure and yells a very loud but completely genuine “sorry!” over his shoulder as he half runs back to the stairs, face red for multiple reasons.

Delving back into the sea of the crowd, trying to navigate himself to the cash register, he sighs. “I’m going to hell.”

”Mission success, then?”

“I had to steal it from some guy! I feel so bad. What if he’s like, buying it for his long lost son or something?”

”Whatever! That’s just part of the Black Friday spirit. Congrats! At least you finally got a game console.”

“Huh? Oh, I already had one.”

Static crinkles in his ear, before, ”WHAT!?”

“Ow! Don’t yell!”

”You already had one and you still did this shopping run?”

“Yeah…?”

”Why?! Are you gonna sell it? Are you one of those sleazy men who take advantage of the good will of gamers, Sakamoto?”

“Hell no!”

”So—“

“Oops, almost at the front of the cash register. I’ll drop off the goods at Akira’s. Talk to you later, shortie.”

Click.

”Wha— Hey! Ryuji!” Silence. “Ugh!”

————

After a much-deserved nap, Futaba climbs up the stairs to Akira’s attic.

“The star has arrived!” she says in lieu of a greeting. “Where’s Ryuji?”

“He left,” Akira answers. He’s looking at something on his worktable. “Your stuff is on the bed.”

Futaba whoops and snatches up the little plastic bag. Peering inside, she sees an adorable GTX hot pink graphics card, and a note. In a horrific scrawl, it writes: dont tell him plz ;)))

She looks up quizzically when her eyes land on Akira’s desk: A shiny new game console.

“Um…”

“Hmm?” he looks up. “Oh, Ryuji dropped it off. Said his mom won it at work, and since he already had one, he gave it to me. Nice, right?”

She opens her mouth, before closing it with a clack. Just two weeks ago, Ryuji had asked Akira in the group chat if they could play video games at his place. Sometimes, it’s easy to forget about Akira’s situation: false accusation, an attic for a room, no definitive meals, not even a proper bathroom in the building, but Akira plays it off like it’s easy. He answered by making a joke that he’s too poor for something like that when you can buy faux battle axes and realistic shotguns instead. Everyone had forgotten about that interaction.

But apparently, Ryuji hadn’t.

He’s an idiot, Futaba thinks. To which boy she’s referring to, she’s not sure.

“Yeah,” is what she says instead. “It’s nice.”

====

The dust motes flying around the attic of Leblanc are lovely. Swirling in senseless formations, floating through the still air like snow. The way none of them collide with each other, as if they have some sort of motion detector that tells them to move out of the way. It’s pleasing to look at.

It’s a shame Ryuji doesn’t give a single shit about them at this moment.

He’s sitting on Akira’s bed, back pressed against the window sill with his hair tipped up, staring unfocused at the wooden beams, eyes glazed over. He’s been like this for the better part of the day, and now the evening is slipping by him. Time continues ticking on like a rigged bomb; an ongoing reminder of how many seconds he’s losing, and how much more he can lose.

He’s considered moving. To walk around the room, shift the dust that’s surely settled on him. Getting up, stretching his legs, outwardly expelling some of his trapped, balled up energy is a good idea. Healthy, even, if those shitty YouTube videos he’s watched on his phone about anger management were on to something. But he can’t. He shouldn’t.

Amidst all the uncertainty and the wound-up anxiety that has currently made permanent residence deep inside his core, he knows that if lets his joints unlock, he’s going to fucking lose it.

Slam a fist inside the dry wood, tear up a blanket, throw the adorable ramen bowl he gave Akira against the wall until it shatters into a hundred pieces. He’s so terrified of ruining this room that he won’t even give himself the option. And Ryuji would rather let hell freeze over than scare Futaba again in his fit of fucked-up rage that comes with the package that is Sakamoto Ryuji.

So he’s stuck on the bed for God knows how long.

Footsteps come up, and he doesn’t need to look down to know who’s going to chew him out. If it’s not Akira that’s going to chide him out of his stupor (which it isn’t, even though Ryuji would do anything if it means that Akira’s back here with them), then they’d send in someone who’d drag him out of it with her nails perfectly manicured.

“You look terrible.”

“Screw off,” Ryuji spits automatically, and he cringes inwardly. Ann doesn’t deserve the sharp end of his horrible mood. It’s not her fault that it feels like his insides feel like they’re trying to eat their way out.

She ignores him and moves to hop on top of the old work desk. The wood creaks underneath her. “You’ve been here all day.”

“I know.”

“Did you sleep last night?”

“Yes. No.” He feels Ann’s stare burn into the side of his face—a ghost of Carmen’s presence. “I don’t know.”

“He wouldn’t want to see you like this.”

Irritation swells in him. She’s never learned to take a hint in her life. “Really? Are you seriously saying that?”

“Are you saying he would?”

“I’m saying he’s too busy having the living shit beat out of him to see me like this.”

His body twitches, and that’s all he needed for his resolve to break down. He jumps from the bed, feet landing heavily enough that he’s sure they can all hear him from the floor below. Unconsciously, his feet pace around the small room; quick with agitation but heavy with dread. Anything to distract from doing something stupid.

“You’re worried about me, what, not sleeping? For lying down on this damn bed for too long? Screw that. Akira’s being grilled like cheap meat for the past couple of days and you’re expecting me to act normal about it? That’s bullshit.”

Bad. This is bad. His fingers are already curling in his fists, eager and all too willing to be used. He settles for balling the edge of his shirt instead.

“He isn’t here. That’s the fact, isn’t it? And what the fuck am I doing about it? Freaking out? Trying not to throw a tantrum about it like some kind of stupid kid? Am I really this messed in the head that everyone on the team is—-is hiding from me like I’m some kind of—” he cuts himself off.

Delinquent.

Ryuji takes a deep breath, fully inhaling and slowly exhaling. He focuses on the dust motes again. In and out. Countdown from ten. He can do this. He can get a grip on himself. Thank God it was Ann that came up—if it had been anyone else, he doesn’t think he can put his pride aside as easily. (Unless it was Futaba. God, he loves her so much.)

For a while, it was silent except for his breathing; it stuttered occasionally, but eventually it evens out. Ann only watches from her perch.

When he feels stable enough, Ryuji drops to sit on the hardwood.

“Okay?” she asks. Ann never babies him when he gets like this—she’s good that way.

“Okay.” And he really is. Not completely, of course not. His nerves weren’t strung as tight, but he still feels a heavy weight right in his stomach.

She hops off the desk and goes to sit in front of him on the floor. Crossing her legs, Ann waits. They regard each other for a long minute.

“He’s the toughest guy I’ve ever met,” he says. It feels weird saying this out loud, instead of repeating the mantra in his head like a broken record. “If anyone can handle this, it’s Akira.”

She rolls her eyes. “Duh.”

“He’s going to be okay.”

“I know that.”

“Sooner than later, his dumb ass is going to be walking through the door downstairs.”

“You bet he is.”

“And I get to yell at him as much as I want.”

“Get in line.”

“I’m not going to lose him tonight.”

Ann reaches over—slowly, giving him plenty of room to shift away—and places a hand on his knee. “You’re not going to lose him tonight.”

Ryuji laughs, a little breathy but still genuine. He prods at her hand. “When’d you get so good with me, Takamaki?”

“I do the Lord’s work around here, free of charge.” She grins, before her tone drops again. “Can you do something for me, though?”

“Lay it on me.”

Ann pulls back and leans on a propped hand, her blue eyes piercing. “When Akira comes back, and he will—”

“And he will. No doubt about it.”

“Obviously. He’s the best person for this. But when Akira comes back, he’s…” Ann gnaws on the inside of her cheek. “He’s not going to be okay, Ryuji.”

Somewhere in his mind, he already knew what she was going to say. While the biggest of his worries is that he’d never see Akira walk through the doors of Leblanc again, there was a quieter fear. A very specific fear, one that Ryuji knows all too well. Because stories don’t just end at the climax of a single event—they keep going. It’s the fear of what happens once he does see Akira.

The aftermath.

The bell chimes downstairs.

His heart lurches, and he makes the briefest of eye contact with Ann before he’s gone.

He’s the toughest guy I’ve ever met.

It’s like his feet have a mind of their own.

If anyone can handle this, it’s Akira.

In an instant, he’s scrambling towards the stairs on all fours before pushing himself up.

Sooner than later, his dumbass is going to be walking through the door downstairs.

His hand finds its hold on the old wooden railing as he sprints his way down. More than once, he almost trips and bangs his head into the wall.

And I get to yell at him as much as I want.

Rounding the corner, he jumps on the landing, ignoring the sharp pain that shoots up his thigh. He ignores the stares from everyone else. Looking up his breath catches in his throat. Gray eyes meet his brown ones. He takes one step forward, and then another. And then he sprints the rest.

He’s going to be okay.

Ryuji stops himself right in front of him, an arms-length away. Akira’s face looked like it’s been through hell and back. Split lip, black eye, bruised cheekbone. An intense fury flares up his spine when he sees the grime and dirt up along his temple.

He hesitates.

As much as he wants to reach forward, close the gap, to make sure that this boy that he can’t afford to lose is real… he can’t do it.

Because he knows what would happen if he tries to cross a boundary that isn’t ready to be crossed—he might not be ready. Ryuji could hurt him by touching any injuries he doesn’t know about (God, how much more is he hiding in there? He’s this close to either throwing up or throwing a punch). But what he’s most scared about, what he’s terrified of doing, is touching Akira in the state of mind he’s in right now. For someone to grip him, grab him, even just brush past him right now, it might be too much. Judging by how beat up he looks just from his face? That does shit to people. That changes you.

Ryuji would know. So he keeps his distance.

Akira’s eyes turn dark, and for a second, Ryuji is terrified that he must’ve overstepped a boundary.

Then he throws his arms around Ryuji, the force knocking them both back by a couple of steps.

“Akira?” he asks, bewildered. Never in their friendship has he seen Akira act like this. It sends alarm bells ringing through his head. “What—”

“Don’t,” Akira cuts off, voice hoarse and quiet, so quiet that even this close, Ryuji is straining to hear him. The arms around him tighten. “Don’t be like that. Please. I can’t. Not right now, Ryuji.”

It hits him all at once. And in his sixteen years of living, Ryuji doesn’t think he’s ever been stupider.

Akira’s been trapped in an interrogation room with nothing but a bunch of make-believe police officers. He got the shit beat out of him, had to stage his own suicide.

And Ryuji just tried to push him away.

He lets his arms wrap around Akira tightly; not too tight, but enough to make sure he won’t slip away from him again. (Never again. Not if he can help it.)

“I’m glad you’re back,” he whispers. Tilting his head up, he stares at the soft lighting of Leblanc, forcing his lungs to breathe evenly—not for fear of losing his temper, but for fear of exposing the tears silently streaming down his face. “So fucking glad.”

Akira doesn’t answer. He only buries his face deeper into Ryuji’s shoulder.

Ann was right—Akira isn’t okay. Not for now, not for awhile. It’s up to Ryuji and everyone else in their group of friends to fix that. That’s fine. They’ll all take as long as they need. He isn’t okay right now, but he will be. They can work on that.

But one thing was clear.

I’m not going to lose him tonight.

====

Summer in Mementos is pretty gross.

Granted, it’s always nasty in here—there’s a perpetual air of moisture, like the inside of a whale, if Ryuji had ever been in one (he’s basing that off of an American movie Ann showed them last week; he didn’t even know it was possible for a fish to get lost in the ocean). There’s also the ongoing sound of trains passing by them on loop, and to him, trains are just inherently cramped and humid and always too sticky for his liking.

Of course, there’s the disgusting, weird amalgamated Shadows that litter every level of Mementos. At least in Palaces they sort of resemble something from the real world, but he guesses they didn’t even bother with these ones. The worst part of all this is that right now, it’s hot, but not hot enough for the Shadows to process a heat wave.

So essentially, they’re fighting with additional bucket loads of sweat, but with none of the usual reward that comes with it.

Well, not that they needed it.

“Fox.”

“As you wish.”

Yusuke’s boots skid to a halt as he points his katana at the fast-moving Shadow, the tip perfectly still. “Your assistance, Goemon.”

They’re on their weekly Mementos grind, the list Mishima keeps updating finally too long to ignore. (Akira hates it when things pile up. It’s a big reason why Ryuji hastily cleaned up every time he wanted to come over. Now though, he doesn’t even bother.)

The current All-Star team includes Yusuke, Makoto, Ryuji, and Akira, with the rest of them keeping a close eye in case they need a quick shift in strategy.

From his katana, black ice crawls in the ground beneath rusted train tracks, the air suddenly chilly despite the humidity that was there a moment ago. Frost shoots forward, encasing the legs of the Shadow only to shatter with a strong jerk forward. It roars, the ear-piercing sound causing the scattered debris around them to vibrate. Akira clicks his tongue.

Strong against ice. Easy fix. Ryuji mouths the words along with Akira when he says, “Panther, you’re up.”

“Finally!”

Ann darts in, high-fiving Yusuke as he rushes out. Ryuji can see Makoto pat Yusuke on the back, sympathy etched on her expression and Futaba mussing his hair. He always took it the hardest when he had to be switched out.

Akira’s gloved fingers brush the edge of his monochrome mask. “Come, Principality.”

As if a human version of justice has been summoned down to earth, the winged statue floats for a moment, eyes filled with scorn as she casts a simple, yet effective memory loss spell. The Shadow shakes its head aggressively. It works, but it won’t hold for long.

“Skull.”

“Don’t mind if I do!”

He grins and sprints right, squeezing into the Shadow’s blindside. It tries to twist around to take a swipe at him, but Ryuji is too fast—he slides right between its legs to confuse and disorient it. Once it seems like it completely lost sight of him, he raises his hand to grip the edge of his black mask. “Come on out, Captain!”

It’s a classic tactic; make the enemy lose focus, stun it, and stop it.

A pirate straight out of the Caribbean materializes from the embers of his mask—Captain Kidd in all of his glory regards the Shadow with a look of disdain before sparks fly from the hull of his ship, and an intense streak of lightning bursts forth, shocking its target like something from a regrettable movie about torture, knocking it down to the ground, a buzz perceptible even from here. He might have overdone it.

Ann whistles. “You didn’t even let me get a chance with it.”

“You can have the next million Shadows we bump into, I promise.” He calls Captain back into his mask, fragmented pieces forming together impossibly quick. “We good, Leader?”

Akira nods. “Just let me get the loot,” he smiles at Ryuji. “Awesome voltage on that last one, Skull.”

A grin stretches over his face before he can stop himself. He won’t deny it—getting a compliment from Joker was always something he filed away for later.

He’s too busy feeling pride surge through him that he can’t even bother to get ticked off when he hears Morgana scoff. “It doesn’t matter how good that attack was; he got in the way of Lady Panther’s finishing blow. That’s a crime in my eyes.”

“But doesn’t that just mean he saved her from doing anything?” Makoto raises an eyebrow. “Technically, he prevented any danger from befalling her, right?”

“Queen, as a gentleman, I have an obligation to tell you that that is a sexist notion.”

“You did not just say that.”

Something makes Ryuji pause. Immediately, his eyes flicker around them automatically. He tunes their chattering out, and finds himself tapping his foot, a slight jitter overcoming him. His nerves are trying to tell him something. Or maybe he’s imagining it? Is it just an aftershock from the intense lightning he cast out? No. It’s been too long since he’s had any problem with electric moves, and he’s never had problems from ones that he threw out himself.

Something was wrong, and he can’t put his finger on it.

He rattles his brain trying to figure out what it is. No one’s hurt, everyone’s safe and together. Well, mostly together, since Akira’s still approaching the Shadow—

A cold sweat drapes the back of his neck. Akira is still approaching the Shadow.

The Shadow hasn’t disintegrated yet.

“Akira—!”

The name slips past his lips, codenames forgotten. In slow motion, Ryuji sees Shadow’s body tense, its mouth frothing with what looks like liquid magma made from pits of hell—specializes in curse, and a strong one at that; Ryuji can feel the potency of its malignancy from where he’s standing. He watches as Akira stiffens, fingers twitching towards his mask, ready to retaliate, or at the very least, defend. And like a domino effect of bad luck, Ryuji feels bile rise to his throat.

Akira is good at what he does. Infuriatingly good. Took the whole Metaverse bullshit like a fish to water. But even he can’t switch Personas the same moment he summons them.

Principality would crumple like tissue paper against the Shadow. And Akira along with it.

You’re too late, a voice whispers in his head. You wouldn’t make it.

A heartbeat passes. And then Ryuji is flying.

It’s never too late, screams back something stronger, something unshakeable. Not ever. Especially not for him.

His boots hit the ground like the first strike of lightning amidst a storm—impossibly fast and unexpected. Lungs wheezing and legs throbbing, he crossed the distance in the span of a breath.

The Shadow throws the curse at Akira, red and black and filled to the brim with intensity, and Akira’s eyes can only widen, pupils dilated wildly to the point where there’s only black—a mirror of what’s about to hit him if Ryuji isn’t fast enough.

He doesn’t hesitate.

Ryuji shoves Akira, hard enough that he crashes onto the ground and he can hear the breath forcefully leave his lungs, and suddenly Ryuji can’t hear anything at all. His fingertips are fire and ice, his sense of surroundings have completely dissipated. Any energy in his body is being drained, like a dam cracked into millions of pieces—and all he’s left with is air. Vaguely, he can hear a choking noise, a broken sort of sound.

The blow is not just a violent one—it never is, with curse attacks. Instead of just feeling his skin bruised or blood running down his temple, he also feels himself get weaker, his mind growing heavier. An attack on the mind and body; a perfect cocktail of fucked up.

The last thing he sees before he loses consciousness is the glint from Akira’s knife slicing through the Shadow’s throat.

====

Tokyo is currently at a wicked thirty two degrees.

The sun radiates scorching temperatures down from the sky, the concrete eagerly absorbing every bit of its heat, making something akin to walking across hot coals. It’s hot enough that a mirage is visible to the naked eye. It’s hot enough that every ice cream store has a forty-minute line-up. It’s hot enough that no birds were flying, in fear that they may truly be fried by the sun above them.

Basically, it’s hot as hell.

“Ryuji-chan, pick up the pace!”

But Haru is more vicious than any conceivable temperature.

Looking like a survivor who was lost in the desert for several days, Ryuji lets out a half-garbled battle cry and sprints the last dozen meters. Haru clicks her stopwatch.

Sitting on a lovely lilac blanket, she tsks from underneath the shade. “Three seconds slower.”

“Ugh!” he collapses beside her on the cool grass. If she looks at him from a certain angle, she can see the steam positively radiating off of him. “I’m going to beat the living shit out of the sun.”

“You know I’d support you in anything you do, Ryuji-chan, but I don’t think you’d be fast enough to catch it,” Haru says. She hands him a cold water bottle. “Drink slowly.”

He rolls over so that he can squint up at her. “You’re mean.”

“I’m harsh,” she corrects, shaking the bottle in her hand. “There’s a difference.”

He takes it. “Have you done this before?”

“Helped someone train in running? No. But,” she rummages through her pastel pink tote bag, and proudly shows him a handful of books. He squints at them. “Since I’m so new to the group and everyone has such broad interests, I decided to try reading up on them! Did you know that drinking cold water after running results in less dehydration than drinking warm water?”

Ryuji stares at her. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For saying you’re mean. You’re not mean. You’re real nice, Haru.”

She smiles at him and pats his head, despite the overflowing heat and moisture settled on top. “You’re very sweet Ryuji-chan, but that’s not going to make me go easy on you.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re the tough-love kind of coach.” Ryuji sits up, cracking open the seal. Chugging down the water, he makes eye contact with Haru before slowing down substantially.

He dumps the rest of it on his head, sighing and shivering in relief. “That’s the good shit.”

“Why not wait for the sun to go down a bit?” she suggests. “The heat is really scorching, and there’s still plenty of time to keep training later.”

“Nah,” he stretches his arms behind his head before he stands again. “I gotta keep going while I still can.”

Haru frowns. “Overexertion isn’t going to help anyone.”

“Don’t you worry your fluffy head! I may be stupid, but I know when to stop when I gotta.”

“I really think you should rest for a bit.”

“I will when I’m done, I promise.”

“You looked rough in that last lap—”

“Haru,” Ryuji is grinning, but his tone leaves no room for argument. “I’m going to keep training.”

They stare at each other for a few moments, before Haru’s shoulder sags slightly. “Alright.” He’s about to say something when she cuts him off. “But only if you tell me why you’re so insistent.”

Ryuji shrugs. “If that’s what it’ll take to prove it to you, then sure. It’s kinda stupid, though.”

“I’m sure it’s not.”

“Oh, wait till you hear it,” he laughs, a little shy. “So you know how Mona and Futaba are, like, the Metaverse experts? And Makoto is the big brain? And Yusuke does the whole calling card part?” Haru nods, and he continues. “Well, I’m not really… anything. Ann already took the role of moral support and there’s no way in hell I’m the ‘brain’ in anything. Jeez, last time I picked up a paintbrush was in kindergarten. So I figured, I’d be the fast one, you know? The one that can get to someone fast enough to help them out.” Ryuji’s grin turns into something softer; less edge and more fond. It does something to her heart. “And if it’d help ‘Kira down the line, then it’d be worth it, right?”

Haru stays silent.

“Anyway! That’s enough of that cheesy shit.” He moves back to the track, running shoes scuffing at the concrete. “Wish me luck, maybe I can actually catch up to the sun this time. Teach it a lesson.”

“Ryuji.“

Looking back, he gives her a curious look. “Yeah?”

Haru hesitates.

I never once thought you were stupid. You’ve given so much more to the team than you can imagine. You have no idea how many times you’ve helped Akira without even lifting a finger.

“I have a cooler full of water behind me, so… please try your best out there.”

Ryuji gives her an enthusiastic salute. “Yes ma'am!”

He runs off, the sun continuing to beat down him relentlessly.

====

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Ryuji knew they were all going to die someday. It’s inevitable. The circle of life, the winds of time, la vie en rose, etc.

He just didn’t expect it to happen at the age of 16, on the sinking cognitive ship of their next Prime Minister, wearing a wack-ass leather outfit surrounded by his panicking friends.

“We’re going to die!” Futaba wails, knees shaking uncontrollably to the point where she can hardly keep standing. “I don’t know how to swim!”

“It’ll be fine,” Akira spits through gritted teeth. He’s far tenser than anyone else, red gloves formed into fists and eyes constantly darting around to see what can save their lives. “We just need to focus.”

Makoto points to something on their right and shouts, “There! A lifeboat!”

Sprinting down the slowly escalating ramp, their eyes widen at the single lifeboat propped at the very top of the bow—which is slowly approaching a ninety degree angle. They all had one thought in their minds.

“We’re not going to make it in time,” Yusuke says, quietly.

Akira bangs his fist into a nearby column. “To hell with that. There’s no way I’m letting us die here.”

A heavy silence falls over them. The air is practically crackling with electricity and pure agitation, but there’s also a determination between all of that. Everyone’s overcome with a need to protect their friends and teammates, but they were at a loss of what to do. A quiet realization overcomes the group—there wasn’t going to be a miracle to save them.

Ryuji’s eyes land on Akira. He’s scanning the area, Third Eye activated but unable to pick up anything that isn’t the lifeboat. There’s no panic in his clear, gray eyes, but the terror in it is the most prevalent out of anyone present.

It hits Ryuji, all at once. The boy in front of him may be his age, and even younger than some members of their group, but he is undoubtedly the leader of the infamous Phantom Thieves. Every decision he made had led them here, in this moment, in their imminent death. And if he lets them all get taken, whether it’s through the ocean or the approaching explosions behind him, the truth of the matter is Akira feels that he would be responsible. That it’s his fault that a cognitive boat would take the lives of his friends.

Yeah. That’s not happening.

Ryuji clenches his eyes shut for a few seconds and slowly opens them. He begins to jump in place, hyping himself up.

“Skull…?” Haru asks, brows furrowing.

“Hang tight, guys,” he says, taking quick breaths. He can do this. “I’ll nab the boat.”

A chorus of gasps and heated objections rang through the air, and Akira steps forward, more shaken than Ryuji’s ever seen him. “No. Skull, please—”

Ryuji throws him a wobbly grin, more for Akira than himself. In one smooth motion, he jumps down and hits the ground running.

“No!”

Immediately, he feels his knees and thighs begin to protest, only intensifying the further he sprints up. For a minute, if Ryuji closes his eyes, he can imagine that he’s in a meet. A race. That the screams he hears behind him are his track mates, and not teammates, friends, best friends that would die if he failed to get to the boat fast enough.

He pushes himself even more.

It’s a miracle that he gets to the raft before his legs give out, and he feels a satisfying crank underneath his palms when he rotates the lever. As he throws a thumbs up at his friends, seeing them safe, healthy, alive, he feels relieved beyond words.

He makes eye contact with Akira, and he really should’ve expected the explosion that comes next.

====

His ceiling has seventy-nine plastic stars.

Ryuji stares up at it from his bed, arms crossed behind his head; they’d long since lost their cheap light. It was raining hard outside, enough to rattle against his window like pebbles calling for his attention. He ignores them.

It’s been years since he got those stars—dating all the way back in middle school. He got into a bad habit of sneaking out in the middle of the night to look at the sky from the roof of their apartment building. It scared the shit out of his ma when she finally caught him, scolded him to hell and back. By the end, they found a compromise: she’d buy him a crap ton from the hundred yen store, and they’d stick it up together. When they did, it kept falling down, so she went back and bought him a bottle of superglue. Now you can’t take them off, even if you tried to use a little scraper.

It bothered him, for a while. Young boys were cruel, and anyone who came to visit always poked fun of him for it. It wasn’t until he visited Akira’s room one day, saw how pleased he was that Yusuke bought them for him that he couldn’t help but revel at his own stars again, after all this time.

Ryuji twists his body sideways, ripping his eyes away from the plastic figures. Enough of that.

His eyes have long adjusted to the darkness that surrounds him, allowing a clear view of his room in the limited moonlight. Laundry splayed around his tatami mat from his sprints training today, gaming controllers scattered on the center table from when Akira came over a few days ago. That was a blast. He helped him beat a boss he’s been stuck on for weeks, and Akira beat it like it was nothing, it was the coolest shit ever—

Ryuji forces himself to flip over to glare at the wall. Sleep. That’s a better idea.

He takes a deep breath, forcing his breathing to go steady. There’s lots to do tomorrow—school is a drag, but they plan on meeting up at Leblanc afterwards. The thought allows his muscles to relax. Really, the atmosphere of Leblanc is just so pleasing to him. The warm lighting, the run-down booths, even the smell is a welcome presence. Well, that’s mostly because Akira drags it with him wherever he—

Slowly, his eyes open.

It always comes back to him, doesn’t it?

He rolls onto his back, in a position to stare at the stars again. The rain hammers on.

Ryuji’s a dumb kid.

It’s not a self jab, it wasn’t manifested by some sort of long-standing insecurity. It’s a fact. He’s never been good with a book, never done anything half-decent by picking up a pencil, his mind was never programmed to listen and retain information in long classes. It’s definitely not like he’s the brains of the Thieves, never a strategist of some kind. His ma encouraged him to take on a tutor in the past, and he’d rather bite a finger off than spend her money on wasted potential, so he found himself wandering the streets of Central Street as a way to pass time.

Ryuji’s a dumb kid, but even he knows he’s irrevocably, completely, stupidly in love with Kurusu Akira.

He sits up and ruffles his hair, frustrated. There are too many things wrong with that sentence, too many things that can go wrong because of that sentence. Of course, he finds the one thing that can mess up the unshakeable foundation that he and Akira built for each other. He must’ve really pissed off some God upstairs for him to have a hell-bent queer awakening with his best friend.

No, that’s wrong. It was the furthest thing from hell-bent—it was soft, it was gray, it was raining, and most importantly, it took its time.

They were halfway through Kamoshida’s Palace when Ryuji realized it; the sheer amount of power that hindsight gave him made him pause long enough to get clocked out by a Shadow.

Doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. It can’t matter, because he would never, ever do anything to fuck up what he has. Not again.

Wait, no, that’s not true. Even before Kamoshida, he’s never had something like this. He’s never had someone like him. He’s never had someone who’s so entirely on the same wavelength as him, who’d have his back even when his was against a wall. Kurusu Akira is…ethereal. Out of this world. Cool as fuck. (Hot as fuck, too.) If you lined up the entirety of Tokyo and told him he could pick one. One person out of the whole lineup to be his friend, he’d have his answer in a heartbeat.

See, now that isn’t something that changed with hindsight—Ryuji’s known that he’s been in love with Akira since before they completed Kamoshida’s Palace. And when he figured it out, he didn’t feel shock. His eyes didn’t widen, his heart didn’t start thumping like crazy. It’s more like he just scratched his head in a huh kind of way. It felt like his life had been waiting for that day in April, like everything was at a standstill until he finally met Kurusu Akira. It made sense. Everything just makes sense when Akira’s involved.

Which just makes this all the more fucked up.

He knocks his head back against the wall, eyes stuck on the raindrops’ rapidly moving shadows on his bedroom floor. Karma. That’s probably what’s happening. The world still hasn’t forgiven him for losing his shit, so they decided to make him pine for the only person that he can’t afford to lose.

He can’t even stomach the idea of trying to get over it, to try and put distance between himself and Akira. He spent a lifetime waiting for a miracle, for someone who didn’t know existed. He’s not giving up a single second of time with him. That’s probably why the world relentlessly shits on him; he’s selfish enough to keep the feelings that he has. But he can’t bring himself to regret that decision. Not with the way his breath hitches in his throat whenever Akira walks into the room.

Ryuji’s in love with his best friend, and there’s absolutely nothing he can do about it. He’s accepted it. Just like how the sky is blue, or that he well and truly hates Calculus. It’s a factor of life.

The rain seemed to fall harder, droplets sounding like rigorous hail against the windowpane. He lets out a long yawn.

Ryuji’s in love with his best friend, and there’s absolutely nothing he can do about it.

That’s not the reason why he can’t sleep at night.

Akira is a quiet guy. He gets his point across with as few words as possible, as if each letter costs him fifty yen to say out loud. So he speaks through his expression; a quirk of his brow, a tilt of his head, a certain smile is enough to carry half of the conversation.

And, every once in a while, Akira gets a look.

It comes up at the weirdest times—when the two of them baton pass in the Metaverse, when Ryuji eats ramen too fast and gets sick, when he helps an old lady cross the street. Plenty of times it’s because Ryuji is doing something incredibly stupid (like when he said that the square root of sixteen is six, because if you just get rid of the one, then that makes sense, right?), or when they’re laughing so hard neither of them can breathe. But sometimes it comes up in quieter moments, too. The two of them talking quietly in the attic at Leblanc, or when Akira confesses that he’s relieved Ryuji’s always there for him. (As if there would ever be a time where he won’t be.)

The look is subtle enough to miss but easy to find if someone knows what they’re looking for. The usual attentiveness that resides in Akira’s eyes disappears, in its place a softer gaze; his pupils get dilated, and the edge of his eyes get all crinkled like Valentine’s tissue paper. A half-smile rests on his lips, never quite turning into a full-blown grin, but that’s okay. For some reason, it all reminds Ryuji of the moon. Of soft moonlight. Of streetlamps on empty roads.

Ryuji’s in love with his best friend, and there’s a small, tiny, infinitesimal chance that his best friend might love him back.

His eyelids slide shut, though he knows that it won’t be enough to let him rest.

Realistically, he’s probably wrong. Akira isn’t in love with him, and he’s only seeing what he wants to see. With every eligible person seeming to fall in love with him at some point in time, how would it even be possible that Akira would love him?

He rubs his eyes, desperate to get rid of the unending fatigue that’s plagued him for months on end. It doesn’t work.

Bad excuse. Akira does love him, just like he loves everyone he encounters and befriends and ends up risking his life for. Ryuji’s surprised Akira hasn’t passed out yet, given his bleeding heart for the entire population of Tokyo.

Lightning flashes and thunder rumbles as he rubs his eyes harder.

But what if he wasn’t wrong? What if the signals he’s seeing aren’t based on misunderstood yearning?

When his eyes start to burn, his fingers move up to his hair.

There’s no way in hell he’d ever risk losing his best friend. His partner. His Akira. It’s not something he can gamble. It’s not worth it.

He begins to tug, hands shaking, and he can barely feel the sting of pain from nearly pulling his hair out his scalp.

It’s not worth it. He decided that in the very beginning.

Ryuji buries his face into his palms.

But he is so, so exhausted of being tired.

Lightning flashes, and for a split-second, his room is bright.

Fuck it.

By the time thunder rumbles through his apartment, he’s already out the front door.

His sneakers squelch against the wet concrete, soaking his unsocked feet. He’s sprinting fast enough that the street lights around him blur, and he can feel quick breaths getting pulled out of him. It takes him a few seconds to realize that he forgot to wear a raincoat, but he doesn’t care.

Akira is his best friend. Akira accepted him, flaws and all. Akira loves him, one way or another. That’s what held him back. He can’t risk losing that.

Ryuji quickly checks both sides before running across the street, wiping the rain off his brow, and keeps going.

But that’s what should’ve pushed him into confessing sooner. Because if that’s all true, then that can only ever mean that Akira would accept this part of him too, right?

He jerks out of the way as he almost barrels over a fire hydrant, making him step into a deep puddle. It doesn’t slow him down.

Maybe he would’ve realized it sooner if he wasn’t too fucking tired to think straight.

His lungs begin to complain, his breaths turning to wheezes, but he ignores it in favor of going faster.

Too late for that now. All the matters now is to talk to—

He skids to a halt.

In front of him—eyes wide, hair drenched, no shoes—stands Kurusu Akira.

Ryuji’s mouth falls open, and for a minute, he almost laughs. Of course. He should’ve known. Just as he’s willing to sprint to Akira at an unholy hour in the night…

He smiles sheepishly at him, and Ryuji feels his chest constrict in the loveliest way possible.

…Akira would do the exact same thing for him.

The rain slows, and the thunder ceases for a moment. The world pauses long enough for both of them to speak in the same breath, the same heartbeat:

“I’m in love with you.”