#look in his defense on the former it was late and he was exhausted

[multiversal-pudding]

I love that it’s technically fully canon compliant characterization that Danny A) once asked if seals were dogs because they bark, and simultaneously B) knows how to successfully land a space shuttle at 14 bc he does simulations online constantly. Truly one of the most Characters of All Time.

[ramayantika]

The Guard Awake

Shankara was a newly recruited guard appointed by the defense ministry of Mathura, under its new ruler, the tyrant Kamsa, who had forcibly imprisoned his father and the former ruler of Mathura, Maharaja Ugrasena, and usurped the throne.

In addition to this folly, he had made his dear sister's life a living hell. The young and beautiful daughter of king Devapa, Princess Devaki had tied her nuptials to the handsome son of Shurasena, Prince Vasudeva, and was about to begin her marital life when a holy voice boomed from the blue skies announcing Kamsa's death by the hands of Devaki and from that day onwards, Mathura saw torture, pain and bloodshed, every day, every moment and every breath.

Shankara had been married to a wonderful girl from his village a month ago before moving to Mathura for work. Shyamala, his wife, a doe-eyed innocent beauty was in awe of the grand city, and had slowly begun blending with the people here.

It was late evening when Shyamala realised her husband hadn't arrived their humble cottage still. The sky had donned on the dark shades of purple and blue. The moon in pale silver was slowly illuminating the sky, and her eyes restlessly roamed outside the doorway searching for her husband.

"Shyamala, are you inside?" Shyamala hears Bharati at the doorway.

Bharati was the wife of Mahendra, their neighbour who worked with Shankara at the palace.

"Jiji... yes." Shyamala wipes her hands with a small towel and jogs towards the door.

Bharati looks up at Shyamala and says, "My husband had sent a message to you from Shankara bhrata. Bhrata has been assigned night shifts starting from today at Mathura's prison."

Nodding her head in understanding, Shyamala replies, "I see. That is why he hadn't come home by evening. He generally sends me a letter though if he shall be late home, but he didn't today."

Bharati sighs. "Well it might be because, your husband is tasked with holding the two new hostages in tight security. Devaki and Vasudeva have now been moved from house arrest to the dark prisons."

Shyamala's eyes widen in shock. "What!"

"Yes. The king is afraid and obsessed with the divine forewarning about his death, so he decided to shower all atrocities on his one's dear sister and her husband."

"Poor woman!" Shyamala laments. "A princess reduced to a prisoner. A newly married woman has so many dreams, but look how cruel her fate crushed it all."

Bharati rests her hand on Shyamala's shoulder. "Anyway, we mere citizens can't do much. Let's pray that the newly weds are delivered of their suffering. You take care of yourself." She looks around at the dark skies. "It is getting dark now, and well thievery and dacoit activities have been on a rise."

"Sure. Thank you." Shyamala smiles and closes the wooden door. Locking the door from inside, she double checks the lock before heading inside towards their single bed chamber.

Shyamala sits on a thin mattress. Her eyes drift towards the pale silver moon. Closing her eyes and folding her hands in devotion, she mutters an earnest plea. "Oh Vishnu! Take care of Devaki."

A gentle breeze blew by carrying the fragrance of sandalwood.

--xx--

Shankara stretches on the bed for a good moment until sleep and exhaustion evades from his limbs. His eyes automatically squint at the afternoon glaring sun causing him to rub his palm over his face.

"Shyamala...?" He calls out.

Shyamala enters their room. "Oh! You are awake."

Shankara tiredly smiles and nods at her. "I felt so tired that I couldn't wake up early. I feel as if I have slept an entire day."

Shyamala sits beside her husband, and presses her soft palms over her husband's shoulders. "I figured it out that you were exhausted. That is why I didn't wake you up." Looking at her husband's reddened cheeks from his deep sleep, she continues, "Why don't you freshen up? Lunch is prepared. You will have to leave for your duty soon."

A groaning Shankara replies, "Yes, those dreary dark dungeons await my presence."

Shyamala passes a small smile and gets up to go towards their kitchen when she hears Shankar speak. "By the way, Princess Devaki is pregnant with her first child."

"Oh," Shyamala mutters. "Such a shame that she must experience the journey of motherhood in a dark and dingy cell."

Shyamala heads to her small kitchen. Peeling of the lid from the cooking pot, her mind thinks about the Yadu princess and her pregnancy. A mother to be forced to be a prisoner.

She takes in the aroma of rice and dal. She wonders if the princess would be properly fed or not to support the existence of the foetus as well as to nourish the mother's body to sustain new life.

"I am done. Let's eat together. I can feels the rats hungrily running inside my stomach." She hears her husband.

"Coming." Shyamala thanks her stars. Sure, she did not lead a very luxurious life like the royalty. She was just a simple village girl, slowly blending in with the city. Far away from politics, throne usurpers, and brothers who attempt to jeopardize their sisters' lives.

She often thinks of the princess sometimes especially when praying to the tiny idol of Vishnu. Maharaja Kamsa had banned the worship of Vishnu. Shankara had asked Shyamala to hide all images of the deities in case some eager follower of the king would report them for committing treason against their king.

Shyamala had sculpted a tiny idol of Vishnu and placed it under her sarees.

She gazes at the ceiling and mutters another prayer for the poor couple. "Chakradhari, take care of the mother and the child."

--xx--

Shankara blinks his eyes and averts the sweet call of sleep when a shrill baby's cry wakes him awake in both body and mind.

The guard beside him runs off to alert the other guards to carry the message to Kamsa.

Shankara looks at the tired body of Devaki. The thin white sheets are drenched in blood and maybe a few dark coloured tissues, he marks, before sadly muttering to himself. "There isn't even an healer to check upon the princess."

He looks at Vasudeva who pats Devaki's hair. He gently kisses her head and looks at the baby boy cradled in her arms. The baby is still crying out loudly, as if, he is fearful for his life ahead.

Devaki coos at the crying child. Gently laying its head on her bare chest covered with her now patched saree, she tries calming the baby.

Vasudeva's eyes meet Shankara's who quickly flits his gaze to the ground, and turns his back to him.

Kamsa's booming footsteps alert the guard. Shankara immediately holds his spear in his hand and straightens his spine. Kamsa stands near the iron bars with a servant unlocking the small prison door of their cell.

Devaki sits up and holds the child tighter in her arms as Kamsa bends down towards the crying child. A menacing maniacal look harbours in the king's eyes, as he comments, "You gave birth to a beautiful baby indeed, my sister. Alas! He isn't blessed to live a long life like his parents."

Snatching the crying child by his leg, he laughs. Devaki shrieks and pleads, "This is the first child, Bhrata!. The warning had mentioned the eighth child not the first one. Leave him, please!" Her hands are outstretched to her brother who smirks evilly.

"The gods always have some trickery up their sleeves. I don't trust them. Every child of yours shall be killed by me, sister. Let me see, who shall then defeat Kamsa then."

Devaki stands up holding her bloodied saree. Shankara's body had gone cold hearing Kamsa's plan on killing every child of Devaki's.

Doesn't he have a heart at all? Who kills an innocent baby that too of one sister's? Shankara wonders but keeps his thoughts quietly to himself.

Kamsa dangles the child like a toy in his burly arms. Devaki cries and screams for her brother to let go. Vasudeva holds his wife to his chest, fearing if Kamsa decides to kill Devaki for asking her son back so he may prove the divine voice wrong of their prediction.

Devaki hits at Vasudeva's chest."Do something. He is your child too. He will kill my son. Why are you standing like a statue?"

A tearful Vasudeva embraces Devaki tighter in his arms.

Kamsa brings the baby in front of his eyes. Shankara turns his head back slightly to check on Devaki and Vasudeva only to meet a gruesome murder of a baby.

Kamsa had banged the baby's head against the wall.

Thud thud.

Devaki screams until her voice turns hoarse. Shankara catches Vasudeva's gaze causing the former to gulp.

Devaki had expressed her rage and grief but he noticed that Vasudeva nursed only a silent rage as he caressed Devaki's back with gentle hands.

Kamsa haughtily carries the dead baby's corpse in his hands and laughs with glee as he walks through the exit doors.

And soon the Yadu princess looses her consciousness. She lies on the dirty sheet drenched in her blood as well as her lost child's. Vasudeva sits down on the ground, his dejected eyes pinned to the flowing blood of his child's from the wall to the prison's floor.

The prison dungeons were lit by fire torches at night. Shankara looks at the burning flames and prays to Vishnu.

"Come soon, my Lord. Come soon."

--xx--

"I saw the king kill the child, Shyamala."

"But the voice had mentioned the eight son, hadn't it?"

"Looks like he doesn't want to take any chances."

"How is the princess?"

"Can you lend me a few of your sarees? We have an extra blanket too. That shall suffice I think."

"Sarees and blanket for what, swami?"

"For Devaki and Vasudeva. I can't free them, but I can help ease their dreadful days a bit. Not even a healer was made to visit, Shyama. I saw her lay on bloodied clothes.

"I will pack a few nutritious meals too then."

--xx--

A loud wail makes Shankara turn towards Vasudeva's cell.

He sees thick blood drip down her legs as she presses her palm to her lower stomach. Vasudeva helplessly stares at Shankara and shakes his head at him.

Devaki had miscarried.

The seventh born had died in her womb itself.

Vasudeva makes her sit against the wall. He holds her hands in his and whispers something in her ears. Shankara can't hear him but his eyes moisten too at their plight.

He had seen how the evil monster of a human Kamsa had killed six of her children. Sometimes he would bang the child's head or if he felt too malicious, he would slice the little one in two with his sword.

And this man called himself the strongest warrior. A warrior whose sword is drenched in the blood of innocent children.

Vasudeva with great difficulty had made Devaki go to sleep. Shankara observes the exhaustion on Vasudeva's face.

"Aren't you tired, my prince?"

"Of what?"

"This. Why bring in children when you know what fate they will meet at the end. Kamsa spared none. Why must you both go through such grueling moments. It is only bringing you pain." Shankara points at Devaki. "How more pain must a mother go through? Losing seven children. Seven!"

Vasudeva answers, "This pain is written in our destiny. The only reason we want to bring children is because we both still believe that He shall come. He will take revenge for harassing the mother, my Devaki and for the lost innocent babies. I know that one day I shall see that Kamsa die. He made a spectacle of my children's death. I shall see Kamsa's death be a spectacle too. The Gods need a mother to enter the mortal world. Devaki and I must do our part." Vasudeva's eyes light up with a surge of energy. "The path to reach God has never been easy for a devotee. Then how can the path be easier for the ones who shall bring the God to our world, Shankara."

Shankara goes quiet. The light in Vasudeva's eyes raises goosebumps on his skin. He quietly fidgets with his bag. Looking around to avoid any snooping guards, he passes a bundle filled with fruits and nuts to Vasudeva.

"My wife sent it."

"Thank you, my friend."

"Only doing my duty, my prince."

A small smile curves into Vasudeva's lips. He places the bundle in the corner before heading to rest near Devaki.

Devaki's tears have left dry paths over her cheeks. Vasudeva wipes them off and whispers, "Our Lord shall arrive soon, my dear."

--xx--

Lately Shankara had been noticing a different glow on Shyamala's face. She was humming some melodies under her breath, would secretly smile to herself while fondly gazing at his face in the early hours of dawn, and was now eating a lot of sweets these days.

The rooster crows at the onset of dawn as Shankara makes his way towards the narrow lane of his house. The sun is barely up in the sky. It looks pale as if the Sun God himself is slowly rising from slumber.

Some parts of the sky are shrouded in darkness with the faintest hues of blue diverging from the dark blanket enveloping the skies. The moon still illuminates his path ahead and Shankara rubs his arms for warmth as a gentle cold wind brushes by.

It is the month of Margashirsha, the first month of the winter season. He observes how the days have grown slightly cooler. The temperature at night feels just the same everyday thanks to the desolate prison at the hill top. The lonely hill and the surrounding forest cover always feel cold. The hundreds of fire torches don't bring warmth to the prison ever.

This is why he carries a shawl with himself, and now with the beginning of the winter season, he had decided to smuggle a shawl for Devaki and Vasudeva too.

He makes a mental note of that thought and walks ahead, his eyes waiting to land upon the walls of his home and the familiar presence of his wife waiting for him.

The high pitched crowing of the rooster reaches his ears again, but this time Shankara has reached the dusty path of his house. To his surprise, he notices his wife standing at the doorway, her eyes immediately finding his and brightening.

With hurried steps, Shankara stands in front of her, asking, "Why are you standing here? It is cold. You should be inside." He holds her hands and checks for the temperature. "See, your hands are cold now. You fall sick easily, priye."

Shyamala laughs. Shankara looks at her laughing face. The sound of her laughter is music to his ears. It takes away all his dark and dreary moments from his rounds at the prison cell.

He observes how glowy her face looks this early in the morning and wonders how he must look with sunken and reddened eyes from lack of nightly sleep.

Shyamala stops her hearty giggles and pulls him inside the house, shutting the door with an excited slam. "I have some news for you, husband."

"News? What kind of news?" Shankara asks. Marking the constant smile on Shyamala's lips, he says, "It definitely must be a happy one which is why you are smiling and giggling so much."

Shyamala nods her head rapidly in agreement. "Indeed it is. You will be happy too. Joyous even."

Squinting his eyes in confusion, he looks at his wife, wondering what wonderful news could she bring to him that made her wait for him so eagerly.

"Okay. Go ahead."

Shyamala shyly smiles and looks to the floor. Shankara tilts his head thinking what is making his wife blush like that at dawn.

'Surely, I am not looking handsome enough after work this way which might make her want to-' All his thoughts come to a halt, when he feels Shyamala take his hand and press it to her stomach.

She looks at him with a bashful gaze and bats her eyelashes at him, her eyes look at his, searching for the look of realization in those tired eyes.

Shankara looks at the hopeful and love-filled gaze in his wife's eyes and then at his hand over her lower stomach, at her womb.

Realization strikes him like a thunderbolt.

"You..." He holds her by her shoulders. "Pregnant?"

Shyamala beams at him. Shankara immediately brings her into a bone-crushing hug.

"We are going to be parents!" Shankara exclaims before peppering Shyamala's face with kisses.

Happy tears spring up in her eyes as she nods at him. "Yes, and I have conceived in the holy month of Margashirsha. Vishnu's month."

With all the love and warmth, Shankara could muster in his eyes, he gazes deeply into Shyamala's eyes. Holding her face as gently as he can, he says, "Let's hope our child is born healthy and in the time when God walks on earth again, annihilating sin and vice."

Shyamala leads him to their bed. "Come, rest, swami. You must be tired."

Shankara closes his eyes as soon as his head hits the soft pillow. Shyamala darkens the room by drawing the curtains over the windows. He can feel his wife gazing at him, but he pretends that he has dozed off.

The sound of anklets lull him to sleep as Shyamala hums a morning melody to herself. Her feet exit the room, and he slips into a comfortable dreamless sleep with no thoughts of bloodied babies and wretched motherhood.

--xx--

In the quiet hours of the night, Vasudeva beckons Shankara closer to the iron bars. Some other nearby guards were dozing with loud snores, and the soldiers meant for hourly rounds still had an hour left to come back for checking.

Vasudeva whispers to Shankara. "The eighth child. Devaki is pregnant."

Shankara's eyes drift to the sleeping form of the Yadu princess. Unlike her previous pregnancies, Devaki looked the most healthiest and happiest in this pregnancy.

Her face suffused with a divine glow. She looked as beautiful as the motherly form of Shakti. Her frail body, a consequence of the poor diet and nutrition standards of the prison had plumped up. She was happier now, Shankara observed.

The primary motto of her previous pregnancies had been to quickly bring the children to the world, watch Kamsa kill them and patiently wait until the one who would avenge her would finally take form in her womb.

Of course, she would be heartbroken each time Kamsa mercilessly slaughtered tiny babies in front of her, but with time, the gods had blessed her with enough mental strength to push through and bring Kamsa's killer to earth.

Shankara quickly scans the guards behind him. Some were idly chatting while the majority had dozed off.

"Perhaps, God will descend soon now. It's only a matter of time." Shankara bows his head, his mind thinking of Shri Vishnu, the Preserver of the Universe.

Shankara opens a pouch and fetches a small ladoo. Offering it to Vasudeva, he says, "My wife is with child too, prince. I would like to offer this sweet to you." Motioning to Devaki, he hands over the entire sweet containing pouch into the hands of Vasudeva. "Please feed the princess too and share the happy news with her too."

Vasudeva's eyes soften. Not one soul in the prison except Shankara had shown kindness and compassion to him and Devaki. Some would pass a few sympathetic glances at them, but that was all. A friendship had blossomed between the guard and the former Yadu prince.

Vasudeva wanted to embrace the guard, but the large iron bars proved and obstacle. He shakes his hand with Shankara, saying, "You have shared a happy news with me, Shankara, as a friend. I would like you to feed the ladoo to me as a friend."

Shankara stutters. "Me as a friend?" He smiles but his shoulders shrug uneasily. "Kamsa may have imprisoned you, but to me, you will always remain my prince. I am a mere guard, a commoner."

"Oh, Shankara, what joy has being a prince brought me? You are the only soul who has shown kindness and compassion to the both of us." He passes a glance at Devaki and then turns to Shankara. "We will forever be indebted to you and your wife."

Vasudeva eats the ladoo from Shankara's hand. "May your child be healthy. Take care of Shyamala and send our regards to her."

Shankara bows down to Vasudeva and turns ahead. Grabbing the spear in his hand, he assumes his role as a guard once again.

--xx--

It was the eighth day of Krishna Paksha in the month of Shravna. The morning had been bright, but as the day progressed, the skies had grown overcast.

Low breezes blew throughout the evening, telling everyone the news of the incoming storm that was making its way ahead.

Shankara hears the wind howling around the prison. The sound is eerie, and he is reminded of scary ghost tales which the old grandfathers of his village often narrated to the kids at night.

The large fire torches feel the brunt of the wind too. The golden flames dance to the wind as dust blows in. Shankara hurries back to the prison to check on Devaki.

To his surprise, he sees every guard fall to the ground, their eyes closed in deep sleep. Not one being is standing awake except Devaki, Vasudeva and him.

Devaki however clutches her stomach and crouches on the floor. Grabbing Vasudeva's arm, she yells, "My eighth baby. He is coming."

Vasudeva begins assisting Devaki in giving birth while Shankara decides to check for any soldiers nearby for their hourly rounds.

Not one soldier in sight.

"Strange," Shankara thinks to himself. "It is as if everybody passed out."

He walks back to Vasudeva's cell and rubs his eyes in shock.

A beautiful baby boy lay beside Devaki.

"No way, did a baby come out so fast." He looks at Vasudeva. "I was away only for mere moments some time ago. How come-?"

In the loud rumbling sounds of the thunderstorm, a sweet breeze carrying the smell of sandalwood fills the prison cell. Shankara hears the divine sound of the conch in his ears, and he wonders if it is the loud thunder or has he lost his mind.

The prison cell glows in golden light. On the brown wall of the prison against the golden light cast inside the prison, a tall shadow forms.

The four armed lord, each arm holding a conch, a discus, a mace and a beautiful lotus, stands in front of the trio.

Shankara's eyes grow moist in devotion until the divine spell breaks. Vishnu vanishes and he hears a charming boy giggle.

A beautiful baby boy with the complexion akin to stormy clouds beams at him. A smile equal to the radiance of a thousand suns light his face.

The baby coos and Vasudeva's chains fall to the ground.

Vasudeva holds the baby in his arms. The prison lock falls to the ground with a loud clang, yet not one eye drifts open.

"I must make way for Gokula and hand him to my friend, Nanda. This boy shall be safe there."

Devaki kisses the baby's forehead for one last time and bids farewell to her child.

Shankara bows down and presses the baby's tiny feet to his forehead. "Om namo Narayana."

--xx--

Shankara doesn't drag himself to his house. He rather sprints the entire way back, to eagerly tell the news of Devaki's eight born to Shyamala.

He notices Bharati stand at the doorway. Ushering him inside, she leads him inside his room. He spots a sleeping Shyamala, her face bearing a peaceful expression. Sweat beads shine on her forehead.

Beside her lies a little girl wrapped in a cloth secured tightly around her.

"Ghar mein Lakshmi ka aagman hua hai, Shankara bhrata."

--xx--

@krishna-priyatama @krsnaradhika @krishakamal @ma-douce-souffrance @jukti-torko-golpo @prettykittytanjiro @thegleamingmoon @krishna-sangini @chaliyaaa @kaal-naagin @ramcharantitties @inexhaustible-sources-of-magic

I guess this was a long post. I had this idea on janmashtami. I actually have my internal exams going on. Still squeezed this through hehe so here you go. I hope you all like it.

I never wrote on krishna's birth and i began thinking of some good guard helping out devaki and vasudeva. Then somehow added shyamala as his wife and provide glimpses into their life. Hope you all enjoyed it.

Would love to listen to your views. I am sleep deprived and academically well.. slayy is struggling but i will definitely end up doing something nice there too. See you soon

[borderline-purrsonality]

As a former Breezepelt hater who has grown up to relate to him, I still heavily dislike the way he’s written until Crowfeather’s Trial. One thing that especially annoyed me was how we saw him completely on the side of the dark forest in both The Last Hope and Dovewing’s Silence, especially in regard to celebrating Hollyleaf’s death. I really wish we could see a part of him change in The Last Hope to better transition into his redemption.

So could you imagine how cool it would be for him to be the fourth cat of the prophecy?

The three are all struggling to figure out who the fourth cat is. They all really wanted it to be Hollyleaf because she ended up without powers and was excluded from the prophecy. Dovewing wanted it to be Ivypool because she felt like she deserved that chance to be special. Firestar was another candidate and it seemed like everything was leading up to it being him.

And then as three speak with Rock, they start to wonder if he’s somehow implying it’s Breezepelt. It couldn’t be, right? His loyalty lies entirely in the dark forest! We can’t rely on him!

But Ivypool starts to notice something is shifting. Ever since Ivypool destroyed Antpelt’s spirit, something in Breezepelt changed. His bloodthirst and arrogance is suddenly gone. He starts to show up less in dark forest training sessions due to staying up late, and when he is there, is very clearly shown to have lost sleep.

And now Ivypool is trying to check up on him, but Breezepelt refuses to speak to her. At one moment in the living world, Breezepelt accidentally ends up meeting her, and he snaps. He attacks Ivypool, screaming about how she made Antpelt fade away, how his friends and family will never see him again. Due to his exhaustion, Ivypool pins him down, but apologizes. She swears she had to prove her loyalty, and accidentally confesses that she’s a spy.

The two then have a conversation about the dark forest, how they ended up there, and what they think now. Breezepelt worries about what the dark forest is capable of, and realizes that Nightcloud and Heathertail will end up being caught in the crossfire. Breezepelt then shakes his head, swearing up and down he’s still loyal, but then stops in silence.

Throughout the next few days, Ivypool ends up bringing the three to Breezepelt at the border, and they all talk. They tell them they’re pretty sure Breezepelt is the fourth cat, but he’s still not completely into it, still unable to look his half siblings in the eyes. Jayfeather is frustrated and wants to just give up on him. But Ivypool is able to convince him to give them a chance, and recalls how messy her relationship with Dovewing was as apprentices.

Somewhere before the battle, Ivypool ends up being exposed as a spy, with Hawkfrost telling her that someone found out and ratted her out. She is attacked by the other trainees, and Breezepelt ends up as the one to pin her to the floor. Ivypool thinks Breezepelt ratted her out, and thinks about the mistake she’s made trusting him. As she braces herself, preparing to die, Breezepelt whispers “wake up,” and she wakes in the living world.

Breezepelt is able to be the ultimate unifying factor in bringing the trainees together, and he leads them as they all plan to revolt against the dark forest using what they taught them. Ivypool approaches him again, and Breezepelt swears he didn’t tell anyone, and that someone else must have told Hawkfrost. Ivypool hesitates again, but gives out a “last hope” as she ultimately chooses to trust him.

When the battle finally begins, he fights furiously. But then he sees Brokenstar attack Nightcloud. He immediately jumps to her defense, screaming at him to let her be. Brokenstar comments on the traitor Breezepelt had become, and tries to tempt him back into the dark forest. He brings up Crowfeather’s neglect of him, and tries to convince him Nightcloud was too complicit with him. Brokenstar brings up an ultimatum: Nightcloud, or the dark forest.

Breezepelt doesn’t hesitate as he immediately leaps to rip out Brokenstar’s throat.

Along the end of the battle, the cat who told Hawkfrost is finally revealed. It could really be anyone, but I think Blossomfall would be a good choice seeing as she’s a ThunderClan cat, and if written more, could be Ivypool’s foil. Ivypool and Breezepelt both fight her, and Ivypool is about to hit the killing blow, before she stops, and spares her life.

After the battle is over, I feel like things would go pretty similarly to canon. Breezepelt would be more up to rebuilding WindClan, and I think Blossomfall would be allowed to stay in ThunderClan, granted she has to do apprentice duties to prove her loyalty. She asks Ivypool why everyone would trust her after all she’s done, and that she could turn against them once again. Ivypool says “it’s a leap of faith.”

After that, i think Crowfeather’s Trial would go unchanged.

[princessamericachavez]

In Lucy’s defense, it’s late, and she’s exhausted after her first three intensive weeks in UC school, and she’s had more than a couple margaritas. There is also the fact that Noah is one of the very very few classmates that hasn’t tried to hit on her, even if he did nickname her Hot Pants after the third class due to an incident that is never to be discussed again. 

It’s been a long while since Lucy’s had a friend like this. Not an almost-sibling, like Tamara, or a rookie like Aaron or Selina, or an older and cooler person to look up to like Angela or Nyla. Other than Nolan, who is twenty years her elder and currently too head over heels with his gorgeous fianceé to spend much time with her... it’s been years since Lucy has had a true and close friend. Not since Jackson. 

So when Noah leans in, across the tiny table at the shitty bar they’ve claimed as their own, and says “Everyone here is running from something, or someone. What’s your story, Hot Pants?” She gives in to the impulse (and the margaritas). 

“My TO. Well, my former TO.”

“Pain in the ass?”

“Yes,” she laughs. “But that’s not it.”

Noah arches his eyebrows and waits for her to continue. He’s a good listener like that. He reminds her of her lost friend so much...

“It’s just... Look, he’s a good person. He’s actually very sweet, deep down, once you get past all the tough guy act. We’ve actually gotten pretty close. That’s... that’s kinda the problem.”

Noah’s brow furrows and she knows what he’s thinking ever before he says: 

“He hitting on you.”

“No!” She jumps. “Well, maybe. Sort of. Not really. I don’t know, that’s the problem.”

Silence and a head tilt prompt her to continue, to say out loud the one thing she’s been terrified of admitting. 

“I might be in love with him.”

Which is a problem, because she has a boyfriend. Because he has a girlfriend. Because this could really mess everything up. 

“It’s... it’s not like I didn’t know. I mean, I kinda did. Deep down. But we went undercover a few weeks ago and things got...”

“Intimate?”

“Yes!”

Noah laughs. 

“That happens. You just gotta shake it off.”

Lucy shakes her head, frustrated. 

“It wasn’t just the physical thing. I mean, it was. We kissed once for practice and suddenly it was like... like all these things I’d been keeping inside of me wanted to burst out. And... and I think he felt it too. And then during the mission it was just... just so much. And he suddenly said it didn’t feel like pretend and all I could think about was ‘he knows’ and how I would lose him for good because there is no way he will cross that line. He’s too by-the-book for that. So I...”

“You ran.”

“He sort of encouraged me to come here. I guess he just thought putting some space and time between us would be better.”

The sadness she’s been carrying around weights heavy on her as she admits it out loud. She blinks back tears and curses the alcohol for this unforeseen vulnerability. She wants to be taken seriously here, not to play the broken-hearted girl in love with someone who will never love her back. 

“What’s his name?” Noah asks. 

“Bradford. Tim Bradford.”

I’m in love with Tim Bradford, she admits to herself. Fuck.

“Well, if he let you go, I assume he’s an idiot,” Noah nods, matter-of-factly. 

“He’s not. He really isn’t,” she jumps to Tim’s defense instinctually. 

She finally dares to look up, and finds Noah’s eyes, steady and honest and surprisingly kind for someone who can play-pretend to be the coldest and cruelest kind of man if the situation demands it. Right now, he’s just warm. She likes him. She likes having this kind of friend again. 

“Then, maybe... maybe he’ll get his act together and realize he’d be an idiot to let you go.”

Lucy laughs, and cleans a tear before it can roll down her cheek. 

“Yeah... in my dreams, maybe.”

“Dreams are all we’ve got, Hot Pants. Dreams, and margaritas.”

“Now you’re talking,” she smiles, thankful for the subject change. 

“I’ll get us another round,” Noah says. “And then, you can tell me the full story.”

“Oh, no... that really isn’t necessary.”

But Noah is already gone to get more drinks and as much as Lucy dreads bearing herself open with him, she knows that no harm will come from it. There’s a different kinda trust built between people who lie for a living, when they can only be sincere with each other. And there is absolutely no way that this will ever get to Tim, anyway. So, what’s the harm in sharing?

[shannendoherty-fans]

People June 14th 1993

Shannen Doherty's Wild Ways May Be Hazardous to Her—and Her Career

I was weary of the verbal assaults and locked myself in our bathroom. At this point she threatened to shoot me and said, "I'm going to drop you!" I knew she had a loaded 9-mm automatic…. I heard the chamber pulled back; at that point, I hastily exited the house through a back door connected to the bathroom and escaped. —From a May 25 petition by Dean Jay Factor in the Superior Court of California for a domestic-violence restraining order against Shannen Doherty

The scenario sounds like something from Top Cops, not Beverly Hills, 90210, but then actress Shannen Doherty, 22—who in America's favorite zip code plays prototypical teen Brenda Walsh—has always marched to a dangerous drummer. Partying late into the night at trendy L.A. clubs such as Roxbury and the Gate and piloting her $30,000 black BMW at high speeds through nearby streets, she has defiantly winked at her bad-girl reputation. "Don't believe everything you read," she coyly told fans during a May 26 TV interview. "To paraphrase Mark Twain, half the things you read about me are untrue, and the others are lies.

Now, however, attitude alone may prove a flimsy defense. Last week Doherty was facing not a hyperbolic tabloid headline but the sworn testimony of former fiancé Factor, 28, heir to the Max Factor cosmetics fortune. And his charges made the tantrum-prone 5'2", 100-lb. Doherty sound violent if not downright homicidal. By midweek, according to Factor's attorney, Edwin Lasman, an understanding had been reached with Doherty in which his client's differences with her were resolved, eliminating the need for further court proceedings. An announcement of the agreement was expected by the week's end.

Still, the allegations in Factor's 15-page declaration remain deeply disturbing. Once, Doherty tried to run him down with a car, Factor claimed. Another time, he said, she threw a log through a window to get into his house. During one argument, he maintained, she "threatened to hire a few guys to beat me up and to sodomize me 'on the front lawn.' " He ended his petition by saying that even though he was taking steps to prevent harassment, "I will live in fear."

Others say they are afraid for Doherty. They believe she is a young woman on the verge of spinning out of control—and that she may be a harmful influence on Tori Spelling, 20, who plays 90210's Donna Martin (and whose father, Hollywood megamogul Aaron Spelling, is the show's executive producer). Tori lately has been engaging in the kind of hard partying and public pugnacity that has given Doherty her bad-girl reputation.

For a time, her rep looked like a stellar career play for Doherty. It meant publicity (even in the form of a nationally circulated I Hate Brenda newsletter, a thinly disguised jab at the actress herself). And Doherty willingly parried the insinuations about her behavior. She denied in interviews that she had an alcohol problem and told one reporter, "I don't hit people. I wasn't hit as a child, and I don't believe in it." Not denying her aggressiveness, she offered in her own defense a favorite line from her preteen days as Jenny Wilder on Little House: A New Beginning. "Michael Landon," she said, "told me you have to stick up for yourself in this business."

What would Landon think now? Since debuting on 90210 in 1990, Doherty has left a trail of bad debts, trashed homes, exhausted friendships and wasted relationships. When challenged, say several people who know her, she is likely to respond with a menacing, "You don't know who you're f—ing with!"

Apparently, Dean Factor learned who and wishes he hadn't. Neither Doherty nor her attorney, Joseph D'Onofrio, responded to PEOPLE's repeated requests for an interview. Speaking in his daughter's defense, Shannen's father, Tom Doherty, 49, an L.A. mortgage adviser, offers a different spin. "He's been doing [the abusing]," says Doherty. "He initialed the charge, but she's the victim."

Indeed, in a confrontation between the 5'10", 175-lb. Factor and Doherty, it is hard to imagine Shannen as anything but a victim. And yet Factor swears that lie was usually on the receiving end. At times, he admits in his petition, he slapped her. Once he threw her into his swimming pool. He says he was acting in self-defense—a claim many who know Doherty are inclined to believe.

"I could have predicted this before it happened," says Doherty's previous ex-fiancé, Chris Foufas, 25, a Chicago-based health-club owner who was engaged to the star in 1991. "Things move along smoothly for a while, and then something snaps and she goes into another drive: rage."

Until March 19, when Doherty moved into Factor's $5,200-a-month rented Tudor-style house in the Hollywood Hills, all seemed relatively smooth. "We did not have more than the occasional loud argument," Factor says. On April 19, with 90210 on hiatus, Doherty began work on the set of a movie, the suspense thriller Blindfold. A senior crew member on the movie calls her behavior "cantankerous, snotty and threatening" and says Doherty told everyone on the set how she and Factor "were constantly fighting, saying how she punched him and he hit her." And then, he adds, "the thing with Nelson began."

In Blindfold, Doherty, who does her first onscreen nude scenes, plays a patient who becomes sexually involved with her psychiatrist—portrayed by Brat Pack graduate Judd Nelson, 33. Shortly after shooting began, Doherty began an offscreen romance with Nelson, even though she was still living with Factor. Right after a read-through of the Blindfold script in early April, Factor and Doherty began a vacation together in Hawaii on April 12. They were accompanied by Spelling and Nick Savalas, 20, son of actor Telly Savalas, Tori's boyfriend of several months. During the trip, said Factor in his petition, "we took full advantage of the romantic setting." He proposed marriage—and Doherty accepted. But within hours, they were fighting. "Shannen came back with a black eye and said she'd been hit by a surfboard," says her dad. "In reality he'd hit her." Factor's version in his declaration: "After having been kicked and beaten, I pushed her off me. Unfortunately she tripped, fell and cut her eye on the doorstep." What were they arguing about? "Judd Nelson," speculated the senior Doherty. "Dean felt she was fooling around with him."

Over the next few weeks, Factor said he pleaded with Doherty to continue their engagement. But on May 13, some days after Doherty moved out, said Factor, she returned and yet another fight ensued. The next day he filed a complaint with the LAPD. He said in his deposition, "I decided the nonsense had to end."

For Doherty, though, it was just beginning. That same night she checked into Dallas's exclusive Mansion on Turtle Creek—with Judd Nelson. The couple went out for some midnight club-hopping. Gus Hudson, manager of the Greenville Bar & Grill in Dallas, noticed on that evening that Doherty "was drinking heavily" and that "she puked at her table." The next night, back at the Greenville, Nelson was taunted by several young people about his recent lack of good movie parts. When he tried to climb over a railing to argue, he kicked 21-year-old Kim Evans in the nose—unintentionally, he says. Evans left the bar with minor injuries, and Nelson was eventually charged with assault. The case is pending.

As Chris Foufas sees it, his ex-fiancée's bar-and mate-hopping follows a familiar pattern. "Shannen can be a great, wonderful, loving person," he says. "But she wants to be a dictator. Shannen gets people to commit to her and then says, 'See ya!' She is like a kid who wants a toy, gets it and then gets tired of it."

Over the past year she has amassed a lot of toys—at heavy cost. After she broke up with Foufas, for example, she went on a $45,000 shopping spree. Previously the California United Bank, which often tolerates celebrity overdrafts up to $100,000, had filed suit in May last year because Doherty had not repaid $31,628.16 in bad checks written in 1991. The Superior Court of California awarded the bank a 25 percent levy against her $17,500-a-week 90210 paycheck—which will be raised to $22,500 when shooting resumes July 7. Says bank attorney Andy Alper: "We were lucky we were first in line."

Apparently. Still waiting for payment are Doherty's former publicist, Susan Culley, ex-manager Mike Gursey and former landlord Mark Nishimura, who claims Doherty owes $14,000 in unpaid lease fees. Reportedly two of Shannen's leased Mercedeses have been repossessed.

Why the seeming inability to control her spending? "It's a power thing, to prove her worth," says a former friend. But Shannen, who started acting in Pepsi commercials at age 10, has helped the Doherty clan (including her mother, Rosa, who works at an L.A. beauty salon, and her older brother, Sean, 26, a political volunteer). "She's too generous," thinks her dad. "Your cash flow just dries up."

Ultimately, of course, Aaron Spelling governs that spigot, and an insider says he is looking to dump Doherty from 90210. Though she has 28 episodes left in her contract, Doherty's onscreen time next season may be minimized if Brenda leaves for college in Minnesota. But Spelling is concerned more for his daughter than his series. Tori has moved out of her family's 100-plus-room Holmby Hills mansion. Over the last month she and Savalas have been spotted engaged in loud arguments in several L.A. hot spots. Says Roxbury doorman Todd Spenla of their relationship: "Tori is always unhappy for some reason." Notes the insider: "With Tori getting caught up in [Shannen's lifestyle] now, Aaron is beside himself as a father."

Given Doherty's long-standing reputation—not likely to be enhanced by Factor's allegations—losing 90210 could cripple her career. Shannen, her father hopes, may be getting the message. "It's disheartening for her," says Tom of the adverse publicity. "A little of the life, a little of the spirit is out of her. She's just gelling over the shell shock." Then he adds meaningfully, "She's beginning to understand things too."

[tojisrealwifey]

Missed You

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Synopsis: You were Toji's wife. now as you partake in the battle of Shibuya you come across your late husband, and the first thing he does is fuck you.

・❥・requests : rules

WARNINGS: MDNI, 18+, Fem Reader, Strong Language, Smut, Public Sex, Fingering, Oral Sex (f. receiving), Squirting, No Use Of Condom, Slightly OOC Toji, Toji Isn't In His Real Body (?)

・❥・wc: 2.3k

・❥・masterlist

"Hey, old hag. Who the hell do you think you're givin' orders to?" Toji's voice was rough, filled with annoyance. 

Ogami is filled with terror as uncertainty fills her mind. Dashing back a few feet, away from her former grandson she gasps in shock.

"What's going on? I only summoned the body's information!!!" She exclaims mostly to herself.

Toji's previous look of fury had contorted into one of confusion. Most memories of himself were slowly coming back, but his mind was now blank.

The only thing he remembered well was jujutsu sorcerers, his clan, and fighting.

Once he hears the old woman's words, his mind clicks easily figuring out the situation.

"Summon...? Oh, gotcha. I'm not exactly sure what's going on, but my body's special. I'd say this guy's soul lost to my body."

Toji goes on to explain, but when the old woman just stares in disbelief he concludes that it's useless to lecture about this to a dead person.

"Kill sorcerers, huh? I guess that includes you!"

[name] was huffing and panting as she sat in a secluded alleyway of the street. She had been separated from Yuji after he was attacked by a curse who had a vendetta against him.

As she surveyed her surroundings, she appeared to be completely lost. She was already exhausted, her stamina dwindling significantly.

Her main concern was for her son, Megumi, who had assured her that going with Yuji was the best decision. 

She agreed but couldn't deny that she would have rather stayed to protect her son.

Now that she had been completely separated from everyone, her brain couldn't muster up any efficient solution for her current predicament.

Her first instinct is to run around looking for Megumi or Yuji, but looking down at her shattered ankle she knew running around mindlessly would only put her at a disadvantage. 

STEP 

STEP

STEP

STEP

STEP

[name] freezes in her place as her gaze snaps to the alleyway opening. 

An enemy? An ally? A bystander?

She uses her hands to push against the wall and hoist herself up, sliding on her knuckle braces and baring a defensive position. She made sure to not put too much pressure on her ankle.

Just as the person walks into her view, [name] feels her blood run cold. Breath hitching at the sight.

Was she dead? That could be the only reasonable answer to this. Why else can she be able to see her late husband?

"Toji?" Just as she whispered the name, the figure was standing directly in front of her. She had barely blinked yet somehow he had moved at an ungodly speed.

Toji on the other hand felt everything in his mind connect into place.

"[name]. You're hurt."

"..."

"[name]?"

"Toji?" 

"Yes?"

"Toji!" The woman finally exclaims, feeling reality settle in. He was here. He was truly here. But—

"How are you here?" [name] asks with uncertainty laced in her voice.

"A fuckin' hag summoned me, or somethin' like that." He says nonchalantly before continuing.

"Not sure what I'm supposed to do..." He trails off. 

His expression was gruff, annoyance prominent on his face although it had mellowed down significantly as soon as his wife came into the picture.

[name] was extremely confused by the entire situation. She was already prepared for the worst since this battle called for it, but meeting her dead husband was something she would have never guessed.

Having been so lost in thought she hadn't noticed Toji lifting her and breaking into a nearby pharmacy, settling her onto the counter.

Toji had begun tending to her ankle, cleaning it and wrapping it up whilst she stayed dazed in her thoughts.

"Here, have these painkillers. They should help." Toji passes her a pack of tablets.

"You know these ones make me drowsy." 

"Doesn't matter. It's obvious you're in need of it." Toji argues back with a demanding tone. He left no room for any argument, so she begrudgingly swallows one tablet.

"This is so fucked up." [name] sighs out once Toji is done with the bandages. She looks down at her lap, tears welling up in her eyes. 

The battle had just started and she already felt like shit. Her mind was slowly breaking at the thought of her son fighting out there and also meeting her husband years after his death.

Her husband. Her husband was back.

The reality of the situation finally settled in her mind and her eyes felt heavy with tears.

She lifts her arm and glides her sleeve over her eyes, effectively drying her tears. She moves forward to envelop Toji's body with her legs and arms, embracing him.

She pushed her face into his chest and sobbed, finally getting fed up with the Jujutsu society. And due to the moment of weakness, she blamed everything on Toji.

"Toji! I hate you! I hate you! Why did you leave?!" Her arms were heavy but she persisted in slamming her fists on his shoulders.

"I told you! I told you to not continue your job! You disappear for weeks and return covered in blood! Do you know how difficult it was?! Not hearing from you for weeks only to be told that you passed from the one who killed you?! 

Do you even understand how I felt knowing you entrusted Megumi's and my life to your murderer?! Gojo-san did a lot for us, especially when it came to keeping your crazy clan away, but I can't forgive him even now! 

God, Megumi doesn't even know you're dead! We could have run away and lived quietly but you were too obsessed with killing sorceres and got your family involved...I had to become a sorcerer after you died to make sure I could keep my son! It's all your fault!"

[name] rambles on, her emotions going haywire after they finally get a chance to let loose. Years' worth of pent-up sadness crawls through her veins as she continues to slam her fists against Toji.

Toji stood still, not even moving an inch regardless of the force of [name]'s punches. He doesn't move, not even to return her embrace. 

He only does so when met with a salty taste on his lips. His eyes close as [name]'s tear-stained lips connect with his. 

He unconsciously moves closer to her till his hips meet the counter. Their lips continue to mold against each other, Toji's palms flat against her back to bring her closer.

"I missed you so much." His wife whispers during the small moment of separation as they go back to locking lips.

Toji's hands move to hold each of [name]'s, bringing them behind her back. He makes sure to keep them in place with one hand as his other moves to her jaw.

He uses his hand to pull her face away from his, observing the clear string between their mouths before shifting his lips to her neck.

She lets out a few huffs and sighs, feeling his tongue running up and down her flesh. Tears fill her eyes again after experiencing the familiar feeling after many years.

She could feel her lower abdomen starting to feel constricted, a sort of itch forming in her cunt. Her walls were pulsating in need, thighs trembling at the feeling.

Toji's hand forces itself between the two of them, roughly unbuttoning [name]'s pants. He moves away to pull them off while making sure to be mindful of her injured ankle. 

Once it's done he's immediately back between her legs. Forcing her to lie on her back, he moves his face close to her clothed cunt before placing his tongue flat on her covered entrance.

[name] jolts, crying out in shock as she feels some relief from his touch.

Toji had always been a sucker for foreplay when it came to [name]. He loved to watch her desperate on his tongue, continuing his actions for hours before finally pushing her over the edge with his cock.

Sadly he couldn't do the same this time round. He could already feel his consciousness slip from this body and didn't want to delay what could be the last time he saw his wife.

"You taste so fuckin' good." He whispered against her now exposed cunt. His deft finger had slid the fabric covering her to the side, just enough to slide his tongue in her.

"A-ahh~ So g-good Toji!"

Toji smiles against her flesh, her moans moving straight from his ears to the head of his cock. 

"Take off your top." He orders her as she mindlessly complies. Going further, her fingers move to slip off her bra as well, despite not being told to. Toji smirks.

"Good girl." He praises her, mouth still attached to her cunt. While she had been busy moaning, Toji had slid his pants down enough to uncover his cock. 

[name] unconsciously spreads her legs further apart at the sight of his length.

"Toji...please. Inside me, please."

[name] sobs when Toji's fingers spread her soaked folds, preparing her cunt for him. And with a swift movement, he was in.

His cock always reached places that her fingers would fail to reach. She bites her lower lip hard after feeling the familiar fullness after years. 

Although ashamed to admit, she had slept with a few men a few years after Toji passed. She had begun dating hoping to find a good father figure for Megumi, but none of them were promising.

There had been one particular man who reminded her of her late husband. His length had managed to reach far into her walls and even accomplished to make her squirt with just his tongue.

But she guessed he had been way too similar to her late husband, as she had accidentally screamed Toji's name when she orgasmed.

That had become a clear-cut sign that dating was out of the question for her. If she wanted to pursue a relationship then it would come naturally, she didn't need to force a relationship into her life.

So back then she continued to trust the blindfold freak when it came to her son.

[name] suddenly blinks out of her thoughts when she feels a heavy thrust against her hips. She internally scolds herself for wandering within her thoughts while her husband pleasured her.

Their bodies moved back and forth along with his thrusts as [name]'s body laid flat on the counter, limbs spread apart for her husband.

Every single thrust was accompanied by a rub on her chest, his fingers gently pinching her nipples to add to her build-up.

Toji occasionally huffed out her name, gritting his teeth as he felt his climax approach. 

"Nghh~ Faster please!" 

A second later, Toji swiftly pulled out as he orgasmed. His cum dripped onto her stomach as [name] cried out due to her ruined orgasm.

Toji takes a few seconds to breathe, but not long enough for [name]'s build-up to vanish completely.

His arms circle her waist to turn her around, making sure she's stable on her hands and knees.

"As much as I want you to cum on my cock, I know how much you love to drench my face."

Toji smirks as he speaks before closing the distance between his mouth and [name]'s cunt. His tongue plunges deep into her as his fingers move softly against her clit.

[name] feels her abdomen grow tighter once again, slowly moving her hips against him. His fingers suddenly slipped into her cunt as he made sure to put pressure near her g-spot and bladder.

The sloshing sounds became louder as Toji grew relentless with his thrusts. He knew this was the way to give her the messiest orgasm, it was his favorite way to end all of their sessions.

"Can you cum for me, baby?" His voice was rough yet alluring.

"Yes! Yes! I can! I'm gonna cum! Please! Please! Please!"

Her pleads grew louder before her voice cracked slightly, words trailing off as her release splashed onto Toji's face, fingers, and the counter.

[name]'s thighs were trembling. She could feel occasional spasms in her muscles as the orgasm slowly died down.

Her cunt continued to drip from her arousal, flowing down along the prominent trails on her inner thighs.

She makes herself sit up slightly to prevent her from accidentally losing balance. She moved slowly to settle herself so her ass met the heels of her feet, hands resting on her lap.

She wished to talk to Toji but could feel her eyes drooping, heading bobbing, and immense drowsiness cloud her mind.

She slowly started to lean back and fortunately, Toji stood behind her, stopping her fall by holding her to his chest.

"Mmmh...I love you...Toji..." Her voice trails off as she finally succumbed to her sleep. But not before feeling a kiss being pressed on her cheek with the faint whisper of an 'I love you'.

As Toji walked around Shibuya station with [name] flung over his shoulder, he came across a large sphere-shaped barrier that stood right in the center.

Immediately realizing that it was someone's domain he starts to walk away, wanting to keep his wife away from the chaos.

He would have walked away if it hadn't been for the soft whirling sound coming from the sphere. His gaze shifts to the domain to pinpoint the source.

Deciding to investigate, he contemplates whether to settle [name] somewhere else before concluding that she is safer with him.

Jumping up he lands on top of the domain to notice a small portal-like opening forming on top.

He crouches down, hands working to tear open the small opening. Once he determines it is large enough he clutches [name] closer with one arm, the other hand going through the portal to pull himself in.

Everyone stared in shock, trying to decipher who had just entered the domain. Megumi's eyes grew large at the sight of his mother on the intruder's shoulder.

"Mom!" He exclaims. Toji's ears twitched, his hold on [name] slightly tightening.

All occupants of the domain froze as Toji appeared right in front of Megumi, now holding [name] against his chest, hands under her knees and back.

He wordlessly hands [name] to their son. Megumi stares at Toji's eyes, noticing how one of his eyes has a black sclera as opposed to the usual white.

Megumi's hands tremble slightly at the intensity of Toji's presence but nonetheless takes hold of his mother.

Who is he?

[lay-z]

late night shenanigans | s. "ghost' riley

A continuation of late night talks, because y'all seemed to like that one. I won't apologize for the length of this; I just got carried away by dialogue haha 🖤

Summary: When your superior gives you orders, you cannot oppose them. Correct?

Pairing: Soap x gn!Reader; Ghost x gn!Reader

Warnings/Info: 18+ Only | smut, but I tried to keep Chaos (Reader) genderneutral | cussing; some humor; dom!Ghost; sub!Chaos; oral sex (Ghost receiving); praise kink; size kink; cum swallowing; confessions; a lil'bitt'a fluff

"Hey, if that's true -", he starts, wiping away tears from the corners of his eyes. "then you don't have to worry about confessing your feelings to him anymore"

You blink at the Scotsman, one eyelid twitching dangerously as your internal rage makes it hard for you to decide if clocking him now is worth dealing with the consequences later.

He lifts his palms in defense, now realizing the predicament he finds himself to be in, and takes a step backward.

"Ye look mad. Ye're mad, huh?"

You suck your bottom lip through your teeth, but it doesn't help easing the tension in your jaw.

"Johnny...mate...you have no idea"

Soap straightens his shoulders, runs a hand through his slicked-back mohawk as he clears his throat awkwardly. He knows when he has crossed the line and when you're just messing with each other. The former being the case now.

"Well, guess apologizing would be useless now"

"Very useless"

You stare at each other wordlessly, like you're participating in a Mexican standoff. Soap looks like he's searching for the right words to say while you're feeling like a time bomb that could go off as soon as he touches the wrong wire.

"Am I interrupting something important here?", Gaz asks dryly as he emerges from the shadows behind Soap.

"Nah, Gaz, yer good", Soap assures him, obviously relieved, as the young sergeant comes to stand next to him. Soap winks at you then, and you bite your tongue to cuss him out then and there. You do shoot him a look though, one that tells him This isn't over.

"Alright then"

Gaz seems unfazed by the whole tension as he rubs the sleep from his exhausted eyes, yawning loudly.

"Oh, Lt. ordered you to go see him, Chaos. He's occupied the office upstairs"

Then your stomach drops and your mouth goes dry.

"What? I - that's uh not what he told Soap earlier", you stutter which only causes both men to raise their eyebrows at you. You usually don’t get worked up that easily.

"Well, I was told I could catch a few hours of sleep, but orders change. You know how it is."

There's an annoyed edge to his voice, and you can't blame him for that. It's your fault that he was woken up by Ghost or the Captain. No matter who it was, it's always a shit feeling when they kick your boot or bark orders at you when you're still half-asleep, and they won’t stop until you're up and functioning.

Actually, it's Soap's fault.

"Orders are orders, my friend."

Soap dares to clap you on the shoulder and you grip the metal of your rifle tighter as you stare daggers at him. Of course, the Scottish bastard has to rub it in.

Your heart is beating in your throat, drumming in your ears, and twisting your guts into tight knots as you walk up the stairs to the master office of the safe house.The rest of the squad, including Captain Price, are sleeping and resting in the main living room downstairs.

You'd give everything to switch places with them right now. Hell, you would rather keep standing guard with Soap outside. You were not the one complaining about it after all.

You try to swallow thickly as you come to stand in front of the closed office door, but your mouth is dry like dust with no drop of saliva left. Your hands are clammy and sweaty inside your tactical gloves, so you take them off and stuff them between the waistband of your camo pants before you raise a fist to knock cautiously.

"Sir -"

"Enter, Sergeant"

Oh, fuck.

You do as the Lieutenant says and close the door behind you. His voice sounds leveled and deep as usual, there's no hint of annoyance or anger. So far so good.

He's changed from his hard-shell mask to a skull balaclava, the skin around his eyes still covered in black warpaint. They're unreadable, his eyes, as he finds your uncertain gaze in the dimly lit room.

You stand at attention, even though you don't necessarily follow these formalities among the task force around here, and you immediately feel silly for doing it.

Ghost sits on the wide, leather office chair behind the large mahogany desk, his gear, weapons, and comms splayed out in front of him.

"Sir, you ordered to see me", you say, matter of factly, and you feel thrown back to your time as a rookie in the armed forces. Inexperienced and easily intimidated.

"Indeed"

He leans back casually and the chair creaks softly. It looks tiny in comparison to his size.

There's a sudden, awkward silence and your mind starts going a million klicks an hour. Does he expect you to say something? Confess? Is this some kind of mental warfare? No matter what, it's starting to work, and right as you inhale to lay your thoughts bare, Ghost beats you to it.

"I don't wanna pretend that I didn't hear what you and Soap were talking about on watch, but, well, our comms are fucked... I think that's how you said it, right?"

If there happens to be an enemy sniper nearby, then this would be the best time to take the shot to end your suffering. You'd even thank the shooter down in hell personally after they get killed by one of your own.

You feel weak in the knees as a wave of pure embarrassment and discomfort rushes through your body.

"You can stand at ease and speak freely, Chaos"

Ghost chuckles lowly and the sound suckerpunches you right in the stomach. This cannot be happening.

"I ain't mad at ya, y'know? Truth is -"

He folds his hands over his taut stomach while his piercing eyes give you a once over, and not the kind you're used to where you check each other for gear malfunctions or if you're carrying everything you need. No, Ghost is checking you out in a completely different kind of way and you’re not sure how to feel about it.

"Soap was right and so were you. I don't make moves on anyone, even if I happen to be interested in that person. Wanna know why?"

Your tongue feels stiff and awkward in your mouth and you find yourself unable to speak for a fleeting moment as nervousness claims your body and mind. You decide that being in combat is less nerve-wracking than this.

"Why, sir?"

His eyes squint a little as he laughs again, quiet and low. It's starting to drive you wild.

"What's so funny?"

But he waves you off with one mammoth hand before he rests it on his thigh. You follow the movement and your neck flushes with heat, then up to your ears and cheeks. When your eyes find his again, you know that he noticed that. There's a strange glint in his eyes, a look you haven't seen before.

"The obvious answer would be no romantic relationships between superiors and subordinates are allowed, innit?"

You press your lips together as you nod. That's the thing you kept telling yourself when you first noticed you were developing feelings for the Lieutenant.

"But, fuck that. It's no one's bloody business who we love and care about as long as it doesn't interfere with our job and performance. Would ya agree with me on that, too?"

You nod again, more eagerly this time.

"I do, but...sir, what are you trying to get at here?"

Ghost is in charge of the situation and he knows what he wants while you keep groping in the dark. He cocks his head and drums his gloved fingers on his thigh while you keep shifting from one foot to the other nervously.

"Have ya touched yourself while thinking of me? Like Soap suggested you have"

Your eyes widen and your heart skips a long beat, but you also feel strangely aroused by the bluntness of his question and the possibility that he might have done it too.

"I - yes, sir. Is that...bad?"

He straightens up suddenly and fixes his posture as if the conversation is finally becoming interesting.

"Only 'cause you didn't ask for permission first, Sargeant"

That hits a nerve deep in your core; lights it on fire and gives you hope. It's starting to dawn on you where this could be going; what kind of lover the Lieutenant prefers to be.

"Have - have you thought about me before, sir? While you've touched yourself, I mean", you ask sheepishly and it's obvious in the way you're phrasing it, but your brain is starting to melt and your carnal, submissive nature is starting to take over.

"I try not to, but you've crossed me mind on some occasions. Y'know, because I thought you and Johnny were a thing"

You laugh at that, loudly too. It's a natural reaction to something so utterly impossible. But his eyes darken and you apologize immediately.

"No, no, God no. Soap and I...we're just mates ah comrades. We - we could never -"

"He's thought about it.", Ghost reveals coolly as if it wouldn't shatter your fragile little comfort zone. "Shared it with me some time ago. I thought you two had...worked that out together"

You gape at him, unable to even think about Soap right now. You don't want to anyway. Johnny and his stupid mohawk, with his stupid revolver tattoo at the back of his neck, and his stupid pierced ears -

"But I don't want ya to think about Sargeant MacTavish right now"

You stop immediately when you notice the outline of the impressive bulge in his tactical pants.

"What uh what do you want to talk about then, sir?"

Ghost clicks his tongue and shakes his head slightly.

"Nah, no more talking. Now that I know you're...available, I'd rather find out if we're compatible. Would ya like to figure that out with me, Sargeant?"

Your skin starts tingling at the mere thought of being dominated by your Lieutenant. You've imagined it many times before; how rough or gentle he would be with you. Coaxing you to orgasm after orgasm until you're begging him to give you a break.

"Looks like you do", he chuckles lowly.

Fuck yes, you want to answer, but you feel like a moan would slip out if you'd do as much as part your lips right about now. Blunt truth is, you never wanted to suck a dick that badly in your life.

"C'mere then, luv. Show me how good ya can please your Lt."

Your legs feel like jelly, like you're walking on quicksand as you take cautious steps toward Ghost. This could still be a dream, or nightmare depending on how it will end. His dark eyes are fixated on you as you round the desk, and when you're within reach, he grabs your hand when he senses your hesitation.

"Scared of me now? Yer usually such a big talker even when I'm around", he says with a hint of amusement.

"No, sir", you lie, and your voice is as small as your confidence right now. "But uh how would you like me to...please you?"

Another wave of hot flushes rushes to your cheeks, and burns your chest from within while knocking the air from your lungs, because how can you even ask him that aloud? How did you get here in the first place?

Meanwhile, Ghost taps his index to the spot on his balaclava where his mouth curves underneath it.

"Use that pretty mouth o' yours first, Sargeant"

He spreads his thick thighs apart then, creating enough space for you to settle between his knees, then he tugs on your hand once more, giving you the encouragement you need to proceed.

The fabric of his pants feels stiff beneath your palms as you rub his thighs gently, testing the waters as you get comfortable in your position, and as you reach for the waistband, it is obvious that your hands are trembling slightly.

"You've thought about sucking me cock before, haven't ya?"

Many times.

You bat your eyelashes at him, the corner of your mouth twitching into a cheeky smile as you look up at him.

His muscular chest rises as he inhales deeply and he reaches out to cup your cheek, though his hand could easily cover the whole side of your face. His gloved thumb lightly brushes over you bottom lip before he grips your chin with his fingers, making you lock eyes with him.

"How'bout you get to work then, luv"

Ghost lifts his form-fitting black undershirt then, pulls it from the front of his pants and lifts it to his chest, exposing his ripped stomach and the scattered battle scars carved and healed on his pale skin.

His happy trail almost reaches his naval; a narrow line of dark blonde hair disappearing below his waistband. You wonder if the carpet matches the drapes and you feel like Ghost knows that as you reciprocate his gaze again.

Perhaps you’ll find out some day.

You bite the tip of your tongue to keep your excitement and horniness at bay, though you can already feel your arousal rising to a dangerous, sanity-numbing level.

Ghost assists you again when you finally reach for Velcro and zipper, ripping and unzipping both until his black boxers peek through. He lifts his hips just enough for you to pull his pants and boxers to finally free his throbbing erection.

Your nether region flutters and tightens with desire and intimidation and your mouth starts watering as you take in the sheer size of his cock. It's both long and girthy, heavy even, though it's nothing less than you expected.

"You're even better in real life, Lt.", you purr bashfully as you grasp his length with one hand, holding onto his thigh for leverage with the other.

"Well, glad I didn't disappoint then", Ghost talks back smugly, though you hear the low rumble from his throat when you lick your flat tongue over the sensitive slit of his tip without warning.

The taste of his precum hits you in the back of your throat; it's salty and watery like he kept himself hydrated today. You savor the taste, try to memorize the feeling of his cock on your tongue, every vein, and texture, and most importantly the sounds you're coaxing from the generally stoic and private Lieutenant.

The mask might hide his handsome face and the expressions he's making, but it can't hide all the raunchy noises slipping past his lips.

You suck the tip eagerly, lick along the sensitive vein running along the underside of his shaft down to his full sac. You moan with a mouthful of cock when one of his hands comes to rest on the back of your head.

"I know you can take some more, Sargeant", he groans lowly as he caresses your hair.

He's not pushing you, but the teasing tone of his voice only fuels your determination to please him, so you breathe through your nose and relax your throat to suck him deeper.

"There ya go, darling, fuck"

Your eyes are tearing up and you're starting to choke on his length, but you know you can handle some more if he wants you to. His hips buck then and you're forced to pull back to gasp for air.

"Easy there, soldier.", he advises you suavely, petting your cheek gently. "Doing so good for me, huh. Fuckin' gorgeous"

You smack your lips together, not minding the mix of spit and cum dripping from your chin as you keep stroking his hard cock while his half-lidded eyes are focused on you.

"And you will swallow me cum as eagerly as yer sucking cock"

"That an order, sir?", you ask, your speech somewhat slurred while feigning innocence. His pupils are fully blown now, turning his eyes as black as the warpaint he uses.

Ghost groans lewdly and even lets his head lull back to rest on the chair as you execute his command.

"Affirmative, Sergeant."

[aquanova99]

Even Gods can Bleed

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Part 1

Next >>

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A/N: This is definitely more of a backstory but it does have some cute Amun x OC moments. This is a new series in defense of one of my favorite vamps I hope everyone is okay with it. I will be changing canon just a wee bit because...well because I can. Benjamin and Tia will be siblings and he will be canonically aged at 15

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A/N: another note this was inspired by @heartrise because she’s my sounding board lately and she’s incredible thank you

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Summary: Amun has been against a confrontation with the volturi from the start. He is known to have avoided the last war involving his coven, his reasoning was never told to even Carlisle. Will history repeat itself?

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 The air was still, as unmoving as they were. It was a rare day for the weather to be overcast. The heat still clung to the skin of the people walking around, he wondered if they appreciated the freedom of not having to hide their existence. How simple to be a human. How ignorant. Not the faintest idea that on the wrong day they could be dead in seconds. Not even the strongest among them would be able to escape. The weather had permitted him to step outside, not far from his home. He wouldn’t dare risk that, a garden of sorts right next to their hidden dwelling. Still, there were days when the coven decided to enjoy the weather. The sun still felt warm on his cheeks, with no worry about he himself overheating from the intense heat. A small perk to eternal life, he supposed.

 Kebi smelled them first. More of their kind, unwelcome visitors, “Amun, Mut.” They had already shared a look before Mut ushered the “children” inside. They walked among the humans, they were acquaintances. No, they were unwelcome guests. Coming unannounced could only means they felt unsafe to call. Unless they broke the rules, there was no reason to feel that way. Mut rushed back into the garden, nodding at her sister. Kebi flitted away to meet them.

 “Amun…”

 “I know, my love.”

 ……Mut hesitated “I should go with them.”

 “No, they will be fine. We don’t want to appear.. suspicious.”

 “You have a lot of faith, husband. They grow restless.” Mut quieted her voice. Amun knew she was right, she often was. He was more surprised she didn’t argue that they should be included in the conversation. It was one of the more contentious points of their relationship. If she wasn’t fighting for Benjamin and Tia to stick around, then the situation seemed strange to her as well. The pair met with an indifferent Kebi coldly greeting their guests. Mut interlocked hands with her to lead her away and the pair stood behind Amun.

“Come sister,” Mut chimed in, she smiled softly towards her mate as she turned. The Cullens could sense the message though she had said nothing towards them.

 Leave.

You are not welcome.

 They didn’t need Edward to understand what all three of them were thinking.

 “Amun. Its been a long time.”

 “And yet, it is clear you are not here for a social visit. Lets skip the formalities Carlisle. What is it you want?”

 Mut surveyed the traveling couple. Carlisle and Esme. Old acquaintances. Or at least Carlisle had been, the former look exhausted. The centuries of the inability to sleep seemed somehow etched on his face. It aged him. The woman they had known to be cheerful, almost naïve in their prior meetings, had a look in her eyes Amun and Mut had only seen in each other a handful of times. She looked like a mother. A worried one. A mother who was about to risk her life for her child. Amun instinctively took a half a step back, he was not willing to risk his family right now. Mut stepped forward placing a hand on Amuns back for a second to take over some of the anxiety in the room.

 “Before we start Carlisle why don’t we sit somewhere more comfortable?” Kebi got the hint and led them towards the living area, Mut turned around raising her eyebrow slightly, Amun nodded away her worry and she quickly followed behind Kebi. Amun followed the group. The Egyptian coven remained silent once everyone had sat, waiting for the bad news that was sure to follow.

 “I suppose there no getting around it hm? Edwar—our son, he somewhat made a mistake.”

 “You can’t somewhat make a mistake Carlisle, did he or did not?” Mut was losing her patience, quickly.

 “He didn’t.” Esme interjected, “It’s a miracle really. We are all so lucky… but things were taken out of context.”

 “Please…continue.” Amun squeezed Mut’s hand as he began to speak, avoiding eye contact.

 “Edward, he—he got his mate pregnant.”

 “That’s…what? Impossible! a vampire cannot conceive a child.” Amun and Mut stared at the usually neutral, Kebi, and then back at each other before getting their thoughts together.

 “His mate was a human when-“

 “That is enough.” Amun stood up, Mut and Kebi followed him as left the room

 “Amun please.”

 “I am sorry but we cannot help you Carlisle whatever it is your son has or has not done. We are done here.”

 “We wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t important.”

 “You must go.”

 Mut heard them millisecond too late, the giggling and footsteps arriving, the water rising well above their heads and beautifully molding itself to the intricate designs of their home, “I would like to hear about it. Amun never lets me meet his friends.”

 “I cant imagine why.” Carlisle responded sarcastically. Amun was frozen. There weren’t many people who knew about Benjamin and his sister, Tia.

 “That’s because he doesn’t have any.” Mut joked to lighten the situation. Worrying her adopted children was out of the question. Benjamin was stretching the truth a bit. But this was a sore spot for everyone. The two younger vampires yearned for complete freedom. Mut and Kebi agree they should be less restrictive. But every time the conversation comes around, Amun has the equivalent of a panic attack. Even now, he had gone completely silent. Carlisle suddenly saw the answer to their problems in Benjamin.

 “Believe me I know how it sounds but it would be best to see for yourself. We would never ask you to fight on our behalf but if you could come see—“ he seemed to to struggle to find the best phrase, the words most likely to make a difference, “their daughter… you will see she is different than an immortal child. She grows every day. All we’re asking is for you to see the truth.”

  “It seems you give us little choice Carlisle.” Mut stated, “You may leave, we will make a decision tonight. But you have outstayed your welcome.”

 “Please, the volturi—” Esme began pleading but the ones experienced had heard enough.

 “If the volturi have made a decision, it will make little difference what our opinions are. This is no longer a suggestion. Get. Out.” Mut’s voice was steel. Benjamin and Tia shrunk back. This was not a voice they had heard from her, the delivery was low but threatening. No one would have heard anything, still it made her seem terrifying. Amun seemed to snap out of his daze momentarily to come up behind his mate.

 He gently rested his hand on the arch in her back, “I believe my mate has made herself clear. We will discuss this tonight, if we decide to go then we shall see you back in Washington. Goodbye.”

 Esme tugged on his hand looking at Carlisle with eyes expecting him to keep fighting. Carlisle stared back and nodded. Esme sighed and they disappeared from the home.

“So… are we actually discussing this or was that for fun?” Kebi broke the silence in the air first

 “No.”

 “Yes.”

 Tia and Benjamin watched as Amun and Mut spoke at the same time.

 “My love, why on earth would we help them?”

 “I’ll be honest, I’m curious. Are you not? Besides we do not have to see the volturi. If we really want we can call their secretaries and tell them what we saw. Aro will not check every witness and Carlisle has many friends.”

 “If they intend to fight it wont matter what the truth is.”

 “I suppose that’s true.” Mut turned to Kebi and the two younger vampires, “I think we all need to take a couple hours. We can talk more in a little bit.” She tugged at Amuns hand and the two retreated to their room. Making sure to speak as quietly as she could to where Benjamin and Tia wouldn’t be able to make out their words.

“I want to see him.”

 “No.”

 “Amun. You need to talk to him.”

 “I cannot, I couldn’t even go to Volterra with you and Kebi when Tia was turned.”

 “If you don’t talk to him and something happens in that fight, you will never forgive yourself.” Amun looked away, his jaw clenched at the daughter of the war that ruined their lives, “Benjamin and Tia both need to see more of the world anyway. They can make their own choice.”

 “Do you remember the last time one of our children wanted to fight?”

 “It was her choice. Just like it should be theirs. It is their life.”

 The vampire had only come to the Egypt to deliver a message but even then it was clear to many of them that this one was more powerful than anyone in their own coven. The news made everyone uneasy. The Romanian coven had been defeated. The same coven that had forced all of the nomads near Egypt to band together or face possible decimation alone. The humans had made their own stories. They were divided on what to do, but there was tiny God advocating to fight. Why should they give up their power. The humans knew what they were and there was little protest. Amun and his wife, Mut feared what would happen. Horus, Set were vocal in their thoughts to fight back. They wanted to prove their strength. Unfortunately, Sekhmet agreed. The Goddess the humans had labeled the Goddess of War was now, living up to her name. The day seemed to drag as the coven waited for the newcomers arrival, the volturi. It seemed to drag to everyone except Amun and Mut. There wasn’t enough time.

 “Please come with us.” Mut begged

 “Daughter, you know we stand no chance.” Amun reasoned.

 “So, the plan is we do nothing?”

 “The plan is to survive. We are not the only ones not participating.”

 “Yes, yes Osisris and Isis.” Annoyance clear as day in the young vampires voice. The already proud vampire had been given an ego boost from the praise she had come to receive

 “And Tawaret?”

 “Father please. We shouldn’t just give up our land.”

 “They said they weren’t taking our territory, they just want us to stop being seen from the humans. What makes you think we can do better than the romanians?”

 “Fine. We stay here until the dispute is settled.”

 Curiosity killed the cat. But what she found didn’t bring it back. Sekhmet grew impatient. Pacing for hours. She screamed at Amun, calling him a coward. Mut pleaded for her to understand why they thought it was best to not fight unnecessarily before she lashed out at her too. Kebi finally had enough.

“If you want to go, then go. No one is stopping you. It’s a suicide mission, even you can see that.”

 “Ptah…” Sekhmet whimpered, Amun and Mut trained their eyes on her again. Kebi growled as she rolled her eyes at the mere mention of his name. He was known to be the god of healing. A side effect of an unfortunate human seeing him put himself back together after picking a fight with Khonshu. He was insufferable to everyone but Sekhmet. Sekhmet was young, reckless. She couldn’t see Ptah more or less just enjoyed the attention. They could live an eternity, there was little anyone could say to try and stop the infatuation. Ptah was too old for her, she was barely older than a child. She had only been changed because Mut had seen the poor girl starving, barely able to move. She remembers begging her husband or sister to help. Her husband conceded, his own heart aching at the sight of the helpless child. Sekhmet was young but cunning enough to see that her parents and aunt were not budging.

 “I am really sorry Kebi.” The sound of Kebi’s arms shattering sent Mut into a panic. The pair rushed toward their crying sister and Sekhmet turned running towards the battle, hoping to at least take one of those arrogant vampires down.

That was the last time Amun and Mut saw their daughter alive. They arrived too late. The humans were rampant; screaming, sobbing and going into hiding, not that it did them any good. Smoke filled the air, making difficult for even them to see and breathe. Though they were never sure if it was the smoke or the guilt and desperation that made them choke up. At least three pyres were burning as the sun set on what started on a regular day. Amun and his mate had arrived seconds, seconds after the last body was thrown into the fire. They froze as they saw Sekhmets eyes staring back at them, an apology dying on her lips that they would never hear. Had they ran farther maybe she would have avoided the fight… had they been faster maybe they would have arrived in time to intercept her…questions like this would plague Amun and his mate for the rest of eternity, all they could see was tiny Sekhmet, her face temporally frozen in a state of fear as she realized her efforts would be wasted.

 Aro interceded before Caius tried to destroy them too. The grief was something unlike anything Aro had felt before. It overwhelmed him. Marcus saw the bonds himself, strong enough to warn Caius about them. As soon as he understood why the pair looked so crazed he softened. Aro explained what happened throughout the fight, even the warning they had offered to Sekhmet, but she had proven to be quite capable even to their best fighter, he also apologized and said he would leave them be so long as they adhered to the new rules. Amun had been holding his sobbing mate. Her body doubled over, he himself struggling to hold his composure as he knelt beside her. Aro said little else, this new coven that had so mercilessly destroyed their own, showed them a mercy they weren’t expecting.

 Still for centuries after, everytime Amun closed his eyes he saw his daughter staring back at him.

 “Amun?” It had been ages, him and his mate had traveled enough that she had grown tired of her name, changing and cutting ties with that part of her past. Another event would cause her to change her name again, leaving her with what people knew her as now. Amun meanwhile was dissociating, a byproduct of his grief that still occasionally showed itself.

 “Hm?”

 “They will want to go. Whether or not we follow we will not be able to stop them.”

 “I know. I refuse to make the same mistake.”

 “Agreed, it wont happen again.”

 “No, never again.”

Taglist: @adaydreamaway08 @artaxerxesthegreat @aunt-pipie @heartrise @imtoanonymousforyou @lacychick @quarthly @venusdelaroix @volturiwolf @xcastawayherosx @jelly-fishy-babie

[subpar-ghoulfriend]

Teacher's Pet

Aizawa's got eyes for his new teacher's assistant. Reader was is a former student of his.

tw: smut, noncon, drugging, yandere-ish, penetration

AN: My computer deleted the original version of this fic so I anger-rewrote it. Not edited.

You were always Aizawa's favorite. Never rude or lazy. And you always trusted his decisions. That's why - after a few years - when you decided to try your hand at teaching he volunteered to train you has his Teacher's Assistant. You looked the same, just a little more mature. You still looked at the man with the same doe eyed expression, waiting for his next direction. You were no longer his student and he didn't need to keep his mind from wandering.

Aizawa invited you over under the guise of grading papers. In attempt to make the task less boring, he poured two glasses of wine.

"Aizawa-sensei, how late is it?" You yawned.

Your mentor glanced at his phone, "You know you can call me Shota. It's only going to be 9, if you're tired we can finish this another day."

Nodding you attempted to stand, but plopped back down because the room began to spin. Maybe it was the alcohol mixing with your exhaustion but your body felt heavy and sluggish.

"I didn't realize you weren't much of a drinker," Aizawa laughed, extending his arm toward you. "Here, let me help you up."

You managed a few steps before taking a break to collect your bearings. On second thought, it couldn't be the wine, you only had a single glass. Then the room began to shift. Aizawa had picked you up. He was talking to you, something about being worried for your safety. You weren't fully listening, it was a pain just trying to concentrate.

When did you get on a bed?

You felt the mattress shift as Aizawa sat beside you. "I think you should just sleep it off here, I know you're pretty tough but right now you look like a confused little kitten."

Taking a deep breath you tried sitting up, "No, I shouldn't-"

The older man was on top of you. Tendrils of his hair reached down to graze your face. He smells so good, you couldn't put your finger on it but he smelled like comfort.

You snapped out of your trance when you felt a tug at your waist. Aizawa, your mentor, was pulled off your pants. When had he removed your shirt?

"Sensei, stop-"

Aizawa smashed his lips against yours. He had one had tangled in your hair to keep you from squirming away from his attack. "Are you gonna be a good girl and open your mouth for me?"

Heat was coursing throughout your body. You were embarrassed, upset, scared, but also curious. Of course your body was feeling good, but this wasn't what you wanted. You shook your head before he caught your lips again. You kept them firmly pressed together, denying his tongue entrance. But then dug his nails into your soft hips so hard that you had to cry out in pain. After exploring with his tongue he pulled away from you.

"See, that's not so hard."

To make everything worse, he had skillfully removed your bra while you were distracted.

He licked his lip as you took in your body, the only thing left was your underwear. Kneeling on the bed, between your spread legs, he place a hand under either knee. With a quick pull he dragged you toward him. Your ass was elevated, resting on the top of his thighs; gravity making your breasts perkier than they already were. If he had drugged you it must've fully kicked in because no matter how hard you will your arms, they wouldn't move.

His knuckles grazed between your thighs making tears escape your eyes.

"Oh kitty, you've soaked through your panties," he pressed a little harder against the material. "You always caught the eyes of so many of the boys. I wondered if you knew. If you acted naive around them as a way to tease. How many of them succeeded?"

You didn't respond.

Hooking a finger under you panties he moved them to the side, exposing your glistening pussy. Whimpering you begged him once more to stop. Maybe if you told him you were too tired he'd leave you alone.

"I know honey, once we're done it'll be bedtime. If you avoid my questions we're gonna have to stay up later. Tell me how many boys you let crawl between your legs. What'd they do that made you feel good?"

All the while his hand never stopped rubbing against you.

Your words came out choppy, between tearful gasps, "Please, Aizawa sensei, I don't want to. I promise, I never-"

A shiver racked your body when he began rubbing circles around your clit. You jerked away from him. You think you were strong enough to pull away but maybe he just wanted an excuse to reposition you. He leaned forward, giving your body a break and smiled against your neck, "Is my kitty a virgin?"

Humiliated you nodded your head. You never really stopped to think about your lack of a sex life, none of your peers ever caught you attention in that way. You just wanted to become a pro and prove yourself to your role model, the man on top of you.

"How perfect are you," he cooed. He moved to sucking an nipping at your breasts, leaving a trail of marks from your neck like a map. "How about we go slowly. I know they taught sex ed but real life is always different from a text book. Let me know if you have any questions, you know I'm a good teacher."

A calloused finger slid inside you. You focused on your breathing, everything was okay. It was uncomfortable but not unbearable. He moved his finger slowly, taking in how tight your felt. He didn't want your first time to be unnecessarily painful. You were mortified when he removed his finger from you and brought it to his lips. He groaned as his licked two fingers.

"You're doing so good, baby. Can you take a big breath for me?" Two fingers slid inside you, there wasn't much resistance but you felt the pressure change. You couldn't help with whine. "That's my good girl. We're gonna do three now, okay?"

Fuck. Three was too much. You felt like you couldn't take any more. Then, with his fingers still inside of you be began playing with your clit again. Your body tensed as electricity coursed from your core. The moan that poured from your lips was involuntary. More juices pooled beneath you. You kept shaking while Aizawa withdrew from you.

"Such a messy girl," he kissed you. "That's exactly what we want."

Becoming acutely aware that his erect cock was resting below your belly you looked for the first time. You weren't sure what to expect when it came to the size of any dick but certainly not what was before you.

"Wait, can we stop," you found your voice. "It's too big, I don't think I can do it."

"Trust me, it'll fit. It may be a little painful at the beginning because it's your first time but then it'll feel good. Just like how I made you feel good with my hands."

The anticipation was killing him. Aizawa was trying to keep your attention by praising you while he teased around your soaking entrance with the head of his cock.

You hissed, pushing weakly against Aizawa's chest, as he entered you. He moved slowly, frustratingly slow. He wanted nothing more that to push in to you, to make you hurt in the best way. Your walls felt so tight and warm against him that if he was a less experienced man would've already finished him.

Finally at his base you earned more praise, "Fuck, kitten, you're taking me so well. Already making me feel so good and it's only your first time. I'm gonna try to go slow but - fuck - tell me if it starts getting to rough."

After a few moments you began to acclimate and the pain eased up. But every time his hips fully met against you you were reminded his girth. You involuntarily jerked against him as that feeling of electricity began to manifest in your core. He was beginning to pick up the pace and couldn't keep from arching against him. Sparks shot through your body as he bit into your shoulder. Your walls spasmed around him. You could hear him praising you as almost completely pulled out just to thrust back into you. Repeating the motion and filling the near silence with the sound of your wetness.

Maybe something in your broke or maybe it was a defense mechanism but your started to rationalize the situation. You body did feel physically good. And lord know's you always had a thing for the hero. This would be perfect if he had gone about things the right way. You wanted some sense of control so you did the only thing you could think of.

"Sh-Shota," You moaned into his ear. Your nails digging in to his back.

"Fuck, say it again," he growled. No longer able to control his pace he moved harder and faster. Tomorrow there would be plenty of proof on your body that Aizawa had been there. "Be my good girl and say it again."

You weren't going to, but you were speaking before you realized, "Shota, I can't-"

If he kept going like this you knew hit your third orgasm of the night. You didn't know if that was a good thing or not.

"You're going to. Show me that you can be a good little whore and listen to teacher."

As if on cue you were seeing stars. Aizawa moaned into you neck and buried his cock deep inside of you. There was a new sensation and your realized that he wasn't wearing protection. His hot cum was filling you to the brim. "Wait, I'm not on the pill"

After a few more pumps he froze inside of you, "That's so fucking hot."

He pulled out and a mixture of both your fluids followed. He rolled to the side of you and brought you close to his chest.

"I'm so proud of you, you were such a good girl."

You interrupted, maybe he hadn't heard you, "I'm, I'm not on the pill."

"That's okay, I wouldn't want you to be, you're all mine. You need to sleep, we can take a bath in the morning."

You were tired, even though it felt like your mind was beginning to clear. Like a cornered animal you felt trapped. Aizawa kept whispering as you closed your eyes. He mentioned something about next time feeling better for you. That he was going to take such good care of you. How he didn't share.

[kakiwrites]

the marble game

Genre: hurt comfort

A kenma kozume x reader

A squid game AU!

Warning: mentions of death and guns

Synopsis: in the world of squid game, you, your boyfriend, kenma, and a bunch of others decide to play the games for the money. After playing through three games and witnessing deaths along the way, you finally reached the marble game.

a/n: hey guys! Been a while since I wrote a oneshot and for kenma no less. Think of this as my very late birthday special for him. Let's get started!

A blaring sound erupted through the intercom speakers, making you jolt out of the hard mattress you shared with Kenma.

You've been staying at the strange facility for well over four days now, playing games and competing for the large sum of money that was literally hanging over your heads.

Kenma invited you to join him and his team when they found out about it, thinking it was just a marketing stunt for a new finance company. Of course, since your boyfriend was the one who offered, you couldn't say no.

Look where that got you.

Your once group of twelve now dwindled down to seven. You were sitting on a hard mattress on the floor. the once lined up, industrial bunk beds toppled around you.

The broken beds made great cover against potential attackers.

"what the hell is happening?"

You turned to look at kenma who was now wide awake beside you. He was glaring at the triangle masked guards that poured in from one of the only entrances, Blaming them for interrupting his peaceful slumber.

Soon, the guards approached your area, pointing their guns at your group and forcing you out into the open. It looked like the other teams were being forced out the same way. Kenma intertwined his hand with yours, squeezing it as you walked out of your little corner and into the back of the line where the rest of your group stood.

"you guys okay?" kuroo said from the front of the line, his eyes never leaving the guards that escorted you and kenma into the line. Kenma stood behind you, watching as square masked men began to survey every player in line.

"we're fine," you replied for the both of you, putting your hands up defensively when the square masked man reached you, looking you up and down silently. The man moved on to kenma behind you.

"the fourth game will begin momentarily. All players, please follow the staff's instructions and proceed to the game hall," the intercom blasted again.

"another game… I'm still tired from the last one," kenma grumbled. You stifled a giggle. You didn't even have to look back to know that he was frowning. The rest of the group began to mutter amongst one another while other lines began to follow the guards into the side hallway and up the confusing and elaborate stairs.

"just try and survive this next one, kenma-san. I'm sure you don't have to use your non-existent strength this time!" Lev teased, causing your group to erupt into a fit of muffled laughter. Kenma would've kicked his shins in but unfortunately, kenma knew better than to leave the line.

Soon the triangle masked guard began walking in front of kuroo, expecting him to follow which he obediently did. The others in the line, including you, followed the former captain.

As your line began to head toward the stairs, you felt something bubble up in your mind.

As much as you were exhausted from all the games and death, you couldn't help but feel a small ounce of curiosity.

What kind of game were you in for this time?

You were led back into the white room. You'd been here before when you had to choose teams for tug-of-war. You looked around the room once more to see people staying within their groups, not knowing what the next game would be. You glanced back at kenma and knowingly nodded before you headed off to meet with the others.

"People are on edge," Kai pointed out. Yaku nodded in agreement. You sat down on the steps beside kenma, letting your eyes glance around the room again. What's left of karasuno's group was in the corner. aoba Johsai had their group mumbling plans in another, glancing around, seemingly trying to scope out their competition.

The intercom pulled you out of your thoughts once more.

"Welcome to the fourth game," the intercom piped up. Everyone immediately fell silent. "in this game, you would be playing in teams of two. Please look around and find a player you wish to play with," everyone looked around the room at one another. Would it be better if you played with someone you trusted? If so, teaming up with your boyfriend would be the best option. You turned to look at him. Kenma didn't look back. "when two players agree to play with each other, shake hands to show you've become partners. You will have ten minutes to find your partner,"

Without a second to spare, everyone broke off and look for partners.

Some stayed in their group and partnered up with friends while others began to roam around the room and look for someone else to play with instead.

You turned to the silent kenma and offered your hand. "partners?" you asked, waiting for him to respond. Kenma looked at you in thought before reaching out and… pushing your hand back down.

What?

"no, we shouldn't team up,"

"why?"

"We don't know what the game is. What if it pits us against each other?" Kenma asked. That did make sense. You didn't want to see him die, by your hands no less.

"who are you going to partner up withthen?" you asked. Kenma was about to shrug but right on time, hinata ran over to you, a relieved grin on his face.

"kenma!" hinata exclaimed. You and kenma stood up to meet him. "everyone in my group has partners. Do you want to be mine?" he asked, offering his hand. Kenma hesitated. He looked at you before nodding at hinata, taking his friend's hand and shaking it.

"wait, kenma," kuroo popped up behind you, his arms crossed over his chest in concern. "if you're teaming up with hinata, who's gonna team up with (y/n)?" he asked. Kenma looked at the group. Everyone seemed to have found their partners. Things weren't looking so great outside your group either, everyone beginning to break up into pairs.

Kenma was starting to regret his choice.

The players were an odd number. What happens if you don't have a partner? What if-

"hey," you placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, snapping him out of his thoughts. "I'll just look around and find someone. I have time. Don't worry about me," you reassured, leaning in to give him a reassuring peck on the lips.

Kenma's anxious figure relaxed under your touch. He trusted you. You can do it. You can find someone to be your partner in.

With one last nod, you walk away from the group and into the smaller crowd of people who were still looking for partners as the counter continued to count down.

5 minutes remaining.

1 minute remaining.

You frantically darted your eyes around the room. Everyone seemed to have found their partners. You tried desperately to convince strangers to team up with but it all fell on deaf ears as they partnered up with other people.

"the time for finding a partner is now over,"

Kenma looked over the crowd's shoulders as they parted to reveal you, all alone In the middle of the room. Two guards began to approach your figure. The other players were being escorted out into the game arena but Kenma, hinata, and kuroo didn't follow, their feet rooted where they stood.

Until kenma moved.

"(y/n)!" kenma yelled. You feel yourself physically relaxed when you spot his faded bleached hair in the dispersing crowd. You watched with tears in your eyes as kenma tried to run over and pull you away from the guards only for kuroo and hinata to hold him back. You felt your fate slowly sink in.

You were gonna die. They're going to kill you for not finding a partner.

"kuroo! Hinata! Take care of kenma for me," you tearfully said, shooting them a sad smile as the two guards took hold of both of your arms. You didn't even try to fight back as the guards began to pull you into the back room.

Kenma's screams were the last thing you heard before the doors closed behind you.

Kenma didn't know what to feel.

He almost couldn't bring himself to leave the white waiting room. Kuroo and hinata stayed right beside him. Kuroo held onto kenma's shoulders, knowing that if he were to let go that kenma's legs would give out on him.

Kenma didn't want to leave, not when he watched you get dragged out of the room with triangle men with guns.

Everyone knew what fate would befall you once you were taken in. they didn't even want to voice it. They didn't want to consider the possibility,

That you were dead meat.

But kenma couldn't help but have that one sliver of hope that you might still be alive.

"come on, kenma!" hinata pulled on kenma's sleeve, thoroughly snapping out of his reverie. "we have to play. We both have to survive, for (y/n)'s sake!" hinata encouraged. Kuroo patted his back in support. Kenma felt a small smile appear on his face.

He was thankful that hinata and kuroo were there to support him and giving him the push to continue play for both of you.

After all, that's what friends are for.

Only, friends don't kill each other.

Kenma didn't know what to feel when he found out that he and his friends chose partners only to be pitted against one another as enemies.

At first kenma felt relief. he made the right decision to not team up with you. He didn't have to kill you.

But now, as he looked at the nervous hinata, he realized that he was going to have to lose his friend too, using his own hands no less.

He didn't know what else to do.

So he did what any player would do.

He played fair.

Kenma felt numb.

Kenma let hinata choose the game. He chose one of the more easier ones where they guess how many marbles the other was holding. It had been easy to win against the ginger. The game ended as quickly as it began. Kenma couldn't even tell you what strategy he played. Everything just went by so fast.

So just like your death, hinata's death hasn't fully sunken in yet.

That is until he went back to the dorms.

Kenma was escorted back to the dorms, an unknown weight heavy on his shoulders as he dragged his feet along the cement floor. He stopped just in front of the door, surveying the new feel of the room. It looked more open now, the once toppled bunk beds now gone and replaced by new beds for the remaining survivors.

His eyes landed on a particular sight. His eyes widened when he realized what- no, who it was.

It was you.

You were pacing back and forth in the middle of the room, fiddling nervously with your hands as you did so. He knew that you fiddled your hands when you were nervous. You turned to the sound of the door opening. Your eyes locked with his. You could feel all your worries evaporate just like that. He was alive.

Kenma was alive and standing right before you.

Without a word, kenma rushed to meet you, his arms wrapping around you tightly as if you were going to disappear if he were to let go. You hugged him back just as tightly, nuzzling your face into his shoulder, taking in his scent that wafted around you.

you could feel kenma’s tears begin to soak through your dirty tracksuit but you could care less. He was alive. He was right there.

"I thought you were dead," kenma's voice cracked, pulling his head away to fully look at you. Were you really in front of him? Was he just seeing things?

"weakest links don't die so easily," you mumbled back tearfully. You leaned in, pressing a comforting kiss on his lips. He immediately kissed back.

You knew that kenma had some questions. hell, even you had a list of what you wanted to ask too. But that didn't matter right now.

What mattered was that both of you were alive.

And that is all! Idk if this is a satisfying ending per say but I kind of dig it. Hope you guys enjoyed as much as I did writing! Love you guys ❤️💖💕

and you couldn't have been more thankful.

General taglist (don’t be shy to comment your tumblr @ below): @tokyoghoose @macaronnv @reogou @midnightangelfox @wumboho @seiijixcia @tessabrown101 @agent-barnes40

[crescentblossom66]

A hat in time writing prompts: Prompt 1 Coke

“Cut! That's it for the day everyone! Good job, darlings!” The smooth, low-pitched voice of the Sci-fi director echoed throughout the set. Some penguins on set stopped dancing and went to grab some water, while others simply plopped down on chairs, exhausted from the long day of work.

The afro-sporting penguin got up and was about to go get himself some water, when the big double doors to his side of the studio swung open rather violently and revealed Hat Kid and Bow Kid, the latter immediately waved at him, while the former held two bottles of some blackish liquid. With a big smile he went to greet the two children.

“Hello, darlings! It's so nice to see you two, it's been a while.” Hat Kid looked over at the set and pouted.

“I told you we'll be too late, why did you have to stop just to pet that little cat in Mafia Town?” Bow looked a bit dejectedly at the ground.

“Sorry! It looked so fluffy that I couldn't resist.” That's when he realized that they came to watch him record their next blockbuster. They both had been so busy with collecting time pieces that they had no time to help him out this time, which he could understand, however it had been regrettable.

“You two came here to watch the recording, huh.-” He turned back to his actors before facing them again and raising a flipper, “-Wait here for a moment.” The sun glass-wearing bird made his way over to where his penguins were resting.

“Darlings, would you do me a favor?” The penguins immediately perked up and turned to him.

“What is it, boss? Did that yellow featherbrain do something again?” One of the penguins simply left and headed toward the exit.

“No, no, that's not it, I need you to help record the next scene...for the little darlings.” He pointed at the two girls, who were currently arguing about something, given that Hat Kid was gesturing around wildly, while Bow had her arms crossed defensively.

The moon penguins collectively sighed and got up, ready to shoot the next scene.

“Thank you, darlings, I'll make it up to you, promise.” With that he spun around gracefully and made his way back to the girls.

“No, I think that 'Train Rush' was way easier to record, at least I knew that I'd be in danger.” Hat Kid argued, sneering at Bow.

“Nuh uh, at least in 'The Big Parade' there was no acid or saw blades chopping up the floor, that was way more stressful.” The two stopped arguing once the penguin got back.

“Rejoice, darlings! My amazing crew has decided that they'd film the next scene, just for you, even though their workday was already over!” He turned around and the lights on set flashed on again. The eyes of the two girls sparkled.

Bow Kid and Hat Kid were enjoying the show when suddenly the big doors opened for the second time, this time they were forced open so violently that they hit the walls.

“HOW DARE YE, DJ PECK NECK!!!” The loud voice of the Conductor tore right through the set, making the penguins stumble and trip and the girls and the DJ cringe.

“Oh dear. What now?” The Dj sighed and turned toward his rival who stomped his way over to his set.

“YE THINK THIS IS FUNNY, EH! HARASSIN' ME LIKE THAT!-” The owl stopped just inches in front of the penguin and glanced at the two girls and smiled. “-Oh, long time no see, Bow, Hattie. Wait just a moment.” He when turned his attention back to the penguin, who was hardly paying attention, already so used to the loud bird's antics.

“What ever is the problem, darling? Can't you see that I'm recording.” The owl's feathers rose up further after being dismissed like that, the two girls could swear that his feathers almost turned red from anger.

“Don't even try to deny it, Grooooves. Ye sent yer penguin to do that!” The owl was glaring daggers at the penguin, who was really starting to get confused.

“Do what, Conductor?”

“One o' yer stupid penguins jus' came up ta me, stopped, and kicked me in the shin! If I hadn't been holding important documents at the time I would've ripped that lad a new one!”

The girls snickered but stopped once the yellow owl looked at them, Bow got so nervous that she grabbed one of the bottles and took a sip to avoid drawing attention to herself.

“What's that, lassie? Never seen a drink have this color.” And just like that his anger somehow vanished completely as he looked at the bottle bewildered.

“I've been meaning to ask the same question, darlings. I don't think they sell those here or on the moon.” Both girls looked at each other than back to the birds.

“Really...You've never had a sip of Caco Calo before? It's very popular in Mafia Town.” The two birds shook their heads. Hat Kid grabbed her bottle and shoved it toward the birds who still weren't sure if that liquid wasn't dangerous.

“Here, you can have a sip, it tastes great!” The kind smile the girl gave him and thinking that it would be rude to just decline, made the penguin grab the red-labeled bottle a bit reluctantly. He opened it while both girls stared at him with bright eyes, just waiting for his reaction.

It couldn't be that bad right if they both drank it, it was fine right? Wrong! So horribly wrong! He swallowed the little sip that he took with great effort, his eyes almost watering at the sweetness and the odd flavor. He retched and his face scrunched up in disgust.

The owl laughed at the silly face his rival was making and grabbed the bottle from him. “Come on, Grooves, let a real bird handle this.” The owl took a huge gulp which he proceeded to spit out right in the penguin's face who looked at him disgusted while he wiped away the liquid, only to find that it was incredibly sticky.

Both girls were laughing at the funny reactions of the two directors who were both still reeling from the aftertaste.

“i drank a lot o' things in me life, but that, that's peckin' disgusting.” The penguin glared at the owl for swearing in front of the children, but he had to agree. It was pecking disgusting.

[adversityfought-a]

                                ( ★ )          𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒.

Didn’t  expect  to  dig  into  Chris’  darker  thoughts  /  negative  emotions  but  here  I  am.  

Put  under  a    —*READMORE—    for  the  sensitive  topic  I’ll  be  mentioning.  Touches  very  briefly  on  Chris’  suicidal  ideations.  Please  steer  clear  if  this  topic  is  one  that  will  affect  you  negatively  or  is  triggering  for  you.

To  put  it  bluntly    -    yeah  Chris,  if  he  didn’t  have  the  massive  amount  of  survivors  guilt  weighing  on  his  shoulders  this  whole  time,  that  strong  sense  of  devotion    &    that  want  to  try  living  in  his  lost  comrades  places,  he  might  have  succumbed  early  on.  He  tries  all  he  can  to  make  sure  those  he  works  with  survive,  but  caught  up  in  as  big  a  shit  storm  as  he  usually  is,  it  all  boils  down  to  experience    &    luck  to  survive    -    unfortunately  a  thing  he  has  in  spades  even  if  he  tries  to  shove  himself  clear  right  in  the  face  of  whatever  danger  they  face.  

Part  of  my  headcanon  for  why  he  got  so  beefy  as  he  had  post  code  Veronica  is  because  of  that  helplessness  at  not  being  able  to  fight  Wesker  of  all  people,  only  barely  managing  to  scrounge  by  because  of  sheer  dumb  luck    &    perfect  timing  among  other  things.  Having  Claire  also  get  caught  up  in  things  only  furthered  that  fear  of  being  useless,  not  strong  enough  to  act  when  people  were  in  danger. Plus  with  them  ending  on  the  note  that  they  did  where  it  was  pretty  much  a  promise  that  Wesker  would  be  back  again  in  the  future,  Chris  has  that  lovely  thing  to  look  forward  to.  It  makes  sense  he’d  want  to  be  ready.  But  also!

He’s  got  a  very  specific  brand  of  protective  defensiveness,  where…  he  kind  of  recklessly  tosses  himself  in  the  way  of  harm  or  puts  himself  between  the  threat    &    whoever  he’s  trying  to  protect  in  a  shield  like  manner.  NOW  CONSIDER.  He  got  as  large  as  he  did  to  act  as  a  giant  target  of  sorts,  to  attract  the  attention  his  way,  an  old  habit  picked  up  from  his  time  as  S.T.A.R.S.  point  man  always  being  the  first  one  to  snoop  out  danger  before  the  rest  of  the  team.  He’d  be  essentially  a  walking  beacon  for  danger,  human  or  B.O.W.  to  take  the  brunt  of  any  attack  meant  for  his  teammate(s).   He  is  very  aware  of  it,  will  purposefully  make  himself  take  the  lead  or  place  himself  in  the  line  of  fire  if  it’s  needed  to  protect  others.  In  his  mind,  it’s  the  least  he  can  do  to  try    &    save  others,  considering  he’s  run  out  of  time  as  is    -    thinks  he  should  have  died  way  back  then.  Whatever  life  he’s  living  now,  it’s  nothing  more  than  borrowed  time  given  to  him  by  those  he  failed    &    let  down.

Soooo…  long  story  short,  Chris  isn’t  actively  looking  to  meet  his  end,  but  he  will  not  put  his  own  self  preservation  above  another  persons  if  he  can  help  it.  The  tie  of  things  keeping  him  from  getting  too  careless  or  giving  up  entirely  is  admittedly  the  knowledge  that  he’s  one  of  the  only  ones  who  can  fight  bioterrorism    &    live  to  possibly  make  things  better,    &    also  the  knowledge  that  his  former  teammates  all  would  have  wanted  him  to  continue  on,  if  not  in  his  stead  then  in  theirs.  So  its  a  frustrating  topic,  one  he  will  internally  debate  himself  on  in  late  evenings  when  he’s  more  glum    &    tired  than  usual.

He’s  even  more  likely  to  slip  into  that  distant,  foggy  headspace  when  he’s  overly  exhausted,  returned  from  an  absolute  failure  of  a  mission,  or  lost  someone  close  to  him.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

You Have to Let Go

For @whumptober2021​′s Day One prompt, “You Have to Let Go” / Betrayal

CW: Forced vampirism, blood drinking, vampire whumpee, whumpee takes revenge, referenced drug addiction

1908, somewhere outside of New York City

“You can’t keep this up forever.” William, one of the oldest members of the pack at just over a century, lays on his back on a chaise, his head hanging off, looking upside-down at the newest vampire in the pack.

Blood does not pool in his head or redden his cheeks, although he’s been like that for an hour or more. He stays pale, his hair and skin and even his eyes all nearly the same shade. It gives him the appearance of a ghost, although he’s solid enough.

Cold, and solid.

More marble statue than man, now. And yet still more man than animal, though that depends a little on the viewer’s perspective.

“Watch, watch me try,” Tristan hisses back at him from where he sits, curled up in the corner of the room, arms around his bent legs. He stares at a mostly-healed scar on his left knee, from a time he tripped and fell in the dark of the basement downstairs. It’ll be there forever now, he’s told, a reminder for eternity of the wounds he wore when he died. 

He pushes on it. There’s no pain.

Of course there isn’t. Pain is your body trying to warn you not to die, and he’s already dead. What is there to warn him of now? All the worst things have already happened. 

There’s a soft cry from an adjacent room, woozy and almost sultry. An answering murmur in Malorie’s low voice. There’s a flirty laugh, and then the next sound is less cry than moan. He’d blush if he still could. Instead, he ignores the sound. Someone paying money for the oblivion the venom offers them, or paying in skin and blood. 

Vampires aren’t picky, and blood renews much faster than coins, anyway.

“We gave you a gift. Wrapped it all up in a bow for you, didn’t we? ” William has an odd accent, like he’s a mix of Brit and something else that Tristan doesn’t recognize. There’s a mocking lilt to his tone that Tristan knows from his own childhood, the landowner’s children teasing him for his oddities and for the way they felt all the families working their land were more or less the same. Tris hadn’t been the favorite of the other farmers’ kids - there’d been whispers behind hands about all the bits of him that weren’t like other children - but they’d banded together against the landowner’s children still. He remembered with fuzzy affection the others picking up rocks more than once to throw in his defense.

There were still parts of home where there were rumors of changeling children, and his mother had angrily shouted down an accusation more than once, when he was young and caught lining up river rocks in perfect circles. But for all that there might be whispers from the old, the other village children had always stuck together when someone from outside came mocking.

He’d been so happy to get away from the town, going on the ship with his parents to America. Tears threaten at the memory of his mother holding him at the edge of the ship, the salt-spray in his face as they set off and away from home and toward what she promised would be a grand new one. 

Her sister had gone ahead first, years before, and had written glowing letters about America as a land of chances that Ireland didn’t offer. 

He wondered, bitterly, if his aunt had already been hooked on the venom by then. If she’d been writing those letters from vampire dens, with a pair of fangs buried in her other arm while she signed Your loving sister, Joanne.

Had she known she would try to sell him before she ever saw his face? Had she sold his parents’ lives, too, somehow?

He wishes, fierce and strong, that they had never left Ireland at all. That his mother had known not to trust Joanne as far as she could throw her. Too late, though. Too late.

Joanne the only one left standing, now. The rest of them are dead.

Even Tristan, who can be dead and still be separated from his parents by the gulf of their different kinds of death, who stares into damnation even if he were fully destroyed now. He remembers trying to confess his sins to a priest who chased him from the church with screams of demon, demon, begone. His soul has been handed over to evil, and all he’d ever done was try to be good. 

Tristan wipes the pink tears from his cheeks before William can see them. “I, I, I didn’t want your, your gift.”

“Does that matter now?” William flips over onto his stomach and drops to the floor into a crouch, smiling. His fangs glimmer in the dimness, as the night stretches on and on towards dawn. Already the horizon is going lighter around the edges, a soft dove gray that will lead soon to pink and blue. Already, Tristan can feel an unnatural exhaustion weighing down his bones, the need to sleep while the sun is up.

“To, to me it does.” Tristan leans his head slowly against the wall, closing his eyes. The pulse of thirst is stronger than his heartbeat ever was. 

“You’re not human any longer,” William says, and there’s a gentleness to his voice that Tristan is surprised by, turning to look at him. “You have to let go of all that. You’re not it any longer, and won’t be again. But isn’t this better?”

Tristan blinks once, twice. “No,” He whispers but fiercely. “I’ve, I’ve, been, um, I’ve been made a murderer, against my will. What of that is, is better?”

“All men kill, one way or another.” William shrugs, casual and unbothered. “We are only more honest about it and our reasons. But here, look, I’ve had one more thing done.”

He claps his hands. Tristan flinches at the sound, but the soft murmurings of the pack from other rooms goes silent. Then they drift into the parlor, one by one. Malorie is still wiping her latest partner’s blood from around the corners of her mouth, smiling. 

There are seven in the pack, not counting Tristan himself. He tries not to count himself.

When he looks now he frowns, seeing only five. “William?”

“We’ve one more gift for you,” William says, and gestures to the open double-sized doorway. 

Tristan stares as the last two members of the pack appear, with his aunt held between them, bound until she has to be dragged and cannot walk on her own.

Joanne’s eyes are wild, rimmed in bright white. She is gagged, cloth tied over her mouth until it bites viciously into the corners of her mouth. She sees him and begins to struggle anew, shouting as best she can. Nonsense sounds, muffled, pointless shouting. 

He can’t tell if she is begging for her life or cursing him.

He wishes he could believe it’s the former.

“What, what, what what what is this?” His words are barely a whisper, as he unfolds himself, pushing up onto his feet. His gums begin to itch around where his fangs have grown, the venom ready. 

“She’s behind in her payments again,” Alyssa says, laying her head on Joanne’s shoulder, her long brown hair falling half over her face. “In too deep. Chases the fang and doesn’t pay her rent, doesn’t pay us either.”

Tristan stands perfectly still, feeling nearly frozen. His aunt’s terror and panic are something he can smell, now, the sharp tang of adrenaline. It sours the blood, but there are vampires who prefer it that way. Who say the sour taste of pain and fear is a higher form of flavor.

William steps up to his side, running a hand down Tristan’s arm. He flinches away from the touch, but he knows better than to move away from the pack leader more than that. His chin tucks down in unconscious submission to William’s will. “You, you, you you you want me, to, to… kill her?”

“You miss your family,” William says, softly. “It ties you to your old life.” He smiles, something Tristan can see from the corner of his eyes, and leans his head slowly against Tristan’s, mingling white and red hair together. “She’s the reason they’re lost to you, right?”

“Yes,” He whispers in reply, turning slightly into the touch. William’s cool hands comes to cup his face, and he presses a soft kiss, light as air, against Tristan’s cheek, the corner of his mouth, finally presses their lips together.

It’s all sensation without temperature, and Tristan hums, opening his mouth for it, letting William take what he wants. His packleader’s tongue finds his fangs, presses against the venom glands just above and behind them. 

A tingle of venom falls onto Tristan’s tongue.

William hums. “Good boy,” He whispers, making Tristan shudder, half-disgusted and half-grateful for the praise. 

Joanne’s struggles kick up into a frenzy, but they do her no good. She’s bound so tightly that her wrists are rubbing raw to bleeding, and he can smell it. Saliva gathers in his mouth, his venom pulsing, sizzling on his tongue like a hot pepper eaten raw. He finds himself shaking, hands clinging now to William’s arms just to stay standing.

Joanne welcomed them when they got off the boat. But she’d snubbed Tristan’s father, had never liked him. She’d helped them find work, and all along she’d gone places at odd hours of the day and night. 

All she’d said to him after his parents died and he moved in with her was that his mother was never meant to die. She’d been meant to be out of the apartment, but had decided not to go on the errand to the woman who took in piecework, and Joanne had told him, I didn’t know she’d be home, or I’d have changed the day, wouldn’t I?

Then she said he should stop mewling in his grief, and slapped him full in the face for it. 

His lips pull back from his teeth, although he isn’t quite aware of it. Only of the taste of blood in the air on his tongue. 

“Have your revenge,” William whispers, the devil tempting a boy who has never been a saint. Tristan wonders if his mother will hate him, in her eternal rest, that he isn’t strong enough to resist this chance. 

He tips his head back and lets William mouth along the line of his neck.

“Let death come upon them, and let them go down alive into hell.” The verses come easily, without stammering. He was always better at reciting what he’d been taught to memorize, the words his mother read and reread to him, than at speaking for himself. “For there is wickedness in their dwellings, in, in the midst of them. But I have cried to God: and the Lord will save me.” His lips twist, and the tears burn so hot it feels like they are boiling over his eyes and down his cold skin. “But, but, but I cried, Aunt Jo, and-... and and and no one saved, um, saved me.”

He turns away from William and meets his aunt’s eyes.

She stares back at him, still struggling, still fighting. The blood from her torn-open arms runs down her hands behind her back, dripping to the floor. He can hear each droplet hit one by one. He can smell the fear in her, and he can smell what she’s spent her day doing. That she slept late, and ate at a place down the block from their tenement where the old woman sells sandwiches, the big blocks of meat carved to order. 

He can smell that she never thought of him at all, as she prepared to come here, to the den, for venom she can pour into a cocktail. He can smell even the way she was surprised when they told her there would be no more credit for her, she must pay now or perish.

She can’t pay. There is nothing left. She’s long since spent every bit of scratch that she gained from the deaths of her sister and brother-by-marriage, the extra cash that came from selling her nephew into… this.

He’s been moving across the floor and barely noticed. He’s only a foot or so away from her now, and the smell of her sweat is as strong as her blood. His pack members can see the fight in him fading, he’s sure, because their eyes are overbright and glittering with excitement. 

He holds her gaze.

It’s easier, since he died, to look people in the eyes. He’s not sure why.

“You,” He says, in a low voice that no longer trembles. “You made it so, so, so so I won’t ever be seeing them again. As a cloud is consumed, and passeth away: so he that shall go down to hell shall not come up. If, if you had, if I had died with them, if I…”

His throat feels like it’s closing, his voice dries up. 

“But, but, but, but you made me be damned,” Tristan manages, finally, his voice thready and barely-there. “Even if… even if I, if someone, if I am… I’ll still never, um, never see them again. We are, are, are, are both damned, now.”

William, just behind him, a cool presence the same temperature as the air around them, hums, interested. His hands rub up and down Tristan’s arms. “Will you kill her, Tristan? Have your vengeance? We’ll clean what’s left up for you.”

“No.”

Everyone inhales, although they don’t need to, in surprise.

Tristan stares one last time into his aunt’s frightened eyes. “I, I, I won’t, won’t kill her. But, um, but but but… but… I want… want you, your gift to be something else, William.”

“Name it, little brother.”

I’m not your brother.

He doesn’t bother with the protest. Not anymore.

“Turn her,” He says, softly. “And then, um, then then then wall her up in, in the cellar, and and and leave her, to, to starve.”

“A new vampire who doesn’t feed faces the true death anyway, in a month or two,” Malorie points out. When Joanne turns her head away, Malorie grabs her by the hair, forcing her to look back at Tristan with a cry of pain. 

“I don’t care. I, I, I just want her to, um, to suffer.”

He walks away, moving around the little group, and out into the growing new light of the early dawn. His bones already feel weighed down by the promise of sunlight. 

There is a workshop, a rickety wooden shed, in the yard. Tristan moves into it, closing the door to give himself a nearly-total darkness, and burrows down into the dirt, curling into a ball, closing his eyes. His hand grasps, instinctively, at a rosary he can no longer wear. Finding nothing, he finally goes still.

He hears one long wailing scream from his aunt from within the house, and then no more sound at all. 

He wonders how long it will take her to have her first death.

He wonders how long it will take for her to feel her second death, the true death, as she is starved of the blood her body needs to fully become the monster she had Tristan himself made into.

His mother would care.

Tristan doesn’t.

He falls asleep as the sun comes up, at the same time his aunt’s body shuts down bit by bit. Her heartbeat is the last thing to still.

Tristan’s heart stopped beating nearly four years ago.

-

@mylifeisonthebookshelf @insaneinthepaingame @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @endless-whump @newandfiguringitout @astrobly @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @pretty-face-breaker @doveotions @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband @what-a-whump

[dwaynepride]

just like we were kids

pairing: young!gibbs x reader, young!ducky + reader

summary: 5 times gibbs kisses you and 1 time ducky kisses you.

warnings: reader is kidnapped, mentions of rope burns

words: 4,196

a/n: very loosely based off the 400th episode but not strictly

It’s been a very long day.

Gibbs sat next to a crying baby on the bus riding into DC, the hotel receptionist gave him a hard time when he tried to check in, and he was forced into the trunk of a car with a gun pointed to his head.

“He forced you, Marine?”

Gibbs withheld an annoyed sigh; only because this agent was pretty alright. “There were civilians around. Didn’t want to risk it.”

“Noble,” the agent responds. “But a gamble.”

Yeah. A gamble that only sorta paid off because Gibbs knows you’ll give him an earful just as soon as you get here.

“If it wasn’t for that idiot driving on the wrong side of the road, you might be the one in our morgue.”

God, Gibbs hopes he doesn’t say that when you’re around.

In the distance, he hears the elevator ding. And the agent motions toward it. “Now, you got a chance to say thank you. Looks like he’s back from the hospital to give his statement.”

Gibbs turns, spotting the man in a bowtie with his arm in a sling and talking the ear off of the women who brought him up here. The Scotsman was ranting off about American driving habits, no doubt blaming it all on why he crashed. Hearing it makes Gibbs smirk.

“Mr. Mallard,” the agent greets.

“Actually, Dr. Mallard. Well, former doctor,” he corrects.

Without any hesitation. Jethro likes him already. “Sergeant Gibbs. Former trunk.”

That’s when Dr. Mallard finally looks to him, paying little attention to the scrapes on his face. “Ah,” he replies. Gibbs can’t help to notice he looks just a little amused.

“I owe you a drink,” Jethro says.

“Well, that depends,” Mallard intercedes immediately. “How do you feel about scotch?”

“I’d feel better about bourbon.”

“Sold.”

Smiling, Gibbs reaches forward to shake the other man’s hand. They reflect each other’s expression - Dr. Mallard pleased for a free drink, and Gibbs just happy to be out of that trunk. “It’s the least I could do, considering your car was probably totaled-”

“Jethro!”

Oh no. Gibbs and his rotten luck was about to rub off on you.

He hadn’t even prepared anything to say. Hadn’t thought of a special way to ease your worries because Gibbs has been too caught up with the NIS agent and giving his statement. So when he looks over Mallard’s shoulder, watching as you march up to him with wide eyes, Gibbs visibly winces. “Hey. First of all, I’m okay. Second-”

“How could you possibly be okay?” Your eyes were immediately focused on the red scrape on his forehead - right now, he figures you’re expecting the worst. “This is serious, Jethro. How do you think I would’ve felt if I got a call saying you were dead? I know you like to think you’re big and bad, but-”

“Have you met Dr. Mallard?” Gibbs immediately turns your attention to the Scotsman in the bowtie, who immediately greets you with a tight smile once you face him. “He’s the one who saved me. Kind of.”

“Only by sheer stupidity, believe me.” Mallard reaches out a hand, and after a moment, you take his. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

You let out a tiny sigh, seeming to Gibbs like you were winding down, now that you’re sure he was okay. “Thank you, Doctor. As you can tell,” you snap your eyes to Jethro, “he gets himself into trouble, a lot.”

Gibbs says nothing, now that the eyes of four different people are on him. He shifts his weight awkwardly, reaching out to grip your arm and pull you closer. And to really suck up to you, he leans over to press a kiss against your temple - he hopes that’ll be enough of an ‘I’m sorry’ for now. “Well, the Doctor’s gotta give his statement so I think we outta let him,” Gibbs says, hoping to turn the attention off of himself.

“Yes, of course,” Dr. Mallard agrees. Gibbs is grateful - up until Mallard faces you again with a smile. “Though, you should most definitely join us for a drink. It’ll be on his tab, and you’ll be there to keep him out of trouble.”

For a moment, Gibbs feels almost defensive. He’s about to speak up, but before he can say anything, he sees you nod your head. Even worse, you’re smiling. As if agreeing with Mallard that Jethro needs watching over.

Though, you’re smiling now. Maybe it’s not so bad.

-

It’s late. And the coffee doesn’t seem to be working anymore.

Gibbs had training for staying up all night. There’s been times when he’d gone three days with only a couple hours of sleep. But even that would’ve been preferable to sitting at a table, staring at files and papers, and listening to Dr. Mallard’s mumbling.

“It doesn’t make any sense...we’ve got to be missing something...”

Yeah. No kidding.

Gibbs rubs his eyes with a long sigh. He’s tempted to just call it a night and try again in the morning when he and Mallard are rested up. But Jethro stays - much too stubborn to walk away, even if it’s past midnight.

He has his chin propped up on his hand, fighting the alluring close of his eyes, by the time Jethro hears the front door close and your footsteps against the wood floor. “You guys are still awake?”

“Yeah,” Gibbs mumbles.

“We’re nearly finished,” Dr. Mallard says - he’s slightly more awake, but not by much.

“Right,” you reply. Jethro recognizes the disbelief in your voice. It’s the same tone you use with him a lot. “Well, are you two hungry?”

Coffee is the only sustenance he’s had all night. At the mention of food, Jethro looks over. And a grease-stained paper bag has never looked so amazing. “Is that…”

“Just some burgers from a diner. Not many places are open this late, so it was a bit of a drive.” You approach with the food, and Jethro stands to take the bag from your hands. And you’re smiling at him - looking tired, but still so sweet and soft and it immediately relieves the ache of exhaustion from Gibbs.

You drove all around town to bring him and Mallard some food. He didn’t deserve you.

“You didn’t have to,” Jethro says. Though, he handles the burgers like an injured puppy. “We got stuff here…”

“Don’t be ridiculous, man.” Dr. Mallard stands as well, taking the bag from Jethro and opening it up to retrieve his burger. “It’s not right to downplay the generosity of your partner. Try thanking her.”

Gibbs narrows his eyes at the other man, but his hunger wears down his stubbornness. The burgers smell fucking amazing, and Dr. Mallard is right.

He looks back to you, steps in closer, and leans down to press a kiss to your cheek. Your skin is cold from the night air - Gibbs feels bad that you went through the trouble. “Thanks. We appreciate it,” he says lowly. If Mallard weren’t here, Gibbs might’ve dragged you to bed. Warmed you up and thanked you in his own favorite way.

He notices your flush. Maybe you picked up on his own personal thoughts, somehow.

So Gibbs looks away, reaching out to retrieve his own burger before the doctor notices anything. And you clear your throat, smiling at the both of them while backing up. “Well, enjoy the food. I think I’m gonna go get some sleep. Try not to stay up all night, you two!”

A smirk comes over Jethro’s lips as he falls back down into his chair, and he doesn’t notice Mallard watching him until Gibbs is just about to take a big bite out of his burger. His teeth are on the bun when his eyes flicker up. “Wha’?” He asks hotly.

Dr. Mallard simply shakes his head, taking his seat and moving his files aside to make room for the burger you brought him. “Nothing. It’s just that...she’s a keeper.”

Jethro didn’t need some Scot to tell him that.

-

“Keep looking out here! I’ll check inside!”

Jethro didn’t bother yelling out an acknowledgement. He took off in the other direction, letting Dr. Mallard make his way into the dark, silent building by himself. Maybe if his heart weren’t pounding so fast or if he weren’t so fucking angry and scared and worried, Gibbs would be smart and think about Mallard’s safety.

After all, if these scumbags had the balls to take you, what’s to stop them from killing him?

Jethro doesn’t think about that, right now. His shoes pound against the pavement, swinging his flashlight around wildly. The parking lot is empty and pitch black - the shine of the flashlight barely does anything to cut through the darkness. He tries to stem his breathing and silence his heartbeat; just in case you’re crying out for him.

He hears nothing. The taunting hoot of an owl, but that’s it.

This is his fault, of course. Everything is his fault. Maybe if he just left the case alone and let those agents deal with it, you wouldn’t be missing and he wouldn’t be running around trying to find you. Dr. Mallard tried calming him down and reminding him that they’re trying to get these bastards off the streets for this very reason.

Doesn’t seem worth it, though. Not when it comes to you.

Jethro takes a few more steps, panting hard, still straining his eyes against the blackness. His grip on the flashlight is so tight, his fingers start to hurt. Maybe you’re not even here. Maybe they got it wrong. Maybe they missed something-

There. On the far end of the parking lot. Something reflects the light of his flashlight, and it’s too big to be anything but a vehicle.

Immediately, Gibbs takes off again. His shoes barely hit the concrete with how fast he’s running, and when he finally reaches the car, he shines the light inside. Finding empty seats, Jethro’s stomach drops.

That is, until his eyes find the trunk.

Jethro calls your name as he comes around to the hitch. His breath is stuck in his lungs, and he barely even registers the light tapping from inside the trunk before he yanks it up.

You flinch at the sudden bright light. Hands coming up to shield your face, balling yourself up tighter. Gibbs immediately notices little red lines around your wrists. Notices the little tears and scuffs on your clothes. He shakes with something mixed with rage and relief.

“Hey, hey, you’re okay,” Jethro breathes out. He tucks the flashlight under his arm to reach out for you. His hand on your arm seems to calm you - it lets you know that you’re safe and he’s got you and everything is okay now. You peek out from behind your eyes, cheeks wet from tears but they’re not wet enough to loosen the tape strapped to your mouth.

Jethro reaches out instantly to pull it off. He’s slow, gentle, and as soon as your lips are visible, you suck in a deep breath. “Jethro…”

“I’m here. You’re okay now.”

He tries his best to hide the tremor of his hands as Gibbs takes his knife out and cuts the rope off your wrists and ankles. These bastards really went all the way - taking you and terrorizing you just to get to him and Mallard. He’d make sure they paid.

As soon as you’re freed, your arms are wrapped tight around his shoulders, face pushed against his chest and sniffling. The flashlight is obscured, but Jethro doesn’t need to see the harsh tears staining your cheeks. It’s bad enough to hear your little whimpers of his name, and the most he can do is hug you back and murmur out comforting words.

Eventually, you pull away. Still leaning on him, not even pulling yourself out of the trunk yet, but wanting to see his face. “It happened so fast,” you tell him, voice small. Jethro frowns as he fits his hand against your cheek - there’s a bruise there that concerns him. “And they were saying how you and Dr. Mallard were getting so close, and I was insurance, and I didn’t know if you’d find me, and-”

“Hey, I’ll always find you, okay?” His thumb caresses over your cheek, mindful of the purple bump there. “I’m sorry. This is my fault. You shouldn’t have gotten caught up in this. I should’ve protected you better.”

Your eyes are wide and frightened, but the way your eyebrows quirk together slightly tells him that you probably had something to say. Probably to negate what he’s said because he knows you don’t like when he says things like that. Blaming himself for things he can’t control.

Instead, Jethro leans in to desperately press his lips against yours. The kiss tastes like salty tears and a hint of blood but you hold onto his jacket so tight that he doesn’t even think about if the kiss might hurt.

He was worried. You were scared. He just wants to kiss you.

And even the sound of Dr. Mallard calling his name from across the parking lot isn’t enough to break it.

-

“She’s fine, right? That’s what the doctors said?”

“That’s what I said,” Mallard tells him, voice tight. But there’s an empathetic look that helps calm Gibbs down a bit. “I assure you, I wouldn’t lie about her condition. I checked her over myself - the worst of it is only the rope burns on her wrists.”

Gibbs breathes a little easier. It’s been a wild couple days and it feels like the first deep breath he’s taken since.

“I assume you’d want to see her.”

Jethro nods his head once, brow furrowing together. He’d done enough waiting.

Dr. Mallard smirks before he turns and walks with Gibbs down to your room. He knows it’ll be hard, seeing you laid up in the white hospital sheets. It was hard enough pulling you from the trunk of the car and sitting with you until the ambulance came. Hard enough having to put you on the back burner to finish what he and Mallard started. The guilt was still there, of course. He knows you don’t blame him, but it’s not enough.

Gibbs feels a nudge against his arm, and he looks over to find Dr. Mallard watching him. “You should be happy,” he points out.

“I am.”

“I hope you’ll be a better liar once we get in there.” Gibbs scoffs and looks away, but the doctor isn’t done. “You’re fortunate it wasn’t any worse. With the men we were dealing with-”

“Yeah, I know, doc. They coulda killed her, or worse. And it would’ve been my fault because I wasn’t smart enough to think ahead and protect her.” Jethro turns back to Mallard, and he doesn’t bother to hide his scowl. “Is that what you want to hear?”

“Yes. It is,” he replies boldly. Fucking of course. Gibbs is tempted to walk off before Mallard's gaze turns more sympathetic. “But that’s not what she wants to hear. So better to get it all out right now so you can’t dump all those guilty feelings on someone who’s already been through enough.”

He hadn’t thought of it that way.

Jethro’s eyes drop. Mallard was right, of course. It pissed him off to admit it, but Gibbs probably would’ve gone in there and apologized for something you didn’t really want to relive. Another case of him not thinking.

Dr. Mallard pats him on the shoulder. When Gibbs looks up, he motions to your room with his head. “Well, let’s get a move on. I’m sure she’ll be happy to see you.”

And Jethro will be glad to see you, too.

He wastes no time reaching your door, and he carefully opens it but can’t help poking his head in just as soon as he can. Gibbs doesn’t quite know what to expect, and even with Mallard peeking in from over his shoulder, he feels like he should be walking on his toes.

But the image of you sitting up in bed with a smile proves him wrong.

“Hey! You’re here!”

Jethro doesn’t reply. He just smirks and revels in his relief that you’re actually okay.

“Of course, we are!” Mallard replies, moving past Gibbs to approach your bedside. “We wanted to tell our partner about the outcome of our little investigation, didn’t we, Gibbs?”

Jethro’s eyes move away from your bruised face, glancing to the doctor before nodding once. “Yeah. Bastards got caught trying to leave the state. They got ‘em at the border,” he tells you. Though, he can’t keep his eyes from wandering. Your arms, once so soft, are marred with bandages and bruises. Jethro reminds himself to breathe.

“But obviously, we were also worried about you,” Dr. Mallard adds on. His tone is softer, this time. And as Gibbs moves past him to take the seat by your bed, he continues. “You’ve got nothing to fear. They can’t ever hurt you again.”

Jethro reaches out to take your hand, and you squeeze his right back. Dammit, Mallard was so good with that heart-to-heart stuff. It never really occurred to Gibbs to put your mind at ease, like he had. He’d just been so angry and guilty and worried - well, it goes to show how much more you deserve than him.

“Yeah, I know.” Your voice is light. A little hoarse. The sound of it makes Jethro tighten his grip.

“He’s right,” Gibbs speaks up. And when you turn to look at him, he makes sure his face is hard and determined. Not as shaky as he feels. “I’m never gonna let something like that happen again. I promise.”

“Yeah,” you respond. “I know.”

Your smile grows. Just a little, because of the bruises. But it prompts one on Jethro’s face, and as his chest gets a bit tight, he softly lifts your hand up. The bandages cover up the ugly rope burns around both your wrists - they’ll go away in a few weeks. Still, he places a soft kiss on top the bandage. Just to help you heal a little faster.

-

If it were up to Gibbs, he would’ve taken you right home and let you rest. And personally, after all the bullshit, he really just wanted a quiet night with you and a couple glasses of bourbon. And no Dr. Mallard.

Things never usually go as planned for him. A night at the bar is in order to celebrate.

Though, Jethro can’t complain much. You’re seated on his lap, and he’s free to wrap his arms around your waist and tug you close and glare at anyone giving you a second look. Call him protective, but he’s just being safe.

And he let you and Mallard chat away about the case. Mostly about how the NIS agents took all the credit for bringing them in.

“It’s unfair,” you say crossly, glancing back at Jethro before looking to the doctor again. “Do they know how much danger you guys put yourselves in? Or what I went through? And they get the credit?”

Jethro’s grip on your waist tightens. He smirks when he feels your hand settle on his arm.

“It’s not really about the credit,” Mallard replies, leaning back in his chair with a shrug. “For me, I’m just happy those bastards won’t be out terrorizing any more innocent people. I looked into some of their victims - poor unfortunate souls who wouldn’t have been missed by anybody. No friends. No family. It’s a real shame.”

The table grows quiet, even as the bar ambience around them is still as loud as ever. You end up leaning back against Jethro; likely needing his comfort.

And he readily gives it. Because you so easily could’ve been one of those victims. Not unknown without friends or family, like the others. But still gone. Still ripped from Jethro’s arms.

“Would’ve missed you,” he finds himself mumbling.

Gibbs didn’t intend for you to hear. He was counting on Dr. Mallard keeping your attention. But it seems like the music and the chatter wasn’t enough to keep his mindless words from your ears. Because as soon as he presses a light kiss against the ball of your shoulder, you’re twisting your head around to smile at him.

His eyes immediately dart away, because he knows the kind of smile you’re wearing.

“Have a little too much to drink, Jethro? You’re getting all affectionate.”

“Yes,” Mallard speaks up, happy to change the subject. “I think he’s gone on to his third glass of scotch!”

-

It’s one o’clock in the morning. Gibbs kept checking the time.

He wouldn’t say anything about it, though. Not when you were having fun and relaxing after that whole ordeal.

Still, Jethro couldn’t help a little sigh when he finally stepped out of the bar. He holds the door open for you and Ducky - a nickname you’ve given the Scot that took the hold of liquor to stick.

“Well, that was a jolly time. Been a while since I’ve had a sip with companions I could tolerate a conversation with. I’ve found there’s very few people in America who want to sit down for a drink in a pub…”

“Bar,” Jethro says. He hears your soft snort of laughter from behind.

“Bar,” Ducky repeats with a smile only a drunk man would wear. It brings to mind when the doctor had been teasing Gibbs about drinking too much. And just as he goes to sit down on the curb of the street, you’re right there to help him down. Preventing the intoxicated doctor from falling straight on his ass and patting his shoulder once he’s leaning against a stop sign.

Jethro smirks at the sight, shaking his head lightly as he approaches the street to flag down a taxi. Yeah, it was late. It’s been a trying couple of days. But he can’t admit that he didn’t have a little fun. Ducky attempting to teach you some Scottish drinking songs was surely a highlight.

His hand waves up at an oncoming taxi, and thankfully, it notices him and veers over. “Alright, doc. Time to get you home. You know the address of your hotel?”

Gibbs comes over to help you pull Ducky back up, but the other man just regards him with a huff and a frown. “Of course I do, Marine. I’ve got a very good memory, you know. Like a Bottlenose Dolphin. Do you know it’s theorized that dolphins have an even longer memory than elephants?” Ducky stumbles a little over his own feet, almost falling into the street in front of the taxi. But Jethro catches him before he can fall. “Imagine that: a whole metaphor undone because of a single study…”

“That’s very interesting, Ducky,” you tell him lightly, a giggle edging your voice.

Jethro pulls the door open, intent on helping Mallard in so you don’t strain yourself doing it. But the doctor puts a hand on the roof of the cab, balancing himself so he can turn to face you. He’s reflecting your easy smile, and Jethro can’t help but narrow his eyes as he watches the doctor lean over to take hold of your hand.

Is Mallard some kind of drunken flirt? Gibbs fixes his jaw.

“You’re a very charming person, and I do look forward to working with you again. I pray it’s sooner rather than later,” Ducky says. And with no hesitation, he presses a chaste kiss against your knuckles - still a bit tender, but you don’t look as if it bothers you.

Which is why Jethro is tempted to just shove Mallard into the taxi and send him on his way.

Granted, the kiss was brief. He releases your hand and turns to Gibbs, whom he gives a brief nod to. “Same to you, Marine.” And with that, Dr. Mallard ungraciously climbs into the backseat of the taxi, and Gibbs can tell he’ll be chatting the driver’s ear off the whole way. His voice fades as the car drives off.

“That was fun.”

Immediately, Jethro’s eyes leave the cab to look at you. “The drinking, or that kiss?” He asks maybe a bit too sternly.

Your eyes go wide in surprise, lips slowly quirking upward as you gaze up at him without a word. And Jethro winces inwardly at the can of worms he likely opened without even meaning to. He turns away, intent to find another cab for the two of them. But you’re not ready to drop it. “Well, I don’t know. Which did you enjoy the most?”

“Geez,” he mumbles. “Ya know, we should’ve just stayed home. You’re really in no condition to be out and about.”

You don’t reply. Instead, your arms appear right around his waist, closing tight and leaning up against his back. He’s thankful for the position, at least, so you couldn’t see the smirk on his lips. And when Jethro places his hand on your arm, he’s careful to avoid the bandages. He wants to touch your skin, anyway.

“Y’know, Jethro, if you wanna kiss me, you don’t have to wait until after Ducky does it.”

[sleepdeprivedsloth]

In the Dead of Night

[MHA - Midoriya, Bakugou]

summary: Not wanting to return to a nightmare, Bakugou spends the night alone in the common area. That is, until Midoriya finds him and tries to get his old friend to open up with an effective technique from their childhood. (platonic BakuDeku tickle fic)

potential warnings: swearing, tickling

words: 1.5 k

a/n: ahhh my first fic!! …kinda hoping no one sees this but yeah imma post it anyways haha. hopefully whoever ends up reading this will enjoy it! happy national tickle day guys :D

--

Bakugou stared blankly out of one of the windows in the common area, gazing into the empty void that was the night sky. He rarely ever was awake during the dead of night, but yet here he was. Sleeplessly seated on the couch, long past the time his classmates all retired to their dorms.

He would much rather be asleep, heaven knew he needed the rest, but he was not going to risk returning to his nightmare. The experience felt more like he actually relived the sludge monster incident rather than only a dream. He could never willingly go back to that.

His mind being in its own world, Bakugou didn’t quite catch the faint sound of footsteps that grew closer. He vaguely recognized the familiar noises of the refrigerator door opening and closing before he was brought back from his daze by a hand offering him a bottle of water in front of his eyes.

Bakugou looked up and spotted no other than Izuku freaking Midoriya. He felt his facial features try to form a glare out of a force of habit, but his body was too exhausted to actually comply. Reluctantly, he grabbed the water bottle and took a sip as the green-haired boy wordlessly sat on the opposite end of the couch.

Midoriya, whose brain was still in the waking-up process, had just been awakened a few moments ago with his throat strongly craving for some cold water. Maybe it was due to the fact that his mind was still a bit clouded with sleep, or that the two boys had been sitting in silence for an uncomfortable amount of time, but Midoriya actually broke the silence and spoke up.

“What are you doing up at such a late hour?” he asked, turning slightly in his seat so that he could study Bakugou’s reactions. Midoriya didn’t know what he expected as a response, probably a snarky reply or just outright rage, but what he received definitely shocked him.

Bakugou completely ignored him and avoided any chance of eye contact by staring straight ahead. It was as if he didn’t know that his classmate was sitting not even three feet away from him. Midoriya immediately became more attentive and alert, his Kacchan Radar going off like crazy. Bakugou never missed an opportunity to pick a fight with or insult anyone, especially Midoriya.

To his credit, Midoriya took a moment to consider his options. He could go interrogation mode on Bakugou, but he doubted that the blonde would actually open up to him like that. Maybe he could just sit there in silence until Bakugou willingly chose to talk to him, but that could honestly take days. Of course, he could go back to his dorm and leave Bakugou alone, which was probably the option that his classmate would have wanted him to choose, but when was Midoriya even known for actually pleasing Bakugou?

Suddenly Midoriya remembered a technique that had never failed him back when he and Bakugou were younger. A method that they had both been sworn to secrecy about, and hadn’t been used in years.

“Why are you down here so late, Kacchan?” Midoriya asked again, grinning slightly, this time punctuating the other’s name with a poke to his side.

Bakugou let out a quiet yelp, obviously not expecting a small tingling sensation to suddenly shoot through his entire body. He internally cursed himself for showing a reaction and flinching away from the touch.

Still awaiting a response, Midoriya dared to poke again, but before his finger could come in contact with the boy’s body, Bakugou abruptly brought himself to his feet and made a move to leave the common area.

Midoriya quickly and quietly followed suit, walking up behind his unsuspecting classmate. He tasered his index and middle fingers into both of Bakugou’s sides, latching onto them and relentlessly digging in. “C’mon Kacchan, talk to me!”

Bakugou had to squeeze his eyes shut and cover his mouth with one hand to prevent himself from making any noises that could potentially wake up his classmates. He desperately tried to fight off Midoriya’s fingers with his other hand (emphasis on “tried”), but he was too tired physically and mentally to actually get away.

With the advantage of the surprise attack on his side, Midoriya was able to keep the minimally thrashing Bakugou in his grasp. Being the teasing shit that he is, Midoriya taunted, “I bet you wanna laugh, huh Kacchan? Go on, you’ll feel better if you just let it out.”

“N-no I w-won’t!” Bakugou argued from behind his hand, struggling to keep the laughter building up inside of his throat under control. “If we w-weren’t in the dorms right now I would not he-hesitate to blast your ass into nehext week.”

Midoriya gave a playful, over-dramatic gasp. “Did the Kacchan just giggle?” He moved his hands up to Bakugou’s ribs and started scribbling his fingers against them, causing the boy’s weak wall of defense to come crumbling down. As Bakugou’s little laughs started leaking out, Midoriya continued wiggling along the sensitive bones and drilling into the grooves between them. “I am now officially addicted, I must hear mor-”

“Hehehaha Deheheku quirk! Quhuhuhuirk!”

Midoriya immediately recognized the meaning of the word and stopped his tickling, letting his own arms drop to his sides. He watched as Bakugou bent over, arms wrapped tightly around his torso, trying to regain his self-control.

Meanwhile, Midoriya’s head began to flood with memories from his childhood, when the two boys had tickle fights almost on a daily basis. To prevent one of them from pushing the other past their limits, they had decided to use “quirk” as some sort of safeword. Midoriya was a bit surprised that he had immediately understood Bakugou’s intended context of the word, considering that it hadn’t been used for what felt like forever.

A soft, sentimental smile crossed Midoriya's face as he caught a glimpse of Bakugou's face for the first time since tickling him. The blonde’s lips were brought upwards in a reluctant smile and a light blush, most likely from embarrassment, dusted his cheeks. If only Midoriya had a camera to capture the rare moment.

“Did it really tickle so much that you had to call “quirk?”” Midoriya questioned, genuinely curious if he had gone too far.

Being somewhat in control of his own body again, Bakugou stood to his full height and faced his former best friend. If Midoriya noticed that his arms were still wrapped around and protecting his ribs, he didn’t say anything. “Of course it wasn’t that bad, dumbass. I-” Bakugou paused for a moment before looking away from Midoriya and continuing in a whispered voice. “I just didn’t want to risk making too much noise and waking anyone up and…”

He didn’t have to finish his thought for Midoriya to catch on to what he meant. He easily realized that Bakugou didn’t want any of their classmates to find out that he’s ticklish, which was understandable.

Midoriya nodded, showing Bakugou that he didn’t need to further explain. They stood in silence for a moment before the greenette chose to speak up again. “So why are you down here so late at night instead of sleeping in your dorm?”

Bakugou’s body visibly stiffened as he quickly cast his gaze towards the floor. If he hadn’t been exhausted beyond belief and still recovering from those nimble fingers that definitely did not tickle him, he probably would have told Midoriya to screw off and mind his own business. But instead, he answered, “If you really must know, shitty Deku, I had a dream about the damn sludge villain. I didn’t wanna deal with that shit again, so I just came down here to wait out until morning.”

Midoriya knew from experience that Bakugou didn’t want comforting words or pity. That would only make him feel even more vulnerable than he already was, and that wasn’t Midoriya’s intention. So instead, he simply replied in an indifferent tone, “Oh, alright then. Mind if I wait out here too then?”

Not waiting for an answer, Midoriya walked back to the couch and sat back down, spreading out comfortably but still leaving more than enough room for Bakugou. The last thing he wanted was for his former childhood best friend to have to recover from a nightmare alone. But he would never say it out loud, for Bakugou’s sake.

Two minutes passed before Bakugou inevitably decided to walk over and take the seat next to the other boy. Midoriya looked over and caught his classmate’s eye, nodding slightly to him with a small smile before turning back to gaze outside of the window.

Having gone from childhood best friends, to bully and victim, to rivals, to… wherever their relationship stood now, the two boys shared a strong bond that neither of them knew how to describe. But just being in each others’ presence in the dead of night, enjoying the silence between them, was comforting.

However, the pair would definitely not be feeling so relaxed if they hadn’t failed to notice a certain pink-haired alien queen that managed to capture a short, incriminating video before excitedly running off back to her dorm only a few mere moments ago.

--

a/n: thanks for reading, and i hope you guys liked it! i’m still working on that fandom list but yeah MHA will definitely be on there lol. i’ll try to update again soon but until then have a great life y’all!!

[xmyshya]

Shoved it: chapter II - Ollie

summary: You don’t like skaters. They’re unruly, misbehaved and rude. But this one encounter just might change your view. genre: fluff warnings: tooth-rotting fluff (seriously, make a dentist appointment), slow burn, mutual pining betas: @vanille–kiss​ as always I’m eternally grateful to you, I love you lots a/n: Written for ANILYSIUM (former HQHQ) Server Collab with the prompt “Meet Ugly”. Check the event’s masterlist here! series navi: masterlist | previous | next wc: 1.5k

It’s a nightmare. Everything must be just a bad dream, and soon you’re going to wake up. No more invading your sleep. No more being watched and followed through the halls. No more running, no more hiding, no more irritation.

But here’s the thing - it’s reality. And the Prince Charming from your nightly illusions still has those half-lidded olive eyes; the same eyes that meet yours at school and observe your every move. He’s everywhere you go, behind every corner, on every floor. You wouldn’t be surprised if he was in your closet.

Obviously it’s an exaggeration. While it’s true that you notice him more often than not, he’s also much taller than other students. His little circle of friends consists of really handsome boys, causing a commotion and squealing of the girls surrounding them. But, much to your dismay, he notices you just as much.

@mikYou know people like him. You know boys like him. Misbehaved jerks, thinking the world revolves around them and rules are meant to be broken; convinced that one smile is enough to make any girl fall in love with them, only to break their heart. But you, you’re not a part of this world, you refuse to be, and you want nothing to do with him.

Unfortunately, the stalker (as you like to call him) not only dares to smile and wink at you, but tries to approach you. So far you’ve managed to avoid him, spotting his messy brown hair towering over swarming students. This time, however, you failed to notice until it was too late. Until he had you trapped between his arms, your back against the wall.

“What do you think you’re doing, punk?!” You spit in his face, earning a tsk from the boy.

“Do I look like a punk to you?”

You want to retort, you really do, but the intensity of his gaze makes you open and close your mouth, like a fish thrown out of the ocean.

“Suna.”

“What?”

“I figured you didn’t know my name. Suna Rintarou.”

“I didn’t ask.”

He doesn’t know why you seem to hate him so much and it drives him mad. At first, Suna only wanted to really apologise for the incident, his conscience still clawing at him. Somewhere along the way it shifted into something more mischievous; seeing you blush and making a run for it giving him a fair amount of entertainment.

Initially you manage to win this game of cat and mouse, your average height being your biggest ally in hiding in the crowd. It certainly doesn’t help that other students tend to concentrate around him, and you’re long gone before he even scrambles out of the group. But he never misses the heat blossoming on your cheeks when he sends a wink in your direction.

Today might be Rin’s lucky day though. Most of the other teenagers are already gone, the halls pleasantly quiet and empty. You’re walking in front of him alone, and he’s sure you aren’t aware of the boy behind you.

He’s never been so grateful for his silent footsteps, or maybe you’re just too spaced out, because he sneaks up on you and pins you to the wall. Once more you look up at him with those big shiny eyes that make his stomach feel tingly, and maybe this time you’ll let him get closer…

Again, all he’s offered is baseless hostility, even in exchange for his name. You’re slipping through his fingers, at one moment being trapped between his arms, between his body and the wall, and in the next walking away. Not bothering to introduce yourself. Not sparing him even a glance.

***

Suna has another problem and this one is more urgent - he’s failing a class. In a sense, it’s his own fault for being late or even completely missing it. In his defense, it was in the morning, it was boring and unnecessary in his life, and he had so much other stuff to do. He can’t let it hold him back, not when he’s so close to being free.

The teacher was kind enough to give him a piece of paper containing the name and available hours of his potential saviour. Such a drag, he thinks but still walks towards the classroom where his tutor should be. Two knocks on the doorframe, but the girl inside is still turned back.

“Excuse me, I’m here for tutoring?”

His heart is hammering in his chest when the person turns towards him and it’s… you.

The weather is nice, it’s not hot despite the sun shining brightly, the cloudless sky has the most beautiful shade of blue. Gentle breeze rustles the leaves, birds chirp a song only they know. You can only admire it all from the window, having agreed to rescuing those in educational need.

You don’t mind, not really, as long as they put in some effort. There are some who just come and demand, those who don’t listen and claim to not understand anything later. You hope your next case won’t be one of these.

A deep voice brings you back to reality, a voice so familiar that it gives you goosebumps. You turn to look at your new student and for a second you think that if a headache had a human form, it would be him.

***

“Why do you hate me so much?”

The boy in front of you still stares at the problem at hand, spinning a pen between his fingers. You sigh.

“This is not a subject of our meetings.”

Now his olive eyes are focused on you, awaiting an answer he isn’t going to receive. You have no intention of entertaining this attempt at whatever it is.

“I’m not as bad as you think.”

“Why do you even care what I think?”

Rin only shrugs.

“Okay, could you please help me with this? I’m stuck.”

***

Contrary to your idea, Suna isn’t a hopeless case. He understands things quickly, without the need of repeating the same explanations over and over again. What bothers you is the amount of material you have to go through, because of his absences. With test retakes approaching quickly, you meet for sessions twice a week.

There isn’t much off-topic chatter, the scribbling of pen on paper being the only sound filling the room in between his questions. It’s comfortable and effective, and soon you feel at ease in his company.

In the third week of project “Ace the test”, as you jokingly call it, Rintarou greets you with a range of differently flavoured jelly sticks.

“You can take all of them, or just the ones you like.” He explains seeing your confusion.

“Why?”

“Because you’re staying after hours for me, and I don’t know how to repay you.”

You blush as you mumble “simple thank you would have been enough”, but in the end reach for three that taste like your favourite fruits. Suna smiles and commits your choice to his memory.

After that the boy makes sure to bring something in one of those flavours to your meetings - yoghurts, juices, chocolate bars with fillings, everything he could find. It would be a lie if you said you didn’t appreciate the gesture; it was sweet of him to bring you something as a compensation for your time and efforts.

It’s even cuter when on one particularly rough day after seeing your stressed frown, he dumps a whole bag on the desk. Upon opening you discover that it’s filled with your best-loved snacks; he must have been observing you closely and the realisation turns your cheeks into little furnaces.

There’s no way you can keep ignoring him now, and starting with the next day, you greet him with a small smile and a blush when you pass each other in the halls.

Rin is surprised at how easily the solutions come to his head after your little lectures. You have a way with words, your directions are simple and engaging, and he’s sure he wouldn’t have missed a single class if you were the teacher. He wonders if this is your plan for the future.

One of the discoveries he makes, partially by accident, is that you like silence; at least with a task like this at hand. Suna isn’t talkative which makes it easier, and the more he focuses on modules, the less tense you seem to be. Bingo.

Social interactions are usually tiring and Rintarou doesn’t bother with exhausting things. He prefers observing from the sidelines, watching the gestures and reactions they cause. Food, the boy realises, brings the most smiles. But since he doesn’t know your preferences at all, he’s going to start with what he’s familiar with.

Success has many faces. In this case, success has your blushing face as you grab jelly sticks he brought for you. Suna makes sure to remember which one you chose, and to always have something in one of those flavours. If this is how he wins you over, he doesn’t mind spending his precious energy. Especially not when you warm up enough to stop running away.

taglist: @kageyamas-love @mikasbloodbag