#so knowing it’ll suck at first and will take practice horrifies me

[theheartofone]

Steel in Her Veins, Chapter: Thirty-Nine

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Characters: Fem!Reader x Roronoa Zoro

Chapter Thirty-Nine: Spitfire

I’m going to kill Law.

No, really, I’m planning his demise.

Nami’s fingers gently interlock through my dark and unruly hair, neatly braiding two symmetrical strips across my head - but all that’s running under that brewing scalp of mine is how I can make Law pay for what he’s done.

Last night was the worst. With Zoro’s snoring and his random mutterings in his sleep, I was practically left wide awake, strewn across the open-spaced crumbling floor, my eye twitching in unbridled irritation.

And with my hand being otherwise occupied, I woke up like a mess. Dishevelled and barbaric, my hair kept slipping over my eyes and I was left there with no way of helping myself. At one point, I considered shaving my head clean - but before I could grab a sharp scrap of metal to de-hair myself, Nami had walked to the firepit of where Zoro and I sat like furious toddlers. She took one pitiful long look at me, and then had decided she had to intervene with my appearance.

“Hey, it’s not so bad,” she lightly says in my ear, her fingers looping through another dark brown lock into another. Her other hand pats my head, her orange hair entangling around my shoulders in a sign of solidarity. “Maybe… I don’t know, maybe it’ll make you two learn to tolerate each other more?”

“But he sucks!” I whine out, stamping my free hand against the rocky ground. “He sucks at sleeping, Nami! You know what he so lovingly said in his sleep last night? Into my ear? ‘I’m going cut you down. I’m going to bury all your limbs in different places, so that even in your death you won’t be honoured.’ I was fucking horrified. I couldn’t sleep.”

Robin’s rich laugh echoes throughout the cave, her deep blue eyes fixed on mine. She tilts her head as if considering a thought, a finger pressed beneath her mouth. “I wonder how he’d cut you down with only one hand free to him.”

I gape at Robin and give her a thanks for adding more fuel to my nightmare spout; not to mention, I can feel Nami behind me with a massive grin on her face as she sprays a mist of water against my matted hair.

“It’s not funny.” I pout, eyeing the hot breakfast that Sanji’s so lovingly cooked up, all encircling deliciously around the firepit. “I’m not even in the mood to eat anymore. Zoro eats the size for two fucking orcs, anyway.”

Robin amusedly looks at me as she pointedly lays her book on the floor. She places her chin in the palm of her hand, which in turn makes me raise a brow.

Not knowing why, I hesitate for a second. “What?”

She shakes her head. “I’m sorry, Raya, but I can’t help find this a little entertaining,” she smiles, her eyes flicking to the area next to me. “Especially when Zoro’s sitting right next to you.”

I turn and for the first time in the entire morning, I realise that Zoro is indeed sat right next to me. As if he could even be anywhere else.

I slowly turn, meeting the gaze of someone who’s been pointedly glaring at me for a lot longer than I’ve realised, his bewildered look searing into me as if I’ve just insulted him.

My face falls.

Oh. I did just insult him.

“Really?” Zoro grumbles out, his mouth full of sausage and bread. He instantly drops the rest of his breakfast onto the plate, as if hurt by what I said, and, in a tantrum, wipes the grease on his trousers.

“We have napkins,” Nami quietly mutters out, judgement written all over her face.

My face contorts from guilt to irritation in an instant. “Well, excuse me for trying to have some girl time, Zoro,” I blurt out and eye him with disdain. “I need a way to get through this… imprisonment, somehow.”

“Oh yeah? Why don’t we talk about how you accidentally flashed me when you were taking a bath?” Zoro grins with spite, a brow raised at me in challenge. My face falls, heat growing across my cheeks. Oh, gods. “One second you make me crouch on the floor to get you in the water, and the next second you try to get out, tackling me down all wet and n—"

I clamp my other hand over his mouth shut – sealed tight, air-locked – as I hiss, “It was an accident!”

Nami and Robin burst out laughing, moving their heads between Zoro and I as if witnessing a legendary sword-fighting match.

“Yeah, never mind what I said before; looks like you two are really getting to know each other without my help,” Nami impishly says, making us chained folk both roll our eyes and Robin chuckle louder.

For a moment, Nami hesitates, and before she sits in the empty space besides me, she takes the perfect moment to scruffle Zoro’s mossy hair, making him grumble and helplessly attempt to duck away from her looming hand. Nami only smirks and twirls a few of his green strands in her fingers, eyes glinting at Zoro with the slightest inkling of hope. “You need a hairdresser too, princess?”

“No.”

A kiss of teeth. “You suck.”

“Go bother the cook,” a muffle from a mouthful of sausage and bread quips back. Suddenly, a slow smirk rises on one side of Zoro’s mouth as he takes a moment to look at Nami in the eyes. “Talkin’ about that, didn’t I see you and him gettin’ all tolerant with each other yesterday?”

I look up in surprise, but Robin only smirks with her usual goddamn omniscient look in her eyes. Nami’s face has fallen as if Zoro’s just struck a knife in her face before a terrifying appearance of fury crosses her. A beat passes before Nami and I both shout out at the same time.

“What?” I gasp in betrayal, accusingly stabbing a finger at Zoro’s arm. “Why didn’t you tell me anything!”

“I’m going to pummel you in the face,” Nami grits out through clenched teeth, her legs tensing as she prepares to lunge at Zoro. Instinctively, Zoro raises his free arm to block the incoming blow, bracing himself for impact. But the strike never comes.

Zoro hesitates, slightly opening his eye, puzzled by the sudden stillness. His confusion mirrors my own as I glance at Nami, expecting her fury to have landed by now. But instead of following through with her threat, she’s frozen, her gaze lifted to the ceiling, eyes wide with something that almost looks like awe.

My curiosity piqued, I follow her line of sight, craning my neck to see what has captured her attention. There, in the distance, my eyes lock onto a familiar beady-eyed beast.

Of course, I think, suppressing a wry smile. Great timing.

A silhouette of an unnaturally immense-sized dragon beats its wings in equal movements, with three tiny sized passengers scrambling on his stern – one of them clasping his straw hat on his head with a flimsy arm. Luffy’s screams bounce on any available wall, floor, and ceiling throughout the gaping tunnel, making Aragnus huff out through his snout in impatience.  

I don’t know whether to grin or to snarl at the view – in one sense, I have some gripe with Aragnus, from outing me as some sort of deathstalker in the worst way possible. In another sense, he did what he had to do to keep me alive. I wouldn’t be here, curse-free and, more importantly, without any metallic shrapnel thorning throughout my body.

In any case, he’s not the prey of my fury today. No, that all goes to a certain doctor on board.

Luffy cheers again, his squawky voice reverberating through all our ears. I amusedly smile as I watch both Zoro and Aragnus unintentionally breathe out a resolute sigh at the same time.

Your brother has given me much discomfort this morning, Aragnus hisses through my head, his voice tinged with slight weariness. He has tested my restraint more than once. I’ve considered reducing him to ashes.

For half a second, my eyes widen after hearing his words. Brother. Luffy, my… brother? Not biologically, but I suppose… cosmically?

I push the thought aside and glance up at the massive dragon. Our eyes meet, and I can’t resist flashing him a mischievous grin.

Having a little servant-master bonding time? I didn’t know your courtesy also extends to Luffy.

Aragnus sassily huffs and looks away from me, as if trying to hide the non-existent embarrassment on his face. I serve you, and by extension, those that share your line. It is nothing more than so.

I snort and watch him soar closer and closer to our camp, his wings riding on the fresh breeze coming in within the interconnecting tunnels to each cavern. Yeah, right, I think to myself. If this old grump doesn’t like Luffy, he wouldn’t be soaring around right now, doing so many ostentatious mid-air tricks in effort of gaining his approval.

When Aragnus’s paws gently scrape against the claw-marked ground in landing, Usopp’s the first to slink off his back and onto the floor like quivering jelly.

“I… I’m…” Usopp mumbles out, unable to form a coherent sentence. Sanji curiously strolls over to him and pokes his pale corpse with the tip of his shoe.  

“I told you to eat breakfast before going on that joyride, dumbass,” Sanji grumbles, his tone thick with disapproval. He then turns to Aragnus, twirling an unlit cigarette between his fingers. “Care to do me a favour, dragon?”

Aragnus responds with a low, unintelligible hiss, his beady eyes narrowing as he shifts his gaze to me.

What have I become? A mere trick-performing dog for your pitiful little camp? he grumbles in my mind.

I suppress a snicker, raising my brows in mock chastisement. You heard him, Aragnus.

With an exasperated flick of his wings, Aragnus allows Chopper and Luffy to slide off his arm before lazily turning back toward Sanji. Without warning, a tiny jet of flame shoots from Aragnus's snout, aimed directly at the chef.

“Shit!” Sanji yelps, jerking back as a small burn forms on one of his fingers. He shoots a furious glare at Aragnus, waving his hand to cool the sting. “What the hell was that for, you scaly bastard?”

Aragnus shifts his gaze from Sanji to me, a smug glint in his eyes. Sanji, still nursing his singed finger, turns to me with a frown, his expression a mix of annoyance and disbelief, like a scolded child.

Go on, Aragnus urges, his tone almost playful. Tell him what I said.

I sigh, shaking my head in resignation. “Aragnus says, ‘Oops.’”

Expecting Sanji to blow up at Aragnus’s evident sarcasm, I quickly pull out a plaster from one of my work bags and wave it at him as a distraction, making Sanji instantly zip his mouth shut and stare at me with a terrifying amount of adoration.

“How can you be so... so...” he whispers, taken by my seemingly incredible act of generosity.

“RAAAAYYAAAAAA!” Luffy screams, one of his arms locking around Aragnus’s paw, the other swinging maddeningly like a baseball pitcher until it blurs into only colour and no limb.

“Fuck,” I breathe out, my eyes widening in sheer terror with knowing what’s coming.

Bracing myself, I squeeze my eyes shut, knowing there’s no escape from the chaos that’s about to ensue. In a flash, Zoro reacts, twisting his body and pulling me into him, my head colliding with his warm chest just as Luffy releases his grip on Aragnus and catapults himself in our direction.

Luffy lets out a startled yelp as he crashes into Zoro’s back, his momentum abruptly halted. He bounces off and lands on the ground, immediately pouting as he looks up at us.

“Zoroooo!” he whines, clearly disappointed. “I was trying to surprise her!”

Zoro, now being sandwiched in between two cosmic-bound forces, grunts out a laboured huff.

“You were about to knock her head off clean,” Zoro pointedly says. He looks back at me for a beat and our gazes lock. An inscrutable look washes over him before realisation hits him. His arm disappears from my waist, the warmth of his touch instantly going as quick as it came – and for a brief moment, I wanted to yank his arm and place it back where it was. He peels Luffy off his back like a sticker, depositing him in front of us.

Luffy blinks for a moment as Zoro sorts him out, but when his eyes finally find mine, he grins wildly and twists his arms around me.

“Man, today’s a great day!” Luffy sings, adoringly squeezing me along with all the breath I have. “I have another sis’! Who woulda’ known?!”

“In a weird way, yeah,” I say, an unconscious tiny smile creeping on my mouth. I think the realisation just hit me now, with Luffy saying those words, that we are indeed in some way or another… family.

Zoro watches us, his eyebrows raised in surprise. His eyes flick between me and Luffy, clearly processing the unexpected bond. I just shake my head slightly at him, knowing he’ll probably bring it up later. It’s not like I can avoid the conversation—there’s no running away from him now.

“I wish I was the one who’s cuffed with you, Raya! It’s no fair Zoro’s the one who can spend all the time with you.”

“Trust me, it’s not fun,” Zoro says.

I elbow Zoro and glare at him. In turn, he only looks down at me and teasingly offers a smirk.

As we all begin to sit down, Sanji drags in a humongous tray into our cavern with steaming animal carcasses piled on it. With a swift kick, the tray gracefully twirls and slides, landing perfectly in front of Aragnus’s sat down body.

Aragnus growls out a hum of approval as he begins to dig in, but I look at Sanji with surprise. Sanji shrugs when he notices my questioning stare, a cigarette softly placed between his lips. The end of the cigarette slowly glows with glowing embers in sync to Sanji’s expanding chest.

“Can’t let these dragons starve - else they’d eat us for dinner, my love,” he says. In a hasty effort to change the subject, he nods at the glowing cuff between Zoro and me. “How did that happen?”

“I did it,” a measured masculine voice resounds in the corner. I turn to the sound, and only grit my teeth when my eyes lock onto Law’s. He offers a smirk when he sees my furious expression while coolly walking towards our campfire. The rest of his crew disperse from behind him, eagerly joining us with big grins; Bepo catches my gaze and gives me a sympathetic, yet uncertain, smile.

Sanji frowns at the surplus of Heart members, eyeing them as they begin digging in. “Didn’t know we were having guests.”

Luffy ignores Sanji’s comment, his eyes widening at Law. He shoves his wrist into Law’s face, making the latter scowl and bat his arm away. “Really? Can you cuff me too, Torao? Cuff me!”

“You’re not getting cuffed, Mugiwara. Get away.”

Luffy pouts and crosses his arms. “Why’dya even do it if you’re not gonna do it to me? I wanna join in on the fun.”

“Because,” Law enunciates, brushing past my captain and sitting intentionally right across from me, his eyes glinting at me with a certain kind of mischief, “They were getting on my nerves. I decided to give them a sweet taste of my revenge.”

His lie catches me off guard, and I give him a strange look. I was almost certain this would be the moment he'd spill everything—my true identity, the dark history behind my newly awakened power. But he doesn’t. Instead, he brushes it off as a simple prank, leaving me confused and a little suspicious. Is he planning something, or was this just an unexpected act of kindness? The way the lie slides off his tongue so effortlessly makes me narrow my eyes at him, unsure how to interpret his intentions. The double entendre in his words doesn’t go unnoticed either.

“So, you decided to bind them together?” Robin raises a brow.

Law shrugs, popping a piece of bacon in his mouth. “A harmless prank.”

“Harmless, my ass,” I mutter to myself, making Zoro snort out loud.

Law only smugly cocks his head at me in tandem to biting a piece of toast. A wave of anger pierces through me, seeing him act so nonchalant and unworried. If only I could just sink my teeth into him the same way he’s taking those bites of food.

I shiver aggressively, shaking my head as if trying to throw those awful intrusive thoughts away. What the fuck is happening to me? My own mind is coaxing me to submit to murder.

Zoro, in the corner of his eye, watches me with a frown on his face. I don’t know how long he’s been monitoring me, but it only hits me now that he’s intently keeping an eye on my reactions. But not once this morning have I seen him sheathe his swords to his hip; his hand hasn’t moved from his plate or his thighs and this makes me feel incredibly… out of sorts.

“Where are your weapons?” I mumble quietly, pretending to look at the rest of the camp and the members animatedly talking within it.

I intently watch his face to see if he makes any minute expression on it, but Zoro only shrugs in response. His lashes flutter and shadow over his tan cheeks as he looks down to his empty plate, his calloused fingers stretching across his thigh in idleness.

“I don’t eat with my swords,” he says, giving me a sarcastic eyebrow raise. I scoff at him.

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

He pauses and looks at me, his gaze firm and absolute. “I told you before, Raya. I’m not scared of you.” He leans in slightly, his voice lowering as he continues. “But I have this feeling you’re taking what I’m saying the wrong way, the way you always do.”

Instantly, I take in a sharp breath. My mouth opens and closes, determining on how I should respond to him, and for some reason, I can feel the heat rise to my cheeks as I hold his immovable stare.

Before I can respond, Luffy’s boisterous laughter cuts through the silence. He’s already engrossed in conversation with Usopp, who has finally found his voice after the dragon ride. Their lively banter echoes through the cavern, but Zoro's words still linger in my mind.

“You’re always like this,” Zoro continues, his voice softer now, almost like he’s trying to reason with me. “You overthink things. Sometimes it’s not that deep.”

I scowl at him, the defensiveness rising up before I can stop it. “I’m not overthinking anything,” I retort, but even I can hear how unconvincing I sound.

“Sure,” Zoro replies with a lazy smirk, leaning back slightly. “Whatever you say.”

I turn my head away from Zoro, staring straight in front of me out of pettiness, but instead, my eyes accidentally lock with Law’s, making all of those repressed feelings within me start to coil tighter.

Revenge, another unwanted thought brushes against my mind. No, not revenge – justice. Attack him, fight him, terrify him for your freedom. That’s what I want. That’s what will sate my fury.

Law doesn’t miss my gaze darkening for even a second. He leans his torso over slightly, taking me in, tracking me with those troubled yet sharp eyes.

“I think you and I should talk,” Law steadily says, quiet enough so that it drowns in the midst of other peoples’ animated conversations. I think you and I should talk, before you do something that you’ll regret, he means. Before I fall victim to these vicious thoughts that only appeared when my true form was awakened.

I purse my lips and nod once, but intentionally, I eye the rest of the crew as a reminder that this area isn’t private enough. Law nods, standing up as he brushes crumbs from his jacket, whispering something unintelligible to Bepo before he coolly walks towards the other side of the cavern.

I look at Zoro and, in front of the others, obnoxiously say, “Well, I guess we should go and do some sword stuff.”

The end of his mouth twitches amusedly as he looks at me with a deadpan look. “Yeah. Totally. Can’t wait to do some sword stuff.”

Zoro rises to his knees with a deliberate calm, his eyes not leaving mine as he offers a hand to help me up. I take it, trying not to focus on the warmth of his grip or the way his rough skin contrasts with mine. Once I’m up, he releases me almost immediately, his hand dropping back to his side with a casualness that irritates me more than it should.

We begin walking toward the edge of the cavern, and I can feel the weight of several pairs of eyes on us. Nami and Robin, no doubt amused by the exchange, Luffy probably still sulking about not being involved, and Sanji… well, Sanji is always watching with that intensity he tries to disguise as casual interest. But I don’t dare glance back to confirm; I’m too focused on keeping my composure as we head toward Law.

Law, standing in the shadows at the far end of the cavern, watches our approach with an unreadable expression. The usual smirk he wears is absent, replaced by something more serious. It makes my nerves prickle, a sense of foreboding settling into the pit of my stomach.

I glare at him. “So, are you going to explain what you did to us?” 

Law takes a moment to sigh, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose before taking a moment to fully look at the chain that bounds Zoro and I together.

“I wasn’t lying last night. Roronoa, you did fuck up,” Law mutters, taking a step forward to examine the damage. His fingers gently trace over the linkage as he looks up at me. “I was supposed to be bound to you – not to him.”

I laugh out loud, because that’s the only way I can react to hearing this piece of information. “Please, tell me, where did your logic disappear off to when you were brewing up this idiotic plan?”

He glares at me. “Answer me honestly, Raya. If you weren’t bound to Roronoa right now, would you have run away and disappeared from your crew just so that you didn’t have to face your possible doom?”

My laughter dies in my throat, replaced by a cold silence as I stare at Law. His question hangs in the air, heavy and unyielding. It’s as if he’s reached into my mind and pulled out the one thing I’ve been trying to ignore—the gnawing fear that if given the chance, I might just run. Disappear into the shadows to avoid facing whatever monstrous power has awakened inside me.

“Thought so,” Law says quietly, his tone less confrontational and more understanding than I expected. He steps back, giving me space, but the weight of his question still presses down on me.

“That,” an inked finger points at my cuff, “weakens your powers. It keeps you in check, meaning we won’t have accidental God outbursts whenever something mildly unpleasant happens to you. Until I do some more research on your powers and how we can help you from turning into another Tyr, that’s going to stay there as a precaution.”

I glare at him. “So, you’ve basically imprisoned me.”

“If that’s how you want to see it, sure.”

I bristle at this slightly. “Don’t you think you’re being a little bit too dramatic?”

“If you’re volatile now, what would you be like if your full powers are unleashed?” Law counters. There’s a pause where I shift from one foot to another, unsure of how to respond. He continues, frustration evident in his face. “Look, if either of you have any other solutions, then I’m happy to hear them.”

“Could you then at least unbind me?” Zoro intervenes, pointedly looking at the cuff encircling his wrist. “I don’t get why I’m roped into this.”

“You’re roped into this because you decided you couldn’t keep your sticky fingers away while I was in mid-incantation,” Law snaps, his eyes narrowing on Zoro. “I’m not redoing my work, Roronoa. It’s not a permanent spell, and it’d actually be helpful if you could keep an eye on things. Just give me a few days to learn more about Kozuki’s awakening, and all of this will be done and dusted.”

Before Zoro can open his mouth, Law turns his attention to me, his gaze piercing me with sincerity. “One of Tyr’s evident mistakes was not learning of his bloodline, of where all his power even originated from. It’d be wise if you did some research on your past, though I know that idea pains you. But the faster we figure this out, the easier you’ll have it.”

I narrow my eyes at Law, the weight of his words settling over me like a heavy shroud. Research on my past? The idea of delving into that unknown, murky territory is as appealing as walking barefoot on shards of glass. But the reality of the situation is unavoidable—if I don’t take control of this power, it will control me, and I’ll be no better than the monsters we’ve been fighting against.

“I hate that you’re right,” I admit, the bitterness in my voice unmistakable. “But I’ll do it. Still, that doesn’t mean I’m okay with being treated like a ticking time bomb.”

Law nods, his expression softening slightly. “I don’t like it either, Kozuki. But this is the safest way for now. I’ll do everything I can to help you figure this out.”

Zoro, still looking less than thrilled with the situation, tries to cross his arms but tugs me aggressively to his chest. Flustered, he steps away from me, ignoring my irritated expression, and gives Law a hard stare. “Look, just make sure you follow through, Torao. I’m not interested in playing babysitter any longer than I should.”

Law rolls his eyes but doesn’t rise to the bait. “Believe me, I’m as eager as you are to resolve this.”

I look between the two of them, feeling a strange mix of gratitude and irritation. As much as they’re both insufferable in their own ways, I know they’re trying to help. And as much as I hate to admit it, I need their help.

“Let’s get this over with,” I mutter, turning to leave. I tug on my wrist connecting to Zoro's, making him grumble out a string of curses. Law watches us go, his expression unreadable, but I can sense the wheels turning in his mind. He’s not done with whatever plan he’s concocting, and that thought makes me uneasy.

But then, I pause in my footsteps without thinking; Zoro yelps and only barely steps away before he collides into me. I turn around and look at Law, my face set very serious.

“Law,” I mumble. He looks up from his thoughts and raises a questioning brow. I clear my throat, averting my gaze. “Thank you… for, um… not outing me to the group today. You could’ve done that and made it a lot easier for yourself, but you didn’t. I… appreciate it.”

Law’s expression softens, and he gives a slight nod, his usual cocky demeanour tempered by a rare glimpse of sincerity. “I’m not here to make your life harder, Raya,” he says quietly. “I just want to make sure we all get through this in one piece.”

I hold his gaze for a moment longer, then turn away, pulling Zoro along with me.

“Kozuki,” Zoro suddenly bites out. I look up, surprised in hearing the tenseness in his voice.

“What is it?” I stare at him, noticing the way his brows are furrowed and his mouth pursed deeply into a frown. I sigh and look down at our cuffs. “It’ll be temporary, Roronoa. It’s shitty, I know—"

“It’s not that,” he quickly cuts me off, his gaze locked on me with dead seriousness. “I need to piss.”

*

It’s the afternoon – and a hell of an afternoon it is. The clanking of metal against stone fills another cavern, a steady rhythm as Zoro sets up his gym equipment. The dumbbells, barbells, and various other heavy objects he loves to train with are neatly laid out, but the usual calm of his workout space is anything but. I sigh internally and feel Zoro unintentionally yank on my wrist again, almost toppling me over to the floor.

“Do you have to do this right now?” I hiss through gritted teeth, frustration already bubbling over me as Zoro on me tugs once again, making me almost dive headfirst into the cement. “I’m not really in the mood to be amputated today, you know.”

“If I don’t, I’ll lose my edge,” Zoro replies, his tone dismissive as he grabs a dumbbell with his free hand. His muscles flex, the veins in his forearm standing out as he starts his reps. It’s a sight that would have been impressive—if it wasn’t so fucking inconvenient.

I try to remain still, but every time Zoro moves, the chain binding us jerks taut, sending a sharp jolt through my arm and pulling me slightly off balance. It’s as if the chain has a life of its own, tugging me this way and that with every flex of his muscles. The constant, unpredictable yanking makes it impossible to find any sense of equilibrium, and the frustration builds inside me like a kettle about to boil over. Each time he lifts the dumbbell, I’m dragged along in a clumsy dance, my patience wearing thin as I fight the urge to scream and knock the weight out of his hands.

“Do you always have to be so intense?” I mutter, shifting uncomfortably as Zoro reaches for a heavier weight, his muscles straining with the effort.

He doesn’t even look at me, his gaze locked on some invisible point ahead as he methodically lifts the dumbbell, his biceps bulging with each slow, controlled movement. The sheer focus in his eyes is almost intimidating, as if nothing exists except the iron in his hand and the sweat on his brow.

“Can’t you just stand still for an hour?” he finally replies, his voice steady, barely winded, as if he’s unaware of—or perhaps indifferent to—how much he’s disrupting my balance with every lift.

“Easier said than done,” I grumble under my breath, struggling to find my footing as Zoro powers through his routine. His focus is unbreakable, each lift executed with precise control, his muscles flexing and unflexing with mechanical efficiency. Meanwhile, I’m left to wrestle with the constant tugging of the chain, the metal links clinking with every one of his movements.

I grit my teeth, determined to stay as still as possible, but it’s like trying to stand on shifting sand. Every time Zoro hoists the weight, the force of it sends a jolt through the chain, yanking me off balance. My feet shuffle awkwardly, trying to keep up with the relentless push and pull, but it’s no use. The more I fight it, the more my frustration builds, the irritation bubbling under my skin like a pot about to boil over.

Seconds stretch into minutes, each one dragging on longer than the last, my irritation growing with every lift, every clink of the chain, every muscle that Zoro flexes without a care in the world. I can feel my temper fraying, the last threads of patience snapping one by one until finally, I can’t take it anymore.

“Would you just stop!” I snap, my voice echoing off the cavern walls, the words bursting out of me with all the pent-up anger I’ve been trying to hold back. I yank my arm back in a futile attempt to steady myself. Zoro grunts at me pulling away from him, his torso ever so slightly being pulled towards my direction, yet not enough where I could make a convincing point.

Zoro pauses, lowering the weights with a huff. He looks up and glares at me. “If you keep complaining, this is going to take forever. Just deal with it.”

I narrow my eyes at him, mocking his condescending tone. “Maybe if you weren’t so damn single-minded about this, we wouldn’t have a problem.”

Zoro’s eyes finally meet mine, and there’s a flicker of something dangerous in them, a darkness pooling in his grey iris. The sweat across his tan skin reacts with his mossy green hair, allowing it to lay matted and wet across his forehead. I can’t help it – I can’t look away from him, the way the muscles in his jaw tense as his gaze darkens, locking on me with such intensity.

A bitter smirk curls at the corner of his lips, a teasing glint in his eye as he slowly lifts his free arm. The movement is deliberate, almost taunting, and I can’t help but watch as his biceps flex with effortless strength. His rough, calloused fingers rake through his hair, pushing the damp strands back into place with a careless grace.

“You’re really pushing it, Kozuki.”

“No, you’re pushing it,” I childishly bite out.

“C’mon. You haven’t even seen half of it.”

I scoff out and raise my brow at him. “Is that supposed to scare me?”

Zoro’s smirk is slow and deliberate, curving with a dangerous edge that sends a shiver through me. His gaze locks onto mine with an intensity that makes my breath catch, a look so charged it silences any retort I had prepared. “You really want to know?” he murmurs, his voice low, almost taunting.

Before I can respond, Zoro drops the weight with a resounding thud, the sound reverberating through the cavern. His movements are fluid, every gesture calculated as he turns toward me. In one swift motion, his arm wraps around my waist, and suddenly, I’m lifted off the ground, my breath hitching in surprise as I’m drawn tightly against his chest.

“Wait, what the fuck—” I gasp, my hand instinctively reaching out to steady myself, fingers clutching at the firm muscle of his shoulder. But Zoro doesn’t hesitate, his grip strong and steady as he shifts me effortlessly, pulling me closer until my feet leave the ground completely. The way he holds me with such ease and power leaves me momentarily speechless, my pulse racing as the reality of our proximity sinks in.

“So eager to complain,” he teases, his voice a deep, rich rumble that seems to resonate through my entire body. “I figured I’d put you to good use.” His words are laced with amusement, but there’s a challenge in his tone, one that stirs something inside me I hadn’t anticipated. He begins to lift me higher, his muscles flexing with every powerful movement. The sensation of being pushed upward, with him guiding me so effortlessly, is dizzying. Then, just as smoothly, he draws me back down, bringing my face dangerously close to his. The warmth of his breath grazes my skin, the closeness of him overwhelming, almost intoxicating.

“You’re such a brute,” I hiss, trying to muster some irritation, but my voice betrays me, coming out softer and more breathless than I intended. Zoro’s smirk deepens, his eyes gleaming with a knowing amusement as he senses my wavering resolve. He lifts me again with the same ease, his hold unyielding. Sweat glistens on his skin, tracing shimmering paths over the defined contours of his muscles as he moves. His gaze remains fixed on mine, a playful light in his eyes as he watches me struggle to maintain composure.

Realising I’m outmatched, I allow my body to relax, surrendering to his strength. He manoeuvres me with such confidence, as though I weigh nothing, and the way he handles me sends a thrill through me, awakening something deep within that I can’t quite explain.

Without warning, Zoro pulls me back toward him, his movement gentle yet firm, until our faces are just millimetres apart. His breath brushes against my cheeks, warm and teasing, sending a delicious shiver down my spine. His eyes, sharp and focused, flick from my lips back to my eyes, mischief dancing in his gaze. “You’re a lot lighter than my usual weights,” he murmurs, his voice dropping to a husky whisper that wraps around me like a caress. “Maybe I should add some difficulty.”

With that, his fingers begin a slow, deliberate exploration of my waist, tracing the curves of my body as if committing each one to memory. His touch is light but intentional, his hands gliding over my hips with a lingering caress before he suddenly shifts his grip. A surprised yelp escapes me as his arm slides lower, his strong fingers gripping my thigh as he lifts me higher against him. The movement pulls me flush against his chest, the solid strength of his body pressing into mine, and I can’t help the way my breath quickens in response. My legs dangle helplessly for a moment before instinct takes over, and I wrap them around his waist, desperate for balance and a semblance of control that seems to be slipping away.

“Put me down, or so help me Gods,” I snap, but my voice betrays me, a sultry edge creeping into my words that I know he can hear. His smirk widens, the satisfaction clear on his face as his voice drops to an intimate whisper. He pushes me upward, positioning my midriff against his face, his calloused fingers tracing the tender skin beneath my thighs with a touch that is both possessive and gentle.

“Why?” he murmurs, his breath warm against me. “You’re finally being useful. Besides, you seem to be enjoying this.”

I hate that he’s right. I hate the way my body reacts to his touch, the way my pulse quickens as his muscles shift and flex beneath my hands. The way he holds me, the firm yet tender strength of his grip, the heat radiating from his body—it’s all doing something to me that makes it hard to think, let alone protest.

“I-I’m not…” I stammer, but the tremor in my voice reveals the truth, the unsteady rhythm of my words making it clear. I clear my throat, struggling to keep my expression neutral, to fight against the overwhelming sensations that have taken hold of me. “I’m not feeling anything.”

Zoro chuckles, a low, rumbling sound that seems to vibrate through his chest and into me, connecting us in a way that feels almost tangible. He pulls me down again, this time bringing his face so close to mine that I can see the faint flecks of darkness in his stormy grey eye. The intensity in his gaze is almost too much to bear, a magnetic pull that draws me in even as I try to resist. “Liar,” he whispers, his breath mingling with mine, a quiet challenge that sends another shiver down my spine.

His hand slides up my back, his fingers pressing into the small of my spine, urging me even closer until the space between us is nearly non-existent. The heat of his body seeps into mine, his presence overwhelming in a way that makes it impossible to focus on anything but him. I can feel every inch of him now, every subtle shift of his muscles, every breath he takes. It’s overpowering, this closeness, this connection that seems to vibrate in the very air around us.

“You’re such an ass,” I mutter, but the words lack any real force. My pulse pounds in my ears as I take in the details of his face—the way the scar over his closed eye stands out in a lighter shade against his golden skin, the sweat that glistens on his neck, tracing elegant lines down over his defined collarbones and disappearing beneath the dark fabric of his shirt. His presence is magnetic, impossible to ignore, and I can feel myself being drawn deeper into his pull, unable to resist.

Zoro’s grip on me tightens, the possessiveness in his touch growing as his breath hitches slightly when I shift against him. My fingers dig into his shoulder, gripping him as firmly as he holds me, as if we’re both clinging to each other, caught up in a moment that feels charged with energy.

“Are you done complaining now?” he murmurs, his voice rougher than before, a low growl that sends a thrill through me. His breath fans across my face as he speaks, the closeness amplifying every sensation, every emotion swirling between us. He tilts his head towards me, his lips only a mere fraction away from mine. “’Cause I can deal a lot more damage if you push me.”

I open my mouth to retort, but the words falter as I feel his grip tighten just a fraction more, his body pressing closer to mine, enveloping me in his warmth. The room around us seems to shrink in size, filled with an unbreathable heat that consumes us both whole.

But just as quickly as it began, Zoro suddenly releases me, lowering me back to the ground with a smoothness that leaves me stunned. The absence of his touch is startling, a cold shock to my system, and I have to fight the powerful urge to reach out, to pull him back and demand an explanation for the storm he’s just stirred within me.

“Let’s get back to training,” he says, his tone more controlled now, though there’s still a hint of that dangerous edge lingering in his voice. He averts his gaze away from me, staring at a spot in the wall across from him.

I silently nod, trying to ignore the lingering heat in my veins as we return to his workout routine. But as Zoro picks up his weights again, I can’t help but feel like something has shifted between us—something that can’t be easily ignored.

And as much as I hate to admit it, I’m not entirely sure I want to ignore it anymore.

I try to shake off the feeling, to push away the frankly baffling mix of sensations swirling inside me. The irritation, the heat, the connection that seems to hang between us like a thick fog. I know I should just let it go, move on, and pretend that nothing happened. But I can’t. Not with the way Zoro’s gaze flickers toward me every so often, not with the way his muscles tense with each movement as if he’s trying to keep himself in check.

An hour later, the clanking of weights eventually slows, then stops altogether. I look over to see Zoro wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, his eyes still glued to the floor in that usual contemplative way of his. I can’t help but notice the slight tremor in his hand as he sets the dumbbells down, the brief pause as if he’s weighing something in his mind.

“Alright,” Zoro finally says, breaking the silence with a gruffness that belies the uncertainty I can see in his eyes. “I’m done for now. Let’s find a place to crash.

I nod, grateful for the chance to escape the suffocating atmosphere of the cavern. The chain between us rattles as we gather our things, the sound a constant reminder of the bond that keeps us tethered—both literally and figuratively. We move through the dimly lit tunnels in silence, our footsteps echoing against the cold stone walls. Neither of us speaks, but the quiet isn’t entirely uncomfortable. It’s more like an uneasy truce, a temporary pause in the ongoing battle of wills.

The small cubby hole barely has enough room for the two of us. The walls feel like they’re closing in, every breath of mine echoing against the stone as we awkwardly settle in for the night. The chain binding us together makes the situation even more uncomfortable, the metal links clinking with every slight movement.

Zoro lies beside me, his eyes open and his body tense, as if ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice. The silence between us is heavy, filled with the unuttered sentiments we’ve exchanged in glares and scowls. But despite the discomfort, there’s no real anger left—just an odd sense of acceptance that this is our reality now.

I shift slightly, trying to find a position that doesn’t strain my wrist or press me too closely against Zoro. He’s warm – too fucking warm, actually – his presence a steady reassurance even as it irritates me. The silence stretches on, but it’s not uncomfortable. We’ve said too many apologies in the past, and if I’m being honest, they’ve lost their meaning; now, it’s just about getting through this without driving each other insane.

I’m trying to find sleep, but it eludes me. My mind keeps replaying the events of the day—Law’s words, his insistence on me having to comb through my bitter past, makes me less tired and more agitated.

“You’re thinking too much again,” Zoro murmurs, his voice low and rough from fatigue.

I turn my head slightly to meet his gaze. His eyes are half-lidded, but there’s an alertness in them that tells me he’s not as close to sleep as he appears.

“Hard not to,” I mutter, shifting slightly to ease the stiffness in my neck. “It’s been a long day. And having to sleep like this isn’t helping. In fact, this whole setup's fucking ridiculous.”

“I mean, you’re making it worse by moving around so much,” Zoro grunts, his voice rough with fatigue.

“I can’t help it,” I retort, frustration bubbling up as I try to wiggle free. “You’re taking up all the space.”

“There’s only so much space to take,” he bites back.

I huff, annoyed but also too tired to keep arguing. Instead, I settle for glaring at the darkness, my body tense as I try to find some semblance of comfort. The silence stretches on, thick and heavy, but I can feel Zoro’s presence beside me like a physical weight.

After what feels like an eternity, Zoro finally breaks the silence, his voice low and rough from disuse. “You ever think about your family?”

I blink, caught off guard by the sudden question. Family isn’t something I talk about often, and certainly not with someone like Zoro. But there’s something in his tone that makes me pause, makes me consider answering honestly.

I turn to him. “Why the question?”

“I would’ve told you earlier, but I didn’t know you were a Kozuki for a while. I’ve met some of your family, you know.”

I purse my lips and search his gaze, but he doesn’t offer me any sort of reaction. I huff and look up at the dark ceiling, my free hand resting across my chest, fingers thrumming out of agitation.

“Law did mention that you met them,” I say. He doesn’t respond; instead, he closely watches me, as if wordlessly telling me to continue. I clear my throat. “Hiyori gave you the Enma, didn’t she?”

“Yeah, she did,” Zoro admits.

I purse my lips and train my eyes on the ceiling. Hiyori. The sole reason I regret leaving Wano; the girl who gave me reason to keep on living whilst I was back in that confined world with their confined beliefs of what women can do with their lives. My heart pulses sourly; thinking of what she must feel like, what she’s doing… Would I ever see her again? Even now, with my unpredictable awakening, those chances are growing slimmer by the moment.

“She…” My voice cracks slightly, making me quickly clear my throat as if to cover up the poor blunder within my defences. “She must have trusted you very much to give you a piece of our heritage.”

Zoro remains silent for a moment, his gaze softening as he watches me wrestle with my thoughts. I can tell he’s not the type to pry, but there’s a genuine curiosity in his eyes, a need to understand. When he finally speaks, his voice is gentler, lacking the usual roughness.

“Hiyori’s strong,” he says simply. “She didn’t just give me Enma because she trusted me. She did it because she believed it was the right thing to do, to protect Wano.”

I nod, my thoughts drifting back to my time home. The memories are hazy, but they’re laced with a bittersweet nostalgia. I can still see Hiyori’s determined face, the way she carried herself with grace despite the weight of her responsibilities. It’s strange to think that she’s still there, carrying on the legacy of our family, while I’m here, far from home and bound by chains—both literal and metaphorical.

“She’s always been strong,” I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper. “Stronger than I ever was. I admired that about her. She would stay, even if it meant she would fuck up her life and her dreams along with it. I… Well, I run away from things a lot.”

“Oden ran away a lot,” Zoro mentions. “That’s what I heard, anyway.”

I laugh out loud. “See, I’d normally be upset with a comparison to Oden, but I guess that’s pretty accurate.”

I pause and look at him, a thought flashing across my mind. Enma’s still broken into bits; that being completely my fault. “I promise I’ll get Enma fixed soon, though… I think facing that sword had been a nightmare of mine for a while. She holds a lot of…bad memories, but I think that she might be the key to finding more about my past.”

Zoro purses his lips and looks down as if he’s about to say something. He hesitates for a moment longer before finally opening his mouth. “Don’t worry about it. Honestly, I don’t think I can face that sword right now, anyway.”

I raise a brow and look at him, completely taken off guard. Zoro’s not the type to just admit something like that. “What? What do you mean?”

He sighs and avoids my gaze, shifting his head toward the black ceiling.

“Sometimes… I feel like Enma brings the worst out of me. It feels like if I slip up in my mental defences, I could be consumed by her power and then… turn into someone… really evil.”

Zoro’s admission catches me off guard, and for a moment, I’m at a loss for words. The Zoro I’ve come to know is so sure of himself, so unyielding in his strength and resolve, that hearing him express doubt—especially about something as significant as Enma—is jarring.

“I didn’t think you’d ever admit something like that,” I finally say, my voice softening despite myself. “I guess even you have your limits.”

His gaze flickers to mine, a shadow of vulnerability passing through his eyes before he masks it with his usual stoicism. “Everyone does,” he replies gruffly. “Even someone like me. But that doesn’t mean I’m gonna give up. I just need to get stronger—to control it, not let it control me.”

I nod, understanding more than I’d like to admit. The fear of being consumed by power is something I’m all too familiar with. “It’s not easy, is it? Facing something that could potentially destroy you.”

“No, it’s not,” Zoro agrees, his voice low. “But it’s the only way. If I let fear hold me back, I’ll never achieve my goals. And I can’t afford that.”

For a few minutes, we both remain silent, both savouring the words the other has said, our minds beating against the dark shadows that try to consume us within the night.

A realisation crosses my mind, and before thinking about it, I turn to Zoro.

“You’ve never told me about your family, you know,” I quietly mention. I look at him hesitantly. “Is there a reason?”

Zoro's expression shifts slightly, his gaze turning inward as if he's considering something he's not used to sharing. For a moment, I think he might brush off the question, but then he speaks, his voice low and measured.

“I don’t really have much of a family,” he begins, his eyes still focused somewhere distant. “At least, not in the way most people think of it. I grew up in a dojo. My sensei, he took me in when I was a kid. And obviously Kuina.”

My lips curl upwards in hearing that familiar name. Obviously Kuina. She was the rock that supported us both; she was there for us in two entirely different ways, yet, still, she had made such a similar impact.

“Obviously Kuina,” I repeat with a smile. I curiously search for his eyes within the deep darkness of the cavern. “So… you had no other family?”

Zoro hesitates for a moment, his gaze flickering between mine and the darkness of the cavern. It’s clear that this is a topic he doesn’t delve into often—if ever. Finally, he sighs, as if deciding that there’s no point in hiding it from me.

“No,” he says quietly. “Not really. My parents died when I was young. Too young to even remember their faces. After that, I was on my own for a while. I don’t really remember how long, just that I had to survive.”

I listen in silence, my chest heavy with the weight of his words. His story is all too similar to mine. While I had more family than him, I left Wano all too quickly. I only had Gramps and Kuina. Only two strong currents in my life, one of them having passed away far too quickly.

My throat grows thicker as I think about Gramps. That old man – that loveable pain in my ass… who would’ve known he would’ve been the target of something so sinister. I hope he’s okay. Gods, I just hope he’s still alive.

I clear my throat, shaking those dark thoughts away. I take in Zoro’s softened appearance, his gaze taking me in like a wide-eyed German Shepherd who only just remembered how to become vulnerable.

“And now you’re here; ‘Pirate Hunter Zoro.’”

“I guess.”

“Don’t you think that nickname’s a little too outdated for you? I mean, you’re part of a pirate crew.”

He shrugs, flexing his sore arm. “I never really cared about all of that.”

I scoff. “You should! I’ve got some killer nicknames for you, you know.”

“Oh yeah?” Zoro smirks, his gaze lingering on mine for a little longer than it should. “Give me a list, then. I’m interested.”

“Okay, so the first one’s Marimo,” I say with a straight face.

Zoro’s face falls into a scowl, tugging on his cuff so that I’m instantly pulled towards him. “Ha ha ha, you’re so funny, Raya. You should turn into a part time clown.”

“And then the next one’s Sword-mouth. Get it? Cause you have a sword—”

“That’s fucking bad.”

“Okay, okay, what about Bullhead? That’s my favourite.”

“Bullhead?” Zoro repeats with a sceptical raise of his brow. “You’re really reaching with that one.”

I smirk, feeling a surge of playful energy course through me. “Oh, come on, it suits you. Stubborn, always charging headfirst into things… It’s perfect.”

Zoro rolls his eyes, but there’s a hint of amusement in his gaze. “You really like pushing my buttons, don’t you?”

“Maybe,” I admit with a mischievous grin. “It’s just so easy to get a rise out of you. You’re like a bull seeing red. Maybe I should consider making a red cape for you.”

He snorts, shaking his head. “You’re asking for it, Kozuki.”

“Oh, am I?” I say, leaning in just a little closer, my tone teasing. “And what are you gonna do about it, Bullhead?”

Zoro’s eyes narrow, the playful glint in them taking on a sharper edge. He doesn’t respond immediately, instead, he lets the silence stretch, the tension between us growing thicker with each passing second. Then, in one swift movement, he grabs my wrist—the one bound to his by the cuff—and yanks me toward him.

My breath catches in my throat as he pulls me down onto the makeshift bed, his grip on my wrist firm but not painful. He’s over me in an instant, his body hovering just above mine, his presence overwhelming in the confined space. The chain between us clinks softly, the only sound besides the rapid beating of my heart.

“You’ve been pushing me all day,” Zoro murmurs, his voice low and rough. His eyes, darkening with something far more intense than irritation, lock onto mine. “I’m thinking maybe it’s time you see what happens when I push back.”

But before I can respond, Zoro shifts his grip, grabbing my other hand and pinning it above my head along with the chained one. His strength is undeniable, and the way he’s holding me down, with just enough pressure to make it clear that he’s in control, sends a thrill through me that I can’t quite explain.

He lowers his head, his breath hot against my neck as he murmurs, “Why don’t we think of nicknames for you, huh?”

My pulse quickens, a heat rising in my chest that has nothing to do with the close quarters we’re in. I can feel the roughness of the stone bed beneath me, the coolness of the air on my skin, but all of it fades into the background compared to the weight of Zoro hovering above me, his presence completely overwhelming.

"Nicknames for me?" I murmur, my voice trembling slightly despite my efforts to keep it steady. I try to inject a bit of the usual sarcasm into my tone, but it falls really flat – embarrassingly so. I swallow down my pride as I defiantly look into his gaze. "Like what?"

Zoro smirks, but it’s not the usual cocky grin; this one’s intense, more primal, and it makes me hold in a small breath. His eyes flicker over my face, taking in every detail, every reaction, as if he’s cataloguing it all for some future purpose.

"I’m thinking…" He pauses, his grip on my wrists tightening slightly, just enough to make me aware of the power he holds over me right now. "Something that suits you. Something that captures that fiery temper of yours. Maybe… ‘Spitfire’?"

I scoff, trying to sound unimpressed, but there’s a flutter in my chest at the name. "Spitfire? Really? That’s the best you’ve got?"

He chuckles, the sound low and rough, and it sends a wave of heat through me. "It’s fitting. You’re always spitting fire, whether it’s with your words or your actions. You’ve got somethin’ that could burn anyone who gets too close."

He gently picks up my hand that’s tethered to his, carefully eyeing the bruises that have formed beneath and around the cuff that’s so tightly linked over my skin. “Or… The Whining Witch? Since you love to scream my head off.”

I burst out laughing. “That’s an awful name.”

“Really? I think it’s pretty good.”

“Stick to Spitfire, buddy—"

Without warning, Zoro lowers his head, his lips grazing the bruised skin of my wrist with a feather-light touch. The unexpected tenderness of the gesture catches me off guard, making me bite down on my lower lip to keep from gasping.

His tongue flicks out, tracing the bruise with agonizing slowness, and I feel my legs tense in response. The sensation is electric—a tantalizing blend of pain and pleasure that causes my breath to hitch in my throat. Throughout, his eyes remain locked on mine, never breaking contact, as if he's studying every flicker of emotion, every reaction his touch elicits.

“What are you doing?” I whisper, trying to keep my voice steady, to mask the effect he's having on me.

Zoro doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he continues his deliberate exploration, his tongue tracing the marks left by the cuffs with a maddening precision. It's as if he’s soothing the pain, but there's something more in the way he touches me—an unspoken claim that lingers beneath the surface, making it clear this is about more than just concern.

When he finally lifts his head, his eyes have darkened, filled with a heat that mirrors the burning sensation spreading through my chest.

His voice, a low, rough murmur, breaks the silence. "I'm making sure you remember who you're dealing with, Spitfire."

The way he says it, the way the nickname rolls off his tongue, sends a jolt of something intense through me. My pulse pounds in my ears, my heart hammering in my chest as his calloused fingers gently stroke the tender spots on my wrist. A part of me wants to push back, to reclaim some measure of control, but another part—a larger, more insistent part—is drawn in by this side of him, captivated by his raw intensity.

Then, without warning, his mouth is on me again, his lips pressing against the sensitive skin of my neck. I gasp, my back arching instinctively as he trails his mouth lower, his teeth grazing just enough to leave me on edge, caught between anticipation and desire.

“Zoro—” I start, but my voice cuts off as his tongue flicks out, teasing the pulse point at the base of my throat. I groan out without the ability to restrain myself, squirming under him, but he holds me steady, his grip unyielding.

“You talk too much,” he whispers, his breath fanning against the wet column of my throat. “Maybe I should find a way to keep that mouth of yours busy.”

His breath is so warm against my skin, his lips so close to mine that I can almost taste him, yet he doesn’t close the distance. Instead, he continues to toy with me, his fingers tracing patterns along my side, his touch light and provokingly slow. His hand slides up, brushing against the curve of my waist, and I can feel the heat pooling in my stomach, desperate for it to be released. Zoro’s eyes are locked on mine, powerful and filled with something that makes it hard to breathe.

He leans in, his mouth hovering just above my collarbone, and I can feel the warmth of his breath against my skin, goosebumps bubbling all over my body in anticipation. My fingers dig into his shoulders, desperate for something to anchor me, but he only smirks, his lips ghosting over my skin without making contact.

“You’re torturing me,” I manage to whisper, my voice trembling despite my best efforts to keep it steady.

“Am I?” he replies, his voice a low, teasing rumble. His hand slides up my back, his fingers tangling in my hair as he pulls me closer. “Or are you just not used to someone who knows how to play the game?”

“You’re such a—” I hiss, yet again, but the words die in my throat as his hand slides up, under my shirt, and his rough fingers brush against the bare skin of my stomach. He smirks against my neck, clearly pleased with the reaction he’s pulling from me. His fingers trail higher, exploring, tracing patterns on my skin that leave me trembling. I should be pushing him away, but all I can think about is how much I want more.

“Calm down, Spitfire,” he murmurs, his voice rough and low. “You’ve gotta learn to be patient.”

And just when I think I can’t take it anymore, when the bound coil between us is so tight it feels like it might snap, something shifts. There’s a soft, metallic clink, a sound that breaks through the haze of desire and pulls me back to reality. Zoro freezes, his head lifting as his eyes flicker down to the source of the sound.

I follow his gaze, my breath catching in my throat as I see it—the Kozuki Coin, the last gift Gramps ever gave me before he was taken away, rattling out of my pocket and onto the ground. The sight of it is like a bucket of cold water, dousing the fire that had been burning so brightly just moments before.

“Oh,” I say, my voice cracking in a mixture of surprise and grief. “That’s…”

The golden coin glints in the dim light, its intricate design catching the eye, and for a moment, neither of us moves. The weight of what it represents settles over me like a heavy shroud, pulling me back from the edge of the precipice I’d been teetering on.

Zoro’s grip on me loosens, his gaze lingering on the coin for a long moment before he looks back at me. The darkness in his eyes has softened, replaced by something more contemplative, more grounded.

I reach down, my fingers brushing against the cool metal as I pick up the coin. The weight of it in my hand is familiar, comforting in a way that nothing else is. I turn it over, tracing the intricate designs with my thumb, and for a moment, I’m lost in the memories it holds.

But then, as my fingers continue to brush over the face of the Kozuki coin, a sharp sensation travels through my hand, as though the coin itself has a pulse—one that syncs with my own heartbeat. My mind starts to blur, the world around me melting away as a tingling sensation runs down my spine.

Suddenly, a loud, metallic clink echoes through the cavern, jerking me back to the present. Before I can process what’s happening, an explosion rips through the air. The blast is so powerful that it sends a shockwave through the small cubbyhole we’re hiding in, causing the walls to shudder and dust to rain down from the ceiling. My heart lurches as I realize it came from my backpack, which had been lying just in front of the cubbyhole.

“What the fuck just happened?” Zoro hisses, wide-eyed and looking alert, his fingers brushing over the empty spot at his hip where his swords usually are. He curses to himself and hastily begins to look around for his weapons, wherever they might be.

But my eyes catch onto something. My fingers reach for the back of Zoro’s hand, trying to pull him back into the moment. “Wait, look,” I whisper.

The force of the explosion knocks the backpack back against the wall, tearing it apart. My belongings scatter across the ground, torn fabric and charred remnants of supplies I’d packed now little more than useless debris. Smoke curls up from the remains, filling the air with the acrid stench of burning.

I stare at the tattered remains in shock, my pulse pounding in my ears. Amidst the destruction, something catches my eye. There, in the centre of the wreckage, untouched by the blast, lies Gramps' forgotten logbook.

The worn leather cover is surprisingly intact, its edges barely singed, standing out starkly against the charred ruins of everything else. My hands tremble as I reach out to pick it up, the familiar weight of it grounding me.

“How?” Zoro mutters in surprise.

“I don’t know…”

With a mixture of confusion and disbelief, I open the book, flipping through the pages. Not a single word is smudged; the ink remains sharp and clear. Even the delicate, brittle paper seems unaffected by the explosion. I turn page after page, searching for any sign of damage, but it’s as if the logbook has been preserved by some kind of magic.

As I continue to flip through, a sudden sharp pain lances through my finger. I yelp, more out of surprise than actual pain, and look down to see a thin cut on the tip of my finger. Blood wells up and smears across the page.

Before I can react, the blood starts to seep into the paper, spreading out in thin, crimson lines. The words on the page blur, shifting and twisting as though they’re being rewritten in blood. The entire page begins to change, darkening until it’s completely red. Then, as if the logbook itself is alive, the transformation spreads like wildfire, turning every page into a deep, dark crimson.

The leather cover follows suit, its familiar texture shifting beneath my fingers. The logbook vibrates in my hands, the edges of the pages curling as they harden, morphing into something else entirely. My eyes widen in shock as the logbook twists and reshapes itself, the leather stretching and smoothing until it forms a hilt—a weapon’s hilt.

My breath catches as I realize what I’m holding. The logbook is no more, replaced by the unmistakable handle of a sword. The leather is supple yet firm under my grip, perfectly fitted to my hand. Etched into the base of the hilt, just where my thumb rests, are the words:

“You weren’t ever much of a reader. Clumsy oaf.”

I stare at the inscription, a lump forming in my throat. Gramps’ familiar scrawl brings a flood of memories crashing down on me, his voice echoing in my mind, teasing and affectionate. But before I can fully process the message, my eyes are drawn to the top of the hilt, where a hollowed-out coin holder gleams in the dim light. The metal is polished, almost as if it’s waiting—waiting for something specific to complete it.

The Kozuki coin in my hand suddenly feels heavy, as if it’s pulling me toward the hilt. Without thinking, I lift the coin and set it into the holder. It clicks into place with a satisfying snap, the metal fitting perfectly as though it was always meant to be there.

The moment the coin settles, the entire hilt seems to come alive. The face of the golden coin begins to shift, the once-familiar emblem of the Kozuki clan dissolving like liquid metal. In its place, a new symbol emerges—a silver emblem of a helmet with a star etched across its screen, gleaming with a cold, almost ethereal light.

Before I can comprehend what’s happening, the coin begins to melt, the silver flowing down the hilt like molten steel. It moves with a purpose, cascading down in shimmering waves, shaping itself into a blade. The transformation is mesmerizing, the metal expanding and stretching, forming into a massive, two-handed longsword.

The sword is unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. The blade is a brilliant gold, the metal glowing with an otherworldly light that seems to pulse with energy. It’s enormous, easily as long as I am tall, yet perfectly balanced in my grip. The edge gleams razor-sharp, catching the light and reflecting it in a dazzling array of colours.

I stand there, the sword heavy in my hands, the weight of it grounding me as the realization of what has just happened sinks in. This is no ordinary weapon. It’s a piece of my heritage, a manifestation of the power that’s been lying dormant within me, waiting to be awakened.

Zoro stares at the blade, his eyes wide with shock and something else—something like respect. He doesn’t say anything, but the look on his face says it all. This is a weapon worthy of a warrior, and in this moment, I feel the weight of that responsibility settle on my shoulders.

The sword hums with power, the energy coursing through it resonating with something deep inside me. It’s as if the blade is an extension of my own soul, forged from the very essence of my being. I can feel it, a connection so strong it’s almost overwhelming, and I know, without a doubt, that this weapon was meant for me.

The metal blade hums, its resonance vibrating deep within the recesses of my mind. The sound is a low, pulsing thrum, like the distant rumble of thunder or the echo of a heartbeat. It’s an ancient sound, carrying with it the weight of countless generations, the whispers of those who have come before me. It vibrates through the sword, through my arm, and into my very bones, a steady rhythm that matches the rapid beat of my heart.

At first, the noise is nothing more than unintelligible static, a jumbled mess of sounds that scrape against the edges of my consciousness. It’s like trying to tune an old radio, the signal crackling and popping as it searches for the right frequency. The noise grows louder, more insistent, until it drowns out everything else—the distant echoes of the cavern, the sound of Zoro’s breathing, the pounding of my own heart. All of it fades into the background, swallowed by the static that floods my mind.

And then, through the chaos, I begin to hear something—someone. A voice, distorted and faint, like it’s coming from a great distance or through a wall of water. It’s a voice I’d know anywhere, no matter how garbled or distant it might be.

It’s Gramps.

“Raya—” The word is drawn out, his voice cracking as it forces its way through the noise. There’s a slur to his speech, as if he’s struggling to form the words, like he’s fighting against something—pain, exhaustion, maybe even fear. The sound of it makes my chest tighten, my breath catching in my throat.

“Gramps?” I whisper, my voice trembling as I clutch the hilt of the sword tighter. “Gramps, is that you?”

“Raya… oh gods, Raya!” His voice is raw, frantic, and filled with a desperation that sends a chill down my spine. It’s like he’s drowning, each word a struggle to the surface before being pulled back under. “They… they got me… they… the ink… it’s—”

His words come out in a jumbled mess, fragmented, and broken, as if he’s fighting to stay coherent. The pain in his voice is palpable, and I can hear the faint sound of sobbing, choked, and muffled as though he’s trying to hold it back but failing.

“Gramps, where are you? What’s happening?” I try to keep my voice steady, but it wavers, betraying the panic that’s beginning to creep in. The connection between us feels tenuous, fragile, like a thread that could snap at any moment. I need to hear him, to understand what’s happening, but the words are slipping through my fingers like sand.

“Find Trafalgar Law—” Gramps croaks out, his voice faltering. There’s a long, agonizing pause, and for a moment, I think I’ve lost him, that the connection has been severed. But then he speaks again, his voice weaker, more strained. “Gods, oh Gods, Tell… tell Luffy, too… they’re… they’re all—"

And then it cuts out.

[spidehpig]

hi kayla this is me formally enabling you to start writing 🥰

oh god maybeeeee

every fandom ive been in ive considered the thought at least once. but now ive actually got friends this time out here encouraging this decade long thought lmao. i appreciate the encouragement 💕

[honeystwiggypeach]

Hii I can please request a angst to fluff sakusa x fem reader where a fan forced a kiss on him and Paparazzi takes a picture making a big issue and y/n see and y/n was going to tell him she was Pregnant(make it really angsty but with a fluffy ending please)

Besties??? Where do you guys get all these ideas from????Like this is such a good idea tysm for requesting!!!! If anyone wants to see anything else let me know because I love writing requests!!!(I tried to make it angsty bestie but idk if it’s the most angst ever😭)

Part two!

Tw- sexual harassment(the forced kiss) pregnant reader, allergic reaction to lip gloss, arguing, angst to fluff, idk let me know if I missed anything else!!

You’d found out you were pregnant that morning, Sakusa was supposed to come home that evening and you wanted to tell him after dinner.

But when you’d opened Twitter the first thing you saw was your husband’s name plastered across Twitter attached to a photo of him kissing someone who surely wasn’t you.

You practically drop your phone, he’d told you just this morning that he was so excited to come home and it’d be the first thing he was doing after his game. Of course the photo made it seem like coming home was the last thing he was worried about.

Of course none of the photos or articles bother to inform that the person had practically pounced in him and sucked the soul out of him before he’d shoved them off.

He quickly got right back into the vehicle locking the doors.

He felt disgusting as he pulled the car into the parking garage. There was a tacky residue and no matter how much he rubbed and rubbed it refused to come off only irritating his skin further, to make it worse, Kiyoomi’s sensitive skin decides to have a reaction to the lip gloss as well.

He distracts himself from the uncomfortableness by thinking about how when he gets home you’ll pepper his face with your soft comforting kisses like you always do asking him if everything went well as he practically melted against you letting you take him to wherever he needed to be.

Unfortunately when he got home, he was not treated with those feather lite kisses that make him giggle like a boy. Instead he’s created with a finger in his face asking if he thinks you wouldn’t have found out.

You break out into a sob eventually, “I thought you loved me?” You break down and your legs feel weak.

He catches you by the elbows helping you stand a bit as he holds you against them, “I do love you” his brows are furrowed in confusion.

“You practically have her tongue shoved down your throat you can’t say that!” Your voice is getting shrill and you feel horrible.

“Oh god” he breathes out, “no I’d never! She came onto me, I swear baby she attacked me I’m sure they have the footage she jumped the dividers and just tackled me”

You blink up at him, “really?” You don’t know if you should be relived or horrified and angry.

He nods his head quickly, “honey I’m sorry” your hand moves to brush through his pretty curls.

“Did you file a report?” He nods, “do you want to talk about it? Come on let’s sit down?” He shakes his head no as he moves to lay on top of you like always, you aren’t even concerned about the way the food gets cold on the table it’ll taste fine after a pass through the microwave.

“Just want to hear you talk” he whispers against you, “what’d you do today?” His voice is tired and he sounds a bit defeated.

“I took a pregnancy test…” your hand naturally finds its way into his hair again, you smile softly, “it was positive”

He jolts up suddenly, “really?” You nod happily and he turns slightly, he lets out a little huff of excitement as he moves his feet over the edge of the couch so he’s even with your tummmy, “hey little baby I’m your daddy”

Let me know if you guys want more because I love requests so much!!!!

[rek1s-headband]

hello! First off, just wanna say your writing is amazing and gives me so much joy with how well you write the characters. Secondly, mayhaps a set of headcanons for poly!y/n with Langa and Reki or a cute date one shot?

➯ A/N: Hey! Thanks for the request, hope you enjoy:)

➯“Lady and the (two) tramps” poly date one-shot

➯ Characters: Reki Kyan x Langa Hasegawa x gn reader

i know it says “lady” and the 2 tramps but thats just cause yall act out a scene from the movie dw its still a gn reader

➯ Warnings: none:)

➯ Word count: 2K

You skipped down the stairs at the sound of someone enthusiastically knocking at your door. You could only assume it was Reki, he always picked you up before the two of you headed over to Langas, whose house was furthest out of you three. You flung the door open, grinning when you saw Reki smiling up at you from the doorstop. You let out a scream of delight, jumping into his arms as he responded with a laugh. You heard his skateboard skitter along your driveway when he dropped it, arms coming up to wrap around you as he spun you around.

“Hey sweetheart” you heard him muffle into the side of your neck as he held you close, and you could feel the smile on his lips. He slowly brought his head out, hair ruffled and a dopey grin on his face. You reached up to fix his hair, reciprocating his greeting with a smile of your own. You brought him around the side of your house to collect your skateboard and help him retrieve his from where it was cast on the floor. He reached out to offer his hand to you, bringing it up to kiss it when you accepted. “Shall we go?” He cocked his head to the side, smiling brightly when you nodded and stood onto your skateboard.

And so the two of you made your way to Langa’s, you shooting him a quick text to let him know you were on the way. You and Reki made light conversation as you skated along the roads of Okinawa, talking about where the three of you would go today. It was a Saturday, which usually meant it as date night for you three. What you did on your dates changed quite a bit, but according to Reki, Joe had some new recipies on his menu that he wanted to try, and he thought you and Langa might like them. Joe’s was a regular date spot, the three of you annoying the shit out of the poor man with your antics. You would stay there for hours, simply asking for water and breadsticks until he threatened to kick you out in an attempt to lengthen your visit. He would never actually kick the three of you out though, he loves you too much. You hope.

You picked up your board as you and Reki got to the front of Langa’s house, both of you knocking at the same time. You could hear his mother behind the door calling him excitedly, telling him his partners were at the door. You heard what sounded like Langa practically falling down his stairs, and you and Reki shared a look, both wondering just what was going on in the house. Based on Langa’s dishevelled demeanour as he stepped out the door, something of the sort had indeed happened. His expression quickly picked up when he saw the two of you waiting for him. He pulled the two of you into a hug, giving Reki a quick kiss on the cheek before turning around to press one to your forehead. And once again you were skating down the road, except this time it was all three of you, headed to Joe’s to stuff yourselves with his new meals.

The smell of Italian cuisine wafted through your nostrils as you took in the scenery around you. Joe’s was particularly packed today, but your booth was empty as usual, the three of you slipping into it while laughing at something Langa had said. After the first month or so of you going to Joe’s on Saturdays, he’d started reserving the booth for you to ensure you had somewhere to sit. You sat beside Langa while Reki slid into the other side of the booth. You’d swap who sat where every week, for example last week Langa and Reki sat on one side while you took the other. Joe made his way out of the kitchen, smiling when he saw the three of you sitting down. He made his way over to you, menus in one hand and a notepad in the other.

“I was wondering when you kids would finally show up! Thought you’d decided to ditch me this week.” The three of you laughed while he placed the menus down, looking at you expectedly. “so let me guess,” he pointed at you, “breadsticks?” You laughed while Reki shook his head, to which Joe gave him a puzzled look. “No? But its what you always seem to get. In a rush to leave today?” Langa flipped through the menu, pointing out a few things to you with one hand while the other snaked around your waist.

“Not today, were on a mission.” Reki explained while you slid down in your seat, stretching and getting comfy while Langa practically salivated over the menu. “We heard you’ve got some new stuff on the menu, and we wanted to make sure we had enough time to try it.” You and Langa nodded enthusiastically while Joe chuckled, checking his watch.

“Well you’re lucky you didn’t get here later, I have just enough time to whip up the new ones for you before I close up. So dont go getting too comfy, I’ll have to kick you out within the hour!” You smiled at Joe, sliding even further down into your seat and cuddling into Langa, exaggeratedly putting your arms around him as you batted your eyes as Joe.

“Oh dont worry, we wont get too comfy!” Langa played along, practically lying down in the booth with you as you faked being asleep. Reki giggled across from you, snapping a few pictures of the two of you. You shot into the booth beside him to look at the photos, horrified when you realized he had posted them on his story. You pouted as he pulled you into his side, giving you a quick kiss as he explained how cute the two of you looked. You slid back into Langa, both of you pretending to ignore Reki, laughing when he started whining about how he’d leave and make you two pay for everything yourselves.

When the food finally came, you all watched with wide eyes as four big plates were put in front of you: a new spaghetti and meatballs with “improved sauce”, a huge pizza littered with [whatever toppings you like], a lasagna dish with extra crispy cheese, and a big basket of garlic bread. Langa was practically foaming at the mouth beside you as you watched Reki immediately lunge for a slice of pizza. You turned around to thank Joe before grabbing your own fork and diving into the lasagna.

After the three of you had demolished the better of 2/3 of all the dishes, you grabbed the pate of meatballs, declaring you wanted to try something with them. “It’ll be cute! Come on” you begged as you set up your camera. The plan was to recreate the scene from The Lady and the Tramp, taking turns sharing a string of spaghetti before meeting in the middle. They eventually agreed, allowing you to hand them a string of spaghetti to put in their mouth.

First was Reki, who kept sucking too fast and pulling it out of your mouth, just eating it for himself. Eventually he got it right, pulling you into a sweet kiss in the middle of the table. You had to tap him to make him take away his hand he’d placed at the back of your head in an attempt to keep you there just a bit longer, worried that people were staring. He giggled, watching as Langa made his way to the other side of the table so you could properly film it. Reki gave him a quick kiss before Langa gently placed the spaghetti in his mouth. However, he kept laughing and had to replace it multiple times. Finally he stopped laughing long enough for you to meet him in the middle, giving him a soft kiss. When you broke away he was quickly getting up and coming back to your side, declaring it was him and Reki’s turn. They took the longest, Langa’s laughing and Reki’s speedy eating combining to create absolute chaos. When you finally had it filmed, you looked around to see the restaurant completely deserted, Joe yelling a muffled “Get out!” from the kitchen. You picked up your boards and ran out, leaving your money on the table and yelling a “Thanks!” In Joe’s general direction.

You skated along the road, stopping at a corner store to pick up some snacks for while the three of you were skating. Reki was playing music from his speaker as you talked, acting as background noise while you laughed together. Just as you had been picked up, you and Reki skated with Langa back to his house. His mom was already waiting for him at the door, waving at you excitedly when she saw the three of you come into view. You all went up to the door, giving her a hug and making small talk while you said goodbye to Langa for the night. After Reki said goodbye and walked over to talk to his mom, you wrapped your arms around his neck, planting a kiss on his cheek and holding him tight. He laughed, rubbing your back as he pulled away from the hug to run his hand through your hair and along your cheek, pulling you back in for one final kiss. You and Reki waited until they had both gone inside before skating off, headed for your house.

You hung around your door with Reki for a few minutes, not wanting to go inside and for the night to be over. Soon enough though, you were telling Reki he needed to head home, not wanting him to skate home by himself too late. He chuckled, pulling you close and resting his chin on your head. “Now what kind of boyfriend would I be if I couldn’t defend you and Langa? I’ll be fine sweetheart.” He pulled away to look at you, smiling down at you while he rubbed your face. You leaned into the touch, telling him you were still going to worry and he should head home regardless. He faked a pout before grinning, pulling you close and giving you another kiss, swaying you as your hand came up to mess with his hair. When you finally pulled away, you stayed in his arms for a little while before finally stepping closer to your door, letting go of his hand last as you opened it. You waved goodbye to Reki before blowing a kiss, which he caught, bringing his hand to his mouth.

Before you closed your door, Reki stood onto his board and began to make his way down your driveway. “Goodnight sweetheart!” He yelled as he looked behind at you, nearly falling off his board because he wasn’t looking at where he was going. You laughed, waving back.

“Goodnight my prince!” You could see him smile at the nickname from the end of your driveway, before finally pushing off. You closed the door when he left your sight, smiling to yourself as you made your way back to your room. You looked at the videos you took earlier that day, smiling when you heard Reki cheer in the background of you and Langa’s video. You sent them into the group chat the three of you had, laughing at the pictures Reki took of you and Langa and saving them to your phone.

Maybe the three of you might make a reappearance at Joe’s the following day. After all, the food was delicious, among other things..

[bakatenshii]

Rapture

Oikawa Tooru x Reader (Haikyuu!!)

word count: 2.8k

TW: 18+, smut, incest, dub/noncon, mild somnophilia

A/N: I started writing this in my notes bcos I wanted to get out a cheeky Oikawa drabble for his birthday, didn’t wanna commit to a proper fic bcos fuck knows I’ve been writing my first ever fic for over a month. Technically this is my first official fic I finished! So much love for my wife @blahkugo for listening to me sob and whine about this & beta-ing it, also to @lookslikeleese who created this brainchild of Tooru-nii with me. 

rap·ture

/ˈrapCHər/

a feeling of intense pleasure or joy.

(according to some millerian teaching) the transporting of believers to heaven at the Second Coming of Christ

Blood is thicker than water, in all forms and shapes and sizes. The guilt of blood lays thicker, sweaty and clammy, threatening to matte his perfectly coiffed hair. The guilt lies limp on his childhood bed, delicate legs dangling just a hair away from toeing the carpet.

You couldn’t reach when you were younger, he’d always help you down with all the gentleness of a protective mother and its cub. Long slender fingers tucking under your armpits to lift you from his stiff mattress to stand you on the soft carpeting.

Guilt, in the form of his baby sister laying vulnerability-up, presenting to him in taunt, as if it’s a gift from Satan himself. You won’t know, will never know, It promises. You’re out cold, too many cups of trashy house-party drinks in, your night was bound to end up like this one way or another— exposed and defenseless in a man’s bed. You should be lucky it’s your own big brother’s.

He curses himself for still having been awake when you called him at half four in the morning, curses himself for staying up studying tapes of his opposing team. Bad habits die hard. You were loopy, slurring your words, and all he could hear were the warm familiar sound of ‘niichan, niichan’ tinkling through the static. He had the keys clanking in his hands before he even registered the other voices across the line; deep, low, predatory— of men.

The drive there felt like a blur, tunnel visioning only on the number plate you’d sloppily sent him three times, each varying in one digit. It wasn’t even the right address, it didn’t match your location on his phone.

He saw crowds, loud bass reverberating through to his sleek car that stuck out like a sore thumb amidst the sea of beat-up sedans and trucks. He saw limbs, too many limbs, entangling together in a frenzy of sweat and lust; limbs on curves and humps of silhouettes, limbs on your small frame leaning into the corner of the dimly lit room. Then he saw red.

He couldn’t hear the shouts and hollers of his name, crazed fangirls pawing at him for an autograph, a picture, any type of affection from The Oikawa Tooru himself, international volleyball superstar with too many sponsorships under his belt. He reached out an arm towards you, and you clung to him like a magnetic pull, whole body suctioning onto his and tittering out a string of ‘niichan came to pick me up’ and a fit of giggles.

His first conscious breath was taken once he got you in his car. He didn’t want to look at you, didn’t want to assess the damages lest he drove his car straight into the dastardly party if he saw any hint of protrusion. He didn’t; you were fine. You seemed fine, too. You were all-too happy to see him, bragged to him ‘I bet them that you would come pick me up if I called you.’

You told him you missed him, ‘missed niichan so much, he never even bothered to call when he came back to Japan’. Tooru sighed, half part relief, half part guilt. He told you he couldn’t bring you back to his hotel, had to bring you home, because imagine the scandal if he got papped.

It was a lie, he couldn’t give a damn if he got papped, he could easily have explained that it was his own sister; he couldn’t give himself up to the safety of his own enclosed room. His room with no security net of Mum and Dad threatening to barge in, his room where he was free to do whatever he wanted.

He drove you home.

You begged him to pick you up and carry you upstairs, because your feet hurt, they’re so sore from dancing all night. He complied, using all his decade-molded muscles to pull you into his chest and his heart sank to his gut at the realization that you weighed like nothing to him; just like you had when you were younger.

You were bigger now, grown, an adult, but he had grown all the same. It was like a cruel joke— no matter how much you grew, he’d parallel your growth so he would always be just that much stronger than you, that much bigger. The perfect size to protect you. The perfect size to hurt you.

He was directed to his own room rather than yours, with the excuse that yours was too close to the master bedroom, too risky to wake your parents up. His feet moved before his mind could stop him, muscle memory bringing him to the space he’s barely stepped foot in since he was eighteen.

It was too familiar, whole body transcending back to his childhood, back to the innocence of your relationship before he’s tainted it with his twisted perversions. His arms laid you down on his bed, hands finding the straps of your heels to pick off before you thumped back onto his bed, sprawled out and fast asleep.

He’s been staring at your vulnerable placid silhouette splayed on his bed for what feels like minutes, hours. He can’t bring himself to tuck you in, can’t trust his limbs to function how he instructs them to. His skin crawls at the gust of wind kissing the sweat embalming his body, but he doesn’t let himself strip off the suffocating layers. He wants to bask in the physical manifestation of his disgust, nausea, let it remind him of his twisted perversions he can never, ever indulge in.

You shiver, and he jumps. Your tiny body is quivering in chills, begging him to warm it up. He moves with the grace and caution of a robber on the prowl for an expensive jewel, gently snaking his arms under the crook of your knee and top of your spine, lifting you up and away from him like he’s terrified— disgusted, by you.

He lifts the covers and daintily drapes it over the small rise and fall of your chest, pinching the top with only two fingers. A deep breath, a moan, a soft ‘niichan’, and he thinks his heart has stopped completely.

He’s frozen, the hammering in his chest arguing that no, he’s still very much alive, and spares a glance down at you. Your eyelids are fluttering, lips softly pouting, and unmistakably still asleep. He’s mid sigh of relief when he feels a small hand wrap around his arm, and for the second time that night he thinks he’s died.

All the gravity weighing him down disappears as he lets himself be tugged down onto the bed, the weight of his body crushing your tiny one, but he can’t bring himself to move. He’s too scared, he’s horrified.

He can feel two dainty arms loop around his neck and cage his head into the side of your face. He can feel the palpitations in his chest, heart hammering straight into yours, tangling with your soft cadenced beats, reaching in and provoking it to waltz to the same fatal rhythm. He can feel his trousers strain and his blood run cold.

Deep breaths to the count of the tick and tocking of the clock on the wall. He feels blurry, vision blotchy, skin prickling with every flood of blood traveling south. He wills it to stop, begs for it to spare him, he’ll behave, he’ll never let his mind wonder to you ever again, he promises.

God is all merciful, but God has long given up on him. Satan wants to watch his world burn, collapse, and dance in the ashes of his crumbling dignity. It teases him with the hilt of your soft body moving to press into his, crawling into his arms caging you in, willfully entering the den holding a ravenous lion fighting its own fangs.

Your eyes flutter open, gaze finding his with striking precision, and smile. It’s the same smile you’ve given him his whole life, the trust and love carved into every quirk of the lip. It shatters his dignity, stomps on it with childish fervor, and Tooru chokes on the breath coming out.

He feels you nuzzling closer, can feel your hair tickling his chin, and prays for forgiveness to any God willing to listen. None do— he’s too far gone. His hand’s reaching to cradle the back of your head as he plants the softest kiss on your cheek with all the practiced grace of a man begging for salvation.

Your eyes stare straight into his with undeterred conviction, glazed over with equal parts alcoholic daze and pure, unadulterated adoration. There’s not enough oxygen traveling to his brain to justify his actions, no amount of repentance would excuse his sins. His lips press into yours, so gently it feels like a mere ghost of breath, quivering in prayers for forgiveness.

A shift; small warm body squirming under his arms, shuffling closer. It catches the tent between his legs, and his whole body twitches like it’s been stung. He barely chokes down the whimper that threatens to come out.

He can feel your hands locking behind his hair, pulling your body infinitely closer to his, smushing your soft tits into his hard chest as he feels the breath sucked out of him by the Devil himself. There’s no more feigned chastity, all abstinence launched aside as he feels a little tongue prod at his lips. They open to let yours in, sucking on it as if it’ll bring his very breath back.

He doesn’t let himself wonder if it’s okay, he knows it’s not; it’s wrong, so wrong, on so many levels. He’s given up trying to please a Holy deity, Satan can take him whole if it means he can ravish in his sick twisted fantasies. He slots a leg between yours, letting the two pairs tangle and waltz to the symphony of your matching heartbeats, finally synching in a virulent tempo.

Breaths turn to pants, turn to unmistakable moans, and Tooru has to pull back to clamp a hand over your mouth in warning. The imagery of his long slender fingers covering more than half your face sends jolts down his body at the same time he realizes it’s him whining out so desperately.

He looks back at your face, beady, glassy, needy eyes peering back at him in sheer devotion, and he shuts his eyes in pure agony as his heart clenches in pangs of guilt, while his adulterous cock twitches in revelation. The warm soft breaths fan his palm, lips puckering underneath to peck softly at his fingers in hopes of escape; he thinks he might cum untouched.

His hand yanks back in shock, in horror, in disgust. But your hands clasped firmly behind hair pulls him back in, and he whispers out a prayer before a soft, “We can’t.” His eyes bore into yours, begging for mercy, begging you to let him go so he can suffer for his sins.

You don’t respond, not immediately. He feels his face pulled into yours and a distinct moisture building up on his thigh wedged between your much smaller legs. Wet— the suction on his tongue, the grinding on his leg, everything��s wet, and damp, and he thinks his mind might be drowning.

He can hear whines, pitched in desperation, and he’s certain they’re from you this time. His arm moves to grip at your hips, cupping your supple mound to shift it up the sheets and press your cunny against his straining erection. His hips buck on instinct, grazing the drooling slit covered only by a thin piece of cotton.

His mind goes blank, vision patching, and it’s too fast, too much, “please, Tooru-nii”— he’s crying. There’s tears stinging the corners of his eyes while he chokes out a string of ‘no, no, no’. He can’t slow the erratic humps against his lil sister’s cunt, the fingers digging into your hips marking you with patches of blooming purple and green, ‘I love you, niichan’.

It’s a knee-jerk reaction; he yanks his body back, takes sharp inhales of breath, until he can open his eyes to look at you again. Panic and nausea coat his tongue where it once tasted like you, but he’s met with the same look of pure adoration you gave him before he tainted your body with sin.

He realizes your hands are still straining to reach the back of his neck where they were before he wrenched his body away. They’re laying gently on his shoulders, twirling lazily at the strands of his hair curling around the base. Tears are flowing down his cheeks, or maybe it’s one single continuous tear, and his body is wracked with guilty desperation.

There’s no malice in your expression, no accusatory anger, and most of all, no disgust. Your face is painted with bliss, and joy, and love— Tooru snaps.

He’s pushing your shoulders back until they meet his singular pillow, and crawls down to nest in the space between your thighs. Large palms hook under your knees and push back until they touch your shoulders, and he moans when he sees your arms reach out to hook them in place obediently.

He wants to cherish this moment, burn the image into his brain for years to come, however many he’s spared, but his loins burn with years of yearning. He grants himself one glance at your tiny frame spread open for him, revels in the sheer devotion in your eyes, and plunges his face into the drenched cotton covering your core.

You moan out his name in a wanton reaction as he inhales your sweet toxins like he’s trying to drown— he is, he has no reason to live past this moment he sins, no right to live as he indulges in his sick perversions.

He can feel each shake and tremor of your thighs above his head as he sucks and licks at the soaked cotton, rendered nothing but an useless scrap now. Each suck is paired with a deep whine, echoing through his now-barren room. With one swift move he pulls off your panties and let it dangle between your ankles hanging above your bodies. Slick lines drip from the wet rag, stretching to connect back to your drooling pussy.

Five seconds— that’s how long he allows himself to marvel at your leaking slit, lips pink and puckered around the clenching hole. His cockhead drenches through his pants, so painfully hard a soft breath could send him tumbling over.

But he doesn’t allow himself to touch it, it’s not about him; it’s about you. Your devotion, mercy— your sheer, unadulterated, unwavering love for him. It’s about you; you deserve the best, you deserve it all, you deserve someone that’s not him.

He licks up, tongue flat, and slowly follows the dip between your folds until he suctions onto your swollen bud. His lips give it a soft peck, before wrapping around it and enclosing it in the hot heat of his mouth.

He has half a mind to snake his hand up to clamp over your mouth, stop the loud moans and sobs from coming out, but each wail shoots jolts of arousal straight to his leaking dick; he can’t bring himself to shut it down, despite how good you look with his long fingers wrapped around your face.

With every long lap, he pulls more cries out of you, and by the time he prods his tongue into your needy hole, you’re clenching down on him, sucking back on the muscle. You’re close, he can feel it. His tongue fucks into you without any of the mercy you’ve graced him, hips rutting into the bedsheet in tangent to your growing squeals.

The palpitations hammering in his heart synchronizes with the pulse of your cunt, weaving into a fatal rondo before everything stops; his hips, your cries, the air closes in on your writhing bodies as he paints his pants in shame and sin.

He allows his peripherals to roam your body; thighs indented with tiny crescents by your dainty fingers, mouth agape with your cute pink tongue lolling out— he swallows down his guilt, letting it scorch his insides before coating his cock threatening to twitch back to life.

He watches your hands drop down from their determined grip, thumping lightly as they hit his bed. He gingerly folds your legs back onto the flat surface before dipping down to place a gentle kiss on your forehead. He can feel your arms shake in attempt to reach out and cuddle him in, but give out to fatigue.

Your eyes flutter closed, lips molding back to that soft smile ever-present in his presence, and he thinks he hears a faint whisper of, ‘I love you, Tooru-nii.’

Placid, limp, he watches as your body loses energy and drains into the mattress below. It slaps him in the face, presents him with a trophy, a golden star stamped with a big fat ‘Sin’ calligraphed on. His world collapses around him, buries him in the debris of his crumbled dignity, and the Devil dances.

[babbushka]

Because we’ve been talking about it and because it’s a favorite mood, how about some agressive, possessive, scary Flip busting the heads of some deserving creeps for sinday? If you feel like it of course! Angry/winding down smut is always fun if you’re in the mood too! 💗

Anonymous said: Omg from the kink list can you please write something with Flip and the following kinks? Or any of them? Possessive. Marking. Size kink. Public sex. I’m excited for sinday! Thank you for hosting it! 🖤

(2.3k, Young!Flip & his girl and just dating in this ficlet! cw: mentioned harassment, graphic descriptions of violence. NSFW: possessive behavior, marking, PIV) 

Rain pours down hard and heavy on the roof of the CSPD, as Flip and Jimmy hang around the station late at night. They’re rookies, so they get the worst fuckin’ shifts, but at the very least things aren’t too busy at an hour like this. Their shift is just about over as a matter of fact, they even changed out of their uniforms and are about to walk out of the station when the phone rings.

Officially off duty, Flip and Jimmy play around for a couple seconds debating between the two of them who is going to pick up, and on the fourth ring, Flip answers it with a tired, “Officer Zimmerman speaking.”

He isn’t too sure what he’s expecting, but hearing the cold shiver of your voice shuddering through the phone sure as shit isn’t it.

“Flip? Honey it’s me – can you come get me?” You sound terrified, and cold, and scared – and Flip’s blood freezes in his veins.

Jimmy can sense something is wrong too, just from the way Flip goes deathly still, listening to the surroundings and trying to make out where you’re calling him from. The rain sounds so loud, he knows you’re not at home.

“What’s the matter? Where are you?” He demands, suddenly frantic, rushing around to grab everything he needs to get the fuck out of there and get over to you.

“At the payphone on the corner of Johnson and 8th. Please can you just come get me?” You sniffle, and Flip sees spots, rage blinding him.

“Stay right there, you hear me? Don’t leave, Jimmy is going to stay on the line with you.” He doesn’t say anything to his friend, just shoves the phone into his hand and races to his car.

It takes less than five minutes for him to speed through the nearly empty streets, holding his breath along the way. His thumbs rap against the steering wheel anxiously, conjuring up all sorts of horrifying things that could’ve happened to you. When he pulls to the curb on the corner of Johnson and 8th, and sees you cold and alone in that little payphone, he tries his best not to scream.

You race to the side of his car and get settled in the passenger seat, letting out a breath that you had been holding too as you cry a little into your hands.

“What happened?” Flip asks, voice moving too quick, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah I’m okay I – ”

“Who did what to you?” He demands, making sure you’re buckled in sweetly and kissing you on the cheek, cranking the heat so the cold doesn’t settle into your wet clothes.

Flip peals out onto the pavement again, practically flooring it, not even really knowing where he’s taking you, just wanting to take you somewhere safe.

“You know the fella that lives across the street? Tommy? The nice fella who always helped cut the lawn?” You hiccup.

“Yeah?” Flip’s jaw is clenched so tight he’s sure it’s going to snap, white-knuckle grip on the wheel.

“I was walking home from the store and he pulled up and asked if I wanted a ride, because it’s late and was about to rain.” Your voice wobbles around the story, and somewhere in the back of his head, Flip is relieved that you’re yourself enough to tell a whole story. You never did get straight to the point, it’s one of the things he loved about you.

“Yeah?” He encourages anyway, letting the sound of your voice, wobbly though it may be, soothe his frazzled nerves.

“So I said yes but then he started to touch me and I said to stop, he didn’t stop, he grabbed me so I hit him and he hit me back and then he pushed me out of the car.” Your voice cracks on that, and there go Flip’s nerves.

Like he’s gunning for the coca-cola 500, Flip tears through the streets and blows through every red light, keeping one hand in yours the whole time. It isn’t long before he pulls up to your neighborhood, your house just a few blocks away from his own. The porchlight is off, meaning your parents aren’t home yet.

Across the street, Tommy’s porchlight is on.

“Ketsl why don’t you go inside, wash those tears off your face.” Flip says, his voice dangerously calm.

“’Kay. Love you.” You kiss his cheek, the tears mostly stopped.

“Love you too, I’ll be right in.” He taps the underside of your chin with his finger, and waits for you to get all the way inside your house, door closed behind you, before he gets out of his car.

Hidden in the glove-compartment is a small pistol, not one that’s issued by the CSPD or anything, just a small something that he bought a couple years ago just in case of an emergency. He doesn’t think twice about taking it and sticking it in the waistband of his trousers, and walks across the street in the pouring rain, to Tommy’s house.

Flip had been dating you for a couple months now, and he’s picked you up and dropped you off more times than he could count. He recognizes Tommy’s car in the driveway, and is glad that it’s the only one there, as he cracks the joints in his neck and rings the doorbell.

A moment or two goes by before the shitbag himself answers, his perfectly parted blonde hair backlit by the overhead light behind him. Flip also happens to notice the black-eye he’s sporting, and knows that must have been from you.

Tommy eyes Flip up and down, recognizing him too.

“What the fuck do you want – ow! Hey! Fuck!” Tommy doesn’t get very far before Flip has pulled out the gun from his waist, and cracks him across the face with it.

On the first hit, Tommy crumples to the ground, hands up, defensive, trying to shield his face, but Flip doesn’t let up. He pistol whips this sonofabitch again and again and again, until his blood is spraying all across Flip’s knuckles, until his nose crunches under the force of Flip’s beating.

The sound of metal hitting skull and rain hitting pavement fills Flip’s ears, and he gives Tommy a harsh kick to the gut for good measure. The man’s perfectly parted hair is now soaked with water from the front step, water that washes away his blood.

Flip grabs him by the shirt collar and holds him level with his own face, looking him straight in the eye and threatening – no, promising, “I swear on my fucking mother if you ever touch her again you’re dead.”  

With that, he drops Tommy, and the man scrambles back inside, shutting the door to nurse his wounds in private. Flip licks across his teeth, and lets out a deep breath, feeling good. Flip walks across the street once again, back to your house.

You’re waiting there, at the door, just on the other side of the screen, moonlight reflecting in your eyes.

“Can I come in?” Flip asks softly, “Or do you want to be alone?”

“Please stay with me.” Your answer is immediate, and it fills Flip with relief. He doesn’t ever want to do anything that would scare you or make you uncomfortable, and he’s just now realizing that this is the first time he’s ever gotten into a fight in front of you. He doesn’t know how you’ll react, and he’s worried, worried that you might think he’s no good for you now.

You open the door wider for him, and he slips inside where it’s nice and warm, the familiar surroundings of your living room calming him down.

“Did you see…?” He gestures with his thumb behind him.

“I saw.” You nod, standing in the living room with your arms wrapped around yourself.

“Are you angry?” Flip tries not to sound too afraid of the idea, but still, the fear is there.

“Are you kidding?” You frown, shaking your head at once, and then letting out a bit of an unexpected laugh, “To tell you the truth…seeing you so strong and protective like that? It turned me on.”

Oh…oh! Flip hadn’t thought of that as a possibility until you say it, and suddenly all his fears have vanished.  He looks at you, and you look at him, and then you’re smiling real wide, despite it all.

“Yeah?” Flip takes a step towards you, and then another step, until you meet him and close the distance between your bodies with your arms thrown around his neck, your mouth crashing onto his.

Immediately, Flip shucks off his jacket and begins trying to peel you out of your clothing, which is real fucking difficult because everything is so wet. You kiss him, tongues sliding against one another, lips sucking and biting at one another as you pant pant pant, lust and love and possessive desire curling around in Flip’s bones.

“Take me to your room?” Flip asks, and you nod, half dressed and leading him up the stairs.

By the time you get up there, you’re naked and Flip’s not too far behind. You bring him to the bed eagerly, desperately, falling backwards onto the mattress with a big smile, the kind of smile that makes Flip just have to kiss you – so he does.

“Fuck me,” You moan, shuffling underneath him and spreading your legs for him, Flip fitting perfectly in the space between them, “Please?”

He’d never say no to you, not to his girl, so he pushes a few fingers into your pussy to see if you’re stretched enough to take him, and though it’ll be a tight fit, he doesn’t want to waste any more time. So, slowly, he pushes the head of his cock through your folds and feels your body swallow him down, cunt clenching and fluttering as he rocks himself deeper deeper deeper into you.

“Shit,” Flip groans, the hot tight wet clutch of your cunt making him almost drool, as he begins to build up a thrusting rhythm, “Shit you’re so good.”

You laugh at that, one of your legs winding around his hips, the ball of your foot digging into his lower back and keeping him there. You kiss him as he fucks you, something sturdy and steady – just like him.

Flip sucks marks into your flesh, all across your shoulders, your chest, even one onto your neck. He marks you up, a possessive clingy sort of desperate energy. The world is going to know you’re cared for, taken care of, and that he’s the man that’s doing the best fucking job at it. It makes Flip’s blood fucking boil thinking about creeps like Tommy, creeps who think they can push you around or ignore your wishes, disrespecting you. Flip stakes his claim on you, but only because you’ve told him he can. You told him, and he wants the world to know it.

“A little faster? Just a – yes! Yes just like that!” You encourage him, “God that’s good Flip, you fuck me so well.”

The praise goes straight to his cock, throbbing and aching inside of you. Flip continues to carry his markings down onto your chest, licking and sucking at your nipples, burying his face in the cleavage there to bite and kiss at your skin. He breathes you in and fucks you deep, his hips pushing you up up up the mattress with the effort, the strength of it.

“Can I come in you?” Flip asks, panting and groaning and grunting against your lips, watching as bruises begin to bloom under your flesh.

“Yes!” You shout, eager and so in love, and that’s what does it for him.

“Shit – ” He groans low in his throat as he crosses over the edge, orgasm washing over him as he comes and comes inside the heat of your cunt.

You’re not far behind, because Flip doesn’t let up even though he’s come, he wants to take you there too.

A moment or two later you’re following after him, yoru body tensing up before melting beneath him, your leg sliding off from around his hip, a big moaning sigh pouring out of your mouth.

“I’m proud of you, you know.” Flip says afterwards, clutching you to his chest. He’s got a cigarette lit and is smoking it to calm himself down, but he takes it out from between his lips for a little while to press kisses to the top of your head.

“What for?” You’re tired, orgasm lulling you into a post-glow sleep, which is probably for the best considering the clock is about to chime two.

“For hitting him. I saw the shiner you gave him.” He rubs a soothing hand up and down your arm, and you snuggle further against him with a little sigh.

“Are you going to get in trouble with work?” You whisper nervously, something that Flip hadn’t even thought about until just that moment.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. All that matters now is that you’re safe.” He dismisses that fear, and you just nod.

He thinks you’ve gone to sleep, and shuts his eyes against the dark too. He lets out a sigh of his own, pinches out the cigarette and tugs the covers up over your shoulder so you don’t get cold.

“Flip?” You mumble, voice small from being so tired.

“Yeah honey-bunny?” Flip whispers, hugging you to his chest.

“Thank you.” You whisper back, pressing a kiss to the strong pec you’re not using as a pillow, and he smiles, reassuring you now and always that he’d do:

“Anything for my girl.”

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

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

Taggin some friends! @mochabucky @sacklerscumrag @artsymaddie @bitchydecisions @direnightshade @reyloaddict55 @thembohux @kylorenswhxre @sunflowersinthesnow @safarigirlsp @steeevienicks @mousemakingjam @materialisthicc @slut-for-harri @littleevilme13 @erys-targaryen @leillaa @hswritingrecs @han68000 @rosi3ba3z @chapterhappygirl @miabelay11 

[uselessheretic]

banri day?? banri????? i dont have anything new but ill post a scene from wip that will never be finished where juza goes to camp for two  weeks and banri experiences realizashuns

Banri rolled through morning practice like a derailed train. 

“What the fuck,” he repeated for what may have been the twelfth time that day. 

“Well,” Omi said while cocking his head and squinting at the screen. “I’m glad he’s making friends!” 

“Since when did Hyodo have friends?” Banri asked.

“We’re his friends.”

“And that’s a fat fucking L on your part, but me? I’m built different.”

Omi frowned as he puzzled over Banri’s words. “I’m sorry. I do not know what most of that sentence means.” 

“God Omi,” Banri said while sucking his teeth. “You’re so old.”

“I’m three years older than you.”

Banri furrowed his perfectly tweezed eyebrows as he considered that. “Nah, that’s fake.” 

Azami, interested in the conversation for the first time, took one of his earbuds out. “I have theories,” he stated. 

“About Hyodo?”

“Why would I––Nevermind. Anyways, I think Omi is evading tax fraud.” The way Azami stated it made it sound like he had put a lot of thought into this. It was a convincing argument.

“Hm…” Banri considered it.

“I’m a student…” Omi defended himself. 

“Yeah, tell that to the government, Boomer.” 

“I have an ID!”

“And I’m from a Yakuza family. I know that shit’s easy to fake, but whatever.” Azami gestured to his eyes signalling a I’m watching you warning. 

Banri slapped Omi on the back of his freakishly broad shoulders. “Come on, you are kinda a whole ass mom. I don’t know what aged you up like that.”

Azami scratched at his head, also thinking about it. “Trauma?”

“Maybe?” 

They both looked to Omi, who just shrugged in response. 

“I mean, yeah, probably,” he agreed. 

Mystery solved, Banri was more than ready to go back to the subject at hand. 

“I wanna see!” Taichi made grabby hands towards the phone still in Omi’s hands. Omi tossed it to him, and Taichi, only fumbling a little, made a triumphant noise when he caught it. His eyes flew wide when he pulled up the screenshot of Kazunari’s post. 

“She’s cute!” Taichi announced in a shocked voice. 

“It’s insane!” The beginning of a tension headache was starting to form. Banri rubbed viciously at his temples, as if trying to drill into his skull and rip the migraine out of his head. 

Taichi wasn’t helping as he cried out in jealousy. “No fair! I want to talk to a girl who’s that cute!”  

“She’s not that cute,” Banri mumbled. 

“Yes, she is!” Taichi insisted. “Azami, what do you think?” 

Azami yelped as Banri’s phone was shoved in his face. Reluctantly, he took a quick peak. “She has nice skin. It looks smooth and healthy. I think she needs a lighter moisturizer though. Juza better be wearing sunscreen out there.” 

“See, even Azami said she was a total babe!” Taichi said, triumphantly. 

“I didn’t say that!” Azami sputtered out. 

“When did she become a babe?” Banri complained. “What happened to cute?” 

With a serious expression, Taichi placed a hand on Banri’s shoulder. “Bro, you can be cute and a babe at the same time. Girls are versatile like that.” 

He put a little too much force in slapping Taichi’s hand away. “Shut up. Anybody would look cute next to Hyodo’s busted up mug.” 

Omi hummed in thought. “Do you think you might be a bit jealous, Banri?”

“Huh?” It was a ridiculous assumption, so ridiculous that it left Banri devoid of words and with his mouth hanging open in shock. 

Jealous? Jealous of what? That Hyodo could talk to some girl that wasn’t even that cute? 

Okay, maybe she was a bit cute in a tomboy-ish way, but “babe” was still going too far! She was just some girl. One with nice skin and a pretty smile who happened to be talking to Juza. 

There was no reason for Banri to be jealous because Banri was perfectly capable of walking outside and finding a girl twice as attractive to chat up. There was nothing special about getting lucky that a chick could stand his presence for long enough to engage in what was probably a dry and awkward conversation.

“Banny? You in there?” Taichi’s voice broke through like a lighthouse through fog, snapping Banri out of his thoughts as he waved a hand in front of his face. 

“Why would I be jealous of Hyodo?” Banri finally spit out. “I can pull girls way hotter than that.”

Omi chuckled awkwardly and turned away. “Not exactly what I meant, but sure.”

“It’s just a surprise is all! Since when did Hyodo talk to girls? Forreal, when has anybody ever seen him talk to any girl?”

“He talks to The Director!” Omi said.

“Yeah, and I’m pretty sure he hasn’t figured out that The Director’s a girl.”

And in a show of impeccable timing, that was the exact moment Izumi decided to enter the practice room with Sakyo trailing behind her. 

“Come again?” Izumi asked. 

“What the hell are any of you talking about?” Sakyo’s voice was practically a snarl. 

“No, really. Come again?” Izumi repeated herself, a smile on her face as she cocked her head in a questioning manner. 

Deciding that Sakyo was the less frightening of the two options to deal with, Banri held his phone up as he called out to him. “Furuichi! Hyodo’s being a whore on Instablam!”

A fascinating mixture of exhaustion, anger, regret, and even more exhaustion colored Sakyo’s expression. Knowing he didn’t want to hear an answer, but aware that there was no way to avoid it, Sakyo asked, “What?”

Omi tried to reign the conversation in as a voice of reason. “Banri’s just a bit worked up is all.” And then, in a stage-whisper that was completely useless, he said, “He’s jealous that Juza’s talking to a cute girl.”

“I’m not fucking jealous and she’s not fucking cute!” Banri yelled at a reasonable volume considering the circumstances.

“Christ on a fucking cracker,” Sakyo had reached the limits of his patience. “Everybody shut the hell up! Practice begins NOW!”

The small group of actors broke up, taking their cue to start setting up for practice, something they should’ve done fifteen minutes earlier. 

“She is cute though! Director, you should see!” Taichi said as he tried to carry too many chairs at once to clear the floor. 

“Banri’s just being mean,” Omi agreed as he took the majority of the chairs out from Taichi’s arm who had begun to tilt dangerously. 

“No, this whole thing is just bullshit is all,” Banri argued. “That has to look bad for the company, right? Isn’t he supposed to be acting, not slutting it up in the woods.”

“What?” Izumi asked. “What does any of that even mean, Banri!” 

Banri handed her his phone, pouting as he saw Sakyo take a half-interested peek over her shoulder. 

“Aw, he’s making friends!” Izumi said with not even a hint of slutshaming. 

“How is that allowed?” Banri asked. “And since when did he talk to girls? Come on, I can’t be the only one stumped by that!” 

The others in the room made some vague mumbling noises.

“I mean, did he lie though?” Azami said. 

“He’s allowed to make friends. That’s what camp is for! Do you think girls and boys can’t be friends, Banri?” Izumi’s voice was tactfully disappointed. 

“Don’t try to trap me, I took a Women's Studies course last semester,” he said while crossing his arms. “I know chicks and dudes can hang, or whatever.”

“I–Chicks? Seriously, Banri?” 

Banri blinked in confusion. “What? It’s not like I said bitc–”

Before he could finish his sentence, Sakyo smacked him in the back of the head. Hard. 

“Watch yourself,” Sakyo warned him. He sighed as he watched Banri rub at the sore spot pouting. “What would you even want me to do? Give him the birds and the bees speech?”

Banri balked at the suggestion. “Gross… I can’t even imagine what that’d be like.” 

“What?” Sakyo asked. “Do you need it explained too, Settsu?” 

“It’s awful,” Azami spoke with blank eyes that had seen horror. “Don’t do it. Save yourself.” 

“Juza and lady sitting in a tree,” Taichi sang out. “K-I-S-I-N-G!” 

“Shut up!” Azami shoved at Taichi with a bright red blush. “That’s disgusting!” 

“Agreed,” Sakyo said with an affirmative nod. 

Omi mouthed the letters while ticking them off on his fingers, “I think you may have missed a letter, Taichi. There should be two S’s,” 

“Huh? Are you sure? K-I-S-Ohhh!” The world’s smallest lightbulb sputtered on above his head. 

“No, it’s S, Taichi. S,” Omi tried to correct him. “K-I-S-S-I-N-G.”

“Yeah, I got that!” Taichi said. “Juza and lady sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-”

“No!” Azami yelled. 

“Huh?” Omi said while furrowing his eyebrows. “It’s definitely two S’s. K-I-S-” 

“Stop talking about kissing!” Azami begged. He covered his ears, sinking to the floor in a horrified teenaged ball. 

Meanwhile, Banri stood off to the side. Tired. Defeated. “Izumi?” he called for The Director weakly.

“Yes?” she asked with concern in her voice. 

“I think I’m in hell.” He could barely speak above a hoarse whisper. 

Izumi patted him on the back, gentle and caring. “It’ll be okay, Banri. Although we will need to circle back to that ‘bitches’ thing later, kay?”

[waywardwrestlewritingwaif]

Raise the Stakes, Part 12

Yup, another little piece. I'm assuming this one is going to end after their actual match this weekend. It'll all be clear what I have to write once that happens, right? RIGHT?

Anyway, here's the latest installment. Catch the rest on the Master List.

Pairing: David Finlay x OFC x Jay White

Word count: 1,227

Content advisory: graphic sexual content, cursing

“I just have to pick up my bag,” David mumbles, squeezing your arm a little.

“Thanks for rescuing me.”

He gives you a little smile, looking you in the eye for the first time. “Glad to do it. I wasn’t sure there for a minute.”

As you enter the locker room, he places his belongings in his bag. Again, he’s not looking at you. You feel cold all over.

“David, are you mad at me?”

“No, not at all.”

“Look at me.”

His expression is almost sheepish, like he knows that he doesn’t have any reason to be upset but he is anyway.

“Now tell me what’s wrong.”

“It’s fine, I mean, I just didn’t know what he was doing.”

“He was being a bastard. He was pinning me to the wall and not letting me leave.”

“I woke up in the treatment room and you weren’t there. Why didn’t you stay?”

You bite your lip. “I was so angry. I couldn’t stand still and do nothing. I went to find him to… I honestly can’t tell you what I was going to do. I wanted to hurt him. I wanted to make sure he didn’t come anywhere near you outside of a ring.”

“I don’t need you to fight my battles.”

“I know you don’t. And I wouldn’t have done anything except that we both know you presence is making this whole thing worse.”

“I guess you have ways to persuade him that I don’t.”

You start, feeling like you’ve just been slapped.

“I’m sorry but what did you just say? You know I-“

“Ditched him and moved here for me, I know.”

“I was going to say I love you and not him but you’re so angry right now I feel like you wouldn’t believe me.”

He exhales heavily and drops his chin, shaking his head a little. When he looks up, the sadness is palpable. He reaches out and takes your arm, pulling you a little closer.

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” He sounds like he’s choking up a little. “When I saw you… with him… I got spooked, like you’d taken the first opportunity to get away from me and run to… I heard what you said to him and I know you weren’t pulling anything. I worry that I can’t compete if he’s actually around and I’m taking that out on you.”

You cup his face with your hands and kiss him. It’s the only thing that can possibly express what’s going through your head. His passive aggressive acting out sucks but it’s not without some justification. Looking at him, your heart melts because you want to protect him and because you know he’ll do whatever he can to protect you. You bury the thought that, just for a moment, you did feel weak around Jay, like you could go back to the way things were and maybe they could be better. It’s a stupid thought.

The kiss remains slow but it builds. He’s wearing sweatpants and you can feel his growing erection through the soft fabric. You reach down and run your hand along the length, purring into the skin on his neck when it elicits a little gasp of pleasure.

“Careful,” he moans into your ear, “or I’m going to put you on your knees.”

That’s all the encouragement that you need, so you kick the door shut and push his pants down, following his suggestion and kneeling in front of him. It’s the first time you’ve been in this position and when you look up at him you can see there’s a conflict in his eyes, arousal tinged with guilt. But you smile, stroking him slowly and pressing him into your mouth.

Although there’s a chance that someone could walk in on you, you don’t rush anything, building things up slowly and edging him a little, changing your pace when you sense he’s getting close. After a couple of times, he grabs a handful of your hair and rams himself forward, taking control and fucking your face hard. It’s not something he’s ever done before but you can tell immediately that it’s turning him on, the feeling that he’s getting to punish you for making him believe, however fleetingly, that you’d run back to Jay.

It takes you a few seconds to adjust so that you don’t gag but once you do, you have to admit it’s turning you on as well. Part of you feels like you deserve to be punished. You figure he’ll finish this way but he holds back and when you look up, he looks a little horrified at what he’s just done, flushed with excitement though he is.

You take him in your mouth again and this time there’s no teasing. He cries out as he comes in your mouth, loud enough that people outside, if there are people outside, would be able to hear him. You run your hand over his thigh, kissing around his pelvic bone as he comes down. When his breathing starts to regulate, you gently tuck him back in his pants and stand, holding him close enough that you can feel his heartbeat against your chest.

He turns you around kissing along your neck and throat and balancing you on the arm of a chair. His hands are under your skirt and although you know you’d love what he’s aiming for, you stop him, resting your hand on his chest and pushing him back just a little.

“It’s ok,” you whisper.

“I want to return the favour.”

“Later.” You plant a few kisses over his chest and pull him back against you. “Just let it be about you for now.”

He holds you so tight you can barely breathe but you love it. You wrap your arms around him and the two of you stay like that for a few minutes. When you stand, your hands clasp and you walk out like that, no words, just shy smiles back and forth.

You’re not able to avoid Jay anymore, so you have to focus on this, on how this man makes you feel, on the expression he gets when he looks at you, on relief you feel at having someone be honest with you. Between that and a man who’s manipulated you, made you feel like nothing, one who’s jerked you around for years, it shouldn’t even be a choice.

The problem is in the extraneous parts, the fact that Jay can end David’s career and that you fully believe that he’d do it. Maybe it would be better to tell David about the threat but if you admit it’s scaring you then it’s admitting that you feel like you have to take what he said seriously. And if you do that, it means you’re thinking about going back to Jay because you don’t believe David is able to fight his own battles. You’d rather carry the burden yourself than have him walking around with his head full of Jay’s poison. You’ve had way more practice than he has.

So you climb in the car next to him and rest your head on his shoulder.

“I hope you’re not falling asleep, gorgeous,” he laughs, kissing your forehead.

You just smile and let yourself float on the cloud of pleasant emotions he brings out in you for as long as you can.

[ssajj]

Brutus

While undercover, you run into the boyfriend you left behind.

Fem!Reader, 5.1k

TW: nongraphic depictions of violence, swearing, cigarettes, hints of a toxic relationship (not between reader and Spencer), guns

Note: dual timelines! It goes back and forth for most of the fic.

"Are you sure they want to meet me?" You ask, fiddling with the sleeve of your shirt. It's hard not to overanalyze the outfit you picked out for this occasion, even if you know it's far too late to go back to your place and change. Spencer hates not arriving on time. 

He looks at you with a quizzical expression on his face. "Of course they want to meet you."

When in doubt, you love to go for false bravado. "Talk a lot about me?" You smirk, watching a slow blush appear on his cheeks. Stepping forward, you wrap your arms around his middle and gently tug him toward you. He complies easily, his hands automatically settling at the small of your back. 

"Is it okay if I do talk about you a lot?"

That makes you smile. "It's sweet."

The blush only gets stronger. "Morgan and Garcia are pretty eager to meet you," he says. "They've been bringing up tonight all week."

He's probably only saying it to make you feel better, but all it does is spike the anxiety brewing in your chest. Garcia's an information junkie; you don't even want to know the things she's already figured out about you. And Morgan is Spencer's best friend. If he doesn't like you, that's probably the beginning of the end for your relationship. 

"It'll be great, love," he's firmer this time, melting some of the fire. Your favorite thing he calls you is 'love'. Something about the gentleness of that word, the feelings it implies, and the soft look Spencer gets on his face whenever he uses it makes you want to curl up against him for the rest of your life.

After another moment, the two of you head out the door and to the bar, hands clasped together. 

"Y/N!!!!" Garcia practically forces you into a bear hug when you walk over to the BAU's table. "Oh, I am SO glad you could come tonight. I've been looking forward to this for ages! I cannot believe Spencer waited an eternity to bring you around us. You're all he talks about anymore, it's adorable."

You glance back at your boyfriend, who looks a tad horrified. Morgan laughs and slaps him on the back, forcing a cough out of him. 

"Hey," JJ greets you, looking so much less intimidating than anyone at the table. You know it's a bit of a farce though. Spencer’s told you enough stories to know that JJ is a woman who can hold her own and hold it well, despite appearances. Idly, you note that she'd be great at undercover work. "I'm JJ. I'm assuming you know that you just got crushed by Garcia. And then there's Morgan, Rossi, Emily, and Hotch." As she said their names, she pointed at them. It was nice to get confirmation, even if you were pretty sure you knew which face belonged to which name.

Hotch nods at you. "It's nice to meet you."

"Is he smiling?" Emily hisses, leaning toward Rossi. "I think Hotch is smiling."

"It's great to finally meet all of you. Spencer’s always talking about you guys," you say, taking your seat. Spencer settles down next to you close enough that your thighs touch. The bar definitely isn't somewhere that he'd normally hang out, but he seems comfortable enough here that you assume it's a frequent spot for the BAU to visit. 

A couple hours in, you're feeling tipsy and ridiculously happy. You're getting along particularly well with Emily and JJ, who are both amazing. If he isn't talking to you, Spencer’s usually talking to Morgan and Garcia, who obviously adore him. Hotch and Rossi seem lost in their own private conversations and you wonder if it's because they're the two highest ranking agents here. 

"You should totally start joining us when we have girls night!" JJ says, clinking her beer against your glass. "I think you'd really enjoy them."

You nod, feeling flattered. "I'm down to come."

Emily grins, reaching over to knock Spencer’s shoulder. "Your girlfriend is so much cooler than you."

Before you can protest, he nods. "She is," he agrees, smiling at you.

"Awww," Garcia coos, joining the conversation. "Who knew that our baby Spencer was a secret romantic? I love it!"

--

"A wedding?" You ask, pressed up against Cal's side. It's always a bit uncomfortable, almost like your bodies know you don't fit together, that something is amiss. You just hope that your body isn't the thing that finally gets you killed. "That seems below you."

Cal looks down at you, an amused smirk twisting his face. He wants to eat you up, you think. He wants to devour you. "The groom is an old family friend," he explains. "It's courtesy that I attend. And I can hardly go without a ravishing date on my arm."

You rise up on your toes to kiss his cheek, rubbing a bit at the lipstick you leave with the pad of your thumb. "As long as I get to pick my own dress."

"What kind of man would I be if I didn't let you pick it yourself?" His grip on you tightens enough that you wonder if it'll leave a bruise on your hip. Tomorrow, you know you'll find a wad of cash in your purse. In exchange, he'll get to take it off of you after the wedding. 

Mercifully, he lets you go a second later. You step back, walking by him. He's done with you for the day. Your relationship is to the point where he doesn't need to formally dismiss you anymore. You've picked him apart and put him back together. Whether he knows it or not, it feels like you've made him the very man that you hate with every fiber of your being. At least, you tell yourself that you hate him. When it gets too hard, when you find yourself falling under his spell, you picture the last boyfriend you had as yourself. A man full of shy smiles, sweet compliments, gentle kisses, and the most beautiful assortment of random knowledge. When he's in your mind, you don't get lost in the person you're pretending to be. It's the only time you feel like yourself. 

Of course, being yourself too much would get you killed, so you limit yourself. 

You go dress shopping the next day. Cal gave you an absurd budget, so you manage to pick out an extravagant dress and also a pair of shoes and earrings. This morning, Cal had mentioned that the wedding was going to be a black tie event, giving you an excuse to feel like a princess. Well. Maybe a trapped princess, like Cinderella or Rapunzel. You walk out of the store with a heavy bag on your arm. When you return to the house, it's blissfully empty. Cal isn't due back until late, but you still do a full walk around the house, double checking before you go out to the garden. The first few months you lived here, the garden was the responsibility of the landscapers that stopped by occasionally, but you batted your eyes and sucked on Cal's lip until he agreed to give it to you. Now, no one else was allowed to touch it per his orders. And he wasn't the kind of man his staff said no to. 

Basically, it was a perfect hiding spot. You go over to the daisies, digging a little until you find the box that contained your current burner phone. You'd have to switch soon, probably within the next few weeks. It was close to dying and it was never a good idea to keep the same phone number for an extended period of time. You dial the number once, hang up immediately, dial again, let it ring three times, hang up, and then dial for a final time. Your handler answers quickly.

"What?" He asks, gruff. 

"We're going to a wedding near Virginia."

You hear him suck in a breath. "Close to where you used to live."

"I know."

"If you get recognized-"

"I won't."

He pauses. "Stay safe."

You hang up the phone and pray you make it through this alive. 

--

On your one year anniversary, Spencer brings you to a museum. He walks you through all the exhibits, rambling about anything he knows in regards to your surroundings. His hands keep waving through the air, his eyes bright and alive, a grin splitting his face. It's obvious that he's in his element. 

You love him so badly that it hurts, sometimes. 

By the time you reach the gift shop, your brain is full of knowledge you probably won't ever need again. 

"Sorry," Spencer says suddenly, looking at you. "Did I just bore you? You know you're allowed to cut me off when I get going."

You shake your head, kissing his cheek. "It was cute. I loved it."

Once you're done there, the two of you head back to his apartment. Last month, the two of you had decided not to do gifts, electing just to spend the day together instead. You cuddle with him on the couch, your body tucked perfectly against his. In this moment, you feel safe. You're with a man you know loves you, and you love him back just as fiercely. Life is good. 

--

You and Cal arrive in Virginia at the crack of dawn, early enough that it feels like you should still be rubbing the sleep out of your eyes even though you've been awake for hours. “Who even has weddings before noon? I didn’t even think that was a thing.”

Cal chuckles beside you, his arm snaking around you. In this moment, it’s hard not to shudder. You’ve never understood his need to always touch you, claim you for the world to see. As far as he knows, you’ve never belonged to anyone else. You were born and bred for this, a perfect lover. Just enough sass, just enough danger, just enough compliance, just enough meekness. He doesn’t know that this isn’t the real you, that you’re always on the verge of screaming your head off. One day, he’ll learn. It’ll end in one of your deaths. 

Hopefully, it’ll end in his death. 

"We'll stop at the hotel first, darling," Cal takes your hand as he talks, leading you along the side of the road. God, you remember this place. Of course you do. This is your home turf. A new name and a new look doesn't mean that this doesn't feel like home. "You can get changed and refreshed before we head to the venue."

You shrug. "Sounds good to me."

The walk is blissfully short, but the hotel is grand. It's definitely not somewhere you would have been able to afford. Honestly, you're almost disgusted by how the place practically bleeds money and how well Cal seems to blend into this new environment. 

Once you're in the room, you toss your suitcase onto the bed, hissing when the action results in a broken nail. Cal laughs at you as you stick your finger in your mouth. He comes over after a beat, pulling at your hand to inspect your nail. For a second, it looks like he's going to lick your finger, but he just lets you go. "Get dressed," he tells you, kissing your forehead. "I want to see how stunning you're going to look."

--

"Something's off about you."

You whip around, coming face to face with Emily. She's wearing an expression you recognize, but not on her: perfect blankness. There's no trace of a personality, no trace of a name attached to the person that spoke. Something tightens in your chest and you crane your neck to look at Spencer, who's blissfully unaware of the words that were just spoken. Instead, he's fully engaged in a conversation with JJ and Will, hands flapping as they smile warmly at him. 

"I don't know what you're talking about," you say to Emily, crafting a neutral but surprised look to wear on your own face. "Not sure I appreciate the tone, though."

Emily scoffs. "Don't play dumb with me. Come on. I know you got the same feeling about me."

She's right, even though you don't admit it. It almost feels like when two predators acknowledge each other in the wild- they know they're evenly matched, and so they go their separate ways. Except that everyone in the room is a predator. You and Emily are a different breed, though. 

She's done deep undercover work. 

"Ladies!" Rossi interrupts, throwing an arm around Emily’s shoulders. If he notes any tension, he doesn't comment on it. "Why are you being antisocial over here?" He points at you. "Your boyfriend has been talking the ears off of JJ and Will. I honestly couldn't even tell you what about."

You shrug. "They don't seem to mind."

"Am I not allowed to talk to her?" Emily asks, eyebrow quirked. "I need to make sure she's not a secret spy."

Rossi laughs. "Garcia would have already sniffed that out, don't worry. Y/N passed her background check with flying colors."

"Did you?" You ask Emily, a small smile playing on your lips. 

"Of course."

By now, Rossi’s gotten a good taste of the strangers of this interaction. He glances between you, eyes narrowing as they settle on you. You don't change your face.

"Actually, I think I'll join Spencer," you say, sliding past the two of them. 

Spencer welcomes you gladly, folding you seamlessly into the conversation. Throughout most of it, you wonder how everyone else can understand what Will's saying. For all you know, he could be telling you off. 

When you turn your head, you notice that Emily’s still looking at you. When you nod at her, she nods back. 

You hope that's the end of it. 

--

An hour in, you figure out that you hate weddings. 

It doesn't help that you've been ditched. Cal was stuck to you like glue just long enough for you two to walk in together before he mumbled something about "important business" and took off. Currently, you're sitting alone at a table toward the back of the venue. You don't know what the hell you got so dressed up for or why you chose such a risky dress. One wrong move meant that everyone here was going to see a lot more of you than you were comfortable with. 

"Hey, pretty lady," a man greets you, plopping himself in one of the empty seats next to you. You blink at him. "All alone here?"

"I'm here with my boyfriend."

He sighs, putting his sweaty hands on the table. "Now, what kind of man would leave his lady all by her lonesome?"

"How about you leave before I kick your ass?"

Cal laughs behind you, alerting you to his presence. You turn around, smiling at him. He's got a warm look on his face, the one that's only reserved for you. 

"Oh!" The stranger yelps, standing up so fast that he rattles the table. "I didn't realize you were Cal's-"

"Just go," you tell him, waving him off. He doesn't waste any time. 

Cal takes the empty seat. "I don't know why I bothered having security. You're scarier than all of them."

You roll your eyes. "Uh huh. Have fun chatting up all the old rich men here?"

He takes your hand. "I'm sorry to leave you alone for so long." Lifting your hand, he kisses it. You blush. 

"I'm assuming you have to go back to that?"

He nods. "Will you be okay here?"

"I think I'm going to go smoke, actually."

He's the one that got you into cigarettes, so he doesn't protest this. "Go out the west wing exit," he says instead. "There's always too much traffic at the main doors."

The two of you part, heading in opposite directions. It takes you a bit to find the right exit, but you're blissful when the crisp air finally hits your face. The view isn't bad, either, but it does make your heart ache. 

For some stupid reason, you hadn't realized that the venue was so close to the museum Spencer loved taking you to. 

You take your sweet time outside, cigarette dangling loosely from your fingers. It's the most relaxed you've felt all day, away from the prying eyes that know you as someone else. This assignment has already gone on for longer than you'd expected, but Cal is a tough nut to crack. Every time you think you have his complete trust, that he'll tell you what you need to know, a door slams shut in your face, or he gets angry with you for the littlest action. You take a drag, watching the smoke dissipate in the air. 

"Y/N?" A familiar voice asks.

Your heart stops. 

--

Your blood freezes in your veins, seemingly distorting everything around you. "What?" You whisper into the phone. 

"He'll be okay," JJ soothes. "He's getting checked out by an EMT as we speak, I promise. I'm staring at him right now."

"What happened?"

She pauses, which doesn't fill you with any kind of confidence. "He went in after the unsub without backup. They ended up getting into a bit of a fight before Morgan and I could get to him. The three of us took down the unsub together, Spence is just...bruised."

"Any cracked ribs?" You ask. 

"I'll let you know as soon as I find out. I'll call back in a few, okay?" 

Before you can reply, the line is disconnected. 

For the next eleven minutes and thirty-two seconds, you don't move a muscle. This wasn't the first time Spencer had gotten hurt since you'd started dating- perks of being with someone that hunted serial killers for a living- but that did nothing to comfort you now. Your mind always went to the worst possible place, combing over your last interaction with Spencer, wondering if he died now, would he know how much you loved him? While you were at a desk job currently, most of your career had been spent never knowing if you'd make it to dawn. This had been ingrained in you by now. You've seen people die, you've seen people be killed in a heartbeat. You survived that. 

You couldn't survive Spencer dying. 

The second your phone rings, it's answered and at your ear. "How is he?"

"Y/N," Spencer says into the phone, and you feel your entire body relax. 

Instead of answering him, you burst into tears. 

"Hey, hey. I'm okay, love."

"Sorry!" You practically wail, covering your mouth with your hand. "Sorry. What did the EMT say? How are you feeling? When will you be home?"

He answers your questions in a steady tone, obviously still worried about your emotional level. "We're getting on the jet once JJ and Hotch finish wrapping up with the detectives here."

"Promise?"

"I promise, Y/N." 

Twelve hours later, Spencer is wrapped in your arms. He has a cracked ribs and an assortment of bruises, but he's breathing and he's here.

"Are you ever going to tell me what happened to you that causes such a dramatic reaction?" He asks, making you tense. 

"Spence…"

He sighs. "I know."

This was the biggest rift in your relationship. He pours his heart out day by day, and you're a shell of a woman with none of that to offer him. You can’t talk about most of your career. Even now, at a boring desk job, you're handling other people's undercover identities. You requested a break from going undercover and gotten it, but there's a part of your brain that still knows not to trust that. They could try to send you away tomorrow. 

--

Spencer. Spencer is here. Spencer is staring at you. Spencer just said your name. 

You know what you have to do, even if it'll hurt both of you. You'd tear yourself open to keep him safe, set yourself on fire to keep him safe, but that doesn't mean it'll be any easier to break his heart to keep him safe. 

"I'm sorry?" You ask, scrunching your face up in confusion. "I think you have the wrong person."

You don't look exactly like you did when you dated Spencer. Your hair is a different color and cut, and your face has started hollowing out from stress and hate. Honestly, there's been times where you haven't even recognized yourself in the mirror. 

He repeats your name, taking a step toward you. Instinct has taught you well, so even though you want to run forward into his arms, you take a step back. 

He looks different since the last time you saw him. Different, but good. He's filled out more, his hair is longer, and he's holding himself with more authority. This Spencer isn't constantly curled in on himself, you know. He isn't always trying to make himself lesser. He's maintained his kind eyes, though. They're staring straight through you, searching for things you can't give him. All you can remember is the love you shared with him, the love you smashed when you left. It makes you ache. 

This is conformation of your deepest fear: he's better off without you. 

"That isn't my name," you tell him, cocking your head to the side. The cigarette, you notice, has fallen to the ground. You wonder if he's noticed, but you step on it all the same. "My name is Reva."

"Reva." It sounds distinctly wrong coming from his lips, like it doesn't quite fit despite his efforts to force it. By this point, you're well used to being called the wrong name. Something about the way Spencer says it still makes you want to cringe. 

Regardless, he can't know any of that. He still has some hope in his eyes, although it's being muddled by confusion. "Yes," you confirm. "Look, I'm sorry you can't find who you're looking for. I'm not her, though."

"I'm sorry, too."

"Reva!" You hear, and you turn to find Cal coming out the door. Whipping your head back at Spencer, you gesture for him to leave, feeling some of your panic leak out into the open. Cal doesn't get to look at Spencer. He doesn't get to talk to Spencer. 

Out of desperation, you practically leap into Cal's arms, kissing him firmly on the mouth. He’s surprised, but since he never says no to this kind of thing, he pulls you closer and deepens it. “Can we get out of here?” You whine, lowering your hands to right below his ass. 

“I think that sounds perfect.”

As he takes your hand to lead you back into the venue, you spare one last look at Spencer. He’s rooted to the spot, mouth slightly agape as he stares at you. 

You have the sinking feeling that you didn’t trick him well enough. 

--

When you go into the office on Monday, you know. Your supervisor is standing at your desk, a grim expression on his face. 

“I don’t want to go,” you tell him automatically. 

All the other times you’ve been under, there’s been no one on the other side to miss you. Now, though? You think of Penelope, who likes surprising you with different kinds of flowers, of Rossi, who taught you how to make your first authentic Italian dish, of Hotch, who you just managed to work a soft smile out of, of JJ, who automatically gravitates toward you whenever you’re in a room together, of Morgan, who lifted you up and spun you around when you admitted to him that you could see a forever with Spencer, and god- Spencer. You don’t want to leave Spencer. You could survive without him, but there’d forever be a light missing. 

“Come on into my office,” your supervisor tells you. “We have a lot to talk about.”

--

For the first time in a long time, you cry yourself to sleep. 

The next day, you make your way back into the garden. Cal’s out again, probably plotting something that will result in death and destruction. You’re frustrated that he’s been so difficult to get through to, you’re frustrated that you saw Spencer last night, and all you want to do is throw your head back and scream until your throat is raw and bleeding. That isn’t an option, so all you can do is dig up your phone and make the call. 

When you tell him what happened, all you get is a sigh before he hangs up. Figures. “Asshole.”

--

“What do you want me from me, huh?” You scream, hands balled into fists at your side. Your breath is heavy, weighing the room down. 

Spencer scoffs at you. “I’ve made it perfectly clear what I want, you just aren’t listening anymore.”

“I can’t give you that.”

He won’t look at you anymore. Tears have started gathering in his eyes, and while you want to wipe them away, you know you don’t have the right. You’re the one that put them there, you’re the one making him act like this. 

“It feels like I barely know you sometimes,” he says, and you don’t even have a counter argument for that. You’ve been so many people. At this point, you’re a jigsaw puzzle of everyone you’ve ever been, but he’s missing too many pieces to solve you. 

When you don’t respond, he sighs, running his hand through his hair. And then-

“I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

You suck in a breath. “What?”

His voice firms. “I don’t think I can do this anymore, Y/N. I don’t know if this is working. I don't think I want to keep trying."

Before he can say anything else, before you can make your case, before you can fight for him, your legs are already carrying you out the door. 

You make a single phone call. 

“I’m in. Tell me more about the assignment.”

--

On a Wednesday, it ends. It's months since you saw Spencer. Part of you had expected some big event to come from that, whether it be Cal stabbing you in the stomach or Spencer somehow tracking you down to save you. Life isn't a romance movie, though, so you just went back to being alone. 

And finally, after a century of careful prodding and poking, you get the information you need to take Cal down. 

As the sun shines and the birds chirp, the SWAT team bursts through the door, shouting to get down. You scream Cal's name, knowing that your performance isn't going to be over until he never gets to see daylight again.

Unfortunately, Cal never goes down without a fight. He comes out guns blazing, shooting one of the SWAT members before they even register that he's there. In a flash, you're pressed up against Cal's chest, the barrel of his gun pressed to your head. 

"You motherfucker," you whisper. 

"I'm sorry, baby," he says to you, raising his voice to talk to the SWAT team. "Back off or I'll shoot!"

This fantastic plan results in you bleeding from a bullet wound in your stomach, curled on the ground and Cal is hauled off by SWAT. One of them approaches you once everyone else is gone.

"Good work, Y/N."

--

You hate hospitals. You hate the lights, the sounds, the smells, and the general fear of death that spikes whenever you enter through the doors. You've already been debriefed, already destroyed Reva. As far as Cal knows, you bled to death on his living room floor. 

As you start to drift off to sleep, you hear a sudden clanging from down the hall, muffled voices oozing in frustration. Footsteps start up again, and then-

Oh.

Spencer’s in your room. 

"Y/N," he gapes, coming up to the side of the bed. He starts to reach for your hand before aborting the motion; in response, you grab his instead. You're too weak to deny him right now. "Oh, god. Y/N."

"How are you here?" You ask. 

"Penelope. I knew it was you outside the venue, and once the shock wore off, I knew you were undercover. We've been trying to locate you ever since, but your name pinged on her alerts when you were admitted here. What happened?"

"SWAT guy shot me."

The two of you lock eyes, and you're horrified to discover that you're both on the verge of crying. "Spence-"

He hugs you, arms gentle as he settles onto the bed. As you sob into his arms, you feel more at home than you have in a very long time. 

--

Two weeks later, you're curled in his bed. 

Things aren't normal. You've been gone for over a year and you left things completely unfinished. Not to mention that you've screamed yourself awake every night, panic attacks and sobs wrecking you even as Spencer whispers comforts as he holds you. But you're safe. 

Another day later, Spencer helps you sit up before announcing, "We need to talk."

"I know."

He starts fiddling with the sleeves of his cardigan. "You- you left."

"You told me to."

"No! I-" he sighs, pulling harder at his sleeves. "I know it sounded that way. But I love you, Y/N. Then and now. I was never done trying for you."

You laugh a little. It doesn't sound right. "You don't love me now. I'm not even...I don't know how much of myself is even left anymore."

"So let me find out," he pleads. "Let me learn to love all the new things about you, let me cherish what hasn't changed."

"I'm sorry for running."

"I'm sorry for not chasing after you."

--

Your first date after coming back to yourself is a walk through the park. Spencer figures you can handle that, figures you won't get too overwhelmed or pained from the experience. He still lets you lean against him the entire time.

Since the first initial conversation, you've had many more. You've detailed your thoughts, as well as your experiences with Cal. You fought and fought and fought with your supervisor to get the clearance to tell Spencer, reminding him that you refused to ever go under again and that Spencer was an agent. Eventually, he folded. Spencer still had to sign an absurd amount of paperwork. In turn, Spencer explained the things he'd been up to since you left, how he refused to lose you again once he spotted you. 

Things aren't perfect. They are better, though.

"Hey," you say, pulling at his hand until he stops. "I love you."

A big smile spreads across his face, and he leans forward until your foreheads are touching. "I love you too."

When you kiss him, you vow to yourself to never leave again. 

[fallout4reactsblog]

companions react to news of the institute christmas party courser revolution and the fact that the institute is now apparently populated entirely by festive rogue coursers in elf costumes and also what ramifications this has on the politics of the commonwealth as a whole. father's drowned corpse, still in his silly santa hat, is now impaled on the antlers of the fake reindeer on the sleigh prop by the institute's metaphorical front door as a warning and a symbol of their casting off chains.

Cait: “You have to at least give them some points for creativity.”

Cait pulls a face, but says, “I guess.”

“Come on, Cait. You could at least admit it’s a little funny. I’d have paid good money to be a fly on the wall that day.”

“It’s fucked up, is what it is. How are you so calm?”

“How are you so stressed?” They lean back in their chair, folding their arms contentedly. “They basically did our job for us. No more Institute.”

She sighs. “You’re nuts.”

“Maybe. I guess all we can do is wait and see what happens, huh? Maybe they’ll retreat to their underground hidey-hole and leave the Commonwealth alone.”

“Not countin’ on it.”

“You can be as pessimistic as you like. The way I see it, this is a good thing both ways. Either the Institute collapses without strict management- which would be good- the coursers decide they don’t believe in what the Institute was doing before and stop- also good- or we go in there and only have to kill half of what was there. A win-win-win situation.”

She shakes her head. “Whatever you say. I’m not buyin’ it.”

Curie: “The absurdity of the situation is certainly not lost on me, Madam/Monsieur, but surely there are still, ah, consequences for this?”

“Oh, sure, yeah, definitely. I mean, they’ve basically got my son on a pike on the CIT lawn. But, you know, don’t sweat the petty things and don’t pet the sweaty things, as the old saying goes.”

“I... do not think this is a ‘petty thing’ anymore.”

They wave a hand dismissively. “We’ll wait for the dust to settle, then go check it out. Until then, I’m not jumping to any conclusions.”

“I am merely saying that, given the evidence, this seems quite disastrous, especially in terms of political instability.”

“Ah, who cares about politics? Unless they or someone else starts a war, it’ll be fine. Let ‘em live a little. Everybody’s gotta have a rebellious teenager phase at some point.”

Curie wasn’t sure this counted as being a rebellious teen, but if that was what brought sole comfort, she would let them have it.

Danse: Listening Post Bravo is quiet. That’s how he likes it, and how it’s going to stay.

Courser uprising. Of course, it was a courser uprising. What else could it have been? Those things are killing machines; death is everything they were designed for, and now they’ve taken the reigns and can do as they see fit across the Commonwealth with no masters to keep them in check.

He pulls himself a little tighter into his corner. God, what a mess. This is over. They needed to go back to DC and forget they had ever heard of the Institute. Tactical retreat. If Arthur wasn’t so far on his warpath, he might have even suggested it, but he was six feet deep in his “now’s the time to strike” speech with no sign of stopping to think about the hole he was digging.

Well, Arthur could do what he wanted. Danse has had enough of this, enough of the goddamn Commonwealth, enough of the synths, enough of it all. This was his home, now, and he was going to sit here and plant potatoes and forget anything that happened outside. Especially the fact that coursers even existed and could, presumably, come knocking on his door at any moment. 

He was going to make an effort to forget that first.

Deacon: He lets out a long, low, whistle, then turns to Dez. “We should’ve thought of that one first, Boss. It’s genius.”

“It’s madness.” Desdemona pinches the bridge of her nose. “But I suppose it works in our favor, at least for now. There should be chaos in the Institute right about now.”

“Other synths probably saw the carnage.” Glory pipes up. “They might be getting some similar ideas. This could be our moment.”

“Who would’ve predicted this, though?” Deacon grins. “It’s so out there that I can’t even be surprised that it happened. I mean, tell me “Holiday Office Party Leads to Destruction of Commonwealth Boogeyman” doesn’t sound like a headline you’d see in the Publick these days. It’s the perfect brand of Commonwealth crazy.”

“The Brotherhood is going to want to get on this,” Carrington says, shooting a glare Deacon’s direction. “We need to act before they can get there.”

“I’ve reached out to our man on the inside,” Deacon replies, glaring back. “But until we hear back, we might as well enjoy the show.”

Dez shakes her head. “I suppose so.”

Gage: “Honestly? Can’t blame ‘em. That holiday party sounds like an actual nightmare. I’d kill someone if they stuck elf ears on me, too.”

“Damn. There go my plans for next Christmas.”

Sole’s tone is dry enough he can’t tell if they’re joking. “I’m serious, Overboss. You even look at me with a costume-”

“I value my life, thanks.”

“Just providin’ fair warning. I don’t think any of the others would take kindly to it, either.”

They shake their head. “Mason wouldn’t mind. He practically dresses up in a costume every day.”

“Are you shitting me? He’d be the one that hated it the most.”

“Absolutely not. Mags would hate it the most.”

He thinks about it a moment, then replies, “Fair point, but what about Nisha?”

Sole sucks in a tense breath. “Oh, that’d be a mess. A bloody, ugly mess. Moral of the story: no holiday parties.”

“Good advice.”

Hancock: “I mean, good for them?” He stares at the ceiling, still a little baffled. “I guess?”

“But what does this mean, John?” Fahrenheit lights up a cigarette across from him.

“Well, we’ll be fine. I have that on good authority. Everybody else...” He makes a face.

“Exactly. No one knows.”

“No one even knew this was an option.” Smoke hisses between his teeth. “I mean, it’s fitting that they’d go up in smoke because of their own arrogance, but still.”

“People are losing it.”

He snorts. “Think of the Brotherhood. They must be havin’ a real heyday over there. But us? We’ll be fine. That’s what matters, right?”

“That’s what matters.”

MacCready: “I honestly don’t know what to say.”

Sole shrugs. “Then don’t say anything. I’m still not sure how I feel about it myself.”

“This is a good thing, right?” He looks to them for some explanation. “Right?”

“It’s too early to say, yet.”

“’Too early to say’? It’s a courser uprising for crying out loud. Forget what I said. This is bad.”

“Could turn out to be good, though.”

“Okay, it could, but...” he shakes his head. “What the heck. You’re right. We’ll see.”

Still, it’s a messed-up way to go. The only thing worse than being killed by a courser, he imagines, is being killed by a courser dressed up as a holiday elf.

Nick: He blinks slowly, purses his lips, then carefully folds his newspaper and puts it to the side.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I know. Crazy, huh?” Sole pops the cap off a Nuka-Cola and takes a seat on his desk. “All it took was a Christmas party.”

“I gotta say, this wasn’t among the ways I thought the Institute would go. Up in a firey ball, sure, but at the hands of killing machines dressed as Santa’s elves?”

“That’s what makes it so great! No one saw this coming, the Institute least of all, I assume. Can you imagine the mess that must be happening at Boston Airport right now? The Brotherhood is shitting their pants as we speak.”

He just shakes his head. “We can close that case, I guess. I’m not sure if I should be happy for them or horrified at the circumstances. Still, we should be careful; it’ll be hard to know what a change in leadership means for us.”

“Sure, sure.”

“I’ll give ‘em credit for creativity, though.”

Piper: This is the best thing to happen all year.

For once, papers are flying off the shelves. She’s selling copies right off the press, selling them before they’re even printed. She’s on backorder for the story of the festive courser rebellion, which she’d heard all the details about from a Diamond City guard wearing suspiciously Deacon-like sunglasses. But forget him.

People have traveled to get here and get their hands on the Publick. There’s someone from Bunker Hill sitting next to someone from Cambridge next to someone who said they came from the Glowing Sea, of all places. The caps she’s making is more than she could have ever imagined, and she’s glad she faced sleep deprivation to make this one a Publick Occurrences exclusive. It’s been well worth it so far. Nat doesn’t even have to stand on the street to hawk the paper, people are coming right up to her door and knocking, no joke.

She knew the war would be profitable, but it’s made even better by the way it all went down. A holiday party gone wrong is the perfect headline, and if she could find a courser, she’d kiss them for their genius. Because this is the best thing to happen to her since she not-so-subtly implied McDonough was a synth.

Bless the coursers of the Institute for their impeccable sense of style.

Preston: “I have to say, I didn’t expect to be crossing ‘take care of the Institute’ off of my to-do list so quickly.”

Sole cocks their head to the side. “I mean, it’s not gone yet. Just... under new management.”

“New management, new threat in my opinion. You can’t really believe everything is going to stay the same after this. The Institute is going to change in at least a couple of ways.”

“Fair.” They lean up against the workbench. “Kinda crazy how it all went down, though.”

He chuckles. “I’d call that an understatement, General. No one could’ve seen this one coming. Trigger-happy Brotherhood goes on the warpath? I thought we might see that one, but blowing up from the inside?” He shakes his head. “That’s a new one.”

“They kinda had it coming, though. Who thought making killing machines play Barbie was a good idea?”

“Someone who came to regret it, no doubt.”

[ibijau]

part 11 of the Nomad Nie AU // On AO3

As winter settles in, Lan Xichen and Huaisang hear concerning news coming from the other Nie camp.

Huaisang and Lan Xichen, both usually early risers, ended up oversleeping the next morning, and didn't stir until Meng Yao called them from outside, asking if they were alright. 

“Don’t wanna get up today,” Huaisang grumbled in a low voice, nuzzling against Lan Xichen’s chest. “Tell him to go away. We’re staying here today.”

It was a tempting suggestion, certainly, but Lan Xichen still told Meng Yao that everything was fine, and they just needed a little time to get ready. This earned him a betrayed glare from Nie Huaisang.

“What happened to wanting to be taken seriously as a responsible adult?” Lan Xichen teased him.

“Boring,” Huaisang yawned. “I don’t care anymore. Just want to stay here and make love all day.”

Lan Xichen laughed, and though the proposition was quite attractive, he still extricated himself from his husband’s embrace and started getting ready for the day. Huaisang complained at length, calling Lan Xichen cruel and unfeeling, but in the end he also washed quickly and got dressed.

“You’ll pay for this,” Huaisang said as they left the ger, pretending to be cross. He would have been more believable if he hadn’t immediately stolen a kiss from Lan Xichen, before heading off to see if Zonghui needed his help with anything. Lan Xichen’s eyes followed him a moment before finally turned to acknowledge Meng Yao, nodding at him.

Meng Yao didn’t return the greeting, nor react in any way. His entire attention was on Lan Xichen’s neck, his expression tight, almost pained. Lan Xichen first thought that, having dressed a little quickly and while distracted, he might not have been as neat as he preferred to be. Indeed, when he brought his hand up, he found his collar to be completely crooked, exposing far more skin than would have been proper. It wouldn't be so bad, except… 

Last night, Lan Xichen had been very careful with his husband, trying not to leave any marks on him since they would take so long to disappear. Huaisang had had no such qualms, kissing, biting, and sucking at every bit of skin he could reach. Lan Xichen had felt no reason to complain at that moment and still wouldn't, except for Meng Yao looking at him as if he were bleeding to death rather than marked by a few loving bruises. 

"I guess Huaisang got his way after all," Meng Yao said, his tone so severe that it dampened Lan Xichen's joy. 

Embarrassed to have accidentally put on display the signs of his marital activities, Lan Xichen silently nodded while trying to put more order to his clothes. At least only Meng Yao had seen him, who was his friend. If it had been one of the Nie, he would have been teased to death for sure. They were rather more relaxed with joking about these things than Lan Xichen preferred. 

“So in the end, the Khan was the only thing protecting you,” Meng Yao noted with a slight grimace of disgust.

“He certainly was in the way,” Lan Xichen mused, blushing again as he looked away. Even though things were getting better with his brother-in-law, he was in no hurry to see him come back. Privacy was a very nice thing to have. Lan Xichen then looked back at Meng Yao and noticed his friend’s horrified look. He felt first ashamed for even discussing such things at all, then upset about feeling ashamed. “You know, we are married,” he pointed out to Meng Yao, trying not to be hurt that his friend was apparently the sort to be disgusted by intimacy between men. “Of course something like this was bound to happen sooner or later. I hope you don’t think less of me for it.”

“Of course not! Lan gongzi, we are friends, no matter what!” Meng Yao exclaimed, reaching for his hands and squeezing them gently. “And I understand, in this situation… it can’t be avoided. Even someone like Huaisang has needs.”

Lan Xichen nodded, his face burning as he thought that Huaisang definitely wasn’t the only one with needs. If they hadn't had other obligations, he would have enthusiastically taken Huaisang’s offer to stay the day in bed. He kept that thought to himself, and quickly changed the subject. Meng Yao still looked worried for a while, and only reluctantly let go of his hands. They went on about their business for the rest of the morning without mentioning this again, but Lan Xichen thought he could feel the disappointment and pity of his friend the entire time. 

After a brief lunch, Lan Xichen ended up spending the afternoon with Zonghui and those of the young men who hadn't left with Mingjue. He was becoming rather proficient with a blade, he liked to think. Not quite yet to the level of the nomads, and he wouldn't get there for a while longer, but Zonghui thought he had potential and insisted that he start carrying his sword around everywhere he went, like the rest of them. 

"In case you want to play with wolves again," a boy remarked, triggering a few laughs. 

Lan Xichen accepted the sword with perhaps more gratefulness that such a blade deserved, when Zonghui himself conceded it was of inferior quality and the only thing he could spare at the moment. Lan Xichen was in an emotional sort of mood, and so felt touched by that mark of acceptance from the Nie. 

After a while, Huaisang and Meng Yao came to watch them train, chatting together like old friends. It comforted Lan Xichen a little to see that whatever Meng Yao’s opinion was toward men who cut their sleeves, at least he wasn’t letting it damage his friendships. Of course Meng Yao still looked uncomfortable when Lan Xichen and Huaisang retired for the night, but he was clearly making an effort, and that was what mattered.

-

The days that followed were peaceful enough. Lan Xichen kept busy helping around while there was light, then returned to the ger when it got dark again to enjoy his husband’s company. With nothing but moonlight to illuminate the ger, Lan Xichen found it difficult to give the painting lessons he so wanted to share with Huaisang. The most they could do was for Huaisang to practice holding an empty brush by pretending to trace shapes on paper so he could get used to the gesture. Lan Xichen thought he had some skill for this sort of things, but of course it was difficult to know when they were both hesitant to waste what little ink and paper they had. Besides, those lessons always ended up rather short lived, because when Lan Xichen pressed himself against Huaisang’s back to hold his wrist and guide him, brushwork soon became the last thing on their mind.

Lan Xichen told himself that they were just trying to make the best of things before Mingjue returned and they had to return to their previous lack of intimacy. It was a perfectly valid excuse to behave a little lasciviously… though even when they learned that Mingjue might be gone all winter, it didn’t quite calm down their ardour.

The news came one afternoon. Lan Xichen was checking on the cattle when a rider arrived from the other camp, and thus missed the messenger entirely. Huaisang had to share the news with him that evening, when the man had already left again to let the Khan know his family had been informed he would remain absent. By then, a certain gloom at fallen upon the entire camp, and not without reason.

To everyone’s shock and surprise, Wen riders had been spotted coming worryingly close to the other camp, which was situated closer to the border with their territory. Since that camp was only used in that season, and the Wen had never yet dared break the winter truce, that unfortunate location had never been considered a problem before. Now though, the Khan had some real fear the camp might be attacked as soon as the weather improved in early spring, or even during the cold of winter itself, should the Wen spit on all their traditions.

“Would they really?” Lan Xichen asked his husband that night when they were alone in the ger, hiding together under heavy furs. For the first time since Nie Mingjue had left, neither of them was in the mood to make love, but Huaisang still asked to be held close, and that was something Lan Xichen would never have refused him, least of all when he too felt worried.

Huaisang shrugged. “Ruohan is a dangerous man,” he said. "His sons are hungry for power, and so is he. Maybe they would really fall that low. I spoke with Zonghui," he added with a deep, weary sigh. "He says next year, we will probably move the other camp somewhere safer."

"You don't seem happy about that." 

"I'm not. It's difficult to find a good spot," Huaisang explained. "It needs good grass, stable ground, decent weather, and all this close to our camp. Mingjue will be busy with that all summer, unless we can inflict them a strong enough defeat that they stay hidden a year or two." 

Unsure what to say, Lan Xichen pressed a kiss to his husband’s forehead. He had never seen war outside of history books. But of course, his life with the Nie had been full of new experiences, and he knew raids were part of the ordinary for them.

The idea of a war terrified him. He didn’t think he’d be forced to take part in a raid, not even if his skill with a blade improved, but staying behind with Huaisang wouldn’t be without risk either. They could be attacked, and would have to defend themselves. Lan Xichen might have to find out if he was the sort of person who could kill others, something he would surely never have wondered about himself if he’d stayed home. Worse still, he thought he already knew the answer. If someone threatened Huaisang, or even Meng Yao…

Lan Xichen shivered at the thought. Huaisang felt it, and pressed himself harder against him, holding him close.

“It’ll be fine,” Huaisang claimed with absolute confidence. “Mingjue is a great warrior. He’ll protect us all. He’ll protect the other camp until the snows melt, and then in spring he will call the other clans, tell them about the Wen, and we’ll deal with them for good.”

Lan Xichen smiled at his husband’s assurance, but remained so anxious that he barely slept that night.

In the days after learning of the threats against the other camp, everyone acted a little more nervously. Zonghui made every young men and women prepare for battle, in case they should be urgently called to help their relatives, or if the Wen decided to be particularly foolish and attack this place instead. Everyone thought it unlikely, since they were so far from Wen territories, but unlikely didn't mean impossible. The herds were kept under closer surveillance than usual as well, especially after one night, a few horses disappeared. There was some worry about wolves for a while, or thieves, but thankfully the horses eventually returned, all except Meng Yao’s own mount. The young man was quite distraught about that turn of event, and even asked to be allowed to go look for it, but Zonghui refused. The Khan would never have accepted to let Meng Yao ride out alone, and they couldn’t spare anyone to go with him.

“This spring, I’ll pick another horse for you,” Huaisang promised Meng Yao to comfort him. “A strong but gentle one, perfect for you!”

Meng Yao smiled sadly at those words, as if doubting such a thing would happen. Lan Xichen thought that perhaps his friend believed the Khan would refuse him such a privilege, since he was always ready to expect the worst from Mingjue… but if Huaisang had started proving he was trustworthy, surely the same could be accomplished for Meng Yao, Lan Xichen decided.

Perhaps one day they would all four of them get along and be on friendly terms.

In the midst of so much danger, Lan Xichen found comfort in that hopeful thought.

-

Lan Xichen woke with a start. It was dark inside the ger, and it took him a moment to notice a silhouette hovering above him, hands on his shoulders. It couldn’t be Huaisang, he felt the weight of his husband’s head on his chest, and no one else had any right to be inside their home in the middle of the night. Lan Xichen opened his mouth, ready to shout for help, but a hand pressed hard against his lips to silence him.

“Lan gongzi, it’s me,” a familiar voice urgently whispered. “I need to talk to you, but we have to be quiet.”

Having heard his voice, Lan Xichen started to recognise Meng Yao in that silhouette. He nodded slowly, and Meng Yao removed his hand.

“Can’t it wait until morning?” Lan Xichen yawned.

“No, there’d be too much risk of being heard. Please, Lan gongzi. You know I wouldn’t bother you at this hour unless it’s important.”

Lan Xichen nodded again. Meng Yao was always considerate of those around him, trying to avoid causing any disturbance for fear it would finally ruin what little goodwill the Nie still held for him. If he was there, it had to be important.

“I’ll wait for you outside, please hurry,” Meng Yao begged before leaving the ger.

Much as Lan Xichen tried to hurry, it was not easy to get out. Huaisang didn’t wake up, but it was a near thing when his living pillow started moving, and it took Lan Xichen great effort to extricate himself from his husband’s embrace. Even when he managed, Huaisang whined weakly at the loss of warmth and started blindly reaching out for him in his sleep. If not for Meng Yao waiting outside, Lan Xichen would just have laid down again and pulled his husband in his arms. Instead, he hurriedly dressed up and joined his friend outside, hoping there was a good reason for this.

With only a few days left to the new moon there was little light outside, yet even like this Lan Xichen, finally starting to wake up, could only notice how anxious Meng Yao looked. His friend made them both sit in the snow, in the ger's doorway, and kept glancing around, as if fearing to be discovered.

“Did something happen?” Lan Xichen asked with a yawn he couldn’t quite refrain.

“It’s less something that has happened,” Meng Yao explained, “and more something that is about to happen. I know for sure, now that they sent back the horses like agreed. And I hesitated so much to tell you… but in the end, I thought you might need the time to prepare.”

“Prepare for what?”

Meng Yao wringed his hands and glanced first behind himself, inside the ger where Huaisang still slept, then over Lan Xichen’s shoulders toward the rest of the silent camp.

“Lan gongzi, you’re a practical man, just like me,” Meng Yao said with a weak smile. “We’ve both done our best to survive here, of course, but… surely you must long for home as much as I do? You must wish you could go back and put everything the Nie did to you behind you?”

“I’m…”

“Maybe you even want revenge for what you’ve been made to suffer?” Meng Yao insisted, taking Lan Xichen’s hands in his. “I thought my situation was bad, but then what they did to you, forcing you to submit to a brat like Huaisang… I swear, I would have stabbed him in the throat for tainting your honour like this, night after night, if only it wouldn’t have ruined everything else!”

Feeling completely awake now, Lan Xichen shivered from more than the cold. To hear dear, kind, sweet Meng Yao speak so viciously of killing Huaisang was a shock, yet Lan Xichen forced himself not to react, wondering how much it would take for that sudden hatred to turn against him. 

“What’s ‘everything else’?” he asked, as calmly as he could, while pulling his hands away from meng Yao's. 

Meng Yao grimaced, his eyes darting around before he leaned closer.

“Lan gongzi, our ordeal will soon be over,” he confided in a whisper. “I made a deal with the Wen a while ago, when the Khan’s anger made me try to run for my life. I happened upon their king, and found an ally in him.  We agreed that I was to warn them when there would be a good opportunity to attack, using certain signals we came up with. I’d hoped to push Huaisang to rebel so the Nie would be weakened, but he’s just too stupid to stand against his brother’s tyrany and I was starting to get hopeless when you arrived and changed everything. If you hadn’t helped me… I would never have been able to convince Huaisang to be more reliable, it was a stroke of genius. The Khan would never have divided his forces so much before, and now he won’t be here when this camp is attacked. He's going to lose half his people when the Wen strike en masse!”

Lan Xichen’s heart sped inside his chest. It took every bit of self control he had not to shout at what his friend, their friend, was telling him.

“A very bold plan, Meng gongzi,” he whispered. “And the Wen are to take us home when they’re done dealing with the Nie, I assume?”

Meng Yao nodded, a cruel smile of triumph deforming his usually mild face.

“I’ve been promised that we will be taken back to the border, and those barbarians hold their promises to be sacred” Meng Yao explained, as if not remembering that the winter truce was also meant to be sacred. “Then it’ll just be a matter of contacting my father. He’ll be delighted when I tell him that the nomads are in disarray! He is great friend with a general who is a personal friend of the emperor. Once they're all weakened by infighting, the imperial troops can swoop in, those nomads will all be destroyed before next winter, and nobody will have to fear anything when travelling.”

“You’re doing all this for your father?” Lan Xichen mumbled.

“He will recognise me if I manage this,” Meng Yao feverishly confirmed, beaming at the thought. “He told me as much before leaving me here. And I have managed it now, or will soon, all thanks to you. You have my eternal gratitude, Lan gongzi.”

Half a day earlier, Lan Xichen would have smiled at a declaration of gratitude, and reminded Meng Yao that they were friends, that it was only natural for them to help each other. Now though, realising in what danger the Nie clan was, and being told he would bear his share of the blame in the bloodbath that was to come, Lan Xichen felt nothing but disgust for the man he had so recently called his dearest friend. All he wanted was to get as much information as possible on this coming attack, and wake Huaisang to warn him of the danger. 

“Do you know when they will attack?” Lan Xichen asked, trying to sound uncaring but unable to keep his voice from trembling.

“The agreement was I would send a group of horses running toward them,” Meng Yao explained, “and they would return all of them save my own to signify they’re ready to attack on the night of the next new moon. That way, they’re less likely to be spotted. I’m thinking we could offer ourselves for watch duty anyway. Huaisang and Zonghui trust you enough for this, it’ll be easy to…”

Before Meng Yao could finish that thought, Huaisang jumped out of the ger holding a metal ladle which he swung at the back of Meng Yao’s head with enough force for him to collapse. Lan Xichen stared a moment at the motionless body of his friend, shocked by the speed of that attack, by the bloody indent on his skull when he’d never known Huaisang to be capable of violence. When he turned his eyes to Huaisang, Lan Xichen found his husband glaring at him, the ladle stained with blood already raised again, ready to strike another time if necessary.

“It was all a lie then?” Huaisang hissed, tears glistening on his cheeks as he waved the ladle in threat. “All this time, you were just lying to kill Mingjue and me?”

[jimlingss]

Sugar and Coffee [2]

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3

➜ Words: 2.2k

➜ Genres: 99.5% Fluff, 0.5% Angst, Pâtisserie school!AU

➜ Summary: It isn't hard to be a pâtisserie chef, but it's not a piece of cake either. It seems like for you in particular, life keeps throwing in one wrench after another. It always finds ways to make your sweets bitter. The cherry on top is Jeon Jungkook — a rival with a sensitive sweet tooth who always finds ways to complain about you.

cr.

“In this recipe, we’re using baking soda instead of baking powder. Why? Does anyone remember the reason when we talked about our recipe of mille-feuille?”   You’re twirling your pen in your hand, bored out of your mind while someone answers that baking soda doesn’t have the acid that baking powder would normally add and how baking soda has much stronger leavening power than baking powder.   Theory has never been your area of expertise. You’ve always preferred to do the actual baking and go through trial and error than learning through the textbook. So with your mind wandering and from fear of falling asleep, you pull out your phone to text Seokjin. He’s been answering your texts slower these days.   “Alright, next class we’ll put our hands to work in the kitchen. Don’t pack up yet! I got some emails asking about the midterm so I just wanted to answer those questions here! Yes, it will be a collaborative exam and you can re-make anything that we’ve learned thus far in the semester. Baking is all about working together, so before I leave, I’ll post who everyone’s partners are. Come down and take a look before you go.”   With the lecture finished, you pack up your belongings, shoving it all into your bag and swinging the strap over your shoulder to walk down the steps. It’s crowded already, but as people filter out, you’re able to get ahead to look at the paper.   And as luck would have — you’re partnered with Jeon Jungkook.   It’s outrageous. As if having the same internship for three months wasn’t enough, now he’s your midterm partner.   You spin around to the teacher, beelining straight to him. But Jeon Jungkook beats you to it.   “Is there a possible way I can switch my partner?”   “I second that.” For once, you back him up. It’s probably the only thing you can agree on.   Jungkook looks to you before redirecting his attention back at the man who has his brow quirked. “Is there a legitimate reason?”   “Umm….”   “Our schedules don’t align,” Jungkook lies without batting a lash.   “Yeah.” You nod. “He has classes when I don’t and uh, he’s working on different projects when I have work….”   “It would be more convenient if we had different partners.”   “Wow, you two figured out you have incompatible schedules a minute into finding out you’re partners? Well, I’m sure you two can work something out.” Mr. Chu smiles, overly positive in a way that irks you. “Things have a way of working themselves out.”   In these circumstances, you’re not too sure about that.   Jungkook swallows hard, finding whatever excuse he can. “I’m afraid Y/N won’t pull her weight.”   “Excuse me?!” You can’t believe he blatantly threw you under the bus in front of your face. “That’s completely untrue! He won’t be able to pull his weight.”   “We’re just incompatible partners.” Jungkook outright ignores you. “I am happy to work with anyone, Mr. Chu. Just not her. Park Jimin said he would be fine to switch his partner and work with me.” He hitches a thumb over his shoulder to his timid friend standing near the door who realizes he’s being talked about and gives a polite wave.   Yet, the teacher gives a long sigh. “Look, you two. I know there’s bad blood between you both but wouldn’t this be a great opportunity to overcome that like the adults that you are?”   “I—”   “Mr. Chu—”   “I’m sorry, but there won’t be any switching.” He shakes his head. “Often times, you can’t choose who you work with in the real world. You just have to get over it and be professional. Learn a two or thing from that. That’s the point of this midterm. If there are concerns about the project, then you can visit my office hours. Otherwise, you’ll be working together and that’s final.”   It’s official. You hate your fine pastries class — and it used to be your favourite too.   “Fuck. Fuck,” he’s muttering, kicking the gravel from underneath his feet. You approach him with crossed arms.   “You don’t have to keep saying it.”   “What? That this fucking sucks?”   “Look, I don’t like you anymore than you like me. You don’t have to make it harder than it needs to be.”   “Oh yeah? You want to make it less hard? How about you stop existing then.”   “Okay, fuck you, Johnson. Stop pouting like you’re fucking four years old. Are we going to talk about the project or do you want to flunk?”   “Stop calling me Johnson.”   “Or else what?”   Jungkook rolls his eyes. “You’re so childish.”   “I’m the childish one?” you scoff in disbelief. “I’m not the one practically throwing a tantrum.”   “Whatever. But what’s there to talk about? We’ll make carrot cake.”   “What the hell?” You’re appalled. He’s not even going to ask you? “No, we’ll make the charlotte royale.”   “No, you idiot.” He pinches the bridge of his nose.   You scoff again. This was absolutely unbelievable. It’s a shame that no one’s listening into this conversation — there’s no way you would be able to retell just how absurd this was. “Did you just call me an idiot?”   “Yes, carrot’s the easiest. We’ll get it done and over with.”   “I don’t want to get it done and over with.” You point right at him. “Unlike you, I care about my grades, okay? So what if it’s easy? It won’t get us the marks we need.”   “Since when did you care about your grades?”   “Okay, fuck off, Jeon.”   Having enough of him, you decide to walk away but Jungkook soon calls out after you. “Are you going to give me your phone number?”   You’re horrified enough to spin around and regard him with a disgusted expression. “What? No!”   “For the project, you dumbass. You think I’m asking because I want to know?”   You roll your eyes to the back of your skull and close the distance with three strides again. Surprisingly, the both of you civilly exchange contact information without ripping each other’s heads off but you don’t want to be with him longer than you need to. “When are we going to meet up? We should decide so I don’t have to text you.”   “I’m fine with whenever.”   “Tomorrow then.”   “Sure.”   You leave already texting Jin your grievances. He doesn’t answer since he’s so busy, but you’re ready to unload.   //   The next day comes too quickly.   The first person you see in the morning is the last person you ever want to see — and Jungkook isn’t amused either. He regards you with a lazy gaze, dark circles, oversized black hoodie and jeans that he probably picked up off his floor and put on after giving a good sniff.   Other partners are already in the kitchen figuring out their recipes, but you have yet to decide what to make. You swear the asshat is just disagreeing with you to make it harder and more miserable.   “What don’t you understand? What you’re asking for is too unreasonable.”   “Really? You think whipping meringue by hand is too difficult? Maybe you shouldn’t be baking then, Jeon.”   “It’s time consuming,” he groans and rubs his temple. “And it’s not worth it. If you want to spend your time doing something impressive than we should make something like fucking I don’t know, Napoleon cake and call it a day.”   “Okay, sounds good to me.”   “What? Actually?”   “I don’t see why not. You can make the puff pastry while I make the custard. We assemble together.”   “You make it sound easier than it’ll be, but fine. We can meet up tonight. What, don’t give me that look. It’s not like you’re busy. And spending time with your boyfriend doesn’t constitute as being busy. The sooner we get this done, the sooner it’s over.”   “Fine. How about eight?”   “Seven thirty. See you then.”   You’re exasperated. He’s a jerk. And you go on your way while shaking your head.   8:21 am. Y/N: still cant believe my luck   5:43 pm. Seokjin: Hey where are you?  5:44 pm. Seokjin: We should meet

Jungkook lives his life precariously. He is flexible and follows his instincts. That’s not to say he’s irresponsible, reckless or that he’s fickle. He’s adaptable and it’s the reason why he started baking anyways — a whim that he fell in love with. 

  Jungkook prefers to go with his gut feeling than plan every step of the way. And it’s his gut feeling that tells him you’re nothing but an absolute headache.   “Let me suck on your muffin.”   Yoongi’s expression dies, washing over into an impassive state. “Say that again, Kim, and I’ll never bring my extra muffins again.” Taehyung whines on the couch while Jimin laughs. Yoongi looks over at Jungkook. “Hey, want one, Kook?”   He tosses him a blueberry muffin anyhow but Jungkook chucks it at Hoseok who catches it in both hands, almost missing. “Nah. What time is it? I gotta go.”   “Where are you going on a Friday night at seven?”   “Ooh, it’s a date, isn’t it?” Taehyung grins. “What kind of girl?”   “Who is it?” Hoseok clarifies the question, cheek full of muffin. “I haven’t heard you talk about anyone ever.”   “He wishes.” Jimin giggles, have an inkling of where it was he was going.   “it’s not a date, dumbass. I have a meeting with my midterm project partner.”   “Damn,” Yoongi comments, biting into the muffin he baked earlier in class. “That’s rough.”   “His partner’s Y/N,” Jimin says with a sparkle in his eye, watching Jungkook get up from the couch.   Taehyung’s eyes bulge. They nearly fall out of their sockets and he wheezes, pounding his chest as part of the muffin stuck in his gullet. “You’re partners with that psycho bitch?”   “Yeah.” The youngest of all of them sighs. “I couldn’t change.”   Jungkook walks past, but Yoongi stops him, plopping a hand on his shoulder. The usually cold man seems sympathetic for once and holds up his muffin. “Are you sure you don’t want one?”   He dreads it — having to ditch his friends on a Friday night and the warmth of his dorm room. All in exchange for the chilly wind outside and the empty kitchens that’re eerie without souls inside them, just metal bowls and silver appliances. But Jungkook drags himself there anyway.    He’s ten minutes early since he’s not one to leave people waiting.    But when seven thirty eventually rolls around, you’re nowhere in sight.   7:34 pm. Jungkook: Are you coming or not   He waits for an additional twenty minutes, sitting on the stool, playing games on his phone. Then he realizes the time and gets started anyhow. The puff pastry always takes longer to make anyways. But that doesn’t mean he isn’t frustrated — Jungkook’s frankly pissed off and if you decided to ditch him, you’ll have one or two things coming, that’s for sure.   Jungkook beats two ounces of butter with a tablespoon of sugar. Then he folds in two beaten eggs, one tablespoon vinegar, cold water, three tablespoons of vodka, and salt. He folds in the two and a half cups of flour and forms a dough in his hands until it’s soft and pliable.    Right when he wraps the bowl in plastic and slides it into the fridge to chill for an hour, the door to the kitchen opens.   “You’re late.”   You’re not even dressed in an apron nor is your hair tied back like it’s supposed to be but he doesn’t comment.   “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for you? It’s been an hour and I’m done my part.”   Silence.   You don’t respond. Jungkook scoffs.   It was a new low for you to give him the silent treatment when you’re the late one. Your head is downcasted, facing away from him, giving him the cold shoulder. You don’t spare him one glance as you go over to the fridge, pulling out eggs, sugar, flour, milk, vanilla beans, and butter.   You pour milk into the saucepan haphazardly and it splashes everywhere on the counter.   “Hey, watch it!”    Jungkook rips the carton away from your hands. He didn’t know you were this much of an amateur.   He watches you in mortification as you move to the flour bag, scooping out a whole cup instead of six tablespoons. He wonders if you had a stroke. “Y/N, you’re supposed to do the eggs next. What the hell is wrong with—”   You burst into tears.    Jungkook’s heart stutters. He pales. He freezes in place. He feels his entire body go rigid.    And his brain breaks.   …..   What.   Tears. Full on tears are streaming down your face. You’re wailing, covering your face with your floured hands and crying into them. Your entire frame shakes as devastation wrecks through your entire body. He’s never seen you look so small before. He’s never seen you cry.   Jungkook puts milk down, swallowing hard. He watches you with eyes as big as saucers. “I...I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”   You sob. “J-Jin brok..e up w-with m...e.”

[dankmemes-of-dantooine]

Shoulder Your Burden (part two)

Alright everyone this is where the angst and thirst get kicked up a notch. You’ve been warned. Stay tuned for part three.

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4

“Inappropriate use of the for-“ Obi-Wan’s steady voice hummed from the door way. Anakin didn’t turn to him.

“I know, I know.” Anakin cut him off good naturedly, waving him off.

Anakin remained there for a time, focusing on his breathing. He could hear the older Jedi rummaging around in the kitchen, no doubt already set to work whipping up those Ruby Bliels. Anakin smiled at that, humming a contented sigh.

“Anakin, are these droid parts in the sink? You can’t get mech grease in the drain, you’ll wreck the plumbing in the whole temple.”

Anakin could hear metallic clatter of the parts being moved and he chuckled to himself.

“Don’t touch my stuff!”

He called, eyes still closed. He really wasn’t meditating anymore, as much as stilling his mind and enjoying the banter.

He could hear Obi-Wan sigh dramatically from the kitchen and he stifled a laugh.

He stretched his arms out high above him and rolled his shoulders, attempting to relax out all the knots he’d developed from the weeks of hard combat.

Obi-Wan rounded the corner with drinks just then, taking a seat next to him on the floor, setting their drinks on the low table.

Anakin nodded appreciatively, taking a sip from his drink, and looking out through the large window.

The room was thick with knowing silence.

“We don’t have to talk about what happened today…” Obi-Wan began after a time,

“Good,” Anakin said curtly, taking another sip,

“...but I know that it troubles you.”

Anakin drew his bottom lip between his teeth, chewing it pensively for a moment.

Images from the days events bombarded his mind, his men dying, the blaster fire, the smell, Maker, the smell that had made him sick earlier, Dozer, leaving Dozer, he couldn’t save Dozer-

“I might as well have killed them myself,” he croaked, voice higher and more reedy than he had intended. He shook his head and cleared his throat, trying to quiet the drumming of his heart beat in his ears.

He turned his face away, staring out the broad window again.

“How do you think I feel? I did the same thing! I’ve made countless mistakes! My men died too,” Obi-Wan reached, trying desperately to appeal to his former student in any way he could.

“It’s different,” he spat, disheartened to find his lip quivering.

“How is it different?” Obi-Wan sounded incredulous now, he always thought Anakin was so ridiculous.

Anakin's cheeks burned as he turned to face his master.

“The council knows you're a capable Jedi master! The view me as an overgrown youngling,” he snapped bitterly, mortified as a tear tracked its way down his cheek.

“Anakin, they would’ve never given you a command if they didn’t think you capable, be reasonable-“

“I’m so unreasonable, aren’t I, Master?” he stood now, turning away from Obi-Wan,

“So unreasonable, I caused half my men to die.”

He choked back a half sob, swallowing thickly, blinking as tears ran down his face. Why was he like this? Why did things cause him to become unglued and weep in front of his master this way? Shame burned deep in his belly and his cheeks flushed vividly.

“Anakin-“

“Stop.”

Please.

Obi-Wan was reaching, pushing feelings of acceptance, support, through their force bond.

Anakin shook his head, suffering against the urge to sob into his elbow.

He heard Obi-Wan get to his feet but he made no move to turn to him, shame and embarrassment freezing him to his spot in front of the window.

He felt thin and fragile, like winter’s first ice, as though at any moment, any little thing could shatter him.

The lights of transports and speeders flashed vividly outside, and Anakin wondered numbly if anyone was looking in at him coming undone in his living room. He tried to let himself be hypnotized by the vibrant colors out on the street outside but he couldn’t think of anything except screams, the burnt flesh, the smell-

Obi-Wan placed a firm hand on his shoulder, turning him to face him.

Anakin resisted at first, trying to shrug out of the grip, but his master rubbed reassuring circles into his shoulder, like he had earlier, and it made his knees wobble. His heart skipped, and another silent tear tracked itself down his cheek.

He slid to the floor, collapsing on his knees.

Obi-Wan followed, sitting on the floor next to him, pulling Anakin’s head to his chest.

Anakin came completely unseamed, his wails muffled by Obi-Wan robes.

The older man brought a hand to his hair, soothingly picking through the curls as Anakin cried.

He shushed him, rubbing wide circles onto his back.

I’m sorry, Master, sorry sorry sorry

Shh. What are you sorry for? Hush.

Couldn’t save them. Couldn’t help them couldn’t couldn’t couldn’t I couldn’t-

“Dozer,” Anakin choked out, swallowing thickly against the ragged breaths he was sucking in like a man half drowned.

“I know, dear one, shh,” Obi-Wan said miserably, remembering fondly the times Dozer had assisted Anakin in various mischief and pranks. They weren’t meant to have favorites, but Obi-Wan had long suspected that Dozer ranked amongst those Anakin most treasured. But he cared about all of his men. It was his great strength and also his hamartia, his compassion.

Anakin had begun to compose himself, but sat sniffling, collapsed against Obi-Wan like a pile of wet laundry.

He radiated shame and mortification, feeling totally burned out and embarrassed he’d sobbed loudly into his Master’s chest like a youngling throwing a tantrum.

His walls were down, and he know Obi-Wan was picking up on his misery through their bond.

“Quit that,” Obi-Wan said softly, pressing a kiss to Anakin’s temple, “you lost a friend today. You’re permitted to be upset.

Anakin’s brain though, was short circuiting. Had Obi-Wan just kissed him? I mean, he had, but had he ever done that before? Suddenly Anakin couldn’t remember. He’d never felt like this before, so simultaneously burned out and horrified, and yet safe and cared for. And to his mortification, aroused heat thrummed low in his belly, and his stomach fluttered.

He looked up bleary eyed at Obi-Wan, tears still sticking his eyelashes together.

Confusion churned his brain, and he was too emotionally overstimulated to really process what was happening.

“Did you just, kiss me, Obi-Wan?” he asked, dazed, voice raw and raspy from the tears and overexertion.

Obi-Wan smiled, this time a flush darkening his own cheeks, still gently massaging his padawans scalp. He shrugged.

Anakin cleared his throat, looking away, heart thrumming in his ears, a deep blush curling up his neck to his cheeks and the tops of his ears before he could even utter the words,

“Would you do it again?”

His Master obliged him, pressing another chaste kiss to his forehead and Anakin made a sound of protest, nuzzling into Obi-Wan's neck.

“What, then?” Obi-Wan had meant to ask it humorously, if not a bit patronizingly, but his voice came out as a thin whisper.

Anakin swallowed thickly and pressed a kiss to Obi-Wan’s jaw, causing the older man to tense up.

Obi-Wan cleared this throat.

“Come on then, dear one, I think you need sleep. It’s been quite the day, hasn’t it.”

Obi-Wan moved to stand, pulling Anakin up with him, but Anakin felt as though the entire world had just come crashing down upon his head.

He suddenly felt cold and naked, like he’d just stepped out of the ‘fresher but his towel was across the room.

He didn’t want to go to bed. He didn’t want Obi-Wan to leave.

The last thing he wanted was to be left here alone with his thoughts.

“I won’t be able to sleep, Master,” he said, only thinly disguising his misery. He had intended to follow up the sentence with ‘stay and play a round of Dejarik with me,’

But Obi-Wan had opened his mouth before he got the chance.

“I can stay with you, if you’d like.”

“What?”

“I can stay...if you’d sleep better.”

Obi-Wan was referring to his nightmares, which did tend to plague him after days like today. He hadn’t offered to stay with him while he slept since he was a young padawan, though.

“Obi-Wan, I could never ask you to-“

“Nonsense. It’ll save you the midnight trip across the temple to come knocking on my door at an ungodly hour requesting a game of Sabacc, anyhow.”

“You’re only just down the hall, Master.”

“At any rate, I’ll be right here, if you should need a midnight game of Sabacc.”

Anakin's heart thumped and he pulled Obi-Wan in for another long embrace.

“Thank you, Master.”

————————-

Obi-Wan did stay with him in his apartment that night, though to Anakin’s secret chagrin, he insisted on staying on the couch. Anakin slept through the first night, mind quieted just knowing his master was in the other room. He was morose and self hating that next day, and after filling their day with sparring and saber practice in an attempt to take his mind off things, Obi-Wan offered to stay a second night.

The fitful sleep, however, started that second night.

Obi-Wan was awakened in the night in a cold sweat by Anakin issuing a full on scream in his sleep. Obi-Wan rushed back to his room, half expecting to find him being eaten alive or flayed by an intruder, but instead, found the younger Jedi upright in bed with his knees pulled to his chest.

He’d sat with him and consoled him, playing an obligatory game of Sabacc, (Anakin let him win,) making sure Anakin was drifting off to sleep before making his way back to the couch. He hesitated in the doorway before returning the the bedside and pressing a tentative kiss to Anakin’s forehead.

Anakin had been feigning sleep, peaking through one eye like a mischievous child. Curiosity had gotten the best of him in that moment, and his heart thumped so loudly he was worried he’d give himself away.

The third night was much the same, although rather than screams, Anakin seemed to be crying in his sleep. It was a low, whimpering, pitiful sound, one that was broken and hollow.

It wrenched at Obi-Wan's heart. He sat next to him on the bed and waited for the younger man to awaken on his own, for fear of startling him and making things worse.

Anakin came to with a start, still whimpering, sleepy shame permeating their force bond as he realized, with embarrassment, Obi-Wan had been watching him cry.

“None of that, dear one,” he’d said softly, sitting with him until his breathing evened out. Wrung out, Anakin sighed loudly from his spot, his breath tickling Obi-Wan’s neck. Obi-Wan suppressed a smile, watching as his former student slithered back into bed, sleep making his usually graceful movements clumsy and heavy.

Obi-Wan had stood to take his place on the couch after a time, when he was reasonably certain that Anakin was asleep.

“Wait,” Anakin murmured softly. Obi-Wan froze, heart hammering in his chest.

“Yes, dear one?”

Anakin hesitated.

“Will you stay? I think I might sleep better if- if-“

Anakin flushed, stammering through the sleepy plea. He couldn’t even believe he was asking. He was halfway to perishing the thought with a hurried ‘nevermind’ when Obi-Wan interrupted his thoughts.

“Alright, alright,” Obi-Wan murmured, taking his place on the far side of the bed, leaving a good deal of space between them.

“Goodnight.”

————————-

Obi-Wan awoke hazily as the mid morning sun curled through the blinds and fell in long rays across his face. He’d slept much later than he typically did.

Blinking wearily, he realized that some time in the night, Anakin had curled against his side, and now slept soundly there, snoring quietly.

He smiled.

He’d always slept just like that, ever since he was young, curled into a little ball on his side, like a Loth-Cat.

Now though, Anakin’s head was nuzzled up under Obi-Wan’s chin, making it exceedingly difficult to extricate himself without waking the young knight.

He gently peeled Anakin off of him, wiggling out from under the man as best he could. Anakin had gotten heavy since the last time they’d so closely occupied the same space, and a pang of nostalgia whistled through him as he looked at the young man sprawled sleepily out on the bed before him. So grown, and grown up so fast, and yet-

He did look so vulnerable just now, Obi-Wan thought, without the lines of worry and frustration creasing his brow. The morning light streamed in through the blinds and made Anakin’s hair seem to glow, haloing his tanned, scarred face. Obi-Wan smiled and resisted the urge to reach out and brush his fingers along the young man’s cheek.

Obi-Wan tore his eyes away from his cherubic sleeping padawan, carefully and adeptly stepping around the droid parts that littered Anakin’s room. Obi-Wan chuckled, rolling his eyes. Always tinkering.

Obi-Wan made a silent retreat, planning on making the most of the day he had left.

———————————————————

Anakin awoke some time later, feeling more relaxed and well rested than he had in a good while. The sun was high, and he guessed it was nearly midday.

He stood and stretched before going to rinse off in the shower.

He started the water, and began to undress.

He inhaled deeply. His sleeping clothes smelled of Obi-Wan. He flushed, hazy memories of cozy warmth flooding his senses. He ached for that touch back.

A shiver ran up his spine as he imagined himself curled up in Obi-Wan’s lap, that deep, clean linen smell permeating all of the air around him.

He shook his head.

No.

Jedi aren’t permitted to form attachments.

And then too, the training bond they shared was supposed to have been eradicated when he was knighted, and neither of them had said anything about it staying. And yet there it was, as plain as the nose on his face, a golden thread connecting core of his mind and emotions to Obi-Wan. It buzzed and hummed all day, a comfortable familiar aura that he clung to as a child would a security blanket they were not yet ready to relinquish. And anytime he felt uncertain, he would almost instinctively tug at Obi-Wan’s mind, asking for a little reassurance.

Lately however, finding themselves deployed to the far flung corners of the galaxy, they spent a good deal of time very, very far apart. In recent months, Anakin had felt their connection begin to dull, and he wasn’t sure if it was a result of them being so separated, or an intentional decision on Obi-Wan’s part to begin the technically overdue process of severing their bond.

Obi-Wan was never the best at verbal affirmation. It left Anakin feeling like his Master secretly resented having him as a student, having been thrust upon him in the moment of tragedy immediately following Jinn’s death.

He hardly gave any hint of what he was feeling, Obi-Wan’s signature was always so sturdy and constant. Even in the moments when Obi-Wan was really exasperated with him, he kept those parts hidden from Anakin, and Anakin knew Obi-Wan thought him to be a dangerous liability. He had overheard him tell Qui-Gon that when he was only a child. There was always that dark little voice in Anakin’s head telling him that Obi-Wan never really wanted him, and it devastated him.

It was so hard to tell. Obi-Wan’s force signature always felt so warm and steady, like afternoon lake waters on Naboo. It glowed and hummed with a positive shine, only seldom soured by minor inconveniences and irritations. In those times, it made Anakin laugh. Sometimes he would say or do some obtuse, ridiculous thing, just feel his masters mind flex and spin around it as he tried to tamp down on his irritation. He secretly relished the moments his trick flying would give Obi-Wan vertigo, just so he could feel the dizzy spirals radiate from his mind with an irritated cut it out.

And Obi-Wan, well meaning as he was, tortured him with their bond, daily when they were together. He’d brush against the corners of Anakin’s mind like a cat, leaving feather light touches of reassurances and affection. He knew Anakin needed them. And yet everywhere Obi-Wan’s force signature grazed his own, a dull wanton need poured like magma into his belly.

But he needed him to say them. He needed to be able to see his eyes and know he wasn’t just projecting pretty lies in his mind to keep him placated. And at the very least he couldn’t lose the bond they did have. He couldn’t.

He chewed his lip.

Maybe that was why everything felt so overwhelming. They had spent a good deal of time apart, only to be thrown together into a disastrous situation that had left them dependent on each other for survival. (Nothing new there.) He thanked stars Obi-Wan had pulled him into that transport.

Not that he hadn’t saved Obi-Wan a time or two (or nine) since the war began, but-

He shook his head, the steam curling around his ears.

Mmm, hot water. He liked his showers nearly unbearably hot. It helped take his mind off things.

And yet-

It took everything he had not to drape himself over Obi-Wan like a velvet curtain. He craved touch, affection, want. He wanted to to he wanted. Maybe that’s why the idea of losing their bond terrified him.

The water poured over Anakin’s face and down his back as he tried to push the feeling away.

He wasn’t permitted to form attachments and he damn sure wasn’t permitted to form them to his master.

He’s only trying to placate me, keep me calm. He thinks I’m reckless, foolish, dangerous, he thought to himself.

He missed spending day in and day out with his master.

He remembered being knighted in a rush, due to the Republic needing Jedi Generals to command battalions of clone troopers, and overnight suddenly the man he was used to spending all day with being systems away. The mixed pride and terror his first day as a knight had curled in his stomach like a vine snake, but he had pushed it down and beamed, and felt Obi-Wan’s pride sear through their bond.

Anakin imagined the feel of Obi-Wans lips against his temple and he nearly whimpered. Proud of me, he thought. He imagined those lips moving their way down his jaw to his throat, and he whined, letting the hot water pour over his body.

I can’t.

A shiver rippled down his spine all the way to his toes, despite the hot water.

He imagined Obi-Wan’s lips at his throat, his hands at his waist, his-

He whined, arousal pounding low in his belly and between his legs.

He trailed his hands down the tanned planes of his torso, chewing his lip at the sensation.

Imagining they were Obi-Wan’s hands.

His cock twitched at the thought, and he gasped, biting down on his lip to keep quiet.

He lazily wrapped a hand around his length, remembering the feeling of Obi-Wan’s lips against his temple, so chaste, and yet-

He imagined Obi-Wan pulling him into his lap and running his warm calloused hands over his thighs, his beard tickling Anakin's cheek as he whispered into his ear

“Dear one, my good boy-“

Anakin gasped, quickening his pace.

No. I...can’t. Not to...Obi-Wan...

But he couldn’t stop. His whole body sung with electricity at the thought. It was so wrong, and for some reason that made it feel so forbidden and-and

He loved Obi-Wan. Maker, he loved him. Stars, he wasn’t allowed to love him, but all he could think of was Obi holding him and rolling his hips into him and-

He came with a wrung out moan, gasping as he braced his arm against the wall of the shower. His knees wobbled and his head swam with the thick realization that he had just brought himself off to the thought of his master- the thought of Obi-Wan…

He shook his head, heat flooding his cheeks as he rinsed himself off. No no no.

He had to get this out of his head.

He donned his robes and decided he would go and meditate in a quiet place in the temple. Somewhere that didn’t smell like Obi-Wan.

—————————————

Thanks for tuning in to part two 🤪 I have more written and there’s more to come. Probably gonna end up being a four parter on here. I overestimated the length of text posts tumblr will let me create. If you want an easier, more streamlined way to read, it’ll also be here on AO3. Thanks all!

Tagging: @haydens-moles @chokemeanakin @anakinswhore @fistmebuckyskywalker

*if you wanna be added or removed from the tag list just lmk ✨*

[boyy-wonder-grayson]

Helloooo how are you? I was wondering if its not to much of a bother if you could maybe do a one shot with dick grayson x fem!reader where she works at coffee shop and she's shy and hes infatuated by her and he just lives her and she's bubbly when he gets to know her a bit thank you so muchhhh ❤️❤️

Hi! Thanks for the request and sorry it took so long, i hope you like this!!

~~~~

Tik tok

The girl sighed looking at the clock, she still had two hours left of her shift and things moved slower than usual. The soft tapping of the raindrops lulled her into a trance; the smell of coffee filling her nostrils calmed her down, and the day just screamed 'sleep', too bad she still needed to stay inside the store for a couple of hours. She opted to look out of the window. The view was beautiful and she was in awe, the city looked gorgeous under the water. She loved rainy days, despite the slow transit of costumers, she always felt the most productive on days like this, too bad no one was around to test that. A race between two raindrops took her full attention so she didn't realize someone had entered the store. The stranger cleared his throat and snapped her back into reality, only for her to sigh. She couldn't see the end of the race.

The barista was ready to take the clients order, without paying much attention to detail, she was bored. But when the stranger spoke for the first time her eyes moved faster than lightning. Locking eyes with the man, her mouth opened but no sound came out.

Burning, scorching sensation covered her entire face,and she was sure she looked more like a tomato than a girl. She tried to cough, to cover the fact that the man standing in front of her was beautiful, but her face was still crimson red and there was no escape from the awkward situation.

"Wh-what can I get you?" She choked out. 'smooth' she thought. There's no way this guy was going to take her seriously. To her surprise he chuckled. The girl dared to look at him once again, taking his features. He was handsome. A nice face that was adorned by chocolate brown eyes, under soft lashes. He scrunched his nose, trying to get rid of a rain drop and the girl almost fainted. 'my God where does this guy come from?' she thought. Handsome and cute were a horrible combination. Horrible because who decided that such a fine specimen could be also cute? Must be a crime. Must not be allowed to walk on the streets looking so damn good.

It took her two minutes to realize she didn't exactly hear what he said, so with the tip of her ears turning a darker shade of red, and her cheeks flaming hot, she asked for him to repeat his order. Daydreaming about a guy she just met was not professional,but her boss was not around to chastise her for it.

Once the order was placed, the mysterious man waited patiently for his coffee to arrive. This gave the girl some time to keep admiring the man. His hair was wet because of the rain, and stuck to his forehead. The girl secretly fan herself to try to get rid of sinful thoughts, though the guy was not helping much. He took his jacket off and placed it on the back of the chair, hoping it'll dry before he parts.

The short sleeve shirt clinged onto his muscles and the wet fabric did not leave much to the imagination of the girl. Too bad she was too shy to say something to him. But holy crap she wanted.

It's not uncommon to see attractive people come into the store; she's seen her fair share of handsome men and beautiful women, but this guy was on a whole other level. Tch, she shook her head chastising herself for getting so excited about something she doesn't know. 'that guy probably has a partner' she said to herself, trying to tame her wild imagination.

She called the name written on the cup 'Dick' she snorted, she hadn't realized the name he gave her when he ordered the drink. Now looking at it, she smirked like a fool. It was a funny nickname to go by. Dick noticed the little smile that graced her face when she called for him. Smiling he asked:

"Something funny?" He said trying to mask the smile that was tugging at his lips.

"Wh-what? N-no, it's just your name. I-i I meant it's kinda funny" she admitted with a lot of effort.

"I know I get that a lot" he said sipping from his drink.

She wanted to badly to keep the conversation going so she went for it, not realizing when was she getting into.

"I mean, how does one get dick from Richard?" She asked. It was too late for her to realize her mistake, and of course dick took his opportunity to be a cocky bastard.

"Well, you ask nicely."

When the girl realized her mistake, there wasn't a shade of red to describe the way her face looked. She went from horrified,to embarrassed to silent everything under a minute. She wasn't thinking what she said until Dick replied with such cockiness. She was horrified about the whole thing and her face screamed 'kill me'. It didn't help that Dick started laughing at her. He thought it was adorable how flustered she got only because of a joke, but the moment she ducked her, he knew it was time to stop laughing.

"I'm sorry, I'm joking" he said, reassuring the girl.

"I-it's fine. I walked on that myself" she said, not looking at him in the eye. She smiled sheepishly, trying to regain control of her emotions. His laugh made her stomach twist in knots inside and to be honest she wasn't complaining about it. It felt...nice.

"Still, I'm sorry" he repeated. Finally the girl looked up, red tinted cheeks still, but she was smiling shyly at least.

"O-okay, have a nice day!" She said.

"You too" Dick walked towards the exit but turned around and walked back towards the girl once again. He asked for a pen and the girl gave it to him. Curiosity lingering on her eyes.

He scribbled down a few numbers on a napkin and gave it to her.

"Here's my number,in case you wanted to ask me nicely" he winked and the girl sucked in a breath. She held the air inside until he was gone. Her face burned once again and she felt she had a furnace for face. One man cannot have such an effect on her like that.

She looked down at the napkin and saved the number onto her cell phone.

~~~

It's been two weeks since Dick saw the coffee shop girl for the first and last time. Work has been keeping him busy enough, so going out was practically impossible. He praised himself for being smart; giving his number to her was a good idea provided that ever since that rainy afternoon they've been texting non stop. It's easier to communicate with her towards text. She keeps the conversation flowing and Dick couldn't be more thankful for it. Throughout those two weeks, Dick had discovered how different she is once she gets to know the other person. The shyness melted away and instead a bubbly, lively, animated and funny personality was revealed. Texting her was proven to be a routine Dick was now accustomed. Hectic days where he didn't even have time to pick up his phone meant no speaking with her, and thus resulting in Dick's sour mood. His teammates noticed the strange behaviour provided by their lider whenever things got busy. And of course teasing was involved. It wasn't long till they realized Dick's mood was affected by a girl. And a cute one according to Hank.

He didn't have time to correct any of them when they insinuated that his bad mood and his sulky attitude were because he hasn't been able to speak with her. It was true after all.

Week number three rolled around and Dick found himself standing outside the coffee shop. It was absurd to be nervous, they've been speaking non stop for weeks now,yet he still found himself fixing his hair on the glass window. It was a relatively quiet day, not many people were inside the shop. Dick spotted you wiping some tables and a grin instantly was plastered on his face. His stomach twisted, a fire ignited inside his guts keeping him warm, making him dizzy. He approached her, slowly, looking at her brows furrowed in concentration, trying to wipe the table clean.

"Hey" he said, smiling shyly.

"Dick!" She dropped the towel from her hand and without giving a second thought she threw her arms around his neck, hugging a very flustered Dick. He hugged her back, relishing in the warmth her body was radiating. She felt like the sun on a warm summer evening. Not too hot to melt, but hot enough to keep your skin warm. She broke the hug first, smiling brightly at the boy.

"What are you doing here? I thought you said you were going to be busy this week" the girl said, motioning for him to sit down on the clean table.

"I got some free time,and I decided to say hi"

"Well, I'm happy you did. My shift ends in...ten minutes. Wanna go get something to drink?" She asked, looking at him with a sweet smile. Her eyes were shining, waiting for an answer. Of course he couldn't say no to that face.

"Sure, I'd love to"

"Awesome!" She said standing, almost throwing the chair to the floor. She blushed lightly, the tip of her ears turned a shade of red.

Ten minutes later they were walking down the street, without a concrete destination. And that's exactly how he felt about her. It didn't matter where this thing that was growing between them took them, as long as they get to do it with each other.

[davidmann95]

Comics this week (5/26/2021)?

Heroes Reborn #4: JAMES STOKOE?! Hahahahaha this shit ruled

Heroes Reborn: Magneto & The Mutant Force #1: Nothing revolutionary but if you're in for Orlando or any of a couple eras of X-Men worth a look-see.

X-Men #20: I recently realized Hickman's entire 'main' X-Men run has been nothing but setup for either what he'll do with his upcoming next book, X of Swords, or other titles in the line, and that the real story hasn't actually progressed since HoXPoX. Glad to see any sign of that changing soon.

The Marvels #2: My dad did want to get it himself after all, and it's a perfectly decent issue.

Miles Morales: Spider-Man #26: I think I'm done. This represented another slight uptick but I don't think I can justify continuing with a book defined by its occasional slight upticks anymore.

Abbott 1973 #5: This on the other hand flat-out sucked and I'm not bothering with whatever trilogy-capper's in store.

Haha #5: Another relatively not-horrifying one! Maybe Prince really is starting to vary himself a bit. In any case it's Walta so obviously it's gorgeous, if you're already in the tank for anyone involved this issue's a treat.

The Department of Truth #9: Oh boy howdy do I love me a good high-falutin' bullshit lecture issue. This can't exactly hang with Promethea in that regard but it's a respectable mere rung or two down.

The Blue Flame #1: This didn't knock my socks off the way I was hoping, but for a mini of I believe just a few issues I'm curious enough where it'll go.

Strange Adventures #10: I don't think it'll go for a disappointing 'actually it was Alanna all along!' ending at this point so I'm pretty wholeheartedly enjoying this testament to how hard my least-favorite character sucks. Everybody's fixed on the map, but personally my favorite art accomplishments of the issue were Doc's look at the Seafolk and Gerads' Alanna in flight.

Action Comics #1031: PKJ continues to strut his stuff but for me this was first and foremost a Sampere showcase issue, this is the most since Ryan Sook I've thought "this is the guy who should define Superman's interior art for the next decade".

Batman/Superman #18: Increasingly a slight Multiversity vibe to this whole thing even besides the dimension-hopping, with 'traditional' storytelling giving way to something more unsettling as a reveal of deeper social truths - I continue to extremely fuck with it.

RWBY/Justice League (digital) #10: A letdown tbh aside from Bennett clearly having her own take on the arc of Yang and Blake's relationship; I was hoping this is where her character talent would get a chance to shine, but not so much. It just feels shockingly perfunctory compared to her original run, though I suppose that's par for the course with crossovers, and I'll continue to hope for a more fruitful sequel.

Batman: Black and White #6:

Thomas/Randolph/Bennett: Unsurprisingly a fun little story coming from Thomas. However - and I'll concede it'd be hard to do a 'Batman realizes that as a white man however well-meaning he's still unconsciously practicing systemic racism' story I'd be 100% onboard for, and maybe that's just on me as a white guy who doesn't want that fictional idol despoiled in quite that way - I've never bought the idea that there are parts of Gotham Batman avoids, whether the East Side or the Cauldron or in this case The Hill.

Charretier/Colinet/Maher: Nice but we've all seen this exact story done better before, though the last panel of the kids' recounting was effectively striking and Charretier really struck the perfect visual balance for it.

Derington/Wands: Writing's not as good as it wants to be but who cares it's Derrington drawing Batman.

Arcudi/Harren/Napolitano: ...ok?

Snyder/Romita/Janson/Napolitano: It's fine, it's a Scott Snyder Batman story so you know roughly what you're getting (though his chapter in Detective Comics #1027 really should have been his last word on the character), and Romita Jr. does his best work in a minute here.

The Other History of the DC Universe #4: Probably the best issue since the first, bringing back a lot of the intimate focus in possessed and the same visible filter of how this particular character is perceiving things in a way the reader is inevitably going to clash with that gives the whole thing a charge. And my philosophy-major dad will definitely get a kick out of the last couple pages. Shame it didn't end with "AND THEN I RECRUITED THE SUPERMEN OF THE MULTIVERSE TO HELP BEAT UP MANDRAAK THE DARK MONITOR" though.

[thecleverdame]

Gods of Twilight - 23

Alpha!Werewolf!Sam x Human!Reader

Master List 

Summary: You marry Sam, The King of Lebanon, as part of an alliance between two lands. You soon discover that nothing is as it appears and that your husband is hiding a secret that may end your relationship before it can begin.

Warnings: smut, dub-con, canon-level violence, domestic discipline, spanking.  This chapter does contain some non-con elements.

Beta:  @ilikaicalie​

*This story is complete. All 27 chapters are available on Patreon. To get access to this and many other stories, subscribe for a pledge of 2.50 per month. CLICK HERE

-

“I’m sorry,” you plead into his neck as he briskly carries you toward your bedchambers. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“It’s alright.” His words are understanding but his tone is something else. He’s holding back, practically shaking with rage but managing to keep himself under control for your sake.  

And who could blame him? Dean. If Sam hadn’t appeared when he did who knows what you would have done. The very notion makes you sick to your stomach. Dean. Of all people. He loathes you and yet the way he stared at you...

“What’s wrong with me?” You look your husband in the eyes as he kicks the door shut behind him. “I woke up in that horrible place and then found your bother. I swear to you I’ve never been unfaithful, I just...I don’t understand.” Your mind is a swirl of contradictory thoughts and urges. “Why would I react like that to him. I don’t-”

“Stop,” he commands. You’re silent as he carefully sets you on the bed then kneels on the ground before you, one hand on each of your thighs. “There is much I need to tell you, that I need to explain. What you must know right now is that you are like me. You’re a shifter and the way you feel, that hunger, is your first heat. The pain, the cramping and burning inside you is your body searching for a mate.”

“I am…a wolf?” you whisper, scarcely able to comprehend what he’s telling you. How? When? “But, I don’t...how? Dean said I had a daughter. I want to see her. Can I see her, Sam?”

“As soon as you’ve calmed down you can see her and hold her.” He reaches up, tucking hair behind your ear as tears shine in his eyes. “She’s waited a long time for her mother, we both have.”

“How long?” you ask, grabbing the meat of his shoulder. “How long was I down there? How old is she?”

“She’s nearly a year,” Sam confirms, eyes darting downward.

“What? A year...” you sputter, unable to wrap your head around this new fact. “She must be so big. I want to see her now!”

“You will, but we have to be sure you’re of sound mind.”

You are confused but more than anything you’re scared. So much has happened and it’s clear you don’t know the half of it. If all this has changed, what else is there?

“What happened to me? And why can’t I remember any of it?”

“The birth of our daughter was traumatic to say the least. You were injured in an attack and when she was born you tore. You died and came back to life. For a long time you didn’t remember anything, including me. And now here we are.” Sam looks so forlorn that it makes your heart ache inside your chest. You’ve both been through more than anyone should.

“I can’t see her yet because I’m a wolf...and I might hurt her?”

“Yes.”

“What’s her name?”

Sam offers a sad little smile that lets you see the true extent of pure exhaustion and despair that has tortured him these last months.  

“She doesn’t have one. I couldn’t name her without you.” He cups your face with two hands, leaning forward to place a simple kiss on your lips. “I call her my love and that’s been enough.”

“Is she healthy? Happy?”

“No little girl has ever been more of either. Martha looks after her most of the time and we have help from others, from the pack.”

You can’t imagine that you have a daughter, a girl who’s probably walking before she’s ever met her mother. You have many questions about this last year, a lot you need to know but right now the sickly pit in your stomach is taking precedence.

“You’re in pain?” Sam asks, already knowing the answer.

“Yes,” you wince, folding forward. “It’s getting worse. It’s stronger than it was before. Is something wrong with me?”

“No, you’re going to be fine. It’s natural.”

“Will it always be like this?” You look up in horror. “I feel as if I’m dying.”

“Not always. Once you’re claimed and mated, it’ll become less intense. As long as we’re together your heat will be abated. No pain, just a need that requires fulfillment.”

Another wave rolls through your body as you gasp, rocking back and forth, gritting your teeth to get through it.

“We shouldn’t wait any longer,” he gives your knee a squeeze before standing up. “Take off your dress.”

“I’m filthy,” you protest as he pulls his shirt over his head, horrified by the idea of anyone seeing you like this.

“I don’t care.” He shrugs.

“Well, I do care. In fact, I care very much.” You let the dress fall to the floor, leaving you naked, covered in dirt and grime. “Look at me. I don’t want to be with you like this. I might be an animal but I will protect my dignity.”

“Then I’ll wash you.”

“Why don’t we call for a bath?”

“That will take time, do you want to wait?” He raises a brow, bringing a basin of water to the bed. “I want to take care of you. Let me.”

Your husband, the king, and Alpha, drops to his knees once again. He wets a cloth in the basin of water and begins to wipe you clean, starting with your feet and working his way upward. By the time he’s between your thighs the cramps return and you lie back, allowing him to scrub until you’re relatively clean.

“What will happen now?” you whisper as he hovers above you, one giant hand spread over your naked belly.  He’s already hard, his manhood looks painfully stiff and is poking at your hip.

“Now you will take my knot, and all the pain will go away.”

“Are you sure you want me?” Your voice is a fractured whisper. “After what happened, and what I’ve done-”

“You have no idea how much I’ve missed you. I thought my heart was rotting in my chest. I’ve never wanted anything more than the way I want you now. There will be plenty of time to talk later. Let me make your pain go away.”

The first few kisses are hesitant as you reacclimate yourselves to one another. His tongue glides along your bottom lip as he settles himself between your legs. Despite drowning in a sea of new sensations you can clearly recognize that your body is different than it used to be. Your skin tingles where he’s touching you, every inch of him laid over you, making you sizzle with pleasure and excitement for what’s to come.

You moan into his mouth, hands curling around his back and pulling him closer until he drops the full weight of his massive frame on top of you and it’s all-consuming. You wanted him before, you loved him and he brought you pleasure but this is incomparable. Night and day. His Alpha calls to your Omega. It sends you into an altered state, you’re drunk off him, squirming and writhing underneath him as he kisses you into delirium.

“Sam,” you suck a breath between kisses, silenced when his mouth seals back over yours. He grunts, one hand curled into the cut of your hip, the other sliding behind your head and twisting a handful of hair.

“Alpha,” he quietly corrects you, looking down with half-closed eyes. “I’m your Alpha.”

“Alpha,” you repeat. The moment his title leaves your mouth you know it’s right. As if you’ve been searching for one word to encompass all he means to you and now you’ve finally found it. “Alpha,” you whisper again, bending your knees up into his ribs, urging him into action.

The cramps are all but gone and you’re lost in a lustful stupor. His mouth moves down your neck, kissing and nipping until he finds your breast and sucks a nipple into his mouth, hot and waiting as he ruts his manhood against your sex.

You’ve been wet since the moment he laid his hands on you, but now you’re a slick, desperate mess as everything between your thighs throbs with need. You understand now, the pull of one wolf to another. The desperation of one body calling out and another answering in return.

“Please,” you grasp his arms, rolling your hips against his erection. “I need you now.”

His mouth pops off your breast, lifting himself onto both his arms as he looks down at you. His hair is longer than before, hanging unruly around his face and his beard is thick. He looks wild, like half-man with an untamed animal lurking just under the surface, and you’ve never felt as captivated by him as you do at this moment.

His hands disappear between your bodies and he lowers down, staring into your eyes while he lines himself up. His cock pushes inside with no resistance, stretching you open after a year apart. Your eyes roll back into your skull. The first stroke fills you completely and the world is white-hot with satisfaction.

He buries his face in your neck, mouth grinning against sweating skin. He pulls out, only to sink back inside and you cry out, clutching at his spine, rocking with him as the pleasure grows, a fire being stoked with each new slide of his hips into your thighs.

When he pulls himself away from your body you cry out, eyes snapping open as he leans down to kiss you and offering a breathy order.

“Turn over.”

You blink one time and then roll into your belly. Two big hands curl around your ribs as he pulls you up and you find yourself on hands and knees while he nudges your legs wider. With one powerful thrust, he slides back inside, deeper than before. He works his cock faster, plunging in to the hilt with every thrust. Your hands dig in the bedding, toes curling as he groans and grunts with each stroke.

When you feel his knot begin to swell an old familiar fear rises, but you have little time to let it take hold as he grows thicker and thicker, holding himself deep for the final moments. When his knot pops you howl as your own orgasm washes over you. It’s nothing but unbridled lust as you squeeze and pulse around him, feeling the perfect stretch of his knot buried in your channel.

“Omega,” he growls, curling forward. His belly presses into your lower back as he empties inside you.

For a long time, you lie under him twitching and jerking from the aftershocks of it all. Mouth opening and closing, eyes blinking slowly, muscles contracting and releasing until you are nothing more than a puddle of a woman.

“Are you alive my queen?” His mouth is at the shell of your ear, lips curling into a satisfied smirk.

You nod, making a squeaky little sound that’s all you can muster.

You used to imagine what it would be like to truly be like him. To be a wolf and open your legs without hesitation. You knew it would feel different, better, but nothing could have prepared you for this life-altering pleasure.

“I’m not sure I’ll ever be the same again,” you whisper, face down in the bed.

He chuckles from behind, wrapping a forearm around your belly and jostling you onto your side. His knot tugs, sending extra zips of gratification from between your legs out in all directions.

You lie together as his fingers trail over your thigh, floating across your ribs to cup breasts as his mouth sucks at your shoulder. Somewhere in the midst of postcoital haze, rational thoughts behind to take shape.

You have a child.

You’re a shapeshifter.

You would have offered yourself up to his brother if you had the opportunity.

Guilt settles back into your gut as his knot recedes. He pulls free, sending a rush of his seed from deep inside.

“What is wrong?” He rolls you onto your back to look at him. He can feel the shifting attitude, your body stiffening.  “You were happy a moment ago and now you’re miles away.”

Looking at him, you move onto your side to face him. His handsome, tired face is full of genuine concern. He slides a hand over the curve of your hip, his fingers playing along the base of your spine.

“I love you,” you whisper, staring at his chest, ashamed to look at him. “I don’t understand what happened with your brother, but I hope you can forgive me.”

“There is nothing to forgive.” Sam sighs. “It is you that are in a position to offer forgiveness. I was prepared to let you die. I didn’t want to turn you. Dean did what I could not. He bit you, turned you. He saved your life. It’s why you feel a connection to him.”

“I do not want to feel this way about him. I feel dirty and ashamed.” You close your eyes, trying to not picture Dean and his sweet, wonderful scent. “What can I do to make it stop?”

“I’ll claim you,” Sam explains. He moves his hand to your hair, rubbing his fingers over your scalp. “While you may always experience some allegiance to him, my claim should put an end to the more intimate urges.”

“Will you do it now?” You run a hand over his chest, rough hair and hot skin under your open palm. “I’m not comfortable with the idea of being like this, an unclaimed Omega. I want to be yours.”

“You will be,” he promises softly. “Try not to upset yourself. You’ve been through so much. You need rest and calm and time to heal.”

“Then claim me,” you implore, searching his eyes. “I want you to claim me now.”

“We should wait for my rut.” He pulls you close, soothing your agitation with his own body. And it works, the sensation of an Alpha’s skin pressing against yours works like a drug as you melt into him. “Our bond will be the strongest during my rut. I want it now too, but we have to wait. It’s for the best.”

“How long?” You breathe in, letting his scent curl inside.

“A few weeks. Not long.”

“That sounds like a lifetime,” you mutter, nuzzling into his neck, pressing your nose right under his jaw.

“It will be here before you know it. I’ll be with you, as often as you need. And we’ll keep my brother away. Everything will be fine, you just have to trust me.”

“I trust you.” You’re fighting sleep, overcome with exhaustion and nestled into this warm, inviting body curled around you. “I want to see my daughter...and Golda. I’ve missed so much.”

Sam doesn’t respond, he just holds you as you slip into sleep blissfully unaware of the horrors the truth will hold.